Mango

PROTOCOL

I. Inoculation

II. Lytic Phase

III. Stable Titer

Inoculation phase completed 5/22/26

[ ██████▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ ] 30%

tags: F/M/M, Explicit content, JJK, nanami x reader, higuruma x reader, nanami x reader x higuruma, higuruma x nanami, she wants them both, they lowkey want eachother. very loosely inspired by challengers. love triangles. but a TRUE love triangle. oral sex, men kissing, vaginal sex, multiple positions, multiple partners, angst if you squint, two bad bitches at the same damn time, this is so nasty and messy, dubious science. smut.

© 2026 notiddygothgf

inspired by challengers and my own time in a lab lol

(I obviously don't own jjk. dpwm. cover art by youka.i)

Fave One Shots of 2026 (so far):

♡ Vemonized (Venom!Toji x F!Reader) by @screampied ♡ Love Island (Toji x F!Reader) by @tonycries ♡ Nothing Is Lost (Na'Vi!Gojo x Scientist!Reader) by @tonycries ♡ Let's Get Wet (SatoSugu x MILF!Reader) by @reignpage ♡ Building Services (Toji x F!Reader x Gojo) by @6x-x9 ♡ Stateside (JJK Men x Reader) by @tonycries ♡ His Prettiest Peach (Bowser!Sukuna x Princess Peach!Reader) by @indiewritesxoxo ♡ Geto Knows Best! (Knight!Geto x Rapunzel!Reader) by @indiewritesxoxo ♡

♡ Holographic Heartthrob (Porn Star/Hologram!Gojo x Reader) by @mimimochis ♡ Let me fuck those insecurities away angel. (Husband!Eren x Pregnant!Black!Wife Reader) by @laylathegoddesss ♡ Enjin, Henessy & U (Enjin x Reader) by @suki-miu

♡ ♡nanami is obsessed falls in love with his cute neighbor!₊˚⊹ (Nanami x Neighbor!Reader) by @sacratiti ♡ inadmissible (Detective!Sukuna x Reader x Higurama) by @yorikae ♡ Scorched Earth (Homelander!Gojo x Reader) by @nanamiskentos ♡ the weird little lady in the woods (Lumberjack!Toji x Lumberjack!Sukuna x Witch!Reader) by @liahcharms ♡

You don’t come to church to be forgiven.

The church always smells faintly of wax and something older—polished wood, perhaps, or time itself. It clings to the air in a way that makes everything feel heavier than it should, like even your footsteps have to move with intention. You don’t mind it. If anything, you like the way it slows you down, forces a kind of attention to your body. The kind that causes people to speak in hushed tones once you pass through those doors.

They never speak quietly.

Not really.

But they pretend to.

Your heels click softly against the tiled floor despite your effort, a measured sound that echoes farther than you intend. There’s no one else here—at least not in the pews. It’s late enough that the sunlight has thinned into something muted, slipping through the stained glass in long, diluted streaks of color that brush across your skin. Reds. Golds. Something almost wine-dark that settles along the curve of your collarbone, just above the dip of your neckline.

You knew what you were doing when you chose this dress.

Modest enough to belong. Structured, high sleeves, the hem falling well below your knees. Respectable. But the fabric clings where it shouldn’t, tracing the line of your waist, your hips, the soft pull of your thighs when you walk. And the neckline—subtle, just low enough to suggest rather than reveal—rests like a quiet provocation at the center of your chest. The color is deep, somewhere between burgundy and rust, rich against your skin.

You pass a row of pews, fingers brushing lightly along the wood, and for a moment, you consider sitting.

You don’t.

You didn’t come here to sit.

The confessional stands off to the side, half-shadowed, its presence understated but unmistakable. You pause just short of it, tilting your head slightly as if listening for something. There’s no movement. No sound. But you know he’s there.

He always is at this hour.

It had taken you two visits to confirm it. Three to make it a habit.

By the fourth, you stopped pretending it was coincidence.

You step inside.

The door closes behind you with a soft, final click, sealing you into the dim, narrow space. The air is cooler here, tinged with something sharper—incense, maybe, or the faintest trace of smoke. You notice it immediately, though you say nothing about it. Not yet.

There’s a shift on the other side of the partition. Subtle. Controlled.

He knows it’s you.

Of course he does.

You settle onto the bench, smoothing your dress over your thighs more out of instinct than necessity, and let the silence stretch just long enough to feel intentional.

Then—

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”

Your voice is soft, but not small. It carries, threading easily through the carved screen between you, deliberate in its clarity.

There’s a pause.

Not uncertainty. Not hesitation.

Recognition.

“How long has it been since your last confession?”

His voice is exactly as you remember—low, even, composed in a way that feels less like calm and more like discipline. Every word is measured, shaped carefully before it leaves him. It should feel distant.

It doesn’t.

“Not long,” you reply, tilting your head slightly though he can’t see it. “A few days.”

A beat.

“Then you are either very devout,” he says, “or very consistent in your sin.”

There’s something dry beneath it. Almost imperceptible.

It makes your lips curve.

“Can’t I be both?”

Silence again—but this time it shifts, something tightening subtly in the space between you.

“You’re here to confess,” he reminds you, tone unchanged. “Not to debate.”

You hum softly, as if considering the distinction.

“Right.”

Your fingers trace absent patterns along your knee, slow, idle movements that ground you in your body in a way that feels… deliberate. Everything about this feels deliberate.

“I’ve been seeing someone,” you begin.

There’s no immediate response, but you can feel his attention sharpen. It’s not something you hear—it’s something you sense, like the air itself has adjusted to hold more of him.

“And?” he prompts after a moment.

“And I don’t think I feel bad about it.”

A quiet exhale slips through the partition. Not quite a sigh. Not quite restraint.

“That, in itself, is not a sin,” he says. “What you do within that relationship might be.”

You smile, though he can’t see it.

“Oh,” you murmur. “Then I suppose I should be more specific.”

This time, the pause is shorter.

“Go on.”

You shift slightly on the bench, the fabric of your dress pulling just enough to remind you of how it fits—how it moves with you. The thought lingers as you speak.

“I let him touch me,” you say, voice even, unhurried. “More than once.”

The words settle between you, heavier than they should be.

“And did you resist?”

The question comes quickly. Too quickly to be careless.

You let a soft, almost amused breath leave you.

“No.”

A longer silence follows that.

You imagine him on the other side—back straight, expression controlled, hands still except for the smallest tension in his fingers. You imagine the way his jaw might tighten, the way he might look at nothing in particular just to keep himself anchored.

You’ve never seen him outside of this.

But you’ve thought about it.

“Do you intend to continue?” he asks finally.

There it is again—that precision. That effort to keep this contained within the bounds it’s supposed to exist in.

You lean slightly closer to the partition, lowering your voice just enough to soften it without losing clarity.

“Yes.”

It lands differently this time.

You know it does.

“Then you are not seeking absolution,” he says, and now there’s something beneath the words—faint, but present. “You are describing indulgence.”

“Maybe,” you allow.

Your fingers still.

“But I thought I should be honest.”

“Honesty requires remorse.”

“Does it?”

The question is gentle. Curious.

Dangerous.

Silence answers you again, but it’s not empty. It feels… full. Like something pressing just beneath the surface, contained only by effort.

You tilt your head slightly, gaze settling on the carved pattern of the screen.

“Do you always know when it’s me?” you ask, changing direction so smoothly it almost feels accidental.

That gets him.

The shift is immediate—not in sound, but in presence. In the way the air tightens, sharpens.

“This is not—”

“Because I think you do,” you continue softly, as if he hadn’t spoken. “Your voice changes. Just a little.”

It’s subtle. What you’re doing.

But not innocent.

Another pause.

Then—

“You shouldn’t come here without intention,” he says, quieter now. Not softer. Just… closer to something unguarded. “Confession is not a place for games.”

You smile again, slower this time.

“And what makes you think I’m playing?”

For the first time since you sat down, the silence stretches too long.

Not controlled.

Not deliberate.

Strained.

When he speaks again, his voice is lower. Not by much—but enough.

“If you have nothing further to confess,” he says, “then I will assign your penance.”

There’s distance in it now. Distance he’s trying to reestablish.

You let him have it.

For now.

“Alright,” you murmur, leaning back slightly, crossing one leg over the other. “Go ahead.”

There’s a faint shift—fabric, maybe. The smallest movement.

“Three prayers,” he says. “And a period of reflection. Consider whether you intend to continue in behavior you acknowledge as sinful.”

Your lips part slightly, but you don’t answer immediately. You let the words settle, turning them over in your mind like something worth examining.

Then—

“And if I do?”

You don’t mean to ask it.

Or maybe you do.

The response is immediate this time.

“Then you understand the consequences.”

The way he says it—

Not harsh.

Not condemning.

Certain.

It sends something slow and quiet down your spine.

You stand, smoothing your dress again, though there’s nothing to fix. For a moment, you consider saying something else. Pushing just a little further.

You don’t.

Not yet.

“Thank you, Father,” you say instead, voice composed, almost polite.

There’s no reply.

You step out of the confessional, the door closing behind you with that same soft finality. The church feels different now—quieter, but not in the same way as before. The air seems thicker, charged with something you can’t quite name but don’t need to.

As you walk toward the exit, your hand drifts briefly to your back, fingers brushing along the line of your spine where ink rests beneath fabric—deep red, curling, intricate. Hidden.

Contained.

For now.

Behind you, unseen, he doesn’t move for a long time.

──────────────

You don’t leave immediately.

Your hand finds the door, fingers curling around the handle with enough intention to make it feel real, like a decision already made. The evening air waits on the other side, dim and cool through the glass, promising distance from whatever it is that followed you out of the confessional—something quieter than tension, but heavier than curiosity.

You should go.

You don’t.

Because something feels unfinished.

It isn’t a sound that stops you, or movement—just a quiet, persistent awareness that settles low in your chest, the same way his presence had behind the partition. You linger a moment longer than necessary, your reflection faint in the glass, before your gaze drifts—pulled, not directed—toward the far end of the hall.

The side door is slightly open.

You don’t remember noticing it before.

Now you can’t ignore it.

The handle slips from your grasp without ceremony, your steps already shifting in that direction before you’ve fully decided to follow through. Your heels fall softer this time, more deliberate against the floor, your body moving with a kind of quiet certainty that feels less like hesitation and more like choice.

Cool air slips through the narrow opening as you push the door wider.

And with it—

Smoke.

You step outside.

The evening settles around you in muted blue, the sky caught between day and night, everything dimmed just enough to feel private. The air is cooler than inside, brushing against your skin, making you aware of the warmth you carried out with you.

He’s there.

Of course he is.

Leaning just to the side of the doorway, positioned carefully enough to remain unseen from inside, but not hidden. One shoulder rests against the brick wall, posture relaxed in a way that doesn’t quite align with the controlled stillness he carries everywhere else. A cigarette burns slowly between his fingers, the ember glowing faintly each time he inhales.

For a moment, you just look at him.

This is the first time you’ve seen him without distance softening him—no carved wood, no filtered voice, no barrier to turn him into something less tangible. The reality is… sharper. More precise. His collar is slightly undone, not careless, but not exact either. His sleeves are rolled once, exposing his forearms in a way that feels unintentional until you realize nothing about him is.

The cigarette doesn’t ruin the image.

It complicates it.

He doesn’t acknowledge you right away, though he must have heard the door. The quiet stretches just long enough to feel deliberate before his gaze shifts, settling on you without surprise.

“You’re still here.”

It’s not a question.

You take a few steps closer, slow, unhurried, your eyes moving over him in a way that mirrors what he’d done earlier—taking your time, not hiding it.

“So are you,” you reply, just as evenly.

Something in his expression tightens, almost imperceptibly. He lifts the cigarette, inhales, then exhales in a controlled stream that dissipates between you.

“This isn’t part of confession,” he says.

“No,” you agree, closing the distance by another step. “It’s not.”

You don’t stop there.

That’s the difference.

Your gaze drops briefly to his hand, to the cigarette, then lifts again, more direct now.

“I didn’t think you’d be the type,” you add, voice softer, but not gentler. “It doesn’t really fit.”

A pause.

Not long.

But noticeable.

“What doesn’t?” he asks.

You gesture faintly toward him, the movement small, but intentional.

“This.”

It’s vague on purpose.

His eyes narrow slightly—not irritation, not quite—but something more focused, more deliberate.

“You’re going to have to be more specific.”

You hold his gaze, letting the silence stretch just enough to feel like pressure.

“You hear people confess things like that all day,” you say. “Lack of restraint. Indulgence. Bad habits.” Your eyes flick briefly to the cigarette again. “And then you walk out here and do the same thing.”

There it is.

Not playful.

Not entirely.

Something closer to accusation, wrapped in curiosity.

For the first time, his jaw tightens in a way that doesn’t quite smooth over immediately.

“It’s not the same,” he says.

“Sure.”

You step closer again—close enough now that the scent of smoke reaches you fully, curling into something sharper, something that doesn’t suit him nearly as well as it should.

“I just don’t think you believe it.”

That lands.

You see it.

Not in a dramatic reaction, but in the way he stills—completely, the kind of stillness that means something has hit closer than intended.

His gaze holds yours, sharper now.

“You’re making assumptions,” he says, quieter this time.

“Then correct me.”

You don’t give him room to redirect.

You don’t soften it.

The words sit between you, steady, expectant.

Another pause.

Longer this time.

“You’re not here for correction,” he says finally. “You’re here to provoke a response.”

It’s not a guess.

It’s a conclusion.

Your lips curve slightly—not wide, not obvious, but enough.

“And is it working?”

There’s a flicker of something in his expression then—brief, restrained, but real.

“Yes.”

The honesty is immediate.

Unfiltered.

It shouldn’t be.

That’s what makes it linger.

You take that in slowly, your attention sharpening in response, your posture shifting just enough to signal that you’re not done.

“Good,” you murmur, almost thoughtful.

Your gaze drops again, not to his face this time, but lower—taking in the loosened collar, the line of his throat, the way the fabric sits just slightly out of place.

“You don’t seem like someone who slips,” you continue, quieter now. “So I was wondering what this is.”

Your eyes lift back to his.

“A habit,” you add softly, “or a weakness.”

That does it.

Not visibly.

But something changes.

He exhales slowly, the last of the cigarette burning low between his fingers. When he drops it to the ground and crushes it beneath his shoe, the motion is more deliberate than it needs to be—controlled, but edged with something tighter than before.

“You should go home,” he says.

It sounds the same.

But it isn’t.

There’s strain under it now.

You don’t move.

Instead, you tilt your head slightly, studying him in a way that feels less like curiosity and more like assessment.

“That’s not an answer.”

“It wasn’t meant to be.”

“Then what was it?”

A beat.

“A boundary.”

You hold his gaze for a moment longer, then let out a soft breath, something between a hum and a quiet acknowledgment.

“You’re not very good at those,” you say.

It’s not cruel.

It’s worse.

It’s accurate.

This time, the reaction is subtle but undeniable—the smallest shift in his posture, the faint tightening at the corner of his mouth before it smooths out again.

“Three prayers,” he says, redirecting cleanly, though it comes a fraction too late. “You were given a penance.”

“And you’re breaking yours.”

The words slip out easily.

Too easily.

Another pause.

“You don’t know what my penance is,” he replies.

You step just a little closer.

“I think I’m looking at it.”

That sits between you, heavier than anything you’ve said so far.

For a moment, neither of you moves.

Then—

“Will you be here tomorrow?” you ask.

No teasing.

No softness.

Just intention.

He holds your gaze, something quieter settling behind it now—not gone, not resolved, just… contained again with more effort than before.

“Yes.”

You nod once.

That’s all you need.

This time, when you turn, you follow through. Your steps are unhurried as you move back toward the door, your hand finding the handle with more certainty than before.

You pause just before stepping inside, glancing back over your shoulder.

He hasn’t moved.

Of course he hasn’t.

“Goodnight, Father.”

There’s a brief delay.

Then—

“Goodnight.”

Lower.

Tighter.

You don’t smile.

You don’t need to.

The door closes behind you.

And this time, you know exactly what you’ve done.

──────────────

You don’t announce yourself when you enter.

You never really have to anymore.

The church feels the same as before, but your awareness of it has changed in a way you don’t fully examine. The air is still cold, the wood still polished, the silence still structured—but now it doesn’t feel empty. It feels occupied, even when no one is visible, as if the space itself has started remembering patterns.

You move through it without hesitation and settle into the confessional with a familiarity that doesn’t feel earned so much as repeated. The door closes behind you with the same soft finality, and for a moment you sit without speaking, letting the quiet arrange itself properly before you disrupt it.

On the other side, there’s a shift.

Not surprise.

Just awareness sharpening into place.

“You’re early,” he says after a moment, voice even, controlled in the way it always is when he’s trying to make something feel procedural.

It isn’t a question.

You adjust slightly on the bench, smoothing your dress out of habit. The fabric catches at your thigh the way it always does—too intentional for a place like this, though you’ve stopped thinking about whether that matters. You notice instead how the light behaves in here; how it doesn’t reach all the way into the corners, how sound feels absorbed rather than reflected.

“I wasn’t keeping track,” you answer finally, not quite deflecting, not quite engaging.

There’s a pause on his side—brief, measured. You hear paper shift faintly, or maybe it’s just the smallest movement of him settling back into attention.

“You usually do,” he says.

It’s not pointed. Just observational.

Still, it lingers a little longer than it should.

You tilt your head slightly, though he can’t see it, your gaze drifting toward the carved wood between you as if you could read him through it the way you’ve started to read the rhythm of his voice.

“I usually have a reason,” you reply, and leave it there.

Silence follows, but it doesn’t feel empty. It feels like he’s waiting for you to expand, and you don’t.

Not immediately.

Instead, you let your attention drift back inward, retracing fragments of earlier moments without fully naming them. The way he had looked at you when you stepped outside last time. The way his voice had changed only slightly when the space wasn’t formal enough to demand perfection. The way he never fully interrupts you, even when he should.

“You didn’t do the prayers,” he says eventually.

This time, there’s less distance in it. Less structure.

It isn’t accusation. It’s awareness.

You hum softly under your breath, not quite agreement, not quite dismissal.

“I thought about them,” you say after a moment.

A pause.

“That wasn’t the instruction.”

“No,” you agree, “it wasn’t.”

The conversation should end there, or redirect. That’s what it would have done before. Instead, it doesn’t move. It holds, like neither of you is in a hurry to restore the shape of what this is supposed to be.

You shift slightly, crossing one leg over the other, the movement slow enough to be incidental. The fabric of your dress pulls at your thigh again, a quiet reminder of how carefully chosen nothing about you is, even when you pretend otherwise.

On the other side, you hear him breathe once—controlled, faint. Not audible enough to be called a reaction, but enough to mark presence.

“You’re distracted,” he says.

Not judgment.

Not concern.

Just recognition.

You let the word settle before answering.

“I noticed something earlier,” you say instead.

That earns a pause. Shorter this time.

“What kind of something?” he asks.

It isn’t curiosity the way most people would ask it.

It’s contained attention.

You take your time before answering, gaze drifting downward briefly as if you’re recalling something incidental rather than important. The detail itself is small—almost not worth mentioning if it didn’t keep returning to you uninvited.

“The way you look at the room before you speak,” you say finally.

Another pause.

This one lasts longer.

When he responds, his voice is quieter than before.

“That’s not unusual.”

“I didn’t say it was.”

The correction is immediate, but not sharp.

There’s a shift on his side—subtle, restrained. Something adjusting in posture or thought, though you only have sound to measure it by.

You continue before the silence can settle too firmly.

“It changes,” you add. “Depending on who’s in it.”

That does something.

Not dramatic.

But real enough that the air feels slightly more focused afterward.

“You’re imagining patterns,” he says after a moment, but it lacks its earlier certainty.

You lean back slightly against the wood behind you, letting yourself sit into the space instead of pressing into it. Your voice stays even, unhurried.

“Maybe,” you allow. “Or maybe I’m noticing them.”

A pause.

This one holds longer.

When he speaks again, it’s slower.

“This is still a confession,” he says, but it doesn’t carry the same insistence it used to.

You don’t answer immediately.

Instead, your gaze drifts again toward the carved partition, the faint outline of it separating you from him in a way that feels less absolute than it did the first time you sat here.

“I know,” you say finally.

Not agreement.

Not correction.

Just acknowledgment.

That alone seems to shift something again, though neither of you name it.

On the other side, there’s a faint sound—paper shifting, or his hand adjusting something he doesn’t need to adjust. When he speaks again, it’s measured, but not entirely smooth.

“You still haven’t said what you came to confess.”

It’s a return to structure.

A way of reclaiming form.

You consider that for a moment, not rushing to fill it.

“I didn’t come with one,” you say eventually.

The silence that follows is immediate.

Not heavy.

But alert.

You continue before he can redirect it.

“I thought I did,” you add, softer now. “But I think I just wanted to sit somewhere and listen.”

There’s a pause.

Then—

“To what?” he asks.

This time, the question feels less procedural than it should.

You glance down at your hands briefly, as if grounding yourself in something physical before answering.

“You,” you say.

A beat.

“Are you satisfied?” he asks.

The question is quiet.

Controlled.

But it doesn’t sit like authority anymore.

It sits like curiosity that’s trying not to become personal.

You don’t answer immediately.

Instead, you lean forward slightly, resting your forearms loosely against your thighs, posture relaxed in a way that makes the space feel closer than it is.

“No,” you say.

Silence follows that.

This time, neither of you rush to fill it.

Not immediately.

When he speaks again, his voice is lower.

“You still haven’t done the penance.”

It sounds less like instruction now.

More like something he’s holding onto.

You let a small breath leave you—not a sigh, not a response.

Just acknowledgment that lingers.

“I’ll do it,” you say finally.

A pause.

Then, after a moment—

“Eventually.”

That earns the quietest shift yet.

Not in sound.

In presence.

And for the first time since this began, he doesn’t correct you.

When you leave, the door closes the same way it always does.

But nothing about the space feels fully returned to what it was before you entered.

And on the other side, he stays still longer than necessary.

As if waiting for something that didn’t arrive in the expected form.

Or already did.

──────────────

The church feels unchanged when you arrive, but you don’t trust that impression anymore.

The light still pours through the stained glass in fractured bands across the stone floor, and the heavy air of the church settles in around you like a thick blanket. But now you notice it all differently. The stillness isn’t just a passive absence—it feels held in place. The weight of it has become intentional, as if someone, or something, is keeping the space suspended for the moment you step inside.

And as you walk toward the confessional, you realize that this too is no longer just a ritual for you. It's not just about expectation or sin or guilt—it’s become an event in itself. One you’ve entered fully, willingly, each time, and yet now, you wonder if the space you’ve always known still holds the same meaning.

You open the door to the confessional. The hinges creak slightly as you close it behind you, but this sound isn’t final. It’s only marking the transition between what was and what might be.

The silence doesn’t feel as oppressive today—it feels like a choice. Something deliberate.

Your fingers linger on the fabric of your dress, smoothing it down gently before resting in your lap. You don’t rush this motion anymore. You take your time, aware of every inch of fabric against your skin, the weight of your body settling into the seat.

On the other side, there’s no immediate movement. No sound.

That, too, is different now.

Then, his voice.

“You’re consistent.”

It feels like it’s been waiting there, just behind the silence, and now it moves through the space between you, shifting the air in its wake. It’s still measured, controlled, but it feels almost too aware of the space it occupies now.

You don’t respond right away. You don’t feel the need to.

You hum softly in acknowledgment instead, letting the faint sound fill the air, not as an answer but as a space for everything else to breathe.

“I usually am,” you reply, your tone calm, even.

Another pause follows. Shorter than it used to be.

And yet, it feels… more noticeable.

Normally, he would’ve continued, led the conversation, guided it back to its structure. But he doesn’t. Not this time.

Instead, you hear the softest rustle of paper, barely audible, as if he’s thinking better of something, or perhaps giving the moment more space than either of you expected.

“You don’t come with anything to confess anymore,” he says.

It’s not a judgment. It’s just an observation, delivered with the same careful restraint as his previous words. But beneath it, there’s a weight. A tone that suggests more than he’s saying.

You shift slightly, crossing your legs over each other in the seat, the motion slow enough to feel almost incidental, but the way your dress hugs your body as you do it seems louder than the movement itself. You don’t rush your answer. Not this time.

“I suppose I don’t,” you say after a beat, your voice low, calm, but there’s something in it—a small trace of uncertainty.

You expect him to redirect it, to return to the formula of confession.

But he doesn’t. Not right away.

His voice comes again, quieter this time. Almost too quiet, as if he’s weighing his next words.

“That’s not how this is supposed to work.”

It isn’t a statement of instruction—it feels more like a quiet realization. Something slipping away from the expected, out of his control.

You raise an eyebrow slightly, though he can’t see it. Instead, you lean back slightly in your seat, your posture relaxing just a little, like you’re no longer fighting against the space between you.

“It still works,” you say, a subtle challenge in your tone. “Just differently.”

Another pause.

And you realize that he’s not simply processing what you’re saying—he’s feeling it. As though every word you speak forces him to rethink the role he’s been playing here.

“I should be assigning penance,” he says eventually, his voice sounding like he’s reminding himself more than you.

You don’t respond immediately.

When you do, your voice softens, quieter than before. It isn’t the playful edge you sometimes take on—it’s almost resigned, but there’s something in the stillness that feels more honest than anything you’ve said before.

“Are you going to?”

You feel him draw in a breath. It’s faint, but it’s there, like he’s trying to pull himself back into his own rhythm.

A pause. Longer this time.

“Yes,” he says, but even that word seems to have lost some of its certainty.

You let out a soft breath, not quite a sigh, but an acknowledgment that something is happening. That the distance between you has grown thinner without either of you meaning to. Your fingers move slowly along the edge of your sleeve, tracing the fabric in a slow, deliberate motion, almost absent-minded.

“You’ve stopped correcting me,” you say after a moment, the words falling lightly into the air.

There’s no defensiveness in it. No challenge. Just recognition.

There’s a small shift on his side. A subtle intake of breath, perhaps. Or maybe it’s just his voice—lower this time, almost hesitant.

“I haven’t,” he says, but there’s a slight delay in his response that gives him away.

You let that hang in the air, your gaze flickering towards the partition, but not directly at it. There’s something about it now that feels less like a physical barrier and more like something that holds both of you back at once.

“You think too much when I speak,” you say after a moment, the words lighter than they would’ve been before.

He doesn’t respond immediately, but when he does, it’s like something in him has shifted, too. There’s no defense this time, just a soft, quiet admission.

“That’s not unusual,” he replies, but it lacks its usual certainty.

“It is with me,” you say.

The silence that follows is palpable.

And when he speaks again, it’s slower. Almost as if he’s considering his words carefully for the first time.

“Why?”

The question is simple. Too simple. But it’s not the structure of confession. It’s personal.

You pause, weighing his words, but instead of an immediate answer, you let the space stretch between you.

“Because you don’t condemn me when I expect you to,” you say softly. “And you notice things you shouldn’t.”

A beat passes. A pause that feels too long.

When he speaks again, his voice is quieter, like he’s finally finding the weight of what’s been happening between you.

“That isn’t what I meant for this to be.”

It’s not a correction.

It’s clarification.

You still for a moment.

It feels like there’s an answer waiting, but you let it hang.

And when you do speak again, it’s not about any of the things you expected to say.

“I don’t know,” you say softly. It’s the first time you’ve admitted confusion in this space, and it feels like it settles in you, heavy and real.

On the other side, there’s silence again.

You feel it more than hear it, the space between you suddenly holding everything you’ve said without rushing to dismiss it.

Then his voice, lower.

“Do I distract you?”

