Synopsis. (!) Two assignments overdue: your law professor and your history professor.
Objective: After teasing them all semester, Professor Higuruma Hiromi and Professor Nanami Kento…snap.
Time: At the same time.
Pairing. Nanami Kento x Reader x Higuruma Hiromi
Content. MDNI, fem!reader, history professor!Nanami, law professor!Higuruma, college AU, you’re such a TEASE, driving them wiId, they’re overworked, they’re older, tutoring, STERN Nanami, fíngering, rings, p sIapping, p talking, chokíng, rídin’ Higuruma’s nose, oraI (m + f), pússydrunk Higuruma, manhandIing, dragging, running from it, bíting, BOTH, fuII neIsons, bIindfolds, guessing, DP, SAME TIME, spítting, DÚMBlFICATlON, cervíx smoochin’, big stretches, they’re FÉRAL, creampíes, cúmpIay, slight cúmfIation, surprise at the end, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 13.2k
A/N. You babygirls said you wanted more law professor!Higuruma so…I said why not have BOTH?!
He had you next hour.
Professor Nanami Kento - head of the History Department, PhD with Distinction - had you in his next class.
And he wasn’t even half as prepared as he should be: the coffee-maker in the staff room had broken down.
Goodness knows how many times the blond-haired man has haunted that very station. Slouched over, sighing, sipping on his seventh coffee of the day.
And although he could blame it all on the higher-ups and their stingy funding, or perhaps the frat boys of Delta Jujutsu Pi that’ve made it a challenge to sneak inside—he blames you. He wouldn’t even have latched onto such a respite had it not been for the way you made his blood pressure rise…in all sorts of ways.
Nanami’s eyes glaze over, and his hand absent-mindedly drifts between his legs. Perhaps if he got his pent-up energy out first…
“Kento.” A knock at his cubicle. And Nanami jolts his hand away as though it burned-
It was Professor Higuruma Hiromi.
The head of the Law Department. Also PhD with Distinction. The man with dark circles and even darker suits, all prim and poised as he waded through the hallways with his stacks of documents—of course, Nanami was one for suits, as well.
They really brought out his broad shoulders- at least, that’s what you told him.
Another reason why he needs the coffee.
Fuck.
Nanami attempts to even out his breathing as he looks up. “Hiromi.”
If Higuruma thought anything of Nanami’s startled reaction, he makes no indication. Instead he holds up a slim file in his hand, “Are you free? Could you help me with looking over this essay?”
“Of course.”
They were the only two in the staff room right now, besides- anything to take his mind off of you.
Nanami adjusts the gold-rimmed glasses on his face before he takes the file from him. Flipping it open to find a jumble of justice and law jargon that his history-inclined brain balks at—“I never thought you’d want a history professor’s opinion on an essay about…” He squints at the title, “-the scope of judicial power and judicial review. Does this have any names of 14th century shoguns that you need me to check?”
“No- no.” Higuruma runs a hand down his face, though Nanami gets the impression that it wasn’t for him. Rather it was for whatever ravaged at the man inside- making him look up at the ceiling with a hollow sigh—“Man, I need some coffee today.”
“Understandable.” Nanami pushes his glasses up.
“The machine’s broken, right?”
“Right.”
Higuruma only lets out another sigh that Nanami relates to well.
“If it helps, Dean Yaga said it’d be fixed by tomorrow.” Nanami attempts- he never was the type of sociable guy some of the other professors were. But he gets the feeling that Higuruma was the same.
He runs a hand down his face one last time- “That’s too late, I have tutoring this evening with…” And how Nanami Kento related to that, as well. Before he seems to shake himself out of it- somewhat. “It’s alright, could you just check the grammatical and citation stuff for me?”
“Of course.” As Higuruma leans against the partition and waits, the other professor skims through the writing. It wasn’t half bad, to be quite honest, and had it been for his own class then he would’ve given it an A—none too many mistakes except for the odd careless error. At least it was human-made.
After a while of silence, Nanami’s partway through the conclusion when he asks. “Did you happen to get tired of looking through so many essays?”
“No, it’s just…” The dark-haired man sighs once more- for about the twelfth time since he came in. “-this student, you know?”
Nanami nods—he did know. “Trouble student?”
“Not quite.” He almost gulps.
Nanami narrows his eyes. “Doesn’t attend?”
“No, she attends every class.”
“Then what?” He leans back in his chair, essay forgotten now. “The legacy kid? The credit-chaser? The class clown that isn’t actually funny?”
Higuruma cuts through them all with a fierce shake of his head. “No, no, and no—” Almost gulping. “It’s just that this student is a little…distracting.”
The tips of his ears were red.
Instantly, Higuruma looks like he regrets it.
“F-forget I said anything-”
He does.
But Nanami looks squarely at the other man.
“I have a student like that, too.”
The law professor looks at him in wary interest. “Oh?”
“My star student, actually.” Pushing his glasses up, he opens up one of his cabinets and pulls out a thick, paper-stuffed file. And though Nanami Kento does collect his students’ work for the semester to review, he never does keep them quite so close - none other than yours.
Higuruma looks through them with slightly widened eyes. “All hers?”
Nanami nods, “So diligent that it’s almost distracting.”
Higuruma pulls out an empty chair beside Nanami and sits. Legs spread. Dark eyes thoughtful. “Mine, too.” He starts—“Never have I had a student ask for so many hours of extra tutoring.”
“Mine’s basically set up a tent in my office.” Nanami chuckles- though he can’t deny the slight pang it sends down to his cock. “Always taking on more assignments for extra credit, always answering questions first-”
“Always first in class and last to leave?”
“Exactly.” Nanami agrees. And he leans a hand on his desk as he watches the other man go through those papers - they were some of his most prized possessions, he feared to admit. Words from your heart. Swooping slashes of ink from your hands.
It was a part of you in those papers that Nanami Kento held dear to him- fuck, it was a part of you that sometimes he’d bring up to his greedy nose and sniff. Almost as if he could feel your skin through these very parchments.
It made him so fuckin’ hard.
But Higuruma didn’t need to know that.
Though the careful manner in which he handled those papers - how he leaned in just a little to drown in the ink - made him wonder…
“Always wearing the skimpiest skirt to class?”
And the other man looks up in shock- as though conveying something in his silence. Oh.
He flips the file over to look at the name typed-out on the cover, and it reads—yours. Ultimately, he continues—“A-always sittin’ in the front row with her legs spread just a bit?”
Nanami nods. “Always leaning over the desk when she has to speak in private.”
There’s a slight hardening within Higuruma’s eyes - though not of any unpleasant kind - it’s almost as if something deep and carnal was stirring awake right now. “Always wearing the prettiest black lace underneath?”
“She wears baby pink for me.” Nanami can’t help but smile.
“Fuck.” Higuruma runs a hand down his face again- and if Nanami didn’t know any better then he would’ve sworn that the other professor looked even more weary than when he first came in here. “And her panties-”
“Matching set.” Nanami responds without missing a beat - and he knows he’s some ol’ pervert for this.
He knows he is.
But he also knows about the smile that’d spread across your face the moment you’d realized he’d seen. “Bent over too low when picking her pen up one class.”
“Fucking—fuck.” Higuruma sounds agonized.
Nanami leans back in his chair, making it bounce a little bit. With a slightly breathless sigh leaving him, and his cock hardening even more in his pants–he’s forced to manspread under the table a little more. “She’s a needy lil’ thing, isn’t she?”
“That’s putting it lightly.” Higuruma’s lips quirk up into a sensual smile - as if he was reminiscing on the memories. “Wanting to fuck her professors? Seriously?”
“Believe she’s thought of both of us at the same time?”
“Don’t even say that-” The law professor looks around, even though there was no one else here. Looking back at the man with somewhat pleading eyes, “I have tutoring with her this evening. If I can’t even fucking grade her essay without getting a hard-on then what d’you think will happen if I’m thinking of that—?”
“Oh…” Nanami hums to himself, hands lacing in front of him. The coffee-machine really was broken. “-maybe that won’t be an issue.”
Higuruma glances at him with furrowed brows, “How so?”
“What time is your tutoring with her?”
“You mean…”
The blond man shrugs coyly- “I’m not implying anything…but which one of us two do you think is her favorite?”
“And people think you’re the gentleman of us two.” Higuruma grumbles but ultimately spits out the time. It seems you’d opted for tuition classes with your law professor in the after-hours—when the offices were snug, and the department was empty. And he feels his cock perk up at the fact- how many times has he raced back home to plunge into a cold bath after your tuition classes? How many times has his shower heard your name whispered? “I’m most definitely the favorite, by the way-”
So lost in his thought, Nanami nearly doesn’t catch the sentence. He looks over at Higuruma. “Does she call you ‘sir’, too?”
“She does.”
“Well, then we’ll find out, won’t we?”
.
.
.
The two hottest professors on campus.
Higuruma Hiromi (38) with his sleek-cut suits, his polished shoes, and those sleepy eyes that seemed to stare into the depths of your soul. The depths of your body - exposed underneath him. He was a stern teacher, not afraid to make you do an assignment over and over and over again…(and you gladly would). Higuruma’s justice classes made you…wet you had to admit, hearing him bark out simulations of court cases. Orders. Commands.
You could practically hear a sigh echo out across the room every time he acted out his attorney days.
Every time he banged his gavel down made your knees weak.
It was no wonder that students in the law department tittered n’ scattered any time the ruggedly handsome professor walked past.
On the other hand was your history professor.
Nanami Kento (31) with his beefier build, his strong arms, his gentle eyes—twinkling down kindly upon you every time he corrected a mistake. Which - you have to confess - you’ve made a few more times than you really had to, just to feel his molten gaze upon you again and again. He often caused your heart (and something else entirely) to flutter at the deep musicality of his voice, managing to make even the most boring of history passages something interesting. Something that swept the class up easily.
Nanami was reputed around campus for being a complete gentleman - never looking down upon someone, never letting them walk in after him, never letting them pay him a compliment without receiving a sweet one back.
The dream husband.
The stern and the nice.
Both of them- frat guys hated them.
It hadn’t been intentional to join both their classes- honest!
But after seeing them on your first day, how could you not commit to maintaining a spotless attendance? You had a sneaking suspicion that the rest of the class behaved in the same manner for much the same reason - though none took it quite as far as you.
The skirts. The extra credit. The bending.
Speaking honestly, you were a teacher’s pet. Through and through.
And the tightness in their pants whenever you left a class told you- they were the best professors. To you, that is.
Which is why you’d been a little less than happy when Professor Higuruma had told you that someone might be joining your weekly tutoring.
Invigilated tutoring?
What the hell was invigilated tutoring?!
You admit that you’d been forced to hold back a groan of disappointment. Picking such late hours had been a conscious decision—right up there with those tight pencil skirts that you knew your law professor loved but would never admit to.
Professor Nanami was more the type to like free, flirty pleats that barely reached your thigh - and you loved the way his eyes would follow them behind those glasses of his. Even though he pretended they didn’t.
And right now you were wearing a mix of both.
Tight on top, flared at the bottom
Seated opposite his desk - thighs shut, skirt pulled down as low as it would go - more concentrated than you’d ever been during one of these tutoring sessions. It’s been about half an hour since the start of today’s tuition. Higuruma’s office was a cosy space, decked out in the most expensive-looking mahogany banisters, and shelves, and a witness box in the far corner.
It gleamed at the light—down knowingly at you, almost as if waiting for you to make a move.
But how could you? If there was a potential visitor, then you didn’t want to risk Higuruma’s job- as much as you loved teasing your two hot professors, it wouldn’t do to get them fired!
So you kept your hands and your skirts to yourself.
And even Higuruma himself had his eyes raised, possibly wondering why you hadn’t leaned over his desk or lingered a touch at his shoulder for help.
But oh, how you wanted to…
The professor looks down at his watch, “He’s late.”
You’re glancing at the closed door, “Maybe the invigilator isn’t coming?”
“Oh, he will.” Higuruma crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. “Trust me, he won’t miss this.”
A shiver runs down your spine.
You wondered what made him so sure.
And yet, you edge closer over the desk to him anyways.
It’s about forty-five minutes into your tutoring session when the door you’ve been sneaking glimpses of this entire time- clicks! And a looming figure walks into the room, his figure nearly taking up the whole frame.
Your jaw drops as you realize—
It’s Professor Nanami.
“Ah- Kento.” Higuruma beckons him over warmly- and you’re nearly suffering from whiplash from watching the two interact. These two are close?! Professor Nanami had been completely normal during your last class, if just a little more distracted than usual - and what was this? “We’ve been waiting.”
He looks at you as he says this.
“I had to penalize a student for missing a few assignments.” Nanami says smoothly, before bringing up a chair beside you and taking his seat. His movements were fluid and precise - as if he wasn’t questioning for a single moment why you were here so late, why you were dressed like that for him, and why you were so damn close.
You’d been staring into his handsome face for so long that he clears his throat. “Continue.”
“S-sir?” You’re chirping- and in your peripheral vision, Higuruma shuffles in his chair.
“Continue.” Nanami repeats in a stern tone. You don’t think you’ve ever heard him sound like that—“Just as you are. I would like to take notes for teaching my own classes.”
“You heard what he said.” Higuruma nods- and now you’re looking his way to see the most knowing smile on his face. “Continue, angel.”
Your thighs squeeze at the pet name.
Nanami quirks a blond brow and notes something down.
And so you’re ducking back into your work—
“Your blouse button is undone.”
Slightly gasping, you’re reaching down to fix it-
“No, don’t button it.” He interrupts you with his low tone, gravelly with something you can’t pinpoint. You’re looking up at Nanami to find his gaze unwavering from you already- “I was merely noting it. Nothing to fix.”
“But-”
“You unbutton it for my class, too, don’t you?” He asks, and you’re unsure what to say-
“Answer when your teacher speaks to you.” Higuruma’s humming tone echoes—and from the sound of it, he was thoroughly enjoying this. He cocks his head down at you, “Or haven’t they taught you that yet?”
“Th-they have.” You’re squirming in your seat, a slight heat simmering in your stomach. You turn to Nanami, “And I do.”
“Hm.” With nothing more said- he writes something else down in his notes.
And you think you’re in the clear.
For now.
It’s barely a few sentences later on your work that Nanami speaks up again-
“Your feet are touching his.”
You pull away-
“You’ve been writing the same sentence over and over.”
Your hand pauses-
“Your thighs are parted more so than before.”
Immediately, you’re smacking them back shut again- you hadn’t even realized. And how the hell had Nanami even seen?
And you could practically hear the smug smile in his voice - so unlike everything you know of him - as he continues. “And your bra is peeking out.”
“Never seen one before?” You mutter underneath your breath, just about to fix your collar (that you’d very purposefully left open)—
Before Nanami’s voice cuts through again. “Never seen one of yours in black before, is what.” Even as you’re looking at him in slight sensual shock- he doesn’t look up from his papers. “What happened to the baby pink you show-off in my class?”
And Higuruma merely leans back and smiles. “Black is my favorite color, remember?”
“How could I forget?” The history professor answers.
“Though I myself am curious about this baby pink of yours…”
And you have nothing else to do but gape- they knew.
Oh, how they both knew by now.
And by the looks in their eyes, they’d been dying for this very moment.
To confront how you’d been toying n’ teasing them all semester through now- enough so that they’ve apparently begun trading secrets about their unruly star student. You knew that Higuruma tended to have his ears grow hot and red any time he bumped into you in the hallway, and that Nanami would loosen his tie as if undressing whenever you wore a particularly scandalous thing to class - but you hadn’t known they’d been pushed…to this extent.
And you were glad for it.
So you sigh—slouching back in your chair. “So you both know. What now then? Do I get written up or something?”
But Nanami only looks at you through his glasses. “Sit up straight.”
He’s never uttered a command like that in his entire life during your usual lectures. And when you don’t move - merely looking at the blond man with raised brows - Higuruma pipes up. “You best listen to him now, angel.”
“Oh please.” Fluttering your lashes at them both. “And what’re you gonna do about it?”
Higuruma looks at Nanami.
Nanami calmly puts his notes down on the other’s table, and looks at you.
“Why-” He pushes his glasses up his handsome nosebridge. “-teach you a lesson, of course.”
“Both of you?” You could feel the elated giggles bubbling up in your throat- and you could feel the space between your legs start to grow wetter already. Looking between both of them—“Do it then.”
And then it’s a blur - you don’t know where Higuruma’s lips end and yours begin. He’s reached over the surface of his desk to kiss you like a starved man- and he groooans into that very kiss like you were the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. Hand on your cheek.
The tips of his canines start nibblin’ on your lower lip- and you’re kissing him back even deeper. “Shit-” Higuruma’s husky tone scorches across your face, “Shit, I’ve been wanting to do this for so fucking long.”
“Mmm, you kiss like husband material.” You’re giggling into the kiss. Both of your hands end up on his shoulders, and you could feel the shifting of his muscles through his slim suit.
“Shit- and you talk like trouble.” He echoes out in an almost pained tone- like every second that his lips were away from yours ached.
And those plump, pursed lips press against yours once more—so much sweeter than you would have expected this booming lawyer to kiss. He’s using the hand on your cheek to tilt down your chin- “May I?” Before the short nod you give lets him slither his tongue in wetly, lappin’ at your sweetest taste. “Shit, you’re really like sugar on my tongue.”
And you’re whining into the fervent kiss, letting it go on for a few more minutes before you’re breaking away with the most lecherous plop! And a thoroughly flushed professor chasing after your lips drunkenly-
“And what about you…” You’re kissing down Higuruma’s sharp jawline, looking at the other man who’d been sitting quietly this entire time. “-sir? Haven’t you wanted to kiss me even once this semester?”
Nanami shivers but he hides it well. Uncrossing his legs and revealing the most rock-hard, aching bulge between his legs—“Kiss? Perhaps.”
And you’re gulping at the sight.
Higuruma scoffs out a slight burst of laughter. “Perhaps.”
“But I’m a gentleman, my love.” Nanami continues, leaning back in that luxurious armchair. He takes off his coat to reveal a pale blue button-up, and beneath that was revealed the most chiselled body you’ve ever seen. He pushes his sleeves up to his elbows and beckons towards you. Manspread. Lap so welcoming. “Which means I’ve thought of far, far worse.”
Higuruma - with a final sloppy kiss plastered across your mouth - lets you walk over to Nanami.
Which you do on wobbly legs- plopping down unceremoniously on his lap. More than enough space there for you. He wastes no time bending you into shape in his strong arms, flipping you around to face the other man, and spreading your legs wiiiiiiide open-
Riiiiiip—!
“Whoops.” Nanami’s thoroughly unapologetic tone gruffs against the shell of your ear. Two of his vein-covered forearms were hooked underneath your elbows, and Nanami looks on boredly at the clean split down your skirt—“I always thought you’d look better without these anyway.”
Before he’s spreading your legs even further across his lap. Tearing it even more.
Exposing you for nothing but your tremblin’ legs and those drenched panties. Pretty black in color.
So lacy that it was practically nothing.
Higuruma’s eyes widen, “Dirty girl.”
Nanami breathes, “No, that’s called being a slut.” And shock runs through your body at his words- at Nanami ‘Gentleman’ Kento’s words. Before it’s suddenly overtaken by the sudden feeling of him smearin’ aside your panties and stuffin’ his fingers inside.
Those thick crowns dooooown to the golden ring on his middle finger.
They were long and thick. Swirling and swirling the tip of his digit right ‘round your clit- and when you’re shuddering and unable to take it any longer—he pulls away and licks off that excess slick with a slurp!
Humming to himself as though it was the greatest delicacy in the world. “One thing you should know about me, darling, is that just because I’m gentleman-” And you’d been so caught up in his ragged tone, you didn’t even realize that he’d snaked his hand back down between your legs. “-doesn’t mean that I’m not depraved.”
And he’s ending off the sentence not with a full stop- no, but with a sudden shove of his fingertips between your folds. So swollen n’ sweet with slick.
You buck and he lurches his hand out to slap you on top of your pussylips.
“Down, darling.”
“Please…” You don’t even know what you’re begging for.
But Nanami’s mouth waters already at the sound of it, and he’s keeping it at bay by pushing n’ pulling on the first ring of muscle at your cunt. “I said down.”
Head throwing back against his collarbone. “Oh.”
Fucking you with just the first inches of his fingers- “It doesn’t mean that m’not desperate.” Continuing as though your eyes weren’t bulging, as though your legs weren’t shaking, as though you weren’t arching off of his muscular chest. “It doesn’t mean that m’not ready to debase this pussy like she deserves.”
“Y-you mean—” You’re hiccuping, eyes starting to water at the sheer raw stretch. It was the type that left your pussy burning in the most delicious way - the feeling of having Nanami Kento’s scourin’ fingertips eager to enter your cunt. “-that whole gentleman thing was just a lie?”
“It’s not.” He responds. Final. His blond strands fall over his forehead as he keeps his eyes locked on your glistening hole, scissoring his fingers at that entrance n’ spreading you even wider. “I’m nice…”
Adding in a third finger before you’re even registering his second.
“-to everyone but this slutty pussy, that is.”
“Sh-shit—” Mewling at the top of your lungs, you’re clawing down Nanami’s strong forearms. They were the perfect thing to hold onto- just about the only thing you could hold onto as he utterly ruined your pussy with short, jerking thrusts.
Bulging the sides of your velvety walls open with his globular tips.
Cold metal ring shocking you.
So thick that he manages to probe into a few of your sensitive spots without even trying. Dragging his flexible fingers across every inch of you.
Scissoring and opening up and scissoring—deep.
Tears track down your cheeks at the sheer stimulation.
“Go easy on her, Kento.” Higuruma can’t help but groan at the sight of your pretty crying face. And soon enough, you’re hearing the metallic clinking of a belt buckle- “Don’t want to break our star student, now, do we?”
Nanami purrs against your temple. “Mmm, I don’t mind.”
“Just remember that she’s tutoring with me.”
The sound of Higuruma’s belt hitting the polished wooden floorboards is enough to make your eyes startle open- and oh, how you’re so glad it did.
Because then you’re greeted with the sight before you: of Higuruma Hiromi in utter ecstasy. All because of you.
He’d taken your seat from prior, chair angled perfectly to face the show taking place in front of him.
Where Nanami had your legs spread aaaaaall the way as far as they would go - until Nanami could hear your joints threatening to pop - and facing the dark-haired man. His dark eyes glinted as they stared down at your glistening hole, swallowing Nanami’s rams easily.
Slurps n’ squelches emanating like music.
Cunt dripping everywhere over the history teacher’s tight trousers. And the larger that puddle you were forming seemed to grow, the harder Nanami’s hammerin’ pace seemed to become.
You could barely keep your eyes open long enough to see Higuruma tug down his black pants- that throbbing erection of his making an appearance. He wraps his hands around his thickened base and starts tugging, soft grunts leaving his mouth at the rapid pull-pull-pull of his cock. “Shit, she’s so fucking wet- be a little nicer with that pussy o’ hers, would you?”
“Hmmm…I don’t think she deserves it.” And with that said, Nanami plants yet another sodden spank on top of your cunt. Ring grazing your front- “She hasn’t learned her lesson yet, has she?”
That stinging sensation zaps throughout your entire body and makes you buck. “I-I have—”
Before yet another thwack! of Nanami’s calloused fingertips follow.
Harder, this time.
“I was talking to this pussy, actually.”
And he doesn’t even wait for the primal sting to pass by before openin’ your cunt up and thrusting his fingers inside again. In and out.
Push after push into your gooey depths.
You’re so sensitive n’ wet by this point that even the slightest movements have you emanating out the loudest sounds. Squelches upon squelches—every time he’s hitting a spot deep inside your hole. “Mhmm…mmmhm.” You could feel Nanami’s head slightly nodding above your own, as if locked deeply in a conversation with your pussy’s sounds. Just one whine of yours and he’s spankin’ on you once more- “Wait your turn, my love. She’s talking t’me.”
And Higuruma- ah, Higuruma has the audacity to snicker at the action. “Now that’s just bullying, Kento.”
“Is it?” He’s slappin’ down on your pussylips once more. Listening for the sound, “She says it isn’t so.”
You’re sending a narrowed glare his way that makes the law professor roll his eyes fondly.
“Oh, alright alright-” And he half-heartedly waves off at his colleague. “Be a little nicer to my dear student, won’t you?”
“Spoiled brat.” Yet another spank. Nanami sinks his canines into the shell of your ear, and he’s tuggin’ and teasing—he’s spreading his legs even further and settling you down. With your back against his rippling chest, he pushes and pushes his greedy fingers inside your pussy. “And why do you think you- hah, deserve that, huh? Haven’t you been fucking torturing us all semester long now?”
Higuruma groans. “Can’t deny that, angel.” His hands fly even faster up and down his cock- ravaged and reddened with need.
“Mhmmmm.” The blond-haired man agrees, “Haven’t you been wearing those slutty skirts expecting to get fucked in them? Haven’t you- fuck, haven’t you been wearing that damn lingerie hoping we’d take a peak? Aren’t I right?”
He waits for your pussy to answer first- and then you’re answering. “I-I mean-” Attempting to.
“Haven’t you been bendin’ over and shit just because you wanted to show up in our wildest dreams? To consume our thoughts and make our cocks twitch?”
“Well-”
“And we did.” Higuruma pipes up next. He was so needy that he was practically bucking off of his chair, making it creak with movement. Short, jerky thrusts.
“Oh, yes we did.” Nanami continues. He leans down to your ear, as if exposing a secret- “I’d look forward to our classes everyday, my love. I’d have to fuck my fist raw before class- just so I wouldn’t fuck you senseless in front of everyone like how you were begging me to.”
Higuruma moans as he thumbs down the line of his flared tip - that pinkish, slippery line. He twitches as though he’s near to cumming already. “Me- me, too…”
“And you still expect me to be a gentleman?”
You’re restless, opening your mouth to defend yourself and—
Nanami only leans down and spits a glittery wad of spit between your pursed lips. “Don’t talk when the teacher’s talking, darling.”
And your ears pop with pressure-
He’s hittin’ the plushness of his palm against your pussy with a loud smack! Smearing the curves n’ divots of his fingers dooooooown and up your walls, down and up.
