♯ Pairing. Nanami Kento x Reader x Higurama Hiromi
Summary. As a last hail mary to save your crumbling marriage with Nanami Kento, he whisks you away to the most romantic city in the world– Paris. One final chance to remind you why you fell in love with the man you barely knew anymore. But that plan backfires when you meet Higuruma Hiromi, a much older and much more experienced divorce attorney who wouldn’t mind helping you out of your unhappy marriage.
♯ Tags. Angst angst angst, drama, Bisexual awakening for nanami kento, hurt/comfort(later), angst w happy ending, mean-ish reader, mutual pining, smut with plot, p in v, lots of cum, creampies, dom higuruma, switch nanami, sub reader, oral (f & m receiving), yes you ride the nose, light choking, cucking, praise & degredation, eiffel tower position DUH, more tba.
Credits. Art by ilameys on twt, dividers by @angeliicide
▶︎︎︎︎ Fire In My Heart (starring . higuruma & nanami)
synopsis . What happens when the man you fell for during a vacation trip abroad turns out to be your arranged fiancé’s best friend? A mess of tugged heart strings, horribly convoluted emotions, and a whole lotta’ fornication—of which none of you knew how to manage.
content . afab!reader, plot with porn, arranged marriage (nanami), one night stands (higuruma), lots of yearning, slight angst, heavy tension, nanami x higuruma, forced proximity, sloooow burn(s), fluff, 70’s/80’s song references & use, filthhh, oral sex, awkwardness, exhibitionism, strangers to lovers, eventual threesome, possessiveness, size kink, improper use of ties (bondage), dirty talk, panty sniffing & stealing, love triangle ending in a polycule, higu is a freak, prone bone, edging, pet names, virginity loss (nanami), second hand embarrassment, marathon sex, shiu cameo, praise, degrading, men kissing, dumbification, a trip to Paris (heh), drunk confessions, finger sucking, dramatics, etc.
word count . 19.8k (holy balls) || author’s note: hi, this is a milestone special lol. apologies for errors, if any. banner art from “Ikyouto Kouryuukai”
You always had a thing for people overworked and underfucked in several positions.
It was evident in the way you constantly attracted that genre of person—starting with your closest friend Shoko Ieiri, whom you dragged out of the country to vacation with—and ultimately ending with a man occupying a barstool across the way from you.
With a half empty glass of liquor swishing through a rotating cup—held only by the edge of his deft fingertips—wide-set, weary brown eyes cast your way suddenly enough to make you flinch.
Then came a mirroring drink sliding towards you from the much softer-eyed bartender.
“I didn’t order this,” You hummed easily, letting your eyes run from the dark-haired man of interest.
The bartender nodded his head back into the same direction your gaze just left, and you knew then that you’d gotten exactly what you wanted.
His attention.
Where does this take you? Right back to a game of eye-tag so doused in tension that it feels like a physical strike to your nerves.
Unknowing of how he'd recently fallen victim to your budding attractions, your mystery man sat particularly independent and detached from the room surrounding him. The only thing that seemed to pluck him out of his perpetual state of aloofness was the persistent way in which a gaze landed on him.
The gaze in question being yours, of course.
You simply couldn't help yourself, especially after he’d gone out of his way to buy you a drink.
Though, despite him being the picture perfect image of your type, you weren’t about to let this kindling flame crackle and then die out too quickly. No, you much preferred when mutual interest like this played out nice ‘n slow.
Which is exactly why you let your eyes glide down to the silently offered drink, lift a manicured nail to the glass’s rim, and then create a mild bit of distance by pushing it away.
The glass coolly slides across the bar far enough to be received as you declining the beverage, and your mystery man of interest catches it immediately. You look up again just to make sure he was watching you and you’re left with a little jump in your heart as his tired eyes mull elsewhere.
Fear threatened to take over at the momentary loss of his attention, but your worry was quickly soothed as he looked at you again. Lifting that half-drunken glass of his, he lightly tips it your way with an understanding nod of his head, obliging to your rejection.
Now, most would assume that this is where things end between you both. He offered you a drink and you politely declined it, how can tension possibly still exist there?
Simple—if you’re someone that’s of true interest to him, he won’t exactly stop there.
Which is precisely why it's of no surprise when he moves to stand up.
You'd been sipping on something you'd ordered roughly thirty minutes ago before Shoko left you to network the dance floor, trying your best not to make it obvious that every smidge of your attention was trained onto a man whose name you hadn't even gotten yet. But with the way he carries himself, it was almost impossible to do so.
The moment he stood up seemed to make your centered attention worse off. He was noticeably over six feet, a trait of which you recognize from across the room as you let yourself watch how he absentmindedly lifts a hand to make an unnecessary adjustment to his tie.
The way he walked around the bar had people turning heads and bartenders exchanging glances as if to imply he hadn't moved from his previous spot for a while up until now.
An exit is located not too far off behind you, so part of you figured your singular rejection is exactly the thing that'd drive him into retiring for the night. Was this your intent or goal? No, not at all.
But you liked the thrill of clinging on to the wildly false sense of hope that dwindled about inside you. The same sense of hope that sparked your intuition and made it less of a surprise to see your mystery man round the bar and relocate himself a mere two barstools away from you.
You watched through your peripherals how he fit himself into his seat—the length of his legs angling beneath the bar, and his charcoal-colored suit sleeking darker under the new angle of the establishment's dim lighting.
With him being closer to you, it was hard not to turn your head to get a better look at him and all that he had to offer you visually. Then again everything involving this man and your will to do things threads on a very, very thin line—as you'll come to find out.
Five minutes—not that you're counting or anything—roll by before anything noteworthy occurs.
Unfortunately, it's of your own actions that bring interest back into the slowly rolling interaction-, er, lack thereof...
You look back into the moderately distant clumps of people in search of Shoko, wondering just what has kept her so occupied this long. Eventually you spot her talking to a rather timid man with glasses, his gaze hardly meeting hers due to the intimidation she exuded via maintaining completely undivided attention on him.
The sight makes you smile as you set your drink down and you take this as the perfect opportunity to steal a quick glance at your fairly quiet mystery man. He'd bought you a drink, you declined it, then he came over, and since then... things have been placid. Unwelcomely so.
Has it been your turn to make another silent move all this time? Or were you both waiting for something to just happen out of the blue?
When you move your eyes to him, you feel your heart lurch in your chest.
The man is already looking at you—or, more specifically—at your legs. His eyes traveled slowly along your thighs based on how much you had revealed, making an intentionally steady descent to your calves and around the curve of them, before eventually falling onto your heels. At that final stop, his brows twitch.
He doesn't make a face or anything like that, rendering you unable to figure out what was going through his head, but he does blink ever so slowly before making eye contact with you.
...Almost as if he knew you were watching him check you out.
You start to open your mouth to say something of the quirky variety but he beats you to it.
"You declined my drink," Rumbles off the expanse of his tongue like he'd been holding the words there for longer than he meant to. The throaty base in his voice has you inattentively crossing one leg over the other.
Which, he notices, of course.
There was music playing softly throughout the room but from the moment he opened that dangerously calm mouth of his, every other sound seemed irrelevant to your ears.
Now that a conversation had finally presented itself, you had an excuse to take in every feature he had. His eyes are naturally wide in a way that should feel hollow or empty, yet does the exact opposite somehow. There's a richness lounging around in his irises, the outskirts of them indicating nights and nights lacking sleep, and the dull way in which he drags his gaze everywhere telling you that being tired is a trait he may have been born with.
All of which have you so utterly intrigued.
"I did," finally exits you, and for a split second his face dares to show emotion. An unspoken battle of attentiveness waged between you both, evident his mild reaction to hearing you for the first time. Someone could walk by and see or feel the tension already blooming between the two of you.
The man patiently waits for you to grant him with more of a response than that, eyeing how you move your hand towards the drink he purchased for you.
Your nail lightly taps against the rim and your shoulders rise to shrug, "Buying a woman a drink from across the room without even saying hello feels a bit lazy to me, sorry."
He doesn't smile at that but the corners of his mouth involuntarily move. A faint scoff leaves his nose, "I see." He murmurs, making it clear he wasn't exactly a man of many words. "Is that your type, then? A man who approaches you directly?"
Things had only just begun and the dynamic had you reeling in your seat already. Turning to face him a little more, "Depends," Your head tilts and you send him a grin, "Is that you?"
"Could be.” He offers suavely, “I've approached you, haven't I?"
You hum, tapping at that idle glass of rejection again before returning to your own cup, "Only after I've declined your drink."
He appears unimpressed by your response, eyes leaving your face and moving to your hand, "You didn't answer my question."
"I thought it rhetorical." You bite back.
His lips twitch again, "It wasn't."
Something about the blunt end of his statement has you unable to lessen your attraction for him. You liked how he was carrying himself through this conversation so far.
Sighing, "...Obviously, you've approached me."
He notes the sass in your tone but doesn’t address it in the slightest. Instead meeting you with some of his own, "Then that makes me your type, no?"
Before you can answer that, he slowly leans over with his arm extending out. You thought he was about to offer his hand to shake but it amply moves past you and plucks up the same drink you denied moments earlier. Bringing it to his lips, you’re left to watch him turn his head to the side as he sips.
And that—whether it be intentional or not—has your mind set on how you want this night to go. This stranger had already been your type in terms of perpetually presented exhaustion, a drawling voice, and calculated way of speaking but his most redeemable quality was undoubtedly his nose.
Oh fuck, it was beautiful. The gorgeously arching curve had your eyes stuck in place. You didn’t want to stare at it but shit, you didn’t realize how big it was up until now.
In the casual manner he goes about drinking, you wonder if he even realizes the sex symbolistic quality shaping his face.
Your lashes bat and your words nearly come drooling out of you, "I don't even know your name."
God, you hope it wasn’t obvious that he’d you exactly where he wanted you already.
"I don't recall you asking for it." He hums gravely.
It’s like he’d written out a response for everything hours before even approaching you! Or, perhaps he’d exchanged this set of dialogue before. Maybe you weren’t leaving the stand-outish impression you’d hoped to.
Instead of playing into his game, you take matters back into your hands, "Is that your type, then?” You mock with the slightest smirk on your face, “ A woman who shows interest immediately after you've approached her?"
"No,” Fuck. Of course he had a response prepared for this as well, “I prefer a woman who can't keep her eyes off of me, and then plays coy once confronted about it."
You scoff, "I'm not playing coy."
"It's cute how you didn't deny the first part.” He finally grins, albeit small. Then he makes eye contact with you again and lifts his brows, “Was that intentional?"
"Very." You claim.
...Just who exactly was playing into who's hand now?
There’s a small beat of suspense that splays out between you, but he eventually breaks it before you do.
"Higuruma Hiromi." He finally tells you, splitting his keen attention to return to his drinking.
You offer your name politely in return and then add, "I like how I didn't have to ask for it."
The exchange of names has him loosened up more than the alcohol. You see it in how he becomes a bit more telling in his expressions and body language.
Higuruma shrugs, "You should never have to."
"Almost seemed like you wanted me to," You fire right back.
He can’t help but smile for the first time, thinking he was quick with his words but noticing you’re becoming quicker. "No? I'm your type, remember?” He teases, turning his head to scan the bar, “I know how you like a direct approach."
You wanted to hate how smooth he was but unfortunately it was only worsening the existing attraction you felt for him. He was supposed to approach you and say something corny like most men do—y’know, struggle to finalize your interest and completely squash whatever fantasized version of them you had in your head.
Yet, Higuruma was the exact opposite. He exceeded your prospects and then fucked a throbbing new reality right into your fantasies.
That can’t be fair, can it?
"Alright,” You finally breathe out, feeling sick of how things are only getting worse for you. “So did you buy me a drink for the banter or are you interested in something more?" You ask.
Higuruma leans forward toward the bar and moves to rest his cheek against his knuckles as he looks at you, "Are you denying me the option of both already?"
"You didn't answer my question." You mock again.
Something on him twitches but it’s not his mouth this time. He distracts you from it with a kinder expression, "I'm interested in both."
Your brows raise, "So you expected the banter then."
"Not at all," Higuruma chuckles faintly. "My expectations were nonexistent, considering I prefer to be surprised."
You lean toward him a little, your dress shifting against your body and tempting him to dip his gaze elsewhere. Then you’ve the nerve to bat your lashes at him, "And how did I do? Are you surprised by my wit?" You joke.
Luckily it lands with another smile coming your way, "I'm surprised by you, period. Mainly because this is my first time seeing you here."
"I'm on a vacation trip with my friend," You hum, glancing and pointing back at Shoko.
Higuruma’s eyes follow before he nods at your spotted friend, "Ah, I see."
“And I'm assuming you come here often?" You ask, feeling happy to keep the casual conversation going.
He looks at you again, "More than I care to admit, yes."
"Mh." You squint skeptically at that, "Demanding job?"
If his answer turns out to be yes then it would all make sense. He looks tired, he’s still fully dressed in a suit, and he’s on his third drink of the night.
"Yeah, I’m a lawyer.” Figures. “What gave it away?" Higuruma asks.
You gesture at his face playfully, "A little bit of everything."
He chuckles, "I get that a lot.” Then, he finally sets his glass back down and sits up a little straighter, intent on showing you that you have his undivided attention now.
As it stands, the two of you know so very little about one another. The only thing inherently obvious between you both is that you’re deathly attracted to each other.
A mutual comfort of sorts settles in between you and Higuruma, evident in how things felt moderately different now. The small talk had been nice and all, but it was overtly obvious that you both wanted much more than to pass time with words that’d surely be forgotten come the next morning.
Which is exactly why you run your eyes over the man one last appreciative time and let your head tip to the side as you say, "It's my last night here."
The sound of that has his brows perking up in interest, "You wanna make it worth something?"
"How so?" You shoot back.
Higuruma quips lightly, "Answer my question without another question and you'll find out."
You smile and finally concede, "Yeah, I wanna make it worth something…”
——
Which is roughly how you end up in the backseat of his car—his personal driver ahead pretending not to hear the heavy pants and breathy moans leaving the two of you.
You hardly remember how you got from one place to another. One second the two of you were drunkenly locking lips at the bar, and the next you were unbuckling your seatbelt and climbing on top of him after growing too needy to wait for the ride to be over.
The two of you were on your way to—what you assume to be—his place and while your concern for leaving out with a complete stranger should’ve been present, it wasn’t. Instead, the only thing concerning you was the way your dress slid up your thighs and over the curve of your ass via needy shoves from Higuruma’s big hands.
His grasp had been careful when it first met you in the bar—initially treating you all delicate-like as he cupped your jaw and pulled you in slowly for that first kiss. Then it’d traveled to the back of your neck, tugged you in to deepen the kiss, and ultimately ended up where it is now: tracing the skin of your thighs and bundling the fabric of your dress up, up, up! until your lacy panties were revealed.
One quick peek from his poor driver ahead and he’d surely be flashed by the sight of your underwear. Not that you were sober enough to care.
Higuruma’s fingertip dug into your thighs with a certain fixation for them, hauling your body impossibly closer to his own and prompting a proper grind against his clothed cock so you could feel exactly what you’d done to him thus far. It was enough to have you gasping into his mouth, your sounds swallowed up by his desperate kisses and the searing swats of his tongue that accompanied them.
Your arms were slung around his neck loosely and you couldn’t help how your hips bucked against him—the fabric of your panties clinging to your wet cunt as you ground a particularly soaked spot into his dark slacks.
"You want me now?" Higuruma scoffs into your mouth as if to scold you. Smirking before you can even answer and tonguing his next words into you, "Are you like this often? Throwing yourself on top of strangers and begging for them to touch you? Hm?"
When he pulls away, you’re given but one second to gasp as his head dips down and his nose brushes against your jawline—the sound of him inhaling your very scent giving you a short chill down your spine.
You manage a cheeky smile as you thread a hand into his hair and ruffle the strands in between your fingers, "If I say no, would you even believe me?"
His lips plaster the right side of your neck in hot kisses before he whispers, "Depends on how convincing you make it sound."
You push him back softly and his body rocks along with the movement, hands growing tighter at your hips. There’s a prominent twitch from his cock just under you at your sudden assertiveness, and the way you two meet eyes is downright filthy. Whatever visual chase you’d done earlier couldn’t possibly compare to the way you both just eye-fucked one another.
Breaking the moment, you lean to his ear, "No, Higu, I don't throw myself at people like this.” Your hands shift down and you start plucking a few of his clothes off—starting with his tie and trying to make your way down to his belt, “But, it's like I said earlier, tonight's my last night here and I wanna make it count. Sue me."
He chuckles at that, "Careful, sweetheart.”
You’ve no idea if he was warning you about your words or the fact that your touch is trekking dangerously close to his erection.
Your wonder is satisfied a mere second later as he adds, “I just might."
With a roll of your eyes, "Gross, does dirty talk with all lawyers sound like that?" You groan, finally pulling his belt free from the loops and tossing it to the side.
The sound of it clattering against the vacant seat has the driver up ahead—who's name you caught as Shiu Kong—peering into the rear view mirror.
"It was a joke,” Higuruma responds to you lowly, a couple of his fingers slipping under the lace of your panties at your hip.
You scoff playfully, “A corny one.”
“You smiled.” He bites back.
Shaking your head this time, your gaze slips down to watch yourself unbutton his pants as you snort, “Jokes are meant to be laughed at.”
You barely get to unzip him before he says, “And you’re meant to be moaning by now.”
Just like that, your attention is stripped from the task at hand (literally), and you’re meeting eyes with him all over again. It was clear he didn’t want to waste what little time he had with you.
Thus leading you to match his energy as you always do, arching a brow and leaning in a little closer, “So make it happen.”
“Needy girl.”
——
Between the luxury car and penthouse you soon end up in, you hardly remember a pure thought ringing throughout your head. The entire ride had been filled with dry humping hot enough to have the two of you drooling into one another’s mouth, and it was like you’d blinked before you were being tossed onto some bed.
Items of Higuruma’s suit and your dress decorated the hallway leading up to his room, and the few remaining pieces of fabric between your bare skin and his was currently being glared at by a patently prurient pair of eyes.
During the ride here, Higuruma had muttered something filthy into your ear about how he loooves making women like you feel good. Obviously you were too wrapped up in your own aroused brain to realize this was a warning of sorts.
The thing is, Higuruma was not your average eater. He didn't treat oral sex like foreplay or a thing to be done out of convenience, but he catered to the act as if it were an art to be studied and thoroughly executed.
You, (un)fortunately learn this the hard way.
After being not-so-patiently tossed onto a plush set of sheets, large, grabby hands met the underside of your thighs and were quick to sprawl your legs apart. Then Higuruma was settling himself in between them, uncaring of how hard he was and wanting-, no, needing only one thing from you at present.
You severely underestimated how infatuated a man could be with eating you out until you met Higuruma.
The gentleman was so utterly craving that he didn't even bother pushing your panties to the side. His lips met the fabric with ease, and you were left to watch him with slightly furrowed brows as he tongued through them to gather the first taste of you onto his rather famished tongue.
The first noise you let out was nothing short of embarrassing given that you flinched like a woman who hadn't been touched in months. Higuruma comforts you with a sound of his own though—a throaty groan vibrating directly in between your puffy folds in response to the teasing taste of you greeting the center of his oral muscle.
A long stripe of salivating sin swipes up all crookedly against your panty-clad cunt as he takes his sweet time figuring out how he wants to go about devouring you tonight.
When a proper dribble of your aroused slick enters his throat with one slippery descent, Higuruma's lashes begin to flutter as if heaven itself just met his taste buds in liquified fashion. Then he moans against you, a sneaky whine laced somewhere in between the desperate sound.
His hands grip the skin of your thighs and he pushes your legs out impossibly wider—like you hadn't been spread enough already! The little gasp you let out in reaction to being stretched so widely goes through one ear and out the other with the way Higuruma lets the entirety of his mouth cup your pussy before giving it a firm suck.
You thought having your panties on would be uncomfortable for you but you quickly found that it was the exact opposite with him. He'd suckled your taste hard enough to pull the fabric up into his mouth for a second, lifting his head a little and letting space grow between your now outstretched panties and your glistening cunt.
Then a cold brush of air would slip through said space and you'd shudder just to feel your underwear wetly slap! back down against you.
It was then that your hand shot down to his hair and your hips lightly rolled up for more. You felt the corner of his lips curl up to smirk as he continued with his oral motions.
At some point you get the feel that he's just taunting and your impatience gets the better of you, causing you to use your grip on his hair to push his face a little harder against your cunt.
Higuruma's hips buck against the bed hard enough to rock the entire frame at that as he lets something filthy exit his throat. Then you feel his smirk widening out into a smile before his eyes peek up at you. His tongue glides right and finally shifts under your panties for a moment, languidly licking at the lip he's met with there.
"Higuuu," You try crying out in an honest attempt for him to quit it with the teasing.
As if encouraged by the sound, his tongue simply begins to dip at the outskirts of your pussy. A thumb comes over smoothly to peel the rest of that lacy fabric out the way, and you hear him breath out something of awe at the raw sight of you.
Your poor cunt was sooo swollen from all the sucking and wet kisses he'd given you for the past however many minutes. If the sight didn't have his cock slobbering against his boxers then perhaps he'd feel bad.
With one more adjustment of his positioning, Higuruma moves his hands to your hips and then pulls you a little closer before he dives in nose first. The tip of it peppers a couple kisses around your clit just to feel the way your neglected nub twitches at the first bit of contact, and you feel a fat glob of spit meet your entrance.
The plump pad of his thumb pucks at your weepy hole a couple times before you hear him whisper, "Such a pretty lil' thing, fuuck."
Then he angles his face and you watch the whorish display of him lathering the bumpy ridge of his nose with all your profoundly drooling slick, his mouth returning to taste you directly for the first time.
Once he gets a full taste of you, he doesn't stop until he's satisfied—your gorgeous string of whines 'n moans drowned out into the air and battling for volume against the sloshy shlicks! coming from your cunt as Higuruma does what he'd been dying to do from the moment he first met eyes with you that night.
The feel of you against is tongue is something he just can't get enough of, his mouth is moving haphazardly along your slit to work your drenched folds further apart.
Then comes his thiiiick fingers, which work your insides out steadily in scissors-like motions. You feel him prodding against spots you weren't even aware you had, promoting the prettiest arch in your back as your body uncontrollably squirms against the bed to escape him.
Your breath had run from you many moments ago and you struggled to capture it back into your lungs, much too wrapped up in the pleasure thrumming all throughout your body.
