His absence the last few days damn near sent you into a spiral.
It all felt out of place. No bland sockets drilling your every move, silently watching from the corners of the old place, no suddenness of a warm breath on your neck, against your ear.
No excitement. No thrill.
It was painful, really.
A shudder runs down your spine, your eyes peering down either side of the elongated, dark hallway. Out of all the similar doors that created a labyrinth within this mansion, there wasn’t a doubt in your mind you’d always be able to find his.
The house seemed rather….vacant, the air still.
Cold struck against the warmth of your hand, the dirtied brass door knob rough against your palm.
The heavy wooden door creaked as it popped open, the sound echoing throughout the hall. A quick look to both sides, still no one.
A quick, quiet sigh leaves your lips, almost another bubbling in your throat as your legs voluntarily walk into the darkness the room had to offer.
The door didn’t hesitate to close quickly behind you, heaviness plopping it completely closed on its own.
Your pointer finger glided against the wall, feeling the smoothness of that familiar light switch. One that you shouldn’t have ever known so well.
Dim illumination covered the room like warm dust.
His bed…black messy sheets, blanket and pillows dissolved.
Thick, wooden shelves held jars…upon jars. All filled with a different part of someone….something from inside, more so.
Your breath hitches at the sight, nothing different, nothing new. Yet, it still always managed to crawl under your skin like the dirty reminder that it was.
Slowly, the floor creaked softly under your moving weight, feet pressed softly against the roughed up wooden floor beneath.
Turning your back towards the bed, you let yourself fall gently onto it, the sheets developing entirely around you, almost as if it was a replicant of some kind of quick-sand.
Another big sigh leaves you, feeling each inch of stress slowly unravel.
Your eyes close softly, flickering a moment before resting.
It was quiet, the room a bit colder than usual.
He always kept it that way.
At least, each time you had visited his room like this. Unannounced, uninvited.
Your mind played out the last few times these sheets enveloped you into their own soul that amongst the very man you were oh so dedicated to.
So much so, your ears defied you, leaving out the sound of anything other than the scenes that your imagination was working so hard to play out for you.
Jack stood in the doorway, his beat up mask peering at your frame against….his bed.
His bed.
Those dried sockets didn’t dare tear themselves away from the frame that laid upon his bed so graciously.
His right arm closes the door, eerily quiet compared earlier when you walked in.
Your eyes still closed, head tilted to the side as your chest heaved up and down gently. Shirt gently tussled up, likely from tussling around in his sheets.
His sockets trailed down to your legs, soft, inviting. Tangled in the thinner sheet that was almost all the way off the bed, he watched intently as your toes twitched a few times.
A big deep breath leaves Jack, his hands on either side tightening into fists as he felt himself grow hotter than usual.
Unknowingly, you laid, peaceful.
A gentle sigh leaves you now, some small sound you couldn’t make out bringing you out of your hallucinated state.
Eyes opened with a slight heaviness, the ceiling making its way to your eye’s sight before sitting up on your elbows, legs tucking in as your knees raised up as your pointed toes grazed against the soft sheets that coiled around you so effortlessly.
Suddenly, there was a much heavier interruption in the air, a tension of presence.
Those soft pupils widened, sporting out of their natural position as they landed on Jack’s large stature.
Your breath stopped. The body froze, almost feeling as though it had just collided with a semi-truck.
All you could do was stare at him, mouth opening slightly to make out something, anything.
Jack’s heaviness slowly creeps forward, heavy boots still hitting the ground with a gentle thud.
He stops right in front of you, in front of the bed.
That blue mask peers down at you, now covering the towering light that tried its certain best to give you any will to see.
Your skin felt tight, a sudden headache filling your temples as your orbs followed the slight tilt of his head, looking directly into those blacked out ‘eyes’ of the mask. Directly into nothing.
Jack peered his ‘sight’ all over you. His pointer fingers gently forward, grazing the skin of your legs and he ran it over each inch.
Something in him wanted to snap with a bitter twist. A certain hunger that didn’t feel familiar. Not like the one he’d felt per usual, the reason why he was the way he was.
This wasn’t murderous, this wasn’t a belief…
Jack understood full well what you did to him, whether you knew it yourself, or not.
And to him, you were his moral.
A wobbly breath leaves him, echoing a bit behind the mask.
Without warning, Jack’s figure looms over you, hands pressed on each side of your head while his arms encircle you in the small space.
Your head tilts up to meet his mask, his ragged breaths audible as your eyes peered up at him like some innocent doe.
God, the rage sent through him. He hated how fucking pretty you were.
Downright beautiful.
“Fucking look at me like that…” He huffed out slowly, more of an outside thought to himself.
He lifted his left arm, his hand connecting to your jaw and chin with enough grip to make you really look at him.
“What are you doin’ in here, hm?” He’d whisper slowly to you, almost teasingly.
He could hear the soft whine coming from your heightened breathing.
“Missed you…” You’d mutter out, unwillingly honest as your eyes stuck on the faded parts of his blue mask.
A low growl leaves him, his grip on your tightening before he harshly removes it, alongside crawling off the position over you he had.
Control yourself.
He never felt like snapping more in his life, a neurological block starting to impose tension on his already miswired brain.
Jack turns away from you, hands removing his mask before running them over his face.
“Missed what?” He huffed. “Missed making me fucking crazy?” He’d grumble, turning back around to wrap his hand in the hair placed on the back of your head.
You sit up a bit more, sitting on your knees and legs as your arms sit between them on the bed as he holds a tight grip, tilting your head up to his un-masked face.
God, he was a slice of a horrific heaven.
His greyed, chizzled face disregarded any negative trait of him. A real life replication of Lucifer himself.
“How many times?” He’d whisper low, mouth close to your ear now.
The feeling against your ear made a shiver run down your spine.
“...The last few missions you’ve had…” You’d utter back, voice barely above a whisper.
Jack takes a big, deep, and slow deep breath. His grip on your hair tightening as it makes you whine slightly at the beginning pain.
“Do you know how hard it is to smell you all over my room, my belongings, my sheets ... .and not take you however I damn well please? Whenever I please?”
“Then do it.” You’d answer, too quickly.
Way, too quickly.
The embarrassment and shame set in softly, although the growl in your ear that vibrated throughout your body told you otherwise.
Jack's grip in your heads leads to the floor, pushing you down until your knees hit the hardened floor. He then forces you to look back up at him, both your palms resting on each of his thighs.
He stared down at you for a moment, his free hand coming to graze your cheek softly. His fingertips brush against your cheekbone, following it down to your jaw-
SMACK.
A stinging sensation filled you like a blurry, buzzy TV screen. Heat filled you entirely, sight opening to the side of the room before slowly trailing back up to those eyeless sockets once more.
His hands gentle touch returned to your cheek, thumb brushing over the now reddening handprint that would layer itself over the thin skin of your cheek.
You were so fucking beautiful like this.
He found it amusing, really.
“Too shy to come lay with me when I'm here?” He’d mutter out, almost questioning himself more than you.
Your lip quivered, wanting to let words slip as your mind attempted to fog up.
Jack watches your now shrinking state, his grip on your jaw tightening like all hell as he now bent down, his free hand and arm now sitting on his knee as he stared directly at you.
“I believe I asked you a fucking question.” His teeth grits, frustration somehow building within him like wet logs trying to set fire.
A tiny whimper leaves you, legs shaky at the tight grip curled into your scalp.
“Didn’t want to intrude…” You’d mutter back to him, honestly.
“Intrude…” He scoffed. “...that’s all you’ve ever done since he took your pathetic ass in. Fucking useless for anything but being a pretty little thing, hm?”
The degrading words would’ve usually put you down, but coming from Jack, they were fucking endearing.
Every inch of you itched for more, like an addict needing their fix.
“Just for you…” You were quick to add to his statement.
He just stared at you.
His arms dart out, moving over you as he hoists you over his shoulder, almost completely effortlessly.
Your hands gripped at the faded black hoodie he wore, heavy boots stomping the ground with persistence as Jack exits the room, carrying you down the long hall.
His shoulder was almost the perfect size for you, body settled into the angle of him like liquid.
Those roughed up, grey hands gripped your thighs, pushing them against him more to ensure your stability as he carried you.
A white metal door isolated itself in front of Jack.
That chemical smell filling his nostrils like a sweetened perfume, heaven to his emotional receptors.
A nervous pang ran itself through your core.
This, this wasn’t what you had imagined.
“Wait…” You mutter, head turning as you see the highly scratched, tethered door. “Jack, wait…”
He didn’t respond, only tightening his grip as a sickening smirk replaced the grip his teeth had on the inside of his cheek.
The stairs downward into the basement felt like forever, each step sending a gentle vibration through you.
You watched from behind as Jack walked to the table in the middle of the room, your eyes widening at the countless medical items displayed everywhere, the jars full of much more intimate….prizes.
A sudden shocking cold presses against your back, Jack's hands slapping the leather cuffs over your arms in one, big motion. Before you could really understand what he was doing, your legs thrashed themselves, panic now setting in fully.
“Can’t get all shy on me now,” he started, struggling with your fighting legs for a moment, eventually slamming them down and strapping them against the table.
To the point it was almost cutting circulation off.
Jack looked over you, his hands grazing over the leather cuffs that held your ankles. Trailing upward, he took in every inch.
The large, lonely light that beamed brightly above singled you out. Every part. Every flaw.
Every little thing.
All for Jack to see. To savour.
You felt his hands shake, his breathing catching up to his current emotions, tackling itself as he just wanted to devour you whole.
“Gonna make a star out of you…” He’d mutter. “..bet they’re just as fucking gorgeous as that face…”
He breathed heavily, turning away from you to fiddle with things on the desk behind him, roughly. Items hit the floor, paper whipped in the quick air he moved with his heavy movements.
Jack turns his head, his body slowly following suit.
A camera, set on a long, black tri-pod, sets itself in your view, head tilting as far as it could to look forward.
“Jack, what is this?” Your voice trembled, yet still held such demand.
That desperation fucking animilated him.
“Whatever I want it to be…” He smiled.
It looked unhuman, uncanny.
Your eyes watched that little red dot start to flash, eyes trailing back to him.
“Ignore it.” He snapped, walking back toward the head of the table, hands pushing your head back down and holding either side of your face.
“You want me to keep you around, alive and well, yeah?” He’d lower himself down to your ear.
“Y-yes…please.” You’d gulp, lips suddenly sucking all moisture from themselves.
“Then make me proud, baby…”
His hands leave your face, the feeling oddly comforting.
Your heart thumps at each sound of metal clanging together, just hearing the sheer weight of the tools here and there.
The bright, LED desk light wasn’t forgiving against your orbs, detailing each expression they held with persistence.
“Just a little poke, okay pretty?” He leans down, kissing your cheek gently, lips lingering against your skin as his sockets trail to your neck, eyes immediately finding that little blue vein.
Small. Fresh.
The small needle dives itself with precision into your skin, blood quickly flashing against the liquid the syringe was filled with.
“Jack!” Your voice wobbled, higher pitched as you could feel the strangeness of the liquid pouring through your neck, the smoothness of it consuming your mind into nothing.
Your panicking slowed, eyes and voice trailing to a close.
A final kiss is placed on your forehead, Jack’s hand gently removing the syringe in a straight line, actively avoiding puncturing such a sweet, gentle little vein.
You’d been asleep a full hour, your body entirely still and unresponsive.
Jack would take a deep breath, a rolling tray organized neatly sat next to him, the light above now positioned right where he needed it most.
“Like paper…” He muttered to himself, almost confused.
His big, gloved hands worked meticulously, watching as your skin spread apart easily against the sharp blade.
The blood trickled in some places, pooled up in others.
Those sockets dried their site directly into your now opened stomach, layers of your cut through until the pumping organs were now exposed.
The air itself was enough to contaminate anything that simply came near. Flies so tortured they didn’t even dare feed, even if it was their last days starving.
Jack just stared, his dirtied, bloodied gloves hovering over your insides like a child being kept from a new, shiny toy.
“My god….” He’d choke out.
It was a giddy rage, an impulse he simply could not control.
He began to wonder if this was the happiness truly normal people felt.
“Fucking hate I like that stupid voice of ur’s…” He gruffed out, hands diving in to slide over the slippery textures of….you.
“Would rip those vocal cords right out of you….” he huffed, closing his lids as the warmth of you consumed his hands, like a safety blanket.
“...Hate that I love those lips…love when they fuckin’ talk to me like the innocent thing you are.” He huffed, almost annoyed at the thought.
His fingers squeeze between your guts, carefully moving around as blood and other fluids wrap around his gloves.
Gloves.
Jack furrows his brows, jaw tightening as he looks down at them, taking a minute before taking the gloves off, his bare hands now rawly touching you.
His hand reached up to your heart, feeling around the labyrinth of complicated routes that protected it.
His breath hitched, feeling it pump as it got closer and closer to it.
Jack’s head leaned back, a genuine sigh escaping him as he gently clutched at your beating heart, his hand shaking softly.
Eyes closed as calmness took over him. A grounding.
Entirely too rare for him.
“You’re never allowed to leave me.” He whispered, a sickened smile plastered on his face, directing towards no one but himself.
Your eyes felt heavy, barely able to function upon your request to open them.
The entirety of your body burned, your throat felt swollen almost.
A few coughs inconsistently ripped through you, vision blurred slightly as the bright light was no longer on above you.
The coughs pained your sides, arms wanting to come up and comfort yourself.
Yet, you were hit with that sudden restraint once more, the leather cuffs still tightly laced over each limb.
The metal beneath you felt unbearingly hot now, sweat mushed under your skin.
“Ah ah, don’t struggle…”
Jack hums, coming from around the corner and into your blurry sight, his mask now back on.
The sight of him calmed you slightly.
“How do you feel?” He’d ask, not too loud, not too small.
Your lips were dry, almost cracking more as they parted to speak.
“Ok…”
Voice raspy, barely audible.
You watched as his mask shifted slightly.
He nodded slowly.
“Good….” He;d state simply, just staring below at you.
Your eyes followed around the room, trying to take in where exactly you were.
Right.
Just then, before looking back at Jack, your orbs caught a jar sitting next to the both of you, on a rolling tray that held bloodied tools, operative instruments.
Your blood ran cold, body now goosebumping as it shivered.
“What is that?”
Jack smiled again at the raise of concern in your voice.
“A kidney.” He’d answer, completely honest.
“I-is that-”
“Absaloutly.” He finished quickly.
Your eyes trailed deep into those empty sockets once more, fear petrifying your body over the comfort he once gave you.
“No, no baby, it’s okay.” He’d begin to coo at you, hands on either side of your face and he leaned down, placing a gentle kiss on your nose.
“Let me show you…”
His grip leaves your face, trailing to the jar beside you both.
He grabs the fresh Kidney, color still bright and alive.
Naturally, it slid right into his hand through the thin liquid that dissolved around it, preserving it.
“This, this is you. Entirely...” He stated. “And I wanna show you, how much you drive me fucking crazy.” He’d mutter, sitting on the chair beside you.
Your head still restrained, your eyes could now only land on the spot he was currently placed, entirely too curious of his next movement.
You suppose that's what kept this….going.
Jack uses his free hand to undo his zipper, the dark, worn jeans coming undone without a second ask.
His cock sprung free, boxers nowhere in sight.
Breathing heavy, Jack gives a small huff as his hands begin to pump his cock a few times, his sockets directly staring into your eyes.
“Love you, pretty girl,” He starts, voice low and breathy, his hand with your leaking kidney now trailing over to his cock.
Your brows furrowed, stomach twisting as your throat burned for a release of some kind.
A scream. Throw up. Burp, even.
Jack places the kidney around his cock, gently pulsing it up and down as his head leaned back, an highly audible groan leaving him.
“Fuck…” He’d breath out. “...fucking love you so much, since the day he fuckin’ brought you here.”
Breathy, low moans didn’t hold themselves back, and Jack didn’t care anymore. This has felt better than anything he had ever felt in existence.
Better than anything he ever remembered feeling before….everything.
His eyes found yours again, his build up already posing a threat.
You sat, unable to tear your eyes away. The nerves inside you screamed, every red flag going off like an imploding rock slide.
“Say it.”
Your throat burned, the thought of even uttering those words felt so morally wrong, you were certain it would send you directly to hell.
“I love you.”
If you did make it out, you’d be researching what it was that made your body and soul want to go against you so badly in these moments.
As those words poured like fresh honey from your lips, Jack's cock splurted ropes of cum, leaking itself directly over his hand, pants ... .your kidney.
Jack looks down at himself, flickering between himself and you.
—---------------
(Deadass had to take a few times to walk away and take a moment to realize wtf ya girl just wrote....anywho, proabbly gonna go check myself into a mental hosptial because LORDDDD........love yall tho!)
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"Run my fingers along your body, telling you the name of every bone"
(Eyeless Jack x Reader)
MDNI !
Trembling hands played with themselves, eyes trying to focus on the wooden, mahogany floors beneath you.
Your heart raced, guiding itself to a false idea along with your nerves.
Everything the last few days felt….rushed, per say.
A small thunk popped in your brain, allowing your attention to get caught off guard as you looked up slightly.
Putrid smells cross your nose, a sudden attack on your immunity. A small huff leaves to try and execute the smell out.
“Does it bother you?”
Your eyes finally land beside you, E/C staring into those….orbs.
Nothing but a black pupil, slightly illuminated behind those eyeless sockets. Like a face in the corner of a room you don't see until the last second.
Of course, your jaw slightly slacks, refusing to let words out as your mind tries to shut down, the sight before you trying it’s very best to crack you open.
You watched his..nose twitch slightly.
“I can smell you, you know.” He mutters, hands gripping the naked, dripping kidneys in his hands. Jack’s breathing becomes slightly heavier.
You don’t respond, only quickly whipping your head back to the ground, eyes wide and drying due to the lack of…moisture in this old place.
Heavy steps allowed their sound into your ears, echoing with each placement of his heavy boot on the hard ground.
Your brows furrow, biting your lip as tears threaten your water line.
The feeling of his hot breath on your neck makes your body shutter, goosebumps riling up your skin. Gripping your hands together tightly, your eyes shut themselves, refusing to open.
“What..?” Jack mutters, slowly, a slightly concerned tone laced with a false security.
A gentle chuckle leaves his lips, breathy. Desperate.
His arms suddenly wrap around you from behind, hands shoving two rotting kidneys directly up to your face.
To close the smell way practically makes you taste them.
His mouth pushes closer, the side of his face hovering behind your ear as he turns in slightly, ensuring you really hear him.
“Don’t like it?”
“Please…”
A simple please, so full of desperation….
Stupid.
How fucking stupid of you.
An evil, breathy laugh leaves him, his hands moving the kidneys lower, placing them on your body.
The touch is wildly inconsiderate, skin feeling like it’s rotting right where they touch.
Jack’s piercing irises studying your petrified figure, almost gleaming over your state.
Slowly, he slithers them behind your back, lowering them.
“This…” He whispers, ears connected right to your ear.” “..this is right where they sit.”
His teeth find the tip of your ear, giving it a right nibble as you let out an appropriate squeal at the pain.
“...and I bet to hell and back your’s are so fucking pretty.” He suddenly blurts, more to himself as he pushes the kidneys he held further onto your skin, ridding it of the disgusting juices that poured from it all over you.
His face frowns, frustration building in him hurriedly.
“...Fuck is a useless, helpless little thing like you doing here?” He mutters more to himself. For what this place was filled with, you certainly didn’t even look like you fit the subject.
“Jack,”
His head slowly turns, those singled out Iri’s staring directly into that familiar, tall man.
“..Leave it.”
Not another word is communicated.
Jack stares at the man for a moment, head turning back to you.
—----------
A headache filled your brain's space, nagging at every thought that crossed you .
Small breaths leave your lips, eyes closing for a moment.
Your hands were placed on the laptop before you, stuck in their current position as your body freezed, trying to get ahold of the pain ripping through your head.
“Oh, I see now.”
Popping your lids open, they landed directly on Jack’s much taller frame.
He stood heavily in the doorway of Slender’s private office. The one he’d had you continue his work for him as the others were getting..rather curious of your abilities here.
Because one thing they knew for certain, you weren’t here for the same reasons they all were.
“Yes?”
Jack could do a lot of things to you right now, considering that voice of yours.
“Where is he?” Jack utters, voice low, demanding.
“Uh…Libbrary, last I heard.” You’d mutter, eyes widening as they catch him through that blue, turn up mask.
He didn’t waste another second, hand shutting the heavy, wooden door behind him.
“He…he may be back soon. Very soon.” Your soft voice warns Jack, as if he doesn’t already know that.
“Yeah? Is that what you're hoping for?” He teases harshly, a smirk under his mask.
His long frame harshly makes his way over, his tall form and heavy steps vibrating your entire mind.
Your eyes slam shut, head peering down slightly as the feeling of your lips trembling made itself prominent.
His rough hands nipped at the back side of your arms, pushing you upward and out of the chair you’d been sitting in.
Jack wastes no time bending you over the large desk that sat in the middle of the large office, littered with Victorian desk style paintings and wood work.
“Jack! Please, ill-”
“Did I tell you to talk?” He huffs, pushing your arms together for him to tie them with precision.
Your wiggling didn’t make it any harder, his years of experience dwelling into overdrive for this very moment.
“Just play along with me baby,” His mouth leaned back down to your ear, feeling himself press up against your ass doing so. “...and I’ll be nice, yeah?”
—-----------
Jack had you laid out on his bed.
Nothing but a black pillow and blanket filled the entire room.
A small closet for clothes, and wooden shelves that held nothing but jars of littered body parts, trophies.
He sits in a chair at the end of the bed. Leaned forward, knees holding his arms out as his hands held themselves together. Almost pondering.
The room is barely lit enough for anything…anything. It’s been quiet. Too quiet. You were almost questioning if he was breathing.
“You're so disgustingly pretty.” He mutters. “...and I wanna be fuckin’ selfish with it.”
Standing from the chair, Jack leans on the end of bed, crawling in towards you.
Your breath hitches, feeling stuck in its own solitude.
“I'll do whatever you want ... .please…” You’d plead, desperate for a way out of what you know will be the end.
“Oh, I know.” He sighs, content.
Laying on his side besides you, one arm leans him upward as the other trails itself along your body. Those singled out, blacked pupils staring directly into yours.
For having no eyes, it was like seeing a bead roll around, glinting in the light every now and again when the moon hit them just right.
His mask echoes the sound of his breaths, rising softly as his hands touch your gentle skin.
Long, grey fingertips graze along, soft.
Gentle.
“This…” He starts, low enough only you could hear. “This is Tibia….”
Slightly trailing further up..
“....The Patella…” He pauses again, allowing his hand to hover over your knee for a moment.
“Feamur.” His voice huffs for a second, almost composing himself as his hand wondered over you.
He reaches right at your pelvis, circling it with his fingertips a few times before taking a deep breath.
“Pelvis….Sacrum.”
He watched as your skin rattled with goose bumps once again, your eyes settled softly on his hands.
Something that told him you might be enjoying this just as much as he was.
“Ribs,” you could feel him push into your side, grazing his fingertip along the ridges of your ribs, poking them out and making your skin stretch.
“I bet yours would be easy to crack.”
Your eyes almost roll at the comment, but your body only shifts softly.
Suddenly, a blaring knock came to Jack’s door.
“Jack, let her out.”
A gruff growl leaves him, his hand now placing itself, palm down, right above your heat.
A stubble shift of your hips made his head turn back toward you.
He thought for a moment, his hand on your pushing a bit before Jack cradles himself on top of you, legs on either side as he begins to undo the roped restraint he applied.
“He’s taking all our fun away, baby.” He huffed, taking your upper arm roughly in his hand to pull you up.
Pushing you roughly towards the door, it suddenly slams open.
