#alpha!nanami

Warnings: MDNI, 18+, ABO dynamics, touch starved nanami, dubious consent because it's ABO, scenting/scent marking, breakthrough heat/rut, girl on top, knot/knotting.

Alpha!Nanami keeps reminding himself he’s only here to do his job, nothing more. Yet lately, his own body betrays him in quiet, disarming ways. And it’s all because of you. You’ve been the omega office assistant at his firm for a year now, and every time you catch him in the hallway, flashing that bright smile while asking for his weekly client correspondences, he notices. Don't you have such a pretty smile? And before he realizes it, he’s leaning just a little closer, drawn in despite himself because you smell like his favorite brand of tea. And

Alpha!Nanami knows his scent flares every time you brush past his desk. He loathes how transparent it must be, yet no amount of discipline can stop it. Each morning, he douses himself in industrial-grade scent blocker; each night, he swallows his suppressant like a sacred ritual. Still, none of it is enough- not when your presence lingers close- why are you always so close to him?, and his own musk curls traitorously back to his senses the moment you’re near. And

Alpha!Nanami tries. He really does try to stay professional. So much so, he feels like he's overcompensating with formality. Short, clipped words, measured eye contact. He doesn't let himself stare too long, doesn't let himself soften, because he knows the second he slips, the second he allows it, his mind will go straight to the image of you straddling him, naked and needy, taking him down to his knot- god, his knot aches. And

Alpha!Nanami believes that as time passes, things will get better. No, he doesn't see you adjusting your hair. No, you didn't just smooth your shirt down. No, you are not tapping your pen on your desk, and NO, he certainly is not imagining how the rhythm of your taps would match perfectly to how he would be thrusting up into your pretty omega heat. And the hunger that is beginning to gnaw at him, curling low in his gut, is not really a problem. It's not, it's not, it's not. And

Alpha!Nanami is not avoiding you. He's decided he should try to be more health-conscious and begins taking the stairs down to the ground floor. But they've been closed for repainting, and he's forced to take the elevator and wouldn't it just be his luck that you're leaving for the day at the same time as him, strictly at five. You step in beside him, the space too small, your shoulder brushing his arm. He stares straight ahead, fists clenched, fighting not to lean into the warmth. And he's doing a great job until- he hears a gasp from you. And it's out of his control when he slides his eyes over and sees you blushing a deep red, and he smells- green tea and jasmine and something hot and addictive. And something inside him gives way. And

Alpha!Nanami doesn't have a clear memory of how he got home. He knows there is time missing between the elevator and him dragging you through the entrance to his condo. He remembers a little more clearly the hot press of your lips as he takes them in a charged kiss against his closed front door. He definitely remembers your hands clawing into his shoulders as he lifted you up against him, slotting his throbbing, swollen cock against the silk line of your panties. Vivid details are carved into his brain of the clinking of his belt and your moans in his ear begging- yes, Nanami, hurry please- And

Alpha!Nanami is sure he's never felt ecstasy like this, when he has you on top of him, his back pressed to the hardwood floor as his hands clutch at your hips, moving you on top of him just like that, baby, and the heady scent is taking up the little space left between the two of you as he splits you open. And your hands are on his chest, helping you to stay balanced as you keen and clench around him- is this what he's been denying himself? Is he such a fool? because each thrust is white lightning in his veins as you orgasm on his hard cock and he knows he's about to knot you, but the stark reality of actually feeling it is so much better than he imagined as the fleshy base of his length fills you up, up, up, sealing the two of you together and

7: what do you mean? What do you do when you're aroused?

5: go to you

7: but what do you do when you're on your own?

5: nothing...?

7: you just wait it out?

5: well, no. I mean -- I don't get aroused if you're not around, so

Nanami's eyes opened wide.

7: ever? Not even before we met?

Gojo shakes his head.

5: other than my first and only heat, no

There’s some kind of mix-up, and you forget to take your suppressants which triggers an early heat in the worst possible place.

Because alpha!Gojo is around and the little omega who’s always hanging around Nanami smells simply deeeeelightful. Such a sweet thing, vulnerable and unbound. He wants to dominate you—to own you. Give your slick little omega pussy that hard knot you’re so desperate for.

But the moment Gojo makes a move for you, Nanami has him by the throat, because there’s no way in hell he’s gonna let Satoru-fucking-Gojo touch what’s his.

Based on this comment from @hoesluvshoko, a respected and self-proclaimed maneater.

Original post is here.

A/N: I feel like it's important that you know all I could hear was ☾⋆⁺₊🎧✧this ☾⋆⁺₊🎧✧ in my head while writing.

Warnings: MDNI, 18+, ABO dynamics, touch-starved nanami, dubious consent because it's ABO, scenting/scent marking, breakthrough heat/rut, girl on top, knot/knotting, weaponizing proximity, masturbating, suspended congress.

Alpha!Nanami is... confusing.

You met him on your first day on the job. You were being shown around by a very kind HR lady, Rose? Ricky? No, Rika. You're pretty sure her name is Rika. When you round a cubicle's corner and- oofph- excuse me- strong hands are gripping your shoulders as you look up...and up... and up into a pair of purple eyes rapidly dilating until the black nearly swallows the gorgeous color. Breathe. Where is your breath? Breathe-just a taste, a hint of...something. In a moment, you are physically righted and then moved to the side, set out of his path. Sorry, excuse me. It only takes a handful of seconds, but the sense of his fingers still holding you fades long after his back does as he continues down the walkway.

That's when you knew.

You had found something special.

But, at work, he just feels so out of reach.

