#iris!writes

[s-ordid]

⋆˙⟡ Synopsis: You leave your boyfriend for a night out with the girls, and he simply can’t wait until you return. Content: mdni, smut (duh). That’s all, read it if you’re curious Word count: 1.8k Pairing: bf!choso, afab reader

You’d only been out for all of two hours, when your phone was flooded with sudden staccato vibrations — the tell-tale sign of your beloved’s impatience. It’s habitual. You know you promised your friends that you’d be present all evening, but you just couldn’t let the moment pass without alleviating your curiosity. What if Choso had hurt himself? (He hadn’t) Or, what if he had run into some kind of trouble? (He hadn’t) Who cared that you were at a fancy restaurant? You could visit it again another time. Besides, you’d been good the entire time until now! You just want to check in, you convince yourself.

The two of you were obsessed.

After all, you only started dating officially a few months ago, and the novelty of the situation had yet to wear off. Not that you thought the sweet, cherubic boy you called yours, was through with you any time soon. Kamo Choso, over you? Swine would sprout wings and fly before that ever had even the slightest percentage of probability in its favour. The man was wrapped around your little finger. Just the way you liked it. You grinned, the thought eagerly prompting you to fish the over-sized device from your pocket.

MSG from: Cho ♡

Babeeeee When are you coming home? :( I miss u! I know I said I was going to try and nap through it but idk what I was thinking We both know I can’t sleep without u

Instinctively, you chuckle. He’s such a dork. You want to respond as fast as possible, you imagine him pacing a path over his bedroom floor while he waits. You weren’t heartless enough to interrupt the evening by blatantly spending time on your phone away from the group, so you eye the back of the establishment for a quiet reprieve. A quick glance is shared with your best friend followed by an apologetic smile. Then, you proceed to duck away to the bathroom while the rest of the table is wrapped up in desert, furiously tapping all the while.

MSG to: Cho ♡

Dinner’s almost over baby You said you were going to be patient :c

MSG From: Cho ♡

I meannnn. I was? until now anyway

MSG to Cho ♡

be good and I’ll let you eat it tonight

There it was. Pregnant pause – you can sense him thinking, miles away and already in a delectable panic. You loved making him squirm, and the mere thought of him pleading for your touch later that evening was enough to spread a pleasant flush across your cheeks. You loved watching him drool at your feet, pliant and overcome with need.

MSG from Cho ♡

+img it’s going to be really hard for me to wait now…

Now you've done it. It’s the image of his hardening cock, sheathed in the pale blue cotton of the pajamas you’d gifted him earlier that week. He looked good in anything, but the sheer imprint of your boyfriend’s length is making you salivate – you wanted the night to be over so you could get back to more important matters. You put your phone back into your pocket, find your dinner party, and excuse yourself for the evening after a flourish of hugs and goodbye kisses. You could not get home fast enough.

“You’re naughty,” you holler from the entrance of his apartment, spare key dangling loosely in your grasp. You wait just long enough to close the door behind you, before making the declaration, toeing off your shoes by the frayed doormat he refuses to replace. He’s somewhere in the kitchen, when you make your way in. You can hear him clumsily clamouring about, attempting to put things in some measure of order before booking it into the hallway and towards your frame at the doorway. “I just missed you so much!” he whines, his lilting voice closing out into a sullen pout as he wraps his arms around you. The warmth of his embrace envelopes you instantly, and just like that you’re melting against his broad chest.

You don’t even make it to his bedroom.

The sofa in the living room will suffice, after all you really only needed a semi-solid surface to melt into, together. The air is heady with the weight of desire clinging to your every move. “Sit on my face. Please.” His tone is serious, not quite a demand so much as a plea – messily strewn over his pretty features. You loved it when he looked at you like this, all hard edges and loss of control. He’s almost feral, the moment you nod your head – it’s the slightest of motions, but he latches onto it immediately, laying himself flat underneath you as if instinct. Ritual.

Choso is getting antsy. It's literally been milliseconds, but you watch him fidget in distress as you wiggle out of your miniskirt, the sight of him alone sending the slightest ripple of a shiver down your spine. There’s no time for nerves, he’s frantic and as soon as you’re within reach large, calloused palms press flat to your thighs. Slender digits dig into plump flesh as he quite literally drags you onto him. One leg straddling lightly on either side of his head. “C’mere,” he groans, bringing you the rest of the way forward to meet his ravenous mouth.