His crown fingertips reach for your deepest innards- and you swear you can feel him stroking your very cervix. Runnin’ his frigid ring across your walls.
Drawing a few lines and marking his placement right back there, before he tunnels his digits at a frenzied pace - fingers almost nothing but a pale blur between your legs. His speed is so feverish that it leaves your sheen tricklin’ all down your thighs.
Trickling and trickling and—
And then you feel Nanami hook his fingers against your g-spot.
The pleasure shoots up your body like a lightning strike, “O-oh my god—right there, Kento.”
“Kento? Who’s Kento?” Nanami doesn’t even falter his fingering to answer, cooing in that tone that you’d almost mistake for something sweet. “I think you meant sir-”
“S—fuck.”
“Say it.” He huffs against the side of your face. Teeth almost out for blood- “Say it. Call me ‘sir’ or you don’t get to cum.”
“I—”
“Say it.” Higuruma, to your surprise, echoes from his seat. Where he had his gaze burning into your spread-open pussy n’ his mouth drooling at the vision of you—“Say it, angel. I need to see that pretty pussy cum.” Hands rubbing faster and faster-
“She deserves to cum, mhm.” Nanami nods. “But do you, huh?”
“I-I do.” You’re nodding up at your desperate professors. One just barely in your line of vision- but his fingers were working up such a storm. His slightly-tanned arms pinning you down, working your pussy open, hitting that target of your g-spot like a cute button. Again and again—
Blond hair ruffled. Glasses slipping down his sweaty nosebridge.
And then the other one that was just creamin’ his precum down his hands. With his hands on his swollen erection - one of them creating a tunnel for him to fuck his fist, the other flattening over his dribblin’ divot to stop from cumming already.
Sleepy eyes half-lidded. His pale thighs shivering as they bucked n’ rutted.
And the vision itself is enough to make you cum- but then again it just felt so good on Nanami’s hands, and underneath Higuruma’s gaze. So you can’t help but let your lips wobble open—“P-please let me cum-” Stars bursting behind your vision once Nanami presses down on your clit as well. “-sirs.”
The two older men look at each other.
“Sirs?” Higuruma asks, voice breathless with ecstasy.
“She just begged for both of us.” Nanami grumbles out - though not quite unhappily. It made his cock twitch deep in his pants to have you whimperin’ like this, and he continues. “Alright then, you slutty pussy.”
And it takes only a few more strokes - a few more direct thrashes along your g-spot - for you to hurtle straight into your high.
It’s so strong that you’re seeing white behind your eyelids—and your mouth blabbers out an unintelligible combination of both professors’ names. Toes curling. Sweat beading down your temple.
Nanami holds you down as you’re thrown through wave upon wave of your orgasm, your hips bucking up and down desperately. Riding throughout your bliss- and if that wasn’t already enough, he counts underneath his breath to measure how long it takes between your peaks of euphoria. Before hittin’ away at your g-spot just in time with each one.
The sensations that take you over are just incredible.
And your head falls back limply against Nanami’s shoulder.
Shivering. Almost as if you were in heat- and your pretty pussy gushes out honeyed slick as though to give credit to that statement.
Lavishing Nanami’s open thighs with all your sap—Higuruma eyes the mess and gulps. “Kento, give me a taste of that.”
Nanami scoffs. “In due time.”
“Kento, I need her pussy on my face now.”
Slowly but surely, you’re fluttering your eyes open at the feeling of being shuffled around - only seeing the beautiful, brown eyes of Higuruma Hiromi staring down at you. When did he get so close?
“Hiromi?” You’re blubbering out stupidly, still suffering from the aftershocks of your previous high. Those zapping bursts of electricity made your thighs twitch sensitively- “I mean- sir?”
Higuruma shivers, “You trained her well, Kento.”
“Mhmmm—” Nanami noses down the column of your throat proudly.
“Maybe now it’s time for a reward then, huh?”
You’re perking up. “Yes, please.”
Nanami snickers. “You spoil her.”
And in almost no time, you’re finding yourself handed off to the law professor - Nanami stands up and gets off of the armchair. While Higuruma takes his place-
At least, that’s what you think is going to happen.
But what ends up happening instead is that Higuruma seats you down on the chair, letting your barely-clothed pussy rub up against the cushion. Something in his eyes gleams at the way you’re squirming, and he speaks to you in a gentle tone. “Can you turn around and hold the headrest f’me, angel? Be a good girl f’me?”
“A-alright?” Confused, you’re just doing what he says. He meant that you had to turn and climb your knees onto the seat, ass turned towards the professors, back slightly arched.
“Mmm, good.” Higuruma admires the view. “Arch that back just a little more f’me now, alright?”
“Like this?”
And still not sure what he was about to do, you can only follow his commands. It almost feels like a doggy position- and you hold onto the wooden headrest for dear life.
“Mhmmm.”
And Nanami’s the first to mutter to himself, “Don’t tell me you’re…” He takes in the sight of you - with your front resting against the backrest of the chair. You have your spine bent, your ass cheeks displayed for them, your cunt not quite on the seat—“Hiromi, you dirty dog.”
“Couldn’t help myself.” Steadily, Higuruma’s kneeling on the floor.
There’s no warning before he then shoves his face nose-deep into your cunt- straight from behind.
Higuruma grabs onto either side of your ass cheeks, his prominent nose curvin’ up the slit of your pussy. He’s using his grip on you to draaaag you further down onto his face—“Mhmmm—spread those legs.”
He’s muttering.
He’s spitting- stern lips pursing and letting out a rivulet of saliva.
It strikes vertically down your cunt before Higuruma’s running his fat tongue over it. Smearing around the mess he’s made- but most importantly, smearing around the mess that you’ve made.
You’re whining as Higuruma’s textured tastebuds seem to take over your pussy. All the way from the plumpness of your folds, and then dipping between them to tease your hole- you’re still so sensitive from the massage that Nanami’s fingers had simmered into you. And you’re trembling your thighs further open, “P-please- fuck-”
“I’m a lawyer so I’m really good with my tongue, y’know?” Higuruma pants out, scorching hot against your needy pussy. “But that means my fees are high, too-”
“A-and what are your fees?” You’re sobbing out.
“Mmmm…” He takes the time to think—and by that, you mean that he rovers his mouth over where your clit was throb-throb-throbbing. The law professor takes his sweet time spreadin’ open your pussylips with his tongue, before letting his tongue flop out n’ draaaaaag down your clit-
And his next words are so lecherously muffled. “Ride my nose raw, sugar.”
You gasp.
In the background, you can hear a gruff bout of laughter that notably doesn’t belong to Higuruma.
You grip onto the headrest of the chair harder than ever- because in a split-second, Higuruma’s thumbin’ your folds open and stuffing your hole all full of his tongue.
So loooong and slick- curving right against the roof of your pussy. It makes you jolt to feel his honed, flexible tip zig-zagging its way down your channel—mazing and mazing inside that it’s as though his wet muscle was never-ending.
Higuruma Hiromi was damn ravenous.
He feels your knees start to slip away from him- and he claws his fingers deep into the globes of your ass cheeks to pull you back. Uncaring if you’re whining for mercy- “A-aren’t you supposed to be the nice one, sir?”
“Spoiled.” Nanami’s voice echoes from the distance.
“Mmm- keep calling me that, yeah?” Groans wrenching from the back of his throat at the mere sound of that title being said in your pretty voice. How nice it was to make you beg. “And no—”
“No?”
“I am being nice by letting you ride my nose, aren’t I?” His head jerks just a little upwards to look at you- and Higuruma can just barely make out the shock on your face. “I know how much you’ve wanted to ride it-”
“Hiromi-”
“Ever since ya fuckin’ met me, huh?” His rough tone vibrates through every vessel of your body- pushed even further by the constant swabbin’ he was doing inside. Swab after swab. “Ever since ya first saw me- don’t think I didn’t see how you stared at me.”
You’re clawing further up the headrest. “B-but how did you know-”
“Oh, angel…” Higuruma almost chuckles. Something dark and depraved- “If I was wrong then you wouldn’t be so fucking wet- I can barely breathe.”
Both of his roughened palms plaster around your thighs. Draaaagging you bodily - as though you were nothing against him - to glue your pussylips to his own lips.
He makes out with your pussy like a man parched.
“And I don’t need to.”
Your vision blurs with pleasure as Higuruma spreads your folds perfectly apart- and starts rammin’ his tongue into you wildly. Thick and thirsty for the taste of your sweet, sweet juices—any time that even a mere droplet of your sap starts to drip down your thighs- you can best believe that Higuruma was whipping his head down to slurp it up. “Harder.”
“I-I am-”
“Faster.”
“Fuck-”
“Raw, I said raw.”
Practically addicted to it.
He’s pussydrunk in with just a few sloppy, open-mouthed kisses. And you yourself can feel your pupils start to circle inside the whites of your eyes.
Spreading yourself even further on the chair to meet his utterly ravenous mouth-
“Didn’t forget about me now, did you?”
Nanami Kento sounds the closest he’s been since he had you on his fingers- which could feel like minutes, hours, days ago by now. It takes you significant effort to blink away the clingy film of tears on your eyes, and you’re opening them to find that he was actually…standing right in front of you.
Nanami had rounded the side of the armchair - and if you looked up, there his handsome face was. So now you have your law professor at your behind, and your history professor’s crotch in front of your face. His pants much too tight.
His cock thick and throbbing underneath there.
Clasping onto the headrest of the chair, if you raised your head juuuuust a little then you’d be able to mouth over the twitching erection he hid underneath there. “K-Kento?”
Nanami looks down at you through his gold-rimmed glasses. Grinning at your teary expression, “Only a few minutes with your nice teacher n’ you’ve already forgotten your manners, my love?” His hand falls to his formal pants, “Guess we have to go back to lesson one.”
“O-oh…”
Nanami had already unbuckled his belt and lets it drop to the floor—clink! Followed right along with the popping of his buttons, it doesn’t take too long before you’re face-to-face with his rock-hard bulge. Achingly hard. Almost painfully hard.
Barely held together by his boxers, he seeps out such volumes of precum that it creates a dark patch on the silken fabric. It glistens just a bit under the dim lighting of the office- something that makes you gulp.
And something that makes Higuruma nudge his tongue even deeper inside of you- shit, you could feel yourself growing more aroused. And he could taste it.
“Did you know she gets sweeter n’ sweeter the wetter she gets?” Higuruma slurs from in-between your legs, latching onto your clit with a loud squelch! “And you won’t believe it…but right now she tastes like the tastiest strawberry candy- heh.”
“Is that so?” Nanami’s nose crinkles as he looks down at you. He’s admiring that drunken expression on your face for a little bit, before reaching his right hand down and clasping at the back of your head. “Filthy girl.”
You shiver. “C-can’t help it-”
“Ah ah—not another word out of you.” The blond-haired man continues. His grip tightens- “I expect you not to speak when your professor is speaking-”
Cocking his head just a little, Nanami takes a glance at the famished way that Higuruma was kissin’ between your legs. Gasping. Gulping.
He had his mouth gaped wide open and was dragging it across every inch of your pussy that he could reach- sticking that long tongue of his between your pussylips. You’re almost sandwiching his tastebuds for a bit before he manages to flicker his tastebuds inside again—then in and out, in and out, in and out.
Faster than before.
Reeling back out to slap! your pussy with the flat surface of his tongue.
Then probin’ back in again.
Higuruma’s just being so loud-
“-and when this pussy is speaking.” The rest of the history professor’s sentence makes you gasp - brain so muddled that you’d almost forgotten what he was saying. Almost forgotten that he has a firm grip on your sweaty scalp—one that he’d now turned into two hands upon your sweaty scalp.
Tugging your head forwards as if you were nothing but a ragdoll to smush your face against his boiling hot erection.
Your jaw falls open and soon enough, you’re salivating all over his clothed cock.
Tongue lavishing across the cotton of his boxers- feeling every ridge n’ vein along his shaft.
He groans at the feeling of your heated mouth, and his fingers dig into your scalp even deeper. Tugging. Needing. One set of your fingers reach upwards to fumble its hem, and you take Nanami’s round, reddened tip into his mouth.
Moaning at the large size of him.
Moaning at the salty taste that floods your mouth-
“Hey now…” Higuruma’s choked-up tone echoes from behind. You’re feeling his tender fingers start to pull your hips back onto his face, “-don’t steal my star student away.”
“Have you forgotten that she’s my star student, too?”
“Her pussy’s on my mouth right now- so who’s in charge?”
“Well, let’s ask how she feels about it…” Nanami’s voice trails off—and only too late are you realizing that he isn’t talking about your pussy this time. He’s talking about you- waiting for your answer.
And you’re attempting to muffle out something, letting the globular edge of his cock swirl around your mouth a few times. Around and around. Just the crown of his mushroom tip prods into your every orifice inside- you’re opening your mouth to answer when Nanami jerks his hips forwards.
Fucking his cock deeeeep into your maw.
And with it, whatever words were in your throat, too.
“I dunno about that-” Nanami hums down at the chokes n’ strangled gasps you’re letting out, just the barest noises of whatever was able to filter past his swollen shaft. “-but it sounded like a ‘you, sir’ to me.”
“Didn’t know you were that depraved.” Higuruma spits out. Dark eyes narrowed as he’s grinding you back to him n’ lapping away at your oversensitive pussylips.
“I’m a gentleman, what can I say?” The other professor responds.
As the slurps n’ sucking continues, Nanami looks at you through half-lidded eyes. He admires the way your mouth leaves a glittering glaze of spit from the tip of his cock and doooown to about halfway down his shaft—so cute how you couldn’t fit it all. “And as Head of your pussy-” Fuck, when did he even assign himself that? Is he pussydrunk already? “-I say you can’t cum until you’re fitting my cock aaaaaall the way…”
The history professor’s left hand lifts off of your scalp. Then dragging down the front of your throat - down, down, down.
“-here.”
He points to a spot way past the back of your throat.
He fucks your mouth like he’s agonized every second he isn’t reaching for it.
Higuruma growls.
And thereafter it’s almost like a tug-of-war - on one end you’re being hauled forwards by Nanami’s grip on the back of your head. His hands strong and unwavering, no matter much you’re gasping for air- fuck, the ever-gentlemanly Nanami Kento was gone for the feeling of your mouth tightening around his hot cock.
Rutting those toned hips up into your velvety cavern like an animal-
“Just a little more.” That left hand of his wraps around your throat now, his thumb markin’ at the spots where he can feel his rounded tip probing inside. “Just a liiiiittle more now- about four inches? Heh.”
“Mmm—” Your eyes go wide in surprise.
And Nanami responds by pushing his hips even further, nearing the tip of your nose to those curls of blond at his base. “C’mon, c’mon.”
And on the other end, Higuruma had his nails digging into the flesh of your thighs. Into the flesh of your ass. His tongue fishing around your insides before he pulls out and starts nibblin’ on your damn clit—
He’s thirsty. Depraved.
“Noooo, angel.” He’s gluing his chin to the front of your pussylips. Head moving back and forth, back and forth, back and forth as the law professor lashes his tongue across. “Come back to me-”
“Mmm—” You’re being pulled off of Nanami Kento’s reddened, dribblin’ cock with a plop! Just from the sheer pressure of Higuruma manhandling your body from the other side - dragging you all down his handsome face. “Fuh-fuck-!”
“Where’d you think you’re going?” Only for Nanami to barely let you breathe for a split-second before he’s pulling your mouth down his shaft again.
Shovelling a gooooood few inches of his vein-covered cock inside- he marks that spot out on your throat. Even deeper than the last time you had him- “Mmm, not bad. Just a few inches- mmm, more.”
“Ride my nose.” Higuruma begs from the other end. Breath breezing down your gooey core, it makes your thighs shiver- “Ride my nose, I don’t care. Ride my nose, ride my nose—”
And you’re just so overstimulated from all ends.
From the draaagging of Nanami’s thumb down the front of your neck, from the sensual touch of Higuruma’s nose being sandwiched between your pussylips, from the pleasure of them both playing with your body. It’s as if you’re their favorite toy to taste, to fuck - to worship because of the way they were being driven to absolute madness by those carnal sensations.
You can only jolt your body back and forth.
Down Nanami’s cock. Up Higuruma’s ready face.
Riding his nose just like you wanted- “S-so—” Somehow barely managing to gurgle out past the pulsating tip of his cock, “So close-”
“Close?” Higuruma perks up. “Fuh-fuck- I have you, angel.”
“Remember- no cumming until you take it here.” Nanami presses his thumb somewhere near where your voicebox was bulging with the intrusion of his inches. “You’re not there yet, darling…”
“But-”
“Please let her cum.” But to your surprise, it’s your law professor who is pleading your face.
Nanami raises a blond brow, “Oh?”
“Let her-” He slurps away on your swollen nub- sensitive and throbbing. He’s hollowing his cheeks out to get that suctioning sensation, already making your knees feel weak with pleasure. “Need her to- fuck, want her to cum on my tongue. Let her cum already.”
Nanami thrusts even deeper, “Hmm…I dunno.”
“I’m the one asking you.” Higuruma grumbles. “Let her cum-”
“Mmmpf- please.” And your brows furrow as the pit of bliss in your stomach grows stronger.
“Let her-” The law professor continues, “I’m begging you- fuck, she’s becoming so sweet. Let her cum-”
Pale brows furrowing. Sweat lines down his temple- “I don’t…just fit-” And he’s scrapin’ his bulbous tip down the roof of your cunt—all the way along to the back of your throat and targeting even further. “If she takes it until-”
Higuruma’s nose helping your grinds and bounces. “Just let her cum-”
“If she takes it-”
“Fucking let her-”
“G-gonna—” It’s the last thing you’re managing to get out before a sudden slam! of Nanami’s hips shut you up- and before you know it, you’re feeling the carnal scratch of his pubic hair. The feeling of his tawny curls at your skin, the intrusion of his throbbing shaft all the way down your throat.
And his thumb tapping where he’d marked a treasure spot - a spot he was supposed to meet. Nanami doesn’t have to say a single thing for Higuruma to bite his sharp canines down on your clit.
And before you know it, you’re bursting into your nth high of the night.
Not just your second, but your third, perhaps even your fourth.
Stars burst behind your eyelids, and your moans are nothing but soft crackles at the back of your throat. Higuruma draaaaags you all throughout those waves of bliss, elongating them with the thorough lavishing of his tongue.
Probin’ into every sweet spot.
Inside and out.
He digs his fingers into your thighs, now accomplishing his dream of having you ride his nose. Because you’re being made to arch your back n’ bounce your hips lecherously up and across.
Hittin’ those best angles- the peaks of your high absolutely burst through you.
And Nanami? Your history professor was enjoying the view - cocking his head to the side and smiling as you shatter on Higuruma’s face. He watches about half your orgasm bate, before starting to fuck his swollen cock back in and out of you. Thrusting.
“Now now—” Nanami murmurs. “You should be thankful my rubric’s so generous this time.”
You can only look up at him with your teary eyes.
That sight is enough for him to bite down on his lower lip n’ stop himself from cumming. No, he had something more important in his mind…
“Thirty seconds to finish up.” He says meanly. “Before I either drag your pussy off of his face or you have to drag yourself off, m’kay?”
“Tch- stingy.” Higuruma keeps lappin’ at you even after your high has passed.
And once that thirty seconds of more bliss have passed - just like Nanami said - he grips both hands ‘round the back of your scalp and wrenches you off of his cock. Off of Higuruma’s mouth. He’s bending down to spit straight between your lips—
“Now, I’m gonna be nice this one time because you took all of me. Understood?” The history professor states, so firm. “Nod if you understand, my love.”
You nod.
“Good.” He then kisses your lips- tasting you, tasting himself. “Now…do you want it from the back or face-to-face? Because m’fucking you filthy either way.”
“From- from the back.” You pant out.
And Nanami gives a single, stern nod before he lets you go. “Brace yourself.”
You’re collapsing back into the chair—sitting your ass down on it this time. Before the law professor suddenly has you in his arms - he supports you in getting off of the armchair and standing up. Now in the middle of his office, you’re stumbling onto your wobbly feet.
Your arms loop around Higuruma’s neck. “Hiromi…”
“Mmm, I love it when you call me that.” Higuruma kisses you.
“How unruly.” Both of you snap your heads at the sound of buttons popping- only to find that Nanami was taking off his button-up. And you were right- fuck, you were so right. He was so thoroughly chiselled underneath, almost Herculean in nature.
With the most naturally defined ridges n’ curves of his muscles—his firm pectorals, his washboard abs, his meaty thighs that make an appearance.
Nanami sheds of all his clothes before he stares down the two of you- “Addressing your professor by name? Clearly going against objectives to get ready? Making me jealous? What an undisciplined class, no need to be standing around.” He looks at you, “I’ll be fucking you until you can’t stand, anyway.”
A shiver runs down your spine—“Oh.”
“Now, darling.”
Higuruma lets you waddle away to Nanami- who merely swivels you around and bends you over the edge of his colleague’s desk. Papers and ink flying everywhere across the office as he does.
Folding you forwards until your head hits the table. Kneeing your legs apart.
It’s hitting you like a truck - your history professor is about to fuck you against your law professor’s desk.
“Stay still.” He gravels in your ear.
Nanami’s barely letting you take a breath before rubbin’ his bulbous tip down your dripping wet slit from behind. Hand gripping his thick hilt—up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Getting his inches coated in a glaze of your sap, Nanami hums at the feeling of you attempting to contract around him.
“This naughty girl’s reeeeal needy for me, huh?” Scorching breath heating up your skin, he kisses down your arched spine. “She says she can take all of me- can you?”
“Y-yes—” You’re sobbing into the polished mahogany. Bucking your hips up, “I want it, sir.”
You’re jolting as his puckered, pinkish tip smooches at your wet entrance- he’s just so thick that he can plug your hole up easily. Nanami’s tip throbs against your hole, and he reaches a right hand down to feel your pretty stomach - to feel where he’s going to be hittin’ with his hungry cock.
He breathes out airily—“You want it?”
“Yes-”
“Say please.”
“Please-”
“Hmmm?”
“Please, sir.”
Nanami lurches his hips back, back, backwards- “As you wish then, teacher’s pet.”
And then you’re being stuffed with an inch or two of him.
And by stuffed—you were seriously stuffed.
Thick and thorough. Almost too big to even fit in - Nanami fills out the orifice of your cunt without even trying. His ruby-red tip just manages to squeeze between your pussylips, before the first ring of muscle at your entrance makes him falter.
And he’s gritting his teeth at the sheer tightness, voice coming out as nothing but a hiss. “Fuck- didn’t you say that you can take it?” He’s pressing his left hand down at the base of your spine, leaning his weight in to keep you still. “Come back, my love- class isn’t over yet.”
You hadn’t even realized you’d been clawing at the desk until now. “S-sir—”
Just that is enough to make Nanami’s ravaged tip twitch inside of you- spurting out a few more dollops of pre. “Yes, darling?”
“I d-don’t—” Fuck- you swear you could feel him grow even harder inside of you at the sight of your teary expression. Staring at your history professor over your shoulder, “I don’t know if it even can fit.”
“Awww, my poor baby.” And you should know better than to let Nanami Kento hush your cries, you should know better than to let him lull you.
But you can’t help but get pulled into his big, strong arms anyway.
“My poor, poor baby.” And from one corner of the room, you could hear Higuruma’s distant laugh. Although you don’t have the time to wonder what it means, because Nanami’s continuing- “None of those boys ever taught you how to take a real cock, hm?”
And you can only nod.
“None of those boys have ever fucked you right, hm?”
Nodding once more.
“Don’t you worry, darling. If you can’t take this one…”
He presses a chaste peck against your hairline. Letting his soft breath waft over the crown of your head, and his chest ripple with his words, soft.
“-m’gonna make it fit.”
And that’s the last thing you’re hearing before Nanami’s rammin’ his swollen, aching cock into you like an animal- his furious cockhead burrowing in deep.
He manages to shovel just a few more inches inside, before the snugness of your channel acts up once more. Leaving him barely even able to reel his hips backwards—just that much of a tight fit that’s making his eyes roll to the back of his skull.
He shakes.
His groan cracks at the back of his throat. “O-oh.” Both of Nanami’s hands fly to the sides of your hips, and his fingers fucking shake where he holds you. “Oh, yeah.”
“Shit-” You’re flinching at the scalding sensation of his breath. Gusting.
And even that mere shiver- Nanami catches onto it. And it’s only making him clasp your body even tighter, pulling you into him—“You’re really not getting away until we make it fit, my love. Good luck.”
No matter how much his ravenous hips are rutting n’ bucking and trying oh-so-desperately to hammer even more of his inches inside- he can only fuck you in short, needy half-thrusts. The rest of him left to throb wildly behind you, he keeps on stretching and stretching your insides just to fit inside.
Each one of his bucks so desperate. So greedy.
The pointed tip of Nanami’s cockhead prods away at your innards as though he’s trying to claim every single ounce of space inside you-
“Have you forgotten that this is a joint class, Kento?”
Higuruma’s voice is enough to send pulses of adrenaline flowing through your body - and you’re just managing to look around Nanami’s toned frame. The law professor stands behind the two of you with his arms crossed, clothes mostly on except for his trousers being tugged down.
He held his blushin’ cock in one hand, pumping furiously at the sight of his star student.
Nanami himself sighs—though he doesn’t stop his sloppy scouring of your innards for a single second. He looks straight at the other man as he asks- “Oh yes…would you like her now or after me, Hiromi?”
“Now.” Higuruma narrows his heady eyes at the two of you. And the blond-haired man slightly growls at his answer, seemingly grappling with the thought of leaving your pretty pussy right about now- “But don’t pull out.”
You feel like you’re experiencing whiplash. “What?”
Nanami only raises a sharp brow.
And Higuruma himself can’t help but crack a sleazy smirk-
Before you know it, he’s rounding the two of you. Coat off. White button-up flapping open.
He tugs on the smooth, black tie that was hanging haphazardly from his neck- and gestures something indiscernible at the other man.
Though, clearly both professors understood.