The question isn’t expected. It’s not confession. It’s not instruction. It’s not anything he’s supposed to say here.

It’s personal. Too personal.

You don’t answer immediately, your fingers absently brushing against the fabric of your dress. The silence wraps itself around you, thick with the weight of the question.

“Yes,” you say, softly.

The word is simple.

And yet, the air shifts, settling into a quiet place that neither of you has prepared for.

When he speaks again, his voice is slower, more controlled, like he’s holding something back now.

“You should leave after this.”

You don’t argue. You don’t correct him.

“I know,” you say.

And for the first time, you realize you don’t mean it in just one way.

The church is quieter now. The usual hum of voices fades as the congregation continues their movements, almost instinctual. You walk forward with purpose, but there is no hurry. You feel the weight of the moment pressing into your chest, and with each step, your heart beats just a little harder, a little faster. The people around you are fading into the background, their ritual mechanical, their gestures repetitive. This, however—this is different.

As you near the altar, you can feel the priest’s presence before you even see him clearly. He is waiting, as always, but there is something about him today that feels unsettled. His posture is too controlled, too still, like he’s been holding back from something. And you realize that you’re not just walking toward him anymore—you’re walking into something.

When you stand before him, the air thickens. The altar, usually a neutral ground for these rituals, now feels like a boundary, a line neither of you is willing to cross yet—at least not openly. His gaze catches yours, steady but searching. He doesn’t speak immediately, but you know he’s waiting.

He raises the Eucharist, the host delicate between his fingers, but instead of extending it toward you as the others have done, you remain still. You don’t extend your hands.

Instead, you meet his gaze unflinchingly, your lips parted just slightly. You don’t need to say anything for him to understand what you mean.

The silence between you stretches, taut and fragile. He doesn’t move immediately, his hand hovering over you, the bread barely above your lips. His breath catches, just for a moment, and you see the faintest hesitation. You don’t break the moment. You just wait.

Finally, he breathes in deeply, his voice softer than it’s ever been, but clear:

“The body of Christ.”

The words are expected, but the tone behind them feels different. Not just a statement of doctrine, but an invitation—one he’s not sure he’s ready to make. It’s still a ritual, still a response to the sacred, but the air between you is no longer just spiritual.

Your tongue flicks out slowly, meeting the bread. It’s delicate. Barely a touch, but the weight of the action is undeniable.

The contact is brief. His fingers brush against your lips as you take the Eucharist directly from him, your mouth closing softly around it. You don’t look away. Not once. Your gaze holds his, steady, the tension building like a charge between you. You feel the bread dissolve slowly in your mouth, but there’s something heavier than the taste of it.

The rest of the church continues its movements, but it feels like time has frozen here, between the two of you. The moment stretches longer than it should, the weight of the ritual not lost, but transformed by the act itself. His eyes don’t leave yours as you pull back, swallowing slowly.

There’s no immediate word from him, no correction or further command. He just watches you, and you feel it like a weight in the air.

You don’t say Amen.

And he doesn’t ask you to.

It is the silence that speaks now.

He doesn’t give the final blessing, doesn’t offer any further instruction. For a long moment, he stands there, fingers still outstretched, the Eucharist now gone, the air heavy with everything that passed in that exchange. You remain in place, your posture relaxed but the tension still humming in your chest, not daring to break it yet. His hand hovers for just a moment longer, as if waiting for something, anything, to happen next.

Finally, he lowers his hand, the host now gone, and speaks. His voice is quiet, almost like an afterthought.

“Go in peace.”

Without a word, you turn and walk away, feeling his gaze on your back, lingering as you move further from him.

You don’t look back.

──────────────

The room is as quiet as it usually is. The stone walls feel solid, unmoving, but the air is alive, buzzing with something unspoken between you and him. The service has ended, but there’s still a heavy stillness, a sense of time hanging slower than it should. And it’s you who lingers now, not him.

You didn’t plan on it, but you find yourself standing in the doorway, watching him as he moves through the cluttered desk in the back room. There’s a cigarette between his lips, the ember glowing faintly, casting a warm glow across his face. You’ve seen him in this light before. But today, it feels different. Maybe it’s the way his posture has shifted, or the slight tension in his shoulders as he sorts through papers, a faint trace of weariness beneath his usual dry exterior.

You hesitate for only a moment. Then, without thinking about it too much, you step inside.

The sound of your heels is almost deliberate, echoing against the stone floor as you move closer. There’s no rush in your steps—just the steady, deliberate pace of someone who knows exactly what they’re doing.

He doesn’t look up right away, but you know he senses you. You’re close enough now that the silence between you isn’t empty anymore. The space feels smaller, charged.

Finally, after what feels like a beat too long, he lifts his gaze, meeting yours. The slight surprise in his eyes is enough to make you smile to yourself. He’d probably never admit it, but you know it: you’ve caught him off guard again.

“Back again?” His voice is dry, as if it’s the last thing he expected, but there’s something else in it this time—something less certain than usual.

You nod, taking a step closer, letting the space between you shrink. No hesitation. You’re not here to talk doctrine today.

“You could say I can’t stay away,” you murmur, your tone playfully teasing, like you’re sharing a secret with him no one else could know.

He quirks an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he pulls the cigarette from his lips, giving it a lazy drag, the smoke curling up between you, hanging in the air like a shield.

It’s almost too easy. You’re too close now. The space between you isn’t a gap anymore; it’s just an unspoken invitation. And you don’t take the time to second-guess yourself.

With a soft step forward, you slide into the seat next to him, close enough that the side of your body brushes against his arm. There’s no apology, no acknowledgment. You don’t even look at him as you settle in—your presence felt rather than spoken.

For a moment, he doesn’t react. He just sits there, fingers drumming lightly against the table, watching you in that way he does—measuring, analyzing. He doesn’t move away.

It’s your turn to make the next move. You glance at the cigarette in his hand, the smoke trailing upwards in lazy spirals. Without saying anything, your hand slides toward his, fingers brushing against the pack of cigarettes that rests on the edge of the table. But you don’t reach for the pack.

Instead, you reach for the cigarette between his lips, your fingers barely grazing the corner of his mouth as you take it from him—intentionally slow, making sure to let your fingers brush against his lips just enough to feel the heat of them.

He doesn’t pull back. Not immediately. He watches you—his breath catching for the briefest second, but he doesn’t move.

You don’t look at him as you bring the cigarette to your own lips, still feeling the lingering warmth of where your skin touched his. The intimacy of it. The way the simple act of taking the cigarette felt like a challenge, like an unspoken power play that you both recognized but neither of you would admit.

When you exhale, the smoke dances between you both, swirling and shifting the air in a way that feels strangely intimate, like you’ve just crossed a threshold neither of you can uncross.

He’s still watching you. Not speaking, but observing. There’s no judgment, no condemnation, just curiosity.

You glance at him then, meeting his gaze directly. “You don’t mind, do you?”

The question isn’t really a question. It’s an invitation. A provocation.

He doesn’t answer right away, his fingers resting against the table, the cigarette dangling from the side of your mouth. He exhales a slow breath of smoke, his gaze never leaving yours.

“I didn’t think you were the type,” he says quietly, his voice holding that familiar edge of amusement, though it’s softened by something else—something you can’t quite place.

You smile a little, the corner of your lips lifting just slightly. “You don’t know much about me, do you?”

He doesn’t respond. There’s no need to. You’ve already said enough.

For a moment, the tension hangs thick in the air. Neither of you moves. You both stay in it, caught in that space where the physical closeness is just as heavy as the silence between you.

You lean back slightly, cigarette still between your lips. “You’re always so… restrained,” you comment softly, breaking the silence, though you’re not really asking for an answer. “It’s almost… a little boring.”

He shifts in his seat, his gaze flickering to your lips, the cigarette still perched there, and then to your eyes. For a second, it almost feels like you’ve pulled the rug out from under him—but then again, that was the point, wasn’t it?

The smoke curls lazily between the two of you, a thin veil that seems to thicken the air and pull everything else into sharper focus. He’s still watching you, the flickering light from the nearby candles dancing across his face, revealing the sharp angles of his features, the way his jaw tightens ever so slightly when his eyes linger on your lips.

You keep your gaze locked on his, never breaking the connection. You can feel his attention weighing heavily on you, his thoughts wrapped up in the way you’ve invaded his space, in the way you’re letting him feel this slow, deliberate tension.

There’s a quiet hum of expectation between you two now. And you can feel the exact moment it shifts, when the tension thickens into something almost tangible, as if it’s waiting for you to make the next move.

So, you do.

Without breaking eye contact, you shift. It’s subtle at first, just enough to adjust the angle of your body, the side of your dress pulling slightly with the movement. The shift is deliberate, just enough to make the fabric of your dress hug a little tighter, but it’s the small, intentional movement of your shoulder that catches the light.

For a fraction of a second, the edge of your tattoo is exposed—just a glimpse of reddish-brown ink at the side of your neck. The dragon’s tail starts just beneath the curve of your shoulder, a sinuous line winding gently down your neck, wrapping toward the back where the design grows more intricate and detailed. The tattoos’ scales trace the line of your skin, the red undertones catching the light, the warmth of it almost glowing in the soft candlelight.

It’s barely visible, a flash of ink that disappears as quickly as it appears, but it’s enough—just enough for him to notice. You don’t look at it. You don’t need to. You already know what you’ve done, the intimate vulnerability of letting him see just that sliver of ink, teasing the edges of something more.

You don’t rush. You let the moment sit there, heavy with the awareness of what you’ve just done. The cigarette is still between your fingers, smoke curling around your face, but you keep your gaze locked on his, knowing he’s looking at that spot now—at the exposed ink, the curve of your shoulder, the way your dress now sits just a little differently.

You breathe out a slow stream of smoke, and then, with a playful edge to your voice, you ask:

“Want a better look?”

It’s more of a command than a question, the unspoken challenge hanging between you. It’s the smallest provocation, an invitation without needing any words to back it up.

He doesn’t answer immediately. His eyes, still sharp, are fixed on the spot where the tattoo peeked out. For a moment, it feels like time has slowed just enough for you to feel the weight of the tension settling around you both.

Finally, he exhales, his eyes flicking back to your face, his gaze still intense.

“I didn’t know you had… that,” he says, his voice softer than usual, almost hesitant. The words seem to carry a weight—less surprise, more… curiosity.

You lean back slightly, still holding his gaze. The tension in the air between you both feels palpable, like neither of you is quite ready to move past this moment, not yet.

“Most people don’t,” you say softly, your smile just a little dangerous now. You lean in, close enough that the space between your lips and his is barely an inch, just enough to make the tension feel almost unbearable. “But now you do.”

You take a long drag from the cigarette, the embers glowing as you exhale, watching the smoke curl between you both.

There’s no need to say more. You both know what this is.

The room holds its breath.

There’s a flicker of something in Higuruma’s gaze—something unspoken but undeniable. The tension shifts, deepens. It’s no longer just about the teasing or the power play; there’s an electric charge that hums between you, thickening the air.

Your gaze doesn’t waver from his as you pull the cigarette from your lips, exhaling a steady stream of smoke. The curl of it lingers in the air, wrapping around you both, almost like it’s keeping you connected, even as the silence stretches, filling every inch of the room.

His voice, when it comes, is softer, hesitant but still firm, just enough to show how much this moment means.

“I’d like a better look.”

It’s not a question, not a demand either, just a quiet invitation. An acknowledgment of the shift that’s already begun.

You let the wordless invitation settle between you, watching him as he stands, as though the weight of it settles on him too. He doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t move, but you don’t need to hear more. You’re already well aware of the space you’ve created between you two—the way his self-control has begun to fray just at the edges.

Without breaking eye contact, you get off the desk, the slow, deliberate movement of your body fluid and graceful. You don’t rush. You move as though you’re the one in control of time, as though you know exactly how long the tension will need to stretch before something finally gives.

You stand, facing him, your hands slowly finding their place on the surface of the desk. Your fingers splay out across the wood, gripping just enough to feel grounded. The motion is purposeful, seductive, the fabric of your dress pulling tight across your back as you lean into it, arching your shoulders slightly—intentionally, but not overly obvious. The tattoo, the dragon, shifts with you, just enough to show its edge—just enough for him to see. But you don’t look at it. You don’t need to.

The room is charged with anticipation. There’s no more space for words.

Higuruma moves toward you, a long step, his presence near you more intense now, the tension thick enough to be felt in the way his fingers twitch at his sides. When he stands behind you, the air changes. It’s as though the room has compressed, and now there’s only him and you, nothing in between.

His fingers brush against the fabric of your dress, and it’s only then that you realize how much you’ve let yourself lean into this. Into him. Your breath catches, but you don’t let it show. Not now. Not yet.

Then, in one smooth motion, he reaches for the zipper at the back of your dress. The movement is slow, controlled. There’s something deliberate about it, like he’s giving you one last chance to pull away—one last chance for either of you to stop this.

But neither of you moves. The silence is full of tension, of the knowledge that once this moment passes, there’s no going back.

You bring the cigarette to your lips, the cherry glowing a vibrant, warning orange in the dim light. You take a slow, deep drag, letting the smoke pool in your lungs before releasing it in a thin, lazy stream that drifts toward his face. You can feel his gaze tracking the movement, his eyes dark and dilated, fixed on the path the smoke takes. The zipper reaches the small of your back, and the dress hangs precariously, held only by the tension of your posture and the curve of your hips.

You shift your weight, arching your back just enough to let the fabric slip further, fully exposing the intricate ink of the dragon winding across your shoulder. You turn your head, catching his reflection in the darkened window before meeting his eyes directly. The silence is absolute, save for the crackle of the embers. You hold his stare, your expression a mask of cool, calculated confidence.

"You're a little quiet back there," you murmur, the words low and vibrating with a playful, dangerous edge. You let the cigarette dangle loosely between your fingers, the smoke curling around your jawline. "Find what you were looking for?"

Higuruma’s throat works as he swallows, his jaw tightening until the muscles ripple beneath his skin. He doesn't pull away, though every instinct he possesses as a man of the cloth screams for him to retreat. Instead, he leans in, his lips hovering mere inches from the shell of your ear. "I find," he says, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that barely masks the strain in his tone, "that you have a very talented way of making things... difficult."

You smirk at Higuruma's words, a wicked glint in your eye as you take another long drag from the cigarette. The embers flare brightly as you inhale deeply, your cheeks hollowing slightly. You can feel the tension radiating off Higuruma's body, his muscles coiled tight like a predator ready to pounce. Or perhaps, you think with a inward smirk, like a man teetering on the edge of temptation.

Turning your head, you catch his gaze, holding it captive with your own. Your hand comes up to the back of his neck, fingers curling around the nape, feeling the short, crisp hairs tickle your palm. Higuruma's breath hitches almost imperceptibly, but you don't miss the slight flare of his nostrils or the way his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows hard.

"Tense, are we?" you murmur, your lips curling into a teasing grin. "Here, let me help with that."

You don't pass him the cigarette. Instead, you lean in closer, your nose brushing against his jaw, your lips a hair's breadth from his. You feel the warmth of his breath mingling with your own, the scent of smoke and something darker, headier, that is uniquely him. Your fingers tighten in his hair, nails digging into his scalp as you tilt your head, your mouth falling open.

Exhaling slowly, you shotgun the smoke directly into Higuruma's open mouth, watching with hooded eyes as the wisps of gray curl past his lips and disappear between them. The action is intimate, a violation of his personal space, but not quite a kiss. Your mouths don't touch, but the implication hangs heavy in the air between you, a promise of something more.

"Feel better?" you ask, your voice a low, sultry purr. Your thumb strokes along the back of Higuruma's neck, a deliberate, almost absent-minded gesture that belies the intent behind it. "Or are things still... difficult?" The last word is spoken with a teasing lilt, a challenge thrown down between you like a gauntlet. The air between you shimmers with tension, the unspoken words hanging heavily as you await his response.

Higuruma's grip on your hips tightens, his fingers sinking into the flesh of your ass as he pushes you forward. The cool wood of the desk meets your elbows, your breasts pressing against the smooth surface as your back arches, pushing your rear up and back to meet his straining arousal. His hand slides up your spine, his palm pressing against the exposed skin, leaving a trail of tingling heat in its wake. Your breath hitches, anticipation coiling tight in your belly as his other hand grips the back of your neck, tilting your head to the side.

"Is this what you wanted?" Higuruma rasps, his voice a low, hypnotic rumble. "To have me lose control, to give in to this... this hunger you've been stoking for so long?" His lips brush against your neck, his teeth grazing your pulse point before soothing the sting with a swipe of his tongue. You feel the heat of his breath, the weight of his body pressing down on you, pinning you in place.

His mouth blazes a trail down your throat, his lips hot and demanding against your skin. He sucks at your collarbone, his tongue delving into the hollow, the scrape of his teeth sending jolts of pleasure-pain straight to your core. All the while, he keeps you bent over the desk, your body held taut and arched, your ass pressed back against the rigid line of his erection.

"You've been teasing me for weeks now," Higuruma growls, punctuating his words with a sharp squeeze to your rear. "Flirting and provoking, always pushing me to the brink." His hand slides down to your thigh, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. "And now, now you're going to take what you've been begging for."

He hikes your leg up, your knee bending to accommodate his hips as he grinds himself against you. The desk creaks beneath you, the sound mingling with the harsh rasp of your breathing and the low, guttural curses falling from Higuruma's lips. He's lost in a haze of lust, his control shattered by the sheer force of his desire for you. And you know, with a wicked little thrill, that you've only just begun to unravel the tightly wound priest, to expose the man of flesh and blood beneath the robes and collar.

Higuruma's grip on your thigh tightens, his fingers digging into your skin hard enough to leave marks. For a moment, he grinds against you with wild abandon, lost in the haze of his own desire. But then, as suddenly as it began, he stills. His body goes rigid, his breath coming in harsh, ragged gasps against your neck.

"Stop," Higuruma commands, his voice strained. It's not a request, but a desperate plea torn from the depths of his soul. He releases your thigh, his hands coming up to grip your shoulders as he pulls you upright, turning you to face him.

His eyes are wild, the gray irises nearly swallowed by the black of his dilated pupils. A muscle ticks in his jaw, a telltale sign of the internal struggle raging within him. He's a man teetering on the edge of a precipice, desperately trying to cling to the remnants of his crumbling control.

"On your knees," Higuruma orders, his voice low and rough with barely restrained desire. "It's time you repented for your sins."

You hold his gaze, unflinching, a slow, sultry smile curving your lips despite the command. There's no hesitation in you—your confidence burns brighter under his dominance, turning it into fuel. Slowly, deliberately, you sink to your knees before him, the stone floor cool and unforgiving against your skin through the thin fabric of your half-unzipped dress. The hem pools around your thighs, the dragon tattoo peeking from your shoulder as you settle, knees parting just enough to emphasize the arch of your back. You look up at him innocently, wide-eyed and doe-like, but the spark in your stare is anything but pure—it's wicked, inviting, a silent dare wrapped in velvet.

Your hands rest lightly on his thighs, fingers tracing the fabric of his priestly robes with feather-light pressure, feeling the heat and tension coiled beneath. The cigarette dangles forgotten from your fingers now, ash crumbling to the floor. You tilt your head, maintaining that unbroken eye contact, your voice a husky whisper laced with teasing challenge. "Like this, Father? On my knees, begging for absolution?"

Higuruma towers over you, his jaw clenched, those gray eyes half-lidded but stormy with restrained hunger. His hand remains at the back of your neck, thumb stroking the pulse point there in a possessive rhythm. He doesn't break the stare, doesn't flinch from the power play you're still weaving even from below. "Words are cheap," he murmurs, his tone measured, that dry wit threading through like smoke. "Prove your repentance. Or are you all tease and no salvation?"

You lean in closer, lips parting as your breath ghosts over the front of his robes, eyes never leaving his. "Oh, I can repent," you purr, voice dripping with sexy assurance, "but only if you guide me, Father. Tell me exactly how sinful I am." The air thickens, charged with the shift—he's dominant now, yes, but your innocence is a weapon, confident and unyielding, pulling him deeper into the game.

Higuruma's fingers tighten in your hair as he guides your face closer to the straining bulge in his trousers. His touch is insistent, almost rough in its intensity, the grip on your locks bordering on painful. Yet, you don't pull away—no, you lean into it. Your heart pounds as he tugs you forward, the heat of his arousal searing you even through the fabric of his robes.

His other hand works at the fastenings of his pants, the button popping open with an audible click that seems to echo in the charged air between you. The zipper descends slowly, torturously, each tooth parting from its neighbor with agonizing slowness. You watch, transfixed and panting softly, as inch by inch he reveals the base of his cock, the thick root pulsing with barely restrained desire.

"Look at me," Higuruma commands, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that sends vibrations through your very bones. "Keep your eyes on mine." His grip on your hair tightens fractionally, a silent warning, a demand for obedience.

You blink up at him, your gaze hazy but obedient, drinking in the raw, unbridled lust etched into every hard line of his face. Your tongue darts out to wet your lower lip, a subconscious gesture of anticipation that draws his eye like a magnet. Emboldened, you reach out with trembling fingers to help him, to speed the process, desperate to feel him, to taste him. But Higuruma has other plans.

He tuts, shaking his head slowly as he tugs your hair, forcing your head back. His cock springs free, the thick shaft slapping against your cheek, leaving a streak of heat in its wake. Before you can react, he's tapped the swollen head against your parted lips, the musky scent of his arousal flooding your senses, making your head swim.

"Open," he orders, the word a low, guttural command. His eyes bore into yours, stormy and intense, daring you to disobey. The air between you is electric, crackling with a tension that demands release. Your lips part further, breath escaping in a shuddering sigh as you surrender to his demand, ready and waiting for your penance.

Higuruma's grip on your hair tightens as he brings the swollen head of his cock to your lips, the thick shaft slapping against your cheek with a lewd sound. Your eyes widen, locking with his intense gaze as he taps the tip against your bottom lip, smearing the bead of precum that leaks from the slit. His other hand comes up to grip your chin, thumb and forefinger pinching your jaw to force your mouth open wider.

"Wider," he demands, his voice a low, authoritative growl. "Take it all in, temptress. Show me how sorry you are for leading me into sin." His hips flex forward, the thick length of him pushing past your lips, the head nestling on your tongue as he begins to feed you inch after inch of his throbbing cock.

Your eyes water as he pushes deeper, the musky scent and taste of him filling your senses. You look up at him, your gaze hazy but obedient, submitting to his dominance even as your tongue swirls around the sensitive head, lapping at the salty drops of precum that leak steadily now. Higuruma's breathing grows heavier, his chest heaving above you as he fights to maintain control, to hold back the urge to thrust forward and bury himself in the welcoming heat of your mouth.

"Fuck," he grits out, the word a prayer and a curse all in one. His fingers tighten in your hair, gripping the strands almost painfully as he fights the instinct to use your mouth for his pleasure. "You look so pretty like this, on your knees, choking on my cock. Is this what you wanted?" His hips rock forward slightly, pushing a little deeper, the thick shaft pulsing against your tongue. "To have me lose control, to fuck your pretty face until I paint your throat with my sin?" The crude words hang heavy in the air, a dark promise of the depravity to come if you keep pushing him to the edge of his restraint.

You whimper around Higuruma's thick shaft as he pushes deeper, your throat constricting reflexively. Drool escapes the seal of your stretched lips, dripping down your chin to splatter on your heaving breasts. The taste of him, musky and potent, fills your senses, making your head spin with a dizzying mix of shame and arousal. You choke and gag, tears springing to your eyes as he hits the back of your throat, but you don't pull away. Instead, you force yourself to breathe through your nose, inhaling the heady scent of his desire, letting it fill your lungs as he fills your mouth.

Higuruma's grip on your hair gentles slightly as he feels your throat convulse around him, your body's instinctive reaction to the intrusion. He pulls back, his cock slipping from your lips with a obscene pop, a string of saliva connecting the swollen head to your kiss-swollen mouth. With his other hand, he reaches out, his thumb brushing away the tears clinging to your lashes, the pad of his finger tracing the curve of your cheek in a fleeting, tender gesture.

"There now," he coos, his voice a low, soothing rumble. "Let them fall, let them cleanse you of your sins." He brings his thumb to your lips, pressing it past them, painting your tongue with the salt of your tears. "Thank me for it, temptress. Thank me for the absolution I grant you."

You obey, your voice a husky, muffled murmur around his thumb. "Thank you, Father," you manage, the words vibrating against the digit plugging your mouth. Your tongue swirls around it, lapping at the salt, savoring the flavor of your own penance even as it makes your mouth water for more of him.

Higuruma's eyes darken, his pupils blown wide with lust as he watches you, watches the way your throat bobs with each swallow, the way your tongue worships his skin. "Good girl," he praises, his voice rough with barely restrained desire.

He slaps the rigid shaft of his cock against your cheek, leaving a smear of precum on the soft skin. Before you can catch your breath, he's slammed back in, his cock driving deep, hitting the back of your throat and making you gag. He sets a brutal pace, fucking your face with quick, sharp thrusts, his heavy balls slapping against your chin with each pump of his hips.

"Fuck," he snarls, his head thrown back, the tendons in his neck straining. "I'm going to fill your mouth with my seed, mark you as mine, inside and out." His fingers tighten in your hair, gripping the strands almost painfully as he chases his pleasure, his body tensing, his thrusts growing erratic.

With a guttural groan, he buries himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing and throbbing as he finds his release. You feel the hot, thick spurts of his cum hitting the back of your throat, coating your tongue, filling your mouth with the essence of his sin. He holds you in place, your nose pressed against his pelvis, forcing you to swallow around his spurting cock, to take every last drop of his penance.

As he pulls out, a thin strand of saliva and semen connects your lower lip to the tip of his softening shaft. He taps it against your mouth, smearing the mixture across your skin, marking you as a man's woman, a temptress tamed by a priest's lust. "Show me," he demands, his voice a low, authoritative rumble. His fingers reach out, pressing against your chin, tilting your face up to his. His thumb pushes into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue, a silent command to open wide.

You tilt your head back further, parting your lips wide to display the pearly white pool of his release coating your tongue, the salty tang flooding your taste buds. Your eyes lock onto his, hazy with arousal, a soft whimper escaping as you hold the evidence of his pleasure for his inspection. The sight makes his cock twitch against your cheek, still semi-hard and glistening with your saliva.

"Perfect," Higuruma murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction. He leans down, his free hand cupping your jaw tenderly, thumb stroking your lower lip. Without breaking eye contact, he hawks and spits directly into your open mouth, the warm glob mixing with his cum, a final act of dominance wrapped in intimacy. "Swallow."

The command sends a fresh wave of heat pooling between your thighs. You close your mouth, throat working visibly as you swallow every drop, the mingled essence sliding down your throat like liquid fire. A shiver races through you, your hands gripping his thighs tighter, nails digging into the fabric as you moan low and needy. "All gone, Father," you purr, voice husky and triumphant, licking your lips slowly for emphasis. "Your forgiveness tastes divine."

Higuruma's gaze darkens with renewed hunger, his thumb tracing the seam of your lips before pulling back. He straightens, chest heaving, but his hand lingers in your hair, petting you almost affectionately. "Such a good girl," he praises, the words a velvet caress. "You've taken your first step toward redemption." The air hums with unspoken promise, the tension far from sated, his arousal already stirring back to life under your heated stare.

Higuruma exhales a long, shaky breath, the sound vibrating in the small space between you. The sharp, authoritative edge in his voice has softened, replaced by a raw, grounded hunger that feels far more intimate than the role he was playing moments ago. He reaches out, his thumb catching a stray, glistening drop at the corner of your mouth, smearing it over your lower lip with a slow, possessive stroke. His eyes, once stormy with conflict, are now fixed on you with a terrifyingly clear focus.

