addicted to c___

[alexiroflife]

jjk men falling for & pursuing you... ⸝⸝⸝

part 1 of 2 (coming soon...) -> -> -> headcanons

various instances of jjk men realizing that they're in love with you, what triggers their realizations, confessing to you, and everything in between ... ₊˚⊹♡ | fluffy, mutual pining, yearning, sapppppyyyyy, a bit of angst in higuruma's - i fear i lost the og request somewhere so sorry, this was long overdue!

gojo, geto, choso, higuruma (appr. 3.4 - 3.8k each)

up next... nanami, toji, sukuna

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

satoru gojo: your laughter!

satoru thinks he's heard your laughter before, only he's not so sure anymore now that the very sound has made his smile drop in stun and his heart flutter with something too terrifying to name.

there's always a certain level of professionalism that you maintain when you are within your work environment, always keeping order in your classrooms or during your lessons to prevent any room for distraction. this very discipline does not allow room for distraction, and you are sure to lead your teachings with this very motto. your students understand. they respect it. they learn.

consequently, you don't allow much to sway you during work hours - things like off kilter jokes or a pencil accidentally flying across the room, a shameful result of toge's frequent pencil tapping against his desk to occupy his body whilst retaining the information you share, don't receive much reaction. the most you'll give is an exasperated glance, or a weary eye roll that leads the corners of your lips to twitch with the slightest bit of amusement, but that's all you've got before you're redirecting focus back to the chalk board.

satoru, of course, took notice, as he finds himself picking on any of his coworkers or students who dare not to flash even the subtlest of grins within such a dreary atmosphere. he gives you grief frequently about it, telling you that you would look a hell of a lot prettier if you'd flash those pearly whites of yours. you know that he is, of course, purposefully being gross and annoying about it just to get a rise out of you, just as he does nanami or utahime or, hell, even poor megumi or nobara on occasion.

you brush him off time and time again, reminding him that you aren't some unfeeling monster who does not show joy. in fact, you're quite down to earth as a professor, much more down to earth than other mentors who have taught you, sparking memories you look back on with a resentful chill.

"i'm just doing my job," you would say as satoru walks beside you, hands tucked in his pockets as he leans over to meet your eye level. his head tilts and pink lips curl into that teasing, self-satisfied smile he always wears.

"yeah, a real boring job," he'd sigh wistfully, dramatics and airiness twisted up in his tone. you'd shoot him a glare, he'd chuckle. "come on, just one smile."

"what are you talking about, gojo? i smile all the time," you slightly chuckle at his sheer ridiculousness, a mild display of what you insist to be the personality that you very much so do have that satoru is always griping that you don't.

"you know what i mean. let loose. live a little."

"i let loose while i'm teaching, i put those kids' lives at risk. i'm not doing that."

"are you insinuating that because i have a more laid back teaching style than you, my students are more prone to danger?" the ivory haired sorcerer gasps, mimicking offense.

you think back to yuta's first day under satoru's watch. "yes," you deadpan.

"blasphemy," he'd deny. "my kids are smart and powerful because of me. and funny."

he'd go on about something else regarding the way you carry yourself at work, mentioning something about the way your nose always crinkles a certain way when you're too focused, how you'll give yourself worry lines instead of smile lines.

you'd ask him how he even notices something so minuscule like that, and he'd stand upright again with a shrug and his tongue peaking past his smiling lips playfully. he tries not to give your question much thought when you've arrived to the field where your students are sparring, approaching side by side like sun and gloom.

and you'd leave it be. no matter how much he continues to try and pester you into entertaining his mockery. no matter how many stupid jokes and stories he throws your way as you work your way through the winding halls of the school, just to get you to crack the kind of smile or laugh that shakes your entire body instead of lingering small in the front of your face.

you don't think anything of satoru's constant nagging, and neither does he. at first.

you see the way he treats the others who perform more rigidly than you do within their fields, who always - always groan and toss their eyes to the ceiling in disdain when satoru's jolly frame saunters into a room or barges through the door. you see how strategically he stretches out his pestering tactics, how he'll say just the right thing at the right time to bait nanami into forcefully shutting his newspaper and muttering something about taking a bathroom break to just get away from the sound of satoru's neverending words.

despite having not spent your youth with your coworkers the way they have with each other, as your addition to the school transpired within the recent year, you think you've got a good idea of who satoru is behind that big, shiny, glittering title of the honored one.

lighthearted, a little arrogant in a way that charms those less familiar with his antics, pride acceptable enough for it to be overlooked by his warm energy and indulgence in everyday simplicities: sweets and laughter and childlike wonder. he's a big kid. and though he's an irritating little shit, what the world does not see is the generosity, the care, the intelligence. he's a good guy. stupidly aggravating and too flirty at the best of times, but far more human than how he is perceived, how he is treated.

you don't think anything of the way he tends to follow you around, as you assume this is his routine treatment of fresh meat, of the less boisterous among you. shoko told you that's just how he is. too friendly. too invasive. too loud. too talkative.

too clingy.

satoru, on the other hand, doesn't quite know what's wrong with him yet, but he knows something is wrong.

he likes you. a bit too much, probably. it's been so long since he's met someone new who is like you, someone who fit so well into the dynamic him and his former classmates have cultivated for their students. your arrival was greatly anticipated, if not slightly disorienting. you came in with a regal air and a face so pretty that it almost paralyzed him where he stood, but he thought nothing of it. he's met beautiful women before. he’s flirted with them before. he knew it meant nothing. yet he’s flirted with you, and it always feels like something.

so he's not so sure why he often finds himself stopping dead in his tracks when he hears your voice echoing from the sparring field, instructing your students with a stern yet almost motherly cadence. he'll turn and locate you down there from where he stands by winding pillars, watching the way your hands find your hips and your (e/c) eyes monitor your students' movements with that pinch of concern. like you didn't just get here. like you raised them yourself, and their survival is your responsibility.

satoru will swallow the saliva that has built in his mouth, suddenly becoming aware of the way his cheeks ache from having smiled at the sight and sound of you for so long from afar.

he's not sure why he is so curious about you and your adjustment to your job. he perks up at the very mention of your name in any setting, tuning out whatever yuji is rambling on about to listen to what yaga is detailing about your next mission in the room over. he wonders if you're even up for the job, and decides to catch yaga long after his conversation about you to offer himself up to go in your place. yaga would lower his sunglasses and quirk his thick brows, pursing his lips in inquisition as he stares up at the white haired man he's known since he was a young boy.

"why are you so worried about (l/n)'s business?"

why is he?

satoru shrugs. "just looking out for the newbie."

"(l/n) has been a grade one sorcerer for years. she can handle herself just fine," yaga gives gojo one last skeptical work. "get back to worrying about your job, satoru. not hers."

he brushes off the bitter taste yaga's words leave in his mouth, as though peers and colleagues and friends and former classmates have not come and gone at the hand of the unknown, having been thrust into what they had believed to be familiar territory only to find themselves sorely mistaken, outnumbered, and overpowered.

you're new. you're nice, and humble, responsible, and you actually listen to what gojo has to say, despite how everyone around him feigns or feels palpable disdain or aggravation toward him. you don't treat him like he's a joke. you go to him for advice, looking to him as an inspiration rather than a pest to belittle, his title neither pushing you away or sparking excessive glorification. you simply respect him, beneath all that goofiness and bickering. you're sweet in that way. unbiased. unjudging.

and you treat every one of your students like family, bracing them for the cruel world, remembering that they are still children. not weapons. people like you, people who are kind and generous and stable, are a rarity within the jujutsu world. satoru would prefer not to lose the refreshing air that you bring to the campus just because you were sent on an muddy mission too soon.

he would prefer not to lose you at all.

when shoko starts to look at him sideways whenever you walk by or finish up a conversation with him, satoru knows for sure that his suspicions about his own behavior are not just in his head. that the strange way he is acting, the strange way he is feeling whenever you are around, is actually noticeable. she observes how your presence slowly begins to dictate how satoru is feeling, or how he will behave for the remainder of the day.

you'll tell him and the brunette that you'll be sent away for a few days, and satoru is pouting, glossy lips pulled downward as his brow furrows with disappointment beneath his blindfold. he'll bombard you with a hundred questions, asking how far away you'll be, what kind of curse you'll be encountering, if you will be going alone. and with each patient answer you give, his sulking grows tenfold.

because why do you have to leave? it's so boring without you here, though he always claims that you contribute to the drab atmosphere with your refusal to entertain his antics throughout the school day just to get a reaction out of you.

still, that would be days without your soft smile. days without your eager questions that satoru always drops everything to answer happily, his heart thundering at the calm, attentive way you look past his blindfold as if to hold his gaze, to let him know that you have all of his undivided attention.

days without your heavy lectures that ring out in the halls and weigh down the air, your delivery so urgent and resolute that it makes the snowy haired man himself want to stand at attention.

days without those reserved chuckles and thoughtful eyes. without your maternal agency toward your students. without those breezy compliments that must hold no true substance, as they flutter past your lips like daily greetings.

your hair looks really fluffy today, gojo.

did you get a new uniform jacket tailored? it looks nice.

you have really broad shoulders, you know that?

and you're never flirting. never seeking anything in return. you're just... like that. endearing and observant and eager to share the good that you see in others with them. you're fully aware of gojo's arrogance, yet unbothered by the possibility of making his head ten times bigger than it already is. you compliment him the same way you'd compliment utahime, or kusakabe. it's effortless, thoughtless kindness.

and the higher ups expect satoru to go days without that?

he's all but begging you to stay, though there isn't much of anything you can do to get out of direct orders from higher command. shoko will watch lazily with a cigarette hanging from her glossed lips, her cheek in her palm as the gears turn in her head, and she decides that maybe gojo isn't like this with everyone. that with you, he's a bit more clingy than too clingy.

she can tell for certain that something is up when an air of silent, tormented pensiveness captures satoru when you leave to meet with one of your students, unaware of the fact that your absence truly wounds satoru. you think he's overexaggerating his desire for you to stay.

he's not.

"what was that about?' shoko asks from where she sits just behind satoru, the sorcerer standing before her desk as he stares at the empty doorway.

"i don't know," he sighs. "some new mission. they've been throwing her out in the field a lot lately."

"it's her job," shoko says flatly. "but that's not what i mean. i'm talking about you."

he turns to look at her, a bubble of anxiety brewing in his chest as he tries to appear normal. "what about me?"

shoko's brow raises, her index and middle finger pinching the cigarette between them. a cloud of smoke wafts from her lips as she lowers it away from her mouth. "you were really persistent just now. why don't you want her to leave so bad? it's just a few days. do you always get like that when she leaves?"

yes. he does. and it's only been a few months.

"what do you mean? i worry about all of my friends and colleagues."

"you so do not. and definitely not like that."

heat pinches satoru's cheeks. "like what, exactly, shoko?"

"like a lovesick puppydog."

she's being dramatic. he claims everyone but himself is being dramatic when they toss him those questioning looks, the looks that scream out how different he has been acting since you came along.

he just cares about you. he cares about everyone at jujutsu high. he wants you to stay safe, vigilent, like the rest of them, so that you can stay in one piece and he can spend more time with you. so that he can learn more about you, and sit with you as you talk with that hypnotic, smooth authority that makes his brain mushy and his knees weak. what's so bad about wanting to be around you?

satoru is still trying to figure out exactly what is going on when a few of you go out for a couple of drinks. satoru, as usual, does not indulge, but encourages you to nonetheless, eager to see how you'd behave when alcohol has made you limber and slow.

it's been a long month, you're a bit battered and overworked, and normally you wouldn't, but you finally have a day ahead of you where you don't teach or get sent out to damn battle, so you think that just one drink won't hurt.

you're four drinks in when the others leave, leaving you and satoru at the bar talking for hours. your inibitions have lowered significantly, and in contrast to the tight composure you keep at school, you’re slumped casually in your bar stool, elbow propped on the counter and eyes big and glittery as satoru tells you a story from his days back in high school, where the sun seemed to shine all the time and his best friends' laughter constantly filled the air.

he's telling you this one story about when a group of them - him, nanami, geto, haibara, and shoko, all snuck out of the dorms one night to try to make it to a concert that was happening a few blocks away, only to be caught by yaga the second they stepped off school grounds. satoru, ever the rebellious teen, was dragged back to his dorm kicking and screaming by the principal after having attemped to combat him.

something about the liquor warming your stomach and lightening the atmosphere makes satoru's story and the animated hand movements and voices he incorporates to revive the memory for you all the more hilarious. and instead of brushing him off or telling him to quit playing around, you bend over at your waist and release the loudest, most obnoxious laugh satoru has ever heard in his entire life.

the sound startles him at first, his sapphire eyes going slightly wide behind his dark shades, his lips twitching in shock as he freezes just to watch you and listen.

your skin is slightly flushed, your eyes a little glassy. but your lips, your lips are stretched wide across your pretty face, all teeth on display, your jaw open to free the symphony of cackles that spill from you. your hand raises to hover over your mouth as if to conceal your laughter, but it doesn't work. you're still laughing, your eyes little crescents, the skin beside and underneath wrinkled, your nose crunched, your brows curled just slightly with humor as if it pains you.

satoru's mouth runs dry, and the chaotic white noise of the buzzing bar goes mute. his surroundings blur out to slowly focus on you. your laughter seems to echo through satoru's mind like a distant memory playing on repeat, ringing out through the hollow space of his head. the dim bar lights appear to glow about you, twinkling around your hair and against your (s/c) skin slightly moist from the atmosphere thick with heat from confined bodies.

satoru always jokes about your dismal air. he's seen you smile. he's heard you laugh.

but never like this.

it's like music to his ears. like the prettiest song he's ever had the privilege to hear. your entire body shakes with your laughter, like it has completely taken over you and you don't care that it has. it shines in your gaze, flutters out so bright and loud that gojo thinks it brightened your entire aura.

satoru's smile is gone, having faded away with each passing second your laughter soaked through his ears. he watches you like that for a while, awed, and then, his smile returns as if compelled. his skin warms, dimples poke into his cheeks, and he beams along with you, his own laughter slipping into yours. it's just so contageous.

his heart is hammering in his throat, his gaze suddenly soft and tender on you, the vision of you before him so angelic that it makes his entire mass quiver with the electricity of your beauty.

you laugh. the very thing satoru has been trying to get out of you finally happened. all because of him.

then you say it. clipped words between breathless giggles, your true soul finally bearing itself raw in the comfortability of the public. away from your concerns. away from the safety you must ensure your kids practice. away from the burden of sorcery. you exist.

"you kill me, gojo."

he feels something resolute strike him in the chest right there, his lips twitching in his smile and his body running hotter than the sun.

you think he's funny. you think he's funny. you're laughing all breathless and beautiful and shamelessly because of him, and he's choking over charm, fumbling in his mind for a smooth quip, an i told you so, a finally.

but all he can think of is how fucking pretty you look laughing like that, letting joy take you, letting your cares slip away in his company.

that strike to his chest cements firm and hot, and he chuckles rather awkwardly, chin thumping against his palm as he gazes at you with an impending realization. his mind conjures up glittery flowers and floating hearts that surround your laughing figure, and he abruptly knows what's been wrong with him.

it's not just that you make every room brighter when you step into it. it's not just that your beauty renders him speechless any time he's within your vicinity. it's not just that he has a little work crush on you and likes to tug your pigtails over it.

it's not any of that. he knows by the way he's looking at you now, by the way his body feels warm and fuzzy like he's stuck inside a sweet, insulated dream that he doesn't want to wake up from, that what is plaguing him is far stronger than the aforementioned simplicities.

he knows by the way your laughter makes him want to drop to his knees before you and plead you to never stop, to never deprive him of such a sound again.

he sighs. he's in love with you.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

suguru geto: the future!

suguru has always known that he likes you.

he has no reason to deny it. nothing is standing in the way of how he feels, even if he finds out one day that you don't feel the same. suguru has accepted his crush, his puppy dog attraction to you and his simultaneous desire for your affection.

he shields it thinly but smoothly, always greeting you with warm smiles that make you feel toasty inside and eyes that always lock directly onto yours, as if he is reminding you every day that he sees you and wants to continue seeing you for the rest of his life. you're a dear friend to him, very dear, and you should know it each time you see him - how much he appreciates you. how much he cares.

his fingers always find some way to touch you, whether curving a piece of hair from your face or grazing your arm to eventually slip his hand into yours, and hold it as you walk side by side as if it is nothing. as if friends do this all the time. and whether he's saying hello or goodbye, he always opens his arms wide to invite you into a soothing embrace, his arms circling around you and holding you snug to his chest. you always hum in content, smiling sweetly and hugging tight around his middle, sinking into his comfort.

and when he's departing for an extended period of time, when your face just looks too sweet as you look up at him and wish him safety, he ducks to hold your head and press his lips to your forehead chastely, pulling away to smile sweetly down at you.

like friends do.

suguru has nothing to be ashamed of.

especially when you make him feel the way he does. flooding him with joy and fuzziness that he once believed himself undeserving of. helping to lift the weight of the world from his shoulders at the end of long, testing days with the time vessel association, without even trying. further fueling his ambitions for a non-sorcerer free world for you, because someone as sweet, loyal, selfless, and beautiful as you deserves a peace that only the world he has envisioned promises.

a world where the two of you can live freely, where you can be perfectly, permanently, blissfully happy by his side. void of any unwarranted responsibility, void of any pain.

why should suguru feel embarrassed of his affections toward you? why should he shield how dearly you mean to him? how deeply he cherishes you, alongside the rest of his family?

especially when you stayed, when everyone else he loved turned away from him. he doesn't blame them, and never has, but you. you didn't leave him behind. you didn't hesitate. you stayed.

and that's all that mattered in the end.

despite suguru's overt self awareness regarding his feelings for you, he does not attempt to pursue you until he has realized that these said feelings have grown past what he initially believed them to. and this intensity dawns on him much later than he would have expected for himself.

it hits him one sunny day on the roof of the time vessel association, a spot he frequents with his girls when the three of them need a bit of quiet time away from all the noise just below their feet.

geto has a newspaper cracked open over his lap as mimiko weaves a fishtail braid into his long, black locks. the breeze whistles through pinned linen on wires, a slight chill nipping at the wind, an indicator of the cooler months creeping in.

the cult leader and his girls ordinarily talk of whatever comes to mind, catching up on little things happening around the facility, dreaming up all the wonders that geto intends to provide when his goals reach fruition.

he expects further talk of the new phone that is coming out within the next few months, or the rom coms that the girls desperately want him to watch with them, but what he doesn't expect is the bold question that leaves nanako's mouth that inevitably draws his mind right back to you, as it always does.

"geto, do you think you'll ever wanna get married in the new world?" the blonde questions curiously from her spot crouched next to geto's chair, her nose still pressed into her telepohone screen.

the hazel eyed man blinks, turning slightly to look down at the young girl's head. "married?" he echoes, taken aback. "what could have possibly made your mind go to that, nanako?"

she shrugs, tilting her head back to look up at her father figure from upside down. "i dunno. i feel like you should get to settle down after all your hard work has paid off."

he smiles softly, half amused, half affectionate. "you think so?"

"sure. mimiko and i were talking about it the other day."

"were you now?"

the brunette teenager behind him hums flatly. "mhm."

he chuckles. "well, i'll be honest with you girls, marriage hasn't crossed my mind just yet. other priorities come first, and will continue to until i see fit."

"but," nanako twists her body around to look up at him properly. "wouldn't it be nice for you to have someone by your side? to care for?"

"i already have that. i have you all."

"that's different," mimiko says monotonously.

"it is!" nanako agrees, puffing her cheeks. "what we mean is, like, someone to love. someone to hold and to tell you how great you are," she fantasizes, painting a pretty idea of a domestic life.

suguru's brow quirks slightly down at the teenager, as he detects from her tone that she is imagining such things for herself as well.

"like i said girls, i already have people to love. i love you and the rest of our family very dearly," he says calmly. he feels mimiko hesitate amidst his strands, and catches the pout that begins to cross nanako's face. he smiles, closing his eyes. "though i understand what you're saying, and it's sweet of you to care about things like that, but i don't plan marry. i never have."

"...are you sure?" mimiko asks gently, carefully crossed one section of silky hair over another.

"i'm positive," he affirms.

"but why not? we thought you liked (y/n)."

suguru's eyes snap open wide, the brunette's hands completely freeze in his hair, and nanako's face swarms with a bashful pink as she puckers her lips, testing the waters.

he doesn't miss the way his body reacts to your name. the way his heart swells the slightest bit more as if pumped with obsessive air. the way his entire nervous system seems to halt its functions, his brain swarming with your phantom touch and scent. the way a smile subconsciously comes to his face with ease, like your name is a trigger for his happiness, even when mentioned in this setting.

"nanako," the blonde's sister hisses after a few beats of silence, and the said girl throws her hands up in defense.

"what?! we did! you do, don't you master geto?"

"even if he does, why would he admit it to us, let alone entertain talking about marrying her?"

"don't be such a hypocrite! you know you were thinking the same exact thing as me, sis! we just talked about it!" nanako reiterates.

"so? it's not the same as confronting him with our speculations, dummy."

"don't call me a dummy! you're the dummy, dummy!"

"girls," the cult leader's voice rings out sternly, and the teens know to instantly stop fussing. they clamp their lips shut and look to the man who saved their lives, and he eyes them with a fatherly assertiveness. "what did i say about fighting? we only have each other, alright? no one's a dummy. enough of that."

"sorry," they murmur in unison. suguru sighs and turns his head forward again, allowing mimiko to resume her task.

"that being said," he starts lowly. "i'm a little anxious about these 'speculations' of yours. you thought i would marry (y/n) when it's all said and done. is that it?"

the girls exchange glances. "well," mimiko starts slowly.

"we'd be surprised if you didn't."

"and why is that?"

"...don't you like her, geto?"

the sentiment comes again, and suguru's head rings. not because his girls, and likely everyone with the time vessel association have caught wind of his very obvious emotons regarding you, but because he can't seem to shake this strange feeling hat sits in the pit of his stomach now that the idea of settling down with you has been abruptly brought to his attention.

suguru always assumed that you would just be by his side forever, as you've already promised to remain loyal to him and only him for the rest of your life. being a part of his family, that was a given. that you all would never part.

but... marriage? settling down?

in truth, despite being a planner down to his very core, he hasn't thought that far ahead yet, not of anything beyond making his new world become a reality. for so long, that's all that has consumed his head. erradicating the weak. preserving the safety and dignity of the strong. taking care of those who have always taken care of him. his family. his girls. you.

but suddenly, he envisions you in white. a veil long enough to drag past your ankles, a soft white dress that hugs your body as if it was made just for you - and it would be. suguru would have it tailored by the best in the country, so long as you'd let him take some part in the dress planning. he imagines you'd be quite anal about such things, not letting him see the dress or you during your wedding day. he'd respect it, entertain it for a bit, but have his girls sneak to see you and report how gorgeous you appear as you prepare to stroll down the aisle as his bride.

he's clasping your warm, small hands in his like he always does, smoothing his fingers over the ring he's just slipped onto your digit. the rock twinkles over your skin, a grand symbol, but not quite grand enough to account for all that you mean to him. still, the 8 carot gold will do for now.

his vision is blurry, and his cheeks ache from how hard he knows he would be smiling. and you look like an angel in front of him, eyes glossing over with something gracious and sweet, your lips pinched together to prevent from bursting with the sheer emount of emotion overcoming you. you'd be happy there. he'd make you so happy.

your lips would unite with a passion, the weight of waiting finally released. he'd tug you close by the small of your waist with one hand holding your cheek delicately, and you'd melt into each other, knowing that you could finally rest in each other's arms and enjoy the life he once dreamed to give you.

if you'd want kids, he'd maybe ponder giving you one more, but you have the children you need in the teenagers who he swears make his strands go grey, who are responsible for even making him conjure up this fantasy. though, to see you waddling through the house, glowing with oncoming maternity and content would be a treat he could never deny himself.

he'd give you everything. he'd make you the happiest wife to grace this earth. he'd work hard every day to keep you, to remind you of his love the way he does now.

his heart aches with yearning.

it doesn't bother him that the girls gossiped about the possibilities between the two of you in private, or that they know how he feels. everyone knows except you.

what bothers him is that he was wrong. the ever prideful, ever diligent suguru geto was wrong about what he had thought he had all figured out.

he doesn't like you at all. he loves you. and he does in fact want to be with you until the day he dies, united in holy matrimony under his name. (y/n) geto. a beautiful, hypnotic ring he must make come to fruition in addition to a curse-less world.

he turns to look down at nanako with a gentle grin, one that makes the breeze feel warmer and the golden rays above shine the slighest bit brighter.

"maybe i do like her," he says playfully.

nanako stares up at him for a moment before a big grin spreads over her face in understanding.

"but you two are skipping a few steps. i'd have to ask the lovely woman out before jumping into marriage, now wouldn't i?"

suguru decides to forgive the way mimiko accidentally yanks at his roots due to jumping up with her sister in excitement.

he lets the girls yammer on about various ways for suguru to ask you out, a perfect fishtail woven into his hair and long forgotten. he humors them, enjoying the sheer excitement they bestow regarding his affections for you, further solidifying your place in their lives as a wife and mother, but he does not have the heart to tell them just yet that he already knows what he'll do to attempt to woo you into being his.

suguru is a dramatic man, one of great gestures and movements. he is passionate, at times almost scarily so, and he handles everything with empassioned precision. he certainly handles his pursuit of you the very same.

he stretches the act out over the course of a few days.

he starts, first, by greeting you with his familiar hugs accompanied by a fresh bouqet of flowers that the girls take the privilege of making with him every night.

he watches your face flush with red, your pretty eyes blinking almost confused before you allow yourself to swoon, your fingers gingerly reaching for the bunch of stems that suguru presents serenely to you, a relaxed captivation gracing his gorgeous features.

the first bunch are an arrangement of chysanthemums, a bright explosion of fierce reds and fushias that pops against your eyes and skin when you bring them to your nose to smell. suguru watches you calmly, heart twisting, cheeks burning, and he thinks that he could do this for the rest of his life when you bat those pretty eyes up at him and beam with a sheepish thank you fluttering from your lips and into the petals that you use to hide your face.

you don't know that there are more coming. that this first bouqet is meant to represent a sanction of what he promises you, a symbol of devotion and his unyielding legacy, the legacy you have helped him build. the legacy he intends to share with you.

the next day, he gifts you a bunch of cream colored anemonaes when he first sees you in the morning. you're shocked expression makes him chuckle lowly as he presents the flowers to you, the stems laced with a white ribbon, the petals fluttering eagerly around their black pistils. you stare up at suguru in awe, as he has caught you off guard once again, stolen the breath from your lungs and made your jaw drop in a stupor. two bouqets of flowers, two days in a row, in tandem with his soft hugs and soft looks and soft hands brushing yours.

"suguru, wha...?" you trail off as he places the bouqet in your hands, helping to secure your fingers around them. you stare at him, stunned, bashful, flattered, and he simply flashes you that serene, warm smile that soaks up the sun. "more flowers? but you already - "

"i know," is all he says, his hands holding yours around the bouqet. he glances at the flowers, a symbol of his patience, of how long he would be willing to wait for you if you decide to have him. the sincerity of his emotions, and how far he'd go for you and only you. his eagerness to obtain you, despite his willingness to hold off so long as it would make you comfortable. "they're all for you, angel," he eventually says.

you melt, your shoulders sagging with the curl of your brow. "i don't know what to say... why are you doing this?"

"because you deserve it."

the third and final day, suguru tells you to meet him in his drawing room. you're buzzing with the adrenaline of his very recent affections, the way he has been looking at you as of late in addition to his gifts of flowers.

you don't think you can find the words when you slide the door open to reveal the inky haired cult leader standing before you, at the very center of the room. sweet perfumes of incense intoxicate the candle lit space, and a generous bunch of your favorite flowers settles in his arms amidst his buddhist robes. a symbol of all that you are in his life, radiant. bright. loyal. a symbol of his immense adoration, and the fruitfulness of his love for you.

sunflowers.

your throat clamps up and you attempt to swallow the automatic lump that ails you. your heart pounds in your ears, your skin hot to the touch, and you ask yourself if you are inside of some kind of dream. if the man you've fallen for is truly right here in front of you with his heart in his hands and your world in his hazel eyes.

you freeze up, shaking your head. this can't be real. suguru is all dreams of the new world, ambitions to wipe out existence, eagerness to make the unloyal and the greedy pay with their lives. he is a passionate man, yes, but never one for romantics. never one for love, as you had previously believed.

he's generous, therefore you thought nothing of the way he would hold you close to him, his breathe murmuring that he's missed you throughout the day against your ear, though you've only been parted for a few hours within the cult. you thought nothing over those lingering, sultry looks past miguel's figure during family meetings, or the way his warm lips would meet your skin with fatigue. you thought nothing of it because suguru is a man of his people who hardly shies away from bestowing such affections on those he cares for.

still, you've never seen him hug miguel the same way. or look at manami with such intensity, let alone kiss any of the others on the head, save for his girls.

nevertheless, you never allowed yourself to believe that you were special. not when suguru has always made his priorities in this life painfully clear.

so you struggle to understand what this means. why he is showering you with affections and doting on you like you could possibly mean anything more to him than family.

"no, this is too much," you shake your head, your voice ringing out wobblier than you intended. "this is too much, suguru, what are you doing?"

the hazel eyed sorcerer does not panic when he hears your voice crack, for any time you are in his presence, a pink filter washes over his senses, and all he can register is your unfathomable beauty shining through the way you speak and the way you look at him.

he smiles, body warm. "do you not like them?"

"do i - no, i - i love them. that's not what i... those are for me, too?" you ask incredulously, though deep down you know the answer.

"of course they are."

"...suguru, why?" your breath hitches. "this is way too much."

"it's not nearly enough."

"but why would you - "

"you should let me talk, beautiful. then everything will make more sense. i promise."

you frown, eyes glazing over. suguru only smiles and shifts the bouqet, holding a hand out to you.

"come here."

you do, carefully sliding the door closed behind you in a stupor and moving to approach him. he takes your hand, holds your gaze, and brings it to his lips, pressing a warm kiss to your fingers. you inhale sharply, lips twitch, eyes glossy.

"i was talking with the girls the other day," he starts slowly, lowering your hand as he caressing it gently. "and they made me realize something."

you're scared to speak, but your voice croaks out anyway. "what?"

"that i don't want to waste any more time with you," suguru's voice dips just slightly, his tone taking a raw vulnerability that you have not heard in quite sometime. it takes you back to high school, before he snapped, when the two of you were just kids seeking one another's comfort within a strange and unforgiving education.

"suguru, what are you talking about?" you breathe a whisper.

"ever since we were kids, i've known. that i never want to live without you," he confesses. "but it's taken me too long to truly understand what that means and to actually do something about it."

you shake your head with a disoriented breath, a tear you can't fight catching your lashes. suguru releases your hand to swipe the tear away with his thumb.

his hand curves to your chin and he lifts your head slightly, encouraging your teary eyes to meet his again. his pupils expand, his eyes lidded.

"so now i'm doing something about it," he mumbles. "i want you to be with me, (y/n). i want you to be mine. there's no one else in this godforsaken world for me but you. it's always been you."

you feel another tear trail down your cheek, your heart soaring, your mind still not quite comprehending that this is real. that this is happening.

suguru is patient. he doesn't need an immediate response, nor does he demand your immediate reciprocation. instead, he is merely happy to tell you, to watch the awe float over your pretty face as his chest becomes lighter, having freed the weight of his truth to you.

"these flowers are a promise. i'll be good to you. i'll put you before everything. i'll love you as you should be loved. because i do. i love you. and i always will, whether you'll have me or not."

your heart skips a beat. or two. or ten. "...you love me?"

"i love you," he confirms.

the past nine years whip through your head, all the doubts, the hopes, the longing, the fear, that have brought you to this very moment. your cloudy gaze finds the flowers brushing your chests between you, then his warm hazel eyes. you see into his soul, you see the cracks exposed, the hint of anxiety that swirls in the back of his mind as he bears himself raw to you behind a front of serenity.

you cave with the breathless call of his name, and he takes the chance, his name on your tongue dispelling any fear and uncertainty. he ducks down and pulls you in, petals brushing your chins as his lips press to yours fervently. you whimper and he groans, both symphonies of long awaited relief, and in the brief disconnect of your hungry lips, you whisper into his mouth.

"i love you too."

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

choso kamo: your patience!

