yamyam

“-isn’t what they really want just conforming to their mold?”

You’re turning around. 

A faint smile on your lips. “Then what can we do about all the different molds?”

Nanami nods. “No one person is correct. It’ll never be good enough.” He lets out a soft sigh before pushing up his gold-rimmed glasses; they were a delicate kind that seemed to have a faint glow whenever they caught the light filtering in from Tokyo’s busy morning. Perfectly paired against Nanami’s handsome face—in the sort of classical, movie-star manner that might have caused him to be hung up on posters in teenage bedrooms or emblazoned outside of theatres.

Or so you’ve heard human customs tend to do so.

And yet, here Nanami Kento was: standing in a cream-colored suit with ink smudges on his fingertips. It often surprised you how a perfect Earthling like this was simply tucked-away in a little cubicle at Daily Planet Newspaper.

You certainly have never seen another like so.

But you got to see his face everyday—so you weren’t exactly complaining.

Nanami’s eyes drop at the growing smile on your face, and he pushes up a strand of golden-blond hair. That was just about as mussed-up as that perfectly slicked hairstyle of his would ever become. “Apologies. It’s just- it really bothers me to see the shit being written about Supergirl with no basis. Especially in respectable newspapers.”

“Well, it is the gossip column.”

“The sports section?”

“Same thing.” It was all human mish-mash to you either way. Beside him, the corner of Nanami’s lips give the faintest twitch. You’re flipping through the latest print of Daily Planet to another page; this time one with your (Supergirl’s) face plastered centrespread. Mid-air and your red cape flying behind you. It’s been only a few years since you’d landed on Earth after the destruction of Krypton. Then only a few weeks since you’d debuted as a superhero: stealing the spotlight from Green Lantern and the rest of the Justice League as you swooped in and defeated Metallo. 

Ever since then it’d been an explosion of newspaper headlines and television shows and even sketches; both good and bad. Mostly bad. You weren’t sure what got you off to the wrong foot. Maybe it was the uniform that too-closely resembled Superman’s? Maybe it was the crude words you’d spit out at villains mid-fight? Maybe it was that one time you flipped off the Justice League for being too late to the fight? 

In your defense, you thought Earthlings said something about early birds getting the villains?

And maybe all those were correct.

But whatever it was—they would tear you apart. Then piece you back. Then tear you apart again. You weren’t the family-friendly image of a superhero that most were; and it made something at the pit of your stomach feel saturated and dark and useless to have to edit such articles time and time again. To have to write them yourself, if you wanted to get approved by your higher-ups.

Perhaps that was a part of human culture?

Fuck those windbags either way.

You didn’t understand how any other hero did it - then again it wasn’t as if you could easily ask them. You weren’t an official part of the Justice League—and you didn’t see yourself getting welcomed with open arms anytime soon. So you hid yourself away and semi-hypnotized those at your workplace to see a forgettable face whenever they looked at you - not Supergirl—even so, it was brittle at best. 

Kryptonian hypnosis wasn’t as powerful as Martians. What you could merely do was suggest. “So- you don’t think Supergirl’s too crass?”

Nanami looks up, brows somewhat furrowed. “I quite frankly don’t think it matters. Who am I to judge?”

“Oh yeah? What about too destructive? Too disrespectful of the Justice League?”

“Again, who am I to judge?” Now, Nanami’s taking a seat—his desk was opposite yours, your backs to one another as you tap-tap-tapped away at new articles everyday. “Maybe she could do with a little less destruction of public infrastructure and that’s fine, but if she’s too crass then she’s too crass. That’s just her. Just as I’m not forced to like it—it’s silly to expect every superhero to conform to the ideal. Not one person nor mold is completely correct.”

From his seat, he tips his head up and looks at your standing self.

“But, personally, I wasn’t the biggest fan of Green Lantern in the first place.”

This time, it’s your turn to attempt to keep a too-big smile off your face. 

You give him a pointed look. “I dunno. I heard she steals candy from babies—says so on Page 9.”

“Ridiculous.” Nanami cocks his head and beckons for the newspaper from you; after you hand it to him he flips through to that very page and scans it. “And precisely without proof. This is why I’ve been investigating Supergirl, beyond what these pages or secret sources say—”

From where you were, you could hear Usami loudly bragging to his colleagues a few desks over about the ‘exclusive source’ that gave him that little tidbit of information. You wanted to roll your eyes again.

“-and I’ve been working on something.”

“What is it?” You lean over to look as Nanami unlocks one of his desk drawers and pulls out a thick file. Unmarked. Your heart leaps to your throat as he sweeps it open to reveal pages upon pages of…pictures of you.

Not you—

—but you as Supergirl.

You mid-flight amongst thunderclouds. You amongst rubble. You pushing a kid behind you in order to shield him from a villain. You with your face twisted in fury as you’re pummeling that very same villain with a ferociousness that scared most - even civilians.

Which explained the headlines.

You skulking off into an alleyway before the medics and police could arrive, as you always did.

You. You. You. You. You.

And around them were notes scribbled in Nanami’s own neat hand.

Hero analysis:

Best skills: Superhuman strength, superhuman speed (comparable to that of the Flash), heat vision, physiological control, martial arts (see more on…)

Costume is that of similar style of Superman however with the added adaptabilities of…(sketch on back)

—one of the strongest debuts of any superhero in history. The supervillain Metallo has been terrorizing—

—though at odd relations with the Justice League, it seems that clashes over justice enactment—

—train—

—the greatest—

Female. 20’s to 30’s. Features may be changeable with Kryptonian powers (follow up with…). Suspected resident in Tokyo—concentration of fights here; in close contact with the Justice League who has headquarters here in Tokyo. Furthermore, seems familiar with the alleyways for her ‘disappearing act’ (for more thorough analysis see more on…) and mapping (more on…) has revealed that Supergirl tends to head in the wider direction of—Kabukicho. 

(Follow up).

Your eyes widen.

Fuck.

You have to change up the bars you hit after fights.

And just when you think your heart can’t leap any higher; he flips through a few more pages and stops on one particular piece of evidence - the biggest of them all - a frontpage newspaper clipping of you…and him. Nanami all dust-covered and dishevelled, bleeding from a cut on his forehead, as you threw his arm over your shoulders and helped him out of Tokyo Downtown Bakery. You had your face twisted in fury, and Nanami…you never noticed it before, but Nanami was looking at you like you were the Sun.

The fight had happened just last week: you’d been heading home after work when your superhearing told you something was off. An explosion downtown. 

Tokyo Downtown Bakery was a favorite of gods, mutants, aliens, and other non-humans alike. Known for it, in fact. And there was only one villain you could think of that wanted to take down such non-humans—Kenjaku.

You’d zipped there as fast as your flight could take you, and only once you were there had you heard a familiar heartbeat. More frantic now, of course. But familiar.

Nanami was trapped underneath the rubble.

Kenjaku saw your momentary distraction - the realization that made your blood grow cold - and had taken the chance to disappear into the shadows. 

After making sure that every other customer and employee didn’t have to be flown to the hospital urgently, you dropped onto your knees in front of the mountain of rubble and dug and dug. And dug. And dug. You dug until you felt the control over your physiology slipping, and small cuts started to apply at your fingertips—healing over instantly. Then getting ripped open all over as you just kept- on- digging.

In reality it must have been less than five or ten minutes, but it felt like months, before you finally flung away the last block of debris from a soft body. And Nanami Kento stirred.

That was what had resulted in the photograph, and the headlines that followed.

SUPERGIRL A WEEK INTO SUPERHEROISM AND ALREADY LETTING VILLAINS ESCAPE?

SUPERGIRL PAUSES FIGHT FOR BREAK?! MORE LIKE LAZYGIRL (Exclusive)

SUPERGIRL SAVES THE DAY AGAIN—BUT WHAT ABOUT THE INFRASTRUCTURE?

SUPERGIRL SAVES RUBBLE-TRAPPED CIVILIANS: “I owe her my life.” 

That last one boasted the picture. And the byline of Nanami Kento. 

You try to control your breathing.

“Ever since she saved me, I’ve been trying to understand Supergirl better. That fury on her face…I’ve been trying to figure out who she is-”

“To…expose her?”

“No.” Nanami shakes his head. The both of you were breathless - though for very different reasons. Excitement practically makes him glow, “To maybe try and interview her- personally. I want to see what she’s like beyond all those cashgrab headlines and the rumors. And…” 

You’re silent as he pauses.

“-and I want to thank her personally.” So soft.

“Oh.” Your voice sounds small. Smaller than you’ve ever heard it. 

 He’s then closing his file and looking up at you so sweetly—“And if you’re interested, then maybe we could work together on it? I actually got a tip that I’m about to go do some field work on right now.” A sudden burst of shyness makes Nanami’s cheekbones burn a pretty rouge as you stare at him intensely. That was one thing you loved about humans - immense control over your physiology meant Kryptonians couldn’t blush unless you made yourselves. Humans couldn’t control when they blushed and it was just the sweetest thing to you. Was Nanami’s heartbeat picking up? “That is…if you would like to? I know you likely have better articles to work on, but just in case…”

He trails off and you’re trailing behind your head and your heart.

Your heart that wanted you to say yes.

Your head that made you say—

“I’m sorry.” You feel your heart fall. There’s a simmering of anger at yourself; soothed partially by the understanding that the more time you spent with Nanami…the higher the chance was of him finding out who you were. There were countless people out to get you: villains, henchmen, reporters. And the second-best thing to getting you was getting someone you cared for that knew you. About you. 

The only powerless humans that knew about you were Clark’s- Superman’s adoptive parents. 

And whatever misery that might put you in - you’d take it twofold if it meant keeping one more normal Earthling like Nanami safe. You’re taking a step back and giving him a sheepish smile. “It’s just I have this really ah- riveting story to write about the erm- tax refunds and the economic implications of Supergirl’s last fight and…”

“Oh!” Nanami nods fervently, pushing his glasses up. Embarrassment radiated off of him like a miniature Sun, and you wanted nothing more than to reach out and tell him this was on you. But alas. “Oh, right, of course- I wish you luck with that.”

“Thank you.” You smile, lips pressed together to prevent a sigh. “I’m going to need it.”

“A journalist like you? Not in the least.”

With a nod of graciousness, you’re just about to leave Nanami’s table and pretend that the latter half of this interaction perhaps never happened. You almost wished Kryptonians had the ability to hypnotize themselves as they could to others. And you’re considering a much more interesting article about that before you’re stopping in your tracks and half-glancing at Nanami over your shoulder. 

He was hard at work gathering his things for what you assume to be the extra field work regarding his Supergirl article.

You feel your heart clench.

“Nanami?”

He looks up eagerly. “Yes?”

Your words are slightly less than steady once you speak again. “If- when you discover Supergirl’s identity…you might be…disappointed. They say she’s nothing like Superman.”

“She doesn’t have to be.”

As Nanami throws his messenger bag over his shoulder and stands to leave—“I’ll see you tomorrow, my darling.” But he calls everyone that, doesn’t he?

“And I’ll…be working late.”

“Be careful not to miss your train.”

You don’t look at him until the very last second. When his tall frame is ducking beneath the doorway to the Daily Planet journalism department; cream-colored suit and golden glasses; old movie star looks drawing eyes, but not too close so he’ll never know that you stared at him from afar. Never.

You sink into your chair.

“What was that about?”

Had your superhuman senses not told you about Shoko’s nearing presence, you would have been startled. But you’re throwing in a slight jump just for the sake of it.

“Oh- come on.” Shoko says with a roguish grin. There was a slender cigarette tucked between her index and her middle finger; as was wont to have if one was Ieiri Shoko. You honestly don’t think you’ve ever seen her without one. “Not dramatic enough. Next time try throwing in a little gasp there.”

It seems that you still had work to do on your human reactions…“What have I told you about the cigarette smell getting on the papers?” You grimace at her - this particular human pleasure was especially sensitive to your nose.

“Can’t remember.” She replies, blowing out her last puff of smoke.

Shoko was perhaps your one exception to humans not knowing about your true identity—for the sole fact that she wasn’t your average human. Smooth. Silent. And stupidly intelligent - Shoko was perhaps the best investigative journalist Tokyo had to offer.

Which was to be expected, of course, given that she was the protégé of The Question.

A normal human journalist—just with enough combat skill and power to get him inducted into the Justice League. The Question had been a master in hand-to-hand combat even amongst the most trained superheroes; which paired well with the depth of investigative journalism that he would do. He exposed criminal underworlds that led to likely half the lodgers at Tokyo Island Penitentiary. 

When you’d been reading up on the superheroes of Earth - both current and inactive - it was his sheer heroism as a mere human that’d inspired you to become a journalist as well.

The Question had hand-picked Shoko as his successor—and for good reason. After his passing due to old age, Shoko quickly proved herself to be a master with the pen; she cracked her ink like a whip. Just last week, she’d exposed that damned Lex Luthor’s embezzling which at least got him out of Superman’s hair for some time. And despite the publicity of the event, the covert nature of her heroism meant she didn’t have to deal with the constant headlines.

Shoko was no different than those at the Justice League. Than you.

But she was an enigma.

So you couldn’t have asked for anyone better to have walked in on you hurriedly changing into your supersuit in the cramped cubicle bathrooms at the Daily Planet - there was a train about to go off-course a few thousand kilometers away - than Shoko.

