Synopsis: You had been married to Nanami Kento for the last seven years, even giving him a beautiful baby girl named Himari. When Himari was just four, you and Kento divorced. Now, after a messy divorce and months of shared custody Kento comes to find out you have moved on, and brought a new friend home. ฅ₍^•⩊ •マⳊ
A/N: i tried okay, Nanami feels like a very calm man so making smut for him isn’t my strong forte.
You spent years defending a man who was never unfaithful, he was just unavailable.
At first you told yourself that his work was temporary, that missed anniversaries could be made up, that your daughter wouldn’t notice the empty chair next to you at her school’s recital. But time kept passing, and his presence became thinner. He kept choosing work. By the time the divorce papers slammed down onto the table, he had realized it too. But it was too late. When he finally signed, you realized you hadn’t lost a husband; you’d been living without one the entire time.
You gave him years of your life. You gave him a home, a real one. Then, with whatever little love he had left for you, you gave him a daughter.
Years of perfect home cooked meals, folded laundry and tired nights, waiting for him to come home. All that and more, yet he still was never yours. His love existed in theory, in the soft sigh he gave you when you brought up the dinner he missed, the small twitch of his lips when you cried. It was all there in theory, buried under deadlines and late nights, under promises to make it up to you someday.
The cruelest part? You still loved him when you signed the papers. He did too, you could see it in his clenched jaw. It lingered, wanting to say something, anything to save the two of you. But he never spoke. He agreed to every one of your rules for the divorce with out a fight, which just enraged you further, convincing you that his love for you was gone.
For the sake of your four year old, you both stayed silent. You swallowed your rage and followed along, steady, calm and civil. Hiding the wreckage behind smiles for Himari.
Himari never understood what was really happening, but surprisingly she didn’t question it much. She actually showed off to her class that she was going to be living in two homes now, thinking that made her rich. In reality, her parents were simply done with one another.
That got you and Kento a call home that day.
⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺
Monday meant the traffic was horrendous. Which is why Nanami had to leave work even earlier than expected to go pick up Himari from school.
Now he was punctual, but that was only because he needed to follow the divorce agreements. The judge wouldn’t accept a simple “I’m sorry, it won’t happen again” like you used to.
Still in his suit and tie Nanami stood at the pick up area, watching Himari run up to him.
His frown finally vanished as he saw his little girl run to him, screaming and calling out for him in excitement.
“Daddy!”
Himari hugged Nanami’s legs, giggling as he reached down pat her hair.
“Hey princess, ready to go?” Himari looked up at her father and nodded.
Kento buckled Himari into the back seat and felt it hit him all over again as he stared into his daughter’s face. The cute curve of her smile, the way her eyes crinkled when she giggled. Himari looked so much like her mother. It almost hurt, just the idea of you made him want to lock himself in his office with a bottle of whiskey.
Kento began to drive once he was in the drivers seat, pulling out of the school parking lot and turning on a radio station with clean songs
“How was school?”
“Good! We painted.” Himari held up her hands for her father to see through the rear view mirror. They were were still covered in color. “Mine was messy!”
“That tracks,” Kento sighed. The car going silent car for a split second. Sure, he was her father, he helped create Himari but Kento was just a bit too silent for a little kid.
“Daddy?”
Himari called out, looking at him through the rear view mirror once again.
“Yes princess?” Kento met her gaze for a split second.
“Can we get food? I’m hungry,” Himari pouted, slamming her dirty hands onto her uniform skirt, turning needy.
“Sure princess? Did mom not give you any breakfast today? What about lunch?”
Kento peeked to look at his daughter as she shook her head, her lips doing the exact same pout his ex used to do when she was upset.
“Why is that..?” Kento’s voice turned concerned, immediately thinking the worse.
“Well.. mommy had her new friend over so.. she forgot..”
Himari shrugged, loosing her pout.
Kento’s breath hitched as his eyes flicked to the mirror. “Yeah?”
“Mhm.” Himari nodded, her gaze lost out the window. “He’s superrrr tall... He also drinks the yucky coffee.”
Kento’s chest tightened, slow and sudden, but he kept driving, gripping the steering wheel to try and control himself.
“Oh,” He simply added.
“He helped me with my tying the laces on my shoes,” Himari went on, not realizing what she was doing to her father.
“Mom said he’s nice.”
The light turned red. He stopped, fingersdigging into the wheel by now. “That’s good.. i’m glad baby..”
“He asked me what my favorite color was,” Himari added, turning to look at her father in the mirror again.
“I said purple but I think I like blue more now.”
He breathed out through his nose. “You can like both…”
Kento’s voice went quiet as the light turned green again.
Himari smiled, satisfied with her fathers answer.
“Mom laughs a lot when he’s there.”
That one landed harder than the rest.
The pressure behind his ribs built up, tightened as Kento held in his breath. The pain was quiet physical, sharp and immediate. As he heard his daughter talk about another man making his ex laugh, his lungs forgot what they were supposed to do.
But he couldn’t break down, not now on the road and not now in front of his precious daughter. Nanami simply focused on the road. green light, speed limit, hands on the wheel.
“I’ll talk to mommy about that, make sure she never forgets your breakfast again baby, okay?”
⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺
The whole weekend Nanami spent it hiding his anger. There was a man at your apartment? Had you been neglecting Himari for this man? How long had this been going on? Was this allowed? Was he allowed to.. date too?
The weekend had gone by too fast. Or maybe too slow. He couldn’t tell anymore.
He shrugged off the thoughts every time they came to his head, he tried to focus on spending time with his daughter, but she just looked so much like you.
Kento knew you two weren’t in the best terms, especially after he finally got weekends off due to the divorce agreements. You were pissed, he had never gotten a weekend before while you two were married, now he does?
Kento knew it wasn’t jealousy towards your daughter, he knew you meant well but that’s how you two ended up last time you met to pick up Himari. Arguing. Just like the last six months.
The whole weekend he spent it watching Himari laugh, helping her brush her teeth and holding her hand when they went out. He took her to a five star restaurant, watched her order chicken strips and draw on the menu. Then he took Himari to to the store and spoiled her rotten, letting her pick out every toy and sweets she wanted. But his favorite part? When Himari fell asleep on his chest while they watched some unicorn pony movie. He didn’t want the weekend to end.
Sunday night came anyway.
You were going to pick up Himari at Kento’s home. Your old home.
Sunday night felt wrong the moment you stepped inside.
You had used your keys, you always did, so did he when he came into your apartment. You had given him a set. Why? You had no idea why. It just felt right.
Inside Nanami’s house Himari was asleep in her old room, sprawled across the bed. Almost as id she still belonged there, as if nothing had happened and this house was still her actual permanent home.
You closed the door quietly, spotting Kento in the kitchen island with the lights dimly lit. A glass in hand, because of course.
His shoulders were tense like he’d been holding himself together by force alone. He looked up when you entered, his eyes were sharp. He was mad. You knew that look too well.
“You’re late,” Nanami said.
“I told you I’d come after she fell asleep,” you replied, calm. Way too calm for his liking.
He scoffed under his breath and took a sip of his whiskey. “Yeah. Busy night?”
You froze.
“Kento,” you warned.
The room went silent for a moment. Nanami let out a heavy breath, looking away from you. You stared at him, long and hard, mouring the husband you once thought you had.
“Whiskey?”
“Just one,” Nanami replied quickly. Defensive. “After she fell asleep.”
You nodded. You didn’t say anything else. You’d learned a long time ago what happened when you did. You took a step closer, then another and another one. Until you reached the kitchen island.
You slipped your purse onto the marble counter. Looking away, the tension was thick in the air.
“She talks, you know.” Nanami broke the silence, catching your attention.
“She doesn’t know what it means, but she still remembers.”
His eyes pierced yours.
“She’s four Kento.”
Another pause. His eyes darted down to stared at the floor, the whiskey swirling in his cup lazily.
“How long has he been around?” he asked.
You hesitated for a long moment. Just long enough to answer his question.
Your chest tightened.
“This isn’t a conversation we’re having.” You crossed your arms, staring right back at him with a clenched jaw.
“It is when my daughter comes home talking about another man in her mothers home,”
Nanami snapped. He slammed his glass down, standing up and going silent, trying to hold himself back.
“It is when you look like that.” He pointed at you before running his hand on his face, shoving his glasses onto his head, a distressed sigh escaping his pressed lips.
You glanced down at yourself. Simple clothes. At least to you.
It was nothing but a black dress that reached your ankles with a white cardigan.
The fact that this outfit affected him wasn’t something you were expecting. Years of dressing up for him, putting on make up for hours, going to the salon and buying designer dresses for him to rip off didn’t work. But this? A simple ten dollar dress and the idea of another man on you is what got him off?
“What does that even mean?” you scoffed.
“What does my dress have to do with it? This isn’t fair-“
He laughed, sharp and bitter as he cut you off.
“Neither is watching someone else step into my daughter’s life like it’s vacant…”
“You walked out of this life,” you shot back.
“You walked out on me first, then you walked out on Himari.” Your voice was low, but it still hit him right in the chest.
“You chose work every single day. Seven years we were married. For seven years you choose to chase a promotion that wasn’t promised over your wife.. over your daughter.”
You stepped closer, your hands trembling. This is exactly what you didn’t want.
“I know,” he said immediately. “I know. And I’m trying to fix it.”
Kento ran a hand through his messy blonde hair, sighing and avoiding your gaze out of embarrassment.
“By drinking and interrogating me?” you shot at him again.
Nanami groaned, he started pacing around like a caged animal, driving himself insane.
“Why did you move on so fast.” He finally stopped. He looked at you, his voice cracked as he spoke.
You could hear the tears brewing up in his eyes.
“I didn’t-“
“Yes you did,” He cut you off.
“I haven’t even been able to look at another woman and you.. you already brought a man home. Already introduced him to your daughter.”
You took in a deep breath, clenching your hands at the sides of your hips. He was right. For once, but he was right.
“Why now.”
You built up the courage to speak.
“Why now are you standing there on the verge of tears? Why cry now? You didn’t cry when i gave you the papers. You didn’t pace around like crazy at court.”
Nanami stayed silent for a long moment. So did you. You swallowed the lump in your throat, running your sweaty palms down onto your dress.
“Because.. i didn’t think it was true, it didn’t feel real.. this whole last year of my life isn’t real to me.”
He stepped closer, you took a step back.
“I just.. i realized I.. I still want my wife.”
The word wife landed hard, it grabbed your heart and twisted it like a wet cloth.
“You don’t get to say that now,” you whispered, your voice cracking as you shook your head.
“Why?” he demanded, getting closer to you.
“Because someone else is filling the space I left?”
“That space was empty for years,” you said looking away, afraid tears would spill if you met his gaze.
“I begged you to see me. To see us. And now that someone actually does, you’re suddenly here?”
He stopped approaching you. Nanami’s voice dropped to a soft whisper. “I never stopped loving you.”
You felt that. God, you felt it. It made your skin crawl, your eyes tear up and your stomach turn and twist.
“And I never stopped waiting,” you said quietly. “That’s why this hurts… nanami..”
Silence filled the whole kitchen for a long minute. The longest minute of your life.
“Is he staying over?” Kento asked quietly, breaking the silence once again.
“That’s none of your business,” you replied, wiping a tear off your eye, hoping he didn’t see it.
His jaw clenched. “I want you back.”
You shook your head, eyes burning. “You want what you lost. That’s not the same thing.”
Kento stepped closer, right in front of you this time, shoulders slumped as he stared down st your face.
“Is it serious with him?”
He asked, not touching you just yet, just close enough for you to smell the whiskey on his breath. You didn’t reply.
“Himari said he makes you laugh.”
He continued, swaying slightly as he hesitated on taking that final step to toych you.
You stayed silent once again.
“You still love me,” he said quietly. It wasn’t a question, it was a fact.
You swallowed the lump in your throat, your pulse picking up. “That doesn’t mean I’ll go back.”
“It means something,” he said. “It has to.”
You shook your head, even as your body betrayed you by not moving away. “Nanami…You can’t just want me now because someone else sees me.”
Kento reached out for your arm, but he stopped. He stared down at you, waiting for a reaction, a response or even a small breath to signal permission.
“Did you sleep with him already?”
“Stop it,” you turned your face away, hugging yourself.
“There’s my answer..” He didn’t wait for the permission any more, he simply touched your arm.
“It’s not serious with him then..”
Kento leaned down, tilting his head. You sniffed a tear away, wiping it off your cheek before it could spill to your chin.
Watching you cry always made Kento fold.
“Tell me to stop,” he said, softly… almost purring his words to you.
You should have. You should’ve pushed him off and told him that yes, the guy in your apartment was a serious situation. Even if it meant lying to Nanami. But you just couldn’t.
Instead, you looked up at him, eyes burning red heart spilling open all over again and falling out of your lips. “Kento…”
That was all it took.
Kento leaned down, grabbing both of your arms to pull you closer snd kiss you like he was afraid you’d disappear if he didn’t. The kiss was urgent, rough yet so so familiar.
With out thinking twice, you hands came up to grip his shirt like it was muscle memory, like this was still allowed. As if the divorce had never happened.
Nanami’s tongue slid into your mouth, kissing away at any pain you had left, dominating your mouth until you surrendered to him.
Before you knew it, you were placed on top of the kitchen island, your lips still connected to his as he devoured your mouth. He tugged at your cardigan, yanking it off your arms.
“Missed you..”
He gently pulled away from your lips, only to move onto your neck, his large hands placed on your hips.
“Missed you so damn much,” Nanami cooed into your ear as he left sloppy wet kisses on your neck, then onto your shoulder. His large hands slipped from your hips, traveling up to the straps of your cheap dress.
“Say you missed me too.. say it..” His harsh fingers fidgeted with the strap, urging to take it off.
You gasped, “i missed you so much Kento.. so much..” You slipped your hand down from his chest to his throbbing buldge, palming his cock softly as he moaned and marked your shoulders.
“He won’t make you feel as good as me,” He whispered as he jolted his hips foward, chasing the warmth of your palm desperately.
“You reek of whiskey..” You tilted your head back to give him access, wanting to change the topic.
“How many times..”
Nanami moaned into your neck, humping the palm of your hand.
“Mhm..?” You kept your eyes closed.
“How many times have you slept with.. him.. who ever that bastard is…”
You let out a soft moan as he bit down onto your neck, a warning that he wanted a real answer.
“Ah.. maybe.. twice..?”
You whimpered as his teeth sunk deeper into your skin.
“Did he make you cum?”
He finally pulled away, looking right at your face. Kento was panting, his pale face flushed a bright red.
“Well i..”
Before you could even finish your sentence Nanami kneeled down, grabbing your soft thighs and spreading your legs open.
“I’ll make you feel better..”
He mumbled, drooling at the sight of your soaked panties hiding under your dress.
“Kento..! Himari is asleep upstairs..”
You covered your mouth with your hand, looking down at him.
“Then be silent for me..”
With out another word from him he hooked your panties off with one finger, sliding them off your soft legs until they hit the floor, forgotten from now.
He positioned his face right in between your cunt. You could feel the warmth from his mouth hovering over your wet slits.
He leaned in, sliding his tongue across your aching pussy, giving you what you have craved for ears.
“Oh fuck…!”
You tangled your hands into his messy blonde hair, gasping as his tongue made you see starts.
Kento made out with your pretty fluttering pussy, licking up every drop of juice you spilled like a mad man.
He pulled away, panting to stare at your pussy.
“Missed her..”
He groaned, sliding a finger in between and spreading open your folds.
“Missed her so much..”
He leaned back in, fucking your hole with his tongue, making you throw your head back with a palm smacked over your hand and the other back on his head.
“Fuck Kento..! Mhmp,” you maoned, your legs trembling around his head, squishing him to bring him closer.
You grinded on his face, his nose burried on your clit as he pleasured your soaking hole.
“Please baby.. leave him..”
He pulled away, looking up at you, his chin dripping wet.
“Get back with me.. please i’ll be better,” he let out a shaky breath, landing right on your pussy.
“For us.. for you.. for our daughter..”
You let out a small broken chuckle, your face bright red. “Don’t talk about Himari with.. with your face in between my.. my pussy..”
Kento finally let a smile break.
“Okay,” he simply replied, leaning in with his tongue to flick your clit with it. He sent jolts of pleasure down to your spine, making you arch your back as you pulled him closer by his hair.
You got louder and louder by the second, reaching your high as your ex husband ate out your pussy as if it was his last meal, feral, desperate to taste your juices.
As you finally reached your high, throwing your head back and releasing your juices all over his mouth for him to drink up, all you could think about was how you were going to tell him the man you had been seeing recently was none other than his friend and divorce lawyer, Hiromi Higuruma.
synopsis | in which you, an english teacher, can't seem to find time to spend with your equally busy lawyer boyfriend, hiromi higuruma. and the stress and distance almost breaks you both.
content | MDNI. fem!reader. lawyer!higuruma x english teacher!reader. established relationship. porn with SO much plot like wow why'd i write so much. slight angst. dry humping. fingering. (brief) praise AND degradation because mommy marce likes to write both. masturbation (m!receiving). pinv. lots of fluff as well, my babies.
word count | 10.6k (because i fucking love hiromi higurma)
It's not often that you go toe-to-toe with the criminal defense attorney Hiromi Higuruma—in fact, it's so rare it might be considered unfeasible, an anomaly of sorts.
Not because you can't. Rest assured, Higuruma's profession had nothing on your natural ability to convince and persuade. You were one of those kids who were considered "beyond their years," an "old soul”. Many times, you had been told you should be a lawyer, which was just a kinder way of calling a child a 'bitch' before the child actually knew what that word meant. You had a fierce stubbornness that had yet to be shaken. But it wasn't like that with Higuruma. You seldom argued because you never really had to. Things fell into place with a man like him, you both worked in tandem, like two slightly differing dances moving around each other with a musical kind of ease and care. Dancing, and dancing, and dancing in spinning circles that sometimes gave you whiplash. And it's anything but argumentative.
Truthfully, the two of you might be too like-minded to argue. Nothing is ever morally confusing between you, all of your ideas about the universe make perfect sense to the other. Your few objections were over the best Christopher Nolan film and the best band from childhood, but nothing intense, nothing ridiculous that made you want to rip your hair out of your head. Things were right and well, and if they weren't, it was nothing a few deep breaths couldn't fix.
And perhaps you're both just too busy to disagree with each other. You were an English teacher, constantly grading and revising papers, tutoring after school, hosting office hours before school, receiving emails at godforsaken hours of the night, and responding to them, because you're awake, too, putting in scores and notes until the sun comes up. And of course, Higuruma can't help but pick up the hardest cases known to man, for his own peace of mind. He puts his entire soul into his work, slaving away over files, pictures, anecdotes, and charges, hoping to save as many people as he can. His head is always buried in some textbook, as if he'd need to fact-check anything—things like fairness and honor come to him with ease, like it flows through his veins.
You're a Hiro, you'll sometimes joke with him, at night when nothing's actually as fun as it would be otherwise. And he says that you are too, and you believe it, sometimes, in your own roundabout sort of way. A defense lawyer and an AP literature teacher, saving the day, one crumbled-up paper at a time.
And given that you've been together for almost a year now, there really hasn't been any time to argue immensely.
Until the other day.
You'd both made lots of time.
Often, when things as rare as this happen, people are quick to say they don't know how it got to that point exactly. Not you though. You can picture it very quickly in your mind, just last Sunday, the slow start of something terrible, brewing.
You'd both had something stuck up your asses all week, notable in every call and text, stressed and stretched out beyond comprehension, and you both were handling it, individually, in your own sense of the word and as best you could. You'd meant to have dinner Friday, like you usually did, but you'd had so many meetings about essay revisions and had to get them done before the weekend started, lest you put them off too long. So, you postponed to Saturday, you got all prettied-up early that morning, the eagerness seeping over from the night before. Dinner was exactly what you needed after such a horrifyingly long week, and then all of sudden, Higuruma's asking to reschedule, too, caught up researching this new case he'd just planned to pick up, an emergency of sorts. That phone call had ended very quickly, the man rushing off while he was still in his office, and you, on the other line, in his favorite dress, with your hair done up and mascara smudging at your waterline. But it wasn't anything to cry about. You'd rescheduled too, and you were busy people, it was a busy week for you both. Your tears were only so readily exposed because, usually, when a week had been especially hard, Higuruma had a way of making it all better.
But no matter, Sunday might've been good for you both.
Until it wasn't—Higuruma had yet to call since Saturday, yet to respond to your texts, and Sunday went by painfully slow, just as the rest of the weekend did. Still, there was no time to pout about it, you had classes to teach, kids to tend too, and you were sure once he explained the case the next time you both saw each other, there'd be thousands of details to pour over. That would hold you over until Monday. Until he finally texted back, you were starting to itch at the thought of him never texting back, though that had never quite been an issue before. You're rushing back home after work, caving before he can.
you: I know you're busy with the new case, but I would really like to revisit our date plans soon! Hope work is going well!
It's simple, you think, and true, give or take a few words that would make it sound just as urgent as the situation did in your head. The days were starting to blur together, and your desire for his company was growing stronger by the second.
hiro <3 : So sorry I've been MIA! Still busy with case, can't wait to tell you all about it
You're quick to snatch your phone up, quick like a school girl when you hear that ping. You smile at his name on the screen, shoveling sad leftovers into your mouth. You'd just gotten off of your period, and the after effects were still tumbling over—you could eat a horse, amongst other things.
hiro <3 : Will definitely revisit date soon. Will call later.
You sigh at the message, scrolling through the rest of your texts with him to fill the slowly growing hole in your heart. You think you might be going insane, hanging out with a bunch of high schoolers during your lunch breaks. You miss him in ways that are potentially unspeakable, and it irritates you the way hunger does. You remind yourself that you're a grown woman, seeing a grown man. You both have responsibilities, hobbies, things that you have to do with your time other than see each other. You take this thought with you to bed and hope it soothes you the way his hands do under the covers when it gets cold.
Your date plans are finally revisited on Wednesday. The dinner has been rescheduled to Sunday—his place, he cooks the main course, you both help with dessert, and you're in bed at a reasonable hour to get ready together for work the next morning. It's your dream night, really, and you would be absolutely jumping for joy if it weren't going to take so fucking long.
But you're patient, and people need you, and all you have to do is wait a few more days before you can fall into the arms of the love of your life, and weep, if necessary, into his collarbone. Just a few more days of 'hope your day has been good' and 'can't wait to see you,' it's a little grotesque how quick the back-and-forths are, but you suppose you'll manage. Classes will still go as planned, and you're on the brink of having a panic attack from the way this month has basically kicked your ass while you're already down, but never mind that! Sunday is around the corner, creeping closer tauntingly, and the dress you'd worn last Saturday is laid out so particularly by your vanity, it's almost provocative. The waiting is almost unbearable.
｡𖦹°‧
Sunday is here.
You've taken your own car like you always do, blasting all sorts of 2000s dad rock to keep you awake and hype you up even a little for the nerves that are speedily coursing through your veins every five seconds. Your fingers drum against the steering wheel, steering into his driveway by memory alone. This is the very moment where things start to blur for you. Higuruma lets you in, leads you to the dining table. He usually looks you over like you're a piece of meat, but tonight, your eyes both bore into each other, tired, restless, and not thinking about a whole lot else other than sleep. His kiss to your temple is tender but quick as he seats you both, pours your glasses of wine, and the conversation is simple, unimpressive as you both try not to nod off and roll your eyes as you recount the terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad week you've both seemingly had.
You're quite sure you started the argument. Maybe those adults should've called you at least something a little closer to a bitch in childhood, would've knocked that stubborn tone out of your mouth—but here you are, and the stubborn tone is here, potentially unappeasable. You make an off-handed comment about his refusal to see the world around him outside of his work. It was meant to be quick, witty, and instead came out as some snide remark that you'd been biting back for a week and a half now. Higuruma makes a rebuttal about his work being important, as if you wouldn't understand what important work really means. More words—no longer mumbles, you would say—about differing schedules, the intensity of work, and suddenly, you don't know what it means to be busy, or what it means to have such intense, soul-sucking responsibilities.
Suddenly, you start to remember all the guys you'd dated before Higuruma, and that feeling of deja vu makes you kind of sick. They're always the same, they always say the same thing.
Those who can, do. Those who can't...
Teach.
Now, Higuruma doesn't say it outwardly (he would never, lest he see that terrible pout your lips make when someone tells you the education system is in ruins), but as he's washing the dishes and you're drying them, putting them away, he says something about your high school days, how you'd once mentioned wanting to be a pediatrician when you were sixteen before landing on the teaching route. He notes that you said you wanted to be a professor once, too, and the sharpness in his voice says that either of those paths would've been even slightly more respectable than what you're doing now.
It is so hurtful, the concept of being silently demeaned by someone with a quote-unquote "more sophisticated" profession than you.
So, after a not-so-thoughtful pause, you say: "At least teachers are able to understand people. Lawyers, on the other hand...Maybe if you understood people better, you'd actually be able to defend them."
God, the fucking horror.
As soon as you say it, you regret it—Higuruma is a wonderful defense attorney, the best you'd ever seen, and all he ever did was save people, and save people, and save people, in the most passionate way possible.
This is when the yelling match begins. You remember it, crystal clearly, but this is also the part you'd been trying to block out.
"You think you understand the world around you more than me—you're surrounded by the dumbest adolescents in the entire country, every fucking weekday—"
"And your clients are all guilty—you just love to defend the absolute worst human beings on the planet, solely on the basis of playing devil's advocate, it's useless work!"
"Really? You wanna talk about useless work?"
"Don't."
"No, no, we don't even have to talk about the pay—which should be a tell-tale sign that whatever the education system is doing is not really people's top priority right now—"
"I make enough."
"Yeah, enough to hold you over until they finally come to the life-altering conclusion that maybe, just maybe, we don't actually need the teachers who went through their secondary education major with a ring by spring and a shotgun wedding—"
"I have an English degree just like you do, Higuruma, don't you ever pretend that I'm some sort of fucking bird-brained idiot—"
"And maybe you should've had your little shotgun wedding, because when they do fire all the teachers, you'll need someone with a job to pay those bills of yours—a fallback marriage for your fallback job!"
"And for you, sir, a loveless marriage given your profession of choice."
Ah, you've won here. It's not satisfying like it usually is, but you've won. And you're about to really give the final blow:
"To marry you...with a temper like that...and words like yours...while you hide behind your work of justice, and integrity, and grit. My profession can absolutely be fuckall useless. So long as you admit that you and yours are soulless."
Absolutely brutal, you two.
He's got this shot-dog look on his face as he stares at you from the other side of the kitchen. He's in the same predicament you were in just before, remembering all the exes, all the dates, and the horrifying feuds that left him sitting alone at his dining table. Wondering if maybe his job really had kept him from all the "important" things in life. You'd never made him feel that way, not in the entire time you'd known him. And the thought of you leaving him at that dining table alone again was making him feel like he was going to puke.
"You don't mean that," he whispered, hand running through his hair as a nervous tick.
You stand firm, pretending you're not secretly faltering. "You do."
"No—"
"You're not obligated to like my job, Higuruma, but it is my job." You grab your purse and your coat, heels clacking against his frigidly cold floor. "Which I have to go to tomorrow, so...I'll see you later this week."
Higuruma lunges forward before his words do, grabbing your wrist before you can pass him completely. "No, it's way too late—or- dark, it's pitch black out, and we've both had enough wine to be inebriated." His thumb rolls along your wrist bone, tugging you away from the entry, taking your coat from your arm despite your protest. "Let's just...let's just go to bed like normal, and we can..."
You stare at each other for a moment before he takes your purse too, leaving briefly to set your things on the kitchen island. You let out a heavy sigh through your nose, looking between the hall and the door. You could just leave, you're not that drunk. And you think maybe a car crash might actually be better than sleeping in this house with Higuruma, with all the aggravation that's stuffing up the place. If you told your girlfriends about any of this, they'd probably throw real life tomatoes at you for staying, but...
Higuruma steps back into the hallway, hands on his hips. "Please..." he sighs, motioning to the other side of his house where his room awaits you both.
You slip your shoes off at the door, shuffling past him to the bedroom. You stay.
The night is so dully unimportant, it's not even worth talking about. You both shower, separately, given the still festering tension. He gives you some pajamas of yours that you'd left sometime before, during some other, much better sleepover (the shirt is his, and he apologizes for it very quickly before his face contorts as if he doesn't really know why he'd apologize for you wearing his clothes, especially when he liked it so much, every single time you did it). There are very few words exchanged as you both get into bed, and when he turns his bedside lamp off, you can feel him staring at your back, your back which faces him and will face him the entire night to save you from showing off the tears brimming your eyes (God, you really had been waiting to cry all week and this was kind of the perfect moment for it). You hear him sigh from behind you as he lifts the covers, adjusts them over you just slightly. His fingers brush down your spine before they fall to his side again. And he turns too.
Neither of you gets much sleep that night, and for all the wrong reasons.
You wake up inexplicably early, at least two hours before you and Higuruma usually do. His arm is draped across your mid-section, finding itself in its rightful place sometime during the four or five hours of sleep you both had actually gotten. You watch him for a moment next to you. He is so peaceful like this, calmer than usual, if it were at all possible. His eyes are able to rest, and he allows his brows to drop and relax. The muscles of his back aren't so tense as they are in his dress shirt and coat. He breathes through his perfect nose, face half-stuffed in his pillow. You lean over to kiss his temple out of habit, freezing when you think it might've woken him. He stays sleeping, still snoring lightly. You carefully slide out of his hold, fingers grazing his own against the sheets. Despite the words you'd both thoughtlessly shared with each other just hours ago, you're still...very much in love with him.
You gather your things and leave silently, texting a quick goodbye. Better to get ready at your own place, you think to yourself. Tensions might still be high, and you hate greeting your students with the attitude of the night before.
On the drive home and while you get ready for work, you check your phone maybe a dozen times, just in case he wakes up and wants to speak. The reality is, there's really no time to speak about the night before. If anything, a conversation might be had this Friday or next Sunday, when you're able to see each other again, and by then, you would hope this had all blown over. You really did pray it would all blow over. You hadn't meant a word of what you said to him last night. And maybe he had, but...well, that tight feeling in your chest lingered, made you seasick, and you kind of wished you'd never gone to dinner in the first place.
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"Miss L/N, do we really have to read this chapter, or can I look it up on SparkNotes for the test?"
"Miss L/N, I can't read what's on the board, can you write it bigger?"
"Miss L/N, I finally turned my homework in—yes, it's two weeks late, but I told you, my dog lowkenuinely ate that shit—THING, he ate that thing!"
"Can I go to the bathroom, Miss L/N? No, my boyfriend's not in the hall, I literally swear on my dead grandma, I swear."
"Miss L/N can I show you a TikTok edit? Do you know Zuko from Avatar? No, not the one with the blue people."
"I literally love you, Miss L/N—how is that inappropriate? I genuinely love you bro—Miss, I meant Miss, I literally said Miss."
The day had been dragging on for what seemed like centuries, and despite having felt like you'd lived a hundred lives since you'd gotten to work, it was only midday, just after lunch, kids filing in and already asking questions before the bell had even rung. You were rewriting the agenda on the board (a little large this time, so it could be clearer for people in the back), and two of your students, girls who were always in your office during lunch, were sitting at your desk, messing with your little photos and trinkets, asking if you'd ever wanna hang out socially. A few other boys tried joking with them on the other side of the desk, asking them about plans for this weekend and having conversations that you'd have to shut down in about .3 seconds.
"Girls, please go to your seats, and take your friends with you," you say, shooing them off as you readjust your belongings. You shake your head at the boy walking up to your desk now that it's free. "No, Yuji, you can not grab snacks from my office again."
"But- but- but, Miss L/N!" The pink-haired boy has got a big pout on his lips, hands clasped together to beg. "I won't even take a lot, I promise!"
"Last time you said that, you brought six other friends from other classes—students I don't even have." There are a couple of students in the back of class asking you to repeat the number you just said, and you wave them off, shooing Yuji away too. "Maybe some other time, kid."
"If you do, I can get you a date with my uncle, Miss L/N, he's super cool!"
"Miss L/N doesn't need a date. I hear he's got a pretty boyfriend."
Your brow cocks as you look to the rest of the class, many of them gossiping and giggling about your personal and romantic affairs. The kids are staring fondly, waiting eagerly, whispering in each other's ears about what they think your pretty boyfriend looks like and if he might be better than Yuji's uncle. "I do not," you deny hesitantly, printing out some extra papers and handouts for the class. You’re really not supposed to talk about your personal affairs with your students, and while you’d love to shout about your love for Hiromi from the rooftops, but there’s a certain level of workplace privacy you have to uphold. “And you guys shouldn't be talking about it if I did have one either."
"Then who's the guy that brings you lunch on the first Wednesday of the month?"
"The one who usually drops you off on Mondays."
"And picks you up on Fridays every now and then."
"And he calls during your lunch break sometimes—we can tell because you smile at your phone really big and blush a little."
You scoff, hands on your hips as you properly assess the class. All eyes are on you and your shocked expression now, waiting for your prompt answer that they know you're not allowed to give. "You guys are ridiculous—I do not blush, first of all, and that...man is—"
"Is he the guy that's standing at the door right now?"
You all but freeze in your spot, blank-faced as you turn to the open classroom door. Higuruma is stood, perhaps just as frozen, if not more, in the doorway, taking up an unnecessary amount of space with his height and stature. Holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers, and two little lunch bags—one, which he carries every single day without fail, and the other, which he bought for you to keep at his place, since you were always forgetting yours at home. His eyes were wide (as much as they could be, those droopy, Eeyore eyes he always wore, that stared lasers into your fast-beating heart). His eyes dart between you and your students, nodding carefully to greet a silent hello.
"Hiro," you breathe, setting your markers down carefully. You clear your throat, fingers tapping against your pants, thinking of literally any words, but they're just not coming to you. You turn on your heel quickly to face the class, putting on a bright, happy face. "Class," you clasp your hands together as you take small steps towards the man. "This! Is my good friend, Mr. Higuruma—let's all say hi to Mr. Higuruma, yeah?" You glance at him briefly, his eyes only meeting yours for a second as he greets the buzzing class and their bright hellos. You place your hand on his coated chest, patting softly to soothe. "Um, Mr. Higuruma is here...because..."
He brings his voice down to a whisper, shaking his head apologetically. "I thought you had lunch—I totally fucked up the times—"
"You can't say 'fucked up' in my classroom—" You turn back to the class, speaking at your normal volume again, “Mr. Higuruma is just here to bring me a little late lunch—"
"Are you a math teacher, Mr. Higuruma?"
He looks at you with furrowed brows before turning back to the students, stuttering a little as you take the flowers from him, your body trying to shuffle further in the entry. "Uh, no. No, I'm not, I'm—I was actually an English major, in college, like your teacher...here, that's how...Miss L/N and I met." You remember it clearly, the two of you in undergrad, the only English majors in your friend group, never really that close until after graduation, when your group had met up and the secretly charming Higuruma had gotten even more charming. He thanked you for essentially helping him pass Modern Philosophy and asked if he could repay you sometime. Over dinner. The rest is a blur, the rest of your lives up until this moment. The students whisper amongst each other some more, nodding and debating what questions to ask next. You hope maybe they'll be bored by his overall drab tone of voice, but even you were watching him with sparkly eyes.
To be fair, you were always watching him like that.
"But, um...Miss L/N was always much better at reading and writing than me—she's still revising my papers for work, it's a gift I think." He peeks over at you for a second, straightening his posture to instill a bit more confidence in both of you. "She's... your teacher is a real gem at that kind of stuff—you guys are really lucky. To have her." Oh, your heart practically flutters at his words, and now you're shifting in your stance, trying to stay calm and collected. But of course, it's near impossible for the both of you. He clears his throat after a few more too-personal questions. "What are you guys learning about?" You look at him with wide eyes, and he shrugs, unsure of what to say otherwise.
"We're reading All-American Boys."
"And writing papers about social injustices—Miss L/N says one of her, like, best friends is a lawyer, so we're working on, like, injustice, and our rights and stuff."
Higuruma looks at you for a long while, rendered speechless. There's a soft silence between you two as you wait for him to frown, or smile, or nod, or blink—literally anything other than this staring contest you both are having in front of your impatient and keen class.
"Miss L/N says it's been her favorite unit so far."
You smile softly, shyly—and would you look at that, Higuruma does the same, nodding at the students and their words! His hand drifts to your shoulder, gently rubbing the bone of it with his thumb.
"Don't you have to go get those papers you printed, Miss?"
You turn back to the class, slightly unsettled by their mischievous, plotting faces. They were giggling again, staring at the increasingly intimate scene before them. Somehow, you and Higuruma had drawn even closer to one another, his hand on your back, your hand on his shoulder, and you could probably hear his breath next to you if you were quiet enough. And surely, your face was glowing with some sickly sweet sort of joy, because that's how you always looked when Higuruma was around, you couldn't see to help making a fool of yourself.
And now, your students were giving you a way out.
You glance at the man next to you briefly before turning your sweet gaze back to the class. "Yes! Yes, actually, I...I do—and I want to catch up with Mr. Higuruma here, in my office, so. So...alright—I shouldn't be long, guys, I'll have the agenda—"
"Yes, Miss L/N, we follow the agenda on the board until you get back."
"And we'll save our questions that we have until you get back."
"And I'll make sure everyone behaves until you get back."