The long, tall, slender man in front of you stays stoic, taking a much gentler touch of your arm to pull you behind him.
“Jack.” The man warns.
—-----------
The big, grey man sits in the lonely chair before the large desk that accompanied only Slender’s lanky form.
Slender sighs to himself, legs crossed with his hands together.
“You have to stop.”
Jack simply stares at him.
“Why.” He huffs, irritation easily setting in.
“Don’t play coy with me.” He states firmly. “You’re more than understanding of why, Jack.”
A silence fills the air for a mere moment.
“Shes safer with me. You know that.”
He could've laughed right in Jack’s face.
“No, she isn’t.” Slender leaned forward on the desk, closer to Jack.
“I didn’t bring her here for anyone’s entertainment. I didn’t bring her here for the same purpose you’re all here for.”
“Then why is she?” He challenges, teeth gritted.
“Because I said so.”
Jack stiffens slightly, his body building up a certain kind of heat.
“You have no control over yourself.” Slender darkens honestly. “At all. None of you do.”
Slender turns his head slightly, silence filling the room for a good minute as either of them refuse to talk, Slender particularly observing the bob in Jack’s throat.
“But what if she gives me control..?” Jack mutters out, quiet.
A small confrontation.
Slender’s faceless sight peered on Jack for a long while more, almost like he was waiting for Jack to make a realization.
“....She doesn’t, she offers it. And that alone, Jack,” He stands, hands behind his back. “Is exactly why you are so dangerous to her.”
Neither of them say a word. Those words hitting Jack like a bag of bricks, and how his confession to Slender about how this was making him feel.
Without another thought, Jack gets up and leaves, door slamming behind him as his hands clench themselves together, heavy footsteps leaving him as others walk him from downstairs, feeling the need to let heat exit right through him.
—--------
Finally, the day was over.
Your eyes closed themselves without hesitation, your small, monotone room somehow maintaining any comfort inside that you had left.
Fingertips sore, raw, damn near bloodied.
They hurt. Your ass hurts from sitting all day in that stupid wooden chair.
A gentle knock on your door fills your ears, trying to resist the way that they were echoing everything.
Turning the knob, the door slowly creaks open, only a small peak of you is available to the bystander behind the other side.
He stood there, mask halfway tilted up so only his mouth was visible.
“Let me in?” He’d whisper, oh so politely.
And again, again…no hesitation, you’d quickly let him in.
Jack takes the lead, hurriedly shutting the door behind him as he continues to face you, his free hand coming up and cupping the back of your hair to ball up some of your hair into his hand.
Automatically, the feeling makes you melt into his touch, a sigh leaving your lips doing so.
You watch through half-lidded eyes as Jack’s hand gently pushes your head forward, his forehead now resting on yours.
“What are you…?” He’d mutter slowly.
An answer your heart began to thump at, brain rambling through answers appropriate enough for…well, Jack.
Before you could confirm with yourself, words fell from your lips with a certain sultry you weren’t aware was existent in you.
“Your’s.”
Confusion ran through you as your eyes widened, mouth immediately watering with nausea, panic coursing your nerves.
Jack’s hand tears off his mask, it landing with a thud against the wall, dropping to the floor.
“...And yer’ not gonna forget it.” He mutters again, both hands now twisting you around and grabbing the backs of your arms roughly, pressing so hard your skin already begins to redden and bruise.
He bends you over the small twin bed, sheets rippled from how old they were, unwashed.
A heavy cough leaves you, dust suffocating your lungs as it appears in a cloud from slamming onto the bed.
“Dont start.” He chuckled. “M’cock’s not even in that pretty mouth yet.” Jack huffs, getting overly worked up.
One of his hands collided with yours, holding them together in his as your arms were pulling behind your back.
Jack’s lone Iris trails down your clothed back, stealing a quick glance from your arched ass.
Gently, his free hand smooths over your left asscheek, kneading and gripping at it like his life depended on it.
“You have no idea what you do to me.” He really starts talking to himself more so, outloud now. “...No idea what you gi-” He pauses for a second. “...What you offer me.”
SMACK!
A groan leaves your lips, hands tightening around the blanket beneath.
“Do you?”
“N-no, I don’t…M’sorry.”
The apology makes him groan, lowly, desperately.
Another huff leaves him as his head bends back, sockets staring up at the ceiling before slowly closing, basking what felt like God was finally gracing him after all these dreadful years.
His grip on your ass tightens before both hands now slide to the sides of your hips, trailing fingers up and down the sides of your thighs to match.
Jack bends over you, his much larger frame completely engulfing you. The tip of your ear finds itself slowly ripping as Jack grabs ahold of it, hands messaging and pulling at the cheeks of your ass, toying with the skin eagerly.
“I could just fuck this, eat you up, right here…. Right now.” You could hear the desperation becoming apparent with each word that fell from those sharp, animalistic teeth.
Without a word, your hips instinctively press up harder against his pelvis, his obvious hard-on now poking at your every movement.
Slowly, your head turns to lay on its side, those soft eyes of yours peering up at Jack, just as full of admiration.
A secret longing.
Suddenly, Jack takes one of his hands, slithering upward to hold your chin with his fingers, picking your head up as far as it would go.
“What’s that?” He’d ask, teasingly, thumb rubbing comfortingly on your stretched jaw.
“More,” Your voice came out more confident than planned, smalling up as you finished.
“Please…”
God, it almost made him fucking angry.
How desperate you were, so willing and submissive to him.
“Begging for this..?” A wild smile can’t help but stick itself to Jack’s lips. If he had pupils, they’d be blown completely out.
“Begging like a whore to be touched by a monster like me? Is that what you want, baby?”
His grip tightening all over your, almost trying to squeeze the answer out.
“Yes, God, please Jack…”
You could hear his heavy breathing take over, something in him actively snapping.
The feeling of him, the weight of the moment as he hovered over you. The threat of him alone was enough to turn you on.
And every ounce of you hated it.
But I loved it so, so much. Didn’t you?
Jack didn’t need you to tell him anything. He was already tasting those pheromones the second you were dragged in as fresh meat.
Fresh, red, thick meat, to which not an ounce was to be nipped at. Considerably comparable to feeding starving Hyena’s one, freshly killed mouse.
Jack’s hands leave their comfortable positions, slithering to your waist as he pulls you back up to him, off the bed.
Coming to the front of you, he knows takes your place, sitting on the edge of the bed as his hands don't dare to leave you, fingertips now trailing the top of your hips.
He looks up at you, black sockets peering through the blue, monotone mask.
You felt possessed in his touch, entirely. Your hands reach out, gently taking a hold of his mask.
He pauses, stiffening as his own hand now snatches away from your hip, tightly gripping around your entire wrist as he stands harshly, now towering back over you.
“Fuck you think you’re doing, hm?” He utters roughly, grip tightening around you.
Obviously shaken, you wobbled out the words.
“I….I just like to see…you..”
He doesn’t respond, merely staring at you with that tight grip only motivating itself the longer it sat.
“See me?” He blurts. “What is there to see?”
The tone has changed, no longer feeling somewhat….comfortable.
You winced at his tone.
“Your…face?” You asked, almost unsure of if that was even the answer you were looking for anymore.
In fact, you weren’t even sure why you wanted to see his face.
His head turns to the side slightly, like a confused puppy.
“Y-you don’t have too…” A quick redirection on your end. “...I just like…your eyes- or…” Your brows furrow as your lips turn into a thin line, obvious confusion and unsureness filling you.
Really, it was humoring to Jack.
He really couldn’t help letting out a small chuckle, letting his head hang down to the floor to hide it from you.
A small break.
Jack sighs, head turning back up as his large, grey hand pulls off the mask with ease.
Those sockets glanced down at your stiff legs, pushing themselves together a few times as you adjusted.
“You’re disgusting.” He mutters, sockets leaking with that black, sticky tar.
A gentle shrug left your shoulders.
“You love it.” A whisper only he could hear, only you wanted him to hear.
—----------------------
This was just a silly little drabble i wrote up while daydreaming lmfao. Anywho, lmk if ya'll want more!
“I sat on your lap.” you say, as if presenting evidence.
His gaze doesn’t waver. “Yes, you did.”
“You got hard, didn’t you?”
The bluntness would have shattered a lesser man. Hiromi’s jaw tightens. He bites the inside of his cheek, a habit you remember from years ago. The physical act of swallowing words he refuses to let exist.
“You already know that.” he says.
GENRE: alternate universe - modern au;
WARNING/S: r18, angst, explicit, smut, romance, fluff young love, exes to lovers, second chance romance, divorce, toxic relationship, slandering, pet names, complicated, protective, possessiveness, mutual pining, cursing, crossing boundaries rekindled romance, emotional baggage, whirlwind romance, power imbalance, emotional manipulation, reputation, scandal, trauma, smoking, cheating, alcohol, explicit sexual content, naked bodies, office sex, desk sex, oral sex, female receiving oral, fingering, creampie, morning after, p v sex, different sexual positions, rough sex, dominance, praising, dirty talk, size difference, unprotected sex, pregnancy, remarriage, actress! reader, lawyer! higuruma;
WORDS: 16k words.
NOTE: this got delayed yesterday because i didn't think it was okay and now here we are with such a long fic......but thats okay i guess, since today is valentines day anyway. that being the case, i hope everyone has a good valentines day. i have nothing to do and no one to spend it with, but im glad im able to give yall something to make you all have some enjoyment with me!!! anyway, i'll see you for nanami's tomorrow. i love you all!!! happy valentines!!!
main masterlist
if you want to, tip! <3
buono san valentino, 2026;
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?” was the first thing he says to you after all these years, and you can’t pretend you didn’t expect it. He has always been brutally honest. Even back then, he had been too quick to strip a moment down to its barest truth, no matter how it cuts. You did not expect anything other than that now.
Even so, the question lands quieter than he means it to, the edges worn rough by disuse. He sounds like a man unused to speaking your name, to shaping words meant only for you. It almost felt like something so foreign to the tongue that mastered it all.
And despite himself, he leans toward the warmth that lingers in your proximity. Once, you had an open door, it was as though spring was waiting on the other side. And it frustrates him to no end. He thought he had left that all behind.
Yet, how wrong he was. For you were just waiting, waiting in what felt like a door sealed for years and years, now forced open all at once with your tender palms, letting that same youthful season rush back into his life whether he wants it or not.
Divorce lawyer Higuruma Hiromi no longer resembles the man who used to fall asleep on open law books and wake with ink smudged across his cheek in your dormitory late Friday night, clumsily whispering what he had learned even in his sleep.
He was the man who argued with every footnote, who treated precedent like holy scripture, and yet, the same man who still let you doodle in the margins of his case files because, he said, the law should remember it was written by human hands.
Hands soft enough, you used to joke, to strangle him gently every night with such passionate conundrums that can rival every argument in the law books. You had giggled at that thought so viciously, almost so innocently, unsure about what he was saying. Yet you were no fool. And neither was he.
Now he looks like a verdict.
And you expected that, too.
Ten years have carved themselves into him.
His tie hangs loose, collar unbuttoned, his body folded into a leather accent chair that probably costs more than your first apartment. You could remember, the one with the flickering kitchen light and the neighbor who played ballads at two in the morning.
The office is dim, lit only by the city bleeding through floor-to-ceiling windows. Tokyo Metropolitan could only hum with humble extravagance beneath you both. The neon blazing, sirens wailing, headlights crawling like arteries carrying the restless.
He looks tired to you. But not the soft kind that invites sympathy. Not the kind you once soothed with cheap takeout and your feet in his lap while he read passages you pretended to understand, pouting as his fingers drifted absently through your hair.
This is a different exhaustion.
The kind that calcifies into bone.
You think in some ways he did not change at all.
You lean against the doorframe like you own the building. As though you had the right to own the night. You stand there daringly, as though the tabloids haven’t spent three weeks dissecting your marriage like carrion birds.
Each and every time, they foolishly, cleverly, disgustingly followed you about. They were picking up the spectacle of your smile, your rings, the way your husband stopped touching you in public months before anyone noticed. You were sure they’re writing about this moment now.
You take a drag of your cigarette, slow and deliberate. "Haven't you heard?” you whisper, blowing the nicotine into the room, a smirk curving your mouth like a blade. “I’m getting divorced.”
The smoke curls between you like a dare. It was like the ghost of every almost-confession you both buried under timing, under unruly, shameless pride. Under the simple cruelty of choosing other people. People who offered advances, advances that Hiromi could not offer to you.
He exhales through his nose, long and measured, as if filing the statement under expected disasters. Of course you would arrive like this. Of course you would burn your life down and come to him for the ashes, to feed it to him until he was choking in it.
“Well, congratulations.” he whispers back, starting to straighten, vertebra by vertebra, as though assembling himself for court. He finally meets your eyes. “What do you want me to do about it, [name]?”
The way he says your name in that flat, careful, tone sends shivers down your spine. It was like evidence he refuses to mishandle words and tones he chooses with intent to underpin the other party. You let the smoke enthrall you whole, for the childish feeling comes and goes, his words land harder than the headlines.
You push off the doorframe. “Well, one simple thing, really.”
He raises a brow, that same precise arc that once dismantled a witness in under three questions. “And that is?”
You step fully into the office, heels silent on polished wood. The city lights catch on your fine gold rings, your glistening watch, the immaculate tailoring of a suit chosen to look effortless and cost a fortune. Armor, tailored. War paint in neutral tones, the red lipstick sharper than anything man had ever known.
“Settle my divorce.” you whisper, mirth flickering in your eyes like something dangerously close to relief. “And destroy my husband.”
Silence.
A long, echoing, courtroom kind of silence echoes in the room. The kind where truth stands up slowly, adjusts its cuffs, and prepares to ruin everyone and everything in its path. His jaw tightens. A muscle jumps.
“……Are you fucking kidding me?”
The laugh breaks out of you before you can stop it. Almost too bright and unrestrained Something that sounded more reckless than a confession to a murder. But you were certain that it was more authentic than anything you had let out in these ten years.
You think that you had portrayed so many people that you found yourself unsure what sort of laugh you truly had now. And it would seem that this is all that was left. After playing the part of a happy wife, there was nothing left but this. This grating, irritating, disgusting guttural laugh of a pitiful woman like you.
You cross to his desk, set the cigarette into his ash bowl like you’ve done it a thousand times before. He watches your every move, eyes dilated. It was like the years between never existed, Everything about it felt like muscle memory to you.
In that instant, it was as if it could resurrect entire versions of yourselves that never got to live, versions of yourselves that had long been forgotten. Yet it did not come naturally. Instead, it came in a cage. Before he can move, you close the distance and sit squarely on his lap.
His entire body goes rigid.
Not with desire.
At least not yet.
With restraint.
“[name], this is—”
“Why not?” you murmur, fingers sliding up his tie, smoothing the crooked knot, the gesture intimate in a way that has nothing to do with skin. “Can't the best divorce lawyer get me out of this trouble?”
His massive hands, those massive familiar hands that were once all over you, now hover in the air beside you, suspended between instinct and refusal. Almost as though he’s forgotten what they’re for.
Almost like the law has finally presented him with a case he cannot argue without perjuring his own heart. Almost like the act of touching you is a crime he’s already been convicted of, and a crime he cannot know if he wants to flee or stay for.
His voice, when it comes, is lower. Far too careful for its own good. “You don’t need a lawyer to destroy your husband.” he says to you. “You married him, you were with him for ten years. Certainly as his wife, you already know where he’s weakest.”
A beat.
A frown.
He expected that.
“And you…..” he adds, eyes searching yours with a precision that used to feel like safety. “You don’t come to me unless you’re already bleeding.”
Your smile falters, just for a second. A crack in the verdict. “Do you find that insulting?”
“No.” He says far too quickly than he should. “I find it foolish. But then again, foolish decisions are the antithesis of the better.”
He still hasn’t touched you.
And that, somehow, is the most intimate thing of all.
Your fingers remain at his tie, smoothing a crease that no longer exists. A nervous habit masquerading as control. Up close, you can see the faint shadow along his jaw where he forgot to shave, the tiny scar near his chin from the time he slipped on courthouse steps during a downpour and laughed while you scolded him for bleeding on legal documents.
He doesn’t laugh anymore.
At least not as he used to.
Not to you, most especially.
“Get off.” he says quietly.
Not harsh.
Not pleading.
Judicial.
You tilt your head, studying him like you’re trying to remember the exact moment he stopped being yours to ruin. “You used to like it when I ignored your instructions.” you murmur.
His eyes flicker somewhere. Not to your mouth, not to your hands but to the window behind you, to the city lights smeared across the glass like fingerprints. He’s looking for distance. For precedent. For anything that isn’t you, warm and breathing and sitting in his lap like a closing argument he cannot object to.
“That was before you decided to marry up for the contacts.”
There it is.
Not jealousy. Not accusation.
A fact entered into record.
“I told you that was my managers—”
“Well certainly you still did it.” he whispers to you, his eyes intently away from you. “Just because you did it with someone else’s intentions, does not mean it was not your actions.”
You inhale, slow. The cigarette smoke clinging to your hair mixes with the clean, dry scent of his office. paper, leather, something faintly medicinal. He has built a life that does not require you. You can feel it in the geometry of the room. Everything was too precise, too deliberate, ever so impersonal.
And yet you are here.
On his lap, like you used to be.
Disrupting the symmetry.
“Still….I didn’t come here for nostalgia.” you say.
“Good to know.” he replies. “because i don’t practice it.”
But his hands are still hovering.
Not pushing you away.
Not pulling you closer.
Waiting for a ruling.
You lean in just enough that your forehead almost touches his. Your voice drops, stripped of performance. “He’s going to bury me.”
The confession lands between you like broken glass. You feel it in the way his breath changes. It was a quiet hitch, quickly suppressed. In the way his fingers curl slightly, like muscle memory trying to remember the shape of your waist and stopping just short of treason.
“Financially?” he asks.
You shake your head. “No, he can’t steal my money. That’s secure, in some way.”
“Then in what way?”
“Reputation. Custody of everything, of my pets. Everything that can’t be itemized.” you say to him. “And….you know that he’s a big shot in the industry. He’s going to make sure I never get roles or work again.”
His eyes sharpen. The lawyer is back now. At that moment, you were not with a man. You were with a sphinx. This version of him is dangerous in a different way. He was focused and surgical, merciless to systems and the people who weaponize them against everyone else. He knew best how to do it. You know that too well.
“Did he hit you?” he asks.
The question is so blunt it knocks the air from your lungs. “No.”
A pause.
“He didn’t have to.” you whisper, your eyes lowering. “He can’t use me if he breaks my face.”
Something in his expression fractures. At least not outwardly, not enough for anyone else to notice. But you see it. You’ve always seen the microcracks first. The tightening at the corners of his eyes, the way his molars press together when he’s holding back fury that has nowhere to go.
His hands finally move.
At least not to hold you.
To grip the arms of the chair.
Control, reasserted.
“Get off my lap, [name].” he says again, softer now. “Go on and sit like a client.”
You search his face for a trace of the man who once let you steal his fries and his sleep and his carefully constructed boundaries. You find him. He’s the one refusing to touch you. You pursed your lips in a tight line.
Slowly, you slide off his lap. The loss of contact is immediate, a draft where warmth used to be. You take the chair across from him, almost like a stranger in that client’s chair. A little further, a little lower. Deliberately so. The distance is obscene.
He adjusts his tie where you smoothed it, fingers lingering for half a second too long. He was starting to reset. No, he was certainly doing more than that. He was armoring. “Go on and start from the beginning.”
You almost laugh. There are too many beginnings. The first lie. The first headline. The first time your husband introduced you as if you were an acquisition. The first time you realized love, in his hands, was a transaction with better lighting on the sound stage.
Hiromi Higuruma listened to the details of your life he had not been privy of with focus. He tried to settle himself in that role of an outsider, as a lawyer and not that man he was. Not the man he still was who gets angry, emotionally overblown when it comes to you.
“He filed first.” you say to him, a second cigarette now on your lips. “It was a sealed motion. Allegations I can’t respond to without violating the injunction.”
His brows knit. "On what grounds?”
“Irreconcilable differences, apparently.” you say, a humorless smile ghosting your mouth. “And with such audacity, moral instability.”
Silence once more.
He sits more straight.
Then, very quietly, he repeats it.
“Moral instability.”
You nod. “Yes.”
“He has photos. Messages taken out of context. Staff willing to testify to things they were paid to misunderstand.” Your fingers lace together in your lap to stop them from shaking. “He’s building a narrative against me. I’m the unfaithful, erratic wife. He’s the patient, dignified husband forced to protect his legacy.”
“And the truth?” he asks.
You hold his gaze.
“I was lonely and I was isolated.” you say with such a morose look. “And he knew it. He orchestrated it… No one could be my friend, or my confidant unless he approved of them. How could I….I could be the one at fault if he’s doing this to me?”
The admission sits heavy in the room. Not infidelity. Not denial. Just the small, devastating truth of neglect. His jaw flexes again. This time he doesn’t look away. “Do you want to win this case?” he asks softly. “Or do you want to survive?”
The question startles you. “Aren’t they the same?”
“No.” His voice is iron. “Winning is a spectacle. Surviving is silence. The law can give you one, it takes good framing. But of course, your choices determine the other.”
Outside, Tokyo Metropolitan’s lights flicker as if the city itself is holding its breath. You lean back in the chair, studying the man across from you as smoke releases from your lips. This was the one you didn’t choose, the one you left, the one who still looks at you like you are both evidence and wounded.
“I want him to never do this to anyone again.” you say to him more honestly. “For him to pay for every bit of those ten years.”
You did not beat around the bush. You said something colder. Something far more cleaner in the dirt you surround yourself with. His eyes soften even more, perhaps just a fraction. But it was echoing with approval. Still every bit of him seemed reluctant. Yet ever so ready to be dangerous.
“Then we don’t destroy him.” he says in reply. “Instead, we document him.”
“Document him?”
“You have the money to drag it along. Why not? Let's make the truth so boringly precise…..” he adds as he narrows his gaze. “That no one can look away.”
Your throat tightens. You hadn’t realized how badly you needed someone to believe you without spectacle. “Does this mean….you’ll take the case?” you ask.
He studies you for a long moment. He was not searching for who you were, but measuring who you’ve become against the cost of letting you stand here again. Many things rush in his head, things he could not comprehend yet, things that he cannot say yet. But he does not move. Nor does he speak.
The office is too quiet once more. Even the city feels distant, muffled by glass and altitude. He looks at you like a man standing at the edge of a familiar cliff, aware of exactly how far the fall goes because he survived it once.
“There are a dozen reasons to refuse you.” he says at last.
Your chest tightens, but you hold his gaze. “And?”
His jaw shifts. “None of them change the outcome.”
You don’t breathe. “Is that so?”
“This is a conflict of interest, between us.” he says.
Your stomach drops anyway. The words are procedural, expected and still they land like loss. “Then—”
He doesn’t look away. “I have prior…involvement.”
Your laugh comes out thin. “We dated in our twenties, Hiromi. You’re not going to lose your license over bad timing and worse decisions.”
“That’s not the involvement I’m referring to.”
The air changes. Perhaps not in the way you would have expected. It came so quietly. There was nothing dramatic about it. There was no thunderclap, no cinematic revelation. Instead, it was just a subtle pressure shift, like a courtroom before a verdict is read.
You go very still. He wasn’t talking about who you used to be to each other. He’s talking about the way his voice lowers when he says your name. About how his hands refused to touch you, certainly not because he didn’t want to, but because he did.
Hiromi cannot let it be. He lets it fester, especially about the fact that you came here first, before the statements, before the damage control, before the world could tell you what your marriage was worth. Your pulse trips over itself.
“Are you refusing me?” you ask, quieter now.
He leans forward, forearms resting on the desk. Not close enough to touch. Close enough that you can see the faint crease between his brows, the one that only appears when he’s choosing restraint over instinct.