"You're full of surprises," he murmurs, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that lacks the distance of the pulpit. He looks at you—really looks at you—stripping away the titles and the pretense. "I think you deserve a reward for that. For being so... dedicated to the cause." He gestures vaguely toward the heavy mahogany desk behind you, the one you were just bent over. "Get up there. On your back."

You don't miss the way his gaze lingers on the curve of your hips as you move. You climb onto the polished wood, the surface cool and unforgiving against your skin, a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from him. Your dress is a wreck, the zipper completely undone, the fabric bunching around your waist and exposing the pale expanse of your stomach and the dark, intricate lines of the dragon on your shoulder. You lie back, your hair splaying out across the desk like a dark halo, and you look down at him with a smirk that says you know exactly how much power you’ve just reclaimed.

Higuruma doesn't wait for an invitation. He drops to his knees between your parted legs, his movements heavy and deliberate. The sight of him—this man who usually carries himself with such rigid, legalistic precision—kneeling in the space between your thighs is a victory in itself. He rests his large hands on your knees, his grip firm but no longer trying to pin you down.

"Changing your tune, are we?" you tease, your voice returning to its confident, sultry purr. You reach down, your fingers brushing the hair back from his forehead, tracing the line of his furrowed brow. "I thought I was the one who needed saving. Now you're the one down on your knees."

He let out a short, dry huff of a laugh, his head tilting back just enough to meet your eyes. The candlelight catches the sweat on his skin, making him look human, reachable. "Maybe I'm just tired of talking about salvation," he says, his voice dropping an octave as he leans forward, his breath hot against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. "Maybe I'd rather just see how much more I can make you whimper."

He doesn't look away, his gray eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that demands you watch him. He slides his hands up, his palms grazing the soft skin of your legs until he reaches the hem of your dress, slowly pushing the fabric higher. The air in the room is thick with the scent of incense and the musk of his recent release, but as he leans in closer, all you can smell is him—tobacco, old paper, and a sudden, sharp spike of adrenaline.

Higuruma leans in close, his breath hot and heavy against your most intimate flesh. He bows his head, his forehead nearly touching the sensitive skin of your inner thigh as he begins to pray, his voice a low, rumbling murmur. "For what I am about to receive, may the Lord make us truly grateful…" The words send a shiver racing up your spine, the reverent tone at odds with the wicked promise of his nearness. His hands slide higher, pushing your dress up to your hips, baring you completely to his hungry gaze.

"God, forgive me," he breathes, the words a prayer and a plea all in one. "For I am about to sin most profoundly." And with that, he leans in, his lips parting, and he kisses you. Not a chaste press of the mouth, but a open-mouthed, teasing caress that makes your hips jerk off the desk, seeking more. Higuruma chuckles, the sound a low, sinful rumble against your slick flesh.

"P-please," you whimper, your fingers tangling in his hair, trying to pull him closer. "Stop teasing me, you… you bastard." The last word comes out on a gasp as he parts your folds with the flat of his tongue, the slick muscle sliding through your dripping center with maddening slowness.

Higuruma just smirks, the curve of his lips pressing against your clit as he looks up at you, his eyes glinting with wicked amusement.

"But I thought you liked my brand of torment, my dear." Without waiting for a response, he seals his mouth over your pussy, his tongue delving deep, lapping at your essence like a man starved.

Higuruma’s hands slide up the backs of your thighs, pushing them wider apart as he settles more comfortably between your legs on the floor. The polished wood of the desk is cool beneath your back, but the heat radiating from his body quickly chases away any chill. He leans in slowly, his breath ghosting over your already slick folds, and the first drag of his tongue is deliberate, almost reverent. A low, hungry sound rumbles in his chest the moment he tastes you; his eyes flutter half-closed for only a second before they snap back up to your face, locking onto yours with unwavering intensity. He is visibly aroused by the act itself—his breathing grows heavier, his cheeks flushed, and the front of his open trousers tents again as he devours you like a man starved.

He laps at you with long, devoted strokes, his tongue flattening against your entrance before curling upward to circle your clit. Every time your face twists in pleasure—eyebrows knitting, lips parting on a gasp, eyes squeezing shut—he notices. His gaze never leaves you, drinking in every contortion of ecstasy like it fuels him. One of his hands leaves your thigh and slides up your body, palming your breast before his fingers find your nipple. He rolls the sensitive peak between thumb and forefinger, pinching lightly, then harder when your back arches off the desk.

His nose brushes deliberately against your swollen clit as he pushes his tongue inside you, the added pressure making your hips jerk. You cry out, fingers scrambling for purchase on the edge of the desk. “Fuck—Higuruma, it’s too much,” you whimper, voice cracking. He pulls back just enough to speak against your wet skin, voice rough but calm. “You can take it. You’ve been so good for me already.”

He teases you mercilessly. At one point he pulls his mouth away completely and delivers a sharp, open-handed slap directly to your clit. The sting blooms into white-hot pleasure that makes you sob. Another time he only slides one thick finger into your dripping heat, curling it slowly while his tongue flicks lazily at your entrance, never giving you enough friction. Later still, when you’re trembling and close, he pinches your clit between two fingers and holds the pressure there until you’re shaking.

Your head thrashes from side to side. “Please—oh god, please, I can’t—” The words tumble out in a desperate stream. “It’s too much, I’m gonna—fuck, Higuruma, please let me come. Can I come? Please?”

He lifts his head just enough to meet your pleading eyes, his lips and chin glistening with your arousal. His finger keeps moving inside you in slow, torturous strokes while his thumb hovers threateningly over your clit. “No,” he says simply, voice low and steady, though the hunger in his gaze betrays how much he’s enjoying this. “Not yet.”

You whine loudly, the sound turning into a frustrated sob as fresh tears prick at the corners of your eyes. Your hips roll helplessly against his face, chasing the pleasure he keeps just out of reach. “But I’ve been so good,” you beg, voice breaking on a whimper. “I’ve been so fucking good for you—please, Higuruma, I need it. I can’t hold it anymore. Please let me come.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead he leans back in, sucking your clit between his lips while his eyes stay locked on your flushed, desperate face. His free hand returns to your breast, tugging and rolling your nipple in time with the suction of his mouth. The wet, obscene sounds of his tongue and fingers fill the candlelit room, mixing with your broken moans and pleas. He is utterly devoted to your pleasure, yet completely in control of it—watching, waiting, and pushing you right to the razor’s edge without letting you fall.

Your thighs tremble around his shoulders. Every muscle in your body is strung tight, sweat beading on your skin as you fight the rising wave. “Higuruma…” you gasp, half-sobbing his name. The innocent look you gave him earlier has melted into raw, needy desperation, but your voice still carries that confident, sexy edge even while you beg. “I’ve been good… haven’t I? Please… just tell me I can come.”

The moment the words leave your lips—“I’ve been good… haven’t I? Please… just tell me I can come”—your body betrays you. The tight coil in your belly snaps without warning. Pleasure crashes over you in a sudden, violent wave, your walls clenching hard around his single finger as your clit throbs against his tongue. Your hips jerk up sharply, thighs trembling uncontrollably around his shoulders. A broken, breathy cry slips from your throat, not a scream but a soft, overwhelmed sob that echoes in the quiet room. Your eyes squeeze shut for a heartbeat before they fly open again, locking onto his gray gaze in panic and ecstasy.

Higuruma doesn’t stop.

His eyes narrow with dark intent the instant he feels you pulsing around him, the slick flood of your release coating his tongue and chin. Instead of pulling back, he doubles down. His mouth seals tighter around your oversensitive clit, sucking with renewed devotion while his tongue lashes relentlessly against the swollen bud. The single finger inside you curls harder, stroking that spongy spot with merciless precision, drawing out every last spasm. A low, aroused groan vibrates against your core—he is still painfully hard, visibly turned on by your disobedience and the way your body writhes beneath him.

You try to pull away, instincts screaming that it’s too much, too soon. Your hands fly down, palms pushing weakly at his shoulders, fingers scrabbling for purchase. “I can’t—” The words dissolve into a soft, hiccupping sob. But Higuruma is faster. His large hands snap up, wrapping firmly around both of your wrists. He pins them down against the cool mahogany desk on either side of your hips, his grip unyielding yet careful enough not to bruise. The restraint only heightens everything; you’re completely at his mercy now, unable to escape the relentless torture of his mouth.

He keeps going without pause. His nose brushes repeatedly against your throbbing clit as he licks broad, flat stripes through your folds, then returns to suckle the oversensitive nub with devastating focus. Every flick, every suck, every curl of that single finger sends sharp, electric aftershocks ripping through your already-spent body. Tears spill freely down your temples now, mixing with the sweat on your skin. Soft, broken whimpers and sobs are all you can manage—no loud screams, just quiet, overwhelmed cries that tremble in your chest.

“Fuck…” you gasp, voice small and watery. Your head thrashes weakly from side to side, hair sticking to your damp cheeks. “It’s too much… please…”

Higuruma lifts his gaze to yours again, never breaking eye contact. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with arousal and a hint of stern satisfaction at your punishment. He doesn’t speak, but the look says everything: you came without permission, and now you will feel every second of the consequences. His tongue circles your clit slowly, deliberately, dragging out the overstimulation until your legs shake violently. He releases one of your wrists only long enough to pinch your nipple again, rolling the peaked bud between his fingers in time with the suction on your clit, before reclaiming your wrist and pinning it back down.

“I’m sorry…” The apology slips out in a soft, tearful sob, your voice cracking. Your hips twitch helplessly, trying to twist away, but his shoulders and hands hold you firmly in place. “Please… I can’t… fuck, Higuruma…”

He hums against you, the vibration shooting straight to your core and pulling another choked whimper from your throat. His devotion is relentless—tongue, lips, and finger working in perfect, punishing harmony. He watches every contortion of your face: the way your brows furrow, the way your lips tremble and part on those quiet, desperate sounds, the fresh tears that slip from the corners of your eyes. The wet, obscene noises of his mouth devouring your overstimulated pussy fill the room, mingling with your soft sobs and broken pleas.

Another wave builds far too quickly, painful in its intensity. Your whole body trembles, muscles locking and releasing in erratic spasms. “Please…” you beg again, the word barely more than a whisper between soft cries. “I’m sorry… it’s too much…” Your voice is hoarse, thick with tears, but still carrying that underlying confidence even as you fall apart under his tongue. He doesn’t relent, doesn’t slow, only presses harder, determined to wring every last ounce of pleasure-pain from your disobedient orgasm until you’re a sobbing, whimpering mess on the desk beneath him.

The candlelight flickers across your sweat-slicked skin, highlighting the flush on your chest and the way your breasts heave with each ragged breath. Higuruma’s own breathing is heavy and uneven between your thighs, his arousal evident in the way his hips subtly rock against nothing, seeking friction. Yet his focus remains entirely on you—on your face, on your soft, overwhelmed sobs, on pushing you through the punishment you earned by coming without his permission.

You remain on the desk, chest heaving and legs trembling as you come down from the intense high. Higuruma looms over you, his gaze dark and satisfied. He gently cups your face, thumb brushing away lingering tears. "You disobeyed," he murmurs, a hint of amusement in his rough voice. "But you took your punishment well." Leaning in, he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, then the corner of your mouth. "A proper reward is in order next time."

You manage a weak, breathless smirk, voice still shaky but confident. "Next time? You're already planning round two, Father?" Your fingers trace his jaw, feeling the slight stubble. Higuruma huffs a laugh, helping you sit up slowly. He tugs your dress into place, hands lingering on your skin. "Maybe I'm the one who needs repenting now," he says dryly, but his eyes hold rare warmth. Pulling you close, he strokes your back soothingly as you lean against his chest. "You drive me to distraction, you know that? All that teasing, that confidence…" He tilts your chin up, constant eye contact now feeling more like connection than dominance. "I couldn't stay away."

In the quiet room, filled with flickering candlelight and the scent of sin, you both sit in comfortable silence for a moment. Finally, Higuruma helps you down from the desk, arm wrapped securely around your waist as he guides you toward the door. He presses a last kiss to your temple.

"Let's get you cleaned up," he murmurs, voice low and intimate. "You look like sin incarnate right now… and I'm not complaining."

You sat stiff and awkward in the passenger seat, arms crossed over your chest as if you were wrongfully reprimanded (some would say that you were). Neither of you had said a word since getting in the car, just sat in silence for ten painful minutes. You were too busy stubbornly staring out the window and he was busy giving you well deserved silent treatment. It’s been like this for two whole weeks. Constant bickering, constant arguing, constantly having to put up with your bullshit.

Leon exhaled through his nose, eyes set on the blur in front of him, ears ringing from how fucking quiet it was. And it’s weird because Leon has dealt with much, much worse, but something about you just worked him on his last nerves. He’s literally fought the worse of the worse, but you just got under his skin in a way he couldn’t shake.

You were assigned to him on a cold Monday morning, loud confident and painfully honest. The first three hours he had with you were bliss, you listened, you nodded all eagerly and got along with the others. The second you were fully alone with him, you completely switched, lips pouted, arms crossed, eyes rolling at every thing he said.

Leon had tried, really tried, to be patient. He’d even given you the whole, ‘I’m not as scary as I seem’ speech.

Didn’t matter.

You talked back, you argued, you sassed him.

-day one, 8 am-

Leon stood in the hallway outside the training room, arms crossed, trying to look approachable. It wasn’t really working.

You were escorted by someone whose name you kept forgetting, walking up to him as you eagerly scanned the place. You didn’t even notice that the person left, not even bothering to introduce you to Leon, but it wasn’t really like you needed an introduction. You heard a lot about him.

“Rookie,” he greeted gruffly with a nod, your attention turning away from the framed photo on the wall beside him. You blinked up at him, giving him a small smile as you tried your very best not to ogle. “Welcome.”

“Thanks.” It was quick, a little too friendly and curt, but the words stuck in your throat like your body was forcing you to not word vomit to Leon of all people. All 5’11, tired, stubble blessed calmness wrapped up in the hottest dilf you’ve ever seen.

You blinked, clearing your throat awkwardly. “What did you say?”

He eyed you once, exhaling slightly before nodding to follow him. “First day jitters is normal. Try not to let it get to your head.”

You followed him like a lost puppy, staring at the back of his head letting your eyes just naturally trail along down his shoulders and arms. You weren’t able to stop in time at his abrupt stop, colliding into his back in a quick smack that had you letting out a loud oof in surprise. He immediately turned around, barely budging as he looked down at you.

Silence.

Heavy, suffocating silence.

“Maybe try to walk beside me and not behind me.”

“Right, sorry.”

Leon lead you to the training room, giving you side glances every now and then to make sure you weren’t stumbling over yourself again.

“Are we immediately going to train?” You asked loudly, stepping in front of him and turning around as you walked backwards just so you could look at him.

“Did you think we were?”

“Aren’t we?” He stared at you silently, glancing behind you at the rapidly approaching wall, stopping a few feet from a nearby door so you couldn’t go smacking into it. “Can we?”

“I think it’s a little more custom to show you around and introduce you—”

“I just want to get to the good stuff.” You interrupted impatiently, looking down a nearby hallway before rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet.

“I’m sure we’ll get to that soon.”

“What’s down there?” You pointed with one finger, Leon looked down the hallway with you, turning to look at you again.

“Offices.”

“Oh, okay.” You trailed off, looking up at the ceilings for some type of directional cues. “Whose office?”

“Important people.”

“Do you have an office?”

“No.”

“I thought important people have offices.”

Leon breathed in slowly at that, eyes boring into you. “What was that?”

You looked at him again, eyebrows raised slightly. “Huh? Oh, I meant, just— y’know…”

He let you stumble over your words, eyes meeting your avoidant ones until you quickly turned to go down the hall. “You’re going the wrong way.” He said simply, watching as you did a full 180 and walked the opposite direction.

This is going to be a very long day.

-day two, 4 pm-

He could still hear your voice echoing in the back of his head, unnecessary comments, rapid-fire questions, annoyed sighs. Everything went down hill after showing you around, he blamed it on nerves. That was the only thing that stopped him from questioning his own sanity.

Leon stared at the ceiling.

He’d been through hell.

Literal hell.

And yet somehow you were the one testing his mental health.

Leon was focused on the briefing folder in his hands, blocking out your nonstop seven minute rant. He honestly wasn’t even sure what the fuck you were even talking about, or how you had so much to talk about. He hoped you would’ve just tired yourself out and stopped talking completely, but you never did.

“…and I’m just saying, why would he expect perfection out of me for our first drill? It was so unfair. I didn’t have breakfast either, I slept through my first alarm, so I had to drink some gross smoothie my roommate made. Do you like smoothies, or are you more of a milksh—”

Leon closed the folder slowly.

“You done?”

You blinked at him. “Well, no? I was just about to ask if you liked milkshakes more than smoothies. I can understand if you do, sometimes I prefer milkshakes more.”

He just let you ramble on, opening the folder again to quietly read the contents. Inhaled through his nose and reminding him that you were new, he was a professional, he’s been in your shoes before. It’s just nerves. It’s just nerves.

“Also, you walk a little too fast. Could you slow down a bit?” At your question, he immediately stopped walking, turning to the side to face you as he closed the folder.

“You have to keep up.” He spoke softly, extending the folder for half a second like he was debating on letting you read it but decided not to give it to you.

“But I can’t really keep up with you if you’re taller than me.”

He opened his mouth, closed it, and looked down at the folder for some divine intervention to help him out of this interaction. “Okay, I’ll walk a lil’ slower.” He looked back at you with a tight smile, walking in an awkward languid stride.

He was starting to miss zombies again.

-day five, 12 pm-

Leon crouched beside the evidence marker, gloved fingers tracing the edge of a blistered wound on the open neck of the victim. You watched as he examined the scorch pattern on the concrete, head tilting as he examined the body. You stood behind him, arms crossed, rocking on your heels.

“What am I supposed to be doing?” You stepped onto the tips of your toes, peeking over his shoulder to watch his gloved hand as he

“Observing.”

“I already am.”

“Then you’re doing what you need to.”

You fell quiet, staring at the back of his head before quickly crouching beside him, stepping so unnecessarily close that your shoulders bump together. “Is that a bite or a burn?”

Leon doesn’t look up, and you’re not sure if he’s aware of the close proximity or just doesn’t care. “Burn. High-temp, chemical.”

“Can I examine it too?”

“No.”

“Am I supposed to just watch you?” You asked curiously, turning at the sound of his knees popping as he stood upright again. Your gaze lingered on his legs, inching up slowly, slowly before craning your neck to look up at you. He was looking off into the distance, scanning something you weren’t able to see. “I could help you if you told me.”

“It’d help me if you were quiet,” you could tell he didn’t mean to say it, just a slip of his mouth that he wasn’t able to stop in time. Your eyebrows furrowed in defensiveness, lips curled into an offended pout as you stood up. His head quickly turned to you, eyebrows lifting slightly in recognition. “I’m sorry. It’s easier for people to focus on the evidence when it’s a bit… quieter.”

You looked away, mumbling to yourself before digging the tip of your shoe into the dirt. For the tiniest of seconds, he actually felt bad, watching your shoe scrape in the dirt and the way your shoulders curled in slightly. He approached you quietly, head ducking slightly to try to catch your eye, one hand hovering over your shoulder. “Hey..”

You finally lifted your head, eyes narrowed just a little in that bratty, dramatic way that had him immediately pulling back. “Is your lack of patience a compensation for your inability to be in full control of others?”

He sighed sharply, giving you a slow nod as his eyebrows raised quickly in that ‘figures she’d start something’ kind of way. He hummed lowly, blinking down at you before tugging on the edges of his sleeve. “I’m used to working alone. That’s all.”

You blinked, pursing your lips together to try to offer some advice, but he cut you off before you opened your mouth again. “Maybe you should wait in the car, hm? I think we could both use a break.”

For a moment, the air between you softened. Just a little. You stared at him for a long moment, eyes flicking along his face before shrugging slightly. “Fine by me.”

You walked past him, glancing over your shoulder to sneak another peek at him as he turned around, the broad expanse of his back moving slowly against the tight fabric of his shirt. You lingered by just long enough to watch the muscles move, eyes trailing up along his shoulders before hurriedly dipping into the safety of the car with a shaky exhale.

-day seven, 3 pm-

The warehouse was dark, cold and stuffy, reeking of mold and whatever organisms were too busy growing in between the walls. Leon figured it would be a good idea to bring you out to the field with him. Exposure therapy. It was more in hopes that whatever happened was scare you into not being an insufferable brat for two minutes. It was a terrible thought to think, especially about a new recruit, especially by someone he was training.

It seemed like you were purposefully stepping too close to him, he could feel the warmth of your body seeping into his personal space. You lingered exactly three inches away from him, chest nearly pressing into his back in an incredibly distracting way. He had cast you two stern looks to try to give you a silent reminder on this new thing called personal space, but nothing seemed to click.

He held up a fist, a clear signal to stop. You kept walking too distracted on the creepy, dark hallway to the right of you to notice his signal. You bumped into his back, hard enough that you were sent right back into a déjà vu moment of your first day. You quickly looked up at him, hoping he wouldn’t send another firm, cold look towards your way. Leon slowly turned around, eyeing you up and down once before walking forward after a long period of silence.

You winced to yourself, focusing on the back of his shoulder and the extend of his arm as he held his gun out. He took a sharp turn left towards a crate covered in yellow stickers, but you were a fraction too slow to turn. He quickly grabbed the back of your crate, tugging you towards him with such simple ease you were certain your stomach butterflies multiplied into frantic moths.

“Stop,” he said simply, keeping your vest firm in his grip, looking sternly at you in a way that had your cheeks warming. “Pay. Attention.”

“I am.” You rebutted to yourself, watching as he shook his head, but motioned for you to follow him before moving towards the safety of the crate. You listened this time, mainly staying behind him just to proudly stare at the way he moved.

-day thirteen, 5 am-

The sky was still dark when Leon stepped out of his car, eyes heavy, shoulders stiff. You were already waiting at the entrance of the building for him, quickly rushing forward at the sight of him stepping out.

“Good morning,” you smiled sweetly, handing him a small paper cup of black coffee. He looked down at it in silence, rubbing the side of his stubbled jaw before cautiously taking the cup. “Nice car.”

You peeked inside the car through its windows, squinting as you tried to scan the interior. Leon just wrapped an arm around your hip, politely turning you away. “Thank you.”

“I guess the higher ups had to repay for not giving you an office, huh?” You joked lightly, nudging your elbow against his, but he just blankly stared at you. Taking a long sip of his coffee, and maintaining that eye contact, he nodded once.

“Not much of a morning person?” You asked, quickly following after him as he took three steps off the street. He inhaled through his nose, taking another aggressively large gulp. “It’s a beautiful day out.”

At your words, he looked up at the sky, subtly looking around for the beautiful day you were talking about. “Where?”

You pressed your lips together, motioning around at the semi quiet area. “Everywhere.” Leon gave you a look, glancing down at the half drunken coffee in his hand before humming lowly.

“Drink a lot of these?” He motioned with the cup.

“How’d you know?” You tilted your head at him, skipping in line as he stepped up the stairs of the building.

“Just a hunch.”

You nodded to yourself, feet subconsciously pattering in line with his strides. He stopped at the top of the stairs, turning to you before he opened the door. “You seem tired, Leon.”

“Do I?” He said sarcastically, opening the large front door for you. He stepped behind you after you entered the building, quickly tossing the coffee into a nearby trash can.

“So, I’m taking it you’re not a morning person? Are you more of a night owl? Or maybe like an evening…stallion?”

“I’m always tired.”

“Why?”

“Because of you, kiddo.”

You paused, puffing your cheeks out at the very appealing fact of Leon being awake all night because of you. You cleared your throat, trying not to dwindle too much on thoughts of what he’d be doing all alone late at night. “You saying I keep you up?”

He nodded simply, but his head snapped around at the sound of your poorly muffled snickers. He tilted his head at you, a short, genuine chuckle slipping from his lips as he realized the hidden innuendo of his words. “Yeah, that’s real cute.”

Your brain literally short circuited at the sound of his laugh, eyes blinking once at him as if he had sprouted angel wings and a glowing halo.

-day eighteen, 1 pm-

You and Leon are sat side-by-side in the briefing room, legs pressed together in a professional, bordering on inappropriate way. The director drone on about mission parameters and potential targets. You weren’t too sure, you stopped listening six minutes ago. Your leg was jittering up and down, foot bouncing sporadically against cold tile. Every now and then, your foot would nudge against his boot, and even though he’d occasionally nudge his foot against yours to get you to stop, you physically couldn’t. It was like your body just needed the physical reminder that he was just within reach.

You sat up straight as the director glanced your way, eyes scanning the room to ensure everyone was still paying attention. You peeked a fast side glance his way, then another, trying to savor the look of his side profile.

You nudged his foot once.

Nothing.

Nudged again.

Nothing.

Nudged a third time.

Nothing.

He just sat there, actively listening to everything the director said, not even sparing you the smallest of glances. You nudged his foot again, and he was quick to reach down under the table to grab your knee. You stared down to where his hand engulfed your knee, forcing your leg still. His jaw flexed, muscles visibly clenched to keep from speaking while the director was.

You looked up at him again as he pressed enough force against your thigh that you could feel the heat of his palm through the fabric of your pants. You kept still, slowly blinking up at his stoic expression. After a moment of keeping you in place, he unfortunately pulled away from you, the warmth of his hand disappearing almost immediately.

You waited about two seconds before nudging his foot again.

-day twenty four-

The two of you sat silent in a filing room, sitting on a metal table, you watched Leon as he stared down at the newly filed report in his hands. You could see the way his eyes shifted back and forth as he reviewed the mission report, checking over for anything he might have missed. You leaned forward towards the edge of the table, legs swinging back and forth before you cleared your throat.

“How’d I do?” He set down a pen nearby beside you, running one hand through his hair before looking at you.

“If you hadn’t ignored two of my commands, you would have done better.”

You sighed softly, looking down at your thighs as you brushed off a small speck of lint from your pants. Leon’s eyes followed the movement, turning to look back at the report.

“So, like on a scale from one to ten?”

“Six.”

“A six?” You repeated in shock, eyes wide as your head snapped up to him fast enough there would’ve been a cartoonish whoosh of air.

He shrugged, patting you by the hip to motion for you to get down. You quickly hopped off, snatching the pen from the table and clicking it aggressively a few times. “Well, you did…better. Than last time.”

“Really?”

“Mhm.”

“By how much?”

“On a scale from one to ten?” You nodded at him, to which he looked away deep in thought. “One.”

-day thirty three, 10 am-

You handed Leon the file he asked for, but not before giving him a once‑over. He gave you a double take, eyebrows furrowed at the sudden look but turned to study the file. His eyes flicked up from the paperwork, catching the way your gaze lingered a little too long on his hands. He quickly looked down at the papers, trying to ignore the burning feeling of your eyes on him.

“You look like you slept well last night,” you said suddenly, and he had to force himself to not look up at you. “Did you?”

“I guess so, yeah.”

“Does that mean you’re not thinking of me anymore?”

At that, his eyes looked up to meet yours, eyebrows tilted up ever so slightly. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, I mean, like— a few weeks ago you said that y—”

“I know what I said.”

“Is that a no?”

He looked down at the file, not answering your question, but his silence was enough of an answer for you. You pressed your lips together in annoyance, shoulders squaring slightly like you were getting ready to pounce on him. You stared at him, chewing on the inside of his cheek as you debated on how to get his attention again.

“Maybe it’s a good thing then. People your age need all the sleep they can get.” He blinked at you, tucking the file under his large bicep.

Bingo.

“My age?”

“Yeah. Y’know, like… an older guy.”