Higuruma's a feral eater but he's neat with it, making sure none of your delectable slick escapes the jail of his mouth, and thoroughly pursuing any slips that dare to trickle elsewhere.
It's not until after your fourth or fifth orgasm—coaxed via his tongue alone—that you feel your legs turning to mush, jittery shakes noticeable as you use that grip on his hair to tug and then push at him all confusedly. You were at a point where you didn't even know what you wanted anymore. On one hand, his mouth was absolutely perfect against you, but on the other hand, you couldn't quite take it anymore.
Your whines were of pleas to convince him to give you a break yet your hips insouciantly bucked up at his face. And fuck if all of it didn't drive Higuruma mad.
Nothing could top watching you lose yourself in the pleasure he was able to give you.
Well, except for you giving him a rather rude shove just as his tongue flicks over your overstimulated clit. The exhale you release is one of near exhaustion but he only takes that as encouragement.
Grabbing at your wrist and lifting his head away from your cunt for the first time in a while, his eyes meet yours with a perfectly ticked-off glare, “As much as I love your hands on me, gorgeous, you’re interrupting my meal.” His tone is low and raspy in a way that shows his vocal cords have been well saturated with your taste.
The moment of grace you're given directly after only comes because Higuruma is busy snatching the loose tie that's been hanging around his neck off, and then lifting over you and taking the both of your hands into his grasp. Crossing your wrists with one another, your lashes are cutely flopping whilst you peer up at him with pleasureful tears coating your waterline.
A few minutes later and you find your wrists tied up over your head 'n anchored to the bed.
Your voice comes out all shaky, "H-Haven’t you had enough?”
His eyes lazy flick up to you and for the first time, he crack a crooked, but genuine smile. Cocking his head to the left, "No one’s ever eaten you out properly, huh?” He asks as if he already knew it to be a fact.
Blinking, “…What gave you that impression?” You huff.
Higuruma scoffs and looks back down at the sopping spread of your pussy, admiring the way your slick oozes out of you in pretty glimmers. Before losing his train of thought, “The dumb question you just asked.” He soon shoots back to you.
Your brows furrow, “Hiro—“ Before the rest of his name can finish its departure from your tongue, he's diving back in and you're left moaning all over again, “F-Fuuck!”
The man was no longer eating you out as if starved, no. He was now feasting upon your sloppy folds with a prideful passion of greed guiding ever nasty swipe of his tongue.
It wasn't long before his fingers joined back into the fun, stuffing you nice 'n full to prepare you for the next way in which greed would express itself into you.
Through the entire time he spent satisfying his oral fixation for you, his poor, fat, neglected cock was left to sob out something creamy down below. His balls ached from the lack of stimulation but fuuuck if he wasn't gonna prioritize his cravings over what his body claimed it needed.
When he finally lets his head fly back—after watching you fall apart on his mouth for the nth time of the night—you see as he pants, as if he was the one who'd just been slut out on a mere finger and tongue combo.
Casually muttering, “I think she’s ready for me now," as he shifts back to sit on his heels and works the weight of his cock out from the damped fabric it's been confined in all this time.
Your head shakes slightly but your cunt is busy twitching with readiness—clearly matching his greed with some of her own. “I don’t think I can…" You tell him while he comes up to untie you. Never quite finishing your sentence, you end it off with a sheepish, "Hiromi...” to gain his attention on you.
As if it had ever left to begin with...
He arches a thick brow your way, “You don’t think you can, what?" Another cocky smile is bearing across his lips, "You talked such a big game earlier. Surely a little foreplay hasn’t worn you out already.”
Foreplay?? He just ate you out for two hours!!
At that, you roll your eyes and playfully scoff, “Oh, fuck you.”
He hums, “You’re about to,” and then slots a wet hand to your hip, tapping slightly with his instructions of, "Flip over.”
You do exactly that with utmost swiftness. No matter how many pouts you sent him or how bratty your words were, your body couldn't deny the incessant desire for him. That feeling has been buzzing through you all night and now was not the time to try 'n ignore it.
“Oh fuck,” Higuruma lightly smacks your ass as you roll over, helping you to get in position as he throws a leg over you and sandwiches your limbs together. Grinning at how ruined you are for him already, “S'this your type too? Having a stranger's big cock stretch you open jus' right after a long day? Hm?"
You're drooling from every hole already—reduced to nothing more than a wet, needy mess of a woman below the man you met only a few hours ago.
If he'd mentioned anything personal to you between the bar and now, you wouldn't be able to remember it by tomorrow. But the way he fucks? Oh, you'd be remembering that for weeks to come.
And how could you not? There's nothing more memorable than the swollen, plump rounds of his cockhead smearing in between your puffed pussylips—sweetly streeetching you open to take the rest of his length.
"Yesss, Higu'." Your voice is immediately moaned into a pillow as the soft material smushes against your face, back arching some. "This is my type t-too.. hahh, I love it."
You're obviously just babbling whatever you can in agreement with him, but he couldn't much care.
With a firm thrust of his hips, his cock slides in deep and you're biting down at the pillow already due to his raunchy tip slathering in a messy greeting. “God, you’re nasty.” He huffs out a breathless little chuckle, already losing his own mind from the warmth that's currently swallowing him, “I think I like that about you.”
“Mnngh-, y-you just like how good I feel.” You say back to him, feeling one hand hold your hip to lift it up a few centimeters as the other presses into the slope of your spine.
The arch he forces you into is just filthy and you're almost annoyed by how snuggly his cock fits because of it. Your salivating walls twitch and throb out to his shape, folds kissing his wide base with him just nesting in place for a moment.
He snorts, “No, I like this—how bratty you pretend to be.” Then his hand kindly flies up to the back of your head so he can shove your face down, and his hips are reeling back.
Shit.
Fingers slot through your hair just to grip at you nicely and his cock pivots left inside you, “All that talk just to get a good fucking as if a simple please wouldn’t have brought you the same results.”
“Hiro,” You moan breathlessly, fingers dug into the sheets for support and toes curling up as mindless pleasure washing over you in hefty waves.
“Ohhh, I know, I knowww, sweet girl.” He coos with a condescension that has you spilling glossy gushes around the thick of his shaft, each spill decorating his thumping veins. “Don’t cry like that, I’m just givin’ you what you wanted. You wanted me to fuck you like this, didn’t you?”
The weight of Higuruma comes over you next, smothering you into the mattress and having your entire body jump involuntarily. You don't know whether or not you cum or cry because of it, but either way your reaction is adding a certain wetness to the situation.
Then you're just nodding in an all too fucked-out manner, “M-Mhmmm.”
“Mhmmm, yeahhh, you did.” He mocks, hips rocking down into you tenderly so he can stir up your insides jus' right, “Now tell me it feels good—tell me it feels good to get what you wanted, c’monnn.”
Higuruma's words of encouragement are enough to make your mind go blank, “I-It feels s’good Hiro,” His thrust gets unintentionally sharper and you're still going, “Ngh! You feel s’good.”
“So do you,” His voice gets louder with base as the heat of his mouth slanders against the crown of your ear, “I’m tempted not to let you go.”
Him being addicted to you was the one thing both of you wanted to avoid, but the heat of the moment got the better of you and he feels how your pussy hugs him in reaction.
Licking at your skin, "You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He whispers.
“Uhuhhh.” You nod again.
“Use your words, hun. I can’t understand you when you mumble.” Fuck, you don't think you'll be lasting the number of rounds he had planned for you if he continues to speak like that. “C’mon, talk to me all pretty like you have been all night.”
“Yes, Hiromi.” You eventually mewl, “I-I’d love it if you-, ah! didn’t let me go.”
“Fuck, you’re so good for me.” He praises huskily, dick achingly hard within the sleek confines of your cunt, "Bet you want me to keep you around after this, just so you can get the cock you deserve whenever you want it, huh?"
Your body tries to inch away from the strong roll of his hips and how soppily his cockhead is lapping against your sweet spot, "Ohmygod," He easily follows your chaste movements by bucking into you. "M'gonna cum Hiromi."
His bottom lip pokes out to pout, "Aww, again? A little bit of talking really gets you there like this?" He asks as if he's not right there with you, his fat balls taut with the need to pump something sinful into you.
You're a complete mess and your mind is going all blank on you, "M-Mhm."
"M-Mhmmm," He mocks again, "My poor baby, when's the last time you were fucked properly?"
Cunt fluttering around him, "I-I don't-"
"Shhh, not you." A bulky arm comes wrapping around your frantically twitching frame and two fingers suddenly slide right into your gaping mouth. Voice still hot against your ear, his other arm snakes down so he can tap at your clit, "M'talking to my pretty girl down here."
And that is all it takes for you to choke on his fingers as you leave a splashing mess on him, eyes rolling back, back, back! until only the whites are showing.
Higuruma fucks you good. Talking right through your every orgasm as if he had no idea how to shut that filthy mouth of his, cooing and mocking you all through each mess.
You'd hadn't been fucked that good in so long, you're pretty sure you were the first one to tap out not too long after leaving a squirting slob of cum on him.
And Higuruma, ever the cunt-connoisseur, made sure to end the night by "lightly" licking you clean.
During that act is when you actually fall asleep and he's pretty sure you're the kinda woman he'll be thinking about for a while after this.
You may not have kept up with him fully—at least not to his standards of doing so—but he does appreciate how you allowed him the opportunity to slut you out exactly as he'd hoped to!
——
The morning after was nothing short of a blur.
You departed without giving Higuruma much of a goodbye, but you’re hoping the little note you left with your phone number attached to it will be enough. Part of you felt bad knowing that he’d be waking up to a half empty bed—considering that’s definitely not what he fell asleep in—but the other part of you felt as though Higuruma may appreciate the lack of you in his arms, per not wanting to get too attached.
And bearing in mind the way things play out for you going forward, you’re sure the latter of your preferences are closer to validation.
Shoko had a field day upon hearing you recount your details of the night as you two exchanged stories during the flight, and it wasn’t long before you found yourself right back home.
The first day back to reality was a painful reminder of why you’d left in the first place.
Walking into the lobby of your family’s company building for the first time in weeks was dreadful, to say the least. Employees greet you all politely as you pass, but their heads only dip in automatic acknowledgement of the chairman’s daughter—aka, you. It’s a fake routine you’ve grown both accustomed to and very tired of.
Nothing real ever comes from these small interactions and the majority of the people in this building view you as some sort of pawn in your parent’s game. Which, unfortunately, is exactly what you come to find out you are.
You made way towards the elevator and mashed the button for the thirtieth floor, shutting your eyes for a moment to collect yourself and get your thoughts back into that working mindset. Your phone buzzed against your palm with a message from your father’s assistant, urging you to make your way to his office a little faster.
A sigh escapes you and with each floor you pass, you feel the weight of impending doom press into your shoulders. You'd hardly been home for more than twenty-four hours and you already wished you were back on vacation.
When the elevator doors finally open to your designated floor, the hallway outside your father's office is quietly expecting you. His assistant shoots up from her desk immediately.
"Miss," She greets ever so politely, a tremor of nerves caught in her voice as she does so. "He asked that you come in right away."
You wave a hand her way and let an unimpressed smile carve itself into your face, "I got your text, thanks."
You watch as she hurries over to the door and knocks once before peaking in to announce your arrival to the room. After which, you step right inside and watch your father's assistant give you nervous eyes just before the door shuts behind you.
As the soft click serves as the only sound in the room, you turn your attention elsewhere and immediately realize something is off.
Your father's seated behind his desk with his hands neatly folded together, a composed expression you only see when he's conducting board meetings plastered across his face.
In your head, you wondered if that was any way to greet one's child after not seeing them for a few weeks, but you suppose your father has never really viewed you as such. You've always been less of a daughter to him and more of a strategic asset liable to be moved at any point in time, for the betterment of the company.
While harsh, you—and everyone else around you—knew it to be true.
Before you or your father could greet one another outside of distasteful looks, the sight of some blonde man sitting in front of his desk makes your brows twinge up some more. You thought it weird that you were called here in such a hurry just for someone else to be there as well.
Your father notices where your eyes have gone and just as you open your mouth to say something, he's cutting you off with a gesture towards the empty chair beside the blonde stranger, "Sit down."
Whatever this was, you hated it already.
Not that your feelings stop you from doing as you're told, considering it was much too early to start an argument. The moment you seat yourself, you turn your head to get a better look at the man next to you.
Safe to say, you've never seen him before.
He seems tall, he's got these broad shoulders that are concealed only by the tailoring of his tan suit, and his facial features are sharper than ever. A fawning pair of brown eyes glance your way and gently meet yours, matching the concern and confusion etched into you.
It was clear that you weren't the only one curious about this sudden meeting.
"I've called you in here because there's an important matter we need to discuss regarding the future of the company," Your father says, snatching both the blonde man's attention and your own all in one go.
His statement is enough to have you feeling nervous but you do your best to steel your emotions until the real bullshit comes flying out of his mouth like you know it will soon.
Continuing on in that tiresome drawl, he looks directly at you, "As you know, our company has been in negotiations for several months with another firm concerning a potential merger."
You can't do much except nod your head slowly, "Right.."
Your father gestures to the man beside you, "This is Nanami Kento."
On queue, Nanami looks your way again and then moves his hand out for you to shake, "It's a pleasure to meet you."
Unfortunately for him and the respectfully offered handshake, you decline it rather rudely. Looking down at his open hand and then turning back to your father with a cocked brow. "And?" You ask, ready to get to the point of this meeting.
Nanami's hand remains outstretched for an awkward moment before he retracts it, pursing his lips together at the feel of embarrassment washing over him. Had he made such a bad impression on you already?
"The Nanami Group has agreed to the merger," Your father finally gets out, leading to your brows lifting in surprise.
Well, now you felt bad for declining the handshake...
"Oh." Glancing at Nanami again, you have a softer expression on your face as you go to apologize. "That's wonderful, I'm—"
You're cut off by the slow addition of, "On one condition." soothing into the air.
Your head whips back into your father's direction and whatever expression of excitement you had, drops with utmost quickness. "What condition?" You ask with a pointed look.
His eyes shoot down to his desk as if to avoid yours. "You're to marry him," He responds shortly, gesturing to Nanami as he speaks.
Aaaand there it was! The bandaid had finally been ripped off.
For a moment, you swear you heard the old man wrong. Surely he didn't just say you have to marry the man you just met less than five minutes ago?
"...Pardon?" You breathe out.
Your father maintains that eerie calmness of his, "The union between our families will solidify the partnership between our companies."
Some of his words mull through one ear and out the other because you're too busy trying to figure out whether or not this was really happening to you.
The man who raised you was actively informing you that he'd basically sold you off for the amelioration of the family company.
You only manage to tune back into what he’s saying when he finds the gall to hum, "The merger between our families will then be finalized after the marriage produces an heir."
Across the desk, Nanami shifts slightly in his chair as he chokes—a clear sign that the conversation had become uncomfortable for someone other than just you.
Meanwhile, you manage yet another scoff, "You're joking."
"Not at all," Your father chirps, "The boards of both companies felt it would ensure a lasting partnership between our two families."
"Oh okay, so not only am I being married off," You begin slowly, "But I'm also expected to start producing corporate successors? I'm to be married and bred, all in one go."
You watch the way he rolls his eyes and gestures a hand out to wave, diminishing both your words and your feelings, "You make it sound so harsh. This agreement merely ensures stability between both families.” He claims before adding, “A-And you've already agreed to it.”
The stammer in his voice told you more than enough. You knew right then that whatever agreement he was referring to was probably born out of some form of manipulation or miscommunication.
Blinking, "I beg your finest pardon?"
A document is slid your way just as your question finishes off.
"Years ago,” Your father nods, “During the board's succession program. You remember.”
No the fuck you don’t.
Well, you do. But you definitely don’t recall signing your consent to this arrangement.
You know what he’s talking about took place when you’d first joined the family business but, at the time, he’d told you that the documents you were signing was "standard procedure for future executives in family companies"
Now you're seeing that this wasn't the case at all.
Silly you for thinking it was all just meaningless paperwork.
As you snatch up the document, you notice your signature sitting clear as day across the bottom. Shaking your head, "Nowhere on this does it say that I'm supposed to be—"
"Clause seventeen." Your father directs.
Your eyes narrow as they flock there immediately.
In the event that the chairman determines a strategic marital alliance beneficial to the company, the undersigned consents to participate in such union for the purpose of securing corporate stability and lineage...
Your gaze stops for a moment, jaw agape and heart clenching up in your chest. Especially as you continue reading to see that it only gets worse.
...The parties involved acknowledge the expectation of producing a direct heir to reinforce the partnership between two family entities.
"Oh you've got to be fucking kidding me." You scoff.
"Language." Your bastard of a father has the nerve to scold, leaning back in his chair with a casual creak. Shrugging, "You signed it willingly."
That sentence alone is enough to start an argument between the two of you that stretches on for at least thirty minutes. All of which Nanami sits there listening rather uncomfortably due to feeling like he’s overhearing things he really shouldn’t be.
You bring up past family issues and the current relationship between your mother and father—scolding the old man for doing the same thing to you as was done to him years ago. Arranged marriages shouldn’t be some type of tradition in your family but with the way things are looking now, that seems to be what was becoming of it.
Despite his discomfort, Nanami sits there in awe of you. When his parents informed him that he’d be marrying a woman he’d never met, he didn’t even think to argue with them the way you are with your father now.
And he hadn’t even seen you yet!
Part of him supposes that’s because he was raised differently than you—having been told from a young age that his role in his family matters little to nothing if the future of their company isn’t his top priority. Whatever childhood dreams he had were crushed a long time ago and replaced with only the thought of doing what’s best for the company, even if that now meant marrying a woman he knew nothing about.
But seeing you now…
Nanami knew then that knowing nothing about you wouldn't matter much longer. The mix of passion and honest frustration you so openly expressed towards your father directly in front of him was nothing short of endearing to the blonde witness.
And by the time you flung that signed document back into your father’s face and went storming out the room, Nanami was certain he’d fall for you even if you swore never to look his way.
Which is why he shoots up to his feet just as the door slams behind you, ignoring the way your father murmurs something to him about not bothering to chase after you, and giving the man a curt nod before doing exactly that.
As Nanami opens the door, he spots you making way for the elevator and does his best to keep up with you without looking like he intended to follow you (even though he did).
Like a lost puppy of sorts, he trails behind you and enters the elevator alone with you just before the doors begin to shut.
His eyes fall to the way you’re mashing at the button to another floor—trying not to chuckle at the way you accidentally press seven other buttons to various floors in the process. His posture stiffens up as you side eye him sharp enough for him to feel it, and he worries that following you in here may not have been in his best interest.
…Even though he wanted to speak to you after witnessing everything.
Lifting a fist to his lips, Nanami clears his throat. The elevator begins its slow, creaky descent and he keeps his gaze fixated straight ahead as he breaks the silence, “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t pity me,” You breathe out without thinking, immediately regretting the harshness of your voice.
His shoulders tense up at how immediate your response was, heart skipping a beat now that your aggravations were being directed towards him. Even his face was getting warm like you’d complimented him or something.
A quiet moment passes before you slowly release a sigh, “While it’s appreciated, I’m afraid your sorry is worth nothing to me.”
Nanami nods, “Understood.” His single word of comprehension soothes your nerves over juuuust a tad. Then, he glances over to you—appreciating the side of your face, “I hope you know I had as much control in this as you did.”
You didn’t have any control in this—obviously—so his words provided a light sense of comfort to you. Meeting his gaze, you lift a brow at him, “Your parents see you as a means for breeding just as mine do, I’m assuming?”
His mouth opens but you watch the way they twitch as your bluntness throws him off. Clearing his throat again, his eyes darted off, “That’s uh… That’s one way to put it.”
“Well,” You huff, turning to face forward, “At least I’m not alone in that regard.”
Nanami doesn’t say it, but he hopes to find more regards to comfort you in as time passes. While the marriage itself isn’t what he wanted in the slightest, he can’t find it in himself to complain after his eyes have taken you in.
He’s never believed in love at first sight and he knew for sure this wasn’t that but… there was something about you that had him thinking all of this would be worth it in the end, somehow.
——
The next few days, weeks, and soon months of preparation feel like you’ve entered an unimaginable level of Hell.
You were trying your best not to be a drama queen, but you can’t exactly help yourself when the announcement of your engagement was merely the tip of the iceberg.
Due to your outburst in your father’s office that day, he thought it best to have you and Nanami constrained into the same home for some time before you two were to be wed.
The apartment you resided in beforehand had been purchased and provided under the family company, but now that you were forcefully engaged and clearly not fond of it—it was in both company’s best interest to have you and Nanami grow used to each other in one way or another. So, in other words, shoving the two of you into some house together with curfews and security placed all around simply made sense.
Living with Nanami wasn’t the worst thing in the world since he’s nothing short of a gentleman, but you still hated every waking hour of it.
Your father may have been able to drive you into a relationship and a home with some stranger but he couldn’t force you to interact with the man so, you didn’t!
There was one bedroom designated for the two of you but Nanami insisted that you sleep there and he take the guest bedroom down the hall so that you’d be somewhat comfortable. You appreciated that much from him but it didn’t stop you from avoiding him at all costs.
Even if he was the first face you were greeted with every morning, even if you two had silent dinners together, even if you were forced to head to work together, and even if you quite literally could not escape the damn man—you refused to open up to him.
He could put a ring on your finger and a baby inside you directly after, and yet you remained firm with your decision to never pretend to be happy in your impending marriage.
Nanami of course is fine with whatever you decide to do. He would accept your comfort over fake happiness any day.
So if he had to stomach scolding from both his parents and yours about how the two of you are the most awkward couple ever to be seen—he’d do it a thousand times over knowing that you’re content with the way things are.
The concept of distant lovers proved itself in the most outward way through you and Nanami. While labeling the two of you as “lovers” without the addition of its artificial origins is quite the stretch, neither of you could pretend that nothing existed between you.
Especially on Nanami’s end.
He understood that your distaste toward him came from the lack of control you had in your being together, but no matter how he looked at it, he couldn’t bring himself to care at the same level you did. Not when he was so utterly enamoured by all that you are.
You distracted him from the realities of this compulsory relationship. He knew he was attracted to you from the day you walked in that office, hardly spared him a glance, and proceeded to curse your father out right in front of him.
Then there was how snappy you’d been after, how tense you looked every time you and him occupied the same room, and how distant you keep yourself nowadays.
Nanami knows he should be on the same page as you—protesting against this union through refusing to get close to you and keeping things strictly cordial.
But… he can’t.