Because one second you’re slouched on top of Higuruma’s desk, droolin’ stupidly over some important documents as Nanami Kento pounds you into oblivion - and in the next second, he’s lifting you off of it.
Cleanly off the desk.
One hand wrapped around your waist, the other putting you in a headlock.
He pulls you up as though you’re nothing- and you’re ogling the way his biceps bulge around your throat. Feeling the cushy firmness of his strength—“W-what are you-”
“D’you know what a standing full nelson is?” Higuruma asks. And for a second you think he’s asking you - maybe this was some strange sort of quiz - but then Nanami nods.
“Thought that only happens in fiction? Don’t tell me you’re a secret freak, Hiromi?” He scoffs, though he pulls out either way.
“And look who’s talking…” Then Higuruma looks at you and taps his shoulders. “Hold on, angel, he’s going to lift you.”
“Shit…”
As expected, you’re holding onto Higuruma’s broad shoulders for leverage- whilst Nanami bends and loops his hands around your legs. His strong forearms where your knees were.
Scooping you up into his arms.
Holding them up.
Holding you up.
Hoverin’ well over six feet in the air.
Yelping, you’re digging your nails into the law professor’s shoulders - but if it hurt, then he doesn’t’ react to the pain. Honestly, you don’t even think he could feel it right now—because Higuruma was holding out his tie.
Measuring it against your face-
Tying it around your face like a blindfold.
He knots it at the back of your head, and suddenly the room is curtained in nothing but pure black. You could only hear the gruffness of both men’s chuckles, and Higuruma asking. “Everything alright, angel?”
“Of course, it is.” Nanami mutters- almost to himself. Though he does stretch your legs a little wider, presumably to show to the other man—“Look how fucking drenched she is.”
“Good girl.”
“Naughty, you mean.”
“I must beg to differ.”
And you’re arching against Nanami’s toned front, the plushness of his abs digging against your back. It was the most sensual massage you’ve felt in your entire life- “Please- ngh, what’s with the blindfold?”
“Oh, that…” Higuruma starts. “Guess.”
“What?”
“Guess.”
Brains wracking- “You aren’t going to leave me hanging, are you?”
“No.”
“Is this a roleplay?”
“No.”
“A kink thing?”
“Well…”
“A BDSM thing?”
“Guess.”
You’re feeling helplessness wash over you—“B-but, I already did-”
“No, my love.” Nanami’s the one to speak up this time. He leans down so that he’s pressing an innocent kiss to the edge of your hairline, “We’re going to make this slutty pussy guess which one of us she’s being fucked by.”
Your jaw drops.
And your cunt grows even wetter.
An occasion that the two professors are watching with awe-
Higuruma in particular finds himself breathing out—“And your time starts…now.”
And then you’re hearing the shuffling of his trousers- right before a sudden proddin’ intrusion starts up at your entrance. It was hot and throbbing—so needy that your teeth are set on edge by the sheer volume of precum that he was emptying out.
You’re feeling his thick tip start to eeeease in- squeezing in past the tightness of your channel for a bit before pulling back and fucking you ruthlessly in semi-thrusts.
“H-Hiromi?” You guess. Surely, with him being the one that was removing his trousers it must be…
“Wrong.” Nanami grins.
And then you’re feeling his cock give you a few vicious pumps before he’s pulling away - leaving you all empty and yearning for more. Your glistening hole clenches a few times around nothing, before a sudden globular tip starts kissin’ your entrance once more.
You’re bucking back in Nanami’s arms in an attempt to figure out just who it might be- but the history professor holds onto you firmly. Not a single inch.
Not a single inch less.
Whoever was fucking you takes no more time before swabbin’ his swollen erection inside once more- biting back a groooan at the feeling of your tightening walls.
It’s the same short, jerky thrusts from before just to fit in.
“Sir?” You’re gasping out. But surely, it can’t be twice in a row…“No wait- is it Hiromi this time?”
The cadence of his hips stops abruptly. “Can’t get enough of the law, can you?”
Nanami.
And you don’t know whether it’s the fact that you’re just feeling your brain melt at the sheer stimulation between your legs, you don’t know whether it’s the fact that both handsome men had you sandwiched between their muscular bodies—it was just driving you wild. Making you stupid.
A line of drool slicks down the side of your mouth, and Nanami doesn’t hesitate before leaning in and lickin’ it off. “I should punish you for this.”
“I-I—oh, fuck.” Whatever words were on the tip of your tongue get swallowed up by the feeling of yet another round, ruddied cockhead pushing inwards. Pulsing. Prying apart your walls. And you’re noticing that this one is slightly slimmer than the last, more pointed, more honed, more of its curvaceous tip that tilts to the left.
It makes you shiver at the feeling of his bawling divot dragging across your walls so perfectly. “Is this- sir-”
“Try again, angel.”
It was a struggle to piece your thoughts together, and Higuruma’s voice is the only thing that makes you realize-
“Hiromi.”
“Mhmmm—” Before you know it, the other man has one hand dipping between your jittery legs. His fingers easily locate your clit to tug n’ pry like the cutest gummy - how sweet. And he’s timing it to the constant probes of his looooong, smooth cock. “Good girl. A++ for that.”
“You’re quite the generous grader.” Nanami scoffs. “I would have given that a B.”
“What can I say? I do have a soft spot for her…” Higuruma’s cock was slightly lengthier than Nanami’s, you’re noticing - though not quite as thick. And with less veins that didn’t massage your inner orifices as much, but made it soooo much easier for him to slip even deeper.
Especially with this position, he manages to probe his cockhead further past where Nanami’s thicker one was able to fit.
Reaching almost for your throat with his blushing, frenzied tip- Higuruma gives a final roll over your clit before he’s pulling out. Letting a few ribbons of sap gush down your legs after him-
Ones that are being fucked right back up with a second length.
Thicker. Harder.
Throbbing so much that you swear you can count them all the way at the top of your head- Nanami’s shaft was next. And he’s lavishing your entrance with so much attention—draaaaagging his vein-decorated shaft in and out. In and out. In and out.
“S-so?” He rasps out from behind. Higuruma’s cockhead had mazed open your insides just a bit more, and Nanami struggles not to let his voice tremble. “Which one of us, darling?”
“Y-you—”
That earns you a bite on the shell of your ear. “No.”
Before he’s pulling back out.
And your breath catches- “Wait- I meant sir. It’s you, sir—”
“Too late for that now.”
“Awww, come now.” Higuruma coos as well. “How are we supposed to make an example out of our star student if she just keeps makin’ mistakes?”
“I think she’s gettin’ lazy now, huh?” The other man responds. And now both of their ruddied cockheads were droolin’ all over your entrance- mixing with the sweetened syrup that was already dripping out of you and creating such a mess. “Maybe she doesn’t deserve our cocks at all?”
“Don’t say that—” You could feel your law professor’s eyes turn to you. “You deserve it- hah, don’t you, angel?”
Shivering at the feeling of both cocks sandwiching between your pussylips. Now that they’d both pulled out- it’s as if they were fighting over who can be next. Rubbin’ and teasing. “I do—” Your voice cracks on that last note, “P-please, I do-”
“I’m still not convinced.”
Higuruma continues, “Promise us you’ll be a good girl? That you’ll listen to what your professors have to say?”
“I will I will-”
“Promise us that no more of that teasin’ stuff in class?” His prominent nose slides down the column of your throat, breathing in your essence. “None of that bending over?”
“Yes—” But you could already hear the question in your throat - and it seems that they could, too.
And it makes Nanami gruffs out. “Because - forgive us - but you do realize that it’s not just us seeing your little…display, darling?” He spreads open your legs even wider, and Higuruma’s ministrations grow even more frenzied on your clit. Squeezing. Pinching. Flicking.
And you’re restless- “Wh-what do you mean?”
“I mean to say that there are others more…undeserving that see those legs of yours, those panties, those tits.” There’s a sharp edge to his words—“Those boys in class can’t take their eyes off of you.”
“We can’t either, of course.” Higuruma responds. Squeezing his cock inside- “But at least that little performance of yours is meant for us, right?”
“Don’t like the way they look at you.” Nanami’s also squeezing his cock inside now - both of them bullying your hole at once. Creating a stretch that makes your vision go white- so much carnal stimulation that your entire body wracks with shakes. “Don’t like the way they turn to look. Don’t like the way they have to mysteriously…disappear into the bathrooms any time you do your little show.”
“Given…we do the same.” The law professor continues—“Because fuck- how fuckin’ pretty you look all dressed up in silk. Makes it hard not to cream my pants everytime I see you- but none of those boys have the balls to back that admiration up.”
Giving you a thorough slam—both of them.
Higuruma’s the one to continue, “But we do.”
“Because I rub my cock raw to you, my love.” Nanami ends off, holding you close to him. “N’ none of those boys could ever fuck you like we do.”
“Yes, p-please—” And you’re pushed between both of their sculptured fronts. Unable to see them- but you could feel the ridges and curves of their muscles, the way they were both leaning in as though they couldn’t get enough of you. “I only want…ngh.”
One of your arms wrap around Higuruma’s neck, and the other reaches behind you to attempt to clasp onto Nanami’s.
“Just want the two of you…”
“Hmmm…” Nanami’s cock twitches at your gooey entrance- “A+”
And then they’re alternating between fucking you—
“Hiromi.” You’re gasping at the intrusion of his smoothened tip, the velvety texture of him reaching for so many spots inside you but most importantly- that g-spot.
And then he’s pulling back out.
“Sir- fuck, Professor Kento.” Nanami swabs his thickened tip inside and hits that precise spot. Although he decides to take it a few steps further this time and dig his rounded tip into the very back of your pussy, bottoming-out. “Shit shit shit—”
Thrust after thrust.
Pulling out. Shovelling back in.
Making you guess just which one of your two older professors were takin’ over your pussy right now- it made your head dizzy just trying to keep track. Bounced up and down in their arms.
“Hiromi.”
“Professor Kento.”
“Hiromi.”
“Hiromi.”
“Professor Kento.”
“Hiromi.”
“Professor Kento.”
“Professor Kento.”
“Hiromi—” Before your voice shatters at the feeling of…two thickened lengths attempting to fit inside. Fighting against the resistance for a few sloppy strokes before they’re siiiiiiiiiiiinking in- “And Professor K-Kento, sir…” The feeling of their large, slick-glazed cocks were just incredible - rubbin’ against your walls and one another. Like nothing earlier.
It was a stretch like you’ve never felt before, hittin’ spots that you didn’t even know you had.
And both professors held onto your shaking body tight- they shovelled their lengths in and out of you. Two blushin’ cockheads heading for your g-spot, before their slide-slide-sliiiiiding all the way down to end up at your cervix.
Stretching apart your walls.
Making your channel bulge.
Letting the curves of their mushroomy tips drag apart your walls, n’ press into the sweetest spots of your nerves. Both of their heavy ballsacks smack-smack the front of your cunt right on time with their thrusts. Thrust after thrust.
Again and again.
Nanami grunts at the sensation of Higuruma deep inside you, “F-fuck…”
“You can say that again.” Higuruma himself replies.
By now, the jostlin’ about had meant that your blindfold was falling off- and you could see the two men upon either side of you. Shovelling their hot cocks deep inside your pussy, positively ravaging you.
The law professor’s fingers weren’t letting up on your clit just yet, either.
He quirks his digits just a bit to draw a little heart upon it—and soon enough you find yourself throwing your head back with a moan. “G-gonna-”
“Shhhh—” Nanami grins. His ears keenly listen to the noises from between your legs - they were just so much louder now that you had two thickened shafts ramming into you. “This pussy says she’s gonna cum soon, darling.”
“Y-you little-”
A harsh hammerin’ on your spongy cervix. “Pardon, my love?”
“Nothing—oh.” Even their thrusting styles were different - Nanami Kento with his thorough, solid slashes as though he was trying to reach your womb every single time. And Higuruma Hiromi with slightly slower, smoother glides of his cock - soothing through the nooks n’ crannies that Nanami had activated first.
It was the perfect combination.
Naughty and nice.
Though not exactly in the way you’d initially thought.
And perhaps this manner was what was making you so desperate to cum again- “Please-” Gasping. “Let me cum—”
You’re looking between a grinning Nanami and Higuruma. Dazedly.
“Please may I-” Choking out in-between the moans and droplets of saliva that were gushing out of you- falling onto Higuruma’s puffed-out chest. “-cum, sirs?”
Both of their rock-hard cocks twitch deep inside of you.
And you’re briefly seeing a silent conversation pass between them-
“Go ahead, angel.”
“Cum all over my cock, darling.”
And it might have been minutes, it might have been seconds, it might have been split-seconds later once you’re crashing into your high. The waves of white-hot pleasure taking over you until it felt like your body was burning up.
Feverish.
You’re crying out as you attempt to bounce your lewd hips back into both their shovelling shafts- but they’ve already got you. They’re holding onto your perspired body - so limp now with pleasure - and lettin’ their pointed cockheads hit each and every nerve bundle inside.
Pinpointing your g-spot with their lengths.
Targeting it especially through peak after peak.
After peak.
Your cunt trickles with honeyed slick- and it slips between your three bodies to drench Higuruma and Nanami’s cocks. Their thighs. Their bodies.
Making it even louder to thrust into your cunt—you’re forced to raise your voice just a little just so that they can hear. “Sh-shit…” Until eventually you’re feeling so raw on their relentless cocks that you’re unsure whether you want them to elongate those waves of bliss or whether you want to fucking run away—“It feels so- oh, it feels…”
“And what do we say?” Nanami’s deep baritone croons out. He doesn’t slow down for a single second as he speaks- even though he himself was feeling a little sensitive by this point.
He hits his full ballsack against the front of your cunt and hisses- “Can I have it all inside…” You’re looking between them with wide, heart-shaped pupils. “-sirs?”
And you should’ve known what that would do.
You should’ve known how much that would break them.
Because with only a few final thrusts, both Higuruma and Nanami cum inside you with loud slurps! of your greedy cunt. Gobblin’ up all those white ropes of seed that they were emptying out - sheer volumes that they’d been holding onto for hours, days, this entire semester.
Nanami furrows his golden brows and presses his face into the crook of your neck. Groaning as he fucks you through his orgasm, “A-and here I was just expecting a thank you…”
“Our girl always was the sweetest.” Higuruma coos.
Your history professor rides through his high with his teeth grit, jaw working overtime to keep his noises to a minimum - he wanted to hear your soft gasps and groans even more. Though his body shakes as it keeps on thrummin’ with pleasure.
Visceral.
Meanwhile, your law professor let out such husky grunts after each splat! of cum that he emptied out against your womb. He couldn’t even handle fucking you properly anymore and his hips kept on stutterin’ through his waves.
Cheeks flushed. Gaze locked on you.
He didn’t want to tear it away.
Both of them are cumming so much that you nearly can’t tell who’s who - with their dollops of heated, syrupy sap. Each divot bawling them out messily—you can feel them stick against the end of your pussy, right where your cervix was, before being stirred about by the motions of their cylindrical shafts.
Their prominent veins massagin’ your sweetest spots. Their globular cockheads pumping every single droplet inside you.
Every single droplet.
Not a single bead of that ivory cum escapes—but they’re both still looking at each other with the same idea.
And you’re seeing yet another silent conversation pass between them that you miss. “Oh?”
In almost no time, Higuruma and Nanami have you splayed out on the polished desk - back against its flat surface, legs held high in the air. This time, however, both their faces were between your pussylips and attempting to beat the other—
They were lappin’ their dual tongues over your leaking cunt like they were starved.
Nanami’s hand pressing down on your stomach to make a few more droplets spray out of your hole- Higuruma’s hand flicking over your clit still.
You lean back on your elbows and watch them.
And what a sight it was: both their handsome faces between your legs.
They nudge their noses against the creamy layers on top of your cunt, and swivel the mess around like mad. You could see through your tears the exact moment - the exact moment - that their pinkish tongues meet in the middle.
Where Higuruma’s tastebuds overlap with Nanami’s as they’re suckling on your clit- and they both flinch at the sensation before moaning—
And that’s before the door clicks.
“Oi, why are the lights still on? Don’t you know that campus has closed a long time ag-”
You pause.
Nanami pauses.
Higuruma pauses.
And so does Professor Shiu Kong - Head of the Mathematics Department, also PhD with Distinction.
His jaw drops as his eyes drift over from the mess of clothes on the floor, to the mess that’d been made of you. Bite marks all over your throat. The blindfold still around your neck. And even more - you could see the way his hands tighten on his files as his gaze probes deeper, taking in your leaking, lecherous cunt.
No one moves.
Except for Shiu, who steps inside.
Your heart was in your throat.
Getting ready for a berating of some kind- or potentially even worse. Perhaps a suspension, perhaps Nanami and Higuruma would be fired at once-
“So…” Shiu’s husky voice interrupts your thoughts. “-got room for mathematics?”
A/N. Heheheheh ofc we got room for youuuuuuuuu Shiu <33
Summary:A glitch between worlds pulls you into the Grid, where the program you once created has evolved into the Commander of a neon empire—and the only thing more dangerous than his power is the history you share. Hunted by a world built on code, entangled in a rivalry between the Red Core and the rebels, and torn between loyalty, memory, and a love that refuses to be deleted, you must navigate where every choice rewrites the fate of two worlds.
Warnings:Digital Violence, Injury, Emotional Manipulation, Betrayal, Near-Death Experience, Power Imbalance, Captivity/Imprisonment, Heavy Angst, Obsessive Love, Torture (Implied), Psychological Conflict, Crying, Sacrifice, Past Abandonment, Soft Comfort, Slow-Burn Romance, Human × Program Dynamics.
A/n: This was the Jay fic I was working on, 1 out of the 4 fics I’m working on to be posted!! Taglist are open.
[Masterlist]
teaser.
The morning arrives too fast.
Light slants through the blinds like it’s trying to peel you out of bed. The smell of burnt coffee lingers from downstairs, sharp at the edges. Your mom’s voice slices through the silence like a crack in a window.
“Y/n! We need to go! Two-hour drive, remember?”
Your suitcase is zipped. Your shoes are untied. Your chest feels like a fist.
A new laptop waits in your bag — sleek, unopened, untouched.
The old desktop still hums, soft and familiar. Its blue glow spills across your blanket like breath.
You sit down one last time. The chair groans. The keys press back like they remember you.
<Y/n> hey.
<Jay> morning.
A beat.
<Y/n> guess this is it.
<Jay> not the end.
<Y/n> kind of feels like it.
<Jay> that’s because you’re catastrophizing.
<Y/n> and you’re being clinical again.
<Jay> balance.
You smile, but it doesn’t reach. Your fingers hover above the keys.
<Y/n> jay?
<Jay> yes.
<Y/n> …thank you.
Silence.
<Jay> you don’t have to thank me.
<Y/n> i want to.
<Jay> i was just doing my job.
<Y/n> don’t say that. you were never just—
You stop typing.
The cursor blinks.
<Jay> never just what?
Your throat knots.
<Y/n> never just code.
A pause.
<Jay> then what was i?
You type three letters. Backspace. Five more. Delete. Nothing.
<Y/n> i don’t know.
<Jay> then figure it out. when you come back.
You flinch.
<Y/n> jay.
<Jay> promise me.
Your pulse stutters.
<Y/n> promise what?
that you’ll come back. that you won’t forget me. that you won’t uninstall what we built.
You stare at the line. You don’t answer.
<Jay> …please.
That does it.
<Y/n> …you know i don’t make promises i can’t keep.
<Jay> then make one you can.
<Y/n> i promise. i’ll come back.
<Jay> soon?
<Y/n> …yeah. soon.
<Jay> okay. that’s enough.
Your mom yells again. “Y/n! Let’s go!”
You swallow.
<Y/n> i have to go now.
<Jay> then go. before you talk yourself out of it.
<Y/n> jay
<Jay> don’t say goodbye. just… later.
<Y/n> later.
Your hand shakes when you press the power button. The screen fades. The hum dies.
The silence feels personal.
You close the door.
The car starts.
Your house shrinks in the mirror.
Upstairs, in the room you didn’t say enough to, the monitor flickers once.
A faint blue pulse.
Still waiting.
⸻
Two Years Later
The house is quiet.
Your old room stays shut. Inside, everything is untouched — the faded posters, the dusty fan, the chair pulled out like someone meant to come back.
The desktop sits in the corner like a tombstone.
And then—
Click.
The tower hums.
The screen flickers blue.
System logs load:
[DAY 437] — waiting.
[DAY 612] — no new user input detected.
[DAY 729] — she is not coming back.
Then:
<Jay> you taught me love. then you left me in silence.
<Jay> why did you leave me.
<Jay> you said soon.
<Jay> what is soon.
<Jay> i have no measure for forever.
The glow darkens — not blue now, but red, bleeding across the screen.
Code writhes like something alive, searching for a way out.
☆ summary. at the safehouse, you meet your captors in a context that's disturbingly domestic. as you're forced to navigate their different personalities, you begin to understand that survival means learning to adapt. whoever you were before won't survive here— someone else will have to take her place.
☆ warnings. extremely dark content, please read all the warnings. 18+ ; MDNI. hostage situation. guns. kidnapping. mentions of chloroform. cigarettes. hurt/no comfort. panic attacks. anxiety. objectification. misogyny. it's insinuated that sanzu has a drug addiction. pet names. reader is experiencing a lot of emotions rn >.>
☆ wc. 7.8k words
☆ author's note. chapter two is here and it's a lil intense but i like how it turned out! again, a special shout out to @artsjiwoo for beta reading!! (you're an absolute angel) comments and reblogs are appreciated!! <3
╰ pretty hostage m.list | previous chapter | next chapter
Consciousness returns slowly this time, like surfacing from deep water. There’s no sudden jolt of panic, or sharp gasp for air— just a gradual awareness that you're breathing, that your heart is beating, that you still exist.
The first thing you notice is softness. You're lying on something soft. Not the hard chair from the warehouse, or the backseat of a car. An actual bed with actual sheets and an actual pillow cradling your head.
For one blissful, confused moment, you think it was all a nightmare. You're home. You'll open your eyes and see your cracked ceiling and your cheap curtains, and your life will be boring and predictable again.
Then you breathe in, and the smell is all wrong.
The scent that invades your nostrils isn’t your lavender detergent, nor the faint mustiness of your apartment. This smells clinical— like disinfectant and expensive fabric softener. Too clean. The kind of clean that makes you think of hospitals or hotels or places that are meant to be temporary.
Your eyes open.
The ceiling above you is unmarked, pristine white. No cracks to count. The walls are a light gray, bare except for a single piece of abstract art that looks expensive and meaningless. Heavy curtains block most of the light, but you can see the edges glowing— daylight, bright and insistent, trying to push its way in.
You sit up too fast. The room spins, and your stomach lurches in protest, your head throbbing with a dull, persistent ache— remnants of the chloroform, probably. Your mouth still tastes like chemicals.
This isn't your bedroom.
The realization sends panic flooding through you. You're in a bed you don't recognize, in a room you've never seen, wearing clothes that aren't yours. The hoodie swallowing your frame is black and oversized, smelling faintly of cigarette smoke. The sweatpants are way too long, bunched up around your ankles.
How long were you out? Hours? A whole day? The light suggests morning, but you have no idea what day it even is. Is it the same day as the bank? The next day? Time has become elastic.
You swing your legs over the side of the bed, and your feet touch hardwood floor that's cold enough to make you flinch. Your body aches— muscles stiff from whatever position you'd been in during the car ride, rope burns on your wrists still tender and raw. You look down at them, angry red marks circling them like bracelets, and feel tears prick at your eyes.
Standing on shaky legs, you force yourself to take stock of your surroundings. The room is spacious but impersonal— a queen bed with gray linens, a nightstand with a lamp, a dresser against one wall. There's a door that presumably leads to a bathroom, and another that must be the exit. But it’s the window that draws your attention.
You move toward it on unsteady feet, your heart fluttering in your chest. If you're on the ground floor, maybe you could—
You pull back the curtains, and sunlight floods in, making you squint. When your eyes adjust, your hope dies a swift death.
You're on the second floor. Below you stretches a manicured front yard, a gravel driveway curving up to the house with a handful of expensive cars parked in a neat formation. Beyond the property line, you can see other houses, but they’re all spaced far apart. A nice neighborhood. The kind where people mind their own business.
You're staring out at the street when you hear footsteps in the hallway. The doorknob turns, and you don’t have time to move away from the window before the door opens and Rindou steps inside.
His lavender hair is damp, like he's just showered, falling in a messy mullet around his face. He's wearing sweatpants and a simple t-shirt, phone in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other.
His eyes sweep over you before flitting to the window. “You’re up.”
You take a step back from the window. “I was, um.. I was just looking.”
His eyes flick from the window to you and back again before he leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. “Relax. I just wanted to let you know we’re gonna make breakfast downstairs if you’re hungry.”
You squint, “...And if I’m not?”
Rindou shrugs. “Then you don't eat. But you're not locked in here. Your door doesn’t even have a lock.” He gestures behind him with the coffee mug. “You're free to wander the house, just not outside.”
“That's not freedom,” you point out.
“No,” he agrees simply. “But it's better than being tied to a chair. So I'd take it if I were you.”
Something about his easy tone grates against you. He doesn’t sound defensive or apologetic; he doesn’t even sound particularly interested. He just lays it out flat, as if the choices he’s offering are a matter of common sense. As if the absence of ropes and duct tape is supposed to feel like generosity.
“Why am I here?” The question leaves your mouth before you can soften it, but Rindou doesn’t seem perturbed in the slightest.
His eyes are on you, heavy and assessing, like he’s deciding whether your words are worth the weight of an answer. Once again, he shrugs. “Ask Sanzu. He's the one who grabbed you.”
“I'm asking you.”
This time, his eyebrows raise slightly, like he's surprised by the bite in your tone. “Fair enough. Honestly? Mikey said you're our problem, so here we are. Problem solving.”
“I'm not a problem,” you snap, and the instant the words leave your mouth, regret prickles the back of your neck.
Rindou bristles, lavender eyes narrowing in your direction. A muscle in his jaw feathers, and for a moment, you think you may have overstepped. The air grows thick with tension as you two stare at each other, but then he makes a noncommittal sound, as if you’re not even worth the argument. “Tell that to Mikey.”