For a moment, you could see the puzzle clicking together in his head, the loud debate on whether he was going to entertain your stupidity or not. He blinked slowly, turning around to start walking down the hallway. You huffed under your breath, rushing a little to catch up to him. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way. Sleep is important for everyone, but more important for older people.”

He nodded silently, stepping out the building and walking to his car, not bothering to check to make sure you were following because he knew you well enough to know that you were following him like a baby duck. “I slept really good last night too.”

“Yeah, that’s good, kid.” You hummed happily to yourself, hands behind your back as you rounded the car to reach the passenger side.

You swung the door open, stumbling inside before slamming the door behind you. You waited until he got in the car, door closing with a soft thud before grinning at him. “Do you normally stay up late thinking of me? Isn’t that a bit unprofessional?”

“I think this conversation is unprofessional.”

“You didn’t say no.”

He shifted in his seat as he clicked his seat belt on, leaning against the leather cushioning as he stared at you. He turned the car on with a quick motion of his wrist, resting his hand against the bottom of the steering wheel. “Put your seatbelt on.” He said curtly, looking out the window until he heard the soft click of the belt.

“…Leon?”

“Yes?”

“Are you embarrassed because of my question?” You leaned forward, hands on the center console as you pushed through his personal space bubble like always. He looked over at you, peeking towards the windows as he started the car.

“No.”

“But you didn’t answer my question.”

“Your question doesn’t need to be answered.”

“But not giving me an answer makes it seem like you do think of me.”

“Yeah, I see you in my nightmares.”

-day thirty nine-

The building was quiet for once, the kind of late‑evening lull where most agents had already gone home and city around had gone quiet out of respect for long days. You were exhausted, body heavy, eyes droopy, mind all foggy from a day of investigations and identifying viral mutations. The sights were burned into your head, staring at vials under a UV and spending hours trying to identify which one is which, what they look like when they take a host, which one is more deadly. And don’t even get started on the amount of filing you’d done.

Who knew the DSO required so much work?

The clock on a nearby wall ticked towards midnight, dim lights peered out from closed doors of other agents who were trying to wrap up their last bit for the day. You hadn’t seen Leon since that abandoned building earlier today, and honestly, you were starting to miss his brooding self, even if it had barely been only thirteen hours since you last saw him.

You’re holding a cup of lukewarm coffee that you’ve neglected to drink because you were too busy running around reviewing case files you didn’t fully understand. You’re sitting on the floor of an empty hallway, back against the wall and a small handful of paperwork spread out awkwardly against your lap. You reread the same sentence you’ve been stuck on for five minutes, trying to get your mind out of its temporary brain freeze.

Footsteps echoed from down the hall, you quickly pull your legs into a lopsided pretzel, blinking up at the pair of legs with a tight polite smile. You’re fully expecting to see some random person giving you a concerned look at the disheveled sight of you. Leon appears from the corner, jacket off, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, hair slightly mussed from running his hands through it too many times.

He stops when he notices that it’s you on the floor and not another stressed out newbie. “You’re still here?” He asked, voice low and hushed. For the first time since he’s met you, and probably for the first time today, you don’t speak.

Or complain.

Or correct him, or make fun of him for stating the obvious.

You were just quiet, brain running on 20%, body slumped over in fatigue and face completely calm in similar ways it would be when you’d just woken up from a peaceful sleep. He lingers in front of you, watching as you gave him a slow nod before crouching down in front of you. “What are you working on?”

“This...” You trailed off as you tried to find the right words, but eventually gave up and opted on giving him the report so he could read through it instead. Your eyes shift from his own, watching them flick left and right as he read, before dipping down to where his arms hovered over your knees.

“How long have you been at it?”

“Uhm…what time is it now?”

Leon watched you for a moment, arms crossed loosely. It was strange seeing you like this— not poking at him, not trying to get a rise out of him. Just… relaxed.

He gently grabbed the rest of the papers from your lap, standing up slowly. “C’mon, you’re done for the night.” He extended his hand out to you, to which you quickly obliged, reaching out to allow your hand to be blanketed in his.

He pulled you up with ease, his hand steady around yours as he tugged you towards him. You stumbled forward slightly, legs half asleep from the position you were in, standing closer to him than you meant to be. You quickly straightened up, smoothing the wrinkles on your pants as you took a small step back.

“Grab your stuff,” he looked down the hall as you quickly bent down to grab the coffee cup from the floor, his eyes flicking momentarily at the curve of your ass. “I’ll take you home.“

You turned to him with eyebrows raised. “No, that’s okay, you don’t have to—”

“I know,” he cut in gently. “I’m still doing it.”

There was no room to argue, not with the way he quickly turned to walk down the empty hall. You rushed after him, the building humming quietly around you as he glanced over to the side to ensure you were nearby.

“You shouldn’t be here this late.”

“You were here this late.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

He didn’t answer, just pressed the elevator button and waited, arms crossed against his chest. The elevator doors slid open, and he gestured you inside with a small tilt of his head before following after you. The doors closed with an eery shut, sealing the two of you in a quiet metal box lit by soft fluorescent light.

You leaned against the wall, watching the levels tick down. “What were you doing?”

“Work.”

You looked over at him, glancing in his hands for the paper or files he would’ve been working on but you only found the ones he took from you. “Where’s your files?”

“Submitted.”

“Oh.”

He looked over at you, giving you a slow hum. “I’ll keep these in my car until tomorrow.” He just stood there beside you, keeping the files tucked under his armpit.

“Thanks.”

By the time you reached the garage, the air was cold enough to make you shiver, night air biting aggressively at your face. Leon unlocked the car with a soft beep, stepping around the vehicle to open the passenger door for you. You slid into the passenger seat, sinking into the warmth of the interior. Leon got in a moment later, shutting the door with a soft thud that echoed in the quiet garage.

He started the engine, the dashboard lighting up in soft blues. The radio stayed off. You provided him your address, but for a while, neither of you spoke.

You watched the way his hands rested on the wheel, the way his eyes darted around the roads as he drove. The ride was surprisingly relaxing, the perfect amount of comfortable silence needed for such a late night.

When he finally pulled up in front of your building, he shifted the car into park but didn’t say anything. Didn’t even look at you, just sat there, hands resting against the wheel, eyes forward. You unbuckled slowly, glimpsing up at him before swinging the door open. “Thank you, Leon.” At the sound of his name, he glanced your way, giving you a slight nod.

The cold air hit you the moment you opened the door, but the warmth from the car clung to your skin. You stepped out, closing the door gently behind you. You walked toward your building, your footsteps soft on the pavement. Halfway up the stairs, you turned back towards the unmoving car.

Leon was still there, still watching. Sitting in the quiet glow of the dashboard lights, eyes following you until you reached the door. He didn’t even look away when you turned back. You turned towards the front door with a shaky sigh, swallowing the lump in your throat as you unlocked it.

Stepping inside, you quickly peeked out the nearest window at the sound of the low rumble of his car pulling away. You smiled to yourself, biting your bottom lip before rushing up to your bedroom.

The peace was nice while it lasted.

-day forty, 1 am-

Leon could feel the weight of your body on top of him, the tight suction of your cunt around his cock had his head tipping back, guiding your hips against his own. Each breathy little gasps and moans filled his ears, cock twitching inside you.

Heavy eyes were stuck to your every move, watching as you bounced up on his length, trailing down to the jiggle of your tits. The slick sounds of your pussy rang in his ears, breathing heavy as he stared up at your face, soaking in every inhale you took. Leon gripped your hips tighter, one hand sliding down to grope at your ass lifting up and connecting down against the flesh in a firm smack.

Lost in the feeling of you, he was only dimly aware of a distant ringing sound until the shrill trill of his cell phone shrilled loudly, slicing through the haze of lust. Leon's eyes flew open, his body rigid as he jolted awake. The first thing he saw was the empty expanse of his bedroom, the rumpled sheets tangled loosely around his bare legs. The second was the unmistakable heat and dampness between his own thighs, sticky and cool in the wake of his precum his cock throbbed against his sweats.

With a low, frustrated groan, he slowly sat up against his headboard, staring off into space as his phone continued to ring. He didn’t even want to give his dream a second thought, but the painful heat in his gut made it incredibly hard to.

Leon cursed under his breath. “No fucking way.” He hesitated, glancing over at his phone as he reached out for it. He let the phone ring until the call naturally ended, watching the notification of a missed phone call from Claire. His cock throbbed angrily at its neglect, one hand fisting tightly around the blanket.

Leon laid back on his bed, the faint moonlight filtering in through the half-open blinds. His mind drifted to the thought of you, just for long enough that he could physically feel the leak of precum coating his underwear. He dragged a hand along his face, trying to wipe the thoughts away.

It didn’t really make sense. You were annoying. A sassy fucking brat who spoke back on every little thing he said, constantly pushed his buttons. But the longer he thought about it, the more he pictured you, like a flashing red light of warning that only made the straining erection in his pants worse.

As if summoned by his thoughts, Leon's hand drifted down to palm his growing erection straining against his sweatpants. He groaned breathlessly, eyebrows furrowed slightly. Shielding his eyes with one muscular forearm, Leon slipped his hand into his sweatpants and wrapped it around his cock. A shudder of warmth rippled through his body at the contact, his breath catching in his throat as he began to stroke himself with slow deliberate pumps.

He tried to block out the memory of you from his mind, but almost like it was on cue, a flash of you bending over popped up. His thumb pressed against the weeping head, dragging along the slit before sliding down to squeeze at the base. “Oh ffuckk.” He breathed shakily, and for a moment he could feel the warmth of you around him, could nearly hear the soft, breathless whines that left your mouth.

With a low exhale, he removed his arm from his face, dragging his pants down until the weight of him slapped up against his stomach. He moved his other hand, wrapping his fingers back around the girth base, the pinkish head flushed and leaking. His calloused palm glided up the thick length, circling around the swollen crown before sinking back down.

His climax approached swiftly, muscles tensing and stomach clenching as his hand worked over his cock. He breathed out laboredly, head pressing against the pillow under him as he mumbled out your name. At the last possible second, his hips jerked up into the tight fist of his hand, cock twitching and pulsing as thick ropes of semen erupted from the tip. Jet after jet of his cum splattered against his hand and stomach, painting himself with his own release.

For a long moment, Leon could only lie there gasping for breath, his heart pounding against his ribs as the lingering echoes of his climax slowly faded. The night was dark, the only sound the distant wail of a siren echoing through the quiet city streets outside. He sighed heavily, eyes fluttering closed as his cock slowly softened.

“I’m so screwed.”

-present time-

The rain had softened to a steady hiss against the car, the two of you both actively avoiding each other despite being within three feet of one another. Leon kept his hands on the wheel, jaw set as he was trying very, very hard not to think about how irritated he was.

You hadn’t spoken since the argument.

He hadn’t either.

Then you shifted in your seat, clearing your throat as you looked at him. “Are you mad?”

Leon’s eyelid twitched. Just barely. “I’m not mad.”

“You look mad.”

“I’m not.”

“You sound mad.”

“I’m not.”

You stared at his side profile, leaning forward to try to force him to look at you but his gaze remained steady on the road. “Did I embarrass you back there?”

“Rookie.”

“What?”

“Just say what you need to say.”

You perked up slightly, leaning back against the seats. “So, earlier, when you said I was being reckless—”

“You were.”

“—I wasn’t.”

Leon’s head turned so slowly it was almost mechanical. “You ran into a room without checking your corners.”

“But you were beside me, couldn’t you do it too?”

He stared at you. Actually stared. Like he was trying to decide if you were joking. He pressed his tongue along the inside of his cheek, turning back to stare at the road.

“Leon.”

He ignored you.

“Leon?”

Still silent.

“Are you seriously giving me the silent treatment? Aren’t you a little ol—”

“Rookie.”

“Yeah?”

“Stop. Talking.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, scoffing to yourself before looking out the window. The car fell silent again. Leon’s grip on the steering wheel had gone from tense to white‑knuckled, his jaw locked so tight it looked painful. You could practically feel the irritation radiating off him. You shifted again, just enough to make the leather seat creak.

“So,” you said, keeping your eyes on the scenery around you, “you’re definitely still mad.”

That was it.

Leon’s hand shot out, turning the car sharply towards the side of the road. Tires hissed against the wet pavement, his hand quickly turning the engine off which idled and hissed to sleep. He didn’t speak for a moment. He just sat there, deep breathing like he was trying to keep himself calm.

Then he turned to you.

Slowly.

“Sweetheart,” he said, voice low and tight, “I am trying, really trying, to keep my composure. But you are making it extremely difficult.”

You blinked once, pointing to yourself. “Me?”

“Yes. You.” He ran a hand through his hair, unbuckling his seatbelt to physically turn and face you. “You don’t listen,” he started listing things out on one hand, fingers extending at every annoying thing you’ve done for the past two months. “You argue with everything I say. You run into danger like you’re invincible. And then you sit here and poke at me like it’s a game.”

You opened your mouth, but he held up a hand.

“No. No. This is where you stay quiet and listen.”

Your mouth zipped shut. You swallowed, suddenly very aware of how seriously angry he was.

“You do realize, I’m responsible for you,” he asked, waiting for you to silently nod your head to make sure you were actually listening. “I cannot do my job if you won’t let me.”

The car went silent again, but it wasn’t the same silence as before. It was this heavy, tense kind of tension. You stared at him, blinking slowly as you shifted in your seat trying to relearn how to breathe.

Despite the harshness of his words, you couldn't ignore the way your body reacted to his stern lecture. A thrill raced through you, settling low in your belly as you met his heated gaze. The furious set of his jaw, the intensity burning in his eyes—it sent a secret, shameful pulse of arousal through you. You knew it was wrong, but the way he was looking at you, speaking to you with such authority... it was incredibly exciting.

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled softly to which he let out a curt chuckle.

“Oh, you’re ’sorry’?” He tilted his head at you, watching the way you immediately just nodded your head at his echo. He looked at you for a moment longer, taking in the way your face darkened in embarrassment and the slight downturn of your lips into the pout he knew all too well. Realizing he might’ve overreacted, he quickly looked away, arm resting against the center console as he scratched the side of his jaw.

He couldn't shake the lingering ghost of his dream, the feel of you against him still etched into his skin. “Leon?” You spoke hesitantly, gently tapping him by his elbow to check on him. His head turned to look at you again, but the more he looked at you, the more he thought of that fucking dream.

And then he an insistent, throbbing ache deep in his groin. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, shaking his head slightly to try to ignore the pulsing heat building between his legs, but you took it as a silent shut down. You anxiously sat there, oblivious to his internal struggles.

He couldn't focus, couldn't think straight. All he could do was let the silence trudge onward, as he battling the temptation clawing at his insides. He finally looked at you, eyes darkened as he drank in the sight of your chest heaving up and down. With a low, muttered “fuck it.” he surged forward, one calloused hand cupping your jaw as he captured your mouth in an intense kiss.

You gasped, eyes flying wide open as you jerked back in shock. The two of you looked at one another in tense silence, and almost like he realized the severity of his actions he slowly pulled back. Before he could open his mouth to explain himself, you quickly reached out for his upper arm to pull him into another kiss. Your lips parted instinctively to welcome the warmth of his tongue.

Your hands fisted in his hair, arching into his chest as your lips moved eagerly against his. The kiss deepened, growing more urgent, until Leon's hands slid to your waist, ensuring you were unbuckled before yanking you out of your seat. In a single, swift motion, he pulled you onto his lap, one arm wrapping around your waist to hold you tight against him.

His other hand searched around for the lever to push his seat back a few inches, before sliding up to rest against your ass. His lips left yours, leaving you huffing for air as his mouth trailed down to your neck, nipping at your pulse point. Your head lolled to the side, warmth running through your body like a furnace.

His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your ass, kneading and squeezing as he pushed your hips forward. You could feel the hard outline of his erection against your thigh, sending a sharp throb straight to your cunt. He pulled away from your neck, hands traveling around your hips before sliding down to wrap around your thighs to force you to sit up. “Do you want me to—to take off—”

“Yeah.” He breathed out heavily, watching you with heavy lidded eyes as you nervously fumbled with the buttons of your pants. His hands lingered over yours to make sure you didn’t need help before sitting back as you wriggled out of them. He could’ve gotten a heart attack at the sight of your lacy, see-through underwear, damp path spreading in the middle.

You quickly undid his zipper, shifting back as he lifted his hips up and tugged his pants down until they pooled awkwardly around his knees. Three fingers dipped under his boxers to free his cock, the crown leaking a tear of precum. His hand disappeared somewhere by the seat, forcing the chair back to give him extra leg room.

You stared down at the sight of his length, not even attempting to blink in case this was the best fucking wet dream ever. “Can I take these off?” You glanced down at his hands as they hovered by your panties, immediately nodding. He carefully slipped the fabric down, down until they were free from your legs, jaw going slack at the sight of your dripping slit. “Holy shit.”

His large hands gripped your ass, fingers sinking into the pliant flesh as he guided your movements, pulling you down to meet his cock. The two of you gasped in unison, back arching at the contact as he slowly rolled your hips against his, watching the way his cock nestled in between your lips. “L-leon.” You whined lightly, his cock immediately throbbing at the sound of your voice, another glob of pre leaking out to rub against you.

Leon’s eyes stuck on your face, eyes dilated and breath labored as he struggled to speak. “I know, I know, just gimme a sec.” He strained out in between a rumbling groan as the head of his cock caught at your entrance. He continued to guide you against him, grinding up against you little by little until the tip of his cock started inching against your hole.

You clenched around the intrusion, sucking a strained gasp from his mouth. His hands tightened around your hips, one heavy palm rubbing against your ass before giving it a quick plap. “Relax a little for me, baby.” He squeezed a handful of ass, one hand moving to wrap around his cock the same way he did the other day, except this time he was nudging his length inch by inch inside you.

You tried to ease up a bit, but it was like your pussy was trying to suck him in one go, walls clenching tight around the head of his cock. “Fuck. Keep gripping like that and I’ll cum before I even get all the way in.” Leon grunted, pulling out just to bring his hand down against your cunt in a warning smack. You flinched at the temporary pain, a surprised moan slipping from your lips as he took the opportunity to slide his cock into your slick heat.

His large hands gripping your hips as he guided you to straddle him, thighs pressing against thighs. Your pussy fluttered around his length, taking a second to get used to the sheer thickness of him. Your slick arousal dripping down onto his thighs, pussy stretched obscenely around him.

“Oh god.” You muttered to yourself, attempting to roll your hips forward only to be met with the nudge of his cock against your g-spot.

“It’s okay, I got you.” He reassured softly, fingers rubbing against your skin as he experimentally jerked his hips up, studying the way your face twisted up into a whiny moan.

You started to move, lifting yourself up until just the swollen head remained nestled inside your entrance. Then, with a roll of your hips, you sank back down, taking every throbbing inch of his hard length deep inside your soaked, clinging heat. His eyes followed your movements, one hand sliding up to wrap around your arm to tug you against his check. You gasped against his shoulder, the sound sending straight to his cock as his hips bucked up subtly.

Your movements started to grow desperate, hips moving up and down to feel the drag of his cock against the spongy, sensitive spot. “Mm fuck fuck,” you grunted breathlessly, head leaning against his shoulder, tilting down to watch as your pussy sucked him.

“Doing s’good, keep going.” He praised, his hand firm around your arm to keep you arched against him. His other hand rested around your hip, lightly ghosting over your movements.

His words spurred you on, and you began to bounce on him in quick hops, your hips rolling down against his. His hand smoothed up along your back, running back down to give your ass another firm slap just to feel the way your pussy clenched around him. The slick sounds of your coupling filled the car, windows fogging and lewd slaps of flesh against flesh forcing the car to creak in time with the movements.

Leon thrust upwards to meet your downward pressure, hips smacking against yours with each bounce. His heavy-lidded gaze remained locked between your face and the fast bounces of your hips, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, watching every flicker of pleasure.

His hand slid up to your bouncing breast in front of his face, cupping the soft swell before squeezing the tender mound, rolling the stiff peak between his fingers. He pinched and tugged on your nipple, forcing out another strained moan as his fingers curled around your throat. His grip tightened slowly, enough pressure to make your pulse pound against his palm, thumb pressed against your jaw as he guided your face towards him.

He pressed a slow kiss on your lips, cupping your jaw in one hand as he breathed heavily at the eager clench of your pussy. “You getting tired?” He asked against your lips, to which you quietly nodded, moaning as he snapped his hips up again. “Gotta get that stamina up, hm?”

“Keep going.” He said shortly, glancing down at the ring of cream leaking down his length. His hips continued their relentless rhythm, the thick head of his cock kissing your cervix with each buck.

He could feel your body trembling, could see the way your eyes fluttered shut as the pleasure became too intense. But he didn't let you slow down, hips snapping up to meet yours every time you’d slow down. You gasped heavily, back arching as a wave of warmth rippled through your spine. You shivered against him, falling limp against his chest with a broken moan as your climax crashed through you.

Your cunt clenched down around his length, soaking his cock with your release as your toes curled and you spasmed over him. Leon watched in rapture, mouth slightly open as he felt the liquid squirting against his legs. But he wasn’t done with you. He forced you to ride out the waves of your orgasm on his cock, your body jerking and shuddering above him as he thrusted his hips up.

Only when your climax subsided did he slow down his thrusts, breathing still ragged as he watched you come to. You rolled your hips slowly, one hand resting on his shoulder as he tilted his head up to stare at you more. You looked in between your legs, pulling your hips up until his cock slipped free, coated in your arousal. “You didn’t— did you come?”

His hands rested on your ass cheeks, giving you a slow grin as he shook his head. “No, but it’s o—”

“Let’s go to the back.” He looked at you in a split second of surprise, watching as you stumbled off his lap and crawled to the cushions of the seats behind him. He turned to watch you, cock jerking in his grip as he rushed up to follow you. He watched as you laid back against the seating, legs spread apart.

“God fucking dammit-” His voice tumbles out in heady puffs into the air, murked with a growling tint of desperation.

Fingers usually so dexterous and deft whenever he’s typing away, now fumbling with the mere latch on his stubborn zipper. He’s spitting out a few slews of profanities before panting out an impatient tut and all but ripping his formal slacks down to his knees. 

Nanami’s sculpted thighs weaken, smearing out widely as he leans his back against the firmly shut door with a groan. Cold against his feverish body. 

Shit, he’d barely even touched himself yet already feels like he’s melting.

Because Nanami wasn’t just rock-hard - it was as if his swollen cock was built out of fucking diamonds. 

Hot. Heavy. Sobbing out a glistening streak of precum that slobbers access his washboard abs and wayyy down to his tawny happy trail. He wanted you. He needed you. 

“Fuh-fuck!” He gasps, instantaneously clamping his delirious mouth shut. Loosening that yellow speckled tie just so he can breathe, “Never been sooo fucking h-hard. Shit this isn’t- fuck.”

Achy red shaft throbbing out a needy ba-dump—! in his meaty palm, ribbons of treacly pre splatter in copious torrents down to his angled wrist. He’s making such a puddling mess all over the tiled floor, swiping up the fatly padded curve of his thumb to plug up those never-ending droplets. 

“N’ this is all your hngh- fucking fault.” Nanami’s canines glint in the dimmed lighting, snarled at that strawberry pink blush on his mushroomed tip. The very same shade of pink to match your flimsy panties today. Fuck. “Should fire you. Should really, r-really…”

But the heaving man can’t even finish those syllables, can barely even finish his thought before it’s once more overtaken by that image of you from only a few simple minutes ago. 

Knees bent to pick up some useless document for the meeting, too-short skirt hiking up just enough to flash him a good eyeful of your cute pink panties. You looked like the sweetest fucking dessert in it, and that adorable bow fastened onto your underwear was just the erotic cherry on top. 

That memory was going to burn behind his lids for the rest of his life. And oh, he could tell. 

That glint in your gorgeous eyes - how you’d batted your lashes up at him in exactly the way that made him gulp - told him everything he needed to know. 

You knew. Oh, how you pissed him off. 

“Sh-shit.” The thought makes Nanami’s poor heart race, plump balls twitching oh-so-eagerly when he dips into the side of his pants pocket to pull out something treasured. His secret good luck charm. “Know exactly what you’re fucking- hah- doing t’me. W-with your damn panties, n’ those skirts I hate and- and-”

And if anyone else had seen the uptight CEO of Jujutsu Tech right now, then they would have fainted. Undoubtely. Because dipping out of his pocket, he’s pulling out nothing but a frilly black garter.

Yours.

The very same one you’d “accidentally” slipped off in your chair after a meeting with him last month.

“Mmm—” He’s drinking back a few swallows of candied saliva once he brings the gauzy fabric up to his nose and sniffs. Long. Hard. The stuffy stall air notches up a few scorching degrees higher when Nanami curls his free digits around his bulky base and squeezes. “Bet that pretty pussy smells even s-sweeter.”

The thought only makes his slacked maw water even more guiltily. Bet you taste sweeter, too.

And like an animal, Nanami’s hunching his Herculean body over to spit out a steady stream of saliva right onto the bawling divot in the middle of his bloated cockhead. Watching it slosh in rivulets down his pulsing length.

Calloused thumb swiping over the weighty masses that top his filthy length like buttery icing. Biting back a whimper and tugging. He can’t stop.

“L-look how fucking hard y’got me–” He’s babbling away underneath his breath, clammy foreskin drawling up and down like adhesive with every roughened jerk. “All your fault hck! All your fucking- ptwah!” He gives himself another one, two, three more wads of excess spittle over his crownhead, taking a solid lick of your pretty garter. He breaks off with a pained mantra. “-fault.”

And shit, Nanami doesn’t know when he found himself acting like such a…pervert.  

But he blames you. Blames you and the way that thin lace of yours looks so sinful wrapped around his thick cock. Round n’ round coiling to massage every thickly inflated, lightning bolted vein-

“Hate how I’d never d-do this before-” He’s spilling out in throaty groans, swirling mahogany eyes widening at the sultry scratch of it up and down up and down his tender underside. With trembly fingerpads his smushing it all over the delicate curvature of his balls, “-before…you.”

And, shit, Nanami had a meeting in what- a few minutes? He can’t help but thinking about what his clients would think if they knew. What his employees would think. What you would think.

Would you…like it?

A muggy gust of air heaves out of his chest, sweat-slicked brows crinkling at the direction that those thoughts had just taken. Precum clinging onto his skin like adhesive, he fucks his fist like he’s angry.

He is - at you and every teasing touch of yours that makes every ounce of blood sprint down to his heavy cock. You, with your sunny smile and your eyes dazzling as if you weren’t just undressing him with your gaze. You, and your pretty outfits and stupidly sexy panties that make him run off right before important events-

“Gonna fucking- p-pay for this-” Nanami’s nose crinkles when he’s tugging his claggy white undershirt underneath his firmly grit teeth. Free hand straying to twirl little hearts over his puffy, bubblegum pink nipples, his tensed abs flex with every jerky buck. “-gonna- ngh-”

Gonna shove you down and make you feel just as needy as he is. Oh, Nanami’s thumbing underneath the heated line of his slippery slit, musing away just how much your clingy pussy would smooch it even better. 

“Wonder if I could ngh- fuck you stupid-” Nanami finds himself chuckling - chuckling. Low and crazed, plump lips twitching up at the sparks of bliss at the bottom of his abdomen. He was furious at you. “-would ya still be mouthy? Slutty? Ohhh, darling, I fuck you in every ngh- dream I have.”

And isn’t that what you wanted? What you’ve been driving him crazy for every since you stepped foot here? 

Joints in his wrist aching with that sloppy tempo, Nanami thinks he almost catches a rim of battered, stinging pink right where his fisted hand was hitting his toned abs. 

