thinking about higuruma sending you a video of him unbuckling his belt just to tease you. suggestive drabble, fem!reader.
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It’s a low shot of his abdomen, cropped just below the shoulders so you can’t quite catch the way his expression darkens, the heady look swirling in those tired eyes. His thighs spread a little as he eases back onto the desk he’s leaning on, the movement indulgent and unrushed. His hands creep into frame equally as slowly, and your eyes are glued to them in an instant - the shine of his cuff links, the veins jumping over his knuckles as thick fingers tease the buckle open nice and slow.
The video is quiet, just the sound of his steady breathing and the gentle clink of the belt, heavy metal against buttery leather. You strain your ears just to catch the way his breath hitches a little when he finally unclasps the button, then comes the teasing whir of the zipper as he drags it down achingly slow, tooth by metal tooth. The entire ordeal is a glorified strip tease - a HR report waiting to happen if the murmur of muffled cold calls in the background is anything to go by.
It cuts off just before the reveal, gifting you nothing but a passing glimpse at the bulge pressing through the dark briefs he has hidden beneath his slacks, and a slip of milky skin where his dress shirt has ridden up with the movement. He sends it alongside a simple text message: ‘I’ll be home in two hours. Show me just how patient my sweet girl can be, okay?’
synopsis | in which you, an english teacher, can't seem to find time to spend with your equally busy lawyer boyfriend, hiromi higuruma. and the stress and distance almost breaks you both.
content | MDNI. fem!reader. lawyer!higuruma x english teacher!reader. established relationship. porn with SO much plot like wow why'd i write so much. slight angst. dry humping. fingering. (brief) praise AND degradation because mommy marce likes to write both. masturbation (m!receiving). pinv. lots of fluff as well, my babies.
word count | 10.6k (because i fucking love hiromi higurma)
It's not often that you go toe-to-toe with the criminal defense attorney Hiromi Higuruma—in fact, it's so rare it might be considered unfeasible, an anomaly of sorts.
Not because you can't. Rest assured, Higuruma's profession had nothing on your natural ability to convince and persuade. You were one of those kids who were considered "beyond their years," an "old soul”. Many times, you had been told you should be a lawyer, which was just a kinder way of calling a child a 'bitch' before the child actually knew what that word meant. You had a fierce stubbornness that had yet to be shaken. But it wasn't like that with Higuruma. You seldom argued because you never really had to. Things fell into place with a man like him, you both worked in tandem, like two slightly differing dances moving around each other with a musical kind of ease and care. Dancing, and dancing, and dancing in spinning circles that sometimes gave you whiplash. And it's anything but argumentative.
Truthfully, the two of you might be too like-minded to argue. Nothing is ever morally confusing between you, all of your ideas about the universe make perfect sense to the other. Your few objections were over the best Christopher Nolan film and the best band from childhood, but nothing intense, nothing ridiculous that made you want to rip your hair out of your head. Things were right and well, and if they weren't, it was nothing a few deep breaths couldn't fix.
And perhaps you're both just too busy to disagree with each other. You were an English teacher, constantly grading and revising papers, tutoring after school, hosting office hours before school, receiving emails at godforsaken hours of the night, and responding to them, because you're awake, too, putting in scores and notes until the sun comes up. And of course, Higuruma can't help but pick up the hardest cases known to man, for his own peace of mind. He puts his entire soul into his work, slaving away over files, pictures, anecdotes, and charges, hoping to save as many people as he can. His head is always buried in some textbook, as if he'd need to fact-check anything—things like fairness and honor come to him with ease, like it flows through his veins.
You're a Hiro, you'll sometimes joke with him, at night when nothing's actually as fun as it would be otherwise. And he says that you are too, and you believe it, sometimes, in your own roundabout sort of way. A defense lawyer and an AP literature teacher, saving the day, one crumbled-up paper at a time.
And given that you've been together for almost a year now, there really hasn't been any time to argue immensely.
Until the other day.
You'd both made lots of time.
Often, when things as rare as this happen, people are quick to say they don't know how it got to that point exactly. Not you though. You can picture it very quickly in your mind, just last Sunday, the slow start of something terrible, brewing.
You'd both had something stuck up your asses all week, notable in every call and text, stressed and stretched out beyond comprehension, and you both were handling it, individually, in your own sense of the word and as best you could. You'd meant to have dinner Friday, like you usually did, but you'd had so many meetings about essay revisions and had to get them done before the weekend started, lest you put them off too long. So, you postponed to Saturday, you got all prettied-up early that morning, the eagerness seeping over from the night before. Dinner was exactly what you needed after such a horrifyingly long week, and then all of sudden, Higuruma's asking to reschedule, too, caught up researching this new case he'd just planned to pick up, an emergency of sorts. That phone call had ended very quickly, the man rushing off while he was still in his office, and you, on the other line, in his favorite dress, with your hair done up and mascara smudging at your waterline. But it wasn't anything to cry about. You'd rescheduled too, and you were busy people, it was a busy week for you both. Your tears were only so readily exposed because, usually, when a week had been especially hard, Higuruma had a way of making it all better.
But no matter, Sunday might've been good for you both.
Until it wasn't—Higuruma had yet to call since Saturday, yet to respond to your texts, and Sunday went by painfully slow, just as the rest of the weekend did. Still, there was no time to pout about it, you had classes to teach, kids to tend too, and you were sure once he explained the case the next time you both saw each other, there'd be thousands of details to pour over. That would hold you over until Monday. Until he finally texted back, you were starting to itch at the thought of him never texting back, though that had never quite been an issue before. You're rushing back home after work, caving before he can.
you: I know you're busy with the new case, but I would really like to revisit our date plans soon! Hope work is going well!
It's simple, you think, and true, give or take a few words that would make it sound just as urgent as the situation did in your head. The days were starting to blur together, and your desire for his company was growing stronger by the second.
hiro <3 : So sorry I've been MIA! Still busy with case, can't wait to tell you all about it
You're quick to snatch your phone up, quick like a school girl when you hear that ping. You smile at his name on the screen, shoveling sad leftovers into your mouth. You'd just gotten off of your period, and the after effects were still tumbling over—you could eat a horse, amongst other things.
hiro <3 : Will definitely revisit date soon. Will call later.
