Gwonty

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Rent is due on the 1st. Like always. And through every month, like clockwork, it hangs over your head like a shiny guillotine, held by a fucking thread.

Living paycheck to paycheck does that to you. It viciously cuts parts your world into deadlines and numbers, stacking what you owe and what you barely have on that fragile shelf beneath the blade. It would be too easy to let it suffocate you month after month. But it's still a choice, to be happy or not to be, circumstances be damned.

You refuse to let it take everything from you.

So you learned to hold onto the small things. Moments that remind you life is full of color, not just inked bills and crumpled receipts. The alternative is grim, you've seen it. A version of yourself, older, wrinkling, staring up at a ceiling on your deathbed with no memories but the constant, blood thinning fear of the next payment on the 1st.

You don't know what you want out of life. But, it isn't that. This thread of thought is usually saved for drunk nights out.

Fixing the cycle is a problem far bigger than you know how to solve. Still, being aware of it has to count for something.

You hope.

Maybe that's why Satoru Gojo's words stuck with you.

Something about money being... energy. About how people like you are taught to work yourself to the ground for it, because that's the only way it can exist in your pockets.

Whether it's true or not doesn't even matter, doesn't even matter that you barely understand it. You'd rather lean towards that kind of thinking than sink into the opposite end that ends with a miserable last breath on a cheap mattress.

His words, careless and playful, are exactly what earned you a 99% and a sloppy, handwritten "nice" from your notoriously stingy professor.

A small win. One worth celebrating. And you didn't even have to work too hard for it. Pun intended.

There's a kind of lightness in your step ever since you'd gotten your paper back a few days ago, it's hard to ignore. It's about more than the grade, though.

A few days ago, you'd overheard Maki mention that 'idiot' would probably be back soon, something about him needing his usual sugar fix (restated in nicer terms.) Ino had been complaining about the lack of tips while you wiped a table, and the conversation stuck with you more than it usually would have.

The 99% and hum of approval on your professors face is one thing.

But the excitement that flutters every time the entrance bell rings is a bit much. Are you really that excited to see him again?

Maybe it's the thought of finally having someone to share the celebration of the win with— someone who understands, even just a little, the weight you have to carry on your shoulders. Someone who would get what that 99% means to you.

That's not to say you have no one to celebrate you.

Nobara, Yuji, and Megumi are great. When your schedules line up, you have that college kid, borderline depraved fun. The kind that involves cheap, watery drinks and running around places you're probably too old to be tussling around in, just to let go for a bit.

They're your friends. Your equals. It's different.

They're struggling too in their own ways. Juggling unpaid internships, tuition, rent— living the college 'dream' just like you. You don't worry them with your burdens because there's no point.

But him?

Your overly charismatic, suspiciously generous customer isn't a friend.

He already knows exactly where you stand, how far below him you are, no drunk confessions of struggling and on the verge of a heart attack each time rent comes around necessary. And instead of anything else, he showed you something that feels a little like understanding.

There's something about the idea of him hearing about your accomplishment that makes your stomach tighten. Like you can let yourself be proud, and that pride can finally settle when reflected back through him.

It feels eerily similar to when you were a child, tripping over your feet at five in the morning on Christmas day just to see what Santa left under your tree, it's just in your nature to lift your head a fraction too fast every time the bell above the entrance chimes at the Mochi shop.

And apparently, you're not subtle about it.

Because Maki and Ino are standing shoulder to shoulder a few feet behind you gossiping like a couple of school girls who think they're being much quieter than they are. The debate of why you're waiting like a Russian mother for her war bound son fresh on their tongues.

"Maybe she got one of those warnings yesterday," Ino whispers, "You know, like a creepy stranger approaching in an alley like, 'don't come to work tomorrow' and now she's waiting for something bad to happen because she didn't heed his warning."

You raspberry blow a strand of hair from your face as you eye the view beyond the glass doors, chin in hand and elbow resting on the counter beside the register.

Maki rolls her eyes, leaning against the back counter beside him. "Shit like that doesn't actually happen. She's obviously waiting for someone."

"Really?" Ino perks up instantly, nudging her arm, intrigued after hours of another boring shift. "Who?"

Maki shrugs. "Tax investigator?"

A soft snort escapes you, but you keep your lidded attention fixed on the front. Had you even been staring that much? A few odd glances at the front and now you're being considered for fraud.

A few customers linger at the small tables, chatting quietly over sweets as sunlight pours through the windows. It's peaceful. Normal.

Ino goes quiet, visibly trying to process the idea of you committing tax fraud.

"Or," Maki adds, barely bothering to think before words fall from her lips, "little miss works-seven-days-a-week got herself a boyfriend."

You twirl to face them at last, arms folding across your chest as you school your expression into something unimpressed, though amusement is ever present. Both of them freeze immediately, like toddlers caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

"Didn't Nanami say something about cutting the pay of whoever has the lowest step count?" you ask, tone mild but pointed, as if you haven't just been standing here doing nothing for the past 10 minutes yourself.

Ino rubs the back of his neck, already turning away. "Yeah, yeah..." he mutters, shuffling off to restock the spoons with exaggerated diligence.

Maki clicks her tongue, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose before grabbing a cloth. She grumbles incoherently, though she's already wiping down the counter with a bit more effort than necessary.

You turn back towards the counter with amusement. "Tax evasion," you snicker to yourself.

"Well," a voice says, far too close to your right, "you really know how to welcome a customer."

You flinch, literally flinch, your head snapping to the side.

Aaand there he is. Leaning casually against the counter like he's been there the whole time, a grin already pulling his lips. Somehow, Satoru Gojo has managed to sneak past you to scare the shit out of you twice.

"And here I was," he adds, tilting his head just slightly, "waiting for my cue and everything." He mimics you with a high pitched voice, "'Oh how I love my job serving all these people, like my good-looking customer Satoru Gojo.'"

Black shirt, sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms like he got dressed without a second thought, black pants to match. No glasses today, just open intensely blue eye contact the second you turn. It's hard to miss how aware he is of your reaction. You know how some animals just seem more alive than others, more alert, more present, like they're more aware of your presence and then some? You're noticing his eyes feel akin to something like that, especially without the shades acting as a buffer.

And then you realize, a second too late, that you havent said a word outside of "oh my god," uttered under your breath. Which may be worse than complete silence in the face of the—accurately put— good looking Satoru Gojo.

"Is a little birdie evading taxes?" He smiles deeply.

Your body lets out a sound between a scoff and a surprised breath.

"No," you shake your head. "No, no," you add quickly with a little huff, straightening a little too fast, picking at the peeling part of the edge counter with your fingernail. "Sorry, you scared me. I was just— no. I'm not evading taxes."

He grins down at you quietly, his default expression of stillness and all smiles, tilting his head the opposite way this time. He’s literally looking through you. The subtle twitch in the corner of his lips tells you he’s holding back a laugh. Probably at you. Not with you.

A customer coughs idly a few feet away. Right. Customers. Working. That's what you're supposed to be doing right now.

Clearing your throat, you tilt toward the register, tapping the screen to wake it up for an order.

"Would you like to order something? Same as last time?" you ask, glancing up at him.

"Ehh," he drags out all breathy and whiny, "not really."

He purses his lips. A beat passes. "But, well.. I could be talked into it by a very enthusiastic and helpful employee. You know I love mochi.”

You hover your finger over the screen showing many options of sweets on the menu, glancing up at his little smile. He's very obviously goading you into convincing him that what you're selling is what he should be buying like a prim and proper employee.

You can practically feel the expectant stare of your coworkers drilling into your back, silently begging you to humor the rich man's silent offer for some playful banter so they might get their hands on the tips he so generously fills the tip jar with whenever he comes in.

But you don't need any convincing.

"Hmm," you hum like he's just handed you a genuinely difficult problem, wearing the appropriate expression for the role you're playing. "Sounds like a hard sell."

"Ahh not at all!" he beams. His hands drop to his hips and his face lights up into a literal ':D', so animated it's comical. "I'm real easy when you get to know me." His act is clearly not strong enough to beat his natural bright personality dying to shine through.

"I see," you hum, holding in a smile. "In that case, I think you'd like many of our selection—"

"Welll, don't get me wrong," he interrupts, as if he's just realized his words didn't align with the stubborn customer act. He leans forward suddenly, hands still planted on his hips, with a mock expression of seriousness. "I might end up being very difficult to please."

He whisper adds, "Y'know, so, pull out your best stops."

He reminds you of a child cutting in with new rules for a make believe game every two minutes and expects you to follow.

You do. You follow.

"Oh." You glance over your shoulder idly. "Then I may have some convincing material in the back. Would you be interested in that, sir?"

It almost sounds like you're inviting him to the back to do some nefarious thing with you.

His smile grows in approval as his lanky abdomen hunches even closer. "Oh am I! Mm, I think I am. Show me what you got.”

You know hard-to-please customers respond well to honorifics. And you're right because before you can even nod, he boops you right on the nose. Like you're a little doll.

"What a polite girl you are."

You're overly fucking embarrassed when you respond with an instinctive, "Yes I am," that only a service worker with a specific script in their subconscious mind would understand.

You quickly add, "I'll grab it," before ducking into the back, ignoring your shaky palms to retrieve the box you need with a warm face. You take a beat in the back to squeeze your face together and let out your embarrassment. It barely helps but you’re used to shoving it down.

When you return, he's in a lazy stance, hips thrusted forward but still hunched, his hands in his pockets, eyes roaming.

"We just got strawberries in," you explain as you approach, pulling the lid off to present the juicy, ripe fruit. "They're really fresh."

His eyes gleam like he's spotted treasure, but he quickly shifts his expression back into character. He raises a brow sternly and pinches his chin with two bony fingers.

"Well, well. I must say, that is enticing. But, important inquiry for you. Your answer will be my deciding factor."

You wait.

"Are they sweet?"

He pauses, for dramatic effect..

Your brows twitch as the silence drones on.