“Oh.” You remember it like it was yesterday. The door had swung open as you had one foot into the suit. “The lock’s broken.” She’d said.

“Uh…occupied?” You’d murmured then, in a voice higher-pitched than usual. You considered hypnotizing her twofold- no wait, there was some power to do with amnesia even though you weren’t sure whether it would be—

“I know what you’re thinking.” Shoko had smiled then. “And don’t you dare try - not because I’d say anything, but because the Justice League’s paperwork is a pain in the ass when you try to fight another superhero.”

Your jaw had dropped. “Another…?” You’d shove that paperwork up their asses- but another superhero?

“Haven’t guessed it already?” Shoko shoved a hand into her long jacket, pulling out a square piece of what almost looked like rubber. It was in the exact shade as her skin tone, and when she placed it over her face—

“Featureless.” You’d gasped. Pseudoderm. “Just like The Question.”

“Flattered you know us, Supergirl.”

But there was no more time for chit-chat—that train you’d been hearing was dangerously close to going off-tracks now, and you’d hastily begun stuffing yourself into your supersuit. To which Shoko hadn’t flinched - instead appraising you curiously. “Why don’t you just wear that underneath your suit?”

“Because…” Because you were too afraid of someone sneaking a peak at the suit underneath. Because you were too afraid of being Supergirl when you were your ‘human’ self—hated. At least as a human you weren’t hated. Because you were too afraid of walking around as two halves making up one whole, when one half was all you needed at a time to feel content.

Ultimately you settled for not saying anything at all. “Listen- please don’t-”

“Yeah, yeah- I’ve already been through this song and dance.” She waved you off absent-mindedly. “Don’t reveal your secret identity to anyone. Don’t make it obvious when you’re off saving the world.”

You felt a smile come to your face at those last few words.

“You don’t think I’m…ruining justice instead?” A rush of embarrassment ran through you for even asking.

But Shoko merely cocked her silky head. “Hah, no? And who cares what the Justice League thinks? Now go do superhero things, superhero.”

The train and its passengers were saved in record time that day. And just like she’d said, Shoko hadn’t spilled a word.

Though for all the secrets she kept- she did love hearing them.

“So…” She relights her cigarette. “Did Nanami finally ask you out and you rejected him?”

“What-” You’re turning to her with a yelp. “He did not—” She takes the moment to blow a cloud of smoke at your papers, and you’re snatching the cigarette from between her lips and snuffing it out on one of your ceramic desk decorations. 

“Hey…” Shoko whines.

Finally you’re whispering to her in a low tone - “He did not ask me out. And I did not reject him.”

“Then why’d he leave all sad and puppy-eyed?”

You’re turning around—almost as if expecting Nanami there still. “He didn’t…did he?”

“Maybe. I didn’t see. But you looked, didn’t you?” Chuckling. The Question takes the cigarette back from you, and holds it out of your reach.

“That was only because you-” You find that you don’t quite have much to say - at least not something that Shoko would pay heed to. And so you’re settling for a few grumbled curses—“No. He just asked me to be part of one of his articles.”

Shoko looks up in interest. “Oh? About what?”

“Supergirl.” You cross your arms. “He said he wanted to figure out who she was so he could interview her- I said no, of course.”

Shoko - who’d now newly relit her cigarette - takes a long drag and lets it free into the air. “Why?”

“What?”

“Why’d you say no?”

You take her cigarette and put it out again. “Because the more time I spend with him, the more likely he is to…find out. And with everything going on, I can’t risk putting him in danger.”

“Hm…” Shoko thinks for some time. “Putting him in danger? Or putting his image of you in danger?” She stares at you intently. “Are you really afraid that he’s going to be captured by villains you’ve been defeating time and time again these past few weeks? Maybe.” Then she’s gently tugging the cigarette from between your fingertips - to light it again. A final time. “Or are you more afraid that once he finds out who you truly are- he’s going to be just like the rest of them?”

You don’t bother reaching for the cigarette anymore. “I…”

But Shoko wasn’t done just yet. She blows her smoke into the air and lets it linger. “It’s just like these papers and this smoke. When the nicotine sticks to them, it’s invisible but it’s there—even if you don’t like it. But that doesn’t change its contents. Nor does that make it any less worthy than any other article here.”

You crinkle your nose. “But others won’t like it either.”

“So fuck them.” She stands. “It’s gonna be printed into a damn article, it doesn’t need to smell like rainbows and roses. No two newspapers are printed the same.”

And with that said, Shoko striding off. Cigarette and all.

And you’re left staring at a blank paper—ready for typing.

.

.

.

Nanami Kento had never quite been to this area of Tokyo.

It was one of the seedier places; an amalgamation of everything your mother advises you against. Past the bars and the spas, past the graffiti-tattooed walls and the alleyways that seemed to stretch into darkness endlessly. Past men slouched on roads - drunk or dead. Past the rattle of trains in the distance and rats who chittered at the only abode they truly ruled. Where even those cowered standing next to—and one goes to share the same fear doused upon this neighborhood, doled, perhaps to replace that of their own.

Then again, there was a strange beauty in it itself - like a giant wound mending itself.

There was a stun gun in his pocket. He wondered what this place would look like in daylight. 

He ignored the knot in his throat as he kept on walking.

It wasn’t the place you’d expect to find a superhero - then again, Supergirl didn’t listen to anyone’s expectations of her. 

Often after fights, he’d see you disappearing into the shadows of a building or a lone alleyway such as these. As if never there. You didn’t wait around for any authorities or paparazzi. And it was only after weeks of investigation that he’d managed to narrow it down to one district that you were frequenting: Kabukicho. 

Even afterwards, he’d quickly learned that it wasn’t simply the entertainment district that you were fond of.

You were fond of hiding.

Asking around for sightings of a person of your description took Nanami meters away from actual Kabukicho, and down narrow alleys and underground streets. Into clubs and behind hotels. Into the seediest, smallest establishments hadn’t even the faintest waft of a main street. Currently he was heading towards a bar he was directed towards by an anonymous tip; the tip had said that you came here at least once a week or so. Sometimes not even to drink - just to people-watch.

And if Nanami Kento knew anything about you: it was that you found humans fascinating.

He’d seen it after fights, when you’d watch families rush to one another and embrace. He’d seen it even during fights, as you analyzed villains that were easy prey.

And he wondered…did you find humans interesting as much as they found you? Or at least, he did. 

It’s after a few minutes of walking down this small street, lit only by the angry neon signs of underground clubs, that he stops before a squat bat. THE CHAMELEON—the sign said.

He pats the stun gun in his pocket. 

And with a deep breath, he’s walking in.

The stench of liquor dances a frenzied waltz with cigarettes; it reaches his nose though he doesn’t cringe as he weaves between closely-pressed tables. Patrons hunched over nursing their columns of glasses look up at him suspiciously as he walks past them. He knew he should have changed out of his cream-colored suit. 

It was barely visible in the bar, due to the faint light buzzing solely from a few spots on the ceiling, surrounded by wine-drunk flies, but Nanami managed to sit himself down at the counter. A bartender with long greyish-blue hair wiping greasy glasses with an even greasier rag looks up at him.

“Ah…” Nanami’s eyes fall to the glass and the rag - he himself was a good drinker, though the establishments he frequented were nothing of this sort. “Just a beer, please.”

The bartender asks, “Mmm, tap?”

“Do you have bottles-”

“No bottles.”

“Then ah- just a water, please.”

“No water either.” He says in a strangely melodic voice, “Just cider. Just cider. Apple, peach, and pear~!”

Nanami looks at the man warily, “Then…a peach cider please.”

The bartender shrugs then takes the rag—blowing his nose into it- before he throws it somewhere over his shoulder and fetches a peach cider for Nanami. It pools condensation onto the counter as it’s set in front of him, but he doesn’t reach for it even a single millimeter.

“What are you trying to find, young man?”

Nanami almost flinches. 

The voice comes from the seat next to him; gruff and gravelly like when one has smoked far too many cigarettes for far too long. As he turns—the man next to him laughs. He had a white, wide-rimmed hat tipped low over his face, and was wearing an equally stark white suit. It was just about the only things he could make of him - nothing of his actual features.

And though Nanami didn’t know the man, he couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of kinship as the two patrons of the bar that didn’t seem like they belonged there.

Despite this, however, this other man’s fingers found a chip in his cider glass with familiarity. 

“There are only two reasons that folks come down to a bar like this: either to lose something—pain, memories, fatigue; or to find something.” He nods his head over at the younger man, but still doesn’t reveal a sliver of a face. “And since you haven’t touched that cider of yours, young man, I’m assuming…”

“Finding something, I suppose.” Almost robotic, Nanami grasps his glass. 

He thinks he sees a flash of a smile from the other man.

Nanami continues, “Maybe you can help me? Would you happen to have seen someone come in tonight-” His heart thunders as he lists off the features written down in that file of his—and the man keeps nodding with each one. “-perhaps around my age, though-”

“So it’s love problems.”

He stops short. “What?”

“Love problems.” That man clucks out a wet laugh, then takes a swig of his cider.

Nanami responds hesitantly. “I’m…afraid you misunderstand. I’m just trying to find-”

“I know perfectly what you mean.” He displays a set of paper-white teeth, gleaming. Reaching into his coat pocket, he slaps something down on the marble counter. “Her, right?”

Nanami peers in and finds it to be a blurry polaroid of you at this very bar, taken like you hadn’t known it was happening. And you weren’t revelling like one would have expected you to after a constant winning streak against villains. You weren’t even lamenting your woes with your fellow bar patrons.

You were just…watching. 

Alone at a booth. Nothing in front of you but a water- perhaps that bartender had lied to him. 

It was a night livelier than this one, evidently, as bachelor celebrations and 21st birthday parties and seemingly drunken singing surrounded you from all angles. But you simply watched. Waited. There was something so sorrowfully beautiful about you that it made Nanami’s heart ache. 

“It’d been my buddy’s divorce party and someone had pulled out the polaroid. He snapped a picture and somehow I just couldn’t find it in myself to part with it…there’s something so haunting about it.”

Nanami merely stares speechlessly, running his finger down the edge of the picture.

“Trying to understand someone is, too, an act of love isn’t it?” The other man says. Before Nanami could respond, he’s polishing off the last few drops of his cider and getting off the chair—he seemed much taller when he was standing. “Come now. This Supergirl of yours is quite the party- after draining The Chameleon she tends to head East towards the Golden Gai. Finish up your cider and then we can go.”

“R-right.” Nanami’s hand almost falls to pat his stun gun reassuringly- but under the man’s scrutiny he reaches for the cider instead. “And sorry- what was your name again Mr…?”

“Come now, come now. We can save the pleasantries for when we walk there, young man.”

“Right.” 

Bringing it up to his lips. 

Almost. “But how did you know I was searching for Super-”

He sighs. “You journalists ask too many questions.”

And with a forceful shove, he’s making Nanami chug down the cider - blood and peaches coating his tongue. And the sharp shot of something else he couldn’t place. 

“And you can call me Kenjaku, young man.”

And then it’s black.

“I saw the way Supergirl—” Spit. “—looked at you. And I must thank you for leading her to me.”

Kilometers away, you’re in the middle of heading to the train station with Shoko. You’d both gotten off work late and were lamenting what a pain it’d be to get up tomorrow morning—

Your head snaps up.

You’re immediately looking behind you.

“What is it?” Shoko asks with no small sense of emergency.

That gasp. That thud. 

You’ve never heard it; yet you’d recognize it anywhere.

“Something bad has happened.”

.

.

.

Alleyways. Bar. Rats. Love Hotel. Alleyways. Bar. Bar. Alleyways. Alleyways. Alleyways.

Why did you have to go down so many alleyways?

It was a bar that you’d only been to once; the shadows were long and the cider was sweet—but ultimately you’d decided that you didn’t want to return. It was the day after you’d saved Nanami Kento. 

And now you were doing the very same thing.

THE CHAMALEON had wound down for the night by the time that you skidded to a halt before it - with the tar road cratering beneath you as you stopped. There’s a thundering noise that echoes down the gloomy streets of this forgotten part of Kabukicho. You don’t waste a single second longer before kicking the door open and storming inside—

“Ah~ my lovely Supergirl.”

“Kenjaku.” You spit. The bar was empty save for the man seated at the counter - a dark waterfall of hair, darker eyes - and in his hand he held a single glass of what you assumed to be cider. “Where is he-”

“Slow down, my dear.” He croons. “Why don’t you sit back? Have a drink or two? And then maybe we can-”

“Where the fuck is he.”

It happens instantaneously—in a jerky movement you’re picking up an entire table by its leg. Using a mere fraction of your strength, you chuck it at the man - not quite to hit just yet - and it flies past him with naught a hair’s breadth of space between the side of his head and the table. Crashing against the wall of alcohol bottles in the back; liquor and shards of glass explode behind Kenjaku, yet he doesn’t move a single muscle. Not a single muscle.

Not even his lips to speak. 

It infuriates you that he can remain sitting and sipping his cider without a care in the world- and so you’re striding towards him. Though striding was perhaps a kinder word.

Grabbing a bottle off the counter, he breaks its end and attempts to stab you.

