smoking behind the supermarket with you - higuruma x reader
what do you do when your smoke buddy (who’s half your age) suddenly invites you over for ***? ask my lawyer, he’s living through it
2.1 k words, one-shot | tooth-rotting fluff + smut , yearning for the middle aged gentleman | more stories this way >
The biggest problem Tokyo currently faces is the lack of respect towards its smokers. A decade ago it was Higuruma’s legal right to smoke his Dunhill Reds inside a crowded mall, put it out on a preschooler’s head and high-five the policeman on his way to get another pack.
Nowadays he has to hide behind a supermarket, sharing half a cardboard box to sit on with you.
“You whine too much.” You tell him. You’re not very polite.
“I suppose I do.” He cracks a tiny smile. He appreciates it.
It just so happens that your shift at the supermarket ends right when Higuruma’s done with the workday too. As far as smoke buddies go, you’re not too bad.
“But today, I’ll let you whine as much as you want, Higuruma-san.” Your cute, teasing smile makes his hands shake slightly as he pulls out his pocket ashtray. A gift from you. It bewilders his coworkers to see a man pushing 40 using a bejeweled Kuromi ashtray. “It’s not everyday that you win a case.”
“I didn’t think we’d win this one.” He grins back, the crow's feet around his eyes tightening. “All thanks to my team, really.”
“C’mon, give yourself some credit. You saved a man’s life.”
(Higuruma pulls his earlobe at that, a sure-shot tell that he’s embarrassed. He doesn’t know he does that.)
“You should have fun today, Higuruma-san.”
It’s good for his heart, Higuruma thinks. Having a friend outside of work. Someone, despite the wicked age gap, who he can talk about movies with on tired, blue-purple evenings. Admire the sun setting through mixed nicotine smog, clashing flavours, sounds of distant city traffic. He hands you his blazer to drape over your miniskirt when the nightly chill seeps in.
A friend. Just a friend. He knows to be content.
“My roommates are out tonight.” You’ve got your face turned away, wiping your sweaty palm on Higuruma’s blazer. “Maybe… maybe you’d like to come for some ramen? To celebrate your win.”
Crows, watching down from the telephone lines overhead, flee in a panic at the loud bark of spluttering coughs from the man.
Higuruma’s first thought is that the lung cancer finally got him. His second is simply–What?
It doesn’t make any sense, does it? Why would a young lady want boring old salarymen like him? Shouldn’t you want a bike-riding guitar-smashing badboy at this age? Higuruma’s more of the type to delight in perfectly peeled oranges in winters under a warm kotatsu.
Besides, as you’ve established for the past few months you’ve smoked together, you’re friends. Friends.
Red-faced and wide-eyed, the timid man just stares at you.
“Ramen’s all I can cook, so don’t expect anything more.”
“I…” He’s not sure what to say. Weird, since it’s usually so easy to talk to you. “I can cook rice.”
“Rice and ramen for dinner then?”
“If that’s what you’d like.”
Holy shit. Hoooly shit. Higuruma’s sweating bullets under his shirt. You told him to wait till you’re done clocking out, so he sits alone behind the supermarket, watching the crows return back to the telephone wire with judgemental eyes. What did I get myself into? How?
The cigarette burns itself down to the filter, the smell of uncut nicotine still lingering in his mouth. The thought pops in his head to buy a toothbrush.
Toothbrush, chicken skewers, eggs, tofu, scallion, bread and beer. Walking through the shop aisle, he goes through a mental grocery list. Regardless of what happens afterwards, he wants to at least feed you a good dinner. Condoms? It makes him pause. What if he’s just misunderstanding you? What if you genuinely just want to have ramen together, and he’s a creepy old man?
He walks away from the condom aisle– and reverses back again. Why not? He’s an adult, he can buy all the condoms if he wants, and it’d have nothing to do with you. Just as women buy makeup for themselves, he decided to buy condoms for himself. Not everything he does is for you, dammit.
A 10-piece packet of condoms and lube drops into his supermarket basket. The self check-out machine beeps.