"Or are they bitter and tart? Because I'm not a fan of the snappy ones," he finishes, sticking out his tongue out for emphasis, making a 'bleh' face.

You glance at the strawberries briefly, confident that they're sweeter than they are bitter, especially since Nanami had you sample one of the strawberry mochi just this morning after you'd made a fresh batch. You're sure the quality of the batch is top notch. Nanami is the efficient type.

"I can give you a sample if that would help a valued customer like you decide?"

His reaction is immediate. Cartoon flowers and an exclamation point pops up around his aura. You grin at how exaggeratedly pleased he looks, but he quickly regains composure, bringing his face back to that stern like expression with a cough.

"Hmm. Yes. That sounds good," he hums, all business. "I'll taste."

"Yeah? Okay great." You smile as you pick up one of the delicate white ruffled sheets with a strawberry nestled inside. "Let me just plate this—“

"I changed my mind," he interrupts suddenly, voice laced with mock authority. He leans forward, palms resting on the counter. "I want you to try it for me, you know, in case it's a bitter one."

One look at him and you can tell he's serious. Your eyes flick down to the strawberry, your mind processing the request.

“If you want me to," you say, hoping Nanami will be happy that you served his personal friend well. "Sure, I can check for you."

He smiles approvingly, head tilting slightly as he his eyes stay focused on yours, aware. That conscious look in his eye that's so unique to him glimmers.

You casually grasp the strawberry by its green leaves and bring it to your lips since there's no need to waste a plate and a spoon on yourself.

You take a small bite out of the tip and sweetness floods your mouth immediately, confirming Nanami's dedication to the quality of his stock. As you pull away from the strawberry, a little stream of pink juice escapes the corner of your lips and trails down your chin.

You hesitate as you feel it, your free hand instinctively raising absently in the air, thinking where the closest napkin might be that isn't the sleeve of your work shirt. You don't even want to look at him; you probably seem like a messy toddler right now.

You mutter a instinctive hum to fill the silence, instead of speaking with a mouthful, scrambling and cringing and slightly uncomfortable with the sticky feeling of the cold juice and trying to discreetly wipe the juice off with a (thankfully) nearby napkin.

"Sorry. Good news, it's—"

Your words catch in your throat as you feel light pressure against the strawberry in your hand, and you glance up to see him take a bigger bite out of your bite in the red fruit inches from your face. He's close— dramatically leaned in. Eating right from your hand.

"—Sweet," you finish as his white lashes flutter just slightly with effort. His teeth sink into the sweet flesh with a satisfyingly wet crunch. His jaw tenses with the force. Juice flows down your fingers and palm.

"Okay then," you huff with an almost disbelieving amused expression.

He hums in exaggerated delight, straightening up with a satisfied look on his face. He wipes his bottom lip with the flat of his thumb.

"Very sweet," he confirms matter-of-factly.

The sharp tear of your skin surrounding your nail of your free hand by your side makes you slightly cringe you realize you were picking at your skin again. It's a bad habit, really, as you've been told so many times in the past. You shove your mildly stinging thumb into your palm and wrap your fingers around it, hiding it from the air.

"I'm— uh— very glad I could help you with that," you mutter a little disorganized as you bend and quickly toss the used napkin as well as the strawberry nub in the trash before placing the lid back on the strawberry box.

"Ready to order?" You clear your throat of your awkward tone.

As you wipe your hands down your apron, he starts speaking in his usual playful manner.

"Yeahh, lemme get," he draws out the word, squinting up at the menu as if in deep concentration, making you prepare to take his order. "Two Kikifuku for here, and five to go!"

Your finger hesitates hovering over the screen, pausing. No strawberry mochi? No strawberry anything?

"Okay, great. Is that all?" You're not even a little hung up on the fact that he didn't actually buy the strawberry mochi after all that. He's easily one of your most enjoyable customers to serve.

"Yep!" he says cheerfully, dropping fifty bucks into the tip jar before pulling out his card to pay.

You swipe his card with appreciation for his generosity in your complexion, and as he takes it back from you, you flinch with remembrance.

"Oh! I almost forgot," you quickly crouch to reach into the cabinet below the counter.

You pop back up with his heavy black debit card in hand. "You left it here the other night. Don't worry, I kept it safe."

He blinks at the card in your outstretched hand, then back up at you with a blank, default look.

For a split second, you swear you see a flicker of his cheek before his face morphs into causality.

"Whew!" He exclaims, snatching the card from you and stuffing it into his sleek wallet. "What a relief! You're the best."

You smile and nod dutifully. "Your order should be out soon. I'll bring it to you."

He stuffs his wallet into his back pocket with a little jump to aid gravity, nodding casually.

"By the way," he adds as you start to turn away. He takes a step closer to the counter separating you, as if speaking on something mildly private. "Did you leave my card here overnight, or did you take it home? Y'know, keep it all safe and warm in your pocket."

You blink, not quite understanding his intention in asking. Is there a correct answer here? It almost sounds like he wants you to say the latter, when common sense would lead anyone to believe that's the wrong answer.

"I— Yeah, I left it here," you answer, picking at your injured nail from behind your back. "I knew it'd be safe behind locked doors and everything."

As someone in customer service, you can pick up on the fact that, for some reason, that wasn't the right answer. Apologies are a better safe than sorry kind of thing in this business, so you add, "I hope that's okay."

He quickly brushes your worries off with a wave. "Nah, Don't worry about it."

You nod once, lips pressed together, rocking slightly on your heels with your hands behind your back.

"Nice," he says, flicking his tongue against his front teeth as he eyes the table he plans to sit at. "I'll be here. Waiting for ya'."

You hmph with a nod and a polite smile, like you usually do for customers. But a spark comes alive in your chest as he hums to himself, gliding over to the single table.

You're ready to get to work. As you turn your back to the counter with your mind already ready to do your job,

Your two co-workers are waiting for you.

"Cha-Ching!" Ino, not as subtle as he thinks, pumps his fist at the sight of the fifty in the tip jar, sliding beside you to exaggeratedly peek into the glass jar.

"Handled that better than I would have. I'd already be fired and gone." Maki praises like it's a chore as she rests her hip on the counter, arms folded. "No matter how much money that bozo drops."

You huff, peeking over your shoulder at the man of the hour lounging at a table close by before shushing them with amusement. "He's gonna hear you and take it back."

"No way! That's illegal isn't it?" Ino asks dumbfounded as he scratches his head stupidly, moving away from the jar.

"I wouldn't put it past a guy like him," Maki drones monotoned. "I could totally see him kanoodling his sticky fingers in the jar to fish it back out with no problem."

"He wouldn't," you chuckle and shake your head. Your eyes squint briefly through your amusement, considering the idea that maybe he would. You don't know him well enough, he's rather unpredictable.

"It is weird though," Ino hums, "the guy never usually sits down, always 'to-go' and seems all busy."

You hum curiously as you reach out to begin plating his order.

Maki taps your hand in a little smack, making you halt. "No way, don't worry about it. I can't make you endure that idiot and serve him too with a good conscience," she says, already plating his order without having to even look, a seasoned vet having worked here longer than you.

Maki doesn't know you want to serve him. That you've been waiting for this exact circumstance since Professor Toji submitted your grade. That he's who you've been eyeing the front doors for. Wanting to see some kind of approval in his eyes when you tell him.

You glance over again— and of course he's already looking at you. You're about to give in to Maki's out of character generosity and just wait for another opportunity but—

The man locks eyes with you and lifts his hand slightly, like he's summoning you instead of asking, that million dollar smile resting easy on his charming face.

Relief settles in your chest. No scrambling for an excuse needed, he's already made the decision for you without even knowing it. Can't say no to a customer, right?

"Too late. I've been summoned." You nod towards the needy customer, showing Maki. You shrug like you're now under lock and key, 'oh well, whattdda gonna do?' look on your face.

"Thoughts and prayers," Maki snorts, not even put up a fight, she doesn't even look up as she says it, just plates his order for you and the next second, she's already turning to her station.

You grab his plate. "Don't seem too eager now," you chide playfully.

"If he asks something complicated," she adds, organizing cups that don't need it, "I'm on break."

You grin, nudging her with your elbow on your way past her.

Ino is still celebrating behind you, riding the high of that tip you'll have to split three ways, but you're already half gone. Your attention snagging like a loose thread tied to the silly man at the table.

It's a short walk. You've done it hundreds of times. But right now, it feels like you're walking on air. You've always embarrassingly been the type to raise their hand at every question in class, arm stretching painfully as your fingers wiggle in the air— like that'll entice the chances of being called on. A chance to show your dedication. You need to be first, and you need to show the teacher that you're the best student here, that you care about what they have to say. That you're good.

Before you know it, you're there, adjusting the plate in your hands as he fixes his attention up to you from where he's sprawled over the chair.

"Here you are," you clear your throat, gently placing his plate in front of him, "let me know if you need anything else."

"Sounds like a deal." He spins the plate as if to see every angle before snatching the spoon with a giddy aura.

You take a small step back, ready to— but you don't leave. You stand there, stupidly. Watching him shove half of the entire mochi into his mouth as you wring your hands out behind you.

His chewing pauses for half a beat. His gaze flicks in your direction on the table but not quite up at you, like he's picked up on something in his surrounding environment with instinct.

He glances up at you fully, locating the abnormality. "Hm?" he hums idly, almost to himself.

You take in air, quickly uttering, "Oh I was just—"

"Yeah?" he asks you softly, tilting his head with a teasing grin betraying his kindness.

You force yourself to stop fidgeting with your hands to hold them still. Just get it out before he assumes you're a creep. You've never been good at the whole small talk 'good to see you, how are you' thing.

"I wanted to tell you about my grade," you admit with a huff, as if it'll help with all your awkwardness. "I got it back."

"Ohh right!" he exclaims and drops his head to rest on his palm. He looks up at you sideways, soft white hair flowing down towards gravity, elbow propped on the table. "What'd the geezer think about our little conversation? I'm on the edge of my seat. Talk to me."