You dodge.

He stabs.

You dodge.

He swipes your cheek—

“Motherfucker you better know that I don’t care what you do to me-” Each word leaves you like a dagger. “I don’t care how you hurt me-” And within a few seconds, you’ve closed the gap completely to grip him by the collar and raise Kenjaku a foot off his chair. “But what the fuck have these innocent people ever done to you?”

Suddenly, his eyes go wide and he starts laughing.

And you’re only watching in stunned silence.

You only can watch—Kenjaku laughs long and unabashed, with a strange hitch like a crow’s call - he laughs so hard that he has to wipe away a tear. It sends red-hot fury curdling in your veins.

You reel your fist back.

Tightly-coiled. Trembling with anger.

And you’re just about to swing—

When Kenjaku raises a single finger - the gesture humans often do when asking for a moment of your time - that makes you halt in your tracks. Whatever tricks he had up his sleeve, you didn’t want to risk anything that might put Nanami in danger.

And so you wait.

And you watch.

As Kenjaku’s eyes fall to the glass of cider that had been kept on the counter. He takes it in his hand. He clears his throat, “You should have been here earlier, oh- your little boyfriend was just drinking away his woes. Something about his love being a filthy alien, you see?” Those deep amethyst eyes—they were so dark that they seemed to leave a stain where they then turned to look at you.

You can’t take your eyes off of him - even as you bring your raised punch back and instead grasp Kenjaku’s neck with both hands. If you can’t pummel him to death, you were ready to strangle him.

Your hands tighten.

“O-oh.” Kenjaku’s hands claw down your forearms, but he’s powerless against you. “The truth hurts, doesn’t it?”

They tighten.

“And you already know it’s true, don’t you? You know that deep down—you’re everything they say you are- you’re everything and worse-” They tighten. His skin starts turning blue then purple. “Why else would they hate you so? They know- they know it and you do, too.”

They tighten.

And even though you had the upperhand, seemingly, Kenjaku seems to crane his head down to whisper to you.

“You were nothing. You are nothing. You will always and forevermore be nothing.”

Your breath hitches- and Kenjaku knows he’s got you.

Unbidden from your senses, you’re letting go of him - he stumbles to the ground but manages to catch himself on the bar counter. Throwing an arm over it to steady himself, Kenjaku looks down at his cider glass once more, with only a few drops at the bottom of it.

He throws back those last few ounces and holds the glass out to you- “Be a dear for me, and help your little boyfriend get me another glass, will you? It seems he’s gotten his…hands full.”

Shit.

Shit.

You’re forgetting to even fly down to the bar—you’re breaking off a leg of a nearby stool then bending the metal into something that resembles a handcuff, quickly restraining Kenjaku for the time being before darting downstairs. There was a dingy staircase in the corner of the room, of which the rusty handrailing bends and warps as you grip it with your superhuman strength.

As you do, Kenjaku calls after you…“But do be careful not to miss your train~!”

It doesn’t take long before you find yourself at the bottom of a damp cellar- running to a Nanami Kento who’d been hopelessly bound and gagged. His golden hair falls in front of his face. His skin glistens with sweat.

And as soon as you reach him, you’re noticing the sheer heat that radiates off of him.

It was as if he was on fire—

Was this…?

“Nanami- Kento.” You’re hissing - you don’t need to untie those cloth restraints, you’re tearing straight through them. Removing the fabric gag and cupping his face, you look deep into his eyes. “Kento- oh, are you alright? Speak to me-”

“Go.”

“What-”

“The train.” Tears fell down his handsome cheeks. His bottom lip was trembling as though he was cold - even though he felt like an inferno to the touch. “My darling, don’t worry about me worry about the train-”

You insist. “What about the train, Kento?”

“Kenjaku- fuck, I overheard him telling his henchmen to destruct the Yurikamome line on the Rainbow Bridge- the train is going to go over it any second now—”

Brows furrowing, you focus your supersenses. Hearing. “But that can’t be, I should hear…”

The zooming of a train. The distant rattling of train tracks that sounded different than usual - too different, too distant. 

Then it hits you.

“Kento, while you were here, did you encounter anything…strange?”

He strangles out. “The peach cider he gave me- a-after that I just…”

“I understand.” Your mind was racing a mile a minute—Kento. The train. Kento. The train. Kento. “Kenjaku probably laced it with something to weaken you, and amongst that he must have added…”

Your blood goes cold.

“Hold on tight.” And without another word, you’re scooping the man into your arms - a princess carry. You hold him to you like the most precious thing on Earth and Krypton as you crash! through the top of the cellar—past several stories without a single scratch nor ache. Past bottles of liquor and ceramic tiles. Past layers of concrete and your fear.

Once you’re out into the wild night, you’re taking in incredible lungfuls of crisp air, soothing the burning sensation in your lungs.

You could almost ignore the gasps around you- as people whip out their cameras. This time, you don’t shy from them.

Gently; you’re hovering down to the street below and setting Nanami down. “Are you okay, Kento?”

“Yes- yes.” He’s gasping as he struggles to stand- you’re attempting to help him, only for Nanami to back away as though afraid. Something painful twinges inside you.

And he must see the breaking of your expression - because he’s immediately rushing to answer. “The thing that was in that cider…it was Kryptonite, wasn’t it?” Your silence is enough of an answer. “You have to go.”

You step towards him. “We have to get you to a hospital. The Kryptonite-”

“The train-”

“Just let me-”

“The Kryptonite will poison you before it ever even thinks of poisoning me. Do you really think I’d ever- fucking ever put my life above yours?” Nanami Kento doesn’t exactly yell—but his voice carries to your superhuman senses above anything else. Anything else. “Save the people on the train. Save the world. Save yourself- for everything I love, please please leave me- save them, Supergirl.”

You’re straightening.

“I’ll be back for you, Kento.”

Stumbling back a few steps; you have to shake your head to do away with the fogginess of the Kryptonite.

And then you’re in the air once more.

Wind whipping your face. Cape thrashing behind you.

The clouds stick to your features and form condensation with how fast you’re flying to the train- fuck.

Once you get there, you’re seeing exactly what Nanami had been talking about.

The train track where the Yurikamome Line was going on top of - the lower deck of Rainbow Bridge - was completely obliterated in the middle. Throngs of metal sticking upwards. Train track rattling like a wounded snake. The train was charging full speed ahead, the driverless transit unaware of any anomaly in the track. 

Just enough of a gap that it would prove fatal to the 160,000 passengers aboard. 

Just enough of a gap that you could zip down—as fast as you could go. As low as you could afford. And as fearful as any human would have been in that moment - and just as foolhardy. 

And as the Yurikamome Line heads towards the broken railroad, you’re lifting the train once it passes. The dip in the train track; you’re making up for it with your hands and your shoulders—never letting the Line falter even a single decree—it stretches and stretches and sinks its heavy metal body down onto yours. Rolling over your shoulders. Like nothing you’ve ever felt before- you have to keep your shoulders up. You have to keep your shoulders up. You have to keep your shoulders up. 

Your body was indestructible. But you’re feeling cuts on your palms. But you’re feeling the strain on your core and your deltoids.

Every single axiom in your body was screaming—

Towards the middle mark of the Yurikamome Line, you feel a dip- fuck.

Gritting your teeth, you let out a clenched groan as you push the train up. From inside you can hear passengers scream. And from the horizon, you can hear news helicopters thundering.

Please.

A tear runs down your cheek. You struggle to move. 

Please. Please. Please.

You’re pushing the train upwards with all your might. 

Humanity above, only you know how strong you can be. 

Be strong.

.

.

.

Birds are twittering.

You would have assumed that the afterlife had no shortage of birds, too; but it’s a bit odd to you that they’re singing a tune so jolly.

Personally, since you were dead, you’d like to sing something more lamentable.

“My darling?”

It’s so quiet that you almost don’t hear it - but of course, you do. You’re Supergirl—and you hear everything everyone says to you whether you want to or not. But this one in particular sounds quite pretty in your ears - even prettier than the spring melodies of birds - and it makes you realize ah- angels…

But at the same time you’re realizing that angels didn’t exist on Krypton.

And then you’re shooting awake.

“Fucking fuck!”

Your graceful resurrection is marked by knocking your head with none other than Nanami Kento - whom you found quite understandable to mistake for an angel. As you’re clutching your forehead and letting out a few swears, he lets out nothing but the sweetest, soft chuckle—and as your vision slowly grows used to the light and unblurs, you’re seeing the most beautiful smile on his face. 

His eyes crinkled at the edges, framed by golden glasses. His cheeks had one faint dimple each. And he was looking at you with something humans had never looked at you with - love.

It couldn’t…

Was that your heart thundering or his?

“You don’t know how happy I am that you’re awake.” Nanami whispers, as if afraid to break this fragile piece. This suspension in a place that didn’t quite seem to be Earth nor Krypton. He presses his forehead to yours—“I wanted to thank you first, my darling.”

“Thank me…for what?” You ask- your voice is incredibly hoarse. How long have you been out for? 

Once you clutch your throat, Nanami hastens to pluck a glass of water off the bedside cabinet. And as you drink- you’re looking around the room. The next time you speak, it’s with a slightly steadier tone. “And where are we?”

“Ah- I guess I should apologize first.” Nanami says, sheepishly rubbing the blushing back of his neck. “We’re at my apartment. You’ve been asleep for about sixteen hours now.”

Your lips part.

He hurries to explain. “Chief Yaga from the police station wanted to keep you under their protection at the hospital, the Justice League insisted on keeping you at one of their quarters- your fan club wanted you all to themselves but…I…insisted you wake up in a place that’s somewhat of a home.” Eyes darting shyly downwards. “Just until you wake up- I asked Shoko and she wasn’t sure where you lived, either. You’re a very private person, Supergirl. And Superman is in outer space right now so…”

“Oh…I…I see.” You hold the glass limply in your hand. “And ah- fan club, you said?”

Nanami nods - you don’t see any humor in his eyes. “Your rescue of the train was shown on every channel and program- every breaking news. The Daily Planet won’t stop printing, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“That…” You feel strangely numb. “I don’t even know what to say. And the casualties-”

“Zero.”

“How did you get to the hospital?”

“Just after you left, Shoko arrived with the police to save me and arrest Kenjaku. Did you know that she’s a vigilante?”

You bite back a smile. “I did.”

He unabashedly smiles, as if meeting you for the first time. “And did you know that I know?”

“I figured by now.” Cocking your head.

“I always had a suspicion but…I don’t know what hypnosis you did but it just wouldn’t make sense in my mind. But when you came down to save me at the cellar, when you were affected by that Kryptonite it just…clicked.”

He’s reaching a hand up to softly cup your right cheek.

“It wouldn’t have made sense to be anyone else.”

It’s warm in Nanami’s bedroom. And it’s even warmer underneath the thin nightdress you’re wearing- you wonder where he got such a thing? And when you’d been put into it? It seems that he catches the questions in your gaze as it dawns upon you what you’re wearing—“I bought it for you after you got discharged at the hospital.” Nanami says. “Shoko helped you into it- althought…I did help.” With a shy blush, he’s looking away.

And you’re closing your eyes and leaning into the touch of his hand. “Thank you.” 

You don’t need to specify for what.

“And then there’s that.” Nanami surprises you as he says, reinvigorated. And how completely correct you were in him having those old movie star looks - that smile of his, with the soft little dimple on each cheek, should be on the big screen. He has a knowing glint in his eyes. “Thank you for saving me- that time at the bakery.”

You feel a little breathless. “It’s no problem.”

“No but it was- it’s how Kenjaku managed to escape. And I know how much you got torn apart in the papers for it—” His jaw clenches. “I saw it everyday.”

You look down at your hands, clasped on top of Nanami’s sweet cream-white sheets. “It’s nothing.”

And slowly - but surely - at a pace that matches the hesitant staccato of your heartbeat, Nanami’s own larger, roughened hands are sliding across the sheets. Intertwining with yours. “It’s not.” 

Your gaze was now flickering between your tangled hands and his unyielding gaze—you didn’t know which was more beautiful.

He continues, “And I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done. I know you don’t feel as if you’ve done enough to be thanked, but I can assure you- w-well, I don’t know how much my word will mean to you if anything at all, but just-”

“Kento.” You cut him off. “Kiss me.”

His lips meet yours and you never wish for them to leave; he tastes like coffee with a hint of honey and everything you’ve ever wanted. You feel as though you can finally breathe.

And he feels as though he can’t—and he’s searching for his first breath between your lips. Nanami gasps as you clutch his baby-blue button-up. 

Nanami’s hand caresses the back of your neck, and he’s cockin’ your head to the side so he can deepen the kiss. Eventually you’re feeling that initial sweetness of first contact melt into somthing…more…something that makes your skin simmer, as he’s letting his pinkish tongue brush your lower lip.

With a gasp you’re welcoming him inside.

And before you know it, you’re being laid flat on your back with Nanami hovering on top of you. With a tap at his broad shoulders, you signal him to get up—and when Nanami’s on his knees before you you’re letting your hands…wander.

“O-oh.” His breath hitches. His Adam’s apple bobs. And a sizzling heat takes over the man’s body as your fingers trace the line of this throat- the valley of his pecs- the bumps of his abs. 

