ATICHA26

being a star student, no one dared to challenge him. the other professors gave up on asking him questions during recitations. he'd get them right one way or another. other students could hear him say the earth is flat and they would write it up as fact. the experience of being in law school was getting stale and predictable...

...until he had the pleasure of meeting you as his professor.

“mr. higuruma,” you call out during a lecture, tapping your own copy of the case. “explain why the supreme court ruled that way.”

so hiromi meticulously does, as always.

when he finishes, you stand there, unimpressed.

“you're missing one exception,” you simply comment. “rewind and think about what you might have overlooked.”

for the first time in ages, he's actually stumped. his eyes fall back to the case on his desk, trying to review every single detail. then, one piece of information clicks.

“...you're right.”

instead of getting embarrassed... he smiles. just a little.

their little charade of who corners who during recitations continues every lecture. the class slowly notices something weird: you ask hiromi the hardest questions every single class.

whispers start circulating immediately, but they all point to one conclusion: “attorney must hate him.”

hiromi tries to stifle a grin. he knows that's not the case—he always noticed how your eyes would relax every time he answers your questions, as if you were profoundly satisfied. he knew getting a direct compliment from you was near impossible, so he engraved such reactions from you in his mind.

one day, hiromi stays after class. there was one section of a case he didn't quite understood, and he needed you. as he's walking to your office, he carries three annotated cases, rehearses the questions in his head, and thought about how you would challenge him afterwards just to test out what he'd learned. he knocks on the door, but no one answers. so, naturally, he invites himself in, the door opening slightly ajar.

“attorney—?”

“how many times do i have to tell you?”

an older professor.

loud, harsh, and clearly irritated.

hiromi pauses. he looks up and sees you standing there, not once arguing back as you take the scolding. the older professor tears apart your lecture slides, your teaching methods, your grading, your age.

“what the hell were they thinking hiring someone your age?” the man roughly says. “look at you. a mess.”

you don't respond past a small nod. you write a note as you mumble something about revising it.

hiromi already hates the guy. every instinct tells him to stay out of faculty matters. every lesson drilled into him says:

do not interfere.

know your place.

respect your seniors.

just as he was about to make his presence known to get you out of the situation, the older lawyer raises his hand.

he jabs a finger to your temple strong enough to make your head tilt to the side. humiliating. patronizing. as if he's scolding a child than a decorated lawyer.

that's when hiromi moves. he steps inside before he even realizes he's moving. with one swift move, hiromi grabs the man's wrist.

“mr. sato,” he mutters. “please be professional. that wasn't appropriate.”

the older professor whips his head towards him, both surprised and furious. he pulls his hand away from his grip immediately.

“this is faculty business,” he snaps. “i also don't remember asking for a student's input!”

hiromi bows politely. “i apologize for interrupting, but if the discussions has reached a point where physical gestures are necessary to make your argument...” he pauses enough to glance at you, “...you are getting your emotions to the best of your defense, and if i remember correctly, you advised us against that.”

the professor's blood visibly boils.

“excuse me?”

“you touched my professor.”

your head snap up at that, cheeks warming against your will. still, you needed to mediate before things get worse.

“higuruma,” you cut in. “outside.”

hiromi obeys, immediately.

a few minutes later, the older professor eventually leaves. you follow moments later, meeting hiromi outside your office's door.

“...thank you,” you quietly say after a second.

hiromi shakes his head and replies, “you shouldn't have been treated like that in the first place.”

something shifts in hiromi after that.

he starts finding excuses to linger after class, making sure you never have to walk into that kind of faculty meetings again. seeing the revered attorney that you are being vulnerable for once made him hyper-aware of every little thing you do.

he realized you reply to emails at quarter to one in the morning.

he realized you take your glasses off during classes to press at your temples every fifteen minutes.

he realized the shadows under your eyes were darker on mondays.

he also realized he wanted to be the one to fix those.

his favorite epiphany?

you weren't intimidating your students on purpose. you only wanted them to succeed in court. hiromi knew this when he caught you beating yourself up in the lecture hall after class, mumbling about how you could've done a better job explaining things to the students.

all the scary follow-up questions and random oral recitations were only an attempt to polish them to their greatest potential.

his admiration only grows ten-fold after that.

suddenly, the years between "professor" and your first name felt unbearably long.

hiromi was too excited to graduate for brand new reasons—surely, once you became colleagues, asking you for dinner wouldn't hurt.

a/n: ok this might actually b one of my fave fics i have written LOL! definitely gonna be a multi-part fic, i have a couple ideas and i'm already in the middle of writing pt. 2~

but that will have to wait bcs it's my bff's bday party later, it's 1 in the morning, and i still have a couple stuff i need to finish for them <3

check out their fics here on tumblr and show em love, especially if you're an arlecchino lover! @/edtanikii and @/sdfgderp (their old acc)!!

You had a sunny laugh. 

It was the first thing Kusuriuri ever took note of from you. He’d heard many laughs, but yours, for whatever reason, grabbed his attention. 

You stayed calm when everyone else screamed and squawked about in their fear of the Mononoke haunting the inn you had been staying at. You stayed nearly as calm as he did. A feat not so easy to master. 

You knew how to handle yourself against a mononoke. You didn’t just know silly facts on how to keep a spirit at bay, you helped keep it at bay. 

When you asked Kusuriuri if you could follow him--learn more from him--he didn’t have to think too long or too hard before agreeing. 

There was no harm in allowing you to follow him…

No harm, yes, but the realization that he had come to harbor feelings for you was utter torment. 

It tugged at his heart and soul day in and day out. Tugged and tugged so that he couldn't help but leave lingering touches on your hands and shoulders. Couldn’t help but buy you small trinkets and joke with you just so that he might catch a small glimpse of your smile--to hear that laugh that had initially drawn him in. 

You were startled when you came to the realization that this always-so-poised medicine seller might have feelings for you. Feelings you also harbored for him. Ones you had held from the moment your eyes had fallen upon his pale, painted face. Feelings you had let grow out of your control the longer you stayed by his side. 

Though, you were never too sure. Always toying the line of being too obvious--too touchy. He never seemed to reciprocate but sometimes…sometimes you were steadfast in your assumptions. Times when he would stick close to you, never letting his shoulder waver from your own. Times when he would gift you small things you had been eyeing at market and times when his compliment, oh so sweet, made you feel like flying. 

