Putting his shoes in the rack, and loosening his tie with two fingers, Kento's hands magnetised to your hips, and his lips to your forehead.
He hummed at the plastic-sealed game in your hands.
"I may be wrong, but I believe the enjoyment of a game comes through playing it yourself."
The game cover was a jagged mash of reds and blacks-- something grotesque, Kento had no doubt-- and you grimaced, apologetic.
"The thing is, I want to play it, but I just...can't. I don't think I could handle it, but...I could watch?"
Kento looked flatly at the game case. Your words still didn't seem to register.
"...you...just want to watch?"
"Yes."
"Watch me play it?"
"Yes."
"Wh-- ...never mind. Alright. I'll play it for you."
You gasped in joy, pressing a wet kiss to his cheek, and jumping onto the sofa. Kento huffed, his half-smile painting his irritation as false. With bags of sweets, snacks, fluffy blankets and the lights off, you had clearly placed money on him saying yes.
Kento sat, unbuttoning the top of his shirt, and watching you set the game up.
"It's a horror, I assume?"
"You assume right. You've got a camera, and there are ghosts, and an abandoned creepy village and you're trapped--"
A cool hum, unfazed. Kento leaned back, unbothered as the title screen opened, and he clicked through settings, suddenly sixteen again. The game began, the cut scene telling a tale of woe, and the barest hints of the dreadful, mangled spirits to come.
You chirped, hiding all of your toes beneath a blanket. Your body pressed to Kento's side, and he grunted, sweeping your legs over his lap without looking away from the screen. You crammed a sweet into your mouth, adorably wide-eyed enough to make Kento huff with a crooked smile.
You were an easy target for games like this; your vivid imagination and skittishness fell victim to haunting ambience, hook, line and sinker. Kento was safe-- slick, analytical, more method than man.
By the first ghosts, you threatened to pull the blanket over your eyes.
By the first fight, you jumped hard enough to upend popcorn all over Kento's lap, squealing and flapping your hands as Kento chastised you ("Darling-- you're a Sorcerer, for god's sake--").
By the boss fight, you had buried your face in Kento's neck, your arms throttling him as you clung for dear life. Kento grunted again, as concentrated as he was as a teenager, and paused the game for just long enough to lift you into his lap, rest his chin on your head and finish the fight. Two broad arms bracketed you, while clever fingers did their duty.
Kento finished the fight. He breathed out, completely unshaken, and looked down at you mulishly, gently scolding. You swallowed hard to feel him twitch inside his pants against your lower back. His voice was gravelly, the room still bathed in ghoulish light.
"I think that's quite enough for one night."
You looked up at him, suppressing laughter at yourself. Your voice was sickeningly sweet, coy, and you stroked your fingers down his chest, whispering.
"My hero."
Another hum, and a rumbling moan as your fingers hit his zipper. Kento took his spoils, your kisses a boon, and pressed you back into the sofa, deepening his kiss until his tongue stroked for entry, and you felt molten promise pit in your belly.
Without warning, Kento pulled back with a sigh. He sat in the corner of the sofa, mellowsoft eyes on you in a determined half-smile. Your mouth watered as he unzipped himself, hooked his aching cock out and held it in his palm. He offered one slow stroke, a bead of pre cum trickling down his fingers.
As you crawled towards him, Kento held up his other hand to halt. You obeyed, close to a whimper, as Kento scolded you, and began stroking himself to a ragged moan and spreading thighs.
𐙚 — I’m the Type to Bend Over, Take all the D*ck !
𐙚 JJK men [GOJO+GETO, CHOSO, HIGURUMA, NANAMI, TOJI+SUKUNA] x fem!reader | artwork by @/thatsallitchief | divider by @/cursed-carmine | mdni | m.list
𐙚 If there was anybody on campus that everyone wanted to get their hands on, it was you. Luckily for some guys, their wishes came true.
𐙚 a/n: these are separate but if you squint hard enough they’re connected :p
𐙚 Satoru Gojo ! ft. 𐙚 Suguru Geto !
[blowjob, slight hair pulling]
It all started at frat!jo's party.
“Well aren’t you just the prettiest star with my cock in your mouth?”
Satoru’s hand had a fistful of your hair, holding you steady while he fucked that pretty throat of yours. He finally got his hands on you after trying for for-fucking-ever. Satoru liked pretty things, and the way his heart leapt the moment his eyes landed on you for the first time was cartoonish. And it seemed you were friends with everyone except him! Even his twin brother ?! But fuckkk it was worth the wait.
“Fuck- that’s a good girl take it.” Your eyes, your pretty eyes looked up at the white haired male while he stared right back down at you. He moans at the way your knees spread on the floor, skirt hiked upon your waist while your fingers teased that pearl between your legs. So wet, the eye rolling whimpers making your pussy throb. “Gonna c—um so deeep down your- fuck- throat star.”
Frantic fingers rubbed at your clit, hips rutting against the wet fingers. Saliva began to leak down your chin, tears caught up in your waterline. And Satoru…oh Satoru. Your hips sputter against your fingers- they didn’t feel fast enough to match the speed he fucked your throat. Pretty blue eyes rolled, mouth falling open as he pushed your head deeper onto his big cock, warm globs of cum filled the space while your pussy fluttered, swallowing every drop.
“Now Satoru, who throws a party and isn’t even present- woah.” The door opens, pretty boy Suguru Geto stares at the scene in shock. Now, he’s walked in on Satoru plenty of times, but the shocker was you.
You smack Satoru’s hand in your hair, his eyes shooting open as you released him from your mouth. “Sh-Shit star wait m’still sensitive-“ All 8 thick inches, pink tip leaking sadly at the loss of warmth
“Shut up! I thought you locked the door? Stupid.”
It’s Suguru who closes the door (after stepping in and locking it). “I got to say, I’m quite surprised to see you Y/N. Thought you didn’t like Satoru.” A teasing smirk raises on his lips, Satoru’s long arm wrapping around your shoulder, cock throbbing against your skirt.
“Was all just sexual tension, right star?” A slap to your ass has you scoffing.
“You come to join Suguru?” He asks excitedly, and that’s how you ended up with your skirt wrapped in Suguru’s fist while he fucked you into Satoru’s mattress like his life depended on it. The white haired man watching while he stroked his sensitive cock to match Suguru’s rhythm. Other than the beats of the music outside, the rhythmic thump ! thump ! creak-thump ! of Satoru’s bed showed. the poor wall behind it no mercy.
“Mmmhp- f-fuck slow down-“ Breathless broken moans pouring into the soft material below you. So wet that Suguru slipped in and out of you with ease, his thick cock head bullying that sweet spot inside of you. So deep that your pussy squeezed around him, the wet squelches of your pretty cunt messily painting a white ring around his cock.
“Hah— hahhh fuck Angel- y’feel so good..”
“S-Sugu-“ Your broken whines send Satoru’s thumb to cover his tip, cum threatening to spill over that pretty face of yours. Suguru shudders, eyes squeezing shut. His hand finds the center of your back, pushing you down to deepen your arch. “O-OH—!” Your body trembles, his biggg dick slipping even deeper into your waiting heat.
“Gonna cum so deep Angel- shit- shit— cumming…fuckkkk”
Fuck. Satoru wanted to take a picture at the scene, his cum splattering across of your face while Suguru’s cock was buried to the hilt as he filled you up, and you better not waste anything.
𐙚 Choso Kamo !
[ sex while under the influence, smoking during sex, fingering, squirting ]
You’ve always been plug!Choso's favorite customer.
You never once had to pay for a damn thing, all he asked for was company while he smoked. Choso who liked you so much (just as much as about anyone) he bought you pretty pink papers to roll your weed up in.
“Stop..teasing Cho.”
Choso who spoiled you so much he called you Princess, and you didn’t mind. The same man who had his pretty lips wrapped around your lipgloss stained blunt. Red eyes low while he lazily rubbed the thick tip of his dick over your cum coated hole. Like the princess you were, you had that pretty back arched for him just the way he liked you to, pink lacy panties pulled to the side.
“It’s so wet princess..” He sighs, tilting his head back as he took a hit of the blunt, inhaling the smoke before passing it down to you.
See, Choso liked taking his time with you. Every movement he made during sex was calculated, he knew what spots made you scream, and he knew what spots would have you squirting all over his bed. Many people wanted you, but Choso had you. He didn’t want to date, just company while he smoked…and pussy.
With his focus on that pretty gaping hole of yours, ready to take him again, Choso fed you like you wanted- like she wanted. Low groan escaping his lips, your eyes closing feeling yourself make room for his big dick as you sucked him in. His hands trembled lightly at your hips, fingers digging into your skin. Inch by inch he pushed all those inches deep inside.
“Mmmfuck Cho-“ You gasp softly, your other hand fisting the sheets while he rocked against you steadily. Your lips kissed the blunt, inhaling the smoke. The moment you took that deep breath, Choso pulls allll the way out with a pop ! before shoving his cock all back in.
“Shitttt, Princess.” He whines, your warm gummy walls swallowing him, begging him to go deeper. But Choso knew what you wanted, he always knew. Shaky hands hold the blunt up towards him. The room stuffy with sex and weed. The slapping of skin echoing throughout as he pounded into that pretty pussy slow but so hard. “Need to fill you up hm?”
The blunt passed back and forth between you two, the pap pap pap sound getting louder by the second. “A-Ahh Cho——w-wait fuck-“ Your head was spinning, mouth agape while he hit that spot over and over again. Drool spilled from your lips, and Choso looked down with those red eyes…
You cry out, the blunt between you two gets put out by Choso so he could fuck you faster with no distractions.
The sight so pretty he wanted to take a picture. “Rub that pretty clit for me princess…that’s right- good girlll.”
Bite marks on the back of your shoulders (that he’d definitely get yelled at for later), your pussy sucking him in and creaming. That white ring getting bigger and bigger by the second. “Right there-“ You groan, fingers making quick work of the sensitive pearl between your legs as you leaked down your fingers.
“Mmm right here?” He smirks down at you, biting his lip while he angled for that spot— that spot he knew drove you crazy.
It only made him want to go faster. To cum inside of you again. “Wanna see this hole— mmph— dripping when m’done-“ Your eyes roll, a shuddering sigh as your body relaxes, a cool breeze pouring over you, your pussy squeezing around him- milking him.
“Th-There she is..” Choso buries himself inside of you, angling at that spot to pour alll of his cum into. “Hahhh fuck..” He lets his head fall back, letting out a soft groan as he planted his seed.
“Spread open, princess.” his voice soft in your ear, inch by inch of his slick coated cock pulling out from your leaking pussy.
“mmmph..” you hold your pussy open for him, his cum seeping out and dripping down onto the soft surface of his bed. Your fingers take a quick dip inside, a small sigh leaving your lips while you throbbing around the digits as more of his cum poured out. Choso always came a lot.
Choso stroked his cock at the sight. Both of you sensitive to the slight overstimulation. But you held it open for him, and his cock slips right back in and out, in and out as you tug gently at your clit. Your legs had a slight tremble to them, eyes squeezing shut while he rutted back into you.
𐙚 Nanami Kento !
[choking, squirting]
It’s always a hassle when you don’t want to go to the gym with 𐙚 med student!Nanami, after promising you’d lock in this time.
“M-M’sorry Nana- f—fuck s’too deep-“
“Hahh…You’re not sorry, sweetheart. You do this every week.”
Your poor couch wasn’t ready for the “at home” exercise Nanami had planned for you this week.
“Does it hurt?” He hums. The firm grip on the back of your neck loosened. Your breath unsteady as your legs shook with a wet globing mess of his cum mixed with your juices trailing allll down your thighs. Shaking your head, you hiccuped, the cushion pillow beneath your head caught majority of your cries and pleasure filled tears.
“Feels good…” You whine, pretty pussy squeezing around Nanami’s thick cock that was buried to the hilt inside of you.
“Yeah? Where does it feel good sweetheart?” He coos, voice soft in your ear. Nanami’s hips pull back, dragging his longgg cock with him until the thick head pops ! out of your pussy. He took a long swipe of his cum pouring from your hole before he thrusted back in all at once. You squeal, the grip on your neck tightening back to just the way you liked it- the way Nanami knew you liked it.
“Ri—-ight there- !” A sharp gasp is pulled from your body, Nanami’s hand finding a grip on your ass cheek to see the mess he was making. Sweet groans spilled. Nanami’s glasses began to fog. He throws his head back, biting down on his lip with a small smack ! of your ass that has your pussy squeezing around him.
“Yeah? You like when I fuck you here sweetheart?” Cock bullying your puffy pussy. You swear you could feel him right in your heart with the repeated thrust thrust thrust he poured into you. And fuckkk you were so wet, Nanami couldn’t help the loud whine dripping from his lips.
“—-um— gonna…gonna cum ‘gin Nana.” Your eyes squeeze shut. Your warning whimpers did nothing for the man pounding into you. He made it worse- thick fingers leaving your ass to that pretty pearl right between your legs. “Nana-“
“She’s taking me so well, sweetheart.” His thrusts slowed, fingers rubbing circles around your sensitive clit that has your hips jerking. “Listen to that…” The wet sounds echoing across your apartment alongside your moans would definitely be a complaint from your neighbor later.
The fingers worked at your clit. Pound after pound he poured into you, tugging at the sensitive nerve until he felt that wet splash onto his thighs. “Fuck fuck— fuck !” The loud broken whimper of your high came crashing down, Nanami’s fingers still rubbing- his cock still fucking into you while you squirted.
“Good girl, sweetheart.” His hand leaves your neck, his body feeling hot as he leaned over you, kissing the pretty tears away from those pretty eyes. “So good for me, hm?” He cums with a shuddering sigh deep into your womb. The warmth making you shiver, repeated kisses littering your cheek as you panted against the pillow.
“We’re going to the gym tomorrow. Right sweetheart?”
𐙚 Toji Fushiguro ! ft. Ryomen Sukuna !
[degrading: reader gets called a slut, blowjob, fingering, spanking, choking, public sex, anal]
Now, college is fun. You’re a smart girl who has good grades. A smart girl who likes to party and have fun also. But too much fun can cause you to get pulled over by your favorite policemen. Unfortunately, the moment you got pulled over this time you were fucked.
“I know this car. Damn, you must like getting pulled over doll?”
“Tsk tsk. Brat, can’t stay out of trouble, can you?”
The taunting voices of 𐙚 police officer ! Toji and 𐙚 police officer ! Sukuna had you sighing as they knocked on your window.
Sukuna lets out a laugh, the both of them leaning on either side of your door— Toji taps the window with a smirk on his face. You let your windows down as you leaned your head on your steering wheel.
“What is it this time? You high?” Sukuna asks, straight up as he peered into your window. It wasn’t your first time getting pulled over by the two- in fact it’s always them when you get pulled over, and fuck they loved their job a bit too much when it came to you.
“No sir…” Which wasn’t entirely a lie, you were high but you’re sober now from how long you were over at Choso’s…
“Mmmhm. So why’re y’swervin like that this time of night, doll face?” Toji gruffs out as he shakes his head, tapping the roof of your car. “Cmon get out, you know the routine.”
Sukuna watched as you unbuckled your seatbelt, and he opens the door for you. The pink haired man’s flashlight flashed into your car as per the protocol, but you all knew they weren’t really going to arrest you.
Two of Toji’s thick fingers beckon you forward. His eyes trailing up your exposed legs curiously, a smirk curling in the corner of his scarred lip. It really wasn’t a good time. You were in really short shorts with one of Choso’s t-shirts that was a bit big on your frame that it exposed your bite mark littered shoulder, and the faint hickey’s littering your neck. No bra.
And then he got a realll good look at you. Your face flushed in embarrassment (and something more), your lips puffy looking, and most importantly…you squeezed your thighs together. Even Sukuna caught on and gave a knowing look to his partner.
“Hiding somethin’?” Sukuna’s deep voice from behind you sent shivers down your spine.
“No sir, Officer Sukuna.” You squeak. His body walking around yours as he looked you up and down, curious brow raised. Toji snorts, patting his shoulder as the taller man joined his side.
“Who was it this time? That Gojo boy?”
“Or is it the uhh- shit- what’s the long haired ones name?”
“Suguru Geto?”
“Yeah that one.”
The two cops laugh, beginning to talk about how much Satoru got on their nerves and how many parties they’ve had to give warning to. You roll your eyes, shifting in your step. “It was neither.”
Toji licks his lips as their focus turns back towards you. “Alright doll face. Sure I don’t need to check between those legs this time?” You bite your lip at the footsteps nearing you again. His thumb grazes your chin, tilting your head up and fuck he smelled good.
“I’m sure, Officer Fushiguro.” Your voice sweet, innocent sounding just the way everyone hears it while you bat those pretty lashes….Except Toji knew it was bullshit the moment you started acting sweet. His eyes narrow. Pulling back from you he starts walking to their car, talking Sukuna on the shoulder. The taller man pulls you in by your waist.
“What I tell you ‘bout lying brat? Hm?”
The road was dark apart from the orange hue of the campus streetlights nearby. Your body was hot as you whimpered against the dark hairs resting at the base of Toji’s cock, bent over with your legs spread, Choso’s cum leaking down your pussy while Sukuna spreads the soft skin of your ass open to watch.
“Lost your damn mind, doll face.” His big cock stretching your fucked lips, his hand finding your hair and tugging. A loud smack ! to your ass as you squealing around the twitching muscle, pre cum sliding down your throat.
Toji finds a slow steady rhythm at first, and oh…those pretty eyes looked up at him. “That’s it…take it.”
“You spoil her too much.” The man behind you huffs at his partner. Toji tugs at your hair, pulling a moan right out of you while he smirked.
“Shit- can’t help it. She’s s’pretty —heh- with my dick in her mouth. Aren’t you doll face?” He groans, saliva dripping down to his heavy balls that slapped against your chin.
You hear the clink of Sukuna’s belt being unbuckled, those thick fingers caressing your clit, making you shiver as you rolled your hips slightly for more friction. However, cum still dripped from that pretty pussy. “Gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.” He curses before those two fingers slip into your hole with ease- with familiarity. A loud squelch ! echoed throughout the dark road as he curled them inside of your heat.
“Fuckin slut.” And his fingers reached deep, causing you to squirm. You whine, hips pushing back. “Mmmph ‘Kuna-“ Your moans muffled. Your hand found the thick of Toji’s thighs to steady yourself while he fucked your throat.
“Tch, he pumped you full too.”
He adds another finger, the trio working you open. When it came down to Sukuna and Toji, you genuinely had to brace yourself. Toji’s cock slips from your mouth for you to take a breath, “Tongue out.” His hand holds your chin, watching your mouth fall open.
“That’s a good girl.” He stroked his cock with the collected spit. Two long strokes of his deep pink cock, the tip thick and almost red. Two thick veins underlined it down to his base. He tapped it against the flat of your tongue. Your tongue licks the dribble of pre cum, kissing the gorgeous tip. You hear Sukuna let out a soft groan behind you, his thumb rubbing your clit as his fingers fucked you faster.
“right there-“ you gasp, your eyes fluttering shut for a. “p-please m’so close ‘Kuna—“
“Gonna take care of you doll face.” Like they always did.
“Let us show you grown men fuck.”
“You’re really hardheaded. Thought I told you I didn’t want this pussy to be filled the next time I fucked you?”
Your head leaned back onto Toji’s shoulder, his big hand squeezing around your throat. “Sh-Shit— ahh- ah please!” Fast fingers rubbed at your clit. His cock fucking into the welcoming hole of your ass, while Sukuna’s big hands held your thighs spread wide open.
“Please what?” His hips slammed into yours, biggg cock stretching out the gummy walls of your pussy wide.
“Can’t take it-“
“Oh you can take it.” Toji huffs in your ear, the flushed head of his cock slipping in and out… in and out with ease. The sticky mess acting as lubricant between your legs. Your legs that shook violently in Sukuna’s grasp.
“M-Mhm..feels s’good don’t it?”
“Yes—! Yesohfuckohfuck”
They found a steady fast rhythm that had you hiccuping. The sounds of skin slapping and your incoherent moans echoed throughout the dark road. Anyone could drive by and see you being fucked by them.
Toji’s groans were loud in your ear. “Takin’ us s’good doll face…like a goood slut.”
“To—ji!” You whimper.
His grip on your neck loosening, “Yeah? You like that pretty girl? Like us fillin’ you up?” and he coos, bringing his fingers to your lips, “Spit.”
Saliva drips down your chin, the gathered spit going straight between your legs. You yelp, hips bucking as the feeling rushes over you. The wet splash between your legs splattered, only making them go faster.
Sukuna lets out a warning grunt. His face a light shade of pink, sweat dripping down his forehead. “Gonna fill you up the way I want to. Understand brat?”
“mm-‘hmm” You whine out, lips parting, your moans growing louder by the second. Between the cocks filling your holes, the fingers rubbing your clit, and the hand around your throat- fuck you could do this for days.
“Dont ever let me catch you like this again.” Sukuna’s voice was hot in your ear, Toji’s chuckle following after. Your insides were so warm. Letting out a breathless moan, you relax against Toji’s chest. Your holes full as they pulled out.
…and as a safety precaution, Sukuna drove you back to your apartment while Toji drove your car there.
𐙚 Hiromi Higuruma !
[public sex, pussy eating]
𐙚 law student!Higuruma abided by campus rules- any rules for that matter. He did things fairly by the law, he was a future lawyer after all.
“I—oh fuck-!” Sometimes, he didn’t. Very rarely.
His hands were hot on your thighs as he held them up, your back against the cool polished wood of the table. Front and center in the campus courtroom used for mock trial. Hiromi found his face buried comfortably between your legs.
His tongue lapped at your slick coated folds, moaning at the taste. Higuruma loved being between your legs after all. The way he ate you out with care, his nose rubbing against your clit. Your pussy dripping with saliva and your juices.
“You taste heavenly, have I ever told you that my sweet girl?” The way he ate you with care, the smell of your body oil filling his nose while he dove deeper into your heat. His tongue took a long stripe up to your clit, carrying your juices with it while he sucked on that pretty pearl.
“Hiro— ah-ah-“ You whimper, withering in his grasp. Your hand found his hair, pulling him in deeper. His tongue slips into your hole, your warmth welcoming him, and he groans. Your slick made a mess of his chin, his lips, and his nose.
“Mmfuck sweet girl. Tase’ so good.” His eyes close for a second, just taking in you. Fuck you drove him crazy. He lets up for just a bit, big eyes staring up at your skirt. You were still in your outfit, panties pulled to the side while he tongue fucked you.
“M’so close Hiro…f-fuck keep licking there.” The sloppy sound of Higuruma salvaging his meal echoed throughout the large empty room, sky dark outside. You were in there after the building closed for the day after all, even after the janitor did his rounds.
Two of his fingers slip there way into your hole making you squirm. He curls his fingers alongside his tongue, pressing up against that sweet spot inside of you. Your legs shook.
“Give it to me…You know what I want.” He spits a fat glob into your hole, fucking it right into you as as he panted, smug smile on his lips as he loosed his tie. You let yourself fall apart, his fingers reaching deeper into your pretty pussy.
“Gonna cum Hiro-“ You whimper. Higuruma’s tongue latches back onto your sensitive clit with such a loud nasty suck. “Ohh oh fuck- shit- shit- Hiromi!”
He still sucked on your pearl as you squirted. His fingers still fucking sloppily into your pussy, the wet squelch getting wetter by the second. You whine, pushing his head away, you pussy throbbing from the hard wave of your orgasm.
Table wet beneath you, legs spread wide open after Higuruma stands up straight to look down at your panting body. His tongue swiped across his lips. Painfully hard cock straining his pants. His thumb traced sweet circles on your inner thighs, cooing softly. “Such a good girl…mm I have to reward you now, don’t I?” His warm body leans over yours, wet kisses trailing up your body until they landed on your lips.
You whine, tasting yourself on his tongue. He pulled your legs to wrap around his waist, your hands wrapping around his shoulders as you pulled him in closer. He rutted against your unclothed pussy, groaning softly into your mouth. “On your stomach.” He taps your thigh gently.
Now, Higuruma made sure you stayed out of trouble. You were his sweet girl after all. He took care of you in the best ways that he could while keeping up with his studies. He didn’t worry about any other guys, because Higuruma knew the way he made you break had you coming back to him each and every time.
“This is what you wanted, am I right?” His hips slam against your ass, the grip on your hips firm but gentle. Your hands held on to the front of the table, as you look back at him. His tired eyes were closed, head tilted back in pleasure, adam’s apple moving as he swallowed. Higuruma’s hair was tousled from the way you pulled on it, and his face a sweet shade of red.
“Just- just what I needed Hiro…” You moan, lips falling open. It was no secret that Higuruma’s dick was big, dark and pretty, long enough to kiss that spot inside of you and farther with every thrust. And your pussy loved it. Loved the feeling of being full of Hiromi Higuruma’s cock, the top law student of his class.
“Yeah?” His hand comes down on your ass with a smack ! making you moan louder.
“Yes—fuck yes!”
“You’re always running back to me Sweet Girl.” He deepens your arch, pushing the center of your back just a bit before he picked up pace. Smack ! Smack ! Smack ! the room echoed. Higuruma swallowed all of your broken moans. Your legs shaking, the grip on the table turning your palms white.
His hand rubs your back, to your shoulders, to the front of your neck. You yelp as he pulls your head back, your mouth open as pleasure filled tears slip from your pretty eyes. “Look at you…so beautiful.” He shudders. “Want me to cum inside?”
You’ve never said yes more quickly in your life. You could feel him deep inside, bulging your stomach. Higuruma lets out a groan, hand hot against your neck. “Rub your clit for me sweet girl, wanna cum at the same time.” He grunts, his deep groans like music to your ears.
Fingers rub at your slik coated clit, your pearl tingling with every thrust- with every touch. Your whole body buzzed, eyes rolling. “M-Mgonna cum— fuck fuck I f-feel it- Oh-!”A loud moan is ripped from you with one final thrust from the man, his cock buried to the hilt as he cums deep inside of you, fucking every last bit into that pretty pussy.
He pulls out once soft, not even the slightest drop of cum spilling. “Hold it in.” The hold on your neck softens, and you lay your head on the table, body tired. Sweet kisses litter your back as you panted.
olderbf!nanami who never rushes you, no matter how impatient you get. you’re standing in front of your closet, frustrated, pulling out dresses and tossing them onto the bed.
"i have nothing to wear," you groan. he’s sitting in the armchair by the window, his tie already loosened, watching you with that calm, steady gaze.
"we have forty-five minutes," he says, his voice low and even. "take your time."
you huff, turning to face him. "you’re always so patient. it’s annoying."
he smiles, small and fond. "i’ve waited forty years to find you. i can wait forty-five minutes for you to pick a dress."
olderbf!nanami who always makes sure you eat before you leave the house. you’re running late, your heels clicking on the kitchen floor as you grab your purse.
"we’re going to be late," you say, already halfway to the door.
he steps in front of you, a plate in his hand—toast with avocado, a soft-boiled egg, sliced fruit arranged neatly. "eat first."
you stare at him. "nanami, we don’t have time—"
"we have time," he interrupts gently, setting the plate on the counter. "you’re not leaving this house on an empty stomach. sit."
you sit. you always do. because when he looks at you like that—like taking care of you is the most important thing in the world—you can’t say no.
olderbf!nanami who never raises his voice, even when you’re being difficult. you’re arguing about something stupid—where to go for dinner, maybe, or whether you should cancel plans to stay in—and your voice is getting louder, your hands gesturing wildly.
he just stands there, hands in his pockets, watching you. "you’re not even listening!" you snap.
"i am," he says quietly. "i’m listening to every word. and when you’re done, we’ll talk about it calmly. like adults."
you deflate, your anger fizzling out. "you’re too kind to me," you mutter.
he steps forward, his hands finding your waist. "you’re worth the kindness."
olderbf!nanami who takes his time undressing you, like every layer is a gift he’s unwrapping. you’re in his bedroom, the lights dimmed, and you’re already reaching for his belt, impatient, wanting him now.
"slow down," he murmurs, catching your hands. "we have all night."
you pout. "i don’t want to wait."
he leans down, his lips brushing your ear. "i know, baby. i know. but i’m going to make you wait. because the longer i take, the better it’ll feel when i finally touch you." he undresses you slowly, his fingers working each button, each zipper, until you’re standing in front of him in nothing but your underwear. he steps back, his eyes raking over you. "beautiful," he says. "now lay down."
olderbf!nanami who eats you out like it’s a meditation, like he could spend hours between your thighs and never get bored. you’re on your back, your legs over his shoulders, and he’s taking his time, his tongue moving in slow, deliberate strokes.
"n-nanami—please—" you gasp, your hands fisting the sheets. he looks up at you, his mouth glistening.
"patience," he says, his voice calm even as he slides two fingers inside you. "i’m going to make you cum. but i’m going to do it my way." he curls his fingers, finding that spot that makes your vision blur, his tongue circling your clit with agonizing precision.
you’re moaning, your hips rolling, but he holds you down with one hand on your stomach. "stay still," he orders gently. "let me take care of you."
olderbf!nanami who fucks you slow and deep, his hips rolling in a rhythm that has you seeing stars. you’re on your stomach, your face pressed into the pillow, and he’s behind you, his chest pressed to your back, his cock buried so deep you can barely breathe.
"nanami—h-harder!!—" you beg, trying to push back against him. he stills, his hand sliding up your spine to grip the back of your neck.
"no," he says, his voice firm but kind. "you take what i give you." he starts moving again, each thrust deliberate, each roll of his hips dragging against your walls in a way that makes you sob. "you feel that?" he murmurs against your ear. "that’s me. all of me. and you’re going to take every inch, just like this. until you can’t think about anything but how full you are."
olderbf!nanami who makes you ask for what you want, his voice low and commanding. you’re straddling him, his cock inside you, but he’s not moving.
he’s just watching you, his hands on your hips, his thumbs stroking your skin.
"p-please, i.... i can't—" you whimper, trying to roll your hips. he holds you still.
"use your words," he says. "tell me what you want."
"i-i want you to move," you gasp. "i want you to fuck me."
he smiles, small and satisfied. "good girl. now ask nicely."
you bite your lip, your face burning.
"please fuck me, nanami. please."
he rewards you with a slow thrust upward, his cock hitting that spot inside you that makes you moan. "that’s it," he praises. "that's my girl."
olderbf!nanami who holds you after, his arms wrapped around you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. you’re lying on his chest, your body still trembling, your mind fuzzy with pleasure.
he’s stroking your hair, his lips pressed to the top of your head. "you did so well," he murmurs. "so beautiful. so perfect." you nuzzle closer, your eyes already drifting shut.
"you’re too good to me," you whisper. he kisses your forehead.
"no such thing. you deserve everything. and i’m going to give it to you for as long as you’ll let me."
olderbf!nanami who wakes you up in the morning with his mouth between your legs, because he’s not done taking care of you yet. you’re half-asleep, your body warm and heavy, when you feel his hands on your thighs, spreading you open.
"nanami—" you start, but then his tongue is on you, and you’re gasping, your hands flying to his hair. he looks up at you, his eyes dark.
"good morning," he says, his voice rough with sleep. "lay back. let me love you." and you do. because when nanami wants to be patient, you let him. every single time.
QIFREY happens upon your small village looking for spell casting materials. but when a storm hits, he stumbles across something that might be too much for him to handle…
contents: fem!milf!reader x QIFREY , smut (MDNI), fingering, teasing, nipple play, multiple orgasms, ȯverstimulation, unprotected ṣex, finishing inside, pet names (ma'am, darling, miss, beautiful, baby for reader, sir for QIFREY), breeding kink
wc: 1.7k
“Hm, no honeytrees here…”
The silver-haired man turns his gaze upwards towards the clouds, dark and rumbling in the distance. “I didn’t realize I had to go so far out into the countryside to find one.” He murmurs. “And with a storm coming. How untimely.”
Heavy droplets of rain are falling by the time your village comes into his view. Circling his pen over his palm quire, he shields himself from the rain, slowly making his way towards the nearest house.
I suppose I’ll ask a local for directions, he thinks with a sigh.
Rapping on the door, he’s expecting an average villager to open the door, but-
Oh.
You peek through the crack in the door. “Hello? Can I help you?”
Even with only half your body exposed, Qifrey is speechless. Voluptuous curves, gentle eyes, soft skin peeking through the crack—shit.
You’re exactly his type.
Regaining his composure, he manages to force out words. “Hello there! Sorry for intruding. I was wondering if you knew where to find honeytrees? I heard they were native to this region.”
You pull the door open and he sets his gaze on your eyes, trying so very, very hard not do let his eyes trail down to your swelling cleavage.
“Of course!” You smile. “But it’s raining rather hard outside right now—please do come in! I’ll give you the directions later.”
Qifrey hesitates. “I really appreciate it, ma’am, but I really must get going-”
“Please, sir, this storm is sure to continue for a while. It’s late too, look at the time! Rest here while you can, I insist,” you urge, hands on your very wide, very lovely hips. “It’ll be nice and warm in here.”
He swallows. “I- really, that’s not necessary-” But before he can get another word out, you drag him inside.
It’s warm and cozy in your home, Qifrey admits to himself.
“Please, sit down. Make yourself comfortable, sir,” you chime, hurrying to the kitchen. “I’ll make tea.”
He resigns himself to your sofa, his weary body sinking into the pillows. Glancing around, he notices a shining picture frame hung above the crackling fireplace.
“That’s my daughter,” you beam from the kitchen. “Isn’t she just the cutest?” Your smile threatens Qifrey’s heart rate as you stroll back into the living room, teapot and teacups in hand.
“You have a daughter?” He tilts his head.
“Yes, sir, I do. 5 years old this year.”
Handing him a steaming cup of tea, you return his question. “Do you have children?”
He pauses for a moment, taking the teacup from you. Images of his apprentices spring to mind. “Well,” Qifrey quirks a smile. “Yes, I suppose I do. Three- no, four now.”
“Really now? For such a young man? I suppose you must be a real heartbreaker!” You laugh, pouring yourself a cup.
Qifrey tries to ignore the way his cheeks heat up. “No no, I can assure you, it’s nothing like that,” he hurriedly reassures. “It’s- they’re- adopted.”
“Ah, I see now. Still, being a father at your age must be tiring,” you respond with a gentle smile.
“I’m really not that young, miss…” he murmurs.
You raise an eyebrow. “How old are you, then?” you muse. But your voice is suddenly sultry, flirtatious, and it sends shivers down Qifrey’s spine.
You lean forward, your full, heavy breasts showing off aaaaall your cleavage dangerously close to Qifrey’s face. And this time, he can’t pull his gaze away.
“Old enough to be a father,” he manages out. You smirk, scooting closer to him. Your arm brushing his is enough to send sparks down his nerves. He can see you, all of you, in such breathtaking detail—the swelling curves of your breasts and hips, the roll of your tummy, the softness of your graceful hands. Even your nipples are visible, perky, peeking out through your sheer white nightgown. His dick twitches in under his robe.
“Really now?” you tease. Trailing a finger up his arm, you can’t help but giggle. How cute.
Leaning over, your lips to brush the shell of his ear, and you whisper so seductively that Qifrey nearly faints: “How fortunate.”
Qifrey bolts upright, standing stiff as a board. “Ma’am, I’m- flattered, truly, but- your child, your husband…we…” his stern voice falls to a hush. “We cannot do this.”
You look up at him. “Sir…my husband left this village a long time ago. While I was still pregnant.” You cast your eyes downward. “And my daughter is fast asleep. Has been for a while now, this late into the night” you crack a smile, giggling. “That girl can sleep through anything.”
Qifrey stills. “I’m sorry, ma’am, I didn’t realize…”.
You smile softly, shushing him. “Please, it’s no problem. I don’t mind, truly.”
Pausing, you fidget with your hands. “But if you’d truly like to make up for it…” you whisper, gliding your hand up Qifrey’s leg. “Please, let us…enjoy this moment together, if you would so like?”
It takes nothing more to collapse any of Qifrey’s remaining restraint.
He’s on you in a split second, gasping into your lips, kissing you ferociously.
So, so pretty. So soft.
He’s chanting mantras in his head as his hand slips underneath your thin nightgown, circling and teasing at your nipples.
“Oh- oh, please, sir- ” you gasp out, bucking and whining, grinding your hips into his. He moans into your lips, nudging your legs open with his knee. “You temptress,” he grunts, swallowing back a moan.
Your pussy twitches as his cold hands cup your tits. His thumbs run over your hardening, perky nipples, and you bite back a whimper.
“Such pretty, sensitive little nipples,” he purrs. “C’mere, darling.”
He bends over and mouths at your tits through your sheer nightgown. “You like me sucking on your tits, don’t you?” he smirks, tongue flicking your nipple. “Say it, beautiful.”
“Y-yes, I like it so much!”
His pale, slender hands grab at your waist and ass with desperation, pulling up the hem of your skirt. “Good girl,” he breathes. “You’re so obedient for me, ma’am.”
“Mm, sir, please,” you whine, back arching.
“Not sir. Qifrey,” he whispers into your ear, nipping at your neck. Your pussy twitches as his fingers dip into your slick folds. “Ugh- ”
His fingers twist and scissor inside you, the lewd squelching of his fingers turning your brain to mush. Thumb rubbing your red and puffy clit, Qifrey pulls a whine from your lips. “Aw, poor thing,” he coos. “But it feels so good, doesn’t it?”
You squeal as Qifrey rubs your clit faster and faster, his other fingers thrusting in and out of your hole as your juices leak out.
“C’mon, cum all over my fingers, beautiful,” he rasps. And with a cry, you climax, toes curling and eyes rolling back in your head.
“Fuck,” Qifrey breathes. Your cunt was puffy, slick shinning in the warm glow of the fireplace. He can’t help but spread your pussy lips open with his fingers, admiring your pretty, swollen clit.
Round, heavy tits heaving with effort, you lay back gasping for air. “Qifrey, I- oh!” You shriek as he flips you onto your stomach, grabbing your hips and lifting them—and suddenly, his cock plunges into you.