What he’d give to make your pretty pussy feel just as if she was his- what was it you call him? 

Ah, Nanami’s blossoming-red tip flinches as if being hit with a zillion volts of electricity as your words echo in his brain, his favorite melodic tune. His “work wife” was what you call yourself. 

“Tch, damn work- wife.” He’s murmuring, a blotchy blush taking over his handsome features - burning all the way up to the very tips of his ears. Fingers trawling faster and faster. Sloppier. He’s spraying out sheeny ropes of pre with every bruising pull off his swollen length. “Gonna show ya- gonna ngh- for how you make me- gonna make ya mine-”

“Kentooo? Are you in here?”

Fuck.

Without warning, Nanami’s teeth come latching harshly into his fist - he needs to. 

He has to, because just the mere notes of your voice from the other side of the door is enough for his ballooned balls to give a depraved pinch. Enough for him to cum.

Shit. Nanami’s head falls back against the wall, letting off strained gruffs around his flesh. 

A slow trickle of sweat beads down his temple at the sweltering splash of his undershirt being coated with vulgar cobwebs of thickly viscous seed - so much. Hot. 

And Nanami always did cum more whenever he thought of you - but this was almost too much. Such heaping volumes that it was like he couldn’t stop. Soaking your sopping garter, pooling out swashes of cum that formulate a sticky ring down his fingers. He’s leaking from his twitchy tip over n’ over-

“Fuck-” he’s hiccuping out, vision sparking with stars. He was too late - too entranced - to plug up his geysering orifice now for any semblance of order now. He hated how he was so weak for you. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck- fuck!” 

You really have corrupted him, because Nanami doesn’t feel even a single speck of shame when he leans even further against the door. Biting the insides of his cheek into silence, his ringing ears crane to hear just a syllable more of your tone-

God, he feels dirty.

But victorious. 

“Well, the meeting starts in a few minutes.” Nanami feels himself blush, he doesn’t give a single shit about some meeting - not when those words are enough for his aching cock to dredge out a few more ivory ounces that hit the tile with a deafening pap! “Hurry up, m’kay? It’ll be real boring without you, Ken—”

Minx. 

And Nanami doesn’t know what’s louder - the creaking shudder of the now-broken door hinges as you saunter out of the bathroom, or his beating heart.

Pulsing halfway out of his chest - not only at the fuzzy high of his orgasm, but at you. You, and those cute lil’ panties no doubtedly hidden away underneath your tight silken skirt. While you pretended to be all professional in the meeting that he is supposed to lead.

Dammit. Nanami’s head drops incredulously when his reddened cock gives another ravenous twitch. You were going to be the death of him.

.

.

.

You had no idea why everyone in the office was either scared senseless of your boss, Nanami Kento, or simply too intimidated by him to feel anything else. 

No one knew much. No one sought much.

But you knew that your self-proclaimed “work husband” was a gentle giant, surely - you’ve caught the way he silently comes into the building early with snacks for the break room, and leaves the latest personally finishing up documents he deems imperfect. What you simply didn’t understand was why no one else saw how hot he was.

Didn’t they see the absolute specimen of a man that towered around daily in tightly-fitted suits and perfectly combed blond hair? 

Those big, beefy arms, long lashes you’re almost jealous of, and regal features that dusted an innocent pink whenever you teased him too much. Always so worked up with the stress of running a company, that you couldn’t help but wonder if that would translate into bed.

Honestly, after years of men that disappointed and bored you - especially down there - could you really be blamed if you made things a little…unprofessional?

And you could tell that Nanami wasn’t complaining. 

Oh, he wasn’t complaining at all. 

No matter how much he’d falsely scowl or tut - you’d already “lost” one of your black garters, and you swear you saw just the slightest centimeter of it dangling from your boss’s pocket. 

The all-powerful CEO, but so weak for you.

What you really didn’t understand was why he didn’t take things to the next level.

You’d initially thought he would during your training period, whenever you’d stuck by him with your trusty notepad and tightest silky blouses that Nanami loved to pretend he wasn’t looking down. Always snapping his glassy eyes away after taking a long look at your bra, toying with his velveteen ties as if trying to choke either the hunger or the life out of him.

But when that came and ended, and you’d finally been awarded a permanent position, you finally got the chance to…have a little more fun.

Your favorite pastime was getting on your knees because of how oh-so-clumsy you are, brushing just past Nanami’s tersely bouncing knees. Lingering mere seconds longer when he presses his meaty thighs into you hotly.

“Oh?” It was like a little routine at this point, for you to faux gasp from your position on the floor as if you’d just noticed the touch. Each and every time. “My, how forward of you, work husband.”

Only to immediately get a choked-up groan of your name, and extra documents to finish by the time the work day was over. Worth it.

Because you had made the ever-stoic Nanami Kento blush. 

And the employee groupchat would text you about it for hours on end. Some swooning. Some skeptical. The rest of the office thought you were either very brave, incredibly slutty, or plain stupid. Possibly all three.

But seriously, you bite your lower lip to force down a giddy giggle when Nanami catches your winking eye for the nth time this past hour. Hastily looking back towards the hefty contract each n’ every time with a furiously grit jaw. He was so bad at pretending he didn’t want you.

Too bad you were getting impatient. 

“Right!” Comes the booming voice of a businessman that’d just secured a lucrative contract, you snap out of your whirlwind of thoughts when your client- President Higuruma from Kyoto Corporations, you think - stands up. Oh, the meeting was already over? “Now that the hard part is done, why don’t we all get the celebrations in, Kento old pal.”

They’d known each other a long time, you hear. And had apparently been rivals prior to forming this close relationship.

You think that your poor boss has never looked more grouchy than when he shrugs off Higuruma’s sociable hand off of one broad shoulder. Staring longingly at the clock that showed you’d all run way into evening overtime, “I’m not much of a partier myself, Hiromi.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, when you have a team as good as this, then you simply must treat them.” The other man sweeps his dark eyes across the room, resting ever-so-slightly on you. “Or else the pretty ladies here will think you’re boring.”

“I-” Oh, you should’ve gotten tips straight from Higuruma - because Nanami’s cheeks ruddy. Eyes narrowing at you, then darting to his friend, “-I’m terminating our contract.”

“And I’m taking you to crack open the good whiskey I know you hide in your second drawer.” To everyone’s shocked amusement, Higuruma lugs his all-new business partner bodily out of the door. Words carrying from the distance, “You know you never did tell me whether you got a padlock for that drawer because of me…”

You’re still careening towards the glassy door to hear more snippets of that conversation when suddenly you hear a loud SMACK!

It hits your ears right before it hits your senses that Shoko had turned over in her seat beside you and planted a harsh swat on your arm. Hissing at the ache, you’re huffing at her knowing smirk, “What if I’m into that?”

She snickers, giving you another resounding strike just for the sake of it. You really, really didn’t know why the two of you were friends-

“Oh, I bet our boss would know, then.”

Kidding, of course you knew. And you can’t stop yourselves from falling into your familiar old gossip, the rest of your coworkers listening in curiously be damned. “I wish. You should’ve seen the way he reacted when I fussed over his tie before this. Seriously, it’s not my fault it was crooked for once n’ he almost ran away.”

“Ran straight back into the bathrooms, you mean.” She’s wiggling her brows, stopping only when you tilt your head curiously. “Oh- shit, you didn’t know? I heard from Utahime who heard from Yaga who heard from Ijichi who went to the bathroom that uptight CEO Nanami here was almost late to the meeting because he was having a fun little him time in there.”

You hear yourself gasp- no-nonsense, sensible Nanami Kento? Touching himself in the bathroom? “That’s why he looked…so fucked out. No.” 

“Yes.” She nods seriously. “And you know what’s even better?”

“What?”

“Ijichi - who was hiding underneath the sink out of fear, by the way, pfft- claims he’d been holding onto a frilly black garter.” Pointing very blatantly at the practically skin-tight skirt you’d decided to wear today. “And I know someone who just-so-happened to ‘lose’ a black garter in the office.”

“What-” you’re sputtering out, not because of the accusation - no, Shoko knew all about that - but about the confirmation of your suspicions that Nanami really did have your lacy lil’ number. “But if he liked that so much then why doesn’t he make a move?”

Shoko crosses her arms with the wise air of someone that had just solved the answer to the meaning of life, and was intentionally being coy about it. “Don’t you realize that you have the perfect solution for that?”

“What?” Wow, you really were on an eloquent streak today. 

Just then, the heavy meeting room doors slide open - and in walks a sternly reluctant Nanami and Higuruma with too many dozens of prized alcohol. Said Higuruma who winks at you garishly- 

You glance at Shoko’s smile, the kind she gets when she’s about to cement a contract that would result in several lawsuits that she already knows your company would win. Oh. You get it. 

.

.

.

And so does Higuruma, apparently.

Because even though he might not know of your little plan, the man was more than happy to keep you company amongst the thrumming masses celebrating. 

Somehow, the entire department had been roped in and packed inside the sprawling meeting room. Mingling over dim lights and softly playing music from the corner of your impropmtu office party. 

Which worked out in your favor, surprisingly, as it gave you the opportunity to eye a stony-faced Nanami’s reaction - stood right next to you when you leaned against Higuruma with a wheezing laugh.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re really funny, President Higuruma?” You’re tittering out and, admittedly, his humor was amazing - but what was more interesting to you was the way that Nanami’s neat brows furrowed. 

“Mhm, you’ll just have to get used to that, sugar.” You swear you hear the glass in Nanami’s vice-like grip clink! Thickened digits, so easily powerful and tightening until his mountainous knuckles shone white. “After all, we’ll be working together to take care of some big packages now.”

You feel your lips curl up into a sleazy grin, eyes locked dead-set on Nanami’s own. “Yeah, I’m quite excited to be handling those big packages, actually.” 

Higuruma raises a brow, “S’that so?”

“Of course.” And if you inched in ever-so-slightly closer to him, if you let your voice dip saccharinely in honey, then Nanami couldn’t do anything about it. Nothing but spill out a sharp huff, mouth tightening into a harsh line across his pretty face. “I only hope they’re bigger than what Jujutsu Tech has currently been working with.”

“Oh yeah, much bigger.” Nanami looked positively like an explosion just waiting to go off, and you didn’t know whether it was slight fear or anticipation that made your thighs clench sinfully together. “This contract will be like nothing you’ve ever seen.”

“The bigger the better.”

You risk a glance downwards, just barely catching the way that your dear boss adjusts his sleek formal pants down near his thigh. Oh, lips parting, he was big, huh? Really big. 

And the quieter Nanami grew, the more talkative Higuruma became. More confident. “Pardon my forwardness, angel, but are we still talking business here?” And then comes the finishing blow - before you can blink, a strong arm latches onto your waist. “Because if we aren’t then-”

SLAM!

It’s all you can do to not shiver when you turn your gaze over to Nanami, who’d just clanged his half-full glass down on a nearby table. Veins bubbling with voltage from head to toe at the sheer metallic glint of something dangerous in his targeted gaze. 

Locked purely and utterly on you.

You can see the way his sharp jaw jumps with a furious tick. Fawny strands of blond curtaining over his furrowed brows, that slightly bumpy trail of his vein-

“I believe my employee is out of line, Hiromi.” Nanami bites out those words - sharp, and rugged. Piercing through your figure and sprinting right down to your heating core. The grin he gives you makes you shudder, “I will correct that.”

What? 

“Ken- ah!” You’re yelping when Nanami doesn’t give you the time for it to sink in, for you to even register anything other than the way his massive palm locks around your waist tightly. 

Doughy pads of his fingertips dig into the curvature of your hips, and you almost get whiplash at the tug of Nanami’s strong arms stealing you away from Higuruma’s touch. Tucking you into his blistering hot side, you think you feel dizzy with just how heady the combination of skin and cologne was. 

And then you leave - the both of you. Higuruma only calling after, stricken. 

You’re walking - or, at least, it feels like you’re walking. Almost on autopilot, you’re stuck on the firm set of Nanami’s jaw when he guides you briskly through the throngs of people. 

“Kento-”

“What now, darling?” Darling? He’s never ever called you that before. Never manhandled you with only one of his arms until you’re striding - running - down the familiar route to his richly-kept office. 

Oh.

Your own fingertips dig into the shimmering fabric of his fitted suit jacket, words coming out a little bit more breathless than you’d have liked. “Ken- sir, what are you-”

But, of course, Nanami Kento never let up that easy. Of course, he would never let you get the last word in if he had the chance. And tonight was all about chances. 

Whatever probing question dies in your throat when Nanami pauses - for a mere split-second - although it feels like hours in slow motion before he bends down and jostles you into a princess carry. Firm curves of his biceps digging underneath your thighs, a tender palm splays out across your back. 

Yet, the way that he’s staring deeply down at you is anything but.

“Oh, you know what the fuck I’m doing.” He wrenches out, vibrating you with the rumbling baritone that husks from his chest. So close that your own heartbeat matches with his fervent ba-dump! ba-dump! ba-dump! Each word just coated and dripping in something so raw that you barely even notice until after he weightlessly carries you past that familiar arching doorway. “It’s what you wanted, after all. Isn’t it?”

Dazed. Until the metallic click! of the door being locked by one of Nanami’s hands pull you out of your whirling thoughts.

He’s striding inside fast. Depravedly. 

“Is that jealousy I hear?” You sing-song, fingers trailing up to rub over his fuzzy undercut. And the moment you touch him, it’s like something in Nanami snaps. Something in him blinks…awake.

“Stop that.” 

Wasting with not a single nanosecond of hesitation before cupping his greedy palms on the squirming curve of your ass. He sneaks in a nice, long squeeze with one hand, the other facing down on the table in a long swipe to clatter down everything but that golden CEO Nanami nameplate onto the floor.

You suck in a sharp inhale when he splays you out like some spellbound slut on the cool surface of his mahogany office table. Unceremoniously. 

You’ve never seen him like…this.

He spanks his thick fingers along where your sinfully tight skirt was perking up to show off skin that makes Nanami’s mouth water. That makes him angle his head greedily for a flash of those very same pink panties that had him forgoing all duties earlier today. 

“Trying to make me fucking jealous. You forget your place, my love.” His index toys over the ribbony straps of your underwear. “I’ve been crazy for you since you stepped foot in this place. I’ve been yours.”

You, on the other hand, were still reeling to make your jumbling thoughts somewhat coherent. 

Rutting up into the merciless weight of his sculptured front pinning you down - Nanami’s body was feverish. So hot that it made your skin break out in a humid layer of perspiration, you felt so hot. You felt like you were melting already.

And his muscles, oh- even through a jacket, and that cotton button-up you so loved on him, he was so toned that you could count every delicious ridge of Nanami’s glissading abs. 

Rounded centers of your knees attach around his slender waist, you’re gasping at the firm plane of muscled obliques that welcome you. “N’ that’s what made you jealous? Heh- that’s so cute- mmpf-”

“Does it amuse you to break me, my love?” Nanami grapples two of his tough digits to smush your cheeks together, sultry leer piercing its way through his mask of fury. He growls, “To make me fucking furious?”

“Ngh- Kento—” The whimpers just won’t stop spilling from your lips, his gaze drilling into your eyes and falling straight to your drenching cunt. Your hips arch needily off of the icy cold wood to nudge your pussymound for more more more- “I- fuck-”

SMACK!

“Talk to me like a big girl.” He hisses, knotting his fingers around your tender throat so tight. Tight enough to drain you of the necessary volumes of air strangling in your throat, letting only a few weepy gurgles leave your mouth. Hard. “Ah ah, a big girl I said. If you can talking with fucking- President Higuruma, you can talk to me.”

“Want- want-” Your nails claw patterned lines that paint across Nanami’s muscular forearms. “I want you to kiss me, Kento.”

There. You’d said it. 

And Nanami’s smile was almost blinding.

He’s closing in the hypnotic inches until his plump lips hovered simple milimeters away from your puckered ones. Much too far for you, in your opinion. 

Fisting a single hand around Nanami’s sapphire collar, you’re dredging up your strength to finally pull him in for the kiss you’ve been waiting ages for at this point. Finally. Singing off a brief sigh at the heated proximity of his maw-

Only for Nanami to pull away.

“Wh-where are you going?” You’re mewling out, brows furrowing with the type of upset desperation that only Nanami was able to bring out in you. You needed him - and you needed him badly. 

But the only answer you get is the balmy breeze of his snickers clouding down your body, so scorching that it made flames of want zip down between your legs. And Nanami does kiss you - between the heaving valley of your chest, right underneath your left tit, your tummy- down, down, down.

Rip—!

There go your limited-edition fishnets - torn right with only a few tugs of Nanami’s carnal canines. Right with his mouth that burrows between the pliable hole he’d made between your legs. 

“Hm? What was that, darling?” He’s drawling away, shuffling until he was right between your legs. Until your big, bad boss was kneeling in front of you. “Oh! My sweet girl wants a little kiss, doesn’t she? How cuuute.”

Rutting up your hips, you just barely manage to get the edge of your slick-flooded thighs to stroke his dimpled cheek. Lips jutting out into a pout, “Yes- yes.”

“Too bad she didn’t earn it, hm? As if I’d kiss a mouth that flirted with another man in front of me- no matter how pretty. ” Nanami continues, like he didn’t even hear your pleas right now. Thank goodness you couldn’t see the way the cracking rawness to your voice made his pants so much tighter. 

There’s the stubborn schwf! of your skirt being pushed up in a rough tug. And it’s only once he turns his heart-eyed stare down between your legs that you realize. “So, guess m’just gonna hafta kiss you.”

He wasn’t talking to you. He was talking to your dripping cunt. 

No sooner does this realization hit, that Nanami’s eager kiss does too. A filthy, sodden French snog planted right through your soaked panties. 

Nodding along as if he was translating every slurp weaving its way from between your bloated folds. “Oh? What’s that you say? More?” 

He’s trawling the pointed edge of his nose up n’ down the your slippery slit, teeth nipping along the rubbery folds to make your entrance gush out slivery ropes of slick. You count exactly one smooch at your dripping base, two right where your pussymound was the pulpiest, and the final - longest and most lingering - on your throbbing clit. 

“See?” He hums, fleshy thumb outlining the slobbering fringe of your pussylips. Just peeking his manicured fingertip past your useless underwear, and inching backwards with a saturated squelch whenever you squirmed for more. Tease. “Now tha’s a good girl, she’d never flirt with another. You’re mine, right- all mine? Or- well-”

Your breath hitches when you feel the wet splatter! of a slimy clump of saliva striking your teary cunt dead-on. And Nanami’s thumb rolls over the sheeny glaze with such utter love, “Now you’re all mine.”

Your fingers sneak their way to tangle into Nanami’s mussed-up locks, pulling his sappy mouth even closer. So close that his curved chin hits your pussy with a wet plap! And the crisp whoosh of him drinking in your scent deeply has you whining, “Ken- more. More.”

Nanami growls and it’s almost feral. He’s knocking out a deafening mewl from your lips with a sharp, sultry spank exactly on the target of your pulsing clit. “More? More, huh?” Purposefully rovering the chilling band of one signet ring - holding it firmly down where your hole was leaking. “After you got this wet for Hiromi? Nice try.”

“This isn’t for Higu-”

Thwack! The hollowing noise of flesh meeting flesh sings out in your ears, every swat after swat being left on your pussy enough to make your head throw back helplessly. 

The sight of it only makes Nanami’s scouring fingers pry apart your gluey folds even wider, kissing every nook and cranny. Over and over. Taunting. “N’ now you’re talking about another hah- man when you’re w’me? I should fire you, darling.”

You already know he never would. 

But you can’t stop yourself from spilling out a string of swears anyway, “Th-this is all for- ngh-” Flinching bodily when he wraps the waterlogged remnants of your panties around one fist, ‘round and ‘round until your pussy was allll on shamefully display, and your delicate pink panties dig into your fleshy mounds. “-for you, Kento.”

And when Nanami pulls at the silky fabric with one hand, you’re dragged down across the table right with it. Till you were exactly where he wanted you.

“Correct.”

Your panties were in tatters now - and he tucks it away into his pocket with a wink. For later. “Hate these slutty fucking panties. Wanted them off every fucking time.”

Swiping away the syrupy trickle of saliva overspilling from his mouth, Nanami’s instantly surging over to connect his lips with your puffy ones. Groaning out a throat mmmm– the moment that candied flavor sugarcoats his lips.

The most lecherous squelches! speak across all four corners of his decadent office when Nanami handlessly tilts his head to let his scratchy tastebuds maze through your weepy pussy. 

He doesn’t even care that he’s getting the frames of his glasses all messy. Swirling out slow circles around the elastic ring of your entrance, before pumping inches in-

“Fuck-” You’re squealing, throat clogging with a leaden ball the moment he’s contracting his tongue to stretch your entrance out wiiidely agape. In and out until your rubbery hole was tenderizing to his ravenous shape and texture, “-fuck just like ngh- that.”

“Oh yeahh? You like this, huh?” Meeting Nanami’s gaze from between your cracked-open legs results in shockwaves all over your body. Because his molten gaze was gleaming - practically glowing. “Getting so turned on s’like you’re a ngh- damn waterpark. Think anyone else could get you this f-fuck- soaked?”

And you couldn’t even hide it just how aroused you were. Just how close. 

Wiry ropes of your webbed slick clings onto Nanami’s mouth with each soppy plap of his mouth clashing onto your cunt. Harder. Fucking you with his tongue just the way his thick cock was aching to do right now-

SMACK!

“Mmm sweet girl, makin’ such a mess. Answer me.” He spits into your syrupy pussy, urging out a few fresh waves of slick that laminate his fat digits in pure gloss. A gloss that he sucks up happily.

“You-”

He doesn’t even let you finish. Because you were so adorable being eaten out until you were stupid, none of that usual flirty snark present when he was making out with your cunt like a man parched. 

Swirling out tiny hearts on your clit with the mushy tips of his fingertips, he yearns to skim the perked edge of his tongue all over your gummy walls. Bumping into every delicate orifice, Nanami’s free fingers fly down to trace your tight ring of muscle. “Oh yeah?”

“O-only you–” Your blubbers are so adorable, mouth loosened into an oh! yet the only thing coming out of it are repeated shrills of Kento! How cute, Nanami can only hope that these walls aren’t thick enough that those outside won’t hear. He wants them to. “-only you can make me so- ngh-”

“Shy, darling?” He sounded so painfully pussydrunk right now. Rouge blush burning, gazing up at you heavily shuttered eyes, a maw that was drooling more and more with every lapping snog placed on your slobbering pussy. “What happened to my flirty girl?”

His flirty girl. 

Shit- the words themselves affect him just as much as they do you. Nanami’s muscular thighs manspread even wider with just how fat his painfully hard cockhead was bloated. Close. It’s so sloppy how he quickens his pace to toy with the button of your clit.

His, all struggling to get out the words from your mouth - battling with your heavy tongue to get out a keening- “You. Yours. Hngh- Only y-you can make me feel like this. M-make me feel so hck! close, Kento.” 

His perfect girl.

“Ohhh, say that again. Dunno if I quite believe that.” He groans, budging your thighs over to suffocate his head even deeper, god, he knows that he could pass out right here and still be the most content man on Earth. Holding your ankles behind his hand with a second hand, you can’t help but ogle the rippling bulge of his biceps. “Lock them.” Your tangling motions were limp - weak. But Nanami finds himself grinning anyway, holding you in place tightly, he’s doubly stuffing in two digits past your slicked entrance. “Say my name.”

“Ken- Kento?”

Piling upon wads and wads of stringy cum that sprinkle all over your thighs, just the striking sensation is enough for you to see stars. Enough to gasp when his probing digits pillage your gooey depths, “Again.”

“Kento.”

And of course, Nanami Kento wasn’t a merciless man. Mean. Filthy with just how much he’s clacking his jaw to grind into the supple rim of your, your knee bounces up even higher at the taut spring of something hot pooling in your tummy. 

He could tell. Oh, he could tell. 

You were always so adorably readable - especially with your wobbling lips, and those crinkling beads of tears spilling over from the corners of your eyes. Mumbling, “Kentooo-!”

And all he really had to do was pound a battery swipe along your sweltering walls, deeply. Skidding right across where he knew your magical g-spot would be. He’s giving your perky clit not one - hell, not even two - but three solid pinches on your sensitive hood. Hard. 

The babbling words “C-cumming-” are barely starting syllables out of your mouth before it crashes into you headfirst. 

You feel like you’re being run over with such waves of bliss, pupils sliding allll the way into the back of your scrunched lids. 

The wooden desk trills out a ringing creak! when you arch your spine into the perfect semi-circle, dragging Nanami’s mouth all over each and every crevice of your quivering cunt. Riding out your high in long sloppy drags. 

Using him. And how Nanami loved to be used by you.

“Yeah- yeah yeah—” Holding your gaze fatally, you can only watch as the pearly beads spraying from your cunt drip the long trailway down to hit the back of his throat. Your fingertips dig into his scalp, mushing his face even closer, “-cum. Cum all over m’face, my love. Make a fucking mess of me.”

You swear that Nanami’s voice was shattering into a whimper towards the very end. Prominent Adam’s apple bobbing with every greedy gulp, and he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop.

Not even when your sparking high fades out into nothingness, not even when that white-hot pleasure formulates into something sensitive. Almost painful. Gasping out a sharp ah! with every drag of Nanami’s tongue over your too-tender cunt. 

“S-sensitive-” You’re mewling, desperately trying to push on his blond head. Stacks of sweat-dampened hair plastering across your palm, “Ken- Ken, m’too sensitive.”

“Tch.” He’s panting, eyes latching on instead to your glistening pussy - all pretty with trickling layers of sweet, sweet juices and his saliva. What a mess he’s made. He swears he can spot a darkening patch oozing out all over the desk. 

Nanami rubs his fleshy thumb over the tantalizing curve of your pussymound just a few repeated times, “Let me ask her- hm, wanna let me ah- go? Ready to say goodbye, darling?”

And whatever slurring squelches that emanate from your soppy lips speak to him. Enough so that he finds himself nodding mindlessly, “Fine then.” Planting an exaggerated mwah! on your clit, “I’ll see you later, m’kay?” 

He was so gentle kissing your pussy goodbye - but so, so mean manhandling you off of the desk. In a singular fluid motion, scooping you up with two beefy arms underneath your legs and falling back into the CEO’s cushy chair.

“O-oh.” You find your thighs straddling his sculpted hips, hands falling precariously on top of his bulging deltoids. What a feast Nanami Kento was. 

He barely even had to try to make your hips grind in a jerky up and down on his too-tight bulge. Splotching out gluey patches of slick wherever your driveling lips were hitting. Nanami counts exactly six slippery streaks before he grabs your throat and pulls-

“Think ya earned it now.” He hisses through a simpering groan. You’re so pliable like this - so open to being dragged into a filthy, filthy kiss. “Mm- might just be my favorite ngh- lipgloss on ya.”

You’re smacking at the curvaceous valley between Nanami’s pecs - nothing more than kittenish pecks for him, “That- that’s so filthy, Ken.”

Skin dappling with a second skin of goosebumps with every inch exposed to the heady air, he’s unbuttoning your blouse slowly. Lazily. Pop! Pop! Pop! Taking his precious time to watch every minute huff and puff you cloud out. 

“Oh, darling.” Bursting out a bout of laughter that hits you to your very core as soon as your top and bra hit the polished floor. Nanami tilts back in his seat sexily, angling you to take up even more space on the comfortable seat of his lap - his thick, outlined bulge. “We haven’t even gotten started.”

Fuck.

He pants, “Hated these slutty skirts- fuck- made me almost call HR because you looked so- beautiful.” With your skirt soon shed, you’re suddenly reeling with the realization that you’re the only one naked right now. “Better with them off.”

