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 glowfu on instagram
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.
guys i’m so sorry to say this but exercising and indulging in hobbies rather than scrolling on your phone for 200 hours actually does improve your mood and overall mental health, this has deeply upset me more than anyone
And fuck anyone who said Katsuki only spearheaded the funding of the suit just because he was guilty for middle school. This look and smile is not the face of someone who was obligated to do sth, it's the face of someone who cares about his childhood friend's biggest dream the most. Look how happy he is for him.
Why is it so hard for ppl to understand Katsuki deeply cares about ppl in his life, specially izuku. They still see him as the middle school kid in chapter one🙄
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