“it’s okay, cho. here, let me help you.”

sharp violet eyes blink down at you in a stupor as you ease your palm onto his shoulder blade, stepping close to take initiative as he submissively backs away. you look up and give him a soft smile before turning your attention to the electronic fast food kiosk to help him navigate the options.

the brunette lets you take the lead, as you always do when it comes to human things like this, and he watches you from your side with a blank expression, something far more intense shining in his wide eyes.

choso knows he can be a handful. basic things do not always come to him very easily, like small talk or technology or anything within the realm of human functionality that he has yet to completely accomodate to. while the brunette has been around long enough to assimilate into his brother's livelihood and the people directly surrounding him, he still significantly struggles to comprehend certain mortal concepts.

it took him a whole day to figure out how to program the phone that yuji helped him purchase, and that was with the help of the salmon haired teenager. each day, he still battles with comprehending some of the slang his kid brother uses when talking to him, often opting to pretend to know what yuji is talking about when he sends little acronyms like lmao or wyd. he doesn't quite grasp the goal of certain sports when he sees yuji and his classmates playing them, and he has absolutly no idea how to decipher or navigate the internet.

in the human world, choso often feels like a fish out of water, much to his chagrin. the persistent internal dilemma of existing as something between a human and a curse often leaves choso confused as he attempts to navigate how he is supposed to behave, what he is supposed to know, how he can be accepted by either jujutsu or human society.

and people are less than forgiving, less than patient with those who appear to be outsiders, choso has come to find. the world is a cruel place, and as he continues to manage how to move about it, strangers expect him to figure it out.

it tells in the way he gets shoulder checked in crowded markets when he does not know where to go, or what the number on his ticket means as he stands in the middle of a bustling grocery store right in front of the deli, having promised yuki that he'd pick up her order during lunch. it tells in the dirty glares that are tossed his way when he scratches the back of his scalp, nose twisted with frustration and brows angled as he tries to figure out which direction this particular train he was told to board is going to take him in. it tells in the way the kids jokingly gasp when they hear that he has yet to try the newest fad sweeping through the social media feeds, some kind of food vendor that everyone is suddenly obsessed with and expects others to share that same obsession in order to be viewed as an equal.

choso sighs. the world is not very understanding toward people like him, who need time to grasp what is happening around him and how to adjust to its functions. to people who move slowly, cautiously, carefully to ensure that he is doing the right thing, to reduce the chances of making excessive mistakes. to people who can not just click into society's expectations with the snap of a finger, who need patience and understanding.

so when you come around and begin to show him such things, begin to teach him those societal functions with a calm, peaceful countenance and an eagerness to help, choso finds his heart fluttering in his chest.

his feelings for you come abruptly, quick and stunning like the shock of an ice bath.

the first time you helped choso with something, he didn't even know what to say. you're one of the institution's frequently traveling sorcerers, about twenty or so years old, often popping in to serve as a mentor for the first years. you are ordinarly paired up with yuki for missions, which is how you were introduced to choso, who was pinned with her as well.

choso already thinks you're pretty and nice when you first introduce yourself to him. you smell like sugary, sunny summer days, and you have (e/c) eyes that pierce the veil to his soul. but what makes him weak and renders him a fool at your beck and call is when you catch him one day in the break room fiddling with the rather expensive coffee machine.

you saunter in the room behind him and notice his hunched figure over the device, and when you approach his side, you see that the dark circles that live under his eyes are more prominent, and an irritated grimace is crossed over his lips. your eyes follow his gaze to the stubborn machine and you realize that he is having a hard time getting the water to filter through.

choso sees you out of the corner of his eye and straightens up, locking eyes with you, attempting to blink away his clear vexation. "(y/n)," he says your name surprised, as if he would have never expected to see you here despite this being your place of work as well. "hi," he fumbles.

you grin. "hi choso! whatcha doin?"

"j-just trying to make coffee. sorry, are you waiting to use this?" he asks, immediately thinking that he has been standing in your way, taking up the time you could have used to fix yourself a cup of coffee. he thinks himself a useless burden once more and is prepared to abandon the task for your sake, despite how lethargic he feels.

but instead of rolling your eyes or expressing any kind of impatience with him, you smile up at him sweetly. "no, it's okay. just saw you and wanted to check in. do you need any help?" you ask softly, unbothered.

choso's face falls as your question leaves him taken aback. not even just your question, but the way you ask as though you wish to assist him, as if it is really no problem. he goes silent for a second, and you wait for him to answer, still looking up at him with a gentle smile.

his cheeks burst red and he clears his throat. "um - yeah. kinda. if you don't... don't mind. sorry," he scratches the back of his neck.

"you don't have to apologize," you chirp with a soft chuckle. "i know how these things can be. super stubborn sometimes, y'know?"

you don't even blame his incompetence. you blame the coffee maker in order to make him feel less out of place. choso blinks, baffled, and swallows hard. you step closer to him, and he takes an involuntary shuffle away, averting his gaze from your pretty eyes and kind smile. your scent suddenly invades him, and he shivers, a lump forming in his throat.

"what's wrong with it?" you ask.

"...it's - uh - just not pouring. it keeps making a click sound, but nothing's coming out."

you hum thoughtfully. "i hate when it does this," you murmur, looking over the device. "here, let me try something."

you step closer to him, and choso takes the hint to move back, standing behind you as you work your magic. you reach back behind the machine and unplug it, wait a few more seconds, then plug it back in. you then lift the top of the machine open once it powers back on, and close that one more time. you press a few buttons, it clicks, then in seconds, brown liquid dribbles down from the spout and into choso's navy mug.

you grin and turn over your shoulder to look up at the half-curse. "there you go! sometimes it just needs to be restarted to get working again. if it gives you any more trouble, just unplug it and plug it back in, okay? that's what i always do anyway."

choso stares at the coffee filtering into the mug, then at your bright expression. he nods stiffly, eyes shimmering, face beet red. "thank you," he says earnestly.

"don't mention it. let me know if you ever need help with anything else!"

you hum a soft tune as you walk out of the break room, and violet eyes follow your retreating figure. choso feels his heart spasm, for he thinks this is the very first time someone has appeared truly happy to assist him - the first time anyone has ever treated him unlike a chore. and you walk off like it's nothing.

choso starts to like you immediately after that, but he doesn't quite know that those feelings he is experiencing means something more than platonic admiration. he doesn't know what it means when his face flushes in your presence, and your phantom scent smacks him in the face whenever you're not around, and his heart thumps a mile per minute whenever you so much as look at him.

ever new to the human experience, he is much newer to intense human emotions like these.

and the feelings grow more intense each time you assist him with something so nicely, a stark contrast to the way others are so impatient with him. he’s holding a camera the wrong way? no worries, you’re there to pat his shoulder and help him flip it around, demonstrating an easier way to point it at his beloved brother. he can’t figure out directions to that spot his coworkers want to eat at? not a problem! you’ll take over directions with him and set him up for how to find things on his own next time around. trying to follow a tutorial for how to fix the squeaky hinge on his brother’s door? he doesn’t have to do it alone! you’re happy to assist him and make the whole ordeal quicker.

and today, yuji insisted on going out to the nearest fast food place with his friends, both you and choso having accompanied. yet no matter how many things you continue to show him, he still can’t quite grasp how to save his order on this damn screen.

the kamo hears your voice narrating your actions as you tap through the options, inquiring what he wants, and while he responds to you flatly, he’s not really paying attention. not to what you’re showing him.

all he can hear is the sweet, understanding cadence of your gorgeous voice as you swipe through selections, the way your lashes blink when you turn over your shoulder to meet his eyes and double check with him before adding something to the cart. he doesn’t even know what the hell you’re putting in there or what he’s telling you to get, but he knows that your lips are a tint of cherry red today instead of your go-to peachy gloss.

"do you want anything?" he suddenly speaks up, accidentally interrupting you in the middle of your little spiel. he comes closer behind you involuntarily, his chest brushing the tip of your shoulder as you look up at him softly.

you blink a few times, aware of his close proximinity, and you press your lips together, heat flaring in your cheeks, your cool countenance disrupted. "it's okay, i'm not really that hungry."

"are you sure? we've had a busy day. i can get you something. whatever you want."

you're suddenly bashful, biting back a warm smile. "...i mean, sure, if you're offering. i kinda want an icecream cone..."

an ice cream cone. suddenly it's the most important thing on this planet.

choso nods firmly. "okay."

and you watch as he reaches past you to hesitantly take control of the screen under a mask of confidence, utilizing your tips and brief tutorial to scroll through the options, locate your desired item, and land it in the cart.

you beam, your hand flying to his bicep. "look, cho, you did it all by yourself! i'm so proud of you!" you praise. "thank you so much!"

a huff of air dispels from choso's nose as he looks down at your sweet expression, tenses under the soft touch of your palm, and processes what it feels like to be on the receiving end of your gratitude. to step up and do something for you in return for all the patience and kindness that you've shown him.

pink bursts over his pale cheeks, and a wobbly hint of a smile rises. his heart hammers louder and louder in his ears, and his entire body feels as though its catching a sweat. is he sick? is it you?

is he sick off of you?

he doesn't know, nor does he care. all that he knows is, as your fingers slip away from his arm, and your warmth is dragged along with you as you rejoin the teens at the table they snagged, that he wants to feel this way with you for as long as he possibly can. he wants to make you feel just as seen, just as happy, just as heard, just as warm.

the brunette eventually rejoins you all, flustering in silence when you pat the seat that you've saved for him across from the booth nobara, yuji, and megumi cramp themselves in.

choso sits with his broad shoulders tense and his hands in his lap as you talk excitedly with nobara about this new top that you found online, and choso's eyes eventually fall to the two teenage boys across from him who quirk their brows at his posture and exchange knowing glances.

you and nobara somehow convince the guys to trail behind you as you seek out the tops you found. as the boys trail behind, and as choso's eyes glue to the back of your head while you walk beside the brunette fifteen year old, he feels yuji nudge him in the side.

choso looks down at his little brother, blatantly dazed, pupils wide. "hm?" he inquires softly.

"dude. you've been staring at her the entire time we've been out," the salmon haired boy deadpans. on his right, megumi walks while staring boredly ahead, hands in his pockets as he agrees.

"pretty painful to watch," the navy haired boy murmurs.

"oh," choso blinks, turning back to look at you when a giggle spills past your lips. his heart flips. "yeah. sorry," he swallows, distracted.

"aw man, you've got it so bad," yuji shakes his head. "why don't you just tell her already? it's so obvious."

choso turns to him again, suddenly invested. "tell her what? what's it? what do i have?"

"y'know? lovesickness. you're down bad."

choso tilts his head. "i'm sick? down where? it's bad?"

yuji exhales defeatedly. and drops his shoulders. "no man, you're not actually sick. i mean, like, you're in love."

the half curse's eyes grow wide. "in love?"

megumi sighs. "i don't think he knows, yuji."

the said boy's eyes snap wide with realization. "oh shit! choso! do you not know?!"

"know what?"

yuji throws his arm up and around his brother's shoulders, bringing his face down in secrecy as they walk. choso furrows his brows in confusion at the salmon haired boy's abrupt intensity. "answer me this - does your face get all hot whenever (y/n) is around?" he whispers aggressively, megumi rolling his eyes.

"um... yes...?"

"does she make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside?"

"...yeah."

"when you look at her, do you just wanna scream and cry and do everything you possibly can to make her happy all at the same time?"

choso swoons. "i do."

yuji grins mischievously. "you think she's pretty ~ ?"

"yuji," megumi groans.

"yes. i think she's the prettiest girl in the world," choso affirms, eyes still stuck to you. his younger brother huffs conclusively, fighting off a gag and releasing choso so that he can stand up straight again. he closes his eyes, nodding as if making an internal diagnosis.

"you're in love big bro. you like (y/n) as way more than a friend. so much it's making you crazy."

choso thinks it over, the strange urges that overcome him when you're near, his desire to always be around you and make you proud. "...you're right. i do feel crazy."

"everyone literally already knew that but you, kamo," megumi adds.

"what do i do?!" choso panics.

yuji shrugs. "you should tell her."

"tell her that i - " the image of confronting you in such a way, standing before you as his feelings get caught in his throat, watching as you bat those pretty lashes up at him and await what he has to say with a patient smile makes his heart sieze up in his throat and his stomach churn with something discomforting. choso grits his teeth, shaking his head furiously. "no, i can't do that. she'll hate me. i don't want her to hate me."

"what? who says she'll hate you?" yuji waves him off.

choso's mind flies to the way strangers regard him, to how clueless he is about most things that someone his age should know about. he imagines all the men out there who are more experienced, who know more than he ever could, including how to treat you the way you should be treated.

he's not that guy. he isn't normal. he doesn't know things. he's only himself, caught between darkness and light, and you are kind enough to stand by his side and help him through some of his confusion, but you deserve more than his empty head. hell, he didn't even know that he had feelings for you until his fifteen year old brother pieced it together for him.

"i don't want to make her uncomfortable," he mumbles.

megumi's eye twitches. "but she literally - "

"shh, shhh, shhh!" yuji blindly smacks his hand over megumi's mouth, earning him a rather merciless smack upside the back of his head. the two glare at each other before yuji turns his attention back to his brother, rubbing the tender spot of his head. "listen choso, the thing about love is that you never know what to expect. you shouldn't assume that (y/n) doesn't like you just because you don't know or haven't tried to tell her. she's super nice and she loves spending time with you. she'd be lucky to have you."

"no, i'd be the lucky one. i'd just slow her down."

"that's your head talking. don't listen to your head, listen to me! your brother!" yuji fumes, gripping choso's shoulder tight. choso sighs, looking down. "look at her, man. look how happy she's been ever since you got her that ice cream. does that look like someone who'd hate you if you confessed?"

choso looks up at you again, noting how the golden sun seems to illuminate you, that smile that could send him into shock spread wide across your face as you talk. god, you're pretty.

"you think that's... because of me?"

"trust me, bro. i know women - "

"do you?" megumi intercepts sharply, ready to go home.

"shut up," yuji bites back. "i know women, and i know for a fact that no girl gets as happy as i see her get whenever you're involved. trust me on this. any time we buy nobara anything, she snatches it from our hands and tells us it's the least we could do for being pains in her ass."

"oh. (y/n) has never said anything like that to me."

"that's because she probably sees you as more than a friend too. but you'll never know unless you tell her." choso hums, taking in his brother's advice. "don't be scared. go for it! besides, you'd end up regretting it if you wait too long."

in a trance, choso moves to march up to you, but yuji's grip tightens on his shoulder as he pulls him back. "what the - not now, i don't wanna see that! just wait 'til you two are alone. it'll be more special that way."

so he does, but every single time the two of you wind up alone, choso chickens out. despite having won difficult battles and overcome extinction itself, the violet eyed half curse can't seem to muster up the courage to face you like a man and tell you that he's obsessed with you, that he thinks about you every single day, that he wants to be able to hold your hand and kiss you and be yours.

every single time he thinks he will, his eyes find yours, and he fumbles. like a coward. he can't get out of his own mind. he can't fight the thoughts that are telling him that he's just not good enough, that you deserve better, that he can't be what you need.

he'd rather have you in his life as a friend than screw things up by confessing to you and inevitably losing you completely.

instead of telling you how he feels, choso finds himself clinging to the memory of your praise, the day he first did something for you and not vice versa, and stepping in to perform random, small tasks for you, tasks that don't even require his help.

he brings extra ponytails to work on his wrist for you just in case you need them in the midst of sparring or mentoring. he keeps an extra jacket close by in case he sees you shiver and rub your arms from the cold of the air conditioned conference room. he asks you every day if you want him to run out and get the coffee he sees you drink so frequently, eager to serve you in any form, eager to make you smile, eager to prove himself worthy of your love.

you notice the change, how he frantically jumps to assist you more and more each day. how he tries to impress you by picking up your hobbies, or telling you about a book that he's reading that's written by an author he heard through the grapevine that you enjoy. you notice him trying to fit into your world more, trying to talk to you about shows and music and ideas that you've never heard him talk about before learning that you've shown interest in them. you observe how much more inherently human he tries to be around you, how desperately he tries to stray from himself with his eyes glued to your every move, and you start to think you know what's going on.

your last straw is when he approaches you one day at the field when you're packing up your weaponry and gloves. the sun sets behind the nearby mountains, the entirety of the sparring field melted in a rich orange glow. you perk up when you hear footsteps against the grass, and you turn around to see choso holding something out for you to take, cheeks rosy and eyes soft.

"hey... for you," is all his says, and when you look down at his palms, you see a cute little cream puff keychain - a gift associated with your passing mention of loving baked goods.

you melt with a sigh. "choso," you coo, abandoning your duffel bag to approach him slowly. "you didn't have to get me this."

"i know. i just thought you'd like it. unless you don't. you don't have to take it. i'll get you something else."

"no," you cup under his outstretched hands and he shivers under your touch, looking up at you shyly. "you don't have to get me anything else. this is - this is so sweet, but, i don't need this. you didn't have to do this."

"oh. okay. i see," he nods, taking your words as rejection.

you notice the dip in his tone and the way he goes to turn and walk off, but you stop him gently. "no, that's not what i - i like it choso i do! i didn't mean to say i don't. i love it... but are you okay?"

"yes," he answers quickly.

"are you sure? you've been so... anxious lately."

you noticed. you notice things about him. he tries not to let that fact alone further push him into a delusional state. when he meets your eyes again, he gets lost in your gentle concern as your palms brush his knuckles. his breath hitches when he speaks again. "i'm fine."

"...okay..." you say slowly, unconvinced. you look over his flushed face, then around at the area, ensuring that you are alone. "hey... listen, i kinda wanted to... to actually talk to you."

choso freezes, keychain still presented to you. "oh. okay," he gulps. is this it? is this the cold sting of rejection that he's been working so hard to avoid? is it time for him to give up on the foolish dream of making you happy? "what's wrong?" he asks.

"i've noticed... lately, on top of being so anxious... it seems like you've been trying to - like - impress me? is that it?" you say softly.

choso's heart begins to pound again, and dread overcomes him. "w-what do you mean?"

"you know what i mean, cho. all the little gestures. the gifts, the acts of service, the pretending to like what i like - "

"i do like what you like."

you give him a look. "cho, i know you've only gotten interested in all of that stuff because of me."

"...is that a bad thing? do you not like that i did?"

"i'm not saying it's bad. i just want to understand why you feel like you have to do that all of a sudden. you never did before, then suddenly you started acting like i would only be interested in you if you do those things. did i make you feel like you have to do all those things for me to... enjoy your friendship?"

friendship. you still think of him as a friend.

choso frowns. "i don't know," he murmurs, nervous. he glances down at his hands over yours, then back into the sun glittering in your perfect eyes. could he ever appear that perfect to you, the way you do to him?

"choso, it's okay. you know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

his jaw clenches hard. can he really?

"...and i never meant to make you feel like you have to be someone you're not. it's okay if you have different interests from me. you don't have to like everything i like to get my attention. i like you just the way you are. i always have."

his eyes glisten. "you do?"

you smile something warm and comforting. "of course i do."

"but... i do like liking the same things as you," he says lowly, face fiery. "i like learning about you... and making you happy... and being someone for you to lean on. you always are to me. i want to repay that."

you giggle lightly. "aw, cho. you're so sweet. but i don't do any of that stuff for you out of obligation."

"i know," he says. "that's why i want to do the same for you. you're always so nice to me and it means a lot. i just wanted to show you that i... care."

you soften, heat crawling over your skin. "i care about you too."

he swallows hard again, eyes unblinking. "like... as a friend?"

you hesitate, averting your gaze briefly. "y-yeah. as a friend," you affirm, peaking back up at him hopefully. the corners of your lips twitch as you sway awkwardly, puckering your lips in thought. "...unless you... care about me some other way...?"

choso's body goes rigid. do you know? have you read him so easily? more importantly, are you hoping that he does like you as something more? do you reciprocate the intensity he feels?

he's never felt more scared of anything in his life. "um..." he looks down at the keychain in his large palms and shudders. "well, i don't know... i guess-"

choso's words are caught in his throat when he feels your hand wrap around his wrist and tug him forward. you press onto your tip toes and lean up, pulling him down to press your sweet lips to his cheekbone. the brunette's eyes snap wide, pupils small, the sensation of your pillowy lips on his skin completely disrupting the function of his brain. he stares ahead, shocked as you pull away and you laugh at his expression.

"choso," you chuckle, holding onto his wrist as you toy with the hem of your shirt girlishly. "i like you as more than a friend too. a lot, actually."

he can hardly think or speak. "...what?"

"come on, i'm dying here," you whine. "i like you, choso. okay? and i'd never want you to think that you should change anything about yourself for me to see you that way. i already do. i like you, unfiltered, as you are. you're perfect," you emphasize. "...you like me too, right?"

"...you like me?"

"yes," you laugh.

"as... more than... a friend?"

"obviously, cho."

choso thinks he's seen heaven as your words land gracefully on his ears. your keychain drops to the ground in his stupor, and before you can ask if he's alright or decide that you've completely broken him, he clobbers you in a tight embrace, finally allowed permission, finally assured. his strong arms wrap tightly around your waist and you yelp as he lifts you into the air effortlessly, his face buried into your shoulder as he holds you tight.

his eyes scrunch closed and he breathes you in, overjoyed, relieved, happy enough to bawl his eyes out right there. he sniffs, pressing his lips tight together, savoring your body against his. he hears you laugh out before feeling your arms wrap around him for stability, and he can finally breathe. for somehow, choso lucked out. the most beautiful, kind, deserving woman on this planet chooses him, and now that he knows, he's not going to let a second of you go to waste any more than he already has.

for how can you even begin to ask if he likes you when you are all that he has ever wanted?

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

hiromi higuruma: your new boyfriend!

hiromi has heard all of the accusations, every single last one, and has denied each one with an adamance.

the dark haired attorney has known you for years, and throughout those years, you have remained a gracious constant in his rather chaotic, exhausting, ever so stressful life. having a best friend like you certainly had never been in the cards for hiromi, who always prides himself on his independence and insists that intimate relationships of any kind would hinder his concentration.

that, however, did not stop him from growing close to you after meeting you in law school. before the world got too big. before he became the very center of right and wrong, justice and injustice, guilt and innocence.

it was at an annual law convention that law students were encouraged to attend. he found you at a neighboring booth, tabling as an intern for another firm he had heard of in passing, and in the midst of the day's hectic buzz, the two of you ended up sneaking away to grab a drink after sharing a few rather striking conversations.

your mind is intriguing. that is what first pulled hiromi to you, but what he found beyond that was your ability to shed your professional air to expose your more human side in his privacy. you're quite social, personable, and full of smiles, and with the week hiromi had been having, your company had proven quite refreshing. you weren't stuffy. you didn't seem to be hiding any tricks or secrets up your sleeves. you merely existed in your own space, and the attention came to you, whether you had asked for it or not.

and when you smiled, hiromi smiled. thus beginning your rather close friendship.

you and higuruma do most things together. in your early days, you were often found cooped up together in the library, studying senselessly for the bar. you'd quiz each other, spitballing debates, bouncing ideas and theories and arguments off of one another to the point where it felt like a game, where the most stressful time in your lives was momentarily treated like a challenging, engaging activity.

you made everything feel easier, lighter. caught in a whirlwind of dedication to justice, you often found higuruma in a dissociative state with his pen flicking restlessly between his fingers as he stared out of a nearby window with distance eyes and a blank face. you'd sigh, for you knew this burden all too well. you saw it sag in his shoulders, watched as the weight over his posture built and built with the coming days, as he climbed higher and higher, and filtered his mind with more knowledge.

with the expansion of hiromi's natural intelligence, his light threatened to dwindle. he's a prodigy after all, far beyond anything that you could have dreamed to become, but he was still your best friend at the end of the day. when he withdrew, you were there to pull him back. until study sessions became cooking dates at your apartment, where flashcards were eventually discared after hours of memorization and muttering terms under one another's breaths. you'd say something like: "you can't retain a single thing if you don't give your body nutrients, no matter how smart you are!" and you'd force him out of the cocoon he'd built on your faded leather couch and push him into the kitchen.

stubborn with conviction, hiromi would give you an earfull at first, griping about how the bar isn't a game. about how law is the future, his future, your future, and you can't afford any moments to slack as long as injustice continues to run rampant just outside your window. and you'd hum mindlessly as you move about your cramped kitchen, for you'd heard this lecture countless times, before shoving a red onion into his palm outstretched - mid sermon, and ordering him to dice it into cubes.

"(y/n)," he'd call your name, weary, aggravated. "i was talking."

"shush," you'd hush him, unaffected by his feigned anger with you. hiromi would stand and glare at you in defiance for a minute longer each time, before eventually giving in and dicing the onion as you'd ordered, murmuring under his breath.

he certainly found no reason to complain when the two of you were eating out of chipped china over your dining room table in silence, hunger having finally been satiated after hours of unintentional starvation. thick books lay forgotten just for a moment on your coffee table as the two of you enjoy the silence and satisfaction of a home cooked meal.

you were often the reason he saw the light of day, as you'd drag him to study outside in a nearby park, picnic blanket layed out under a great oak as sun poured through the cracks left in the leaves, a gentle breeze tossing your pages back and forth. you'd lay on your stomach as hiromi sat upright with his back pressed against the bark. against hiromi's better judgment, he'd let his eyes leave the page of his textbook upon registering the sound of a nearby dog barking. he'd find that your attention had already strayed, a gentle smile gracing your lips as you watch life flourish around you, the little dog off in the distance yapping excitedly at a flock of geese gliding across the pond.

and then his chocolate eyes would fall to you, the way you lounge with your elbows caging around your thick book, eyes full of the sky's light and your dream of capturing this peace for those wronged by the justice system, for those abused by the unpunished.

your eyes would eventually snap away, finding hiromi's, and he'd look back down at his book casually, muttering that you need to stay more focused. you'd roll your eyes, nudging his knee playfully.

"lighten up a bit, romi. you can't try to protect the world if you don't look around at it once and a while. see what's actually going on."

and you, of course, are the only reason hiromi ever stepped outside of his apartment past the hours of 09:00. you'd call him up, telling him that a few of your classmates invited you out to trivia night at a nearby bar. he'd click his teeth and tell you that he'd pass, only to find that you're already standing outside of his door, dressed in knee high boots and a leather coat, scarf wrapped around your neck and lips painted dark.

the brunette would open the door to reveal your image and frown at your expecting grin and open arms. he'd give you a flat look before turning to find a coat, for he always knew that you weren't leaving without him. after all, he could never say no to you. not when you refuse to leave him stewing in the intellectual misery that this profession has already imprinted upon him. not when you're constantly reminding him to bring his head up from the water. he'd certainly drown without you.

and without fail, at every outing you'd drag him to, in every space you found yourselves with other people in, some guy you're both acquainted with would tap him on the shoulder and lean in to inquire about you.

"yo, are you two dating?"

and every single time, hiromi would raise his drink to his lips and answer plainly. "no."

you're hiromi's best friend. you have been since the moment you met. you spend every waking moment together, and you hound him like an overbearing mother, but you are not romantically involved. you never have been. and he does not understand why that's so difficult for people to understand. so what, you're the only person he goes to about anything? so what, you can singlehandedly clear the grey skies of his cloudy mind? so what, you're his favorite person to be around, to talk to, to spend time with? you're friends. friendship isn't a crime.

"so you've hooked up?"

"no."

"you haven't even kissed?"

"no."

"but you're attracted to each other, right?"

"no," a vein would bulge over hiromi's temple as he'd growl into his glass. "we're close friends. that's all."

and every time he'd repeat so with such finality, inquirers would lean back with a whistle and the shake of his head, as if being platonic with you was some sort of unfathomable notion.

and then, like clockwork, the question will come. "then... she's single?"

hiromi's eye would twitch, and he'd grumble some kind of affirmation. for it's true, you are single. you don't belong to one another, and you can certainly do as you please. while hiromi has no interest in such affairs, that doesn't mean that you should close yourself off to them as well.

nevertheless, every guy that's come your way after hiromi has confirmed that you are not his girlfriend has always met your rejection. it surprises the dark haired man every time, for you aren't like him. you're brighter. you enjoy people more. you should have fun, but when he asks you about it, you just shrug him off.

"i'm not gonna start fooling around with anyone while studying for the bar, romi. that's just asking for failure."

"that's a little unhealthy. someone could make you happy."

"says you," you'd nudge him. "why don't you listen to your own advice?"

"it's different."

"it's not at all actually."

you've been evasive in regard to relationships for as long as hiromi has known you, and he doesn't know why. your excuses continue to shift as well depending on the time, for after the two of you pass the bar, you say that you're too focused on building your career. after your career has been build, you say that you're too busy with work. hiromi has not even heard of you engaging in one night stands or little flings, much to his relief if he were being honest. he thinks you're far better than something as casual and shallow as that.

still, you've shied away from topics of romance, catching a strange look in your eye every single time he asks. he doesn't understand why, nor what that look has meant as it developed over the years, but he swears he knows you well. he had been confident that, no matter the time or place, you would continue to stubbornly refuse romantic advances.

therefore, the attorney is a bit floored now that you are in your thirties, and after years of watching you turn down advances, you suddenly turn up with a new boyfriend.

higuruma's chopsticks freeze midair, sushi squished between the wooden sticks, and his eyes widen just a smidgen as you stand before him after hours in his office, an excited glint in your eyes.

the sushi drops back down to its container as silence floods the empty space, and you await a reaction. "what did you just say?" he asks slowly.

"i said i met someone!"

"...as in..."

"as in, i have a boyfriend, romi. and i want you to meet him soon!"

the words echo through his mind like some kind of curse that he struggles to digest. slowly, he lowers his chopsticks to his desk and folds his hands before him, adjusting himself in his seat as he processes this odd revalation. he eyes you carefully, brain working overtime to decipher whether you're messing with him or not. your smile dwindles and your hand finds your hip, your brow raising.

"what the hell? what kind of reaction is that? aren't you happy for me?"

"i'm... why... is this the first time i'm hearing about this? a boyfriend?" he echoes, despising the way the word tastes on his tongue. "that's a big step. how quickly are you moving?"

"not that quickly, hiromi, we started talking like two months ago."

"and you never told me?"

"i didn't wanna bother you while you were in the middle of dealing with that one case. you were so stressed!"

"what case?" his brow twitches.

"the saito one."

"that case was forever ago, (y/n). you could've told me when it was over."

"yeah, but - i don't know, it felt stupid - and anyway, i still just didn't wanna disrupt you. you know how you are, you constantly jump from one thing to another like a lunatic."

the brown eyed man exhales, turning to face you fully in his office chair. his left elbow remains propped on the table while his other hand rubs at his forehead. "we tell each other everything," he eventually says.

"i know. i'm sorry. that's why i'm telling you now," you shrug. "what if things went badly? i wasn't gonna tell you about the guy if he ended up being an asshole."

"two months is still hardly enough time to know if he's an asshole or not."

you scrunch your face. "what is with you? i thought you'd be excited for me. you're always telling me that i need to put myself out there."

"yes, i know, but - " hiromi stops himself, his grim attitude on the subject suddenly dawning on him. you have a point. he is always telling you to put yourself first, to find someone to make you happy, but this? this is so abrupt. he had at least expected you to give him a heads up whenever you began seeing someone. he would have liked to learn the journey of how the two of you even got to this point, to be a part of that with you, but instead you spring this on him like he shouldn't feel excluded from that area of your life, the area you've always left so grey. what changed? why, all of a sudden, are you happy to be with someone else - with someone, now?

still, you're his best friend. you're right. he should be happy for you, and put his cynicism aside.

"i apologize. i'm just surprised, is all," his voice softens. you fold your arms across your chest, shifting your weight with a pout. he catches your attitude and rolls his eyes, chuckling tiredly. "i said i'm sorry. i am happy for you. you deserve to be happy."

"jeez, was that so hard?" you grumble. "and... it's fine. i guess i do owe you an apology for not saying anything. i really, honestly just didn't think you'd - wanna hear about it. with everything you've got going on."

"if it's about you, (y/n), i would like to hear about it. you know this. i'm never too busy for you."

you purse your lips, softening. "...yeah. neither am i."

he raises a brow. "are you sure?"

you click your teeth, whacking his knee with your handbag. "yes, i'm sure," you groan. you reach back and pull up another nearby office chair, and plop down in front of him. "at least let me make it up to you by catching you up now," you grin cheekily.

hiromi exhales once more, turning his attention back to his dropped sushi. "i'm listening."

the defense attorney viciously fights the sinking feeling in his stomach when you pull out your phone and show him pictures of the tall, strapping, chestnut haired man who has finally managed to tie you down. you chatter with a giddy tone about where you met, the dates he's taken you on, the flowers he's purchased you, and how he asked you to be his the night before.

a light smile graces hiromi's features as he listens to you talk, for he's never seen you so openly lovestruck over someone, and a lump molds itself in his throat with the realization that this is the first time he's seen you with another man.

and while he tries to be happy for you, while he tells you that he's lucky to have you, while he lets you flaunt pictures of your hand in his and his lips on your cheek as you beam at the camera...

he doesn't fucking like it.

in fact, he hates it, seeing his best friend so happy in such a way. and he doesn't understand why, for he doesn't know the man. he has no personal vendeta against him. from what you've told him, the guy has only passed every test you've thrown his way and treated you nicely. he has a solid job, makes a good living, and he's not bad looking. not at all. in fact, he fits beside you aesthetically, pairs well with your beauty.

but the image makes him sick. the thought of him kissing you, holding you, keeping you in the intimate spaces, late at night, early in the morning, has hiromi souring with something foreign and detestable. he does not like it.

and it feels even worse when he finally meets the guy. when you arrive at the cafe you told hiromi to meet at with your arm linked in his and a smile so bright it blinds him, your hand waving enthusiastically above your head as you approach.

hiromi's eyes flicker to your boyriend. he's tall. muscular beneath the frame of his cashmiere sweater. an easy smile is plastered on his face, one hiromi could never wear in the whirlwind of his cluttered mind.

his arm is locked in yours like you belong right beside him. like you're his.

and you are.

hiromi's stomach drops, and his mood is dampening before the two of you even reach the umbrella shaded table he's reserved. the table he'd reserved for you, because you asked him to. you asked him to book this. you wanted to introduce your new boyfriend to him, praying that he'd like him, and hiromi organized the entire thing solely because you you begged him with that lilt in your voice, the one you use any time you want to guilt hiromi into doing something. the one you used every day in law school, when he wanted to stew in his future and you encouraged him to live in the present.

because he's never seen his best friend so vulnerable and sweet before, and it kills him, but he'd rather kill himself before taking away that light in your eyes.

he'd never say no to you, to your happiness.

still, he doesn't understand his problem. he doesn't understand why he allows himself to speak with a poisonous, dull sting in his voice every time your boyfriend asked him a question. he doesn't understand why his nose curls just the slightest as he turns away to look anywhere else but at the way he drops a kiss to your forehead while you're talking. he doesn't understand why his chest is tight enough to restrict air, why it feels like a thousand tons are weighing down when he sees your knees brush under the table the way yours would against his six years ago back in that library, crowded by the sun-caught lint filtering in the window, dusty books that cursed hiromi's life, and the shoulder of the girl who saved it brushing against his as you read.

he doesn't understand why, when your boyfriend leaves to go to the bathroom and your face falls the moment you're alone, and you ask what the hell is wrong with him, his frown deepens. and he is suddenly... annoyed.

"there's nothing wrong with me," hiromi responds robotically, brows at a slight angle.

you scoff with disbelieving smile. "what are you talking about? you've been glaring at him and hardly speaking the entire morning! he probably thinks you hate him!"

"you're exaggerating."

"i'm ex - okay," you throw your hands up. "you've been acting weird ever since i told you about him. you can't keep denying it."

