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the first time you saw him without his leopard print tie, you knew you were in trouble.
it was a wednesday, the kind of unremarkable week day that usually ended with takeout and a vague sense of existential dread. you were at work, managing your small, high-end bakery that, for some reason you weren’t privy to, was frequented by him.
he came in every other day, a visit as reliable as the sunrise, ordering the same black coffee and a plain croissant. you’d exchanged pleasantries, a brief nod, a regular “thank you, come again” but he was painfully polite, in a way that almost felt like a fortress.
on this eventful day however, his usual suit jacket was slung over his arm, his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and the top two buttons of his dark blue shirt were undone.
his blonde hair was slightly less severe, a few strands falling across his brow. he looked undone, at least more than you’d ever seen him. unfortunately, it was devastating—like an accidental striptease conducted through officewear.
your hands fumbled a cascade of 500-yen coins, sending his change skittering across the counter. he caught a stray one in one movement before it could edge off the metal tray.
his fingers brushed yours for a fleeting second during the intercept.
“oops, sorry,” you stammered, your face flushing.
“no need,” he said.
his tone was a low baritone of exhaustion that seemed to vibrate in the air between you., and you thought that’d be it, all the talking done.
“a busy afternoon, i see,” he remarked.
it was only small talk, nothing more than a mere observation—except coming from someone mature and grounded, it made the wide bakery counter feel suffocatingly small.
you took a breath, offering a response that barely passed for composed. “yeah, busy is... one word for it.”
there should have been an addition.
you should have said something politely warm—something professional and customer-service-approved. something about the weather. anything that wasn’t ‘i need to know what those hands feel like, i need to know what sound you make when you’re tired and someone is touching you’.
instead, you found yourself saying: “had a long day?”
he exhaled, the first glimpse of weariness you’d ever heard him voice. “long life.”
you laughed—a startled, brief thing. “that's… bleak.”
“is it?” he raised his brows. “it was honest.”
“honest,” you repeated.
your heart was doing something arrhythmic.
“okay.” you said. “then honestly: it’s unclear if you’ve slept this week.”
he blinked. then, impossibly, the corner of his mouth twitched.
“perceptive,” he said. “and rude.”
“you said honest.”
“i did.” he took a sip of his coffee, weary eyes closing as he swallowed.
“perhaps,” he said, lowering the cup, “i should be more careful what i invite.”
the words hung, weighted with something that had nothing to do with the steady hiss of the steaming espresso machine behind you.
you should have let it go—smiled, handed him his croissant in its brown paper bag, and let him retreat back into whatever meticulously ordered world he belonged to.
“maybe you should,” you said, your voice dropping to match his quiet register. “invite things, i mean. carefully.”
his gaze didn’t stray.
the ceramic cup made a soft, deliberate clink against the counter as he set it down, as if he were treating the moment like a delicate risk assessment, weighing odds only he could see.
“and what would you invite?”
you gulped. something that might have been a vowel escaped before dying a quick, humiliating death in the back of your throat.
he waited, a slight tilt of his head.
then—because your body had apparently decided to betray you completely—your gaze traveled.
down to the hands that still half rested on the counter.
long, capable looking fingers and broad, competent palms, the kind that looked like they could break or hold something with equal precision.
then further, to his wrist—to the rolled sleeve bunched just below his elbow, a subtle, taut vein trailing up to his forearm.
up near his throat, you took in the undone buttons, the sliver of warm skin, the shadow of his collarbones.
you’d been staring too long.
you knew you’d been staring too long.
but you couldn’t seem to make yourself stop, and somehow what was worse than the ogling itself was the helpless paralysis of it.
he looked at you as if he’d gained access to the unfiltered thoughts behind your gaze—the thoughts you definitely hadn’t meant to lay out as bare as you just had.
the silence stretched between you like taffy.
a customer coughed somewhere behind him.
“right,” you said, your voice strangled. “well. i should—the croissant—”
your short-term memory had clearly been sacrificed to whatever god of humiliation was currently having a field day with your nervous system. you blindly grabbed the pastry bag off your side of the counter and pushed it toward him.
he straightened, his free hand reaching for the croissant bag—you must have handed it to him at some point, good job, body—and adjusted his suit jacket over his arm.
“have a good evening.”
with those parting words, he turned and walked out the door, leaving the bell above the bakery entrance to chime softly in his wake.
outside, the evening cooled kento’s face.
he walked three blocks before he realized he’d been gripping the croissant bag hard enough to crush it.
almost forcefully, he unclenched his jaw and loosened his fingers. he wanted to slow his pace and most importantly, take a breath deeper than he’d taken the entire work day. instead he took another step.
he really should not have asked that.
he knew he shouldn’t have.
but the way you’d looked at him—that initial flash of boldness, the way you’d almost dared him—and then just stopped, gone quiet, looked at him like you were attempting to answer without your words, and when your eyes had dropped to his throat—
he closed his eyes and tilted his head back.
this was already proving to be inconvenient.
he was grown. orderly. a grade 1 sorcerer. he’d faced things that would make most people give up, but he’d kept going, unshaken.
yet someone in a flour-dusted apron, staring at his collarbones like they were the most fascinating thing in the world, had managed to unravel him.
he kept walking.
on thursday, kento tried taking his coffee elsewhere.
the alternative café was a quiet, efficient space, completely unbothered by his presence.
the coffee was adequate. the pastry was fine.
yet it had been the most miserable twenty minutes of his week up to that point.
thirty more seconds and he’d be late for work, but instead of putting the car in drive, he turned off the ignition and rubbed a hand over his face, letting out a heavy exhale that fogged the windshield
he’d spent the entire time staring at a plain wall, remembering the way your eyes had traced him, the faint flush that had crept up your neck, and your raw, breathless tone after telling him to invite things carefully.
he unclipped his seatbelt and adjusted his tie in the rearview mirror before stepping out of his car and walking inside.
the morning rush had barely hit.
you let yourself sink into the rhythm of being elbow-deep in the proofing dough.
the yeasty warmth of the preheated rack ovens and the quiet hum of the display refrigerator were your only company behind the counter.
until the bell chimed.
you scrubbed the dough from your hands, washing and wiping them dry on a towel before turning towards the sound.
there he was—as if summoned by your sheer inability to stop thinking about him.
the tie was back.
“welcome,” you greeted.
he gave a small nod. already moving with the rhythm, you reached for his order before he even spoke.
“the usual?”
“yes, please.”
you turned toward the espresso machine, reaching automatically for the familiar cup. “you know, i thought you might’ve found somewhere better.”
his brow lifted slightly. “better?”
you measured the coffee. “oh y’know. somewhere with less…” you paused, then glanced over your shoulder.
“me?”
“noise,” you corrected quickly.
something shifted in his expression. you ignored the fact that there were only about four silent patrons lounging inside—counting him.
“i don't think the coffee is better elsewhere.”
“oh that’s...” you blinked, handing him the cup. “...high praise.”
the corner of his mouth lifted. “it is,” he confirmed. “you’re good at what you do.”
it was perfectly ordinary praise. you tried not to read too much into it, pushing the paper bag toward him.
of course, your thumbs just had to brush over the crisp edge of the fold.
