theleo28

[theleo28]

Your Type :: Gojo Satoru

It all started when you casually said, “Benedict is so my type,” during Shoko’s Bridgerton watch party.

Just a throwaway comment. Fleeting. But not to a certain someone.

Gojo, halfway through shovelling popcorn into his mouth, froze. He pulled his blindfold up, squinting dramatically at the screen.

“Benedict? Hmph.”

The next morning, the first years waited in the classroom for their teacher.

Instead of teaching, Gojo Satoru was hunched over his phone, frowning in concentration.

“‘Which Bridgerton character are you?’ Really, Sensei?” Nobara leaned over his shoulder, reading aloud.

Gojo yelped and snatched the phone away. “No peeking!”

“Sensei... you watch Bridgerton??” Yuji’s eyes sparkled with excitement.

“Don’t get excited,” Megumi cut in. “He’s trying to become L/N-sensei’s favorite character.”

Gojo gasped. “Megs! I told you that in confidence!”

Eighteen quizzes in, and not a single Benedict result. He didn’t know who this Anthony Bridgerton was, but he was over it.

With a dramatic sigh, he flopped face-down onto his desk.

“I’ll help you, Sensei!” Yuji said with a determined fist-pump.

And help, he did. Yuji read every question, analysed options like a scholar-and finally, it happened.

“BENEDICT BRIDGERTON.”

Gojo screamed.

“Yuji-kun, you is a legend!” he cried, leaping from his seat and bolting out of the classroom

You looked up when Gojo practically kicked your door open.

“Gojo? Is everything okay?”

Geto sipped his tea.

“Satoru, don’t run indoors,” he said flatly as Gojo zoomed in.

He tried to act cool. Leaned against the doorframe. Smiled wide.

“I-hi,” he said. “Guess what?”

You blinked.

He plopped down on the couch like he belonged there. “I just found out… I’m most like Benedict Bridgerton.” He smirked like he just solved world peace.

You laughed. “No, you’re not.”

“What?! But look-” He shoved his phone in your face. “See? It says Benedict! That’s me! Artistic, misunderstood, devastatingly charming-”

“That’s not what I expected,” you said.

“I know, right?” he beamed. “So, we should totally hang out more. You know, now that I’m like cool and all. Coffee?”

You raised a brow. “Sure?”

He puffed his chest proudly, strutting out like he won a trophy.

“He is such a dork,” you murmured, sipping your coffee.

“Yeah,” Geto replied, sipping his own. “He’s been trying since last night to get Benedict.”

You paused. “Wait… what do you mean?”

Geto smirked behind his cup.

“You said Benedict was your type yesterday.”

You blinked.

Oh.

Your eyes dropped to your coffee as your cheeks turned pink.

________________________________________________

i just love both these shows

[theleo28]

[theleo28]

obvious - oblivious :: Gojo Satoru

Gojo is so obvious-but so oblivious.

Ever since the mission the two of you were assigned to, something changed. The way you fought-calm, focused, unwavering-it struck Gojo in a way he didn’t expect.

He saw a whole different side of you. You weren’t just the classmate who always hung out with Shoko anymore. You were you Y/N and damn, did he not understand this feeling stirring inside him.

In class, while Yaga was teaching, Gojo would just sit there and stare. He even made Geto switch seats with him just to be closer to you. When the four of you went out for ice cream, he'd subtly inch closer, always ending up next to you. And somehow, everyone always ended up with your favorite chocolate flavor.

“It was the only one they had,” he’d shrug with a grin.

He began mirroring the smallest things you said. You once casually mentioned that having a model as a wallpaper was kind of shallow-next thing you know, Gojo’s phone wallpaper was a Digimon. You said you loved curated CDs? He stayed up, roping Geto into helping him make the perfect playlist. You liked people who helped around the school more? Suddenly, Gojo was volunteering for everything-even things no one asked for (Yaga nearly fainted).

“You like her…” Geto smirked.

“What-?” Gojo replied, eyes burning imaginary holes through Nanami, who was, at that moment, standing way too close to you.

“Then why are you staring at her?”

“I’m not.”

“You are. And by the looks of it... seems like Nanami’s winning.” Geto chuckled, just to piss Gojo off.

“Wha-whatever, man.” Gojo turned away, pouting, still watching you through the curtain of his bangs.

[theleo28]

Could be loved:: Gojo Satoru

this is my first post ever please help me get better

Love wasn’t for someone like you. You saw how your parents put you on the sidelines. How all your friends stuck around until they found someone else. How dispensable you were. You spent your entire childhood trying to figure out what it is you did-picking up the pieces of your broken heart-but it was all for naught. That’s when you decided it was enough, and you wouldn’t let anyone else hurt you.

Slowly, you built up the wall… the boundary line. Everyone was outside it-even your siblings, who you grew to love. They still reminded you of what you were. All the friends, and every attempt you made at love.

All you wanted was love, yet it was the one thing that always killed you-inching its sharp edge deeper every second. You kept your distance. Never wanting to hurt but always wanting to love. You made a joke about everything you felt-and when they laughed… damn, did that just ruin you.

