Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Then I thought of: Bookstore owner Higuruma Hiromi x actress female reader
What do you think?
the wrong place at the right time
notting hill au . sfw . fluff . series . confession scene . emotional tension . gentle romance . mutual pining . fem reader . part two soon!
a/n: so sorry for the delayed update! i’ve been dealing w/ a brutal case of writer’s block & a nasty cold, so this fic might be a little rough around the edges. i hope you guys still enjoy it though!
The frantic clicking of camera shutters and the aggressive shouting of your name faded into a dull echo the moment you threw your weight against the heavy, oak door as you slipped inside, the brass bell above chiming with a soft, metallic ring that seemed to cut off the chaotic noise of the streets entirely.
The air inside was thick with the comforting, rich scent of old paper, vanilla, and aged leather. It was warm—miles away from the biting, humid morning air outside. Your heart hammered against your ribs like a trapped bird, and you kept your head low, adjusting the brim of your oversized hat and pushing your prescription glasses back up the bridge of your nose.
The cloth mask over your mouth felt stifling, damp with your anxious breath.
When you finally dared to look up, you realized the bookstore was entirely empty, save for one man as he was standing near a towering shelf of dark mahogany, a feathered duster held loosely in his right hand.
He was exceptionally tall, his frame lean and lanky, almost stretching the soft fabric of the warm-toned, beige knit sweater he wore. The sleeves were pushed up to his forearms, revealing large, elegant hands. If you looked closely, you could see a few faint, silvery lines tracing across the skin of his knuckles and palms—scars that looked a couple of years old, remnants of a night the whole country tried to forget.
He looked a tad bit older than a youth, his sharp, tired features softened by the gentle amber lighting of the shop as the two of you froze, making eye contact across the quiet room. For a brief second, neither of you moved.
The silence between you stretched, filled only by the soft, rhythmic tick-tick-tick of an antique grandfather clock in the corner as he broke the awkward silence, straightening his tall frame and lowering the duster. “Welcome,” he said, his voice a deep, smooth baritone that seemed to reverberate gently in the quiet shop.
“What are you looking for today?”
You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Reaching up, you pulled your cloth mask down to your chin, letting the cool air hit your face. “Do you mind if I just stroll around for a bit?” you asked, your voice a little breathless.
The man flashed you a soft, surprisingly gentle smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Not at all. Take your time.”
He walked with slow, measured steps back toward a heavy wooden desk near the front, sitting down on a cushioned stool. “Most of my customers usually just stroll around anyway,” he added, setting the duster aside. “Or they are students prepping for pre-law.”
Your attention piqued instantly at the mention of the word. “Law?” you repeated, stepping further into the shop as the floorboards groaned softly beneath your shoes, a comforting, grounding sound.
You began to wander down the narrow aisles, the tips of your fingers lightly brushing against the spines of the books. They were immaculately arranged. You stopped in your tracks when your eyes landed on a heavy, leather-bound volume.
Your chest tightened slightly with a thrill of familiarity as it was the exact text you had spent months reading and highlighting for a major movie role you had just played.
Curiously, you glanced over your shoulder at the man behind the desk. Your mask was completely down now, and your face was fully visible under the soft lamplight.
Yet, he was just calmly organizing a stack of bookmarks, not staring, not whispering, showing absolutely no sign of recognition. ‘Could it be a mask?’ you thought, your mind racing. ‘Is he just pretending not to know who I am to be polite?’
Realizing you were staring, you quickly turned your head from the left to the right, pretending to examine the shelf. You cleared your throat to dispel the sudden tension. “Your books... they’re very neat and organized,” you said, genuine admiration slipping into your tone. “They’re alphabetized... and dated by publication from oldest to newest, right?”
He looked up, a faint, amused glint in his dark eyes. “You have a sharp eye.”
Emboldened, you spilled a little more than you intended. “I actually know a few laws from articles and books like these. I’ve memorized quite a few specific codes, actually.” You left out the part where you had memorized them for a blockbuster script, of course.
The tall man stood up, sliding his hands casually into his trousers pockets as he walked over to your aisle, his long legs covering the distance effortlessly. He stopped a polite distance away, towering over you. “Are you a lawyer?” he asked, tilting his head.
You smiled awkwardly, your cheeks warming up. “Oh, no! No, I just... like studying it in my free time.”
A low, genuine chuckle escaped his chest. “You like to memorize the law when you’re bored?”
The teasing tone made you thoroughly flustered. You quickly pushed your glasses up your nose, your fingers fumbling slightly. “Well,” you claimed defensively, “you can use the knowledge against bad cops when they wrongfully pull you over. It’s practical!”
He smiled warmly at your reasoning, nodding his head as if conceding the point. “I suppose that is hard to argue with.”
He turned around, his eyes scanning the shelves behind him. His gaze stopped at a specific, weathered section of heavy volumes. Reaching up with his long, scarred hand, he smoothly slid a thick, dark blue book out of the row.
Walking back to you, he extended it as you immediately reached out and grabbed the book with both hands, holding it close to your chest as a strict sign of respect.
He clearly looked older than you, and you had always been taught to respect your elders, “This one details the specific boundaries of law enforcement authority,” he explained, gesturing slightly to the cover. “It’s much more specific regarding citizen rights during traffic stops and police conduct.”
“Thank you,” you murmured. You opened to the first page, the crisp scent of ink and aged paper wafting up to your nose. You stared at the neat typography before looking back up at his calm face. “Is this bookstore mainly for law students, then? Or just law in general?”
He shook his head, a soft strand of hair falling across his forehead. “It’s all kinds of things, really. But students studying law tend to frequent this neighborhood, so I brought out all of my old law books from storage so they could be of some good use.”
Your eyes widened with curiosity, and you unconsciously raised the book closer to your face, your eyes sparkling. “Your old books? Are you a lawyer?”
He corrected you gently, his expression peaceful. “I used to be a lawyer. But now, I have retired to live a quiet life.”
You nodded understandingly, feeling a strange sense of reverence. As he turned to walk down the aisle to check another shelf, your feet moved on instinct, and you automatically followed after his footsteps.
You looked down, reading the first page of the book he had handed you as you walked, “If you don’t mind me asking...” you started, your voice quiet as you turned a page. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-eight,” he replied simply, not breaking his stride.
The number hit you instantly. Thirty-eight. Two years ago, he would have been thirty-six. You gasped aloud, the book nearly slipping from your fingers. “Did you... did you witness the Shibuya incident from two years ago?”
He stopped dead in his tracks. Because your eyes had been glued to the pages of the book, you didn’t react in time and almost slammed right into his broad, sweater-clad back.
You pulled yourself back just in time, blinking rapidly as the man turned around slowly. His expression held a momentary shadow, a brief flicker of gravity that showed the weight of what he had lived through, but it quickly melted back into kindness.
He didn’t answer right away as be stepped toward a pair of comfortable wooden chairs near his desk as he patted the leather cushion of one, signaling for you to sit down.
You complied, slipping into the chair. The leather was cool and smooth against your skin as he sat down directly in front of you at the desk, leaning back slightly.
The atmosphere grew cozy and incredibly comfortable. For a long time, the two of you just talked, he spoke about his past experience as a lawyer—the exhausting hours, the moral dilemmas, and the reasons he chose to step away. He spoke with a human, grounded emotion that captivated you.
But the nagging question in your mind wouldn’t leave you alone. Finally, you interrupted the flow of conversation, leaning forward. “Do you... really not know who I am?”
He blinked, staring at you for a beat. In his perspective, the question probably sounded a bit narcissistic, a random burst of self-importance from a stranger in a hat and glasses.
But he didn’t voice any judgment as he answered honestly, a faint smile on his lips. “No. Should I?”
You sat back, thoroughly shocked. Your ego took a tiny, sharp hit… after all, your face was currently plastered on billboards across Tokyo. But right after the shock faded, a wave of profound happiness washed over you as a genuine, bright smile broke across your face.
Finally, you had met someone who didn’t see you as the hotshot, rising actress. You desperately wanted to tell him about the massive television series you had recently starred in—where you played a rookie defense attorney—just to see his reaction, but you held it back.
You didn’t want to bring your chaotic actress life into this peaceful sanctuary.
You just wanted to be you for today.
The hours began to move at godspeed, neither of you realizing how fast the time was slipping away. The pale, sunny morning light slowly shifted into a deep, golden afternoon amber, stretching long shadows across the wooden floor.
Suddenly, a loud, violent rumble echoed through the quiet shop as your face turned bright red as your hands instantly flew to your stomach.
Your stomach growled again, fiercely. You hadn’t eaten a single thing all day; the paparazzi had ambushed you right outside the bakery where you were planning to buy breakfast.
He froze for a second, hearing the loud noise, and then a hearty, deep laugh broke from his lips as he leaned down, pulling a neatly wrapped container from a small bag under his desk.
“I take it you missed breakfast?” he asked, pulling out a perfectly made sandwich. “Here. Take this. I packed it as an extra for the stray cats that like to visit the back alley of the store.”
Your eyes lit up, but as soon as the word cats registered, you vigorously shook your head, waving your hands. “Oh, no, no! That’s incredibly kind of you, but I can’t take it if it's for the cats. I would honestly rather starve for a whole day than let a bunch of cute, stray cats go hungry.”
The man paused, holding the sandwich mid-air. Your words seemed to strike a chord deep within him. A look of genuine warmth spread across his sharp features, his eyes softening completely at your selflessness.
“In that case,” he said softly, putting the extra sandwich down and reaching into his bag again to pull out his own personal lunch.
“Take my sandwich instead. I insist.”
“No, I couldn’t possibly take your lunch!” you protested, your cheeks flushing again.
“I'll be perfectly fine,” he insisted, a gentle but unyielding tone in his voice as he pushed the freshly wrapped sandwich toward you. “I packed a container of sliced apples as well. I can eat those.”
He popped open a small plastic container, the crisp, sweet scent of fresh apples cutting through the heavy smell of the old books and you hesitated… that is, until your stomach let out another pathetic rumble, sealing your fate. “Thank you,” you whispered, carefully unwrapping the sandwich with a grateful smile.
As you took a bite—the savory, perfect flavor instantly making you sigh with relief—he took a bite of an apple slice. The quiet bookstore filled with the gentle sounds of your shared lunch, and the conversation easily drifted into a new topic.
You spent the rest of the afternoon laughing and talking about the stray cats that frequented his shop, the warm sunlight bathing the two of you in a peaceful, golden glow.
You swallowed the last bite of your sandwich, dusting a few stray crumbs off your lap before neatly folding the waxed wrapping paper. Looking across the desk at him, you watched as he closed his plastic container of apples with a satisfying snap. He looked so entirely peaceful, so separated from the chaotic, fast-paced world you lived in.
You desperately wanted a way to keep this peace alive after you stepped back through those heavy oak doors. “So,” you started, leaning your elbows on the desk and tilting your head slightly, trying to sound casual. “Do you have an Instagram? Or... any social media?”
He looked up at you, a completely blank expression crossing his face for a split second before a look of mild amusement replaced it. He let out a low, soft huff of a laugh. “An Instagram? No. I don’t use social media at all.”
You blinked, a playful grin immediately tugging at the corners of your lips. “No social media at all?” you teased, leaning in a fraction closer. “What do you do then? Do you send a bird for your messages? A carrier pigeon?”
A genuine smile broke across his sharp features, his broad shoulders shaking slightly as he chuckled. “A pigeon? No, I believe the postal service still functions quite well, even for someone of my advanced age.”
“I don’t know,” you laughed, your eyes crinkling behind your glasses. “You seem like the type to train a very specific raven to deliver your letters. Very mysterious and very, very antique bookstore owner of you.”
“A raven sounds far too dramatic and loud,” he bantered back smoothly, leaning his lanky frame against the back of his chair, his long legs stretching out beneath the desk. “If I had to choose, I think a small, quiet owl would be much more efficient for delivering messages. Less shouting, more dignity.”
“Oh, so you have thought about it!” you cheered softly, pointing an accusing but playful finger at him.
“Only to keep up with your imagination,” he replied, a warm, teasing glint in his dark eyes.
He reached into the pocket of his beige sweater, pulling out a sleek, simple black pen. Pulling a small, blank slip of paper from a memo pad on his desk, he wrote down a neat, elegant string of numbers with practiced ease as he slid the paper across the dark wood toward you.
“No birds required,” he said softly. “Just a standard phone number.”
Your heart did a sudden, erratic flip against your ribs. You stared at the paper for a second before picking it up with both hands, holding it like it was made of fragile glass and you carefully tucked it into your pocket, your cheeks warming up with a sudden wave of shyness.
You cleared your throat, nervously fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve as you looked up at him through your eyelashes. “Um... can I visit you again tomorrow?” you asked, your voice dropping to a shy, quiet murmur.
The tall man paused. A look of genuine surprise flickered across his face, his eyebrows raising slightly as he looked at you. For a brief moment, the quiet shop was entirely still.
Then, his expression softened into that same gentle, crinkling smile you had grown to enjoy over the past few hours. “Of course,” he said, his deep voice incredibly warm. “Everyone is welcome here. Especially someone who appreciates the alphabetized date system.”
A bright, uncontrollable smile broke across your face at his words, the nervous tension instantly melting away from your shoulders.
“Well, then I should probably head out before the sun goes completely down,” you said, reluctantly standing up from the comfortable leather chair.
You reached for your cloth mask, pulling it back over your nose and mouth, and adjusted your prescription glasses. Finally, you pulled your oversized hat low over your brow, hiding your face once more as he stood up along with you, his towering, lanky frame casting a long shadow in the golden afternoon light.
“I’ll walk you out,” he said, stepping out from behind the desk.
“Oh, no, no, you don’t have to!” you protested quickly, waving your hands in front of you. “I can manage. You should stay inside where it's warm.”
He didn’t listen to your protests at all. Instead, he just flashed you a polite, unyielding smile and walked ahead of you, his long strides leading the way to the front entrance.
He reached out with his large, scarred hand and pushed the heavy oak door open for you, holding it in place.
“After you,” he murmured.
You stepped outside, the cool, crisp air instantly hitting your face. The chaotic noise of the city streets had died down into a peaceful, ambient hum.
The sky above was washed in a brilliant, soft-glowing blend of pink, orange, and deep afternoon amber, painting the entire street in a beautiful, warm light as you turned around on the sidewalk, looking back up at him as he stood in the doorway, his beige sweater catching the golden rays of the setting sun.
You raised a hand, waving goodbye to him with a bright, crinkled-eye smile beneath your mask. “I’ll repay you one day for lunch! I promise!” you called out softly.
He nodded his head, his dark eyes reflecting the warm, soft glow of the afternoon. “I’ll hold you to that. Get home safely.”
With one last wave, you turned and walked down the glowing street, your fingers tightly gripping the slip of paper in your pocket, already counting down the hours until tomorrow.
A full year had bled by since that golden afternoon in the antique bookstore, and the world outside had only grown louder. But inside the quiet sanctuary you had built together, everything was perfectly, deliciously still.
The cautious distance of a shopkeeper and a stranger had long since melted away, replaced by a deep, grounded comfort that eventually brought you here—to his apartment, a secret world tucked away from the prying eyes of the paparazzi.
The air in his living room was a heady blend of comfort: the rich aroma of freshly brewed black coffee, sunny-dampened earth from the window left ajar, and the distinct, clean, comforting scent of the fabric softener he used on his clothes. It was an incredibly cozy space, lit only by the warm, flickering blue glow of the television screen.
