"It wasn't supposed to mean anything..."
"...It doesn't have to."
pairing: trainer!gojo x fem!reader
synopsis: in which he corrects more than your form. . .
warnings: explic!t content, minors and ageless dni, fluff, a lil angst, smut smut smut, gym setting, satoru is kinda mean, sweaty sex, tension, manhandling, cunnilingus, satoru carries u like a freak, p in v, risky sex
w/c: 2.1k
a/n: my entry in @sugusplaything 's 1k event! ( > 〰 < )♡ ALY IS SO REAL FOR THIS IDEA kkkk~ congrats on 1k bb~! everyone go show Aly some luv~!
It’s a good thing Satoru’s apartment complex gym was almost empty. The way he was shouting at you would have surely gotten security called on you any other time.
“Up, up, up!!”
“I can’t!”
“You can!” Satoru clapped his hands next to your ear, too fucking loudly…
“I——fuck…!”
**THUNK**
The bar and all 125lbs on its ends clattered onto the rubber floor at your feet. You groaned out in frustration. You were an hour into this session, tucked in the free weights corner, starting to go stir-crazy with this low-grade terrorist breathing down your neck…
“You had it…” Satoru whined.
“I didn’t…” you panted out, “This is too hard…”
“Because you’re not hinging at the hip like I told you.”
“I was hinging at the hip! I told you that this was too much weight for me…”
“You can do double this on the leg press.”
“That’s different.”
Satoru huffed. “With that attitude, you won’t improve.”
“Not everyone can be the strongest in the gym like you, beefcake.”
“First of all, I’m not classified as a beefcake, sweetheart. I have what’s known as a sleeper-build. Model physique at first glance. Easily hidden under fits like this,” he playfully tugged at the strings of his grey sweatpants. “People only know I’m the strongest after I clear their PR.”
You rolled your eyes. “I’m not paying you to gloat.”
“You’re not paying me at all. You’re a friend of a friend and I’m doin’ you a favor.”
“Ugh… Some favor… You want ’death by deadlift’ on my tombstone…” you muttered under your breath, legs trembling as you left the bar to grab your water.
“Go spend $700 at Equinox if you want someone to kiss your ass instead of help you build it up,” Satoru rebutted, entirely too seriously.
“You’re a pain in the ass.”
“I’m trying to be. Better your ass than your quads—which is where the pain will be tomorrow if you don’t fix that form.”
“Why don’t you fix it for me?” you jeered.
“…If I get hands on, you’re going to failure.”
…
Again, in response to your joke, Satoru was too serious.
It took you locking eyes with his icy blues to register that his tone was intentional.
Your nerves manifested themselves as sweat on your brow. More sweat than that last brutal set induced. “…I’ve never gone to failure before.”
Satoru’s heart tugged at the fear in your voice.
You were still a little cardio bunny…
“Just this once,” he said softly, “I want you to see that you can do it.”
“…If I go to failure…what happens?”
“Your legs will give out. But you’ll be fine. You just can’t lift heavy again for a day or two.”
You shifted back and forth in your Converse. Still hesitant.
“C’mon, indulge me,” Satoru pleaded. “I can’t let you ruin my rep as a trainer. All my lil’ lifters are success stories. You won’t be breaking my streak.”
He was lucky you weren’t a quitter.
…
When he said hands on—he wasn't kidding.
Satoru stood behind you and guided you through the proper hinge motion with a lower weight, being somewhat discreet as he pressed his hips into yours at the crucial moments…
He added more weight, then kicked your feet into a more efficient position to accommodate for the flare of your hips.
Then he positioned your hands on the bar, just right…
“One, two, three,” Satoru’s voice was steady in your ear.
And———!
You lifted it!
——And your legs…really did give out.
“Whoa!”
…
Satoru was right behind you, and he caught the bar on either side of your hands, helping you lower it safely. Before you fell over, he caught you, helping you stand proudly at full height, praising you, “See! I knew you’d get it~!”
“Satoru, that was crazy… How…”
“I’m a good sensei.”
“You…” You shifted in his hold, eyes darting all over his smug face.
He leaned in, already well aware of what you wanted, “What~?”
“I——”
Words failed you.
But your lips still remembered…
You were gentle. He was not.
He had been waiting too long.
“I knew it,” he broke the kiss, “I knew you were only mean because you still want me,” Satoru grinned, holding your head in his hands, tearing apart your resolve with just his eyes…
“You were mean to me first…”
“That was business. You want pleasure instead?”
!
Yeah. You remembered. You remembered this whole time. He couldn’t resist anymore. The look he gave you was hardly fair… Should be reserved for the square footage of a bedroom…
You hesitated, "Satoru, it was one drunk night... It wasn’t supposed to mean anything."
"It doesn’t have to."
—!
“Is this a habit of yours? Seducing your trainees?”
“Nah… You’re the first to make me crack.”
He gripped at your ass and thighs, pulling you up into him and on your toes…
“You feel that? Feel this hard work?”
His words were two-faced, one side referencing your glute throbbing under his touch, and the other side…his stiff cock pressing into your stomach through his hoodie…
“You did such a good job…”
“Satouru…please…”
Satoru heard the desperation return to your voice, and had to think. He had never hooked up with anyone in his apartment gym before…
…
Just this once wouldn't hurt.
“Listen to me,” he lowly murmured on your lips, “We’re both gonna go wash our hands…get these gym germs off… Then—if you’re serious—meet me in the studio room…for some cardio.”
…
You nodded and on wobbly legs, went to the ladies locker room, heart already fucking racing…
As you washed your hands, you bashfully read a sign that detailed all of the things not allowed in the apartment gym:
No needles or steroids.
No fighting or aggressive behavior.
No nudity beyond the locker room.
…
No sexual conduct.
…
Fixing your hair was a deeply unserious task. You knew it was about to be ruined, but you primped anyway, wanting to at least appear like you were prepared for this…
…
You arrived at the studio room. The lights were off… But you could hear Satoru’s faint grunting. As you got closer, you saw him near the studio’s mirror wall with his shirt off. It was under his hand on the floor, and he was doing pushups on it… One-handed...
…
You smirked. “You want to warm up to fuck me?”
“Don't question my methods… Come sit and count for me. I’m on 70.” He held that plank, offering the rippling expanse of his shoulders as a throne for you.
!
“Y-you want me to sit on y-“
“Yes, yes, sweetheart, on me,” he laughed, “Hurry up. My dick keeps poking the floor through my pants, waitin’ on ya’…”
You laugh, taking off your shoes…sitting pretty…
And Satoru adjusted his hands into a diamond, dipping and rising as you counted…
Working up a little sweat, now…
Making you giggle nervously in between each number…
He didn’t have a number in mind, he was just playing with your weight and getting a little pump in. Waiting until he could feel that wet pussy soaking through your leggings and onto his back…
It only took 30 more.
…
“100, solid.” He pushed up to a halt. “Get up and take those leggings off…”
“All the way?” you slid off of him, flushing at the damp spot you left between his shoulder blades… “Satoru… We’ll get caught…”
“Camera’s covered,” he got up and nodded to the camera in the corner above the door. A gym towel was draped over it. “You want me to take ‘em off for ya’?” He got close to you before you could answer. Kneeling down and hooking his fingers into the stretchy waistband, swiftly yanking them down over your hips and ass, making you yelp.
“Mmmmmfffuck... Missed you…” Satoru mumbled against your lower stomach, hiking one thigh onto his shoulders and promptly kissing your labia. He parted them gently with his tongue, then latched onto your clit, making you fold over him right away~!
Your sighs of delight bounced off the echoey surfaces in the studio, and Satoru’s grip on you was iron-clad.
He hooked your other thigh up, braced your lower back with his palms and picked—you—up~!
Up…
Up higher…
The cold mirror sent a chill through your back as Satoru held you up against it. You panicked, slapping your tacky hands against the mirror, and then anchoring them in his hair.
“Satoru~u~!” you panted, brow furrowing as your watch buzzed at you with a heart rate alert… “Don’t drop me!”
“Stop worrying and cum on my tongue,” he grunted, squeezing his fingers into your hips to remind you of how strong he was…
You really weren’t going anywhere. Satoru had you glued to this mirror, looking into your pussy with more admiration for her than his own reflection…
His tongue swirled deeply inside of your crevice, then back out again to flatten and rub on your clit… Harder… Rubbing his nose in it~!
“Oh—fuck~! Yeah~!”
Satoru lapped up every bit of your cream as you came for him. He inhaled deeply, your sweat and pheromones hitting him like a dry scoop of creatine…
You were half whimpering from the pleasure, and half from the fear of being up so high…
Just as you caught your breath, blinking your eyes open, Satoru pulled away from the apex of your thighs—and dropped you.
……..!
You yelped~!
Hands under your ass, he caught you, chuckling at how he managed to scare you. Then he caged you against the mirror again, this time, pinning you with his hips. His cock was stiff, poking around at your thighs and abdomen…
Still dealing with that pit in your stomach, you hooked your legs around him, fearful of hitting the hard studio floor.
“I’m not gonna drop ya’,” Satoru dipped down to kiss your lips, focusing your attention back on him. “You’re barely a warm-up weight for me, sweetheart.”
You licked your lip, cheeks still warmed with the ecstasy his tongue gave you. You shifted in his hold, eyes taking in Satoru’s sweaty, flexing arms secured around you… You could see his blood pumping in his veins…
He smelled so good—sandalwood, sweat, sex…
“And those pushups made my traps the perfect handles for you,” Satoru broke you from your ogling, “You’re welcome, grab on.”
You should have listened sooner… “Fuck! Satoru~u~u!!”
Your hands eventually did find those handles of his, and you held on for dear life as he lined himself up, and slid you onto him, setting an agile pace. He held you up, fucking into you against that mirror with the discipline only a real lifter could have…
He never let you fall. Not even a slip.
He pounded you heavy, making sure to hit that tight spot you had trouble with loosening… Kissed your face, your neck, your tits… Made you cum two…three more times, praising your flexibility and endurance…making you cry out his name…making you dig your nails in deeper…
Satoru was in too deep, looking at this beautiful thing taking his cock in three different angles with the studio mirrors…
You looked good together. He always knew it, but seeing it in his happy place made it that much better.
Wasn’t too long before he was pulling out, splattering the mirror below you with white. The sounds of his heavy release made you laugh. That was a close one… “If I knew you were this horny, we could have skipped the gym…”
“No,” he panted out into your mouth, “I wanted to help you,”
“Oh, you helped me, alright…” you caught your breath, pushing your hair out of your face and giving him one more sweet kiss.
He guided you down, settling you to lean against the mirror while he crouched to get your leggings over your feet.
“I can help you whenever you want, by the way. You don’t need a reason,” Satoru said, kissing your thigh as he pulled your garment up, “Just ask me.”
You ruffled his hair, sighing, “Help me clean up the mirror, then take me to your shower… We made such a mess…”
He smiled confidently, cheeks rosy…excited for more with you... “We‘re gonna make a mess in the shower, too. Anywhere you come with me will be left a mess. Get used to it, babe.”
This is for my bb @sugusplaything just this once event ♥︎
Tw: MDNI, 18+
Part 1 Part2
Loving Ryomen Sukuna is a bit like willingly walking into a burning building and being surprised when you get third degree burns.
You knew the fire was there. You saw the flames. You smelled the smoke. And your dumb ass walked in anyway because the warmth felt nice.
Sukuna Ryomen: A selfish bastard, commitment phobe, serial heartbreaker, occasional decent friend, and…for the past six months… the man whose bed you crawled into like a pathetic little moth drawn to an extremely hot, emotionally unavailable flame.
Friends with benefits.
Six months. That's how long you'd been doing this little dance with him. Six months of watching him leave your bed to go to someone else’s and telling yourself it was fine because you agreed to this.
No strings. No feelings.
The problem? You forgot to tell your heart about the arrangement.
Your phone buzzed at 11:47 PM. You already knew who it was
Sukuna: you up?
And there it was. The modern equivalent of a booty call smoke signal. Your thumb hovered over the screen while your dignity staged a small protest somewhere in the back of your skull.
Don't do it, the last remaining brain cell screamed. Have some self respect.
You typed back: maybe
See? Growth. That was practically playing hard to get.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Sukuna: that a yes or a no?
You: depends. what's in it for me?
Sukuna: me.
God, the audacity of this man. But It worked. It always fucking worked. Because you were a clown, and this was your circus.
Twenty minutes later, you were in his apartment, and his mouth was on your neck, and his hands were everywhere, and for a few blissful hours, you could pretend this meant something. That the way he held you after…meant something. That when he murmured "stay" against your hair, he meant it the way you wanted him to.
You'd known Sukuna since forever. Since you were eight years old and he was the mean kid who pulled your hair on the playground. Since you were fourteen and he showed up at your door at midnight because his dad was drunk again and he had nowhere else to go. Since you were seventeen and he held your hand at your father’s funeral without saying a word because he knew you didn't need words.
He was your person. Your best friend. The one constant in your life.
And then, six months ago, shit happened. Maybe it was the way he looked at you… both of you drunk on cheap wine. Maybe it was how he said "I've always wondered" before he kissed you
"This doesn't have to change anything," you'd whispered after, your forehead pressed against his.
"No feelings," he agreed.
"No strings."
Famous last words.
The first time you saw him with someone else, you told yourself it was fine. Expected, even. That was the deal, right? He could do whatever…. whoever…. he wanted. You had no claim to him. No right to the jealousy that clawed at your throat when you watched her laugh at something he said.
You went home and cried in the shower for forty five minutes, then texted him like nothing was wrong.
The second time, you learned to swallow it faster. Shove it down into that little box where you kept all the feelings you weren't supposed to have.
The third time. The fourth. The fifth….
You got good at it. You could watch him flirt with someone at a party and still end up in his bed two hours later, because you were built different. Damaged different, but who's keeping score? Pathetic, really. Truly embarrassing behavior for a grown woman.
March 15th.
Your birthday.
You woke up to seventeen texts from various friends and family, a call from your mom that went to voicemail, and radio silence from the one person who'd never missed it.
Sukuna had remembered your birthday since you were nine years old. The year his mom was sick and his family had no money, he'd stolen flowers from the neighbor's garden and presented them to you with dirt still clinging to the roots. "They're not dead yet," he'd said, like that was the selling point.
You'd kept them until they were.
But today? Nothing. Not a text, not a call, not even a stupid meme with the crying cat that he always sent because he knew it made you laugh.
He's busy, you told yourself. He'll remember later.
You checked your phone at least eight thousand times throughout the day. Totally normal. Just a girl, standing in front of her phone, waiting for a man who promised her nothing to give her something.
By 7 PM, you'd graduated from "he's busy" to "maybe his phone died" to "maybe he's dead in a ditch somewhere and I should call hospitals."
9 PM, you were on Instagram.
And you saw his story, time stamped thirty minutes ago. Sukuna at some fancy restaurant with fairy lights and candles, and across from him sat a girl with perfect hair and pretty eyes,
He was on a date.
Something in your chest cracked. Like ice under pressure, spiderwebbing outward until the whole surface was compromised. You stared at that story for longer than you'd ever admit. Watched it loop three times. Four. Let the image burn itself into your retinas.
And then, finally, something clicked.
You were hurting yourself.
Every time you answered his late night texts. Every time you convinced yourself that maybe this time he'd look at you different. Every time you swallowed your feelings . You were doing this to yourself.
He wasn't the villain here. He'd been honest from the start. No strings. He'd kept his end of the deal.
You were the one who broke the rules.
