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 romantically…at least that’s 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. I’m not sure how long this is going to end up being but we shall see!
no one could say your boyfriend — kei tsukishima — 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 : “kei, it wasn't even a second.”
kei : “not what i asked, put it back… please”
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 — 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 — it has to be right now, when you're already going.
you : “you don't even need to pee!”
kei : “how are you gonna tell me what i need to do?”
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 it’s 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 ?
☆ 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 !
👤 PROFILES : you and the besties. // theo and friends.
synopsis ▸ 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 it’s not something he’s keen on admitting to. you’ll just have to break him into confession—but that’s exactly what he wants, isn’t it?
δ — 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 ▸ anon, anon, 🐰 anon
ᯓ an — 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.
And tonight, it seems his little quirk is at an all time high. For what, you’re not entirely sure.
For what it’s worth he’s 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.
“Can we go?”
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 that’s gathered by the snack table.
You don’t 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.
It staves him off for a little—until he starts to slide his fingers under the hem of your top.
You immediately latch onto his wrist to stop him, whipping your head back to fix him with a glare.
“Can you not?” You snap under your breath so only he can hear you among the chatter and the music.
He gives you a displeased look. “It’s been two hours.”
“And? The party doesn’t end until ten.”
His frown only deepens, brows furrowing further. “You didn’t tell me it would be that long.”
You resist the urge to roll your eyes as you shoulder him off your back. “It’s a dinner party. What did you expect?” You ask, your steadily growing ire only a small spark away from fusing.
“But I’m bored,” he all but whines, pressing himself against your back once more.
You take a deep breath. Normally you’d find him cute. But you’ve 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 cute—it’s borderline irritating.
“Tae,” you start slowly, unlatching his hands from your waist. “You agreed to come to this a month ago. It’s too late for you to be complaining about it.”
He actually has the nerve to roll his eyes at you. “Clearly I would have said differently if I knew you were just going to ignore me all night.”
You grit your teeth, narrowing your eyes at him. “I wouldn’t be ignoring you if you weren’t acting so insufferable.”
His eyes flash at your sharp words. “Excuse me for being upset that my darling wife is neglecting me.”
“Why are you being so needy?” 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.
Taeyang doesn’t bother to put up any pretense as his anger surges steadily. “I wouldn’t have to be so needy if you would pay me some attention but it looks like that’s just too much to ask—”
“Stop,” you hiss under a breath, your hand squeezing down on his wrist.
Taeyang’s 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 you’re overreacting.
But then he smiles at you, one that’s deceitful enough to border on being icy.
“Call me when you’re done,” he says coldly, prying his hand from out of your grip before turning and making for the kitchen.
You watch his back as he goes, breathing in slowly to calm your rushing veins.
“Whatever,” 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.
Except for Jongseob, who nudges your shoulder with his. “Hey,” he says when you meet his worried gaze. “Everything good?”
You put on your best smile, shaking your head. “All good. He’s just a little cranky.”
Jongseob glances over your shoulder, brows raising at whatever he seems to find. You don’t have to look to know. You can practically feel Taeyang glaring at the back of your head.
“Right…” He murmurs. “Cranky.”
The next few hours go without interruption, but that doesn’t mean Taeyang doesn’t make his displeasure known to you in other ways.
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.
By the end of it, you’re exhausted from trying to ignore him.
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.
“Hey!” You call to Taeyang, taking the wine glass from his unsteady hand when he turns to look at you with bleary eyes. “Let’s go home.”
“Whaat?” He scoffs, breaking into a disbelieving laugh as he tries to reach for the glass again. You only pull it further away from him. “Noo not yet! I’m having too much fun!”
You’re sure your exasperation shows clearly on your face. “Are you kidding me? You were begging me earlier to go home.”
“And then you yelled at me and blew me off,” he pouts, words slurred as he tries to lean further for the glass, only to lose balance and nearly topple himself onto you.
You quickly wrap your arm around his waist to steady him on his feet. “That’s enough, Tae,” 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.
“You’re soo unfair,” he huffs, stumbling along beside you.
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.
Irritation doesn’t even begin to describe your state of mind.
“What has gotten into you?” You scold as you try to buckle him in, only for him to try weasel out from under the straps.
“You ignore me,” he states, then lets out a little cry when he realizes he’s gotten himself tangled up in the seatbelt. He then turns his head petulantly away from you. “Now I ignore you.”
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.
You married a giant baby.
You slam the passenger door shut with a little too much force before rounding over to the driver’s side, getting in without another word.
The drive home is quiet but the car is brimmed with simmering tension.
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.
You hate the way that it makes you feel guilty. Maybe you took it a little too far with the scolding but it’s not like he was making the situation any better by egging you on.
“You’re not being fair, Taeyang,” you mumble as you turn into your neighbourhood.
He bristles in his seat, lifting his head to turn and stare at you.
“I’m not being fair?” He asks, and you can already feel the argument brewing. “All I did was try to talk to you.”
“Bullshit,” 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. “You were just riling me up.”
He laughs drily, a sharp noise that grates at your nerves. “Yes, because everything revolves around you. Sorry, princess, for not heeding to your every demand.”
The sardonic words make you slam on the brakes, hastily putting the car in park so you can reach over for him.
Taeyang barely has the time to react before you grab onto his tie, pulling him over the console. He’s yanked with a yelp, face pulled just an inch short from yours. You look pissed.
“Taeyang,” you start slowly, voice quivering with what he knows is barely concealed rage. “I don’t know what the hell has gotten into you, but you need to cut it off before I lose my shit tonight.” 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.
He swallows, the movement shifting the tie tighter around his neck when you tug it to pull him just a little closer.
He should listen. He should back off.
But he’s never seen you so upset with him before. And he can’t help but wonder just how far he can push before you really make him pay for it.
Like an idiot traipsing into a lion's den, he leans forward, pressing in close like he’s about to kiss you. He sees you lean like it’s instinct, then stops, just a breath away from your lips as he whispers, “Lose it then.” Your eyes darken impossibly, and he only feels himself get harder. “See if I give a damn.”
There’s a fist around his throat, a pressure that holds him down with a strength he’s 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. “What the hell has gotten into you?”
A soft noise gets caught in his throat and breaks, his head feeling a little airy at the pressure around his neck.
He wishes he could answer, but he doesn’t have one.
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.
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.
The realization makes you so dizzy you’d think you were the one that’s been drinking.
You squeeze around his throat once before pushing him back, reaching over to hastily untangle him from the seatbelt. “Get inside.”
𓆩⟡𓆪
Taeyang has been under you plenty of times before—but 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.
You’d think it would be enough to force the brat out of him. But it’s a persistent devil that seems to grow stronger with each orgasm you deny him of.
The white button-up on him is undone and mussed, giving way to the smooth, muscled planes of pale skin that’s now marred with red lines from your angry nails.
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.
But when you pull off of him just before that itch can be satisfied, he lets out a loud curse. “Please—no!” He yells, body jerking from the lost sensation as you leave him cold and coiled tight.
His legs tremble under his slacks that you couldn’t 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.
“Are you begging me, Tae?” You coo, smoothing your hands down his twitching thighs, the cotton of his slacks heated under your palms.
He takes a sharp breath, throat bobbing around a tight swallow. “No,” he says, voice gruff and airy. “‘M—mm—not…”
He winces again when you circle your finger lightly over the sensitive, purpling head of his dick. “Fine with me,” 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. “Then you don’t get to cum.”
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. “Fine,” he snaps, wrists wringing under the ties as he squirms to try to move away from you. “Let me go then.”
“No,” 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. “I don’t want to.”
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.
“I think you’re right where you want to be,” you muse, giggling when he turns his head away from you with a huffy breath.
“Where I want to be is asleep,” he grumbles, breaking off with a yelp when you dig your thumb into his tip.
“You’re such a fucking brat, Taeyang,” you scoff, twisting your fist around his tip just to watch him whine in pain. You want to watch him cry, but he’s far too stubborn to let that happen. “I should’ve known you’d be completely insufferable like this.”
“If I’m so insufferable, why don’t you just let me—go, fuck!”
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.
“Fuck you!” 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, palpable—but so is the undeniable lust.
“Only if you behave,” you tease, then bend down to suck his tip into your mouth just as your hand livens up again to fist him.
His body grows taut, back bowing off the bed as he lets out these high, frantic little whines. You can tell that he’s 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.
“No—you can’t—you’re so fucking rude,” he babbles, sentences broken and barely intelligible as he writhes and sputters under you, his body restless.
But you’re too caught up in the tears that line his lashes, glistening and taunting as they hang there with the last dregs of Taeyang’s restraint.
“C’mon, Tae,” 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. “Just tell me, pretty. You wanted this all night, didn’t you?”
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.
You grin at the sight, as his eyes grow even more distant and even more dazed. “You wanted me to get you like this,” you state, sliding your hands up his thighs and over his abdomen, staying far from his crying cock. “You wanted me to treat you like a filthy little whore, didn’t you? And you thought the only way to get what you wanted was to get me mad?”
He lets out a quiet little whine when you click your tongue in disappointment.
“You could’ve just asked me, but you’re too proud for that, aren’t you? How’s your pride doing now?”
When he doesn’t answer you, you reach up to grab his jaw and snap his head towards you.
“Answer me.”
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.
He still doesn’t say anything, but he does let out a soft little whine that nearly absolves him of everything.
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.
He lets out another one of those sweet little noises, canting his hips up in a silent, needy question.
“Say please,” you urge him gently.
But when he turns his head away again in refusal, all your softness washes you.
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.
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.
Your breath hitches at the sight of free falling tears, of needy eyes and quivering lips.
“Please,” he whispers so quietly that you nearly miss it.
You nearly give in to the simple plea. But you need to pay him back for every bit of torment he’s given you tonight.
You swallow down the manic greed that rushes to your head, not wanting to give it too much reign or you fear you won’t come out of this with your husband still intact.
“Please what?”
He sobs, a quiet cry of your name through his plush, shaky lips. “Want to cum,” he whimpers, his hips giving these needy, unstable little bucks that you’re not sure he entirely has control over. “P-Please let me cum… I’ll be good f’r you…”
Oh, he’s gone. So, so far gone.
“Please,” he whines again, high and needy when all you do is stare at him. “Please, please no more, please just fuck me—need it—mm!”
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.
“Good boy,” you whisper against his mouth, reaching down to grab him and slide him through the wet mess of your folds. “See? Was that so hard?”
He bristles under the sensation, immediately rocking up to seek out more.
And you don’t 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.
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.
You shouldn’t be surprised when thick ropes of his cum paint you deep and fill you to the brim with just how much he’s been holding back.
But that doesn’t 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.
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.
It feels heavenly, has you moaning out low and sweet with every thrust. But for Taeyang, it’s painful and it’s too much. Yet he still doesn’t safeword out.
“Yeah?” You laugh breathily, looking down at his twisted expression, all fucked out and twitching with overstimulation. “You got what you wanted, didn’t you?”
He barely has the mind to nod, blinking slowly like he’s hanging onto consciousness, his eyes a little cross eyed as he tries to keep them open and on you.
“Tap out then,” you challenge him, rolling your hips with grinding thrusts over his softening cock. “Or are you so sick in the head that you want the pain too?”
When he lets out a whine, bordering on a sob, you know you’ve hit the nail on the head.
You lean down, bracing your elbows on either side of his head to slam your hips down over his, fucking him back to hardness—you can feel him growing inside you, twitching and insistent.
“Didn’t know you were such a painslut, Yangie,” you coo, gasping softly when you feel him buck up into you despite his weakened body. “Yeah? You like being my little whore?”
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 you’re not sure he would be able to even think of what to say even if he wanted to.
“Aw,” 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. “Dumb little bunny, too fucked out to talk?”
You slow down, clamping down tight on him to feel his body jerk weakly under you.
“It’s okay, bunny.” You press a kiss to the corner of his lips, sighing when you feel him twitch inside of you at the nickname.
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.
SYNOPSIS: It started as a contract with Nanami Kento—neat 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 you—it feels like he’s 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. You’re 28, darling. The inheritance clause won’t wait forever.