You’re waiting for him outside at your smoke spot.
“I got some meat to add to our ramen. It’s good for your health.” He smiles.
A second passes as you peer at his haul.
“You bought condoms, didn’t you?” The smile drops immediately. Ah, may the lords forgive, but it’s so fun to play with Higuruma.
“No!” He’s caught red-handed. You raise a brow, to which he relents immediately. “It’s for myself!”
You can’t help cackling at his distress. He joins in too, absent-mindedly tugging his ear, and suddenly the newfound tension between you two evaporates, the ease of friendship taking its usual place. Friends who are on the way to ramen and chill, but friends regardless.
He holds the plastic bag in one hand, your hand in another, walking to your apartment. It’s the very first time he’s done it. Your hair smells like his Reds in the wind.
“Your hands are cold because you don’t eat enough proteins. That’s why you feel dizzy sometimes, you have no energy.” He preaches.
“I think it’s because I’m nervous.” You admit, still smiling. “My place is real messy.”
“Mine isn’t. Because I have the energy to clean it, because I eat enough protein.”
“Oh, you’re a comedian now?”
Higuruma laughs, and suddenly the ghost of Casanova possesses him to bring the back of your hand to lips and kiss it. “I’m a comedian for you.”
“Cheeseball.” You grunt it out but he catches your blushing cheeks anyway.
“Whoa, it’s actually good!” You angrily slurp up the bowl of slop that Higuruma served you. Dumping both ramen and rice to cook together, along with all the food in his bag– you really didn’t think it’d be any good. The cold beer washes it down perfectly.
“Back in my days, they had Home Economics classes in school, where you had to learn to cook.” Higuruma, clearing the debris around your floor table to get some place to sit, explains. It fills his heart to see you eating well. “Sew, bake, first aid, stuff like that.”
Higuruma showers up first after the meal, coming out smelling of strawberries and cookies. You go next, and when you return washed, you find that your living room’s been dutifully cleaned up. The old man of your dreams is in the kitchen washing dishes.
“You really shouldn’t, you know?” You take a bowl from him, wiping it dry before stacking it with the others.
“Just helping out.” He smiles. “I’m grateful to have you in my life, you know? Don’t look away, please– just smoking with you after work does me good. I– I’m grateful to be your friend.”
The TV plays incoherently in the background of your quiet, cold, peaceful apartment.
“I’m grateful to be your friend too.”
It seems to happen instinctively that you lean towards him, and he leans down slightly. You can feel his gentle lips land on yours. He’s smiling.
“You brushed?” The lines around his eyes and cheeks pop up again with how happy he looks when you pull back.
“Twice.” He takes the kitchen gloves off to hold you around the waist, pulls you to him for another kiss, and another, and another till he seems to melt in your mouth.
Mid-kiss, it occurs to him that he left the tap running. He reaches behind you to turn it off, all while you’re trying to drag his shirt up. The ridiculousness of it all – tangling arms while the TV suddenly blares an old love song, you both laugh so hard there’s tears in your eyes.
Grinning, he pulls his shirt off and whoa–
“Why are you so hot, Higuruma-san?” You whine in apparent annoyance. It’s true, well-built muscles stacked under a comforting layer of softness, arms that lift heavy on the weekends, muffin top over his waistband. A trail of hair under his navel that leads down to something promising.
“You whine too much.” He pinches your waist. “My turn.”
Alarm sirens scream in his head when you take your hoodie off. His smoke buddy, his ‘just a friend’, is devastatingly hot.
When he hesitates, you pull his hand over your bra yourself, which seems to break him out of his reverie.
Lying in each other’s arms, warm, he moans into your mouth as he softly grinds himself onto your thigh. He’s a bit more experienced, you can tell by the way he touches you down there, a finger drawing up your slick to play with your clit.
“You’re dripping into my palm.” There’s a fogheaded wonder in his tone. “I want to be inside you so much.”
“I don’t know if you do.” But when you look at him, his eyes are clear. Whining again, unable to make you understand. “I want to be close to you. Closer.”
I want to be more than just friends.