You sigh at the message, scrolling through the rest of your texts with him to fill the slowly growing hole in your heart. You think you might be going insane, hanging out with a bunch of high schoolers during your lunch breaks. You miss him in ways that are potentially unspeakable, and it irritates you the way hunger does. You remind yourself that you're a grown woman, seeing a grown man. You both have responsibilities, hobbies, things that you have to do with your time other than see each other. You take this thought with you to bed and hope it soothes you the way his hands do under the covers when it gets cold.
Your date plans are finally revisited on Wednesday. The dinner has been rescheduled to Sunday—his place, he cooks the main course, you both help with dessert, and you're in bed at a reasonable hour to get ready together for work the next morning. It's your dream night, really, and you would be absolutely jumping for joy if it weren't going to take so fucking long.
But you're patient, and people need you, and all you have to do is wait a few more days before you can fall into the arms of the love of your life, and weep, if necessary, into his collarbone. Just a few more days of 'hope your day has been good' and 'can't wait to see you,' it's a little grotesque how quick the back-and-forths are, but you suppose you'll manage. Classes will still go as planned, and you're on the brink of having a panic attack from the way this month has basically kicked your ass while you're already down, but never mind that! Sunday is around the corner, creeping closer tauntingly, and the dress you'd worn last Saturday is laid out so particularly by your vanity, it's almost provocative. The waiting is almost unbearable.
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Sunday is here.
You've taken your own car like you always do, blasting all sorts of 2000s dad rock to keep you awake and hype you up even a little for the nerves that are speedily coursing through your veins every five seconds. Your fingers drum against the steering wheel, steering into his driveway by memory alone. This is the very moment where things start to blur for you. Higuruma lets you in, leads you to the dining table. He usually looks you over like you're a piece of meat, but tonight, your eyes both bore into each other, tired, restless, and not thinking about a whole lot else other than sleep. His kiss to your temple is tender but quick as he seats you both, pours your glasses of wine, and the conversation is simple, unimpressive as you both try not to nod off and roll your eyes as you recount the terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad week you've both seemingly had.
You're quite sure you started the argument. Maybe those adults should've called you at least something a little closer to a bitch in childhood, would've knocked that stubborn tone out of your mouth—but here you are, and the stubborn tone is here, potentially unappeasable. You make an off-handed comment about his refusal to see the world around him outside of his work. It was meant to be quick, witty, and instead came out as some snide remark that you'd been biting back for a week and a half now. Higuruma makes a rebuttal about his work being important, as if you wouldn't understand what important work really means. More words—no longer mumbles, you would say—about differing schedules, the intensity of work, and suddenly, you don't know what it means to be busy, or what it means to have such intense, soul-sucking responsibilities.
Suddenly, you start to remember all the guys you'd dated before Higuruma, and that feeling of deja vu makes you kind of sick. They're always the same, they always say the same thing.
Those who can, do. Those who can't...
Teach.
Now, Higuruma doesn't say it outwardly (he would never, lest he see that terrible pout your lips make when someone tells you the education system is in ruins), but as he's washing the dishes and you're drying them, putting them away, he says something about your high school days, how you'd once mentioned wanting to be a pediatrician when you were sixteen before landing on the teaching route. He notes that you said you wanted to be a professor once, too, and the sharpness in his voice says that either of those paths would've been even slightly more respectable than what you're doing now.
It is so hurtful, the concept of being silently demeaned by someone with a quote-unquote "more sophisticated" profession than you.
So, after a not-so-thoughtful pause, you say: "At least teachers are able to understand people. Lawyers, on the other hand...Maybe if you understood people better, you'd actually be able to defend them."
God, the fucking horror.
As soon as you say it, you regret it—Higuruma is a wonderful defense attorney, the best you'd ever seen, and all he ever did was save people, and save people, and save people, in the most passionate way possible.
This is when the yelling match begins. You remember it, crystal clearly, but this is also the part you'd been trying to block out.
"You think you understand the world around you more than me—you're surrounded by the dumbest adolescents in the entire country, every fucking weekday—"
"And your clients are all guilty—you just love to defend the absolute worst human beings on the planet, solely on the basis of playing devil's advocate, it's useless work!"
"Really? You wanna talk about useless work?"
"Don't."
"No, no, we don't even have to talk about the pay—which should be a tell-tale sign that whatever the education system is doing is not really people's top priority right now—"
"I make enough."
"Yeah, enough to hold you over until they finally come to the life-altering conclusion that maybe, just maybe, we don't actually need the teachers who went through their secondary education major with a ring by spring and a shotgun wedding—"
"I have an English degree just like you do, Higuruma, don't you ever pretend that I'm some sort of fucking bird-brained idiot—"
"And maybe you should've had your little shotgun wedding, because when they do fire all the teachers, you'll need someone with a job to pay those bills of yours—a fallback marriage for your fallback job!"
"And for you, sir, a loveless marriage given your profession of choice."
Ah, you've won here. It's not satisfying like it usually is, but you've won. And you're about to really give the final blow:
"To marry you...with a temper like that...and words like yours...while you hide behind your work of justice, and integrity, and grit. My profession can absolutely be fuckall useless. So long as you admit that you and yours are soulless."
Absolutely brutal, you two.
He's got this shot-dog look on his face as he stares at you from the other side of the kitchen. He's in the same predicament you were in just before, remembering all the exes, all the dates, and the horrifying feuds that left him sitting alone at his dining table. Wondering if maybe his job really had kept him from all the "important" things in life. You'd never made him feel that way, not in the entire time you'd known him. And the thought of you leaving him at that dining table alone again was making him feel like he was going to puke.
"You don't mean that," he whispered, hand running through his hair as a nervous tick.
You stand firm, pretending you're not secretly faltering. "You do."
"No—"
"You're not obligated to like my job, Higuruma, but it is my job." You grab your purse and your coat, heels clacking against his frigidly cold floor. "Which I have to go to tomorrow, so...I'll see you later this week."
Higuruma lunges forward before his words do, grabbing your wrist before you can pass him completely. "No, it's way too late—or- dark, it's pitch black out, and we've both had enough wine to be inebriated." His thumb rolls along your wrist bone, tugging you away from the entry, taking your coat from your arm despite your protest. "Let's just...let's just go to bed like normal, and we can..."
