A meeting of fate, really. Where else could two extremely overworked souls meet if not at 7-Eleven at midnight?
He, although he'd never admit that, remembered that night clearly. Maybe because it resembled those old sitcoms too much, or maybe because Hiromi really valued what had become of that friendship.
That was a particularly long night for Hiromi. It was a little after midnight but at Higurumaās office work had just begun. Finally, all the clues began to make sense, and a long-awaited breakthrough cameāa small, yet a victory for a particularly hard case. Alas, Higuruma clearly needed some food and a refill of strong coffee, as he caught himself drifting off for a upteenth time in the span of the last 30 minutes.
The walk to the convenience shop wasn't long, it was just right around the corner: a small yet always brightly lit building. The only employee was peacefully sleeping behind the counter, and the place was empty, it always was.
Higuruma quickly made his way to the familiar aisle of food and made himself a coffee, the sheer amount of caffeine could probably kill a horse, yet it was just suited for the night. He patted his pockets, looking for a wallet. After calculating the exact cost, he strolled to the still-sleeping employee to drop off the cash, not really wanting to disrupt the peace of an already overworked guy.
What he saw there, was a couple of notes already tucked under the change tray. That was something new, he was always alone there, always. Involuntarily he wondered who it could be, but there was no need to wonder when he heard a melody of silent hums coming from the eating area.
The eating spot was small: just three chairs, and the left one was taken by a miserable-looking figure. Dressed in a suit already wrinkled, shoulders slumped, hair was too out of place. The figureāyouāwas frozen in place, barely moving, if not for the slight breathing Higuruma might've felt concerned.
Silently, he settled on the opposite side avoiding making unnecessary sounds, but even that made you stir. Quickly you cast a glance his way and with a lopsided smile said: āTough night, eh?ā You giggled when he stilled, a pack of sugar suspended in his grip as he stared at you back. He mumbled something confirmatory and continued mixing sugar into his coffee cup, mulling over the peculiar interaction. You didn't press further, just stared absentmindedly into the window eating already cold noodles with happy hums.
From that time on he met you regularly. Always the same: the same tired expressions on both faces, the same sleeping employee and even the same choice of snacks. The only variableāyouāwas the highlight of those little midnight meetings, but also, as Higuruma noticed, was the highlight of his days as a whole.
Some days, like during the first meeting, you were a funny, giggly and overall giddy mess. Always cracking jokes, always trying to lighten up the mood. Some days you had a visible frown on your face, an aloof expression, and even more tired eyes. Those eyesā¦ they, although weary and red from lack of sleep, still had that bright glow in them. His glow was long but gone, he liked to think you were trying to share yours.
Something was seriously wrong with Higuruma, when he noticed how his emotional state was dependent solely on your mood. Seeing your sleep-deprived yet happy face later, made his sleep sound, no melatonin needed. Creases between your eyebrows made him roll in his sleep, wondering.
He chalked it up to starvationā¦ well, many of them.
The logical part of him believed that sleep starvation was definitely a key: no way he'd get attached to a random stranger that quickly. Those were definitely mind games from his sleep-deprived brain, definitely.
Then, the starvation for human connections and, as a result, touch starvation. Though, just being in your proximity somehow got it resolved for him, hearing your voice made the formerly mentioned touch starvation seem almost nonexistent.
With time the little meetings went from silently eating, chewing extra time just to prolong the moment, to curt conversations and then to long, candid chatters. He learnt many things from you and so did you. Talking about his line of work was far from entertaining, so he opted to listen to you.
And you? You were more than glad to accept the offer. Chatter box at your core, he just gave you an inch, and you took a mile, babbling about everything, discussing the what-ifs and what-nots, sharing your deepest thoughts and wildest ideas.
Food was long discarded, left somewhere on the edge of the table, as Higuruma had taken up all the space, placing his arms comfortably on the dining table, decompressing his spine. Head nuzzled as if napping, though he was far from sleeping as Hiromiās eyes were locked on your animated figure, eyes gleaming as you ranted about some new fact you'd learnt that day.
That was what he adored the most about you, how bubbly you were, how quickly you changed the topic and how eager you were to tell him whatever was on your mind. Higuruma felt honoured, but somehow he didn't feel worthy of hearing someone as pure as you.
He was listening to people constantly, some were screaming at him and some were thanking him profusely, yet no one had ever told him a bad joke nor had they told him a weird fun fact. With you, he wasn't āHiguruma the lawyerā, with you he was just Higuruma. Higuruma with his ādad jokesā as you put it once, or Higurima with the loudest laugh. You brought some disarray to his otherwise structured life, and he loved every second of it.
What he hated though, was how embarrassed you were of that quirk of yours. Always blushing, always silencing yourself and always excusing your words. Maybe he was a boy hopelessly in love, but he loved your voice, your thoughts and even your enthusiasm. Everything about you felt magnetic, he just couldn't help.
One time, his emotions got the better of him. Hearing you yet again excusing your whole existence he snapped. Though, not at you but at society as a whole, at society which convinced you that your talking wasn't something bad and unwanted.
He put his hand on top of yours, a warm palm engulfing your whole hand, the motion was grounding, reassuring. āPlease, talk more.ā Was more akin to a plea, not a stern request as he initially intended.
The feeling of your soft hand was ghosting over him for days.
The next night you bought him a pack of sweets, and he returned the gift a couple of days later. One night you drifted off to sleep and woke up to your stuff already cleaned, and something warm swallowing your form. His jacket was gently placed over you, to your right Higuruma was himself peacefully sleeping. Later, Hiromi woke up to a warm tea to his side and you staring at him, smiling.
In the span of a week little glances, shot between the two of you, quickly turned into long stares. With time, abandoning your usual spot, you plopped near Higuruma, āI liked that side more anyway,ā you said teasingly. Then, hopefully for Hiromi, the hugs came. Curt and awkward, but he was savouring each moment. Neither of you wanted to pull back.
The routine you both created was weirdly domestic.
None of you dared to voice what your little meetings had become. Higuruma cherished those nights because sometimes, you didn't need words. There was no need for proper communication, as you, seemingly got him without even trying. It was like with each fibre of his being, Higuruna could understand you. Just being in your vicinity could relieve whatever tension had been bottling up for days.
However, something was there, and that something was too complicated to look into. Something so pure and small, yet incredibly powerful.
Both of you were eager, as both of you were scared: to lose those meetings, to lose each other. The threat of imminent danger was hanging lower and lower, day by day. A ticking bomb, waiting till one of you finally succumbed to their feelings.
ā¹āĖā§ļøµāæāąØFrom a food baby to.. an actual baby? ą§āāæļøµā§Ėāā¹
Tags: [MDNI]husband!nanami x foodie!wife reader. SMUT and a sprinkle of fluff. Breeding (?), p in v, oral sex (f recieving), mating press, freaks in an established relationship (married), pregnancy. I need to stop writing smut but this has been in my drafts..
Ever since you were a little kid, you looooved eating.
And it's not like your parents teaching you to try everything at least once helped as you ended up growing up to be a foodie with no pickiness when it comes to eating at all.
Enter Nanami who you met at 21, just a year from graduating college, at one of the new local bakeries which you had just discovered recently back then.
He was all crisp button downs, dark blue slacks, cuffed sleeves, messenger bag slung over his shoulderāa walking portrait of what you just wished you would be waking up to in less than 10 years.
You didn't expect to run into him any more times after you'd seen him at the pastry shop ever again, he's one of those sights you only see once in your life.
Well, you were very wrong.
That same week, same time, three days later when you went back for a pick me up, he was there. Picking up the same order you noticed he got last time, and somehow looking finer than Monday did him justice.
Just out of curiosity, you asked for the same sandwich he gotāa French Casse-croĆ»teāfresh ham and cheese hidden in a crisp baguette baked early in the morning.
So simple, yet so heavenly. Though, you underestimated your stomach's capacity of hosting the large sandwich and... Had a little food baby pressing against the linen cloth of your yellow sundress.
Nanami noticed you had purchased and consumed the same sandwich he hadāthough not a social person at all, he found himself walking over to your table and making small talk.
āIām impressed you finished it.ā He had commented, you were wiping remaining crumbs from the corners of your mouth when his voice startled you.
Immediately you had flushed a deep shade of beetroot, suddenly feeling way too conscious about your dress being a tad bit tighter around the waist, the hair sticking to your neck and the fire burning the apples of your cheeks.
Because he was there talking to you when not even three days ago you were daydreaming about the handsome stranger youād seenāthe epitome of your type if you had one.
Grounding yourself surprisingly quickly, you had sheepishly smiled when replying āOh it sure was a challenge..ā, in a shy mutter.
Then, you realised how greedy you sounded and immediately stirred to fix your words up.