You crawled into your bed, and let yourself cry. Ugly crying that leaves you dehydrated and blotchy
~~~
You're packing when he finally texts. Not packing packing. Just... putting things in boxes. His hoodie that had somehow came to your closet. Little pieces of him scattered around your apartment like landmines.
For one stupid, hopeful second, your heart leapt. Maybe he remembered. Maybe this was him texting to apologize, to explain…
Sukuna: come over
Translation: I’m horny, come over and spread your legs.
Ah, the late night classic. The mating call of the emotionally unavailable fuckboy. Your fingers itch to respond.., muscle memory at this point… but you don't.
When have you become this person? This pathetic, desperate girl who waits by her phone for scraps of attention from a man who can’t even remember her birthday?
You stare at the message until your screen goes dark, then you go back to shoving his things into the box
Twenty minutes later, there's a knock at your door.
Of course. Because god forbid Sukuna not get what he wants.
You consider ignoring it. But then he knocks again, harder, and calls out: "I know you're in there. Your light's on."
Oh ffs
You yank the door open. Sukuna's standing there in that leather jacket you've always secretly loved, hair pushed back
"Didn't answer my text," he says, inviting himself in.
"I was busy."
What are you doing?" He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyebrow raised like you were the confusing one here.
“Cleaning."
Sukuna pushes off the doorframe and walks toward you, and God, you hate how your heart still stutters. How your body still remembers every place his hands have been.
"You're being weird," he sys, reaching for the box. "What's…” He stops and stares at the contents. "Why is my shit in here?"
"Because it's yours." You yank the box away. "Take it.”
Sukuna stares at you. That look he gets when he's trying to figure out an angle. "What's wrong with you?"
"Nothing's wrong.” you say, starting to feel numb. You are so tired you can barely feel anything at all.
He steps closer. That gravity pulling you in, same as always. His hand comes up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek, and your treacherous body leans into it
"Can I stay," he murmurs. The voice that's gotten you into bed more times than you can count.
And for one pathetic second, you almost say yes.
Then you remember… The candles. The other girl's hand in his.
You pull back. "Not tonight."
He looks confused because Sukuna doesn't hear "no" very often. "Why?"
You look up at him, his eyes are fixed on you, waiting for your response. "I'm tired. Just…. go home, Sukuna."
He doesn't move. "Did I do something?"
"No. You didn't do anything."
That's the problem. You didn't do a single fucking thing.
"Then what…”
"It's my birthday." The words fall out flat and exhausted.
Silence.
You watch it hit him. The slow widening of his eyes. Confusion, then realisation, then guilt showing on his face before he smothers it
"Shit," he breathes. "Fuck, I….."
"Don't." You hold up a hand. "Don't do the thing where you apologize and I pretend it's fine and we fuck and nothing changes. I can't…. " Your voice cracks. Goddamn it. "I can't keep doing this."
Sukuna's face has gone still. You've never seen him look like this before.
"You were my best friend," tears stream down your face "For fifteen years. And now I'm just... what? Just someone you fuck when you're bored?"
Your heart was hammering so hard you could feel it in your throat.
“We agreed no feelings.” He finally says. And there it is. The rejection you’ve been expecting, wrapped up in his typical Sukuna way.
A laugh rips out of you. You are crying and laughing at the same time. You wipe your eyes roughly with the back of your hand. Your face is probably a mess… puffy eyes, snotty nose
"You're right," you whisper. You feel like throwing up. Youre so exhausted but the only thing you can think of is how you needed to get out and away from Sukuna “I think we should stop”
You expect him to argue. To charm his way out of it like he always does.
"Okay," he says finally.
Okay. Just like that.
You weren't expecting it to hurt this much.
He leaves.
You sit on your bed and cry until you can't breathe, then cry some more.
Happy fucking birthday to you.
~~~
What you don't see is Sukuna in his car, parked outside your building for two hours, staring at his steering wheel.
What you don't see is him pulling up fifteen years of photos on his phone. You at eight, cake on your face. You at sixteen, asleep in his passenger seat. You at twenty, laughing so hard you spilled champagne all over your clothes.
What you don't see is the moment he realizes the hollow feeling he's been ignoring for months isn't boredom, isn't restlessness, isn't anything fixable by another nameless girl in another forgettable bar.
synopsis: you keep visiting the same corner store, telling yourself you need just one more thing and not the handsome man behind the counter, too bad he sees right through you.
pairing(s): cashier!toji x fem!reader
c.w. & w.c.: 6.1k :: oral :: f receiving :: p in v :: size kink :: creampie
apart of @sugusplaything "just this once" event !
art credit @thatsallitchief
this was probably the 5th or 6th time time you've found yourself on this route this week alone with the same destination in mind. you didn't even need anything, not at all but you kept telling yourself the same excuses-
"i need milk" when you had a full gallon still, "i'm craving something sweet" when your nightstand drawer was stashed with candy, "i need-" you already had it. your kitchen was stocked with everything you needed, you just wanted an excuse to see him.
the corner store at the end of your street was your favorite, it was like you made the store itself a promise that it was the only one for you with how often you go there. you coudln't ever find yourself going out of the way to any other place.
i mean, they did have absolutely everything you needed; milk, soda, your favorite microwavable meals, your favorite snacks and candy- what more did you need ?
the man behind the counter didn't help your case at all. he was a good looking man, nobody could deny such a thing. he was built like a brick wall, his hair laid flat and spiked at the end. you wanted nothing more than to just run your tongue over that scar on his lip.
though, you always told yourself that you were only going there for groceries and not the man who stood so fine behind the counter, the lie felt like vinegar on your tongue each time, like right now.
you were trudging down your street, feet dragging along the sidewalk like bricks were weighing you down. you've been trying to talk yourself out of going today, there was nothing you needed, there was nothing you need the 5 other trips you've already taken this week either.
you just wanted to see him. you needed him.
okay, well.. you didn't need him, you wanted him.
your heart was pounding in your chest with each step you took that brought you closer to seeing him. you wondered if he'd smell the same; like leather and the must of sweat from lifting shipment boxes when customers weren't in.
the walk wasn't long, it never was even with your slowing steps. your thoughts began it's normal wandering likes always on your walks; how close did he live, you never did see a car or even a bike outside of the store, did he even have one ? a cashiers job probably didn't pay much.
you could always offer him a ride. not in a car, you didn't have one either but-
you were to lost in your thoughts to notice the end of the sidewalk where it dips off into the parking lot of the store, you barely catch yourself from the dip before you're quickly glancing up at the glass panels of the storefront to make sure he didn't catch it.
he didn't, not from what your own eyes could tell at least.
you let out a sigh, feeling semi defeated by the curb before brushing the non existent dust and dirt off your clothes before finishing the few steps to the door. "you just need milk.. or was it soap?" you murmur to yourself.
your hand quickly grabs the handle before pulling it open and stepping aside so the customer leaving can get out. "dudes in a piss poor mood today, tried over charging me for a gallon of gas." he grumbles in passing.
mhm. that's how he came off to a lot of people, so what ? and all he was trying to do was make his store some extra cash, was that really so hard to understand ? you didn't think so at least but he was also close to perfection in your eyes.
ding ding
"welcome in-" you hear as you push through the door. it doesn't take him long to notice-"oh, it's you."
he stands up from behind the counter, finally taking a look at you.
you scoff. "don't sound so disappointed, i'm your favorite customer-" you say. "and you know it."
"couldn't ever be disappointed with a pretty girl comin' in my store"
your heart skips a beat before you can manage to halt it. you weren't surprised by the comment, he was a flirt but it always did something with your chest each time he'd say it.
you roll your eyes, playing it off.. playing it cool in hopes he didn't notice how your cheeks went flushed. "you flirt with all the girls or just me?"
the scar on his lip twitches, just barely. "just you, favorite customer." his voice carrying that rasp that sends a chill right down your spine.
you feel your face heating up at his words, his voice wrapping around you like warm smoke. "just me, huh?" you shoot back, trying to sound skeptical even with your pulse hammering in your ears. "bold claim.. saying it's only me"
toji leans on the counter, his thick forearm helping hold his balance. the black shirt clinging to his chest like a second skin should be illegal, it feels illegal. his green eyes flicker over you slowly, up and down, lazy but deliberate. "nah, most girls come in, grab their shit and get out without two words.. you though?"
you know he isn't done, the corner of his mouth lifting a fraction higher. "you keep comin' back. makin' a man like me curious"
you swallow, suddenly very aware of how empty the store is except for the two of you. the fluorescent lights buzz faintly overhead, and the faint smell of old coffee and lemon cleaner mixes with that warm, masculine scent that always clings to him- leather, clean sweat, and something darker underneath.
“i just.. like the selection,” you lie, already drifting toward the nearest aisle like your feet have a mind of their own. “you guys have the best microwave burritos.”
“uh-huh.” his voice follows you, amused. “that why you bought three boxes of ‘em on tuesday?” you were sure- confident that his eyes were still trailing your every move like a tiger waiting to jump on prey.
you freeze mid-step, cheeks burning. he remembered. of course he did. you force yourself to keep walking, grabbing a random basket from the stack and tossing a pack of gum into it just so your hands have something to do.
behind you, you hear the soft creak of his stool as he sits back down, but you can still feel his eyes on your back. it’s like standing too close to a bonfire- too warm, too intense and impossible to ignore.
you wander down the snack aisle, pretending to study the rows of chips and candy like you haven’t memorized them by now. your mind is racing with dumb questions again, the ones you’d never actually ask out loud: does he live nearby? does he ever get bored sitting here all day? has he ever thought about you after you leave the way you think about him? has he ever touched himself to the thought of you?
the stool creaks again before the sound of heavy boots on linoleum makes your stomach flip. he’s not behind the counter anymore. he’s walking the aisle, slow and casual, stopping a few feet away to straighten a shelf that doesn’t need straightening.
“need help findin’ somethin’, favorite customer?” he asks, voice low enough that it feels private even in an empty store.
you turn, basket swinging lightly in your grip. he’s closer than you expected- tall, broad, the scar on his lip catching the light when he tilts his head. up close you can see the faint stubble along his jaw and the way his shirt clings to the hard lines of his shoulders.
“i’m good,” you manage, though your voice comes out softer than you want. “just.. browsing.”
toji’s gaze drops to your basket, then back up to your face. there’s a knowing glint in his eyes that makes your knees feel a little weak. you could moan at the sight of him alone, you already do it enough the nights he's on your mind too heavy and-
“browsing,” he repeats, cutting you from your thoughts, dragging the word out like he doesn’t believe it for a second. “you’ve been ‘browsing’ here almost every day this week.” he takes one slow step closer, the air between you suddenly feeling thinner. “gotta admit.. i’ve been lookin’ forward to seein’ what excuse you come up with next.”
your breath catches before you can stop it. he’s calling you out, but there’s no mockery in his tone- just raw, lazy curiosity mixed with something heavier. something that makes heat pool low in your stomach.
you lift your chin, trying to salvage some dignity. “maybe I just like the view.”
the words slip out before you can stop them. if you could die on the spot, you would've.
toji’s eyebrows raise, surprise flashing across his face for half a second before that slow, dangerous smirk returns. the scar on his lip pulls with it.
“yeah?” his voice drops even lower, rougher. “careful, sweetheart. keep talkin’ like that and i might start thinkin’ you’re here for more than just milk and candy.”
your heart slams against your ribs. the store feels ten degrees warmer. you open your mouth to reply- something witty, something safe- but nothing comes out. all you can do is stare up at him, the basket handle digging into your palm, while the tension stretches tight between you like a rubber band about to snap.
the silence stretches, heavy and electric. you can hear the faint hum of the refrigerated cases in the back, the distant traffic outside, but mostly you hear the steady beat of your own pulse.
toji’s smirk deepens, green eyes narrowing just a fraction as he studies your face like he’s reading every flustered thought scrolling through your head. “no comeback?” he murmurs, voice low and rough like gravel under boots. “that’s new. usually you got somethin’ smart to throw at me.”
you wet your lips, trying to regain some ground. “maybe i’m just.. conserving energy.. for all the browsing i still have to do.”
he lets out a short, amused huff-almost a laugh and the sound vibrates through the small space between you. “right. browsing.” one of his large hands reaches past you, deliberately slow, to adjust a bag of chips on the shelf at your shoulder level. his arm brushes close enough that you catch a stronger wave of his scent- warm skin, faint leather from the worn wallet chain at his hip, and that underlying musk that makes your brain short-circuit.
your grip tightens on the basket handle until the plastic creaks under your palm. he’s so close now you can see the faint white line of the scar cutting through his lip, the way the black spikes of his hair fall just a little messy at the ends, the thick column of his neck disappearing into the collar of his shirt.
“you know,” he says conversationally, not pulling his arm back right away, “most people who come in here five, six times a week are either addicted to somethin’.. or they’re avoidin’ goin’ home.”
your stomach flips. “which one do you think I am?”
toji tilts his head, considering you. his eyes drop to your mouth for a split second before flicking back up. “neither. i think you’re comin’ here ‘cause you like makin’ me work for it.”
“work for what?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.
he finally straightens without taking a step back. the heat from his body lingers. “for the chance to see that pretty little flush on your cheeks. the way you pretend you’re just here for milk when we both know you’ve got a full fridge at home.” His tone turns teasing, edged with something darker. “tell me I’m wrong.”
you can’t. the lie dies in your throat. instead you shift your weight, the basket bumping lightly against your hip. “you’re awfully confident for a guy stuck behind a register all day.”
toji’s scarred lip twitches again. “confident enough to notice you always wear that same perfume when you come in. smells like vanilla and somethin’ sweet. makes the whole store smell better for hours after you leave.”
your breath hitches. he’s been paying that much attention?
before you can respond, the door chime rings- ding ding -sharp and unwelcome. a middle-aged guy in a stained work shirt shuffles in, muttering about needing cigarettes.
toji’s expression doesn’t change, but you catch the faint tightening at the corner of his jaw. he glances toward the front, then back at you. “don’t go anywhere,” he says quietly, just for you. “i ain’t done talkin’ to my favorite customer.”
he turns and heads back to the counter with that lazy, powerful stride, leaving you standing in the aisle with shaky legs and a basket that now holds nothing but a pack of gum and way too much nervous energy.
you exhale slowly, pressing a hand to your warm cheek. this was getting dangerous. every trip made it harder to pretend you were only here for snacks. harder to ignore how your body reacted every time he looked at you like that- like he was imagining exactly what you were imagining.
by the time the new customer pays and leaves, you’ve managed to toss a random bottle of soda and a bag of your favorite chips into the basket, mostly as camouflage. your heart is still racing when you finally approach the counter.
toji is already ringing up the previous guy’s stuff, but his eyes find yours immediately, holding your gaze a beat longer than necessary.
when it’s finally your turn, he leans forward on his elbows, voice dropping back into that intimate rasp. “find everything you needed, sweetheart?”
you set the basket down. “maybe. still deciding.”
his fingers brush yours as he takes the items out of your hands- deliberate, lingering just a second too long. the calluses on his palm scrape lightly against your skin, sending a spark straight down your spine.