You stare at each other for a moment before he takes your purse too, leaving briefly to set your things on the kitchen island. You let out a heavy sigh through your nose, looking between the hall and the door. You could just leave, you're not that drunk. And you think maybe a car crash might actually be better than sleeping in this house with Higuruma, with all the aggravation that's stuffing up the place. If you told your girlfriends about any of this, they'd probably throw real life tomatoes at you for staying, but...
Higuruma steps back into the hallway, hands on his hips. "Please..." he sighs, motioning to the other side of his house where his room awaits you both.
You slip your shoes off at the door, shuffling past him to the bedroom. You stay.
The night is so dully unimportant, it's not even worth talking about. You both shower, separately, given the still festering tension. He gives you some pajamas of yours that you'd left sometime before, during some other, much better sleepover (the shirt is his, and he apologizes for it very quickly before his face contorts as if he doesn't really know why he'd apologize for you wearing his clothes, especially when he liked it so much, every single time you did it). There are very few words exchanged as you both get into bed, and when he turns his bedside lamp off, you can feel him staring at your back, your back which faces him and will face him the entire night to save you from showing off the tears brimming your eyes (God, you really had been waiting to cry all week and this was kind of the perfect moment for it). You hear him sigh from behind you as he lifts the covers, adjusts them over you just slightly. His fingers brush down your spine before they fall to his side again. And he turns too.
Neither of you gets much sleep that night, and for all the wrong reasons.
You wake up inexplicably early, at least two hours before you and Higuruma usually do. His arm is draped across your mid-section, finding itself in its rightful place sometime during the four or five hours of sleep you both had actually gotten. You watch him for a moment next to you. He is so peaceful like this, calmer than usual, if it were at all possible. His eyes are able to rest, and he allows his brows to drop and relax. The muscles of his back aren't so tense as they are in his dress shirt and coat. He breathes through his perfect nose, face half-stuffed in his pillow. You lean over to kiss his temple out of habit, freezing when you think it might've woken him. He stays sleeping, still snoring lightly. You carefully slide out of his hold, fingers grazing his own against the sheets. Despite the words you'd both thoughtlessly shared with each other just hours ago, you're still...very much in love with him.
You gather your things and leave silently, texting a quick goodbye. Better to get ready at your own place, you think to yourself. Tensions might still be high, and you hate greeting your students with the attitude of the night before.
On the drive home and while you get ready for work, you check your phone maybe a dozen times, just in case he wakes up and wants to speak. The reality is, there's really no time to speak about the night before. If anything, a conversation might be had this Friday or next Sunday, when you're able to see each other again, and by then, you would hope this had all blown over. You really did pray it would all blow over. You hadn't meant a word of what you said to him last night. And maybe he had, but...well, that tight feeling in your chest lingered, made you seasick, and you kind of wished you'd never gone to dinner in the first place.
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"Miss L/N, do we really have to read this chapter, or can I look it up on SparkNotes for the test?"
"Miss L/N, I can't read what's on the board, can you write it bigger?"
"Miss L/N, I finally turned my homework in—yes, it's two weeks late, but I told you, my dog lowkenuinely ate that shit—THING, he ate that thing!"
"Can I go to the bathroom, Miss L/N? No, my boyfriend's not in the hall, I literally swear on my dead grandma, I swear."
"Miss L/N can I show you a TikTok edit? Do you know Zuko from Avatar? No, not the one with the blue people."
"I literally love you, Miss L/N—how is that inappropriate? I genuinely love you bro—Miss, I meant Miss, I literally said Miss."
The day had been dragging on for what seemed like centuries, and despite having felt like you'd lived a hundred lives since you'd gotten to work, it was only midday, just after lunch, kids filing in and already asking questions before the bell had even rung. You were rewriting the agenda on the board (a little large this time, so it could be clearer for people in the back), and two of your students, girls who were always in your office during lunch, were sitting at your desk, messing with your little photos and trinkets, asking if you'd ever wanna hang out socially. A few other boys tried joking with them on the other side of the desk, asking them about plans for this weekend and having conversations that you'd have to shut down in about .3 seconds.
"Girls, please go to your seats, and take your friends with you," you say, shooing them off as you readjust your belongings. You shake your head at the boy walking up to your desk now that it's free. "No, Yuji, you can not grab snacks from my office again."
"But- but- but, Miss L/N!" The pink-haired boy has got a big pout on his lips, hands clasped together to beg. "I won't even take a lot, I promise!"
"Last time you said that, you brought six other friends from other classes—students I don't even have." There are a couple of students in the back of class asking you to repeat the number you just said, and you wave them off, shooing Yuji away too. "Maybe some other time, kid."
"If you do, I can get you a date with my uncle, Miss L/N, he's super cool!"
"Miss L/N doesn't need a date. I hear he's got a pretty boyfriend."
Your brow cocks as you look to the rest of the class, many of them gossiping and giggling about your personal and romantic affairs. The kids are staring fondly, waiting eagerly, whispering in each other's ears about what they think your pretty boyfriend looks like and if he might be better than Yuji's uncle. "I do not," you deny hesitantly, printing out some extra papers and handouts for the class. You’re really not supposed to talk about your personal affairs with your students, and while you’d love to shout about your love for Hiromi from the rooftops, but there’s a certain level of workplace privacy you have to uphold. “And you guys shouldn't be talking about it if I did have one either."
"Then who's the guy that brings you lunch on the first Wednesday of the month?"
"The one who usually drops you off on Mondays."
"And picks you up on Fridays every now and then."
"And he calls during your lunch break sometimes—we can tell because you smile at your phone really big and blush a little."
You scoff, hands on your hips as you properly assess the class. All eyes are on you and your shocked expression now, waiting for your prompt answer that they know you're not allowed to give. "You guys are ridiculous—I do not blush, first of all, and that...man is—"
"Is he the guy that's standing at the door right now?"
You all but freeze in your spot, blank-faced as you turn to the open classroom door. Higuruma is stood, perhaps just as frozen, if not more, in the doorway, taking up an unnecessary amount of space with his height and stature. Holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers, and two little lunch bags—one, which he carries every single day without fail, and the other, which he bought for you to keep at his place, since you were always forgetting yours at home. His eyes were wide (as much as they could be, those droopy, Eeyore eyes he always wore, that stared lasers into your fast-beating heart). His eyes dart between you and your students, nodding carefully to greet a silent hello.