You’re so warm and soft and tight, Qifrey thinks, gritting his teeth. “I’m- gonna start moving, okay?” he hisses, shuddering as your tight hole contracts around him.
“Yes, please, fuck me!”
With a sharp smack to your ass, he bottoms out in you, leaking tip kissing your cervix. Qifrey’s eyes bore into the spot where you two are connected, watching his cock split your pussy apart.
“Mmm, you’re doing so well,” he laughs breathlessly. “You’ve got such a- hah- such a nice, juicy ass, too.”
With a groan, slaps your ass before grabbing your titties, bouncing and jiggling from the aggression of his thrusts, and he pinches at your nipples. “O-o-ohhh, f-fu-fuck!” you cry. “Fuck me harder, please~!”
“Yes ma’am.”
And with that, Qifrey’s thrusts become harder, faster, his balls slapping against your clit as he pounds your pussy. His hips are ferocious, his cock drilling into you so violently that it leaves your ass cheeks red and stinging.
Bending over you, he moves his hand down to your throbbing, dripping clit, rubbing the sensitive bud in quick circles.
Body trembling, you’re lost for words, only babbling out nonsense as he fucks you deeper and harder.
“Such a round, juicy ass and- ” Qifrey grabs your chin and twists you around to face him. “-such a sexy set of titties, fuck.”
He kisses you harshly, tongue thrashing and tangling with yours as you mewl into his mouth. “Naaaaasty lil’ pussy- hah- you looove this dick, don’t you? Dirty thing.”
You whine, pussy squelching in response, slick leaking down Qifrey’s cock as he hammers into your wet hole. “Yeah? Want me to pump you full of cum? Give you another cute lil’ kid?”
Qifrey’s grinning ear to ear, biting his lip as he imagines you round, plump, tits filled with milk. “Let me make you a mama, yeah?”
You moan, voice cracking. “Yes, yes, please Qifrey, breed me~” you babble. “Wan-want you to fill me with your cum, p-please?”
You’re batting your pretty eyelashes up at him, and the sight makes his cock twitch.
“Breed me, please?”
Oh, god help him.
He really can’t resist you, you and your juicy tits and jiggling ass, your softness, your sweetness. All of it has his pristine mind in shambles as he loses himself in fucking your tight, wet heat.
The plap-plap-plap of his balls against your soaking pussy has him whining with need just as much as you. “Pound me harder, c’mon, please, need your dick!” you moan out. “Make me cum a-again- ah~!”
Fingers bruising your hips, he nips and sucks at your neck. “Whatever you want, sweet thing-” One of his hands find your tit, flicking your nipples, while the other delves down to your bruised pussy, a finger sinking into your pussy next to his cock.
“Ooh, cumming, I’m- cumming!~”
With a squeal, you squirt slick all over his cock and fingers. Qifrey’s jaw drops open, letting out a long, drawn out moan. His balls clench, spurting his thick, hot seed into your abused, twitching cunt.
“Fuuuuck, baby, you- ah- feel so fucking good!” he hisses, eyes rolled back, hips bucking and stuttering to a stop against your ass.
Cock still twitching and stiff inside your pussy, you and Qifrey lay there for a long moment in silence, bathing in afterglow, a mess of sweaty bodies and heaving chests.
You’re still catching your breath when he breaks the silence.
“You…are incredible,” Qifrey breathes. “I’m sorry if I…went too rough. I’ll get you the right herbs, make sure you don’t take to my seed.”
He stands up, his pale skin still glimmering with sweat. “I’ll leave now, ma’am, I’m…thank you for the- oof!”
Your arm wraps around his slender waist, pulling him down into you.
“Stay a while longer…you still need those directions, right, honey?”
a/n: i'm alive! i had such a busy year but i'll be trying to write more now! missed you lovelies ₊˚⊹ 𑣲⋆｡˚ dividers from @/cursed-carmine !!
cw: smut, secret relationship, fem!reader, cunnilingus, softdom!qifrey (kinda), slight overstim, implied agegap, teacher x student, (qifrey needs that cookie) begging, multiple orgasms. lmk if i missed anything :)
a/n: dada qifrey
𖤓 Qifrey had always been careful about you. The two of you kept your relationship secret for months now, with stolen glances across the atelier, breif touches when his younger apprentices werent looking, and the occasional desperate nights where he risked everything just to touch you.
Most days, he could only leave small traces of himself behind. Like leaving you breakfast in the morning with a small ribbon tied against your fork. Or a small flower on the pillow next to you when you wake.
All this to remind you he was there, not just as a teacher, but as your lover. You were his eldest apprentice, who was almost an assistant to him and his apprentices.
But it had been so long since he touched you.
Too long.
When you returned to you quarters that evening, the door was already unlocked.
Qifrey stood at your window, cloak still on, with the settling sun catching the silver of his hair. He looked composed at first glance, but the tension in his shoulders, the way his lips pressed into the thin line, how his hands gripped the window sill told you everything.
“You shouldnt be here,” you whispered softly, though your voice lacked any real protest.
His gaze dropped to the floor before dragging up to yours. “I know,” he sighs, “I told myself I wouldnt come, but I couldnt stop thinking of you.”
He took a step closer, then another. “I’ve been patient.” theres a tick in his jaw. “It is not enough anymore.”
You stayed quiet, watching how his throat bobbed as he swallowed.
Qifrey’s voice lowered, almost gentle. “I need to taste you. Just once darling,” his voice cracked slightly with desperation. “Let me have that, wont you?”
You hesitated, and he seemed to sense it. He tilted his head, offering a small, knowing smile even as his eyes grew darker with want.
“You’ve already spread you legs for me once before without question,” he walked towards you, as you stepped back until the back of your legs met your bed. Your breath hitches but you sat on edge of the bed as he stood between your legs.
He gripped your jaw, tilting your head up to keep your eyes on him. “You can pretend you dont want it, but your body always tells me the truth.” He pushed you to lay down while he gets on his knees, spreading your legs to find you were wearing no underwear under your cloak and he groans.
One slender finger reached out and gently prods at your clit, circling it once with feather-light pressure.
“Poor thing,” he whispers, voice low and intimate, but he wasnt talking to you, he was talking to your cunt, as if you werent in the room. “She’s been keeping you from me, hasnt she? So swollen already…..I bet you’ve missed my tongue,”
Your breath caught, but he didnt acknowledge it. His fingers continued prodding at you cunt. “You want my mouth, dont you?” Only then does he look up at you, and you shakingly nod, embarrassed.
Qifrey exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for days. He lowers his head between your legs and dragged his tongue achingly slow from your entrance to you clit to suckle on the small bud like he couldnt get enough. Every few seconds he made soft wet noises, occassionally murmuring soft praises to you.
“So sweet….you taste so good….I missed this so much,”
You came the first time with a broken cry, thighs trembling around his head. He gave your thigh a soft slap before putting one finger to his lips, “shh shh shhh”, but his tongue was back on you in no time. Qifrey never stopped, if anything, he moaned against your cunt and kept going, licking through your orgasm and lapping at your juices like a starved man.
The sounds were disgusting, each slurp louder than the last while he groaned into you, trying to drink every last drop. When you tried to squirm away from the overstimulation, his grip tightened on your thighs, just enough to keep your still.
“Please do not run,” he breathed against your clit, the words vibrating through you. “Just a little more, you can take it, cant you?”
He flattened his tongue to drag completely over your folds, bobbing his head almost feverishly. “Its so good darling,” he whispered, before forcing his tongue into your fluttering hole, you whined loudly, gripping his hair in shock, he had never done that before. “Q-qifrey—“
His tongue explored you, thrusting in and out before he pulled out and sucked right against your opening, “haah— gods,” He sounded drunk now, voice hazy, words slurrying slightly as he licked and sucked with single minded focus.
His cock was painfully hard in his trousers, leaking so much aginst the fabric, but he didnt seem to care. All his attention stayed on your cunt as he worked you through your second orgasm. then a third. fourth. By now you were babbling nonsense, and frankly so was he.
“You s-said once— s’too much qifrey—“ you whined thrashing against his hold, too much pleasure for you to handle, it felt too good.
“I know, darling, I know, just one more for me?” Your hips bucked at his tone, you couldnt help yourself. By the fifth time you came, you were shaking so hard your legs no longer stayed open on their own. Qifrey held them apart with gentle but firm hands, still mouthing at your oversensitive clit like he could bare to stop.
“Good girl…” he whispered, finally pulling away watching your puffy clit twitch and jump. He looked up as you, lips and chin glistening, eyes glassy with unfocused lust. You knew that look.
“Qifrey—“
“Just one more,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “Please darling, I need it.”
Synopsis: your plan is to avoid your rival, now that you’ve both been hired as assistant librarians, to minimise the chances of getting into hours long debates and committing murder. the problem is that he's everywhere — helping you carry heavy boxes, scoffing at your choice of literature, eating you out in the back corner between the We Shouldn't Do This and the We'll Never Speak of This Again shelves. in all the bickering and orgasms, you're left with one question:
is the smell of books an aphrodisiac?
Canto III - The Dark Descent
℘ stakes have been added to the pot. you should stop letting him part your legs, should stop allowing him to light your fire, but no harm no foul if you guys just continue as you have been, no?
Warnings: smut, cunnilingus, public sexual activities/trying not to get caught, fucking in front of a mirror, inappropriate use of a cart/book/stamp, body marking, outercourse, cúm eating, kicking someone in the balls, rivals to lovers, not very slowburn at all, some dark humour, Nanami and reader being mean to each other, both are Classical Literature students, some sexual jokes, not proofread — actually not. this went through so many revisions I doubt it's even coherent (do let me know if you spot typos and inconsistencies, that would be very helpful!)
Word Count: 15.1k
Canto II - Masterlist - Canto IV
Low grunts fill the bathroom stall.
Your mouth is full with his cock, which he’s desperately thrusting inside you.
“God, look at you,” he rasps, a hand guiding your head back and forth on his impressive length. “So sweet and agreeable when you -hah fuck- have something to occupy that dirty mouth of yours, aren’t you?”
Soon as he clocked in this morning, he’d claimed victory over the fact that he was first to arrive. It was a flimsy excuse for a competition, but you let it slide. Nanami took you to the women’s bathroom — well, he initially tried to lure you to the men’s, and that just wasn’t going to happen so you dug your heels in — and was initially going to eat you out whilst you were sitting on the toilet lid but you insisted.
You roll your eyes. You’re always sweet and agreeable, just with people who aren’t bitter and hard to agree with because they’re wrong. Aggrieved, you grip his balls too fast and too hard all so you’d hear his sharp intake of air and feel his cockhead bump the back of your throat.
“Mm, fuck, I’m gonna cum.”
Tossing his head back, he explodes in your mouth with no other warning except for the final throbbing of his cock.
You swallow it all. Whilst you get to your feet, you think about how much easier it’s becoming for you to take him down your throat, for you to swallow his cum, and generally tolerate his entire being.
“Thank you,” he mutters.
“Don’t mention it,” you reply, wiping your lips.
He’s still panting by the time both of your phones ping.
“It’s Mrs. Collins,” you announce, frowning.
Nanami tucks himself back inside his slacks. “I wonder what she wants.”
The two of you exit, taking advantage of the fact that the library has yet to open to the general campus. You both wash your hands in relative silence as though he hadn’t been bruising your throat and smacking your chin with his swinging balls for the last ten minutes.
Outside is clear too.
You walk to her office, down from the second floor.
A little worried, you ask in a hushed voice, “You don’t think she knows what we’ve been doing, do you?”
He takes a second or two to think about it. Then, certain, or at least wanting to convince himself he’s certain, he answers, “No. We’ve been careful.”
Though as he says those words, you know that, with the awkward air hanging over you, neither of you really believe those words. The absolute truth is, you haven’t been very careful at all. In fact, it wouldn’t be a stretch to say you’ve been indulging in being careless too much; it turned you both on to know you could be caught by anyone at any second.
Eventually, you both reach her door. You knock.
“Good morning, Mrs. Collins,” you say in unison.
She’s sitting behind her desk, rubbing at her temple with one hand and holding her reading glasses with the other. A beckon with her hand has you sliding in a seat across from her desk, Nanami in the other.
Despite yourselves, you share a glance — this looks serious.
Mrs. Collins exhales slowly, setting her glasses down on the desk with a soft clink.
“Yes, good morning,” she replies, though there’s a weariness in her voice that immediately puts you on edge. Her fingers press briefly to her temple again before she straightens, folding her hands together in a way that feels…rehearsed almost.
“I’ll get straight to the point,” she says. “No point in beating around the bus with you two.”
Your spine stiffens.
Beside you, Nanami goes still.
Is this it? Is she going to out you two for indecent behaviour? Is she going to reveal CCTV footage of your pussy being munched right by the feminist literature section and lecture you on the irony of it all? Did you leave behind evidence? A panty, drops of cum she got forensics to do DNA tests on, or witnesses?
Are you going to be fired?
Expelled?
Sent to jail?
Drawn and quartered?
“There have been some…adjustments made to the department budget.” She pauses, choosing her words carefully. “Unfortunately, the library has not been spared.”
A beat.
You feel your stomach drop — for a different reason than you’d been anticipating. Relief doesn’t settle inside. How could it when a different bomb’s been dropped on you?
“We’ve had our funding cut,” she continues, more firmly now. “Quite significantly.”
Silence settles over the room. You glance at Nanami, and he’s already looking at you — sharp, assessing, like he’s trying to piece together the implications before they’re fully spoken.
Mrs. Collins doesn’t leave you waiting long. “As a result,” she says, “I can only retain one of you through to the end of the academic year.”
The words land heavily. For a moment, neither of you reacts.
“What?” you blurt, sitting forward before you can stop yourself. “You can’t be serious.”
Nanami’s jaw tightens, though his tone stays controlled. “On what basis is that decision being made?”
Mrs. Collins sighs, as though she’s already had this conversation a dozen times in her head. “That,” she says, “is precisely the difficulty.”
You swallow, exchanging another quick glance with Nanami. You can see it in his expression too: the rug’s been pulled from under him. This wasn’t what he was expecting. Too much uncertainty rides along in her words.
Mrs. Collins continues, oblivious. “You’re both excellent in your own ways. Truly outstanding,” she says. “But I don’t have the resources to justify keeping you both on. So…” She leans back slightly, eyes moving between the two of you. “I’m giving you a choice.”
That growing knot in your stomach twists again.
“You may decide between yourselves,” she says plainly. “Or, I will observe your work over the course of the next three weeks and make the decision myself.” The room feels smaller suddenly. “By the end of the month,” she finishes, not sounding the least bit pleased about any of this, “I will inform one of you that your contract will not be extended. Whoever gets to stay will have the opportunity to work for the last month or so of the academic year, and as long through summer as they please.”
You let out a quiet, incredulous breath. “You’re asking us to…what? Compete for a role we already competed for?”
That truly shouldn’t be such a disgusting word to utter; you’ve been competing for years. Now, however, when it’s being enforced by a third party, it feels cheap, ridiculous, completely and utterly absurd.
“I’m asking you to be practical,” Mrs. Collins replies, not unkindly. She is not happy with the turn of events herself. “This is an unfortunate situation, but it is the reality. You needn’t do anything but be yourself. I’ll take on the burden.”
Another pause. The ticking of a clock somewhere in the office suddenly feels deafening. You glance at Nanami again, but this time it’s different. Not shared amusement nor quiet complicity. Something tighter. More uncertain. Because for the first time since this whole…thing between you began, the two of you are being placed on opposite sides of something real.
Mrs. Collins folds her hands again. “I’ll give you some time,” she says. “But not too much. I expect an answer soon.” Her gaze lingers, measured, final.
“You may go.”
Neither of you moves immediately.
And when you do stand, it’s slower than before, like an invisible thing has shifted between you on the way in, and neither of you quite knows how to step around it on the way out.
Nanami’s the first to speak ten minutes later as you’re both opening the heavy doors and letting the early birds reserve their seats. He says, “There’s no conceivable way we’ll agree on who should stay and who should leave, so I suggest we leave it up to her. It’s the fairest option.”
Already walking away to push a heavy cart down the shelves, you follow him. “You’re not actually considering competing for this role, are you?”
“What’s so wrong about that?”
That familiar wrinkle between his brows has appeared as he frowns down at you. He begins shelving the books away cool, calm and collected, like he always is, and it’s irritating you more than usual.
“Um, maybe the fact that we’d already competed to have this job in the first place? And now she’s just taking it from us? After all the interviews, the bullshit application forms and the ‘tell us something no one knows about you’ farce?”
Sighing, he leans against a shelf, arms crossed. “We have no choice — the decision was clearly made above her head.”
“So that’s it?” you ask him. “You’re fine with us having to fight each other for a job?”
Nanami looks at you over the rim of his glasses. There’s a certain weight to his question when he counters, “Isn’t that what we’ve been doing this entire time? What’s the difference now? Apart from the tangible consequences looming beyond our…”
You don’t need him to finish his sentence; you got it.
Technically, he wasn’t wrong — a thought you keep to yourself. Competing is something you’re familiar with. Even once you both secured the jobs over many other applicants, you were aware that the competition hadn’t ended. You were always going to have to be on your A-game to show him up, for your pride and satisfaction.
However, you can’t seem to shake off the feeling that something’s different this time, something irreversible, a loss that the loser will suffer that neither of you are ready for.
“You’re aware then that we’ll have to really give this our all, right?” you say, finally coming to a conclusion he already reached. “We can’t keep sneaking around, blurring lines, getting involved with each other. If we’re rivals, we’re rivals.”
He swallows hard and adjusts his glasses. Nanami extends a hand out.
“May the best man, or woman, win.”
You don’t shake it. You walk away from him and from the conversation with pursed lips. Under your breath, you mutter, “Oh, she will.”
The rest of the morning is spent not in each other’s pants but rather in a blur of menial and meticulous tasks that leave barely a moment to breathe or fucking think — collecting returned books, helping people find what they’re looking for, checking books out, giving recommendations, cataloging a fresh shipment of books that seems to have doubled overnight, your fingers sticky with dust jackets and your eyes straining to read tiny print on the spine labels, and blah blah blah.
Nanami is elsewhere, reshelving rare texts, stamping due dates, checking inventory lists, or killing babies, you don’t know.
Once, you caught sight of him and a girl. She gave him a shy smile, and he returned a warm one back. You didn’t hear their conversation, you don’t know what she wanted, and what he replied, and you realised it’s probably best — if she can successfully distract him, that would be wonderful.
Generally, though, you try not to think too much about him; getting caught up in what your competition is doing, after all, is a sure-fire way to lose your footing.
But perhaps tension in your shoulders did release when you notice she’s nowhere to be seen after and he’s still here, as serious as he always looks when he’s focused.
The library is large, but the quiet makes every movement sound like an announcement, and you’re acutely aware of the other’s presence without needing to see him.
When your paths cross, it’s brief, perfunctory. You’ll reach for the same cart, hesitating a heartbeat too long before sliding past each other, shoulders brushing lightly, eyes flicking up and meeting, just for an instant. Each glance is careful, loaded with silent calculation.
Neither of you smiles, neither speaks, but it’s a conversation all the same.
A warning, a challenge, a question: who will falter first?
It’s nearing lunch break — when you can clock off, grab some food with your friends, and then head off to your afternoon classes.
You’re behind the desk, taking over for Loretta, one of the older ladies. Stamping due dates, a voice makes you look up.
“Hey,” he says, leaning casually against the counter. Tall, well-dressed, a little sun-kissed from the outdoors, with a smile that’s perfectly practiced. “You’ve been avoiding me, huh?”
You frown. “Excuse me?”
He grins, tilting his head as if that should explain everything. “I gave you my number weeks ago. Why haven’t you messaged me?”
Your eyebrows knit together in confusion. “I…what?”
Is he drunk? Do you need to call campus security? Maybe he’s a crackhead; the well dressed, rich-looking kids were always on coke, you’ve noticed.
The guy laughs, a little embarrassed, but persistent. “Yeah. Remember? I gave it to—” he glances to the side of the desk where Nanami had been helping with the returns earlier— “your coworker here. Asked him to hook me up.”
Something clicks in your brain. You pause mid-stamp, eyes widening. “Wait…you’re telling me you’ve been trying to reach me…through him?”
“Uh… yeah?” he says, shrugging, still smiling like it’s not a big deal. “He said he’d get me your attention, but—” he gestures vaguely—“guess that didn’t exactly happen.”
There’s nothing you can do but blink. The whole conversation’s confusing you so badly. What on Earth is happening?
When he doesn’t see you fawning, he sighs and mutters to himself, “Shoulda listened to the others. That guy’s really not helpful at all.”
Others?
Over the past month, several guys in the library had given you looks, had lingered a little too long at the front desk, and nothing ever happened. Sure, they’d come up to you and directly ask, but you’d turn them away because you’re too busy trying to put away the most books. You didn’t think much about any of it.
Things are starting to make sense and simultaneously only leave you more confused the more you try to think about it now.
You look toward the stacks, half-expecting to see him watching.
And there he is, precise as always, shelving a row of books, perfectly still, expression neutral but eyes flicking toward you ever so slightly. Nanami can’t do subtle even if it kills him.
Gazes clash.
Something thrums beneath the surface. You swallow.
The guy at the desk, oblivious to the internal storm, smiles again. “So…lunch? Or are you gonna make me beg?”
You stare at him, then at the silent figure of Nanami across the room, and finally mutter, half amused, half exasperated, “I think you’re going to have to wait your turn.”
And just like that, you’ve made up your mind.
He’s in the cloak room of the conference hall when you seek him out right before lunch break, after you’ve completed the imminent task at hand. It’s a tight space but that doesn’t stop you from bulldozing your way in and taking him by surprise with a slap on the back.
“What— What are you doing here?” he asks, twisting his neck to look back at you.
“Punishing you,” you say, casually. You wind your arms around his hips. You find his soft dick with ease.
Nanami grunts.
In the narrow confines, he puts up a fight at first, something about right and wrong you’re sure, and the competition for the one assistant librarian role, but he quickly loosens up with a long sigh. “What have I done now?” he wonders, resigned.
With expert skill, you take his cock out. It’s already so heavy even though it’s only now starting to chub up. Lightly, you pet it, bringing it to full mast.
Meanwhile, your head is buried between his shoulder blades. You tease, “A little birdy let me in on your shenanigans.”
One of his hands envelops yours. It drags your palm up and down the length at the pace he likes. Nanami groans. “Get to the point. You’re frightening me.”
“Always so on guard with me, aren’t you?” you say, smiling. “I’m talking about how you’ve been hoarding all the numbers guys have been trying to give me.”
Nanami stiffens.
Slowly, like he’s being careful not to set you off, aware you’ve got him by his literal dick and balls, he says, “I have no idea what you’re referring to.”
“Liar, liar, pants on fire,” you sing.
He runs a hand through his hair. “Fine, yes, I have been withholding the many numbers and messages men want me to pass along. But it is only because I believe it is unprofessional, and certainly not because of whatever you’re accusing me of.”
Thumb guided by his, you collect the bead of pre that’s escaping his flushed tip. You smear it on his pretty, pink cockhead. He’s fully hard now, and the familiar heat, weight, and length has your mouth salivating.
“Oh, so you didn’t purposefully and proactively stifle a possible competition for who could be asked out more while on the job? God, you’re such a baby. You knew I’d win by a longshot because not many people want to date your grumpy ass, so you didn’t even let me know I was being asked out at all. Wow. Really. Wow.”
Nanami exhales. “Yes. That’s exactly it. You got me.”
“Yeah, I got you by the dick. Now that I’ve found you out, you have to accept my punishment. Them’s the rules.”
You round his body. The warm light from the flickering bulb doesn’t do much to illuminate the small space. With coats sandwiching you in and hangers rattling, you peer up at him.
There’s a vanity behind you.
Leading him by his dick, you get yourself up on it and slot him in between your legs. Nanami casts a shadow over you as he eyes you suspiciously. You don’t blame him — just hours before, you two had decided to go back to your old ways and compete as fiercely and as normally as you always have.
Now, you’re stroking his cock and spreading your legs so he can see the wet spot that’s grown on your panties.
He releases a shaky breath.
“I don’t understand,” he mutters, deeply troubled if the furrowing of his brows and the tentative placement of his hands on your bare thighs are anything to go by. “Why are we playing games at all? I thought we’d made an agreement to take the competition for the permanent role seriously. I thought…I thought you’d never talk to me again, much less touch me.”
You watch him seek out your sopping pussy, thumbing the clit and prodding the wet spot. With little patience, Nanami pulls your panties to the side and feels you skin to skin. You moan.
“I thought that too,” you tell him, lifting your shirt to reveal your bare breasts to his eyes. His mouth parts. A finger of his slips inside your pussy with ease. “But I realised something — our games didn’t just start when we got the job. We’ve been playing games since we met: who can correct our professors more, who can find a way to insert ourselves into discussions more, who can get better marks, who can get the best compliments, who frequents the Dean’s List more often.”
Nanami bends down. His lips grazes your chest, skimming and basking in the softness of your skin. He travels down the valley between your breasts before pressing a kiss to the curve of one. All while he’s worming a second finger inside your drenched pussy, wringing out slippery squelches muffled by the coats around you.
“Don’t you -hah- get it, Nanami?” you ask him, back arching. “Everything is a game between us. So why don’t we just commit to it? Just stop pretending? We can keep playing our games whilst we let Mrs. Collins decide which of us she wants to keep. I don’t know about you, but I need the orgasms.”
He finally takes a nipple in his mouth, sucking it into a hard bud. His thumb rubs your pussy’s bud too. “Kento,” he says.
“Huh?”
His tongue flicks your nipple at the same time he curves his long, slender fingers against your g-spot. You gasp.
“If we’re committing to our ridiculous games, then you should commit to calling me Kento when I’m knuckles deep inside your pretty pussy, don’t you think?
You laugh. “You’re such a narcissist you’ve got a fetish for your name, don’t you?”
“I plead the fifth,” he says, squeezing your tit as he makes his way down your stomach.
Nanami’s about to kneel and have a go at your cunt when the doorknob rattles.
The two of you freeze.
You only have a second to process what the hell’s about to happen before he carries you in his arms and tucks you both at the back, behind some thick, furry coats.
Someone’s in here. You don’t turn to look to see who, lest you make a noise. Instead, you clutch him tightly, face buried in the crook of his neck as he grips you up by your ass. Nanami breathes low and even despite the redness of his face.
It’s dark and crowded enough in here to blend in if whoever the person is doesn’t go looking through the coats. And it’d honestly be fine if his cockhead wasn’t prodding your clit.
His cock has slipped through your pussy lips. You’re pressed up against it. Every slight shuffle, every inhale, every minor adjustment has him rubbing your pussy.
He whispers right into your ear, bare audible even to you, “Stop. Moving.”
“You stop moving,” you fire right back.
When his grip slackens a little, it leaves you sliding down his length. Nanami reflexively hikes you up higher the very moment it happened. Which is a mistake. Because he had just effectively rubbed you up and down his cock.
You whine, fingers threading through his hair and pulling for a tether. He hisses.
A shit show is what this is — each reaction has an equal and opposite reaction and each of those has you oozing more juices on his cock, making the slip and slide easier, and all the more pleasurable.
The person’s still here; they’re humming as they use the very same vanity you were sitting on.
They left the door open, and the light thrumming of life beyond covers a little of the noises you two are making. You hope, at least.
“Kento,” you whine, hips moving on your own now.
He shushes you. “I know, I know. Me too. Just bear with me, alright?”
You’re grinding on him now, using the length of his cock and the prominent veins there to stimulate your poor clit, and he can’t do a thing about it. Nanami throbs here and there when your clit nudges his frenulum or the slit of his tip.
Whoever the newcomer is, they’re taking their stupid fucking time. You want to strangle them. Especially when they trip over something and send a bunch of things clattering. “Ah, fuck,” they groan.
The act itself is harmless. Accidental. A mercy because it means they’re distracted with re-righting whatever mess they’ve made.
But you can’t find it in yourself to be grateful because it had startled you and Nanami. Your bodies jolted, sending you higher up his hold and falling down right onto his dick.
His tip pushes in.
You barely manage to bite back your moan.
Eyes wide and body tense, you stare at him in the shadows. Through his glasses, his eyes are just as wide as yours. His jaw is clenched tightly, grip on your body bruising. “S-stay still,” he commands shakily. “I’ll pull out.”
“No,” you find yourself breathing out before you can process the word. When he stares right through you, disbelieving but so badly wanting to believe, you find the courage to say, “No, I want it. I want it so bad, Ken. Please?”
Nanami’s eyes almost roll back. “Yes, baby. Fuck, if you ask so nicely, how am I meant to say no?”
All he has to do now is lighten his grip on you; you slide down and down and down until he’s buried to the hilt and you’re feeling fuller than you ever have. His size is almost impossible to manage but you’re so wet, so needy, that it only takes a couple winces and fluttering of your walls.
Foreheads pressed together, you moan into each other’s mouths, lips just touching.
Feet pad away.
A door closes.
“You’re so tight,” he groans louder, unhesitating to exploit the fact that it’s just you two in here again.
“So big,” you whisper.
He emerges you both from the stuffy corner and walks over to the door. Each step has his fat cockhead prodding your g-spot over and over again. He locks it without breaking eye contact.
The heat in his gaze sets your skin alight.
Nanami sets you down on the vanity, still inside you. He pinches your chin and says, “Are you sure about this?”
You roll your eyes. You clamp down on him.
He gasps, cock throbbing inside you.
Swallowing down the choked, animalistic noise about to creep up his throat, he snarls, “Always so difficult with you, isn’t it?”
To your satisfaction, he starts rutting into you. Shallow thrusts at first, testing the waters, getting used to your warmth and the exact feel of your walls. Then faster and deeper, bumping the exact spot that has you mewling and writhing.
“Here?” he asks, voice hoarse. He splays a hand out on your lower belly, pushing down a little. You cry out, back arching. “Oh yes, I see now. This is where you feel me most, no?”
God, he feels so good.
There’s no barriers between you, and if he was anyone else, you’d be deeply worried. But Nanami is Nanami. He’s cleaner than a surgery table.
“Ken,” you moan. “Harder. Fuck me harder.”
He nods, lips to your head as he holds you close. He rams his cock in with greater force, rattling the whole desk.
You whine. “Yes! Yes! Just like that.”
“Tell me how to please you,” Nanami whispers, cradling the back of your head before it can hit the mirror behind you. “Tell me everything about you, about what makes you feel good, your fantasies, who you want me to be, what you want me to say.”
Arms wrapped around his neck, you shake your head, fucking down onto him. “This is great. It’s perfect. God, hngh! J-just be yourself. Keep fucking me like this.”
Nanami groans.
“I hate how good you feel,” he confesses, angry. “Hate how perfect your -ngh fuck!- body is, the sounds you make. How one touch, one look from you, has me weak in my fucking knees.”
He pulls your head back by your hair. His hazy eyes scan every inch of your face, drinking up every wince, every flutter of your eyes, every gasp out of your lips. He wants to be mad. He wants to say something insulting, something to make your cunt clench down on him. But when you mumble his name, Nanami’s whole face softens.
Burying his face in the curve connecting your neck to your shoulder, he presses a kiss there. “God, you drive me insane.”
Despite yourself, you laugh. “I’m surprised you haven’t cum the moment you finally felt a woman’s insides.”
His lips twitch.
“And I’m surprised you haven’t melted with how wet you are around my cock.”
Nanami pulls out and spins you around before you can make a retort. You see yourself in the mirror. You make eye contact all the way as he pushes back inside you.
The way he bites his lips, blows air out to get some clarity, flush and sweat — you can’t take your eyes off him, can’t unnotice all these things about him.
Soon his pelvis is flushed with your ass. He pummels his cock in and out at a rhythmic pace, controlled and measured. Your eyes roll back. The squelches, the slapping of skin, the fwop fwop fwop, everything is simultaneously muted by the intensity of the pleasure blooming inside your core and heightened by the finite space between you.
He can’t seem to decide whether he wants to watch his cock entering you or to watch your face scrunch up in bliss. With a frustrated growl, he finally decides instead to shut his eyes tight.
Weak.
Both hands sneak under your body. He gropes your swinging tits in one and rubs your clit with the other.
“Are you going to cum for me?” he asks though it’s not a question, not really.
You grind back into him, wanting him deeper and deeper as you near your climax. Unable to help yourself, you answer, “I’m gonna cum for me.”
Nanami’s low chuckle sends chills down your spine. His dark eyes keep you pinned through the reflection.
“Then cum,” he says.
And you do.
He stifles the too-loud moan that was about to alert the whole library to what you’re doing with a palm slapped over your mouth. You don’t care. Muffled moans are subdued and spasms wracking your entire body, the waves of euphoria race through you, rendering you a dumb, soaked mess.
“Ah, fuck!” Nanami’s hips stutter. “T-too tight. Don’t -fuck- s-squeeze down on me.”
“No, w-wait,” you stammer, unable to lift any of your tired limbs to physically prevent him from cumming where he shouldn’t.
But it’s too late.
He orgasms right after you.
Hot, searing cum explodes inside you. It paints your walls white. You pant, made dizzy by the feeling of his pulsing cock staking its claim inside your pussy.
“So good, so good, so fucking good,” he gasps.
The two of you catch your breath, neither one pulling away. His hands are still all over you, squeezing and absorbing the sensations of a flushed, clammy body. You hope the two of you were quiet enough not to be noticed.
He softens inside you. Finally, he pulls out.
You wince.
“Forgive me,” Nanami mutters, rubbing a hand over your pussy as though to soothe it.
When he pushes two fingers inside, wringing squelches out with your mixed juices, you reach back to smack him. “Hey!”
Nanami apologises again. He pulls his fingers out and clears his throat. The flush on his face renews with the suspicious glare you throw at him. “Sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”
“I know came inside of me,” you grouch, slapping his chest. “You’re lucky I’m on the pill, idiot.” To that, he has no reply. He only regretfully uses someone’s inside sleeve to wipe his fingers clean. Spinning around, you grimace. “Got anything to clean me up with?”
“I’d use someone’s coat or scarf, but I can’t vouch for how clean they’d be,” he mutters, troubled. He thinks for a second, looking around and patting his pockets. There isn’t anything. Nanami tucks himself back in, zips his pants up, then gets down on his knees before you.
“Woah, what’re you doing?”
“Cleaning you up,” he says simply, like it’s supposed to be obvious and he’s disappointed you didn’t work that out yourself. Firm hands spread your legs apart.
“Hey! No, don’t.” Your protests fall on deaf ears. Nanami won’t budge. He buries his face right up against your pussy, unhesitating to lap up the juices flowing out of you. “Oh, fuck, Kento. Y-you’re a freak.”
The man doesn’t seem to care that he’s eating his own cum out of you. Or maybe that’s exactly what he wants. You can’t tell, and you can’t think too much about it when he’s circling your clit with his tongue.
Nanami licks through your slit like a dog, just cleaning you up and all the wetness that’s made your thighs sticky. He says, “No, I’m thorough. We can’t leave behind any evidence.”
Your head leans back on the mirror, accepting that you’ve got no choice but to let him do what he wants with your cunt. Though that doesn’t stop you from remaking, “Please, you just wanted to taste me again. Can’t get enough, can you?”
It’s a joke. A statement made with humour.
But his unwavering gaze — the way he’s looking up at you and reading every expression, every thought and flicker in your face and eyes — suggests he’s not when he ponders out loud, “Is that so wrong?”
Nervously, you gulp, then smile.
“Probably, but it’s too late now, isn’t it?”
Nanami kisses your clit so gently, so tenderly that your smile drops.
“Far too late.”
.
.
.
Like something awakened, a dam burst, you two have been fucking nonstop.
Every opening and closing since Monday morning have begun and ended with sex in the storage room. Quick, dirty sex. Mindblowing sex. Neither of you can seem to get enough of how each other feels, of the momentary washing away of all that was looming by the end of the week, but your rivalry never ended.
You two would compete to see who’d cum first in the toilet stalls, each taking turns to be on their knees. He’d eat you out as well as he could, pulling all his tricks, and you’d blow him like you wanted to suck his soul out from his balls. A timer would be going on your phone, and you’d battle it out to the very last second. Currently, you’re winning 3-2.
The loser gets a stamp — one that you’d snatched from Mrs. Collins office — pressed right on their pelvis: Late Return.
They’d have to walk around like that till they can get home and wash the ink off.
When you lost, Nanami had thumbed the mark right above your cunt, both his lips and your pussy lips still glistening. He hummed. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen anything more beautiful.”
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t misty-eyed. I’m gonna get you back.”
He looked up at you and smiled. “Of course you will.”
And when he lost, you stamped it high enough that whenever he reached up, it’d be visible by virtue of his sweater or shirt riding up. You passed by, running a nail across that sliver of skin. He shuddered. His cheeks reddened. He muttered, “Tease.”
You muttered back, “Loser.”
On Wednesday, you both started a game that involved not touching each other and seeing who could hold out longer. Of course, there were caveats: he had brought a vibrator with the intention of leaving in your panties, thrumming away at your sensitive clit, and you would send him faceless nudes every five minutes.
The fun of it was that you could back out at any second; you could take the vibe out and he could just not open your messages. But he had given you his phone number for this reason and so it’d be a waste of your time to chicken out.
It seemed easy enough at first anyway.
For the most part, you could keep a straight face when dealing with other students and researchers. He’d pass by and press some button on the remote control he has all to hear your voice hitch or watch your eyes cross. In retaliation, you’d send him pictures and videos of you playing with yourself and moaning his name.
He gave in first.
What broke him wasn’t the nudes, though they certainly pushed him close. No, what did it was the fact that you had experienced a full-body orgasm right in front of some guy asking you out. The guy was about to touch you, to ask if you were okay because you were breathing weird and all squirmy.
Nanami swooped in with a casual excuse of you being sick.
You tried to hobble over to the nearest room, the coat room, but couldn’t make it any further than a study booth in the back corner. The same one you first blew him on. You were pawing at his cock, fishing it out right there and then, and he decided he couldn’t wait any longer.
So, whilst no one was there, he took you right in the booth, ducking low.