“yeah?” he scans the soda, then the chips, slow and methodical. “take your time. store closes at eleven.. and i’m here till then.”
you manage a weak laugh, trying to play it off. “eleven, huh? noted.”
toji just gives you that slow, knowing smirk as he bags your items- way too few for someone who supposedly needed groceries. his fingers brush yours again when he hands you the plastic bag, the rough warmth of his skin lingering a second longer than necessary. “see you soon, favorite customer.”
you mumble something that might have been “bye” and practically flee the store, the bell chiming mockingly behind you as the cool evening air hits your flushed face.
the walk home feels longer this time. every step down the cracked sidewalk echoes with his words: Store closes at eleven.. and I’m here till then. the plastic bag swings lightly in your grip, the soda and chips inside suddenly feeling like the world’s most obvious excuse.
your heart hasn’t slowed down since you left the aisle. that casual brush of his fingers, the way his voice dropped when he said “sweetheart,” the heat in his eyes when he looked at you like he could see right through every lame grocery lie you’d ever told.
by the time you push open your apartment door, your mind is a mess.
you set the bag on the counter, staring at the half-empty gallon of milk already in your fridge like it’s personally offending you. the kitchen is quiet except for the low hum of the refrigerator. you should eat something. watch a show. go to bed early like a normal person.
instead, you find yourself leaning against the counter, replaying every second in the store on loop. debating walking back and taking what you've been craving for too long.
the way his shirt stretched across his broad chest when he leaned on the counter. the scar on his lip twitching when he smirked. how close he’d stood in that snack aisle, his arm brushing near your shoulder, that warm leather-and-sweat scent wrapping around you. he noticed your perfume. the thought sends another rush of heat through your body.
he’d been paying attention- all this time. not just tolerating your ridiculous daily visits, but looking forward to them.
you wander into your living room and drop onto the couch, pulling your knees up. the clock on the wall reads 8:47 PM. the store closes at eleven. that gave you just over two hours to talk yourself out of going back.
you try. you really do.
you tell yourself you’re being ridiculous. you’ve already been there twice this week- no, three times. four? you’ve lost count. going back tonight would be too obvious. desperate, even. what would you even buy? another pack of gum? a single banana? he’d see right through it, and that cocky smirk would tell you he knows exactly why you’re there.
but.. the alternative- staying here, alone, with nothing but the memory of his voice saying “i ain’t done talkin’ to my favorite customer” feels so much worse.
your thighs press together unconsciously as you remember how he’d looked at you. like he was imagining peeling away every layer of your excuses. like he wanted to hear you admit it out loud.
you groan and bury your face in a throw pillow. “this is stupid,” you mutter to yourself. “he’s just a cashier. a really hot, built-like-a-tank cashier with a scar and a voice that could melt steel.. but still.”
except he wasn’t just anything anymore. not when every trip made your stomach flip harder. not when you were already wondering what his hands would feel like on more than just your fingers. not when the thought of him standing there alone behind that counter after dark, waiting, made something deep and needy twist inside you.
the minutes tick by. 9:12. 9:35. you pace the apartment, straightening pillows that don’t need straightening, checking your phone for no reason. every time you glance at the clock, the pull gets stronger.
you could just walk back for one thing. something small. say you forgot soap or.. whatever.
you already know it’s a lie. you know if you go back tonight, it won’t be for groceries.
by 10:15, you’re standing in front of your mirror, fixing your hair for the third time, heart pounding like you’re about to do something reckless. the walk to the store at this hour would be quiet, the streets mostly empty. he’d probably be the only one there. no other customers to interrupt. just him, that lazy smirk, and the thick tension that had been building for weeks.
you bite your lip, staring at your reflection. your cheeks are still faintly pink. the same perfume he complimented lingers on your skin.
eleven o’clock. he’s there till then.
the next thirty minutes were a struggle- to go, not to go. the time on your phone read 10:47 PM when you finally gave up fighting it.
your sneakers hit the sidewalk harder than usual, each step echoing in the quiet night air. the street was almost empty- just the occasional passing car and the distant hum of the city. you’d changed into something casual but cute: a soft oversized hoodie that slipped off one shoulder and leggings that hugged your thighs a little tighter than necessary. you told yourself it was just for comfort. the lie tasted as weak as all the others.
your heart was already racing before the corner store even came into view. the bright fluorescent lights spilled out onto the parking lot like a beacon, the “OPEN” sign still glowing stubbornly in the window. 10:52. eight minutes until closing.
you slowed your pace as you approached, avoiding the curb that tried taking you out earlier, nerves twisting tight in your stomach. what the hell were you even doing here? the plastic bag from earlier still sat on your kitchen counter, untouched. you didn’t need milk. you didn’t need candy. you needed to stop pretending.
the door handle felt cool under your palm as you pull it towards your chest.
ding ding.
the familiar chime cut through the quiet store like a starting gun. the overhead lights still buzzed softly. most of the aisles were dimmed, only the essentials still fully lit. no other customers. just the low sound of a radio playing some old rock song from behind the counter.
toji was there. of course he was, he said he would be.
he was leaning back in his stool, one muscular arm draped over the back of it, scrolling on his phone with the other. his mid-length black hair looked a little messier than usual at the end of a long shift, the spiked ends falling forward. that scar on the corner of his right lip caught the light when he glanced up at the sound of the bell.
his green eyes locked onto you instantly and for a second, surprise flickered across his face before it melted into something darker, slower, unmistakably pleased. he set his phone down and stood up, the movement smooth and powerful, like a predator uncurling after waiting all night.
“well, well..” his voice rolled out low and rough, that familiar rasp sending a shiver straight down your spine. “look who decided to do some last-minute shopping.”
you swallowed, fiddling with the them of your shirt and stepping further inside. the door swung shut behind you with a soft click. the lock engaged automatically- standard closing procedure. the sound felt final and strangely, suffocatingly heavy.
“i.. forgot something,” you said, the excuse sounding paper-thin even to your own ears.
toji’s scarred lip twitched into that lazy, dangerous smirk. he didn’t move from behind the counter at first, just let his gaze drag slowly down your body and back up, taking in the slipped shoulder of your hoodie, the way your chest rose a little too fast.
“yeah?” he pushed off the counter and started walking toward the end of it, boots heavy on the linoleum. “must’ve been real important if you came all the way back this late.”
the store felt smaller with every step he took. the air thicker. you could already smell him- that warm mix of leather, clean sweat from moving boxes all day, and something undeniably masculine that made your mouth go dry.
you drifted toward the nearest aisle anyway, fingers trailing nervously along the edge of a shelf. “just.. one thing. i won’t take long.”
toji rounded the counter completely now, closing the distance with that unhurried stride. He stopped at the mouth of the aisle, leaning one broad shoulder against the endcap, arms crossing over his chest. the fabric of his shirt pulled tight.
“store closes in..” he glanced at the clock on the wall, then back at you. “about six minutes. guess that means we’ve got the place to ourselves.”
your pulse thundered in your ears, and lower. you turned to face him fully, the half-empty aisle suddenly feeling like a narrow corridor with nowhere to hide.
he didn’t come closer yet. just watched you with those sharp green eyes, the scar on his lip pulling as his smirk deepened.
“tell me the truth this time, sweetheart.” his voice dropped even lower, intimate in the quiet store. “you didn’t forget shit. you came back here for me.”
the words hung between you, charged and undeniable. your breath caught. every lame grocery excuse you’d ever used crumbled under the weight of his stare. the weeks of “just milk,” “just snacks,” “just one more trip” all led here- to this exact moment, with the doors locked, the lights low, and toji fushiguro looking at you like he was done waiting for you to admit what you both already knew.
you opened your mouth, heart slamming against your ribs, the tension so thick it felt like you could reach out and touch it. you could see in those green eyes that he wasn't going to wait for your answer, not a chance in hell.
and your suspicion was right when he straightened, lazy smirk still lingering on his lips and walked over to the "OPEN" sign- still 5 minutes till close and clicked it to "CLOSED" before flipping the lock on the door, the sound echoing louder than it should've, or maybe it was just your nerves.
“five minutes early never hurt nobody,” he rumbled, voice low and rough. his green eyes dragged over you again- slow, hungry, like he was finally done pretending either of you were here for anything else. “c’mere.”
before you could overthink it, his large hand wrapped around your wrist, firm but not rough, and he tugged you behind the counter. the backroom door was already cracked open. he pushed it wider with his shoulder, pulling you inside after him.
the space was small- dimly lit by a single overhead bulb, shelves lined with extra stock boxes, a beat-up desk in the corner, and a worn couch pushed against the far wall. the door shut behind you with a heavy click. the faint scent of cardboard, cleaning solution, and toji’s warm, musky scent filled the air.
he turned to face you fully, towering over you in the tight space. one broad hand came up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing slowly over your bottom lip.
“you’ve been drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy, y’know that?” he murmured, voice dropping into that gravelly rasp that made your knees weak. “comin’ in here every damn day with those big eyes and weak-ass excuses. wearin’ that perfume just to torment me.”
your breath hitched as he stepped closer, backing you up until your thighs hit the edge of the desk. “toji-”
“been thinkin’ about bendin’ you over this counter since the second week.” his other hand slid down your side, gripping your hip possessively, fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp. “wonderin’ how wet you get every time you leave here. how many times you’ve gone home and touched yourself thinkin’ about me.”
heat flooded your face and in your lower tummy, growing tighter and begging to snap.
his scarred lip twitched. “that’s what i thought.” his lips were on yours before anything else could be spoken.
it wasn’t soft. it was hungry- months of pent-up tension pouring out as his mouth claimed yours, tongue sliding in deep and filthy the second you parted your lips. he tasted like black coffee and something darker. his hand tangled in your hair, tilting your head exactly how he wanted while the other squeezed your ass, pulling you flush against the hard line of his body.
you moaned into his mouth, fingers fisting the front of his shirt. he groaned low in response, the vibration rolling through you that didn't help the building heat at all.
when he finally pulled back, both of you were breathing hard. his forehead rested against yours.
“tell me you want this,” he said, voice strained. “tell me you’ve been thinkin’ about my cock as much as i've been thinkin’ about this pretty little cunt.”
your thighs clenched. “i have,” you whispered, voice shaky with need. “god, toji.. i want you so bad.”
that was all he needed before he lifted you onto the desk like you weighed nothing, shoving a box of snacks out of the way. his hands were everywhere- pushing your hoodie up, palming your breasts through your bra, thumbs circling your already-hard nipples until you arched into him with a whimper.
“fuck, look at you,” he growled, leaning down to drag his tongue along the swell of your breast. he tugged your bra down roughly, mouth latching onto one nipple, sucking hard while his hand worked the other. the wet heat of his tongue, the scrape of his teeth, the rough calluses on his palms- it was overwhelming.
your head fell back, a broken moan slipping out. he switched sides, lavishing the same attention on your other nipple until you were squirming, thighs rubbing together desperately.
toji pulled back just enough to yank your leggings and panties down in one rough motion, tossing them aside. he spread your legs wide, stepping between them, eyes locked on your exposed, glistening cunt.
“shit.. already so fuckin’ wet for me.” his voice was reverent and filthy at the same time. two thick fingers dragged slowly through your folds, spreading your slick, circling your swollen clit with agonizing slowness. “this what you’ve been hidin’ every time you came in here? this pretty, drippin’ pussy beggin’ for my attention?”
you whimpered, hips twitching. “toji.. please-”
he chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating against your skin as he dropped to his knees in front of the desk. “yeah? beggin’ already?” without another word, he hooked your legs over his broad shoulders and buried his face between your thighs.
his tongue was relentless- long, slow licks from your entrance up to your clit with tight circles around the sensitive bud before he sucked it into his mouth with a wet, obscene sound. you cried out, not caring how loud you were being, one hand flying to his hair, the other gripping the edge of the desk. he groaned against you, the vibration shooting straight through your core.
he ate you like a man starved- messy, loud, and thorough. his tongue fucked into you, curling just right, then he pulled back to spit on your clit before sucking again, two thick fingers sliding deep inside you without warning. he pumped them slowly at first, scissoring and stretching you open while his mouth worked your clit in steady, devastating strokes.
“f-fuck toji- oh my god-” your voice broke as pleasure coiled tight and hot in your belly. he curled his fingers, hitting that perfect spot over and over while his tongue flicked faster.
“that’s it,” he growled against your pussy, voice muffled and dripping with lust. “cum on my tongue, sweetheart. let me taste how bad you’ve wanted this.”
the orgasm hit you hard- your back arched off the desk, thighs clamping around his head as you came with a loud, broken cry. he didn’t stop, licking you through every shuddering wave until you were trembling and oversensitive.
only then did he stand up, wiping his glistening mouth with the back of his hand, eyes dark and feral, he palmed the massive bulge straining against his pants, smirking down at your dazed expression.
“we’re just gettin’ started, baby. turn around and bend over the desk for me.”
you barely had time to catch your breath before toji’s hands were on your hips, flipping you around with ease. he pressed your chest down onto the cool surface of the desk, your ass up and presented for him like an offering. the position made you feel deliciously exposed- bent over, legs spread, pussy still dripping and fluttering from your orgasm.
“fuck.. look at that,” he groaned behind you, one large palm smoothing over the curve of your ass before spreading you open with his thumbs. “such a pretty little cunt. all swollen and shiny just from my tongue. you’re fuckin’ tiny compared to me, sweetheart. gonna look so good stretchin’ around my cock.”
your fingers curled against the edge of the desk, heart hammering. “toji.. wait-”
“nah.” His voice was dark, rough with lust. “you came back here tonight knowin’ exactly what you were askin’ for. been teasin’ me for weeks with those little visits. this is what you wanted, right?” he leaned over you, the hard line of his body caging you in as he ground the thick bulge in his pants against your ass. “just this once, yeah? that’s what you’re tellin’ yourself?”
you whimpered, nodding against the desk. “just.. just this once. it doesn’t mean anything.”
toji let out a low, mocking chuckle that sent shivers down your spine. “keep tellin’ yourself that, baby.”
you heard the metallic clink of his belt, the slow drag of his zipper. then the heavy, hot weight of his cock slapped against your ass- thick, long, and intimidatingly hard. the head was already leaking, smearing precum across your skin as he dragged it teasingly through your soaked folds.
“shit.. feel that?” he murmured, pressing the fat tip against your entrance, barely pushing in. “you’re so fuckin’ tight. gonna split this pretty pussy open. you sure you can take all of me?”
you moaned, pushing back against him instinctively. “please- toji, i need it”
he didn’t make you beg twice. with one slow, relentless push, he sank into you- inch after thick inch stretching your walls until you were gasping, eyes rolling back. the burn was delicious, overwhelming. he was huge, filling you so completely that you felt every ridge, every vein as he bottomed out with a deep groan.
“fuuuck,” he hissed through gritted teeth, hips flush against your ass. “so goddamn tight. look at you- taking every inch like a good little slut. your pussy’s grippin’ me so hard.. like it doesn’t wanna let go.”
he stayed buried deep for a minute, letting you adjust, one hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise while the other reached around to rub slow circles over your clit. the fullness was insane- your belly felt tight, like he was pressing against your cervix.
he started moving, slow at first- long, deep strokes that dragged against every sensitive spot inside you. each thrust pushed a broken moan from your throat, your cheek pressed to the desk as he fucked you steadily.
“listen to those pretty sounds,” he growled, picking up pace, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the small backroom. “you’ve been thinkin’ about this cock every time you left my store, haven’t you? touchin’ yourself at home, wishin’ it was me stretchin’ you out instead of your fingers.”
you couldn’t even deny it. “yes -hngh- fuckyes, toji-”
he slammed in harder, the desk creaking under you with every powerful thrust. his hips snapped against your ass, balls slapping against your clit as he drove deeper. the size difference hit you with every stroke- he was so big, so thick, it felt like he was reshaping you from the inside.