"i don't know what you want from me. i hardly speak to people outside of work anyway, why is it suddenly different now?"

"because i asked you to make an effort, and you're not. you haven't asked him a single question. you're brooding."

"i'm tired."

"you're always tired."

"i can't think of anything to ask."

you give him a deadpan expression. "you, the nosy ass defense attorney of the century, can't think of any questions to ask your best friend's new boyfriend?"

"why does it matter to you if i like him or not, (y/n)?" hiromi settles is chin over his knuckles, elbows propped on the table. his haunting eyes are sharp on yours as you frown, sadness swirling in your gaze and that hint of something strange he's caught so many times. he just can't name it. "you asked me to have coffee with you two, so i am. i did this for you."

"hiromi, what?" you breathlessly whisper. "why does it matter? you're my best friend, that's why it matters. because you asked to be involved, because... because you always said - you wanted me to explore. so i did, a-and i'm happy, and you're... not. and this is the only time i ever - "

you stop yourself, ducking your head, and hiromi immediately snaps out of it. his eyes catch the curl of your brow, the way your voice falters, and his vexation is suddenly melting away to make room for his concern.

he's supposed to see you happy, after all. not do this. not make you upset.

he's never made you upset before. not like this.

what is wrong with him?

"i'm sorry," he says suddenly, softness and steadiness returning. you shake your head, and hiromi reaches over the table for your hand. your head whips over to him, his warm palm resting over yours. you meet his eye, and see the remorse. "i'm sorry. you're right. i didn't mean to upset you. i'm sorry, sweetness."

your eyes flutter at that old, rare nickname. you look down at his hand, then back up at him. "what is with you, hiromi?"

"nothing."

"yes there is. i know you. what's wrong? why won't you be honest with me."

"it's nothing."

"it is something. do you have have something... to say? something that's bothering you?"

hiromi blinks, and when he stares in your eyes long enough, he sees the years you stayed by his side. the years you remained his, and only his. his best friend.

his shoulders raise ever so slightly, then deflate. you see something retreat back within itself, then watch as a thin wall washes over him. "no."

his hand slips away, and your fingers twitch. your hold one another's gaze longer, lost, until you see your boyfriend walk back outside. you purse your lips in a half attempt to smile as he sits back down beside you, his arm winding around you and pulling you into his side.

hiromi pretends to have a business call, and leavees within the following ten minutes.

that night, in hiromi's sleep, warm figments of you sweep across his subconscious. it's him sitting in your boyfriend's place, holding you close, feeling your body press to his, letting his lips dot to the corner of your nose.

you walk hand in hand back to that library, and before you sit down, he hovers over you, pressing you against the side of the table, his hand on your jaw, the other caging your hip, pressed to the wood surface of the table. your hands melt over his cheeks, and he melts, lips curving into a tender smile as he looks into your eyes.

he brings you closer, your sweet breath wafting against his lips, and the gasp you take before his lips touch yours is what wakes him up in a cold sweat with a snap.

his eyes pierce his bedroom ceiling, his heart hammering in his chest, and breaths heavy. hiromi takes a moment, adjusting to his surroundings, turning to read the alarm clock on his desk that reads 3:05 am, and he realizes that he was dreaming.

the ache of loss comes quick, your warmth tugged away by the mercilessness of his consciousness, and suddenly he feels his chest tightening, his browl furrowing, his mouth running dry.

it all pieces together in the darkness of hiromi's bedroom after years of friendship, years of watching you turn guys away, years of telling you that someone was out there to love you before he realized it was himself.

he's in love with you. he has been this whole time. like an idiot.

and he let you slip away to someone else, like the version of you he just woke up from.

for the first time in his obsessively planned life, hiromi hasn't the slightest clue what the hell to do now.

[saintkaylaa]

Scheduled Sexy Time .ᐟ

𝜗𝜚: satoru, suguru, nanami, choso, hiromi, ino, toji

note: asking them ahead of time/or scheduling to have sex ! previously archived.

warnings: sexual, suggestive, cursing, f!reader

I BLOCK MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS

[getokive]

(MARRIAGES ARE) TRIAL & ERROR

The universe has a twisted sense of humor when your blind date happens to be your ex-husband, Hiromi Higuruma.

mdni. ragebaiting each other to filth / unprotected / multiple orgs!!

Hiromi Higuruma is a pretty damn good lawyer. Having topped first in the bar exam, everyone knew he had already been set for greatness in the world of law.

He sees every case as a riddle waiting to be solved. Every problem a puzzle, provided you’re patient enough to find the missing piece. He has brought justice to those who need it. Ironically, the only thing he can’t fix is his own marriage.

Hiromi has worked himself into the ground, head down, buried in case files and court wins, and somewhere along the way, he neglected you.

He’s been functioning on autopilot ever since you laid the divorce papers on his table on a random Tuesday morning. It got worse when the divorce was finalized not even a month ago. No appeals, no extensions. Just a clean, almost amicable severance.

A colleague once told him: “It’s a simple case of trial and error, Higuruma. All marriages are like that.”

Hiromi’s forehead creases whenever he remembers it. To him, it was never supposed to be trial and error, especially not with you.

Against his better judgment, Yaga somehow convinces him to agree to a blind date. Says it helped him cope with his own divorce. Hiromi knows better. The man simply doesn’t accept no without exhausting every argument first.

Now, he is seated at a small round table with an unreadable expression and with nothing but Yaga’s voice replaying in his head: 'Doesn’t hurt to try.'

But the universe has a twisted sense of humor.

Because seated across the table is you, staring back at him with the same frozen disbelief written across your face.

Both of you look away almost immediately. Hiromi adjusts his collar. You, on the other hand, casually lift your champagne flute and take a slow sip to steady your nerves.

For a fleeting moment, you consider excusing yourself to the bathroom and never coming back. But after the agonizing length of the divorce, the paperwork, the signatures, and the finality, you decide against running and just give him some grace.

Hiromi clears his throat and reaches for a single red card from the deck sitting in the middle of the table. His eyes skim the question before he exhales quietly.

“Care to tell me something about yourself?” His voice cuts through your thoughts. “Any hobbies? Interests?”

“As if you don’t already know,” you reply flatly while idly sliding a finger along the rim of your glass.

He exhales through his nostrils. He tells himself to be controlled and measured. “Just answer the question.”

You tap your fingers against the table with gaze wandering around the room. “I used to be a pianist before I became a wife.”

“You have a grand piano that only ever collected dust,” he says with something tight flickering behind his eyes. “It was your choice to quit playing.”

“After you said I didn’t have to play a million shows back to back,” you shoot back. You lean forward, elbows on the table. “How about you? Anything new you’re up to?”

“Not much has changed in my routine,” he answers plainly.

You let out a bitter chuckle. “Must be nice. At least your focus is solely on work now.”

Hiromi presses his lips together. After a beat, he draws another card from the deck. The moment he reads it, he stops himself from rolling his eyes.

“What are your deal breakers when dating?”

You sarcastically laugh at his question. “Are you kidding me?”

He looks at you blankly. “Well? The question isn’t answering itself.”

“I don’t like men who treat every disagreement like legal case." You deadpan at him. “I hate men who catalogue every mistake, see my emotions as something to cross examine, and– get this– refuse to admit their fault.”

Hiromi smirks. “I thought you liked highly opinionated men. What changed?”

You inhale sharply. “I don’t like it when they get unreasonable.”

His brow lifts with amusement. “Unreasonable in what sense?”

“In the sense that they don’t back down during small arguments,” you snap, “like we’re fighting in court instead of having a conversation.”

Hiromi leans back, arms crossing, smirk deepening. “Isn’t that how communication works?”

Heat creeps up your cheeks that you glance away. “Yeah, but—”

“But what?” he cuts, and his posture straightens instinctively. “You want compromise without concession. That’s not how problems are resolved.”

“Oh my god,” you scoff. “Listen to yourself. We’re on a blind date, not in a court room! Hold a fucking conversation, will you?”

“A conversation requires structure,” he counters. “You can’t keep spitting out bullshit and expect me not to question them.”

“And that’s exactly the problem!” Your voice rises. “Every time I tried to tell you how I felt, you treated it like I was exaggerating.”

“Because you never explained yourself clearly.”

"I do. You just want me to lay them out like evidence just to be heard,” you snap. “I wasn’t some client in a case, I was your wife.”

His jaw tightens. “And yet you walked away just like that.”

You laugh sardonically. “Oh. Like I never begged you to come home before midnight? On our anniversaries?”

Hiromi frowns at this. “You know how my job is.”

“I was losing you,” you say quietly. “And you didn’t care enough to notice.”

Silence looms over briefly. Then, he coldly says, “Resorting to divorce was unnecessary.”

"Wow. Just Wow. You–"

From the neighboring table, a silver-haired man wearing a name tag that reads 'Satoru' slams his hand down.

“Jesus Christ,” he yells, “just fuck it out!”

Your eyes widen in horror now that everyone's heads are now on your table. When you look back at Hiromi, something languid has entered his gaze. It is dark, slow, and very familiar.

“Should we head home?” he asks softly.

It’s absurd, really.

After the divorce is finalized and a stupid blind date, your ex-husband's face is buried between your legs, greedily lapping at your cunt while three fingers stretch you open.

The thing is, no matter how many times you finger fuck yourself or put the rose on blast, you’ll never finish the way Hiromi makes you do.

“Oh my god—” You clutch his hair. “—Hiro.”

You squirm, but he grips your hips and pulls you closer, groaning into you as he devours every sound you make.

Your body is a shaking, and you've now turned into a moaning mess beneath his touch. Hiromi's fingers pump perfectly while his tongue abuses your clit, circling until your vision whites out.

“Fuck— gonna cum again.”

His eyes burn with lust as you buck your hips. He pulls back just enough to speak. “Yeah. That’s right.”

There were no intelligent words that came to mind, all you could let out are whimpers and sobs of pleasure as another orgasm took over your body. 

Hiromi lets out a dark chuckle as he licks the corners of his mouth hungrily while wiping the bottom of his chin with the back of his veiny hand.

You know him like the back of your hand. Sure as hell know that he's far from over. So it was no surprise when he suddenly carries your limp, overstimulated body on top of him.

“Hiro,” you murmur weakly. “I’m too tired to ride you.”

“You don’t have to do anything.” Holding your hip to lift you, Hiromi aligns his cock at your entrance. Then, he sinks you down onto his cock. “I’ll do the work.”

You gasp when his fat cock fills you to a hilt. “You’re– too big for me.”

“No, you just–” he grunts. “You’re tighter.”

He wraps his arms around your waist, and pounds in and out of you in deep, deliberate strokes, making you shriek against his neck. It doesn't help that he keeps whispering low, gutteral grunts against your ear.

“Hiro– fuck!” 

You whimper, but your words fall on deaf ears as his swollen cock pistons even deeper with deliberate, hard strokes. Your eyes roll back in pleasure, and your walls clench hard at how much his cock brushed on your sweet spot over and over.

“Cum again for me.”

“I dont–” you chok the words out as best you can, “–don’t think I can.”

Hiromi grips your ass with both hands, pushing it down further at his length so he can fuck you even deeper than he already did. “You can. We've done this before.”

With tears of pleasure pooling at the corner of your eyes, you mutter, “Hiro, I can’t.”

“I said,” But he slaps your ass, leaving a red mark across the skin. “Do.” he slammed his hips harder at each word for emphasis, “It.”

And you do.

You hiss against his neck as he quickens the pace, hips snapping harder, deeper. The overwhelming pleasure coursing through your body makes your toes curl, and with your eyes squeezed shut, you let the orgasm crash over you, leaving you shaking in his arms.

He keeps fucking you through it. Deep, rough, and unrelenting, until you’re both chasing the edge together, riding each other out in the same breathless moment.

“Happy anniversary,” he murmurs, kissing your shoulder endearingly, but all you could respond is a tired hum.

"Hiromi."

"Hm?"

“Nice fuck,” you whisper. "I'm starting to think," you pant in between your sentence, "the divorce was a mistake."

Hiromi scoffs out a wry chuckle.

"Never should've happened in the first place, by the way." He looks down at you lovingly, and plants a soft kiss on your temple, "We can can re-marry any time next week if you'd like."

You smile to yourself and mumble, "I would love that."

wia says: for our husband's animation debut hee~

© getokive. ┈ masterlist

[mononijikayu]

you know i’m no good — higuruma hiromi.

“I sat on your lap.” you say, as if presenting evidence. His gaze doesn’t waver. “Yes, you did.” “You got hard, didn’t you?” The bluntness would have shattered a lesser man. Hiromi’s jaw tightens. He bites the inside of his cheek, a habit you remember from years ago. The physical act of swallowing words he refuses to let exist. “You already know that.” he says.

GENRE: alternate universe - modern au;

WARNING/S: r18, angst, explicit, smut, romance, fluff young love, exes to lovers, second chance romance, divorce, toxic relationship, slandering, pet names, complicated, protective, possessiveness, mutual pining, cursing, crossing boundaries rekindled romance, emotional baggage, whirlwind romance, power imbalance, emotional manipulation, reputation, scandal, trauma, smoking, cheating, alcohol, explicit sexual content, naked bodies, office sex, desk sex, oral sex, female receiving oral, fingering, creampie, morning after, p v sex, different sexual positions, rough sex, dominance, praising, dirty talk, size difference, unprotected sex, pregnancy, remarriage, actress! reader, lawyer! higuruma;

WORDS: 16k words.

NOTE: this got delayed yesterday because i didn't think it was okay and now here we are with such a long fic......but thats okay i guess, since today is valentines day anyway. that being the case, i hope everyone has a good valentines day. i have nothing to do and no one to spend it with, but im glad im able to give yall something to make you all have some enjoyment with me!!! anyway, i'll see you for nanami's tomorrow. i love you all!!! happy valentines!!!

main masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

buono san valentino, 2026;

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?” was the first thing he says to you after all these years, and you can’t pretend you didn’t expect it. He has always been brutally honest. Even back then, he had been too quick to strip a moment down to its barest truth, no matter how it cuts. You did not expect anything other than that now.

Even so, the question lands quieter than he means it to, the edges worn rough by disuse. He sounds like a man unused to speaking your name, to shaping words meant only for you. It almost felt like something so foreign to the tongue that mastered it all.

And despite himself, he leans toward the warmth that lingers in your proximity. Once, you had an open door, it was as though spring was waiting on the other side. And it frustrates him to no end. He thought he had left that all behind. 

Yet, how wrong he was. For you were just waiting, waiting in what felt like a door sealed for years and years, now forced open all at once with your tender palms, letting that same youthful season rush back into his life whether he wants it or not.

Divorce lawyer Higuruma Hiromi no longer resembles the man who used to fall asleep on open law books and wake with ink smudged across his cheek in your dormitory late Friday night, clumsily whispering what he had learned even in his sleep. 

He was the man who argued with every footnote, who treated precedent like holy scripture, and yet, the same man who still let you doodle in the margins of his case files because, he said, the law should remember it was written by human hands. 

Hands soft enough, you used to joke, to strangle him gently every night with such passionate conundrums that can rival every argument in the law books. You had giggled at that thought so viciously, almost so innocently, unsure about what he was saying. Yet you were no fool. And neither was he.

Now he looks like a verdict.

And you expected that, too.

Ten years have carved themselves into him. 

His tie hangs loose, collar unbuttoned, his body folded into a leather accent chair that probably costs more than your first apartment. You could remember, the one with the flickering kitchen light and the neighbor who played ballads at two in the morning.

The office is dim, lit only by the city bleeding through floor-to-ceiling windows. Tokyo Metropolitan could only hum with humble extravagance beneath you both. The neon blazing, sirens wailing, headlights crawling like arteries carrying the restless.

He looks tired to you. But not the soft kind that invites sympathy. Not the kind you once soothed with cheap takeout and your feet in his lap while he read passages you pretended to understand, pouting as his fingers drifted absently through your hair.

This is a different exhaustion.

The kind that calcifies into bone.

You think in some ways he did not change at all.

You lean against the doorframe like you own the building. As though you had the right to own the night. You stand there daringly, as though the tabloids haven’t spent three weeks dissecting your marriage like carrion birds. 

Each and every time, they foolishly, cleverly, disgustingly followed you about. They were picking up the spectacle of your smile, your rings, the way your husband stopped touching you in public months before anyone noticed. You were sure they’re writing about this moment now.

You take a drag of your cigarette, slow and deliberate. "Haven't you heard?” you whisper, blowing the nicotine into the room, a smirk curving your mouth like a blade. “I’m getting divorced.”

The smoke curls between you like a dare. It was like the ghost of every almost-confession you both buried under timing, under unruly, shameless pride. Under the simple cruelty of choosing other people. People who offered advances, advances that Hiromi could not offer to you. 

He exhales through his nose, long and measured, as if filing the statement under expected disasters. Of course you would arrive like this. Of course you would burn your life down and come to him for the ashes, to feed it to him until he was choking in it.

“Well, congratulations.” he whispers back, starting to straighten, vertebra by vertebra, as though assembling himself for court. He finally meets your eyes. “What do you want me to do about it, [name]?”

The way he says your name in that flat, careful, tone sends shivers down your spine. It was like evidence he refuses to mishandle words and tones he chooses with intent to underpin the other party. You let the smoke enthrall you whole, for the childish feeling comes and goes, his words  land harder than the headlines.

You push off the doorframe. “Well, one simple thing, really.”

He raises a brow, that same precise arc that once dismantled a witness in under three questions. “And that is?”

You step fully into the office, heels silent on polished wood. The city lights catch on your fine gold rings, your glistening watch, the immaculate tailoring of a suit chosen to look effortless and cost a fortune. Armor, tailored. War paint in neutral tones, the red lipstick sharper than anything man had ever known.

“Settle my divorce.” you whisper, mirth flickering in your eyes like something dangerously close to relief. “And destroy my husband.”

Silence.

A long, echoing, courtroom kind of silence echoes in the room. The kind where truth stands up slowly, adjusts its cuffs, and prepares to ruin everyone and everything in its path.  His jaw tightens. A muscle jumps.

“……Are you fucking kidding me?”

The laugh breaks out of you before you can stop it. Almost too bright and unrestrained Something that sounded more reckless than a confession to a murder. But you were certain that it was more authentic than anything you had let out in these ten years.

You think that you had portrayed so many people that you found yourself unsure what sort of laugh you truly had now. And it would seem that this is all that was left. After playing the part of a happy wife, there was nothing left but this. This grating, irritating, disgusting guttural laugh  of a pitiful woman like you. 

You cross to his desk, set the cigarette into his ash bowl like you’ve done it a thousand times before. He watches your every move, eyes dilated. It was like the years between never existed, Everything about it felt like muscle memory to you. 

In that instant, it was as if it could resurrect entire versions of yourselves that never got to live, versions of yourselves that had long been forgotten. Yet it did not come naturally. Instead, it came in a cage. Before he can move, you close the distance and sit squarely on his lap.

His entire body goes rigid.

Not with desire.

At least not yet.

With restraint.

“[name], this is—”

“Why not?” you murmur, fingers sliding up his tie, smoothing the crooked knot, the gesture intimate in a way that has nothing to do with skin. “Can't the best divorce lawyer get me out of this trouble?”

His massive hands, those massive familiar hands that were once all over you, now hover in the air beside you, suspended between instinct and refusal. Almost as though he’s forgotten what they’re for. 

Almost like the law has finally presented him with a case he cannot argue without perjuring his own heart. Almost like the act of touching you is a crime he’s already been convicted of, and a crime he cannot know if he wants to flee or stay for.

His voice, when it comes, is lower. Far too careful for its own good.  “You don’t need a lawyer to destroy your husband.” he says to you. “You married him, you were with him for ten years. Certainly as his wife, you already know where he’s weakest.”

A beat.

A frown.

He expected that.

“And you…..” he adds, eyes searching yours with a precision that used to feel like safety. “You don’t come to me unless you’re already bleeding.”

Your smile falters, just for a second. A crack in the verdict. “Do you find that insulting?”

“No.” He says far too quickly than he should. “I find it foolish. But then again, foolish decisions are the antithesis of the better.”

He still hasn’t touched you.

And that, somehow, is the most intimate thing of all.

Your fingers remain at his tie, smoothing a crease that no longer exists. A nervous habit masquerading as control. Up close, you can see the faint shadow along his jaw where he forgot to shave, the tiny scar near his chin from the time he slipped on courthouse steps during a downpour and laughed while you scolded him for bleeding on legal documents.

He doesn’t laugh anymore.

At least not as he used to.

Not to you, most especially.

“Get off.” he says quietly.

Not harsh. 

Not pleading.

Judicial.

You tilt your head, studying him like you’re trying to remember the exact moment he stopped being yours to ruin. “You used to like it when I ignored your instructions.” you murmur.

His eyes flicker somewhere. Not to your mouth, not to your hands but to the window behind you, to the city lights smeared across the glass like fingerprints. He’s looking for distance. For precedent. For anything that isn’t you, warm and breathing and sitting in his lap like a closing argument he cannot object to.

“That was before you decided to marry up for the contacts.”

There it is.

Not jealousy. Not accusation.

A fact entered into record.

“I told you that was my managers—”

“Well certainly you still did it.” he whispers to you, his eyes intently away from you. “Just because you did it with someone else’s intentions, does not mean it was not your actions.”

You inhale, slow. The cigarette smoke clinging to your hair mixes with the clean, dry scent of his office. paper, leather, something faintly medicinal. He has built a life that does not require you. You can feel it in the geometry of the room. Everything was too precise, too deliberate, ever so impersonal.

And yet you are here. 

On his lap, like you used to be.

Disrupting the symmetry.

“Still….I didn’t come here for nostalgia.” you say.

“Good to know.” he replies. “because i don’t practice it.”

But his hands are still hovering.

Not pushing you away.

Not pulling you closer.

Waiting for a ruling.

You lean in just enough that your forehead almost touches his. Your voice drops, stripped of performance. “He’s going to bury me.”

The confession lands between you like broken glass. You feel it in the way his breath changes. It was a quiet hitch, quickly suppressed. In the way his fingers curl slightly, like muscle memory trying to remember the shape of your waist and stopping just short of treason.

“Financially?” he asks.

You shake your head. “No, he can’t steal my money. That’s secure, in some way.”

“Then in what way?”

“Reputation. Custody of everything, of my pets. Everything that can’t be itemized.” you say to him. “And….you know that he’s a big shot in the industry. He’s going to make sure I never get roles or work again.”

His eyes sharpen. The lawyer is back now. At that moment, you were not with a man. You were with a sphinx. This version of him is dangerous in a different way. He was focused and surgical, merciless to systems and the people who weaponize them against everyone else. He knew best how to do it. You know that too well.

“Did he hit you?” he asks.

The question is so blunt it knocks the air from your lungs. “No.”

A pause.

“He didn’t have to.” you whisper, your eyes lowering. “He can’t use me if he breaks my face.”

Something in his expression fractures. At least not outwardly, not enough for anyone else to notice. But you see it. You’ve always seen the microcracks first. The tightening at the corners of his eyes, the way his molars press together when he’s holding back fury that has nowhere to go.

His hands finally move.

At least not to hold you.

To grip the arms of the chair.

Control, reasserted.

“Get off my lap, [name].” he says again, softer now. “Go on and sit like a client.”

You search his face for a trace of the man who once let you steal his fries and his sleep and his carefully constructed boundaries. You find him. He’s the one refusing to touch you. You pursed your lips in a tight line.

Slowly, you slide off his lap. The loss of contact is immediate, a draft where warmth used to be. You take the chair across from him, almost like a stranger in that client’s chair. A little further, a little lower. Deliberately so. The distance is obscene.

He adjusts his tie where you smoothed it, fingers lingering for half a second too long. He was starting to reset. No, he was certainly doing more than that. He was armoring. “Go on and start from the beginning.”

You almost laugh. There are too many beginnings. The first lie. The first headline. The first time your husband introduced you as if you were an acquisition. The first time you realized love, in his hands, was a transaction with better lighting on the sound stage.

Hiromi Higuruma listened to the details of your life he had not been privy of with focus. He tried to settle himself in that role of an outsider, as a lawyer and not that man he was. Not the man he still was who gets angry, emotionally overblown when it comes to you.

“He filed first.” you say to him, a second cigarette now on your lips. “It was a sealed motion. Allegations I can’t respond to without violating the injunction.”

His brows knit. "On what grounds?”

“Irreconcilable differences, apparently.” you say, a humorless smile ghosting your mouth. “And with such audacity, moral instability.”

Silence once more.

He sits more straight.

Then, very quietly, he repeats it.

 “Moral instability.”

You nod. “Yes.”

“He has photos. Messages taken out of context. Staff willing to testify to things they were paid to misunderstand.” Your fingers lace together in your lap to stop them from shaking. “He’s building a narrative against me. I’m the unfaithful, erratic wife. He’s the patient, dignified husband forced to protect his legacy.”

“And the truth?” he asks.

You hold his gaze.

“I was lonely and I was isolated.” you say with such a morose look. “And he knew it. He orchestrated it… No one could be my friend, or my confidant unless he approved of them. How could I….I could be the one at fault if he’s doing this to me?”

The admission sits heavy in the room. Not infidelity. Not denial. Just the small, devastating truth of neglect. His jaw flexes again. This time he doesn’t look away. “Do you want to win this case?” he asks softly. “Or do you want to survive?”

The question startles you. “Aren’t they the same?”

“No.” His voice is iron. “Winning is a spectacle. Surviving is silence. The law can give you one, it takes good framing. But of course, your choices determine the other.”

Outside, Tokyo Metropolitan’s lights flicker as if the city itself is holding its breath. You lean back in the chair, studying the man across from you as smoke releases from your lips. This was the one you didn’t choose, the one you left, the one who still looks at you like you are both evidence and wounded.

“I want him to never do this to anyone again.” you say to him more honestly. “For him to pay for every bit of those ten years.”

You did not beat around the bush. You said something colder. Something far more cleaner in the dirt you surround yourself with. His eyes soften even more, perhaps just a fraction. But it was echoing with approval. Still every bit of him seemed reluctant. Yet ever so ready to be dangerous.

“Then we don’t destroy him.” he says in reply. “Instead, we document him.”

“Document him?”

“You have the money to drag it along. Why not? Let's make the truth so boringly precise…..” he adds as he narrows his gaze. “That no one can look away.”

Your throat tightens. You hadn’t realized how badly you needed someone to believe you without spectacle. “Does this mean….you’ll take the case?” you ask.

He studies you for a long moment. He was not searching for who you were, but measuring who you’ve become against the cost of letting you stand here again. Many things rush in his head, things he could not comprehend yet, things that he cannot say yet. But he does not move. Nor does he speak.

The office is too quiet once more. Even the city feels distant, muffled by glass and altitude. He looks at you like a man standing at the edge of a familiar cliff, aware of exactly how far the fall goes because he survived it once.

“There are a dozen reasons to refuse you.” he says at last.

Your chest tightens, but you hold his gaze. “And?”

His jaw shifts. “None of them change the outcome.”

You don’t breathe. “Is that so?”

“This is a conflict of interest, between us.” he says.

Your stomach drops anyway. The words are procedural, expected and still they land like loss. “Then—”

He doesn’t look away. “I have prior…involvement.”

Your laugh comes out thin. “We dated in our twenties, Hiromi. You’re not going to lose your license over bad timing and worse decisions.”

“That’s not the involvement I’m referring to.”

The air changes. Perhaps not in the way you would have expected. It came so quietly. There was nothing dramatic about it. There was no thunderclap, no cinematic revelation. Instead, it was just a subtle pressure shift, like a courtroom before a verdict is read.

You go very still. He wasn’t talking about who you used to be to each other. He’s talking about the way his voice lowers when he says your name. About how his hands refused to touch you, certainly not because he didn’t want to, but because he did.

Hiromi cannot let it be. He lets it fester, especially about the fact that you came here first, before the statements, before the damage control, before the world could tell you what your marriage was worth. Your pulse trips over itself.

“Are you refusing me?” you ask, quieter now.

He leans forward, forearms resting on the desk. Not close enough to touch. Close enough that you can see the faint crease between his brows, the one that only appears when he’s choosing restraint over instinct.

“No, not really.” he says. “I’m…merely setting terms.”

“Terms?” you repeat, tasting the word.

His gaze flicks briefly to your left hand. Your expensive ring is still there, still gleaming under city light like a lie with excellent marketing. Then it lifts and returns to your eyes. You could feel your heart skip a beat.

“If I take this case, [name]...you know what I’ll do.” he says, each word placed with deliberate care, “I will dismantle him. Methodically. Publicly if necessary. There will be no ambiguity when it’s over. No narrative he can hide behind.”

The promise is not cruel.

It is precise.

It was why he was good.

“And when it’s done….” he continues, softer now, “There will be nothing left tying you to him. Not legally. Not socially. Not in the quiet spaces where people pretend vows still echo.”

Your throat tightens. “I know.”

“But you don’t walk out of that clean.” he adds.

You blink. “What?”

His voice doesn’t rise. It doesn’t need to.“You don’t get to burn your life down and pretend you’re untouched by the smoke. If I do this, you lose the version of yourself that survived by smiling beside him. You lose the safety of being misunderstood.”

A pause. 

“And you don’t come back here….” he finishes quietly to you. “Unless you’re prepared for the possibility that I will ask for something you can’t litigate.”

The words settle between you, heavier than any threat could be. It is not a threat. But it certainly wasn't a confession either. It’s a door that was closed, but not locked. It was with the understanding that opening it will cost you both the illusion of restraint.

“I sat on your lap.” you say, as if presenting evidence.

His gaze doesn’t waver. “Yes, you did.”

“You got hard, didn’t you?”

The bluntness would have shattered a lesser man. Hiromi’s jaw tightens. He bites the inside of his cheek, a habit you remember from years ago. The physical act of swallowing words he refuses to let exist.

“You already know that.” he says.

No denial.

No apology.

Just a fact.

You turn away first, not in retreat but in consideration, letting the cigarette die in the porcelain ashtray. The ember collapses inward, a soft surrender. Smoke curls up, thin and fading, like the last excuse either of you had.

When you face him again, you don’t return to the client’s chair.

You close the distance.

Slowly at first.

More animalistic now.

More deliberately.

You kneel in front of him. Not submission, not performance, but proximity stripped of pretense. The city light spills across the polished floor, catches in your hair, turns your eyes bright in a way he hasn’t seen in years. Not since before careful smiles and strategic silences replaced whatever this was.

Hiromi’s throat tightens. You see it in the movement of his swallow, in the way his fingers flex once against the arm of the chair before going still again, as if he’s afraid of what they’ll do if he lets them move.

“I thought about finding you again.” you say softly. “Years ago. Even when I was married.”

The admission lands like a dropped glass. It was not loud, but irreversible. His brow furrows. “Was I meant to be your secret, then?”

You shake your head immediately. “No. Never that.”

Your lips curve. Perhaps not into a smirk, not into cruelty but into something tired and honest. “You would’ve been as visible as his mistress.” you say. “An open scandal. No shadows to hide in.”

He exhales, a quiet, disbelieving sound. “Then why didn’t you?”

You look down at your hands, at the faint tremor you can no longer disguise as poise. “Because I wanted to believe I was better than him….That if I stayed, endured, kept choosing the respectable ruin, I could pretend I took the higher ground.”

Silence stretches between you. 

Not empty nor was it depraved.

Instead, it was full of the lives you didn’t live.

“But I’m lucky, aren’t I?” you add, lifting your gaze back to him. “Now I don’t have to pretend.”

Your hands come to rest lightly against his thighs. You were not grasping, not pulling. Your palms were simply there, the contact almost formal in its restraint. You feel the tension in him, coiled and controlled, the rigid discipline of a man who has built his entire life on not reaching for what he wants.

“And besides….you know I’m no good.” you smiled at him. “But still….you want me anyway.”

“[name], you shouldn’t—” he begins.

You huff a quiet breath, not quite a laugh. Your other hand settles opposite the first, mirroring the contact, a balance he cannot misinterpret as accidental. “Let me make it up to you, Hiromi. Let me love you.”

Hiromi’s hot breath catches in his throat as your hands settle on his thighs. The contact is light, almost innocent, but the implications are anything but. He swallows hard, his eyes locked on yours as he tries to process your words.

"You don't know what you're offering to me, [name]." he says hoarsely. "What I want from you." His hands twitch, hovering just above your shoulders as if he's fighting the urge to pull you closer. 

"I've waited too long for this. If we start down this path, I won't be gentle. I won't hold back." He leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. "I'll take everything you're willing to give and then some. Are you sure this is what you want?"

His voice is low and intense, filled with a hunger that has been building for years. You could feel your heart beating harder and harder against your chest second by second. You meet his gaze steadily, your own eyes filled with a determination that matches his intensity.

"I'm sure." you say quietly to the man you left ten years ago. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life. "You lean in closer, your lips brushing against his as you speak. "Take me, Hiromi. Take everything I have to offer. I'm yours."

Your words are like a match to gasoline, igniting the desire that has been simmering between you for so long. Higuruma Hiromi's control snaps. With a growl, he pulls you onto his lap, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he kisses you with a ferocity that steals your breath.

He stands abruptly, lifting you easily as if you weigh nothing. He carries you to his desk, sweeping the papers and books onto the floor with a single swipe of his arm. He sets you down on the edge of the desk, stepping between your legs as he continues to ravage your mouth with kisses.

Hiromi’s big hands roam over your body, squeezing and kneading your flesh through the fabric of your clothes. He tugs impatiently at your shirt, popping buttons in his haste to bare your skin to his hungry gaze.

He leans down, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the swell of your breasts, his tongue darting out to taste the soft skin. His fingers hook into the waistband of your dress skirt, pushing it up around your hips as he steps closer, pressing his hardness against your core.

You can feel the heat of him even through the layers of clothing, and it sends a shiver down your spine. Hiromi’s cold lips trail up your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. He finds a particularly tender spot and bites down hard enough to leave a mark.

"You’ve decided but I decided on something too…." he growls against your flesh. "The only payment I’m taking is you.”