The “nice boy” was 34, balding, and had once asked you if you “even liked money” while staring at your chest. The inheritance clause was worse: your late grandmother’s will had a lovely little stipulation that the family estate in Kyoto would only transfer to you if you were “in a stable, committed relationship” 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, “I should just hire an actor. Or a very convincing cardboard cutout.”
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 wasn’t a balance sheet.
“Late night again?” he asked, voice low and even, the way he always spoke—like the world was a meeting he was politely enduring.
You offered a tired smile. “Trying to outrun my mother’s matchmaking schedule. She’s got me booked for Sunday brunch with a man who collects vintage staplers.”
Nanami’s eyebrow twitched. The closest thing he ever got to a laugh. “Sounds riveting.”
The elevator rose in silence for three floors. Then, without looking at you, he said, “You’ve been distracted for three weeks. It’s affecting the projections you submitted for the Osaka merger. Three decimal places off on the risk assessment.”
You blinked. “You noticed that?”
“I notice everything.” He adjusted his cuff. “It’s inefficient.”
Before you could defend your honor, the elevator opened onto the executive floor. Nanami didn’t step out. Instead, he pressed the button to hold the doors and turned to face you fully.
“I have a proposition,” he said.
Your stomach did a small, confused flip. Nanami didn’t do propositions. He did contracts, spreadsheets, and quiet disapproval of Gojo’s quarterly “team-building” 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 you’d 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. “Is this… a fake dating contract?”
“Precisely.” He said it like he was confirming a quarterly tax filing. “My reasons are practical. The board is finalizing the shortlist for Vice President of Strategic Finance. They have an archaic preference for ‘well-rounded’ 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 Gojo’s more idiotic initiatives.”
He paused, adjusting his glasses. “Your reasons, I assume, involve the aforementioned inheritance clause and the parade of stapler enthusiasts. I overheard your phone call last week. You were… emphatic.”
Heat crawled up your neck. “You heard me threaten to set my mother up with a Tinder profile for senior citizens?”
“Word for word.” The tiniest flicker of amusement crossed his face—there and gone like a shooting star. “It was creative. Also loud.”
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 Nanami’s 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 “a mutual error in judgment.”
At the bottom, in Nanami’s 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 weren’t just another line item.
“This is insane,” you said, but your voice was softer than you meant it to be. “You’re literally handing me a legal document for fake dating. Who does that?”
“Someone who values structure,” he replied. “And someone who noticed you’ve been taking the long route to the break room every afternoon to avoid the marketing team’s pitying looks. You hate pity more than you hate overtime. I respect that.”
A small, surprised laugh escaped you. “Did you just… compliment me?”
“I stated a fact.” But his ears went faintly pink. He cleared his throat. “There is one additional clause I added this afternoon. Section 12. It is non-negotiable.”
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. “You actually wrote ‘no awkwardness in the copy room.’”
“It’s where 68% of office scandals begin according to HR statistics.” He was completely serious. “I refuse to be a statistic.”
The elevator dinged again, impatient. Someone on the floor outside cleared their throat loudly—probably 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 didn’t 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. “You don’t 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.”
He paused. For the first time, his voice lost a fraction of its polish. “And… I will not let this become complicated for you. You have my word.”
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 him—tall, unflappable, the kind of steady that made the chaos of your life feel momentarily manageable.
You took the pen he offered.
“Fine,” you said, signing your name with a flourish that was 40% bravado and 60% sheer exhaustion. “But if Gojo finds out and turns this into a company-wide betting pool, I’m blaming you.”
Nanami’s lips twitched—almost a smile. “He already knows. He called it ‘the most Nanami thing I’ve ever witnessed’ and tried to expense the contract paper as ‘team morale supplies.’ I declined.”
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.
“Saturday, 18:30,” he reminded you as the doors opened. “Do not be late. Punctuality is clause 2.1.”
You stepped out, heart doing things it had no business doing over a business arrangement. Over your shoulder, you called back, “What if I wear something inappropriate just to test your ‘public necessity’ clause?”
He didn’t even blink. “Then I will adjust your collar like the contract allows and remind you, very politely, that I have an eidetic memory for fine print.”
The doors closed between you.
You stood in the empty lobby, contract burning a hole in your bag, and realized two things:
One—you had just agreed to fake-date the most controlled man in Tokyo.
Two—you 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 you’d 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: I’m 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 “I make responsible financial decisions.” 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 once—quick, professional, but thorough.
“You’re on time,” he said, voice low and even. He opened the door for you with the same efficiency he used to review spreadsheets. “The dress is appropriate. The color suits you.”
Heat prickled at your cheeks. “Was that a compliment or a risk assessment?”
“Both.” The corner of his mouth lifted by a fraction of a millimeter. It might have been a smile in another universe. “Compliments build rapport. The contract allows for them in private settings if they serve the illusion.”
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 couldn’t resist. “So… what’s the agenda for tonight? Hand placement chart? Approved topics of conversation? Should I have studied your family tree?”
He tucked his phone away and turned toward you slightly. “My 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.”
You groaned. “Gojo knows? Already?”
“He cornered me in the executive lounge yesterday and called it ‘the most entertaining HR violation since the great coffee machine incident of 2023.’ He promised to behave.” Nanami’s tone suggested he believed this about as much as he believed in lottery tickets. “My mother is observant. My father less so. He’ll mostly talk about golf and the Nikkei index. Smile, stay close when required, and let me handle the heavy lifting. We’ve been ‘dating’ 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.”
You blinked. “You… made up a backstory already?”
“It’s in the addendum I emailed you this morning. Section 3.2.” He actually looked mildly surprised that you hadn’t memorized it. “Details prevent inconsistencies.”
You pulled out your phone and opened the email. Sure enough, there it was. A neatly formatted document titled “Relationship Narrative v1.2.”
A laugh bubbled out of you before you could stop it. “Nanami, you’re terrifyingly good at this.”
“I prefer ‘thorough.’” He adjusted his cufflink. “Inefficiency leads to complications.”
The car eventually pulled up to a sleek modern residence in a quiet upscale neighborhood. Nanami’s 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 you’d 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 wasn’t 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 he’d rolled out of bed wearing it.
Nanami’s hand stayed at your back as he guided you through greetings.
His mother was elegant, sharp-eyed, and immediately warm. “Kento finally brings someone home! You must be the one who finally got him to leave the office before 9 p.m.”
You smiled, leaning slightly into Nanami’s side because the contract said public necessity. “I’m trying my best, Mrs. Nanami. He still brings work home in his briefcase, though.”
She laughed. His father clapped Nanami on the shoulder. “Good choice, son. She’s got spirit.”
Then Gojo descended like a beautiful disaster.
“Nanamin~!” he sang, slinging an arm around Nanami’s shoulders before Nanami could sidestep. “And 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.”
Nanami’s expression didn’t change, but his hand pressed a fraction firmer against your back. “Gojo. Behave.”
“I am behaving! I only told three people you two are disgustingly cute together.” Gojo’s bright blue eyes sparkled with mischief as he turned to you. “So, tell me. Does he do the thing where he takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose when you’re being ‘illogical’? It’s his version of foreplay, I swear.”
You bit your lip to keep from laughing. “He does it when the projections are off by more than 0.5%. It’s very sexy in a stressed accountant kind of way.”
Nanami exhaled through his nose—the closest he ever got to a sigh. “We’re leaving if you continue.”
Gojo gasped dramatically. “You wound me! I’m just happy for my favorite work husband and his new work wife.”
Haibara appeared at your elbow, grinning wide. “You two are adorable. Nanami-san actually smiled yesterday when he mentioned you. I thought the building was haunted.”
Nanami’s ear tips went faintly pink. He steered you away from the growing audience with practiced smoothness, murmuring, “Ignore them. They thrive on chaos.”
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 course—he’d noted it somewhere). His fingers brushed yours during the exchange.
For a moment, it was just the two of you.
“You’re handling this well,” he said quietly, eyes scanning the room before settling back on you. “Better than expected.”
“High praise.” You took a sip, then teased, “You’re 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.”
His gaze flickered—something unreadable passing behind the glasses. “It serves the purpose.”
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 hadn’t been strictly necessary.
“Practical,” he added, voice lower. “Your hair was out of place.”
“Right,” you whispered, heart beating a little faster. “Very practical.”
The rest of the evening passed in a blur of polite conversation, shared plates (he remembered you disliked overly sweet canapés and quietly swapped one off your plate), and stolen glances. Gojo tried to rope you both into a ridiculous toast about “corporate love,” which Nanami shut down with a single raised eyebrow. Shoko cornered you later and murmured, “He’s different around you. Less… Nanami.” Then she winked and wandered off.
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.
“Thank you,” he said. “The evening was successful. No inconsistencies noted.”
You smiled up at him. “Same time next week? Or do I get a performance review first?”
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.
“Text me when you’re inside,” he said finally, stepping back. “Safety clause 14.3.”
You nodded, throat suddenly tight. “Goodnight, Nanami.”
“Goodnight.”
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 he’d expected.
Sunday morning brought soft sunlight filtering through your curtains and the undeniable realization that you had spent far too long replaying last night’s tiny moments in your head.
The way Nanami’s hand had rested at the small of your back.
The brief brush of his fingers against yours when he handed you the champagne.
How he’d 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. “It’s fake. It’s literally typed out in black and white. Get a grip.”
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 he’d 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 Nanami’s apartment building in a quiet, upscale residential area. The building itself was sleek and modern—clean lines, no unnecessary ornamentation, exactly what you’d 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 “relaxed Nanami”—charcoal 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.
“On time,” he noted, stepping aside to let you in. “Good.”
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 volumes—mostly 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.
“No clutter,” you observed, slipping off your shoes. “I’m impressed. My place looks like a paper explosion happened.”
“Clutter affects focus,” he replied, closing the door behind you. “Would you like water? Coffee? I have the beans you prefer from the office break room.”
You raised an eyebrow. “You bought my favorite coffee beans?”
“It was efficient. We will be spending time together for the next six months. Preparing in advance prevents last-minute inconveniences.” He moved to the kitchen with that same measured grace. “Lunch 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 month’s team dinner.”
You followed him, leaning against the island. “You remember that?”
“I remember relevant details.” He didn’t look at you as he checked the oven, but his voice was quieter. “It’s practical.”
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 Gojo’s latest expense report (“He tried to claim a mechanical bull as ‘leadership training equipment.’ I rejected it.”).
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 again—annotated.
“Overall, yesterday’s performance was satisfactory,” he began, voice professional. “Your interactions with my mother were natural. The chemistry appeared believable. Gojo’s interference was… contained.”
You leaned back, amused. “High praise. What were the deductions?”
He flipped a page. “Minor. You laughed a little too loudly at Gojo’s joke about the coffee machine incident. It drew unnecessary attention. Also, when Haibara commented on my ‘smile,’ you looked at me for 2.3 seconds longer than optimal. It could be interpreted as fondness.”
“Fondness,” you repeated, trying not to grin. “The horror.”
Nanami’s gaze lifted to meet yours. “This arrangement requires precision. Any perception of genuine attachment could complicate termination.”
“Right.” You crossed your arms, the teasing slipping out before you could stop it. “Because heaven forbid someone thinks you actually like spending time with me.”
He paused, pen hovering over the paper. For a moment, the room felt heavier. Then he continued, tone even. “It is not about liking. It is about maintaining boundaries. The contract exists for a reason.”
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. “Hey. Relax. It was just one evening. We’re both adults. I’m not going to catch feelings and ruin your precious structure overnight.”
His hand stilled under yours. He didn’t pull away immediately. Instead, his fingers tensed—just slightly—before he slowly withdrew, placing the notebook on the table between you like a shield.
“Physical contact is limited to public necessity,” he reminded you, voice lower than usual. “We are alone. This is private.”
The words were correct. The delivery was… strained.
You pulled your hand back, cheeks warming. “Sorry. Force of habit from last night, I guess. Your hand was on my back for half the evening.”
He adjusted his glasses, a tell you were starting to recognize as discomfort. “That was required.”
Silence stretched. Not uncomfortable exactly, but charged. Something like the air before a summer storm.
Nanami cleared his throat. “Moving 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.”