“No, not really.” he says. “I’m…merely setting terms.”
“Terms?” you repeat, tasting the word.
His gaze flicks briefly to your left hand. Your expensive ring is still there, still gleaming under city light like a lie with excellent marketing. Then it lifts and returns to your eyes. You could feel your heart skip a beat.
“If I take this case, [name]...you know what I’ll do.” he says, each word placed with deliberate care, “I will dismantle him. Methodically. Publicly if necessary. There will be no ambiguity when it’s over. No narrative he can hide behind.”
The promise is not cruel.
It is precise.
It was why he was good.
“And when it’s done….” he continues, softer now, “There will be nothing left tying you to him. Not legally. Not socially. Not in the quiet spaces where people pretend vows still echo.”
Your throat tightens. “I know.”
“But you don’t walk out of that clean.” he adds.
You blink. “What?”
His voice doesn’t rise. It doesn’t need to.“You don’t get to burn your life down and pretend you’re untouched by the smoke. If I do this, you lose the version of yourself that survived by smiling beside him. You lose the safety of being misunderstood.”
A pause.
“And you don’t come back here….” he finishes quietly to you. “Unless you’re prepared for the possibility that I will ask for something you can’t litigate.”
The words settle between you, heavier than any threat could be. It is not a threat. But it certainly wasn't a confession either. It’s a door that was closed, but not locked. It was with the understanding that opening it will cost you both the illusion of restraint.
“I sat on your lap.” you say, as if presenting evidence.
His gaze doesn’t waver. “Yes, you did.”
“You got hard, didn’t you?”
The bluntness would have shattered a lesser man. Hiromi’s jaw tightens. He bites the inside of his cheek, a habit you remember from years ago. The physical act of swallowing words he refuses to let exist.
“You already know that.” he says.
No denial.
No apology.
Just a fact.
You turn away first, not in retreat but in consideration, letting the cigarette die in the porcelain ashtray. The ember collapses inward, a soft surrender. Smoke curls up, thin and fading, like the last excuse either of you had.
When you face him again, you don’t return to the client’s chair.
You close the distance.
Slowly at first.
More animalistic now.
More deliberately.
You kneel in front of him. Not submission, not performance, but proximity stripped of pretense. The city light spills across the polished floor, catches in your hair, turns your eyes bright in a way he hasn’t seen in years. Not since before careful smiles and strategic silences replaced whatever this was.
Hiromi’s throat tightens. You see it in the movement of his swallow, in the way his fingers flex once against the arm of the chair before going still again, as if he’s afraid of what they’ll do if he lets them move.
“I thought about finding you again.” you say softly. “Years ago. Even when I was married.”
The admission lands like a dropped glass. It was not loud, but irreversible. His brow furrows. “Was I meant to be your secret, then?”
You shake your head immediately. “No. Never that.”
Your lips curve. Perhaps not into a smirk, not into cruelty but into something tired and honest. “You would’ve been as visible as his mistress.” you say. “An open scandal. No shadows to hide in.”
He exhales, a quiet, disbelieving sound. “Then why didn’t you?”
You look down at your hands, at the faint tremor you can no longer disguise as poise. “Because I wanted to believe I was better than him….That if I stayed, endured, kept choosing the respectable ruin, I could pretend I took the higher ground.”
Silence stretches between you.
Not empty nor was it depraved.
Instead, it was full of the lives you didn’t live.
“But I’m lucky, aren’t I?” you add, lifting your gaze back to him. “Now I don’t have to pretend.”
Your hands come to rest lightly against his thighs. You were not grasping, not pulling. Your palms were simply there, the contact almost formal in its restraint. You feel the tension in him, coiled and controlled, the rigid discipline of a man who has built his entire life on not reaching for what he wants.
“And besides….you know I’m no good.” you smiled at him. “But still….you want me anyway.”
“[name], you shouldn’t—” he begins.
You huff a quiet breath, not quite a laugh. Your other hand settles opposite the first, mirroring the contact, a balance he cannot misinterpret as accidental. “Let me make it up to you, Hiromi. Let me love you.”
Hiromi’s hot breath catches in his throat as your hands settle on his thighs. The contact is light, almost innocent, but the implications are anything but. He swallows hard, his eyes locked on yours as he tries to process your words.
"You don't know what you're offering to me, [name]." he says hoarsely. "What I want from you." His hands twitch, hovering just above your shoulders as if he's fighting the urge to pull you closer.
"I've waited too long for this. If we start down this path, I won't be gentle. I won't hold back." He leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. "I'll take everything you're willing to give and then some. Are you sure this is what you want?"
His voice is low and intense, filled with a hunger that has been building for years. You could feel your heart beating harder and harder against your chest second by second. You meet his gaze steadily, your own eyes filled with a determination that matches his intensity.
"I'm sure." you say quietly to the man you left ten years ago. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life. "You lean in closer, your lips brushing against his as you speak. "Take me, Hiromi. Take everything I have to offer. I'm yours."
Your words are like a match to gasoline, igniting the desire that has been simmering between you for so long. Higuruma Hiromi's control snaps. With a growl, he pulls you onto his lap, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he kisses you with a ferocity that steals your breath.
He stands abruptly, lifting you easily as if you weigh nothing. He carries you to his desk, sweeping the papers and books onto the floor with a single swipe of his arm. He sets you down on the edge of the desk, stepping between your legs as he continues to ravage your mouth with kisses.
Hiromi’s big hands roam over your body, squeezing and kneading your flesh through the fabric of your clothes. He tugs impatiently at your shirt, popping buttons in his haste to bare your skin to his hungry gaze.
He leans down, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the swell of your breasts, his tongue darting out to taste the soft skin. His fingers hook into the waistband of your dress skirt, pushing it up around your hips as he steps closer, pressing his hardness against your core.
You can feel the heat of him even through the layers of clothing, and it sends a shiver down your spine. Hiromi’s cold lips trail up your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. He finds a particularly tender spot and bites down hard enough to leave a mark.
"You’ve decided but I decided on something too…." he growls against your flesh. "The only payment I’m taking is you.”
Your eyes widen at his words, a mixture of shock and arousal coursing through you. A while ago he was ruminating with the past, with the spring of your youths and the distance that was left behind. Yet it was as if the door had been fully opened.
The implication is clear.
He's not interested in money or any other form of payment. The only thing he wants is you. After a decade, it was still you he wanted. Even when you had abandoned him and made his life a misery and lonely desert, he still wants you to blossom in it.
Your heart races as you consider the implications. This is more than just a one-night stand or a fleeting affair, you were aware of this. This is Higurama Hiromi, your ex-boyfriend, the lawyer you just acquired to defend you in your divorce, was now claiming you as his own, demanding your complete surrender.
"And if I refuse?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.
Hiromi chuckles darkly, his hand sliding up your thigh and beneath your dress skirt. "Then I'll just have to convince you otherwise." he says, his fingers brushing against the lace of your panties. "I can be very persuasive when I want to be. And I want you. More than anything."
His fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, tugging them aside as he seeks out your most intimate flesh. You couldn’t help but release a gasp as he finds your clit, circling it with a gentle touch that sends shockwaves of pleasure through you.
"See how wet you are for me already?" he murmurs to you. "Your body knows who it belongs to, even if your mind is still resisting." He slips a finger inside you, pumping slowly as his thumb continues to tease your clit. "Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me to take you right here on my desk. I need to hear you say it."
His voice is low and commanding, leaving no room for doubt. He's not going to stop until he gets what he wants, not until he hears the words from your own lips. He has waited for so long for spring to come. He was not going to let it go.
You bite your lip, torn between desire and hesitation. The rational part of your mind screams at you to stop this, to push him away and walk out the door. But the ache between your legs is impossible to ignore, and the way he's touching you feels too good to resist.
"I...I want it…I want you." you whisper finally, your voice barely audible. "I want you to take me. Right here. Right now."
As soon as the words leave your lips, Higuruma Hiromi's control snaps in its entirety. With a growl, he lifts you onto his desk, sweeping the remaining court documents, other papers and all those law books onto the floor with a single swipe of his arm.
Higuruma Hiromi doesn't hesitate. He lowers his body, his hands gripping your thighs and pushing them further apart. He leans in without hesitation, his breath hot against your core as he inhales deeply.
"You smell so fucking good, you always have." he murmurs to you. "I bet you still taste the same."
He doesn't wait for a response before burying his face between your legs. His tongue slicks through your folds, teasing and tasting as he explores every inch of you. He finds your clit and sucks it into his mouth, his tongue flicking against the sensitive bud in a way that makes you see stars.
Your hands all but fly to his darkened hair, gripping tightly as you grind against his face, chasing the pleasure he's giving you. Hiromi’s masterful tongue delves deeper, the nostalgia of pleasure hitting you as you scream.
He keeps plunging into your entrance as he fucks you with his mouth. His hands grip your ass, lifting you closer to his face as he devours you. He can feel you getting closer, your walls fluttering around his tongue as he pushes you towards the edge.
He pulls back suddenly, his lips and chin glistening with your juices. "Come for me, [name]."he commands. "Come on my tongue like a good girl."
He expertly dives back in, his tongue circling your clit rapidly as he slides two fingers inside you, curling them to hit that spot that makes your eyes roll back in your head. It only takes a few more strokes before you're crying out his name, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. Higuruma Hiromi doesn't let up, continuing to lick and suck through your climax until you're a trembling, boneless mess on his desk.
You do not remember much after that.
But you knew that you felt good, far too good.
You hadn’t felt like this in a long time.
WHEN YOU WAKE, IT ISN’T BECAUSE OF THE SUNLIGHT GLEAMING IN. It’s to the low murmur of a voice you know by muscle memory. For a moment, you don’t move. Your body is warm everywhere, especially down there where his cum dwelled ceaselessly.
It was still heavy with sleep everywhere, with the dull, satisfying ache of muscles used and reused, with the unfamiliar safety of not being alone when you open your eyes. The air smells faintly of tobacco and paper and the ghost of your perfume clinging to borrowed cotton.
You’re wrapped in a blanket. Not tucked. You were fully wrapped, securely. With intention to keep you comfortable. Beneath it, a long dress shirt drapes over your skin, the fabric soft from years of laundering, the cuffs hanging past your wrists. It smells like him in a way cologne never could. The starch, smoke, and something clean and dry, like old books and winter air.
You are naked underneath.
The realization arrives without panic.
Only memory.
Dawn, filtered through half-closed blinds. His name in your mouth is like a verdict you chose.The way restraint finally broke, not with the ardent violence that could have been, but with the quiet, tender inevitability of something deferred too long.
You turn your head.
Hiromi Higuruma sits at his desk, backlit by the pale gray of early morning leaking into the city. His upper body is bare, dress shirt discarded somewhere out of sight, tie gone, suspenders hanging loose at his sides. A cigarette rests between his lips, forgotten more often than smoked, its ash grown long and precarious.
He looks like he hasn’t slept.
Not in the frantic, unraveling way you’ve seen in tabloids and courtrooms, but in the deliberate stillness of a man who chose wakefulness over vulnerability. The kind of sleeplessness that comes from watching the shape of a life shift in real time and refusing to blink.
“…No, we have to do it immediately.” he says into the landline, voice even. “Go and file the response by noon. We’re not contesting jurisdiction and I am not arguing more about something ridiculous.”
A pause. He listens, eyes flicking briefly toward you. Somehow not surprised to find you awake, as if he’s been aware of every shift in your breathing. He takes a moment to look at you, taking in the sight of you before he ends up talking back to the other line.
“No, that’s not important.” he repeats, quieter. “And there will not be a statement. That’s not advised right now. That’s it. Yeah.”
Your chest tightens.
Not she.
Not the client.
Not your name.
Just a boundary placed between you and the world.
He exhales, finally taking a drag from the cigarette, the ember flaring briefly before dimming again. Smoke curls upward, dissolving into the dim office air. You find how perfect this sight of him was. How focused he was about his craft, about your business. It made you feel something wanton.
“…Because there is nothing to clarify about it.” he says into the receiver. “The filings will speak for themselves, as they usually do. Fine, yes. Goodbye.”
He hangs up with a soft click. Silence returns in the room. Yet this time, it was not empty. But rather it was dense. Delicately layered with everything that happened between midnight and dawn, everything that still hasn’t been said.
You push yourself up slightly, the blanket slipping enough to reveal your shoulder. The shirt shifts against your skin, cool where it’s lost your warmth. He notices. You can tell by the way his gaze drops for a fraction of a second before he deliberately looks back at the paperwork in front of him. Restraint, reassembled.
“You’re up.” he says. It’s not a question. His voice is rougher than usual, worn at the edges.
“You didn’t sleep.” you reply.
He stubs the cigarette out in the ashtray without looking. “I had calls to make.”
You study him more closely. You could tell the tension in his shoulders, the faint marks at his collarbone you don’t remember leaving but know you must have, the way he sits perfectly straight despite the hour, as if posture alone can impose order on what you’ve done.
“What time is it?” you ask.
“Six twenty-three.”
Too early for the world. Too late to pretend this was a dream. The realization settles over you with the slow certainty of daylight creeping through the blinds. The thin, pale bands stretching across the floor, the couch, the edge of his desk. Morning makes everything real. Night allows for ambiguity. The morning files it into record.
You gather the blanket closer, the wool warm but not warm enough to quiet the awareness of bare skin beneath borrowed fabric. His long shirt hangs loosely on your frame, the hem brushing your thighs, cuffs swallowing your hands.
It smells like starch and smoke and something unmistakably him, a scent that feels more intimate than anything that happened before dawn. You could feel nostalgic, remembering when you were much younger. How he would always smell so good, full of smoke and old oak scent.
Daylight makes you aware of the consequences.
Everything about you two is easily fractured.
You hadn’t realized how fragile this quiet is.
But then again, you had left him to boost your career.
Everything about this is going to be fragile.
“You covered me, huh?” you say.
Your voice is soft, rough with sleep, carrying across the immaculate stillness of the office. Shelves of case files stand in perfect order. The city hums faintly beyond glass. Everything here is controlled, except the space between you.
“Cleaned me a bit…” You attempt a smile that doesn’t quite land. Honesty has made a habit of slipping past your defenses in this room. “But not down there—”
The words hover, intimate and absurd in equal measure. Across the room, Higuruma Hiromi stills. It’s subtle to you. The pause of ink on paper, the faint tightening along his shoulders. But you’ve always noticed the small fractures in his composure. His pen hovers over the document as if the next word suddenly requires more care than the law usually demands.
“I was still inside for quite a while.” he says.
The statement is delivered in the same tone he uses to cite statute. Every bit of it is factual, unembellished, yet just as much impossible to misinterpret. You could feel your ears turn red. He sets the pen down with deliberate precision.
“I didn’t have the heart to see my hard work disappear.”
The corner of your mouth twitches despite yourself. It is the closest thing to humor he’s allowed this morning. It is also not entirely humor. Heat rises beneath your skin. Not embarrassment, not shame, but the quiet recognition of care expressed in a language that borders on claim and stops, deliberately, at respect.
He finally looks up. There’s a faint flush high on his cheekbones, barely visible in the cool morning light. The cigarette in the ashtray has burned itself into a thin column of ash, forgotten mid-thought.
“You were asleep for a while, though,” he adds, quieter now. “You looked…peaceful.”
The word sits strangely in the air, as if it does not belong to a room built for litigation and controlled ruin. It sounds unfamiliar in his mouth, like something he rarely permits himself to witness, let alone protect.
“I didn’t want to wake you.”
Outside, the city continues its orderly ascent into the day. The morning trains gliding into stations on the minute, crosswalk chimes repeating their polite insistence, the low murmur of a million lives resuming their scheduled negotiations. Tokyo does not pause for private upheavals. It absorbs them, files them away, moves on.
Inside, your chest tightens with the weight of what he’s admitting without saying. He chose to let the night remain intact. He chose not to erase you from it. And more than ever, he wants more of it. Not wholly in the reckless, devouring way of midnight, but in the dangerous quiet of morning, where wanting becomes a decision.
Your fingers tighten on the blanket, knuckles whitening beneath the wool. “You could have woken me up and sent me on my way, Hiromi.” you say again. “My driver is downstairs.”
The reminder lands between you like a line drawn in chalk: escape is available. Logistics are intact. The world you built, the one with schedules, staff, and careful exits, is still waiting at the curb. You were certain you even had a schedule to fulfill today.
His gaze lifts to you, steady, searching. Not pleading. Not apologizing. Simply present. “Dl Yes.” he says. “He is.”
Not was. Not might be. He knows. Of course he knows. He noticed the car idling before dawn, the silhouette in the front seat, the quiet discipline of a driver trained not to ask questions. He leans back slightly in his chair, the movement measured, buying himself distance without retreat.
“I could have woken you, like I used to do, when you had auditions.” he continues. “Ensured you left before the building filled. Before anyone could speculate. Before this became… complicated.”
A pause.
“I did not.”
The admission settles into the room like dust in sunlight, still visible, yet so inescapable. You swallow. “Why?”
He studies you for a long moment, as if weighing which truth will do the least damage and finding none that qualify.
“Because you were not a problem to be managed.” he says at last. “You were someone who finally stopped running…At least that’s how I took last night.”
The words land somewhere deep.
You were bypassing your practiced defenses.
Outside, a train departs. Inside, you feel very still.
“And…I know you would have left and discarded it.” he adds, voice lower now. “Sending you away would have made it easier to pretend this was a lapse.”
The words settle into the space between you. It was not accusatory, nor was it pleading. The way you heard it, you think it was simply a truth he has carried long enough to recognize on sight. Many things can be real at the same time. He will see the truth differently from you, most of all because you were sure you had jaded him as much as his profession had.
You purse your lips, the instinct to deflect rising like muscle memory. “You wanted to cage me.”
His gaze holds yours, steady and unflinching. “You caged me first, sweetheart.” he says.
“I know.” you whisper, wanting to look away in shame.
No heat. No bitterness. Just facts laid bare. “You did so ten years ago. And I still am now. What do you think I feel?”
The question lands harder than any raised voice could. The city hums beyond the glass, indifferent. Inside, the air feels thinner, as if honesty has displaced the oxygen. You open your mouth. You wanted to argue, to dismiss his words, to reach for the practiced defenses that built your life and find none of them fit.
“I know and I just—” Your breath catches.
It was not a lapse. You couldn’t even call it an accident. Not even a moment of weakness you could file under is regrettable but necessary. His eyes do not leave yours. He is not rescuing you from the sentence. He is waiting to see if you will finish it.
Your throat tightens. “It wasn’t.” you try again, softer now. “And that’s the problem.”
The admission changes the shape of the room. His shoulders ease at your words. Perhaps not even in victory, but in recognition. As if a tension he’s held for a decade has finally been named aloud. You think you hold your breath for a long time, transfixed in his gaze.
“You think I wanted to cage you.” he says quietly. “I wanted you to choose me.”
The simplicity of it steals the air from your lungs. So plain and so simple. The boring truth you thought to yourself long ago could not be enough. That safety you had risked for this starlight on the stage. Yet they were words you think you were more fond of hearing now.
“I did choose you.” you whisper. “Once.”
“Yes, you did.” he says to you, as you find yourself standing to move towards him. “And then you chose a life that required you not to. After all, the glamor was tempting, wasn’t it?”
Your fingers curl against the edge of his desk. “You think I didn’t feel it? Walking away like I’d amputated something and calling it maturity?”
His jaw tightens. “I thought you were relieved to see your dreams come true.”
The words are so quiet you almost miss them. You stare at him. “Relieved?”
“You didn’t look back,” he says. “Not once.”
Because if you had, you might have stayed.
Because if you had, you might have ruined him.
Because if you had, you might have ruined yourself.
Both of you would have been miserable, you think.
“I couldn’t.” you say, the truth scraping on its way out. “If I looked back, I would have run. Because I would have been miserable….if I didn’t get to enjoy the life I lived—”
“I know.” Hiromi affirms your words as you stand before him, his clothes pooling over you, hiding nothing but the upper half of your body. He lifts your head, your chin tight in his fingers. You were forced to meet his eyes.
“But now you don’t have that excuse.” He speaks to you, a small smile on his lips.
“No, no…I do not.”
YOU DON’T SEE HIGURUMA HIROMI FOR A COUPLE OF DAYS. But he doesn’t disappear at all like he did many years ago. Instead, he takes the time to tell you about many things happening with the divorce proceedings.
He updates you thoroughly, yet all the while still finding it to be brief and concise, polished to the point that you wonder if he’s talking to you more like a client and not the person he seems to be infatuated with. He sent at odd hours, the kind that suggest he drafted them between hearings or long after the office emptied.
Filed motion to expedite proceedings.
Opposing counsel acknowledged receipt.
Estimated timeline shortened by two weeks.
No emojis. No pleasantries. No mention of that night.
You appreciate it more than you can say. The efficiency. The care hidden inside professional language. He’s using his reputation, his firm, his time to make this easier for you in a quieter, faster, cleaner way. A kindness disguised as procedure.
You type thank you more times than you send it.
Because what are you supposed to say to a man whose life you walked out of once, a decade ago, in pursuit of a future you weren’t sure would love you back? What do you say to the man you reappeared before, all the sudden, so desperate and distressed, asking for help dissolving a marriage you built in the aftermath of leaving him?
What do you say to the man you slept with in his office, as if ten years had folded in on themselves, as if the versions of you that never happened were trying, briefly, to exist? And worst of all, what do you say after confessing the things you should have told him ten years ago?
That you were terrified of staying.
That you loved him in a way that made you feel small and enormous at once.
That you chose your dreams not because they mattered more but because you were afraid you would disappear if you didn’t try.
You had watched the words land in his silence, heavy and irreversible. Now there are only his messages. Far too efficient and distant for your liking. But you supposed it was your karma now. You did break up with him.
Work fills the space where he used to be. You went ahead with a coffee in your hand to the early call times, ate some good instant ramen at the late-night shoots, the mechanical repetition of lines you’ve said so often they no longer feel like yours while drinking bourbon.
Wardrobe racks being brought to your trailer, the beam of the harsh lighting on your skin, the directors and staff calling your name. You move from film set to soundstage, from one role to the next, slipping into other lives so you don’t have to sit too long with your own.
It’s easier that way. On set, you are decisive, luminous, untouchable. You hit your marks. You deliver tears on cue. You fall in love with co-stars beneath artificial rain and forget them the moment the director calls cut.
No one here knows that your phone lights up with legal updates from the man you once almost built a life with. No one here sees you stare at his name until the screen goes dark. No one knows that you are starting to become more fond of him again.
It’s easier than thinking about the last time you saw him. His office lights dimmed, case files pushed aside, the city lights glowing through the windows behind him. Easier than remembering how his hands hesitated before touching you, like he was already bracing for the consequences. Easier than the quiet afterward, when neither of you said what you were both thinking to each other.
This changes everything.
But the world doesn’t stop for complicated feelings. Contracts are signed. Scenes are shot. Your manager reminds you of schedules. Your lawyer reminds you of dates. You could feel your phone buzzing from your trailer table again.
Court confirmed hearing date.
You stare at the message for a long time. The sound behind you disappears into nothing. You try your best to think of something. All the sudden your heart skips a beat. Your thumbs hover over the screen, the cursor blinking in the empty reply field like a pulse.
You type: Thank you for doing this.
Delete.
You type: I’m sorry.
Delete.
You type nothing.
You groan aloud, frustrated.
“You okay, [last name]–san?”
You looked up, feeling a bit embarrassed being caught in the moment. “Y–yes….I’m fine. Just some updates on the divorce.”
“Oh, that’s right!” The staff gasped. “I’m so sorry that this happened to you, [last name]–san. It’s really rough to leave a marriage that lasted that long.”
Not really. You think to yourself. I already slept with my ex turned divorce lawyer….
“Uh…thank you.”
