#my coworker : what are you smiling about | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

husbandograveyard · 19 days ago

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I feel like i need to add this typo-riddled screenshot of me texting my gf while reading this cause it encapsulates my feelings quite well

In the most positive way

𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐔𝐄𝐒 (𝐒𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐬𝐚 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫) ❦ 𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐥 𝟎𝟏 ; 𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭: 𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐚

♫ Nilüfer Yanya - midnight sun

Love is raised by common thieves // Hiding diamonds up their sleeves // Always I did it for you // Never felt so sure // You're my best machine // You're my midnight sun // Always I did it for you

word count: 4.3k

⭅ back to m.list

“And this is the secret snack drawer of our department. Bossman refills it every Tuesday so you gotta be quick if you wanna snatch your favs before someone else does.” “Alright, thanks Bokuto-san, I’ll keep it in mind.”

When they said office tour this wasn’t exactly what you imagined, but you’re not complaining. You trail behind this giant puppy of a man who can barely contain his excitement over showing you around the building. While he gives off the impression that there’s not a single thought behind these unsettling eyes of his, you can tell that he is a sweetheart to his core and you have a good feeling about working together.

It’s been an hour since Kiyoko from HR–the most beautiful girl you’ve ever laid your eyes on–dropped you off in the hands of your future team and so far you’ve seen:

The half-heartedly fixed window on the 3rd floor a certain “Tsum-Tsum” broke during last month’s office party

The girls restroom where Yachi from Marketing could be heard crying (“She schedules her crying session between meetings, it’s normal for her so don’t worry!”)

The cafeteria and which vending machines there to avoid, as well as the ones Bokuto ended up being stuck with his arm in

The rooftop where they hold events during the warmer months (and where you accidentally locked yourself out when the door fell shut behind you–thankfully a guy built like a french door fridge who introduced himself as Meian came to your rescue after twenty minutes).

The coffee shop next door where everyone goes because the in-house coffee is ass apparently and HR cut budget for a new coffee machine

What you haven’t seen yet:

Your future cubicle and the floor your team works on

The IT department where you’re supposed to pick up your work laptop

The showrooms of the latest collection

The Bossman

Still, your nervousness from this morning is easing slowly. When you applied for this position, you wouldn’t have thought that they’d actually hire you considering what a mess your resume is on paper. Moved overseas with your family in middle school and continued living there till a month ago. Dropped out of college to pursue a career as seamstress (all self-taught no less because an apprenticeship meant too much commitment). Then chased that promised record label deal with your band which didn’t happen before you crashed and burned out big time.

Frankly speaking, you were tired.

It’s as if every decision in your life was either taken away from you or led you down a miserable path. Everything you touched just crumbled underneath your fingertips. Sometimes you catch yourself thinking that maybe you weren’t built for this kind of life. Maybe you weren’t meant to be a dreamer.

Something boring. Something stable.

You applied for this corporate job with the hope in your heart that you can find some rest. Putting an end to worrying about bills at the end of the month, and finally knowing which bed you’ll fall asleep in at night, seeing the same old city day in, day out. Maybe a place to call home but then again you didn’t allow yourself to wish for too much. Just a change from whatever trainwreck your life had been prior to this would be nice.

You loved sewing and making music with your entire being, but maybe you never should’ve built a living on it–if you could even call the past few years of your adulthood that. Living. It felt more like surviving. You’ve been missing that joy over these things you used to love the most for a long time now.

So when you got the call that you got the job last month, you didn’t have to think twice. You started packing your few belongings into boxes the same day and gave notice to quit your shabby flat. The money you once saved to go on a world tour with your band now came in handy to fund your move back to Japan. It all happened so fast. In a way it felt like an escape, like giving up; but in your heart you knew this was the right thing to do.

Maybe you had to take your eyes off the things you loved to really see them again.

“Hello…? Yes, she’s with me. What? No, I wasn’t showing her the view from the fire escape ladder. Should I? Why am I getting yelled at?”

You snap out of your thoughts when Bokuto answers a call that obviously makes him go through all emotions in the span of a minute. He gestures something to you and you have no idea what it means, but based on context clues you assume it’s “the bossman” on the other end of the line.

“Meeting room on cloud nine, got it. What? But ‘ninth floor' sounds so boring… yeah, yeah, I’ll bring her. No detours, got it. Not even… no? Okay.”

Bokuto hangs up the phone and you swear his hair looks a little deflated, just like his overall expression. He really was an open book. It was kind of refreshing.