“Fuuuuck” the sonorous rumble hits your clit with precision,

His tongue is a weapon. Coated and dripping in glistening, diaphanous arousal. He might as well have been born for this, your pleasure is the only thing in the universe that matters to him. And, it shows. Choso is almost holding you down against him, lapping desperately with intermittent little whimpers muffled against your soaking skin. All the while, you’re biting back a string of curses. He knows his way around your body, and that’s a problem.

You’re meant to be the one in charge, here.

But, it’s hard to keep the dynamics straight when this man is gorging himself on your pussy. “You t-aste… sooo… fucking good b-aby. More.” he manages, continuing to hold you in place. Your hips had been involuntarily rolling, carrying you closer to bliss while he worked diligently, tongue swirling around and over the engorged bud. Then his lips wrap around it delicately, with the softest suction. “Mhm!” You can’t help it, the cry is loud and crisp against the otherwise empty silence, and further driving his greedy mouth against you. He wants to carry you all the way through that sweet, sticky release, and you can feel its eve rising, rising.

Then static, white. Comely thighs retreat inwards, laying in tremors against his head. He won’t give you a chance to recover, in fact, he’s already spreading you wide, swathe in the heat of your climax. You can’t make a word, all that escapes your lips are wrought, wavering sobs as your entire body shakes.

“I needed that so bad.” He exhales, still covered in the apex of your gratification. In spite of the literal fornication, this was the sight you deemed pornographic. His dark, insistent eyes. You knew what he needed from you, and were more than happy to provide after the gift he’d successfully delivered just seconds prior. His cock was aching for you now, and he had been good, after all. You move your hovering form south, hands trailing down in subsequence, burning a path of anticipation as lissome digits map his muscular torso.

The next few motions are swift. You were attempting to be a tease - but that rarely ever worked out with Choso. He was a glutton in every sense of the word, when it came to you. And nothing was enough to satiate that pit that only periodically filled in the shape of your body. Once he had you, he wanted more, and more and more. Until you were both sore and achy the next day. Rinse and repeat. The man was insatiable. So, as you sit on your knees, just millimeteres above the throbbing head of his dick –he repeatedly bucks his hips up against you in desperation.

“Please. I can’t keep waiting anymore,” a small breathy simper. Chocolate orbs are fixed on your features while he waits for a response, brows knitting together. You keep quiet, only sinking down a notch to rub faintly against his length. “I dunno…. I don’t think you want it enough.” You push, slowly ebbing back and forth along his cock. “I do! I do, I promise. It’s all I’ve been thinking about since you left, baby. Please!!” He’s almost on the edge of tears when you grant him relief, your hand expertly wrapped around the thick base of his length to hold him steady while you plunge down on top of him.

You take him swiftly, quicker than he’s prepared for. All the air is sucked from his lungs in an instant, and he almost hisses at the sudden enclosing fever between your thighs. Not that you were handling it any better. There’s a loud, obscene moan that melts off your tongue when you first feel him, your body stretching to accommodate the sheer girth. It takes a second of adjustment, then you’re bouncing. It’s slow and calculated movements at first, but then your body takes over, and you’re lost in rapture. It does nothing to help, when his gargantuan hands settle against you — grasping so tightly that you’re sure bruises will be left where they lay.

There’s angry, wet slaps of skin on skin with only the intermediary moan to separate them. Your hips are moving rhythmically, controlled circular motions while he moves his hands to lock around the curve of your ass. He’s guiding you, angling your body to make sure he’s getting as deep as possible. As if this just wasn’t enough, as if, just like always, he needs more of you. It’s met with a quiet gasp, then his lips are on yours, one arm sliding up to wrap around your waist to keep you in place as he slams into you repeatedly.

“Nghh,” the broken cry suffuses into your kiss. The pace is erratic — a tangled mess of tongues and limbs as you rock into each other in unison. There’s tension building steadily in your lower abdomen as you move, your walls flexing around the length of his shaft. You break apart just enough to breathe, his voice low and ragged “I’m gonna cum baby..”