Oh, God bless the higher powers that gave you this absolutely angelic group of kids.
You try your best to hide your smile as your students band together, getting into groups, arguing about who gets to use their computer, setting up spaces for the peer-reviews that need to be done, and you’re slowly pulling yourself and Higuruma out of the room before this wonderful dream is cut short by a question about the agenda or someone asking to use the bathroom. You’re both smiling giddily like the school children you teach, sneaking him into his office. You both take a long, deep breath, standing before each other. Alone now. That giddy feeling wears off a little and the sickly taste in your mouth that you’d been having since you woke up this morning resumed, inflaming every good thought you’d just procured in your mind.
This is the man that you are in love with. This is also the man who said your job, which he is standing in, was useless work. This is the man whom you practically berated for half an hour in his own kitchen. This is the man who brought you flowers the next day to make up for it. This is the man that you really want to apologize to, if you could release that stubborn personality of yours.
"I'm sorry."
You both stare blankly at each other, surprised at the sound of your voices in unison. You're both opening and closing your mouths like fish, waiting for someone to make the first dominating move. You look around your office for help with conversation, your eyes landing on the things he brought. Your brows furrow, and all of a sudden, your apologies have to wait for just a second.
“Higuruma, why are you at my job?”
He stills, clammy hands wiping themselves along his suit. He stares between you and the lunch boxes you’ve now set on your office desk. “Lunch,” he says simply.
“Right.” You nod, leaning against the desk, arms crossed in hopes that he’ll continue to explain himself further, but he doesn’t. For the first time in Higuruma’s whole life, he seemingly can’t plead his case. You smile at the thought, looking down at the floor to focus on something other than that lost, puppy look on his face. “Usually you text…when you’re coming by, no?”
“On a whim.”
“You packed me a lunch on a whim?”
“I have been thinking about you every second since I woke up this morning, and you weren’t next to me." Higuruma has now flipped dynamics, or at the very least shared his with you. You straighten up a bit, lips in a flat, nervous line. You hadn't expected him to say that. “I…couldn't pay attention, I couldn't get ready—I managed to put on the same exact suit I wore Friday, and just my luck, someone in the office actually noticed—”
“Shimizu?”
“Yes, Shimizu—“
“She’s a really sweet girl, she probably didn't mean anything by it.”
“I could not function, baby, are you hearing me?” He steps forward, kneeling down before you—actually kneeling like some sort of rabid man, like an actual dog. His hands reach up to rub at your clothed legs, his voice faltering beneath you. “I couldn’t think about my case for even a millisecond without thinking about you, I have been beyond stressed out thinking about you, and us not going to work together, and so I left work—!”
“You did what?” A rarity for Higuruma, he is never eager to leave an ongoing case in the middle of the day, not even for holidays, not even for bereavement, even you know that.
“I just fucking walked right out.”
“Keep your voice down,” you fuss, quickly parting from him to rush and lock the door. Still kneeling, he pulls you back over to him, holding onto your calves with a firm grip. The sight might be considered pathetic if you weren't so disgustingly enamored with him. Still, your eyes travel quickly across his face, searching for corruption. “Are you sick?” You lean down with him, the back of your hand on his forehead and cheeks, watching him lean into your soft touch. “Do you have a fever or something—"
"Did you really mean it when you said you'd never marry someone like me?"
You hold onto his arms with both hands, guiding him back into a standing position with you. Your eyes dart again, squinting aggressively.
You were absolutely positive you hadn't said that.
"I've been thinking about it all fucking day—in fact, I think, I maybe even dreamt about you saying it, over, and over, and over again, it's been stuck in my head like some really horrible song on the radio—"
"Higuruma!" You shake your head at his frantic state, holding his face in your hands to calm him down. "I never said that—I can say with absolute certainty that I never said that." He relaxes in your touch just slightly, leaning into the warmth of your palms as his mind recalls your tormenting argument. You tilt your head at him, face scrunching. "Is that all you've been thinking about? You're not...angry?"
"Of course I'm fucking angry," he scoffs, hands sliding to your hips to pull you a little closer despite his words. "I'd been waiting to see you for days, and then the moment I do, we get into some petty argument about the exact thing that's been keeping us apart—I'm absolutely livid, sweetheart, I've been fuming ever since you left this morning. Without a word, I might add, so I can assume you're angry, too, no?"
"I'm angry about the same thing you're angry about—I don't know why I even mentioned your workload during dinner, it ruined the whole thing!" You laugh into the sudden kiss that he gives you, trying to swat him away as his lips move across your cheek, and jaw, and temple. "It's my godforsaken attitude, I ruined a perfectly good dinner."
He shakes his head quickly, speaking in between kisses. "No. I ruined it. You tried to make a joke, and I'm...really unfunny, that's on me. It got out of hand from there—you know how much I support the education system, I'm such an idiot for pretending I don't, because you know how many cases I take for teachers, too. And for saying your kids were dumb, obviously they're goddamn prodigies if you're teaching them—"
"And I don't actually think your clients are guilty, sometimes I think more of your clients are innocent than you do."
"And that was rude of me, the assumption about education majors, and the whole stereotypical bullshit—I sounded like such a guy, I really can't believe myself." His hands are all over you now, still leaving open-mouth kisses across the bare skin that he has access to, gripping at your hips to keep him from wanting more.
"Anyone would be lucky to marry you, Hiro."
He stops, tilting his head back to look at you fully again. He stares as your lips curve into a soft smile.
"I'm so sorry for making you think otherwise," you admit, sighing slowly. "I was being a brat. Because I had a bad week. And I missed you, and I took it out on you and your job. But really, I think your job is what allows you to express how passionate you are. You know, because you understand people so well, what they're going through. And I think how passionate you are is...maybe one of my favorite things about you." You lean up to give a quick peck on his warm, slightly swollen lips. "Definitely husband material, would hate to lose something like that."
Higuruma steps back to lean against your desk, slowly pulling you closer between his legs. He makes an almost-pout with his lips, hands caressing your forearms, your wrists. "Remember when I was the worst person ever and...basically disparaged your job, all for your students to tell me that I'm your best friend?" You nod carefully, biting back a smile as he groans, head tilted back in agony. You place a soft kiss where his veins sort of protrude at the jugular, and his shifts almost imperceptibly. Almost. "I've never felt so horrible in my life—Miss L/N says it's been her favorite unit so far—I think I died, right then, just died and disintegrated."
"Karma is so sweet when you don't have to do it yourself," you shrug, massaging at his tense shoulders, feeling his hands grip at your hips and waist. “And I got some pretty nice apology flowers out of it. You sure do know how to woo a girl.” He lifts his head to look at you again, watching as your eyes try to avoid his piercing, languid gaze. "Speaking of my students...I kind of have to get back to work, I've been gone way too long." He sighs again, rolls his eyes like a teenager just to hear you laugh. "And you shouldn't have left the office either, not in the middle of a case. You're gonna be really upset with yourself later."
You kiss him one last time before parting from the warmth of his body, backstepping towards the door. Higuruma reluctantly follows, sluggishly standing and grabbing his lunch bag, heavy feet making slow motions towards the doorway. He stops you before you open it completely.
"I think you forgot something at my place," he whispers, kissing your temple. "Maybe you could...come over tonight, I could give it back to you?"
Your eyes shoot him a blank, warning look. Your Teacher Face, he calls it.
"I'll take that as a yes. Miss L/N."
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You're standing at Higuruma's door, foot tapping nervously at the pavement, fixing small pieces of your clothing to keep your mind occupied with other things. Still, all you can think about is how you might possibly fuck up this dinner just as you did the last one. There's really nothing to be completely afraid of. You'd both taken back what you'd said, cleared up what you hadn't, and there's a very real possibility that this is you guys going back to normal, just as you'd hoped. And yet, you're reluctant to knock your knuckle against the door, shivering in your coat and gripping your workbag like it might fly away, and you with it. One could dream.
Higuruma opens the door violently, steps his disheveled figure back as soon as he sees your polite smile, welcoming you in. His hair is even messier than before, his button-up is untucked and rolled up at his forearms, and he's loosening his tie as you walk in, trying to breath properly despite the choking at his neck.
You slowly walk through the house, setting your things down on the kitchen island like you usually do, already placing stray things back where they belong as he follow in, stuffs his hands in his pockets.
"You don't have to do that," he smiles, hesitantly creeping up next to you to stop your movements. "I went home after I came by your school, and..." He scratches at the back of his neck, looking about the kitchen. "I meant to clean after my lunch, and...after I started working...in the kitchen, but—"
"It's okay, Hiro."
He lets out a deep breath, nodding assuredly. His eyes gloss over you carefully and you're nervous all over again from the way he's examining you. His fists tighten in his pants pockets, shifting from one foot to the other, and soon enough, you're doing the same, filling in the silence with just your breathing and the occasional apology when you both accidentally bump into each other with your swaying. You are both too petrified to ask about work. But given that most of your life is your work, if the conversation is to progress any further, someone has to ask. One of you has to jump the hurdle. You're almost too anxious to do so—you and Higuruma have never argued like that, you couldn't bring yourself to potentially cause it again—but you're both adults, proper adults too, and someone has to make the next move.
"How's the case moving along?" you try breathily, leaning against the kitchen counter to broaden your space amongst each other, maybe make room for less tense discussion.
He laughs a little under his breath, one hand leaving his pocket to touch the fabric of your shirt, relaxing him enough to speak too. "Uh, yeah, it's...it's going. Maybe too early to know but...I have a feeling about this guy—I know I say that every time, but...I mean, he's young, and he's been so patient with us so far, and...things aren't adding up the way they usually do for the other side, so. So, I think we're gonna be able to help him."
You can't help but smile at the way he describes his work, even if it makes him nervous, makes him blush. It's cute, you think, the way he'll get so serious about it, the way he'll mull it over in his mind right in front of you, as if you're part of the case too. He'll use terms you don't quite recognize, and names you've never heard of, but he always ends with how well he thinks it'll go. And you're always so happy to hear when he thinks he might be able to be a hero again.
"I know you'll be able to help him," you assure with a sleepy nod, smiling a little further when his hand moves up, cups one side of your face.
He tilts his head to pout at you, thumb stroking over your cheek bone. "You know...the more I think about it...you were right to make that comment at dinner." He continues before you can argue, shaking his head softly. "I think I'd been babbling on about my new case the whole night, and...I left no time to talk about your week." His thumb moves to rub over your eyebags, growing just slightly, though you hadn't really had to the time to notice. "You were right. I don't pay attention to the world around me. My tired girl."
"No, I’d actually rather not talk about my shitty week. And last night doesn't count," you refute. "You're very attentive, you know that. And I'm not usually so cranky."
He hums as he lets both hands rest against your shoulders, rubbing softly. "Still cranky?" He nods as you relax your shoulders in his touch, turning you around to lead you to his couch, still massaging as he sits you down together. He places light, feathery kisses against your back, calloused hands squeezing. "Those kids, always overworking my woman. Sending her home exhausted, poor baby." His teases rumble against the nape of your neck and you're forced to roll your eyes playfully, swatting your hand at him. "You should just quit. Quit that stupid job. And I'll take care of you—you'd never have to work a day in your life with me."
You turn quickly, shoving at his chest with a grin on your face. "Stupid job? Seriously?" You push until he's lying on his back on the couch, watching as he pulls you by your forearms, up and over his lap to straddle him. Your hands sit firm against his chest, your eyes squinting over him. He's smiling at you, eyes dark and low, hands wrapped around your wrists for control. "You really think quitting is an option after yesterday?"
"No, I actually think we have to stay on these career paths for the rest of our lives," he smirks, eyes still searching yours. "To prove each other wrong."
You nod in bubbly agreement, watching him lick his lips beneath you, his fingers sliding away to tug at his tie again. You lean up against his lap, watching him slowly slip off the thin fabric, dropping it on the floor.
"Was getting uncomfortable," he gave an excuse, hands wrapping around your thighs.
"Your shirt too?"
Higuruma smiles as you start to unbutton his loose and wrinkly dress shirt, slipping it away from his chest to expose his milky soft skin. You kiss his collarbone gently, delicately, and you hear him shiver a little, his breath shaky as it leaves his parted lips. When you sit up again, you watch his muscles flex as your fingers patter against his torso, his hips twitching just slightly. You take your time in admiring him, despite knowing how self-conscious he gets under your careful, probing stare. Still, Higuruma is one of the most beautiful people you've ever been blessed to see, to touch. He doesn’t look so muscular from the outside, when you’re both having dinner or grabbing a quick breakfast, when you’d taken him home to meet family and friends. His clothes cover him very well, that sickening, gorgeous physique he selfishly hides. A part of you wishes people knew about how lovely he looked, but you suppose it is better that everything underneath his work attire is meant for you and your eyes only.
"Same outfit, huh?" you ask, recalling the frenzied account of his morning that he gave in your office. "You've done that before, haven't you? You've really gotta start taking care of yourself better, sir." You smile when he mumbles what sounds like a 'yes ma'am', though it's only a shaky whisper as you continue to tenderly rake your nails down his chest and abs, tracing the definition, the grooves. You love when he calls you ma’am, and you hope to every higher power that he can’t feel how wet you are through your layers. "I think we're both a little too accustomed to putting our needs and feelings aside for our work. At least...well, for me, I have a pretty long lunch period to cry during. You, on the other hand...all that pent-up anger and irritation. It's going to get to you one day."
He shakes his head, pressing your hips into his own, grip tight through the fabric of your pants as his own creates a bulge up under you. "Not if you're here to help me...release some of the tension."
"Oh, is that what I'm here for, Mr. Higuruma? Your human stress toy?"
He blinks up at you, and it's almost erotic the way it makes every particle in your body flutter. "Is that what you wanna be?"
Your breath hitches but you recover quickly, pretending to think. "What kind of perks does it come with?"
"For you, Miss L/N? Thousands—all sorts of insurance and benefits, deductibles.” His hands travel up to push your own dress shirt sleeves up your forearms, fingertips grazing the goosebumps against your skin. He takes a moment to revere the smoothness of your arms, the plushness of your thighs. “And I know a pretty good lawyer friend, in case you get screwed over."
"Ah, but I thought your friend only did criminal defense?"
"He makes exceptions, I think." Higuruma's thumb pulls at your bottom lip, tugging you down closer to him. "When the crimes are against someone so goddamn extraordinary."
"And this is where I come in?"
"Yes, honey, that’s where you come in."
"You think I'm extraordinary?"
He looks at you like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, like he’s told you a million times before, and he has, a million times and more. His fingers find their way to the back of your head, slipping into your hair, and he finally slots lips with yours, leaning up just slightly to deepen the kiss. He groans into your mouth, simply nodding at your question, not very interested in complete reassurance now that he can taste you—he hasn’t tasted you in a millennia, that’s what it feels like. “You’re a gem, sweetheart,” he mumbles into you, licking at your bottom lip for more, more, and more. “My little gem—my little English prodigy.” He smiles against your lips, kissing down your jaw and neck to tease and tamper. “You’re my smart girl, aren’t you? Aren’t you?”
You whisper out what might be a yes, hands against his chest as he kisses down your shirt, unbuttoning slowly and then slower.
“Don’t ever let me forget it, yeah? You have no idea…how horrible it was. Going into work without seeing your pretty face, my pretty woman’s face. I feel like we should make it up to each other, it’s only fair.” His fingers hook along the opening of your top, sliding it off of your shoulders in a glacial pace, a painful sort of motion for you both. But he’s loving the way you’re squirming above him, right down on his crotch that he’s trying so desperately not to push back up into you. “What do you want from me?” he asks sweetly, his pointer fingers tucking themselves into the waistband on your work pants, tugging you back and forth, and back and forth along his growing erection, watching your polite, civil face start to falter on top of him. He smiles at the simple scrunch of your brows, the almost-pout in your bottom lip as he all but glorifies you. “What do you want me to do to you, baby?”
You continue to grind yourself against him, feeling his own hips shift underneath you to meet you halfway. He nods at the motion of your answer, hands flush against your hips and fingers digging into fabric as he guides you with him at the same rhythm, still following your lead. You can see an erratic nature creep up in his facial expression, his knuckles going white with how he’s pulling at your waistband, never quite ripping the pants off, but holding on just in case he has to. His bulge rubs up against your clothes cunt, the soak seeping through your underwear—he’s eyeing the space between you so carefully, imagining what that damp spot looks like on your panties, what it would taste like on his tongue. He humps up into your pussy a little quicker now, watching as you bounce up and down, shirt slipping further off, and tits threatening to pour out of your bra. He unclips the garment, tosses it off to the floor somewhere to free those beauties, immediately leaning up to suck on one as his hand makes its way to the other. He moans around your hardened nipple, still looking up at your whiny face. He sucks relentlessly and licks in swirls around both mounds before leaning back, hands returning to your hips. He watches your tits carefully as you move, feeling the tightness of his pants become almost unbearable. His brows furrow at the sight of you, letting pleasure take over as he stares, admires, nearly folds under the pressure.
“Can’t- fuck- can’t cum like this. I would, definitely could but. Too soon, don’t wanna cum too soon,” he notes, watching you slow to a stop while he’s still jerking up into you.
You laugh at the state of him, pressing your hands against his hips to offer aid, and even then he’s involuntarily trying to press closer, chase his high. You’ve stopped, but he can’t, not while you’re looking at him like that. “I’m not edging you, Mr. Higuruma. Take me how you want me.” You feel his warm knuckles glide along the skin of your waist, still pulling lightly at the fabric. Either he’s teasing or resisting, and neither will do. “You know, unless you’d like to get back to your work, I know how much you value it.”
“Oh, so that’s how it is!” he laughs, and it startles you a little, lights a fire up through your now exposed spine. He lifts you up then, flings you right over his shoulder like a bag of hay, like you weigh absolutely nothing, hoisting you both down the hall to his bedroom. “You’re gonna be in so much trouble, Miss L/N, I can’t believe you.”
“What, defense attorneys do arrests now?”
He places you on the large bed, hovering over your body to cage you in while he nods. “You’re a delinquent,” he mumbles, lips dragging down your abdomen, careful to place soft, wet kisses along every inch of shivering skin. His hands find purchase on the back of your knees, lifting to fold you just slightly. He has this look about him, something not quite brooding, bordering on the line of lustful, and it's so intimate it almost scares you. It is adoration, it is ardor. “Hanging out with those teenagers too much. They’re corrupting you.”
You laugh, shoving at his head a little, breath faltering when you feel his chuckle against your pants that he’s practically ripping off. “Oh, yeah? What are your clients doing to you then?”
“Corrupting me.”
Higuruma hums as he lifts your legs with one hand, tugging your pants off with the other. He tosses them to the floor (the crime scene is scattered everywhere), immediately kneeling to reach for your lace panties that he’s been thinking about all night, all week, every day since he last saw you. “This is where you want me?” he smiles, finger grazing over the wet fabric, pushing it to side to slide one finger against the slick. “She’s all ready for me, too, so well-behaved. Been staring at papers all week, almost forgot how easy she is for me—“
“Fuck you,” you groan, encasing your bottom lip in your teeth as his finger runs dangerously close to your entrance.
“Oh, I want you to, truly. Thought it be nice to be a gentleman, though—ladies first, right? Lift your hips for me.” You oblige, propping yourself up on your forearms to see him clearly as he tugs the lace down and off your legs. He holds them up to his nose while he watches you squirm, takes a deep inhale that almost makes him rolls his eyes all the way to the back of his head. He hadn’t gotten to smell you like this is days, it might’ve been considered cruel and unusual punishment. His free hand parts the lips of your cunt so he can examine, and he moans, letting your panties hang in his mouth by his teeth. "Fuck, it's been too long. A week is way too fucking long to be missing this.”
You’re whining, "Hiro, please,” as he insists on teasing you, stuffing your panties into his mouth as his own personal gag, a little treat while he takes care of the real thing. Your hips press up into his hand and he laughs around the fabric on his tongue, sucks at the slick with a near pornographic groan.
His two fingers slide in easily, palming himself through his dress pants with his other hand at the mere sight. He nods with you as his thick fingers push forward, the gummy walls of your pussy tensely squeezing him around him. He shushes at the pretty noises you’re making, curling his finger further. Higuruma is absolutely filthy like this, not so poised as he usually is when he’s near cumming in his pants just from watching you moan into the open air of his room, the noise filling his ears like sweet infestation. But he simply can’t help himself.
Can’t help himself from talking dirty either. “Missed this pretty pussy,” he mumbles, ripping the fabric out of his mouth to breathe properly. He licks another long stripe on the panties in his hands, trying not to grope himself with it. "Had to- fuck, look at you- needed you so bad last week when you rescheduled. Had to handle it myself with the last pair you left me, can you believe it?" His knee spreads your legs that are threatening to close, nodding at the familiar clench of your pussy around his fingers, the growing squelch of wet surrounding the point of connection. His voice grows husky as he watches you arch your back. "Imagined you just like this, letting go for me. Can you believe it, love? How desperate I was, and now I get to see you like this?" He smiles as he picks up the pace of his pistoning fingers, watching your eyes glaze over as you practically convulse. "You're so good to me, making my dreams come true."
And suddenly, it's all you can think about. Higuruma, in the shower, jerking his long and throbbing boner in the shower with one of your lacey panties you always seemed to forget at his place. His head tilted back against the shower tile, picturing you and only you while his rough hands tug and tug. Finally falling off the edge when he pictures your sweet orgasm, when he can practically taste it in his mouth. And his thick white cum is shooting against the shower wall, your name falling from his lips in breathy whines, over and over like aching prayers.
Your moans are as lewd as ever as you release around his fingers, sitting up to watch with him, the way everything spills out around his calloused hands. He never once lets your mess drip onto the sheets, what a waste that would be. You slump back into the bed, hands over your face as you try to catch your breath. He's speaking to you, asking you something so gently, but you can barely hear him, much too buzzed and deluded to come up with coherent thoughts and sentences. His hands glides up the warm flesh of your stomach and you feel his freed dick gliding against your thigh, a slightly cold contrast to the way your body is burning all over. His leaking tip trails along your skin as he hovers over you, letting his erection slide through your folds once, twice.
"You still want me inside of you?" he asks, lips against your ribcage. "Or did your hard work tire you out before I could get to you?"
His mocking tone vibrates against your skin, but you're pushing yourself up in spite of it. He laughs lowly, just under his breath, at your delirious, cock-drunk state before sinking into you, moaning when he feels you clamp around him. He works slowly and carefully to bottom out, making use of the already slick and slippery state of your pussy before he's kissing your cervix with his tip. He folds one of your legs over to give himself more space, allow for a better angle, and then he's letting you suck him in, reeling his hips back and forth to hear the way you moan, hear the way you haul him back in.
He moves your hands from tired face, watching the furrow of your brows, nodding with a cooed "I knooow, love, I know" as he watches you, picks up his pace.
His dick pulsates inside of you as he kisses up your chest, sharing that same fucked out look that you had. “Remember when I said you’d always be my smart girl?" he begins, grip on your hips growing tighter just slightly. "I’m starting to think I like fucking you stupid.”
But his words are a little unfair, a little hypocritical when you think about it. Because Higuruma, perhaps the smartest and most driven man you know, is babbling like a lovesick imbecile every time he's this deep inside you. When he's not huffing with every drag of his thick cock, he's a muttering mess, voice against your neck and in your ear, saying things that would usually make you both blush. But he's drunk off the way you're garnering him in, how messy it is, and whatever comes out of his mouth is essentially your fault, he thoughtfully concludes. It's all your doing, the reason he acts this way, and looks this way, and fucks you just right this way. Maybe if you weren't so perfect for him, neither of you would be in this predicament. You can feel the pressure all throughout your body like military explosives, leaning into the wet and sloppy kisses he leaves, just where your neck and shoulder join. His fingers digs into your sides and hips, and he gasps in between smooches and moans, losing himself in the way he's whispering to you like a frenzied idiot.
'You take me so well, my good girl.'
'Let me fill you up, just this once.'
'That's why you were so mean on Sunday, huh baby? Saying all that stuff about- oh fuck yeah baby, i've got you. Saying that stuff about my job. You just wanted me to fuck you like this, wanted my attention.'
'You're gonna take every last drop of me, aren't you?'
'Can't get enough of you—I've never loved anyone like I love you, I swear.'
The last one catches you off guard just slightly, not the content of his praise, but the way his own breath hitches when he admits it like all the times he's told you before simply weren't enough. You wrap your legs around him to keep your brain steady, but his pace is already faltering, and you're growing closer to your own orgasm again, quicker than the last time. And louder too. The slap of wet skin echoes throughout the room like music to your ears, and you're begging him to cum inside you before you can even really think about it. Your arms wrap around his neck to pull him closer, and you press your lips against his cheek when you ask, voice soft and smooth like honey in his ears. His voice is strangled as he nods against the crook of your neck, kissing the skin quickly and fervently as his thrusts turn sloppy, veins still dragging against your walls and tip still pressing up against that sweet spot of your cervix as he moans into you, holds onto you for balance.
He chases his own high, gasping for air when he finally spills into you. The feeling alone has you following close behind, your nails clawing into his shoulder as you continue to milk him dry for everything he has. His hips keep a slow routine, stuffing the hot ropes of cum further into you, really letting it stick. He huffs above you, holding himself up by his forearms as he kisses around your face, moaning into the kiss on your lips like the soft feeling might make him cum all over again. His lazily peppered kisses slow to a halt and he leans his forehead against yours, eye searching your own.
"Wanna marry you...Miss L/N," he whispers suddenly, kissing you before you can even looked shocked. "You know I do. You know how much I love you, how much I mean it." He watches you nod slowly beneath him, trying to keep your eyes from widening so much. "Gonna marry you. Would quit my job to marry you—"
"Hiro—"
"If it got in the way of us even once...I'd find a way to make it work."
You shake your head and he almost freezes at the sight. "Our work means way too much to us, Hiromi. So there'll be no quitting." You thumbs glide against his cheeks gently and he leans into your touch. "Because we're not quitters. We're problem solvers, yeah? So...we'll just have to be ready to solve some problems. Come what may."
Higuruma smiles, sitting up and dragging you with him, right into his lap. He stares at you carefully, holding you close to him, chest to chest. "And you'd wanna do that? Work, and...problem solve?" No one had ever been willing to do that for him, with him. Not until you.
You nod like it's the most obvious thing in the world, the most sure idea you've had since you decided your calling was to teach. "I'm your smart girl, remember?" you tease, kissing his temple as he relaxes. "We're always gonna figure it out."
And this is enough to reassure him. He absentmindedly takes your hands in his town, thumb rolling over your left hand's ring finger.
He'd been uses to losing cases, it came with the trade. But losing you was not an option, not in the slightest.
Because he means it when he says he wants you in his life forever.
He laughs to himself, rolling his eyes playfully. “I was so sad we didn’t watch Real Housewives last night…”
You scoff at the confession. Your little Sunday night routine that he claimed to hate (too dramatic, those women). And here he was, missing it. Missing you.
“Hiro…you are so fucking weird.”
guess who's back! and feeling much better than i did last week.
i am a higuruma truther, he fills my nanami-filled heart, i can't even lie. so, hope you guys enjoy this and my future jjk stuff that's coming up (#can't stop thinking about season 3). let me know what else you guys would like to read and PLEASE give recs for jjk stuff bc i'm in a bit of a drought.
chapter ten || the day he finally asked - h. higuruma
Hiromi Higuruma x F!Reader - one shot series
“A shy teacher and a quietly intense lawyer fall into a soft, grown-up love full of family chaos, sweet devotion, and the kind of romance that feels gentle right up until it doesn’t. Between brunches, flu cuddles, moving boxes, and one very handsy Hiromi Higuruma, their love story becomes equal parts tender, funny, and impossible not to root for.”
cw; smut & fluff
masterlist | series masterlist | end💌
By the time Hiromi Higuruma actually proposed to you, he had already failed to do it so many times that the ring had become, in his private opinion, a personal enemy.
It started three months after he moved in.
Not because he was impulsive.
Not because he was reckless.
And certainly not because he had not thought it through.
Hiromi thought everything through.
That was part of the problem.
Because when Hiromi loved, he loved with intention. With quiet certainty. With a steadiness that did not need spectacle to be real, but still wanted the moment to feel worthy of what it meant. And asking you to marry him did not feel like something he could do carelessly. Not because you would have ever demanded perfection from him, but because it was you.
And because it was you, he wanted it right.
Or as right as life would allow.
Life, unfortunately, had other ideas.
The first failed attempt happened on a quiet Friday night at home.
He had planned it carefully. You had both come home tired from the week, and he thought maybe that was exactly why it would be perfect. Nothing grand. Nothing public. Just dinner, candlelight, music low in the background, your apartment warm and soft around the two of you while the city darkened outside. He had the ring in the pocket of his slacks the whole evening, and every time you smiled at him over your wine glass, he had to remind himself not to ruin the timing by blurting it out too soon.
Then your sink backed up.
Not a little.
Not charmingly.
No, dramatically.
One second you were rinsing a plate and laughing at something he said, and the next there was a horrible gurgling noise and murky water rising in a way that was immediately offensive to both the mood and God.
You gasped.
He stared.
Then you both lunged for towels like the apartment was flooding in a disaster film.
By the time the plumbing crisis was temporarily handled and the maintenance emergency line had been called, you were sitting cross-legged on the floor in one of his shirts, eating pasta from bowls in your laps and trying not to laugh every time one of you said the phrase “the smell.”
He had looked at you then—hair messy, cheeks pink from laughing, candlelight catching the side of your face—and thought, I could still ask her.
Then the sink made another wet, sinister noise from the kitchen.
You both turned your heads.
And he sighed.
The second failed attempt happened on a rainy Sunday.
He had intended to ask you during a walk through the botanical gardens, under the glass atrium where the light always made you look softer somehow, all warm skin and bright eyes and pretty little sighs every time you saw a flower you loved. He had imagined it for days. You in your cardigan. Your hand tucked into his arm. That quiet, reverent look you always got in beautiful places.
Instead, it rained so hard that morning the streets looked like they had personally offended the clouds.
You stood by the window in socks, pouting into your tea, watching the weather destroy your plans for the day.
Hiromi had looked at the ring box in his coat pocket.
Then at you.
Then at the rain.
Then at you again.
And when you turned and said, “Can we just stay in and make pancakes instead?” there had been no real choice left to him at all.
So he did.
He made pancakes. You curled up on the couch. Miso slept between you like a furry dictator. And while you happily poured too much syrup and kissed the corner of his mouth in thanks, he thought with absolute fondness that he was never going to be angry at a day spent like this.
Just slightly delayed by it.
The third failed attempt happened because you fell asleep.
Not dramatically.
Not from illness.
Just from being comfortable.
He had taken you out to dinner and then for a late drive through the city, and when you got home, you put on one of his T-shirts and curled up on the couch beside him “for five minutes” while some old movie played. He had the ring in his pocket, and the whole apartment was quiet. The lighting was soft. Your head was resting on his shoulder. It could have been perfect.
Then you sighed once, burrowed deeper into his side, and promptly fell asleep with your mouth slightly parted and one hand loosely curled over his stomach.
He looked down at you for a long time.
Then he reached into his pocket, touched the velvet box once, and let his hand fall away again.
Because no matter how badly he wanted to ask, he was not about to wake you out of perfect sleep just to satisfy his own timeline.
So instead he carried you to bed.
And there was something about that—your sleepy face tucked against his neck, your body warm and trusting in his arms—that made the delay feel less like failure and more like life quietly insisting that the right moment would come when it was ready.
There were others too.
A nice dinner interrupted by a work call he could not avoid.
A weekend morning when he had nearly asked you over coffee, only for Miso to knock an entire cup over his shirt and force a complete wardrobe change and ten minutes of swearing under his breath while you laughed so hard you almost cried.
A bookstore afternoon that could have been lovely if a fire alarm had not gone off for no reason and sent everyone outside into the street holding half-read novels and irritated cappuccinos.
By that point, he had stopped trying to orchestrate perfection.
Not because he cared less.
But because the more he loved you, the less interested he became in performance.
He did not want a moment that looked good from far away.
He wanted a moment that felt like you.
And it turned out that was much rarer and much simpler all at once.
So on the Saturday it finally happened, he was not planning anything.
Or rather—he was always planning something, because he was Hiromi—but not that.
It was just a day.
A soft, ordinary day.
The sort the two of you had built a life around without even noticing.
You had gone out late that morning to a coffee shop you both liked, one with deep window seats, warm wood counters, and pastries too pretty to be sensible. The weather was kind, all sunshine and a breeze just cool enough to keep spring from tipping into summer. You wore a little sundress with a cardigan tied around your waist when the day warmed, and Hiromi wore dark trousers and a simple button-down with the sleeves rolled, casual in the way only he could be while still somehow looking like he belonged in a magazine ad for expensive pens.
You got an iced chai latte.
Of course you did.
He got an americano.
Of course he did.
And then the two of you left the café, strolling slowly down the sidewalk with no real destination beyond wherever your feet wanted to take you.
That was the thing about your life together by then.
So much of its sweetness lived in the in-between.
Not the dramatic events. Not even the holidays or milestones.
Just the walking. The talking. The way his hand found your back in crowds. The way you leaned into his shoulder if you stopped too long at a bookstore display. The way he always noticed when your iced chai was running low and offered you his straw just to make you laugh even though you hated americanos and made a face every single time.
“You do realize,” he said as you both walked beneath the dappled shade of a row of trees, “you order the same drink every time.”
You looked up at him, offended. “Because I’m consistent.”
“You’re predictable.”
“You say that like it’s bad.”
“It isn’t bad.” He glanced down at your cup. “It’s just funny that if I ever lost you in public, I could probably find you by locating the nearest iced chai.”
You gasped. “That’s so rude.”
“It’s very affectionate, actually.”
“No, it’s not.”
He smiled a little. “You’re right. It’s also accurate.”
Then you stopped.
Just stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, nearly making him halt too.
“What?”
You stared.
Your eyes widened.
Then your whole face changed in one bright, astonished beat.
“Oh my God.”
Before he could even follow your line of sight, you had already grabbed his forearm with your free hand and practically dragged him toward the little open-air adoption event set up beneath a cluster of white tents in the plaza beside the coffee shop.
There were signs.
Colorful blankets.
Volunteers.
Tiny carriers.
And cats.
Cats everywhere.
His heart should have sunk at the timing, maybe. At the sudden arrival of yet another thing capable of knocking plans sideways.
Instead, he only watched you.
Because your entire face was lit from within.
There were kittens in little pens, older cats lounging in folded towels, hand-lettered information cards clipped to crates, and people wandering through with the sort of reverence all small animals deserved. The air was full of soft meows, the rustle of carriers, and the occasional delighted gasp from some stranger finding the exact face they had not known they were looking for.
You made one of those gasps now.
“Hiromi.”
He looked at you.
Not at the cats.
At you.
Because you were smiling.
No, more than smiling.
You were luminous.
Your eyes wide and shining, your iced chai forgotten in your hand, your whole body tipped toward the little enclosures with such immediate affection that you looked almost unbearably dear.
“What is it?” he asked.
You turned to him with complete seriousness. “Miso needs a friend.”
He stared.
Then looked toward the nearest enclosure, where a tiny gray-and-white kitten was trying and failing to pounce on its own tail.
Then back at you.
“Miso barely tolerates gravity.”
“She needs enrichment.”
“That is not what enrichment means.”
“It absolutely is.”
You were already moving from crate to crate, greeting each cat like a tiny ambassador from heaven, and Hiromi followed a half step behind you with his coffee in one hand and the other in his pocket where, as it happened, the ring box was.
Because of course he had it with him.
He always had it with him lately.
By that point it had become less of a plan and more of a haunting.
Still, even then, he was not thinking now.
Not quite.
Not yet.
He was thinking about you crouching to look at a little tabby with white socks. About the way you cooed softly at an orange kitten who immediately fell over trying to reach your fingers. About the volunteer laughing when you apologized to every single cat you could not hold at once.
And then you found her.
A kitten no bigger than a loaf of bread.
Mostly cream with little patches of pale gray, one ear slightly darker than the other, bright round eyes full of audacity. She sat in the corner of her enclosure like she already knew she was the prettiest thing there and had no intention of pretending otherwise.
You froze.
Then whispered, “Hi, baby.”
The volunteer beside you smiled. “That one’s very social.”
You looked up. “Can I hold her?”
“Of course.”
Hiromi watched the woman lift the tiny kitten and place her in your arms.
And that—
that was it.
That was the moment.
Not a garden.
Not a dinner.
Not some polished setting he had tried to arrange six different ways.
Just you, standing in the spring light with an iced chai on the table behind you, holding a kitten to your chest like your hands had been waiting for her all along.
The kitten pressed one little paw against your collarbone and looked up at you.
You looked down at her with such naked wonder and joy that Hiromi’s chest physically ached.
“Oh,” you breathed. “Oh, Hiromi.”
He had never heard his own name sound like that before.
Not quite like that.
You turned toward him, clutching the kitten carefully, and your smile was so sweet it nearly undid him where he stood.
“Look at her.”
He did.
But mostly he looked at you.
At the shine in your eyes. The softness in your mouth. The way happiness had made you almost childlike for a second—not immature, never that, but open in the purest sense. Unhidden. Bright. Entirely yourself.
And suddenly he knew, with a certainty so complete it felt almost funny, that if he did not ask you now, he was going to spend the rest of his life waiting for some better moment that would never actually be better than this.
Because this was you.
