SUMMARY: When youâre accompanying your best friend at his work on a slow night, and the many years of unspoken feelings follow through in a heartbeat.
WC: 5.38k words
DISCLAIMERS: SMUT! [ minors / ageless blogs dni!!!! ] okay so, drinking, very sweet and soft dom seob me thinks. kinda pwp eh , it just takes a minute cuz I can only slow burn whatever i try. I TRIED. Use of baby & pretty, praise, multiple orgasms, fingering, oral (EATER SEOBBB + he receives too sure), unprotected sex (BUT WRAP B4 U TAP FR.) creampie if u squint and a very inappropriate and disgusting and unsanitary use of a bar countertop đ€€đ€€đ€€đ€€
NOTES: i honestly just needed to write bc r u kidding me did u guys see that stage. idk. I got to work. lowkey this whole thing might not make any sense, Mama hates the pacing so idk what to tell u. Itâs smut nonetheless tho but if u hate it Lmk so i can cry myself a river okay. thanks. anyways!!!! Have fun ok!!!!!!
Jongseob wiped down the already spotless countertop, low buzzing from the mini refrigerators filling the mere silence within the bar, which was only interrupted when either of you spoke. The night had dragged on with zero customers, leaving just the two of you in the dim glow of neon signs.
You were perched on a stool across from him, sipping the free top-shelf alcohol he kept pouring. The amber-like liquid burned pleasantly down your throat, warming you from the inside out.
He let out a breath before leaning against the wall that displayed its plethora of booze, whiskey bottle still in hand, while his eyes locked on yours with a familiar spark that always made your tummy flip.
Even in the low light, you could see the way his gaze traced your features â lingering on your lips when you smiled and dropping to your exposed collarbones when you laughed.
"Howâs that Keeho guy you were seeing?" He asked, pushing himself up to slightly close the distance. He braced his body against the countertop with his forearms, watching you intently.
"What about him?" You took another sip, letting the bitter taste coat your tongue, buying yourself time. You already had a hunch on exactly why he was asking.
Jongseob hummed, lips curling into a smile that made him seem far too pleased. "Just curious." But his eyes told a different story â they were dark, focused, and clearly hungry for your answer.
You shrugged, letting the moment stretch. "I actually ended things with him about a week ago." A snicker followed after, though you weren't entirely sure what was so funny about it.
Maybe it was the relief you felt when finally saying it out loud to someone, or perhaps it was the way Jongseob's entire body seemed to relax at your words.
He tried, and failed, to suppress the smile spreading across his face. It started at the corners of his mouth and bloomed into something radiant, transforming his features.
"And you seem awfully happy about that." You muttered, quirking a brow, though you couldn't help the small smile tugging at your own lips in return. His joy was infectious, even when you were trying to play it cool.
"I didn't even say anything?" He laughed, throwing his hands up in defense, the bottle swaying dangerously in his grip while your giggles matched his, echoing in the empty bar.
"Didnât have to." You leaned forward slightly, resting your chin in your hand.
Jongseob grinned, entirely unapologetic now. "Guess I'm just relieved." He straightened up again, but didn't move away. If anything, the air between you felt more charged than before.
Your eyes narrowed. "Relieved?"
"Means I still have a chance?" The question came out softer than his usual teasing, almost vulnerable. His eyes searched yours, looking for permission, maybe, or âŠreciprocation?
You rolled your eyes and leaned back with a groan, knowing how much he loved to tease you at the end of the day. Itâs always some bullshit like this, but your pulse began to race nonetheless, and you were certain he could see the flush creeping up your neck.
"Ha. Ha." You forced out a fake and monotone laugh.
"I'm serious." He said it quietly, and the playfulness dropped from his expression for just a moment. "I've been waiting for you to be accessible again for months."
His words hung between you and your breath caught in your throat but you swallowed it like a champ. "Seob.â
"Too much?" He asked, a shit eating smile flashing as he broke âcharacterâ. He was so fucking annoying.
"Youâre irritating." You said too quickly, heat flooding your cheeks. You bit your lip, considering your next words carefully â because at the end of the day, you genuinely could never tell when he was joking or not.
Your back straightened again, wanting to change the subject before you combusted entirely, crossing your legs as you set your drink down â The movement made you acutely aware of your body, and the way his eyes tracked the motion.
âIs there anything new with you?"
Jongseob seemed to notice your need for a topic change, and he let you have it. He set the bottle of alcohol down, stretching his arms back before he let out a breath. The movement pulled his black shirt, top buttons undone across his chest.
"Nothing exciting." He shrugged, then paused. "But actually, I've been working on something." His voice shifted, becoming low and a little rough from the drinks, tinged with excitement.
"Mm, like music?" You hummed, grateful for the safer territory. You knew he had a sweet hobby of producing songs, spending all his free hours in his tiny apartment bedroom with his laptop and midi keyboard, crafting beats or melodies that come out of his stupid brain.
He'd mentioned it in passing before, but never offered to share. Jongseob nodded, and you could see the nervous energy in the way he shifted his weight before he spoke again.
"Yeah, wanna hear?"
He moved to the aux cord tucked behind the counter, plugging in his phone with a quick tap. His fingers hesitated over the screen for just a moment, and you realized he was actually nervous about sharing this with you.
"I'd love to," You said softly, and his shoulders relaxed. Before he continued, he walked away momentarily and booked it straight for the entrance, deciding to lock up early and switch the Open sign off. You quirked a brow but he waved a hand off for you to not worry about.
Moments after, he came back around the counter, proceeding to tap along his phone when a tune began to play throughout the bar.
Easy to say it was catchy. You leaned back on your stool, letting the rhythm wash over you, eyes drifting closed for a moment. Your shoulders began rolling almost unconsciously, hips shifting in time with the beat.
When you opened your eyes, Jongseob was watching you move, his gaze intense and appreciative. A grin spread across his face, clearly pleased with your reaction. Like watching you respond to his music like this was exactly what he'd hoped for.
"This is really good," You smiled, processing the lyrics.
His own smile widened, grabbing the bottle once again like a stupid makeshift mic and bringing it to his lips. Then he started rapping along, your breath catching in your throat.
His flow was satisfying, each word perfectly timed with the beat. But it was more than that â it was like he was serenading you, performing on stage for a crowd of thousands, except the only audience member that mattered was you, and it felt embarrassing, yet⊠so thrilling?
Your heart skipped a beat, unsure of what was happening, whether it be due to the amount of drinks or just the unspoken feelings of many years spent being his best friend.
The lyrics spilled out about love being caught in an endless loop, and how the body remembers what the mind can forget...
Honestly⊠every line felt aimed straight at you.
âNow you're mesmerized by my nervousness and I'm mesmerized by you.â
Heat pooled low in your belly as you watched him move, the way his hips rolled with the beat, the way his free hand gestured and emphasized certain words. He was captivating, magnetic, and he knew it.
You burst into giggles at the way he struck a pose on the last word, one hand thrown up dramatically, but the laughter faded quick when you caught the look in his eyes.
It was playful, yes, but underneath was something so serious. And you were kinda scaredâŠ
He set the bottle down again and pushed off the counter, the movement fluid and deliberate. The music continued pulsing around you, that hypnotic beat making everything feel dreamlike and inevitable while he came around the bar top.
"Dance with me," He murmured, extending his hand to you. It wasn't really a question, but it wasn't a demand either.
His palm was open, waiting. You stared at it for a moment, your heart pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it over the music playing on repeat. This felt like a threshold, like once you took his hand, something would shift between you that couldn't be unshifted.
But you wanted it. So bad, you wanted it.
You placed your hand in his, and his fingers closed around yours immediately. He pulled you up gently, and suddenly you were standing, the stool scraping slightly against the floor behind you. The empty bar felt smaller suddenly.
Jongseob tugged you close, one arm sliding around your waist, the other resting on your hip. The touch was light at first, but he was giving you a chance to pull away. Yet, you didn't. Instead, you stepped closer, closing the distance until your bodies pressed together as you swayed.
His chest was firm against yours, and you could feel the heat radiating off him through the thin fabric of his shirt. Your hands came up instinctively, resting on his shoulders.
He was holding himself back, you realized, trying not to rush this.
You both moved slowly, finding a sway that matched the music. You followed his lead, letting your body melt into his. Every point of contact felt electrifying â his hand on your waist, his fingers splayed across your hip, your chest brushing against his with each breath.
âYou smell good.â He whispered against your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. You could feel his lips barely grazing the shell of your ear, not quite a kiss but close enough to make you gasp softly.
"Really?" Your voice came out breathier than you intended. "What do I smell like?"
He inhaled deeply, his nose brushing against your hair, your temple. "Like... vanilla, maybe? Something sweet. But thatâs just you." His voice was low, intimate, meant only for you.
"Itâs been driving me crazy all night."
He spun you around, now pulling your back against his chest as his hips rolled slowly, grinding against you with deliberate pressure, and you felt it.. his growing hardness in his pants pressing against your lower back.
The unmistakable evidence of his desire sent warmth rushing through you, leaving your knees unsteady. A shiver coursed down your spine, and his arms instinctively tightened around you. His hand slid slowly up your chest before settling gently around your neck, his touch featherlight as he tipped your chin upward, silently urging you to meet his gaze and hold it.
"This okay?" He asked, looking into your eyes. His pupils were dilated, dark with want, but there was a question there too.
"Yeah," You breathed, your grip finding his other hand that was cheekily sliding down your abdomen. "More than okay."
The permission seemed to unleash something in him. Jongseob groaned softly, a sound that vibrated through his chest into yours, and his hands began to roam before he turned you back around to face him.
They continued its exploration, sliding from your hips to the small of your back, tracing the curve of your spine through your long sleeve. His touch was reverent, exploratory, as if he was memorizing the shape of you.
"You have no idea how many times Ive dreamt of this," He mumbled, his lips now trailing along your jaw, leaving a path of heat in their wake. "How many years I've looked at you, watching you ⊠and hoping there was something more for me⊠imagining what it would feel like to touch you like this."
"Really?â You whispered, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. "Tell me what you imagined."
His hands slid lower, cupping your ass, squeezing firmly as he pulled you tighter against the pervish peak that poked through his bottoms.
The friction made you both gasp, and you felt him twitch against you through the layers of clothing. "Exactly this," He said, voice thick with tension. "Holding and feeling you against me. Imagined what sounds I can bring out of you even."
The dance had turned into something else entirely now. Less about the music and more about the press of your bodies and the way you fit together. His thigh slipped between your legs, pressing right where you ached, and you couldn't stop the small moan that escaped your lips.
"God, you're driving me crazy.â
âSeob..." His nickname came out like a plea, and you weren't even sure what you were asking for.
"I know, pretty," He murmured, and the endearment made your heart stutter. "Let me take my time with you. Want to do this right."
His hands slid under the hem of your shirt, and you gasped at the contact of his skin against yours. His palms were warm and slightly rough as they traced your sides, moving slowly upward.
He was giving you time to stop him, you noticed, but of course you didn't want to. You arched into his touch instead, encouraging him as he spun you back round once more.
He pulled you back against his chest, his trapped cock pressing onto your ass before his hands cupped your breasts, the two of you humming in response.
His thumbs brushed over your nipples through the fabric of your bra, circling until they peaked under his touch, sensitive and aching. "These are so perfect," He muttered, his voice rough with desire. "You're perfect. So fucking perfect."
Jongseob leaned in, and you thought he was going to kiss you from behind, but instead his lips found your neck, pressing soft kisses along the line of it. He was teasing you, you realized, building everything up until you were desperate and begging for it.
His mouth moved to your jaw, finding that sensitive spot just near your ear, and when he sucked gently, your knees actually buckled.
He caught you easily, holding you up, and chuckled softly against your skin. "I've got you," He promised.
"Kiss me," You finally demanded, unable to take it anymore. "Please, Seob, just kiss me."
He pulled back to get a look at how pathetic you looked, while you turned to look at him. The expression on his face made your breath catch. His gaze was intense â But, finally, his hand gripped your jaw before his lips met yours.
It was everything you'd imagined and dreamed of. It started sweet, his lips soft and tender against yours. He kissed like you both had all the time in the world, and he wanted to savor every second. His hand gripped your face tight, thumb stroking your cheek as his other hand found your bottom.
When his tongue traced the seam of your lips, you opened for him immediately, and the kiss turned hungry.
His tongue slid against yours, slow and thorough, exploring your mouth like he was trying to memorize the taste of you. You could taste the whiskey on his tongue, mixed with something uniquely him, and it was intoxicating.
You pressed closer, your hands sliding up into his hair, and he groaned into your mouth as he backed you against the counter.
The sound vibrated through you, making you clench with need. His hands roamed your back, your sides, pulling you impossibly closer as the kiss grew more desperate.
When you finally broke apart, you were both breathing hard, foreheads pressed together. "Fuck," he breathed, his lips still brushing against yours as he spoke. âYouâre everything," He said simply, and kissed you again.
Jongseob gripped your hips, pulling you flush against him as his tongue explored your mouth once more with unhurried attention.
You tugged at his button up, your fingers undoing the last couple buttons in a hurry before he pulled back just enough to let you pull it over his head.
The neon lights painted his skin in shades of pink and blue, highlighting the lean build of his chest and stomach. You ran your hands over him, exploring, and he shuddered under your touch.
"Your turn," He murmured, his hands finding the hem of your shirt. He paused, eyes meeting yours. "This okay?"
"Yes," You breathed. "Yes, please."
He lowered himself before he lifted your shirt slowly, pressing kisses to each newly exposed inch of skin. Your stomach, your ribs, the underside of your breasts. By the time he pulled your shirt over your head and tossed it aside, you were trembling with need.
His hands went to your bra clasp, and he paused again, giving you a chance to stop him. But you reached back and unclasped it yourself, letting it fall away. His eyes darkened as he looked at you, and the appreciation in his gaze made you feel beautiful.
"Gorgeous," He murmured, his hands coming up to cup your breasts again, skin on skin this time. His thumbs circled your nipples, and you arched into his touch with a moan. "So fucking beautiful."
He kissed you again as his hands explored, and you were lost in the sensation of it. Music was still playing, a whole different song playing mindlessly, but all that mattered was this.
With his lips still on yours, Jongseob began guiding you backward once again, your back hitting the edge of the bar counter before he gently lifted you onto the smooth surface. The wood was cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his body as he positioned himself between your legs.
He pulled back slightly, his hands resting on your thighs, eyes searching yours. "You sure about this?" he asked, his voice rough with desire but sincere. "We can stop anytime. I need you to know that."
Your heart swelled at his consideration, even as your body ached for more. "I'm sure," you said, reaching up to cup his face. "I want this. I need you."
The smile that spread across his face was radiant, and he leaned in to kiss you again, softer this time.
"Gonna make you feel so good, I promise."
His hands moved to your skirt, not even having the class of taking it off but instead shoving it up.
"Lift up for me, pretty," He said softly, and you did, raising your hips so he could slide your panties down. He did it gently, pressing kisses to your thighs as more skin was revealed. First your hip bones, then the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, making you gasp and squirm.
He stood between your legs and just looked at you for a moment. You were bare except for your lifted jean skirt, sitting on his bar counter, and the way he was looking at you made you feel like the most desirable person in the world.
"Stop staringââ You said, feeling suddenly shy despite everything.
"Can't help it," He replied, his hands running up and down your thighs. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
He leaned in to kiss you again, and his hands continued their exploration. They traced patterns on your thighs, your hips, your stomach, learning the geography of your body.
"So perfect. So wet already."
When his fingers finally made contact with your pussy, you moaned. He stroked through your wet folds with teasing pressure, exploring, learning what made you gasp and squirm. "All this for me?"
"Y-yes," You gasped, your hips rolling into his touch. "All for you.â
His fingers found your clit, circling it in slow, firm strokes that made your hips buck. "Tell me how it feels," He said, his eyes fixed on your face, watching every reaction. "Gotta know what you like."
"G-good," You gasped, gripping his shoulders for support. Your nails dug into his skin, but he didn't seem to mind. "Don't stop.. please don't stop."
"Never," He promised, and adjusted his angle slightly. "I got you, baby.â
He experimented with different pressures, different rhythms, watching your face to see what made you moan the loudest. When he found a particular motion that made your eyes roll back, he smiled and focused there, building your pleasure gradually and deliberately.
"That's it," He encouraged, his free hand stroking your thigh. "Let me hear you. Want to know I'm making you feel good."
Your moans grew louder, echoing in the empty bar, and you were beyond caring. All that mattered was his fingers on you, the pleasure building in your core, the way he was watching you like you were the most fascinating thing in the world.
When he finally pushed two fingers inside you, you cried out at the stretch. He moved slowly at first, letting you adjust, pumping deep while his thumb kept working your clit. The dual sensation was overwhelming, and you could feel yourself getting wetter, your body opening for him.
"So tight," He groaned, his eyes dark as he watched his fingers disappear inside you. "Taking my fingers so well. Can you take more?"
"Yes," You whimpered, and he added a third finger, stretching you further. It burned, yet it felt so good, causing you to rock your hips, trying to take him deeper.
He curled his fingers just right, hitting that spot inside you that made your knees weak, and you nearly sobbed with ecstasy.
The wet sounds filled the quiet bar as he worked you. âCould do this forever.â He grunted, putting all his energy into pleasing you.
Your satisfaction was building, coiling tighter and tighter in your core, and you could feel your orgasm approaching. "Seobââ You gasped, your hands clutching at him desperately. "I'm â I'm so close..."
"I know, pretty," He murmured, increasing his pace slightly. "Come on, want it all over my fingers, you got it."
His words pushed you over the edge, and you released with a cry, your pussy clenching rhythmically around his fingers as waves of bliss crashed through you.
He didn't stop, proceeding to work you through it and draw out your orgasm until you were trembling and oversensitive.
When you finally came down, gasping for breath, he slowly withdrew his fingers. You watched, dazed, as he brought them to his mouth and sucked them clean, his eyes never leaving yours.
"So good," Jongseob groaned, his eyes closing briefly. "You taste fucking incredible." He leaned forward. âNeed more.â
Before you could process what he meant, he was leaning before you, leveling his face between your thighs. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you to the edge of the counter, and you realized what he was about to do.
"Wait, you don't have toâ" You started, but he cut you off with a look.
"I want to," He said firmly. "Please let me."
Fuck, how could you say no to that?
You nodded, and he smiled before spreading your thighs wider, his breath hot against your sensitive flesh.
"So pretty," He said, his voice husky with appreciation. "And still dripping." His tongue licked a long, slow stripe up your slit, tasting you with a low moan that vibrated through you. "So sweet. Knew you would be."
He took his time, exploring you with his tongue. He licked and sucked at your folds, his tongue delving inside you before moving up to circle your clit. The sensation was overwhelming, and especially after your first orgasm, you were already aching.
When he focused on your clit, flicking it with the tip of his tongue before sucking it into his mouth, you cried out, your hands tangling in his messy blonde hair.
He hummed in approval, the vibration sending jolts through you, and increased his efforts.
Jongseobâs hands gripped you, holding you open for him as he devoured. Two fingers thrusted back inside, stretching you while his mouth still worked your bud with relentless pressure. He was thorough, attentive, and continuously adjusting his technique based on your reactions.
"Oh my god," You moaned, your hips grinding against his face. "M-mouth feels so good, Seob, fuck..."
He pulled back just enough to speak, his lips glistening with your arousal. "Yeah?" He punctuated the question by licking a broad stripe up your slit. "Like when I do this?" He demonstrated, and you nearly sobbed.
"Y..yes â please don't stop," You begged, and he smiled against you before diving back in with renewed enthusiasm.
When he added a third finger, stretching you like he did before, you came apart. Your second orgasm hit you like a big wave, stronger than the first, and you cried out his name as your thighs trembled around his head. You pulsed around his fingers, and you could feel more wetness coating his tongue as he licked you clean.
But he didn't stop. Even as you came down, oversensitive and shaking, he continued with gentle licks and soft kisses to your inner thighs, keeping the pleasure going, building it again before it could fully fade.
"Too much!â You gasped, but your hips were still rolling against his mouth, seeking more despite your words.
"One more," He murmured against your skin. "Give me one more, pretty. I know you can.â
His fingers withdrew, and he replaced them with his tongue, fucking into you with it as deep as he could go. The sensation was different, softer but somehow more intense, and when his thumb found your clit, rubbing firm circles, you were completely gone.
Your third orgasm built painfully slow, a deep, rolling pleasure that seemed to come from your core. Jongseob worked you patiently, his tongue and thumb moving in perfect rhythm, and when you finally came, it was with a long, gutteral moan that seemed to go on forever. Your whole body shook with it, radiating out from your center in waves.
He sucked you gently through the aftershocks, soft and soothing now, until you were boneless and spent on the counter, flinching sensitively at any further contact.
When he finally pulled away, his face was wet with your arousal, and he was grinning like he'd just won the lottery.
"You're incredible," He said, standing slowly and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "The way you taste, fuck, you're perfect."
You could barely form words, still floating in the aftermath of three orgasms, but you managed to reach for him. "Come here," You murmured, and he leaned in, letting you pull him into a kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue, and it was unexpectedly erotic.
When you pulled back, you noticed the prominent bulge in his pants, straining against the fabric. He'd been focused entirely on your pleasure, but he was clearly aching for relief. Your hand moved to palm him through his pants, and he groaned, his hips jerking into your touch.
"Your turn," You said, your voice still shaky but determined. "Want to make you feel good too."
"You already are," He said, but his eyes were dark with need. "Just touching you, that's everything."
"But I want more," You said, attempting to hop off the counter but once you did, you didnât calculate how numb your legs would be.
âCarefulââ He snickered, catching you in place and holding your hands as you held yourself upright. âI got you.â
"Want all of you. Please, Seobie."
He sighed, letting you get down on your knees as he helped you with his belt and zipper. Together you pushed his pants and boxers down, allowing his cock to spring free, hard and flushed. You immediately wrapped your hand around it, stroking slowly.
He was hot and heavy in your palm, and when you swiped your thumb over the tip, collecting the bead of precum there, he shuddered.
"Fuck," He groaned, throwing his head back. "Feels good.â
You stroked him slowly, feathering small kisses along the shaft, and learning what he liked as he did for you. When he rocked into your touch with shallow thrusts, your tongue now swirling his tip, he gently caught your wrist, stopping you.
"If you keep doing that, I'm going to come," He said, his voice strained. "But I really, really want to be inside you when I do."
Heat flooded through you at his words, and you nodded. "Yes. Want that too."
He reached for his pants, pulling out his wallet and extracting a condom.
âNope.â You shook your head, pushing the protection away. âIâm on the pill, so I better be getting every last drop.â You snickered, and his entire face shifted.
âOh, youâre serious?â Jongseob smiled, slightly teasing but you already knew he was more than open to this.
âSo serious.â
Without another word, he gripped your chin and yanked you up, crashing his lips onto yours. Your hands messily found the back of his shoulders, locking tongues with him with force.