āI meanāI, uh, I was just really hungry you know? At work-ā you began rambling, hoping to save face in front of perfectly gelled back hair and sculptured cheekbones that had womenās knees weak for days.
but Nanami broke out in a soft chuckle he hadnāt realised he needed until a pretty stranger pulled one out of him.
He left you with his business card and called one day later like he promised.
Fast forward five years later, you still have the now-outdated business card neatly kept in your bedside table along with your husbandās initial draft for your wedding vows which you found more authentic than the version he ended up reading to the audience on your special dayāheartwarming and emotional nonetheless.
Living with Kento has taught you a slow world you never thought existed within all of the noise and chaos.
Every page from a book is turned slowly, every step of the day is calculated with no effortājust routine, every hour with your husband is priceless.
And you didnāt imagine this side of life existed. Where every human sentiment somehow was deeper and stronger when it was shared with your person.
Living within Nanamiās comfort zone is learning that his routine bends to you, and eventually incorporates your life into his.
Itās learning that he loves waking up with the sheets tangled between your legs, one of his hands buried in your hair as your face is pressed against his bare chest.
That he adores pressing reverent kisses to your neck, forehead, palm, temple. With a burning gaze that says more than any verbal statement ever could.
However, you learn that your husband relishes in afteroon reading with you snugly tucked by his side on the loveseat in your makeshift library corner, more than the normal person does.
Which is exactly where you are, pressed against his side, head on his shoulder, half of your brain paying attention to the words on the page heās reading, the other half dipping into a dangerous side as you feel his warmth spread over you.
Youāre insatiable, just hours ago Kento cooked you a full-course meal because you woke up āfeeling emptyā not really knowing what is wrong with you and thinking that just a hearty meal will do.
Creamy alfredo pasta did not in fact solve your issue. Now, once again with an empty stomach, you hold in the urge to open your mouth and disturb your husbandās reading.
Just what were you even going to complain about? Itās not like you were hungry.
And then it clicks.
Slowly, the corners of your lips gently pull upward as your fingers trace up his torso, feeling the dip of his hard abs, the rough lines of scars underneath his breathable pijama shirt.
God he is a sight for sore eyes.
The cogs turn in your head as you start to wriggle your way out from underneath his muscular arm draped over your figure, which was holding you close to him, palm on your hip.
His head turns from the book balanced between his fingers, eyes zeroing on your shifting figure that was slowly crawling over his bulky legs.
An eyebrow of his subtly lifts subconsciously as he carefully watches your every moment. The book in his hand lowers and closesāpage forgotten, bookmark nowhere to be seenāas you sit yourself on his lap facing him, knees digging into the soft leather of the loveseat.
Using your hands on his shoulders to stabilize yourself, you slightly fight back a smirk when you feel Kento's hands find their place on your waist almost instantly after you get comfortable.
This position is no stranger to either of youāwhich is why Nanami puts the pieces of the puzzle together quicker than anyone else could. So this is what you meant when you said you felt empty?
It makes even more sense when he remembers that a few days ago your period tracker said you would be ovulating soon. Absentmindedly, his fingers trace gentle figures on your hips where his hands have lowered to.
You peer down at him, swimming in his alluring hazel eyes full of an unspeakable kind of loveāfeeling yourself melt into him.
He breaks the silence, "What is it, darling?" Even though he knows the clear answer, he asks.
Drawing closer to him, your head dips past his chin and you go to press a light kiss to his throat, feeling him swallow when you do. The familiar shape of him starts to grow beneath you.
Again, you feel pride creep up your spine, but you push it down and kiss the side of his neckāitching closer to his collarbone with each kiss peppered. You hear his breath lose it's steadyness little by little.
After a bit of teasing, you finally answer with a shrug "I feel..weird.ā Letting a defeated sigh slip past your lips as they press up and at the peak of his right cheekbone.
āWeird?ā He chokes out. āWhat do you mean by weird, honey?ā
You hum as you shift over him, deliberately circling letters over his lap and dragging your thinly covered warmth against him.
āI guess I feel kind of.. empty.ā The sultry tone in which your voice has dropped to makes blood rush at an embarrassing speed to Nanamiās cockāstiffening like a teenager underneath you.
āYeah?ā He hums.
You bite your lips, tongue then tracing your canines as you run your hands over his broad chest.
āYeah.ā
āI can do something about that.ā His hand curves around your ass, firmly grabbing onto the skinānot enough to hurt, enough to have you dripping even more.
Your eyes lift to his faceāclean,shaved, no hair to see, pink lips, drooping eyes. āYou can?ā You muse.
He smiles, a smirk he tried to suppress knowing what youāre going to ask for next.
āLike what?ā
And before your question can even land, he gets up. Two hands under your thighs, effortlessly carrying your body.
Carefully, he turns and lays you down on the loveseat. Bracing his broad frame by the armrestsāface dangerously close to yours.
Noses brushing, musk and manliness oozing out of him so much your legs close and you can feel yourself pulsing down there.
The roles are reversed and you are so whipped for your husband itās not even funny anymore. How he has completely turned the tables.
A pin drops somewhere and Kentoās lips gently latch onto yours. Warmth and love exploding in your chest. Neediness clawing at you as your hands wrap around his shoulderās.
He kisses like youāre a forbidden fruit he canāt resist tastingāhappily accepting his sin. Basking in it when a swipe of his tongue under your lips opens a whole world he knows at the back of his hand.
You feel him exploring youāone hand running up your thighāpressing a thumb against the wet material of your panties.
A moan from you vibrates against his lips. He detaches to hear more as his fingers slip past the lace and dive right into you.
The needy whine that escapes you has him thanking the gods for your paths crossingāfor the universe giving him such a good wife.
His mind starts to run wild at the thought of what heās going to do to you.
Thought he would never push or admit it. Nanami has found himself getting turned on way too often lately at the sight of you bloated, belly full of food after a hearty meal.
At the beginning of your relationship, he tried to ignore the sightāfiguring youād get insecure or uncomfortable if he looked at it for too long.
But heās been having a hard time not relishing in your well-fed shape.
Heād never admit he cooks more food than usual lately to see you drape your hand under the protruding curve and huff out like youāre in pain from eating so much.
Because the sight of you so full drives him insane.
So insane the thought of using a condom doesnāt even cross his mind when you have sex. It doesnāt help that you have no intention of reminding him.
What would you look like if you were full of him?
His child.
A walking testament of him feeding you well.
A sharp moan snaps him out of his thoughts and he kneels down, taking his slicked fingers from your pussy and spreading your legs wide in front of him.
Youāre blushing like crazy. Heat crawling up your spine, bundling up at your neck and cheeksāheās barely even touched you.
Nanamiās big hands slide under your legs, hooking onto the thin material that has snapped back in place and pulling it off.
His face comes closer to your pussy subconsciouslyābody begging for a taste before his mind can even catch up.
And he dives in, hands hooked on your thighs, pulling you down the seat and closer to his face so he can lick up your slicked lips.
You become putty in his hands, back already arching off the seat. He sucks and sucks, greets with open mouth kissesādesperately devours like itās his first time on earth.
Nose casually nudging your entrance, making your body jerk so violently that you almost cry at the blissful feeling.
Kentoās tongue slides into your walls, tasting your sweet nectar straight from the source and losing himself in its sweetness.
Your mind starts going blank, babbles of complete nonsense spilling out of your mouth as he jumpstarts your orgasm.
āHoneyādonāt stop-pleaseāā
He doesnāt, instead, a finger slips ināunexpectedly, but so welcome one your desperate hole starts clenching around him.
āShit Iām going toāā You try to tell him the coil in your lower belly is going to snap but it does before youāre finished, coating his tongue, chin and nose in you and only you.
Panting, you try to catch your breath but your husbandās jaw doesnāt put itself to rest as he continues to lap up every drop of your juices over your sensitive clit.
Back arching off the loveseat, high-pitched moans rip from your chest from the overstimulation.
āKentoāā You whine.
He pulls back silent, shiny chin and drowsy eyes looking up at you from his positionāa sinful picture that has heat pooling in between your legs again.
āYes, sweetheart?ā The urge to ride his face when his deep voice calls out to you with those nicknames is immense, but you want him.
āInsideāplease go-ā
āYour words, darling, use them.ā Your hands find his forearm rested over your spread thigh and you dig your fingernails into them.
āKen, pleaseāplease fuck me.ā
A frown overtakes his face, lips disapprovingly pulling down into a pityful pout.
āIām not going to fuck you, honey. Iāve already told you that.ā
And itās true, Nanami does not fuck. He is a stranger to the act of using someone as a tool for him to get off, belittle them into a good fuck or a bad one.
He loves.
And he loves you so much.
āLove me, Ken.ā
A small smirk breaks out.
You have him.
He climbs over you, heavyāmuscular thighs barely fitting between your spread out legs where he presses his clothed hard-on against your slit.
From the sensitivity, you almost moan against him.