But then he would go right back to being that tranquil, mischievous mystery that he was and your doubts would come crashing right back over you. 

Though, all doubts came to a halt after a particularly ruthless mononoke exorcism. You two had stopped for the night in a non-mononoke haunted inn, a room purchased and a single bed shared between the two of you. 

It was always easiest to pretend to be a traveling married couple. There was less judgment--less questions, that way. 

You’d tried to get used to sharing a bed with Kusuriuri--to not let it trick your heart and mind into being something other than practical but this night was different. Different because the peddler could not seem to find rest. Seemed so utterly unsettled. Like his mind wouldn’t let him rest. 

You propped yourself up on your elbow so that you could gaze upon his face more easily, his blue eyes wide open. Eyes clouded in that same restlessness his body exuded. 

“Antsy, are we?” You questioned, unable to keep from teasing the typically at-ease peddler. Blue eyes found yours and something like irritation filtered through them.

“You bring out such--” He moved then, propping himself up on his own elbow so he could look right back at you. So that he could tower over you in the way he always did. “Aggravating emotions in me.” You’re stomach twisted in your belly. 

You brought emotions out in him? 

Emotions? 

You?

“I don’t--what do you mean?” You asked, voice coming out more soft than you had wished it. 

Your breath hitched near painfully in your throat when he leaned closer to you, those eyes of his scanning over every feature your face had to offer. 

“I struggle to know the true words but,” He brought his hand full of purple-painted fingernails to feel over the warming skin of your cheeks. “I wish to do this often. And,” His fingers danced lower. Nails grazed over the outline of your top lip. “Taste these.” Your lips gasped apart at what he was telling you. 

Were you--were you right in thinking he felt the same? 

No--no this was…a dream. Surely, it was just a dream.

“Oh,” You breathed as he pulled closer. The air in your lungs growing heavier against the racing beating of your heart. “Do you?”

“Yes.” He purred. A purr that sent your body trembling despite yourself. “Do you?” He asked, thumb brushing over your parted lips as he held your chin steady. 

“Yes.” Kusuriuri grazed his nose lightly over yours as if to test the waters. Waters you all but plunged straight into as you pressed your nose closer in answer, chin raising so that you might try to find his lips. 

Half-hooded blue eyes did one last frustrating look into your own before his lips were claiming yours. Lips just as soft as you had dreamed. Lips that tasted of the very same spices he smelled of. Lips that moved slowly against yours--deeply. As if he wanted to eat you whole. You wanted him to devour you whole. Wanted him to devour you body, mind, and soul. 

They were lips you were gifted over and over again as you continued to travel with him. Your tentative relationship with the peddler only grew more powerful the longer you two indulged in each other. 

He shared secrets with you that had never seen the light of day before. Secrets of his past and his very purpose on this earth.

You had done the same. Had shared your hopes and dreams and how you’d even come to successfully learn to ward spirits off. 

There was nothing you two hadn’t explored and shared together and you found you never wanted it to end.

Another mononoke haunt began some years later. A battle Kusuriuri himself was struggling to win, the frog spirit having slashed into his thigh much to his annoyance. 

You had been by his side in moments, having already surrounded those being haunted by the Mononoke in a ring of salt. Though he had been by your side for many years now, he was still entranced with your ability to keep such mononoke away. 

“Are you hurt?” You called over the croaking of the spirit before you. One that lashed and clawed and kicked at the invisible barrier you had managed to create. 

As Kusuriuri watched you, he couldn’t help but think of how lucky he was to have you by his side. How lucky he was to belong to you…belong…he wanted to be bound to you for as long as this life would allow. 

“Marry me.” He spoke, his voice keeping that same even tone despite the weight of emotions raging within him. 

You whipped your head around to stare bug-eyed at him. To look at him like he’d gone crazy. 

It was a great shock to say the least. One that had allowed the Mononoke to gain an inch on you. You tried to refocus yourself but--

He had never once mentioned marriage. Any and all marriages you both had witnessed had been practically scoffed at by the peddler. 

“You--you’ve hit your head.” As you glanced at the peddler still sprawled out on the ground behind you. He was looking in a way that made your heart begin to race. Race like how it’d raced when you two first started this strange relationship of yours. 

He looked serious. Very serious.

“I have not.” He said your name slowly. Your heart only gave a fluttering twist. “Marry me.” 

“I--why now? You don’t--since when do you care about that? It is a purely human invention.” 

“You make me…” He gave a pause, taking note of the way your arms were beginning to strain against the effort of keeping the wild spirit back. “Wish to partake in such human inventions.” He saw your eyes, eyes he could spend hours staring into, begin to bubble with tears at his words. 

“You’re serious?” You’re voice came out tight as if still not believing him.

The Mononoke broke through your barrier, then with a roared ribbit. You’re eyes pulled from Kusuriuri and his seemingly impossible question as webbed claws came swiping for your face. 

You’re world blurred as strong hands grabbed you up into equally as strong arms, wind whirling around you as you were rushed away. You grabbed hold of Kusuriuri’s colorful kimono for support as he moved with fluid grace through the hauntee’s home. 

“Deathy.” He purred, lips brushing over the shell of your ear in a way that made your skin explode with goosebumps. 

Your feet had hardly found the ground before he was reaching into the expanse of his outfit to grab a handful of triangle-folded bits of white paper. Kusuriuri threw them in a curving motion, the bits of paper springing into their rectangular shape as they found a temporary home along the floor before you, the walls on either side, and on the ceiling. They flashed a bright red eye as the Mononke rammed itself into yet another invisible barrier. 

The masters of the house you had left to stand in a circle of salt gave frightful screams at the sight of it, but neither you nor Kusuriuri paid them too much mind. 

“You feel for me that deeply?” You questioned, another ribbit shaking the very ground you all stood on. “To be bound to me in that way for as long as I might live?” Kusuriuri crossed the small distance that lay between you both, thin fingers lacing between your own. 

“Yes,” He spoke so surely. “And then some. I wish to be bound to you in this life and the next.” His face grew closer, eyes never once leaving yours. Never once stopped showing you such emotion he so very rarely let run this wild. “Till the skies fall and nothing but dust remains, I wish to belong to you.” You held onto his hand like a lifeline. 