"Are you ready then, pretty?" He pulled back and asked, his eyes meeting yours, checking in one more time as he lifted you back onto the counter.
"Yes.â You breathed, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him closer.
He lined himself up, teasing at your folds which caused your forehead to drop against his chest. A soft moan escaped you before Jongseob pushed in slowly, so slowly, letting you feel every inch as he stretched you open.
The sensation was overwhelming after everything else, and you both groaned as he sank deeper. He was bigger than his fingers, and the stretch burned slightly, but it was a good burn, a fullness that made you feel complete.
"So tight, baby.â He groaned, his hands gripping your hips as he bottomed out inside you. "Fuck, you feel so good .."
He stayed still for a moment, letting you adjust, and you could feel him trembling with the effort of holding back. When you finally rolled your hips, urging him to move, he pulled back slowly before thrusting back in, setting a steady, deep rhythm.
Each stroke was deliberate, measured, hitting deep inside you. The angle was perfect, and you could feel him dragging against that sensitive spot inside you with every thrust. Your hands clutched at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as pleasure built again.
"That's it," He encouraged, his pace increasing slightly. "Take it, just like that."
The counter shook slightly with his movements, and somewhere in the back of your mind you registered the sound of glasses rattling along the bar top, but you didn't care.
All that mattered was the feeling of him inside you, the way your bodies moved together, and the never ending pleasure building between you.
He shifted the angle slightly, and suddenly he was hitting that perfect spot with every thrust, and you cried out, your back arching. "Right thereââ You gasped. "Oh god, right there, don't stop..."
"Here?" He thrust harder, and you nearly sobbed with pleasure. "This what you need?"
You nodded with a hurried force, gasping for air as you couldnât even comprehend a thought at this point â He was fucking you dumb.
His hand moved between your bodies, finding your clit and rubbing firm circles as he continued to thrust deep. The dual sensation was too much, and you felt another orgasm building, impossibly, after everything else.
"Come for me," He urged, his voice rough. "Want to feel you, pretty, give it to me."
His words, combined with the relentless pressure on your clit and the perfect angle of his thrusts, pushed you over the edge. Your fourth orgasm crashed through you, and you came once more, your walls clenching rhythmically around him, pulling him deeper.
"God, yes," He grunted, his rhythm faltering as your pussy squeezed him. "So good for me.â
He thrusted a few more times, deep and hard, and then he was releasing too, burying himself as deep as he could go. You felt him pulse inside you, felt the warmth spilling in you, and the intimacy of it all made your heart clench.
He stayed pressed close, both of you breathing hard, hearts racing in sync. Slowly, carefully, he pulled out, and you both winced at the sensitivity â both your releases now spilling all over the counter.
Dirty bastards.
He pulled you into his arms, holding you close. You felt him inhale, taking a deep breath which caused you to do the same.
"That was..." You started, but couldn't find the words.
"Yeah," He agreed, pressing a kiss to your temple.
You stayed like that for a long moment, just holding each other in the quiet bar, the lights still casting their soft glow around you. The music had stopped at some point, you realized, but you hadn't even noticed.
Finally, he pulled back slightly, a soft smile on his face. "So," he said, his voice teasing but warm. "Does this mean I have a chance?"
You laughed, the sound bright and genuine, and pulled him in for another kiss. "Didnât know you were even being deadass about wanting one.â You scoffed.
âOf course I was.â He murmured against your lips. "So do I or no?â
You grinned. âIâll think about it.â
A pinch at your hip followed after, slightly ticklish. âIâm kidding!â You grinned. âOf course.â
đ mikaâs message Was this nothing burger , everything bagel , Or mediocre salad. Please let me know cuz I donât even. I Just. SMUT IS GETTING REPETITIVE IDK HOW TO STRAY OUTSIDE OF THIS VANILLANESS , Let me open up a private browser and lock in or smth idk Anhmore. My field experience is not helping anymore either i just donât know. Sorry was that tmi. Okay ignore me.
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my life has changed forever. i am a new woman (im so normal abt this)
Summary: You've always been around P1Harmony because of your older brother, Keeho. You're used to seeing them, hanging out backstage, and maybe even helping out with small tasks. Jongseob has always been friendly, but you've never really thought of him romanticallyâŠat least thatâs what you tried to convince yourself of.
Pinterest: SugarTalking
Spotify: playlist
Disclaimer: idol Jongseob x non idol au.Includes Jongseob, soul, Intak, Jiung, Keeho, Theo from P1harmony. Yechan from 82major. Martin from cortis. Haerin from NewJeans. Mutual secret pining!! And a bit of angst. Iâm not sure how long this is going to end up being but we shall see!
no one could say your boyfriend â kei tsukishima â was the sweetest person they knew. infact, if you asked anyone, they'd say the exact opposite. arrogant, condescending, and unaffectionate. those were the words usually used to describe him. no way he'd be loving in a relationship.
though, what people didn't know was that he turned into a different person when you two were alone. around others, he often teased you for wanting to cling to his side. pretended he didn't want you near, and that you were supposedly the 'worlds clingiest lover.' that front worked on everyone but you.
whenever he came over, he whined over almost any loss of touch. whether it be something as simple as taking your leg off of his, or your lips leaving his 'too soon'. you'd stop raking your hands through his hair for a nanosecond, and his head was already spun to meet yours. with the biggest pout present ever, he asks, "what are you doing?"
you : âkei, it wasn't even a second.â
kei : ânot what i asked, put it back⊠pleaseâ
people were right. kei was still himself, obviously, arrogant. but they were wrong about him being unaffectionate. the snarky remarks were a coverup, and you didn't mind them, because at the end of the day it's the same guy that makes snarky remarks pleading for your touch.
the coverup definitely falters at times. catch him at the right time, and he's speaking so affectionately that you worry your boyfriend was replaced. still, even without the cover up faltering, he'd do anything you ask of him. he'll pretend he won't do it, but he'll do it the next second. he'll do whatever you ask â except leave you alone.
he follows you around like a puppy. going to pee? what a coincidence, he needed to go to the bathroom too. he can't wait either â it has to be right now, when you're already going.
you : âyou don't even need to pee!â
kei : âhow are you gonna tell me what i need to do?â
tsukishima follows behind you, and after swearing he had to go, he leans on the counter scrolling on his phone. you peeing isn't stopping him from being with you. right once you leave the bathroom, he's out too, but he just swore he needed to go.
he'll never admit what he does, and he doesn't have to, because it's clear as day. no amount of sarcasm or false arrogance will cover up the fact that tsukishima's smitten.
bye i hate this but i wanted it out of my drafts this instant. i've had this in my drafts for like over a month now. kinda funny how i just posted twice about clingy!shinsou and now i'm posting this. maybe it was meant to be idk
thinking about the clip from the radio where taeyang said "what's there not to like about kissing" oh i just know he loves slow indulgent french kisses </3
Summary: You and your friends live a pretty chill life. You work in a bookstore/cafe, honestly itâs the easiest thing ever . What happens when your jobs cafe hires live music for weekend entertainment and suddenly working around the guitarist gets harder to handle everyday ? Will you be able to catch his attention ? Will he even glance your way ? Will this complicate your work life ?
â join me as i navigate through this little smau AS MY DEBUT FIC!!! i am so beyond excited to try to do this for the first time ever and i am open to feedback! i hope you guys enjoy this. i hope i do theo, myself, and you all justice !
đ€ PROFILES : you and the besties. // theo and friends.
â â sub!theo (í ì€) x reader  ➠ â 3.7k â
synopsis âž your husband starts acting up a little too much at your work party and you only find out why when you get him alone and under you. but itâs not something heâs keen on admitting to. youâll just have to break him into confessionâbut thatâs exactly what he wants, isnât it?
ÎŽ â nsfw (mdni), smut, brat!theo, lowkey sadist!reader, brat taming, dirty talk, edging, orgasm denial, unprotected sex, riding, use of nicknames on theo, dacryphilia, subspace, keeho/jongseob cameo
requested âž anon, anon, đ° anon
ᯠan â sub theo has been a long time coming and he's finally here sorry it took so long but um! enjoy! also never wrote married au before but something about subby hubby theo... mhm...
MASTERLIST
Your husband has an affinity for complaining.Â
And tonight, it seems his little quirk is at an all time high. For what, youâre not entirely sure.Â
For what itâs worth heâs at least trying to tone his distaste for the party down. But as the night runs longer, his restraint wears thinner. As does your patience.
âCan we go?â
You ignore him, honed in on your colleague who is artfully detailing a scandalous affair between the secretary and your boss to the group of you and your work friends thatâs gathered by the snack table.Â
You donât pay him and his quiet nagging attention as he attaches himself to your back, insistent fingers digging into the waist of your skirt in an attempt to pull your focus.Â
It staves him off for a littleâuntil he starts to slide his fingers under the hem of your top.Â
You immediately latch onto his wrist to stop him, whipping your head back to fix him with a glare.Â
âCan you not?â You snap under your breath so only he can hear you among the chatter and the music.Â
He gives you a displeased look. âItâs been two hours.â
âAnd? The party doesnât end until ten.â
His frown only deepens, brows furrowing further. âYou didnât tell me it would be that long.â
You resist the urge to roll your eyes as you shoulder him off your back. âItâs a dinner party. What did you expect?â You ask, your steadily growing ire only a small spark away from fusing.Â
âBut Iâm bored,â he all but whines, pressing himself against your back once more.Â
You take a deep breath. Normally youâd find him cute. But youâve been looking forward to this party for a while, to hang out with your colleagues outside of professional constraints, and Taeyang is one too many whines past being cuteâitâs borderline irritating.Â
âTae,â you start slowly, unlatching his hands from your waist. âYou agreed to come to this a month ago. Itâs too late for you to be complaining about it.â
He actually has the nerve to roll his eyes at you. âClearly I would have said differently if I knew you were just going to ignore me all night.â
You grit your teeth, narrowing your eyes at him. âI wouldnât be ignoring you if you werenât acting so insufferable.â
His eyes flash at your sharp words. âExcuse me for being upset that my darling wife is neglecting me.â
âWhy are you being so needy?â You can feel a few pairs of curious eyes on you now, so you try to quell any suspicions by taking his wrist in your hand and giving it a squeeze that might look affectionate, but is anything but.Â
Taeyang doesnât bother to put up any pretense as his anger surges steadily. âI wouldnât have to be so needy if you would pay me some attention but it looks like thatâs just too much to askââ
âStop,â you hiss under a breath, your hand squeezing down on his wrist.Â
Taeyangâs expression falters at your sudden snap, his eyes flashing at the unusual display of anger. The moment pauses for a grueling second where you start to wonder whether or not youâre overreacting.Â
But then he smiles at you, one thatâs deceitful enough to border on being icy.Â
âCall me when youâre done,â he says coldly, prying his hand from out of your grip before turning and making for the kitchen.Â
You watch his back as he goes, breathing in slowly to calm your rushing veins.Â
âWhatever,â you grumble to yourself, deciding you were overreacting just enough, before turning back to the group that seems none the wiser to your little squabble.Â
Except for Jongseob, who nudges your shoulder with his. âHey,â he says when you meet his worried gaze. âEverything good?â
You put on your best smile, shaking your head. âAll good. Heâs just a little cranky.â
Jongseob glances over your shoulder, brows raising at whatever he seems to find. You donât have to look to know. You can practically feel Taeyang glaring at the back of your head.Â
âRightâŠâ He murmurs. âCranky.â
The next few hours go without interruption, but that doesnât mean Taeyang doesnât make his displeasure known to you in other ways.Â
Like keeping a watchful eye on you from a distance as you chat and joke with your work friends, like getting a little too drunk and a little too loud with the others scattered around the house to the point your focus is constantly breaking away to him, worried that he might somehow tangle his drunken self to his death.Â
By the end of it, youâre exhausted from trying to ignore him.Â
You excuse yourself from Jongseob and the others, bidding them a quick goodbye before you make your way over to where Taeyang is laughing a little too hard at whatever the shithead from accounting, Keeho, is saying.Â
âHey!â You call to Taeyang, taking the wine glass from his unsteady hand when he turns to look at you with bleary eyes. âLetâs go home.â
âWhaat?â He scoffs, breaking into a disbelieving laugh as he tries to reach for the glass again. You only pull it further away from him. âNoo not yet! Iâm having too much fun!â
Youâre sure your exasperation shows clearly on your face. âAre you kidding me? You were begging me earlier to go home.â
âAnd then you yelled at me and blew me off,â he pouts, words slurred as he tries to lean further for the glass, only to lose balance and nearly topple himself onto you.Â
You quickly wrap your arm around his waist to steady him on his feet. âThatâs enough, Tae,â you scold under your breath, shooting Keeho an apologetic smile before you start to lug him towards the door, dropping the glass off on a table as you go.Â
âYouâre soo unfair,â he huffs, stumbling along beside you.Â
Getting him outside of the house and into your car is quite the task, especially when he keeps trying to pull himself off of you and make for the house again.Â
Irritation doesnât even begin to describe your state of mind.Â
âWhat has gotten into you?â You scold as you try to buckle him in, only for him to try weasel out from under the straps.Â
âYou ignore me,â he states, then lets out a little cry when he realizes heâs gotten himself tangled up in the seatbelt. He then turns his head petulantly away from you. âNow I ignore you.â
You take a deep breath, standing upright and willing the cool air of the night to wash away some of the heat on your skin.Â
You married a giant baby.Â
You slam the passenger door shut with a little too much force before rounding over to the driverâs side, getting in without another word.Â
The drive home is quiet but the car is brimmed with simmering tension.Â
Taeyang seems to slowly be sobering up from everything but his anger. He sits with his arms crossed and his eyes out the window, a deep frown set on his lips.Â
You hate the way that it makes you feel guilty. Maybe you took it a little too far with the scolding but itâs not like he was making the situation any better by egging you on.Â
âYouâre not being fair, Taeyang,â you mumble as you turn into your neighbourhood.Â
He bristles in his seat, lifting his head to turn and stare at you.Â
âIâm not being fair?â He asks, and you can already feel the argument brewing. âAll I did was try to talk to you.â
âBullshit,â you grit, pressing a little too hard on the gas pedal as you turn into your block, sending Taeyang jerking under his still-tangled seatbelt. âYou were just riling me up.â
He laughs drily, a sharp noise that grates at your nerves. âYes, because everything revolves around you. Sorry, princess, for not heeding to your every demand.â
The sardonic words make you slam on the brakes, hastily putting the car in park so you can reach over for him.Â
Taeyang barely has the time to react before you grab onto his tie, pulling him over the console. Heâs yanked with a yelp, face pulled just an inch short from yours. You look pissed.
âTaeyang,â you start slowly, voice quivering with what he knows is barely concealed rage. âI donât know what the hell has gotten into you, but you need to cut it off before I lose my shit tonight.â Your voice is low and deep, reverberating in the filthy crevices of his mind. And your eyes, so heated and so angry, that his cock jumps under his fitted slacks from being at their mercy.Â
He swallows, the movement shifting the tie tighter around his neck when you tug it to pull him just a little closer.Â
He should listen. He should back off.Â
But heâs never seen you so upset with him before. And he canât help but wonder just how far he can push before you really make him pay for it.Â
Like an idiot traipsing into a lion's den, he leans forward, pressing in close like heâs about to kiss you. He sees you lean like itâs instinct, then stops, just a breath away from your lips as he whispers, âLose it then.â Your eyes darken impossibly, and he only feels himself get harder. âSee if I give a damn.â
Thereâs a fist around his throat, a pressure that holds him down with a strength heâs not used to. He kind of wants to give his last breath under its mercy.
Your pupils are blown, eyes darkened with a fury that makes him want to wither away. âWhat the hell has gotten into you?âÂ
A soft noise gets caught in his throat and breaks, his head feeling a little airy at the pressure around his neck.Â
He wishes he could answer, but he doesnât have one.Â
Not that you really need one, because soon enough, it all clicks into place when you take in the blush high on his cheekbones, the dazed look in his eyes widened in awe at you, and the hardened ridge of his boner pressing against his dark slacks.Â
Your breath catches in your throat as your gaze flits back up to his, seeing him watching your lips with an empty look behind his eye.Â
The realization makes you so dizzy youâd think you were the one thatâs been drinking.Â
You squeeze around his throat once before pushing him back, reaching over to hastily untangle him from the seatbelt. âGet inside.â
Taeyang has been under you plenty of times beforeâbut never like this, with his wrists bound to the headboard with his own tie, looking so disheveled and fucked out from just some kissing and being edged for the third (fourth?) time in under an hour.Â
Youâd think it would be enough to force the brat out of him. But itâs a persistent devil that seems to grow stronger with each orgasm you deny him of.Â
The white button-up on him is undone and mussed, giving way to the smooth, muscled planes of pale skin thatâs now marred with red lines from your angry nails.Â
His chest heaves with the effort to hold in his racing heart as you frantically fist his aching cock to the orgasm his body has been longing for ever since you snapped at him at the party.Â
But when you pull off of him just before that itch can be satisfied, he lets out a loud curse. âPleaseâno!â He yells, body jerking from the lost sensation as you leave him cold and coiled tight.Â
His legs tremble under his slacks that you couldnât be bothered to take off, shucked down along with his boxers to his mid thighs. His neglected cock lays heavily against his twitching abs, weeping pathetically as you just chuckle down at him.Â
âAre you begging me, Tae?â You coo, smoothing your hands down his twitching thighs, the cotton of his slacks heated under your palms.Â
He takes a sharp breath, throat bobbing around a tight swallow. âNo,â he says, voice gruff and airy. ââMâmmânotâŠâ
He winces again when you circle your finger lightly over the sensitive, purpling head of his dick. âFine with me,â you hum, relishing in the full body shudder he gives when you glide the finger down the generous length of his shaft, the slick of his precum smoothing the way down. âThen you donât get to cum.â
You can see his eyes flash with a panicked pain at your words, his hips giving a pathetic buck. But still, he resists giving into you. âFine,â he snaps, wrists wringing under the ties as he squirms to try to move away from you. âLet me go then.â
âNo,â you say, grabbing the base of his cock, and the wail he lets out when you give it a tight squeeze has the ache between your own hips grow needier than ever. âI donât want to.â
His slick and bitten lips part with a deep, shuddered groan when you slide the tight ring of your fist all the way up his cock, squeezing down at the tip. He twitches harshly under your hand, body growing even more restless with each agonizing second he goes without relief.Â
âI think youâre right where you want to be,â you muse, giggling when he turns his head away from you with a huffy breath.Â
âWhere I want to be is asleep,â he grumbles, breaking off with a yelp when you dig your thumb into his tip.Â
âYouâre such a fucking brat, Taeyang,â you scoff, twisting your fist around his tip just to watch him whine in pain. You want to watch him cry, but heâs far too stubborn to let that happen. âI shouldâve known youâd be completely insufferable like this.â
âIf Iâm so insufferable, why donât you just let meâgo, fuck!âÂ
His voice thins out as he starts panting under your hand moving at a relentless pace to fist him to the edge one more time, just to leave him dangling again.Â
âFuck you!â He snaps when you pull your hand away yet again, glaring up at you with tears in his eyes. The rage in his stare is real, palpableâbut so is the undeniable lust.Â
âOnly if you behave,â you tease, then bend down to suck his tip into your mouth just as your hand livens up again to fist him.Â
His body grows taut, back bowing off the bed as he lets out these high, frantic little whines. You can tell that heâs nearing his limits. His cock gives a dangerous pulse under your hand as a steady stream of salt invades your tongue, and you quickly pull off again, leaving his weeping cock neglected on his stomach as he drops back down to the bed with a pained cry.Â
âNoâyou canâtâyouâre so fucking rude,â he babbles, sentences broken and barely intelligible as he writhes and sputters under you, his body restless.Â
But youâre too caught up in the tears that line his lashes, glistening and taunting as they hang there with the last dregs of Taeyangâs restraint.Â
âCâmon, Tae,â you urge, digging your fingers into his trembling thighs. He refuses to look at you as he heaves and writhes under the ties, blinking back those tears of his. âJust tell me, pretty. You wanted this all night, didnât you?â
He goes still for a moment as the words catch up to him. Then a fiery red climbs down his neck and colours his chest.Â
You grin at the sight, as his eyes grow even more distant and even more dazed. âYou wanted me to get you like this,â you state, sliding your hands up his thighs and over his abdomen, staying far from his crying cock. âYou wanted me to treat you like a filthy little whore, didnât you? And you thought the only way to get what you wanted was to get me mad?â
He lets out a quiet little whine when you click your tongue in disappointment.Â
âYou couldâve just asked me, but youâre too proud for that, arenât you? Howâs your pride doing now?â
When he doesnât answer you, you reach up to grab his jaw and snap his head towards you.Â
âAnswer me.â
He stares up at you with wide, glittery eyes that look so, so fucked out. You imagine they could look like this from your words alone, and you make a mental note to try out that theory some other time.Â
He still doesnât say anything, but he does let out a soft little whine that nearly absolves him of everything.Â
It gets a smile out of you as you let go of his chin, trailing your hand down his chest. He heaves a shuddering breath at the warmth of your hand, seeming to finally stop resisting your touch and go pliant under it as you tweak lightly at his nipple.Â
He lets out another one of those sweet little noises, canting his hips up in a silent, needy question.Â
âSay please,â you urge him gently.
But when he turns his head away again in refusal, all your softness washes you.Â
Your palm comes down on his upper thigh, so close to his cock and so hard that he lets out a pained yell, his dick jumping at the sharp contact.Â
Your other hand grasps his chin again, turning him to face you once more and your scold for him to beg dies right on your tongue when you see those crystal drops tracking down his cheeks.Â
Your breath hitches at the sight of free falling tears, of needy eyes and quivering lips.Â
âPlease,â he whispers so quietly that you nearly miss it.Â
You nearly give in to the simple plea. But you need to pay him back for every bit of torment heâs given you tonight.Â
You swallow down the manic greed that rushes to your head, not wanting to give it too much reign or you fear you wonât come out of this with your husband still intact.
âPlease what?â
He sobs, a quiet cry of your name through his plush, shaky lips. âWant to cum,â he whimpers, his hips giving these needy, unstable little bucks that youâre not sure he entirely has control over. âP-Please let me cum⊠Iâll be good fâr youâŠâ
Oh, heâs gone. So, so far gone.Â
âPlease,â he whines again, high and needy when all you do is stare at him. âPlease, please no more, please just fuck meâneed itâmm!â
His lips are eager against you but easily overpowered as you practically devour him whole with your teeth and tongue.