On the low mahogany coffee table sat an old wooden chess board, the hand-carved pieces scattered in a state of an unfinished, hard-fought game you both had been playing earlier before giving up to watch TV.
A low, deep rumble of laughter vibrated right against your back, sending a delicious little shiver down your spine. You were tucked firmly against his side, curled up beneath a thick, heavy knit blanket that smelled entirely of him.
His lanky, towering frame was draped comfortably over the cushions, one of his long, protective arms wrapped securely around your shoulders, pulling you in until there wasn’t a breath of space between you.
“You know,” you murmured, looking up at him through the dim light, a soft, helpless smile tugging at your lips, “I still can’t believe it took a whole month for someone to finally break the news to you.”
Higuruma chuckled, the sound deep, resonant, and entirely chest-melting. His large, elegant hand rested on your arm, the faint, silvery scars on his knuckles from that terrible night in Shibuya, rough but incredibly comforting against your skin.
He looked beautifully relaxed, his sharp, intimidating features completely softened by the domestic warmth of the room. “I am a retired lawyer running a secluded bookstore, Y/N,” he murmured, his thumb brushing a slow, rhythmic circle against your arm that made your skin tingle.
“I don’t exactly keep up with box office trends. If Kusakabe hadn’t walked into the shop with that entertainment magazine, I might still be completely in the dark.”
“We were laughing so hard about it,” you giggled, shifting slightly so you could press your burning cheek against his beige sweater, sinking into the soft weave of the fabric and the steady, calming thud of his heart.
“I remember standing in your apartment that next week, just teasing you for being so oblivious. But honestly... I was resisting the urge to tell you for weeks. I was so terrified that if you found out I was a hotshot actress, you’d start looking at me differently.”
Higuruma’s grip on your shoulder tightened just a fraction, a gentle, fierce squeeze as he turned his head, his dark and mesmerizing eyes meeting yours.
They were completely serious, filled with a quiet, devastatingly human warmth that never failed to make your heart swell to bursting. “You were just a girl who memorized traffic laws to spite bad cops,” he said softly, a tender, breathtaking smile gracing his lips as his gaze drifted across your face. “I saw a person, Y/N. I still do. Fame doesn’t change the soul.”
Your heart did a wild, happy flip, a sudden rush of sweet heat flooding your veins. To hide your furiously blushing cheeks, you turned your attention back to the television screen, where the movie you had starred in as a fierce defense attorney was currently playing.
“Look, look! This is the scene,” you pointed at the screen, your eyes bright and eager, desperate to change the subject before your heart beat right out of your chest. “I spent three weeks memorizing that specific legal precedent.”
Higuruma leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing in mock seriousness, his jawline looking incredibly sharp in the blue light as he watched your on-screen persona deliver a dramatic closing argument.
“The delivery is impeccable,” he murmured, his voice suddenly dipping into a low, playful baritone that sent a spark right down your core. “However... your objection on grounds of hearsay in that specific context was legally flawed.”
“The prosecution was introducing a dying declaration, which is a recognized exception to the hearsay rule. A real judge would have overruled you instantly.”
You gasped, playfully offended, and brought your fist down against his ribs. “Hey! It was a movie script, not a Supreme Court brief! Don’t nitpick my acting, Mr. Genius!”
He laughed aloud—a rare, beautiful, musical sound that echoed through the quiet apartment—and easily caught your fist mid-air with his own scarred palm.
His fingers were large, warm, and dry as they wrapped completely around yours, squeezing gently. “I am merely providing a professional consultation, counselor.”
“Oh, you’re insufferable,” you bantered back, your laughter bubbling up to mix with his. The movie was entirely neglected now, the high-stakes courtroom drama serving as nothing more than background noise to the sudden, electric current humming between the two of you.
Before he could reply, you reached down, grabbed a plush throw pillow from the corner of the couch, and swung it right at his chest. “Take that!”
The impact caught him off guard, and the heavy knit blanket wrapped around the both of you slipped, tumbling down onto the floor in a heap.
Higuruma blinked in surprise, a spark of competitive, dark amusement flaring in his eyes as he snatched the pillow right out of your hands, a slow, dangerously handsome grin spreading across his face.
“Is that how it is?” he asked, his voice dropping an octave, becoming low, raspy, and teasing.
“Yes!” you cried, adrenaline spiking through you. You scrambled backward over the cushions as he threw the pillow right back at you. You caught it with a huff, tossing it straight at his face before scrambling off the couch entirely to escape.
Your bare feet padded softly against the hardwood floor as you darted around the back of the sofa, your heart hammering with pure, childish joy and something deeper, hotter, that was beginning to pool in your stomach.
Higuruma stood up, his tall, lanky frame moving with surprising, fluid, predator-like speed as he chased after you as you let out a squeal of laughter, trying to dodge to the left, but his long arms reached out.
His large hands wrapped completely around your waist—an intentional, sudden contact that made all the air leave your lungs in a sharp hitch. With a low, breathless chuckle, he effortlessly lifted you off your feet.
You gasped, your hands flying to his broad shoulders as he turned, his strength completely overwhelming you, and gently, carefully, pinned you down onto the soft cushions of the couch.
The laughter died down in an absolute, suffocating instant as a sudden, heavy, magnetic silence crashed over the room, replacing the playful energy with a tension so thick it felt tangible.
You were laying flat on your back, sinking into the soft fabric of the sofa. Higuruma was hovering directly over you, his massive frame completely eclipsing the rest of the room.
One of his large, scarred hands was planted firmly on the cushion right next to your head, his long fingers sprawling against the fabric, while his other hand remained anchored on your waist, his thumb pressing firmly into your hip through your shirt.
He was so close…. so incredibly close.
You could feel the rhythmic, warm puff of his breath casting over your lips, smelling the faint, intoxicating trace of coffee on him as your hands had instinctively reached up, your fingers trembling violently as they gripped the fabric of his necktie, but instead of pushing him away, you found yourself holding tight, anchoring him over you.
He looked down at you, his dark eyes intense, burning, searching every single inch of your face with a raw, fierce, human hunger that made your skin prickle with goosebumps.
The ticking of the grandfather clock seemed to amplify, perfectly matching the frantic, echoing thud of your heart against your ribs as the air between you grew suffocatingly warm. A year’s worth of unsaid words, lingering glances, and suppressed desires seemed to condense into the mere inches separating your lips.
Your chest heaved, your breasts brushing against his sweater with every breath, and you saw his eyes darken at the friction as Higuruma’s gaze dropped to your lips, tracking the way they parted as you exhaled a shaky breath, before rising back to lock onto your eyes.
The absolute control he usually held himself to was fracturing, right before your eyes. His voice, when he finally spoke, was a low, rough, completely undone whisper that sent a delicious shiver straight to your thighs.
“Y/N...” he murmured, his hand next to your head shifting, his long fingers sliding up to tangle gently into your hair, his thumb caressing your cheekbone. “Can I kiss you? Please.”
Your cheeks burned a brilliant, dark crimson, but you couldn't look away. The sheer vulnerability and burning desire in his eyes made your chest ache in the most beautiful way.
Shyly, your breath catching completely in your throat, you gave a small, slow nod of your head, “Ye—s,” you whispered against his lips. “Please, Hiromi.”
Hearing his first name on your lips broke whatever lingering restraint he had left as your hand on his tie tugged gently, guiding him down, but Higuruma didn’t need the guidance.
He leaned in, closing the remaining distance with a low groan that vibrated against your mouth as he pulled you into a deep, incredibly soft, yet fiercely possessive kiss.
His lips were warm, firm, and parted just enough to taste you completely. The kiss was slow at first, thick with the sweetness of the quiet life you had built, but as your fingers tangled into the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer, the tension snapped.
The kiss deepened, becoming hungry and heated as his tongue swiped gently along your bottom lip, a silent request that had you arching your back against the couch, letting out a soft sigh into his mouth as he poured all of his quiet, intense devotion into you.
The heat of his mouth was all-consuming, a beautiful, swirling storm that left you entirely breathless.
Just as your head began to spin from the sheer intensity of it, Higuruma reluctantly pulled away but he didn’t move far—just a mere few inches, just enough for the cool air of the room to hit your damp, tingling lips.
His chest was heaving, his broad shoulders rising and falling in tandem with your own frantic breaths.
Through heavily hooded eyes, he stared down at your hazed expression as your cheeks were flushed a deep, pretty crimson, your lips parted and beautifully swollen from his touch, and your eyes were glazed over with a sweet, dazed affection meant entirely for him.
Seeing you like this—completely undone by him—shattered the last of his carefully constructed lawyer’s composure. A raw, possessive darkness washed over his features, his thumb sweeping across your cheekbone with a sudden, fierce tenderness.
“You look so beautiful,” he rasped, his voice rougher now, thick with a desire he had kept locked away for a whole year. “So… beautiful, Y/N.”
He didn’t give you a chance to answer. Unable to keep away for even a second longer, Higuruma leaned down and kissed you again.
This time, it was a firm, bruising press of his lips that made you let out a soft, helpless whimper into his mouth as he drank the sound greedily, his hand tangling deeper into your hair to angle your head, anchoring you to the cushions as he tasted you with an intoxicating fervor.
Then, he pulled back just a fraction to catch a ragged breath, only to press his lips against yours yet again.
Each kiss was a wave crashing over you, bolder and hungrier than the last. The playful, cozy atmosphere of the living room had vanished, entirely consumed by the electric, heated rhythm the two of you were creating as your hands clutched desperately at the fabric of his beige sweater, pulling him down, needing to feel the heavy, comforting weight of his body pressing completely against yours.
The grandfather clock in the corner was entirely forgotten, because the only rhythm that mattered now was the frantic, echoing thud of your heartbeats. Locked in his embrace, your chests pressed tightly together, you could feel it—the wild, racing thuds beneath his ribs perfectly synchronizing with yours.
Two hearts, once guarded and isolated by the harsh world outside, now hammering in a matching, desperate tempo as Higuruma let out a low, rumbling groan deep in his throat, a sound that vibrated straight through your lips and sent a thrilling jolt of heat to your core.
He parted his lips further, slipping his tongue past your teeth to deepen the kiss into something profoundly intimate as the kiss grew deeper and deeper, a breathless, dizzying spiral of warmth and unspoken devotion.
He kissed you as if he were memorizing the very shape of your soul, his large hand sliding down from your cheek to cup the side of your neck, his thumb resting right over your racing pulse.
When the desperate need for air finally forced you apart, the separation was agonizingly slow.
You lips clung to his until the very last second, leaving a glistening, silver string of saliva bridging the scant distance between you—a breathless, intimately heated line connecting your mouths before it softly snapped in the dim light.
Higuruma’s thumb immediately caught the moisture at the corner of your lips, his large, scarred hand staying cupped securely around your flushed cheek.
His touch was incredibly warm, his long fingers trembling just a fraction against your skin as he stared down at you, his dark eyes brimming with a fierce, quiet reverence.
With a soft, shaky exhale, you slowly anchored your hands on his broad shoulders and sat up gently. The heavy knit blanket that had fallen to the floor was entirely forgotten; the only warmth you needed was the radiating heat of his body as Higuruma moved with you, shifting his weight seamlessly so he was sitting back on his heels, never once breaking contact.
You leaned forward, tilting your head up just enough to press your forehead against his.
As your skin met, a collective, deeply contented sigh passed between you. Together, as if on a shared cue, you both fluttered your eyes shut. The frantic, roaring adrenaline of the moment began to settle into something profoundly sweet, melting into the quiet, cozy sanctuary of the room.
The background noise of the television and the distant patter of the rain seemed to fade away entirely, leaving only the sound of your synchronized breathing.
Higuruma tilted his head slightly, the rough fabric of his sweater brushing against your collarbone as he shifted as he leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering peck against your burning cheek. His lips were still delightfully warm, sending a wave of goosebumps down your neck.
He didn’t pull away immediately, choosing instead to rest his lips against your skin as he spoke, his deep voice a raspy, rumbling vibration that went straight to your heart.
“You are so… so, so, so divine, Y/N,” he whispered against your cheek, his hand gently tangling into the hair at the back of your neck to hold you close.
Outside the window left ajar, the gentle rhythm of the rain was no longer the only thing cutting through the quiet night.
Down in the alleyway across from the apartment complex, tucked behind the rusted frame of a generator, a lens clicked.
Click! Click! Click!
The shutter was silent, muffled by professional-grade housing, but the mechanical eye was merciless. Through the glass of the uncurtained window, the flickering blue light of the television illuminated everything with devastating clarity.
The camera caught the exact moment you sat up, the intimate, silver string of saliva severing between your lips. It caught the way Higuruma’s large, scarred hand cupped your flushed cheek with fierce devotion.
It caught the breathtakingly tender moment your foreheads pressed together, eyes fluttered shut, as the reclusive bookstore owner pressed a lingering peck to your skin.
In the dark below, a man smiled, his thumb rapidly scrolling through the digital viewfinder.
It was a goldmine.
The nation’s beloved, high-profile actress—the fiercely private woman who had evaded every romantic rumor for years—was wrapped around a seemingly ordinary civilian in a modest apartment… but the media wouldn’t see a beautiful, quiet love story.
They would see a reclusive, older man with scarred knuckles and a career-ending scandal, a shocking lapse in judgment, and a narrative of a corrupted starlet.
By morning, these photos would be a wildfire, ready to tear down the walls of the sanctuary you had spent a year building, but inside, you and Higuruma knew nothing of the impending storm.
You were still wrapped in the afterglow of his voice, your heart hammering a steady, happy rhythm against your ribs as his lips brushed your cheek.
Your fingers curled tighter into the soft knit of his sweater, leaning into his strength, completely safe. “Stay like this for a little longer?” you whispered into the space between you, your voice thick with contentment.
Higuruma let out a soft, breathy sound that was almost a laugh, his arms tightening around your waist to pull you flush against his chest. “As long as you want, counselor. I’m not going anywhere…”
He meant it with every fiber of his being. Outside, a finger hovered over a smartphone screen, ready to send the file to every major tabloid in the country as the digital upload bar hit 100%.
And in the quiet room, your phone, sitting neglected on the low mahogany coffee table right next to the unfinished chess game, suddenly lit up in the dark, vibrating violently against the wood.
When Your Husband Meets Your Work Husband... (Part 1)
⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ Your husband, Higuruma, doesn’t know about the man you’re seeing at work, Nanami.
Written with a female reader in mind. Mentions of pussy and cock, elevator sex, office sex, and car sex. Back shots, munching, squirting, oh my. Infidelity and cheating on your husband. Cuck!Higuruma if you squint. Reader is a saucy tart.
Here you go @alebrasil0101 enjoy <3
Word Count: just under 1.3K
Hiromi Higuruma, your husband of 4 years, is a very put together man. A well respected and recognized lawyer. All his suits are designer, his 2023 Lexus RX is spotless, and he has you sitting comfortably in a multi million dollar penthouse in Tokyo. On the evening he proposed, Higuruma promised you that would never have to worry about anything as long as he’s around.
Your life has been easy ever since. In the morning, you do pilates and go shopping. In the afternoon, you’re enjoying brunch with your friends or engaging in a fun hobby. In the evening, you’re sitting across from your husband quietly enjoying a nice dinner. In the unholy hours of the night, however, that silence is disrupted by passionate gasps and moans as Higuruma makes sweet, devotional love to you.