This was your life.
Your softness. Your laughter. Your instinct to love one more thing just because it needed loving.
So while you looked down at the kitten and kept murmuring tiny nonsense syllables of affection, Hiromi put his coffee down on the edge of the folding table.
Then, very calmly, he reached into his pocket.
The volunteer saw it first.
Her eyes widened.
Then her hand flew over her mouth.
That was what made you look up.
“What?”
He was already moving.
Already lowering to one knee on the pavement in front of you.
Your entire body went still.
The kitten mewed once.
You stared at him.
Then at the little velvet box in his hand.
Then back at him.
“Hiromi?”
Your voice broke on the second syllable.
He opened the box.
And there it was.
The ring he had nearly given you beneath candlelight, and in a bookstore café, and over breakfast, and in half a dozen other almost-moments that had all collapsed for one reason or another.
It glittered softly in the light.
Perfect.
Steady.
Waiting.
Your eyes filled instantly.
Oh, God.
He smiled at that, but only faintly, because his own throat had gone unexpectedly tight.
“Sweetheart,” he said, voice low and warm and somehow steadier than he felt, “I have tried to do this properly so many times that the ring is beginning to feel like a personal joke.”
A laugh broke out of you and turned into a sob halfway through.
One of the volunteers began quietly crying in the background.
Hiromi looked up at you and the kitten and the tears gathering in your bright eyes and thought he had never loved anything more than what he was seeing right now.
“I had plans,” he went on. “Good ones, I thought. Thoughtful ones.” His mouth curved. “And every single time, life got in the way.”
You made a wet, shaky little laugh, nodding because of course it had.
Of course it had.
He drew one breath.
Then let all the rehearsed speeches go.
What came out instead was just true.
“I think maybe that’s because this was always what it was supposed to look like. You, finding joy in something small and alive. Me standing there, wondering how I got lucky enough to be the one who gets to love you up close.” His gaze stayed locked on yours. “You make every ordinary day feel like a place I want to stay forever. You make home feel warmer. You make me softer than I ever thought I’d be. And if you’ll let me, I want to spend the rest of my life loving you exactly the way you deserve.”
You were crying in earnest now.
The kitten, unconcerned, had tucked her tiny face under your chin.
“Hiromi—”
He smiled a little more, eyes gentler now. “Will you marry me?”
The yes left you before he had even fully finished the sentence.
“Yes.”
Then louder, breaking entirely now, “Yes, oh my God, yes.”
The little crowd that had started to gather around the adoption booth burst into applause.
You were laughing and crying at the same time, clutching the kitten so carefully while trying not to collapse under your own happiness.
Hiromi rose to his feet at once, took the kitten from you just long enough for one volunteer to hold her, and slid the ring onto your finger with hands that were only slightly less steady than your own.
It fit perfectly.
You stared at it for one breathless second.
Then threw yourself at him.
He caught you instantly, of course he did, one arm around your waist, the other cupping the back of your head as you clung to him and cried into his shoulder.
“Yes,” you whispered again, into his neck this time. “Yes, yes, yes.”
He laughed softly, the sound full of relief and love and something almost disbelieving. “I heard you the first time.”
“I don’t care.”
“Clearly.”
You pulled back just enough to kiss him, still crying, and he kissed you like he had been starving for that answer even though somewhere in him he must have known. He must have.
Still, when you drew back, his eyes looked a little brighter too.
The volunteer returned the kitten to your arms.
“Well,” she said, openly sniffling now, “I think she may be part of the story now.”
You looked down at the tiny cat and immediately started crying harder.
“We have to take her.”
Hiromi laughed and rubbed a thumb under your eye. “I thought that was already decided.”
“It’s definitely decided now.”
“Good.”
The next hour was a blur of paperwork, happy tears, and complete emotional destruction.
You sat at a folding table filling out adoption forms with one hand while the other kept touching the ring on your finger like you still couldn’t quite believe it was there. Hiromi handled the practical parts whenever your vision got too watery to read properly, though every few minutes he would stop and just… look at you.
At the ring.
At the kitten in your lap.
At your face, all flushed and bright and tear-streaked and smiling too sweetly for his own good.
At one point he pulled out his phone.
“What are you doing?” you asked, voice still wet and shaky.
“Documenting this.”
You laughed. “No.”
“Yes.”
He took a picture before you could protest.
Then another.
Then another.
You holding the kitten with both hands, ring shining on your finger, eyes glossy with tears and happiness. You looking up at him mid-laugh while the kitten tried to chew on your cardigan tie. You pressing your cheek to the tiny soft head while he stood there like a man collecting proof that joy existed and had your face.
“Hiromi,” you said through your laughter, wiping at your eyes. “Stop, I look a mess.”
He looked at the photo he had just taken and then back at you.
“No,” he said quietly. “You look perfect.”
That nearly made you start crying all over again.
It did, in fact, make the volunteer start crying again.
By the time you left, you had a little starter bag of kitten food, a blanket that smelled like the adoption center, a carrier with the tiniest occupant in the world, and a new title on your left hand that seemed to shine even when you weren’t looking at it.
Fiancée.
Your fiancée.
The word felt unreal and perfect and enormous.
You walked back toward the car in a kind of dazed bubble, carrying the kitten carrier with both hands while Hiromi held your iced chai, his americano long forgotten, and kept glancing at you the way people did when they could not quite believe something lovely had actually happened to them.
Halfway there you stopped.
He turned at once.
“What?”
You just looked at him.
At the man you loved. The man who had moved into your apartment and into your life so gently that sometimes you still turned and felt surprised by your own luck. The man who had asked you in front of an adoption tent with cat hair probably already clinging to his trousers and no hint of shame about it because, somehow, he had known this was the right moment after all.
Then you started crying again.
He stared for one second.
Then sighed softly and shifted both drinks to one hand so he could pull you into him with the other.
“There it is,” he murmured into your hair. “I was wondering when the next wave would hit.”
You laughed and cried into his chest.
“I’m happy,” you mumbled.
“I know.”
“I’m so happy.”
“I know.”
“And we have a kitten.”
“We do.”
“And you proposed by the cats.”
“That part was less intentional.”
“That makes it better.”
He kissed the top of your head. “I had suspected you might say that.”
When you finally got home, Miso was deeply suspicious of everything.
Of the carrier.
Of the smells.
Of the tiny sounds now coming from the kitchen.
She sat on the back of the couch with her tail wrapped tightly around herself and narrowed her eyes as if the whole thing had been done to spite her personally.
You, meanwhile, were still incapable of functioning normally.
You kept drifting between laughing and crying and staring at your ring in different lights. Hiromi set up the little food dishes, arranged a temporary bed for the kitten, and took approximately twelve more pictures of you crouched beside the carrier with your engagement ring visible and your smile so open and sweet it made his chest ache every time he looked at you.
At one point he caught you kneeling on the living room rug, one hand extended toward the little kitten while the other—your ring hand—rested over your heart.
The light from the window caught the stone.
Your eyes were still shiny.
And your smile—
your smile looked like the sort of thing people spent whole lives trying to deserve.
He lifted his phone before you noticed.
Snap.
You looked up at the sound. “Are you still taking pictures?”
“Yes.”
“You’re obsessed with me.”
“Yes.”
The answer came so fast you just stared.
Then your mouth trembled with another helpless smile.
“Okay,” you whispered, because what else was there to say to a love like that?
He lowered the phone and looked at you for a long moment.
Then crossed the room, knelt in front of you on the rug, and cupped your face in both hands.
“Hi,” he said softly.
You laughed. “Hi.”
His thumbs brushed away the last of the dampness under your eyes.
“You alright?”
“No,” you said honestly. “I think I’ve lost my mind.”
His mouth curved. “Good. I was hoping you’d say yes before that happened.”
You kissed him then, slow and warm and still tasting faintly of chai and tears and happiness. The kitten mewed from her little bed. Miso made a judgmental noise from the couch.
When you pulled back, you pressed your forehead to his and whispered, “I can’t believe this is my life.”
He held you there a second longer.
Then said, with that quiet steadiness that always reached deepest, “It’s ours.”
And later, much later, after the kitten had been coaxed into eating and Miso had cautiously approached the newcomer with the grave air of a queen receiving foreign diplomats, after the pictures had been backed up twice because Hiromi informed you he was “not risking losing any evidence of this day”—
you ended up curled together on the couch with a blanket over your legs.
The kitten slept in her little bed nearby.
Miso pretended not to watch her.
And your left hand rested on Hiromi’s chest, the ring catching soft flashes of lamplight every time you moved.
He looked down at it once.
Then at you.
Then smiled.
“What?” you asked sleepily.
“You really said yes.”
You stared at him in disbelief. “Hiromi.”
He laughed under his breath and kissed your hair. “I know. I know.”
But his hand came over yours anyway, thumb brushing lightly over the ring like maybe he needed the proof too.
And in the warm hush of your apartment, with your new kitten breathing softly nearby and your heart still too full to fit inside your body properly, you realized that all those failed attempts had not been failures at all.
They had only been life doing what it always did.
Interrupting. Rearranging. Delaying.
Until the moment was no longer polished or planned or perfect in the way people imagined perfect should look.
Until it became yours instead.
Messy with tears. Bright with laughter. Lit by spring sun and cat carriers and an iced chai latte set down half-finished on a folding table.
And because it was yours—because it was him, and you, and one tiny kitten pressed between the beginning of your engagement and the rest of your lives—it was better than perfect.
There were many things you hated in your life. For one, you hated when your phone charger only worked at a certain angle, you hated mosquitoes, instant coffee and summer. Most of all, you hated the heat that made your clothes cling to your skin in such an icky way.
But above all else—
You hated your boss.
Like, seriously, you hated every fiber of his being.
"I'm so tired of this guy," you groaned, staring at the glass office door with nothing but pure resentment. "One day, I'm actually going to kill him."
Your coworker, Shoko, snorted from beside you. "You say that every day."
"Well, this time I will actually do it."
"Yeah, sure you will," she rolled her eyes at your dramatics, turning back to her work. You sighed, glaring back at the office where your boss sat.
Through the transparent walls, he could be seen typing on his laptop while talking on his phone.
"He called me incompetent and clumsy," you whispered, clearly offended. "Can you believe that? I literally finished that presentation because he chickened out!"
"Well... didn't you accidentally spill water on those important files on his desk last week?"
"Honest mistake."
"Was it also a mistake when you called him a...what was it? Evil, fun-sucking vampire?"
That got you silent. You took a sip of coffee, frowning. "He deserved that."
She laughed under her breath before nudging your shoulder. "You're so dramatic. Have I told you that before?"
You rolled your eyes, a grin finally finding your face. "Like a thousand times, Shoko and I am not."
She smiled at you, about to respond, but at that exact moment, your boss slammed his office door open. Your eyes snapped up to meet his gaze as he stormed toward your desk. "There you are. If I hadn't known better, I would have believed you hit your head and came back illiterate."
Great. Satan himself.
"Tell me, Ms. (last name)," he continued, "where is the report I asked for?"
"Report?" you questioned, genuinely confused. You had no idea what he was talking about, and you always kept a reminder to do what he told you to avoid confrontations like this.
"Yes, the report you were asked to complete? I sent it last night." You frowned. Did he really expect you to see that? You went to bed at 9:00!
"I was asleep, sir."
"And that helps...how, exactly?"
He stared at you and you stared back in disbelief. Is he serious? "Maybe because I'm not a robot who checks my email 24/7? I actually need sleep, unlike some people."
He stared at you a moment longer before pinching the bridge of his nose. "Just finish it before lunch."
"Okay."
Then he walked away. You watched him disappear into his office before turning to your coworker, giving her a look that made her sigh.
"I think I should quit. Maybe work at a brothel instead."
She grinned. "Please, you couldn't survive that."
"Maybe," you nodded. "It'd be way better than here, though."
"Also not true. Now, do your report."
With a sigh, you turned back to your laptop and checked your inbox. You frowned.
[email protected]: Write a 10 page breakdown of why our competitor's new marketing campaign is 'objectively superior' to ours."
The "report" had been sent in after he spoke to you. That lying jerk! You collapsed against your desk chair. Adult life was deeply disappointing.
When you were younger, you genuinely thought adulthood would be exciting—like a fairytale. Falling in love, confessions in the rain, picnic dates, a huge wedding...yet instead? You were stuck in customer management.
Tragic, really.
As you finished your report, your phone lit up with a notification:
COMING TO ASTERIA LANE THIS FALL: STARLIGHT CONFESSION BALL..BRING A FRIEND OR..A DATE. YOU WOULDN'T WANNA MISS IT!!
"Legend has it that if you leave an anonymous note in the "Wishing Fountain" at the center of town during the Starlight Confession Ball, your true love will find you before the clock strikes midnight."
September 15th, 2027
You stared at the advertisement for a moment. A smiling couple stood beneath glowing city lights while cheesy text floated above them: Love always finds its way back.
Your heart fluttered at the post, a ridiculous smile finding your face. "This is the cutest thing ever. Shoko, we have to go!"
Shoko looked over. "Oh sure, because I have nothing better to do at home."
Your smile widened, your eyes sparkling. "Ah, you're the best, Sho!"
"Yeah...you say that a lot."
You turned back to your phone. Fortunately, your hopeless romantic tendencies apparently hadn't disappeared with age. They had been with you since childhood.
Years ago, you were terrifyingly committed to romantic gestures. Your feelings were always so intense that you wrote letters—love letters, to be exact. At ten, you wrote a four-page letter to a boy because he lent you a mechanical pencil during math class and stood up for you when you got bullied.
In your defense, he had a very nice smile.
Another time, you convinced yourself you were destined to marry a cashier because he kept looking at you. Your teenage years were genuinely chaotic. You wrote love letters constantly. Looking back, you wanted to grab your younger self by the shoulders and shake her violently—sure, you hadn't changed, but it was still embarrassing to think about.
Thankfully, those letters were long gone. Probably buried somewhere inside your bedroom back home, or thrown out. It didn't matter anymore. You wouldn't see those guys again, anyway.
.
.
.
By the time your shift ended, you were beyond drained. Exhaustion had settled deep into your bones. Your night was simple: take a shower, make ramen, and watch 27 Dresses—then sleep. You changed into oversized pajamas and threw yourself onto the couch with a bowl of instant ramen on your lap.
The movie began, just as the rain began tapping softly against your windows. For the first time all day, you felt at ease. No workload, no stupid, jerk-boss, and even better—the guy in the movie was hot. Perfect.
Half way through the movie your phone rang. You frowned, picking it up. Your sister's name flashed across the screen. A wide grin found your face. You loved hearing her voice.
"Hana! Hi, I've missed you."
"Ugh, baby sis, I missed you too. I can't wait to see you this Christmas break." Hearing her voice made your heart flutter in a warm, loving way. She truly was your world—apart from romcoms, of course.
"Anyway, that's not why I called... you're alone, right?" You blinked. She was on the phone at 8:55 PM and asked such a dumb question. "Yeah, why? Did something happen to you or Mom?"
"Okay, good. So, remember your obsessive love tendencies a few years back?"
"They weren't obsessive," you paused, a frown finding your face. "Either way, why are you asking? Tell me."
Your sister inhaled, her voice sounding nervous. "Okay, I'll tell you if you promise...no freaking out."
"Okay, okay, I won't! Tell me!"
"Hana, are you there?" There was silence on the other end before she spoke again. "Do you remember those love letters you used to write?"
You went quiet. How did she know about that? Worse—why was she asking now? "Yeah...what about them?"
"How many were there?
"What? I don't know—maybe a few??" you told her honestly. Truly, it had been years since your last letter. You barely remembered them.
"Come on, Hana, just talk." Your sister sighed, as if debating how to keep you in suspense. "Okay, a few days ago, I was cleaning your room with Mom, she found the letters, and...well, she did something."
"Did what? If she threw them away, that's fine."
"...Actually, she mailed them all. She thought it would be helping you." Your heart actually stopped. This had to be some prank they were pulling, right? You laughed nervously. "That's not your best joke, Hana."
"I'm not joking, (name). She literally sent all of them."
You sat upright so fast your ramen nearly fell. "Oh my God—I need to go! Call you tomorrow!"
"(Name), wait—"
You ended the call before anything else was said. You stared blankly ahead while your brain slowly combusted. Every single one? Sent out? Your heart sank. "I'm so done..." you groaned, covering your face with your hands as shame filled you. Sinking further into the couch, you felt yourself beginning to panic. This actually couldn't be happening.
You scrambled, picking up your phone and calling Shoko. She picked up on the second ring, her voice sounding exhausted. "Hey, what's up?"
"Shoko! I'm done for. I have to move states!" you yelled into the phone, causing her to wince. "God, calm down. What happened? Did Naoya fire you?"
"No! Remember those love letters I told you about? My mom sent them out! I'm actually going to die!"
Shoko laughed—in disbelief. "Seriously? Your mom is insane. How many did you even write?"
You didn't answer. Your gaze drifted to the window, where the rain was turning into a steady, mocking downpour. It felt like the universe was literally laughing at you. "I don't know...maybe thirteen?"
What if they received the letters and remembered you? Dear God. You started pacing the small length of your living room, your bare feet slapping against the hardwood. Each step felt heavier than the last. "Sho, I'm going to die. I’m actually going to die."
"Hey, calm down," Shoko said, though you could still hear the amusement bubbling under her voice. "Who knows if they'll even receive the letters? Maybe they moved? Maybe they never got it out. It can't be that bad."
"You don't know the stuff I wrote, Shoko. Some of them were... intense." You let out a shaky breath, finally collapsing back onto the couch. Your lukewarm ramen sat on the table, completely unappealing now. The thought of those letters—those handwritten, ink-stained confessions of your everlasting love..being in the hands of your ex-crushes made an embarrassed whine slip from your throat. "I have to move. I'll pack my bags, change my name, and move to a different country. Maybe Antarctica, or Switzerland, or even Iceland!"
"(name), you're being dramatic again," Shoko sighed, though her voice softened. "Tell me one person you wrote a letter to."
You frowned, thinking about it for a moment. "Gojo."
Shoko made a sound of genuine surprise. "Gojo? As in Satoru Gojo? The model? My old college friend?"
"Yeah..." The recognition in her voice made your embarrassment feel like a physical weight. Without a doubt—you were doomed. She sighed.
"Just get some sleep," she said. "We'll deal with this tomorrow, okay?"
"Okay," you muttered, but your head was still throbbing, a dull ache pulsing behind your eyes from the sheer magnitude of the humiliation. "Goodnight. Be early so we have time to talk, yeah?"
"Mhm."
The call ended and you tossed your phone onto the other side of the couch. You stumbled into your bedroom and fell face-first into your mattress, pulling the duvet over your head and praying the floor would just open up and swallow you whole.
By morning, you looked like a disaster. To make matters worse, you overslept. You rushed through your apartment, barely functional, struggling to shove your arms through your coat while balancing a coffee cup dangerously in one hand.
"Okay," you mumbled to yourself as you hurried down the sidewalk. "Nobody got the letters. Today is going to be a great day."
As you try calming your nerves with positive talk, you rounded the corner too quickly, slamming directly into someone. Coffee splashed everywhere.
"Oh my God—I'm so sorry!" Your cup slipped from your hands as papers scattered across the pavement. You immediately crouched down in a frantic panic. "I wasn't paying attention, I’m so sorry—"
"Hey, it's all good." The voice made your hands freeze. You heard that tone before—many times. Slowly, your eyes lifted. White hair. A tall, imposing figure. Striking blue eyes. A familiar, beautiful smile.Your heart stopped.
You stared dumbly at the man in front of you. No. No way. He crouched down casually, picking up one of your fallen papers before looking up at you. And just like that, you were twelve years old again. "....Satoru?"
He tilted his head, his grin widening. "Woah, you recognized me fast, princess."
You stared at him in complete horror, speechless. Satoru looked exactly the same as the last time you saw him. Your mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, your brain struggling to process the reality of the situation. A deep, burning blush crawled up your neck, but Satoru remained perfectly relaxed, watching you with that same infuriating, gorgeous smile.
Then, his hand moved to his pocket. He pulled out something small.
A very familiar pink envelope. Your pink envelope. The color drained from your face as you stared at it. This was a nightmare. It had to be. Gojo noticed your expression immediately, a low, amused laugh escaping his throat. "You see," he began, holding the letter up between two fingers like a trophy, "you were just the person I was looking for."
synopsis | in which you, an english teacher, can't seem to find time to spend with your equally busy lawyer boyfriend, hiromi higuruma. and the stress and distance almost breaks you both.
content | MDNI. fem!reader. lawyer!higuruma x english teacher!reader. established relationship. porn with SO much plot like wow why'd i write so much. slight angst. dry humping. fingering. (brief) praise AND degradation because mommy marce likes to write both. masturbation (m!receiving). pinv. lots of fluff as well, my babies.
word count | 10.6k (because i fucking love hiromi higurma)
It's not often that you go toe-to-toe with the criminal defense attorney Hiromi Higuruma—in fact, it's so rare it might be considered unfeasible, an anomaly of sorts.
Not because you can't. Rest assured, Higuruma's profession had nothing on your natural ability to convince and persuade. You were one of those kids who were considered "beyond their years," an "old soul”. Many times, you had been told you should be a lawyer, which was just a kinder way of calling a child a 'bitch' before the child actually knew what that word meant. You had a fierce stubbornness that had yet to be shaken. But it wasn't like that with Higuruma. You seldom argued because you never really had to. Things fell into place with a man like him, you both worked in tandem, like two slightly differing dances moving around each other with a musical kind of ease and care. Dancing, and dancing, and dancing in spinning circles that sometimes gave you whiplash. And it's anything but argumentative.
Truthfully, the two of you might be too like-minded to argue. Nothing is ever morally confusing between you, all of your ideas about the universe make perfect sense to the other. Your few objections were over the best Christopher Nolan film and the best band from childhood, but nothing intense, nothing ridiculous that made you want to rip your hair out of your head. Things were right and well, and if they weren't, it was nothing a few deep breaths couldn't fix.
And perhaps you're both just too busy to disagree with each other. You were an English teacher, constantly grading and revising papers, tutoring after school, hosting office hours before school, receiving emails at godforsaken hours of the night, and responding to them, because you're awake, too, putting in scores and notes until the sun comes up. And of course, Higuruma can't help but pick up the hardest cases known to man, for his own peace of mind. He puts his entire soul into his work, slaving away over files, pictures, anecdotes, and charges, hoping to save as many people as he can. His head is always buried in some textbook, as if he'd need to fact-check anything—things like fairness and honor come to him with ease, like it flows through his veins.
You're a Hiro, you'll sometimes joke with him, at night when nothing's actually as fun as it would be otherwise. And he says that you are too, and you believe it, sometimes, in your own roundabout sort of way. A defense lawyer and an AP literature teacher, saving the day, one crumbled-up paper at a time.
And given that you've been together for almost a year now, there really hasn't been any time to argue immensely.
Until the other day.
You'd both made lots of time.
Often, when things as rare as this happen, people are quick to say they don't know how it got to that point exactly. Not you though. You can picture it very quickly in your mind, just last Sunday, the slow start of something terrible, brewing.
You'd both had something stuck up your asses all week, notable in every call and text, stressed and stretched out beyond comprehension, and you both were handling it, individually, in your own sense of the word and as best you could. You'd meant to have dinner Friday, like you usually did, but you'd had so many meetings about essay revisions and had to get them done before the weekend started, lest you put them off too long. So, you postponed to Saturday, you got all prettied-up early that morning, the eagerness seeping over from the night before. Dinner was exactly what you needed after such a horrifyingly long week, and then all of sudden, Higuruma's asking to reschedule, too, caught up researching this new case he'd just planned to pick up, an emergency of sorts. That phone call had ended very quickly, the man rushing off while he was still in his office, and you, on the other line, in his favorite dress, with your hair done up and mascara smudging at your waterline. But it wasn't anything to cry about. You'd rescheduled too, and you were busy people, it was a busy week for you both. Your tears were only so readily exposed because, usually, when a week had been especially hard, Higuruma had a way of making it all better.
But no matter, Sunday might've been good for you both.
Until it wasn't—Higuruma had yet to call since Saturday, yet to respond to your texts, and Sunday went by painfully slow, just as the rest of the weekend did. Still, there was no time to pout about it, you had classes to teach, kids to tend too, and you were sure once he explained the case the next time you both saw each other, there'd be thousands of details to pour over. That would hold you over until Monday. Until he finally texted back, you were starting to itch at the thought of him never texting back, though that had never quite been an issue before. You're rushing back home after work, caving before he can.
you: I know you're busy with the new case, but I would really like to revisit our date plans soon! Hope work is going well!
It's simple, you think, and true, give or take a few words that would make it sound just as urgent as the situation did in your head. The days were starting to blur together, and your desire for his company was growing stronger by the second.
hiro <3 : So sorry I've been MIA! Still busy with case, can't wait to tell you all about it
You're quick to snatch your phone up, quick like a school girl when you hear that ping. You smile at his name on the screen, shoveling sad leftovers into your mouth. You'd just gotten off of your period, and the after effects were still tumbling over—you could eat a horse, amongst other things.
hiro <3 : Will definitely revisit date soon. Will call later.
You sigh at the message, scrolling through the rest of your texts with him to fill the slowly growing hole in your heart. You think you might be going insane, hanging out with a bunch of high schoolers during your lunch breaks. You miss him in ways that are potentially unspeakable, and it irritates you the way hunger does. You remind yourself that you're a grown woman, seeing a grown man. You both have responsibilities, hobbies, things that you have to do with your time other than see each other. You take this thought with you to bed and hope it soothes you the way his hands do under the covers when it gets cold.
Your date plans are finally revisited on Wednesday. The dinner has been rescheduled to Sunday—his place, he cooks the main course, you both help with dessert, and you're in bed at a reasonable hour to get ready together for work the next morning. It's your dream night, really, and you would be absolutely jumping for joy if it weren't going to take so fucking long.
But you're patient, and people need you, and all you have to do is wait a few more days before you can fall into the arms of the love of your life, and weep, if necessary, into his collarbone. Just a few more days of 'hope your day has been good' and 'can't wait to see you,' it's a little grotesque how quick the back-and-forths are, but you suppose you'll manage. Classes will still go as planned, and you're on the brink of having a panic attack from the way this month has basically kicked your ass while you're already down, but never mind that! Sunday is around the corner, creeping closer tauntingly, and the dress you'd worn last Saturday is laid out so particularly by your vanity, it's almost provocative. The waiting is almost unbearable.
｡𖦹°‧
Sunday is here.
You've taken your own car like you always do, blasting all sorts of 2000s dad rock to keep you awake and hype you up even a little for the nerves that are speedily coursing through your veins every five seconds. Your fingers drum against the steering wheel, steering into his driveway by memory alone. This is the very moment where things start to blur for you. Higuruma lets you in, leads you to the dining table. He usually looks you over like you're a piece of meat, but tonight, your eyes both bore into each other, tired, restless, and not thinking about a whole lot else other than sleep. His kiss to your temple is tender but quick as he seats you both, pours your glasses of wine, and the conversation is simple, unimpressive as you both try not to nod off and roll your eyes as you recount the terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad week you've both seemingly had.
You're quite sure you started the argument. Maybe those adults should've called you at least something a little closer to a bitch in childhood, would've knocked that stubborn tone out of your mouth—but here you are, and the stubborn tone is here, potentially unappeasable. You make an off-handed comment about his refusal to see the world around him outside of his work. It was meant to be quick, witty, and instead came out as some snide remark that you'd been biting back for a week and a half now. Higuruma makes a rebuttal about his work being important, as if you wouldn't understand what important work really means. More words—no longer mumbles, you would say—about differing schedules, the intensity of work, and suddenly, you don't know what it means to be busy, or what it means to have such intense, soul-sucking responsibilities.
Suddenly, you start to remember all the guys you'd dated before Higuruma, and that feeling of deja vu makes you kind of sick. They're always the same, they always say the same thing.
Those who can, do. Those who can't...
Teach.
Now, Higuruma doesn't say it outwardly (he would never, lest he see that terrible pout your lips make when someone tells you the education system is in ruins), but as he's washing the dishes and you're drying them, putting them away, he says something about your high school days, how you'd once mentioned wanting to be a pediatrician when you were sixteen before landing on the teaching route. He notes that you said you wanted to be a professor once, too, and the sharpness in his voice says that either of those paths would've been even slightly more respectable than what you're doing now.
It is so hurtful, the concept of being silently demeaned by someone with a quote-unquote "more sophisticated" profession than you.
So, after a not-so-thoughtful pause, you say: "At least teachers are able to understand people. Lawyers, on the other hand...Maybe if you understood people better, you'd actually be able to defend them."
God, the fucking horror.
As soon as you say it, you regret it—Higuruma is a wonderful defense attorney, the best you'd ever seen, and all he ever did was save people, and save people, and save people, in the most passionate way possible.
This is when the yelling match begins. You remember it, crystal clearly, but this is also the part you'd been trying to block out.
"You think you understand the world around you more than me—you're surrounded by the dumbest adolescents in the entire country, every fucking weekday—"
"And your clients are all guilty—you just love to defend the absolute worst human beings on the planet, solely on the basis of playing devil's advocate, it's useless work!"
"Really? You wanna talk about useless work?"
"Don't."
"No, no, we don't even have to talk about the pay—which should be a tell-tale sign that whatever the education system is doing is not really people's top priority right now—"
"I make enough."
"Yeah, enough to hold you over until they finally come to the life-altering conclusion that maybe, just maybe, we don't actually need the teachers who went through their secondary education major with a ring by spring and a shotgun wedding—"
"I have an English degree just like you do, Higuruma, don't you ever pretend that I'm some sort of fucking bird-brained idiot—"
"And maybe you should've had your little shotgun wedding, because when they do fire all the teachers, you'll need someone with a job to pay those bills of yours—a fallback marriage for your fallback job!"
"And for you, sir, a loveless marriage given your profession of choice."
Ah, you've won here. It's not satisfying like it usually is, but you've won. And you're about to really give the final blow:
"To marry you...with a temper like that...and words like yours...while you hide behind your work of justice, and integrity, and grit. My profession can absolutely be fuckall useless. So long as you admit that you and yours are soulless."
Absolutely brutal, you two.
He's got this shot-dog look on his face as he stares at you from the other side of the kitchen. He's in the same predicament you were in just before, remembering all the exes, all the dates, and the horrifying feuds that left him sitting alone at his dining table. Wondering if maybe his job really had kept him from all the "important" things in life. You'd never made him feel that way, not in the entire time you'd known him. And the thought of you leaving him at that dining table alone again was making him feel like he was going to puke.
"You don't mean that," he whispered, hand running through his hair as a nervous tick.
You stand firm, pretending you're not secretly faltering. "You do."
"No—"
"You're not obligated to like my job, Higuruma, but it is my job." You grab your purse and your coat, heels clacking against his frigidly cold floor. "Which I have to go to tomorrow, so...I'll see you later this week."
Higuruma lunges forward before his words do, grabbing your wrist before you can pass him completely. "No, it's way too late—or- dark, it's pitch black out, and we've both had enough wine to be inebriated." His thumb rolls along your wrist bone, tugging you away from the entry, taking your coat from your arm despite your protest. "Let's just...let's just go to bed like normal, and we can..."
You stare at each other for a moment before he takes your purse too, leaving briefly to set your things on the kitchen island. You let out a heavy sigh through your nose, looking between the hall and the door. You could just leave, you're not that drunk. And you think maybe a car crash might actually be better than sleeping in this house with Higuruma, with all the aggravation that's stuffing up the place. If you told your girlfriends about any of this, they'd probably throw real life tomatoes at you for staying, but...
Higuruma steps back into the hallway, hands on his hips. "Please..." he sighs, motioning to the other side of his house where his room awaits you both.
You slip your shoes off at the door, shuffling past him to the bedroom. You stay.
The night is so dully unimportant, it's not even worth talking about. You both shower, separately, given the still festering tension. He gives you some pajamas of yours that you'd left sometime before, during some other, much better sleepover (the shirt is his, and he apologizes for it very quickly before his face contorts as if he doesn't really know why he'd apologize for you wearing his clothes, especially when he liked it so much, every single time you did it). There are very few words exchanged as you both get into bed, and when he turns his bedside lamp off, you can feel him staring at your back, your back which faces him and will face him the entire night to save you from showing off the tears brimming your eyes (God, you really had been waiting to cry all week and this was kind of the perfect moment for it). You hear him sigh from behind you as he lifts the covers, adjusts them over you just slightly. His fingers brush down your spine before they fall to his side again. And he turns too.
Neither of you gets much sleep that night, and for all the wrong reasons.
You wake up inexplicably early, at least two hours before you and Higuruma usually do. His arm is draped across your mid-section, finding itself in its rightful place sometime during the four or five hours of sleep you both had actually gotten. You watch him for a moment next to you. He is so peaceful like this, calmer than usual, if it were at all possible. His eyes are able to rest, and he allows his brows to drop and relax. The muscles of his back aren't so tense as they are in his dress shirt and coat. He breathes through his perfect nose, face half-stuffed in his pillow. You lean over to kiss his temple out of habit, freezing when you think it might've woken him. He stays sleeping, still snoring lightly. You carefully slide out of his hold, fingers grazing his own against the sheets. Despite the words you'd both thoughtlessly shared with each other just hours ago, you're still...very much in love with him.
You gather your things and leave silently, texting a quick goodbye. Better to get ready at your own place, you think to yourself. Tensions might still be high, and you hate greeting your students with the attitude of the night before.
On the drive home and while you get ready for work, you check your phone maybe a dozen times, just in case he wakes up and wants to speak. The reality is, there's really no time to speak about the night before. If anything, a conversation might be had this Friday or next Sunday, when you're able to see each other again, and by then, you would hope this had all blown over. You really did pray it would all blow over. You hadn't meant a word of what you said to him last night. And maybe he had, but...well, that tight feeling in your chest lingered, made you seasick, and you kind of wished you'd never gone to dinner in the first place.
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"Miss L/N, do we really have to read this chapter, or can I look it up on SparkNotes for the test?"
"Miss L/N, I can't read what's on the board, can you write it bigger?"
"Miss L/N, I finally turned my homework in—yes, it's two weeks late, but I told you, my dog lowkenuinely ate that shit—THING, he ate that thing!"
"Can I go to the bathroom, Miss L/N? No, my boyfriend's not in the hall, I literally swear on my dead grandma, I swear."
"Miss L/N can I show you a TikTok edit? Do you know Zuko from Avatar? No, not the one with the blue people."
"I literally love you, Miss L/N—how is that inappropriate? I genuinely love you bro—Miss, I meant Miss, I literally said Miss."
The day had been dragging on for what seemed like centuries, and despite having felt like you'd lived a hundred lives since you'd gotten to work, it was only midday, just after lunch, kids filing in and already asking questions before the bell had even rung. You were rewriting the agenda on the board (a little large this time, so it could be clearer for people in the back), and two of your students, girls who were always in your office during lunch, were sitting at your desk, messing with your little photos and trinkets, asking if you'd ever wanna hang out socially. A few other boys tried joking with them on the other side of the desk, asking them about plans for this weekend and having conversations that you'd have to shut down in about .3 seconds.
"Girls, please go to your seats, and take your friends with you," you say, shooing them off as you readjust your belongings. You shake your head at the boy walking up to your desk now that it's free. "No, Yuji, you can not grab snacks from my office again."
"But- but- but, Miss L/N!" The pink-haired boy has got a big pout on his lips, hands clasped together to beg. "I won't even take a lot, I promise!"
"Last time you said that, you brought six other friends from other classes—students I don't even have." There are a couple of students in the back of class asking you to repeat the number you just said, and you wave them off, shooing Yuji away too. "Maybe some other time, kid."
"If you do, I can get you a date with my uncle, Miss L/N, he's super cool!"
"Miss L/N doesn't need a date. I hear he's got a pretty boyfriend."
Your brow cocks as you look to the rest of the class, many of them gossiping and giggling about your personal and romantic affairs. The kids are staring fondly, waiting eagerly, whispering in each other's ears about what they think your pretty boyfriend looks like and if he might be better than Yuji's uncle. "I do not," you deny hesitantly, printing out some extra papers and handouts for the class. You’re really not supposed to talk about your personal affairs with your students, and while you’d love to shout about your love for Hiromi from the rooftops, but there’s a certain level of workplace privacy you have to uphold. “And you guys shouldn't be talking about it if I did have one either."
"Then who's the guy that brings you lunch on the first Wednesday of the month?"
"The one who usually drops you off on Mondays."
"And picks you up on Fridays every now and then."
"And he calls during your lunch break sometimes—we can tell because you smile at your phone really big and blush a little."
You scoff, hands on your hips as you properly assess the class. All eyes are on you and your shocked expression now, waiting for your prompt answer that they know you're not allowed to give. "You guys are ridiculous—I do not blush, first of all, and that...man is—"
"Is he the guy that's standing at the door right now?"
You all but freeze in your spot, blank-faced as you turn to the open classroom door. Higuruma is stood, perhaps just as frozen, if not more, in the doorway, taking up an unnecessary amount of space with his height and stature. Holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers, and two little lunch bags—one, which he carries every single day without fail, and the other, which he bought for you to keep at his place, since you were always forgetting yours at home. His eyes were wide (as much as they could be, those droopy, Eeyore eyes he always wore, that stared lasers into your fast-beating heart). His eyes dart between you and your students, nodding carefully to greet a silent hello.
