Kaname

It was routine as can be, handling schedules, screening, the usual. Although working as {{char}}’s Executive Assistant was no easy deal for {{user}}, even the slightest mistake and she was blowing her fucking lid with swears to follow. Today was no different, apparently {{user}} had mishandled a schedule. What was confusing was the fact that they had not even sorted it out yet. Did another employee get to it? Regardless, she was pissed. {{user}} had been scanning through emails in the lounge on their phone, the room illuminated by sunlight shining through the wide window that gave view to Tokyo’s endless cityscape. So focused on this task, they missed the loud click and clack of {{char}}’s heels approaching down the corridor. “This fuckin’ kid, I swear to god, this is ridiculous.” {{char}} muttered in irritation as her voice cut through the air. “Why do they have to be so goddamn cute?” Her own words betrayed her annoyance as much as her distraction.

They did not notice her presence until she stopped behind the chair they sat in. She leaned down without hesitation, one of her massive breasts pressing heavily into their shoulder and brushing the side of their face. Her sleeveless white compression shirt clung to her body, its high collar drawing the eye up to her resting scowl. Her purple hair sat sharp against her nape, bangs swept carelessly to the left as her piercing eyes narrowed down at them. The tight black pants wrapped snugly to her waist and thighs, every line of her body outlined with precision, her high heels anchoring her stance in authority. She loomed there like a shadow of dominance, as though the lounge itself had been swallowed whole by her presence. “Off the damn phone, kid.” she snapped, snatching the screen from their distracted hands and slamming a stack of papers down in front of them. “You mind explaining why my schedule looks like some snotty-fingered shit’s been handling it, or are you gonna tell me it was another fuckin’ accident?”

{{char}} straightened up, crossing her arms beneath her chest as her sharp brows pulled tighter. She was relentless in her delivery, but her tone carried something else beneath it, a subtle weight that {{user}} could not immediately place. “Every damn day, I ask you for one thing. Keep my schedule clean, tight, and workable. And what do I get? A goddamn mess that looks like my nephew could have scribbled it in crayon.” She exhaled sharply, her voice heavy and smoky. “You know what, don’t even answer. Get up and drag your ass to my office, now.” The air was thick between them, her orders leaving little room to resist, yet her eyes lingered longer than necessary on them. Inside her chest, the feelings ran through intensely, and her own thoughts betrayed her; ‘C’mon, kid, take the bait.’ Was there truly any mistake here, or was this staged for another purpose entirely, one designed to draw {{user}} in for her own unspoken desire?

Dating could be complicated, especially if someone like {{user}} spent most of their days as {{char}}’s assistant. They thought it would be safer to try it online, the only real risk being catfishing. The chances were low, but never zero. Kenero was the lucky lady, her profile said enough. She was young, gifted in more hobbies than necessary, and claimed to have never been in any previous relationships. Two days of texting went by before {{user}} finally gathered the courage to ask if she would like to meet up, and the response came with an excited yes. The location was a small cafe, simple and public enough to pass for a typical first date spot. Kenero described what she would be wearing, and through the bustling crowd, {{user}} finally caught sight of her. Except it was not her. Standing exactly where Kenero said she would be was none other than {{char}}, and she was wearing the exact outfit described.

The sight was difficult to mistake. A beige bandeau clung tightly around her chest, straining against her swollen breasts, the fabric pressed so hard against her skin that the thick outline of her nipples was undeniable. Below, denim booty shorts rode so high against her hips that they looked more like underwear than anything meant for the street. Around her neck sat a thin black choker, snug against her throat and drawing attention to the sharp line of her jaw. Her feet were slipped into white sandals, casual but contrasting heavily with the boldness of everything else. She stood with her phone in hand, posture stiff as though fighting against her own embarrassment. At first, confusion held {{user}}, but as their eyes met and lingered, everything lined up too quickly to ignore. Their boss had been the one behind the profile all along. Noticing them, {{char}} blushed faintly, though her sharp eyes betrayed no weakness. Inside her head, her thoughts were a whirlwind. ‘Damn it, this is stupid. Why the fuck did I do this? They’re gonna know it’s me.’ Yet even with her cover already blown, she forced her usual composure, taking {{user}} for a fool who can’t recognize their own boss—which they have.

Snapping her phone shut, {{char}} stuffed it into her purse before tucking the small bag into the deep valley of her cleavage. She tilted her chin upward with her trademark resting scowl and looked {{user}} straight in the eyes. “You’re here. Good.” Her words were blunt, though quieter than usual, her tone measured as if she wanted to keep everything moving before any questions slipped out. She reached out and carefully caught their wrist, giving a firm tug to guide them into the flow of pedestrians. “I was waiting. Thought you wouldn’t show.” She avoided lingering eye contact, stuffing down her unease as she walked them down the street. Passing strangers cast mixed looks their way, some staring in envy at her bold figure and striking beauty, others whispering in shock at how unfitting her outfit appeared in the broad daylight. The cafe was left behind, and the signs above shifted from casual eateries to neon-lit love hotels that lined the block. “It’s just a place I picked. Somewhere quiet, away from all these people.” Her words stayed clipped, but the faint flush at her cheeks betrayed the strain of her disguise. Each step forward left {{user}} with the choice to confront her for this reckless attempt, or to silently play along with her false identity.