He worships your body. Every inch of your body deserves to be worshipped according to Hiromi. Higuruma doesn’t just want you sexually. He needs to connect with you. He craves you. The softness of your hair. The sweet moans that escape your lips, and he’ll always be ready to silence you with a kiss when he thinks you’re too loud. And he can’t get enough of that delicious scent that intertwines with his and lingers on the bedsheets the moments after. Higuruma undoubtedly loves you and wants to show you that in every way possible.
That’s why he was very supportive of you going back into the office after spending time as a stay at home wife. Sure, everything is fine. But lately you’ve been feeling a bit bored with everyday living. There’s no rush, no thrill, no excitement. So when you told Higuruma that you want to go back to working, just for a little while, he was surprised but encouraged you nonetheless.
Five months into working at the office, you’ve become quite close with your coworker, Kento Nanami. Tall, blonde, and quite the gentlemen. Nanami comes in every morning with a fresh cup of coffee and a warm pastry just for you. He pays for your lunch and makes banter with you every time you two are at the water cooler. He’s very eager to help as well. You find yourself seeking Nanami out whenever you need a little assistance. Everything from a slow computer to a mishap in Excel. The way he talks you through everything makes you feel a little hot. He’s so patient and soft spoken with you, always reassuring you that you’re doing a good job.
You find yourself going out of your way just to get more time with Nanami. You call him over to help with the most mundane tasks, like borrowing his pen or proof reading an email you’re about to send. On the rare occasion that Nanami is working overtime, you stay late pretending that you have work to do. You make dramatic motions just to get his attention. You bend down a little too low to pick something up. You stretch a little too far and your chest pokes out more. You come up behind him at his desk chair and lean in so he can smell your perfume. Nanami is so stoic and professional, you almost miss the bulge growing in his workpants. To Nanami, you're a tease. He’s fighting the urge to bend you over and fuck you at his desk. It’s a tough fight, but he finds himself losing eventually. You were staying late and this time you happened to be wearing a skirt a bit too short to be work appropriate. You came up to him to make chit-chat about something. Nanami couldn’t focus on anything you were saying. He was too mesmerized by the shape of your lips, and the vanilla perfume you were wearing, and how that skirt cut off right below your thighs. It’s just you two on the floor at this time in the evening. It's not like anyone will know if he just happened to lift up that skirt and swipe his warm tongue up and down your exposed pussy… You weren’t even wearing underwear, you tease.
From that moment, you and Nanami try to find time in the work day for a bit of pleasure. In the elevator, you two are deep into a heated makeout. Nanami works to unbutton your top with rushed hands. He can’t do much in such a short amount of time, but he does work your bra off and tweak and pinch your sensitive nipples. He kisses all over your neck and chest. For a few moments he sucks on your right nipple while rolling your left between his fingers. You rush to fix your clothes before you reach your floor. In the printing room, he’s lifting you up and sitting you on top of the printer. His big strong arms are spreading your legs open and he’s lapping up the wetness from your soaking cunt. An apology for not giving you more in the elevator. You’re squirming so much, and Nanami has to cover your mouth just so you don’t attract any attention. A few particularly hard sucks to your clit cause a soft moan to escape your lips and Nanami’s big hand. Luckily nobody heard you.
Nanami offers to drive you home sometimes, which you take him up on. That’s how you find yourself getting pounded from behind in the backseat of his Maserati Ghibli. He’s much rougher on these occasions. He pushes your face into the seats and smacks your ass. Nanami has wanted you all day and he finally got his hands on you. His thick cock is hitting that one spot that makes you see stars and all you can do is take it. Nanami is so big and thick, and his cock curves just right inside you. He stretches you out a bit and you love it. He’s kind of heavy too. The weight of his cock inside you and the angle he thrusts into you have your eyes rolling to the back of your head. It feels good…a bit too good. There’s a bit of pressure building up, but it’s not uncomfortable. You feel a bit of heat rising up in your stomach and before you know it a warm gush spills all over his leather seats.
Even during the ride home, he can’t keep his hands off you. Nanami keeps one hand on the wheel and the other between your legs, rubbing tiny circles on your puffy clit. He sticks two fingers in your wet cunt just to satiate you on the ride back to your place. His fingers curling up inside you and the warmth from the heated seats causes you to let out the most sinful noises. You get dropped off with a blissful look on your face and messy slick between your thighs.
Your husband, Higuruma, is none the wiser. To him, you’re such a hard working and determined woman. Whenever you do come home late, Higuruma is in the kitchen finishing up dinner for you. He offers to draw you a bath and massage your feet before bed. And his libido still hasn’t changed. Higuruma still shows his undying love to you in the bedroom. Late at night, your face is buried into the pillow and Hiromi’s cock is stuffing you full. He told you to let him do all the work. The back of your neck is covered in licks and kisses from your husband, and he fucks you with a deep and relentless rhythm.
What an insatiable woman you are. Two handsome and rich men who are absolutely enamored with you. Getting fucked by Nanami at work just to be ravished by Higuruma at home. Could it get any better than this?
As we left, I thought we should talk, but I didn't know about what.
What could someone like me possibly say to someone like you?
I couldn't tell you about the customs of my homeland or moments from my life. Nor did I think it right to ask why your eyes had grown so sad when you said goodbye to that man.
"How is it that you're so quiet?"
"I simply... enjoy the silence during the walk."
"Oh, come on. Aren't you curious? I'm sure you've been wondering what kind of relationship I have with Nanami, and I'd rather you be honest and rude than make assumptions about my life. It's difficult to believe that Nanami and I are only friends."
"Too late. I thought you loved Mr. Nanami. And it's obvious that he loves you."
"Impossible. Mr. Nanami is a cold, pragmatic man who's engaged to Mei Mei, a disgustingly wealthy woman."
I glanced at you from the corner of my eye, waiting for you to say more, but you fell silent after that.
It was a cruel punishment because I began forming theories and trying to think of you as something predictable.
Allow me to apologize for that.
Though it no longer matters now, because the past has already happened, and the desire to change it—or regret actions already completed—was something you hated.
I understand why.
Nothing that has happened can be changed, and that reality chained you to others.
"He loves you. He looked at me with suspicion. He was afraid I might be one of your suitors."
You laughed, and I don't think it was because there couldn't have been such a possibility.
Rather, it was because I had shown vanity.
You must forgive me, Y/N.
It is undeniable that we were destined to meet.
"No, he doesn't love me because he can't love me. That's the reality of it. He leaves, and I stay. Whether we love each other or not is insignificant. The choice that was made was the correct one."
"The correct one?" I rolled my eyes and sighed in frustration. "You won't admit it, but you look frustrated. That's because you're being a coward about your feelings."
"In what way am I being a coward?"
"If you love him, then you should go and tell him. You're afraid of rejection, or of not being good enough, but you're beautiful. Besides, there's clearly a great deal of familiarity between you, and there's nothing about you that would make you a monster."
"Mr. Nanami and I know perfectly well how we feel, and we've chosen not to say it, even if it's obvious. Everyone makes their own choices and follows their own path in life. We would have been unhappy together."
"Why?"
"Because I'm engaged too, boy from Cipango."
I was surprised when you admitted that you were engaged.
Ever since I met you, I had never imagined you were someone who sought a traditional life.
Though at the time, I didn't know there was something you desired more than anything else.
Nor did I know that pain would become the thing that hurt both of us the most.
Silence accompanied us for the rest of the walk.
I was speechless.
Even more so when I saw the mansion where you lived.
Did everyone live in houses like these?
You looked at me and motioned for me to enter.
Where I grew up, ours was a large house, but it was much like the others in the neighborhood.
A wooden house with sliding doors; Yuuji always broke the fusuma whenever he became excited to see me.
The tatami mats; without a doubt, Esou's favorite place to sleep.
The spacious garden and the engawa, where Kechizu would always run off to hide.
And undoubtedly my favorite place of all: the tokonoma, where I would practice calligraphy and enjoy moments of solitude.
Now I saw large pieces of furniture adorned with various decorations, people moving from one place to another, rooms that often looked remarkably similar, and you simply guided me forward until you stopped.
"Naoya, how many times do I have to tell you that you can't come into my house?" You frowned before indicating a room. "You can rest there. I'll let you know when dinner is ready. Don't hesitate to call for the servants if necessary."
"Who's that?"
"I am—"
You pushed me into the room and shut the door.
"You don't need to know who I invite into my house. That's my business, and now leave. I can't stand the sight of you."
"We've already discussed this. Three months until the wedding, and you need to let go of whatever your father made you believe. But you are never going to speak to me with that arrogant attitude again."
I couldn't hear anything else beyond the sound of your footsteps moving away.
If I had stepped out and embraced you, would your pain have disappeared?
You had saved me from being put on display.
Yet it took me far too long to understand what—or who—I needed to save you from.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Summary: choso starts coming home quieter than usual. sukuna notices first.
Warnings: bullying (school setting), teen violence, protective sibling dynamics, emotional themes, hurt/comfort, family conflict, sukuna being sukuna, slight angst
Part 2 part 3
The corridor is loud in the way school always is right before lunch.
Lockers slam shut in uneven rhythm. Trainers squeak against polished floors. Someone laughs too loudly at something that isn’t even funny. The air smells like floor cleaner, damp coats, and the faint metallic scent of rain still clinging to people who forgot their umbrellas that morning.
Sukuna is leaning against the wall near the science block.
Half-listening.
Half-not.
A group of boys from his year are talking nearby, but he’s not part of it. He rarely is. He just exists at the edge of things, watching everything without ever really joining in.
That’s when he sees Choso.
He’s coming down the corridor alone.
Head slightly lowered.
Uniform too neat, like he’s trying to hide inside it. His school bag is held tightly over one shoulder, fingers curled too firmly around the strap.
Sukuna notices immediately that Choso isn’t walking like he usually does.
Not calm.
Not steady.
Smaller.
Like he’s trying not to take up space.
Then Sukuna sees them.
Three boys.
Same year as Choso.
They’re not subtle about it.
One of them walks slightly too close behind him, matching his pace. Another one drifts to the side, cutting off space without actually touching him.
The third one is smiling.
Too wide.
Too sharp.
Sukuna straightens slightly without realising it.
He doesn’t move yet.
He watches.
⸻
The first thing they do is the easiest to miss.
One of the boys bumps into Choso’s shoulder as they pass a group of younger students.
Not hard enough to knock him over.
Just enough to make him stumble half a step.
A deliberate mistake.
The boy laughs immediately.
“Careful, yeah? You’re walking like you own the place.”
Choso doesn’t respond.
He just adjusts his grip on his bag strap and keeps walking.
Sukuna’s jaw tightens slightly.
But he still doesn’t move.
⸻
They follow him past the vending machines.
The hallway narrows here, less people around.
The noise from the main corridor fades slightly, replaced by the dull hum of fluorescent lights overhead.
One of the boys walks a little faster, overtaking Choso.
Stops right in front of him.
Forces him to pause.
Choso looks up for the first time.
Just briefly.
Immediately looks back down again.
The boy tilts his head.
“Hey, Kamo.”
No answer.
The silence is intentional now.
Choso is trying to disappear into it.
That makes the boy grin.
“You don’t talk much, do you?”
Still nothing.
Behind him, another boy laughs.
“Maybe he thinks he’s better than us.”
The first boy steps closer.
Close enough that Choso has to tilt his head slightly just to avoid eye contact.
“You always like this?” he asks. “Or just when you’re scared?”
Choso finally speaks.
Quiet.
Controlled.
“I’m not scared.”
A beat.
Sukuna watches from the end of the corridor.
Expression unreadable.
But his eyes sharpen.
⸻
The boy laughs like he’s been given permission.
“Oh yeah?”
He glances at the others.
“Did you hear that?”
One of them smirks.
“Say it again then.”
Choso doesn’t.
He just stands there.
Still.
Trying very hard not to react.
That’s when the second boy steps in closer and taps Choso’s shoulder with two fingers.
Light.
Mocking.
“Relax. We’re just talking.”
Choso flinches anyway.
Tiny.
But Sukuna sees it.
Immediately.
Something in his chest tightens.
⸻
The third boy finally speaks properly.
“You know, it’s kinda weird how you act like you don’t know anyone here.”
He gestures vaguely at the corridor.
“Like you’re just… visiting.”
The first boy leans in again.
“Yeah. Like you don’t belong.”
Choso’s fingers tighten around his bag strap again.
Harder this time.
“You don’t have to—” he starts.
But the boy cuts him off.
“What? You gonna cry?”
Silence.
The kind that stretches too long.
Too uncomfortable.
One of them snorts.
“Bet he cries like a baby when he gets home.”
That one lands differently.
Sukuna’s posture shifts.
Subtle.
But real.
He pushes off the wall slightly.
Still watching.
⸻
The first boy bumps Choso again.
This time on purpose.
Harder.
Choso stumbles a step sideways.
His books shift in his bag.
He doesn’t drop anything.
But his shoulders tense instantly.
“Stop it,” he says.
Not loud.
Not confident.
Just… there.
The boy smiles.
“Ohhh, he can talk.”
Another step closer.
“Say it properly then.”
Choso looks up again.
Longer this time.
His expression is controlled, but Sukuna can see it now.
He’s holding himself together.
Barely.
“I said stop it.”
The boy laughs again.
And that’s when it happens.
He reaches out and flicks Choso’s forehead.
Not hard.
But humiliating.
“Make me.”
⸻
That’s the moment Sukuna moves slightly forward—
just one step—
but then stops again.
Watching.
Measuring.
The air in the corridor feels different now.
He can feel it.
Something building.
Something deciding.
Choso stands still.
Completely still.
And for a second, Sukuna thinks he might actually walk away again.
Masochist!Choso who is just desperate for you to hit him. He fantasises about it day and night, lying in bed with his hand pumping under the sheets. Choso keeps asking. But you're far too scared to do that to your poor angel! He has to suffer with the image in his head instead.
Masochist!Choso who can't help but get excited when you get angry at him. He sits there, nodding obediently, eyes wide with anticipation. It's hard to stay mad for long when he immediately agrees with everything you say in devoted submission.
Masochist!Choso who ends all of your fights with his head between your legs, squished between your thighs. There isn't a single place on earth he would rather be. He really knows how to make it up to you, and he loves the dizzying feeling of having his head pushed back into your intoxicating warmth.
Masochist!Choso who always pays for your nails. He just adores it when you get cute charms. Mostly so he can feel them scratch against his back. He proudly sports red stripes all over his shoulders, going harder on purpose so he gets more.
Masochist!Choso who gets so hard when you're rough with him. Pulling on his hair has him moaning and whining into your mouth, rutting against the sheets. Push him onto the bed after a long day? He's practically salivating at the thought.
Masochist!Choso who loves to be on his knees in front of you. Not only does it give him the best angle to reach between your legs, but the soreness of his knees gets him excited beyond belief. Seeing those purple splotches on his knees after a long session is one of his greatest pleasures.
Masochist!Choso who lets you tug on his piercings. The sharp tug of his Jacob's ladder against the denim of your jeans as he humps your leg. The catch of your lip piercing with his when you make out. The rub of his tongue barbell as he massages his tongue into your folds.