“that’s it, take it,” he rasped, voice strained with pleasure. “take every fuckin’ inch. this pussy was made for me- grippin’ me so perfect. just this once, huh? bullshit. you’re gonna be drippin’ my cum for days after this.”
your moans turned into desperate cries as he fucked you harder, one hand fisting your hair to arch your back deeper, the other digging into your hip to hold you in place. the angle let him hit that perfect spot over and over, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in your core.
“gonna cum inside you,” he growled against your ear, breath hot on your neck. “fill this tight little cunt up. you want that? want me to breed you right here on this desk?”
you nodded frantically, too far gone to care about the consequences. “p-please- please- cum inside me-”
toji’s rhythm turned punishing, hips slamming into you with wet, obscene sounds. his groans grew rougher, more animalistic, until finally he buried himself to the hilt with a guttural moan.
“fuck- agh take it-”
you felt the hot, thick rush of his cum flooding you- pulse after heavy pulse painting your walls, so much that it started leaking out around his cock as he kept shallowly thrusting through his orgasm. the sensation pushed you over the edge again, your second orgasm crashing through you in shaking waves, pussy clenching and milking every last drop from him.
he stayed buried deep for a long moment, both of you panting, bodies slick with sweat. his forehead dropped to your shoulder as he caught his breath, still twitching inside you.
“shit..” he muttered, voice hoarse. “that wasn’t supposed to mean anything, huh?”
he slowly pulled out, a thick trail of his cum dripping down your thighs. his fingers followed, pushing some of it back inside you possessively before he helped you straighten up on shaky legs.
you turned to face him, cheeks flushed, legs trembling. toji smirked, scarred lip twitching as he tucked himself back into his pants.
“next time you need ‘milk’…” he said, voice low and teasing, “just come straight to the backroom. no more bullshit excuses.”
synopsis: suguru won't deny that it's wrong to pine for a taken woman, but acting is different from doing, and he's not done a thing. when you stumble into his bar in the aftermath of your proposal, the morals become murky, and suguru doesn't fight the pull that is you.
this is for the lovely @sugusplaything's 'just this once' event <3 congratulations on hitting this milestone and thank you for letting me participate mwah (and also for letting me pick your brain a lil ily) II art credits -> tomiokamon II wc 2.6k
tags/cw: MDNI, bartender!suguru // bsf!suguru, one sided pining (or so you think), marriage proposals, cheating (not on suguru – also this wasn’t meant to be part of the plot but it just happened, can you forgive me baby i won’t ever do it again), dubious consent (they’re both lwk drunk), angst, hurt/no comfort, cunnilingus + fingers, reader is lying to herself
His skin heats before his mind catches up.
Familiar heels click across the room, though they’re marred by the weight of the day. Perfume – your signature, sweeter than the cherry vodka he dishes out to every bachelorette party – graces the air. A scoff – maybe even a scowl – wants to manifest on his face, but all that appears is the tiniest, upwards twitch of his lips.
It’s you.
“I’m not serving you tonight.”
It’s the script – the same song and dance that he’s entertained since childhood. You show up. He teases, and between the banter, you wrap him around your pinky and win with nothing but bravado.
Suguru’s back is turned away from you as he sorts whatever-the-fuck is in the cabinets behind the bar, his voice radiating sheer disapproval – or, what you like to call, challenge.
You slide into your usual seat anyway, and the stool screeches against the worn wood under your forceful actions. Drumming on the mahogany with manicured fingers like you’re about to start rapping your case to a beat of your own audacity.
“Sugu, there’s no way you’re gonna be a buzzkill tonight,” you drawl. Your voice is raw, like it’s been scraping against your throat for the past hour. A tone that’s usually mischievous is dulled and you try to cough the congestion away, but it does no good.
A drink – your usual – is already dripping condensation down his fingers, and you reach for it like you’ve already decided the alcohol belongs in your system. For the first time that evening, Suguru pauses. Observes.
Sees the swollen state of your eyes, the tears already prickling at your lashline – though the silvery tracks down your cheeks tells him that this isn’t the first time they’ve made an appearance tonight. Bracelets adorn your wrists, but the one your boyfriend got for you is missing, and you keep fiddling at the spot like it might reappear if you rub the skin raw.
Speech, slurred.
Lips, kiss-bitten – lipstick all but gone.
Eyes? Desperate.
He wonders how many bars you’ve been kicked out of to land in his. Disappointment isn’t the feeling sinking his chest right now. No, it’s hollow, like someone burst a balloon in the cavity and tossed his ribs away. He’s never been your first choice. He just didn’t expect to be your last.
“Suguru,” you say, and it sounds more like a plea than a call. “You gonna serve me—” you reach for his hand, the one wrapped ‘round the cup, “—or not?”
You are the one thing he is not allowed to want.
Glasses clink, and the hums of tired conversation thread through the early morning air. Suguru greeted the unholy hour with one final customer, before he shrugged off his responsibilities to settle beside you, much to the chagrin of his manager.
If you were a better woman, you’d shoo him back behind the bar. If he were a better man, he’d fall back and try to fall out of love with you.
But you’re not, and he’s always been the type to lead with his heart.
“He proposed to me.”
The sounds of his body fall quiet. He’s not even sure that he’s breathing. All that roars in his ears, is the fatal beating of his heart.
“Oh, yeah?” Suguru says, if only to fill the silence. Because if he doesn’t say something – anything – it might show. Just how much that sentence took from him.
The natural next step would be to ask to see the ring, because there’s no universe where you refuse the guy you’ve been with since high school. For all the politeness hammered into his body – courtesy of his mother, and her prattling on about manners and social conventions – Suguru can’t summon the courage to confirm that you won’t ever be his.
Not that you’d ever consider that possibility.
Your critical eyes linger on his stiff form, and he feels like he’s being examined. He tries to sit looser. Breathe steadier.
What he’s being tested on, he doesn’t know. He’s never worn heartbreak well, but he’s trying for your sake. No one needs to see a man crumbling under the weight of a love he could never hold.
“Mhmm.” It rings hollow, your usual vibrance bittered by the alcohol. You’ve wrapped your fingers around the glass – he never could say no to you – like it’s something to pray into. It’s almost gone, and when it is, Suguru knows you will vanish too.
What he doesn’t understand is why you’re stuck beside him, instead of celebrating with your husband-to-be. Why you had stumbled into his bar like a disaster waiting to be unravelled.
Unless you didn’t accept. Unless the life everyone expected you to take is still waiting for you.
Hope flutters in his chest – uninvited.
Unless you said no.
It rises before he can stop it. A selfish, grasping thing that latches onto the cracks in your voice. Because if you didn’t accept, then you’re still his to lose.
His eyes slide to your hands before he can stop himself.
No ring.
Shame kills this ugly line of thought before it can take flight. He can’t sit here and wish that you’re just as miserable as he is – because that’s exactly what he’s doing – while he sits beside you, masquerading as the friend you came to find.
“What would you have said?” You push the drink towards him.
At this, Suguru raises an eyebrow. “If…your boyfriend—” he doesn’t miss your wince, “—proposed to me?”
“Yup,” you reply, popping the p.
This feels juvenile, like when a child skirts the truth by conjuring bizarre hypotheticals to judge the morality of their behaviour. You’re fidgeting with your nails – your freshly polished nails, painted an inoffensive colour that would suit any combination of band and gem. Did you know that he was about to propose?
Suguru wants to reach over and cup your restless hands, but that wouldn’t be right.
“Yeah, I’d…I’d say yes.”
It hurts more to say aloud than he expected.
You don’t answer right away.
And for a second – just a second – he thinks he’s misunderstood everything.
Until—
“I did, too.”
Oh.
From your coat pocket, you fish out the ring and toss it onto the table like spare change. The diamond is big – bigger than any jewel he’d be able to get on his salary. Suguru stares at it, at the way it catches the dim bar light, refracting something cold and distant.
For a moment, he can’t reconcile it with you.
With the girl who used to sit cross-legged on his bedroom floor, stealing sips from drinks you both swore you hated (hah). With the girl who claimed that she’d never get married unless the guy added to her life – you had strict standards, and a robust ‘no losers’ policy.
‘Congratulations’ tastes bitter as it leaves his lips. The drink you’ve offered him is really tempting.
Your reaction isn’t one that he expects. Eyebrows knit. Lips press into a line that isn’t quite a frown, not quite a smile.
“He’s a nice guy – there’s nothing objectively wrong with him. Decent family – his sister’s really, really nice, and—just, ugh, I don’t know,” you mutter the last part like you’re ashamed. “I guess I latched onto him because I was afraid that I’d never find someone better. That someone better wouldn’t want me.”
Suguru shakes his head. “You can’t think like that.”
“No, that’s the thing, I’m the bad guy here.” Your voice rises, panic setting in. “Fuck, I’m—I don’t even know if I said yes because I meant it, or if I felt bad for keeping him in this stupid fucking relationship that I never saw going anywhere. And now—” your voice breaks, “—now, he’s going to expect vows, ceremony, children. He—he keeps calling his mom my ‘mother-in-law’ and I…I can’t—”
“Are you the bad guy?” Suguru asks, voice low with conviction.
You blink, startled. “What?”
“You’re not the villain here.” Suguru pushes on, challenging your thoughts. You’ve gotten lost in your spiral – that much is clear. Otherwise, why would you defend the guy who would always slip in snide remarks, chipping away at confidence until your inferiority was all you saw.
You don’t remember the first argument that you had, but Suguru was the one who had to hold you upright when you felt your world collapsing. Arguments that you thought you had resolved, your boyfriend would always find a way to resurface – to use the concessions you made to back you into corners.
Your composure is slipping with the second. Suguru has always been good with his words, but now, they slip from his mind. Quicksand swallowing the comfort he so easily dishes out to every other patron. Maybe it’s because what he has to say will cross the line he’s learned never to venture near.
But you?
You’ve always been the go-getter.
You shift until you’re facing him and rest a hand against his cheek. Before either of you can think, your lips slam against his.
They’re dry – the alcohol has washed away any lingering lip balm – and they brush against him like a question he hasn’t ever dared to ask himself. You kiss like you want to forget the promise you made, but Suguru doesn’t want to be a late night regret.
So, he freezes for a heartbeat, letting the heat of your lips sear onto his, giving you the extra seconds to pull away. He doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t push. His heart hammers in protest, desperate to yield, but this time his mind fights back.
This is wrong.
His hand finds the back of your neck. You part your lips, and he follows.
You’re engaged.
Seconds pass. You lean, insistent, and Suguru’s resolve wavers. Your hands find their way to his shoulders, and you tug until he falls into you. Fingers thread through hair, his body thrumming with warning and want, and want wins. Time slows, and Suguru’s world narrows to this.
To the taste of your tears mingling with the lingering sweetness of your drink.
To the hammering in his chest, and the matching rhythm in yours.
And for once, Suguru doesn’t think about right or wrong. He only thinks about you, pressed to him.
You pull away, and your gasps ghost his lips.
“Distract me.”
In the space between those two words lies a world of hurt.
He’s not going to think about that right now.
You need him.
Suguru is no stranger to sex.
It’s part of the job – and hey, those rolled-up sleeves? Doing him plenty of favours. He’s used to people leaning on him for a night of distraction, a temporary escape. It’s always been about equal exchange: they want, he gives. Losing isn’t in the equation.
But this isn’t like that.
For starters, you’re in his apartment, not the shabby motel across the street.
This is delicate in the way his hands aren’t used to. They fumble through familiar actions with the clumsiness of a fawn stumbling through new terrain. There should be nothing to prove – Suguru shouldn’t want to prove anything, but when he tugs your underwear off to the sight of stringy slick clinging to the fabric, that plan changes.
His fingers glide between your folds, collecting arousal on his fingerpads – almost mockingly, like you’re the one who should be shying away, and not as though he’s the one eager for a taste. He thinks that his heart might burst open.
“Where do you want me,” he presses fluttering, open-mouthed kisses to your thigh as you shift. “Come on, use your words.” Black has swallowed the purple of his eyes that you adore, and being lusted over like this – wanted like this – has you gushing slick. You shiver as the contrasting temperature hits your exposed core – heated breath, arctic room.
You refuse with an indignant whine, only rolling your hips against the grip he’s fixed onto your thighs. Your fluttering pussy is answer enough, no?
Suguru laughs from where he’s burrowed between the apex of your thighs, like your desperation is amusing. Someone pinch him, because he still doesn’t believe this experience is real.
You tell yourself that you just want to get off and leave.
You don’t know why Suguru insists on taking things slow.
It’s not like you’re lovers.
“Suguru, I’m gonna need you to hurry things up,” you groan, head falling back into pillows. You don’t want to see his face as he registers your words.
Another laugh, but it’s quiet – less teasing. Like he’s trying to stretch the moment, and hold it in place before it slips through his fingers.
“Yeah?” A thick finger presses into you, torturously slow. “You always this impatient?” Eyes half-lidded, you meet his stare as he watches your expression shift, before sliding a second finger past the ring of muscle to join the first. This time, the stretch burns – each knuckle sends a shock wave of pleasure rippling through your core, leaving you gasping and trembling.
Suguru’s fingers move with a deliberate, teasing rhythm, curling slowly inside you. You try to fuck yourself faster on his fingers, but he doesn’t let you.
His breath fans over your skin, hot and steady – eyes never leaving yours. His tongue finds your clit, swirling and sucking. The stimulation has you trembling, arching into his touch.
“Y–you’re being so—shit—good for me.” If you’re not mistaken, he’s looking at you with reverence. Like your noises are giving him life.
You watch him rut into the mattress, slow, in tandem with the pace of his fingers. Confusing feelings erupt low in your belly, but you brush them aside.
You don’t need this right now.
His other hand slides up your thigh, fingertips tracing lazy circles – barely touching you. The room seems to shrink until there’s nothing but you and him. The wet sound of his tongue. The slick warmth inside you. The rapid beating of your heart, pounding loud and strong in your ears.
“Mhm, nah Sugu, you’re just—fuck—good.” Your toes curl, and your thighs are beginning to ache.
It spills from his chest – this secret he was hoping to keep a little while longer. But he can’t help it, not while you’re splayed under him like this, looking like something out of his dream. Maybe he knows he won’t be able to touch you like this again, and maybe it’s because he knows there’s no coming back from this.
“Love does that to a man.”
Shit.
His fingers falter for half a second, just enough to betray him.
But you don’t catch it.
Or maybe you do. You just don’t care.
Your head lolls slightly against the pillows, breath uneven, eyes barely open as your fingers drift through his hair without thought,
“Yeah,” you consider, distracted like you didn’t quite hear him. “Don’t start getting soft on me now, Sugu.”
Light. Offhand.
Nothing.
And just like that, whatever slipped out of him folds back in.
It’s the pinging of his phone that rouses Suguru from slumber.
The sun isn’t kind to him, and he has to hold his head in his hands for a few seconds while the headache sparks out. On the bedside table, panadol and a glass of water rests, placed with the kind of care that feels cruel now.
Your side of the bed is cold already, but he expected that.
His phone buzzes again.
It’s you.
A message. It’s short.
i’m sorry. thank you for being there last night.
i didn’t mean to do that to you
Suguru stares at the pixels for a stupidly long time like they’ll rearrange themselves.
A few seconds pass, and then you ruin his life again.
i’d really like it if you still came to the wedding
Huh.
Suguru reads it once. Twice. The air in his lungs is sharp. His ears ring like a bomb’s just been dropped.
Understanding dawns just as the hurt splits him in two.