“Did you get in trouble because of me?”, you ask and he shakes his head vehemently.

“No, no! I showed you all the important stuff and Omi-Omi–I mean, the bossman–will show you the boring rest. Like where your desk is and everything. He’s back from his out-of-office appointment and booked a meeting room for you two. I’ll take you there!”

Omi. The corners of your mouth twitch a little when you hear that name, a sweet memory unraveling in your chest. Bruised knees and ice cream dripping down your knuckles, small hands pushing you on the swings and braiding flower crowns made from daisies for you. Plucked out petals. He loves me, he loves me not. Friendship bracelets and baby teeth.

You aren’t any good with names, but you’re sure you would’ve remembered this one during the interview process.

“This Omi-Omi…” you wonder as you follow Bokuto’s lead, “is he a new hire as well? I’ve spoken with a ton of people for my interview but if I remember correctly the team leader was someone called Miya Osamu…?”

“Ohh, you spoke with Myaa-sam!” Bokuto’s eyes seem to light up. “No, he doesn’t work here anymore, just his carbon copy! Quit the job to follow his dreams, he said. He’s about to open his own restaurant just around the corner actually! We should go there for lunch once it’s open!”

A strange emotion tugs on your heartstrings. Following your dreams. Yeah, that ended disastrous for you but still you can’t help but feel a pang of envy over everyone who does it anyway. You try to shove it deep down, far away. It’s long in the past. You’re here now, a new chapter. New faces. New routines. All new. Same old you.

“Omi-Omi got promoted when Myaa-sam left, so that’s why you haven’t met him during your interviews,” Bokuto adds and holds out a door for you. “Don’t worry about him. He can be a bit grumpy at times but he has a sparkly heart or whatever the saying is. You’ll get along just fine!”

Bokuto leaves you alone with your thoughts in the small meeting room. You’re not sure what to do while you wait. The prospect of sitting still seems awful but you also don’t wanna be nosey and flip through the fabric samples someone left on the table or read through the flipchart in the corner, even though you’re tempted, so you end up pacing around the room and looking outside the big windows. Everything outside seems so small from up this high. It makes you feel irrelevant too and it’s a strangely comforting feeling. Being nothing but a name, a small gear in a bigger picture. Maybe if you become a blank canvas, you can find the colors in your world again.

You twirl around when the door clicks open, flattening down your skirt, suddenly now very aware that the moving box with your flatiron is still stuck on some container at sea. Doesn’t matter, maybe you can pull it off as edgy or casual chic with the right amount of charm and charisma.

Behind you, the door clicks open, making you twirl around.

And freeze.

“Sorry I’m late, I picked up your work laptop from the IT department on my way, so we can get started right aw–”

Leather sleeve holders on a spotless white shirt. A black face mask covering the lower half of his face. Dark curls, moving like the sea at night. Hands so large they’d swallow yours easily if you ever get to hold them again. Two birthmarks, right above the eye–that’s where a lover used to kiss you in a past life, you remember saying when you were both kids.

“Kiyoomi,” you hear yourself mutter. It sounds distant, like an echo from the past. It’s been over a decade since you tasted his name in your mouth and even after all this time your hearts still recognize each other.

“Ah,” he says and then, after a pause, “you.”

He looks dumbfounded and just stands there frozen, balancing a bundle of paperworks and a laptop in one hand and two styrofoam cups of coffee in the other. For a few seconds you just blink at each other, trying to process whatever cheap trick the universe decided to play here.

Sakusa Kiyoomi. The boy you claimed you’d marry one day when you were both just eight years old. You remember being so sure about it. How the thought never left you growing up; and how you broke down crying when your parents told you about their plans to move overseas for their work during your first year of middle school, the end of a dream.

Eventually you snap out of your paralysis.

“Ah, you. What kind of non-reaction is that?”, you ask and shake your head, laughing. You take the coffee from his hand and reach out to slowly peel the mask off his face. Despite his brows knitting together, he doesn’t protest it. It’s strange, seeing him. The boy you once promised your heart to in the sandbox and the grown man with the same face, just sharper. You wonder what he sees when he looks at you now.

“Well, excuse me, but the girl who I still have a bite mark from when we were kids just spawned out of the blue in front of me,” Kiyoomi huffs, rolling his eyes like he used to when he was annoyed by your antics. He cups one side of your face with his now free hand and lifts it slightly as if to get a better look at you, his thumb idly caressing your cheek. It feels awfully intimate and you find yourself leaning closer into his touch.