"Hiro," you breathe, setting your markers down carefully. You clear your throat, fingers tapping against your pants, thinking of literally any words, but they're just not coming to you. You turn on your heel quickly to face the class, putting on a bright, happy face. "Class," you clasp your hands together as you take small steps towards the man. "This! Is my good friend, Mr. Higuruma—let's all say hi to Mr. Higuruma, yeah?" You glance at him briefly, his eyes only meeting yours for a second as he greets the buzzing class and their bright hellos. You place your hand on his coated chest, patting softly to soothe. "Um, Mr. Higuruma is here...because..."
He brings his voice down to a whisper, shaking his head apologetically. "I thought you had lunch—I totally fucked up the times—"
"You can't say 'fucked up' in my classroom—" You turn back to the class, speaking at your normal volume again, “Mr. Higuruma is just here to bring me a little late lunch—"
"Are you a math teacher, Mr. Higuruma?"
He looks at you with furrowed brows before turning back to the students, stuttering a little as you take the flowers from him, your body trying to shuffle further in the entry. "Uh, no. No, I'm not, I'm—I was actually an English major, in college, like your teacher...here, that's how...Miss L/N and I met." You remember it clearly, the two of you in undergrad, the only English majors in your friend group, never really that close until after graduation, when your group had met up and the secretly charming Higuruma had gotten even more charming. He thanked you for essentially helping him pass Modern Philosophy and asked if he could repay you sometime. Over dinner. The rest is a blur, the rest of your lives up until this moment. The students whisper amongst each other some more, nodding and debating what questions to ask next. You hope maybe they'll be bored by his overall drab tone of voice, but even you were watching him with sparkly eyes.
To be fair, you were always watching him like that.
"But, um...Miss L/N was always much better at reading and writing than me—she's still revising my papers for work, it's a gift I think." He peeks over at you for a second, straightening his posture to instill a bit more confidence in both of you. "She's... your teacher is a real gem at that kind of stuff—you guys are really lucky. To have her." Oh, your heart practically flutters at his words, and now you're shifting in your stance, trying to stay calm and collected. But of course, it's near impossible for the both of you. He clears his throat after a few more too-personal questions. "What are you guys learning about?" You look at him with wide eyes, and he shrugs, unsure of what to say otherwise.
"We're reading All-American Boys."
"And writing papers about social injustices—Miss L/N says one of her, like, best friends is a lawyer, so we're working on, like, injustice, and our rights and stuff."
Higuruma looks at you for a long while, rendered speechless. There's a soft silence between you two as you wait for him to frown, or smile, or nod, or blink—literally anything other than this staring contest you both are having in front of your impatient and keen class.
"Miss L/N says it's been her favorite unit so far."
You smile softly, shyly—and would you look at that, Higuruma does the same, nodding at the students and their words! His hand drifts to your shoulder, gently rubbing the bone of it with his thumb.
"Don't you have to go get those papers you printed, Miss?"
You turn back to the class, slightly unsettled by their mischievous, plotting faces. They were giggling again, staring at the increasingly intimate scene before them. Somehow, you and Higuruma had drawn even closer to one another, his hand on your back, your hand on his shoulder, and you could probably hear his breath next to you if you were quiet enough. And surely, your face was glowing with some sickly sweet sort of joy, because that's how you always looked when Higuruma was around, you couldn't see to help making a fool of yourself.
And now, your students were giving you a way out.
You glance at the man next to you briefly before turning your sweet gaze back to the class. "Yes! Yes, actually, I...I do—and I want to catch up with Mr. Higuruma here, in my office, so. So...alright—I shouldn't be long, guys, I'll have the agenda—"
"Yes, Miss L/N, we follow the agenda on the board until you get back."
"And we'll save our questions that we have until you get back."
"And I'll make sure everyone behaves until you get back."
Oh, God bless the higher powers that gave you this absolutely angelic group of kids.
You try your best to hide your smile as your students band together, getting into groups, arguing about who gets to use their computer, setting up spaces for the peer-reviews that need to be done, and you’re slowly pulling yourself and Higuruma out of the room before this wonderful dream is cut short by a question about the agenda or someone asking to use the bathroom. You’re both smiling giddily like the school children you teach, sneaking him into his office. You both take a long, deep breath, standing before each other. Alone now. That giddy feeling wears off a little and the sickly taste in your mouth that you’d been having since you woke up this morning resumed, inflaming every good thought you’d just procured in your mind.
This is the man that you are in love with. This is also the man who said your job, which he is standing in, was useless work. This is the man whom you practically berated for half an hour in his own kitchen. This is the man who brought you flowers the next day to make up for it. This is the man that you really want to apologize to, if you could release that stubborn personality of yours.
"I'm sorry."
You both stare blankly at each other, surprised at the sound of your voices in unison. You're both opening and closing your mouths like fish, waiting for someone to make the first dominating move. You look around your office for help with conversation, your eyes landing on the things he brought. Your brows furrow, and all of a sudden, your apologies have to wait for just a second.
“Higuruma, why are you at my job?”
He stills, clammy hands wiping themselves along his suit. He stares between you and the lunch boxes you’ve now set on your office desk. “Lunch,” he says simply.
“Right.” You nod, leaning against the desk, arms crossed in hopes that he’ll continue to explain himself further, but he doesn’t. For the first time in Higuruma’s whole life, he seemingly can’t plead his case. You smile at the thought, looking down at the floor to focus on something other than that lost, puppy look on his face. “Usually you text…when you’re coming by, no?”
“On a whim.”
“You packed me a lunch on a whim?”
“I have been thinking about you every second since I woke up this morning, and you weren’t next to me." Higuruma has now flipped dynamics, or at the very least shared his with you. You straighten up a bit, lips in a flat, nervous line. You hadn't expected him to say that. “I…couldn't pay attention, I couldn't get ready—I managed to put on the same exact suit I wore Friday, and just my luck, someone in the office actually noticed—”
“Shimizu?”
“Yes, Shimizu—“
“She’s a really sweet girl, she probably didn't mean anything by it.”
“I could not function, baby, are you hearing me?” He steps forward, kneeling down before you—actually kneeling like some sort of rabid man, like an actual dog. His hands reach up to rub at your clothed legs, his voice faltering beneath you. “I couldn’t think about my case for even a millisecond without thinking about you, I have been beyond stressed out thinking about you, and us not going to work together, and so I left work—!”
“You did what?” A rarity for Higuruma, he is never eager to leave an ongoing case in the middle of the day, not even for holidays, not even for bereavement, even you know that.
“I just fucking walked right out.”
“Keep your voice down,” you fuss, quickly parting from him to rush and lock the door. Still kneeling, he pulls you back over to him, holding onto your calves with a firm grip. The sight might be considered pathetic if you weren't so disgustingly enamored with him. Still, your eyes travel quickly across his face, searching for corruption. “Are you sick?” You lean down with him, the back of your hand on his forehead and cheeks, watching him lean into your soft touch. “Do you have a fever or something—"
"Did you really mean it when you said you'd never marry someone like me?"
You hold onto his arms with both hands, guiding him back into a standing position with you. Your eyes dart again, squinting aggressively.
You were absolutely positive you hadn't said that.
"I've been thinking about it all fucking day—in fact, I think, I maybe even dreamt about you saying it, over, and over, and over again, it's been stuck in my head like some really horrible song on the radio—"
"Higuruma!" You shake your head at his frantic state, holding his face in your hands to calm him down. "I never said that—I can say with absolute certainty that I never said that." He relaxes in your touch just slightly, leaning into the warmth of your palms as his mind recalls your tormenting argument. You tilt your head at him, face scrunching. "Is that all you've been thinking about? You're not...angry?"
"Of course I'm fucking angry," he scoffs, hands sliding to your hips to pull you a little closer despite his words. "I'd been waiting to see you for days, and then the moment I do, we get into some petty argument about the exact thing that's been keeping us apart—I'm absolutely livid, sweetheart, I've been fuming ever since you left this morning. Without a word, I might add, so I can assume you're angry, too, no?"
"I'm angry about the same thing you're angry about—I don't know why I even mentioned your workload during dinner, it ruined the whole thing!" You laugh into the sudden kiss that he gives you, trying to swat him away as his lips move across your cheek, and jaw, and temple. "It's my godforsaken attitude, I ruined a perfectly good dinner."
He shakes his head quickly, speaking in between kisses. "No. I ruined it. You tried to make a joke, and I'm...really unfunny, that's on me. It got out of hand from there—you know how much I support the education system, I'm such an idiot for pretending I don't, because you know how many cases I take for teachers, too. And for saying your kids were dumb, obviously they're goddamn prodigies if you're teaching them—"
"And I don't actually think your clients are guilty, sometimes I think more of your clients are innocent than you do."
"And that was rude of me, the assumption about education majors, and the whole stereotypical bullshit—I sounded like such a guy, I really can't believe myself." His hands are all over you now, still leaving open-mouth kisses across the bare skin that he has access to, gripping at your hips to keep him from wanting more.
"Anyone would be lucky to marry you, Hiro."
He stops, tilting his head back to look at you fully again. He stares as your lips curve into a soft smile.
"I'm so sorry for making you think otherwise," you admit, sighing slowly. "I was being a brat. Because I had a bad week. And I missed you, and I took it out on you and your job. But really, I think your job is what allows you to express how passionate you are. You know, because you understand people so well, what they're going through. And I think how passionate you are is...maybe one of my favorite things about you." You lean up to give a quick peck on his warm, slightly swollen lips. "Definitely husband material, would hate to lose something like that."
Higuruma steps back to lean against your desk, slowly pulling you closer between his legs. He makes an almost-pout with his lips, hands caressing your forearms, your wrists. "Remember when I was the worst person ever and...basically disparaged your job, all for your students to tell me that I'm your best friend?" You nod carefully, biting back a smile as he groans, head tilted back in agony. You place a soft kiss where his veins sort of protrude at the jugular, and his shifts almost imperceptibly. Almost. "I've never felt so horrible in my life—Miss L/N says it's been her favorite unit so far—I think I died, right then, just died and disintegrated."
"Karma is so sweet when you don't have to do it yourself," you shrug, massaging at his tense shoulders, feeling his hands grip at your hips and waist. “And I got some pretty nice apology flowers out of it. You sure do know how to woo a girl.” He lifts his head to look at you again, watching as your eyes try to avoid his piercing, languid gaze. "Speaking of my students...I kind of have to get back to work, I've been gone way too long." He sighs again, rolls his eyes like a teenager just to hear you laugh. "And you shouldn't have left the office either, not in the middle of a case. You're gonna be really upset with yourself later."
You kiss him one last time before parting from the warmth of his body, backstepping towards the door. Higuruma reluctantly follows, sluggishly standing and grabbing his lunch bag, heavy feet making slow motions towards the doorway. He stops you before you open it completely.
"I think you forgot something at my place," he whispers, kissing your temple. "Maybe you could...come over tonight, I could give it back to you?"
Your eyes shoot him a blank, warning look. Your Teacher Face, he calls it.
"I'll take that as a yes. Miss L/N."
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You're standing at Higuruma's door, foot tapping nervously at the pavement, fixing small pieces of your clothing to keep your mind occupied with other things. Still, all you can think about is how you might possibly fuck up this dinner just as you did the last one. There's really nothing to be completely afraid of. You'd both taken back what you'd said, cleared up what you hadn't, and there's a very real possibility that this is you guys going back to normal, just as you'd hoped. And yet, you're reluctant to knock your knuckle against the door, shivering in your coat and gripping your workbag like it might fly away, and you with it. One could dream.
Higuruma opens the door violently, steps his disheveled figure back as soon as he sees your polite smile, welcoming you in. His hair is even messier than before, his button-up is untucked and rolled up at his forearms, and he's loosening his tie as you walk in, trying to breath properly despite the choking at his neck.
You slowly walk through the house, setting your things down on the kitchen island like you usually do, already placing stray things back where they belong as he follow in, stuffs his hands in his pockets.
"You don't have to do that," he smiles, hesitantly creeping up next to you to stop your movements. "I went home after I came by your school, and..." He scratches at the back of his neck, looking about the kitchen. "I meant to clean after my lunch, and...after I started working...in the kitchen, but—"
"It's okay, Hiro."
He lets out a deep breath, nodding assuredly. His eyes gloss over you carefully and you're nervous all over again from the way he's examining you. His fists tighten in his pants pockets, shifting from one foot to the other, and soon enough, you're doing the same, filling in the silence with just your breathing and the occasional apology when you both accidentally bump into each other with your swaying. You are both too petrified to ask about work. But given that most of your life is your work, if the conversation is to progress any further, someone has to ask. One of you has to jump the hurdle. You're almost too anxious to do so—you and Higuruma have never argued like that, you couldn't bring yourself to potentially cause it again—but you're both adults, proper adults too, and someone has to make the next move.
"How's the case moving along?" you try breathily, leaning against the kitchen counter to broaden your space amongst each other, maybe make room for less tense discussion.
He laughs a little under his breath, one hand leaving his pocket to touch the fabric of your shirt, relaxing him enough to speak too. "Uh, yeah, it's...it's going. Maybe too early to know but...I have a feeling about this guy—I know I say that every time, but...I mean, he's young, and he's been so patient with us so far, and...things aren't adding up the way they usually do for the other side, so. So, I think we're gonna be able to help him."
You can't help but smile at the way he describes his work, even if it makes him nervous, makes him blush. It's cute, you think, the way he'll get so serious about it, the way he'll mull it over in his mind right in front of you, as if you're part of the case too. He'll use terms you don't quite recognize, and names you've never heard of, but he always ends with how well he thinks it'll go. And you're always so happy to hear when he thinks he might be able to be a hero again.
"I know you'll be able to help him," you assure with a sleepy nod, smiling a little further when his hand moves up, cups one side of your face.
He tilts his head to pout at you, thumb stroking over your cheek bone. "You know...the more I think about it...you were right to make that comment at dinner." He continues before you can argue, shaking his head softly. "I think I'd been babbling on about my new case the whole night, and...I left no time to talk about your week." His thumb moves to rub over your eyebags, growing just slightly, though you hadn't really had to the time to notice. "You were right. I don't pay attention to the world around me. My tired girl."
"No, I’d actually rather not talk about my shitty week. And last night doesn't count," you refute. "You're very attentive, you know that. And I'm not usually so cranky."
He hums as he lets both hands rest against your shoulders, rubbing softly. "Still cranky?" He nods as you relax your shoulders in his touch, turning you around to lead you to his couch, still massaging as he sits you down together. He places light, feathery kisses against your back, calloused hands squeezing. "Those kids, always overworking my woman. Sending her home exhausted, poor baby." His teases rumble against the nape of your neck and you're forced to roll your eyes playfully, swatting your hand at him. "You should just quit. Quit that stupid job. And I'll take care of you—you'd never have to work a day in your life with me."
You turn quickly, shoving at his chest with a grin on your face. "Stupid job? Seriously?" You push until he's lying on his back on the couch, watching as he pulls you by your forearms, up and over his lap to straddle him. Your hands sit firm against his chest, your eyes squinting over him. He's smiling at you, eyes dark and low, hands wrapped around your wrists for control. "You really think quitting is an option after yesterday?"
"No, I actually think we have to stay on these career paths for the rest of our lives," he smirks, eyes still searching yours. "To prove each other wrong."
You nod in bubbly agreement, watching him lick his lips beneath you, his fingers sliding away to tug at his tie again. You lean up against his lap, watching him slowly slip off the thin fabric, dropping it on the floor.
"Was getting uncomfortable," he gave an excuse, hands wrapping around your thighs.
"Your shirt too?"
Higuruma smiles as you start to unbutton his loose and wrinkly dress shirt, slipping it away from his chest to expose his milky soft skin. You kiss his collarbone gently, delicately, and you hear him shiver a little, his breath shaky as it leaves his parted lips. When you sit up again, you watch his muscles flex as your fingers patter against his torso, his hips twitching just slightly. You take your time in admiring him, despite knowing how self-conscious he gets under your careful, probing stare. Still, Higuruma is one of the most beautiful people you've ever been blessed to see, to touch. He doesn’t look so muscular from the outside, when you’re both having dinner or grabbing a quick breakfast, when you’d taken him home to meet family and friends. His clothes cover him very well, that sickening, gorgeous physique he selfishly hides. A part of you wishes people knew about how lovely he looked, but you suppose it is better that everything underneath his work attire is meant for you and your eyes only.
"Same outfit, huh?" you ask, recalling the frenzied account of his morning that he gave in your office. "You've done that before, haven't you? You've really gotta start taking care of yourself better, sir." You smile when he mumbles what sounds like a 'yes ma'am', though it's only a shaky whisper as you continue to tenderly rake your nails down his chest and abs, tracing the definition, the grooves. You love when he calls you ma’am, and you hope to every higher power that he can’t feel how wet you are through your layers. "I think we're both a little too accustomed to putting our needs and feelings aside for our work. At least...well, for me, I have a pretty long lunch period to cry during. You, on the other hand...all that pent-up anger and irritation. It's going to get to you one day."
He shakes his head, pressing your hips into his own, grip tight through the fabric of your pants as his own creates a bulge up under you. "Not if you're here to help me...release some of the tension."
"Oh, is that what I'm here for, Mr. Higuruma? Your human stress toy?"
He blinks up at you, and it's almost erotic the way it makes every particle in your body flutter. "Is that what you wanna be?"
Your breath hitches but you recover quickly, pretending to think. "What kind of perks does it come with?"
"For you, Miss L/N? Thousands—all sorts of insurance and benefits, deductibles.” His hands travel up to push your own dress shirt sleeves up your forearms, fingertips grazing the goosebumps against your skin. He takes a moment to revere the smoothness of your arms, the plushness of your thighs. “And I know a pretty good lawyer friend, in case you get screwed over."
"Ah, but I thought your friend only did criminal defense?"
"He makes exceptions, I think." Higuruma's thumb pulls at your bottom lip, tugging you down closer to him. "When the crimes are against someone so goddamn extraordinary."
"And this is where I come in?"
"Yes, honey, that’s where you come in."
"You think I'm extraordinary?"
He looks at you like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, like he’s told you a million times before, and he has, a million times and more. His fingers find their way to the back of your head, slipping into your hair, and he finally slots lips with yours, leaning up just slightly to deepen the kiss. He groans into your mouth, simply nodding at your question, not very interested in complete reassurance now that he can taste you—he hasn’t tasted you in a millennia, that’s what it feels like. “You’re a gem, sweetheart,” he mumbles into you, licking at your bottom lip for more, more, and more. “My little gem—my little English prodigy.” He smiles against your lips, kissing down your jaw and neck to tease and tamper. “You’re my smart girl, aren’t you? Aren’t you?”
You whisper out what might be a yes, hands against his chest as he kisses down your shirt, unbuttoning slowly and then slower.
“Don’t ever let me forget it, yeah? You have no idea…how horrible it was. Going into work without seeing your pretty face, my pretty woman’s face. I feel like we should make it up to each other, it’s only fair.” His fingers hook along the opening of your top, sliding it off of your shoulders in a glacial pace, a painful sort of motion for you both. But he’s loving the way you’re squirming above him, right down on his crotch that he’s trying so desperately not to push back up into you. “What do you want from me?” he asks sweetly, his pointer fingers tucking themselves into the waistband on your work pants, tugging you back and forth, and back and forth along his growing erection, watching your polite, civil face start to falter on top of him. He smiles at the simple scrunch of your brows, the almost-pout in your bottom lip as he all but glorifies you. “What do you want me to do to you, baby?”
You continue to grind yourself against him, feeling his own hips shift underneath you to meet you halfway. He nods at the motion of your answer, hands flush against your hips and fingers digging into fabric as he guides you with him at the same rhythm, still following your lead. You can see an erratic nature creep up in his facial expression, his knuckles going white with how he’s pulling at your waistband, never quite ripping the pants off, but holding on just in case he has to. His bulge rubs up against your clothes cunt, the soak seeping through your underwear—he’s eyeing the space between you so carefully, imagining what that damp spot looks like on your panties, what it would taste like on his tongue. He humps up into your pussy a little quicker now, watching as you bounce up and down, shirt slipping further off, and tits threatening to pour out of your bra. He unclips the garment, tosses it off to the floor somewhere to free those beauties, immediately leaning up to suck on one as his hand makes its way to the other. He moans around your hardened nipple, still looking up at your whiny face. He sucks relentlessly and licks in swirls around both mounds before leaning back, hands returning to your hips. He watches your tits carefully as you move, feeling the tightness of his pants become almost unbearable. His brows furrow at the sight of you, letting pleasure take over as he stares, admires, nearly folds under the pressure.
“Can’t- fuck- can’t cum like this. I would, definitely could but. Too soon, don’t wanna cum too soon,” he notes, watching you slow to a stop while he’s still jerking up into you.
You laugh at the state of him, pressing your hands against his hips to offer aid, and even then he’s involuntarily trying to press closer, chase his high. You’ve stopped, but he can’t, not while you’re looking at him like that. “I’m not edging you, Mr. Higuruma. Take me how you want me.” You feel his warm knuckles glide along the skin of your waist, still pulling lightly at the fabric. Either he’s teasing or resisting, and neither will do. “You know, unless you’d like to get back to your work, I know how much you value it.”
“Oh, so that’s how it is!” he laughs, and it startles you a little, lights a fire up through your now exposed spine. He lifts you up then, flings you right over his shoulder like a bag of hay, like you weigh absolutely nothing, hoisting you both down the hall to his bedroom. “You’re gonna be in so much trouble, Miss L/N, I can’t believe you.”
“What, defense attorneys do arrests now?”
He places you on the large bed, hovering over your body to cage you in while he nods. “You’re a delinquent,” he mumbles, lips dragging down your abdomen, careful to place soft, wet kisses along every inch of shivering skin. His hands find purchase on the back of your knees, lifting to fold you just slightly. He has this look about him, something not quite brooding, bordering on the line of lustful, and it's so intimate it almost scares you. It is adoration, it is ardor. “Hanging out with those teenagers too much. They’re corrupting you.”
You laugh, shoving at his head a little, breath faltering when you feel his chuckle against your pants that he’s practically ripping off. “Oh, yeah? What are your clients doing to you then?”
“Corrupting me.”
Higuruma hums as he lifts your legs with one hand, tugging your pants off with the other. He tosses them to the floor (the crime scene is scattered everywhere), immediately kneeling to reach for your lace panties that he’s been thinking about all night, all week, every day since he last saw you. “This is where you want me?” he smiles, finger grazing over the wet fabric, pushing it to side to slide one finger against the slick. “She’s all ready for me, too, so well-behaved. Been staring at papers all week, almost forgot how easy she is for me—“
“Fuck you,” you groan, encasing your bottom lip in your teeth as his finger runs dangerously close to your entrance.
“Oh, I want you to, truly. Thought it be nice to be a gentleman, though—ladies first, right? Lift your hips for me.” You oblige, propping yourself up on your forearms to see him clearly as he tugs the lace down and off your legs. He holds them up to his nose while he watches you squirm, takes a deep inhale that almost makes him rolls his eyes all the way to the back of his head. He hadn’t gotten to smell you like this is days, it might’ve been considered cruel and unusual punishment. His free hand parts the lips of your cunt so he can examine, and he moans, letting your panties hang in his mouth by his teeth. "Fuck, it's been too long. A week is way too fucking long to be missing this.”
You’re whining, "Hiro, please,” as he insists on teasing you, stuffing your panties into his mouth as his own personal gag, a little treat while he takes care of the real thing. Your hips press up into his hand and he laughs around the fabric on his tongue, sucks at the slick with a near pornographic groan.
His two fingers slide in easily, palming himself through his dress pants with his other hand at the mere sight. He nods with you as his thick fingers push forward, the gummy walls of your pussy tensely squeezing him around him. He shushes at the pretty noises you’re making, curling his finger further. Higuruma is absolutely filthy like this, not so poised as he usually is when he’s near cumming in his pants just from watching you moan into the open air of his room, the noise filling his ears like sweet infestation. But he simply can’t help himself.
Can’t help himself from talking dirty either. “Missed this pretty pussy,” he mumbles, ripping the fabric out of his mouth to breathe properly. He licks another long stripe on the panties in his hands, trying not to grope himself with it. "Had to- fuck, look at you- needed you so bad last week when you rescheduled. Had to handle it myself with the last pair you left me, can you believe it?" His knee spreads your legs that are threatening to close, nodding at the familiar clench of your pussy around his fingers, the growing squelch of wet surrounding the point of connection. His voice grows husky as he watches you arch your back. "Imagined you just like this, letting go for me. Can you believe it, love? How desperate I was, and now I get to see you like this?" He smiles as he picks up the pace of his pistoning fingers, watching your eyes glaze over as you practically convulse. "You're so good to me, making my dreams come true."
And suddenly, it's all you can think about. Higuruma, in the shower, jerking his long and throbbing boner in the shower with one of your lacey panties you always seemed to forget at his place. His head tilted back against the shower tile, picturing you and only you while his rough hands tug and tug. Finally falling off the edge when he pictures your sweet orgasm, when he can practically taste it in his mouth. And his thick white cum is shooting against the shower wall, your name falling from his lips in breathy whines, over and over like aching prayers.
Your moans are as lewd as ever as you release around his fingers, sitting up to watch with him, the way everything spills out around his calloused hands. He never once lets your mess drip onto the sheets, what a waste that would be. You slump back into the bed, hands over your face as you try to catch your breath. He's speaking to you, asking you something so gently, but you can barely hear him, much too buzzed and deluded to come up with coherent thoughts and sentences. His hands glides up the warm flesh of your stomach and you feel his freed dick gliding against your thigh, a slightly cold contrast to the way your body is burning all over. His leaking tip trails along your skin as he hovers over you, letting his erection slide through your folds once, twice.
"You still want me inside of you?" he asks, lips against your ribcage. "Or did your hard work tire you out before I could get to you?"
His mocking tone vibrates against your skin, but you're pushing yourself up in spite of it. He laughs lowly, just under his breath, at your delirious, cock-drunk state before sinking into you, moaning when he feels you clamp around him. He works slowly and carefully to bottom out, making use of the already slick and slippery state of your pussy before he's kissing your cervix with his tip. He folds one of your legs over to give himself more space, allow for a better angle, and then he's letting you suck him in, reeling his hips back and forth to hear the way you moan, hear the way you haul him back in.
He moves your hands from tired face, watching the furrow of your brows, nodding with a cooed "I knooow, love, I know" as he watches you, picks up his pace.
His dick pulsates inside of you as he kisses up your chest, sharing that same fucked out look that you had. “Remember when I said you’d always be my smart girl?" he begins, grip on your hips growing tighter just slightly. "I’m starting to think I like fucking you stupid.”
But his words are a little unfair, a little hypocritical when you think about it. Because Higuruma, perhaps the smartest and most driven man you know, is babbling like a lovesick imbecile every time he's this deep inside you. When he's not huffing with every drag of his thick cock, he's a muttering mess, voice against your neck and in your ear, saying things that would usually make you both blush. But he's drunk off the way you're garnering him in, how messy it is, and whatever comes out of his mouth is essentially your fault, he thoughtfully concludes. It's all your doing, the reason he acts this way, and looks this way, and fucks you just right this way. Maybe if you weren't so perfect for him, neither of you would be in this predicament. You can feel the pressure all throughout your body like military explosives, leaning into the wet and sloppy kisses he leaves, just where your neck and shoulder join. His fingers digs into your sides and hips, and he gasps in between smooches and moans, losing himself in the way he's whispering to you like a frenzied idiot.
'You take me so well, my good girl.'
'Let me fill you up, just this once.'
'That's why you were so mean on Sunday, huh baby? Saying all that stuff about- oh fuck yeah baby, i've got you. Saying that stuff about my job. You just wanted me to fuck you like this, wanted my attention.'
'You're gonna take every last drop of me, aren't you?'
'Can't get enough of you—I've never loved anyone like I love you, I swear.'
The last one catches you off guard just slightly, not the content of his praise, but the way his own breath hitches when he admits it like all the times he's told you before simply weren't enough. You wrap your legs around him to keep your brain steady, but his pace is already faltering, and you're growing closer to your own orgasm again, quicker than the last time. And louder too. The slap of wet skin echoes throughout the room like music to your ears, and you're begging him to cum inside you before you can even really think about it. Your arms wrap around his neck to pull him closer, and you press your lips against his cheek when you ask, voice soft and smooth like honey in his ears. His voice is strangled as he nods against the crook of your neck, kissing the skin quickly and fervently as his thrusts turn sloppy, veins still dragging against your walls and tip still pressing up against that sweet spot of your cervix as he moans into you, holds onto you for balance.
He chases his own high, gasping for air when he finally spills into you. The feeling alone has you following close behind, your nails clawing into his shoulder as you continue to milk him dry for everything he has. His hips keep a slow routine, stuffing the hot ropes of cum further into you, really letting it stick. He huffs above you, holding himself up by his forearms as he kisses around your face, moaning into the kiss on your lips like the soft feeling might make him cum all over again. His lazily peppered kisses slow to a halt and he leans his forehead against yours, eye searching your own.
"Wanna marry you...Miss L/N," he whispers suddenly, kissing you before you can even looked shocked. "You know I do. You know how much I love you, how much I mean it." He watches you nod slowly beneath him, trying to keep your eyes from widening so much. "Gonna marry you. Would quit my job to marry you—"
"Hiro—"
"If it got in the way of us even once...I'd find a way to make it work."
You shake your head and he almost freezes at the sight. "Our work means way too much to us, Hiromi. So there'll be no quitting." You thumbs glide against his cheeks gently and he leans into your touch. "Because we're not quitters. We're problem solvers, yeah? So...we'll just have to be ready to solve some problems. Come what may."
Higuruma smiles, sitting up and dragging you with him, right into his lap. He stares at you carefully, holding you close to him, chest to chest. "And you'd wanna do that? Work, and...problem solve?" No one had ever been willing to do that for him, with him. Not until you.
You nod like it's the most obvious thing in the world, the most sure idea you've had since you decided your calling was to teach. "I'm your smart girl, remember?" you tease, kissing his temple as he relaxes. "We're always gonna figure it out."
And this is enough to reassure him. He absentmindedly takes your hands in his town, thumb rolling over your left hand's ring finger.
He'd been uses to losing cases, it came with the trade. But losing you was not an option, not in the slightest.
Because he means it when he says he wants you in his life forever.
He laughs to himself, rolling his eyes playfully. “I was so sad we didn’t watch Real Housewives last night…”
You scoff at the confession. Your little Sunday night routine that he claimed to hate (too dramatic, those women). And here he was, missing it. Missing you.
“Hiro…you are so fucking weird.”
guess who's back! and feeling much better than i did last week.
i am a higuruma truther, he fills my nanami-filled heart, i can't even lie. so, hope you guys enjoy this and my future jjk stuff that's coming up (#can't stop thinking about season 3). let me know what else you guys would like to read and PLEASE give recs for jjk stuff bc i'm in a bit of a drought.
synopsis: throughout your childhood and high school years, you were obsessed with romcoms—and love itself. you truly believed that one day, you'd experience a love story just like the ones in movies. to put it simply, you were the biggest hopeless romantic in your family. over the years, you developed countless intense crushes, each one dramatic enough for you to make handwritten love letters(crazy..) for each. eventually, those letters—and the people they were written for became forgotten memories. until years later, strange encounters begin happening around you. one by one, people from your past start reappearing(?) and you discover the horrifying truth..your mother secretly mailed every single love letter to the people they were meant for. and now, your past crushes know everything.
tags: sfw . fluff . fake dating . jujutsu kaisen . multi-char . fem!reader . childhood crushes . comedic (kinda) . growing up . different place/scene for each char . etc
♡ Pairing: Divorced!Mom!Reader x Divorce Lawyer Higuruma! ♡
Modern AU! .✦ ݁˖
(Technically this is the first part, second part here)
Sypnosis: You had been married to Nanami Kento for the last seven years of your life. even giving him a beautiful baby girl named Himari. When Himari was just four, you and Kento divorced. Himori Huguruma was your husband’s extremely handsome lawyer, who made you weak in the knees. (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ
Content Warning: Nanami Kento is your ex/ Higuruma is your hook up buddy/revenge sex(sort of)/smut/grinding/dry humping/humiliation/praising/no condom/riding/sex no real relationship/tired lawyer fuck buddy/fuck buddy/blowjob/oral/18+
A/N: i’m half asleep, here, u guys r fed ˃ 𖥦 ˂
You told yourself it was ridiculous.
That it meant nothing.
You hated him, or at least tried to convince yourself you did. Him, the polished man in a suit who sat behind a desk way too big for it’s own good, he knew your marriage better than you did at it’s worst.
Out of everyone, it had to be Hiromi Higuruma. Kento’s old friend, guest at your wedding, now his lawyer. You told yourself you only noticed him because of the divorce, because you had to see him so often.
You hated him, hated that it was the man who helped end your marriage who was now making your heart stutter when he said your name.
But a couple meetings it, it wasn’t hate anymore.
The truth was he made you weak in the knees in the quietest way possible. No flirting, just steady looks. He saw right through you, he knew what was between you and Nanami, inside and out. It scared you how handsome he was, even with his heavy eye bags, coffee breath and messy hair.
At first it was nothing but emails, his name attached to papers you needed to read over or sign. Hiromi Higuruma was efficient, distant and professional.
Then, slowly the emails turned more personal, they stopped being legal.
A small reminder about a document you should casually look over again, a brief email about something Kento forgot to pass along to you.
Everything he sent you wasn’t completely necessary anymore, but it was always something reasonable. You didn’t need to respond to him unless you had a question.
Then, you bumped into him outside of the courthouse. You both stopped, stared at each other and nodded, acknowledging one another to be polite.
“How are you holding up?”
He asked as if he wasn’t a lawyer anymore, or Kento’s friend.
You found yourself telling him things you weren’t supposed to. How wierd it felt to be signing a lease for an apartment at 27, how quiet it felt to sleep in separate rooms and how scared you were when you had to pack up from the house you had been sleeping the last seven years in.
Hiromi Higuruma just listened. He didn’t offer comfort or a shoulder to cry on. He simply kept his hand in his coat and listened, didn’t judge or nod along, nothing.
“Sorry, i just..”
You shook your head, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment.
Higuruma just shrugged, “did you get my email?” He asked, flicking down to peek at his watch.
“Ah yes,” you nodded, an awkward chuckle escaping your lips at the sudden change of conversation. “I actually had some questions about the last document we-“
“Come, i’m on my break. Let’s talk over coffee.”
Thats how it started.
Small meet-ups.
Coffee runs together because you two just kept “bumping” into one another.
“You know,” he says, his tired eyes flicking up from his coffee cup,
“you’re paying someone else to answer these questions.”
“I know,” you reply. He was right, he wasn’t even your lawyer. He was your ex-husband’s for fuck sake.
“Yet you keep coming to me.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, his tone teasing, just slightly.
That’s how you ended up at his apartment. It became a routine. Every Friday afternoon Kento picked up Himari from school, leaving you alone for the weekend. Well, not so alone anymore.
Your apartment was just so lonely, quiet even.
૮꒰ྀི⸝⸝> . <⸝⸝꒱ྀིა
You’re barefoot. Wrapped in a nightgown you hadn’t meant to wear out of the bedroom you once shared with Nanami. But here it was, silk thin fabric touring another mans home.
The whine glasses were half-empty, the whiskey was being poured longer than it should be and the Chinese left overs were getting cold in the middle of the small dining room table.
The stench of cigarettes burned the apartment, after all one was burning between Hiromi Higuruma’s fingers, curling lazily upwards the ceiling. He exhaled, as if its the first breath he has taken in weeks.
“You don’t have to stay,” He doesn’t even look at you.
You’re a month into staying. A month in into whatever… this is..
It’s Saturday night, your daughter Himari is with your ex husband Kento tonight.
“I know,” you say softly, slipping into the chair in front of him. “You always say that.”
He finally looks up at you, pausing for a moment as he blows the smoke.
“This is your third glass,” He looks back down at his phone after gazing at your exposed shoulders.”Been drinking much..”
“So have you,”
Hiromi hums, “you’re deflecting.”
You shrug, the glass hovering right under your lips. “You’re judging.”
“Kinda what comes with the job,” he replied calmly, but you had hear the annoyance in his voice.
The smoke thickens between you two as he continues to smoke. Your knee brushes under his, an accident, but you don’t apologize, nor do you pull away. He doesn’t either.
“Does being like that also come with the job”
You finally break the silence. He looks up, placing his phone down onto the table.
“Like what,”
You shrug. “Like that,”
Hiromi raises an eyebrow, intrigued by your comment.
“Tired… deprived of life…bored.. annoyed at anything.”
Higuruma stays silent. He lets his cigarette burn out, crushing it slowly and deliberately. Almost as if that was his answer right there, and it was.
“Burns you right out,”
The space between you two becomes smaller and tighter. You didn’t know what it was, the small seed of hatred you held against him for being your ex-husbands divorce lawyer or the sexual tension you felt towards him for being so sexy while looking so sleep deprived.
You sip on your wine glass, then slowly bring it down, lazily swirling the glass.
“I don’t think i want you to see Himari again.”
The words land silently, slowly like a blow in between the two of you. It’s true, you had made the mistake of allowing him near your daughter. What a fool you had been.
You set your glass down, and he does the same with his whiskey, a small clink filling the room.
“That’s fine,” He replies.