His lips latch onto yours again, hungrily yet deliberately finding their way down your throatāmaking you taste your remains on his tongue.
Your hands travel down to the hem of his thin cotton sweatpants and hook your fingers both onto that seam, and his boxerās waistband.
Simultaneously, the two layers that were between the both of you drop to the floor. Thick 7,5 inches to match his 6 feet of height.
Girthy, one prominent vein leading to the shaft and bringing your eyes to his dusty blonde happy trail.
Sculpted v-line that has you going feral for days.
Gosh, you really love your husband in all of his glory.
Wrapping your handāand barely being able to fully grasp itāaround him, you stroke a few times before rubbing him against your bare pussy.
A shock of electricity shooting up your spine at the feeling of his precum mixing with your slick. Nanami groans against your lips before delicately pulling your hand away and taking over.
Already nudging at the entrance has you biting down his soft lips to hold back a moan.
The tip slips inside after some coaxing, your fingernails dig into his shoulderās for stability, legs shaking due to the pressure.
Kento tries to tether you, āThatās it, love. Relax, I got you.ā
And he really does.
He pulls away from your lips every time he pushes himself a bit more inside, carefully watching your faceāsearching for any sign of pain or backing out.
Not once do you display any, so he bottoms out. Balls pressing against the soft skin of your ass over the expensive leather.
While you adjust, still inside, he rearranges both of your legs to rest over his shoulders as he hunches and looms over you.
Slowly, he starts moving. The deliberate drags of his cock between your velvety walls tattoo themselves into your gummy brain.
Eyes flutteringāopening and closing from pleasure, you feel yourself start to ascend to that personal heaven he always takes you to.
You clench around his size, unable to relax but enjoying the burn so much.
A hand of yours claws at his shirt, trying to bring him closer, harder. He wastes no time in delivering his sweet wifes request.
One thrust and you feel him in your throat, pale pink tip pushing past your cervixāprobably going to bruise it later on.
But you love it.
And he continues. In and out, back and forth. A frothy creamy ring building at the base where your bodies meet.
He sees the bulge of him in your stomach, the imprint of his cock peeking through and his mind goes haywire.
The image of your protruding stomach after a meal, the idea of you leaking with his cum running down your thighs, the thought of a little baby with your genetics growing inside of your swollen belly.
Nanamiās control breaks with a hard snap.
His hips slow down, gently stroking your insides now. No longer pulling you apart. But he shifts, lowers his chest down, teeth finding your nipples and cock angled at a new direction.
You try to focus on what heās doing still. Then the controlled thrust comesāslow, but so deep you know this is how he can get a baby in you.
Now, you feel full.
And you can only hope he leaves you this way.
āMmh-Kento?ā
He detaches his head from your tit. āYes, sweetie?ā
His cock slides out your pussy until only the very tip of it is inside before he rams himself home again.
āOh my goāā you get cut off from your vision going blank at the pleasure. āāKento, stay- inside.ā
You clench around him, not wanting him to leave.
āOh?ā He knows what you want. Heās your husband after all. Doting, careful.
āPlease.ā You breathe out, pleading, clawing at his back under his shirt. His pace picks up just enough to be rhythmic but intimate.
āYou want me to fill you up?ā
Not even a beat goes by before you whimper. āYesyesyes.ā
So he stays inside. He finds your clit with thick fingers, gives her enough attention for you to get on cloud 9.
Slams into you till you spasm around his cock and then fills you up. Paints your insides with him.
And suddenly, you no longer feel empty.
But maybe you need a few more rounds to ensure you will be full of him for some time.
At 9 months pregnant though, you desperately need to feel empty. The weight of your son making you feel like an overfilled dumpling about to pop.
Your husband has his large hands that got you in this position in the first place on your lower back, applying pressure and massaging your aching hips while you hunch over the edge of the hospital bed as your lower half bounces on a gym ball.
āKen, I curse you and your heavy baby.ā
He doesnāt know if he should laugh or comfort you. No, heās not vexed at all by you cursing himāhe knows how his heavy son has been giving you a hard time in your first pregnancy so heās not going to deny he is the cause of it.
In the end, he chooses the latter. āJust a bit more, honey. Youāre strong, heāll be here in no time.ā
āHe better be or Iāll strangle you!ā
He got his nine months of your stomach poking out from under your clothes, nine months of you looking like a goddess around the house and glowing more than the sun.
Nine months of it driving him crazy how you are swollen with him.
Who knew his wife being a foodie would turn him on so muchā¦
Anyway,
Nanami Kento is right where he wants to be.
Fanart by aradiart (middle one) and k_u_r_o_2_ both on X. Oh and a š¤ for u!
Notes: Just a short drabble to get the vision out of my head. I don't think I've ever written for Varka before? At least not more than little thirst posts. Hozier title uwu
Tags: Varka x fem reader, alcohol, oral sex (reader receiving), fingering, thigh fucking, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, a tiny bit of rough sex, age gap, size kink
Reblogs and comments much appreciated
~1k words
Minors DNI
Valor. Bravery. Virtue.
Chivalry.
All of it had left Varka's body with the last breath he took before crashing his lips against yours.
Perhaps even earlier. When he drank too deep from his tankard and coughed, one hand squeezing your hip while you perched on his knee.
You were a sweet thing. Careful in a way that was wasted on someone like him.
Varka hadn't planned this, had been actively fighting the thoughts that came to mind when you leaned against his shoulder and giggled earnestly at the tall tales of his adventures. Someone like you should be protected, cradled tightly during long nights, have your knuckles kissed gently.
Which was why Varka was trying with every ounce of muscle to keep himself under control. You deserved someone gentle, more human than how the Grand Master had returned. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple while you trembled and moaned beneath him.
Your back was arched beautifully, your ass presented like an offering. Even more exquisite was the way you'd assumed the position almost immediately after being dropped onto the large bed. He'd devoured you then, spread your glistening folds apart and tasted your essence, sweeter than fresh dandelion wine.
But even with thick fingers stretching you out and a tongue circling your clit, you'd still begged him for more. The wet sounds had already been bordering on obscene then, your fluids glistening on both his hand and your thighs.
Tomorrow, the sight of bruises shaped like fingers on your hips would hopefully send pleasant tingles down your spine and not have regret curdling in your gut.
Varka had discarded his underwear when your combined arousal had soaked through the fabric. Which hadn't taken long. He had, after all, painfully hard and leaking for quite a while. After getting older, Varka hadn't exactly been keen on indulging in physical pleasure apart from with his own hand.
Now, he had that same hand firmly placed between your shoulder blades, thumb rubbing against your spine in what he hoped was a soothing motion. The fear that he'd completely forgotten how to be anything but a weapon always crept along the shadows. His other hand bore the brunt of his weight, palm right beside your head as you licked and kissed at his calloused fingers.
His blood burned in his veins as he slowly rubbed his tip through your wetness, thighs aching with the restraint necessary to keep himself from sheathing himself fully in one thrust. Varka knew he was big, knew that he had to meticulously prepare anyone who wanted to take him.
Which was exactly why he'd made sure you came once on his tongue and once on his fingers before indulging your wish - and his urge - to rub his length against you.
But you would sound so sweet crying and screaming trying to take his cock.
His voice was far more gentle than that fleeting thought as he shushed your needy whines. "Shh sweetheart, I know. But you gotta relax."
Another shiver went through his body when you flexed your thighs, the plush flesh rubbing against his length when he drew back slightly. The feeling of your warmth seeping into his body had Varka light-headed in a far more pleasurable way than the haze of alcohol could provide. Your sweet little body moving rhythmically back and forth to match his languid thrusts.
He was crowding you completely, chest so close to slotting perfectly against your back. It was tempting to push you down and take and years ago he wouldn't have thought twice before acting on that instinct.
You whined into a pillow when his tip caught your clit and Varka couldn't help but lean down and kiss your shoulder. Every little reaction he got out of you made his chest ache in ways easiest acknowledged drunk and expressed sober.
"Varka.. no more teasing.. want.."
Varka almost burst into laughter, his cock throbbing with the same want that you were whining about. It was impossible to put his finger on why, but he almost couldn't bear the thought of this being your first time together. Not when you deserved far more tender care and romantic settings. Not a hard bed that had gone unused for years in a room with next to nothing but bare walls.
A ragged groan tore from his chest, his vision going white for a second and his hand (thankfully not the one still on your back) gripping the sheets so tightly it was a miracle they didn't tear. Your warmth enveloped him, slick walls squeezing as though trying to pull him further in.
With a deep arch of your back and a push of your hips, you'd pressed back and impaled yourself on his cock, half of it now buried inside you. Every nerve in his body had been set aflame by your boldness.
Beneath him, you were sniffling and writhing but not pulling away. No, when Varka tried to pull back and let you breathe, you simply followed him while babbling out pleas for him to stay.