“can’t have my regulars wandering off.” you babbled, snatching your hand back. “heard the coffee down the street tastes like burnt rubber.”
he grabbed hold of the bag. “it certainly was… subpar.”
you blinked. “oh, you’ve been?”
he didn’t answer, choosing instead to place his payment on the steel dish for cash.
“this morning.” the admission slipped out quietly. “an inefficient decision.”
a chuckle left you before you could help it.
“what a formal way to say you prefer our coffee.”
“i suppose it was.” he agreed, a faint curve touching his mouth as he took a sip of his coffee.
“when something is done well...” a brief beat of silence settled between you before he added, almost as if making a point against himself, “there’s little reason to replace it.”
you swallowed.
he was talking about coffee. what else could he have meant?
“well then.” his expression had settled back into its usual composure. “thank you,” he added with a brief nod. “excuse me.”
then he turned and walked out.
about a week—maybe a bit longer—must have passed.
the phone on the back wall rang right in the middle of your afternoon prep. your hand reached for the receiver, immediately pinning it to your shoulder so the tray of fresh macarons in your hands wouldn't lose its balance.
you greeted the caller with the name of your bakery.
a pause filled the line before a low, smooth voice cleared its throat. the sound was distinct enough to make your heart jump.
“good afternoon.” he sounded formal, but his tenor almost carried an edge of humiliation. “i’d like to place an order for pickup.”
“certainly,” you said. “though there’s no need to call ahead for your usual order.”
“this is not... for my usual,” he said slowly, as if every word was being extracted from him under threat of torture.
“i’d like a strawberry shortcake, the dark chocolate ganache, and...” he paused, the sound of paper rustling over the line. “...the ‘custard fruit tart tower’.”
you paused.
the receiver suddenly felt heavier than the tray in your hands. “you’d like... three cakes? and a tart tower?”
“yes.”
your mind went completely blank. this sounded far beyond a casual treat—it had to be for a group.
you knew it wasn’t your business to question purchases, but your thoughts raced anyway. was it for a family? was he married? did he have kids?
a wave of dread settled in your stomach. you gripped the phone a little tighter between your shoulder blades as you desperately trying to recall his hands.
ninety-nine percent—that’s how sure you were that you hadn’t seen a ring on his left hand.
but that wasn’t a hundred. he could easily take it off outside the house.
“is there an issue?” the question cut through the line, oblivious to the silent nuclear meltdown happening on your end.
you shook your head ‘no’ before your mouth could land on an audible answer, and that’s when you heard it.
“what—what is it? hey, what—tell me—do they not have it? then ask if they have macarons and—”
the background voice was muffled, but distinctly loud, energetic, and entirely lacking in basic public courtesy.
“—tell them i’ll take twenty!”
“please ignore my colleague,” he said, his tone sharpening into a dangerous weapon. “he’s currently standing too close to me.”
the knot in your stomach dissolved so fast it left you lightheaded. just a work event, then.
“is...” you cleared your throat, repeating the order back to him. “i mean, will that be all?”
“yes,” his voice was noticeably tighter. “i apologize. my superior is, unfortunately, an insatiable, bottomless pit.”
A small smile tugged at your lips. “sounds like a hostile work environment.”
“...it is,” he breathed. “but this was a tolerable interruption.”
your pulse jumped.
“likewise.”
you hoped your tone hadn't given too much away.
“i will be there in twenty minutes,” he said. “please... prepare yourself.”
“prepare my—?” you repeated. “the order, you mean?”
“for him,” he corrected, a weary sigh passing through the speaker. “he insists on coming along to ‘inspect the frosting.’ i am warning you as a courtesy.”
you had exactly seventeen minutes to compose yourself before the door kicked open.
the bell hadn't even stopped ringing when a tall man with a dark blindfold bounded through the entrance, practically vibrating with what must have been either caffeine intoxication or a personality disorder.
“ooh, so beautiful in here,” he announced, spinning in a slow circle to take in the display cases. “say, nanami, why didn’t you bring me here sooner? the lighting alone—”
nanami.
the name echoed in your head, clicking into place like the final piece of a puzzle you’d been obsessing over for weeks.
“because you would do exactly this.”
behind him, nanami stepped through the doorway, looking as if he were mid-calculation of how many years in prison he’d get if he threw his coworker into oncoming traffic.
his tie was immaculate, his jacket perfectly pressed, but something in his posture suggested he’d already aged five years in the car ride over.
“welcome,” you greeted as always.
the taller man acknowledged the greeting by taking two enormous strides toward the counter, leaning so far over the display case that his nose was practically touching the cold glass.
“look at these!” he gasped, far too loud for a shop where a few other patrons were currently trying to enjoy their pastries in peace. “these have those gold leaf flakes! is this why you were hoarding—”
“that was not hoarding.” nanami stepped into the space beside him with practiced efficiency, like a man who dealt with catastrophes for a living. “i was enjoying a private purchase.”
the white-haired man threw his head back, letting out a laugh that rattled the hanging light fixtures above the register before turning toward you.
he nudged a thumb at nanami’s direction. “don’t believe this little gatekeeper for a second. he’s been bringing good stuff to the office for weeks. stares at them for way too long before eating. just to taunt me.”
“i don’t spend my morning commute scheming against your appetite,” nanami said, expression tightening. “i enjoy them.”
“that’s what i said.”
something warm bloomed in your chest. not because of the way nanami’s eyes avoided yours at his colleague’s blunt observation, but because nanami had brought another part of his life with him, as messy and loud as it was.
besides, of course nanami would notice the presentation. he was probably just taking in your craft—he seemed like a neat, meticulous man.
“i don’t think he's trying to mess with you,” you offered gently, setting a pair of tongs down on the tray. “people appreciate good baking.”
“appreciation?” he let out a snort. “please! he gets the same three items, sits at his desk, and looks at them like they saved his life. if he loved your stuff that much, he’d just tell you instead of torturing me with the smell.”
a beat of silence dropped over the counter.
nanami didn’t offer a single word of defense. his throat worked, eyes dropping casually to fixate on the wooden edge of the glass case with a newfound interest in the grain.
next to him, his superior looked insufferably smug, emitting the exact air of a cat that had just knocked a glass off the table on purpose and was waiting to see what would happen next.
“well,” you cleared your throat, reaching for a large box and popping it open with an efficient snap before he could find out. “let me go ahead and get your order packed up for you.”
the air in the room seemed to ease.
“thank you.” nanami said, shoulders dropping with genuine, bone-deep gratitude that went beyond basic customer service. “that would be much appreciated.”
the silence only lasted ten seconds.
“do you always have to be such a buzzkill,” he whined, right as you ducked to retrieve the first cake. “you hadn’t even told me that the baker was attractive.”
your hands froze mid-reach.
“gojo.”
“what?” gojo—the menace had a name—drawled cheerfully. “you could have brought it up. i’d have tagged along sooner.”
nanami gave a resigned sigh. “i didn’t think it was relevant.”
you nearly dropped the box.