You nodded, but a small rebellious spark ignited in your chest. “Got it. Strictly business.”
He stood, signaling the debrief was over. You followed him to the door, slipping your shoes back on.
At the threshold, he hesitated. “Thank you for coming today. The lunch was… adequate?”
“It was perfect,” you said honestly, smiling up at him. “You’re a surprisingly good cook, Nanami.”
For a second, his expression softened for a fraction. Then the mask returned. “Practical skill. One must eat efficiently.”
You stepped into the hallway, turning back one last time. “See you Monday at the office?”
“Monday,” 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. You’re 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.
— 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 Nanami’s 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. He’d 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. I’ll wear the navy dress again unless you have objections, Mr. Contract. Also, thanks again for the coffee yesterday. Very efficient. ☕
No reply came immediately. You set the phone down and tried to focus.
By 11:30 a.m., the office had descended into its usual controlled chaos. Haibara Yu bounded into the open-plan area carrying a tray of pastries from the café downstairs, his tie already loosened and his grin infectious.
“Emergency sugar delivery!” he announced, setting the box on the central table. “Nanami-san rejected the last batch because the sugar-to-flour ratio was ‘suboptimal.’ I figured we’d bribe the team instead.”
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. “Heard you survived the Nanami family gathering. Impressive. Most people tap out after twenty minutes of his mother asking about retirement plans.”
You laughed softly. “It wasn’t that bad. His dad mostly talked about golf handicaps.”
Shoko’s eyes narrowed with lazy amusement. “And Nanami? Did he do the protective boyfriend act? Hand on the waist, brooding stares across the room?”
Before you could answer, a deep, even voice cut through the chatter from the hallway.
“Haibara. Those pastries better not contain trans fats. The last batch raised everyone’s projected medical claims by 0.8%.”
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. “All clear, sir! I checked the ingredients. Pure indulgence, zero efficiency violations.”
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.
“Your section of the Osaka report was thorough,” he said, voice pitched for professionalism but carrying that quiet weight you were starting to recognize. “The sensitivity analysis on interest rate fluctuations was… well done.”
Heat rose to your cheeks. A compliment. In public. From Nanami.
“Thanks,” you managed. “I stayed late Friday to refine it. Figured you’d notice the decimal places anyway.”
His lips twitched, barely. “I always do.”
Shoko watched the exchange with half-lidded interest, popping the last bite of her croissant into her mouth. “Cute. You two should just make it official and save HR the paperwork when Gojo inevitably finds out and throws a party.”
Nanami adjusted his glasses, expression unchanging. “It is official. We are dating.”
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. “Wait, seriously? Since when? I thought you were joking about the staring during budget meetings!”
“Five weeks,” Nanami replied without missing a beat. He glanced at you, and for a fraction of a second, his eyes softened behind the lenses. “She tolerates my schedule. I tolerate her refusal to alphabetize her inbox.”
You bit back a laugh. “It’s organized chaos. There’s a difference.”
The rest of the afternoon passed with stolen glances across the floor. Once, when you stood to refill your water, Nanami’s path crossed yours near the copy room. His shoulder brushed yours—accidental, surely—but he didn’t step away immediately. Instead, he murmured low enough for only you to hear, “The navy dress is acceptable for the 18th. However, if you choose something with a lower neckline, I may need to adjust it for ‘public necessity.’”
Your breath caught. “Is that a threat or a promise, Nanami?”
“Observation.” His voice dropped another notch. “Efficiency requires preparation.”
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 he’d 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 he’d said your report was “well done” today…
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.
“No addendum tonight,” he said once you were seated, almost apologetically. “I realized after sending the text that it could wait until tomorrow. This is… not strictly necessary.”
You raised an eyebrow, heart doing that annoying little flip again. “Breaking your own rules, Nanami? Careful. Clause 9.1 says immediate termination for complications.”
He poured you a glass of sparkling water without being asked. “It is not a complication. It is… practical. You worked late. Food is required.”
The meal was simple—pasta 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 “the club angle was inefficient.”
You laughed, and for once, he didn’t correct the volume. Instead, his gaze lingered on your smile a moment too long.
Halfway through dessert (shared tiramisu, because he claimed splitting was “optimal portion control”), your phone rang. Your mother’s name flashed on the screen.
You silenced it quickly, but Nanami noticed.
“Answer if you need to,” he said quietly.
You shook your head. “She’ll just ask if I’m still single and remind me the clock is ticking. I’d rather enjoy this.”
A small silence fell. Then Nanami set down his spoon.
“Tell her we are attending the Kyoto estate review together next month,” he offered, voice steady. “It satisfies the clause without fabrication. I can accompany you if the timing aligns with the contract period.”
Your fork paused mid-air. “You’d do that? Meet my family? That’s… beyond the agreement.”
He adjusted his glasses, ears faintly pink under the warm lights. “It is an extension of the public necessity clause. Nothing more.”
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.
“Thank you for the company,” he said. No mention of efficiency this time.
You turned to face him fully. The contract screamed in the back of your mind—no 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.
“See you tomorrow, Nanami,” you whispered.
He didn’t move away. For three full seconds, his hand rose halfway—as if to cover yours—before he caught himself and lowered it.
“Goodnight,” 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 you’d 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 “girlfriend” 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 once—slow, deliberate—before he opened the car door.
“The dress remains appropriate,” he said, voice low. “Though the adjustment requires monitoring.”
“Monitoring?” You slid in, the leather seat cool. “Is that contract-speak for ‘I noticed’?”
He joined you, closing the door with a soft thud. “It is contract-speak for public necessity. If anyone comments, I will adjust it accordingly.”
The drive to Le Jardin—a sleek, upscale French-leaning restaurant in a quiet Ginza-adjacent building with garden-inspired elegance—passed 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 “prior engagement” (code for avoiding small talk), but Haibara was attending as marketing support.
“You look composed,” Nanami observed as the car slowed. His hand rested on the seat between you, close but not touching. “Nervous?”
“A little,” you admitted. “This feels more official than the family thing. Work people know us separately.”
He turned slightly toward you. “Then we give them no reason to question. Stay close when required. I will handle the conversation flow.”
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 he’d wandered in from a fashion shoot.
“Nanamin and his better half! Finally! I was starting to think the rumors were fake news.” He grinned, blue eyes sparkling with mischief. “Come sit next to me. I saved seats for the power couple.”
Nanami’s hand pressed a fraction firmer against your back as he steered you politely past Gojo to two seats farther down the table. “We prefer proximity to the board members, Gojo. Business first.”
Gojo pouted dramatically. “Boo. You’re no fun when you’re in love.”
The word “love” 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 “made it official,” Nanami’s hand found yours on the tablecloth for a brief, public squeeze.
“We met through work, as many do,” he said smoothly. “She challenges my projections. I appreciate the rigor.”
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. “Nanami-san actually left the office at 7 p.m. last week! Twice! I thought the apocalypse was starting.”
You laughed. “I take full credit. He’s learning that overtime isn’t always efficient.”
Nanami shot you a sidelong glance, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Selective efficiency.”
Gojo leaned forward, unable to resist. “So, details! Who made the first move? Was it Nanami with a spreadsheet titled ‘Reasons to Date Reader’? Or did you finally crack his icy exterior with your charm?”
The table chuckled. You felt heat rise to your cheeks but played along. “Let’s just say he presented a very thorough proposal. Very… detailed.”
Nanami adjusted his glasses, a faint pink tinting the tips of his ears. “It was mutual benefit. Nothing more.”
But under the table, his fingers brushed your knee—once, 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. “You balance each other well. Nanami needs someone who isn’t afraid to question him.”
You glanced at Nanami. “He’s not as inflexible as he seems. Once you get past the clauses.”
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. “Dessert time! And I demand a couple’s toast. Nanami, say something romantic. We’re all dying to hear it.”
Nanami exhaled slowly, but when he raised his glass, his voice was low and sincere in its restraint. “To efficiency… and the unexpected variables that improve the model.”
The table toasted. You clinked your glass against his, murmuring just for him, “Variables, huh? Careful, or I might start believing this is more than a spreadsheet.”
His eyes darkened behind the lenses. “Belief is not part of the agreement.”
Yet when the dinner ended and guests began to disperse, Nanami’s 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.
“You performed well,” he said finally. “No inconsistencies.”
“Thanks.” You turned toward him. “You were convincing too. That knee brush under the table? Almost felt real.”
He froze. The car hummed along quiet streets. Then, quietly, “It was… practical. To sell the dynamic.”
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, he’d dismissed the car.
At the entrance, under the soft glow of the lights, you stopped and faced him fully.
“Nanami,” you said softly, stepping just a fraction closer than the contract probably allowed. “What if one of us breaks a clause? Just a small one.”
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 hadn’t slipped. The touch was warm, lingering far longer than necessary.
“Then we revise the terms,” he murmured, voice low and rough at the edges. “Carefully. Deliberately.”
Your heart pounded. You wanted to close the distance, to test how far his restraint would bend.
Instead, you smiled, stepping back. “Goodnight, Nanami. Thanks for the monitoring.”
He didn’t smile, but his eyes held yours a second longer. “Goodnight. Text when you’re inside. Safety clause.”
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. — 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 tension—quiet, 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, Nanami’s 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 hadn’t left. You replied immediately:
You: On my way.
Conference room B was dimly lit when you arrived, only the long table illuminated by Nanami’s 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.
“You came,” he said, voice low in the quiet room.
“You asked.” You set your bag down and took the chair beside him instead of across the table. Your shoulders brushed as you settled in. “Show me where we are.”
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 chair—steady, almost protective. The contact wasn’t 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.
“Thank you,” he said. “Your perspective remains… valuable.”
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.
“Kento,” you said softly, “this is the third unscheduled text this week. The knee brush at dinner. The way you looked at me during the toast.” You paused, searching his face. “Are we still pretending the lines aren’t moving?”
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.
“I am aware of the deviations,” he admitted, voice quieter than usual. “I drafted a revised addendum yesterday evening. It loosens communication parameters further. However…” He trailed off, rubbing the bridge of his nose—the familiar gesture, but slower this time.
“However?” you prompted gently.
He looked at you fully. “However, I find myself reluctant to formalize the changes. Because formalizing them makes the shift real. And once real, termination becomes… more complicated.”
Your heart beat heavier. You reached out and lightly touched the back of his hand where it rested on the table. This time, he didn’t pull away. Instead, his fingers turned palm-up, letting yours rest there.
“The contract was meant to prevent complications,” he continued, thumb brushing once across your knuckles—deliberate, almost experimental. “Instead, 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.”
A small smile tugged at your lips. “You hate unpredictable things.”
“I do.” His gaze dropped to your joined hands, then lifted to your face. “Yet I keep inviting the unpredictability.”
The silence stretched, heavy and warm. Rain pattered against the glass. You shifted closer, your knee pressing lightly against his.
“What if we stopped calling it an exception?” you asked softly. “What if we just… let it be whatever it’s becoming?”
Nanami’s 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.
“It would require revising multiple clauses,” he murmured, voice rough at the edges. “No emotional attachment. Private contact restrictions. Overnight parameters.” His thumb traced the line of your jaw once—slow, careful. “I do not revise lightly.”
“But you’re considering it.”
He didn’t 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.
“It is late,” he said, voice regaining some of its polish, though it sounded strained. “I will drive you home. The rain is heavier now.”
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 car—public 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.
“Thank you for the assistance tonight,” he said quietly. “The projections are stronger for it.”
You looked up at him, heart full. “Anytime, Kento. Even if it means breaking a few more rules.”
His jaw tightened. One hand lifted, brushing your cheek once more. Quicker this time, but no less intentional. Then he stepped back.
“Goodnight,” he said. “Text when you’re inside.”
You nodded. “Goodnight.”
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 wasn’t 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. — K.N.
The contract was still there.
But Kento Nanami was no longer pretending the lines weren’t 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 morning’s 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 didn’t.
You: I’ll 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 Nanami’s 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.
“You came,” he said finally, voice low.
“You keep asking me to.” You closed the door behind you with a soft click. The sound felt final in the quiet room. “So here I am.”
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.
