unapologetically thirsty.

and you know hotels for families do like event nights in the evenings like 7pm and these dancer people come, this man and woman with loads of stunts that has the crowd wowing in amazement. particularly the ones where he is throwing the woman up and twirling her in the air, and bakugou mutters to you, one beer in just to get through this shit, “i can do that to you. what’s the big deal?” and you’re laughing with your cocktail because yes, katsuki could easily do that with you and more.

kiri chips in with, “go on then, show everyone how it’s done kacchan!!” and your tilting your head like why not?

then the guy on stage is like “does anyone want to try these difficult routines?”

and you’re like to katsuki “d’you?” and bakugou grunts, downing the rest of his beer with a thump like, “fine. let’s show these idiots what it is.”

and when you both get up, cheers erupt in the room and the dancer guys eyes widen looking at katsuki’s massive build then pretty you beside him.

“can we try?” you ask so politely, and bakugou’s got his resting bitch face on.

then the two demonstrate poses and you and bakugou complete them all flawlessly, some better than them. his strong muscles arms holding you in the air by your waist and you just point your toes. he even attempts throwing and catching you which you didn’t even flinch at because what can’t katsuki do with you?

and by the end the crowd is focused on you both, cheering their heads off while bakugou tries to hide his smirk and you’re giving little waves like you’re in the royal family.

by the end the dancers are asking for bakugou’s profession, “do you dance?”

Here is what the third floor thinks they know:

You're running some kind of operation. A long con. A femme fatale situation. You, an absolute whore in a cardigan, have somehow ensnared:

A. Hiromi Higuruma, the company's head litigation attorney, who looks like he was carved from marble specifically to make people feel bad about themselves. Tall. Broad. The kind of man who makes a three-piece suit look like a very polite threat. He has, as far as anyone can remember, smiled twice in the three years he's worked here. Both times were in your general direction.

B. Kento Nanami, executive numbers guy, another floor's problem technically, but very much everyone's problem aesthetically. Also tall. Also broad. Also the kind of handsome that makes the elevator ride awkward. He's softer than Higuruma — in the sense that he uses full sentences and doesn't look at the interns like they're evidence at a crime scene — but he's still, objectively, a lot of man. Like a lot a lot.

And you?

Well.

You speak to both of them like they're mildly inconveniencing you.

This is, somehow, making it all fucking worse.

"Did you see her today?" Mika hisses over her lunch, fork stabbing the air. "She told Nanami his spreadsheet had 'the charisma of a beige wall' and he just — he smiled —"

"He doesn't smile—"

"HE FUCKING SMILED." Mika slams her hand on the table. "And THEN — ohmyfuckinggod, and then — Higuruma came by, right, just casually appearing on the bio floor like he doesn't have an entire office six floors up, and she looked up from her microscope and said, 'you look like a funeral that got lost,' and he—"

Dead silence.

"He what."

"He giggled."

The cafeteria explodes.

(Not literally).

*-*

And what is actually happening in your office, right now, privately:

"Your brief is on my desk," Hiromi says, standing in the doorway of your office with his hands in his pockets and absolutely zero reason to be on your floor.

Like zero.

Like genuinely, why in the world is this man here actually.

You don't look up from your pipette. "I know it's on your desk. I put it there."

"It had a sticky note on it that said 'try not to look so depressing while you read this.' in glittery blue pen."

"Feedback is important. Glittery feedback even more-so."

A pause.

If someone were watching very closely — and Yui from the desk across the hall absolutely fucking was, with the intensity of a woman who has seen things — they would notice the very faint twitch at the corner of Hiromi Higuruma's mouth.

"Dinner," he says.

"Bold of you to think that's a question."

"It wasn't."

You finally look up.

The two of you conduct some kind of entire silent conversation that ends with you pointing your pipette at him like a tiny scepter.

"Tell Tinkerbelle it's his turn to pick the place. Last time you picked, we sat in a restaurant so quiet I could hear my own shitty thoughts and I don't like my shitty thoughts."

Hiromi's eyes do something soft and terrible. "I'll tell him."

He leaves.

Yui has typed four messages into the group chat before the elevator doors close.

*-*

Maybe for the record, we should actually learn how this whole disaster-shit-show started, which is more of a brief history of two fucking bumbling idiots:

Three years ago, Hiromi and Nanami did not know each other.