You bite down on the plush of his lower lip as you hastily pull your panties off from under your skirt but you drink up his little cries and ease it over with a swipe of your tongue.Â
âGood boy,â you whisper against his mouth, reaching down to grab him and slide him through the wet mess of your folds. âSee? Was that so hard?â
He bristles under the sensation, immediately rocking up to seek out more.Â
And you donât hold back this time. With a short but deep kiss you brace your hand above his shoulder and lift yourself up, hooking the blunt head of his cock against your entrance.Â
He stares up at you with those glassy eyes widened in needy anticipation, lips parted with shorts breaths. And when you finally start to sink yourself down, warm walls tight around his pulsing cock, his eyes roll back as a silent, shuddered moan breaks through those breaths and his body bows up off the bed, taut with tension.Â
You shouldnât be surprised when thick ropes of his cum paint you deep and fill you to the brim with just how much heâs been holding back.Â
But that doesnât stop you from rocking yourself over his softening cock and his trembling body, his cum seeping out through the edges and creating a sticky mess between his hips and yours.Â
You brace your hands on his chest, shifting your body so that when you fuck yourself down to the hilt, his tip nearly catches against your cervix.Â
It feels heavenly, has you moaning out low and sweet with every thrust. But for Taeyang, itâs painful and itâs too much. Yet he still doesnât safeword out.Â
âYeah?â You laugh breathily, looking down at his twisted expression, all fucked out and twitching with overstimulation. âYou got what you wanted, didnât you?â
He barely has the mind to nod, blinking slowly like heâs hanging onto consciousness, his eyes a little cross eyed as he tries to keep them open and on you.Â
âTap out then,â you challenge him, rolling your hips with grinding thrusts over his softening cock. âOr are you so sick in the head that you want the pain too?â
When he lets out a whine, bordering on a sob, you know youâve hit the nail on the head.Â
You lean down, bracing your elbows on either side of his head to slam your hips down over his, fucking him back to hardnessâyou can feel him growing inside you, twitching and insistent.Â
âDidnât know you were such a painslut, Yangie,â you coo, gasping softly when you feel him buck up into you despite his weakened body. âYeah? You like being my little whore?â
He parts his lips, starting to say something but he only breaks out into a needy whine, too fucked out to form words. His eyes look empty too, so youâre not sure he would be able to even think of what to say even if he wanted to.Â
âAw,â you giggle, sliding your fingers into his soft hair to clamp down and tug. His eyes roll back again, mouth opening in a silent plea. âDumb little bunny, too fucked out to talk?â
You slow down, clamping down tight on him to feel his body jerk weakly under you.Â
âItâs okay, bunny.â You press a kiss to the corner of his lips, sighing when you feel him twitch inside of you at the nickname.Â
You smile at him, at his flushed face and teary eyes and quivering lips, before you brace down and start to fuck him with intent.Â
SYNOPSIS: It started as a contract with Nanami Kentoâneat clauses, firm boundaries, no room for feelings. He treats it like a responsibility, something to maintain and control. But lately, the way he lingers, the way he looks at youâit feels like heâs the one breaking the agreement.
WORD COUNT: 12.4k
The fluorescent lights in the finance wing of Gojo Enterprises hummed like they were personally offended by your existence. It was 7:42 p.m. on a Thursday, the kind of evening where the city outside the floor-to-ceiling windows glittered like someone had spilled a box of diamonds across Tokyo, but inside it just smelled like stale coffee and printer toner. Your heels clicked against the polished marble as you carried yet another stack of quarterly reports toward the executive elevators, shoulders already aching from the weight of pretending everything was fine.
Everything was not fine.
Your phone had buzzed six times during the last meeting. Six. All from your mother.
Dinner this weekend. Uncle Hiroshi is bringing that nice boy from accounting again. Youâre 28, darling. The inheritance clause wonât wait forever.
The ânice boyâ was 34, balding, and had once asked you if you âeven liked moneyâ while staring at your chest. The inheritance clause was worse: your late grandmotherâs will had a lovely little stipulation that the family estate in Kyoto would only transfer to you if you were âin a stable, committed relationshipâ by the time you turned 29. Romantic, right? Nothing said true love like a deadline attached to a multi-million-yen property.
You were three months out and currently the most single person in the entire building.
The elevator dinged. You stepped in, muttering under your breath, âI should just hire an actor. Or a very convincing cardboard cutout.â
The doors were sliding shut when a polished black dress shoe wedged itself between them.
Kento Nanami stepped inside without a word.
He looked exactly like he always did: immaculate three-piece suit in charcoal wool, tie knotted with military precision, blond hair swept back like it had personally offended gravity and won. Wire-rimmed glasses. That faint scent of sandalwood and expensive coffee that somehow made the air feel more professional. He was carrying a slim leather portfolio under one arm and a look that said he had already calculated the exact number of minutes until he could go home and read something that wasnât a balance sheet.
âLate night again?â he asked, voice low and even, the way he always spokeâlike the world was a meeting he was politely enduring.
You offered a tired smile. âTrying to outrun my motherâs matchmaking schedule. Sheâs got me booked for Sunday brunch with a man who collects vintage staplers.â
Nanamiâs eyebrow twitched. The closest thing he ever got to a laugh. âSounds riveting.â
The elevator rose in silence for three floors. Then, without looking at you, he said, âYouâve been distracted for three weeks. Itâs affecting the projections you submitted for the Osaka merger. Three decimal places off on the risk assessment.â
You blinked. âYou noticed that?â
âI notice everything.â He adjusted his cuff. âItâs inefficient.â
Before you could defend your honor, the elevator opened onto the executive floor. Nanami didnât step out. Instead, he pressed the button to hold the doors and turned to face you fully.
âI have a proposition,â he said.
Your stomach did a small, confused flip. Nanami didnât do propositions. He did contracts, spreadsheets, and quiet disapproval of Gojoâs quarterly âteam-buildingâ expenses (which usually involved imported cake and a rented mechanical bull).
He opened the portfolio and handed you a single sheet of heavy cream paper, typed in the cleanest font youâd ever seen. The heading, centered and bold, read:
Mutual Non-Romantic Partnership Agreement
Parties: Nanami Kento & Reader
Effective Date: Immediate
Termination: 6 months or upon mutual consent
You stared. âIs this⊠a fake dating contract?â
âPrecisely.â He said it like he was confirming a quarterly tax filing. âMy reasons are practical. The board is finalizing the shortlist for Vice President of Strategic Finance. They have an archaic preference for âwell-roundedâ candidates. Translation: married, or at least visibly attached. I have no interest in dating, but I have every interest in that promotion. It comes with equity and the authority to kill Gojoâs more idiotic initiatives.â
He paused, adjusting his glasses. âYour reasons, I assume, involve the aforementioned inheritance clause and the parade of stapler enthusiasts. I overheard your phone call last week. You were⊠emphatic.â
Heat crawled up your neck. âYou heard me threaten to set my mother up with a Tinder profile for senior citizens?â
âWord for word.â The tiniest flicker of amusement crossed his faceâthere and gone like a shooting star. âIt was creative. Also loud.â
You looked back down at the contract. It was terrifyingly thorough. Eight pages. You flipped through it quickly while the elevator doors tried to close and failed again because Nanamiâs shoe was still in the way.
Key clauses jumped out:
Clause 4.2: Physical contact limited to public necessity (hand-holding, arm around waist, light cheek kiss if witnessed by family or board members). No exceptions.
Clause 5.1: No emotional attachment. This is a business arrangement.
Clause 7.3: No overnight stays, no unscheduled visits, no texts outside of logistical coordination.
Clause 9.1: Immediate termination if either party develops feelings that compromise the agreement. Penalty: public statement that the relationship was âa mutual error in judgment.â
At the bottom, in Nanamiâs perfect handwriting, he had already signed his section in black ink.
You looked up at him. He was watching you with that steady, unreadable gaze. The one that made junior analysts cry in the bathroom and made you wonder, on particularly long nights, what it would feel like if he ever looked at you like you werenât just another line item.
âThis is insane,â you said, but your voice was softer than you meant it to be. âYouâre literally handing me a legal document for fake dating. Who does that?â
âSomeone who values structure,â he replied. âAnd someone who noticed youâve been taking the long route to the break room every afternoon to avoid the marketing teamâs pitying looks. You hate pity more than you hate overtime. I respect that.â
A small, surprised laugh escaped you. âDid you just⊠compliment me?â
âI stated a fact.â But his ears went faintly pink. He cleared his throat. âThere is one additional clause I added this afternoon. Section 12. It is non-negotiable.â
You flipped to the last page.
Clause 12: The Arrangement Ends Cleanly. No Hard Feelings. No Exceptions.
Underneath, in smaller print: Should either party wish to terminate early for personal reasons, the other party will assist in maintaining professional boundaries moving forward. This includes no awkwardness in the copy room.
You snorted. âYou actually wrote âno awkwardness in the copy room.ââ
âItâs where 68% of office scandals begin according to HR statistics.â He was completely serious. âI refuse to be a statistic.â
The elevator dinged again, impatient. Someone on the floor outside cleared their throat loudlyâprobably Gojo, who had the survival instincts of a raccoon and the timing of a soap opera director.
Nanami finally let the doors close, but he didnât press a button. The car stayed put, suspended between floors like the entire universe was waiting for your answer.
He spoke again, quieter this time. âYou donât have to decide tonight. But if you agree, we begin this weekend. My family is hosting a small gathering. Mostly colleagues and a few board members. One public appearance. I will pick you up at 18:30 sharp. You will wear something appropriate. I will remember your coffee order and the fact that you hate small talk about the weather. In return, you will not be forced to entertain stapler enthusiasts for six months.â
He paused. For the first time, his voice lost a fraction of its polish. âAnd⊠I will not let this become complicated for you. You have my word.â
Your heart gave an annoying little kick. The man had just offered you a fake boyfriend in the form of a PowerPoint presentation and still managed to sound like a knight in a very expensive suit.
You looked at the contract again. Then at himâtall, unflappable, the kind of steady that made the chaos of your life feel momentarily manageable.
You took the pen he offered.
âFine,â you said, signing your name with a flourish that was 40% bravado and 60% sheer exhaustion. âBut if Gojo finds out and turns this into a company-wide betting pool, Iâm blaming you.â
Nanamiâs lips twitchedâalmost a smile. âHe already knows. He called it âthe most Nanami thing Iâve ever witnessedâ and tried to expense the contract paper as âteam morale supplies.â I declined.â
You laughed, loud and genuine, and for a second the elevator felt warmer.
He took the signed document, slipped it back into the portfolio, and finally pressed the button for the lobby.
âSaturday, 18:30,â he reminded you as the doors opened. âDo not be late. Punctuality is clause 2.1.â
You stepped out, heart doing things it had no business doing over a business arrangement. Over your shoulder, you called back, âWhat if I wear something inappropriate just to test your âpublic necessityâ clause?â
He didnât even blink. âThen I will adjust your collar like the contract allows and remind you, very politely, that I have an eidetic memory for fine print.â
The doors closed between you.
You stood in the empty lobby, contract burning a hole in your bag, and realized two things:
Oneâyou had just agreed to fake-date the most controlled man in Tokyo.
Twoâyou were already wondering what it would feel like if he ever broke his own rules.
Saturday arrived with the kind of crisp Tokyo evening that made the city feel like it was showing off. The sky had faded into deep indigo by 6:15 p.m., and the streets below your apartment hummed with weekend energy. Salarymen loosening their ties, couples heading to izakayas, the distant glow of neon signs promising everything from ramen to overpriced cocktails.
You stood in front of your full-length mirror, smoothing down the deep navy dress youâd chosen after three outfit changes and one minor panic attack. It was elegant without trying too hard: fitted at the waist, modest neckline, a subtle slit at the side that felt daring only because you knew Nanami would notice every detail. Your hair was down, makeup light but polished. You looked⊠stable. Committed. Like someone who had her life together enough to date a man like Kento Nanami.
Your phone buzzed exactly at 6:28 p.m.
Nanami Kento: Iâm downstairs. Black sedan. Do not rush. We have time.
Of course he was early. Of course he texted like a scheduling app with perfect punctuation.
You grabbed your clutch, took one last deep breath, and headed down.
The car was exactly as expected. It was sleek, understated, the kind of vehicle that screamed âI make responsible financial decisions.â Nanami stood beside the rear door in a tailored black suit that looked like it had been cut specifically to make mere mortals feel underdressed. The white shirt beneath was crisp, tie in a subtle charcoal pattern. His blond hair was neatly styled, glasses catching the streetlight. He looked like the final boss of corporate competence.
When he saw you, he straightened slightly. His gaze swept over you onceâquick, professional, but thorough.
âYouâre on time,â he said, voice low and even. He opened the door for you with the same efficiency he used to review spreadsheets. âThe dress is appropriate. The color suits you.â
Heat prickled at your cheeks. âWas that a compliment or a risk assessment?â
âBoth.â The corner of his mouth lifted by a fraction of a millimeter. It might have been a smile in another universe. âCompliments build rapport. The contract allows for them in private settings if they serve the illusion.â
You slid into the car, the leather seat cool against your skin. Nanami followed, closing the door with a soft click. The driver (a quiet older man who gave you a polite nod) pulled smoothly into traffic.
For the first few minutes, silence settled between you like a third passenger. Nanami sat with perfect posture, one hand resting on his knee, the other holding his phone as he reviewed notes.
You couldnât resist. âSo⊠whatâs the agenda for tonight? Hand placement chart? Approved topics of conversation? Should I have studied your family tree?â
He tucked his phone away and turned toward you slightly. âMy parents will be there, along with several board members from Gojo Enterprises. Satoru Gojo himself insisted on attending, despite my explicit request that he not. Expect him to be⊠theatrical.â
You groaned. âGojo knows? Already?â
âHe cornered me in the executive lounge yesterday and called it âthe most entertaining HR violation since the great coffee machine incident of 2023.â He promised to behave.â Nanamiâs tone suggested he believed this about as much as he believed in lottery tickets. âMy mother is observant. My father less so. Heâll mostly talk about golf and the Nikkei index. Smile, stay close when required, and let me handle the heavy lifting. Weâve been âdatingâ for approximately five weeks. We met through work. You enjoy classical literature and dislike overly sweet desserts. I remembered your coffee order correctly on our third date.â
You blinked. âYou⊠made up a backstory already?â
âItâs in the addendum I emailed you this morning. Section 3.2.â He actually looked mildly surprised that you hadnât memorized it. âDetails prevent inconsistencies.â
You pulled out your phone and opened the email. Sure enough, there it was. A neatly formatted document titled âRelationship Narrative v1.2.â
A laugh bubbled out of you before you could stop it. âNanami, youâre terrifyingly good at this.â
âI prefer âthorough.ââ He adjusted his cufflink. âInefficiency leads to complications.â
The car eventually pulled up to a sleek modern residence in a quiet upscale neighborhood. Nanamiâs family home, apparently. Warm lights spilled from the windows, and the low murmur of conversation drifted out as the driver opened your door.
Nanami stepped out first, then offered you his hand.
It was the first time youâd touched him outside of accidental brushes in the office. His palm was warm, grip firm but not tight, fingers calloused just enough to remind you he wasnât all spreadsheets and restraint. He helped you from the car with effortless courtesy, then released your hand. Only to place his at the small of your back as you walked toward the entrance.
The contact was light. Professional.
But it lingered a second longer than strictly necessary.
Inside, the gathering was intimate but polished: around twenty people, soft jazz playing from hidden speakers, servers circulating with champagne and delicate appetizers. You spotted familiar faces immediately. Shoko Ieiri from Legal, nursing a glass of red wine with her usual half-lidded detachment; Haibara Yu from Marketing, waving enthusiastically the moment he saw you; and, of course, Satoru Gojo, towering in a white suit that somehow looked both expensive and like heâd rolled out of bed wearing it.
Nanamiâs hand stayed at your back as he guided you through greetings.
His mother was elegant, sharp-eyed, and immediately warm. âKento finally brings someone home! You must be the one who finally got him to leave the office before 9 p.m.â
You smiled, leaning slightly into Nanamiâs side because the contract said public necessity. âIâm trying my best, Mrs. Nanami. He still brings work home in his briefcase, though.â
She laughed. His father clapped Nanami on the shoulder. âGood choice, son. Sheâs got spirit.â
Then Gojo descended like a beautiful disaster.
âNanamin~!â he sang, slinging an arm around Nanamiâs shoulders before Nanami could sidestep. âAnd the mysterious girlfriend! I knew it was only a matter of time. The way you two stare at each other during budget meetings was practically foreplay.â
Nanamiâs expression didnât change, but his hand pressed a fraction firmer against your back. âGojo. Behave.â
âI am behaving! I only told three people you two are disgustingly cute together.â Gojoâs bright blue eyes sparkled with mischief as he turned to you. âSo, tell me. Does he do the thing where he takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose when youâre being âillogicalâ? Itâs his version of foreplay, I swear.â
You bit your lip to keep from laughing. âHe does it when the projections are off by more than 0.5%. Itâs very sexy in a stressed accountant kind of way.â
Nanami exhaled through his noseâthe closest he ever got to a sigh. âWeâre leaving if you continue.â
Gojo gasped dramatically. âYou wound me! Iâm just happy for my favorite work husband and his new work wife.â
Haibara appeared at your elbow, grinning wide. âYou two are adorable. Nanami-san actually smiled yesterday when he mentioned you. I thought the building was haunted.â
Nanamiâs ear tips went faintly pink. He steered you away from the growing audience with practiced smoothness, murmuring, âIgnore them. They thrive on chaos.â
You found yourselves near a quiet corner by the large windows overlooking the garden. Nanami handed you a glass of champagne (your preferred brand, of courseâheâd noted it somewhere). His fingers brushed yours during the exchange.
For a moment, it was just the two of you.
âYouâre handling this well,â he said quietly, eyes scanning the room before settling back on you. âBetter than expected.â
âHigh praise.â You took a sip, then teased, âYouâre surprisingly convincing yourself. The hand on my back? The way you look at me like I hung the moon? I almost believed it for a second.â
His gaze flickeredâsomething unreadable passing behind the glasses. âIt serves the purpose.â
But when he reached out to adjust a stray strand of hair that had fallen near your cheek, the movement was slow. Deliberate. His fingertips barely grazed your skin, yet it sent a small spark down your spine.
He froze for half a second after, as if realizing the gesture hadnât been strictly necessary.
âPractical,â he added, voice lower. âYour hair was out of place.â
âRight,â you whispered, heart beating a little faster. âVery practical.â
By the time the car pulled up to take you home, it was past 10 p.m. Nanami walked you to your building entrance, the night air cool between you.
At the door, he stopped. No hand on your back now. Just the two of you under the soft glow of the entrance light.
âThank you,â he said. âThe evening was successful. No inconsistencies noted.â
You smiled up at him. âSame time next week? Or do I get a performance review first?â
He looked at you for a long moment, longer than the contract probably allowed. The city noise faded into the background.
Then he reached out, almost hesitantly, and straightened the thin strap of your dress where it had slipped slightly during the evening. His touch was feather-light, professional⊠but his fingers lingered at your shoulder for two full seconds.
âText me when youâre inside,â he said finally, stepping back. âSafety clause 14.3.â
You nodded, throat suddenly tight. âGoodnight, Nanami.â
âGoodnight.â
He waited until you were safely through the doors before turning back to the car.
Up in your apartment, you leaned against the closed door, heart still racing from that tiny, unnecessary touch.
The contract was only on page one of this arrangement, but something told you Kento Nanami was already finding the fine print harder to follow than heâd expected.
Sunday morning brought soft sunlight filtering through your curtains and the undeniable realization that you had spent far too long replaying last nightâs tiny moments in your head.
The way Nanamiâs hand had rested at the small of your back.
The brief brush of his fingers against yours when he handed you the champagne.
How heâd adjusted that stray strand of hair like it was a critical line item that needed correcting.
And that final touch at your door, straightening your dress strap with a focus that felt anything but contractual.
You groaned, burying your face in your pillow. âItâs fake. Itâs literally typed out in black and white. Get a grip.â
Your phone buzzed on the nightstand.
Nanami Kento:Good morning. Debrief scheduled for today at 14:00. My apartment. Address attached. Please review the addendum I sent at 08:47. Casual attire is acceptable. Do not bring food; I will prepare lunch.
You stared at the message. Of course he had already scheduled a debrief. Of course heâd sent an addendum at 8:47 a.m. on a Sunday. The man probably woke up at 5:30, ran exactly 5 kilometers, reviewed the Nikkei, and still had time to draft relationship maintenance protocols.
You typed back quickly.
You: Morning. Casual attire? Does that mean I can show up in sweatpants and test Clause 4.2?
Nanami Kento: Sweatpants would be acceptable in a private setting.
However, Clause 4.2 still applies if any physical contact becomes necessary for demonstration purposes. See you at 14:00.
You laughed despite yourself. Demonstration purposes. He was going to be the death of you.
At 1:55 p.m. you stood outside Nanamiâs apartment building in a quiet, upscale residential area. The building itself was sleek and modernâclean lines, no unnecessary ornamentation, exactly what youâd expect. You wore comfortable dark jeans and a soft cream sweater, hair pulled back loosely. Nothing special. Definitely not trying to impress.
The doorman greeted you politely and directed you to the 12th floor.
Nanami opened the door at exactly 14:00.
He was dressed in what you could only describe as ârelaxed Nanamiââcharcoal slacks and a fitted black button-down with the sleeves rolled once to his forearms. No tie. No jacket. The top button undone. It should have looked casual, but on him it looked like deliberate restraint, like even his weekend wardrobe had been optimized for efficiency and quiet power.
âOn time,â he noted, stepping aside to let you in. âGood.â
His apartment was⊠very Nanami. Open-plan living area with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a calm view of the city skyline. Minimalist furniture in neutral tones, a large bookshelf filled with meticulously organized volumesâmostly finance, some philosophy, and a surprising number of classic literature titles. The kitchen island was spotless, and the faint smell of something savory (herb-roasted chicken, perhaps?) wafted from the oven.
âNo clutter,â you observed, slipping off your shoes. âIâm impressed. My place looks like a paper explosion happened.â
âClutter affects focus,â he replied, closing the door behind you. âWould you like water? Coffee? I have the beans you prefer from the office break room.â
You raised an eyebrow. âYou bought my favorite coffee beans?â
âIt was efficient. We will be spending time together for the next six months. Preparing in advance prevents last-minute inconveniences.â He moved to the kitchen with that same measured grace. âLunch will be ready in twelve minutes. Chicken with rosemary, roasted vegetables, and a light salad. No heavy sauces. I recalled you mentioned disliking overly rich foods during last monthâs team dinner.â
You followed him, leaning against the island. âYou remember that?â
âI remember relevant details.â He didnât look at you as he checked the oven, but his voice was quieter. âItâs practical.â
The lunch was excellent. Simple, perfectly seasoned, plated with the kind of care that made it feel like more than just fuel. You ate at the dining table by the window, conversation flowing surprisingly easily. He asked about your week, listened without interrupting, and even offered a dry comment about Gojoâs latest expense report (âHe tried to claim a mechanical bull as âleadership training equipment.â I rejected it.â).
After the plates were cleared (he insisted on doing the dishes himself), you moved to the living room for the actual debrief.
Nanami sat across from you on the sofa, posture straight, a slim notebook open on his lap. He had printed the contract againâannotated.
