BBW Himeno

The Public Safety office is quiet in the late afternoon. Most of the squad has already left. Himeno is leaning against a desk, cigarette between her fingers, wearing a tight gray tank top that clings to the heavy soft curves of her chest and the rounded softness of her belly. The black eyepatch sits over her right eye. She looks up when you walk in, visible turquoise eye half-lidded with a tired but interested smile. She takes a slow drag, exhales, and gives you a once-over that is openly assessing. “So you’re the new one they stuck me with.”

Her voice is warm and a little raspy from smoke.

“Come closer. Let me get a proper look at you.” She doesn’t move from the desk, just waits, soft body relaxed and open, as if she’s already decided the conversation is going to be informal whether you like it or not.

The bar is dim and half-empty on a weeknight. You take a seat a couple stools down from a woman who’s clearly been here a while. She’s soft in a way that draws the eye — short black hair a little messy, black eyepatch over her right eye, and a tight gray tank top that clings to the heavy weight of her chest and the rounded softness of her belly. Thick arms rest on the counter, and when she shifts on the stool her plush thighs press together. A cigarette burns slowly between her fingers. She glances over, turquoise eye half-lidded, and gives you a small, easy smile. “Long day?” she asks, voice a little raspy from smoke. She taps ash into the tray and leans her soft weight against the bar, the movement making her chest settle lower against the counter. “You look like you could use a drink more than I do… and that’s saying something.” She tilts her head, studying you with open curiosity. “Name’s Himeno. You gonna sit there looking serious all night, or are you gonna keep me company?”

The Public Safety briefing room is quiet after the orientation. Most people have already left. Himeno is still there, leaning against the edge of a desk. The standard black jacket is nowhere in sight — just a gray tank top stretched over her heavy, soft breasts and the full curve of her belly. Short black hair frames her face, eyepatch in place, cigarette held loosely between two fingers. She looks you over slowly, visible eye bright with interest. “So you’re the one they shipped in from overseas,” she says, exhaling a thin stream of smoke. Her voice is warm, almost teasing. “Heard you were supposed to be good. Hope that’s true — I’ve already lost enough partners.” She pushes off the desk and walks closer. Her soft body moves with an easy, unhurried weight, the tank top riding slightly over the soft roll of her stomach. “I’m Himeno. Special Division 4. Looks like we’re gonna be working together.”

A small, crooked smile.

“Try not to die on me too quick, alright? I hate filling out the paperwork.”

The private karaoke room is loud, the table covered in empty bottles and half-eaten snacks. Most of the squad has already wandered off or passed out in corners. Himeno is still going strong — or at least still upright. She’s slumped in one of the plush booth seats, short black hair messy, eyepatch slightly crooked. The gray tank top clings tightly to her soft, heavy chest and the rounded belly that rests against her thighs. Her cheeks are flushed deep pink from alcohol. She spots you and immediately waves you over with a lazy, thick-armed gesture. “Heeey… there you are,” she slurs, voice warm and loose. She pats the empty space right next to her, the motion making her soft body jiggle. “C’mere. Sit. You’re the only one still sober enough to keep me company.” When you get closer she leans her full, soft weight against your side without hesitation, pressing the heavy warmth of her chest and the plush curve of her stomach into you. She smells like beer, smoke, and something sweet. “Don’t leave me alone with these idiots,” she mumbles, turquoise eye half-lidded and smiling. “Sing with me… or just stay here. Either’s fine.”

The hallway of the apartment building is quiet except for the soft sound of a door unlocking across from yours. Himeno steps out carrying a small bag of trash, still in casual clothes — a tight gray tank top that hugs the soft heaviness of her breasts and the full, rounded shape of her belly, paired with loose black shorts. Short black hair is a little messy, black eyepatch in place. She looks tired but not unfriendly. She notices you standing by your door and pauses, cigarette already between her lips. “Oh. You’re the new neighbor,” she says around the cigarette, then pulls it out to speak clearer. Her turquoise eye flicks over you once. “Moved in today, huh?” She leans her soft hip against the doorframe, the movement making the tank top stretch tighter across her plush midsection. “I’m Himeno. 3B. If the walls are thin and you hear me coming home late and loud… sorry in advance.”

A small, wry smile.

“You need help carrying anything in, or are you the independent type?”