“You showed him something you shouldn’t have,” he growled, a sound you’d never heard him make before.
Weakly, you argued, “That was your fault, asshole.”
And when he stacked two hardcover books over your lower belly, pressing on your bladder and driving you fucking insane?
You made a mess all over him that he forced you to clean up with your tongue.
Which was fine since he was going to be punished with pen markings all over his body as a result of his surrender.
Vibe dead and tossed, you met up after in the break room, knowing that all the other staff members would be having a meeting about the budget cuts, and since they had yet to decide which of you they were going to keep, neither of you were privy to the information. And that too was fine, since it meant you had an hour or so to yourself on the comfortable sofa.
Gleefully, encouraged by the blush on his cheeks and the way he was throbbing right under your pussy, you drew ‘loser’, ‘inferior intellect’, ‘pleb’, and ‘my bitch’, among other things, on his bare torso.
He protested each new label but with how you were grinding on his cock and pouting down at him to play fair, he couldn’t exactly fight against it.
It was a delirious high to keep him pinned under you, covering his pristine skin with proof of your superiority.
“Hush, Ken,” you scolded. He was groaning and complaining incessantly. It was hot.
Nanami huffed, hands on your thighs as you straddled him. “You’re taking too long; there can’t possibly be any more space on my body.”
“Thou doth protest too much.” You gripped his face, smiling down at him, and said, “You’ve never looked prettier than with my name written right here on your chest, Kento.”
He pulsed right up against your clit.
Another quickie was slotted in before the meeting ended and the staff would be roaming around again.
A fire drill has taken all the occupants of the library this Friday afternoon. Instead of following procedure, the two of you decided to stay behind, with everyone none the wiser.
Nanami’s buried balls deep inside you, a hand splayed out over your back as he keeps you bent over one of the carts you use to transport books around the library. It’s empty and you’re clinging to the metal thing for dear life, moaning wantonly with every harsh shove of his cock inside your sloppy pussy.
He’s holding the cart, dragging it back and forth the way he would with your hips. You have no choice but to let the cart yank you on his length.
“Ken,” you mewl, “we need to hurry. They’ll be back any time soon.”
He grunts behind you. “I know. But I will not cum until you do.”
Your clothes are still on, just slightly shuffled around to allow you to touch where you wanted. The clothes always stay on; you can’t seem to cross the line of being completely bare. Mostly because you two keep fucking in places where you could caught, and partly because it seemed to be an unspoken boundary you won’t cross.
It hardly matters to you — his cock is all that you need to see.
The way the hot thing bullies a path through your gummy walls is delectable. It’s honestly all you can think about in class or at home. He fills out every nook and cranny, stretching your walls and making sure you feel all of him.
“You’re insatiable,” you say, riding the snappy movements of the cart. “You’re a sex maniac, just obsessed with me.”
Scoffing, he yanks the cart back harder. He thrusts in deeper. You cry out. Nanami retorts, breathy and hoarse, “Says the girl who chose to greet me by squeezing my cock through my pants. You were already wet when I touched you. Dirty girl,” he rasps. “Must have been thinking about me all day.”
“As if,” you mutter. Then, you add, “You were already —wait, Ken, deeper, yessss— you were already hard when I felt you up. Bet the sight of me was enough to get you going, huh?”
“I’ll admit to your —f-fuck, loosen up— a-accusations if you do.”
“Never.”
Nanami chuckles.
His hips are relentless. They never tire, never falter. Not till he’s about to come anyway. No one’s ever fucked you this good, and it kills you to admit to yourself that the person you’d deemed the devil just weeks before has the best dick game full stop.
Ugh, you just love when he fucks you from behind, when his balls swing and smack against your clit, when he covers your back and groans right into your ear.
It’s no wonder then that you cum mere minutes later.
“Oh god,” you moan. “So, so good.”
“Hmm, fuck. Perfect. Just perfect.”
He slides himself out of you, coming to kneel behind you to eat the cum spilling out from behind. Yeah, after all the sleeping around, you still hadn’t enforced the rule of wearing a condom. It just seems so pointless when he’d already been inside you. And you don’t want a layer muting the feeling of his prominent veins scraping your sloppy walls.
“Do we taste good, Kento?” you ask, smiling lazily. You reach back, drumming your fingers over the hand that grips your thigh in place.
Nanami moves his hand to trap yours in his clutch. A thumb brushes over your knuckles. Voice muffled, he responds, “Mmm. Best choice of breakfast I rather think, though that’s mostly because of me.”
“Ugh, don’t act like I don’t often have to kick you away from my pussy because you won’t stop eating her out otherwise. Lying is a sin, Kento.”
He chuckles, suckling your pulsing clit. “So is pre-marital sex, but we’ve already done a lot of that.”
“See you in hell then,” you say, wistful.
“Yes. Save me a seat.”
The distant alarm stops by the time you cum again. Noises outside get louder. You two, like experienced criminals, rearrange your clothes so that no eyes would be able to tell what you’ve done. You even sneak around to blend in with the group, as though you had been out with everyone else.
It’s somewhat of an impossibility how you two managed to balance fucking like rabbits with your tasks. There’s not a single book gone unshelved, no student left waiting around, no emails about late returns unsent. In fact, Mrs. Collins had complimented you both on a couple occasions for how well you two worked. She seemed especially pleased that you weren’t arguing — though you’re sure if she knew what exactly you had taken up on doing, you’re not sure she’d keep looking at you with pride.
Naturally, the week passed by quicker than all the others before it.
And made the next week feel so much slower.
.
.
.
Nanami didn’t come into work.
His internship had set him on a project that would require his attention and efforts most. Or at least that’s what you heard from Mrs. Collins, who warned you that you’d have to be picking up his slack, at least until next week, when he should be back.
Which is great.
Really.
Because it can be an opportunity to show you’re better for this job than he is.
A heads up from him himself would have been nice though. Why hadn’t he told you anyway? Sure, you were just fuck-buddies with much less emphasis on the buddies than the fuck, but still. And honestly with how this week is going so far, you’d place less emphasis on fuck too, since he hadn’t even opened any of the nudes you sent him.
The more you grumble about it, however — when wiping tables, logging returns, reshelving books, touring prospective students — the more you turn your negative energy to yourself.
Nanami doesn’t owe you an explanation, nor does he owe your nudes a viewing, even if they are works of art.
He’s never explained his own schedule to you, and you’ve never thought to do the same to him. Really, why would he tell you anything? And why do you care? You have toys and fingers you can use if you need to get off so badly.
Once in a while, you’ll see him on campus, on your way to your respective classes. The two of you don’t pause to chat, don’t say hi, don’t even look at each other. Which is how it usually was between you. Although, there used to be the occasional glares or snide comments if the other gave a smug look after gaining higher marks on some essay. Or if you two just felt like it.
Now, there’s nothing.
No one to look at with a ‘are you fucking kidding me?’ when someone spills their drink all over a table, or knocks over a pile of books you were reorganising. No one to mutter a quiet ‘what idiot gets Camus and Sartre mixed up?’ to or a ‘not it!’ if someone reports a clogged toilet in the men’s bathroom — and it was always the men’s.
Was this job always so fucking boring?
“Hi.”
“What.” The word spews out of you faster than you can process the one syllable the stranger uttered. You look up at the girl. She’s staring wide-eyed at you. Standing up, heat growing in your cheeks, you say, “I am so, so, sorry.”
She waves it off, shuffling on her feet. “No, don’t worry about it. I work at a bakery, so I understand what a bad day looks like when you’re dealing with people,” she says with a laugh. “I just wanted to know if you could pass a message along to the guy you work with. Um, Kento?”
How does she know his first name?
Did he introduce himself to her as such?
They don’t seem to be close friends, one because he has a very small number of friends, and two because she almost didn’t remember his name.
The girl’s pretty: brown hair in a ponytail, kind eyes and a warm smile. She looks like the kind of girl you bring home to mother. And she bakes?
Nanami loves bread; you’ve seen him snacking on pastries and sandwiches far too many times not to notice that. She can bake for him, or at the very least, get him a discount at the bakery she works at. Bet he’d like having sex in the toilet stall at a bakery. The smell of a pain au chocolat can get him off.
“What is it?”
A blush blossoms on her cheeks. You fight the urge to frown in disgust. Is she blushing because of that guy? The blond with poor eyesight? The one who wears business casual clothes everywhere? What kind of sorcery did he use on her?
“Oh, um, I guess I just wanted to tell him I really enjoyed the book he recommended to me when I was here last week. I’ve been looking for him every day but I haven’t seen him.” A thought occurs to her. She adds, “Maybe I can tell him myself — do you know when he’ll be back?”
“No idea,” you lie through your lying teeth.
Disappointed but not discouraged, she suggests, “Could you ask him?”
“I can’t.” Another lie — you have his phone number now, but it’s not like you can explain to her that you only have it because you were sending him nudes.
Baker girl sighs. She smiles at you, a smile so full of goodness that you have to mentally swat the instinct to hiss at the burn. “Alright. Then, could you tell him that I’d love to hear his thoughts on the book over coffee? I hope I’m not giving you too much trouble!”
“Sure. I’ll tell him.”
“Thank you!”
With that, she strolls away, still smiling, still blushing, and no doubt thinking of him.
Turning to the books in front of you, you finally scowl.
“Nanami? Seriously?” you mutter.
The same Nanami who called you a strumpet under his breath for suggesting that he would have been a concubinus in the Roman era with how passive he is? The Nanami that stretches his legs out to trip you but claims he’s simply exercising his right to take up space? The Nanami that was literally eating you out at the very same spot you’re standing in now?
Ugh, there really is no accounting for taste.
Thankfully the message she left with you was short and brief, easy to remember. You ponder over it every hour of every day — as you work in the library, as you’re in class, showering, walking through campus, meeting up with friends, laying in bed awake.
The end of the day at the end of the week arrives pretty soon after.
Waving goodbye to the nighttime caretaker, you exit through the front doors.
You’re exhausted. More so than usual.
Technically, you had done two people’s worth of tasks. And perhaps it was just your annoyance clouding your judgment, but you could have sworn it was busier than ever this week. The burden of doing the grunt work finally caught up to you; your feet hurt, your back aches, you feel greasy and hideous, and ready to burn down libraries for no reason.
Fresh air envelops you, and it helps a little.
The cold night air is lovely. A much needed relief after spending a whole, stuffy day in the heart of academia and after back to back morning classes. At least the weekend is ahead of you. That’s something, you guess.
“Hey, pretty lady.”
The voice slurs a little around the edges.
You turn your head and immediately regret it.
Some guy lurches toward you from the direction of the dorms, one hand stuffed into the pocket of a puffer jacket that looks like it’s seen more beer spills than washing machines. His cheeks are flushed a blotchy red, eyes glassy, hair flattened in strange directions like he’s run his hands through it one too many times tonight. There’s a plastic cup clutched in his other hand, whatever’s inside it sloshing dangerously close to the rim.
It’s a typical frat guy.
The kind of guy you’re rarely ever around as a Classic Lit student, and as what most people would call a nerd.
Yet, here he is, passing by the library, right on time for you to be walking home in the dark, alone. Terrific. Fantastic. Just great!
He grins at you — the confident grin of someone who has absolutely no reason to be confident. “Where you headed?” he asks, leaning a little too close, the sour-sweet smell of cheap alcohol drifting over. “Party over at Sigma something. You should come.”
You stare at him.
Frat Guy takes your silence as encouragement. “I mean—” he gestures vaguely at you with the cup, nearly spilling it, “—you look like you could use a drink. Loosen up a little, y’know?”
His eyes drag down and back up again in a way that makes your skin prickle.
“Bet you’d be real fun once you’re not all…” he waves his hand again, searching for the word, “...uptight.”
A laugh escapes him as though he said something clever. He leans against the brick wall beside you, missing slightly and having to correct himself.
“So what’s your name, pretty lady?” he presses, smile widening. “C’mon. Don’t be shy.”
Full body shuddering, you ignore him and start walking off. There’s streetlamps lighting paths, and you do see the silhouettes of a couple people walking by in the distance. Worse comes to worse, you’re ready to drop kick the guy as soon as he shows any sign of being a problem.
Which, right on cue, he does.
“Hey,” Frat Guy says, losing his dopey smile. His voice has dropped an octave, taking on a deeper, darker tone, and you stiffen. “Who the fuck do you think you are ignoring me? You think you’re all that, you fucking loser?”
Your steps don’t stop.
Behind you, you hear his shoes scuff faster against the pavement. “Oi,” he calls, irritation bleeding into his voice. “I’m talking to you.”
You’re already turning slightly, gauging distance, weight shifting instinctively to the balls of your feet. If he grabs you, you’ll—
A hand settles lightly on your shoulder.
Neither grabbing nor restraining. Just there. Warm. You know that hand. You’ve felt that hand, but it’s never provided comfort, reassurance, not in the dark of the night, and certainly not when it shouldn’t be here at all.
“Is there a problem?”
You look up.
Nanami stands beside you.
His tie is loosened, the top button of his shirt undone, sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms. There’s still the faint stiffness of the office about him — creased trousers, polished shoes, suit jacket draped over one arm — but the long day clings to him too. A shadow of fatigue beneath his eyes. A faint crease between his brows.
He glances down at you first. A quick once-over. Checking. Then his gaze shifts to the guy behind you.
It sharpens.
Frat Guy squints at him, clearly trying to process the sudden appearance of a tall, broad man in business clothes standing between him and his intended target.
“Who the hell are you?” he scoffs.
Expression unchasing, he steps forward just slightly, positioning himself so you’re fully behind his shoulder. “A passerby,” he says calmly. “Who noticed you harassing someone who has clearly chosen not to engage with you.”
Frat Guy lets out a drunken laugh. “Oh, she wants me.”
“She walked away.”
“So?”
Nanami tilts his head a fraction. It’s such a small movement, but something about it drains the air from the space between them. “Then the conversation,” Nanami says evenly, “is over.”
“Fuck. You. Four. Eyes.”
“Hey, I call him Four-Eyes! Well, not really, but I’ll start, you dickless piece of shit,” you yell.
Uggo reddens even more in the face. And when Nanami snickers, that’s when he reacts: he lunges forward for Nanami with his teeth bared and his fists clenched so tight the knuckles have turned white.
You get in between before he lands a punch. With a swift kick to the balls, you both watch as he doubles over, heaving and red in the face. He clutches his groin, veins popping in his forehead. He wheezes.
Oh, fuck. You definitely kicked him too hard. Like hard enough that his testicles definitely turned back into ovaries inside of him.
You make eye contact with Nanami, who’s wincing with second-hand ball-pain.
“Run.”
You both bolt down a random direction. Cool air whirls past you, pushing your hair back. You pump your legs, feet pounding the ground. He’s right beside you, running with ease, though with less heavy breathing, you bitterly notice.
Laughter rings out.
It’s only until your lungs begin to hurt that you realise it’s yours. And his.
What you did was a crime. And Nanami’s an accessory to the crime. Which is fan-fucking-tastic because it means you won’t go down alone. Or could you rely on self-defence? It hardly matters. You both fled the crime scene together, laughing shamelessly, and disturbing the peace.
You’ve never kicked someone in the balls before. It felt pretty fucking awesome.
Eventually, you reach a good enough distance from the library, from the scene of the crime, and come to a slow stop.
“Why would the assailant go for me instead of you?” Nanami asks, bewildered as he processes what happened. “You were the one who called him a ‘dickless piece of shit.’ And I cannot get blood on my work clothes. Certainly not for someone who thinks Shakespeare was a homesexual fraud.”
“He is.”
“He is not.”
“Oh, cause you were there?”
“Were you?”
“In spirit, yes.”
“Well, then in spirit, you are deluded, and as always, wrong.”
“Whatever.”
“Hmm.”
Releasing a breath, you run a hand through your hair. “I can’t believe I kicked him in the balls. What a rush.”
“I can’t believe he called me ‘Four Eyes,’” Nanami muses, half-humoured, half-offended. “Having glasses does not give me two new eyes. It basically only makes my two existing ones work the way they should.”
You pat him on the back. “Sure.”
The two of you begin walking, reorienting yourself based on where you are. For a while the only sounds are your voice, the distant thrum of music from somewhere deeper in campus, and the soft rhythm of Nanami’s footsteps beside yours. Soon, that asshole becomes what feels like a figment of your imagination. So does the adrenaline.
The fight in you weakens. Slackens. He doesn’t comment on it. On any of it.
When you can’t stand the silence any longer, you ask, much calmer and less worked up now, “Why were you there? By the library, I mean. I thought you’d be coming back from your internship.”
Nanami hikes his bag high up on his shoulder. “My commute involves walking through campus at this time.”
“Liar,” you say not a moment later. “The publishing house is not anywhere near here. You’d have to go out of your way to be on campus to get to your place — and before you say something about how I must be stalking you if I know where you live, I want you to know I overheard Haibara remarking quite gratefully that you live near the big supermarket. So spare me.”
A small twitch comes to life on the corner of his lip, one you would have missed if you two hadn’t just walked under a streetlamp. Clearly amused, Nanami responds, “Fine, you got me. I came by because I wanted to gloat.”
“You’re lying again.”
He glances down at you. “Are you suggesting I’m not capable of doing something for completely self-serving, sadistic reasons?” he wonders, a teasing lilt to his voice.
Laughing, you answer, “No. You’re more than capable. I’m saying, you’re not the type to admit to it. They’re more inside thoughts.”
Nanami chuckles and doesn’t argue.
Instead, he wonders, “How was the library?”
“Oh, you know,” you begin, shrugging, “same old, same old. Real dickhead behaviour not warning me, by the way. That you’d be gone the whole week.”
“Did you miss me? Is that it?” he teases. “I did not peg you for the sentimental type.”
You scoff. “Of course I didn’t miss you. If anything, I missed your tongue. Or your dick. You know how annoying people get me so tense.”
Adjusting his glasses, he points to a dark spot behind a tree. “If you’re in quick need of release, I’m sure we can manage something before the next person passes this trail.”
“I know you’re joking,” you start, feet slowing down, “but that would actually be nice.”
A hand at your back pushes you along, forcing your walking to pick back up. “There are limits to how public our sex can get. Move along.”
‘Boo,’ you almost say. That, or ‘pussy.’
Shaking his head, Nanami says, “I did debate over whether to tell you. It’s…difficult for me to know the do’s and don’t’s of our new dynamic. And truthfully, seeing as you didn’t reach out to me with a complaint, I thought you didn’t care.”
If he’s expecting you to rebut that, then he’s sorely mistaken. Because you don’t care. You really do not care. It was nice to have him gone, actually. You had more room to breathe. You didn’t have to worry about him scolding some poor soul about their preference for translated works on account of their inability to read the original text, didn’t have to share the sixth floor seating area when you needed some downtime, or anticipate him scoffing at your chosen book for the week.
“It’s fine,” you mumble loud enough for him to hear. “You don’t owe me anything.”
Nanami hums.
With a small frown, you mull your next words over. “Some girl wanted me to pass a message on to you.”
That piques his interest. “Oh? What did she say?”
“I don’t want to tell you.”
A laugh escapes him. It’s loud. It takes you both by surprise.
You thought he would have been mad, would have thought you were playing games again, wanting to take a little revenge against him. On the contrary, he seems entertained.
He continues walking with you. His suit and tie are wrinkled with the day’s hard work (and the running), and despite the slightly dishevelled look to him, he still looks like he could charm the pants off any recruiter. You can tell he hasn’t been on a break from responsibilities — whatever they did to him on that internship this week has dragged him through the mud.
Good.
That’s precisely what you wanted after you had to clean up what smelt like piss on a spot on the carpet by the children’s development section, which was a concern in and of itself.
“I do sincerely hope you don’t hate me too much for abandoning you this week,” Nanami muses eventually, returning to the previous subject matter. “Whilst it brings me great pleasure to imagine that crease between your eyebrows leaving a permanent mark because you couldn’t stop yourself from cursing me out every shift, I don’t very much feel like walking into a boobytrapped workplace come Monday morning.”
A small smile playing on your lips, you fiddle with the strap of your back as you say, “I was pissed. Like you wouldn’t believe. But I feel better now that I’ve seen you.” Your eyes meet. You hurriedly add, “Because you look like shit; I’m sure they put you through it at the publishing house, right?”
Nanami makes some kind of face, a mix between a grimace and a nod. “Hmm. There was some printing error for a book that’s about to have a big launch. There was a lot of scrambling happening.”
“What book?”
“The History of ‘Slut’ and How to Banish it by Phayk Rightur,” he answers.
Your jaw drops. You grab his arm. “You’re joking. I fucking love Rightur! She wrote about the history of sex toys and how deeply ingrained they are in history. One of my most favourite books ever!”
“So she did,” he replies, smiling. “And so it is.”
“How do you manage it?” you ask, smile fading. “Studying, attending classes, the internship, and being president of a society? I’d drop dead if I had to do all of that. I mean, I had a taste of it last year when I was working a part time job to afford a ski trip with my friends while I was on the committee for two societies. But president in your third year? Damn.”
You’re on the main road now, just walking side by side as cars zoom past. Light from stores, from headlights, and from overhead streetlamps keep you both clear as day to each other’s gazes.
“A lot of late nights,” he replies humourlessly. Then something indiscernible passes in his eyes as he looks down at you. “I ought to thank you, I think.”
You blink. “Thank me?”
He nods, looking straight ahead now, posture straighter, renewed energy channeling itself though his bones. “Yes. Without you, I wouldn’t have been motivated to work late nights, forced to open my notes and read and read until I passed out at my desk from exhaustion; I knew if I slacked off at any point for any reason, you would have eaten me up.”
This is the first time he’s ever revealed personal information to you, willingly anyway. Most of what you knew about him came from your own observations and from things heard in passing.
Now, he’s readily offering information.
And you don’t know how to feel.
You stay silent, afraid that if you speak the bubble will burst. Nanami strikes you as the kind of man who, if he realises he’s divulging too much, will pull back and restrain himself. Maybe if you keep quiet long enough he’ll tell you a secret so embarrassing you can lord it over him in the future.
“I hate late nights,” he starts with absolute certainty. “I hate booking office hours and sitting in dull rooms when all I want is to take a stroll through the park. I hate staying in the library longer than I need to when the weather’s lovely and my friends are pestering me to hang out. I hate flicking through pages and pages until I get papercuts. I hate drinking energy drinks and coffee at terrible hours, and ruining my diet, and relying on ginger shots to keep my immune system protected enough to sit through an exam.”
You’re not a fan of late nights either.
Who is?
All your friends would confidently say you hate them, in fact; you complain enough. Sacrificing parties and dinners out for dusty old books isn’t easy, and you love dusty old books. You love learning, not cramming dates and foreign names into your head. You love constructing arguments, not typing away for hours and hours until your eyes are red and words start to lose all meaning.
Suffice to say, there’s certainly been many times when you’ve driven yourself mad wondering what it’s all for, but failure is not an option for you.
It just isn’t.
You never really thought about if Nanami felt the same way, if he hated late nights too. Maybe in the back of your head you just saw him as an absolute machine powered by vitriol and a need to be pretentious. Maybe you just never saw him as someone who struggled, not like you.
“I’m already set to graduate with honours, with an impressive résumé and enviable references, and I have offers for graduate jobs lined up. So all this unnecessary bullshit — pardon my French — leaves a bitter taste on my tongue.”
Frowning, you say, “What a long winded way to flex—”
“But there was,” Nanami continues, the weight of his eyes landing on the side of your face, “and is, nothing I hate more than seeing you claim victory over me.”
You look up at him, footsteps stuttering.
He’s not looking at you, yet he’s aware enough of your positioning to pull you by the crook of your elbow closer to his side when a fellow pedestrian walks a little too closely.
“You’re not a good winner: you’re loud, you want everyone to know, and you’ll never let any of your competition live it down. And that uncoordinated display you call a ‘victory dance’ you do all over campus whenever you’re the top of your class leaves me with so much second-hand embarrassment, I have to sit by a pond and really reflect on where it all went wrong.”
Rolling your eyes, you say, “Yeah, yeah, I get it. I’m awful. I’ve heard that before. Mostly from you. But also from plenty of other people. Thanks for the reminder.”
Nanami shakes his head, still smiling. “It wasn’t intended as an insult. Granted, it wasn’t a compliment either. I simply meant to say that if it wasn’t for you, for our rivalry, I would not be where I am today. Do not let it get to your head though. It doesn’t mean anything more than a comment I’ll deny in the future, but I thought it’s something that should be said aloud at least once.”
Knuckles brush against each other. Neither of you snatch your hands away.
“Yeah, well, I guess I could say the same for you,” you reluctantly say, huffing uneasily. “I admit I wouldn’t have worked as hard as I did, and do, if it wasn’t for the incentive of rubbing it into your face that I’m better than you. Thanks.”
He chuckles. “You’re very welcome.”
You reach your apartment before you realise it. It hadn’t even occurred to you that that was where you were walking. The walk felt as long as it was short. Your friends will be up, doing their own thing in their rooms. They wouldn’t notice if you came up unless you announce yourself.
You don’t make your way inside. The two of you stand by the doors, leaning against the railings of a ramp facing the road.
Why did he walk with you the entire way? His place is in another direction entirely.
That should have been your question. What comes out instead is, “Why didn’t you ask me what the girl said?”
“What girl?” he asks, blinking.
“The girl,” you say as though that should be enough to spark something. It doesn’t. Somewhat exasperated, you add, “The girl with the message she wanted me to pass onto you?”
“Ah.” Nanami drops his bag and jacket off on the ground. He crosses his arms and legs at the ankle. “I’m not sure. Perhaps I expected you wouldn’t tell me even if I asked, especially considering that I hadn’t been giving you other men’s numbers or whatever message they have either.”
You forgot all about that. It never even occurred to you to ask for what exactly they’ve said.
“I would have,” you say. “Told you if you wanted to know, I mean.” Your eyes flit to him. “Do you? Want to know?”
He looks at you quizzically, likely suspicious of your sudden inability to piece together a full sentence. “I suppose so,” he replies, slowly, carefully. “What did she say?”
Your arms are brushing together. Neither of you move. Despite the chill of the night, you don’t shiver, don’t think you should scurry off inside where it’s warmer, where you can put your sore feet up and sleep like the dead.
“She was pretty. A baker. Or just works at a bakery, I don’t know. Brown hair, brown eyes, petite. She seemed nice. Dresses well too. Cute top, classy jeans, clean shoes—”
“The relevance of her appearance will soon make itself clear I hope,” Nanami sarcastically drawls.
Biting the inside of your cheek, you shrug. “Just wanted to set the scene, maybe jog your memory.”
“The message will suffice.”
Why is it so hard for you to say it aloud? Why can’t you just tell him? It’s not like she said anything offensive or embarrassing. Maybe you’re worried he’ll be upset that you withheld the information for so long, that you buried the lede, or didn’t chase her up on it on his behalf.
Maybe…
“She said she liked the book you recommended to her last week.”
He hums. “Is that why you’re dragging your feet in telling me? Because you’re jealous that no one has given you that feedback?”
Offended, you turn to him. “Um, actually, no. A lot of people have told me that. More people than you, I’m sure.”
Nanami looks at you too. His eyes soften out of lethargy. “Then why are you upset? Did she say something to you, something insulting? Or was she rude? I know you’ve encountered your fair share of impolite people, as have I, but try not to let her ruin your mood. For every bad customer, there are many more good ones,” he reminds you.
“No,” you breathe out, feeling guilty not that he’s assuming the worst of her, of someone who has a crush on him. “No, it’s nothing like that. I told you she was nice. Really nice actually. I think you’d like her.”
“I’ve yet to understand the relevance of any of these comments,” he says, concerned now.
People pass by. None that spare either of you more than a glance, the kind of glance people give strangers to make sure they’re not a danger.
Although you’re in public, there’s a twinge of intimacy colouring the atmosphere, one that not even being pressed up in a storage room together can bring.
Finally, you give in.
Head slumping on his chest, you mutter, “She wants to go on a date with you. To discuss the book or whatever.”
If he’s surprised by the weight of your body leaning on him, he doesn’t show it. Nanami wraps an arm around you, patting your back. He bears both of your weight as he leans back on the railing and you slot yourself between his legs. Your exhaustion has returned and you can no longer stand on your own.
“I see. And this is upsetting to you?”
He’s like a therapist gauging your reactions, trying to see if you need to be restrained and kept away from sharp objects. It almost makes you laugh. Fiddling with a button on his shirt, you mumble into his chest, “No, I don’t care.”
Nanami’s warm. Like a furnace. It’s nice. He also smells good in spite of having worked a whole day. So unfair.
“Of course you don’t. You’re far more concerned with beating me in our classes, in our library, and in life right, my little victory-fanatic?”
You nod weakly. “Yep. That’s it. You got me.” Slowly, you peer up at him. Whatever he sees on your face has his gaze softening again, though not with exhaustion this time. You ask, “Are you going to say yes to her?”
He tucks your hair behind your ear. “What would you like me to say?”
“No. I want you to say no.”
Where did the honesty come from? You’re really dying to know. Because that was a truth you didn’t realise you bore. How odd. How seriously odd.
His nose skims your hairline, lips brushing your forehead. “You’re in luck — I have no intentions of agreeing to date her, or anyone. I’m far too busy to be a very good partner I fear.”
You hum. “It’s great to be self aware.”
The answer was a relief, but it also leaves you unsatisfied, restless, unsure. Let’s just chalk it up to sleep deprivation, you mentally decide.
“Before I forget,” he says suddenly, pulling away a little to pick up his work bag, though he keeps a hand at your hips, fingers drumming, “I snuck a little something away from the firm. A gift for myself, I thought, after all the work they put me through for minimum wage.”
Curiously, you watch him open his bag and pull out a big envelope. He hands it to you.
“For me?” You don’t wait for him to reply; you rip open the envelope, eyeing him with a warning in case what’s inside is a dead spider or a mousetrap. It’s neither. A hard, flat thing is pulled out by your tentative hand. “Is this…”
He adjusts his glasses, pink tinging his cheeks. “It’s not quite of my interest. I figured you’d find it of more value than I would. Especially after I noticed you brought another of her book to class some time last year. Although, that being said, you are under no obligation to like it, a fact which you’ll no doubt make clear if history with you is anything to go by—”
“Kento, shut the fuck up.”
“Yes, alright.”
The hard, flat thing in question is a manuscript. Bound in a hard case, like a notebook with coil binding. When you open it to the front page, you see in uppercase and in bold, The History of ‘Slut’ and How to Banish it by none other than Phayk Rightur.
Squealing, you jump into his arms, wrapping your own around his neck, and placing a long kiss on his lips before you can even think about your actions. Nanami’s grip on your hips tighten at first in surprise. He drops his guard, melting, and tugging you closer to him.
His eyes are half-lidded, staring down at your lips and chasing them when you pull away with a fat grin. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” you repeat, peppering kisses all over his face. “This is the best gift ever!”
You’ve never been given a manuscript before. It just simply isn’t a gift one could buy. And your family and roommates know very well how many books you have — this is by far the most valuable one you have. Who even knows how much it could sell for? Not that you would; you’d both get into a lot of trouble if the firm knew their intern had stolen from them.
Clearing your throat, you ask,“Do you, um… Do you want to come up? It’s late and you’ll have a lot of walking to do. It might be best to wait till the morning.”
Nanami brows are knitted together as he runs a finger along the seam of his lips. Something seems to pass in his eyes. A realisation. A dawning. A something you can’t quite figure out. He straightens up, picking up the work bag he placed on the ground. “No. I appreciate the offer. Haibara will be expecting me. Go inside.” He raises a taunting brow up. “I won’t go easy on you even if you come in on Monday with a cold.”
Is he rejecting you?
Does it sting or are you just cold now that he’s let go of you?
“Y-yeah. Alright.”
The two of you stare at each other for a moment or two, unsure and waiting for the other’s next move. Why is it suddenly so awkward?
“Um, goodnight, I guess,” you say, internally cringing.
He gives a tight lipped smile, which isn’t really a smile at all. “Yes. Goodnight.”
And off you go, walking into your apartment building and not daring to glance back, afraid of what you’ll see if you do.
.
.
.
“Oh, there you two are.”
You look to the side. Mrs. Collins is speed-walking in the way older ladies too, all hip swaying and slow. She flags down Nanami who’s ahead and brushing the floor up.
“Before the end of your shift, before closing, please come by my office — it’s time for me to make my decision,” she says.
A glance is shared between you and him.
A whole week had passed since he walked you home. It also marks the end of the three weeks the Library Director had given you both to decide between you who goes and who doesn’t, and now it is time for her to decide for herself.
The two of you didn’t mess around this week. Something about the looming end had him limp and you bone-dry. That or another reason you can’t really think much about.
You’d texted Nanami once or twice. He never replied. You’d also tried to strike up a conversation with him, either during lunch breaks or on the way out, but he was always busy and had to go first. He didn’t come up to the sixth floor once to read. At least, he didn’t when you were there.
His sudden distance was odd. And frankly, annoying. And also not something you could casually mention to him. It felt very much like being right back at the start.
Mrs. Collins smiles warmly, squeezing both of your arms. She adds, “Take it easy today. Don’t worry about slacking off or being behind. I want you two to enjoy your last couples here as two of my finest assistant librarians. Take a gander over at the restricted section if you haven’t already. I’ll see you both later.”
Without your replies, she strolls off, chasing down someone who’s holding a drink by the shelves with her stern face.
“This is it, huh?”
You jolt. You didn’t expect him to talk to you. “...It would seem so.”
“We should do something symbolic to commemorate our last shift together, don’t you think? We wouldn’t be Classical Lit students if we weren’t clichés, after all,” he suggests.
You beam. “We still haven’t read Satyricon. Should we go back up to the restricted section and read it?”
Adjusting his glasses, he nods. “Great idea. You go ahead, I’ll follow soon; I’m going to the bathroom first.
With a smile, you say, “Okiedokie. Don’t take too long.”
Weirdly enough, now that the day has arrived, you don’t feel very stressed. You were before you walked in through the doors. Now, you’re feeling pretty good. Maybe because he was actually talking to you, and you can stop feeling like you’d done something wrong.
The air shifts the moment you pass through the narrow iron gate of the restricted section — cooler, heavier, touched with the dry, almost sweet scent of aging paper and leather that has long since outlived its makers.
This is what you love about libraries: the smell of lives lived, of stories told thousands of times.
None of your friends understood why you would sniff every new book you bought, but to you it’s like crack. Better even. Not that you’ve had a taste of crack. Can you taste crack or is it strictly for sniffing?
A sense of nostalgia hits you.
You’re going to miss this place if you’re not chosen.
A lifetime before, it seems, you would have been devastated by the concept of losing, especially to Nanami. Now, however, you don’t seem to have a strong preference for winning. All you can think about is that it’s a shame that the library’s experiencing budget cuts and that means you both can’t be here together from now on.
Acutely aware of everything, you see this part of the library in a new light.
An appreciative one.
An amazed gratitude.
You don’t rush.
There’s something deliberate in the way your fingers trail along the spines as you pass, grazing titles you’ve only ever whispered about in lectures, in half-joking, half-reverent tones. The Satyricon waits somewhere ahead, scandalous and sullied by you. You don’t greedily run to read it to make up for what you had failed to do the first time. Because this, more than anything, feels like the last moment before something closes. Before you are chosen, or not. Before you become singular instead of we.
A desk sits tucked beneath one of the windows.
The rest of the room is curated, meticulous, every volume catalogued and caged behind careful order; Mrs. Collins and the other keepers care for every book here like they’re their children.
But the desk looks…interrupted. A chair drawn out just slightly. A book laid open, its spine pressed flat. The sight of it pulls you forward before you quite realise you’ve moved.
By the time you reach it, something uneasy has already begun to settle low in your stomach.
The book is older than most here — vellum pages, the ink faintly uneven with age, margins annotated in a careful, archaic hand. And…
A tear.
Not a gentle loosening of the binding, not the quiet decay of time. A page has been ripped clean out. Jagged edges remain, fibres splayed like a wound, the absence stark and unmistakable. For a moment, all you can do is stare at it, your mind refusing to reconcile the violence of it with the sanctity of the room.
“No,” you murmur, barely audible, as though the book might hear you. “What the hell? Who would do this?”
Your fingers hover, hesitant, before lowering to the edge of the tear. You don’t touch it, not really. Just enough to confirm it’s real, that this isn’t some trick of the light or your imagination.
The damage feels…fresh.
“Oh, my dear! I know I suggested you come up here, but I didn’t realise you would do it so soon. I am pleased to see you seizing the opportunity.”
The voice slices cleanly through the stillness.
Your head snaps up. Mrs. Collins stands a few steps in front of you, one gloved hand pressed lightly to her chest, the other still curled as though she’s just pushed the gate open in haste. She’s smiling at you.
“Isn’t it just so wonderful up here?”
Her gaze drops.
So does her smile.
The shift is immediate. The next words she was about to utter to you are cut off mid-thought, replaced by a silence that seems to expand, pressing outward until it fills every corner of the room.
You follow her eyes, though you already know what she sees.
The open book. The torn page. Your hand, still hovering far too close.
“Oh,” she says softly. It isn’t loud. It isn’t accusatory, not in any overt way. But something in it lands heavier than if she had raised her voice.
“No.” The word comes quickly, instinctively, as you straighten, pulling your hand back as though burned. “That’s not— I found it like this. I just came in, and it was already—”
“My dear,” she interrupts, stepping forward now, her attention wholly claimed by the book. The warmth she’d worn earlier has thinned into something panicked, something intended to be subdued but failing. “Do you have any idea what this is?”
Her gloved fingers hover over the pages with a care you hadn’t quite managed, reverent even in their urgency.
“I wouldn’t….Mrs. Collins, I didn’t do this,” you say, hating the way your voice sounds: too fast, too eager to prove you know, that you understand the gravity of it.
A small hum escapes her, noncommittal. Thoughtful.
She doesn’t look at you.