"Hiro," you breathe, setting your markers down carefully. You clear your throat, fingers tapping against your pants, thinking of literally any words, but they're just not coming to you. You turn on your heel quickly to face the class, putting on a bright, happy face. "Class," you clasp your hands together as you take small steps towards the man. "This! Is my good friend, Mr. Higuruma—let's all say hi to Mr. Higuruma, yeah?" You glance at him briefly, his eyes only meeting yours for a second as he greets the buzzing class and their bright hellos. You place your hand on his coated chest, patting softly to soothe. "Um, Mr. Higuruma is here...because..."
He brings his voice down to a whisper, shaking his head apologetically. "I thought you had lunch—I totally fucked up the times—"
"You can't say 'fucked up' in my classroom—" You turn back to the class, speaking at your normal volume again, “Mr. Higuruma is just here to bring me a little late lunch—"
"Are you a math teacher, Mr. Higuruma?"
He looks at you with furrowed brows before turning back to the students, stuttering a little as you take the flowers from him, your body trying to shuffle further in the entry. "Uh, no. No, I'm not, I'm—I was actually an English major, in college, like your teacher...here, that's how...Miss L/N and I met." You remember it clearly, the two of you in undergrad, the only English majors in your friend group, never really that close until after graduation, when your group had met up and the secretly charming Higuruma had gotten even more charming. He thanked you for essentially helping him pass Modern Philosophy and asked if he could repay you sometime. Over dinner. The rest is a blur, the rest of your lives up until this moment. The students whisper amongst each other some more, nodding and debating what questions to ask next. You hope maybe they'll be bored by his overall drab tone of voice, but even you were watching him with sparkly eyes.
To be fair, you were always watching him like that.
"But, um...Miss L/N was always much better at reading and writing than me—she's still revising my papers for work, it's a gift I think." He peeks over at you for a second, straightening his posture to instill a bit more confidence in both of you. "She's... your teacher is a real gem at that kind of stuff—you guys are really lucky. To have her." Oh, your heart practically flutters at his words, and now you're shifting in your stance, trying to stay calm and collected. But of course, it's near impossible for the both of you. He clears his throat after a few more too-personal questions. "What are you guys learning about?" You look at him with wide eyes, and he shrugs, unsure of what to say otherwise.
"We're reading All-American Boys."
"And writing papers about social injustices—Miss L/N says one of her, like, best friends is a lawyer, so we're working on, like, injustice, and our rights and stuff."
Higuruma looks at you for a long while, rendered speechless. There's a soft silence between you two as you wait for him to frown, or smile, or nod, or blink—literally anything other than this staring contest you both are having in front of your impatient and keen class.
"Miss L/N says it's been her favorite unit so far."
You smile softly, shyly—and would you look at that, Higuruma does the same, nodding at the students and their words! His hand drifts to your shoulder, gently rubbing the bone of it with his thumb.
"Don't you have to go get those papers you printed, Miss?"
You turn back to the class, slightly unsettled by their mischievous, plotting faces. They were giggling again, staring at the increasingly intimate scene before them. Somehow, you and Higuruma had drawn even closer to one another, his hand on your back, your hand on his shoulder, and you could probably hear his breath next to you if you were quiet enough. And surely, your face was glowing with some sickly sweet sort of joy, because that's how you always looked when Higuruma was around, you couldn't see to help making a fool of yourself.
And now, your students were giving you a way out.
You glance at the man next to you briefly before turning your sweet gaze back to the class. "Yes! Yes, actually, I...I do—and I want to catch up with Mr. Higuruma here, in my office, so. So...alright—I shouldn't be long, guys, I'll have the agenda—"
"Yes, Miss L/N, we follow the agenda on the board until you get back."
"And we'll save our questions that we have until you get back."
"And I'll make sure everyone behaves until you get back."
Oh, God bless the higher powers that gave you this absolutely angelic group of kids.
You try your best to hide your smile as your students band together, getting into groups, arguing about who gets to use their computer, setting up spaces for the peer-reviews that need to be done, and you’re slowly pulling yourself and Higuruma out of the room before this wonderful dream is cut short by a question about the agenda or someone asking to use the bathroom. You’re both smiling giddily like the school children you teach, sneaking him into his office. You both take a long, deep breath, standing before each other. Alone now. That giddy feeling wears off a little and the sickly taste in your mouth that you’d been having since you woke up this morning resumed, inflaming every good thought you’d just procured in your mind.
This is the man that you are in love with. This is also the man who said your job, which he is standing in, was useless work. This is the man whom you practically berated for half an hour in his own kitchen. This is the man who brought you flowers the next day to make up for it. This is the man that you really want to apologize to, if you could release that stubborn personality of yours.
"I'm sorry."
You both stare blankly at each other, surprised at the sound of your voices in unison. You're both opening and closing your mouths like fish, waiting for someone to make the first dominating move. You look around your office for help with conversation, your eyes landing on the things he brought. Your brows furrow, and all of a sudden, your apologies have to wait for just a second.
“Higuruma, why are you at my job?”
He stills, clammy hands wiping themselves along his suit. He stares between you and the lunch boxes you’ve now set on your office desk. “Lunch,” he says simply.
“Right.” You nod, leaning against the desk, arms crossed in hopes that he’ll continue to explain himself further, but he doesn’t. For the first time in Higuruma’s whole life, he seemingly can’t plead his case. You smile at the thought, looking down at the floor to focus on something other than that lost, puppy look on his face. “Usually you text…when you’re coming by, no?”
“On a whim.”
“You packed me a lunch on a whim?”
“I have been thinking about you every second since I woke up this morning, and you weren’t next to me." Higuruma has now flipped dynamics, or at the very least shared his with you. You straighten up a bit, lips in a flat, nervous line. You hadn't expected him to say that. “I…couldn't pay attention, I couldn't get ready—I managed to put on the same exact suit I wore Friday, and just my luck, someone in the office actually noticed—”
“Shimizu?”
“Yes, Shimizu—“
“She’s a really sweet girl, she probably didn't mean anything by it.”
“I could not function, baby, are you hearing me?” He steps forward, kneeling down before you—actually kneeling like some sort of rabid man, like an actual dog. His hands reach up to rub at your clothed legs, his voice faltering beneath you. “I couldn’t think about my case for even a millisecond without thinking about you, I have been beyond stressed out thinking about you, and us not going to work together, and so I left work—!”