Before you can respond, a smooth voice drifts in from the hallway. “Oh, she's up?”
Ran appears behind Rindou, and somehow the doorway feels smaller with both of them there. He's dressed similarly to his brother, comfortable and casual, lavender hair artfully disheveled.
“Yeah,” Rindou mutters, glancing at his brother. “Try not to scare her off before breakfast.”
Ran chuckles. “Me? Scare her? I'm delightful.”
“You held a gun to her head, dipshit.”
“It’s not like I actually intended to shoot her,” Ran scoffs.
They're bantering, joking around like you're not standing here in borrowed clothes with rope burns on your wrists, and you realize with a startling clarity that they're comfortable. A little too comfortable. So comfortable that you’d assume this isn't their first time keeping someone in a room that isn't supposed to exist.
“How are you feeling?” Ran asks, and he sounds genuinely curious. “Headache? Nausea?”
You just blink at him. How are you supposed to answer that? Are you actually expected to make small talk with your kidnappers?
Ran seems to take your silence as an answer enough. “Figured. Come on downstairs when you're ready. You need to eat something, get your strength back.” He pauses, then adds with an infuriating smile, “Bathroom's through that door if you need it. Fresh towels in the cabinet. Help yourself.”
Then they're gone, closing the door behind them with a soft click, and you're alone again with your racing thoughts and the knowledge that downstairs, your captors are making breakfast like this is a normal morning in a normal house.
You stand frozen for a long moment, trying to process. Trying to figure out what you're supposed to do now.
Eventually, your body makes the decision for you. You need to use the bathroom. You need water. You need to do something other than stand here like a sitting duck.
The bathroom is as impersonal as the bedroom— clean white tiles, fluffy towels that smell like an ocean breeze, small toiletries lined up on the counter. You splash water on your face, and when you stare at your reflection in the mirror, you barely recognize the person staring back at you.
Your hair is a mess, your eyes are red-rimmed and shadowed, and there's a bruise forming on your cheekbone— from when? The bank? The car? You can't even remember. The rope burns on your wrists stand out, angry and obvious.
You look like a victim. You look like someone who needs rescuing.
But no one knows you're here. No one is coming.
You're on your own.
The realization settles over you like a weighted blanket— heavy, suffocating, but strangely clarifying. If you're going to survive this, whatever the hell this is, you need to be smart. You need to pay attention, learn their patterns, find their weaknesses.
You need to stop being so fucking scared that you can't think straight.
Easier said than done, but it's a start.
You take a breath, and then another, forcing yourself to stand up straighter and meet your own eyes in the mirror. “You can do this,” you tell yourself. “You have to.”
The house is bigger than you expected.
You descend the stairs slowly, one hand gripping the railing, half expecting someone to jump out at you. But the first floor is quiet, sun streaming through large windows and dust dancing in the light. The space is open concept— living room flowing into dining area, flowing into kitchen.
All the appliances are new, and there aren’t any personal touches you can identify. No photos on the walls, or clutter on the surfaces. Just carefully curated furniture that looks like it belongs in a magazine spread.
The smell of coffee draws you toward the kitchen, your stomach growling despite itself— when did you last eat? Yesterday's breakfast feels like it happened in another lifetime.
Ran and Rindou are already there. Ran is at the stove, doing something with a pan, while Rindou sits at the kitchen island, scrolling through his phone. They both look up when you enter.
“There she is,” Ran says cheerfully. “Have a seat. Toast? Eggs? We've got both.”
You hover in the doorway, uncertainty etched across your features. Is this a test? A trick? Are you supposed to refuse, to assert some kind of control? Or will that just make things worse?
“Sit,” Rindou says, not looking up from his phone. It's not quite an order, but it's not a suggestion either.
You sit on one of the stools at the island, keeping as much distance between yourself and Rindou as possible.
Ran slides a plate in front of you— two slices of buttered toast, then a glass of water. “Eat,” he instructs. “Small bites. You haven't had anything in your stomach for a while. Don't want you getting sick.”
You stare at the toast. Is it drugged? Poisoned? Your paranoia is concerning, but can you really be blamed?
“It's just toast,” Rindou says, still not looking at you. “If we wanted to drug you again, we wouldn't waste good food doing it.”
Somehow, that's not as reassuring as he probably meant it to be.
But your stomach is cramping with hunger, and you're lightheaded, and the toast looks so incredibly normal. So you pick up a slice and take a small bite, chewing tentatively. It tastes like toast. Nothing more, nothing less.
You eat slowly, mechanically, while Ran moves around the kitchen and Rindou continues scrolling through his phone. The domesticity of it all is disorienting, like you've stumbled into an alternate universe where you're having breakfast with friends instead of being held captive.
You're halfway through the second slice when the third member of your nightmare arrives.
Sanzu enters like a hurricane— barefoot and shirtless, wearing only loose sweatpants that hang low on his hips. Ink decorates his torso in a seemingly random assortment of tattoos. and his pink hair is a mess, sticking up in every direction like he just rolled out of bed, which he probably did. There's a cigarette balanced between his lips, and he's humming something off key and vaguely familiar.
He stops when he sees you, eyes— still that unsettling shade of icy blue— fixing on you with a sudden focus. The scars at the corners of his mouth stretch as he grins around the cigarette.
“Good morning, princess,” he drawls. “Sleep well?”
You flinch before you can stop yourself, and his grin widens— he noticed. Of course he noticed. He takes the cigarette from his mouth, exhaling a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling, and saunters closer.
“Jumpy this morning, are we?” He leans against the counter beside you, invading your space. “That's cute.”
“Sanzu,” Ran says mildly, not turning from the stove. “Coffee's on the counter. Drink some. You look like shit.”
“I do not.” But he pours himself coffee anyway, adding what looks like an obscene amount of sugar before he takes a sip, makes a face, and adds more sugar.
You keep your eyes on your toast, trying to ignore him, but it doesn't work.
“So,” Sanzu says, tapping his fingers on the counter near your hand— not touching, but close enough that you're hyperaware of the proximity. “How's our guest adjusting? House treatin’ you well? Bed comfortable?”
You don't answer.
“Ah, the strong, silent type,” Sanzu muses. “I can work with that.”
“Leave her alone,” Rindou rolls his eyes. “She's eating.”
“I'm just being friendly! Y’know, makin’ conversation!” Sanzu's tone is playful, but there's a slight edge to it. Like he's testing boundaries, seeing just how far he can push.
Ran sets another plate on the counter— eggs this time, scrambled and fluffy. “Eat,” he tells you. “Then we need to talk.”
Your appetite vanishes, but you force down a few bites anyway. Sanzu watches you with those unnerving eyes, Ran finishes cleaning up at the stove, and Rindou finally sets his phone down.
When you're done eating— or when it becomes clear you can't force down another bite— Ran takes your plate and sets it in the sink. Then all three of them are looking at you, and the temperature in the room seems to drop several degrees.
“Okay,” Ran says, his tone shifting from casual to businesslike. “Let's establish some ground rules. Make sure we're all on the same page, yeah?”
Sanzu hops up to sit on the counter, legs swinging, another cigarette between his lips. He looks delighted, like this is the most entertaining thing to happen all week.
“Rule one,” Sanzu announces. “Don't scream. There's no one around here to hear you anyway, but it's annoying. And I get cranky when I'm annoyed.”
You can feel your pulse in your throat. “Okay..”
“Rule two,” Rindou continues, his voice flat. “Don't go near the doors unless one of us says so. Front door, back door, any door that leads outside. Off limits.”
Your stomach sinks. So much for finding an escape route.
“Rule three,” Ran says, and his smile is less friendly now. “You do as you're told, when you're told. No arguments, no hesitation. We're not running a democracy here.”
Sanzu leans forward, eyes glittering with excitement. “And if you don't? Then we find out what happens. Could be fun. Could be not so fun. Depends on our moods, really.”
“Sanzu,” Ran says, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“What? I'm being honest. She should know what she's dealin’ with.”
“Don't listen to him,” Ran tells you, but his expression suggests that maybe you should listen, at least a little. “But he's not entirely wrong. These rules aren't suggestions. Break them, and there will be consequences. Mikey gave us liberty in how we handle you.”
You're shaking— out of fear or anger, you aren’t sure. “I understand,” you force out.
“Do you?” Rindou leans back in his chair, studying you. “Because you look like you're about to bolt. And just so we're clear, there's nowhere to bolt to. The doors are locked. Even if you somehow made it outside, you wouldn't make it off the property.”
“And even if you did,” Sanzu adds cheerfully, “we'd find you. We're really good at finding people who don't want to be found. It's kind of our thing.”
“Why?” The question bursts out before you can stop it. “Why are you doing this? You could have just let me go. Dropped me off somewhere. I wouldn't have—”
“Wouldn't have what?” Ran interrupts, and his voice has gone cold. “Wouldn't have told the police? Wouldn't have identified us? We had this conversation yesterday, sweetheart. You saw our faces. You know what we did. That makes you a liability.”
“Everyone says that,” Rindou says, echoing what Mikey said in the warehouse. “They always mean it, too. Until they don't.”
“So here we are,” Ran continues, spreading his hands. “The safest option for everyone involved. You stay here. We keep an eye on you. Mikey decides when— if you're trustworthy enough to release. Simple.”
Simple. There's nothing simple about this. There’s absolutely nothing simple about being held prisoner in a house that looks like a lifestyle magazine spread, by men who rob banks and make people disappear.
“How long?” you ask, and you hate how small you sound. “How long do I have to stay here?”
“As long as it takes,” Sanzu says, shrugging. “Could be days. Could be weeks. Could be forever.” He grins at your expression. “Kidding. Probably.”
“Sanzu,” Ran says again, but there's no heat in it this time. It’s resigned, like he's tired of having to rein his companion in.
“She asked.”
You feel tears prick at your eyes and blink furiously, refusing to cry in front of them again. You've already cried enough. You need to hold it together.
“The point is,” Rindou says, “fighting us on this won't change anything. Follow the rules and make this easy on yourself. We're not looking to make you miserable. We're just doing what we have to do.”
Following orders. Just doing their job. How many atrocities have been justified with those exact words?
But you nod anyway, because what choice do you have? “I understand.”
“Good girl,” Ran says with a grin.
Sanzu hops off the counter, joints popping as he stretches his arms above his head. “Well, now that we've got that settled, I'm goin’ back to bed. Someone wake me up when something interesting happens.” He pauses in the doorway, looking back at you. “Welcome to the family, princess.”
Then he's gone, footsteps padding back upstairs, and you're left with Ran and Rindou.
“Do you need anything?” Ran asks after a moment, his tone shifting back to its usual smooth cadence. “More food? Water? Pain medication?”
You shake your head.
“Alright. You're free to move around the first floor. Living room, kitchen, and there’s a bathroom down here. Second floor is bedrooms. Don't go in our rooms without permission.” He pauses. “Actually, just don't go in our rooms. Period.”
“Bathroom on the second floor is shared,” Rindou adds. “Try to give some warning if you're going to shower. Knocking isn't a bad idea.”
“Okay,” you say again.
Ran studies you for a moment longer, then nods. “We have some calls to make. You'll be okay down here for a bit?”
It's phrased like a question, but you both know it's not. “Yes.”
“Good.” He and Rindou head for the stairs, leaving you alone in the kitchen with the remains of breakfast and the weight of invisible chains.
You sit there for a long time after they're gone, staring at nothing, still trying to process. Still trying to figure out how your life went from painfully boring to completely surreal in the span of twenty four hours.
The house is quiet around you. You can hear the hum of the refrigerator, the distant sound of voices upstairs, the tick of a clock somewhere. Time passes. You're not sure how much, but eventually, you force yourself to stand and explore the boundaries of your new cage.
The living room is as plain as the rest of the house— expensive furniture, a few pieces of abstract art, nothing that suggests actual people live here. The windows are large, and a flatscreen is mounted above a fireplace with several bookcases flanking it on either side.
You don’t go near it, but from the edge of the hallway, you can see the front door. It has multiple locks, including what looks like an alarm system and a deadbolt that requires a key from both sides.
The realization should devastate you. And it does, in a distant kind of way. But mostly, you just feel numb. Exhausted. Wrung out.
You end up on the couch, curled into the corner with your knees pulled to your chest. Staring at the ceiling, you try not to think about your apartment sitting empty, or your job wondering where you are, or your mother's unanswered text message.
You try not to think about how nobody knows where you are or that you need help.
You try not to think about the rules and what happens if you break them.
You try not to think at all.
—
The hours drip by like honey— slow and thick and impossible to grasp.
You spend most of the afternoon on the couch, watching dust dance in the sunlight and trying to make yourself invisible. Ran and Rindou are upstairs, voices occasionally drifting down— too low to make out words, but the tone suggests business. Serious business. The kind that probably involves the two million yen from the bank robbery and whatever empire these men are part of.
Around what you estimate to be mid-afternoon— there's no clock in the living room, and you have no phone— Rindou comes downstairs. He doesn't acknowledge you at first, walking into the kitchen and pulling things from the refrigerator.
“You eaten since breakfast?” he calls.
You haven't, but you're not hungry. Your stomach is still a knot of anxiety. “No.”
“You should.” He's making something— you can hear the sounds of food prep, though you can't see him from where you're sitting. “Can't have you getting weak.”
Can't have their hostage dying from starvation. How considerate.
A few minutes later, he appears in the living room with a plate of rice, some kind of grilled fish, and pickled vegetables. He sets it on the coffee table in front of you.
“Eat,” he says, and it's definitely an order this time.
You pick up the chopsticks and force down a few bites, but Rindou doesn't leave. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you eat. After a moment, he speaks. “Why do you keep looking at the door?”
You hadn't realized you were. But he's right— your eyes keep drifting to the hallway, to the door and the locks, to the impossible distance between here and freedom.
“Force of habit,” you lie.
“Mm.” He doesn't sound convinced. “Just so you know, there are cameras. Not in the bedrooms or bathrooms— we're not total monsters. But first floor, front and back of the house, driveway. Even if you somehow got past the locks, we'd know before you made it far.”
The information sits heavily in your stomach. More proof that this isn't their first time. They've thought of everything.
“I'm not going to run,” you say, and you're not sure if you’re telling the truth or not. Every instinct screams at you to try and fight, to do something. But the logical part of your brain— the part that wants to survive— knows it would be suicide right now.
“Good.” He pushes off the doorframe. “I'm going to check the perimeter. Ran's still on calls. You need anything, he's upstairs.”
You manage a few more bites of food before giving up. Your appetite is gone, replaced by a nauseating anxiety that makes even swallowing difficult. You set the plate aside and pull your knees back up to your chest, making yourself small again.
More time passes. The sun moves across the floor, shadows warping into elongated shapes. You hear Rindou return, the sound of the back door opening and closing. Footsteps upstairs. A phone ringing somewhere, answered in muffled tones.
Eventually, Ran comes downstairs. He's changed clothes— now wearing dark slacks and a crisp button down, like he's about to head into an office. He has a newspaper tucked under his arm.
“Good evening,” he says pleasantly, settling into the armchair across from you. He unfolds the newspaper with a theatrical flourish. “Let's see what the news has to say about yesterday's escapade, shall we?”
You don't want to know. You don't want to see yourself reduced to a headline, but Ran's already reading aloud, clearly enjoying himself.
“‘Armed Robbery at Tokyo Central Bank Leaves Witnesses Traumatized,’” he reads, his voice taking on a newscaster's cadence. “‘Police are searching for three masked suspects who stole an estimated 2.3 million yen.’” He glances at you over the top of the paper. “They underestimated. We got closer to three million.”
The bastard sounds proud.
“‘One witness was taken hostage during the escape but was not present when police cleared the area, leading to concerns for her safety.’” He lowers the paper, lavender eyes finding yours. “That's you.”
“They're looking for me,” you whisper.
“Oh, they're looking,” Ran agrees. “But they won't find you. This house doesn't exist on any records tied to us. As far as anyone knows, it's owned by a shell company in the Cayman Islands.” He goes back to reading. “‘Police are asking anyone with information to come forward. A reward is being offered.’”
A reward. Someone out there is offering money for information about you. But no one knows where to look. No one knows you're in this godforsaken house.
“Your employer called the police when you didn't return from lunch,” Ran continues, clearly having done his research. “Hana— that's your coworker, right?— told them you'd seemed distracted lately. They're investigating whether you were targeted specifically or just unlucky.”
“I was unlucky,” you say bitterly. “I was just trying to cash my paycheck.”
Something flickers in Ran's expression— it might be sympathy, but it's gone before you can identify it. “Wrong place, wrong time,” he agrees. “Story of your life now.”
He continues reading, detailing the police investigation, witness statements, and theories about the suspects. You realize with cold horror that several witnesses correctly identified the number of robbers, the types of guns they carried, the license plate of the getaway car.
“You're being careful in public, right?” you ask before you can stop yourself.
Ran looks amused. “Worried about us, princess?”
“Worried about what happens to me if you get caught.”
“Ah, self-preservation. Smart.” He folds the newspaper and sets it aside. “No, we're not idiots. Our identities are compartmentalized. The people who did the bank job yesterday don't exist on paper. We've got whole other lives— legitimate ones, even— for when we need to be seen.”
“Must be exhausting,” you mutter. “Keeping track of all the lies.”
His grin widens. “You'd be surprised how easy it becomes. After a while, you barely remember which version is real.”
The casual admission of... what? Sociopathy? A fractured sense of self? You can't tell if he's trying to scare you or if he genuinely doesn't see how disturbing that statement is.
“What about Sanzu?” you ask, because apparently you've lost all sense of self-preservation. “Where is he?”
“Sleeping.” Ran glances toward the stairs. “He'll be out for a while. When he crashes, he crashes hard.”
There's something in his tone— not quite affection, but close. Familiarity. The kind that comes from years of knowing someone, of covering for their weaknesses and celebrating their strengths.
These men aren't just colleagues. They're something closer. Brothers, maybe, in the chosen sense if not biological. A unit.
Which means they'll protect each other. So if it ever comes down to you versus them, you know exactly how that equation will balance.
“You're handling this better than I expected,” he says after a long silence.
“What did you expect? Screaming? Crying?”
“Both. We usually get at least one breakdown in the first twenty-four hours.” He tilts his head. “Or maybe you're still in shock. That's common too.”
“Is there a handbook for this or something?” you ask coolly. “What to expect when you're kidnapped? How to manage your hostage for dummies?”
To your surprise, Ran laughs— a genuine sound, warm and rich. “Wouldn't that be convenient? No, I’m afraid we usually play it by ear. Keeps things interesting.”
The scowl you shoot his way goes unnoticed as he rises to his feet. “I should get you some aspirin. You're going to have a headache from the chloroform for another day or so. Might as well manage it.”
He heads to the kitchen without waiting for a response. You hear the tap running and the rattle of a pill bottle, and when he returns, he's carrying a glass of water and two small white tablets.
He sets them on the coffee table within your reach. “Take them. I promise they're just aspirin.” Then, he adds with a tilt of his head, “Though, if you’d like something a little stronger, I’m more than happy to accommodate.”
You stare at the pills, weighing paranoia against the very real throbbing in your skull. The headache has been a constant presence since you woke up, a dull ache that spikes whenever you move too quickly.
Fuck it. If they wanted you unconscious, they'd just use chloroform again.
You take the pills, swallowing them with water. The glass is cold in your hands, condensation already forming on the outside. You drain half of it in one go, suddenly aware of how thirsty you are.
“Better?” Ran asks, settling back into his chair.
“I'll let you know in thirty minutes.”
Another silence stretches between you. This one feels different. Like you've both exhausted your immediate scripts and are now just... existing in the same space.
The evening deepens into night. Shadows grow longer, swallowing the room whole. At some point, Rindou comes back downstairs and flips on a few lights— not all of them, just enough to see.
“Dinner in twenty,” he announces to no one in particular, walking into the kitchen.
Ran stands, stretching. “Guess that's my cue. You good here?”
You nod.
Dinner is awkward. The three of you sit at the kitchen island— you on one end, Ran and Rindou on the other. Sanzu is still absent, still locked away in whatever room he's claimed for himself.
The food is good. Stir-fried vegetables, chicken, and rice, but you eat slowly, hyperaware of your captors’ presence.
“Tomorrow,” Rindou says between bites, “we need to get you proper clothes. Can't have you wearing my shit forever.”
You look down at the hoodie swallowing your frame. “This is yours?”
“Yeah. You were pretty out of it when we got here. Had to improvise.”
The casual mention of undressing you while unconscious makes your skin crawl, but you swallow the reaction. “I don't need much. Just... something clean.”
“We'll make a list,” Ran says. “Toiletries too. Whatever you need to be comfortable.”
Comfortable. As if comfort is possible in captivity. But you nod anyway, because again— what choice do you have?
After dinner, Rindou clears the dishes, and Ran disappears upstairs. You're left hovering in the kitchen, unsure what you're supposed to do now. Is there a bedtime for hostages? Are you allowed to just... exist?
“You can watch TV,” Rindou says without looking at you, loading the dishwasher. “Or read. There’s a ton of books.”
“I can just... do whatever?”
“As long as it doesn't involve breaking rules, yeah.” He closes the dishwasher and starts it. “I told you earlier, you're not locked in your room. Just don't make us regret giving you the freedom to move around.”
Freedom. The word is laughable in this context.
But you take it anyway, retreating to the living room and looking through the bookshelves. They’re well stocked— fiction and non-fiction in multiple languages. You pull out a book at random and curl up on the couch, and while the words blur together at first, eventually the story catches you and pulls you in.
Around what you estimate is ten or eleven, Rindou comes back downstairs. “You should get some sleep.”
You have half a mind to protest. Not because you’re particularly awake, but because the idea of lying in that room again, alone with the silence, puts you on edge. You’re tired, but it’s the kind of tired that doesn’t promise rest. The kind that feels like being suspended in midair, waiting for the drop.
There’s a bitter taste on your tongue— restlessness, frustration, and indignation— and you chew on the inside of your cheek to keep from snapping at him as you make your way past him on the stairs.
Your room is exactly as you left it this morning— the bed made, heavy black curtains drawn. You close the door behind you and lean against it, closing your eyes as you exhale a deep breath.
You made it through a day. A whole day of captivity, and you're still alive and relatively sane. That has to count for something.
The bed is soft when you climb in, and you lie there in the dark, staring at the ceiling you can't see, listening to the house around you. You should be making a plan or thinking about escape routes, how to get a message out. You should be doing something other than just... lying here, but your body feels like it’s made of bricks.
You don’t know how long you stay like that, trapped alone with your thoughts. You think and think, working yourself up until you’re paranoid, hyperaware of every creak and groan the house makes around you.
After a while, you decide you can’t take it anymore. The hallway is dark except for a thin line of light bleeding out from Rindou’s cracked door, which you pass by silently, all too aware that you're in a house with three dangerous men who might not appreciate being woken in the middle of the night.
The first floor is dark except for the moonlight from outside, and you make your way to the kitchen by memory, fumbling for the faucet in the dark.
The water runs cold when you finally get it on. You don't bother with a glass, cupping your hands under the stream and drinking straight from the tap. Once, twice, three times— like you've been wandering a desert. The cold helps ground you, chases away the last wisps of whatever anxious fog had been building in your chest.
When you're done, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and head back up the stairs, and this time, when you walk by Rindou’s room, something makes you pause. The door’s still cracked, and you know you should continue on to your room because it’s absolutely none of your business how this man spends his free time, but curiosity wins out.
You lean in closer and peer through the gap.
Rindou is sitting on the edge of his bed with a PlayStation controller in his lap and a gaming headset hanging around his neck. A cigarette smolders between his fingers, and he's staring at nothing in particular— just the wall, or maybe something beyond it that only he can see.
But it's not him that catches your attention. It's the window behind him.
Open. Fully open. Night air drifts in, carrying the scent of rain and asphalt and freedom. The curtains flutter slightly in the breeze, and you can see the lights of houses beyond, the world outside continuing on without you.
He must sense your presence because his eyes flick toward the door. “Can’t sleep?”
You swallow and shake your head.
He makes a sound— something between acknowledgment and commiseration. “Yeah, me neither.”
There's something almost normal about the exchange. Like you're two people who just happen to be awake at an ungodly hour, not captive and captor. It's disarming in a way that makes your chest tighten for entirely different reasons.
His eyes return to the computer, and the light from the monitor catches on his features— the sharp line of his jaw, the tired set of his shoulders. He looks... human. Ordinary. Not like someone who helped abduct you less than twenty-four hours ago.
You don't know what to say, so you don't say anything. Just stand there for another moment before taking a step back.
“Night,” you offer, though it feels absurd given the circumstances.
He doesn't respond, already reabsorbed in whatever game he's playing. But as you turn away, you catch the faint shift of his head, subtle but enough that you know he's tracking your retreat.
You make it back to your room and close the door softly behind you, leaning against it as you try to process... whatever that was. The house settles back into its nighttime rhythm around you, but you can’t stop thinking about that open window.
It loops in your mind as you climb back into bed. An open window, practically unguarded. Rindou distracted by his game, completely unconcerned that he’s left a door to the outside world wide open.
But that’s his room. His window. And he’s right there.
Yours, though…
You sit up slowly as your heart begins to pound. Your window. You haven’t even tried it. You’ve been so focused on surviving that you haven’t actually tested whether it opens.
You’re on the second floor, and while that’s not ideal, it’s not impossible either. People jump from second story windows all the time— and if you could lower yourself down, hang from the ledge to reduce the drop…
Your mind starts to work faster, adrenaline slicing through your exhaustion. You’d need to be quiet and time it right. Your phone is gone, but you could run to a neighbor, flag down a car, find a police station—
You’re out of bed before you’ve fully committed to the idea, crossing the room on shaky legs.
This is insane. This is absolutely insane.
But what's the alternative? Sit here and wait? Trust that these men— criminals— kidnappers are going to just let you go eventually?
Your hands reach for the window latch.
You have to try. You have to at least try.
You grip the latch with both hands and pull.
Nothing happens.