All your knowledge of human anatomy led you to believe that he must be hiding immense strength beneath suits too-big for him, but even this was a surprise.

And then lower, lower, lower—until you’re reaching his rock-hard erection. 

“Shit…” The soft grunt escapes the back of Nanami’s throat—unbidden. He immediately brings one roughened hand up to his mouth, chewin’ on the insides of his cheek as he watches your workings down below. Watches through half-lidded eyes as your palm’s meeting the bulge of his perfectly plaid pants. Cupping. Caressing.

Nanami’s breath grows more n’ more ragged as you keep palming- fuck, he was so big.

You don’t even have to use your x-ray vision to figure that out - but you’re doing so anyway. And what you’re seeing are about seven- eight? Inches of his swollen cock, all throbbing and pulsating underneath your touch. And beads—no, puddles of precum were constantly tearing out from the top of his shaft, creating a mess underneath that made Nanami feel shy.

You swear he’s growing even bigger once he feels the staring.

“A-are you using your…?” Nanami asks, pushing his thick glasses up.

“Mmm, maybe.” You’re cheekily replying. And in mere split-seconds you’ve used your heat vision to incinerate Nanami’s fabrics without actually hurting him.

He gasps and instinctively goes up to cover his aching erection-

But you’re stopping him with a hand of your own. Those fingers of yours wrapping around Nanami’s pale pink cock—he’s oh-so-thick at the base of it, surrounded by a scattering of golden tresses that graze the bottom of your hand.

You’re squeezing the hilt of Nanami’s shaft and he lets his head drop backwards with a moan- “Fuh-fuck. I could cum right here and right now, you know….”

“So do it.” You’re tugging his cock- until you’re reaching the mushroomy top of it and wipin’ away a speckle of precum. It feels so warm underneath your touch—he was just melting for you. “But just know that this is going to be a looooong night, Nanami Kento.”

He gulps.

Meanwhilst you’re pressing your lips to Nanami’s while you keep a constant pace fisting his length. Breaking off from the heated kiss only to lean down and spit-

A direct glob of your saliva gluing to Nanami’s puckered tip.

He’s shivering as it gleamingly trickles down his length—then reeling you into a kiss once more. “Mmm- I can hear your heartbeat, Kento.” You smile into the kiss. “Any reason why it increases when you’re around me?”

“I’m in love with you and I cannot lie about it.” And you don’t know what you expected - banter? Denial? But it certainly wasn’t outright confession, and it certainly wasn’t for Nanami to pant against your lips—to push you back onto the coiled mattress, and shuffle his body down until he’s between your legs. 

With languid movements, he’s pressing your legs to the side until each one is pinned to the soft cotton sheets. And you let him.

Your peripherals locked with his. Nanami’s gold-rimmed glasses tracing your skin. You’re running a hand through Nanami’s blond mane as he presses a line of kisses up your right thigh, up your left thigh, before finally…“May I?”

“Please.”

The next sound escaping you is a deafening trill—as in that very moment Nanami pushes his face nose-deep between those legs. And his tongue’s darting outwards and swabbin’ up - eating you out as though he was starving.

Almost wolfish.

Mouth gaped wide open. Honed canines stickin’ against the opened sides of your folds. 

Your eyes dart to the back of your head- as you’re feeling the dots of his tastebuds push through your nightgown. He was eating you out through your nightgown—

“Kento, take a breather.” You’re whispering down at him, peeping at the ravenous man through struggling lids. The pleasure was consuming every inch of you rapidly; and before long you snake a hand to lift up the nightgown. “Let me just take this off-”

“No.” Nanami’s warm hand comes gripping yours - with surprising strength for a human. “Please- please keep it on.” He struggles.

To even speak.

To even keep his breathing even.

To even unlatch himself from your pussy for the mere moments he has to speak- he didn’t want to waste a single second. And it’s with carnal ferocity that he’s stuffin’ himself back between your legs, flattening his tongue and pressing it against your hot folds. “A-at this point, it might just be the only thing keeping me sane, my darling…if I feel you in all your entirety then I might just-” Nanami’s voice cracks. “-break.”

“What do you mean, Kento…?” You’re breathing. 

There was something…off about the handsome man. Sure, it could’ve just been the heated proximity that was warping your perception of him; but—

But that couldn’t explain the nearly-frenzied pace of his heartbeat - 112 BPM to be exact - or the furious red flush creeping down his neck, or the way he was plastered in a cold sweat. Golden tresses gluing to his forehead and the forefront of your pelvis. One of those beads of perspiration runs down his attractive nosebridge n’ ends up positioning where he was pushing and pushing his sensual face into your puffy folds. Cheeks hollowing as he’s sucklin’ on them through the barely-there barrier of your nightgown.

And you’re swiping your thumb across it - feeling the slightly-sticker consistency of his sweat. 

More so than normal.

And somehow…sweeter?

It doesn’t take your heightened senses to realize—you start to tug on Nanami’s sweaty scalp- but he’s hesitant to remove himself. Merely parting an inch or so with the most agonized groan. “Kento- Kento, don’t you feel a little different right now?”

“Hmmmgh?” He asks with his bleary eyes struggling to focus on you.

“A little different? Maybe a little…warmer?” You watch as he has to think a little bit before nodding. “Don’t you feel like you’re going to- hah, shatter on my pussy?”

“I do.” Nanami spits a glob of spittle down on your cunt, kissing it away before it trickles. “Fuck, I do.”

“Mmm—” Your back arches as his tongue straightens then starts dragging up and down your sopping slit languidly. “And aren’t you wondering h-how exactly I know?”

“How do you know, my darling…?” Sounding barely awake as he questions so.

“It’s because…” And then you’re sitting up and starin’ down at his movie-star face, eyes half-lidded and his blond hair a mess. A few strands of it were falling in front of his gorgeous eyes—so you’re pushing them away with your hand- and Nanami shivers as though just splashed with cold water. “-I’m feeling the same way.” A shiver runs down Nanami’s spine. “That aphrodisiac seems to be contagious.”

“A-aphrodisiac?” Nanami’s eyes widen behind his spectacles.

And you’re giving him a soothing nod. “Mhm. Back at the bar, it seems that what Kenjaku spiked you with was a Kryptonite solution. But what he hadn’t accounted for was the fact that sometimes…Kryptonite can have a bit of an…aphrodisical effect on humans.”

You’re leaning down and kissing his pussy-drenched lips. “Mmm, yeah, I can taste it on you still.”

Nanami’s immediately lurching back- but this time, it’s your turn to be reeling him back in. 

Keeping him delightfully hostage between your legs. “And where do you think you’re going, Earthling?”

“But the Kryptonite-” Nanami pants. Even though his eyes kept constantly flickering down to your cunt as if his favorite baked good set out right in front of him. Syrupy-filled. “It can’t be good for you-”

“At the weakened state it’s in now, it’s not bad for me either.” You smile. “The aphrodisiac shouldn’t impair you, either. But if you do not wish to fully continue-”

“I do.” The words can’t leave Nanami’s lips faster. He’s shoving your legs further apart and whispering. “I do I do I do—”

Then pressing such a harsh open-mouthed kiss against your swollen folds - so hard that it honestly felt as though he was trying to permanently imprint its outline against your pussy. And then when he’s pressed hard enough and long enough and deeeep enough—Nanami jerks away with a wrangled moan.

“But then since I’m already broken…”

And in robotic movements- he pushes your nightgown up until your tits- and he’s plastering his hot lips aaaaall over your cunt. Tongue swiping urgently between your folds and fuckin’ inside like a damn animal.

“Shit—” Moans bubble to your throat- seeping out with bubbles of spit. You’re clawing through his sweaty locks, holding onto him for dear life. “Shit, shit, shit- I didn’t expect humans to be so…”

“S’this your first time on Earth?” He peeks up at you through his long lashes.

“It is.” You’re nodding. Biting onto your lower lip.

And something seems to shift behind Nanami’s darkened eyes; he fixates them on you and doesn’t waver a single second as he lets his tongue fully out. Lavishes the tender in-betweens of your pussylips with all his sensual kisses- “Then I better give you a proper welcome to Earth.”

And it’s with absolutely no warning that he’s increasing the speed of his thrusts.

Flarin’ that sopping wet muscle out so that it stretches out your first ring of muscle- you can feel the sides of Nanami’s tongue slide-slide-sliding all down your channel. He was just so thick- you were feeling him so perfectly like this- and you can’t help yourself…you’re activating your x-ray vision to see how deep Nanami’s really going.

“A-a bit more to the left, Kento…” You murmur. “And a little deeper- ngh.”

He looks up at you in slight surprise. “Oh? You can see where I’m going, my darling?” Experimentally, Nanami stabs a few more thorough probes- deep.

“X-ray vision, remember?” You gasp. Buckin’ up in a sloppy staccato every time Nanami’s nearing with his tongue and his prominent nose- fuck, you loved how the tip of his nose pressed into your clit every time he surged forwards. “Just a bit deeper- oh, your fingers?”

With two of his calloused fingertips slidin’ up and down your vertical slit - accumulating the dewy droplets of slick you were letting out - he smiles. “I may not have superpowers, but something tells me you’re going to like this, Supergirl.”

“Oh- shiiiiiit.” It’s letting out the sloppiest squelch to have Nanami’s fingers easing inside. 

They’re so large- oh, your mouth drops as he’s burgeoning inside. Through your x-ray vision you could see that he’s scissoring inside- stretching aside that velvety channel- letting the doughy tips of his fingers probe inside like two searchlights attempting to pinpoint your most treasured spots. He’s rovering in deeeeeep- and you’re letting your face press into the damp mattress. “You’re enjoying this, Supergirl?”

“I-I am.” You huff. You’re humpin’ up into his pretty face so hard that the bedframe was creaking and moaning. Just as you must have been.

“And is your- hah, favorite Earthling making you feel good—?”

You’re levelling a half-hearted glare at him. “Bold of you to assume- but yes.” His fingers are just so close- “To the right…”

And he’s immediately heeding your every word- meanwhile, his mouth seemed to have felt a little lonely. Because Nanami hastens to latch his kiss-bitten lips around your throbbing clit. “Good. Because I’m just made to make you feel good, my darling. I need this. I need this. M’made for this.” Huffing. “Don’t be afraid to fuck my tongue as hard as you want- don’t be afraid to s-suffocate me, because m’here just to make you—ngh, feel good—”

Pushing up into you.

Pressing himself between your legs even harder.

“I don’t need to breathe- I need you to tell me where that g-spot is.”

Your head’s throwing backwards, thighs trembling around him- you’re soon wrapping your legs around Nanami’s perspired head and locking your ankles around him. Digging his tongue even deeper- he crashes and crashes them against your clit in time with his probin’ fingers. “A little more-”

“How much more?”

“Just about an inch- oh.” You’re squawking out in a way that’d be so embarrassing if it was anytime but now. “And to the left…upwards.”

He notices that you’re almost shying away from his touch with every plap! of his palm hitting the forefront of your cunt. Harder. Faster—even though he may have been a gentleman, Nanami’s fingers were decidedly not. They’re ravenous; managing to curl against the side of your walls, with your direction perfectly locating that one spot you’ve been aching to be touched this entire time. And the human wastes no time pushing against it- you think you’re seeing stars—hey, was that Krypton?

Too occupied to come up with a concrete answer, however, you’re simply basking in the pleasure that Nanami was pouring through your veins.

And he only seems too happy to have your hips hikin’ higher and your pussy pushing up all the way until his nose- with every single thrust he was battering. Your gooey insides are shuddering at the sheer force, you’re feeling a tightness start to formulate at the pit of your stomach. 

Something sore - blissfully so.

“I think…” You gasp. “No I know—” And the thing about being Kryptonian was that it came with immense control over your physiology- which also meant that you could cum on demand. But oh, how much better it felt when it was being drawn out of you by Nanami’s sweet sweet fingers.

Plunging - each time from the rounded tips of his digits and down until those knuckles, reddening at the persistent skin-to-skin contact - towards your g-spot every time. Multiple times a second.

“-Kento, I’m going to cum—”

“So cum f’me, Supergirl-” Nanami spits against your cunt. He sounds ragged- he sounds gone. His tone was a barely-there husk of what it had once been, and his eyes seemed unable to focus on anything but the pretty soakin’ pussy right in front of him. He kept his mouth so fucking full of your throbbing clit as he continued speaking. “Cum f’me…my girl.”

Shit—he’s blushing just saying it. But the effect on you is undeniable - you’re throwing your head into the fluffy pillows and finally letting loose. 

Wrenching on Nanami’s hair. Squeezing his head till he almost suffocates- you’ve got the feeling that he gladly would. Dragging your slick-glazed folds against his face and cumming and cumming.

As your euphoria rips straight through you - Nanami leaves his mouth further ajar and swivels his tongue inside as well. In addition to his fingers, he’s now attempting to squeeze his tongue inside to fuck you silly- to make your dazed peripherals roll to the back of your scalp. “This is what I’m made for.” And you’re unsure whether that was him or the aphrodisiac talking. “This is all I ever wanna do now—mmm—” He moans as syrupy juices stream down either side of his mouth and he’s sucking in your pussy. “My darling, you don’t know how badly I mean it when I say m’made for you. For this pussy.”