Varka swore under his breath, body rigid and unmoving, when he felt you clench down tighter, your body quivering as you desperately fucked yourself open on him.
You were begging for him. Begging for release. Begging for him. Not because he had asked you to. It sounded like it came so naturally.
The last of Varka's restraint snapped, what kind of knight would he be to ignore your sweet cries for help.
A beastly sound rumbled in his chest as he pushed himself up for better leverage, one hand fisting in your hair while the other went to your hip to steady your smaller form.
His hips snapped forward with enough force for the massive bedframe to creak in protest. It was drowned out by your cries of his name. Varka set a relentless pace as he gave you exactly what you'd begged for.
It wasn't until you went limp that Varka pushed in to the hilt, all resistance from your body gone.
With his stamina, muscles honed through years of battle, Varka had no doubt that he could continue for hours, the symphony of skin smacking against skin sweeter than any bard's song. But for the sake of you, and in the name of chivalry, he would only continue a little longer before allowing himself release.
Then he could clean and coddle you later, as you deserved.
synopsis: your best friend's older brother finally added you on instagram. what's a little harm in flirting with him through instagram notes?
inspired by the ig notes au trend on tiktok!
a/n: been highkey wanting to make one of these aus for a while and it took fucking foreverrrr also guys I'm in my flop era so if this flops again I might quit writing <3
The thought loops through your head while you polish the same glass for the hundredth time, thumbing the rim ātil it squeaks under cloth.
Right about now, you wouldāve been on a date. Somewhere all candlelit and romantic ā if it werenāt for your fuckass boyfriend cheating two weeks ago and running off with all his belongings and an airfryer he probably valued more than your relationship.
And now, here you are, lamenting alone behind the bar on Valentineās night. With nothing to look forward to but the end of your shift and a one-on-one with a markedly morose and deeply unromantic dildo.
Who the fuck was Valentine, anyway? What did he ever do to better society?
You exhale heavy and turn to the ivory-haired customer draped over the bar counter. His arm swings flaccidly, the other tambourining long fingers along the side of his glass. Heās been nursing the drink for hours now ā leaving you with the impression youāve forsaken your time to be an emotional support bartender for a grown man who canāt process rejection. You may riot if he doesnāt tip well.
You glance at his tab.
Virgin.
Everything heās ordered has been virgin.
Virgin, like.. no alcohol. None. Nada. No rum, no vodka, no whiskey no brandy no gin ā not even a disrespectful splash of tequila. And yet here he is, collapsed over himself like a victorian widow.
āYouu,ā he slurs, voice low, āare glowing, ma'am.ā
Your lips twitch.
He lifts his head slow, fluffy hair falling into bright blue eyes. Gaze dragging up to yours as if inebriated, although you both know heās as sober as can be (you wonder, briefly, if heās drunk on his own despondency).
Perhaps if you met under less pathetic circumstances, you wouldāve thought him attractive. But itās difficult to view him as anything other than half-melting mozzarella.
āThank you,ā you muse.
āYouāre welcome.ā
His mouth curves into a slow, crooked smile. He leans closer ā close enough that you can see that glazed film over his eyes.
You muster a concerned smile.
āYouāre acting awfully intoxicated, Mr..ā ā you check the name on his tab for good measure ā ā..Satoru. For someone thatās only ordered virgin cocktails.ā
He shivers at the way your lips purse around the vowels of his name. Offers a bashful grin.
āWell, yes. I felt virgin would be fitting.ā
And, just as you expected, he launches into a riveting tale about his troubles with women. How he clams up and can never seem to say the right thing. Begins to feel awkward in his own bones when he finally gets to āthe bedroom part of the relationshipā. You nod along absentmindedly, wondering how much cash he has stashed away in that wallet ā and if itās a lot, what percentage of it heād give to you the longer you listened.
āRight. And so you see, Iām drinking away my ladyless sorrows for tonight. I figured people here would at least be, uh.. normal about the..ā he gulps. Looks down at his drink, around the bar to every person who couldnāt give a fuck what he was doing, then at his hands. āwallowing, so to speak.ā
āHarrowing story.ā
āYou get it,ā he says, mournful. āYou see.ā
āI see a man whoās about to be cut off from his third cranberry juice.ā
He groans. His gaze drifts back up to you, lingering on the curve of your lips.
ā..ah. Youāre so hot.ā
Then he coughs abruptly ā once. Twice. Doubles down.
āSorryā shit. I know this is so rude, but, uh.. if I were your boyfriend, Iād eat you out like my life depended on it. Haha, ha..ā
You stiffen.
His words are sweet, sure. A little raunchy. Youāve had worse said to you across this counter, from markedly worse guys than Satoru appears to be. But something about it hits wrong, anyway. Less in the vulgarity and more in the reminder of two weeks and an airfryer ago. Of a broke ass hoe who wouldnāt go down on you and a dildo bigger than said hoeās dick in your drawer.
Your jaw tightens. He watches you with sparkling eyes.
And then you smile, resting your arm on the counter and your cheek in your hand. ā..yeah?ā
āYeeeeahh.ā
āāā
Satoruās head is between your thighs before you even fully process how the two of you ended up in the staff bathroom in the first place. Door locked, lights dimmed down to the shitty single bulb that flickers every time someone walks down the hallway outside. Your skirtās shoved up around your hips, one leg hooked over his shoulder, and heās on his knees.
Itās nice to have a man beneath you, for once.
āSorry,ā he murmurs, thumbing at the cotton of your panties with his pupils blown out wide. Spreading your slick until the fabric is damp. āMāsorry, shiiit, baby.. was real eager, wasnāt I? Just.. fuck, you smell goodāā
You suck in a breath when he presses an open-mouthed kiss against the damp cotton. Gentle, like heās asking for permission.
āYouāre wet,ā he breathes. āYou, is thatā thatās ācause of me, yeah..?ā
You card your fingers through his hair, unsure of whether to shove him closer or yank him back to see the wanton roll of his eyes.
āKeep talking like that and maybe,ā you tease.
He lets out a shaky laugh that devolves into a whine when you tug lightly. Fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties at last, dragging down so achingly slow you suspect heās doing it on purpose. To your knees, then lower, over your ankle until theyāre dangling off the other. And then, instead of tossing the soaked garment aside, he brings it to his nose and inhales.
āSmells so good,ā he whispers. Half lidded eyes fluttering up to meet yours before he flushes. āShit, thatās creepy, isnāt it? I just.. fuck, just been thinking ābout this for the last four hours. Was trying my best not to stare at your ass like a perv. Not that I wouldnāt wanna stare at your ass, I mean. Iām sorry. I am a pervertā uh. Shit.ā
āYouāre holding my underwear to your face.ā
āYeah,ā he smiles, helpless. Then stashes your panties away in his back pocket. āRight. Your pussy needs some love too.ā
Your brow twitches. You open your mouth to retort, but all that comes out is a strangled whimper as he spreads your legs. Kitten licking along your inner thigh, reaching your cunt with a happy little hum before spreading your folds with two thumbs. Breathing so close you can feel it.
He stays there for a moment, staring. Silent. Then speaks up, voice hoarse.
āPretty.ā
You jolt, eyes darting to his ā wide, mouth open and watering as he continues. āIā you, uhh..ā
Ah, this is what he was talking about. Clamming up.
āMe?ā
āMhm. Can I..?ā
You snort, foot moving to his hard-on. Stepping oh-so lightly. āStop begging and put your mouth on me, Satoru.ā
He lets out a broken little sound ā half-moan, half-sob ā and obliges.
Itās strange how your boyfriend used to cringe at the thought of flicking your clit, and yet a random man you met a few hours ago can stick his whole tongue up your cunt. And enjoy it. Flattening the appendage and licking a long, greedy stripe all the way up to your clit and back.Ā
You shift, trying to adjust, and Satoru whines. Chases after you, big hands gripping your ass and forcing you down against him, nose pressed against your skin like he wants to suffocate himself there.
āFuuuuuck,ā he slurs against your folds, āfuckā sweet, so fucking sweetā hello, babyāā
Heās babbling like he has been the whole night, murmuring sweet nothings to the flutter of your cunt. Every drag of his tongue is accompanied by some pathetic, muffled apology. Or praise. Or both.
āShouldāve asked sooner.. god, your clitās so swollen. Can I suck it? Please, can Iā fuck, thank you, yesāā
He seals his lips around it and sucks. Gentle, at first ā then harder when your thighs tighten around his face. Tongue flicking fast little swirls when he suckles, messy and eager, spit and slick dripping down his chin.
Your hips jerk, and his eyes roll back with the most pornographic moan youāve ever heard come out of a man's mouth.
āDo that again,ā he pleads, wrecked. āGrind on my face. Please. Use me, I want you to use meā wanted to be here all night, fuck, would stay till morning if you let me, pretty girl.ā
You do grind down ā harder than you mean to ā and he whines. But doesnāt pull away. Just opens his mouth wider, tongue pushing inside you. Fucking in and out in sloppy little thrusts while his nose bumps your clit on every pass.