âOverall, yesterdayâs performance was satisfactory,â he began, voice professional. âYour interactions with my mother were natural. The chemistry appeared believable. Gojoâs interference was⊠contained.â
You leaned back, amused. âHigh praise. What were the deductions?â
He flipped a page. âMinor. You laughed a little too loudly at Gojoâs joke about the coffee machine incident. It drew unnecessary attention. Also, when Haibara commented on my âsmile,â you looked at me for 2.3 seconds longer than optimal. It could be interpreted as fondness.â
âFondness,â you repeated, trying not to grin. âThe horror.â
Nanamiâs gaze lifted to meet yours. âThis arrangement requires precision. Any perception of genuine attachment could complicate termination.â
âRight.â You crossed your arms, the teasing slipping out before you could stop it. âBecause heaven forbid someone thinks you actually like spending time with me.â
He paused, pen hovering over the paper. For a moment, the room felt heavier. Then he continued, tone even. âIt is not about liking. It is about maintaining boundaries. The contract exists for a reason.â
You watched him for a long beat. The afternoon light caught on his glasses, softening the sharp lines of his face. He looked⊠tired, in that quiet way he never admitted. The kind of tired that came from carrying everything alone.
Impulsively, you reached across the coffee table and lightly touched the back of his hand where it rested on the notebook. âHey. Relax. It was just one evening. Weâre both adults. Iâm not going to catch feelings and ruin your precious structure overnight.â
His hand stilled under yours. He didnât pull away immediately. Instead, his fingers tensedâjust slightlyâbefore he slowly withdrew, placing the notebook on the table between you like a shield.
âPhysical contact is limited to public necessity,â he reminded you, voice lower than usual. âWe are alone. This is private.â
The words were correct. The delivery was⊠strained.
You pulled your hand back, cheeks warming. âSorry. Force of habit from last night, I guess. Your hand was on my back for half the evening.â
He adjusted his glasses, a tell you were starting to recognize as discomfort. âThat was required.â
Silence stretched. Not uncomfortable exactly, but charged. Something like the air before a summer storm.
Nanami cleared his throat. âMoving forward, we should schedule two more public appearances this month. A work dinner on the 18th and perhaps a gallery opening my mother mentioned. I will send the details. In the meantime, limited texting for coordination only. No unscheduled contact.â
You nodded, but a small rebellious spark ignited in your chest. âGot it. Strictly business.â
He stood, signaling the debrief was over. You followed him to the door, slipping your shoes back on.
At the threshold, he hesitated. âThank you for coming today. The lunch was⊠adequate?â
âIt was perfect,â you said honestly, smiling up at him. âYouâre a surprisingly good cook, Nanami.â
For a second, his expression softened for a fraction. Then the mask returned. âPractical skill. One must eat efficiently.â
You stepped into the hallway, turning back one last time. âSee you Monday at the office?â
âMonday,â he confirmed.
But as you walked toward the elevator, you heard the soft click of his door closing behind you.
Back in your own apartment that evening, your phone buzzed with a single message.
Nanami Kento: Thank you again for today. The debrief was productive. Rest well.
You stared at it for a long time, thumb hovering over the keyboard. The contract said no unscheduled contact. No emotional attachment.
You typed anyway, keeping it light.
You: Thanks for lunch. Youâre better company than you give yourself credit for. Goodnight, Nanami.
No reply came.
But the next morning at the office, when you arrived at your desk, there was a fresh cup of your favorite coffee waiting. Exactly the way you liked it, with a small note in his precise handwriting:
Efficiency. Nothing more.
â K.N.
You smiled into your cup, the steam curling up like a secret.
The lines were still firmly drawn.
But you were starting to suspect Kento Nanami was finding them just a little harder to see clearly.
Monday at Gojo Enterprises moved at its usual relentless pace. Emails piling up like unpaid bills, meetings that could have been emails, and the faint scent of overbrewed coffee clinging to the finance wing. You arrived early, determined to bury yourself in the latest merger projections and ignore the way your mind kept drifting back to Nanamiâs apartment. The perfectly cooked lunch. The way his hand had tensed under your touch before he pulled away. The single cup of coffee waiting on your desk the next morning with that infuriatingly neat note: Efficiency. Nothing more.
The coffee had been perfect, of course. Heâd even remembered the exact ratio of oat milk.
You were halfway through annotating a risk table when your phone vibrated quietly against the desk.
Nanami Kento: The 18th work dinner has been confirmed. 19:00 at Le Jardin. Black tie optional but recommended. I will pick you up at 18:20. Confirm receipt.
You smiled at the screen despite yourself. So formal. So perfectly on-script.
You: Received. Iâll wear the navy dress again unless you have objections, Mr. Contract. Also, thanks again for the coffee yesterday. Very efficient. â
No reply came immediately. You set the phone down and tried to focus.
âEmergency sugar delivery!â he announced, setting the box on the central table. âNanami-san rejected the last batch because the sugar-to-flour ratio was âsuboptimal.â I figured weâd bribe the team instead.â
Shoko Ieiri appeared from Legal, cigarette tucked behind her ear even though smoking was banned indoors. She plucked a chocolate croissant without comment and leaned against your desk. âHeard you survived the Nanami family gathering. Impressive. Most people tap out after twenty minutes of his mother asking about retirement plans.â
You laughed softly. âIt wasnât that bad. His dad mostly talked about golf handicaps.â
Shokoâs eyes narrowed with lazy amusement. âAnd Nanami? Did he do the protective boyfriend act? Hand on the waist, brooding stares across the room?â
Before you could answer, a deep, even voice cut through the chatter from the hallway.
âHaibara. Those pastries better not contain trans fats. The last batch raised everyoneâs projected medical claims by 0.8%.â
Kento Nanami strode in, sleeves rolled to his forearms, glasses catching the overhead lights. He looked every inch the composed senior analyst. Until his gaze landed on you for a split second longer than necessary. Then it flicked away, landing on the pastry box with mild disapproval.
Haibara saluted dramatically. âAll clear, sir! I checked the ingredients. Pure indulgence, zero efficiency violations.â
Nanami exhaled through his nose. The Nanami equivalent of a long-suffering sigh. He approached the table, selected a plain croissant (no chocolate, naturally), and broke off a piece with precise fingers.
Then, almost as an afterthought, he turned toward you.
âYour section of the Osaka report was thorough,â he said, voice pitched for professionalism but carrying that quiet weight you were starting to recognize. âThe sensitivity analysis on interest rate fluctuations was⊠well done.â
Heat rose to your cheeks. A compliment. In public. From Nanami.
âThanks,â you managed. âI stayed late Friday to refine it. Figured youâd notice the decimal places anyway.â
His lips twitched, barely. âI always do.â
Shoko watched the exchange with half-lidded interest, popping the last bite of her croissant into her mouth. âCute. You two should just make it official and save HR the paperwork when Gojo inevitably finds out and throws a party.â
Nanami adjusted his glasses, expression unchanging. âIt is official. We are dating.â
The casual delivery made your stomach flip. He said it so smoothly, like stating a quarterly forecast. No hesitation. No flicker of discomfort.
Haibara nearly dropped the tray. âWait, seriously? Since when? I thought you were joking about the staring during budget meetings!â
âFive weeks,â Nanami replied without missing a beat. He glanced at you, and for a fraction of a second, his eyes softened behind the lenses. âShe tolerates my schedule. I tolerate her refusal to alphabetize her inbox.â
You bit back a laugh. âItâs organized chaos. Thereâs a difference.â
The rest of the afternoon passed with stolen glances across the floor. Once, when you stood to refill your water, Nanamiâs path crossed yours near the copy room. His shoulder brushed yoursâaccidental, surelyâbut he didnât step away immediately. Instead, he murmured low enough for only you to hear, âThe navy dress is acceptable for the 18th. However, if you choose something with a lower neckline, I may need to adjust it for âpublic necessity.ââ
Your breath caught. âIs that a threat or a promise, Nanami?â
âObservation.â His voice dropped another notch. âEfficiency requires preparation.â
Then he continued down the hall as if nothing had happened, leaving you staring after him with a racing pulse.
By 6:45 p.m., most of the floor had emptied. You were packing up when your phone buzzed again. Another unscheduled text.
Nanami Kento: Are you still in the office? I have the revised contract addendum ready if you wish to review it over a quick dinner. Nothing elaborate. Simple Italian near the station.
You stared. Dinner? On a Monday? After heâd specifically said limited texting and no unscheduled contact?
Your fingers hovered. The contract was clear. But the memory of his fingers brushing your shoulder strap on Saturday, the quiet way heâd said your report was âwell doneâ todayâŠ
You: Still here. Italian sounds good. Meet you in the lobby in 10?
Nanami Kento: Confirmed.
The small trattoria was tucked away from the main streets. Warm lighting, checked tablecloths, the rich scent of garlic and fresh basil. Nanami had chosen a corner table, away from the windows. He was already there when you arrived, jacket draped over the back of his chair, tie loosened just enough to look human.
He stood when you approached, pulling out your chair with that effortless courtesy.
âNo addendum tonight,â he said once you were seated, almost apologetically. âI realized after sending the text that it could wait until tomorrow. This is⊠not strictly necessary.â
You raised an eyebrow, heart doing that annoying little flip again. âBreaking your own rules, Nanami? Careful. Clause 9.1 says immediate termination for complications.â
He poured you a glass of sparkling water without being asked. âIt is not a complication. It is⊠practical. You worked late. Food is required.â
The meal was simpleâpasta aglio e olio for him, risotto for you. The conversation drifted beyond logistics. He asked about the inheritance pressure from your mother, listening with genuine attention as you vented lightly about the latest brunch ambush. In return, he shared a dry anecdote about his father trying to teach him golf as a child and failing spectacularly because âthe club angle was inefficient.â
You laughed, and for once, he didnât correct the volume. Instead, his gaze lingered on your smile a moment too long.
Halfway through dessert (shared tiramisu, because he claimed splitting was âoptimal portion controlâ), your phone rang. Your motherâs name flashed on the screen.
You silenced it quickly, but Nanami noticed.
âAnswer if you need to,â he said quietly.
You shook your head. âSheâll just ask if Iâm still single and remind me the clock is ticking. Iâd rather enjoy this.â
A small silence fell. Then Nanami set down his spoon.
âTell her we are attending the Kyoto estate review together next month,â he offered, voice steady. âIt satisfies the clause without fabrication. I can accompany you if the timing aligns with the contract period.â
Your fork paused mid-air. âYouâd do that? Meet my family? Thatâs⊠beyond the agreement.â
He adjusted his glasses, ears faintly pink under the warm lights. âIt is an extension of the public necessity clause. Nothing more.â
But when the bill came and he paid without discussion, his hand found the small of your back again as you left the restaurant. The night air was cool, the streets quieter now. He walked you to the station, even though it was out of his way.
At the entrance, he stopped.
âThank you for the company,â he said. No mention of efficiency this time.
You turned to face him fully. The contract screamed in the back of your mindâno emotional attachment, no unscheduled contact. Yet here you were.
Impulsively, you stepped closer and brushed an invisible speck of flour from his shirt collar. Your fingers lingered against the fabric, feeling the steady warmth of him beneath.
âSee you tomorrow, Nanami,â you whispered.
He didnât move away. For three full seconds, his hand rose halfwayâas if to cover yoursâbefore he caught himself and lowered it.
âGoodnight,â he replied, voice rougher than usual.
You descended the station steps with your heart hammering.
Later that night, safe in bed, another text arrived.
Nanami Kento: The tiramisu was acceptable. Rest well.
You smiled into the darkness, typing back before you could overthink it.
You: It was better than acceptable. Goodnight. Sweet dreams (if you allow yourself any).
No reply came, but you could picture him in his immaculate apartment, staring at the screen with that controlled expression cracking just a little more.
The contract was still intact.
But the fine print was starting to blur, one unscheduled text and lingering touch at a time.
The 18th arrived wrapped in the golden haze of a Tokyo autumn evening. By 18:10, you were standing in front of your mirror again, adjusting the navy dress from the family gathering. This time youâd paired it with a slightly more daring neckline. Nothing scandalous, but enough to test boundaries. A delicate silver necklace rested against your collarbone, and your hair fell in soft waves. Professional, but with just enough warmth to sell the âgirlfriendâ narrative.
Your phone buzzed at precisely 18:19.
Nanami Kento: Downstairs. Black sedan. The neckline is noted. Clause 4.2 remains in effect.
You laughed out loud, a flutter of nerves mixing with something dangerously close to anticipation. He was already reading you like one of his meticulously annotated reports.
Down in the lobby, Nanami waited beside the car in a midnight-black three-piece suit that looked tailor-made to emphasize every controlled line of his frame. The white shirt was crisp, tie in a subtle silver-gray. His blond hair was impeccably styled, glasses catching the streetlights. When he saw you, his gaze traveled onceâslow, deliberateâbefore he opened the car door.
âThe dress remains appropriate,â he said, voice low. âThough the adjustment requires monitoring.â
âMonitoring?â You slid in, the leather seat cool. âIs that contract-speak for âI noticedâ?â
He joined you, closing the door with a soft thud. âIt is contract-speak for public necessity. If anyone comments, I will adjust it accordingly.â
The drive to Le Jardinâa sleek, upscale French-leaning restaurant in a quiet Ginza-adjacent building with garden-inspired eleganceâpassed in comfortable silence punctuated by light logistics. Nanami reviewed the guest list: several board members, department heads, and, inevitably, Satoru Gojo. Shoko had begged off for a âprior engagementâ (code for avoiding small talk), but Haibara was attending as marketing support.
âYou look composed,â Nanami observed as the car slowed. His hand rested on the seat between you, close but not touching. âNervous?â
âA little,â you admitted. âThis feels more official than the family thing. Work people know us separately.â
He turned slightly toward you. âThen we give them no reason to question. Stay close when required. I will handle the conversation flow.â
His hand found the small of your back the moment you stepped out of the car. Warm, steady, guiding you through the entrance with effortless authority. The restaurant interior was beautiful: soft ambient lighting, crisp white linens, subtle floral arrangements that echoed its name. The private dining room reserved for the group overlooked a small illuminated garden.
Gojo spotted you immediately, waving with exaggerated enthusiasm from the head of the table. He was in a white suit (naturally), sunglasses pushed up into his snowy hair, looking like heâd wandered in from a fashion shoot.
âNanamin and his better half! Finally! I was starting to think the rumors were fake news.â He grinned, blue eyes sparkling with mischief. âCome sit next to me. I saved seats for the power couple.â
Nanamiâs hand pressed a fraction firmer against your back as he steered you politely past Gojo to two seats farther down the table. âWe prefer proximity to the board members, Gojo. Business first.â
Gojo pouted dramatically. âBoo. Youâre no fun when youâre in love.â
The word âloveâ landed like a pebble in still water. You felt Nanami tense beside you, but his expression remained neutral as he pulled out your chair.
Dinner began with elegant courses: seared scallops, herb-crusted lamb, delicate wines chosen to complement each plate. Nanami ordered for you without fuss, remembering your preference against overly rich sauces. Before engaging the board members in precise, insightful conversation about the upcoming merger. His voice was calm, measured, the perfect senior analyst.
Yet every so often, his knee brushed yours under the table. Once, when a board member asked how you two had âmade it official,â Nanamiâs hand found yours on the tablecloth for a brief, public squeeze.
âWe met through work, as many do,â he said smoothly. âShe challenges my projections. I appreciate the rigor.â
You smiled, squeezing back lightly before he released you. The contact lingered in your skin like static.
Haibara, seated across from you, kept the comedy alive with wide-eyed enthusiasm. âNanami-san actually left the office at 7 p.m. last week! Twice! I thought the apocalypse was starting.â
You laughed. âI take full credit. Heâs learning that overtime isnât always efficient.â
Nanami shot you a sidelong glance, the corner of his mouth twitching. âSelective efficiency.â
Gojo leaned forward, unable to resist. âSo, details! Who made the first move? Was it Nanami with a spreadsheet titled âReasons to Date Readerâ? Or did you finally crack his icy exterior with your charm?â
The table chuckled. You felt heat rise to your cheeks but played along. âLetâs just say he presented a very thorough proposal. Very⊠detailed.â
Nanami adjusted his glasses, a faint pink tinting the tips of his ears. âIt was mutual benefit. Nothing more.â
But under the table, his fingers brushed your kneeâonce, deliberately, then gone. Not required by any public necessity. The touch was light, almost accidental, yet it sent warmth racing up your leg.
The evening stretched. Conversation flowed from quarterly results to light personal topics. One board member, an older gentleman with a keen eye, watched the two of you with approval. âYou balance each other well. Nanami needs someone who isnât afraid to question him.â
You glanced at Nanami. âHeâs not as inflexible as he seems. Once you get past the clauses.â
His gaze met yours. Steady, intense, the kind of look that made the contract feel paper-thin. For a heartbeat, the noise of the room faded.
Then Gojo clapped his hands. âDessert time! And I demand a coupleâs toast. Nanami, say something romantic. Weâre all dying to hear it.â
Nanami exhaled slowly, but when he raised his glass, his voice was low and sincere in its restraint. âTo efficiency⊠and the unexpected variables that improve the model.â
The table toasted. You clinked your glass against his, murmuring just for him, âVariables, huh? Careful, or I might start believing this is more than a spreadsheet.â
His eyes darkened behind the lenses. âBelief is not part of the agreement.â
Yet when the dinner ended and guests began to disperse, Nanamiâs hand returned to your lower back as he guided you out. The night air was cooler now, carrying the faint scent of the garden.
In the car ride home, silence settled thicker than before. Nanami sat with perfect posture, but his fingers tapped once against his knee, a rare tell of restlessness.
âYou performed well,â he said finally. âNo inconsistencies.â
âThanks.â You turned toward him. âYou were convincing too. That knee brush under the table? Almost felt real.â
He froze. The car hummed along quiet streets. Then, quietly, âIt was⊠practical. To sell the dynamic.â
You studied his profile. The strong jaw, the faint tension in his shoulders. The man who had built an entire contract around control was starting to fray at the edges.
At your building, he walked you to the door again. No driver this time, heâd dismissed the car.
At the entrance, under the soft glow of the lights, you stopped and faced him fully.
âNanami,â you said softly, stepping just a fraction closer than the contract probably allowed. âWhat if one of us breaks a clause? Just a small one.â
His gaze dropped to your lips for the briefest moment before returning to your eyes. The air between you felt charged, heavy with all the unsaid things.
He reached out, fingers brushing the strap of your dress near your shoulder. Adjusting it with painstaking care, even though it hadnât slipped. The touch was warm, lingering far longer than necessary.
âThen we revise the terms,â he murmured, voice low and rough at the edges. âCarefully. Deliberately.â
Your heart pounded. You wanted to close the distance, to test how far his restraint would bend.
Instead, you smiled, stepping back. âGoodnight, Nanami. Thanks for the monitoring.â
He didnât smile, but his eyes held yours a second longer. âGoodnight. Text when youâre inside. Safety clause.â
You did.
Later, in bed, his reply came:
Nanami Kento: Inside safely? The evening was⊠more than adequate. Rest well.
You typed back, heart racing:
You: Safe. The variables are getting interesting. Sweet dreams.
No immediate reply.
But the next morning at the office, another coffee waited on your desk, perfect as always.
This time the note read simply:
Variables noted. â K.N.
The contract was still there.
But the ink felt like it was starting to smudge.
The week after the work dinner moved with a new kind of tensionâquiet, persistent, and impossible to ignore.
Monday brought the usual coffee on your desk, the note upgraded to Variables expanding. Review required.
Tuesday, during the morning team sync, Nanamiâs presentation on the Osaka merger included a subtle nod in your direction when he mentioned the refined sensitivity analysis. His voice stayed perfectly professional, but his gaze lingered on you for half a second longer than it did on anyone else.
Wednesday, you caught him watching you from across the floor while you spoke with Haibara. His eyes steady, expression unreadable, until he adjusted his glasses and returned to his screen.
By Thursday evening, the office had mostly emptied. The clock on your desk read 8:17 p.m. when your phone buzzed with another unscheduled text.
Kento Nanami: Conference room B. The final Osaka projections need one more pass. Your input on the risk variables would be useful. If you have already left, disregard.
You hadnât left. You replied immediately:
You: On my way.
Conference room B was dimly lit when you arrived, only the long table illuminated by Nanamiâs laptop and a single desk lamp. He had removed his jacket and tie, sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows. Blond hair slightly less perfect than usual from running his fingers through it. When you entered and closed the door behind you, he looked up.
âYou came,â he said, voice low in the quiet room.
âYou asked.â You set your bag down and took the chair beside him instead of across the table. Your shoulders brushed as you settled in. âShow me where we are.â
For the next forty minutes, you worked side by side. Shoulders touching. His low, measured voice explaining adjustments to the model. At one point, when you leaned in to point out a potential flaw in the interest rate assumptions, his hand came to rest lightly on the back of your chairâsteady, almost protective. The contact wasnât required. No one was watching.
Neither of you mentioned it.
When the projections were finally locked and saved, the clock read 9:12 p.m. Nanami closed his laptop with a soft click and exhaled slowly through his nose.
âThank you,â he said. âYour perspective remains⊠valuable.â
You turned toward him in the quiet. The rain from earlier in the week had returned, tapping gently against the windows. The empty office floor felt like its own small world.
âKento,â you said softly, âthis is the third unscheduled text this week. The knee brush at dinner. The way you looked at me during the toast.â You paused, searching his face. âAre we still pretending the lines arenât moving?â
He was silent for a long moment. Then he removed his glasses, folding them carefully and setting them on the table. Without the lenses, his hazel eyes were sharper, more exposed.
âI am aware of the deviations,â he admitted, voice quieter than usual. âI drafted a revised addendum yesterday evening. It loosens communication parameters further. HoweverâŠâ He trailed off, rubbing the bridge of his noseâthe familiar gesture, but slower this time.
âHowever?â you prompted gently.
He looked at you fully. âHowever, I find myself reluctant to formalize the changes. Because formalizing them makes the shift real. And once real, termination becomes⊠more complicated.â
Your heart beat heavier. You reached out and lightly touched the back of his hand where it rested on the table. This time, he didnât pull away. Instead, his fingers turned palm-up, letting yours rest there.
âThe contract was meant to prevent complications,â he continued, thumb brushing once across your knucklesâdeliberate, almost experimental. âInstead, every exception I make for you creates a new one. The coffee. The texts. The way I keep finding reasons to be in the same room as you after hours.â
A small smile tugged at your lips. âYou hate unpredictable things.â
âI do.â His gaze dropped to your joined hands, then lifted to your face. âYet I keep inviting the unpredictability.â
The silence stretched, heavy and warm. Rain pattered against the glass. You shifted closer, your knee pressing lightly against his.
âWhat if we stopped calling it an exception?â you asked softly. âWhat if we just⊠let it be whatever itâs becoming?â
Nanamiâs breathing remained controlled, but you saw the subtle tension in his shoulders. His free hand rose, hesitating in the air between you, then gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. The touch lingered, fingertips grazing your cheek.