“like you didn’t think sharing with me and my students was relevant to your job?” gojo continued with a huff. “you growled at a teenager who asked if there was a spare tart. heartless.”
you packed up the last cake, finding that hard to believe.
“itadori had already eaten a full lunch,” nanami said, his voice dropping an octave into a lethal hum. “and i didn’t share with you,” he continued, “because you were the reason there weren’t any more. you swallow entire pastries whole like a python.”
“figures,” gojo waved a hand dismissively, resting both elbows on the glass display case to lean in closer. “which brings me to my next point. been thinking of hiring a personal pastry chef, so whaddya say? unlimited budget, zero commute, and you get to hang out with me all day.”
nanami’s voice was dangerously firm as he stepped between gojo and the counter. “i’m sure the establishment is doing exceptionally well without your interference.”
gojo grinned, utterly unbothered by the aura of pure death radiating beside him. “so?”
you worked as fast as your hands would carry you, tying the ribbon in a double knot before this man could propose buying the entire commercial lot out from under your landlord.
“i’ll pay double.”
“triple.”
“you’re leaving,” nanami said, physically hauling the taller man a step backward away from the glass.
“ouch, ouch, ouch! workplace violence!” gojo whined, flailing his arms dramatically as if being dragged away by a runaway train, though he barely resisted once he saw you sliding the last thick ribbon around the bakery boxes.
he slapped a sleek, black card onto the counter with enough force to rattle the acrylic sign beside the register.
“pay for everything, keep the change, do whatever you want—just hand over the gold leaf ones before he throws me through the window!”
nanami pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling a breath so ragged it sounded like a dying sigh.
“i state my deep regret for his existence,” he muttered, his voice dropping into a raspy, exhausted murmur as he slid the card across the glass toward you. “please charge him whatever you see fit for the trouble.”
kento stayed behind.
gojo hadn’t even waited for the transaction to fully process. the second you had handed him the bags, he’d grabbed them like a prize, thrown a peace sign over his shoulder, and practically skipped out the front door, leaving the bell above it jingling violently in his wake.
he didn’t really know why he stayed behind, but he was acutely aware of the noise that had drained out of the room, leaving him suddenly exposed in the quiet with you.
the embodiment of his growing headache was waiting for him in the car, probably dismantling the tart tower with his bare hands, and he knew he had approximately thirty seconds before frosting-covered hands started honking on the horn.
and yet, his feet remained anchored to the floorboards.
he cleared his throat lightly and began.
“i’d offer to never bring him again,” he said, straightening his posture out of instinct. “but i’m afraid he’d just find his own way here.”
“it’s no trouble,” you smiled. “just as long as you keep accompanying him.”
his chest tightened. there was no mistaking the emphasis, no matter how softly you had delivered it.
“i’ll keep that in mind,” he said. it was a good thing you couldn’t have known his voice had dropped into that quiet register he kept for things that actually mattered to him.
you nodded, a faint flush touching your features, before adding, “you should bring more of your coworkers next time.”
he raised his brows slightly, caught off guard.
“i meant for business! obviously,” you rushed out, gesturing toward the register as if seeking backup from the display case. “bulk orders. customer retention. you know... business reasons.”
it had been that way, of course.
something remarkably close to a smile threatened the edge of his mouth.
a quiet realization settled over him. for a man who spent years decoding corporate doublespeak, watching you scramble to cover a moment of genuine warmth with stiff commercial jargon was strangely, intensely endearing. it gave him a safe ledge to stand on, too—a shared contract of plausible deniability where neither of you had to risk saying the truth out loud.
he gave a single, measured nod, letting the soft pretense of business rest gently between you.
outside, as he pulled open the passenger door to find gojo already halfway through a tart, but he didn’t bother to scold him. for the first time all week, the headache behind his temples didn’t feel quite as heavy.
“pleeeeeeeease!” you held the puppy in your arms, both of you trying your best to convince yuuji to let you take it home. making your best puppy eyes possible. what a waste of your talent! yuuji wouldnt think twice before giving a puppy to you! lets name it patrizio!
for megumi it took a little more convicing.. he has enough animals to train and to take care, but your face. its so cute right now. will he regret this later when half his furniture is eaten..? yes.. but he’ll never regret making you happy.
satoru is the one trying to convince you yo take the puppy. he has been giving hints to you all week ever you visited that shelter.. he really wants that puppy and has been doing all the chores around the house for you just like a little kid trying to win over their parent’s heart. you got him the dammned puppy. its so cute.. just like yoir boyfriend.
suguru was warning you about how much of a responsability an animal could be, specially at a young age. despite his efforts to make you think twice, you didn’t, and here he is, driving the puppy to the vet for its first shots… damn you and your cute little face.
you and damian had something no one else did. you grew up in the league with no skill gap—though personality wise damian was just stoic, you were the cold hearted one, always.
you didnt hesitate where he did—which was almost never, and it had to be serious to do so. violence was all you knew, you were what damian was supposed to be emotionally, but damian had a heart, you knew he did. you spoke when he was silenced, if someone had a problem with how damian acted wheb bruce first took you both in—theyd die when they met you.
you never really tried to change. even when damian became robin and you becane your own thing by his side during the night—you were still the snappy brat everyone knew. but behind closed doors, you never acted like that with damian. he was the one always there for you. after each life you took. youre all bark no bite, as some have said.
you just had an argument with bruce, he just doesnt seem to understand why you do the things you do. why youre so… violent during missions. he has a no-kill rule, after all. you dont seem to be aware how important this is. of all people to fight, today you chose bruce. you were so mad for no reason. youve stormed back into your room, sitting on the floor besides damian. still young, immature—who feels too much even when your mind says you dont. damian joined your side, staying in silence as you leaned your face against your own hand, eyebrows furrowed. you clicked your to gue before looking up.
“i’m trying. you know how it feels. the blade in your hand—it moves by itself..” you sighed, looking up at the yellow-ish light that illuminated your room. “i dont think bruce is going to let me join missions anytime now.” groaning, you got up to pace around the room.
“youre right, he is not bringing you. but its for your own good. at least i believe so.”
“will you stay here too?”
he hummed, nodding a yes in your direction. you sighed again.
“i didnt mean to. not this time, i promise.”
“no one ever means to, (name.) youre fine.” he went up to you, putting a comforting hand on your back. knowing this would be the only thing to help you. words dont work on people like you. “we are fighting this together. even if you dont want to.”
the truth is, you were never heartless.
bruce eventually came around. it took a lot but he did. youre his child after all.
this family still had much to teach you, and theyre glad youre willing to listen.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Synopsis: After saving you from a disaster pickup at the club, Toji and Sukuna try their luck to take you home
Tags/Warnings: Sukuna x GN!Reader x Toji, university au, suggestive but not NSFW, first meeting, hookup, eiffel tower implied, little bit silly
Word Count: 2,509
Notes: This fic is also part of the five seconds collab
There was nothing better after a long ass week than going to the club and letting loose a little with your friends. Crappy music blasting on the speakers that you’d never listen to voluntarily, people packed in too tight and bumping into you at every turn, and your friends surrounding you. Honestly, you’d have thought it was the sort of environment that would be a total nightmare, but instead you thrived. Jumping to the music, yelling the lyrics when you could parse them out from the horrific DJ remix playing, and grabbing onto friends and strangers alike to make sure you didn’t fall. It was the perfect place to just get all of that pent up energy from the week out, and start fresh after sleeping long past your alarm tomorrow. The weekend was just perfect for that.