It comes in waves — a building crescendo of stark luminosity painted against the inside of your eyelids. Then your body catches up, and you feel the growing warmth in your core as Choso erupts. You follow him at the tail of this high, folding in on yourself on top of him. The aftermath of ecstasy is always gentle with Choso; you’re still connected, feeling him soften inside of you, with languid kisses left along your jaw and shoulders. You can feel his heartbeat, still quick against your cheek. “I missed you so much.” He mumbles, still reeling from stuttering thrusts.

[s-ordid]

Synopsis: You confess to your childhood friend, Satoru, merely to get it off your chest after so many years of unrequited feelings. Things do not go as planned.

Content: mdni, smut (duh). That’s it, read it if you wanna find out. :)

Word count: 2.8k

Pairing: bff!gojo, afab reader

“……..oh.”

Not exactly the reaction you were hoping for, upon telling the absolute love of your life, and what can now only likely be described as your former best friend, that you love him. The silence is resolute, if you focus for long enough you’re sure you can hear the dull thrum of your heart in your throat. “Sorry.” You scramble, trying to find the words to soothe over whatever emotions were brewing in Satoru’s eyes before he’d even had a chance to name them. “Sorry. It was a joke. A poorly executed one, if that makes it any better.” You shrug, stopping a few strides behind his lithe form, clad in dark wash denim and a plain black t-shirt. You’re unable to look him in the eye just yet. “Hey, I think I’m going to head back now - it’s getting quite late anyway and I should probably get ready for work tomorrow.”

This seemingly sends him off the edge, the lissome young man turning on heel almost immediately after the last word was uttered. It takes all of two steps for him to close the distance between them again, calloused palms decisively placed atop your narrow shoulders. “It’s mutual.” He manages through gritted teeth, icy blue eyes briefly scanning over your dimly-lit features before his head is ducked just enough to press his lips to the curve of yours.

Holy shit.

It was obvious to any onlooker that you’d always had your eyes set on Gojo Satorou, through trials and tribulations you’d seen him through many short-lived romances in the last few years. He never seemed to catch on to your advances, though he hated seeing you with any other men. It was causing so many problems between you, that you’d had to stop seeing him for the last few weeks. His behaviour had devolved into a possessive nature you’d never seen the man display before. But he still wouldn’t stop seeing other women. It was driving you insane, and sending all kinds of mixed signals.

In fact, you’d almost said no to seeing him today, but after a prolonged internal battle, you finally responded to his message – determined, to put a stop to all of this unnecessary tension. The worst that might happen is a rejection (and potentially ruining decades of friendship, but you could deal with the aftermath in the future).

You’d been preparing yourself for failure, in spite of the tiny voice in your head that insisted he had to feel something. Hearing this single sentence of agreement is sending your nervous system into orbit. It’s hard to feel present right now – you’re thinking of all the implications, deciding what aspects of your relationship will need to change now that this is out in the open. And he can definitely tell, his features contorting into some measure of displeasure the moment you step away and break contact. “Hey, this isn’t making me feel very confident in what you just told me… or was it actually a joke to you?” You’ve hurt his feelings now, this much is obvious, but you’re so wrapped up in your thoughts that producing structured sentences feels like a challenge at the moment “Hello?” He waves his hand in front of you. “Wait… Hold on. It’s mutual?” You murmur, almost surprised to hear the words spill out of your mouth again. “Is that not what I just said??? I love you, too. Idiot.”

“Pause, my breathing feels kinda funny,” You manage in response, the half truth pushing past your lips as you stumble back another step.

“Are you sure I don’t need to take you to a doctor?” He’s genuinely worried, you can tell by the crease in his brow, although there’s still an edge of humour in his tone now that you’ve been brought to his home safely. “No, no. It’s fine I’m just in shock, I guess. I didn’t think a confession from me would play out that way.”

“Were you expecting a rejection? C’mon don’t be stupid, our parents have been wanting us together since we were in diapers. That level of familiarity has to mean something, doesn’t it? I know you. You know me. Intimately.” He plops down on the edge of the bed, facing away from your extended frame on the lateral side. The confusion is fading, there’s some level of acceptance now. “Well, yeah.. But their desires for our future are independent of our feelings, y’know.” Slowly, you sit up, putting your weight onto your elbows first, then palms, until you're finally upright. Then, you inch forward, curling up against his broad back, arms loosely draping over his shoulders. “Plus, I wouldn’t say it’s been intimate between us.”