Omi. Your Omi.

It’s as if time stood still between you; as if not over a decade has passed since you last saw each other. Held each other. Murmured promises in each other's ears as you hugged goodbye in the pouring rain. Of course it was pouring that day, it was as if the heavens were weeping over the two of you being separated. Maybe that's the universe's apology for this past dick move, you think, the corners of your lips curling upwards.

Kiyoomi lets go of your cheek and flicks your forehead as if he read your mind. Another habit from back then.

“Still a daydreamer,” he remarks and for the first time since he walked into the room he smiles and it’s like the sun has risen again after years of winter.

When you sit down together, so close that your knees under the table are touching, you find it hard to focus. Kiyoomi explains the applications you’ll work with, your logins, company security policies, which meetings you’ll attend with him the upcoming weeks and the hierarchy of your team, but you don’t follow. At all. You’re too distracted by the flutter in your chest and wondering what the shaved part in the back of his neck would feel like if you ran your fingers over it, as well as what he’d been up to over the past decade, and why he never answered your letters, and…

Your phone vibrating on the table next to you snaps you out of your thoughts. You click your tongue in annoyance when you see it’s the moving company calling you.

“Sorry, I gotta take this. Won’t take long,” you apologize and pick up the phone, leaving the room for an ounce of privacy–it’s not like the thin walls muffle much when you yell into the speaker for five minutes only to hang up in defeat.

Kiyoomi looks up when you return, his eyes looking you up and down with the same intense gaze like he always did.

“Boyfriend trouble?” His voice is bland, seemingly disinterested, but no matter how much he tries to hide it you can still hear the underlying weight of the question. “Or girlfriend trouble. Didn’t mean to make assumptions.”

You slump down on your chair again and sigh in defeat, shaking your head.

“None of that. It’s the damn moving company,” you huff, slamming your phone back on the table. “They mixed up dates and now I’m here but all my stuff isn’t.” You rub the bridge of your nose in annoyance. “It’s been almost a month and my back will kill me if I have to spend one more night on an air mattress.”

Kiyoomi drums his fingers on the table, pondering. You can tell by the furrow of his brows and the intensity of his gaze. Once again you notice what a fine man he has become. His beauty would’ve been intimidating if you haven’t known him since you were little kids.

“Stay with me.”

You look up from your phone where you wrote down the new date they gave you for the arrival of your furniture and blink at him slowly. Not fully registering what he’s saying.

“Stay with me,” Kiyoomi repeats again, noticing your confusion. “Till your things arrive. I have a guest room. It’s a short commute to the job. I cook and I clean.” He shuts his laptop and gets up, running a hand through his dark curls.

“And…?”, you ask, as if waiting for the condition because surely it sounds too good to be true.

“And maybe I’m also worried that you’ll turn out to be nothing but a fever dream if I take my eyes off you again.”

In the evening, Kiyoomi and you stop by your almost empty apartment to pick up your suitcases with a change of clothes.

Sneaking away after work together without the rest of the team noticing was surprisingly easy–Meian had clocked out early to pick up his partner from school (Kiyoomi begged him to clarify that she was a teacher to avoid any future confusion), Bokuto and Atsumu were stuck in an elevator (“They’re not my responsibility after 5pm”) and Hinata went out for dinner with some business partners from Brazil.

When Kiyoomi saw how you were dressed for the chilly autumn weather, he wordlessly turned around and disappeared in the office building for five minutes again, showing up with a scarf that looked suspiciously like the one the mannequin in the showroom wore, from the collection that wasn’t supposed to see the light yet. Nobody has to know, especially not how tenderly he wraps it around you, making sure you stay warm. He always did.

Some kind of protective instinct within him kicks in when you unlock the door to your place. Kiyoomi, who huffed about the lack of security of your apartment complex for the duration of the whole elevator ride and then some more when you let him in, was now checking your windows and front door.

“You’re gonna tire yourself out from all that head shaking and tongue clicking, Omi,” you tell him while you stuff your scattered clothes across the floor back into your two big suitcases. Most of them were absolutely not fit for the season because after spending half of your life abroad. You kind of underestimated how cold Japan could get during autumn and winter. Maybe you could sew a few pieces after work and on the weekends.

“This place is a rathole,” Kiyoomi groans after turning the dripping faucet on and off and making a face of utter disapproval. “You should just move in with me permanently.”