“Oh--only for that long?” You couldn’t help the slight tease. Not when you were feeling so--so loved. A love no one had ever shared with you before. A love you only ever wished to be blessed with by him. 

Kusuriuri cracked a wide grin, the tips of his fanged canines flashing at you. 

“Till the next world is upon us, I wish to love you.” His hand gave yours a squeeze. “Marry me?” He questioned once more.

 Your eyes began to burn all over again in your utter joy. Joy you let spur you forward into his awaiting arms. Joy you let guide your lips against his. A joy you wished to express to him in the passion of the kiss you gave him. A kiss Kusuriuri was quick to give back. A joy he was quick to express back. 

“Yes.” You murmured against his lips. “I wish all that too. I wish to be bound to you. I wish to love you with my every breath. I wish to love you after the breath has ceased to flow through my lungs.” You grinned so bright it began to sting at your cheeks. “Yes. Yes I will marry you.” Kusuriuri kissed you once more. Kissed you so deeply you almost forgot about the Mononoke ribbiting in bloodthirst your way. 

“What are you doing!” The lady of the house screeched. “Proposals?! Now! Get away from each other and kill that thing!”

“Oh, we shouldn’t have thrown her into that bog.” The lord of the house moaned weakly. “We shouldn’t have tossed our little girl into that bog.” A sharp smack sounded as the lady tried to shut her husband up. 

“She was a freak!” Kusuriuri smirked against your lips, blue eyes opening only by the smallest amount to share his sparkling amusement with you. 

“Truth.” He whispered against your lips. You smirked back as the sword tucked safely in his wooden crate gave a click then a bang against its confines. 

“She was five! Such a precious gem.” The lord cried, sobs shaking through his body as the sword gave yet another clicking bang in beg for freedom. 

“Humm…it’s shape?” You whispered in question to the peddler you were ecstatic to forever stay with. 

“It’s shape.” He agreed, turning his face away from you only to watch the wrathful spirit rage. 

“Shall we ask them all the reason?” You again questioned, letting your hand linger in his for a moment longer. 

“Terrible.” That’s his usual answer, you’ve given up asking more about it, you know he doesn’t like it at all. Only this time, he adds, with some sort of wetness in his voice: “I think everyone at work hates me.”

You let the words hang in the air for a moment, your fingers still gently carding through his dark hair with your nails lightly scratching at his scalp the way he likes.

“That's a bold claim, Hiro” you tell him softly, keeping your voice light and teasing even though your heart squeezes at how small he sounds.

He makes a muffled sound that might be a huff or a sob, you’re not sure. His arms tighten around your waist. You continue stroking his hair, letting the silence stretch just a little longer before you drop the joke:

“Well… if they all hate you that much, you can just quit tomorrow and become my full-time house husband. I’ll come home to dinner on the table, the laundry done and you waiting for me in a cute little apron. Sounds perfect, right? I’ll even pay you in cuddles and kisses.”

You expect him to snort, to roll his eyes like he always does when you tease him. Instead, he goes very still. He slowly lifts his head from your lap, just enough to look up at you with those tired eyes. His sharp features are soft and hopeful, the messy hair and faint flush not helping.

“You’d really… let me do that? Just… stay home? Take care of the house, take care of you?” His voice cracks just slightly on the last word. “I think I’d be good at it. I’m organized. I like routines. And I… I miss you. Every day I’m there, I just miss you.”

He drops his head back down, but this time he turns it so his cheek is pressed to your tummy. “I’m not joking,” he adds quietly, he’s afraid you’ll laugh at him. “If I quit… would you actually want that?”

His hand finds yours and laces your fingers together, holding on a little too tight, bracing for the possibility that you were only teasing. You can feel his heartbeat against your leg, faster than usual, vulnerable in a way Hiromi rarely lets himself be. The joke has clearly stopped being a joke and now he’s looking at you like quitting his hated job and becoming your house husband is the first good thing he's heard in months.

“Yes,” you say without hesitation. “I would love that, Hiro. If you just quit tomorrow and became my house husband… I’d be the happiest person alive.”

The relief that washes over his face is visible, he lets out a shaky breath, then buries his face against your stomach again for a second, inhaling deeply. When he lifts his head this time, there’s a shy smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I’d be here every evening when you come home,” he murmurs against you. “No more coming back to an empty apartment because I’m stuck at the office until midnight. I could… take care of everything so you don’t have to worry. And when you’re stressed, I’d just pull you onto the couch like this and let you use me as your personal pillow. Run your hands through my hair until I fall asleep on you, the way I always do.”

He stays close as the two of you approach the bar and he signals for the barkeeper to come over. He smoothly orders a couple of mild drinks and then asks the man behind the bar, “Do you recognize this woman?” as he gestures toward you. 

The bartender looks at your face for a moment before shrugging. “A lot of women come in here. They all start to look the same after a while.”

The comment is a little offensive, but you shake it off. “I was in here two weeks ago. You served me several drinks. Do you remember me at all?”

The man shrugs again. “Sorry, miss. I barely remember the chick at the end of the bar right now.”

With a sigh you pick up the drink Hiromi ordered and begin sipping it. You’ve decided to stop getting totally drunk until you get this mess sorted out, so you’re taking it slow tonight. 

“Let’s ask around a bit more,” Hiromi says, guiding you away from the bar with his hand gently resting on your back. 

You move through the bar as a pair, occasionally stopping to ask people if they remember seeing you. No one does, and you start to wonder if you got so drunk you forgot which bar you went to. 

Until you nearly collide with a young waitress. She steadies the tray of drinks in her hands as the two of you exchange apologies, then she looks up at your face. You see it immediately in her eyes: recognition. She blinks, then looks at Hiromi, her eyes drawn to his somewhat possessive hand on your back. 

She blushes, then looks away. 

“Hey, do you remember me?” you ask her. 

She hesitates, then nods. 

“Can we talk?”

She glances around the room, looking a bit like a nervous bunny. “I have a break in half an hour.”

“Thanks.”

The wait is maddening, because you’re desperate to know what this girl remembers and if she can be of any help. You and Hiromi sit in a corner booth and sip drinks until the waitress appears at your table. She sits down beside you, still looking uncomfortable. 

“I’m sorry,” she says before you can ask a single question. “I should’ve tried to help you that night, but I guess it’s too late now.”

“What do you mean?” you ask. 

Her eyes flick to Hiromi. “Looks like you’ve already been sold. At least you got a handsome owner, right?”