“That can definitely be arranged.” He laughs at the retort, but there’s clearly some truth to the statement, because he brings one hand up to clasp around your wrist, his thumb brushing light circles around the back of your palm. An invitation.

This feels like a game of cat and mouse. Both seeing how far they can toe the line before the other snaps. And though you’re used to his touch by now - it feels different this time. There’s almost an electric undercurrent, clouding even your most level-headed thoughts. Your head is buzzing, and the scent of his cologne is intoxicating, the rhythmic stroking of his thumb being the only thing that grounds you in the moment. Do it. Your head tilts forward onto the crook of his neck, plush tiers stamping a series of open-mouthed kisses along the curve of his jaw, down until you meet the fabric obscuring his clavicle.

There’s a sharp inhale from his mouth, the moment that your lips fall upon his skin, and his head lulls back to expose more of that pale satin throat. “Why not start now, then?” You tease, dragging your hands down his chest slowly, exploratory. He could have been an angel, the way the light curled off brilliant white tresses. “Not fair” He murmurs quietly, leaning into your touch with rapidly building anticipation. Not fair? He was one to talk. This was the stuff of dreams – in fact, you’re sure you’ve seen this exact image before, felt his smooth skin beneath your hungry palms. To think that all of this desire was laid out taut before you, visible - as though it had always been there, waiting for the surface to crack.

He loves you.

It should be enough, but now that you have this you can’t help but want more. And more comes readily, as though he’s reading your mind, Satoru’s hands find purchase along your forearm, bringing your figure around and on top of him with measured ease. You gasp at the disruption, your mouth was still on him just milliseconds before and the empty space that replaces his body comes like a dousing of cold water. It’s all happening too quickly, the shock is replaced by immediate gratification in the form of his lips slotting perfectly between yours. There’s desperation bleeding through in the hungry rhythm of your union, enough to make the normally poised, ivory headed Satoru stumble through the motions of undressing you.

Meanwhile, your thighs are pressed against him and there’s heat building between your legs that’s impossible to ignore. You can feel his cock growing against you, the weight of your hips eliciting a barely-audible moan against your mouth before he pulls away enough to lift your shirt up and away, where it falls forgotten beside your bed. Your hips roll just enough to add some more friction. “Fuck”, he groans, involuntarily bucking up to meet you. “I’ve been waiting for this.” There’s a cocky grin etched on his lips as he looks up at you, cascading lashes illuminated by the shitty night-stand lamp. You worm a hand between you, firmly cupping the print of his length behind the rough denim. “I can tell.” You tease, though you can feel your cunt clench at the mere idea of him imagining this moment, just as you had done for all those endless nights.

Your next movements are swift, as nimble fingers undo the zipper of his pants, jumping up from your spot on his lap to help him wiggle out of the fabric. He’s prompt to return the favour, and now several layers of clothing elapse on the floor, there’s a brief pause as he eyes you, taking in the porcelain clarity of your lovely skin, etching every curve into memory. Blood floods your face a bright crimson as you remember that a mere few hours prior, this man had been your best friend. In an alternate universe the idea stayed just that, and he’d be complaining to you about whatever ex was the latest drama.

But today, he’s yours. This is something you don’t take lightly, and you aim to show him so. Exercising more strength than you were aware of possessing, you push him back onto the bed in one agile movement. There’s moderate surprise creeping onto his angelic features but it only compels you to keep going, hungrily raking thin digits over his thighs. The last barrier between you is his boxers, and they’re quite frankly, not doing the best job of keeping him… contained.

You’d always imagined he would be big – I mean stature alone was enough to have even the most celibate minds wandering. And now you have your confirmation. The waistband of his boxers is curled up tight in your hand as you pull downwards, exposing his girth to the cool air. Then you bob downwards, tongue flat as you drag down his length, and up again to the tip, making wispy swirls as you put your eyes on him. Just like that he’s a puppet on your string, and he knows it. The heat of your mouth is sudden and all-consuming, his reaction entirely involuntary. There’s a quick spasm from his hips, and a delicious moan that follows suit, which only further incentivizes you to continue. “God, baby. Your mouth feels so fucking good.” He groans, his head lulling back in absolute bliss.