You decided love wasn’t for you. You could be anyone in this world… but not a loved one. You can love but not be loved.

Then he walked in. His fluffy hair, his confidence in himself, so loved by the world, by the gods-and so you looked away. But he didn’t.

He saw you. How you were always there but never there. How you did just enough to get by. How you stayed alone. How you never let anyone near. And how you looked at everyone like all you wanted to say was, “Please look at me… see me.”

So, he did.

He talked to you. He made you forget the world, the pain. He made you feel. And he never demanded it back. He let you be. He just showed love.

And when he asked you out… you pushed. But he stayed, looking for a way back in.

He didn’t force you to say anything. He just stayed. All those coffee trips, all those movie nights… all those stickers you never let yourself get-he did them for you.

No matter what you said, slowly, he pushed through those walls.

You got so scared. What if he leaves? What if he meets another person? What if he gets to know me? You were scared… and you stepped back.

Then he showed up at your apartment. He just looked at you with a blank face. You couldn’t read him. That’s it. He’s here to end it, you thought.

And then he said: “I’m scared…” What?

“I’m scared I’m losing you. Please… don’t go. Just… stay.”

He was scared. Of me leaving? Why would I ever leave him?

And then it crept into you- He was not like them.

He wants… to stay?

For the first time in… forever, you felt like… you could be loved.

“Please, Y/N… let me try.”

You just nod.

Maybe I can be loved.

[theleo28]

what do you mean hes fictional. i need him

[theleo28]

im so sick I have to hold gojo

[theleo28]

YOU don’t have to be perfect to be loved. but I do

[theleo28]

[theleo28]

okay, but a man talking you through your orgasm. a man who smiles the second you climax and is all "there we go,", is smoothing his hands over your trembling thighs and says "you're shaking so hard, baby," who has to keep your hips down as he tuts "easy, sweetheart, easy, that's just the second one...", who exhales a laugh under his breath as he sweetly inhales the back of your neck, his palm cupping your pulsing cunt when he points out "too much for you, my love? are you getting sore?"

[theleo28]

DO NOT LET SOCIAL MEDIA TURN YOU INTO AN AMERICAN

[theleo28]

₊˚⊹｡ (you were good to me) | nanami kento

wc: 2.8k

summary: nanami counts his chances and bets on this last one.

contains: implied f!reader but no mention of pronouns, canon-adjacent, exes, mentions of alcohol, swears, mentions of drunk calls, pov switching, angst, c.death

a/n: another brainchild from me and @augustinewrites, with song inspos: you were good to me, tequila, bourbon, already gone, all i want, and something in the orange

part of the in's and out's new year/birthday event | request prompt: waiting for that call you know won't come

part 1 <- you are here

October 31, 2018.

Your company halloween party isn’t all that fun when you think about it. 

The optional suggestion from HR to wear a costume has always been promptly ignored for as long as you can remember, pressed suits in dark neutrals coloring the celebration instead. Nothing exciting about it at all. 

It used to be though, when you had Nanami to spend it with. 

Liquid pools by the sides of your fingertips, condensation dripping down your glass of bourbon. One of the perks of being in a financial firm’s halloween party is that the alcohol is good, expensive to match the tastes and budget the partners can afford. 

Calling it a party is overhyping it, if you’re being honest. It’s just another day at work, except without the alcohol restrictions; your coworkers still check the markets every five minutes (you do too, out of habit), and directors still ask for summary reports while attending to a phone call or two—one hand on a tablet and another on a drink, earbud slotted securely in one ear. 

You and Nanami used to hide, even just for a few minutes, by the break room at the back, inside the pantry—a place now foreign but still filled with all your memories; you haven’t stepped foot in it since he broke it off. 

It's a common notion amongst your peers that workplace romance is dead—it always has been (at least, outwardly). HR would have cut either of you out of the next payment cycle if they had caught wind of your mingling. 

Workplace romance is dead, they say, but what you had with Nanami was alive, beating with every giggle muffled by the palm of your hand. No one would ever consider him a funny guy, but you did—all his snide remarks, comments unapologetically deadpan in a way so bluntly his. 

The gray curtain separating you two from the rest of the office kitchen was thin, but it held every weighted moment you snuck with him—secret confessions a little before midnight, a hand or two you couldn’t possibly resist, sobs hushed down, bitten between your teeth with you tucked into him. 

Workplace romance is dead—it’s supposed to be, but a few desks down and a sharp left turn from yours, it haunts you, still. 

You take a sip. 

.

Nanami has a sense for these things. 

It’s always when something doesn’t feel right that the numbers start to click. 

Clusters of sorcerers have been grouped to surround the vicinity, his own trio comprising of himself, Fushiguro, and Ino. The instructions are simple: to be on standby in case anything happens. The wait time should be a good sign; it’s highly unlikely that anyone can match up to Gojo, after all. 

He checks his watch, each second ticking agonizingly slowly. It feels unsettling, like the calm before the storm—a deep unrest simmering. Unsafe is the first thought that comes to mind, then you second; it prompts him to call you, his fingers slightly trembling. 