Your shoulders immediately relax, relief rolling down your skin in goosebumps, and an anticipatory smile forms on your face. "I got a ninety-nine."

A still beat passes.

"...Really?" he breaks the silence with a question but it's more of a monotoned statement, like he's genuinely surprised at what you've just said.

You blink. He was so passionate about his philosophy before, you didn't know what to expect but it's not shock and disbelief.

"You seem.. surprised?" you huff a bit, curious amusement slight on your expression.

"Hm." He leans back in his seat, tilting his body so his knees are outstretched on either side of you, comfortably manspread with his full attention facing and bracketing you within. "What do you think?"

You recognize that tone, similar to the cadence of some of your professors and the same on his voice the other night. Goading you into a lesson once again. Like a mouse to smelly cheese, your brain gears start spinning.

He gives you ample time to ponder a 'why' to his reaction, sticking the other half of the mochi ball into his cheeks. Not taking his eyes off you.

"..because rich people want everyone, including my professor, to be ignorant?"

"Mm!" He huffs dramatically from his throat, smiling close lipped around his mouthful, proud you learned. He straightens his back, head level with your clavicle, and ruffles your hair.

Warm pride fills your chest and perhaps a few butterflies as his hand takes up the space at the top of your head. Maybe you tuck your chin just a bit so he can have better access for a proper pat too, eyes on your shoes. It's a little silly to be patted like a child, but you accept it with much less than no fight.

"Did you have fun?" His lilted voice queries. He leans back into his seat again, taking his big hand away with him.

You hesitate at his question, glancing up, not expecting it. "Did I.. have fun?"

He doesn't aid in any clarification, just watches you with that charming smile idle on his face.

"Writing the paper..?" you try.

"Mmhmm," he hums as he licks his sugary spoon.

"Oh." You huff. "Well, you know," shrug, "I didn't throw my laptop across the room, so that's promising."

"Wow, not even one attempted laptop homicide? Impressive," he says in that alluring, playful cadence of his natural voice. And there's that glimmer of what you think is approval in his eye.

He offers you a fist bump and you don't hesitate to make your knuckles touch briefly. It's so friendly, you can't help but laugh.

"Have I redeemed your faith in the youth?" you joke as you take your hand back, referencing what he said that night.

"Well, well," he smiles and it's almost arrogant on a man so beautiful. "You wanting another lesson?"

Your chest lights up. You glance around very briefly so make sure the shop is slow, already nodding before properly checking.

"I mean if it's okay— if you have time," you clear your throat, "and stuff."

He waits patiently to make sure that's the end of your gargled sentence before tapping the chair opposite him with his foot. "Sit," he says like it's obvious.

You take a seat and you can practically hear Maki in the back of your head cringe with (slight) sympathy.

"You're an eager student, huh? You get high on that 99% or what?" He wiggles his brows. So that's what he thinks, that you're so enticed by the grade his philosophy won you, you just want more in hopes of a smoother college experience.

You huff, sitting on your hands. "I like a good grade as much as any thriving college student," you enunciate the adjective with sarcasm, making him chuckle.

"But, no, I—" you pause to chew the inside of your cheek, blinking upwards to reign your thoughts in order. You land on, "That grade did surprised me, what you said surprised me for sure. But, I just.. I enjoyed talking to you. I want to know more." About you.

"Hm?" he hums curiously, tilting his head dramatically like a dog, chin in his fingers like a painter as he ponders. He finally says, "Damn, you really are interested. That's hilarious."

Your brows furrow a little but you can't help a little embarrassed amusement. "What's hilarious?" you ask, unable to hold it back as he chuckles.

For some reason it feels like he's talking more to himself than he is you. Like he's not used to someone caring about his exaggeratedly quirky views of the world.

"Ahh nothing," he brushes it off and leans over to grasp the edge of your chair. "Herrrreee we go," he drawls as he yanks and pulls the seat, catching you off guard as he skids it across the floor— until you're sat beside him on his side of the table.

"Oh. Okay." You glance at your position beside eachother, the outside of his manspread thigh touching yours.

He taps the table a few times with the bottom of his plastic bear-themed spoon, looking down at you.

"Close enough?"

You blink up at him. "Oh— yeah. Thank you." What else is there to say to that question? There's not really much need to be this close in the first place but he asks like it's so natural, only the most logical thing to inquire in this situation.

You can't tell if he's joking, since everything he says sounds that way and he's so close already you can see the soft fuzz of his skin, but the man is a little unpredictable and hard to interpret already, so you drop any attempt at making his question make sense with the risk of sounding stupid seriously thanking him for a joke.

"You are so welcome," he hums, eyes still wide focused on you, playing with the spoon one handed by circulating it over and under from one finger to another like it's a pen with his wrist resting on the table.

Silence.

There's a pause because you have no idea what to say to that— but he doesn't seem at all phased by what could possibly be an awkward moment. It's almost like he doesn't notice the social cue. If he does, he sincerely doesn't care, to the extent that he doesn't even think about it. The silent—and a little weird—eye contact doesn't last long though as he picks up the conversation again with the enthusiasm of a professor who loves their job.

"Here's how we'll go about this lesson," he begins, "you pick my brain as much as your little heart desires and I get to ask you some questions in return. Sound fair, right? We can call it..." he hums dramatically like he's swishing something around in his mind. "Tooth time! A little segment."

You huff a chuckle at the made up segment. "Questions like what?" you ask curiously.

He chuckles, wagging a finger at you. "Aht aht aht— No spoilers, eager little kitty. You know the rules of this game, right?"

You press your lips together, because the nickname is wholeheartedly cringeworthy, but it doesn't seem to matter coming out of an exceedingly playful man like him.

"Oh right. Oops," you whisper, imitating zipping your mouth shut.

He smiles widely and drops his spoon onto his plate, pulling his now free hand up to offer a handshake. "Put your hand out."

"Come on, cooome on," he calls to you as if his hand is bait waving around in the water and you're a little fish wandering nearby.

Your brow quirks. A deal, huh?

"Didn't know this was so official," you tease and take his hand with an amused smile.

He pulls your hand into his space and leans in closer to whisper, "Oh, it's very official," into your face as you shake hands. You get a whiff of his sugary sweet breath. And wow, is his hand just swallowing yours up into a warm cocoon.

You let out the breath of air you subconsciously inhaled the second his scent came over you and nod dutifully. "Well, in that case, I accept your terms."

"Oh my," he giggles like he has his very own an inside joke about what you've just said that you aren't in on, "So fast? Just like that? Are you suuuure?"

He waits with palpable amusement as you consider any conditions someone might have for contracts like you've seen in movies.

You bite back a smile. "No questions about my salary, you know, that could get messy."

"Oh, of course not!" He waves you off with— not even attempted concealment in that hugely amused smile, "I'd never even think of it! Wouldn't want to make either of us uncomfortable."

"Yeah, it's been an issue before," you sigh dramatically, "It doesn't go over well. You know how it is, they peek at my bank statements, get all insecure because I make more than they do, and it ends with them slamming the door in my face. Would rather avoid it if possible."

He cackles and hums with approval. "Smart girl."

You let the act go with an amused head shake. Obviously, he can ask whatever he'd like, your little joke expressed that enough.

"Alrighty, what's that pressing question aching to get out of that mind of yours?" He twists his upper body so he's facing you better, resting his forearm on the table and the other one on the back of your chair.

You ignore the fact that he's almost teasing your eagerness, because it's not like it was discreet the way you awkwardly watched him eat in silence before he realized you standing there like a weirdo trying to think of anything to say. Surely with the stupid expression of a dog waiting for a treat.

"Okay," you begin, straightening up your posture as you focus. "So money is energy, working is a scam, I get that.. kinda.. but what now?"

"Nooow you get greedy!" he says like it's obvious, only your birthright and like it's ohh so exciting.

"About what? How?" You blink, head shaking a bit as you search his face for answers. The money you don't have?

He hums and glances at nothing, thinking for a beat.

"Well, I guess the right question is, what do you want?"

"Like.." you huff, "out of life?"

"Sure."

Sure. All flippant and shrugging, like it doesn't matter all too much, like this isn't a question people die without even skating the surface of realizing. He should really just ask what your soul purpose is as a human being on the planet, it'd save time.

The man doesn't need to prove his credentials to you. So you open your mind and think. You take a deep breath. What do you want? There's too much to fucking choose from, so you land on,

"To survive. To stop worrying. To have a second to breathe without—" getting drunk and crying, lying to your friends about how you're doing, and working till you drop.

"You know, etcetera." You puff to expel the seriousness that threatened to make its presence known, fidgeting with your thumb again on the side of the chair by your thigh he can't see too easily.

"I see." He idly taps the table with one long finger. "Not my question, but you answered it nonetheless. What now? Well, I'd say this is the exciting part. Come here."

You blink as he gestures with two long fingers for you to huddle in closer.

Once you're a breath away, eyes attentive and ears ready, his lips part and he's on the precipice of telling you what you've been unconsciously yearning for for years, maybe since you were born— to be told what to do.

"Say 'cheese!'" he shouts and before you know it, the light of his phone camera is flashing over your face repeatedly as shutters indicate he's taking pictures of you.

On instinct, your eyes squeeze shut and your face tilts away from the light. He must have only taken a few before you flinched away and when you glance back at him, he's shoving his phone back into his back pocket with a satisfied look.

"You shoulda seen your face, kid. Totally capture worthy."

Your eyes squint incredulously as you glance to the side a bit, almost like you're waiting for the fourth wall to break. It's comical how unpredictable this guy is, and even more, how much he strays away from social rules. It feels like you're playing a game interacting with him, with rules you aren't aware of.

He lets out a 'ouh' sound, tilting his head like a dog when he catches your stalled stare, though his face is exceedingly blank with his default smile. "What's this? Don't tell me you're camera shy," he teases.

You shake your head, exhaling in slight disbelief. "Does this mean I can take pictures of you too?"