There’s still an undercurrent of nerves that carries your every movement – you want to make sure he feels as good as he sounds to you at this moment. You want him to collapse under the weight of his own pleasure, all at the mercy of your hands (and mouth). What you may have lacked in experience, you made up for with enthusiasm, slowly trailing down, then back up again with a light suction, tongue perched up against the underside of his cock. “Mhm that’s a good girl, show me how much you wanted this,” he breathes, left hand lifting to settle at the base of your skull while you work. His hands are thatched into silken strands as he pumps up, unable to keep still any longer.

Was this what he’d been missing out on all this while?

Seeing you in the wavering moonlight stirs something quiet in the depths of his psyche. He’s never been so greedy for anything else in his life, but this – you, so profane in your wicked splendour, so pretty with your gorgeous lips wrapped around his cock. “Mhh, ‘m gonna come” he slurs, and you quicken your pace just a tad, pushing him over that tenuous edge with a glint of satisfaction in your features as warmth erupts, spilling down your chin in thick droplets.

“You’re going to fucking kill me,” he concedes, a glance in your direction already sending him down another spiral. And he’s angry, genuinely fucking mad at his own dick and the way it pulsates at the mere sight of you. It makes you want to giggle, and you might have, if he’d given you a chance to move at all. But just as you’re catching your breath, he’s moving to close the distance between you, turning the tables. You’d not even considered the idea that there would be more. This had been an introduction, a taste test (no pun intended). Afterall, there would be more than enough time to catch up on all the time you missed out on, by awkwardly avoiding your respective feelings.

But, who could blame him for being impatient? You, a burning pyre lit for his worship, your thighs as communion, your cunt a revelation. It should come as a surprise to no one, just how much wetness had pooled in the thin fabric of your panties. Even so, he’s melting at the implication, the silhouette of the mound carefully traced beneath gossamer. He runs a careful digit along the clothed slit before resting it against the sensitive bud of nerves lining the top of your entrance. Your entire body tenses, a pathetic whimper elapsing from plush tiers before you had a chance to stop it. “Oh? You like that, do you, baby?” The way he grins is downright filthy, and it's enough to send your already soaking pussy into overdrive. He’d always been annoyingly arrogant, but at present, it feels appropriate.

Silence isn’t enough of an answer for the sapphire-gazed male, and he’s already upping up the ante, lining up with your eager hole, teasing you with the head of his length firmly against your clit. “Or is this what you’re waiting for? Speak up now doll, use your words.” He commands with surprising authority. It’s enough to make your head spin - you hadn’t noticed you’d been quiet up until now, holding back what little your brain could conjure in pure appreciation of what was going on before your eyes. “Please,” you plead, scrambling around for enough words to string into a coherent sentence “I can’t take it anymore, I need you inside me.” A switch is flipped inside the man you once knew; Satoru was something new entirely.

Consumed by the urge to fuck you stupid.

It’s momentary, but there’s a loss of composure. It’s in the way he rushes to adjust himself, hands immediately latching onto your hips to bring you closer to, and onto him. It’s immediate relief to burning need in your core, but what follows is a slow, sweet guidance; the mirage before cataclysm. Here’s where it really hits. He’s fucking massive, and it’s almost painful to stretch around him at first, but he’s gentle, for both of your sakes. If he moved too quickly, he was sure he’d cum right then, with you moulded to the shape of his cock. The thought makes him roll his hips ever so slightly, and you involuntarily clamp down on him harder.

It’s simultaneous, the pleasure coaxing symphonic, lilting moans from the likes of your both. You’re mentally cursing yourself for being stupid enough to wait until now to confess your feelings. To think, you could have spent innumerable nights like this, his forehead pressed to yours, sweat slicked bodies notched into each other like nested spoons. “You’re so tight baby..” He gasps, nearly choking on his own breath while his hips sputter. Your body has managed to adjust around him, slowly rocking beneath his muscular frame. “More. I want more Satoru, please.” You murmur, lurching upwards towards his neck, to flutter the words against the shell of his ear, before drawing down onto the velvet of his throat.