âIt would require revising multiple clauses,â he murmured, voice rough at the edges. âNo emotional attachment. Private contact restrictions. Overnight parameters.â His thumb traced the line of your jaw onceâslow, careful. âI do not revise lightly.â
âBut youâre considering it.â
He didnât deny it. Instead, he leaned in slightly, forehead nearly touching yours. The air between you felt electric, charged with all the small moments that had piled up over the past weeks.
For several heartbeats, neither of you moved. His hand stayed at your cheek. Yours stayed in his.
Then, with visible effort, he pulled back. He released your hand, stood, and offered you his arm in a gesture that was half-courteous, half-protective.
âIt is late,â he said, voice regaining some of its polish, though it sounded strained. âI will drive you home. The rain is heavier now.â
You took his arm, feeling the warmth of him through his shirt. In the elevator down to the parking garage, the silence was comfortable but thick. His hand remained at the small of your back the entire walk to the carâpublic necessity, perhaps, but the floor was empty.
During the drive, he kept both hands on the wheel, but every red light brought a glance in your direction. At your building, he insisted on walking you to the entrance again, holding the umbrella over you despite getting wet himself.
At the door, he stopped. The entrance light cast soft shadows across his face.
âThank you for the assistance tonight,â he said quietly. âThe projections are stronger for it.â
You looked up at him, heart full. âAnytime, Kento. Even if it means breaking a few more rules.â
His jaw tightened. One hand lifted, brushing your cheek once more. Quicker this time, but no less intentional. Then he stepped back.
âGoodnight,â he said. âText when youâre inside.â
You nodded. âGoodnight.â
Inside your apartment, the text came quickly:
Kento Nanami: Inside safely? The projections benefited greatly from your input. Rest well.
You smiled at the screen and typed back:
You: Safe and dry, thanks to you. It wasnât just the projections that benefited tonight. Goodnight, Kento.
No reply came that night.
But Friday morning brought another coffee.
The note this time was shorter, almost hesitant:
Considering revision. â K.N.
The contract was still there.
But Kento Nanami was no longer pretending the lines werenât moving.
And neither were you.
Friday evening settled over Tokyo with a quiet heaviness. The office had emptied earlier than usual, leaving only the low hum of cleaning staff and the occasional ping of an unanswered email. You stayed late again, not entirely because of work. The note on this morningâs coffee had been burning a hole in your thoughts all day.
At 7:45 p.m., your phone vibrated.
Kento Nanami: I am still in my office. The revised addendum is ready if you wish to review it. No obligation. I can send it digitally instead.
You stared at the message. It was careful. Professional. But the fact that he was offering an in-person review after hours, on a Friday, told you everything the words didnât.
You: Iâll come to your office.
His reply was almost instant.
Kento Nanami: Door is open.
You took the elevator up to the executive floor. The hallway was dim, most lights off. Only Nanamiâs office glowed softly through the half-open door. When you stepped inside, he was standing by the window, jacket off, sleeves rolled, staring out at the glittering city skyline. His glasses were on the desk beside a single printed document.
He turned when he heard you. For a moment, neither of you spoke.
âYou came,â he said finally, voice low.
âYou keep asking me to.â You closed the door behind you with a soft click. The sound felt final in the quiet room. âSo here I am.â
Nanami gestured to the chair across from his desk, but you ignored it and walked around to stand beside him at the window instead. The city lights reflected in his eyes as he looked at you.
âThe addendum,â he began, picking up the document, âloosens several clauses. Communication frequency. Private interactions. I removed the immediate termination penalty for emotional complications.â He paused, thumb brushing the edge of the paper. âHowever, I have not signed it yet.â
You took the document from his hands and set it back on the desk without reading it.
âWhy not?â you asked softly.
He was silent for a long beat. Then he turned fully toward you, the distance between your bodies shrinking to barely a foot.
âBecause signing it makes the shift official,â he said. âAnd once official, I cannot pretend this is still purely practical.â
Your heart hammered. You stepped closer, close enough to smell the faint sandalwood on his skin and see the faint tension in his jaw.
âKento,â you whispered, âwhat if I donât want you to pretend anymore?â
He inhaled sharply. His hand lifted slowly, as if giving himself every chance to stop, and cupped the side of your face. His thumb brushed your cheekbone with painstaking care.
For one suspended heartbeat, he searched your eyes. His control warring with something deeper, hotter. Then the last thread of restraint snapped.
He kissed you.
It wasnât rushed or impulsive. It was deliberate, intense, and devastatingly thorough like every decision he made. His lips moved against yours with focused precision, one hand sliding to the back of your neck while the other settled at your waist, pulling you flush against him. The kiss deepened slowly, his tongue tracing your lower lip until you opened for him with a soft sound.
You tasted coffee and restraint finally giving way.
When he pulled back just enough to breathe, his forehead rested against yours. His breathing was heavier than youâd ever heard it.
âI have wanted to do that for weeks,â he admitted quietly, voice low and raw. âEvery time I adjusted your collar. Every time my hand lingered on your back. Every unscheduled text I told myself was only logistical.â
Your fingers curled into the front of his shirt. âThen stop stopping yourself.â
He made a low sound in his throat and kissed you again, backing you gently until your hips met the edge of his desk. Papers shifted under you but neither of you cared. His hands stayed respectful but hungry, sliding up your sides, thumbs brushing just beneath the hem of your blouse.
He broke the kiss to press his lips to your jaw, then lower to the sensitive spot beneath your ear.
âThis is inefficient,â he murmured against your skin, but there was no real conviction in it. âCompletely against the original terms.â
You laughed breathlessly, tilting your head to give him better access. âThen revise them. Right now.â
He pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes were dark, glasses long forgotten on the desk, hair slightly mussed from your fingers.
âNew terms,â he said, voice husky. âEmotional attachment permitted. Private physical contact permitted. Termination clause suspended indefinitely.â His thumb traced your swollen lower lip. âOvernight stays still require mutual agreement. I refuse to lose all structure at once.â
You smiled, heart full and racing. âI can live with that.â
He kissed you once more but slower this time, savoring. Before resting his forehead against yours again.
âI am breaching my own contract,â he said quietly, almost to himself. âFor you.â
You reached up and gently removed his glasses completely, setting them aside. âGood. Because I stopped following the rules the moment you left that first coffee on my desk.â
A faint, rare smile touched his lips. The smallest curve, but it was real. He leaned in and kissed the corner of your mouth.
âThen we are both compromised.â His arms wrapped around you, holding you close in the quiet office. âStay a little longer tonight. Not overnight. Just⊠until the rain stops.â
You nodded against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear.
Outside, the city continued its endless rhythm. Inside Kento Nanamiâs office, the man who once demanded eight perfectly typed pages of boundaries had finally broken the first real rule.
And neither of you regretted it for a second.
The addendum still sat unsigned on the desk.
But the breach was already complete.
Saturday morning arrived soft and gray, the kind of quiet Tokyo weekend where the city seemed to breathe a little slower.
You woke in your own bed, the faint scent of sandalwood and Kentoâs cologne still clinging to your sweater from the night before. Your lips felt pleasantly tender, and every time you closed your eyes you could feel the weight of his hands at your waist, the deliberate press of his mouth, the low roughness in his voice when he admitted he had wanted to kiss you for weeks.
The breach had happened.
And it had felt inevitable.
Your phone buzzed on the nightstand at 8:47 a.m. right on the edge of âreasonable weekend hourâ for someone like Nanami.
Kento Nanami: Good morning. I hope you slept well. If you are free this afternoon, I would like to see you. My apartment. No debrief. No addendum. Just conversation and lunch. No pressure.
You smiled at the screen, heart doing that now-familiar flutter. Even after breaking his own most important rule, he still texted like a man drafting a careful proposal.
You: Good morning. Slept better than I have in weeks, actually. Lunch sounds perfect. What time?
Kento Nanami: 12:30. I will prepare something simple. Wear whatever makes you comfortable.
You arrived at his building at 12:25, nerves and anticipation mixing in equal measure. He opened the door at exactly 12:30, dressed in dark slacks and a soft black sweater that made his shoulders look unfairly broad. His hair was neatly styled, but there was a new softness in his expression when he saw you. It seemed less guarded, more open.
âCome in,â he said, voice low and warm in a way it hadnât been before the kiss. He stepped aside, then hesitated for half a second before leaning down and pressing a brief, almost tentative kiss to your forehead.
It was chaste. Careful. But it sent warmth blooming through your entire chest.
âLunch is almost ready,â he continued, leading you toward the kitchen. âGrilled chicken with herbs, roasted vegetables, and a light salad. I remembered you prefer lighter sauces.â
The table was already set for two. You helped carry the plates over, your hands brushing more than once. Each touch felt electric now. No longer hidden behind âpublic necessityâ or âpracticality.â
Once you were seated, the conversation started easily enough: the weather, a ridiculous story about Gojo trying to expense a luxury watch as âteam motivation equipment,â your latest text from your mother about the inheritance clause.
Then the silence grew comfortable but charged.
Kento set his fork down and looked at you directly.
âLast night,â he began, voice steady but quieter than usual, âI breached Clause 5.1. Deliberately. And I have no intention of reinstating it.â
Your heart skipped. âI noticed.â
He reached across the table and took your hand, thumb stroking slowly over your knuckles. The same deliberate touch from the office, but now without any pretense of professionalism.
âI spent most of the night reviewing my own behavior,â he admitted. âEvery coffee left on your desk. Every lingering hand on your back. Every unscheduled text I convinced myself was only logistical.â His gaze held yours, honest and intense. âI was lying to myself. The arrangement stopped being fake for me some time ago. I simply refused to acknowledge it until you made it impossible to ignore.â
You squeezed his hand. âI stopped pretending even earlier. Somewhere around the second time you adjusted my collar when it didnât need adjusting.â
A faint, rare smile touched his lips. Small, but genuine. âInefficient of me.â
âVery.â You leaned forward slightly. âSo what happens now? No more contract?â
He was quiet for a moment, considering. âThe original document is void. However, I drafted a new, much shorter version this morning. One page only.â
You laughed softly. âOf course you did.â
He stood, retrieved a single sheet from the side table, and handed it to you. The heading read simply:
Emotional attachment is permitted and acknowledged.
Private physical contact is permitted without restriction (within mutual comfort).
Public displays remain within reasonable necessity, though necessity is now broadly interpreted.
Termination requires honest discussion, not penalty.
Overnight stays subject to mutual agreement.
One standing clause: Stay as long as this remains mutual.
At the bottom, he had already signed his name in that precise handwriting.
You looked up at him, eyes soft. âYou really canât help yourself with the paperwork, can you?â
âI find it grounding,â he admitted, ears tinting pink. âBut the terms are flexible. Negotiable. I want this to be real, not another controlled transaction.â
You signed your name beneath his without hesitation and slid the paper back to him.
âThen itâs real,â you said simply.
The relief in his shoulders was subtle but visible. He stood, circled the table, and offered you his hand. When you took it, he pulled you gently to your feet and into his arms.
This time the kiss was slower, deeper, and far less restrained than the one in his office. His hands settled at your waist, then slid up your back, holding you close as his mouth moved against yours with that same focused intensity. You tasted the faint hint of herbs from lunch and something that was purely him.
When you parted for air, he rested his forehead against yours.
âI still value structure,â he murmured, voice rough at the edges. âBut I am learning that some variables are worth disrupting my entire model for.â
You smiled, fingers threading into the hair at the nape of his neck. âGood. Because I plan to keep disrupting it.â
He kissed you again. Shortee this time, but no less meaningful. Then led you to the couch. You spent the rest of the afternoon there, talking quietly about everything and nothing: your favorite books, the places in Kyoto you missed, his quiet dream of one day having a small house outside the city where the noise didnât reach.
There were more kisses. Gentle ones. Deeper ones. His hands explored with careful reverence. Tracing your sides, cupping your face, pulling you closer until you were half-draped across his lap. He never pushed further than you offered, always checking in with quiet looks or soft questions.
When the light outside began to fade, he pressed one last kiss to your temple.
âStay for dinner?â he asked. âNothing elaborate. And you are welcome to stay longer⊠if you wish. No pressure for overnight. The new clause is mutual agreement only.â
You nodded, curling closer against his chest. âIâd like that.â
As the evening settled in, the single-page ârevised agreementâ sat forgotten on the dining table.
The man who once needed eight pages of rules to feel safe had reduced everything to one simple truth:
He wanted you here.
And for the first time, he was allowing himself to have exactly that. Without fine print, without termination dates, without pretending it was anything less than real.
The evening had stretched comfortably after dinner. Soft jazz played low from hidden speakers, the city lights twinkling beyond the large windows like distant stars. You and Kento had moved from the couch to his bedroom sometime after the second glass of wineânot rushed, but inevitable, the way everything between you had become.
The single-page revised agreement still sat untouched on the dining table. Neither of you had mentioned it again.
Now, the only light in the bedroom came from a single bedside lamp, casting warm golden tones across the crisp white sheets and Kentoâs skin. He stood at the foot of the bed, watching you with that intense, focused gaze that made your pulse quicken. His black sweater had already been discarded, leaving him in dark slacks and the fitted undershirt that clung to the lean, disciplined lines of his chest and arms.
âYouâre certain?â he asked, voice low and rough, the same deliberate tone he used in every important decision. One hand reached out, fingertips tracing the curve of your shoulder with exquisite care. âWe can stop at any point. No clauses. No pressure.â
You caught his hand and brought it to your lips, pressing a kiss to his palm. âIâm certain, Kento. I want this. I want you.â
Something in his expression shifted. The last fragile wall of restraint cracking wide open. He stepped closer, cupping your face with both hands, and kissed you deeply. It started slow and intentional, the way all his touches had been, but quickly grew hungrier. His tongue traced your lower lip before slipping inside, tasting you with focused thoroughness that left you breathless.
You tugged at the hem of his undershirt. He broke the kiss just long enough to pull it off in one smooth motion, revealing the sculpted planes of his torso. Strong shoulders, defined chest, the faint trail of blond hair disappearing beneath his waistband. Your hands explored him freely now, palms sliding over warm skin and firm muscle. He made a low sound in his throat when your nails grazed his abdomen.
âBed,â he murmured against your mouth.
He guided you down onto the mattress with careful strength, following immediately after. The weight of him above you felt perfectâgrounding, protective, and undeniably arousing. His mouth left yours to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, down the column of your throat, pausing to suck gently at the sensitive spot where your pulse raced. You arched into him with a soft gasp, fingers threading into his neatly styled hair and messing it further.
Kentoâs hands moved with deliberate reverence, sliding under your sweater and lifting it slowly. He paused to kiss every new inch of skin he revealedâthe curve of your waist, the underside of your breasts, the dip between your collarbones. When the sweater was finally gone, he sat back on his heels for a moment, eyes dark and heavy-lidded as he took you in.
âBeautiful,â he said quietly, voice husky. âFar more than any model could predict.â
He lowered himself again, mouth closing over one nipple while his hand attended to the other. The sensation was electric. Slow, wet heat and the gentle scrape of teeth that had you moaning his name. He switched sides with the same meticulous care, learning exactly what made your hips shift restlessly beneath him.
Your hands roamed his back, feeling the flex of muscle as he moved. When you tugged at his slacks, he obliged, standing just long enough to remove them and his boxers in one efficient motion. He was already hard, thick and flushed, the sight sending fresh heat pooling low in your belly.
He returned to you immediately, hands sliding down your sides to hook into the waistband of your pants. âMay I?â
You nodded, lifting your hips to help him. He peeled the fabric away slowly, reverently, kissing along your thighs as he went. Once you were bare beneath him, he settled between your legs, strong hands gently parting them wider.
His first touch between your thighs was feather-light. Two fingers tracing your folds, gathering wetness before circling your clit with precise, controlled strokes. You gasped, hips bucking. Kento watched your face the entire time, cataloging every reaction with that intense focus.
âTell me what feels good,â he murmured, voice low. âI want to learn you properly.â
You did. Breathy words and soft moans guiding him. He slid one finger inside you, then two, curling them slowly while his thumb continued its steady rhythm on your clit. The pleasure built deliberately, wave after wave, until you were trembling beneath him, fingers gripping the sheets.
When you came the first time, it was with his name on your lips and his eyes locked on yoursâintense, possessive in the quietest way. He worked you through it, slowing but not stopping until the tremors faded.
Only then did he move up your body, kissing you deeply as he reached for the bedside drawer. He rolled the condom on with efficient movements, then positioned himself at your entrance, the blunt head of his cock nudging against your slick folds.
âStill with me?â he asked, forehead resting against yours.
âAlways,â you whispered.
He entered you slowlyâinch by deliberate inchâgiving you time to adjust to his size. The stretch was perfect, filling you completely. When he was fully seated, he stilled, breathing ragged against your neck.
âYou feel⊠incredible,â he groaned softly, the most undone you had ever heard him. âTight. Warm. Mine.â
The word sent a fresh spark through you. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. âMove, Kento. Please.â
He did.
His thrusts started slow and deep, each one measured and powerful, hips rolling with controlled precision that quickly grew more urgent. The rhythm built steadily. Skin against skin, the wet sound of him moving inside you, your shared breaths turning into moans and gasps.
Kentoâs hand found yours, lacing your fingers together and pinning it gently above your head. His other hand gripped your hip, angling you so every thrust hit that perfect spot inside. Sweat glistened on his skin, blond hair falling messily over his forehead, glasses long forgotten somewhere on the floor.
âLook at me,â he commanded softly.
You did. The eye contact made everything more intense. The way his hazel eyes darkened with pleasure, the faint flush across his cheekbones, the way his jaw clenched with restraint even now.
You came again with a cry, walls clenching around him. Kento groaned deeply, thrusts faltering for the first time as he chased his own release. A few more powerful strokes and he followed you over the edge, burying himself deep and shuddering as he came with your name falling from his lips like a prayer.
For several long moments, the only sounds were your mingled breathing and the distant hum of the city outside.
Kento didnât pull out immediately. He stayed buried inside you, forehead pressed to yours, catching his breath. Then he kissed you. Slow, tender, and full of everything he rarely said out loud.
Eventually, he withdrew carefully, disposed of the condom, and returned with a warm cloth to clean you both. Only after that did he pull you into his arms, tucking you against his chest beneath the duvet.
âNo overnight clause anymore?â you teased softly, tracing lazy patterns on his chest.
He huffed a quiet laughâthe sound warm and rare. âSuspended indefinitely. Youâre staying tonight. And tomorrow morning Iâll make breakfast.â
You smiled against his skin. âLook at you. Breaking every rule you ever wrote.â
âOnly for you.â His arm tightened around you, lips brushing your temple. âThe final revision has only one clause now.â
You lifted your head to meet his eyes. âAnd what is it?â
He gazed at youâsteady, warm, completely unguarded.
âStay,â he said simply. âAs long as you want. No termination date. No fine print. Just us.â
You kissed him softly, heart full to overflowing. âI like those terms.â
Outside, Tokyo continued its endless rhythm. Inside Kento Nanamiâs bed, the man who once needed contracts and control to feel safe had finally found something far better.
Something real.
Something worth every breached clause and rewritten term.
And as sleep began to claim you both, wrapped in each otherâs arms, the only remaining agreement was the simplest one:
This was no longer fake.
It was foreverâone deliberate, careful, deeply felt day at a time.
emo!choso whoâs so down bad for the most popular girl on campus...3!
a/n ~ writing miniseries is giving me life <3333 another series dooonneneeenene!
series list!
how to pull an emo guy, by you.
step one : notice him first.
that part was easy. he was hard to miss, with his height and tattoos and those lip piercings. you were dying to know if he had a tongue piercing, but the man didn't talk enough for you to be able to see.
he wasn't loud and certainly not the type to demand attention, but something about him stood out anyway. maybe it was the way he didnât try. the way he sat at the back, the quiet intensity, like he was always thinking about something deeper than whatever was happening.
you noticed him watching you before he even realized you noticed.
step two : let him think it's his idea.
the convenience store? not an accident. you'd followed him seen him head in that direction after class and walked in a few seconds after he did, casually, like you just happened to be there.
and when you said his name?
god, the way he looked at you. it was like you'd rewritten the neuron wiring in his brain.
step three : confirm the suspicion.
your name in his recent instagram searches? laughable. your handle, right there, clearly fresh enough that he'd been on it in the past day.
you pretend not to notice, of course. because,
step four : don't scare him off.
choso isn't like the other guys who orbit around you. he's much quieter, doesn't really speak. he watches you from a distance and quickly glances away like his eyes are burned when you look at him.
so, of course, you give him a smile here and there. when you sat beside him in class, you made sure your knee brushed his. you didn't miss the way he tensed slightly, or the sheen of sweat glistening across his forehead.
step five : isolate.
your place, of course. nice and quiet and just the two of you. you didn't think it would be this easy, thinking he'd need more coaxing. but he folded the second you asked.
and now?
step six: make him yours.
ââ ââ ââ â ââ
choso changes his shirt three times. again, he knows it's stupid, but every time he looks in the mirror something feels off. he ends up back where he started, with a black shirt, slightly oversized, sleeves pushed up enough to show the tattoos on his forearms.
his hair's tied again, loose and messy, because you said it looked good earlier.
he knows it's stupid, but you said he looked good. you.
when his phone buzzes, his heart jumps. it's a message from you on instagram which he opens immediately.
you: come whenever, i'm home :). here's my address.
that stupid little smiley face does something to him.
he types okay.
deletes it.
types coming now.
deletes that too.
he ends up sending on my way, and you like the message within seconds. choso exhales sharply, grabs his keys, and starts walking to your place before he can overthink himself into oblivion.
what if this is weird?
what if i'm weird?
what if she realizes i'm weird?
every step comes with a new thought. he nearly turns around twice, ready to text you that he's feeling sick and maybe you should reschedule.
his heart's beating way too fast when he actually enters your building. he texts you that he's here and you give him your apartment number. he feels the blood drain out of his face as the elevator goes up, and up, and up.
3...
4...
5...
finally, he reaches the tenth floor and finds your door, hesitating just slightly before knocking. there's a shuffle inside, quick footsteps, and choso forgets every single thought he's ever had when the door swings open.
you look good.
more than good, you look like sin. your skirt is soft, frilly, short, a barely-there fabric that shifts up your legs. a top that dips low enough that his brain trips trying to decide where to look and he settles on your face, which is even more devastating.
you're just so pretty. he's never known anybody like you before.
"hey," you say casually, smiling.
choso's pretty sure he forgets how to blink. "...hi."
smooth. incredible.
you step aside to let him in, brushing past him just enough that he catches the faint scent of your perfume, something light and addictive.
"shoes off is fine," you say, moving through your apartment to your kitchen. "anything to drink?"