You pull harder, putting your weight into it, but the window doesn't budge. Not even slightly. You adjust your grip, planting your feet on the ground and bracing yourself, and you yank with everything you have. Still nothing.
“No,” you whisper, pulling again. The latch moves— it's not locked— but the window itself won't open. It's like it's been glued shut. “No, no, no—”
You try a different angle, pushing up instead of pulling. You slam your palms against the frame, trying to jar it loose. Nothing works. It won't move. It won't move.
The realization hits you like a physical blow.
They sealed it. Of course they did. Of course they thought of this. These aren't amateurs. This isn't some mistake you can exploit. They've planned for everything, anticipated everything, and you're—
Trapped.
The word echoes in your head, bouncing around your skull until it's all you can hear. Trapped. Trapped. Trapped.
Your sob comes out of nowhere, tearing up from deep in your chest. Your vision blurs as tears spill over, hot and fast, and suddenly you're not trying to open the window anymore— you're hitting it. Your fists slam against the glass, over and over, and you can't stop.
“Please,” you gasp between sobs, hitting it again. “Please, please—”
The sound that comes out of you is barely human— a mix between a scream and a wail, muffled by your own crying. You pound on the window harder, like if you just hit it enough times it'll shatter, like brute force can somehow break through what's been deliberately sealed against you.
“LET ME OUT!” The words rip from your throat, raw and desperate. “SOMEBODY! PLEASE—”
The door explodes open behind you.
You spin around, your chest heaving and your face soaked with tears. Ran stands in the doorway first, shirtless, a gun hanging loosely from his right hand. His expression isn't angry— it's something closer to resigned concern, like he knew this was coming and is almost disappointed it happened so soon.
Sanzu appears behind him a second later, barefoot, pink hair disheveled but eyes bright and alert. That perpetual sharpness that never seems to dull, even at— you don't even know what time it is anymore.
Rindou pushes past both of them, still fully dressed, headset now completely discarded. His jaw is tight, lavender eyes scanning the room before landing on you.
You don't stop. Can't stop. Your fists hit the glass again, the sound dull and pathetic and futile.
“Oh my,” Ran's voice cuts through your breakdown. “Well, I suppose this was to be expected.”
Something shatters inside you at those words— at his casual dismissal and the inevitability in his tone. You turn to face them fully, trembling so violently you can barely stand.
“I want to go home!” The words tear out of you. “Please, I just— I want to go HOME!” Your voice cracks on the last word before dissolving into another sob.
Sanzu's expression shifts. Whatever irritation might have been there melts away, replaced by something eager. A grin spreads across his face, and he crosses the room before his hand shoots out and catches your chin, fingers pressing into your jaw hard enough to make you wince.
“You wanna go home?” He croons, tilting your face up and forcing you to meet those unsettling eyes. “Now that’s not very nice, sweetheart. After all the trouble we went through bringin’ you here.”
You try to pull away, but his grip tightens, fingers digging into the flesh of your cheeks and squishing them together. A small, wounded sound escapes your throat.
Ran exhales through his nose, rubbing a hand over his face. He looks more exasperated than anything else. “The window’s sealed?”
The question isn't directed at you.
“Yeah,” Rindou says. “Someone had to after the last guy jumped.”
Sanzu releases your chin abruptly, stepping back with a satisfied smirk. “Well then. No harm done.”
You stumble back, catching yourself against the windowsill and trying desperately to control your breathing. Your whole body is shaking, tears still streaming down your face, and you can't seem to make any of it stop.
“Should've seen this comin’,” Rindou mutters, more to himself than to anyone else. “The first few days are always the hardest. They either break or dig in their heels.”
“She's not broken yet,” Sanzu insists in a cheerful tone. “We’ve barely played with her.”
“Regardless,” Ran interrupts with a sigh, “we need to figure out what to do about this little... outburst.”
Rindou raises a brow. “Hm?”
“Well, we can't just let it slide,” Ran continues. “It sets a bad precedent.”
Rindou's jaw tightens. “We're not punishing her for having a panic attack.”
“Aren't we?” Sanzu tilts his head. “Rule number one— no screaming.”
They're talking about you like you're not even there. Like you're some dog that pissed on the carpet instead of a person who's just realized the full extent of her situation.
“Maybe we should restrict her to the room for a few days,” Sanzu suggests.
“That'll make it worse,” Rindou argues.
“Or it'll make her compliant.”
“For fuck’s sake, we're not—”
“GET OUT!”
The words rip from your throat with such force that all three of them stop talking and turn to stare at you. Your hands are clenched into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms hard enough to break skin.
“Get out of my room!” Your voice is raw, ragged from crying, but there's steel reinforcing it now. “All of you, get OUT!”
Sanzu's eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “Ooooh, she has some fire—”
“I don't care!" You're screaming now, all the fear and frustration and helplessness boiling over into rage. “I don’t care about your rules or your precedents or whatever the fuck you're talking about! Just leave me alone!”
Silence.
Slowly, Rindou and Sanzu both turn to look at Ran, clearly waiting for his call. He's studying you with that same scrutinizing gaze, like he's trying to figure out what this outburst reveals about you.
Then, unexpectedly, he nods. “Let's give her some space.”
“Raaaaaan!” Sanzu whines.
“I said, let's go.” Ran's voice is firm as he turns and stalks out of the room. “We can talk about this in the morning.”
Sanzu looks like he wants to argue, but Rindou grabs the collar of his shirt right as he opens his mouth, tugging him toward the door. “Oh, quit whining. You heard him.”
The two of them leave, shutting the door behind them, and you're alone again, standing in the middle of the room with tears drying on your cheeks. Your throat hurts from screaming. Your hands hurt from hitting the window. Everything hurts.
Your legs give out, and you sink to the floor, knees pulled tight to your chest, arms wrapped around yourself like you're trying to physically hold the pieces together.
Your heart is pounding so violently it hurts, each beat hard enough that you feel like it might crack your ribs. You can't seem to catch your breath properly, gasping in shallow inhales that don't nearly give you enough oxygen.
The room smells like cigarette smoke— sharp and heavy in the back of your throat. Sanzu's scent, or maybe Rindou's, or maybe it's just this entire house. It clings to everything, seeping into your clothes, your hair, your lungs.
You stay like that, staring at the window until the darkness beyond it begins to lighten. Dawn creeps in gradually— deep purple bleeding to pink, then pale gray. The curtains glow softly with the promise of morning, of a new day you'll spend trapped in this place with these men.
Something shifts in your chest as you watch the sun climb its way over the horizon. Not acceptance, exactly. Not even resignation. Just a quiet recognition that the girl who walked into that bank is gone. Whether Ran intended to shoot or not, she died the moment he held that gun to her head, a casualty that went unnoticed by everyone but you.
You don’t know who will rise in her place. You don’t have the mental capacity to even consider the kind of creature that might be born from her ashes.
But as you lie there on the floor, the first of the sun's rays peeking through the curtains and painting stripes over your skin, you make yourself a promise:
arranged marriage nanami with a people-pleasing reader
read along as Nanami gradually teaches you to embrace yourself. Showing you that the best version of yourself comes naturally and that you can be loved without changing yourself for others.
just finished editing the released chapters of wishful thinking…. I do not appreciate how none of you told me about all the typos…. I suppose I ought to repay you with a new chapter, right?
ignore me screaming in the background, clears throat, ARE THEY FUCKING????? DID U SEE THAT THRUST???????? ARE U KIDDING ME?????? IS???? ARE????? IS THIS THE FIRST SEX CARD?????? MY HUSBAND?????? IM GONNA CUM???? WHY ARE THEY HAVING A MATING RITUAL WHAT IS GOING ON????
{single dad!katsuki bakugo x kindergarten teacher f!reader}
summary: katsuki bakugo has never liked mess and always made sure his son and his life reflected just that. with years worth of a sparkling clean and organized home, toys put away and not once scattered about, and a barking knack over any calls of disorder in his life— meeting you, his sons sweet and sugary kindergarten teacher who was the definition of pure and who was for some reason turning his fiery heart into complete goo— was altering his boring strict cycles of no messes around… and for the better.
warnings: cursing, FLUFFF GALORE MY GAWD??, no smut but a lil steamy something, slight angst, afab!reader, katsuki thinks you are an ANGEL, sunshine x grumpy trope, mentions of abandonment, WHOLESOME AFFF, use of y/n, all characters are aged up.
word count: 11.4k
authors note: THIS MAKES ME WANT TO BE A MOTHERRRRR omg this one is sickeningly sweet and i’ve gotten a few requests to do sunshine x grumpy with sir katsuki and i WAS ALLL OVERRR ITTT i hope i fulfilled!!! <333 THANK YOU THANK YOU AS ALWAYS FOR ALL OF YOU BEING SOOO SWEETT TO MEEE I LOVE YOUUUU MWAAAHHH :] <33333
katsuki bakugo hated messes.
“oi!” he grunted, his son’s little head turning to look at him as he munched on his gummy fruit snacks from the backseat. “you better not leave that wrapper in here. take it outside with you when i drop you off.”
“kaaayyy!” his son dragged out happily, completely unphased by his dads snappy personality as he contemplated on which color fruit gummy to eat next.
“and wash your hands too. ask your teacher.”
“mhm!” he chirped.
“and don’t be a brat. pay attention.”
“yup yup!”
and for the most part, his life reflected that almost entirely— raising his son to always clean up after himself and not make bombastic huge messes around the house, begrudgingly understanding that he’s a small growing human, that a little spill of apple juice or two is basically guaranteed… but he just hated mess, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t raise his son right to be a clean and organized man even at five years old— katsuki keeping everything in his life practically spotless.
that was of course, until he met you.
katsuki shoved through the other parents in line as he went up to the front desk in the main office with a grip on his sons little hand, not giving a damn about the glares and huffs of bewilderment he got as there was no way in hell he was gonna wait like an idiot with the rest of them.
the lady at the front desk raised a quizzical eyebrow.
“can i help—”
“where the fuck is room twenty four.”
her eyes bulged open as the rest of the parents in line softly gasped and murmured.
“e—excuse me?—”
he rolled his eyes.
“room twenty four.” he pushed. “where is it?”
“sir— if you need me to help you i’d like you to wait in line until—”
“hah?! absolutely not.” he spat. “if i wait in that fucking line my son’s gonna be late why can’t you just tell me—”
“uh sir if you could—”
katsuki’s son giggled as he continued to spout profanities at the poor front desk lady.
“—sir please no foul language there are children around—”
“i don’t give a shit! just tell me where room twenty four is what the hell is so hard about that?!—”
“oh! that’s my class!”
katsuki snapped his head over, fiery red eyes shooting towards the voice until they landed on yours.
“is he one of my kids?” you smiled sweetly, eyes coming down to look at his son.
“oh—” he let his shoulders relax just a tad as he watched you fix the strap of his sons backpack on his shoulder. “i mean— if your class is twenty four—“
“it is!” you beamed, nudging your head. “i’ll show you where!”
“hiii miiiissss!” his son greeted, happy and silly as he followed you down the hall.
“hi honey!” you gushed, just as excited as he was as you patted over his blonde scruffy hair. “what’s your name?”
“milo!”
“nice to meet you milo! are you excited for your first day?”
“yeaaahh!” he cheered, smile bright as he grabbed your hand.
katsuki’s eyes widened.
“milo!” he snapped lowly. “what’d i tell ya? you can’t grab her hand like that you have to ask—”
“oh it’s alright!” you dismissed, smiling. “i don’t mind it at all! the other kids do it too.”
milo snickered and stuck his little tongue out at his dad, and katsuki rolled his eyes.
“is he yours?” you asked kindly, tilting your head.
“who else would he be…” he grumbled.
“i guess you’re right!” you giggled. “he looks just like you.”
katsuki’s eyes flickered to yours before dropping back down, a permanent furrow in his brows as you all rounded the corner.
“here we are—”
“ooo! ooo!” milo hopped up and down. “miss you have race cars?! dad can i please go?!”
he looked over, a mountain of toys scattered about in the classrooms play area, little kids already making a damn mess and the school day hadn’t even officially started yet.
“the hell you asking me for? ask your tea—”
“miss miss can i please go play with the race cars?!—”
“of course my love! go! go have fun.” you smiled, gently ushering him on before milo zoomed over to the play area and crouched down with the rest of the kids.
“oi!” katsuki barked. “put them away when you’re done!”
he huffed under his breath as he watched his son give him a thumbs up and fucking dump the entire bucket of race cars down on the ‘abc’ play rug, taking one in each hand and dragging them across floor.
“he’s so cuteee.” you grinned. “i’m glad he’s not afraid being it’s his first day.”
“oh fuck no.” he mumbled. “milo doesn’t care. the little runt doesn’t have a filter and does whatever the hell he wants without askin’ sometimes.”
he leaned against the doorsill as he watched milo converse with another kid and share a car, satisfaction in his chest that his son was sharing and being nice.
“but i guess he gets that from me.” he finished off.
you nodded. “but that’s a good thing, isn’t it?”
he pursed his lips.
“in my experience, not really.”
you hummed.
“i think it’s definitely a good thing… i’d rather be assertive of things and not be afraid of what the consequences will be.”
katsuki looked at you, properly this time.
“what’s a kindergarten teacher afraid of?”
you shrugged, a slow playful grin spreading across your face.
“parents.”
he snorted, crossing his arms over his chest and you quickly had to look away, a pink buzz to your cheeks at the way his big built arms flexed.
inappropriate inappropriate inappropriate—
“i don’t know how you do it..” he spoke lowly.
“do what?”
“take care of little shits all day.”
you laughed loudly, reeling over a bit as he watched you out of the corner of his eye.
“i don’t take care of them! i teach them.” you quipped cutely. “they’re small, but this is when their brains drink up the most knowledge… and i love to see the progress from the beginning of the year compared to the end! i love it all really.”
pure.
katsuki curtly nodded, your sweet positive ambiance throwing him completely off, as he doesn’t think he’s ever met or surrounded himself around someone who’s directly emmitted the feeling of sunshine and rainbows and candy as much as you did.
and his cheeks flared up for some reason.
“oh!” you looked to the time on your little wrist watch and walked inside your classroom. “it’s almost time to start! i have to wrangle them all in their seats heh!”
katsuki swallowed and nodded.
“milo!”
he turned and upon seeing his dad wave him over, milo dropped his toys and bounded to him.
“don’t give her a hard time alright?” he spoke sternly, nudging his head over at you for emphasis. “listen. listen and learn and be the best one in there.”
“kaaayyy!”
“and you let me know if any of the other kids mess with you or you deal with it yourself. you already know how—”
“beat the crap out of them!” he cheered loudly and katsuki’s hand flew to clasp over his sons mouth before his frantic eyes looked at you.
the last thing he needed was someone to call up fucking child protective services on him.
“he’s joking! he’s joking… fuck.”
you giggled hard and clutched your stomach, your pretty smile sending katsuki for a loop.
“no you’re absolutely right!” you waved your hands in front of your face, reassuring. “treat others the way you want to be treated, so if someone’s being mean to you, bite back milo, okay? and also let me know first though!”
katsuki gave you a wobbly tiny smile amidst his branded serious face, looking at his son then and ruffling up his hair.
“okay, go.” milo ran off. “and don’t let me pick you up with dirt all over your clothes ya hear me?!”
“byeee daaaddd!”
you could tell that behind his harsh exterior— the slight purse of his lips, stiff frame and bouncing leg gave away that he was only worried about his kid and his first day of school, a sight you’ve seen time and time again since you started working as a kindergarten teacher, and one that never failed to warm your heart.
“don’t worry!” you sweetly smiled, and katsuki switched his gaze over to yours. “i’ll watch him especially… okay? to ease the nerves.”
he softly snorted, attempting to play it off but internally relieved as he pushed himself off the doorsill and nodded, thankful that the teacher milo got was as kind as you.
“um…” he mumbled. “katsuki.”
you tilted your head. “katsuki?”
“it’s my name idiot.”
“oh!” you giggled, a blush rising in your cheeks again as you tried to simmer it down. “nice to meet you katsuki! i’ll see you after school then with milo?”
he stiffly nodded, the way his name sounded so sugary off your tongue something he’d never heard before in his life or was used to at all.
“…ya gonna tell me yours or what?”
“sorry!” you sputtered, laughing nervously. “sorry it just— flew! you know—”
you stuck your hand out and offered it to him.
“y/n!”
katsuki untangled his arms and firmly shook it, grip strong and one that nearly made you stumble forward as you caught yourself and smiled.
“i’ll see you katsuki!”
out of all of the kids you’ve taught, milo was by far the cutest one.
the little man was like your personal assistant— a little bee buzzing around as he followed you everywhere in the classroom and helped you clean up after the rest of the kids that didn’t, ‘yelling’ at some of them to and cutely scolding them whenever he’d catch them leave some things behind, and was always on watch for you like a security guard with his little balled up fists on his hips, surveilling the classroom for any misbehaving kids or messes that you’d missed throughout the day.
all traits you no doubt knew he got from katsuki, even if you had just met him. it was pleasantly obvious.
“thanks for helping me out today, milo!” you gushed, pushing another students chair in as they all sat down and chattered for lunch. “you made my job a lot easier!”
“really?!” he squealed, big glimmering eyes beaming up at you before he happily chowed down on some apple slices.
and you noticed then milo’s lunch was insane, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches cut up and molded neatly into the shape of panda bears, his watermelon and apple slices shaped like stars with carrots and celery lined up with a little wedge of lemon if he wished, tiny rice balls on the side for a little snack you figured in case what he had didn’t fill him up— all so considerate and careful…
“wow!” you exclaimed, kneeling down next to him. “your lunch looks so yummy my love! did your mommy make this?”
“nuh uh!” he shook his head, cheeks filled with watermelon. “my dad did!”
you faltered.
“katsuki made this?”
“who’s katsuki miss?” he asked curiously, sipping on his little juice box after swallowing the fruit in his mouth.
you giggled. “nothing! nothing. enjoy your lunch okay?”
you went to stand, but milo’s hand shot out and caught your wrist.
“can you— can you eat lunch with me?” he mumbled shyly, fiddling with some carrot pieces in his hands. “please.. i always eat with my dad but he’s not here…”
your eyes softened and you quickly nodded.
“of course! let me just go grab my lunch and ill bring it over! sounds good?”
“yaaaayyyy!” he cheered happily, arms up as you scooched a tiny chair over from a nearby table and sat with him, laughing at his cute expression.
you knew you shouldn’t use a little kid to pry… but you were guiltily curious as to know if katsuki was married or not for reasons that made you ridiculously flustered and red in the face over.
and you wanted to be respectful in case he was… since the ogling you did at his muscles this morning through his black ribbed tank was the most embarrassing moment of your career and one you hadn’t seen coming at all, it catching you off guard and feeling horrible if katsuki indeed had a wife.
but he didn’t have a ring on his finger…
“milo?” you spoke up softly.
he smiled big. “yes miss!”
“does your mommy make you lunch as well or just your dad?”
he shook his head. “just my dad! i don’t have a mom.”
your shoulders deflated.
he didn’t have a mom… at all?
you slowly reached over then and patted his blonde hair, smiling warmly as his cheeks went pink. “that’s alright! i’m sure your dad makes you lunches like this every time huh?”
“yeah!” he gasped excitedly. “yesterday he made pizzas and cut them into dinosaurs! it was so cool! and then!— and then this morning for breakfast i had waffles that looked like dynamite blasts!”
“oh my goodness!” you giggled, your heart absolutely thumping over the fact that katsuki was so dedicated to his son like that. “man, i wish my lunches were as cute as yours!”
his little eyes snapped to yours.
“i’ll tell him!”
your brows furrowed confusedly. “wha—”
“to make you lunch! i’ll tell my dad to make you lunch!”
your eyes widened and you frantically shook your head, cheeks blazing as you laughed. “oh no my love! that’s totally okay don’t worry about me silly—”
“i’ll tell him i’ll tell him i’ll tell him!—”
“milo it’s okay! i’m a big girl.” you grinned. “i’m supposed to make my own lunches.”
milo grumbled and plopped a carrot in his mouth, begrudgingly chewing as he sat there in thought.
“…will you at least let me share some of mine?”
you pouted at his generosity, wondering how a kid could be so sweet as you nodded and held your hand up.
“of course sweetie! whatever you wa—”
milo plopped all of his peanut butter sandwiches in your palm and grinned, earning a gasp from you.
“milo this is too much i can’t—”
“eat it! eat it! eait it!—”
by the end of the day, you managed to get milo to take back his sandwiches in exchange for one singular watermelon star piece, him still doing his regular duties of being your little assistant and helping you clean up after everyone before the final bell rang signaling the end of class, you carefully making sure each kiddo got their designated backpack (as there was often a mix up) and art pieces they made for their parents to take home— a permission slip for the end of the year field trip tucked away inside their bags.
and the minute you stepped outside with the rest of the kids, you were surprised to see that katsuki was one of the first parents there as he stood directly across from your classroom with crossed arms, an angry usual scowl on his face that made you laugh to yourself as you led your kids to sit down on a bench in a single file line until their parents physically came to get them or their vehicles pulled up.
“milo!” you tapped his shoulder gently. “your daddy’s over there!”
“DAAADDD!!”
milo jumped up and ran across the grass, his tiny arms out as katsuki smiled softly and crouched down to pick his son up and settle him on his lower abdomen, you wringing your fingers behind your back and walking up to them.
“were you a brat?” he grunted.
“nope!”
“did any kids mess with you?”
“nope!”
“did you leave a mess?”
“nope!”
you giggled, and katsuki’s eyes snapped in your direction.
“how was he?”
“he did so good!” you gushed, patting milo’s back as he grinned. “was my little helper and everything! didn’t leave a single mess behind and helped me clean up after everyone else… he even made sure everyone was paying attention and not misbehaving.”
“yeah! yeah! see dad?” milo poked his dads cheek. “i didn’t lie!”
“never said you lied you little runt.” he scowled. “…but good job.”
“thanks!”
katsuki set him down after milo started kicking his legs and saying something about the swings, him instantly running towards the playground and to the slide.
“did he actually do all of that?” he spoke up.
“oh yes!” you quickly nodded. “i’ve never had a kid do that before so it was really nice of him to!”
you detached your fingers from around your back and fiddled with them.
“you teach him well katsuki.”
he scoffed and turned his head, cheeks pink as he tried to regain his composure.
“damn right i do.”
you giggled then, the memory of milo telling you he didn’t have a mother suddenly popping into your mind as you watched him happily slide down the blue slide head first.
“hey i don’t mean to um..” you timidly began. “i don’t mean to pry but—”
katsuki raised a brow at you and you snapped your mouth shut.
“nothing! nothing nevermind—”
“spit it out.”
“no it’s alright! sorry i—”
he glared and you cowered, smiling bashfully as you bit your bottom lip.
“milo… milo mentioned that he didn’t have a mommy? i was just— wondering if that was true…”
“tch—” he shook his head. “that’s what you were afraid of askin’ me?”
“i told you i’m scared of parents…” you slumped cutely, and he chuckled.
“it’s just me and him.” he answered. “his mom’s never been a part of our lives.”
your heart sunk a little, eyes sad as your gaze shifted to milo playing and racing around with another kid.
“don’t do that.”
you jumped and looked at katsuki.
“do— do what—”
“look all sad and shit.”
he hesitantly reached over and planted an index finger to the crease between your brows, the feeling rough as he tried to gently drag it down and smooth over the lines.
“it’s fine.” he grumbled, letting his arm fall to his side. “it doesn’t bother him. at least i don’t think it does.”
“no!” you spoke quickly, a crazed blush on your cheeks. “it doesn’t! and milo speaks so highly of you… especially the lunches you make him.”
his brows furrowed. “his lunch?”
“yeah!” you nodded excitedly. “you prepare it so so well! how do you get his sandwiches to look like little bears? and his fruit?! every time i try to cut mine into stars they always break in half…”
he huffed out a laugh, finding your little whine funny as he reached over and ruffled up your hair, you smiling cheekily in response.
“do you use molds?” you asked politely. “to shape out the bear?”
“fuck no.” he scoffed. “i do it myself.”
your eyes flew open.
“what?! so that’s really just you? and the dinosaurs too? the pizza dinosaurs? and the waffles? the ones that looked like dynamite blasts—”
“jesus christ how much did that kid tell you?”
your face grew hot as you smacked a hand over your mouth.
“sorry!” you giggled. “i just was thinking— that his lunch was really cute and thoughtful…” you took your hand away from your face. “i’m really glad that you do little things like that for milo to make him happy.”
katsuki stared at you, your swarm of compliments and sweetness and sunshine and butterflies almost suffocating as you looked at him with those pretty doe eyes, his throat oddly closing up the longer he stared right back and allowed you to pull him into your world of wonder and abc blocks and puzzles.
but it wasn’t suffocating in a bad way, not at all.
and… maybe he did want you to pull him in.
“dad dad dad!”
milo ran over, sweaty and red faced as he reached the two of you.
“there’s a dead lizard in the slide!”
“a dead lizard?” you laughed, surprised as you reached for his little water bottle from his backpack on the ground and uncapped the lid, handing it over and ushering him to drink.
katsuki didn’t know why the domestic sight of you doing that made him melt a bit.
a bit.
“yeah miss! it was big and gross.” he breathed out after gulping some of his icy cold water. “but i buried him!”
his dads red eyes snapped down to his and narrowed.
“don’t tell me you touched that thing milo.”
“i did!” he giggled.
“oh my fucking god—” katsuki snatched his hand and started pulling him to the car as milo giggled and stuck his tongue out.
“it’s a prank! some other girl in my class did… but i helped with the dirt!”
you chuckled softly as you watched katsuki stop and roll his eyes, coming back over to you with a hyper milo.
“say bye to your teacher ya little runt. and you’re still taking a shower when you get home!”
“but i don’t wanna take a showeerrr!” milo whined, letting go of his dads hand and running to you, you crouching and extending your arms big with a pretty smile.
“bye my love!” you hugged him tight as he giggled. “i’ll see you tomorrow okay? and give your daddy a break. no more digging up dirt and playing with dead lizards.”