“I’m not moving in with you, I just met you like eight hours ago,” you snarl back and roll your eyes, but maybe, in the back of your mind, you’re considering it.

Kiyoomi crouches down next to you, taking your chin between his fingers so you’d look at him.

“Eight hours my ass,” he huffs. “Don’t act like we spent our childhood glued together. You slept more in my bed than in yours. The memory foam of my mattress kept the shape of you long after you were gone.”

“Now that’s kinda romantic.”

You glance at him, a small smile tugging on the corners of your mouth. Your Omi. How you missed him. His thumb traces the outline of your jaw, and for a fleeting second you wonder if he’s gonna kiss you.

Maybe you really want him to kiss you.

You take a cab to Kiyoomi’s apartment (“What have you packed in these suitcases? Bricks? I’m not hauling these to the other end of the city. Get in.”) and he holds your hand for the entire duration of the ride under the feeble excuse that your hands are too cold. On the outside you watch the city lights pass by, an artificial milky way that unexpectedly lead you back into your first love’s arms.

Kiyoomi’s place is clean and spacious without being cold. The scent of it is making your brain tingle in a strange way, the subtle note of an almost forgotten childhood memory resurfacing again; the boy you once loved still living here but also someone else, someone he grew into without you.

You step out of your heels and shrug off your jacket and the scarf, dropping them carelessly to the ground. Behind you Kiyoomi bends down to hang it up neatly on the coat rack while you waltz inside as if you own this place. Another thing that hasn’t changed since you both were little.

Expensive, you think, recognizing some of the furniture brands and decorations. In one corner of the living room stands a vintage serving cart, crystal glasses and pricey bottles of various alcohols on top of it. His walls are adorned with artworks of all sizes, but otherwise they’re bare, the shelves missing trinkets and personal touches like framed photos of family and friends.

Still, the whole place feels like a home, lived in by someone as quiet and private as Kiyoomi.

“It’s late, I’m gonna order us some food,” Kiyoomi announces when he appears behind you, fingers tapping on his phone screen in one hand while the other unbuttons his shirt a little. He doesn’t look at you, just hands you his phone, gesturing vaguely. “Pick anything you like. My treat.”

Sitting down on the couch with your knees hugged to your chest, you scroll through the food options. Your attention span is fleeting, your eyes darting from the screen to Kiyoomi who carries your suitcases to the guest bedroom. Giving you a place to be, to stay, like it’s the most natural thing to do. Suddenly you’re very aware of the heaviness of your bones and how tired you feel.

You’ve been running for a long time. You’re home now.

Kiyoomi returns with a towel and a change of clothes, taking the phone from you again. He frowns when he scrolls through your food picks, letting out a small sigh.

“You still have the palate of a five year old.”

“You told me to pick anything I like? Just because you were fed caviar and gold dust as a baby… You pick something then.”

“I didn’t say I won’t order it, no? Go take a bath meanwhile. You had a long day.”

A long day. If it was only that.

But you don’t say anything, just wordlessly take the stuff from Kiyoomi’s hands and let him usher you to the bathroom. He pats the counter for you to sit on while he runs you a bath, pouring some bathing essence that causes a mild explosion of bubbles (same as you liked it back then). The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up when he checks the water temperature before turning back to you. He walks over till he’s standing between your legs, his hands coming down to rest on the sides of your thigh.

In the confined space of the bathroom, he seems even taller, wider. Nothing left from his baby cheeks and soft features. There was a time when you could see eye to eye, but now he’s towering over you with ease. Your hands find their way to his hips, subconsciously making him inch closer.

“You don’t have to do all of that for me, you know,” you mumble as you glance up at him.

“I want to. So please, let me,” he replies quietly. His face is so close, you could count his lashes if they weren’t endless. Endless as his adoration for you–still, after all this time. You briefly wonder if you could love each other like you did back then. Or even more. Your heart is drumming, a nostalgic melody you haven’t listened to in a while but one that’s engraved into your being.

It would be so easy, loving him. Like breathing.

Kiyoomi pulls you into a tight hug, his face buried in the crook of your neck. Your arms around him cling tight, as if part of you is afraid that he is just a fleeting illusion, crumbling the moment you let go. It seems like you share the same fear. He shakes his head when your grip loosens slightly.

“Not yet,” he mumbles, his lips brushing over the skin of your neck when he does. “Don’t let go yet.”