"i'm okay, thank you," he manages, trying to kick off his shoes and nearly tripping over the back of one of them
"you can sit," you say, already moving toward the couch.
he nods, sitting stiffly at the far end like heâs trying to take up as little space as possible.
you, however, sit right next to him, close enough that he can feel the heat of you. "okay," you say, pulling your laptop onto your lap, tucking one leg under you, the movement shifting your skirt just slightly.
choso watches the fabric ride up your thigh and he looks away immediately, cheeks certainly pinking. he feels like a fucking creep, but your skin looks so soft.
he opens his laptop like it might save him. "so," he starts, voice tight, "we could do something about psychology in workplaces, like behavior patterns, productivityâ"
"mm." you tilt your head, considering, then you shake it. "no."
he blinks. "...no?"
"too boring," you say simply. "it's gonna make me fall asleep. we can pick something better.
he swallows, trying his hardest not to stare at how your eyelashes cast shadows against your cheekbones. "like what?"
you lean closer, shoulder brushing his arm, and when you angle your screen toward him, leaning in more, he absolutely sees down your shirt.
he jerks his gaze away so fast it almost hurts.
fuck.
fuck.
his ears are burning.
he canât tell if you noticed.
he definitely noticed (especially the edge of a baby pink bra - he stores that mental image in the back of his mind.)
"what about reward systems?" you say like nothing's happening. "like, how people respond to praise and attention, validation. stuff like that."
he forces himself to listen. to focus on the words. "you're talking about reinforcement theory," he says automatically. "positive reinforcement, conditioning behaviour through rewardsâ"
"exactly," you smile, eyes flicking to him. "but make it more...personal."
his throat goes dry. "personal how?"
"like in relationships or something," you say. "how people act differently depending on what they get back. attention...aproval."
approval.
his brain latches onto the word, and you watch him closely.
"you get it, right?"
"yeah," he says, voice cracking slightly. "um. yeah."
"we could, like, make our thesis around it," you continue, playing with your hair slightly (choso's eyes follow the movement). "how reinforcement changes our behaviour even when people don't realize it."
he nods slowly. "thatâthat would work."
"mm," you hum again, tilting your head like you're studying him. there's a pause. "do i make you nervous?"
choso freezes. "...what?"
you smile slowly. "you're kinda stiff," you say, nudging his arm lightly. "and you're kinda sorta looking everywhere but at me."
his brain abandons him. "iâi'm notâ"
"you are," you say, tracing your finger over the ink on his skin, and he shudders.
"...maybe a little," he says quietly, barely louder than a breath.
"interesting."
he risks a glance at you. your pretty eyes are on him, fully focused, and your lips seem glossier than ever from this close.
"we could test it," you say.
his heart stutters. "test what?"
"the reward system," you reply like it's obvious. "for the project."
this is not just about the project. he knows that. you know that he knows that.
"how?" he asks anyway.
you shift closer, your knee brushing his. "simple," you say softly. "you do something right...you get rewarded."
his breath catches. "and if i don't?"
you shrug, but your eyes don't leave his. "then no reward."
you adjust the sleeve of his shirt slightly, running your hand slowly, slowly up his arm. "like this," you murmur. "you showed up."
his skin burns where you touch him.
"that's good behaviour, isn't it?"
"yeah," he says weakly.
"so you get something good." you lean in, lips brushing his cheek lightly, and pull back like it was nothing. "positive reinforcement," you say, smiling.
choso's gone. he stares at you, breathing unevenly, brain struggling to catch up with what just happened. you watch every flicker of confusion across his features, the slow realization, the way his pupils are blown wide.
you like this. a lot. it does dangerous things to your heartrate.
"see?" you say lightly as if you didn't just tilt his entire world. "it works."
he swallows hard. "that wasâ"
"a reward," you finish for him, swiping your tongue across your lips with a smile.
his gaze drops for a second, just a second. "you're very responsive," you murmur.
his ears burn, and you lean back slightly with a grin. "i see you listened, by the way."
"...what?"
you gesture toward him. "your hair."
his hand instinctively goes to the loose knot at the nape of his neck. "oh."
"i told you it looked good," you say. "and you kept it like that."
there's something soft and approving in your tone that makes choso ache desperately.
âthatâs good behavior,â you add, and then you lean in and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.
his breath stutters. ââŠfuck,â he exhales under his breath, barely audible.
you pull back just enough to look at him, amused. âyouâre really easy, you know that?â
he flushes deeper. âiâm notââ
âyou are,â you say. âbut itâs cute.â
cute.
he thinks that might kill him.
your eyes drift down his arms, tracing the ink there, the lines disappearing under his sleeves. âshow me,â you say suddenly.
â...what?â
âyour tattoos.â you tilt your head curiously like youâve been waiting for this. âall of them.â
his brain stumbles again. âiââ he hesitates. â...iâd have to take off my shirt,â he admits, quieter now.
you donât even blink, you just look at him.
whatever resistance he had completely collapses. âokay,â he mutters.
and then he grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it up, off, over his head, tossing it somewhere behind him without even checking where it lands.
thereâs a split second of silence where your eyes trace over every line, every piece of ink, every detail like you're memorizing it.
choso's never felt more exposed in his life. not just physically, because your gaze lingers, slow and deliberate.
âwow,â you say softly. his stomach flips and you reach out, fingertips brushing lightly over one of his tattoos, tracing the lines.
he shudders.
âthese areâŠâ you hum, thoughtful. âreally pretty.â
pretty.
no oneâs ever called them that before.
your fingers move again, slow, curious, and he has to bite down on his lip to keep from reacting too obviously.
âgood boy.â
his brain short-circuits so violently he actually freezes. âwhâwhat,â he breathes.
you glance up at him through your lashes, smiling just a little. âthree instances of good behavior so far.â
his face is burning.
âshowing up,â you count softly, tapping his arm.
âlistening to me about your hair,â another tap, closer to his shoulder.
âdoing what i asked.â your fingers trail lightly down his chest. âso,â you finish, leaning back just enough to meet his eyes again, âyou can pick your reward.â
pick.
his.
reward.
he stares at you owlishly. âanything?â he asks, voice rough.
you tilt your head. âi'd say within reason, but i know you're a good guy.â
his eyes flick to your lips again, then back to your eyes, then away. then back. â...kiss me,â he says, barely above a whisper. âplease.â
you smile, clearly pleased. âokay.â
and then you lean in and your lips meet his properly, warm and soft and real, and choso inhales sharply against your mouth like he forgot how to breathe. he moves his lips slowly, hesitant at first, like heâs scared of doing it wrong, but when you shift closer, when your hand slides lightly up his arm, he melts into it.
his hand finds your waist without thinking and your fingers tilt his chin just slightly, guiding him, and when your lips part, he follows. you feel the faint, cool press of metal when your tongue brushes his.
you pull back just enough to look at him, eyes a little brighter now. âso you do have one,â you murmur.
he flushes hard. âyeah.â
âinteresting.â your faces are still close, breaths still mingling. âguess i was right to be curious,â you add.
choso has no idea how to respond to that. no idea how he got here.
no idea how youâre sitting this close, looking at him like that, touching him like itâs natural.
your fingers are still resting lightly against his chest, tracing absent patterns over the ink. when you kiss him again, your lips press against his slower, warmer, and choso melts into it almost immediately, like his body recognizes this before his brain can catch up.
his hand finds your waist again, more certain this time, fingers curling slightly into the fabric of your skirt like he needs something to anchor himself.
you hum softly against his mouth and it sends a shiver straight through him. your hand slides up, brushing along his shoulder, then to the back of his neck, fingers threading lightly into the loose strands of his hair falling out of the bun. you tilt his head just slightly, deepening the kiss without rushing it.
his other hand comes up, hovering for a second before settling against your side. you donât pull away - if anything, you lean closer, closing whatever space was left between you. your lips part again and he breathes you in like he's been holding his breath for hours.
time feels stretched slow, delicious. when you pull back, his eyes are unfocused, lips parted like he forgot what he was gonna say.
you smile. âsee?â you murmur, brushing your thumb lightly along his jaw. âpositive reinforcement.â
he lets out a quiet sound. ââŠthatâsââ
âeffective?â you offer.
â...yeah.â
you tilt your head, studying him again, that same curious look as before. âthen we should keep testing it.â
choso's heart stumbles. âtesting...â
âmhm.â your fingers drift back down, slow and absent but very much not accidental. âtell me. how else do you wanna prove good behaviour?â
choso's brain is not functioning at full capacity, not even close. his thoughts stumble over each other, chest rising and falling a little too fast. you're so close, still half in his space, still looking at him like you're waiting for something. for him.
ââŠi donât know,â he whispers.
âyeah, you do.â
âiââ he exhales, shaky and his hands tighten slightly at your waist before he even realizes heâs doing it. âi justââ
his eyes flick down again, and a slow smile curves your lips. âuse your words,â you say quietly.
âi wannaâŠâ he starts, then stops, jaw tightening slightly like heâs debating how much to say, how much youâll let him say.
your fingers pause against his chest, waiting.
"i wanna make you feel good," he blurts, cheeks pinking. the contrast is so stark to the inked expanse of his chest, his dark hair and dark eyes, those piercings you keep looking at.
"good boy," you murmur, kissing his cheek again, and you've officially reduced the recluse, brooding man to a stuttering mess. "you can do that, choso."
he fights back a groan and pulls your face to kiss, sighing deeply into your mouth, pushing his tongue in and tilting your jaw just so. his other hand slides down and down, pausing just at your shirt straps, and he gazes at you for silent confirmation.
you nod and the second you do he's tugging it down enough to free that pretty pink bra of yours - the one he caught a glimpse of earlier - and his heart starts racing three times faster.
"you're so pretty," he whispers before kissing down your neck slowly with a rush of confidence that makes your knees weak. you move to straddle his lap and you lace your arms around his neck, watching him through lidded eyes as he pinches your nipples over the lace.
"that's good," you murmur, capturing his lips in another kiss as his hands work at your bra, unclipping it with one hand and tossing it haphazardly across the room. you pull for a moment, amused expression crossing your face.
"you've done this before," you say, kissing up his jaw. "thought you might've been aâ"
"no!" he cuts in, flushed. "no, nope, i'mâi'm not."
"okay," you giggle, and he huffs, kneading your tits like the action will somehow relieve him.
"i've had girlfriends before," he mutters almost indignantly, and you smile again.
"as enlightening as that is, i don't see how talking about your past is helping with our proâoojjjectâ"
you choke on a moan as choso's hand slips under your skirt, thumbing over your clit and rubbing in sharp little cirles through your panties. he shrugs them to the side, running a finger through your folds before curling it up inside you at the perfect angle, jutting right against that soft, spongey spot.
"holy fuck," you garble, grabbing onto his shoulders for support as he adds another finger into your cunt, thumb still working at your clit, his other hand tweaking your nipples. the stimulation is almost too much, with choso's laser focus and furrowed brows and long, long fingers that crook into you just right.
he's got you gasping for air within minutes. if he's not thrusting his fingers into you at rapid speed he's sucking at the soft spot right under your ear. if he's not massaging your clit he's got his mouth on your tits, slathering drool over every square inch of your chest he can possibly reach.
you start to roll yourself in his lap, eager for more friction against his fingers. when he slides a third one in, muttering about how you're such a good girl for taking him so well, your vision goes white, head slumping forward against his chest as your climax peaks and crashes down on you with an indescribable intensity.
he works you through your orgasm slowly, fingers gathering up your arousal before slowly sucking them between his lips, eyes fluttering shut like he savours the taste.
you've barely recovered before his hands are back on your waist, your ass. you blink, still dazed, fingers curled loosely in his hair, and when you look up at him, he's still flushed, eyes blown so wide the pretty brows of his irises are completely gone.
"how do you respond to positive reinforcement?" he mumbles against your skin, eyes wanting. needy. "will you let me test that, too?"
đšđȘđąđąđđ§đź: when the cafe jiung visits quite regularly gets a new hire, he canât help but be subconsciously pulled in by her, and it isnât just about the coffee or sweet cookies.. itâs something sweeter.
đđđšđđĄđđđąđđ§đš: swearing, most likely inaccurate personalities, intentional lowercase, sort of love at first sight??, pure FLUFF!! mostly writing + smau, use of yn, probably a lot of misuse of punctuation, pov switches, not fully proofread
đđŸđœđđŸđđœđșđ,
jiung closed his phone, shoving it into his back pocket as he walked to the front of his apartment, grabbing and shrugging on his jacket.
he bent over to grab his shoes, his fingers supporting the heel of the shoe while he shimmied his foot into them. he grabbed his wallet and stuffed it into his pocket, then reached for his earbuds, putting them in his ears while turning on some music.
walking out of his apartment, he locked the door behind him, making a beeline for the coffee shop that was only a few blocks away.
âwelcome in!â a voice called, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. he was used to a more elderly voice, but this one was unfamiliar and young.
he looked up only to meet eyes with you. his heart fluttered wildly, you were⊠pretty. more than pretty. jiung didnât believe in love at first sight, but he did believe in fate, which is as close as it gets.
your lips curved into a smile and he paused. he must look like an idiot right now. he almost forgot he should already be at the counter by now. he offered a shy smile back, walking up to the counter to order.
âdo you know what youâd like to have or do you need some time?â you asked, standing in front of the screen you took the orders on.
he cleared his throat quietly, regaining the senses in his brain, âUhh.. iâd like an iced americano, please. twelve ounces.â he answered, his eyes flitting down towards the seemingly new display of pastries, his eyes widening.
his voice was somehow calm despite being somewhat nervous, âwoah. since when did you guys get pastries?â
you let out a small chuckle, placing his order of the americano into the device. âsince i started working. i make them.â
his gaze returned to you at your answer, feeling a warmth spread through his chest at your laugh. âthatâs awesome. can i get one of those chocolate chip cookies?â
âof course, anything else?â
he nodded, âa hot sweet tea, twelve ounces, all to go please.â he dreaded saying the last three words, but he promised keeho heâd get him that tea.
you smiled after typing in his order, âyour total is 5500 won,â
jiung pulled out his wallet, taking out the needed cash and handing it over, your hands brushing. he tensed, his heart skipping a beat but he pulled his hand away as if nothing happened at all. âkeep the rest,â
âoh, thank you.â you paused, putting the cash in the register. âname for your order?â
âah, jiung.â he gave a nod, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
âokay, iâll call your name out when your order is ready.â with that, you turned around, preparing his order with practiced ease.
jiung was sitting at the table shoved closest to the corner when he heard you call his name, his heart picking up without even meaning to.
he glanced up and quickly made his way over, grabbing the to-go box and drink carrier you provided him.
âthank you so much,â he took a peek at your name tag, committing your name to memory before turning away.
âhave a good day!â you called out, watching him leave.
đđđđđđœđșđ,
the next day, he came around again, giving you a shy smile while telling you the same order - minus the tea.
as he gave you the totaled money, he spoke, âthe cookie was really good. best cookie iâve had in a while.â
you couldnât help but laugh, shaking your head, âitâs just a normal cookie. i appreciate it though.â
when you gave him his change, he lingered for a moment, like he wanted to say something before turning away and sitting down at the closest table.
after a while, you came to his table instead of calling out his name. âhey, sorry it took so long, we got slammed all of a sudden.â you gently set his cookie and iced americano in front of him despite the rushed sound of your voice.
he shook his head, giving a reassuring smile, âno worries,â he took a sip from his americano as you quickly made your way back to the counter, gathering orders.
he paused when he saw a small writing on the small label of the cup, pulling it back to get a good look. âthank you for your patience :).â it was simple, but it was enough to make his heart stutter in his chest.
đżđđđœđșđ,
the bell above the door jingled, it was becoming a more frequent sound, and surprisingly it wasnât that annoying.
you glanced up, catching eyes with a familiar customer, jiung, that had caught your attention the past few times heâs been in. he was quiet, respectful and had very soft hands - from what you had felt from the brief second.
but he wasnât alone this time. a slightly taller, more confident guy accompanied him. they walked up to the counter, a polite smile on jiungâs face while the other was taking in his surroundings.
âhey,â he spoke quietly, âcan i get a twelve ounce iced americano aaand⊠a breakfast sandwich, please.â
you nodded, already typing the order in. you looked up when his friend spoke, âiced americano for me as well,â
just as you were about to put in the order, you saw jiung basically whip towards his friend, catching your attention.
âyouâre paying for your own,â he said it like it was non negotiable, his friends eyes widening.
âhuh?! i didnât bring my wallet!â
âwhy would you not bring your wallet?!â
âi thought this was like, your treat or something. I donât know man.â
you tried to contain your laughter at their bickering, biting the inside of your cheek to conceal it, but ultimately failed.
it seemed like it was all they needed for them to stop, their heads simultaneously turning in your direction.
jiung cleared his throat, âfine.. iâll pay,â he mumbled, a light pink hue forming on his cheeks.
he didnât say anything else as he inserted his card, letting it drain his money while his friend found them a seat.
âhe a close friend of yours?â you knew it was silly to ask, it was obvious they were close, but you wanted to talk to jiung a little bit.
he hummed, âintak? yeah. he comes in here with me occasionally. i mostly come in here with our friend, keeho, but heâs sick.â he removed his card, putting it back into his wallet.
you nodded in understanding, âaw, hope he feels better soon,â
he gave you a small smile, to which you returned, âthank you,â he reluctantly turned around, meeting his friend at the table.
once you made their drinks and jiungâs sandwich, you walked over and placed it in front of them.
âthank you,â intak said as he grabbed his drink, taking a large gulp.
you only nodded in response, looking over at jiung, who was already looking at you, but quickly looked away.
you bit back a smile on the way up to the counter.
the rest of the time they were there, you couldnât help but sneak glances at jiung until they threw away their trash and bid farewell.
âhave a good day, miss!â intak called out, jiung only raising a hand in goodbye.
âyou too!â
đđșđđđđœđșđ,
the day went by slow. each ring of the bell made your pulse spike, looking up in hopes to see jiung, only to be disappointed. you never let it show on your face though, keeping yourself professional.
it was ten minutes til closing when you heard the bell jingle again, about to politely tell them youâre closing, but you then hear their voice. his voice.
âhey, am i too late?â jiung asked, slightly out of breath as if he ran all the way here.
you looked up, unable to hide the smile that formed on your face. âa little. iâll let it slide though.â
jiung gave a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his neck, âsorry,â
âitâs fine,â you said sincerely, shaking your head, âwould you like anything? iâm about to put things away.â
he reached the counter, glancing around in thought before speaking up, âjust an iced americano, if itâs not too much to ask.â
ânever too much,â you replied, turning away to make his drink, the faint sound of the espresso machine whirring as it pulled the shots and ice clanking as you stirred it.
putting the lid on his cup, you make your way back over to him, setting the drink in front of him along with a straw. âstay here for a moment,â before he could even get a word out, you walked away, leaving him confused.
you came back with a to-go box, grabbing the last few cookies and placing them in it. he watches with raised eyebrows, about to protest while you shove the to-go box his way.
âwhatâs this? why?â he asked, gently taking the box.
âitâs the last few left, just take it.â you answered, a smile present on your face.
it made him pause, feeling heat rush up his neck, âoh, thank you. you didnât have to.â
âi wanted to,â you trailed off, then cleared your throat, âplus we wonât be open tomorrow. who else will eat those cookies?â
jiung let out a slight chuckle, grabbing his americano and the to-go box. âi guess thatâs true, huh?â
you hummed with a nod of your head, leaning against the counter. you felt a bit closer to him, the intimacy of being with a customer past closing suddenly hit you, causing your heart to beat faster. you wondered if his was doing the same.
his voice brought you out of your thoughts, âum, how much?â he asked, indicating to the stuff in his hands with the tilt of his chin.
âdonât worry about it, itâs on me.â
âi canât let you do that,â he sat his things on the counter before pulling out his wallet, taking out 3000 won and handing it over. âitâs the least i can do.â
you narrowed your eyes at him jokingly, but took the money, âthank you,â
âno. thank you. see you on monday.â he grinned, the sight almost made your legs buckle. thatâs a little overdramatic, but it really did make your chest feel warm.
you swallowed thickly, nodding a little too quickly to play it cool, âsee you monday..â you echoed though he was already out the door.
when the line disappeared one by one, it was finally his turn to order. he met your eyes, noticing how you perked up slightly. he smiled, earning one back.
âhey, told you iâd see you, didnât i?â he asked, to which you nodded to.
âyou did,â you said matter-of-factly. you leaned a little closer, âwhat can i get you today?â
he glanced around the menu, deciding to be somewhat adventurous today. âUh.. frappe?â
âwoah really? what flavor?â you asked while you typed it in.
âsurprise me,â
you raised an eyebrow but didnât question it, excited to do a surprise drink. âyou got it. anything else?â
he took out his card, nodding slightly, âuh, hot sweet tea, please.â
once you were done typing out the order, he slid his card, âiâll call out your name when itâs ready.â
âokay, thank you.â he replied with a smile before going to sit down.
it was a longer wait than usual considering the fact that there were so many customers that had been in front of him, so while he waited, he contemplated how to ask for your number without coming across creepy⊠or embarrassing himself.
he opted to doing it in a more subtle way, feeling butterflies in his stomach the more he thought about it. he grabbed a napkin and took out a pen he had brought in case. he wrote his number on the napkin before he could back out, knowing the more he thought about it the more of a possibility heâd back out.
he tensed when he heard his name finally being called out, but quickly recovered, grabbing the napkin and putting the pen away with haste before he stood up.
the walk to the counter felt like a humiliation ritual, his brain short circuiting. as you gently pushed the drinks towards him, he slid the napkin over to you as subtle as he could, though he knew you noticed it.
âthank you for the cookies the other day, they were delicious. have a good day.â his words came out in a tumble, his cheeks heating up and he quickly grabbed the drinks and turned away without waiting for a response, walking out of the cafe as if he had places to be.
đđđŸđđœđșđ,
you were behind the counter, setting up some pastries when you heard a knock. you glanced up, ready to tell them that you werenât open yet. but you saw jiung, a smile making its way onto your face without even realizing.
you quickly made your way towards the door, unlocking it before opening it, stepping aside so he could come in.
âyouâre early,â you said with a raised brow, though it wasnât mean.
âyou said come early,â he countered, grinning ear to ear. you narrowed your eyes, tapping the door before letting it go, it shutting gently.
âi did say that. you really want that cheesecake, huh?â you tease, turning away to walk to the back, jiung following behind you.
he nods even though you canât see him, âjust a little,â he answers, stopping in the doorway, watching as you walk around the room.
you chuckle, opening the fridge and taking out the cheesecake that had been sitting up for a little over six hours. âwell, letâs just hope itâs good.â you said while looking at the floor, making sure you didnât trip as you make your way out of the room.
a pair of hands grabbing your arms make you pause, you didnât even realize you were about to knock into him, let alone know he was in the doorway. you look up, your eyes locking, and you could feel the tip of your ears burning in embarrassment.
he clears his throat, stepping back to give you room, his hand scratching the back of his neck.