A few of your friends had discussed the idea of meeting some guys while they were out, just some one night stands that they could take home and have fun with, then forget about. You’d initially said that you weren’t into that sort of thing, but of course you’d help wingman them if they needed it, and help them spot cute guys at the club. But then, you noticed a few guys eyeing you up. When you nudged a friend to point them out, and be sure you were seeing right - that they were looking at you. Well, suddenly your mind was changed.
The group consisted of about five guys, and two girls. After passing your drink off to a friend, you made towards the bar like you needed to get yourself a replacement, and sure enough, you were soon bracketed in. On your left was a guy with white hair, and your right a guy with long black hair.
“Why don’t you let me pay for that, sweetheart?” White hair offered with a smirk, immediately reaching for the card machine as if you’d already agreed. Who were you to say no to a free drink, really? The guy with the long hair stepped in closer and slipped an arm casually around your waist.
“I’m Suguru, that’s Satoru. Couldn’t help seeing you out there in the crowd.” He introduced, his breath ghosting over your skin as he leaned in to be heard over the music.
“Oh yeah? What caught your eye?” You asked with amusement, reaching for your free drink to take a sip.
“What didn’t?” Satoru chimed in from your other side, now leaning backwards against the bar, his elbows resting on it.
“Exactly. You looked great out there.”
“So.. you couldn’t name even one thing?” You asked them, looking between the two guys. You were becoming less and less impressed with the pair of them.
“Oh, come on pretty. Don’t be like that. You’re gorgeous.” Suguru said, which finally firmly turned you off.
“Sorry boys, think you might need to brush up on your flirting skills.” You told them with a sigh, but when you turned to leave, Suguru pulled you back in.
“Hey now, don’t be so hasty. I’m sorry, we can do better.” He said, lightly squeezing your hip. Satoru pressed in closer at your front, just enough that you barely managed to avoid spilling your drink over yourself.
“Is it so bad that we were so busy admiring you, that we couldn’t pull out anything specific? How could I? My eyes were everywhere, couldn’t decide where to look.”
The longer the interaction went on, the more their attempts at flirtation went from sweet to a little uncomfortable. They really were trying in earnest, but.. unforunately their appeal had worn off once they’d started to speak. You looked out at the crowd to try to catch the eye of your friends, but none of them were looking in your direction, busy dancing together. You resigned yourself to having to listen to these two idiots until one of them looked over, when a large, tattooed arm wrapped itself around Satoru’s shoulders from behind.
“What are you two doing?” A low voice rumbled, and you connected that thick arm to the pink haired guy standing behind Satoru, intimidating, and looking more than bored.
“Not scaring all the actual attractive people off, are ya?” Another guy asked with a raised brow, standing beside the first guy with a raised brow.
“Us? Psh, don’t be ridiculous. We were just having a nice chat.” Satoru offered with a roll of his startlingly blue eyes.
“Nice is a strong word.” You replied with a grimace, which served to make the two newcomers laugh.
“Scram, freaks. You lost this one.” The darker haired guy said, and sure enough with a huff and some grumbling, Satoru and Suguru slinked away. You sighed and quickly tipped back your head to finish off half of that free drink, eyeing your two potential saviours.
“Hope you don’t think you’re getting laid cause you got rid of them.” You said, looking at them with lips pressed together in a thin line.
“Nah, we’re gonna get laid cause we’re way better than they are.” The dark haired guy said.
“And not freaks like them.” Said the pink haired guy. You looked them both up and down and figured.. why not? You’d had a fail tonight, maybe you could end up with a win from it.
So, you introduced yourself.
“Ryomen. He’s Toji.” You nodded, taking another brief sip from your drink.
“So, what brought you over here?”
“We know dumb and dumber - and we could see you searching the crowd with the look of someone who needed to escape.” Toji explained, and as you watched him speak you finally noticed the scar on his lip. Hot.
“They’re pests, and they never seem to get any better. It’s a wonder they ever manage to take people home. But you’re by far too gorgeous to go home with those losers.” Ryomen added on as Toji ordered a drink for each of them.
“Oh yeah? You saying that cause you think it’ll get you laid?”
“Of course I am, I’m not gonna bother hiding that. Is it working?” He asked, his brow piercing shifting as his brow raised, smirk making the tattoos on his face shift.
“Maybe.”
You took a slower sip of your drink, looking between the two of them, and that was when one of your friends appeared.
“And who are these two? This isn’t who you pointed out earlier.” She said, looking at the duo with a raised brow.
“Those two were a bust.” You replied with a shrug, to which your friend groaned.
“Should’ve known. Pretty boys like that are always better to look at than talk to.” You laughed together, and even Toji snorted at the sentiment.
“And you are?” She then asked, looking at the pair.
“Toji and Ryomen. They think they deserve to take me home instead.” You told her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
“Oh yeah? Well, I guess they should prove that they can keep up.” With that, she took your hand and tugged you away, which promptly made you spill and then drop what remained of your drink, but it was funny enough looking at their surprised faces that you didn’t really care.
She pulled you around, dodging them with loud laughter, clearly more than tipsy by now if her pure amusement was anything to judge from. And, honestly? Occasionally glimpsing them cutting between people and reaching out to stop either of you.. yeah it was pretty funny. Two broad, tall guys like that trying to corner the pair of you like cats chasing mice.
Eventually though, they caught up to you out in the smoking area behind the bar, where your friend had pulled you for some fresh air. A hand caught your waist first, and then lips were beside your ear.
“Pretty sure this is our win then.” Came Toji’s voice, and after how they’d put up with the ridiculousness and were clearly at least a little amused? You figured you could give them some more of your time.
“Sorry about her. She’s the type of drunk that runs away, but I’ve never seen it quite like that.” You said to them both, and your friend just winked before stumbling her way back inside to find everyone else. Credit where due.. somehow it seemed like it had worked.
“Can’t say I’ve ever had to play chase at the bar before.” Ryomen said, gently squeezing your waist.
“Me neither. Guess that’s a first for both of us.” You glanced between the two men with a smirk.
“Gonna let us dance with you a little now, or do we gotta catch you three times for the win?” Toji asked, pushing off the wall he’d been leaned up against to reach for the door handle.
“Suppose I can let you dance with me. See what you’ve got.”
When you headed back to the dancefloor, the two of them followed, and with how broad they were, a space was carved out in no time. One of them at your front, the other at your back, hands on your body before you could so much as consider getting your hands on theirs. They were slick, you’d give them that. They didn’t rush, either.
You’d met guys like these two, the type who think anyone who they approach is bound to go home with them just because they suggested it, like actually whoever they chose should just feel honoured that they were interested at all. Except.. they didn’t rush. These men liked to play with their food.