Never one to fall behind, you can’t help but tumble your greedy digits downwards. Mouth lathering with a sloshing wave of greed as soon as your fingertips skim the rock-hard tent struggling in Nanami’s pants.

“Fuck- greedy girl.” At this point, it’s as if the exact measurements of Nanami’s hand were branded into the mounded flesh of your ass. Because each spank has you crying, “Don’t you worry now, m’gonna fuck that ngh- feisty mouth shut soon, but for now…”

You’re left hanging, waiting on where Nanami’s drawling words would take you next. 

But it just-so-happened that you didn’t have to wait. Didn’t have to register anything but the way that he’s tugging down his too-tight pants and boxers just enough-

“Oh my-” You gasp at the sight below you, blinking your weighty lids just a few times to make sure that you weren’t imagining things. Because, sure, on those lonely nights you’d imagined Nanami to be big - but this was just ridiculous. “-Ken, you’re so-”

Big package for sure.

“H-heh.” He preens, wrenching down the velvety fabric until it looped halfway down the padded meat of his thighs. “Don’t act so cockdrunk, my love- s’only gonna make me ngh bigger.”

Roaming five dexterous fingers to grasp his bulky base, the rest of Nanami’s nine- no, ten inches drip down needy gumdrops of pre onto your hand. He was long, girthy - blushed on his swollen mushroom tip a pretty cerise pink that matched your ruined panties. 

“Wan’ you inside me.” You’re purring out, and Nanami’s heart races as he catches a few glimpses of that complete and utter tease you usually are. You swipe your thumb over the syrupy top coating of precum on his tip, plugging it into Nanami’s mouth.

Well, he might be the boss - but not in here.

After all, who was he to go against anything his pretty girl said? 

“Mmm- s’that so?” He’s suckling right on your doughy pads, fringes of his neat teeth nipping your flesh. Looking you right in the eyes while leaving a few streaky smears across your drooling slit, up and down. Golden blond lashes so long they flutter against the flushed apples of his cheeks, “Gimme a kiss first, my girl.”

So sweet.

Or so you thought.

Because you’d just inched your allured body closer to give him what he wanted. Digging your rounded knees into the sides of his body to just let your pursed lips brush in an innocent, innocent skim across his kiss-bitten ones- 

Before Nanami wraps his hand around your throat and tilts your head back to let himself spit. Just seconds before nudging apart your sticky folds and pushing in-

“Ah!” Your eyes sprint between snapping open in sheer shock, and screwing tightly shut at the pure stretch. The tightness. You could almost hear the elastic creak of your weepy entrance being pulled to its very limits around Nanami’s globed tip. “O-oh my god-”

“Shhhh you can take it, good girl- my good girl.” He’s thumbing away the purposeful spatteres that decorate the sagging edges of your lips. Rounded centers of his fingertips sinking in tight around your throat, “Mmm- s’this a big enough package for ya?”

It’s an uphill battle to force your lids to shutter open, only to peer into Nanami’s glassy eyes to see that yeah, there was still a glint of raw jealousy in them. Still. 

Your hand dips its way down to swipe open your dewy pussylips, rubbing over the most tender spots on your drooling cunt when your hips stutter down inch by fucking inch. 

Splitting your tight orifice in half with his vast cylindrical cock, every wild rut that pumps Nanami even deeper makes you dizzy. Your ajar maw spilling with drool while he fucks himself furiously harder and harder and-

Head lolling over into the clammy crook of his shoulder, your tongue licks up a long stripe along his neck. “Ngh- s-so fucking big– Don’t know if I c-can take it.”

“Now now.” With a rude spank! your fingers are swatted away meanly, Nanami’s own taking over in its place. Not to do the job - just to toy with the buzzing nub of your clit while he pumped you snugly full of his never-ending shaft. “Move that hand, lemme see my girl’s hah- pussy take my big fuckin’ cock.”

Salty tears spring to your eyes and end up dripping onto Nanami’s awaiting tongue, voice laced with something primal. “Poor baby, getting nervous. Don’tcha remember what you told Hiromi?” You did. “The bigger the better?” You remember. “So buckle up n’ take it like a good girl now, my love.”

Your answer is nothing but a half-lucid nod, “Y-yes, Ken-” 

“Hm?” He pinches your clit. A warning. 

“Sir.”

“Atta girl.”

And then Nanami’s bottomed-up, his hefted base sagging against your sopping wet lips, globular swell of his breeder balls nestling up behind your cunt in a congratulatory smooch. And he was kissing your other lips just the same.

Leaving wet swabs that decorate your pulpy cervix in translucent streams, you’re squealing after each n’ every fat thud! of Nanami’s rotund cockhead mushing into your gooey depths. Probing veins massaging you incessantly.

He couldn’t get enough.

“Atta girl-” He’s snickering into your mouth, pounding and pounding even more despite the clingy push of your pussy. Despite the way that he can’t even go any deeper - his cock was still aching for more. To strike the bullseye of your womb. “O-ohhh atta giiirl. Open wiiiide f’me.”

Like a mantra. You weren’t any more coherent, with your words garbling out over every leathery creak! of the pristine office chair. “Loud- g-gonna be loud, Kento.”

“I don’t care.” Nanami spits out immediately, leaving a heavy-duty swat on your bulging pussy folds as if to ask why should you care, too? He had such a way of speaking to you with his body, rendering you speechless after only a few seconds in the presence of his vicious tempo. “Let them hear, they couldn’t fuck you like this. Let them know hck! wh-who makes this slutty cunt feel so good.”

And it wasn’t a question, but you’re answering anyway. Looping your boneless arms around the expanse of Nanami’s broad shoulders, your limbs stick to the sweat-drenched fabric of his button-up and you huff. 

“You- need you to-” You’re murmuring away, numb tips of your fingers fumbling with his pearly buttons. Two seconds away from ripping this damn shirt off of him, “-need to see you.”

“Oh yeah?” He’s letting his top fly open to reveal what looks like yard upon yards of smooth, sculptured skin. Shiny with a glimmery sheen of humid perspiration and slick - puddling from your weepy cunt at the way that Nanami was so sexy. All jiggling pecs and abs for days, you find your pussy gulping his length up n’ down even faster. Nipping along bites that redden his flesh prettily, “Woah- Really are a slut, my love. N’ I fucking love it.”

Nanami was always such a possessive man, one hand latched onto the side of your waist and helping you stumble along with every pap! The other wandering down to pat that proud curve where your cozy hole was being overstuffed with his fat cock, before traipsing up to your clit-

“Mmm– gonna have everyone know.” He’s biting down on his bottom lip, looking up at you through teary lashes. Tapping your clit, “Say my name, my love.”

“Ken-”

“Louder.”

“Ken!”

The chair bustles with every jerk, and the unsteady motions only have Nanami driving even deeper. “Mmm- now say his name-” He’s settling your mouth open with another clump of saliva, kissing away the smearing excess. “-say his name. Say Higuruma-”

But it was no use. The only thing your mouth seemed to be able to form into was a loud Ken. Just as he’d wanted. Just as what makes him chuckle, “Gonna fuck you s-so good that fucking Hiromi s’gonna know from a mile away.”

Ohhh, how he loved that cute lil’ thought. 

He was certainly jackhammering you like it, motioning your hips into eager gyrations even faster than your fatigued legs could handle. Practically carrying you through every claggy slap of skin-on-skin, Nanami’s tensed core burns with the friction. 

But he doesn’t care. Doesn’t even burn the sting of anything other than the way his sensitively enlarged balls were papping against your skin. Painting sweet, sweet bruises for days. 

“Would ya like that?” He’s mindlessly babbling away, and even through his hooded eyes you could tell that Nanami was completely pussydrunk. He wasn’t even circling your clit now - he was writing out on top a rapid K-E-N-T-O. Gone. Ruined. Rolling his hips in sloppy bucks, “Wan’ me ta fuck you until everyone knows?”

You’re nodding. Nodding and nodding away, and Nanami thinks this can’t get any better. You’re so gorgeous when you’re fucked dumb like this, who knew his office tease would be so…pliant?

He’s already in heaven with each saturated slip n’ slide massaging your weeping orifices. Angling his hips ever-so-slightly to the side to feel more of you-

That’s when he hits it.

That spot. 

And oh, Nanami thinks he could cum right then and there with the way your slicked walls kiss his length in a lingering smooch. Just as lovers do. 

“There-” you’re mumbling out, your lips leaving tiny pecks across the grinning corners of his lips. But you didn’t even have to start for him to already be bouncing you with the target of exact, precise strikes to your g-spot. Spotting steamy splotches of parched precum over that bulging spot, “R-right there, Ken- don’t miss don’t miss.”

“Would never fuckin’ imagine.” He has the audacity to roll his eyes. 

You believed him - just as much as you believed in the flurries of stars bursting countlessly behind your eyes. Hushing out, “M’close, Kento- gonna cum- fuck m’gonna cum.”

How could you not be close when he’s back to his favorite hobby that makes you squirm - pinching your throbbing clit right in time with the long, long lines his battering tip glides across your sweet spot. Ending allll the way back at your cervix. “Mhm, gonna make you cum on m’fucking cock. Hafta l-let those fucking ngh- losers know whose pretty pussy this is.”

And once the ever-stoic Nanami starts babbling, it’s like he can’t stop. 

“Mine-” Sucking on your bruised lower lip like his favorite candy. “Mine.” Twice. “Mine.” Thrice. He’s fucking you like he’d die if he slowed down right now, massaging your rubbery entrance deliriously raw. Teeth grit the closer and closer he inched himself, “Gonna let Hiromi know. Gonna let Ijichi know- Shoko- fucking Ino who w-was making eyes at my girl. My wife.”

You’re gasping, “W-wife?” And it seemed like such a highly tense moment to finally accept you as his work wife. That is, before-

“Mhm—” And there’s no regret, none of that usual shyness in Nanami’s eyes as he fucks you with deep eye contact. Thumb finishing off drawing a final KENTO on your clit, “Better know that m’gonna buy you th-the biggest fucking diamond you’ve ever seen, my love.”

Maybe it’s the way that he’s so serious. Maybe it’s the drilling pace of his thumping cock. Or maybe it’s just Nanami himself; boring up at you through droopy eyes and foggy glasses, a delirious smile plastered all over his face while he rammed you to your orgasm.

Fat tears collecting on your waterline, your vision blurs with just how intense of an orgasm he’s wrenching out of you. You swear it’s the best you’ve had in years - maybe even in your entire life.

“F-fuuuuck–” Your fingers drag unorganized lines all over his smooth shoulders, making it out as if he’d just been attacked by wild cats - but it’s just you. You and your sappy folds milking Nanami’s very soul, hot puffs of condensed breath hitting his craned neck when you lean in. “A-all for you, Kento.”

And the exact moment Nanami feels your lips descend upon his skin to suck - the exact moment he realizes that you’re marking him - his breath strangles in a gasp. 

“Darling- darling.” He’s panting out, shivering fingers setting the soft spots of your cunt free to get a good grope of your ass. To muster all his fucked-out strength to whack your pussy against his sharp hipbones with a resounding pap! “Oh, darling m’cumming- fuck- better take every drop now.”

But it was impossible to.

Because Nanami was cumming so much - even more than he had in the bathroom just hours earlier. Torrenting out sticky webs of seed that glue your walls feebly together and scratch such a primal urge inside you to have him fill you up.

He’s fighting to keep his head from throwing back, blinking away the sparks that bolt behind his eyes to drink in the sight down below. 

In awe at just how much of it was overspilling in ivory ribbons from the stretched-out ends of your sodden slit. Stretching thickly over his bulked base in a buttery ring, it’s so messy that he’s barely thinking before smearing over the wadded mess.

“Ken- mmpf-” Your mouth falters as soon as he stuffs in the glazed-over tips of his fingers, swirling around a slow circle inside your unhinged maw. He already knows this is going to be good. “Want more.”

More.

More.

Here you were - stuffed until your poor pussy couldn’t even handle just how much cum Nanami was still fucking into you. Spraying out a fountain of creamy globs with every pressurized thrust planted on your pussy - and you still wanted more?

Something flashes behind Nanami’s eyes.

And before you know it, you’re whimpering at the loss of his girthy inches weighing down in your cunt. There’s a saccharine fwop! followed by the slosh of trickling cum when Nanami pulls out, “C-come back.”

With a ringed finger plugging up your geysering hole from losing any precious ounces, Nanami carries you over to that familiar office desk in a single stride. Splaying you out - manhandling you - with ease until you were bent over the cool surface. 

Your cheek being pushed into the currently saliva-soaked wood, wrangling hands instantly tied behind your back with something silky - fuck, Nanami’s tie. Your cunt once more stuffed to the very brim with all of his throbbing cock. 

He’s leveraging the little restraint to jostle your hips ever-deeper. You’re squealing at that stretch - one you’re sure you’d never get used to. “K-Kento, sir–”

“Shhh, my love.” You hear in throaty groans from above you, and Nanami’s muscular weight pinning down your body makes you even wetter. As if he was just melting his abs into your curved back, smearing back n’ forth in tiny smudges after he starts pushing- “Say another word n’ m’gonna get ya pregnant- then they’ll really know you’re mine.”

.

.

.

It’s not like Nanami Kento to ever be late to a meeting.

Given, there was that one time a year ago when he’d almost been late before an important contract discussion with Kyoto Enterprises. But thirty five whole minutes late to a meeting? 

Well, that was unheard of. Impossible, really.

And Shoko finds herself sighing, tapping her nails impatiently on the glass table. Honestly, there were so many better things she could be doing with her time than waiting for her mystery of a boss. And - just her luck - you weren’t here today to distract from the boredom of corporate life, either. 

The universe is against her, really. 

“Oi, Ijichi–” She calls out to the fidgeting man seated across from her - and she doesn’t know whether he jumps because everyone on the team is on edge, or simply because this is Ijichi. “Five more minutes, then we file a missing persons report.”

“I-I am sure Mr. Nanami is ah- fine-” He pushed up his dangerously low glasses, muttering underneath his breath. “...hopefully.”

“I think we should go with the missing persons report.” Higuruma pipes up from one end of the room, the man had become a much-loved addition to this department since the contract. “Because I hate to say it, but the man has no life. There’s no reason for him to just-”

SLAM!

“My apologies, I’m late.” Nanami pants out into a silence that could only be caused by the object of your conversation suddenly intruding. A blur of impeccable suits and blond hair. 

Well, Shoko couldn’t see his face properly from the way he was hunched over to catch his breath like that - but she was glad he seemed unharmed.

Or, at least, that’s what she thought.

Because then Nanami stands up properly.

And honestly, she doesn’t know what makes her heart stop more. The fact that Nanami Kento arrived late to a meeting - or that he arrived late to a meeting with lipstick stains all over his lips, his jawline, his neck. And- and were those hickeys bruising his neck?

The coffee cup in her hand falls, and it’s not the only one. Surely, this had to be a prank- wait, does her boss even know what that is?

Still thinking it’s some strange practical joke, she’s squinting to get a closer look at the strangely familiar color of that lipstick. That- shit, wasn’t that your favorite shade?

Nanami snaps his head to Shoko the very moment she says your name - almost as if a form of experimentation. Before looking down at himself and finally - finally - seeing the state he was in. He sighs, fond. “Ah, my apologies again. My beautiful wife held me up, and I forgot to check if she left marks.”

Wife. 

Higurua drawls out the question striking through everyone’s mind right now. “What. The. Fuck.” 

And Ijichi squeaks out the second most striking question, “W-wife? D-do you mean your w-work wife, Mr. Nanami?”

“No.” He’s tilting his head in confusion, as if there was any possibility of anything else otherwise. Pulling out a glinting golden band hung around a simple chain from underneath his suit. A wedding ring. With your name engraved. “My wife wife.”

A/N. Hope you have a lovely week <3

The head of the Law Department. Also PhD with Distinction. The man with dark circles and even darker suits, all prim and poised as he waded through the hallways with his stacks of documents—of course, Nanami was one for suits, as well. 

They really brought out his broad shoulders- at least, that’s what you told him.

Another reason why he needs the coffee.

Fuck. 

Nanami attempts to even out his breathing as he looks up. “Hiromi.”

If Higuruma thought anything of Nanami’s startled reaction, he makes no indication. Instead he holds up a slim file in his hand, “Are you free? Could you help me with looking over this essay?”

“Of course.” 

They were the only two in the staff room right now, besides- anything to take his mind off of you.

Nanami adjusts the gold-rimmed glasses on his face before he takes the file from him. Flipping it open to find a jumble of justice and law jargon that his history-inclined brain balks at—“I never thought you’d want a history professor’s opinion on an essay about…” He squints at the title, “-the scope of judicial power and judicial review. Does this have any names of 14th century shoguns that you need me to check?”

“No- no.” Higuruma runs a hand down his face, though Nanami gets the impression that it wasn’t for him. Rather it was for whatever ravaged at the man inside- making him look up at the ceiling with a hollow sigh—“Man, I need some coffee today.”

“Understandable.” Nanami pushes his glasses up.

“The machine’s broken, right?”

“Right.”

Higuruma only lets out another sigh that Nanami relates to well.

“If it helps, Dean Yaga said it’d be fixed by tomorrow.” Nanami attempts- he never was the type of sociable guy some of the other professors were. But he gets the feeling that Higuruma was the same.

He runs a hand down his face one last time- “That’s too late, I have tutoring this evening with…” And how Nanami Kento related to that, as well. Before he seems to shake himself out of it- somewhat. “It’s alright, could you just check the grammatical and citation stuff for me?”

“Of course.” As Higuruma leans against the partition and waits, the other professor skims through the writing. It wasn’t half bad, to be quite honest, and had it been for his own class then he would’ve given it an A—none too many mistakes except for the odd careless error. At least it was human-made. 

After a while of silence, Nanami’s partway through the conclusion when he asks. “Did you happen to get tired of looking through so many essays?”

“No, it’s just…” The dark-haired man sighs once more- for about the twelfth time since he came in. “-this student, you know?”

Nanami nods—he did know. “Trouble student?”

“Not quite.” He almost gulps.

Nanami narrows his eyes. “Doesn’t attend?”

“No, she attends every class.”

“Then what?” He leans back in his chair, essay forgotten now. “The legacy kid? The credit-chaser? The class clown that isn’t actually funny?”

Higuruma cuts through them all with a fierce shake of his head. “No, no, and no—” Almost gulping. “It’s just that this student is a little…distracting.”

The tips of his ears were red.

Instantly, Higuruma looks like he regrets it.

“F-forget I said anything-”

He does.

But Nanami looks squarely at the other man.

“I have a student like that, too.”

The law professor looks at him in wary interest. “Oh?”

“My star student, actually.” Pushing his glasses up, he opens up one of his cabinets and pulls out a thick, paper-stuffed file. And though Nanami Kento does collect his students’ work for the semester to review, he never does keep them quite so close - none other than yours.

Higuruma looks through them with slightly widened eyes. “All hers?”

Nanami nods, “So diligent that it’s almost distracting.”

Higuruma pulls out an empty chair beside Nanami and sits. Legs spread. Dark eyes thoughtful. “Mine, too.” He starts—“Never have I had a student ask for so many hours of extra tutoring.”

“Mine’s basically set up a tent in my office.” Nanami chuckles- though he can’t deny the slight pang it sends down to his cock. “Always taking on more assignments for extra credit, always answering questions first-”

“Always first in class and last to leave?”

“Exactly.” Nanami agrees. And he leans a hand on his desk as he watches the other man go through those papers - they were some of his most prized possessions, he feared to admit. Words from your heart. Swooping slashes of ink from your hands.

It was a part of you in those papers that Nanami Kento held dear to him- fuck, it was a part of you that sometimes he’d bring up to his greedy nose and sniff. Almost as if he could feel your skin through these very parchments.

It made him so fuckin’ hard.

But Higuruma didn’t need to know that.

Though the careful manner in which he handled those papers - how he leaned in just a little to drown in the ink - made him wonder…

“Always wearing the skimpiest skirt to class?”

And the other man looks up in shock- as though conveying something in his silence. Oh.

He flips the file over to look at the name typed-out on the cover, and it reads—yours. Ultimately, he continues—“A-always sittin’ in the front row with her legs spread just a bit?”

Nanami nods. “Always leaning over the desk when she has to speak in private.”

There’s a slight hardening within Higuruma’s eyes - though not of any unpleasant kind - it’s almost as if something deep and carnal was stirring awake right now. “Always wearing the prettiest black lace underneath?”

“She wears baby pink for me.” Nanami can’t help but smile.

“Fuck.” Higuruma runs a hand down his face again- and if Nanami didn’t know any better then he would’ve sworn that the other professor looked even more weary than when he first came in here. “And her panties-”

“Matching set.” Nanami responds without missing a beat - and he knows he’s some ol’ pervert for this. 

He knows he is. 

But he also knows about the smile that’d spread across your face the moment you’d realized he’d seen. “Bent over too low when picking her pen up one class.”

“Fucking—fuck.” Higuruma sounds agonized.

Nanami leans back in his chair, making it bounce a little bit. With a slightly breathless sigh leaving him, and his cock hardening even more in his pants–he’s forced to manspread under the table a little more. “She’s a needy lil’ thing, isn’t she?”

“That’s putting it lightly.” Higuruma’s lips quirk up into a sensual smile - as if he was reminiscing on the memories. “Wanting to fuck her professors? Seriously?”

“Believe she’s thought of both of us at the same time?”

“Don’t even say that-” The law professor looks around, even though there was no one else here. Looking back at the man with somewhat pleading eyes, “I have tutoring with her this evening. If I can’t even fucking grade her essay without getting a hard-on then what d’you think will happen if I’m thinking of that—?”

“Oh…” Nanami hums to himself, hands lacing in front of him. The coffee-machine really was broken. “-maybe that won’t be an issue.”

Higuruma glances at him with furrowed brows, “How so?”

“What time is your tutoring with her?”

“You mean…”

The blond man shrugs coyly- “I’m not implying anything…but which one of us two do you think is her favorite?”

“And people think you’re the gentleman of us two.” Higuruma grumbles but ultimately spits out the time. It seems you’d opted for tuition classes with your law professor in the after-hours—when the offices were snug, and the department was empty. And he feels his cock perk up at the fact- how many times has he raced back home to plunge into a cold bath after your tuition classes? How many times has his shower heard your name whispered? “I’m most definitely the favorite, by the way-”

So lost in his thought, Nanami nearly doesn’t catch the sentence. He looks over at Higuruma. “Does she call you ‘sir’, too?”

“She does.”

“Well, then we’ll find out, won’t we?”

.

.

.

The two hottest professors on campus.

Higuruma Hiromi (38) with his sleek-cut suits, his polished shoes, and those sleepy eyes that seemed to stare into the depths of your soul. The depths of your body - exposed underneath him. He was a stern teacher, not afraid to make you do an assignment over and over and over again…(and you gladly would). Higuruma’s justice classes made you…wet you had to admit, hearing him bark out simulations of court cases. Orders. Commands. 

You could practically hear a sigh echo out across the room every time he acted out his attorney days. 

Every time he banged his gavel down made your knees weak.

It was no wonder that students in the law department tittered n’ scattered any time the ruggedly handsome professor walked past. 

On the other hand was your history professor. 

Nanami Kento (31) with his beefier build, his strong arms, his gentle eyes—twinkling down kindly upon you every time he corrected a mistake. Which - you have to confess - you’ve made a few more times than you really had to, just to feel his molten gaze upon you again and again. He often caused your heart (and something else entirely) to flutter at the deep musicality of his voice, managing to make even the most boring of history passages something interesting. Something that swept the class up easily.

Nanami was reputed around campus for being a complete gentleman - never looking down upon someone, never letting them walk in after him, never letting them pay him a compliment without receiving a sweet one back. 

The dream husband.

The stern and the nice.

Both of them- frat guys hated them.

It hadn’t been intentional to join both their classes- honest! 

But after seeing them on your first day, how could you not commit to maintaining a spotless attendance? You had a sneaking suspicion that the rest of the class behaved in the same manner for much the same reason - though none took it quite as far as you.

The skirts. The extra credit. The bending.

Speaking honestly, you were a teacher’s pet. Through and through.

And the tightness in their pants whenever you left a class told you- they were the best professors. To you, that is.

Which is why you’d been a little less than happy when Professor Higuruma had told you that someone might be joining your weekly tutoring. 

Invigilated tutoring? 

What the hell was invigilated tutoring?!

You admit that you’d been forced to hold back a groan of disappointment. Picking such late hours had been a conscious decision—right up there with those tight pencil skirts that you knew your law professor loved but would never admit to.

Professor Nanami was more the type to like free, flirty pleats that barely reached your thigh - and you loved the way his eyes would follow them behind those glasses of his. Even though he pretended they didn’t.

And right now you were wearing a mix of both.

Tight on top, flared at the bottom

Seated opposite his desk - thighs shut, skirt pulled down as low as it would go - more concentrated than you’d ever been during one of these tutoring sessions. It’s been about half an hour since the start of today’s tuition. Higuruma’s office was a cosy space, decked out in the most expensive-looking mahogany banisters, and shelves, and a witness box in the far corner.

It gleamed at the light—down knowingly at you, almost as if waiting for you to make a move.

But how could you? If there was a potential visitor, then you didn’t want to risk Higuruma’s job- as much as you loved teasing your two hot professors, it wouldn’t do to get them fired!

So you kept your hands and your skirts to yourself.

And even Higuruma himself had his eyes raised, possibly wondering why you hadn’t leaned over his desk or lingered a touch at his shoulder for help.

But oh, how you wanted to…

The professor looks down at his watch, “He’s late.”

You’re glancing at the closed door, “Maybe the invigilator isn’t coming?”

“Oh, he will.” Higuruma crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. “Trust me, he won’t miss this.”

A shiver runs down your spine.

You wondered what made him so sure.

And yet, you edge closer over the desk to him anyways.

It’s about forty-five minutes into your tutoring session when the door you’ve been sneaking glimpses of this entire time- clicks! And a looming figure walks into the room, his figure nearly taking up the whole frame.

Your jaw drops as you realize—

It’s Professor Nanami.

“Ah- Kento.” Higuruma beckons him over warmly- and you’re nearly suffering from whiplash from watching the two interact. These two are close?! Professor Nanami had been completely normal during your last class, if just a little more distracted than usual - and what was this? “We’ve been waiting.”

He looks at you as he says this.

“I had to penalize a student for missing a few assignments.” Nanami says smoothly, before bringing up a chair beside you and taking his seat. His movements were fluid and precise - as if he wasn’t questioning for a single moment why you were here so late, why you were dressed like that for him, and why you were so damn close.

You’d been staring into his handsome face for so long that he clears his throat. “Continue.”

“S-sir?” You’re chirping- and in your peripheral vision, Higuruma shuffles in his chair.

“Continue.” Nanami repeats in a stern tone. You don’t think you’ve ever heard him sound like that—“Just as you are. I would like to take notes for teaching my own classes.”

“You heard what he said.” Higuruma nods- and now you’re looking his way to see the most knowing smile on his face. “Continue, angel.”

Your thighs squeeze at the pet name.

Nanami quirks a blond brow and notes something down.

And so you’re ducking back into your work—

“Your blouse button is undone.” 

Slightly gasping, you’re reaching down to fix it-

“No, don’t button it.” He interrupts you with his low tone, gravelly with something you can’t pinpoint. You’re looking up at Nanami to find his gaze unwavering from you already- “I was merely noting it. Nothing to fix.”

“But-”

“You unbutton it for my class, too, don’t you?” He asks, and you’re unsure what to say-

“Answer when your teacher speaks to you.” Higuruma’s humming tone echoes—and from the sound of it, he was thoroughly enjoying this. He cocks his head down at you, “Or haven’t they taught you that yet?”