“The addendum,” he began, picking up the document, “loosens several clauses. Communication frequency. Private interactions. I removed the immediate termination penalty for emotional complications.” He paused, thumb brushing the edge of the paper. “However, I have not signed it yet.”
You took the document from his hands and set it back on the desk without reading it.
“Why not?” 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.
“Because signing it makes the shift official,” he said. “And once official, I cannot pretend this is still purely practical.”
Your heart hammered. You stepped closer, close enough to smell the faint sandalwood on his skin and see the faint tension in his jaw.
“Kento,” you whispered, “what if I don’t want you to pretend anymore?”
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 wasn’t 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 you’d ever heard it.
“I have wanted to do that for weeks,” he admitted quietly, voice low and raw. “Every time I adjusted your collar. Every time my hand lingered on your back. Every unscheduled text I told myself was only logistical.”
Your fingers curled into the front of his shirt. “Then stop stopping yourself.”
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.
“This is inefficient,” he murmured against your skin, but there was no real conviction in it. “Completely against the original terms.”
You laughed breathlessly, tilting your head to give him better access. “Then revise them. Right now.”
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.
“New terms,” he said, voice husky. “Emotional attachment permitted. Private physical contact permitted. Termination clause suspended indefinitely.” His thumb traced your swollen lower lip. “Overnight stays still require mutual agreement. I refuse to lose all structure at once.”
You smiled, heart full and racing. “I can live with that.”
He kissed you once more but slower this time, savoring. Before resting his forehead against yours again.
“I am breaching my own contract,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “For you.”
You reached up and gently removed his glasses completely, setting them aside. “Good. Because I stopped following the rules the moment you left that first coffee on my desk.”
A faint, rare smile touched his lips. The smallest curve, but it was real. He leaned in and kissed the corner of your mouth.
“Then we are both compromised.” His arms wrapped around you, holding you close in the quiet office. “Stay a little longer tonight. Not overnight. Just… until the rain stops.”
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 Nanami’s 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 Kento’s 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 “reasonable weekend hour” 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.
“Come in,” he said, voice low and warm in a way it hadn’t 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.
“Lunch is almost ready,” he continued, leading you toward the kitchen. “Grilled chicken with herbs, roasted vegetables, and a light salad. I remembered you prefer lighter sauces.”
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 “public necessity” or “practicality.”
Once you were seated, the conversation started easily enough: the weather, a ridiculous story about Gojo trying to expense a luxury watch as “team motivation equipment,” 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.
“Last night,” he began, voice steady but quieter than usual, “I breached Clause 5.1. Deliberately. And I have no intention of reinstating it.”
Your heart skipped. “I noticed.”
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.
“I spent most of the night reviewing my own behavior,” he admitted. “Every coffee left on your desk. Every lingering hand on your back. Every unscheduled text I convinced myself was only logistical.” His gaze held yours, honest and intense. “I 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.”
You squeezed his hand. “I stopped pretending even earlier. Somewhere around the second time you adjusted my collar when it didn’t need adjusting.”
A faint, rare smile touched his lips. Small, but genuine. “Inefficient of me.”
“Very.” You leaned forward slightly. “So what happens now? No more contract?”
He was quiet for a moment, considering. “The original document is void. However, I drafted a new, much shorter version this morning. One page only.”
You laughed softly. “Of course you did.”
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. “You really can’t help yourself with the paperwork, can you?”
“I find it grounding,” he admitted, ears tinting pink. “But the terms are flexible. Negotiable. I want this to be real, not another controlled transaction.”
You signed your name beneath his without hesitation and slid the paper back to him.
“Then it’s real,” 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.
“I still value structure,” he murmured, voice rough at the edges. “But I am learning that some variables are worth disrupting my entire model for.”
You smiled, fingers threading into the hair at the nape of his neck. “Good. Because I plan to keep disrupting it.”
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 didn’t 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.
“Stay for dinner?” he asked. “Nothing elaborate. And you are welcome to stay longer… if you wish. No pressure for overnight. The new clause is mutual agreement only.”
You nodded, curling closer against his chest. “I’d like that.”
As the evening settled in, the single-page “revised agreement” 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 wine–not 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 Kento’s 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.
“You’re certain?” 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. “We can stop at any point. No clauses. No pressure.”
You caught his hand and brought it to your lips, pressing a kiss to his palm. “I’m certain, Kento. I want this. I want you.”
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.
“Bed,” 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 perfect—grounding, 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.
Kento’s hands moved with deliberate reverence, sliding under your sweater and lifting it slowly. He paused to kiss every new inch of skin he revealed—the 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.
“Beautiful,” he said quietly, voice husky. “Far more than any model could predict.”
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. “May I?”
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.
“Tell me what feels good,” he murmured, voice low. “I want to learn you properly.”
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 yours—intense, 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.
“Still with me?” he asked, forehead resting against yours.
“Always,” you whispered.
He entered you slowly—inch by deliberate inch—giving 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.
“You feel… incredible,” he groaned softly, the most undone you had ever heard him. “Tight. Warm. Mine.”
The word sent a fresh spark through you. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. “Move, Kento. Please.”
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.
Kento’s 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.
“Look at me,” 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 didn’t 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.
“No overnight clause anymore?” you teased softly, tracing lazy patterns on his chest.
He huffed a quiet laugh—the sound warm and rare. “Suspended indefinitely. You’re staying tonight. And tomorrow morning I’ll make breakfast.”
You smiled against his skin. “Look at you. Breaking every rule you ever wrote.”
“Only for you.” His arm tightened around you, lips brushing your temple. “The final revision has only one clause now.”
You lifted your head to meet his eyes. “And what is it?”
He gazed at you—steady, warm, completely unguarded.
“Stay,” he said simply. “As long as you want. No termination date. No fine print. Just us.”
You kissed him softly, heart full to overflowing. “I like those terms.”
Outside, Tokyo continued its endless rhythm. Inside Kento Nanami’s 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 other’s arms, the only remaining agreement was the simplest one:
This was no longer fake.
It was forever—one deliberate, careful, deeply felt day at a time.
emo!choso who’s 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 didn’t 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.
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
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 he’s 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, productivity—"
"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 can’t 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 rewards—"
"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. "that—that 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. "i—i'm not—"
"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 was—"
"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.
“that’s good behavior,” you add, and then you lean in and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.
his breath stutters. “…fuck,” he exhales under his breath, barely audible.
you pull back just enough to look at him, amused. “you’re really easy, you know that?”
he flushes deeper. “i’m not—”
“you are,” you say. “but it’s cute.”
cute.
he thinks that might kill him.
your eyes drift down his arms, tracing the ink there, the lines disappearing under his sleeves. “show me,” you say suddenly.
“...what?”
“your tattoos.” you tilt your head curiously like you’ve been waiting for this. “all of them.”
his brain stumbles again. “i—” he hesitates. “...i’d have to take off my shirt,” he admits, quieter now.
you don’t even blink, you just look at him.
whatever resistance he had completely collapses. “okay,” 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.
there’s 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.
“wow,” you say softly. his stomach flips and you reach out, fingertips brushing lightly over one of his tattoos, tracing the lines.
he shudders.
“these are…” you hum, thoughtful. “really pretty.”
pretty.
no one’s 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.
“good boy.”
his brain short-circuits so violently he actually freezes. “wh—what,” he breathes.
you glance up at him through your lashes, smiling just a little. “three instances of good behavior so far.”
his face is burning.
“showing up,” you count softly, tapping his arm.
“listening to me about your hair,” another tap, closer to his shoulder.
“doing what i asked.” your fingers trail lightly down his chest. “so,” you finish, leaning back just enough to meet his eyes again, “you can pick your reward.”
pick.
his.
reward.
he stares at you owlishly. “anything?” he asks, voice rough.
you tilt your head. “i'd say within reason, but i know you're a good guy.”
his eyes flick to your lips again, then back to your eyes, then away. then back. “...kiss me,” he says, barely above a whisper. “please.”
you smile, clearly pleased. “okay.”
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 he’s 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. “so you do have one,” you murmur.
he flushes hard. “yeah.”
“interesting.” your faces are still close, breaths still mingling. “guess i was right to be curious,” you add.
choso has no idea how to respond to that. no idea how he got here.
no idea how you’re sitting this close, looking at him like that, touching him like it’s 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 don’t 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. “see?” you murmur, brushing your thumb lightly along his jaw. “positive reinforcement.”
he lets out a quiet sound. “…that’s—”
“effective?” you offer.
“...yeah.”
you tilt your head, studying him again, that same curious look as before. “then we should keep testing it.”
choso's heart stumbles. “testing...”
“mhm.” your fingers drift back down, slow and absent but very much not accidental. “tell me. how else do you wanna prove good behaviour?”
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.
“…i don’t know,” he whispers.
“yeah, you do.”
“i—” he exhales, shaky and his hands tighten slightly at your waist before he even realizes he’s doing it. “i just—”
his eyes flick down again, and a slow smile curves your lips. “use your words,” you say quietly.
“i wanna…” he starts, then stops, jaw tightening slightly like he’s debating how much to say, how much you’ll 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 a—"
"no!" he cuts in, flushed. "no, nope, i'm—i'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 pro—oojjject—"
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?"
𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: when the cafe jiung visits quite regularly gets a new hire, he can’t help but be subconsciously pulled in by her, and it isn’t just about the coffee or sweet cookies.. it’s something sweeter.
𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙡𝙖𝙞𝙢𝙚𝙧𝙨: 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
𝗐𝖾𝖽𝗇𝖾𝗌𝖽𝖺𝗒,
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.
it didn’t take long for jiung to reach the café, swinging the door open, excited to get away from the chill that bit at his cheeks.
“welcome in!” 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 didn’t 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.
“do you know what you’d like to have or do you need some time?” you asked, standing in front of the screen you took the orders on.
he cleared his throat quietly, regaining the senses in his brain, “Uhh.. i’d like an iced americano, please. twelve ounces.” 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, “woah. since when did you guys get pastries?”
you let out a small chuckle, placing his order of the americano into the device. “since i started working. i make them.”
his gaze returned to you at your answer, feeling a warmth spread through his chest at your laugh. “that’s awesome. can i get one of those chocolate chip cookies?”
“of course, anything else?”
he nodded, “a hot sweet tea, twelve ounces, all to go please.” he dreaded saying the last three words, but he promised keeho he’d get him that tea.
you smiled after typing in his order, “your total is 5500 won,”
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. “keep the rest,”
“oh, thank you.” you paused, putting the cash in the register. “name for your order?”
“ah, jiung.” he gave a nod, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
“okay, i’ll call your name out when your order is ready.” 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.
“thank you so much,” he took a peek at your name tag, committing your name to memory before turning away.
“have a good day!” you called out, watching him leave.
𝗍𝗁𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖽𝖺𝗒,
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, “the cookie was really good. best cookie i’ve had in a while.”
you couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head, “it’s just a normal cookie. i appreciate it though.”
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. “hey, sorry it took so long, we got slammed all of a sudden.” 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, “no worries,” 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. “thank you for your patience :).” it was simple, but it was enough to make his heart stutter in his chest.
𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖽𝖺𝗒,
the bell above the door jingled, it was becoming a more frequent sound, and surprisingly it wasn’t that annoying.
you glanced up, catching eyes with a familiar customer, jiung, that had caught your attention the past few times he’s been in. he was quiet, respectful and had very soft hands - from what you had felt from the brief second.
but he wasn’t alone this time. a slightly taller, more confident guy accompanied him. they walked up to the counter, a polite smile on jiung’s face while the other was taking in his surroundings.
“hey,” he spoke quietly, “can i get a twelve ounce iced americano aaand… a breakfast sandwich, please.”
you nodded, already typing the order in. you looked up when his friend spoke, “iced americano for me as well,”
just as you were about to put in the order, you saw jiung basically whip towards his friend, catching your attention.
“you’re paying for your own,” he said it like it was non negotiable, his friends eyes widening.
“huh?! i didn’t bring my wallet!”
“why would you not bring your wallet?!”
“i thought this was like, your treat or something. I don’t know man.”