You’re debased, surely. But, you can’t find it in you to care as he slides both arms up and against the small of your back, pulling you closer to him until the swell of your breasts are pressed flat against his chest. . You’re angled into him in a way that makes it all too easy for him to hit that cavernous depth where that spot sat. It sends your entire body into sweet suffusing tremors.

All the while his thrusts are speeding up. That gentle rhythm is gone, replaced instead by erratic, hungry movements that blur from one into the next. Satoru’s hand is shoved between your bodies, thumb finding purchase against your clit in hurried strokes. You’re almost embarrassed at the way your body is responding to him, the sounds it makes. Falling in tandem with each languid, rutting wave of his cock up into your heat. You’re close now, and your hands know it, with carefully manicured nails sweeping over his shoulders and embedding themselves into supple flesh.

You wanted to leave a mark, a memory of this unholy, ravenous sin.

You’re both too focused on the sensations you bring forth from one another, words have been discarded in lieu of body language. It’s not as though you can even make sense of your own thoughts for long enough to say anything, anyway. And you're enjoying the steady, rapid increase of his ragged breaths. The way he gets lost in you, uncontrolled urges culminating into this singing, dulcet release, you clutch at him, writhing in the abysmal rapture of your orgasms colliding. You’re breathless, the sheets are soaked, and he’s disintegrating on top of you.

You should have told him WAY sooner.

[s-ordid]

⋆˙⟡ Synopsis: your boss makes you stay over time every day this week and it’s starting to feel like bullying. You’re fed up with the treatment and decide to strike back. It ends about as well as one could expect. Content: mdni!!!!, smut (duh). Power imbalance and age gap. That’s all, read it if you’re inclined.  Word count: 2.3k Pairing: boss!higuruma, intern/afab reader

“Again? Sir, respectfully, I don’t see a reason I should have to work overtime today. This is your case, and I’m not on it.” you huffed, arms folded neatly over your chest. This would be the third time in recent memory that you’d been forced to cancel plans in order to stay and get a few extra hours in at the firm. Sure, you were an enthusiastic employee and had worked diligently to earn the favour of your superiors. But, this was crossing a line. “It’s my case, and I want your help on it. The experience will be good for you, and I’m sure your program supervisor won’t complain about you earning some additional knowledge. Exams are soon.” He reminds you, pulling up your schedule on his desktop.

He was attentive to a fault, you were sure he knew more about your graduation requirements than you did, at this point. It’s infuriating – you’re really starting to loathe this man. At first, his cold demeanour had pushed you to labour even harder, in order to receive his praise. After all, you did love a challenge. But, it had long since gone past the point of being enjoyable. You wanted your time back, and he was stubbornly in the way of that. “I suppose I don’t have an option.” You concede, slumping back down into the chair across from him. He beams, triumphant. You’re certain that you’ve never seen the man crack a smile before now, and the realisation makes your vision flare red.

It’s on purpose. He’s been keeping you here, on purpose.

You’ve always had an inkling, but continuously played it off in front of your friends as a joke, giggling as you declared “He is SO obsessed with me.” Maybe you should have been taking those claims more seriously. Or, maybe you could tease him about it. You decide on the latter, with Machiavellian malice embedded in even the most innocent of your smiles. “Say, Higuruma-san… Don’t you have a girlfriend you should be spending your time with instead, or something?” You’re careful not to meet his gaze as you idle about with the mess of paper strewn about his desk. Slowly, you thumb through the documents, before stacking them in groups. The silence is weighted between you, though there are trailing sounds of the remainder of office occupants filing out of the building as the work day comes to a close.

“I don’t discuss personal matters at work,” his rebuttal is curt, his tone even and revealing nothing beyond indignation. “Just saying” your words trail out in a sing-song fashion, further driving the stake between you. His annoyance is growing – you can tell by the way his square jaw is set, but something about this image makes you want to goad him further. “If I had a partner I’d be dying to get back to them… Even if it is at the expense of an intern missing out on some well-deserved education.” The wan smile that lines your lips manages to push him, ever so slightly, off that tenuous edge. Typically your boss was perfectly composed, never letting his pristine image slip, save for the occasional dry joke at someone else’s expense.