Your eyes widen at his words, a mixture of shock and arousal coursing through you. A while ago he was ruminating with the past, with the spring of your youths and the distance that was left behind. Yet it was as if the door had been fully opened. 

The implication is clear. 

He's not interested in money or any other form of payment. The only thing he wants is you. After a decade, it was still you he wanted. Even when you had abandoned him and made his life a misery and lonely desert, he still wants you to blossom in it. 

Your heart races as you consider the implications. This is more than just a one-night stand or a fleeting affair, you were aware of this. This is Higurama Hiromi, your ex-boyfriend, the lawyer you just acquired to defend you in your divorce, was now claiming you as his own, demanding your complete surrender.

"And if I refuse?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. 

Hiromi chuckles darkly, his hand sliding up your thigh and beneath your dress skirt. "Then I'll just have to convince you otherwise." he says, his fingers brushing against the lace of your panties. "I can be very persuasive when I want to be. And I want you.  More than anything."

His fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, tugging them aside as he seeks out your most intimate flesh. You couldn’t help but release a gasp as he finds your clit, circling it with a gentle touch that sends shockwaves of pleasure through you.

"See how wet you are for me already?" he murmurs to you. "Your body knows who it belongs to, even if your mind is still resisting." He slips a finger inside you, pumping slowly as his thumb continues to tease your clit. "Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me to take you right here on my desk. I need to hear you say it."

His voice is low and commanding, leaving no room for doubt. He's not going to stop until he gets what he wants, not until he hears the words from your own lips. He has waited for so long for spring to come. He was not going to let it go.

You bite your lip, torn between desire and hesitation. The rational part of your mind screams at you to stop this, to push him away and walk out the door. But the ache between your legs is impossible to ignore, and the way he's touching you feels too good to resist.

"I...I want it…I want you." you whisper finally, your voice barely audible. "I want you to take me. Right here. Right now."

As soon as the words leave your lips, Higuruma Hiromi's control snaps in its entirety. With a growl, he lifts you onto his desk, sweeping the remaining court documents, other papers and all those law books onto the floor with a single swipe of his arm.

Higuruma Hiromi doesn't hesitate. He lowers his body, his hands gripping your thighs and pushing them further apart. He leans in without hesitation, his breath hot against your core as he inhales deeply.

"You smell so fucking good, you always have." he murmurs to you. "I bet you still taste the same."

He doesn't wait for a response before burying his face between your legs. His tongue slicks through your folds, teasing and tasting as he explores every inch of you. He finds your clit and sucks it into his mouth, his tongue flicking against the sensitive bud in a way that makes you see stars. 

Your hands all but fly to his darkened hair, gripping tightly as you grind against his face, chasing the pleasure he's giving you. Hiromi’s masterful tongue delves deeper, the nostalgia of pleasure hitting you as you scream.

He keeps plunging into your entrance as he fucks you with his mouth. His hands grip your ass, lifting you closer to his face as he devours you. He can feel you getting closer, your walls fluttering around his tongue as he pushes you towards the edge. 

He pulls back suddenly, his lips and chin glistening with your juices. "Come for me, [name]."he commands. "Come on my tongue like a good girl."

He expertly dives back in, his tongue circling your clit rapidly as he slides two fingers inside you, curling them to hit that spot that makes your eyes roll back in your head. It only takes a few more strokes before you're crying out his name, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. Higuruma Hiromi doesn't let up, continuing to lick and suck through your climax until you're a trembling, boneless mess on his desk.

You do not remember much after that.

But you knew that you felt good, far too good.

You hadn’t felt like this in a long time.

WHEN YOU WAKE, IT ISN’T BECAUSE OF THE SUNLIGHT GLEAMING IN. It’s to the low murmur of a voice you know by muscle memory. For a moment, you don’t move. Your body is warm everywhere, especially down there where his cum dwelled ceaselessly. 

It was still heavy with sleep everywhere, with the dull, satisfying ache of muscles used and reused, with the unfamiliar safety of not being alone when you open your eyes. The air smells faintly of tobacco and paper and the ghost of your perfume clinging to borrowed cotton.

You’re wrapped in a blanket. Not tucked. You were fully wrapped, securely. With intention to keep you comfortable. Beneath it, a long dress shirt drapes over your skin, the fabric soft from years of laundering, the cuffs hanging past your wrists. It smells like him in a way cologne never could. The starch, smoke, and something clean and dry, like old books and winter air.

You are naked underneath.

The realization arrives without panic.

Only memory.

Dawn, filtered through half-closed blinds. His name in your mouth is like a verdict you chose.The way restraint finally broke, not with the ardent violence that could have been, but with the quiet, tender inevitability of something deferred too long.

You turn your head.

Hiromi Higuruma sits at his desk, backlit by the pale gray of early morning leaking into the city. His upper body is bare, dress shirt discarded somewhere out of sight, tie gone, suspenders hanging loose at his sides. A cigarette rests between his lips, forgotten more often than smoked, its ash grown long and precarious.

He looks like he hasn’t slept.

Not in the frantic, unraveling way you’ve seen in tabloids and courtrooms, but in the deliberate stillness of a man who chose wakefulness over vulnerability. The kind of sleeplessness that comes from watching the shape of a life shift in real time and refusing to blink.

“…No, we have to do it immediately.” he says into the landline, voice even. “Go and file the response by noon. We’re not contesting jurisdiction and I am not arguing more about something ridiculous.”

A pause. He listens, eyes flicking briefly toward you. Somehow not surprised to find you awake, as if he’s been aware of every shift in your breathing. He takes a moment to look at you, taking in the sight of you before he ends up talking back to the other line.

“No, that’s not important.” he repeats, quieter. “And there will not be a statement. That’s not advised right now. That’s it. Yeah.”

Your chest tightens.

Not she.

Not the client.

Not your name.

Just a boundary placed between you and the world. 

He exhales, finally taking a drag from the cigarette, the ember flaring briefly before dimming again. Smoke curls upward, dissolving into the dim office air. You find how perfect this sight of him was. How focused he was about his craft, about your business. It made you feel something wanton.

“…Because there is nothing to clarify about it.” he says into the receiver. “The filings will speak for themselves, as they usually do. Fine, yes. Goodbye.”

He hangs up with a soft click. Silence returns in the room. Yet this time, it was not empty. But rather it was dense. Delicately layered with everything that happened between midnight and dawn, everything that still hasn’t been said.

You push yourself up slightly, the blanket slipping enough to reveal your shoulder. The shirt shifts against your skin, cool where it’s lost your warmth. He notices. You can tell by the way his gaze drops for a fraction of a second before he deliberately looks back at the paperwork in front of him. Restraint, reassembled.

“You’re up.” he says. It’s not a question. His voice is rougher than usual, worn at the edges.

“You didn’t sleep.” you reply.

He stubs the cigarette out in the ashtray without looking. “I had calls to make.”

You study him more closely. You could tell the tension in his shoulders, the faint marks at his collarbone you don’t remember leaving but know you must have, the way he sits perfectly straight despite the hour, as if posture alone can impose order on what you’ve done.

“What time is it?” you ask.

“Six twenty-three.”

Too early for the world. Too late to pretend this was a dream. The realization settles over you with the slow certainty of daylight creeping through the blinds. The thin, pale bands stretching across the floor, the couch, the edge of his desk. Morning makes everything real. Night allows for ambiguity. The morning files it into record.

You gather the blanket closer, the wool warm but not warm enough to quiet the awareness of bare skin beneath borrowed fabric. His long shirt hangs loosely on your frame, the hem brushing your thighs, cuffs swallowing your hands. 

It smells like starch and smoke and something unmistakably him, a scent that feels more intimate than anything that happened before dawn. You could feel nostalgic, remembering when you were much younger. How he would always smell so good, full of smoke and old oak scent.

Daylight makes you aware of the consequences.

Everything about you two is easily fractured.

You hadn’t realized how fragile this quiet is.

But then again, you had left him to boost your career.

Everything about this is going to be fragile.

“You covered me, huh?” you say.

Your voice is soft, rough with sleep, carrying across the immaculate stillness of the office. Shelves of case files stand in perfect order. The city hums faintly beyond glass. Everything here is controlled, except the space between you.

“Cleaned me a bit…” You attempt a smile that doesn’t quite land. Honesty has made a habit of slipping past your defenses in this room. “But not down there—”

The words hover, intimate and absurd in equal measure. Across the room, Higuruma Hiromi stills. It’s subtle to you. The pause of ink on paper, the faint tightening along his shoulders. But you’ve always noticed the small fractures in his composure. His pen hovers over the document as if the next word suddenly requires more care than the law usually demands.

“I was still inside for quite a while.” he says.

The statement is delivered in the same tone he uses to cite statute. Every bit of it is factual, unembellished, yet just as much impossible to misinterpret. You could feel your ears turn red. He sets the pen down with deliberate precision.

“I didn’t have the heart to see my hard work disappear.”

The corner of your mouth twitches despite yourself. It is the closest thing to humor he’s allowed this morning. It is also not entirely humor. Heat rises beneath your skin. Not embarrassment, not shame, but the quiet recognition of care expressed in a language that borders on claim and stops, deliberately, at respect.

He finally looks up. There’s a faint flush high on his cheekbones, barely visible in the cool morning light. The cigarette in the ashtray has burned itself into a thin column of ash, forgotten mid-thought.

“You were asleep for a while, though,” he adds, quieter now. “You looked…peaceful.”

The word sits strangely in the air, as if it does not belong to a room built for litigation and controlled ruin. It sounds unfamiliar in his mouth, like something he rarely permits himself to witness, let alone protect.

“I didn’t want to wake you.”

Outside, the city continues its orderly ascent into the day. The morning trains gliding into stations on the minute, crosswalk chimes repeating their polite insistence, the low murmur of a million lives resuming their scheduled negotiations. Tokyo does not pause for private upheavals. It absorbs them, files them away, moves on.

Inside, your chest tightens with the weight of what he’s admitting without saying. He chose to let the night remain intact. He chose not to erase you from it. And more than ever, he wants more of it. Not wholly in the reckless, devouring way of midnight, but in the dangerous quiet of morning, where wanting becomes a decision.

Your fingers tighten on the blanket, knuckles whitening beneath the wool. “You could have woken me up and sent me on my way, Hiromi.” you say again. “My driver is downstairs.”

The reminder lands between you like a line drawn in chalk: escape is available. Logistics are intact. The world you built, the one with schedules, staff, and careful exits, is still waiting at the curb. You were certain you even had a schedule to fulfill today. 

His gaze lifts to you, steady, searching. Not pleading. Not apologizing. Simply present. “Dl Yes.” he says. “He is.”

Not was. Not might be. He knows. Of course he knows. He noticed the car idling before dawn, the silhouette in the front seat, the quiet discipline of a driver trained not to ask questions. He leans back slightly in his chair, the movement measured, buying himself distance without retreat.

“I could have woken you, like I used to do, when you had auditions.” he continues. “Ensured you left before the building filled. Before anyone could speculate. Before this became… complicated.”

A pause.

“I did not.”

The admission settles into the room like dust in sunlight, still visible, yet so inescapable. You swallow. “Why?”

He studies you for a long moment, as if weighing which truth will do the least damage and finding none that qualify.

“Because you were not a problem to be managed.” he says at last. “You were someone who finally stopped running…At least that’s how I took last night.”

The words land somewhere deep.

You were bypassing your practiced defenses.

Outside, a train departs. Inside, you feel very still.

“And…I know you would have left and discarded it.” he adds, voice lower now. “Sending you away would have made it easier to pretend this was a lapse.”

The words settle into the space between you. It was not accusatory, nor was it pleading. The way you heard it, you think it was simply a truth he has carried long enough to recognize on sight. Many things can be real at the same time. He will see the truth differently from you, most of all because you were sure you had jaded him as much as his profession had.

You purse your lips, the instinct to deflect rising like muscle memory. “You wanted to cage me.”

His gaze holds yours, steady and unflinching. “You caged me first, sweetheart.” he says.

“I know.” you whisper, wanting to look away in shame.

No heat. No bitterness. Just facts laid bare. “You did so ten years ago. And I still am now. What do you think I feel?”

The question lands harder than any raised voice could. The city hums beyond the glass, indifferent. Inside, the air feels thinner, as if honesty has displaced the oxygen. You open your mouth.  You wanted to argue, to dismiss his words, to reach for the practiced defenses that built your life and find none of them fit.

“I know and I just—” Your breath catches.

It was not a lapse. You couldn’t even call it an accident. Not even a moment of weakness you could file under is regrettable but necessary. His eyes do not leave yours. He is not rescuing you from the sentence. He is waiting to see if you will finish it.

Your throat tightens. “It wasn’t.” you try again, softer now. “And that’s the problem.”

The admission changes the shape of the room. His shoulders ease at your words. Perhaps not even in victory, but in recognition. As if a tension he’s held for a decade has finally been named aloud. You think you hold your breath for a long time, transfixed in his gaze.

“You think I wanted to cage you.” he says quietly. “I wanted you to choose me.”

The simplicity of it steals the air from your lungs. So plain and so simple. The boring truth you thought to yourself long ago could not be enough. That safety you had risked for this starlight on the stage. Yet they were words you think you were more fond of hearing now. 

“I did choose you.” you whisper. “Once.”

“Yes, you did.” he says to you, as you find yourself standing to move towards him. “And then you chose a life that required you not to. After all, the glamor was tempting, wasn’t it?”

Your fingers curl against the edge of his desk. “You think I didn’t feel it? Walking away like I’d amputated something and calling it maturity?”

His jaw tightens.  “I thought you were relieved to see your dreams come true.” 

The words are so quiet you almost miss them. You stare at him. “Relieved?”

“You didn’t look back,” he says. “Not once.”

Because if you had, you might have stayed.

Because if you had, you might have ruined him.

Because if you had, you might have ruined yourself.

Both of you would have been miserable, you think.

“I couldn’t.” you say, the truth scraping on its way out. “If I looked back, I would have run. Because I would have been miserable….if I didn’t get to enjoy the life I lived—”

“I know.” Hiromi affirms your words as you stand before him, his clothes pooling over you, hiding nothing but the upper half of your body. He lifts your head, your chin tight in his fingers. You were forced to meet his eyes. 

“But now you don’t have that excuse.” He speaks to you, a small smile on his lips. 

“No, no…I do not.”

YOU DON’T SEE HIGURUMA HIROMI FOR A COUPLE OF DAYS. But he doesn’t disappear at all like he did many years ago. Instead, he takes the time to tell you about many things happening with the divorce proceedings.

He updates you thoroughly, yet all the while still finding it to be brief and concise, polished to the point that you wonder if he’s talking to you more like a client and not the person he seems to be infatuated with. He sent at odd hours, the kind that suggest he drafted them between hearings or long after the office emptied.

Filed motion to expedite proceedings. Opposing counsel acknowledged receipt. Estimated timeline shortened by two weeks.

No emojis. No pleasantries. No mention of that night.

You appreciate it more than you can say. The efficiency. The care hidden inside professional language. He’s using his reputation, his firm, his time to make this easier for you in a quieter, faster, cleaner way. A kindness disguised as procedure.

You type thank you more times than you send it.

Because what are you supposed to say to a man whose life you walked out of once, a decade ago, in pursuit of a future you weren’t sure would love you back? What do you say to the man you reappeared before, all the sudden, so desperate and distressed, asking for help dissolving a marriage you built in the aftermath of leaving him?

What do you say to the man you slept with in his office, as if ten years had folded in on themselves, as if the versions of you that never happened were trying, briefly, to exist? And worst of all, what do you say after confessing the things you should have told him ten years ago?

That you were terrified of staying.

That you loved him in a way that made you feel small and enormous at once.

That you chose your dreams not because they mattered more but because you were afraid you would disappear if you didn’t try.

You had watched the words land in his silence, heavy and irreversible. Now there are only his messages. Far too efficient and distant for your liking. But you supposed it was your karma now. You did break up with him.

Work fills the space where he used to be. You went ahead with a coffee in your hand to the early call times, ate some good instant ramen at the late-night shoots, the mechanical repetition of lines you’ve said so often they no longer feel like yours while drinking bourbon. 

Wardrobe racks being brought to your trailer, the beam of the harsh lighting on your skin, the directors and staff calling your name. You move from film set to soundstage, from one role to the next, slipping into other lives so you don’t have to sit too long with your own.

It’s easier that way. On set, you are decisive, luminous, untouchable. You hit your marks. You deliver tears on cue. You fall in love with co-stars beneath artificial rain and forget them the moment the director calls cut.

No one here knows that your phone lights up with legal updates from the man you once almost built a life with. No one here sees you stare at his name until the screen goes dark. No one knows that you are starting to become more fond of him again.

It’s easier than thinking about the last time you saw him. His office lights dimmed, case files pushed aside, the city lights glowing through the windows behind him. Easier than remembering how his hands hesitated before touching you, like he was already bracing for the consequences. Easier than the quiet afterward, when neither of you said what you were both thinking to each other.

This changes everything.

But the world doesn’t stop for complicated feelings. Contracts are signed. Scenes are shot. Your manager reminds you of schedules. Your lawyer reminds you of dates. You could feel your  phone buzzing from your trailer table again.

Court confirmed hearing date.

You stare at the message for a long time. The sound behind you disappears into nothing. You try your best to think of something. All the sudden your heart skips a beat. Your thumbs hover over the screen, the cursor blinking in the empty reply field like a pulse. 

You type: Thank you for doing this.

Delete.

You type: I’m sorry.

Delete.

You type nothing.

You groan aloud, frustrated.

“You okay, [last name]–san?”

You looked up, feeling a bit embarrassed being caught in the moment. “Y–yes….I’m fine. Just some updates on the divorce.”

“Oh, that’s right!” The staff gasped. “I’m so sorry that this happened to you, [last name]–san. It’s really rough to leave a marriage that lasted that long.”

Not really. You think to yourself. I already slept with my ex turned divorce lawyer….

“Uh…thank you.”

Before long the days passed.

The weather changed.

All of a sudden, you were in court.

The courthouse looms ahead in stark gray, all sharp lines and unforgiving symmetry. You arrive early, sunglasses on. You don’t do it for the press, even when they get your best side of the face in the shot. Instead, you do it for the illusion of distance. 

Your heels echo against the marble floors as you step inside, each click too loud in the cavernous lobby. First hearing. Divorce proceedings. Routine, procedural, impersonal. You tell yourself that’s all it is. You can get through this.

And then you see him.

He stands near the courtroom doors, dark suit immaculate, posture straight in that way that always made him seem taller than he is. Higuruma Hiromi looks exactly as he always does in court. 

He looked handsome in his suit, standing with severe composure. But you notice the details no one else would: the faint crease between his brows, the way his fingers tighten around the folder in his hand, the fraction of a second he freezes when his eyes meet yours.

It’s the first time you’ve seen him since that night.

For a moment, the courthouse noise fades. The murmur of other cases, the shuffle of papers, the distant echo of a gavel. There is only the space between you, heavy with everything unsaid. You wonder if he regrets it. You wonder if you do.

He inclines his head in a small, formal greeting, the kind reserved for colleagues and opposing counsel. Not for someone whose name he whispered like a confession just days ago.

“Good morning.” he says, voice even with professionalism.

Your throat tightens anyway. “Good morning.” you reply, matching his tone.

You compose yourself as he does. You know that the courtroom doors are opening and the world is watching, and whatever you were in his office cannot exist here. Not for anyone else, not for the press and not even for him. Not today.

He steps closer, stopping at a careful, neutral distance. But it was close enough to speak without raising his voice, far enough that no one could mistake the interaction for anything but legal. You found your lips in a tight line.

“What is it?”

“I received confirmation from the clerk.” he says, eyes flicking briefly to the folder before returning to you. “The judge assigned is known for efficiency. If both parties remain cooperative, this should proceed without delay.”

You nod. “That’s…good.”

A pause. He studies you for a fraction too long, gaze softening in a way that would be imperceptible to anyone else. “You look tired.” he says quietly, then, as if catching himself, adds, “Filming schedule?”

You almost laugh at the awkward correction. “Something like that.”

Another pause stretches between you both, something so thin and fragile. You see him taking a breath as he nodded. “I hope you get some rest soon then.”

“I hope this ends and settles itself, so I can get some rest.”

“I reviewed the financial disclosures. You were not lying.” he continues, voice returning to its measured cadence. “There are no irregularities. Your interests are protected.”

“My interests, huh.” you repeat, the words tasting strange. “Thank you.”

He gives a small nod. “It is my responsibility.”

But you both hear what he doesn’t say: I would have done it even if it wasn’t.

The courtroom doors open wider at that moment. You could tell that the people interested in this entire clown affair had begun filing in. He shifts his weight slightly, as if preparing to step away, to return to the role the world recognizes.

Instead, he says, very quietly. “Did you sleep at all?”

The question lands like a dropped glass. You meet his eyes. “Did you?”

A beat passes. He smiles. “No.” he admits.

The honesty sits between you, raw and unfiled, with no legal language to contain it. Footsteps approach. Voices echo. The world resumes. He clears his throat, the sound soft but decisive. “We should go inside.”

You nod. “Of course.”

He gestures toward the courtroom with professional courtesy, allowing you to enter first. As you pass him, you catch the faint scent of his cologne. It was the same, you think to yourself. Everything about it was achingly familiar. 

For one reckless second you are back in his office that night once again, the endless beam of Tokyo Metropolitan’s city lights burning behind him, his hand hovering at your waist like a question he already knew the answer to.

Inside the courtroom, you take your place at the table. He sits beside you, close enough that your sleeves almost touch, yet separated by a distance far greater than the width of polished wood. He leans slightly toward you, voice barely audible.

“We will get through this.” he says.

You whisper back. “I can only hope so.”

The courtroom doors close with a heavy, final sound that reverberates through your chest. You sit beside Higuruma Hiromi, your tender hands folded too tightly in your lap, exhausted eyes fixed on the polished wood of the table as people settle around you.

You could hear the loudness of the papers shuffling, the chairs scraping, the loud yet quiet murmurs filling the air like static. You tell yourself to breathe. Then you feel it. Anxiety flooded through you at that moment.

A presence across the aisle. Familiar in a way that makes your spine go rigid before you even look. Your ex-husband is there, even when he said that he wasn’t going to attend, to focus on a new movie he was working on.

He looks older than the last time you saw him. He was already older, yet this time, he was older beyond his years. Grey everywhere, somber in all of his skin. His shoulders are tense beneath an expensive suit that fits like armor. 

His jaw tightens when his gaze lands on you, then flicks. It was brief yet  sharp and it was towards the man sitting at your side. To Hiromi. The realization hits him in real time. You see it in the narrowing of his eyes. The way his mouth presses into a thin line. The way his attorney leans toward him, whispering something urgent that he doesn’t seem to hear.

Your pulse roars in your ears. Beside you, Hiromi doesn’t move. But you notice the subtle shift in his posture was evident. You could see how his chest puffed. His shoulders squaring, presence sharpening, like a blade quietly unsheathed.

“Do not look at him.” he murmurs, voice low enough that only you can hear.

But the warning came too late. 

You already have.

And it made you both sad and angry.

This was the man you married.

A pitiful shell of a man who took advantage of you.

Your ex-husband’s gaze locks onto yours, and for a moment you are dragged back into the life you are trying to leave. The arguments that looped without resolution, the silences that lasted days, the texts and calls with the other women and so much more.

The slow erosion of something that once felt unbreakable came to you, more and more. He glances again at your strident dark haired lawyer. Recognition dawns. Not personal per say. You think it was more professional.

Higuruma Hiromi was a famous high-profile attorney. He has always had a reputation for ruthless precision. A man who does not take cases he cannot win, and pushes forward without a care in the world, so long as his clients are satisfied.

Your ex leans toward his lawyer, whispering sharply. The lawyer’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly before schooling their expression. You swallowed as you found your gaze towards Hiromi who seemed to not be fazed by it all.

“This is going to get messy, isn’t it?” you whisper.

Hiromi’s reply is calm, measured. “It was always going to be.”

The judge enters. Everyone rises. You barely register the formalities. The case number is read, then the names, then you got lost in all the procedural language. It goes on and on, until your ex-husband’s attorney stands.

“Your Honor.” she begins to say. “My client has concerns regarding the accelerated timeline and—” her gaze flicks toward you, then to Hiromi himself. “—potential conflicts of interest.”

The words land like a slap. "Of course he’ll bring it up.”

Hiromi doesn’t look at you. His eyes remain forward, expression unreadable. “Anticipated.” he murmurs. “Not a worry.”

Your ex-husband stands abruptly. “I’d like it on record at this moment.” he says, voice tight. “My wife’s attorney has a prior personal relationship with her.”

The courtroom stills. Every sound seems to vanish into the high ceiling. Heat floods your face. Your hands go cold. Higuruma Hiromi confidently rises slowly beside you, unhurried, composed. He looks at your ex-husband before focusing on the judge.

“Your Honor, this is not a concern.” he says, voice clear and steady. “I disclosed all relevant professional history to opposing counsel. There is no legal conflict that impairs my ability to represent my client.”

Your ex lets out a short, humorless laugh. “Professional history, huh?” he repeats. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

Your chest tightens. “Please—” you start, but your voice falters.

Hiromi’s hand shifts slightly on the table, not touching you, but close enough that you feel the steadiness of it like a barrier between you and the storm. “There is no conflict. I am her legal representative here, not anything else.”

The judge’s gaze sharpens. “Sir, you will address the court with decorum. There is no conflict here. Mr. Higuruma is a lawyer. The record shall state nothing.”

Hiromi nodded at the judge. “Thank you, Your Honor.”

Your ex’s eyes return to you, and for a moment the anger fractures into something rawer. “Him?” he says, quieter now. “You replaced me with him?”

The question is not legal. Not procedural. Not appropriate for a courtroom. It is personal. It always was. Yet it was more than likely a wound for him, even if he had been cheating first. Regardless of whether he knows you slept with Hiromi or not, he knew that Higuruma Hiromi was your ex-boyfriend. That was worth a bleed. Your throat closes.

Hiromi speaks once again  before you can. “My client’s personal life is not on trial.” he says, each word precise. “We are here to dissolve a marriage that has, by both parties’ admission, irretrievably broken down.”

Silence hangs heavy for a moment, broken only by the shuffle of papers and the quiet clearing of throats as the attorneys prepare. You glance at your ex-husband. He’s sitting straighter now, jaw tight, hands clenched over the table. There’s a dangerous tension in his shoulders, like a coiled spring that’s only waiting for the right trigger.

The judge clears her throat again. “We will proceed with the matters relevant to this hearing.”

Chairs creak as everyone settles. But the usual rhythm has come and gone with all of its  legal formality and its endless procedural monotony. You feel it in the way your hands tremble in your lap, the faint pulse in your throat. 

You stare down at the polished table, seeing the reflection of your own face. You were someone caught between past and present, between two men who know different versions of you. Yet you do not want more of the past, even when one of the past sat beside you. You just wanted to move forward.

Beside you, Higuruma Hiromi leans close enough that only you can hear him. His breath is calm, measured, a quiet anchor. “Stay with me here, okay?” he murmurs. “This is going to be a bit long.”

You lift your head, meeting his eyes. There’s something in his gaze. He was firm with it, almost  protective, a silent warning. “I know that.” you reply, forcing a steady tone. “Let’s just get this over with.”

The judge’s gavel has barely settled when the clerk begins the session. “This is the first mediation session regarding the divorce petition filed by the petitioner. Today, we will discuss division of assets, spousal support, and any other matters requiring mutual agreement. Please provide statements as necessary.”

You swallow hard, your hands still trembling slightly in your lap. Across the aisle, your ex-husband sits rigid, jaw tight, fists clenched. The air between you is sharp, charged. It was not welcoming. You don’t expect it to be when he wasn’t done with having more influence with you. 

The mediator gestures to your ex. “Please begin.”

Your ex rises abruptly, voice taut. “I…I don’t accept the terms of this divorce!” His gaze fixes on you, fiery and wounded. “I don’t agree with any of it!”

You brace yourself, fingers tightening around your own notes. Hiromi leans close, his voice low. “Stay calm. Answer only when necessary.”

But your ex isn’t listening. He stands taller, chest puffed with a dangerous energy. “You can’t just walk away! You can’t—”

Before he finishes, he lunges toward you. Your body freezes. Hiromi reacts instantly. He steps in, positioning himself between you and your ex. Your ex’s momentum carries forward, and instead of hitting you, he collides with Hiromi. 

The impact thuds sharply against Hiromi’s chest, but Hiromi doesn’t stumble or falter. Instead, he shifts his weight, steadying your ex-husband without letting him fall, his darkened eyes hard and commanding.

“Sit down. Now, sir. Or we’ll be having these procedures with a criminal assault case too.” Hiromi says, voice low but unyielding. Every word carries a precision that makes your ex pause mid-motion.

Gasps echo through the courtroom. The attorneys snap to attention. The mediator’s pen hovers in midair, but Hiromi doesn’t flinch. Your ex stumbles back, chest heaving, glare still locked on you. He mutters incoherent threats, but Hiromi’s calm presence is unbreakable.

You exhale shakily, hands pressed to the table. “I…I just wanted—”

Hiromi’s hand gestures slightly, firm but subtle. “You will speak only when addressed by the court. Go back to your position, sir.”

Your ex glares, mutters under his breath, but slumps back and this time, remains seated. His lawyer seems apologetic to all of you and to the judge. Hiromi sighs as he gathers his composure before going back to his seat.

You lean slightly toward Hiromi, whispering, “Thank you. I…I don’t even know what would’ve happened if you weren’t here.”

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he slides a document slightly closer to you, the corners brushing your fingers. It’s neat, precise. It was the summary of the points the court will discuss today, written in Hiromi’s careful hand.

“Focus on what matters, okay?” he murmurs, voice low enough that only you can hear. His eyes flick briefly to your ex, sharp and calculating. “Answer only what is necessary. Don’t give him more than he’s entitled to.”

You nod, swallowing hard. “I…I’ll try.”

He gives the barest tilt of his head in acknowledgment, eyes softening just enough to remind you he’s not just your lawyer today. He’s a shield. And just as much, he’s a man that cares for you above all else.

The mediator calls the session back into order. “We will begin with a review of joint assets. Please provide an account of your holdings.”

Your ex-husband leans forward immediately, voice sharp, venomous. “I should be entitled to more than half! She—she’s hiding things! She thinks she can walk away with everything while I—”

Hiromi’s eyes flick to him, icy calm. “Your Honor, if I may?” he interrupts smoothly. “My client has disclosed all joint accounts, investments, and property. Allegations of undisclosed assets are unsubstantiated.”

The ex’s face flushes red. “I—this isn’t fair! After everything—after what she did—”

You stiffen. He thinks he has moral leverage, but Hiromi’s presence is steady, unwavering. “Sir, you cannot argue with the law.” Hiromi says, voice firm but controlled. “And the law does not reward infidelity. Any personal grievances are irrelevant to the division of property. The petitioner is entitled to exactly what the law grants her.”

The courtroom falls silent. Your ex sputters, muttering under his breath, “I can’t believe this… she—she cheated me…”

You feel a flush of anger, your chest tightening. Hiromi leans slightly toward you, whispering, “Ignore him. Stick to the facts. We protect only what is yours. Nothing more, nothing less.”

You nod at him. You took a breath, letting the control of the situation settle in. When asked to provide information about your finances, you answer calmly, factually, leaving nothing out but adding nothing extra.

Your ex grows more frustrated. “And what about the house? The savings? I—she can’t just—”

Hiromi interrupts, smooth and precise. “Your Honor, the petitioner has already offered her fair share for the jointly owned home, as according to the law. Further demands are without legal basis.”

“Without legal basis?” Your ex’s voice rises. “I earned half of everything while she—while she—”

Hiromi’s gaze snaps to him, unflinching. “Your Honor.” he says, voice low and deadly calm. “The petitioner’s entitlement is calculated according to law, regardless of any personal misconduct by either party. Attempts to claim more than legally entitled are not permitted.”

Your ex freezes, jaw tight, caught between fury and impotence. He mutters something incoherent and sits down, defeated for the moment, the tension around him simmering but contained.

The mediator continues, going step by step through assets, savings, the main residence, and potential spousal support. Hiromi handles every challenge, keeping your ex’s arguments firmly grounded in reality. Each time your ex tries to exaggerate or claim more, Hiromi counters calmly, legally, without a trace of emotion.

By the end of the session, partial agreements are reached. The joint assets are divided according to law, the house’s status is clarified, and once it is sold, you share the profit. The spousal support is conceded, because your ex-husband had cheated. He has nothing beyond what the law allows and certainly nothing more.

You lean back slightly, a fragile sense of relief washing over you. The chaos through these many hours, the ceaseless verbal attacks, the endless grasping, the bitter attempts to punish you, has been neutralized for now.

Hiromi leans slightly toward you as you gather your bag, his voice quiet but firm. “Today went exactly as it should. You protected everything you’re entitled to. He won’t take more than the law allows, don’t worry.”

“I know that but I worry.”

“He cheated first. He has no moral ground here, either.” He tells you straight. “Don’t worry about how everyone will react. You are the victim here.”

You exhale slowly, feeling the tension finally begin to drain. “I…I couldn’t have done this alone.” you whisper.

“You didn’t have to.” he replies simply. “That’s why I’m here.”

THE MEDIATIONS COME AND GO, ONE AFTER THE OTHER AND YOU ATTEND EACH AND EVERYONE. Your ex-husband stops attending altogether. At first, it was excuses, vague claims of work obligations, illness. Whatever the reason, the court accepts them, and the sessions proceed without him. 

When he does attend, he always causes nothing but grievances to you. The most you would say was bringing the woman he had cheated on you with, as “his most ardent support” in the proceedings. That had caused  you much anger, and a verbal match ensued. 

It wasn’t long before you started to become infuriated with each and everything he has said, especially with the things he had done. You asked the judge to put a stop to his attacks and the judge all together barred him from his own divorce proceedings. 

With every mediation that passed, your ex-husband’s absence became the new normal. Hiromi and you were left alone at the table with his associates, the court mediators, and the procedural formalities, but no one challenged you directly. Your answers remained calm, precise, factual. There was no room for him to maneuver, no way for him to manipulate the process.