Your contact is still marked with a star, filed under his favorites (he knows he probably should have moved it).

One ring. Two rings. Three. A ‘toot’ at the end of the line—it makes him antsy. 

Then, the veils go down. 

The action is alarming; these opponents move themselves like chess pieces, he knows this much—all part of a bigger plan, always with an underlying motive.

His thumb hovers over the call button again, thinking. The expression on his face remains impassive, sharp angles and straight lines concealing the weight of each worry. 

“Nanami-san,” Ino calls. 

Fushiguro’s already started theorizing, rationalizing some sort of ploy behind this occurrence—all highly plausible, all probably true; it’s some sick play that the moment the calculations click, there isn’t enough time to call you. 

“That’s why we’ve stopped standing by and started to act,” Nanami interjects, shrugging off his blazer, khaki cotton falling off his shoulders as he slips his phone in his pant pocket. 

.

If anything, you should probably do your best to enjoy whatever you can from this year’s Halloween party—after all, it’ll be your last in this company. You handed in your resignation papers last week, and though your boss has pulled you aside for the nth time tonight, disguising pleas as empty promises, you know better than to believe it.

It doesn’t matter to you anymore; you’ve made up your mind. 

The bartender mixes you another drink: 2 ounces of bourbon for a ball of ice, the same one you’ve been having the entire night. 

A White Russian is your usual pick—a spiked latte as you call it. Nanami’s claimed that Bourbon On The Rocks is like its older, more mature cousin, and you’re afraid he’s right. He always is.

The hints of vanilla and caramel remind you of your morning pick-me-up, part because of the drink and part because of the man you used to spend it with. 

Your phone vibrates from your inner pocket, but you don’t feel it, the alcohol dulling your senses. 

.

“Na-na-na-na-na-na-min!” 

For this reason, he thinks, it’s good that the nickname has stuck; a perfect identifier for whom and where it’s coming from. 

Echoes of Itadori’s voice lead them straight to a rooftop, Fushiguro catching the boy’s attention to ask for the run-down. Mechamaru warns that it’s pandemonium deep within the station, curses of all grades mixed with scattered transfigured humans. There’s only one thing he knows can be responsible for that. 

Nanami doesn’t do jokes, but he secretly wishes this is just a really bad one, because—

Gojo’s been sealed. 

—the punch line isn’t funny at all. 

Sorcery has prepared Nanami for anything, but this possibility lies in his 0.01%—if this has happened, it’s free game. 

It makes sense now, why this unease has slowly been surfacing. 

Keep people safe and survive—the single thought at the forefront of his mind. 

He moves quickly, devising a plan for maximum efficiency; Ino is to stay with Fushiguro and Itadori inside this veil while he meets up with Ijichi to put down the other one. Time is running short, options even more so—there are only a handful of people who can do certain requests and being a first-grade qualifies him as one of them. 

Eerie silence greets him as he steps out on the sidewalk, the streets practically swept. It’s instinct when his hand reaches in his pant pocket, fingers moving in memorized pattern as he calls you again.

You don’t pick up for the second time.

.

One of your co-workers almost trips down the steps to the taxi, your arm stretched out to catch her should she fall forward completely. Cool air nips at your cheeks; you’ve had more to drink but you handle liquor well—if managing to keep up with Nanami means anything. 

The vibrations of your phone get lost in the commotion. You haul your co-worker into the cab and tell the driver her address, asking if he can drive you to yours soon after. 

.

It’s shit.

Climbing up the steps to the overpass fills him with a sense of foreboding. A sickening dread. On the way here, he spotted four managers, dead. 

The sight before him angers him more than anything—blood pooling around Ijichi’s frame, crumpled on the ground. He steps closer, crouching low to check for a pulse; it’s faint, but it’s there, accompanying the man’s shallow breathing. 

He does quick work bringing Ijichi to the rescue team, hopefully fast enough to make it back to Shoko where she can fix him. 

The casualties are rising. 

It isn’t safe anymore. The radius of collateral damage is widening and this is just the beginning.

What will happen to you? If the events in here break containment? 

How can he keep you safe if jujutsu society falls? 

He crunches the numbers, sorting through each possibility; the phone in his pocket feels heavy, sinking with each step he takes on concrete. It’s not often that Nanami runs out of options—there’s always an answer to anything; but this, he thinks, has never made him feel more desperate.

His fingers hover over your contact again. 

There’s not enough time—this is the only way. 

He needs to get you out of here. 

. 

You’re left with a voicemail. 

The key slips from your hand, falling to the ground again, like the many times it has before. You step inside your apartment, swiping through your notifications to find two missed calls and an email. 

It’s confusing enough getting calls from the ex you drunk dial once a week; receiving a flight notice set to depart later tonight with a ticket under your name doesn’t make things any clearer. 

You tap your screen, odd anticipation and nerves coiling in your belly. 

“Hello,” the audio starts, “I’m assuming you received the email.” 