“You did what?” A rarity for Higuruma, he is never eager to leave an ongoing case in the middle of the day, not even for holidays, not even for bereavement, even you know that.
“I just fucking walked right out.”
“Keep your voice down,” you fuss, quickly parting from him to rush and lock the door. Still kneeling, he pulls you back over to him, holding onto your calves with a firm grip. The sight might be considered pathetic if you weren't so disgustingly enamored with him. Still, your eyes travel quickly across his face, searching for corruption. “Are you sick?” You lean down with him, the back of your hand on his forehead and cheeks, watching him lean into your soft touch. “Do you have a fever or something—"
"Did you really mean it when you said you'd never marry someone like me?"
You hold onto his arms with both hands, guiding him back into a standing position with you. Your eyes dart again, squinting aggressively.
You were absolutely positive you hadn't said that.
"I've been thinking about it all fucking day—in fact, I think, I maybe even dreamt about you saying it, over, and over, and over again, it's been stuck in my head like some really horrible song on the radio—"
"Higuruma!" You shake your head at his frantic state, holding his face in your hands to calm him down. "I never said that—I can say with absolute certainty that I never said that." He relaxes in your touch just slightly, leaning into the warmth of your palms as his mind recalls your tormenting argument. You tilt your head at him, face scrunching. "Is that all you've been thinking about? You're not...angry?"
"Of course I'm fucking angry," he scoffs, hands sliding to your hips to pull you a little closer despite his words. "I'd been waiting to see you for days, and then the moment I do, we get into some petty argument about the exact thing that's been keeping us apart—I'm absolutely livid, sweetheart, I've been fuming ever since you left this morning. Without a word, I might add, so I can assume you're angry, too, no?"
"I'm angry about the same thing you're angry about—I don't know why I even mentioned your workload during dinner, it ruined the whole thing!" You laugh into the sudden kiss that he gives you, trying to swat him away as his lips move across your cheek, and jaw, and temple. "It's my godforsaken attitude, I ruined a perfectly good dinner."
He shakes his head quickly, speaking in between kisses. "No. I ruined it. You tried to make a joke, and I'm...really unfunny, that's on me. It got out of hand from there—you know how much I support the education system, I'm such an idiot for pretending I don't, because you know how many cases I take for teachers, too. And for saying your kids were dumb, obviously they're goddamn prodigies if you're teaching them—"
"And I don't actually think your clients are guilty, sometimes I think more of your clients are innocent than you do."
"And that was rude of me, the assumption about education majors, and the whole stereotypical bullshit—I sounded like such a guy, I really can't believe myself." His hands are all over you now, still leaving open-mouth kisses across the bare skin that he has access to, gripping at your hips to keep him from wanting more.
"Anyone would be lucky to marry you, Hiro."
He stops, tilting his head back to look at you fully again. He stares as your lips curve into a soft smile.
"I'm so sorry for making you think otherwise," you admit, sighing slowly. "I was being a brat. Because I had a bad week. And I missed you, and I took it out on you and your job. But really, I think your job is what allows you to express how passionate you are. You know, because you understand people so well, what they're going through. And I think how passionate you are is...maybe one of my favorite things about you." You lean up to give a quick peck on his warm, slightly swollen lips. "Definitely husband material, would hate to lose something like that."
Higuruma steps back to lean against your desk, slowly pulling you closer between his legs. He makes an almost-pout with his lips, hands caressing your forearms, your wrists. "Remember when I was the worst person ever and...basically disparaged your job, all for your students to tell me that I'm your best friend?" You nod carefully, biting back a smile as he groans, head tilted back in agony. You place a soft kiss where his veins sort of protrude at the jugular, and his shifts almost imperceptibly. Almost. "I've never felt so horrible in my life—Miss L/N says it's been her favorite unit so far—I think I died, right then, just died and disintegrated."
"Karma is so sweet when you don't have to do it yourself," you shrug, massaging at his tense shoulders, feeling his hands grip at your hips and waist. “And I got some pretty nice apology flowers out of it. You sure do know how to woo a girl.” He lifts his head to look at you again, watching as your eyes try to avoid his piercing, languid gaze. "Speaking of my students...I kind of have to get back to work, I've been gone way too long." He sighs again, rolls his eyes like a teenager just to hear you laugh. "And you shouldn't have left the office either, not in the middle of a case. You're gonna be really upset with yourself later."
You kiss him one last time before parting from the warmth of his body, backstepping towards the door. Higuruma reluctantly follows, sluggishly standing and grabbing his lunch bag, heavy feet making slow motions towards the doorway. He stops you before you open it completely.
"I think you forgot something at my place," he whispers, kissing your temple. "Maybe you could...come over tonight, I could give it back to you?"
Your eyes shoot him a blank, warning look. Your Teacher Face, he calls it.
"I'll take that as a yes. Miss L/N."
｡𖦹°‧
You're standing at Higuruma's door, foot tapping nervously at the pavement, fixing small pieces of your clothing to keep your mind occupied with other things. Still, all you can think about is how you might possibly fuck up this dinner just as you did the last one. There's really nothing to be completely afraid of. You'd both taken back what you'd said, cleared up what you hadn't, and there's a very real possibility that this is you guys going back to normal, just as you'd hoped. And yet, you're reluctant to knock your knuckle against the door, shivering in your coat and gripping your workbag like it might fly away, and you with it. One could dream.
Higuruma opens the door violently, steps his disheveled figure back as soon as he sees your polite smile, welcoming you in. His hair is even messier than before, his button-up is untucked and rolled up at his forearms, and he's loosening his tie as you walk in, trying to breath properly despite the choking at his neck.
You slowly walk through the house, setting your things down on the kitchen island like you usually do, already placing stray things back where they belong as he follow in, stuffs his hands in his pockets.
"You don't have to do that," he smiles, hesitantly creeping up next to you to stop your movements. "I went home after I came by your school, and..." He scratches at the back of his neck, looking about the kitchen. "I meant to clean after my lunch, and...after I started working...in the kitchen, but—"
"It's okay, Hiro."
He lets out a deep breath, nodding assuredly. His eyes gloss over you carefully and you're nervous all over again from the way he's examining you. His fists tighten in his pants pockets, shifting from one foot to the other, and soon enough, you're doing the same, filling in the silence with just your breathing and the occasional apology when you both accidentally bump into each other with your swaying. You are both too petrified to ask about work. But given that most of your life is your work, if the conversation is to progress any further, someone has to ask. One of you has to jump the hurdle. You're almost too anxious to do so—you and Higuruma have never argued like that, you couldn't bring yourself to potentially cause it again—but you're both adults, proper adults too, and someone has to make the next move.