For hours, you remained there, on the dance floor with at least one of them, except for a trip or two to the bathroom. You didn’t pay for another drink for the rest of the night, one of them always heading to get you a refill. At some point, you were even brought a water. That one was paired with a pair of lips ghosting over your ear, “as much as you’re a hell of a lot of fun when you’re so relaxed, we’d rather you remembered every minute of it.”
Honestly, the bar might be in hell, but you were impressed.
So impressed, you hardly realised just how much time had actually passed. Your hands roamed freely up Toji’s chest, around Ryomen’s waist, feeling abs and firm ass cheeks, and they got their fill of you in turn. Lips on your neck, breath over your collarbones, pressing even closer when people needed to squeeze past to get through. The beat of every song just seemed to encourage you together, groping and panting and then kissing. Toji’s lips were slightly chapped, and you couldn’t resist the urge to lick over that little scar; Ryomen’s lips were softer, and he didn’t hesitate before his tongue was pressing between your lips to get a taste of what you were drinking from the warmth of your mouth.
“Surprised we’ve never seen you in here before,” Toji said at some point, lips brushing over the shell of your ear as he spoke, “we definitely would’ve noticed you.”
“I don’t come out a lot.” You told him with a shrug, a shudder running up your spine as Ryomen’s lips pressed to your jaw.
“Guess we’ll need to prove why you should join us more often then.”
The crowd began to thin around 2am, as it always did. People who were used to waking up early dragging themselves from the club to get some greasy food on their way home to bed. But not you. When some of your friends found you to say quick goodbyes, you assured them you’d be fine. Why would you leave before the main event had even started, after all.
Toji and Ryomen stayed right there with you, slowly drifting across the dance floor until you were right beside the DJ booth where the volume was loudest and you were forced to abandon conversation, instead focused entirely on the language your bodies spoke when they were pressed up against each other. It was so easy to get lost in, arms looped around Toji’s neck and tangled in his hair as you kissed, Ryomen’s hands finding their way under the hem of your shirt just to feel the soft skin of your stomach, gently squeezing flesh just to feel you.
And when the bar called for final drinks, you took that as your cue to leave.
You were pulled out to an uber hand in hand with Ryomen, Toji with his phone in hand to make sure they went to the right car, and you barely restrained yourself in the back seat when a hand wormed its way between your legs, subtly working at you from beneath someone’s jacket that had landed in your lap, presumably for that very purpose of covering their sins.
Rushing up stairs that almost tripped you, and large hands ensuring you never fell, then practically falling through a quickly unlocked door led you to a bedroom you didn’t have time to actually look at or process. As quickly as you were in the space, you were thrown onto the bed and disrobed without preamble, hands roaming newly exposed skin and lips pressing to any place they could reach.
You’d never been to Paris before, but it was safe to say you’d be visiting again if it was Toji and Ryomen taking you there.
The next morning, you woke tangled between them. You’d anticipated that things would somehow be weird in the aftermath, that they’d resent being so close to each other now that the intimacy was gone. It seemed, though, that they didn’t mind at all. You were sure of that fact when you slipped out from between them to use the bathroom and Toji shuffled over to lay his head on Ryomen’s stomach. Huh.
Ryomen was awake when you returned, and he offered you a hand to help you back beneath the sheets without tripping or standing on Toji, and though he still seemed mostly asleep, the dark haired man made space for you all the same.
“Was thinking about ordering breakfast.” Ryomen said after a moment, voice a low, raspy mumble so soon after waking.
“I could eat.” Toji muttered, even if he buried his face in his friend’s stomach. Ryomen laughed when he caught you staring.
“We do this a lot. Boundaries are a long lost myth.” He explained, a hand slipping between your thighs again to idly play with you as he scrolled through the delivery app, casual as anything. You finished in Toji’s mouth before breakfast arrived, and were still panting when Ryomen presented the large bag full of warm food like a victory hard won.
And you came once more before you eventually left their place on shaky legs. But both numbers were in your phone, and a flimsy promise of doing it again sat in the air between you.
You weren’t sure if you’d see them again.. but you knew if you just so happened to see them again next weekend? Well, you wouldn’t be mad about it.
nanami kento wants you as far away from jujutsu society as possible, nanami kento x m!reader
wc: 1.5k
5 short, fluffy scenarios with the salaryman himself
coming home.
nanami kento enters through the door with a quiet groan. exhaustion leaking from his two chapped lips that miss your softer, more cushiony ones dearly.
there's a dull throb behind his eyes that reminds him of the damage done, and his throat is painfully dry as well.
he neatly removes his shoes from his sore, reddened feet that are probably growing calluses due to the amount of running and combat he had done for the past few days.
lining them up by the wall, his large, yet precise fingers adjust your smaller shoes adjacent to his. he finds his lips quirking upwards into a gentle smirk at the shoes, or rather, at the thought of his husband.
he stands up and rolls his aching shoulders before glancing sidelong at the digital clock that glows blue on the small microwave. one-thirty-four in the afternoon. he internally congratulates himself, knowing he's arrived home at a reasonable hour this time. you'd likely be awake, and pleased with him too.
he rubs his eyes lethargically, and strides right past the couch and over to the cramped, anime-merchandise paradise you call your room.
you're nestled under a plush, cotton blanket like a little pig in a blanket. it's adorable — almost to the point of cuteness aggression.
he clears his throat once, aloud on purpose, placing his hands on his hips. your eyes light up as you see him, he chuckles, and before he knows it, you're all over him.
the blanket is discarded on the edge of your bed, and you collide into him, squeezing his torso with the strength of a deprived man.
"kento," you murmur softly, breathing a sigh of relief into his shoulder.
the man is practically capable of falling asleep standing up, but his hands still find their natural positions. his left hand, with a silver band of matrimony on it's ring finger, comes up to the nape of your neck. the thumb rubs back and forth. his right hand splays over your back.
"mmh... my angel." he drawls lowly like he's already dreaming.
he kisses your hairline gently.
"i would've made lunch if i knew you were coming, why didn't you text me?"
he shakes his head. "you shouldn't feel like you have to."
you step back a little, and nanami catches a glint in your pretty eye that means you've decided something — something that he's most likely going to be forced to follow through with you.
he loosens his tie with a tug of the index finger, then re-places his hands on his hips.
"planning something?" he inquires curiously.
you nod shyly, but you can't help the growing smirk that's seizing control of your face.
"i was talking to gojo and..."
bad sign. talking to gojo always put flowery, impossible ideas into your head.
"i — i want to join jujutsu society. as a sorcerer, i mean. i think if ... i have the ability to see curses, and could so something about it, that it would make me feel better about myself."
nanami's heart sinks. from his chest to the core of the earth.
he knew you had always been the type to be obsessed with heroism. you were the opposite of selfish, always doing things for others because you'd feel feel useless if you weren't of service to other people. in fact, you resembled his mentee, itadori, far more than he would like to admit — only more reserved.
you can tell he doesn't like the sound of that, because his face drops. not really, but something in his eyes dulls.
"no." he responds flatly. it pains him a little, to come home so exhausted, and to learn that gojo has you up to this. he'll deal with gojo later.
"no...? why?"