Not really, they knew each other from like.. vibes, and forced proximity.

They were just two very large, very fucking repressed men who happened to work in the same building, on different floors, orbiting different departments, leading their separate lives of Handsome Professional Suffering.

And then you joined the bio department.

Hiromi noticed you first (yes, he is eternally internally proud of himself).

You dropped an entire box of sample vials in the elevator, cursed in three languages, and then looked up at him and said, "if you laugh I'll fucking bite you," with the energy of someone who very much meant it. He didn't laugh.

He helped you pick them up.

He thought about you for the rest of the week.

Nanami noticed you a week later.

You were in the cafeteria, absolutely fucking demolishing a slice of cake with the focused energy of a soldier returning from war, and when he sat across from you by accident — the place was packed — you looked at him and said, for some unglodly reason: "I'm not sharing," and he said, "I wouldn't dream of it," and somehow that turned into a forty-five minute lunch where you talked about the failures of modern workplace culture and he walked back to his office feeling like he'd been briefly lit on fire.

Here is what neither of them knew: you also thought about them.

Both of them.

Which was annoying and inconvenient and fine, you were fine, it was completely fine. You were a goddamn PROFESSIONAL. You were planning on PROFESSIONALLY ignoring them.

Which was actually quite difficult, seeing how they were both large, both horizontally and vertically (and you supposed they were dickly well-endowed, so clearly, they were winning at life).

*-*

Here is what made it not fine:

The company retreat.

Six hours in the mountains.

Mandatory team building.

One (1) bonfire.

You, six glasses of wine deep, sitting between both of them because the seating chart was horny and also you sat down first. Hiromi on your left, very quiet, radiating heat like a very attractive furnace. Nanami on your right, saying something low and dry about the team building exercises that was genuinely the funniest thing you'd heard all month.

You laughed.

Both of them looked at you.

And you, traitor body, laughed harder, and leaned back, and your head tipped briefly onto Hiromi's shoulder before you corrected — you were tipsy, it wasn't a move — and then you patted Nanami's knee because you were gesturing and there was just.

His very handsome knee.

Right. There.

A very nice knee, if you may say.

Two men, six feet of tension each, suddenly extremely aware of each other.

"You're looking at her," Nanami said, very quietly, not accusatory, just. Observational.

Hiromi said nothing for a full ten seconds. "So are you."

More silence.

The bonfire crackled.

"This is going to be a problem," Nanami said.

"Agreed," said Hiromi.

And then — and this is the part that neither of them fully anticipated — both of them looked at each other, and something happened.

Something quiet and complicated and inconvenient. Some kind of oh. Some kind of hm. Some kind of: well fuck. Some kind of: You are also extremely irritating and also it has not escaped my notice that you are built with architecture. Architecturally significant, even.

*-*

Neither of them was coping particularly well with the deeply upsetting realization that the other one had forearms.

Like.

Forearms.

Sexy, sexy forearms.

Nanami rolled his sleeves up once during a budgeting meeting and Hiromi forgot the word “precedent” mid-sentence.

Hiromi loosened his tie after court one evening and Nanami stared at his throat long enough to enter a medically concerning state of silence.

It was becoming a workplace hazard.

The competition, from that point forward, became less competition and more — a reason to keep talking to each other.

Which became having lunch together. Which became Nanami saying "you like her differently than I do" and Hiromi saying "and you find that interesting" and Nanami saying "I find you interesting, which is new and unwelcome information" —

It was a whole thing.

*-*

For a couple of weeks, it’s not even subtle—it’s some sort of fucking corporate espionage levels of ridiculous, except the classified information is you and neither of them has the decency to pretend otherwise.

Nanami goes first in the mornings—always earlier, always composed, setting a precedent like he’s drafting policy, which this is way too fucking early for this shit Nanami, go back to bed. Coffee on your desk, perfectly timed, temperature still criminally ideal.

Ten minutes later, Hiromi shows up with a document you mentioned once, three days ago, annotated, tabbed, and somehow… better than what you asked for. They don’t acknowledge each other directly—oh no, that would be too easy—but the air between them is glacial, polite in that razor-edged way where every “thank you” sounds like a threat.

“You’ve been busy,” Nanami says mildly, eyes flicking to the paperwork in your hands. Higuruma hums, adjusting his tie.

“Efficiency is important.”