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, “fine.. i’ll pay,” he mumbled, a light pink hue forming on his cheeks.
he didn’t say anything else as he inserted his card, letting it drain his money while his friend found them a seat.
“he a close friend of yours?” 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, “intak? yeah. he comes in here with me occasionally. i mostly come in here with our friend, keeho, but he’s sick.” he removed his card, putting it back into his wallet.
you nodded in understanding, “aw, hope he feels better soon,”
he gave you a small smile, to which you returned, “thank you,” he reluctantly turned around, meeting his friend at the table.
once you made their drinks and jiung’s sandwich, you walked over and placed it in front of them.
“thank you,” 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 couldn’t help but sneak glances at jiung until they threw away their trash and bid farewell.
“have a good day, miss!” intak called out, jiung only raising a hand in goodbye.
“you too!”
𝗌𝖺𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖽𝖺𝗒,
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 you’re closing, but you then hear their voice. his voice.
“hey, am i too late?” 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. “a little. i’ll let it slide though.”
jiung gave a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his neck, “sorry,”
“it’s fine,” you said sincerely, shaking your head, “would you like anything? i’m about to put things away.”
he reached the counter, glancing around in thought before speaking up, “just an iced americano, if it’s not too much to ask.”
“never too much,” 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. “stay here for a moment,” 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.
“what’s this? why?” he asked, gently taking the box.
“it’s the last few left, just take it.” you answered, a smile present on your face.
it made him pause, feeling heat rush up his neck, “oh, thank you. you didn’t have to.”
“i wanted to,” you trailed off, then cleared your throat, “plus we won’t be open tomorrow. who else will eat those cookies?”
jiung let out a slight chuckle, grabbing his americano and the to-go box. “i guess that’s true, huh?”
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, “um, how much?” he asked, indicating to the stuff in his hands with the tilt of his chin.
“don’t worry about it, it’s on me.”
“i can’t let you do that,” he sat his things on the counter before pulling out his wallet, taking out 3000 won and handing it over. “it’s the least i can do.”
you narrowed your eyes at him jokingly, but took the money, “thank you,”
“no. thank you. see you on monday.” he grinned, the sight almost made your legs buckle. that’s a little overdramatic, but it really did make your chest feel warm.
you swallowed thickly, nodding a little too quickly to play it cool, “see you monday..” you echoed though he was already out the door.
𝗆𝗈𝗇𝖽𝖺𝗒,
jiung entered the café, the door closing behind him. his eyes widened at seeing the huge line in front of him, he didn’t realize it could get this busy on a monday of all days.
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.
“hey, told you i’d see you, didn’t i?” he asked, to which you nodded to.
“you did,” you said matter-of-factly. you leaned a little closer, “what can i get you today?”
he glanced around the menu, deciding to be somewhat adventurous today. “Uh.. frappe?”
“woah really? what flavor?” you asked while you typed it in.
“surprise me,”
you raised an eyebrow but didn’t question it, excited to do a surprise drink. “you got it. anything else?”
he took out his card, nodding slightly, “uh, hot sweet tea, please.”
once you were done typing out the order, he slid his card, “i’ll call out your name when it’s ready.”
“okay, thank you.” 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 he’d 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.
“thank you for the cookies the other day, they were delicious. have a good day.” 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.
𝗍𝗎𝖾𝗌𝖽𝖺𝗒,
you were behind the counter, setting up some pastries when you heard a knock. you glanced up, ready to tell them that you weren’t 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.
“you’re early,” you said with a raised brow, though it wasn’t mean.
“you said come early,” he countered, grinning ear to ear. you narrowed your eyes, tapping the door before letting it go, it shutting gently.
“i did say that. you really want that cheesecake, huh?” you tease, turning away to walk to the back, jiung following behind you.
he nods even though you can’t see him, “just a little,” 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. “well, let’s just hope it’s good.” you said while looking at the floor, making sure you didn’t trip as you make your way out of the room.
a pair of hands grabbing your arms make you pause, you didn’t 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.
“sorry,” 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, “come on.”
you both stepped behind the counter, you setting the box on a clear spot before opening it, revealing the cheesecake.
“wow, it looks really good.” 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.
“for you,” you said while handing him the plate, your hands grazing, and you could’ve sworn a spike of electricity went up your arm. you did your best to ignore it, pointing to the silverware. “take what you need, you can sit or do whatever, i have to open.”
he nods, but he looked at you as if he didn’t 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. “great cheesecake,” he spoke through a mouthful.
you giggled, the sight was kind of endearing. “i’m glad you like it. if there’s some left in….two hours, i’ll give it to you.”
“huh? really?” he asked, a sparkle in his eyes.
“of course. if you don’t mind staying here, that is.” 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.
“how would you feel about a date? tomorrow, if you’re free?” he asked hesitantly, his voice wavering slightly.
as you stood there stunned, his cheeks heated up, embarrassment flooding him instantly. “Ah, it’s okay if not, i—“
“i’d love to,” you cut him off, your own cheeks flushing.
he paused, “wait really?”
“yeah,”
𝗐𝖾𝖽𝗇𝖾𝗌𝖽𝖺𝗒,
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹
a/n: ugh i had so much fun writing this i hope you like it!! 🥹
᭡୧ synopsis: in which your brother’s best friend, satoru gojo has spent years keeping his distance, treating you like the little sister he’s supposed to protect. but when your brother leaves town and asks him to “keep an eye on you,” the careful line he’s 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.
᭡୧ pairings: brother’s best friend!satoru x fem!reader
᭡୧ 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! — word count: 7.2k+
you’ve 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 brother’s 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 everyone’s 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 friend’s little sister, which meant you’re off-limits. and by off-limits, you’re a forbidden fruit he wasn’t 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 couldn’t.
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 he’s 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 you’re twenty-two and he’s twenty-eight. your brother still treats you like the kid who used to beg for piggyback rides. satoru still calls you “boogers” 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 you’re 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 it’s 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 couldn’t get out of.
he left satoru with the spare key and the casual instruction to “keep an eye on her.” satoru laughed it off on the phone, responding with a choked ‘yeah, ‘course, i got you man.’ but the second he hung up his mind was already spinning. he told himself he’d just check in once, maybe bring some takeout, make sure you weren’t lonely and nothing more.
but fuck was he wrong, cause satoru only lasted exactly four hours before your text came through:
“movie night? the new horror one just dropped. brother’s gone so no one to complain about the jump scares :)”
he stared at the message for ten full minutes. then that’s when he grabbed his keys, all thoughts starting to get pumped to his dick.
when he knocks on your door it’s 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 he’s the best part of your night.
shit. satoru feels his stomach drop.
“hey, you came,” 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.
“couldn’t let you watch horror alone,” he replies, forcing that tired, loose grin. he holds up the bag of snacks like a peace offering. “brought the good stuff.”
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 don’t seem to take sign on how you’re 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 brother’s loud commentary. it’s 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. satoru’s 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 doesn’t move away. instead his fingers brush your shoulder again, slower this time, thumb stroking once along your skin.
“cold?” 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. “no. just getting comfortable.”
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 isn’t. at least that’s 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 you’ve both been pretending doesn’t exist for years.
satoru’s 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 you’re his best friend’s little sister. he tells himself a lot of things.
you shift again, turning slightly so your knee brushes his thigh. and lord knows how he’s struggling not to make a sound, especially when your voice is barely above a whisper when you speak.
“satoru?”
he looks down at you, blue eyes dark in the low light. “yeah?”
you bite your lip, just for a second, and the small movement sends another rush of blood straight to his cock.
“you’ve been really quiet tonight.”
fuck.
he forces a laugh, but it comes out strained. “am i?” he asks. “just focused on the movie.” his reply doesn’t satisfy you and you don’t look convinced so your hand rests lightly on his chest, right over his heart. “liar.” you call him out.
liar…
the sting of the word is heavy because satoru is not the only one suffering alone here, you’re a liar as well. and you’re pretending none of this is eating you alive when that’s exactly how it’s been for you since satoru came to your house.
you’ve been stiff as a board since the moment you sat down, even though you’re 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 isn’t quite as steady as usual, the way his long fingers keep flexing against the couch like he doesn’t 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 you’re not watching the movie anymore. you’re watching him, noticing every detail.
your hand stays light on his chest, right over his heart, and you can feel how fast it’s beating under your palm. thump-thump-thump, way too quick for someone who’s supposedly just chilling on the couch. you shift a little closer, letting your bare thigh press more firmly against his — testing water — and that’s when you notice it full.
the soft, heavy bulge under the dark blue-black sweatpants he’s wearing. it’s not fully hard yet, but it’s 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. you’re 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.
satoru’s hand on your upper arm hasn’t stopped moving. his thumb keeps stroking those slow, careful circles, but now each pass feels heavier, more deliberate, like he’s 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 adam’s 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. you’re suddenly aware of how little you’re 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.
satoru’s 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 doesn’t 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 you’re 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 you’ve done is sit here with your head on his shoulder.
the years of quiet ‘wanting’ press in harder tonight, sharper because your brother isn’t here to act as a buffer. it’s just you and satoru and the heavy, suffocating knowledge that you’re 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.
“uh… i need some water,” he mutters, voice low and strained. “or a coke. something cold.”
you sit up slowly, fixing your shirt so it covers your shoulder again, but it doesn’t 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 you’re 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.
“oh yeah, okay. it’s in the fridge. you know your way around.”
satoru nods once, still not fully facing you, and heads toward the kitchen. his shoulders are stiff, steps a little too deliberate, like he’s 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 it’s 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 he’s trying to shake something off.
he’s 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 doesn’t 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 doesn’t 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 he’s calmed a bit.. which means you’re the one who’s suffering hundred percent.
“you okay?” he asks, voice low, a little rough around the edges.
you nod, but it feels like a lie. “yeah… just warm in here.”
his eyes flick down to the flushed skin of your neck, then lower to where your shirt has slipped off your shoulder again. he doesn’t 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 you’re 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.
“you’re shaking,” he murmurs.
“so are you,” 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 he’s high. his free hand comes up, hesitating for half a second before he cups the side of your face, thumb brushing your lower lip.
“this is a bad idea,” he says, eyes dancing over your lips but he doesn’t sound convinced. his voice is thick, breath warm against your mouth.
“then why does it feel so good?” 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. satoru’s eyes flutter for a second, jaw tight.
“fuck… you’re killing me.”
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 he’s 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 you’re 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. satoru’s 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 doesn’t 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.
“mmh… fuck,” he groans against your chest, the vibration traveling through the damp fabric. “look at you. letting me cover you with my spit. your body’s so fucking readyfor me already, yeah?”
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.
you’re 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.
satoru’s 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 he’s 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.
“so fucking pretty,” he murmurs, voice rough and low. “y’know how i’ve been dreaming about marking you up like this for years? look how filthy i got you… your brother will fuck me up.”
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 — 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 he’s 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 can’t 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. “had to,” he mutters, voice low and rough, like the words are being dragged out of him. “couldn’t risk it. not with you.”
you let out a soft, cheeky laugh, the sound breathy and teasing even though your heart is hammering. “you’ve always wanted to fuck me, huh?”
satoru’s brows knit together instantly, that familiar stern little frown pulling at his face, but his eyes stay dark and hungry. “that’s a vulgar word, boogers,” he says, the nickname slipping out like habit, but there’s 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. “i want to make you feel good. that’s all.”
you groan, half playful, half frustrated, and swat your hand lightly against his chest. “stop calling me boogers, toru. seriously!”
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 doesn’t 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 you’re 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 you’d 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.
“can i move?” he asks, voice low and calculated, almost a whisper, like he’s afraid to break the moment. his brows are still knitted, waiting for any sign from you.
you can’t find words right away. instead you just tap his shoulder once, twice, a small, mute signal that you’re okay, that you want this. satoru exhales shakily, relief and hunger mixing in the sound, and he starts to move.
at first it’s 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.
you’re vocal in little bursts, whispers of his name slipping out between shaky breaths. “satoru… toru…” 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.
“too big.. you’re– toru, fuuuck,” 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. that’s all he cares about right now.
“i got you, yeah? ‘m here.”
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.
“that’s it, baby,” he murmurs, voice wrecked but steady, focused entirely on you. “feel good? tell me if it’s too much.”