You whimper as he perfects his tonguing thrusts to the rhythm of your orgasm. Hitting every single peak. “Sh-shit…it’s becoming sensitive…”

“My darling, I’d rather die than leave this pussy from now onwards.”

“Never expected a gentleman like you to be so filthy.” You huff- rather difficult, considering how much he managed to take your breath away. As he prolongs your high until you’re dizzy—

And then some.

“Mmmm, I’m sensitive.” Fondly; you tug on his golden strands. Nanami lets out a rumble of acknowledgement, but he doesn’t move a single inch - merely grazing- not even properly eating you out anymore, he’s just sloppy grazing his hungry mouth against your sensitive cunt. 

Lapping up the last few dredges of your slick.

Occasionally wishing to feel the clench of your hole- and letting it dip inside—

“Hck!” Tears start to well up behind your eyes. And you have to speak to something deep and carnal within Nanami - otherwise you’re getting the feeling that he’s never going to part his lips from your own drenched ones. “Kento, you can stay here if you want…”

“Mmm-” He eagerly runs his tongue between your velvety folds again.

“-but I was really thinking that we could use my x-ray vision…” That seems to finally pique his interest, and he’s looking up at you. “-for something else. Something bigger, hm?” Pointedly, your eyes dip down.

He knows exactly what you’re talking about.

And in no time, Nanami Kento’s shuffling up your twitching body - still oh-so-sensitive from your previous high. And his hips are closing towards yours, his ruby-red tip is slipping between your legs and sandwiching between your pussylips for a few thrust-thrust-thrusts—“A-are you sure, my darl- oh.”

Before you claw at Nanami’s muscular back and crush him against your body.

Against your hips- your readily awaiting cunt.

Just that sopping, sap-covered tip of his manages to fit inside in that moment - and you’re feeling it throb like he’s always wanted to be here. Filling up the cavern of your cunt and making your toes curl- such a delicious streeeetch—! you’ve never felt before. And Nanami watches as you’re on the verge of shattering just as he already has—and he leans down to press a quick press on the edge of your chin. “M-mmmm.” 

But it’s hard even think let alone fucking speak with your soaking wet cunt wrapped around him like this. His very own taste of heaven.

Nanami’s letting escape a few botched moans- before he decides to preserve whatever is left of his dignity, and bites down on his pathetically wobbling lip. Trying his very best to keep any noise from leaving him as he experimentally moves his hips behind and probes back inwards with his plump, puckered tip. Just the round girth of it openin’ you up even more. “Sh-shiiiiiiit—my darling, am I even…”

You’re looping your arms around him and dragging him even closer. But Nanami’s too far gone to even kiss you properly- and his lips end up sliding around your jawline. “Even what, Kento?”

Bleary eyes damn-near popping out of his skull. Skin flushed ever-redder due to the aphrodisiac or simply just…you. Cock spurting out wad after wad of eager precum—he just couldn’t stop himself.

“Alive…” Nanami rasps out.

And your jaw drops at the question. “Is that…is that a joke, baby?” Although you already knew the answer- Nanami Kento was never the type to just joke.

And just as you’d expected, he’s furiously shaking his head and pumping out a few more overeager semi-thrusts. So overeager, in fact, that he’s ending up plopped out of your wettened cavern- and Nanami almost blows a fuse trying to get himself back in.

“Let me help you with that, Kento.” You giggle. Pushing aside his fumbling fingers, you’re wrapping your own around his incredibly thickened base - enough to make your mouth water.

Pointing the globular top of his shaft towards your cunt, you allow him to push inside once more. Breath hitching. Thighs shaking. Pants erratic as he does so- “Are you alright, baby?” You ask him—this time opening your legs wider to let his furious inches shovel in. “D’you think you can handle it if I use my powers to bring all of you inside?”

“Yes but…no.” Nanami admits. He wears a sheepish smile on his face - almost shy. Which was in direct contrast with the way he’s scrapin’ his right hand down your core and resting it atop your womb. He looks at you with raised brows. “Here?”

You nod. “Right there.” Then you’re wiggling your hips down in order to take him deeper—

But Nanami’s stopping you with a hand at your waist- practically glued onto your skin. He’s firm in his touch though not unkind. And Nanami’s boring deeeeply into your eyes - your very soul - as he’s giving you light, shallow thrusts. Poking himself past that ruthless squeeze of your entrance. “I…hah, I’ll need your superpowers to tell me where I am, my darling. And exactly where you want me.” 

Then Nanami plants you with a particularly hard strike that sends his long cock digging. His sides were decorated with a zig-zagging pattern of veins that massages your delicate insides.

“But as for fitting inside…” His mouth fucking waters at the prospect - and you already know with your senses. The gentleman leans down and spits in your mouth. “-we’re gonna do it the human way, okay?”

“Please-” Your nails start to dig into the shifting muscles of his back. “Please-”

And he’s not doing it the human way—not instantly. Before that; Nanami removes your palms from his shoulders and pins them above your head. Using but a single hand of his.

And you know you could easily overpower him - you just know it - but in this instance it makes something carnal twitch inside you to have the calm, soft-spoken gentleman shatter in this way on your pussy. It wasn’t just the aphrodisiac: he was using one hand to restraint yours- so hard that you feel his nail marks, he was using the other to push your knees up until they hit your tits, he was pulling his cock out until it was juuuust the pretty, pinkish top of his shaft.

And then plunging back in.

As deep as he could go - until he’s feeling the little tightness of your entrance. Then reeling back out to repeat. And repeat.

And repeat.

And repeat.

Nanami Kento was stabbing you with his cock nearly a dozen times a second—and he wasn’t sweet with it- he wasn’t fucking gentle. 

He was utterly pussydrunk and fucking you just like it. “Please, please, please—” Nanami’s attractive baritone hitches at the very end of his sentence, breaking into a million pieces just as he was. “Sh-shit, it’s like the deeper I go…the more I can’t- hngh.”

“Think?” You flutter your lashes up at him.

“Yeah.” He breathes. “That.”

And you can’t help but let out a little giggle—the way his flared tip rubbed your insides was addictive. He was so wiiiiide above his sensitive slit, and that was pushing forcefully into every one of your hidden spots. “You’re so close to my- hck! favorite spot, Kento. Do you remember where that was?” 

“Mmm, my darling- remember?” Nanami looks down at you with crazed eyes. “I can’t even remember my own name right now.”

“Then I’ll guide you.”

Though your arms were pinned to the bed, you’re able to careen your hips up into his. And that ruggedly handsome v-line of his was slowly growing redder at the repeated contact- to which you’re only pushing up even harder. “Just a little deeper- two inches?” You’re using your x-ray vision to map out the perfect route to your g-spot. “And then a little more- fuck, angle your hips a little more to the left.”

“Like this?” He asks. Beautiful hazel eyes almost fluttering shut at the onslaught of sudden squeezes that your cunt was blessing him with. “Fuck, how are you squeezing me even- deeper?”

“My superhuman powers?” You’re joking- joking.

But that doesn’t stop Nanami from asking- “Then does that mean you can…snap my dick off with that pussy, my darling?”

At first you’re in disbelief that such words could have possibly left Nanami Kento’s - the Nanami Kento’s - mouth. And then when it’s finally sunken in, you’re debating whether he was actually serious about it—he looked serious enough. “Ah…” Your lips part. “Kiss me.”

He does.

And as he does, that winding restraint of your legs tugs n’ tugs him ever-closer. Ever-deeper.

That bulbous tip of his was openin’ you up so fucking well—hidden nooks you hadn’t even known existed. And after a few more jerky thrusts, Nanami breaks the kiss with a rather lecherous slurp! and moves to huff against your ear. “I-is it all the way in, my dearest?”

“Shouldn’t you be the one to know that?” You’re chuckling before looking down using your x-ray vision once more.

“Tell me, my darling- tell me.” And Nanami Kento was always rather the stoic man—never combusting, never overreacting. But at this moment, it feels as though the longer he’s not fully stuffed in your cunt, the more and more he’s fucking losing it-

“Well…just a few inches longer until you’re gonna be- hah-” Untangling one of your hands from his, you’re running it down your core. Your womb. “-here.”

And Nanami can’t hurry up enough to pin your hands back on the mattress, replacing it with his own. He fucking moans when he realizes that - if he presses down hard enough, perhaps through your superhuman powers - you can make him feel himself bumpin’ thrusts from the outside. You continue. “But you’re actually pretty close to- ah.”

Just then your words are taking on a trilling tone.

Almost matching his in terms of neediness.

Nanami’s running his lengthy cock so deeeeep inside that he ends up rubbin’ his flared tip along either side of your channel—perfectly massaging that one spot you’ve been yearning for this entire time. It’s like a pretty target then that he’s never failing to hit over and over and over again- until you’re throbbing and raw inside.

And every one of his thrusts end up puncturing that spot. That sweet bundle of nerves that makes his mouth water- you’re shattering around his shaft every time he repeats the motion. “Deeper.” Nanami chokes out. “Deeper- now I just need you to take me even deeper. I don’t just want it- I need it.”

And pressing your legs apart with his strong pelvis- he’s murmuring as he hones in.

That target at the back of your pussy.

That gummy surface that just seemed to be calling to him.

That area at the very bottom that just seemed soaked in his never-ending precum—“I need it. I need it. I need it so fuckin’ badly.” He was slurring on his words by this point, and Nanami noses down the column of your throat. “It’s like every atom inside me is burning up. Not just because of the fuck- aphrodisiac.”

“Not just…?” You ask with widened eyes.

And he’s grinding down on the heavenly spot between your legs - so hard that the scruff of his happy trail massages your clit. And it’s such a primal sensation that you don’t think you’d ever be able to replicate—not even with your hypercontrol. “Not just.” He dips his face into the crook of your neck, hair sticking to your clammy skin. “My darling, your body’s liquor.”

Harder and harder. 

With a few more thorough strokes, Nanami’s finally - finally - bottoming out. 

You feel the moment he empties out those thick, throbbing inches with a rough bang! The velvety end of his tip swipes across your cervix- and you’re shivering at the rope of goey precum he’s leaving behind. “Sh-shiiiiiit.”

“Have I…?” Nanami’s pupils dilate. “Have I…” And he keeps fucking you in merciless thrusts.

You smile, “Why don’t you see for yourself, Kento?” He seriously didn’t realize, yet?

Nanami blinks dazedly a few times- before he’s slowly ducking his head downwards and staring at the place where you two were connected. Where your puffy pussylips were struggling to swallow down his red cock—and his heavy balls were thwack-thwack-thwacking away. And it’s enough to make his mouth water.

“Oh.”

His breath hitches as he sees that lil’ tummy bulge he was fucking into you.

And Nanami falters his hips - for just a split-second - so that he could reach down and give that tummy bulge a kiss—a fucking kiss. Coming back up with the most accomplished smile- “I-I think m’close, my darling.”

“So then cum, Kento.” You’re breaking free of his restraint to throw your arms around him again. “And I’ll-”

“No.” The blond man already knew what you were going to say. Shaking his sweaty head, “I won’t let you make yourself cum using your powers, my dear—this Earthling is going to do it himself.”

So you’re keeping your mouth shut and giving into the pleasure - and on Krypton you may have had to use your physiological control to get yourself off most of the time- but Nanami was hellbent on making you feel better than he already was. He’s slammin’ away into your g-spot. He’s using his now-free hand to roll over your clit.

Again and again and again—

As many times as he needed to in order to push you towards your high - even if it meant rubbin’ his reddened cock raw against the sopping hot insides of your cunt. In next to no time; Nanami has your toes curling at the sheer amount of pleasure shooting up from them.

And you’re babbling away into the grove of his neck, “K-Kento, I’m close…”

“Please-” He sounds very much ruined by how he’s had to push his own orgasm for yours- gladly, at that. “P-please…” A ribbon of spit glides from the corner of his mouth, and Nanami pushes down on your tummy bulge using his chiselled abs. “Cum on my cock, my girl.”

You’re both reaching your highs at the same time - Nanami’s with a few more choked-up groans and the sloppiest thrusts you’ve ever had the pleasure of receiving, and you with a few more replays of his name and the bed frame shattering underneath you. It’s solely from using your super strength to fuck back into Nanami’s cock - something you hadn’t even realized you’d been doing.

Your brain feels completely fried by the crescendo of your high- getting every peak of it smacked! by Nanami’s ruthless hips.

Again and again—he’s pumping out scalding white globs of cum.

It empties out midway down your walls and smears once he’s hittin’ your cervix. “Cum on my- cum on my…oh, fuck.” Nanami’s pupils tremble- “Don’t think I’ve ever felt like this before…”

“Mmm, me neither.” You coo up at him. Your own orgasm was taking over you nerve by nerve—flooding it with white-hot pleasure. Back arching. Knees trembling. It thrums inside of you - and you’re wondering just how potent that aphrodisiac is, because your heartbeat’s almost concerningly fast—

“S’that so?” Nanami slurs. Pressing a chaste peck to your lips as he fucks his cum inside you. “Because I’m not just talking about the sex.”

Oh.

The realization hits you like a freight truck - or maybe a block of Kryptonite. Your heartbeat wasn’t increasing just because of the aphrodisiac. Not at all.

You’re pressing your lips to Nanami’s once more, and you can see yourself doing it over and over and over again.