Hiromi’s presence beside you made all the difference. His posture, calm and unflinching, his voice low but firm when speaking on your behalf. Every motion, every word, seemed measured to protect you while keeping things efficient. 

What should have been tense, exhausting, and emotional hearings had become almost mechanical under his guidance. You began to rely on that steadiness, letting him take the weight of confrontation while you followed his lead.

Eventually, you noticed something strange happening. The tight knot of anxiety you used to carry before each session began to loosen. Sitting across from him, listening to his calm explanations, watching him handle lawyers and mediators alike, you realized you were…calm. Comfortable, even.

It wasn’t just the court. It was everything about being with him. His patience with you in everything was impeccable. In every question, every fear, every irrational worry, it was everything to you.

And it was not limited to the courthouse. It extended into private conversations, even into the quiet moments between you in his apartment, or in the rare times when you found yourselves together at his place after long days. Even in bed, his patience never faltered. 

There was no judgment, no rush, no pressure. It was just a steady, patient understanding of you. Wanting you, in ways that your ex-husband never had the patience or desire to desire. Perhaps that was what made it even more beautiful to you.

You let yourself realize, finally, that the divorce was no longer the storm it had once been. The documents, the court dates, the ex-husband’s fleeting threats. All of them existed, but they no longer defined your sense of stability. You were protected. You were in good hands. In Hiromi’s hands, most of all.

And yet, a different worry began to creep in. A worry of a more trivial, but no less real kind. You glanced down at your phone during a lunch “meeting” that everyone assumed was strictly professional. 

Hiromi reached across the table to push a menu closer to you, his fingers brushing yours for just a second too long. He didn’t look up from the documents in front of him, but you felt it. You felt the warmth that had long belonged only to you.

A notification popped up on your phone: a journalist’s account of a photo snapped from outside the restaurant. Someone had caught a glimpse of you and Hiromi leaning toward each other over papers and coffee, captions speculating about more than just legal discussions.

You groaned softly. “Great. Just great. We’re officially the courthouse power couple now.” you muttered, not looking up from your phone.

“Maybe outside of the courthouse too, but well. Besides the point.” Hiromi glanced at you over the top of his folder, eyes sharp but amused. “Are you worried about what they think?” he asked, voice low, calm, and entirely too knowing.

“I can’t help it, I suppose.” you said, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Half the time, we’re pretending this is all strictly ‘lawyer and client’ for the world to see but…everyone can see us now. They’re going to assume the wrong things.”

He smiled faintly, the corners of his mouth tilting in that way that always made your pulse skip. “Let them assume. We know the truth, don’t we?”

You exhaled, realizing he was right. No matter the whispers, the photographs, the attention, you and Hiromi knew what was real. That was all that mattered. Only the truth you both hold matters. 

Still, you couldn’t help glancing at the phone one more time, thinking to yourself, if someone got a good photo of the two of you laughing over lunch, leaning a little too close, sharing the same umbrella after a drizzle, it would be chaos. But maybe, just maybe, it was a chaos you didn’t entirely mind.

By the time the next formal hearing arrives, something has changed. The courthouse lobby is buzzing with life. A few journalists linger near the entrance, cameras discreetly aimed at the front doors. Then there were more in other places within the facilities itself.

Many people all but flooded in the corridors and the hallways and they all whisper as you walk past them with your bodyguards and your entourage. It’s not that you did anything public, at least, not intentionally.

But your previous relationship with Higuruma Hiromi, the story of your messy, public divorce, and the glimpses of your closeness during mediations came to light, this has also made you both figures of fascination in the public eye. 

“Seems we’ve become the courthouse’s most talked-about case.” Hiromi murmurs as you ascend the steps, his tone dry but amused. He adjusts his tie with that effortless composure that always makes him look taller, sharper, untouchable. “It’s been a while since I have had a cult following.”

You glance at him, smirking despite the nerves prickling your skin. “Cult following, huh? Because we’re…efficient?”

He shoots you a look, one corner of his mouth quivering. “Not because of efficiency. And you know that. I know you see the edits on the internet.”

“They’re not exactly what I think of every time we’re together.”

He pauses, his eyes narrowing, getting darker. “Then what do you think about?”

“Something else.” you say almost too confidently, looking at him, and then his body. “You know what I like.”

“Your professionalism wavers easily, it would seem.”

“So does yours.”

Inside the courtroom, the atmosphere is different. Everyone in the room started to glance toward you as you entered, a murmur of recognition passing quietly through the gallery. Some nod politely, others whisper behind their hands. Your presence here, once private and procedural, now feels performative, almost the same as it usually was when you were on the film set.

You slide into your seat, Hiromi beside you as always. His tender, caring hand brushes briefly against yours, not in a claim, but a grounding touch. You notice the slight tightening of his fingers, subtle enough that only you would feel it.

“Focus.” he murmurs, eyes forward. “They’ll stare, they’ll whisper. It doesn’t matter.”

You nod, though your stomach twists. Every eye in the room seems to measure the distance between the two of you, the ease of your closeness, the quiet familiarity that’s impossible to ignore.

The mediator calls the session to order, but the whispered attention doesn’t fade. Your ex’s absence is glaringly obvious now. His chair remains empty. The judge raises an eyebrow, but neither you nor Hiromi flinch. You are the center of the room, the story. You are the ones in control.

Hiromi leans slightly toward you, voice low. “Remember what we’ve done. All your assets, your reputation are secure. He can’t touch anything anymore. This is just…noise.”

You let out a small, almost humorless laugh. “It feels like we’re celebrities in a soap opera.”

He glances at you, expression unreadable. “If it keeps your ex from showing up, I’ll allow the end of the soap opera.”

For a moment, the tension lightens. The eyes, the whispers, the cameras. They are distractions, nothing more. But you feel it, a strange thrill: you and Hiromi, together, untouchable in the eyes of the court, and impossible to ignore.

The hearing begins. Questions are procedural, predictable. But every time your ex’s name comes up, the emptiness of his chair resonates like a victory to you. Hiromi answers calmly, legally, flawlessly, leaving no room for dispute. Every asset, every account, every legal right you have is protected.

As the session wraps, the judge nods. “The court will continue the remaining matters on the scheduled date. This hearing is adjourned.”

You rise, gathering your papers, your bag, your composure. Hiromi stands beside you, close enough that the press and onlookers can see the subtle connection between you. Nothing overt, nothing staged but undeniable.

Outside the courtroom, whispers follow you down the marble steps. People notice the way he walks beside you, the ease of your closeness, the quiet strength in your interactions. He takes your hand in his. Your eyes widened slightly.

Hiromi leans slightly toward you as you exit. “They’ll talk, either way. Close or not, holding hands or not, it’s the same.” he murmurs. “Let them all talk. It changes nothing here.”

You squeeze his hand, fingers curling instinctively around his, feeling the warmth and quiet strength radiating through the simple touch. For a moment, the chatter, the flashing cameras, the whispers, they all fade.

You are acutely aware of the weight of his presence beside you leaning closer at each moment, steady enough to ground you, entirely willing ot be yours in that small moment, as everyone's eyes, everyone's lenses turned to th two of you.

“I…” you start, unsure what to say, your voice low. “I didn’t expect—”

Hiromi gives a small, knowing smile, eyes forward. “That you’d notice? Or that you’d care?”

“Both, I suppose.” you admit, your throat is tight. “It’s……weird. Being seen like this. Everyone is staring. And yet, it doesn’t feel wrong.”

“It shouldn’t, it never should have.” he murmurs, tightening his grip just slightly, enough to anchor you without drawing unnecessary attention. “They can talk all they want. None of it changes what’s real. None of it changes us.”

You glance down at your joined hands, the simple act carrying a weight far beyond its size. The world may have spun stories around you, assigned motives and imagined scandals but here, on the steps, walking away from the courtroom, you feel a rare, quiet certainty.

“Do you think they’ll follow us?” you ask, a wry note creeping into your voice despite the tension. “The reporters, the whispers, the courthouse gossip?”

Hiromi shrugs almost imperceptibly, a small, controlled movement that somehow carries both amusement and warning. “Let them. This isn’t about them. We’re not performing, we’re…here.”

“They’ll call you no good.”

“Then let them.” Hiromi smiles at you. “We’re happy. That’s all that matters here, isn’t it?”

His words settle into your chest like a promise. Amid the chaos of everything that had been happening in that short amount of time, there is a clarity, a center you never thought you’d have.

With Higuruma Hiromi beside you, even a hand held quietly in public feels like armor as much as his words were in the courthouse. It was everything and more.

A flash from a camera catches the corner of your eye. You instinctively glance at the crowd, then back at him. Hiromi’s gaze meets yours, steady and unwavering. There’s a subtle challenge there, but also a quiet reassurance.

“Ready?” he asks.

You nod, drawing in a deep, steadying breath. “Ready.”

And together, you walk down the steps, hand in hand, letting the whispers follow behind you. The courthouse fades in the distance, the world is still watching, still talking but that doesn't matter. Not when you are happy, not when he is happy. You were aware you were no good, but so is he. But that’s better, because you can be the same together.

THE SUN WAS TOO BRIGHT. You moan aloud, the sound tearing itself free before you can think to stop it. On this day of all days, the day the divorce was officially granted, you find yourself trapped in Higuruma Hiromi’s embrace, his body pressing against yours with a weight that is both grounding and consuming.

The world outside doesn’t exist. The courthouse, the whispers, the cameras, the lingering traces of your ex-husband’s attempts to claim what was never his, everything was gone. They all dissolve into nothingness the moment Hiromi’s harsh, yet careful hands settle over you.

Skin slides against skin, slick with the heat of desire and the rawness of emotion. Every movement is charged, urgent, yet precise, a reflection of the man beside you who has guided you, protected you, and understood you in ways no one else ever could.

You arch into him instinctively, clinging to the familiar strength of his body, feeling the steady, deliberate rhythm of his control. He keeps you close, almost cruelly, his hands tracing paths over your curves with a confidence that borders on domination.

“Today…” you gasp, voice trembling. “Fuck….…I can’t…not think of you.”

Hiromi’s lips brush against your neck, his voice low and husky. “You don’t have to think. You only need to feel. Here. With me.”

He had decided earlier that morning that attending court was a waste of time, especially getting out of bed when you were underneath his sheets, tainted by his touch. One phone call led to his underlings being able to handle the paperwork and formalities. 

All that mattered that special morning was claiming you, marking you as his own once again. His hands gripped your hips tightly, pulling you onto his cock with each snap of his hips. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the room, mingling with your moans and his grunts of pleasure.

"Fuck, fuck…." Hiromi growled freely. "You feel so good. So tight around my cock."

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss as he continued to pound into you relentlessly. He broke the kiss, his lips trailing down your neck as he bit and sucked at the sensitive skin. He knew he was leaving marks, claiming you in the most primal way possible. 

But he didn't care. Let the whole world see that you belonged to him now. He felt your walls starting to flutter around him, signaling your impending orgasm. He reached between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing tight circles around it.

"Come for me, sweetheart.” he demanded. "Come on my cock like a good girl."

His thrusts became erratic, his own release barreling down on him as he chased yours. His thumb pressed hard against your clit, pushing you over the edge. You screamed his name as you came, your pussy clamping down around him like a vice. That was all it took to send him spiraling into his own orgasm. He buried himself deep inside you with a roar, filling you with his hot seed as he shuddered above you.

Even as he emptied himself inside you, Higuruma Hiromi knew he wasn't done. Not by a long shot. He had waited too long for this for a long time, dreamed of this moment with you in his bed for years and years. He wasn't about to let it end so quickly. He rolled his hips, grinding his still-hard cock against your sensitive flesh as he felt himself starting to swell again.

"I'm not done with you yet, sweetheart," he murmured again, voice rough and low, vibrating against your skin. "I'm going to take and take, push and push. We have something to celebrate, after ten years, after all."

You shivered violently, breath hitching. Your hands clutched at him, pulling him closer, needing every inch of his body. "Hiromi… please…" you gasped, words breaking into moans, incoherent, but full of longing.

He didn’t answer with words. He pulled out slowly, watching as his cum leaked out of your well-used hole. Then he flipped you over onto your stomach and entered you from behind in one hard thrust, setting a brutal pace that had the headboard slamming against the wall.

He just moved closer, pressing into you with a fierce, unrelenting rhythm that stole your breath. Every thrust, every movement sent sparks through your nerves, and your body melted against his, all thought and restraint vanishing.

You moaned loudly, arching into him, lost. Lost in the heat, lost in the feel of him, lost in the sensation of being wanted, claimed, worshiped. “Ah… I can’t… can’t hold it…”

"Don't hold back, sweetheart. Keep screaming, keep meeting me half way." Hiromi growled against your ear. "I want to feel you come apart on my cock. I want to hear you scream my name."

You do as he says, screaming loud as his gruff hands gripped your hips tightly, pulling you back onto him with each thrust. The heat makes you feel like you could pass out at any moment. You feel drool pouring out the corner of your lips as he starts kissing you, his tongue pushing deep into your throat as you moan.

The more he pushed deeper, the faster he went, the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room with echoes that were sure to be more thunderous than before. Your hands on his hair, his lips now kissing your neck, as much as he started sucking and biting.

Your pleasures were mingling with your moans and his grunts of pleasure. He could feel your walls starting to flutter around him once again, signaling your impending orgasm. He reached around, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing tight circles around it.

"Come for me, pretty sweetheart." he demanded of you, this time more hoarse than before. "Come all over my cock like the good babe you always have been."

Your body obeyed his command, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. You screamed his name over and over, losing the tone as it cracks in the flood of pleasure, your pussy clamping down around him like a vice as you came undone.

Hiromi followed you over the edge, his own release hitting him hard. He buried himself deep inside you with a roar, filling you with his hot seed as he shuddered above you. He collapsed onto you, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath.

Your body trembled beneath him, still shivering from the intensity of your climax, each pulse of pleasure leaving you weak and raw. Hiromi’s weight pressed you gently against the sheets, grounding you even as your mind spun from the aftermath. 

You could feel the lingering warmth of him inside you, the heat of his release, and it anchored every shiver, every quiver. He stayed there, chest pressed against yours, breathing heavy, and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat through the thin layer of skin between you was intoxicating. 

His fingers traced slow, deliberate patterns across your shoulders, down your arms, lingering in places meant only for him. “I love you. I love you more than I could ever describe. Even when you’re no good, I want to be with you.”

Your breath hitched at his words, the raw honesty in his voice sending a shiver straight through you. “Hiromi…You don’t have to…” you whispered, voice trembling. You…you don’t have to say that. You…you’ve given me everything already.”

He lifted his head slightly, eyes locking with yours, dark and unflinching. “No, no.” he said firmly, brushing a damp strand of hair from your face. “I have to say it.”

“Hiromi—”

“Because if I don’t, you might think—” His hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin. “—that any of this is just physical. That any of what I feel can be contained by words, by touches, by…this.”

Your chest tightened. “I…I don’t deserve you sometimes, I hurt you. I broke your heart and I….” you admitted, voice breaking. “After everything—after the mess with him, after—” You stopped yourself, not trusting your voice.

Hiromi shook his head, pressing another kiss to your forehead, soft and grounding. “Stop it, okay?” he murmured. “Don’t apologize. Don’t justify. You’re not ‘no good’ to me. You’re human.  You wanted a life and I just….things are different now. Nothing can prevent us from being together.”

You felt overcome with emotion at his confession. “Hiromi….”

“And I…I want every part of you. Every flawed, beautiful, messy part. That’s why I’m here. That’s why I stayed.”

You felt tears prick the corners of your eyes, a mixture of relief, exhaustion, and the lingering thrill of what had just passed between you. “I’ve never…felt this safe with anyone. Only you. Even back then….” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper

Hiromi tightened his hold, pressing his body closer. “Good.” he breathed. “Because I’m not going anywhere. Not tonight, not tomorrow, not ever. You don’t have to worry. You don’t have to carry the weight alone. Ever again.”

“Hiromi.”

“There’s nothing to forgive.” He whispers to you, pressing a kiss on your cheek, then to your lips. He smiles. “Let me love you.”

You tilted your head, pressing a kiss to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. “I…I love you too, Hiromi. More than words could describe.” you whispered, letting yourself finally melt into the warmth of him. “I’ve been waiting…I’ve been holding back for so long, and now…I can’t anymore. I just…”

“You don’t have to say more, okay?” he interrupted softly, nuzzling into your hair. “I know. Every look, every touch, every time you let me in…it tells me more than words ever could.”

You rested your head against him, chest rising and falling against his, shivers still running through your limbs. “Thank you.”

“No, no.” He shakes his head, smiling wider. “Thank you.”

epilogue

A few months later, the same courthouse that once echoed with the hollow finality of your long suffering marriage in divorce now buzzed with a different kind of anticipation. It wasn’t exactly the same fanfare, but it was everything to you. 

The Tokyo District Court was reserved compared to the grand hall wedding you had with your ex-husband. But even with all fluorescent lights, polished floors, and quiet authority, this was probably a better wedding to you than the first one. 

The last time you stood there to declare your wedding after the glamorous ceremony, your hands had trembled as the clerk stamped the final page. The air had felt heavy, like something irreversible had just been carved into stone. This time, your hands were steady.

The clerk recognized you. Her brows lifted almost imperceptibly before her professional composure returned. Papers were placed in front of you again. A pen slid across the desk. Beside you stood the infamous divorce lawyer Higuruma Hiromi.

He looked as he always did. Dashing in his immaculate suit, tie aligned with near-mathematical precision, expression composed enough to intimidate a courtroom. Yet there was something unmistakably softer in his gaze when it turned to you. His hand rested at the small of your back, firm and grounding, as though the world itself might tilt without his steadying touch.

“I suppose this is ironic, isn’t it?” you murmured, glancing at the very bench where you once sat alone.

“The law is not concerned with irony. It records conclusions and beginnings with equal neutrality, sweetheart.”

You smiled faintly. “And what is this?”

His fingers intertwined with yours. Warm. Certain. “A new precedent….One I intend to uphold for the rest of my life.”

There were no sweeping violins. No dramatic audience. Only a quiet exchange of vows that felt far more binding than any spectacle could offer. Your voice wavered only once, not from doubt, but from the overwhelming clarity of knowing you were choosing again. This time, without any intention to let go.

When the final signature was placed and the declaration made, the sound that echoed in the hallway was not the hollow stamp of loss. It was your laughter. You stepped out of those courthouse doors no longer carrying the weight of something broken, but the certainty of something rebuilt.

“I’m very happy to call you my wife.” Hiromi whispered against your skin, pressing a kiss on your cheek. 

You giggled. “I’m very happy to call you my husband too.”

It caused quite a stir. But of course it would. He was your long time ex-boyfriend, the one who represented you in your divorce and now after just mere months of reconnecting, you were both getting married like nothing happened. Yet that was just life.

Life was as unpredictable as the weather. But this unpredictability was more than welcome to you, to him. It was all you both could have ever strived for after such a long time being apart, suffering in the silence of your own respective chaotic worlds.

But now things made sense.

Being together made sense.

Being happy made sense.

Months later, the world was louder. The red carpet stretched endlessly beneath your heels, a river of crimson beneath flashes of white light. The premiere banner of your new film towered behind you, your name emblazoned in gold. 

Reporters called out questions in overlapping waves. Microphones extended toward you like reaching hands. And beside you, as he had been since that quiet courthouse a few months ago, stood Higuruma Hiromi, your husband.

He wore a tailored black tuxedo now, the severity softened by the unmistakable pride in his posture. His hand never left your waist, ever so protective and careful. Your own hand, where your gleaming wedding band shone, rested instinctively against the gentle curve of your stomach.

You were pregnant.

You both were happy about it.

And certainly, it seems everyone is too.

The news had broken hours before the premiere, it was the right time, seeing as you were already far along. Headlines called it shocking. It was so sudden, so unexpected. It was the effect of that beautiful whirlwind romance that people did not even expect. 

The internet, as always, had opinions. People always had something to say about things. But none of that noise reached you the way his quiet voice did when he leaned closer. He was all that mattered to you, as much as you were all that mattered to him.

“Are you tired?” he asked, low enough that only you could hear.

“I’m fine, sweetie.” you assured him. “I have a very capable attorney ensuring my safety.”

A faint smile ghosted across his lips. “But I’m not just your attorney now, no?”

You giggled happily. “No, no. You’re also my equally very capable husband.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” he whispers to you, kissing your lips, which makes you giggle even more.

A reporter shouted, “How does it feel to be newly married and expecting while starring in the most anticipated film of the year?”

“It’s amazing! It’s everything that one can dream of, after a long long winter.” you tell them, smiling and waving at everyone. The cameras flicker even more. “I’m with someone that makes it all easier.”

Hiromi’s gaze looked at you lovingly before it flicked toward the cameras, measured and calm. “Life rarely adheres to strict timelines. But when events align in one’s favor, it would be unreasonable not to express gratitude and contentment.”

You laughed softly, the sound warm despite the chaos. “He means we’re very happy.”

The flashes intensified even more as your husband smiled and kissed you again, everyone eager to capture every angle of that kiss. Before long, you both moved along, but even then, everyone was crazed in capturing more of you two.

The protective curve of his arm around you, the way he adjusted his pace to match yours, the softness in his eyes that only ever appeared when he thought no one else was looking. It would be on the front page of every newspaper, article and social media site before the end of the night.

Once, that courthouse had marked your ending.

Now, it was merely a footnote in a far greater story.

You leaned toward him as photographers called for one final shot. “Marrying you in that building might be my favorite plot twist.”

Hiromi glanced down at you with happiness, nothing else mattered now. “Then let us ensure…..that every chapter that follows from here on out surpasses it.”

You smiled. “Of course.”

[cloverbbun]

── ⟢ period sex

♯┆ how they fuck you when you're on your period

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ cw: mdni! fem!reader, period sex, mentions of blood, oral (reader receiving), fingering, mentions of anal, slight overstimulation, Mahito (a cw in itself) | blurbs for most jjk men

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ notes: my requests are open >:3

♡ comments and reblogs appreciated ♡

Toji doesn't have a strong opinion on period sex. He prefers not to get that messy with blood on the bed or couch but he's up to it on the floor or in the shower. He prefers to fuck your ass during that time - just a personal preference but if you crave his cock he gladly bruises your cervix, not caring if you're a whining mess from the hard thrusts. But his go to is anal to not get your blood on his dick.

Gojo hates seeing you in pain and doesn't mind helping you out. He was actually the one who brought it up, offering to finger you because orgasms help with the cramps and as long as you're keeping yourself somewhat clean down there he doesn't mind using his tongue on your clit either. He did however paint a heart on your mound with your blood after you came three times on his fingers.

Geto isn't too much of a fan of period sex but is conflicted because he knows it will help you with the pain. He will gladly use his fingers and also fucks you but prefers to wait with oral until your period is done. He makes sure to have a towel beneath you and goes for slow but deep strokes to get your legs to quiver from how intense it feels.

Nanami doesn't mind if you're on your period - it's only natural, but like Geto he won't give oral during that time. He prefers to finger you or rut into you really slow while in the bathtub. It involves lots of praise of how well you take him, feeling you squeeze around him because the sensation of his cock inside of you is so much more intense during that time. Plus being in the shower or bathtub makes cleaning up so much easier. 

Higuruma is not too fazed by period sex and prefers to use his hands on you during that time since he loves just how sensitive you are. He rolls your clit between his fingers before pushing two or three of his long digits into you without further warning. The way you moan for him, his fingers enough to overwhelm you make him so hard he can't wait to sink his cock into your cunt if you let him. 

Yuuta was a little disgusted at first but gave it a chance since it's just a little bit of blood. Your sweet face when he sunk his dick into you will never leave his mind now. Your eyebrows knitted together and your mouth falling open. You also felt so much warmer than usual he never wanted to stop rutting into you. He likes it when you're on top and he fucks up into you - not caring at all if the blood ends up on him.

Choso blushed when you suggested it to him. He'd love nothing more but to bury himself between your thighs during your period. He devours your core and relishes the taste of your arousal mixed with blood on his tongue, his fingers digging deep into you to massage your sweet spot delicately. The orgasms help with your pain but he doesn't know when to stop, addicted to having you like this.

Sukuna never cared for a little blood but he won't give you princess treatment either. If you're horny or looking for some pain relief he lets you ride him. Tire yourself out on his lap and don't mind the squelching noises from how his cock fills you up. If you're in too much pain he will help you move your hips, gently guiding you up and down his length. He does hold back on the harder thrusts, knowing you're more sensitive on your period. 

Mahito absolutely loves period sex and doesn't mind getting all dirty with your blood. It's so incredibly arousing to him because you're so vulnerable like this and so easy to overstimulate. He doesn't mind lapping at your cunt and making you squirm when he grins at you, half his face covered in blood and slick before giving you a few more orgasms on his fingers and cock. He makes you lick his fingers clean so be careful what you wish for. 

Yuuji is such a caring boyfriend, hating to see you in pain and doing everything he can to make it better so of course, if you want him to finger you he will. He was hesitant to fuck you because you whine and whimper a lot but he will make love to you, his thrusts extra gentle and his fingers never leaving your clit to bring you more pleasure. The way you paw at him and whine his name always makes him cum. 

Megumi doesn't like period sex but he also doesn't like you whining around so he's willing to use your toys on you. He can get a little mean during those times and makes sure that you're properly exhausted by the time you're done. He loves to hold the wand against your clit while either using his fingers or one of your other toys to massage your sweet spot until all pain is gone and you're no longer so needy. 

[dxpaa]

You always knew that your husband Hiromi was a workaholic. A constant job, a busy schedule and of course no healthy sleep. As if nothing else, he was a lawyer. And not just a regular one but one of the most prestigious and sought-after here in Tokyo.

“Not today, honey.”

“I’m really busy, sweetheart.”

And other similar phrases you received in response constantly when you had a dialogue with him where you offered a new activity so you guys at least can spend a little more time together. And you understood, really. Oh gosh, you really tried to understand him. To look at the world from his perspective to say that. To see his side, because you knew he was trying for both of you.

But why you? Why are you trying to understand him, and he doesn’t have you? Why is his job always between your marriage? And why do you always give in to him, but Hiromi can never find time for you? For his wife.

And that’s how the argument started.

"You know very well who am I and what my responsibilities as a lawyer are. And I’m not lying to you when I say that I’m very busy and I don’t have time."

"But you always say that! You always use that damn argument!"

You both stood in your shared bedroom opposite each other, shared by your huge bed. Hiromi recently returned home, was still in his costume. And as usual late at night when you were already in your pajamas and preparing for bed.

"Y/N, so what do you want me to say if not this phrase that I’m busy?”

You stood in front of him and looked in nowhere. You didn’t know what you really wanted to hear from him. Your ears could no longer stand what you heard from him all the damn time. You didn’t even know if your husband was capable of saying anything other than the odious "I’m busy" to you.

You didn’t say a word, standing and pondering his question. Is it true that Hiromi can’t tell you something else than "I’m busy" when he’s a lawyer?

Tiredly breathing, your husband quietly began to untie his necktie and unbutton his shirt.

"I didn’t even know how selfish you are, Y/N. You can’t even understand me."

You froze up immediately after his words, which hit you like an electric shock.

You slowly turned your gaze from the wall to him standing by the closet and hanging his things. You couldn’t believe what you heard and wanted to make sure that it wasn’t hallucinations, but the actual words spoken by your husband.

But it definitely wasn’t fucking hallucinations.

"S-selfish? Am I selfish to you, Hiro? And you saying I’m not trying to understand you?" Your words were so quiet as a whisper. You would have been willing to slip through the ground just to avoid standing here beside him.

Hiromi raised one eyebrow on you, clearly annoyed by your behavior.

"And only now has it come to you? Grow up, Y/N. Adults have jobs and other more important responsibilities. You always think only of yourself and never want to understand what it’s like for me to be constantly stressed with my job."

You didn’t want to cry and make a scene. You really didn’t. But why do his words hurt you so? Especially when you know he’s wrong right now and blames you for "thinking only of yourself" when that is not true at all.

"And you know what’s even more annoying about everything? That you think I’m interested in all of this…shit. All your stupid ideas for dates, romantic dinners and invitations to go to those overstimulating events."

Your eyes are turning glassy and something inside slowly starts to break. Something in your chest is starting to hurt, as if it had stepped on you.

"I don’t understand why you keep trying. I’ve told you so many times that I don’t have time for all your baby whippings, and you keep going with this circus."

And he just keeps going.

"Hiromi…"

"If you really want to do what’s best for us, just don’t hysterize me here after my fucking job and stop trying when you know you’ll get the same answer."

That’s it.

That’s how he ended up saying everything he thought.

But he did it with his back to you while hanging his things in the closet and changing into his sleep pants.

And he clearly didn’t see your red, crying face and trembling hands. How salty tears flowed down your cheeks and you stood nervous, biting your lip to blood. The way you froze in place, unable to move, for your body seemed to be numb by shock and words heard.

Because he never talked to you like that. Openly insulting you and making you feel uncomfortable. No, that’s not the treatment you deserve. That’s not the treatment any woman in her marriage deserves. When she puts all of herself into her marriage, throwing away her dreams and career to become a housewife.

And your attempts to defend yourself? He didn’t even want to listen to you, continuing to say everything in his typical grumpy tone, not hearing your sobbing behind his back.

Maybe after everything he said there was no need to defend yourself, you thought and hastily put your trembling hands to your face and began to wipe away your tears with the back of the palms.

And that’s when your husband turned to you and saw what he had done. All the tears that caused his words to be said to you without considering the consequences. For the first time in his life, he realized that he had never done anything more humiliating.

You noticed that he was looking at you and your attempts to calm your tremor and felt... ashamed? You were ashamed of your own tears and uncomfortable that your own husband was looking at you. Your beloved husband.

"Hey, hey…"

The man carefully took a few steps towards you, but you, as if afraid of him, moved backwards. And it broke his heart in pieces.

"Love, please, I didn’t mean to…"

"I’m n-not selfish…" You looked at him with your swollen eyes through the vale of tears. And those beautiful eyes were red.

"No honey, of course you’re not."

"But you fucking said that! And you said that I don’t try to understand you! And that I need to grow up! And that you secretly hate everything I offer you!"

Your voice fell out and broke. You broke. And you couldn’t hold back your despair any longer.

"But you’re the selfish one, Hiromi! You are the one who never tried to understand me!"

You were right. And only now it slowly began to settle in his head.

"Darling, please…" He couldn’t look at this. He couldn’t physically bear the fact that made you suffer. And now watching you desperately try to protect yourself from him, after he realized he was screwed up just makes him swoon in pain.

"All my attempts to bring us closer were because of the despair that I missed you. I miss who you used to be. I miss us, Hiro…" That confession wasn’t what he expected. And it comes to him how stupid and blind he was all this time.

"I-I have always yielded to you and tried not to disturb you every time you said that you were busy and waited patiently for you to have at least one day off."

You covered your face again with your palms and fell down on the cold floor, sobbing with resentment and anger.

Hiromi came up to you and crouched down next to you. For the first time in these two years of your marriage, he didn’t know how to behave around you. He was ashamed. Incredibly ashamed. And he was angry with himself. He could only now feel disgust for himself and nothing else. You deserved better treatment.

You deserved to have your efforts noticed and praised. You deserved to be happy with someone who was actually compromising when you were too. And your husband knew he had failed at that task.

"Honey, Y/N, I’m so deeply sorry that I didn’t notice all your effort all this time. I’m so so sorry, my love…" He whispered, softly touching your hair, as if afraid to hurt you. "And I know how wrong I was when I called you selfish. Please forgive me."

He knelt down before you, very carefully touching your hands to remove them from your face.

And you let him. Just like touching your chin so you can look at him.

Your incredible eyes that once looked at him adoringly were now red and swollen with tears. Your cheeks were still damp, and your lips swollen and all in blood. Oh God, how he hates himself. He fucking hates himself.

He gently removed the tattered strands of hair from your face and looked at you with all his love through his brown, tired eyes under which lay the huge sacks.

He turned his gaze to your puffy lips and kissed them as gently as he did, trying to bring into this kiss all that could not be conveyed through simple words. But you couldn’t find the strength to kiss him back. Not after everything that happened. And he understood that. For the first time, he really understood you.

After the kiss with the taste of your metallic blood, he pressed his forehead to yours. You took a deep breath and closed your eyes.

"I can’t forgive you, Hiromi."

"I know."

You sat there for a couple of minutes in complete silence, listening to each other’s breath and heartbeat. Especially he yours.

"I know that I don’t deserve to be forgiven after all I’ve said. But I want to try to start over. Because I can’t lose you. You mean too much to me and I want to prove it to you."

[torupng]

❝ COMFORT SEX ❞ .ᐟ

゛★ lawyer ! hiromi higuruma helps you get over your divorce.

drabble .ᐟ ⋆ #modern hiromi ⋆ comfort sex ⋆ gentle praise ⋆ p in v ⋆ hiromi is your divorce attorney ⋆ forbidden relationship ⋆ 18+ nsfw mdni art by @hunnismokah

the trial was a brutal mess.

hours of mark’s—your soon to be ex husband—lawyer twisting every piece of evidence, sneering implications about your “overreactions,” and the judge’s neutral face making it all feel hopeless. like all the money you spent was just going into the ‘losses’ pile along with the house, the car, and everything else.

by the time the gavel adjourned for the day, you felt like absolute shit: drained, hopeless, and doubting if any of this fight was worth it. hiromi higuruma had been a rock in court, he was calm and precise with his arguments, effortlessly cutting through all the bullshit mark’s lawyer was spewing, but even he looked more exhausted than usual as you both stepped out into the late night air.