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.
satoru’s 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 — his cock dragging inside you and his mouth on your breast — makes your back arch, a louder moan spilling out this time.
“good girl,” he breathes against your wet skin, voice low and praising. “taking me so well. just let me make you feel good, yeah? that’s all i want.”
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.
you’re 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 — “toru… satoru…” — the fruity scent of the condom mixes with the sharp smell of sex, filling the dark living room until it’s 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 you’re 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. satoru’s other arm stays banded around your waist, holding you steady, and now he’s fully in control even though you’re 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.
“c’mon, you’re gonna bless me, baby?” he murmurs against your neck, voice rough and focused. “come on my cock, there you go. you just gotta feel it.”
your riding turns sloppy, hips stuttering as the pressure builds fast and overwhelming. your legs tremble harder, the one he’s 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 doesn’t 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 — “toru… fuck, toru…” — 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.
“i’m.. fuck, you’re so good to me.” the way he grunts those words out shows you he’s not done yet.
his grip tightens on your waist and under your knee, and he starts fucking up into you again — 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 you’ve 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.
“shit… so deep,” he groans against your ear, voice wrecked and low. “can you feel me, baby? feel how deep i’m getting? that’s it… take every inch.”
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.
satoru’s breathing grows ragged, his thrusts turning sharper, more desperate, the slap of skin on skin getting louder as he chases his own release.
“gonna come,” he pants, forehead pressed to yours, blue eyes dark and hazy. “gonna fill you up… fuck, you feel too good.”
he drives in deep one last time, hips stuttering as he buries himself as far as he can go.
“fuuuck,” 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 you’re 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 didn’t 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.
“you okay?” he murmurs, voice soft and rough at the same time. he presses a kiss to your forehead, then your nose, then your lips — gentle, lingering kisses that feel like apologies and promises all at once. “did i hurt you? was it too much?”
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 you’re still a little sore. every touch is careful, tender, like he’s 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:
“your brother told me to keep an eye on you,” 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. “if this is what it takes… so be it.”
so be the risk of making the person, his person whom he lov—
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 — warm, steady, protective — 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.
“toru, do you think this is okay?” your voice is muffled with how you’re both tangled together. he doesn’t reply at first so you take it as a sign to continue. “what are we gonna do after this? what if my brot—”
“i’ve got you,” he cuts you off with a whisper against your hair, one last kiss pressed to the top of your head. “always have and nothing will happen, just take some rest and we’ll deal with it tomorrow.”
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!
“You don’t understand do you? You don’t understand what you’re doing to me.”
| Dom!Jongseob x sub!fem reader ˎˊ˗
An argument blew out of proportion a while ago and you having ‘too much fun’ with your best friends at a party leave his mind spiralling…
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Word count- 2k
-arguments, alcohol mentions, rough(?)sex, consent is sexy.
{i am proud of this one…
Thank you for the request @babygoblinn <3
- Lia}
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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 peace…it would be possible if your friend group didn’t cling to you like paper and glue.
Drinks in hands, giggling away as they messily singed songs, arms over eachothers shoulders.
“Why wont you dance with us?” Keeho whined at you.
“Come on, you’re always trying to evade us… why do you even come to parties anyway?” 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 don’t 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 hadn’t 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.
“Hey I’m going to fill up my drink again ,okay? I won’t be more than a minute” you said, gently pushing Keeho out the way.
You heard a voice calling to you
“Come onnn~” 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.
“What the fuck?!” You yelped in shock as you scoffed at his attitude.
He hasn’t said a word to you since the argument, and this was how he broke the silence?
“What are you doing with them? Why are you enjoying yourself so much? Acting like a whore with your best friends?” 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 didn’t want to cause a scene, but you knew he did.
“A whore? Excuse me? I just wanted to dance.” 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.
“You don’t understand do you? You don’t understand what you’re doing to me.” 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.
“Do to you? What? I don’t understand what you’re saying Seob” you laughed, he couldn’t 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.
“You’re letting them have their way with you, i dont want them having what i thought was mine” Jongseob growled.
Your eyebrows furrowed.
“Yours huh? You haven’t been around me for weeks because you took it too far” 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 couldn’t be happening.
“You know I’ve been in love with you. I thought i always made it obvious. I thought you felt the same,”His lashes batted at you.
“I just never admitted it. I thought you were joking about it all.”
“That’s not true Seob… i just-“
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.
“Come on” 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.
“Since you want to act up so much, show me what you can do. You’re mine now and you know it” growled Jongseob, you’d never seen him like this and it was infatuating to see. So desperate, so different.
“Tell me”you whispered as you walked him back into the door. Arms either side of him, faces almost against each other.
“Tell me what you want since you want to have your way so bad”
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.
“Get on the bed. Now.” 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.
“Good.”
He followed you upon to the bed, his hair perfectly falling in-front of his face.
“What’s gotten into you?” Scoffed from your lips, trying to keep a nonchalant tone as you watched him move your legs apart.
“Me? You were acting all needy out there. Im just putting you back in your place sweetheart” he said slyly.
“I was just dancing, you know this”
He wouldn’t 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.
“Up.”
“How much longer are you going to demand st-“
He grabbed your hips and forced your dress up over them, pulling it off you completely.
“Just listen baby.” He whispered, laying you back down and crawling on top of you.
“It will work out better that way”
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.
“Guess we better be quick, don’t want them wondering where you’ve ended up do we?” 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.
“Please-“ 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 didn’t 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.
“Mmhm, just like that” he giggled to himself.
His fingers didn’t last long in your mouth, trailing them down your body to meet your core.
“How badly do you want it baby? Tell me” him reiterating your previous words to him just asserted more dominance onto you.
“So bad, Seob you know how bad i want it”
All you could do is plead, moving your hips against his stationary fingers to feel anything.
“Needy” 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 wouldn’t 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.
“Don’t start with the attitude baby, you know better than that” he said, lining himself up with you.
His hands grabbed your hips, you yelped as his nails dug into them.
“Then fuck me how you’ve always wanted to Seob, since you started it” 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 couldn’t 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 couldn’t make out.
“Come on- say it” you forced yourself to say, you too struggling to put any words together.
“So fucking good baby” 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.
“Seob please- please” you choked out the pathetic begs.
“I know, me too. Cum for me baby”
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.
“You better not have any more problems with me now” 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.
Their affection and how they deal with your affection
Summary: Being in a relationship comes with many aspects, one of them being affection. He’s giving it to you and you are giving it to him. But how would that look like?
Warnings: Lowkey angst for Jiungs part
Masterlist
Keeho
° A slow and patient lover
° Literally loves to take his time for you and even has ‘Loving Y/N‘ on his daily schedule on his phone. It’s random, but only at the end of the day. Who could blame him, though? He has a job, and he wants to have a life outside his relationship, so he tends to do it when everything and everyone is quieter than the night (which also happens to be at night, lol)
° But with him taking his time, you‘ll never feel unsatisfied. He doesn’t slow down his kisses while they happen, but he has breaks in between them where he just stares at you.
° Loves staring at you, by the way. Never in a creepy way, just appreciating your overall essence and how you simply exist (reminds me of those moments where you kind of get reminded that you live)
° In those times when he's raw and slow with you, he has his hand on your face like constantly. He doesn't need to cuddle or something (he rather much wants to see your face), but having something of you near his skin is still needed.
° He isn't all that big on physical affection, but he never shies away when you insinuate it.
° A hug from you from behind? He is putting his hands on yours. A kiss on the cheek? He's giggling for a short second
° Cuddling with him tends to happen when you two go to bed or are near it. Not that he hates them, he just likes the intimate feeling of it when its quieter
° But one thing Keeho excels at, where his most affection lies, is in his words towards you or about you.
° He loves talking about you to other people! He doesn't even need to be heard or seen by you for him to spread his love for you in the world. There is just something so beautiful about you that even others need to see it.
° That doesn't mean, however, that he never talks about you in front of you. He's even worse with his compliments and notions when you're there. Every single thing you put passion into is suddenly the biggest thing for him. Keeho is composed while you do it, all just to not distract you, but once you're done, he's ringing in your ear with all the compliments he can come up with.
° He's even detailed with his compliments! He goes into depth about your steps and how well thought out they were because of this or that reason while you just sit there completely overwhelmed
His reaction
° Nonchalant suddenly entered the chat, and it's staying until the room contains only you two
° But on a real note, he is not gonna giggle too loud or return the favor to the extreme if other people are around you two. Keeho doesn’t hate the eyes of others staring you two down, he is an idol, for God's sake, but he just doesn’t want people to be too uncomfortable with getting affection from others forced down their throat.
° Internally, however, he’s giggling and twirling around like a little kid. Just imagine a bunch of tiny Keehos jumping all around while the world around them is fuzzy. That’s what goes on inside his head.
° You kissing him makes him smile. You gifting him something makes him drown in compliments. You hugging him makes him relax. But he never goes over the top with showing his gratitude
° In private, though? When it's you two or some close friends? He’s more eager to return the affection
° You kissing him makes him kiss you back while giggling, you gifting him something results in him pepper kissing you, and you hugging him will give you one back
° He loves affection from you. So much that he doesn’t even have a ranking of it. All of it makes him feel special and so loved. No matter if it's small or big, affection is enough.
° But! Big one! When his brain is playing tricks on him and he’s all sad, your kisses are his common ground to gain back sensibility. His wide eyes stare at you with all that love but mainly admiration. He’s too sentimental to think straight, and you telling him to let it flow with your soft and caring kisses just sends him down the path he needs to be on.
Theo
° Does hitting the thigh softly count as affection? For Theo it does. Not only does he hit people when he’s laughing. He’s also softly hitting you to get your attention.
° A small hit on your hand or shoulder is completely normal for him, and you don't seem to mind it that much, so he doesn’t stop.
° He doesn’t hit you as hard as his friends, though, not because he lacks the respect for them but mainly just because. Theo just did it over the course of your relationship without any real thought.
° His affection doesn’t stop there, though. He’d be pretty stupid to stop right at the tip of the iceberg, wouldn’t he?
° Theo adores to tickle you. Not randomly, he hates that himself—but if the situation is right, he will start attacking you out of nowhere. You can sense it from his little neck kisses he uses to tease his actions, but before you can do anything about it, he’s already moving his hands up and down your sensitive body parts
° He leans more on you. You could be talking or working, and he’d lean his head on your shoulder, waiting patiently for you to turn to him and give him a small kiss. It doesn’t matter to him where or when, as long as he gets it. It's bearable to watch you be so observed.
° His favorite places to kiss you would always be the eyes and lips. Yes, eyes. You just need to close them for him to do it but he does it. One time you asked him why he likes doing it, and he admitted how it felt as if he was the closest with you that way. But the eyes are mostly happening if he’s feeling sentimental as fuck or drunk out of his mind. He needs to be in the right headspace to kiss the most beautiful aspect of your physical beauty (in his opinion).
° Lips, on the other hand, are what he kisses the most. Quick ones, slow and deep ones, and all that is in between. He just likes the feeling of your lips and the fact that you two are. Eyes are just for him to be close to you, but lips connect you two.
° Cuddles with you lying on his chest. It gives you two enough space to do your own thing while still observing the other. While he doesn’t mind being the one on your chest, the other way is what you tend to settle into too.
° He can do cuddles everywhere and anytime, but if he’s doing it for a shorter time and he’s aware of it, expect you two to just sit next to each other and lay each other's head on the other.
° He writes you little letters from time to time when he writes down what he loves so much about you and straight-up compliments you for all the things you did that he found impressive.
° But that doesn’t mean that he isn’t screaming compliments down your throat at the moment. He cheers for you, mostly quiet, he hopes for you, and he celebrates with you. Once you succeed at something, he is the first and last person to tell you how well you did. The letters are just more of an insight into his feelings towards your success. In the moment when you’re celebrating, he turns all his attention towards you.