There’s a stubborn thump of longing in his heart that’s highlighted for him every time you enter a room, his eyes find you in every crowd, and he feels himself wanting nothing more than to gently wipe the stress right off that pretty face of yours.
He swears he could do it too—if you’d let him.
Unfortunately, you’re far more stubborn than he is when it comes to matters of the heart. In the few personal conversations the two of you have just barely managed to have, he can tell your mind is constantly elsewhere. Constantly distant.
You could be sitting a few feet away from him, looking him directly in the eyes, and actively engaging in conversation with him but he can still see that something-, or someone else is on your mind.
And of course he doesn’t know it but that’s another issue for you.
How can you be expected to get close with Nanami on your own accord when Higuruma is still lingering around in your mind?
Perhaps it was because being with him was the last time you got to do something for yourself. Or maybe it was the simple fact that the night with Higuruma still replays in your head while you’re at your most vulnerable. Or, even worse, possibly it’s the way that man hasn’t reached out to you once and how much that bothers you.
How fair is it that you’re still thinking about him all this time later as your life is falling apart and yet he’s probably not doing the same at all, considering the way he refuses to contact you?
Was that single night with him really not enough to have him wanting more? Had you meant so little to him because you were a mere stranger? Would you ever see him again—and if you did, would he even rejoice in the reconnection?
At some point, you find that the more you let thoughts of Higuruma plague you, the further you distance yourself from your fiancé. While that was your preferred outcome, you felt that it wasn’t fair to Nanami to have someone else on your mind like this.
It was one thing to avoid him out of parental rebellion but it was another thing entirely to do so because of another man who’d clearly forgotten about you some time ago.
——
Hence why you allow yourself one day to try getting to know Nanami about seven months into your engagement to him.
Yes, seven months in. That’s seven months of dry conversation, seven months of stubborn avoidance, seven months of trying to prove to your parents that you’d never be happy in this, and seven months of Nanami suffering from feeling his heart long for you more and more despite the lack of reciprocation.
While the change is certainly unexpected on his end, he doesn’t shoot down the opportunity to get somewhere personal with you for once.
You woke up that day telling yourself that if he started a conversation with you, you wouldn’t be as dismissive as you usually are with him. When you ran into him in the hallway first thing that morning, you greeted him with a smile that made his heart skip several beats.
Not only was it unfair for you to have neglected him for so long—for reasons outside of your parents and the overall dynamic of your relationship—but it was also unfair how much of an effect you seemed to have on the man.
His cheeks hued a soft shade of pink upon being greeted so kindly and the awkward little murmur of good morning wishes that came your way in response had you feeling rather good about your new little plan.
Perhaps giving Nanami a chance wouldn’t be so bad after all. Maybe you wouldn’t have to fake being happy for the entirety of your being with him. Though, you know deep down that’s exactly what your parents wanted from the get go.
At least it’ll be on your own terms though, right?
The entire day of giving Nanami a chance goes by at a normal pace. You share a breakfast with him instead of skipping out on it and starving yourself for half the day as you normally do, the two of you not only head to work together but you’re also spotted acting like an actual couple for once, and the day later concludes on quite the sweet note.
Which brings you to the end of said day where you’re just pushing away from the dinner table and helping Nanami to collect the dishes and carry them off to the kitchen. He gentlemanly takes your plate before you could even turn with it and leads the way, to which you slowly follow after.
This is where the real rare part came in. Before today, you’d always bid him goodnight after sitting in uncomfortable silence and forking at food you hardly had a taste for. But now—now that you’d spent the day trying something different—you figured you shouldn’t let things end as they normally do.
Nanami has moved to wash the dishes by the time you enter the kitchen, and you come to lean against the counter to watch him. He caught on to your change in attitude earlier that day, so it doesn't surprise him too much to see you changing other things in your routine like this.
“Thank you for today,” He starts out easily, sponge in hand and skin soaked up to his wrists with soapy water.
Your brows twinge at that almost instantly, “You don’t have to thank me for that, Kento.”
Ah, the sound of his name on your tongue has never been sweeter.
Nanami’s hands are still against the submerged dishes, and you catch the way his shoulders tighten ever so slightly before relaxing again. Then he shakes himself out of his surprise, “I do though,” He says a moment after, his voice a tinge quieter. “It meant more than you think.”
His delicately spoken words have you seeing things from a new perspective for once. You’d spent all this time so wrapped up in being trapped in a relationship that you nearly forgot he was just as trapped as you were. It’s not like he signed up for this, the only difference between you and him was the fact that his parents spent their whole time raising him into being exactly what he was now: a product of marriage for the company.
Meanwhile you had been blindsided by your parents for years.
When you take everything into consideration, you realize both you and Nanami are living on two different sides of the same coin. During the past few months you spent resenting him as much as you did your situation, you’d been incredibly lonely and now you wonder if he’d felt that way his entire life.
To be raised the way he was is nothing short of cruel, but at least with this engagement he wouldn’t have to live in that cruelness all alone—so long as you take the blame off his shoulders and replace it with a feeling of understanding. To be trapped in a relationship is one thing, but to be trapped in a relationship with Nanami Kento doesn’t have to be as horrid as you’ve spent months convincing yourself it would be.
The kitchen you both occupy is calm now that his thanks has settled into the air. Sounds of dishes clinking softly, the warm water splashing against his skin, and the distant hum of your shared home gave you a domestic feel for a mere moment
Your eyes find Nanami, quietly admiring his acute focus on getting those plates and utensils clean. You knew this from the day you met him but, he was never a bad looking man. Hell, he had a list of redeemable qualities.
Months you’ve spent living alongside him, existing in the same space, eating across from him, and yet this feels like the first time you’ve allowed your eyes the liberty of lingering with no resistance. Between your appreciative glances, something of guilt swells up inside you—as if you weren’t supposed to be looking at him like this after spending so long ignoring him.
But at the same time, he is your husband-to-be.
You push yourself away from the counter and then round it, still taking all of his build in for the first time. His back is the first thing that yanks at your attention as you pace somewhere behind him.
Gaze tracing the line of his back, you notice how structured and broad it is—a feature you noted upon first sight of him in your father’s office before. The tension of the day rests clearly in his posture and the way he holds himself upright. His dress shirt pulls across his shoulders whilst his hands busy against those dishes and you nearly walk into the opposing counter-side when the fabric stretches just enough to tease at something bulky resting beneath.
You swallow thickly and turn your head away sharply to distract yourself.
Because you’re standing behind him, you miss how he grins to himself—having felt your eyes on him, but not daring to comment on it. He’d acknowledged the same thing you did: the two of you are engaged and fully allowed to gawk at one another.
Nanami had indulged in it more times than he’d probably ever admit to you, unable to focus on anything else whenever you’re around.
With the way you’d turned your head away to stop yourself from drooling over a man you willingly ignored for far too long, you notice a small radio tucked neatly into a corner. Curiosity quickly gets the better of you and you snatch the item right up into your hands.
Toying with the buttons rather cluelessly, you wonder why Nanami’s got a radio sitting in the kitchen when you’ve never heard the man play music a day in your life.
Even though you’ve been avoiding him like the plague for as long as you’ve known him…
You’re not sure what exactly you press but something soft begins to leave the radio and you're quick to locate what appears to be the volume knob, turning it and letting the sound of Be Like a Woman replace those domesticated noises that were starting to get to you moments ago.
It’s a little staticky at first, just barely crackling the song to life with grainy distortion before the device remembers its own function and plays out smoothly.
The moment your ears pick it up, you smile to yourself and fall into a slow sway.
Behind you, the sound of running water comes to a steady stop. You don’t turn right away as the music settles fully, wrapping around you and your idle sways to it.
As if delighted by the tune, Nanami’s eyes locate you from over his shoulder with passive quickness.
It takes you a moment or two before you glance back at him, spotting an outstretched hand, and then biting back a smile at the implication. “You can’t be serious.” You murmur, even though you’d already set the tone for dancing.
“Humor me,” Nanami hums, a kind smile working wonders at turning your heart to mush. “One dance won’t kill you, will it?”
You continue to gape at his hand as if it’d go away without you saying something. Sighing, you’re careful with the way you bring your eyes up to meet his.
This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To try?
“I suppose not.” You respond while moving to take his hand and let him gently bring you closer.
His palm is moist from the water he’d hastily dried off and it tightly locks against your own. Then as he guides you toward himself, his other hand lifts before stopping just short of your waist. There’s a question and request for consent in his eyes—to which you grant by looking down at his not-yet-connecting hand, and then back up at his face to nod.
Nanami’s touch eases into your side and both of your bodies sway right into one another. Your free hand finds his shoulder to rest on, and just like that the two of you are dancing.
It’s naturally a mix of slow ‘n awkward at first but what makes it an act to relish in is the way you both feel the romance bundling about.
The subtle clumsiness of it all is enough to make you break eye contact first, looking off to the side as you sway together. That is, before Nanami tilts his head toward the direction you’ve focused your attention into and whispers, “You’re good at this.”
God, his voice was much too endearing for you to ignore—especially all close to you like this. You shake your head and let your eyes roll playfully, “We’re just swaying back and forth, it doesn’t take much skill.”
Nanami chuckles at that and you feel your heart thumping a little louder. "Then I suppose I shouldn't be too proud of myself," He murmurs.
You release a soft huff, the sound light and easygoing—much unlike how the two of you have been for months.
Your bodies continued in their dance with one another, everything steady and close as the music continued to envelop you.
Soon your hand shifts slightly on his shoulder, fingers brushing the fabric of his shirt and feeling how firm he is beneath it.
Nanami's reaction is near-immediate.
He inhales sharply to show that the touch had clearly caught him off guard, composure thinning by the second. Then his jaw tightens a bit and you see a faint flush creeping in along the highest points of his cheekbones.
Cute.
Unable to control your grin, "Kento..?" You murmur.
Instead of answering right away as he usually does, Nanami seems to be lost in thought before he responds. His hand tightens at your waist just a faction and his mouth is slow to open and close with words struggling to leave him.
"I've uh..." He starts, only to stop shortly after.
You're patient with him and give no sense of hurry with how you're staring up at him.
Clearing his throat, "I've wanted to do this for a while." Nanami admits quietly, eyes dropping.
Your brows raise, "What, dance with me?"
His gaze flickers and something in between shy and utterly embarrassed flashes over him. The way he shakes his head all slowly makes you want get the sudden desire to bite him or something.
"...No," The honesty in his singly spoken word makes your chest clench.
Swallowing thickly, "Then what?" You ask.
Your dancing gets impossibly slower and you're left to realize just how close you two are. Breaths are shared, gazes are locked onto everything but one another's, and it's almost like the music had stopped playing just to highlight the mirroring beats of your hearts.
Nanami's head tips to the side and he leans in, stopping just short of pressing his lips to yours, and leaving your breath to hitch.
Were you really gonna let him kiss you? That easily?
His lips graze yours and you're unconsciously gripping onto both his hand and his shoulder with something anxious building inside you. You didn't realize how badly you wanted this until it was—quite literally—dangling in front of your face.
“May I?” He utters, oh-so-sure your rejection will be what follows.
To his surprise, you’re already nodding.
And then it happens. Then his lips are meeting yours and you're feeling the way he flinches as if he hadn't initiated the whole thing.
Something vibrates inside his mouth but you're unsure whether or not it's a hum or some sort of whine. Nanami kisses you in a tentative way, testing something delicate with every soft slip of his mouth to yours.
Your hands leave each other and he carefully wraps the both of his arms around you as your arms do the same with his neck.
For a first kiss with the man you've been engaged to for seven months—it's not exactly what you expected.
Nanami is surprisingly shy with it, almost as if he doesn't know what the hell he's doing. Because of this, you're guiding him through most. of it and he's blindly following your lead.
Even so, the kiss is quite sweet, and when you pull away, your eyes widen out at how much he's blushing.
You didn't know a man's face could go so red from a single kiss. Especially a kiss without tongue. You hardly did anything!
When Nanami's eyes open, they meet with yours briefly in hopes you won't comment on how embarrassed he seems to be.
Luckily for him, you find the hues of pinks and reds on his face endearing enough to move your hands up to his face and cup his cheeks into your palms. He's warm against your skin and you hear his breath stutter when you pull him in for another kiss.
It's clear that you never really know how badly you wanted or needed something until you have it.
This time around, the kiss is needy. Your lips part over one another and he lets you slip your tongue into his mouth, groaning at the connection, and pressing forward with you until your lower back meets the nearby counter.
Nanami keeps kissing you like he doesn't know how to, but you find yourself enjoying the liberty of leading him through it.
That is, until he grunts into your mouth and you feel something solid twitching against your front. You try to ignore it at first, telling yourself there's no way he popped a boner from kissing you, but that grows increasingly difficult as his hulking frame melts into you entirely.
You nibble on his lower lip a little, whispering, "Kento.." as if ready to scold him.
Nanami panics. Fuck, why do you choose now of all times to call out his name? He's already trying his best not to cu-
"Are you hard?" You ask.
Fuck. Why would you ask him that? Can you feel it? Has he accidentally rubbed up against you?
"U-Uhm-," Nanami chokes on his own breath. "I-, what?"
You snort.
There's no way you find this funny, right?
"I asked if you were hard," You repeat nonchalantly, caressing his face, "Did kissing me like that turn you on?"
"Well.. uh," He gapes at you like one big himbo, "I-Is it that obvious...?"
Now you're giggling, "I mean, I can feel it."
"Sorry," He looks down to avoid getting even more turned on from the way you're staring at him. "I told you I've been wanting to do this for a while and-, well... I didn't mean to get so excited from it, sorry."
"You don't have to apologize for it, Ken." You comfort sweetly.
The nickname makes his situation worse by a long shot, sticky dribbles of precum promptly oozing out of his blushing tip. God, did you have any idea what you were doing to him?
With the way you remove an arm from around his neck and begin to trail your hand down his body, it's clear that you most certainly did. "I just didn't expect you to be so reactive like that," Your tone is different now.
Something sultry is in your voice and it's making poor Nanami nervous beyond belief.
He'd never gone this far with a woman.
Shrugging, "Well, most virgins are rather sensitive to touch, I'm sure." Nanami says timidly.
Your hands freeze against him and you blink. "You're a virgin?"
He nods.
The way he kept avoiding eye contact with you, the sound he let out when you initially kissed him, and the way he flinched at your touch shifting earlier all make so much sense now.
“Does that... turn you off?" Nanami asks, voice airy. "Me not being experienced?”
“What? No, of course not!” You pull him closer and then push up to peck at his mouth, “If we’re really getting married then, I’ll take care of you, Kento.”
That makes his head spin with dizziness and his cock throb. So much so that he's hardly even thinking straight as he asks, “You want to wait?”
You blink again. “You.. don’t?”
Because of the nature of your relationship, you always just assumed Nanami would prefer to wait 'til marriage, and now that he's admitted to you that he's a virgin, you were sure on that fact more now than ever.
You never had a preference of when sex between you two happened since you spent most of your time failing to think of a way out of this engagement.
“I’m sure our parents would prefer it if we did.” Nanami tells you.
Oh.
It was true, both of your parents would probably prefer the two of you doing things the more "traditional" way, but with that rebellious streak still lingering inside you...
“Perhaps we shouldn’t, then.” Flies out of your mouth without second thought as you're pressing up on him—tits neat against his chest.
“I agree.” Nanami rushes out, thinking only with what's drooling in between his legs right now instead of his head. “Let’s have something for ourselves."
——
And have something for yourselves you did.
While one would think that after a softly whispered claim such as that, the two of you would end up fucking like feral beasts within the next few minutes… that’s not quite how Nanami loses his virginity to you.
Instead, you two agree not to do anything that night.
Nanami mentioned something about not being ready for it by the time you both made it to the bedroom, but in actuality, he was a bit fearful to have sex. He told himself that kissing you would be enough for the time being, and you went right along with it.
…Until the following morning, that is.
Now, after you and Nanami finally seemed to resolve whatever thick walls of tension had been between you both, you took it upon yourself to share a bed with him. Nanami, having been crushing on you from the moment he laid eyes on you, would’ve been a fool to deny you of your wish to do so when you’d asked.
Which is exactly how you two ended up in the position you’re in now—snuggled up together in what used to be his bedroom but would soon be shared between you both.
Nanami remembers vividly how he told you he wanted to wait to take things to the next level but that request seems to have been tossed right out the window as he stirs awake first. He’d always been one to think with what’s in his head instead of what’s in his pants but it seems a simple night of sleeping in the same bed as you is enough to change things for him.
This isn’t the first time he’s woken up with a troublesome throb coming from in between his legs—especially not since he’s been living with you—but it’s downright ironic how he just told you he wanted to wait and now his body was desiring otherwise.
Nanami keeps his eyes shut for a while, hoping his boner would magically go away before you wake up.
Unfortunately for him, you don’t even have to wake up for his situation to get worse.
His eyes end up shooting open as a soft breath of air flutters against his naked chest, making him keenly aware of your resting face smushed up against him. Then other sensations occur; the scent of your shampoo trickles up into his nose, your chest snuggly presses into his side, and your entire leg has been thrown over him somewhere in your sleep.
His gaze lifts up to the ceiling in hopes he can ignore how those combined factors do nothing more for him than lead his cock to weep small dribbles of precum against his sweatpants.
Nanami had gone to sleep in only his sweats due to the fact that you’d already been in his room by the time he got in the shower last night. He never found an appropriate time to slip in to grab the boxers he’d conveniently forgotten, so now he was dealing with his tip leaving a prominent wet spot against the grey fabric concealing his erection.
Fuck, he’s sure if you were to open your eyes now, you’d be met with the nasty sight. The worst part about it is the fact that you laying on top of him is only making it worse by the second because his brain just won't shut up.
He can’t help but wonder how you’d react seeing him like this—knowing you’re the reason he gets so uncomfortably hard. Would you scold him for it? Tell him off and call him a perv even after the lighthearted events of last night?
Or would you comfort him? Show him another side of you he’s only ever dreamed of seeing?
Either way he knows he’s screwed since his cock twitches at both thoughts.
And then you shift.
The hand you had laying idle on his chest slides down a little and his dick bobs its thick head up against his sweats. Being so sensitive to your touch was faring much worse for him than he expected it to.
Your head moves a bit as you stir awake and Nanami’s heart is pounding so hard in his chest that he wonders if you can feel it. You turn to groggily look at him, immediately met with his half-lidded eyes meeting yours as the morning sunlight highlights the flush decorating his cheeks.
You blink a few times before mumbling, “Morning Ken.”
The arm Nanami’s had comfortably wrapped around you grips you ever so slightly. Then he whispers back to you, “Good morning, love.”
Warmth settles into your heart at the sound of that.
“Are you okay? Your face is all red,” You point out, lifting your hand away from his chest and up to feel his forehead.
“I’m fine,” He lies, knowing you’re just one glance down from realizing he’s everything but.
You nod though, moving to sit halfway up and extend your arms over your head to stretch. Nanami watches you carefully, having spent night after night dreaming he’d wake up to this very sight.
Seeing you wearing a shirt of his because you were too lazy to go grab one of your own last night, gaze following how the fabric hugs you—Nanami is forced to adjust his hips a bit.
He feels utterly perverted staring at you like this while his mind works up the most sinful imaginations of you so early in the morning.
You’re likely about to depart from his room and yet he’s laying there wondering how your hands would feel exploring every inch of him.
“Kento,” He flinches at the abrupt utterance of his name. Then he focuses his attention back onto your face and notices where your eyes have finally fallen. “Do you uhm,” You point at his crotch, “Do you want help with that?”
Something especially wet slides down the side of his cock—as if he were literally drooling from his tip. Glancing down at himself, then back up at you, “You can ignore it if you want. I just—“
“I don’t wanna ignore it, though.” You admit, leaning closer to him.
Nanami’s breath catches for a moment and he tries to sit up, only to be stopped by your hand meeting his chest and lightly pushing him back down. Eyes softening on you, “What are you doing?”
“I told you I’d take care of you last night, didn’t I?” You remind him.
He gulps, “Yes but… I didn’t think you’d want to do something like this. It’s embarrassing and..."
As he speaks, your hand is traveling down the smooth, yet firm board of his abs—feeling him tense 'n twitch the lower your touch gets.
It's not until you're playing with the drawstrings of his sweats that he lets out a rather submissive noise. "...A-Are you really going to touch that?" Nanami squeaks.
You smile at him innocently, "Touch what?"
The usual base in his voice is all but lost as he gulps, "My cock."
"We agreed to have something for ourselves," Your fingers halt against his drawstrings and then slip under the fabric, skimming over the light tufts of blonde hair just above his base. "So unless you want me to stop, I should like to have this for myself."
Nanami shakes his head slowly, chest rising and falling as his nervousness runs rampant throughout his body, "N-No, don't stop."
Those words are exactly what lead you to jerking your fiancé off on that slow morning, eventually working his cock out of his sweats and kissing at his flushed skin as your hand travels up 'n down his length.
It was more intimate than it was inherently sexual up until Nanami began returning the favor. In the middle of your lips locking against his, you felt a hand creep in between your legs—palming your pussy just to feel how wet you got from jerking him off.
As Nanami's big hand lightly squeezed and then rubbed over you through the cottony shorts you were clad in, you both began to pant heavily into one another's mouth.
The room got hotter and both of you got needier, your thumb teasing his sobbed tip as it traveled through his slit, and his hand wasting no time in locating your core without all the measly fabrics in the way.
He hadn't even seen you and yet he was muttering into your mouth, “God, you’re gorgeous..." Two long fingers gliding up 'n down your leaky entrance, “I’ve thought this from the moment I met you.”
“Mgh-, Kento,” You gasped in return, your hand growing shaky around his dick whilst your wet lips messily detached from his.
Nanami may have been unexperienced and shy but the second half of that seemed to go out the window the moment he felt how aroused you were. "Can I feel how gorgeous you are in here?" He politely asked, fingertips rounding your oozy hole and daring to slip inside.
As you nod, he watched your face intently to see your expression twist up in response to his digits greeting your warmth. Then your hand had tightened around his cock and he hissed out some sort of low curse.
It wasn’t long before the two of you were making a mess around each other’s hand. But that didn’t seem to be enough for either of you—especially not Nanami who’d been waiting for this day for months.
When you soon strip what’s left of your clothes off, tossing them across the room, and then throwing your leg over his body to straddle him, he gapes up at you in pure awe.
There’s nothing sexier than watching the woman he’d silently fallen for get on top of him with such a starved look in her eye.
And the way you move to grab his cock—angling it against your cunt and furrowing your brows with great focus—has his jaw left open. Drool slips out the corner of his mouth and nothing can compare to watching you slooowly sink down on him.