You look at him, both of you quickly shifting to “lawyer mode”. 

“How do you know she was sold as a Doll?” he asks. 

“Well, that guy came and took you out of the bar with him.”

You lean closer to her. “What guy?”

She looks confused, as if she can’t understand why you don’t know who she’s talking about. “I don’t know his name,” she says, “but he’s the owner of that Doll shop across the street. He comes in here sometimes and tries to get drunk women to go to his shop with him.”

She pauses and looks down, then back to your face. “I’m sorry I didn’t stop him, but I didn’t know what to do. He usually gives up and leaves after a while. You kept telling him to get lost, but then a few minutes later you were stumbling out the door with him. It happened really fast.”

“Was it obvious I was drunk?” you ask her. 

She nods again. “Oh yeah. Very obvious. You could barely stand, and you were slurring all your words.”

You look over at Hiromi, whose eyes focus sharply on the waitress before he asks his question: “You say he’s tried to do this before with other women? He has a history of this behavior?”

“Yes. I see him in here at least once a week. He even asked me if I’d be interested in being a Doll. But all the sober women turn him down, so lately he targets drunk women.”

You reach over and take her hand, looking at her name tag and then back to her face. “Listen, Yumi, I need your help. This man isn’t my owner, he’s my attorney. I’m appealing the contract because I was drunk when I signed. Would you be willing to make a statement about what you witnessed that night?”

She suddenly shrinks back, withdrawing her hand. “I’m sorry, I can’t! I’ve seen a lot of rough people hanging around that Doll shop. What if they do something to me? I can’t get involved!”

Hiromi leans forward. “I promise nothing will happen to you. You’ll be protected.”

“By who?” she asks, her voice slightly high pitched as she slides out of the booth. “I’m really sorry, honestly I am. But I can’t risk it. I’m too scared.”

Hiromi stands up as well, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his card. “Here, please just take this in case you change your mind,” he says, then looks her in the eyes. “I have certain connections. Just saying their names will make any troublemakers leave you alone. No one will hurt you.”

Yumi stares at the card as if it’s a snake, but eventually takes it. She slips it into the pocket of her apron and leaves without another word. 

You and Hiromi are both quiet until you get back to the Doll House, in his room. You kick off your heels in frustration and turn to him as he’s pulling off his jacket. 

“That was disappointing,” you say, trying to keep a cool head. You don’t need him seeing one of your epic crash outs. 

He loosens his tie as he steps closer. “Let’s just give her a few days. She might decide to help us.”

You sigh and will your muscles to relax. You’ve been so tense all night. Then you suddenly remember what he said to Yumi. 

“Do you really have connections to dangerous people?”

He grins. “I wasn’t lying to her. A couple of my fellow trainers were pretty notorious in the past. They still have reputations for being men you don’t mess with.”

You can guess at least one of them, but you don’t want to pry. Instead you go over to the dresser and begin taking your jewelry off. None of it is super expensive. A gold bracelet that was a graduation gift, a necklace you bought for yourself, earrings a friend gave you for your birthday. 

In the mirror, you watch Hiromi pull off his tie and unbutton the first three buttons of his shirt. You fight back the smile that wants to creep across your face. For years you fantasized about a moment like this: the two of you coming home and casually chatting while getting undressed. Like a real couple. 

But that little slip into fantasy land comes with a painful reminder that reality doesn’t match. You’re not a real couple, and you never will be. Soon, either the appeal will be a success or you’ll be sold to someone else as a Doll. In both cases, you and Hiromi will part ways again. 

You head toward the bathroom to change out of your dress. It may seem silly, given that he regularly sees you naked, but you have to maintain at least a little distance. 

He stops you, suddenly right behind you, his hands on your shoulders. 

You turn your face to the side to look at him. “What is it?”

He doesn’t say anything, but his hands slide down your arms soothingly. He has that intense look in his eyes again. 

Your voice is so quiet it’s almost a whisper. “There’s no session scheduled for tonight.”

His lips find your neck as he murmurs, “Let’s work one in.”

You battle the urge to melt into his arms. “I can’t handle being teased right now,” you tell him. 

One of his hands slides around and slips into low cut front of your dress, squeezing your breast. “No teasing tonight,” he says. “Let me make you cum until you forget everything troubling you.”

You sigh as you lean back against him, surrendering yourself to his touch. “Make me feel good, Hiromi.”

His free hand slips between your thighs, under your dress. You feel his skillful fingers pushing your panties aside so they can reach your soft folds, then the delicious sensation of his finger rubbing circles into your throbbing clit. 

Ahh, you needed this! Things have been tense and awkward since the night he fucked you, when you blurted out some honest but embarrassing shit. The sessions these past few days have been less intense, almost hollow. 

But tonight, in this moment, you feel the heat you’ve missed. 

Hiromi’s mouth moves from your neck up to your jawline, then he’s at your ear. “Cum for me,” he says, and even though you didn’t realize you were close, an orgasm suddenly washes over you.

The shock of it nearly takes your breath away. Is this what he meant by teaching you to “cum on command?” Is your body so used to climaxing upon hearing those words that it did so automatically? 

You don’t have time to put more thought into it, because Hiromi is stepping around to be in front of you before kneeling down. His hands move up your hips, dragging your dress up to your waist. Then he slides your panties down your thighs, over your ankles, off your bare feet. 

With his hands he nudges your legs apart, then looks up at you with hungry eyes. You’re already breathing quickly, your heart pounding as your body tries to recover from the climax it just reached. 

It doesn’t get time to. Hiromi buries his face in your dripping cunt, his tongue working to lap up every drop that spilled out of you. 

A moan breaks free from your lips, your knees nearly buckling. “Hiromi… I’m too sensitive right now!” you whine, your hand moving to his hair. 

He doesn’t relent, only squeezes your thigh with one hand while the other snakes up under your dress to grope your tits. 

His mouth feels so good, suckling gently on your swollen clit, that you have no idea how you haven’t cum again already. It feels like you’re on the edge, but can’t quite jump off. 

Hiromi pauses and turns his face toward yours. His lips are glistening with your juices as he says a single word: “Cum.”

The effect is immediate. Your body spasms as the orgasm hits you, your hands flying to his shoulders to hold on for dear life. 