“Th-they have.” You’re squirming in your seat, a slight heat simmering in your stomach. You turn to Nanami, “And I do.”

“Hm.” With nothing more said- he writes something else down in his notes.

And you think you’re in the clear.

For now.

It’s barely a few sentences later on your work that Nanami speaks up again-

“Your feet are touching his.”

You pull away-

“You’ve been writing the same sentence over and over.”

Your hand pauses-

“Your thighs are parted more so than before.”

Immediately, you’re smacking them back shut again- you hadn’t even realized. And how the hell had Nanami even seen?

And you could practically hear the smug smile in his voice - so unlike everything you know of him - as he continues. “And your bra is peeking out.”

“Never seen one before?” You mutter underneath your breath, just about to fix your collar (that you’d very purposefully left open)—

Before Nanami’s voice cuts through again. “Never seen one of yours in black before, is what.” Even as you’re looking at him in slight sensual shock- he doesn’t look up from his papers. “What happened to the baby pink you show-off in my class?”

And Higuruma merely leans back and smiles. “Black is my favorite color, remember?”

“How could I forget?” The history professor answers.

“Though I myself am curious about this baby pink of yours…”

And you have nothing else to do but gape- they knew. 

Oh, how they both knew by now.

And by the looks in their eyes, they’d been dying for this very moment.

To confront how you’d been toying n’ teasing them all semester through now- enough so that they’ve apparently begun trading secrets about their unruly star student. You knew that Higuruma tended to have his ears grow hot and red any time he bumped into you in the hallway, and that Nanami would loosen his tie as if undressing whenever you wore a particularly scandalous thing to class - but you hadn’t known they’d been pushed…to this extent.

And you were glad for it.

So you sigh—slouching back in your chair. “So you both know. What now then? Do I get written up or something?”

But Nanami only looks at you through his glasses. “Sit up straight.”

He’s never uttered a command like that in his entire life during your usual lectures. And when you don’t move - merely looking at the blond man with raised brows - Higuruma pipes up. “You best listen to him now, angel.”

“Oh please.” Fluttering your lashes at them both. “And what’re you gonna do about it?”

Higuruma looks at Nanami.

Nanami calmly puts his notes down on the other’s table, and looks at you.

“Why-” He pushes his glasses up his handsome nosebridge. “-teach you a lesson, of course.”

“Both of you?” You could feel the elated giggles bubbling up in your throat- and you could feel the space between your legs start to grow wetter already. Looking between both of them—“Do it then.”

And then it’s a blur - you don’t know where Higuruma’s lips end and yours begin. He’s reached over the surface of his desk to kiss you like a starved man- and he groooans into that very kiss like you were the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. Hand on your cheek. 

The tips of his canines start nibblin’ on your lower lip- and you’re kissing him back even deeper. “Shit-” Higuruma’s husky tone scorches across your face, “Shit, I’ve been wanting to do this for so fucking long.”

“Mmm, you kiss like husband material.” You’re giggling into the kiss. Both of your hands end up on his shoulders, and you could feel the shifting of his muscles through his slim suit. 

“Shit- and you talk like trouble.” He echoes out in an almost pained tone- like every second that his lips were away from yours ached. 

And those plump, pursed lips press against yours once more—so much sweeter than you would have expected this booming lawyer to kiss. He’s using the hand on your cheek to tilt down your chin- “May I?” Before the short nod you give lets him slither his tongue in wetly, lappin’ at your sweetest taste. “Shit, you’re really like sugar on my tongue.”

And you’re whining into the fervent kiss, letting it go on for a few more minutes before you’re breaking away with the most lecherous plop! And a thoroughly flushed professor chasing after your lips drunkenly-

“And what about you…” You’re kissing down Higuruma’s sharp jawline, looking at the other man who’d been sitting quietly this entire time. “-sir? Haven’t you wanted to kiss me even once this semester?”

Nanami shivers but he hides it well. Uncrossing his legs and revealing the most rock-hard, aching bulge between his legs—“Kiss? Perhaps.”

And you’re gulping at the sight.

Higuruma scoffs out a slight burst of laughter. “Perhaps.”

“But I’m a gentleman, my love.” Nanami continues, leaning back in that luxurious armchair. He takes off his coat to reveal a pale blue button-up, and beneath that was revealed the most chiselled body you’ve ever seen. He pushes his sleeves up to his elbows and beckons towards you. Manspread. Lap so welcoming. “Which means I’ve thought of far, far worse.”

Higuruma - with a final sloppy kiss plastered across your mouth - lets you walk over to Nanami.

Which you do on wobbly legs- plopping down unceremoniously on his lap. More than enough space there for you. He wastes no time bending you into shape in his strong arms, flipping you around to face the other man, and spreading your legs wiiiiiiide open-

Riiiiiip—!

“Whoops.” Nanami’s thoroughly unapologetic tone gruffs against the shell of your ear. Two of his vein-covered forearms were hooked underneath your elbows, and Nanami looks on boredly at the clean split down your skirt—“I always thought you’d look better without these anyway.”

Before he’s spreading your legs even further across his lap. Tearing it even more.

Exposing you for nothing but your tremblin’ legs and those drenched panties. Pretty black in color. 

So lacy that it was practically nothing.

Higuruma’s eyes widen, “Dirty girl.”

Nanami breathes, “No, that’s called being a slut.” And shock runs through your body at his words- at Nanami ‘Gentleman’ Kento’s words. Before it’s suddenly overtaken by the sudden feeling of him smearin’ aside your panties and stuffin’ his fingers inside.

Those thick crowns dooooown to the golden ring on his middle finger.

They were long and thick. Swirling and swirling the tip of his digit right ‘round your clit- and when you’re shuddering and unable to take it any longer—he pulls away and licks off that excess slick with a slurp!

Humming to himself as though it was the greatest delicacy in the world. “One thing you should know about me, darling, is that just because I’m gentleman-” And you’d been so caught up in his ragged tone, you didn’t even realize that he’d snaked his hand back down between your legs. “-doesn’t mean that I’m not depraved.”

And he’s ending off the sentence not with a full stop- no, but with a sudden shove of his fingertips between your folds. So swollen n’ sweet with slick.

You buck and he lurches his hand out to slap you on top of your pussylips.

“Down, darling.”

“Please…” You don’t even know what you’re begging for.

But Nanami’s mouth waters already at the sound of it, and he’s keeping it at bay by pushing n’ pulling on the first ring of muscle at your cunt. “I said down.”

Head throwing back against his collarbone. “Oh.”

Fucking you with just the first inches of his fingers- “It doesn’t mean that m’not desperate.” Continuing as though your eyes weren’t bulging, as though your legs weren’t shaking, as though you weren’t arching off of his muscular chest. “It doesn’t mean that m’not ready to debase this pussy like she deserves.”

“Y-you mean—” You’re hiccuping, eyes starting to water at the sheer raw stretch. It was the type that left your pussy burning in the most delicious way - the feeling of having Nanami Kento’s scourin’ fingertips eager to enter your cunt. “-that whole gentleman thing was just a lie?”

“It’s not.” He responds. Final. His blond strands fall over his forehead as he keeps his eyes locked on your glistening hole, scissoring his fingers at that entrance n’ spreading you even wider. “I’m nice…”

Adding in a third finger before you’re even registering his second.

“-to everyone but this slutty pussy, that is.”

“Sh-shit—” Mewling at the top of your lungs, you’re clawing down Nanami’s strong forearms. They were the perfect thing to hold onto- just about the only thing you could hold onto as he utterly ruined your pussy with short, jerking thrusts.

Bulging the sides of your velvety walls open with his globular tips.

Cold metal ring shocking you.

So thick that he manages to probe into a few of your sensitive spots without even trying. Dragging his flexible fingers across every inch of you.

Scissoring and opening up and scissoring—deep.

Tears track down your cheeks at the sheer stimulation.

“Go easy on her, Kento.” Higuruma can’t help but groan at the sight of your pretty crying face. And soon enough, you’re hearing the metallic clinking of a belt buckle- “Don’t want to break our star student, now, do we?”

Nanami purrs against your temple. “Mmm, I don’t mind.”

“Just remember that she’s tutoring with me.”

The sound of Higuruma’s belt hitting the polished wooden floorboards is enough to make your eyes startle open- and oh, how you’re so glad it did.

Because then you’re greeted with the sight before you: of Higuruma Hiromi in utter ecstasy. All because of you.

He’d taken your seat from prior, chair angled perfectly to face the show taking place in front of him. 

Where Nanami had your legs spread aaaaaall the way as far as they would go - until Nanami could hear your joints threatening to pop - and facing the dark-haired man. His dark eyes glinted as they stared down at your glistening hole, swallowing Nanami’s rams easily.

Slurps n’ squelches emanating like music. 

Cunt dripping everywhere over the history teacher’s tight trousers. And the larger that puddle you were forming seemed to grow, the harder Nanami’s hammerin’ pace seemed to become. 

You could barely keep your eyes open long enough to see Higuruma tug down his black pants- that throbbing erection of his making an appearance. He wraps his hands around his thickened base and starts tugging, soft grunts leaving his mouth at the rapid pull-pull-pull of his cock. “Shit, she’s so fucking wet- be a little nicer with that pussy o’ hers, would you?”

“Hmmm…I don’t think she deserves it.” And with that said, Nanami plants yet another sodden spank on top of your cunt. Ring grazing your front- “She hasn’t learned her lesson yet, has she?”

That stinging sensation zaps throughout your entire body and makes you buck. “I-I have—”

Before yet another thwack! of Nanami’s calloused fingertips follow.

Harder, this time.

“I was talking to this pussy, actually.” 

And he doesn’t even wait for the primal sting to pass by before openin’ your cunt up and thrusting his fingers inside again. In and out.

Push after push into your gooey depths.

You’re so sensitive n’ wet by this point that even the slightest movements have you emanating out the loudest sounds. Squelches upon squelches—every time he’s hitting a spot deep inside your hole. “Mhmm…mmmhm.” You could feel Nanami’s head slightly nodding above your own, as if locked deeply in a conversation with your pussy’s sounds. Just one whine of yours and he’s spankin’ on you once more- “Wait your turn, my love. She’s talking t’me.”

And Higuruma- ah, Higuruma has the audacity to snicker at the action. “Now that’s just bullying, Kento.”

“Is it?” He’s slappin’ down on your pussylips once more. Listening for the sound, “She says it isn’t so.”

You’re sending a narrowed glare his way that makes the law professor roll his eyes fondly.

“Oh, alright alright-” And he half-heartedly waves off at his colleague. “Be a little nicer to my dear student, won’t you?”

“Spoiled brat.” Yet another spank. Nanami sinks his canines into the shell of your ear, and he’s tuggin’ and teasing—he’s spreading his legs even further and settling you down. With your back against his rippling chest, he pushes and pushes his greedy fingers inside your pussy. “And why do you think you- hah, deserve that, huh? Haven’t you been fucking torturing us all semester long now?”

Higuruma groans. “Can’t deny that, angel.” His hands fly even faster up and down his cock- ravaged and reddened with need. 

“Mhmmmm.” The blond-haired man agrees, “Haven’t you been wearing those slutty skirts expecting to get fucked in them? Haven’t you- fuck, haven’t you been wearing that damn lingerie hoping we’d take a peak? Aren’t I right?”

He waits for your pussy to answer first- and then you’re answering. “I-I mean-” Attempting to.

“Haven’t you been bendin’ over and shit just because you wanted to show up in our wildest dreams? To consume our thoughts and make our cocks twitch?”

“Well-”

“And we did.” Higuruma pipes up next. He was so needy that he was practically bucking off of his chair, making it creak with movement. Short, jerky thrusts.

“Oh, yes we did.” Nanami continues. He leans down to your ear, as if exposing a secret- “I’d look forward to our classes everyday, my love. I’d have to fuck my fist raw before class- just so I wouldn’t fuck you senseless in front of everyone like how you were begging me to.”

Higuruma moans as he thumbs down the line of his flared tip - that pinkish, slippery line. He twitches as though he’s near to cumming already. “Me- me, too…”

“And you still expect me to be a gentleman?”

You’re restless, opening your mouth to defend yourself and—

Nanami only leans down and spits a glittery wad of spit between your pursed lips. “Don’t talk when the teacher’s talking, darling.” 

And your ears pop with pressure-

He’s hittin’ the plushness of his palm against your pussy with a loud smack! Smearing the curves n’ divots of his fingers dooooooown and up your walls, down and up.

His crown fingertips reach for your deepest innards- and you swear you can feel him stroking your very cervix. Runnin’ his frigid ring across your walls.

Drawing a few lines and marking his placement right back there, before he tunnels his digits at a frenzied pace - fingers almost nothing but a pale blur between your legs. His speed is so feverish that it leaves your sheen tricklin’ all down your thighs.

Trickling and trickling and—

And then you feel Nanami hook his fingers against your g-spot.

The pleasure shoots up your body like a lightning strike, “O-oh my god—right there, Kento.”

“Kento? Who’s Kento?” Nanami doesn’t even falter his fingering to answer, cooing in that tone that you’d almost mistake for something sweet. “I think you meant sir-”

“S—fuck.”

“Say it.” He huffs against the side of your face. Teeth almost out for blood- “Say it. Call me ‘sir’ or you don’t get to cum.”

“I—”

“Say it.” Higuruma, to your surprise, echoes from his seat. Where he had his gaze burning into your spread-open pussy n’ his mouth drooling at the vision of you—“Say it, angel. I need to see that pretty pussy cum.” Hands rubbing faster and faster- 

“She deserves to cum, mhm.” Nanami nods. “But do you, huh?”

“I-I do.” You’re nodding up at your desperate professors. One just barely in your line of vision- but his fingers were working up such a storm. His slightly-tanned arms pinning you down, working your pussy open, hitting that target of your g-spot like a cute button. Again and again—

Blond hair ruffled. Glasses slipping down his sweaty nosebridge.

And then the other one that was just creamin’ his precum down his hands. With his hands on his swollen erection - one of them creating a tunnel for him to fuck his fist, the other flattening over his dribblin’ divot to stop from cumming already. 

Sleepy eyes half-lidded. His pale thighs shivering as they bucked n’ rutted.

And the vision itself is enough to make you cum- but then again it just felt so good on Nanami’s hands, and underneath Higuruma’s gaze. So you can’t help but let your lips wobble open—“P-please let me cum-” Stars bursting behind your vision once Nanami presses down on your clit as well. “-sirs.”

The two older men look at each other.

“Sirs?” Higuruma asks, voice breathless with ecstasy.

“She just begged for both of us.” Nanami grumbles out - though not quite unhappily. It made his cock twitch deep in his pants to have you whimperin’ like this, and he continues. “Alright then, you slutty pussy.”

And it takes only a few more strokes - a few more direct thrashes along your g-spot - for you to hurtle straight into your high.

It’s so strong that you’re seeing white behind your eyelids—and your mouth blabbers out an unintelligible combination of both professors’ names. Toes curling. Sweat beading down your temple.

Nanami holds you down as you’re thrown through wave upon wave of your orgasm, your hips bucking up and down desperately. Riding throughout your bliss- and if that wasn’t already enough, he counts underneath his breath to measure how long it takes between your peaks of euphoria. Before hittin’ away at your g-spot just in time with each one.

The sensations that take you over are just incredible.

And your head falls back limply against Nanami’s shoulder.

Shivering. Almost as if you were in heat- and your pretty pussy gushes out honeyed slick as though to give credit to that statement.

Lavishing Nanami’s open thighs with all your sap—Higuruma eyes the mess and gulps. “Kento, give me a taste of that.”

Nanami scoffs. “In due time.”

“Kento, I need her pussy on my face now.”

Slowly but surely, you’re fluttering your eyes open at the feeling of being shuffled around - only seeing the beautiful, brown eyes of Higuruma Hiromi staring down at you. When did he get so close?

“Hiromi?” You’re blubbering out stupidly, still suffering from the aftershocks of your previous high. Those zapping bursts of electricity made your thighs twitch sensitively- “I mean- sir?”

Higuruma shivers, “You trained her well, Kento.”

“Mhmmm—” Nanami noses down the column of your throat proudly.

“Maybe now it’s time for a reward then, huh?”

You’re perking up. “Yes, please.”

Nanami snickers. “You spoil her.”

And in almost no time, you’re finding yourself handed off to the law professor - Nanami stands up and gets off of the armchair. While Higuruma takes his place- 

At least, that’s what you think is going to happen.

But what ends up happening instead is that Higuruma seats you down on the chair, letting your barely-clothed pussy rub up against the cushion. Something in his eyes gleams at the way you’re squirming, and he speaks to you in a gentle tone. “Can you turn around and hold the headrest f’me, angel? Be a good girl f’me?”

“A-alright?” Confused, you’re just doing what he says. He meant that you had to turn and climb your knees onto the seat, ass turned towards the professors, back slightly arched.

“Mmm, good.” Higuruma admires the view. “Arch that back just a little more f’me now, alright?”

“Like this?” 

And still not sure what he was about to do, you can only follow his commands. It almost feels like a doggy position- and you hold onto the wooden headrest for dear life.

“Mhmmm.”

And Nanami’s the first to mutter to himself, “Don’t tell me you’re…” He takes in the sight of you - with your front resting against the backrest of the chair. You have your spine bent, your ass cheeks displayed for them, your cunt not quite on the seat—“Hiromi, you dirty dog.”

“Couldn’t help myself.” Steadily, Higuruma’s kneeling on the floor. 

There’s no warning before he then shoves his face nose-deep into your cunt- straight from behind. 

Higuruma grabs onto either side of your ass cheeks, his prominent nose curvin’ up the slit of your pussy. He’s using his grip on you to draaaag you further down onto his face—“Mhmmm—spread those legs.”

He’s muttering.

He’s spitting- stern lips pursing and letting out a rivulet of saliva.

It strikes vertically down your cunt before Higuruma’s running his fat tongue over it. Smearing around the mess he’s made- but most importantly, smearing around the mess that you’ve made.

You’re whining as Higuruma’s textured tastebuds seem to take over your pussy. All the way from the plumpness of your folds, and then dipping between them to tease your hole- you’re still so sensitive from the massage that Nanami’s fingers had simmered into you. And you’re trembling your thighs further open, “P-please- fuck-”

“I’m a lawyer so I’m really good with my tongue, y’know?” Higuruma pants out, scorching hot against your needy pussy. “But that means my fees are high, too-”

“A-and what are your fees?” You’re sobbing out.

“Mmmm…” He takes the time to think—and by that, you mean that he rovers his mouth over where your clit was throb-throb-throbbing. The law professor takes his sweet time spreadin’ open your pussylips with his tongue, before letting his tongue flop out n’ draaaaaag down your clit-

And his next words are so lecherously muffled. “Ride my nose raw, sugar.”

You gasp.

In the background, you can hear a gruff bout of laughter that notably doesn’t belong to Higuruma.

You grip onto the headrest of the chair harder than ever- because in a split-second, Higuruma’s thumbin’ your folds open and stuffing your hole all full of his tongue. 

So loooong and slick- curving right against the roof of your pussy. It makes you jolt to feel his honed, flexible tip zig-zagging its way down your channel—mazing and mazing inside that it’s as though his wet muscle was never-ending.

Higuruma Hiromi was damn ravenous.

He feels your knees start to slip away from him- and he claws his fingers deep into the globes of your ass cheeks to pull you back. Uncaring if you’re whining for mercy- “A-aren’t you supposed to be the nice one, sir?”

“Spoiled.” Nanami’s voice echoes from the distance.

“Mmm- keep calling me that, yeah?” Groans wrenching from the back of his throat at the mere sound of that title being said in your pretty voice. How nice it was to make you beg. “And no—”

“No?”

“I am being nice by letting you ride my nose, aren’t I?” His head jerks just a little upwards to look at you- and Higuruma can just barely make out the shock on your face. “I know how much you’ve wanted to ride it-”

“Hiromi-”

“Ever since ya fuckin’ met me, huh?” His rough tone vibrates through every vessel of your body- pushed even further by the constant swabbin’ he was doing inside. Swab after swab. “Ever since ya first saw me- don’t think I didn’t see how you stared at me.”

You’re clawing further up the headrest. “B-but how did you know-”

“Oh, angel…” Higuruma almost chuckles. Something dark and depraved- “If I was wrong then you wouldn’t be so fucking wet- I can barely breathe.”

Both of his roughened palms plaster around your thighs. Draaaagging you bodily - as though you were nothing against him - to glue your pussylips to his own lips.

He makes out with your pussy like a man parched.

“And I don’t need to.”

Your vision blurs with pleasure as Higuruma spreads your folds perfectly apart- and starts rammin’ his tongue into you wildly. Thick and thirsty for the taste of your sweet, sweet juices—any time that even a mere droplet of your sap starts to drip down your thighs- you can best believe that Higuruma was whipping his head down to slurp it up. “Harder.”

“I-I am-”

“Faster.”

“Fuck-”

“Raw, I said raw.”

Practically addicted to it. 

He’s pussydrunk in with just a few sloppy, open-mouthed kisses. And you yourself can feel your pupils start to circle inside the whites of your eyes.

Spreading yourself even further on the chair to meet his utterly ravenous mouth-

“Didn’t forget about me now, did you?”

Nanami Kento sounds the closest he’s been since he had you on his fingers- which could feel like minutes, hours, days ago by now. It takes you significant effort to blink away the clingy film of tears on your eyes, and you’re opening them to find that he was actually…standing right in front of you.

Nanami had rounded the side of the armchair - and if you looked up, there his handsome face was. So now you have your law professor at your behind, and your history professor’s crotch in front of your face. His pants much too tight. 

His cock thick and throbbing underneath there.

Clasping onto the headrest of the chair, if you raised your head juuuuust a little then you’d be able to mouth over the twitching erection he hid underneath there. “K-Kento?”

Nanami looks down at you through his gold-rimmed glasses. Grinning at your teary expression, “Only a few minutes with your nice teacher n’ you’ve already forgotten your manners, my love?” His hand falls to his formal pants, “Guess we have to go back to lesson one.”

“O-oh…”

Nanami had already unbuckled his belt and lets it drop to the floor—clink! Followed right along with the popping of his buttons, it doesn’t take too long before you’re face-to-face with his rock-hard bulge. Achingly hard. Almost painfully hard.

Barely held together by his boxers, he seeps out such volumes of precum that it creates a dark patch on the silken fabric. It glistens just a bit under the dim lighting of the office- something that makes you gulp.

And something that makes Higuruma nudge his tongue even deeper inside of you- shit, you could feel yourself growing more aroused. And he could taste it.

“Did you know she gets sweeter n’ sweeter the wetter she gets?” Higuruma slurs from in-between your legs, latching onto your clit with a loud squelch! “And you won’t believe it…but right now she tastes like the tastiest strawberry candy- heh.”

“Is that so?” Nanami’s nose crinkles as he looks down at you. He’s admiring that drunken expression on your face for a little bit, before reaching his right hand down and clasping at the back of your head. “Filthy girl.” 

You shiver. “C-can’t help it-”

“Ah ah—not another word out of you.” The blond-haired man continues. His grip tightens- “I expect you not to speak when your professor is speaking-”

Cocking his head just a little, Nanami takes a glance at the famished way that Higuruma was kissin’ between your legs. Gasping. Gulping.

He had his mouth gaped wide open and was dragging it across every inch of your pussy that he could reach- sticking that long tongue of his between your pussylips. You’re almost sandwiching his tastebuds for a bit before he manages to flicker his tastebuds inside again—then in and out, in and out, in and out.

Faster than before.

Reeling back out to slap! your pussy with the flat surface of his tongue.

Then probin’ back in again.

Higuruma’s just being so loud-

“-and when this pussy is speaking.” The rest of the history professor’s sentence makes you gasp - brain so muddled that you’d almost forgotten what he was saying. Almost forgotten that he has a firm grip on your sweaty scalp—one that he’d now turned into two hands upon your sweaty scalp.

Tugging your head forwards as if you were nothing but a ragdoll to smush your face against his boiling hot erection. 

Your jaw falls open and soon enough, you’re salivating all over his clothed cock. 

Tongue lavishing across the cotton of his boxers- feeling every ridge n’ vein along his shaft. 

He groans at the feeling of your heated mouth, and his fingers dig into your scalp even deeper. Tugging. Needing. One set of your fingers reach upwards to fumble its hem, and you take Nanami’s round, reddened tip into his mouth.

Moaning at the large size of him.

Moaning at the salty taste that floods your mouth-

“Hey now…” Higuruma’s choked-up tone echoes from behind. You’re feeling his tender fingers start to pull your hips back onto his face, “-don’t steal my star student away.”

“Have you forgotten that she’s my star student, too?”

“Her pussy’s on my mouth right now- so who’s in charge?”

“Well, let’s ask how she feels about it…” Nanami’s voice trails off—and only too late are you realizing that he isn’t talking about your pussy this time. He’s talking about you- waiting for your answer.

And you’re attempting to muffle out something, letting the globular edge of his cock swirl around your mouth a few times. Around and around. Just the crown of his mushroom tip prods into your every orifice inside- you’re opening your mouth to answer when Nanami jerks his hips forwards.

Fucking his cock deeeeep into your maw.

And with it, whatever words were in your throat, too. 

“I dunno about that-” Nanami hums down at the chokes n’ strangled gasps you’re letting out, just the barest noises of whatever was able to filter past his swollen shaft. “-but it sounded like a ‘you, sir’ to me.”

“Didn’t know you were that depraved.” Higuruma spits out. Dark eyes narrowed as he’s grinding you back to him n’ lapping away at your oversensitive pussylips.

“I’m a gentleman, what can I say?” The other professor responds.

As the slurps n’ sucking continues, Nanami looks at you through half-lidded eyes. He admires the way your mouth leaves a glittering glaze of spit from the tip of his cock and doooown to about halfway down his shaft—so cute how you couldn’t fit it all. “And as Head of your pussy-” Fuck, when did he even assign himself that? Is he pussydrunk already? “-I say you can’t cum until you’re fitting my cock aaaaaall the way…”

The history professor’s left hand lifts off of your scalp. Then dragging down the front of your throat - down, down, down. 

“-here.”

He points to a spot way past the back of your throat.

He fucks your mouth like he’s agonized every second he isn’t reaching for it.

Higuruma growls.

And thereafter it’s almost like a tug-of-war - on one end you’re being hauled forwards by Nanami’s grip on the back of your head. His hands strong and unwavering, no matter much you’re gasping for air- fuck, the ever-gentlemanly Nanami Kento was gone for the feeling of your mouth tightening around his hot cock.

Rutting those toned hips up into your velvety cavern like an animal-

“Just a little more.” That left hand of his wraps around your throat now, his thumb markin’ at the spots where he can feel his rounded tip probing inside. “Just a liiiiittle more now- about four inches? Heh.”

“Mmm—” Your eyes go wide in surprise.

And Nanami responds by pushing his hips even further, nearing the tip of your nose to those curls of blond at his base. “C’mon, c’mon.”

And on the other end, Higuruma had his nails digging into the flesh of your thighs. Into the flesh of your ass. His tongue fishing around your insides before he pulls out and starts nibblin’ on your damn clit—

He’s thirsty. Depraved.

“Noooo, angel.” He’s gluing his chin to the front of your pussylips. Head moving back and forth, back and forth, back and forth as the law professor lashes his tongue across. “Come back to me-”

“Mmm—” You’re being pulled off of Nanami Kento’s reddened, dribblin’ cock with a plop! Just from the sheer pressure of Higuruma manhandling your body from the other side - dragging you all down his handsome face. “Fuh-fuck-!”