âsorry,â you apologize as soon as your mind caught up, feeling a bit foolish but deciding to ignore it. you tip your head towards the counter, âcome on.â
you both stepped behind the counter, you setting the box on a clear spot before opening it, revealing the cheesecake.
âwow, it looks really good.â jiung said from beside you, his eyes glued to the cake, you almost thought he was gonna drool for a moment.
you only smile, grabbing a knife and plate. you take the knife, cutting a generous piece of the cake, then set it on the plate for him.
âfor you,â you said while handing him the plate, your hands grazing, and you couldâve sworn a spike of electricity went up your arm. you did your best to ignore it, pointing to the silverware. âtake what you need, you can sit or do whatever, i have to open.â
he nods, but he looked at you as if he didnât understand a word you said. you looked away first, closing the box to the cheesecake to put it back in the fridge.
wordlessly, you started to put out some more pastries, clean off some tables and refilled the napkins on each table.
the next time you saw jiung, he was sat quietly at one of the tables, eating his cheesecake with what looked like enjoyment.
since you were basically done opening up, but still had some time to kill, you slid into the chair in front of him.
he immediately looked up, his eyes widening. âgreat cheesecake,â he spoke through a mouthful.
you giggled, the sight was kind of endearing. âiâm glad you like it. if thereâs some left inâŠ.two hours, iâll give it to you.â
âhuh? really?â he asked, a sparkle in his eyes.
âof course. if you donât mind staying here, that is.â you replied while standing up, heading over to the door, ready to open up for the day.
at the sound of silence in response, you figured he was just thinking about it, but when you turned around you were startled to see jiung right in front of you.
you could see his adams apple bob as he swallowed nervously, seemingly working up the courage for what he was going to say.
âhow would you feel about a date? tomorrow, if youâre free?â he asked hesitantly, his voice wavering slightly.
as you stood there stunned, his cheeks heated up, embarrassment flooding him instantly. âAh, itâs okay if not, iââ
âiâd love to,â you cut him off, your own cheeks flushing.
he paused, âwait really?â
âyeah,â
đđŸđœđđŸđđœđșđ,
âčâËâ§ïž”âżâàšá°à§ââżïž”â§Ëââč
a/n: ugh i had so much fun writing this i hope you like it!! đ„č
áĄà§ OFF LIMITS: Brotherâs Best friend!Satoru Gojo
áĄà§ synopsis: in which your brotherâs best friend, satoru gojo has spent years keeping his distance, treating you like the little sister heâs supposed to protect. but when your brother leaves town and asks him to âkeep an eye on you,â the careful line heâs been walking finally starts to crack. what was meant to be an innocent visit to check on you quickly turns into something forbidden and filthy, something neither of you can walk away from anymore.
áĄà§ pairings: brotherâs best friend!satoru x fem!reader
áĄà§ c. warnings: heavy yearning, heavy sexu-al tension (like super heavy!), emotional restraints, dry hum-ping, protected se-x, ti-ts play, sp-it play (?), mutual pining, did i say heavy se-xual tension? slight size kink, overstim, thigh rid-ing, we have an aftercare this time yayyyy! â word count: 7.2k+
youâve known satoru gojo since you were six years old and he was twelve, the loud, white-haired boy your older brother dragged home after school like a stray cat he refused to leave behind.
back then satoru was all gangly limbs and bright blue eyes, always stealing your snacks and letting you ride on his shoulders when your brother got tired of carrying you. the three of you became a little unit almost instantly. movie nights on the living room floor, summer afternoons at the park, late-night video games where satoru would let you win just to watch you cheer.
your brother was officially his best friend, but somewhere along the line the lines blurred.
you were never sure if satoru was your brotherâs best friend or yours. he was just⊠satoru. the constant reminder in your life who knew how you liked your ice cream and remembered your favorite color even when you changed it every month.
years passed and the dynamic shifted without anyone noticing at first. you grew up, and growing up consisted of puberty.
satoru grew taller, broader, more dangerously handsome with that lazy grin that made girls at school blush. but you stayed the little sister in everyoneâs eyes, the one who tagged along behind her brother and his best friend, the one who fell asleep on the couch between them during horror movies, the one satoru would tuck a blanket over with gentle hands while your brother snored on the other side.
everyone else thought like that but satoru. satoru noticed the changes. he noticed the way your legs got longer, the way your laugh got softer and feminine, the way your body filled out in ways that made his throat tight and his thoughts guilty. he told himself it was nothing. you were his best friendâs little sister, which meant youâre off-limits. and by off-limits, youâre a forbidden fruit he wasnât allowed to even look at for too long or he would rot you with his dirty thoughts.
nobody sensed how he started pulling away in small ways when you turned eighteen. longer gaps between visits, fewer sleepovers, more excuses about being busy with college and then with work. but he never stayed away completely. satoru couldnât.
every time he saw you he felt that familiar pull, the way his chest tightened when you smiled at him like he hung the moon for you. the way his cock would twitch traitorously when you wore those tiny shorts around the house in the summer every time he came over and god, he hated himself for it because right after heâs done, he would go home after and jerk off in the shower with his jaw clenched, whispering your name like a curse while hot water beat down on his back, telling himself it was the last time.
it was never the last time.
now youâre twenty-two and heâs twenty-eight. your brother still treats you like the kid who used to beg for piggyback rides. satoru still calls you âboogersâ sometimes, but the word tastes bitter on his tongue now.
the three of you still hang out, still have movie nights from time to time since satoru could never say no to your asking, he joins your family and still act like nothing has changed. but everything has. satoru can barely look at you without feeling the weight of all those years of wanting. he watches the way you move around the kitchen in your sleep shorts when youâre getting snacks ready for the movies, the way your t-shirt rides up when you reach for something on the top shelf, the way you laugh at his stupid jokes and rest your head on his shoulder like itâs the most natural thing in the world.
every innocent touch feels like torture. every time your thigh brushes his on the couch he has to fight the urge to pull you into his lap and show you exactly what you do to him.
this time your brother is out of town this weekend for a work trip he couldnât get out of.
he left satoru with the spare key and the casual instruction to âkeep an eye on her.â satoru laughed it off on the phone, responding with a choked âyeah, âcourse, i got you man.â but the second he hung up his mind was already spinning. he told himself heâd just check in once, maybe bring some takeout, make sure you werenât lonely and nothing more.
but fuck was he wrong, cause satoru only lasted exactly four hours before your text came through:
âmovie night? the new horror one just dropped. brotherâs gone so no one to complain about the jump scares :)â
he stared at the message for ten full minutes. then thatâs when he grabbed his keys, all thoughts starting to get pumped to his dick.
when he knocks on your door itâs a little after ten. you open it wearing your usual oversized, small ribbons printed t-shirt and those damn cotton shorts that have haunted his dreams for years. your skin is soft under the radiating light from the porch, face bare, and you smile at him like heâs the best part of your night.
shit. satoru feels his stomach drop.
âhey, you came,â you say, stepping aside to let him in. your voice is casual, warm, the kind of voice that used to make him feel safe and now makes his cock stir in his sweatpants.
âcouldnât let you watch horror alone,â he replies, forcing that tired, loose grin. he holds up the bag of snacks like a peace offering. âbrought the good stuff.â
you laugh and it hits him straight in the chest. he follows you to the living room, trying not to stare at the way the hem of your shorts teases him in front of him. the fabric riding up with every step. the tv is already on, lights dimmed, blankets piled on the couch. you settle in your usual spot, patting the cushion beside you. satoru sits, puts the snacks down onto the coffee table, leaving what he hopes is a respectful distance, but you immediately scoot closer, tucking your legs under you and leaning your head against his shoulder like always.
maybe your nickname was not supposed to be boogers but dumbass cause you donât seem to take sign on how youâre making it hard for him to stay normal and sane. or so he thought.
the movie starts. the opening credits roll. satoru tries to focus on the screen. he really does. but all he can feel is the warmth of your body against his side, the soft press of your bare thigh against his, the faint vanilla scent of your shampoo. his hand rests on the back of the couch, fingers occasionally brushing your shoulder when he shifts.
every innocent touch feels loaded tonight. the house is too quiet without your brotherâs loud commentary. itâs just you and him and years of unspoken tension hanging heavy in the dark.
halfway through the first act you stretch, arms lifting above your head, shirt riding up to show a strip of soft stomach. satoruâs eyes flick down before he can stop them, fingers twitching not to touch you and when you settle again your leg presses fully against his. he doesnât move away. instead his fingers brush your shoulder again, slower this time, thumb stroking once along your skin.
âcold?â he asks, voice quieter than he means.
you shake your head, tilting your face up to look at him. your eyes are soft in the glow of the tv. âno. just getting comfortable.â
he swallows hard. his hand drops from the couch to rest lightly on your upper arm, thumb still stroking slow circles. the touch is supposed to be casual but it isnât. at least thatâs what satoru knows.
the movie keeps playing but the man sitting next to you is not really watching anymore. the air between you feels thicker, warmer, charged with everything youâve both been pretending doesnât exist for years.
satoruâs jaw clenches. he can feel his cock starting to thicken in his sweatpants, the traitorous heat building low in his gut. he tells himself to stop. he tells himself youâre his best friendâs little sister. he tells himself a lot of things.
you shift again, turning slightly so your knee brushes his thigh. and lord knows how heâs struggling not to make a sound, especially when your voice is barely above a whisper when you speak.
âsatoru?â
he looks down at you, blue eyes dark in the low light. âyeah?â
you bite your lip, just for a second, and the small movement sends another rush of blood straight to his cock.
âyouâve been really quiet tonight.â
fuck.
he forces a laugh, but it comes out strained. âam i?â he asks. âjust focused on the movie.â his reply doesnât satisfy you and you donât look convinced so your hand rests lightly on his chest, right over his heart. âliar.â you call him out.
liarâŠ
the sting of the word is heavy because satoru is not the only one suffering alone here, youâre a liar as well. and youâre pretending none of this is eating you alive when thatâs exactly how itâs been for you since satoru came to your house.
youâve been stiff as a board since the moment you sat down, even though youâre trying so hard to act normal. you can feel it in the way his shoulder has gone tight under your cheek, the way his breathing isnât quite as steady as usual, the way his long fingers keep flexing against the couch like he doesnât know what to do with them.
the tv flickers soft blue light across both of you, painting shadows over his sharp jaw and the faint flush creeping up his neck, but youâre not watching the movie anymore. youâre watching him, noticing every detail.
your hand stays light on his chest, right over his heart, and you can feel how fast itâs beating under your palm. thump-thump-thump, way too quick for someone whoâs supposedly just chilling on the couch. you shift a little closer, letting your bare thigh press more firmly against his â testing water â and thatâs when you notice it full.
the soft, heavy bulge under the dark blue-black sweatpants heâs wearing. itâs not fully hard yet, but itâs definitely there, thickening slowly against the loose fabric, the outline just visible every time the tv screen flashes brighter. your stomach flips, heat pooling low between your legs because you did that. youâre doing that to him right now, just by sitting here in your tiny shorts with your head on his shoulder like you always have.
the tension sits thick and heavy between you, wrapping around every small movement. every time you breathe, your chest brushes his arm.
every time he shifts, his thigh presses harder against yours. the air feels warmer than it should, like the room itself is holding its breath along with both of you. you can smell his cologne mixed with the faint mint from his gum, and underneath it all something warmer, something that makes your mouth water.
satoruâs hand on your upper arm hasnât stopped moving. his thumb keeps stroking those slow, careful circles, but now each pass feels heavier, more deliberate, like heâs fighting the urge to slide his whole palm down your skin.
you tilt your head up a little more, letting your breath fan across the side of his neck. his jaw clenches. you watch the muscle jump, watch the way his adamâs apple bobs when he swallows. the bulge in his sweatpants twitches again, growing thicker, the fabric starting to tent just enough that you can see the clear shape of him.
your own body reacts instantly, a warm rush between your thighs, your nipples tightening under the thin t-shirt. youâre suddenly aware of how little youâre wearing, how your shorts exposed so much skin the bottom curve of your ass is almost showing, how your shirt keeps slipping off one shoulder no matter how many times you fix it.
satoruâs fingers tighten on your arm for half a second before he forces them to relax. his breathing has gone shallow. you can feel the heat pouring off him, the way his thigh muscles are locked tight under your leg. the movie keeps playing, some girl screaming on screen, but none of you flinch and the only sound that matters is the quiet hitch in his breath when your knee accidentally nudges higher up his leg, brushing right against the side of that growing bulge.
he doesnât pull away. he stays perfectly still, like moving even an inch might break whatever fragile control he has left.
you bite your lip, heart hammering so loud youâre sure he can hear it. the flush on your neck is spreading, warm and prickly, and a tiny bead of sweat is already forming at the small of your back. you feel sticky and hot and aching, and all youâve done is sit here with your head on his shoulder.
the years of quiet âwantingâ press in harder tonight, sharper because your brother isnât here to act as a buffer. itâs just you and satoru and the heavy, suffocating knowledge that youâre both thinking about the same thing.
satoru clears his throat suddenly, the sound rough and forced. he shifts, moving his arm from around you, and stands up in one quick motion. his sweatpants do nothing to hide how hard he is now, the thick outline pressing obviously against the front, the fabric stretched tight. he keeps his back half-turned to you like that will somehow fix it.
âuh⊠i need some water,â he mutters, voice low and strained. âor a coke. something cold.â
you sit up slowly, fixing your shirt so it covers your shoulder again, but it doesnât help much. your skin feels too warm, a light sheen of sweat already making the back of your neck sticky. your cheeks are flushed, you can feel the heat in them, and between your legs youâre starting to get embarrassingly wet, the thin cotton of your panties clinging to you. you swallow, trying to sound normal even though your voice comes out a little breathy.
âoh yeah, okay. itâs in the fridge. you know your way around.â
satoru nods once, still not fully facing you, and heads toward the kitchen. his shoulders are stiff, steps a little too deliberate, like heâs forcing himself to put distance between you. you stay on the couch, legs pressed together, heart still racing and satoru disappears into the kitchen.
you stay on the couch, legs pressed tight together, trying to calm the flutter between your thighs. the movie is still playing but the sound feels distant, like itâs happening in another room. you can hear him open the fridge, the soft clink of a can, the quiet hiss when he cracks it open. a few seconds later he walks back in, coke in one hand, the other rubbing the back of his neck like heâs trying to shake something off.
heâs too distracted to consider bringing you one.
he looks at you for a long moment before he sits down again, this time leaving a little more space between your bodies but it doesnât help.
the air still feels charged, heavy with everything neither of you has said out loud. you notice the way his sweatpants still sit a little awkwardly, the thick line of his cock not fully softened, pressing against the fabric every time he shifts, manspread awkwardly.
your own skin is warm and sticky, a faint sheen of sweat on your neck and between your breasts, your nipples tight and sensitive under the thin t-shirt.
satoru takes a long sip of the coke, throat working, then sets the can on the coffee table. when he leans back against the couch his arm brushes yours again, and this time he doesnât pull away. his fingers find your shoulder once more, but instead of the casual thumb strokes from before, his whole palm settles there, warm and heavy.
it seems heâs calmed a bit.. which means youâre the one whoâs suffering hundred percent.
âyou okay?â he asks, voice low, a little rough around the edges.
you nod, but it feels like a lie. âyeah⊠just warm in here.â
his eyes flick down to the flushed skin of your neck, then lower to where your shirt has slipped off your shoulder again. he doesnât say anything, but his thumb starts brushing the bare skin near your collarbone. the touch is slow, almost absent, but it sends heat straight down your spine. you shift like youâre under a spell without thinking, your bare thigh sliding against his again, and this time your knee nudges right against the side of his cock through the sweatpants.
satoru inhales sharply. his hand slides from your shoulder down your arm, stopping at your wrist. his thumb presses lightly against your pulse point, feeling how fast your heart is racing.
âyouâre shaking,â he murmurs.
âso are you,â you whisper back.
the only light flickering on both of you is the glow from the tv, casting soft blue and white across both of you. satoru turns his head to look at you fully, blue eyes dark and conflicted, pupils blown wide as if heâs high. his free hand comes up, hesitating for half a second before he cups the side of your face, thumb brushing your lower lip.
âthis is a bad idea,â he says, eyes dancing over your lips but he doesnât sound convinced. his voice is thick, breath warm against your mouth.
âthen why does it feel so good?â you have no idea how words are forming in your mouth when your brain disconnected from your tongue a long time ago, and the only option you have is leaning into his touch.
he lets out a quiet, broken sound, half groan, half sigh. his thumb presses a little harder against your lip, parting it slightly. you part your lips more, letting the tip of his thumb slip just inside, brushing against your tongue. satoruâs eyes flutter for a second, jaw tight.
âfuck⊠youâre killing me.â
you suck gently on his thumb, just enough to make his breath hitch. his other hand slides down to your waist, gripping the fabric of your shirt like heâs anchoring himself. the tension snaps slowly, like a rubber band stretching thinner and thinner until it finally gives.
satoru pulls his thumb from your mouth with a wet sound and replaces it with his lips. the kiss starts soft, almost careful, lips sliding together warm and slow. but the second you make a small needy sound in the back of your throat he deepens it, tongue licking into your mouth, hot and hungry. years of holding back pour into that kiss, all the stolen glances, all the guilty nights in the shower, all the times he told himself no.
his hands slide down to your hips, gripping firmly as he pulls you sideways until youâre straddling one of his thick thighs. the moment your core settles over the hard muscle you both moan quietly into the kiss. your soaked panties press right against his leg, the thin cotton already clinging to your folds from how wet you are. satoruâs fingers dig into the soft flesh of your ass, guiding you into a slow, rolling grind.
you start moving. slow, deliberate rocks of your hips that drag your swollen clit along the firm muscle of his thigh. every pass makes the fabric of your shorts and panties rub against you, the friction hot and slick and perfect. each roll pushes more wetness out of you, soaking the cotton until it clings transparently to your pussy. satoru groans low in his chest when he feels the damp heat spreading across his thigh, his cock twitching hard in his sweatpants, the thick head nudging against your inner thigh with every grind.
he breaks the kiss with a wet sound, lips shiny, breathing ragged. his mouth trails down your neck, sucking softly at the sensitive skin, then lower, until his lips brush over your collarbone. when he reaches your chest he doesnât push your shirt up. instead he closes his mouth around one of your pebbled nipples right through the thin fabric.
the sensation is immediate and filthy. his tongue swirls slow and heavy over the stiff peak, soaking the cotton instantly. warm spit seeps through the material, making it cling to your breast, turning the white fabric translucent.
he sucks gently at first, then harder, pulling your nipple deeper into his mouth while his tongue flicks fast and wet. the wet patch grows, dark and shiny, the outline of your hard nipple completely visible through the soaked shirt. every pull of his mouth sends sharp sparks straight to your clit, making your hips roll faster against his thigh.
âmmh⊠fuck,â he groans against your chest, the vibration traveling through the damp fabric. âlook at you. letting me cover you with my spit. your bodyâs so fucking readyfor me already, yeah?â
he switches to the other nipple, sucking it deep into his mouth with a wet, obscene sound. more drool collects from the corners of his lips, smearing down the front of your shirt in shiny trails, soaking the fabric until both your tits are glistening and see-through. the cool air hits the wet patches and makes your nipples ache even more, stiff and sensitive under his relentless mouth. he keeps sucking noisily, alternating between slow, deep pulls and quick flicks of his tongue, you could swear his spit is probably dripping down your stomach now, making the front of your shirt stick to your skin.
youâre grinding harder, hips rolling in needy little circles, clit dragging over his thigh with every movement. the friction is slick and constant, your soaked panties sliding against the hard muscle, the wet sounds of fabric rubbing together mixing with the filthy noises his mouth makes on your chest. your hands are in his white hair, tugging gently, soft whimpers and gasps spilling from your lips every time he sucks particularly hard.
satoruâs cock is throbbing visibly in his sweatpants, the thick ridge pressing insistently against your inner thigh, leaking enough that a small dark spot has formed at the front. every time you grind forward the head of his cock nudges closer to your core, teasing you both with how close he is to where you both desperately want him to be.
he pulls back just enough to look at the mess heâs made. your shirt is completely ruined, plastered transparently to your tits, nipples dark and shiny with his spit, little droplets still sliding down your stomach. his eyes are heavy-lidded, breathing ragged, lips swollen and wet.
âso fucking pretty,â he murmurs, voice rough and low. âyâknow how iâve been dreaming about marking you up like this for years? look how filthy i got you⊠your brother will fuck me up.â
he leans in again, mouth latching back onto your nipple through the drenched fabric, sucking harder while his hands grip your ass tighter, helping you grind faster against him. the wet, messy sounds fill the room â his mouth sucking noisily, your slick panties sliding over his thigh, both of you breathing hard and shaky.
the tension is thick and suffocating, every slow grind and every wet kiss pushing you both closer to the edge without either of you saying it out loud yet.
after what feels like euphorically forever, satoru pulls back from your chest with a wet pop, lips shiny and swollen, eyes heavy as he looks at the absolute mess heâs made of your shirt.
his breathing is ragged, chest rising and falling fast under his hoodie, and for a second he just stares at you like he canât believe this is real. then his hand slips down, fingers dipping into the pocket of his sweatpants, and he pulls out a small foil packet. the condom glints under the dim light, and you raise a brow, lips parting in quiet surprise.
he catches the look and just shrugs, a lazy, almost sheepish tilt of his shoulders, causing your cheeks flushing darker. âhad to,â he mutters, voice low and rough, like the words are being dragged out of him. âcouldnât risk it. not with you.â
you let out a soft, cheeky laugh, the sound breathy and teasing even though your heart is hammering. âyouâve always wanted to fuck me, huh?â
satoruâs brows knit together instantly, that familiar stern little frown pulling at his face, but his eyes stay dark and hungry. âthatâs a vulgar word, boogers,â he says, the nickname slipping out like habit, but thereâs no real bite to it. he leans in and presses a soft, almost tender kiss to the tip of your nose, lips brushing there gently before he pulls back just enough to look at you again. âi want to make you feel good. thatâs all.â
you groan, half playful, half frustrated, and swat your hand lightly against his chest. âstop calling me boogers, toru. seriously!â
he just hums, low and warm, the sound vibrating through his chest as his hands slide to your hips. he helps lift you a little higher on your knees, giving himself room, and shoves his sweatpants and briefs down in one smooth motion. they pool around his calves, leaving his thick cock springing free, heavy and flushed, the head already glistening.
he tears the foil packet open with his teeth, the sharp sound cutting through the quiet room, and the sweet strawberry scent of the condom fills the small space between your bodies, fruity and almost too innocent for how filthy this feels.
satoru rolls it down his girthy tip first, jaw tightening as the latex stretches over him. a soft, broken whimper slips out of him when the cool material slides along his sensitive head, his hips twitching once before he rolls it all the way to the base with steady fingers. the condom sits snug, shiny and strawberry-sweet, the faint pink tint of it catching the tv light. he looks up at you then, eyes dark and solemn, waiting.
his hands move to your shorts and panties next, hooking into the waistband and sliding them down your thighs together in one slow tug.
you lift your hips to help, and the soaked fabric peels away from your pussy with a wet sound, leaving you completely bare from the waist down. he doesnât stop there. his fingers catch the hem of your spit-drenched shirt and peel it up and off, tossing it somewhere on the floor. now youâre completely naked in his lap, skin flushed and glowing under the flickering light, tits still shiny with his dirty work, pussy glistening and swollen from all the grinding.
satoru is still mostly dressed, only his hoodie on, sweatpants and briefs shoved down to his calves, the contrast making everything feel even unholy. he licks a bold stripe across his palm, tongue dragging slow and wet, then reaches between you and swipes the slick hand over your folds. the touch is warm and deliberate, fingers spreading your wetness, thumb brushing your clit once before he grips the base of his cock and guides the thick, condom-covered head to your entrance.
he presses in slow, so slow, the blunt tip stretching you open inch by careful inch. his brows knit tight with concentration, eyes locked on your face, watching for any flicker of pain or discomfort. you feel every thick ridge as he sinks deeper, the stretch burning sweet and full, your walls fluttering around him.
your eyes start to haze, lashes fluttering, jaw going slack as the overwhelming sensation of being filled by him hits you. your breathing stutters, lips parted on a silent gasp, completely detached for a moment while your body adjusts to the heavy, girthy length pushing inside.
satoru knew you were small compared to him but never did he think youâd be struggling to fit his fat cock in your tight cunt this much.
satoru stays perfectly still once he bottoms out, hips flush against yours, breathing hard through his nose. his hands grip your waist tight, thumbs stroking soothing circles on your skin as he waits, watching the way your eyes glaze over and your jaw hangs open. the strawberry scent mixes with the sharp smell of your arousal, the room quiet except for the low hum of the credit scene of the horror movie and the sound of both of you trying to breathe through the intensity.