He tilts his head the opposite direction with a wide smile. "Of course. Is that what you want?"

"I kinda wanted to know what you were gonna say. You know, right before your artistic instinct caught a capture worthy shot."

"Ahh, right, right." He clears his throat when a snicker comes through. "But before that, I think it's about time for my question, don't you think?"

You squint for a beat stubbornly like you're considering, but it's just for show, you have no intention of denying him. "Okay, sure."

He weasels his muscular thigh around to the outside of your chair, so he's facing you completely like before with both legs bracketing you while your body mostly faces the table.

"How old are you?"

You glance up to his face with interest from where your eyes were examining his manspread thighs.

"Twenty-three," you say. Suddenly you're a kid again, being asked A B and C to fill out a mandatory form so you can apply to something you're probably not eligible for.

"Is that right?"

"How old are you?" you ask in return, curiosity bumping up.

He gasps. "Don't you know never to ask a lady his age? So rude, the youth these days. How old do you think I am? No, don't tell me."

You chuckle. "Okay but just so you know, I'm considering the idea the white in your hair is actually just grey."

He throws his head back and cackles, making his hand on the back of your chair brush against your back.

"I'll act like you didn't just call me old," he says all sultry to you, like it's a little secret just between you two. "Anyways, the answer you're looking for is to have fun. And how do you do that? Well, you'd have to try new things, see what really gets you goin'. And then maybe we'll have somethin' to work with. You gotta start wanting out of life to start making some real impact in the wallet department. Easy, right?"

So figure out what you truly want and then you can figure out how to make money off it. Have fun. But sadly, you don't have time to have fun and explore hobbies. Maybe you can pick up a book or something.

"Easy. Right," you press your lips together in a smile, showing your appreciation and of course, he smiles back. It feels like he can read your mind, those eyes.

"Do you enjoy talking to me?" he queries simply.

Your smile grows and you nod. You swallow briefly before adding, "You're my favorite customer."

"Aww, yeah?? What do you like about talking to me?" He asks intimately despite barely knowing you, one hand resting on his knee, close enough to your own knee that he's able to tap it a few times, which he does of course, making you swallow.

"Is that one of your questions?"

"Sure."

You chew on the inside of your cheek and joke, "What don't I like about talking to you?"

He giggles all giddy, his finger steadily tapping at your knee. "I like that answer. C'mon, gimme specifics."

Fishing for complements? Strangely, his questions don't feel that surface area.

You take a deep breath, considering with a smile.

"You're easy." You glance up at him before quickly returning your gaze to his finger on your knee, trying to ignore his stare so you can utter a real response. "It's easy to talk to you. I can never really predict what you're gonna say. You're kinda.. odd."

You blink back to his face with slight panic and add, "In a good way. In a good, fun way. I really enjoy it— you— I mean talking to you."

He laughs heartily for long enough that you can feel your heart rate go up as the heat in your face rises too.

After his fit of laughter, he throws out a thumbs up, huge smile sparkling and one eye shut in a long wink. "Jeez, that could make a grown man tear up! Ten out of ten. Perfect answer, you win." Massive approval.

You sigh a breath of content, letting the small smile return to your face.

The hand on the back of your chair suddenly flattens between your shoulder blades and you almost squeak like a toy. He's touchy.

"Look here," he whispers like a fisherman teaching his son about the types of fish to have a keen eye for, leaning into you. He points a finger to draw your gaze to a balding man sitting in the corner. Not subtle at all. But the man doesn't seem to notice. "You see that guy?"

You nod, a question on your face, blinking in attempt to keep your attention off of the huge palm on your back.

He takes his eyes off the man to give you a present stare. "Lesson time. It's beneficial to know that money is not everything. What people really want without even knowing it is opportunity."

You swallow, nodding again as you glance at him for the confirmation he's seeking in your gaze that you're paying attention.

"But, I mean, can't money give you opportunities?" you add like a good little student.

"Hm, fair point." He smiles, like you've contributed a valid point. "Here, let's go back to— let's call him Bob— here. He has a steady cooperate 9-5 at a well proclaimed office."

You stifle a laugh. "Actually his name is Paul. He likes mango."

Paul is a regular. He doesn't talk to you much, but he comes in often enough.

Gojo rubs a hand over his lower face, laughing with you. "Oh yeah? Is that right? Okay, well, Paul."

He glances around at nothing, pushing his pursed lips to the side like he's thinking, tilting his head like a scale. "Let's see, most of those positions.. Paul is making around 38k. Monthly, 3k, 4k at most when his boss gives him extra work. What do you think? Good amount?"

Compared to you, yeah. You make less than half that on a particularly exhausting month. You shrug, "Doesn't sound like he's struggling or anything."

"You'd think so, huh? Well, we haven't considered his expenses. Bob here never took 'money management' in school. You know why?"

"Uh- because he didn't go to college?"

Gojo laughs. "No, because money management isn't taught in school. Instead, things like the quadratic equation is prioritized instead of how to pay taxes. Hell, most parents don't teach their kids how to use an ATM before they kick em out on their 18th birthday."

You scoff at his accuracy, a disappointed jump in your brow. The world really is so ridiculous when he puts it like that. It sets kids up for failure right out the gate.

He smiles, chuckling happily at your reaction. "Yes, it's rather annoying, really. Anyways, back to my point."

He nudges his head towards Paul. "So let's say he has a check for 4k this month. Lucky him, right?"

You're about to nod along, not thinking much of it, until he drops his hand down onto the table, reveling in your little jump.

"Wrong."

"How?" You blink at him, brows furrowed and voice hushed, "What could be possibly be spending it on?"

"Well, Bob spends 1k on his mortgage. And life insurance, retirement, taxes are 800. 200 on groceries, 300 on take out, 300 on tennis lessons for his wife, 700 so his darling daughter can go to a good college, we can't forget 200 on booze, phone, utilities, personal spending like clothes etc, 800 if he's lucky. And of course, the 1,200 on debt payments because of that time he got into a bar fight and ended up with a nice one-day hospital stay."

Did he just do all of that math in his head? You can't even be sure if it actually adds up or not without a calculator.

"Jesus fuck," you blurt.

"Oop!" His expression bursts with amused surprise at your sudden reaction.

He laughs as your eyes widen in brief surprise because his reaction made you realize what you'd said in the shop.

"Be careful," he teases as you cringe and resist covering your own mouth, "Mister Nanami isn't a fan of the devils tongue little miss employee of the month."

"Sorry," you say instinctively, exhaling through a sheepish smile.

He laughs, and rubs his hand on your back a few times, making your shoulder briefly twitch as your mind blanks for half a second. It's so comfortable. Addictive and makes you feel warm.

"I won't tell if you don't." He smiles lopsided with his pointer finger in front of his lips. "Which actually brings me to my question."

You lick your lips and look over at Paul who is wearing a napkin like a bib. "But, what about Paul?"

He briefly squeezes his eyes shut in great amusement. "Don't worry, Paul can wait, can't he?"

You glance at the man. Paul is a little more impatient than your other customers, but not burdeningly so. You on the other hand..

"Yeah, okay."

"Thank you, Paul," he says briefly before tilting his head at you like a robot locking onto its target. "How good are you at keeping secrets?”

Through the many odd jobs you've had in your young life, strangers from all over decided that you are the perfect candidate to dump the most intimate of secrets on. For some reason, there's something about being a low-valued employee that makes people feel open. It's kind of like you have a special token from each stranger you'll likely never see again.

"Why? Something you wanna get off your chest?" Your eyes squint just a tad, curiosity bleeding.

"Hm," he smiles, "not quite."

You can imagine the secrets this man could have hidden behind that soft button up would be interesting to hear. But, he's not the type to budge, in-fact he seems oddly scheming for such a playful guy.

"Then why ask?" you can't help but wonder.

"Well, same reason I'd ask you how good you are at hide and seek."

...You wait for more clarification but of course, none comes. There are about a million ways to perceive that.

"That somehow answered less than before."

He shrugs and makes an exaggerated dumb face, like he's silently saying it's out of his hands, and 'that's just life,' as if he doesn't have the power to just tell you right here right now.

"I don't know," you drop any attempt at getting a real answer and play into his sillies instead. Honestly, you don't think his intentions go further than being entertained. "Do my friends count?"

"Ehh I don't really care but, well, I don't really like being nagged so yep! Friends count."

This guy must have been the best make-believe kid at recess.

"Okay," you laugh, "sure. I'm good at keeping secrets. Do I get a prize?"

"You just might. How good on a scale of one to ten?"

"Ten."

"Wow! That's ballsy. Poor Paul on the other hand has too many balls to spare. Know why?"

Your brows furrow as you gaze back to Paul who has a ring of sugar around his lips. He only has two mochi. "Why?"

"He and his wife? They fuck once a month. At most." He enunciates 'most' with drama. You realize now he meant balls as in.. balls. Not mochi.

Your eyes jerk towards him. You're suddenly aware that you're in public and your new friend?.. mentor?.. customer? doesn't seem to have an inside voice, or a care for social expectations.

"I... wow. That's a thing you just said out loud."

Your awkward, flustered response earns you a laugh that almost bubbles out of him, like it's a truly genuine laugh from his belly.

"That's rough buddy," he sighs as his laugh dies down, gazing at Paul. He doesn't actually seem all that sympathetic.

"I mean," you mumble under your breath, pausing with hesitance, "Isn't that pretty common, though?"

Older men having sex more than once a month is a crazy thought, though admittedly, you've never given it much thought. You imagine guys like Paul are lucky for that often.

Gojo pauses, head tilting, brows furrowing at Paul with thought. "You know what, I'm not actually sure."

You let out a small laugh and he smiles down at you in tandem.

"Come on, kid. That's what I like to see! You gotta smile more." The hand on your back pushes to your shoulder to give it a squeeze, fingers grazing your collarbone.

Your shoulder muscles tense under the force, then relaxes into the touch, its natural reaction.