“Where’d you think you’re going?” Only for Nanami to barely let you breathe for a split-second before he’s pulling your mouth down his shaft again.

Shovelling a gooooood few inches of his vein-covered cock inside- he marks that spot out on your throat. Even deeper than the last time you had him- “Mmm, not bad. Just a few inches- mmm, more.”

“Ride my nose.” Higuruma begs from the other end. Breath breezing down your gooey core, it makes your thighs shiver- “Ride my nose, I don’t care. Ride my nose, ride my nose—” 

And you’re just so overstimulated from all ends.

From the draaagging of Nanami’s thumb down the front of your neck, from the sensual touch of Higuruma’s nose being sandwiched between your pussylips, from the pleasure of them both playing with your body. It’s as if you’re their favorite toy to taste, to fuck - to worship because of the way they were being driven to absolute madness by those carnal sensations. 

You can only jolt your body back and forth.

Down Nanami’s cock. Up Higuruma’s ready face.

Riding his nose just like you wanted- “S-so—” Somehow barely managing to gurgle out past the pulsating tip of his cock, “So close-”

“Close?” Higuruma perks up. “Fuh-fuck- I have you, angel.”

“Remember- no cumming until you take it here.” Nanami presses his thumb somewhere near where your voicebox was bulging with the intrusion of his inches. “You’re not there yet, darling…”

“But-”

“Please let her cum.” But to your surprise, it’s your law professor who is pleading your face. 

Nanami raises a blond brow, “Oh?”

“Let her-” He slurps away on your swollen nub- sensitive and throbbing. He’s hollowing his cheeks out to get that suctioning sensation, already making your knees feel weak with pleasure. “Need her to- fuck, want her to cum on my tongue. Let her cum already.”

Nanami thrusts even deeper, “Hmm…I dunno.”

“I’m the one asking you.” Higuruma grumbles. “Let her cum-”

“Mmmpf- please.” And your brows furrow as the pit of bliss in your stomach grows stronger.

“Let her-” The law professor continues, “I’m begging you- fuck, she’s becoming so sweet. Let her cum-”

Pale brows furrowing. Sweat lines down his temple- “I don’t…just fit-” And he’s scrapin’ his bulbous tip down the roof of your cunt—all the way along to the back of your throat and targeting even further. “If she takes it until-”

Higuruma’s nose helping your grinds and bounces. “Just let her cum-”

“If she takes it-”

“Fucking let her-”

“G-gonna—” It’s the last thing you’re managing to get out before a sudden slam! of Nanami’s hips shut you up- and before you know it, you’re feeling the carnal scratch of his pubic hair. The feeling of his tawny curls at your skin, the intrusion of his throbbing shaft all the way down your throat.

And his thumb tapping where he’d marked a treasure spot - a spot he was supposed to meet. Nanami doesn’t have to say a single thing for Higuruma to bite his sharp canines down on your clit.

And before you know it, you’re bursting into your nth high of the night. 

Not just your second, but your third, perhaps even your fourth.

Stars burst behind your eyelids, and your moans are nothing but soft crackles at the back of your throat. Higuruma draaaaags you all throughout those waves of bliss, elongating them with the thorough lavishing of his tongue. 

Probin’ into every sweet spot.

Inside and out.

He digs his fingers into your thighs, now accomplishing his dream of having you ride his nose. Because you’re being made to arch your back n’ bounce your hips lecherously up and across.

Hittin’ those best angles- the peaks of your high absolutely burst through you. 

And Nanami? Your history professor was enjoying the view - cocking his head to the side and smiling as you shatter on Higuruma’s face. He watches about half your orgasm bate, before starting to fuck his swollen cock back in and out of you. Thrusting. 

“Now now—” Nanami murmurs. “You should be thankful my rubric’s so generous this time.”

You can only look up at him with your teary eyes.

That sight is enough for him to bite down on his lower lip n’ stop himself from cumming. No, he had something more important in his mind…

“Thirty seconds to finish up.” He says meanly. “Before I either drag your pussy off of his face or you have to drag yourself off, m’kay?”

“Tch- stingy.” Higuruma keeps lappin’ at you even after your high has passed. 

And once that thirty seconds of more bliss have passed - just like Nanami said - he grips both hands ‘round the back of your scalp and wrenches you off of his cock. Off of Higuruma’s mouth. He’s bending down to spit straight between your lips—

“Now, I’m gonna be nice this one time because you took all of me. Understood?” The history professor states, so firm. “Nod if you understand, my love.”

You nod.

“Good.” He then kisses your lips- tasting you, tasting himself. “Now…do you want it from the back or face-to-face? Because m’fucking you filthy either way.”

“From- from the back.” You pant out.

And Nanami gives a single, stern nod before he lets you go. “Brace yourself.”

You’re collapsing back into the chair—sitting your ass down on it this time. Before the law professor suddenly has you in his arms - he supports you in getting off of the armchair and standing up. Now in the middle of his office, you’re stumbling onto your wobbly feet.

Your arms loop around Higuruma’s neck. “Hiromi…”

“Mmm, I love it when you call me that.” Higuruma kisses you.

“How unruly.” Both of you snap your heads at the sound of buttons popping- only to find that Nanami was taking off his button-up. And you were right- fuck, you were so right. He was so thoroughly chiselled underneath, almost Herculean in nature.

With the most naturally defined ridges n’ curves of his muscles—his firm pectorals, his washboard abs, his meaty thighs that make an appearance.

Nanami sheds of all his clothes before he stares down the two of you- “Addressing your professor by name? Clearly going against objectives to get ready? Making me jealous? What an undisciplined class, no need to be standing around.” He looks at you, “I’ll be fucking you until you can’t stand, anyway.”

A shiver runs down your spine—“Oh.”

“Now, darling.”

Higuruma lets you waddle away to Nanami- who merely swivels you around and bends you over the edge of his colleague’s desk. Papers and ink flying everywhere across the office as he does.

Folding you forwards until your head hits the table. Kneeing your legs apart.

It’s hitting you like a truck - your history professor is about to fuck you against your law professor’s desk.

“Stay still.” He gravels in your ear.

Nanami’s barely letting you take a breath before rubbin’ his bulbous tip down your dripping wet slit from behind. Hand gripping his thick hilt—up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Getting his inches coated in a glaze of your sap, Nanami hums at the feeling of you attempting to contract around him.

“This naughty girl’s reeeeal needy for me, huh?” Scorching breath heating up your skin, he kisses down your arched spine. “She says she can take all of me- can you?”

“Y-yes—” You’re sobbing into the polished mahogany. Bucking your hips up, “I want it, sir.”

You’re jolting as his puckered, pinkish tip smooches at your wet entrance- he’s just so thick that he can plug your hole up easily. Nanami’s tip throbs against your hole, and he reaches a right hand down to feel your pretty stomach - to feel where he’s going to be hittin’ with his hungry cock. 

He breathes out airily—“You want it?”

“Yes-”

“Say please.”

“Please-”

“Hmmm?”

“Please, sir.”

Nanami lurches his hips back, back, backwards- “As you wish then, teacher’s pet.”

And then you’re being stuffed with an inch or two of him.

And by stuffed—you were seriously stuffed. 

Thick and thorough. Almost too big to even fit in - Nanami fills out the orifice of your cunt without even trying. His ruby-red tip just manages to squeeze between your pussylips, before the first ring of muscle at your entrance makes him falter.

And he’s gritting his teeth at the sheer tightness, voice coming out as nothing but a hiss. “Fuck- didn’t you say that you can take it?” He’s pressing his left hand down at the base of your spine, leaning his weight in to keep you still. “Come back, my love- class isn’t over yet.”

You hadn’t even realized you’d been clawing at the desk until now. “S-sir—”

Just that is enough to make Nanami’s ravaged tip twitch inside of you- spurting out a few more dollops of pre. “Yes, darling?”

“I d-don’t—” Fuck- you swear you could feel him grow even harder inside of you at the sight of your teary expression. Staring at your history professor over your shoulder, “I don’t know if it even can fit.”

“Awww, my poor baby.” And you should know better than to let Nanami Kento hush your cries, you should know better than to let him lull you. 

But you can’t help but get pulled into his big, strong arms anyway.

“My poor, poor baby.” And from one corner of the room, you could hear Higuruma’s distant laugh. Although you don’t have the time to wonder what it means, because Nanami’s continuing- “None of those boys ever taught you how to take a real cock, hm?” 

And you can only nod. 

“None of those boys have ever fucked you right, hm?”

Nodding once more.

“Don’t you worry, darling. If you can’t take this one…”

He presses a chaste peck against your hairline. Letting his soft breath waft over the crown of your head, and his chest ripple with his words, soft. 

“-m’gonna make it fit.”

And that’s the last thing you’re hearing before Nanami’s rammin’ his swollen, aching cock into you like an animal- his furious cockhead burrowing in deep. 

He manages to shovel just a few more inches inside, before the snugness of your channel acts up once more. Leaving him barely even able to reel his hips backwards—just that much of a tight fit that’s making his eyes roll to the back of his skull.

He shakes.

His groan cracks at the back of his throat. “O-oh.” Both of Nanami’s hands fly to the sides of your hips, and his fingers fucking shake where he holds you. “Oh, yeah.”

“Shit-” You’re flinching at the scalding sensation of his breath. Gusting.

And even that mere shiver- Nanami catches onto it. And it’s only making him clasp your body even tighter, pulling you into him—“You’re really not getting away until we make it fit, my love. Good luck.”

No matter how much his ravenous hips are rutting n’ bucking and trying oh-so-desperately to hammer even more of his inches inside- he can only fuck you in short, needy half-thrusts. The rest of him left to throb wildly behind you, he keeps on stretching and stretching your insides just to fit inside.

Each one of his bucks so desperate. So greedy.

The pointed tip of Nanami’s cockhead prods away at your innards as though he’s trying to claim every single ounce of space inside you- 

“Have you forgotten that this is a joint class, Kento?”

Higuruma’s voice is enough to send pulses of adrenaline flowing through your body - and you’re just managing to look around Nanami’s toned frame. The law professor stands behind the two of you with his arms crossed, clothes mostly on except for his trousers being tugged down.

He held his blushin’ cock in one hand, pumping furiously at the sight of his star student. 

Nanami himself sighs—though he doesn’t stop his sloppy scouring of your innards for a single second. He looks straight at the other man as he asks- “Oh yes…would you like her now or after me, Hiromi?”

“Now.” Higuruma narrows his heady eyes at the two of you. And the blond-haired man slightly growls at his answer, seemingly grappling with the thought of leaving your pretty pussy right about now- “But don’t pull out.”

You feel like you’re experiencing whiplash. “What?”

Nanami only raises a sharp brow.

And Higuruma himself can’t help but crack a sleazy smirk-

Before you know it, he’s rounding the two of you. Coat off. White button-up flapping open.

He tugs on the smooth, black tie that was hanging haphazardly from his neck- and gestures something indiscernible at the other man.

Though, clearly both professors understood.

Because one second you’re slouched on top of Higuruma’s desk, droolin’ stupidly over some important documents as Nanami Kento pounds you into oblivion - and in the next second, he’s lifting you off of it.

Cleanly off the desk.

One hand wrapped around your waist, the other putting you in a headlock.

He pulls you up as though you’re nothing- and you’re ogling the way his biceps bulge around your throat. Feeling the cushy firmness of his strength—“W-what are you-”

“D’you know what a standing full nelson is?” Higuruma asks. And for a second you think he’s asking you - maybe this was some strange sort of quiz - but then Nanami nods.

“Thought that only happens in fiction? Don’t tell me you’re a secret freak, Hiromi?” He scoffs, though he pulls out either way. 

“And look who’s talking…” Then Higuruma looks at you and taps his shoulders. “Hold on, angel, he’s going to lift you.”

“Shit…” 

As expected, you’re holding onto Higuruma’s broad shoulders for leverage- whilst Nanami bends and loops his hands around your legs. His strong forearms where your knees were. 

Scooping you up into his arms.

Holding them up.

Holding you up.

Hoverin’ well over six feet in the air.

Yelping, you’re digging your nails into the law professor’s shoulders - but if it hurt, then he doesn’t’ react to the pain. Honestly, you don’t even think he could feel it right now—because Higuruma was holding out his tie.

Measuring it against your face-

Tying it around your face like a blindfold.

He knots it at the back of your head, and suddenly the room is curtained in nothing but pure black. You could only hear the gruffness of both men’s chuckles, and Higuruma asking. “Everything alright, angel?”

“Of course, it is.” Nanami mutters- almost to himself. Though he does stretch your legs a little wider, presumably to show to the other man—“Look how fucking drenched she is.”

“Good girl.”

“Naughty, you mean.”

“I must beg to differ.”

And you’re arching against Nanami’s toned front, the plushness of his abs digging against your back. It was the most sensual massage you’ve felt in your entire life- “Please- ngh, what’s with the blindfold?”

“Oh, that…” Higuruma starts. “Guess.”

“What?”

“Guess.”

Brains wracking- “You aren’t going to leave me hanging, are you?”

“No.”

“Is this a roleplay?”

“No.”

“A kink thing?”

“Well…”

“A BDSM thing?”

“Guess.”

You’re feeling helplessness wash over you—“B-but, I already did-”

“No, my love.” Nanami’s the one to speak up this time. He leans down so that he’s pressing an innocent kiss to the edge of your hairline, “We’re going to make this slutty pussy guess which one of us she’s being fucked by.”

Your jaw drops.

And your cunt grows even wetter.

An occasion that the two professors are watching with awe-

Higuruma in particular finds himself breathing out—“And your time starts…now.”

And then you’re hearing the shuffling of his trousers- right before a sudden proddin’ intrusion starts up at your entrance. It was hot and throbbing—so needy that your teeth are set on edge by the sheer volume of precum that he was emptying out.

You’re feeling his thick tip start to eeeease in- squeezing in past the tightness of your channel for a bit before pulling back and fucking you ruthlessly in semi-thrusts.

“H-Hiromi?” You guess. Surely, with him being the one that was removing his trousers it must be…

“Wrong.” Nanami grins.

And then you’re feeling his cock give you a few vicious pumps before he’s pulling away - leaving you all empty and yearning for more. Your glistening hole clenches a few times around nothing, before a sudden globular tip starts kissin’ your entrance once more.

You’re bucking back in Nanami’s arms in an attempt to figure out just who it might be- but the history professor holds onto you firmly. Not a single inch.

Not a single inch less.

Whoever was fucking you takes no more time before swabbin’ his swollen erection inside once more- biting back a groooan at the feeling of your tightening walls.

It’s the same short, jerky thrusts from before just to fit in. 

“Sir?” You’re gasping out. But surely, it can’t be twice in a row…“No wait- is it Hiromi this time?”

The cadence of his hips stops abruptly. “Can’t get enough of the law, can you?”

Nanami.

And you don’t know whether it’s the fact that you’re just feeling your brain melt at the sheer stimulation between your legs, you don’t know whether it’s the fact that both handsome men had you sandwiched between their muscular bodies—it was just driving you wild. Making you stupid.

A line of drool slicks down the side of your mouth, and Nanami doesn’t hesitate before leaning in and lickin’ it off. “I should punish you for this.”

“I-I—oh, fuck.” Whatever words were on the tip of your tongue get swallowed up by the feeling of yet another round, ruddied cockhead pushing inwards. Pulsing. Prying apart your walls. And you’re noticing that this one is slightly slimmer than the last, more pointed, more honed, more of its curvaceous tip that tilts to the left.

It makes you shiver at the feeling of his bawling divot dragging across your walls so perfectly. “Is this- sir-”

“Try again, angel.”

It was a struggle to piece your thoughts together, and Higuruma’s voice is the only thing that makes you realize-

“Hiromi.”

“Mhmmm—” Before you know it, the other man has one hand dipping between your jittery legs. His fingers easily locate your clit to tug n’ pry like the cutest gummy - how sweet. And he’s timing it to the constant probes of his looooong, smooth cock. “Good girl. A++ for that.”

“You’re quite the generous grader.” Nanami scoffs. “I would have given that a B.”

“What can I say? I do have a soft spot for her…” Higuruma’s cock was slightly lengthier than Nanami’s, you’re noticing - though not quite as thick. And with less veins that didn’t massage your inner orifices as much, but made it soooo much easier for him to slip even deeper.

Especially with this position, he manages to probe his cockhead further past where Nanami’s thicker one was able to fit.

Reaching almost for your throat with his blushing, frenzied tip- Higuruma gives a final roll over your clit before he’s pulling out. Letting a few ribbons of sap gush down your legs after him-

Ones that are being fucked right back up with a second length.

Thicker. Harder.

Throbbing so much that you swear you can count them all the way at the top of your head- Nanami’s shaft was next. And he’s lavishing your entrance with so much attention—draaaaagging his vein-decorated shaft in and out. In and out. In and out.

“S-so?” He rasps out from behind. Higuruma’s cockhead had mazed open your insides just a bit more, and Nanami struggles not to let his voice tremble. “Which one of us, darling?”

“Y-you—”

That earns you a bite on the shell of your ear. “No.”

Before he’s pulling back out.

And your breath catches- “Wait- I meant sir. It’s you, sir—”

“Too late for that now.”

“Awww, come now.” Higuruma coos as well. “How are we supposed to make an example out of our star student if she just keeps makin’ mistakes?”

“I think she’s gettin’ lazy now, huh?” The other man responds. And now both of their ruddied cockheads were droolin’ all over your entrance- mixing with the sweetened syrup that was already dripping out of you and creating such a mess. “Maybe she doesn’t deserve our cocks at all?”

“Don’t say that—” You could feel your law professor’s eyes turn to you. “You deserve it- hah, don’t you, angel?”

Shivering at the feeling of both cocks sandwiching between your pussylips. Now that they’d both pulled out- it’s as if they were fighting over who can be next. Rubbin’ and teasing. “I do—” Your voice cracks on that last note, “P-please, I do-”

“I’m still not convinced.”

Higuruma continues, “Promise us you’ll be a good girl? That you’ll listen to what your professors have to say?”

“I will I will-”

“Promise us that no more of that teasin’ stuff in class?” His prominent nose slides down the column of your throat, breathing in your essence. “None of that bending over?”

“Yes—” But you could already hear the question in your throat - and it seems that they could, too.

And it makes Nanami gruffs out. “Because - forgive us - but you do realize that it’s not just us seeing your little…display, darling?” He spreads open your legs even wider, and Higuruma’s ministrations grow even more frenzied on your clit. Squeezing. Pinching. Flicking.

And you’re restless- “Wh-what do you mean?”

“I mean to say that there are others more…undeserving that see those legs of yours, those panties, those tits.” There’s a sharp edge to his words—“Those boys in class can’t take their eyes off of you.”

“We can’t either, of course.” Higuruma responds. Squeezing his cock inside- “But at least that little performance of yours is meant for us, right?”

“Don’t like the way they look at you.” Nanami’s also squeezing his cock inside now - both of them bullying your hole at once. Creating a stretch that makes your vision go white- so much carnal stimulation that your entire body wracks with shakes. “Don’t like the way they turn to look. Don’t like the way they have to mysteriously…disappear into the bathrooms any time you do your little show.”

“Given…we do the same.” The law professor continues—“Because fuck- how fuckin’ pretty you look all dressed up in silk. Makes it hard not to cream my pants everytime I see you- but none of those boys have the balls to back that admiration up.”

Giving you a thorough slam—both of them.

Higuruma’s the one to continue, “But we do.”

“Because I rub my cock raw to you, my love.” Nanami ends off, holding you close to him. “N’ none of those boys could ever fuck you like we do.”

“Yes, p-please—” And you’re pushed between both of their sculptured fronts. Unable to see them- but you could feel the ridges and curves of their muscles, the way they were both leaning in as though they couldn’t get enough of you. “I only want…ngh.”

One of your arms wrap around Higuruma’s neck, and the other reaches behind you to attempt to clasp onto Nanami’s.

“Just want the two of you…”

“Hmmm…” Nanami’s cock twitches at your gooey entrance- “A+”

And then they’re alternating between fucking you—

“Hiromi.” You’re gasping at the intrusion of his smoothened tip, the velvety texture of him reaching for so many spots inside you but most importantly- that g-spot. 

And then he’s pulling back out.

“Sir- fuck, Professor Kento.” Nanami swabs his thickened tip inside and hits that precise spot. Although he decides to take it a few steps further this time and dig his rounded tip into the very back of your pussy, bottoming-out. “Shit shit shit—”

Thrust after thrust.

Pulling out. Shovelling back in.

Making you guess just which one of your two older professors were takin’ over your pussy right now- it made your head dizzy just trying to keep track. Bounced up and down in their arms.

“Hiromi.”

“Professor Kento.”

“Hiromi.”

“Hiromi.”

“Professor Kento.”

“Hiromi.”

“Professor Kento.”

“Professor Kento.”

“Hiromi—” Before your voice shatters at the feeling of…two thickened lengths attempting to fit inside. Fighting against the resistance for a few sloppy strokes before they’re siiiiiiiiiiiinking in- “And Professor K-Kento, sir…” The feeling of their large, slick-glazed cocks were just incredible - rubbin’ against your walls and one another. Like nothing earlier.

It was a stretch like you’ve never felt before, hittin’ spots that you didn’t even know you had.

And both professors held onto your shaking body tight- they shovelled their lengths in and out of you. Two blushin’ cockheads heading for your g-spot, before their slide-slide-sliiiiiding all the way down to end up at your cervix.

Stretching apart your walls.

Making your channel bulge.

Letting the curves of their mushroomy tips drag apart your walls, n’ press into the sweetest spots of your nerves. Both of their heavy ballsacks smack-smack the front of your cunt right on time with their thrusts. Thrust after thrust.

Again and again.

Nanami grunts at the sensation of Higuruma deep inside you, “F-fuck…”

“You can say that again.” Higuruma himself replies. 

By now, the jostlin’ about had meant that your blindfold was falling off- and you could see the two men upon either side of you. Shovelling their hot cocks deep inside your pussy, positively ravaging you.

The law professor’s fingers weren’t letting up on your clit just yet, either. 

He quirks his digits just a bit to draw a little heart upon it—and soon enough you find yourself throwing your head back with a moan. “G-gonna-”

“Shhhh—” Nanami grins. His ears keenly listen to the noises from between your legs - they were just so much louder now that you had two thickened shafts ramming into you. “This pussy says she’s gonna cum soon, darling.”

“Y-you little-” 

A harsh hammerin’ on your spongy cervix. “Pardon, my love?”

“Nothing—oh.” Even their thrusting styles were different - Nanami Kento with his thorough, solid slashes as though he was trying to reach your womb every single time. And Higuruma Hiromi with slightly slower, smoother glides of his cock - soothing through the nooks n’ crannies that Nanami had activated first.

It was the perfect combination.

Naughty and nice.

Though not exactly in the way you’d initially thought.

And perhaps this manner was what was making you so desperate to cum again- “Please-” Gasping. “Let me cum—”

You’re looking between a grinning Nanami and Higuruma. Dazedly.

“Please may I-” Choking out in-between the moans and droplets of saliva that were gushing out of you- falling onto Higuruma’s puffed-out chest. “-cum, sirs?”

Both of their rock-hard cocks twitch deep inside of you.

And you’re briefly seeing a silent conversation pass between them-

“Go ahead, angel.”

“Cum all over my cock, darling.”

And it might have been minutes, it might have been seconds, it might have been split-seconds later once you’re crashing into your high. The waves of white-hot pleasure taking over you until it felt like your body was burning up. 

Feverish.

You’re crying out as you attempt to bounce your lewd hips back into both their shovelling shafts- but they’ve already got you. They’re holding onto your perspired body - so limp now with pleasure - and lettin’ their pointed cockheads hit each and every nerve bundle inside.

Pinpointing your g-spot with their lengths.

Targeting it especially through peak after peak.

After peak.

Your cunt trickles with honeyed slick- and it slips between your three bodies to drench Higuruma and Nanami’s cocks. Their thighs. Their bodies. 

Making it even louder to thrust into your cunt—you’re forced to raise your voice just a little just so that they can hear. “Sh-shit…” Until eventually you’re feeling so raw on their relentless cocks that you’re unsure whether you want them to elongate those waves of bliss or whether you want to fucking run away—“It feels so- oh, it feels…”

“And what do we say?” Nanami’s deep baritone croons out. He doesn’t slow down for a single second as he speaks- even though he himself was feeling a little sensitive by this point.

He hits his full ballsack against the front of your cunt and hisses- “Can I have it all inside…” You’re looking between them with wide, heart-shaped pupils. “-sirs?”

And you should’ve known what that would do.

You should’ve known how much that would break them.

Because with only a few final thrusts, both Higuruma and Nanami cum inside you with loud slurps! of your greedy cunt. Gobblin’ up all those white ropes of seed that they were emptying out - sheer volumes that they’d been holding onto for hours, days, this entire semester.

Nanami furrows his golden brows and presses his face into the crook of your neck. Groaning as he fucks you through his orgasm, “A-and here I was just expecting a thank you…”

“Our girl always was the sweetest.” Higuruma coos. 

Your history professor rides through his high with his teeth grit, jaw working overtime to keep his noises to a minimum - he wanted to hear your soft gasps and groans even more. Though his body shakes as it keeps on thrummin’ with pleasure. 

Visceral.

Meanwhile, your law professor let out such husky grunts after each splat! of cum that he emptied out against your womb. He couldn’t even handle fucking you properly anymore and his hips kept on stutterin’ through his waves. 

Cheeks flushed. Gaze locked on you. 

He didn’t want to tear it away.

Both of them are cumming so much that you nearly can’t tell who’s who - with their dollops of heated, syrupy sap. Each divot bawling them out messily—you can feel them stick against the end of your pussy, right where your cervix was, before being stirred about by the motions of their cylindrical shafts. 

Their prominent veins massagin’ your sweetest spots. Their globular cockheads pumping every single droplet inside you.

Every single droplet.

Not a single bead of that ivory cum escapes—but they’re both still looking at each other with the same idea.

And you’re seeing yet another silent conversation pass between them that you miss. “Oh?”

In almost no time, Higuruma and Nanami have you splayed out on the polished desk - back against its flat surface, legs held high in the air. This time, however, both their faces were between your pussylips and attempting to beat the other—

They were lappin’ their dual tongues over your leaking cunt like they were starved.

Nanami’s hand pressing down on your stomach to make a few more droplets spray out of your hole- Higuruma’s hand flicking over your clit still.

You lean back on your elbows and watch them.

And what a sight it was: both their handsome faces between your legs.

They nudge their noses against the creamy layers on top of your cunt, and swivel the mess around like mad. You could see through your tears the exact moment - the exact moment - that their pinkish tongues meet in the middle.

Where Higuruma’s tastebuds overlap with Nanami’s as they’re suckling on your clit- and they both flinch at the sensation before moaning—

And that’s before the door clicks.

“Oi, why are the lights still on? Don’t you know that campus has closed a long time ag-”

You pause.

Nanami pauses.

Higuruma pauses.

And so does Professor Shiu Kong - Head of the Mathematics Department, also PhD with Distinction. 

His jaw drops as his eyes drift over from the mess of clothes on the floor, to the mess that’d been made of you. Bite marks all over your throat. The blindfold still around your neck. And even more - you could see the way his hands tighten on his files as his gaze probes deeper, taking in your leaking, lecherous cunt.

No one moves.

Except for Shiu, who steps inside.

Your heart was in your throat.

Getting ready for a berating of some kind- or potentially even worse. Perhaps a suspension, perhaps Nanami and Higuruma would be fired at once-

“So…” Shiu’s husky voice interrupts your thoughts. “-got room for mathematics?”

A/N. Heheheheh ofc we got room for youuuuuuuuu Shiu <33