Nanami never thought himself to be big or anything like that, but considering the way you struggle and flinch as he enters you…
He nearly gets nervous all over again before your head tips back and you slip further down, fluttering walls swallowing him in thankfully with a sloshy squelch ringing out upon each quivering inch.
“Kento,” You husk out, moving one hand to his lower abdomen for support just as he grabs at your waist.
“You say my name so sweetly,” Nanami compliments with sweat causing his blond hairs to cling to his forehead. Eyes batting up, “Does… Does it feel good?” He nearly moans, “Do I feel good inside you?”
You’d thought it be obvious based on the whorish way in which your face is twisting up—tears coating your waterline from the long stretch of his cock.
Each time you think you’ve met his deft base, you found yourself still traveling down on him. Nanami’s cock stood up straight with no curve, giving you nonexistent room to run or escape his sheer size.
“Uhuh, yes,” You eventually whimper.
He seems a little unconvinced below you, “You keep squirming, though. Are you sure?”
“Kento,” You lock eyes with him and his cock twitches against the lathering edges of your inner walls, “You feel fuckin’ perfect inside me.”
“O-Oh.” Then his hips snap upwards uncontrollably, and your body jerks along with it as you moan out. “Sorry,” Nanami huffs, repeating the movement despite his apology, “Fuck-, sorry. You feel s-so good-, ngh.. so wet ‘n warm.”
It was almost like he couldn’t help himself. As soon as he heard your praise and saw the way his your cunt lips bulged around the very wide ‘n thumping base of his cock, his hips moved on their own.
He was fucking himself up into you and watching how pretty your tits looked bouncing along with the rest of your body before he knew it.
Hearing you cry out, “Kentoo! Nngh, right there.”
“There? Do I feel good there?” He asked, punctuating his words with a sharp thrust.
Your goopy insides gobble up everyyyy inch of him so perfectly that he feels like he’ll cum in you without realizing it any second now. Especially as you begin to rock your hips along with him, gaining your own momentum and fucking yourself down on him to further paint his cock with filthy traces of your slick.
“Hahh, your hips won’t stop moving,” Nanami grunt, brows taut together, “Do you like my cock that much?”
His only response to that is a wild throb around him.
To which he smirks briefly, “S’that-, hahh.. S’that supposed to be a yes?"
Left to whine helplessly, your hands clasp over his wrists and he maneuvers them to hold them instead as you nod.
“Say it then,” Nanami hums, “I want to hear more of you, instead of her.”
Her..? Your brows furrow, “Wha—“
Oh. As Nanami’s thumb darts across your clit, you understand quickly what he meant.
“F-Fuuck,” You moan, “Yes-, just like that, Ken’.”
Something pitiful ‘n creamy gushes up into you but neither of you really acknowledge it.
“Yeah? Fuck,” Nanami curses lowly, his pupils dilated out, “More, p-praise me more… Please?”
Your fingers clench at the skin of his large hands, hips rolling back ‘n forth with needy vigor as his dick knocks around every nook of your cunt.
“Ken, s’good. Ah! You’re doin’ so good for me,” You praise all prettily, head tilting a little once you realize he’s left most of the movement to you, “J-Just-, mngh! Just go a little harder. You can be rough with me.”
His eyes soften, “Are you sure? I don’t want to-“
“Kento.” You scold, “Fuck me.”
That flips a switch in Nanami’s head and you lose the hand holding with him as he grabs ahold of your body and promptly flips you over. Your back clashes into the fluff of the bed and he slips out of you for a second too long, hurrying to stretch at your wet core once more.
“Is that it? S’that how you want me, sweetheart?” Nanami heaves with a different look in his eyes. Before you can even answer him, he’s got two fingers pulling your pussylips apart to watch that glossy, debauched sight of his cock entering you again. “Yeahhh, this is how you like it. Goddd, I’ve fantasized about this, y’know.”
Your legs are captured into his hands within the next moment and he’s got you in a meann mating press as if to prove a point. It’s almost like your little permission of a harder fucking had challenged him or something.
Nanami’s voice sticks against your ear, “Got off just thinking about how good it’d feel inside you and n-now—“ Both your body and the bed jolt up with his rude thrusting, the mushroomy head of his dick kissing at your sweet spot, “Fuck, now I’m in here.”
“Uhuhhh,” Your jaw slacks and you’re the one drooling as if fucked-out now.
He lifts his head for a moment just to hold eyes with you. Whispering, “Deep in here too, huh?”
You pout, “D-Don’t get cocky.”
“I’m just being honest, look.” His hand moves to splay out against the fat bulge of his cock nestled inside of you.
You moan, nibbling at your bottom lip to conceal a slutty little smile, "Yeah, but you also-, mmh.. you also came inside me."
Nanami smiles back at you for realizing he’d already experienced an orgasm, "Hahh.. accidents happen..”
"No, you meant to do that,” You tease back with your arms wrapping around his neck.
"I have an obligation to breed my girl, do I not?" With that, another load is being french kissed against your womb, globs and globs of an impossibly thicker substance filling you.
You tug him down for a kiss and your lips tangle against one another as you whisper into his groans, "I suppose you do."
——
It would’ve been lovely if that intimate morning was the very thing that solidified your relationship with Nanami. The days after were filled with a more loving relationship, leading both of you to assume things from there on out would work.
And it should’ve! It really, really should’ve.
But you were forgetting one rather important factor.
It was foolish for you to think life was gonna let you fall for another man without throwing a surprise at you.
The following days after you and Nanami finally seemed to break down whatever walls were being held up between you, something changed.
You noticed Nanami on his phone more often, heard him chuckling on calls at inappropriate hours of the night, and caught a newfound light lingering in his eyes as if you and someone else were brightening his every day.
Now, you know Nanami wouldn’t be dumb enough to have an affair going on during his engagement to you—especially when he’s the one who had less of a problem with the arranged marriage to begin with. But, at the same time, he started to act differently.
Not with you, of course. Just… with everything else.
He almost seemed happier in some ways. You wanted to rejoice in the positive energy he radiated now, but there was a shadow of doubt casting over you at every turn.
Something bad was on the uprise.
And that something rears its ugly head on the day Nanami calls you out to help a “friend” of his move into the city.
You almost said no—and maybe you should’ve—but with the way he asked all soft ‘n hopefully like he just wanted to include you in more parts of his life now that you two were somewhat happily together, it was too hard to turn him down.
Besides, you told yourself that this is what you wanted, right?
Hence why you’re pulling up to an address for some luxury apartment complex Nanami had sent you, and aiding him with unloading a truck full of boxes.
Swirling around as the sun casts its warm glow down onto the right side of your face, you glance down at the box that’s found itself in your hand for a moment. It was rather large ‘n heavy when you swiped it up so obviously you grow curious about what’s in it.
The word Gavels is printed out over the top in Shappie, making you snort a bit. “Ken, is your best friend a judge or something?” You ask curiously, looking over his way.
Nanami waves a dismissive hand at you playfully, “Ignore him and his weird assortment of items. I couldn’t tell you why he has that, honestly.”
You chuckle again and open your mouth to say something just as you catch the apartment complex doors swinging open. Unfortunately, your words die out on your tongue along with your smile the moment you see a familiar face strolling towards you and Nanami.
Your heart sinks to your ass and you think you’ve lost all sense of movement as you and the familiar face in question lock eyes.
Higuruma nearly trips—just barely managing to catch his footing before making a fool of himself. Quickly taking his eyes off of you and hoping he’s just imagining things, he makes way towards your fiancé.
You hoped for a second that he wasn’t the best friend who’s been bringing Nanami’s energy up lately. There’s no way, ri—
“Kento,” Fuck. “Is this one giving you some trouble?” Higuruma asks before reaching his hands out to take the box Nanami’s holding, “You’ve been out here for a while, I was starting to get worried.”
Nanami, none the wiser, smiles softly as he keeps the box close to him, “No, no, I was getting distracted by my darling fiancée here.” Then he gestures your way with a tilt of his head and gives Higuruma your name to introduce you.
And god is it awkward.
The two of you don’t bother meeting eyes, Higuruma introduces himself as if he doesn’t vividly remember the way you were drooling his name out into his bedsheets some months ago, and both of you can feel how things are about to play out from here on out already.
After the thin-lipped, unnecessary exchange of names, Higuruma steps forward to try helpfully taking the weighty box out of your hands.
“Ah, no, it’s fine,” You shake your head and step back a bit, “I’ve got it.”
He ignores your claims, “No, please, I insist. This is one of the heavier boxes left.”
His hands meet the ends of said box, brushing over yours.
Tension shoots throughout your body as if you’d been shot and your voice bursts out of you with more conviction in it than necessary, “Really, I’m fine.”
As if he handn;t heard a thing you just said, Higuruma’s eyes steady onto yours and it’s like his hold on you returns all in one moment. Memories of that night wash over every thought you’ve had since and your breath is nowhere to be found as he finally takes the box from you. Sternly humming, “Allow me.”
Again—awkwaaaaard.
You clear your throat and try to recompose yourself by looking away, “There’s uh, there’s a lot of gavels in there…” Maybe if you pretend not to know him, that’ll help your situation? “Are you a judge?”
Hopefully he doesn’t remember you.
Higuruma stops to think for a moment, then smirks, “Depends…” He trails off for a second much too long. “Is that your type?”
The question—the theme of which had been repeated to you multiple times throughout that night you spent together—has a chill churning down your body and straight to your cunt. You almost wish you’d forgotten about him now because it was clear he damn sure didn’t.
Nanami nudges his arm, turning to him, “Are you flirting with my fiancée, right in front of me? Have you no shame?” He teases.
Higuruma sends him an innocent smile, “You hate it when I flirt with you, so I thought I’d try something a little different.”
The two men carry on with banterful conversation that somehow manages to exclude you, but you’re stuck reeling over the fact that this is truly happening to you.
Your fiancé’s best friend is the same man you slept with on the day before you got engaged.
What the hell are you gonna do now?
——
Simple; you’ll treat Higurma the same way you treated Nanami for the first seven months of your engagment—avoiding him like the fuckin’ plague.
Even being in the same room with him was like torture though.
Higuruma was shameless with how he sent you these accusatory looks, as if it were somehow your fault that you two spent a night together just for you to end up marrying his best friend.
Who seemed to be a little more than that to Higuruma as the weeks passed by, might you add…
Maybe it was just that shamelessness of his, but Higuruma wasn’t exactly subtle with how he eyes your fiancé. Like, not subtle at all.
You’re not blind and you’re far from stupid—you know what a yearning man looks like.
The only confusing thing about it was the fact that Higurma shared those gazes between you and Nanami as if he were experiencing bi-panic every single time he interacted with you guys.
Nanami seemed clueless to all of this. Which, checks out considering he’d spent so long as a virgin and probably doesn’t have the best sense of picking up on flirtatious or romantic looks.
None of that takes away from the tension building between the three of you though.
You could keep yourself distanced from Higuruma all you wanted, but if he had any say in the matter—which apparently he did—this wouldn’t last forever.
In fact, it only lasts until the night before your wedding.
Because you kept Nanami in the dark when it came to what had happened between you and Higuruma, he would constantly bring the three of you together. You would all meet up for lunches, go out for drinks, and linger a little too long in conversations that should've felt harmless but never did.
The three of you fit together rather naturally.
So much so that after a long day of being with the both of them, you just barely managed to break off into your Higuruma's kitchen for a moment to breathe. It was hard pretending that he didn't have you uneasy, particularly on nights like this where Nanami instead the two of you spend time at his place.
You were supposed to walk down the aisle tomorrow and yet the marriage had somehow become the least of your worries.
Now you were stress cleaning a spotless counter, panicking in thought of how the your married days would play out if Nanami planned to never break his friendship with that devilishly handsome lawyer.
And what would you even say if Nanami ever found out about—
“You’ve been avoiding me,” Higuruma murmured, voice like a cruel drag of burning smoke to your spine.
You swirl around, already looking for an escape.
He naturally steps in your way before you can even depart from the counter, “Don’t try doing it now, either. I just want to talk.”
Shit.
Letting your shoulders slump, “What is there to talk about?” You ask.
Everything about the conversation you begin to have with him goes by with rapid fire questions and responses.
Higuruma enters the kitchen fully and makes his way towards you. Keeping his voice low, “Aren’t you curious?”
You remain where you are, too fearful to make any sudden movements just yet, “Of?”
“Why I didn’t contact you.” He clarifies.
“No.”
He stops just short of entering your personal space and a stupid smirk appears on his face, “Liar.”
“Asshole.” You shoot back.
He scoffs, “That was cute.” Stepping closer again, “But you don’t mean that.”
You finally manage to shift further back, “It doesn't matter why you didn't contact me, considering I’m engaged now.”
“I’m well aware,” Higuruma chuckles, “To quite the astonishing man, might I add.”
The compliment rolled so easily off his tongue that it almost made you jealous. But, in the recent time you'd come to know Higuruma again, you'd learned that he and Nanami had been "friends" for years.
Friends remaining in quotes due to the questionable way in which Higuruma's voice softens whenever he speaks highly of his best friend, how his eyes showcase something of longing within them, and how he admires your partner in a manner well beyond something friendly.
"Fine, I'll bite." You soon sigh as you fold your arms, “How could you not call, or text? I didn't leave my number for no reason.”
“I knew you were curious." He hums victoriously, "Anyhow, I was busy, and—“
That ticks you off faster than you expect it to and words shoot out of your mouth carrying solid repugnance, “People make time for what and who they care about.”
Higuruma also decides to speak without thinking, staring you down as he says, “How could I care about you? I spent one night with you.”
That hits much harder than you expect it to.
You thought you'd moved on but the feelings you'd been harboring for the man come back all in one moment, “Wow.”
“I'm being honest. I hardly knew you,” He shrugs, “We had a wonderful night, but I was swamped with responsibilities directly after—especially between work and preparing to move.”
“I don't even know why I asked.” You scoff, rolling your eyes elsewhere and attempting to turn away, "Fuck you"
Higuruma bites back a smile. That’s fair—he thinks, hating how your immediate response for him never fails to rial him up. It’s one thing (amongst others) that he couldn’t stop thinking about after that night with you, “You did that already."
"Save me the cliche responses." You nearly push past him, "If you have nothing of substance to talk about with me, then i’m—“
He steps in your way again, flying a hand to your waist that you don't even try to remove. Then both his words and voice comes out softer, “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
Your jaw tenses, “It’s worth noth-“
“You don’t have to lie to me,” He interrupts as if he knew exactly what you were gonna say. “I know it’s worth something to you, don’t be so stubborn.”
For the first time since he'd entered the kitchen, you manage to meet eyes with him, “Why should it be worth anything to me when the night we spent together wasn’t worth anything to you?!”
“I never said that.” Higuruma claims.
“Well, it was heavily implied.” You scoff, yet to remove his hand from your waist. “Where’s Kento?”
“Asleep.”
Your tongue clicks, “Ah, so you’ve ambushed me. Got it.”
The man laughs, “Not at all. I only want to talk.”
“You don’t have to be this close to talk to me.”
“It’s the only way you’ll listen, as I’ve come to learn.”
You ultimately smack his hand off, “...It’s wrong to touch an engaged woman in this way.” Higuruma scoffs and you send him a glare, “Something funny?”
A smug look takes over his usually tied features, “We both know you don’t really want anything to do with Kento or that arrangement you’re trapped in.”
You're left offended, “You don’t know shit.”
“Oh yeah?” Higuruma challenges, “Then why—“
“—and I don’t owe you any sort of explanations. I don’t need you to save me from this, or to sweet talk your way back into my life.” You explain, despite yourself, “I don’t need you, period.”
He takes a moment to let your words settle, then the corner of his lips quirk further up, “Does lying to yourself like this help you cope?”
“Cope with what.” You breathe.
“Cope with the fact that you don’t feel the slightest thing for Kento—and you may never be able to—because you’re still stuck on that night we had together.”
“I… I-I’m not-,” Your words tangle up, “I’m not stuck on anything.”
“So answer me then,” That hand returns to your waist and he takes up the space directly in front of you, his other hand coming to your chin to tip your head up, “Why have you been avoiding me?”
His touches should've felt disrespectful to what you had built with Nanami thus far, but in the moment you found yourself forgetting that.
The contact leaves you blurting your truth out, “…It’s awkward to face you.”
And he's annoyingly quick to ask, “Why?”
“Because..."
Higuruma gets closer, “Because, what? Because you can’t stop thinking about it? About that night? About me?” He leans to your ear, “About us?”
Your resolve crumbles, “…Fuck you.”
He lightly grabs a full hold of your jaw and lifts your face further up, “You want to so badly, huh? Haven’t even let poor Kento kiss you because of it, I bet.”
It was ironic how wrong he was with that statement.
But you don't get to argue about it because the man in question walks in with a loud clearing of his throat, "What’s going on here?”
You instantly shuffle away and nearly trip over yourself, muttering, “Shit.”
Higuruma remains casual and swivels around, “We were just talking, Ken’.”
The nickname on his tongue makes your stomach twist up weirdly but you refuse to label it as jealousy for sure.
“You two seemed rather close for a conversation,” Nanami says, nearing you already and bringing a warm hand to where you'd bumped into the counter, “And you hit your hip, are you alright?”
The fact that he noticed that makes your heart churn with guilt, “I-I’m fine.”
“Your voice is unsteady,” He points out, glancing at Higuruma. “What kind of conversation were you two having, exactly?”
“One of the past.” Higuruma replies for you.
“Hiromi.” You warn.
His dark brows furrow, “What? Surely you don’t mean to hide it from the man you’ll be married to by tomorrow.”
“Hide what from me?” Nanami presses.
Putting it all out there, "We slept together. The night before you two met, actually.”
Those words open an entirely new can of words that span out for the next few minutes, ultimately resulting in a series of confessions. Many truths come out all at once.
Nanami asks you if that's why the two of you spent seven months like strangers, to which you naturally deny. Then he asks if you have feelings for Higuruma and you begrudgingly admit that you do, only to get rejected again by the man—since he had a confession of his own to get out.
The night was a lot, all because Higuruma decided to ambush you in the kitchen.
Hell, with the way things play out, you nearly wonder if the two men had planned this sorta thing. Especially when all feelings have been expressed and you realize it's a three-way mess of romance with only one not-so-obvious solution.
Of which Higuruma is the one to explain by making his way in between you and Nanami.
His hand intimately glided hand along Nanami's shoulder, then his neck, and soon grabs his jaw at the same time he grabs your hand and pulls you closer.
Higuruma leans over as if to kiss Nanami before whispering, “Let me be yours.” He starts, turning to you to kiss your hand fully, “And yours—if you’ll both have me.”
Obviously, the two of you let out a choke.
“What?” You snort.
Meanwhile Nanami’s face has gone beat red, “You’re suggesting a throuple? Hours before I'm to be married??”
Higuruma meets his eyes, “Yes. Think about it, how could your family deny another powerful union?” Then he looks to you, “Same with yours. Two brilliant men at your beck and call—twice the chances of you getting pregnant, as you've mentioned they so desperately want for you.”
With all that's transpired, you hardly even remembered doing that. But, you knew he had a point.
A damn good one too.
——
And to solidify the threeway agreement you all come to after a rather hasty conversation... the three of you rightfully make your way upstairs together.
Nothing else mattered when you had two genres of your type catering to both you, and one another, within the confines of Higuruma's bedroom.
By now, your body was trembling between them as you found yourself caught right in between the raw heat of pent up arousal. Nanami's hands were gripping your hips firmly, his fingers grounding into your flesh as he thrusted deep into you. His familiarly thick shaft kept your sloshing pussy stretched with each deliberate push of his hips.
The slick sounds of skin clashing against skin crowded the room, and your muffled moans vibrated against the cock Higuruma had curving all nastily into your mouth. There was a steady rhythm between the two men that swiftly guided your body back 'n forth between their much bulkier ones.
Nanami’s stiff cock easily broke you open from the back, while Higuruma’s leftly curving length slathered against the center of your drooling tongue.
A low groan rumbled right out from Higuruma's chest, his hazed eyes locked onto your teary ones—loving the way your swollen lips stretched around him, “Ohhhh fuck, I bet you’ve been wanting this, huh?” He puffed hotly, mixing his questions with praises of, "That's it, sweet girl." and, "Take me juuust like that, mhm."
Even if you could answer him, Nanami wasn't letting up with how his pace was building. His hand slides up the delicate arch in your spine, forcing you to feel every twitching vein 'n inch of his like he'd done before—the sensation sending rapturous sparks through your core.
"Our greedy girl," He grunted, not even noticing the way Higuruma began to lean closer to him. "S'tight in here-, fuck. You were never gonna be satisfied with one or the other..."
The dual stimulation was enough to have your eyes cloudy as pretty streaks of tears ran down your face. Higuruma would do his best to wipe them from you, but when he saw how Nanami wasn't doing much better—even with how filthy he managed to speak to you—he couldn't help but get distracted.
Higuruma's cock throbbed against the roof of your mouth, your cheek hollowing out so you can swirl your tongue along his veiny underside and draw a crisp hiss from him. Then his hips buck forward and push you further back onto Nanami—making the blond gasp while you gag.
You're too busy doing exactly that to see how the Higuruma takes his hands off of you for a moment to grab at Nanami's face, tugging him over and kissing him. Nanami's thoroughly fucked out and can hardly think with the combination of your cunt quivering around him as his best friend devours the inside of his mouth.
Then Nanami's pouring his words out against Higuruma's lips, "A greedy pussy like this needs two cocks to fill her right."
Higuruma whines at that as if his dream were actively coming true. "That means we hafta' take turns ruining her, right?" He mumbles.
You barely realize what that means before Nanami's withdrawing from you, leaving your pussy all aching 'n empty—slick arousal dripping down your thighs.
A gasp hitches out of you as Higuruma then moves to take his place behind you, grabby hands pawing at your ass to spread you out for him to see. His plump tp presses against your entrance to tease you just once before he sinks in with a smooth thrust. The angle instantly hits differently—deeper, brushing against your candied walls in a way that causes your fingernails to curl into the sheets.
Meanwhile Nanami kneels in front of you now, his erection overtly rigid and shimmering with your juices. He cups your face a moment, wiping drool from your chin. "Messy girl," He whispers lovingly, tapping at your bottom lip. "Open up nice and wide for me, yeah?" He instructs.
It was clear he gained a little more confidence with the presence of his best friend.