Instead, she leans closer to the book, inspecting the torn edge with a focus so intense it feels like you’ve already been dismissed from the equation. As though the only thing that matters — the only thing — is the damage itself, not how it came to be. “This is irreplaceable,” she murmurs, almost to herself. “Absolutely irreplaceable…”
“I know,” you insist, softer now, stepping closer despite the instinct telling you to retreat. “That’s why I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t touch it like that. I came in and it was open already, I thought someone must have done this. Because I wouldn’t. You must know that.”
“Must I?” she wonders. “Because I seem to recall you reporting a previous incident to do with a ripped book.”
The pause that follows is small.
But it stretches.
Goddamn it, it stretches until you feel it’s about to snap against your skin and leave a permanent mark. And of course it stretches; you have no defence for yourself. That previous incident is damning. As is the fact that less than ten people have access to the restricted section, and you are one of those ten, and the only one found at the scene of the crime with a record that could be tied to vandalism.
At last, she straightens. Her gaze lifts, settling on you fully this time, and there it is.
The change.
There’s no clear accusation to fight, no direct disbelief to dismantle. Only that subtle shift in the way she holds herself, the careful neutrality that feels, somehow, like distance. Like a decision made and buried in the grass, six feet under.
Footsteps approach behind you.
Measured. Familiar.
Nanami.
Relief sparks. Brief, bright, almost desperate. You turn before he’s even fully in the room, already reaching for the steadiness of him, the unspoken understanding that has carried you through long shifts and longer nights, through whispered conversations between stacks and the quiet, heated moments stolen where no one could see.
He takes in the scene quickly. The desk. The book. You.
And he doesn’t look surprised.
Mrs. Collins turns to him at once, as though grateful for a second witness, a second anchor. “Mr. Nanami,” she says, her tone composed once more, though the tension beneath it remains. “Were you in here earlier? Did you happen to leave the gate unsecured? Because your colleague here is suggesting someone left the gate unlocked, allowing a vandal to desecrate a priceless manuscript, and all other members of our library are accounted for, but you.”
You flinch with her wording; she’s suggesting you’ve thrown him under the bus. But Nanami would see through that. He’d know you wouldn’t.
It would be so easy.
You don’t even realise you’ve stepped closer to him until your shoulder nearly brushes his arm. There’s an expectation there. Built on everything that has passed between you. On the way he looks at you when no one else is watching. All he has to do is look at you. Just once. To see you.
“I’ve only just arrived,” he replies, adjusting his glasses.
And that’s it.
No hesitation. No glance in your direction. No acknowledgment of the space you occupy, the accusation you’re standing in. The words fall cleanly into the room and settle there, offering nothing for you to hold onto.
Something in your chest tightens, sharp and immediate.
Of course he’s telling the truth. Of course he is. That’s who he is — precise, measured, unwilling to bend facts for comfort. You’ve admired that about him. Relied on it. But this isn’t about facts, and you both know it.
Mrs. Collins nods slowly, absorbing his answer, her attention already drifting back to the book, to the problem that can be quantified and contained. “I see.”
It’s absurd, really. Nothing has been said outright. No verdict delivered. And yet the conclusion settles heavy in your bones all the same.
If Mrs. Collins had wanted to keep you, she doesn’t now. All of you know it. Yet no one offers you an opportunity to defend yourself, to put your case forward. They’ve both stepped ahead together, leaving you behind.
You look at him again, waiting stupidly, for something more. A correction. A clarification. Even just a quiet, “She wouldn’t do that.”
He doesn’t offer it.
When you look into his eyes, pleading, searching, all you can see is the flicker of doubt. You know without asking that he’s thinking back to when you had casually ripped a page from some random book some time ago too. He’s not staring at you accusingly, but the very fact that he’s not sure you didn’t do this is enough.
The distance between you yawns open, sudden and immense.
And when Mrs. Collins shakes her head and off-handedly says to Nanami, “You were right — she’s just not cut out for this job. Too emotional. Too unstable. Just doesn’t have what it takes,” that distance becomes a gaping chasm.
You stumble back, like you’d been struck.
Neither of them are on your side.
They never were.
“I understand,” you say at last, though no one has asked you to. “Perhaps it’s best that I see myself out early today.”
Your voice sounds steady. You’re grateful for that, at least. For the small mercy of not fracturing in front of them both. Because you will not cry in front of Nanami fucking Kento.
Mrs. Collins offers a polite, distracted nod, already reaching for solutions that don’t involve you.
Nanami says nothing.
And in the quiet that follows, you turn away and never look back.
My bedsheets are ablaze, I've screamed his name, building up like waves crashing over my grave. Without ever touching his skin, how can I be guilty as sin?
SYNOPSIS. Five years of professional order, and on a rainy Tuesday everything collapsed. When the brilliant, cold-blooded lawyer confesses her hunger for a leash, her mentor, Higuruma Hiromi, ceases to be her boss and becomes her master. The verdict is in: silence is a gift, and surrender is the only truth.
The command hit you like a physical weight, heavier than the hundreds of leather-bound law volumes lining the mahogany shelves of the office. The air in the room stalled, thick with the scent of Hiromi’s sandalwood cologne and the lingering ozone of the city rain lashing against the 42nd floor windows. No amount of professional composure, no years of practicing your professional persona in the cold, fluorescent light of the courtroom, could override the primal instinct taking over.
Your nylon-covered knees sank into the plush, charcoal carpet with a soft, muted rustle. You settled your weight onto your heels, your palms dampening against your thighs as you looked up at him. Your heart was drumming a frantic staccato against your ribs, a sharp contrast to the terrifying stillness of the man standing over you. His half-lidded gaze darkened, hectic with desperation and desire. The ache between your legs deepens, the anticipation growing stronger.
"Good girl," he murmured. The roughness of his thumb grazed your cheek, a touch so fleeting that it felt like a hallucination. "Now. Open for me."
You obeyed instantly. Your lips parted with a soft, wet sound, exposing the heat of your mouth. Your tongue rested behind your teeth, taut and trembling with the silent plea for his next order. As the chill breeze of the air conditioner hit the exposed skin of your neck where your hair was swept up, you felt the gravity of him.
Looking into those dark, weary eyes, you recognized you weren't looking at a boss anymore, nor were you looking at the man who had molded you from a wide-eyed intern into a predator. But as his hand fisted into your slick-backed bun, tilting your head back at an agonizing angle, you couldn't help but wonder how the quiet, mundane respect of the last five years had finally fractured into this beautiful, jagged precipice.
It hadn't happened in a single moment. It had been a slow erosion of your own boundaries.
For five years, you had moved through the halls of Higuruma & Nanami, Assoc. as a rookie of his order. To the rest of the firm, Higuruma Hiromi was an engine of weary efficiency. You watched him in meetings, leaning back with a silver pen balanced between his long, elegant fingers, his expression a mask of bored, professional detachment. He was always polite, but it was the politeness of a man who had seen too much of the world's filth to believe in anything but the law.
And yet, you were the only one who saw the flicker of life in his eyes when you won a difficult deposition. He saw you as something separate from the grime of his career; you were pure, vibrant and possessed a sense of justice that he had long ago traded for survival. He had spent those years sharpening you, turning your empathy into a weapon, while secretly guarding you as his only sanctuary from the hollow that haunted his private life, from the isolation that he himself had obsessively sought. He deemed you untouchable, not because of the nine-years difference that separates you or the professional boundaries, but because he was terrified that touching you would mean eventually losing the only light he had left.
The shift, however, refused to stay buried. It began to leak through the cracks on a Tuesday in April, one of those late, spring nights where the rain turned the Tokyo skyline into a blurred, watercolor portrait. Gloomy, melancholic and lonely.
The office was a tomb. Everyone else had fled hours ago, leaving the two of you alone in the main conference room, hunched over a mountain of evidence for the Itadori civil suit. The room smelled of old, bitter, cold coffee and cigarette smoke that refused to stop lingering in the air. The only sound was the rhythmic, frantic clicking of your keyboard and the steady drumming of the storm outside.
"You’re staring at that paragraph like you’re trying to set it on fire," Hiromi’s voice cut through the silence, low and gravelly from hours of disuse.
You looked up, rubbing the bridge of your nose. The shark was tired of searching for prey. "It’s circular logic, Higuruma. They’re hiding the liability in the sub-clauses. It’s infuriating because it’s so... hollow."
He leaned back in his leather chair, the light of the desk lamp casting deep shadows under his eyes. He looked at you and, for the first time, he didn't look away when your eyes met. He looked at the way a stray lock of hair had escaped from your bun, the way your shoulders were tight with a tension that surely had nothing to do with the law. Hunched over your laptop, with the hands on your head, you looked back at him.
"Five years," he remarked quietly, his gaze tracing the line of your jaw, his thumb and index finger stroking his own face, shadowing the path of his eyes on your skin. "I never imagined we’d still be the last two people in the building every night. Don't you have somewhere else to be? Someone waiting for you?"
You let out a dry, self-deprecating laugh that felt heavy in your throat. You looked down as you dropped your hands into your lap, then out at the blurred lights of the city. The moment your mask fell, suddenly, unexpectedly, like cracks in white, fine porcelain, happened before you could catch it.
"Is this it? I mean… Is this all my whole life means?" you asked, your voice an uneven whisper. "I’m twenty-seven, and I spend more time with the Japanese Civil Code than I do with human beings. My friends are all gone. They’re posting photos of nursery decorations and anniversary dinners, and I’m here, eating lukewarm takeout over a deposition. I’m a lawyer like I've always wanted. I’m successful. For God's sake, everybody here call me "The Shark". But sometimes... I feel so lost in the freedom and meaning of it all."
You looked at him, hands resting on your lap, nervously playing with your fingers, your eyes searching his for a sign of judgment, for the cold, professional wall you were used to. But the wall wasn't there.
"I think I want someone to tell me what to do," you confessed, the words spilling out like a prayer, haunted by his observant presence. "Yes… I want… I want someone to tell me what to wear every morning. What to eat. What to believe in. I’m tired of being the one with all the answers. I just want someone to tell me how to live, because so far, I think I’ve been getting it wrong. And I’m scared. Why am I so scared that I’m wasting my life?"
You forced yourself to swallow your spit. The words that came out of your mouth evaporated into thin air, painful and embarrassing. You wondered why you had to open up emotionally in the office? And why did you have to do it in front of Higuruma of all the people?
But the air in the room changed. You saw something visceral awaken behind his weary eyes. The fatigue vanished, replaced by a dark, focused intensity that made the hair on your arms stand up. Hiromi didn't see a broken employee, but a ruthless lawyer asking for a leash, asking for something more. He saw the woman he had considered untouchable offering him the very thing his soul excelled at: absolute, heavenly control.
In that moment, his fear of losing you was eclipsed by the sudden, violent need to possess you. He didn't offer a platitude. He didn't comfort you. He simply watched the way your chest heaved with every breath, his mind already beginning to map out the boundaries of the cage you were asking him to build and to break.
"You want to be told what to do?" he asked, his voice dropping an octave, becoming something you didn't recognize.
"Yes," you breathed.
He simply stood up, gathered his files, and walked toward the door. But as he reached the light switch, he paused, his silhouette casting a long, dark shadow over the table.
"Then finish the brief by midnight," he commanded, the "please" noticeably absent for the first time in five years. "And tomorrow, don't be late for the hearing."
The click of the light switch was the sound of a world ending. You sat there in the sudden darkness, your heart racing, realizing that for the first time in your life, someone had actually listened to what you were saying.
—
The weeks that followed the rainy Tuesday when the confession happened were a masterclass in psychological friction. Hiromi had retreated behind a wall of titanium-grade professionalism, but the air between you had changed. It was no longer the comfortable silence of two colleagues; it was the pressurized, thinning oxygen of two people holding their breath. His orders became shorter and sharper. He stopped saying please. He stopped looking at your eyes, focusing instead on the bridge of your nose or the files in your hands, as if looking directly at the raw soul inside you begging for a leash would cause him to lose his own precarious grip on reality.
You were starving for a sign, a touch, a continuation of that midnight confession. But Hiromi was a rational man of the law, and he knew that once he crossed that line, there would be no way to litigate his way back to innocence, back to the professional facade to which both of you were accustomed.
The breaking point arrived anyway on another Tuesday, a humid evening in May.
The office was mostly dark, the only light coming from the glowing green display of the heavy industrial Xerox machine in the narrow annex next to the break room. You stood there, the rhythmic thump-whir, thump-whir of the copier acting as the only heartbeat in the room. The machine finally went silent, the last of the hundred-page motions sliding into the tray with a soft, warm rustle.
As you reached out to gather the papers, a sharp, intrusive sound sliced through the silence.
It came from the break room, just a few feet away. Your breath hitched. You moved to the doorway that was connected to the common room, shielded by the shadow of the filing cabinets, and saw them through the ajar.
Nanami, the firm’s other partner, the man who was the very definition of stoic, "overtime is a burden" professionalism, had his secretary pinned against the refrigerator. The scene was cruder than anything you had imagined in this sanitized building. His suit jacket was discarded on the floor, and his hands were buried in her hair, pulling her head back with a desperate, animalistic hunger. The sound of their mouths meeting was frantic, a starving, messy collision.
You heard the metallic clack of his belt buckle hitting the edge of the kitchen counter as he hoisted her up.
"God, yes... Kento, please..." the secretary sobbed, her legs wrapping around his waist.
The sound of skin meeting skin, the guttural curses that Nanami was growling into her ear, it sent a jolt of pure, unadulterated adrenaline through your system. You felt the sweat start to gather at the nape of your neck.
The heat started to rise from your chest to your cheeks, while your nipples hardening painfully against your lingerie. Your heart was drumming against your ribs, and instinctively, you crossed your legs, pressing your thighs together to find some release for the sudden, throbbing ache between your legs.
Your breath hitched, coming in short, shallow gasps. You were watching them, your pulse hammering in your throat, feeling a sickeningly sweet wave of arousal wash over you. It was wrong. It was a violation. And it was the most exciting thing you had felt in months.
"It’s a fascinating study in human impulse, isn't it?"
The voice was a low, dangerous vibration against the back of your neck.
You nearly dropped the files, your body jumping in shock, but a heavy, warm hand clamped firmly onto your waist before you could spin around. Hiromi didn't let you turn. He stepped into your space, his large frame caging you against the doorframe. You could feel the radiating heat of his body, the broad expanse of his chest pressing into your shoulder blades, the most devastatingly and unmistakable silhouette of the hardening length of his erection pressing into your backside through the layers of your professional attire.
"Don't move," he murmured, his breath brushing over the sensitive skin behind your ear. "If you move, they’ll hear us. And I think you’d rather watch than be caught, wouldn't you, Counselor?"
"I... I shouldn't be watching," you breathed, your breath hitching as you felt the heat of his full erected groin press against your hip.
"But you are. And you’re drenched," he observed, his voice dropping to a growl, lips grazing the shell of your ear. "I can smell it."
He gripped your hip, his fingers digging into the flesh with a possessiveness that made you whimper. He leaned down, his nose brushing your temple, forcing you to maintain your gaze on the couple in the break room. Hiromi breathed you in deeply. The soft, faded scent of your warm, musky skin absorbing your vanilla perfume. The scent of your arousal mixing with the toner, almost disgusting, almost perfect.
"Tell me," he whispered, his voice dark and gravelly, exhaling slowly. "What do you see when you look at them? Do you see a violation of firm policy? Or do you see a woman who has finally stopped thinking for herself? A woman who has finally found someone to tell her how to breathe?"
You couldn't answer. You could only lean back into him, your head lolling to the side as you craned your neck to try and see him, but all you could see was the sharp line of his jaw and the predatory glint in his dark eyes. You were trembling, your right hand clutching the edge of the filing cabinet for support, and the other one grasping Hiromi's forearm that was holding your waist.
In the break room, the secretary let out a high, thin moan of pleasure as Nanami’s movements became more frantic, more violent. The sound of the water dispenser in the corner made a slow, serene glug-glug, interrupting the tension that was thick enough to drown in.
"Tell me then, Counselor," Hiromi repeated, his fingers digging deeper in the plump flesh of your hip. "What do you think he’s doing to her? Do you think he’s being gentle? Or do you think he’s taking exactly what he wants because he knows she’ll give it to him?"
"I don't... I don't know," you breathed, your knees feeling like they were made of water.
"You do know," he countered, his voice dropping to a growl. "You can feel it. The way your heart is trying to jump out of your chest. The way you’re wondering if my touch feel as rough as his."
He let the silence hang there, thick and agonizing. He just watched you suffer in the tension, watching you over his head as you became a quivering mess.
Hiromi’s hand moved from your waist, his palm sliding up your ribcage, stopping just beneath the swell of your breast. He could feel your heart racing, trapped beneath his touch. He was fighting himself, you could feel it in the way his grip tightened, the way his breath hitched when you pressed your hips back into his. He wanted to break his own rules. He wanted to turn you around and finish what you had started weeks ago on the main conference room.
But he didn't. He stayed there, like a ghost behind you, forcing you to endure the sight of Nanami’s release and the agonizing proximity of his own body. You both stayed like that, two shadows in the adjacent room, listening to the gasps and the rustle of clothes as the other couple finally composed themselves and left the building.
The silence that followed was louder than the sex you had voyeuristically witnessed. Hiromi finally let go of your waist, but he didn't move away. He stayed close enough that you could still feel his warmth.
Your head fell back, heavy and loose, until it found the solid, tense anchor of his shoulder. From that angle, the facade of your boss was gone. You saw how Hiromi’s eyes were blown wide, shimmering with a dark, liquid heat you’d never seen before. His mouth hung open, a silent gasp caught between his teeth, while a deep, pulsing crimson stained his cheekbones. And clashed with the weary, dark hollows of his eyes, proving that he was just as ruined as you.
"Go home," he said, the command sharp and sudden. "Finish your work. And tomorrow, when you walk into my office, you better have a good damn reason for the way you’re looking at me right now."
He turned and disappeared into the darkness of the hallway before you could even find your voice, leaving you standing in the heat of the copy machine, your body aching with a hunger that nothing would never be able to satisfy.
—
The Wednesday morning arrived with a cruel, cold sharpness. The sun hit the glass exterior of the building, turning the firm into a cathedral of light and steel, but inside, the air felt thin. Every time you passed the break room, your skin prickled with the phantom sensation of Hiromi’s breath on your neck. You hadn't slept, the echoes of Nanami’s secretary’s moans from the night before were still vibrating in your marrow. The memory of what happened had kept you awake, a restless, pulsing heat that no amount of tossing and turning could put an end to it.
You spent the morning buried in the Itadori injunction, your fingers trembling slightly as you typed. At 11:27 AM, you gathered the heavy leather folders. You needed his final signature.
As you approached his corner office, the sight of the dark, frosted glass door made your stomach drop. The raw vulnerability of the night before made you feel as though every associate in the hallway could see right through your professional facade.
You knocked. A single, sharp sound.
"Enter."
You stepped inside, the heavy door clicking shut behind you, sealing out the noise of the office. Hiromi didn't look up immediately, seated in front of his desk. He had discarded his suit jacket, his white dress shirt stretched tight across his broad shoulders, sleeves rolled up to reveal the thin dark hair on his forearms. The room smelled intensely of him, of bitter espresso and that grounding, woody sandalwood.
"The injunction files, Sir," you said, your voice catching.
He didn't turn. "Bring them here."
You walked toward him, but as you reached the center of the room, he moved with a sudden, predatory grace, getting up from his chair by a stride. He didn't take the files; he took you. Before you could react, he had spun you around, pulling your back flush against his chest.
"Hiromi... someone might see," you gasped, your heart leaping into your throat, calling him by his first name for the first time. Vulnerable, intoxicating.
Directly in front of you was the glass wall you had just passed. Through the dark tint, you could see the entire floor. You saw the head secretary heading back to her desk; you saw two junior lawyers laughing as they walked by, their shoulders nearly brushing the very wall you were pinned against. The sheer proximity was a physical blow to your senses.
"They can't," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that traveled from his chest straight into your spine. He dropped the folders onto a side table, the heavy thud sounding like the hammering of a gavel. "It’s one-way glass, Counselor. Darkened and treated. From out there, they see a mirror, a reflection of their own busy, boring lives. But from in here..."
He slid his left hand up your throat, his thumb tilting your chin up while his right arm wrapped firmly around your waist, pulling you so tight against him that you could feel the hard, demanding line of his erection pressing into the small of your back. You were wearing thin and tailored plaid trousers today, and you felt every inch of him.
His hand traveled down your sternum, tracing the line of your blouse's buttons with agonizing slowness, passing through your navel before settling heavily over your covered mound. He didn't slide his hand underneath; he simply cupped his hand against it, pressing his palm in your clitoris through the fabric of your pants, applying a steady, mean pressure that made your knees buckle.
"From in here," he whispered against your ear, "we can see everything. We can watch them work while I decide exactly what to do with you."
You whimpered, your hands reaching back to grip his forearms, feeling the hard, coiled muscle beneath your nails. The sight of your fellow lawyers just inches away, oblivious to your boss’s hand crushing against your crotch, sent a wave of illicit, terrifying heat through you. You were their colleague, a predator still in training, yet here you were, trapped in a cage of glass, cigarette smoke, and sandalwood scent.
Suddenly, he spun you around. The transition was violent, a blur of movement that ended with your back pressed against the glass and him towering over you. He didn't even give you a chance to breathe. He crashed his mouth against yours, a desperate, starving claim that tasted of coffee and a sudden need. It wasn't any kiss, it was the kiss of a man who had spent weeks dying of thirst.
He pulled back just an inch, his eyes dark, the pupils blown wide with a terrifying hunger. "I haven't been able to think about a single statute since last night," he confessed against your lips, forehead collapsing into yours, his voice raw. "All I see is you in that room. All I see is you wanting to be told what to do."
Hiromi kissed you again, more desperate than before, bruising your lips and claiming your moans. He bit your lower lip, tugging it until you let out a sharp, needy whimper. His mouth sliding down your jawline. He reached for the back of your head, his fingers tangling into your hair, pulling your bun tight enough to expose the sensitive, helpless column of your neck.
"This is mine," he whispered.
He sank his teeth into the junction where your neck met your shoulder, sucking the skin with a forceful, punishing pressure, hollowing his cheeks, pressing his tongue harder. Your back arched beneath his grasp, breasts brushing his chest, hands anchoring in his shoulders. Your mind turned into a chaotic haze of pleasure, escaping from the fear of the door opening. When he finally pulled away, he lingered for a second, breathing how his scent mixed with the one of your skin.
"Go," he breathed, his own breathing ragged, his forehead resting against yours. "Before I decide the injunction can wait another hour."
You stumbled out of the office, your shaky legs feeling heavy. You made it back to your box, sinking into your chair and staring blankly at your monitor. The office hummed around you, unchanged, but as you looked at the black reflection of the screen, you saw a dark, unmistakable mark peeking out from your collar.
Your blood ran cold. You scrambled to the restroom, locking yourself and leaning into the mirror. It was worse than you thought; a deep, purple-red brand that screamed of possession. Panicked, you fumbled with your hair, pulling out the pins and letting the strands fall over your shoulders to hide the bruise.
For the rest of the day, you were a ghost of yourself. Every time someone spoke to you, you instinctively reached up, your fingers orbiting over the mark, shifting your hair or pulling your collar higher. The thought of being caught sent shivers through your spine. You were carrying the secret of your nonprofessional persona in the very skin of your throat.
—
The next morning was a slow descent into a fever dream. You had chosen a cream scarf of silk, thin and elegant, but as you wrapped it twice around your neck to hide the maroon brand, it felt like a leaden weight. Every time you moved your head, the friction of the silk against the bruised skin was a sharp, electric reminder of Hiromi’s teeth.
The meeting was scheduled for 10:00 AM in the main conference room, known as the "Civil Litigation War Room". All the junior and senior associates of the civil department were there, including Hiromi’s lead secretary, a woman whose efficiency was only matched by her uncanny ability to notice the smallest deviation in office decorum.
You sat at the long, obsidian-glass table, your laptop open, but your focus was entirely on the silk scarf. Underneath, the skin of your neck felt tight and hot.
"Counselor (y/n)? Are you with us?"
The secretary’s voice snapped you back to the present. She was looking at you, her head tilted, her eyes narrowing behind her thin-framed glasses. Beside her, Hiromi sat at the head of the table, his expression a mask of bored, professional detachment as always. He was leaning back, a silver pen balanced between his long fingers.
"Yes, sorry," you stammered, adjusting your posture. "The Itadori deposition. I was just... reviewing the timeline."
"You look flushed," the secretary noted, her voice carrying across the silent room. "And that pashmina... it’s a bit warm for the office, isn't it? Did you catch a cold?"
You felt Hiromi’s gaze shift toward you. It wasn't the gaze of a concerned boss. It was the heavy, dark stare of a man watching his handiwork.
"I... I had a bit of an accident this morning," you said adjusting your posture again, heart hammering against your ribs. "I was rushing, and I burned my neck with the curling iron. It’s quite unsightly, I’m afraid."
The secretary arched an eyebrow. She looked at your hair. You had pulled into a tight, professional bun, not a single stray strand or curl in sight. "A curling iron? For a bun? That seems... counter-intuitive."
A few of the other associates chuckled. Your face burned. You looked down at your notes, feeling the weight of Hiromi’s silence. He didn't come to your rescue. He let you flounder, let you feel the thrill of the lie, the delicious shame of carrying his mark in a room full of people who saw him as a paragon of virtue.
"We have work to do," Hiromi finally interrupted, his voice like a cold blade cutting through the chatter. "If the Counselor is finished discussing her beauty routine, perhaps we can focus on the fact that our client is facing a twelve million yen liability."
He looked at you then, and for a split second, the professional mask slipped. His eyes dropped to the cream silk of your scarf, his nostrils flaring slightly. He wanted you to know that he knew. He wanted you to feel the brand pulsing against your skin.
You spent the rest of the meeting lost in your own head. The scarf felt tighter with every passing minute, a physical manifestation of the secret you were carrying. You felt watched, haunted by the imagined judgment of your peers, yet you knew they saw nothing but a diligent lawyer. This internal isolation, the gap between your professional image and the raw, aching woman beneath the scarf, was driving you to the brink of a breakdown.
An hour after the meeting ended, the notification chimed on your desktop.
Internal Mail: Urgent
From: Higuruma, Hiromi
To: [Name]
Subject: Final Review - Case #882
My office. Bring the physical files. Now.
The word Now felt like a physical tug on a leash. You didn't hesitate. Your self-control had been eroded by weeks of tension and a morning of hiding, you stood up so fast that your chair hit the back wall. You grabbed the files, your pulse a frantic drumming in your ears, and walked toward his door, high heels pounded on the ceramic floor.
When you entered, the click of the deadbolt behind you was the only greeting.
"Take it off," Hiromi commanded. He was leaning against the edge of his desk, his arms crossed.
You unwound the silk, feeling the cool air of the office hit the heated skin of your neck. His hand gestured for you to approach, making you step into his space. His thumb traced the edges of the bruise he had made. He didn't use a gentle touch; his nail grazed the center of the mark, making you hiss through your teeth, pushing his thumb deeper until he felt your accelerated pulse.
"A curling iron burn?" he mocked, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "Such a creative little liar," his fingers holding you by your jaw tilting your head back, half-lidded eyes piercing into his almost unnoticeable brown eyes. The pupils dilated, taking almost the entire space of his iris.
"But in here, we don't lie. In here, you belong to the truth of what you want," Hiromi murmured, leaning over you, face centimeters from yours. Stray, rebellious strands of his hair fell forward, grazing your forehead with a warm, tingling friction. His hair was a mess, the dark locks roughed up and agitated from the dozens of times he’d raked his fingers through them.
He didn't wait for an answer. He grabbed your waist and hoisted you onto the mahogany desk, scattering the files that you were clinging to like autumn leaves. The wood was cold against the back of your thighs, a shocking contrast to the heat radiating from your own skin. You were already ripe, your body slick with the anticipation that had been building since that night in the copy room.
He hiked your skirt up to your hips. The sight of your black lace panties against your shaky, smooth skin made his nostrils flare. He leaned down, his face inches from yours, his scent, sandalwood and cigarettes mixing with a musk, metallic hint, filling your lungs.
"Look at the glass," he whispered, his hand sliding under the damp laced fabric of your thong.
You obeyed, your eyes fixed on the frosted door. You could see the blurry, ghost-like shapes of people moving in the hallway, completely unaware that their superior was currently sliding two fingers through your folds.
He played you with a cruel, agonizing precision. Two fingers caressing your pulsating hole, poorly, tightening around nothing. His thumb hooked over your clitoris, applying a heavy, grinding pressure while his fingers stretched you. Finally entering you, mimicking the depth that you were starving for, pistoning his fingers with a motion of his wrist. The sound of the friction of his pads hitting that sweet, spongy spot right under your cervix was enough for you to have gone completely insane. The wet, obnoxious shuck shuck of his fingers filling the room, louder than your own ragged breathing and broken moans. You were experiencing an overwhelming feeling of pleasure, your hips bucking instinctively against his hand, your head tilting backward, unable to keep looking at the ordinary situation behind the frosted glass.
"Hiromi... please," you moaned, your hands clutching the edges of the desk so hard the wood bit into your palms.
"Please what, Counselor?" he asked, his voice a calm contrast to the frantic bucking of your hips. "Do you want me to stop? Do you want to go back to your briefing?"
"No! Don't stop. I’m... I'm almost—"
"Say it," he growled, his teeth grazing your earlobe. "Tell me what you want."
Your gaze met his. Your eyes filled with tears were overwhelmed by the shivering sensation of his fingers hitting that spot over and over again while his cupped hand was getting wetter. His brows frowned, the usual tiredness of his eyes replaced completely by lust and hunger. His breathing became agitated, unhinged, almost making fun of your own sobs. You were a ruined mess, pouring out all your juices on the floor. His thumb pressed harder on the bundle of nerves of your pussy.
"I-I want you... Fuck! I wanna-a... Hiromi, please, I wanna cum!" You sobbed, realizing that you were on the absolute precipice, that white, hot second where your muscles coil and the world disappears. You could feel the first exasperated contraction of your orgasm beginning to gather in your gut, the stars started to burst behind your lids, nerves tingling under your skin.
Everything became too much, a beautiful, overwhelming dissonance of skin and heat. The humid weight of Higuruma’s breath against your ear, the agonizing friction of your nipples against the lace of your bra, and constant bite of your stockings against your thighs. Even the ordinary hum of the office outside the door felt like a physical intrusion. You were rushing toward the edge now, your mind blurring as you reached out to grasp the shivering, coiled lightning between your thighs.
And then… the void.
He yanked his hand away, splashing your slick arousal. The sudden absence of heat and friction was a physical blow. You gasped, your body twitching in a desperate attempt to find that sensation again, thighs closing, creating a poor excuse of friction. Your eyes wide and unfocused as you looked at him.
Hiromi didn't move. He stood back, his expression turning unemotional, almost cruel. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a clean white handkerchief, wiping your juices from his fingers with a terrifyingly calm deliberation.
"Why? Why did you stop?" your voice was an erratic, desperate whisper. Your flushed cheeks and bitten lips were mixed into your confused, frowning expression.
"Because you haven't earned it yet," he said, his eyes dark with a cold authority. "You think you can just have it whenever the need gets too much? You think it’s that easy to find release?"
"Hiromi, please... I need it," you pleaded, your voice breaking. You felt raw, humiliated, and utterly unfinished, the cool breeze of his office grazing the naked skin of your upper thighs.
"If you want to finish what we started," he said, his voice dropping into a register that brooked no argument, "meet me at the Grand Celestia Hotel. Room 1221. Eight o'clock tonight."
The anger finally broke through your haze. "No," you snapped, the word feeling like a spark in a dry forest. "You can't do that. I’m not a toy you can just... summon when you feel like playing God."
A flicker of frustration crossed his features. He hadn't expected that you would bite back so soon. He looked at you, sitting half-naked on his desk, and for a second, the silence was deafening. Then, he reached down. His hands hooked into the waistband of your black lace panties. With a swift, powerful motion, he stripped them down your legs.
"Hey, stop!"
He didn't stop. He pulled them off your ankles and tucked the warm, damp fabric into his back pocket.
"We'll see," he said. He walked back to his chair and sat down, opening a folder as if you weren't even there. "Now, put your clothes back together. You have a lunch meeting with the senior partners in ten minutes."
"I... I don't have my underwear, Hiromi. Give them back."
He didn't look up. His pen scratched against the paper with a methodical finality. "I know. I imagine the draft in the conference room will be quite... stimulating. I suggest you keep your legs crossed, Counselor. It would be a shame for the partners to see what a mess you’ve made of yourself."
You stood up, your legs trembling so violently you had to hold onto the desk for support, straightened your skirt and tying the scarf back around your neck. The lack of underwear was a cold, constant shock. Every step you took toward the door, you could feel the touch of your own skin brushing against your bare, sensitized labia.
You walked into that lunch meeting feeling like a wound. You sat between two senior partners, forced to discuss corporate liability while every shift in your seat, every draft of the air conditioner, reminded you of what he had taken. You sat with your legs tightly crossed, the friction of your own skin the only comfort you had, knowing that the man at the end of the table had your scented sin in his pocket and your sanity in his hands.
—
Friday was a test of endurance. You had returned to the office with a fresh pair of panties beneath your skirt, a barrier of fabric that felt like a betrayal. You wanted to feel the air again, you wanted the vulnerability he had forced upon you. Instead, you were wrapped in your professional armor, the cream silk scarf knotted again so tightly around your throat that it felt like a silken noose.
You didn't look at him once. You kept your eyes glued to the flickering blue light of your monitor, burying yourself in the details of the Itadori case, but your body was a traitor. Every time the elevator chimed, your heart lurched into your throat, expecting his silhouette to darken the doorway. Every time you crossed your legs, the friction of your own thighs against the cotton of your panties sent a jolt of phantom electricity to your core. Your body remembered the exact weight of his palm, it remembered the rhythmic, heavy grind of his thumb.
By mid-afternoon, you were drenched. The sensation was a constant, pulsing thrum, a dull ache in your pussy that made sitting still an act of sheer willpower. You could practically smell him in the air, remarkable sandalwood and cold espresso, even though he was thirty feet away behind a closed door, likely holding your damp lace in his pocket as he dictated memos. The perfect lawyer was drowning in her own skin.
The weekend, however, was where the real torture began.
The silence of your apartment was deafening. Outside, the Tokyo sky had turned into a bruised charcoal, and the rain began to lash against your bedroom windows in a moody, relentless assault. You paced the floor of your room, the hardwood cool against your bare feet, but the restlessness in your mind was a fire that wouldn't go out.
You caught your reflection in the full-length mirror. The hickey was fading, turning into a sickly, mottled yellow-green, turning into a dying brand. As the mark vanished, a wave of genuine panic surged through you. If the mark disappeared, would the connection vanish too? Was he already forgetting the way you had sobbed his name like a prayer?
As the Saturday night fell, you were a wreck. You collapsed onto your bed, the sheets already tangled and damp from hours of tossing and turning. You closed your eyes, but the darkness was even worse, it was a canvas for his face. You saw the dark, focused intensity in his eyes, his eyebrows furrowed, his lips moist when he asked you "Tell me what you want". You felt the ghost of his breath against your cheek.
Desperate, you slid your hand beneath the waistband of your sleep shorts. You needed the release. You needed to quiet the noise in your head. You needed to burn the desire.
You tried to mimic him. You used two fingers, finding the rhythm he had established on the mahogany desk, your other hand reaching up to grip one of your breasts as a substitute for his strength. You closed your eyes and tried to summon the scent of his office, the sound of the air conditioner, the terrifying thrill of the one-way glass.
But your own touch felt meaningless. It was thin, indifferent and devoid of the one thing you were starving the most for: authority. There was no weight behind your fingers. No command in the silence of your room. You pushed yourself harder, your breath coming irregular, frustrated gasps, your hips bucking against the mattress, but the pinnacle remained mockingly out of reach. You were chasing a ghost. You wanted the hand that had yanked away from your arousal. You wanted the man who had told you that you hadn't earned it yet.
You pulled your hand away, sobbing in the dark, your body trembling with the weight of an unreleased, agonizing tension. You realized then, that you were no longer in control of your own pleasure. It felt like a death sentence. He had stolen the keys to your body and locked them in his desk.
"Fuck…"
Sunday went slowly. You sat by the window, watching the remaining, more subtle rain, trying to reconcile the "Higuruma & Nanami, Assoc.'s Shark", the brilliant, independent lawyer who had fought for her place in this firm, in this city, with the woman who was currently counting the minutes until she could be ordered around again, until she could earn it.
It was a war between the mental and the carnal parts of you. You feared him. You feared losing the professional respect you had spent five years building. You feared that once you stepped into the room 1221, the version of you that won trials and commanded respect would be swallowed whole by the version of you that wanted to be dominated by Higuruma Hiromi.
But as the sun began to set, that fear turned into a grim, absolute certainty. The professional admiration hadn't vanished, it had morphed into a terrifying form of devotion. You didn't just want him to fuck you stupid, you wanted to be judged by him. You wanted to be the only thing that made that weary, broken man want to hold onto.
By the time you went to bed on that night, the restlessness had settled into a cold, hard resolve. You were going to lose your mind if you stayed in this apartment one more night. You were going to lose your soul if you didn't give him exactly what he wanted.
—
The Monday morning was a trial in every sense of the word. You moved through the corridors of the Tokyo District Court like a ghost haunting its own life. Your eyes were rimmed with the faint, tell-tale shadows of a weekend spent in a fever of unreleased tension, but your mind had never been sharper. It was on a cold edge. You studied the case, you were part of the case. Every bit of the sexual frustration, the pulsing ache that had been your only companion for forty-eight hours, was being channeled into a singular, aggressive focus.
As you sat at the counselor's table, the dark wood railing felt like the edge of the desk in Hiromi’s office. You found yourself staring at the judge, but your internal monologue was a chaotic litigation of your own soul.
Exhibit A: The silk scarf.
Exhibit B: The missing underwear.
Verdict: Guilty of a hunger that transcends the law.