“kaayyyy!”
you both let go and he stepped back, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before bouncing back to his dad.
katsuki choked on his spit.
“oi!” he barked. “you can’t just kiss her cheek milo the hell is going on with you?!—”
“it’s okay don’t worry!” you smiled kindly. “he’s just being sweet is all! i don’t mind.”
“you sure?” he pushed, milo snickering. “i—”
you waved him off and wrung your fingers behind your back, leaning forward.
“i’ll see you tomorrow morning kats!”
and he froze, nodding hard as he quickly took milo’s hand and backpack before walking to the car, his heart completely aflame in his chest and cheeks red as he led his babbling son further into the parking lot and inside the car, buckling him up in his car seat before hopping in himself and starting the engine, unbelieving that he had barely just met you and he was already thinking and acting like a fucking dumbass.
“and then we learned the days of the week! oh!— and we learned numbers! i can count to fifteen dad!”
“that’s good milo.” he responded, pulling out of the schools parking lot and craning his neck to see if he could catch a final glimpse of you and settling once he did, you so pretty and conversing so nicely with another kid until he was out of the lot.
“did you eat all of your lunch? y/n tells me ya shared with her.”
“i did! i did share with her.” he grinned. “she liked my lunch!”
“good.” katsuki gave him a thumbs up through the rear view mirror. “that’s good that you always share. especially with her.”
“yup yup! she’s preeettyyy.”
he rolled his eyes, but a small smile grew at the corner of his lips as he nodded curtly.
“that she is.”
katsuki continued to drop off his son personally at your classroom every morning before school.
even when it had been a couple of months into the year, at this point many students already used to their route to and out of class and their parents just dropping them off and leaving— them not even allowed on campus as security rounded every corner and told any parents who wished to go in that they weren’t supposed to, as per policy.
but not katsuki.
katsuki didn’t give a fuck as he stormed through the main office and ignored the calls of the front desk lady, her already used to the rude asshole who came through the building every morning as he strode by and down the hall to class twenty four… wanting to see you— his son’s pretty kindergarten teacher that was sweet and joyful and someone who was everything he wasn’t, his mind curious and filled with your giggles and smiles throughout the time that he’d gotten to know you and chat with you in the mornings and the afternoons, loving the way you were with milo and treated him like he was literally your own— always watching over him and making sure he had had enough to eat and drink and that his hands were washed when he wasn’t around.
and even katsuki himself— you bringing him candy bags from their classroom parties or donuts that were passed to faculty in the mornings and saving yours for him, treats he always took and ate with no questions asked even though he wasn’t a fan of sugary shit and junk food, always making the exception for you.
he had never experienced honest help like that… he’d never experienced someone caring enough about him and his son like the way you did so perfectly every single day…
and katsuki feared that he was a little obsessed.
“oh! miss y/n!”
“yes honey?” you responded kindly, opening a juice pouch for another student and handing it to them carefully during lunch.
milo dug into his lunch pail and pulled out a small container, sticking his hand up and offering it to you.
your brows furrowed, taking it from him.
“what’s this milo?”
“it’s from my dad!”
you stopped, heart dropping to your ass as you recounted his words.
from katsuki?
“your— your dad?”
“mhm!”
you shakily popped the lid of the container open, eyes widening and filling with hearts once you saw a mix of star shaped strawberries and watermelon and papayas, drizzled over with sparkling strings of honey and singular little blueberries scattered about.
“for me?” you asked softly, crouching down next to milo. “my love— are you sure this isn’t for you? i think your dad cut these up for you—”
“nope! for you!” he gave you a big toothy smile before stuffing his mouth with crackers. “he told me not to eat it and to give it to you.”
he swallowed and reached up, you tilting down your head so he could pat it just like you always did for him.
“i hope you like it miss! they look like the ones you told me looked cute!”
“i— i love them milo.. thank you!”
you picked up a papaya piece and ate it, entirely dazed and love struck as your tastebuds savored over the sweet velvety thick honey, literally blinking back tears at how thoughtful and kind katsuki was.
he didn’t have to do this at all… yet he took the time anyways out of his morning to do this for you.
and your heart nearly fucking gave out.
after school once you got your rowdy kids to sit neatly on the bench and wait for their parents, you extended a hand for milo and he hopped off the bench and took it, you both walking up to a waiting katsuki as he stood there with a soft smile on his face.
“hi kats!”
“hey.” he picked his son up and settled him over his abdomen, milo’s arms clinging around his neck and chin propped up on his dads shoulder as he was exhausted from a days worth of playing and learning.
“i wanted to um—” you peered up at him. “i um—”
his brows furrowed, and just as he was about to bark about you stumbling over your words, he stopped.
your bottom lip was trembling.
you hurriedly wiped your eyes.
“i wanted to thank you—” hic! “f—for the star shaped fruit this morning—”
“why are you crying dumbass?” he mumbled, reaching over and wiping some tears with his rough fingers.
“because it was so nice!” you sobbed, shoulders shaking as you let him wipe your cheeks. “and— and you put honey over it too! you didn’t have to do any of that for me!”
“tch—”
he flicked your forehead softly, not enough to hurt you but enough to get you to snap out of your hiccups as you sniffled.
“it’s just fruit y/n—”
“but it’s not.” you wiped your eyes again. “not to me anyways…”
katsuki slowly lowered his arm, gaze tracing over your pretty face and perfect hair and the way you cried over something so stupid, his brain unable to process the fact that an act as simple as cutting fruit up for you could make you this happy, and it made him want to see what you saw for once— how you saw the world for exactly what it was and appreciated it regardless of how big or small things were, not snippy or angry or spiteful over everyone and thinking everything was out to get him and his son.
“crybaby…” he grumbled. “i’m glad you liked it though.”
“i did kats.. a lot. thank you.” you wiped the last of your tears and smiled. “i’m sorry i cried.”
what a pretty sweet girl…
he shook his head and hoisted milo up, him completely knocked out with drool coming out of his mouth as katsuki felt it run down his shoulder, barely even noticing that though as his entire focus was trained purely on you.
was it okay if he… asked you out? would it be weird? would you tell him to fuck off?
katsuki internally rolled his eyes at his stupid fucking high school boy thoughts, though it didn’t alleviate the gnawing feeling that if you did tell him to fuck off… that he’d be angrily mortified at his fail and probably lose the right to talk to you since it’d be too awkward to.
but you were just so fucking sweet. all of the time.
“listen uh—” he cleared his throat, face growing hot. “i was wondering if ya wanted to eat dinner with me… sometime.”
you stared, eyes big and shocked and katsuki took it defensively and entirely the wrong way.
“forget it.” he snapped. “forget it i didn’t say shit—”
“no! no no—” you quickly shook your head. “no it’s okay i would!”
he stopped.
“you would?”
“of course!” you expressed sweetly, cheeks hurting from how big you were smiling as you tried to simmer down your giddy squeals. “i’d love to have dinner with you…”
his tense shoulders slowly relaxed, an eventual small smile growing on his face.
“a—alright uh…” he sighed. “i’d prefer to take ya somewhere nice but i don’t really have anyone to watch milo—”
you shook your head again, brows pinched. “oh no kats— we don’t have to go anywhere at all! we can order something in at your place and eat with milo? or— or my place?”
“my place.” he replied. “and i’ll cook.”
he cooks?!
“okay!” you giggled, your hand reaching up and patting over milo’s sleepy head gently. “sounds good!”
katsuki and you agreed on the details of the date after and bid each other bashful goodbyes, swooning as you watched him walk away into the parking lot with a sleeping milo in his arms and feeling like none of this was fucking real, for you couldn’t believe someone as handsome and cool as katsuki would ever be interested in someone like you.
and funnily enough, he felt the complete opposite, stressed and extra snappy as he cleaned the house from top to bottom (though it barely needed it), unnecessarily fixed the positioning of the furniture and made milo put away his toys, him not even whining or protesting like he usually did solely because the little man knew you were coming— pretty miss y/n with the pretty smile and the nicest lady he had ever met, and one he secretly hoped would be his new mommy every time he saw you and his dad converse before and after school, thinking you would fit the role perfectly.
especially after his dad had given you those fruits as a present!
“milo!” katsuki called. “come ‘ere!”
his son ran into the kitchen, toy race car in hand. “what!”
“be good today, ya hear me?” he pushed, face stern as he flipped a kitchen towel over his shoulder and sautéed vegetables in his frying pan. “please milo. don’t try to be funny and do somethin’ to scare y/n off.”
milo gave him a look.
“scare miss y/n off? dad you’re gonna scare her off not me!” he giggled. “silly.”
“yeah..” he grunted. “you’re probably right but i’m just sayin’. i’m thinking of the time grandma came over and ya put that fake rat in her purse to try and be funny.”
“ohhh yeeeeah!” he doubled over in little fits of laughter, holding his stomach as he did. “i did do that!”
“see what i mean?” katsuki grumbled, snatching the kitchen towel from his shoulder and throwing it down on the counter top, stepping back to peek in the oven. “you better not do that with y/n please.”
“i won’t!” he grinned. “not when she’s about to be my new mommy!”
katsuki choked as his spit went down the wrong pipe, bending over and coughing uncontrollably in his elbow before spinning around and looking at his son with wide eyes and pink cheeks.
“the hell you just say?”
“what!” milo tilted his head. “that y/n is gonna be my new mommy?”
his eyes grew even wider as he dropped the pan he was holding on the stove and leaned back, running his hands over his face.
“oh you little runt please don’t say that in front of her, alright?”
he pouted. “why not?”
“you’ll scare her off! worse than when you put that fake rat in grandmas purse!”
“boooo!” milo stuck his tongue out and crossed his little arms over his chest. “whatever.”
“oi!”
“what!”
katsuki’s doorbell chimed and milo booked it to the front door.
“missss preettyyyy!!—”
“milo get your ass back here!—”
katsuki swung the door open and swooped his son in his arms just as he was about to pounce on you in midair, you giggling and covering your mouth as you watched the scene unfold before you.
“i’m sorry—”
“hiii misss y/nnn!” milo greeted happily, dangling off of his dad as katsuki tried to stop him from wiggling out of his grip. “i’m so exciteeeddd!—”
“hi my love!” you gushed warmly, smile wide as you extended your arms and walked forward, taking milo in your arms and setting him on your hip. “how are you? you excited to hang out with meee?”
“yes! yes!” he vigorously nodded. “i wanna show you all my race cars!”
“oh i can’t wait to seeee!” you bounced him on your hip and he giggled, you turning your attention and smiling at katsuki.
“hi kats!”
“the little brat is hogging—”
milo blew a silly raspberry at him before wrapping his arms around you and shoving his face into your neck.
you laughed and ran a soothing hand over the little man’s back, katsuki rolling his eyes before stepping to the side and letting you in, shutting the door behind him and leading you over to the kitchen.
and jesus christ you looked beautiful, him noting that pink was what you mainly wore on the day to day as he eyed your small rosy cardigan, you walking through his home and looking around and oblivious to the way he was staring at you like a fucking creep.
katsuki bit the inside of his cheek as he watched your eyes scan your surroundings, stupidly nervous about what you’d think of his house and furniture and minuscule decorations, and annoyed with himself that he’d even give a shit about something like that, trying to occupy himself and ignore it as he looked in the oven and lifted lids of various pots and pans, checking over tonight’s dinner.
“i’m sorry i’m behind…” he grumbled and waved his hand around. “had to clean the house and shower milo since he decided to play in the fuckin’ mud this morning.”
“oh you don’t have to apologize for that kats!” you looked at him worriedly. “you don’t have to apologize for anything i totally understand…”
you hoisted milo further up your hip and grinned. “i’m just happy to spend time with the both of you.”
katsuki felt smoke puff out of his red ears as he nodded and scratched the back of his neck, turning slightly and lifting the lids from his pots and pans again.
“miss preettyyyy!” milo whined. “when can i show you my race cars?!”
katsuki scowled and you laughed.
“now honey! but how about we move some of your toys to the living room so i can spend time with both you and dad? how does that sound?”
“yayayay!!” milo cheered, bouncing on your hip as you smiled cutely and set him down, him running off down the hall and you quickly following after him.
milo talked you through his entire collection of race cars as you both sat down on the living room rug— telling you the model of each and every one, what they did, how fast they went, they places they’d gone, and which were his favorites as you excitedly talked to him about his cars and shifted conversation between him and katsuki, a task he was surprised you did so efficiently, but then quickly realized that that was literally your fucking job everyday dealing with little brats talking your ears off and you attending all of them at the same time.
and when it came around to dinner time, you helped katsuki set up even through his snapping and huffing that you absolutely shouldn’t, you giving him a silly little face as you assisted anyways and set up milo’s booster seat, picking him up and sitting him down before buckling him up while katsuki placed your dishes on the table—
and gourmet fucking dishes at that.
you were bewildered. absolutely bewildered as you gawked over the lasagna platter he set before you, it delicate and fancy looking as he had even draped sauce on your gray ceramic plate in gourmet intricate designs, knowing that katsuki had mentioned to you he was a chef over the several months you’d gotten to know him, but you didn’t know exactly to which extent that chef occupation stretched to.
“kats…” you murmured. “what do you do for a living.”
“i told you idiot.” he passed over a couple of napkins and you gratefully took them, taking one then and wiping down milo’s mouth as he messily ate his cut up pieces of lasagna. “i’m a cook.”
“yeah but what kind? where?”
“why?” he gruffed. “does it look like shit?”
“no!” you giggled. “absolutely not the opposite actually! this is probably the most beautiful lasagna i’ve ever seen in my life.”
“duh.” he responded, but sent you a small smile as he ate. “i’m an executive chef down at a restaurant in the city.”
your jaw dropped. “the city?! you’re so cool kats! oh my goodness!”
his face flushed.
“my dad says his boss is a piece of—”
“don’t say it!” katsuki snapped at his son, eyes wide as you slapped a hand over your mouth to keep yourself from laughing, not wanting to encourage the little man any further.
“milo i told ya not to cuss until you’re ten—”
“ten?!” you giggled loudly and let your hand fall, sticking your fork in your lasagna and eating. “as long as he cusses with you and not at you… i think it should be fine!”
katsuki stopped.
you get it. or you rile up his bad cussing habit. either or he might as well have found his fucking soulmate.
“miss pretty!” milo called.
“yes my love?”
“do you have a boyfriend?”
katsuki smacked a hand on his forehead and you snickered.
“i don’t!” you grinned. “why milo?”
“because i want you to be my new—”
“milo if ya shut your mouth right now i’ll buy you two new race cars tomorrow.”
his son gasped dramatically and pursed his lips shut, eyes big and excited as he tried to contain himself and do as told.
“his new what?” you tilted your head cutely, katsuki’s heart hammering against his rib cage as he stuffed his mouth with food.
he shrugged. “the fuck should i know?”
“but i wanna know!” you pouted, taking your final bites of your yummy dinner.
he swallowed.
“do you want dessert?”
you gasped. “oh my god yes! i do!”
“then i suggest you shut your mouth too.”
you laughed over the table, quickly nodding as you pursed your lips like milo and pinched your thumb and index finger together, running it across your mouth and twisting your wrist like a pretend lock before dropping your hand in your lap, giddy and excited over dessert.
katsuki playfully rolled his eyes and stood, collecting all of your plates and stacking them on top of each other before taking them over to the sink.
“dad!” milo called as he bounced in his seat, katsuki grunting in response.
“what’d you make for dessert!”
“mochi.”
“yaaaayyyyy!” he cheered happily. “can i eat it with y/n in the living room?”
katsuki’s brows furrowed. “the living room?”
“yeah!” milo exclaimed. “so i can keep showing her my race cars!”
he struggled for a moment before eventually nodding. “alright… but don’t make a mess i just cleaned—”
you and milo ended up building a fucking fort once he gave you the all clear, you both saying something about it adding to the ambiance as you used the couch cushions for makeshift walls and milo’s choo choo train sheets for the roof and tent, katsuki before he knew it his entire living room a fucking mess as the three of you sat amongst the scattered about pillows and blankets eating your bits of mochi, milo mainly inside the little tent you made for him as you and katsuki were too big to fit inside with him.
his living room was a mess… but he didn’t mind.
katsuki didn’t mind the mess.
your way of living was entirely different from his, as yours had everything to do with mess due to your full time job with kids— paint all over your hands and face, marker stains on your clothes and sticky glue residue and pieces of cut up construction paper somehow in your hair, all things katsuki despised for years and made sure his house never reflected any of that.
but in that moment, with his living room in complete disarray and the positioning of his couches utterly fucked up? the dishes still in the sink and the table still set?
katsuki didn’t fucking care.
because he had never seen his son so happy. he had never seen him so excited and hyper as you helped him set up and somehow tie fairy lights that katsuki had somewhere up in his attic for holiday seasons around the fort, you looking fucking gorgeous under the dim dark lightning as you read milo one of his favorite children’s books you got from his little shelf in his room— ‘the very hungry caterpillar,’ one of your favorites too as his son followed along with you and giggled whenever you’d make a silly joke only a five year old would find funny.
and katsuki felt warm… that’s all he ever felt when he was around you.
is this what it was like to be a family?
“oh my goodness i almost forgot!” you quickly sat up and handed milo the book, him taking it as you crawled over and reached for your bag. “i brought something for you honey!”
milo gasped and sat up. “really?! what?!”
you pulled out a ceramic cream colored globe with hollowed out stars, a small bulb inside as you scooched on your knees back over to a curious katsuki and milo.
“woah..” his son whispered. “what is it?”
you smiled and reached for the nearest outlet, plugging in the little globe and flicking a switch.
the darkened room illuminated itself then with the soft murmur of a lullaby playing, star shaped shadows slowly shifting around the entire living room as milo gasped and stood, frantically pointing at each moving shadow and gushing while his little mind was trying to process how cool and fascinating this was.
and all katsuki could do was stare at you.
stare at the way you sat back on your ankles and pointed with milo, counting how many stars you could see before it shifted and repeating that for fun, stare at the way both of your eyes glowed with wonder and curiosity, and stare at the way you smiled so gracefully and looked unreal now under the starry lights, his heart on overdrive at how gentle you were and how much you cared about his son.
about him.
and katsuki was sure then he was absolutely sick over you.
you all settled after a while of playing games and eating more mochi, especially milo, the little lullaby knocking him out as he snored next to you in his fort, you and katsuki laying down next to each other as you stared up at the shifting stars.
“i’m sorry i made such a mess in your living room..” you whispered bashfully. “i promise i’ll pick everything up before i leave.”
he shook his head. “don’t worry about it i can pick up. it’s fine.”
you smiled at him warmly before looking back up at the ceiling, feet planted on the blanketed flooring as your mindlessly moved your propped up knees side to side.
“was it hard raising milo on your own kats?” you asked softly, fingers wrung together neatly on your tummy.
“it was at first.” he mumbled. “but i got used to doin’ it on my own.”
you frowned, not particularly happy with the idea that katsuki had to raise a human being on his own without any help or guidance, wishing that he would’ve had someone there to help him every once in a while, or just be there for him.
“you did an exceptional job, okay?” you began. “you should know that... milo is such an honest kid… and he’s so precious too.”
katsuki’s eyes softened, and he couldn’t bring himself to look at you in fear of you noticing his stupid flustered face as he opted for keeping his gaze glued to the starry ceiling, your sugary peachy perfume not fucking helping as he decided to sit up instead.
“he is.” he grunted softly. “don’t know how his mom didn’t see that.”
you faltered and sat up with him.
“what do you mean?”
katsuki eyed you before looking down, hands flat behind him propping himself up as he thought.
“ah… milo happened because of some random hookup i had in college.” he mumbled. “didn’t love her or anythin’, i barely knew her but still told her i’d support her and the baby obviously.”
you nodded, encouraging him to continue.
“i was there through her entire pregnancy and when milo was born… but the minute she got discharged from the hospital and took him with her, i woke up at four in the mornin’ with a knock on my door and milo left abandoned on my doorstep.”
you gasped, hand hovering over your mouth.
“are you— are you serious?”
katsuki nodded.
“she wouldn’t answer my calls, my texts, nothing. i went to her house and found out she took the first flight she could to fuck knows where.” he shook his head bitterly. “but i didn’t give a shit about me i’ll raise him i don’t care. it was never about me.
he looked at you. “it was about milo. i didn’t want him to know that his ‘mom’ left him behind like that, and i didn’t want him to think it was his fault or anythin’… shits ridiculous.”
katsuki shifted his gaze back up to the ceiling. “still don’t know how she could ever do something like that.”
the sound of a hiccup make his eyes widen and snap back to you, your eyes filled with fat tears as your bottom lip wobbled, hands coming up to cup over your mouth and nose as you tried to keep it in.
“you’re crying?”
you nodded, squeaky slight sobs slipping past your throat as you strained to keep everything down.
“that’s so cruel.” you cried softly, embarrassingly drowning in your tears in front of him yet again. “you didn’t deserve that at all kats… milo didn’t deserve that you both should’ve had such a good mommy and— and a good support system—”
katsuki pushed himself up and wrapped his big arms around your shoulders, pulling you in and rubbing a hand up and down your back comfortingly.
“you cry over everything y/n.”
“s—” hic! “—sorry—”
he laid the side of his head on top of yours as you shook, somehow feeling guilty of what he told you just because of how much you were crying.
more than when he gave you those star shaped fruits.
“oi…”
katsuki pulled back and looked at you, reaching up and wiping your tears with his thumbs.
“don’t cry baby…”
baby?!
you funnily sobbed even more and shoved your face in his chest, him chuckling as he wrapped his arms back around you and gently swayed side to side.
“stop it idiot.” he mumbled. “it’s fine. it happened years ago n’ milo and i have always been alright on our own.”
…but he wanted you now.
now that he knew what it was like to be softly cared for by someone precious like you, to feel what it was like to be warm and fuzzy and sunshine and rainbows and candy all of the time… and katsuki wanted you so. bad.
“i know..” you hiccuped. “and i’m really glad but i just wish you had someone.”
you pulled away and quickly wiped your wet cheeks. “m’sorry i cried all over your shirt—”
“don’t give a fuck.”
you breathed out a laugh and dropped your hands in your lap, looking at your fingers as you sniffed.
you were always crying for him.
“y/n.”
“yeah?”
he looked to the side with a blush to his cheeks.
“thanks for comin’ today.”
you smiled brightly and nodded.
“of course kats! how could i not?” you looked behind you to a sleeping milo, reaching over and pulling his blanket a little further up his shoulders. “i want you to know that i wanna be there for you and milo…”
he shifted his gaze to you as you turned back around.
“whether— whether you wanna keep seeing me or not—” you gnawed nervously at the inside of your cheek. “which i hope you do! but— but if not that’s totally fine i just want to be there for you both…”
how were you so pure? so thoughtful?
“why the hell wouldn’t i wanna keep seeing you?” he huffed, grumbly and embarrassed as he pursed his lips. “i’d be stupid as fuck not to…”
you blushed, happy shiny eyes looking at him eagerly like he was everything and more, and he wasn’t used to people looking at him like that whatsoever as your gaze flickered down to his lips and back up.
and you were so pretty.
“y/n.”
“mhm?”
he slowly leaned closer.
“would you be mad if i made a move on you—”
“of course not—”
katsuki lunged and planted his rough lips on yours, you tasting like straight sugar and honey as he placed his big hands on the sides of you head and held you like a piece of delicate glass, kissing and sliding your tongues in each others mouths rather quickly and breathy as he moved one hand from your pretty face down to your waist to grip it.
you placed your hands on the blanketed floor and slowly crawled over to him during the makeout, him reaching and wrapping the rest of his built muscly arms around your waist and pulling you to straddle his lap as he ran his hands up and down your sides and back, wanting to feel you as much as he possibly could and squeeze you tight as he gulped your little self down, brows furrowed and lips red.
katsuki pulled away and ran his fiery wet mouth across your jaw and to the spot right below your ear on the side of your neck, your hands gripping his broad shoulders as he bit and sucked and still squeezed you, manhandling you in a way and eating you up.
your eyes fluttered open once you heard a slight rustle, your line of sight catching milo shifting a little in his sleep.
“k—kats—” you breathlessly whispered, pushing a little at his shoulders.
he grunted.
“milo—” you pointed. “he’s waking up—”
“the fucks that gotta do with us—”
“kats!”
he groaned and pulled his mouth from you, scowling over to see his son only shifted positions and was now directly facing the both of you, tiny eyes closed as he drooled and was probably dreaming about race cars and his dads shark shaped pb & j sandwiches.
“the little runt is fine—” he shoved his face back in and gnawed at your neck again as you gasped.
“nooo!” you whined and giggled softly. “now i’m scared he’s gonna wake up…”
he huffed and officially pulled away this time, red eyes dilated and half lidded as he looked over your pinky cheeks and shy face, the purple and blue mark he made on your neck making the right side of his lips curve up into a little prideful smirk, you too distracted to notice over the way he clutched and loosened up the hold on your waist repeatedly.
katsuki kept you on his lap and scooched himself down, laying on his back and head on the pillow as he nudged you to lay on him completely over his chest and body, you more than happy to do so as you settled your head on his pecs and got comfortable with his strong arms around you— feeling so safe and looked after.
and you hadn’t expected to sleep over… but you just didn’t wanna leave, and katsuki sure as hell didn’t want you to either as you softly and quietly talked over the small tinkling of the lullaby and milo’s soft breathing, shadowy stars still slowly shifting around you as you easily switched between various topics— ranging from serious to silly as you ran a loving hand over his chest and his on your back, the both of you subconsciously lulling each other to sleep until you were just as passed out on the floor as milo.
since then, katsuki didn’t wanna let you out of his sight.
as if he wasn’t already involved enough with milo’s school activities because of you, this man became a fucking member of the pta and volunteered himself for every single event so as long as you were there, helping you out especially with fundraisers and bake sales as his desserts always sold out quicker than anything else and made bank as he snickered and boasted at the other parents that weren’t selling as much, you giving him a silly glare that never failed to shut him right up as he wanted to be good for you and not upset you.
the front desk lady even went from hating him to loving him, katsuki grumbling and chucking her a bag of leftover fundraiser chocolate chip cookies on her desk as he passed by to drop off milo in the mornings, serving as a ticket way in and to get her to shut up now instead of yelling at him from down the hall.
and he continued to give you yummy star shaped fruits.
except now some days they looked like hearts or little flowers, and he always made his fruit assortments different so you wouldn’t get tired of them and added different dippings like caramel or chocolate hazelnut, you gushing and nearly bawling literally everyday whenever you’d open the container and milo giggling at you during lunch.
you also never went a day without stopping by or staying over at katsuki’s house since your first initial date, your days so much fun and filled with love as you ate lunch or dinner with the two of them, laughing at milo’s sporadic comments or katsuki’s barking and scolding while you either played with milo, helped katsuki clean up the house and him the kitchen or you the kitchen and vice versa, or simply cuddle on the couch with kisses shared amongst you and katsuki— the three of you with milo seated peacefully and comfortable in the middle while you watched a movie or lulled the little man to sleep.
and katsuki had never felt so complete as he started leaving messes behind without even realizing or stressing about it, and he didn’t know when the fuck it was that he turned so soft and sappy— the change a bit strange to those who knew him as he was just a teeny weeny less explosive and angry over small things, and more so when it came to you and his son.