His reaction
° Might not want to admit it, but he has become too acquainted with your affection to live longer periods without it
° There‘s just something about the way you simply do it that makes him feel so knocked out of life
° A kiss from you is one thing, but the rest? That’s where he questions if he ever was truly in love with anyone before you to begin with
° Theo just feels so at home whenever you do stuff for him, especially just because you wanted to
° Give him something you worked on? He’s close to tears
° Hug him because he feels alone and weirded out by himself? He’s actually crying his heart out
° He‘s utterly moved once you two are an item, and he never, never wants to let go of that feeling. It’s like he felt so new yet so familiar in his skin.
° You don‘t just do stuff for him to be nice, you see him. You love him!
Jiung
° Jiung is a quiet firework, something meaningful for the eyes but not loud enough to make you run and hide.
° He loves you the most with his actions. Making your life easier is a massive aspect he tries to achieve as much as possible. Mainly because he doesn’t want unnecessary work done but also because he simply wants you to live the way he thinks you deserve
° He helps around your house, he helps with work if you want him to, and he listens to you every single time you talk to him or around him.
° He talks to you, indulges in your little world inside your head, and lets you exist. May that be with his help or without it
° Jiung loves forehead kisses the most, giving and receiving. For him it just screams ‘I got you‘. There are times when he needs more than that, but usually the forehead kiss is the go-to. Jiung even developed a sixth sense when it comes to detecting whenever you need one.
° Jiung tends to kiss you more often than Keeho, but he’s definitely not the biggest kisser, again, he’s more of an action kind of lover than a touchy one.
° But that does not mean that he hates it! Quite the opposite. He loves the feeling of your touch on his body, but he also has the need to prove himself worthy of it before anything
° Once he gets over his blockade inside his body, he often just ends up with his head on your chest. He doesn’t even need to have something preoccupying him, as he just wants to breathe you in and out.
His reaction
° Affection from you always feels as if he achieved something great to deserve it. Ties back to his issue I talked about before, but also the feeling of being picked and chosen by you is making it feel like it
° Therefore I feel like he necessarily doesn’t have a favorite type of affection, anything is enough for him to feel that way.
° Kisses from you make him smile ear to ear while wanting to get more but always resorting to giving the decision to you.
° Forehead kisses are his way of grounding himself whenever you are around. He can regulate himself, but if you’re near and ready to help? He’s asking for the forehead kisses. But that‘s the only scenario where he asks for them.
° But then again, your affection is left for you to use. He doesn’t want to force you to do anything
° But whenever he gets affection, he’s smiling, he’s telling you sweet words, and he’s allowing himself to feel okay (Jesus, why is this full-blown angst?)
Intak
° Ah, I know you expect me to say that he loves you like a lost puppy, right?
° Well, he does, I think all of them do, but Intak loves you more with words. I think he’s the one who manages to show you the most of his love with straight-up talking to you.
° He yaps to you about his favorite things while also including you in them. He thinks of you doing things he did, he thinks of you and your opinion of certain things he likes
° Which often leads to dates where you guys just do new things or you do more things
° But that doesn’t mean that he isn’t kissing you like a madman at times
° He absolutely loves doing that. And his favorite part must be every part. There is no real answer, so you can expect nothing when he decides to lean in
° Kisses often happened with him. Once a day makes his heart scream in agony, and 10 times a day makes his head hurt, so he tends to end up with over 40 kisses a day if you guys have the time to kiss.
° He just uses kisses as a compensation for the lack of cuddles. He finds cuddles to be the highlight of love, mainly because you can be seen as one essence but also because he loves your body over his. For him not to have that all the time just pains him, so he needs to compensate for it with something near it. And that tends to be kissing.
° Cuddles are always something where you burn a few calories. Not because you move a lot but because HE moves a lot. He cannot stay still for a long while, or else his body feels weird and icky ( get it dude, totally get it) But because he wants to cuddle with you and have that closeness with you, he still drags you with him. It doesn’t even matter to him how you two cuddle. You could be on his chest, he could be on yours, all is fine with him until his body just decides it's time to change.
° Tells you ‘I love you’ even more than he can kiss you. Over text, in between kisses, especially while cuddling, and always through the TikToks he sends you. He isn't ashamed to tell you, if anything, he feels proud to be able to
His reaction
° Kisses from you? Nah, he’s whipped for nose kisses. The sweet appeal wraps him up in a warm blanket filled with euphoria.
° Often just asks you to give him some with his big brown eyes. But you would’ve given him some without him asking, you just like seeing those eyes giving you all those emotions
° Affection overall just makes him look at you with those wide eyes that are so mesmerising
° Feels a boost of confidence whenever you compliment him. He uses your words as a compass to just get comfortable with himself whenever he can't get to it himself
° Seconds after you compliment him, he just jumps at you and hugs you tightly. Not all the time , of course; he is a human who is socially aware, but when the situation is right, he’s lunging at you.
° If he had to choose his favorite type of affection, it always would resort to him admitting it's physical closeness, but I already explained that point.
Soul
° Oh, he likes to include you in stuff
° Like his life is yours and yours is his. Like inclusion of his S/O is his subtle way of showing his love towards them. The overall thought process must’ve been “I like them so much, I want them to be involved everywhere“. Is it a clever way to show affection? Well, if you think about it, it is sweet
° Soul over all likes to touch you to show his affection but his favorite to do must be cheek kisses. The sweet undertone, the innocent behind it just excites him to keep doing that over and over again until you two feel numb from all the skin on skin touch
° Pepper kisses to compensate his massive cuteness aggression and overall disbelief that he is very much an Item with you
° Kisses on the lips do happen, but if they happen, you usually do them. He isn’t hating them, but he adores over way more. Soul, however, does lip kisses at more intimate moments, more vulnerable moments where you two are at your most barest. Sincere talking while being too close to the other, celebrating a important win. That’s all he needs to kiss you on the lips. If he does them, they‘re also deep and slower because of emotions. Emotions guys!
° Cuddling with being tangled up together. He might switch a few times, depending on his mood or your habits but it often ends with you two being a hot mess
° Also cuddles throughout the day! Not all the time, obviously you two need to live a life but when you two have the time, you cuddle on the couch while one plays a game and the other jumps from one social media app to the other (or whatever people like to do on their free time)
° He isn’t shy to throw in a few compliments out of nowhere. His mind is always wondering and when it lands on you, he tends to think of recent things or overall things he noticed. And he never wants to keep those kind words to himself, so he‘ll just blur them out while you two do groceries or even worse, if you two try to fix your washing Maschine.
° Compliments and kind words come pretty often. He is a observer and if he sees you do something he knows you hold up to a high standard, that boy will scream from the top of his lungs how well you did or will do. Not just to ease your mind but also make you smile (he utterly loves your smile)
° Absolutely adores to make you gift himself. I believe he’s a creative person and he mostly lives it out with making you presents. He sees things, thinks how it would look at your place, on you or if you‘d like them and then he just does them, for you!
His reaction
° He giggles, he’s a giggler
° Every time you show him any kind of affection, he’s making weird sounds close to giggling. He’s just getting so overwhelmed with his own urge to show affection that it results in him giggling his mind out.
° His favorite type of kisses from you are always soft lip kisses. I’ve talked about this before, but his favorite mode for kisses will always be soft ones, but soft lip kisses? Yep, a make-out session in coming
° Hugs from you are the thing he wants the most. He just looks at you, tilts his head, and he gets what he wants. He just feels so at home and needs it to complete his day. If he’s away on tour or something and he can't get that hug, he needs your voice for compensation.
° He always varies with what hugs are his favorites, so the way he expresses his current favorite one is through even more weird noises from him
° You often bait him into making these noises because you like the sound of it so much
° And baiting him into doing these noises often happens through showering him with compliments.
Jongseob
° Jongseob is a lover who wants to exist with you. Therefore, he expresses his affection mostly with quality time. Just you two doing your own stuff while still being in the same space
° But that doesn’t mean that he allows silence to grow over you two. Nah, he’s a yapper, so he’s gonna talk while working, while doing nothing, and while looking over your stuff. He finds it beautiful to have such a connection where he is allowed to just be himself, internal and external therefore he yearns for it the most.
° Since he‘s a bit inexperienced, he has the same favorite kisses as you. Once you two are around 1 or 2 years together, he might lean towards lips, but hold your favorite type to a higher standard.
° Manages to detect your mood from your kisses. If you kiss him somewhere where he normally doesn’t get kissed, he knows you're excited to try something new. He returns the energy immediately.
° Make-out sessions happen the most with him. He is a pile of curiosity and impulsive decisions, and once he achieves a make-out session, he uses them to calm him down.
° Which led to different types of make-out sessions. If he’s kissing your lips the most, he’s trying to compensate for his love for you that's almost spilling over. If he’s kissing your entire face, he's trying to calm you down, and if you need to do most of the kisses, it's the opposite. But if you guys kissed all over the face, then you two are close to taking things a step further.
° But he’s only doing those make-out sessions with your consent. One uncertain expression or word and he’s stopping and resorting to holding you or taking care of you.
° Only cuddles you whenever you guys go to bed. Like that‘s his sign that it‘s time to close his eyes. But how you two cuddle is up to you. Everything is fine with him
° Touches you in other ways throughout the day, though. Hand-holding, hair-twirling, hugs—all of it at least once. He likes to touch you but in light ways that make him feel all bittersweet inside.
° Compliments however…yeah, if you guys don‘t know eachother for a long long time he might feel too awkward to say them often at first. He’s too taken back by your presence and all your good attributes to say understandable words so he resorts to showing most of his love through the actions listed before
° But once he feels comfortable enough, the compliments come rushing in. Every single time you do something, he’s on it
His reaction
° Awkward mess. But a cute one as well
° He is not used to such a thing, but he'll get around it after a few months of dating (or a few months of you simply doing it)
° Jongseob has that low, soft laughter whenever you show him any kind of affection. He often times questions himself if he should’ve reacted differently or should’ve been more direct with his love for your affection, so it results in that.
° But you never complain about it. If anything, you love the way he is reacting. Heck, any reaction is fine as long as he gives you one
° If he had to choose any type of affection he loves the most, it'll always be hugging. Cuddling is his melatonin, but hugging is his rareness.
° He loves it, especially when he’s feeling so vulnerable that he becomes straight-up nonverbal. All he needs and gets through the hugs is that reminder that you’re here. You don't even need to carry his baggage of worries on your shoulder, he will never want that for you, but you hugging him makes his brain calmer. He never could figure out why, but he does.
♡ synopsis: surprising your husband with a maid costume after he had a long week at work.
☆ starring: husband nanami x afab!reader
✧ content: MDNI !!! established marriage, maid costume, spoiled reader, smut obvs, oral (m receiving), princess as a pet name, dirty talking, inadequate use of duster, doggy style, spanking, slight degradation, dirty talking, swallowing. Word count: 3k
𓃺 bunny's notes: Hi!!! This is my first time ever posting my writing on Tumblr, so please be nice!!! I've been wanting to do this for a while and finally feel ready/have the time. I also haven't used Tumblr in like 8 years and it's like trying to relearn a language so sorry if anything is wrong/missing/bad etiquette!! Thank you sm for reading (:
Nanami Kento was the best husband. He did literally everything for you. You were his princess. He didn't want you to lift a finger to do anything in life - especially working.
In contrast, Nanami worked extremely hard for long hours. As the CEO of his company, there was so much responsibility and pressure on his shoulders at all times. Your husband's mind was constantly thinking of his never ending to-do list, even when he was at home with you.
One thing you knew that always helped him relax was coming back home to a clean environment. It's hard for him to clear his mind when he's surrounded by clutter. He deals with enough messes at work as it is. Of course, you weren't expected to clean at all despite being home most of the time. Duh - you're his princess. That's why cleaning companies exist. Unfortunately, your usual cleaner was out sick this week.
It's Friday morning and Nanami has already put in 65 hours at work so far this week. You were going to clean the entire house yourself to surprise him and hopefully allow him to relax a bit going into the weekend. He takes such good care of you and you want to make your surprise even more special, so you may have ordered a slutty maid costume to wear as well.
You decided to do a majority of the actual cleaning during the day while Nanami was at work. This was supposed to be a sexy surprise and the house he bought for the two of you is giant, so you weren't going to force him to watch you actually clean for the 4 to 5 hours it would realistically take. Plus, who wants to be scrubbing the floors with a lace thong riding up their ass?