Masochist!Choso who relishes in the lingering pain after you've overstimulated him for hours on end. Always going to sleep a happy man with an ache between his legs and his face between your tits. His favourite feeling.
REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!
TAGLIST(OPEN just comment to be added) : @cherrytintedlens @stqrgumi
Silence settled comfortably between us. I wanted to say something to you, but then I realized we had never introduced ourselves.
"I never told you my name, and I don't know yours either."
"You don't need to tell me who you are. That would only create complications, don't you think the same, Japanese man?" A mischievous smile quickly appeared on your face. "Besides, it's more exciting if we know nothing about each other. Just two people together in a sort of encounter that was destined to happen."
"I think... I think I understand. But... what should I call you, miss?"
"Well... I don't know." Your fingers moved to your lips thoughtfully before you laughed. "Whatever you wish, Japanese man. I won't complain."
"That's difficult... Perhaps... Savior?"
Your laughter rang out at that moment. I felt embarrassed, unsure whether I had said something wrong, but you shook your head.
"You make me sound important. We still know too little about each other to place that kind of value on one another."
"You saved me from that humiliating situation; to me, you are important." My fists clenched in anger as I remembered the incident. "I will be indebted to you for the rest of my life, Savior."
"Wait... Wait..." You covered your mouth, trying to hide an amused smile so as not to offend me. "I'm Y/N Y/L/N."
"Kamo Choso, pleased to meet you."
I stood and bowed respectfully before her. I was surprised when you gently patted my head.
"Choso..."
"Yes?"
"You're so strange. I'd like you to tell me what your life was like in Cipango."
"No. I can't." My voice was firm, accompanied by a repeated shake of my head. My shoulders tensed.
"What do you mean you can't?" You raised a curious eyebrow.
"Isn't Mr. Nanami taking a long time to bring the clothes?"
"What?" Your laughter echoed once more. "No, Mr. Nanami isn't going to fetch your clothes himself. He went to notify a maid and most likely locked himself in his study."
"And it takes that long?" My shoulders relaxed, and I sat down again. "Is it because of how many clothes he owns?"
"It's because of how many clothes he probably doesn't want to lend you." I watched you lean back in the armchair, forgetting the previous topic. "You're from another place. I don't mean that Kento is a bad person or intolerant, but... he loves order. Everything has a place and an owner. You're not the owner of his clothes, but he's not stingy."
"So he'll give me clothes he no longer remembers buying or obtaining, am I correct?"
"You are correct."
Silence settled between the two of us once more. My dark eyes met yours. My heart beat faster before the sound of footsteps reached us.
"Here."
Mr. Nanami himself brought the clothes for me. The seriousness of his tone sent chills down my spine.
"Thank you, Mr. Nanami." I prepared to bow, but he raised a hand to stop me.
"It isn't a favor. I don't want the clothes back, either. You should thank Miss Y/N."
I nodded before looking at you and seeing your eyes widen in surprise. His hand took yours and guided it toward his lips. His dry lips rested against your knuckles and placed a delicate kiss there, lasting only a few seconds that felt eternal.
Your flushed face and your sad gaze were all I needed to know.
You loved each other.
Although that love was not strong enough for either of you to fight for what you truly wanted.
I witnessed your farewell and your separation.
Back then, I looked away.
Today, remembering what happened once more, I would not have done that.
I would have wrapped my arms tightly around you from behind and covered your eyes so he would never see how completely he had broken your heart.
• dad!gumi who acts like he doesn’t care but will have hundreds of photos of his daughter on his phone
• dad!gumi who has one of his divine dogs walk beside her everywhere like a personal bodyguard
• dad!gumi who learns all of his daughter’s favorite cartoons so he can understand what she’s talking about
• dad!gumi who fixes problems before anybody can realize. school project due tomorrow? already helping and printing out papers. forgot lunch? he’s on the way with it
• dad!gumi who doesn’t even realize how much he talks about his kids until someone points it out
• dad!gumi who let’s his daughter paint his nails and style his hair because to him, her happiness is worth the temporary embarrassment
• dad!gumi who finds that uncle yuuji is teaching her cuss words and scolds him for it
• dad!gumi who gets excited when she wants to spend time with him because he knows that won’t last forever
• dad!gumi who texts using the “👍” emoji
• dad!gumi who remembers and will remind her about everything. “did you bring your jacket?” “where’s your watterbottle?”
• dad!gumi who secretly loves carrying her to bed when she falls asleep even after she’s gotten way too big for it.
• dad!gumi who gets a tiny bit offended when she starts preferring to hang out with her friends instead of him
• dad!gumi who hears his daughter say “i wanna be like you when i grow up” and he doesn’t know what to say because he spent most of his life thinking he wasn’t someone worth looking up to.
inspired by this cute art! was smiling the whole time cuz it's so adorbbbs!
this song has a lot of potential as an inspiration for yandere contents. so yearning, i love it. been playing it together with "apartment" by the same artist, presley regier
cw: yandere behaviours, voyeurism if u squint, stalking, masturbation, sex (not graphic), unedited
yandere!choso who has a big fat crush on you for so long, he doesn't even bother to hide it. he befriended you the moment he got interested in you. he learns your favourites, dislikes, and your other interests. he studies you hard, more than he would with his acads. he makes your favourites his favourites so the next time you gush over something you love, he'd act the same while saying you're definitely soulmates. you have the same interests!
yandere!choso loves it when you hook your arms around his because he doesn't have to initiate physical contact. his lips would form into a straight line though when you call him bro or besties. he thought you were already a thing. were you not already dating?
yandere!choso whom you get a little too comfortable with, you often invite him for sleepovers in your room and sleep in the same bed. when your back was facing him and suddenly took off your shirt, midway from taking your bras off, he got too shocked, he dropped his phone on the floor. the sound made you look back and immediately covered your breasts.
"oh my god, i'm so sorry, cho! i-i'll go change in the bathroom." you grabbed your pajamas to change on and slammed the door on your way out. "fuck." he muttered, wiping his flushed face with his hands. he kept his lower body covered in your blanket and took one of your plushies to cover the bulge that was still evident even with the thick comforter covering it.
yandere!choso who wasn't able to sleep well that night. when he got home the next day, he jerked off to you while imagining that very moment. remembering the way you took your shirt off, the way your bra was unclasped, and your plump breasts that were squeezed by your arm when you tried to cover them. he was sure you definitely did that to tease him. didn't you?
yandere!choso who has pictures of you taped on his bedroom walls. candid pictures of you alone in your room, bathing in the bathroom, studying in the library, and the perfect pictures of you you post in your Instagram account. some of them have stains of his cum that he wasn't able to wipe off. you were just too pretty, it makes his heart beat wildly and his dick hard, leaking with precum.
yandere!choso who finally got the balls to confess his feelings to you. it was filled with awkward chuckles and stealing glances, you had to kiss him to ease the tension. his body relaxes under your touch, melting on the way your lips locked with his, and your tongue tasted him. soft whimpers emits from him when you lean your weight on him, pressing his hard cock underneath his baggy pants.
his hands slipped under your clothes, holding you by the waist, thumb traced circles that felt pleasant. just when he was about to lift your shirt off you, you pulled away, wearing that teasing smile on your lips. "did that give you an answer?" oh, right. what was he expecting? he just confessed. he nods meekly, blushing heavily as he pulled a pillow on his lap to once again, cover his pathetic hard-on.
yandere!choso who nervously invites you to his place. cold sweat was dripping from his forehead. he stays behind you as you look around his apartment. big enough for two—maybe three people to live in. then when you finally get to his dim room, you thought it was filled with rock band posters. but when you turned on the lights, you gasped audibly. it was pictures of you. yandere!choso looked down on his bare feet guiltily. you must've not liked it. you're mad, aren't you?
to yandere!choso's shock, you turned to him with twinkling eyes and excitement on your voice. "what the hell, choso? you like me this much?!" you went in, looking at every picture of you. he just followed after you, confused but thrilled, telling you when he had taken the picture because you don't remember.
yandere!choso who begrudgingly willingly took off some of the pictures down when you stopped him mid sex, because it feels weird that your picture on the ceiling was watching you get pounded by him 💔. it doesn't turn him off though. his dick was still standing hard and proud when he comes back to you to get back into action ❤️.
sometimes, i think some of the ideas i think of, should of just remained inside my head cuz i think im so funny enough to post them when im actually not 💔 embarrassing but wtvr
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
If I could describe you that day, I would say you were brave, different, and a savior. Because to me, you were the first person to extend a hand after nine months of captivity at sea. I followed you, trying not to lose sight of you.
"They're barbarians. They think they can take something and turn it into a spectacle."
I kept following you. I hoped you would say something else that would shed light on what was really happening. No matter where I looked, everything was far from home. The strange clothes people wore, the streets, the weather, the sights of everyday life. Meanwhile, you seemed perfectly capable of navigating it all on your own.
"I believe you're from Cipango. Strange that you're not in your homeland."
"Well... I didn't end up here of my own free will."
"I imagined you'd say something like that. After all, the way they treated you was degrading. Your clothes are torn; if you don't mind, Japanese man, would you like to come to my house and borrow some clean clothes?"
"New clothes?"
"Yes, new clothes. Do you intend to walk around in those half-torn garments? I won't force you to do anything you don't wish to do, but... I'm offering help."
My reluctance to part with my torn clothes came from the fact that, if there was any connection left between me and my homeland in those moments, it was those clothes. Even so, I followed you like a puppy follows its owner. I even looked at you with admiration.
The mansion that soon stood before me could only be described as lavish and old. You took the door knocker and struck it three concise times. A dark-skinned maid opened the door. I had never seen anyone so different before, but my admiration was not unusual. You greeted her warmly, while I simply bowed.
The place was spacious. Polished and carved wooden furniture, regularly coated with varnish, gleamed with spotless perfection. Directly ahead stood a staircase leading upstairs, but I could not help noticing the man leaning against the banister. He was tall, with blond hair and tired eyes.
"What brings about this unexpected visit?"
His voice was cold and distant. You simply climbed the stairs and stopped in front of him. I saw your smile, but it was neither gentle nor affectionate. It was mischievous, almost bordering on self-satisfied. Neither of you looked away.
"I've made a new friend, and as you can see, he's rather lacking in proper clothing."
"And why should that be my problem? I should remind you that your 'friends' are of no concern to me, and I do not involve myself in charity. I manage money. That's my field. Beyond that, I provide no assistance. Besides, you've come to my house without any prior notice."
"You're right," you admitted, leaning against the banister. "You're a banker. You only handle accounts. But you're also a man."
The blond man raised an eyebrow, intrigued by your words. I admit, so was I. Then he shook his head and descended the stairs until he stood on the same step as you.
"And what does that have to do with anything?"
"A great deal. My friend is in need of new clothes because, as you can see..." You discreetly gestured toward me. "They're torn, dirty... He can't walk around London—or anywhere else—looking like that. I'd lend him my own clothes." You turned to look at me. "I sincerely would lend him my clothes, but... do you think he'd be comfortable wearing them?"
I immediately shook my head.
You laughed, undoubtedly amused by the speed and certainty of my answer.
"I see where you're going with this." He let out a tired sigh. "I won't deny you anything, you know that." His hand came to rest on your shoulder. "I'll lend him some clothes I should have lying around. No need to return them. We both know that would only be an excuse to come see me, and I should inform you that this week I'll be leaving for the Kingdom of Denmark to visit my grandfather."
"Good. No excuses to see each other." You gave a shy smile before closing your eyes. "Just leave me something that will fit him well. He'll be my guest."
"Give me a minute..." He sighed while his eyes briefly traveled over your figure.
When he turned and climbed the stairs, you guided me into a spacious sitting room. The furniture was minimalistic, making the place feel far more organized. You sat down, and your eyes slowly examined me twice.
"Have a seat," you offered politely. "Mr. Nanami doesn't usually lend things so easily. In fact, he dislikes lending out his clothes, but he's in a good mood today."
"You've known each other for a long time?" I asked as I tested the comfortable armchair. Compared to the cushions back in my homeland, these chairs were far more comfortable, and not sitting at floor level somehow made people feel closer. "I don't mean to pry into your affairs, but... I find it nearly impossible to ignore my curiosity."
"It's fine, it's fine." You laughed softly. "Alright, alright. Yes, that's the answer. Mr. Nanami and I have been good acquaintances for quite some time," you explained casually. "Having status makes you worthy of associating with others who possess the same wealth and standing... You know how it is."
"Good blood does not mix with bad blood."
We both spoke at the same time before silence settled between us.
I knew it.
That day, I knew it.
You and I were cut from the same cloth.
In our eyes were reflected obligations.
Important.
Predetermined.
Suffocating.
I know you.
I know you hate the idea of saying more than you've already thought. Perhaps, at that moment, we were strangers. Yet I needed nothing more than to see the exhaustion on your face and the pain that place caused you.Nor did I need anyone to tell me that the man upstairs was the one tearing your heart apart without mercy
"your highness," suguru smiled against your mouth. "we really mustn't be late."
a low whine escaped you as your legs clung tighter around his waist. your dress was hitched up your hips, rouge slightly smudged on your face while your arms wrapped around his shoulders stubbornly. choosing to ignore him, you pressed your lips to his again.
suguru groaned, his fingers digging harder into your stockinged thighs. he pulled away just to place open-mouthed kisses on your jaw and down your neck, lightly sinking his teeth into the skin, making you whimper. if your parents knew that you were sneaking away to let your butler slip his hands under your skirts while they were hosting a ball to find you a suitor, there was no telling how furious they would be.
too bad you really couldn't care less, not when he was pressing his whole body to yours, trapping you between the wall and his broad chest. your bloomers grew damper with the way he was biting and sucking at your flesh, your hips chasing friction. your tits squished, though not uncomfortably, pushing against your corset. suguru's eyes immediately fell to them and the breath of his laugh made you shiver.
"look at what a mess you've made of yourself," he tutted, almost mockingly, his tone making you blush deeply. "what a shame it would be if your father were to find his beloved daughter in such a state."
embarrassment and frustration flooded you. you hated how his hands refused to stray from where he was holding you up and towards where you really wanted them. "suguru...," you pleaded weakly.
"yes, your highness?" he asked playfully. "i wouldn't know what my lady is asking of me unless she uses her words."
suddenly you felt hot indignation mixed with your arousal as you glared at him. you abruptly shoved his arms away from you and pulled your dress down. he was getting too insolent. you didn't need him, certainly not to satisfy you, not when you had hundreds of men who would kill to touch you.
with an irritated huff, you walked away from him, adjusting your corset back, meaning to leave your chambers and finally go downstairs to your ball. suguru only chuckled behind you, infuriating you further.
a sharp tug on your wrist sent you back against his chest, making you gasp. he really was unfairly pretty up close; dark hair framing his sculpted face, monolid eyes with an unnatural purple hue framed by thick lashes, a perfect cupid's bow that shaped his lips. it annoyed you how much you wanted to kiss and slap him at the same time.
"remember your place, suguru geto," you tried to sound firm even as you were still breathless, scowling up at him. "i am your princess. you are beneath me."
"is that so?" he hummed. "i recall you seemed to like it much better when you were the one under-"
"geto!"
a self-satisfied, cocky yet fond smile pulled his lips as he kissed you again, hands firm on your waist. his tongue slipped in easily as you let out a small sound of faint protest. yet you couldn't help but melt into it, knees weakening. the dazed expression you wore made him unbearably smug.