"How's the case moving along?" you try breathily, leaning against the kitchen counter to broaden your space amongst each other, maybe make room for less tense discussion.
He laughs a little under his breath, one hand leaving his pocket to touch the fabric of your shirt, relaxing him enough to speak too. "Uh, yeah, it's...it's going. Maybe too early to know but...I have a feeling about this guy—I know I say that every time, but...I mean, he's young, and he's been so patient with us so far, and...things aren't adding up the way they usually do for the other side, so. So, I think we're gonna be able to help him."
You can't help but smile at the way he describes his work, even if it makes him nervous, makes him blush. It's cute, you think, the way he'll get so serious about it, the way he'll mull it over in his mind right in front of you, as if you're part of the case too. He'll use terms you don't quite recognize, and names you've never heard of, but he always ends with how well he thinks it'll go. And you're always so happy to hear when he thinks he might be able to be a hero again.
"I know you'll be able to help him," you assure with a sleepy nod, smiling a little further when his hand moves up, cups one side of your face.
He tilts his head to pout at you, thumb stroking over your cheek bone. "You know...the more I think about it...you were right to make that comment at dinner." He continues before you can argue, shaking his head softly. "I think I'd been babbling on about my new case the whole night, and...I left no time to talk about your week." His thumb moves to rub over your eyebags, growing just slightly, though you hadn't really had to the time to notice. "You were right. I don't pay attention to the world around me. My tired girl."
"No, I’d actually rather not talk about my shitty week. And last night doesn't count," you refute. "You're very attentive, you know that. And I'm not usually so cranky."
He hums as he lets both hands rest against your shoulders, rubbing softly. "Still cranky?" He nods as you relax your shoulders in his touch, turning you around to lead you to his couch, still massaging as he sits you down together. He places light, feathery kisses against your back, calloused hands squeezing. "Those kids, always overworking my woman. Sending her home exhausted, poor baby." His teases rumble against the nape of your neck and you're forced to roll your eyes playfully, swatting your hand at him. "You should just quit. Quit that stupid job. And I'll take care of you—you'd never have to work a day in your life with me."
You turn quickly, shoving at his chest with a grin on your face. "Stupid job? Seriously?" You push until he's lying on his back on the couch, watching as he pulls you by your forearms, up and over his lap to straddle him. Your hands sit firm against his chest, your eyes squinting over him. He's smiling at you, eyes dark and low, hands wrapped around your wrists for control. "You really think quitting is an option after yesterday?"
"No, I actually think we have to stay on these career paths for the rest of our lives," he smirks, eyes still searching yours. "To prove each other wrong."
You nod in bubbly agreement, watching him lick his lips beneath you, his fingers sliding away to tug at his tie again. You lean up against his lap, watching him slowly slip off the thin fabric, dropping it on the floor.
"Was getting uncomfortable," he gave an excuse, hands wrapping around your thighs.
"Your shirt too?"
Higuruma smiles as you start to unbutton his loose and wrinkly dress shirt, slipping it away from his chest to expose his milky soft skin. You kiss his collarbone gently, delicately, and you hear him shiver a little, his breath shaky as it leaves his parted lips. When you sit up again, you watch his muscles flex as your fingers patter against his torso, his hips twitching just slightly. You take your time in admiring him, despite knowing how self-conscious he gets under your careful, probing stare. Still, Higuruma is one of the most beautiful people you've ever been blessed to see, to touch. He doesn’t look so muscular from the outside, when you’re both having dinner or grabbing a quick breakfast, when you’d taken him home to meet family and friends. His clothes cover him very well, that sickening, gorgeous physique he selfishly hides. A part of you wishes people knew about how lovely he looked, but you suppose it is better that everything underneath his work attire is meant for you and your eyes only.
"Same outfit, huh?" you ask, recalling the frenzied account of his morning that he gave in your office. "You've done that before, haven't you? You've really gotta start taking care of yourself better, sir." You smile when he mumbles what sounds like a 'yes ma'am', though it's only a shaky whisper as you continue to tenderly rake your nails down his chest and abs, tracing the definition, the grooves. You love when he calls you ma’am, and you hope to every higher power that he can’t feel how wet you are through your layers. "I think we're both a little too accustomed to putting our needs and feelings aside for our work. At least...well, for me, I have a pretty long lunch period to cry during. You, on the other hand...all that pent-up anger and irritation. It's going to get to you one day."
He shakes his head, pressing your hips into his own, grip tight through the fabric of your pants as his own creates a bulge up under you. "Not if you're here to help me...release some of the tension."
"Oh, is that what I'm here for, Mr. Higuruma? Your human stress toy?"
He blinks up at you, and it's almost erotic the way it makes every particle in your body flutter. "Is that what you wanna be?"
Your breath hitches but you recover quickly, pretending to think. "What kind of perks does it come with?"
"For you, Miss L/N? Thousands—all sorts of insurance and benefits, deductibles.” His hands travel up to push your own dress shirt sleeves up your forearms, fingertips grazing the goosebumps against your skin. He takes a moment to revere the smoothness of your arms, the plushness of your thighs. “And I know a pretty good lawyer friend, in case you get screwed over."
"Ah, but I thought your friend only did criminal defense?"
"He makes exceptions, I think." Higuruma's thumb pulls at your bottom lip, tugging you down closer to him. "When the crimes are against someone so goddamn extraordinary."
"And this is where I come in?"
"Yes, honey, that’s where you come in."
"You think I'm extraordinary?"
He looks at you like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, like he’s told you a million times before, and he has, a million times and more. His fingers find their way to the back of your head, slipping into your hair, and he finally slots lips with yours, leaning up just slightly to deepen the kiss. He groans into your mouth, simply nodding at your question, not very interested in complete reassurance now that he can taste you—he hasn’t tasted you in a millennia, that’s what it feels like. “You’re a gem, sweetheart,” he mumbles into you, licking at your bottom lip for more, more, and more. “My little gem—my little English prodigy.” He smiles against your lips, kissing down your jaw and neck to tease and tamper. “You’re my smart girl, aren’t you? Aren’t you?”