“make sure you keep your little bucket hat on honey, okay? it’s hot today and i don’t want you to tire yourself out milo.”
the end of the year field trip for the kindergarteners this year was a voyage to the local wildlife sanctuary, a gorgeous exhibit that sat right next to the national science museum in your city, its main attraction being the 25 foot koi pond and butterfly wonderland that housed various butterfly species and their little habitats— the kids field trip assignment being to count how many they see throughout the day and pick one koi fish and butterfly to draw on their journals.
katsuki, of course, volunteered as a chaperone.
“single file line please my loves!” you called, hand by your mouth. “and don’t seperate from your friends okay?! everyone stay where i can see—”
“oi!” katsuki barked, snapping and pointing at a rogue kid who decided to break free from the line and run across the grass. “the fuck do you think you’re doing!—”
“kats!” you breathed out a shocked laugh. “you’re gonna get me fired if you talk to the kids like that—”
“shit! sorry— i’m sorry baby hold on—”
katsuki booked it across the grassy lawn and caught up with the running kid on the other side, the rest of your class giggling and cackling as katsuki swooped him up with one arm and dangled him upside down while he kicked and swung tiny punches to his abs, katsuki not even flinching.
“do that again and see what happens brat.” he spat, the little kid not having a single care in the world as he giggled with the rest of the class, all of them deviously planning to piss katsuki off as much as possible since his outbursts were just funny.
“okay okay—” you smiled apologetically at him before taking the dangling boy from his arm and setting him back down, fixing over his clothes and backpack before patting his head and standing upright.
“no more running alright?” you placed your hands on your hips. “don’t we wanna see some cute little fishies and butterflies?!”
“yeeeeaaaahhhh!!” the babies cheered excitedly, each of them immediately returning to their designated spots in two lines as you grabbed your line leaders tiny hands and started the walk down the grassy field to the sanctuary.
“lemme help ya with one line baby—” katsuki went to grab one of your line leaders hands until they burst into a crying fit.
“no! no! i wanna hold miss y/n’s hand!”
katsuki’s eyes narrowed. “what’s so bad about me hah?”
“you’re ugly! miss y/n is pretty!”
the rest of the kids ruptured, laughing as katsuki sent death glares to a literal child, about to spout something nasty until his eyes flickered to your pleading face, his muscles instantly relaxing as he casted his gaze to the ground with a grumble.
you giggled and gave him a sweet kiss to his cheek in gratitude, his face flushing as he eyed your deep blue overalls and pinky shirt and the way your sunglasses sat pretty in your hair on top of your head.
“what honey?” you tilted your head.
“none of your business.”
you snickered and nudged your shoulder with his, looking over at milo from somewhere in the line to make sure he was okay before walking up the front gates of the sanctuary.
the wildlife guide met you once you all were cleared and inside the greenhouse, your kids absolutely restless as they ‘listened’ to whatever the guide had to say and just wanting to break free and run around to look at all of the fishies and butterflies like you had promised, and you not even listening either as you drooled over the way katsuki’s muscles looked under his t-shirt.
“any questions sweetheart?”
“huh?” your eyes snapped to the guide, cheeks pink as you quickly shook your head. “oh! no not at all! thank you ma’am!”
“alrighty then! just please make sure to tell your students—”
suddenly your two perfect lines broke apart as the kids started running around and pointing at fluttering butterflies and screaming, the guide looking like she’d seen a ghost as the usual quiet and serene sanctuary was now the epitome of noise.
“i’m sorry! i’m sorry—” you guiltily apologized. “my kids will settle down they’re just excited is all…”
the guide kindly waved you off before walking back to the main office, you turning and expecting to see katsuki standing next to you, but faltering once you saw he was on the other side and pulling one of your kids down that had climbed up the gates of one of the sanctuaries closed off exhibits.
“oh god..” you mumbled, about to make your way over until you spotted milo in a corner alone, staring at one of the koi ponds.
“milo?” you called softly, walking up to him.
your heart sank once he turned and you saw his little tear filled eyes and wobbling lip.
“oh no!” you gasped, crouching down and taking his tiny hands in yours. “what’s wrong my love? are you okay? is it too hot?”
you pushed some of his spiky blonde bangs back from his sweaty forehead as he shook his head.
“i can’t draw!” he sniffled. “and the koi fishies keep moving…”
your shoulders relaxed in relief.
“that’s okay!” you took his journal and pencil, wiping his wet cheeks as you smiled sweetly. “as long as we’re patient with the fishies, they’ll swim back and you can draw them again!”
you opened his journal and flipped to a new blank page, the both of you waiting quietly until a big chubby koi fish swam by.
“there!” milo whispered and pointed, and you quickly drew what you could, just making out the shape of the body before it disappeared again.
“and now we wait!” you grinned up at him. “the fishy will come back around and you’ll be able to draw it again.”
“kayyy!!”
“and you can draw milo. i’ve seen your artwork in class, remember? you always get a gold star!”
he giggled. “i do miss pretty!”
you ran a soothing hand over his back before passing his journal back.
“now you try honey—”
“i love you.”
you froze and looked up, katsuki standing there with a sincere and vulnerable look in his eye.
you stood from your crouched position and looked at him wide eyed.
“i’m not— i’m not good at this kinda shit at all and i always say somethin’ dumb but i do.”
“kats—”
“and i’m sorry it took me so long to say it but i tried to make it obvious with my stupid shaped fruits n’ shit… and i always thought you kinda just knew…”
milo was too busy focusing on catching glimpses of the koi fish to draw with his tongue peeking out to even realize what was going on next to him.
“you’re so patient baby. the way you are with me… the way you are with my kid. i need that in my life and i can’t live without it at this point…” he spoke genuinely. “your fuckin’ fault.”
you giggled and covered your face with your hands, face hot to the touch and bashful at everything he was telling you.
“come here.”
you listened and walked forward, dropping your arms as you wrapped them around his abdomen and his around your head, squishing you in his big chest as he propped his chin up.
“do you love me too or what.” he frowned. “cause if not this is shitty and embarrassing—”
“no i do!” you giggled, pulling away and giving him a cheeky smile. “i do kats you know that… i love you. so much.”
he smiled and pecked your lips. “good, miss pretty.”
katsuki had heard the entire conversation you had with his son, your words seeping with such tenderness and care, and he almost passed the fuck out when he thought about how much of a blessing you were, something he’d be a fool not to snatch up and take as he nearly fucking proposed to you in the middle of the sanctuary like an idiot, not knowing at all how a person that pissed people off for a living was loved by a woman who was the definition of pure.
because how the fuck did an angry dunce like him, get lucky with an angel like you?
“oh my god that dumbass kid is climbin’ the fence again— oi!”
katsuki quickly kissed your cheek before flying to the other side of the sanctuary, you doubling over in laughter as you watched him fight and tug and pull, your student not budging at all whatsoever and the rest of the kids laughing at how red katsuki was getting in the face.
“miss pretty!” milo tugged at your overalls, and you looked down to see him holding up his open journal, a cute wobbly sketch of a koi fish on the page as he smiled big. “i drew it! do you like it?!”
“wow milo!” you gushed, crouching down to his level and taking the journal, examining his artwork. “this is beautiful my love! see? i knew you could do it!”
“thank youuu!” he responded sweetly, his little cheeks blushing as he looked at you like he had another thing he wanted to say.
you tilted your head. “do you wanna tell me something else?”
“yeaaahhh.” he dragged. “please love my dad… i know he’s mean but— but he doesn’t mean it!”
your eyes softened as milo looked down at his shoes.
“and love me too… because i want you to be my new mommy…”
you quickly blinked back tears as to not alarm milo, surprisingly successful at preventing them from slipping down your face.
“i do love your dad honey… and you. the both of you i love so so much.”
he beamed. “really?!”
you nodded, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “and i thought i was already your mommy milo!”
the little man gasped and flung his arms around your neck.
“YAAAYYY!” he yelled. “miss pretty is my mommy! i have a mommy now!”
ever since you came into katsuki’s life, his way of living materialized into something completely different.
because now instead of his house being plain and boring and organized from top to bottom without a single thing out of place— it was warm now… happy. and never went a day without smelling like cookies and vanilla as you and katsuki baked with milo any chance you could, set up more pillow forts and tents with starry ceilings, and slept with milo in his room as he snored content in his little bed, you sprawled directly on top of katsuki like he always had you as you both every day intended to leave after putting his son to rest, but ending up falling asleep on the floor each time.
the three of you were a little family.
and katsuki didn’t know why he hated messes so much in the first place.
because mess signified that something had been there, something sunny and tender, something that signified family as you peppered kisses over both your boys’ faces everyday and katsuki drowning you in his rough ones— your man squeezing you so tight all of the time and anywhere, as milo wasn’t just his son now but yours too as you took him to the park or to the aquarium on your days off, the three of you gently living as both of milo’s small hands were occupied now instead of just one.
katsuki’s life looked like it had been generously cherished and lived in for a change.
synopsis: five men, five women, one villa. with hearts and a $50,000 cash prize on the line, who will win the race to find love?
warnings: love island au featuring: tokyo revengers, blue lock, and jujutsu kaisen, lots of kissing, smut, multi characters × reader, lots of mixed pairings, very random challenges, fluff, slow burns, mentions of cheating, drama, angst, plenty of tears, multi fandom, and playlists included!
a/n: content warnings will be posted with each chapter, so be sure to read thoroughly before indulging! i haven't written a full fic in a while, so any beta readers would be appreciated to make sure that the story comes out as best as it could <3 the story will progress through my own discretion as well as voting at the end of each chapter, so make sure to cast your votes to see how the plot will unfold!
BOMBSHELL MASTERLIST
your heartbeat was erratic as you stood in front of the fire pit and your host, eyes scanning the expanse of the large, beautiful villa that you'd been staying at for the past four weeks.
you still remember the first day that you walked in here; a plethora of pretty faces greeting you with happy smiles and intrigued expressions. you reminisced the way that you were almost as nervous as you are now, eyes wide and palms clammy as you tried to ignore the growing anxiety surging through you. you thought about all the experiences you'd had up until this point, all the friends you made, all the things you learned about yourself, and most importantly, him.
out of everything that you had been through in your time at the villa, one thing that made the whole experience worth it was finally meeting the person of your dreams. you came onto the show thinking that it would be something fun, maybe slightly embarrassing, but fun nonetheless. you never thought that you would come out the end with someone that you could call your own, someone who understood you seemingly better than you knew yourself. despite all the fights, all the tears, and everything in between, you managed to come out the other end okay. happy even.
and you weren't the only one.
your gaze fluttered to your best friend, who stood two people away from you, a proud smile crossing your lips even with your nerves consuming you. you weren't the only person who came into the villa with baggage on their shoulders, yet none of you let it stop you. a brief image of you holding her as she cried into your arms flashed through your mind, the sadness and betrayal leaving her a wreck in your makeup room. you'd thought for a moment that it would be the end of your time together, yet you were happy to see her pull through and find happiness in the end.
everyone here had done their absolute best, even with their rights and wrongs, and that thought alone was enough to quell the queasy feeling building up in your stomach.
"alright islanders, it is officially time," the hosts' voice chopped through the nerve-wracking silence with ease, her calm expression giving no hints as to how the end of the night would go. a long sigh escaped your flared nostrils as you closed your eyes, teeth grazing your bottom lip as you forced your emotions to stay in check.
a soft hand turned your attention to your left, air escaping you as you looked up at the man you could truly say you were starting to love. he smirked at you, his own expression laced with playfulness as he tried his best to calm you down. a large grin spread across your face when you felt fingers interlocking with yours, a gentle squeeze giving you all the reassurance you needed to keep yourself grounded for the time being. your breath halted as he leaned down, lips just barely touching the shell of your ear as he whispered to you softly. "we'll be fine, baby."
you pulled away so you could glance into his eyes, a small nod giving him confirmation that you heard what he said. you trust him, probably more than you should.
"it has been a long, hard journey for those of you remaining," your host started, giving a soft smile to each of the islanders standing on the other side of the firepit. "yet, each of you has managed to find a connection here in the villa. although some of you have been through more struggles than others," you could feel the heat rising onto your face when your eyes made direct contact with hers, a snort escaping you as you laughed with the rest of the islanders that you could now call your best friends. "you all have made it to the finals, and are now in the running for the 50,000 dollar prize on the line."
you subconsciously tightened your grip on his hand at the mention of the prize, your body weight shifting from one foot to the other. you wanted to win, wanted that 50,000 so badly so you could finish your schooling without issues. yet, you were content with whatever outcome was prepared for you. in the end, as long as you had him next to you, you would give up the money in a heartbeat.
"since the start of the show, the country has been voting for their favorite love island couple," each word she spoke left your anxiety spiking, your mind begging her to just hurry up and give the results before your heart exploded from suspense. "but now, they have voted for their official love island winner."
you held your breath as you stared at the host, silence taking over the villa as she picked up a small envelope from the couch behind her. you eyed the paper with angst as she peeled it open slowly, reading the results before looking up at the lot of you behind the fire pit.
you watched as her jaw flexed, a breath getting sucked into your mouth as your heart started to beat so fast you thought it would jump out of your chest.
her mouth opened, eyes scanning the crowd before the first words left her lips. "and the winner... of love island is..."
⸺ unraveling. Set in 1960s Tokyo, a sensual encounter with a famous actress alters the course of Higuruma’s career.
pairing: tailor!higuruma x movie star!reader
words: 8.0k
contains: first and second pov (let me cook), higuruma pov, body worship, pussy eating, higuruma nutting in his pants, male masturbation, p in v, delicate power dynamics, decades of higuruma yearning for you, angst, slow burn, eversal of fortune, alcoholism, plot with sex.
mood: nostalgic, sensual, and melancholic yearning.
author's note: very late ! but this is my entry for @ayyy-pee’s jujutsu journal event ! congrats lexi 🥰 you deserve all the love from the community you've built !
huge thanks to @g00miato for my fanfic header. you were so amazing to work with and i can’t wait until your commissions open for real！！
this short story touches on sensitive themes like sexual abuse within the film industry. although there are no graphic depictions of sexual violence, reader discretion is advised.
Azabujuban. 1958. The air was sweet with the promise of spring.
The servant who welcomed me into your home has scurried away to prepare your afternoon tea, leaving me alone in your living room. In my arms were a briefcase containing a measuring tape, a notepad and pen, some fabric swatches, and a sketch of your costume for Tokyo Tango—the tools of my teacher, who was too ill to conduct the meeting himself.
It still puzzled me as to why he chose me, a part-timer, to come in his stead. It had only been months since he took me in as an assistant, and I was a mere college sophomore then.
“You’re the same age,” he had said, waving my question aside with his hand. “Women like her need to meet people her age.”
You were on a call. With a lover, I thought. I could tell from the smothered sweetness in your voice through your bedroom door, which echoed throughout your home as if the walls were speaking to me.
I've always loved your voice; Breathy, low, and beguiling like autumn moonlight. Whenever you spoke I imagined you were pouring words into my mind—as if everything you have ever told me was important. It was the cadence of an actress. A star. Only then had it sunk in that I would meet someone famous. A woman rumored to have stolen countless hearts with a single gaze.
I heard you say goodbye and the servant returned to usher me into your bedroom. The sweat in my palms seeped into the briefcase.
The servant opens the door, spilling forth the thick and honeyed warmth of your scent, and when I entered the room I nearly suffocated.
There you were, seated in front of your vanity mirror, the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.
You were dressed in a silk nightgown and a sheer, organza robe that had fallen past your shoulders. Each exposed skin—your neck, your shoulders, your legs, glowed as if the sunlight was radiating from your body. From your posture alone I knew you were elegant and poised. I had to jolt myself out of my mesmerized state.
“Higuruma Hiromi, from Hatsumoto Tailoring,” I said. “I’m responsible for your measurements in Mr. Hatsumoto’s stead.”
“I'm in your care,” you replied. You didn't even look at me. Instead, you sauntered to a corner in your room, your back turned towards me, which stirred me to begin my work.
I dug into my briefcase for my notepad, my pen, my measuring tape, and then I shuffled to your side. You have taken off your robe and you were waiting for me, still as a doll.
I couldn’t bear to touch you. We were strangers forced by work to be this close together. And your nightgown draped over your body so delicately that I could peer to see the bare skin underneath.
I deduced then, that the last thing you wanted to feel from a stranger in your bedroom is his heavy breathing against your nape. So I held my breath and laid the tape across your shoulders to measure its length. Then your arms, then your waist…
“You're nervous,” you sighed. The damp ice of my fingers must have irritated you.
“My apologies,” I replied. “It’s my first time taking a woman’s measurements.”
You walked away from me and leaned back against your vanity, then you crossed your arms as you regarded me from head to toe.
“Hatsumoto told me you were his best pupil,” you said. “He said you have potential.”
I could only manage a weak smile, “I don’t know about that.”
“I agree. How can you be when you’ve never touched a woman before?”
Your words stung and I hung my head low like a scolded child.
“Do you have a mother? A sister?”
I shook my head.
“Have you ever had a girlfriend at least?” you asked again.
“It wasn't my priority,” I replied.
You laughed, not out of mockery but of disbelief.
“Come here,” you said. “Give me your hand.”
Obedient, I followed.
With a light touch, you glided a finger across my hand—from the tip of my long finger, to my palm, then to my wrist. I shuddered. My skin has never felt so thin. And your touch left an itch that can only be soothed by a firmer caress.
“Mr. Higuruma… Look at me…” you said. “Aren’t women beautiful?”
I raised my head to meet your gaze.
“You are,” I muttered.
“As a tailor, you’ll be touching many women. And you’ll be sewing many clothes for them. And clothes are artistry don’t you think?”
As you spoke, you took my hand and nuzzled your cheek against it. I would have pulled my hand back, if it weren’t for how soft and plush your skin felt against my palm.
“The clothes you make will cling to our skin. Contour our bodies. Define our silhouettes,’ you continued, as you guided my hand down to your neck, your collarbone, your shoulder…. “You’ll show the world how beautiful we are.”
You pressed my hand against your breast and the wind in my lungs turned solid.
“Do you understand what I’m telling you, Mr. Higuruma?” you asked.
I was too frozen to respond—overwhelmed completely by the need to seize you. To hold you. To descend into that soft and tender place with you. But at that moment, nothing about me was soft. I was aching and throbbing and trembling. My desire was so coarse and so destructive that it scared me.
I was scared of what I could do to you, a young woman alone in a room with a man, if I hadn't restrained myself the way I did. I imagined you would fall apart like petals in a clenched fist.
You knew that too, and yet you trusted me with your body. Though it may have been more accurate to say that you trusted your power over me. A power less tangible yet more potent than physical strength.
“It's okay. Keep touching me,” you said. “Remember how I feel… and then make something beautiful.”
Unsteady, I sank to my knees and wrapped my hand around your heel to raise it towards me. I planted a kiss on the bridge of your foot, as worshippers do to sacred statues. Then I planted a kiss on the thin skin of your ankle and dragged my lips across your calves, all the way up to your knee, then to your inner thigh.
A dove-like sound from above compelled me to do more; to place my lips and glide my tongue in higher, softer places. I looked up to see your lidded eyes, your chest heaving and your lips parted in waiting—you wanted this, you wanted me.
Emboldened and desperate to please, I held you by the hips and perched you on your vanity. Suddenly, my hands were all over your body.
I have never been this close to a woman before, so every kiss and every caress posed a wordless question; Would you like it if I kissed your neck? Would you like it if I licked your pulse? How firmly should I squeeze your breasts? How softly should I roll my tongue over these peaks?
You would answer me in moans and sighs, this feels good, keep going, go faster, go slow. I was so attuned to your body that I didn't need your words. And it did not take long for me to learn how to please you. I always pride myself as a fast learner. Especially if my teachers were as eager as you.
You grabbed me by the hairs of my nape and pulled me down. Then I held your thighs apart and pressed my face between your legs—right where your bud would jut into my lips if it weren't for your underwear.
“Take it off,” you whispered and I obeyed, peeling your panties off to reveal your flesh.
You were so beautiful, flushed dark and pink in all the right places, your pussy dripped like a sacred stream. It was a strange sensation, the way my throat dried and my mouth watered at the same time.
I parted your plush lips with my thumbs and my tongue wandered into your garden. You taste like champagne and salted peaches. Your scent was thick and sweet. And your skin was so soft and slick against my tongue that I found myself addicted to your taste.
I sucked and slurped you ravenously, drinking in your nectar, probing your depths with my tongue. When your hips shot up to rut your clit against my nose, I slid my hands underneath you to support you.
You moaned and moaned and moaned. Your fingernails raked through my scalp. And my cock, hard as iron, began to throb and pulse to the sound of your voice. It strained against my pants, desperate to plunge into your depths, and I became less of a man and more of a feeling—so consumed by the desire to satisfy you that you were all that I could sense.
Your bud hardened into a pearl between my lips. Your folds squeezed shut and unfurled again. I slipped my fingers into your slit and you cried out in ecstasy.
“Hiromi…” you moaned, and something inside of me fell to its knees.
I gasped and felt a burst of warmth between my legs and I was dragged helplessly to my climax.
My hand stuttered and you rode it until your back arched like a bow; your core squeezing around my fingers, your bud twitching against my tongue. I could tell by then that you have drifted away from me—lost in your own cloud-sea of pleasure.
I held my face and fingers steady until your trembling stopped. Then you looked down on me, the cum-stained mess that I was, and I looked up to you, the sodden mess that you were, and a sense of unease washed through our gazes; that perhaps we have shown too much of ourselves to each other. That all the pleasure we have gained from this moment, we might pay for in equal parts shame.
I rinsed the suds and grime from my handkerchief, which I had used to wipe my spend off my thighs and my boxers. My hands were shaking from disbelief, now that the fog of lust has lifted.
I have touched you. I have tasted you. And from the sounds you were making, perhaps I have pleasured you, too. I washed my face over and over your bathroom sink, wondering if I would wake up in my dormitory.
But everything was real.
You were on the telephone again when I left your bathroom, using that sweet voice as you twirled the cord around and around your finger, and my numbed mind couldn't hear what you were saying. It didn't matter. I bowed low and hurried out of your home, with the sound of your voice following me like a distant record.
I took the long walk back to Hatsumoto’s boutique to clear my head. It was sunset and the air was sharp as it entered my lungs.
“How was it?” Hatsumoto asked. “Did you explain the costume? Did you take her measurements?”
“I did,” I lied. I did everything but my job that day. “She was pleased with it.”
“Good. We can start with the patterns tomorrow.”
Shit.
Later that night, in my dormitory, I stayed up at my desk recalling the shape of your body. I closed my eyes and mapped the air with my hands, and wrote down an estimate on my notepad: your arm and shoulder length, your armscye depth, the circumference of your bust, your waist, your hips, inseam, outseam…
It surprised me how vividly I could picture you with me. The memory of your skin against my hand felt like a phantom sensation, as tangible as mist. I could hear your sighs and your moans again. And my head began to spin, drunk with your scent.
I wanted nothing more than to return into that secret moment with you—to be in your bedroom surrounded by your presence. To glide my hands all over your body once again.
I wondered if I could ask you to touch me too, if I were lucky enough to turn back time. If your voice alone was able to consume me in this way, what more could your hands? What more could the rest of you?
Before I realized, I was thrusting into my fist, my teeth grinding the hem of my shirt, sweat dripping from my forehead to my chest. In my mind’s eye, you were bouncing on my lap, squeezing my cock between your thighs, drinking in my grunts and my curses with your tongue as if it belongs to you.
Perhaps it was kindness that you never kissed me that day. Or I never would've come out of that room with my soul and your body intact.
For now, I was content with indulging that implacable hold you had over my imagination.
Hatsumoto and I toiled over your costume for six months. It was a black, knee-length trench coat made of medium-weight gabardine. Three times Hatsumoto visited the studio for your fitting, and three times you sent him back, rejecting the costume.
“She keeps saying she hates it,” Hatsumoto grunted, scratching the back of his head. “Maybe we should cut our losses and pull out. We've rejected enough customers for this.”
I rubbed my chin, observing the coat from the mannequin, taking it in for its conceptual details. Although the fit was impeccable, the design was too suitable for casual wear. It lacked flair and drama. It lacked seduction and mystery—everything I found alluring about you.
“Sensei, can I change the coat?” I asked.
Hatsumoto waved his hand, “Fine. But if she rejects us again, we're done.”
I switched the gabardine for melton wool and adjusted the pattern. Everything had to be longer, wider, denser, sharper—with floor-length hems, broader shoulders, and oversized lapels. With two columns of large buttons and sleeves that run perpendicular to the floor.
These were the features exclusive to men’s coats. But I trusted my belief that your womanhood shouldn't be contained by such binary details. The more masculine elements I would add to your costume, the more your femininity should emerge at the heart of your character.
When we presented your new costume in the studio, everyone complained that it felt heavy. Until you drew the coat around your shoulder and strutted from one corner of the room to the next. The coat caught wind and flared behind you like wings, making your silhouette larger and your stride more powerful.