Higuruma didn’t argue, he just allowed your words to settle in the room.
“That’s it?”
“You’re the mother, you call the shots” Higuruma’s tone is flat, not intrested.
The fact that he doesn’t mind what you pick, or that he doesn’t rush or urge things should’ve comforted you. Somehow it didn’t. You shifted in the chair, adjusting the straps of your nightgown.
“I shouldn’t have introduced her to you in the first place,”
He nodded. “Probably not.”
You run your finger tip onto the edge of the glass lazily, tracing the circle. “She’s already confused… i don’t want to make it worse for her..”
Higuruma stayed silent. He stared at you long and hard, his eyes twitching up and down as he analyzed you, letting the silence stretch between the two of you.
“Do you still love him?” he asks, “because from what i understood, you two fell out of love and got divorced.”
Your eyes shot up, staring up at him. You shrugged, letting out an awkward chuckle as you stumbled for an answer.
“Well i,” you started, then closed your lips shut. “Actually.. why does that matter? You said you didn’t want a relationship Hiromi.”
Higuruma ran a hand through his messy hair, sighing as he leanes into the table, staring right into your eyes. “I did say that,” he says. “And I don’t.”
The words in your throat get stuck, and his jaw tightened as he saw your reaction. He reached for his pack of cigarettes, but theres a hint of anger in his movements. They’re sharp, fast now even, filled with something he hadn’t planned on feeling
“You should figure that out,” he says, tone unchanged. “Because this..” he gestures vaguely between you with his finger “This… was supposed to be simple.”
“It is simple,” you insist, watching him pick up his lighter as he places the cigarette between his lips. “You said this was just….”
“A hookup,” he finishes your sentence, nodding with the cigarette in his mouth. “Yes.”
Higuruma lights the cigarette and immediately inhale, taking in all the smoke and blowing it out his mouth.
“You say that yet,” he pauses, his tired eyes meeting yours. “You’re sitting here with me, talking abour your ex and..”
The words aren’t cruel or filled with jealousy... that just makes them worse. Higuruma shrugs, “i don’t know, you just.. you shouldn’t have let me meet your daughter.”
You stare at him, watch him smoke, watch him take a drag and let the smoke curl in the kitchen table. He just looks so… displeased.. not jealous or angry. Just displeased and.. maybe annoyed?
“And that,” he adds, calmly, “is where things stop being simple.”
You stay silent for a long moment, watching him take another drag, look up and let the smoke escape his lips. He doesn’t talk, doesn’t say anything anymore. He already said everything that needed to be said.
Your eyes drift down to his exposed shirt, button up shirt open up messily, tie hanging loose… a stain of whiskey on his white shirt.
“What i feel about Nanami is none of your business.”
Higuruma hums again, unimpressed.
“Kinda is.. you know," There was a pause in his words. "I went to the wedding, I'm his friend.. his lawyer"
He shrugs. He’s always challenging you, always bringing in his profession into his personal life. That’s how he lived, and you picked up on it soon. Always a rebuttal or a rhetorical question.
You stare at him.
Higuruma sighs, letting his shoulders go loose, "Come here,"
You stay still.
“Come here, don’t wanna argue tonight..” Higuruma blows the smoke, then shoves the cigarette down onto the ash tray, turning it off.
“Don’t wanna think about how complicated this is… my mind runs around, tryna find a solution where no one gets hurt..”
He pauses, patting his lap. “But there isn’t one,”
You stand up, giving in as you see him man spread, the tent in his pants screaming your name.
“Let’s just.. help each other,” Higuruma mumbled with a shaky voice as you stepped closer, standing right between his legs. His hand immediately landed on your thigh, rubbing it softly upwards, his fingers teasing your night gown.
“I’m stressed from work, and you.. you need a man to satisfy you after seven years of straight up disappointment…”
You shook your head, opening your mouth. That wasn’t true, Nanami wasn’t bad in bed. He was just bad at picking you over his job.
“Knees,”
Higuruma cut you off and demanded, ordering you around like a dog.
You hesitated, but obeyed as you saw him grip his belt.
Fuck.
You got down on your knees, right in between his legs, his buldge inches from your face. He looked down at you, letting out a chilling breath as he spread his legs wider.
“You’re gorgeous,”
You tilted your head, leaning in to nudge his knee like a dog once again. Your eyes big, wide as you stared up at him
Only if Nanami had time to do things like these with you.
Higuruma ran his hands through your hair, grabbing a fistfull of it before tugging slightly, urging you to lean closer. You obeyed, allowed him to slowly burry his budlge into your face.
“Mhm,” Higuruma groaned, your nose right under his zipper. “You still love him.. i know you do.”
Higuruma’s words were raspy, talking about your ex as he slowly shifted his hips upward, jolting as he grinded his bulge into your face.
“You got that look about you,” A trembling breath escaped his lips, urging his throbbing clothed erection into your face.
“Yeah.. you do..”
You let out a muffled whimper as he held your face in place, his legs harden, flexing as he grinned himself onto your lips and nose.
“Couples always come to me.. always hire me to separate them.. but every once in a while a couple like you and him come..”
He yanked your face back, leaning down, staring right into your eyes. He held your head up with one hand, using the other to desperately tug his belt off.
“A couple who still looks at one another with love,”
He snapped his belt off, tossing it to the side before pulling his zipper down quickly, his hands becoming more frantic.
“You’ll get back together with him, i know you will..”
He slowly pulled out his throbbibg cock, his erection springing free right in front of your face.
“Just,” Higuruma let out a shaky breath, “Just let me enjoy you before you go back..”
With out replying you simply went up, then down, sliding your drooling mouth onto his length.
Higuruma was right. You still loved Nanami and he still loved you. Sure, you liked Higuruma, he was smoking hot and almost as good as Nanami in bed.. maybe just as good as he was.. but it wasn’t him.
Either way, Higuruma just needed someone to suck him off after a long day at the firm.
“Fuuuck..” Higuruma jolted his hips upward, immediately sliding his throbbing cock all the way down to your throat with out asking for permission or warming you up.
You hallowed your cheeks in, making sure his cock was nice and surrounded by your mouth.
“Good girl…”
The red mushroom tip hit the back if your throat, making your eyes roll back as you gagged slightly.
“Just like that..”
He pushed your head further down, your hands on his knees as his hips twitched foward, his tip fucking the back of your throat.
You let out muffled moans againts his lengthy cock, memorizing every vein in it as saliva ran down your chin, making a mess onto your chest.
Higuruma yanked your head back, grabbing his cock with one hand and stroking it as he stared down at you.
“Open.”
He demanded, and you obeyed.
You popped your lips open with a pop! sound, sticking out your tongue as you watched him stroke his dick at the sight of you.
“Gorgeous..”
He moaned before slapping the red tip onto your tongue. He slapped it again, and again, sliding it onto the wet surface of your tongue as he stroked the end.
“Get up..”
His voice was broken, shaking with excitement. “Get up, come, ride me..”
You obeyed, wiping the saliva off your chin with your wrist.
You stood up, your panties already soaking wet, no need for a preparation or any sort of lube. Higuruma kept his hand on his cock, rubbing his thumb over the now leaking tip, smearing the pre-cum onto his tip.
You slide your moist panties off, letting then run down your leg and kicking then off vefore straddling him.
“Good girl..”
He mumbled, holding you up so he could line up his cock with your entrance.
Slowly, he pressed the leaking tip againts your fluttering hole, letting his juices mix with the moisture of your needy cunt.
“Hiromi..”
You moaned out, placing a hand on his shoulder as he guided you to slip down onto his cock.
Once it was inside, you burried your head onto the crook of Higuruma’s neck, letting out needy and desperate moans.
You and Nanami had stop having sex months before the divorce. You had grown tighter in desperation.
“Fuck….”
Higuruma moaned as his hips jolted up on their own, the gummy flesh inside your pussy hugging him tightly, wanting to milk him dry.
“Ride me gorgeous, ride me..”
He placed his hands on your hips, leaning back into the chair lazily
You obeyed, swinging your hips back and forth as you rode his cock, your clit grinding onto his pubic hairs, unshaved and manly. You threw your head back, gasping as the tip hit that sweet sweet spot you so badly wanted to be touched.
“Gorgeous.. just.. such a gorgeous girl..”
Higuruma’s hands guided you up and down as you began to bounce in his cock, allowing his tip to abuse your cervix, kissing it cutely with his leaking tip.
“Mphm!”
You maoned, drool slipped down to your chin as your hands trembled.
“Hiromii…”
He focused on fucking your needy cunt, filling you up with what you so badly needed.
“Yes baby?”
His right hand slid up your stomach to your breast, groping your tit through your your thin night gown, fidgeting with your nipple because of course, you didn’t have a bra on.
You moaned, pleasure running down to your spine as he pinched your nipple, wet skin slapping noises filling the room as your ass slapped againts his thighs.
“Don’t think about him..”
Higurumas words were hardly above a whisper as he thrusted his hips upward so his cock could keep demolishing your cunt.
He wasn’t asking either way, he was reminding you.
“If you think about him, i’ll see it in your eyes,” he stuttered, struggling to keep that calm demeanor he always has.
“And.. then.. i’ll feel like a piece of shit,” He moaned as your cunt squished cock.
“For fucking.. my clients… my friends.. ex wife..”
He let out a loud moan, his toes curling as he hit your sweet spot once again.
You moaned, your face flushed red as you neared your climax, swaying your hips as you chased that high.
“Fuck Hiromi!”
You screamed, arching your back, digging your nails into his shoulder as your clit grinded one last time onto his skin.
As you squirted on him, the hairs on your body stood up, making you fill the room with your moans.
As soon as you released yourself, so did Hiromi. His warm shot of cum spilled inside the deepest part of your body, filling you up completely as he panted and sweated.
꒰ summary ꒱ when a misunderstanding leaves your family convinced you’re bringing a plus one to your cousin’s wedding in Japan, the last person you expect to volunteer for the role is your infuriatingly observant intern, Satoru. it’s supposed to be temporary. professional. strictly off the record. but with your mother already sold on the idea of your mystery boyfriend, and Satoru proving far too good at the role, pretending starts to feel a little too dangerous. also, why is your “intern” secretly the heir to gojo corporation?!
꒰ tags/warnings ꒱ fake dating ⚹︎ undercover ceo! satoru ⚹︎ accountant! reader ⚹︎ satoru is 29, reader is 26 ⚹︎ lots of family pressure. reader has a complicated relationship with her mom ⚹︎ forced proximity ⚹︎ one bed trope ⚹︎ slow burn ⚹︎ mutual pining ⚹︎ wedding chaos ⚹︎ angst and fluff ⚹︎ some suggestive content but no explicit smut ⚹︎
꒰ authors note ꒱ hi cuties! this is a commission piece, and it is about 12k total. this first part is just shy of 6k and the second part will be out next week. i hope you enjoy 🫶🏻 (art by @/hanamin_0123 on x)
"Oi. Boss lady."
“No.”
One problem at a time, and the spreadsheet in front of you wins by default. Because Column F is wrong. It’s been wrong for forty fucking minutes, and if it stays wrong for forty seconds longer, you may actually die here at your desk — hunched over, half-blind, and found by Shoko on a Monday morning with your face pressed into a pivot table like a cautionary tale.
"But… you don't even know what I was gonna—"
"—the answer is no, Satoru."
Unlike the human embodiment of a headache currently lingering on the other side of your desk, the spreadsheet in front of you is at least pretending to be important.
The chair beneath him creaks, and then comes the silence you know too well. It’s the one that comes right before he decides to be a problem on purpose. Attention is gasoline and Satoru is, structurally, a fire hazard. Still, your eyes flick up, and—
"No fair…” he huffs, that ridiculous pout tugging at his lips. “You didn't even let me finish the question."
Your eyes roll back down.
“Mhm.”
"And it was such a good question.”
You turn a page. "Really?”
“Yup.” He’s draped over the corner of your desk now, like gravity has wronged him, whining. “It was such a thoughtful… personal… deeply relevant… extremely genius level getting-to-know-you tier question that—”
You scowl. "—Satoru, enough. Just do your job."
It lands harder than expected. The sigh he lets out is deeply, theatrically offended. And when you glance up again, he’s sprawled over that same corner of your desk you made the mistake of clearing for him on day one because you’d thought, foolishly, that giving him a designated surface might contain him.
It had not.
Nothing about Satoru had ever suggested he could be contained.
Snowy white hair falls against his brow, sleeves rolled to his elbows; looking far too expensive and far too comfortable for someone whose official title is intern. His coffee is sweating beside your open planner — the one with a date next week circled in red: WEDDING, scrawled across the margin in your own handwriting. The condensation trails towards a stack of vendor invoices and—
…
Wait.
Are those the same vendor invoices you asked him to file yesterday?
Fucking great.
“Oh, c’monnn,” he grumbles, blinking at you over the rim of those absurdly expensive sunglasses he insists on wearing indoors. “One question. Just a tiiiiny one. It’s completely harmless. Humor me, yeah?”
You narrow your eyes.
“Satoru, you’ve been trying to ask one question for the last four months.”
“Yeah,” he says. “And you’ve been dodging it for four months. Imagine that.”
Technically… four months and four days. But who’s counting?
With an exhausted groan, your eyes fall shut, pinching the bridge of your nose. Noise drifts in from the hall — the elevator, the printer, a phone trilling somewhere nearby. But when you look up again, it all seems to fall away.
He’s gone strangely still. The smug grin hasn’t disappeared, but it’s softened at the edges, hooked at one corner with his head tilted slightly. And those eyes…
Oh.
That’s — no. You’ve seen his eyes before. Obviously. Four months of them. But right now, with the morning light doing something cruel and unhelpful behind him, they catch in a way that makes you forget you were mid-thought. The kind of blue that doesn’t ask if you’re looking. It already knows.
Which means of course, you look away first. “Fine.” Your hand drops as you mutter. “One question. But if it’s stupid, I’m sending you back to HR.”
It’s not much of a threat. It’s his last day, after all, and for reasons you still don’t fully understand, Satoru has always seemed oddly immune to consequences — which, frankly, feels statistically improbable given the amount of shit he’s managed to pull in the few months of being here.
“One question?” his grin sharpens. You point your pen at him. “Don’t make me regret this.” Yet his pleased chuckle is already making you. “Awhh… look at you. Finally yielding.” His pen twirls between his fingers, nodding with false solemnity. “Okay. So, here’s the thing… throughout these four months working beside you, I’ve seen a lot—"
“—that’s not a question.” You deadpan.
But ignoring you, he reclines back in the chair, hands clasped behind his head.
“Liiiike… I’ve seen the exact face you make when Mei-Mei emails you,” he smirks. “Even noticed you work through lunch more than you should. And I’ve noticed that little line right here—” he gestures vaguely between his own brows “—every time the budget goes sideways.”
Lips parting, you blink.
…why is he so observant?!
For someone who acts like he doesn’t give a shit, he’s strangely attentive.
You clear your throat, huffing. “Okay… what’s your point?” Your hands straighten a stack of papers that doesn’t need straightening. “Is there a question in here somewhere, or are you just reciting my habits back to me for fun?”
His grin is far too pleased. “Relax. I’m getting there.” And leaning forward, his voice drops, like he’s unraveling a conspiracy. “I just find it interesting how you answer work calls before the second ring. Every damn day. Doesn’t matter who it is.” His head tilts with a smug grin. “But for whatever reason, for the past month, your personal phone’s been ringing off the hook, and you never pick up. Not once.”
Heat creeps up your neck. Not because he’s wrong — but because he’s right. And he said it like it was nothing. Like noticing the pattern of your avoidance was just something that happened to him between stamps.
Oh.
Way too observant.
Shit. He couldn't have settled on what's your favorite color!? Or, what superpower would you have!? No. Of course he had to go for the fucking jugular.
His eyes drop to the planner lying open beneath the invoices. The circled date: WEDDING. And his grin sharpens. “Ohoho… I get it now,” he whistles, leaning back in his chair and kicking one leg over the other. “What’d your fiancé do to screw up this bad? Is the wedding off?”
Your head jerks up. “F-Fiancé?!” And he rolls his eyes with a scoff, still grinning. “Knew it. God, he must be really in the doghouse. Or maybe he’s just clingy as hell to be calling that much.”
You blink.
Okay. Nevermind. He’s wrong. That is not even remotely what’s happening. The most committed relationship you’ve had is the one with your coffee machine. And yet… part of it feels almost cosmically cruel.
Because somehow, this is the second time in a month that someone had looked at the scattered pieces of your life and decided a man must be hiding inside them. Except the first time, you never even got the chance to correct it.
After all… how do you tell your mother she’s wrong?
Last month, you still answered her phone calls.
Not because you expected anything different. But because somewhere between the second ring and the third, there’s this gap — this stupid, paper-thin gap — where you still believe she might ask how you’re doing and actually wait for the answer.
Some habits taste like smoke. Some burn like liquor. But yours, unfortunately, had always looked a lot like hope.
Hope is a terrible habit you’ve never been able to kick.
“Oh—uh, hi mom!”
Your phone was wedged between your ear and shoulder while you stepped out of your car, juggling your purse and what was left of your sanity. You were already behind schedule, and your mother was calling — which meant the day had already made its intentions very clear.
“What’s up?” the door slammed shut with your hip. “I’m actually about to—”
“—Trish sent the venue photos,” she blurted, launching into a conversation like always.
Blinking, you shook the bitterness away. Striding toward the towering glass of Gojo Corporation. “That’s—yeah, that’s great,” you muttered, badge in hand as you pushed through the front doors. “But I’m actually heading into work right now? So—”
“—It’s such a beautiful venue,” she ignored you. “Very traditional, very grand. But you know the Zenin family—they never do anything small.” And as she sighed in awe, you resisted the urge to roll your eyes.
The rational part of your brain told you to let this go to voicemail. But the rational part of your brain has never once won this fight. Because…
Hope is a terrible habit you’ve never been able to kick.
"Mom, I'm sure it's lovely, really… but I'm kind of—um, excuse me…" you pivoted around a man in the bustling lobby with a sigh. “Sorry. I’m literally walking into the building right now? But maybe we can revisit this later and—"
"—have you booked your flight yet?"
Your mouth flattened.
Clearly, your half of this conversation is optional.
“No… not yet,” you mumbled, as patiently as you could manage, jabbing the up button harder than necessary. “It’s been a crazy ass week so I haven’t had a chance to, but—”
“—every week is a crazy week for you.” The huff she let out sounded almost offended by the inconvenience of your life. “Why can’t you just book it now while we’re talking? I mean, it literally takes five minutes.”
A miracle, really, that your blood pressure isn’t a medical emergency.
Every week is a crazy week?
Yeah. No shit.
Two managers resigned last quarter. Another got escorted out by security. And their work didn’t disappear. No. It landed on your desk. Because that’s how it goes. That’s how it’s always gone. Group projects. Internships. End-of-quarter disasters no one else wanted to touch. If something needed fixing, it found its way to you.
You’re the one people relied on.
Just… never the one people chose.
“Mother. I’m at work,” you said, stepping into the elevator as the doors slid open, dropping your voice as you stabbed at floor fifteen. “Look—I’m about to walk into an eight a.m. meeting. But I’ll book it tonight, promise.”
“…eight a.m.?” she repeated slowly, before letting out a small, unbothered laugh. “Oh! Right. It’s eight p.m. here. Silly me. I keep forgetting.”
…
Keep forgetting?
She keeps forgetting that she’s ten thousand miles away? Forgetting that twenty years ago she abandoned you in another country to live abroad in Japan—handing you to your grandparents like a detail she'd get back to later?
How convenient that she forgot that.
The elevator slid shut, and you watched the numbers tick upward. “Um. Yeah…” you managed, trying to keep the hurt out of your voice. “Anyways. I’ll book it tonight. After work. Okay?”
"Okay, okay. Sure. Sounds good. But are you bringing anyone?”
Squeezing the strap of your bag, you swallowed the lump in your throat. This again? The last thing you needed was to walk into your shitty eight a.m. meeting looking emotional.
No thanks.
“I… uh…” you cleared your throat. “I um—actually—haven’t decided yet. But anyways, I gotta go, so—”
“Waitwatiwait. Haven’t decided? Does that mean… you actually found someone?!”
Her voice pitched up so fast it almost startled you, and your mouth dropped so low it could’ve hit floor one.
Shit.
“I-I—I didn’t say—"
“—oh, thank God. This is incredible!!” she squealed. “We’ve been so worried. I mean—Trish is younger than you and she figured it out,” her tongue clicked. “People have been asking questions, you know. Your aunt Sara keeps bringing it up every time I see her and—”
“—Mom, I—"
“—It’s about time,” The laugh she let out was relieved, like a problem in her life had finally begun resolving itself. “You can’t keep putting love on hold forever, because men aren’t going to wait around forever. You’re already twenty-six—not getting any younger, dear.”
Love?!
Who has time for that?
And why the fuck is twenty-six the age a woman expires?!
“What’s his name?” she pressed, practically beaming through the phone. “What does he do? Is he from there, or—oh, is he Japanese? Your father would love that, he always said—”
And she was off.
Spinning an entire man out of thin air. An entire future, really. Building him in real time from a tiny slip up you had because you were too tired and cornered and desperate enough to answer the phone in the first place. And you stood there, letting her. Because interrupting her has never once worked in the history of your life.
“—actually, never mind,” she chirped a moment later, as if she was being considerate now. “You have work. I’ll call tomorrow and you can tell me everything, yes? Okay, bye-bye honey—”
Click!
And just like that, the elevator went quiet. You were left staring at your reflection in the metal doors, phone pressed to your ear, listening to the silence where your mother’s voice had been.
‘We’ve been so worried.’
…
If they were so worried… why had you spent most of your life learning to take care of yourself? And yet, the second there might be a man, suddenly you’re worth getting excited about?
Funny how that works.
Scoffing, you lowered the phone, shoving it into your bag just as the elevator chimed open. Itadori Yuji’s head snapped up behind the reception desk.
“Morning, boss,” he waved, radiating sunshine as you walked towards the conference room. “Kento’s asking if you’re still good for the budget review at eight… or if I should just tell him to panic.”
Your smile softened, burying the sting. “Yes… I’ll be right there.” And as you stepped through the polished glass doors, you played the role you’d always played.
The reliable one. Twenty-six years old, with two master’s degrees, a career at one of the most competitive corporations in the world, and a team of seven that would quietly fall apart without you.
But…
None of that glitters quite like a diamond ring, does it?
“Oi,” Satoru frowns. “You’re makin’ that face again.”
“Huh?”
Blinking out of your spiral, your eyes trace back to the man across from you. His chin is resting in his palm, those impossibly blue eyes fixed on you with a quiet stillness that makes something in your chest trip over itself — like a lock turning in a door you didn’t know was closed.
“Oh.” You clear your throat, forcing the pen back into motion. “…what face?”
“The one you make when something’s wrong,” he says quietly, gaze unmoving. “When you’re upset and trying to act like you’re not.”
For a second — one terrible, unguarded second — you don’t have a single thing to hide behind. It’s just him, looking at you like your well-being is something he’s been keeping track of in a column you didn’t even know existed.
But then the sarcasm kicks in, right on time. "Wow," you say, forcing your hands back to the papers in front of you. "So… now you read faces?"
“Mm... nah. Just yours, sweetheart.”
And that grin — god, that fucking grin — hooks at one corner like he knows exactly what just detonated inside your chest. You don’t acknowledge it. Acknowledging things have consequences, and consequences with this man are not something you can afford.
"…that’s highly inappropriate," you mutter, shoving it down. "Let’s maybe redirect some of that insight toward the invoices, yeah?"
“Sorry, sorry.” He leans back, hands up like he’s the picture of innocence. “Wouldn’t wanna start shit with your dear future husband.” His grin goes sharp as he twirls his sunglasses between two fingers. “Though, wow. Tough look for him. Whatever he did, he clearly fucked up bad.”
Why does he sound… bitter?
No. You must be imagining it. This is Satoru. Satoru, who treats everything like a joke until proven otherwise. Satoru, who doesn’t care enough about anything to sound bitter over a man who may or may not exist.
You scoff. "You’re making some wildly stupid assumptions right now…"
He perks up at that. "Oh?" With his grin hooking higher, almost hopeful. "Wait. So, there’s no fiancé, then?"
Your lips purse.
What does he care? He’s not your mother.
“I wish you’d be this interested in your actual job,” you sigh, arms crossing. “Those invoices have been sitting there all week.”
“Uh-huh.” He tips his head. “And yet somehow, I noticed you still didn’t answer me.”
You frown.
What the fuck are you supposed to say!?
Oh. Um. Actually, Satoru, there is no fiancé. That’s the problem, actually! My mother invented him the other morning and I haven't worked up the nerve to call her back.
Yeah. No. You'd rather die at this desk.
“Maybe because it’s none of your business.”
“But I—”
“Drop it.”
He stares at you for a beat, then he flops back in the chair with a dramatic huff, long legs kicking out in front of him, mouth dragging into a sulky pout.
“Well, damn,” he grumbles, pushing his sunglasses up into his hair, rolling his eyes. “No wonder you’re single if this is how you shut people down…”
The second the words leave his mouth, he blinks. His gaze flicks up to yours like he hears it too late — like he realizes, all at once, how shitty that sounded.And it only feels worse the moment he sees your face.
God.
Of all the places to hit.
“Oho… wow. Okay. This?” you say with a thin, self-deprecating laugh, chair scraping as you shove back from your seat. “Yeah. This is exactly why I shouldn’t have let you ask, Satoru.” You reach for your planner, your purse, anything to do with your hands besides let them shake.
He straightens, watching you scramble. “Whoa. Wait. I—"
“—because you don’t know when to stop!” The words come out louder than you mean, blinking at the sting behind your eyes. “You just keep pushing and pushing and pushing until you get what you want. Well good. I hope you’re happy.”
Before you can turn away, he’s on his feet. “Wait—” And the moment his hand catches yours, you freeze, breath snagging.
His voice is quieter now. His grip is firm yet gentle, and the air between you shifts, while something warm and uneasy twists low in your chest. The kind of feeling that makes you want to lean in and run in the same breath.
Though your eyes stay down. “Satoru… let go.”
“I didn’t…” he starts, then stops, gaze flicking to where his fingers still circle your wrist — before climbing back to your face, slower this time. “I’m… sorry. I just—” His mouth tightens. “I see how hard you work, okay? I see it. And every time that phone rings, you get this look on your face like it’s already ruined your day before you even touch it. And…” His brows pinch. “Fuck. I dunno why, but it pisses me off!”
Your gaze hesitantly drags to his, and the look in his eyes is softer than they have any right to be — all that blue, stripped of its usual sharpness, turned careful. Like he’s stepping toward something breakable and knows it. Like… if he asked once more, something in you might actually give.
“Satoru…” your breath hitches. “I-I—"
“Oh, finally.”
Shoko’s voice trails in, and your head snaps up so fast your neck almost goes with it. She’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, coffee in hand — looking like a woman who arrived exactly on time for something she's been expecting all week.
Her gaze flicks down to where he’s holding you, and the corner of her mouth twitches.
"Sooo… not to interrupt whatever this is," she says, taking a sip, "but Kento's one eye-twitch away from a medical event. He needs you to sign off on the variance line before he starts reconciling his own will and—"
You're already jerking your hand back. "Yup—coming!" And as you step away, heat floods your face, but you don't look back. Not once. Not even when you feel him still standing there, watching you go.
Because looking back would mean acknowledging that something just shifted. And you are not — not — doing that today.
Unlike those invoices, perhaps some things are better left… unfinished.
You’re gone in a blur of heels, nerves, and professional self-preservation, leaving Shoko trailing behind and Satoru staring at the empty doorway like maybe the conversation might wander back through it.
It doesn’t.
And it’s not long before his mouth is pulling into a slow, petulant pout—just before he flops back in the chair with all the elegance of a man personally betrayed by the universe.
Un-fucking-believable.
He’d almost had you! After four months and four days of being stonewalled, redirected, and professionally shut down, you’d finally looked like you might give him something. A crack. A sliver. And then Kento had to ruin it with his stupid reconciliation sheet, his stupid earnest face, and his stupidly impeccable timing.
…
He could fire Kento.
Should he fire Kento?
As tempting as that thought is, Satoru settles for glaring at the empty doorway a second longer before dragging a hand down his face and raking it back through his hair. There’s no point. This performance will end soon. Because by this time tomorrow, he’ll be on a flight back to Tokyo. Where he can resume the slow, agonizing process of preparing to inherit a company he didn't actually give a shit about.
'Grow up, Satoru.'
'Apply yourself, Satoru.'
'You have no idea what it takes to run something like this, Satoru.'
Right. Because apparently, the heir to a multinational corporation needed to learn humility. Alphabetize files. Sit in a cubicle. Fetch coffee like some goddamn spreadsheet slut with a trust fund and nowhere to put it.
Four years of business school, two years shadowing his father; and yet, this is what they had for him?!
He scoffs. And when his gaze drops to the wreckage of your desk, he’s pulling the stack of vendor invoices toward him with a sigh that sounds put-upon even to his own ears. You’ve been nagging him about filing them for the better part of the week and… the least he can do is clear one thing before he goes.
The stamp thuds against the first page. Then the next. Then the next. And with muscle memory taking over, his face goes blank in the way it always does when boredom finally wins. It’s mindless shit. Still, he’s used to it. So naturally, when the phone on your desk buzzes, he doesn’t think twice; snatching it up, tucking it between his ear and shoulder as he reaches for the next invoice.
It’s probably another budget nuisance. Or Mei. Or one of the other thousand little crises that seem magnetically drawn to your extension.
“Yo,” another stamp echoes. “Satoru speaking.”
There’s a sharp inhale. “…who?”
His brow lifts. “Uh… Satoru?” Another thud of ink slams against the paper and he huffs, annoyed. “What do y’need?”
The line goes quiet for a beat too long. Before the woman on the other end finally murmurs, “Satoru…” Sighing in awe. “What a lovely name. Is that Japanese?”
"Uh… yeah?” he snorts, flipping to the next page. “I mean. Last I checked.”
“Mm… I thought so!” She giggles. And her voice pitches like she's just unwrapped a present she didn't know she was getting. “So… Satoru. Why exactly are you the one answering her phone, hm?”
…
Why the hell does this woman sound so invested? And why is she asking questions that should be obvious?
Frowning down at the invoice, he stamps it harder.
“Because it rang?” He says it like it’s obvious. “And uh—sorry, but. Maybe because I’ve been with her for months, so… why the hell wouldn’t I?”
"Months?!” A soft gasp crackles, far too delighted. “You've—you've been with her for months?!"
"Mmm… four months and four days, technically."
He’s been her intern for that long.
That’s the question, right?
"—technically?!" she squeals, like the word personally seduced her. "Ohmygoodness—oh, this is perfect. Four months and four days—that is so specific.”
He blinks. But she doesn’t give him time to process.
“Look at you Mr. Devoted. Keeping track. I was starting to worry she’d never find someone like you. Every time I asked it's like pulling teeth. But I knew there had to be someone. I told her father—I said, there is a man, I can feel it.”
Pausing mid-stamp, the words slowly begin to catch up. Satoru straightens.
"…sorry. Who is thi—"
“—everyone is so excited to meet you at Trish’s wedding. I already reserved your seat and—"
Her voice keeps going… and going… and going. He pulls the phone away slowly as her voice echoes on the receiver, staring down at the phone in hand to see:
📞 Mom
Oh.
Oh, shit.
This is not your work phone. Your work phone is currently sitting at its dock twelve inches to his left. And it dawns on him that he accidentally just spent the last sixty seconds answering your personal phone like an absolute jackass and—
"Uh…” he backpedals. “Wait. I—"
"I told Sara, I said, we have to meet him and—”
"Stop. I-I really think—"
“—Satoru, what are you doing?’
His head snaps up at the sound of your voice, mouth dropping as he sees you standing at the doorway, eyes wide in horror.
Oh, fuck.
“Who is on the other end of that phone,” you hiss.
He winces, pulling the phone from his ear like it’s toxic — and you’re snatching it right out of his hand. He lets you have it without a fight, sinking back into the chair like he’s trying to physically dissociate from the situation he’s just created while you press the phone to your ear.
“And I mean…” she rambles. “I certainly was never one to wait around at twenty-six, believe me. But—"
"Mom."
"Oh! Honey!” She gasps. “Oh, my goodness, hi—I was just having the loveliest chat with—"
"I'm at work. Gotta go."
"—okay! I can't wait to meet Satoru, he—"
Click!
The phone sits in your hand like evidence.
And Satoru — to his credit — has the decency to look like a man standing in the blast radius of his own stupidity. His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. Like he’s rehearsing an apology in a language he hasn’t learned yet.
You stare at him.
He stares at you.
And somewhere ten thousand miles away, your mother is already calling your aunt Sara.
“Sooo… funny story…”
“—what did you do?!”
Satoru flinched, and now, the tears were already rolling down your cheeks — hot, fast, completely unauthorized. Not the kind you could disguise as allergies or blame on the air conditioning. No. The ugly kind.
Great. Fucking great.
You were standing in the middle of your own office, in the building where you work, crying in front of your intern. And Satoru felt the weight of it all at once. In the last four months, he had seen you in every flavor of workplace misery there was. Pissed off, stressed out, one spreadsheet away from actual murder.
But cry?
Never.
And this had his fingerprints all over it.
"Shit," he breathed, panic flashing across his face. "I—fuck. Okay. Please don't—I can fix this. I can—"
"Fix this?" A splintered laugh ripped out of you, and you hated how thin it was. "Fix what, Satoru? You just confirmed a boyfriend to my mother, a boyfriend that doesn't exist—and she is, at this very moment, probably already—"
Another break in your voice cracked, and you squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your hand to your forehead hard like you could hold the tears in by sheer force. But it only made it worse, because now you could feel the wetness on your own face, the heat of it under your palm, and the mortification landed like a second wave.
God. How fucking humiliating.
"Hey, hey—it's okay,” his voice softened. “We'll just… call her back. Right? Tell her it was a misunderstanding. Easy."
“Easy?” you scoffed, the word coming out strangled. “Y-You don’t understand my mother, Satoru,” you managed, voice gone thin as thread. God, you sounded like a child. “If she thinks something is true, then it’s true. That’s it. That’s—there’s no correcting her, there’s no walking it back, she’s already told my aunt Sara by now and Sara’s told Trish and—oh, fuck—”
Another sob tumbled out, and your fingers dug harder into your temple.
God. Stop it.
Stop it stop it stop it.
Think.
Think logically. You're good at this. You solve problems for a living.
But every time you tried to grab onto a thought, it slipped — replaced by the echo of your mother's voice, high and delighted. The happiest she'd sounded talking to you in years. Maybe ever.
…what look will she give you when you show up alone?
"I can’t," you whispered, and the word came out waterlogged. "I-I'm supposed to get on a plane to Japan in a week and—do what? Tell them there's no one? Tell them I'm still—"
Single.
The word sat in your mouth like a stone. You didn’t realize you’d gone silent until the silence itself started ringing — your sniffling, the hum of fluorescent lights, the muffled life of the office continuing beyond the door like yours wasn’t actively coming apart at the seams.
And through all of it, you could feel Satoru looking at you. His stillness; holding you with an expression you'd never seen on him before and couldn't categorize if you tried.
"Um…” he looked down, scratching the back of his neck. “Soooo... the wedding's in Japan?"
You blinked. “What?” And as you wiped your face with the back of your hand, his gazed tentatively flicked back up. “The wedding…” he repeated, voice careful. “It’s in Japan?”
"Yes." Your brow furrowed, not understanding. "Why?"
He didn't answer right away. Just looked down at the floor for a second, jaw shifting, like he was turning something over in his head — something he hadn't fully assembled yet but could already feel the shape of.
"Huh… okay."
Okay what?
You watched his expression change in real time — from guilt to calculation to something else. "Right then!" He said, clapping his hands once, bright and sudden. "No biggie. I'll just go with you."
No biggie?
Your mouth dropped.
That wasn’t even an option, was it?
…is he crazy?
“You’re kidding,” your laugh was awkward and breathless. His eyes rolled with a smug grin. “Sweetheart, c’mon,” and he was gesturing between the two of you like the answer was sitting there in plain sight and you were the only person in the room committed to not seeing it. "Your family thinks you're bringing someone? Cool." A hand pressed to his chest with theatrical solemnity. "I'm someone."
You stared at him. Genuinely stared.
Oh. He wasn’t kidding.
Yup. He’s crazy.
"You are not 'someone,' Satoru. You are my intern."
“Yeah. For like… another six hours?"
He checked his watch with a shrug, and your lips flattened.
"…that is not the point."
“Mm… feels a little like the point."
He smirked, but it faded faster than usual, dimming at the edges as his blue eyes hesitated on yours. Something shifted in his posture; the performance pulling back, like a tide going out. "Um… look…" He pushed off the desk, stepping closer. "It’s really no hassle." He said, hands sliding into his pockets. "I already have a flight scheduled. My family's in Tokyo. And I was going back after this internship anyway, so… this just moves my timeline back a little."
He was shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal. Like he wasn’t agreeing to fly across the world with you and walk straight into the disaster that was your family.
…
His family’s in Japan too?
You barely knew anything about him. He kept his life sealed off with the same practiced deflection you kept yours — jokes in place of answers, charm in place of honesty. You never bothered to ask, because asking meant caring and that was a door you never intended to walk through with anyone.