Before long the days passed.
The weather changed.
All of a sudden, you were in court.
The courthouse looms ahead in stark gray, all sharp lines and unforgiving symmetry. You arrive early, sunglasses on. You don’t do it for the press, even when they get your best side of the face in the shot. Instead, you do it for the illusion of distance.
Your heels echo against the marble floors as you step inside, each click too loud in the cavernous lobby. First hearing. Divorce proceedings. Routine, procedural, impersonal. You tell yourself that’s all it is. You can get through this.
And then you see him.
He stands near the courtroom doors, dark suit immaculate, posture straight in that way that always made him seem taller than he is. Higuruma Hiromi looks exactly as he always does in court.
He looked handsome in his suit, standing with severe composure. But you notice the details no one else would: the faint crease between his brows, the way his fingers tighten around the folder in his hand, the fraction of a second he freezes when his eyes meet yours.
It’s the first time you’ve seen him since that night.
For a moment, the courthouse noise fades. The murmur of other cases, the shuffle of papers, the distant echo of a gavel. There is only the space between you, heavy with everything unsaid. You wonder if he regrets it. You wonder if you do.
He inclines his head in a small, formal greeting, the kind reserved for colleagues and opposing counsel. Not for someone whose name he whispered like a confession just days ago.
“Good morning.” he says, voice even with professionalism.
Your throat tightens anyway. “Good morning.” you reply, matching his tone.
You compose yourself as he does. You know that the courtroom doors are opening and the world is watching, and whatever you were in his office cannot exist here. Not for anyone else, not for the press and not even for him. Not today.
He steps closer, stopping at a careful, neutral distance. But it was close enough to speak without raising his voice, far enough that no one could mistake the interaction for anything but legal. You found your lips in a tight line.
“What is it?”
“I received confirmation from the clerk.” he says, eyes flicking briefly to the folder before returning to you. “The judge assigned is known for efficiency. If both parties remain cooperative, this should proceed without delay.”
You nod. “That’s…good.”
A pause. He studies you for a fraction too long, gaze softening in a way that would be imperceptible to anyone else. “You look tired.” he says quietly, then, as if catching himself, adds, “Filming schedule?”
You almost laugh at the awkward correction. “Something like that.”
Another pause stretches between you both, something so thin and fragile. You see him taking a breath as he nodded. “I hope you get some rest soon then.”
“I hope this ends and settles itself, so I can get some rest.”
“I reviewed the financial disclosures. You were not lying.” he continues, voice returning to its measured cadence. “There are no irregularities. Your interests are protected.”
“My interests, huh.” you repeat, the words tasting strange. “Thank you.”
He gives a small nod. “It is my responsibility.”
But you both hear what he doesn’t say: I would have done it even if it wasn’t.
The courtroom doors open wider at that moment. You could tell that the people interested in this entire clown affair had begun filing in. He shifts his weight slightly, as if preparing to step away, to return to the role the world recognizes.
Instead, he says, very quietly. “Did you sleep at all?”
The question lands like a dropped glass. You meet his eyes. “Did you?”
A beat passes. He smiles. “No.” he admits.
The honesty sits between you, raw and unfiled, with no legal language to contain it. Footsteps approach. Voices echo. The world resumes. He clears his throat, the sound soft but decisive. “We should go inside.”
You nod. “Of course.”
He gestures toward the courtroom with professional courtesy, allowing you to enter first. As you pass him, you catch the faint scent of his cologne. It was the same, you think to yourself. Everything about it was achingly familiar.
For one reckless second you are back in his office that night once again, the endless beam of Tokyo Metropolitan’s city lights burning behind him, his hand hovering at your waist like a question he already knew the answer to.
Inside the courtroom, you take your place at the table. He sits beside you, close enough that your sleeves almost touch, yet separated by a distance far greater than the width of polished wood. He leans slightly toward you, voice barely audible.
“We will get through this.” he says.
You whisper back. “I can only hope so.”
The courtroom doors close with a heavy, final sound that reverberates through your chest. You sit beside Higuruma Hiromi, your tender hands folded too tightly in your lap, exhausted eyes fixed on the polished wood of the table as people settle around you.
You could hear the loudness of the papers shuffling, the chairs scraping, the loud yet quiet murmurs filling the air like static. You tell yourself to breathe. Then you feel it. Anxiety flooded through you at that moment.
A presence across the aisle. Familiar in a way that makes your spine go rigid before you even look. Your ex-husband is there, even when he said that he wasn’t going to attend, to focus on a new movie he was working on.
He looks older than the last time you saw him. He was already older, yet this time, he was older beyond his years. Grey everywhere, somber in all of his skin. His shoulders are tense beneath an expensive suit that fits like armor.
His jaw tightens when his gaze lands on you, then flicks. It was brief yet sharp and it was towards the man sitting at your side. To Hiromi. The realization hits him in real time. You see it in the narrowing of his eyes. The way his mouth presses into a thin line. The way his attorney leans toward him, whispering something urgent that he doesn’t seem to hear.
Your pulse roars in your ears. Beside you, Hiromi doesn’t move. But you notice the subtle shift in his posture was evident. You could see how his chest puffed. His shoulders squaring, presence sharpening, like a blade quietly unsheathed.
“Do not look at him.” he murmurs, voice low enough that only you can hear.
But the warning came too late.
You already have.
And it made you both sad and angry.
This was the man you married.
A pitiful shell of a man who took advantage of you.
Your ex-husband’s gaze locks onto yours, and for a moment you are dragged back into the life you are trying to leave. The arguments that looped without resolution, the silences that lasted days, the texts and calls with the other women and so much more.
The slow erosion of something that once felt unbreakable came to you, more and more. He glances again at your strident dark haired lawyer. Recognition dawns. Not personal per say. You think it was more professional.
Higuruma Hiromi was a famous high-profile attorney. He has always had a reputation for ruthless precision. A man who does not take cases he cannot win, and pushes forward without a care in the world, so long as his clients are satisfied.
Your ex leans toward his lawyer, whispering sharply. The lawyer’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly before schooling their expression. You swallowed as you found your gaze towards Hiromi who seemed to not be fazed by it all.
“This is going to get messy, isn’t it?” you whisper.
Hiromi’s reply is calm, measured. “It was always going to be.”
The judge enters. Everyone rises. You barely register the formalities. The case number is read, then the names, then you got lost in all the procedural language. It goes on and on, until your ex-husband’s attorney stands.
“Your Honor.” she begins to say. “My client has concerns regarding the accelerated timeline and—” her gaze flicks toward you, then to Hiromi himself. “—potential conflicts of interest.”
The words land like a slap. "Of course he’ll bring it up.”
Hiromi doesn’t look at you. His eyes remain forward, expression unreadable. “Anticipated.” he murmurs. “Not a worry.”
Your ex-husband stands abruptly. “I’d like it on record at this moment.” he says, voice tight. “My wife’s attorney has a prior personal relationship with her.”
The courtroom stills. Every sound seems to vanish into the high ceiling. Heat floods your face. Your hands go cold. Higuruma Hiromi confidently rises slowly beside you, unhurried, composed. He looks at your ex-husband before focusing on the judge.
“Your Honor, this is not a concern.” he says, voice clear and steady. “I disclosed all relevant professional history to opposing counsel. There is no legal conflict that impairs my ability to represent my client.”
Your ex lets out a short, humorless laugh. “Professional history, huh?” he repeats. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
Your chest tightens. “Please—” you start, but your voice falters.
Hiromi’s hand shifts slightly on the table, not touching you, but close enough that you feel the steadiness of it like a barrier between you and the storm. “There is no conflict. I am her legal representative here, not anything else.”
The judge’s gaze sharpens. “Sir, you will address the court with decorum. There is no conflict here. Mr. Higuruma is a lawyer. The record shall state nothing.”
Hiromi nodded at the judge. “Thank you, Your Honor.”
Your ex’s eyes return to you, and for a moment the anger fractures into something rawer. “Him?” he says, quieter now. “You replaced me with him?”
The question is not legal. Not procedural. Not appropriate for a courtroom. It is personal. It always was. Yet it was more than likely a wound for him, even if he had been cheating first. Regardless of whether he knows you slept with Hiromi or not, he knew that Higuruma Hiromi was your ex-boyfriend. That was worth a bleed. Your throat closes.
Hiromi speaks once again before you can. “My client’s personal life is not on trial.” he says, each word precise. “We are here to dissolve a marriage that has, by both parties’ admission, irretrievably broken down.”
Silence hangs heavy for a moment, broken only by the shuffle of papers and the quiet clearing of throats as the attorneys prepare. You glance at your ex-husband. He’s sitting straighter now, jaw tight, hands clenched over the table. There’s a dangerous tension in his shoulders, like a coiled spring that’s only waiting for the right trigger.
The judge clears her throat again. “We will proceed with the matters relevant to this hearing.”
Chairs creak as everyone settles. But the usual rhythm has come and gone with all of its legal formality and its endless procedural monotony. You feel it in the way your hands tremble in your lap, the faint pulse in your throat.
You stare down at the polished table, seeing the reflection of your own face. You were someone caught between past and present, between two men who know different versions of you. Yet you do not want more of the past, even when one of the past sat beside you. You just wanted to move forward.
Beside you, Higuruma Hiromi leans close enough that only you can hear him. His breath is calm, measured, a quiet anchor. “Stay with me here, okay?” he murmurs. “This is going to be a bit long.”
You lift your head, meeting his eyes. There’s something in his gaze. He was firm with it, almost protective, a silent warning. “I know that.” you reply, forcing a steady tone. “Let’s just get this over with.”
The judge’s gavel has barely settled when the clerk begins the session. “This is the first mediation session regarding the divorce petition filed by the petitioner. Today, we will discuss division of assets, spousal support, and any other matters requiring mutual agreement. Please provide statements as necessary.”
You swallow hard, your hands still trembling slightly in your lap. Across the aisle, your ex-husband sits rigid, jaw tight, fists clenched. The air between you is sharp, charged. It was not welcoming. You don’t expect it to be when he wasn’t done with having more influence with you.
The mediator gestures to your ex. “Please begin.”
Your ex rises abruptly, voice taut. “I…I don’t accept the terms of this divorce!” His gaze fixes on you, fiery and wounded. “I don’t agree with any of it!”
You brace yourself, fingers tightening around your own notes. Hiromi leans close, his voice low. “Stay calm. Answer only when necessary.”
But your ex isn’t listening. He stands taller, chest puffed with a dangerous energy. “You can’t just walk away! You can’t—”
Before he finishes, he lunges toward you. Your body freezes. Hiromi reacts instantly. He steps in, positioning himself between you and your ex. Your ex’s momentum carries forward, and instead of hitting you, he collides with Hiromi.
The impact thuds sharply against Hiromi’s chest, but Hiromi doesn’t stumble or falter. Instead, he shifts his weight, steadying your ex-husband without letting him fall, his darkened eyes hard and commanding.
“Sit down. Now, sir. Or we’ll be having these procedures with a criminal assault case too.” Hiromi says, voice low but unyielding. Every word carries a precision that makes your ex pause mid-motion.
Gasps echo through the courtroom. The attorneys snap to attention. The mediator’s pen hovers in midair, but Hiromi doesn’t flinch. Your ex stumbles back, chest heaving, glare still locked on you. He mutters incoherent threats, but Hiromi’s calm presence is unbreakable.
You exhale shakily, hands pressed to the table. “I…I just wanted—”
Hiromi’s hand gestures slightly, firm but subtle. “You will speak only when addressed by the court. Go back to your position, sir.”
Your ex glares, mutters under his breath, but slumps back and this time, remains seated. His lawyer seems apologetic to all of you and to the judge. Hiromi sighs as he gathers his composure before going back to his seat.
You lean slightly toward Hiromi, whispering, “Thank you. I…I don’t even know what would’ve happened if you weren’t here.”
He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he slides a document slightly closer to you, the corners brushing your fingers. It’s neat, precise. It was the summary of the points the court will discuss today, written in Hiromi’s careful hand.
“Focus on what matters, okay?” he murmurs, voice low enough that only you can hear. His eyes flick briefly to your ex, sharp and calculating. “Answer only what is necessary. Don’t give him more than he’s entitled to.”
You nod, swallowing hard. “I…I’ll try.”
He gives the barest tilt of his head in acknowledgment, eyes softening just enough to remind you he’s not just your lawyer today. He’s a shield. And just as much, he’s a man that cares for you above all else.
The mediator calls the session back into order. “We will begin with a review of joint assets. Please provide an account of your holdings.”
Your ex-husband leans forward immediately, voice sharp, venomous. “I should be entitled to more than half! She—she’s hiding things! She thinks she can walk away with everything while I—”
Hiromi’s eyes flick to him, icy calm. “Your Honor, if I may?” he interrupts smoothly. “My client has disclosed all joint accounts, investments, and property. Allegations of undisclosed assets are unsubstantiated.”
The ex’s face flushes red. “I—this isn’t fair! After everything—after what she did—”
You stiffen. He thinks he has moral leverage, but Hiromi’s presence is steady, unwavering. “Sir, you cannot argue with the law.” Hiromi says, voice firm but controlled. “And the law does not reward infidelity. Any personal grievances are irrelevant to the division of property. The petitioner is entitled to exactly what the law grants her.”
The courtroom falls silent. Your ex sputters, muttering under his breath, “I can’t believe this… she—she cheated me…”
You feel a flush of anger, your chest tightening. Hiromi leans slightly toward you, whispering, “Ignore him. Stick to the facts. We protect only what is yours. Nothing more, nothing less.”
You nod at him. You took a breath, letting the control of the situation settle in. When asked to provide information about your finances, you answer calmly, factually, leaving nothing out but adding nothing extra.
Your ex grows more frustrated. “And what about the house? The savings? I—she can’t just—”
Hiromi interrupts, smooth and precise. “Your Honor, the petitioner has already offered her fair share for the jointly owned home, as according to the law. Further demands are without legal basis.”
“Without legal basis?” Your ex’s voice rises. “I earned half of everything while she—while she—”
Hiromi’s gaze snaps to him, unflinching. “Your Honor.” he says, voice low and deadly calm. “The petitioner’s entitlement is calculated according to law, regardless of any personal misconduct by either party. Attempts to claim more than legally entitled are not permitted.”
Your ex freezes, jaw tight, caught between fury and impotence. He mutters something incoherent and sits down, defeated for the moment, the tension around him simmering but contained.
The mediator continues, going step by step through assets, savings, the main residence, and potential spousal support. Hiromi handles every challenge, keeping your ex’s arguments firmly grounded in reality. Each time your ex tries to exaggerate or claim more, Hiromi counters calmly, legally, without a trace of emotion.
By the end of the session, partial agreements are reached. The joint assets are divided according to law, the house’s status is clarified, and once it is sold, you share the profit. The spousal support is conceded, because your ex-husband had cheated. He has nothing beyond what the law allows and certainly nothing more.
You lean back slightly, a fragile sense of relief washing over you. The chaos through these many hours, the ceaseless verbal attacks, the endless grasping, the bitter attempts to punish you, has been neutralized for now.
Hiromi leans slightly toward you as you gather your bag, his voice quiet but firm. “Today went exactly as it should. You protected everything you’re entitled to. He won’t take more than the law allows, don’t worry.”
“I know that but I worry.”
“He cheated first. He has no moral ground here, either.” He tells you straight. “Don’t worry about how everyone will react. You are the victim here.”
You exhale slowly, feeling the tension finally begin to drain. “I…I couldn’t have done this alone.” you whisper.
“You didn’t have to.” he replies simply. “That’s why I’m here.”
THE MEDIATIONS COME AND GO, ONE AFTER THE OTHER AND YOU ATTEND EACH AND EVERYONE. Your ex-husband stops attending altogether. At first, it was excuses, vague claims of work obligations, illness. Whatever the reason, the court accepts them, and the sessions proceed without him.
When he does attend, he always causes nothing but grievances to you. The most you would say was bringing the woman he had cheated on you with, as “his most ardent support” in the proceedings. That had caused you much anger, and a verbal match ensued.
It wasn’t long before you started to become infuriated with each and everything he has said, especially with the things he had done. You asked the judge to put a stop to his attacks and the judge all together barred him from his own divorce proceedings.
With every mediation that passed, your ex-husband’s absence became the new normal. Hiromi and you were left alone at the table with his associates, the court mediators, and the procedural formalities, but no one challenged you directly. Your answers remained calm, precise, factual. There was no room for him to maneuver, no way for him to manipulate the process.
Hiromi’s presence beside you made all the difference. His posture, calm and unflinching, his voice low but firm when speaking on your behalf. Every motion, every word, seemed measured to protect you while keeping things efficient.
What should have been tense, exhausting, and emotional hearings had become almost mechanical under his guidance. You began to rely on that steadiness, letting him take the weight of confrontation while you followed his lead.
Eventually, you noticed something strange happening. The tight knot of anxiety you used to carry before each session began to loosen. Sitting across from him, listening to his calm explanations, watching him handle lawyers and mediators alike, you realized you were…calm. Comfortable, even.
It wasn’t just the court. It was everything about being with him. His patience with you in everything was impeccable. In every question, every fear, every irrational worry, it was everything to you.
And it was not limited to the courthouse. It extended into private conversations, even into the quiet moments between you in his apartment, or in the rare times when you found yourselves together at his place after long days. Even in bed, his patience never faltered.
There was no judgment, no rush, no pressure. It was just a steady, patient understanding of you. Wanting you, in ways that your ex-husband never had the patience or desire to desire. Perhaps that was what made it even more beautiful to you.
You let yourself realize, finally, that the divorce was no longer the storm it had once been. The documents, the court dates, the ex-husband’s fleeting threats. All of them existed, but they no longer defined your sense of stability. You were protected. You were in good hands. In Hiromi’s hands, most of all.
And yet, a different worry began to creep in. A worry of a more trivial, but no less real kind. You glanced down at your phone during a lunch “meeting” that everyone assumed was strictly professional.
Hiromi reached across the table to push a menu closer to you, his fingers brushing yours for just a second too long. He didn’t look up from the documents in front of him, but you felt it. You felt the warmth that had long belonged only to you.
A notification popped up on your phone: a journalist’s account of a photo snapped from outside the restaurant. Someone had caught a glimpse of you and Hiromi leaning toward each other over papers and coffee, captions speculating about more than just legal discussions.
You groaned softly. “Great. Just great. We’re officially the courthouse power couple now.” you muttered, not looking up from your phone.
“Maybe outside of the courthouse too, but well. Besides the point.” Hiromi glanced at you over the top of his folder, eyes sharp but amused. “Are you worried about what they think?” he asked, voice low, calm, and entirely too knowing.
“I can’t help it, I suppose.” you said, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Half the time, we’re pretending this is all strictly ‘lawyer and client’ for the world to see but…everyone can see us now. They’re going to assume the wrong things.”
He smiled faintly, the corners of his mouth tilting in that way that always made your pulse skip. “Let them assume. We know the truth, don’t we?”
You exhaled, realizing he was right. No matter the whispers, the photographs, the attention, you and Hiromi knew what was real. That was all that mattered. Only the truth you both hold matters.
Still, you couldn’t help glancing at the phone one more time, thinking to yourself, if someone got a good photo of the two of you laughing over lunch, leaning a little too close, sharing the same umbrella after a drizzle, it would be chaos. But maybe, just maybe, it was a chaos you didn’t entirely mind.
By the time the next formal hearing arrives, something has changed. The courthouse lobby is buzzing with life. A few journalists linger near the entrance, cameras discreetly aimed at the front doors. Then there were more in other places within the facilities itself.
Many people all but flooded in the corridors and the hallways and they all whisper as you walk past them with your bodyguards and your entourage. It’s not that you did anything public, at least, not intentionally.
But your previous relationship with Higuruma Hiromi, the story of your messy, public divorce, and the glimpses of your closeness during mediations came to light, this has also made you both figures of fascination in the public eye.
“Seems we’ve become the courthouse’s most talked-about case.” Hiromi murmurs as you ascend the steps, his tone dry but amused. He adjusts his tie with that effortless composure that always makes him look taller, sharper, untouchable. “It’s been a while since I have had a cult following.”
You glance at him, smirking despite the nerves prickling your skin. “Cult following, huh? Because we’re…efficient?”
He shoots you a look, one corner of his mouth quivering. “Not because of efficiency. And you know that. I know you see the edits on the internet.”
“They’re not exactly what I think of every time we’re together.”
He pauses, his eyes narrowing, getting darker. “Then what do you think about?”
“Something else.” you say almost too confidently, looking at him, and then his body. “You know what I like.”
“Your professionalism wavers easily, it would seem.”
“So does yours.”
Inside the courtroom, the atmosphere is different. Everyone in the room started to glance toward you as you entered, a murmur of recognition passing quietly through the gallery. Some nod politely, others whisper behind their hands. Your presence here, once private and procedural, now feels performative, almost the same as it usually was when you were on the film set.
You slide into your seat, Hiromi beside you as always. His tender, caring hand brushes briefly against yours, not in a claim, but a grounding touch. You notice the slight tightening of his fingers, subtle enough that only you would feel it.
“Focus.” he murmurs, eyes forward. “They’ll stare, they’ll whisper. It doesn’t matter.”
You nod, though your stomach twists. Every eye in the room seems to measure the distance between the two of you, the ease of your closeness, the quiet familiarity that’s impossible to ignore.
The mediator calls the session to order, but the whispered attention doesn’t fade. Your ex’s absence is glaringly obvious now. His chair remains empty. The judge raises an eyebrow, but neither you nor Hiromi flinch. You are the center of the room, the story. You are the ones in control.
Hiromi leans slightly toward you, voice low. “Remember what we’ve done. All your assets, your reputation are secure. He can’t touch anything anymore. This is just…noise.”
You let out a small, almost humorless laugh. “It feels like we’re celebrities in a soap opera.”
He glances at you, expression unreadable. “If it keeps your ex from showing up, I’ll allow the end of the soap opera.”
For a moment, the tension lightens. The eyes, the whispers, the cameras. They are distractions, nothing more. But you feel it, a strange thrill: you and Hiromi, together, untouchable in the eyes of the court, and impossible to ignore.
The hearing begins. Questions are procedural, predictable. But every time your ex’s name comes up, the emptiness of his chair resonates like a victory to you. Hiromi answers calmly, legally, flawlessly, leaving no room for dispute. Every asset, every account, every legal right you have is protected.
As the session wraps, the judge nods. “The court will continue the remaining matters on the scheduled date. This hearing is adjourned.”
You rise, gathering your papers, your bag, your composure. Hiromi stands beside you, close enough that the press and onlookers can see the subtle connection between you. Nothing overt, nothing staged but undeniable.
Outside the courtroom, whispers follow you down the marble steps. People notice the way he walks beside you, the ease of your closeness, the quiet strength in your interactions. He takes your hand in his. Your eyes widened slightly.
Hiromi leans slightly toward you as you exit. “They’ll talk, either way. Close or not, holding hands or not, it’s the same.” he murmurs. “Let them all talk. It changes nothing here.”
You squeeze his hand, fingers curling instinctively around his, feeling the warmth and quiet strength radiating through the simple touch. For a moment, the chatter, the flashing cameras, the whispers, they all fade.
You are acutely aware of the weight of his presence beside you leaning closer at each moment, steady enough to ground you, entirely willing ot be yours in that small moment, as everyone's eyes, everyone's lenses turned to th two of you.
“I…” you start, unsure what to say, your voice low. “I didn’t expect—”
Hiromi gives a small, knowing smile, eyes forward. “That you’d notice? Or that you’d care?”
“Both, I suppose.” you admit, your throat is tight. “It’s……weird. Being seen like this. Everyone is staring. And yet, it doesn’t feel wrong.”