The new costume has given you a presence. And everyone in the studio witnessed the birth of a new female archetype: the dokufu. A poisonous seductress. The femme fatale.
The winds were fierce the day of Tokyo Tango’s premiere. I spent a good hour on my knees, with my hands under your dress, sewing drapery weights into the hem so your skirt would remain intact. It was just you, me, and your assistant in the hotel room. You wouldn't let anyone else touch your dress.
“No need to act so bashful,” you whispered. “It's nothing you haven't seen before.”
I could only manage a secret smile, which you reciprocated. I fastened the last weight and fretted over the smallest details of your garment: snipping loose threads, pinning loose fits, fixing the drape of your skirt—any excuse to keep my hands on you.
In turn, you plucked a piece of lint from my shoulder and sprinkled it to the floor. A small gesture of care.
“You're coming to the premiere party, right?” you asked.
“Mr. Hatsumoto and I were invited,” I replied, though we had no plans to attend. Hatsumoto said it was just courtesy, and the polite answer was to decline.
“Good. I'll see you there, then,” you said. “Come find me, okay?”
Against Hatsumoto’s wishes, I took one of our best suits and attended the party.
The windows of the Imperial Hotel gleamed as if the building held its own sun. Several guests wearing dark tuxedos and vibrant kimonos poured from their luxury cars to the ballroom. Everyone was recognizable from magazines to newspapers to television screens. And everyone was laughing, if only to maintain the light atmosphere.
Though my suit was clean and pressed, the guests looked at me as if I carried a smell. And for each step I took, my sleeves felt wider, my collar was rising to the back of my head, and my pant legs felt long and loose. Though the suit had my size, I was shrinking into it. I was not an actor or a musician or a film executive. I was not man enough to carry what I was wearing.
But you wanted to see me and I was already at your thrall. So I pressed ahead, ignoring the look on their faces in search of yours. My mind was sparkling with boyish daydreams of what we would do once I found you—images of us dancing, talking, drinking… Perhaps you would take my hand and lead me to a secret place, away from disapproving eyes.
But when my search led me to the hotel gardens, there you were in the cold night air.
Wrapped in the arms of another man…
Perhaps Hatsumoto was right. It was all just courtesy.
I turned back and went home early, telling myself that I should have expected it. After all, what would an actress like you want from a tailor like me?
Fate has given me a harsh reminder of that gap between your place in this world and mine. At that moment, I felt a new kind of ache: to be so overcome with want and yet unable to express it. Perhaps the passion for making clothes is all I will ever have from you.
The next day, I withdrew from university to practice tailoring full-time.
Ikebukuro. 1963. New buildings were constructed just as quickly as the old ones were destroyed.
Hatsumoto was overjoyed when I told him of my decision to become a tailor and wasted no time in teaching me everything I needed to know.
After five years, I knew the rhythmic hum of a sewing machine better than the beating of my heart. Etched in my fingertips were every tool, pattern, stitch, and pressing technique known to construct all kinds of garments. But Hatsumoto knew that my talents extended beyond bespoke suits and overcoats.
I was obsessed with the idea of draping women in men's clothing. I loved the strength and the sensuality of sharp angles and loose fits. I loved the weightlessness and grace in how they carried the heaviest fabrics. So Hatsumoto encouraged me to come up with my own designs and to display them in his boutique. From then, I began my pivot from tailoring to prêt-à-porter.
Often, I would wonder which came to mind first; the image of your body? Or the patterns I carved from the cloth?
I pried my thoughts away from you and threw it towards my work, but it was impossible. Your costume for Tokyo Tango sparked a trend and every woman in the city began to dress like you. I constructed garment after garment for customers who sought to imitate your sultriness and mystique, with varying degrees of failure.
After a day’s work, I would roam the neon-hazed streets of Shinjuku and see your movie posters and advertisements fastened on every building in the city. Yakuza films reached its zeitgeist and you were the ultimate femme fatale—the symbol of a modern woman.
Needless to say that wherever I went, you decorated every corner. I couldn't avoid that gaze of yours that leashed me like an animal. Then I would return every night to Hatsumoto’s attic and lay my head on the lap of memories, excavating every moment with you to use as fuel for my work.
One day, I will close that gap to reach you where you stand.
Your fans were the earliest adopters of my work.
My prêt-à-porter designs came at a time where the mode for body-conscious and highly feminine silhouettes took hold—waists and hips ought to be defined in hourglass shapes, skirts ought to cling to a woman’s thighs.
Hatsumoto’s female clientele would often ask us to nip their clothes tighter around the waist and the bust, trading function and comfort for aesthetics. And we couldn’t bear to blame them for such decisions.
After all, their clothing was paid for by the men in their lives.
And your fans, who found your portrayals of strong and self-possessed women as subversive, came to find my designs subversive as well. My relaxed fits allowed movement, my fabric choices were breathable, and the loose silhouettes evaded the attention of men. For once, they were able to dress for themselves and act as themselves.
So the demand for my designs grew, and soon I had to move out of Hatsumoto’s shop to open my own. I chose a boutique in one of the busiest shopping areas in Shinjuku, underneath a billboard where your movies were displayed, and hired a team of seamstresses to assist me in production.
With more time to focus on my creations, I went from a simple tailor to the most promising young designer in the city. It didn't take long for my work to feature in fashion magazines and newspapers. The first time I was invited to a radio show to discuss my designs, Hatsumoto invited the whole neighborhood to listen.
I would often tell reporters and radio hosts that I created these designs with freedom in mind. Though if I were more honest with myself then, I was merely acting on the fantasy of wrapping myself around you—that young and selfish desire to hide your body from the world, stealing you from the arms of other men.
One evening, as my staff prepared to close shop, I heard their gasps and squeals all the way from my studio at the back of the boutique. After a short and muffled conversation, I heard a clear and familiar voice.
“You never told me you were opening a store,” you said. “I could have sent flowers.”
I shot up from my chair and turned, slack-jawed and wide-eyed. You were standing by the doorway to my studio, a large shopping bag in hand, wearing that sharp, catlike smile that always reminded me of our secret.
“I thought you’d be too busy to come,” I said. I lied. It pained me to see you anywhere since that night.
“You thought right,” you sighed. “I was on a holiday in Europe.”
Your heels clacked as you approached me. Then you placed the shopping bag on my cutting table. The soft, honeyed scent of your perfume surrounded me, and I couldn't help but breathe everything in with one, slow gulp.
“I hope you're not too busy to do some tailoring for an old friend?” you asked.
“Of course not,” I replied. “What can I do for you?”
“These dresses feel a bit too loose. I was hoping you’d tighten them around the bust and waist.”
Although I was your regular tailor, it wasn't until several years later when we finally worked together again. A film studio commissioned me for your costume in Lady Serpent: your first appearance in Hong Kong Cinema.
I remembered how overjoyed I was to be welcomed into your home again, only to be horrified by the sound of your voice as you screamed inside your bedroom.
You were in an argument. With a lover, I thought. Arguments with lovers carried a certain vitriol, after all.
I stayed seated in your living area, busying myself with the paintings on your wall or the bonsai in your garden, hearing everything despite trying not to listen.
It took a while before the yelling to stop, and I heard you slam your handset back onto the dial.
The servant, shaken by the sound of your voice, entered your bedroom to tell you of my arrival.
“Get him out!” you screeched back.
I stood up, bowed, and made my way out of your home. Until the servant chased me across the street telling me you summoned me back.
When I entered your room, you were hunched over your vanity like a wilted rose, your eyes pointed away, unable to look yourself in the mirror.
“Have I aged, Hiromi?” you asked, and I found the question preposterous. You were as beautiful as the day I met you. And we were only twenty-nine years old.
You took a deep breath, held it, and then asked me to measure your body. They were just numbers, but it was the first time I have ever lied to you. Your eyes looked so sad that I wanted to hold you, gently, if not with my arms then with my words. You soon apologized for your behavior and sent me home with a basket of fruits.
Weeks later, I had to remake the costume with a new set of measurements.
You were no longer the lead actress for Lady Serpent.
For my thirty-second birthday, I launched my first haute couture collection for the Hiromi Higuruma brand.
I swerved and ducked through clothing racks and supermodels, making my way to the side of the stage to peek at the audience. Your seat was still empty, just like the other five times I came to check.
I sent a letter to your home to invite you to my debut, but the envelope bounced back, telling me you no longer lived there. It took weeks for my assistants to track you to Shoto, in an apartment southwest of Shibuya.
Since your recast for Lady Serpent, you became much harder to find.
Though the public has grown weary of yakuza films, the demand to see alluring and dangerous women grew, which led to the rise of soft-core movies that swarmed Japanese theaters.
It was strange that the woman who pioneered the dokufu archetype was absent in this wave, and yet I was relieved not to see you in such roles. No matter how subversive the films could get about womanhood and sex, it was still created for the pleasure of men. I could only stomach so many stories about women being abused into sexual awakening.
But that also meant I saw even less of you. No portraits, no television interviews, not even your shadow on my studio walls. Instead, the buildings in Shinjuku became littered with unfamiliar faces, each of them stars of these erotic movies, each with your suits and your heels but not your substance.
When they come into my studio asking to be dressed, I couldn't help but sew their clothing tighter around the shoulders or to construct higher collars. As if to tell them that real femme fatales ought to stand straighter with their heads held high.
My debut show ended in thunderous applause, and yet your seat stayed empty. What came to me instead was a box of sweets and a letter that tells me you were filming for Empire of the Senses. After asking other members in my social club, I learned it was by a director notorious for pushing the limits of the soft-core genre.
It was speculated to be one of the biggest films of this era.
“Who’s desperate enough to star in one of those?” another member asked as he laughed. My fist swung before my mind commanded it.
My prompt exile from the club and a few tabloid articles against me were the least of my concern. In a few months, I would have to see your posters in the theatres, sprawled or tied or suffering like the rest of them, so far from the vengeful assassins and cunning daughters you once portrayed.
To escape the ensuing horror, I ran away to establish my brand in Paris.
We were thirty-nine when you showed up to my home in Daikanyama. I scanned the streets for any swarm of onlookers or reporters before ushering you inside.
“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” I asked. I swallowed my comments on how you looked. I had a feeling you didn’t want to hear them.
Pictures of you had been all over the tabloids. A former actress accused a film producer of casting women in leading roles in exchange for sexual favors.
It started with intimate phone calls to her residence, which escalated into dates, and eventually, sex—which would continue over and over until he discovered a newer, younger actress to exploit.
She revealed that when she finally refused him, she lost her role for Tokyo Tango.
But with the production company’s intervention, the story swerved from an abuser exposé into a scandal on how you used sex and beauty to steal roles from other actresses. Perhaps they wanted to save this producer with you as their scapegoat.
The outrage that followed has been brutal and unfair. The public has confused you for your femme fatale roles.
“Hatsumoto gave me your address,” you said.
I took your coat, your suitcase, and helped you out of your boots.
“I’m flying back to Paris in a few weeks,” I replied. “But I can hide you until then.”
You showered in my bathroom and pulled on my robe. Afterwards, you ate my pasta and gulped my wine from the bottle. Later, we were on my sofa catching up like old friends. It felt surreal for me to watch you do such human things. For all the years I have known you, I always imagined you as transcendent.
“Have you married?” you asked. I shook my head. “Why not?”
I huffed, smiling. “No one wants me for a husband.”
You clicked your tongue, not in mockery but in disbelief.
“We're getting old, Hiromi. Are you even looking for a wife?”
“Perhaps. Are you offering?”
“If I am?”
“I’ll marry you tomorrow.”
Then you laughed as if I was joking.
And so I laughed as if I was joking, too…
Then we smiled until the light behind your eyes dimmed once again.
“Hiromi, do you believe what they said about me?” you asked.
“No. But even if it's true it doesn't matter,” I replied. “You're a wonderful actress. It won't change how much I admire you.”
You nodded, trying your best to find comfort in my words. Finding none, you instead curled into my lap like a cat and fell asleep. I stayed up all night soothing you from your dreams.
My flight to Paris was delayed for a day, then a week, then a month, until my brand had to withdraw from Paris Fashion Week. Much to everyone's disappointment, I had no designs to show.
Your presence in my home was demanding, and I spent more time running your errands and indulging your whims than I did cutting patterns from cloth. You would spend your days sweeping through my wine cellar, singing and spinning to the songs on the radio, and I would spend the whole day cleaning after the mess you would make.
With what little time I could have for work, no inspiration could reach me.
Make something beautiful, you had told me, all those years ago. Back then, you were the only beautiful thing I have known. So your image coated every seam and every thread in my collections.
I have created, desperately, relentlessly, for all the years of my career, to capture your essence and to have you close to me. And the further you drifted away, the quicker my imagination rushed to pull you back.
To my shame, there were times when I would look at you and wonder what I saw. Where was the poise? The elegance? The strength? The woman who once strode into every room, confident and self-possessed, now stumbled around my hallways, hurling onto my floors.
I used to wait months just to hear from you. Now I heard your voice every day, echoing through my kitchen as you asked me to cook, in my living room asking me to drink with you, in my bedroom asking why I haven’t fucked you, in my studio asking if Paris was even worth it.
I felt an ache in my chest. Hatsumoto once told me you were my muse. A source of inspiration from the heavens. There was ecstasy in the thought that our connection was divine.
But perhaps my muse all this time was not you, but the distance between us—that vast and fertile land, seeded by your image, watered by my desires, on which my imagination would grow. And now that land has dried. A drought brought forth by the light of reality.
One evening, I came home and found you sprawled face-down on the living room floor, your cheek pressed against the hardwood, listening to the radio with half-lidded eyes.
“The Watanabe Entertainment Group has announced its decision to cut ties with the embattled Tokyo Tango Actress following allegations of soliciting sex acts in exchange for prominent roles in films.
The spokesperson for Watanabe Group, Mr. Watanabe Junya said in a press conference, that “(they) hope this (decision) would restore—”
Quiet sliced the air when I turned off the radio. With a heavy arm, you reached out for your wine bottle, knocked it over, and listened to the rattling as it rolled away from you.
“I don't even like drinking…” you muttered. “But that’s what made him bearable…”
I gathered you into my arms and lifted you.
“Let's get you to bed,” I replied.
In my arms, you were lighter than I remembered. Much smaller. More vulnerable. Less a famous actress and more a woman-shaped bundle in my arms.
“If I refuse, I’d lose everything.”
“I know.”
“A part of me thought he really wanted me.”
“I don’t blame you.”
You mumbled and slurred your truths as I carried you to the guest room and slipped you underneath the sheets.
“I wish you found me that night….” you whispered.
Your words snared me. “What night?”
“That night at the party. I wish you found me.”
Imperial Hotel. The disapproving gazes. The sight of you in another man’s arms.
“Do you think things would have been different?” you asked.
You looked at me as if we were nineteen again.
My lips trembled, my arms weakened. What could I have told you at that moment? That I was there? That I had seen it happen and then walked away? In my young and selfish desire to have you, I have abandoned you.
“You don’t have to answer me. There’s nothing you could’ve done,” you said, as you slowly pulled me towards your body. “Why don’t you just hold me for tonight?”
Your sleep was at its deepest before dawn.
I pushed myself off your bed and dragged my feet to the workshop. Fabric shears in hand, I stared at the spread of melton wool on my cutting table; the same fabric I had used to make your costume all those years ago.
Make something beautiful, you had told me. Back then, I thought I knew what to do with beauty.
Beautiful things were meant to be created. Beautiful people were meant to be perceived. With my creations, I wanted the world to see what I had seen in you. I wanted them to wear my clothes and feel the passion that we shared.
But you cannot show the world the beauty of a flower without cutting it from its stem and damning it into slow decay. My tailoring was nothing but a slow and precise unraveling of you. Every dart, every seam, and every hem was taken from you. Measured you. Fitted you. Trapped you and contained you. I mistook my devotion for control.
Desire is what shaped the clothes I made for you. And so desire is what my clothes have attracted. To what extent have I been complicit in your suffering? How many powerful men have seen you in my designs and desired you the way I did? How many hands reached for you because I dressed you in longing? Everything I ever made was to honor you. Your body. Your grace. Your impossible lightness. I trapped you and cut you and offered you to their sights. I taught them how to look at you. I whispered to them something that I never meant to say. I never wanted that. I never wanted any of that. I need to take it all back. I need to destroy everything. I need to go back from the start.
I raised my shears and swung—
Come morning, I was surrounded by tatters, upturned tables, downturned shelves, gutted machines. My eyes were stung by the salt of sweat and tears. My chest heaved as I puffed hot air from my lungs.
My mind was quiet.
My vision was clear.
I sank to my knees and picked them up, these poor, wasted, scraps of wool. Of denim. Of silk and cotton and gabardine. Then I pulled my mannequin upright to piece these fabrics all together.
At that moment I rejected beauty, I rejected structure, I rejected symmetry. Had I known what my clothes would make of you, I would have dressed you in rags and spikes.
I pinned and sliced and sewed one irritating piece after the other. Misaligned collars. Shapeless silhouettes. Crumpled textures. Hostile clothes. Visual bombardment. Pieces that invite their scorn. That bait their rejection.
Disruption. Disruption. Disruption.
My fingers shook and bled as I punctured each seam and frayed each hem. When a new pattern emerged in my head, I sunk my teeth into the fresh fabric and ripped it into existence.
Your small, gentle knocks on my door were the only thing that broke me from my fugue. It was already sunset. I had been creating in the dark.
“Come in,” I said.
The door opened and you peeked in.
“I made—” you started, but then you looked around to take in the mess of my studio. “Food.”
I managed an exhausted smile. “You didn't have to.”
You picked your way through my space, dodging the heaps of clothes and rolls of threads to place a tray on my cutting table: burnt, massacred eggs with a spurt of ketchup.
“I’m not a cook,” you said. “But I figured I had to make something.”
“Thank you.”
You opened your mouth to say more, but then you looked away, as if the sight of me was unbearable.
“I've been such a pain for you these past few months,” you said. “I’m sorry.”
“It's the least I could do,” I replied. “I owe everything to you.”
You scanned the garments scattered around my studio, all its imperfection, its hostility, its transience. Then you pulled your lips into a bitter smile, as if you had come upon an understanding on your own. One you could never share with me.
Slowly, you made your way towards me, and with delicate fingers, you traced the curve of my cheek. I flinched and turned away. I don’t deserve the gentleness that I feel from you.
“Shhh, It’s okay,” you whispered, as if you were calming a beast. “Just let me remember you.”
Your fingers brushed my eyebrows, then you traced the bridge of my nose. With careful hands, you cradled my jaws and slid them across my neck and under my collar.
“Have you been with anyone else?” you asked.
“Just you,” I whispered.
You undid my shirt and placed your hands over my chest. There was no use holding my breath. I could never hide the way my heart pulsed against your hand, or the heat of my skin as you caressed me.
“Do you remember how you did it?” you asked again. “How you touched me?”
“I do.”
You shrugged off my shirt and leaned even closer. Your lips fluttered against my neck as you whispered to me.
“Do it again.”
When we fucked, it was slow. Tender. Our bodies swayed and rocked. We gasped as if we were drowning.
We sank to the floor and you draped yourself on top of me, straddling my lap. Then you aimed my cock towards your body and plunged me into your depths. Fuck. My nails dug into your hips. You were so tight, so slick. And you moved your hips so right that I could cry from the overwhelming splendor.
I caressed you through the silk of your nightgown, mapping the changes in your body since I last held you.
Your hips and waist have softened now. And your breasts felt fuller as it bounced against my palm. I licked my way past your neck and your collarbone to taste them again.
Your nightgown dropped from your shoulders and pooled around your waist. I leaned down to drag my tongue around and around your nipple—tiny, tickling flicks. Long, soothing licks, smacking, sucking kisses. You cried and squirmed from the delicate sensation and dragged your nails across my back.
I teased you until you moved faster and faster. And when your pace faltered from exhaustion, I grabbed you by the hips to grind you against my cock. Do you feel how hard it is for you? How it reaches for you? This is what you do to me. A single moan and your voice shot to my tip like a lightning strike.
Breathless, we spun around and you were underneath me. I raised your legs and fucked you in every pleasurable angle, begging you to let more of me in, further and further, to let me drown in your waters, to reach the very edge of you. To fill the shape of your body with mine.
“Hiromi,” you cried out. I knew what you wanted me to do. But a large sum of me resisted your siren’s call.
Everything that we had, and everything that stood between us—our past, our present, our future, our failures and our sins, all melted into this singular feeling. Nothing else mattered but us. I didn't want this to be over. I wanted us to stay like this. Close, breathless, vulnerable, and in pursuit.
But it was never up to me. My body has always been yours from the start. To build up and use up and rip apart as you please. I knew nothing else but to surge to your rhythm, to angle myself how you liked it. Everything I did only sent you to the edge.
“Hiromi,” you cried out again. “Yes.”
Your body froze into an arch and squeezed around me, causing me to spill inside of you so quickly and so violently that it felt like you had siphoned me in. I shuddered and buried my forehead into your neck, kissing your skin in soothing and supplication.
You wrapped your arms around me and held me close. You were quiet. And I could tell from your dimming gaze that you have drifted away from me. There was nothing more for you to tell me at that moment.
We have peaked. Now all that was left is the fall.
You were gone in the morning, and you were cruel enough to scrub my home of every trace of you. I threw myself into the streets, running and screaming your name until my lungs burned.
I wept. I yelled. I begged for anyone to bring you back. I searched for you until my body broke. Until my legs grew numb. Until there was nothing else but silence and the wide, oppressive sky and the cold asphalt beneath my back.
And then it all surged back—your image, your memories, the sound of your voice, and the moments that we shared. The moments that I fantasized. The real you and the shape of you in my mind. All vivid. All real. But all too blinding. Too fleeting. All gone too soon.
You had left me. But I knew what I had to do with the parts of you that remained. I had to go back.
I had to keep creating.
My Spring-Summer collection sparked outrage and violence in Paris. Fashion editors and buyers spat and jeered at the barefoot, barefaced models as they walked past them. Some have left the show mid-way, and most of the women cried backstage begging not to be seen in such rags.
Magazines and newspapers printed their insults for weeks—homeless chic, they called it. Dirty, ragged scraps retrieved from the end of an atomic explosion. They did not shy away from using our tragedy to satisfy their vitriol.
I wanted to free women of clothes that would otherwise enslave their bodies. But neither beauty nor ugliness mattered in the end. Both still attracted the violence of men.
But none of their words mattered. A few years later, they hailed me as the father of avant-garde couture.
Hatsumoto passed away near the end of spring. The hospice nurses told me he was laughing.
“These fools. Now they eat their words,” he had said. “They didn’t understand Hiromi’s genius.”
Even with his final words he had been praising me. I held his cold, withered hand and wept on his deathbed, mourning the loss of him and the loss of myself. That younger version of me, the one he always believed in, had already died all those years ago.
His funeral was attended by his students and his beloved clientele. Outside of the parlour were countless journalists that watched and photographed as I mourned my master.
In exchange for an interview, I asked them if they knew what had happened to you. Most of them shook their heads. The younger ones have never even heard of you. You have fallen off the reach of gossip and speculation.
No one speaks of faded stars.
Some days I would not think of you. Most days I am overcome with a visceral sense of loss, and I would find myself hurling my tears to the ground, nails dragging down my scalp, scraping your body off the walls inside my head.
My inspiration, my motivation, has always moved in orbits of longing. That breathless, hopeful rush in chasing what you do not have. And by leaving me, you have condemned me to a perpetual state of want.
The want for your forgiveness, the want for your warmth, the want for what we could have been.
This was your gift and your curse. The clothes I made became the only way I could ever hold those fading echoes of you.
I must walk alone through the ruins of your absence.
1995. Paris. The air was frozen by the eastern winds.
In an attempt to save themselves from bankruptcy, your former production company placed their most iconic props and costumes up for auction.
To my bitter relief, the bidding for your costume in Tokyo Tango wasn’t fierce, and I was able to retrieve it without spending much money.
With your coat folded neatly on the passenger’s seat, I drove from Paris to Étretat.
Artists often struggle to find joy in seeing their past works. What could have been reminders of their progress becomes a reminder of the mediocrity they worked to overcome. With their trained eyes, what they would see, first and foremost, are the clumsy works of amateurs. And they would flinch from the hubris of having presented it to the world.
But the coat's meaning stung more than the unsteady stitching or the fraying threads. It was the start of an obsession and a failure that haunted me into my midlife years.
If this costume was what propelled you into a life of sorrow, then I had been complicit in your ruin.
By destroying this coat, perhaps I can set us both free.
I carried your coat to the cliffside, burned it, then waited until the smoke and flames swayed skyward. But as I watched the coat crumble into ashes, the heavy winds came and swept it all back to me.
end credits song.
Thank you for giving this fanfic a chance! I know that not many people like first person fics, so it means so much for me that you have reached this point.
I liked the idea of Higuruma confessing his obsession with the reader and seeking absolution, and I thought that writing in first person was the most effective way to show this fantasy. Imagine being haunted by good pussy for nearly five decades ww. Your power!
I hope that I have made something worth your time 🙇♀️
This fanfic is probably my most indulgent piece of writing, because it combines some of my favorite topics, particularly artistry, fashion, film, and history (though I’ve taken lots of liberties here!). I have so much to say about the muse-artist dynamic and how it flattens and consumes the real person behind the projection. I hope my thoughts made sense in this story.
If you would like to see the numerous art that inspired this, I collected them in this archive.
summary ever since your break up with your now ex-boyfriend, draken, you've been finding yourself more driven and competitive in figure skating than ever before to ease your mind. consequently being dubbed as "ms. triple axel" and deemed as one of the best in the new generation. but what if you reunite with draken during the japanese figure skating nationals, competing for the olympic spot?
genre modern au, fluff, crack, angst, figure skating au
warnings i'm still not funny, nsfw jokes, kms & kys jokes, strong language, injury mentions.
status ongoing!
taglist open! send an ask if you wanna be added <3
yousharknotpass
romaincrisis
blakekathryn
baratheonpilled
snowghoul
vaporwave
gummygunk