"i want to get away from here," you demanded in a half whisper against his mouth as you attempted to compose yourself. suguru simply smiled, gaze darkening with the same desire he clearly felt. his grip on you tightened.
"as my lady commands."
✧.* a/n: i started watching black butler for the first time and this was lowk inspired by sebastian but this anime is weird asf icl save ciel from this weirdo author pls ✧.*
The kitchen of his apartment is suffocatingly quiet, save for the rhythmic sound of Satoru tossing a single cherry tomato up in the air and catching it. He’s still in his high-collared jujutsu uniform, dirt on his shoulder from a mission he treated like an afternoon stroll. You had spent the last three hours watching the news, your chest tightening with a familiar, toxic dread as reports of a massive curtain over Shinjuku filled the screen. And now that he’s home, he’s doing exactly what he always does: turning your terror into a comedy routine.
“Seriously, you’re stressing over nothing,” he chuckles, his voice airy and light as he catches the tomato one last time and pops it into his mouth. He doesn't take off his blindfold. He never does when he wants to keep a conversation superficial. “It was just a few special grades. Took me maybe five minutes? I even brought back those sweets you like from that shop near the station. You should be kissing me, not giving me the third degree.”
Usually, this is where you stop. You swallow the lump in your throat, roll your eyes, and let him think his untouchable persona has smoothed things over, because arguing with the strongest man alive feels like trying to scream down a hurricane. But tonight, looking at the fresh tear in his sleeve and the careless tilt of his chin, something inside you snaps. The fear twists into a hot, unyielding rage.
You step forward, slamming your hand flat against the kitchen counter. The loud crack echoes through the room, cutting him off mid-sentence.
“Shut up, Satoru. Just shut your mouth for once in your life!” Your voice isn’t a whimper; it’s a fierce, trembling roar that hits the walls and bounces back. “Stop hiding behind that stupid, arrogant smile! I am sick of it! I am so tired of sitting in this apartment, staring at the clock, wondering if today is the day your Infinity fails. Wondering if today is the day someone finally figures out a way to break through your barrier and leaves you bleeding out in some alley!”
Satoru’s head tilts slightly, his grin freezing in place, but he still tries to wave a dismissive, gloved hand. “Sweetie, I’m the strongest—”
“I don't care about the strongest!” you scream, stepping directly into his personal space, your finger poking hard against his chest, right over his heart. For a split second, your finger actually connects—he has lowered his Infinity out of pure habit around you, leaving himself completely exposed. “You play the fool, you treat every life-or-death battle like a playground game, and you think it’s funny because you can't be touched. But I can be touched, Satoru! Every time you walk out that door with a smirk, you leave me behind to drown in panic! I am telling you right now: either you stop playing the damn fool and start taking your own life seriously, or I am walking out of this door tonight and never coming back.”
The silence that follows is heavy, suffocating. You are breathing heavily, your heart hammering against your ribs, waiting for the defensive laugh, the sarcastic comeback, the inevitable joke.
Instead, his signature smug grin completely drops, vanishing faster than a vanished curse. His hands freeze at his sides. For three agonizing seconds, he doesn't move a muscle. Then, slowly, his fingers reach up to the edge of his black blindfold. He pulls it down, letting the fabric pool around his neck, revealing his bare, unshielded eyes. The brilliant, glowing blue of his Six Eyes is wide, staring down at you with a profound, unscripted shock. For the first time since you’ve known him, he looks completely stripped of his god-complex. He looks raw, vulnerable, and deeply, terribly human.
...“You're going to leave me?” He rasps out the words, his deep voice dropping to an uncharacteristically soft, fractured whisper. The absolute confidence that usually radiates from his posture is entirely gone; his shoulders slump, and he takes a frantic, clumsy step closer to you, his hands hovering tentatively near your waist, completely terrified to touch you but desperately needing to bridge the distance. The King of the Jujutsu world looks like a man who just watched his entire sky fall apart. “No... no, wait. Look at me. Please. I didn't... I didn't think you felt like that. I swear to you, I’m not trying to be reckless. I just... I’m so used to having to be the one who doesn't worry, I forgot how to show you that I'm trying.”
A single, desperate breath escapes him as he finally closes the gap, his massive arms wrapping around your frame, pulling you tightly against his chest. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, his fingers clenching into the fabric of your shirt with a strength that tells you he will never let you walk away.
“The blindfold is off, okay? I’m listening. I’ll change, I swear I will,” he mutters against your skin, his voice thick with a sudden, overwhelming emotion. “Just don't leave me. Don't say you're going to walk away. I can handle a world of curses, but I can't handle a single day in this place without you.”
━━━ ✦夏油傑 SUGURU GETO ✦ ━━━━━━━━
The rain is drumming a relentless, heavy rhythm against the traditional shoji screens of his private temple chambers. Suguru is pacing the length of the tatami mats, the long, dark layers of his Buddhist robes sweeping softly behind him. He has been talking for twenty minutes, his voice carrying that smooth, melodic cadence he uses when he’s preaching to his wealthy, non-sorcerer donors—condescending, beautifully structured, and completely detached from reality. He treats your disagreement like a minor, intellectual debate, pacing back and forth with his hands tucked neatly into his wide sleeves.
“You look at the world through a lens of narrow, emotional sentimentality, Beloved,” he says, stopping to fix you with a placid, incredibly patronizing smile. His narrow eyes are soft, dripping with a terrifyingly calm pity. “It’s natural to feel conflicted. But you must understand the grand design. The monkeys are a disease, a parasitic burden that breeds the very curses that kill our kind. To purge them is not cruelty; it is a clinical necessity. It is the only way to protect the truly righteous.”
You sit on the edge of the low wooden table, your hands clenched into tight fists until your knuckles turn white. You have spent months listening to these grand speeches, watching him slowly descend into an unhinged, ideological madness, trying to convince yourself that the gentle, protective boy from Jujutsu High was still in there somewhere. But hearing him use words like clinical necessity to justify mass slaughter makes the blood boil in your veins. You are completely done playing the quiet, supportive partner to a monster.
You stand up, the sudden movement causing the heavy wooden chair to scrape violently against the floorboards.
“Listen to the absolute garbage coming out of your mouth, Suguru!” You shout, your voice cutting through the peaceful atmosphere of the temple like a blade.
Suguru stops pacing, his head tilting slightly as his polite smile locks into place, a subtle warning in the way his shoulders stiffen. “There is no need to raise your voice—”
“I will raise it as much as I need to get through to you!” You step right up to him, refusing to let his towering height intimidate you as you glare directly into his dark eyes. “Look at yourself! You talk about a grand design, about a paradise for sorcerers, but you're just a coward hiding behind big words because you can't handle how cruel this world is! You want to kill the entire human population? Billions of innocent people, children, families—for what? For who?! How does murdering billions make you a savior?!”
Suguru’s expression darkens, a dangerous, cold aura beginning to radiate from his form as he steps closer, his voice dropping to a low, commanding rumble. “They are monkeys. They do not feel, they do not understand our sacrifice—”
“Your parents were monkeys, Suguru!” You shout the words directly into his face, the raw truth of it hanging in the damp air like a physical blow. His entire body goes completely rigid, his eyes widening in absolute, visceral shock as the words pierce through his carefully constructed armor. “They raised you, they loved you, and you murdered them in cold blood! How can you stand there in those holy robes and preach to me about righteousness when your hands are stained with the blood of your own mother and father?! You aren't a god, Suguru! You're a broken, pathetic mass murderer who lost his way, and I am sick of pretending that you're doing this for a greater good!”
The silence that settles over the room is deafening. The only sound is your ragged breathing and the heavy thud of the rain outside. For a long, terrifying moment, you wonder if this is the moment he summons a horde of curses to tear you apart for your insolence. His face is completely blank, the calm, placid mask he wore for months violently shattered into a million pieces.
A dark, suffocating vein throbs violently on his forehead, his hands trembling inside his sleeves as his entire reality short-circuits. He looks at you, not with the cold calculation of a cult leader, but with the sudden, agonizing panic of a boy who has just been forced to look into a mirror and see the monster he’s become. The grand, charismatic facade completely drains from his face, leaving him looking pale, hollow, and utterly defeated.
“...Do not speak of them,” he whispers, his voice carrying a raw, breathless tremor that contrasts sharply with his usual composure. He takes a shaky step backward, his hand coming up to press against his temple as if trying to block out the reality of your words. “You... you don't understand the burden. You don't know what it’s like to swallow the filth of this world every single day just to keep them safe... just to keep you safe.”
He looks down at his own palms, his breath hitching as if he can suddenly see the blood of his family covering his skin. When he looks back up at you, the cold, murderous cult leader is entirely gone. In his place is a desperately lonely, broken man, his dark eyes wide and pleading as he reaches out, his fingers brushing against your sleeve with a terrifyingly fragile desperation.
“Don't look at me like that,” he begs, his voice cracking completely as he closes his eyes, unable to bear the judgment in your gaze. He collapses forward, resting his forehead heavily against your shoulder, his broad chest shaking as he clings to you like a lifeline in the middle of a storm. “Please... don't call me a monster. If you turn away from me too... then everything I’ve done, every life I’ve taken... it was all for nothing. Just stay here. Even if you hate me, just don't leave me alone in the dark...”
━━━ ✦ 七海建人 KENTO NANAMI ✦ ━━━━━━
Nanami stands by the bedroom dresser, his back perfectly straight, neatly placing his watch, his backup spectacles, and his freshly pressed button-down shirts into a small leather bag. He had delivered the news five minutes ago over dinner: he was leaving his corporate job to officially reinstate his license as a Grade 1 Jujutsu sorcerer. No discussion. No warning. Just a dry, factual announcement.
“The decision is finalized,” he says, his deep voice entirely flat, devoid of any room for negotiation as he folds a tie with mechanical precision. “The current shortage of sorcerers has reached a critical threshold. It would be highly irresponsible of me to remain in an office building while others are sent to die. It is a matter of basic utility and obligation. My train leaves at six o’clock tomorrow morning.”
You stand at the edge of the bedroom, your chest tightening with a sudden, suffocating panic. For months, you had held him through his nightmares, watching him wake up in a cold sweat from the ghosts of his past, believing he had finally escaped that cycle of trauma. And now, he’s just walking right back into the slaughterhouse.
“Kento, look at me,” you try to keep your voice steady, stepping into the room. “We talked about this. You said that world was nothing but regret. You can't just casually decide to go back there without even asking me how I feel about it.”
Nanami doesn't stop folding. He doesn't even tilt his head. “My personal feelings regarding the profession are irrelevant. The situation demands efficiency. I have already signed the contract with Tokyo prefecture. It is no longer open for debate.”
His voice is so incredibly cold. It’s the voice he uses for strangers, for business clients, a thick brick wall meant to shut you out entirely. The sheer indifference of his posture infuriates you, the terror mutating into a desperate, roaring need to break through his armor, to make him feel something, to make him realize what he’s throwing away.
You march forward, grabbing the leather bag from the dresser and slamming it down onto the floor, scattering his perfectly folded clothes across the room.
“Stop acting like a machine, Kento! Look at me!” You yell, your voice sharp and demanding, echoing off the walls.
Nanami finally freezes. He stands completely still for a second before slowly turning around. His expression is a terrifying, unbothered blank mask, his eyes completely shielded behind his dark, spotted glasses. “Losing your temper will not alter the reality of the situation. I am an adult, and I have made an calculated choice based on—”
“Haibara didn't get to make a choice!”
The name tears out of your throat, loud and violent, shattering the quiet apartment.
Nanami’s entire frame instantly locks, his jaw tightening so hard that a sharp line forms along his cheekbone. It’s as if you had physically struck him across the face. For the first time, his rigid professional posture completely breaks, his breath catching sharply in his chest as the ghost of his dead classmate is brutally dragged into the light.
“...What did you say?” he rasps, his deep voice dropping to a low, dangerously quiet rumble that vibrates with a decade of buried, agonizing trauma.
“You heard me!” You scream right back, stepping directly into his personal space, refusing to back down from the sudden, suffocating tension radiating from him. “He was just a kid, Kento! He followed the rules, he did what he was told, and he still ended up under a white sheet! You spent years running away because his death completely broke you, and now you’re just going to march right back into the exact same fire? For what?! To prove a point? Do you want to die too?! Because if you go back there, that’s exactly what’s going to happen, and I am not going to sit here and wait for the phone call telling me you're dead!”
The silence that follows is heavy, agonizing, and entirely devoid of his usual logical rebuttals. Nanami stands perfectly rigid, staring down at your fierce, trembling form. The stoic, unbothered mask he wore like a shield completely shatters into dust. He slowly raises his hand, his fingers trembling ever so slightly as he removes his spotted spectacles, setting them on the dresser behind him. When he looks back at you, his eyes are wide, deeply bloodshot, and completely stripped of their usual cold authority.
“...Do you truly believe I am doing this out of some twisted desire for martyrdom?” He rasps out the words, his voice cracking into a raw, breathless whisper you’ve never heard from him before. He takes a slow, heavy step toward you, the clinical distance he always maintains completely collapsing as his shoulders slump under an immense, sudden exhaustion. The man who always has an answer for everything looks completely defenseless, his gaze desperately scanning your face for mercy. “I live with his ghost every single day. I see his face every time I close my eyes. I do not want to die. God... I want to live here, in this quiet life, with you. But when I see those children being sent into the dirt... I feel like an absolute coward for hiding behind a desk.”
He stops just inches away from you, his large, calloused hands coming up tentatively, hovering in the air before he finally lets them drop heavily onto your shoulders. He bows his head, resting his forehead against yours as a long, shaky breath escapes his chest.
“I am terrified,” he confesses into the dark space between you, his voice thick with a profound, hidden sorrow as his fingers grip your shirt desperately. “Every single time I step onto a battlefield, I am terrified I won't make it back to this apartment. But hearing you say his name... seeing the terror in your eyes... I am so sorry. I am so sorry for making you carry my ghosts. Please, just hold onto me. Let me figure out how to be a good man without destroying the only peace I have left.”
━━━ ✦ 日車寛見 HIROMI HIGURUMA ✦ ━━━━━
The dimly lit office is cluttered with towering stacks of legal briefs and empty coffee cups. Hiromi is sitting behind his desk, his tie completely loosened, staring blankly at a legal file. He has been in a dark, self-destructive spiral for days, completely obsessed with the absolute corruption of the judicial system. But tonight, it’s different. Tonight, he’s treating you like the enemy. You had spent the last hour trying to talk to him about his late hours, but instead of listening, he has been using his legendary legal mind to aggressively pick apart every single sentence you say, turning a domestic conversation into a brutal cross-examination.
“Your grievance lacks any logical consistency,” he says, his voice dripping with a sharp, biting cynicism as he leans forward, pinning you with a cold, intimidating glare. “You claim you want to spend time together, yet you choose to interrupt my work hours to bring it up, which inherently reduces my efficiency. You're operating entirely on emotional impulse, contradicting your own stated goals. It's an irrational waste of time.”
You stand across from the desk, your hands clenching into fists. For weeks, you’ve watched him withdraw into this dark, defensive courtroom of his own making, but hearing him use his brilliant intellect to systematically humiliate you and twist your genuine concern into a "logical fallacy" makes something inside you snap. You are completely done letting him treat your relationship like a fraudulent case he needs to defeat.