WARNINGS: NSFW — smut; p in v sex, creampie, boss!nanami, dilf!nanami, implied infidelity (reader is nanami’s mistress), praise, teasing, slight exhibitionism (cameras recording) neither can make a sound lol, cold-ish nanami.
SUMMARY: rising to the top at the company you work in was always easy. when in need of that last push to get to the position you so worked hard for, nanami steps in to seal the promotion securely. though, it comes with the price of doing what you’ve been doing for months now behind everyone’s backs.
WORD COUNT: 3K ~
A/N: woop woop! this is my entry for my mootie @sugusplaything’s #Justthisonce event! congrats on that super milestone — im so happy to celebrate it by participating in this event (my first ever) with so many other talented writers! make sure to check all the fics out! this is also my first time writing for nanami and eeek idk how to feel but anyways i won’t be negative abt this; i did what i could in the midst of my writers block. this was a great way to test the waters. i hope you enjoy!
The office tower never truly slept, but after 10 p.m. it pretended to. The fluorescent lights in the upper floors hummed at a lower frequency. Half the corridors stayed dimly lit for the cleaning crew and the occasional overworked salaryman. Security cameras blinked their small red eyes every thirty seconds, sweeping the same areas they had swept for years. Forty floors below, the city glittered like scattered diamonds.
You had learned every blind spot in this building by heart.
The narrow alcove behind the copier on the thirty-ninth floor where the maintenance logs had mysteriously never been updated. The service stairwell between floors 38 and 39, where the emergency light flickered just enough to create a small corner of darkness. And Conference Room 12B—your current destination—where the large potted ficus in the corner conveniently blocked the camera’s line of sight when you stood at the far end of the long table.
You were twenty-six. He was forty-eight.
And none of this was supposed to mean anything.
Two years ago, you had stepped into the building as a nervous newbie, clutching your portfolio and wearing a blazer that was slightly too big for you. Nanami Kento had been the one to conduct part of your onboarding process. He sat across the table in a crisp navy suit, gold-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, voice calm and measured like a man reading from a well-worn rulebook.
“You’re young,” he had said that day, folding his hands neatly. “This company chews up bright talent and spits it out if you’re not careful. If you ever need guidance, my door is open. No one should have to figure this place out alone.”
He had sounded fatherly. Protective. Safe.
You had believed him.
In the beginning, it really had been innocent. Late-night mentoring sessions where he reviewed your reports with the patience of a teacher. Quiet advice over coffee about how to navigate the politics of the department, and the idiots who occupied its space. A hand on your shoulder when you aced your first big presentation, and a rare, small smile that made something warm bloom in you.
He was the kind of man people respected without even trying. Tall, broad-shouldered, always impeccably dressed, with faint threads of silver already weaving through the dark blond hair at his temples. He carried himself with the quiet authority of someone who had seen enough of corporate life to know its games; and chose not to play most of them.
Divorced once, or so the office rumors whispered, though no one ever confirmed it. He never spoke about his personal life. Never lingered at after-work drinks for more than necessary.
Until the night everything shifted.
It had started with a brutal deadline. You were both stuck in the office until 1 a.m., the rest of the floor scary empty. You had been exhausted, frustrated, close to tears over a spreadsheet that refused to balance. Nanami had loosened his tie, rolled up his sleeves, and sat beside you instead of across from you, and, for the first time, the space between you felt smaller than it should.
One shared look too long. One brush of his fingers when he pointed at the screen. One quiet confession from your lips: “I don’t know if I can do this.”
And then his hand had cupped your cheek—gentle, but hesitant—and he had murmured, “You can. But not alone. Not tonight.”
The first kiss had been slow. Careful. Like he was testing whether the world would end if he crossed that line. It hadn’t. Instead, it opened a door neither of you knew how to close again.
What followed was never loud, never reckless in the daylight.
It was stolen minutes in elevators stopped between floors. Quick, desperate encounters in the underground parking garage where the cameras only covered the entrance ramp. Once, in the service stairwell, your back against cold concrete while his hand covered your mouth to keep you quiet.
Always the same words afterward, spoken in his low, steady voice while he fixed his cufflinks or straightened your collar:
“Just this once.” “This can’t happen again.” “We stop here.”
And every single time, you both broke that promise.
You became his secret. His mistress. The young employee he had once mentored with professional care,
now bent over his desk after hours or riding him in the back seat of his sleek black car.
He never called you. Never sent risky texts. The rules were simple, even if they were constantly bent: no emotions, no future, no questions about the wife whose ring he still wore on most days. You told yourself it was just physical. Just stress relief.
But the truth was more complicated.
Nanami Kento was a man who lived by lines: moral, professional, strict. Yet with you, he kept crossing the one he had sworn he never would.
It wasn’t supposed to mean anything.
Tonight was supposed to be different.
You checked your watch— 10:47 p.m .—and smoothed down your blouse before stepping into the elevator. Your promotion had been the topic of quiet rumors all week. You had earned it: the extra projects, the flawless reports, the way you had stepped up when half the team burned out.
But you both knew the final push had come from him. Nanami had signed off on the paperwork this afternoon. The email had landed in your inbox at 4:12 p.m., cool and professional, as if the man who sent it hadn’t had his face buried between your thighs in this same building just ten days ago.
The elevator dinged on the 37th floor. You walked the familiar corridor, heels clicking softly against the tile. The building felt emptier than usual, and your heart beat a little faster with each step.
Conference Room 12B waited at the end of the hall, door slightly opened. You pushed the door fully open and stepped inside.
The room was mostly dark, illuminated only by the single desk lamp he had left on at the head of the table. Nanami Kento stood at the wide window, staring out at the glittering city below. His suit jacket was already draped neatly over the back of a chair. Sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the strong forearms you had traced with your tongue more times than you cared to count. His tie hung loose around his neck, the top two buttons of his shirt undone. The faint silver at his temples caught the light when he turned to look at you.
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
He looked tired. Not the kind of tired that came from too many meetings, but the deeper exhaustion of a man fighting a battle he was losing against himself.
“Close the door,” he said finally. His voice was low, controlled—the same tone he used in board meetings. No greeting. No "how was your day". Just the quiet command that always sent heat pooling low in your belly. You did as he asked.
He exhaled slowly through his nose, eyes flicking once to the security camera in the far corner—its blind spot exactly where the long conference table met the wall with the ficus.
“The promotion is yours,” he said. “Effective monday. I pushed the paperwork this afternoon”
You had wanted this. Ypu had worked for this. But hearing it from him, in this room, made it feel double-edged.
You walked toward him, the distance between you shrinking with every step. “Thank you.”
“Don’t.” His jaw tightened. “Don’t thank me like this was fair.”
You stopped an arm’s length away, close enough to smell the faint trace of his cologne mixed with the coffee he must have been drinking earlier. “You said that last month. And the month before.”
“I mean it this time.” His voice dropped, rougher now. “You’re moving up, to a different department. People will watch us closer. I won’t risk your career, or what’s left of my conscience, because I can’t keep my hands off you.”
You let out a soft, bitter laugh. “Conscience. That’s new.”
His eyes darkened behind the glasses. “Don’t push me.”
But you were already stepping closer, fingers brushing the loosened knot of his tie. “You promoted me after the last time we said it would stop. You crossed the line, then drew it again. So which is it, Kento?”
He caught your wrist, thumb pressing firmly against your racing pulse. For a heartbeat you thought he might push you away, reclaim the distance he kept trying to rebuild. Instead, he pulled you in until your hips met his. He was already half-hard, the evidence pressing insistently against your stomach.
“Fuck,” he muttered—the rare curse sounding almost pained. “Just this once. Then it ends.”
You smiled against his mouth, “you always say that.”
Nanami’s response was immediate. He captured your lips in a deep, punishing kiss, the kind that left no room for argument. His hand slid from your wrist to the back of your neck, long fingers threading into your hair to angle your head exactly how he wanted.
His tongue stroked against yours with deliberate precision, mapping every inch as if he could commit you to memory one last time. You pressed closer, hands fisting in his half-unbuttoned shirt, feeling the heat of his chest beneath the fabric, and your legs tremble with expectation.
When he pulled back, his breathing was already uneven. His glasses had fogged slightly at the edges.
“Turn around,” he said quietly, voice low and commanding, “And keep your voice down.”
You obeyed, heart racing. The long conference table stretched in front of you, its polished surface reflecting the single desk lamp. He guided you forward until your hips met the edge, then gently but firmly bent you over it. Your palms pressed flat against the cool wood, papers scattering beneath your fingers, upper body angled just enough that the ficus blocked the only camera that could possibly see that corner.
He stepped in behind you, one large hand smoothing down your back, pressing you down a little more. The other hand flipped your skirt up to your waist with clinical efficiency, exposing the black lace panties you’d chosen knowing he’d see them.
Nanami exhaled sharply through his nose. “You wore these on purpose, did you?”
“Maybe.”
His fingers traced the edge of the lace slowly, then hooked into the waistband and dragged them down your thighs, letting them catch at your knees. The cool air hit your slick folds and you shivered.
“Quiet,” he reminded you again. His palm smoothed over your ass, almost soothing, before he delivered a single, firm smack—just hard enough to sting and make you bite your lip. “We can’t risk the microphones picking up anything. Not even a moan.”
You nodded, gripping the edge of the table tighter.
Behind you, you heard the soft clink of his belt, the quiet rasp of his zipper. He was careful, methodical. Even now, even when his control was fraying, Nanami didn’t rush.
Then his fingers were between your legs. Two of them slid through your folds, spreading the wetness that had been building since you stepped into the elevator to get where you where now. He circled your clit once, before pushing inside you, scissoring gently, stretching you open with the kind of practiced patience that drove you insane.
“So wet already, hm?" he murmured, “Always so ready for me... even when we both know we shouldn’t.”
You whimpered softly once you felt him leaning over you, chest pressing against your back, one hand covering your mouth.
“Shh. Not a sound.” His lips brushed the shell of your ear. “If security reviews the footage tomorrow and sees us in here together this late, at least the camera won’t catch what we’re doing. But they’ll hear if you’re loud.”
His fingers curled inside you, hitting that perfect spot, making your thighs tremble pathetically while you nodded against his palm.
Only when he was satisfied you’d stay quiet did he remove his hand. He replaced his fingers with the blunt head of his cock, rubbing it slowly up and down your slit, teasing your entrance and your clit until you were practically shaking with need, fingers grasping onto nothing.
Then he pushed in.
One long, controlled thrust, slow enough that you felt every inch stretch you open and make you feel whole. You bit down hard on your lip to keep from moaning. He was thick, hot, and the devilish angle had him pressing right against that sensitive spot inside you on the very first stroke. His hands gripped your hips hard, fingers digging into your flesh as he bottomed out, hips flush against your ass.
“Fuck… so tight,” he whispered, almost to himself. “Every time. Like you were made for this.”
He stayed still for a moment, letting you adjust, letting himself savor it despite the guilt you knew was eating at him as one of his hands caressed your back. Then he started moving; deep, measured rolls of his hips that made the table creak faintly beneath you. Each thrust was precise, powerful, angled perfectly to make your eyes roll back.
It was maddening. Devilish, sweet dangerous pleasure. Each thrust a reminder of how everything built up around you was a lie. You weren't the ideal employee. You were not lucky. This was punishment; a sweet one at that.
Your nails on the table. A soft, desperate sound escaped you despite your best efforts.
Immediately Nanami’s hand was back over your mouth, his body leaning heavier over yours. “I said quiet,” he hissed against your ear, voice dark and rough. “Do you want the entire security team to hear how well you take me?”
You shook your head frantically, clenching around him.
“Good girl.”
The praise, spoken in that low, velvet tone, sent another rush of heat through you. He picked up the pace, just enough to make it filthy, but still controlled. The wet sound of skin meeting skin was muffled by your bodies pressed so close, but it still felt dangerously loud in the silent room. Every time he drove deep, his balls pressed against your clit, sending sparks through you.
He reached around with his free hand, fingers finding your swollen clit. He circled it in tight, fast strokes that matched the rhythm of his thrusts.
You were close already, and he could feel it. How could he not, if he always knew.
“Not yet,” he whispered, slowing his hips just enough to edge you. “Not until I say so”
You whined against his palm. He chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating through his chest into your back.
“Greedy tonight, aren’t you? Even with cameras watching the rest of the room… you still want me to wreck you right here on this table. dirty girl.”
He straightened slightly, changing the angle so every thrust dragged against your g-spot repetedly. His hand left your mouth only long enough to grip your shoulder for leverage, then returned to muffle your sounds as he started fucking you deeper.
The table shifted an inch. The ficus leaves rustled. Danger.
“Stay still,” he ordered through gritted teeth. “If that plant moves too much, the camera might catch us.”
The risk made everything sharper. You clenched around him involuntarily, and Nanami cursed softly—another rare “fuck” that sounded like it was torn from him.
He leaned down again, lips brushing your ear. “Come for me, sweet girl. Let me feel how much you need this.” he lulled.
His fingers pressed harder on your clit, rubbing in tight circles while his cock drove into you with perfect, punishing strokes.
You came hard, vision whiting out, body locking up as pleasure crashed through you in silent, shuddering waves. Your walls fluttered and squeezed around him rhythmically. You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from crying out his name, gasps leaving your lips inevitably.
Nanami followed right after, hips stuttering as he buried himself deep and came with a low, strangled groan he tried to bury in the crook of your neck.
For several long seconds, the only sounds were your ragged breathing and the faint hum of the air conditioning.
He stayed inside you for a moment longer than necessary, forehead pressed between your shoulder blades, breathing you in like he could memorize the moment. Then reality settled back in.
Nanami pulled out carefully, and before you could whine a small plea for more, you heard the soft rustle of his clothes as he tucked himself away, zipped up, and redid his belt.
He helped you up gently, hands surprisingly tender now. He smoothed your skirt back down, then turned you to face him. His thumbs brushed under your eyes, checking that your mascara hadn’t run. He even straightened your blouse, buttoning the top one you’d missed in your haze.
"K-Kento, I..." you looked up at him. His hair was slightly mussed, glasses still fogged at the edges, lips swollen.
“This was the last time,” he said quietly, voice rough but steady again. The corporate mask sliding back into place.
You searched his eyes, seeing the same conflict that was always there after these moments—the guilt, the want, the exhaustion of fighting himself.
You smiled slightly. But deep down, unsurely. “You always say that, Kento.”
He didn’t correct the use of his first name twice. Instead he leaned in and pressed one last kiss to your forehead. Then he stepped back, picked up his suit jacket, and slipped it on. The man who walked toward the door was once again the composed, respected senior colleague.
At the threshold he paused, hand on the handle.
“Congratulations on the promotion,” he said, formal and distant, as if the last twenty minutes hadn’t happened. “You earned it.”
The door clicked shut behind him.
You stood alone in the dimly lit conference room, legs still shaky, the faint ache between your thighs a reminder of how thoroughly he’d taken you while the cameras watched everything except the one blind point where you both kept breaking every rule.
You touched your lips and whispered to the empty room:
SYNOPSIS: He knows your drink, your worst days, and the face you make when you’re pretending to be fine. One night after closing, he decides just knowing isn’t enough anymore.
CW: Eighteen+, Mdni!! Alcohol consumption, Reader is emotional, Sex in an empty bar, fingering, Mentions of Readers Ex Bf, Mentions of cheating, Reader is tipsy, Consensual.