You were judging yourself for the very thing that was making you so effective. The raw, carnal desperation to finish the job, to be done with the "if" and move into the "when".
Hiromi sat beside you, his presence a silent, heavy gravitational pull. He didn't speak, but you could feel the radiating heat of his shoulder just inches from yours. His scent of sandalwood was already usual to your nose, but it was mixed with the smell of burnt tobacco, espresso, with the warm notes of oak wood, caramel, cinnamon and smoky touches of his favorite whiskey. It became a physical assault on your senses in the sterile, wood-paneled courtroom.
At one point, as you leaned over to whisper a note about a witness's testimony, his knee brushed against your thigh. It was a subtle, fleeting contact, professional to any observer, but to you, it was a lightning strike. You felt the muscles in your legs tighten instinctively, your breath hitching as you felt the phantom weight of his hand on your mound. You looked up, and for a split second, your eyes met.
He wasn't looking at your notes. He was looking at your neck. The hickey had faded to a phantom of a bruise, a pale, yellowish shadow that was barely visible beneath your loose hair. You saw his nostrils flare, a dark, entertained glint awakening in his weary eyes. He saw the fatigue in your face; he saw his perfect lawyer fraying at the edges, and it seemed to feed him. He wasn't just your mentor today, he was the prosecutor of your self-control.
You won the injunction by noon. You were relentless, tearing through the opposing counsel’s arguments with a clinical savagery that left the room silent. It was one of the best performances of your career, fueled entirely by the need to get out of your lawyer gown and jump into the room 1221.
The walk to the car was an agonizing slow-motion sequence. The city noise of Tokyo swirled around you. The hiss of tires on damp asphalt, the distant hum of the train. But all you heard was the blood rushing in your ears.
You stopped by the black sedan, the adrenaline of the victory finally beginning to flow away, replaced by a raw, naked honesty. You turned to him, your hands trembling as you clutched your briefcase.
"The Grand Celestia," you said. Your voice cracked, a jagged sound that betrayed your professional composure, but your gaze remained firm. "Tonight. If you want to play, Sir... then let's play."
A slow, dark smile spread across his face. The first genuine expression of amusement you had seen in years. It wasn't the tired smile of a successful lawyer, it was the satisfied smirk of a man who had successfully broken a wild thing. He stepped closer, his shadow falling over you, his eyes scanning your tired face with a terrifyingly intimate scrutiny.
"Eight o'clock," he replied, his voice a low, gravelly promise that made your knees feel weak. "And don't bother with underwear this time, Counselor. I still have the pair I want you in. I'd hate for you to feel... overdressed."
He reached out, his fingers ghosting over the spot where the mark had been, his touch a cold promise of the new brands he intended to leave.
"Go home. Rest," he commanded, the authority back in full force. "You’re going to need your strength for what I have planned."
—
The Grand Celestia was a fortress of quiet, expensive air. As you stepped out of the taxi, the humidity of the Tokyo evening clung to your skin, the sky was bruised with deep pinks as the sun dipped lower, the clouds stirring in a restless dance that finally swept the storm away.
The lobby of the hotel was a tomb of chilled marble. Suddenly, you became conscious of the feel of every inch of your outfit: the sleeveless draped blouse cinching under your breasts, the dark pencil skirt hugging your hips, the stockings ending mid-thigh with a lace grip that dug into your skin, the pointy black high heels numbing your feet, and the terrifying, airy void where your underwear should have been. Tonight, you were a woman who had meticulously prepared herself to be unmade.
You found the private alcove in the back of the hotel’s restaurant. Hiromi was already there, his silhouette framed by dark wood and silver light. He looked tired, his eyes carried the weight of a thousand red papers, but as you approached, a sharp, focused clarity cut through his fatigue. He watched you shift your weight, your hands nervously twisting the strap of your bag.
"You’re five minutes late," he noted. There was no bite in it, only a calm observation. He gestured to the chair opposite him. "Sit. Let’s have dinner," he said, looking into your eyes. "And enjoy ourselves. You look like you’re expecting an execution, not a meal."
The dinner was a lifeline to normalcy in a sea of rising tension. As the wine flowed, the rigid set of your shoulders began to melt. Hiromi unbuttoned his cuffs, rolling back his sleeves to reveal his sturdy, hair-dusted forearms. You talked about the absurdity of the opposing counsel's closing statement; you debated the texture of the wagyu. You laughed, a genuine, melodic sound that made Hiromi’s gaze soften. For a moment, you were just two people who finally felt safe in each other's presence.
"I wonder sometimes," you said, toying with the stem of your glass, "if you ever get tired of always being right."
Hiromi let out a dry, almost inaudible laugh.
"Being right is a lonely burden. What tires me is the noise," he sipped some wine, bobbing his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. "The messiness of people who don't know what they want," he continued, keeping his eyes fixed on yours. "That’s why I like being with you."
"Why?" you asked, half laugh, half whisper, leaning forward.
"Because you are precise. You’re like an equation that solves itself," he leaned in too, his voice dropping an octave. "Or at least, that’s what I thought until a few weeks ago. Now... now you’re the only chaos I’m interested in bringing to order."
You felt a jolt of electricity at his words, but you tried to hide it by taking a sip of the Bordeaux. "You’re overanalyzing again," your gaze met his above the roundness of the cup. The sweet, glistening wine spilling across your lips. "I’m just trying to perceive the base notes of this wine."
"It’s red fruits, tobacco, and... some leather," he said, his eyes never leaving yours, tracking the way your pulse fluttered at the base of your throat. "But what you really love is the control that comes with knowing exactly what you’re consuming. Even now, you’re trying to classify this dinner, trying to put a label on the moment so it feels safe."
You felt the heat rise immediately, a rosy stain creeping up your neck and disappearing under your loose hair. "I am not doing that, Higuruma."
"Yes, you are. You turn red right here." He reached across the table, his index finger barely grazing the edge of your jaw, his skin searingly hot against yours. "It’s fascinating to watch the most aggressive lawyer in Tokyo crumble over a simple observation about wine. I wonder if it’s not the wine that’s making you lose your composure."
He pulled his hand back slowly, his eyes dark with a quiet, satisfied intensity, just as the waiter placed the final course between you.
It was a single, dark chocolate fondant, dusted with a fine layer of cocoa that looked like velvet. As you pressed your silver spoon into the cake, the center gave way, oozing out like molten lava across the white porcelain. The richness of the scent, bitter, sweet, and intoxicating, filled the small space between you, mirroring the thick, heavy atmosphere of the alcove.
You took a small, trembling spoonful, the sugar hitting your tongue like a drug, momentarily grounding you as the world outside the hotel seemed to vanish. You looked up at him, your lips stained dark by the chocolate, your heart hammering against your ribs.
"Aren't you going to have any?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper, a challenge and an invitation all at once.
Hiromi didn't reach for a spoon. He leaned across the table, his hand cupping the back of your head with a sudden, grounding heat. "Yes, I am," he murmured, his voice dropping into that guttural, dark register that made your core pulse.
He kissed the chocolate right off your lips. His tongue was bold, sweeping into your mouth to claim the sweetness and the wine, his other hand finding your jaw with a strength that made you gasp against his mouth. When he pulled back, you felt dizzy, the world spinning around the gravitational center of his scent. Starving for more, you watched as he took a real spoonful. The pulse between your legs increased as you leaned forward, initiating the kiss this time, desperate to taste him again.
"Upstairs," you breathed against his lips. "Please. Now."
The journey in the elevator was an exquisite torture. There were two other guests in there, an another couple in formal wear, and the silence was deafening. Hiromi stood behind you, his hand dropping to your hip, his fingers exploring its curve. His hand became anxious as he watched the numbers rise at an overwhelming pace. His heavy fingers began to trace small circles on the plump flesh of your hip, traveling south, encountering the curve of your ass cheek. As he didn't feel the underwear lines that should be resting there, he realized the truth. He has never wanted to touch your naked skin that much.
A low, sharp intake of breath hissed past his teeth.
"Good girl," he whispered into your hair, the words a jagged promise.
The moment the door to Suite 1221 clicked shut, the dinner was forgotten, a memory buried twenty floors down. Hiromi discarded his suit jacket, his eyes locked on yours.
"I want a total delivery," he said, his voice echoing in the softly lit room. "I want your silence, your noise, and your absolute surrender, " he removed the knot from his tie, revealing popped veins on his hands.
"I am going to tie your hands, because I want you to remember that every sensation you feel tonight is a gift I am allowing you to have, " he methodically discarded his belt with a swift movement.
"I’m going to eat you until you can’t remember your own name, and then I’m going to fuck you until you understand exactly who you belong to," his eyes have never left you while he unbuttoned his shirt. Heavy pecs greeting you as he got rid of his shirt.
"Do you understand, Counselor?" His shirt and blazer sat abandoned on the armchair. In the low light, Hiromi’s naked torso was a devastating presence, pale, gleaming, and dangerously close. There was a heavy, grounded masculinity to his build; you could see the ripple of muscle with every breath he took, the hard, anatomical definitions of his frame towering over you.
Your mouth flooded with a sudden, sharp rush of spit at the sight, a primitive response you couldn't suppress. You swallowed hard, the movement echoing in the desert of your throat as you offered a frantic, wordless nod. Your hands, pinned to your sides, began to tremble.
"Use your words, (y/n)."
The sound of your name, vulnerable, abrupt, and stripped of every professional title, felt like a physical blow. The way his tongue rolled through the syllables, lingering on the vowels with a dark, proprietary heat, was a final slap to your remaining sanity. With the last, jagged thread of your composure, you whispered, "Yes." The word didn't feel spoken; it felt torn from the very center of you.
"Good," a wicked smile spread across his face. He stood before you in the middle of the room, in only his trousers. The incipient dark-haired path decorating his lower abdomen, disappearing under the waist of his black suit pants, his erection straining against the fabric.
"Take off the blouse," he commanded with a quiet, rigid breathing.
You obeyed, your fingers clumsy, flustered. When the fabric fell, he saw you were bare beneath that, too. He stepped forward, anticipating the warmth of your skin, thumb and forefinger catching one of your nipples in a sharp, demanding pinch. "No bra, either? You really are desperate for me, aren't you?"
You gasped, your back arching instinctively as your nipple peaked under his touch. "Yes," you choked out, the word of a confession of total defeat.
He brought your wrists together in front of your abdomen. Using his black silk tie, he bound them, tight enough to restrict, yet gentle enough to respect the skin. You felt the dry, expensive thrill of the fabric, and as the realization that he had done this before, that he knew exactly how much slack to leave, sank in. Your knees buckled.
Hiromi caught you, his large hands stabilizing your waist, but he didn't pull you into a hug. He held you at arm's length, forcing you to stand under the soft, amber glow of the chandelier.
The heavy velvet curtains were drawn tight against the Tokyo skyline, sealing the two of you in a world where time had stopped. The only sound was the low, rhythmic hum of the air conditioner and the frantic, shallow cadence of your own breathing.
Hiromi’s gaze traveled over you then, not with the casual look, but with the starving, possessive weight of a man inspecting a masterpiece he finally owned. His eyes, usually so weary from the law, were now burning with a dark, terrifying focus. He looked at your bound wrists, then traced the line of your collarbone down to your bare chest. You felt the heat of his stare like a physical touch, marking you where his hands hadn't even reached yet.
"You're trembling," he noted, his voice a low vibration that seemed to rattle the very bones of the room.
"I... I didn't think it would feel like this," you whispered, your voice cracking.
"The law is a cage of words, Counselor, you know that. But, this," he stepped closer, his shadow swallowing you whole as he loomed over you, "is the cage of desire. And you’ve never looked more at home."
He didn't give you a chance to retreat into your mind. He reached out, his hand cupping the back of your head, and kissed you fiercely. A deep, territorial claim that tasted of wine, chocolate and a sudden, carnal hunger. Still kissing you, he guided you toward the massive canopy bed, the duvet inviting under the dim lights.
He turned you around with a firm, silent strength, forcing you to grip the carved wooden post at the foot of the bed. The wood was cool and unyielding against your bound hands, a stark contrast to the radiating heat of his body pressing into your back.
"Don't let go," he ordered, softly.
With your wrists bound, your hands holding onto the canopy post and your forehead pressed against the wood, you were a work of art in raw lines and frantic breathing. The posture forced your back into a deep, vulnerable arch, exposing the entire smooth length of your spine to his predatory gaze.
You couldn't stay still. Your hips shifted in a restless, impatient stutter. A physical manifestation of the fever that had been building since Thursday. It was a mix of raw anticipation and the sheer, terrifying weight of his authority. The lack of space, the heavy, radiating heat of Hiromi’s chest just millimeters from your back, was making you come apart at the seams.
He leaned in, and the first touch of his mouth was a shock. He didn't just kiss you; he claimed you. He sank his teeth into the sensitive slope of your shoulder, biting hard enough to make you gasp, leaving a deep, purple brand that would last for days. He moved to the junction of your neck, his tongue swirling over the skin before sucking with a forceful, mean intensity that made your vision blur.
"Hiromi... please," you whimpered, your fingers tightening their grip on the wooden post until your knuckles turned white.
You were dazed, your body a live wire of overstimulation. Beneath the hem of your skirt, you felt the betrayal of your own body. A hot, slick trail of arousal was beginning to glide down the inside of your thigh, a silky, honeyed wetness that made the space between your legs feel humid and electric. You felt every draft of the air as a sharp, cold contrast to the liquid fire he was stoking within you.
The sound of his breathing and kissing, ragged, dark, focused, was the only thing you could hear over the blood rushing in your ears. You tried to press back into him, desperate for the friction, but he held you in place with a hand on your hip that felt like a brand.
Suddenly, the air behind you shifted.
Crack!
The sound of the slap was a gunshot in the silent room. The sharp, stinging heat of his palm against your cover rear sent a jolt of pure adrenaline through your nervous system. You let out a shattered cry, your back arching even deeper, your toes curling inside your shoes. The pain was a bright, white flash that instantly clarified the chaos in your mind, like a verdict.
"Is that okay?" he asked, his voice a low, gravelly vibration. He didn't pull his hand away; he left it there, the heavy heat of his palm molding to the stinging skin, his thumb caressing your abused ass cheek.
You nodded, letting out a broken moan. Tears started to accumulate on your eyelashes, waiting for you to be completely unleashed.
"Use your words, Counselor."
"Yes," you breathed, a sob catching in your throat as the realization of your total exposure hit you. "Yes... more. I want to feel more."
Hiromi didn’t grant your wish with words. Instead, his hands moved to your waist, his fingers finding the hidden zipper of your pencil skirt. The sound of the teeth sliding open was a sharp, reserved hiss in the silence of the suite. With a firm, downward tug, he forced the heavy fabric over your hips, letting it pool around your ankles like a discarded skin.
He stepped back for a heartbeat, his gaze sweeping over the wreckage he had made of you. You stood there, bound to the post, exposed, wearing nothing but your towering black stilettos and the sheer, lace-topped stockings that hugged your mid-thighs. Your bare skin shivered, a subtle shaking as the cool air of the suite brushed against you. The inner curve of your thighs glistened, slick with the sweet wetness of an anticipation you could no longer hide. Your breath was a broken, pacing thing, the only sound in the suffocating silence. And there, on your right butt cheek, the ghost of his palm remained with a dull, throbbing heat, sore and vivid, marking the exact spot where he had just reformed you.
Hiromi saw the exquisite collapse of the only thing he had ever truly respected: your composure. Watching you there, shivering, aroused, and marked by his own hand, felt like reading the final, undeniable verdict that his sanity was in a limbo. For years, he had operated in a world of gray morality and weary justice, but this was absolute. This was a truth he could finally touch.
As his gaze swept over the wreckage he had created, a dark, heavy heat settled in his gut, a possessiveness that felt both ancient and terrifyingly new. The sight of your inner thighs glistening with the evidence of your need for him specifically acted like a drug to his analytical mind, short-circuiting the logic he usually relied on.
And he could not restrain himself.
Smack!
Another slap in the exact same place, harder this time, the sound echoing off the decorated walls. The sting was a shocking reminder that your body no longer belonged to you. He moved down your spine, his mouth a searing brand, biting and tasting every inch of your skin until he knelt behind you.
The heat of his breath was the only warning before he pressed his face into the junction of your thighs, inhaling the deep, musky scent of your arousal. He smelled you, drinking you in, his teeth sinking into the soft flesh of your buttock. You cried out, a high, shattered sound that broke against the wooden post, your fingers clawing at it as the world narrowed down to the sharp sting of his teeth and the relentless, heavy thrum of your own heart.
Hiromi didn’t just touch you, he claimed you with a raw, primal hunger that was as structured as his closing arguments. His large hands clamped onto your hips, his thumbs digging in with a punishing force, anchoring you against his face, almost forcing you to sit on it.
The heat of his breath was the only warning before his tongue buried itself inside you from behind.
"Ah!" A broken sob tore through your throat. It was too much. The texture was wet, rough, and demanding, lapping at your swollen entrance with a ruthless, measured pressure that made your knees bend. He was eating you as if he were starving, drinking you in with a terrifying, absolute focus that made you dissolve into a screaming puddle of nerves.
He moved down, his mouth forming a tight, vacuum-like seal directly over your clitoris. The suction was agonizingly perfect, a focused pulse of pleasure so intense it was almost painful. You tried to pull away, to ground yourself against the wooden post, but his hands on your hips, spreading your cheeks open, held you in place with brutal efficiency.
"Please... Hiromi, I can't... I can't breathe!" you choked out, your head tossing back, exposing your throat to the amber light. "F-Fuck!"
He didn't listen. Instead, he intensified the suction, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bead in a punishing, unforgiving rhythm. It was more than just a sexual act, it was a demonstration of ownership, an act of possession. He was deciding when you would break.
The waves started at the base of your spine. A hot, heavy tide of sensation that crashed over your mind. You came with a shattered cry that cracked against the ceiling, your whole body arching like a bow, your forehead hitting the cool wooden post as your world exploded into a bright, white flash of pure feeling.
You were a mess, a sobbing, shaking surrender, your fingers clawing at the wood until your knuckles turned white. And kneeling behind you, Hiromi just held you, feeling the seismic aftershocks of your climax, letting you know that you could only fall because he was there to catch you, while licking you clean.
He didn’t give you a second to recover from the first wave. With a sudden, jarring strength, Hiromi grabbed your hips and flipped you around. Your bound wrists stayed high, the black silk tie straining against your skin as your back hit the cool, carved surface of the wooden post. You were pinned, exposed, your chest heaving, your lace-top stockings the only thing shielding your trembling thighs from the heavy, charged air of the suite.
Hiromi didn’t wait. He stepped into the space between your knees, his shadow swallowing you whole. He reached down, his hand slick with the evidence of your first climax, and drove his right fingers inside you.
It wasn't a gentle entry. It was hard, intrusive, and punishingly deep.
"Hiromi—!" Your head thrashed against the wood, a ruined gasp escaping your lips.
He ignored your plea, his focus narrowed to the brutal precision of his hand. Each thrust was a heavy, blunt force that bottomed out against your womb, making your toes curl again. The only sounds in the dead silence of the room were your frantic, animalistic moans and the wet, rhythmic slap of his palm hitting the soaked, puffy lips of your pussy, creating friction with your swollen clit. It was a visceral, messy percussion that marked the tempo of your undoing.
You were a chaos, overstimulated and raw. The friction was unbearable, a building heat that made your vision swim with static. You tried to close your legs, to hide from the intensity, but he used his own knee to shove your knees wider, forcing you to witness your own surrender.
"Look at me," he commanded, his voice a dark, gravelly friction.
You obeyed, your eyes blown wide and glassy, meeting his terrifyingly calm gaze.
"Come."
The second wave hit. It was a violent, convulsive release that sent a hot, heavy flow of fluid soaking down your nylon-covered legs and coating Hiromi’s entire forearm in a shimmering, pale heat. Your whole body buckled, your hands clawing at the post, your voice breaking into a high, shattered cry that died in his mouth as he crashed his lips into yours.
The silence that followed was deafening. You hung from the post, sobbing for breath, your skin flushed a deep, feverish pink. Hiromi didn't move away. He didn't reach for a towel to wipe away the mess you had made of him.
Instead, he slowly brought his hand up to his face. His eyes, dark and unreadable, never left yours as he began to lick his fingers clean, one by one. He tasted you with a slow, deliberate relish, reclaiming every drop of the chaos he had just wrung out of you.
"The verdict is in," he whispered, the sweet saltiness of your cum still on his tongue. "You belong exactly where I put you."
He guided you onto the center of the massive canopy bed, your movements heavy and uncoordinated. You collapsed back against the cool, feather duvet, your arms automatically rising above your head, like a wordless surrender.
The contrast in the room was a physical ache. The air conditioner was humming at a steady, calm chill, biting at the damp, sensitive skin of your inner thighs and the distended peaks of your nipples. Yet, your core was a furnace, radiating a humid, heavy heat that felt like a thick fog. You were damp with your own sweat and the remnants of the first two orgasms, a shimmering mess of flushed skin and black lace against the white covers of the bed.
You watched him through half-closed, feverish eyes. Hiromi stood at the edge of the bed, his silhouette under the dim amber light. With a terrifyingly calm deliberation, he stepped out of his trousers and boxers.
When he finally loomed over you, fully exposed, you felt a fresh jolt of adrenaline. His cock heavy on his hand, an angry cherry tip leaking more precum with every stroke. He caressed himself, the rhythmic, heavy sound of wet skin against skin filling the silence. His eyes, dark and unyielding, pinned you to the mattress.
"Tell me again," he commanded, his voice a gravelly, low-frequency rumble that vibrated in your body. "What is it you think you need right now?"
"F-fuck me," you gasped, your voice breaking, your professional persona completely drowned in the sea of your own desperation. "I need you to fuck me… Please, Hiromi."
A dark, ghost of a smile touched his lips, but he didn't give in. Instead, he knelt between your legs, his weight a crushing, welcome pressure. He leaned forward, using the broad, velvety head of his cock to begin a slow, torturous friction against your clitoris. He didn't enter you. He simply teased the swollen bead, the heat of him searing through the slickness that already coated you.
The stimulation was electric, a focused, white-hot point of pleasure that sent sparks to your fingertips. You began to arch, your hips stuttering upward, begging for the impact of a full thrust, your breath turning into a series of erratic, high-pitched whimpers. You were seconds away, eyes shutting tight, teeth gritted, hand fisting above the silk, ready to shatter for the third time.
Then, he pulled away.
The sudden cold was like a slap. You let out a shattered moan of protest, your bound hands clawing at the air, eyes opening again. Hiromi didn't look at you as he reached for his trousers on the floor. He pulled out another tie, but he also pulled out something else, the scrap of black lace from the previous Thursday. Your stolen underwear.
He moved back over you, his shadow swallowing you whole. Before you could speak, he stuffed the laced fabric into your mouth, the scent of your own dried arousal and his office cologne hitting your senses all at once. He tied a second silk tie around your head, securing the makeshift gag until you were effectively silenced.
He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear as you let out a muffled, desperate sound behind the lace.
"I decide when I fuck you," he whispered, his voice cold and absolute. "I decide when I touch you, and I decide exactly when you're allowed to come. Do you understand, Counselor?"
Bound, gagged, and aching with a need that felt like it would split you open, you looked up into his dark eyes. You didn't hesitate. You nodded, a slow, feverish movement against the pillow, accepting the rule of possession as your only truth.
The submission was total, a silent plea for the end of the torment he had just built.
Hiromi didn’t hesitate. He knelt between your spread thighs again, his large hands sliding under your lower back to tilt your pelvis upward, aligning you for his entrance. Then, with a single, devastatingly deep thrust, he buried himself inside you.
The impact was a shock to your system, a blunt force that seemed to reach your very throat. You let out a muffled cry into the lace of your own underwear as the internal muscles of your pussy clamped around him in a desperate, throbbing spasm. He didn’t move at first. He simply stayed there, fully seated within you, letting the sheer size of him stretch and claim the space you had tried to keep professional for five years.
Hiromi didn't move, his eyes locked on yours as he felt the violent, involuntary clench of your muscles around him. It was a claustrophobic heat. He could feel the exact moment his presence shattered the last of your rationality, replaced by the raw, internal tremors of the woman beneath him.
From his height, he watched the way your throat arched. You looked like a revelation of sins and sweat, pinned to the mattress by his cock. He saw the way your pupils dilated, the hazy, unfocused shimmer in your eyes, and the tears were accumulating in your bottom eyelashes.
He felt the staggering size of his own power in the way you stretched to accommodate him. For five years, he had kept a polite, icy distance, but now, every frantic spasm of your body against his was a confirmation: you weren't just taking him in, you were being completely redefined by him.
The silence of the room was heavy. He stayed still for that long, agonizing heartbeat, savoring the feeling of being the only thing filling you. In that static, electric moment, as he felt your core clamp around him in a desperate plea for friction, Hiromi finally felt like a man who had won the only case that ever mattered.
"Fuck… You are so tight," he ground out, his hand spreading over your lower abdomen, his thumb hooking over your mound to find your swollen clit. He pressed down hard, the heavy, grinding friction tearing a series of broken sobs from deep inside you.
Slowly, he lowered his torso until he was crushing you into the mattress, a suffocating, heavy blanket of skin and radiating heat. He hiked your knees toward your breasts and hooked your ankles over his shoulders, your feet with your high heels still on, framing his head as he pinned your thighs against your ribs. His hands anchored your arms over your head, making it impossible for you to retreat or even shift an inch. His forehead pressed against yours, his dark eyes a mere fraction away, tracking every micro-expression, every flicker of agonizing pleasure and raw, unadulterated need that shattered across your face.
"Stay with me," he growled, his voice a low, vibrating friction against your skin. "Don't you dare close your eyes."
Then, he began to move.
The rhythm was agonizingly slow at first, long, deep strokes that felt as if he were physically rearranging your internal organs. Hiromi wasn’t just moving, he was calibrating the pleasure, his jaw locked so tight the muscle leaped in his cheek. With every forward push, the coarse, dark hair of his pubis ground against your overstimulated clitoris, a friction so relentless it made your vision tilt into a white-hot haze.
"Look at me, (y/n)" he exhaled, the command hitching in his throat. His voice was reduced to a paced, raspy struggle.
As the pace shifted, his control finally snapped. The slow burn was incinerated by a sudden yearning. His thrusts became sharper, faster, a brutal percussion that made the bed creak in steady, paced protest. You thrashed beneath him, your bound wrists straining against the pillows, your muffled groans turning into a continuous, high-pitched hum behind the gag.
Hiromi’s breathing turned into a dark, continuous growl, the sound of a man drowning in the very thing he’d tried to quantify for years. He watched you fussed against the pillows, the sight of your helplessness fueling a terrifying, proprietary heat in his gut.
You were a catalyst bundle of pleasure, your entire nervous system sparking with a sensory overload that was too much to bear. The heat, the scent of his sweat, the taste of the silk in your mouth, the sensation of his big veined, slightly curved cock constantly hitting the hot, syrupy spot beneath your cervix, and the relentless, driving force of him inside you coalesced into a single, blinding point of no return.
And he was a man possessed by the scent of your sex and the taste of the air you shared. As he felt his cock bottoming out against the sensitive curve of your pussy, a low, animalistic sound tore from his chest, a half-sob, half-roar of absolute conquest.
"You're ruined," he choked out, his forehead crashing against yours, his sweat dripping onto your flushed skin. "I’ve ruined you... and God help me, I’m never letting you go back."
Then, the waves hit.
It hit you a violence that made your whole body lock. You came so hard your back arched off the mattress despite his weight, your eyes rolling back as a shattered, internal scream died in your throat. Hiromi felt the seismic, internal convulsion of your release, the way your walls clamped around him in a frantic plea. Your orgasm soaked the cover underneath your bodies, gushing against his stomach, the tiny, glossy drops of your release trapping themselves at the base of his cock.
His hands found your hair, gripping the roots as he delivered more thrusts fucking through as you came. The tip of his cock poked your cervix devastatingly, like he was trying to fuse your souls together. A long, shattered groan escaped him, a sound of pure, unadulterated surrender, devoted to your cunt. He stayed there, buried deep, his chest heaving against yours as he eased down the overstimulation.
Just as the aftershocks of your release began to come down, Hiromi moved with a sudden, predatory efficiency. He didn't give you a moment to breathe, let alone recover. You were far from finished, you were just beginning to be malleable. He felt a dark, pulsing satisfaction as he gripped your waist, flipping you into the duvet, forcing you to face down into the pillows, your hips hiked high and your bound wrists still pinned beneath the weight of your own chest.
The cool air of the suite hit your flushed, damp skin, but it was immediately replaced by the searing heat of his body as he loomed over you. Seeing your hips hiked high, back beautifully arched in a silent, vulnerable plea, ignited a primal hunger that scorched away the last of his weary self-restraint. He entered you again in one fluid, uncompromising motion, his rhythm turning visceral.
This wasn't the measured, educational pace of a mentor anymore. This was a reclamation.
Every thrust was a heavy, raw impact that felt like it was reaching your very heart, rattling your ribs and stealing the oxygen from your lungs. You were drowning in sensation, the metallic taste of your own saliva in your mouth, the scent of the hotel’s expensive linen, and the relentless, driving force of him behind you. And he watched the way your body was pushed forward with every impact, his hands clamping onto your hips, the flesh of your butt jiggling violently with every thrust.
The overstimulation was absolute. Your nervous system was ruined, sparking with every collision of skin. In a blind, animalistic instinct to survive the intensity, you tried to crawl forward, your fingers clawing at the bedsheets, trying to escape the rough pace of his hips.
But you weren't going anywhere. To Hiromi, the sensation of your fingers trembling as they grasped the sheets, trying to escape the overwhelming sensation of his cock, was the ultimate tribute.
"Don't run," he growled against the back of your neck, his breath a searing brand. "You stay right here... exactly where I need you."
His hands clamped onto your hips like iron shackles, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your waist with a bruising strength. He dragged you back onto him, meeting every forward movement with a devastating counter-thrust that made your vision turn white.
Plap. Plap. The wet, pornographic percussion of the act filled the room, a messy, primal soundtrack to your undoing. The sound of his skin hitting yours was a constant, heavy pulse. Just as you felt the fourth wave of your own climax beginning to build from the sheer, relentless friction. He could feel your nervous system sparking, your body beginning to build toward a fourth wave of release, and it pushed him over the edge. The sight of your reddened skin, the way you buckled under his strength, made his own vision turn into a jagged, white-hot static.
With one final, electric open-hand smack! to your ass, Hiromi reached his breaking point. A low, guttural groan tore from his throat, a sound of absolute, unrefined release, vibrating against your back. He buried his face in your hair, inhaling the scent of your skin, your sweet perfume blending with the musky, slightly tangy scent of your sex, as he came. He spilled inside you with a force that made your entire body lock, his pulse thumping against your internal walls, painting them white, as he claimed the very center of your being.
Even as he began to soften within you, Hiromi reached around, his large, warm hand sliding down the front of your body. When his fingers found that hyper-sensitive bead of your clit, slick with the evidence of the mess you’d made together, he felt a fresh rush of dark pleasure.
The touch was a shock to your system. You were already raw, sparking with overstimulation, and the sudden, steady friction of his thumb was almost too much to bear. You let out a muffled, shattered moan against the silk gag, your hips stuttering upward in a desperate, instinctive search for relief.
"Not yet," he whispered into your ear, his voice a gravelly command that brooked no argument. "You don't get to stop until I tell you."
He increased the pressure, his thumb circling and flicking in a relentless, punishing tempo that ignored your silent pleas for mercy. It was an analytical, focused kind of cruelty order that he had promised, delivered through a haze of pleasure. Your vision began to tilt, the world narrowing down to the friction of his hand and the heavy weight of him pinning you to the mattress.
"Come, (y/n)," his sharp teeth sank into your shoulder.
The final wave hit with a violence that caused your body's hair to rise. You came so hard your back arched like a bow, a high, broken sound dying in your throat as your nervous system finally short-circuited. You collapsed back into the pillows, trembling and spent, every inch of your skin humming with the aftershocks.
In the humid silence of room 1221, the only thing left was the scent of tobacco, sex, and the heavy, undeniable truth of what you had become to him.
In the heavy, suffocating silence that followed, the only thing you could feel was the warmth of his cum mixed with your own flooding you and the weight of his chest crushing you into the mattress. The professionalism was gone. There was only the woman, the bed, and the man who had finally, irrevocably, broken her cage.
Afterward, the silence was broken by the fading, ragged cadence of your shared breathing. The air conditioner continued its omnipresent hum, but it couldn't touch the feverish heat still radiating from your skin.
Hiromi moved with a quiet, grounding tenderness that felt even more overwhelming than his previous aggression. His large, steady hands flipped you once again and reached for the silk ties at your wrists, undoing the knots with a practiced ease. When the fabric fell away, your arms dropped to the duvet, heavy and leaden, the skin of your wrists tingling with a dull, faint pressure.
He reached for the lace in your mouth, his fingers brushing your lips as he removed the damp silk gag. The sudden rush of cool air into your lungs made you lightheaded. He didn't pull away immediately, his reddened eyes locked into your teary ones. He leaned down and pressed a lingering, soft kiss to your forehead, his thumb tracing the sharp line of your cheekbone, moving the lingering scent of sex around.
"Are you okay?" he whispered, his voice no longer a command, but a low, gravelly anchor in the dark.
You looked up at him, your vision slightly blurred, your hair a chaotic halo against the white pillows. A weak, genuine smile broke through the exhaustion. "Yes," you breathed, your voice sounding foreign to your own ears. "Are you?"
A flash of genuine surprise softened the sharp lines of Hiromi's face, a rare, unguarded moment that felt more intimate than the sex itself. He looked at you, truly looked at you, and for a second, the predator was gone. A slow, private smile mirrored the exhausted peace in your face. "More than okay, Counselor."
The walk to the bathroom was a lesson in physical memory. Your legs were trembling, your inner thighs aching with a deep, pulsing soreness that served as a visceral reminder of every thrust, every slap, and every surrender. You felt the dried salt of your own tears and the lingering slickness of his release, like a map of the night written on your skin.
When you emerged, wrapped in a heavy white robe, the room was empty. The sudden absence of his gravity made the suite feel immense, almost haunting. Your eyes drifted to the nightstand, where a single sheet of hotel stationery lay beside a glass of water.
The room is yours until noon. Rest. I’ll see you in the office.
The words were professional, yet the ink was heavy, as if he had pressed down hard on the pen. You sank back into the bed, stripping away the damp, tangled duvet to find a cool, dry patch of soft cotton.
As you lay there in the loud silence of the midnight, the weight of the night began to settle in your chest. It was a guilty realization, the bone-deep thrill of the transgression clashing with the terrifying reality of the morning to come.
How could you possibly sit across from him at the table of the main conference room tomorrow? How could you ever be the firm's Shark again, barking orders and citing precedents, when you knew exactly what it felt like to be his prey? The power dynamic had shifted in perpetuity, the courtroom was no longer the only place where he could hold the gavel.
The guilt was there, a cold, persistent shadow at the edge of the room, whispering about ethics, careers, and the professional suicide you had just committed. But the heat still humming in your skin was louder. You had been marked, bound and claimed by the only man whose intellect rivaled your own.
As you finally drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep, your fingers curled into the sheets, still smelling like him, tracing the spot where he had knelt. You knew that tomorrow's silence would be agonizing, a minefield of stolen glances and professional masks, and you knew, with a terrifying certainty, that you would do it all over again tomorrow.
hiii !! my higuruma's hear me out took shape and it is finally here ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧ i felt soooo overwhelmed by this fic, not just bce of the length, but bc i had my nose stuck in my english dictionary since saturday (｡>﹏<) anyway, i’m working on a part 2, adjusting some details, so stay tuned !! hope you enjoy it <3
synopsis: the one where you have a failing marriage and a soon to be failing company. you've been drifting away from your husband and coworker, kento nanami, and you're under pressure to find a loophole for your company's scandal before the press gets ahold of it. when your lawyer, hiromi higuruma, offers a solution to both your pr nightmare and your sexual frustrations, how can you say no? when kento finds out about your own personal scandal, he's angry, but he admits he'll need some help punishing you.
content: MDNI. ok buckle up. married!reader x husband!nanami x lawyer!higuruma. lowkey everyone is slightly ooc (nanami being a bad husband and higuruma actually winning cases) and morally grey. porn with plot, cheating/infidelity (reader cheats on nanami with higuruma), established but drifting marriage, explicit smut, workplace tension, bad sex, good sex, p in v, anal, multiple orgasms, fingering, oral sex (f and m receiving), improper use of gavel, overstimulation, spanking, pussy spanking, light bondage (tied wrists and blindfold), tie used as gag kind of, choking/leash, threesome (m/f/m), eiffel tower, double penetration, handjob, double creampie, regular creampie, squirting?, crack humor, holy shit this list is so long, loads of guilt, angst, naoya zenin mentioned, getting caught in the act kind of, and i think that's all. also i kind of made shimizu an opp for plot purposes but i swear i love her down that's my sweet baby girl
wc: 13.9k
a/n: art by owwlly! thank you God for spring break i have deadass pushed off all my assignments bc i wanted to finish the law prof higu series and then write this too so you know my knuckles are CRACKING. i kind of hate how i broke the dialogue up into singular lines a lot but that's just a habit i'm gonna have to break. also this is so long i deadass don't wanna proofread it so if there's spelling or grammar mistakes i'm sorry, half the time i was laying in bed writing this with one hand i mean one eye open. anyways. again i'm not a lawyer so idk law i just googled some shit, and i suck at corporate talk! AND I DON'T CONDONE INFIDELITY this is purely for smut purposes! enjoy!
there were two things you learned in your five years of working in public relations. one, there is no such thing as a small scandal. two, if your managing director is calling you at 6:32am on a monday, it is not good news.
"there's a situation. IT flagged a hack last month, and we thought it was just some petty breach but it wound up being much bigger. forty thousand customer records. the ceo made a call to contain it internally, but there's been a private investigation. if we don't disclose and get ahead of this early, we're looking at regulatory action from PIPC and potential class action suits."
you scrubbed a hand down your face, then flopped your arm to the side as you stared up at the ceiling. "... we need to lawyer up, huh?"