You whisper out what might be a yes, hands against his chest as he kisses down your shirt, unbuttoning slowly and then slower.
“Don’t ever let me forget it, yeah? You have no idea…how horrible it was. Going into work without seeing your pretty face, my pretty woman’s face. I feel like we should make it up to each other, it’s only fair.” His fingers hook along the opening of your top, sliding it off of your shoulders in a glacial pace, a painful sort of motion for you both. But he’s loving the way you’re squirming above him, right down on his crotch that he’s trying so desperately not to push back up into you. “What do you want from me?” he asks sweetly, his pointer fingers tucking themselves into the waistband on your work pants, tugging you back and forth, and back and forth along his growing erection, watching your polite, civil face start to falter on top of him. He smiles at the simple scrunch of your brows, the almost-pout in your bottom lip as he all but glorifies you. “What do you want me to do to you, baby?”
You continue to grind yourself against him, feeling his own hips shift underneath you to meet you halfway. He nods at the motion of your answer, hands flush against your hips and fingers digging into fabric as he guides you with him at the same rhythm, still following your lead. You can see an erratic nature creep up in his facial expression, his knuckles going white with how he’s pulling at your waistband, never quite ripping the pants off, but holding on just in case he has to. His bulge rubs up against your clothes cunt, the soak seeping through your underwear—he’s eyeing the space between you so carefully, imagining what that damp spot looks like on your panties, what it would taste like on his tongue. He humps up into your pussy a little quicker now, watching as you bounce up and down, shirt slipping further off, and tits threatening to pour out of your bra. He unclips the garment, tosses it off to the floor somewhere to free those beauties, immediately leaning up to suck on one as his hand makes its way to the other. He moans around your hardened nipple, still looking up at your whiny face. He sucks relentlessly and licks in swirls around both mounds before leaning back, hands returning to your hips. He watches your tits carefully as you move, feeling the tightness of his pants become almost unbearable. His brows furrow at the sight of you, letting pleasure take over as he stares, admires, nearly folds under the pressure.
“Can’t- fuck- can’t cum like this. I would, definitely could but. Too soon, don’t wanna cum too soon,” he notes, watching you slow to a stop while he’s still jerking up into you.
You laugh at the state of him, pressing your hands against his hips to offer aid, and even then he’s involuntarily trying to press closer, chase his high. You’ve stopped, but he can’t, not while you’re looking at him like that. “I’m not edging you, Mr. Higuruma. Take me how you want me.” You feel his warm knuckles glide along the skin of your waist, still pulling lightly at the fabric. Either he’s teasing or resisting, and neither will do. “You know, unless you’d like to get back to your work, I know how much you value it.”
“Oh, so that’s how it is!” he laughs, and it startles you a little, lights a fire up through your now exposed spine. He lifts you up then, flings you right over his shoulder like a bag of hay, like you weigh absolutely nothing, hoisting you both down the hall to his bedroom. “You’re gonna be in so much trouble, Miss L/N, I can’t believe you.”
“What, defense attorneys do arrests now?”
He places you on the large bed, hovering over your body to cage you in while he nods. “You’re a delinquent,” he mumbles, lips dragging down your abdomen, careful to place soft, wet kisses along every inch of shivering skin. His hands find purchase on the back of your knees, lifting to fold you just slightly. He has this look about him, something not quite brooding, bordering on the line of lustful, and it's so intimate it almost scares you. It is adoration, it is ardor. “Hanging out with those teenagers too much. They’re corrupting you.”
You laugh, shoving at his head a little, breath faltering when you feel his chuckle against your pants that he’s practically ripping off. “Oh, yeah? What are your clients doing to you then?”
“Corrupting me.”
Higuruma hums as he lifts your legs with one hand, tugging your pants off with the other. He tosses them to the floor (the crime scene is scattered everywhere), immediately kneeling to reach for your lace panties that he’s been thinking about all night, all week, every day since he last saw you. “This is where you want me?” he smiles, finger grazing over the wet fabric, pushing it to side to slide one finger against the slick. “She’s all ready for me, too, so well-behaved. Been staring at papers all week, almost forgot how easy she is for me—“
“Fuck you,” you groan, encasing your bottom lip in your teeth as his finger runs dangerously close to your entrance.
“Oh, I want you to, truly. Thought it be nice to be a gentleman, though—ladies first, right? Lift your hips for me.” You oblige, propping yourself up on your forearms to see him clearly as he tugs the lace down and off your legs. He holds them up to his nose while he watches you squirm, takes a deep inhale that almost makes him rolls his eyes all the way to the back of his head. He hadn’t gotten to smell you like this is days, it might’ve been considered cruel and unusual punishment. His free hand parts the lips of your cunt so he can examine, and he moans, letting your panties hang in his mouth by his teeth. "Fuck, it's been too long. A week is way too fucking long to be missing this.”
You’re whining, "Hiro, please,” as he insists on teasing you, stuffing your panties into his mouth as his own personal gag, a little treat while he takes care of the real thing. Your hips press up into his hand and he laughs around the fabric on his tongue, sucks at the slick with a near pornographic groan.
His two fingers slide in easily, palming himself through his dress pants with his other hand at the mere sight. He nods with you as his thick fingers push forward, the gummy walls of your pussy tensely squeezing him around him. He shushes at the pretty noises you’re making, curling his finger further. Higuruma is absolutely filthy like this, not so poised as he usually is when he’s near cumming in his pants just from watching you moan into the open air of his room, the noise filling his ears like sweet infestation. But he simply can’t help himself.
Can’t help himself from talking dirty either. “Missed this pretty pussy,” he mumbles, ripping the fabric out of his mouth to breathe properly. He licks another long stripe on the panties in his hands, trying not to grope himself with it. "Had to- fuck, look at you- needed you so bad last week when you rescheduled. Had to handle it myself with the last pair you left me, can you believe it?" His knee spreads your legs that are threatening to close, nodding at the familiar clench of your pussy around his fingers, the growing squelch of wet surrounding the point of connection. His voice grows husky as he watches you arch your back. "Imagined you just like this, letting go for me. Can you believe it, love? How desperate I was, and now I get to see you like this?" He smiles as he picks up the pace of his pistoning fingers, watching your eyes glaze over as you practically convulse. "You're so good to me, making my dreams come true."