“Me too.”

And then after a moment, you laugh.

“Kento, we broke the bed.”

.

.

.

SUPERGIRL SAVES 160,000 AT RAINBOW BRIDGE—A TIMELINE OF THE JUSTICE LEAGUE’S NEWEST ADDITION.

EXCLUSIVE: LOCAL JOURNALIST SAVED BY SUPERGIRL (THE COVERPAGE OF THE YEAR?)

SUPERVILLAIN KENJAKU FINALLY ARRESTED! REVEALED TO BE BEHIND RAINBOW BRIDGE SITUATION AND SLANDER CAMPAIGN AGAINST SUPERGIRL…

“I spy with my little eye…” Shoko’s knowing gaze flickers between you and Nanami. “-a smile. Two smiles.”

Nanami’s warm gaze turns to you. “Ah, what’s there not to smile about?”

“Considering I’ve finally cleared up my name.” You respond. And it was true; ever since the highly-publicized double heroism in which you saved both Nanami and managed to prevent the Yurikamome Line accident, the headlines couldn’t get enough of your name. Except this time…it wasn’t a bitter taste on their tongues. 

Were we wrong about Supergirl? Was Kenjaku behind the hate campaign?

(Partially. You don’t doubt that that man had his fingers in every pot and scheme possible, but you don’t doubt that most of it was pure human vitriol. And you hoped Kenjaku continued seething…from Tokyo Island Penitentiary.)

It was sweet.

And you weren’t naive enough to believe that the criticism would stop immediately - or in fact ever - but that was alright now. That was fine. 

When you were you.

And you had Nanami beside you—

He intertwines his hand with yours- and Shoko pretends to gag at the sweet, sweet act. The both of you are shaking your heads at her dramatics; which you know she didn’t mean considering the cover page that she’d been staring at at that very moment.

That second headline.

EXCLUSIVE: LOCAL JOURNALIST SAVED BY SUPERGIRL (THE COVERPAGE OF THE YEAR?)

By Nanami Kento.

Underneath those words were a picture snapped from the night you’d save Nanami for the second time. 

You’re crashing through the ceiling of Kenjaku’s bar. You’re carrying Nanami Kento in a princess carry. You. You. You. Powerful and precise. And the way that Nanami was staring at you- oh, he had stars in his eyes brighter than the night sky in the background. His arms were holding onto you like a lifeline, and you were unfettered as you held him close like a star himself.

It was the very picture of heroism.

But to you, it was also…

“Love.” Shoko whispers. “You’re in love.”

And you’re opening your mouth in response - but you’re spared from answering, as you hear something in the distance—a scream. Downtown Shibuya. There was a mugging in occurrence and the perpetrator seemed to have a weapon.

You’re looking at Nanami and Shoko, and both nod as they recognize the hardened glint in your eye.

They’d come up with some believable excuse for your absence, surely. And if they didn’t…

You’re sweeping a glance at the mundane cubicles to make sure no one was watching- then ducking out of the nearest open window as fast as light. On strong summer winds, you’re flying off to save someone—and underneath that grey coat of yours flapped your iconic suit. You tear it open at the chest to reveal the ‘S’ underneath.

-it didn’t matter, anyway.

You were Supergirl.

A/N. Hehehehehe-

“Oh my—” Your eyes roll back in your head as your lips part to form an O. “Fuck!”

Zayne hums against your clit, sucking against the sensitive skin.

You hiss air in through your teeth and snap your head down to watch him. His gaze already awaited yours; the hazel-green of his iris is swallowed by his blown pupils. Your back arches involuntarily in response to the pleasure his tongue gives you. “That feels so good,” you moan, running your hands through his hair.

Zayne parts his lips and kisses your clit in an obscene, sloppy tongue-kiss, ending the motion by pouting his lips against your cunt and sucking your clit. The sight is debauched and indulgent, reminding you of the slow kisses he teases your other lips with while you sit on his lap and help him wind down after a long day.

He french-kisses your cunt again before pulling back and pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh. “You need to keep your voice down, sweetheart,” he gently chastises. “These walls are thick, but they aren’t impressive enough to conceal your volume.”

“I’m sorry,” you immediately reply, needing to feel his lips back on you. “I’ll be quiet.” You deigned not to remind him that it had been HIM who asked you to say his name, leading you to lose control of your volume, but in the current atmosphere, you didn’t quite feel like bringing up semantics if it meant it would take longer for him to make you cum.

“Good.” He cracks a small, handsome smile, leaning into your touch while you run your fingers through his hair. “I don’t want to get interrupted and stop before I can finish here.” He leans back in between your thighs, and you have to clasp a hand over your mouth to stifile the moan that rose in your throat.

It was so sexy—how he spoke of making you cum as something for him. But Zayne always had been quite the giver.

His eyes flutter shut, and his brows crease as he traces tight, wet circles around your clit with his tongue. “Mmm!” Your pleased whine is muffled by your palm, but you cannot control your thighs that begin to tremble around his head. The hand in his hair tightens against his scalp, while the hand on his desk beside you crumples a paper you really hope can be reprinted.

Zayne’s arms are wrapped around your legs; his hands grip your thighs to hold you steady and keep your cunt pressed to his mouth while he eats you out. He shakes his head from side to side, dragging his soft tongue against you. 

It aches where he pleases you, never enough, and simultaneously too much. You want him inside you, above you, below you, around you—to be consumed by him and to be consuming him. Your hands can't run along enough skin on the nape of his neck, your nails can’t dig hard enough into the muscle planes of his back as your body jerks forward and you latch onto him for dear life.

You bite down hard on your bottom lip while Zayne grunts into your cunt, sending blissful vibrations down to your very core. He flattens his tongue and rubs your clit in circles expertly, as he has done a thousand times before.

And it’s too much.

“Z-zayne.” You manage to gasp out his name without crying it for the whole hospital night staff to hear.

He knows exactly what that sound means, so attuned with your body and how your clit twitches against his tongue and your needy entrance pulses around nothing. He wishes he could fill you, even with just his fingers, but he knew that kind of pleasure would be too much for now, so he settled for only using his tongue.

He nods, holding your eyes with his blissed out gaze. The tips of his ears and his cheeks are a handsome red, all flushed in his own arousal and pride at making his beautiful partner feel so good. He tells you to let go with his stare, to cum all over his tongue and make a mess of his mouth, to use him and ride it out until your body becomes boneless with satiation.

So that’s exactly what you do.

“Zayne, Zayne, Zayne—” You chant his name, your final cry strained as your lips fall open and your orgasm crashes into you. You gasp against the onslaught of pleasure while he continues to gently lick your cunt, careful not to add too much pressure to your clit directly lest he overstimulates you without meaning to.

The pleasure is so intense. Your abdomen jerks uncontrollably as you ride it out on his tongue. You feel entirely out of control of your body, your legs shaking and your arms taut as you hold his head against you, but your mind is calm and a sea of white, knowing that you are in the safest place in the world.

Zayne removes his mouth from between your legs and stands from the floor of his desk. He wipes the evidence of your pleasure from his mouth with his thumb and steps between your thighs. Using his thumb and pointer finger, he tilts your boneless head up to face him, slightly smirking at the blissed-out expression on your face. “Are you satisfied?” he asks.

In response, you lean into his chest and wrap your arms around him, nuzzling into his abdomen. 

Zayne grunts in surprise, pausing with his arms in the air before he chuckles and reciprocates your touch. He strokes your hair with a strong hand, drawing his fingers down to cradle the back of your head while he draws his hand up and down your back in a soothing manner. “I’ll set up the couch for you. I have a few post-op tasks to complete, and then we can go home, alright?” 

He leans back to see your face and bends down to press a kiss to your nose, making you blink one of your eyes shut at his closeness. “Are you tired?” he whispers.

You nod, feeling your eyelids be weighed down by boulders the longer your stay in his embrace.

You’re so exhausted, you hardly recognize you’re being lifted until he’s setting you down on the plush couch in his office. Your head sinks into the decorative pillow at the arm of the couch, before a weight is placed atop you.

"Grab me the folder with the October 3rd case files, please, dear."

Higuruma's request snaps you out of your daydreams—body jerking as heat burns your cheeks.

"O-Of course!"

You know exactly where to go, at least. Every misplaced document, every obscure reference—you've long since mapped the chaos of Higuruma Hiromi's filing system.

Locating the folder within seconds, the brief contact of his fingers grazing yours as you hand it over makes you clench.

"Thank you, doll."

Higuruma doesn't look up, his eyes are already scanning the document. Clearly your touch doesn't stir anything in him.

Right.

You get it. You do. 

It's not cruelty—just a single-minded determination from a habitually overworked and underfucked attorney moonlighting as a sorcerer. 

Higuruma is well practiced in putting his own needs to the side for others, his entire life has been dedicated to it—you can't bear to fault him for that.

So you retreat. Back to the sofa in the corner of his office, the sting tucked behind a tired smile. Higuruma isn't the only one who knows how to compartmentalize.

Still, the thought lingers—is there even a point in staying?

He doesn't need you. Not really.

Higuruma managed for years as a public defender before the Culling Games. He's more than capable of grabbing his own files.

Besides, it's not like the jujutsu higher-ups assigned you here for your legal expertise. The "Executive Legal Assistant" line is just civilian window dressing— a polite way of saying leash.

Your real title? Assistant Manager of Jujutsu Tech.

A handler for a newly ranked special-grade sorcerer too stubborn to give up his day job entirely.

Higuruma compromised just enough to move to private practice, but still takes most cases pro bono after a reduced retainer.

He knows exactly why you're here—and he's never once made you feel lesser for it.

Which makes the guilt so much worse. He's buried in this case: a scholarship kid bullied into a false confession, parents who scraped together everything for his retainer.

Meanwhile, you're sulking because he won't touch you.

God, his noble to a fault principles make you damn near feral though.

Pouting from your spot on the sofa, you steal another glance at Higuruma.

You decided long ago it's enormously unfair for a man to wear exhaustion as well as he does. The warm glow of the desk lamp traces his profile—his sharp nose, strong jaw, the thick column of his throat and the strain visibly knotted across his broad shoulders. 

The same coiled tension he'd carried that night a month ago that obliterated all lines of professionalism.

It’d been straight off a mission. Higuruma dealt with dual first-grade curses, nasty work—and then went right back to his desk. But he was wound too tight and although determined to finish his work, could not keep his fingers from digging into the crook of his neck.

When you offered to help him, you were only being considerate.

A friendly massage. Honestly, that's all it was. 

Higuruma even tried to refuse you but one firm press into his stiff muscles and he groaned. The sound was purely guttural, vibrating through your palms and straight to your cunt.

Immediately all protests silenced as his head drooped forward, breath going ragged. His grunts continued and by the time you fully worked out the second knot, you were dripping.

It took everything in you to steady your hands, to hide how much his pleasure was affecting you. But then you slipped—and a soft, needy sound fumbled out of you, impossible to swallow back. Your breath fanned warm across his neck, scattering goosebumps along his nape.

Everything after that blurred together.

His hands hauling you into his lap.

His mouth devouring yours.

The expensive oak desk slamming against the wall as he drove into you like a man possessed, your name caught between his teeth like a prayer.

You don't remember how it ended—only that eventually, Higuruma untangled himself from you and led you wordlessly to the private shower attached to his office. One of the few perks of private practice he'd actually come to appreciate.

He washed you with reverence—slow, thorough, like you were something precious. And then he ruined that image entirely by dropping to his knees and lewdly slurping his cum out of your cunt like it was his last meal. Nose buried in your clit, tongue pushing deep, water pouring down his face. He was half-drowning—between the shower and your squirt—and couldn't have cared less.

Legs like goo, you still don't know how you remained standing through it all.

You were still catching your breath as you toweled off when he murmured something about feeding you, fingers tracing your hip.

Twenty minutes later: you were at an all-night izakaya, just the two of you. Your first date, technically. Confirmed by the way he slid into the booth beside you instead of across—his hand finding your thigh like it belonged there. It never left. Only crept higher, fingertips ghosting over your clit through thin silk while you pretended to study the menu. The owner lingered too long taking your order, teasing you for something as plain as eggs and furikake rice, his tone edging toward flirtation as he challenged if your date was too cheap to buy you a real meal. You stumbled over your defense of Higuruma as Higuruma's knuckle replaced his fingertips, grinding against your clit.

That's when you learned how possessive Higuruma Hiromi could be.

"That man is testing my patience," Higuruma murmured the second the owner turned away. His mouth barely moved against your ear, voice terrifyingly calm, knuckle still working slow circles through your folds. "Should I sit you right here in my lap? Let him watch you come undone, doll, hm?"

You were already plenty undone though—your slick leaking onto beat-up vinyl seat.  “Don’t worry, I won’t. This noisy girl attracts too much unnecessary attention—” Higuruma leans forward to shield you from view as more patrons walk in “—we don’t need a public indecency charge, hm?”  

He wasn't wrong. The slick click-click of your pussy squelches were already obscene—a few patrons' eyes flickered around, searching for the source—and it only got louder as he nudged past the lace, stroking you wider, fingertip dipping teasingly into your core.

“H-Hiro…”

With a sly quirk of his lip, he pulls back, reaching casually for his coffee before slipping the mug under the table.