However, at this moment his sights were only set on you. Thin lips had morphed into a completely flat line, his onyx eyes lined with something you could only describe as savagery. You start to wonder if you’ve bitten off more than you can chew, when you hear his chair scrape the floor. The sudden, dissonant sound is enough to lift your gaze off the flurry of files before you, and onto his now, standing frame. Sometimes you forget the disparity of your situation. This was one of those moments, Higuruma Hiromi is absolutely towering over your sitting form. You want to stand, but the muscles in your legs have gone slack, and your face loses its colour in quick succession. It’s not like you to feel nervous, but you’re toying with something dangerous.

That much becomes clear, when he cements himself in front of you, the few inches of mahogany the only thing that aided in keeping you sane. He’s too close for comfort and your facade is evaporating rapidly as the seconds pass. “Good thing we’re both single then, huh? Nothing else to rush home to.” He slams his massive hands down roughly onto the flat surface between you, as if to drive the point home.

“Get back to work.”

You didn’t want to admit it, but unlocking this rugged, restrained version of your superior is igniting something within you. This unspoken thing that lay between you was beginning to threaten your languid self-control. You couldn’t sit still, and he was starting to notice. “Alright. I think it’s time for a break, I feel like you’re starting to get antsy on me. Take five.” Just like that, he’s ushering you out with a dismissive wave of his hand. “No, no - I’m fine. I’m just trying to keep myself awake” it’s a lie, but it manages to pass over his head without much of an additional fight. “Mh, whatever. It’s your time.”

Except, it isn’t.

You’ve been kept here against your will up until the last couple of minutes that were suddenly of interest to you. You were there on his time, and better yet, at his command. The building had been effectively vacated, save for the two of you. And typically, this was normal. But tonight, there’s an added layer of heat building steadily in the already stuffy room. Higuruma-san was back in his seat, legs crossed leisurely as he leaned back in his chair to examine yet another stack of papers. Every so often, when your gaze lifted, you found him staring at you. Any other man might have backed down, but he kept his leering eyes steady.

“Why do you keep giving me busywork?”

There it is, the loaded accusation. He really had no reason to hold you back and he knew it. There were plenty of other interns assigned to menial tasks; after all this was a large firm, they could afford to take on a couple students. But you had been the sole victim of all of these late nights since your arrival. And each and every time, it was he who requested you stay. “You need the extra practice.” He states blankly.

“Bullshit. I’m at the top of my class. This is basically a favour to the firm, and I already have more than enough hours to meet my requirements.” You throw back, a tad irate. Plus, what could you possibly learn from this position other than power dynamics? There was nothing that school hadn’t already taught you, and it felt as though the only thing that was continuously rubbed in your face was your lack of “professionalism”. Better known as your refusal to serve strictly as an errand girl for all the grimy men in your workspace. They wanted to make you submit.

“I just want to know if I’m being punished based on some arbitrary rule you and your colleagues have drawn up for the interns.” You really couldn’t help yourself, there’s venom coating your tongue, egging you on. “Or should I be complaining to HR?” Head cocked in feigned innocence, you proceed to stand, moving over to his side of the desk. There’s sweat beading by his carved brow – was he nervous? It was difficult to discern, but you’d never been quite so close to him before, in spite of many evenings spent alone. “None of that. I needed help on certain action items and you’re the most capable. Simple.” He punctuates, with more emphasis than necessary. The word falls like a knife.

You push onwards.

“You flatter me, but I’m sure I’m not any more capable than actual practising attorneys, sir.” He swallows thickly, and you eye the way he tenses with mild fascination. What do we have here? Your teeth sink directly into the plush of your lovely lower lip in order to bite back a chuckle. Things were starting to line up a lot more clearly. “Sure, you could say that. But wouldn’t it make more sense for me to burden an intern with something this labourious, than take up the time of a busy co-worker?” This earns a frown from your direction, you hated it when he made actual sense. And you were just starting to have fun!

“Ah, there it is. Gotcha. I’m worth less than a full-time employee. Understood.” You’re deliberately twisting his words in an attempt to wear down that staunch attitude. You’re rewarded with a beautiful scowl perched atop his wonderfully stern features. There’s tension in the air that threatens to snap at the drop of a hat, you’re not sure if he wants to slap you, or fuck you. Maybe both. Maybe you’d like both. “Do you want to piss me off?” You feel your core spasm.

