Dreams, Fairytales, Fantasies

Strangers on a Train

♥ This one is jokes and also goes out to my boo @disastroussA (if you haven't read her fics yet... literally what are you waiting for)

♥ Nanami x Sexi Lexi; age gap, corporate wrlddd, one night stand, strangers to enemies to lovers

♥ CW: they be fuckin.

♥ luv u sexi lexi xoxo

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7:36am.

You're on the early train into the city on your way to your fancy new law internship.

Regardless of your obvious distaste of being awake during early morning hours, you were an ambitious go-getter, and you always aimed to be in the office before your boss, Gojo Satoru. Which, granted, wasn't that difficult seeing as he seemed to operate on Hawaiian time. The perks of being your own boss.

He was more charismatic than he was handsome, which is saying a lot, considering his looks were striking. Generational, even. Women were falling at his feet on every corner.

No, like, literally.

And he'd always catch them skillfully, offering them a charming smile in return and sending them off with a "You should really be more careful, wouldn't want someone as beautiful as you to get hurt.". They'd grab his bicep or tricep or whatever-cep and giggle mindlessly before sauntering off.

Vomit.

That sort of fake, saccharine sweet-talking made you feel ill. You understood the appeal of being noticed and validated by someone of the likes of Gojo, although he wasn't your type.

However, he was still your boss, so you suffered through the abysmal rattling of the tracks with a smile on your face, grateful that he'd given you the job. And, you had to applaud him for being appropriate at work, unlike most male bosses you've had. The bar is on the ground.

The only thing that has been making the week's commute all the more bearable is the handsome, brooding stranger that sits diagonally from you every morning.

Rather, stands. Probably so as not to crease his attire.

Tall, svelte, blonde hair, not a single strand out of place. Sharp jaw. Sharp jaw. Likely mid thirties.

God, he had this, dark, seductive gaze. Yet such tired, tired eyes. You began to wonder what he did for a living. His wardrobe would lead you to believe he was high up in the corporate world, perhaps in the finance industry. If you were to look into his wallet you wouldn't be surprised to be greeted by a black Amex. And maybe a dime bag.

His bespoke suits were perfectly tailored to his taut body, fitting him in all the right places. Pleats ironed. Shoes shined. Tie, cufflinks. Everyday, like clockwork.

You wondered if he was as meticulous in his personal life as you imagined him to be at work. If his external appearance was any indication of his internal desires, one can only assume.

What would he look like disheveled, breathing heavily underneath you? Hair out of place, dress shirt unbuttoned haphazardly, tie absolutely nowhere to be found. Would he still be as stoic? As self-disciplined? How does a man like that destress? Did he even have the time?

The daydreams and curiosities were frequent and endless on your morning commutes. Sadly, they'd always be cut short when you'd come to your stop.

But you'd be lying if you didn't enjoy the view for those fleeting thirty minutes.

It became a sort of a routine, albeit somewhat perverse and depraved.

He'd be on the train when you got on, and still when you left.