“Alright, alright. At least allow me some of your cream for my coffee as a consolation, dear.”

He paid, of course. You tried to protest, but it's hard to argue when you can barely stand—legs still trembling from an hour of relentless teasing.

He'd ordered three cups of coffee total. Every single one required a fresh dollop of your cream.

By the time you reached his condo, you needed him desperately again. Engine off, keys still in the ignition—you climbed into the backseat and sank onto his cock. You rode him until dawn crept through the fogged glass and your legs gave out. 

He invited you to stay but you were possibly in enough trouble already if your family noticed you hadn’t returned. Working late was understandable—but there’d be hell if you missed breakfast without prior notice.

That was a Saturday.

Come Monday, this case landed on his desk, and he hadn't touched you since.

Instead?

Fresh flowers rotating through the vase on your desk.

The occasional delivery of white strawberries.

Macarons from the French bakery Higuruma pretended to overbuy when you knew he only bought them for you. The closest to real intimacy you got all month were stolen moments where he’d sweep your hand into his, lips brushing your knuckles when he was certain no one else could see.

Sure these breadcrumbs were enough to keep you hoping but not nearly enough to keep you sane. 

Who the hell courts you like a Regency novel heroine—after you’ve already spent a night all over each other fucking like rabbits?! 

You don't think even Elizabeth Bennet suffered this kind of agonizing tension—she certainly didn't have the memory of Mr. Darcy's tongue swirling in her cunt to keep her up at night.

But what could you do? You couldn't seem needy or immature—not to a man a decade your senior. Not if you wanted this to mean something.

You were doing fine. Keeping it together. Right up until last week.

Junior lawyers crowded the watercooler, loud and willfully oblivious to the fact that women also use the break room—braying about No Nut November like overgrown frat boys comparing notes. You kept your back to them, cursing the espresso machine to hurry the hell up.

Relief flooded you when Higuruma appeared in the doorway.

Finally, an escape.

Then he opened his mouth.

"Some of us don't find distractions quite so difficult to set aside when the work matters." His gaze swept over them. "I'd recommend you develop the same discipline, gentlemen."

Distractions.

You'd previously told yourself this case had forced you both into accidental celibacy. No Nut November participants by circumstance, not choice. But the way he'd said it—distractions—so cool, so clinical, like sexual urges were just clutter to tidy away.

You'd think a man who fucked you that desperately would be crawling back for more?!

But he hadn't.

And that distance made you wonder if you'd gotten it all wrong. Maybe the gifts weren't courtship—just consideration. The polite gestures of a man who'd used you and wanted to keep things friendly on the rare occasion he needed an indulgence.

Like a work wife with benefits.

The fact the office cleared out hours ago and he’s hardly looked at you for more than a few seconds convinces you of this more and more, the thoughts spiraling as—

"You know I hate to keep you late." The words yank you out of your head. Right. You're still here. He's still here. "If you need to leave, dove, I can manage."

Your stomach drops. Higuruma asked you to stay tonight, so you thought maybe—

"No, I'm fine. Really." Unconvincing, even to yourself.

"Mm." He nods—eyes already back on his files.

Dismissed in a syllable.

Trying to push aside the hurt, the files in your lap blur as you pretend to read them, legs crossing and uncrossing, the leather groaning beneath your restless shifting. Now on top of everything else, your feet are screaming—new stilettos, three inches higher than normal.

You'd dressed to kill all month hoping a part of him would be superficial enough notice.

Wincing, your arches are aching from your red-bottoms. You're starting to suspect it's less about the lacquer and more about the crime scene your heels will leave behind if your arches just so happen to split in two. Still, they make your legs look sinful—and you'll plead guilty to first-degree pick me-ism if it gets Higuruma to look up from his goddamn papers for more than a minute.

"Take them off.”

Flustered, your eyes snap up to see Higuruma appraising you over the document in his hands. 

When did he start watching you again?

"Your shoes, dove."

Higuruma follows up when you don’t respond, faint amusement lingering on his words.

"It's fine, really—" You wave off his concern, gesturing vaguely at your feet. "They're still new. Haven't broken them in quite yet."

"You've been wincing for the last twenty minutes." Higuruma’s voice is firm but not unkind as he regards you. His eyes linger on your legs long enough for you to notice this time. 

"Take them off."

"I don't want to be unprofessional—" 

"It's nearly midnight." The corner of his mouth twitches a sly smile. "And…I think we're well past professional civilities, don't you?"

Are we?

You swallow the retort as Higuruma examines another folder on his desk. Part of you wants to be a big brat about it—to punish him for ignoring you. You want to crawl onto his desk force his eyes onto you.

But the thought alone makes you shy away. You're much too proud for that.

So you ease the shoe off slowly, quietly, propping your stockinged foot on the sofa's edge to reach the second strap. Your wool skirt rides up your thighs in the process—but you're almost certain he's not watching anyway.

Except you hear papers fluttering and when you glance up, Higuruma's pen is frozen mid-stroke.

His gaze isn't on your feet.

It's fixed on your thighs, more specifically, the black lace of your garters clipped to stockings that have your soft flesh swelling over them.

His throat bobs as he white-knuckles the pen in his grasp.

For a long moment, he doesn't move. Doesn't breathe. Just looks at you as his eyes trail lower and the proof of how needy you've been for him all night is evident in the way your panties clinging to every fold.

Higuruma resembles a man who's been presented a ten-course meal after a strict fast.

Yet his next words still surprise you.

"You've been punishing yourself."

"What?"

"For my attention. You've been wearing new heels, every night this week." Higuruma’s tone is stripped of its usual composure although he's still clinical in his assessment. "You usually wear the round-toed black pair. Two inches, cushioned sole. These—" His gaze flicks to the discarded shoes, then back to you. "Your legs don't need the extra height, doll. Never did."

Heat floods your cheeks. He'd noticed?! 

This whole time, drowning in case files, barely sparing you a glance—

"The blouse is new too." Higuruma notes, almost to himself, like he’s reading off the facts in a case file. "Tuesday it was the silk one. Wednesday, the black skirt with the small slit at the back."

Your heart slams against your ribs as he continues to recall your outfits.

"I-I thought you weren't paying attention."

"I wasn't giving you any." Higuruma’s mouth twists—bitter and self-directed in his ire. "That's not the same thing."

"It's okay. You've been busy—"

"Don't." 

The word is soft but final as he rises from his desk walking over to you on the sofa.

"Don't make excuses for me—or I'll hate myself even more than I already do..."

Higuruma drags a hand down his face as he deflates with a tired exhale. "Watching you walk in every morning looking like that. Knowing exactly what sounds you make when I—"

He stops. You watch him swallow it down—whatever he was about to say, whatever he was about to do. His eyes have gone nearly black, looking like he may pounce on you at any moment.

"I couldn't only give you ten minutes between depositions. Couldn't touch you the way you deserve and then casually ask you to hand me a file or drive me to the next mission like nothing happened." 

Your head is spinning at the revelations, wanting to say something but you are at an utter loss. 

"So I kept my distance." He confesses. "Thought if I could just finish this case—I could give you a night where I could take my time with you. Take you apart properly, then put you back together after."

Higuruma is standing over you now, his presence like a physical weight. "Like a fool, I was so consumed with self-martyrdom I never stopped to consider if I was forcing yours."

You move to stand, to reach for him—

“Stay.”

It's less command than it is a contrite supplication.

"Stay right there, doll," Higuruma repeats—and the crack in his voice betrays him—as does the tent in his slacks.

The sound he makes when he catches you staring is barely human—a low, rumbling growl. You watch his cock twitch harder against his slacks.

You search for his eyes, but his focus is locked on your tongue sweeping across your lips.

Higuruma loosens his tie, slowly as his eyes begin their descent—down your throat, your breasts, your stomach—until it lands between your thighs and stays there. Fixed on the wet patch darkening your lace. 

He crouches before you, hands finding your calf. His thumb strokes the curve of the stocking covered muscle with reverence, he's memorizing the shape of you not only by sight but touch as well.

"Bring the other up." You've never heard him sound like this—barely holding on. "Y-Yes, just like that. Now lay back—hips forward."

Pulse hammering, you sink deeper into the cushions, propping your leg up as his hands find your hips, guiding them forward, bunching your skirt around your waist.

"Good girl."

Your pussy is fully on display now and Higuruma makes a wounded noise as his eyes rake over the panties that have given up pretending to hold in your swollen folds long ago.

"Christ." 

The word punches out of him. His fingers skim the lace edge—barely grazing—and still come back glistening with your slick.

Higuruma swallows hard. "It's criminal the way my girl's been hiding all this under those prim little suits."

His girl.

Higuruma lifts one of your legs, extending it slowly until your stockinged foot rests flat against his chest. His heart pounds beneath your arch, the beat syncing with the pulsating ache of your clit.

His hands work down your leg, firm and thorough, pressing into sore muscles until pleasure bleeds through the ache. Your head tilts back as you stifle a moan and his grip tightens in response.

"I know I don't deserve it, dove, but at least allow me to hear you while I worship you, my dear."

Simultaneously, his thumbs dig into the ball of your foot, and the tension you've been carrying all night unspools in a single, embarrassingly loud whimper.

From the devious look on his face, it's exactly what he wanted.

Higuruma presses a kiss to your Achilles—another apology—and you shiver. He sets your foot down gently, repeats the ritual on the other side. Just as slow. Just as thorough.

A knowing smirk tugs at his lips as he guides your legs up, stockinged feet sliding over his shoulders until you're spread open before him. He leans forward, nuzzling into the fold of your knee—and the scrape of his stubble makes your hips jerk.

“You know, at times I swore I could smell how badly she missed me.” He murmurs into your stockings. “Right through your pretty little skirts." 

Higuruma’s actions follow his words, tracing a slow path with his aquiline nose from your knee to your pussy. "Mmm. I was right. She's been weeping so sweetly through your panties like a needy little thing for weeks, hasn't she?"

Your whines answer for you.

"What about No Nut November?" you whisper, breathless, raising your hips to push his nose in deeper. "I wouldn't want to be a distraction..."

Higuruma inhales deeply, savoring your raw scent. "Never." He exhales breathlessly.

"Everything else has been a distraction from you." His voice drops to gravel, vibrating through you.

You haven’t even savored the admission properly before there's a sharp snap and his teeth bite through one of your garters, tugging the ruined elastic away with a growl before repeating the action.

"Please, Hiro—" You mewl, thighs trembling.

He looks up at you with those dark, knowing eyes. Exhausted and hungry in equal measure.

"This is part of my sentence, doll." His thumb strokes the crease of your thigh, maddeningly gentle. "Trust me—it's far more agonizing for me."

You doubt that.

But you don't dare contradict him—not when there's something sadistic lurking behind all that apology. Something that tells you a part of him would get off on deny you just a tiny bit longer.

His tongue drags flat over your panties, pressing wet fabric into your slit, sucking your slick through the lace like he's trying to wring every drop out.

"These are in my way." He doesn't bother with his teeth this time—just hooks his fingers in the lace and tears.

Riiiip.

You squeal as cool air hits your bare cunt for half a second before his mouth replaces it. The second his tongue splits your folds, every other thought dissolves.

Your head falls back against the cushions as his tongue drags through your folds with long, broad strokes. Like he's been dreaming about this exact taste for a month and finally, finally gets to indulge.

His lips seal over your clit and suck, hard enough that your hips buck off the sofa. His hands dig into the meat of your thighs, pinning you open, holding you still as they quake in his grasp.

"Told you to stay."

The command growled against your cunt, but your body isn’t listening, still squirming as he dips into your entrance, gathering your slick before dragging it back up to your clit—then he spits, letting your own arousal drip onto your swollen nub before his mouth descends again.

"H-Hiro!"

Higuruma doesn't answer.

He's much too occupied with his repentance. Tongue extended, his face is pulled back just enough so you can see the exact pattern being cruelly branded on your sensitive bud as he roughly flicks under your clitoral hood, pushing it back. It's methodical and devastatingly thorough—like he's building a case with his mouth and your orgasm is the verdict.

Though for a defense attorney, the way he's attacking your cunt feels suspiciously prosecutorial.

Your hips tilt up, desperate to ride his face, and he lets you—lips releasing your clit only to plunge his tongue straight into your core, rimming your entrance before fucking into you rapidly. Every thrust grinds his nose further into your clit. His hands find your ass, gripping soft flesh, spreading your cheeks as he lifts your hips to help you rock against his mouth.

This man would happily perish between your thighs.

You're certain of it now.

His own broken groans echo inside your cunt, high off the fact of simply giving you pleasure—and that's what sends you over. You cum hard, thighs clamping around his head, back arching off the sofa as the orgasm tears through you in waves, ecstasy coursing in your veins.

But he doesn't stop.

His tongue keeps working, lapping up your release, his face slick and shining with you. When you try to squirm away—oversensitive and trembling—his grip tightens on your thighs, dragging you back to his mouth.

"I'm not done with you yet, doll."

The words come out ragged, muffled against your puffy cunny as Higuruma's cheek rests against your inner thigh, lips swollen and spit-slick, still connected to your pussy by a thin string of your arousal. He's panting—actually panting—looking genuinely pained by the fact that he has to stop to breathe oxygen instead of burying himself deeper in your folds.