But…
"Just… let me come with you. I’ll be your boyfriend for the weekend. For the wedding. For… whatever you need,” he said. And this time, when he stepped closer, there was no grin to hide behind. "I can be useful. I caused this. So… let me fix it."
Heat creeped up your neck, and you scoffed, weakly.
"Okay… but you can't fix my mother."
"No…” he murmured, tilting his head. His hand came up and brushed a tear trailing down your cheek with a careful gentleness. “But… I can make sure you don't have to walk in there alone?"
Your breath hitched, and when your eyes finally lifted, the morning light was being cruel again — catching in that impossible blue and turning it soft. Like stained glass dipped in sunlight. Like something holy made dangerous by the simple fact that it was looking straight at you.
“Mhn. So, do I get the job, boss lady? Because that look you’re giving me…” a slow smirk curls up the corner of his mouth. “Very encouraging for my boyfriend résumé, by the way. Might get addicted to it and wanna make it a full-time gig.”
“Shut up,” you mutter, looking away too fast to be convincing.“That was not a look. I was just—” You grimace. “…never mind.”
He’s chuckling as you brush past him. And his words are what scared you the most. Which was bad. Very, very bad. Because your mother was one problem. Japan was another. But Satoru looking at you like that?
Shit…
That felt like the kind of complication that didn’t stay neatly contained. And you knew better than anyone. Nothing about Satoru had ever suggested he could be contained.
a/n: hehe. this has been fun to work on! i am excited to share the next part. clearly i love these fake dating/fake marriage tropes aha 🙂↕️ bc this is like... what—my third time doing it? soooo i tried to change things up and make it feel less standard/generic :) but anyways, like i said pt 2 will be out in a week, pls lmk if you wanna be tagged 💖
SUMMARY: trying to make a move on your dad’s best friend at your parents’ anniversary party isn't the best plan… or is it?
PAIRING: dad’s best friend!higuruma x female!reader
WARNINGS: questionable age gap (24-36), power imbalance, unclear boundaries, female!reader, MDNI, explicit content, smut, cursing, fingering, handjobs, a sprinkle of spit kink, unprotected sex, p in v.
WC: 3,2k
“We can’t, you know this,” he reminds you, his fingers wrapping around your shoulders as he gently pushes you back, creating a reasonable distance between the two of you.
His voice is rough and tired, like usual, but there’s no meanness in it tonight. No irritation either. You could only feel a certain… restraint. The kind he’s used to maintaining around you.
He’s done this before. More times than either of you would admit. And yet… tonight feels different. There’s this tension in him, you could tell. Like something has been building for a while, and is held down with effort that’s starting to slip.
“Let’s get back to the party, since you clearly have nothing to tell me, yeah?” he adds, already shifting as if to step around you.
You don’t let him.
Your hand quickly catches his arm, fingers curling around the fabric of his white shirt, then pressing into the firm muscle beneath.
Oh.
“You already knew that was just an excuse… so why come with me?” you ask with a small, knowing smile, your eyes lifting to meet his.
You can clearly see the subtle stiffening of his body. His expression remains composed, unreadable, but his stillness gives him away.
He doesn’t answer, so you continue, stepping just a little closer, getting a little bolder.
“Was there a part of you hoping you’d finally indulge this?” you ask softly, your tone light but suggestive. “Finally accept my advances?”
Your eyes study him carefully now, searching every shift in his features.
“Were you hoping I’d say something… that would make it easier for you to agree?” you tilt your head slightly.
You catch the way his jaw tightens. It was so quick that you would have missed it if you blinked.
Good.
Your hand leaves his arm and slides to his stomach, palm flattening against him as you begin to guide him backwards, towards the nearest wall. And he allows it.
Step by step, he lets you do your little charade.
Your heels echo faintly through the hallway, the distant noise of the party muffled behind closed doors, as the two of you stand in the empty house of your parents.
Your fingers glide over his shirt as you touch him, without crossing any line he hasn’t already allowed you to. And you feel it again— the exhale he lets out through his nose, the way his muscles flex under your touch.
Yet, he doesn’t stop you, nor pulls away.
“You don’t have to be this righteous man all the time,” you murmur, your voice lowering as your smile lingers. “So let’s skip all this moral talk and do something more fun instead, yeah?”
He stays quiet, so you try again.
“Look at me and tell me you don’t feel anything…” you add, your eyes locking onto his. “You can lie though… you’re not under oath.”
For a moment, there’s only silence.
Then—
He lets out a laugh.
It’s low and deep and… honest. A breathy sound that escapes him despite trying not to. His head tilts slightly, almost in disbelief.
“I try to keep everything I feel under control,” he says, his tone stern again— but not entirely dismissive. His hand comes up, closing around your wrist, firm yet careful, holding you there without force.
“In respect to your father.”
The words are like a reminder. A reminder of what positions each of you have in this act and how much it could affect the other people if it escalates.
You don’t step back, not even a second impressed by the mentioning of your father. Instead, you lean in, closer this time.
Close enough that the space between you feels almost inexistent. Close enough that your breath nearly mingles with his, your presence impossible to ignore now.
“You can be selfish for once, you know?” you murmur softly.
Your face inches closer to his, lips hovering over his.
His grip tightens slightly around your wrist. Not enough to hurt, but enough to be felt.
His head dips towards you, eyes closing for a bit, then opening again. You were needy and expectant of him. You wanted this. You wanted it for so long. You pleaded your case and now… you won.
He will give it you.
In an instant, his other hand tangles into your hair, fingers pulling at the strands as he closes the little distance between you. His lips move against yours, and it takes you a second to actually register what just happened— then you wrap your hands around his neck, responding to the kiss with an eagerness that makes him chuckle softly.
You moan when you feel his tongue licking your bottom lip, so you part your lips, letting him in, your head tilting as you follow his rhythm that quickly changes, feeling him losing his composure the more he kissed you. You didn’t expect Hiromi Higuruma to kiss you like a starved man, but there you were.
He takes his hand out of your hair and places it on your cheek, thumb pressing slightly as he forces you to open wider for him so he could taste even more of you.
His other hand pulls you flush against him, your body pressing into his as you feel his hardened member through his black slacks. You gasp at the feeling, your hands pushing at him just a bit for some air, but you barely manage to breathe before he chases your lips again, like he had been deprived for so long and now he cannot control himself.
“Hiromi—“ you moan his name, the sound pulling a groan from him as if it was the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard.
He finally breaks the kiss, breathing heavily, his tired eyes looking down at you, studying your face, searching for your reaction, making sure you enjoyed it.
“More— please,” your hands quickly move to his belt, fingers trembling with need.
He catches them and you look up, a flicker of panic crossing your face, thinking he changed his mind. Then, he nods again, urging you to continue.
You let out a small chuckle.
“Having second thoughts?” you tease as you unbuckle his belt.
He shakes his head.
“They passed the moment I heard you moaning my name,” he replies, eyes locked on you, his gaze so intense it makes your knees feel weak.
Was he always looking at you like this?
“Nothing more to say, sweetheart?” he raises a brow at you.
“Just— do it already,” you huff in annoyance, not liking how he verbally cornered you.
He simply nods.
His hands quickly find your hips, guiding you, making you step back as he moves you, your back hitting the wall now, him following right after, covering your entire frame.
His hands massage your hips, thumbs pressing lightly, as one of them slowly moves down, reaching the hem of your flowy dress. You take a deeper breath as you feel his fingers slide under the material, his touch warm and a bit rough against your soft skin.
“May I?” he asks, lips hovering over yours, eyes half closed.
“Yes,” you nod, your hands gripping at his broad shoulders a little tighter.
You feel his fingers move up, slowly, teasing, until they reach your underwear. He palms your pussy through it, applying a little bit of pressure with two of his fingers, then moves the material to the side. His fingerpads brush your folds, making you gasp, your body tensing slightly.
He keeps spreading your lower lips, taking in the warmth and wetness that awaits him, along with the dirty sounds.
“So loud,” he murmurs more to himself, making you blush.
He takes out his fingers and raises them up, close to your lips. He pats them and you open for him, looking directly into his eyes as you wrap your mouth around his fingers, tasting yourself. You begin sucking, your tongue sliding up and down his digits. When he pulls them out, a string of saliva follows.
He moves his fingers to your pussy again, this time with more intent, like he was only testing you before. He slowly inserts one finger through your tight hole, the intrusion making you gasp, your grip on him tightening. He keeps pushing, feeling your walls squeeze him. He starts to move his finger, thrusting in and out slowly, waiting for you to adjust.
“More,” you moan, and he complies fast, as if he’d been waiting for you to say it.
He inserts another finger inside your cunt as he increases the pace, squelching sounds echoing through the empty hall, along with your soft moans and his grunts. He keeps thrusting his fingers inside and out, gathering more of your slick.
His eyes don’t leave your face for a second, taking in everything— how your brows pull together in pleasure, how your mouth stays parted, how lost your eyes look, like you don’t know what to do with yourself.
He grunts when you squeeze him again, strands of hair falling out of place, making him look even more appealing. His long and slender fingers push in again, making you moan louder as you feel him brush your sensitive spot. He smiles slightly at your reaction, clearly satisfied he managed to get another pretty sound. Then you feel his thumb on your clit, rubbing it, applying pressure as his two other fingers keep thrusting into you.
“Mhm— Ah!,” you mumble, your head resting against the wall. You start to feel a certain pressure inside your belly, and he senses.
Hiromi slows down his pace.
The sudden change makes you whimper in frustration as the feeling slips away. You open your eyes, watching him take out his hand, his fingers glistening with your juices. He brings them to his mouth, cleaning them slowly.
“I’d love to taste you more, but we don’t have all the time,” he says, almost apologetic, as he moves his hand towards his crotch.
He unbuttons his pants and finally pulls out his hardened cock from his boxers, making you lick your lips at the girth and size. The tip was leaking with pre-cum, and the thick veins were visible.
He gives his dick a few pumps, wanting to feel a bit of relief as his boxers strained him all this time. A low moan escapes his lips as he looks at you while he jerks himself off, eyes tired and face flushed.
With one more pump, he exhales deeply and finally draws you closer. There was still a difference between your heights, so he adjusts. Both of his hands grip your thighs as he hoists you up, your legs instantly wrapping around his torso so you steady yourself.
“Raise that dress for me, love,” he says, his tone still polite, yet more breathy, making you chuckle as you nod.
You quickly pull up the material, revealing your lower part along with the mess he left behind. Your underwear is still moved to the side, juices dripping down your thighs, and your folds sticky with slick.
“Forgive me, but you’ll have to do the work for a bit,” he smiles as he holds you in his arms, your chest pressed against his, your back against the wall.
He pretty much trapped you and you were not complaining.
You nod and move one of your hands from holding the hem of your dress, letting it slide down until you’re close to his crotch. Your fingers wrap around his member, and you hear him hiss softly at your touch. The reaction alone makes your pussy clench around nothing, especially as you feel him so close to your drooling entrance. You take in a deep breath the moment his tip nudges your clit.
“Spit on it,” he suddenly says, and your head shoots up.
You blush at his request but comply, dragging your palm closer before spitting out a glob of saliva, then spreading it along his length. He groans as you move your hand up and down, his grip on you tightening slightly, still trying to keep himself composed.
You align him again, your hand guiding him, and he slowly pushes his hips forward, forcing you open. You gasp at the stretch, the air leaving your lungs as your mind blanks for a second. Your hands fly into his hair, fingers pulling at the roots as he keeps pushing inside your cunt, your walls squeezing him tightly.
“I will hurt you, you need to relax, love,” he says in your ear, voice husky.
“I’m— fuck— trying,” you manage to say, taking another deep breath before forcing yourself to loosen up, your body slowly giving in, allowing him to push further.
Both of you let out a louder sound when he reaches deeper, hitting that sensitive spot. The stretch burns for a second, then melts into something else entirely, something that makes your grip on him tighten.
“You feel so good,” he murmurs again in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “Can I move? Is that okay?”
“Yes— God,” you groan, already shifting your hips against him.
He meets you halfway, pulling back slightly before pushing right back in, dragging you closer each time. The rhythm starts to build as you adjust to his size, your body beginning to welcome him more, almost sucking him in. His movements grow more precise, his hips snapping forward with intent, his grip on you steady as he keeps you exactly where he wants you.
The sounds grow louder, harder to ignore, and your moans slip out before you can stop them. You were enjoying too much the way he was moving, the way he filled you up, the way he kept hitting that spot that made you see stars.
At one point, one of his hands comes up to your mouth, pressing against it, trying to quiet you, while he keeps holding you up with the other. Your arms stay wrapped around his neck, holding on as your body moves with his.
The pressure starts building in your belly, tight and hot, impossible to ignore, and you chase it without thinking. Your movements grow more urgent, your body reacting before your mind can catch up.
“Ngh— Hiromi!” you moan, his name muffled against his hand. “Inside— please,” you beg, your voice shaky.
He grunts in response, his hips snapping forward again, but his rhythm turns less controlled, more desperate. He was close too, but he doesn’t slow down, doesn’t pull away— his focus stays on you.
As he keeps moving, lifting you slightly with each motion, you look at him through half-lidded eyes. His hair is a mess now, strands sticking to his forehead, sweat trailing down his temple, his face flushed, veins standing out along his neck. You’ve never seen him this disheveled.
You don’t even know what pushes you over the edge. Maybe it’s the way he looks, maybe the way he moves inside you, maybe the sounds he makes filling your ears— maybe all of it.
And the pressure snaps.
Your body gives in completely, breath leaving you as your head falls against his shoulder, arms loosening around him and mouth falling open. Everything goes still for a moment.
You barely react when you feel him pull out, your body too weak to respond when he spills his hot loads of cum against your thighs.
Slowly, your senses begin to return as he lowers you down on your feet after a few moments, though he keeps his arms around your waist, holding you steady, making sure you don’t fall.
His forehead rests against yours as he looks at your flushed face. Your lazy eyes meet his, and you offer him a small, tired smile.
“I finally got you,” you murmur, a hint of pride slipping through as you blink slowly.
He just chuckles and nods.
“You are very ambitious,” he admits.
Then— something shifts.
Everything finally comes back to him and he remembers where he is. Every word, every touch, every moan, everything the two of you just did flashes through his mind. It was like he was caught in a daze, and now he finally breaks out of it.
He remembers who he was holding in such an intimate way, who he had been saying those dirty words to, who he had pressed against the wall at such an important occasion.
His best friend’s daughter.
You feel it in the way his body stiffens again.
His hand comes to rest on your cheek, but it isn’t as tender this time.
“This… has to stay between us,” he speaks again, his tone a bit colder, more controlled— stern even, like he’s addressing one of his interns. Like the two of you didn’t just fuck your brains out.
“Yes— of course,” you nod with a smile.
His hold on you slowly fades as he steps back, quickly dressing himself again, adjusting his clothes and running a hand through his hair to make it less messy. He wanted to hold you more. Wanted to stay with you the rest of the night, but he didn’t trust himself. And the place he was in reminded him to keep his composure.
The least he could do, was to clean you up. So he reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a handkerchief.
You watch as he kneels down in front of you and moves your dress out of the way. He drags the soft material over your skin, cleaning you thoroughly without saying a word, nor looking up even once. The gesture feels loving, almost thoughtful— but there’s a heaviness to it now that lingers in the air.
After he finishes, he stands again, shoving the handkerchief back into his pocket.
“You can go first,” he offers gently, tired eyes boring into yours.
You smile stretches as you place a hand on his cheek, your thumb brushing over his skin.
“This may stay between us, but it won’t be the last time it happens,” you assure him.
He lets out a deep sigh, his eyes scanning you, noticing your messy appearance.
His fault.
“I know,” he replies simply, realizing he’d be lying to you— and most importantly, to himself— if he denied the obvious truth.
You rise onto your tiptoes, leaning to press a short kiss to his lips, completely satisfied with his answer.
You then turn around and walk away, your heels clicking softly against the wooden floor. As you reach the back door that leads to the garden, you pause, then glance back at him one last time.
“By the way, you should clean the lipstick on your mouth,” you chuckle softly, before finally opening the door and slipping out.
And he just stays where he is.
Still. Silent.
Watching you leave like nothing had happened… while everything clearly had.
For a moment, he doesn’t move at all.
Then— his hand slowly rises, wiping at his mouth with the back of his fingers, but his eyes don’t follow the motion. They stay fixed ahead, focused on that door, like he’s stuck replaying the moment you just walked out of.
The faint mark lingers.
He exhales through his nose, almost inaudible.
Then, quieter and almost to himself—
“…trouble,” he mutters.
And only then does he finally look away, straightening his posture, trying to pull himself back together as if nothing ever slipped out of place.
your husband, Hiromi Higuruma, finally has time in his schedule after being an overworked attorney. he comes over to pick you up for a date, walking in on you getting ready. he missed you so much that he can’t keep his hands off you can he? i mean you teasing him doesn’t make it any better.
Content -
Craving Husband!Higuruma x f!Reader
This post contains fluff, suggestive material, and smut. nothing is too vulgar. Enjoy reading!
a/n: This was a request by an annon! i was requested this yesterday and knew i had to write abt husband Higuruma.
it was really uncommon for you and your husband higuruma’s schedules to align. you guys haven’t had time to yourselves in a while, especially after just finishing up wedding venues. He was an overworked, sleep deprived, and might i add, sexy lawyer. you guys have officially been married for a month, after being engaged for a year or so. as soon as Higuruma’s schedule stretched, you were swept by your feet for a date.
it was a friday night, a night that you have spent the past 3 hours getting ready for. Higuruma picked up a bouquet of flowers on his way home from work, surprising you with them. as he barged into your shared bedroom, seeing you getting ready, something in his eyes gleamed.
“oh — hey baby, give me 10 minutes and ill be done. i’m just having troubles with my dress.”
Higuruma approaches you, enwrapping you with his warmth, embracing you, the bouquet still in his hands. the bouquet was full with carnation pink orchids. you finally notice it, gasping at how beautiful it is. he took his time picking out these flowers for you, making sure they were the exact one you liked. he sighs into your neck, sending shivers down your spine. his grip tightens as he enhales your freshly sprayed on scent.
“sweetheart…. you look gorgeous. you don’t understand how much i missed this view.” he preaches as he stares at you through the mirror. your face reddens, trying to hide from his gaze. he chuckles, seeing you flustered over a simple compliment.
“i got these beautiful flowers for you my love, i know they are your favorite.” he coos as he presses a lingering kiss in between your jaw and neck.
you fully turn around, accepting the bouquet. you cup his cheek with your free hand, pecking his soft, flushed lips repeatedly. your noses touch, sending an electric wave of intimacy. you hear him suppressing giggles, making you naturally giggle back.
his hands were roaming your back, finding the open zipper and slithering in. he started to become really touchy, making your body very aware of where his hand was heading. as this rate, the date might get canceled if you don’t stop him.
“hiromi baby, we’re going to be late to the venue if i don’t hurry up and get ready. can you please zip up my dress? i have been struggling with it for a while.” you plead.
higuruma happily twirls your around, feeling for your zipper. he slowly zips it up, worried if he accidentally nicks your skin. as the zipper travels up, his other hand is flattening the fabric under it. he pats your butt as a signal that his deed is done. you look up to see how the dress looks on you, only to meet higurumas eyes. he was staring at you from behind, through the mirror, looking like he was holding back something he wanted to say.
“y’know my love, it wouldn’t be that bad if we canceled the date and just spent the night together.” he smirked, staring at you with loving eyes.
nothing about him was lustful. every slick move and flirtatious comment was made with the intention to make you feel loved and laugh.
nonetheless, you slightly frown, turning around to get a full view of his face. you look up, eyes disheartened.
“but baby… i was looking forward for this date. i spent all day getting ready… and i wanted to go out with you.”
he stiffens, seeing your visibly upset face. he pulls you in by the hips, peppering kisses all over your neck, not wanting to ruin your makeup.
“i’m only kidding my love, i was just teasing you. finish up so we can head to the venue.” he reassures.
you let go slowly, still hungry for him. you really did miss your husband as this was a rare opportunity to have him give you his undivided attention. you turn around, now having your back facing him. you slightly bend over, opening your cabinet full of jewelry. you start to decorate your arm sleeves and neck with jewelry, ending with your earrings. you look up to put in the back-stud of the earring, noticing higuruma looking somewhere, and it wasn’t your face.
he was glancing at your ass, unapologetically.
your turn around with a contempt look, locking eyes with him. “you know if you like what you see, you can just give a compliment, no need to keep staring.” you tease. his eyes slightly open wider, awed at what you were saying.
he scoffs and takes a step closer. he was so close you could smell how much he reeked of cologne. he smelled like sophisticated cedar wood and Tom Ford Noir. he stared into your eyes for a couple of seconds, building up the tension between you two. his hand hooks under your ass, lifting you up and taking you to the corner of the bed. he slowly drops you, having you steady on your feet. his hands roam to your waist, jostling you onto the bed.
he cages you on the bed, restraining you from getting up. his kees bracket your thighs while a hand is holding your hip down, the other by your head.
he starts to smirk, seeing your face all flushed from him.
“you really though i was going to let my princess tease me and not tease her back?” he scoffs, kissing up your neck.
you throw your head back slightly from the pleasure of him suckling on your neck. your arm wraps around his big frame, caressing up and down his back. his hands move to your thighs, slowly lifting up your dress to get a view of how wet you were. his pants were starting to grow a bulge at the sight of you.
he pulls your panties down in one swift move, making you let out a gasp as the breeze hitting your wet spot.
“fuckkk…. you’re wet. i can’t leave you like this and go out can i? i guess i have to fix this.” he pants, smirking at the view of your back starting to arch slightly with you dress ridden up to your waist and your titties slightly spilling out of your dress.
so what’s gunna happen?
let’s just say that you arrived to the venue 2 hours late.
Can we get some higuruma fluff where the reader is his first love 😭 . Like imagine he spent all his life first studying then working until she came along. Please please please<3333
Unlocking His Heart
summery: Hiromi never fell in love with anyone since he was to busy studying and working. Then he stumbled upon you, a prosecutor, in court.
wc: 4556
warnings: prosecutor reader x lawyer Hiromi, use of y/n, female reader (she/her pronouns), Hiromi is almost 30 while reader is in her early to mid 20s, I don’t have a lot of law knowledge so lmk if something is wrong 👀
a/n: I’m sorry it took so long!!! I had a little fun with this and it became longer than expected😅 this is mostly from Hiromi’s pov but sometimes we see it from reader pov (lmk if you guys want a part 2 or a headcanon ver)
“Higuruma, when are you going to start dating? You’re almost 30 and you don’t even have a girlfriend!” Hiromi’s colleague said as he wrapped his arm around his shoulder. Hiromi signed, annoyed by his colleagues saying the same sentence every day. It was Friday night, Hiromi and his colleagues had just won a case and decided to go out drinking as a celebration.
“I just haven’t found the right person yet…” Hiromi grumbled in response, taking a sip of his beer. The truth is, Hiromi has never been in love. He’s ashamed to admit it. How could he go almost 30 years without falling in love? He hadn't even held hands with someone. He spent all his youth studying, getting the perfect grades so he could become a lawyer. The worst part is, Hiromi missed out on a lot during his youth. He has never been at a concert or gone to parties. He was always alone, in his room, studying for his next test. He thinks a lot about his childhood and how much fun he had when he was playing with his friends after school, how they would go on their bikes and ride together for hours.
When the time hits midnight, they all decide it’s time to go home. Hiromi says goodbye to everyone before getting a taxi home.
On Monday morning Hiromi goes to work as usual. His boss shows him a new case he will be working on. Hiromi immediately starts reading through the paperwork and goes to meet with the client. The client is a man in his 30s that was seen driving past multiple red lights and stop signs. It’s not the best case or most fun since the cops have all the evidence to prove he did it, but Hiromi wants to hear the client's side of the story and try his best to defend him in court. As they are talking, Hiromi gets the client’s side of the story and knows how to defend him in court. He tells the client exactly what to say and not to say so that the court will be on their side. Hiromi makes a plan, gets the evidence he needs and says goodbye to the guy.
The next morning Hiromi goes to court. He feels confident knowing he prepared his speech and defence all night. As he’s walking into court, he looks around like usual. The family of his client is sitting there surrounded by curious citizens, the usual crowd. He sits down on the table and looks up to see who the prosecutor is, by this point Hiromi has already met most prosecutors so he knows how they work. When he looks up, he’s stunned. You, a young woman who he’s never seen before is sitting there with a binder open, reading about the case. Hiromi feels his heart skip a beat. He had never seen someone so beautiful before. When you look up at him, he feels like the world stopped for a moment. He starts to feel his face get warmer, what is this feeling? And why can’t he take his eyes off you? He tries to get his attention back to the case but all he can think about is you, who are you and why can’t he think straight?.
The court starts and he defends his client just like he practiced the night before, the judge seems to be on Hiromi’s side, until you stand up and begin talking
“Your honor, the defendant was seen speeding and driving through stop signs as well as red lights. We are very lucky he didn’t take a life, or multiple lives that night. We have evidence of him driving recklessly and in my opinion, no matter what the circumstances were, laws should not be broken. The way he was driving made other drivers have to break laws and that itself is dangerous. He is very lucky the other drivers on the road that night had good reaction time to not crash into him, but if they hadn’t been, we could have lost innocent lives that night. I think he deserves at the very least a suspended license and 6 months in prison to reflect what he has done, your honor” Hiromi’s head is too focused on you to even register what you're saying and before he can say anything, the judge says he has reached a verdict. You sit down, relaxed, like you already know the judge is going to agree with you. You look over at Hiromi who can’t keep his eyes off you, a smirk on your lips only he can see. He feels his palms sweating and his heart racing, did you put a spell on him?
The judge stand up to announce that his client will have his license suspended for 5 years and be in jail for 2 months. The client tries to beg Hiromi for help but Hiromi knows he can’t do anything.
“I’m sorry but this is the best I can do” he says to his client who was now in tears. Hiromi watches the guards take the client away and starts packing up.
“I haven’t seen you before, you new here?” Hiromi looks up and sees you, standing right in front of him
“Uhm n-no… I started a year ago” Hiromi responds, nervous over how close you’re standing.
“Oh, okay… well I guess I’ll see you around then, my name is y/n l/n by the way” a soft smile on your face as you speak.
“I-I’m Hiromi- Hiromi Higuruma” he stutters back quickly. You let out a soft chuckle at his nervousness before giving him a quick bow and leaving. Hiromi stands there, frozen in place, looking at you as you walk away.
Hiromi walks home afterwards, still thinking about you. How you seemed so kind yet so confident and professional. Your beautiful hair and soft eyes. Why did he stutter all of the sudden? He never stutters… and why did he feel like he got a fever out of nowhere? Why was he thinking about you so much? All these things circle around his mind the entire night. That night when he got to bed, he couldn’t sleep. He kept replaying your interaction over and over again. Was he falling in love?
When he got to the office the next day he was more tired than usual, his colleagues noticed and asked if he was okay, but Hiromi just kept brushing them off. He got assigned a new case and went to have lunch with the client. The client had been suspected of vandalism but was released since the cops didn’t have enough evidence on him. After talking with the client he headed back to the office to start working on the case. During the afternoon he got a call from his supervisor, the prosecutor wanted to talk about a possible settlement. He agreed and walked to their office for the meeting. He walked into the building and asked the receptionist where to go, and she walked him to the meeting room. He knocked and walked in.
“Higuruma! pleasure seeing you again” Hiromi stopped in his tracks and sees you sitting there, smiling at him. You were the last person he wanted to see after spending the entire night thinking about you. He takes a deep breath to try and clear his head before walking to his seat
“I-It’s great seeing you too… l/n” he responds before sitting down, too scared to make eye contact with you. ‘Don’t make eye contact’ ‘what if she can read your mind and finds out you have been thinking about her’ he repeated in his head.
“Is your client coming soon?” you ask him
“Uhh… y-yeah he should be here soon” he responds, trying to make eye contact but fails miserably. You nod at him, a soft smile flickers before you turn to the window, looking at the traffic outside. Hiromi feels his face become redder by every second. He takes his tie and loosen it a bit, trying to stay professional. The client comes in a few moments later and Hiromi is fascinated by your confidence. The way you use your movements deliberately, your shin slightly raised, having direct eye contact with the client and your posture is upright. How could you be so calm and relaxed one moment, and so confident the next?
“The city has sent you here today because they want to settle this outside the court. The city has sued you for 300,000 yen and we can come up with a plan for your payment in case you can’t pay cash upfront” you speak with authority, like you are the boss here. Hiromi doesn’t want to let you take control here since it is still his job to help his client and make sure they get the least amount of punishment possible. He also has to make sure you know he’s professional and doesn’t stammer every time he speaks to someone.
“Why 300,000 yen?” he says firmly. You look at him, a little surprised by his tone
“Because vandalism is usually fined with 300,00 yen an-“ Hiromi cuts you off before you can continue
“He hasn’t done anything, you have no proof he did anything so why punish him?” He asks as he crosses his arms, his face emotionless. You take a deep breath to keep your professionalism from slipping before answering
“The city is suing him because he refuses to cooperate with the police. He was seen at the location of the crime by 5 citizens. If it wasn’t him and he did see who it was, then I don’t understand why he won’t cooperate? Why not just tell authorities who it was if it wasn’t you?” you respond to Hiromi with genuine curiosity. You turn to the client
“If you don’t come clean about who it was then you will have to pay the fine, or we take it to court where you might end up with a prison sentence” you say as you look him directly in the eyes. You want to make sure both Hiromi and his client knows how serious this is and how serious the city is about it too. Hiromi looks at his client who now seem more anxious than before
“It’s your choice, unfortunately it would be pointless to argue about it since that would lead to court and as ms l/n said, it could lead to a worse outcome” the client looks between Hiromi and you before agreeing to pay the fine. You shake hands before he’s escorted out by the receptionist. Now it’s just Hiromi and you alone again
“I think that went pretty well” your voice breaking the silence, trying to start conversation
“Yeah, I guess” Hiromi responds, letting out a sigh and leaning back against the chair. Your eyes still on him
“Can I ask you something?” Hiromi’s eyes spark of curiosity as they meet yours again, he nods and you continue
“Do you have a lot of friends? I find it very hard to make friends in this industry, especially being the only girl in my department” his eyebrows raised by your question. He finds the question odd but looking at your face he can tell you feel sad or upset by it, so he answers respectfully
“Honestly, I don’t have a lot of friends. I don’t even know if I’d call my colleagues friends since they don’t seem to actually know me or care about me. After a whole year in this industry, I can confirm it’s very hard to find friends since most people don’t have the time. The younger ones spend all their time trying to show off to their bosses and the older ones have families to take care off” he answers genuinely, with a relaxed tone. You nod, grateful for his honesty
“Glad to know I’m not the only one without friends” you say with a soft chuckle, Hiromi lets out a chuckle as well. You two stay quiet for a moment before you speak again
“Wanna be friends?” you ask, a soft smile on your lips. Hiromi’s eyes widened by your sudden question
“Su-sure” he reply quickly before it even registered in his mind
“Great! Here is my number and maybe we can meet up this weekend to do something?” you have a real smile on your face now, one that makes Hiromi’s heart start beating faster
“Okay!” Hiromi says, thinking about how pretty your smile was and hoped he got to see it more often. Hiromi goes back to the office and works on his next few cases, however he’s having trouble focusing on them because all he can think about is you and your smile. That smile made the entire room feel so much brighter.
After working on his cases he finally heads home. Hiromi takes a shower and puts some comfortable clothes on, after a long day he finally gets to lay in bed. He goes on his phone and gets a message, it’s from you. ‘You did great today :)’ it says, Hiromi doesn’t know how to respond so he just quickly sends a ‘thanks!’ back to you. Why did he have to be so awkward? Why can’t he think straight when you’re in the room?
The next few days go by fast, he hasn’t seen you since Tuesday, now it’s finally Friday. You two have texted each other, mostly you, asking random questions or talking about your day. Hiromi has enjoyed it a lot. You are funny, smart, beautiful and kind. The perfect girl. He has quickly fallen in love with you and it freaks him out. How could you make him fall in love? After all these years of trying to find someone, you somehow managed to unlock his heart. The worst part is, Hiromi doesn’t know what to do. How does he tell you how he feels without being awkward, or what if you don’t like him back? He knows he can’t ask his coworkers about it either since they would make a big deal out of it and probably wouldn’t know how to handle this situation. As he’s sitting in his office, thinking about what to do, a notification from you pops up ‘wanna go see a movie this weekend?’. He sits there, thinking about how to respond. Of course he wanted to spend time with you!, but he didn’t know how to do it without being so awkward. ‘Sure!’ Hiromi finally responded back. This is going to be a long night…
It’s finally Saturday, the day Hiromi can sit in his apartment, drink coffee on his balcony without stress and enjoy sleeping in. After drinking his coffee and reading the newspaper, he remembers the movie. He immediately goes to his closet since he usually just picked a suit and barely looked at what he actually owned. He opens the closet and only sees a bunch of suits. After throwing out his entire closet on the floor, trying to find something casual, Hiromi stands there in shock. How could he not own anything other than suits and his few pairs of pajamas?. The only comfortable clothes he owned was the 5 year old shirt and stained sweatpants he was wearing. He never really needed anything other than suits since they were needed for work and during the weekend he just wore his pajamas all day since he didn’t really do much. Great, now I have to buy a whole new outfit just to sit in a dark room the entire time. He puts on dress pants and a white button up shirt and heads out to buy some clothes. As he’s walking he thinks about how he managed to end up like this. A boring guy that only owns suits and has no social life outside of work. This is the first time since high school he’s actually doing something in his free time, doing something fun. If you two are going to be friends then that means he’s going to need a lot more outfits. He walks store to store and eventually finds a few good pieces. A few shirts, some jeans and a new pair of sneakers, he hasn’t owned sneakers since freshman year of college. Hiromi walks back to his apartment after spending 2 hours shopping. ‘Hey! There is a new movie out, wanna see it with me?’ Hiromi reads your message and wants to say no, this guy just spent all his energy trying to find clothes and today was supposed to be the day he just chills at home. After thinking for a few minutes he comes to the conclusion that if he wants to have friends then that means he’s going to have to sacrifice his weekends. ‘Sounds great! Text me the time and I’ll be there’.
It’s now 8pm and Hiromi has just arrived at the cinema. The movie doesn’t start until 8.30 but Hiromi is a very punctual guy and always makes sure to be early. He waits outside until you show up 15 minutes later. You wore a cute but comfy outfit. What shocked Hiromi more was the fact that you look even more beautiful like this, a casual outfit, your hair not done. How could he be even more attracted to you like this than at work?
“Wow Higuruma, didn’t think you owned anything other than suits” you say with a giggle. How did you know?
“W-well I had to dig them up from the depths of my closet” he responds with a nervous laugh. You immediately blush hearing his laugh. Hiromi doesn’t notice it since he’s too busy looking at everything else. You walk into the cinema and Hiromi follows you around. He hasn’t been to the cinema in a decade. You get the tickets and walk to the theater. Hiromi didn’t even know what movie you were watching, he just let you take control over the whole thing.
“This movie is a rom-con and it’s supposed to be amazing!” you tell him, with a mouthful of popcorn in your hand. Hiromi just smiles, the way your eyes light up from excitement makes Hiromi melt. The movie starts and Hiromi has a hard time focusing on the screen when he can feel his shoulder pressing against yours and he smells your perfume. This feels more intimate than he expected. He doesn’t realize it but his eyes keep wandering back to you. Every time something happens he glances at you, your reactions are just too adorable.
“Are you not liking the movie?” your voice makes him freeze. He looks at you like a deer in headlights. You giggle at his expression, which makes Hiromi calm down a little.
“Sorry… I just haven’t been to a cinema in years so it’s kind of a new experience for me” he softly chuckled as he spoke. Your expression turns sad as you hear him talk.
“Oh, I’m sorry… well since we’re friends now that means we can do things like this!” your words make Hiromi smile, you have such a kind heart.
“Thank you, I needed this outing more than you know” he said, you smile at him
“Anytime” you respond, looking him in the eyes. You feel a blush start creeping up on your face so you quickly turn back to the screen, not wanting him to see it.
As the movie ends you and Hiromi go outside, it’s colder and darker now. You feel the cold wind hitting you, making your hair blow in your face. Hiromi notices and quickly helps you fix your hair. You looked up at him, the other times you had seen him, his eyes seemed dark and deep as midnight, tired and half-lidded. Now as you look up at him you see autumn brown eyes with tiny pupils that give him a quiet, attentive intensity as he focuses on fixing your hair. His fingers are gentle but steady as he tries to make your hair look like it did before. When he feels satisfied with his work he looks down at you, putting a piece of hair behind your ear as he looks you in the eyes with admiration. You feel your heart rate rising every second. How was he so effortlessly hot?
“I had a great time today” he softly said, a small smile on his lips. You smile at him, that warm, genuine smile he loved
“Thank you for being here, I will make sure to pick a better movie next time” you softly laugh as you spoke, making Hiromi chuckle. His smile reached his eyes for the first time all night.
“Why don’t we go do something else this week?” Hiromi looks at you, his eyes wide and filled with excitement. You laugh at his sudden relaxed and friendly manner. He didn’t feel like the awkward and boring lawyer you had met before, and it made you happy knowing he finally felt comfortable being relaxed with you.