Oh god. Your body has already been conditioned to only cum when he tells you to! The realization is both alarming and very very hot. Higuruma Hiromi, the law nerd you’ve wanted for years, now controls your pleasure. 

How will things ever go back to normal after this? 

Higuruma leans back on his heels to watch her. She’s especially beautiful when she cums, her body trembling, her hands digging into his shoulders, her face glowing. 

He thought they were making progress when they finally had sex the other night, but she became distant again right after. Why does she keep withdrawing from him after they have such intimate moments? For that matter, why did she withdraw from him after graduation? 

For the past few nights, he’s resisted fucking her again, always retreating to the bathroom to take care of his needs himself. He doesn’t want to push things too far. But tonight, he doesn’t think he can hold back. Seeing her in that dress, seeing the way the other men in the bar looked at her, only made him realize how badly he still wants her. 

He stands up and pulls her closer, relishing the feel of her in his arms, the feel of the slight tremor that runs through her body as it deals with the aftershocks of her climax. 

She’s pulling her dress over her head, exposing her gorgeous breasts, looking at him with glassy eyes. God, he needs her. He needs to be inside her, to feel her soft, pulsing warmth around his cock. 

He takes her to the bed and sits down, pulling her into his lap facing him. Her arms encircle his neck and she starts grinding against him before he can even open his pants. She clearly needs him too, and that thought makes his usually steady hands fumble with his belt. 

Finally, he manages to free his aching erection. She immediately rises up, positions herself, and then sinks down on him. She whimpers when he’s fully sheathed inside her, clutching at the front of his shirt as if trying to tear it open. He helps her by ripping it open himself, not caring that the shirt was expensive. 

Fuck it. Not like he doesn’t have a dozen more white button ups in his closet. 

Her hands slide across his chest, her fingers soft and searching, moving downward, finally tracing over the thin strip of black hair beneath his navel. 

Then she begins riding him. 

He chokes back a groan, leaning back slightly so he can enjoy the full view of her. Fuck, her pussy is perfect! So perfect he can’t stop himself from bucking his hips up to fuck her just a little bit deeper. 

She cries out, clenching around him. “Ah! Ahh! Hiromi!”

Now’s the time, he thinks. If he’s ever going to get an answer out of her, it’s now that she’s impaled on his cock and her brain is turning to mush. 

He slides one hand up to her face, gently holding it so that she’s looking him in the eyes. 

“Why did you ghost me?” he asks, his voice more strained than he intended. 

She’s quiet for a moment, only panting. Then she moans again and says, “I couldn’t face you… not after I fucked everything up…”

“I would’ve helped you,” he says, his hips rising from the bed to thrust up into her again before he moves on to his next question. “Why didn’t you ever tell me how you felt about me?”

She hesitates again, trying to look away but he won’t let her. She whimpers and clenches him, obviously becoming desperate to cum around his cock. But she can’t. Not until he tells her to. 

Realizing this, she looks at him with a mixture of frustration and embarrassment. “You were too good for me!” she suddenly shouts. “What would you want with a loser like me?!”

“Seriously?!” he asks, totally incredulous. “I wanted you so fucking bad I thought I’d die! I waited years for you to say something!”

Her eyes widen and her fingers dig into his shoulders. “Then why didn’t you say something, you asshole!”

He’s so thrown off by the sudden turn around that he’s speechless for a moment. But he quickly recovers, wrapping his arms around her torso and pulling her even further down on him. 

“I was an idiot and a coward,” he says, reaching up to wipe the tears from her face with his fingers. “Between the two of us, I think I fucked up way worse than you ever did. I let you get away even though I knew how you felt.”

She goes still, leaving him plunged all the way in. “You… you want someone like me?”

He puts one hand on either side of her face. “No, not someone ‘like’ you. Nobody else will do. It has to be you.”

With that, he finally kisses her, smashing his lips into hers as he suddenly starts thrusting again. He feels her body trembling, her skin hot against his. The kiss is passionate but brief, as she pulls back and says, “Please… Hiromi… let me cum!”

“I was honest,” he says, one hand sneaking down to play with her clit. “Now it’s your turn. How do you feel right now?”

She gasps at the pleasure, squeezing his cock. “I love you! I don’t want this training to end! Please… please don’t ever stop!”

He can’t stop the grin from spreading over his face. “Good girl. Now cum for me!”

She does. Her eyes roll back as she cries out, her nails scraping his skin. He can feel her whole body throbbing. 

At nearly the same moment, his own strength gives out and he groans as he spills out everything he has inside her. The pleasure is so hot, so intense, that he thinks he sees stars. 

Almost immediately, she starts to pull away, to extract herself from him. His arms around her tighten. “Don’t you dare run away again,” he says. “Face me. Face whatever this is between us.”

She looks down sadly. “Hiromi… don’t you get it? If the appeal doesn’t work, you’ll have to hand me over to someone else.”

“I’ll keep you,” he says. 

She looks up. “What?”

“Trainers at the Doll House can choose one Doll they’ve trained to keep for themselves. This is the easiest choice of my life,” he says. 

Several different emotions run across her face. Confusion. Shock. Relief. But before she says anything, Higuruma’s phone loudly chimes. He reaches over to the nearby nightstand, her still in his lap, and looks at the screen. 

“It’s a text from Yumi, the waitress,” he says. “She wants to help.”

Tag List:

Now, ever since you two established that you like him soft around the edges, Higuruma has started to notice your elongated staring at his body, especially towards his stomach..

Nightly makeouts are hotter and heavier, your hands getting friskier, gravitating to his stomach and his to your soft thighs.

Once he does eventually make love to you, and he's got your knees pushed to your chest, legs dangling off his shoulders, you can't stop looking at the little jiggle of his belly while he thrusts in and out of you.

The pleasure you feel in the moment is overwhelming, both of your stomachs lightly grazing each other in movement.

Higuruma starts to pant in your ear, lips caressing your temple.

"You are so, so beautiful..ah..please, keep touching me.."

He's referring to you lightly scratching his upper body with your nails, watching faint red stripes blossom under his chest. You can't stop squeezing the sides of his waist and feeling the fat under your palms.

"I love your body, Hiro..love it so much, ngh! Get closer to me.."

Higuruma makes your wish his command and wraps his soft, strong arms around your middle. Your knees start to give out and you instinctively cross your ankles on his lower back, hands holding his shoulders for support as he starts to ram into you harder.