And suddenly, it's all you can think about. Higuruma, in the shower, jerking his long and throbbing boner in the shower with one of your lacey panties you always seemed to forget at his place. His head tilted back against the shower tile, picturing you and only you while his rough hands tug and tug. Finally falling off the edge when he pictures your sweet orgasm, when he can practically taste it in his mouth. And his thick white cum is shooting against the shower wall, your name falling from his lips in breathy whines, over and over like aching prayers.
Your moans are as lewd as ever as you release around his fingers, sitting up to watch with him, the way everything spills out around his calloused hands. He never once lets your mess drip onto the sheets, what a waste that would be. You slump back into the bed, hands over your face as you try to catch your breath. He's speaking to you, asking you something so gently, but you can barely hear him, much too buzzed and deluded to come up with coherent thoughts and sentences. His hands glides up the warm flesh of your stomach and you feel his freed dick gliding against your thigh, a slightly cold contrast to the way your body is burning all over. His leaking tip trails along your skin as he hovers over you, letting his erection slide through your folds once, twice.
"You still want me inside of you?" he asks, lips against your ribcage. "Or did your hard work tire you out before I could get to you?"
His mocking tone vibrates against your skin, but you're pushing yourself up in spite of it. He laughs lowly, just under his breath, at your delirious, cock-drunk state before sinking into you, moaning when he feels you clamp around him. He works slowly and carefully to bottom out, making use of the already slick and slippery state of your pussy before he's kissing your cervix with his tip. He folds one of your legs over to give himself more space, allow for a better angle, and then he's letting you suck him in, reeling his hips back and forth to hear the way you moan, hear the way you haul him back in.
He moves your hands from tired face, watching the furrow of your brows, nodding with a cooed "I knooow, love, I know" as he watches you, picks up his pace.
His dick pulsates inside of you as he kisses up your chest, sharing that same fucked out look that you had. “Remember when I said you’d always be my smart girl?" he begins, grip on your hips growing tighter just slightly. "I’m starting to think I like fucking you stupid.”
But his words are a little unfair, a little hypocritical when you think about it. Because Higuruma, perhaps the smartest and most driven man you know, is babbling like a lovesick imbecile every time he's this deep inside you. When he's not huffing with every drag of his thick cock, he's a muttering mess, voice against your neck and in your ear, saying things that would usually make you both blush. But he's drunk off the way you're garnering him in, how messy it is, and whatever comes out of his mouth is essentially your fault, he thoughtfully concludes. It's all your doing, the reason he acts this way, and looks this way, and fucks you just right this way. Maybe if you weren't so perfect for him, neither of you would be in this predicament. You can feel the pressure all throughout your body like military explosives, leaning into the wet and sloppy kisses he leaves, just where your neck and shoulder join. His fingers digs into your sides and hips, and he gasps in between smooches and moans, losing himself in the way he's whispering to you like a frenzied idiot.
'You take me so well, my good girl.'
'Let me fill you up, just this once.'
'That's why you were so mean on Sunday, huh baby? Saying all that stuff about- oh fuck yeah baby, i've got you. Saying that stuff about my job. You just wanted me to fuck you like this, wanted my attention.'
'You're gonna take every last drop of me, aren't you?'
'Can't get enough of you—I've never loved anyone like I love you, I swear.'
The last one catches you off guard just slightly, not the content of his praise, but the way his own breath hitches when he admits it like all the times he's told you before simply weren't enough. You wrap your legs around him to keep your brain steady, but his pace is already faltering, and you're growing closer to your own orgasm again, quicker than the last time. And louder too. The slap of wet skin echoes throughout the room like music to your ears, and you're begging him to cum inside you before you can even really think about it. Your arms wrap around his neck to pull him closer, and you press your lips against his cheek when you ask, voice soft and smooth like honey in his ears. His voice is strangled as he nods against the crook of your neck, kissing the skin quickly and fervently as his thrusts turn sloppy, veins still dragging against your walls and tip still pressing up against that sweet spot of your cervix as he moans into you, holds onto you for balance.
He chases his own high, gasping for air when he finally spills into you. The feeling alone has you following close behind, your nails clawing into his shoulder as you continue to milk him dry for everything he has. His hips keep a slow routine, stuffing the hot ropes of cum further into you, really letting it stick. He huffs above you, holding himself up by his forearms as he kisses around your face, moaning into the kiss on your lips like the soft feeling might make him cum all over again. His lazily peppered kisses slow to a halt and he leans his forehead against yours, eye searching your own.
"Wanna marry you...Miss L/N," he whispers suddenly, kissing you before you can even looked shocked. "You know I do. You know how much I love you, how much I mean it." He watches you nod slowly beneath him, trying to keep your eyes from widening so much. "Gonna marry you. Would quit my job to marry you—"
"Hiro—"
"If it got in the way of us even once...I'd find a way to make it work."
You shake your head and he almost freezes at the sight. "Our work means way too much to us, Hiromi. So there'll be no quitting." You thumbs glide against his cheeks gently and he leans into your touch. "Because we're not quitters. We're problem solvers, yeah? So...we'll just have to be ready to solve some problems. Come what may."
Higuruma smiles, sitting up and dragging you with him, right into his lap. He stares at you carefully, holding you close to him, chest to chest. "And you'd wanna do that? Work, and...problem solve?" No one had ever been willing to do that for him, with him. Not until you.
You nod like it's the most obvious thing in the world, the most sure idea you've had since you decided your calling was to teach. "I'm your smart girl, remember?" you tease, kissing his temple as he relaxes. "We're always gonna figure it out."
And this is enough to reassure him. He absentmindedly takes your hands in his town, thumb rolling over your left hand's ring finger.
He'd been uses to losing cases, it came with the trade. But losing you was not an option, not in the slightest.
Because he means it when he says he wants you in his life forever.
He laughs to himself, rolling his eyes playfully. “I was so sad we didn’t watch Real Housewives last night…”
You scoff at the confession. Your little Sunday night routine that he claimed to hate (too dramatic, those women). And here he was, missing it. Missing you.
“Hiro…you are so fucking weird.”
guess who's back! and feeling much better than i did last week.
i am a higuruma truther, he fills my nanami-filled heart, i can't even lie. so, hope you guys enjoy this and my future jjk stuff that's coming up (#can't stop thinking about season 3). let me know what else you guys would like to read and PLEASE give recs for jjk stuff bc i'm in a bit of a drought.