“I’d love that!” you responded with excitement. Hiromi smiles before saying goodbye and going home. As he walks home, Hiromi feels genuinely happy for the first time in long. He hasn’t been this excited about anything since he hung out with his friends in high school.
The two of you text each other everyday, sometimes it’s about work and cases, sometimes it’s just random little things like sending a picture of a cute cat you saw.
“Why are you in such a good mood?” Hiromi looks up from his phone, his coworkers are standing around his desk and looking at him with curiosity.
“Oh… it’s nothing!” Hiromi responds with a quiet laugh, scratching his neck and blushing at the sudden attention. His co worker smirks
“You met someone, hm?” Hiromi’s face drops and before he can even argue his coworkers go back to their desks with knowing smiles. Is he really being that obvious? What if that means you know he likes you too and think it’s weird? Hiromi’s thoughts are interrupted by a text from you. ‘What if we go to that aquarium that just opened? :)’. Hiromi smiles and quickly responds, ‘sounds fun! wanna go tonight?’. He doesn’t even care that it’s a Wednesday, he just wants to see you again. Perhaps seeing you again will make him finally confess his feelings…
The day is finally over and Hiromi quickly packs up before going to see you. You rush to the aquarium just as fast, you really wanted to see him again. As Hiromi arrives he notices you rushing over, he’s happy knowing you seem to be just as excited as him.
“You excited?” Hiromi says with a grin, you playfully slap his arm, trying to look angry but failing.
“Can we please just go in?! I wanna see the paracanthurus fish!” Hiromi laughs at your answer.
“What the hell is that? Some type of dinosaur?” You roll your eyes and sign at Hiromi’s response, which makes him giggle.
“No?! It’s the Dory fish, from finding Nemo!” He looks at you with an eyebrow raised before laughing again.
“Alright that’s enough of you making fun of me, I’m going inside!” you say, walking inside. You go to pay for your ticket but before you can even pick up your card, Hiromi taps his on the reader.
“Why did you pay for me?…” you ask, confused by his kind gesture.
“Well it’s the least I could do after making fun of you” he responds with a smirk. You say a quick thank you before running into the entrance. Neither you or Hiromi had changed out of your work clothes before coming and now you realized how weird it looked. Two adults, dressed in fancy suits, walking around an aquarium filled with children. After looking at Hiromi, eyes wider and bright than usual, you didn’t care about it since it wasn’t other people’s business. If Hiromi and you were happy, nothing mattered.
“Y/n, Look at these ones!” your thoughts are interrupted by Hiromi, you turn to look and see him pointing to some jellyfish. You walk over and look at their beautiful colors lighting up the clear blue water. Turning your head, you see Hiromi looking at them, his eyes reminding you of a golden retriever puppy that just got a new toy. After discussing and looking at jellyfish for a few minutes you two continue walking around, admiring the different types of fishes in the tanks. Truth be told, you had a hard time focusing on the fish when your new friend (and secret admirer) had puppy eyes the entire time. He looked so cute right now and he had no idea. You had liked him from the moment you met him, he was handsome, smart and cute. But the thought of getting rejected pushed you into this “friend zone” with him, at least you get to be friends with him, not just rejected and then never being able to speak to him again. This “date” is really testing you, all you want to do is ask him, ask if he feels the same way, to take you out on a date. What’s stopping you?
After exploring the aquarium it’s time to go home. You walk out the exit and stand there for a minute.
“I had a really good time today” he says, breaking the silence. You look at him, this is the perfect moment to confess.
“Hiromi… I need to tell you something” you say, voice shaking a little bit from the nerves. Hiromi gets nervous by your tone. You take a deep breath before continuing
“I like you, a lot… more than as a friend” your eyelashes lower and a blush creeps up on your cheeks. Hiromi looks at you, eyes wide from your confession. Was he dreaming? Did you like him the same way he liked you?
“Y-you… like me?” he asks with shock. You smile at him and look in his eyes
“Yeah, a lot” you respond, softly chuckling. You turn to the side from feeling so vulnerable and shy under his gaze. You look like an angel in this lighting and you just confessed to him? How could someone be so beautiful?
“I have never felt like this before— but I like you too, a lot! I wanted to confess a long time ago but I was scared since I’ve never liked anyone like this before and didn’t want to mess it up… could I please take you on a date?” Hiromi says in one breath. You turn back to him and your eyes meet. The way your eyes sparkle at his confession makes Hiromi melt.
“I’d love that” you respond, making Hiromi smile. You hug him, thinking it was going to be a quick one since he didn’t like physical touch, but you were happily surprised when he didn’t let go of you. The scene looks straight out of a movie, you two hugging under the moonlight. Hiromi finally lets go of you and look you in the eyes with admiration.
“You did something nobody thought was possible…” you look at him with a little confusion
F - fluff S - smut A - angst
♡ - series ☆ - one shot ◇ - imagines and drabbles
last updated - 27/05/2026
⤷ fic count - 15
@ellecdc ——————————
☆ remus lupin x potter!reader | F.
⤷ reader who cannot be contained
♡ remus lupin x best friend!reader | F.
⤷ reader who presents as an omega
♡ remus lupin x single mom!reader | F.
⤷ reader who's maybe not as single a mum as she thought
@luveline ——————————
☆ remus lupin x fem!reader | F. S.
⤷ remus gives you your first kiss, and then a little more than that. you know, between friends.
☆ remus lupin x shy fem!reader | F.
⤷ sirius/james introducing shy!reader to remus. and shes just like quiet and in awe, but remus loves it.
@mischievousmoony ——————————
☆ transformations & revelations | F.
⤷ remus lupin is your least favorite person at Hogwarts because it seems he gets special treatment for no reason at all. tired of him always running off in the middle of your prefects rounds with no repercussions, you decide to corner him and find out what his deal is. the problem is that you decided to do it on the night of a full moon.
☆ prank gone wrong | F.
⤷ when james and sirius prank you guys after your third date, you just have to prank them back
☆ not? according to plan | F. A.
⤷ remus never planned to have kids, only dreamed of it
@moonstruckme ——————————
☆ doctor!remus x fem!reader | A.
⤷ you're out with james and sirius whilst he's at work and you pass out/are sick and they freak out and take you to the hospital, where remus sees you and loses his mind.
@pilim ——————————
☆ sleepy, silly little wolf | F.
⤷ the reader is eight months pregnant and remus is very worried about them. sometimes even neglecting sleep.
@prettydaisygirl ——————————
☆ boyfriend!remus lupin x fem!reader
⤷ who gets overwhelmed at a party
@theemporium ——————————
☆ remus lupin x reader | F.
⤷ “maybe making out for a few minutes would help us figure things out."
@yasministration ——————————
♡ potter!reader x remus lupin | S. F. A.
⤷ when you become romantically involved with one of your twin brother's best friends, you attempt to keep your relationship a secret from him, afraid of what his reaction might be. but over time, things begin to change, maybe even for the better.
♡ parent-teacher meetings | F.
⤷ professor lupin hates having meetings with parents. but maybe he hates them a little less after meeting you, a single mother to the kindest student he has taught.
♡ off limits | F. S. A.
⤷ remus can't help but be lured towards the person his best friend fights to stay away from — his sister. now, as they grow closer, sirius is forced to push aside his differences and swallow his pride if he wants to stay close to remus and maintain their friendship.
overview: as the head of the sales department at your company, you can’t help but feel like you should be getting some kind of reward for contributing to revenue doubling since your arrival. a promotion, a raise, even a day off would be better than what you got instead. a week long business trip with a man you have to refrain from strangling every time you’re in the same room. and just as you’re beginning to take being stuck with nanami kento for that long in stride, the receptionist at the hotel tells you there’s only one room left. just fucking great.
cw: mdni, nanami x reader, sales exec/marketing exec, hr nightmare, rivals to lovers, forced proximity, crackish, fluff if you take your glasses off, foot massage, smut, power struggle, fingering, p slapping, edging/denial, unprotected sex, 5.5k words
art by @/thatsallitchief
Kento isn’t nearly as stoic as he makes himself out to be.
He sits in a chair that looks far too small for him. His body a bulky mass of tense energy as he glances at everyone moving about the break room, jaw clenched so tightly you’re surprised he hasn’t chipped a tooth yet. His reaction to the party thrown for your department’s performance would be childish if it weren’t so delightfully amusing.
So much so, your heels carry you over to him, and you sit in the chair beside him.
Dressed in one of his eccentric suits, he almost looks handsome, with his rimless glasses resting low on the bridge of his nose and blonde wisps of hair, usually styled back, coming loose to fall over hollow hazel eyes.
Yes, hollow. Like a shallow grave.
“Nanami.”
Your surname comes as a reluctant greeting, and you have to fight back a smile. You probably don’t do a very good job, because he gives you a blistering glare.
“That was a cute speech,” his dark eyes narrow on you for a moment longer before he looks away. “Apart from your dig at my team, that is. It was a bit unnecessary, don’t you think?” Your lips part, but he barrels on. “We all work for the same company after all. There’s no need to make everything about winning.”
In your impromptu thank you speech, you expressed mild surprise at how well sales were doing, even though the company's marketing numbers were falling behind, dipping into dangerously low territory. You suggested that departments could collaborate and learn from each other, but it was clear which one you believed needed more attention.
“Of course,” you say, placing your hand on his arm. You see his eyes flick down to it, then back up again. “I apologise if it came across that way. It wasn’t my intention at all.”
He lifts an ashy brow, looking unimpressed, but he expected a snarky reply or barking laughter. The apology seems to catch him off guard.
“Uh-huh,” he responds, a hint of doubt in his voice.
Then, the remorse in your eyes hardens into something a lot more brittle, and it makes his hackles rise. Still touching his arm, you feign sympathy.
“I mean, you need real competition to win something, so pitting my team against yours just wouldn’t be fair.”
Nanami’s eyes widen ever so slightly, and when he opens his mouth, you take it as your cue to stand.
“I have to go, but please have some more cake? Who knows how long we’ll have to wait until we have something like this for marketing?”
A whispered curse follows you as you leave the room and you nearly cackle out loud. You weren’t usually that snippy, but the blonde-haired man always brought out the worst in you.
You had only joined Kaito Corp—the global conglomerate dealing with all things retail, from food, clothing, and cosmetics—two years ago.
The extensive healthcare benefits, paired with the pay, had you barely skipping a beat when you handed in your resignation at your previous job. And it didn’t hurt that everyone was so welcoming when you arrived either—well, everyone except the six-foot shadow that was propped in the dark corner of the room, watching you with something bordering on indifference.
It took Nanami all of five seconds to decide he didn’t like you. His curt responses to you, contrasted with his quiet, gentlemanly politeness towards everyone else, and it made you dislike him too. So, for the last 24 months, the two of you snarled and clawed at each other like a pair of housecats. Passive aggression hung like a thick halo of smog whenever you interacted, and seeing how uncomfortable it made the rest of the office, you tried to steer clear of him.
But of course, it never worked.
It’s hard to believe there isn’t some higher—or lower—power out to get you. One who forces the two of you together like a pair of helpless magnets and watches the heated exchanges with rapt attention for their own enjoyment. And as you step into your office and get back to work, the email that pops up after a few minutes has you convinced that the sadist fuck of a deity is having a good laugh.
Good day,
I hope this email finds you well.
I have noticed that one of our London branches requires some attention. Fortunately, there is a networking conference scheduled for next week, and I would like to extend an invitation for you to attend.
The conference will expose you to more companies that may be interested in partnering up with us and equip you with the necessary areas of interest for improvement in localisation.
I apologise for writing to you on such short notice, but I am afraid your attendance is mandatory. Kindly adjust your availability as flights are scheduled for tomorrow afternoon.
Please find more details on accommodation and travel with my assistant, Miss C Hani. I look forward to your cooperation.
Best,
Jun Kaito.
The founder of the company emailing you directly is one thing, but the only other recipient that’s addressed is what makes the blood in your veins run cold:
Why was he copied? Surely you weren’t expected to attend the conference with him, right?
Wrong.
If you thought you disliked him before, the man was properly situated in hate territory now.
On your way to the airport, there was a car accident that made you late for your flight, and he tore you a new one for the entire hour he sat prettily at departures, stressing you out further. You were forced to board a later flight, and that was the only moment of respite you got from his constant grumbling, but being stuck in the rental car together fires him up all over again.
“You know we probably lost our reservation at the hotel, right?”
“Would you give it a rest?” Your voice is a lot higher than it should be, and you don’t like that it makes him go quiet. As if he wanted a reaction out of you, and he finally got one. “I couldn’t exactly flip the totalled cars over to get through.”
The soft jazz filtering through the radio is at odds with the tension buzzing around the rest of the car, so potent it makes the windows rattle a little.
“You could have left earlier.”
“I left my house two hours early!”
“Everyone knows you're supposed to arrive at the airport two hours early.”
Your fall quiet at that and at his sidelong look, you bristle. “That’s not a thing.”
“Definitely a thing.” He quips coolly, right in the middle of your sentence.
“If it bothered you so much then why didn’t you go ahead without me?”
The question falls on deaf ears as Nanami pretends he didn’t hear you, and today, you hate that you work together a little more than others. As a myriad of profanities would have slipped out a while ago if you weren’t convinced he’d report you to HR faster than you could blink.
You drive in silence to the hotel. The trip lasts only 20 minutes, but it feels like hours as you seethe in the passenger seat.
Upon arrival, he gives the valet the car keys, grabs his bag from the trunk, and heads to reception.
You scoff, and the valet comes to open your door, a younger man wearing a beanie and an all too wide smile when you thank him. Perspiration beads over your hairline from the effort it takes to heave your suitcase out of the trunk.
You definitely overpacked.
You’re half rolling, half lobbing the bag through the lobby, when you see Nanami’s back as he stands near the front desk, so you head over.
The receptionist behind it is an older woman with salt and pepper hair pulled back in a tight bun and round glasses that frame the kindest eyes you’ve ever seen.
“Hello.” It doesn’t feel right to have an elder to call you ma’am as she greets you back, but you smile, nonetheless.
The woman, Marianne her name tag says, darts her eyes between you and the waste of energy at your side and from your peripheral, you see him tip his head heavenward and pinch the bridge of his nose. “Hotel’s fully booked for the rest of the week.”
Your eyes widen, and you look back at Marianne for confirmation. Sadly, it seems like he’s telling the truth.
“I’m afraid so, ma’am. It’s wedding season, so it’s a little packed.”
You pinch your eyes shut, and a furrow forms between your brows when Nanami’s annoying baritone tries to rub salt into the wound.
“If we got here on time—”
“Well, we didn’t.”
A throat clears, and you didn’t even realise the two of you were glowering at each other until you both turned back to the older woman. She types away on her laptop, then a megawatt smile pulls at her lips, beautifully aged wrinkles rippling.
“Ah, the presidential suite should be available in an hour or so. If you and your husband don’t mind waiting—”
“I’m not her husband.”
“Ugh.”
Nanami pauses, head slowly swivelling toward you. While his reply was monotonous, you sound damn near disgusted at the prospect, and your face pulls like you just swallowed a lemon whole.
Just as well. He thinks. He can’t stand being your coworker, so husband is out of the question.
Marianne blanches as she realises her mistake, “Oh, my apologies. Just the way you argue, I would have thought—” she shakes her head. “Never mind that. Will the suite work?”
“Please tell me there isn’t only one bed.”
“You wish.” Nanami can’t help but whisper under his breath. He isn’t your biggest fan either, but did you have to sound that repulsed?
You yank your suitcase to your side, and its wheel rolls over his foot. No doubt crushing his toe under the heavy weight, if the pain-filled grunt that follows is anything to go by. It’s by far the best sound you’ve ever heard come out of his mouth.
“No, there are two rooms,” Marianne continues, far too wisened to pay attention to your childish antics longer than necessary. “But they’re adjoining.”
“The doors have locks, right?”
“You’re hilarious,” Nanami supplies dryly and fishes the business credit card out his pocket. “We’ll take it.”
The speedpoint chimes as he pays, and you can’t help but sigh. This was going to be one hell of a week.
And hell, it was.
Between the tedious meetings and constant networking, you’d be weary and practically dragging your feet when you make it back to the hotel room.
On the third day, you fell onto the couch with a groan that would have made people think you were being murdered if they weren’t looking. So tired that you didn’t even blink when Nanami slumped down beside you, and for the first time in the years you’ve known him, also seeming put out as he threw an arm over his face to shield his eyes.
You sit so close that your knees touch, but your body is too heavy to kick him away or snap at him to keep his distance, so you let your eyes fall shut.
It pains you to remember that the two of you fell asleep on the couch that night.
Together.
Somehow going from sitting side by side to him being sprawled along the length of it, and you using him as a makeshift mattress as you lie atop him. A thick arm was loosely looped around your waist when you woke up, and even though it was the best sleep you’ve ever gotten, the embarrassment of it all didn’t stop you from sliding out of his hold as if you were lathered in gallons of butter.
You’re 90% sure he was awake as you all but army crawled to your room, but neither of you brought it up in the following days. You thought that would be the end of it, but you only started tiptoeing around each other more as a new kind of tension settled between you. Not replacing what used to be there entirely, but just making it more charged.
You’d never admit it, but you died a little every time Nanami came out of the shower with the thin white towel wrapped around his hips and trickles of water dripping down plains of muscle his suits never showed. Your ogling lasts until you go to shower right after, only to curse him for finishing all the hot water.
He’s the most inconsiderate person you've ever known, and no amount of sex appeal could change that.
You wonder why he doesn’t change in the bathroom as you did. It's as if he relishes those twenty seconds of strutting from one room to the next like something out of a fitness magazine. When you tell him as much and accuse him of being unprofessional, he merely raises an eyebrow
“You don't hear me complaining about the short nightgowns you insist on wearing.”
What?
“There’s no way you’re trying to compare my pyjamas to you walking around half-naked.”
You scoff with your arms crossing over your chest, and it’s like the action draws his attention there. Clad in one of those gowns as you speak, Nanami leans down until he’s so close the scent of his body wash and shampoo wraps you in an intoxicating whirlwind.
“I caught a flash of your panties when you bent over earlier. I’d say it’s just as bad if not worse.”
You gasp, hand meeting his face, but it’s not a slap, not really. Your palm just smashes over its entirety, and you hear his sharp inhale before you push his head away with all your might (he barely moves).
“You’re a fucking pervert!”
With your cheeks burning, you don’t even give him time to reply, and you could be wrong, but instead of being angry like you intended, you almost think you hear a soft chuckle.
You’d kill him by the end of the trip. You were sure of it.
The next day at the conference, all you can focus on is how incredibly slow the week is going, and thinking it shows on your face, you force a smile when a group of execs walk over.
Judging by the gold bands on their ring fingers, all of them are married, but they definitely don’t act like it. Lecherous eyes look you over as if sizing up prey, and you shuffle from one foot to the other. One of the men keeps your hand in his a little too long after a handshake, and his dry lips pull into a sleazy grin, skin cracking a little from the effort, so he darts his tongue out.
Your many years of experience are the only reason you don’t outwardly grimace when he says your name in a coaxing purr.
“You’re absolutely ravishing. It's no wonder you were chosen to join us this week.”
Right, because it had to be beauty and not all the hard work you put in that could land you in a room like this.
“Thank you?” Your eyes widen when he raises your hand to his lips as if he were about to kiss the back of it, until warmth feathers over the curve of your back, and you feel Nanami long before you hear him.
“Mr Samson.” The man comes up short when his name is called, and the sight of his shiny bald head and the wispy pieces of hair he laid in a forced comb-over disappears as he straightens. You take the opportunity to pull your hand out of his, and his eyes look over your head, then up, up, until he meets those of your blonde tormentor standing behind you.
“Mr Nanami.” Samson greets with that overly friendly expression on his face, nowhere in sight.
“Gentlemen.” A hand lands on the small of your back, and he steps to your side, nodding at the rest of the pack. “I hope you don’t mind if I steal her away for a moment?”
He phrases that as a question, but doesn’t really give them time to answer when he steers you away from them. You can’t help but feel a rush of relief when he walks you to the door, and while it takes everything in you to swallow your pride, you whisper your thanks under your breath.
It may have been too soft for him to hear because he doesn’t even spare you a glance as he closes the car door behind you.
Once again, the drive back to the hotel was quiet, and unlike the awkwardly stiff silence that filled the car every other day, this time it wasn’t that bad.
You know you shouldn’t be this happy to have left early, and some people may mistake that for arrogance on the company’s part, but it is nice to have an early night for once.
You’d do damage control tomorrow.
It would be the last day of mingling before the two of you went back home, and you won’t need to engage with him more than you were already forced to. You think it’s a good thing, but your spurring belly doesn’t seem to agree with you.
When the car stops at the hotel’s entrance, you step out, and you only make it one step before you hear a loud “thwack!”. Your ankle rolls a little, and you stumble forward.
Looking down at your heel, you nearly weep at the sight of the broken stem, dangling precariously even when you lift your foot. You'd never feel comfortable telling anyone how much you spent on them, and now they were broken. Why do these things always happen to you?
“What’s wrong?” Kento asks as he comes to your side of the car. He follows your gaze as you look at your stiletto, and you place a hand against the hood, bending to take it off. “You can't walk around barefoot. You don't know what's on these floors.”
He says almost accusingly. As if you broke your shoe on purpose.
“Don’t have much of a choice, do I?”
You snipe at him and before your foot can touch the ground, a squeal pipes out when you’re lifted up.
A strong arm circles your back, and the other hooks around the underside of your knees. It happens so quickly, you almost feel like you’ve been sent flying. Trapped in a princess carry within a matter of seconds as has you spluttering in shock. “Have you lost your mind?!”
An arm momentarily leaves you, and you wind yours around his neck so you don’t fall on your ass. There’s a jingle as he hands the car keys over to the valet, and realising that someone else witnessed you being dragged like a sack of potatoes makes you squirm in his hold.
“Put me down.” You force through gritted teeth, and he walks into the lobby.
“In a minute.” He murmurs, not fazed in the slightest as his leather shoes clack over mosaic tiles.
“Now!”
“No.”
The sheer audacity of this man was almost impressive sometimes.
You find a little comfort in the fact that it’s so late no one other than the staff is in the lobby. But you catch sight of Marianne’s silvery hair and her simper as she watches the two of you. Her smile, paired with the feeling of Nanami’s hulking chest heating the side of your body, is enough to make you grip his shoulders, nails digging in warning.
“You’re making a scene.”
“You’re the one yelling.”
Because he was making a scene!
“I swear to god, Kento, if you don’t let me down right now I’m gonna bite you.”
And the idiot has the nerve to smirk in response to the threat. For someone who didn’t want you walking around barefoot, he didn’t seem to care that a human bite could pack so much bacteria the infection would take him out in days.
“Don’t smile at that. What is wrong with you?”
“I’m just surprised we’re on a first-name basis now.”
Your arms tighten around him again when his grip snags to press the elevator’s button. The doors open immediately, and he secures you against him once more and steps inside.
The elevator goes up a level, and your eyes impatiently flicker over his face when he still doesn’t let you down. You take in the sharp slope of his nose and his usually frowning mouth that has an imperceptible smile on it now. His glasses glint under the harsh lighting in the lift, the golden glare trying and failing to match his glossy hair.
“You’re staring.”
You stiffen in his arms, when brown eyes track over to you, you look away.
“As if.”
His chest rumbles against you as he laughs, and you hate yourself for melting a little at the sound.
The elevator dings open, and you give up on wiggling free when he swipes the key card at the door and steps inside the suite. The door is kicked closed behind him and he ambles to the couch. Your arms slide off Nanami’s shoulders when he sets you down with surprising gentleness, and just as you start to gather your bearings, he kneels in front of you.
“What are you doing?” You’re tempted to kick him.
But the man only takes hold of your leg with one hand and slips your shoe off with the other.
“You’re hurt.”
You look down at your foot. You numbed yourself to the ache in your feet around the fourth hour of being in heels, so the little pinch of pain that followed when one of the shoes broke didn’t even register.
Redness blooms near your ankle, so light that you need to squint to see it.
“I’m fine,” you bare your teeth against the brush of his thumb over your instep. Nanami stands up, and a forceful exhalation passes through your lips.
Finally.
He takes a seat next to you.
Nope, spoke too soon.
“Let me see.”
“Huh?” Your head rears, and not wanting to repeat himself, he leans down, and a yodel sounds from you when he snatches your foot into the air.
Your hand pushes your pencil skirt further between your thighs when your legs open a little too wide for comfort, and not having a choice, you rotate your body and lean against the arm of the couch.
“What the fuck is your problem?” A thumb presses the bruise on your foot. “Ow!”
“Shush.” The other stiletto is taken off too, and he adjusts your feet so they’re on his lap. “Tomorrow’s the last day of the conference, I can’t have you sabotage it by hobbling all over the place.”
And there it was. He wasn’t doing this to be nice. He was just worried about how you would look next to him. Vanity, you could handle. Your lips gape to tell him off, but his fingers work into a soft curve that has you faltering.
“Just sit still for a moment.”
That shouldn’t be much of a problem, seeing you’re frozen in place.
Calloused hands feel feather-light as they knead and stroke over your irritated skin. Languid but completely focused as he massages you so skilfully, the numbness fades in seconds. His knuckle skims along your sole, and your foot wiggles, a small giggle bubbling from the unintended tickle. Kento’s eyes lift to yours, a glint of amusement in them as he tickles you again, and your laughter turns into an annoyed grunt.
“Stop that.”
He listens. Partly. Because while he does let go of your foot, his fingers go up to trace over your ankle, and you’re still restless. The little quiver that rocks through you doesn’t go unnoticed.
Hazelnut eyes harden behind square glasses as he takes stock of you from head to toe, and when they find yours again, their shell cracks open to reveal a buttery chocolate centre that almost has you licking your lips.
Nanami’s hand pauses over your skin, and your disappointment must be written all over your face because he tilts his head at you.
“You still want me to stop?”
You don’t. He knows that, but he still doesn’t move. And he won’t until you say it.
“No.” You whisper under your breath, and you get a cocked eyebrow, wordlessly urging you to continue.
“No, what?”
Ugh, why was he being so difficult? He knew exactly what you meant.
Every morsel of arousal you feel gets gobbled up by an unknown force, and you pull your legs away from him.
Fuck this. You’d sooner somersault off the rooftop than beg a man.
“Forget it.”
You stand up and only get half a step in before you’re yanked into his lap. He takes his glasses off, and the wavering breath you take is stolen when he slants his lips over yours. The kiss is demanding, almost punishing, that you weren’t bold enough to voice what you wanted.
He’ll have to remedy that.
“Don’t stop.”
Nanami grins up at you. The man was nothing if not tenacious.
“Oh my god,” you hiccup, legs on either side of his hips as you straddle him on the couch. Your skirt is bunched up to your hips, panties pulled over to the side as lithe fingers thrust in and out of you.
Nanami leans forward and presses a kiss to your chin, a gentle peck that’s nothing like the mean plunge of his fingers into your cunt that has you fluttering pathetically around them. You were getting close again. The third time in a row as he brought you to the brink, and instead of letting you free-fall into unimaginable pleasure, he does something worse. He wrenches you back with all his might.
“Don’t.” You warn when you feel his fingers slow.
“You know the words I want to hear, sweetheart.” He says the petname like it’s an insult and damn you for squeezing around veiny digits harder. “Tell me you like it.”
Your eyes roll back when he hooks his fingers and pushes deeper.
“Tell me you like my fingers stretching you open for me.”
Your head shakes, and you aren’t even shocked when his fingers slide out of you. But the stinging pain of his palm smacking over your twitching clit? That knocks the air out of you and forces it out in nothing more than a soundless gasp.
“Fuck you,” you simmer once you’ve caught your breath, chest heaving painfully.
He only laughs in that rich whiskey quality that implores you to overindulge and drink him whole.
“Keep being a brat, and you won’t get to.”
The heel of his hand covers your clit, nastily rubbing down and smearing glittering sticky wetness everywhere.
“Maybe I don’t want to.”
Teeth nip at your lips, just shy from drawing blood before he stops himself.
“Keep telling yourself that.”
You’re shaking when he wraps an arm around you, vision flashing to white when he hikes you against him, drawing you to grind over his belt buckle as he carries you to the room. The soft bed resembles a fluffy cloud when he sets you on it and your body wars between feathery weightlessness and sluggishness as you sink into it. A pleasurable buzz looms over you when you draw yourself up to your elbows and find him taking his clothes off. His eyes zero in on the centre of your thighs, and he loosens his tie.
There’s a little tremor in the action, hands momentarily faltering when you pull yourself to sit on your knees and help him. You feel the heat of his stare, then he’s undressing you too and there’s a quiet rasp of fabric ripping as his hands grow hurried. Then with a blink of the eye, all clothes are discarded in a messy bundle on the floor, and you’re both bare.
Nanami tries to lay you back onto the mattress, but unfortunately for him, you hold grudges like a drowning person to a lifeline. You would let yourself sink under the surface, and even as water garbled in your lungs and weighed you down a fraction of what it did to him, you refused to let him leave unscathed.
So when you twist your bodies and his back hits the mattress first, the wide-eyed look he gives you makes delighted goosebumps prick over your skin. You crawl up his body to straddle him, and his hands find your waist when you roll your slit along his cock.
Nanami’s hips twitch up, only to groan when you lift yourself out of reach, withholding the friction he so desperately needs. He blinks up at you, eyes bleary and wild as the cogs turn in his head. Then the gears click into place.
“Ah, this is payback, is it?” His laugh has you grinding harder over his girth, and it turns into a hiss.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Your reply, with your voice sickeningly sweet and hunger, makes his eyes glaze over.
You finally allow yourself to look down at his cock, taking in the reddened flush of the length and the creamy drops of precum welling at his tip. As if drawn in by an irresistible force, you circle a hand around it, and the touch elicits something between a moan and a gasp from him.
The sound is so soft, so ruined, it doesn’t even sound like him anymore.
Your hand bops up and down over the heavy girth, and only after drawing out a moan do you line him up with your hole. But you don’t slide him inside just yet.
All the muscles in Nanami’s body bulge, then ripple as he struggles to stay still under you, and you casually glide the mushroom tip up and down your slit.
“Feel good?”
Only a noncommittal hum escapes, and he folds his lip between his teeth, captivated as he watches you slide the crown of his head between puffy folds then pull it out again.
Holy fuck.
“Say it.”
Sandy brows furrow. He’s just as stubborn as you were, if not more. That’s why the two of you clashed like two bulls in an all too small enclosure. But with how sadistic you were at times, he fears you may actually leave him like this. Nanami stammers, and when you let an inch of his cock glide into you, he blurts the words out in a barely coherent blabber.
“Feels good, baby. Too good. You know it does—” and that’s all you needed.
You bear down on him, and his words break off. Twin moans fill the lavish room as you sink further, and his cock bullies itself into you like it’s trying to make more room. Slippery walls flutter around it when you take him to the hilt, clit rolling into the fine dusting of hair at his base. Your head tips back when he meets you halfway with a shaky thrust of his hips upwards.
The denied orgasms have you a little delirious as you bounce on him like your life depends on it, pausing when he nudges a spot that has you seeing white, only to slam down harder.
The last spindles of Nanami’s patience unravel like a thread's frayed edge, and his hands seal around you, crushing you to his chest as his hips snap up to meet your thighs in loud slaps.
“Ken,” His name is a fervent curse on your lips. A beseeching prayer that echoes through the room and seeks atonement as his balls draw up.
“Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”
It’s like his words bodily thrust you over first and leave you crying out with your release. Nanami buries his face in your hair when your cunt pulses hard around him, greedily trying to milk him of every drop he has. And you know you’ve won when heat spurs low in your belly as he empties himself into you with praises whispered into the soft tresses of your hair.
You fall limp on top of him, and he holds you until both your bodies stop shaking.
You pull back first, stomach churning, and while you’re not sure what emotions you were expecting to see on his face, the dopey-eyed look as he sports certainly isn’t one of them.
A warm hand settles over your cheek as his eyes search yours.
“You good?”
Heart thumping hard in your chest, you only manage to give him a small nod. So, he cards a hand into your hair and settles you back against his broad chest. Eyes fluttering as they welcome the sort of deep sleep that only seems to blanket you when you’re with him.
And soon enough, the lascivious haze of sex dissipates to leave a sliver of anxiety in its place.
The two of you were an HR nightmare just waiting to happen. And the manager of that department, being the hell-bent bloodhound he was, would sniff out the scent of sex and deceit on your skin in a matter of seconds when you returned.
You’ll definitely have to steer clear of him until you improve your poker face by a couple thousand notches.
But the office building was relatively big, so surely, Hiromi couldn’t be that difficult to avoid.
a/n: now that’s done let me get back to studying so i can bag this second degree (i say bouncing off the walls and pulling my hair out in panic) let me know if you saw errors.
↳ synopsis: you and your husband are looking for a third participant in the bedroom. enter baekhyun — the adorably awkward, innocent, younger man you meet one night at a bar.
↳ wc: 8.3k of almost pure smut
↳ contents: Junmyeon x f!reader x Baekhyun | smut (MDNI) | husband!Junmyeon, younger!Baekhyun; jm and reader have an open relationship | kinda mean dom!junmyeon, switch/subby!reader, subish!baekhyun, masturbation (m solo), fingering, oral (everyone receiving yay!), facetime sex, dirrrttty talkin, degradation, praise, raw p in v threesome sex (eiffel tower sil vout plait), a bit of edging, dacryphilia, face fucking, cum eating (like… a lot of it lowkey), *jm and bh do interact sexually
↳ a/n: jesus christ. if you've been here for a minute you know that i first mentioned this fic in the beginning of november and was supposed to post it by the end of that month. well... i got stuck several times and it also spiraled out of control (believe it or not this was supposed to be like 3k words and now it's this... what is wrong with me!!!) i also want to preface by saying i don't have any personal experience with open relationships so this is probably an inaccurate portrayal. pretty freaky for my standards i'm like almost embarrassed omg... hope you enjoy, minors go away this is pure filth
Baekhyun doesn’t know what he’s doing here.
He’s slightly underdressed, even in his black slacks and light brown sweater. All around him are glamorous women in cocktail dresses, hair pinned up high with perfectly curled pieces framing perfectly made up faces. Every man dons a blazer, expensive watches adorning their wrists. There’s a mirror perfectly situated behind the bar that Baekhyun can see his own reflection in, and he grimaces at just how young he looks. Out of place, with his wire-frame glasses and disheveled hair, a far cry from the general aura of sophistication that surrounds him on all sides.
He tries to shake the feelings of inadequacy out of his head and does what he came here to do: drink. He almost recoils on instinct when the alcohol touches his tongue. It’s sharp and bitter, and burns on the way down. I thought expensive alcohol wasn’t supposed to go down easily.
He’s just about to call it a failure of a night out and retreat back home, back to his shithole apartment where he wouldn’t be the youngest person in the room by about five years, when someone clears their throat behind him.
“Is this seat taken?”
He turns, and his jaw nearly drops. And that’s when he meets you. You, with your perfect hair and perfect face, the dark emerald fabric of your dress draping elegantly over your body like it was tailor-made for you. Even your nails are perfect: perfectly filed ovals with a shiny, clear coat.
“No. You can sit.”
You sit on the stool next to him, waving slightly to get the bartender’s attention. “I’ll have a vodka soda, please. And…” you turn to him expectantly, eyebrow raising.
Baekhyun’s eyes widen, an embarrassing heat passing over his face. “Oh, I’m okay. Thank you.” Inside, he wants to die. Should he have offered to buy you a drink? Wouldn’t that come off as presumptuous, though? Who is he kidding, there’s no way in hell that a woman like you would —
You’ve just said your name, and now you’re looking at him with that expectant eye again.
“I’m Baekhyun,” he manages to sputter out. Good going, Baek, at least you can do one thing right.
“Baekhyun,” you say, smiling. His name sounds like magic coming off of your lips. “You’re very cute.”
Baekhyun clears his throat, staring so hard at the glass in his hand that he thinks it might just explode. “Thank you. You’re beautiful.”
“I’ve never seen you here before,” you say, taking your drink off the bar counter when it arrives. “Is this your first time?”
He nods. “My labmate recommended this place to me. He forgot to mention that it’s way fancier than the usual places we go too.” He laughs, a little self-consciously.
“Labmate? Are you a scientist or a student?” you ask.
“Student. Third-year PhD.”
“So you’re basically a scientist.” Baekhyun gulps when you take a sip of your drink, leaving a dark red lipstick stain on the rim of your glass. “Do you like it?”
“Most of the time. Not right now.” Suddenly, the events of the last few days come flooding back, and his shoulders start to tense automatically. “It’s always rough this time of year. There’s a lot of deadlines and such, plus this is my first semester teaching so it’s been hard adjusting to all the grading and having to be on in front of a room of eighteen year olds all the time. And…”
“And?” you prompt.
Baekhyun sighs. “I just got dumped last week. We weren’t together very long but you know, it still stings. So yeah. It’s been a lot.”
You frown, reaching out to put your hand on top of his. Your hand is cold, and he nearly jerks away at the touch. “I’m so sorry. It’s their loss.”
“But it’s okay. I feel like I’m ready to move on.”
You stare at him for a second, and the weight of what he’s just admitted settles onto him like an anvil. Baekhyun wonders if walking out of this bar and into oncoming traffic would be a faster and more painless death than whatever humiliation ritual this is. But then you giggle, covering your mouth with the back of your hand.
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh at you but… I’m just laughing because, why did you feel like you needed to tell me that?”