Heās loud. Obscenely so. Slurping and moaning and panting against you like heās the one getting head, hips twitching uselessly as the bulge in his slacks strains. Dark spot blooming at the tip. And yet he doesnāt even try to touch himself, all his focus dedicated to the area between your thighs.
āGonnaā hah, gonna make you cum,ā he gasps, pulling back just long enough to breathe. Lips swollen and shiny, face a flushed mess. āOn my tongue. Wanna feel it.. taste it. Iāve been good, right? Been good for you?ā
He doesnāt wait for an answer. Just buries his face right back in, sucking your clit while two fingers slide inside you, curling immediately.
Heās shaking.
You realize with a jolt that heās trembling all over. Like he might cum in his pants just from having his mouth on you.
Your orgasm rolls into you in waves as he moans brokenly into your cunt, tongueing you through every pulse, every flutter, drinking down everything you give him like he needs it to survive. And he doesnāt stop until youāre shoving his head back, cunt aching with sensitivity as heās pried off with a wet gasp.
His lips are parted, panting, eyes glassy and unfocused. Thereās a smear of your slick running from his jaw down his neck.
Ruined.
And Satoruās smiling. Shy, stupidly fond.
ā..thank you,ā he whispers, hoarse. āThanks for letting me, uh.. Iād do that again. Right now. Or whenever. Iām yoursā I mean, could I.. number..?āā
You cut him off by dragging him up by the collar, kissing the taste of yourself off his tongue. Smiling when he melts into it instantly, warm hands hovering just shy of your waist as if asking for permission. āOkay.ā
When you pull back, he takes a moment to breathe. Presses his forehead against yours, eyes unfocused.
āI came.ā
āWhat?ā
He flushes. You follow his gaze down to the wet spot in his slacks.
You're a clumsy, messy, pushing thirty single woman who always gets herself tangled with weird men. There's always a bottle of wine in your fridge and a pack of cigarettā damn it, you were supposed to quit! So how is it possible that still, somehow, you have two of the most successful men in a country completely enamoured by you?
pairings: Nanami Kento x Reader (x Gojo Satoru)
content/warnings: Bridget Jones AU, fluff and eventual smut, mainly fluff tho, Nanami is sooo Mark Darcy coded, mini series, all of them are around thirties/in thirties, Gojo is a playboy, romcom vibes
a/n: here we're going back to the movie accuracy, although I changed some dialogues of course :)
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āāā 003. Dear diary, this fuckass lawyer stood me up! ąØą§
"You must be joking," Satoru tried to joke, rumpling between his fingers a white sheet of paper.
With big, fancy, almost medieval-like manuscript letters. The first "R" bended in reddish circles, swirling like the dragon's tale, and the rest ā"esignation letter" ā written quickly on your thigh in overcrowded metro. You didn't have time to make it fancy too, and from what you had seen, medieval manuscripts usually bolded out only the first letter.
Anyways.
You also had the standard, boring, printed copy, but the decision to change the jobs was too important not to make it fancy.
"Sugar, I'm not accepting it," Satoru sighed, sliding the document away on his desk.
You sat right in front of him on a plush chair ā professional, straightened up, with a coffee stain on a white (very professional!) shirt, looking like a high-schooler being scolded by a headmaster. You groaned, taking the other (less funny) letter from the bag and sliding it towards Satoru again. He didn't even look at it before crumbling with one hand and throwing to the trash can.
"Hey!" came louder than you thought, bringing the attention of few people in the office. "Now you need to accept the medieval one."
"No, sugar, it doesn't matter which one it is ā I'm not accepting your resignation letter. At all."
"You cannot not accept it. It's against the HR rules," you scoffed. "And I found a new job, starting on Monday."
"Well," Satoru stood up from his leather chair and rounded the desk, before sitting down at its edge, right in front of you. Hands in pockets of loose trousers, glass-covered eyes looking down at your stupidly scrubbed-up figure. "I don't fucking care about HR, you're not resigning. And you should give at least six months notice."
"You can talk about it with my lawyer," you mumbled, standing up slowly.
Big hand rested on your shoulder before he pushed you back on the chair.
If it wasn't a job-resignation meeting, you would probably think about the way Satoru's forearm bulged with muscles the moment he pushed you back down.
But you didn't think of it, as you were currently a very, very busy and professional woman.
"Your lawyer? Why the fuck would I talk with your lawyer, sugar?" He tsked, seemingly quite irritated with your decision. "Listen, if this is about that Fridayā"
You scoffed, throwing his hand off your shoulder. "It's not. I need to change something in my life."
"And this change is getting rid of me and your well-paid job?"
Well, he wasn't wrong. You did want to change jobs for a while, with a push-and-pull relationship with him being one of the many reasons. Another one was a too-long commute and a clear waste of your gossiping talents, which could be used in a much more mouthy-friendly environment.
Satoru looked rather crushed, with arms crossed on a wide chest and furrowed forehead, as if trying to think of ways to change your mind. But there was truly nothing that could do it, because Satoru was nothing more than a fling and a playboy, who at the age of thirty still much preferred chasing skirts to finding himself a proper woman. In his age.
Your feet moved, wanting to stand up, but he quickly stopped you. Warm hands wrapped around yours as he placed them on his chest.
"I..." he started, looking almost maddened. Like Heathcliff, after digging up Catherine's body and hugging it yearningly (yes, you've finally read the book). "I need to tell you something, sugar. And it's going to cost me a lot of courage to do it, so please listen to me."
You looked around, seeing that the glass walls of his office were now ogled by curious glances of your coworkers.
"What are you doing?" came out in a whisper, while you tried to keep a polite smile.
"It may be too sudden, but..." he sighed, lifting up your hand and pushing it against his trembling lips.
Oh, for fucks sake, he should go into acting with such perfectly polished dickhead moves. Because you knew where those teary eyes and fakely concerned gaze were going to.
"Satoru, I swear to God, if you plan to sayā"
"I love you, sugar," of course. "I know you can think I'm nothing but a rake, but... I'm just a hurt and lost man. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you. You know, my parents neverā"
You gasped, with rage filling your whole body from the pads of fingers up to hair roots. "Did you just quote a fucking Mr Darcy?"
He smiled. "You like Pride and Prejudice, right?"
You couldn't listen to it anymore. To the fable sold by hundreds of thousands of men to their girlfriends, after they cheated on them with a blonde hairdresser from next door, because they felt lost.
The "I am the problem, not you" thingy mixed with "If you gave me a bit more attention, I would need to sink my cock into someone else's cunt" cries, you've heard multiple times from your previous arse boyfriends.
Satoru wasn't even your boyfriend, and yet ā you couldn't help yourself from scoffing and smacking his hand off.
"I'd slap you, but you could enjoy it too much," you murmured, finally standing up.
His I'm-too-broke-to-pay-child support demeanour quickly flattened, and a sly grin once again lifted up his lips. "Didn't work? It usually does. I would go down on my knees, but the environment is rather unfriendly, don't you think?" When you didn't laugh, he once again tried to recall a serious face. "Listen, I'm really sorry. But I really do like you andā"
Before he could finish, a quiet knock filled his office, and a young secretary shyly walked in.
"Mr Gojo?" she said, glancing at the small distance between you two with a furrow. "The model you wanted to invite for dinner said thatā" she quickly shut up, seeing his widening eyes and your slowly falling mouth.
He whispered something, with lips curving in shut up or maybe not now please, but she still stood there like a dumb lamb.
You looked at him, at her, then back at him and back at her, as if trying to comprehend what she was just trying to say.
Oh, this bloody wanker!
"Ah, ah!" Satoru cracked an awkward laugh, waving a hand. He tried to ignore your raised eyebrows and a little shake of the head. "Darling, what model? I'm sorry, but I'm in the middle of an important talk. Could you please come later?"
Young secretary bit down on lower lip, feeling even more awkward. "But, Mr Gojo, you told me to invite the model from the publishers' party and reserve a hotel, isn't that right? Iā"
"Okay, I'm done," you murmured, placing the sheet of medieval-scripted resignation letter on his desk.
Prying eyes of coworkers glanced your way with gasps, following Satoru's scoff and his secretary's sweating forehead. Poor girl thought she was at fault!
You squeezed between her and the doors, adding a little note about how inappropriately low her neckline was, to which she reacted with a flush, before going towards the elevator.
Satoru buried face in his hands and took a deep sigh. "Fuck, wait!"
Long legs quickly caught up while you were waiting for the elevator to finally come up. Out of all the days, why must it have been late today?
Your finger pushed the creamy button with a desperate click, but Satoru was already there. Tall and pathetic, with an actual glimmer of misery coiling behind the rimless glasses.