Your fingers are tangled in his curls, keeping him close, your bodies pressed against each other. Hearts beating in unison. You silently thank the sun and the moon for bringing you back home into his arms. Only when his neck starts to hurt from the way he’s hunched over you, he reluctantly peels himself away from you, patting your side. “C’mon now. Your bath will get cold.”

He holds out a hand to help you down from the counter, slender fingers wrapping around yours.

“But I wanna keep talking to you,” you pout, earning a small eye roll from him, but the faint smile on his lips is betraying the gesture.

“Then leave the door a crack open. I’ll talk to you, doll,” he replies and flicks your forehead. Before he leaves the bathroom he turns around again, as if there was something else on the tip of his tongue, but he decides to swallow it. For now.

Immersed in the bubble bath, you tell Kiyoomi everything that happened over the span of the past decade. From your life overseas and how lonely it had been, to the missing letters and how you tried finding him on social media when you were older, how much you loved sewing and making music and how it burned you out doing these things for a living. You pour your heart out. Somehow it’s easier when you’re not looking at him, when you can’t see your own sad reflection in his dark eyes.

You can hear him moving around on the outside, not peeking, but always near enough to give you short answers, ask questions or to simply hear him laugh through the small crack you left open. It is strange. Life is strange. One night you’re selling your bass to have something to eat for the rest of the month, then a heartbeat later you’re sitting in your puppy love’s bathtub while he orders you fries and waffles.

That night, you fall in love again.

Or maybe you never fell out of it. But it’s there, tangible, glowing. You're tucked under a thick blanket, a photo album in your lap, and Kiyoomi is hand feeding you nuggets while you look over the slightly faded photos from when you were kids, some you have long forgotten about.

The one where you lost your first baby teeth, grinning from ear to ear to show off your tooth gap. You cried horribly that day and to comfort you, Kiyoomi bought you a small plushie from his pocket money. It still sits next to your pillow when you fall asleep every night.

The one where you wore your middle school uniforms for the first time, not knowing you would be torn apart a year later and never got to graduate together. It’s also when Kiyoomi had another growth spurt and you realized you really, really liked this boy.

The one where you played dress up in your mother’s wardrobe, her wedding dress way too big on you, the veil awry on top of your hair, but Kiyoomi looking at you like you’re magic. It was all play pretend, but maybe in another life he really became your husband if life hadn’t torn you apart.

“I really missed you,” you sigh quietly, your head resting against his shoulder as you shuffle through the photos. The nostalgia is leaving a bittersweet taste in your mouth, the what if’s getting harder to swallow. It’s like the words are clawing in your throat, begging to be let out. Kiyoomi wraps his arm closer around you, pressing a soft kiss on top of your head.

“Missed you too. More than anything.”

It seems like everything leads you back to him. In his arms, his home, his heart. You have a feeling that maybe this could be the beginning of something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue.

a/n: i rewrote this chapter SO many times to a point where i wanted to rip my hair and my eyes out so here we are. omi loving demon and me are shaking hands rn, WE MADE IT. thank you so much for reading and loving omi as much as i do. this chapter is for YOU 🌷 ps: meian's partner mentioned is y/n from dodger's oh captain, my captain

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kbwrites · 5 months ago

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Heated Waters

synopsis: being married is hard, being married without seeing each other is even harder.

⚝ content: Hiromi Higuruma x F! Reader, nsfw, bathtub sex, fingering, Hiromi neglects his wife, but boy does he make up for it

⚝ wc: 1.9k

“Yeah we do it pretty much every day.”

Satoru said, taking a leisurely sip of his water. His pale face alight with mischief, a shit-eating grin across his lips. His three coworkers stared at him in (jealousy) disbelief.

Suguru was the first to break the silence, wanting to save face “Everyday is a bit much, isn’t it, Satoru?”

Satoru chuckled, his blue eyes glinting with amusement as he watched his friend squirm. "What about you guys? How often do our married friends get it in?" His gaze flickered to Nanami, who cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses, his eyes fixed on the steam rising from his coffee cup.

“Twice a week, I suppose…”

Satoru's smile widened, clearly entertained by the responses he was drawing out. He then turned his attention to the oldest among them, Hiromi Higuruma, who was carefully straightening his tie, a subtle attempt to avoid eye contact.

“What about you, Higuruma?”

“Your wife, (Y/N) is a little younger than you, right? C’mon Higuruma-San…She a total freak?” Satoru teased.