âcan i move?â he asks, voice low and calculated, almost a whisper, like heâs afraid to break the moment. his brows are still knitted, waiting for any sign from you.
you canât find words right away. instead you just tap his shoulder once, twice, a small, mute signal that youâre okay, that you want this. satoru exhales shakily, relief and hunger mixing in the sound, and he starts to move.
at first itâs slow, careful rolls of his hips that drag his thick cock along your walls, the stretch burning so good it makes your breath hitch. you start grinding down to meet him, hips rolling in small, needy circles, your slick coating the base of his cock and smearing messily over the soft, dark trail of hair that runs from his navel down to where he disappears inside you. every grind leaves a shiny trail of your wetness glistening on his skin, the wet sounds squelching in the quiet room.
youâre vocal in little bursts, whispers of his name slipping out between shaky breaths. âsatoru⊠toruâŠâ the words are breathy, almost reverent, filling the living room like a secret. your hands slide up his hoodie, fingers digging into his chest as you grind harder, chasing the friction, the fullness, the way he fills you so completely.
âtoo big.. youâreâ toru, fuuuck,â you cry out.
satoru leans back against the couch, arms dropping to his sides for a moment, face going almost numb with pleasure. his blue eyes are half-lidded, lips parted, white hair messy and falling into his face as he watches you ride him. he looks completely under your spell, like the sight of you naked and grinding on his cock has short-circuited his brain. the curve of his cock jerks inside you when you desperately grab his hand and bring it to your tits, pressing his palm against the soft, post spit-slick flesh.
that seems to snap him back. his face shifts from dazed to focused in an instant, intention clear in the way his jaw tightens. he wants to make you feel good. thatâs all he cares about right now.
âi got you, yeah? âm here.â
he braces himself, planting his heels firmly on the floor, one arm wrapping tight around your hips while the other hand stays on your breast, fingers tweaking and rolling your nipple between them. then he starts fucking up into you. the first thrust is deep and powerful, hips snapping up so his cock drives into you harder, the angle perfect, the thick head rubbing right against that spongy spot inside you that makes your vision spark.
âthatâs it, baby,â he murmurs, voice wrecked but steady, focused entirely on you. âfeel good? tell me if itâs too much.â
he sets a rhythm, slow at first but building, each upward thrust meeting your downward grind, the wet slap of skin on skin growing louder. his arm around your hips keeps you steady, guiding you, while his fingers keep playing with your nipple, pinching and tugging just enough to send sparks straight to your clit. every time he bottoms out you whimper his name again, softer, breathier, your slick continuing to smear over his happy trail and the base of his cock, making everything messy and shiny.
satoruâs eyes never leave your face. he watches every twitch of your expression, every time your lips part on a moan, every time your eyes flutter. his whole focus is on you, on making sure every thrust feels perfect, on drawing out those little whispers of his name until they turn into broken cries. he fucks up into you with controlled power, the condom sliding slickly inside your soaked pussy, sweat mixing with the sharp smell of sex.
he leans forward slightly, mouth finding your other nipple again, sucking it into his mouth through the remnants of dried spit still on your skin, tongue swirling while he keeps thrusting. the dual sensation â his cock dragging inside you and his mouth on your breast â makes your back arch, a louder moan spilling out this time.
âgood girl,â he breathes against your wet skin, voice low and praising. âtaking me so well. just let me make you feel good, yeah? thatâs all i want.â
his hips keep snapping up, steady and deep, the arm around your waist holding you down so you take every inch while his fingers keep working your nipple and his mouth keeps sucking the other. the living room fills with the wet sounds of him fucking into you, your soft whispers of his name, and the heavy breathing of two people who have waited years for this exact moment.
satoru keeps that steady, deep rhythm, hips rolling up into you with controlled power while his mouth stays busy on your tits.
every upward thrust drags his thick, condom-covered cock along your walls, the head catching perfectly against that spot inside you that makes your toes curl. his arm around your waist holds you down on his cock, the wet slap of skin meeting skin growing louder, messier, your slick continuing to smear over his happy trail and the base of his cock until the dark hair glistens with it.
he switches between sucking one nipple and tweaking the other with his fingers, tongue swirling slow and wet, spit dripping down your chest in shiny trails that catch the flickering tv light.
youâre riding him but barely, your hips grinding in small, desperate circles while he does most of the work, fucking up into you with deep, purposeful strokes that make your breath hitch every single time he bottoms out. your hands clutch at his hoodie, nails digging into the fabric as soft, broken whispers of his name keep slipping out â âtoru⊠satoruâŠâ â the fruity scent of the condom mixes with the sharp smell of sex, filling the dark living room until itâs all you can breathe.
your legs start to twitch first. the muscles in your thighs quiver against his sides, small, uncontrollable tremors that travel down to your calves.
satoru notices immediately. his eyes flick down, watching the way your knees shake beside his hips, the subtle way your body is starting to tighten and flutter around him. a low, knowing hum vibrates in his chest and he shifts beneath you, sliding one arm under the knee closest to him. with a smooth, effortless motion he hooks it up and presses it toward your chest, folding you open even wider while youâre still on top of him.
the new angle spreads you so much more, your pussy stretching tighter around his cock, the head dragging harder against that perfect spot with every thrust.
you gasp sharply, the sound cracking in the back of your throat as the deeper penetration hits you all at once. satoruâs other arm stays banded around your waist, holding you steady, and now heâs fully in control even though youâre on top. he fucks up into you with stronger, deeper strokes, hips snapping with purpose, the wet squelch of your soaked pussy taking him echoing louder in the quiet room.
âcâmon, youâre gonna bless me, baby?â he murmurs against your neck, voice rough and focused. âcome on my cock, there you go. you just gotta feel it.â
your riding turns sloppy, hips stuttering as the pressure builds fast and overwhelming. your legs tremble harder, the one heâs holding to your chest shaking visibly. your walls start to flutter and clench around him in tight, rhythmic pulses, your slick gushing out around the base of his cock with every thrust. satoru groans low when he feels it, but he doesnât slow down. he keeps driving up into you, steady and relentless, the arm under your knee keeping you spread wide and open for him.
you come hard.
your whole body folds forward suddenly, chest pressing against his as a broken, whining cry tears from your throat, your mouth is open and breathing straight into his mouth. your pussy clamps down around his cock in strong, pulsing waves, gushing wet and hot around him even through the condom. tears slip down your flushed cheeks, eyes squeezing shut while you sob his name in soft, overwhelmed whimpers â âtoru⊠fuck, toruâŠâ â your hips jerking and twitching uncontrollably as the orgasm crashes through you.
satoru keeps fucking you through it, slower now but still deep, drawing out every pulse and every shaky sob. his hand on your waist rubs soothing circles while the other keeps your leg folded to your chest, holding you open so he can feel every flutter and gush. he presses soft kisses to your temple, your wet cheek, murmuring quiet praise against your skin as you tremble and cry in his lap, completely spent and folded against him.
tsatoru holds you close through the last trembling waves of your orgasm, his cock still buried deep inside your fluttering pussy. he presses gentle kisses to your damp temple then your flushed cheek, his hand rubbing slow circles on your back while you come down.
âiâm.. fuck, youâre so good to me.â the way he grunts those words out shows you heâs not done yet.
his grip tightens on your waist and under your knee, and he starts fucking up into you again â deeper than you thought was possible. each thrust is slow, powerful, and deliberate, driving his thick cock so far inside you that you swear you can feel him in your stomach.
the new angle has the head of his cock pressing right against that spot with every upward snap of his hips, stretching you open wider, filling you fuller than youâve ever been filled. the wet, filthy sounds of him plunging deep into your soaked pussy echo in the quiet living room, your slick leaking out around the base of his cock and dripping down his balls with every thrust.
âshit⊠so deep,â he groans against your ear, voice wrecked and low. âcan you feel me, baby? feel how deep iâm getting? thatâs it⊠take every inch.â
he fucks you with long, grinding strokes, hips rolling up hard and steady, the arm under your knee keeping you folded and spread so he can bury himself to the hilt every single time. your body jolts with each thrust, tits bouncing against his chest, soft cries and whimpers spilling from your mouth as the overstimulation turns into another building wave of pleasure.
satoruâs breathing grows ragged, his thrusts turning sharper, more desperate, the slap of skin on skin getting louder as he chases his own release.
âgonna come,â he pants, forehead pressed to yours, blue eyes dark and hazy. âgonna fill you up⊠fuck, you feel too good.â
he drives in deep one last time, hips stuttering as he buries himself as far as he can go.
âfuuuck,â a low, broken groan tears from his throat as he comes hard, cock pulsing thick and hot inside the condom while he grinds against you, drawing out every last spurt. his whole body trembles under you, arms locked tight around your frame as he empties himself, the strawberry-scented latex stretching with every heavy pulse.
for a long moment the only sounds are your shaky breathing and his quiet groans. he stays buried deep inside you, holding you close, the leg he had hooked to your chest gently lowered back down so you can relax against him. slowly, carefully, he pulls out, tying off the condom and setting it aside before he gathers you fully into his arms.
satoru shifts so youâre both lying on the couch, your smaller body draped over his chest, his hoodie soft against your bare skin. he pulls the blanket from the back of the couch (you didnât notice that was there from the beginning.) over both of you, tucking it gently around your shoulders. one hand strokes slow, soothing lines up and down your back, the other cradling the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair.
âyou okay?â he murmurs, voice soft and rough at the same time. he presses a kiss to your forehead, then your nose, then your lips â gentle, lingering kisses that feel like apologies and promises all at once. âdid i hurt you? was it too much?â
you shake your head against his chest, still catching your breath, and he hums in quiet relief. he keeps touching you. slow strokes along your spine, gentle kisses to your shoulder, his palm rubbing warm circles over your lower back where youâre still a little sore. every touch is careful, tender, like heâs trying to memorize the way you feel in his arms now that the line has finally been crossed.
and now that his time with you is very limited. by limited:
âyour brother told me to keep an eye on you,â the topic feels heavy already when he says it after a while, a small, tired smile tugging at his lips as he looks down at you. his fingers keep tracing lazy patterns on your skin. âif this is what it takes⊠so be it.â
so be the risk of making the person, his person whom he lovâ
realization hits and splashes on satoru like a bucket filled with water and ice. satoru loves. satoru loves you. he is in love, satoru loves someone who is a very much forbidden person.
he pulls you closer, wrapping both arms around you fully, the thought of your brother finding what he did to you can be stressed over for later, what matters now is your naked body tucked safely against his mostly-clothed one. the tv is still playing a new trailer for next movie faintly in the background, completely ignored.
satoru holds you like that for a long time â warm, steady, protective â pressing soft kisses to wherever his lips can reach, murmuring quiet praises and gentle nonsense until your breathing evens out and your eyes start to drift shut.
âtoru, do you think this is okay?â your voice is muffled with how youâre both tangled together. he doesnât reply at first so you take it as a sign to continue. âwhat are we gonna do after this? what if my brotââ
âiâve got you,â he cuts you off with a whisper against your hair, one last kiss pressed to the top of your head. âalways have and nothing will happen, just take some rest and weâll deal with it tomorrow.â
he can feel your body relaxing the moment he says that and satoru smiles a little, his heart swelling of fonding.
the living room feels smaller and warmer now, the weight of years of tension finally settling into something softer, something real, as satoru keeps holding you close under the blanket, his hand never stopping its gentle strokes along your back before he himself is dozing off from reality.
feeling too tired from his post nut session his brain is blank.
guys am i made for long fics or should i just stick to my regular short drabbles/blurbs? I WANT TO KNOW!
âYou donât understand do you? You donât understand what youâre doing to me.â
| Dom!Jongseob x sub!fem reader ËËË
An argument blew out of proportion a while ago and you having âtoo much funâ with your best friends at a party leave his mind spirallingâŠ
â«â«â«â«â«â«â«â«â«â«â«â«â«â«
Word count- 2k
-arguments, alcohol mentions, rough(?)sex, consent is sexy.
{i am proud of this oneâŠ
Thank you for the request @babygoblinn <3
- Lia}
âââââ
The room was full of alcohol, sweat and noise.
Your head fought back at the on-going bass and interactions with people, the garden being the only place you could retreat to find a moment of space.
A moment of peaceâŠit would be possible if your friend group didnât cling to you like paper and glue.
Drinks in hands, giggling away as they messily singed songs, arms over eachothers shoulders.
âWhy wont you dance with us?â Keeho whined at you.
âCome on, youâre always trying to evade us⊠why do you even come to parties anyway?â Jiung joined in the chorus of complaints to you.
You rolled your eyes at them.
Why did you come to parties anyway?
You never saw him again after the argument you had outside the studio, a petty fight that turned sour not to your own fault. He just tends to take things too literally.
An argument that could be solved with a few more words. Completely blown out of proportion.
Since then, parties are the only place where you can see him without directly talking to him.
You donât answer the boys, you simply turn your head back to the exit.
Jongseob just stood, peering at you somewhat secretly from the kitchen.
That is why you go to parties.
Your stare was broken when Keeho dragged you to dance with him on the rough wooden decking which was not kind to your feet in heels.
Hand in hand, you twirled around him with as much elegance as you could muster. But you felt good. You hadnât felt this beautiful in a while, your hair flowing perfectly and your body complementing the dress that lay over it. You felt ethereal, and dancing with your best friend was somehow making you feel even more beautiful.
You and Keeho went back and forth between giggling at each other and hiding ur head in each-others shoulders out of embarrassment and swaying to the music together.
The cold air and the music made you feel like you were in a daydream.
Jiung joined in the dance behind you, now sandwiched in between your two best friends rocking back and forth.
You were in full view right in front of the window where Jongseobs sly gaze was still fixed on you, now filling with rage.
âHey Iâm going to fill up my drink again ,okay? I wonât be more than a minuteâ you said, gently pushing Keeho out the way.
You heard a voice calling to you
âCome onnn~â Keehos voice echoed as you stepped away.
Your demeanour changed as you walked inside, no longer giggling and fumbling around.
More drinks were on the table in the dining room, head high and confident, you walked over to help yourself to more.
You went up to pick up the glass bottle of wine, which was almost empty.
Your wrist was grabbed away from the neck of the bottle before you could wrap your grip around it.
A hand pushed your shoulder, turning your body around.
Your gaze met Jongseobs.
His eyes were glazed with frustration , his face expressionless.
His eyes were talking for him.
âWhat the fuck?!â You yelped in shock as you scoffed at his attitude.
He hasnât said a word to you since the argument, and this was how he broke the silence?
âWhat are you doing with them? Why are you enjoying yourself so much? Acting like a whore with your best friends?â He yelled at you over the music. Thankfully no one else heard, your eyes scanned the room to see everyone transfixed on something or someone else. You didnât want to cause a scene, but you knew he did.
âA whore? Excuse me? I just wanted to dance.â Wrist breaking free from his grip, you yanked it back to your side.
Your breath got heavier. A whore? Thats all he could insult you with, you found it pathetic.
âYou donât understand do you? You donât understand what youâre doing to me.â His tone quietened and a blush grew on his face.
Your anger shifted to confusion at the crimson face of the boy you were never more than a friend with. Even though friend was questionable when you always hinted at stuff around each other. It was never really casual, it was pretty obvious you both had feelings for each other.
âDo to you? What? I donât understand what youâre saying Seobâ you laughed, he couldnât be serious.
He grabbed your wrist again, dragging you down the hallway which was deserted as everyone had joined Keeho and Jiung outside to dance together.
He pushed you against the wall, harsh enough to get a gasp out of you.
âYouâre letting them have their way with you, i dont want them having what i thought was mineâ Jongseob growled.
Your eyebrows furrowed.
âYours huh? You havenât been around me for weeks because you took it too farâ you cooed, a finger on his chest pointing to him just to rub it in more.
His hands fixed on your waist before you had the foresight to move away from the wall.
This couldnât be happening.
âYou know Iâve been in love with you. I thought i always made it obvious. I thought you felt the same,âHis lashes batted at you.
âI just never admitted it. I thought you were joking about it all.â
âThatâs not true Seob⊠i just-â
Your words cut off as his lips met yours.
Words would never admit how long you had also felt the same about him.
All that mattered is that you finally felt that you had come clean. With action.
Your hands moved to his head, pulling his hair and parting the kiss which made him groan.
âCome onâ He said, his glance turning to the open bedroom.
You understood, immediately pacing behind him.
He slammed the door shut, locking it behind himself with speed.
âSince you want to act up so much, show me what you can do. Youâre mine now and you know itâ growled Jongseob, youâd never seen him like this and it was infatuating to see. So desperate, so different.
âTell meâyou whispered as you walked him back into the door. Arms either side of him, faces almost against each other.
âTell me what you want since you want to have your way so badâ
Your breath grew hot, still not living the fight down; it felt good to get your word in. And since he wanted to start another unwarranted battle with words between you two, it felt like you were rubbing it in even more.
His hands met your chest, you still pinning him against the door as his eyes looked at the floor.
You stumbled back almost comedically, him pushing you back with urgency.
âGet on the bed. Now.â He demanded.
His eyes stared you down as you complied with him, not wanting to further any more trouble.
You kicked your heels off and sat up against the headboard.
âGood.â
He followed you upon to the bed, his hair perfectly falling in-front of his face.
âWhatâs gotten into you?â Scoffed from your lips, trying to keep a nonchalant tone as you watched him move your legs apart.
âMe? You were acting all needy out there. Im just putting you back in your place sweetheartâ he said slyly.
âI was just dancing, you know thisâ
He wouldnât take this for an answer, using it as his excuse to finally fuck you after suppressing it for years.
His fingers pressed onto the bottom of your dress which clung to your thighs.
âUp.â
âHow much longer are you going to demand st-â
He grabbed your hips and forced your dress up over them, pulling it off you completely.
âJust listen baby.â He whispered, laying you back down and crawling on top of you.
âIt will work out better that wayâ
His voice was deep, a tone you had never heard from him.
You felt so different, submissiveness so strong that you were shocked he could pull it out of you, of all people.
Your body language shifted obvious enough for him to sense the energy shift. He wasted no time taking advantage of this, bringing your faces close again as his eyes mapped you out.
âGuess we better be quick, donât want them wondering where youâve ended up do we?â He prodded you.
You simply whimpered a hum in response as he pulled away from you, allowing for you to lay down.
He appraised the red lingerie set you were wearing, running his fingertips over the lace as you sighed at the contact.
âPlease-â The desperate tone of your voice made him act, taking his own clothes off in desperation.
You were not the only one who needed his attention to your horniness. He needed you too. He was the one who started this. So he would be the one to fix it, evident by the fact he pushed your panties to the side with no mercy.
Seeing him so clearly ravenous for you was empowering, all his anger was directed towards your pleasure, it felt selfish. You didnât feel guilty anymore for your argument. You were glad.
His fingers moved from teasing your thighs to your lips, you taking them into your mouth without him even asking.
âMmhm, just like thatâ he giggled to himself.
His fingers didnât last long in your mouth, trailing them down your body to meet your core.
âHow badly do you want it baby? Tell meâ him reiterating your previous words to him just asserted more dominance onto you.
âSo bad, Seob you know how bad i want itâ
All you could do is plead, moving your hips against his stationary fingers to feel anything.
âNeedyâ he said, finally releasing the tension as he pushed his fingers into you. They curled instantly, emitting a moan in response from you. This told him all he needed to know. His speed mustered up quickly, you had no time to adjust to his pace.
The room filled with moans and whines, not doubting for a second that other people could hear you.
But your mouth wouldnât be filled with shame.
He pulled out of you, sensing your desperation in the way your body shook at his touch. You rolled your eyes at him and sighed.
âDonât start with the attitude baby, you know better than thatâ he said, lining himself up with you.
His hands grabbed your hips, you yelped as his nails dug into them.
âThen fuck me how youâve always wanted to Seob, since you started itâ your confidence staying low even though your cockiness covered it.
He just laughed in response, he pushed into you slowly as you gasped at the feeling. It felt amazing considering he was playing with you for 10 minutes straight. The relief was euphoric.
His momentum built, removing his hands from your hips and lowering himself onto his elbows to be closer to you. You kept eye contact, knowing this was what he wanted- you couldnât break it.
Your moans complemented each other as they echoed off the walls, both vocal as each other.
The passion in Jongseobs thrusts faltered as he threw his head against your shoulder , whispering out something you couldnât make out.
âCome on- say itâ you forced yourself to say, you too struggling to put any words together.
âSo fucking good babyâ his once demanding voice turning desperate and breathless.
His eyes met yours; he drilled into you with force, leading you to dig his nails into his back.
Throwing your head back, you could sense you were close as you tightened around him.
âSeob please- pleaseâ you choked out the pathetic begs.
âI know, me too. Cum for me babyâ
His permission was appreciated, granting both of your orgasms to happen in tandem.
Your breathing heavy, he pulled out and rolled to the side of you.
Together, you lay in silence. Your breathing returned to a steady pace.
âYou better not have any more problems with me nowâ you laughed as you pushed yourself up off the bed to fetch the dress that had been carelessly thrown away earlier.
Jongseob followed, picking up his own clothes.
The noise outside the room was louder, the music playing heavier than it had been.