The taste of him soon mixes with the prior taste of Higuruma on your tongue as you bob your head, feeling your tongue sore from all the weight that's rut against it for the past however many minutes.
Higuruma's hips slap harder against your skin, his palm calming down on your ass with a slight smack. You push back against him and he scoffs, "You should see the mess you're making. Should be ashamed of it, really."
Then Nanami's distracting you all over again with his hand tangling into your hair and his words landing down on you, "Swallow around me-, mhm."
You cry out around his cock, the thrum making him thrust a little more erratically. Higuruma's following soon after by burring himself impossibly deeper before choking on his own breath and spilling hot 'n sappy cum inside you.
A few seconds pass, and while he's pulling out of you to watch his seed chase after his tip with stringy shlicks, Nanami's impolitely releasing his own few thick ropes of cum down your throat.
Panting, you're slowly eased down onto the bed by the two men—who waste no time in cleaning you of their mess—and you all flop into some semblance of relaxation.
You're barely lucid but you feel Higuruma pressing kisses into your temple as Nanami keeps wiping at the lower half of your face. Then, the lawyer whispers, "I'll make it all official by morning—documents and all."
As if you cared about any of that now...
Nanami nods along though, pulling you closer and leaving you to wonder—if both men really were to become your husbands, and nights like this would occur more often...
additional tags of interest: @blkkizzat @cupidstrace @uhnosav @madamechrissy @yenayaps
another author’s note: and just in case anyone asks... no, im not going to nearly match the wc with my follower count like this ever again. i just got caught up in the plot!
summary. you work as a paralegal for higuruma, an amazing lawyer you admire. a case you two have been working on is turning into a drag and it slowly seeps into your personal life as higuruma asks you to stay late almost every night. you feel yourself on the brim of exploding and he is there to drive you through it.
content. mdni. +18, fluff, first time writing smut so bare with me please (I dont even know how to write tags for these yet). oral (f!receiving), fingering, the entire ordeal.
a/n. as I said before, this is my first time writing something like this so it might be a little awkward. I also know nothing about law, be kind and ignore my stupid and clumsy use of law terms. barely proof read. trying out a new style. luv u all.
word count. 11k
Maybe it was a little wrong of Higuruma to keep you late. Maybe he was wasting your time, wasting his time. God, he really was a mess.
He has never been overwhelmed by anything but his workload. But now? Now he could trace you on every file, every word printed nicely on the white page, every tea stained napkin.
It is not like he did not need the help, he did. and he needed an immense amount of it. but here you were, probably with a life outside of this soul devouring job, and he just couldn’t let you out of his grasp.
His excuse was: not like you asked. And that is the only thing he could think to justify his uncharacteristically un-ethical behavior.
The very first time he has asked you to stay, you smiled so sweetly he almost forgot that he asked you to work and not to marry him. Two cups of hot tea were distributed later that night, your unspoken health reinforcement.
Ever since that night, every time Higuruma kept you late, you proved some way or another that you wanted to stay. And maybe it was wishful thinking, thinking you truly enjoyed getting only three hours of sleep and getting stuck in an office with him during hours spent with lovers or resting.
Higuruma truly was torturing himself every time he looked over at you. His thoughts were far past ludicrous and he felt shame pooling in the pit of his stomach. Because he knew better than anyone that he should keep his mind clear, he should not let these thoughts of you that were so unreal cloud his judgement and actions. You did not know, how could you? That this man — your boss — was pining after you, his paralegal.
Every time he caught a whiff of your perfume — his knees would buckle or he physically would brace himself against his desk when you would lean over his shoulder to lay a case file he requested on his desk.
Higuruma feels like he is being painfully obvious. Can you not hear the warmth seeping into his words? Can you not see the lingering looks? Can you not see how he has to hold back a groan when you are the only two people in an elevator?
How can you possibly know when his face is so passive, when he speaks in the same calculated, deep tone with you? You assumed Higuruma was a gentleman, that was simply his nature. Sure, he could be cold, he could be borderline intimidating if the situation called for it.
He supposes his self-restraint is better than he thought. Maybe he should be proud of hiding it so well, of being so professional when he wanted to get on his knees and beg.
There is no wonder that the walls around him are so hard to break down when he has been building them for years.
But everyone knows that old walls don’t last. Eventually you will have to break them down, renovate, and put up new walls. But Higuruma is not ready for that, he does not want to drag you into his messy construction site.
God, what has he come to, Higuruma thinks as he buries his face in his hands with a silent groan, he is now comparing his life to a construction site? Since when is he so cliche?
Tonight, his self deprecation ritual was beginning the same way.
You were at your desk, it was a bit past 5 p.m. and you were already packing everything up. Your bag on your knees as you slide in your laptop into its neat compartment, unlike your desk. Papers scattered, highlighters un-capped, and unfinished tea. Maybe you should focus on your health before your bosses, Higuruma. But that is exactly what you were going to do tonight.
Tonight, which was unlike most of your nights, you had a date.
Unfortunately, you were already running late for it as you stuck around to collect files on a case Higuruma has been working on for the last week and a half.
This case has been driving the both of you insane; you are out collecting information, calling, scheduling meetings, and he is always reviewing, briefing, in court, drafting up documents for affirmative defense. But this case is dragging on, pulling the two of you right after it.
You just zipped up your bag and it was halfway up your arm to hang from your shoulder when you heard, “oh, are you leaving already?”
You turn around in your chair to see Higuruma staring down at you, his head titled slightly to the left. His hair is messy, as you seen many times after an irritating courting or a long night, his hands running through the strands as if he could pull the ideas out of his head that way.
His eyes are focused on you with his full attention and yet you still found him hard to read. His glasses slid down the slope of his nose and the shadows of the descending sun made him look more tired than usual. You think you saw a flicker of disappointment before he straightened up.
“I was…” you look up in anticipation, hand frozen on your bag, wondering if he will hand you a document to work on at home or if he is simply bidding goodbye. He was a polite man after all.
You two stand in silence for two seconds or so, not long enough to be awkward but not short enough to be meaningless.
He hummed, “I am sorry to do this again,” his voice low and smooth in the empty office, gliding over the table tops and settling onto your skin in a warm embrace, “but would you be able to stay for a little bit?” He pushed his glasses back up again and stepped closer, “unless you’ve got plans. Then do not let me keep you here.” The way his voice softens in consideration makes you weak, he is trying to help you float while drowning himself.
You bite your lip in contemplation. On one hand, you know exactly how it will look if you cancel your date. Yet again. You have been pushing this date back for weeks now. Reason? Higuruma. This case. This job. You were surprised the guy still wanted to go out with you after every re-schedule.
You truly did feel bad. This guy, who you met on a dating app and went on three dates with, has been so sweet. Even sent you lunch to work one time.
But you wanted to be done with this case as soon as possible and you could tell Higuruma had the same wish.
Higuruma was a diligent lawyer who enjoyed dissecting every case, but when it dragged on without an obvious end? He was not one to be trifled with. The settlement had to come soon, and he was going to get it, whether the other party liked it or not.
You were also caught up in it. The thrill of almost catching your opponent off guard, of finding a piece of information they thought they buried. It was a high that made you forget about your vices. That is why you so often agree to stay after hours — the satisfaction.
Also the pay you got for being on the clock for longer was exceptional. Your eyes truly lit up, you swear it, when you first got your paycheck which reimbursed you for the long hours. And it is not like you did not need the money, it was another way around. The student loans were still pressing hard on you, limiting your enjoyment of life outside the office. So it was like killing two birds with one stone. Who cares if sometimes you only slept for two and a half hours?
Higuruma has to look away, pretend he is interested in the plant seated in the corner of the room — because he knows that if he looks at your face, at the way you bite your lip —he will go under. His expression stays the same, not giving away a single thought in his head.
You take a moment to look at him, his suit is still crisp though the jacket has been discarded on a back of a chair. His tie still placed tightly around his neck and the shirt tucked in perfectly. But you felt the weariness seep from him as he waited for your answer, maybe it was from the tightness of his shoulders, or the lines under his eyes. He was not letting you go by releasing you but by simply giving you a chance to run anyway.
You dropped the bag back down into your hand and set it on the floor with finality, “I’ll order some takeout then, it seems we have a long night ahead of us.” You grab your phone and stand up and Higuruma can’t resist looking at you any longer, the man is infatuated. Eyes trailing you like a piece of art he adores.
It was easy enough to smile and slip out of the office in the pretense of ordering food when you were already dialing the phone number of your date, guilt swarming your stomach.
Higuruma returned to his large metal desk, the black leather chair squeaking slightly as he leaned back, rolling back his head with a groan. He discards his glasses on the desk, somewhere along files that are lined up all nicely in order and manila folders.
He feels like the tie is choking his neck but he is unwilling to remove it, worrying about looking too messy around you. He wants you to see him as a professional he was. Put together, composed, not desperate for you at all.
When you finally do return, the two of you fall into the steady flow of work. The lights of the office provide a soothing hum along with the few cars on the street, flipping of papers and clicking of pens and computer keys fill the silence further.
Higuruma rolled up the sleeves of his crispy white button up. The action caught your attention and your eyes slid over his exposed forearms, lean and slightly veiny, as he propped his elbows on the desk and spun a pen in between his fingers.
It was almost muscle memory to him, to the point he did not realize what he was doing. His eyes were trained on the document before him, something clicking after reading it for the fifteenth time.
A satisfied hum slipped past his lips and you knew the two of you were about to get down to more work dissecting each printed word.
-
Higuruma and you sat at his desk, papers all moved aside for the food you ordered; donburi, yakitori, and fried gyozas.
He eats in a very specific way, you learned to pick up on small clues like that. Like, he never mixes his food. Every part of the plate stays on its side, he is not a messy eater in the slightest.
Higuruma has seen you eat plenty of times, many times it was in the same predicament as right now, but the appreciation you have for food, even as simple as this, still surprised him.
Your hungry eyes ran over the containers of neatly packed food, like you could not decide what to pounce on first. Higuruma enjoyed that look of hunger and delight on your face, he was completely entrances by the way you bit your lip in anticipation or how you leaned slightly over the table to get a better look at the selection.
Oh if you ever looked at him like you look at that fluffy rice that perfectly soaks up the juices of the tender chicken, or the crispy gyozas dripping in vinegar and soy sauce, he might actually combust right there and then.
His hands were interlocked, covering the lower half of his face as he leans forward, his tired eyes still fixed on the way your lips wrap around the food and the hum - a breathless little moan of pleasure - vibrates in your throat. Something hot is pooling right where he does not need it, making his trousers way too tight for his comfort.
Just watching you eat turned him on and he was just hoping you would not notice, that the desk and the shadows would do their job in hiding his embarrassing reason for arousal.
But a twisted part of him wanted you to know how he felt, how badly he wanted to keep hearing those sounds. How bad he wanted to be the one to make you sound like that.
But it was not all perverted, he was still a man of morals. Sure, he did imagine you bathed in warm lights and the dark sheets of his bed as he buried himself in your softness, your smell, your allure. Another part of him imagined cooking for you, making the food that would fill you up with the same pleasure he has the privilege of experiencing right now, feeding it to you.
Without thinking, he unlinked his fingers and stretched over the desk, just as you were setting your chopsticks down, and wiped his thumb over the corner of your mouth, where the sweet sesame sauce left a small mark.
You froze as he did so, time seemed to have stopped in that moment as his large hand gently skimmed over your skin.
In reality it was merely a second, but to you it felt like so much more.
His touch was so careful, so tender, as if he was dealing with something delicate.
Especially when he brought his hand back and licked the sauce off his thumb. A simple action in the passing, like there wasn’t a stack of napkins lying forgotten in one of the takeout bags.
Watching his tongue dart out to taste the sauce that just previously was settled against your lips made your sleep-deprived brain turn into a liquid mess and drip down your spine in warm waves that vibrated all around your body.
The sun was glistening high in the sky and heat was rolling in violent waves throughout the city.
Today was one of the worst days to be wearing a tight fitting suit. Your skirt was sticking to your thighs, your shirt was overwhelming you at every point of contact it had against your skin, the suit jacket has already been removed and hung lazily over your arm.
You cast a glance towards Higuruma who was squinting down the street against the violating sun rays. But other than that he looked completely composed and at comfort with the layers he had on, his white button up, black slacks and a matching jacket, and the signature green tie, not at all worried that his insides might be boiling, like yours were.
The two of you just came out of another court hearing that started at 9 a.m. sharp and lasted all the way till 2 p.m. Not only did it not go anywhere and it is obvious that the other party is stalling, you also knew that the second you return to the office you would have work to do. The ideas for the documents you were about to draft up were already brewing in your brain.
“Well that was a mess,” you said under your breath and Higuruma faced to look down at you, his shadow casting over your frame so you could look up at him without getting your rods and cones burned out.
Higuruma immediately noticed the soft pout, how your words brimmed with disappointment. So was he, of course, but he could not focus on his own irritation when he knew he was the one keeping you late and making you work extra hard for basically nothing.
Your dispirited attitude brought him physical heartache and he knew he had to soothe you, find someway to make you happy because otherwise he might just sink on the ground and beg you to laugh. He would be like a jester before a queen if you asked him to.
Instead, Higuruma fixed his jacket with a sharp tug and laid his hand on your mid back, guiding you to turn down the street.
“It was a let down, yes.” He confirmed softly, a slightly tired drawl to his voice, “but it is not over yet.”
“It seems like it will never be!” You raise your voice slightly at no one in particular, just the situation, before you remember you are with your boss and double down, “I’m sorry. It is simply driving me insane. The hearing lasted hours and we already missed lunch, and now getting back to the office? It is peak hour of traffic right now.”
Your complaint was received with a hum, “we are going to eat then.”
You stopped and his hand fell off your back though you could still feel the imprints of his cold fingers on your heated skin.
Higuruma eyed your wide eyes, the question evident in the crease of your eyebrows. “You are hungry, right?” When you nodded he once again began walking, now trusting you to follow without touching you. “Good then, we are getting a late lunch.”
The entire time the two of you walked Higuruma kept close, enough to be professional but also enough to keep you safe from the crowds of people. He knew you did not per se need his protection, but he liked to feel useful, so he found any way to be of service to you, even though technically you were the one working for him.
After a couple of turns you ended up in a quieter area, the crowds didnt litter these streets as much. The sun was still high and menacing with its heat but the blooming trees provided enough shade for some comfort and for you not to feel as if your skin was melting off.
“I hope you don’t mind I chose this place,” Higuruma came to a stop outside large tinted glass doors, and when you tell him you do not mind and in fact appreciate him taking initiative, his eyes soften and he pulls the heavy door, holding it open as you walk in.
The door was only a couple of inches taller than Higuruma and he instinctively ducked down his head as he entered in after you.
It wasn’t a huge place, but it sure did look pricey. You could tell by the polished marble of the floor and the black counters that glistened in the light.
For a moment you were worried about affording a place like this, you spent most of your money on fancy tea and bills, but you forced yourself to think logically.
Sure, it might make a bit of an indent in your bank account, but with the amount of over time you have been doing, your next pay check was sure to be fat. And you had to learn to enjoy your life, especially when it got so stressful.
Most of the things on the menu spanned from 5,500 yen to 10,000 yen.
After getting all settled and placing your order, you allow your eyes to run over Higuruma. Though collected, you could see the sweat that built on his brow, his dark hair just slightly moist and spiky from it, pieces falling short from reaching his eye on the right side.
The Wagyu Teppanyaki and steak plates are set before the two of you on the shiny table, the steam rising from the freshly prepared meat and rice, the steamed vegetables mixing with the salty aroma.
Your eyes glistened in delight, your mood immediately lifting and the upsetting events of the case are momentarily forgotten. A smirk tugs on Higuruma’s lips as he sees the flush of your cheeks and the way your eyes devour the food before your tongue even has the chance to taste it.
He knew you wont eat until he does, you were always so proper even when he told you he did not care about that. His long fingers pick up the metal chopsticks and he taps them against the table with a sot click to even them out before he carefully picked up a sliced piece of steak. Tender and pink in the middle, glistening with oil and coated in sauce.
You are suspended in time as you watch him lift the piece of meat into the air between the two of you, but he does not bring it closer to himself, no. Instead, he brings it closer to you, right up to your lips.
Your eyes widen, “Higuruma, sir. What are you..?” You let the question and in the air.
Higuruma raised his eyebrows, still leaning forward with his arm outstretched. “You look hungry, go on. Take a bite.”
“I cant!” You exclaimed, moving back in the booth but the wall behind you did not allow enough space to get away from his persistent hand.
“Please.” A hint of teasing mixes into his smooth voice. “I am offering it.” A rare smile graced his lips, thrilled with your flustered reaction. His dark, almost black eyes flashing with amusement. He looks alive for the first time in a while.
“No! Sir, you must eat first. I wont-” you locked your lips as he pushed the meat further, even going as far as turning your head to the side. That earned a chuckle from him and you felt the sound vibrate and settle over your bones and melt into the pit of your stomach. He was taunting you, you knew, but your face still heated up.
“That wont do,” he reached out with his other hand and tilted your head back. He did not use force, he did not need to, because the softest of his touches broke any resistance you had. You would follow anywhere those fingers led you, even if they were barely holding on.
Your eyes met his before his flickered down to your lips and still while holding your chin, he gently pushed the meat to your mouth.
You were in a trance now, unable to protest, unable to deny. You parted your lips and he once again had to hold himself back from making a physical reaction to your compliance.
Once the tips of the chopsticks folding the sliced piece were in your mouth, you closed your lips around them, taking the slice as he withdrew his hand, his other hand holding your chin lingered for a second and followed shortly.
“So, is it good?” Higuruma sat back down, his smile softening into a barely noticeable line as you chewed.
You mumbled something about it melting on your tongue, still unable to look him in the eye, and Higuruma began eating. The two of you feel into a comfortable silence, your racing heart coming down as you cooled down and regained your energy levels.
-
The cafe was fairy empty, a couple of taken tables scattered around. Some while back you tied your hair up and now were leaning back in your booth while Higuruma was taking a call outside.
Your plates have been empty for a while now but no check in sight. It was not as if the person serving you got lost between the empty tables and the unoccupied chairs. You grabbed your bag, assuming you would just have to pay at the counter.
“No ma’am, I told you, it has been paid for.” The woman at the counter, short with a cute bob of dark hair, attempts to give you back your money for the third time.
“No, I have not yet paid for my half.” You insisted that she must check again but she shook her head, lying the cash down on the black top counter. The money stayed there, untouched by both parties until a hand reached from behind you and picked the bills up.
“Don’t you know it is frowned upon to leave tips?” Higuruma is closer than you expected him to be and you are suddenly hit with a wave of his cologne. Something so distinctively him that it makes your head spin a bit.
“I was just trying to pay-”
“I invited you to lunch, did I not?” When he did not speak and let the slice hang in the air, you realized he was actually waiting for an answer for what seems to be a hypothetical question.
“Yes.” You say quietly.
“Then you are trying to wound me?” He stepped closer and you watched as he reached for your bag, fingers spreading it open to place the bills inside with careful precision. “Because that is the only reason I see for you assuming I would not pay for something I took the liberty of inviting you to.” His voice was very mater-of-factly, as if a part of him was genuinely insulted.
-
The sun just started making its way down, the large glass windows reflecting the golden pink sun rays.
Higuruma sighed while walking in with you, mentally preparing to return to real life and the grind of the case that he was sure going to take him to his grave. A bright yellow paper bag settled on your desk caught his attention.
He was sure it was not there before, he would be able to recall such a bright blot of color in his office.
Before he could examine it closer you side stepped around him, curiously opening the bag, the metal staples ripping the paper as you released its binds.
“It’s food,” you say unexpectedly, even though Higuruma did not ask, you could tell he was just as curious.
“You ordered food?”
“No, I didn’t.” You dove your hand into the bag and pulled out a piece of paper. Upon unfolding it you found out that the man you have been seeing, Sota, sent you the meal.
You were complaining a while back about the long hours and the inconsistency of your meal intakes that he went out of his way to order something for you. It was sweet, and you smiled as you snuck the note into your purse.
But it was not before Higuruma got to peer over your shoulder at it. He clenched his jaw, watching the soft smile that graced your lips at the thought of some other guy.
Higuruma knew this was irrational. Beyond that. It was idiotic to think that, to be so possessive over something he did not own. And would never dream of owning, for it would dim your light and you are not something to ‘own’ or ‘possess.’
Higuruma was petty to his core, something you would not realize when you interact with him for the very first time. He is so composed, so calm, so detached that it seems as if nothing would cause this borderline childish reaction. Nothing but you. You drive him off his well constructed rails.
“I suppose you won’t be needing this,” under the disguise of usefulness, Higuruma plucked the bag off your desk, attempting to carry it off.
“Oh, wait-” You walked out from behind your desk and followed him and he promptly stopped, raising an eyebrow.
“Are you still hungry?”
“Well.. no, but-“
“Would you wish to save this for later?” He tilts his head and suddenly you feel foolish under his gaze. There was a question in his eyes and you might even have caught the slight judgement. It wasn’t, just simple disgust at the plain and unoriginal food that mystery man of yours decided to order for you. Like you did not deserve a whole restaurant for yourself.
“It wont be good once you heat it up again, and anyway, you care about health too much to be eating something like this.” The look he gave to the bag was almost repulsive.
“I suppose you are right…” Your eyes lowered in contemplation, your pretty hands folding before you.
“I will toss it,” Higuruma speaks without any heat in his voice now, without any bitterness. He spoke in a tone of a husband taking out the trash, of familiarity. It was a simple action, just throwing something away.
But he did it for you. So that walk down the hall, the slide of the bag down the trash chute — the paper catching onto the mettle panels, scratching its way down — the stop to wash his hands, and the return to the office all felt like a small show of devotion towards you.
For the rest of the evening, Higuruma’s eyes were strained on your bag. The leather he intimately traced with his fingers hours ago, the closeness between you two as that interaction passed, the cursed note from another man — tucked away with the blush of your cheeks and the curve of your smile.
He swore at some point he smelled the leather heat up from the holes he has been burning into it.
Higuruma narrows his eyes at the bag from across the office and with a reluctant sigh he return to his paper work.
You have been typing away diligently for hours, and he feels guilt for getting distracted by something so small and insufficient. You mustn’t do all the work yourself, after all.
The sun is already down and it seems like it will be yet another late night with long shadows casted along the reflective metal tables of the office.
Higuruma was going insane.
This was sweet, sweet hell you were giving him.
The last couple of days have truly been the most delicious type of torture for him. He wanted to drown in these sweet moments, knowing he could not.