"Listen, you were one of my best workers, and I really think that finishing our cooperation on a bad note is not appropriate. I promise to be on my best behaviour, but please, reconsider this," he rambled. "If you feel overlooked, I think we can change a few things, right? This job has many good prospects for someone like... you."
The elevator arrived and opened with a gentle sound of a bell. You stepped inside before turning towards him. He stood in place, with a foot tapping nervously on the office's ugly carpet, and lower lip dragged between his teeth.
Other coworkers glanced at you secretly, as if watching the forbidden love story of a princess and her peasant boy. Are you going to betray yourself and run away to die of bubonic plague at the age of thirty, or choose to marry a cold prince, but live for at least two years longer (depending on how often you would shower)?
"Well, thank you, my dear. That's quite good to know that I was such an important employee for whatever the fuck you were doing here. But frankly speaking, if working here would mean staring at your face for eight hours a day, I would rather be hired to whip Donald Trump's ass."
And when the metal doors closed, you took a deep breath.
After all these years, you were finally free of your wanker boss!
ąØą§ ąØą§ ąØą§
Your new job was... something.
Firstly, getting inside the TV studio was not that easy, even with a signed contract shown to guards and multiple attempts to convince them that yes, you are working here, yes it is your first day, no you still don't have a pass.
You were twenty minutes late on your first day and everything because of some stupid plastic pass, which seemingly needed to be used to each and every room in this place.
Including the bathroom.
Working as a presenter on popular telly wasn't something you could imagine yourself in, but apparently, directors were charmed by your humour and intelligence during the recruitment (they cared about the latest gossip on the British Monarchy more than about the Middle East, as it seemed).
Soon started to love your boss and a team made of twenty-something-year-old people, who threw daggers at you for always pushing the best ideas out there. Working in media meant being pushed towards the older section of your coworkers, always hanging out with a forty-something boss and the HR secretaries. Youngsters from your team saw you as an experienced, unavailable, older woman, although you still had at least half a year to thirty birthday and were closer in age to them than the rest of the team.
The job itself was fun, always full of surprises, with you and the cameraman walking around the town and fulfilling the stupidest wishes of your boss. He was an eccentric, with too many ideas and not enough time, seeing you like a golden goose who was always up and ready to present the most foolish concepts of his.
"Come on, people, let's do the brainstorm," he would say during the Monday meetings, with all the team trying to come up with the program for the next week. "I'm thinking, why are lanky men attractive to goths? I'm thinking, young people having sex in cemeteries. I'm thinking, what are the secrets of playboys?"
Oh, the last one would be a perfect case if you could only interview Gojo Satoru. And you probably could but wouldn't do it, considering that your farewell wasn't the nicest one and happened mainly because of his playboy tendencies.
"Maybe we can talk about why women are attracted to firefighters?" you offered casually, but your boss quickly turned your way.
"Are they?" he asked, glancing at each and every woman sitting in the room.
All of them nodded, as if surprised by the question alone.
"Of course, who isn't?" one girl murmured, chewing on her pen.
"It's like a strip show, but for women," someone else added, and you wanted to say that there is an actual strip show for women called Magic Mike (you still couldn't get those damn tickets), but decided to shut up.
It was one of the few chances to bond with your younger coworkers, and you just couldn't miss it.
Your boss clasped, with a leery smile crossing his face. "Amazing, brilliant, spectacular! Does anyone know any hot firefighters?"
There was a long pause, with a few shaking heads.
"Um," you coughed, raising up a hand. "Actually, I know."
And when a wave of jealous groans rolled through the room, you knew that bonding had just ended.
So that's how it was going. Back and forth, between the studio and the streets ā doing interviews, sliding down the firefighter's pool, and accidentally hitting a cameraman with your ass, trying to talk to young drug addicts and not getting jabbed by a dirty needle. That was your job.
Anyways, the work itself was going great, although you couldn't say the same thing about the love life. Thank god your mother was always on the tip of her toes, trying to play a matchmaker and push you towards theā
"Nanami Kento invites you to his parents' ruby wedding," she chirped, calling your line on Sunday morning.
You groaned, trying to dig out the not-yet-dried buggers from your eyes. "Good morning to you, too, Mom. Although I didn't get any message about the invitation."
"Yeah, well, his mother has told me to tell you that he wants you to accompany him," liar. "I've heard you met him a while ago? During a party? How was it?"
You yawned, turning on the other side and closing your eyes for another few minutes. It was 8 a.m. on Sunday, for Christ's sake!
"Great, we talked. That's it," I also barfed on his slacks and forced him to haul me up those fuckass stairs, but you didn't mention it. Wasn't that crucial.
Your mother sighed on the other side, covering a microphone (you were surprised she knew where it was and didn't accidentally hang up), to say something to your father. A few whispers were exchanged before her chirping once again hit your ear.
"That's wonderful, darling. He's such a charming man, I told you. More than happy to have your company during the weddingā"
"I'm not going," you mumbled, trying to close eyes for at least another five minutes.
The air creeping between the loose window seals was biting cold, making you curl under the downy bedding like a baby.
"Come on, darling, let's not start," she reprimanded, as if you were thirteen again. "He's really happy to see you again, and the party should be amazing. Come and have fun," before you could refuse once again, she quickly added. "Well, I need to go, but text Kento that you would love to join him."
And then she hung up.
Ugh, this woman!
It took you a while, however, to muster up a courage and reply to Kento's invitation.
Firstly ā because you weren't sure whether he really invited you or it was just your mother's matchmaking attempt to force you to text him.
Secondly ā the barf thing was still vivid.
Thirdly ā there was no reason for you to go, as you weren't anyone important for either him or his parents.
Fourthly ā the wedding was on Saturday, so you would have to miss the new episodes of the Endless Love and Love in the Air, which were a thousand-episode Turkish melodramas you've watched with an older neighbour in flat five.
A groan slipped in when you opened the messages, with his nickname displayed ominously on the upper strip. Your mother has sent you his number after the unfortunate New Year's meeting, so since then he's been saved as an Arse 2. Arse 1 was reserved for Satoru.
I regret to inform you....
Dear Kento, unfortunately I...
Devastated as I am, I sincerely apologize for...
There aren't words that can describe the distress this miss feels upon being unable to accept Mr Kento's invitation...
It wasn't the eighteenth century anymore, so you deleted the message and threw the phone on the night table.
Thoughts of that night started to flood your mind again, reminding you of Kento's furrowed brows and his deep sigh. Hazelnut eyes were glued to the vomit on his slacks āĀ which by the way also left a huge stain on your carpet ā as if looking at them long enough could force them to disappear. You remember murmuring some apologies, but the champagne made your head spin and knock you out right away.
It was an utterly embarrassing, shameful, absolutely mortifying experience, stripping you of any chance for the future shag with Nanami Kento (not that you wanted... really).
You took the phone, once again opening the messages.
Mr Kento, thanks for the invitation, it is with great pleasure that I shall accept...
Oh for christ's sake.
Hi Kento, thank you for the invitation! I would love to join you at your parent's rubby wedding :)
Hm, not bad.
As long as he'll interpret the smiley as a symbol of actual joy rather than an ominous sign (that was its second meaning, according to your young coworkers).
ąØą§ ąØą§ ąØą§
Two weeks later, after the oh so bombastic set of work events, related to you getting embarrassed twice on national TV, but also earning "the funniest presenter" award ā according to some gossip magazine ā one of the most horrendous evenings of your life has finally started.
At 4 p.m. sharp, with you and your parents arriving at Nanami's ruby wedding and coming inside the heavily decorated villa.
It was still quite cold outside, so all the guests gathered in the living room, which was at least twice the size of your attic apartment. The gentle gleam of lights and candles bathed it in warmth, and you noticed Kento right away. Near the fireplace, wearing another three-piece, but this time in deep, ocean blue, with an ugly, yellow tie hanging between the muscular pecks (oh, it must've been ovulation talking).
He didn't reply to your message for two weeks straight, and now hazelnut eyes dared to glance your way with a furrow, as if he truly didn't expect you to be here.
You were all greeted by the serving staff, offering a glass of champagne and piles of little snacks, with your favourite small sandwiches lying on a tray. The guests looked like taken from a tsar's era ballroom, with furs and glimmer and heavy dresses brushing the deep red carpet of Kento's home.
Everything was beautiful, mesmerising. Leaving you and your father with open mouths, as you both shyly hid in the corner, trying to avoid the awkward small talk.
"A bit showy, isn't it?" he murmured, sipping slowly on a champagne.
You nodded, trying everything in your mighty power to not look towards the Kento and a pretty brunette he was talking to.
Bubbles trickled down your throat, eyes narrowed, seeing the woman's hand squeezing his biceps gently, before the living room was filled with her sweet laughter.
Oh, for Christ's sake, of course she had one of the most beautiful laughs you've ever heard!