"yeah. i'll get you a few firms we were eyeing up. if you could meet with a few starting today, that'd be great."
"you got it."
when you hung up the phone, your husband was blinking sleepily at you. "something wrong?"
"nothing. just that our company is six feet under deep shit, ken."
he frowned, hesitated for a moment, then reached for your waist. before he could touch you, you were sitting up and throwing the sheets off. he sat up and watched you pace around the room, throwing on your robe and angrily scrubbing your teeth clean. he ran a hand through his blonde hair.
"sweetheart... it's 6:35. come on, come back to bed for five more minutes."
"i need to get to the office early," was all you muttered. to be honest, you had no interest in getting back into bed with kento. your marriage had fizzled out within two years after saying "i do." the stress of work, working at the same company, mind you, had dulled the spark between you two. you had different hours, different workloads, and for some reason, you couldn't reach a middle ground.
after showering, getting dressed in a nice blazer and skirt, you put on some makeup and curled your hair, then grabbed your bag. “i’m headed out.”
“see you at lunch break?” kento called from the bed.
you paused at the door to your bedroom. “… no. i’ll be at a law firm today. might be home late, too.”
kento blinked. “oh. alright…” he mumbled. “love you.”
you hesitated, then smiled softly. “love you too, ken.”
you wouldn’t consider yourself to be a bad wife. you were a hard working, career oriented woman. you didn’t need a man in your life, you never had even wanted a husband until nanami asked you on a date after a company meeting during your first week working in pr. as you stared blankly at the floor of the train, you wondered what had happened between then and now.
you followed routine like usual. stopping at the local starbucks and getting a shaken espresso. occasionally you’d stop to shop at one of the department stores or the local beauty shop, but today was not the day for that. today, you practically stormed into the office and went straight to your managing director. “morning. the firms?”
she handed you a paper. there were a few top firms you recognized, but you raised a brow.
“can we even afford these?”
“the top three would be a stretch. middle one, higuruma law? a bit more manageable, but still not cheap. you’ll probably have to bargain a bit. good news is he has a 93% success rate.”
“… right.” you folded the list and stuck it in your bag. “i’ll start at the top and work my way down.”
the first firm was too expensive. the second firm was expensive, condescending, and ran by a man who looked like he belonged in a senior home, not a law firm. third one looked over your case, winced a little, then handed the files back like they were contaminated. “sorry… data privacy isn’t really our specialty.”
by 5pm you were throwing a silent fit in the empty bathroom of a convenience store. you sighed and straightened up, splashed some cool water on the back of your neck, freshened up your makeup, and gave yourself a long, hard stare in the mirror.
you were not giving up. failure was not an option when it came to your career. your marriage was practically halfway out the door. you couldn't lose your job, too.
just then, your phone buzzed on the wet bathroom counter.
kento ♡: hi my love. just got off work. i’ll order takeout and have the light on for you tonight.
your heart throbbed. small moments like these when kento wasn’t so preoccupied with work or his own issues made you feel just a tiny bit of that spark again.
you quickly texted him back. “thank you honey ♡ i love you”
you shut your phone off and shoved it in your purse, marched back into the convenience store and picked up a fruit cup and salad for your lunch. you sipped an energy drink on the train to chiyoda, and it wasn’t long before you stood in front of a tall brick building.
“HIGURUMA LAW FIRM” was plastered in big green stickers on the fourth floor window. you took the elevator up. a woman with short, caramel brown hair greeted you at the reception area.
“mrs. nanami?” she smiled.
“yes.”
“shimizu. please have a seat, mr. higuruma will be with you shortly.”
you nodded and sat down, smoothing your skirt out. you hoped that if you secured a deal with this higuruma guy, he’d you'd the money to invest in some air conditioning or something— it was literally sweltering hot in here.
after a few minutes of simmering in literal hell, the door to the office opened.
“mrs. nanami?”
oh my god. you didn’t know what you were expecting. maybe another middle-senior aged man who looked like he had been working in law since the meiji restoration in 1868. or maybe a man your age who was already balding. you certainly weren’t expecting a full head of hair, dead eyes, a hooked nose, and a deep voice.
“yes,” you squeaked out, standing upright so fast you almost got whiplash. he stepped aside and held the door open for you as you entered his office.
you sat down adjacent to him at his desk, crossing and squeezing your thighs together. you had no idea why you were acting like this. you prayed it was the heat and not the fact that you hadn’t been fucked in god knows how long.
“mrs. nanami…” higuruma’s voice drawled as he looked over your files. “zenin capital, data breach, PIPC investigation...?”
“yes,” you squeaked again, then cleared your throat. “thank you for seeing me.”
higuruma smiled softly despite the fatigue weighing in on his sharp features. “of course. tell me everything.”
so you did. you spent the next half an hour explaining the details of the situation, the ceo, naoya zenin, how he tended to be an asshole and do things like this, how your managing director suggested it was a former employee who hired the private investigator, your own suggestions for possible solution. and higuruma listened to every word, pen clicking on the desk, eyes never leaving your face. by the time you were done, you were shrugging your blazer off and fanning yourself.
his gaze lingered over you for just a moment too long before he spoke. "… it’s winnable.”
you exhaled. “really?”
“yes. but… i do charge a high rate, i’ll warn you.”
you shrugged. “zenin capital is a multimillion company, i’m sure—“
“30,000 yen per hour.”
you froze, then laughed. “you’re kidding… right?”
he shook his head. “no. but… maybe i’ll be willing to work something out. for you.”
for you?
he reached into his drawer and scribbled something on a post-it note, then paper clipped it to a spare business card. “here’s an address to where i’d like to take you to lunch tomorrow to discuss case strategy."
a lunch date? of course it was strictly professional, but for some reason the diamond on your left hand felt much heavier.
“right. lunch. yeah, that works with me.”
you both stood and shook hands. his hand was warm, thick, worn out. you hesitated before you left the office.
“my husband…” you murmured, looking back to him. “he works in acquisitions at zenin. he’d… have nothing to do with this, right?”
higuruma thought for a moment, then shrugged. “anything’s possible. but don’t worry… i’ll handle everything for you.”
you swallowed thickly. those words coming from a lawyer you’d met less than an hour ago shouldn’t have made your stomach twist. “…okay. thank you, mr. higuruma.”
“hiromi,” he smiled behind the hand he was resting his chin on. “we’ll be seeing a lot of each other. might as well get on a first name basis.”
you were frozen. then, you nodded and left, not exchanging your first name just yet.
you came home around 9pm after heading back to the office to sort some files and type up a report, then grocery shopping, then dealing with a late train. after this long ass day, all you wanted was some glorious take out and to crawl into bed and sleep.
only when you returned home, the hallway lamp was not left on. you staggered through a pile of shoes, kicking your heels off and flipping the lamp on. you shuffled to the kitchen and huffed as you put all the groceries away by yourself, then washed the dirty dishes. your takeout sat in a lukewarm bag on the dining table, but you didn’t care. you could reheat that glorious poke bowl with the sticky mango rice and avocado on the side, and some delicious, marinated, juicy grilled chicken—
you blinked as you finally opened the bag. beef stir fry.
since when did you like beef stir fry over that delicious poke bowl?
you went to the bedroom to find kento nose deep in a book. he perked up as you came in. “darling, oh, i didn’t hear you come home…”
you stared at him blankly and held up the soggy stir fry. “what is this?”
he blinked. “oh. um… they didn’t have the poke bowl today…”
you exhaled through your nose. it was a foolish, petty thing to be upset about. but after your long, hot, sweaty day spent chasing lawyers and stressing about how your entire company could face a stock crash and you’d lose your job by friday morning… you just wanted your goddamn poke bowl.
“baby, i’m sorry—“
“it’s fine. i’m gonna… shower.” you mumbled, sulking back to the kitchen and setting the “thank you, come again soon!” bag with the yellow smiley face down. you spent half of your shower scrubbing and shaving, the other half staring at the wall.
you wondered where higuru— no, hiromi would take you tomorrow. you remembered how in the heat of the building, his slightly tanned skin was slick with sweat. how his hand had felt in yours, big and firm. your fingers wandered downwards, and you shut your eyes. maybe, just…
you retracted your hand, disgusted with yourself. you were married. your husband was in the room over. get a grip, woman.
you stepped out of the shower and dried off, moisturized, and hopped into bed with the soggy stir fry next to kento. you turned on the tv to whatever reality show you were watching, and your husband looked up from his book.
“seriously? this garbage again?”
oh my god bruh. you had to physically stop yourself from rolling your eyes. “read your book.”
he huffed. “i just think it’s… superficial. you know everything is staged on these shows, right?”
you shut the tv off and put the takeout container on the nightstand, curling up in to your side of the bed. kento was silent.
“baby… i’m sorry. you can watch—“
“i don’t want to anymore. i’m tired. goodnight, ken.”
he sighed and you felt a shift in the bed, then the soft thud of him setting his book on his nightstand. another shift, dipping closer to you, then his arms scooping around your waist and hugging you into a spooning position. as if you weren’t sweating all day, now you’d have heat flashes all night. he buried his face in your neck and gently kissed your skin.
“c’mere… lemme make it up to you, hm?”
“kento. i’m tired.”
he stilled, then sighed softly. “okay…” he whispered, kissing your shoulder softly. “sleep tight, my love…”
you shut your eyes and stayed silent.
the restaurant was a quiet little place two blocks away from the firm. italian food, italian wine. your love language.
hiromi already had a table when you arrived. he stood and got your chair, his hand resting on your back as you sat down. you thanked him sheepishly.
“so… mr. higuruma—“
“hiromi. yes, mrs. nanami?”
fuck. why did he pick a patio seat? at least the flush of the sun hid the blush on the apples of your cheeks.
“ah, um… i got a report from IT—“
“please. let’s talk business after the wine gets here,” hiromi smiled, rolling up his sleeves and picking up the laminated drink menu. you gulped down a moan at the sight of his forearms.
“… sure. okay.”
“so, your husband works in acquisitions, you said?”
“please. let’s not talk about him.”
he raised a brow. “trouble in paradise?”
you almost choked and the prosciutto hadn’t even gotten here yet. “what? no— no, i… i’d just rather not talk about my personal life with a lawyer.”
“well, technically it could be classified as investigation. i could be just digging to see if he would have any personal vendetta against the company.”
“he doesn’t.”
“mhm. you work at the same company… you’re a pr manager and he’s a mere salaryman. the difference in hours and effort isn’t a strain?”
oh my god. he really was a lawyer.
“… no.”
“you’re lying.”
“hello, how are you two doing today?” your savior, a cheery waitress, appeared. “my name is kimiko, i’ll be taking care of you. can i get you two started with anything to drink?”
“pinot noir, please,” hiromi smiled.
you couldn’t even look the waitress in the eyes. “moscato, please.”
she smiled and took your drink menus, then disappeared.
hiromi leaned in, crossing his arms on the table. the sunlight cascaded down and lit up his features, his brown eyes warming to a dark honey-ish color. you could make out the bump in his nose clearly even looking at him straight on. and his lips…
“we don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to…” he spoke softly. “but i’ll find out anyway. that’s what i do.”
you scoffed. “that’s slightly terrifying.”
“it keeps my clients honest,” he smiled. the waitress came back with your drinks, and he gave an appreciative nod before taking a sip. you sipped your moscato, wishing you weren’t in public so you could just gulp the whole glass down. “the case. let’s talk about the case.”
hiromi nodded. “alright, let’s get to it.”
when your food arrived— risotto for hiromi and caprese salad for you— you’d forgotten about the case. one glass of wine had turned to two, and the conversation had turned from PIPC to hiromi telling you about his best and worst cases, and you telling him about all the pr nightmares you dealt with.
“so you enjoy your job?” you asked, playing with the basil in your bowl. “ i heard you take the most impossible cases..."
hiromi shrugged. “most lawyers take cases they can win. i take the impossible ones. for me… it’s usually the same thing.”
“wow…” you scoffed. “so humble.”
“just being realistic,” he smirked, then shook his head. “kidding. i take hard cases because i care about people who were done wrong getting the justice they deserve.”
the way he looked at you when he said that made you feel like he wasn't talking about business law. you blinked. “that’s… nice of you."
“your husband.”
“i said let’s not talk about him—“
“i’m not asking about him, i’m asking about you,” he mumbled. “are you happy?”
you stared at him, dumbfounded. your mind strayed to the lamp turned off, the soggy stir fry, the reality show, and how last night had been every night for the past three years. you folded your hands in your lap, thumbing gently at your diamond ring.
“that’s not a professional question.”
“it isn’t…” he agreed. “you don’t have to answer.”
you stared at him for a long moment, taking in the way he gazed at you.
“… i don’t know,” you finally answered. “i think… i used to be happy.”
he nodded silently, not prodding further. like he had all the answers he needed with just that. he glanced at his wristwatch. “we should get back to the office. i want to go through the vendor contracts before shimizu leaves in an hour.”
he paid without question, shooing away your credit card. he got your chair and door for you, and remembered the sidewalk rule when walking you back to the office. the summer sun beating down on you made the alcohol coursing through your system seem ten times more intense. in the office, it was still hot. still aggravatingly quiet with only the hum of the fan. you were actually wine drunk on the clock, your vision unfocused as you stared at the documents splayed out in front of you. at least at the restaurant, hiromi has been across from you. now he leaned over your shoulder to point out and read each clause.
shimizu left at two on the dot, poking her head into the office. “see you tomorrow, mr. higuruma!” she smiled.
“goodnight,” he mumbled without looking up. you smiled softly at her and she smiled back, though… wearily. the door clicked shut behind her and the silence was even more deafening as it returned.
“this one…” hiromi’s right hand pointed to a clause, his left hand braced next to your left arm. “security liability waiver. the language is broad enough that we can argue kuroda capital’s reasonability relied on the vendor’s security guarantees. if we can establish the vulnerability in the system-,”
“the liability isn't placed on zenin capital…” you mumbled softly, looking up at him. your faces were inches apart, and it went completely silent in the office. it was hot. very hot. you were unable to focus your gaze, let alone think straight.
before you could think, you tugged him down by his tie, your lips crashing into his as you kissed him hungrily and fervently. he let out a noise of surprise, then sighed and cupped your jaw, moving his lips against yours and gently nipping your bottom lip.
you jolted back after a few moments. “oh my god. oh my god, i shouldn’t have done that—“
“you shouldn’t have,” hiromi agreed, wiping his lips on the back of his hand.
“i’m married. you’re my lawyer.”
“i’m aware of that,” he mumbled, tilting your jaw back up. his gaze went from your eyes, to your lips, then back up to your eyes. he leaned in hesitantly, and you blamed it on the wine when you kissed him again, softly this time.
“mmh…” hiromi made a soft noise, leaning down and gently scooping you up by the back of your thighs. he sat you down on the desk, his lips not leaving yours, and you gripped the front of his dress shirt to pull him closer and wrap your legs around his waist. he pressed into you, already hard in his slacks.
his mouth moved down your neck, careful to not leave any hickies just yet. he pressed soft, wet kisses down the column of your throat, his hands gently gripping and squeezing the backs of your thighs, up to your ass, pulling you closer as he grinded the tent in his pants into your soaked panties.
“m-nnh, hiromi…”
“mm,” he hummed, moving to undo the first button of your dress shirt.
you pulled back and caught his wrist. “wait.”
he stilled instantly and pulled away, gazing down at you as he panted softly. his hair was disheveled, his tie was undone.
“this is wrong. i’m married.”
“i know…” he spoke softly.
“this…” you gestured vaguely between you. “this is a very bad idea.”
he nodded in understanding. "it is." his jaw clenched and he paused, glancing over your body before finally stepping back. he straightened his tie and picked up his pen like nothing had happened. “so… page fourteen. the vendor contracts.”
you stood and straightened your button up and skirt, grabbing your highlighter and burying what you just did in the deepest depths of your mind.
when you arrived at home, the lamp was on. you kicked your shoes off. you could smell something slightly nutty, with sesame oil and warm rice…
“kento?” you called, finding him in the kitchen. he stood at the stove, stirring a pot. when his gaze landed on you, he smiled warmly, then set the chopsticks down and immediately took you in his arms.
“i felt bad about the poke bowl. i called again today, but they were still out of the mango, so i decided to cook from home,” he murmured softly into your neck, right where hiromi had been kissing hour earlier. he inhaled your scent- or rather hiromi's scent, then furrowed his brow. “did you get a new perfume?”
“yes,” you spoke a little too fast. “thank you… for the dinner, ken, you didn’t have to…” you mumbled, a hole forming in your stomach as the guilt ate you from the inside out.
he hummed softly and let his hands roam over your body. “it’s nothing. you’ve been working so hard, keeping our whole company together… it’s the least i could do, my love…”
you wanted to pull away. but maybe, if you gave in, it could fix everything. maybe you wouldn’t go back to hiromi tomorrow craving more. you moved your head and kissed kento softly, which took him by surprise. he moaned pleasantly against your lips, hugging you close. “i miss you…” he murmured softly.
you hummed softly. “i miss you, too…” and you did. you really did miss kento nanami, who would take you on dinner dates instead of takeout. kento nanami, who would keep you company on the train ride in to work even if you started two hours earlier than him. kento nanami, who would hold you and kiss you and make sure you came first, maybe two times before he even sunk into you. tonight almost felt like that— that same feeling from two years ago.
so why wasn't it enough for you?
he poured your tea without you asking for it. the homemade poke bowl was warm and sweet.
“how did it go with the firms?” he asked softly.
you swallowed your rice hard and nodded. “good. found someone promising.”
he smiled. “that’s good… i’m glad.”
he talked about his day: a meeting that had run long, an annoying colleague, something stupid and dull that you laughed at because it was funny. you’d forgotten he could be funny sometimes.
“what?” he muffled a laugh through a mouthful of rice.
“nothing,” you shook your head, waving your hand. “you’re funny.”
he looked faintly pleased at your praise. “i have my moments.”
you stared at him for a few moments, watching as his jaw clenched and his adam’s apple bobbed as he chewed and swallowed. the slight fatigue in his brown eyes, the way his hands nimbly handled the chopsticks.
“kento,” you spoke suddenly. he perked up.
“… i love you.”
he smiled. “i love you, too…”
later in bed, you pushed his book aside and moved to straddle him, kissing him sweetly. he made a soft noise of surprise, but held your waist down. “mmh… hi…” he smiled against your lips. you hummed and gently rolled your hips on his, earning a groan from him.
“mmh… c’mere, pretty baby…”
he carefully pulled your panties to the side and rubbed your clit, not wasting any time now that he had you in his arms again. you buried your face in his neck, whining softly. he gently soothed you and slipped two fingers in, gently pumping in and out.
“missed you… missed this…” he mumbled softly in your ear. “missed feelin’ how tight you are… pretty little pussy squeezin’ my fingers… missed you riding my cock..."
“fuck, ken...” you whined, riding his hand and pulling back as you gripped his shoulders.
“that’s it…” he smiled, and you faltered as you remembered how hiromi smiled at you.
“k-ken…”
his brow furrowed. “what is it, sweetheart…?”
you buried any thought of hiromi. of his lips, how he’d squeezed you and kissed you, how hard he’d been in his slacks. you swallowed hard. “need you…” you whispered to kento.
he was on top of you in seconds, slowly sinking into you and sucking at your neck. “ohhh… there you are…” he groaned softly. “missed you… missed this pussy…”
you whined softly and wrapped your legs around his waist. “k-kento…” you pleaded.
he groaned into your neck and sped up, holding your hips down. “god, you feel so good, baby… s-so good…” he practically whined. his cock was already throbbing against your walls.
as soon as he rushed into it, you lost your orgasm. you tried burying your face in his neck, hugging him close, feeling the familiar weight of him on top. the way he moaned your name and kissed you, how he rolled his hips. this was your husband. your partner. why wasn't this working?
“baby—“ his voice strained. “baby, ‘m gonna—“
he shuddered and groaned as his seed spilled into your womb, filling you up and seeping out. he collapsed against you, breathing hard and pressing his lips to your shoulder, neck, jaw… almost apologetically.
“sorry…” he mumbled softly. “it’s been a while… i can—“
“no. its okay, ken…” you smiled, gently cupping his jaw. “you must be tired…”
he was quiet for a moment. “really, baby, i can make it up to you…” he murmured, but you only shook your head. he sighed and pulled you close, hugging you into his shoulder.
“i missed you so much…” he whispered.
your eyes welled up. “i missed you too…” you whispered. he fell asleep shortly after that, and the apartment was quiet. you stared at the ceiling, hugging your husband’s weight on top of you, left unsatisfied. again.
wednesday afternoon. you’d finished your work at the office and spent your lunch break on the train to chiyoda, sipping a can of tea. when you reached the lobby of the firm, shimizu smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes.
“mrs. nanami. mr. higuruma is ready for you.”
you smiled softly. “thank you.”
you went into the office to find hiromi hunched over some case files, blazer off and sleeves rolled up. he looked thoroughly exhausted.
“you okay?” you asked softly. he looked up at you, his gaze raking over your body and drinking you in. he nodded and stood, gesturing to a starbucks cup at the desk next to his. your order you’d told him in fleeting over yesterday’s lunch.
“you… remembered.”
“i remember everything,” he spoke softly, and you had a feeling he wasn’t talking about just your coffee order. you looked down at your desk to find there wasn’t a chair there.
hiromi stood and moved behind you, one hand on your lower back as he pointed to the paper laid out. “second paragraph here, read it out loud.”
“why?”
“because i want to hear you figure it out.”
you swallowed thickly, then bent down a little bit to see the typing better. “vendor assumes full responsibility for the security and integrity of all data transmitted through vendor’s systems and infrastructure.”
his hand slid down your back to your ass, not doing anything else yet. when you didn’t protest, her gently squeezed.
“continue.”
“… in the event of unauthorized access, breach, or compromise of data occurring within or originating from vendor’s technical environ—“
his hand slid between your legs, underneath your skirt, which you’d worn conveniently short today. his fingers rubbed over the damp spot in your panties.
“keep going.”
you swallowed a whine. “… v-vendor shall bear liability for any resulting regulatory— m-mmh—“
“penalties,” he said quietly, right at your ear.
“penalties…” you repeated. “damages, or legal claims. client’s liability shall be limited to instances where breach is demonstrably—“
the sound of wood being dragged across a desk sounded beside you. you didn’t dare to look up from the paper, your gaze drifting to the margin.
“hiromi—“
“keep reading.”
“i… lost my place.”
“then start over,” he ordered.
you swallowed thickly again, your thighs trembling. “vendor assumes full responsibility for the security and integrity of all data transmitted through vendor’s systems and infrastructure. in the event of unauthorized access, breach, or compromise of data occurring within or originating from vendor’s technical environment, vendor shall bear primary liability for any resulting regulatory penalties, damages, or legal claims. client’s liability—“
you felt the flat head of a gavel press and rub over your panties. you gripped the edge of the desk and dug your high heels into the ground, whining softly. “h-hiromi—“
“lost your place again?” he mumbled, gently thwacking your clit with the gavel’s head, causing you to squeak and nod. “start. over.”
and you did. the flat head of the gavel gently rubbed over your clit, up and down, in little circles. you somehow managed to stammer out the paragraph, then pressed your forehead to the screen of the computer in front of you and arched your back. “hiromi… please…”
he gently thwacked at your clit again with the head of the gavel, making you jolt and whine. “you understand what that means?”
you nodded. “yes…” your answer not entirely about the contract.
“tell me,” he murmured, tossing the gavel in his hand and switching it so the handle ran along your folds over your panties.
“if— if the vulnerability originated in the vendor’s system—” you were gripping the desk so hard your knuckles were white, “—zenin capital’s liability shifts— significantly.”
“correct.”
he pressed the gavel harder into your core, and you whined. “hiromi…”
“shimizu leaves for her lunch at one,” he murmured at your ear, his voice even and calm.
you glanced at the clock on his wall. 12:52pm. 8 minutes. you buried your face in your arms and tried to not make a sound as hiromi moved the handle against you.
five minutes passed and you were trembling, shaking, your panties ruined. by eight minutes, once you heard the door to the lobby shut, the gavel moved away from your soaked core. you held back from protesting, the sound of a belt and zipper being undone loud in the quiet office.
"the vendor's technical environment..." hiromi murmured. "that's our loophole."
"i know..." you murmured, your voice breathless and shaky.
"good. now..." he reached for your waist and turned you over, sitting you up properly on the desk. "where were we?"
you stared up at him. "hiromi... this is so wrong."
"you started it. yesterday?"
"i was... drunk. not in the right headspace."
"and yet you stood here just now, completely sober, bent over the desk without me even asking, letting me rub your pussy with my fucking gavel."
you forced the whine that threatened to spill past your lips back down. he was right. you knew this was wrong and you were doing it anyways. you knew you were going to go home and wallow in guilt and regret while your husband remained completely oblivious.
hiromi's grip loosened, and he pulled just a few inches away. "so... tell me to stop," he murmured.
the words died on your tongue, if they even made it past your brain in the first place. slowly, hesitantly, you reached for his tie, and as soon as your fingers wrapped around the silk of his tie, he leaned in, his lips hovering over yours. waiting. you closed the distance, kissing him softly, slowly.
he smirked against your lips, hands coming to your hips. "attagirl..."
that word shouldn't have made heat pool in your stomach the way it did, especially not the way he purred it against your lips. you leaned back, pulling him closer, and he took that as a sign to keep going. he unbuttoned the top half of your dress shirt and cupped your breasts, squeezing gently.
"fuck..." you moaned against his lips.
"too much?" he asked quietly.
you shook your head. "no... don't stop."
he smirked against your lips. "remember. you started it."
you shivered at his words, spreading your legs apart and letting him grind against you. your fingers gripped the edge of the desk, your heels dug into the ground. hiromi nipped at your neck gently, his hands moving down to the hem of your skirt. he paused, his gaze flickering to the door, where the lobby was empty, then back to you. "i can stop at any moment. just say the word."
you were silent. you should stop. you should remember your vows, you should go home to kento, to the life you swore to him that you'd honor. yet you found yourself staring into hiromi's eyes, studying the warm, honey-ish brown that stared back at you like he'd known you for years, not just 48 hours. your body betrayed your mind: your back arched slightly, chest pressing against his, one hand coming to the back of his neck.
"don't stop."
he smiled and kissed you softly. "that's what i thought."
the sunlight slanted through the blinds, falling across your shoulder, catching the sheen of sweat on your skin. the papers, files, the quiet hum of the fan all faded into nothing. there was only him, and you, and the impossible thrill of doing something so utterly forbidden.
he reached under your skirt and pulled your panties down, then swiped his fingers through your sopping folds. "shit..." he mumbled. "you're soaked..."
"not my fault you-- fuck-- edged me with a goddamn gavel..."
he chuckled softly. "true," he murmured. he sunk to his knees, burying his face in your heat and licking a slow stripe up. you squirmed and whined, only to be silenced by him smacking your thigh. "you gotta be quiet. and sit still."
he pulled away, pulling his tie off and rolling it up into a ball of fabric. "open."
you parted your lips and he shoved the silk into your mouth to muffle your voice. "good girl," he patted your cheek before kneeling back down, not wasting a second before he was suckling at your clit.
"mpph!" you whined against the ball of his tie, and he squeezed your thigh. his tongue dipped lower, slipping into your hole and lapping up what you'd drooled everywhere.
"fuck... you taste so good..." he grunted, muffled by your cunt. you squirmed your hips and reached down to pull at his hair, keeping him buried between your legs. his tongue didn't let up, and you were drooling both on his tie and on his face. his nose nudged your clit as his tongue plunged in and out, the office filled with wet squelches and low grunts of effort and pleasure from him.
your thoughts were a mess. half guilt, knowing this was wrong. the other, more incessant half pleasure. how his tongue flicked, plunged, licked up and suckled at your swollen clit...
a creak sounded from the lobby. you jolted and tried to pull him away, glancing back at the door. he obeyed your guidance, standing up, and pressed a soft kiss to your neck. "relax..." he purred. "it's the pipes. no one's coming. shimizu won't be back for an hour."
you panted softly from both the sheer panic of thinking you were caught and the fact that you were halfway to the edge. hiromi cupped your face with one hand, pulling his tie-gag out with the other, quickly replacing it with his lips on yours.
"c'mere..." he mumbled softly, picking you up and carrying you to his swivel chair. he sat down, you in his lap, still in only his boxers (which were tented and stained with a wet spot by now). he gently wrapped the wrinkled, drool-soaked tie around your neck and tied it, just a tad bit too tight, and held the silk like a leash. he tilted your chin up and settled back further in the seat, spreading his legs further.
"eyes on me." his clothed tip brushed up against your core, nudging gently at your entrance. you made a soft noise, biting your lip to hold it back, and curled your fingers into the front of his shirt. "hiromi... sir..."
he grinned, thumbing along your jaw. "yes?"
you rocked your hips gently. "i... please..."
"please what?"
fuck. you groaned and hid your face in his neck. "please... need you..."
"need me, huh? is that it?" he hummed with mock pity. “well, i’m right here. you have me, don’t you? use your words, honey…”
your lower lip jutted out in a soft pout, annoyed at him making you do this. but he only chuckled in response and tugged at the tie. you huffed. “need you t’fuck me…” you mumbled, your words shaky but genuine. “need you inside… please…”
satisfaction flickered in his gaze before he leaned in to pepper your jaw with kisses, slipping out of his boxers. his cock sprung free, throbbing an angry red and beading precum. “take it then…”
your hand came down to gently pump him, earning a soft groan that rumbled deep in his throat. you sat up and gently circled your hips, letting his tip press at your entrance teasingly, before he groaned and shifted his hips up. you didn’t tease him too much, slowly sinking down a few inches.
“fuck…” you gripped his shoulders and bit your lip so hard you swore you tasted copper.
“easy… shh, take it slow…” he muttered, his voice and breathing strained. “sh-shit, relax… ease up a little…”
you groaned. “t-too big…” you whimpered, which earned a smirk from him. “mm, not used to a cock this big, stretchin’ out your pretty pussy?” he murmured teasingly, leaning in and gently nipping at your earlobe.
you frowned. “no, just… h-haven’t, um… y’know, in a while…” you admitted softly, shoving the thought of last night's failed attempt at makeup sex into the back of your head. hiromi frowned at your words as he eased the rest of himself in, all the way to the hilt. “no way…” he mumbled. “‘f i had a girl as pretty, smart… tight and wet… fuckin’… wouldn’t let you go a night without cummin’ a few times…”
you tightened embarrassingly at his words as you started rocking your hips on him. “d-don’t say that…” you mumbled, moaning softly.
“but i would…” he smoothed his hands over your thighs. “would make sure you got nice and filled each night… maybe wake you up by eating your pussy… i’d rub a few out of you each morning before work…”
you whined into his neck. god, how you wished you had that. kento was always too tired or he wouldn’t last long, and you knew it was the stress of work, but he—
slap!
a spank on your ass had your husband wiped from your mind as hiromi rubbed over the red spot to soothe the sting. “shh. focus on me.”
you nodded and bounced your hips faster, your thighs meeting his with wet little smacks. his cock eased in and out of you, rubbing up and kissing all the way up to your gummy sweet spot. you could feel and hear yourself squelching around him, probably dripping and making a mess on his chair.
your hips began to falter, just a bit, your rhythm losing its consistency as your thighs trembled more each time they met his. “h-hiromi…” you whispered, your voice pulled tight.
he noticed immediately, of course he did. his hands slid to the back of your thighs, cupping and squeezing and guiding you. slowing you down just enough to feel each and every inch of him dragging in and out. “what is it? tell me, baby… you gonna cum?”
you nodded weakly.
“yeah? gonna cum on my cock? gonna squeeze it, drip it down to my balls? hm?”
you whined. “yes— h-hiro— 'm cumming- fuck!”
he hummed. “good girl. cum for me… cum on my cock, baby…” he murmured, lifting you up and pulling you bad down hard. his hips snapped up to meet yours once, then twice, knocking the air out of your lungs.
“s-shit, oh my god…”
he didn’t let up, soft grunts coming from deep in his chest as he kept moving you up and down. steady, relentless, each thrust deeper than the last. he reached one hand down and thumbed little circles at your clit, dragging and pressing into the swollen flesh, the pressure making you throb. “come on, you can take it…” he nipped your earlobe.
your body betrayed you, your thighs squeezing his waist and your hips jerking, a broken whine spilling from your lips as the pressure in your lower abdomen pulled tighter, tighter, until you snapped. you choked his name out, digging your nails into his shoulders. your back arched and your breath caught in your chest, your vision going blurry at the edges.
he groaned low, deep and ragged, as you throbbed around him, hugging his cock deep as he nestled deep inside you. “ah…” he panted softly. “there you go…”
his hips snapped up, each with a slick, wet squelch echoing in your empty head as he fucked you dumb. it was too much, way too much sensory overload, but you didn’t care at this point. he gripped you tight and pulled you impossibly closer, pressing his lips to yours in a messy, heated kiss. his cock pulsed deep inside of you, loud squelches accompanying each balls-deep thrust. “fuck… fuck, fuck, fuck—“ he grunted, his head tipping back.
as the first shiver of his release hit, he slipped out of you, spurted his hot, sticky release into his hand, just in time before it spilled all over his dress shirt. he panted softly, both of you staring down at the mess he’d made.
your fingers trembled over his hand and before he could stop you, your leaned down and traced your tongue up each line of his palm, lapping up his cum and cleaning his hand till there wasn’t a drop left.
“fuck…” he laughed softly through his panting. “you're... incredible. how... how does he not fuck you every night?"
you scoffed, brushing your fingers over his knuckles. "he's... overworked."
"overworked?" he hummed, his hands coming up to your back and pressing you into his chest. "not an excuse to not take care of you."
you stilled as he mouthed at your neck. "i'm a lawyer. i can understand my clients' motives and i can sympathize with people to a fault. so i know you're not doing this because you're greedy or you don't love your husband. you just... need to be taken care of." his voice was muffled against your skin when he spoke. "or maybe you are just greedy and you're good at hiding it," he nipped teasingly at your neck, then soothed it with his tongue. then, softly, he spoke. "you ever need to be taken care of... you come to me."
you didn't have time to dwell on that offer before a click sounded from the lobby. shimizu was back from her break. he released you just in time for you to straighten your shirt and fix your skirt. the air between you still thrummed with heat, but the danger of being caught and the guilt of what you’d done made it impossible to linger. you slipped out of the office and glanced at shimizu.
"have a good night," you smiled when she looked up at you. there was a flicker of something in her eyes when she took you in: skirt wrinkled, the top two buttons of your shirt undone, and the way you were sweating significantly, even more than she was in the heat of the office.
"good night, mrs. nanami."
you stepped through the door to your apartment and immediately dropped your bag, then kicked your shoes off. kento was on the floor, doing some situps while a workout video played on the tv.
"honey! home early?" he grunted through a sit up.
you couldn't walk to the bedroom fast enough. "yeah, um, i'm gonna shower quickly."
"okay. hey, maybe we could go out to dinner tonight since you're home early!" he called, pausing the workout video. "there's this new place in ginza-"
"i can't, kento," you stilled in the doorway, your chest tight. "i... have to go through some files."
he was quiet from where he sat in front of the coffee table. "is everything okay, sweetheart...?" he asked, easing up to his feet. "you've been acting kind of..."
"i'm fine. just... stressed about the whole data breach thing."
he looked you up and down, then nodded. "okay. if you need anything..."
you shut the door to the bathroom.
"... let me know."
your week became a blur of mornings buried in reports and conference calls at the office, a train ride to chiyoda, and afternoons spent finalizing the details of the vendor loophole with hiromi. your work day would end when shimizu went on her lunch break. the vendor contracts would be long forgotten, fluttering to the floor as hiromi would take you on the desk, his chair, the copy machine, even one day where he feeling particularly risky and pressed you against the window where those sticker letters spelled out "HIGURUMA LAW FIRM."
you'd come home and wallow in your guilt, where kento would offer massages, baths, and soft words that clashed with hiromi's rougher demeanor. you promised yourself that by thursday this week, when the statement would go out that zenin capital was not responsible for the data breach, you would stop. you wouldn't allow yourself to see hiromi again.
tuesday night, you stood at the kitchen island, chopping up lettuce for a salad you and kento would have for dinner. he was in charge of marinating the chicken in sake, oil, and seasoning it before he roasted it.
"hey," he spoke softly, sliding the pan into the oven. he came up behind you and gently squeezed your shoulders. "how about... friday night, after the whole data breach scandal has been smoothed over... we can go to that restaurant in ginza?" he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to where your neck met your shoulder. "you've been working so hard, baby... let me take you out and treat you. i checked out their menu... they have poke bowls..." he teased, smiling against your skin.
you couldn't help a small smile. "... yeah, okay. that sounds nice." he grinned victoriously and squeezed your waist. "finally. i'll buy you a nice, brand new dress, and you can wear those tiffany diamonds..."
maybe everything would turn out okay. maybe the scandal would smooth over, you'd stop seeing hiromi and both you and kento could take a break from work. maybe vacation somewhere nice, like kuantan beach in malaysia. kento had mentioned that place a few times.
but before that, you had to do one last thing.
you spent all of thursday's work day, from 9-5, with your managing director, releasing the press statement and smoothing it over with the public, effectively saving the company image.
press statement – zenin capital
zenin capital recently identified a security incident affecting data transmitted through vendor systems. upon investigation, it has been determined that all relevant breaches originated within the vendor’s technical environment. zenin capital followed proper internal protocols and vendor contract requirements, ensuring that client data remained secure.
the responsible vendor has acknowledged full liability for this incident, and zenin capital has taken all necessary steps to mitigate any potential impact. we remain committed to maintaining the highest standards of data integrity and security for our clients and partners.
zenin capital appreciates the continued trust of our clients and shareholders.
you let out a breath as the market bell rang, signaling today's close. shares had already begun to recover after the blame had shifted off the company, and social media seemed to be taking well to the statement.
you popped into your managing directors office. "i'm gonna head over to the firm and drop off the check to hir- mr. higuruma." you caught yourself in a blink. your director, too invested in her computer, didn't notice.