Hiromi's jaw tightened, a flicker of irritation crossing his features as his grip on his coffee cup tightened. He took a slow, measured breath, his voice strained but controlled when he finally spoke.

“Please don’t talk about my wife like that.”

But Satoru, ever the instigator, didn’t back down. “It’s just us guys riiggght? And I can’t lie Higuruma, you’re one lucky guy. (Y/N) is a catch.”

Nanami nodded in agreement, as did Suguru, though both seemed to sense the discomfort growing in Hiromi. The older man could only sigh, his shoulders sagging under the weight of the conversation.

It was true—you were everything he could have ever wanted in a partner. Beautiful, intelligent, kind-hearted—his perfect match. If heaven existed, Hiromi was certain you’d be the only one worthy of it.

But long nights in the office, and early mornings preparing for court would take a toll on any relationship. The truth was… Hiromi hadn’t touched you in over a month. By the time he came home—you were fast asleep, and weekends were spent running the mountain of errands you couldn’t get to during the week. You loved each other of course, but it was hard. A month without feeling the warmth of your husband's hands all over your skin was starting to weigh heavily on both of you.

“You don’t have to answer Higuruma-san..” Nanami chimed in, sensing his elder colleague’s discomfort.

“Over a month.” Hiromi exhaled, the truth slipping out before he could stop it.

The room fell silent, the weight of his words sinking in.

“WHAT?” Gojo audibly gasps. “Your wife looks like THAT and you haven’t f—”

Suguru swiftly cut him off with a well-placed elbow to the chest. “Satoru… leave Higuruma alone.” The long-haired male warns. “Still, that is surprising.”

“I know I know..” Higuruma pinches his bridge. He wanted nothing more than to have his wife under him… on top of him. But the endless stream of work kept him trapped in a cycle of exhaustion. “I’ve been so busy I can’t even remember the last time I actually spoke to her properly.”

Suguru offered an apologetic smile. “Sounds like you need a break.”

“Sounds like you need some puss—” Nanami quickly elbowed Satoru in the chest before he could finish his sentence.

Hiromi shook his head, letting out a dry chuckle as he ran a hand through his dark locks, clearly frustrated with himself. “I appreciate your concern, guys, but I don’t see how I can take a break right now. I have so much work to do, and I’m the only one who knows how to handle all of it.”

“Higuruma-San. Satoru will take care of the paperwork for you.” Nanami suggested with a deadpan expression.

“HUH?” Satoru blurted out, clearly caught off guard by the sudden assignment.

“Yeah,” Nanami continued, ignoring Satoru’s protest. “It’s not like he actually does any work around here anyway.”

Suguru smirked, nodding in agreement. “That’s true. You might as well make yourself useful, Satoru.”

Before Hiromi could protest, the trio moved in unison—Suguru grabbing Hiromi’s briefcase, Nanami steering him toward the door, and Satoru sighing dramatically as he resigned himself to the task.

“Are… are you boys sure about this? I don’t want to burden you–”

“Nonsense! Go home and take care of your wife!”

Hiromi placed his briefcase by the door, his tie feeling suddenly too tight around his neck. He loosened it with a sigh, running a hand through his hair as he glanced around. The familiar scent of home greeted him. It was comforting yet bittersweet, a reminder of all the moments he had missed. The living room was tidy, the soft hum of the dishwasher running in the kitchen. You had clearly been busy, taking care of the house as you always did, even when he wasn’t around.

“Honey?” Hiromi calls out to you, his voice echoing slightly in the stillness.

Frowning, he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over the back of a chair before making his way down the hall. As he approached the bathroom, he noticed a faint light seeping out from under the door, accompanied by the sound of water gently lapping against the tub.

He hesitated for a moment, then slowly opened the door.

The sight that greeted him made his breath catch in his throat. There you were, reclining in the bathtub, your eyes closed, head resting on the edge as steam rose around you. The soft glow of candles illuminated the room, casting a warm, serene light over your features.

You looked so peaceful, so beautiful—that it almost hurt to look at you. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly as he took in the sight, but the guilt and longing only deepened. How long had it been since he’d taken the time to appreciate you like this? Since he’d been able to just… be with you?

You opened your eyes, gaze meeting your husband as he leaned against the door frame.

“Hiromi?” you murmured, your voice soft, almost questioning, as if unsure whether he was really there or just a figment of your imagination.