“Maaaybe.”

You’re not sure how control was lost. One second, it was easily resting in Higuruma-san’s capable hands, the next your delicate fingers were deftly wrapped up in the silk of his tie as you pulled him to you, your lips colliding in blazing harmony. His hands travel across your thighs in frenzied, blind hunger before grasping firmly to lift you up against him. There’s no time for words, all communication is carried out in the movement of bodies. It might be for the best, anyway. You’re not sure that you could have conjured a single cogent thought, even if your life depended on it. How could your blinding rage culminate into this?

It goes against every fibre of your rational being. Yet, it feels precisely right. The one thing you needed to make all these late nights worthwhile. It's not as if you’re stupid – you know this man is attractive, if only shielded by that deplorable reticence he refuses to discard. Clearly, he’s not a robot, he understands the gravity of your desire coaxing him into your arms. It would have been easier if he’d just admitted to finding you irresistible, you thought. All of this talking could have been circumvented by the grip he currently had on your ass.

You wouldn’t have minded staying after hours for this. You think, as he twirls you around with one swift movement of his forearm. He’s got you bent over the amber table-top before you can protest (not that you would have), when you’ve got the intoxicating swell of his growing shaft against your bottom. “Is this what you were after?” His voice is gravel against the smooth shell of your ear, and you can feel a shiver run clear up your spine. “Isn’t that my line? You’re sneaky, Higuruma-san, I didn’t think you were into cliches.” You murmur, pushing your hips back against him enough to ease a low groan from the man currently shifting to unzip his pants behind you.

There’s no sweetness here, no stuttering firsts, or awkward intimacy. All that seeps into the space around you is pure, unadulterated wrath wrapped in passion’s murky shadow. Toeing the line between hate and love. There you were, straddled between. Perhaps, this is why you avoid undressing altogether — it becomes a burden, another hurdle to cross on the way to each other. Much like your titles, your jobs and even your age, all of which had previously been factors in Hiromi attempting to steer clear of you. Much like these aforementioned deterrents, he claws his way through your clothing; starting with your skirt. The fabric of which is gathered roughly around your thighs, all the way up until it’s coiled loosely around your waist. Next, he tackles the sheer black tights, saving no sympathy for this easily-replaceable garment and easily tearing a large hole through the gusset, enough to access your panties, and effectively pull them aside.

He feels corrupt, watching himself disappear inside of you. You, in turn, are coming undone around him — it’s a deplorable kind of relief you gain in feeling his cock throbbing through the veiled pressure of your walls. The adjustment is miniscule, then he’s moving, rocking slowly at first then morphing into a strict, unrelenting tempo.

There’s wetness pooling between you, causing deafening reverberations as your skin splits and reconnects. It has you thanking whatever god might be out there, that no one is present to lay witness to the obscenity. Better yet, that no one can see just how much you enjoy it. Your face is flushed a pleasant rosy pink, and you’re having trouble keeping your eyes straight in their sockets as he mercilessly plunges into your heat. You’ve been about as quiet as you’re capable of, still wary about potential cameras recording your head-splitting moans.

But, this is where you start to fall apart. You’re getting close and you can feel it, your back arching and pushing you up closer against him. Instinctually, one hand flies toward your swollen clit where your ring and middle finger rub vigorous little circles against the sensitive bud. “Fuuuuck that’s hot. Play with that pussy for me baby, that’s right.” he instructs and you follow like the good girl you want to be for him. He’s struggling to keep his sweltering peak at bay in between the sight of your honey-soaked cunt taking his cock from tip to base, and the sporadic sight of your fingers fast at work. He was a dead man.

There was no use delaying what was inevitable, especially as he feels you contract around him in building release. If only he could cum inside, feel your climax trembling to a halt as he rides out his own in tandem.

“I’m gonna cum.” Nope, he had to pull out now.

The thought follows through in erratic floundering motions, first pulling back from you then continuing to pump with his hand until silky pallid drops erupt onto your skin. The warmth is fleeting, but grants you a morbid sense of satisfaction. His weight slumps forward just enough so his forehead falls flat against the blade of your shoulder. For some reason, you almost want to laugh.

“Soooo… does this mean I get a promotion, sir?”