"ok. make sure accounting gets a note for their journal entries."
"of course."
"hey... mrs. nanami?" she called after you, and you perked up. "good work. you and mr. higuruma make a good team. if we ever have a legal shitshow like this again, make sure he's at the tip of our contact list."
you swallowed thickly and sent a quick prayer up to the heavens that you would never, ever see zenin get into legal trouble again.
"right. thank you."
it was raining on your train ride to chiyoda. the droplet battered on your umbrella like pelts of iron as you stared up at those green sticker letters in the window. shimizu would be gone and hiromi would most definitely be working overtime.
you took the elevator up and rested your umbrella against the coatrack in the lobby. it was finally cooler in the office with the rainy weather. shimizu wasn't at the reception desk.
you bit your lip. this was the last time you'd see hiromi... might as well make it worth his while. you unbuttoned your blouse, revealing the lavender lace bra beneath, then slipped your skirt off as well to show off the matching thong you wore. you pulled the company check out of your purse and took it between your teeth. now dressed in nothing but your lace underwear, unbuttoned dress shirt, and heels, you confidently catwalked your way to his office door, opening it without knocking.
you froze. hiromi sat at his desk, examining a paper shimizu had just handed to him. she was still here? both of them looked up at the sudden interruption. hiromi swallowed thickly and shimizu's jaw dropped.
silence filled the office, except for the copy machine beeping and the rain hammering on the window. your pulse hammered in your ears.
you finally came to your senses and pulled your dress shirt shut, then took the check from your mouth and dropped it on the coffee station table. "i brought the check from zenin," you blurted out, then bolted back out to the lobby.
"mrs. nanami, wait-!" hiromi called, but you were already pulling your skirt up as you hurried towards the elevator. after frantically hitting the down button, you sighed with relief when it opened immediately, still idling after your trip up. you managed to get in just in time before hiromi could reach you.
nanami sat at his desk, head in his hands. it was 9:12am on friday and it was already a shitshow. the acquisition he'd been working on all week finally gave in after the breach had been smoothed over, but he was hitting a financial snag. they were upping their price due to worry that another scandal might hit zenin capital. he opened his inbox, searching for-
his brow furrowed. probably a phishing attempt, but he clicked on the initial email regardless.
dear mr. nanami,
my name is ms. shimizu from higuruma law firm. i know it's definitely not my place to be getting involved in your personal life, and i apologize for that, but i couldn't go another day without telling you.
your wife has been having an affair with mr. higuruma. every day she's been here, she's left disheveled. i thought maybe it was just the stress of the scandal and that fact that the building's ac broke, but yesterday when she came to drop the company check off, she was wearing nothing but her dress shirt and lingerie. i assume she was hoping to surprise him, but i'd been working overtime and caught her. if you don't believe me, i have attached cctv footage of her leaving the office.
i apologize again for the invasion of privacy.
s. shimizu.
kento stared at the email. then he read it again. and again. his cursor hovered over the mp4 file for a long minute, then he clicked it. sure enough, you'd been caught.
he stared at the screen, remembering the past two weeks. you'd come home and insist you were tired, and when he offered a massage or bath or even to lay you down in bed, you'd refused. he swallowed his anger, his fingers flying over the computer to search up "hiromi higuruma."
he raised a brow. the man was tall, handsome, maybe even older. a well-qualified lawyer. he clicked the law firms website and picked up the office phone, dialing in the contact number.
"hello, you've reached higuruma law firm! this is shimizu, how can i help you?"
"shimizu..." he mumbled. "this is kento nanami. can you transfer me to mr. higuruma?"
silence from the other end. then, a timid, "yes, sir."
the line rang for a few moments, then a deep voice registered. "higuruma speaking."
"mr. higuruma. this is kento nanami. you're the lawyer who represented zenin capital and worked with my wife, yes?"
silence stretched over the other line again. kento could make out a thick swallow. "... yes."
"right. well, i want to thank you for all the... hard work you and my wife have put into saving our company. i'm going to email you the address to a new restaurant that opened in ginza, where i'll be taking her for dinner tonight. the intercontinental tokyo bay hotel is right across the street from it. we'll be there around 8pm."
a few moments of silence from the other end, then higuruma spoke. "understood, sir."
"good. i'll see you then."
you couldn't understand why nanami had been so quiet all night. he hadn't watched you unwrap the new dress he'd bought you: a velvety, backless, maxi slip that had a diamond ornament cascading down your back. he'd been quiet in the car, gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles went white.
it had been your turn to ask the question. "honey... what's wrong?" you'd murmured. his eyes didn't leave the crowded tokyo road in front of him when he responded, "just... stress from work."
you sat at the new restaurant, swirling your wine in your glass while you waited on the food. nanami was staring at the entrance while you took in the interior design. it was luscious, adorned with fresh botanical decoration and golden accents, and-
"mr. and mrs. nanami?"
you almost choked on your sauvignon blanc when you looked to where the familiar voice was coming from. hiromi shook kento's hand like a goddamn business partner, then sat down in the empty chair.
you were frozen like a deer in headlights, staring between your husband and your lawyer. nanami smiled obliviously at you. "i thought i'd invite mr. higuruma to dinner as a thank you for... helping you. on the case, of course."
you swallowed thickly. "right." you turned your head to the side and finished off your wine in one heavy gulp.
the food came. you ate in silence while hiromi and kento talked about various topics: sports, stocks, the economy, politics. it was the most expensive and deeply bizarre dinner higuruma had ever attended and he had once eaten dinner with a yakuza defendant.
it was only when the plates were cleared that nanami set down his chopsticks, folded his hands, and looked at higuruma with the calm measured gaze of a man who had spent the last three days thinking very carefully about what he was going to say.
"i'm not going to pretend i'm not angry."
your head snapped up from staring at your lap. hiromi chuckled at kento. "i wouldn't expect you to."
"but..." kento turned to you, gently taking your chin in his fingers. "i won't pretend i didn't play a part in this."
"kento-"
"i'm not finished," he cut you off, but not unkindly. "i haven't been paying attention to your needs. i haven't been taking care of you the way a husband should."
your eyes welled up with tears and kento brushed them away before they could ruin your makeup. "so... here is my conclusion," he murmured, turning back to hiromi.
"what's that?" your secret lover asked.
"she needs to be punished for what she did and reminded of who she belongs to," he murmured, picking up his whiskey. "but... i think i could use a little help with that."
you made a sound that wasn't quite a word. hiromi looked to you, then kento, then picked up his sake and finished it off. "i think i'm gonna need something a little stronger than that."
kento almost smiled. almost. "i took the liberty of booking a suite across the street at the intercontinental," he announced. "for after dinner."
the suite was on the fourteenth floor.
the elevator ride up was, somehow, even more awkward than the dinner. the three of you stood in a row staring at the closing doors, you sandwiched between your husband and your... whatever hiromi was. had been. apparently still was, given the circumstances.
"you planned this..." hiromi murmured, looking to kento. "the dinner, the hotel, all of it."
kento nodded.
"you're... a strange man, kento," hiromi smirked, taking liberty of using his first name. kento only smiled. "so i've been told."
you laughed suddenly, almost hysterically. both men looked down at you, and you covered your mouth.
“sorry. i just— this is insane. you know that, right? you’re both… okay with this?”
“are you?” they both asked in unison.
you stared up at them. hiromi: rough enough to scratch your itch, but gentle enough underneath that you wouldn’t be pushed too far. his dark hair, lean build, tired eyes, tanned skin, and that goddamn nose. nanami: your husband. always so soft and sweet but never rough enough to soothe the ache between your thighs… except for maybe tonight. blonde, chiseled features, bulked up and beefed up. the same tired eyes, but they held more tenderness than fatigue.
maybe hiromi was right. maybe you were greedy and just good at hiding it.
“… absolutely.”
the elevator doors open and kento swiped the key card to the suite. hiromi went in first, leaving you with your husband for a quiet moment.
“kento, i’m so... so sorr—“
“shhh. i know. i’m sorry, too…” he whispered, kissing the top of your head. “like i said, i haven’t been treating you the way a perfect wife deserves to be treated. we both screwed up.”
you nodded quietly. “and you’re sure about this?”
he hesitated, glancing into the suite where hiromi stood in the room, staring at the two of you as he undid his tie.
“… no,” kento murmured. “but i’m sure about you. i'm still angry-"
your breath hitched and he took your face in his hands.
"-but i still love you. no matter what happens tonight, i want you to know that i am angry and i love you and those two things are both true at the same time."
he pulled you in to a slow and deliberate kiss, silently promising you two things: that he knew and understood why you had cheated and that you were going to face the consequences of your actions. right here, right now.
he pulled away and guided you into the room. the suite was tasteful and expensive — a sitting area, a king bed with crisp white sheets, floor to ceiling windows overlooking the tokyo skyline. "mr. higuruma."
"you can use my first name," hiromi pulled his tie off. "given the circumstances."
kento nodded. "hiromi." he patted your ass gently and you stepped forward, towards hiromi. "undress her," kento ordered.
"all the way?" hiromi asked, stepping forward and gently unhooking where the halter of the dress was hooked at the back of your neck. kento nodded. "all the way."
hiromi slipped your dress off, admiring your body in the warm bedroom light. the backless dress didn't allow for a bra, so your nipples peaked as soon as the dress was off. hiromi guided you back to the bed, kento coming next to him as he knelt down and eased your heels off. you stared up at kento, you was assessing you.
"you want to know what bothered me most?" kento murmured, all softness gone from his tone.
"...what?" you murmured weakly.
"that you pretended everything was okay," his hand came forward and grabbed your jaw. "that you came home, showered, buried yourself in your work, and went to bed. i knew something was up. did you think i wouldn't find out?"
you swallowed thickly. "... no..."
hiromi snorted and kento's grip on your jaw tightened. "no?"
"i don't know..." you whimpered. "i think... i just stopped thinking about it."
kento scoffed. "that's even worse..."
"i swore i was going to stop-"
"hiromi. you knew she was married."
hiromi stood back up after pulling your panties off, leaving you completely bare in front of them. "i did."
kento raised a brow at him. "at least you're honest..."
hiromi hummed with amusement. "i'm always honest. it's a professional hazard."
kento shrugged and began undoing his tie. "i think someone else needs to be a little more honest. darling... why don't you tell me everything you two did? and hiromi here won't hesitate to fill me in on any missing details, so don't bother leaving anything out."
you gulped, feeling yourself dripping as they both stared down at you. "it started... um... h-he had me reading a vendor contract-"
"no, the day before that," hiromi corrected you, unbuttoning his dress shirt. "we went out for lunch to discuss the case strategy, so... in her defense, she was a little drunk. but when we got back to the office, she kissed me."
you bit back a protest at hiromi for ratting you out, then continued. "right... so... the day after, he bent me over the desk-"
"you bent over the desk."
"you told me to read the contract!"
"not my fault you're blind and can't read fine prints without being 2 inches away from the paper. and you could've picked it up, but you chose to bend over the desk."
you huffed. "fine. i bent over the desk, and he... started touching me."
"touching you how?" kento asked as he undid his last button, shrugging his shirt off and revealing his muscular, chiseled chest and abs, and those biceps...
you huffed. "he... squeezed my ass... then reached under my skirt and rubbed my panties..."
you could see both of them growing in their pants, and you felt drool pooling underneath your tongue.
"and then?" hiromi coaxed you on, smirking.
"he... edged me with his gavel..." you murmured. hiromi looked annoyingly proud of himself. both of them began undoing their belts. "then he put me up on the desk, tasted me... then we got in his chair and fucked."
"you on top?" kento asked. you nodded. "hm."
you rattled everything else off as they slowly pulled off their belts, slacks, and finally, their boxers. you went over each time, how hiromi had bent you over his desk, the copy machine, that time at the window, the time you had knocked his coffee over and spilled it onto a few briefs...
the room fell quiet as they both stared down at you. "every day?" kento asked, and you nodded. hiromi nodded to confirm. your husband inhaled through his nose, then exhaled through his mouth.
"look at me."
and you did, gazing up at him as he stepped closer to the foot of the bed, then leaned down and gently took your throat in his hand. "you stopped thinking about what you were doing. didn't you?"
you nodded slowly.
"so you don't get to do that tonight. you're gonna sit here and think about what you did wrong. and you're going to listen. do you hear me?" he growled.
"... yes..." you murmured.
"i can't hear you."
"yes!" you emphasized, on the verge of tears. your cunt was aching from anticipation.
"good."
hiromi let out a quiet exhale that was almost a laugh. kento glanced back at him for only a moment. "can you manage that?" he asked him. hiromi only shrugged, then rolled his shoulders. "i can follow instructions..."
"good," kento murmured, returning his gaze to you. he pulled his hand away. "then we'll start simple. face down, ass up. hands behind your back."
you did as you were told, pressing your cheek to the sheets and arching your back. you felt a satin tie wrap around your wrist, tied so tight you were sure there would be red marks in the morning.
"too tight?" kento murmured.
you shook your head quickly. "no..."
"good."
his hand came down to your ass, pressing gently, guiding your hips higher. you obeyed instinctively, your breath catching as you felt the breeze of the air conditioning ghost over your sopping heat.
hiromi hummed. "so pretty..."
heat flooded your face and the tension coiled tighter in your stomach.
kento’s fingers slid slowly down your spine, deliberate, measured, until his hand settled at the small of your back.
“spread your legs a little more.”
you did, thighs trembling slightly as you shifted, the sheets cool beneath you.
“look at that,” hiromi murmured, closer now. “already dripping for us. greedy little thing..."
it was suddenly quiet behind you, and you could only feel two dips in the mattress behind you, one on your left, one on your right. it was too quiet.
then, a sharp smack landed against your right ass cheek. you yelped, your whole body jolting forward and your wrists straining against the tie.
"count," kento ordered from that respective side. "o-one..." you whimpered softly. another strike on your left from a nimbler hand- hiromi. "t-two..." you whined. another strike on your right. "three--!"
your thighs squeezed together before kento forced them apart. "keep them open," he ordered. you whimpered and dug your knees into their place on the bed, spread wide apart and throbbing with anticipation. a hand- kento's- soothed over where he'd struck, slowly and deliberately. the contrast in his touch made your breath stutter.
"tell me..." he murmured, now in your ear. "were you like this for him?"
you hesitated for a moment, and a warning was squeezed into your hip. "yes--!" you squeaked out quickly. everything stilled and went quiet.
then, a slap on your right ass cheek so hard, you could've sworn it broke skin. you yelped and cried into the sheets, your hips lifting.
"f-four..." you whimpered after the shock had washed over you.
hiromi smirked to kento and gently rubbed over your left cheek. "you did ask for honesty, kento."
"and she's gonna give it. aren't you, pretty girl?" he murmured.
"yes..." you whined, muffled by the sheet. a sharp yank in your hair pulled you up so you were balancing only on your knees. "yes--!" you squeaked out, not needing to be told to speak up.
kento shoved you back into the mattress. there was another pause, and you realized hiromi and kento were quietly communicating behind you what they were going to do to you next.
then, movement. the dip in the bed rose, leaving only you spread out on the sheets. "wait-"
"stay." kento ordered, though it wasn't like you had much of a choice.
you felt a hand reach from your left and grab your jaw gently, then it lifted your head up. hiromi's hand.
"hiro...?" you whimpered, and you were answered with a soft shush from him. your vision of the hotel bed's headboard was blocked by red silk- hiromi's tie. he wrapped it carefully around your head.
"wait.." you protested, but hiromi shushed you again. there was a dip on the bed, both men carefully quiet. you felt one in front, one behind.
no way. there were gonna-?
one hand sifted into your hair so you couldn't feel whether it was thick and calloused or nimble and smooth. it lifted your head up, and you felt a swollen tip tap at your lips. the other swiped between your folds with a soft schlick! noise.
you gulped your nerves down and parted your lips, a thick, veiny member slipping onto your wet tongue. simultaneously, the one prodding at your entrance pushed in, squelching and stretching you out with a sweet sting.
"mpph!!" you whined, muffled as whoever was in your mouth began fucking into your face, the other thrusting into your hole. four hands were braced on the center of your back, both to hold up you up and hold on to balance.
"fuck..." kento finally groaned, and hiromi hissed lowly. they were positioned carefully above you so you couldn't tell by sound who was in front and who was behind. they began seesawing, as one pushed into your sopping pussy, the other pulled out of your drooling mouth. back and forth, back and forth. your pussy squeezed tight and your tongue swirled, wet slaps and groaning filling the bedroom.
after a minute or two, just as you could feel that knot in your stomach coil just tight enough, they both pulled out, leaving you gasping and whining.
"now... tell us..." hiromi panted. "... who's in your mouth and who's in your pussy?"
you swallowed hard. they weren't too different in size or girth. maybe you could tell by who's hands were where... you could tell hiromi's hands were closer to your lower back, and kento's were around your ribcage. though could they have positioned it so their hands were mix-matched? no, no... too much effort, you figured.
"ken... you were in my mouth... and hiro... you were fucking me?"
silence. not a word. just your breathing, uneven and desperate.
then, your jaw was pulled up by what you recognized as hiromi's hand. "is that what you think?" the lawyer murmured into your ear.
you were so fucked. literally.
"w-wait-" you stammered, realizing your mistake. you were silenced by kento's hand, firm and familiar, on your hip. "wrong."
hiromi laughed softly, the sound brushing against your ear as his fingers slid up your jaw, tilting your head back just slightly. “you really couldn’t tell?” he murmured.
your lips parted, but nothing came out.
kento’s grip on your hip tightened, grounding, possessive.
“i told you,” he said calmly, “you were going to think... clearly, you didn’t try very hard.”
your stomach twisted, embarrassment and something hotter tangling together as your thighs pressed together instinctively, only to be pushed apart again. "stay open," kento grunted. "you're gonna get spanked again. hiromi, could you help me?"
"gladly."
you felt the bed shift and your face dropped back to the sheets. it was quiet and still again, and your hips perked up a little in anticipation.
smack!
right on your sopping, dripping, puffy folds. the impact on your clit almost made you cum right there, as you were still sensitive. an embarrassing noise that was a mix of a whimper and a yelp spilled from your lips to the sheets.
another smack, from hiromi this time. then another, and another until you were throbbing. "wait- wait--!" you gasped as you felt your clit pulse.
"hold on. you're not done yet," kento murmured, and the spanking stopped. you whined and dug your fingers into the tie around your wrist, hips wriggling in frustration.
hiromi laughed softly. "shh, don't cry. you've been so good for us, taking everything we're giving you... kento, i think we should let her cum."
kento was quiet, crossing his arms. "i don't know..." he mumbled.
hiromi raised a brow, then gently spread your lips apart, causing your hips to jerk and a whine to spill from your lips. "look at her. poor thing is droolin' for us..." he mumbled. it was true- you were dripping down your thighs.
"please, ken..." you lifted your head a bit to beg.
kento sighed. "fine. you do the honors, hiromi. i'll watch."
hiromi smirked, slipping two fingers into you. "there you go, baby..." he purred. his fingers curled and made a coaxing motion, then resorted scissoring you open. "all better? now that your pussy's full 'nd gettin' fucked?"
you almost cried. like, actually, you choked on a sob. "yes, yes, yesyesyes--" you whined, your hips moving back against his fingers. hiromi hummed and moved closer to your ear. "go on then. cum. let your husband see you cream all over my fingers."
as if the world had narrowed down to your cunt and the two fingers squelching in and out of it, you snapped. your body shuddered, your voice broke into a ragged moan, and the tension into your stomach coiled up until you were soaking hiromi's hand, your white juices spilling over his fingers and dripping onto the sheets. hiromi's hand came to your hip, locking you down so you felt every single wave of pleasure and more.
"shit..." kento murmured, stroking himself. hiromi huffed with a small smile. "see how much she loves this?"
you sagged against the sheets, panting, drenched in the aftershocks of what was probably the most intense orgasm you ever had- and it was only the first one tonight. both of them watched you, approving, satisfied.
after that, you were allowed to rest for a moment, the fabric of the ties slipped off of your eyes and away from your wrists. you blinked, adjusting to the warm light of the suite lights. kento helped you onto your back, letting you sink into the crisp sheets. your pussy was still tight and throbbing with anticipation, your legs still trembling, and your entire body thrummed with need.
"ken-" you whimpered shakily.
"shh..." he kissed your cheek. "just lay back. good girl..."
hiromi rested beside you on your left, leaning in and mouthing at your neck, one hand squeezing your breast and earning a sweet mewl from you. from your right, kento held your hand and pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles, then hiked your leg up with his other hand and slowly pressed inside you, squelching as he pushed past your previous release. a delicious, sharp ache spread from your cervix to every nerve ending.
at the same time, hiromi reached down and rubbed your clit in small, slow circles. your slick drooled down kento’s cock, your walls squeezed, and your back arched. “m-mmhgh…”
“shh…” kento moved to kiss down to your breast, and hiromi mirrored kento’s actions on his side. one arm came to hook around kento, hugging him closer, while your free hand reached down and stroked hiromi’s cock. he shuddered and groaned with pleasure, his hips jerking up into your hand.
“that’s it…” kento murmured against your skin. hiromi sucked gently and moaned as you thumbed his slit. “good girl…”
the hotel room filled with a chorus of heavy breaths, soft moans, and slick wet squelches, and you realized that even shaky and worn out, you were exactly where you were meant to be: between the two men who knew every curve, every response, every need.
“still sensitive?” hiromi’s voice broke when he murmured.
you could only manage half a whimper and a nod.
“that’s what we thought,” kento hummed.
“hah… h-hngh…” you whined as kento fucked harder up into you, hiromi doing the same as they both chased their high. kento pulled your leg higher, his tip bullying your cervix at the new angle.
“oh— f-fuck—!”
“there it is,” he breathed out.
your hand stuttered on hiromi, and he caught your wrist. “don’t stop now…” he mumbled, pulling off you drool-soaked tit. “you wanted this, didn’t you?”
you nodded, your eyes glassy, your brain already fogging over. it was too much; hiromi’s fingers rubbing your clit, kento’s cock rutting in and out of you, both of them sucking at your tits, hiromi throbbing in your hand…
“k-ken, hiro— i can’t—“
“you can…” hiromi murmured. “right, kento?”
“right,” kento nodded, moving to mouth at your neck. “you can. you’re going to.”
hiromi leaned closer, his fingers no longer rubbing in circles but rubbing furiously back and forth across your puffy bud. “go on, let it happen…” he purred. “cum for us.”
your whole body tensed, then broke. your back arched, a broken cry tore out of your throat as the pleasure hit sharper than before, overwhelming all of your senses. your hand faltered again, your hips jerking helplessly against kento as wave after wave crashed through you, your thighs trembling around him.
“shit. i think she squirted a little,” hiromi murmured, glancing down.
“wouldn’t be the first time,” kento couldn’t help himself.
they both pulled away, kento almost having to pull his dick out of your walls with his hands, you were still clenching onto him so hard. he took your face in his hand, fingers squishing your cheeks gently.
“hey. stay with us. you’re not finished yet.”
fuck. you whimpered pathetically. "i can't, i literally cannot-"
"safe word?"
you stayed silent, and kento gently patted your cheek. "c'mon. up."
hiromi pulled you up by the waist, then moved to kneel behind you on the bed, gently kneading the fat of your ass. his chest pressed at your shoulderblades, and before you could lose your balance and fall forward, kento's chest pressed against yours as he knelt in front of you. you were effectively sandwiched between the two.
their tips prodded at both of your holes, and you squeaked.
"breathe. hold onto us," hiromi murmured, taking one arm and draping it over his shoulder, kento taking your other and doing the same. you bit your lip and sank down, both of them stretching you out.
"oh- shit-" you gasped.
"shhh... doin' so good, baby..." kento murmured. hiromi hummed in agreement. "yeah... taking both of us at once, hm?"
they both pressed up to the hilt, grunting softly as only a wall seperated their cocks. your heart hammered in your chest as they throbbed inside of you. "please... move," you whimpered out.
they made eye contact over your head and nodded, slowly thrusting up into you. the rhythm was slow at first, careful and delicate, each of them adjusting till the angle was just right.
"you okay? still with us?" kento murmured against your temple while hiromi leaned in and peppered kisses up the back of your neck. you nodded weakly, your eyes squeezed shut.
"good girl," he kissed your cheek softly. "hold on tight."
hiromi's hands found your hips from behind, steadying you, and kento's arms wrapped around your back, and the rhythm shifted, less careful now, less deliberate, both of them chasing something. the sounds that filled the suite were... a lot. the wet shlick! and shluck! of them moving inside you, the soft grunt hiromi began to make low in his throat with each thrust, kento's breathing gone uneven against your neck, your own voice completely beyond your control. you prayed you wouldn't get a noise complaint from the hotel. the room reeked of sex and sweat, two pairs of thighs smacking against yours. "hiromi-"
"shh..."
"ken-"
"i know, baby. shh. i've got you," his voice broke and he sped up, chasing his high as his cock throbbed and twitched inside your drenched cunt. his head dropped to your shoulder.
"both of you- please-" you whimpered, nails digging into their shoulders. hiromi began to stutter. "shit- shit-"
both of them squeezed you tighter, sandwiching all three of you impossibly closer. your tits squished and bouncing against kento's chest as you felt your inner walls spasm and clench. the knot in your stomach pulled impossibly tight.
"cum for us..." kento panted into your neck, trying to hold out so you came first. "c'mon baby. one more time."
"i can't-" you sobbed, tears spilling down your cheeks.
"you can," hiromi nipped at your earlobe.
it crashed over you like something collapsing: your whole body shuddering, your arms tightening around both their necks, a sound leaving your throat that you didn't even know you could make.
kento followed immediately with a sharp exhale of your name, his arms locking around you so swore your ribs could crack.
hiromi finished with his face buried in your shoulder and both hands gripping you hard enough to leave marks, a low broken groan muffled against your skin.
both of them pulled out, sticky hot seed dripping out of both of your holes in globs. they laid you down and snuggled into your sides, both of them kissing at your neck, cheeks, ears, lips, whatever they could get their mouths on. you felt like you were fading in and out of consciousness.
after a few minutes, once you were pretty much lights out, hiromi sat up and cleaned himself off, searching the floor for his slacks. "you can stay..." kento murmured, face buried in your hair and eyes shut. the lawyer blinked. "i... thought you were asleep. sorry."
kento didn't say anything, just pulled the comforter back and patted the empty spot next to you. "it's raining outside. plus, i didn't pay 60,000 yen for this suite for nothin'."
hiromi swallowed thickly, then climbed back into bed and pulled the comforter up over the three of you. he stroked your hair gently as you slept, earning an eyebrow raise from kento.
"i'm not sharing her, you know," your husband murmured.
"yeah? me neither."
both men were silent, then huffed small laughs simultaneously. "you're still a strange man, kento..."
"mm. so are you," he mumbled. they both wrapped their arms around your sleeping form and closed their eyes, falling asleep.
the next few weeks at the office went smoothly. so far, there was no legal trouble, and naoya zenin was quietly suspended from his spot as ceo, his uncle, toji fushiguro, regaining control temporarily until the idiot learned his lesson about customer trust. your relationship with your husband had been mended: neither of you worked consistent overtime and you had set aside time to vacation in malaysia.
everything was picture perfect, until-
smack!
a file landed on your desk, and your managing director stood in front of you. "another situation. an unauthorized acquisition attempt of a smaller company- that mid-sized tech firm in osaka? that wasn't approved by the fair trade commission. it looks like a violation of the antimonopoly act. the FTC flagged it an hour ago and press will get wind of it by thursday."
your brow furrowed as you took the file. acquisitions? kento's department? "i'll get ahead of it," you nodded, setting down the pen. your director hummed. "great. could you call-"
"on it," you mumbled, dialing the firm. your director nodded and left.
"higuruma legal, this is shimizu! how can i help you?"
"it's nanami. get me to hiromi."
silence from the other end, then a quiet click. obviously, shimizu wasn't your biggest fan after that check drop-off. the ling rang twice, then, "higuruma speaking."
"hiro... it's me."
you could almost hear his smile on the other end. "hi, baby."
"we have a situation. kento's department-"
"i know. he told me about it yesterday."
yesterday? but the FTC flagged it this morni-
ohhhhhh.
"he's such an idiot. he does not need to get our company into legal trouble just so we can hook up..." you mumbled, pinching the bridge of your nose. "so... the same rate?"
hiromi chuckled on the other end. "how about we all meet at the intercontinental tonight to sort something out," he offered, and you knew he wasn't talking about the unauthorized acquisition.
IS IT A CRIME TO LET YOUR LAW PROFESSOR FUCK YOU ON YOUR COUCH?
SYPNOSIS. after that heated encounter in his office, you've been dodging his lectures and ignoring every reminder of what happened that night. higuruma hiromi is more frustrated than ever—until he finally stops waiting and takes what you've both been circling for weeks.
— PART ONE
PAIRING. law prof! higuruma hiromi x law student! reader
A/N. art by hunnismoker on x. first post after getting flagged !!!
you’ve been ghosting his class for almost two weeks.
not on purpose…at least, that’s what you tell yourself. it started innocently enough when midterms starts, three back-to-back exams in four days was hell. then the cold came, a scratchy throat turning into fever. you told yourself you’d catch up once the fog cleared but even after the fever broke, you didn’t go back.
a stupid group project drama piled on next. one groupmate ghosted entirely, another argued over every citation, and the third kept rewriting your sections without asking. you spent nights in the library staring at shared google docs, highlighter bleeding through pages you weren’t reading, mind drifting somewhere else entirely.
and underneath all of it was the real reason.
the humiliating, pulsing truth you couldn’t admit out loud even to yourself.
every time you pictured walking into that lecture hall, sliding into your usual seat, you felt his eyes on you again. the one he gave you that monday evening in his office when the door was locked and your knees were on carpet and his hand was fisted in your hair.
the memory played on cruel repeat, you could still taste him—still feel the stretch of your throat when he fucked it.
you tried to study criminal intent the way you always had: highlighters, flashcards, color-coded notes. but every time the mens rea slides appeared in your mind, you saw him at the podium instead. black marker in hand, diagramming voluntary manslaughter like it was nothing, his voice never failing to sound low and tired.
you imagined him turning to the board and writing your name in the margin next to “reckless disregard.” imagined him underlining “guilty mind” twice, then looking back at you over his shoulder with that unreadable stare.
your stomach would knot. your thighs would press together under whatever table you were hiding at. heat would crawl up your neck and settle low in your belly until you had to excuse yourself to the bathroom just to breathe.
so you skipped.
there’s no way you could focus anyway.
one lecture became two. two became four. by the sixth absence you were submitting everything online. you polished every pdfs attached to curt emails with subject lines like “week 7 reading response” and “torts ii problem set.” you were still doing the work. still getting As on the assignments he graded without comment. no one could say you weren’t keeping up.
but he noticed.
higuruma hiromi doesn’t chase students. he doesn’t send gentle “concerned professor” emails with smiley faces or pull anyone aside after class with a hand on the shoulder and a murmured “is everything alright?” he isn’t built that way. he marks absences in neat red ink on the roster.
so you knew he’d seen it. knew because the last assignment you submitted came back with feedback that was longer than usual.
“strong analysis of actus reus, but your discussion of mens rea lacks depth. consider the subjective vs objective standard more carefully. office hours are still available if clarification is needed.”
was that an invitation? you don’t know.
you deleted the email without replying. closed your laptop. buried your face in your pillow and tried not to think about how badly you wanted to walk into his office again.
instead you stayed away.
it’s a thursday evening and the sky is already dark by 5:30, rain hammering the campus like it’s trying to wash the whole place clean. you’re huddled under the inadequate bus shelter outside the law building. you opened your phone for the third time to check the ETA, the next bus kept getting pushed back.
your fingers are numb on the screen. the cold seeps through your hoodie, makes your teeth chatter in small, embarrassing bursts.
you keep thinking about how stupid this is—standing here freezing when you could have easily just stayed in your apartment with the heater on and another excuse not to face him.
you only came here cause you needed air.
you needed it because every time you close your eyes all you see is him.
the tired lines around his eyes that made him look older and sharper. the way his jaw tightened right before he told you to open your mouth. the low rasp in his voice when he said “that’s it” while he pushed deeper, like he was grading your ability to take him.
it's making you insane.
it makes your chest ache now. it’s not just want, you actually need him. shame mixed with this stupid, gnawing need to know if he thinks about it too. if he replays the way you looked up at him with tears in your eyes, or the sound you made when he finally let you breathe. you hate how much space he takes up in your head.
headlights cut through the downpour suddenly. a black sedan slows, pulls right up to the curb in front of the shelter. the passenger window slides down with a quiet hum.
“get in.”
his voice slices through the rain noise.
you stare for a second. higuruma is behind the wheel, his face is half-shadowed, but you can see the faint crease between his brows.
you hesitate.
“i’m not waiting,” he says. “the bus is delayed. you’ll be here another half hour at least.”
you feel your pulse jump in your throat. it’s really him, sitting there in the driver’s seat with the same rolled sleeves and the same tired expression you’ve been replaying for weeks. part of you wants to stay right where you are under the shelter and keep pretending none of this exists, because getting in the car means facing whatever this is head-on. but the cold is biting through your hoodie, your jeans are soaked at the bottom, and the thought of waiting out here alone while he drives away makes your chest tighten. you already know you’re going to regret it either way, but standing here freezing feels worse than whatever happens next.
your feet move before you decide. you duck out from under the shelter, yank the door open, slide inside. the door thuds shut and suddenly the world is muffled…everything else gone quiet except your own heartbeat thumping loud in your ears.
higuruma doesn’t look at you right away. just checks the mirrors, pulls away from the curb smooth and controlled.
silence stretches awkwardly for a few minutes.
“address,” he says finally.
you rattle off your off-campus place a few miles away. he nods while he inputs it into the gps without comment. the screen glows blue on the dash … then more silence. the wipers sweep steady as you steal glances at him, his hands on the wheel look steady, veins standing out against his skin.
“six absences,” he says out of nowhere. “consistent, aren’t you?”
“i submitted everything on time.”
“i know.” he flicks the turn signal, merges left. “your work is fine. better than fine but you’re not in the room. that’s still a problem.”
you swallow, “i’ve been busy. you know midterms…group stuff, also got sick for a bit.”
“convenient timing.” he chuckles as heat floods your face.
“it’s not like that.”
“isn’t it?” he glances over. “you avoid the lecture hall, avoid my eyes. but you still send polished assignments like nothing happened.”
“i didn’t know what else to do.”
“you could have come to office hours.” his tone is even, you almost hear boredom in it. “asked for clarification on mens rea like i suggested in the feedback. like a normal student.”
but that’s the thing, there’s nothing normal about this.
“i didn’t think you meant it,” you mumble.
“i don’t say things i don’t mean.”
the car fills with quiet again.
“where do you live?” you ask suddenly, desperate to change the subject, to make this feel normal.
he raises an eyebrow. “why?”
“just curious. i mean you know where i live now.”
“apartment near the courthouse district. walking distance, it’s convenient.”
“do you… drive students home often?”
“no.”
another turn, the surroundings are familiar now. your complex is coming up soon.
“you’ve been thinking about it,” he says.
“about what?” you play dumb.
“monday.” he doesn’t elaborate, he doesn’t need to.
you press your thighs together, try to ignore the pulse between them. “yeah.”
“and?”
“and it’s hard to sit in class pretending it didn’t happen.”
he pulls into the loading zone in front of your building. you hear the engine idles, rain drums on the roof. he finally turns to look at you—like really look. eyes dark and unreadable, but you want to believe that there’s something under the tiredness. hunger, maybe. or just patience wearing thin.
“then stop pretending,” he says quietly.
you stare at him.
“come inside,” you whisper. “just… to get out of the rain.”
he studies you for a long second. then reaches for the keys, kills the engine.
the sudden quiet is deafening.
he gets out first, circles around, opens your door like it’s nothing. you step out into the downpour again, colder now after the heater. he doesn’t offer an umbrella…he probably doesn’t have one. just waits while you fumble for your keys, both of you getting soaked in the short walk to the entrance.
inside the stairwell it’s warmer, but your clothes are heavy with rain and dripping onto the concrete steps. you lead the way up, feeling him right behind you—close enough that you can hear the soft squeak of his shoes on each stair, feel the faint heat coming off him even through the damp air.
your hands shake a little when you unlock the door. it swings open into the small entryway, string lights from the living room spilling faint yellow across the floor.
you step inside first, kick off your soaked sneakers by the mat. he follows closing the door, he doesn’t take off his shoes right away, he stands there observing your place. he takes a mental note of it, looking at the stack of textbooks on the coffee table, the open laptop with his class portal still pulled up, the half-empty mug of tea.
you turn the lamp on higher, then head to the kitchenette to grab towels. anything to keep moving. “i’ll get something to dry off with,” you mutter, mostly to fill the quiet.
when you come back with two towels, he’s already peeled off his wet jacket and hung it over the back of a chair. his shirt is clinging in places—white fabric turned semi-transparent over his chest and shoulders, sleeves still rolled up, forearms flexing when he takes the towel from you.
he dries his hair roughly, then his face, eyes never leaving yours.
you try to focus on drying your own arms, but your gaze keeps dropping to the way the wet shirt outlines the lines of his body—the faint definition of muscle under the fabric, the dark trail of hair visible through the damp material where it sticks to his stomach. your mouth goes dry. you remember exactly how that skin felt under your palms last time, how his abs tensed when you swallowed around him.
he notices it.
“you’re still shivering,” he says, voice low. he steps closer, takes the towel from your hands, and starts drying your hair himself. fingers brushing your scalp through the fabric. it’s so gentle that you froze.