"I smile," you huff, glancing briefly at his touch, adding a silly, "and not only at inappropriate comments about a customers sex life, thank you very much."

"Oh, that's a relief. Would probably have to report you to HR. Can't have a perv serving mochi to the civilians."

You shake your head in disapproval, but you can't help but laugh.

"Am I the perv if you gave me unsolicited sexual assumptions about other customers?"

"Fair point," he considers, "Yes."

Your laugh persists, and you fidget with the side of your chair as you chew on your lip. You can feel Gojo smiling beside you.

You finally glance up at him. "If I may, what does Paul's sex life have to do with his money? Or was that just an important side detail?"

"Oh it's important, alright. Paul has money, but he's not having fun! See what I mean?"

Basically: What the hell is the point of money if you can't have fun?

"Paul isn't poor. Not starving, obviously. Paul isn't failing. Yet Paul still spends everyday waiting for the weekend when he can drink till he's brain dead while his wife fucks the tennis coach. Wheeew!" He drags a hand over his forehead and wiggles oddly like he's trying to get a disgusting, scary thought out of his head. Probably the idea of being Paul.

"Well, I don't think I'd have that problem." You chuckle.

"No, you'll be much smarter with your money, won't you?"

You nod at his silly hypothetical, four thousand dollars a month. You? It's a nice dream.

"But not too smart, right?" He wags a finger in your face, staring you down his long finger.

"Oh I wouldn't dream of it. I'd make one ridiculous purchase a day, of course. Make sure it's something utterly useless I'll use once and never look at again."

"Haha! That's the attitude!" You're obviously being silly but he still praises the idea. "And while you're at it, make sure you accept gifts from generous guys like me," he says as he slides his plate over in front of you holding his last mochi ball on it.

Just like last time, he ordered one for himself and one for you. What he does with the other dozen to-go sweets, you aren't sure.

You swallow instinctively and give him a sheepish look. "For me? Are you sure?"

"I feel like I'm having Deja-vu," he chuckles, pinching the side of your thigh, making you jolt.

"Ow," you mumble with an amused look, gently pushing his hand away from your pinched skin.

"Eat it. Sugar is good for the brain. It's a little treat from me to you. Life is sweet, at least when I'm here." He winks at you and you can't help but feel steam billowing off of the top of your head like a cartoon character as your heart beat picks up. So corny.

"Thank you." You sit up and realize you'll have to use his spoon like last time. You side glance at him and he's whistling, not even looking at you.

You pick up his spoon and stab the ball, sliding a bite into your mouth.

A little piece of folded paper comes into view as Gojo slides it towards you on the table.

You look at him with a question on your face as you chew.

You go to pick it up but he stops you, using his fingers to pull it back a bit to keep in his grasp.

"One last thing. You’ll be fine”

You stall. He's being unusually serious, using a slower more genuine tone than usual.

You finally exhale, nodding. Knowing the successful, intelligent man truly thinks you'll be okay, even in such general terms, makes you feel lighter, like he took some of the weight off your shoulders for a moment. He's the only one who knows, even without specifics, that you're suffering this way.

He picks the paper up between his two fingers and offers it to you as his usual wide tight lipped smile returns to his face.

"If you want an opportunity.." he trails off as you take the folded paper. "Don't call to work, though. Only fun."

Your face contorts in confusion and curiosity as you hold the note.

You open it and look at him with even more utter confusion. It's a stupid little drawing of what looks like a penis and balls?

"Oop! Wrong one." He giggles as he pulls out another piece of paper and swaps it with yours.

You open it as he stands and stretches his long arms obnoxiously, making silly noises.

It's a phone number.

"Man, I'm so glad I came todayy." He smiles like a giddy teenage girl, mouth open in the shape of a triangle. "See ya." He winks down at you and squeezes your shoulder on the way to the front counter where Maki hands him his to-go order and thanks him for his service in a monotoned, rehearsed voice.

He leaves practically skipping. As you go to stand, a crumple of paper draws your attention to your little pocket on your apron right at your right breast. You blink and pull out a hundred dollar bill, holding it in the same hand as the phone number note.

Your eyes snap to the door even though you know Gojo is already gone before quickly stuffing it back into your pocket with an exasperated look.

it’s barely your fault that the feeling of a warm, hard muscled, naked full grown man wrapping his heavy arms around you leaves you undisturbed. even when he starts grinding something mean against your upper back thigh and licking at the shell of your ear, it’s on you for not coming to.

even as nanami’s rough hand, that he had washed before crawling into bed despite being drunk off of his ass—pressed against the lower half of your face, you only stirred slightly.

“let’s get it on, baby. ‘m sorry for what i said earlier, i don’t wanna fight. gonna do you real good like you want me to. read so many— hiccup— articles,” he slurs lowly into your ear with hot, whiskey breath as his thumb rubs your cheekbone soothingly.

you have to give yourself some credit though, your subconscious had almost woken you up when he shoved a hand into your sweatpants. he brushes the tips of his middle fingers against the gusset of your panties with a, “ohh, there she is.” the first half of his two long fingers take up the entirety of your labia, if you were awake maybe you’d even feel the way an experienced nanami found your clit before even feeling around for it first.

you can’t fault nanami too much, a small alert in the back of his wasted head went off when your thinly covered labia felt a little shorter in length than he had remembered. but poor nanami figured he’s just drunk, that and he hasn’t touched his girlfriend or been touched by her in quite a while. he can’t even pinpoint the last time his oppressed balls were emptied.

his movements are nice and slow, rotating between sensual circles and soft strokes from the top of where your inner lips start and down to the bottom where your hole is starting to wake up before you even do. his touch isn’t fast and rushed like all of the college boys you’re used to who are driven purely by raging hormones.

rather, nanamis rubbing on your pussy is enjoyable for him, his eyes are closed in bliss as he noses at your neck and hair. your pussy is warm, the heat is rapidly escalating in temperature with every stimulating touch. he basks in the feeling of slowly coaxing your clit to start thumping against his fingers when he pushes against the hood covering it in two short pressing nudges, using your panties to soften the sensation.

he coos an appreciative hum when your leg muscles twitch in response and your hands jerk softly as you sleep. it didn’t take long for your clit to go from subtle thumps to needy throbbing. “i know, i knoow— don’t say it— hiccup— you want me to be more rough with you. but, still needa get you wet for an easy slide into this honeypot.”

if you were awake, you’d fucking laugh at the old man term for pussy— then again maybe you wouldn’t because he’s starting to move his fingers back and forth with forceful pressure to wedge your panties between your outer lips. he nibbles on your neck as you let out a sleepy whimper. your nipples and lower abdomen ripple in a wave of tingles as his fingers use the fabric to produce a delicious friction. it’s akin to a paper towel being set down on a puddle of water, the way your gusset soaks up the abundance of leaking arousal the second he wedges the cloth in, making a dark patch.

that dark patch is balmy and sticky, aiding in a nice slip and slide for his massage. “fuck,” he grunts into the side of your head, “got so sticky wet so fast. see?— hiccup— you do enjoy when i’m soft on you, baby.”

the way he emphasizes the word ‘do’ is as if he’s made this point before. if you were awake, you’d probably be able to connect the dots that he and your mom are having intimacy issues but who are you kidding, you’d be too distracted with the way he’s rubbing you in a relentlessly sweet way that he’s enjoying as much as your body is.

your pussy has been adequately prepped for minutes now, but he figures since you’re sleeping, you can’t make him hurry up and stick it in you like his girlfriend always rushes him to do. he can do what he pleases right now, thats what nanami thinks your mom’s argument was anyways, for him to do get a little greedy.

truthfully, he’s acting out of bitterness, upset that your mother told him she’s no longer attracted to him because of how soft and kind he is. his way of ‘getting back at her’ is by taking his time to touch and play with what he thinks is her pussy until he wishes to stop. nanami’s instincts when he’s upset is usually to comfort and cherish, not hurt and destroy, he genuinely thinks he’s in the wrong right now by taking all the time he wants to play with your pussy.

to hear a ‘squelch’ everytime he prods at your clothed cunt is diabolical. one would think the cloth would prohibit any kind of ‘chu’ noises but even when drunk, nanami is too skilled, he’s teasing you expertly by simply relying on his own desires to do so.

nanami is lost in the act, addicted to your twitching clit and the clench he feels your hole make every time he brushes against the entrance of it. even your reproductive organs are anticipating some kind of penetration. but the sound of a muffled, sleepy cry against his palm snaps him out of it. he chuckles and peppers kisses against your shivering neck, uttering apologies between every kiss. his fingers transition to apply pressure to the entirety of your labia in attempt hold you over for just a moment, aware of the silent plea of your body yearning for penetration.

“okay, okay, i feel it. i know. shh,” he coos into your ear as your legs and abdomen jerk due to the pressure to your sensitive cunt, “need something to milk, hmm? you’re in luck, my cock needs milking, you— uh— slut.”

nanami’s trying his very best, using all of his drunk brain power to think back to that article titled ‘seven ways to spice up your sex life and please your unsatisfied woman! (intense, hard sex for beginners).’

1. be dominant— check. he hopes playing with your pussy from behind with a hard hand over your mouth the entire time counts. a subsection of this said to ‘take what you want!’ and he certainly has so far, subjecting your unconscious body to torturous fondling. he thinks he’s doing alright.

2. mean dirty talk— check. calling you a slut once, although very poorly, counts.. right?

3. consensual non-consensual play— check. he had to put on his reading glasses to read the definition on a site called ‘urban dictionary’ to understand what the fuck somnophilia was after your mom had said it as if it were an insult, that he ‘hasn’t even tried that’ on her, in their little argument. that’s what led him down the private online browser black hole to find this article in the first place.

already three down and a few more to go, nanami’s feeling confident as he shoves your sweatpants and soaked panties down until they’re at your knees. hazy eyes flit down to coordinate his movements as much as his drunk ass can, all while murmuring, “lets get these— hiccup— off of you. sorry, just gonna—yeah— shove ‘em down.”

is there any excuse for not waking up by now that makes more sense than to say you’re exhausted from midterms? a nice, wet dream where someone with a deep voice is holding you, playing with your cunt, and whispering sweet nothings into your ear is just too inviting for a college student who’s only possible relief is a two-pump frat boy who spreads a rumor that you suck in bed after.

nanami uses one hand to press on your lower tummy to jut your butt out towards him before using the same hand to grip the base of his hard cock. he shivers as his fingers, slick and sticky with your fluid, graze against his dick, his focused, squinted eyes locked on your arched ass as he aims himself.