His voice sounds different when you’re a little more sober; you’re not sure if that’s a good thing—if it’s worse or better, just that it aches the more you hear him clearly. You kick off your heels, letting the audio play as you pour yourself a glass of water. 

Your ticket details stare at you from your screen. 

(Shouting isn’t a quiet man’s usual and his throat hurts from the overexhaustion. His voice echoes across the sea, calling for everyone to hurry over. There’s only so much Fushiguro can take from beside him, holding open the simple domain for everyone to slip through simultaneously.

He supposes, this isn’t the first time he’s done something out of character today—moving your flight and hoping you get on it is the most reckless thing he’s ever done.)

“I’m sorry this is so sudden, I understand if you’re confused. I know most of our conversations have been unideal lately.”

Metal clinks in the recording, a sound so familiar to you—the links of his watch band hitting. Nanami has a habit of shaking his wrist when he’s uneasy about something, and you can almost hear it from the small breaths he takes before each sentence. 

It should embarrass you, the amount of times you’ve drunk-called him, but you have reason to believe he doesn’t find it all that off-putting. 

(He wonders if he’ll get another chance to sit through one more unideal conversation with you. 

Blood drips down the side of his head, his shoulder slashed through his shirt. Adrenaline moves every muscle he barely has the energy to.)  

“Do you… do you remember that vacation we planned?” he breathes out from the other end, a hesitancy uncommonly heard from him, “To Kuantan?” 

You do, very vividly—a trip discussed some time ago with your head on his chest, scrolling through flight promos on your phone. Nanami’s dream has always been to be free by the sea; you don’t expect it from a man turned jaded, but it feels like a secret spoken truthfully. 

So you take it and run, booking a flight two years down the line—a ‘when we have the time’ flexible enough to move and transfer whenever either of you would like. 

(In a flash, he’s flushed along with the current, waves engulfing him as he’s washed out of the domain.) 

“I’ve thought about it and believe now would be a good time,” his voice continues, “with your resignation and things. ” 

The spray sunblock on your dresser is barely used, but you grab it knowingly. Nanami is pale and—

(—when he burns, he thinks of the Kuantan sun—how nice it would be to be under it, bathed in the deep orange afterglow next to you.)  

“I…” Nanami rarely stutters, but you hear a slight shake to his timbre, “I know this is a tough ask, especially when I’ve been unfair to you. But…” 

You can picture him clearly—hand running through his hair as he adjusts his lenses; he pinches the bridge of his nose before shaking his wrist, that familiar metal clinking. 

It almost sounds pained, his acknowledgment of it, as if he’s long since regretted treating you any less than you deserve. Does it make you stupid? Or sad? That you still hang on to every word he says, that the spaces between your fingers still miss the way he used to fill them. 

You drag the zipper of your bag shut, patting it down to flatten.

“...I hope you know the reason I left isn’t because of something you did.”

The Nanami you know speaks nothing but the truth, and you believe him each time. 

It’s a contradicting mix of comfort and anxiety, like he’s freed you from the guilt that used to weigh on you heavily. If it isn’t because of you though, you don’t know what else it could be. 

You sigh, pushing down on the door handle as you take one last look to make sure you didn’t leave anything. 

(It’s a lie when he tells himself he can’t feel anything; the left side of his body is burned, charred down to his sinews—it's a surprise he can still move. The damage should have been enough to numb him, but it still hurts when he thinks of you. 

Did you receive his voicemail? Are you on your way now?

Time moves slowly as he drags his feet across the station floor.) 

“I’ll… explain myself more when I see you in a few hours.” 

Your stomach starts feeling funny when you get in the taxi—the pauses in his recording are obvious. 

You wonder what’s going on in his head. 

(This is cruel, he knows, concealing the truth and feeding you false hope. He’s a liar, but there’s no other way. There’s no time to explain everything to you. 

If this is what gets you out of here—) 

Silence. 

You hear his footsteps through the recording, the sound of his feet shuffling, contemplating. 

He speaks again, hesitancy tinged with sadness you can’t decipher, “I apologize, if this is out of nowhere,” a  breath, “but I hope I was good to you in the time we had.” 

You shift in your seat, fiddling with your fingers. There’s a finality to his tone that you find oddly misplaced—the sound of a goodbye more than a second try. 

It is wholly unlike him to be this sentimental. 

Tears well up in your lash line as you think back to everything: how he used to wait for you after work despite it being past midnight, how weekends were filled with nothing but love, massaged into the soles of your feet; how he’d buy your favorite breakfast sandwich even though he’s a snob about the ingredients in it. He drove you anywhere as long as you had music control. 

Nanami is an old soul, and you indulged him by buying records for that vintage record player he has. Songs from the 50’s, 60’s, maybe a bit of jazz from the 70’s and 80’s too—for a man so stiff, he sways smoothly to its melodies, holding you closely each time. 

He has only ever touched you gently, attentive to every need you express lovingly; his kisses always form a line straight to your heart—from the top of your head to your forehead, down between your eyebrows to the slope of your nose. His lips are soft against yours, ticklish as they drag down your neck to your collarbones. 

A patient and tender lover, the most wonderful man for the greatest years of your life. 