“you did well,” he said quietly, sunflower pin still perfectly in place on his suit. his voice was steady, but his eyes—those perpetually tired eyes that made you think ‘yep that’s a lawyer’—softened when they met yours. “this one’s dragging on everyone. come on. let me drive you home… or if you’re up for it, my apartment’s closer. dinner. a drink. nothing fancy. you shouldn’t be alone with all this spinning in your head. i need you sharp for the final trial.”

you knew it was a bad idea. he knew it too—you could see the flicker of hesitation before he offered like maybe if it wasn’t too late to take it back he would’ve. but the thought of your empty place, of replaying mark’s smug face, made you nod. “yeah… okay. thanks.”

his apartment was pretty modest for a lawyer but warm in a lived-in way with books everywhere, a simple kitchen, dim lighting that suited his whole weary vibe. he shed his jacket and tie almost immediately, rolling up his sleeves as he poured you a glass of red wine and started pulling ingredients for a quick stir-fry. conversation flowed—case details at first, then veering into personal territory. he listened as you vented, nodding with quiet empathy. “people are weak,” he murmured at one point, handing you a plate. “ugly in how they justify hurting others. you didn’t deserve any of it.”

one glass turned into two. plates were set aside. you were both on the couch, closer than professional, when the tension snapped. his hand brushed your knee, then lingered where it shouldn’t have. you leaned in first this time, and he met you halfway—kissing you like he had in the office before backpedaling and muttering “we can’t”—but it was slower, deeper, like he’d been replaying it too. “we shouldn’t,” he breathed against your lips, even as his fingers threaded into your hair. he’s too far gone now. “fuck, this could end my license if anyone knew.”

but he didn’t stop and you didn’t want him to.

clothes came off in a haze of hands and murmurs, trailing from couch to bedroom. by the time he laid you down on his bed, you were bare under his gaze, heart racing mile a minute. hiromi hovered over you, still in his trousers, his body lean and solid from what must’ve been stress-fueled late nights and an occasional workout. his expression was reverent, almost pained with want, those tired eyes tracing every inch of you like he was committing it to memory in case this all went to shit somehow.

“look at you,” he whispered, voice low and rough with restraint. he kissed down your neck, slow and deliberate, hands mapping your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. “so beautiful. he never saw it, did he? never appreciated this.” his mouth closed over one nipple, tongue swirling gently as he sucked, drawing a gasp from you. “i could treat you so much better. every day, if you’d let me.”

you arched into him, fingers digging into his messy hair. “hiromi… please. i need you.”

the sound of his name—his first name, not his last—on your tongue made something in him loosen. it rolled off your tongue so sweetly. made him wonder what it would be like to live that sound every day. he groaned softly, shifting to push his pants and boxers low enough. his cock was thick, flushed, already leaking at the tip from the makeout earlier as it slapped against his stomach. he settled between your thighs, not rushing, instead running his hands over your hips, your stomach, worshipping the soft curves and dips. if he was going to finally do this—he’d take his time and do it right. last thing he wants is for you to think he’s using you for a quick fuck.

“if anyone found out about this—about me fucking my client in my own bed…” he shook his head, a dry, self-deprecating huff escaping him even now. “bar hearing. disbarment. everything i’ve built, gone because i couldn’t keep my hands off you.” his fingers dipped between your legs, stroking your slick folds and circling your clit with practiced, gentle pressure until you were whimpering. “but god, i hate to say you’re worth the risk. worth everything i’ve worked so hard for. so wet for me already. let me make you feel good.”

he lined himself up, rubbing the head of his cock against your entrance teasingly before pushing in—slow and inch by inch, stretching you open with a groan that vibrated against your collarbone where his lips pressed open mouthed kisses. “fuck… so warm.” fully seated, buried deep, he stilled, forehead pressed to yours, breathing you in. his hands cupped your face, thumbs stroking your cheeks. “he doesn’t deserve you. never did. a woman like you—strong, resilient, beautiful—should be cherished. not cheated on.”

you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, nails raking lightly down his back. “hiromi…” you whined, your back arching as your hips canted slightly. the sound paired with your movement resulted in a desperate twitch of his cock. “help me forget—please.”

he started moving—long, deep thrusts that dragged against every sensitive spot inside you, ones your husband could never reach in a million years if he tried—gentle but relentless in a way that showed just how much he’s wanted this. not pounding, but rolling his hips in a steady rhythm that built heat like a slow burn. “yeah… like this?” he murmured, kissing your jaw, your throat, down to your breasts again. he lavished attention on them, sucking marks into the soft flesh while one hand kneaded the other. “every part of you is perfect. these…” he dragged his tongue over one of your breasts, fingers teasing the budding nipple on the other. “the way you’re pulling me in… fuck, you’re a terrible influence on me.”

you moaned his name—the sound doing unspeakable things to him— your hips rising to meet his, the wet slap of skin filling the room alongside your shared groans and breaths. he worshipped as he fucked you—hands gliding over your thighs, lifting one higher for a better angle, lips trailing praises between sloppy kisses and thrusts. “you’re so good for me, aren’t you? taking me so deep. you’re glowing like this, all spread out in my bed.” his pace quickened just a fraction a drop of sweat beading on his brow. you could tell he wanted to go harder, be rougher—but he held himself back. “i could do this every night. come home to you, bury myself in you, remind you how you should be treated. no more tears over that bastard.”

“hih…hiromi—, right there,” you gasped, clenching around his cock as pleasure coiled tight. your hands explored him too—tracing the lines of his shoulders, the faint scars of an overworked life, down to where he disappeared inside you then back up to slide your fingers into the darkness of his hair as he leaned down to make it easier for you.

he shuddered at your touch, thrusting deeper, grinding against your clit with each roll. “that’s a sweet girl... don’t be shy—let go. i want to feel you come around me.” one hand slipped between you, thumb rubbing firm circles on your clit while he maintained that devastating rhythm. “come for me, sweetheart. show me how much better i can make you finish.”

the orgasm hit you hard, waves crashing through you as you cried out, pulsing around his thick length. he groaned your name like a prayer, fucking you through it with gentle persistence, drawing it out until you were trembling. only then did he let himself chase his own release—burying his face in your neck, hips stuttering as the pleasure built. but at the last moment he pulled out with a strained curse, stroking himself fast over your stomach. thick ropes of cum painted your skin as he shuddered, breathing hard. “reckless… too fucking reckless to finish inside you,” he panted, voice wrecked as he let out a hoarse sigh. “can’t risk that on top of everything else.”

he didn’t collapse right away. instead, he stayed close, holding you against him, pressing soft kisses to your temple, your cheeks, your lips. grabbing a tissue from the nightstand, he gently cleaned you up with careful touches. “this was reckless,” he admitted quietly, voice husky and completely sated beyond belief, a hint of that dry humor returning. “beyond reckless. but feeling you like this… worth every potential consequence.” his hands continued their gentle exploration, stroking your sides, your hair, as if he couldn’t stop worshipping your gorgeous frame. “stay tonight. let me take care of you properly since he clearly never could.”

you curled into him, the stress from the trial fading under the warmth of his body and words, knowing full well this complicated everything that would come in the future—but for now you had to just rely on both your abilities to keep a secret.

© torupng | all rights reserved.

[sonderinghiraeth]

The lamplit livingroom of Higuruma's apartment wafted the smell of worn out law school books and old coffee. Something that you reveled in, something that went unnoticed to Hiromi.

You would catch yourself taking in purposeful breaths often. Remembering the smell, the notes, the faint leather intertwining from the couch you made yourself comfortable on. One foot hung off of the armrest while you gazed at the city lights outside.

Higuruma stayed out until the sun started to rise some nights, working on cases he knew would be a hardsought win. Nothing crossing his mind other than his client, the defendants, the plaintiffs, the judge.

You.

You were a constant in his mind no matter the stakes of anything in his life. Some may call it a deterance, he called you a necessity for his sanity.

Besides, you were well aware of how hardworking he was from the moment you met him, rushing in a cafe you both just so happened to stop through at the same time one morning. He ran late to a case study for you. That's why you didn't mind the late nights.

You would usually fall asleep on the couch waiting for him, and he would eventually sneak his way inside, close the door with a whisper of the lock turning, and make his way over to your sleeping form with a cocktail of caution, guilt, adoration coursing through his face.

He loved the way your hair fell over your pretty eyelashes, your lips gently parted with shallow breaths. The lamp still glowing next to you cast an amber glow over your skin, in one of his few casual shirts and some sleep shorts. You were his perfect girl.

Some mornings he would make it a point to wake up earlier than you, have a pot of coffee brewing, and a small breakfast on the stove. He never was much of a cook, but he had learned how to make the onigiri you always liked to snack on during your commute to work.

He started taking one Friday off a month. No work, no calls, just you, him, and whatever his precious girl wanted to do. Some Fridays involved a quiet day in with a movie and a few snacks. Others were day trips to a few towns over to visit some of the tourist spots.

Mainly you savored the moments you were allowed to experience each other together. The way the corner of Hiromi's lips hooked when he smiled. His insistence of keeping you on the far end of the sidewalk. You eventually learned his preferences and dislikes and all the things in between which you loved.

You always loved him because, not despite. Even on the nights you spent alone. Because Hiromi knew how to take care of his girl when he was there, and that's what mattered to you. After years of floating aimlessly through the haze of sad sapped relationships you finally found a man who loved you gently, naturally, like it came to him as easy as air.

Hiromi felt the same. He never once fretted over you running off on him. He didn't worry about the what-ifs or could-bes. He knew you would tell him anything, even if he didn't ask. He loved your headstrong spirit more than anything.

He would kiss you before bed on weekend nights, lingering with the taste of the old fashions he had at the restaurant. "I promise, I'll slow down. I'll slow down if it means keeping you." He would whisper.

"There's no need to slow down." You would assure him, running your fingers through his gel tuffed hair.

"I'll keep up with you no matter the pace."

[ackerprettyy]

18+

Higuruma hates it when you’re not loud

hiromi higuruma has spent his entire career in courtrooms, surrounded by a bunch of old geezers who suppress their voices and emotions. He prefers it that way though, he doesn’t care about them, but he cares about you. He wants to hear your heartfelt opinion , he wants to hear your rants, and he wants to hear you scream when his dick is inches deep inside of your pussy.

“mmmnn..mphh” dick was so good you didn’t even realize that you were holding everything in, even your breath. He had you pinned beneath him, his well-toned arms caging both sides of your head and his body a solid heat against yours. His dark eyes roamed over your features like a starved man. He lowers his head down to your ear, in a gentle possessive rasp. “wanna hear my girl…let me hear you baby” His breath hitches and eyes close, savoring every inch of friction between you two. He was holding back on purpose, just enough to keep your head spinning.

“want me to go faster?..make you feel good?”

He felt your weak head nod against his chest and doesn’t waste a second. His pace instantly becomes faster, deeper, enough to bring out those broken sounds from your throat.

“agh!..nghh hir..oomii”

He chuckles at your incoherent sounds, eyes dark and intense as his dick continues to drill inside you. Hiromi feels you clench your walls down onto him, and a satisfied smirk curves his lips.

He whispers, his breath soft and hot against your ear “let go for me sweetheart, please”

Your back arches into his body and jaw goes slack, but no words form the orgasm that’s ripping through your body. Hiromi holds you fast as your back arches, strong arms wrapping around you, clinging onto your trembling form. As the after shocks of your orgasm continues to rip through your body, hiromi buries his nose into the crook of your neck, inhaling the scent of your skin mixed with sweat.

“good girl” he murmurs, voice vibrating against your collarbone.

He slightly shifted, lifting his head to look down at you. His dark hair damp, with strands falling across his forehead, and the intensity in his eyes softened to something more tender. His thumb gently brushed a stray tear from your cheek.

“look at you” he whispered, a faint breathless smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “just absolutely beautiful.”

slowly and methodically, he began to move again, not with a hectic motion from before, but with a slow drawn out motion, designed to drag out the sensitivity from your orgasm. A small gasp escaped from your throat and Hiromi quickly caught it with his lips, holding you into a deep kiss.

He thrusted into you one last time, burying his dick impossibly deep, with his body shuddering as his last bit of control snapped. A low messy grown tore through his throat, a raw desperate sound that no one else in the world would ever hear but you, as he came deep inside of you, his hot seed flowing into your core while holding you so tightly as if he was trying to become one with your soul.

Afterward, there was a peaceful exhausted silence and stillness and Hiromi collapsed softly beside you, pulling you into his chest. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you again his warm body.

“Don’t hold back” he murmurs sleepily, tracing the pattern of your stomach with his fingers. “never hold back with me”

[pinkkoifish]

Love Me Not

Tags : semi angst? Fluff kinda?

Summary : your husband tried to give you the best anniversary, but work gets in the way of nearly everything, including this. Not proofread!!

Three months. That's how long it'd been since you and your husband, hiromi, did anything together. He's been busy before, but never like this. In the past, you two could at least share the mundane moments of life together but now there was barely any trace of him at home.

Gone were the sweet morning kisses, and shared cups of coffee. Nowadays, his presence could only be found in the lingering scent of his cologne and the case papers strewn about the house.

To say the least, you were tired but more paranoid than anything. Had he grown tired of you? Is there someone else? Is this what people meant when they said the honeymoon phase will end? Each day that passed in these past two months was like your own personal hell.

The first few weeks were fine, but then you started seeing signs, purchases for flowers you never got, expensive gifts, having to cancel plans for overtime and the final nail in the coffin, missing your anniversary.

The dinner table was adorned with candles, cutlery neatly laid out and a myriad of cusines, albeit they were now cold from how long they'd been sitting out. You sat in the chair across from the one you'd set out for Hiromi, hands tightly clasped in your lap, wrinkling the ethereal dress you'd worn just for him.

Your hands kept reaching for your phone, refreshing the screen over and over again in hopes that he'd text you, that he'd remember, that he'd care. Hours passed by with you sitting there in silence and not a single word from him.

By the time the clock had struck 12:00 a.m., you'd lost any hope of him coming home tonight. A large lump had formed in your throat, tears clouding your vision and eventually staining your cheeks as you got unready, slipping into something more comfortable and falling asleep in your shared bed, now cold without him.

Hiromi staggered through the front door at around 2:00 a.m., flowers in hand as well as bags from different stores, all the things he'd been hiding just to surprise you on your anniversary, exhaustion weighing him down, his eye bags darker than they were that morning, his briefcase, coat and shoes haphazardly tossed on the floor. The sweet scent of candles hit him instantly, pulling his gaze to the decorated dinner table, then their bedroom door, tightly shut.

“damn it..” He whispered to himself, his voice hoarse, dropping all the bags with the bouquet, running a rough hand through his hair, messing up his perfect slicked-back hair. He stepped inside the bedroom cautiously, the sight of your sleeping, defeated form hidden under the covers breaking his heart.

He crouched down next to you, placing a comforting hand on your cheek, his thumb gently brushing under your eye, wiping away any lingering tears. He sighed, knowing how badly he'd messed up and yet feeling so powerless as to how he could make it up to you.

Hiromi didn't sleep for the rest of the night despite how tired he was- he couldn't, not when he was the reason you'd been so upset. With a heavy hand resting on your waist as you slept, soothing you, he took the next few days off work, uncaring about the consequences, and immediately made a reservation at your favourite restaurant, planning a whole day of things be knew you'd love, all to see his precious girl happy again.

a/n : idk if I should make a part two of this :(

[mimuju]

hiromi is just like your dead husband nanami (っ◞‸◟ c)

it's in ways that make your chest ache.

it’s the way he loosens his tie when he walks through the door—two tugs, then a slow pull, the same exact rhythm your kento used every evening. 

you’re standing in the kitchen, stirring something on the stove you already can’t taste, and for a second you forget. you turn, expecting to see that tired, gentle smile, the one that always made you feel like coming home was worth it. but it’s higuruma. his tie is draped over his shoulder now, and he’s looking at you like he knows exactly what just happened in your head.

"long day?" he asks, his voice low and careful. you nod. he doesn’t push it, he just steps behind you and rests his hand on your lower back, the same spot your kento always touched when he wanted you to know he was there without crowding you. your eyes burn. you keep stirring.

"you’re doing it again," he murmurs after a moment. 

"doing what?" 

"stirring the same spot. you used to tell him it helped you think." 

you stop. the wooden spoon hovers above the pot. "i didn’t realize i was doing that." 

"i know." his thumb traces a small circle against your spine. "it’s alright."

he reads the newspaper at the table the way your kento did—pages folded neatly, one hand resting on his chin, his brow furrowed in that particular way that made him look older than he was. you watch him from the doorway sometimes, your arms crossed, your heart doing something complicated in your chest. 

your kento used to mutter under his breath when he disagreed with an article. higuruma does the same thing. same cadence. same quiet disdain. you wonder if he knows he’s doing it. you wonder if you’re slowly erasing nanami by noticing these things, or if you’re keeping him alive by seeing him in someone else.

"this writer’s an idiot," higuruma mutters, flipping the page. 

"what’d he say?" 

"that overtime is a sign of dedication." 

you smile despite yourself. "how stupid."

when higuruma makes tea, he always pours yours first. he always lets it steep exactly three minutes, the way you once mentioned liking it. your kento had done that too—quietly, without fanfare, like it was the most natural thing in the world to remember how you took your tea. 

you sit across from higuruma at the kitchen table, steam rising between you, and you don’t know whether to thank him or cry. so you just sip, and he watches you over the rim of his own cup, his eyes dark and knowing and unbearably kind.

"you’re quiet tonight," he says. 

"just thinking." 

"about him?" 

you hesitate. "sometimes i kiss your mole and forget whose face i’m looking at." 

higuruma touches the small dark spot on his left cheek without thinking. "it’s still mine. even when you forget."

even at night, when he touches you, it’s almost too much.

he undresses you the way your kento did—slow and methodical, like he’s got all the time in the world and nowhere else he’d rather be. his fingers work each button, each clasp, with the same careful precision. when your dress pools at your feet, he steps back to look at you, his gaze traveling over your body like he’s memorizing it. your kento used to do that too. like you were something worth studying.

"you’re beautiful," higuruma says, the same words nanami always used. not a compliment. a fact. 

"you sound like him." 

"i know, baby." he reaches out, tracing your collarbone with one finger. "does it hurt?" 

"yes." 

"do you want me to stop?" 

"no."

higuruma kisses you the same way—deep, unhurried, his hand cradling the back of your head like you might break if he’s not careful. you’re on the bed now, your back against the pillows, and he’s hovering over you, his weight familiar and foreign all at once. 

when he pushes inside you, it’s slow and deep, his forehead pressed to yours. you close your eyes. and for a moment—just a moment—you let yourself pretend. the weight of him, the rhythm of his hips, the way he breathes your name against your neck like it’s a prayer. 

it could be your kento. it could be. your hands find higuruma’s back, your nails digging in, and you bite your lip to keep from saying the wrong name.

he notices. of course he does. he always does.

"stay with me," he whispers, his voice rough, his thrusts never faltering. "i know where you go. but i need you here. with me." you open your eyes and he’s looking at you, his face inches from yours, his expression open and raw and so painfully understanding it makes you want to sob. 

"i’m sorry," you breathe. 

he shakes his head, his lips brushing yours. "don’t be. just—stay."

you do. you stay. you let him fuck you gently, his hand finding yours, fingers intertwining above your head. he doesn’t rush, he know how to give you what you need, what you’re willing to take, and when you cum, it’s with his name on your lips—his name, not your kento's, though the ghost of it lingers in the back of your throat like something you can’t quite swallow.

after, he holds you the way he did—your back to his chest, his arm draped over your waist, his breath warm against your neck. you stare at the wall, your eyes dry now, your heart a complicated tangle of grief and guilt and something that might be love, if you let it.

"i’m not him," higuruma says quietly, his voice already thick with sleep. "i know that. but i’m here. and i’m not going anywhere."

you reach up and press your lips to the mole on his cheek, the same one you used to kiss on nanami. it’s warm beneath your mouth. real and present.

"i know," you whisper against his skin. "i’m trying to remember that."

he kisses your temple, his arm tightening around you. "take your time. i’ll still be here when you do."

babygirl : @sadisticslut666

perm - @whorishminds @throatgoatgeto @go-go-gadget-autism @thecrazyfangirlthings@grignardsreagent @strawberryshortcakkitty @naammiii @liasacountgothacked @annicishana @my-starlights@error-racoon-404 @afreakforyautja @cupidstrace @iam-souless @sindulgent666 @chewiebee @tojisballhair@ex1acy @palanggaaa @yourlocalcatscammer @ehcilhc @gravecyte @restingoasis @satorupi @laburantesdoll@sxpernova @thethyri @lostgeto @lilytrn @mikaari0 @chososballhair @nanamissilkytie @iwasabs @tojis-juicymantitys @laitifly @farylfordaryl @bl1ndv3lvet @booboobear-12 @6arcxm @sleeplessdancer @chloeee20 @deartoru @neptunezxx @ash273819 @sketchbonked @vanillakirstein @valberryboos @itimisu @livviaaaaa@kebablover @babyluvlol @audreytoru 

[deartetsuro]

For the Record. A series of hospital romances featuring;

An annoying internist who keeps messing up prescriptions, a hot headed charge nurse who just wants the shift to be over, a tired hospital representative whose done with satoru's shit, a physical therapist who LOOKS like the reason you'd be in PT, a psychiatrist who probably should be a patient instead, and a paramedic who likes to show off in front of his favorite ER Nurse.

series masterlist

HI! I'm back at it again with a new fic series. I stopped posting fics because I had to LOCK IN and focus on getting into university and securing a scholarship. Luckily, things worked out and ya girl is now trying to bag a degree. I will be updating this fic from time to time, so stay tuned!! Here's a little sneak peek for the first installment

In which a certain doctor seems to be making erroneous prescriptions just to get a clarification call from his favorite pharmacist...

After taking one look at the paper the patient handed in, you immediately turn to the landline and dial in the number for the nth time. Not even bothering to look at the number at the bottom of the prescription anymore, letting muscle memory do the work.

The phone rings twice before the receiver finally picks up, and you are greeted with the same awfully chipper (and honestly agitating) voice on the other line.

"Dr. Gojo, Satoru speaking. How may I help you?"

[ryckzzy]

Nicknames

Hiromihiguruma x reader

What affectionate nicknames would our dear, good-looking lawyer call you? why and when.

MDNI(?)

Higuruma isn't exactly the mushy or clingy type; but he knows very well how to be loving and romantic. So, even though he calls you by your name 78% of the time, he tries to be affectionate; and one of the many ways he shows affection is through nicknames.

_

He often calls you love or my love, it's the nickname he uses most often, for anything. (My love is more for when you're making love.)

Dear, he uses that when he's going to apologize for something. He never realized he calls you that to apologize... let's just say he picked up that habit from his mother.

Sweetheart, darling, and honey are for those times, every 3 months, when he's needy and clingy.

He almost never uses babe, but when he does, it's to give a simple compliment (because he's too exhausted...). Something like, "You look nice, babe."

He calls you gorgeous when he's trying to flirt... He's not a good flirt, to be honest it's almost funny see him trying. Or when he compliments you, becaus honestly, you're no less than gorgeous for him.

He rarely calls you honey, but it's usually when he's already hyper-stimulated and a mess after having 5 orgasms, sighing and whimpering like a puppy in your neck.

-

He's lovely to you in his way, he try everyday to act better, because you deserve.♡

We all love hiromi.

[postresfresitas]

₊˚♪ “The doggone girl is mine.” | crack fic

nanami x reader x higuruma

Overworked men have always been your type.

It started off innocent, when you would get up from your office chair to grab a cup of coffee and Hiromi Higuruma was already there like he had been expecting you. He politely stepped aside giving you space, and you sweetly smiled at him. He swore his heart was about to burst from his chest.

Or after work, when Kento Nanami woke you up gently after work hours and offered to walk you home because it was getting late. You shook his hand thankfully and his touched lingered for a second too long—His expression remained the same but his cheeks tinged a slight pink hue.

And now, this is where you stand. Your two very hot co-workers Kento Nanami, and Hiromi Higuruma hovered over your office cubicle while you’re in between their boyish bickering, feeling the warmth of their large tall bodies and the lingering scent of mixed cologne in the tight small space.

“What I was going to ask, is may I take you out to get coffee at the bakery next door?” Nanami pleads while fidgeting with the clasp of his watch.

Before you could even utter a response, Higuruma interrupted. “That’s quite ironic, because I actually was going to ask Ms. Y/N if she would like to accompany me to the park tomorrow.”

You flustered, heat rushes to your cheeks and you hear the sound of your heart beating loudly in your ears. I mean come on, two of your very attentive co-workers asking you out? You nearly wanted to fold on the spot.

“It’s entirely up to you,” Nanami replies.

Both men were attractive in their own ways. Nanami was much more quiet and reserved in ways which Higuruma is intense, but subtle. Having to choose between the two men felt like choosing between cats or dogs. Both are equally perfect!

He continues, “But of course, you’d be in good hands with me.”

Higuruma took that as offense.

“And she wouldn’t with me?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Higuruma’s expression turns into what seems like a scowl.

Nanami looks unfazed, glances down at his watch, then back at Higuruma.

“I.. Sorry, I’m actually about to miss my train soon.” You quietly mutter.

“I can walk you to your station if you’d like?” Both men said at the same time.

Surprise flickers across your face. It wouldn’t be so bad to have both of them walk you to your train station.. Right..? After all, they are offering and it’s pretty late.

Fuck it.

“Could you maybe.. both walk me? It’s a bit late..” You innocently peek up batting your pretty eyelashes at the tall broad men—tone coming out honey laced.

“Of course,” They stand already on either side of your body.

A/N: i genuinely just wanted to post something stupid. in all seriousness, theyre definitely too mature to fight over something stupid like this—lololol thats why this is fanfiction! ID CHOOSE NANAMI ANY DAY THOUGH.

[sc6ro]

jjk mens favourite place to kiss you

sukuna . . . the soft & sensitive dip where your neck meets your shoulder. he has a habit of stalking up behind you when you’re distracted—cooking, reading, or working—and wrapping his massive arms around your waist to anchor you against his chest. he’ll bury his face in your hair first, letting out a deep, rumbling sigh that vibrates right against your spine, before planting heavy, lingering kisses along your collarbone. it’s a slow display of complete affection, a reminder that out of everything in his world, this quiet space with you is the only place he actually wants to be

gojo . . . the very tip of your nose or right between your eyebrows. because of his ridiculous height, he absolutely loves looming over you just to make you look up. he’ll slide his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, give you a bright grin, and lean in to press an exaggeratedly loud kiss right on your face. if you try to swat him away or complain about him ruining your focus, it only encourages him; he’ll just laugh, cup your face in his large hands, and shower your cheeks with quick, bubbly kisses until you’re completely giggling and giving up on whatever you were doing.

toji . . . the crown of your head or your temple. affection with him is always grounded, and deeply comforting, usually happening at the very end of an exhausting day. he’ll sit on the couch and pull you straight into his lap, burying his face into the side of your head while his large arms lock securely around your middle. he doesn't say much, but the way he rests his chin on your hair and leaves soft, slow kisses against your temple speaks volumes. it’s his way of unwinding, letting go of his usual guarded demeanor, and finding a moment of absolute peace with you and only you!

nanami . . . the inside of your wrist or the palm of your hand. his style of romance is incredibly classic, deliberate, and respectful. when the two of you are sitting together after dinner, winding down from a long day, he’ll quietly reach over and take your hand in his. his thumb will trace the back of your knuckles for a moment before he lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a soft, lingering kiss right against your pulse point. it’s a deeply grounding gesture that feels incredibly intimate, because he dosen't need grand actions to show his love for you.

geto . . . the corner of your mouth or along your jawline. he is extremely attentive and tender, always making sure to fully connect with you before he even leans in. he’ll gently slide his fingers through your hair, tucking a stray strand behind your ear while looking down at you with a soft, adoring smile. his kisses are always slow and warm, lingering right at the edge of your lips as if he's trying to memorize the exact feeling of the moment. it carries a beautiful & quite intensity that instantly makes you feel like the center of his entire universe.

higuruma . . . your forehead or the space right beside your eye. because his mind is constantly running a mile a minute with legal cases and heavy thoughts, being with you is his only true escape. he’ll come home, loosen his tie with a weary sigh, and immediately seek you out. he likes to cup your face gently, closing his eyes as he presses a long, deeply affectionate kiss to your forehead. it feels incredibly reverent—like a silent thank you for being his calm in the storm, a safe harbor where he can finally turn off his brain and just exist in your warmth.

choso . . . your cheeks or the knuckles of your hands. because he takes his role as a protector so seriously, his affection is fiercely sweet and entirely gentle. he gets a little flustered if you catch him staring, but he loves holding your hands in his. he’ll carefully lift your fingers to his face, kissing each of your knuckles one by one with an earnest, intense devotion that can make your heart skip a beat. if you smile at him, his expression melts completely, and he’ll lean down to press soft, tentative kisses all over your cheeks, looking incredibly proud and happy just to be near you.

[kamiflix]

rated R for mature content, mdni.

The only time Higuruma displays a modicum of submissiveness is the moment you finally ride his face, of course.

Eyes lulling to the back of his skull, jawline decorated with a messy lather of your slick that trickles all the way down to the center of his throat, and with the prettiest groans sung out right in between your drooling cunt—of course your boyfriend's gonna find himself submissive when you're sitting so perfectly on top of him.

“Stop, mmgh, pulling away from me,” He’d groan in between the folds of your dripping pussy, drooling extensively off of your tastes as his fingers press deeper into the skin of your hips. “Please,” Higuruma would moan up against you just before he pulls you back down again.

After the last five orgasms he brought you to recently, of course you’re pulling away from him and gasping out his name as if that would keep him from eating you out like a man so utterly starved. You wish you could say you hated it when he got like this.

But the truth was that nothing feels better than your pussy-drunk boyfriend forcing you to drag your cunt all over the length of his face. With his nose practically french kissing your clit, his tongue slithers deeper and deeper every time. 

He’d already had you laid out in every position imaginable just before this and now he practically uses you for his own pleasure—despite being the one giving instead of receiving. 

“Hiromi, p-please,” You tried to plead back with him, aching for a moment to breathe because the desperate suck you receive in the next second has you tugging away from him all over again.

Not that he lets you go that time either. Instead, he only drags you right back down and damn near glares up at you with those pretty glossed over wide-set eyes of his. “Ride,” He huffs out, “I told you to ride my face, please?” He whines this time.

You only drip into his mouth even more the second that whine of his hits your ears and you watch the way he smiles as if you just praised him for begging. Then his mouth is slobbering all over you again and you’re reaching a hand down to at least hold onto him while you attempt to do as he’s asked you so nicely to.

The first grind of your hips forward makes his eyes roll back and you feel a whorish moan vibrate off of his tongue and right against your pussy. Then he’s fucking his tongue up into you, mumbling, “Mhm, mmhm, don’t stop.”

It’s then that you grow addicted to it, the feeling of him growing more and more encouraged by your movements. Your hips rock faster against him and he lets his hands guide you through it. “Hiromi-, hahh,” You gasp just barely as he shakes his head up into you.

Dark black locks of hair stick to his forehead and although his eyes are directly up on yours, you could tell he was beyond fucked out. He only pulls away to press sloppy kisses onto your pussy as if he worshiped every inch of you.

“S’sweet,” He whispers against you as his eyes soften up on you. Then he’s looking at your cunt and swiping his tongue over his lips before biting back a groan, “And pretty,” Oh, he’s so far gone.

The next thing you know, he’s diving right back into you and you feel his tongue sliding deeper inside you than before.

“Inside and out,” He inherently chokes out as he finally forces you up a little. You thought he was finally giving you a break for a second, pant after pant leaving you while you stare at him.

Instead, to your surprise, Higuruma lets his tongue hang out and bats his lashes up at you almost innocently before uttering, “Play with her.”

You feel your body tense and almost scoff in response, “W-What?”

His thumb moves to meet your clit and he starts spelling out his name, “Like this,” He instructs, “I wanna watch you do it over my tongue, c’mon.”

You nearly shudder at the gentle touch of his thumb but you move to match his movements anyway—thumbing your clit and keeping your cunt sloppily dripping down onto his expecting tongue.

Biting back a smile, Higuruma fights the urge to lean up and latch himself back onto you. Instead, he patiently listens to the soft moans you let out and stares at the gorgeous spread of your pussy as your arousal leaks and so perfectly meets his tongue.

“Thaat’s my girl,” He coos, “So fuckin’... mgh, perfect.” In the midst of his groaned praises, he doesn’t even realize the embarrassing mess he’s making of himself as he cums right then and there. Practically untouched and entirely off of eating you out.

perm general tags:

@navyllll @2kool4skoolll @daxphoriax @gorouenjoyer @blubearxy @wonderfullymickey @iaintblockinnobody @kitassecretgf @nanamitiddiechomper @ohreallyfriend

@withersworld @suguphile @megottheswaskikacooooke @kvsqkiii @yourlocalcatscammer @lucy-lulu @sukubusss @sweetieelilii @lisabelhyhn @serenadesvt

@riameriash @arminseas2 @palanggaaa @makingtimemine @theodoresvalentine @blcknebula @remscreams @jaibunni @blkkizzat @a-jazzy-bee

@sktvienna @chloeee20 @naoybby @lanamyersismywife @strwbrrymoonwrites @andhereweareallalone @sindulgent666 @bypanana @valberryboos @breakfastpasty

@qualitydefendortaco @iiakithegoat

additional tags: @uhnosav & @madamechrissy for our current & mutual higu obsession 💗

[preval-ence]

canon.

[tonycries]

Guys My Age

Synopsis. (!) Two assignments overdue: your law professor and your history professor. Objective: After teasing them all semester, Professor Higuruma Hiromi and Professor Nanami Kento…snap.  Time: At the same time.

Pairing. Nanami Kento x Reader x Higuruma Hiromi

Content. MDNI, fem!reader, history professor!Nanami, law professor!Higuruma, college AU, you’re such a TEASE, driving them wiId, they’re overworked, they’re older, tutoring, STERN Nanami, fíngering, rings, p sIapping, p talking, chokíng, rídin’ Higuruma’s nose, oraI (m + ‌f), pússydrunk Higuruma, manhandIing, dragging, running from it, bíting, BOTH, fuII neIsons, bIindfolds, guessing, DP, SAME TIME, spítting, DÚMBlFICATlON, cervíx smoochin’, big stretches, they’re FÉRAL, creampíes, cúmpIay, slight cúmfIation, surprise at the end, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 13.2k

A/N. You babygirls said you wanted more law professor!Higuruma so…I said why not have BOTH?!