You, are of course in the middle of this cursed sandwhich, chewing on a pen: “You’re both insufferable.”

They take that as encouragement. Of course they do.

*-*

It escalates.

Quietly and fucking horribly (hornily).

Nanami starts walking you to meetings you absolutely do not need an escort for, he like a large knight but... in a suit, blond, with glasses, hand hovering at your back like he’s resisting the urge to commit to the gesture.

Higuruma starts appearing in those same meetings uninvited, leaning in just close enough to murmur commentary meant only for you—dry, incisive, a little too pleased when you huff out a laugh. They track each other without looking, counter each other without speaking, like two rival locked in a silent war where the only trophy is your attention.

And to be honest...

Welllllll it's nice.

To have two hot as fuck men competing for you?? Holy shit, what a dream.

Someone in HR swears they saw them leave the elevator at the same time and stand on opposite sides like gunfighters. Someone else says they both started staying late—separately, of course, God forbid they share a space—but always on the same nights.

And you? You lean back in your chair, watching it unfold, tapping your nails against your desk like you’re keeping score (you kinda are, you know for a fact Chairman is, don't ask how, he just is).

“This is pathetic,” you tell them once. Nanami exhales through his nose. Higuruma’s mouth twitches.

Neither of them disagrees.

That’s the worst part.

*-*

Meetings became unbearable.

Not for you, oh god no, you're having the time of your life.

For everyone else.

Because apparently Hiromi and Nanami had both decided the sexiest possible activity was professionally disagreeing with each other while you watched.

“That interpretation is weak,” Hiromi would say calmly.

“And yet still stronger than your last argument,” Nanami would reply.

Entire conference rooms stopped breathing.

You, meanwhile, sat there kicking your feet mentally like a Victorian woman watching gladiators fight to the death.

For her.

*-*

They came to you together. Like a pair of enormous very well dressed embarrassed dogs.

"We have," Nanami began.

"A situation," Hiromi finished.

You looked between them, you go straight to the point: "You both like me."

"Yes."

"And somehow also for each other."

A pause. "...Yes."

You took a long sip of your coffee. Looked out the window. Did the mental math.

"Okay," you said.

"...Okay?"

"Don't make it weird," you said, pointing at Hiromi.

"Don't make it too sentimental," you said, pointing at Nanami.

"And I'm not changing my Netflix password so you're sharing it." You stood up. "This is going to be fucking chaotic. I want the record to show I am the most normal one here."

Hiromi: "That's — "

"The most normal one," you repeated, gesturing to yourself and walked away.

They stood there.

"She's something," Nanami said.

"She's everything," Hiromi said, and then looked profoundly uncomfortable with himself for having said it.

Nanami patted his arm. "It's okay. I understand completely."

*-*

9:47 PM.

The office building, mostly empty. Jisoo from legal is working late because Jisoo from legal is always working late and also she saw Higuruma's office light on and became curious.

She is heading to her car.

In the parking lot, lit by one (1) flickering streetlamp and the ambient glow of career ambiguity, she sees:

Nanami, jacket off, leaning against a car.

And Hiromi, standing approximately two inches from him, saying something too low to hear.

Jisoo stops.

She should not be watching this.

She watches this.

And then Nanami, calm as you please, reaches up, touches Higuruma's jaw —TOUCHES HIGURUMA'S JAW?!!!!

The kiss is not quick. It is not accidental.

It is the kiss of two people who have done this many times before and will absolutely do it again. In multiple positions. Including horizontal.

Jisoo drops her keys.

Both men look up.

All three of them stare at each other.

Jisoo picks up her keys.

Turns around.

Walks back into the building.

Takes the stairs.

Sits at her desk.

Opens the Chat:

Jisoo [9:49 PM]: I'm going to need everyone online right now Mika [9:50 PM]: JISOO IT'S 10 PM Jisoo [9:50 PM]: I KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS MIKA I NEED YOU TO BE AWAKE Jisoo [9:50 PM]: HIGURUMA AND NANAMI IN PARKING LOT Jisoo [9:51 PM]: FUCKING MOUTH TO MOUTH Mika [9:51 PM]: SHUT Mika [9:51 PM]: YOUR Mika [9:51 PM]: MOUTH Jisoo [9:52 PM]: I am not capable of shutting my mouth right now Mika I am in a crisis Mika [9:52 PM]: SO SHES WHAT Mika [9:52 PM]: SHES JUGGLING BOTH OF THEM AND THEYRE ALSO FUCKING??? Jisoo [9:52 PM]: I DON'T KNOW WHAT GEOMETRY THIS IS BUT IT'S NOT NORMAL GEOMETRY Yui [9:53 PM]: THIS IS POLYCULE SHAPED Mika [9:53 PM]: DELETE THAT WORD Daisuke [9:54 PM]: no wait let her cook Jisoo [9:54 PM]: I saw Higuruma smile TWICE tonight I think the apocalypse has started Mika [9:55 PM]: update the document Yui [9:55 PM]: THE DOCUMENT CANNOT CONTAIN THIS