He was more than good to you—you couldn’t have asked for any better. 

(A mess of curses greet him on the floor—transfigured humans he has no choice but to take the lives of. 

He’s exhausted. 

His blade swooshes to the right, body following the path it glides to. He allows himself a glimpse of rest, to think of how it must feel to dance by the glistening seaside with you.) 

“You were the best thing to happen to me in that shitty place.”

His honesty rings loudly in your ears, resounding even as you pull up your luggage to the check-in counter. 

Oftentimes, Nanami would say things and they’d sound a lot like ‘I love you’.

“I hope I can be good to you now, too.”

(Saying it would have been selfish—it’s good he didn’t, even though he wanted to. Those 3 words mean nothing if there’s no guarantee he’ll be alive to prove it to you.

A hand presses against his back; a crack in his soul.) 

“The details are in the email, I’ll be there when you land.” he pauses; it takes a beat before he continues again, “See you then.”

You’re half-nervous and half-excited as you board the plane. The voicemail sounds suspicious, his actions even moreso, but if what he’s saying is true—

(It flashes before him, too fast and too slow; Haibara smiling, the life he couldn’t save. Yuuji calling him from the corner, a ‘Nanamin’ one last time. 

Then there’s you. Just as he’s about to give in to it all—the beach. How pretty you’d look, beaming up at him, pointing towards the sun as it sets into the endless sea.)

“Don’t forget to turn off the lights.” he says softly, like a reminder to be cradled safely. 

You settle into your seat, the captain speaking over the announcement system. 

“Flight MH 1730 to Kuantan, Malaysia from Tokyo, Japan. Departure time is 11:16 p.m. Estimated arrival…”

—you can’t wait. 

(At least he’ll get to save your life, right?

Nanami Kento. Time of death: 11:17 p.m.)

a/n: writing this was really tough (because it absolutely gutted me), but it was a good challenge! a few info bits: partners = high ranking roles in the company; white russian = vodka, coffee liqueur, & cream + ice; the flight details are not real; the pov switching is real time, except for the voicemail, which acts as a voiceover to the events concurring between nanami and you.

thank you notes: to @augustinewrites OF COURSE. what would i do without you fr. this has plagued us for the longest time and we have been way too sad for too damn long bc of it 😭 thank you for half-mothering this, where would i be without your sad songs 🥹 + @mysugu and @soumies for running through this idea & the voicemail dialogue with me 🥺 very important opinions from very important people indeed 🥺 + @stellamancer for helping me with my grammar doubts 😭

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[theleo28]

missionary but you keep apologizing for being loud so he tells you to “stop fucking apologizing” and tilts your head so your mouth is lined up with his ear and just fucks you harder

[theleo28]

[theleo28]

OMGGGG GUYS THIS IS SO NANAMI

I'm like 😭😭😭

https://www.instagram.com/share/reel/_tt1fEnTX

[theleo28]

thank youuuu amazing ❤️❤️

friction | reader (f) x crush!nanami pt.13

pairing: reader (f) x crush!nanami

synopsis: [AU] you have always had a crush on nanami. since the day you were hired as his personal assistant, you've been right at his side combating numbers and making money within the finance department for the company you two worked for. but, things take a turn when nanami catches wind of your feelings, and rejects you. little did he know the weight of his mistake.

warnings: angst, heartbreak, sexual tension, jealousy (future smut)

a/n: we are so back. here is the next part!! we maaaaay or maaay not be close to an end. i am predicting between 18-20 parts total, idk yet so we're going to find out (it could even be less!). once again, thank you all for your patience and still enjoying this series even during my unannounced hiatus due to my ailment. im back and ready to get everyone in their nana feels xo

all parts: pt.1, pt.2, pt.3, pt.4, pt.5, pt.6, pt.7, pt.8, pt.9, pt.10, pt.11, pt.12,

December | Tokyo, Japan | Tuesday

After an event Monday, full of congratulations and praise, you returned to face the work you’ve accepted to take on. 

Takada scheduled a proper meeting with you and Nanami, as he confessed his misapproach in not including Nanami during the promotion consideration. This would include your future training to become an Office Manager, and all the leadership building you would have to do. It was a bit nerve wracking, having the CEO of the company and your boss sitting you down in a room to discuss your new role, but alas, that is what being an adult is about. 

It was a lot to take in. An influx of emails plagued your inbox, with several including onboarding procedures from HR. A few emails came from Shoko and Geto, offering their support in your transition as well. Many congratulations came from other colleagues, many who you’ve never met before. Your nerves were clear in the shaking of your hands, your fingertips reticent to tap another key of your keyboard. 

You let out a deep breath, attempting to waive the anxiety. You push away the keyboard and sit back in your chair, covering your face with your cold, clammy hands. As you feel your own warm breath press against your face, you are quickly reclaimed back by reality with a tap on the shoulder. 

“Mm?” You look up to see Nanami with a cup in his hand. You point at yourself questionably, receiving a curt nod from the blonde-haired stallion. Your eyes narrowed at the bit of hair that hung at the very center of his hairline while you grabbed the warm, closer to hot, cup. “Thank you very much. Is this coffee?” 