“It shouldn’t, it never should have.” he murmurs, tightening his grip just slightly, enough to anchor you without drawing unnecessary attention. “They can talk all they want. None of it changes what’s real. None of it changes us.”
You glance down at your joined hands, the simple act carrying a weight far beyond its size. The world may have spun stories around you, assigned motives and imagined scandals but here, on the steps, walking away from the courtroom, you feel a rare, quiet certainty.
“Do you think they’ll follow us?” you ask, a wry note creeping into your voice despite the tension. “The reporters, the whispers, the courthouse gossip?”
Hiromi shrugs almost imperceptibly, a small, controlled movement that somehow carries both amusement and warning. “Let them. This isn’t about them. We’re not performing, we’re…here.”
“They’ll call you no good.”
“Then let them.” Hiromi smiles at you. “We’re happy. That’s all that matters here, isn’t it?”
His words settle into your chest like a promise. Amid the chaos of everything that had been happening in that short amount of time, there is a clarity, a center you never thought you’d have.
With Higuruma Hiromi beside you, even a hand held quietly in public feels like armor as much as his words were in the courthouse. It was everything and more.
A flash from a camera catches the corner of your eye. You instinctively glance at the crowd, then back at him. Hiromi’s gaze meets yours, steady and unwavering. There’s a subtle challenge there, but also a quiet reassurance.
“Ready?” he asks.
You nod, drawing in a deep, steadying breath. “Ready.”
And together, you walk down the steps, hand in hand, letting the whispers follow behind you. The courthouse fades in the distance, the world is still watching, still talking but that doesn't matter. Not when you are happy, not when he is happy. You were aware you were no good, but so is he. But that’s better, because you can be the same together.
THE SUN WAS TOO BRIGHT. You moan aloud, the sound tearing itself free before you can think to stop it. On this day of all days, the day the divorce was officially granted, you find yourself trapped in Higuruma Hiromi’s embrace, his body pressing against yours with a weight that is both grounding and consuming.
The world outside doesn’t exist. The courthouse, the whispers, the cameras, the lingering traces of your ex-husband’s attempts to claim what was never his, everything was gone. They all dissolve into nothingness the moment Hiromi’s harsh, yet careful hands settle over you.
Skin slides against skin, slick with the heat of desire and the rawness of emotion. Every movement is charged, urgent, yet precise, a reflection of the man beside you who has guided you, protected you, and understood you in ways no one else ever could.
You arch into him instinctively, clinging to the familiar strength of his body, feeling the steady, deliberate rhythm of his control. He keeps you close, almost cruelly, his hands tracing paths over your curves with a confidence that borders on domination.
“Today…” you gasp, voice trembling. “Fuck….…I can’t…not think of you.”
Hiromi’s lips brush against your neck, his voice low and husky. “You don’t have to think. You only need to feel. Here. With me.”
He had decided earlier that morning that attending court was a waste of time, especially getting out of bed when you were underneath his sheets, tainted by his touch. One phone call led to his underlings being able to handle the paperwork and formalities.
All that mattered that special morning was claiming you, marking you as his own once again. His hands gripped your hips tightly, pulling you onto his cock with each snap of his hips. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the room, mingling with your moans and his grunts of pleasure.
"Fuck, fuck…." Hiromi growled freely. "You feel so good. So tight around my cock."
He leaned down, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss as he continued to pound into you relentlessly. He broke the kiss, his lips trailing down your neck as he bit and sucked at the sensitive skin. He knew he was leaving marks, claiming you in the most primal way possible.
But he didn't care. Let the whole world see that you belonged to him now. He felt your walls starting to flutter around him, signaling your impending orgasm. He reached between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing tight circles around it.
"Come for me, sweetheart.” he demanded. "Come on my cock like a good girl."
His thrusts became erratic, his own release barreling down on him as he chased yours. His thumb pressed hard against your clit, pushing you over the edge. You screamed his name as you came, your pussy clamping down around him like a vice. That was all it took to send him spiraling into his own orgasm. He buried himself deep inside you with a roar, filling you with his hot seed as he shuddered above you.
Even as he emptied himself inside you, Higuruma Hiromi knew he wasn't done. Not by a long shot. He had waited too long for this for a long time, dreamed of this moment with you in his bed for years and years. He wasn't about to let it end so quickly. He rolled his hips, grinding his still-hard cock against your sensitive flesh as he felt himself starting to swell again.
"I'm not done with you yet, sweetheart," he murmured again, voice rough and low, vibrating against your skin. "I'm going to take and take, push and push. We have something to celebrate, after ten years, after all."
You shivered violently, breath hitching. Your hands clutched at him, pulling him closer, needing every inch of his body. "Hiromi… please…" you gasped, words breaking into moans, incoherent, but full of longing.
He didn’t answer with words. He pulled out slowly, watching as his cum leaked out of your well-used hole. Then he flipped you over onto your stomach and entered you from behind in one hard thrust, setting a brutal pace that had the headboard slamming against the wall.
He just moved closer, pressing into you with a fierce, unrelenting rhythm that stole your breath. Every thrust, every movement sent sparks through your nerves, and your body melted against his, all thought and restraint vanishing.
You moaned loudly, arching into him, lost. Lost in the heat, lost in the feel of him, lost in the sensation of being wanted, claimed, worshiped. “Ah… I can’t… can’t hold it…”
"Don't hold back, sweetheart. Keep screaming, keep meeting me half way." Hiromi growled against your ear. "I want to feel you come apart on my cock. I want to hear you scream my name."
You do as he says, screaming loud as his gruff hands gripped your hips tightly, pulling you back onto him with each thrust. The heat makes you feel like you could pass out at any moment. You feel drool pouring out the corner of your lips as he starts kissing you, his tongue pushing deep into your throat as you moan.
The more he pushed deeper, the faster he went, the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room with echoes that were sure to be more thunderous than before. Your hands on his hair, his lips now kissing your neck, as much as he started sucking and biting.
Your pleasures were mingling with your moans and his grunts of pleasure. He could feel your walls starting to flutter around him once again, signaling your impending orgasm. He reached around, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing tight circles around it.
"Come for me, pretty sweetheart." he demanded of you, this time more hoarse than before. "Come all over my cock like the good babe you always have been."
Your body obeyed his command, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. You screamed his name over and over, losing the tone as it cracks in the flood of pleasure, your pussy clamping down around him like a vice as you came undone.
Hiromi followed you over the edge, his own release hitting him hard. He buried himself deep inside you with a roar, filling you with his hot seed as he shuddered above you. He collapsed onto you, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath.
Your body trembled beneath him, still shivering from the intensity of your climax, each pulse of pleasure leaving you weak and raw. Hiromi’s weight pressed you gently against the sheets, grounding you even as your mind spun from the aftermath.
You could feel the lingering warmth of him inside you, the heat of his release, and it anchored every shiver, every quiver. He stayed there, chest pressed against yours, breathing heavy, and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat through the thin layer of skin between you was intoxicating.
His fingers traced slow, deliberate patterns across your shoulders, down your arms, lingering in places meant only for him. “I love you. I love you more than I could ever describe. Even when you’re no good, I want to be with you.”
Your breath hitched at his words, the raw honesty in his voice sending a shiver straight through you. “Hiromi…You don’t have to…” you whispered, voice trembling. You…you don’t have to say that. You…you’ve given me everything already.”
He lifted his head slightly, eyes locking with yours, dark and unflinching. “No, no.” he said firmly, brushing a damp strand of hair from your face. “I have to say it.”
“Hiromi—”
“Because if I don’t, you might think—” His hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin. “—that any of this is just physical. That any of what I feel can be contained by words, by touches, by…this.”
Your chest tightened. “I…I don’t deserve you sometimes, I hurt you. I broke your heart and I….” you admitted, voice breaking. “After everything—after the mess with him, after—” You stopped yourself, not trusting your voice.
Hiromi shook his head, pressing another kiss to your forehead, soft and grounding. “Stop it, okay?” he murmured. “Don’t apologize. Don’t justify. You’re not ‘no good’ to me. You’re human. You wanted a life and I just….things are different now. Nothing can prevent us from being together.”
You felt overcome with emotion at his confession. “Hiromi….”
“And I…I want every part of you. Every flawed, beautiful, messy part. That’s why I’m here. That’s why I stayed.”
You felt tears prick the corners of your eyes, a mixture of relief, exhaustion, and the lingering thrill of what had just passed between you. “I’ve never…felt this safe with anyone. Only you. Even back then….” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper
Hiromi tightened his hold, pressing his body closer. “Good.” he breathed. “Because I’m not going anywhere. Not tonight, not tomorrow, not ever. You don’t have to worry. You don’t have to carry the weight alone. Ever again.”
“Hiromi.”
“There’s nothing to forgive.” He whispers to you, pressing a kiss on your cheek, then to your lips. He smiles. “Let me love you.”
You tilted your head, pressing a kiss to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. “I…I love you too, Hiromi. More than words could describe.” you whispered, letting yourself finally melt into the warmth of him. “I’ve been waiting…I’ve been holding back for so long, and now…I can’t anymore. I just…”
“You don’t have to say more, okay?” he interrupted softly, nuzzling into your hair. “I know. Every look, every touch, every time you let me in…it tells me more than words ever could.”
You rested your head against him, chest rising and falling against his, shivers still running through your limbs. “Thank you.”
“No, no.” He shakes his head, smiling wider. “Thank you.”
epilogue
A few months later, the same courthouse that once echoed with the hollow finality of your long suffering marriage in divorce now buzzed with a different kind of anticipation. It wasn’t exactly the same fanfare, but it was everything to you.
The Tokyo District Court was reserved compared to the grand hall wedding you had with your ex-husband. But even with all fluorescent lights, polished floors, and quiet authority, this was probably a better wedding to you than the first one.
The last time you stood there to declare your wedding after the glamorous ceremony, your hands had trembled as the clerk stamped the final page. The air had felt heavy, like something irreversible had just been carved into stone. This time, your hands were steady.
The clerk recognized you. Her brows lifted almost imperceptibly before her professional composure returned. Papers were placed in front of you again. A pen slid across the desk. Beside you stood the infamous divorce lawyer Higuruma Hiromi.
He looked as he always did. Dashing in his immaculate suit, tie aligned with near-mathematical precision, expression composed enough to intimidate a courtroom. Yet there was something unmistakably softer in his gaze when it turned to you. His hand rested at the small of your back, firm and grounding, as though the world itself might tilt without his steadying touch.
“I suppose this is ironic, isn’t it?” you murmured, glancing at the very bench where you once sat alone.
“The law is not concerned with irony. It records conclusions and beginnings with equal neutrality, sweetheart.”
You smiled faintly. “And what is this?”
His fingers intertwined with yours. Warm. Certain. “A new precedent….One I intend to uphold for the rest of my life.”
There were no sweeping violins. No dramatic audience. Only a quiet exchange of vows that felt far more binding than any spectacle could offer. Your voice wavered only once, not from doubt, but from the overwhelming clarity of knowing you were choosing again. This time, without any intention to let go.
When the final signature was placed and the declaration made, the sound that echoed in the hallway was not the hollow stamp of loss. It was your laughter. You stepped out of those courthouse doors no longer carrying the weight of something broken, but the certainty of something rebuilt.
“I’m very happy to call you my wife.” Hiromi whispered against your skin, pressing a kiss on your cheek.
You giggled. “I’m very happy to call you my husband too.”
It caused quite a stir. But of course it would. He was your long time ex-boyfriend, the one who represented you in your divorce and now after just mere months of reconnecting, you were both getting married like nothing happened. Yet that was just life.
Life was as unpredictable as the weather. But this unpredictability was more than welcome to you, to him. It was all you both could have ever strived for after such a long time being apart, suffering in the silence of your own respective chaotic worlds.
But now things made sense.
Being together made sense.
Being happy made sense.
Months later, the world was louder. The red carpet stretched endlessly beneath your heels, a river of crimson beneath flashes of white light. The premiere banner of your new film towered behind you, your name emblazoned in gold.
Reporters called out questions in overlapping waves. Microphones extended toward you like reaching hands. And beside you, as he had been since that quiet courthouse a few months ago, stood Higuruma Hiromi, your husband.
He wore a tailored black tuxedo now, the severity softened by the unmistakable pride in his posture. His hand never left your waist, ever so protective and careful. Your own hand, where your gleaming wedding band shone, rested instinctively against the gentle curve of your stomach.
You were pregnant.
You both were happy about it.
And certainly, it seems everyone is too.
The news had broken hours before the premiere, it was the right time, seeing as you were already far along. Headlines called it shocking. It was so sudden, so unexpected. It was the effect of that beautiful whirlwind romance that people did not even expect.
The internet, as always, had opinions. People always had something to say about things. But none of that noise reached you the way his quiet voice did when he leaned closer. He was all that mattered to you, as much as you were all that mattered to him.
“Are you tired?” he asked, low enough that only you could hear.
“I’m fine, sweetie.” you assured him. “I have a very capable attorney ensuring my safety.”
A faint smile ghosted across his lips. “But I’m not just your attorney now, no?”
You giggled happily. “No, no. You’re also my equally very capable husband.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” he whispers to you, kissing your lips, which makes you giggle even more.
A reporter shouted, “How does it feel to be newly married and expecting while starring in the most anticipated film of the year?”
“It’s amazing! It’s everything that one can dream of, after a long long winter.” you tell them, smiling and waving at everyone. The cameras flicker even more. “I’m with someone that makes it all easier.”
Hiromi’s gaze looked at you lovingly before it flicked toward the cameras, measured and calm. “Life rarely adheres to strict timelines. But when events align in one’s favor, it would be unreasonable not to express gratitude and contentment.”
You laughed softly, the sound warm despite the chaos. “He means we’re very happy.”
The flashes intensified even more as your husband smiled and kissed you again, everyone eager to capture every angle of that kiss. Before long, you both moved along, but even then, everyone was crazed in capturing more of you two.
The protective curve of his arm around you, the way he adjusted his pace to match yours, the softness in his eyes that only ever appeared when he thought no one else was looking. It would be on the front page of every newspaper, article and social media site before the end of the night.
Once, that courthouse had marked your ending.
Now, it was merely a footnote in a far greater story.
You leaned toward him as photographers called for one final shot. “Marrying you in that building might be my favorite plot twist.”
Hiromi glanced down at you with happiness, nothing else mattered now. “Then let us ensure…..that every chapter that follows from here on out surpasses it.”
Your eyes stared ahead, digging themselves slowly into the heavy, mahogany wood door that stood right in front of you.
Tunnel vision creates a valid hallucination as the length between you and the door furthered.
Clink…….clink….
A soft, shaky breath leaves the lanky man behind you, large hands continuing to hold the small padlock as those black pupils stared at it.
He moves his eyes from the lock to the back of your head, your H/C hair, (hair type) pinned as neatly as possible in a low bun.
Staring directly at it with disgust, he huffs gently.
His hands drop the lock, the soft clank vibrating the metal collar that snugged itself around your neck, stabilizing your head upward, almost perfecting your posture as you stood in this position.
Your own eyes close, feeling those long fingers graze your head for a moment, pins falling to the floor as your hair now flows out of the bun.
“The Kinji Hakari case needs to be filed,” his voice stood low, demanding your attention. His eyes suddenly roam downward, his target being your feet, however, how could he skip off that obvious bump in that black skirt, one he noted went a little longer than the usual you’d wear.
Though, something about the slight length of it teetered with Hiromi, like Lady’s Justice’s upholding scales.
Nonetheless, his eyes find your heels. Those same, low, black matte heels. Likely some random brand off the shelves of whatever you were able to afford at the time.
Hiromi squints slightly, inventorying a small thought that passes his mind in the moment.
Without another second, his head snaps back up, eyes peering at either one of your arms that were being stabilized up, putting you in a capital T like position.
Metal cuffs held by a few smaller chains connected to one long bar, placed and comfortably sitting behind your head.
“Now.”
—-----------
Of course your legs wobbled, a teasing dryness in your throat as you took a deep breath.
Hiromi would stand behind you, leaning forward as his hand grabs the doorknob. His lips connect with your cheek for a gentle scene.
The corner of your eyes finds a glimpse of him as he gently pulls away.
He pauses.
“Don’t be nervous.” He breathes softly. “...It’s time I make it very clear that I won't be tolerating anymore of these men giving half-assed, shitty, negligent attempts at taking my belongings.”
Hiromi’s hand suddenly pulls open the door, like butter. It’s almost offensive to everyone in this office.
Your eyes narrow at the long hallway, a few more private offices for higher ups littered along the wall.
Your heart jolted at the euphoric feeling that was creeping in on you, a sickening feeling trying to take over knowing how morally wrong this was.
But you fucking loved this. Every ounce of this.
And so did he.
“Go on,” Hiromi motions with one hand, the other tucked gently in his front pant pocket.
His pointer finger gently rubbing his growing tip. “...Don’t have all day, Ms. L/N.”
Slowly, you feel your dominant leg appear in front of you, volunteering itself to take the first step. The other follows, and before you could process it, you were striding down the hallway, toward the cutout in the wall that would corner out into the open cubicles of all kinds of different workers, all here for different purposes.
Hiromi stood in the doorway, a hand holding his chin as the other propped up the one bearing the weight of his head.
A steam would be admitted to his ears if this were a cartoon, realizing at times that the situation he’s put himself in…
Feels a little too ethical. Natural. Desirable.
Ryan, Hiromi's top assistant, marketing director, looks up from his computer, his eyes catching yours quickly, his mouth starting to utter the words,
“Good Morning Ms-”
Your own E/C orbs peered into those who had stared, pure annihilation of all privacy and respect for….them, really.
You now stare ahead, legs popping out in front of each other, elegantly. Posture straight, the bar behind your hand clanking with the chains gently with each step.
“What the hell…?!”
Whispers filled the room, some angry, mostly confused.
“If you don’t like what goes on in my law firm,”
Everyone hushes, quickly. Heads snapped so quick you could hear some necks pop, a few people lowering themselves from Hiromi’s intense stare.
“...Then leave.” He takes a gentle pause before putting a pointer finger up.
A simple statement. Tone so low you’d almost ask him to speak up if not threatened by his mere presence.
Without notice, only a few people got up, taking only a few items before making a quick exit.
“Useless anyway.” Hiromi mutters to himself, turning around and walking back to his office.
—---------------
Your feet reached back to that door, the tip of your heel gently tapping the door a few times.
“Mr. Hiromi?”
Voice purring, body buzzing.
You’d never be able to erase this feeling.
Hiromi opens the door, allowing you to enter once more.
You stood straight towards his desk, finished filing, held in your hand.
Hiromi makes his way in front of you, eyes directly in yours before taking a hold of the papers slowly.
His other mother reaches up, cupping your cheek slightly rough.
“Such a good fucking girl.” He huffs. “Always so eager to do what you're told.” He mutters more to himself than actually talking to you.
Snapping on his heel with tracticion, Hiromi sets the papers on his desk as he sits in his chair.
His right hand taps the desk three times, dragging out the time between them.
You don't hesitate to strut over to him, being right over the desk in front of him.
Hiromi leans forward, pressing a gentle kiss on your head, his hands slithering outward to reach your stretched ones.
Long fingers interlinked themselves with yours, a little whine leaving your lips at the touch.
So simple, but fuck, it made you delicate.
“You did so good for me, baby,” Hiromi said gently, voice slightly rasped.
You could just hear it….
That familiar sound of him losing it.
“...Showing off how pretty and obedient you are…” He’d groan.
One of his hands dropped itself down to his drawer, filled with items you’d never go looking to spoil yourself.
A quick clink, clang, and the pressure around your neck falters, muscles now slightly sore from the profound, unusual use of them.
He unlocks the small locks on the wrist cuffs, putting the key away as he gently lifts the bar upward and away from you, leaving it leaning on the desk beside him.
Hiromi looks back to you, your position on the desk still held, regardless if he had taken off the restraint.
He taps the desk, once. Hard.
Your arms push themselves inward to now position them and your hands flat against the table, your head leaning upward to face directly toward your boss.
Hiromi Higaruma would be a liar if he told you he wasn’t resisting the urge to claim you right there.
Tugging at the idea, Hiromi just snaps, losing his tie a bit before he stands up, leaning on the desk and hovering over you now.
Without a second to allow a word from you, his rough hand grabs ahold of your hair from the back of your head, bunching it up as he uses it to push your body up towards him, then leaning your head back.
His lips crashed themselves onto yours, moving together like a creamed honey.
Hiromi truly couldn’t help but let out a low growl into your lips, his free hand’s fingers gripping, pushing themselves into the waistband of your skirt as you pull your body forward, on top of the desk.
You nearly crawl into him, your own hands now losing control as they slivered up his body.
You could almost feel all the details he had hidden for so long. The long, lanky body that trailed itself with thick veins, pulsating with each movement he made throughout the day.
Almost frustratedly so, he pulled away and needed a quick breath.
You can see, even through half-lidded sexy hungry sight, he’s using everything in him, every ounce of control and discipline.
A word doesn’t leave either of you as only your hands move, slighting down dangerously low.
All Hiromi can focus on right now is your eyes.
Those fucking eyes.
His head would play little ‘pleases’ on repeat, almost like your eyes would telepathically communicate with him.
“Want you, Romi…”
He couldn’t do it.
Couldn’t, fucking…do it.
A knock on the door tries interrupting…
But Hiromi refuses, his eyes shooting an unholy look at the closed door.
“Uh ... .Sir? Mr. Higaruma?” Ryan’s voice calls from behind the door, slightly muffled.
“Not now.” Higaruma barks, immediately sending Ryan right back where he came from.
His eyes snap back to you, realizing how far down those small, delicate little fingers of yours were now.
His breath hitches, his left hand automatically connecting softly with your throat as those dangerous eyes stare darkly into yours.
Slowly, Hiromi brings his mouth down to your ear.
“All fours.” His hand squeezed your throat a bit before letting go, hearing your soft little breath as he did so.
Hiromi releases you, quickly pushing his desk out of the way like it was nothing. The adrenaline was rushing through him, his cock exuberatingly hard.
Your frame lowered onto all fours, your eyes watching every one of his moves as you felt your ass push up more.
His hands connect with his knees for a moment as he sits in that big oak, wooden chair.
One hand holds his head up as it leaned on the arm chair.
He just stares at you, yours watching with a smile as he scanned you over.
You gave him a small shake of your ass, his eyes observing how it gave a gentle jiggle, even through the fabric of the skirt.
A little breathy huff leaves him, hands now coming down to his lap to start undoing his pants, fingers fiddling with his zipper for a moment.
Your limbs tingled as they moved, your breasts pushing together with each stride your arms took. Ass cheeks flexing along with the skirt as your clothes tightened in each spot that would usually make you scream with overstimulation, annoyance at how it made you look.
Now, completely invisible in your mind.
For Hiromi? He’d eat up each and every one of your ‘flaws’. He wasn't sure if you could call them that with how much he’d adore everything about you.
Your head reaches his lead, cheek resting on his inner thigh as his fat cock releases from his tight suit pants.
Your brows furrow, jaw wanting to slack at the sight of him.
Not too big, not too small. A good, nice, thick solid 7 inches. It was perfect, it fit him so perfectly.
His tip was so red, it looked like a soft cherry ready to bite, juice spilling everywhere.
His hands connect with the sides of your face, a thumb trailing over your bottom lip as you try not to drool.
“Tell me baby,” He breathes. “...tell me how beautiful you are.”
“M’beautiful.” You sigh softly. “...M’so pretty, Romi. Always your pretty baby…”
His tongue grazes his bottom lip as you talk, words settled like a fine mist on a hot day.
You were starting to grow rather impatient as his cock twitched in front of you.
“Ah, ah.” He’d start, pointer finger held up. “..you don’t get it until you tell me exactly what about you is so pretty.”
His hands begin to slither up, bundling your hair up on one of his hands.