Drowning himself in these memories, losing himself in the thoughts of you was so so wrong.
But how could he not? When every time he closed his eyes he saw you, perched up on his desk, legs crossed as your knife pleated skirt spilled over your thighs.
You were all smiles that day, for some unknown reason. And as you brought him a file, one you just wrote, the one you have been working for hours the night before, you simply lifted yourself up before him onto his desk, as if it wasn’t one of his fantasies to see you up there, and talked his ear off about some loophole you believed you found.
It was quite a clever idea, he had to admit, even as only half his mind listened to your law-oriented rant.
The other half was far too busy keeping himself in check, keeping his hands from reaching out and cupping your hips, tugging you closer to him. He knew exactly how it would go; he would stand up, hands below your knees as he tugs you closer so he could stand between your legs. Then his hands would slowly, so slowly so he could savor every moment, travel up the length of your exposed calf and thigh, fingertips brushing the edge of your skirt as if it is something holy.
How he would worship you. No god has ever been worshipped with the same quiet devotion he had for you.
He groans loudly into the dark night.
It is one of those rare nights he gets to go home before the next morning begins, and even now he cannot sleep.
The dark sheets are slipping and spilling all around him. His hair is sticking up in all directions from the tossing and the turning that did no good but muddle his brain further.
And instead of enjoying the rare hours he got to spend in his bed, he was suffering thinking about you.
Thinking about the way you never brought him coffee. And it wasn’t your job, you were not his secretary to be busying yourself with things as trivial as his drinks.
But you did bring him tea, a lot of tea. It was always the same thing, it was ‘healthier’ and what not. A hot cup, steam curling up. He could imagine your heated fingers running over his face as you set the cup down. They never did of course, but the gentle press, the lingering warmth radiating off you, he could imagine it.
The reason you brought him tea, and tea only was because you were worried about the amount of caffein he was consuming. And you were oh-so-charming when you would go deep into all the little notes and flavors of your fancy teas.
It was admirable, truly. He did not find it silly or adorable — for that felt too childish to him, but he admired your love and the comfort you found in the intricate blends of flavors.
As much as Higuruma wanted to pretend not to enjoy those thoughts, he could not. your face that lingered in every crack of his composure, your sweet voice that filled every auditory neuron in his brain, your passing touches that heated his skin were like drugs to him.
Like this one thought that has been on his mind on repeat, as if a broken record, jumping back every other line and repeating what has already been sung out of tune.
That file you were so proud of, the one that took hours simply to draft up and then days to polish into perfection? Well it actually moved this bolder of a case further. It wasn’t much, but it was movement in the stale waters nonetheless, so it deserved some recognition.
It was a simple, “you did so good,” in that familiar, deep murmur of his voice that was on repeat in your mind.
The way his voice dipped on the ‘good,’ warm and quiet, like he was letting you in on something private.
“It was hard,” you remember the way his glasses slipped down his nose as he titled his head down to look at you, just as he said the words. “But you took it. And you did so well, I knew you would.”
This kind of praise was not something you heard often from such a measured man, so it felt like a blow to your gut when you received it for the first time. A blow that dissolved into a warm, syrupy feeling that slithered all around your body.
But in the crevices of his mind, your reaction was imprinted; the soft stutter of your breath as the first words of praise left his mouth. The blush, spreading over your cheeks, heightening the shimmer in your eyes — the one that said you wanted more, you were addicted — and the soft part of your lips as you struggled to muster up a response. The way you muttered your thanks and scurried off, like you never have before, eager to hide behind the stack of papers on your desk.
He caught on quickly then, praise. That’s what you wanted. And that was not a safe thought to have. His imagination ran wild for the rest of the night with the ways he would praise you, and what for.
The last few weeks were the abode of the damned. That is the only way you could characterize them.
Not only did Higuruma pick up more cases, because obviously the firm could not stay afloat with one case that was on its last breath. But that caused so much more trouble for you two.
You saw how tired he was, the circles under Higuruma’s eyes were darker, much more prominent some days. He wasn’t getting much sleep, but you were not either and no pity was taken on you.
You were kept late, even when it seemed helpless and useless. When all your efforts led back to the same fruitless results.
Irritation began to bloom somewhere very deep within you.
You did not want to acknowledge it, because a part of you knew it was silly. You liked Higuruma as your boss, he was mostly considerate, he was kind — never once has he raised his voice at you — you two have a bond.
A soft, fragile type of professional bond where the two of you can never speak of it or it will shatter completely and leave the both of you scratched by its shards.
But you felt that pinch in your gut when he would silently slide yet another document on your desk when it was time for you to clock out, or when he began restocking the tea — just so he would have an excuse to ask you to make some. You wanted to roll your eyes every time he introduced a case, and wanted to bang your head against your desk when he returned to an old one.
You loved your job. You did. But this was getting out of hand.
It was more… personal.
You were desperate to get out there, go on a real date, and finally blow off some steam.
Poor Sato, the guy you sometimes even forgot about because you canceled on him so many times, was slowly fading. Obviously you would not expect him to pull through all of this, especially when you were just starting out, but damn.
You really had no other way of going out, of finding guys. Not with this kind of schedule weighing you down. And the one guy who was willing to stick through it has had enough. You have hit rock bottom.
Apparently you will forever have to live with your hand between your thighs, sacrificing your rare hours of sleep for an even more scarce pleasure.
But it wasn’t enough.
You were agitated most days, because even though you were embarrassed to admit it, you really needed to fuck.
Not some soft, cushioned, careful sex.
No. You needed to be rocked out of this world, you wanted to forget your name, you wanted to be drunk off of that high. You wanted your skin to feel all hot and prickly.
There goes that need again. That desperation that scratched at the back of your neck and abdomen in teasing strokes, the annoying pressure of something you never get to satisfy.
You squirmed in your chain, the bright lights of the office cutting through your day dream.
Despite the fluorescent light violating your senses with their illumination, it was pitch black outside. The wind was rushing through the streets, and you imagined what it would be like to feel it flowing through the strands of your hair, licking at the hot skin of your body, lifting you up into the air with it. Sweet relief from all that has been weighing you down.
“Here,” Higuruma placed a folder on your desk, forcing your eyes to meet his, squinting against the bulbs.
“What is this?” You eyed the folder which was still covered by his large, bony hand. You did your best to hide the edge in your voice.
“A case I picked up a couple of days ago. I want you to just read through it, mark anything important in there. Just main points.” Higuruma was not an idiot, he knew this was a horrible tactic.
Ruining your sleep schedule, making you mad at him, probably turning a job you loved into a chore, just so you would be close by.
He might need to sign up for a psych evaluation.
“A new case…” You almost laughed like a lunatic. “Another case?” You raised your voice slightly, staring up at him in bewilderment. Because how could he even handle yet another useless case piling up? You felt the dread set into your bones. And then the fire ignite.
You grabbed the file, flipping through it so fast you barely caught a word. Then you tossed it back and it flopped on your desk as you stood up, your chair spinning so far back it hit another desk.
Higuruma watched with widened eyes. He has seen your temper flare up in the last few weeks, but this was different. Almost petulant behavior. You grabbed your jacket, shoving your arms into it as you muttered ‘I’ll be right back.’ Not looking at him, not telling him where you were going to in the middle of the night.
Higuruma was not used to this version of you, and he only had himself to blame. He knew this was where you reached your limit, where you snapped and sobbed angry tears, put in your two weeks, just ran off. He did not know what to expect from your silent outburst.
All he wanted to do was smooth that crease in between your eyebrows, glide his hand in between your shoulder blades, massage the tension out of your arms. The tension he placed there.
God, for someone so smart he really was an idiot.
You were running down the staircase which lead out the front entrance of the building, your jacket flaring behind you.
You weren’t proud of this, but it was the only way to quiet your brain, your gnawing need.
No amount of fancy tea could quench your thirst, so you had to result to a vice you knew well. An old friend and a habit that died harder than your dedication to work for this god forsaken firm.
You placed the thin cigarette between your lips, the white, tall building behind you contrasting the dark night and your dark attire. You fumbled with the lighter, the strong wind, like a mother, forbidding you from taking a drag.
“This cannot be happening to me,” you whispered into the night, desperate lilt to your voice. “Please, please, please…” you repeated with every snap of your thumb against the striker wheel.
Finally you were able to keep the fire alive for long enough to light the poison sitting familiarly between your lips.
The first drag is all it took for you to finally be able to breathe. Ironic, isn’t it?
The relief flooded you, though you were not completely released from your struggles. But instead of the physical and mental strain, you focused on the smoke that curled around you and then got snatched away by the greedy wind.
The rustling of the trees sound as if they are whispering secrets to you, distant hum of car engines like purring of cats, the low yellow lights of the street, the cool air all worked to bring you back.
You closed your eyes, taking a few steps away from the entrance as you calmed down, still taking hungry, eager drags of the cigarette.
“You smoke?” You did not hear the entrance door opening, but you heard it click shut now. Higuruma’s voice withstood the swiping wind, the wavelength entering your brain with a sharp explosion.
You imagined many times what it would be like if he caught you. Always tried to figure out what you would say to soften the embarrassment. You imagined you would drop your cigarette, be so started that you wont be able to speak a word.
But something inside you could not care to put on that show right now. You were angry, and it was almost defiance, blowing the smoke out into the air between the two of you. You, who denied him the privilege of coffee because it was ‘unhealthy’, now stood with the number one cause of lung cancer in your mouth.
“I do,” you clutched your arm around your stomach and the other one repeated that hinging motion with the cigarette as you paced a couple of steps back and forth, unable to keep yourself steady as the source of your annoyance appeared.
Higuruma stepped closer, observing you with a confused and slightly worried expression. “And is this a new habit or..?”
You threw him a glare. Why did he care? “No.” You released this blunt answer with the hope of it landing sharply, “no, I smoked before. I quit a while back. Just picked it up again.”
It did land hard, hard enough for him to reach out and pluck it from your mouth as if taking a candy from a child. Easy and might just cause tears.
“A bit unusual for someone so… healthy, to have such a habit. I mean, you swore me off caffeine because it was highly addictive. I remember the lecture you gave me once, when you saw I drank two cups in two hours.”
“Higuruma, sir-” you reached to retrieve it, not planning to explain yourself to him. You would not handle if he decided to stomp it out, extinguish it in the water fountain, drown it in a cup of coffee just to punish you. But instead, he placed your cigarette between his lips and took a long drag.
He didn’t blow the smoke out, just parted his lips and let it slowly leak out into the air, up to the stars.
“Truly disgusting,” he murmured, “don’t see why this is the vice you would choose-” he took another drag, for good measure. This only made you angrier. Who was he to judge how you calmed your wrecked nervous system down?
“Because it’s the only thing that quiets my mind! This small little thing,” you point to the cigarette “is the only pleasure I get. Do you understand that?” Your voice was loud, but there were no residential buildings around so you found yourself safe to speak your truth. “These hours that you implement,” your finger moved from pointing to the cigarette to pointing straight to the middle of his chest “has left me aching. And no, not only from those god-awful chairs that I can no longer bare, but from the fact that I have no person life. Do you know how many dates I canceled on to stay late. Here. With you. How much of my own needs I sacrificed for the greater good. Just for these cases to not move an inch. For them to move backwards?” You let out a laugh, a disbelieving tired laugh as Higuruma watched, hands twitching at his side, his stomach filling with guilt. “I thought the pleasure of winning these cases, of working hard, would be enough. But it is not. And I am in over my head with needs that are not being fulfilled. Over my head!” You almost stomped your foot, your chest heaving with every fast breath you took.
Higuruma has long dropped his arm, your cigarette still burning from his finger tips, but he was silent. His expression darkened, but you could not read it well. Was he mad at you for yelling? For sharing something so personal? As you calmed down, you felt the weight of what you revealed settling down on you. Squeezing your heart so tight you felt as if it stopped pumping any blood. You just told Higuruma, your boss, that you were needy.
What was wrong with you?
You did the only thing you knew to do when you got into an embarrassing situation. You ran.
You turned and ran back into the building. And straight up the stairs. Puffing and huffing you got to the office. You had to collect your things for the night and leave as soon as possible. Because you were not in your right mind.
Higuruma twisted the cigarette between his fingers for a second longer, a flash of what your lips looked like holding something so delicate yet deadly. How he placed his own over the mark of your lipstick.
He dropped the half finished bud to the ground and stomped it out before making his way inside. He had to find you. Calm you down.
You were frantically shoving case into your bag when he entered, but you couldn’t look up. You were already burning up from the utter shame you felt.
He stopped behind you and a second later you were being pulled away by your waist, large hands circling you and spinning you around to face the gloomy, dark eyes.
“Please, stop running away.” The composure in his voice somehow made you feel unsteadier. Made you feel more ashamed. How was he able to control himself while you were a mess. It was embarrassing. You felt your chest burn, your core burn, your face burn. You were on fire all around.
“Higuruma, sir, I do not think it is a good idea for me to stay. I do not think I am in the right head space to speak of anything I am feeling right now.” You bit your lip, the pressure of his hands on your waist is the closest you got to some form of intimate physical touch. You didnt ask him to let go, you relished in the warmth that seeped into you from him.
He stepped closer, guiding you back a couple of steps, “please. Just tell me, which of your needs are being neglected.”
You stuttered, “what? No! I cant share that with my boss.”
“What kind of boss would I be if I did not care about the satisfaction of my employees.” He murmured, you did not realize what the two of you were walking towards was his desk until the back of your legs hit the cold material that contrasted with your flushed flesh. “But I am not asking as your boss.” Higuruma continued as his reverent gaze ran over you, his hands sliding lower to your hips to hoist you up onto his desk only then to masterfully slide your legs open, allowing him to step closer.
Your hands instinctively went to his button up, fisting in the fabric that was never ruffled.
“I dont want to hear an artificial answer. I dont want the ‘I’m fines’ and ‘im embarrassed’. Please,” he murmured, nose trailing the side of your neck as he takes a deep breath, his senses all filled with you. “Let me apologize to you for all the misfortune I have brought,” it was a low request, his voice vibrated against the sensitive skin of your neck.
Your core was pulling and liquefying simply from the proximity. You took a deep breath but your voice still shook, “Higuruma, sir-” you yelped, cutting yourself off as his sharp teeth sunk into your neck. Not hard, just sudden.
“Lose the ‘sir’. I dont like when you call me sir. I hate when you call me sir,” he panted, kissing the spot where he bit you. “Im sorry,” he whispered your name in that pained tone, as if he truly felt bad for the strain he has put on you or for biting you. “I’m sorry,” his kisses went lower on your neck, to your collarbone that was peaking from under your blouse.
He stopped himself, half a second where he gained his consciousness. He pulled back, not losing his hold on you but meeting your eyes with focus he did not posses a second ago. “Please stop me if you do not want this. Right now, or at any point in time.”
Your eyes widened, there you were all sensitive, hot, and dripping and he thought you didnt want this?
“I don’t want you to do this because you are scared of losing your job, or upsetting me. I would never be that unfair. So please, consider this. Understand that you can stop it now. Cut it off later. Without consequences.” His shirt was creased from where you fisted your fingers into it as if it was the only real thing in the room you could hold on to, the heat of his hands and the cold of his desk all against your skin hightened your senses.
It made sense why he was giving this speech, but you weren’t agreeing to this because you were scared. But because you have been dreaming and thinking of Higuruma in ways embarrassing for an adult. Every moment you spent alone in your bed, building your pleasure with the bend of your fingers, his face, his voice, every passing touch of his would flash through you.
You took a deep breath, grounding yourself through all the sensations, “I know. I know you would never, Higuruma. I want this.” Your hand went to his dark green tie, tugging him closer, back into your space. His face was barely inches away from your own, you felt the air between your lips zipping with electricity.
“Are you sure?” Higuruma asked, even as his heart was hammering, breaths coming back in pants, pupils dilates.
One last tag on his tie and his lips were on yours. It was hungry, it was messy, it was desperate — from both parties.
His lips were soft as they slid over yours without much precision, pushing you back into the desk as he pressed closer. His hands moved all around you. Your back, the curve of your ass, the bend of your legs, the ends of your hair, your chest. They were everywhere, learning every small part of your body as if you were a case.
Your hands roved over his broad shoulders, down his toned arms, his hair — god his hair. Silky as it spilled through your fingertips, allowing you to tug on it slightly and coax out a guttural sound, a thick grunt of satisfaction.
Higuruma pulled back just to connect his lips in hot, wet, opened mouthed kisses down your torso. A kiss accompanying every button he undid on your blouse. He licked the curve of your breasts, savoring the soft tinge of your skin, the smell that violently and suddenly ripped any thought from his mind.
You were the only thing to ever exist to him. He would violate every law to be with you. Fuck all his moral, to hell it all.
A second later you bra popped open, and with care you did not think a man out of control could posses, he set it aside on his desk. Your shirt followed, fast tugs to release your heavenly form from those constraints.
Once that was gone, his eyes took you in again, your flushed expression, your exposed body. God, his imagination did not even come close to the real you. To the softness of your curves and the absolute divine beauty you radiated.
Higuruma’s mouth attached to one of your breasts. First they were soft, tentative kisses, but they became hungrier very quickly. His tongue would flatten out to lick your hardening nipple before swirling it around, causing your back to arch forward. Needy, desperate sounds escaping you. Your fingers scratching the scalp of his head.
Higuruma’s eyes stayed open, looking up into your face, into that expression of yours you could not longer scold. Just the pleasure, the soft build up of what was yet to ruin you. His sweet worship.
You were already melting in his hands and he was not even on his knees yet. God, you were right. You have been neglected. He had a lot to make up for.
With a wet pop, Higuruma detached his mouth, his knees making a contact with the hard wooden floor. His face was between your thighs, your skirt already ridden up but he softly pushed it up further. His fingers tentative and gentle as they slide over your smooth skin.
He pushes your legs further apart with his large palms, “you are being such a good girl,” he kissed your inner thighs, dragging his tongue along just slightly, teasingly. You gasped at his hot breath hitting your core, not close to what you need to ease your ache. “Will you be a good girl and tell me if it’s too much?” His hands wrapped under your knees, tugging you closer.
The praise just amplified your feelings to another level, you were already drunk off of the feeling of Higuruma and he has not done anything real yet.
He finally connected his lips to your cloth covered core and you whined, pressing closer which resulted in him holding your hips down. gentle but firm in his grip as he repeated it again, more pressure in the kiss this time, his large nose pressing to your clit which had you already gasping his name.
Higuruma felt the wetness on his lips, even though the cloth, he moved his head in a tiny circles when his nose connected to your clit, drawing out that breathless sounds. He thought the way he got so hard just thinking of you was bad, but the ache he experienced now? Could never amount to that.
He wanted to tease you for longer but he had to taste you, had to make you feel so good you would forget about all the long weeks, all the lonely nights. He had to show you that you were his religion and he was a devoted follower, that he would never worship anyone else as much as he will worship you.
His hands tugged on your panties, sliding them all the way down your legs.
You felt Higurumas breath more now, since you were exposed and sensitive. It was not long before his tongue was sliding over your opening, delving into you with such tenderness it caught you off guard. He went slowly, almost savoring every quiver of your thighs and every gasp that left your mouth. Whenever you tugged on his hair he knew he was doing it right, pleasing you just the way you wanted.
His nose would not let your sensation lower, it kept you constantly on edge, constantly pressing closer. You were drunk off of this feeling, of the groans that left him even when you weren’t doing anything to him.
His hooded eyes would glance up to watch your reaction when he’d change his technique. He sped up, his lips rounding around your clit, his tongue swirling once in a while to help you build that sweet pleasure.
A mutter of ‘yes’s’ and praise fell from your lips when he went faster, white flashing before your eyes.
Higuruma had to pull back just to tug his tie loose. You have never seen him in anything less than perfect, sharp, and always tucked in. But seeing his tie all loose, his shirt crumpled, his hair disheveled, and the adoration in his tired eyes as he connected his mouth again, like he couldn’t stay away, made you realize how different this version of him was.
He was eating you out, yes, but not in the meticulous way he did with food. Nothing mixing and all in careful assortment. No. He was devouring you. lapping at you, getting his face coated in your sweetness from his chin to his nose. The sight of him like that twisted and turned your insides into pure, hot liquid.
You have never been much of a curser, but profanities spilled from your lips in strings of barely comprehensible speech. Every single one felt like a blessing befallen onto him from the highest of orders.
When you felt yourself closer, brimming with the need to release, Higuruma slowed down. Cruelly dragging out the pleasure.
He pulled back and your head, still swimming, snapped up. A question spun on your tongue but you couldn’t piece the sentence together. You just looked at him with your eyebrows pinched.
He rose from his knees, bracing himself against the desk, his hands on the side of your hips. You could feel every part of him pressing up against you and that only made your core pulse harder.
Instinctively your hands went to his belt and his fingers carefully helped you remove your skirt. His black slacks went next, a flutter of cloth falling to the ground.
He didnt take time arranging his clothes carefully, he all but kicked back the expensive pants.
He was so close, you could feel him grazing against you. But you took your time, your hands ran over his broad chest, undoing the buttons one by one. He didnt push, didnt brush off your touch to hurry it up.
Instead, he watched you slowly undress him, your eye focused on the expanse of his pale skin which was slowly revealed, and his eyes were focused on you. Your beautiful messy hair, your delicate hands that worked away to remove all of his professionalism.
When you were finally done, the button up slipping free from his form, he didnt surge forward. His hand gently brushed back your hair, long strands wrapping around his fingers and then gently discarded behind your bare shoulder.
His stormy eyes searched yours, ran all over your face in those reverent strokes before his lips met yours once again.
This kiss was slower, deeper. His tongue took time getting acquainted with every corner of your mouth, greedily drinking you in.
His fingers traveled up your inner thigh, leaving excited goosebumps all over your skin. His middle and ring fingers pressed softly into your middle and you gasped into the kiss. They moved in small, circular motions, keeping you warm and swelling.
The kiss did not halt at any moment, even as you moaned out his name and gasped for him to go faster. You felt your blood thick with desperation.
Your hips flexed forward, unable to control them against the tantalizing pleasure.
“You are so impatient, my dear” Higuruma pulled back, his fingers leaving your feverish skin and you whined, tired of him leaving you on edge.
“Higuruma, please.” You panted out and you could see his hand, the one that was just between your legs, wrap around himself, aligning himself with your entrance.
His warm lips connected with yours just as he slowly entered you. He swallowed the borderline phonographic moan that left your mouth, the gasp at the satisfying way he stretched you out.
Higuruma felt his breath stutter, you felt so good, so perfect around him.