WORD COUNT: 2.0k
NOTES: First long fic in a while! Anyways, this is my submission for @sugusplaything #Justthisonce 1K event!! Check it out for other upcoming fics :D
The neon sign is humming. An electric buzz that vibrates in your molars. The air in the bar is thick with the smell of cheap gin, stale American spirits, and the heavy, expensive scent of your handsome bartenders cologne. It’s sandalwood, something smooth that shouldn’t belong in a dive bar with sticky floors.
You’re staring at the bottom of a glass. The ice has melted into a lukewarm puddle, diluting the amber liquid until it tastes like nothing.
Suguru is at the far end, wiping down a surface that’s gotten sticky, his movements fluid. He wears his black sleeves rolled up to the elbows, revealing forearms corded with lean muscle and a stray vein that pulses when he grips the rag. His hair is a spilled inkwell, tied back, but a single stray lock shadows his eye. A good bartender would look at their regular once in a while but he hasn’t looked at you in ten minutes. In his defense, he doesn’t need to. He knows you’re there and he knows the exact weight of your silence.
"Another?" His voice is low, cutting through the overhead drone of a radio playing something forgotten. He’s standing right in front of you. You didn’t even hear him move.
You look up. Your vision is a blurred smear of gold and shadow. Your face feels tight, salt-crust on your cheeks from the drive over, the kind of dry heat that comes after you’ve emptied yourself out in a parking lot.
"I shouldn't," you reply.
Suguru leans in, hands flat on the mahogany. His rings clink against the wood. "You shouldn't do a lot of things," he says, "But you're sitting in my bar forty minutes past the last call for the regulars. So. Another?"
Without waiting for a reply, he reaches for a fresh glass. As he does, you’re stuck thinking about the text on your phone. The one you deleted, then recovered from the trash, then deleted again. The image of your (now ex) boyfriend’s mouth on someone else’s neck—a girl who looked like a blurred version of you, but younger, less tired. The betrayal is a physical thing, a cold stone lodged under your ribs. It makes every breath feel shallow. Suguru slides the drink toward you. It’s not the cheap rail whiskey you’ve been nursing. This one smells like a forest fire.
"On the house," he murmurs.
"Why?"
"Because you look like you’re about to shatter, and I don't want to sweep up the glass tonight." If he had caught you at a better time, you would’ve laughed at the joke. He turns around to flip the sign on the door to Closed. The heavy deadbolt thuds home. The sound echoes in the empty room. The silence that follows is massive. It’s just you, him, and the hum of the refrigerators.
He walks back, but he doesn't stay behind the bar. He hitches a leg over the stool next to yours. He’s too close. You can feel the heat radiating off him, a steady, rhythmic warmth that mocks the shivering mess inside your chest.
"He's an idiot," Suguru says. No preamble. No "what's wrong?" He already knows. He's watched you come in here for months, watched you wait for calls that didn't come, watched you pull your hair back and try to look small.
"Is it that obvious?" you whisper, staring into the dark liquor.
"You have the look of someone who just realized they’ve been worshipping a false god." He reaches out, his fingers hovering near your hand before retreating. "It’s a violent realization."
You let out a laugh that turns into a sob before you can choke it back. You press your palms into your eyes until you see sparks. "I feel stupid. I feel... dirty. Like I'm the one who did something wrong."
"Look at me."
You drop your hands. He’s watching you with those narrow, dark eyes—piercing, intelligent, and utterly devoid of the pity you'd get from anyone else. He looks at you like you’re a problem he wants to solve. Or a meal he’s considering.
"You aren't the one who's stained," he says. He reaches out again, and this time he doesn't stop. His thumb brushes your lower lip, pulling it down just enough to expose the tremble there. His skin is hot.
"Suguru..."
"Hush." He stands up, his height suddenly looming, blocking out the rest of the room. He reaches behind him, unfastening the tie in his hair. It falls in a heavy, dark curtain around his face. He looks less like a bartender and more like something ancient. He grabs your glass and sets it aside. Then, he hooks his large, warm hands under your armpits and lifts you off the stool like you weigh nothing. He sets you down on the bar top.
The wood is cold against the backs of your thighs, a sharp contrast to the fire in his gaze.
"You came here to drown it, hm?" he asks, stepping between your knees. His chest is a wall of black cotton. "But alcohol just keeps the ghost alive, you need something louder. Something that hurts enough to make you forget his name."
You look at him confused. He’s always had a bad habit of talking in riddles to maintain being referred to as the “logical one.” It’s laughable. He smiles at your confusion and to make the meaning of his words clearer, his mouth hits yours like a collision. It’s not sweet. It’s not a comfort. It’s a riot. He tastes like bitter alcohol and smoke. He tastes like the end of the world. His tongue slides against yours with a bruising pressure, demanding you show him exactly how much you’re hurting.
You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him in, desperate for the friction. Your fingers tangle in that long, dark hair, pulling at the roots. You want to claw the skin off his back. You want to feel anything other than the hollow ache in your soul. Suguru groans deep in his throat, a sound of pure, unadulterated hunger. He breaks the kiss to trail his lips down, biting and nipping at your neck.
"Tell me," he hisses against your pulse. "Tell me you want to forget him."
"I want to forget," you gasp, "Please. Make me forget just this once.”
He pulls back, his eyes glowing in the dim light. He looks at you, stripping away the sadness until only the raw, pulsing need remains.
"I’m going to ruin you for anyone else," he whispers. "You understand that? When I'm done, he won't even be a shadow in your head." He reaches for the button of your jeans, his movements slow and deliberate. He’s watching your face as he undoes the denim, as he slides his hand inside to find your pussy already slick, already waiting.
His fingers are long, talented, and ruthless. He moves with a rhythmic, mechanical precision that makes your back arch, and your legs spread wider for him absentmindedly. "That's it," he coos, his voice dropping into a honey-thick register. "Needy girl aren’t you?”
You nod desperately as his fingers are deep inside, hooked and ruthless, mimicking the stretch you’re starving for. You find yourself rutting against his hand, your hips moving in frantic hitches, chasing that high-voltage snap in your nerves.
"That's it," he purrs, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that makes your toes curl. "Wreck yourself on me. Forget everything else."
When you finally break, he’s already stripping. He shoves his slacks down, thick cock springing free, thick and angry-red, the head already slick with a heavy bead of pre-cum.
“Can I?” He looks at you.
“Yes, please” you beg. He grabs your thighs, dragging you to the very edge of the mahogany until you’re open, vulnerable, and completely his.
"You're so tight," he hisses, his tip probing the entrance, dragging through your velvety walls. "He didn't deserve to be anywhere near this pretty pussy. I'm going to stretch you out so wide you'll never feel him again."
The grunt he lets out is primal as he buries himself to the hilt in one fluid, violent shove. You cry out—a thin sound that cuts through the hum of the refrigerators—as your body tries to accommodate the sheer mass of him. It’s a blunt-force trauma of pleasure. He’s bottoming out, hitting your cervix with every rhythmic, punishing thud of his hips.
"Look at me," he says, voice cracking, "Don't you dare close your eyes. I want you to see who's filling you up. I want you to feel every inch of me taking what he left behind."
He starts to move faster, a relentless, bruising pace that makes your head toss back and forth. Each thrust is a heavy, wet slap of skin on skin.
"Tell me," he gasps, his teeth grazing your earlobe, "tell me how much better this feels. Tell me you’re mine tonight."
"Yours," you sob, your fingers digging into the meat of his shoulders, drawing crescent moons in his skin. "Suguru, please—"
"I’ve got you," he growls, his pace turning frantic, desperate. "I've got you."
He’s all-encompassing, a storm of sandalwood, salt, and raw power. He isn't just fucking the sadness out of you; he’s burning the memory of the other man down to ash, replacing it with the heavy, permanent weight of his own name.
Your pussy grips him and both of your climaxes hit like a fever dream—shaking, sobbing, clinging to each other as the world dissolves into static.
Later, the room is quiet again. You’re sitting on the edge of the desk, wrapped in his discarded button-down. It’s too big, the sleeves hanging past your hands. Suguru is leaning against the doorframe, lighting a cigarette. The smoke curls around his head like a halo. The pain is still there, somewhere deep down, but it’s dull. It’s been cauterized.
He looks at you over his shoulder, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. "Better?"
You look at your hands. They aren't shaking anymore. "Yeah," you say, your voice finally steady. "Better."
He walks over, plucks the cigarette from his lips, and offers it to you. As you take a drag, he leans in and kisses your forehead.
"Good," he murmurs. "Now let's go. I'm taking you home. And tomorrow, you're changing your locks."
He says it like a fact. And for the first time in a long time, you believe him. You leave the bar behind, the neon sign finally flickering out, leaving nothing but the cool, dark dawn and the man walking beside you, his hand a grounding weight on the small of your back.
cw: (7.9k wc, apx. 32 mins.) minors dni, public & private sex (p in v), older reader (thirty years old), satoru is in his twenties, infidelity, sweat, denial, fingering, no use of “y/n”, idk how what else. mb.
a/n: (art creds: thatsallitchief on x) hi cuties! first and foremost, i wanna thank you for your patience and support. i went mia because of some personal issues and to study for my midterms.. i used my spring break as an opportunity to write what i can. i wanna catch up to my promises! now, to make it short and bring all the spotlight to my amazing mutual aly (@sugusplaything), this work is a part of an event/collab in celebration of her reaching 1k followers! standing ovations and bunch of hugs! thank you aly for letting me participate. <3 please consider going to her page and supporting her, and with love, please keep an eye out for all the other works my peers have put their blood and sweat into. they’re all jjk themed and being released as we speak! (the event post for this collab is linked below under “just this once”). and lastly, like always of course… enjoy. maybe play "professional" by the weeknd ;)
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ masterlist | just this once | read on ao3 𖥔 ݁ ˖
a wedding ring couldn’t stop you from eyeing your pilates trainer and blushing like a teenage girl whenever he complimented your endurance, even if you were just a new face in his beginner’s class. and it’s not like your neglectful husband would ever find out what you do on your free time because it wasn’t supposed to mean anything… right?
ten years passed by way faster than they should have. it was embarrassing to look back at how little had happened throughout your entire marriage.
it all seemed like a lie, a ruse to be seen as a true love story to others. more specifically, to your family and hometown.
everyday felt the same. the same walls of your penthouse haunted you with their blankness and there was nothing that brought you joy. much less the wedding band that adorned your finger.
a decoration. an illusion.
it glistened at the weak morning light. you were sitting on your kitchen island, sipping on some warm tea after another all-nighter.
chamomile, it soothed your throat from how hard you had been holding in your tears throughout the entire night.
your husband?
a wealthy business man that was nowhere to be seen. he was probably on another work trip, doing who knows what.
he was your high school sweetheart, you got engaged the night you both graduated from college. it wasn’t supposed to be a big deal. but of course, your old-fashioned family would never let you leave if you had been thinking of eloping.
and so by the end of summer, before you both moved across the nation to the heart of tokyo, the wedding was planned. it small and last-minute.
cheap lace and wine. the chairs were full of people whom you had never even heard of since you were a kid.
but it was all you needed to feel wanted.
you continued sipping on your tea, letting your eyes doze off into the distance. you could see one of the housemaids dusting your custom furniture in the living room. by the time you snapped back into reality, said maid was in front of you holding a grand bouquet.
“ma’am…? is the dining room fine?”
“oh… yes.”
“they’re beautiful ma’am. lilies.”
you sipped again before replying, “they are, aren’t they?”
“of course, he chose wisely, and it has been a while since he’s sent any.”
your eyes slightly widened at the realization, “he did?”
a nod and a soft smile were what you earned from that foolish question.
the tea in your hands was fashionably placed down, you took a break and left to go back into your master bedroom, desperately holding in the bitter tears he didn’t deserve.
it had been far too long since he said anything to you, much longer since he visited you and this far too lonely home.
he promised, didn't he? that he would cherish your youth?
the days stretched from boredom, but somehow the years stacked on faster. you were thirty now and still wanted so much. he made it seem so easy to forget about dreams despite the fact you both moved away from comfort, all in hopes for him to achieve his.
were your dreams really that unimportant?
your master bedroom was large, far too big for someone who basically lived alone.
but you have a secret in the midst of your ostracization. other than growing a bad habit of spending your husband’s “hard-earned” money on things that you didn’t even need (this was in the beginning, all in the hopes of somehow earning the attention of your husband even if it was in a bad light), you have been attending a beginner’s reformer pilates class. it was three times a week and with the hottest instructor.
the class is well known throughout the entire city because of him.
satoru gojo.
blue crystal eyes that pulled your breath away with just one look, his white hair lulled like waves, and somehow made you feel safe.
it was all a distraction to get away from home. he was eye candy and a sight for your sore eyes, if you will.
the morning sun was continuing its rise, and you wasted no time getting ready for your session.
satoru had complimented you a while back about how easily you grasped routines, and there was no way you’d hold back.
he had your attention, just as much as you had his.
maybe it was in a different way, but it felt good to walk in and be with him.
you slip on some black leggings and a gym top that squished your bust just right.
it felt wrong, but so right. your heartbeat fluttered at just the thought of him looking at you.
and after leaving home in a rush because of spending so much time on your hair, you somehow ended up being the first one to show up. the studio was still empty, you had the choice of walking to your unassigned assigned machine. obviously, it stands right next to satoru’s. stocked away in the corner, you had no shame to be bold. this was the only place you could feel a little thrill after so long.
but before you could set down your items beside your machine, you hear the door behind you slide open.
his footsteps were light and somewhat graceful. you had unintentionally studied them like they were homework.
the soft blush on your cheeks rose without any thought, awkwardly standing there, you were fighting the urge to turn around. what would you say? would he even say “good morning” with that sweet tone of his?
“good morning.. you’re early. again.”
the vibration of his voice instantly brings chills down your spine, and as you move to turn around to look at him, he was wearing that black compression shirt of his. chiseled muscles breaking through, and the warm lights of his studio made it much easier for them to be noticeable.
quickly, you look away and slightly bite your lip, “good morning.. yeah.. i tend to sleep badly. i was already up.”
he hums and moves to the machine beside yours, “you didn’t sleep well?”
satoru places down his waterbottle and begins to change the tension in his reformer, but he was still looking at you. he was giving you all the attention that he could while maintaining productivity.
“i don’t sleep well.”
“you know, i think i’ve told you that maybe switching this class would help.”
it’s true, a few weeks prior satoru told you to switch his class for afternoon sessions. the problem was that he wouldn’t be your instructor.
“true. maybe it would help, but i really enjoy your teaching.”
bold.
he laughed and straightened up, “that’s cute and all, but maybe worrying about yourself wouldn’t be so bad.”
what felt like minutes of bickering, your other classmates started to pop in.
his entire attitude changed; that wide smile of his filled the entire studio with laughter.
somewhere between the lines, satoru kept looking at you. maybe to see if you had laughed too.
“good morning, i’m sure everyone is ready for warm-ups?”
he walks over to his machine again and starts explaining his setup, “alright, make sure to loosen it up. last class was advanced, so i apologize.”
your hands reach over to the springs at the foot of the machine, slightly tugging at the tightest coil, you pop it out.
“hey, why don’t you use the medium?”
you look up and see satoru looking at you, pointing at the medium-thick coil.
“me? are you sure?”
“of course, you’ve really grown. i’m sure you can do it with that endurance of yours.”
before you could pop in the spring, he reaches over and takes it upon himself to switch it for you.
“stay after, yeah?”
the blush on your cheeks grew even brighter; you could feel it in the tips of your ears. after finishing up, he straightens up and continues class.