“ready?” he mutters to you, more a question to himself than anything, as his tip brushes softly against the outside of your entrance.

“three, two,” he slurs as he counts down, hand on your mouth tightening as he pushes your head back into his chest to prepare for your awakening. he pauses for much longer between two and one, gulping to himself. he’s applying enough tension with his hips so that his tip presses to the outside of your cunt without having to hold it there, so he can use his free hand to gently pull one of your lips away as to expose your silky, toasty insides for better access.

“one,” he breathes out with eyes blinking, a long pause delaying any movement despite one being the number he’s supposed to penetrate you on.

this feels wrong, your body, who he believes is your moms, is blissfully asleep and still. it’s as if he’s waiting for you to give him a little encouragement, a muffled whimper or something, but you don’t. he wonders what you’re dreaming about, if it’s him or if it’s that guy who your mom boast’s about with a flush to her cheeks at the work parties he brings him to. that infuriating thought leads him into the thought that maybe he’s who your mom will leave him for, maybe he knows how to be rough with her the way she years so badly for. maybe that guy wouldn’t second guess himself when he’s about to shove his unforgiving cock into her soft body.

the irritating thought spiral makes the vein in his forehead pop and his jaw clench. he moves his eyes up from your arched back and leans down to your ear to breathe heavy into it. his hand subconsciously tightens around your lower face as his jealousy grows, making your brows twitch into a pout briefly in your sleep as one of your hands slides a few inches against the sheets in a jerking reaction.

the build up to this moment happened in twelve frames per second, choppy and fragmented, similar to the way his drunk mind is operating right now. but when nanami finally makes a move, everything turns into a sudden burst of force, like a sneaky wave that slams into the back of your head and pushes you off of your feet and equilibrium as all of your senses turn from serene beach noise to a loud sloshing that fills your ears and lungs.

one mean, rough snap of his lower body, motivated by so many conflicting factors within nanami’s head, and he’s mounted all the way inside of your body.

“biiig stretch,” nanami growls deeply into your ear before sinking his teeth into your neck, eyes rolling into the back of his skull as his toes twitch and his legs push against yours.

4. leave a mark— check. he can feel your soft skin giving in to his teeth, no doubt you’ll be dealing with that reminder for weeks after this. he doesn’t even feel bad when the thought of your mom’s work ‘friend’ seeing the evidence of her very exciting personal life.

everything that happens to your body when he infiltrates happens all at once—your wide eyes shoot open, nostrils flare with a big inhale, back arches, one hand flies behind you to dig your nails into the muscley ass of whatever is penetrating you while the other claws at the hand over your mouth, legs extend straight out, toes curl, and pussy flutters.

if nanami wasn’t so drunk and riled up by his own thoughts, he would absolutely notice the difference in sensations within your cunt. although it’s been more than a while since he’s felt the inside of your mothers body, its agonizingly clear that this one he just forced into feels different. if he didn’t use so much strength initially to slam in, he would have had to practically pry his way in. when his cock head nudged at the little folds where your hymen is located, in less than a split second, mid thrust, he felt a resistance that made him engage more core strength to get past it.

that’s not the only thing thats different, what he’s used to with his girlfriend is a cute, subtle flutter around his cock when he gets inside but, the flesh surrounding him right now is choking his fucking dick every half second like it’s panicking, like it’s crying out that it’s not used to this.

the consistency of these walls are gooey, bumpy like any pussy is, but really the only accurate word to use is gummy. its like he’s being strangled by a sticky gelatin candy that’s alive and breathing. even drunk nanami is surprised by how wet you are inside, its making him think back to when he played with your pussy and wonder if he had lost track of time and done it for longer than he thought because what his cock is used to with your mom is a slightly dry consistency. he knows he hadn’t prepped you that long at all, maybe twenty minutes and you’re gushing as if he’s been fingering you for three hours nonstop.

but even if nanami wasn’t inebriated, his primal instinct to give in to the tight hug of this pussy he’s entered is too strong for logical thinking and it’s much too strong for him to get a better look at who’s actually connected to this cunt.

he briefly detaches his teeth to let out a euphoric ‘ooowh’ as his hand that was holding your pussy lip moves to rest against your lower tummy where he can feel his own fucking bulge inside. he quickly rebinds his teeth into your neck after— an almost subconscious way to cope with your tight body.

now fully awake, you quickly notice the hand over your mouth prohibiting you from gasping and crying out through it the way you need to, the large warmth of a man enveloping the entirety of the back of your body, the sharp teeth locked onto your neck, and the monster cock stretching you out painfully all at once in a way you’ve never felt before.

you immediately start to squirm, rotating from pushing against his hip, hitting at it weakly, and sinking your nails into it to cope with his unyielding presence seated within your cunt, unmoving and forcing you to deal with it.

one of your eyes twitch in sync with your muscles in the hand on his hip when the sharp pain of nanami detaching his teeth from your neck shoots through your nerves.

“good—” nanami hums, basically purring as he laps a slow few licks at the indents, making you shiver and flinch, “—morning.”

the shock subsides enough for you to begin thinking through what the fuck is happening. you’re clearly not in your dorm. the nightstand beside you holds an open scrapbook with your baby pictures, a reminder of when you were looking through it earlier. it all floods back—how you came home to surprise your mother and ended up falling asleep while waiting.

immediately, you assume whoever is behind you is a stranger who broke into her home and you start squirming harder than before, trying to get out of his grasp.

“hey, hey— calm down,” he’s speaking directly into your ear, drawing out the phrase in attempt to soothe you as his hand on your lower tummy begins to rub in comfortingly slow circles, right over his protrusion.

you whimper and try to shake your head harshly as to refuse his request. you’re using your hands to push as hard as you can against his hand on your mouth and his hip, which isn’t very hard since his third arm has rendered you limp and useless. you don’t push his warm hand away from your tummy though, because perverted intruder or not, it actually is easing some discomfort.

5. restrain yourself or her— check. apart from the fact that he’s had a hard hand clamped on your mouth this whole time, he’s quite effortlessly keeping your writhing body restrained against him as well.

“it’s just me, honey,” nanami quickly says, in a reassuring tone with a bit of humor in it and a kiss to your ear. “—your very, very mean, rough boyfriend.”

the way he’s playfully cooing that he’s a mean, rough boyfriend makes you blink and your resisting hands falter a bit. your eyes flick to the dresser: a bottle of expensive cologne, hair gel, designer watch, a plain leather wallet, the large shirt you’re wearing and the XL sweatpants that are sloppily hanging onto your knees.

you realize as quickly as you squeal in horror under his palm that this has to be your moms boyfriend that she obviously never wanted to tell you about. and clearly, she never told nanami about you. or maybe she did, but since you thought it’d be a good idea not to tell her you were coming, you’re now cock warming your mom’s secret boyfriend who thinks you’re her. the butterfly affect in action.

drunk nanami clearly perceives your squeal of horrifying realization as one of excitement because he chuckles and nuzzles the side of your face. “mmmhm— see? this ‘doormat’ of a man can be greedy too,” he lets out a deep slow breath against your face, “played with your— ahem— pussy for twenty minutes before you woke up.”

clearly, your mother had called him a doormat at some point. the way he says ‘pussy’ is like he’s not familiar with the word. it’s obvious he’s trying to make a point by telling you about his twenty minute handling of your cunt, to prove that he’s capable of acting on his own desires, without being mister nice guy and always catering to his girlfriend’s wishes.

panicked by his ‘twenty minute’ confession, you begin to kick weakly at his calves, but you quickly waver in your attempt when it feels good. the both of you groan into each other—you into his palm and he into your ear, your eyes flutter, and your back arches because the kicking inadvertently sparks some deep, oscillating friction of your connected parts.

“fucking god-damnit,” nanami grunts and lets out a deep breath, “you feel so tight, honey. good god.”

your eyes clench shut at his mortifying compliment but your hands pushing at his hip and his hand weaken to a gentle lingering. he’s not even thrusting and you’re already exhausted, growing dizzy even. attempting to cope with intrusion that’s much too large for your smaller body, trying to escape his unfathomable strength, and the emotional turmoil of the situation— it’s all too much for you to continue to resist so adamantly.

nanami is about to whisper into your ear for permission to begin fucking your body with all of his might but he stops himself and huffs, reminding himself of your mothers cruel words before— ‘sometimes a woman just wants to be taken, kento. i want to feel like you desire me so much that you can’t control yourself but you’re too busy asking me for fucking consent!’

your eyes bulge and you cry out under his palm as nanami suddenly launches his hips into a vicious pace with no warning, your ass is rippling and your body is jerking like a fucking doll with every jackhammer. the power behind these ruts would fuck you right off the bed if he wasn’t pushing your lower tummy and face into him. every ram comes with a deep grunt, a drag of his cock against your panicking walls, and a collision to your cervix.

6. thrust roughly— check. ‘fast and hard is the name of the game,’ nanami remembers reading. he’s familiar with soft love making, being attentive of the woman’s every reaction as to be careful and kind. he’s only ever lost a sliver of control when he’s about to cum, unable to hold his harder thrusts back during that time, but it’s never as rough as he’s being right now.

your hands fly out, one dragging on the bed before grabbing at anything within reach while the other is being forced to replace his hand on your lower tunmy before closing his palm on top of yours to keep it there and to steady you.