“Hey Honey…” his voice equally soft, as he took a tentative step closer. The warmth of the room seemed to wrap around him, melting away some of the day’s stress.

“You’re home early.” You muse, looking at him as you rested your arms on the tub. He doesn’t respond, just walks towards you with purposeful steps.

Hiromi stares down at you with half-lidded eyes.“The guys decided I need a break.” He paused, his breath hitching slightly as he continued, “Can I join you?” A playful smirk tugged at the corner of your lips.

“Only if you take off your clothes this time.”

A dry chuckle escaped his lips as he unbuttons his dress shirt, letting each article of clothing fall to the tile floor. As he finally sheds his boxers before settling behind you. You exhaled softly, the tension you’d been holding onto for weeks dissipating as you sank into your husband’s embrace.

Hiromi didn’t waste a moment, his lips finding the sensitive skin of your neck, placing lazy, lingering kisses along the curve where your shoulder met your throat. His breath was warm against your skin, his kisses slow and unhurried, as if savoring every second, every inch of you.

His hands weren’t idle either, tracing gentle patterns along your stomach, moving upwards to cup your breasts with a tenderness that made your breath hitch. He nipped lightly at your earlobe, his voice a husky murmur, “I’ve missed you… more than you know.”

“Missed you too ‘Romi..” Your voice trembling as the almost foreign heat began to pool in your core.

Deft fingers teased your nipples, rolling and pinching—eliciting a soft moan from your lips as your body arched into his touch. Your hand reached back, tangling in his dark locks, pulling him closer as his lips traveled down to your shoulder, his other hand snaking under the water to your aching cunt.

“ahhhh… s-shitt..” You cry out as Hiromi’s fingers slowly circle your swollen bud. His touch light, teasing.

“Thirty-two days… I’m so sorry m’love.” He mumbles into your shoulder as he slips a slender digit into your entrance. Your walls flutter immediately around the intrusion, as he gently pumped into you.

He adds another finger, curling up to the spot he had neglected all those weeks. He extended his thumb to rub your clit. You arch your back against him, feeling his cock twitch against your ass.

“Hiro…” you moan, reaching behind for him, but he bites down lightly on your shoulder.

“Not yet, pretty girl, want you t’cum first okay?”

He whispers as he feels your gummy walls clench around him.

He speeds up his ministrations, digits stuffing your cunt as your pussy throbs and squelches. Your whimpers echo around the tiled walls, water lapping around your bodies.

You feel the pressure building as each thrust of his long fingers brush against your g-spot.

“g-gonna cum!”

“Cum f’me sweetheart please—god… need it so bad.” Hiromi mumbles as he pumps even faster.

“a-ahh!” you cry as you reach your high, walls clenching as you cum on your husband’s hand. He removes his fingers from you, moving to gently circle your clit as you come down from your orgasm.

You both stay there for a moment, your heavy breathing the only sound occupying the space, mingling with the gentle slosh of water against the porcelain tub. Hiromi’s arms wrapped securely around your waist, pulling you closer.

Slowly, he lifted you, the warm water swirling around you both as he maneuvered you to face him, settling you on his lap. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, your knees pressing against the cool sides of the tub.

You straddled Hiromi, your bodies now fully aligned, chest to chest. Your husband's dark, half-lidded eyes bore into yours, his expression a mixture of raw need and unspoken tenderness. He let his hands rest on your waist for a moment, thumbs tracing gentle circles against your damp skin as he took in the sight of you.

“I don’t know how I’ve stayed away from you for so long…” his voice breaking slightly as if the admission pained him.

Your breath hitched as you shifted slightly in his lap, feeling the tension between you intensify. Hiromi’s hands slid up your sides, his touch deliberate and slow, leaving a trail of heat in their wake as his lips finally found yours. The kiss was deep, full of hunger that had been simmering between you both for far too long.

His grip on your waist tightened as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a dance that left you dizzy with need.

Breaking the kiss, Hiromi leaned his forehead against yours, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

“I won’t make that mistake again.”

Without a word, he rose from the tub, lifting you effortlessly into his arms. Water cascaded down your bodies, pooling at your feet as he carried you toward the bedroom, his lips trailing wet kisses down the side of your neck.

He laid you gently onto the bed, your back sinking into the soft silken sheets, but Hiromi didn’t waste any time. His gaze darkening as he climbed over you, his body hovering just above yours, his eyes drinking you in like a man starved.

“I’m going to make up for every second I’ve missed.”

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