You step forward, your hand coming down with a loud, ringing slam directly onto the open law book in front of him, forcing it shut.
“Stop talking to me like I'm a witness on your stand, Hiromi! Look up from those files and face me!” You yell, your voice sharp, unyielding, and echoing off the cold office walls.
Hiromi cracks his neck, his dark eyes narrowing as he refuses to back down, his posture stiffening into a defensive arrogance. “I am merely stating facts. If you cannot handle a rational assessment of your behavior, that is an internal issue, not a legal one—”
“This isn't a trial, and I am not your defendant!” You shout right back, stepping around the desk, forcing yourself into his space so he can't look away from you. “You sit in this dark room, throwing out words like 'logic' and 'data' to justify how miserable you're making yourself. But you're not being rational, Hiromi—you're being a coward! You're using the corruption of the world as an excuse to shut me out because you're too terrified to admit that you're overwhelmed! You want to talk about facts? The fact is you are drowning, and you are actively destroying the one person who is trying to pull you out!”
Hiromi opens his mouth to deliver a sharp, defensive objection, his finger raised to point at you, but as he takes in your blazing, completely fearless expression, the words completely die in his throat. His legendary, articulate composure entirely drains from his face, leaving him looking pale, hollow, and completely exposed. Your raw accusation slices through his legal defenses like a sword, stripping away the brilliant, cynical attorney and leaving nothing but the deeply exhausted, guilty man underneath. The realization that he used his professional intellect to attack his own sanctuary hits his conscience with a devastating clarity.
“...I am destroying you?” He whispers the question, his voice dropping all of its sharp, articulate edge, instantly becoming rough, quiet, and incredibly fragile.
He looks down at his hand, which is suddenly trembling in the air before he slowly lets it fall against the dark wood of his desk. The brilliant legal mind completely short-circuits, his chest tightening as the weight of his own emotional isolation finally breaks through. He pushes his chair back, his movements clumsy and uncoordinated as he stands up, looking at you with a profound, naked remorse.
“God... I’m doing it again,” he mutters, a broken, self-deprecating chuckle escaping his lips before his voice cracks completely. He runs a hand through his messy hair, looking completely defeated. “I turn every conversation into a defense mechanism because I don't know how to exist in this world without hurting people. I use the law to keep everyone at arm's length, even you.”
He walks around the desk, his steps slow and heavy, as if the air in the room has suddenly turned to lead. He stops right in front of you, his tall frame slumping completely as he drops his head, hiding his face from your gaze. He reaches out, his large hands carefully wrapping around your wrists, his grip tight but incredibly gentle as he pulls your hands up to rest against his chest, right over his pounding heart.
“I rest my case,” he whispers into the dark space between you, his eyes wide and pleading as he looks up at you for forgiveness. “You're completely right. I’m terrified. I look at this system, and I feel so entirely powerless that I take it out on the only good thing I have left. Please... don't let me push you away. Keep standing up to me. Force me to look at you, because without you here to tell me when I'm losing my mind, I don't think I'll ever find my way back.”
━━━ ✦ 脹相 CHOSO KAMO✦ ━━━━━━━━━━
The air inside the abandoned hideout is stale and heavy. Choso is standing right in front of the door, his arms tightly crossed over his broad chest, his massive frame completely blocking your exit. He has been standing there for the last ten minutes, ever since you picked up your jacket to simply go outside and get fresh air. His dark hair, tied up in his high twin ponytails, is slightly messy, and the dark mark stretching across the bridge of his nose twitches with a stubborn, frantic energy.
“You are staying inside,” he states with a flat, immovable finality, his pitch-black eyes locked into yours. “It does not matter if it is just a walk. The world outside is unstable, and I cannot guarantee your absolute safety if you leave this room. My sole duty is to keep you alive. You do not need to go out.”
For weeks, you have accommodated his suffocating protectiveness. You understood where it came from—he watched his younger brothers die, and the trauma of those losses has turned him completely paranoid. But you are a human being, not a trophy to be kept on a shelf. Being locked away in a dark room out of his sheer paranoia finally breaks your patience. The claustrophobia mutates into a sharp, burning defiance.
You take a firm step forward and push both of your hands hard against his chest, trying to force his heavy frame away from the handle.
“Move out of my way, Choso!” Your voice rings through the quiet room, sharp and refusing to be intimidated.
Choso doesn't budge another millimeter. He looks down at your hands on his chest, his eyebrows knitting into a stern, deeply patronizing frown. “I am doing this for your own good. You are too reckless. If something happens to you, I—”
“You are suffocating me!” you yell, glaring directly into his eyes, refusing to let his intense presence make you back down. “You think you’re protecting me? You’re turning this place into a prison! I understand that you are grieving, Choso, and I know you are terrified of being alone. But instead of loving me as a partner, you are using your own trauma to control me because you're too terrified to trust me! I cannot live like this, staring at these four walls just to make you feel secure!”
Choso’s breath cuts short, his jaw locking tight. He opens his mouth to deliver another fierce, stubborn older-brother command, but you cut him off before he can even breathe.
“If you keep me locked in this room because you refuse to deal with your own fears, I will never look at you the same way again!” you scream, your voice trembling with raw emotion. “You want to protect me? Then trust me! Let me breathe! Because if your only way of loving me is to strip away my freedom and treat me like a captive, then I don't want it. Move away from that door, or we are completely done!”
The silence that follows is thick and agonizing. His imperturbable, authoritative older-brother mask violently shatters into pieces, his face completely draining of color. The word done and the threat of you walking away from his life pierce through his defenses like a cursed blade.
A total, visceral panic takes over his features, and his large hands begin to tremble heavily at his sides. He looks down at you, completely stripped of his stubborn composure, tears of genuine panic suddenly welling up in his eyes.
“...Done?” he rasps out the word in a broken, breathless whisper. He takes a frantic, clumsy step toward you, his shaking hands hovering near your arms—utterly terrified to touch you after what you just said, yet desperately needing to bridge the gap. The fierce death painting looks entirely defenseless, completely terrified by the realization of what he's done. “No... please, don't say that. Don't say you don't want my love. I... I didn't mean to make you a prisoner. I swear to you, I didn't...”
He drops his head heavily against your shoulder, his broad frame shaking with slight tremors as he timidly wraps his large arms around your waist, clinging to you with a fragile desperation.
“I see blood and death every time I close my eyes,” he confesses, his deep voice muffled and thick with swallowed emotion against your neck. “The thought of losing you makes me lose my mind. But I am wrong. I am so sorry. I am moving. You can go... you can walk out that door. Just... please, come back to me.”
━━━ ✦ 伏黒甚爾 TOJI FUSHIGURO ✦ ━━━━━━
Toji is standing near the entryway, casually slipping a hidden weapon into his jacket, his massive frame radiating his usual, lazy indifference. You had found the document hidden in his coat pocket just moments ago. It wasn't a standard underworld dispute or a rival sorcerer contract. It was a hit.
Normally, you say absolutely nothing. You’ve spent months turning a blind eye to his shady dealings, purposefully ignoring the dark, bloody world he operates in just to keep a roof over your head. You knew who he was when you chose to stay. But this time, looking at the paper in your hands, the reality of it is too sickening to ignore; a line has been crossed, and your usual silence completely dissolves into pure horror.
You step directly into his path, blocking his access to the front door, the document tightly gripped in your trembling hands.
“Toji, look at this. Look at what you're doing,” you say, your voice cracking, thick with a sudden, overwhelming dread. “This isn't just a regular contract. This isn't just some corrupt sorcerer or a gang member. It’s a child. She’s an innocent student, Toji. How can you look at a kid and see a paycheck? How can you walk out that door to go end her life?!”
“Put the papers down,” Toji cuts you off instantly, his deep, gravelly voice flat and entirely devoid of any warmth. He doesn't look at you, his eyes fixed on the front door as he adjusts his collar. “It’s none of your business. Go back to bed.”
“But Toji, you don't understand, she's just—” You try to speak, your voice desperate, but he violently cuts you off again, his tone hardening into a cynical, impenetrable wall.
“I said drop it! It’s just a contract,” he snaps, his sharp green eyes flashing with a sudden, tense irritation as he glares down at you. “They're offering a fortune. Once the job is done, the payout is more than enough for us to live comfortably. After this one, I’m done. I'm retiring for good. So stop overthinking it and let me handle my business.”
Hearing him reduce a human life to his final retirement plan makes something inside you break. Your fear completely vanishes, replaced by a raw, desperate determination to shatter his calculated apathy.
You step even closer, physically forcing yourself into his space. With a sharp, aggressive movement, you thrust the document directly under his eyes, holding it so close to his face that he has no choice but to look at the printed ink.
“But it’s not just a contract, Toji! It’s a kid! Look at her!” you scream, your voice trembling with an agonizing mixture of rage and grief as your fingers tightly grip the edges of the paper. “Look at the paper, look at her face! She has a face, Toji! She has a name! Look at it—Riko Amanai! She is a real person, not a piece of paper, not a paycheck! Look at her!”
Toji stops dead in his tracks. His usual bored, dismissive expression completely short-circuits as the photo of the young girl is forced right into his field of vision. His jaw tightens so hard that a sharp line forms along his cheekbone, his massive frame completely locking into a tense, heavy stillness. For a split second, the cold reality of his target’s innocence pierces right through his cynical armor. He looks profoundly troubled, his throat bobbing as he swallows hard, the name Riko Amanai hanging heavily in the suffocating silence of the hallway.
Before you can say another word, his large, rough hand reaches out with a sudden, heavy sweep, forcefully snatching the papers out of your hands.
“I told you to drop it,” he mutters under his breath, his voice dropping to a low, rough murmur that carries a heavy, stifled bitterness. He doesn't tear the paper, and he doesn't shout; he just shoves the crumpled document deep into his jacket pocket, deliberately turning his gaze away from you to stare blankly at the wood of the front door. “I don't get paid to memorize their names.”
You stand before him, completely helpless, as hot, heavy tears finally spill over your eyelashes, tracking slowly and silently down your cheeks. Your chest heaves with a quiet, devastating heartbreak, watching him choose his pride and his greed over a child’s life.
Toji catches the sight of your tears glistening in the dim light of the entryway. A profound, visible conflict flashes through his green eyes; his posture slumps slightly, looking entirely suffocated and weighed down by the raw pain he’s causing you. He wants to say something, his hand twitching slightly inside his pocket, but his deeply ingrained resentment toward the world blocks him entirely.
He lets out a harsh, ragged sigh, completely turning his back to you as he reaches for the doorknob.
“Go to sleep,” he says quietly, his voice rough and strangely hollow, refusing to look back at your crying form as he opens the door. “Don't wait up for me.”
He steps out into the cold night air and quietly pulls the door shut behind him—leaving you entirely alone in the dim hallway, the silent tears still falling as his heavy footsteps slowly fade down the dark corridor.
━━━ ✦ 禪院相哉 NAOYA ZEN'IN ✦ ━━━━━━━
The sterile corridors of the Zenin estate are dead silent, save for the rhythmic clicking of Naoya’s wooden sandals. He walks ahead with casual, predatory grace, hands tucked neatly into his expensive haori.
Following three exact paces behind him, your eyes remain lowered. As his wife, you have spent your marriage accepting your place in his shadow, remaining quiet and submissive as tradition demands. You’ve watched him humiliate others before and stayed silent to preserve the harmony of the house. But tonight, a suffocating dread grips your throat. Naoya is heading toward the secondary courtyards, a cruel sneer on his face, fully intending to physically "discipline" Maki and Mai after a failed training assessment. You know the cruelty they endure when no one is looking. For the first time, your fear for the twins overpowers centuries of tradition and your duties as a Zenin wife.
You break formation. Hurrying forward, you shatter the mandatory three-pace gap and step directly in front of him, your hand catching the silk of his sleeve.
“Naoya, please, wait,” you say, your voice trembling but desperate as you block his path.
Naoya stops dead. For a long, terrifying second, he just stares at your hand on his sleeve, his eyes narrowing in pure, aristocratic disgust. He slowly raises his head, golden-brown eyes locking onto yours. “What do you think you’re doing? Have you completely forgotten your place? Remove your hand before I decide to break it.”
“Please, don't go to the courtyard,” you beg, refusing to move. “Maki and Mai worked as hard as they could today. They’re exhausted, they're bleeding. If you go out there now, you’re going to seriously hurt them. I know my duties as your wife, but they are just young girls! Please, leave them alone tonight.”
Naoya lets out a sharp, condescending chuckle, tilting his head. “A wife trying to dictate the discipline of the main house? You really have lost your mind. Those two failures are a stain on the Zenin name. If they cannot handle the training, they will be taught their place by force. And as for you...” His voice drops to a lethal hiss, his hand snapping out to grab your wrist in a crushing grip. “...you stand three paces behind me. You do not speak unless spoken to. And you certainly do not stand in my way.”
“I won't let you hurt them!” you cry out, trying to use your weight to keep him from passing. “They are your family, Naoya! How can you be so heartless?!”
The insult violently strips the amusement from his face. His eyes flash with dangerous rage, his jaw clenching tightly. A man of his status being scolded and blocked by his own wife—the woman who is supposed to be the perfect reflection of his authority—is a humiliation he will not tolerate.
With a brutal twist of his wrist, Naoya aggressively shoves you backward, throwing his full physical strength into the impact.
Your feet lose their grip. You fly backward, crashing hard against the sliding shoji screen before tumbling violently onto the wooden floorboards of the terrace. A sharp, white-hot pain explodes through your shoulder as you hit the ground. You let out a breathless gasp, clutching your injured arm, unable to move.
Naoya stands over you, looking down at his trembling wife with chilling indifference. He steps closer, his wooden sandals clicking right next to your head, and slowly raises his hand, his fingers curling into a tight fist to strike you across the face.
You close your eyes tightly, bracing for the blow—
“Lord Naoya.”
The deep voice of an elderly clan servant suddenly echoes from the end of the hallway. “The clan head demands your immediate presence in the main meeting hall. The elders from the Gojo clan have just arrived.”
Naoya’s hand freezes inches from your face. He lets out a sharp, clicked tongue of immense frustration, his eyes snapping back down to your pale, tear-streaked face.
He slowly lowers his hand, smoothing down his haori with terrifying calmness. He looks down at you one last time, his eyes cold and devoid of mercy.
“Consider yourself lucky that duty calls,” Naoya siffs out, his voice smooth and dripping with an implicit promise of future violence. He steps right over your injured body without a second glance. “Don't bother moving from that floor. We are going to settle this little rebellion of yours the exact moment I get back.”
━━━ ✦ 宿儺 RYOMEN SUKUNA ✦ ━━━━━━━━
The grand hall of the temple is dark, illuminated only by the flickering glow of massive fire pits. The air is thick with the heavy scent of blood. Ryomen Sukuna is lounging carelessly upon his throne of skulls, his massive, four-armed frame radiating a suffocating pressure. At the foot of his steps, two guards violently throw a battered, bleeding prisoner onto the cold stone floor. Your breath hitches. It is your uncle—the man who raised you, captured tonight inside the inner palace walls while trying to break into your quarters to help you escape.
Sukuna leans his chin on his upper hand, his primary red eyes gleaming with a bored, sadistic amusement.