“can you— shit!— feel that?” nanami growls, his voice unsteady due to the harsh fucking his delivering to you, “this is what you fucking wanted, right?”

you shake your head, hard, with clenched watery eyes, letting out muffled ‘mmm!’s against his hand. despite the fact that you’re shaking your head ‘no,’ answering nanami’s rhetorical question at all only goes to show how fucked out already you are. nanami’s strength behind every single thrust is knocking any sense or logic from your brain.

“let me take you,” nanami breaths out in a quick pant, “let me take you— fuck!— let me take you. give in— shh— give in to me and this fucking cock.”

nanami can hardly believe the words coming out of his own mouth, words he’s only heard when he was a teenager, rolling his eyes at the locker room talk the other boys were engaging in.

the pathetic moan you let strangle out of you and muffle into his palm because of his deprived dirty talk is diabolically immoral. he’s panting and repeating himself like a wild animal, like he’s losing all control as he pries you open and then lets your pussy close up again, over and over and over. it happens so fast, four thrusts in the span of half a second— which you’d think would be too quick to have any power behind it but it does, it’s powerful and it’s swift.

then, every one of your defenses are falling, with no other option or choice, he feels the subtle shift of you pushing your ass into him to meet his hips, the interlocking of your fingers with his on your tummy, and your other hand moving from his on your mouth to the back of his head to rake your nails through his hair. you’ll deal with everything else later, all you can think about now is how to make him wedge deeper so you can get off on his cock.

“god yes,” nanami coos in appreciation, a wave of affection coming over him to join the toe curling pleasure and he finally feels like he’s won you over through your cunt, “there we go, that’s my girl. atta fucking girl— oowh—never felt so goddamn strangled in my life.”

strangling him, you are. he feels it and you can feel it, your pussy is holding onto him like it’s yearning to conjoin your genitals together for eternity.

your eyes roll back as your tits bounce painfully. if you weren’t completely consumed by the most euphoric orgasm of your life—starting in your shaky legs and surging upward until your vision clouds white and your mind blanks—you might notice his shift in tone. the sudden, effortless stream of filthy words spilling from him is a clear sign of his own climax drawing near.

nanami wants to get even deeper when he feels your orgasming cunt squeeze him harder than ever, so he kicks your knee up with his until his leg is nudged between yours and your leg is resting on top of his. you both shudder at how much deeper he’s able to penetrate now. you can feel his swollen balls slap against your overwhelmingly sensitive clit as his grip on your face and tummy turns painful.

“gonna cum,” he grits out directly into your ear before smearing his face into the side of your head like he’s losing control, “‘m gonna blow my fucking load right into your pussy.”

nanami lets out a drawn out, deep disgruntled groan that sounds almost like, ‘wwhuuaah,’ reminiscent of a middle aged man in porn, as his balls rise and begin to twitch in eager preparation. he’s clearly not familiar with the feeling of a twenty two year olds body and moral nanami had never thought about it before anyways.

he sucks in a sharp breath of air with eyes clenched shut before slamming his hips into you once more, all the way up until your flustered cervix and his smiling tip nuzzle together with affection. it’s as if they have a spirit of their own, more than happy to hug and kiss and get familiar with one another in such a sweet way.

when nanami moves his hand away from your mouth, mid jizz, you inhale a large breath of air as if you had been suffocating the entire time. before you can even shout at him to get off of you or not to cum inside of you and then move to the other side of the room and proceed to explain that you are not your mother in a very loud, horrified way as you pull the sweatpants up your shaking legs— you don’t get to do any of that. nanami instead, grips your jaw and yanks you towards his face before sloppily connecting your lips and shoving his tongue all the way into your mouth that at one point, you swear he reached your throat, muffling any shouts you might have had ready.

your eyes are wide as your pupils race back and forth from each of his clenched shut eyes, frozen with your mouth open wide as he tongues it. your free hand that isn’t trapped under his on your tummy falls from his head and spasms mid air as you feel that first aggressive spurt of cum connect to your cooing cervix.

he grunts and groans into your mouth through his orgasm, rocking his hips in a gyration while not pulling out even a little.

suddenly, just when you think it’s all over, you squeal as he slowly but surely pushes you down with his own body weight until you’re flat on your stomach and he’s on top of you, still completely seated inside of you. your mouths disconnect along the way and he falls completely limp against you as the last of his cum spills from him.

you’re gasping for air, aggressively attempting to catch your breath— partly due to his body crushing you and partially because of the absolutely diabolical sex he’s just inflicted on you.

he hisses into your ear as your pussy goes through the involuntary process of pulsing after your orgasm, effectively milking him of the cum he has already given to you. his arms wrap around your midsection and he cuddles into your back.. “wow, fucking wow. that was amazing,” he breathes out as he too attempts to catch his breath, refusing to pull out despite the overstimulation.

nanami is blissfully unaware as he falls into a deep sleep, the only thing on his hazy mind is the happiness that he’s finally shown his ‘girlfriend’ that he can satisfy her.

once you catch your much needed breath, you immediately start to squirm under him as to push him off. you’re completely trapped under him.

“g-get off!” you shout effectively for the first time all night with a scratchy voice, due to all of the moaning and screaming you were doing, “hello? hey asshole! wake up! you’re still— ngh!— inside of me!”

maybe it was the fifth glass of whiskey nanami had drank a few hours ago at the bar with haibara, satoru, suguru, and shoko but he’s already snoring in an old man way that he has no right to be doing at his age of forty. you quickly realize he’s not going to wake up after slapping the man as hard as you can and you go through all the stages of grief until you land on acceptance.

“stupid old man,” you grumble to yourself, a bit bitter about how relaxed your body feels because of the incredible orgasm he’s gifted you. you can’t bring yourself to admit anything past the fact that college boys simply don’t stand a chance in hell after this experience.

you reach around the sheets as much as possible to search for your phone but you can’t find it since it’s somewhere on the floor after being knocked off by nanami’s jackhammering.

you try your hardest to stay awake because imagining your mother coming home to see her boyfriend lying on top of her daughter with his semi hard dick plugging her slippery cunt as they sleep together in her bed sounds more horrifying than if you’re awake when it happens.

but even though you try your hardest to stay awake, a few hours pass and the exhaustion gets to you.

~

when you wake up, that crushing weight on top of you is gone and your sore pussy is empty, though you can still feel that echo of what was once molding the inside.

you cautiously take in the sight of the neatly made bed under you and the sun lit room around it that you grew up identifying as your mom and dads room before rubbing your sleepy eyes harshly. your phone is plugged in on the nightstand beside the clock that reads seven am, and you know for a fact that your mother’s shift ends right about now. that gives you thirty minutes to get the fuck out of her bed.

turning over to lie on your back, you wince at the ache in between your legs. taking a deep breath, you sit up and blink down at your covered legs. you’re wearing a new pair of large sweatpants and the same big shirt that belongs to your moms boyfriend.

you peak into the hem of the sweatpants with a cocked brow and blink at your labia that looks a bit too clean after all the cum that was inserted into it last night.

questioning why the sheets have been somehow changed without waking you up, why your phone is plugged in, l why your sweatpants are changed, or why your pussy is lacking cum is pushed all the way to the back of your mind to keep your priority on getting out of this bed. sure, it seems innocent if your mom comes home and finds you here, likely happy to see you surprise her with your presence, but that happiness won’t last long when she starts questioning where her boyfriend slept if you slept in their bed and all the questions that follow that.

you pull the covers back and stand on jelly legs, wincing once again as your pussy silently cries out. you take your phone and shove it into your pocket and grumble as you limp over to the door. you take a deep breath before peaking your head out and looking both ways down the hall guardedly. the coast seems clear, so you race as quiet as you can over to your childhood room before slipping inside.

you avoid the boxes of paperwork your mom stored in here over the years you’ve been gone and enter the connected bathroom to take a shower. you take the opportunity to find some evidence that you didn’t just dream up a man pummeling into you. you cringe as you stick two fingers inside of your sore, sensitive hole just to be met with strings of cum racing down your knuckles as you hold them in front of your face.

you have no option but to slip back into the same clothes you woke up in. you quickly ruffle up your bed as to make it look like you had slept in it before nodding to yourself and entering the living room.

you halt the second you see the back of a large, neatly gelled blonde man seated at the kitchen island. you remember that blonde hair, but it was much messier when you were scraping your nails through it last night.

the scent of breakfast food is vivid and you can hear the quiet sound of him sipping on something.

you’re frozen, unsure of what to do as you just stand in the archway of the entrance to the kitchen/living room.

nanami’s eyes trail up aimlessly and land on the microwave as he sips his coffee. he does a double take at the reflection of you in it and chokes on the hot liquid before setting it down as to not spill. he almost trips over himself as he stands and faces you, wiping his mouth and clearing his throat after he catches his breath.

you’re expecting an ugly, old man when he faces you since you didn’t get a good look last night, but you’re wrong.

you gulp as you take in how handsome the tall middle aged man is, thin reading glasses on his face and he clearly showered this morning, but he has heavy eye bags that expose his hangover and soft wrinkles that expose his older age. he’s wearing an ironed button up shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows, an expensive watch to accentuate his veiny, massive hands, and slacks for bottoms with socks. you immediately get the impression that he doesn’t often wear comfort clothing like the ones you’re wearing of his right now, he’s pristine.

but what catches your eye most is the clear look of guilt on his face and panic brimming just below the surface.

you should feel grossed out by him, but now that you’ve had a very good nights rest after the best orgasm of your life and you’re laying eyes on one of the most beautiful men in town, any anger or discomfort you felt last night has dissipated greatly. you can’t help but let your eyes lag on his clothed cock, which he notices of course, but it only seems to make his mortification grow along with a red blush to his cheeks.

nanami’s taking you in as well, the first thing he notices is the harsh bruising indents of teeth on your neck— his teeth and he immediately wants to repent to a priest. you’re also much smaller than he is, making him mentally curse at himself remembering just how rough he was with you. and of course, he notices how beautiful you are, but in a normal situation where you—a young girl—meets him— an older man— he’d appreciate that you were beautiful for half a second and it would never cross his mind again. but because this isn’t a normal situation at all, your face reminds him of how it felt to hold your mouth closed as he forced himself into your small body, over and over.

a moment passes where you both seem to wait for the other to break the silence. his mouth opens and closes a few times, and your head tilts slightly, watching him with quiet curiosity.