“alright, three sets on the side. we’ll continue with a new stretch today.”
the normal warm-up was casual, like always, but the actual stretches had you warm in every joint. his new addition consisted of one leg on the carriage while the other held on for dear life on the leg stand.
“hold the pose! just a few more seconds!”
your back was aching for release, every vein in your body was pumping from how still you were trying to balance.
“stretch the carriage! come on.. try a side split.”
as you move your leg, making the carriage open and the spring stretch, you see satoru. he was walking by every machine and correcting people’s posture. and by the time he reached yours, he gripped your hip and made you slightly bend your knees.
“a little more, you can do it.”
a soft whine slipped, your legs were slightly shaking from surprise. his hand was huge and his fingers were digging into you; somehow it made you dizzy instead of helping.
satoru’s eyes looked up at you, they look down at your lips before slowly letting go to walk off.
“slowly come up.. hold your position.”
your legs continued to shake and satoru made you all repeat it before changing the target.
laying back down, the straps wrap around your wrists. the coming down was obvious, all of your classmates were almost at their limits.
“nobody’s sleeping, right? we need our usual sets!”
satoru walked toward another classmate who was slowing down, he helped them up to switch positions at their accommodation.
by the time class ended, satoru was all smiles, as if we has proud how wasted everyone was.
“good job everyone! see you all next session.”
the small chatter from everyone slowly diminished; a few women stayed behind to earn a compliment. but he noticed that you were still waiting for him, and so, he excused himself.
you were sitting on the carriage, sipping on water and trying not to fall asleep.
“you did good, with the medium spring.”
your eyes shot open to look up at him, “i did?”
“that’s intermediate for you. have you been taking classes without me knowing?”
his musk filled your nose and caught you a bit off guard, you were about to answer until he cut you off.
“actually, don’t answer that. i’ll probably feel a little bummed out.”
“bummed out? you mean jealous?”
he hummed, “something like that.”
the studio was empty now, other than you both. warm lights shone on you and made the awkward silence somewhat tolerable.
“i know i asked you to stay. but i just wanted to talk, and maybe i can offer something.”
that caught your interest.
“oh… talk about what?”
“this class, you’re obviously achieving results much faster than everyone else. maybe you could move up.”
you laughed, “move up? i’ll be missing so much.”
“not really… if you do move up, i could offer training.”
“you do personal training?”
“well, i am an instructor. i’m sure i can personally train.”
your eyes slightly cinched at confusion, “so you don’t train.”
“i did, once a blue moon. but i think your progress could exceed if you moved up.”
silence. the blush from his praise made you warm up. the workout already had you completely bloodshot, your heart was accelerating even while sitting down because of him. it had been so long since these type of words were being uttered in your presence.
“yeah… okay.”
“i’ll work it out for you. this new class has two options.”
satoru began to walk towards the door, “follow me. my office is down the hall.”
as soon as you walked in the hallway, other people noticed satoru. they waved and greeted him, but thanks to his height, you were easily brushed off.
“the schedules for intermediate are hard-copy. it’ll be easy to pick out.”
his office door clicked as it opened and closed behind you, allowing you both some privacy. his room was modernly furnished. shelves that reached the ceiling and a large desk made of dark oak. they shimmered at every angle.
“sit. i’ll print ‘em out.”
you nod and sit down while his back faces you. god, every muscle jolted with every move he made. your teeth were nibbling on your bottom lip, it was taking everything in you to look away and have some decency.
“here.”
his body turns to face you as the papers slide on the desk.
“this one is three times a week, later time, just with another instructor.”
“okay… what about the other one?”
“two times a week, same time, and it’s with me.”
satoru stayed silent so he could see your thought process before stepping in to add, “our sessions could be between those two days.”
“are you sure this is fine?”
he smiled and nodded, “it’s just one day.”
you left with a hint of embarrassment and a little post-it with satoru’s number between your fingers. and it wouldn’t take a while before he started messaging you.
intermediate sessions were on monday and wednesday, his catch up session was on tuesday after his other classes were over.
just the thought of it made your stomach flutter.
good afternoon, are we still up for tomorrow?
i can make it, i wanna get the most out of your class.
you’re still in my class, haha.
alright, i’ll see you then.
your usual clothes were slightly altered. leggings were switched for shorts, and that ponytail you always combed was now a braid. it’s hard not to mention how you began getting ready much earlier than usual to slap on some makeup. it was six o’clock, no way you’d be seen unkempt so late in the day.
satoru was perched on the reception desk when you arrived, he was idly scrolling on his phone as he waited for you.
“you’re here, great.”
“sorry, am i late?”
“for the first time, yeah. it’s nice seeing a change.”
you laughed at his joke, “it’s traffic hour. not my fault.”
he walked into his studio room and spread open his arms to emphasize the void of the room.
“pick any, try a new one.”
“does it matter which one?”
“of course not, but we are the only one’s here.”
satoru watched as you walked around and chose a reformer that was on the opposite side of your usual machine.
“this one is fine.”
“sure, how about we start on warm-ups now?”
knee bends, hip adjusts, and over-the-head stretches.
satoru watched you, his new assigned machine was beside yours to mimic what he wanted you to work on.
“alright, maybe i should start with our new warm-ups for tomorrow. let’s do medium spring like last time.”
he stepped on his machine and started positioning himself in a single-leg stretch. one foot was on the foot stand while the other was on the floor, letting him stabilize.
“we go all the way down to feel no tension after. you can start slow.”
your leg stretched as your hands stayed on the foot bar.
“nice, wanna try on top?”
satoru’s velvety tone made you blush, his innuendo made you listen with no fight. you quickly climbed on top of the foot stand to try the actual split. the carriage opened with every inch, he was right beside you on your left side, holding out a hand in case you needed stabilization.
“look at you, this is easy, huh?”
“n– no.. easier.. said than done.”
“you’re doing good–”
as you reached down for his hand, he stopped what he was going to say. instantly, you look down and see him looking at your hand.
“you’re married? wow, congrats.”
“oh, yeah. ten years.”
“so, no congrats?”
awkwardly, you laugh and watch how he looks up at you with a soft smirk.
“sure, i guess. he’s just never around.”
“oh, sorry. didn’t mean to pry. the kids probably understand, right?”
you mumble, “don’t have any.”
silence.
“sorry, i’m prying again.”
“it’s fine. most people have kids at this stage, right?”
“depends if you even want any.”
silence again.
“i’m sorry for assuming.”
all you could do was laugh to break the tension.
“you’re funny.”
satoru looked away to let you focus on the stretch, but for a split second, you could see a hint of pink blossom on his cheeks.
the entire session was guided with his gentle hands, the confidence he had was shot down and you could feel it with every word he used. honorifics were added onto every phrase, his eyes never lingered hard enough for you anymore.
by the time you left to your car, satoru walked you out. always two steps behind. it drove you a tad bit insane. was the wedding ring really that big of a deal? this entire scheme was to make you forget about your husband, just for a bit. and here he was ruining it without even being present.
your body moved without any thought, you were facing him as the dark sky was beginning to let the stars twinkle.
“is it different now?”
“what is?”
“our sessions. because i’m married.”
“of course not, i should have noticed since the beginning. it’s my fault.”
“this isn’t about him, you know.”
he stood silent, somehow behind those white lashes of his, you could see the slight disappointment behind them.
“i’m doing all of this for me. it isn’t about him. if… if this is too much, we don’t have to.”
satoru smiles and shakes his head, “i’ll see you tomorrow. sleep well.”
you continue looking up at him before looking away to ponder. the impulsion lingered, and without a second to spare, you cut the distance and kiss him.
adrenaline overtook you, him as well.
satoru’s hands land on both sides of your face. his palms guide and redirect how your kiss was moving.
he tasted so sweet. spearmint from a gum he had been chewing and somehow you could distinguish a hint of herbal. probably from some tea. his musk was even more potent up close.
you pull back, eyes blown wide and hair slightly wild, satoru was about to say something before you ran into your car.
“–i’ll see you tomorrow!”
you couldn’t think straight on the ride back. this wasn’t supposed to happen. or maybe it should have happened much sooner.
swirls of everything that had happened filled your every thought.
satoru.
standing over six feet tall and carved by the heavens had kissed you back under the starlit sky.
you told him you were married right?
was this all a dream?
at the foot of your bed, your fingers kept touching your lips to somehow feel the ghost of his lips that lingered on them.
by the time sleep had taken over, it was far too late. you woke up much later than usual for your first intermediate session.
quickly, you dressed and left with not much time left.
but before you could step out of your car and into the studio, your phone began to ring.
ring. ring. ring.
his contact name glowed with no shame. when was the last time he called? weeks maybe.
“...hello?”
“honey, how’s it going?”
“i’m fine… you haven’t called.”
you could hear the sigh through the phone, “i know. i’m sorry. i didn’t think this trip would be so long.”
“it’s over, right?”
“in a bit. did you like them?”
a second of silence passed, “oh, the lilies.”
“yes. freshly delivered.”
“they’re beautiful.”
“how about you send me a photo?”
“oh… i’m not home.”
“really? where are you so early in the day if not home?”
“i… came for a walk.”
“alright. take care then.”
“when will you come back?”
your husband hummed and began to look through papers before giving up and yelling out to someone, “tana! when’s the next flight back!?”
the murmuring continued before he sighed, “listen, i’m not sure. but i’ll call. i love you.”
“okay… i– i love you too.”
your phone turned off as he hung up. the silence after your simple lie was haunting. you slipped off your wedding band and stuffed it in the middle compartment.
the early day was cloudy, slightly foggy.
the second you stepped into the studio, satoru was talking to another group of classmates. you looked around and found the only empty machine that was left. it stood somewhat in the middle.
satoru noticed you and cleared his throat, “alright. everyone’s here. let’s start with warm-ups everyone. ten minutes.”
you set your items down beside your machine and before beginning your warm-ups from yesterday’s session, satoru’s undeniable warmth was beside you.
“good morning… you’re late.”
“i apologize.”
he hummed and eyed your emotion, “something wrong?”
“not at all.”
“okay. i… wanna talk.”
you nod and he walks away to continue class.
your first session as an intermediate was fast. of course the workouts were harder, but they were much shorter with real impact.
the classroom soon fell silent after everyone left and you could feel how far away satoru stood. he was walking around the machines, fixing them and putting them all in position.
“satoru. if this is about yesterday–”
his body straightened up, he wasn’t facing you but you could tell he wasn’t happy.
“it is about yesterday.”
“i’m sorry. i’ll keep saying sorry for being so thoughtless.”
satoru turned around and walked over to you, his hands grasped yours and slightly tugged you closer.
“w– wait.. your other class–”
in an instant, his lips were on yours. teeth slightly clashing, his tongue was slipping in as your hands remained under fingerlock.
this kiss felt even more desperate than from last night. this was in broad daylight and so lustful, your knees almost gave out from his misery.
he was moaning at the contact.
every passing of saliva made you lose the little sanity you had left. and as you pulled back to breath in some air, he was looking down at you with half-lidded eyes. the blush on his face mirrored yours.
“i’m not mad, i’m happy. see you next week?”
you nod while looking away. it was all too much. his gaze was digging holes into you and the fact you were covered in sweat made you want to cry from embarrassment.
his hands let go of yours, “i’ll message you.”
there was a slight skip in your step. right foot, left foot, you fix your hair and slide into the driver’s seat. every breath you took was making your insides burn.
your hands were gripping your hair, tugging in an attempt to bring you back to earth.
“holy shit… what the hell.”
every passing car on the street made you heave. all possible emotions overtook your body.
was this really okay?
you weren’t mentally there on the drive back home. it was forgotten, much less the warm bath that was prepared for you. you were head over heels. the man you had been eyeing for weeks was finally giving you his time, even in the most inconvenient times.
hello, just wanted to say good night.
hi satoru, good night.
you looked very beautiful today. is that okay to say?
of course. that’s fine. thank you for today.
good night, beautiful. let me know if you’re free this weekend.
i am free. are you asking for something?
maybe. all we’ve done is talk in the studio.
friday after 7?
sounds great. is this casual?
everything but that. i’ll see you.
a squeal echoed in your room, even at thirty, this man had a skill into making you act like a lovesick teen.
your wedding band was somewhere in your car and there was no way you’d go back when satoru was right in front of you. he was giving you everything.
that thursday became even more torturous. friday sounded like a breath of air in the grand midst of things.
you and satoru had been messaging throughout the entire friday, and he accidentally slipped the detail that he was taking you to a nice restaurant. despite the fact he told you not to worry about presentation, you knew otherwise. this was your first (secret) date in over ten years. plus, it’s not like he’s seen you in anything other than workout clothes.
a high up hair do and maybe a sun dress would fit the occasion. every dress in your closet flashed before your eyes. and after much debate, you decided on a long framed dress that would fit.
all of your maids were dismissed early that day to save yourself the awkward looks. they didn’t have to see you get dressed.
his car arrived very early and stood outside the penthouse’s gates, idly roaring to pass the time.
when you stepped out in the dress you had on, it twinkled with every step you took and made his jaw slightly widen.
satoru’s date went as planned, overpriced desserts sealed the deal under a candlelit dinner. he was driving you back home as the subject of pilates started, “you know, i ordered some machinery a while back.”
his eyebrows slightly rose, “oh? you did?”
“yep. that was my reasoning.”
“i’m extremely confused.”
you laugh, “remember when you asked how i was getting better so quickly?”
“seriously? you were training at home? i thought you were cheating on me or something.”
“wanna come look at them?”
satoru smirked and looked back at the road, “sure. it wouldn’t hurt.”
his hand slipped down and blindly looked for yours, letting them intertwine throughout the entire ride. he was a gentleman, of course. he walked you to your door and stood there.
“are you seriously waiting for an invite?”
“sorta, kinda.”
“satoru, don’t be silly. i already invited you in the car.”
“well, maybe you changed your mind.”
you smiled and tugged his hand, “not really.”
his footsteps echoed in the lobby, the elevator dinged every time you left a floor.
“he’s not home… is he?”
your smile dropped at the question. satoru’s face tightened in fear.
“obviously not… i wouldn’t be here if he was.”
satoru cleared his throat and fixed the collar of his shirt, “yeah, right. first time.”
you looked back at him with a confused expression.
“first time, what?”
“you know… doing this.”
“oh. right. homewrecking?”
he awkwardly laughs and looks up at the mini screen that reflects the floor you both are currently passing, “you’re on the thirteenth floor?”
“yeah, just a bit.”
“how’d you even bring all of it up?”
“delivery service.”
the elevator dings as the doors open to showcase the entrance of your penthouse. bright walls were illuminated by the warm light. shrubbery on every table, the custom furniture that you ordered on a whim filled the entire living room.
“want something to drink?”
“it’s fine, it’s late.”
“alright,” you responded as you pointed at a nearby door, “the machine is that way.”
satoru followed you, two steps behind and eyeing the flow of your dress.
a whistle slipped from his lips as soon as the door opened, “newest model, i see. you’re good at shopping.”
“you think so?”
“mhm,” his hands reached for yours, “you did good.”
the machine was fine, more than fine for the type of workouts he would be teaching you.
satoru leans down and kisses you again, this time he let you guide him.
he was letting you teach him.
at this realization, your hands slipped free from his grasps and landed on his shoulders. every touch you gave him had satoru moaning.
his feet stepped backwards through the room and into your bedroom across the penthouse. the grey suit jacket he had on was taken off, the white shirt that he was wearing became lost when he eagerly took it off himself.
every muscle you had looked at from under his studio lights was right here in front of you in all its glory.
“how do you take this off…?”