“A rat in my palace,” Sukuna rumbles, his deep, gravelly voice echoing off the high stone ceiling. “He was caught near your chambers, trying to steal away my favorite prize. I think I’ll take my time slicing the meat from his bones before I feed what’s left to the crows. What do you think, my lovely little thing? Shall we watch him beg together?”
You stand a few feet away, your entire body shaking violently. For months, you have accepted his possessive touch and stayed by his side, learning how to handle his monstrous whims just to keep the peace. But seeing your own blood dying on the floor obliterates your compliance. A desperate, reckless terror takes over.
You sprint forward, throwing yourself directly onto your knees between the throne and your uncle, your hands pressing flat against the cold stone as you bow your head in desperation.
“Lord Sukuna, I beg of you, please!” you scream, your voice piercing through the heavy silence of the temple. “Show mercy! He only did it because he loves me, he knows nothing of your strength! Please, Lord, spare his life! Do whatever you wish with me, I will never speak of leaving again, but I implore you, do not kill him!”
Sukuna’s movements instantly freeze. The casual twirling of his dagger stops. His amused expression slowly melts away, replaced by a terrifying, absolute stillness as all four of his red eyes lock directly onto you. The sheer audacity of you standing in his way, begging for a man who tried to tear you away from his side, is a direct insult to his possessive nature.
“You dare to stand in my way for the sake of a thief?” Sukuna commands, his voice dropping to a low, guttural vibration that makes the stones beneath your knees tremble. “You belong to me. Every hair on your head, every breath you take is mine. And you dare use your mouth to beg for a dog who tried to steal you from my bed? Step aside before I cleave you along with him.”
“No, Lord, please!” you wail, tears of pure terror and agony streaming down your face as you look up into his monstrous countenance, completely losing your mind with grief. “Look at him, he is bleeding to death already! Have you no mercy?! He is my family! You have taken my home, you have taken my freedom, must you take his life too?! Please, Lord Sukuna, I am begging you!”
The insult of you demanding mercy and choosing your family over his favor violently strips any lingering affection from his face. His eyes flash with a volatile, god-like rage, his four dark markings sharpening against his skin. He does not lower himself to argue when his authority is questioned. He simply snaps his fingers.
“Uraume,” Sukuna siffs out, his voice smooth, terrifyingly cold, and entirely devoid of emotion. “Remove this annoying creature from my sight.”
Instantly, Uraume steps out from the shadows, their eyes icy and expressionless as they signal the heavy guards. Before you can even reach out to touch your uncle one last time, two massive soldiers violently grab you by your arms, dragging you backward across the stone floor.
“No! Lord Sukuna! Please! Look at me! Lord!” you scream desperately, your fingers clawing at the air, your voice cracking into a raw, agonizing shriek as you are forcefully hauled away toward the heavy doors. “Do not do this! I am begging you, Lord! Spare him!”
Sukuna doesn't even watch you go. He completely turns his back to your screaming form, his four eyes fixing back on the bleeding man at his feet with chilling indifference, his twisted affection entirely replaced by cold wrath. Your desperate wails and tears mean absolutely nothing to the King of Curses when his pride is crossed. As the heavy wooden doors slam shut, cutting off your cries, the faint, sickening sound of his laughter echoes down the corridor, leaving you entirely powerless in the dark.
━━━ ✦ 虎杖悠仁 YUJI ITADORI ✦ ━━━━━━━━
The atmosphere inside the Jujutsu High dorm room is thick with an unbearable, looming dread. Outside, the sky is already turning a sickly, unnatural shade as the curtains begin to drop over Shibuya. Yuji is standing near his desk, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet as he tightly secures his signature red hoodie. His face is set with an unwavering, intense focus, his wide eyes shining with that familiar, stubborn optimism that usually keeps you grounded.
“Hey, don't make that face! I’m gonna be totally fine, I promise,” Yuji says, a reassuring, bright smile stretching across his lips as he steps toward you. He reaches out, gently rubbing the back of his neck with a cheerful laugh. “The others are already heading out, and Gojo-sensei is gonna be there too! I’ve gotten way stronger, you know? I have to go with them and fight. If I stay here while everyone else is putting their lives on the line... I just wouldn't be me. So just wait here in the dorms, okay? I’ll be back before you know it!”
You stand right in front of the door, your chest tightening until it physically hurts to breathe. He’s talking about marching into a literal warzone like it’s a high school tournament. He has no idea what’s waiting for them down there, and watching him smile in the face of absolute horror makes something inside you completely shatter. The suffocating terror and frustration build up in your throat until you can't contain it anymore.
You step forward, grabbing the fabric of his red hood with both hands and yanking him down to your eye level, your voice tearing out of you in a raw, desperate scream that echoes off the small dorm walls.
“Stop being so damn stupid, Yuji! Just stop it!” you howl, your voice cracking violently as hot tears finally stream down your face. “Look at me! This isn't a normal mission! The city is burning, a curtain is dropping, and you’re casually talking about going into a suicide mission with a smile on your face! I don't care about your promises right now! If you go to Shibuya with the others, you aren't coming back the same... or you aren't coming back at all! Please, just stay here in the room! Just stay with me! Let someone else be the hero for once!”
Yuji freezes, his wide eyes blinking in absolute shock. His sunny, optimistic grin instantly drops, vanishing into a heavy, somber stillness. He looks down at your hands clutching his hood, his chest rising and falling softly as the weight of your raw agony finally registers in his heart. For a long moment, the cheerful teenager disappears, leaving behind a boy who carries the weight of a demon in his soul.
He slowly covers your trembling hands with his own large, warm palms. His expression shifts into something incredibly soft, deeply loving, but heartbreakingly resolute.
“I’m sorry,” Yuji whispers, his voice dropping to a gentle, quiet rumble that makes your heart sink. He doesn't look away from your tear-streaked face. “I know you’re scared. And I’m scared too. But if I stay locked in this room while my friends are bleeding out there... I won't ever be able to look at myself in the mirror again. I have to go. It’s who I am.”
Before you can scream at him again, Yuji leans down. He presses a soft, lingering kiss directly against your trembling lips—a small, bittersweet smack that carries all the unspoken devotion and love he has for you. It’s brief, but it tells you everything he can't put into words.
He gently pulls away, giving you one last, fragile smile as his warm fingers softly untangle your grip from his hood.
“I love you. Wait for me,” he says softly. Turning on his heel, he opens the dorm door and dashes out into the hallway to join the others, disappearing into the corridor without a single look back, leaving you entirely alone in the quiet room with the echo of his name on your lips.
━━━ ✦ 伏黒恵 MEGUMI FUSHIGURO ✦ ━━━━━
The familiar walls of the Jujutsu High dorm room feel incredibly suffocating tonight. Megumi is standing near his desk, his uniform jacket draped carelessly over a chair. His face is a map of fresh bandages, and his knuckles are raw and split from the brutal confrontation with the Special Grade at the Eishu Detention Center. His dark, spiky hair shadows his eyes, and his posture is completely stiff, radiating a cold, robotic neutrality that makes your stomach turn.
“The official report has been filed with the higher-ups,” Megumi says, his voice flat, completely devoid of any pitch or emotion as he stares blankly at the floorboards. “The mission was a failure due to a lack of preparation. It’s a done case. There's nothing more to discuss.”
You stand a few feet away, your chest tightening until it physically hurts to breathe. It has been barely two hours since the news arrived: Yuji Itadori’s heart had been ripped from his chest. Yuji was dead. Your mutual friend, the boy who filled these quiet halls with life, was lying on a cold slab. And here Megumi is, standing in his room, talking about it like it’s a standard piece of academic paperwork. The absolute refusal to show an ounce of grief, the brick wall he’s putting up to shut you out, makes a fierce, uncontrollable rage explode in your chest.
You march forward, breaking through his personal space and grabbing the collar of his shirt, physically forcing him to look at you.
“Is that seriously all you have to say, Megumi?!” you scream, your voice cracking violently as it echoes off the small dorm walls. “'It’s a done case'?! Yuji is dead! He died right out there, and you're standing in your room acting like it’s just a standard mission error! You fought beside him, you watched it happen, and you don't even have the decency to show a shred of emotion?! How can you be so utterly heartless?! Stop acting like a machine and face the reality of what happened!”
Megumi opens his mouth to deliver another sharp, logical rebuttal to defend his composure, but as he takes in your blazing, tear-streaked face, the words completely die in his throat. His stoic, unbothered mask violently shatters, his entire body going completely rigid under your tight grip.
“You think I don't feel anything?!” Megumi suddenly roars back, his voice cracking into a raw, fierce shout you have never heard from him before. His dark eyes fly wide, instantly filling with thick, heavy tears that he can no longer suppress, his jaw trembling violently. “I am the reason he’s dead! I’m the one who told him to save people at that detention center! If I hadn't been too weak to defeat that curse, he would never have had to switch with Sukuna! He died right in front of my face, looking at me, and I couldn't do a single damn thing to save him!”
The admission tears through his throat like a physical wound. The brilliant, logical prodigy completely short-circuits, his chest heaving heavily as the weight of his immense guilt and grief finally breaks through his defenses. He looks down at his trembling, blood-stained hands, his breath hitching as a single, heavy tear spills over his lashes and drops onto the floor.
“I’m terrified,” he confesses in a rough, broken whisper, his stubborn pride entirely collapsing as he sags forward under the weight of his own pain. He drops his forehead heavily against your shoulder, his large hands coming up to clench tightly into the fabric of your sleeves. He clings to you with a desperate, crushing strength, his broad shoulders shaking violently as he finally allows himself to break down and weep. “I lost my sister, I lost my classmate... I can't keep doing this alone. If I lose you too... I won't survive it. Please, just don't let go of me right now. I don't know how to fix this.”
I’m coming back with some soul-crushing angst as an apology gift for my absence. I couldn't see myself doing it any other way, so yes, it’s very long (￣Д￣) Writing the Toji one absolutely broke my heart, and I’m still not over it.... Don't say I didn't warn you!
Likes are really appreciated and reblogs are what keep this blog alive. If you enjoyed this please consider sharing! (っ˘ω˘ς )♡
If someone had told me years ago that this was my destiny... I would have accepted it all over again just to see you one more time. Your words are still tattooed on my skin, and I think more about you than I do about myself.
Some call it madness, others obsession, and my family thinks I can't move on. But the truth is that you are a sweet melody that stays in my head, and I do not wish to drive you away.
I never did. I never will.I wish I could return to that winter. A winter colder than usual, and I still did not understand what drove my parents to send me away from home. My duty as the eldest brother is to take care of my younger siblings, but that day I understood there were other obligations as well.
"Your complaints won't make your father decide not to send you to Europe, do you understand?" —my mother said in that soft voice of hers, but her gaze said much more. I could sense her fear of me going into the unknown.— "It is an opportunity for the family and—"
"An honor and a privilege that allows us to maintain a high status and display our abilities," —I said with a sigh, reciting from memory the typical phrases my mother, father, and even grandfather repeated endlessly.—"Can you understand why I feel uneasy about leaving my younger brothers behind?"
"A mother takes care of her children. You only have to watch over them. What reason do you have to feel uneasy?"
"I have been with Kechizu since he was a baby because you refused to breastfeed him due to his skin condition. You also hate Esou's back and keep them hidden from everyone else."
"You will never understand, Choso. To see those oni come out of me..." Her hands clenched her silk kimono as the sweetness in her eyes turned into intense fury directed at me. "My insides twist just thinking that I carried those two beings for nine months."
"My brothers are just as human as Yuuji," I said, hurt and angry because the woman I called mother could never admit her mistakes. She always pointed at others. Never herself. "Kechizu shows interest in his writing lessons..." A gentle smile appeared on my face for a few seconds. "But his scaly, cracked skin is the only thing you see."
My head turned sharply when my mother slapped me.We looked at one another. As if we were two strangers, and perhaps we were. Because it was not until I met you that I discovered myself. At that moment, I simply left with the things my mother had prepared for my new profession: oranda tsuji.
My parents were happy knowing that the shogun had promoted me to that position.The work was boring; I went to the port of Dejima. I met Dutch merchants and translated what was being said. Transactions, inventory inspections, and requests for goods. That profession brought status to the family, but at the same time it took away freedom. Constant surveillance and countless details to keep in mind so that no one would think I sympathized with foreigners.
"Hey!"
I turned around, not knowing why he was calling me or whether it would get me into trouble; still, I turned. But I did not speak and only glanced at him from the corner of my eye. A rare moment without supervision.
"Yes?"
"Japanese boy, is that paint on your face?"
"On my face? Ah... No. It is not paint. They are birthmarks."
"Birthmarks?"— His laugh was rough, but I noticed a glimmer of admiration on his face. I never thought those marks my parents despised would be interesting to foreigners.
"Funny!" He shook his head. "Come, Japanese boy. Come." He motioned with his hand for me to approach.
"Come?" I stepped back. "No... I should not... No..." My eyes darted from side to side as I hunched slightly. "I'm coming."
I saw him leading me toward the ship. At that moment I only thought that perhaps there was heavy cargo he wanted help carrying aboard. But I was foolish to go down first, because that Dutchman pushed me, causing me to hit my head.
By the time I regained consciousness, everything was dark. Sometimes I could feel the movement of the ship when the sea storms were fierce. Every now and then I could catch a glimpse of light, on days when I assumed the weather was fair. On particularly lucky days, I could eat something or drink a little water that was not in very good condition.
Seven months? Nine months? I spent that entire time locked away, unable to escape. Out of fear. Fear of being attacked. Fear of never seeing my younger brothers again.
The first time I saw sunlight was when that Dutchman and several others dragged me out. That place was chaotic. People shouted and moved in every direction. I looked around, seeing countless ships and cargo constantly being transported. Various smells—tar, mud, and rotten fish—hit me all at once, making me dizzy.
"Quick!"
"The cage!"
"Take off his clothes!"
I could not react. I was weak from malnutrition and thirst after spending so long in that dark place. The foreigners organized themselves. Two brought a large, sturdy cage, while two others tore at my clothes. In their haste, they only managed to rip my garments apart.
"Come closer and take a look!" one of the foreigners shouted.
"A monster straight from Cipango itself!"
"Mom! Mom! Look, a monster!"
The boy tugged at his mother's skirt, and she, horrified by my marks, pulled her child away from me.People soon surrounded me. Frightened, I stepped back without knowing how to escape, but the blows, spit, and insults quickly followed. I covered my face, horrified by myself; for the first time, I understood my mother. My birthmarks are hideous.
"Stop!" —you exclaimed as you pushed your way through the crowd. "What are you doing? Putting a person in a cage just because they have something different about them? Just because they come from another place?"
Your voice was gentle. My frightened gaze met yours. Those eyes (eye color.) They were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen in my life. Your hand did not tremble when you snatched the padlock from that Dutchman's hand. You opened the cage. You gave me the freedom that had been stolen from me for so long in a matter of seconds. You saved me, you helped me... You were the first person to do that.
choso knew about the bet, but he didn’t exactly… participate in it.
But what he didn’t expect, was it to get this far.
Now he’s standing by Sukuna while Suguru tries to awkwardly comfort Satoru.
“I-I don’t understand! I mean.. sure what I said what a dick move but I was basically begging her to come back!” He cries, warm tears spilling from his eyes as he whines.
“um.. maybe you shouldn’t have approached her as a b—“ “Shut up Choso!” Satoru interrupts, crying harder as tears stained the pillow of the frat couch.
Choso only sighs, scratching the back of his neck as he shakes his head, going back up to his dorm.