"jujutsu sorcery doesn't just entail 'saving people'," he says, strained. "it's something you can lose yourself in." he forces a smile on his tired face.
"and i'm not planning on losing you. not anytime soon. not ever." he says reassuringly. he presses a kiss to your forehead again.
2. date night.
now, you're on a date, a simple outing to a restaurant.
both of you are dressed presentably, nanami in an effortless button down, with his hair combed down.
kento can easily sense your disappointment from earlier in the week. you aren't speaking to him as much as usual, even with how reserved you are. you didn't hold his hand on the way to the restaurant either.
he reaches a large hand out to cover yours on the table.
"baby, you're sulking." he notes. his thumb makes soft back and forth motions on your hand. his voice was a gentle caress to your ears. he was obviously trying to cheer you up. "talk to me."
"it's nothing," you say, trying to reassure him. "you're just — you're looking out for me. i know you are." you try to hide the evident disappointment in your voice.
kento pauses for a moment. "that's right, i am." he takes your hand in his now. "i don't want you getting caught up in a mess that isn't even your fault." when you don't respond, he continues. "i love you." he reminds you sincerely, although you already know.
"yeah — i love you too." you say quietly.
the rest of the night is filled with catching him up about everything you've been doing while he was gone on his mission. he wonders what it'll take to get you to get your mind off of this.
3. movie night.
a movie night, a tradition the two of you always default to after a long time apart.
kento's sitting stiffly, as stiffly as a man can sit when another man has successfully invaded his lap. his arm is around your waist, hand spread across your belly under your shirt.
it's an action-packed movie, one that revolves around magic.
bad option.
"please, kento?"
"no."
"please?"
"i've already answered your question."
"yeah, but—" you're cut off by a kiss to the skin behind your ear.
"but what? i haven't answered in the way you wanted? is that it?"
the minute, melancholic sigh you let out makes something click in kento's brain.
he sighs through his nose, before speaking again.
"i'll let you practice. only with me, and only at home, understand? now, relax." he says, leaning back against the couch more and bringing you with him. you try, but you tremble slightly with excitement.
4. sparring sesh.
you've been training regularly with him, out in the backyard occasionally, honing your cursed technique at a beginner level and sometimes sparring with him, like right now.
kento hasn't stopped trying to discourage you, though.
as you two spar, he lands a palm flat on your chest. it doesn't hurt, but it sends enough force that you stumble backwards.
"that could have been a punch, or a curse, or a weapon." he says, adjusting his sunglasses. he helps you up. "don't get cocky, and don't go in until you have a clear enough opening. curses aren't as predictable as i am."
his voice softens, "you did good." he tugs you closer and punctuates his sentence with a kiss to your temple.
under the surface, you're teeming with excitement for the rest of the night.
5. hospital.
kento walks into the hospital with long strides, shoulders tense, jaw locked and eyebrows furrowed.
apparently there had been a curse sighting at a nearby ramen place, and you had taken it upon yourself to exorcize it yourself. you should've called him, he doesn't care if you interrupted his work, just don't put yourself in danger.
the moment he sees how you look, his entire resolve cracks.
he rushes over to the bedside, not paying any mind to the nurse that keeps saying that visiting hours are over.
the nurses have already treated you, so you aren't terribly hurt — and you're being discharged tomorrow.
he wants to ask you are you crazy? do you think just because you know the fundamentals means you can go off all on your own? you're all that saves his life from being a bleak purgatory of depression. but when he looks at you, all he can manage without trembling is "you need to make sure you're safe. next time call me."
the way he squeezes your hand is a dead giveaway.
the nurse reminds him that visiting hours have long ended, but he shoots her a glare that could probably kill a small horse. she doesn't mention it again.
he turns back to you, and you've already shifted on your side to face him.
his expression relaxes.
"and you, don't think you're getting off easy." he teases. he's trying to lighten your mood, as well as ease his own stress. "as soon as you're healed, we're back to sparring. i don't care if you're 'tired', i don't care if i'm going 'too hard on you'. got it?
he brings your hand up and kisses your knuckles.
"and don't ever make me worry like that again." he adds.
"your eyes are suspiciously shiny," you say, chuckling. the chuckle dies down when you see how wholeheartedly he's looking at you, like he walked into the hospital building and expected you to be on the brink of death. "you're ... right, i won't. i'm sorry, kento."
he stays right there by the bedside until you fall asleep.
he's not forgetting about his sparring promise.
a/n: this honestly felt rushed and like i'm just posting to post so i'm rlly sorry ab that 😭 please request something here if you'd like to see something specific, as i'm a new writer i'd also like to see tips. anything really helps. tysm!
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snowballs flew around the place, your cheeks hollowed from the cold wind in your face, you smiled as you formed another snowball—damian hid behind a fort he build.
during the winter, those who were rich enough to enjoy it had fun, just like you and damian right now. always a reckless one, you decided to ambush him behind his fort. a sly smirk in your face as you approached the snowy surface. when you reached the place, your boyfriend was no longer there.
before you even think about it—damian tackled you into the snow, giggling with the sound you made as he shoved you both on the ground. snow splattered everywhere, and your laughs echoed around the big garden. this was the closest damian ever got to be a child, and youd make him enjoy every second of it.
of course—that is until bruce calls you two back to the manor fearing you might already have a cold.
𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 ⸝⸝ satoru gojo showing your students baby megumi as they also happen to stumble upon photos of you two in your younger years .ᐟ
contents : fluff m!reader
a couple of ooo’s, aww’s, and giggles echoed around the room, you flipped the pages before the class stopped in a very specific one. the photo seemed old, not that old but it’s got that 2000’s look to it, you kissing satoru’s cheek while he does a peace sign. “is that gojo sensei?!” yuuji smiled, poiting at the picture. nobara’s finger appeared right beside his as she pointed at you. “and its that….” all their gazes turned at you. “you were so handsome…” megumi scoffed, glaring at nobara.
in the picture, he was very little, holding your hand as he stared at the camera. the cutets boy ever! nobara thought. though satoru’s eyes were locked to your pretty face in the picture. “i miss it..” he smiled, his sweet voice was about the same when you were younger. though now its more masculine and rasper. “i miss it too, stop acting like we’re getting old!” you retorted—playfully punching his shoulder. “and look at megumi~!” you cooed, as his cheeks heated up.
“dont get embarrassed, gumi..! I remember you asked for the picture yourself!” megumi slouched into his seat further, rolling his eyes. “no i didnt…” he mumbled, but a soft smile curved on his lips,
Synopsis: The new hire finally convinces you to just.. ask if he likes you, after flirting for as long as you've known him, and never quite being sure if he's too polite to turn you down, or too oblivious to know what you're doing
Tags/Warnings: Ijichi x M!Reader, barista!reader, fluff, flirting, first date, cuddling, falling asleep together
Word Count: 2,517
You’d had your eye on him for a while. Sweet, polite, a little shy. Exactly your type. He ordered the same thing each time he came in, usually early on his way to work. Your coworkers always conveniently needed to leave the register when he came in, so you took his order. Kiyotaka Ijichi, you’d learned his name after the first time you’d met, and it’d been burned into your brain ever since. You’d flirted with him a little, all casually, and he’d never really responded to it. Polite, a little flustered, and always with a smile - you wanted more though, a clear answer as to what his responses meant. Uninterested or oblivious, nobody at the cafe was sure. But each time he came in, you made his coffee with just a little bit of extra care, and scrawled his name on the side in your best penmanship. Just the little things.