Alpha!Nanami's words are always clipped, his tone strictly professional, and yet, every time you smile at him in the hallway, there’s a flicker in his eyes, something feverish that he quickly masks. He leans in, almost unconsciously, like he can’t help himself. All you want in that moment is for him to just reach a hand out, something- anything, and now you’ve caught the faintest traces of his scent too, even beneath blockers: earthy, grounding, with something rich that reminds you of old, brown wood cabinets. Wasted, because all he wants is for you to file a client's quarterly financial report. His scent still clings to you whenever you brush past his desk, no matter how carefully he pretends not to notice. And god, now you're daydreaming about him just placing his hand on your lower back for the rest of the day.

And your heart breaks a little bit, because how does he not recognize who you are- what you should be to him? Or if he does, why does he seem like he's fighting it?

Alpha!Nanami avoids holding your gaze for too long. His voice hardens if you're too close. You tell yourself you're imagining it, but then- why do his hands tighten on the edge of his desk like he's holding on for dear life? Why does it feel like the air between you hums whenever you adjust your clothes or click your pen? He's attuned to you in a way no one else is. Is this it?

This can't all be it. Something inside you refuses to take all these little crumbs in place of the real thing; it's almost offensive, the notion of it. You want him. All of him. All of him, even the secret version of him he tucks away, deep inside. You'd be so so good- and the longer he waits, the more unsettled you become.

He feels it, you're sure, he just refuses to act.

Alpha!Nanami starts to sweat as you lean over his desk; you can tell. uh oh, alpha. He's slammed his jaw into a hard line, and the crick in his neck makes a delighted appearance. You're leaning over just a little more than necessary, and if he happens to catch a glimpse of the white lace bra you chose to wear just for him this morning? Even better.

You're standing a little too close in the elevator- oops, sorry, didn't see you there, brushing past his arm in narrow hallways- wait, Nanami, before you go-. You pretend it’s all innocent, but you can see how tightly he grips his pen, his jaw flexing.

You make a point to smile at him whenever he asks for something-it's pretty, he said once- bright, soft, impossible to ignore. You know he notices, because his requests get shorter, gruffer.

You bring him small things- a coffee because you looked tired, a new pen- because his ran out. Sweet little excuses to make him associate you with care and attention.

You start dressing just a little differently on days you know you’ll see him most- nothing overtly scandalous, just suggestive enough. A pencil skirt that hugs a little tighter, a blouse with one too many undone buttons, soft sweaters that slip off your shoulder if you lean too far.

Every smile, every brush of your fingers, every outfit carefully chosen- it’s like throwing sparks at a stone. He doesn’t bend, doesn’t break, doesn’t even crack. He white knuckles his self-control so hard, you start to doubt you'll ever truly catch him.

It starts to eat at you. Maybe you imagined those fleeting moments. Maybe you’re not his type. Maybe you’re just a silly omega, desperate for a man who doesn’t want you.

The despair comes quietly at first, with lingering too long in the bathroom after fixing your hair, staring blankly at your reflection, and wondering why you even bother. But then you remember the touch of his hands on you, the way he looks at you when he thinks you aren't watching, let me show you, Alpha, I can show you- and you're lost again to him.

You wake every morning with your skin burning and your pulse refusing to settle; the edges of your vision blur as the sharp waves of heat claw up your spine. This is torture, or at least feels like it.

Little did you know, your rebellion only fuels his torment. Every failed attempt burrows deeper under his skin, feeding the ache he swears he can master. He goes home, fists clenched, body aching, knot throbbing in his hand, thinking of you. His strokes get wilder and more needy with each night. And yet, the next morning, he shows up with the same stiff posture and clipped tone.

And then the elevator.

You're surprised to see him. He takes the stairs down now, and you haven't come up with a good enough excuse to walk down with him yet.

You hadn’t expected him to stiffen so completely just from standing beside you, his shoulders drawn tight, his fists clenched. His usually even breathing turns shallow and ragged, every inhale dragging your scent deeper into his chest like he’s drowning in it.

You gasped when the scent slipped- his scent, sharp and heady beneath layers of suppression. You couldn’t hide your blush, couldn’t hide the way heat curled low in your belly. And when he finally turned, eyes sliding to you, the weight of his gaze made your knees weak.

The tight knot of his tie must have felt unbearable, because he rips it loose, undoing the buttons at his throat as though heat is crawling under his skin.

Everything after that is a blur. You remember the sleek black lines of wood as he drags you through the office's lobby. You remember the entryway of his building and that he held the door open for you as he tugged you through it. You remember his mouth on yours, rough and desperate as your body seemed to snap into focus, now igniting as his tongue comes to lick along the line of your closed lips, demanding to be let in. And when you granted him entry, you remember how he captured your gasp in his mouth, refusing to let you come up for air.

His strength when he lifted you, pressed you against the door. The raw heat of him slotting against your body like he’d been starved for touch for years. You remember your own voice, breathless and pleading- yes, Nanami, hurry please.

The rest burns in your memory like fire. The moment he entered you, sliding home with the first tight roll of his hips up into yours. Take it-fuck, can you fit it all? And the driving pace that followed as he takes you both down to the ground- do you know how long? holding myself back from touching what's mine.

His body under yours, his hands guiding your hips, the drag of his cock stretching you open. So fucking good, so. fucking. good. The way he looked at you, wide-eyed and almost broken as you came around his length, as though he couldn’t believe what he was feeling, what he was finally allowed to touch.

When his knot locked you together, I-I can't stop. can't stop, gotta take it, you have to. have to, sealing the two of you as one, you knew.