Now Baekhyun feels the tips of his ears turning bright red, and he pointedly avoids looking into the mirror because he knows that he would just collapse into a puddle if he saw his own flustered expression right now. “Well, because, I didn’t want you to think that I wasn’t attracted to you.”
You lean in, close enough for Baekhyun to smell your perfume coming off of your neck. Something sweet and dainty, but with a darker musk underneath it. He has a feeling that he’ll be trying to remember this scent all night. “Are you attracted to me, Baekhyunnie?”
Baekhyun swallows, the nickname sending all sorts of confusing feelings swirling around in his gut. “Yes,” he breathes.
“I’m glad,” you say. “I’m really attracted to you too. Are you done with your drink? Wanna get out of here?”
The night air is chilly, and Baekhyun wishes that he had a jacket to offer you, but any sort of self-conscious thought vanishes from his head when you press him against the exterior brick wall of the bar. Your hands are light, delicate on his chest, sliding up slowly to wrap around the back of his neck. You look at him through your lashes, the streetlight casting your features in a soft glow.
“Kiss me,” you say softly, your heady gaze drifting down to his lips.
And how could he deny your request?
His hands rest on your lower back, holding you close to him as he meets your lips, kissing you gently. The alcohol on your mouth tastes sweeter on you, an addicting taste that he can’t get enough of. You slip your tongue inside his mouth, and he has to stop his knees from buckling beneath him, suddenly dizzy with want. He’s surrounded on all sides by your touch, your scent, your taste, and it makes him nearly melt.
He nearly has to pull away to compose himself when you moan softly against his lips, a noise so faint and so sweet that he thinks he might have imagined it. But then you press yourself against him before making that sound again, and Baekhyun thinks he might just die from how fast his blood is pumping straight to his cock.
You pull away, lipstick smeared at the corner of your mouth, grinning at him, breathlessly. “I like you,” you exhale.
He’s about to respond with something probably incredibly stupid and way too soon when a sleek black car pulls up behind you and stops. “Ah, he’s early,” you say, tucking your hair behind your ear. A man steps out of the driver’s side and steps onto the sidewalk to greet you. He’s incredibly handsome, one of those faces you only see on billboards and magazines. He’s dressed casually, but he still looks so expensive in an effortless way.
“Baekhyun, this is Junmyeon,” you say, and Baekhyun’s stomach drops in horror when he wraps an arm around your waist familiarly. Too familiarly. “My husband.”
The times throughout the night that Baekhyun wishes that the ground beneath him would open up and swallow him whole don’t compare in the slightest to the feeling he has right now.
“H-Husband?!” he squeaks. “But we… I…” He looks from you, to Junmyeon, then back to you.
“It’s okay, Baekhyun,” Junmyeon says. God, even his voice is handsome. “We’re in an open marriage.”
His face must still be frozen in an expression of utter shock, because you cut in, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to spring this on you. I was going to tell you before he got here, but someone wasn’t supposed to arrive for another fifteen minutes.”
“Dinner ended earlier than expected, I’m sorry, darling.” Junmyeon kisses your temple, and a hot feeling of… something floods Baekhyun’s stomach. Is it jealousy? Discomfort?
Arousal?
“So, what, do you want me to be your third or something?” Baekhyun asks. His tongue feels a bit like lead, sitting heavy in his mouth.
“If you want,” you say. “But it can be just us, if you’d prefer.” Your cheeks are dusted with pink, and Baekhyun realizes suddenly that you’re flustered too. “Our arrangement is flexible. I wouldn’t want you to do something you’re not comfortable with, so if you’d rather Junmyeon not be there, it’s totally okay.”
“Honest, Baekhyun,” Junmyeon chimes in. “We’ve had a lot of time to sort out our feelings about doing this. And if you’d rather just forget this ever happened, that’s fine too.”
Baekhyun feels like his head might explode. “Can I think about it? I’ve never… I’ve never done anything even remotely like this before.” Part of him thinks that this is just too bizarre for him. He can count the amount of partners he’s had on one hand, and he nearly combusted just fucking kissing you. How would he be able to handle being with you… with both of you?
But part of him looks at the pair in front of him and flashes of the possibility flit through his mind. It’s enough to ignite a low heat deep within him.
“Sure.” You hand him your phone and he types his number in with shaky hands. “And Baekhyun,” you whisper. “It really is okay if I don’t hear from you again, but…” You learn forward, planting a kiss on his cheek. “I hope I do.”
He refuses a ride home from Junmyeon, claiming (and lying) that his apartment is just around the corner. When he finally steps through his front door, he looks at his reflection in the hallway mirror. Your lipstick is smeared all over his lips, and a perfect outline of your kiss is stamped on his right cheek.
It doesn’t take long for him to shuck off his slacks and boxers, nearly tripping on them on the way to his bed, cock already throbbing and angry. As he jerks himself off, grip so hard that it nearly hurts, he pulls the neckline of his sweater over his nose, the faint notes of your perfume still lingering there. He gets off to the thought of you, to the memory of your body pressed against his, the taste of your lips. But also things that might be in your future: him settling between your thighs, making you cum on his tongue. Hearing your sweet voice cry out as you shake. But what finally tips him over the edge is a flitting, fleeting image of you, mouth stuffed full of cock— not his, someone else’s— while he fucks you, muffled moans spilling out as you cum around him.
His hips rock into his fist as his cum spills over his knuckles, and it isn’t until after he’s cleaned himself up that the guilt from jerking off to a married woman settles in.
Junmyeon, for the few brief moments that Baekhyun had met him, doesn’t seem like he’s harboring any ill will towards him. If anything, if Baekhyun allows himself the delusion for one second, he might have looked at him with… curiosity. Interest, even. The thought of it sends a confusing, hot feeling through Baekhyun’s stomach, his spent cock twitching with mild interest.
His phone chimes in his hand and breaks through his thoughts. He opens the notification to see a text from an unknown number.
no pressure, but junmyeon likes you too :)
goodnight baekhyunnie <3
“You like him,” is the first thing Junmyeon says to you when you climb into the car.
“Isn’t he a cutie?” you ask, turning in your seat to look back at Baekhyun. He looks like a deer caught in headlights, your lipstick smeared on his face, staring dumbfoundedly at the car.
Junmyeon agrees. It really had been an accident: he was meant to pick you up later, but Minseok had to deal with a late-night office emergency, leaving him with nothing to do. When he pulled up, he saw Baekhyun’s flushed cheeks, his glasses hanging low on his nose, permed dark hair unruly and mussed. But Junmyeon doesn’t want you to know just how eager he himself is with your new choice of a partner, so instead of any affirmation, he says, “A little young, no?”
You tsk your tongue at him. “Barely. He’s in his mid-twenties. You act like being thirty is a crime.” You fall silent for a while, before saying, “So you don’t think he’s cute?”
“When did I say that?” he replies, staring straight at the road ahead.
“I knew it!” you grin. “He’s exactly your type, right? When I saw him I thought that you’d really like him.”
“Hey now, don’t get too excited. Let Baekhyun decide how he wants this to continue and with whom.”
The final interaction between the three of you was hard to read, but Junmyeon fears it’s taken a turn for the worst when you don’t hear from Baekhyun for a week. He can see that it’s affecting you, even though you try to hide it. The way you jump each time your phone gets a notification, only to put it back down with a slight frown.
“I won’t be mad if you’re disappointed, sweetheart,” Junmyeon says, plopping down next to you on the couch with a bowl of popcorn. He chuckles when you open your mouth, obediently feeding you a few kernels.
“I don’t know why I’m being like this,” you groan, tucking your face into his shoulder. “We’ve had people ghost us all the time. It never mattered.”
“I think you have a little crush,” Junmyeon teases.
You whine petulantly, hiding your face from him. “Stop, Myeon.”
“It’s so adorable. Reminds me of when we first met. When you kept ‘running into me’ on campus only to get so shy when I finally asked you about it.” He has to kiss away your pouts before the movie starts.
Even though your crush on Baekhyun is extremely evident, as plain to see as the fact that the sky is blue, Junmyeon doesn’t feel an ounce of worry. Your relationship has been open for longer than it’s been exclusive, and any sort of bumps in the road have been sorted out years ago. At the core of your arrangement is a deep mutual love and respect for each other, and the expectation to communicate thoroughly. He has never been threatened by your feelings for a third partner, and you’ve never felt any ill will towards any of Junmyeon’s feelings for partners past.
Another week passes, and Junmyeon is starting to think that it’s time to give up hope when you come out of the bathroom, freshly showered, with a wide grin stretched over your face. “Junmyeon, look!” you squeal before running over to where he’s sitting in bed. You give him your phone and he scrolls through the text chain with Baekhyun.
Hi! I’ve been thinking a lot about everything and I think I’m ready
I do want to do this I think
But I’m pretty inexperienced haha so I’m nervous…
Hi Baekhyun!
I’m sososo happy to hear this
No need to be nervous I’ll be nice ;)
Just me? Or Junmyeon too?
Both of you
Omg I can’t believe I just sent that
Yeah both of you
“When can he come over? We should probably all have a discussion first, right? Ah, we have to clean the house,” you babble.
Junmyeon laughs, urging you to straddle his lap. He gives you a chaste peck on the lips, his hands settling onto your waist. “You’re so cute when you’re excited,” he says.
“You wanna feel how excited I am?” you ask, a teasing lilt in your voice. Your fingers go to undo the tie of your robe, the cloth slipping off of your shoulders and down your back, exposing your body to him.
Junmyeon sighs softly, reaching out to cup your tits, then dragging his hands down your stomach and dipping his middle finger through your folds. “Oh, baby you’re soaked,” he coos, catching your lips in another kiss. He pulls on your bottom lip with his teeth, your gasp heading straight to his cock, slowly twitching to life. “Your little boytoy’s got you all riled up, hm?”
“It’s not just that,” you say, slowly grinding your hips onto his hand. “It’s the thought of having both of you together.”
“Greedy,” he murmurs. He pulls his fingers out of you and lays you on your back, hovering on top of you. “What do you want us to do to you?”
“I haven’t decided yet,” you reply, whining when Junmyeon’s mouth descends to your tits, catching a nipple in between his lips. “I want… ah… I just want him to have a good time.”
Junmyeon reaches over to your nightstand and hands you your phone before continuing his path down towards your core, nudging your legs apart. “Why don’t you ask him what he wants?”
“Hmm?” you ask, your gaze flicking towards your phone. “What do you mean?”
“I mean call him,” he replies, licking a stripe up your slit. “Right now.”
You mutter a curse under your breath, but you obey all the same, shaky fingers tapping on your phone’s screen. A flicker of satisfaction and pride blooms in Junmyeon’s chest. He knows how you’ve presented yourself to Baekhyun thus far: an untouchable goddess, the charmer who had him pressed against the wall within minutes. While all of these things about you are undoubtedly true, he has yet to see you the way that Junmyeon loves to have you: stuttering over your words, legs shaking, mind going blank with pleasure.
“Hi, Baekhyun,” you say, pressing your phone to your ear, and oh the strain in your voice is so fucking cute. Junmyeon taps on your thigh and makes a gesture towards his face before he buries his tongue in your folds. Eyes on me.
“Oh, nothing.” You suck in a breath through your nose, your hand reaching out to bury your fingers in his hair. “I just wanted to know what you wanted Junmyeon and I to do to you.”
Junmyeon can picture his reaction — dark eyes going wide, a fiery blush rushing to his cheeks. Maybe even dropping his phone in surprise. Your thighs twitch around his head as you suck your bottom lip between your teeth, hips jerking when Junmyeon flicks the tip of his tongue against your clit.
“Don’t be shy, baby,” you purr. “Tell us what you want, and we’ll make it happen. Pinky promise.”
Junmyeon slips two fingers into you and you stifle a gasp, your fingers abandoning his head and twisting into the sheets. He’s got you right where he wants you, just right on the edge of complete surrender. But you’re nothing if not stubborn. “I bet you want us to decide, hmm?” you say, your voice shaking but determined. “I bet you just want us to have you how we want it, just take whatever we want from you? Position you however we want?”
His cock twitches with interest underneath his pajama pants. Goddamn, you’re good. He can only imagine how Baekhyun’s taking it on the other end.
“Are you touching yourself, Baekhyunnie?” you whisper. As soon as the words leave your mouth, you throw your head back, squeezing your eyes shut. Your pussy is squeezing around his fingers, and Junmyeon’s doubtful that the sounds of your wetness aren’t audible on the other end. You’re so close, he can feel it. “Me?” you ask, your eyes flying open to shoot Junmyeon a silent question. “Not quite,” you reply, taking the phone away from your ear. Junmyeon sees your thumb hovering over the FaceTime button. He nods at you, sucking your clit with renewed determination. “Wanna see?”
The FaceTime audio chimes, and Baekhyun gasps. “Oh, fuck,” he groans.
“Hi, Baekhyun,” Junmyeon says, curling his fingers inside of you. You moan, finally able to let your noises flow uninhibited. “This one was so excited to hear that you wanted us both that she got so wet and needy. Did you know that you had that effect on her?”
“No,” he breathes. The angle makes it a little hard to see, but Junmyeon is able to make out Baekhyun laying in bed, shirtless, the camera shaking slightly.
“Well, you do,” he replies, “She’s soaking all over my fingers. She wants to cum so bad, I can feel it. Baby, tell Baekhyunnie just how badly you want to cum.”
“I want it, I want it,” you whine, arching your hips into Junmyeon’s waiting mouth. “It feels so good.”
“Do you think she should?” His thumb passes over your clit, sending another shockwave of pleasure through your body.
“I-I don’t know.” The flush on Baekhyun’s cheeks is apparent even in the darkness of his room.
“Please Baekhyun.” Your voice goes all breathy, and you give those eyes, that look that’s pushed Junmyeon over the edge countless times, to the camera. “I want to cum. Please let me cum for you.”
“Oh my fucking God,” he swears. His tongue darts out to wet his lips. “Cum for me.”
Your back arches off the bed, a loud cry leaving your lips. “Fuck, Baekhyunnie—” Your phone slips from your grasp and Junmyeon reaches up to grab it, flipping the camera so that Baekhyun has a perfect view of your folds, reddened and slick with Junmyeon’s spit and your cum.
“Isn’t she perfect?” Junmyeon hums, slowly dragging the pad of his thumb over your sensitive clit, making your thighs twitch. “All for you.”
“And you too,” you say weakly. “Both of you.”
“Will you fuck her for me?” Baekhyun asks, voice raspy and thick with arousal.
Junmyeon swallows, nodding slowly. It takes some maneuvering, but he positions you and the camera perfectly: your phone propped up on the nightstand and you on your elbows and knees, facing the camera. Baekhyun’s done some adjusting too and now you and Junmyeon are faced with the image of the younger man with his sweatpants pulled down to his thighs, his needy, pink cock curved against his stomach. One hand is wrapped around the base, squeezing himself lightly.
You’re needy, already pushing your hips back into Junmyeon’s touch the second his hands make contact with your hips. Your back is arched so prettily, sticking your ass up invitingly. Putting on a show, Junmyeon realizes.
“I didn’t think you’d be so…” Baekhyun trails off.
“Submissive?” Junmyeon supplies, slowly pushing the tip of his cock inside of you. You clench around him, already mewling for more. “If there’s one thing she likes more than finding pretty things like you, it’s begging.”
“You think I’m pretty?” Baekhyun asks, just a ghost of a playful tone underneath the lust in his voice.
“Of course I do, Baekhyun.” Junmyeon flicks his gaze up to the phone to admire the image of him. “You’re the prettiest yet.”
“Stop talking,” you whine. “Fuck me.”
Junmyeon raises his hand and smacks your ass, relishing in your pretty gasp before driving into you hard. Your mouth falls open, your head dropping onto the pillow in front of you, already falling apart so pretty for him. He’ll never get tired of this, those first moments when he enters you when you have to adjust to his considerable length, surprised as if this was the first time he’s fucked you. But Junmyeon also likes what comes next the best, when you snap back into reality, into this moment, and get lost in the throes of your own pleasure.
He grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls you up, making you arch so good for him but also allowing Baekhyun to see your face. The younger man groans, jerking himself off slowly, eyes wide and transfixed on the view in front of him.
“You’re so gorgeous,” Baekhyun breathes. He pants lightly, hips jerking into the tight circle of his hand. “Fuck, I need you.”
“I— I need you too,” you whimper. Junmyeon can see your fucked out expression in the camera, your wide, glassy, needy eyes. “Want to suck Junmyeon off while you fuck me.”
Junmyeon groans, digging the tips of his fingers into your hips. “Jesus, baby.”
“It would be so good,” you whine, looking back at him over your shoulder, batting your eyelashes so invitingly. “Both of you just holding me there and making me take it. Making me your fucktoy.”
With a loud growl, Junmyeon buries your face in the covers with one hand on the back of your head, driving into you with brutal force. The wet sounds of your pussy are absolutely obscene, married with the slick sounds of Baekhyun’s hand sliding over his cock over the speaker. “Such a greedy little slut,” he mutters. “Begging for two cocks like this so shamelessly.”
“Shit, I’m gonna cum,” Baekhyun says suddenly, voice thick with desperation. He bites his bottom lip and tips his head forward, eyes screwed shut against the onslaught of sensation.
“With her, Baekhyun,” Junmyeon commands, snaking a hand between your legs to circle your swollen clit. You look up from your position to lock eyes with Baekhyun’s image as your orgasm hits you, shaking and trembling.
Your walls constrict around him so perfectly that it doesn’t take much time at all for Junmyeon to spill inside of you too, holding your hips flush against his. You sigh happily, arching into it subconsciously in that way you do that has spurred on round two countless amounts of times. But tonight isn’t the night for that, Junmyeon thinks as he looks up at the phone. Baekhyun pants, catching his breath, ropes of cum spilled out onto his stomach.
“So good, baby,” you say dazedly.
Baekhyun shivers. “You two are insane.”
“Why don’t you come over sometime soon and we’ll show you how insane it can really get?” Junmyeon asks.
Baekhyun’s tongue darts out to lick at his lips nervously. “Yes. Yeah, I’ll text you guys when I’m free next.”
“Sounds good,” you giggle. “Goodnight, Baekhyunnie. Dream of us.”
“Bye,” Baekhyun replies, and the last thing Junmyeon and you see before the call ends is his flustered, blushing face.
It takes about a week for Baekhyun to text you back.
At first, you think you’ve scared him off. Maybe the whole FaceTime thing was coming on way too strong.
“It seemed like he enjoyed it though,” Junmyeon frowns, stroking your hair while you lay your head in his lap.
“He can enjoy it and still change his mind,” you sigh. “It’s probably a lot for him.”
“Don’t worry about it too much. He’ll come when he’s ready.”
Of course, you’re overthinking it, and Junmyeon’s right (which happens more often than you’d like to admit). Baekhyun texts late on a Thursday night, your phone pinging mere moments before you were about to fall asleep.
I’m so so sorry I didn’t mean to ghost
Things just got so crazy with school
But I’m free this whole weekend!
Yay!! :))
But oh no that sounds stressful
Yeah it’s been pretty hectic haha
But some stress relief would be nice
I think we know how to help with that
You decide on spending the weekend at your house, assuring Baekhyun that he could leave before that if he wanted and the two of you wouldn’t be upset with him. All day you feel like a tornado around your place, cleaning up things that you would normally never think to keep clean, like the back of the fridge, or underneath the couch cushions. Junmyeon watches you with an amused eye, but he scrubs every inch of the bathtub just the same.
Evening rolls around and you’re in the middle of plating dinner when there’s a knock at your door. “I got it,” Junmyeon jumps off the couch a bit too eagerly and towards the front door. You check your reflection in the mirror one last time before you hear them rounding the corner, talking softly amongst themselves.
Baekhyun looks so cute, wearing a nice cream sweater and jeans, his glasses sliding low on his nose. His hair looks so fluffy and he runs a hand through it self-consciously, his other hand fiddling with the strap of his duffle bag slung over his shoulder. “You have a beautiful house,” he says warmly, though the small anxious habits give him away: he’s nervous.
“Thank you.” You beam at him and wipe your hands on the kitchen towel before going to give him a friendly hug, kissing him briefly on the cheek. “And thank you for coming, Baekhyun. It means a lot to me. To us. Junmyeon will show you where you can put your stuff.”
Dinner is about as normal as it could be under these circumstances. In the past, you’ve had guests who just wanted to skip past the whole formality and just go straight to the bedroom, and others still have been too nervous to even get through dinner, making up an excuse to end everything early. Baekhyun, to your relief, is neither of those things. He actually seems much more relaxed here than he had at the bar, his chatting growing more and more animated as dinner goes on.
Junmyeon clears the dishes away, leaving the two of you at the table. “I just want to thank you again for giving us a chance,” you say softly.
Baekhyun smiles, blushing into his wine glass. “I really should be the one thanking you. I never would have thought that I would be able to do anything like this.”
“What do you mean?”
Baekhyun laughs, making a vague gesture with his hands. “I mean, look at all this. Look at you. Look at Junmyeon. And then look at me.”
“I’m looking.”
Both of you turn your heads towards Junmyeon, who neither of you realized has re-entered the room. You recognize that look in your husband’s eyes: sharp, perceptive.
Hungry.
He crosses the room towards Baekhyun and lets a hand trail across the back of his shoulders, before taking his previous seat between the two of you. “I’m looking, and all I see is someone that we’re both interested in. So there’s no reason for you to be self-conscious about anything.”
Baekhyun swallows, nods. Fidgets with the edge of the tablecloth for a second before settling his hands in his lap. You lean forward and rest your chin in your hands, tilting your head at the younger man.
“Bedroom?”
He follows the two of you silently, the air between you thick with anticipation. The bedroom door clicks shut behind you with an air of finality, sounding much too loud in the silent room. Baekhyun watches intently as you fall into Junmyeon’s embrace, leaning into him. He kisses you, slipping his tongue past your lips with a quiet determination, the way he knows you liked to be kissed.
Blindly, you reach out a hand to your side and wrap it around Baekhyun’s wrist, pulling him in closer to you. You move your head to the side and kiss him too, cupping the side of his face with your hand. His kisses are softer, less practiced, but oh so sweet. He exhales through his nose when you deepen the kiss, moaning softly when you run your fingers through his hair.
You turn your attention firmly towards him, pulling his sweater over his head while Junmyeon steps behind you to unzip your dress. You drink in his image: broad, broad shoulders and the lean muscle of his chest, down to the softness of his stomach.
“You’re so beautiful,” you say, running your hands down his front appreciatively.
He keens at the praise, his eyes fluttering shut as he blushes. He reaches out to touch you as the fabric of your dress falls to your feet, soft hands brushing against your waist. You shiver when Junmyeon steps closer, pressing himself against your back, kissing the side of your neck. Their touch is everywhere, surrounding you on all sides, and it’s enough to make you feel weak even in these few short minutes.
Hooking your fingers in the belt loops of Baekhyun’s jeans, you turn the two of you around until his back collides with Junmyeon’s front, switching spots with him. He freezes when Junmyeon wraps his arms around his torso holding him in place as you sink to your knees. He moans softly when you reach up to pull down his pants, his leaking cock springing free from his boxers.
“Look at her,” Junmyeon whispers, his hold around Baekhyun firm and unyielding. “She looks so pretty when she does this.”
You wrap your hand around the base and lick at the underside of his tip, soft kitten licks while you look up at him through your eyelashes. Baekhyun’s breath stutters in his throat, throat bobbing as he swallows. “Shit,” he breathes.
“I’ve barely even started, Baekhyunnie,” you coo. You wrap your lips around him and slowly sink down onto his length, agonizingly slow. It’s torturous, the way you’re teasing him, not quite taking all of him in just yet. The main focus is on getting his nerves to settle, watching him slowly unravel in Junmyeon’s arms.
You look up just in time to see your husband settle his chin on the crook of Baekhyun’s neck, whispering something in the younger man’s ear that you can’t quite hear. It must have been something good, because Baekhyun shivers, his fingers twitching at his side. You take that as your cue to sink down all the way around him, your lips meeting your fingers at his base. You hollow your cheeks as you pull back, pulling out to run your tongue under his tip.
“You’re teasing him, baby,” Junmyeon purrs.
“Mhm.” You gather up spit in your mouth and let it dribble down his member, jerking him off slowly.
“Are you just gonna let her do that?” Junmyeon murmurs, turning his attention to Baekhyun.
He blinks, shaking himself out of his daze. His face and chest are flushed so prettily, lips slightly swollen from where he’s been biting down on it. “I don’t— fuck.”
“Here, let me help you.” Junmyeon releases him from his hold and reaches around to place a hand on the back of your head. After giving you a second to prepare, he applies pressure, sliding your mouth down, down, down until Baekhyun hits the back of your throat.
“She likes a little bit of direction,” Junmyeon hums, holding your hair in a loose ponytail to pull you back up. You cough, looking up at the two with watery eyes. “Verbal and nonverbal.”
Baekhyun reaches down, his hand taking the place of Junmyeon’s on your head. He uses his grip on your hair to keep you in place while he thrusts forward, fucking your face shallowly. You even out your breathing, focusing on keeping it slow and controlled, relaxing your jaw and throat as he grows bolder and bolder, pushing in with more speed and force.
Junmyeon leaves Baekhyun’s side and crouches down next to you, slipping a hand in between your thighs. You’re unable to stop the muffled whimper that leaves your throat as he drags his fingers through your folds. “Oh, she’s soaked,” he says. “You like letting Baekhyunnie use your throat like this?”
You moan around him, nodding your head as best as you can. Your vision is swimming with unshed tears, the weight of Baekhyun’s thick cock stretching your lips wide.
But it feels so good, seeing all of the reservations of the shy, unsure man that you met in the bar slowly drop away. The tension in Baekhyun’s shoulders is gone now as he fucks your face with motions that grow more confident by the second. The muscles in his thighs flex with each push forward. His noises, which at first were more restrained, now fall uninhibited from his mouth.
He pulls out fully and you cough, spit dripping down your chin and onto your chest. Your throat feels a little raw, but it’s worth it to have Baekhyun so worked up. “Wanna eat you out,” he murmurs, dazed.
You let him take you by the hand and lay you on the bed, settling between your thighs like it’s second nature. Junmyeon joins your side and kisses you just as Baekhyun licks a strip up your slit, stopping at the top to suck on your clit. He swallows your soft cry when Baekhyun pulls away to suck a hickey into your inner thigh, his slight bite stinging your skin.
“You taste so good,” Baekhyun says, hooking his arms underneath your thighs and burying his face against your cunt, his tongue dipping into your wet hole. “Can’t get enough.”
Junmyeon unhooks your bra and takes your tits into both hands, massaging the mounds and sucking one nipple into his mouth. Your lips fall open, your breath coming in short gasps from the dual stimulation. Junmyeon’s teeth catching against your hardening nipple, Baekhyun’s tongue swirling around your sensitive nub: it’s all too much but not enough at the same time.
“Ahh, fuck.” You screw your eyes shut when you feel Baekhyun’s long, slim fingers prodding at your entrance, slipping inside in one smooth motion. He curls them inside of you right when he sucks on your clit, ripping a sharp gasp from you. He pumps them in and out as he flicks his tongue against you.
“I thought you— mm— said you weren’t very experienced,” you say breathlessly.
Baekhyun laughs. “I guess I’m a fast learner.”
It doesn’t take long at all for your hips to start bucking against Baekhyun’s mouth, your body chasing the friction all on its own. “Gonna cum already?” Junmyeon asks, amused. “He’s that good?”
“Yes,” you pant. “Yes, so good, Baekhyunnie.”
Baekhyun moans against you, looking up at you to watch you fall apart. His glasses are crooked, askew in the most adorable way. It’s a stark contrast to the absolute sin of his lips, dark and kiss-swollen, wet with you. He curls his fingers inside of you, brushing his thumb against your clit. “Cum for me,” he says breathily, eyes wide and awestruck.
Your thighs clamp around Baekhyun’s head as you cum, your back arching off the bed. Junmyeon holds you in place, one hand splayed on your hip and the other holding the back of your head up, forcing you to lock eyes with Baekhyun as your orgasm ripples through you. He devours you with his gaze, staring intently as he continues to fuck you through it, curling his fingers against your walls.
“Need you both,” you say breathlessly. “Please.”
Junmyeon positions you on all fours and stands in front of you, undressing himself until he stands fully bare. Your mouth opens on instinct, obedient, and he rewards you by slapping his cock on your tongue. “You did so well, love,” he murmurs, reaching out to cup your chin with his other hand. “Such a good girl for us.”
You arch into Baekhyun’s touch, pushing backwards onto him when you feel his hands roaming appreciatively on your ass. The tip of his cock presses against your entrance.
“Can I?” he whispers.
“Please.” You hardly recognize your own voice, high and breathy. “Need it so bad.”
He enters you slowly, his length stretching out your slick and sensitive walls. Your mouth falls open, and Junmyeon takes the opportunity to push his cock inside, instantly pressing against your throat. Unlike Baekhyun, he’s not nice with it at all. He knows your limits, if only to know just how far to push you. His hands move to the back of your head, holding you still as he thrusts into you.
“Holy fuck,” Baekhyun groans from behind, hands gripping your hips like a vice. He buries himself inside of you with each thrust, filling you to the brim. Your eyes roll back with the force of it, surrounded on all sides by the overwhelming pleasure, the slick sounds of sex filling the room and echoing across the walls.
“Feels good?” Junmyeon asks Baekhyun through gritted teeth, stilling when your nose is practically touching his skin, relishing in the sound of you gagging around him.
“Fuck, yes. She’s so perfect.”
Junmyeon pulls out and you gasp for breath, high pitched mewls leaving your hoarse throat when he slaps the side of your face with his cock, leaving a wet trail of spit across your cheek.. “What do you say to Baekhyunnie, hm?”
“Th-Thank you,” you sob, pressing your hips back to meet his thrusts. The walls of your sensitive cunt are already fluttering, tightening around him as the familiar pressure in your abdomen builds once more. “Can I— Can I cum?”
“Greedy,” Junmyeon tuts his tongue at you, thrusting into your mouth. “You just came. Hold it.”
You feel the tears beginning to well in your eyes, your thighs and arms shaking from holding yourself up as the tension becomes impossible to ignore. You know you’re an absolute wreck, drool slipping down your chin and onto the bed, clenching the sheets in your fists, trembling between them, stretched out on both ends.
“So pretty when you’re needy like this,” Junmyeon grunts, holding your hair in a loose ponytail with one hand and wiping away the tears that are falling with the other. “You wanted this, right? I thought you wanted to be our fucktoy.”
You nod, arching your back when you feel Baekhyun’s touch, following the curve of your spine up your back to grab onto your shoulder. His pace is stuttering, growing increasingly more erratic with each thrust, low groans punctuating his heavy exhales.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, almost dazed. “You’re taking it so well.”
Your orgasm threatens to overtake you at his words and you blink up frantically at Junmyeon, trying to wordlessly convey your desperation. He lets you breathe, and the words tumble out of you of their own volition.
“I can’t— I can’t, please. Please, I need to cum.”
Junmyeon laughs, low and mean. He cups your chin with one hand and forces your gaze upward. “So pathetic.”
You whine. “Jun, baby, pleasefuckplease.”
“Cum then.”
It hits you like a clap of thunder, your body immediately going taut as it ripples through you, endless waves of white-hot pleasure overtaking your body. You scream, your chest falling onto the bed as you collapse under the weight of your orgasm, holding onto the sheets for dear life as Baekhyun continues to pound into you.
“Fuck,” he groans shakily. “I’m close.”
“Inside me,” you whimper, pulsing back onto his cock. “Cum in me, please, please.”
Baekhyun gasps, his grip tightening on your waist. “Can I?”
“If she’s gonna ask so nicely then why deny her?” Junmyeon says. He presses his hand against the back of your neck, pushing your head ever so slightly into the mattress. “You can.”
He holds you in place as Baekhyun rocks into you, cumming with a low, needy moan. You feel his cum filling you, painting your walls. You sigh in contentment, head and body feeling hazy and pliant, thighs twitching as he catches his breath.
Baekhyun barely has time to pull out before Junmyeon is tugging on your wrist, pulling you up onto the bed and situating you so that you’re on top, back facing him. His strong hands settle on your waist and pull you down onto the thick head of his cock.
“Jun,” you whine, hands scrambling at his thighs to find a place to hold on to as he pulls you down onto him. Your hips settle against his and you moan, dazed. You’re sensitive, so sensitive, but you find your body seeking the friction on its own, fighting through the ache in your muscles.
Baekhyun comes to your front and cups your face while you ride Junmyeon, rocking back and forth on top of him. “You did so good, baby,” you coo, dizzy and drunk with the aftershocks of your last orgasm coursing through your body. He doesn’t look like he’s faring much better— eyes half-lidded and nearly glazed over, “So fucking good for me.”
He keens, leaning in to kiss you messily, hands wandering down to cup your tits. “You’re so wet,” Junmyeon groans from behind you.
“It’s not all from me,” you breathe, rising up a little higher and slamming your hips down. “It’s Baekhyunnie, too.”
Baekhyun’s gaze flits down to where you and Junmyeon are connected and groans sharply, like the noise is being punched out of him. “Fuck, it’s leaking out of you.”
You look down to see that he’s right, Baekhyun’s cum is spilling out of your spent pussy, dribbling down Junmyeon’s cock and making a mess between your legs. You reach out and tug Baekhyun’s hair, his head jerking up with a yelp. Your lips connect with his once again, and you pull him close to whisper, “Why don’t you clean it up for me?”
Baekhyun’s eyes widen and he swallows, but sinks down between Junmyeon’s spread legs obediently. It takes a bit of maneuvering and readjusting the angle on your part, but soon he’s lying on his stomach, pink tongue darting out to lap at the mess while you continue to rock back and forth on Junmyeon’s cock.
“Jesus, fuck,” Junmyeon hisses, nails digging into your hips. Baekhyun’s tongue laves against the underside of his cock as well as your clit, giving both of you an extra jolt of stimulation. His cheeks are flushed, and he looks up at you with hazy, pleasure-drunk eyes.
“Good boy,” you coo, burying your hand in his hair. “You want to clean up Myeon’s too?”
He nods eagerly, leaning back when you prompt him so that you can have more room to ride Junmyeon. You grind down on him the way you know that he likes, arching your back as you pick up speed.
Behind you, Junmyeon pulls your hair, making you cry out. “You’re so nasty,” he groans.
You laugh breathlessly. “You love it.”
He answers by thrusting up into you hard, once, twice, three times before he’s spilling into you, hips jerking against your cunt. Baekhyun ducks his head down and flicks his tongue against your clit, making you gasp.
“You got one more in you, don’t you, angel?” Junmyeon says breathlessly, voice straining at the overstimulation. His hands hold you in place as Baekhyun continues to give soft kitten licks against your leaking cunt, pushing you over the edge for the final time. You tremble between them, too spent to do anything more than tuck your chin to your chest and whimper as your thighs twitch.
Your legs feel like jelly, but they both help you down, laying you onto the sheets. Junmyeon brushes your sweat-damp hair out of your face and kisses you sweetly. “You did so good,” he murmurs reverently.
“You were perfect,” you smile. You turn your attention towards Baekhyun, who’s fiddling with the comforter between his fingers, looking at you expectantly. “You were perfect too.”
He perks up, not unlike a puppy would, and smiles. “Thank you. I’m glad.”
Junmyeon heads to the kitchen, leaving the two of you alone. You grab a few tissues from the bedside table and start to clean Baekhyun up. He makes an embarrassed, high-pitched sound in the back of his throat. “I should be doing that for you,” he says. He goes to grab some for himself but you push him down gently, silencing his protests with a kiss.
“Let me,” you say. “You did good, Baekhyun.”
He stays still while you clean him, only moving when you’re done to return the favor. The shyness has returned to his touch, still unsure about the ways in which he’s allowed to touch you. You want to tell him that nothing’s off limits, especially now, but you figure you have the rest of the weekend to convince him of that fact.
Junmyeon returns with a couple glasses of water, his sweats hanging low on his hips. He sets them down on the nightstand and crawls into bed on your other side.
Baekhyun looks between the two of you, an indescribable, uncomfortable expression crossing his face. “Should I… Where should I sleep?”
You blink at him. “Here?” you say, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“Are you sure?” he asks. “I don’t wanna intrude.”
Junmyeon snorts. “Baekhyun, if it were even possible for us to feel like you were intruding it probably would have been before you licked your own cum out of my wife while I fucked her.”
Baekhyun’s ears burn bright red and he groans, hiding his face in your neck. You lightly whack the back of Junmyeon’s head, wrapping an arm around the younger man. “Don’t embarrass him, Jun, what’s the matter with you?”
He laughs, reaching out to card his hand through Baekhyun’s hair affectionately. “I’m sorry, Baek, I’m just messing around. But seriously, this bed has more than enough space for all three of us.”
Baekhyun makes a sound that’s halfway to acceptance against your skin. Junmyeon continues, “And if it really matters that much to you, I can set up the couch for you but,” he makes a big show out of pretending to yawn, “It’s really late and I’m tired and wouldn’t you just rather fall asleep right now?”
“Well when you put it like that…”
Junmyeon turns off the light and the three of you settle into bed, Baekhyun on your left and Junmyeon on your right. As you get comfortable in between them, drifting off into a peaceful sleep, you can’t help but hope that in the future you have many, many nights just like this one.
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