“My pretty eyes…” You start slowly, mind trying not to trickle. “..pretty little lips…”
His eyes cast down to your lips, pursing softly as you spoke.
“What else, pretty baby?” He bites his bottom lips gently, bringing his now free hand down to tug his cock a few times.
“...my body…” you pause, a smirk filling your face. “...my obedience for you, Sir.”
Hiromi huffs, leaning your head down as his cock shoves into your mouth as nicely as he could.
Your tongue slurps and whirls around his tup as your cheeks hallowed, up and down motion like a fucking pornstar.
Everything about this had him in a chokehold. How wrong, how raw and filthy.
But yet, feeling so deliciously right. Like a missing piece, a long-time case and finally winning.
“Sucks cock as good as she behaves.” He mutters out, breathy as he groans.
His grip would loosen, then tighten as he realized it had fallen a bit. Feeling that twitch as his hips bucked up, hitting his tip in the back of your throat a few times.
Hiromi looks down, eyes watching you work like the devil on his aching cock, unforgivable for how messy you were getting with him.
Your eyes suddenly peer up into his, hallowed cheeks slowly pulling back, mouth making a pop sound before your tongue was wrapping around the base of him, swirling and pumping along.
Suddenly, Hiromi groans a bit, lifting your head by your hair.
His hand holds his cock from the base as he huffs.
“Stand up, turn around and bend over.”
Quickly complying, Hiromi’s hands connected with your skirt, shoving it down along with your panties as the cold air pierced your skin, creating immediate goosebumps.
His warm hands wrap around the curve of your hips, feeling where your tummy covers over your thighs a bit.
And fuck, he loved that. Much it made him feel like physically biting you in order to reassure his need for you.
His hands pull you down, sitting on his lap as his radiating cock twitches underneath you.
He reaches down between you two, adjusting himself between your slicked folds, tip pushing up against your clit.
“You want it?” He’d mutter, voice raspy.
“Yes,” You’d whine desperately, your cunt dripping and gripping around the sadness of nothing. “..please, sir.”
“Prove it.”
Nothing else began to play other than the sound of your gentle moans, light and fluffy, consuming his ears like a heavenly 80s guitar riff.
“So fucking beautiful…” He once again mutters, really to himself. Of course, though, he doesn’t mind if you hear his endearing comments.
Your cunt flutters, pulsating at the comment that leaked from those pink lips.
Arms flew behind your back, balancing yourself as your hands connected with the top of the chair, hips wiggling and squirming all over Hiromi’s lap.
His cock was being slicked up by your wetness, a sloshing noise playing like a pornographic movie through the hallowed office.
“Feels so good, Romi..”
That fucking nickname.
Dear god.
Hiromi doesn’t have time to warn, his cum splattering itself all over your cunt and legs, his suit rather ruined now.
He doesn’t care. In fact…
Hiromi’s hands connect with your waist, lifting you up just a bit before sinking you down right onto his, still, aching cock.
A loud gasp leaves you, grip on the chair tightening as the width of his cock eases itself in, carefully not to be too greedy with your cunt’s graceful invitation.
“Oh, fuck me.” He whispers, eyes crashing shut as his head leans back on the chair, lips slightly parted as he breathed shallowly.
You felt so good, so incredibly good.
So warm, gushy…walls flexing around him like a lifeline.
“P-please..” You huffed, hips wiggling slightly.
His hand lands on your ass.
SMACK.
“Please what?”
Your breath hitches at the touch. “Please fuck me, sir.” You don’t even hesitate at this point, so fucking hungry for this there is no way it would go unnoticed.
Hiromi’s arms and hands slither to the front of your body, his legs now hooking themselves under you to push them further apart, his cock now able to fully bury and bully into you.
He leans your body back along his, making you rest your weight on him fully.
His hips don’t dare take another second longer, a slight shake in them as he controls his pace, pumping into your tight cunt a few times to help you loosen around him, spread more of your slick and his prior cum around.
Your head falls back, gently landing on Hiromi’s shoulder.
His eyes catch your face, mouth next to your ear as he breath heavily, damn near panting as his hips quicken their pace, chasing that feeling of you.
“Shouldn’t be doing this….any of it….” He huffs out, the idea sickening him as it only hardens his cock more. His lips connect with your jaw, holding them there as he tightens his arms around your body.
Those precious moans, likely heard from the more nearby offices, quickened, became louder.
Your pussy sopped, gushing and slapping harshly against Hiromi’s lap.
“Such a good girlllll.” He drags out, feeling his high trying to creep in.
You, meanwhile, laid there like a cockdrunk whore.
Legs no longer holding you open, your own legs now stretching themselves as far as they’d go in order to feel Hiromi knocking at your cervix.
Desperate hands found him, Hiromi excitedly wrapping his hands in yours, cock twitching at the gesture.
“Does it feel good, baby?” He smirks, whispering gently in your ear as your moans overpowered his voice's authority in the moment.
“So good!” Your voice moans out, high pitched as you squeak at the angle he was hitting.
A wave of exhilaration, almost feeling like anxiety, pooled in your lower stomach. Heart thumping wildly as your mind goes blank, words unstable as you begin to babble something, anything.
Legs begin to shake as Hiromi smiles.
He watches as you begin to unravel, tongue poking out just slightly.
“Just like that baby, cum for me, pretty girl. Make me happy.”
As he finished uttering those words, he felt your hands, cunt, and body stiffen, all at once.
A soft pause comes, a slow release in your body as your last loud moan struggles to calm itself.
Hiromi’s hips paused, keeping his cock stuffed inside you and enjoying the rather warm and fuzzy feeling.
Slowly, his right hand that was placed on your lower stomach, gently untangled from yours….
It slithers down, fingertips oh so gentle grazing your heat, slick wiping up on his fingers.
Hiromi brings his fingers to his mouth, sucking them off without hesitation.
His head leans back, eyes closing as he savours that familiar taste.
A smile rests on his lips, his cock twitching a few times as he feels the cum he unloaded inside you attempt to leak from the sides.
The arm still wrapped around your repositions slightly, pulling your back, back into him.
“Love you, Romi…”
—---------------------------
(Hey <3 please lmk if yall want an actual continuation of this storyline, or just more little oneshots with this plot. Im down for whatever!
Also....any other characters yall want written dirty down asf? Lmk! Love yall!✨)
(Back to back because I'm a whore for this man. Anyway, requests are lowkey open. Enjoy this little splat. As always, sorry for errors, proof reading is shit lol)
Your uniform stuck to you like glue, tight in almost all the wrong places.
A frustrated sigh didn’t hesitate to escape your lips, eyes peering down hesitantly in the mirror, right back at your slightly slouched stature.
Your hands went to gently smooth out the skirt, reminding yourself you’d likely ask to ask for a bigger one by the end of the month.
Ding, Ding, Ding, Ding-
Your finger swept over the phone's bright screen.
6:40 AM.
If you’d like to represent yourself well on your first day, you’d need to get going rather quickly.
—------------
The walk was slightly tiring, the cold wind whipped your cheeks and the tip of your nose into a rosy mess.
The front desk woman peered up at you, a big smile on her face.
“Good morning! How can I help you?”
A gentle sigh leaves you as a smile replaces it.
“Good morning…” You pause, bringing your back to the front, swiftly grabbing a schedule paper from it. “...I just recently switched classes and am supposed to be starting with….uh, who was it…” You’d mutter.
Higaruma, Hiromi.
“Mr. Hiagruma?” You’d question softly, handing her the paper. “I just wasn’t able to find his room number.”
“Ah, I see! Let me get that for you,” She smiled. “...You’ll love Mr. Higaruma, I’ve heard from plenty of students of his great teaching. Very good success rate as well.”
Your smile widened just slightly.
“Well, I’m glad I switched then.” You gave her a slight nod with a bigger smile, letting it fade softly.
“Alrighty honey, room number 402.”
—--------
Class had already started, the front woman, who you had learned was named Sherri, had been so kind as to pass you an excuse for a tardy slip.
You rolled your head to ease the bundle of nerves in your neck and shoulders, legs hurriedly carrying you to Mr. Hiagruma’s classroom.
Truly, you were curious. You had always heard of the professor, all good things of course. However, you’d never actually met him, never even seen him.
Upon landing right out front the door, your ears picked up easily on the deep, booming voice that spoke in the class.
You always hated showing up to class late, multiple eyes and heads poking up just to inquire on who was entering.
Especially in this class, it was really impressive.
You take a deep breath, hands straightening your uniform out one last time before gently knocking, poking in.
As assumed, eyes landed on you, making you feel like the scene from Alice in Wonderland, where Alice takes body altering pills before entering the door.
Your eyes connect with….as many as they could. A small, shy smile formed and you gave the class a respectful nod.
“Ah, you must be Ms. L/N.”
Your eyes landed over on him, gleaming.
Slightly dissolved dark hair, chiseled nose, tired eyes.
Oh, he was dangerous.
Not realizing you had been holding your breath, you let it out softly.
“I apologize," You start, your arm coming from behind you to hand him the tardy slip. “I’ll get to my seat.”
Hiromi’s eyes darted to your hand, then quickly back to your eyes. Reaching out, your eyes took mental note of how much larger he was compared to yours, taking the small slip out of your hands, into this dress pant’s pocket.
He nodded up towards the seats, where the rest of the class sat.
“No assigned seating, choose wherever you’ll work best.” He uttered, both hands now carefree in both his front pant pockets.
Mr. Higaruma continued on his ramblement as you made your way to an open seat.
As he turns the corner, rounding his desk, he leans over it, looking over his book for just a mere moment.
“Turn to page…” He paused. “21.” He finished.
As everyone collectively began to brush their fingers against their books, Hiromi’s eyes darted up toward your figure making its way up the stairs towards an open seat.
It didn’t take long, not long at all, for him to realize your uniform was a bit more fitting than it should be.
Quickly, he averted his eyes back down to his book, inhaling a deep intake of air.
A thick gulp before he started again.
—-----------
The rest of class would be rather boring, nothing entirely special other than introductions to penal codes.
Your eyes darted to the big board in front of you to your own paper, pen writing furiously as the hand writing below matched.
Everyone else types away on their laptops, writing on their Ipads, but you preferred the good old fashion way. Something much easier to acquire anywhere, whenever.
“And that’s all for today. Finish up those notes and you're welcome to leave.” Mr. Higaruma would finish, going to sit at his desk and go through some of his own work documents.
One by one, students quickly made their way out, wasting no time.
A gentle sigh escapes you, easing yourself that this was your only class for the day and that you didn’t need to rush.
Almost done, you realize your the last one left in the room, alongside Mr. Higaruma.
“So….Ms. L/N.”
You whipped your head up, eyes looking down at the far length between you and him.
Being the best lawyer in the country, alongside a great part time professor, you would only acquire the best supplies and use of room there was to offer.
“..Yes, Mr. Higaruma?” Your voice is soft, tired almost.
“Tell me,” He finished signing off something on some document. He peers up, his reading glasses low on that chizzled nose. “...May I ask you why you transferred over to my class?” His hands crossed together, landing in front of him on the table, eyes looking at you curiously.
Your hand gently lowered the pen in your hand, nervously beginning to fiddle with it.
“To put it simply,” You start. “...We’ll say that Mr. Nanami Kento is rather ....inconsiderate with his grading. I felt cheated in the hard work I was putting in. Alongside….I’ve heard many good things about you, sir.”
That affected him more than it should have.
He takes a small breath, pushing his glasses up slowly, just slightly.
“I see.” He starts, lips stuttering to open as he goes to say something else, but stops himself.
“Well, I hope I fit your standard of teaching, Ms. L/N.” He’d give a friendly smile.
“I’m hopeful.” You smile back, friendly. At least, that's what you certainly told yourself.
—--------------
The next morning brought nothing but pure uncertainty.
You woke up entirely on the wrong side of the bed this morning.
Your uniform “looked horrible”, your stomach was hurting, and you had started your period.
Almost late for class, you had to skip breakfast, the entire morning rushed.
Soon you arrived, somehow on time.
Luckily, you joined alongside the class, able to find a seat at the front for a better view of the board.
Right.
A small huff leaves you, eyes shutting for just a moment before opening again.
Mr. Higaruma enters the room, black briefcase alongside his every move.
Just then did you truly realize how big this man before you truly was.
Your head rested on your hands raised in front of your eyes, eyes slightly peered up at him as they followed him like lost puppies.
His own eyes looked up for a moment, studying the students in his class. Likely taking count who was and wasn’t here today, possibly getting a feel for the energy in the classroom.
Just then, he catches yours, already staring directly into his.
His movements paused, hands that were opening and digging around in his briefcase now stopping for just a mere second.
Hiromi lets out a shaky breath, one only he could hear.
Giving you a smile and nod, he quickly turns back to his task in setting up.
Your eyes shut themselves, your head turning down as you felt the unpermitted heat dust your cheeks, your own sigh leaving you.
Higaruma doesn’t hesitate to start class, starting off with a simple introduction to contracts.
—------
Lunch had rolled around, your little lunch pail sitting alongside you as you sat on a bench by the basketball courts. No one came around this area, a rather dismissed part of the school that no one used much anymore. Not since it became a Law University.
“Why so lonesome?”
Your head picked up, a slight jolt shaking you from the sudden voice.
A soft, low chuckle.
“I apologize, I didn't mean to scare you.”
Mr. Higaruma sat beside you, careful not to get too close.
You gave him a gentle smile.
“It’s okay…I just like the quiet over here. After being in lectures all day, your mind needs a break….you know?” You’d speak confidently.
Hiromi nodded at your words.
“Oh, absolutely. Couldn’t agree more.”
His head turned towards you, eyes eating up the sight of you doing high. Nothing fancy to you, by any means. A slicked bun to the best of your ability, but perfect to him.
Hiromi quickly looks away, almost huffing at himself.
What was he doing?
Thinking.
He quickly stood, grabbing his briefcase.
“Well, Ms. L/N…” he starts, pausing for a moment as his eyes gaze into yours again. “...If you need company, my class is always open during lunch…for you.” He’d give a smile back, turning on his heel before making a gentle exit.
“Thank you…” Your voice would mutter to yourself, not loud enough for him to hear.
Your head whipped back to look in front of you, body stiffening as your eyes slammed shut.
Biting your bottom lip softly, you cursed at yourself as your thighs started clenching gently.
“No, no, no.” You whisper to yourself.
—-------
The next few days held nothing but stress and overload.
Overall life was becoming nonexistent, nothing but school and work only ever prominent.
Your eyes drifted closed, head leaning before your eyes would shoot back open, heart racing.
A sigh leaves your lips, fatigue almost taking over.
Mr. Higaruma watches as his students jot down notes from the video playing above.
More specifically, he watches you.
Trying your very best to not let those pretty doe eyes close.
‘C’mon pretty girl….it’s okay. Sleep.’ He thinks to himself.
The video stops, and Mr. Higaruma stands back up.
“Thats all for today, you may leave.”
Earlier than he had intended, but something was a bit more important in his mind at the moment.
The plethora of students poured out the door, shoveling like packed sardines with nowhere to really go.
Of course, you were struggling to pack up your things so tiredly, your nerves feeling weak and overused.
“Ms. L/N,” Hiromi spoke softly. “...Stay an extra few minutes, please.”
The classroom was now empty, the door shut and leaving the two of you alone in silence.
You started making your way down the stairs.
“Ah, ah.” His pointer finger held up, then pointing back to the chair you had been sitting in. “Sit back down.”
You didn’t hesitate to follow that order, your legs wanting nothing more than to do nothing, really.
Hiromi made his way up the stairs, towards you. As he reaches your presence, both hands reach your shoulder, slowly, gently messaging.
Eyes close, a little whine leaving your lips as the sensation truly felt like a graceful heaven.
“Thank you…” Leaves your mouth faster than your brain computes. An automatic reassurance to his actions.
The back of your head leans a little too far back, feeling his rather firm front side rest against you as his hands work magic.
“What’s got such a pretty thing like you so stressed, hm?”
The question made you want to scream like a teenage girl, go outside and run a lap.
“Nothing I can’t…handle…” You’d get out, a little breathy than intended.
Suddenly, the warm sensation on your right shoulder is removed, now replacing itself with your chin.
Hiromi’s hand pushes your head up towards him slightly, his eyes darting down to yours.
“Try again.” Is all he’d mutter to you, unsatisfied with your answer.
Your heart jolted, almost feeling as though you’d throw it right on up.
“...Just have had trouble sleeping lately.” You answer honestly.
Hiromi nodds, his grip on your chin loosening. His thumb brushes up against your jawline softly, a few strokes before he slithers his hand back down to your shoulder, resuming his original movements to decompress you.
“Follow me.” He orders, giving the sides of your shoulders a gentle squeeze before walking down the steps.
Following suit, your small heels clack nicely against the tiled floor.
Hiromi takes off his black blazer, leaving him in his white dress shirt and tie. Rolling up his sleeves, his free hand gently pushes up the glasses on his nose bridge.
That action in itself made your stomach growl with intent.
“Have you tried stretching? It’s very good for releasing tension.” He’d suggest, coming to the front of his desk to lean on it, arms crossing as he peered down at your much smaller frame.
Truth be told, you hadn’t tried. Of course, a basic solution to such a human problem.
“No, I guess I hadn’t really thought of that.” You reply, hands coming together in front of you to fiddle together.
Hiromi only nods, slowly.
It started normal, doing some basic arm and leg stretches.
Gradually, he had you bent over his desk, arms pushing themselves the opposite direction, stretching each shoulder and side of your back efficiently.
A small breath leaves you, then, a gentle few pops release from your upper right shoulder, clearly needing the attention it was currently being given.
Hiromi, unknowingly to you as the release of pent up stress and overwork distracted you, stood right behind you. His right arm held his chin and his left crossed his chest, holding the elbow of his right arm. Those tired eyes stared directly at your ass.
He takes a deep breath.
“Feeling better?” He asks, voice lower than usual.
“Much better, sir,” You huff softly. “..Thank you.” Finishing softly.
Mr. Higaruma gulps the thick space in his throat, eyes shutting for a moment.
“My next class starts soon.” He’d extort.
It didn’t start for another 20 minutes, but he couldn’t rely on himself to keep it together for any minute.
“You should get going.”
Slowly, you stood from the desk, feeling hazed by the looseness in your body.
As you gathered your book bag and laptop, you felt his eyes continue to daze over you.
You turn towards him, a genuine smile on your face.
“I appreciate it, I really do feel better. I'll have to start doing this every morning.”
Hiromi nods, agreeing with that idea. Very much, actually. The idea of you liking taking care of your body like that.
“I’m sure you’ll see a difference rather quickly,” He smiled faintly, his pants now becoming slightly uncomfortable as his cock continued to grow.
He clears his throat, starting to make his way behind his desk.
You start walking towards the exit of the classroom, ready for a much needed rest.
“Are you trying to deduct ten points off your next assignment?” He suddenly questions, voice lower, warning.
Your head whipped around with furrowed brows.
“What? Why?” Questioning quickly.
He leaned back in his chair, that long arm stretching out slightly as his fingertips stayed placed on his desk.
“Then I believe you are missing something….yes?”
Your stomach whirled, a certain creeping feeling you got when you were sick.
But it felt so good.
You didn’t waste another minute walking back towards Hiromi’s desk, completely forgetting his comment about the “class that was supposed to start”.
His eyes trailed you until you were right in front of him and his desk.
It was sinful how hard his cock was pulsating against his pants, his boxers adding another restrictive layer at this point. Precum threatened to leak through, tip aching for some kind of attention.
He breathes shallowly.
“From now on,” he hesitates, his mind toggling with the words that were playing like jesters on his lips. “...you're going to quit your job.”
You could’ve laughed in his face.
“And support myself…how?” You’d ask, not rudely, but genuinely.
He just stared blankly at you. Like a boring joke poured from those sultry lips of yours.
“Don’t insult me like that.” He’d lean forward, hands clasping together.
More of an attempt to keep himself from exploding.
“...Arrive in my classroom 15 minutes early tomorrow, understood?”
You nod, unaware of what was even happening really. Regardless, your body was answering before you could even process the moment before you.
“Yes, Mr. Higaruma.”
“And, Y/N?” His head tilted slightly to the side. “You’re to go home right now, and get some rest.”
Your eyes squinted slightly, the words falling from his mouth truly hit you like magma falling from an erupting volcano.
“Yes, Sir.”
As soon as you left that classroom, Hiromi had let out a big sigh, learning back in his chair, hands running over his face as he stared up at the ceiling.
—---------------
20 minutes before class, and there you were.
Your hand hesitating as it hovered over the door, fingers already locked in a fist.
Before you could land the first knock, the heavy door opened up.
The first thing you noticed was his loose tie, today's color red. Everything else?
Black.
His shoes? Accents of red stitching and leather patches at the tip of the toe and underneath the shoe.
You certainly gawked at him for a minute.
Hirmoi leaned on the door as he watched you, watch him.
A soft smirk fills his face, arm reaching out to gently grab your arm, pulling you inside the classroom.
He gently drags you to his desk, the heat in him already building to an impossible pressure.
Like the Chernobyl reactors setting off every alarm in the building.
You’d be a fat liar if you said your heart wasn’t having a similar episode to cardiac arrest at this very moment.
Without a word or warning, Hiromi doesn’t hesitate anymore.
His arms hoist you up on the desk without struggle, none at all.
His large hands trailing from your hips to your legs, pushing up behind your thighs. The action makes your uniform’s skirt trail up rather high, the light hitting your now exposed underwear.
The color of them drive him fucking wild once those dark eyes catch a quick glimpse.
He claws at your skirt, hiking it up further so he could reach the edge of your panties, pulling them down with absolute ease.
You couldn’t help but let out a whine of embarrassment, the moment was moving so quick it was hard to keep up with him.
A starving fucking animal, exactly how Hiromi Higaruma was feeling right now.
Ever since you walked into his classroom, falling for each order given, always answering his questions correctly in class, paying attention so well.
So fucking well.
Your back leaned against the desk, still arched as Hiromi now pushed your thighs as far as he knew it would be comfortable for you.
Your bare cunt exposed in all her delightful glory. Slick smeared all over, damn near dripping.
“Mr, pleaseee.” You’d drag, toes curling as the cold air was making your heat ache, pulsing around nothing.
His head and face leaned up against your right thigh, looking upward at you. The whites of his eyes overpowering, pupils dilating as they stared into yours.
“Tell me you want it.” He breathed softly. Almost carefully.
“I want it, “ No hesitation came from your words. Only leaking with pure desperation. “..I want it so bad, sir.”
He knew the game you were playing, and he loved that shit.
Hiromi dug in, mouth attacking your cunt with no mercy.
Dangerous, pornographic slurps and breaths filled the room, your little moans, delicate hands trying so desperately to quiet yourself down as you only got louder and louder.
Hirmoi felt bad, he wanted to talk you through this, reassure his pretty baby, but fuck, she tasted so good it was blindsiding him a bit.
His nose would bump your clit, jolting electric currents through your whole body, curling in on itself.
Your knuckles were turning white as they gripped the edge of the table of Hirmoi’s desk.
Back arching each minute that passed, Hirmoi knew it was only a matter of seconds before you were unraveling all over his tongue.
His right hand slithered down the back of your thigh, backing from its supportive position.
His pointer and middle finger joined together, the rest tucking themselves away as the main two worked your slicked hole, so needily desperate for something to fill her whole.
His thick, slender fingers curled into you gently, easing into you.
The feeling of how tight you were around just his fingers made him cum right there, boxers and slacks now funky feeling.
A low growl left him, fingers quickening their pace as they curled a little more, his tongue working the ever living fuck out of your clit.
The relief washed over you, your hands immediately slithering down to grip Hiromi’s already disheveled hair.
As your hands slipped from your mouth, those loud, filthy moans bounced and echoed off the classroom walls.