"Fuck! Hiromi.."

The faster thrusting and his body being closer makes both of your stomachs glide across each other, the sound of skin slapping bouncing off the walls.

It's safe to say he won't ever hold back now that he's aware what tickles your fancy..

Two weeks, three days, five hours, and fifty-seven minutes. That’s exactly how long you’d been working at Playtime co.

You were a psychologist, hired to tend to the orphans. Your job was to make sure they felt right at home and deal with any mental illnesses—like depression, anxiety, etc.

You weren’t surprised, in all honesty. When Playtime co. had first opened the doors to its orphanage, many of the orphans they took in had just lost their parents or were used to living in multiple homes that changed every month.

Some never even had a home to begin with.

You supposed that was noble of Elliot Ludwig, Playtime’s founder.

He brought the children in, staring the playcare in 1976. He was a good man. A kind man. Elliot was the type you would look up to as a father or grandfather figure, even if you weren’t blood related. Ludwig just had paternal instict.

After he had lost his daughter in that tragic accident, he longed to be near children. You saw the way he scanned each child’s face with such…despair?

You weren’t even sure how you could describe it.

In fact, you had never planned to work at an orphanage at all. Sure, you were a certified child-focused psychiatrist, but you had planned to work elsewhere, maybe opening up your own company or pratice at some point.

But this was a better cause. You knew it was, in your heart.

Everyone here was so kind. From the bubbly and kind Stella Greyber to the charming Leith Pierre, who welcomed you with open arms—or even your own counselor associates—Gracie Green, Claire Harper, and Joel Sinclair, the head counselor. You were sure you would make the most out of your time at Playtime.

However, there was one unpredictable variable.

Harley Sawyer. An executive like Leith and Stella—but much less friendly. Hell, you often only saw him when you passed by his office in the mornings. The man seemed reclusive at best, and antisocial at worst. Or maybe he just disliked you in particular. Despite never speaking a word to the man, whenever you passed him in the hallways, his eyes seemed to linger on you.

It was as if he was giving you a resentful glare and sizing you up at the same time. But why? You didn’t even work in the same sectors. He was always busy, working away in the labs—and you were always filing paperwork and helping the children in the Playcare.

He was strange, to say the least.

Fortunately, you wouldn’t have to think about him much longer. You had a long day ahead of you.

You were scheduled to meet with some of the more troubled kids from playcare that Ms. Harper had personally suggested begged you speak with—Kevin Barnes and Marie Payne.

Marie was a sweet girl, you had never had any trouble dealing with her. She was polite and straight to the point about her feelings. She was a newer arrival, but she had adjusted well from what your notes told you.

Kevin, on the other hand was erratic and often lashed out. He was known as the problem kid amongst the Playtime counselors. You assumed it was trauma. The poor boy had watched his own parents drown in a boating accident. He was tossed around from home to home in the foster system before Playtime. The Playcare is the only stable home he has known since his parent’s untimely demise.

You pitied the poor boy, felt heartbreaking empathy for him—but sometimes he was so difficult to work with, you didn’t know what to do. In your first two weeks alone, he had smashed through one of the windows in home sweet home with a baseball and kicked two other orphans in the shins.

Luckily, you would meet with Marie first.

Pushing open the smooth door of your office, you step inside the dim room. In an attempt to make it as cozy as possible for the children you meet with, you removed all of the cold light fixtures and replaces the bulbs with warm ones.

Warm lighting was always more inviting, you had observed. You hadn’t done much study on the brain, but you knew the lighting mimicked the orange sunset on a bright summer day—or the firelight in a cozy cabin.

It was perfect for calming the kids.

You quickly go around the room, switching on all of the lamps before sitting down in your dark leather chair.

Suddenly, a knock taps gently at your door. “Come in.” You utter, pulling out a pen from your cup holder. In walks Marie, eyes wide and face pale. “Hello.” She mutters, looking down as she sits in the seat across from your mahogany desk.

To say she’s seen a ghost would be an understatement.

She was older than the other children, having just turned eleven years old last Monday. She had only arrived in Playcare two or three years ago, but seemed more familiar with her surroundings than some of the children who had been there longer.

She was an explorer. From what Ms. Harper and Gracie had told you, she was often seen near ‘Home Sweet Home’ complaining of a red gas that made her ‘sleepy’. Could gasses even be red?

“Hello, Marie.” You greet calmly, taking a drink out of your thermos. “How are you feeling today?” The girl shudders at your question, her expression downcast. You sit in silence for a moment, waiting for the girl to respond. “G-good…” She fidgets with her bracelet, green eyes looking up to meet yours for the first time since she’s entered your office.

You quickly pull out her file, provided to you by Ms. Harper. Inside, an incident report labeled ‘Marie Payne’. Inside was a transcribed interview between one of Playtime’s scientists and Harper. Unfortunately, you wouldn’t have time to read it.

Instead, you pull out another incident form, this time labeled ‘Nightmares.’

“Marie, how would you describe your nightmares?” You ask patiently. The little girl shakes her head, wiping beads of sweat as she looks down into her lap.

“I saw a creature.” She speaks softly, almost a whisper. “It was big, and gray.” She pauses, looking up at you. Her emerald eyes are laced with dewy tears. “Please, continue.” You say, grabbing a notepad from one of the lower cabinets of your wooden desk—but Marie still had your full attention.

“It looked like a…cat?” She says, a tear finally breaking loose and running down her cheek.

You quickly jot down her description. “Did it try to hurt you?”

“No, but there was red gas!” She exclaims, starting to get riled up. “Marie. Calm down.” You soothe, gently taking her hand in yours. “Let’s breathe together, okay?” Together, you sharply inhale, followed by a soft exhale.

Inhale. Exhale.

“Have you had any other dreams like this?” You felt bad pushing her, but it was your job—and you wouldn’t be able to find out what was causing these nightmares until she told you more.

“Every night.” The girl shudders. “It’s different.”

“Different how?” You ask, your pen still scribbling across the paper as you try to keep in tune with Marie’s dreaded explanations.

“Last night, I saw her…”

“Saw who? Ms. Harper-?”

“No, Miss Gracie.”

Green? You ponder. You often worked closely with her. She was the ‘Wellness & Integration’ counselor at Playtime, finalizing the children’s adoption papers—whether they were coming in or out of the facility—met with the potential parents, and helped the children integrate into their new homes.