“my dress? on the side.”
“oh… sorry.”
satoru searched for the zipper on the side of your torso and slowly slipped your dress off of you. his lips reached down to kiss your neck, then the valley of your breasts as the surface became free from the fabric. your matching set was not worn in vain, he landed on his knees to reach your stomach.
the heels on your feet made you stand awkwardly; his hair was the only means to have some stability in the middle of your room.
“hey, sit down. i’ll get these for you.”
as soon as you sat down, his nimble fingers reached for the back of your heels to slip them off.
red lines traced your foot from how long you had been wearing them.
satoru’s lips landed on the lines; your ankle wasn’t far behind. he stood up to cage you in, kissing you again and slipping between your legs.
“this is okay, right?”
you nod, you couldn’t see anything in this dark room. all your answers were desperate whines.
“tell me if you don’t like it.”
your arms wrap around his neck before replying, “...okay.”
his hands reach behind to undo the clasp, the tension is immediately removed. all the harsh wire that was digging into you was gone.
the pesky panty you had on was effortlessly removed and stuffed into the pocket of his grey slacks.
you were pliable. soft and vulnerable under the darkness as satoru’s hands reached down to unbuckle himself, letting his straining cock free.
“i wanna make you feel good, hold on…”
the man’s warmth slightly backs up, you look up and see him removing his dress shoes and whatever else he had on. satoru’s weight made the bed dip soon after. your body was gently flipped to land on your stomach, “i wanna taste you, like this. that’s fine?”
it could very well be your last wish to be eaten like this, the pillow under your head was cold, but did very little to calm the heat.
“y– yeah.. please.”
his warm fingers grip your hips, guiding them to lift up into the air. it was instinctive to be this vulnerable after so long. satoru understood you even with the little words that were shared.
your back arched quickly after every hair on your body was raised the second his breath reached your core.
a kiss landed on your entry, earning him a soft moan.
“you’re wet… feel that?”
you moan again, satoru was teasing you without even noticing it.
his lips kissed you again, before pulling away, his tongue slipped out to taste the leaking juices.
“augh… fuck.”
with each lick, your moans were muffled into the cotton of your pillow.
your legs start to shake at the new feeling, satoru’s middle finger slowly starts to slide between his mouth’s licking and your entrance. every spasm your hole did, it released even more slick. he noticed it and began to gather it. surely his finger will slip in easily.
knuckle deep now, satoru was exploring your gummy walls.
your moans grew in pitch, “m– mmh!”
“right here?”
just as you were about to answer, more of your juices spilled out around his middle finger. he pulled back and gathered what was ushered out. after coating both his middle and ring finger with your own creation, satoru slipped them back in.
your body coiled up and moved forward, pushing yourself into the pillow. your knees almost gave out from how far his fingers reached.
sure they were large, but after so long, he was making you so wet from just a few touches.
the moans easily slipped from your lips. thank goodness you dismissed the maids beforehand.
sloppy noises filled the room. he wasn’t even using his mouth anymore.
“it’s good?”
“y– yeah.. mmh.. gonna come.”
satoru moves on the bed, his face was now beside yours as you continued arching your back. the pace was nowhere near slowing down.
“already? do you want it like this?”
“no.. nooo..”
“okay, princess. hold on for a sec.”
he kisses your jaw as your wetness was drowning him by the second. every time he pushed back in, your walls clenched. desperate to keep him in.
a moan slipped from his lips.
satoru pulls his hand away and kisses your jaw again, “how do you want it?”
it took you a second to slow your heart down and respond to his question. you wanted to intake this entire thing in before making a decision.
“i just wanna look at you.”
his soft hair rubs against your temple before nodding, “alright. turn around.”
you give out your knees to land on your tummy, the burning began as you lay like a board. he laughs and flips you back around.
he looked so sexy, like a wet dream come true.
your legs wrapped around him so innocently, satoru couldn’t resist the urge to kiss you. the entire night bled into morning, his hand’s movements ultimately left you exhausted.
sunlight became his alarm from how bright it shone through your curtains. he started to move, “good morning. you slept well?”
“yeah. it’s been a long time since that’s happened.”
“i can tell. thank goodness it’s saturday.”
satoru stands up and begins to look around the room for his lost clothing items, “need anything?”
“you’re leaving?”
“just gathering my things, i’m not that much of an animal.”
in a few seconds, he was back in bed with you. wrapped in his unforgettable scent, the tears shamefully began to fall.
satoru noticed, but didn’t ask.
he left before your maids could even begin their work.
and that was that. you figured he’d get his fill from breaking you.
but oh how wrong you were.
monday’s session was just a tad bit insane.
his usual eye wandering was even more intense. every movement you made, he was making sure to analyze.
“new stretches today! i hope everyone had a fun weekend, but we’re back in business.”
satoru had you all down on your back, shoulder rests on both sides of your face.
“your wrist straps have a longer option, we can expose ourselves to resistance on your strongest limbs. let me know if you need accommodation.”
as you look up from your position, you reach for the straps and place them on your feet. the tension instantly pulls your legs up. flailing and high in the air, satoru continued.
“try pulling down. slowly! we’re not in a race.”
with the little confidence you have at such an early time in the day, the weight of your legs pull down. the carriage rolls up. just as you were pulling up to restart, satoru walks up to your machine.
“nicely done. here..”
his strong hand grips one of your thighs, making your legs go limb and flail in the air again.
“not so fast… you’re gonna hurt yourself.”
“yeah.. sorry, the stra–”
“you can do it, maybe with a little encouragement?”
satoru’s hand reaches down and pushes down on your thigh, letting his thumb reach your core. he could feel the warmth you were emitting and your body instantly jumped from how easily his thumb found that little bundle of nerves.
“i studied, didn’t i?”
you nod and bit your bottom lip as his finger pushed through your leggings again, “pull down now.”
the strap around your ankles made your legs feel like noodles, all of your classmates were continuing there work out and somehow satoru was rubbing you off. no shame.
“s– satoru…”
a laugh finally came out of his lips, he left you to continue the stretch. the soft background music sounded even louder now.
“alright, it’s come down now. mid back to minimize.”
your breathing was loud, sweat rolled down from your temple to your neck. out of all places, he chose the most inappropriate place.
“foot work! don’t forget about ‘em.”
reformers whir at every step and turn for what felt like hours, “let’s take a break everyone. ten minutes.”
sighs filled the room, it felt ten degrees higher at just the memory of how satoru was touching you in the midst of class.
his eyes chase yours as soon as you sit up, “make it fifteen.”
your eyebrows cinch in confusion, the sweat on the back of your neck continued its descent down onto your back. he was signaling you to step out with those blue eyes of his.
not a second to waste, after he leaves the room, you follow after.
the carpet in the halls made it easy for you both to enter his office without much noise.
click.
his hands immediately land on your hips, taking your breath away with the weight of his kiss. dripping sweat between you both, he made you forget about it all.
it wasn’t supposed to happen here.
your first time with satoru was meant to be meticulously planned, maybe in some high-end hotel. but he was not going to waste time anymore, he settles you on top of his desk, desperate fingers pulled down your sticky leggings. the wetness between your legs was obvious; you reacted to the teasing in class. the grey sweats he had on were pulled down even faster, that undeniably long shaft was pulsing again. he didn’t even put it in you last time he was on your bed, only his fingers. but now it felt right after a good stretch.
you couldn’t leave him like this after how bold he’s gotten when he started rubbing you in front of everyone. your view was stuck on how he guided himself into you, the small window between you both was warm.
he bucked his hips at your sudden tightness, making the desk slightly move and moan.
“satoru.. don’t be too loud.”
“gimme a second…”
not even a second later, his hips started a pace. you were wrapped around his neck to stifle the humiliating moans that didn’t stop slipping out of you.
the slap of his thighs smacking the desk was even louder.
thunk, thunk, thunk.
darkness was all you saw from how hard you pinched your eyes closed. you didn’t even notice the change of speed until that blossoming pleasure took shape.
you were close.
satoru had not anticipated this.
but break time was almost over.
his hands guided you to lay down completely on the dark oak. your legs were pushed backwards, enabling satoru to reach in deeper.
your puffy lips looked even softer from the new angle. he pressed your legs further back, hips pistoning in with no remorse. he knew you were cumming.
one of your hands lands on your lips to attempt to minimize the noise. the clenching around his cock had an amusing rhythm. he pulls back when you finish and pumps a few strokes with his hand; the warm ropes land in his own palm.
deep breaths were shared, a bright blue tissue box stood balanced on the corner of his desk. satoru snorts and reaches over for it, “a miracle.”
you both abandon the office; it had been seventeen minutes since you both left. but who was counting? the way you pinched your thighs together with every step was not on purpose.
satoru let you leave early.
it was all his fault.
that same day, what should have been your embarkation in the afterglow, was ruined the moment you stepped into your home.
the halls weren’t their usual empty, his footsteps echoed and made it obvious. you weren’t allowed to run away from this life, even if you had put that ring away.
“you’re back? i was looking for you.”
a sting filled the back of your nose, that cologne he wore made you face away from him. his embrace didn’t feel the same.
everything had changed in an instant for the first time in forever.
after ten years of being a dutiful dove that knew where home was, this wasn’t what you wanted anymore.
“i was out.”
“the maids didn’t even know where you had run off to. is that all you have to say?”
“of course not. i missed you.”
your husband’s lips landed on the corner of yours, somewhat torturing you with the reminder of what you had done just a few moments ago with satoru.
it shouldn’t have happened, you thought to yourself.
this is where you should have stayed since the beginning.
“i’m visiting today, but i’ll be officially home by the end of the season.”
his words made you stiffen, the only response that you could provide was a wrinkled smile.
self indulgence was a sin, you knew that very will.
the second your husband turns to view what had changed in the span of his absence, you pick out your phone and message satoru.
about today, it shouldn’t have happened.
hey, what’s wrong?
did i hurt you?
he’s here now. and he’s all i’ve needed.
i’m sorry.
his no response made the tears build up. this is how it was going to end.
let me call you. please.
not today. maybe tomorrow.
you’re still coming for our session? we can talk.
it’s done, satoru. i don’t think we should.
i’ll call you then.
restlessness was holding on, your husband lays right beside you on the large bed. could he tell that someone else other than him laid in his spot?
the thought bit at your consciousness the entire night. your thin night gown did nothing to settle down the shame.
you stayed up for what felt like hours before you succumbed to your heavy eyelids. but the buzz under your pillow quickly woke you up.
it was satoru.
every step on the cold floor brought you to the lonely balcony across the entire penthouse. it looks over the city as the sun weakly began to shine through.
“hello?”
“hey, did i wake you?”
“maybe. i wasn’t that asleep.”
his sigh filled your ear, goosebumps rose on your skin from the bitter breeze.
“i’ll only ask you this once because i don’t have the right to judge you.”
a span of silence took over; it was silent on his end. but your background was echoing the ruckus of traffic.
“is this really what you want? i thought we were going steady.”
“satoru, he said he’s going to be back by the end of this spring.”
“so this is it?”
“it’s final. i shouldn’t have stepped over and messed with you.”
“but i love you.”
“don’t say that,” you replied as the tears that you had been holding in burst like an overflowing dam.
“you don’t deserve someone like me.”
“someone like you shouldn’t be living on eggshells all the time. let me talk with you. please.”
“no! i think this is where we draw the line. you got what you wanted, right?”
satoru scoffed, “are you inferring i see you as some challenge?”
“maybe you do. i’m just a married woman who has nothing to show.”
“you’re much more than that. let me prove it to you.”
“this is over. you can’t justify this– i certainly can’t. i’ll live with this on my sleeves from now on.”
“hold on… wait–”
your phone shuts off before he finishes. the world straight away swallows you whole while everyone in tokyo begins their day.
the following week was silent, even more soundless than before.
what had been the usual routine for the past few months was now completely shut off.
you wouldn’t allow yourself in that studio ever again when you knew very well that satoru stood there.
the conclusion that it’ll be easy for him to move on from whatever you two had going on came as a cope. satoru was the talk of the town. his heart had no taint from heartbreak, he was still young enough to remain taintless for the foreseeable future.
your husband, the reason for your dilemma, was away again with the promise of coming back.
of course, you had ended up all alone again.
the reflection that stared back from your dresser’s mirror was disheveled. repeated attempts to save yourself were pointless.
“ma’am, someone is looking for you.”
you jumped and looked at the maid from your angle in the mirror, “i don’t have any visitors.”
“it was a mr. gojo, ma’am.”
the makeup brush in your hand drops, you could feel the emotions inside of you build up again.
“there is no time for someone like that.”
“ma’am, must i tell him to go? or that you are busy?”
“whichever makes him leave the quickest. please.”
“very well. i shall have breakf–”
clash, bang, drop.
“you can’t just enter like that, mr. gojo!”
“i’m not intruding. i know my way around.”
“the missus is in no hurry to speak with y–”
the chaos behind your door was obvious. satoru had come on his own willing.
your maid cleared her throat, “ma’am, i assume it’s very urgent. he’s pulling the butler like a ragdoll.”
you nod in embarrassment, “i’ll be out. please have the day off. everyone else as well.”
“you’re too kind. are you sure you will be alright?”
“he’s not that type of guy.”
she mimics closing a zipper on her lips and walks off.
your empty living room harbored satoru in all his frustration. it had barely been a week, and satoru looks even more disordered than you.
the weight you carried in the halls made satoru stand up from your couch.
his eyes literally softened to catch a glimpse of you. anything to know you were there.
he was wearing a wrinkled hoodie and dark undereyes, a sign he was up for who knows how long.
“you’re fine. thank goodness.”
“why are you here?”
“seriously?”
“i’m not sure what else to say, satoru.”
“you can start by explaining why your phone has been off for days.”
“i don’t think that should be any of your business. not anymore. it frankly never has been.”
“quit this weird facade. why are you doing this?”
you looked away from him when that obvious blush came through, he was moving closer without even noticing.
“you want me, right? i thought you were doing all of this for yourself, not him. you told me the night we kissed.”
“satoru…”
his warm hand cups your cheek, making you look back at him, “look at me. just tell me face-to-face.”
“tell you what? that what we had wasn’t real?”
“it was real. it felt real to me.”
“satoru, i’m married.”
“we both knew that, right? why does it matter now that i’m ready to risk it all?”
his words ring in your ear, the sparkle that had left your eyes a long time ago was now back to haunt him.
of course, he noticed the fact you slipped on that stupid wedding band again. but frankly, satoru was tired of waiting.
his lips take you without letting another word slip through yours. the awkward outfit he had chosen that morning was stripped off. he knew his way around; that much was apparent when your back reaches the bed again.
every cloth you had worn was thrown across the entire bedroom. kisses littered your neck as he whispered, “choose me again… just like before.”
white sheets slip loose when his hands turn you around onto a prone.
satoru’s lips roam across your back as they muttered all the right words, “i’ll give you what you want. it’s what you deserve.”
a moan slips from your lips, the delicate tip of satoru’s cock prods between your inner-thighs, “maybe it won’t be the like this… but i’ll make it right.”
he rubs a few times before slipping in. the moan you let go of hits satoru’s ear directly. he stays behind you and nuzzles into your neck for closure.
“y– you promise, satoru?”
“with every breath in me.”
“okay…”
the man’s pace quickened at your agreement and made the large bed thump against the wall.
“m– mh.. ‘toru.”
“yeah? talk to me.”
“i love you.”
“you better mean it.”
your lover’s hands reach over and slip off the gold ring on your hand that was digging into the covers.