Not you. So, you get to work in the comfort of your pj's.
By the time 5:30pm rolls around, the house is sparkling and you're exhausted but proud of your hard work. Nanami should be home in about a half hour, so you change into the outfit you bought for the occasion. The set came with a short, black-and-white dress that barely conceals the black thong you have underneath. The top is made out of a cupless bustier, and your nipples harden being exposed to the cool air. There's a tiny white apron that you tie around your waist and a garter that you place around your left thigh. It even came with a tiny duster that you plan on using to pretend you're really cleaning still.
Nanami walks in at 6:07pm after another extremely long day. Tie already loosened around his neck, sleeves rolled up, his usual expression of exhaustion on his face. He steps inside, shuts the door, and pauses.
He notices immediately that the house is..... clean. Meticulously cleaned. Spotless even.
"Princess," Nanami calls out as he steps out of his shoes, "did the cleaners end up coming today?"
No answer.
He tries one more time.
"Princess?"
Still no answer.
Nanami exhales, loosening his cufflinks as he starts to round the corner -
-and stops in his tracks.
You're directly in front of him in the living room, facing away and bent over with duster in hand, wiping down the coffee table that doesn't have even a speck of dust on it.
Nanami doesn't move at all, except for adjusting his glasses with two fingers. He doesn't know where to look first. His eyes trail up the length of your legs, fully bare and accentuated by the cute black heels you paired with your outfit. This his eyes find your ass.
Fuck, your ass is amazing.
So fucking plump and barely covered by that scrap of a dress and lacy little thing you're wearing underneath.
You still haven't turned around, so he hasn't even seen the rest of the outfit yet.
"You're home" you say like this is completely normal. Like you can't feel his eyes burning into your backside. "How was work?"
A beat before he responds.
"...What is this?"
You spare him a glance over your shoulder. His eyes find your lips immediately - soft, kissable, and turned up in a playful grin.
"I cleaned."
You finally stand, setting the duster on the table and smoothing your apron as you turn to fully face him.
His eyes immediately flit down to your exposed breasts.
"Fuck, princess. You look incredible"
There's a dangerous flicker in his gaze, behind all of the exhaustion and control.
You let him look at you for a moment before you step forward. "You've been working so hard lately for us", you continue to walk towards him. "I wanted to do something for you, baby."
Nanami is watching you approach like he was just offered a business deal that seems too good to be true.
You stop just in front of him.
"Sit."
Nanami takes a seat on your living room couch with the same controlled precision that he does everything with, except his eyes never leave your body.
You step between his knees, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off his strong body and smell the familiar, spicy scent of his cologne.
Your fingers find his loosened tie, slowly tugging it off the rest of the way.
Nanami exhales forcefully through his nose, tipping his head back to rest against the back of the couch.
He stays like that for a moment, at least until you drop to your knees. Then his eyes are snapping open and he's quickly leaning forward again.
You're already reaching for his waistband, and his hand quickly moves to close around your wrist. Not tight enough to hurt or fully stop you, but enough to get you to pause and look him in the eyes.
His other hand comes up to caress the side of your face, thumb stroking your cheek gently as he says, "You didn't need to do all of this, princess."
You know what he's trying to say, but just to push your husband a little you pout your lips and huff at him.
"What, do you not like your surprise?"
Nanami shakes his head so quickly and violently it almost makes you laugh.
"Like? I love your surprise. You look so sexy and beautiful it's unreal. I just don't want you to ever be working like you were when I got home. I hired someone to clean for us for a reason"
Your lips curve faintly.
Your sweet, caring husband. You knew he'd be a little resistant, despite the fact that you can see the outline of his hard cock straining against his slacks. As much as he may love his surprise, he really hates the thought of you being on your pretty little knees for anything other than what you're about to do.
"I'm not working"
You break free from Nanami's gentle hold and continue to unbutton and unzip him. Even though he's protesting, that doesn't stop him from lifting his hips off the couch to help as you pull down his pants and boxers.
You'll truly never get used to the sight of Nanami's dick. Long, thick, his pink tip already reddened and leaking in anticipation.
"I'm taking care of my husband like he does for me."
You say it so sweetly, but the way you suck him fully down his throat without giving him a chance to respond or prepare is anything but sweet. You usually ease him into it with soft licks and kisses around his tip before you fully take him in your mouth, but it's been a long week for him and a long day for you.
So you suck him down, all the way down your throat until you're gagging and your nose is pressed into his pubic hair. Then you ever so slowly pull back up, tongue swirling once around the head of his cock before going back down. You continue this, finding a steady rhythm, head bobbing up and down on his thick length as you sluttily moan around it.
Nanami's hands keep moving like he doesn't know what to do with them. First he's fisting the couch cushions on either side of him. Then his hands are lightly resting around your neck, feeling the slight bulge when he's buried all the way down your throat. Then his hands are moving to the sides of your head, fingers tangling slightly in your hair, just resting there.
You can tell Nanami is fighting not to lose control by the way his hips occasional stutter up to push his dick further down your throat and how you feel his muscular thighs trembling underneath your hands.
You pull off him for just a moment to let out, "Let me serve you." before wrapping your lips back around his cock.
Nanami's fingers instantly tighten in your hair, holding your head in place as he starts to fully fuck up into your throat. His last ounce of self-control was shredded by your words. After all, it's been a long fucking week. All he could do now was focus on how warm and wet and so damn good your mouth felt around him.
"Yeah, you want to serve me? You want to be a good little maid and lick my cock all clean?"
Your pussy throbs at his words. You loved when your husband got dirty and played along with your games.
Nanami is really fucking your face now. It's so sloppy and messy. You're drooling like crazy, spit dripping down your neck and chest, coating his heavy balls.
You're moaning like crazy around his thick cock. You love when Nanami gets like this. He's so sexy when he abandons all control. The sounds he's making as you pleasure him are so fucking hot. You love hearing the grunts and whimpers leave his throat as he uses yours. He hasn't even really touched you, yet you're already soaking through your thin panties just from watching him get off.
You know he's getting close the way his hips are starting to falter, his thrusts into your mouth becoming less consistent. He pulls your head down all the way one last time, completely cutting off your oxygen supply for a second, before pulling you off his cock with an audible pop.
Before you can even ask why he stopped you, he's hauling you to your feet and pulling you back over to the coffee table. He shoves the duster back into your hand before spinning you around and hinging you at the waist.
"Bend over. I think you missed a few spots on the table. Start dusting"
"...What?" You don't move yet, still caught off guard and unsure if he's serious or not.
Smack!
You gasp and start dusting away the imaginary dirt immediately. Nanami rarely ever spanks you, but he just smacked your ass so hard that his hand print has to be visible on your skin.
You whimper, heat pooling in your lower belly. You instinctively arch your back so slutty. Nanami's hand follows the curve of your back, lovingly caressing a circle around the cheek he just smacked, before pulling your panties down your thighs.
You moan as the cold air hits your sopping pussy.
Nanami runs one finger directly up your slit, collecting the wetness that built up while you were on your knees for him.
"Oh, baby." He croons, "I didn't think maids were supposed to be this messy"
He reaches around you, hooking his finger in your mouth, making you taste your own juices.
"You poor princess. Walking around with this mess between your legs. What are you going to do about this, hmm?" Nanami drawls, voice low and breathy. His tone and words have you squeezing your thighs together, needy whimpers falling from your lips.
"Kento, pleaseee." You stick out your ass even further, wiggling it at him.
"Does my pathetic little maid need help? She can't even clean her own messes?"
It's so cute to him the way you can only nod your head as you beg "Please, Ken. Need your help. Need you to fix my mess."
You let out a loud, filthy moan as he finally lines up with your entrance and slowly pushes into you. God, he was so big. Sliding all 8.5 inches deep into your pussy, Nanami wrapped one arm around your core to keep you supported and put his other hand on the middle of your back to push your head down and ass out even more.
Slow, deep strokes. So deep you could feel him everywhere.
Your brain is melting. All you can focus on was the intense pleasure in between your legs. You'll never get over how good your husband's cock feels. How much he stretches you out.
The duster Nanami previously shoved back into your hand was already forgotten about. You had dropped it back onto the table approximately .3 seconds after his thick cock started to slide into you. It was currently trapped underneath your palm as you rested them on the table for extra support.
Or at least, it was forgotten about until-
"Such a bad maid. Can't even clean one table properly."
And then Nanami is really fucking you. He's drilling into you from behind, hips smacking loudly as they bounce against your ass. His hand that was on your back moved to grip your hair in his fist, yanking your head up and back towards him. His other hand that was resting against your stomach slid down to start rubbing fast circles on your clit.
"Clean"
Thrust.
"The"
Thrust.
"Table."
Thrust.
And you really do try. You somehow manage to pick up the duster again and pathetically move it around in useless patterns, barely brushing the surface of the table as Nanami is yanking you back into his cock.
You're trying to be a good maid, but the combination of his fingers on your clit and the the way his dick is bullying your cervix right now has you shaking uncontrollably.
Nanami feels the way you're shaking in his arms and how your pussy is pulsing around him. He knows you're getting close.
"No cumming until the table is clean".
He makes no move to slow down either his thrusts or his ministrations on your sensitive little bud. He wasn't going to make it any easier on you.
You start whining but you continue to move the duster as quickly and desperately as you can.
"Kento, puh-pleaseee. I can't-"
He cuts off your words with a quick, light smack to your clit before continuing rubbing it.
"You missed a spot"
You gasp. He's fucking you so good you can hardly breathe. And the way he's treating you. God - it's so filthy and dirty and you're loving every second of it. Of course, you hate when work stresses out your husband but you can't lie and say you don't love when he takes it out on your needy pussy.
The only things you're able to let out are more moans and another wave of arousal leaks out from you.
Fuck the damn table.
You tried so hard to be a good maid for him, but you can't hold it back anymore. Your orgasm hits like a tsunami. Your pussy is clenching like crazy around Nanami. His cock is getting absolutely coated with your cum as he fucks you even harder through it.
"What are you doing, princess? I thought you were supposed to be cleaning, not making an even bigger mess on my dick?"
The loudest, most obscene moans are falling from your lips as he continues to fuck your overly sensitive pussy. Your husband was so drunk on your body, dragging his entire length in and out every single inch of you.
You knew Nanami was getting close the way his rhythm was starting to falter and his hands were tightening into a death grip around your hips as he pounded into you.
Three more brutal, deep strokes and then he was pulling out of you, spinning you around, and shoving you back down to your knees so quickly you almost got dizzy.
"Back in your mouth. Clean it up"
Then he was grabbing the sides of your head and shovelling his entire cock down your throat again. His head tilts back, the most depraved moans falling from his lips.
"Ah- fuck. Finally cleaning something, huh? Shhii... shit. You're going to swallow all this cum and leave me with a spotless dick right?" Nanami's rasping out.
He's loving getting to take it all out on you after the week he's had. He wants nothing more than to keep fucking your throat, but he feels the electricity of his impending orgasm racing up his spine and it feels too damn good to stop now.
"Yeah baby, clean up every last drop." He somehow manages to choke out just before he cums.
Nanami sees white as he does. Thick, hot ropes of cum are pouring down your throat as you greedily swallow them down. You absolutely love the taste of your husband.
So much so that you keep sucking softly, even after his dick stops twitching from how hard he came and his hands finally drop from your hair.
Then he's pulling you back up to your feet for the last time and peppering you with kisses. Your lips, your cheeks, your nose, your forehead. In between all of the kisses he's whispering how much he loves you and how good you just did for him.
⋆⋆⋆
A little while later, you're both freshly showered and cuddled up on the couch. Nanami doesn't even remember the last time he's been so relaxed after work.
The house is clean, his beautiful wife is laying on his chest while watching a movie, and his favorite pizza should be delivered shortly.
You're as equally relaxed, body melting into him. Your attention is fully engrossed on the movie until your husband's gruff voice interrupts you-
"This may be the best Friday evening I've ever had, but if you ever clean this house again I'm going to spank the shit out of you."
Pls do not plagiarize! Writing by @wifeofchoso03. Thank you for reading!! (:
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