“Condoms.” You remind him, and Higuruma walks across your apartment fully erect in his boxers to go fetch. You help him put it on, but not before mocking his choice of ‘refreshing mint’ for the flavour.
“Is this because I only smoke mints? Very funny, old man.”
“It’s more because– Oh, my–” you lean down for a taste, licking him base to tip. “-because I didn’t have my glasses.”
He pulls you in for a kiss, sucking your tongue into his mouth to taste. “It’s really minty.”
“Right?” You reply as he lays you down on your back, thighs splayed open. “I was surprised.”
You moan as a finger slips in, more to ascertain how much you can take than for pleasure. “Been a while?” He grins down at you. “Me too.”
It’s a sight to behold, you writhing under his ministrations, clawing at his shoulders and arms for more, a bit more, a bit closer. To have him deeper into you. Hold me, he wants to say, given to lurching emotions that don’t listen to reason. Hold me and keep me within you.
You gasp at the feel of his hard tip prodding at your slit. Your sweet, pathetic old man, painfully begging for permission. Couldn’t wait more to be as close as possible. What relief you bring to his weary heart.
In answer, you wrap your heels around his hips.
Like the first drag of a cigarette after months of quitting, it’s immediate– serotonin flooding your brain as he pushes in, splitting you apart to make space for him inside you. Homecoming, finally.
“Does it hurt? Is that okay?” Higuruma whispers, face buried in your neck. Fuck, he can smell his Reds imprinted into your skin and it drives him insane.
“You feel good.” A slow thrust, it sends both of you reeling. “You feel really good.”
And because Higuruma, at his core, can’t let go of arguments, he smiles, “Do you do this with all your friends?”
What a man, making you plead your case at a one night stand. Like you two won’t be smoking behind the supermarket again tomorrow evening. Only from now on, you’d sit a bit closer to each other.
It’s not a secret how you feel towards him, it’s not like he doesn’t know. You play along with his teasing, his lazing fucking. Drawing the sweet moment out as long as possible.
“Of course, I make all my friends cum inside me. Even the girls, we manage somehow.”
Higuruma giggles, kissing you all over your face. “It’s just sex to you, isn’t it? I bet you won’t even call me back after.”
“I’ll block your number too, for good measure.”
“Then I’ll sue you. Alienation of affection, that’s a real thing. You’ll have to see me in court everyday, for years.”
He picks up pace suddenly, a hand creeping down to rub circles around your clit. It’s like you can read his mind– he’s not gonna last long, and he really wants to get you off first.
“Fuck, I don’t mind. Ah, nghhh, fuck– but Higuruma-san, do you think that’s possible? Can a Dunhill smoker and a Marlboro smoker really be more than friends?”
“The constitution forbids it.” The lawman suckles on a nipple, the final stretch of what might do you in. “But I’d go against the law for you.”
He knows he’s succeeded in making you finish when he can feel you contracting around his dick, so tight it makes him choke. Just a win after win, today.
His age is starting to show, he needs a good break of doing nothing but lying in your bed afterwards. Hairfall and only one good cum a day, two if he’s prayed– that’s what a lifetime of stress and nicotine addiction does to you.
He envies your young blood, up and about so soon. He’d kinda wanted to cuddle, but it’s okay, he supposes.
Instead he finds you offering him a cigarette. He forces himself to sit up against the wall, blankets pulled around the two of you, your head on his shoulder. The Kuromi ashtray waits nearby. The stars look so pretty outside your bedroom window, flickering through the haze of your mixed fumes.
He can’t wait to smoke with you again tomorrow.
a/n: higuruma hiromi i waited years for my husband. he's got an honest, hardworking size of about 5.6 inches or 14.2 cm, and he's a shower unless he's in an ice bath. i'm sorry but i won't let him hang orc dong. please reimagine the entire sex scene with a comfortable cock.
also, what? a higuruma fic without him eating pussy? fear not, for i covered that years ago here <3
please read the og smoking behind the supermarket with you manga it makes me froth at my mouth seeing tamayo tease that old man
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