His mind could not believe he was not dreaming, that this was not one of those cruel hyper-realistic dreams he will inevitably wake up from.
He could barely string coherent thoughts together, every sense of his was filled with you. Your taste, your smell, your noises, the way your nails dug into him as you held on, as if he was the only thing keeping you afloat.
The toned muscles of his chest pressed into yours, his hot skin meeting yours, sweat building between the two of you.
You took back what you said before, this gentleness, the slow way he filled you up all the way to your cervix felt sweeter than any intense sex you had.
The city lights flickered in the distance through the large windows as the electricity cracked between the two of you.
You never felt so satisfied, so filled, it knocked the air out of your lungs every time he surged forward — speeding up just a little at the end, making you cry out his name.
You wanted to taste him, the way he has tasted you. Your lips trailed down his neck, his throat, licking up the expanse of his skin and down to where it met his shoulder. Higuruma groaned, rocking forward with more speed.
You bit down at the junction of his neck and shoulder as he picked the speed up, praise falling from his lips and strung together with curses you never heard him use.
“Fuck-hic- youre so sweet, oh so sweet, so perfect- shit” your name, like something sacred, whined out by Higuruma’s deep voice, “please,” he said again and again, his voice cracking. “Please, please, do you feel good? Dear, do I make you feel good? You make me feel so fucking good.”
His fingers tightened on your hips, his movements uncoordinated and slightly rugged, you knew he was almost at his limit. Your fingers grasped at the hairs on the nape of his neck, the other crawled at his back to hold him closer.
You were no longer trying to control how loud you were, no longer trying to minimize the sounds, you just let the moan fill the space again and again as they rose in pitch.
Sweat built on his brow as he shivered, fucking into your with taunt muscles. Your name fell in a whisper, followed by “fuck, my baby, my dear,” one of his hands fisted into your hair, “you are a goddess, divine. Fuck,” his voice cracked, “youaresoperfectpleasemarryme.” The words fell from his lips in a rush as he spilled into you with a shutter.
You felt hot all over, felt him dripping out of you as your brain flashed with colored lights. No coherent thoughts, just the press of his feverish forehead against your shoulder, the soft kisses he peppered wherever he could reach.
You both took a long moment to catch your breaths, the lights flickered overhead and the distant sound of the outside world slowly came back. You were still clinging to each other.
“I meant that,” Higuruma said slowly, his voice raspier now.
“What?”
He lifted his head, his eyes full of adoration and determination, his sagging shoulders reveal him totally spent, his hair messier than you have ever seen it, cheeks flushed. And he looks so beautiful.
You have always thought he was handsome. Obviously. But this version of him? Glowing and out of breath, color in his face, tired not from endless cases — but from spending himself on you. It made you feel drunk all over again. You gently traced his slightly wet eyebrow, and he closed his eyes.
“That I will marry you. I meant that,” he says matter-of-factly, voice deep and settling back into your core. “God, you are unreal. And I am selfish, I want your heaven forever.” His kisses the side of your face.
Later, he helped you off the desk, carefully dressed you before he did himself.
He couldn’t keep himself off you now, gently pressing a kiss to your hair, your forehead, your hand, neck. Anywhere. He asked if you were hungry, sleepy, if anything hurt. And at the end took your home, looked after you like you have never before.
It was obvious you were more than a fantasy to him.
Both of you did not make an appearance at the office the next day.
synopsis: in which lawyer higuruma is crushing on the cute receptionist at the firm who's too young for him.
contains: mdni, tension, ten-year age gap, law student!reader, drinking, adult conversations, fingering, face-sitting, explicit sex, the dorks babble on about violations while they fuck, 2.1k words
note: art by zoromins on x!
The fluorescent hum of the firm usually felt like a cage, but lately, it felt like a sanctuary. Higuruma Hiromi, a man whose soul was etched with case law and billable hours, found his discipline crumbling every time he looked toward the reception desk.
He still recalls the day he first met you.
Breathless and clutching a red folder, you arrived at the interview in a rushed haze. Your lustrous hair was swept into a messy, high bun, several stray wisps framing a wide-eyed expression of panicked sincerity. Clad in a simple soft pink off-the-shoulder top and casual blue denim jeans, you looked more like the student you were than a legal candidate.
The man had told you that your resume was impressive but not to make the mistake of wearing casual outfits to work again. You'd given him a bashful smile and admitted that you were called in at the last minute for the interview hence your lack of preparation.
Once hired, however, the transformation was striking. Seated behind the sleek mahogany desk, you exuded a polished, academic charm. Your hair remained in a bun, but now neatly sculpted. Thin-rimmed glasses perched on your nose, highlighting an air of sharp focus. Swapping cotton for a professional black blouse and a structured plaid skirt, you finally looked the part of the law firm’s indispensable face at the front desk.
You were ten years his junior, a law student with bright eyes that hadn't yet been dulled by the judicial system. To the rest of the partners, you were the girl who handled the phones. To Hiromi, you were the only reason he stayed past 8:00 PM poring over textbooks and assignments he stopped using years ago.
"The logic in your torts brief is sound," he’d murmur in his corner office, the city lights shimmering behind him. “But your conclusion needs more teeth,” he'd gesture to the points he wanted you to flesh out with his glinting metallic pen while ignoring how you'd marvel over his long, thick fingers before snapping out of your thoughts and concentrating.
He’d spend hours guiding you through the complexities of the law, ignoring the mounting files on his own desk just to see you nod in realization. In return, you brought him life. Every morning, a coffee—black, two sugars—and on Fridays, a slice of rich chocolate cake. “Coffee and chocolate are the only acceptable pairings for a Friday,” he’d joke.
Once, a smudge of ganache lingered on his lip. Without thinking, you reached out, swiped it away with your thumb, and licked it clean. The air in the office had turned electric. Hiromi’s breath hitched, and for a moment, the professional veneer shattered into a thousand flustered pieces.
He looked out for you with a quiet, possessive intensity. He’d lightly scold interns who lingered too long at your desk, spinning your chair playfully as he walked past just to hear you laugh as he asked his usual, “Workin’ hard or hardly workin,’ kid?”
He’d even adjusted a twisted bra strap once, his fingers trembling against your skin, just as you’d often reach up to straighten his tie before a court appearance. Once, when a filing project left your hands covered in industrial adhesive, he’d led you to the kitchen sink, holding your hands under the warm water, scrubbing the stickiness away with a tenderness that felt like a confession. Your eyes had fluttered from how his dress shirt brushed your back, heat rolling off him and warming you down south.
Then came the Friday drinks.
The team was three rounds deep into highballs, and the conversation had spiraled from billable hours to the bedroom. The atmosphere was loose, blurring the lines of hierarchy. When the topic turned to “firsts” and fantasies, the group grew rowdy.
“A little choking never hurt anyone,” Shimizu, Higuruma's assistant said with a wave as she leaned back before straightening when she thought better of it and pointed to the interns. “Only if you do it properly.”
“I'm into a bit of bondage too, yeah,” your timid coworker with crooked glasses piped in, making you all turn to him in shock as he flushed a bright red. Huh, it's always the quiet ones. You nodded, impressed.
Sighing, one of the uptight, strict attorneys rubbed her brow bone when you all questioned her, an arm resting on the top of the booth. She looked way more relaxed than usual. “I have a breeding kink.”
Your mouth fell agape. “But you're a lesbian, how does that work?”
A slow, lazy grin claims her face that made your stomach tumble. “It's the idea of it. I know it can't happen but that won't stop me from trying to come inside my woman.”
Everyone grows flustered at that then continues going around the table and eventually, it's your turn. Higuruma slightly perks up, lending an ear to the conversation he found boring just before this.
“I’ve actually never... been eaten out,” you admitted, your face warming. A chorus of shocked gasps erupted. “But,” you added, emboldened by the margaritas, “I've always wanted to try sitting on someone's face.”
The table erupted in wolf whistles and teasing. You laughed, hiding your face, but Higuruma remained silent. He was staring intensely at the amber liquid in his glass, his knuckles white.
“What about you, Higuruma-san?” an associate prodded. “What’s the stoic overworked and underfucked genius into?”
Casting him a flat look, the dark-haired man with the hooked nose and tired eyes sighed. He set his glass down. He lifted his gaze, roaming over all the inquisitive, eager faces around the table then settling it directly on you. The noise of the bar seemed to vanish.
“I’ve always preferred it when a woman rides my nose,” he said, his voice a low, gravelly vibration. “Uses it to pleasure herself while smothering me.”
He took a slow sip of his drink, his dark eyes burning into yours over the rim of the glass, letting those words soak in for all of you.
While the coworkers cheered and laughed at what they thought was a rare bit of raunchy humor from the man, you felt the heat of his stare settle low in your gut. He wasn't joking. And for the first time, he wasn't keeping it under wraps.
Later, the walk to the parking garage was silent, the heavy night air thick with the unspoken confession from the bar.
As soon as the elevator doors shut with a metallic hiss, Higuruma's composure snapped. He didn't wait for his car door to open before his mouth was on yours, tasting like expensive gin and the chocolate cake from earlier.
Your surprised gasp was fucking adorable. “Mmph! Mr. Higuruma—”
“Hiromi,” he corrected you, breaking away just to tell you that before diving in again and groaning when you welcomed it.
The man practically lifted you into the backseat of his sleek sedan, the leather cool against your skin as he crowded over you. The professional, stern lawyer was gone, replaced by a man starving for the very thing he’d been lecturing you on for months when the interns would flirt with you.
“Hiromi, we shouldn't—the firm's policy on fraternization—” you sucked in a breath as his hand slid up your thigh, hooking into the lace of your underwear. Your blouse was pushed up to free your perky tits, bra unclasped.
“Article 4, Section 2,” he murmured against your neck, his breath hot. “Conflict of interest.”
He didn't stop. His fingers found you, slick and ready. There was no warning given as he shoved his middle finger inside your pooling hole. Back arching, you whimpered, hand catching on the cold steel of his watch that cost about the same as your tuition.
“You should take that off. I might ruin it,” you advised through pants.
“Don't worry about it, sweetheart. It's waterproof,” he assured you with the scrunch of his nose, slipping his dexterous finger back and forth, your cunt gurgling from the puddle of slick there. “Get it as wet as you want. Make a fucking mess.”
His filthy words had your pussy clamping down on his digit, swollen lips parted on a sharp gasp as his thumb rubbed your aching clit in firm, steady circles that had your stomach caving. He pumped it in and out of you with authoritative precision, adding the second one as his cock throbbed with another heavy pump of blood from the way your pussy fluttered and sucked him in.
The way your features furrow, brows creasing, lips parted on shallow, sharp pants and eyes glazed with desirous heat was better than the visions Higuruma conjured as he'd guiltily fuck his fist in the shower after sporting a hard-on all day from the scent of your perfume or you gracing him with a smile.
When he felt your insides swell as if you were about to come, he grew dizzy with arousal as your thighs twitch, rubbing together for more friction but he refused to let you come anywhere other than his mouth so he withdrew his fingers reluctantly, sucking them clean as you protested. He apologized with a kiss to your dewy temple.
“My apologies, sweetheart, but I'd prefer if you came in my mouth first so I could fulfill both of our fantasies, yeah?”
He didn't give you time to process the heat of his words before he was shifting, picking you up and laying himself down on the creaking leather seat. Hands on your hips, he pulled you onto him so that your syrupy cunt was hovering over his face.
True to his word, he didn't hesitate as he gripped your sides and settled your weight on his face. When his face pressed against you, the contact was electric. You gripped his silky hair, your thighs trembling as he showed you exactly what those 'college boys' had been missing.
“Stupid boys,” he muttered against your skin, his voice muffled and dark as he licked and slurped at you greedily, nose rubbing at your clit, the hook of it catching sometimes. “Noses buried in textbooks when they could have been right here. All those fools you study with, they have no idea what they're doing with a woman like you.”
You were mindless, your hips rocking against his face as he drank you in. The windows were already beginning to cloud over, a hazy white veil shielding you from the world outside. When you finally came, crying out his name, he didn't let you rest.
He moved over you, shedding his blazer and fumbling with his belt. You reached out, your stilettos digging into the pressed fabric of his undone trousers over his ass as you hiked your legs onto his shoulders. The friction of his dress shirt against your bare breasts was a delicious contrast.
"This is... a massive violation of the employee handbook," you wheezed, your heels pressing into his back as he pushed inside you, filling the ache he'd created with a deliriously thick cock.
“Gross misconduct,” he agreed, his pace frantic like he was worried you might get caught at any moment, the car rocking on its suspension with every heavy thrust. “Grounds for immediate termination.”
“And sexual harassment... if I didn't want it this badly,” you added, your voice breaking as he hit a spot that made your toes curl.
He surged into you harder, a deep, bruising thrust that forced a sob of relief from your throat. The car rocked on its axles, the rhythm of his thrusts steady and relentless.
Every time he hit the end of you, he muttered another 'violation'—an ethics breach, a workplace hazard, a total abandonment of his moral compass—and you finished every single one of them until the words turned into breathless, incoherent moans.
“I've wanted you since the first day you brought me that coffee,” he confessed through a slur, his forehead pressed against yours, sweat dripping from his brow. “Fuck, it’s been torture. Every time I adjusted your clothes, every time I drove you home, I was imagining this.”
“Me too,” you sobbed, clutching his shoulders as the windows went completely opaque, pearlescent with fog. “I've wanted you since the first time you scolded me for my citations.”
“Yeah? You like getting scolded?” he grunted, nipping at your chin.
Sheepish despite the circumstances, you nodded. “A little bit.”
Higuruma let out a low, guttural laugh, his movements becoming desperate as he reached his limit, the snap of his hips growing sporadic. “Then let's make sure this violation is thorough.”
As the car swayed and the leather creaked under the weight of months of repressed longing, the law firm and the bar felt like another lifetime. In the fogged-up dark of the backseat, there were no rules left to break—only the two of you, finally honest.
Outside, the streets shone with the pink, green, blue and other hues of neon lights from the shops nearby, the beams streaking across the gravely roads while the music blasting from the nightclubs drowned out your debauchery.
dare i say, divorce lawyer!higuruma who becomes infatuated by you, a client, who hires him to divorce her husband— nanami kento. dare i??
the first time you see higuruma, it’s across a polished mahogany table that smells faintly of lemon cleaner and old paper.
the office is too quiet; so quiet, in fact, that it makes you hyperaware of your own breathing, the subtle rustle of fabric when you shift in your chair, the distant hum of traffic filtered through sealed windows.
he sits there in his dark suit, sleeves crisp and precisely cuffed, his tie knotted with geometric perfection, hands folded on the table before him like a man about to pass judgment rather than ask questions. hiromi higuruma isn’t smiling. you get the sense he rarely does, you don’t expect him to, but you do wonder what he would look like if he did.
his eyes are sharp, dissecting you the way a surgeon studies an incision site before making the first cut. there’s something in the set of his mouth that suggests he’s already forming conclusions about you, filing them away in that orderly mind of his.
you tell him your name, your voice steadier than you expected. you tell him you want a divorce from nanami kento, your husband of 5 years.
his expression remains perfectly neutral as he writes something down, the scratch of his pen steady and controlled, each letter formed with deliberate precision. when he finally looks up, his gaze meets yours without any change. “and why?” he asks, his voice even and measured. there’s no judgment in it, no curiosity beyond what the case requires.
why do you want to divorce nanami?
because loving nanami feels like loving something immovable, something solid and dependable that will never surprise you again. because you are exhausted in ways that sleep cannot fix, tired of reaching across a table and finding nothing but polite conversation where passion used to live. because somewhere along the way, marriage transformed into routine and routine hardened into silence, and now you cannot remember the last time you laughed together, really laughed, the kind that leaves you breathless and tear-eyed. because you still love him, god, you do, but it feels like drowning in warm water, too gentle to fight against, too suffocating to survive in much longer.
you don’t say any of that, instead, very carefully, you say, “we grew apart.”
higuruma watches you for a long moment, and in that silence you feel the weight of his attention like a physical thing. he notices the tremor in your fingers where they rest on the arm of the chair. he notices the way your eyes glass over but don’t spill, how you’re fighting to maintain composure. he notices, too, the way you don’t wear your ring anymore, though there’s a faint indentation on your skin where it used to sit, a ghost of commitment that hasn’t quite faded.
“does he know?” he asks quietly. “that you’re considering this?”
you shake your head, unable to use words.
he nods once, makes another note, and continues with the next question. he is professional, indeed, very detached. the way a good lawyer should be.
nanami finds out a week later.
he doesn’t shout when the papers arrive. that would be easier somehow, cleaner, something you could point to as justification. he doesn’t accuse you of anything, doesn’t beg, not at first anyway.
he just stands there in the living room of the house you picked together three years ago, the one with the windows you both fell in love with and the kitchen you planned to renovate someday, his tie loosened from work, his glasses slipping slightly down his nose the way they always do when he’s tired. he stares at the file like it’s written in a language he doesn’t understand, like if he reads it enough times the words might rearrange themselves into something less devastating.
“you already hired a lawyer,” he says quietly, and it’s not a question.
you can’t look at him. you focus instead on the slight crack in the corner of the window frame, the one he’s been meaning to fix for months.
“is there someone else?” he asks after a long pause.
the question is calm, too calm, uttered with the controlled composure that comes from years of practice keeping emotions in check. and it makes something inside you fracture, because you recognize that control, you’ve always recognized it, it’s the very thing that’s been slowly suffocating you. you hated it about him the most.
“no,” you whisper, and your voice breaks on the word. “there isn’t.”
that part, at least, is true.
. . . but there is something else, something you can’t quite name, something that begins to grow in the spaces between meetings with higuruma.
because the more time you spend with him, discussing assets and timelines and the cold logistics of dismantling a life you built with someone you still love, the more you notice things about him.
the way he listens without interrupting, letting your words settle before responding. the way his voice drops slightly when you look overwhelmed, softening around the edges without losing its professional quality. the way he pours you tea during consultations like it’s the most natural thing in the world and attending to your comfort is simply part of his responsibility.
he doesn’t flirt with you. he never oversteps, never says anything that could be construed as unprofessional. his behavior is impeccable, precisely what you’d expect from someone with his reputation.
but sometimes, when you’re speaking, you catch him staring. not at your body, not at your lips, but at your face, at your eyes, and when you pause, confused, he looks away immediately, returning to his notes with perfect composure that you’ve come to hate on anyone.
“you’re still in love with him,” he says one evening, late in a consultation that’s run past office hours. you’ve just admitted that nanami asked you to reconsider, that he’s been making efforts to change, to see you, to bridge the distance you’ve been feeling for a while.
you laugh weakly, surprised by the observation. “that’s not very helpful legal advice, higuruma-san.”
“i’m not speaking as your lawyer,” he replies, and the less guarded appearance of his voice surprises you.
silence settles between you, thick and charged.
“i can request a different attorney,” he adds after a moment, his tone shifting back toward formality. “if you believe my involvement has become… compromised in any way.”
your heart stutters in your chest. you understand what he’s saying, what he’s asking without quite asking.
“has it?” you ask softly and your voice sounds strange to your own ears. it almost feels like watching yourself from the sidelines.
for the first time since you met him, higuruma hesitates. you watch him war with himself, watch the conflict play out across features usually so controlled and the sight is almost startling in its humanity.
“yes,” he says finally, the word hanging heavy between you.
you mutter something about proceeding with him and he nods, regret flashing in his eyes.
. . . and nanami doesn’t make the process easy, despite the papers moving forward.
he begins coming home earlier than usual, leaving work at reasonable hours for the first time in years. he cooks your favorite meals, the ones he learned to make early in your marriage when you were both still figuring out how to share a kitchen. he fixes small things around the house you hadn’t even realized were broken, the squeaky hinge on the bathroom cabinet, the loose drawer pull in the kitchen, the light that’s been flickering in the hallway for months.
he doesn’t plead on his knees or make grand romantic gestures; that’s not who he is, and you both know it. instead he stands tall and composed, going about these small acts of service with quiet determination, but there’s desperation in the tightness of his jaw, in the way his eyes follow you around rooms. like he longs to say something but he doesn’t know what.
“tell me what i did,” he says one night, finding you in the kitchen long after dinner. his voice is low, rougher than usual. “tell me what to fix, and i’ll fix it. i’ll do anything.”
you want to scream at him that he didn’t do anything wrong, that’s the problem. he’s steady and reliable and safe, and you have felt yourself slowly shrinking inside that safety, like a plant kept in shade too long, still alive but pale, reaching toward light it can’t quite find. there’s no villain in this story, no clear antagonist, and somehow that makes it worse.
“i don’t feel seen,” you finally admit, the words escaping before you can stop them.
nanami’s expression crumbles, an unexpected crack in that carefully maintained composure. “i see you. you’re my wife,” he says, and he sounds genuinely confused, genuinely hurt. you feel bad for him, for hurting him, but you can’t bring yourself to stop.
“you look at me,” you correct, and now the tears are slipping free, hot and humiliating. “but you don’t see me. not anymore. not the way you used to.”
he steps forward, hands hovering at your waist like he’s afraid you’ll curl into yourself if he touches you too firmly. you can feel the warmth of his hands almost touching you and it feels like too much.
“i love you,” he says, “i have always loved you. i will always love you.”
the absolute worst part is that you believe him completely, staring firmly onto the place on his shirt where his heart is supposed to be as you let him hold you close and cradle the back of your head like he’s always done when you needed him. it’s a shame that he has to do it in these circumstances.
—
higuruma shouldn’t meet you outside the office.
he knows that. you know that. every professional instinct, every ethical guideline, every rational thought screams that this is a terrible idea.
but when you call him late one night, voice shaking after another devastating conversation with nanami, he comes anyway.
you meet at a quiet bar on the edge of the city, somewhere neither of you is likely to be recognized. dim lights reflect off glassware arranged behind the counter, casting shadows across his face that make him look older, wearier, more human than you’ve ever seen him. he sits close to you, closer than appropriate, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from his body, but he doesn’t touch you.
you talk and he talks, you drink and he drinks. you don’t relax and he doesn’t either.
“this is unethical,” he murmurs after a bit. you can hear the self-recrimination in his voice.