*-*

Working theories, in order of office consensus:

Theory 1: She is playing them against each other and they don't know about one another. (Abandoned after the parking lot incident. Back-burnered. Possibly resurrected as a sub-plot.)

Theory 2: She is playing them against each other and they DO know about one another. (Gaining traction. Gives her incredible power. The Maneater narrative is thriving.)

Theory 3: Nanami and Higuruma are actually together and she's a — like — a cover? (This one's from Daisuke in accounting and he's very committed to it.)

Theory 4: All three of them are in some kind of arrangement. (Proposed by Yui. Immediately dismissed as "too insane." The document notes: "but Yui has been right before. See: the printer conspiracy of 2022.")

*-*

What is ACTUALLY happening, 10:48 PM, your apartment:

You are sandwiched.

You are, specifically, sandwiched between Nanami and Hiromi, both of whom are built like buildings and radiate heat like very attractive radiators. You are tucked between their respective chests like a very content croissant between two very unreasonably attractive bricks.

A very horny content croissant, a HCC if you will.

"You're so warm," you inform Hiromi's chest, muffled.

"Mm." He has his hand in your hair.

He is doing the hair thing.

You are choosing not to comment on the hair thing because if you comment on it he'll stop and you don't want him to stop. You are supposed to be watching a TV show, on what?

You have absolutely zero fucking clue.

"Kento your arm is heavy."

"I know," Nanami says, not moving his arm.

"This is what I live with," you tell the ceiling. "Two enormous men with no regard for my personal space."

"You invited us here," Nanami points out.

"I invited Hiromi here. You followed."

"I was also invited."

"Debatable."

Hiromi, without moving, says: "You texted him before you texted me."

"Snitches," you say fondly.

There is a quiet moment. A comfortable one.

The kind you don't get to have often, because this situation is, objectively, chaotic, but when you're actually here — pressed between both of them, Nanami's thumb drawing absent circles on your hip, Hiromi's breath evening out toward sleep — it's the most settled you've felt since before the whole thing started.

"The office thinks I'm a maneater," you say to no one.

Nanami makes a sound that is almost a laugh. "I heard."

"Mika made a document."

Hiromi says, "I know about the document."

You sit up slightly to look at him. "How do you know about the document."

He looks supremely unbothered. "Legal knows everything."

"You're not even surprised—"

"Should I be?"

"—that there is a formal document about our relationship—"

"Our situation," Nanami corrects, and there's something warm in the word that he covers with dryness because he's Nanami and feelings cost him a certain amount of dignity.

You look at him. He looks back at you. His ears are faintly pink.

"Our situation," you agree, softer.

And then Hiromi, because he is Hiromi and he chooses his moments with maddening precision, says, very quietly against your hair: "Our everything."

Dead silence.

You absolutely do not feel your heart do something catastrophic (a leap into your fucking ovaries, who are currently singing, twerking and whatnot).

"Don't be sappy," you say, and your voice comes out approximately thirty percent less firm than intended.

"I'm not." He sounds unbothered. He is not unbothered.

Nanami, wisely, says nothing, because Nanami has learned to recognise the moments that are bigger than commentary.

You’re half-buried, honestly.

“Your moobies are suffocating me,” you mumble, not moving an inch, choosing this glorious death above anything else.

Nanami exhales a quiet laugh against your hair. “They’re called pectorals.”

“Incorrect,” you say. “Moobies. Scientific term.”

“I’ll need to amend several legal documents, then.”

“Do it,” you mutter. “Cite me as your source.”

There’s a pause.

You settle back between them. Hiromi's hand returns to your hair. Nanami's arm stays exactly where it is.

"I'm the most normal person in this apartment," you say.