His left had now slithered up, a large hand gently poking his thumb in your mouth.
The sensation of you trying your best to not bite it, teeth grazing occasionally as you tried to focus on sucking on his thumb to prevent screaming out into the room.
As much as you would’ve loved to warn him, words weren’t going to form out of you.
A splash of squirt hit Hiromi’s mouth as he lapped at your now overstimulating clit, fingers pumping the slick juice right out of you.
If he wasn’t currently occupied with his mouth, he’d have the fattest smirk on his face.
Easing down, his fingers gently pulled out of you, not before spreading your hole open slightly, the sight of your slick running out of your had him fucking feral again.
His eyes lowered.
Pulling his fingers all the way out, both his hands now slithered back to your thighs to wrap his hands around them, his head leaning in to plant gentle kisses along the insides of your thighs, letting your shaking body and high wash off easily.
“You did so good for me baby. So, so good for me.” He mutters against your skin, pressing one last kiss to your ankle before leaning over to your face.
His forehead leaned on yours, as you could only respond by holding eye contact.
“Say it.” He says softly.
With every bit of lasting energy you have in you, you allow your voice to mutter through.
“I did…so good….for you.” You smile gently, head leaning back down on the desk, almost drunk on this sexual high.
Hiromi could only bask in this.
He sighs softly.
“Gotta clean you up, pretty.” He whispers, more to himself.
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(Yo! So, lowkey haven’t written a fan fic in years. Prob shit, lol idk lmk tho fr, I love constructive criticism! Anyway, Hiromi Higaruma brain rot is bad ASF right now after watching The Secretary with James Spader from 2002. Highly inspired if you’ve seen it! Sorry for spelling errors, grammar errors, shitty proof reader RIP)
(Female Y/N)
(Trigger Warning for SH & Sexual content!)
“L/N….Y/N. Patient number 7364.”
So sharp, yet so monotone. The Judge had no decency. No dedication to his job, no taste for formality. Funny, considering how long it takes to fit such a position. A sigh leaves him, a pause in the process.
Gruff. Mean-looking. A stubble around his pointed face that just screamed “scratchy”.
“You're approved to be reunited with the outside of Doe County.” His eyes left the multitude of papers loaded in front of him, almost a never ending pile.
They landed on you.
A simple gesture that almost seemed invasive in itself.
“Don’t make me regret it. Be normal.”
A fresh start. Given, at that. Granted.
Damn near almost unheard of for girls like you.
It wasn’t that you had forgotten how to live life, no. Never that. It was the same cycle, every day.
Wake up, clean, eat, work, sleep, repeat.
Right?
It was simple. But what wasn’t, was how to enjoy it all.
Not those tasks, not the chores.
Enjoyment in breathing. Enjoyment in setting your eyes on something familiar. The feeling of enjoyment itself. Why couldn’t I find it? What was so-
“Y/N.”
Her eyes came back into focus, coming back after longing so far away.
A simple sigh, a soft breath needed for impact.
No words left your mouth. Throat is almost too dry, your energy dependent on the moment.
Your eyes peered over gently, heart thumping a few times, a normal habit for your body.
“Hm?”
She looked at you. A faint smile on her face.
Her eyes peered over the room, taking pauses to ensure the details that were before her.
Finally, she looked back at you.
“...How are you feeling?” She’d ask, her voice gentle, almost scared that talking too loud would physically break you.
A simple stare, nothing to give or take.
“Okay.” A simple answer, but not particularly a lie.
A soft nod escaped her, her smile widening a bit.
“That’s good, I like to hear that.”
Your friend. The one you’ve had since (timestamp).
A secret saviour, a true angel.
She’d stay by your side, every crunching, gut wrenching step of the way.
You’d seen the way it affected her, right through that fake facade.
How could you not, take one to know one, right?
She walked over, patting the spot on the bed beside you. A quiet, silent offering.
Would you like my comfort?
You thought for a moment, taking in the emotions in the air.
A simple nod.
“You know…” She’d start, slowly sitting by you, careful not to get too too close. It was like trying not to set off a bomb you were actively stepping on. “...I saw this job offer in the local paper.” A soft smile appeared on her lips. “I think maybe you should just take a look, read what it's about, maybe?”
Her offer hung in the air like a falling feather. Light, delicate, unsure of where exactly to land.
Your eyes only stayed landed where they were, the question replaying in your head.
“You don't have too, I just thought-”
“What’s…” You started softly. “...what’s the position for?”
If she hadn’t had such good hearing, she’d absolutely second guess what she just heard.
“Uh..” She panicked for a second. “...Uh, it’s this secretary position, here…”
Hopping off the bed, she quickly exited your room for a mere moment, shuffling heard in the main room from down the hallway.
“Here!” You could hear her success briefly.
Before you could finish blinking, she was already right back in front of you, the newspaper in hand and pointing to the small, boxed advertisement.
“Look,” Her voice hushed slightly, gently handing you the paper to examine.
Secretary Wanted: Hiagruma Law Firm
Your brows raised, just slightly. A small breath leaves you, eyes peering over all the little words splattered all over. Just trying to read this was overwhelming and stressful enough.
Before your heart tries exploding, your eyes slam themselves shut, the paper slamming down on your thighs.
A small lip quiver was all F/N needed to see. Without another thought, she gently takes the paper from your hands, examining the words, and reads.
“Looks like the main CEO and lawyer needs a new assistant slash secretary.” She noted simply. “...Located at the Higaruma Law Firm…” she counted to read. “...Starting interviews tomorrow at nine am sharp.”
She looks over at you, your calmer state allowing her to breathe easier.
“I think you should go.” A big smile on her lips.
No matter what, your leg refused to stop bouncing.
A strangled breath made its way from your throat, heart racing.
Every single nerve screamed, painfully pinching themselves as your stomach swirled with anxiety.
“Ms. Y\N, L\N?”
If you had eaten before this, you'd likely be vomiting all over the floor.
A sigh left you as your eyes closed, trying with everything within you to gather yourself.
Your friend's words replayed like a movie scene in your head.
“You're okay. The worst they say is no thanks, and then, you come home, and move on. That's it, that's all.”
The young man’s eyes appeared gently on you, only yours were forced straight to the ground.
His glossed, black dress shoes were the only thing you could see at this point.
“Follow me, Ms. and we will get your interview started.”
Your heart spiked frustratedly. It bothered you how easy others made it look to communicate, to live with purpose.
“Sounds….good.” You’d respond, voice wobbly and unsure.
Great start.
The walk through the long hallway felt like a never ending tunnel, the one you’d find at a store like Ripley’s Believe it or Not.
“Just down this way, take a right, and we will be right… there.” He’d drag out.
Somehow, the movement helped keep your nerves down, only momentarily, however.
Without another second, your feet had you placed right outside a thick, wood door.
CEO & Lead Defense Attorney
Hiromi Higaruma
“Here we are.” The young man muttered gently, giving the door a thick knock.
Your breath hitched, the timing to fast paced, almost as if you expected him to be on your time.
A barely audible mutter was heard from the other side of the door, the man’s quickly twisting the knob, a quick squeak popping from the hinges as it opened heavily.
“Mr. Hugaruma, your next interview is here.” He’d mention, poking his head in.
Higaruma sighed softly, his reading glasses sitting low on his thick nose bridge, eyes slightly dry and red from the hours of reading.
“Bring them in.”
In that moment, that voice, that deep voice, held itself in your brain like the whisper of an ocean wave.
Your nerves, pinched onced, twice ... .then a full release of tension.
But quickly, built back up as the young man parted the door evenly, allowing you to enter.
However, as you watched yourself walk through the door, straight to the satin chain seated just in front of his man’s desk…your legs were frozen.
A silent rejection.
Screams set off inside your head, eyes widening slightly at the realization.
Higaruma’s head now tilts up, expecting to see the person he is interviewing to be sitting in front of him, ready to start out like the one he did not too long before.
Those dark iris’s scanned you. Really scanned you.
“Ms. Do you…need help?” The young man asked.
“No.” Your mouth would quickly blurt, eyes forcing themselves to look at the ground.
“Sorry, just…nervous.” A whisper to save yourself some time.
“I’ll handle it from here, Ryan.”
Higaruma stands from his chair, taking his glasses off, folding them with patience as his eyes continue to stay curious of you.
Ryan leaves, likely having much more particular tasks to be fulfilling than this.
Your head turns back to Mr. Higaruma.
He was tall. Very tall. And something you'd never thought you’d see the day to live to feel, dare you say it, good looking.
A nervous jolt ran through you.
Higaruma placed his glasses down gently, hands tucking themselves in both his front, dress pants pockets.
“Take a seat.” He’d say simply.
Though, for you, the order took a different effect. The rush of fulfilling a direct task to distract from the heaviness of the moment.
Without another thought, your breath released itself softly, your legs trailing to the seat in front of his desk. To which you’d note, it was quite expensive looking.
Hiromi’s eyes trailed your every move. Something he wasn’t exactly sure on why he felt compelled to do so.
A simple clearing of his throat caught your attention back.
Sitting down, he slowly pushed himself into his desk. Before taking his eyes off you, his hands grabbed your resume from the left side of his desk, finger instinctively knowing which paper was proper.
Your own eyes refused to meet his, looking at any other detail to focus on in the room.
A moment of silence appears as he begins to read, his shallow breaths overpowering the silence of the room.
Without permission, your eyes trailed to his face. Scanning every detail.
His chiseled nose, cheeks following suit not too far behind. A gentle freckle landed right by his bottom lip, another resting right by his right ear, near his jaw. Eyes dark, almost black. Tired, yet hurriedly scanning the words below. The whites of his eyes suddenly became slightly lighter, more glossy as his pupils now moved directly into yours.
Your breath caught itself, almost choking out a cough because of it.
Without a warning, you tore your gaze away.
“Sorry.” A quiet mutter, barely audible escaped you.
Higaruma’s hands slowly let down the resume, the slight sound pinning itself in your ears.
“Why are you interested in this position?” He’d ask.
A deep breath concealed your need to let out a wobbly stutter.
“I….I’d like a job that provides me structure.” You’d admit, honestly. “...I truly don’t have much experience…” Eyes peered down, a soft sigh leaving you. “...I know…I'm sorry I don’t know why I even tried-”
“Did I ask why you tried?” He’d gently interrupt.
Your mouth hushed, quickly. A tingle shot through your fingertips, a whirl of anxiety flickering like a light.
“No.” You’d mutter, eyes seriously peering up at him.
“No, what?” His brows would furrow gently.
He swore, to everything he’d ever known in life, he watched your eyes glimmer. Just slightly.
“No, sir. I’m sorry.”
Higaruma would nod softly, allowing you to peer at him for just a moment longer.
“ As the CEO and lead, I’d appreciate it if we started with learning how to properly address me if you want this position.” He’d give a gentle cough into his hand, leaning back slightly.
If someone didn’t already light you on fire, you were sure this is what it would feel like.
Before you could respond, Higaruma stood up, heading towards another table inside the bigger office.
“What's your availability like?” He’d ask firmly.
“I….I’m completely free. I don't have any prior commitments.”
Higaruma trailed his finger over the file on the table before him, turning toward you with a certain look, as if he were waiting for something.
“Sir…”
A raised brow in response, as if to confirm your correction.
“These are all the files that you’ll start with. They need proof reading, emailed, faxed, and more. Alongside writing response letters to clients and lots of other tasks, do you think you could handle it?” He’d turn around, leaning on the table filled with papers.
You paused, eyes trailing the unorganized mess behind him. God, what a pain. How do you work in such an environment?
“Could I start with organizing?” You’d helplessly, innocently blurt.
Hiagruma nodded slowly.
“Whatever you’d like, however you’d like. Just make sure things are done on time, and nothing will be an issue. Right?” He’d finish, voice almost deepening.
“You’ll start Monday, eight am sharp. No acceptance.”
—----------
The morning's brisk temperature didn’t hesitate to harass your bare legs, the tights doing nothing to ensure warmth.
A quivered sigh left you, anxiety and stress eating at your every cell as your legs reluctantly carried you back to the Law Firm.
7:45 AM, your phone reads.
A bouncy leg wouldn’t go unnoticed, your jacket tucked itself to your side, legs following behind the same young man from a few days before.
“You’ll likely be with Mr. Higaruma for the most part, but if you ever need something or get lost, come find me.” He’d give you a soft smile, knocking on Mr. Hugaruma’s door and poking his head in. “Mr. Higaruma? Ms. L/N is here.”
Hiromi checked his watch.
Early.
He nodded. “Let her in.”
Ryan helped you hang up your jacket on the wall hanger before making his exit.
You stood in front of the door, your eyes slowly trailing to Mr. Hiagruma.
Already staring at you, his hand gently held his chin, upholding his head as he read the files with grace. Those reading glasses low on his nose, pupils peering up just above them.
“W-where would you…like me to start?” You’d mutter out, hands placed behind your back to hide your fiddling fingers.
“Y/N.” He stated, almost a warning.
Almost enough tone to make anyone cringe in embarrassment. Have you screwed up already?
“Sit down.” He’d slightly huff, proceeding to take off his glasses, changing his stance.
Like a moth to a flame, you hurried to that same chair. Red, velvet, soft.
Hiromi joined his hands together, placing them on the desk as he leaned forward.
“Deep breath.” He whispers softly, eyes locked onto yours, almost demanding.
His ears reddened as he heard your faint breaths, allowing yourself to follow through with his…order.
A bundle of nerves you sat on, now unraveling into something worse? Better? You were truly unsure.
Hiromi watched intently, eyes trailing to your chest.
Not pervertedly, but really watched. How high it trailed as you breathed in, holding it for a moment as it swallowed back down. Almost as if to confirm you were really doing what he had asked of you.
“I’ll teach you what you need to know.” Higaruma confirmed, eyes now landing back into yours.
“Just use your words. Being this nervous around me won’t do us any good now, will it?”
He awaited your answer, already dependent on your willingness to listen.
“No, sir.” Your voice was laced with a certain kind of pouring honey only he’d notice.. To you, it felt discreet, low, inaudible.
“Hm.” He’d nod softly. He looked at the table with the files, then back towards you.
“I want those files organized by the end of today.” He picked up his glasses, swiftly putting them back on as he grabbed a pen. “Understood?”
“Understood, sir.”
Your eyes landed on the mess in front of you. As much as it overwhelmed you, you also knew the end result would cure you.
Without any more time, your soft hands got to work. Dedicated to the job, every subject had a pile. Reading and editing them as you went.
Papers with errors here, unfinished reports go there. It felt never ending.
It hadn’t occurred to you just how much there was, how long you had already been at it. Hands working tirelessly, eyes peering over every word on each paper with extreme delicatessen.
Hiromi’s eyes were entirely, unapologetically on you.
Every movement, eye flicker, he watched how methodically you worked. A glimpse into how that mind worked, processed.
Those simple words uttered themselves to him.
‘I need a job with structure’
‘Structure’
A gentle pop was heard inside his brain. Maybe just his hearing adjusting? Possibly someone accidentally dropped something?
A wave of warmth crossed Hiromi, his breath huffing softly as he slumps back in his chair, expensive, comfortable, but still not enough to confine the stress of the day.
“Mr. Hiagruma?”
That soft voice pulled him right out of it, eyes bursting open to attend to whatever it was you needed.
“Yes?” His eyes looked over to you, maybe a little too quickly.
Suddenly, the unorganized mess that stayed on that table for just a little too long, was now long gone. Papers laid in neater, organized piles, folders were made and neatly labeled with each case.
Hiromi stood from his desk, walking to ensure the stability of your work.
Eyes scanned each pile, fingers flipping through the pages.
A simple nodd.
“Very nice work.” He’d add shortly.
You only offered a small nod, clasping your hands behind your back again. Your chipped nails picked that skin beside them, the sting making you cringe softly as his words settled themselves into your brain.
“Thank…you.” Unsure. Entirely too unsure.
“C’mere.” Hiagruma muttered.
As you stood by him, you examined your own work along the table, very pleased with how much better things look, much easier to access. Brain already in a calmer state.
Hiromi turns gently, walking behind you slowly as he keeps his eyes on the table. Absolute pristine work, in such graceful timing.
So far, it didn't take long for Hiromi Hiagruma to learn just what kind of case he had on his hands.
His hands connected with each side of your arms, standing up close behind you. His breath reached your ear, a soft pant as he spoke.
“Are you proud of yourself?” His deep voice husked as he muttered in your ear, your ears wanting to wriggle like a deer’s in the summer.
A sense of small confusion.
“W….what?” You whisper, stuttering on his gentle words.
“Your work.” He’d mutter again, his eyes now landing back on you from behind. “Aren’t you proud of it?”
You stopped yourself from choking up a hiccup, your breath hitching softly into nothing.
Mouth opening to speak, nothing but air appears. Silence follows, your eyes wanting to turn behind you, cornering the sight of him.
Without another word, Higaruma’s large hand finds the bravery to gently cup your chin\jaw, turning your head slowly back towards the table.
“Tell me how proud you are of your work, how pretty you made it.”
Your eyes stuck to the paper in front of you. Some files on a client's divorce, one that needed major editing.
Your mouth opened, jaw slightly slacked as words fought with you.
“I…I…I’m proud…” You start, voice wobbly. Emotion sprouted through your entire body, and even worse, an emotion entirely too new to you.
“Of?” He continued, waiting for you to finish.
“..of my work.” You finally wobbled out, taking a huffy breath at the end. Swallowing a thickness in your throat.
“Good.” A gruff, low response. “Now, put it all together.”
Without a second thought, your lips pursed the words, stomach filling with a heated certainty.
“I’m….proud of my work, sir.”
Just then, a gentle sigh, almost of relief, comes from Hiromi behind you.
“That’a girl.”
His grip on your chin gently releases, the warmth now ice against your skin.
As if nothing had happened, Hiromi goes to pick up his briefcase from under his desk.
“I’ll be in a meeting for the next hour.” He stated. “I want my desk organized, cleaned by the time I get back.”
Still stuck in position towards the organized files, your ears picked up every word.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you.”
Your head whipped around, outfit flowing with you because of the slight, hurried breeze.
He looked down at you, then right back to your eyes.
“Take those heels off.” He’d order.
“Every morning,” Hiromi started. “...you will take them off and place them beside my desk.”
He’d take a slow, almost agonizing deep breath in.
“Got it?”
A slow nod came from you, no argument, no stubbornness. Just obedience in the line of dominant structure.
And with that, Hiromi gave a small nod, turning around swiftly to head towards his afternoon meeting.
—--------------
Hesitation filled you. Your eyes scanned every detail, every corner of his desk. You swore, ensured to yourself, that nothing was left undusted, untouched.
Every object placed back neatly on his desk, exactly, pin-point where it had been.
A wobbly sigh leaves your dried lips, eyes and mind straining themselves to no end as they forcefully look for any minor mistake.
That red, velvet chair caught your eye.
Hinds end touching the soft fabric, your legs brushed up against it, the texture immediately calming you. The pencil skirt you wore rode up slightly, white blouse curling in on itself from the slightly slouched position you were in.
A long sigh leaves you, wavering itself in the air.
Slowly, your pretty eyes scanned the office. Dark, mahogany walls, large wooden desk that screamed money. Expensive law books filled the heavy bookcases, eyes peering over each title.
“Enjoying yourself?”
A squeak left you, jumping from your sitting position. You turned towards Hiromi, eyes wide.
“I’m so sorry, Sir, I was just sitting for a second, I just finis-”
“Quiet.” He holds a pointer finger up.
You quickly held your hush.
His finger dropped down slowly to his side.
Lowering his briefcase, Hiromi’s classy, glossed dress shoes clacked elgatly against the floor, steps following to you.
You watched intently as Hiromi began analyzing every inch of his desk. Every inch, pristine. Every paper, every pen, paperclip, neat.
Everything about this, about you, was neat. Needed to be, in fact.
Hiromi sits in his chair, eyes glossing over his computer for just a moment.
Screen black, no indication of anyone attempting to get into it. A moment of sparing trust for Hiromi.
He looks back at you.
“Tell me.” His voice low, a faint hint.
You breathe in.
“I'm very proud of my work, sir.”
Your soft voice uttering such endearing words to yourself, something about it made him sick with want. A certain kind of need that's physically hard to handle, or not handle for that matter.
“Hm? I'm not sure I heard that.” His voice let out a more bothered tone than admitted.
A thick swallow of hidden air pushed through you.
“I am very proud of my hard work organizing your desk, Mr. Higaruma.”
If Hiromi hadn’t had the self control he had disciplined himself with all these years, he would’ve unraveled right there.
Hiromi sits, a faint smirk on his lips. He tries to hide it with his hand, thumb pressed on his cheek as the length of his hand and fingers cover his mouth. Those low, small eyes daggering into you. He felt himself heat up, more than he had expected.
A small sigh leaves Hiromi.
“Go home.” He suddenly ushered.
Your brows furrow, a dark shade now implying into the moment.
“Did I do something wr-”
“No, god no.” Higaruma almost huffed.
In fact, Y/N, you're doing everything right. So right, that it strikes every nerve within him.
“You’ve worked hard enough today,” he started. “Need you all rested up if I want you to keep working for me, right?”
Once again, words refused to appear. He put you in more speechless positions than you had ever witnessed in life.
“Right, sir.”
The confirmation, the trust in his words and order. It finds a different outlet in him. A shocking bolt of electricity every time your mouth utters anything, perfect lips pursing, a soft pout as you work.
You began to grab your things ,jacket, coin purse, about to make your exit.
“Y/N.” A warm tone.
You looked back, wavering curiosity.
Higaruma held your heels in his hand, effortlessly, his hand much larger than the pair of shoes that was being held.
“Thank you, Mr. Hia-”
“It’s Sir or Mr. Hiromi to you.”
A gentle pause.
“Thank you, Mr. Hiromi.”
Before making the attempt to grab your heels, Hiromi had already beaten you to it. Lowering your heels, Hiromi stands, his much bigger frame pushing you automatically into the red velvet chair.
As you tried sitting back up, Hiromi was already on one knee, his free hand gently taking a hold of your foot.
Heat filled your entire body as you felt yourself shake.
“I-it's okay I can do it myself.” Your mutter, assuring him you didn’t need such help with something so simple.
“I didn’t ask,” He started, slipping a heel effortlessly onto your foot. “Don't need you stretching out that pretty skirt to bend over for heels.” He’d admit.
As both heels concealed your feet, Hiromi got up swiftly, stood by his desk, watching as your small frame went for the exit, hand turning the door knob.
—---------
Your room was pitch black, a small window letting the full moon’s bright light gently peer through. Eyes gleamed as they reached the small light.
Admiration for the stars was something you'd always had appreciated. They were so bright, yet so small. Always so seen, no matter what.
Cool breezes push your white curtains softly, whipping softly as it sets its invisible hands on your S/C skin.
The shower you took when getting home, hot, hotter than usual.
Something felt different, a distinct change in your routine. Not just physical, but a mental and emotional game of what ifs, what is.
A gentle gloss wilted your pretty eyes, a particular spot on your body heated, a burning sensation oh so familiar to you. One you’d learn that would always be there to comfort, no matter where, no matter when.
Creases in the system, a block in the brain. No matter what it was, the process over it was harder than ever.
—-------------------
A small yawn escapes you, arriving at the office punctually is pretty easy when you can’t sleep.
Your feet walked into the familiar office, the smell of coffee hitting you softly as you entered. Black heels hit the carpeted floor, barely audible.
Mr. Hiagruma isn’t here.
A simple sigh leaves you, unsure of what to do next.
‘Take those heels off’
Replays in your mind, yesterday's words not hesitating to remind you.
Your eyes close gently, taking a small step forward towards that red velvet chair, your small hand placing itself on the top of the chair to support yourself, bending over as you begin to pull off the slightly small shoe.
A sudden clearing of someone's throat interrupts.