You don't think you could deny Higuruma anything like this.

"One more, Hiro." His breathing quickens at your permission. "T-Then fuck me. Please."

Higuruma doesn't bother with words. Just action—diving back into your depths like a man possessed.

One of his hands releases your thigh, finds your wrist and drags your fingers into his hair.

"Pull." The command is muffled but unmistakable.

You oblige—or rather, you're forced to when his teeth graze your clit and your nails dig into his scalp on instinct. Higuruma growls in pleasure, the sound rumbling through your core.

He has to be aching. Hard enough to hurt, trapped in those slacks. You can't see him from this angle, but you wouldn't be surprised if he's leaking through his slacks from the way he's moaning into your pussy, drunk on the taste of you. A pool of your creamy juices has already gathered on the leather beneath you, obscene and growing in size by the second.

Delirious words spill from his lips between licks—praise and filth whispered directly into your cunt like prayers.

"So sweet—"

A broad lick from entrance to clit.

"So pretty—"

His tongue fucks into you, curling.

"—my divine atonement—"

Your slick coats his chin, his cheeks, drips down his jaw, and he only gets hungrier. More desperate. More crazed. Every gush of arousal you give him is an aphrodisiac—he laps it up like a man dying of thirst, shows no signs of stopping, no signs this will be your last orgasm, only growing more feral as you unravel beneath him.

"P-Pleaseeeee ohh—!"

The second climax builds faster than the first—sharper, meaner, your whole body wound tight as a wire. His tongue relentlessly assaults your clit while two fingers sink into your cunt without warning, crooking against that spot inside you, and your vision whites out.

"That's my pretty girl."

Higuruma pulls back just enough to let you ride out the aftershocks, fingers still drawing merciless circles on your oversensitive clit.

Somewhere behind the roar of blood in your ears, you hear a belt click as fabric shifts. You force your eyes to focus—watching his slacks fall as he stands, his cock springing free—flushed and heavy, bobbing as his cockhead smeared with pre drips down the length of him.

Fuck. Somehow Higuruma looks even bigger than you remember, thick enough to make your whole body clench with want and fear in equal measure.

He kneels, dragging your hips to the edge. His hand wraps around himself, stroking, and you hold your breath—finally, finally—

But he just slaps his cock against your clit. Tap, tap, tap. Precum and spit and slick mixing obscenely

You squirm, clearly overstimmed which draws a smug chuckle from him.

"Is it terrible that I enjoy teasing you?"

"Hiro—" You whine, hips jerking toward him. You pout up at him sweetly—and watch his cock twitch in response. His resolve visibly cracking.

"Yes, doll. Say it again." Higuruma's cock notches at your entrance, pressing but not pushing. "Scream it this time, for me yes?"

You expect more teasing, more torture.

Instead, he snaps his hips forward in one brutal thrust—splitting you open until he's buried to the hilt.

You scream his name so loud you don't even hear it leave your throat.

You might have cum again—you only know because of the string of expletives spilling from Higuruma's mouth, his composure finally shattered.

"F-Fuck, dove—" He's panting, forehead pressed to yours. "She's choking me. You need to relax." A strained laugh escapes him. "She feels like a noose—and I'd prefer to avoid capital punishment tonight, if it's all the same to you."

You can't answer, tears streaming as you gasp from him filling you so completely. Higuruma leans down and licks them up too, tongue tracing the salt tracks on your skin. You're starting to think he's genuinely obsessed with your bodily fluids.

Higuruma pecks your lips gently, letting you adjust.

"Have you not been touching yourself?" His voice is softer now, curiously teasing as he admires the state simply sticking his cock in has reduced you to. "Have you been waiting for me all this time?"

"I w-wasn't g-gonna" You swallow, cunt fluttering around him. "B-But it wasn't enough. It wasn't y-you."

"'Wasn't gonna', huh?" He mocks you, his rich baritone tickling your senses as his thumb returns to your clit to flick over her languidly.

"Naughty girl." He kisses the corner of your mouth. "But I suppose I'll argue a plea deal in your defense this once. It was my fault after all for neglecting you."

Your thighs burn from being spread around his broad hips, the sheer weight of him pressing you into the sofa, his knees braced on the floor. When you finally loosen around him—walls relaxing, body surrendering to him—he slips his tongue into your mouth as his hips begin to move.

Small thrusts at first. Micro-movements. Like he can't bear to have even an inch of himself outside the warm embrace of your slick walls.

Then his hand presses down on your lower belly, and your eyelashes flutter as your eyes roll back.

"There it is." He groans, grinding deeper. "Can you feel how she makes room for me?"

Higuruma doesn't give you the chance to answer before he picks up the pace, hand staying pressed to your stomach, savoring every twitch of your muscles. The exact movement of your guts shifting around him—how your body so lovingly allows him to ruin her from the inside out.

His teeth find your bottom lip, biting down as his other hand slides up to your throat, fingers wrapping around the column of your neck. He squeezes lightly, rhythmically, matching the desperate clench of your pretty pussy around him.

Higuruma wants to cum with you. But he can feel you're already there—already tipping over the edge—

"Hiro... 'm gonna—"

"Oh?" He doesn't slow down. If anything, he fucks you harder. "Without me, dear? How inconsiderate." His thumb presses into the side of your throat. "Go ahead. But I won't be granting leniency. You cum now and then you're going to keep coming until I say stop."

"P-Pleaseeee, m-mercyyy—" You're babbling, desperate. The word slips out before you can stop it: "—Judge."

Higuruma almost cums right then and there, hips stuttering.

"Oh, you're pushing it now, princess."

Your doe eyes blink up at him, and somewhere beneath the desperation, you find the brat in you after all.

"What's wrong, your honor?" The words drip from your lips like honey, saccharine and deliberately provocative. "Did I say something I shouldn't have?"

Higuruma's grip tightens on your throat—not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you who's in control here. His hips still, cock buried deep, twitching inside you.

"Careful, dove."

You clench around him deliberately.

Something in him snaps. No more warnings.

Higuruma pulls out and you're immediately feeling the loss of him—but before you can protest, his hands are hooking under your thighs and hauling your ass up off the sofa.

Drenched in your combined mess, and his grip slips once before he adjusts, hoisting you higher. Your legs end up over his shoulders, folded nearly in half, and you have nothing—no wall behind you, no leverage, nothing to hold onto but the thick column of his neck.

Completely at Higuruma's mercy.

Your nails dig into his skin on instinct—the only anchor you have.

"There we go." He groans at the bite of pain, positioning his cock at your entrance. "Hold on tight, princess."

He slams you down onto him in one brutal drop.

You scream.

The angle is devastating—deeper than before, impossibly deep, his cock splitting you open while gravity does the rest. You have no control here. Can't set the pace, can't shift positions—can't do anything but cling to him and take it. Every thrust jolts through your entire body, punching the air from your lungs.

Your nails rake down his neck and he hisses, but his eyes roll back in pleasure, not pain.

"Harder." He commands. "Mark me up. I want to feel you for days."

You're too fucked-out to process it fully—is he sadistic or masochistic? Both? Does it matter when he's bouncing you on his cock like you weigh nothing, arms flexing as he lifts and drops you with terrifying ease? You're nothing but a vessel now, suspended and speared utterly for his pleasure.

"I'm going to take care of you, princess. Take care of this pretty pussy." His palms grip your ass, fingers digging in white-knuckled, desperate for leverage as he fucks up into you. "Going to make sure she never goes hungry again. Every morning. Every night. Whenever she asks for it."

"Hiro—" You're sobbing, pleasure cresting unbearably high, just gasps and moans punched out of you with every thrust. "Please, I need to—I can't—"

"Not yet." Higuruma's jaw clenches, fighting his own release. "Hold it."

"I-I c-c-can't—" Your walls are fluttering around him, clenching involuntarily, and you see stars at the edges of your vision. "P-Please, please, J-Judge, I'll do anythinggggg—"

"Anything?" His hips stutter at the title, cock kicking inside you. "Dangerous words, doll. I'll hold you to them."

His grip on your ass tightens, nails biting into the soft flesh now—mirroring what you're doing to his neck. The wet slap of skin echoes obscenely through the office, your slick dripping down his thighs, pooling on the hardwood beneath you.

"From now on—" He's losing rhythm, thrusts turning erratic. "—this pussy gets what she needs... you'll come to me? You'll tell me exactly what she needs?"

"Y-Yes—y-yes!!! Jusss p-pleaseeee—"

"Every ache—" A brutal thrust. "—every need—" Another. "—you bring it to me. Understood?"

You're babbling incoherent confirmations, head lolling back, eyes rolling into your skull.

"Cum, then. Give it to me, babydoll—"

The orgasm tears through you like a live wire—blinding, violent, your pussy clamping down so hard he chokes on a moan. Your nails draw blood on his neck and he growls, burying himself to the hilt—

And then you feel it.

The first hot pulse of him flooding your insides. His cock kicking against your walls, swelling impossibly thicker as he empties himself into you. Rope after rope of cum painting your clenching cunt, so deep you swear you feel the warmth in your throat.

For a long moment, neither of you moves. The noises of your breathing filling the space.

His cock is still buried inside you, softening but not quite soft, and you can feel his cum leaking out around the seal of your bodies—dripping down your thighs, onto the floor, adding to the mess you've already made of his office.

Higuruma's forehead drops to yours, hips grinding through the aftershocks, working every last drop into you. "You feel that? How much I saved for you, dove?"

You can only whimper in response. You do feel it—the obscene heat spreading through your core, the way his cum has nowhere to go with his cock still plugging you full. When he shifts his hips, grinding deeper, some of it squelches out around the seal of your bodies.

"Taking it so well—" His voice is shot, barely above a rasp. "Milking every drop—good girl—"

Your legs are shaking. Your whole body is shaking.

"Hiro..." You're slurring, drunk on him. "Can't... can't feel my legs..."

A breathless laugh rumbles through his chest. "Mm." He presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then the tear tracks still drying on your skin. Unbearably tender after everything he just did to you. "That's what happens when you taunt a man who's been starving for a month, doll." 

"Worth it," you giggle.

"Brat." But there's only fondness in his voice.

Slowly, carefully, he shifts his grip—one arm hooked under your ass, the other cradling your back as he finally lets your legs slide off his shoulders. You wince at the change in angle, cunt clenching involuntarily around him, and he groans.

"Easy." His voice is strained. "Keep doing that and we won't make it to the shower."

You're tempted to test him. But exhaustion wins out, your body going limp against his chest as he carries you toward the bathroom.

"Let's get you cleaned up." His lips brush your temple. "Then I'll take you home, hm?"

You pout. After everything—after a month of waiting, of longing, of convincing yourself you were nothing but a convenient release—you're not ready for this to end.

Not ready to go back to your empty apartment and pretend tonight didn't change everything.

Higuruma catches the look on your face and chuckles softly.

"I mean my home," he clarifies, nudging the bathroom door open with his shoulder. "We can clean up properly there. I'll cook you breakfast." He sets you down on the counter, and you shiver at the cold marble against your bare skin—but he doesn't pull out, not yet, his half-hard cock still nestled inside you like he can't bear the separation either. "Then I can worship you the way you deserve. Properly. Without a deadline or a case file waiting on my desk."

Your heart stutters. "You don't have to—"

"I want to." His hands cup your face, thumbs stroking your cheekbones, and his eyes—god, his eyes are so soft now. Tired and tender and looking at you like you're something precious. "I should have done this a month ago. Should have made time. Should have told you what you are to me instead of assuming you'd wait."

"I would have." The admission slips out before you can stop it. "Waited, I mean. For you. I would have."

Something fractures in his expression. He doesn't say anything—just pulls you closer, pressing his lips to your forehead like he's trying to seal a promise there.

"You shouldn't have had to. No more waiting. No more silence. From now on, you tell me what you need—and I'll give it to you. Understood?"

"Understood, counselor."

His lips twitch. "Careful. You keep using titles and we'll never leave this bathroom."

You grin, exhausted and fucked-out and deliriously happy. "Is that a threat or a promise?"

"Both." He kisses you then—tongue gliding against yours, your taste still lingering. When he pulls back, his cock twitches inside you, thickening again.

"Definitely both."

"Mm." You pull back, pretending to consider. "I don't know. A month is a looooong time. I might need extensive compensation."

"Is that so?" Higuruma quirks a brow.

"Yup! Emotional damages. Pain and suffering." You tick them off on your fingers. "Loss of consortium—"

"You don't know what half those terms mean."

"I know what I want them to mean." you say slyly, clenching around him once more.

Realistically, you don't think either of you are leaving this office tonight.

His laugh rumbles against your lips.

"I'll allow it, counselor. Motion granted."

blkkizzat ©2023-2026 no ai, reposting, plagiarism nor translation allowed.

𝐚𝐧: ahhh i love writing higuruma as an EATERRRRRRRR. this one was a lil bit more angsty, well not really angsty, reader is just super horny and it's making her a delulu pick me cjksdbfkjvhsb. i mean the way he dicked her down tho, who could blame her? lol this one was a bit more cute endings than im used to writing. i feel like its a bit cheesy but w/e, we ball. im tired of editing it hfdjkvhbf. so also sorry for any errors or duplicate sentences as i reworked alot of this fbsdhbsd.

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