You were on the opening shift today, with the new start, it was his first time on the open without the manager.
“So what’s the deal with you and that guy?” He asked as he was lifting chairs down from tables, setting them up neatly while you stocked the display with fresh baked goods.
“What guy?” You asked him in return, glancing over your shoulder with furrowed brows before you refocused.
“You know the one- come on, every time he comes in you magically end up on the register.”
“Oh, Kiyotaka. Yeah, there’s no deal. I just like him a lot, I’ve been flirting with him for months now.” You explained with a shrug, adjusting price tags on their little stands.
“And he doesn’t flirt back?”
“Not really, but he doesn’t shoot me down either. We’ve got a running bet on whether he’s too polite to refuse me, or he’s too oblivious to realise I’m interested.” You noticed that the scraping of chairs had stopped, so you turned to find the new hire had stopped with a chair in hand, lifted just a few inches off the floor, staring at you.
“What?”
“Have you tried.. I dunno, just being direct? Actually giving him a chance to say yes or no?” He suggested, to which you only scoffed and turned back to filling the display.
“Come on man, that takes the fun out of it. No point if it ruins the chase.”
“Make it part of the game then, you’re not stupid, you could come up with something.” He told you as the chair finally returned to the ground, and was pushed under the table. With that job done, the new hire returned to behind the counter to check the fridge was fully stocked.
“Like what?” You asked after a brief silence.
“I dunno, he’s your man.”
“He’s not my man, he- he’s a customer, come on.”
“But you want him to be your man.” The guy’s eyes peered at you judgmentally over the countertop.
“A little, I guess.”
“Then come up with something. Something obvious, but fun.”
Those words rang in your head for the rest of the opening tasks, and then the cafe was open and people were pouring in, all headed for their demanding corporate jobs - blegh, you could never. That one regular who’d ended up meeting their new boyfriend because they were paying for each other’s orders passed through, and gave you a tip, and it felt like the morning was off to a perfect start.
Kiyotaka came through just as the morning rush was coming to an end, and you caught the new hire looking at you. Trying to goad you into making a choice. You took his order, then stepped up to the coffee machine to make it. New hire took over the register for the next customer.
Paper cup in one hand, and a pen in the other, you stared for a moment. It was so cliche - surely, you couldn’t. No, it was ridiculous. But.. it was fun. Flirty. Direct. After swallowing a lump of anxiety in your throat, you wrote something new on his cup. Not his name, but a little message.
If I wanna plan our first date, what number should I text?
It was simple, it had to be to fit on the paper takeout cup, and then you finished up brewing his coffee. You handed the drink to the new hire to deliver, and disappeared into the back so you weren’t there when he picked it up, didn’t have to see his reaction.
The new hire came to collect you after a few minutes.
“What did you do?” He asked.
“I did what you suggested - I was direct.”
“He looked pretty pleased.”
“Don’t get my hopes up.” You told him with a groan, and after the manager arrived to help with the rest of the day, you were ushered back up to the counter to work as normal.
Why the hell did you decide to do that on a Friday? Of all days! You knew he didn’t come in on weekends, presumably because he too came in for his morning coffee before heading off to his average corporate job. So, you suffered through the weekend, waiting for Monday to roll around. You’d never wanted it to be Monday before.
You texted the work group chat through the weekend, with your coworkers laughing and teasing you over the whole ordeal, but still you felt good about it. Maybe he’d say no, and the ‘fun’ would be ruined, but at least then you’d have your answer. Maybe it was better that way. Not chasing after a guy who was too polite to ever tell you he just wasn’t interested. Or maybe he was interested..
You refused to let yourself think about that option too much, lest you get too caught up and only end up more crushed by a no.
Over the two days, you worked one afternoon shift, but otherwise you were at home in your apartment. You’d cleaned up, cooked your breakfast meal prep for the week ahead, played some games with your friends, and even called home to speak to your family. It was, all in all, a productive weekend. Mostly to keep yourself occupied.
Not that it worked too much, when your overactive imagination got to work there was no stopping it. Especially when you were asleep.
You’d have been angry when you woke if it hadn’t been so hot.
Getting ready for your Monday morning shift, knowing that today would likely be the day that you got your answer from Kiyotaka - was he interested, or was it time to give up the game?
Of course it was that night your mind had chosen to conjure up a less than helpful dream. Thankfully, nothing inappropriate, but definitely filling your head with fantasies. As you pulled on your uniform, fixed your hair, made your way to the cafe, and did the opening duties, all you could think of was snippets of your dream. His hand in yours, sitting opposite each other at a restaurant, curling up together on your sofa, a shared chaste kiss that left you wanting more. God, you hoped he said yes.
You hoped he came back at all.
The morning rush passed in a blur. Customers familiar and new, hands moving in a rhythm you’d perfected in your time at the cafe. Cards tapped, coffees made, pastries warmed. You’d hardly felt the passage of time at all, and thankfully it kept you from thinking too much. So much so, that when you saw Kiyotaka walk in, you almost dropped the clean plates you’d been carrying. Thankfully, the manager appeared behind you to take them before you could ruin a perfectly good stack of plates.
“Go handle register.” He instructed you, and you just nodded, unable to say a word. You quickly logged into the register, and prepared to take his order. The same as usual, you assumed. He ordered quickly, just as polite as always, and you put it through. He didn’t say anything else. You were sure you’d fucked it up - he wasn’t interested, and now you had to face that reality. You made his coffee, scrawling his name quickly on the cup. He took it, and he left. Hardly wasted enough time to actually thank you.
“I fucked it up.” You muttered with a deep sigh, leaning back against the counter, hands covering your face.
“No you didn’t.” The new hire chirped beside you.
“Dude, he barely talked to-”
“Move your hands.” He said firmly, and despite how good it sounded to dump a blender of ice water over his head, you let them fall to your sides. He was holding something.
“What’s that?” You asked, looking at the little square of paper held between two of his fingers.
“It’s for you. Read it.” Quickly, you plucked it from between his fingers, and turned it over to read what was written on it in blue ink.
For that date xxx-xxx-xxx
"He gave me his number.” You mumbled, staring at it with wide eyes.
“Text him on lunch, customers coming.” The manager prompted, but he winked at you and squeezed your shoulder.
You got his number.
Sure enough, on your break you scurried off to sit in your car with your lunch, and you pulled out your phone. His number was entered with shaky hands, contact name added, and you spent a moment agonising over what to say, before you started simple.
Slipped it into the tip jar, huh? Slick
It took just a few minutes before his reply came in.
You opened with a message on my coffee cup
Thought I’d return the favour.
Cute, and funny. You were so glad he’d decided to take a chance on you.
Well, I’ve got Wednesday off
Dinner, 7pm?