He had you next hour.

Professor Nanami Kento - head of the History Department, PhD with Distinction - had you in his next class.

And he wasn’t even half as prepared as he should be: the coffee-maker in the staff room had broken down. 

Goodness knows how many times the blond-haired man has haunted that very station. Slouched over, sighing, sipping on his seventh coffee of the day. 

And although he could blame it all on the higher-ups and their stingy funding, or perhaps the frat boys of Delta Jujutsu Pi that’ve made it a challenge to sneak inside—he blames you. He wouldn’t even have latched onto such a respite had it not been for the way you made his blood pressure rise…in all sorts of ways.

Nanami’s eyes glaze over, and his hand absent-mindedly drifts between his legs. Perhaps if he got his pent-up energy out first…

“Kento.” A knock at his cubicle. And Nanami jolts his hand away as though it burned- 

It was Professor Higuruma Hiromi.

The head of the Law Department. Also PhD with Distinction. The man with dark circles and even darker suits, all prim and poised as he waded through the hallways with his stacks of documents—of course, Nanami was one for suits, as well. 

They really brought out his broad shoulders- at least, that’s what you told him.

Another reason why he needs the coffee.

Fuck. 

Nanami attempts to even out his breathing as he looks up. “Hiromi.”

If Higuruma thought anything of Nanami’s startled reaction, he makes no indication. Instead he holds up a slim file in his hand, “Are you free? Could you help me with looking over this essay?”

“Of course.” 

They were the only two in the staff room right now, besides- anything to take his mind off of you.

Nanami adjusts the gold-rimmed glasses on his face before he takes the file from him. Flipping it open to find a jumble of justice and law jargon that his history-inclined brain balks at—“I never thought you’d want a history professor’s opinion on an essay about…” He squints at the title, “-the scope of judicial power and judicial review. Does this have any names of 14th century shoguns that you need me to check?”

“No- no.” Higuruma runs a hand down his face, though Nanami gets the impression that it wasn’t for him. Rather it was for whatever ravaged at the man inside- making him look up at the ceiling with a hollow sigh—“Man, I need some coffee today.”

“Understandable.” Nanami pushes his glasses up.

“The machine’s broken, right?”

“Right.”

Higuruma only lets out another sigh that Nanami relates to well.

“If it helps, Dean Yaga said it’d be fixed by tomorrow.” Nanami attempts- he never was the type of sociable guy some of the other professors were. But he gets the feeling that Higuruma was the same.

He runs a hand down his face one last time- “That’s too late, I have tutoring this evening with…” And how Nanami Kento related to that, as well. Before he seems to shake himself out of it- somewhat. “It’s alright, could you just check the grammatical and citation stuff for me?”

“Of course.” As Higuruma leans against the partition and waits, the other professor skims through the writing. It wasn’t half bad, to be quite honest, and had it been for his own class then he would’ve given it an A—none too many mistakes except for the odd careless error. At least it was human-made. 

After a while of silence, Nanami’s partway through the conclusion when he asks. “Did you happen to get tired of looking through so many essays?”

“No, it’s just…” The dark-haired man sighs once more- for about the twelfth time since he came in. “-this student, you know?”

Nanami nods—he did know. “Trouble student?”

“Not quite.” He almost gulps.

Nanami narrows his eyes. “Doesn’t attend?”

“No, she attends every class.”

“Then what?” He leans back in his chair, essay forgotten now. “The legacy kid? The credit-chaser? The class clown that isn’t actually funny?”

Higuruma cuts through them all with a fierce shake of his head. “No, no, and no—” Almost gulping. “It’s just that this student is a little…distracting.”

The tips of his ears were red.

Instantly, Higuruma looks like he regrets it.

“F-forget I said anything-”

He does.

But Nanami looks squarely at the other man.

“I have a student like that, too.”

The law professor looks at him in wary interest. “Oh?”

“My star student, actually.” Pushing his glasses up, he opens up one of his cabinets and pulls out a thick, paper-stuffed file. And though Nanami Kento does collect his students’ work for the semester to review, he never does keep them quite so close - none other than yours.

Higuruma looks through them with slightly widened eyes. “All hers?”

Nanami nods, “So diligent that it’s almost distracting.”

Higuruma pulls out an empty chair beside Nanami and sits. Legs spread. Dark eyes thoughtful. “Mine, too.” He starts—“Never have I had a student ask for so many hours of extra tutoring.”

“Mine’s basically set up a tent in my office.” Nanami chuckles- though he can’t deny the slight pang it sends down to his cock. “Always taking on more assignments for extra credit, always answering questions first-”

“Always first in class and last to leave?”

“Exactly.” Nanami agrees. And he leans a hand on his desk as he watches the other man go through those papers - they were some of his most prized possessions, he feared to admit. Words from your heart. Swooping slashes of ink from your hands.

It was a part of you in those papers that Nanami Kento held dear to him- fuck, it was a part of you that sometimes he’d bring up to his greedy nose and sniff. Almost as if he could feel your skin through these very parchments.

It made him so fuckin’ hard.

But Higuruma didn’t need to know that.

Though the careful manner in which he handled those papers - how he leaned in just a little to drown in the ink - made him wonder…

“Always wearing the skimpiest skirt to class?”

And the other man looks up in shock- as though conveying something in his silence. Oh.

He flips the file over to look at the name typed-out on the cover, and it reads—yours. Ultimately, he continues—“A-always sittin’ in the front row with her legs spread just a bit?”

Nanami nods. “Always leaning over the desk when she has to speak in private.”

There’s a slight hardening within Higuruma’s eyes - though not of any unpleasant kind - it’s almost as if something deep and carnal was stirring awake right now. “Always wearing the prettiest black lace underneath?”

“She wears baby pink for me.” Nanami can’t help but smile.

“Fuck.” Higuruma runs a hand down his face again- and if Nanami didn’t know any better then he would’ve sworn that the other professor looked even more weary than when he first came in here. “And her panties-”

“Matching set.” Nanami responds without missing a beat - and he knows he’s some ol’ pervert for this. 

He knows he is. 

But he also knows about the smile that’d spread across your face the moment you’d realized he’d seen. “Bent over too low when picking her pen up one class.”

“Fucking—fuck.” Higuruma sounds agonized.

Nanami leans back in his chair, making it bounce a little bit. With a slightly breathless sigh leaving him, and his cock hardening even more in his pants–he’s forced to manspread under the table a little more. “She’s a needy lil’ thing, isn’t she?”

“That’s putting it lightly.” Higuruma’s lips quirk up into a sensual smile - as if he was reminiscing on the memories. “Wanting to fuck her professors? Seriously?”

“Believe she’s thought of both of us at the same time?”

“Don’t even say that-” The law professor looks around, even though there was no one else here. Looking back at the man with somewhat pleading eyes, “I have tutoring with her this evening. If I can’t even fucking grade her essay without getting a hard-on then what d’you think will happen if I’m thinking of that—?”

“Oh…” Nanami hums to himself, hands lacing in front of him. The coffee-machine really was broken. “-maybe that won’t be an issue.”

Higuruma glances at him with furrowed brows, “How so?”

“What time is your tutoring with her?”

“You mean…”

The blond man shrugs coyly- “I’m not implying anything…but which one of us two do you think is her favorite?”

“And people think you’re the gentleman of us two.” Higuruma grumbles but ultimately spits out the time. It seems you’d opted for tuition classes with your law professor in the after-hours—when the offices were snug, and the department was empty. And he feels his cock perk up at the fact- how many times has he raced back home to plunge into a cold bath after your tuition classes? How many times has his shower heard your name whispered? “I’m most definitely the favorite, by the way-”

So lost in his thought, Nanami nearly doesn’t catch the sentence. He looks over at Higuruma. “Does she call you ‘sir’, too?”

“She does.”

“Well, then we’ll find out, won’t we?”

.

.

.

The two hottest professors on campus.

Higuruma Hiromi (38) with his sleek-cut suits, his polished shoes, and those sleepy eyes that seemed to stare into the depths of your soul. The depths of your body - exposed underneath him. He was a stern teacher, not afraid to make you do an assignment over and over and over again…(and you gladly would). Higuruma’s justice classes made you…wet you had to admit, hearing him bark out simulations of court cases. Orders. Commands. 

You could practically hear a sigh echo out across the room every time he acted out his attorney days. 

Every time he banged his gavel down made your knees weak.

It was no wonder that students in the law department tittered n’ scattered any time the ruggedly handsome professor walked past. 

On the other hand was your history professor. 

Nanami Kento (31) with his beefier build, his strong arms, his gentle eyes—twinkling down kindly upon you every time he corrected a mistake. Which - you have to confess - you’ve made a few more times than you really had to, just to feel his molten gaze upon you again and again. He often caused your heart (and something else entirely) to flutter at the deep musicality of his voice, managing to make even the most boring of history passages something interesting. Something that swept the class up easily.

Nanami was reputed around campus for being a complete gentleman - never looking down upon someone, never letting them walk in after him, never letting them pay him a compliment without receiving a sweet one back. 

The dream husband.

The stern and the nice.

Both of them- frat guys hated them.

It hadn’t been intentional to join both their classes- honest! 

But after seeing them on your first day, how could you not commit to maintaining a spotless attendance? You had a sneaking suspicion that the rest of the class behaved in the same manner for much the same reason - though none took it quite as far as you.

The skirts. The extra credit. The bending.

Speaking honestly, you were a teacher’s pet. Through and through.

And the tightness in their pants whenever you left a class told you- they were the best professors. To you, that is.

Which is why you’d been a little less than happy when Professor Higuruma had told you that someone might be joining your weekly tutoring. 

Invigilated tutoring? 

What the hell was invigilated tutoring?!

You admit that you’d been forced to hold back a groan of disappointment. Picking such late hours had been a conscious decision—right up there with those tight pencil skirts that you knew your law professor loved but would never admit to.

Professor Nanami was more the type to like free, flirty pleats that barely reached your thigh - and you loved the way his eyes would follow them behind those glasses of his. Even though he pretended they didn’t.

And right now you were wearing a mix of both.

Tight on top, flared at the bottom

Seated opposite his desk - thighs shut, skirt pulled down as low as it would go - more concentrated than you’d ever been during one of these tutoring sessions. It’s been about half an hour since the start of today’s tuition. Higuruma’s office was a cosy space, decked out in the most expensive-looking mahogany banisters, and shelves, and a witness box in the far corner.

It gleamed at the light—down knowingly at you, almost as if waiting for you to make a move.

But how could you? If there was a potential visitor, then you didn’t want to risk Higuruma’s job- as much as you loved teasing your two hot professors, it wouldn’t do to get them fired!

So you kept your hands and your skirts to yourself.

And even Higuruma himself had his eyes raised, possibly wondering why you hadn’t leaned over his desk or lingered a touch at his shoulder for help.

But oh, how you wanted to…

The professor looks down at his watch, “He’s late.”

You’re glancing at the closed door, “Maybe the invigilator isn’t coming?”

“Oh, he will.” Higuruma crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. “Trust me, he won’t miss this.”

A shiver runs down your spine.

You wondered what made him so sure.

And yet, you edge closer over the desk to him anyways.

It’s about forty-five minutes into your tutoring session when the door you’ve been sneaking glimpses of this entire time- clicks! And a looming figure walks into the room, his figure nearly taking up the whole frame.

Your jaw drops as you realize—

It’s Professor Nanami.

“Ah- Kento.” Higuruma beckons him over warmly- and you’re nearly suffering from whiplash from watching the two interact. These two are close?! Professor Nanami had been completely normal during your last class, if just a little more distracted than usual - and what was this? “We’ve been waiting.”

He looks at you as he says this.

“I had to penalize a student for missing a few assignments.” Nanami says smoothly, before bringing up a chair beside you and taking his seat. His movements were fluid and precise - as if he wasn’t questioning for a single moment why you were here so late, why you were dressed like that for him, and why you were so damn close.

You’d been staring into his handsome face for so long that he clears his throat. “Continue.”

“S-sir?” You’re chirping- and in your peripheral vision, Higuruma shuffles in his chair.

“Continue.” Nanami repeats in a stern tone. You don’t think you’ve ever heard him sound like that—“Just as you are. I would like to take notes for teaching my own classes.”

“You heard what he said.” Higuruma nods- and now you’re looking his way to see the most knowing smile on his face. “Continue, angel.”

Your thighs squeeze at the pet name.

Nanami quirks a blond brow and notes something down.

And so you’re ducking back into your work—

“Your blouse button is undone.” 

Slightly gasping, you’re reaching down to fix it-

“No, don’t button it.” He interrupts you with his low tone, gravelly with something you can’t pinpoint. You’re looking up at Nanami to find his gaze unwavering from you already- “I was merely noting it. Nothing to fix.”

“But-”

“You unbutton it for my class, too, don’t you?” He asks, and you’re unsure what to say-

“Answer when your teacher speaks to you.” Higuruma’s humming tone echoes—and from the sound of it, he was thoroughly enjoying this. He cocks his head down at you, “Or haven’t they taught you that yet?”

“Th-they have.” You’re squirming in your seat, a slight heat simmering in your stomach. You turn to Nanami, “And I do.”

“Hm.” With nothing more said- he writes something else down in his notes.

And you think you’re in the clear.

For now.

It’s barely a few sentences later on your work that Nanami speaks up again-

“Your feet are touching his.”

You pull away-

“You’ve been writing the same sentence over and over.”

Your hand pauses-

“Your thighs are parted more so than before.”

Immediately, you’re smacking them back shut again- you hadn’t even realized. And how the hell had Nanami even seen?

And you could practically hear the smug smile in his voice - so unlike everything you know of him - as he continues. “And your bra is peeking out.”

“Never seen one before?” You mutter underneath your breath, just about to fix your collar (that you’d very purposefully left open)—

Before Nanami’s voice cuts through again. “Never seen one of yours in black before, is what.” Even as you’re looking at him in slight sensual shock- he doesn’t look up from his papers. “What happened to the baby pink you show-off in my class?”

And Higuruma merely leans back and smiles. “Black is my favorite color, remember?”

“How could I forget?” The history professor answers.

“Though I myself am curious about this baby pink of yours…”

And you have nothing else to do but gape- they knew. 

Oh, how they both knew by now.

And by the looks in their eyes, they’d been dying for this very moment.

To confront how you’d been toying n’ teasing them all semester through now- enough so that they’ve apparently begun trading secrets about their unruly star student. You knew that Higuruma tended to have his ears grow hot and red any time he bumped into you in the hallway, and that Nanami would loosen his tie as if undressing whenever you wore a particularly scandalous thing to class - but you hadn’t known they’d been pushed…to this extent.

And you were glad for it.

So you sigh—slouching back in your chair. “So you both know. What now then? Do I get written up or something?”

But Nanami only looks at you through his glasses. “Sit up straight.”

He’s never uttered a command like that in his entire life during your usual lectures. And when you don’t move - merely looking at the blond man with raised brows - Higuruma pipes up. “You best listen to him now, angel.”

“Oh please.” Fluttering your lashes at them both. “And what’re you gonna do about it?”

Higuruma looks at Nanami.

Nanami calmly puts his notes down on the other’s table, and looks at you.

“Why-” He pushes his glasses up his handsome nosebridge. “-teach you a lesson, of course.”

“Both of you?” You could feel the elated giggles bubbling up in your throat- and you could feel the space between your legs start to grow wetter already. Looking between both of them—“Do it then.”

And then it’s a blur - you don’t know where Higuruma’s lips end and yours begin. He’s reached over the surface of his desk to kiss you like a starved man- and he groooans into that very kiss like you were the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. Hand on your cheek. 

The tips of his canines start nibblin’ on your lower lip- and you’re kissing him back even deeper. “Shit-” Higuruma’s husky tone scorches across your face, “Shit, I’ve been wanting to do this for so fucking long.”

“Mmm, you kiss like husband material.” You’re giggling into the kiss. Both of your hands end up on his shoulders, and you could feel the shifting of his muscles through his slim suit. 

“Shit- and you talk like trouble.” He echoes out in an almost pained tone- like every second that his lips were away from yours ached. 

And those plump, pursed lips press against yours once more—so much sweeter than you would have expected this booming lawyer to kiss. He’s using the hand on your cheek to tilt down your chin- “May I?” Before the short nod you give lets him slither his tongue in wetly, lappin’ at your sweetest taste. “Shit, you’re really like sugar on my tongue.”

And you’re whining into the fervent kiss, letting it go on for a few more minutes before you’re breaking away with the most lecherous plop! And a thoroughly flushed professor chasing after your lips drunkenly-

“And what about you…” You’re kissing down Higuruma’s sharp jawline, looking at the other man who’d been sitting quietly this entire time. “-sir? Haven’t you wanted to kiss me even once this semester?”

Nanami shivers but he hides it well. Uncrossing his legs and revealing the most rock-hard, aching bulge between his legs—“Kiss? Perhaps.”

And you’re gulping at the sight.

Higuruma scoffs out a slight burst of laughter. “Perhaps.”

“But I’m a gentleman, my love.” Nanami continues, leaning back in that luxurious armchair. He takes off his coat to reveal a pale blue button-up, and beneath that was revealed the most chiselled body you’ve ever seen. He pushes his sleeves up to his elbows and beckons towards you. Manspread. Lap so welcoming. “Which means I’ve thought of far, far worse.”

Higuruma - with a final sloppy kiss plastered across your mouth - lets you walk over to Nanami.

Which you do on wobbly legs- plopping down unceremoniously on his lap. More than enough space there for you. He wastes no time bending you into shape in his strong arms, flipping you around to face the other man, and spreading your legs wiiiiiiide open-

Riiiiiip—!

“Whoops.” Nanami’s thoroughly unapologetic tone gruffs against the shell of your ear. Two of his vein-covered forearms were hooked underneath your elbows, and Nanami looks on boredly at the clean split down your skirt—“I always thought you’d look better without these anyway.”

Before he’s spreading your legs even further across his lap. Tearing it even more.

Exposing you for nothing but your tremblin’ legs and those drenched panties. Pretty black in color. 

So lacy that it was practically nothing.

Higuruma’s eyes widen, “Dirty girl.”

Nanami breathes, “No, that’s called being a slut.” And shock runs through your body at his words- at Nanami ‘Gentleman’ Kento’s words. Before it’s suddenly overtaken by the sudden feeling of him smearin’ aside your panties and stuffin’ his fingers inside.

Those thick crowns dooooown to the golden ring on his middle finger.

They were long and thick. Swirling and swirling the tip of his digit right ‘round your clit- and when you’re shuddering and unable to take it any longer—he pulls away and licks off that excess slick with a slurp!

Humming to himself as though it was the greatest delicacy in the world. “One thing you should know about me, darling, is that just because I’m gentleman-” And you’d been so caught up in his ragged tone, you didn’t even realize that he’d snaked his hand back down between your legs. “-doesn’t mean that I’m not depraved.”

And he’s ending off the sentence not with a full stop- no, but with a sudden shove of his fingertips between your folds. So swollen n’ sweet with slick.

You buck and he lurches his hand out to slap you on top of your pussylips.

“Down, darling.”

“Please…” You don’t even know what you’re begging for.

But Nanami’s mouth waters already at the sound of it, and he’s keeping it at bay by pushing n’ pulling on the first ring of muscle at your cunt. “I said down.”

Head throwing back against his collarbone. “Oh.”

Fucking you with just the first inches of his fingers- “It doesn’t mean that m’not desperate.” Continuing as though your eyes weren’t bulging, as though your legs weren’t shaking, as though you weren’t arching off of his muscular chest. “It doesn’t mean that m’not ready to debase this pussy like she deserves.”

“Y-you mean—” You’re hiccuping, eyes starting to water at the sheer raw stretch. It was the type that left your pussy burning in the most delicious way - the feeling of having Nanami Kento’s scourin’ fingertips eager to enter your cunt. “-that whole gentleman thing was just a lie?”

“It’s not.” He responds. Final. His blond strands fall over his forehead as he keeps his eyes locked on your glistening hole, scissoring his fingers at that entrance n’ spreading you even wider. “I’m nice…”

Adding in a third finger before you’re even registering his second.

“-to everyone but this slutty pussy, that is.”

“Sh-shit—” Mewling at the top of your lungs, you’re clawing down Nanami’s strong forearms. They were the perfect thing to hold onto- just about the only thing you could hold onto as he utterly ruined your pussy with short, jerking thrusts.

Bulging the sides of your velvety walls open with his globular tips.

Cold metal ring shocking you.

So thick that he manages to probe into a few of your sensitive spots without even trying. Dragging his flexible fingers across every inch of you.

Scissoring and opening up and scissoring—deep.

Tears track down your cheeks at the sheer stimulation.

“Go easy on her, Kento.” Higuruma can’t help but groan at the sight of your pretty crying face. And soon enough, you’re hearing the metallic clinking of a belt buckle- “Don’t want to break our star student, now, do we?”

Nanami purrs against your temple. “Mmm, I don’t mind.”

“Just remember that she’s tutoring with me.”

The sound of Higuruma’s belt hitting the polished wooden floorboards is enough to make your eyes startle open- and oh, how you’re so glad it did.

Because then you’re greeted with the sight before you: of Higuruma Hiromi in utter ecstasy. All because of you.

He’d taken your seat from prior, chair angled perfectly to face the show taking place in front of him. 

Where Nanami had your legs spread aaaaaall the way as far as they would go - until Nanami could hear your joints threatening to pop - and facing the dark-haired man. His dark eyes glinted as they stared down at your glistening hole, swallowing Nanami’s rams easily.

Slurps n’ squelches emanating like music. 

Cunt dripping everywhere over the history teacher’s tight trousers. And the larger that puddle you were forming seemed to grow, the harder Nanami’s hammerin’ pace seemed to become. 

You could barely keep your eyes open long enough to see Higuruma tug down his black pants- that throbbing erection of his making an appearance. He wraps his hands around his thickened base and starts tugging, soft grunts leaving his mouth at the rapid pull-pull-pull of his cock. “Shit, she’s so fucking wet- be a little nicer with that pussy o’ hers, would you?”

“Hmmm…I don’t think she deserves it.” And with that said, Nanami plants yet another sodden spank on top of your cunt. Ring grazing your front- “She hasn’t learned her lesson yet, has she?”

That stinging sensation zaps throughout your entire body and makes you buck. “I-I have—”

Before yet another thwack! of Nanami’s calloused fingertips follow.

Harder, this time.

“I was talking to this pussy, actually.” 

And he doesn’t even wait for the primal sting to pass by before openin’ your cunt up and thrusting his fingers inside again. In and out.

Push after push into your gooey depths.

You’re so sensitive n’ wet by this point that even the slightest movements have you emanating out the loudest sounds. Squelches upon squelches—every time he’s hitting a spot deep inside your hole. “Mhmm…mmmhm.” You could feel Nanami’s head slightly nodding above your own, as if locked deeply in a conversation with your pussy’s sounds. Just one whine of yours and he’s spankin’ on you once more- “Wait your turn, my love. She’s talking t’me.”

And Higuruma- ah, Higuruma has the audacity to snicker at the action. “Now that’s just bullying, Kento.”

“Is it?” He’s slappin’ down on your pussylips once more. Listening for the sound, “She says it isn’t so.”

You’re sending a narrowed glare his way that makes the law professor roll his eyes fondly.

“Oh, alright alright-” And he half-heartedly waves off at his colleague. “Be a little nicer to my dear student, won’t you?”

“Spoiled brat.” Yet another spank. Nanami sinks his canines into the shell of your ear, and he’s tuggin’ and teasing—he’s spreading his legs even further and settling you down. With your back against his rippling chest, he pushes and pushes his greedy fingers inside your pussy. “And why do you think you- hah, deserve that, huh? Haven’t you been fucking torturing us all semester long now?”

Higuruma groans. “Can’t deny that, angel.” His hands fly even faster up and down his cock- ravaged and reddened with need. 

“Mhmmmm.” The blond-haired man agrees, “Haven’t you been wearing those slutty skirts expecting to get fucked in them? Haven’t you- fuck, haven’t you been wearing that damn lingerie hoping we’d take a peak? Aren’t I right?”

He waits for your pussy to answer first- and then you’re answering. “I-I mean-” Attempting to.

“Haven’t you been bendin’ over and shit just because you wanted to show up in our wildest dreams? To consume our thoughts and make our cocks twitch?”

“Well-”

“And we did.” Higuruma pipes up next. He was so needy that he was practically bucking off of his chair, making it creak with movement. Short, jerky thrusts.

“Oh, yes we did.” Nanami continues. He leans down to your ear, as if exposing a secret- “I’d look forward to our classes everyday, my love. I’d have to fuck my fist raw before class- just so I wouldn’t fuck you senseless in front of everyone like how you were begging me to.”

Higuruma moans as he thumbs down the line of his flared tip - that pinkish, slippery line. He twitches as though he’s near to cumming already. “Me- me, too…”

“And you still expect me to be a gentleman?”

You’re restless, opening your mouth to defend yourself and—

Nanami only leans down and spits a glittery wad of spit between your pursed lips. “Don’t talk when the teacher’s talking, darling.” 

And your ears pop with pressure-

He’s hittin’ the plushness of his palm against your pussy with a loud smack! Smearing the curves n’ divots of his fingers dooooooown and up your walls, down and up.

His crown fingertips reach for your deepest innards- and you swear you can feel him stroking your very cervix. Runnin’ his frigid ring across your walls.

Drawing a few lines and marking his placement right back there, before he tunnels his digits at a frenzied pace - fingers almost nothing but a pale blur between your legs. His speed is so feverish that it leaves your sheen tricklin’ all down your thighs.

Trickling and trickling and—

And then you feel Nanami hook his fingers against your g-spot.

The pleasure shoots up your body like a lightning strike, “O-oh my god—right there, Kento.”

“Kento? Who’s Kento?” Nanami doesn’t even falter his fingering to answer, cooing in that tone that you’d almost mistake for something sweet. “I think you meant sir-”

“S—fuck.”

“Say it.” He huffs against the side of your face. Teeth almost out for blood- “Say it. Call me ‘sir’ or you don’t get to cum.”

“I—”

“Say it.” Higuruma, to your surprise, echoes from his seat. Where he had his gaze burning into your spread-open pussy n’ his mouth drooling at the vision of you—“Say it, angel. I need to see that pretty pussy cum.” Hands rubbing faster and faster- 

“She deserves to cum, mhm.” Nanami nods. “But do you, huh?”

“I-I do.” You’re nodding up at your desperate professors. One just barely in your line of vision- but his fingers were working up such a storm. His slightly-tanned arms pinning you down, working your pussy open, hitting that target of your g-spot like a cute button. Again and again—

Blond hair ruffled. Glasses slipping down his sweaty nosebridge.

And then the other one that was just creamin’ his precum down his hands. With his hands on his swollen erection - one of them creating a tunnel for him to fuck his fist, the other flattening over his dribblin’ divot to stop from cumming already. 

Sleepy eyes half-lidded. His pale thighs shivering as they bucked n’ rutted.

And the vision itself is enough to make you cum- but then again it just felt so good on Nanami’s hands, and underneath Higuruma’s gaze. So you can’t help but let your lips wobble open—“P-please let me cum-” Stars bursting behind your vision once Nanami presses down on your clit as well. “-sirs.”

The two older men look at each other.

“Sirs?” Higuruma asks, voice breathless with ecstasy.

“She just begged for both of us.” Nanami grumbles out - though not quite unhappily. It made his cock twitch deep in his pants to have you whimperin’ like this, and he continues. “Alright then, you slutty pussy.”

And it takes only a few more strokes - a few more direct thrashes along your g-spot - for you to hurtle straight into your high.

It’s so strong that you’re seeing white behind your eyelids—and your mouth blabbers out an unintelligible combination of both professors’ names. Toes curling. Sweat beading down your temple.

Nanami holds you down as you’re thrown through wave upon wave of your orgasm, your hips bucking up and down desperately. Riding throughout your bliss- and if that wasn’t already enough, he counts underneath his breath to measure how long it takes between your peaks of euphoria. Before hittin’ away at your g-spot just in time with each one.

The sensations that take you over are just incredible.

And your head falls back limply against Nanami’s shoulder.

Shivering. Almost as if you were in heat- and your pretty pussy gushes out honeyed slick as though to give credit to that statement.

Lavishing Nanami’s open thighs with all your sap—Higuruma eyes the mess and gulps. “Kento, give me a taste of that.”

Nanami scoffs. “In due time.”

“Kento, I need her pussy on my face now.”

Slowly but surely, you’re fluttering your eyes open at the feeling of being shuffled around - only seeing the beautiful, brown eyes of Higuruma Hiromi staring down at you. When did he get so close?

“Hiromi?” You’re blubbering out stupidly, still suffering from the aftershocks of your previous high. Those zapping bursts of electricity made your thighs twitch sensitively- “I mean- sir?”

Higuruma shivers, “You trained her well, Kento.”

“Mhmmm—” Nanami noses down the column of your throat proudly.

“Maybe now it’s time for a reward then, huh?”

You’re perking up. “Yes, please.”

Nanami snickers. “You spoil her.”

And in almost no time, you’re finding yourself handed off to the law professor - Nanami stands up and gets off of the armchair. While Higuruma takes his place- 

At least, that’s what you think is going to happen.

But what ends up happening instead is that Higuruma seats you down on the chair, letting your barely-clothed pussy rub up against the cushion. Something in his eyes gleams at the way you’re squirming, and he speaks to you in a gentle tone. “Can you turn around and hold the headrest f’me, angel? Be a good girl f’me?”

“A-alright?” Confused, you’re just doing what he says. He meant that you had to turn and climb your knees onto the seat, ass turned towards the professors, back slightly arched.

“Mmm, good.” Higuruma admires the view. “Arch that back just a little more f’me now, alright?”

“Like this?” 

And still not sure what he was about to do, you can only follow his commands. It almost feels like a doggy position- and you hold onto the wooden headrest for dear life.

“Mhmmm.”

And Nanami’s the first to mutter to himself, “Don’t tell me you’re…” He takes in the sight of you - with your front resting against the backrest of the chair. You have your spine bent, your ass cheeks displayed for them, your cunt not quite on the seat—“Hiromi, you dirty dog.”

“Couldn’t help myself.” Steadily, Higuruma’s kneeling on the floor. 

There’s no warning before he then shoves his face nose-deep into your cunt- straight from behind. 

Higuruma grabs onto either side of your ass cheeks, his prominent nose curvin’ up the slit of your pussy. He’s using his grip on you to draaaag you further down onto his face—“Mhmmm—spread those legs.”

He’s muttering.

He’s spitting- stern lips pursing and letting out a rivulet of saliva.

It strikes vertically down your cunt before Higuruma’s running his fat tongue over it. Smearing around the mess he’s made- but most importantly, smearing around the mess that you’ve made.

You’re whining as Higuruma’s textured tastebuds seem to take over your pussy. All the way from the plumpness of your folds, and then dipping between them to tease your hole- you’re still so sensitive from the massage that Nanami’s fingers had simmered into you. And you’re trembling your thighs further open, “P-please- fuck-”

“I’m a lawyer so I’m really good with my tongue, y’know?” Higuruma pants out, scorching hot against your needy pussy. “But that means my fees are high, too-”

“A-and what are your fees?” You’re sobbing out.

“Mmmm…” He takes the time to think—and by that, you mean that he rovers his mouth over where your clit was throb-throb-throbbing. The law professor takes his sweet time spreadin’ open your pussylips with his tongue, before letting his tongue flop out n’ draaaaaag down your clit-

And his next words are so lecherously muffled. “Ride my nose raw, sugar.”

You gasp.

In the background, you can hear a gruff bout of laughter that notably doesn’t belong to Higuruma.

You grip onto the headrest of the chair harder than ever- because in a split-second, Higuruma’s thumbin’ your folds open and stuffing your hole all full of his tongue. 

So loooong and slick- curving right against the roof of your pussy. It makes you jolt to feel his honed, flexible tip zig-zagging its way down your channel—mazing and mazing inside that it’s as though his wet muscle was never-ending.

Higuruma Hiromi was damn ravenous.

He feels your knees start to slip away from him- and he claws his fingers deep into the globes of your ass cheeks to pull you back. Uncaring if you’re whining for mercy- “A-aren’t you supposed to be the nice one, sir?”

“Spoiled.” Nanami’s voice echoes from the distance.

“Mmm- keep calling me that, yeah?” Groans wrenching from the back of his throat at the mere sound of that title being said in your pretty voice. How nice it was to make you beg. “And no—”

“No?”

“I am being nice by letting you ride my nose, aren’t I?” His head jerks just a little upwards to look at you- and Higuruma can just barely make out the shock on your face. “I know how much you’ve wanted to ride it-”

“Hiromi-”

“Ever since ya fuckin’ met me, huh?” His rough tone vibrates through every vessel of your body- pushed even further by the constant swabbin’ he was doing inside. Swab after swab. “Ever since ya first saw me- don’t think I didn’t see how you stared at me.”

You’re clawing further up the headrest. “B-but how did you know-”

“Oh, angel…” Higuruma almost chuckles. Something dark and depraved- “If I was wrong then you wouldn’t be so fucking wet- I can barely breathe.”

Both of his roughened palms plaster around your thighs. Draaaagging you bodily - as though you were nothing against him - to glue your pussylips to his own lips.

He makes out with your pussy like a man parched.

“And I don’t need to.”

Your vision blurs with pleasure as Higuruma spreads your folds perfectly apart- and starts rammin’ his tongue into you wildly. Thick and thirsty for the taste of your sweet, sweet juices—any time that even a mere droplet of your sap starts to drip down your thighs- you can best believe that Higuruma was whipping his head down to slurp it up. “Harder.”

“I-I am-”

“Faster.”

“Fuck-”

“Raw, I said raw.”

Practically addicted to it. 

He’s pussydrunk in with just a few sloppy, open-mouthed kisses. And you yourself can feel your pupils start to circle inside the whites of your eyes.

Spreading yourself even further on the chair to meet his utterly ravenous mouth-

“Didn’t forget about me now, did you?”