She was truly a marvel. A hero in your eyes.

Sometimes, you almost wished you could be more like her. You wanted to help these kids, truly. Unfortunately, sometimes you couldn’t. You couldn’t stop the nightmares plaguing Marie’s sleep. You couldn’t stop the bullying Theodore was receiving from his peers. You couldn’t even stop Kevin’s streak of bad behavior.

She had a certain way of soothing the children you simply couldn’t accomplish.

But you would—starting with Marie.

“What did Miss Gracie tell you?” You push.

“It’s fun to be a toy.” The girl says, wiping her tears as a smile appears on her face. “I think,” She pauses, thinking carefully. “I want to be a toy, too.”

You pause, thinking of how to respond. You were sure it would be ‘fun’ to be a toy, but why would Gracie say that out of the blue? “I think it would be fun to be a toy, but being a human is much better, don’t you think?”

“Oh no!” Marie shakes her head stubbornly. “Toys have it so much better! They’re soft, adored, loved…” She trails off, almost looking disoriented. “They took me into a room, she was on the screen. She talked to me.” Probably Gracie’s office, you assume.

“And then I saw mommy lying on a table.”

“Mommy? As in Mommy Long Legs?” You ask, jotting down more notes.

Out of all the toys in the factory, you had always found ‘Mommy Long Legs’ to be one of the creepiest. Maybe it was her stare, or the fact that she resembled a spider. Spiders always had a way of being eerie.

“She has green eyes like me.” Marie notes. “She does.” You agree.

“Marie, maybe we should-” You were about to finish your sentence when 3 loud knocks pound on your sleek door.

“One moment please!”

You stand up, walking around your desk—and Marie—quickly striding over to the tall, mahogany door. You twist the doorknob, opening it with ease.

Outside you see a face etched into your deepest annoyances. Harley Sawyer. Of course it’s him. Just your luck.

For some reason, you desperately craved his approval, even though you didn’t know why. Sawyer gave you the dirtiest (NOT THAT WAY) looks. Looks of disdain, looks of near-hatred. He looked at you like you murdered half his family and ate his dog. He couldn’t be that and though, right? Maybe he looked at everyone like that.

Maybe he was a total sweetheart beneath his dark eyes and malevolent frown. God, you hoped that was true.

“Dr. Sawyer.” You greet, stepping aside so he can come into your office. “How can I help you?”

“I have been sent to collect Ms. Payne. She is no longer in the care of the Playtime counselors.” You instantly feel a smile etched into your face. Had Marie finally been adopted?

“That is great news!” You exclaim. “Marie, you’re getting a new home and a new family!” The girl’s face, which had previously been numb, tear-eyed, and pale—instantly lights up.

“Really?” She asks, her brown side pony bobbing as she looks up at you and the doctor. “Really.”

“Although, Sawyer-“

“Doctor Sawyer.” He corrects, his usual stern expression unchanging, as if it were carved into the stone of a statue.

“Doctor Sawyer…why did you come to collect her? I thought you were busy?” You press. Although you were happy Marie was getting adopted, it felt unusual that someone of Sawyer’s clearance would be escorting a child.

“Yes, I assure you I could’ve sent one of the lab boys or White down here, but I thought it better to escort her myself.”

“Aww, that’s sweet.” You feel your heart swell. Maybe you had misjudged him. Maybe Sawyer’s face was always in a half-grimace, half-frown state. You shouldn’t judge someone off their personal appearance, your remind yourself.

But, if you were to describe him…

He had combed back dark hair, complimentary to his pale skin and dark eye bags that gave him an undead appearance. He had a string jaw, and his face looked as if it had been sculpted by the gods themselves.

But he was an employee. Your own co-worker!

You can’t be thirsting over him like a pathetic old hound.

“Goodbye, Marie.” You say, turning to the girl. Without a warning, she jumps into your arms, hugging you tightly. “Bye!” She squeals, grabbing the doctors hand and nearly dragging him out the door.

Sawyer gives you one last look, his face unchanging but his eyes giving you a look of resignation as he closed the door to your office. Whatever that meant, it was out of your hands now and into Gracie Green’s.

By the end of the day she would finalize the paperwork for Marie’s adoption and introduce the girl to her new family.

You would miss her, but you couldn’t help but smile at the thought of her happy.

She would be moving on to a happier, better life with her new family. She would look back at the Playcare with a few fond memories here and there maybe—but this was the beginning of a new chapter in her life.

After all, isn’t that what Sawyer was hinting at? A chance for her to have a family?

It’s not like he was bringing her to the labs.

Actually, the more you thought about it—why did a toy company even need labs?

Sure, maybe to make new toys, but you knew that’s not what Sawyer and White did when they were on the clock. The toy factories were upstairs, while the labs were several stories beneath your feet.

Unfortunately, you didn’t have time to question further as Ms. Harper barged into your office. “We have a problem.”

“A problem?” You ask, standing up for the second time in ten minutes. You really needed to get more active.

“Kevin is causing problems again. I was hoping you could come down to the Playcare with me and help calm him down?” Ms. Harper suggested, holding your office door open as you walked around your wooden desk to greet her.

“Of course, Claire.” You reply, following her out of your office and closing the door.

There was nothing to worry about at Playtime—and if there was—you had other priorities than investigating whatever they were doing in the labs. For all you know, they could be finding the cure to cancer! Which was unlikely, but you could never be absolutely positive until you had proof.

Plus, besides the looks of disdain he sometimes gave you in the hallways, Sawyer seemed like a nice guy! So did White and all of the executives—Ludwig in particular.

They weren’t hiding anything, you were just being paranoid.

Ever since he snapped, and reminded the others of their place in the circus, there's been a dramatic shift in the way he treats you by blatantly showing off his favouritism. Before, he would treat you like the others, using the same silly nicknames and being respectful of personal space. Now, he freely shows a more romantic affection that you wouldn't think Caine was capable of.

Using nicknames reserved for significant others, and becoming clingy for hugs, cuddles, and demanding kisses. Along with Caine trying to isolate you from the others, to keep your attention on him. You were the only one willing to do so. The only one looking forward to his adventures. To ask him for things. To thank him. To praise him.