Kento, however, stood as stony as always, with tightly drawn eyebrows and a flat smile. He didn't seem uncomfortable, but also not quite relaxed, looking at her in a rather casual, maybe even bored manner, with warm eyes darting every few seconds towards... oh.
"The salmon sandwich is rather good, you should try it," your father mumbled, munching on his fourth one. "They must've spent a fortune on a salmon of this quality, I tell ya!"
You turned his way with flushed cheeks, trying to hide them from Kento's prying eyes. "Dad, what are you talking about? You hate salmon."
"No darling, I hate when I need to buy it. Have you seen the recent prices? Dearest!"
You stood in the corner for a while, munching, chatting and guessing which lady had real fur and which not, doing a mental ranking of all the guests that had arrived for the celebration.
Kento was trying to amuse them all, greeting, talking, laughing (sounded rather fake), but seemingly looking rather tired. You could only guess that organising the whole party drained his soul.
After half an hour of standing in the corner, your mother has finally graced you both with her presence, throwing daggers and your wet fingers trying to dig an olive from the bottom of the martini.
"Why arenāt you talking to Kento, dearest?" rolled in anger, before she turned towards your father. "And you! Stuffing yourself full rather than trying to find a husband for your loser daughter!" Ouch. "Go to him right this second," she smacked your shoulder, before pushing you towards the man.
But you couldnāt do it. Not like that, with all the people staring at your face and wet fingers gripping the green olive.
The music played quietly in the background, shushing your motherās voice enough to not let everyone know that you were an almost thirty-year-old walking tragedy, scaring each and every male within a ten-meter radius.
You excused yourself to your mother and walked out of the living room under the pretext of finding the loo. But instead, you quickly turned towards the garden and went outside, plopping down on the wooden bench hidden between theā¦ for fuckās sake, is that a Christmas tree?
"It is," a deep voice rolled through the air, before someone sat right next to you.
Someone, meaning none else than Kento.
His thigh brushed yours, and the heavy smell of cologne coiled your senses with a warm fragrance of the fireplace and wood. He smelled like those wooden cottages hidden deeply in the woods, where rich people liked to go on short trips. The expensive ones, with a week costing a third of your salary.
You sat in silence for a while, with him staring somewhere beyond the tall trees and you chewing on the inside of your cheek.
"Listenā"
"You knowā"
Both of you started, but he quickly gestured your way. "You first."
"Thank you. I, well, I wanted to thank you for the invitation and also apologise for the previous night," you mumbled, fiddling with your fingers. "I might've drunk too much."
He snorted, leaning his arm on the bench's back. "I didn't invite you, my mother did."
Oh...
Oh!
So, so embarrassing!
Of course, he didn't invite you. Why would he? A girl who not only always made herself a fool, but also ruined a precious, blooming feeling that sprouted between you two on thatā
"But I'm happy you're here. Didn't expect you to actually come," he quickly added, looking at the changing expressions on your face. A deathly pale, slowly changing into a flush, then whiteness again, as if you went through a thousand different emotions during the last five seconds.
"You are?" came out almost whispered, with your eyes darting his way shyly. "But what do you mean, didn't expect? I texted you."
Hazelnut eyes creased in confusion, and blonde hair tilted on the side. "I'm quite sure you didn't."
Hm?
"No, I did. Sent you a message two weeks ago, but you didn't reply."
Kento looked genuinely confused, quickly taking out his phone and sliding a long finger through the messages. "No darling, you didn't. I don't have anything."
He must be joking!
You also pulled the phone out, going frantically through the messages, andā
Oh well.
You, in fact, did not send the message, seeing the written text still sitting warmly as a draft.
Bugger!
You coughed awkwardly, hiding the phone back in your pocket and looking back at Kento.
"Well?" he asked, not even trying to hide the mischievous smile. "What happened to the message?"
A soft tsk slipped through, with another wave of flush washing over your cheeks. "Nothing. It's still there."
"There?"
"Yes, in my phone. I'll send it after the party, pretending that you were the one who invited me. Like a true gentleman and not mama's boy."
Kento smiled even wider, with a laugh bubbling in his throat.
Why, suddenly, it was so easy to make him laugh? Did he hit his head or something?
"I wanted to text you, but don't have your number," he stated, once again taking his phone out. "Maybeā"
You scoffed, rolling your eyes at his pathetic attempt to wangle out your number. "If you wanted to invite me, should ask your mother."
Kento didn't get discouraged, with a phone still gripped between his fingers and screen glimmering with an "add new contact".
"I preferred to ask you in person ā like a gentleman."
"You could do it weeks ago."
"I wanted to, but you were dead drunk, and I'd rather focus on keeping you in a recovery position so you wouldn't choke on your vomit."
You groaned, hiding your face between hands.
Oh god, it couldn't get worse!
"I'm so sorry," you muttered, not daring to look at him. "Please just, leave me. Let me freeze to death here. Why do I always have to make a fool of myself!"
He didn't say anything, but soon something warm covered your shoulders and a heavy hand landed on your back. It circled small waves on a frozen skin, as if trying to boost your blood circulation. When you glanced up, you noticed a lack of a dark blue jacket that was previously sitting tightly around his back. A smell of fireplace hit your nose even harder, with a big material wrapping you like a baby.
"You're not a fool. Well, you are a bit bizarre, I must say, but..." he stopped, looking down at your embarrassed face with warmth. "I quite like you."
Oh.
Something sudden, intense, bloomed inside your chest, spreading all over the body. A spark, a flame... a parasite? Maybe you've eaten too much of those salmon sandwiches.
"You like me?" popped out in disbelief. "In like a dating kind of way?"
"Yes, darling. Like dating kind of way. Like me asking you on a date way, meeting tomorrow at six p.m. way, wearing a suitā"
"When you say it too often, it's not funny anymore," you mumbled, and he only laughed. "But tomorrow is Sunday."
His warm hand still circled your back, and the woody scent made your head spin.
In a good way. The kinda orgasmic way. The foreplay way.
"Adults can't go on Sunday dates?" his head tilted.
"It's not that, but... after Sunday is Monday," you said, and he nodded, as if truly trying to understand where you were going. "So Sunday is basically an introduction to Monday. You know, the worst day of the week. On Sunday, you cannot do anything but contemplate how horrible Monday will be and prepare yourself for the worst," he looked as if already regretting the invitation. "What I mean is, you cannot enjoy Sundayā"
"I'll be there at six," he interrupted warmly, tucking the lost strand of hair behind your ear. "I'll try to fix your weird habit of not being able to enjoy Sundays."
And then he went back inside, leaving you with his sexy-smelling jacket and sharp pang in heart.
ąØą§ ąØą§ ąØą§
So the next day, you were in a complete panic.
Nanami Kento was coming over to pick you up in half an hour, but your hair was still a mess, and half of the wardrobe was lying on the bedroom carpet. You planned to wear jeans, but he mentioned something about a suit (who the fuck wears a suit for a first date!), so jeans turned out to be a big no-no.
It must've been something posh, but your only posh dress was nicely folded in a dirty laundry basket, and it smelled too horrendously to wear it again (you've checked).
At five thirty, you finally decided to go with a simple, long skirt and a turtleneck. It was giving an Oxford smartie, with slightly curled hair and brownish tights, ending with elegant, leather shoes.
It was sexy but casual. Smart and cute. Not quite posh, but pushing you towards the mysterious librarian.
At five forty you had an everything shower (just in case), and it took much longer than you expected.
Oh no, it was already five fifty-five! And your hair was still wet!
You very much hoped that Kento would be late, as you didn't want him to see you in a disgraceful outfit made of a towel and wet hair.
At six, your hairdryer was still on a full blow, tossing your hair in little tangles.
Thank god he still wasn't here.
At six ten, your hair and make-up were quite well done, but the brownish tights got ripped when you pulled them too quickly. Oh well, the long skirt would need to do its job.
At six twenty, you stood ready and perfumed, with a black leather bag gripped in one hand and a phone in another. Weird, he was late, but you didn't get any message.
But then you remembered that yesterday you had quite forgotten to give him your number. For Christ's sake, he wooed you with those warm eyes and handsome face, before you could even put your number in.
Six thirty ā still not here, although you went downstairs twice.
Six forty ā you opened the diary with fury, almost ripping the pages out.
Six fifty ā one last chance, before you'll slander his soul and decide to curse for eternity.
Seven p.m.
Pen touched the yellow paper.
I hate, hate, HATE, this fuckass lawyer! No wonder his beautiful wife left him! Asshole, bastard, a fuckwit! And he did it on SUNDAY ! ! !
Hihi, hope you liked it! The next chapter will be the last and yes, we'll get a bit of a smut!
Your family sets you up with potential husbandsā¦.. rich, influential JJK menā¦ for a business marriage. You try to scare them off by acting weird but it backfiresā¦ and now you have 4 men obsessed with you.