"Obviously," says Nanami.

"Unquestionably," says Hiromi.

You close your eyes.

"You two kissed in a parking lot," you say. "In front of Jisoo from legal."

A pause.

"...We thought she'd left," Hiromi says.

"She hadn't."

Another pause.

"We know," says Nanami. "She very obviously hadn't."

You start laughing first. Then Nanami, low and warm. And then, last and best, the rare and precious sound of Hiromi laughing in the dark, unhidden, his chest shaking under your palm.

The Situation™ doesn't have a category for this.

You think that's probably for the best.

Chairman Meow was sprawled across Nanami’s legs like a wealthy widow at a funeral.

Somehow, despite weighing maybe ten kilograms, he is occuping approximately eighty percent of said legs.

“Your cat hates me,” Hiromi muttered as Chairman deliberately turned his back to him.

“No,” you said sleepily. “He just thinks you’re emotionally suspicious.”

“The cat is right,” Nanami said.

“I liked you better before you formed an alliance with my pet.”

*-*

Your bedroom is dimly lit.

Low golden lights.

Dark wood reflecting said gold, which makes every bad decision feel cinematic.

Their cocks are different.

That should be known.

Like scientifically. Like carved into marble somewhere. Because hypothetically, yes, one could assume two giant emotionally constipated businessmen would somehow be equipped similarly.

But no.

Life is cruel and abundant.

Hiromi’s curves slightly, mean and pretty in a way that feels legally questionable. Nanami’s is thicker at the base, heavy in his hand, the sight of it making your brain quietly shut down like an overheated office printer.

Both have neat trails of hair disappearing up hard stomachs. Both are unfairly broad. Both are looking at you like they’re about to split custody over your sanity.

On this very fine evening, in beautiful lighting, Nanami and Hiromi stood before you stripping with a sort of surgical grace that never fails to make you feel spiritually unwell.

And horny.

Violently.

Biblically horny even.

You stare at them like they’re a riddle sent by the gods. Like the Sphinx herself crawled into your apartment and said, “Solve this or perish.” And your immediate response was:

"No notes. Incredible craftsmanship. Lemme sit on it."

Hiromi snorts. Nanami actually sighs like he doesn't love this.

“Please,” Nanami mutters, folding his tie with infuriating neatness. “Try to behave with some dignity.”

You point dramatically at him from the bed. “YOU are naked in a three-piece suit vest right now. Don’t lecture me about dignity.”

“Fair point,” Hiromi says.

Nanami throws him a look: Traitor.

Nanami slides between your legs, broad shoulders immediately pressing warm against your skin, all expensive cologne and quiet composure. His hands settle on your thighs with slow confidence, thumbs rubbing absent little circles that make your stomach tighten.

Meanwhile Higuruma kneels to your level, long legs folded beneath him, tie off, sleeves rolled up enough to expose those forearms.

Those.

Fucking.

Forearms.

Forearms should not look like that. They should not exist in nature. Somewhere there’s probably a Greek sculptor clawing his way out of the underworld trying to recreate them.

You point accusingly at both men. “You two need to stop being built like refrigerators.”

Nanami calmly hooks his fingers into the waistband of your underwear—the pair proudly reading LICK ME CLEAN in glittery pink letters.

There’s a long silence.

Hiromi lowers his head. Nanami closes his eyes briefly.

“…You bought these specifically for us,” Nanami says quietly.

“I absolutely did,” you reply proudly.

Hiromi starts laughing. Actually laughing. Shoulders shaking and everything. The sight is so rare you almost miss the fact that Nanami’s currently pulling your underwear off with the concentration of a man diffusing a bomb.

A HORNY BOMB.

“You’re enormous,” you insist while they undress you. “Both of you. If this bed collapses under the weight of the moobies, I need you to know it’ll be your fault.”

Higuruma leans back slightly, hands working at his belt, eyes heavy-lidded with amusement. “You say that like you dislike it.”

“I like it TOO much,” you grumble.

That earns you a look. A horrible loaded look.

The kind of look that says they’ve both imagined you crying on their cocks during particularly boring meetings.

Which... yes.

They have.

Nanami’s fingers pause around your hips. Higuruma’s mouth twitches. And suddenly the air changes texture. Thicker. Warmer. Like the room itself just inhaled.

Unfortunately.

Chairman arrives.

Poor Chairman.

Poor, poor Chairman.