“take the hoodie off,” he says after a moment.
your fingers fumble with the hem. the wet fabric peels away from your skin with a cold suck, leaving you in just your thin t-shirt and bra underneath. the shirt is clinging too, nipples hard from the chill and from him watching. you cross your arms instinctively.
he drops the towel on the floor. reaches out, hooks two fingers under the hem of your t-shirt, and tugs it up slowly. you lift your arms without thinking. the shirt comes off, lands somewhere behind you. his eyes drop to your chest, then back to your face.
“still cold?” he asks.
you shake your head. you’re burning now.
he steps in until your back hits the wall by the entryway. one hand plants beside your head, the other slides down your side, thumb brushing the underside of your breast through the bra making you inhale sharply.
“tell me to stop,” he says quietly.
you don’t.
you don’t want him to stop.
his mouth finds yours—harder than the first time he kissed you in your memory. there’s no buildup, just pure hunger. his tongue pushes in immediately and you moan into it, hands scrambling up his wet shirt, fingers digging into the fabric over his chest. he groans low against your lips, presses his hips forward so you feel how hard he already is through his slacks.
your fingers curl into the wet cotton of his shirt, pulling him closer even though there’s already no space left between you.
he breaks the kiss first, just enough to speak against your lips. “kitchen counter now.”
you nod, legs shaky as you lead him the few steps into the narrow kitchenette. he doesn’t give you time to think. his hands find your waist, lift you onto the counter in one smooth motion like you weigh nothing. the cold granite bites into the backs of your thighs through your damp jeans. you gasp at the temperature difference.
“these need to come off,” he mutters, fingers already working the button of your jeans. you lift your hips when he tugs, helping him peel the soaked denim down your legs along with your underwear.
you’re bare from the waist down now, legs dangling off the edge, thighs trembling slightly from the chill and anticipation. his eyes tracing the curve of your hips, the soft skin of your inner thighs, the way you’re already glistening for him.
“spread wider,” he says.
his palms slide up the insides of your thighs, thumbs brushing close but not quite touching where you want him most. you desperately shift forward, chasing his hands; he presses one palm flat to your lower stomach, holding you still.
“patience,” he murmurs. “you’ve been avoiding me for two weeks. you can wait a little longer.”
“hey i told you i wasn’t–”
“ah yes, right… you were busy, right pretty?”
his thumb finally grazes your clit and your hips jerk. he does it again, slower, watching your face the whole time. your breath comes in short pants. he circles then collects wetness on his fingers before bringing them back up to rub slowly.
“you’re soaked,” he continues, “been like this the whole ride?”
“since you pulled up,” you admit, which makes him hum in approval. two fingers slide inside you without warning, stretching you open. you moan, head tipping back against the cabinets.
“look at me,” he says.
you force your eyes open. his expression is focused, almost clinical, but his pupils are blown wide and there’s a flush high on his cheekbones.
he’s affected too.
he adds a third finger, stretching you further. the slight burn only makes it better.
“good,” he mutters. “just like that.”
his free hand comes up to cup the back of your neck, pulling you into another kiss. his tongue fucking into your mouth in time with his fingers. you’re rocking against his hand now, chasing the pressure, little whimpers escaping between kisses.
“mhm…so good.”
he pulls his fingers out right when you’re teetering on the edge which you whine in protest.
“not yet,” he says against your mouth. “want you to come on my tongue first.”
he drops to his knees between your spread legs. the sight of him there, kneeling on your kitchen floor, hair damp and messy from the rain—it does so much things to you. he hooks your legs over his shoulders, hands gripping your thighs to hold you open.
he doesn’t tease this time. just leans in and licks a long, slow stripe from your entrance to your clit. you cry out, hands flying to his hair. you feel him groan against you. his tongue is relentless, pointed flicks over your clit, then sucking it between his lips. he alternates, never letting you settle into one sensation long enough to predict it.
“hiromi—” his name comes out broken.
he pulls back just enough to speak. “you can go louder, right? wanna to hear it.”
“hiromi,” you moan again, louder this time. he rewards you by sucking hard on your clit while two fingers slide back inside, curling ruthlessly against that spot.
you’re dangerously close. your thighs start to shake around his head. he doesn’t let up, he keeps the same steady rhythm, tongue and fingers working in perfect tandem.
“come,” he orders, voice muffled against you. “now.”
your whole body tensing as you come apart on his tongue. you cry out his name, fingers tightening in his hair, hips grinding against his face. he doesn’t stop until you’re whimpering from overstimulation.
he finally pulls back, his lips and chin all shiny. he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, stands slowly. his erection is straining against his slacks now.
it’s obvious and thick.
you reach for his belt with shaky hands. he lets you undo it, lets you push his slacks and boxers down just enough to free him. he’s heavy in your hand, hot and hard, precum beading at the tip. you start to stroke him making him hiss through his teeth.
“enough,” he says, catching your wrist. “want inside you.”
he lifts you off the counter, hands under your thighs again. he turns, carries you a few steps into the living room, and drops down onto the couch with you straddling his lap. the cushions sink under your combined weight.
his cock is still hard, pressed up against your stomach now. he lifts you just enough to line himself up. you feel the blunt head nudge at your entrance…thick and insistent.
“relax,” he says, “breathe, won’t you? let me in.”
you try. you really do. but the stretch is already intense just from the tip pressing in, and your body tenses instinctively. you bite your lip, hands braced on his shoulders.
“i’m trying…” you mutter, half-laugh, half-whine. “...you’re big.”
he huffs a quiet laugh against your collarbone, the sound rough and amused. “i know but you took it fine with your mouth before, this should be easier. just relax those hips for me.”
his thumbs rub slow circles over your hipbones, coaxing. you exhale shakily, try to loosen up, but when he starts pushing in harder.
your breath hitches and your nails dig into his shoulders.
“easy,” he murmurs. “why’re you fighting me?”
“hey i-im trying,” you repeat pouting. “but y-you’re stretching me so much.”
he pauses halfway in, lets you adjust. his hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts, then back down to your ass. he squeezes gently, spreads you a little more.
“there you go,” he says. “good girl. feel that? you’re opening up for me already.”
you can feel every inch of him...too thick and hot, it burns in the best way, that full, almost-too-much pressure that makes your thighs shake. inside, he feels heavy like he’s pressing right up against every sensitive spot at once.
“fuck,” he mutters, forehead dropping to your shoulder for a second. “you feel—shit…so tight. like you’re trying to keep me out and pull me in at the same time.”
you both groan at the same time when he pushes all the way inside.
“you okay?” he asks, one hand to come up to brush damp hair off your forehead.
“yeah,” you whisper. “just really full. you feel huge like this.”
“good,” he says. “you want me to move?”
you nod fast, breath coming in short bursts. “yes please.”
“then tell me properly. use your words. what do you want, hm?”
you swallow feeling slightly embarrassed. he’s looking right at you, eyes half-lidded but sharp, waiting.
“i want you to fuck me,” you mumble.
he tilts his head, one eyebrow lifting. “that’s cute but i said properly baby.”
your thighs twitch around his hips. he’s still buried all the way inside, the fullness is driving you insane. you can feel every vein, every slight shift when he breathes.
“hiromi…” you whine, rocking your hips a little.
he tightens his grip, holding you still. “nuh-uh. no cheating. say it like you mean it. you’ve been hiding from me for two weeks—least you can do is ask nicely.”
you bite your lip, embarrassment and need twisting together until it hurts. “i want you to fuck me hard,” you say, louder this time, “pleasee…i-i need it.”
he smirks again, feeling satisfied. the corner of his mouth tilting up just enough to show he likes hearing you beg.
“there we go,” he says quietly, “that wasn’t hard, was it?” his hands slide to your ass, fingers digging in as he lifts you a couple inches, then drops you back down hard onto his cock. the sudden thrust makes you yelp.
“o-oh hiromi-"
he doesn’t let you catch your breath. starts fucking up into you. each thrust is deep enough to make your whole body jolt while the couch groans under you both, springs protesting every time he bottoms out.
“does this turn you on?” he asks, “fucking your professor on your shitty little couch? hm?”
you moan louder than you mean to, head tipping back,
“thought so.” he thrusts harder, one hand sliding up to grip the back of your neck, keeping your face close to his. “been skipping my class, sending me perfect little assignments like nothing’s wrong, but every time you typed my name you were probably dripping thinking about this. about me splitting you open just like this.”
you can only moan in return too gone to comprehend what he’s saying. he curses under his breath when he feels you clench, pace turning rougher. the wet slap of skin on skin is loud in the quiet apartment, mixing with your gasps and his heavy breathing.
“look at you,” he mutters, eyes locked on where you’re taking him. “taking it so well. my good little student, finally getting what she’s been aching for.”
he shifts his angle slightly, tilting his hips so every thrust drags right against that spot inside you. your eyes flutter shut, mouth falling open on a broken moan.
his face is flushed, hair falling into his eyes, jaw tight with restraint. but he’s watching you like he’s memorizing every twitch. like this won’t happen again.
“tell me,” he says, voice dropping lower. “tell me whose cock is making you feel this good right now.”
“yours,” you gasp. “ah hiromi’s! only yours—”
he rewards you with a particularly deep grind, rolling his hips so the base presses hard against your clit. “that’s right,” he murmurs. “and you’re gonna come on it again. gonna soak my lap like the needy little slut you are for me.”
his hand slips between you, fingers finding your clit, rubbing fast, firm circles that match the brutal rhythm of his hips. your stomach tightens, thighs trembling uncontrollably.
“puh...please i’m close.”
“i know,” he says, voice strained now. “can feel you fluttering around me. go on come. make a mess…it’s yours anyway.”
it hits fast and hard. your whole body locks up, back arching, cry ripping out of your throat as you come apart.
“fuck—good girl—fuck—”
he keeps fucking you through it, drawing it out until you’re shaking, until his thrusts turn sloppy.
“where do you want it?”
“inside,” you gasp immediately. “please inside.”
that’s all it takes. he grinds deep as he comes, filling you up. he groans long and low against your neck, arms wrapping tight around your waist, holding you down on him while he rides it out.
for a long minute neither of you moves. all heavy breathing, sticky skin, the faint patter of rain still outside. you can feel him softening slowly.
he kisses your shoulder, then your jaw, then the corner of your mouth.
“you good?” he asks quietly.
you nod against his chest, still catching your breath. “yeah. really good.”
he huffs a small laugh, hand stroking slow down your back. “what do you wanna do?”
you’re still straddling him. the living room smells like rain and sex. your forehead is pressed to his shoulder.
“stay,” you mumble into his neck. “stay like this a little longer.”
his fingers keep tracing lazy lines up and down your spine, from the nape of your neck all the way to the small of your back, then back up again. it’s soothing in a way that makes your eyelids heavy.
his gaze drifts past your shoulder, landing on the open laptop still glowing faintly on the coffee table. the screen’s dimmed but not off since his class portal is still pulled up from earlier.
“this where you took one of the photos?” he asks casually.
your stomach drops and flips at the same time. heat rushes back to your face so fast it makes you dizzy.
“what?” you whisper, even though you know exactly what he means.
he nods toward the couch. “right here on this cushion. ass up, looking back over your shoulder. the third one you sent. background looked familiar, same string lights in the corner, same throw blanket bunched up like that.” his hand pats the cushion beside you. “thought it might’ve been the bedroom at first but no kitchen light’s wrong for that angle. had to be here.”
you bury your face deeper into his neck, mortified. “hiromi…”
“what?” he sounds genuinely amused now, the low rumble vibrating through his chest. “you’re the one who attached it to an entrapment analysis. i had to look closely.”
you groan, half-laugh half-embarrassed whimper. “i didn’t mean for you to—i mean, i didn’t plan—”
“sure,” he cuts in gently, fingers sliding into your hair, scratching lightly at your scalp. “but you didn’t delete it either.”
you lift your head just enough to peek at him.
“you kept them?” you ask quietly.
he doesn’t hesitate. “yeah, all three. printed them out, remember? filed them under ‘supplemental materials.’” he pauses, thumb brushing your cheek. “don't get me wrong, it's not for grading, it's more for...reference...?"
“reference for what?”
“for nights when i’m grading papers at 2 a.m. and wondering why a certain student keeps disappearing from my lecture hall.” he continues, “or for when i need to remember exactly how you looked when you were trying to tempt me into breaking every rule in the faculty handbook.”
“and… did it work?”
he looks at you for a long second, then leans in and kisses you, a simple one. when he pulls back his forehead rests against yours.
“obviously,” he mutters. “look where we are.”
“shower soon,” he says again. “then bed. and tomorrow—”
“i’ll be in class,” you finish for him.
“get a better seat,” he adds. “where i can see you properly.”
just attached the draft for the criminal procedure essay like you asked—reworked the section on miranda rights based on your feedback from last office hours. let me know if it still needs more case citations or if i’m overcomplicating the exclusionary rule again
thanks for staying late to look it over again, you’re saving my gpa here!
tuesday lecture comes and you get there early this time. you sit in back row, legs crossed tight. he walks in five minutes before start wearing his usual black suit, sleeves already rolled. briefcase hits the podium hard. he doesn’t bother looking around before he starts.
“entrapment. page 231. we’re covering it today.”
he paces. voice low and tired like always. “entrapment defense requires government inducement that would cause a normally law-abiding person to commit the crime. it’s not just opportunity. it’s active persuasion, pressure, temptation that overrides free will.”
he stops, leaning on the podium. eyes scan the room slow looking at your section longer than others.
“consider seduction as a tactic. undercover officer poses as a romantic interest. they builds trust, uses flirtation, compliments, physical proximity, promises of intimacy. the target eventually agrees to sell drugs or whatever the crime is because the seduction makes refusal feel impossible. courts have ruled both ways. some say it’s legitimate police work. others say when it crosses into sexual manipulation it becomes entrapment per se.”
he keeps going, he describes cases. like how a female officer in a bar is wearing a low-cut dress touching the suspect’s arm. whispering how much she wants him. leading him to the deal. male officer doing the same to a female suspect. lingering looks, suggestive comments. “let me take care of you.” he lists factors courts weigh: intensity of the advances. repetition. whether the target initiated or resisted. how long the seduction lasted before the crime occurred.
the whole lecture his tone stays flat. no glances your way. he talks about “arousal as leverage” like it’s just another legal element. “when sexual desire is weaponized to lower inhibitions, the line between persuasion and coercion blurs. but the test remains objective: would the average person succumb?”
you feel his stare when he asks the question like he’s personally talking to you.
added the entrapment cases you referenced in lecture. focused on the seduction hypotheticals and court splits. let me know if the analysis is on track.
[your name]
(attachment: Entrapment_Analysis_Revised.pdf)
again, no reply.
thursday you spot him at the faculty coffee stand outside the law building. the line’s short and he’s in front. pays with exact change as he takes his black coffee. when he turns, your eyes meet. you’re three feet away. he pauses and looks straight through you. he doesn't bother acknowledging you, then he steps around you, walking away.
your hands shake holding your own cup.
friday night comes and you promise yourself that this will be your last attempt.
subject: entrapment follow-up questions – example attached
had a couple questions on the objective test for seduction-based entrapment. attached a quick example i wrote up to clarify my thinking. appreciate any notes.
thanks,
[your name]
(attachment: Seduction_Entrapment_Example.docx.)
saturday morning your inbox lights up.
subject: re: entrapment follow-up questions – example attached
you arrive at his office door at exactly 5:30 pm on monday, heart pounding like it's about to burst out of your chest. the law building is mostly empty this late–classes wrapped up hours ago, and the few lingering students are buried in the library or grabbing takeout from the food trucks outside. his door is cracked open, a sliver of warm lamplight spilling into the dim hallway. you knock lightly, his voice cuts through immediately.
"come in."
you push the door open, stepping inside. the office is what you'd expect from your professor.
stacks of case files on the desk, bookshelves crammed with legal tomes, a single window overlooking the campus quad. he's seated behind his desk, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up to his elbows like always, exposing those forearms you've caught yourself staring at during lectures more times than you'd admit. his eyes flick up from a pile of papers, dark and unreadable, pinning you in place.
"close the door," he says, it’s not a request too. when you do, the click of the latch echoing too loudly in the quiet room. "lock it."
your fingers fumble on the knob, but you manage. when you turn back, he's already standing, rounding the desk with slow steps. he doesn't say anything at first, just leans against the edge of the desk, arms crossed over his chest, watching you. the silence stretches, it was awkward until you can't take it anymore.
"professor, i—about the attachments, they were accidents. i swear, i meant to send the essays, but my files got mixed up, and—"
"accidents," he repeats, he uncrosses his arms, picking up a folder from his desk—your emails printed out, you realize with a flush of heat to your face. he flips through them casually, as if reviewing a student's brief. "three times in one week. each one more... explicit than the last."
your cheeks burn. the first had been a simple nude, you in front of your mirror, lace panties and nothing else, snapped for your own confidence boost after a rough day. the second? you'd been bolder, sprawled on your bed, hand between your thighs, capturing the arch of your back. and the third... god, the third had been you on all fours, ass up, looking over your shoulder with a smirk that screamed invitation. you'd meant them for a situationship that fizzled out, but in your late-night haze of studying and scrolling, you'd attached the wrong files. or had you? the thought nags at you now, but you push it down.
"i didn't mean for you to see them," you whisper. his gaze drops to your lips, then lower, tracing the way your blouse clings to your curves under your cardigan, the skirt that's maybe an inch too short for a professional setting like this.
he sets the folder down, stepping closer. close enough that you can smell his cologne–too strong for your liking. "and yet, here we are." his hand lifts, fingers brushing your jaw, tilting your chin up so you're forced to meet his eyes. they're darker now, pupils blown wide. "you didn't delete them. didn't send a frantic follow-up apologizing. just kept sending more."
before you can stammer another excuse, his thumb presses against your lower lip, parting it slightly. "on your knees."
you drop without thinking, carpet rough against your bare knees. he doesn't rush when unbuckles his belt, zipper dragged down loud in the quiet office. when he frees himself he's already hard, thick in his hand as he jerks himself watching your face the whole time.
"open."
he guides the head past your lips, you taste him as he slides deeper, filling your mouth inch by inch until he hits the back of your throat. your eyes water instantly. he groans low, one hand cupping the back of your head, the other braced on the desk behind him.
"that's it," he mutters. "take it."
he starts to move slowly letting you adjust, then faster. shallow thrusts turn deeper, until he's fucking your throat in earnest. you gag around him, saliva pooling at the corners of your mouth, dripping down your chin, but he doesn't stop. his grip tightens in your hair, holding you steady as he uses your mouth like it's his to take. every time you choke he pauses just long enough for you to breathe through your nose, then pushes back in, deeper, until your nose brushes his pelvis.
"look at me," he orders when your eyes flutter shut.
you force them open. his expression is almost detached but the way his hips continuously move faster betrays him. he's close. you can feel it in the way he twitches against your tongue, the way his breathing turns ragged. one more deep thrust and he holds himself there, releasing down your throat without a warning. you swallow reflexively, choking a little, but he doesn't pull out until he's finished, until you've taken every drop.
when he finally pulls out, a string of spit connects your swollen lips to the tip. he tucks himself away, zips up then he scoops you up by the waist like you weigh nothing. your legs dangle for a second before he sets you on the edge of his desk, papers crinkling under you. he pushes your thighs apart with his knee, settling between them, his hands gripping your hips to hold you in place.
"touch yourself," he says quietly.
he wants you to what…?
heat floods your face anew. "w-what? here? that's... embarrassing."
his lips twitch into something almost like a smirk, he leans in closer, breath hot against your ear. "you weren't embarrassed when you sent those nudes. all sprawled out, hand between your legs, begging for attention." his fingers trail up your thigh, pushing your skirt higher, but stopping just short. "show me now or was that all an act?"
shame and desire twist in your gut, but your hand moves anyway, slipping under the lace of your panties. you're soaked already—from the way he used your mouth.. fingers glide over your clit, circling slow at first, and a soft whimper escapes you. he watches, unblinking, one hand still on your thigh.
you pick up speed, hips rocking into your touch, breaths coming faster. but it's not enough—his stare is too intense like he's analyzing you. "please," you whisper, free hand reaching for him, but he catches your wrist, pinning it to the desk.
"no. keep going." his voice is low, commanding. "let me see you fall apart like in that second photo, that was my favorite one you know.”
your fingers start dipping lower, thrusting shallowly. the edge in you builds but just as you're teetering, he pulls your hand away. you whine in protest, but he silences you with a look.
"not yet." he drops to his knees then, surprising you, hands shoving your thighs wider. he drags your panties aside, not bothering to remove them, and leans in. his breath ghosts over you first, making you clench around nothing. then his mouth is on you—tongue warm and broad, licking a slow stripe from entrance to clit.
you gasp, hands flying to his hair, gripping tight. he groans against you, he eats you out like he's starving. his fingers dig into your thighs, holding you open as you squirm, the desk creaking under your shifting weight.
"hiromi—fuck," you moan, head falling back. he sucks your clit between his lips. one hand leaves your thigh, two fingers sliding inside you easily, curling to hit that spot that makes your vision blur. he pumps them in time with his tongue, building you back to the edge faster than before.
it crashes over you without warning, thighs clamping around his head as you come undone, crying out his name. he doesn't stop, lapping through it until you're oversensitive and shaking, pushing weakly at his shoulders.
only then does he pull back, lips shiny, eyes filled with satisfaction. he stands, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, then reaches between your legs again. he tugs your panties down your thighs, you lift your hips to help. he balls them in his fist, slips them into his pocket like a trophy.
"that's enough," he says stepping back.
you blink, still dazed, legs dangling off the desk. "what?"
"go home."
"but—" you start, voice small and wrecked, glancing down at the obvious bulge in his slacks. "you didn't—i want to—"
"i will." he steps closer one last time, brushes a stray tear from your cheek with his thumb. "when i decide. you'll get an email when i want you back here.”
he leans in, lips brushing your ear. "and next time, wear something easier to take off."
he steps back, opens a drawer, pulls out a tissue packet and sets it on the desk beside you. then he sits again, picks up a pen, and starts marking papers like you aren't still perched there, dripping because of him.
you slide off the desk on unsteady legs, fix your skirt, wipe your face. he doesn't look up as you unlock the door and slip out into the hallway.
you still haven't processed what happened but you know you’re going to check your inbox obsessively from now on.
After your boyfriend helped you pass your anatomy test, you give him a small treat as a way of saying thank you.
content. p in v, handjob, blowjob, boobjob, public sex, shy higuruma, flirty reader, ball fondling, cum swallowing, pet names, edging, very ooc, not proofread
In a booked study room located inside the library, you and Higuruma made out intensely in the corner. You leaned back to take a look at Higuruma and his expression; He was out of breath, blushing insanely as you grind over him.
-
2:09AM. You groaned dramatically in your room with another girl trying to help you. “I’m going to fail this test Utahime.” The girl next to you patted your back.
“No! You totally got this Y/N! You just have to remember each muscle in the upper body, it can’t be that hard right?” Utahime tried to reassure you.
“I mean yeah but that means the arms, head, torso, shoulders, everything besides the legs.” You frowned.
“Okay and that’s like, totally easy, right?” Utahime took a pause to think, “Aren’t you dating that law student nerd Higuruma?”
“He’s not a nerd! He’s just very intelligent.” The both of you laugh. You couldn’t deny it, your boyfriend was a bit of a nerd. In his free time, he would send you a text message, in perfect grammar, about what he’s studying about. Honestly the both of you contrast a lot.
Higuruma has a better study pattern than you do; you aren’t dumb but when it comes to studying, it becomes difficult for you to focus. Somehow the weeks Higuruma and you studied together, the more the material came easier to you.
-
Present, 4:26PM, 2 hours before Higuruma has class. “Omg, babe look.” You turn your laptop over to him. Hiromi was fixated on the law book he had scanned out before turning to look over at you. It was a website that tracked your assignments for all of your college classes, which also included your grade. Your screen showed a box that said “Anatomy Test #3” at the top of it. The score was a 97/100.
“Oh wow, I’m so proud of you.” He praised you, “I’m glad I was able to help, I was worried that our differences in lessons would have caused an erratic response to your grade. But learning more into anatomy has helped me with some of my mock trials. - I'm glad it was memorable for you to study.” Higuruma blabbered and rumbled. Although quiet, the way he talked to you was endless, and seemed to never have an actual end to it. That’s what you liked about him. Higuruma was intellectual and took in details with care, using it for future purposes.
Your elbow was on the desk, and your hand supporting your face; you were smiling at him with flirtatious and coquettish eyes. “It’s really all thanks to you, baby.” You said, now moving onto his lap to wrap your hands around his neck, “Remember what I said if you helped me pass this test?”
“I’m sorry, my memory is a bit jogged. It must have left my mind as I was studying. What did you say you were going to do, Y/N?” Higuruma was visibly confused. He got your hints of you being demure, however he wasn’t following along with what you really were doing.
“I said I was going to give my sweet boyfriend a treat, right? If he had helped me pass my exams.” You give him a flirty smile, your eyes smiling with you. His expression became shy, looking the other way as his left hand covered his mouth. He was thinking dirty.
"Oh? Don't tell me my cute boyfriend is thinking of something sexy." You teased, bringing yourself to laugh, "No, but it isn't something you think it is. I'm just going to take you out to get hotpot, my treat." Kissing his cheek, you now moved to your chair, however you brought it closer to him. "But I mean, if Higuruma wishes something else from me for his sweet treat, I wouldn't mind.~"
Hiromi quickly coughed from feeling flustered. Moving his chair for his lower body to be under the table, you notice a risen bulge in his pants. Your eyes were looking down then slowly slithering up to his face. Higuruma reopened the law book to avoid your gaze, bringing it closer to hide his face. "Oh god, I'm sorry Y/N. I'm so embarrassed right now, and I'm not sure why I'm reacting in such an immature way. I think it might just be the way you talk to me, but the tone of your voice is always the same. I'm very unsure what's new." There was an obvious stutter in your voice.
The room went silent now, but your body jolted a sudden arousal. "Awe, baby, don't be sorry. You can't control how you feel around me." Your finger slightly moved the book away from his face so the both of you could look at each other, "But do let me help you." You cocked your head to the left as you felt excited, you bit the outside of your lower lip to give him a foxy smile.
Higuruma coughed once more, surprised you would have suggested something in a public setting. "Here? Now?! Are you sure Y/N, we're in a shared space. What if somebody walks in on us, and we get kicked out. You know this is my main spot to cram education outside lectures."
You stood up to walk towards the door, locking it. Then to the window, you covered the blinds smoothly. "Don't worry so much Hiromi, if you just aren't too loud then we won't get caught." Once covering everything you knew that had an opening to capture the both of you, you walked over to him to then rest on your knees. "You can do that right? Last time we fucked you whimpered so loud your roommates heard, it was so cute though."
Unbuckling his belt, Higuruma looked down at you breathing heavily. You finally took out his veiny cock, bringing it close to your cheek. It was warm and pulsating from just your touch. "Now tell me, what does Higuruma want me to start with for his special treat?" You moved back to make a dick sucking motion with your right hand and mouth and simultaneously used your left hand to imply a hand job.
"I want Y/N to use her hands first." He stuttered, now not rumbling as much.
"And then you want me to use?"
"Her boobs." You could hear him gulp loudly while he hesitantly stated what he wanted from you.
"Alright, if that's what you want, cutie." You smiled slyly as you took off your shirt to reveal a cute striped pink and white bra, the one he gets very aroused with. You spat on your hands lightly as you eventually wrapped it around his cock. Slowly, you moved your hands up and down, watching him as he cocked his head back. He was so sensitive to your touch.
You continued to jerk him off for about the next 24 minutes, speeding and slowing your pace to edge him. He would cover his mouth multiple times to avoid moaning so loud. You would touch and circle his urethral opening that had pre cum stick to your fingers. You would let your left hand run free from his dick to trail down to his balls. You squeezed them very lightly and fondled them with care.
Finally letting go, Higuruma groaned as he felt the grasp of your hands leave his dick. You shuffled around with your bra to take it off, now revealing your bare breast to him. He's gotten even more embarrassed despite having seen them multiple times.
Honestly, you didn't have much appeal to boobjobs, however it was very fun watching Higuruma thrust his dick between them every time. He swayed his hips now, up and down, because he knew your slight disdain for it. "Ah, fuck. Y/N." He moaned out discreetly.
Higuruma would move his dick up and down for a long time, you stared intently at him as he did so. As his sway seemed to slow down, you moved your mouth to the tip of his penis, sucking and licking whenever he wasn't moving. You wanted to edge him so badly, conserve his cum in his balls. However you felt his hands roam to your hair, to push you down further on his dick with your mouth.
This had caught you by surprise as typically you were the one to commence things with him, however he felt himself cum so close that he needed to let it go. You bobbed your head up and down as you heard him breathe in and out more intensely. "Y/N, fuck, your mouth is so good. I feel like I'm going to cum." Higuruma whispered.
"Mhm." Was all you could hum out as he moved your head to suck his dick.
You bobbed your head for a good 5 minutes before you tasted his cum ejaculating inside of your mouth. It had a milky texture and was bitter yet sweet, he was eating pineapples and grapes not too long ago. "Augh! Shit, I'm sorry Y/N." He apologized quickly as he realized his cum had escaped through your mouth.
Smiling at him and laughing, you opened your mouth to leak the cum still on your tongue. You made sure he watched you, watched you swallow his cum right in front of him.
"Boy, come here." You giggled as you tugged on his shirt to usher him towards you. The both of you had reached a corner and you made him sit down. You were on top of him, after taking off your pants to reveal a matching set of panties. Next to the cloth that covered your pussy was his dick, you grinded on him slowly as you made out with him. He could taste some of his own cum.
You pulled your face back to look at Higuruma who was overstimulated; His face was red with him biting on the inside of his lips. Your finger moved down to your pantyhose, tugging it aside so you could slide his dick inside of your pussy. Higuruma whimpered immediately as he felt your pussy tighten around his cock.
Your head rested on his shoulder as you took all of him, you felt his tip kiss your cervix perfectly. You moved your hips now, bouncing up and down on his creaming cock. A hand was placed around Hiromi's mouth, making sure he didn't let a moan escape his throat. However his hand reached over to your boob, massaging and squeezing your nipples between his index and thumb.
A moan escaped promptly, but you covered your mouth by simply biting on Higuruma. You attempted to suck and kiss his neck as you felt him stimulate your body.
The room was filled with sounds that were wet and that plopped. Cute, red spots were formed around Higuruma's neck, implying love bites. He changed the position of the both of you quickly, laying you on your back yet supporting your head with his right hand. Higuruma's hips pounded into you harshly. Your legs shaking lightly as he hit your cervix. Your hands were placed around your mouth as you yearned to moan out loudly but couldn't risk the idea of being caught.
Your boyfriend stares into your eyes as you attempt to look away. Noticing that you weren't looking back at him, he decided to leave you hickeys all around your neck. He would arch his back somewhat to leave love marks around your breast.
You could tell that Higuruma was coming close to cumming, his thrust becoming sloppier and harsher. He continued to impel his dick inside of you in this rhythmic movement, reaching to your lips to french kiss you. Once that knot feeling in his stomach felt it was ready to be untied, he took out his dick to cum all over your panties.
Higuruma sat up, and picked you up, to clean up his cum from your body. "I'm sorry Y/N! I didn't mean to cum on your panties, I tried my hardest to avoid aiming my cum on it." He blabbered another apology to you.
Laughing and giving him a kiss, you reassure him, "It's okay my sweet Hiromi, I can just rawdog the day without them. I've done it before."
"Really? When did you do so? Was it when you slept over at my apartment last month and you had to rush to class but you didn't have an extra set of underwear that day?" Higuruma made an assumption.
"It's really scary how attentive to details you are." You responded in an impressed expression, "Well anyways, do you still want to get hotpot?"
"Hah! Yeah. Sorry, I just tend to be more observant of what you do." He smiled at you shyly, "Oh, and yes, let's get hotpot. You don't have to worry about paying for the food, I can do so. You gave me a bigger treat than what I expected."
Reaching your arms over Higuruma, you hugged him, "You're the best boyfriend ever, Higuruma!"
ⓘ This fanfic belongs to @sugary-angels , do not ai, translate, or copy my work.
higuruma shushes you softly, trying to put an end to your restless squirming and your impatience as he holds you down on the bed. you wanted his dick in you well over ten minutes ago, but he insists on dragging this out and torturing you with long foreplay.
you're aware of his size, having spent long enough gaping at his cock as it rests against his belly, and with all the time he's spent pumping one, two, then three thick fingers inside you to prepare you to be split open around him, you're sure you'll have no trouble fitting him inside you. yet he continues to worry and fret about the possibility of you getting hurt. "mmh! baby, i promise i'm fine, would you please just-"
he interrupts you this time by pulling out the three fingers that were just buried in you to the knuckle, and slapping his palm firmly against your sopping hole. the bastard smiles at the high pitched, whiny noise you make when he spanks your pussy.
higuruma rubs the heel of his hand against your swollen folds while pushing his thumb against your clit, lips quirking at the loud, pitchy noises leaving you in response. "we had a talk abut patience, remember sweetheart?" he says softly, letting out a huff through his nose when you squeal and squirt a clear spray of liquid all over his hand and yourself. some hits his face, and he casually licks it off his chin without taking his eyes off you, continuing to spank that sensitive cunt of yours until you're done.
"but you just don't care, do you?" he tells you quietly, finally lining himself up to you. "you want cock, so you must get it now." you whine as he wastes more time rubbing the flared, swollen, and leaking head of his cock back and forth along your puffy folds. your eyes flit between the look of concentration on his face and the way he’s smearing rivulets of precum around your hole, then suck in a breath when he taps his tip heavily against your clit.
your chest heaves as little wanton pants leave you each time he teases you by aligning his cock perfectly with your opening just to shift away from it and go back to rubbing against you.
you never thought he could be such a tease.
tears of frustration are threatening to spill from your eyes, and you sit up slightly, about to grab his cock out of his hand and push it in you yourself, before he beats you to it, finally notching just the thick head past your sopping hole.
harmonious groans leave both of you simultaneously as your pussy stretches around him to accommodate the intrusion of his tip. though he’s barely inside you, it’s already a struggle. it’s like he’s gotten bigger or you’ve gotten tighter since your last fuck, which hadn’t been for a while now because he’s been so busy. and now, you can hardly get the first few inches of his hefty cock inside you.
you sit up on your forearms, chest rising and falling heavily as the two of you break eye contact to both look at where your pussy is wrapped around his cock, folds swallowing up his length and sucking him in deeper. he lets out a soft hiss through his teeth, not wanting to lose his head and cum prematurely from the sight, but it’s so captivating.
higuruma lets out little pants, his hands now gripping your hips firmly to abstain from slamming into you like an animal. he's controlling both you and himself as his vision glazes slightly each time he sees your pussy clenching around him. you're milking and sucking at the part of his cock that's already filled you up.
"look at that," he groans, one hand sliding around to your front to press against your lower belly, feeling the bulge of his cock from the inside. "you're taking me so well already. i told you preparation would help."
the words send a shiver through you, and you whimper, trying to shift your hips back to take more of him. but he's got you pinned, using his grip on your hips to control every movement.
higuruma pulls back just slightly, then pushes back in, repeating the motion in shallow thrusts that make you squeal with need. each movement drags his thick tip over your inner walls, the ridge catching and pressing against sensitive nerves. You can feel every vein, every pulse of his cock as it fucks into you.
"higuruma please-" you gasp, "i need more."
he shakes his head softly, mouthing along the curve of your neck and shoulders. he lays nearly on top of you, pressing hot kisses to your skin as his thrusts begin to pick up speed. "i'm getting there. just let me... fuck, just let me enjoy this."
the wet, obscene sounds of your bodies joining fill the room as higuruma finally begins to move in earnest. each thrust is deep and deliberate, intended to make you feel every thick inch of him as it slides in and out of your soaked pussy. your inner walls clench around his cock, trying to hold him inside as he pulls back, only to be stretched even further as he bottoms out.
you cry out, your back arching as he fills you to the hilt, his heavy balls pressing against your ass. he leans forward, his chest pressing against yours with his thrusts quickening more, and he starts pounding into you from above as loud groans and pants filled with your name leave his lips. you can feel the heat building in your core, that familiar pressure that signals your approaching climax.
"fuck, you feel incredible," higuruma moans, burying his face in your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. "so perfect. 's like you're made just for me, isn't it?" you nod shakily, eyes watering with overwhelming pleasure when the head of his cock shoves against your cervix. you squeal and grab onto his bicep for support while his hands dig into your hips, using it as an anchor as he pounds into you with increasing fervor. the bed creaks beneath you, the headboard banging against the wall in a rhythmic thump that seems to punctuate each deep thrust.
you grab him by the tie around his neck, halting him from his slobbery kisses to your pulse point below your ear, and slot your mouth messily onto his instead. and the moment you do, higuruma obeys your silent command without question. hishands move to brace on either side of your head as you pull him down into a deep, hungry kiss.
his cock slows its frantic pace because the new angle allows you to take him even deeper as he fucks you missionary-style, his chest pressed against yours. his tongue rolls over yours and scopes your mouth as his cock pushes into you to the hilt, balls squished against the curve of your ass while his tip places another kiss to your cervix. he gets distracted and can't kiss you and fuck you at once, so he keeps that mind numbing pressure on your womb while moaning into your mouth and devouring you.
"you're so perfect," he says, barely moving inside you at this point, but he allows you some breathing room by occasionally dragging his cock back nice and slow, then pushing back inside. he's not pulling out properly anymore. he just keeps hitting that spot deep inside that makes your vision blur with pleasure.
"baby, i can't... i can't last much longer," he moans against your lips, his body tensing above you. but you won't let him pull away, tightening your grip on his tie. when he tries to warn you again, you cut him off with a whispered assurance. "do it, i want your cum, higuruma."
"oh, fuck." his entire body goes rigid above you, and you feel the first hot spurt of his release deep inside your womb. "i'm... c-cumming, i'm gonna-"
he shoves his tongue into your mouth again to silence the embarrassingly loud noises leaving his mouth, his cock throbbing as it dumps what feels like an endless stream of thick, hot cum inside you. his load fills you up and coats your inner walls, all the pressure from being so full and the warmth of his cum sending you over the edge right after.
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