I’ll be there
You spent a little while longer confirming details and planning, then both of you had to return to your respective work days.
Then, you’d experienced what was possibly the longest Tuesday of your life. Never had a day of the week dragged as long as Tuesday did that week, the only thing that stood between you and finally going on a date with Ijichi, because you got to call him that now.
Wednesday, you let yourself sleep in, wanting to be sure you felt rested before the rest of the day ahead of you. You wasted some time gaming, then as five o’clock rolled around, you started getting ready. Shower, shave, hair, clothes, shoes, coat. Keys, wallet, and flowers. Maybe he wouldn’t appreciate flowers, but he seemed like the type of guy to appreciate the gesture anyway. You hoped he was that type of guy anyway. There was nothing you wanted more than to make a good second impression. A good impression of who you were when you weren’t just the barista who made his morning coffee.
He was there ten minutes early, you were seven minutes early. He liked the flowers. Your server brought a vase for them so that they could stay fresh in some water for the duration of the date. You paid, even though he’d tried to insist on splitting. You ordered your own food, but both got a taste of the others, just out of curiosity. Ijichi was smart, and had a dry sense of humour that really surprised you, but made you laugh every time without fail. It was sort of a dream date really.
After you finally pulled yourselves from the restaurant, you walked together from the restaurant to a nearby park, and settled on a bench even though it was dark, and you both had work the next day. You didn’t want to leave though, how could you?
“I’ve had a really good time tonight.” You told him, glancing over at him briefly with a smile before you returned your gaze to the pair of ducks swimming in the pond you sat by.
“So did I. I was.. quite surprised, actually. I thought it would be more awkward- well, me awkward. Not that I thought you’d be awkward, I just-” you couldn’t help laughing. With a movement more confident than you actually felt, you reached over to gently take his hand.
“It’s alright, I know what you meant.” He softly squeezed your hand, though he was looking down into the bouquet that you’d given him, a light flush on his cheeks.
“You know.. I was wondering if you were ever going to say anything.” He said after a moment of quiet.
“Yeah?”
“You were always so nice, but I didn’t want to assume you were.. flirting. Didn’t want to make a fool of myself.” He admitted with a soft, self-deprecating laugh. Your free hand reached before you’d processed that you’d moved. You caught his chin in your fingers, and gently guided him to turn so he could see your face.
“I’ve been sweet on you since the first time I made you blush.” And that in turn made warmth bloom deeper on his face, creeping up his cheekbones to his ears.
“Well.. I see.” He mumbled, and though his eyes flicked down to avoid your gaze, he didn’t pull away. If anything, he leaned into your touch, his legs shifting just enough that your knees pressed together, able to feel his warmth more than the cool air of the evening.
“Let me walk you home?”
It wasn’t far from the park to his apartment, and when his key slipped into the lock, he paused. Not turning it, not yet.
“I hope.. we can do this again?” He asked, taking the bouquet back from your hand, as you’d held it while he found his keys and unlocked his front door.
“Definitely.”
For a long moment, the two of you just looked at each other. Hands clammy, cheeks warm, hearts racing. You couldn’t be sure how long the two of you stood there in front of his unlocked but still closed door, just taking in the details of each other’s faces, deciding what you felt brave enough to do.
You took his hand, and he twisted them to be able to lace your fingers together.
“One more drink?” He asked, voice more breath than sound, but you nodded. How could you resist?
You had juice rather than alcohol, something light and simple, a real excuse just to keep the evening going. Talking, laughing, inching closer and closer on the sofa until he was pressed to your side. It felt natural, like you’d done this a hundred times rather than the first time just tonight.
You stayed the night, though unintentionally. When the sun cut in through the still partially open curtains, you looked down to find that the two of you had fallen asleep on his sofa, still dressed in the clothes you’d worn on your date. Sure, you needed to get back to your apartment to freshen up and get ready for work.. but you could allow yourself this for just a little longer. His warmth against your skin, his arms around your waist, his head on your chest.
You had a feeling there’d be a lot more dates in future.
everytime i post something i get so embarrassed like oh can yall not read that and then im like oh wait no read it dont let this flop like i actually hide my face in my hands 😭👌
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𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐚𝐭 ⸝⸝ fratjo and his nerdy boyfriend at a frat party <3
contents : fluff m!reader frat parties .. fratboys in general satoru is a little mean :C
“satoru…” you whined, looking up at your boyfriend. satoru was always one for trouble, but bringing you to this horrible place of all has to be your limit. he knew everyone. seriously. he walked around greeting everybody possible—how does lne even know that many people?
its a horrible place to spend the night. you can hear people yelling, moaning, cursing and drinking, some even high too. this isnt the place youd like to spend your day at, but wherever satoru is i guess you have to be too. there was only a few people you were familiar with, and that is only because you offer tutoring for certain classes.
satoru settled down with the one person you knew a little bit more, and that was suguru. he was mostly nice to you despite his intimidating behaviour. “i see you brought your pet.” suguru’s raspy voice echoed in your ears. “-im not his p—“ before you could finish, satoru squeezed your cheeks, making you unable to speak. “isn’t he so cute??” satoru purred, pinching your cheeks and putting his grimy hands all over your face. one of his hands were wet from holding a cold beer he set aside just to pester you.
you glared at satoru, but behaving just because suguru is there. lord knows what he could do with you.
a few girls approached, talked, and then were dismissed—all you could think of is how many substances you’re inhaling at once. specially now that suguru’s smoking in your face. you feel out of place. “i want to go home, satoru. i dont like it here.” suguru laughed by his side, watching your pouty expression. “five more minutes sweets. cant just leave like that.. im the life of this party.”
it was in fact not more five minutes when you left. can you be considered a junkie now that your lungs are filled with unknown substances.. or could that be the substances talking… yes definetly is that absolutely spiked punch you drank (who tf drinks punch at a frat party?? they must have these ready for people like you.) your cheeks are warm, youre a sweaty mess just like every other guy in this house. you keep babbling and babbling for enough time even satoru decides its time for you to go home.
youre talking about your usual nerd things, he likes listening to you ramble, and its funnier when you know this is your first time ever being drunk, even if it was accidental.
cuddles and kisses in the dorms are law after parties. he better enjoy it while it lasts and you wake up to realize you were drunk… your future is lost!!
you have been stressing for weeks. you and damian may share the title of being the best students of the school, but you have nothing in common when the subject is emotion control. your colleges applications have been sent, you know someone is going to want you, right?
“dami… results are up.” you groaned, burrying your face on the bed matress. the computer was opened in front of you, and damian climbed onto the bed to see what this was all about.
damian is talking, but you’re not listening. theres a ringing in your ear that tells you this is gonna be bad. “are you even listening to me?” he huffs, pushing you playfully. “i said you made it.. to your dream college with me.”
when you look up your face is already all puffy and youre crying. “wait what,” “i said-“ you squeal before he can finish his sentence, jumping on him with a bright smile on your face. “couldn’t have made it without me.” he purred in your ear with a soft laugh. “hey!”
later on the evening, damian took you out to celebrate your recent win. this was a turning point in your life and things would be different from now on..
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