Nanami Kento sounds the closest he’s been since he had you on his fingers- which could feel like minutes, hours, days ago by now. It takes you significant effort to blink away the clingy film of tears on your eyes, and you’re opening them to find that he was actually…standing right in front of you.

Nanami had rounded the side of the armchair - and if you looked up, there his handsome face was. So now you have your law professor at your behind, and your history professor’s crotch in front of your face. His pants much too tight. 

His cock thick and throbbing underneath there.

Clasping onto the headrest of the chair, if you raised your head juuuuust a little then you’d be able to mouth over the twitching erection he hid underneath there. “K-Kento?”

Nanami looks down at you through his gold-rimmed glasses. Grinning at your teary expression, “Only a few minutes with your nice teacher n’ you’ve already forgotten your manners, my love?” His hand falls to his formal pants, “Guess we have to go back to lesson one.”

“O-oh…”

Nanami had already unbuckled his belt and lets it drop to the floor—clink! Followed right along with the popping of his buttons, it doesn’t take too long before you’re face-to-face with his rock-hard bulge. Achingly hard. Almost painfully hard.

Barely held together by his boxers, he seeps out such volumes of precum that it creates a dark patch on the silken fabric. It glistens just a bit under the dim lighting of the office- something that makes you gulp.

And something that makes Higuruma nudge his tongue even deeper inside of you- shit, you could feel yourself growing more aroused. And he could taste it.

“Did you know she gets sweeter n’ sweeter the wetter she gets?” Higuruma slurs from in-between your legs, latching onto your clit with a loud squelch! “And you won’t believe it…but right now she tastes like the tastiest strawberry candy- heh.”

“Is that so?” Nanami’s nose crinkles as he looks down at you. He’s admiring that drunken expression on your face for a little bit, before reaching his right hand down and clasping at the back of your head. “Filthy girl.” 

You shiver. “C-can’t help it-”

“Ah ah—not another word out of you.” The blond-haired man continues. His grip tightens- “I expect you not to speak when your professor is speaking-”

Cocking his head just a little, Nanami takes a glance at the famished way that Higuruma was kissin’ between your legs. Gasping. Gulping.

He had his mouth gaped wide open and was dragging it across every inch of your pussy that he could reach- sticking that long tongue of his between your pussylips. You’re almost sandwiching his tastebuds for a bit before he manages to flicker his tastebuds inside again—then in and out, in and out, in and out.

Faster than before.

Reeling back out to slap! your pussy with the flat surface of his tongue.

Then probin’ back in again.

Higuruma’s just being so loud-

“-and when this pussy is speaking.” The rest of the history professor’s sentence makes you gasp - brain so muddled that you’d almost forgotten what he was saying. Almost forgotten that he has a firm grip on your sweaty scalp—one that he’d now turned into two hands upon your sweaty scalp.

Tugging your head forwards as if you were nothing but a ragdoll to smush your face against his boiling hot erection. 

Your jaw falls open and soon enough, you’re salivating all over his clothed cock. 

Tongue lavishing across the cotton of his boxers- feeling every ridge n’ vein along his shaft. 

He groans at the feeling of your heated mouth, and his fingers dig into your scalp even deeper. Tugging. Needing. One set of your fingers reach upwards to fumble its hem, and you take Nanami’s round, reddened tip into his mouth.

Moaning at the large size of him.

Moaning at the salty taste that floods your mouth-

“Hey now…” Higuruma’s choked-up tone echoes from behind. You’re feeling his tender fingers start to pull your hips back onto his face, “-don’t steal my star student away.”

“Have you forgotten that she’s my star student, too?”

“Her pussy’s on my mouth right now- so who’s in charge?”

“Well, let’s ask how she feels about it…” Nanami’s voice trails off—and only too late are you realizing that he isn’t talking about your pussy this time. He’s talking about you- waiting for your answer.

And you’re attempting to muffle out something, letting the globular edge of his cock swirl around your mouth a few times. Around and around. Just the crown of his mushroom tip prods into your every orifice inside- you’re opening your mouth to answer when Nanami jerks his hips forwards.

Fucking his cock deeeeep into your maw.

And with it, whatever words were in your throat, too. 

“I dunno about that-” Nanami hums down at the chokes n’ strangled gasps you’re letting out, just the barest noises of whatever was able to filter past his swollen shaft. “-but it sounded like a ‘you, sir’ to me.”

“Didn’t know you were that depraved.” Higuruma spits out. Dark eyes narrowed as he’s grinding you back to him n’ lapping away at your oversensitive pussylips.

“I’m a gentleman, what can I say?” The other professor responds.

As the slurps n’ sucking continues, Nanami looks at you through half-lidded eyes. He admires the way your mouth leaves a glittering glaze of spit from the tip of his cock and doooown to about halfway down his shaft—so cute how you couldn’t fit it all. “And as Head of your pussy-” Fuck, when did he even assign himself that? Is he pussydrunk already? “-I say you can’t cum until you’re fitting my cock aaaaaall the way…”

The history professor’s left hand lifts off of your scalp. Then dragging down the front of your throat - down, down, down. 

“-here.”

He points to a spot way past the back of your throat.

He fucks your mouth like he’s agonized every second he isn’t reaching for it.

Higuruma growls.

And thereafter it’s almost like a tug-of-war - on one end you’re being hauled forwards by Nanami’s grip on the back of your head. His hands strong and unwavering, no matter much you’re gasping for air- fuck, the ever-gentlemanly Nanami Kento was gone for the feeling of your mouth tightening around his hot cock.

Rutting those toned hips up into your velvety cavern like an animal-

“Just a little more.” That left hand of his wraps around your throat now, his thumb markin’ at the spots where he can feel his rounded tip probing inside. “Just a liiiiittle more now- about four inches? Heh.”

“Mmm—” Your eyes go wide in surprise.

And Nanami responds by pushing his hips even further, nearing the tip of your nose to those curls of blond at his base. “C’mon, c’mon.”

And on the other end, Higuruma had his nails digging into the flesh of your thighs. Into the flesh of your ass. His tongue fishing around your insides before he pulls out and starts nibblin’ on your damn clit—

He’s thirsty. Depraved.

“Noooo, angel.” He’s gluing his chin to the front of your pussylips. Head moving back and forth, back and forth, back and forth as the law professor lashes his tongue across. “Come back to me-”

“Mmm—” You’re being pulled off of Nanami Kento’s reddened, dribblin’ cock with a plop! Just from the sheer pressure of Higuruma manhandling your body from the other side - dragging you all down his handsome face. “Fuh-fuck-!”

“Where’d you think you’re going?” Only for Nanami to barely let you breathe for a split-second before he’s pulling your mouth down his shaft again.

Shovelling a gooooood few inches of his vein-covered cock inside- he marks that spot out on your throat. Even deeper than the last time you had him- “Mmm, not bad. Just a few inches- mmm, more.”

“Ride my nose.” Higuruma begs from the other end. Breath breezing down your gooey core, it makes your thighs shiver- “Ride my nose, I don’t care. Ride my nose, ride my nose—” 

And you’re just so overstimulated from all ends.

From the draaagging of Nanami’s thumb down the front of your neck, from the sensual touch of Higuruma’s nose being sandwiched between your pussylips, from the pleasure of them both playing with your body. It’s as if you’re their favorite toy to taste, to fuck - to worship because of the way they were being driven to absolute madness by those carnal sensations. 

You can only jolt your body back and forth.

Down Nanami’s cock. Up Higuruma’s ready face.

Riding his nose just like you wanted- “S-so—” Somehow barely managing to gurgle out past the pulsating tip of his cock, “So close-”

“Close?” Higuruma perks up. “Fuh-fuck- I have you, angel.”

“Remember- no cumming until you take it here.” Nanami presses his thumb somewhere near where your voicebox was bulging with the intrusion of his inches. “You’re not there yet, darling…”

“But-”

“Please let her cum.” But to your surprise, it’s your law professor who is pleading your face. 

Nanami raises a blond brow, “Oh?”

“Let her-” He slurps away on your swollen nub- sensitive and throbbing. He’s hollowing his cheeks out to get that suctioning sensation, already making your knees feel weak with pleasure. “Need her to- fuck, want her to cum on my tongue. Let her cum already.”

Nanami thrusts even deeper, “Hmm…I dunno.”

“I’m the one asking you.” Higuruma grumbles. “Let her cum-”

“Mmmpf- please.” And your brows furrow as the pit of bliss in your stomach grows stronger.

“Let her-” The law professor continues, “I’m begging you- fuck, she’s becoming so sweet. Let her cum-”

Pale brows furrowing. Sweat lines down his temple- “I don’t…just fit-” And he’s scrapin’ his bulbous tip down the roof of your cunt—all the way along to the back of your throat and targeting even further. “If she takes it until-”

Higuruma’s nose helping your grinds and bounces. “Just let her cum-”

“If she takes it-”

“Fucking let her-”

“G-gonna—” It’s the last thing you’re managing to get out before a sudden slam! of Nanami’s hips shut you up- and before you know it, you’re feeling the carnal scratch of his pubic hair. The feeling of his tawny curls at your skin, the intrusion of his throbbing shaft all the way down your throat.

And his thumb tapping where he’d marked a treasure spot - a spot he was supposed to meet. Nanami doesn’t have to say a single thing for Higuruma to bite his sharp canines down on your clit.

And before you know it, you’re bursting into your nth high of the night. 

Not just your second, but your third, perhaps even your fourth.

Stars burst behind your eyelids, and your moans are nothing but soft crackles at the back of your throat. Higuruma draaaaags you all throughout those waves of bliss, elongating them with the thorough lavishing of his tongue. 

Probin’ into every sweet spot.

Inside and out.

He digs his fingers into your thighs, now accomplishing his dream of having you ride his nose. Because you’re being made to arch your back n’ bounce your hips lecherously up and across.

Hittin’ those best angles- the peaks of your high absolutely burst through you. 

And Nanami? Your history professor was enjoying the view - cocking his head to the side and smiling as you shatter on Higuruma’s face. He watches about half your orgasm bate, before starting to fuck his swollen cock back in and out of you. Thrusting. 

“Now now—” Nanami murmurs. “You should be thankful my rubric’s so generous this time.”

You can only look up at him with your teary eyes.

That sight is enough for him to bite down on his lower lip n’ stop himself from cumming. No, he had something more important in his mind…

“Thirty seconds to finish up.” He says meanly. “Before I either drag your pussy off of his face or you have to drag yourself off, m’kay?”

“Tch- stingy.” Higuruma keeps lappin’ at you even after your high has passed. 

And once that thirty seconds of more bliss have passed - just like Nanami said - he grips both hands ‘round the back of your scalp and wrenches you off of his cock. Off of Higuruma’s mouth. He’s bending down to spit straight between your lips—

“Now, I’m gonna be nice this one time because you took all of me. Understood?” The history professor states, so firm. “Nod if you understand, my love.”

You nod.

“Good.” He then kisses your lips- tasting you, tasting himself. “Now…do you want it from the back or face-to-face? Because m’fucking you filthy either way.”

“From- from the back.” You pant out.

And Nanami gives a single, stern nod before he lets you go. “Brace yourself.”

You’re collapsing back into the chair—sitting your ass down on it this time. Before the law professor suddenly has you in his arms - he supports you in getting off of the armchair and standing up. Now in the middle of his office, you’re stumbling onto your wobbly feet.

Your arms loop around Higuruma’s neck. “Hiromi…”

“Mmm, I love it when you call me that.” Higuruma kisses you.

“How unruly.” Both of you snap your heads at the sound of buttons popping- only to find that Nanami was taking off his button-up. And you were right- fuck, you were so right. He was so thoroughly chiselled underneath, almost Herculean in nature.

With the most naturally defined ridges n’ curves of his muscles—his firm pectorals, his washboard abs, his meaty thighs that make an appearance.

Nanami sheds of all his clothes before he stares down the two of you- “Addressing your professor by name? Clearly going against objectives to get ready? Making me jealous? What an undisciplined class, no need to be standing around.” He looks at you, “I’ll be fucking you until you can’t stand, anyway.”

A shiver runs down your spine—“Oh.”

“Now, darling.”

Higuruma lets you waddle away to Nanami- who merely swivels you around and bends you over the edge of his colleague’s desk. Papers and ink flying everywhere across the office as he does.

Folding you forwards until your head hits the table. Kneeing your legs apart.

It’s hitting you like a truck - your history professor is about to fuck you against your law professor’s desk.

“Stay still.” He gravels in your ear.

Nanami’s barely letting you take a breath before rubbin’ his bulbous tip down your dripping wet slit from behind. Hand gripping his thick hilt—up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Getting his inches coated in a glaze of your sap, Nanami hums at the feeling of you attempting to contract around him.

“This naughty girl’s reeeeal needy for me, huh?” Scorching breath heating up your skin, he kisses down your arched spine. “She says she can take all of me- can you?”

“Y-yes—” You’re sobbing into the polished mahogany. Bucking your hips up, “I want it, sir.”

You’re jolting as his puckered, pinkish tip smooches at your wet entrance- he’s just so thick that he can plug your hole up easily. Nanami’s tip throbs against your hole, and he reaches a right hand down to feel your pretty stomach - to feel where he’s going to be hittin’ with his hungry cock. 

He breathes out airily—“You want it?”

“Yes-”

“Say please.”

“Please-”

“Hmmm?”

“Please, sir.”

Nanami lurches his hips back, back, backwards- “As you wish then, teacher’s pet.”

And then you’re being stuffed with an inch or two of him.

And by stuffed—you were seriously stuffed. 

Thick and thorough. Almost too big to even fit in - Nanami fills out the orifice of your cunt without even trying. His ruby-red tip just manages to squeeze between your pussylips, before the first ring of muscle at your entrance makes him falter.

And he’s gritting his teeth at the sheer tightness, voice coming out as nothing but a hiss. “Fuck- didn’t you say that you can take it?” He’s pressing his left hand down at the base of your spine, leaning his weight in to keep you still. “Come back, my love- class isn’t over yet.”

You hadn’t even realized you’d been clawing at the desk until now. “S-sir—”

Just that is enough to make Nanami’s ravaged tip twitch inside of you- spurting out a few more dollops of pre. “Yes, darling?”

“I d-don’t—” Fuck- you swear you could feel him grow even harder inside of you at the sight of your teary expression. Staring at your history professor over your shoulder, “I don’t know if it even can fit.”

“Awww, my poor baby.” And you should know better than to let Nanami Kento hush your cries, you should know better than to let him lull you. 

But you can’t help but get pulled into his big, strong arms anyway.

“My poor, poor baby.” And from one corner of the room, you could hear Higuruma’s distant laugh. Although you don’t have the time to wonder what it means, because Nanami’s continuing- “None of those boys ever taught you how to take a real cock, hm?” 

And you can only nod. 

“None of those boys have ever fucked you right, hm?”

Nodding once more.

“Don’t you worry, darling. If you can’t take this one…”

He presses a chaste peck against your hairline. Letting his soft breath waft over the crown of your head, and his chest ripple with his words, soft. 

“-m’gonna make it fit.”

And that’s the last thing you’re hearing before Nanami’s rammin’ his swollen, aching cock into you like an animal- his furious cockhead burrowing in deep. 

He manages to shovel just a few more inches inside, before the snugness of your channel acts up once more. Leaving him barely even able to reel his hips backwards—just that much of a tight fit that’s making his eyes roll to the back of his skull.

He shakes.

His groan cracks at the back of his throat. “O-oh.” Both of Nanami’s hands fly to the sides of your hips, and his fingers fucking shake where he holds you. “Oh, yeah.”

“Shit-” You’re flinching at the scalding sensation of his breath. Gusting.

And even that mere shiver- Nanami catches onto it. And it’s only making him clasp your body even tighter, pulling you into him—“You’re really not getting away until we make it fit, my love. Good luck.”

No matter how much his ravenous hips are rutting n’ bucking and trying oh-so-desperately to hammer even more of his inches inside- he can only fuck you in short, needy half-thrusts. The rest of him left to throb wildly behind you, he keeps on stretching and stretching your insides just to fit inside.

Each one of his bucks so desperate. So greedy.

The pointed tip of Nanami’s cockhead prods away at your innards as though he’s trying to claim every single ounce of space inside you- 

“Have you forgotten that this is a joint class, Kento?”

Higuruma’s voice is enough to send pulses of adrenaline flowing through your body - and you’re just managing to look around Nanami’s toned frame. The law professor stands behind the two of you with his arms crossed, clothes mostly on except for his trousers being tugged down.

He held his blushin’ cock in one hand, pumping furiously at the sight of his star student. 

Nanami himself sighs—though he doesn’t stop his sloppy scouring of your innards for a single second. He looks straight at the other man as he asks- “Oh yes…would you like her now or after me, Hiromi?”

“Now.” Higuruma narrows his heady eyes at the two of you. And the blond-haired man slightly growls at his answer, seemingly grappling with the thought of leaving your pretty pussy right about now- “But don’t pull out.”

You feel like you’re experiencing whiplash. “What?”

Nanami only raises a sharp brow.

And Higuruma himself can’t help but crack a sleazy smirk-

Before you know it, he’s rounding the two of you. Coat off. White button-up flapping open.

He tugs on the smooth, black tie that was hanging haphazardly from his neck- and gestures something indiscernible at the other man.

Though, clearly both professors understood.

Because one second you’re slouched on top of Higuruma’s desk, droolin’ stupidly over some important documents as Nanami Kento pounds you into oblivion - and in the next second, he’s lifting you off of it.

Cleanly off the desk.

One hand wrapped around your waist, the other putting you in a headlock.

He pulls you up as though you’re nothing- and you’re ogling the way his biceps bulge around your throat. Feeling the cushy firmness of his strength—“W-what are you-”

“D’you know what a standing full nelson is?” Higuruma asks. And for a second you think he’s asking you - maybe this was some strange sort of quiz - but then Nanami nods.

“Thought that only happens in fiction? Don’t tell me you’re a secret freak, Hiromi?” He scoffs, though he pulls out either way. 

“And look who’s talking…” Then Higuruma looks at you and taps his shoulders. “Hold on, angel, he’s going to lift you.”

“Shit…” 

As expected, you’re holding onto Higuruma’s broad shoulders for leverage- whilst Nanami bends and loops his hands around your legs. His strong forearms where your knees were. 

Scooping you up into his arms.

Holding them up.

Holding you up.

Hoverin’ well over six feet in the air.

Yelping, you’re digging your nails into the law professor’s shoulders - but if it hurt, then he doesn’t’ react to the pain. Honestly, you don’t even think he could feel it right now—because Higuruma was holding out his tie.

Measuring it against your face-

Tying it around your face like a blindfold.

He knots it at the back of your head, and suddenly the room is curtained in nothing but pure black. You could only hear the gruffness of both men’s chuckles, and Higuruma asking. “Everything alright, angel?”

“Of course, it is.” Nanami mutters- almost to himself. Though he does stretch your legs a little wider, presumably to show to the other man—“Look how fucking drenched she is.”

“Good girl.”

“Naughty, you mean.”

“I must beg to differ.”

And you’re arching against Nanami’s toned front, the plushness of his abs digging against your back. It was the most sensual massage you’ve felt in your entire life- “Please- ngh, what’s with the blindfold?”

“Oh, that…” Higuruma starts. “Guess.”

“What?”

“Guess.”

Brains wracking- “You aren’t going to leave me hanging, are you?”

“No.”

“Is this a roleplay?”

“No.”

“A kink thing?”

“Well…”

“A BDSM thing?”

“Guess.”

You’re feeling helplessness wash over you—“B-but, I already did-”

“No, my love.” Nanami’s the one to speak up this time. He leans down so that he’s pressing an innocent kiss to the edge of your hairline, “We’re going to make this slutty pussy guess which one of us she’s being fucked by.”

Your jaw drops.

And your cunt grows even wetter.

An occasion that the two professors are watching with awe-

Higuruma in particular finds himself breathing out—“And your time starts…now.”

And then you’re hearing the shuffling of his trousers- right before a sudden proddin’ intrusion starts up at your entrance. It was hot and throbbing—so needy that your teeth are set on edge by the sheer volume of precum that he was emptying out.

You’re feeling his thick tip start to eeeease in- squeezing in past the tightness of your channel for a bit before pulling back and fucking you ruthlessly in semi-thrusts.

“H-Hiromi?” You guess. Surely, with him being the one that was removing his trousers it must be…

“Wrong.” Nanami grins.

And then you’re feeling his cock give you a few vicious pumps before he’s pulling away - leaving you all empty and yearning for more. Your glistening hole clenches a few times around nothing, before a sudden globular tip starts kissin’ your entrance once more.

You’re bucking back in Nanami’s arms in an attempt to figure out just who it might be- but the history professor holds onto you firmly. Not a single inch.

Not a single inch less.

Whoever was fucking you takes no more time before swabbin’ his swollen erection inside once more- biting back a groooan at the feeling of your tightening walls.

It’s the same short, jerky thrusts from before just to fit in. 

“Sir?” You’re gasping out. But surely, it can’t be twice in a row…“No wait- is it Hiromi this time?”

The cadence of his hips stops abruptly. “Can’t get enough of the law, can you?”

Nanami.

And you don’t know whether it’s the fact that you’re just feeling your brain melt at the sheer stimulation between your legs, you don’t know whether it’s the fact that both handsome men had you sandwiched between their muscular bodies—it was just driving you wild. Making you stupid.

A line of drool slicks down the side of your mouth, and Nanami doesn’t hesitate before leaning in and lickin’ it off. “I should punish you for this.”

“I-I—oh, fuck.” Whatever words were on the tip of your tongue get swallowed up by the feeling of yet another round, ruddied cockhead pushing inwards. Pulsing. Prying apart your walls. And you’re noticing that this one is slightly slimmer than the last, more pointed, more honed, more of its curvaceous tip that tilts to the left.

It makes you shiver at the feeling of his bawling divot dragging across your walls so perfectly. “Is this- sir-”

“Try again, angel.”

It was a struggle to piece your thoughts together, and Higuruma’s voice is the only thing that makes you realize-

“Hiromi.”

“Mhmmm—” Before you know it, the other man has one hand dipping between your jittery legs. His fingers easily locate your clit to tug n’ pry like the cutest gummy - how sweet. And he’s timing it to the constant probes of his looooong, smooth cock. “Good girl. A++ for that.”

“You’re quite the generous grader.” Nanami scoffs. “I would have given that a B.”

“What can I say? I do have a soft spot for her…” Higuruma’s cock was slightly lengthier than Nanami’s, you’re noticing - though not quite as thick. And with less veins that didn’t massage your inner orifices as much, but made it soooo much easier for him to slip even deeper.

Especially with this position, he manages to probe his cockhead further past where Nanami’s thicker one was able to fit.

Reaching almost for your throat with his blushing, frenzied tip- Higuruma gives a final roll over your clit before he’s pulling out. Letting a few ribbons of sap gush down your legs after him-

Ones that are being fucked right back up with a second length.

Thicker. Harder.

Throbbing so much that you swear you can count them all the way at the top of your head- Nanami’s shaft was next. And he’s lavishing your entrance with so much attention—draaaaagging his vein-decorated shaft in and out. In and out. In and out.

“S-so?” He rasps out from behind. Higuruma’s cockhead had mazed open your insides just a bit more, and Nanami struggles not to let his voice tremble. “Which one of us, darling?”

“Y-you—”

That earns you a bite on the shell of your ear. “No.”

Before he’s pulling back out.

And your breath catches- “Wait- I meant sir. It’s you, sir—”

“Too late for that now.”

“Awww, come now.” Higuruma coos as well. “How are we supposed to make an example out of our star student if she just keeps makin’ mistakes?”

“I think she’s gettin’ lazy now, huh?” The other man responds. And now both of their ruddied cockheads were droolin’ all over your entrance- mixing with the sweetened syrup that was already dripping out of you and creating such a mess. “Maybe she doesn’t deserve our cocks at all?”

“Don’t say that—” You could feel your law professor’s eyes turn to you. “You deserve it- hah, don’t you, angel?”

Shivering at the feeling of both cocks sandwiching between your pussylips. Now that they’d both pulled out- it’s as if they were fighting over who can be next. Rubbin’ and teasing. “I do—” Your voice cracks on that last note, “P-please, I do-”

“I’m still not convinced.”

Higuruma continues, “Promise us you’ll be a good girl? That you’ll listen to what your professors have to say?”

“I will I will-”

“Promise us that no more of that teasin’ stuff in class?” His prominent nose slides down the column of your throat, breathing in your essence. “None of that bending over?”

“Yes—” But you could already hear the question in your throat - and it seems that they could, too.

And it makes Nanami gruffs out. “Because - forgive us - but you do realize that it’s not just us seeing your little…display, darling?” He spreads open your legs even wider, and Higuruma’s ministrations grow even more frenzied on your clit. Squeezing. Pinching. Flicking.

And you’re restless- “Wh-what do you mean?”

“I mean to say that there are others more…undeserving that see those legs of yours, those panties, those tits.” There’s a sharp edge to his words—“Those boys in class can’t take their eyes off of you.”

“We can’t either, of course.” Higuruma responds. Squeezing his cock inside- “But at least that little performance of yours is meant for us, right?”

“Don’t like the way they look at you.” Nanami’s also squeezing his cock inside now - both of them bullying your hole at once. Creating a stretch that makes your vision go white- so much carnal stimulation that your entire body wracks with shakes. “Don’t like the way they turn to look. Don’t like the way they have to mysteriously…disappear into the bathrooms any time you do your little show.”

“Given…we do the same.” The law professor continues—“Because fuck- how fuckin’ pretty you look all dressed up in silk. Makes it hard not to cream my pants everytime I see you- but none of those boys have the balls to back that admiration up.”

Giving you a thorough slam—both of them.

Higuruma’s the one to continue, “But we do.”

“Because I rub my cock raw to you, my love.” Nanami ends off, holding you close to him. “N’ none of those boys could ever fuck you like we do.”

“Yes, p-please—” And you’re pushed between both of their sculptured fronts. Unable to see them- but you could feel the ridges and curves of their muscles, the way they were both leaning in as though they couldn’t get enough of you. “I only want…ngh.”

One of your arms wrap around Higuruma’s neck, and the other reaches behind you to attempt to clasp onto Nanami’s.

“Just want the two of you…”

“Hmmm…” Nanami’s cock twitches at your gooey entrance- “A+”

And then they’re alternating between fucking you—

“Hiromi.” You’re gasping at the intrusion of his smoothened tip, the velvety texture of him reaching for so many spots inside you but most importantly- that g-spot. 

And then he’s pulling back out.

“Sir- fuck, Professor Kento.” Nanami swabs his thickened tip inside and hits that precise spot. Although he decides to take it a few steps further this time and dig his rounded tip into the very back of your pussy, bottoming-out. “Shit shit shit—”

Thrust after thrust.

Pulling out. Shovelling back in.

Making you guess just which one of your two older professors were takin’ over your pussy right now- it made your head dizzy just trying to keep track. Bounced up and down in their arms.

“Hiromi.”

“Professor Kento.”

“Hiromi.”

“Hiromi.”

“Professor Kento.”

“Hiromi.”

“Professor Kento.”

“Professor Kento.”

“Hiromi—” Before your voice shatters at the feeling of…two thickened lengths attempting to fit inside. Fighting against the resistance for a few sloppy strokes before they’re siiiiiiiiiiiinking in- “And Professor K-Kento, sir…” The feeling of their large, slick-glazed cocks were just incredible - rubbin’ against your walls and one another. Like nothing earlier.

It was a stretch like you’ve never felt before, hittin’ spots that you didn’t even know you had.

And both professors held onto your shaking body tight- they shovelled their lengths in and out of you. Two blushin’ cockheads heading for your g-spot, before their slide-slide-sliiiiiding all the way down to end up at your cervix.

Stretching apart your walls.

Making your channel bulge.

Letting the curves of their mushroomy tips drag apart your walls, n’ press into the sweetest spots of your nerves. Both of their heavy ballsacks smack-smack the front of your cunt right on time with their thrusts. Thrust after thrust.

Again and again.

Nanami grunts at the sensation of Higuruma deep inside you, “F-fuck…”

“You can say that again.” Higuruma himself replies. 

By now, the jostlin’ about had meant that your blindfold was falling off- and you could see the two men upon either side of you. Shovelling their hot cocks deep inside your pussy, positively ravaging you.

The law professor’s fingers weren’t letting up on your clit just yet, either. 

He quirks his digits just a bit to draw a little heart upon it—and soon enough you find yourself throwing your head back with a moan. “G-gonna-”

“Shhhh—” Nanami grins. His ears keenly listen to the noises from between your legs - they were just so much louder now that you had two thickened shafts ramming into you. “This pussy says she’s gonna cum soon, darling.”

“Y-you little-” 

A harsh hammerin’ on your spongy cervix. “Pardon, my love?”

“Nothing—oh.” Even their thrusting styles were different - Nanami Kento with his thorough, solid slashes as though he was trying to reach your womb every single time. And Higuruma Hiromi with slightly slower, smoother glides of his cock - soothing through the nooks n’ crannies that Nanami had activated first.

It was the perfect combination.

Naughty and nice.

Though not exactly in the way you’d initially thought.

And perhaps this manner was what was making you so desperate to cum again- “Please-” Gasping. “Let me cum—”

You’re looking between a grinning Nanami and Higuruma. Dazedly.

“Please may I-” Choking out in-between the moans and droplets of saliva that were gushing out of you- falling onto Higuruma’s puffed-out chest. “-cum, sirs?”

Both of their rock-hard cocks twitch deep inside of you.

And you’re briefly seeing a silent conversation pass between them-

“Go ahead, angel.”

“Cum all over my cock, darling.”

And it might have been minutes, it might have been seconds, it might have been split-seconds later once you’re crashing into your high. The waves of white-hot pleasure taking over you until it felt like your body was burning up. 

Feverish.

You’re crying out as you attempt to bounce your lewd hips back into both their shovelling shafts- but they’ve already got you. They’re holding onto your perspired body - so limp now with pleasure - and lettin’ their pointed cockheads hit each and every nerve bundle inside.

Pinpointing your g-spot with their lengths.

Targeting it especially through peak after peak.

After peak.

Your cunt trickles with honeyed slick- and it slips between your three bodies to drench Higuruma and Nanami’s cocks. Their thighs. Their bodies. 

Making it even louder to thrust into your cunt—you’re forced to raise your voice just a little just so that they can hear. “Sh-shit…” Until eventually you’re feeling so raw on their relentless cocks that you’re unsure whether you want them to elongate those waves of bliss or whether you want to fucking run away—“It feels so- oh, it feels…”

“And what do we say?” Nanami’s deep baritone croons out. He doesn’t slow down for a single second as he speaks- even though he himself was feeling a little sensitive by this point.

He hits his full ballsack against the front of your cunt and hisses- “Can I have it all inside…” You’re looking between them with wide, heart-shaped pupils. “-sirs?”

And you should’ve known what that would do.

You should’ve known how much that would break them.

Because with only a few final thrusts, both Higuruma and Nanami cum inside you with loud slurps! of your greedy cunt. Gobblin’ up all those white ropes of seed that they were emptying out - sheer volumes that they’d been holding onto for hours, days, this entire semester.

Nanami furrows his golden brows and presses his face into the crook of your neck. Groaning as he fucks you through his orgasm, “A-and here I was just expecting a thank you…”

“Our girl always was the sweetest.” Higuruma coos. 

Your history professor rides through his high with his teeth grit, jaw working overtime to keep his noises to a minimum - he wanted to hear your soft gasps and groans even more. Though his body shakes as it keeps on thrummin’ with pleasure. 

Visceral.

Meanwhile, your law professor let out such husky grunts after each splat! of cum that he emptied out against your womb. He couldn’t even handle fucking you properly anymore and his hips kept on stutterin’ through his waves. 

Cheeks flushed. Gaze locked on you. 

He didn’t want to tear it away.

Both of them are cumming so much that you nearly can’t tell who’s who - with their dollops of heated, syrupy sap. Each divot bawling them out messily—you can feel them stick against the end of your pussy, right where your cervix was, before being stirred about by the motions of their cylindrical shafts. 

Their prominent veins massagin’ your sweetest spots. Their globular cockheads pumping every single droplet inside you.

Every single droplet.

Not a single bead of that ivory cum escapes—but they’re both still looking at each other with the same idea.

And you’re seeing yet another silent conversation pass between them that you miss. “Oh?”

In almost no time, Higuruma and Nanami have you splayed out on the polished desk - back against its flat surface, legs held high in the air. This time, however, both their faces were between your pussylips and attempting to beat the other—

They were lappin’ their dual tongues over your leaking cunt like they were starved.

Nanami’s hand pressing down on your stomach to make a few more droplets spray out of your hole- Higuruma’s hand flicking over your clit still.

You lean back on your elbows and watch them.

And what a sight it was: both their handsome faces between your legs.

They nudge their noses against the creamy layers on top of your cunt, and swivel the mess around like mad. You could see through your tears the exact moment - the exact moment - that their pinkish tongues meet in the middle.

Where Higuruma’s tastebuds overlap with Nanami’s as they’re suckling on your clit- and they both flinch at the sensation before moaning—

And that’s before the door clicks.

“Oi, why are the lights still on? Don’t you know that campus has closed a long time ag-”

You pause.

Nanami pauses.

Higuruma pauses.

And so does Professor Shiu Kong - Head of the Mathematics Department, also PhD with Distinction. 

His jaw drops as his eyes drift over from the mess of clothes on the floor, to the mess that’d been made of you. Bite marks all over your throat. The blindfold still around your neck. And even more - you could see the way his hands tighten on his files as his gaze probes deeper, taking in your leaking, lecherous cunt.

No one moves.

Except for Shiu, who steps inside.

Your heart was in your throat.

Getting ready for a berating of some kind- or potentially even worse. Perhaps a suspension, perhaps Nanami and Higuruma would be fired at once-

“So…” Shiu’s husky voice interrupts your thoughts. “-got room for mathematics?”

A/N. Heheheheh ofc we got room for youuuuuuuuu Shiu <33

Plagiarism not authorized.