Your cat hops onto the dresser, takes one look at the situation—you spread on the bed, Blond Hotman between your thighs, Lawyer Hotman with his dick halfway out—and visibly regrets gaining consciousness today.

There’s a beat of silence.

Chairman blinks.

Nanami, ever polite, from between your thighs, says: “Good evening.”

Chairman immediately turns around and leaves.

“Even the cat is judging us,” you wheeze.

“Not us,” Higuruma corrects. “You.”

“YOU PEOPLE are inside me spiritually.”

Nanami kisses the inside of your thigh before murmuring: “We will be.”

Your soul immediately exits your body.

Nanami doesn’t just give head. No. That would be underselling it in a way that deserves criminal charges.

He approaches oral sex like it’s a performance review and your orgasm determines the quarterly budget. Methodical. Focused. Obscenely thorough.

His large hands pin your thighs apart while his mouth works between them with devastating patience, tongue slow and deliberate until your hips start twitching helplessly.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, grabbing at his blond hair. “Kento, I’m literally about to start seeing historical figures.”

“Stay with us,” he says calmly against your cunt.

Us.

US.

Hiromi groans softly at the sound of it.

And speaking of Hiromi—

You’ve started sucking his cock while Nanami absolutely dismantles your nervous system.

A multitasking queen. An icon. A victim.

Hiromi doesn’t force your head down. Never. He prefers watching you take him apart willingly. Watching your tongue drag against the head of his cock while your hand works the rest. Watching your eyes water. Watching you whine around him whenever Nanami curls his fingers just right.

“Fuck,” Hiromi breathes, one hand pushing your hair back from your face. “Look at you.”

You attempt to reply. Unfortunately there’s a pretty important part of a lawyer in your mouth.

Nanami glances up briefly. And GOD.

That look.

Like he’s starving. Like he could spend the rest of his life memorizing every sound you make.

It hits you suddenly, fiercely, embarrassingly:

They love you.

Not in a normal way. But with terrifying sincerity.

Nanami, who remembers how you take your coffee down to the exact amount of sugar. Hiromi, who silently switches sides of the sidewalk so you’re farther from traffic. Nanami, who irons your lab coat when you forget. Hiromi, who argues with customer service representatives on your behalf because ‘they were rude to you first.’

And now both of them are looking at you like devotion itself has teeth.

It almost makes you emotional.

ALMOST.

Then Nanami sucks harshly on your clit and your brain fully short-circuits.

“Oh you WHORE,” you cry.

Nanami blinks slowly. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

Hiromi laughs so hard he nearly loses composure entirely.

The sound goes straight through you. Warm. Rare. Beautiful.

Nanami pulls away just long enough to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. “You’re very rude for someone being treated this well.”

“You made me stupid,” you accuse.

“You were already like this,” Hiromi says.

“Et tu, brute?”

Then—because apparently the universe enjoys seeing you suffer—Nanami and Higuruma look at each other.

Really look.

Years of rivalry. Years of wanting. Years of mutual irritation mutating into something softer and infinitely more dangerous.

Hiromi reaches first. Hooks his fingers at Nanami’s nape. Pulls.

The kiss that follows is messy in a way that feels almost unfair. Not polished. Not elegant. Just hungry.

You stare up at them in genuine disbelief.

“Actually insane behavior,” you whisper (you are absolutely stopping yourself from giggling in glee, your boyfriends are kissing afterall).

Neither listens.

Nanami’s hand slides into Hiromi’s hair. Hiromi’s thumb brushes across Nanami’s jaw. And for a second they look less like composed professionals and more like two men who spent years trying not to ruin themselves over each other.

Then Hiromi thrusts into you again and your thoughts immediately dissolve into static.

But.

No cumming.

Just as your back was arching, moaning around Hiromi's cock, Nanami suddenly pulled away with the surgical grace of a man who files his taxes three months early and refuses to let a single decimal point go unmanaged.

"No," he rumbled, his voice a low, wrecked cello note that caused your ovaries to blue-screen immediately. He wasn't done; he was simply... let's say, reformatting the itinerary of your total orgasmic destruction.

The Eiffel Tower of Pussy Ruin fell into place with all the dignity of a filing cabinet being kicked down a staircase.

Meaning:

None.

Absolutely none.