“Hot chocolate,” Nanami hums as he begins to take a seat beside you. This is the first time that he had truly returned to his desk next to yours, as he spent the time in his office during the company’s client hosting. In his other arm housed a stack of documents, with his briefcase hanging from his hand. “I figured it’d be too cold to get your usual iced coffee, and you don’t seem too big of a fan about regular hot coffee.” 

“This is true,” you say simply, not giving him the opportunity of meeting his eyes. You side-eye towards the stack of documents, watching as he begins to compartmentalize the sea of folders. Your thumb flicks at the edge of the lid, smelling the sweet scent of chocolate with melting whipped cream. “Oh– why didn’t you ask me to help you move some of your things, Nanami?” 

“Hm?” He asks. “Can you repeat that?”

“I said, why didn’t you ask me to help you bring all that?” You repeat. “Your office is a bit far from here, Nanami. You could have called me over to assist you.” 

A shameless, small smile crawls at his lips as he continues to file his things away. He wouldn’t know how to describe it, but he was giddy to hear his name, just his name, from your lips. You, on the other hand, could only squint and stare at him curiously before returning to your onboarding documents. Another long sigh leaves your mouth, and you begin to distract yourself by blowing into the little hole of your hot chocolate. 

Nanami looks over at your monitor (Mr. Nosey) and gives you a sympathetic look, “ah, this is the worst part about a promotion. I’m sorry.” 

You look over at him and shake your head, “ah, no no, it’s not a big deal. Honestly, it’s the least stressful thing about this whole process.” 

“Is there something that’s stressing you out?”

“Yeah,” you say, “my promotion.” 

Nanami emits a quiet chuckle, leaving one folder on his desk before closing the drawer on his lower right. You looked at the folder a bit, it looked rather peculiar. It was lumpy in an uneven way, as the top of the folder was the highest point, and the slope lowered towards the bottom. Whatever he has in there is not my business, you repeat to yourself. After all, nothing has changed. You were still upset with him. 

“What’s so scary about it?” Nanami hums curiously. 

“I’ve always been the one managed,” you begin simply, not one moment needed for thought. “And I’m capable under those circumstances. I’ve never managed anyone before in my life, so how can I have any confidence in something I’ve never done before?” 

Nanami turns his chair to you, your eyes quickly need to divert to safety. He was dressed in this navy blue turtleneck, with his usual dark fitted pants. The tight cotton hugged his muscles kindly, you could see the veins of his biceps even. But it was the way those massive thighs were separated, the space between it so grand that your mind might be stuck in the gutter until the end of time. This was a horrible time for such thoughts. You decide to suck it up and look into his hazel eyes. Though still a sight, you felt calm to see his more soft demeanor. 

“Well, let’s take for example what you’ve done since joining this company,” Nanami points out, “you have managed to start at Legal, then transfer into Sales with perfect ease, and now you’re here in Finance. You have quite the talent to be able to go into these departments, doing work right under the Head of each one.” 

“But it is because of everyone's guidance that I’m able to perform the way I do,” you say quietly. “How can I take pride in it if you all are what shaped me into the worker I am?” 

Nanami looks at you with a grin, “you wouldn’t have gotten hired if you weren’t great, Y/N. Especially being hired by Geto. I’m accounted for, but Geto is a stickler for good workers.” 

You giggle at that, “it’s his way or the highway, huh?” 

Nanami turns back to his computer, “you wish it was a highway. It’s his way or none.” 

You felt your body settle a little more. Despite your feelings towards Nanami at the moment, it felt the way it used to. The dynamic felt just the way it did before everything happened. But there was definitely something different there, something new yet nostalgic. You weren’t sure what, but you wanted to keep fighting against his efforts. Your skepticism over his feelings was still quite high, and you didn’t want him to convince you that easily. 

Even if you wanted to give in and have him all to yourself already. 

“Oh, Y/N, I almost forgot,” Nanami begins, his eyes still glued to the screen. “I asked Takada shacho to extend our lunch break to about 2 hours, so I made reservations at that omakase place right outside the office.” 

You jumped. “2 hours?” 

Nanami doesn’t even flinch, “I asked him for extra time so we could discuss the plan regarding your transition as Office Manager. Though, I have no intention to talk about work during our break.” 

You halt for a moment, thinking about his words. “Nanami, you lied?” 

“I… stretched the truth,” Nanami hums innocently, “it looked like you might need a bit of a break, so I figured it was the perfect opportunity to take you out of the office for a little.” 

He’s being sweet. You can’t let him win, but truthfully, he was being too sweet. Why is he being so damn sweet?

“I…” you begin slowly, taking a sip of the hot chocolate. You felt it warm your throat, coating the nerves in your stomach with its sweet heat. “Thank you, Nanami. I appreciate it.” 

“Of course,” Nanami says with a short smile. “Besides, I wanted to properly congratulate you. Having breakfast with the rest of them was nice, but as your boss, I owe you a proper celebratory meal.” 