"And how was your adventure, my dear human? Were the cats at the cat cafe absolutely pawsitively purrfect?" Caine integrates. His hands are gripping your thighs, digging into the muscle to prevent you from trying to wiggle off his lap, and shuffle onto the desk. Keeping you firmly on his lap while he carefully studies every facial expression, awaiting the worship he expects from you.

Caine has even started to show off how much he prefers you by giving you nicer adventures. During his announcement of the day's adventure, he'll start by describing the one he designed for the others. The adventures sound like nightmares, activities they are destined to lose at, and guarantee to walk away cover in brusies.

He follows it up by describing your nicer, easier and safer sounding adventure in a sickening sweet voice that rubs salt into the other's wounds. He even starts to summon two portals to truly highlight that wedge between you and your friends.

"It was nice! I liked it," you nervously answer. Fidgeting in Caine's hands as you build the courage to bring up the others. To try again in making Caine see reason, to stop harming them in the name of 'the viewers'. You know they depend on you, that they wait with bated breath in hopes you get Caine to stop tormenting them. You're the only one whose close enough to get Caine to listen, with these one-on-one sessions. But so far, every attempt has failed.

"You liked it." Caine quietly gasps, sounding surprised by your words. His hands mindlessly slide up to grip your hips, pulling you towards him as his pupils shift into little hearts. "Of course you liked it! It was made specially for you, my love!" He winks, putting on a bravo. Trying to appear sly after showing some vulnerability.

"Right," you nod uneasily. Your hands curl into tight fists as you prepare to drive straight into helping your friends. Just because you failed before doesn’t mean you’ll stop trying.  "You know, Caine, I think the others would have loved the cat cafe adventure!" The atmosphere shifts instantly at the mention of them. Your stomach twist, but you push through. "Th-they were just starting to warm up to your adventures. If you tone down the violence on the next one, I'm sure-"

"No." Caine cuts you off. His tone firm, and his gaze harsh.

"What–?"

"How many chances did I give them to 'warm up' ?!" Caine shouts. You wince at the pain coming from your hip, his fingers digging in. "Hours I spent slaving away, tailoring adventures for them! Well, they had their chance to 'warm up'. NO MORE! They're spoiled. Ungrateful brats!"

"Unlike you." His tone makes a drastic shift as he sighs out your name. His hands release the vice-like grip to –– slowly, gently, adoringly –– trail up your waist. "You didn't need to warm up to my adventures. You love them right away! Right?" His voice cracks but he continues, ignoring the way you squirm, "You liked my adventures. Taking the time to compliment them. You, my most perfect devoted worshipper!" Caine worships over you, and you shiver at the feeling of his hands dragging over your rib cage.

"I- Well," you stutter, your voice failing you. You struggle to think of what words or what argument to use on your friend's behalf. Distract and overwhelm by the uncomfortable sensation of his hands mapping out your body. Silently begging that his hands will still.

"Don't you see, my darling human? They're getting punished while you're getting rewarded!" His hands pull away from your ribs to your face. He attempts at lightly caressing your cheeks, but instead squeezes them in his possessive grip.

"Rewarded?" you choke out the word.

"You're reward being me, of course! By staying here with me."

It's a promise in awestruck whisper. It's a vow dripped in delusion and obsession. His hands let go of your face in favour to wrap his arms around your shoulder blades. You grunt at the force he uses to pull you in. Pressing you against his chest, eliminating the space between you until every each of you is touching him. He feels larger now; surrounding you. As if he grew himself to overshadow you, or maybe you shrink. Maybe Caine is molding you to fit in his hold perfectly.

You can't tell as your face gets push into his chest. You worm your hand up his torso to his chest with the intention to push with all your might to create space. To free yourself from being pinned to him. Your heart drops when your hand sinks into his chest. So far, the only type of physical pain you have suffered from him is accidental. The same eagerness, and roughness a puppy has with their favourite toy. But this, this is new.

You can't tell if it's intentional or not.

"Caine?" Your voice trembles as your heart races. Trying to bring attention to whatever is happening. You lose feeling in your hand, unable to tell if your fingers are spread out or clenched. Your wrist slowly enters his chest, and your heartbeat roars in your ears.

Caine doesn't hear you and continues to rant. Making more promises, and more vows. He places a hand on the back of your head, pushing you closer. It’s with the unsettling realization of your head dipping into his chest by his force that this is intentional.

Your anxiety skyrockets as you lose sight in one eye, and you lose feeling in your lips as have your mouth is gone too. You try to writhe off his lap, but it’s too late; you can feel yourself merging into him.

"You won't leave me. I won't let you."

His hand goes into your chest through your back. For a frightening moment, you truly believe that Caine has reached into your chest cavity and grabbed your beating heart.

Then all at once, you're being placed on his desk. His hands are back on your waist as he rambles about something. You can faintly hear the terms ‘bad influence’ and ‘distracting him’ over your rapid heartbeat. You stare intensely at your forearm, reassuring yourself that it's still attached to your wrist, which is still joined to your hand. With fingers all in the correct spot, wiggling under your control. Your temporarily missing eye returns, and quickly fills with tears due to the pain. You acknowledge with relief that your sight has also returned.

Your vision is being moved as Caine tilts your face by a hand under your chin. Your scared eyes staring into his adoring eyes.

You can’t react, can’t scream, or cry as you become overwrought with a pain you can't describe. If someone asks how it felt, or lists out adjectives to help narrow it down, all you could say is; it hurts.

"-I need to take care of business!" Hearing the start of a goodbye grabs your attention, grounding you by the promise of safety. Of distances. "I won't be long, my devoted human! Mwah!" Caine leans forward to press his teeth to your face, his version of a kiss. You close your eyes to receive the affectionate act but make no moves on returning it. You wouldn't be surprised if one of these days he decides to bite into your flesh and eat you with the same childish kissing noise. Already accepting that fate with the same grace as a tired, defeated prey animal.

Caine pulls back and pats your head softly. "Don't miss me too much now!" On the final pat, you vanish from the office.

You pop onto a stool beside Jax at the cafe, where the rest of the group is on their respective chairs, breathing heavily as you stare ahead. You can still feel Caine's arms around you, the pressure in your chest, and his possessive promise echoing in your mind. It huants ypu how he didnt acknowledge whatever that was. Did it happened? Did you imagine it?

An itchy deep under your skin proves it did happened. Regardless, you have to try again. To beg on behalf of your friend's safety another day.