One second you were trying to recover from Nanami reorganizing your internal organs with his mouth, and the next you were being repositioned by two very large men who approached manhandling you with the terrifying efficiency of professionals who color-code spreadsheets.

“Wait, wait—” you wheeze as Hiromi grabs your thighs.

“No,” Nanami says calmly.

“YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT I WAS GONNA SAY.”

“You were going to complain.”

“…nuh uh.”

“Thought so.”

And then—because apparently your life is a sitcom written by Satan—you’re flipped onto your stomach with enough coordination to suggest these men have either practiced this before or could successfully execute a military coup together.

Your legs are spread wide.

Nanami looms above you.

Hiromi settles between your thighs, spreading them wide like the Red Sea, your pussy is wetter than a water slide.

Ah.

His thumb presses into the softness of your thigh, spreading you wider, eyes fixed on your face with dangerous concentration.

“You alright?” he asks quietly.

And that’s the thing.

THAT’S the thing.

They always ask.

No matter how messy things get, no matter how rough or heated or ridiculous the situation becomes—they always ask.

The tenderness of it hits you right in the chest.

Unfortunately, you immediately ruin the emotional moment.

“Hiromi,” you say solemnly, “if you split me in half, I need you to know I’ll haunt you sexually.”

There’s silence.

Hiromi physically stops moving.

“You’ll haunt me sexually?” he repeats.

“Yes.”

“What does that even mean?”

“No clue. Figure it out yourself. I thought you were supposed to be smart.”

As Hiromi slid into you—an unholy stretch that made you see colors no one else sees—Nanami lowered himself into your mouth, stifling your moans.

You were officially the centerpiece of this tower, moaning around Nanami's cock as Hiromi's cock slowly went in and out of you.

Over your writhing body, this unholy salaryman and the lawyer locked eyes. Hiromi’s hand tightens slightly on your thigh.

And they kiss. Again.

Right as Nanami's cock hits the back of your throat, your eyes water, your clit is singing under Hiromi's thumb, Hiromi's cock is kissing every inch of you.

And you feel it, the tighning coil in your lower belly, tighter, tighter and.. a literal explosion, warmth spreads all through you as you moan around Nanami's pulsing cock.

And there it is, Nanami's brow creases, his head looses itself in your hair and he cums, right down your throat, you swallow eagerly. Your walls flutter around Hiromi's cock, and very soon after he follows.

*-*

Much later, you are sandwiched again, you have been cleaned and massaged and life is sensational.

The Chairman Meow has returned to your lap as you lay between your hot boyfriends. Hiromi is currently doing his nightly read, while you stare at your cat.

“Both of you are stupidly handsome,” you mutter suddenly

Nanami blinks.

Hiromi pauses.

You point accusingly at them.

“It’s suspicious. Nobody should look like this naturally.”

“That sounds less like a compliment and more like an HR complaint,” Hiromi says.

“I AM filing a complaint.”

“With who?”

“The spirits.”

Nanami kisses your jaw softly.

“Let me know what they say.”

And then things get quieter.

Softer.

The kind of softness that makes your chest ache. Nanami’s hand slips into yours, fingers threading slowly between yours like it’s instinctive, Hiromi bends down enough to press a short kiss to your temple.

And for one awful vulnerable second, all three of you just… stay there.

Breathing..

Existing together in the warm gold light.

It’s disgustingly intimate.

You hate it.

You love it.

You want to bite them both affectionately.

“They’d kill us in the office for this,” you mumble.

Hiromi snorts softly.

Nanami brushes his thumb across your knuckles.

“They already think we’re having affairs.”

“They think I’m having affairs.”

“You are,” Hiromi points out.

“With BOTH OF YOU. Together. That’s different.”

“Is it?”

“Yes,” you insist. “This is ethical.”

Nanami’s mouth twitches.

Hiromi looks genuinely thoughtful.

“That might be the first time anyone’s described this situation as ethical.”

*-*

[ Mika's document would eventually reach version 14 before someone (Hiromi, via a sharply-worded legal notice) politely asked her to stop. She did not stop. She moved it to a personal drive. Version 19 exists. It has a cover page.]

A/N: i aM ALIVE HELLO, the smut is mid i am aware, its okay, we will live, i hope this was enjoyed!!! mangaka reader will be next (i might have to split it into two parts bc its lonnnggggg) also the et tu brute thing i totally put there bc of dana from the pit, idk man its a fun show

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