Whipping your head back, Mr. Higaruma stands in the doorway, coming in a little moor to quickly shut the heavy wooden door behind him.
“You're rather early, Ms. L/N.” He’d mutter gently, crossing his arms, leaning against the doorframe.
“I can wait until-”
“Excuse me,” He states firmly. Your voice hushes itself quietly. “..I told you to speak, did I?” He’d finish off, softly muttering.
“No, Mr. Hiromi.”
“Hm.” He hums, his large hands slithering out of crossing, pulling his hands back into those dress pockets.
Hiromi lands himself at his desk chair, hands together and sits on the desk, eyes peering down at your black heels.
You watch him as he scans you.
“I was just taking them off, Sir.” Your voice admits.
His eyes come back up to yours, yet no words come from him.
The silence is slightly heavy as you take a deep breath in, carefully, slowly bending over and extending one arm, the other back to balancing you on the chair.
Your heels slipped off effortlessly.
“Now,” His voice was low, demanding. “...put them right here.” He’d mutter, eyes pointing to the spot right in right on him, on his desk.
You felt this feeling a million times over. That pounding heart, weakening nerves, feverish skin. But this was different.
“Yes…” you’d breathe out. “..Sir…” a gentle finish.
Delicately, your framed hands placed the pair of heels directly in front of Mr. Hiagruma.
He watched every little move. His fingertips touched together, forming a dome in his hands as he held them up to his face.
Something in him was going to fucking snap.
A slight growl tried leaving him, his correction for it coming quickly as he took a breath.
“Coffee, black. No sugar,” He stated simply. “Now.”
—----------------
The day was rotten, truly.
After giving Mr. Higaruma his coffee, meeting after meeting stole him away. Back in office? Only for a few minutes before he was pulled away by Ryan, the firm’s scheduler.
Endless letters, so much typing your fingers were stained red. Your eyes felt like someone had poured a dried acid into them the more you stared at the bright, blue computer screen in front of you.
The stool you sat in, the one you found in the corner of his office, began to become unbearling uncomfortable against your ass.
Thump.
You jolted at the sound, a gentle vibration rattling through you as you viewed him. Slamming the heavy door open like nothing, Mr. Higaruma huffed, legs taking him straight to his desk.
Stress was more than apparent on his face. His nose, oh that nose, aligned itself perfectly with the paper before him.
“Are you okay….Sir?”
Oh.
Oh my god.
Hiromi’s head stayed still, only his eyes peering up to make direct contact with your’s.
“Keep focus, Ms. L/N.” He’d mutter slowly.
Your legs shifted automatically.
Straightening up, you faced back toward the computer, ensuring your proof-reading of the letter.
After a few minutes, Hiromi sighed, sitting in his seat. Furiously writing, you watch for a moment as his pen wrote quickly, his hand-writing placing itself with ease behind the emotion.
That tight grip.
The printer dotted for a moment, finally excelling the noises of actually working.
As it spat the letter into your hands slowly, a simple thud alongside watching the paper crinkle suddenly was all that was needed to earn a simple sigh from you.
You crouched down slightly, attempting to see where the issue was starting. Needing a closer look, you adjusted, bending over and wiggling until your hands reached the jam, starting to softly pull at it.
Mr. Higaruma’s pen came to a slow down, his eyes trailing over.
He graced himself a moment of calm to the storm, allowing his gawking. And god, he was so happy he did.
You hind bent over, the pencil skirt doing you so nicely.
Shaped to perfection, almost gawking right back at him, teasing softly. Your legs, those pretty legs of yours. So soft looking, so touchable.
His eyes wandered through those tights you’d wear, attempting to hide something so precious.
His brows furrowed, eyes falling to a certain part of your back thigh. The faint outline of band aids pressed against the tights, your position making it rather clear.
Not just one, not two. A reasonable amount for something so small.
He didn’t know it, but he held his breath tightly, grip on the pen tightening as his face contorted to suspicion.
Just then, your head turned slightly, eyes peering behind you as you kept your bent posture.
Hiromi’s pupils dilated staring directly into yours, his face stern. Almost angry.
Quickly, you’d fix yourself, sitting up straight and your hands finally grasped the paper stuck in the printer.
Without a word, your thumping heart almost weakened out your legs.
Sitting back at the little desk, you slammed your eyes shut, hands pretending to fiddle with the letters.
A breeze shot itself through your skin, the spinning chair you sat in now moving swiftly.
Hiromi bent down, your small frame sitting right in front of him. Arm on either side of the arm chairs, enclosing you in.
“What was that?” He’d ask seriously.
“I was fix-”
“Don’t give me that.” He’d correct you quickly. “Don’t.”
Your lips sat in a thin line, eyes becoming dory as you held in your beginning tears.
Hiromi begins to crouch, his eyes softened slightly. He sits on his knees, hands coming down to lay themselves on each side of your legs.
“Show me.”
“No-”
“Show. Me.”
A deep breath in, deep breath out.
Tears slipped as you huffed.
“It’s not that bad.” You'd commit quickly.
The confirmation shot him. Sickened him.
Hiromi sighed softly, thumbs absentmindedly rubbing themselves over your thighs, feeling the slight bump from the band aids through the thighs.
“Y\N L.N.” He stated firmly, one of his hands coming up, ever so gently taking your chin in his hand to look at him.
Those pretty eyes peered into his, a silent plea to not push this away.
“You, from this day forward, will never, ever,” He paused, taking another deep breath. “...Ever hurt yourself again. Am I completely understood?” His brows would pop up for a moment, eyes slightly widened with seriousness.
His grip tightly softly as you paused to answer him.
“Yes, I completely understand.”
Something in you flickered for a moment, legs pressing together as you let out a deep sigh, eyes closing into his touch.
—---------------
You followed suit behind Hiromi, his much larger, taller frame striding quicker than you. Carrying his briefcase, coffee, and files in your arm, a gentle huff escaped as you stared down, feeling each and every eye in the office stare at you two.
As the two of you reached the meeting room, Hiromi opened the door, holding it open for you.
Your hands place each item on his part of the large table carefully, ensuring each file was laid out in order, ensuring to not confuse him during the meeting and keep on track. Coffee on the left hand corner, red pen on the right.
You pushed up one of the spare chairs to sit behind him, out of the way. Solely, your position just there to gather extra notes Hiromi didn’t feel like jotting down.
Hiagruma sat down, head of the table. He looked ahead at the large presentation board ahead, noting some extra details he’d been wanting to talk about and get some assurance on.
You, sitting behind him, sat patiently with a pen and notepad in hand, legs crossed delicately, posture straight.
The rest of the group appeared before the original start time, allowing extra preparation for a few minutes.
As the men talked, some joking, most of them ignored Higaruma, understanding how the CEO operated.
Suddenly, Higaruma reached his arm out, hand holding a single pistachio. His eyes are still reading the paper in front of him.
Without hesitation, you slowly uncrossed your legs, leaning forward to connect your mouth with the palm on his hand, tongue licking and grabbing the pistachio as you leaned back up.
Quite a few of the men quieted down, eyes eating up the sight in front of them. A few squirmed, others began to look away.
Hiromi noticed. Of course he did.
Who wouldn’t want to squirm with you around?
He peered up, pulling his arm back in.
“Shall we start?”
—----------
Hiromi scanned the letter, blue sharpie in hand.
Each typo, each little sentence that could be better in some way, corrected.
Sitting quietly at the break room’s coffee station, you awaited for your cup to be done as it poured. Steam and a whiff of it caught your nose, allowing a gentle sigh before going to add your preferences to it.
Without notice, the door to the breakroom slams open, a paper slammed right in front of you as you feel the warmth of one right behind you.
“What is this?” Hiromi muttered lowly in your ear, sending a jolt of electricity and excitement through you.
“I…I’m not sure, sir.” You’d admit, attempting to read the letter through his hand that was slammed on top of it.
“Right to my office, Ms. L/N.”
Your legs wobbled, hand hesitating as it knocked on the wooden door.
Peering in softly, the air felt warm, inviting.
You slowly closed the door behind you, arms staying with it.
At first, your eyes caught no sight of Mr. Higaruma.
You assumed he was stolen away for another meeting, some sort of issue that needed to be resolved right then and there. Your legs traveled to that red chair, sitting patiently for him.
Sitting down, your eyes caught a singular paper on Hiromi’s desk, something you have truly never seen before.
Your response letter to one of his clients.
Blue sharpie highlights errors, misteaks.
Your breath hitched, not realizing how you hadn't proof-read it.
“Bend over the table, arms and palms on the desk.”
You looked out of the corner of your eye, the chair blocking your vision.
“What…?” You’d whisper in disbelief.
“Do not make me repeat myself.” He ordered.
You slowly stood from the chair, legs unspokenly reaching the edge of his desk.
Looking back, his eyes were darting into you.
“Go on.” He’d motivate me.
Turning back to the desk, you’d take a breath before looking down at the letter, doing just as Hiromi demanded.
Bending over, placing both arms and palms down on the table, face directly facing the letter.
You could hear him take a deep, deep breath.
“Y\N.” He’d mutter.
“Yes, sir?”
“Do you understand that you are a representation of my company?”
You nodded.
“Y-yes.”
He was now right up behind you, just centimeters away from touching.
“What do you think this makes me look like, hm?”
Hiromi would lean over you, now pressing up on you. Placing his hand beside the letter, staring at it as his face was now near yours.
“Im….Im sorry, Sir.” You’d mutter, eyes joining him out of the corner of your eye.
He watched as you attempted to reprogram, multitasking your emotions all at once so heavily.
“Read the letter. And don’t stop until I say so.”
His voice was low, demanding of this direct order in itself. Leaning off of you, Hiromi places himself right back behind you, just barely touching.
You scanned the paper briefly, allowing yourself to adjust your eyes. Softly, you begin to read the letter out loud.
“Dear…..Mr. S-satoru Gojo…” The softness in your voice made it seem as though this letter contained the holy commandments itself.
You began to wonder what this was truly entailing as you read, but you observed all the other misteaks he hadn’t sharpied.
SMACK.
A breathy moan leaves you, a small whine taking over to contain it as the loudness spooks you.
Your jaw slacks open slightly, the stinging sensation on your ass extremely prominent.
“Keep reading. Didn’t tell you to stop.” He states, calmly.
And you did. Starting from the beginning.
“D-dear….” a breath. “Satour, Gojo. I am responding in regards to your request for,”
SMACK.
Another.
Your head hangs softly, lip biting your bottom lip.
You continue to read, powering through the sting as the sharpie blares its color at you.
The quicker you read, the quicker his hand landed on your rounded, flushed ass. Hidden underneath layers of clothing, you’d make a mental note to check yourself in the mirror later.
Spank after spank, words only continued to fall out of your mouth, connecting them as fuel for the man’s actions behind you.
You knew this was wrong, dirty. But you loved it. Every moment flushed you, your legs squeezing with interest, your heart pounding with an excited rhythm for once.
As you finish, Hiromi lands his last spank, one harsh, body rolling one.
Your hand slapped itself over your mouth just in time, a loud groan escaping your hurriedly.
Hiromi’s hands began to gently smooth your ass, rubbing his palms soothingly over the area.
“That letter needs to be perfected within the next hour.” He’d give a soft sigh, almost basking in this moment.
He looked down for a moment, taking advantage of his position. Eyes scanned the shape of your ass, skirt curling into all the right spots, all there for him. Just for him.
He observed how perfectly it matched, how needy and desperate your shape wanted to connect and mold with his.
Hiromi leaned down, placing a gentle peck on your back.
Slowly, he backed off, hands giving a reassuring squeeze before he sat back in his chair, now in front of your flushed, slightly tear stained face.
Leaning back up, your sored ass stung against your tights, hand gripping the eroded letter to fix.
The day was coming to an end, your fingers tight as they forced themselves to stretch over the keyboard. A soft sigh leaves you as it finishes, the printer clicking as it prints.
Finally, just before the hour ended, you presented the finalized letter to Mr. Hiagruma.
“Sir, your letter to Mr. Satoru Gojo.”
He gently took it from you, reading over it efficiently. A small smile appears on his face.
“Excellent letter, Ms. L/N.”
—----------------
Your legs ached as they walked home, your heels only on for a short remainder of the day. A groan leaves you as you reach the apartment door.
The place smelled great, meaning your friend and roommate had likely cooked tonight.
“It smells amazing, F/N.” You mutter walking into the kitchen, placing your things down on the counter.
“Doesn’t it? I thought I’d try this new recipe,” she turned around, handing the little booklet to you to examine. “..Some kind of beef stew with mashed potatoes.”
“I'm excited. I’m gonna go shower, alright?”
“Sounds good. Oh! Before I forget,” She handed you the house phone. “Some man named Mr. Hiromi Higaruma was calling for you just a few minutes ago?” She gave you a suspicious, playful eye.
Your brows furrowed.
How did he get the number?
You nodded, taking the phone with you.
Reaching your dimly lit room, your heels and clothes immediately peeled off. Laying down in the soft sheets of your bed, your eyes began to wear clothes, allowing the cool air to pass over your now bare skin.
You feel as the stickiness of the bandages littered over your legs start to loosen, snap away from your skin after the days long, sweaty endurances.
Ring. Ring. Ring. Rin-
“Hello?” Your soft voice would mutter through the phone, mostly tired.
“There she is.”
Mr. Higaruma’s voice was even softly through the phone, the slight static making him sound raspy.
“What are you eating for dinner tonight?”
A simple question, yet so endearing. You took a moment to think.
“Beef stew….” A small sigh. “....and mashed potatoes.”
The name hit you like a drowning flower petal in the rain.
“Yes, I'm listening…..Sir.”
“One scoop of beef stew, half a scoop of mashed potatoes….” He would pause slowly. “And as much ice cream as you’d like.”
And before you could even think of responding, the phone clicked, Hiromi hanging up the phone.
—---------------------
It was your day off.
A day of unknowing routine, unsure tasks.
You found yourself unable to do much but drag yourself back to that desk, inside his office.
Luckily, Ryan had been at the firm, finishing up some leftover work from the previous work. You lied, expressing you had forgotten about a response letter Mr. Hiagruma needed to be sent over by today, this afternoon.
You weren’t one to lie much, and it spooked you how easily it rolled off your tongue.
Walking into the office, you took in the leftover scent. Wood, the fresh plants by the window, his musk.
You bent over, following your routine. Taking those heels off, placing them right in the middle of Hiromi’s desk.
When a sudden thought plays into your mind.
Slowly, you creep behind his desk, right towards his chair.
Your eyes, gently peering over the large wooden door, Hiromi able to make his way in at any point.
Still, you sat, feeling the chair completely overpower your small frame.
No wonder he felt so…cocky in this.
Just then, the office door pulls open, Hiromi walks in, eyes down and focused on a paper in his hands.
Every piece of him in this moment made your stomach growl.
His hair was more dissolved, glasses once again low on his big nose. His suit jacket was nowhere to be seen, nothing but a white dress shirt and basic black tie with dress pants.
His shoes, not his usual black, but white base with black accents and stitching.
Hiagruma looks up, sighing softly before his eyes find yours, peering directly up at him.
You, sitting in his chair, your heels obediently sitting, waiting right in the middle of his desk.
Neat, tidy.
His arms came down to his sides.
Pulse was so threatening, he felt himself losing it.
“You're off today, sweetheart.” He’d remind loosely.
You gave a soft smile.
“You didn’t tell me to stay home, sir.”
Oh, you were starting to understand this, weren’t you?
Hiromi made his way behind the chair, pulling it away from the desk.
“Over the desk.” Hiromi mutters.
Complying, you take your usual position, your back arching, ready for that sting you learned to crave.
Hiromi takes a seat in his chair, leaning back and taking a deep breath. His stare on you never leaves, studying for a moment. Thinking.
“Sit up, walk back until you feel me.”
Your brows furrow. This was…different.
You leaned back up, starting to slowly walk backwards until you felt the back of your legs hit his knees and own legs.
“Sit down.”
Your breath hitches softly, your heart thumping harshly.
But nonetheless, you sit, hands reaching out to each of your sides slightly, ready to balance yourself on his lap.
Hiromi’s hands mold themselves to your waist. To your surprise, his hands are so large, they cover more over you than you’d expected.
With ease, he picks you up slightly, adjusting you higher on his lap.
Closer to him.
“Why did you come here today, Y/N?” He’d whisper in your ear lowly, hands squeezing your sides harshly.
A faint whine leaves you at the pressure.
“You.” Is all you able to make out without genuinely exploding.
Out of all the novels you’ve read, the fanfictions, imaginary nights, this was truly an unhandable situation emotionally.
“Why’d you come here for me? Hm?”
“To please you.”
Somehow, his grip on you tightened, only for a moment, before loosening, hands soothing down your sides down to your thighs. The same ones clenching together for dear life.
“Is that so…” He’s breathing out, more to himself.
Hiromi takes a hold of your hips, hands dipping into the curve of where your thighs and stomach meet, folding in on eachother.
Warm.
His leg makes a dominant move, right thigh pushing between both of yours.
Your head can't help but lean back, your lower body rocking along with the sensation that was being pulled through you.
“Mr.Hiromi…” You’d whine softly, barely audible.
“Tell me baby,” He rasps right in your ear. “...tell Mr. Hiromi how much you love this.”
“I love it,” Your mouth uttered words without thought, an automatic word operator. “..I love this so much.”
“How much.” He challenged.
A frustrated whine escaped you, lower half squirming.
“Please…”
Hiromi had to bite his bottom lip on that one.
How the fuck could you make him anymore desperate?
“Do you understand how fucking hard it is to control myself around you?” His rough hands began rocking your body.
Back and forth.
Back. And Fourth.
The heat of the moment was entirely almost too much, your body melting into his almost completely.
“H-hiro…please..” A plea.
A silly one, but desperate.
Please.
“No,” He huffed, pushing his thigh into you more. “..you tell me with that pretty voice what you want. Use your words.”
“Y-you, please, you. Want you.”
The feeling of something pushing up against your back was almost unnoticeable, if it wasn’t for the slight wetness that leaked through the back of your shirt.
Hiromi’s own, low, gruffy groan left him, his cock hardened and pulsating.
“What’cha gonna do for me, my sweet girl?” He whispers, quickening your rocking as he listens to your straggled moaning, your hands tripping to find something, anything, to grip.
“Anything.” You dragged out a whine that sounded as good as fine wine tasted after age.
With that admission, Hiromi’s right arm pulls itself around the front of you, hand pressing your pelvis slightly.
The feeling washed over you quicker than expected, a gasp jolting out of you as your legs began to shake, nerves ping ponged left and right while your body slowly let go of the sickening high, organsm ruining you.
Before you could completely melt, Hiromi’s arms tightened around your loosening frame, gently helping you stand back up.
He straightened your skirt, only to push you back over his desk.
The wet spot between your legs, darkened on your skirt.
“Pull down your skirt, panty hoes, and those pretty panties.”
You hesitate.
He watched as you paused, watching in real time how your brain was processing this.
“I'm not going to fuck you.” He warned. “If that is your concern.”
Another brief moment passed before your hands slowly slid down every ounce of decency covering you up.
The sound that came from Hiromi was unholy, his hands coming up to run over his face as he took a moment to look up, composing himself as much as possible.
But of course, he wasted no more time placing his hands on the plump of your ass, eyes taking in every freckle, beauty mark, stretch mark, everything.
“Always such a good fucking girl, listening so well, taking it all.” He huffed out, hands tightening their grip and they slowly started to spread you.
He could growl like a fucking wolf at the sight of you.
Bare cunt, soaked and pulsating around nothing.
Pleading with him, yearning.
“...How could I be so mean to you baby?” He frowned softly, one of his thumbs spreading your slick all over your holes. “Neglectng this pretty pussy.”
The feeling of his intimate touch almost consulted an aneurysm out of your.
“Hirmo…”
SMACK.
“Try again.” He states, hand soothing the spot that was already reddening in the shape of his hand.
“Mr. Hiromi.” You sigh softly.
“Leg up, keep your arms pushed out and head between them.” He started, tapping your left leg.
Your leg slowly lifted, too slowly apparently. Hiromi pushes it forward, not rough, but enough to get it on the table for a proper view of you.
Your arms pushed out straight in front of you, pushing your own head down between them, looking towards the desk.
Without warning, you watched the small space of your skirt and Hiromi behind you.
Slowly, he unbuckles his pants, belt clinging.
You bite your bottom lip, brows furrowing softly as you watch his large hand grab his cock from his black boxer briefs, pulling his large, hard member out.
Tip leaky with precum, red as a tomato.
Eyes intently watched as he began to pump his cock, slow, teasingly.
Hiromi watched your desperate cunt gawk at him, glistening slick giving him puppy eyes.
The occasional pulsate as you watched, your poor lower body screeching for any kind of stimulation.
It wouldn’t take too much longer before Hiromi’s breath hitches, a groan leaving his lips as warmth begins to splatter itself all over your ass, a huff coming from him as he pumps the last few right into the entrance of your cunt.
Taking a deep breath, Hiromi steps back, sitting in his chair as he watches his cum drip from your ass and hole.
Getting him hard all over again, he lets out a slightly frustrated sigh.
“Give me your pantyhoes and panties. Skirt back up.”
—-------------------
You’d stay home on your second day off.
Only by Hiromi’s recirculating command that refused to leave your head.
‘Do not come to this office tomorrow. You will sleep in, then call me for further intrusction.’
You got yourself together, following a simple routine.
Go to the bathroom, brush your hair and put it up, wash your face, brush your teeth.
Breakfast was only a matter if it was that kind of morning.
Phone hovering over your phone, the faint ringing caught itself in a pattern for a few moments, clicking with a pause before that deep voice rang through.
“Higaruma Law Firm. Mr. Higaruma speaking.”
You bite your bottom lip, eyes closing softly.
“Sir.”
A brief pause.
“Hi, sweet girl.” You could hear him take a deep breath. “How’d you sleep?”
“Good.” You’d answer too quickly. “How’d you sleep?” You ask, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth a bit.
Such a simple, mundane question considering the situation itself.
He lets out a small chuckle.
“Don’t worry about me darling.” You hear a pen drop on the heavy desk. “What are you eating for breakfast.”
You hated that he glazed the question.
“I won’t tell you unless you tell me how you slept.” You challenged softly, a creeping smile on your lips.
“Oh yeah?” He muttered. “Why’s that?”
“Because, it’s only fair, yeah?”
Higaruma could wrap his hand around that pretty little throat right through the phone, right there.
He closed his eyes, pressing the phone closer to his mouth.
“Would’ve been better with you warming my cock throughout the night. Is that what you wanted to know, pretty?”
Slowly, your took a second to bring the phone down, a hand slamming over your mouth to silently scream into it as fireworks set off in your entire body.
You take a deep breath.
“Yes, Sir.”
No response is heard for a few minutes.
Yes, minutes.
A small groan is now heard on his end, shifting around.
“Breakfast.” He hinted.
“I wasn’t planning on having any, this morning. Not that hungry.” You say softly.
Hiromi opened his eyes, brows furrowing as his free hand that was pumping his cock now slowed at your words.
“Did I confirm this?” He asked.
You thought for a moment.
“No, Sir. You didn’t.” You lay on your bed, facing the ceiling, your own free hand reaching down.
“Two eggs, a glass of milk, a piece of toast. Understood?”
“Mhm…” You’d let out, composing yourself as he talked, your hand working to the best of its ability.
Hiromi could tell in your tone. A small huff leaves him, suddenly holding his breath as he holds a struggling moan, cumming all over his hand and desk, ruining the documents in front of him.
No shame.
He bites his lip for a moment.
“Rest for 15 minutes after you eat, then take a 20 minute walk. Alone.” He’d mutter, hanging up the phone.
—-----------------------
(Lmk if yall want more, I just be writing for fun tbh)
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Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