People don’t really assume Choso to be an animation major. It’s pretty self explanatory why.. he’s in a frat.
Choso doesn’t even understand himself how he got into the frat, but he manages well. Attending parties, hooking up with the occasional girls, not all the time, but enough so that he doesn’t seem like the boring guy that sticks around.
So now, hes huddled up in his room working on his latest animation project when he realizes, shit, he forgot his sketchbook in the Fine Arts hall.
Begrudgingly, he gets up and walks back past a still sobbing Satoru, Sukuna glancing at him before looking back down at the hopeless, sobbing mess.
This shouldn’t take that long. he thinks to himself, the fine arts hall is just down here.
Then he encounters a familiar shadow walking around.
You.
He doesn’t really say anything at first as he slips inside a current lecture, checking his usual area and making short eye contact with his professor, before quickly walking out.
“Hey.”
Choso looks up, eyes widening slightly at the sight of you in front of him..
“.. uhm.. hey.” he manages to say as he pauses, hes never really gotten a close up look at you, but now that he has..
No wonder satoru was sobbing over you. Not only did you like anime, you were gorgeous as well.
“Animation major?” you ask quietly, “didn’t really expect that.”
Choso only laughs a bit, and you felt your heart flip in a way it shouldn’t.
“A lot of people dont really expect me to be an animation major. They usually assume im in the same majors as my frat brothers.” he says. “um…” he sighs, “I-I heard you like anime?” he manages to force himself to say. It would be incredibly embarrassing if Satoru was lying about this.
You freeze momentarily, before nodding. “Yeah.. yeah I do. um… why do you ask?” You answer quietly.
“Uhm… well obviously im an animation major, so- so I would just be wondering if you’d like to watch an anime with me? It’s fine if you say no! It’s just for a project and it’s been boring watching it—“ He doesn’t even know why he’s rambling, and certainly he doesn’t even know why he’s asking you to watch it with him. He prepares himself for rejected before..
You nod.
Actually nodded.
“yeah, i think i’ll love that. When would be a good time?”
“right now.” he quickly says, almost interrupting you.
You pause again, stunned before laughing.
“I- I mean sure!” But you quickly freeze.
“Wait, isn’t Gojo in your frat?” You ask, you try not to let your nerves show but you couldn’t help fidgeting a bit.
Choso gulps before looking away.
“Well, i mean yeah but theres a back entrance we can go into and it leads to my dorm. without walking in the main area.” He says. And you think about it before nodding, following him to the frat.
You tried forgetting about this place, but you had to bring yourself here.
You’re only here for choso. not Gojo. You tell yourself, following Choso up the back entrance and into his dorm.
His room was shocking to you. You froze the moment you walked in and immediately took in everything that surrounded you.
Anime figures on bookshelves and his desk, his desk filled with art supplies and a laptop, while is bed was completely stuffed with different plushies.
“Is it weird to say im jealous of your room?” You ask nervously, taking a seat next to him on his filled bed.
“No.. well maybe? I don’t know…” he says quietly as he grabs his laptop and placed it in front of you two.
You lean back slightly against the plushies pulled in front of the headboard of the bed. watching the anime with intense focus before..
you feel his head drop to your shoulder.
you immediately stop breathing for a moment, looking down at him, only to see that he is completely dead asleep.
you quickly shake him awake, and he blinks to consciousness.
“Choso, what if Gojo walks in—?” “Stop worrying about him.” He says tiredly, wrapping loose arms around you and leaning against you.
Soon, you both slowly drifted off to sleep, his head leaning and burying into your neck while your head leaned and pressed against his.
Maybe this wasn’t so bad.
You don’t even notice Gojo standing at the doorway, staring at you two. (he immediately started scolding choso when you left. before crying. again.)
pt.1 pt.2 (nanami vers.)
a/n: sorry if this sucks i did not know what to do with this.. but the people asked so they shall receive even though this fic sucks booty
please do not copy write, or feed my work into ai. All credits are to megachickenexplosion. Not my art. Art found on pinterest.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Summary: Hiromi missed dinner with his fiancée. Again.
Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, The Don Quixote Theme Song
Note: This is a random Higuruma one-shot I wrote when I was exhausted and wanted to vent my anger at a man! (Divider is from @dollywons)
Song Recs: Work Song by Hozier, Miracle Shopping by Maimi Tanaka, Wait by the River by Lord Huron
General Masterlist | read on AO3
Higuruma came home deep in the night, exhaustion slowing his joints as he clumsily unlocked the door to his apartment. When his keys slipped from his hand as he missed the keyhole a fourth time, he groaned. The only thing keeping him from giving up and passing out on his doormat was the knowledge that his fiancée was in his bed, waiting for him.
“Fuck…” He dragged a rough hand over his face, struggling to open his eyes afterward. He grabbed the keys from the floor, aiming with much more conviction and finally unlocking the door with a sigh of relief.
He barely noticed himself dropping his keys in the bowl by the door and loosening his tie as he trudged toward his fridge, his hand pausing on the door handle as he looked at the magnets on it. He picked up the closest one, examining it closely. She must’ve just added it— oven-bake clay molded into the shape of otoro nigiri, his favorite. She always did small crafts like this when she got home from work, needing the stress relief. Sure enough, when he checked the fridge, he found his portion of the sushi that they were supposed to share that night. He stared at the food for a few moments before deciding he didn’t have the energy to eat it.
He braced himself as he walked toward the bedroom, hoping she had already fallen asleep, and he wouldn’t have to face her. She’d facetimed him during his lunch, telling him she had a surprise for him that night with a smile he couldn’t refuse. But that afternoon, a new client came in, then an old client called him to shout about his billable hours, and then a current client called him with a breakthrough piece of evidence, and he had to completely rewrite his opening remarks for the trial just two days from now.
So, here he was, coming home at 2 A.M. from the office to his fiancée, who would probably claw his eyes out if she were still awake.
He opened the door slowly, trying his best not to make a single sound. If she was awake, she hadn’t heard him—he could see the lump her body made in the comforter, her hair splayed across her pillow. He changed quickly and quietly into a pair of pajama pants and an undershirt before climbing in behind her.
His need to hold her quickly trumped his desire to keep her asleep, and he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her back into his chest and splaying his large hand across her lower stomach. He let out a deep sigh and was about to close his eyes when she spoke.
“You said 9:00 PM.”
He sighed, his voice gruff from speaking to clients all day. “I know.”
“At the latest.” She was angry with him, as he’d expected. This wasn’t the first time he’d been late without a word. “You could have at least called. I looked like a fucking idiot at my favorite omakase. I even asked them to wait an extra ten minutes to start because you weren’t there.”
“I’m sorry.”
At that, she pulled herself out of his arms, sitting on the side of the bed, her back to him. “Are you? Or do you just like having someone in your bed when you come home?”
“Love, you know that’s not true.” His voice was rough as he sat up, his eyes tracing over the back of her.
“I don’t, though. This was inconsiderate. And you’re an intelligent man, so don’t tell me you forgot, or that you didn’t know I’d want that, because you know.”
He sighed, running a hand over his face, his rough hand coming to touch her arm. “I argue all day, can we not…”
She shrugged his arm off, stood, and walked to the bathroom, locking the door behind her. She blinked away tears as she sat on the edge of the bathtub, a bit embarrassed. It was a bit childish, running and hiding. But he’d more than pissed her off, he’d hurt her—she didn’t want to admit to herself that he even had the capability.
He waited a few moments before standing in front of the door, knocking softly. “Love.”
She stared at the door from her side. “You don’t respect my time.”
Higuruma nodded, though she couldn’t see her. “Love, I’m sorry.”
“You were sorry last time, too.”
“I know, I was. I am,” His voice carried a tired sigh. “I.. I get wrapped up in it. The work...”
She didn’t reply, so he kept talking, his forehead coming to rest on the door, his eyes heavy.
“...these people come and they need my help, and I don’t even know if I can help them, but I have to, or I’ll never stop thinking about it. But… I’ve let it take priority over you, and that’s not fair.”
“It’s not.” She was now standing on the other side of the door, and he could hear how much closer she was. His fingers twitched toward her, despite the fact that he’d never try to invade her space when she was clearly trying to create it. “Hiromi…”
“What, love…?” He asked, his voice gentle, trying to coax her to open the door.
“I feel the need to stand my ground.”
“Because this isn’t the first time?”
“Yeah.”
“I understand.” He sat outside the door, and she could hear his head lean back to rest against it, as if respectful of the boundary, but desperate enough to stay just outside it.
He heard the shower start, and he sighed, knowing she just needed time to think—to cool down, sort what she truly thought from what her anger was telling her. After about ten minutes, he stood, changing back into his suit, grabbing his wallet, and leaving the apartment.
This is how Higuruma Hiromi ended up at Don Quiote at 3:00 AM, weaving between groups of teenagers, drunken salarymen, and jet-lagged tourists as he searched for the craft section. He knew she had a favorite craft store, but this was the only open store, so it would have to do.
The store’s song was so fucking annoying, his head pounding with stress and exhaustion as he tried to remember which brand of clay she preferred—she’d explained it to him at length once, while they were at dinner. However, he’d been far more focused on how her hair and eyes glinted in the candlelight than on the specificities of different types of oven-bake polymer clay—again, his bad, but who could blame him?
After about ten minutes of research on Google and a crafting forum on Reddit, he finally found his answer in a photo he’d taken of her just a week prior. She sat on the rug between his legs, sculpting her clay on the coffee table, as he messed with her hair, completely engrossed in a murder trial in Osaka that got enough attention to be televised. It was only during a commercial break that he realized she’d been trying—struggling—to make him.
She’d laughed when she noticed him taking the photo, explaining, “I’m so sorry, honey, you look like a muppet…”
He’d put his phone away, kissing the top of her head and telling her he liked her work.
In the photo, if you managed to take your eyes off the stunning image of her laughing and the laughable image of him sculpted in clay, you could see the clay’s branded wrappers in the back. Success.
He thanked god her favorite bakery was open just a few blocks away, paying for a slice of her favorite crepe cake—massively overpriced, in his opinion—and a famichiki at the Family Mart next door, for when she inevitably stopped midway through the cake and decided she needed something savory to cut through the sweetness.
When he finally arrived at his apartment an hour later, it was still dark and silent. He didn’t hear any movement behind the bedroom door, and so he pulled out his laptop and sat at the kitchen counter, trying his best to figure out how to make her out of clay. It went about as well as expected.
Thankfully, he was distracted by an email he’d starred a week ago from his fiancée— her article that she was presenting on at a conference next week. She wanted him to look through it with what she called his “eagle eye,” or rather his lawyer brain’s propensity to notice the details, because it was hugely important to her career.
And he forgot. She really should have pushed him off a building by now.
He sighed as he opened the document, his reading glasses sliding down his nose.
─── ･☆･ ───
In the bedroom, she waited, having heard him come home, and expecting him to come get back into bed with her. Despite her anger, she had seen how absolutely exhausted he was, and felt a bit guilty for her need to voice her opinion as soon as he arrived, rather than in the morning. She sat on the edge of the bed, her wet hair making her shiver in her nightgown, trying to summon the courage to venture out of the bedroom and find him wherever he was in the apartment.
After about thirty minutes of anxious scrolling on her phone, the sky was starting to get light—just slightly, as if warning that dawn was coming in an hour. She sighed and went to the closet to throw on one of his sweaters before putting on her slippers and pushing open the door.
Her shoulders drooped as she saw him at the laptop, assuming he was somehow still working, even after she’d communicated how it was hurting their relationship. Upon a closer look, however, she noticed the lump balls of clay next to his keyboard, and the familiar document that he was poring over.
She took quiet steps over to him, making him jump slightly when she spoke anxiously, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Is it any good?”
He relaxed immediately when he felt her hand on his shoulder, his much larger one coming to grasp hers, bringing it to his lips and kissing across her knuckles as he mumbled his response. “It is very good, love. Much better than any drafts I’ve ever written.”
“Anything you would change?” She asked, her brows furrowed, his lips against her skin changing her nerves to butterflies.
“I liked… shit, where was it?” He murmured, scrolling to another page. “Here. This was really interesting, and I wanted you to say more. But I’m not done, so maybe you do…”
She nodded, walking away to let him keep reading. She reached the coffee machine, her eyes doing a double-take at the time on the clock—5:08 A.M. Neither of them was getting any sleep tonight. So, she brewed a full pot of their favorite coffee.
His French press, which she’d condemned many times as pretentious, was working slowly. But the slight embarrassment of having him read her work left her staring at the dark liquid as it rose, zoning out enough to be shocked when she felt his presence behind her, pulling her back against his chest as he pressed a kiss to the back of her head.
“Your article is incredible.” His voice was low against the back of her head. “You don’t need me to tell you that, but you’re extremely intelligent and skilled, and you’ve worked very hard. All that’s left to do is present it and brag about everything you’ve accomplished.”
She sighed, her brain going a bit fuzzy at the feeling of his hands on her waist. She genuinely wanted his input, but she was glad he understood she needed reassurance more. “Thank you.”
“I got you the crepe cake you like.”
“The mango one?”
“Of course.” He muttered, like it was obvious, his chin coming to rest on her shoulder. “And famichiki. And more clay. I tried to make you, but it’s even worse than the one you made of me…”
This won a laugh from her. “They’ll go together well.”
“And I’m sorry. Very.” He said, turning her in his arms so that he could look her in the eyes. He held her face in his hands, tilting it upward as she stared into his tired, downturned eyes. “I’ll do better—I promise.”
She nodded, finally accepting the apology, having seen his effort. “I forgive you. I’m sorry for keeping you up all night.”
He shook her head, brushing the apology off. “I’d rather stay up all night taking care of you than having you sleep angry.”
She smiled, pressing her lips together. “Good answer.”
“I thought so.” He chuckled, a smirk forming on his lips.
“Your portion of the omakase is in the fridge, but you should know it was really good in person, and you chose documents over the best tuna in Tokyo.” She teased, pulling away and walking to the fridge to get his dinner out and her cake. He grabbed the famichiki from where he’d been keeping it warm on her candle warmer, setting it next to the rest of the food before grabbing her by her waist and lifting her to sit on the counter. He took his terrible clay sculpture of her and put it in the oven, knowing she’d want to put it on the fridge next to the one she’d made of him.
They talked as they waited, going over everything she’d wanted to discuss during the date he’d missed. He ate the sushi with his hands, giving her the pieces he thought she’d like best, which she gladly accepted before sharing her crepe cake with him. She was biting into the famichiki, and he was putting the new magnet on the fridge, when their 7:00 A.M. alarm went off, when they’d usually wake and get ready for work together.
“Fuck…” He groaned, his forehead falling to her shoulder.
` She ran a hand through his dark hair, laughing. “I’ll work from home if you do.”
“My clients…”
“...Have cell phones, just like everyone else.”
He straightened, and she could see in his eyes that he was considering it. His hands came to hold her face as he stared at her, perhaps too intensely. “My love…”
She stared back, an uncomfortable laugh falling from her lips. “You’re freaking me out.”
“Just… love, I’m convincing myself to stay.”
“By staring like a creep?”
“By looking at you, yeah.” He said softly, his thumb tracing across her cheekbone.
“Hiromi—”
He interrupted her with a soft kiss, his hands cradling her face. “Okay, yeah, I think I'll take you up on that.”