“u-uh hello,” nanami awkwardly greets, clearly unsure of what to do with his hands as they hang on either side of his body, “would you like some.. breakfast?”

nanami’s gaze shifts briefly to the kitchen island before returning to you, prompting you to follow his line of sight. there, three plates of breakfast sit waiting. one is clearly his—half-eaten, with a newspaper folded neatly beside it and a mug that reads, ‘best adoptive dad ever!’ the other two, you assume, are for you and your mother.

you blink at it and then at him before accidentally letting out a snort at the absurdity of the situation, like your mouth had a mind of its own for a second. your hand immediately snaps up to cover your lips as a grimace flickers across nanami’s face, embarrassed with himself for opening the conversation with an offer for bacon, eggs, and pancakes.

nanami mutters a ‘goddamnit’ under his breath, his eyes briefly closing as he tilts his head toward the ceiling, fists clenched at his sides. when he looks back at you, his brows are faintly pinched, his expression heavy with quiet, dutiful sympathy.

“i cannot tell you how sorry i am, i don’t even know what to say—”

“—got any syrup?” you interrupt him casually, walking, well, limping over to the kitchen island where you take a seat in front of one of the plates.

a long beat of silence passes as you take a bite out of the bacon and nanami stands there, stunned.

when you look up at him expectantly, he blinks rapidly, snapping out of his daze. he starts toward the fridge but abruptly changes direction, as if forgetting where things are in his own kitchen. “oh—uh—yes, i believe we do. let me just—” he says, before opening the fridge. his brows knit in concentration as he searches for the syrup.

you watch his tense demeanor with a flicker of an amused twitch to the corner of your lips as you chew, bacon still in hand.

he turns with two options in hand and you hum, considering your options, maybe a bit more leisurely than you should, before you nod at the right one.

he sets the other back into the fridge before placing the one you chose beside your plate, now facing you, standing on the other side of the counter.

you don’t even glance at him as he watches you cautiously, a hint of bafflement in his gaze, like he’s waiting for a pin to drop. instead, you casually pour an obscene amount of syrup onto your pancakes, acting as if last night never happened. the only reminders of his sin are the dark, bruised impressions of his teeth on the side of your neck, the slight limp in your step, and the rag he used to clean your cum stained labia.

his mouth opens and then closes a few times like hes unsure of what to do or say as you take your time eating, all without looking up at him once.

just as he’s about to try speaking again, you look up to gain eye contact and cut him off.

“you fucked me,” you say matter of factly before returning your attention to your pancakes to shove a piece into your mouth and nanami’s face drains of blood, “like, straight up shoved your dick into me while i was sleeping.”

in a regular situation, nanami would never accept this language from a young woman like yourself. but he has to hold himself back from correcting you, you hold all of the cards right now.

“i— i know—” nanami begins with a shaky, terribly serious, apologetic tone but you cut him off again.

“this morning, did you wipe your cum off of my pu—”

now nanami is the one who interrupts you, unable to resist the urge to keep you from saying such a deprived word, “yes— ahem— i did.”

you hum nonchalantly, as if you already assumed so.

a beat of silence.

“and the change of sweatpants?”

he nods and lets out a shaky sigh. “yes, i hope you don’t mind.”

you snicker loudly, which makes his brows furrow in confusion. “you hope i don’t mind if you changed my sweatpants?”

“um— yes,” he says it in a slightly questioning tone, not understanding what you’re getting at.

“i came on your dick and you think i mind if you change my sweatpants?” you laugh, making him blink at you like you’ve just told him he’s terminally ill. nanami hadn’t known what to expect from you, but a young woman who has a dirty mouth that could rival toji’s was not it.

he’s too stunned to tell you that he’s just trying to be polite by saying he hopes you don’t mind, that it’s simply a way of speaking with respect.

another beat of silence as you eat and he manually closes his shocked, parted lips.

“oh, i appreciate the whole foreplay thing, rubbing my clit for— how long did you say?” your brows furrow like you’re thinking back to what he had said last night, “oh yeah, twenty minutes. least you could do before you destroyed my guts— i mean jeez, you’re one strong old man.” you point your fork at him with a snicker when you say the last part.

nanami is surprised he hasn’t collapsed to his knees, his body limp with shock, horror, and utter mortification—every emotion hitting like a theatrical gut punch. your blunt words drive the final nail into the coffin of any fleeting hope that maybe, just maybe, this was all some alcohol-induced nightmare.

he had went in for a good morning kiss upon waking this morning and jumped back with a horror he’s never felt before when he realized the snug warmth he’s buried inside isn’t his girlfriend at all—it’s a much younger woman who bares enough resemblance to her to come to the conclusion that you’re her daughter. the flutter of pleasure when sliding out of your gushy pussy after that realization will haunt him for eternity.

“you know you came inside me, right?” you continue and he isn’t even sure if you had been talking this whole time or not but these words snap him back to reality.

“oh fuck.” nanami’s head spins as his hand flies to clutch his mouth, like he’s about to throw up.

“yeah, oh fuck,” you repeat, chewing and swallowing before a flicker of some kind of realization flashes on your face, “ohhh— you creampied because mom had that hysterectomy, i was wondering why it was so easy for you to just fill me up like that without much thought.”

nanami blinks at you, barely able to process your words and you snort at the flicker of a question on his face when you utter the phrase ‘creampie.’

“damn, how old are you? cream. pie.” you space the words out obviously as to make him connect the dots, “it’s pretty straightforward. you creamed my pie.”

nanami cringes at the phrase and then takes a deep breath, attempting desperately not to pass out.

“a-are you on..?” nanami manages to grit out, pathetically and he feels like a dirty, old man who’s just committed a grave sin that will follow him forever.

you huff a laugh and shrug, “on what?”smiling in utter amusement when his face drops and he braces against the edge of the counter like he’s trying not to fall to the floor with his head tucked down.

you burst out giggling and he looks up at you slowly with slowly blinking eyes as he attempts to make sense of how the fuck it’s funny that he might have just impregnated you.

“i’m fucking with you, old man. i’m on birth control, relax.”

nanami lets out a long sigh of relief with eyes closed before leaning down to rest his elbows on the marble counter with his hands clasped together in front of his face, not in the way someone does when they pray, but more like he’s attempting to cope.

after a long moment of you eating your food pleasantly while nanami’s life and job flashes before his eyes, he gulps at the thought of what comes next and stands up once again. “y-your mother, are you going to—”

before nanami can ask you the terrifying question of if you’re going to tell your mother about this, which he knows you have every right to do so, he’s interrupted by the front door opening.

you mutter a quiet “speak of the devil,” just as the sound of your mother’s keys and the door mask it. nanami straightens up quickly and faces her, his movements so sharp that it’s clear he feels like he’s been caught, even though he’s only standing there while you eat.

“ugh, work was so long,” your mother says as she closes the door, but she pauses mid-sentence, her expression shifting to one of happy surprise as she turns to see you. “honey! oh my! when did you get here?”

you give her a smile back as you stand and give her a hug.

you explain to your mom that you arrived last night, noticing the brief flash of panic on nanami’s face. but as you continue, telling her you fell asleep in your bed, in your old room, waiting for her to come home, nanami visibly relaxes and lets out a quiet, relieved sigh.

your mother’s basically beaming at you, bashfully apologizing for not introducing you to her boyfriend sooner as she guides you to the dinner table. nanami trails behind you both, looking as though he’s lost in a dream. they take their seats side by side across from you.

you brush it off and shrug, making her give you a grateful smile.

you may be skilled at acting nonchalant but nanami has never really had reason to lie in his life, not that he’s even speaking much. he’s pale and stiff, and if he’s not avoiding eye contact with you, he’s staring into your soul as you speak as if to anticipate you exposing what happened between you at any second. your mother notices the odd vibe coming from him and gives him a weird look before returning her gaze to you.

“have you guys met before?”

nanami basically chokes on air, coughing into his hand as he attempts to catch his breath.

“before today, no,” nanami says quickly as he’s still in the midst of clearing his throat, “last night i was just— so tired that i damn near broke the bed— ahem— from, you know, falling into it and going to sleep. so i didn’t have the pleasure of meeting her until this morning.”

your mother blinks at him curiously before you speak up.

“wait,” you blink at him with furrowed concentrated brows, “you do look familiar.. we have met.”

nanami’s eyes flicker wide before moving back and forth from you to your mother and he lets out a deep older man laugh that doesn’t reach his eyes. “huh? no, we haven’t.”

you squint at him like you’re trying to place him before your face lights up, “yeah— wait! haven’t you taught at my school?”

“s-school?” he stutters out loudly, “you’re in highschool?!”

your mother laughs with a confused tilt to her brows as she regards him with a hand to his shoulder, “college, honey. shes too old to be in high school still.”

your mother must not have told him that you existed at all since he didn’t know you were in college. it makes you wonder what he thought your old childhood room was for.

he lets out a huge breath of relief and it’s clear to the two of you that you’re deriving much amusement from making him sweat and he figures he probably deserves it— that and eternal damnation.

nanami tells himself that if he can just get through today and wait until you’re back on the train to college, he can manage this. but when you smile and casually tell your mom you’re thinking of staying for the entire summer— your eyes discretely flicker to him as you add, “if that’s okay with you guys?”

he feels something good and wholesome weaken inside of his soul as his cock jumps.

“of course you can stay, honey! stay as long as you’d like, right kento?” your mother squeezes his knee in a sweet, wholesome way and his heart drops down to his ass when he feels your socked foot brush against the inside of his calf.

nanami gulps and nods at you, “o-of course— as long as you’d like.”

7. start secretly fucking your girlfriends controversially young daughter all summer long— check.

——