“then leave,” you whisper. “no one’s stopping you.”
he doesn’t move.
you don’t know who leans in first. maybe it’s mutual, a collision of loneliness and want and tension that’s been building for months, years, lifetimes.
his hand cups your jaw with surprising gentleness, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth like he’s testing whether you’re real, whether this is actually happening. when he kisses you, it’s restrained hunger finally snapping loose, years of discipline crumbling in a single moment. there’s something desperate in the way his mouth moves against yours, something that speaks of wanting things he’s never allowed himself to want.
it feels different from nanami’s kisses. nanami kisses like a promise, like a vow renewed each time. higuruma kisses like a confession, like he’s telling you secrets with his mouth that he could never put into words.
you pull away first, breath unsteady, heart pounding so hard you can feel it in your throat. everything just feels wrong.
“i’m still married,” it comes out like an apology when you say it, the shame of your realisation flooding you.
“i know.”
“you’re my lawyer.” or you were. or something. the lines have blurred beyond recognition.
“i know.” he rests his forehead against yours, and you can feel him breathing, can feel the effort it takes for him to maintain control. when he speaks again, his voice drops even lower. “and i have thought about you in ways that are inexcusable. in ways that violate every professional boundary i’ve ever maintained.”
your pulse roars in your ears. “then excuse yourself,” you challenge, though your fingers are gripping his jacket like you might fall without something to hold onto.
he laughs, low and humorless, a sound without any real amusement in it. “if i were a better man,” he says quietly. “if i were the man i’m supposed to be.”
you pull away and let go of his jacket as if burned. that evening you can barely look nanami in the eye and shame still courses through you when you throw your clothes into the washing machine and wash yourself until your skin is irritated, unable to clean away the dirty feeling.
the divorce proceedings become complicated after that.
higuruma requests to formally transfer your case to a colleague, citing a conflict of interest. the transition is seamless on paper, handled with the same precision he brings to everything.
nanami notices the change immediately.
“why the switch?” he asks during mediation, his eyes narrowing slightly.
“conflict of interest,” higuruma answers smoothly, not meeting anyone’s gaze directly.
nanami’s eyes flick between you and him, and you watch suspicion dawn slowly across his features. nanami is perceptive, always has been. it’s one of the things you loved about him once, the way he noticed small details, the way he could read you without words. now that perceptiveness feels like a threat.
later, outside the building, he corners you gently. he’s never rough with you, never cruel, even now. but he’s firm, insistent, his hand catching your elbow to stop your retreat.
“did he touch you?” he asks. the question is quiet, almost gentle, but it cuts through you like a blade.
you don’t answer. you can’t.
nanami exhales sharply. you watch pain flash across his face, raw and immediate before he manages to contain it. “i’m still fighting for you,” he says, his voice cracking uncharacteristically. “i haven’t stopped fighting. i won’t stop. but i need to know, are you already gone?”
are you?
you don’t know the answer to that question.
because with nanami, you have history stretching back years. you have comfort and familiarity and a love that feels like an anchor, heavy and secure and impossible to escape. with higuruma, you have intensity, sharp edges, the terrifying possibility of being understood in ways you didn’t even know you needed. one offers safety. the other offers revelation.
that night, nanami doesn’t sleep in the bedroom. he sits on the couch instead, lights off, staring into the darkness with the same expression he wore when he first read those divorce papers. you watch him from the hallway, hidden in shadow, and your heart aches with a pain that feels physical.
higuruma stops contacting you after the case transfer.
outside of necessary legal updates forwarded through his colleague, you hear nothing from him. he draws a line, firm and final, and retreats behind it completely.
you miss him immediately, but the realization shames you.
you miss the way he challenged you, the way he never accepted your easy answers without pushing deeper. you miss the way he looked at you like you were something rare and breakable and dangerous all at once. you miss the tension between you, the heat that existed in every room you shared, the knowledge that something unspoken was building between you.
but when you look at nanami, still cooking your favorite meals, still fixing things around the house, still trying so hard to reach you, guilt floods your veins like poison. he doesn’t deserve this. he never deserved any of this. you don’t deserve any of this.
—
weeks pass. the days blur together in a haze of paperwork and meetings with the new lawyer and conversations with nanami that circle the same territory without ever reaching resolution.
the papers finalize. the house is to be sold, the assets divided, the life you built together dismantled piece by piece.
and on the last day, when you both sign the final documents in the mediator’s office, nanami’s hand trembles just slightly as he sets down the pen. you notice because you’re watching him, because you’ve always watched him, because some habits don’t die even when everything else does.
“if you walk out that door,” he says quietly, not looking at you, his gaze fixed on some point in the middle distance, “i won’t stop you.”
it’s not a threat. it’s not manipulation, not some last-ditch attempt to guilt you into staying. it’s resignation, pure and simple, the surrender of someone who has fought and fought and finally accepted that fighting isn’t enough.
you feel the weight of every shared morning, every quiet night, every soft kiss pressed to your forehead when you were half asleep. you feel the memory of safety, of belonging, of coming home to someone who knew you completely.
and you feel the echo of higuruma’s mouth against yours, the spark, the danger, the way he said he wasn’t a better man but looked at you like you might make him want to be one anyway.
you stand there in that sterile office, suspended between past and possibility, between the love you’ve known and the love you might still find.
nanami finally looks up at you, and his eyes are raw, exposed, all the carefully constructed composure stripped away. love is still there, painfully, impossibly alive inside them despite everything.
“do you still love me?” he asks.
your answer catches in your throat, trapped somewhere between truth and fear and the impossibility of the question itself.
because the truth is, you do love him. you love him in ways that will probably never fade, love him like scar tissue, love him like muscle memory.
and you don’t know if that’s enough anymore. you don’t know if love alone can bridge the distance that’s grown between you, if it can fill the silences, if it can make you feel seen instead of simply looked at. you don’t know if the kind of love that anchors you can also set you free, or if anchors are meant to hold you in place forever.
outside, beyond the closed door, the world is waiting. somewhere in it, hiromi higuruma is living his careful, controlled life, probably regretting every moment of weakness he showed you, probably rebuilding the walls you helped him tear down.
and here, in this room, nanami is waiting for your answer, still loving you, still hoping, still fighting even as he says he won’t fight anymore.
you open your mouth to speak.
for a long moment, even you don’t know what’s going to come out.
[ an. this could have been a long one shot full of angst but i don’t have time or energy so im feeding this bullshit to you guys i hope you dont hate it ]
when higuruma had asked you, the gorgeous stranger he'd been ogling for weeks, on a date, he'd been prepared for a rejection, but it had hurt nonetheless. still, he'd been willing to accept your offer of a more casual relationship, as you'd explained dryly that you had other commitments to attend to, and you couldn't prioritize him if you were pursuing a serious relationship. sex was better than nothing to him, was his reasoning, and gosh, his first time fucking you had been a dream.
the two of you were perfectly in sync. higuruma somehow found all your weak spots in one night, made you cum on his tongue and fingers in record time, and sheathed himself inside your warm, slick hole straight after.
you were so wet, twitching and sensitive that it was no secret how much you were enjoying yourself. worse, he made the two of you do it in missionary and held your hands the whole time, so he got to see every bit of your face screwed up in pleasure as his obscenely big cock filled you up.
the idiot didn't even realize how big he was, for fucks sake. freakishly huge, and even your wetness, which had been seeping down the insides of your thighs, hadn't helped much. he had to coax the whole thing in inch by inch, and the whole time he'd been blubbering about how tight you were. it was his fault, not yours. his fault for having such a weirdly big dick.
but once higuruma was sheathed comfortably inside you, you took him perfectly. you milked him with your plush walls until he finished in the condom he was using, and that had been the night he'd come more than he'd ever had before.
after that night, he knew you were made for him. and though you were only sexual partners for now, he knew he was planning to make you his in due time.
which is why he takes his time with you the next time you meet up to fuck.
and he won't shut up.
you're splayed in higuruma's bed, one of his puffy pillows pushed into your face to hide your expression and stifle your embarrassingly loud moans as he pumps his thick, dexterous fingers into your puffy cunt.
"sweetheart, um... are you alright?" he just about croons down at you, curling the two fingers he has in you to push down on your gummy walls and drag the pads back and forth. "you're being so quiet down there... do you not like it?" he spreads you open a little more with his free hand, fingers pumping in and out of you maddeningly slow.
you're biting down on the pillow so hard you're worried it'll tear, eyes rolling back. he's so good at this, annoyingly so. he twists his long fingers back and forth experimentally, seeing if you'll react more to that. you let out a little muffled whimper, clenching your teeth harder to keep your noise to an absolute minimum. you'd hate to give him the satisfaction of knowing he made you even half as amazing as you feel right now.
your eyes burn with tears of pleasure as your first orgasm of the night hits you. he lets out a little gasp, seeing your body quiver as pearlescent juices leak down his wrist and the back of your legs. "already?" he asks curiously. he's not even trying to mock you, he's being sincere. he's surprised he made you came that fast. "i didn't even get my third finger yet."
your face is hot. burning, actually, and you're quivering like a virgin as the shocks of your orgasm remain coursing through your body. "s-shut up." you choke out. "just keep going. i'm fine."
he pauses. at this point, he really wants to see your face so he can get a better read on how you're doing, but he knows you won't listen to him if he tries. "alright..." he says softly, rubbing your swollen folds that are now dripping with your release. "i'm gonna do a third finger now."
"or you could just put your cock in." you snap back, your heart pounding so loud it echoes in your ears. you can barely hear the sound of your own voice.
he shakes his head and stuffs in a third finger to join the other two. you jolt, eyes flying open as he starts to finger you again. "can't yet." he says. "i don't wanna hurt you." the digits curl and press down on your puffy and slick inner walls.
when he finds spots that make you twitch and let out muffled moans, he focuses his attention there, continuously rubbing and pushing the pads of his fingers against the weakest spots inside you to try and and wring another orgasm out of you.
he would keep going, because he loves when he makes you cum so much, but by now, his dick is ready to burst out of his pants, pushing uncomfortably against his zipper and giving a dull throb any time you so much as shift your hips closer to him. he doesn’t want to cum in his pants and disappoint you, so he decides to put an end to the teasing and fuck you for real.
you obviously don’t know his plan yet because your face is still buried in the pillow, but you lift your head when you hear him rifle around for a condom and slip it on his cock. you look back and see how angry and flushed the tip looks, dripping thick precum down his shaft and coating the inside of the condom. he does have such a pretty, big cock. you would tell him if he wasn't so strange.
“hurry up.” you spit impatiently, to which he obeys like a well trained dog. he knows by now it’s best to just do what you say and not fight back or you’ll have a tantrum, scream at him, or even leave. he doesn’t want that. he nods quickly, fixing his hands around your hips, and pulling you up gently before aligning his dick with your drooling hole. “it‘s gonna be a big stretch at first.” he whispers to you reassuringly as if you hadn’t had sex with him before.
“i looked into this stuff. i don’t wanna go too fast and hurt you. that’s why i took so long fingering you.” higuruma swallows and continues to stumble over his words. “im just… on the bigger side, and you’re really tight-”
you cut him off before he can say anything else. he’s so patronizing and he doesn’t even mean to be. so what if it’s a tight fit? you already know, for fucks sake! why does he have to insist on babying you and being so fucking dramatic about everything?
sick of his incessant chatter, you reach back and push his dick inside you on your own, immediately regretting your rash decision as the thick stretch immediately hits you, your pussy struggling to accommodate his size. you fall forward once more as he winces, holding back from finishing in the condom already. “fu-fuck, i told you to wait.” he groans, pushing your hands down because he doesn’t trust you to behave anymore.
he pushes his dick in further, your walls sucking him in deeper helping him fill you up more. he throws his head back and groans, hands digging roughly into your hips. the feeling of your pussy around him, though slightly obstructed by the condom, is indescribable. the only thing that would make this better is having you on your back so he can see your pretty face all screwed up with pleasure, and getting rid of that condom.
he finally bottoms out, heavy balls coming in contact with your ass and pushing into the crevice while his tip shoves into your cervix. you let out a squeal, hands flying back to try and push him back so you don't tear around his big cock, but your pussy has already adapted for him, even if you're not aware of it yet.
you dump your body forward once more, and he braces his hands on either side of your head, trying to catch your eyes. "why are you hiding?" he pants, starting a rhythm once more. pushing forward on his palms, he somehow wedges his cock deeper in you, and you shudder, little rivulets of slick leaking out around his cock and slipping out of the condom, into you.
he grunts at the way you clench around him with each roll of his hips as he grinds his mushroom tip into your womb. "i want to see you," he pants out, followed by a choked gasp of your name as your walls milk his cock. you squeeze even more when he drags his cock over your sweet spot, letting out little muffled whines into the pillow.
it frustrates higuruma deeply that he can't hear or see you because you insist on smushing your face into the silk pillowcase. it's just to spite him since you know how much he likes all your reactions. and he just likes you. he wants to see your pretty face and know if he's fucking you right, but you just won't let him.
gently, he grabs a fistful of your hair and lifts your head as he pulls out of you, pushing back inside you deliberately slow with his eyes fixed on your face so he can see the way your face contorts with pleasure. "you're so pretty," he says, mesmerized, as he continues fucking you, making sure he bottoms out with every thrust as his balls slap into your ass.
you're not even coherent anymore, at this point. your head is spinning and foggy with the amount of pleasure he's inflicting on you, your back arching as he tugs your hair and makes you look into his deep, dark eyes each time he drags his tip over that sensitive spot inside you.
"higuruma, i can't- it's too much..."
"no such thing as too much where I'm concerned," he says, changing the position again to wrap his arm around your throat, bicep pushing up on your chin to keep your head tilted up. no way for you to hide now. he pushes his body onto yours, fucking you in prone with his length dragging through your walls so slow that you can nearly feel the veins twisting along his cock. if only that stupid condom wasn't on. "you can take everything i give you."
"t-take fuck- t-take off the condom, then." you plead, letting out a moan as he pulls back and stretches you out again torturously slow. he pauses, seeing the pleading look in your tear filled eyes, and stops to consider for a moment. but every thought leaves his head the moment your eyes roll back and drool drips down your chin and onto his arm as he stops inside you again, his cock pulsing hotly inside you and putting pressure on your insides.
higuruma pulls out slowly with a wet pop, fisting his cock and pulling off the slick condom and tossing it haphazardly somewhere onto the bed, then pushes back into you raw. "gosh. is that better?" his voice comes out strangled as he fucks you raw. the loss of the condom is immediately apparent. higuruma's cock feels even bigger as it slides in and out of your slick pussy, your juices mixing together and forming a creamy ring around the base of his thick cock, soaking the neat patch of hair on his pelvis.
"y-yeah, better,"
he pushes his chest to your back, grinding his cock into you. he's not even thrusting properly at this point, and with his way his cock is throbbing inside you and leaking steadily, you know he's ready to cum. you know you're close too, but you won't allow yourself to cum while he's looking into your eyes. when you try to look away though, he just tightens his arm around your neck, panting down in your face. "look at me. we're going to cum together, you understand?"
your brain whirls as he starts to fill you up, and you can't hold back anymore, squeezing around him and soaking his cock with your juices while he fills you up with his load, hot cum coating and sticking to your walls.
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(18+) hiromi higuruma has a thing for seeing you cry
he tries to pretend he doesn't. he knows it’s fucked up.
after a day of lost cases, spilled coffee, and interns who couldn’t follow basic instructions to save their life, he craves control more than he could ever admit.
when he walks into the apartment, you were already waiting – draped in his t-shirt, giggly, needy, and looking up at him from where you were sprawled on the couch.
he tells himself he’ll be gentle.
but when his thumbs dig into your lower tummy, right where he's buried inside you – you can’t help but shed a tear. his name comes out in some desperate wail as you cream for him.
and there it is.
a small, wrecked sound.
for a minute, he panics. slows down to an unbearable motion.
until that sound turns into a full whimper.
“no– don’t stop!” you beg, still teary. your nails dig into his forearms.
“i’m okay, i promise.”
the grip on your waist tightens, jaw flexing. “d-don’t lie to me,” he murmurs, clearing his throat. “i need you to tell me.”
“please...” you nod profusely, lip caught in your teeth.
“i want this.”
his eyes search yours, mindlessly pressing against your womb. your lower body jolts as you attempt to avoid the warm, tingly feeling building in your core.
“romi..” you whimper, back arching against the cool tile of the kitchen counter.
his gaze flicks to your swollen clit, eyes glazed over as he takes in just how puffy your cunt looks with the lace of your panties pushed to the sides. and he can’t help but thrust deeper into you.
“a-ah! wait– wait, feels s’good,” you babble, tears welling in your eyes. his lips twitch slightly, a breathy chuckle leaving him as you sob.
“too much, princess?” he finishes calmly. you nod frantically as your walls flutter around him. his thumb swipes under your eye, catching the tear before it falls against your cheek.
she said it feels good.
another tear slips down.
i shouldn’t like this.
this is inappropriate.
your voice cracks around his name again.
control yourself.
he breathes slowly.
and then you make the mistake of bringing his thumb to your lips, and sucking softly.
his breath catches in his throat, lips parting slightly. your lips close around his thumb – warm and deliberate – as you swirl your tongue around the tip.
don’t.
your tongue brushes again, the vibration of a whine taunting him.
don’t react.
and with a pop, he pulls his hand back from your mouth.
not roughly.
just enough.
his thumb drags along your bottom lip before he presses it there, smearing the wetness back against you. “you’re testing me,” he murmurs, hand roaming lower before pressing his palm to your throat.
“don’t...” he rasps, slamming into you. filthy wet sounds fill the room as his thrusts deepen. your vision blurs when he readjusts, bullying your cervix with the tip. you can’t help but clamp down around him – so hard he groans.
“fuck, romi… inside p-please..” you gasp, grinding against his hips.
and for a moment, he freezes – trying to comprehend your demand. his breath stalls, debating whether or not you were serious.
he could stop.
he gets one look of your face – glistening from spit and drool – and doesn’t.
“fuck–,” he hisses, eyes glued to the way he twitches inside you. warmth spreads inside you, cream coating the base of his cock as he pulls out slowly. your hole puckers at the unbearable emptiness.
your vision takes a second to clear.
he doesn’t move immediately.
his chest rises slowly.
once.
twice.
the dazed look in your eyes makes his chest tighten.
“hey.”
your eyes focus again, darting between the wetness gathered under you and him.
It started with waking up late, spilling his coffee all over the counter, and ended with tripping while walking up the stairs to the apartment.
His sigh is heavy when he finally passes the threshold of the door.
You are not home. You are not home, and you were possibly the only person he wanted to see.
He suddenly remembers the conversation you two had this morning.
“I won’t be home till late, don’t wait up.”
Another heavy sigh leaves his mouth.
His briefcase falls to the floor, and his coat follows. He doesn’t care enough to put them in their assigned places.
When he collapses on the couch, the relief he feels is close to heavenly, but it isn’t enough to clear his sour mood.
He knows what he needs; it’s been in the back of his mind since some client at his internship flirted with him, but it’s quickly heading for the front.
His hand reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone.
It’s muscle memory: the way he types in his passcode, opens the app with the blue icon, and switches from his professional account to the one he made with a burner email, the username a key slam.
His pupils dilate as the first few posts come into view.
There was a shit ton of explicit stuff immediately, stuff that usually got the job done for him. A video of a guy holding up a camera to his girlfriend’s face while he fucks her from behind. But he isn’t in the mood for that.
He’s in the mood for a specific genre of pictures. Pictures of women with a certain skin tone, color of hair, and body shape. Pictures of women he could imagine are you.
It was outright wrong of him. You were his roommate, not his girlfriend, not even his friend with benefits. But he could never stop himself from indulging.
He unbuttons his slacks with one hand while he scrolls with another, staying for a few seconds on pictures that show potential, liking them, but moving on.
He scrolls past something that makes him backtrack.
A picture of a woman lying down in bed on her side in a pretty set of underwear, not anything fancy or extravagant. Her body is gorgeous, but it’s not what makes him backtrack.
What makes him backtrack is the heart-shaped birthmark on her upper thigh.
He recognizes it.
A while ago, the two of you went out for drinks. It was the day before your birthday, and you were within your rights to overindulge, so you did. It ended with you throwing up all over your clothes and all over the cab on the way home.
Higuruma had to strip you down to your underwear and throw the clothes in the wash himself because you were too drunk to do so.
He had looked because he couldn’t help himself, and he saw it. The birthmark. It burned into his mind.
And he’s seeing it right in front of his face again.
His hand stalls from where he was plaming himself through his underwear.
He opens the page slowly and begins to scroll, reading every post and connecting all the dots in his head.
The day you two went out for drinks, and he saw the birthmark, the account had tweeted requesting someone to send money for drinks. A few weeks ago, when you got your nails done, the account replied to another saying thank you for nail money.
He moves onto the images page and recognizes your bedroom immediately.
He recognizes your body shape and the length of your hair, too.
You had a secret twitter account, and he found it.
It’s worse than when he pretends the other women in the pictures are you; it’s so much worse. He should close the app and go take a cold shower, but he can’t bring himself to.
His cock hardens as he scrolls through the account, his mind taking care to memorize every picture and every detail you share about your intimate life.
There’s a post about you touching yourself in front of a mirror that sends him over the edge.
He pulls his cock out of his underwear and begins to stroke himself, slowly and deliberately, head lolling to the side as he continues to scroll.
There’s a picture of you in a big t-shirt and lacy underwear that makes him freeze because he realizes the t-shirt is his. One you stole not too long ago on your laundry day when you had nothing else to wear. One you never gave back.
He almost cums then and there, but he stops mid stroke, holding his cock, beginning to try to take slow and even breaths to draw out his pleasure.
He gets in the pattern of it: stroking until he’s almost there and edging himself.
When he finally lets himself go, it’s to a picture of you on the very couch he’s sitting on, stripped down to cotton panties and a bra. It’s intense, more intense than when he’s slept with certain women, and he knows it’s because of you.
His breaths are erratic, and his cum is all over his hands and slacks.
He drops the phone and moves his free arm to cover his eyes, the other still on his cock, stroking himself to overstimulation.
A whimper leaves his mouth as his mind brings up made-up images, more explicit ones than the ones he was staring at moments before.
When he finally stops, he feels a buzz throughout his body and his heartbeat in his legs.
He stuffs himself back in his underwear and sits for a moment, picking the phone back up and scrolling through the account more, all the way until he finds the beginning of it.
The first post is sweet, a polite introduction, which makes a smile graze his face.
He refreshes the page and sees a post made a few minutes prior.
On my break, anyone wanna send me money for a snack? (;
He goes through the motions of anonymously wiring you 50 bucks through the linked website without even hesitating or really thinking about it at all.
After, He turns off his phone and wonders how he’ll face you when you come home knowing what he knows and did.
a/n: it falls flat towards the end but WHATEVER!! here!! have it!!!!!!!
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