You quickly wave your hand at him, “no no, Nanami, it’s me who owes you everything. I would have never gotten promoted without your guidance and praise.” 

Nanami pinches the bottom of the folder he left on his desk, and carefully slides it over to you. He then begins to rise from his chair, lifting his arms in the process to stretch. “Could you sort these very quickly? I need to use the bathroom.” And with that, he practically jogs away, disappearing from your sight, and the conversation. 

You look down at the folder and hesitate, unsure at its lumpy state. But, Nanami would never prank you or make you do anything weird, so what was the worry really? You slide it closer to you, and open it up, revealing 3 camellia flowers. The beautiful pink flowers with white ombre tips opened up so delicately, the floral smell sauntering around you. As you lifted them, you could tell they were picked up this morning. They were still wet and cold from the winter weather. 

It was strange. You were upset with him, yes, but you also felt your heart like him just a bit more. A smidge. It wasn’t some grand gesture, but he went out of his way and bought you flowers. And he also went to get you a hot chocolate, because he’s now catching onto the things you like. And he’s taking you out of the office for a little bit of time because he noticed you were stressed out and wanted to help. 

He had always been considerate, yes, but this was taken to another level you never could have imagined. 

The walk over to the restaurant was brief, but brutal. The winds were sharply passing the two of you, bringing your body temperature way down. Although you were no longer sick, you were still a bit sensitive to the cold. You didn’t notice it, but Nanami walked ahead of you not just to lead you, but a futile attempt to shield you from the wind. 

Warmth washed over you from the strong heaters above the entrance of the restaurant. You fix your hair while walking towards the host, whose attention is strictly on Nanami. Which is fair, given the fact that this man was essentially hand-crafted by God himself. 

You follow right behind as the host (with dismay in her face upon noticing you) guides the two of you towards your area of the sushi bar. It was at the end of the bar, which was nice as it was more secluded and away from the other diners. You begin to remove your winter garments, your hair getting tussled in the process. As you fix your hair, Nanami walks over to your chair and pulls it out for you, waiting for you to take your seat. 

Flustered, you look down at your feet, “a-ah, thank you, Nanami.” 

He nods, watching as you go around to take your seat. But, the chairs were particularly high, similar to a high stool, but with a chair back. And, silly you decided to wear a skirt as you bought new heat tech leggings and wanted to take it for a test run. They kept your legs warm, yes, but now you couldn’t get yourself into the seat. 

Nanami notices your struggle and immediately offers out his hand. “Use the spindles to lift you up. You can use me to keep yourself from falling in the process.” 

Shyly, you take his hands and do as he instructed. In moments, you were in the chair, and felt Nanami proceed to push you in. Your cheeks were in heat as you watched Nanami get into his own seat upon undressing his coat and propping it behind him. You quickly distract yourself with the small paper menu placed before you. But your body took your attention once more, as you were getting a little too warm. 

You decide to take off your cardigan, unbuttoning it slowly before removing it. Nanami looks over curiously, “‘m surprised you’re taking that off, considering how cold you usually are.” 

“It’s just really hot in here all of a sudden,” you comment, concealing the secondary fact that he was making you flustered. Underneath the cardigan was a skin-tight, long sleeve shirt. You didn’t think much of it, but when Nanami’s eyes trailed down, he quickly snapped his neck around. “They have the heat on max here, I swear.” 

“Y-yeah,” Nanami says, clearing his throat. “I feel it as well.” He keeps his words curt, but he struggles to let them out. His mind went places it’s never gone before, and he felt embarrassment shoot at his heart. This feeling was foreign, and he wasn’t sure what to do, or how to control it. All he knew was that seeing your dents and curves was a danger to his mind and body. 

It wasn’t that you were reserved or anything. You simply adhered to the dress code expectation. Pencil skirts, professional blouses, and short-heeled shoes. So, it was rare to see you in this nature. And, as Nanami had not worked with you until this year, he has never seen you outside of your work clothes, or noticed you at the holiday parties in the past. 

“Ah, before I forget,” you begin quietly. You place your hands under your thighs, feeling your nerves heighten. “Thank you kindly for the camellias… they’re very beautiful.” 

Nanami looks over at you, hazel eyes boring into your own, “you’re very welcome. I was impressed at how they bloomed in this weather.” 

You nod, “they’re known for being tough, as they can grow and survive in the winter.” 

“I’m not good with words,” Nanami begins quietly, his straight face ironic considering his future words, “but the florist informed me that they are symbolic for adoration. So, I wanted to give you these to express my feelings for you.” 

You suddenly begin to choke, taken aback by Nanami’s abrupt confession. He quickly hails one of the sushi chefs, who quickly runs over with a glass of water. Soothing your throat with the refreshment, you quietly clear your throat a few times until the itch goes away. One of his hands holds you from your elbow, the warm touch of concern making you cough a few more times, just enough for your eyes to water. 

“Are you alright?” Nanami’s voice is painted with a bit of worry. 

You wave your hand at him, “‘m fine, please don’t worry.” 

A moment of silence ensues as you regain yourself. Nanami stares at you, his eyes searching for some sort of approval in your expression. But your face was flush, your eyes darting anywhere else but at Nanami. Concerned, he quickly attempts to take fault, “was it something I said? I apologize if so.” 

You immediately shake your head, still unable to look at him, “n-no, no, it’s not that…! Actually, you’re… much more romantic than I though.” 

Nanami’s cheeks turn rosy, “I… am trying my best to understand my feelings and make up for my… less-than-ideal confession.” 

You finally look over at him, and quickly lament ever being so rude to him. His sincerity was ornate all over his expression, his eyes uncertain but his hands rubbing together anxious, seeking approval, or at the very least, patience. You are Nanami’s first time feeling whatever he is feeling. Although he was a grown man, you had to understand his circumstance (though self-imposed) raised him this way. What was he but a man trying to navigate love for the first time. 

Of course, this still didn’t earn him leniency points. However… 

“Nanami, you are very romantic for someone who's never been romantic,” you hum warmly. “I’m still not completely convinced but… you’re putting up quite the fight for a novice.” 

“I didn’t think so,” Nanami agreed, bringing his hands to his knees to latch onto them. “But I’m not too concerned. I have until the holiday party to convince you, no?” 

“Correct,” you say promptly. 

Nanami then hails for a chef once more, requesting a bottle of sake for the two of you. “Then I suppose I have nothing to worry about.” There he was. The confident Nanami you’ve known for almost a year now. The man who couldn’t be shaken, not even by an earthquake. A businessman at his peak. 

You scoff, your sympathy quickly going out the window, “is that so?” 

Nanami nods, his eyes narrowing down at the small, warm pitcher of sake before him. He passes you your choko, and begins to fill it carefully with the sake. After filling his own, he quickly lifts it, prompting you to lift your own. The two of you down it like a shot, with your spin shivering from the alcohol. 

Nanami lets out a satisfied sigh, “Y/N, I will make you mine by the end of the holiday party.” He looks over at you, his hazel eyes holding a sort of conviction you have never seen before. Loose blonde hairs tickle at his forehead, but his expression was warm yet tantalizing. “Whatever it takes, it will happen. It’s either my way, or my way, no exceptions.” 

You cover your mouth with your hand, unable to even reply snappy at his words. But you quickly regain yourself, reminding yourself of his poor confession, followed by his even worse reasons for it. Grabbing the sake, you pour yourself another cup full and press your fingers down against the rim of it. “And what do you know about making somebody yours?” You whisper, a dash of attitude in the challenging question. 

Nanami shrugs, sliding the cup from your hold before downing the drink himself. You scoff from the audacity, but it was… a little exciting. The way his lips pressed against the cup where yours previously made its mark. It was like an indirect kiss, but you might be getting ahead of yourself. 

The always respectful Nanami was currently a bit disrespectful– dare you say rebellious. Drinking during a lunch break, stealing your sake. The gull. 

“I know nothing, you’re absolutely right,” Nanami admits, his voice hoarse from the sake. “But I do know that you will be my first. So, prepare to give me feedback once I do make you mine.” 

Taglist (OPEN)

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@fashionably-a-hippie

[theleo28]

★ thinking about satoru who simply laughs whenever someone points out that you and him are an odd pair — likely wondering what an overly loud and boisterous person such as himself is doing dating you, who is the complete polar opposite.

because while he may excel in social settings due to years of practise being the centre of everyone's attention; you, on the other hand, struggle to speak to or even hold eye contact with anyone other than him, often opting to nervously fiddle with the sleeves of your shirt and hide behind his tall form instead.

and all he can think about is how they would react if they were to see how dramatically the roles are reversed the moment the two of you are alone, his shy little girlfriend whispering the dirtiest things into his ear while she rides him senseless.

“mmph— fuck, baby, y’gotta slow down,” satoru pants breathlessly, big hands gripping at your hips in a half-hearted attempt to stall your frenzied pace. “otherwise ‘m not gonna last.”

“you’ll last,” you assure in a deceptively sweet whisper, hands splaying over the pale, hard planes of his chest as you bounce up and down on his cock like your life depends on it. “but if you don’t, i’ll just keep going until you get hard again.”

and he just gapes up at you dumbly, drool threatening to spill from between his parted maw as he is rendered unable to do anything other then lay there and take it, the waterlines of his snowy lashes prickling with shiny tears from how good it all feels.

if he could collect himself enough to speak again, he'd probably gush about how much pride he takes in the fact that he’s the only one who gets to see you like this; the only one who you feel comfortable enough coming out of your shell around in order to show him the real you.

and oh, is the real you a sight to behold — head thrown back in ecstasy as you use him as your personal dildo to chase your own pleasure, plush tits bouncing freely with the force of each of your movements… and, most importantly, not a hint of your usual timidness to be seen.

but of course satoru won’t say any of this to whoever is currently inquiring about your compatibility. instead, his lips will simply quirk up into a small, wry smile and he’ll settle for muttering out a vague “we mesh together pretty well, actually.”

[theleo28]