Pairings : Yandere JJK men x Reader
Ft. Gojo, Sukuna,Toji, Nanami
A/n: MDNI, 18+, I've decided not to include Geto Suguruš. I'm sorry cuties
Part 1 - part 2 part 3
Your mother has this particular way of smiling when she's about to ruin your life. It's not malicious per se. She loves you, in her own way. She also happens to see you as an asset that's been sitting on the shelf too long, depreciating while your cousins pop out heirs after heirs
āWeāve found some potential matches for you,ā your mother said over breakfast on a random fucking Tuesday āYour father and I think itās time you settled down.ā
The coffee you were drinking nearly comes out your nose, which wouldāve been unfortunate because you were wearing white and also because aspirating liquids hurts like a bitch.
āAbsolutely the fuck not.ā
Your mother didn't even blink. Sheād perfected selective hearing around the same time youād discovered the word āfuckā could be used as a noun, verb, adjective, and general life philosophy.
āFour young men from very good familiesā¦ā
"We're not in the Bridgeton, mother. Arranged marriages aren'tā¦ā
"Business marriages," your mother corrected, sipping her tea "The Kang family did it last year. Their daughter is very happy in Singapore now."
"The Kang daughter cries on Instagram Live every other Tuesday." You stared at her
"She has a Birkin collection. Tears dry, sweetheart. Leather lasts." She stareed back
āMother, I canātā¦ā
Your father finally lowered his newspaper āThen weāll need to reconsider your position at the company. And your living arrangements.ā
Ah. There it was. The threat wrapped up in a neat little bow .
Agree to this circus, or lose your cushy job (where you mostly online shopped). And your apartment (paid for by your parents)
You wanted to tell them to shove their arranged meetings up theirā¦.
But you also really, really likedhaving money. And not having to eat instant ramen for every meal. And your bathtub. Youāve gotten very attached to that bathtub.
So you smiled āOf course. When do I start?ā
Your motherās face lit up āWonderful! Weāll have the files sent over.ā
Files.
They had FILES on these men.
Nothing says true love quite like a background check and a financial statement.
ā
Four names: Satoru Gojo, Toji Fushiguro, Ryomen Sukuna, Nanami Kento
Four strangers
Fuck that.
If they wanted you to do this, fine. But nobody said you had to make it easy. Theyād be begging their mothers to call the whole thing off by weekās end.
And thatās where your brilliant, genius, absolutely foolproof plan came in.
(It's going to blow up in your face spectacularly, but you don't know that yet.)
The files arrived the next morning. You spread the folders across your kitchen counter like you were planning a heist instead of four dates.
Dates. Meetings. Whatever.
ā
Folder 1
FUSHIGURO TOJI, 28
His photo looked like a mugshot.
Okay, it wasnāt actually a mugshot, byt he had that vibe.Scar on his lip. Expression that said āIād rather be literally anywhere else and also fuck you.ā
Technically the heir to a massive Zenin equity firm.
Technically. Because apparently Toji was the family disappointment. Estranged from his relatives, only showed up when he needed money. Multiple failed business ventures. A reputation for being a fuck up who lived off his family name while giving them middle fingers in return.
Ah. A broke rich boy.
His social media accounts existed but were barely used. Most photos were him tagged by other people at bars, looking annoyed. One photo of him at what looked like an underground fight club.
Wait.
You zoomed in.
Was that blood on his shirt?
Jesus Christ.
Day 1 - Toji Fushiguro Tuesday, Hotel Bar, Shinjuku
Operation: Bimbo infiltration
Strategy: āThink born yesterdayā
Toji shows up at the restaurant looking like he'd rather be literally anywhere else. Hes only here because his family threatened to cut off his credit cards.
He doesnt give a shit about marriage or alliances or any of this corporate dynasty bullshit. He likes money. Thatās it.
He's not even trying to hide itā¦ slouched in his chair, jacket thrown carelessly over the back, phone out on the table. He barely looks up when you approach.
Perfect. This should be easy.
āOhmygod, hi!ā You chirp āYou must be Tojiā
And then you trip over absolutely nothing on your way to the table, catching yourself on the edge with a little yelp.
"Oops!!! Iām such a dum dum,ā you giggle, batting your eyelashes.
He raises an eyebrow. "You okay?"
"Fine, fineā You wave your hand and somehow knock over the water glass in the process. Ice and water spill across the table, dripping onto his lap.
"Fuckā¦ "
"Oh my god, I'm SO sorryā You grab a napkin and start dabbing at his pants, which puts you in very close proximity to his crotch. "I'm such a mess, I can't believe I did thatā¦.ā
He grabs your wrist, stopping you. "It's fine. Justā¦ sit down."
You sit, face arranged into earnest distress.
"I'm really sorry. I'm just so nervous. These meetings make me all jittery and I get butterfingers and then I do stupid stuff andā¦ā You take a breath. "Sorry. I'm rambling. I do that when I'm nervous. Ramble, I mean. Just talk and talk andā¦.ā
"Got it.ā He cuts you off āYou're nervous." He takes a long sigh then and looong sip of his drink.
"Super nervous. You're really intimidating, you know?ā You laugh, too loud. "But I'm sure you're really nice underneath, right? Like a, um, a cinnamon roll. Tough on the outside, soft on the inside?"
He stares at you.
āOr not.. That's okay too. Not everyone's a cinnamon roll. Some people are just, um, bread. Regular bread. Which is also good!!! Bread is great."
"Are you done?ā He finally snaps
"No. I mean yes. Im sorry." You bury your face in your hands. "I'm so bad at this. I don't know why my parents thought I could do this, I can barely order coffee without messing it upā¦ "
The waiter appears. You manage to mispronounce three items on the menu before Toji takes over and orders for both of you.
"Thanks," you smile brightly "I'm not good at fancy words. All those French names, you know?"
"It's Italian."
"Ohh, silly meā You laugh again.
Toji pinches the bridge of his nose.
The hour continues like this. You rambleā¦. while Toji's expression shifts gradually from bored to annoyed to something approaching existential despair.
By the time you finally stand to leave (knocking your purse off the bar in the process), he looks like he's genuinely considering faking his own death to avoid a second meeting.
"This was so fun" you smile brightly, gathering your scattered belongings. "We should totally do it again.
He grunts and it might be the sound of his soul leaving his body.
One down
Folder 2
Nanami Kento, 26
Oh.
He lookedā¦ normal? Everything about him screamed āresponsible adult.ā
Investment banker. Impeccable reputationā¦ and they really emphasized IMPECCABLE in the file.
No scandals. No messy breakups. No public relationships at all.
Every article described him as āthe perfect gentlemanā with 3 Pās ā¦ Punctual. Professional. Polite.
He was too perfect. Suspiciously perfect.
Day 2 - Nanami Kento Wednesday, French Restaurant, Roppongi
Operation : Make the Gentleman Squirm
You're five minutes late on purpose.
Nanami is already seated, of courseā¦ in his perfectly tailored suit, checking his watch with a small furrow between his brows.
"Mr Nanami, I apologize for the delay," you say sweetly, sliding into your seat.
"It's fine." His tone suggests it is very much not fine. "Traffic, I assume."
"Something like that." You lean forward on your elbows, knowing exactly what that does to your cleavage. āYou're even more handsome in person."
Those hazel eyes meet yours, then quicklyā¦ very quicklyā¦ drop to the menu. āThank you."
"I mean it." You let your eyes drag down his body, slow and obvious. "That suit fits you really well. Custom, right? Must do wonders for your shoulders."
A faint flush creeps up his neck.
Gotcha.
"I... yes. It's custom."
"I bet you work out." You tilt your head. "You look like you work out. What's your routine? No, waitā¦ let me guess. You're a morning gym guy. Up at five type ."
"Five thirty, actually."
"Close enough." You grin "I'm more of a 'stay in bed until the last possible second' type myself. We're practically opposites.ā
He clears his throat. "Perhaps we could order?"
You order something lightā¦ you're not really hungryā¦ and spend the entire time making unnecessary eye contact with Nanami.
"I read that you've never had a serious relationship. Is that true?" You ask
He stiffens. "I've been... focused on my career."
"Mmm." You lean closer. "So you're not really experienced then. With women." You trace the rim of your wine glass with one finger.
His eyes follow your finger. Then snap back to your face. āI wouldn't sayā¦.ā
"It's okay." You reach across the table and pat his hand. Let your fingers brush. "I can work with that. I have lots of experience."
His hand jerks back like "That's... very forward of you."
"Is it?" You bat your eyelashes.
The flush has spread to his ears now.
You spend the rest of the date making increasingly suggestive comments.
The food arrives. You eat slowly, making a show of enjoying every bite. At one point you let out a small soundā¦ and watch Nanami's knuckles go white around his fork.
He sets his fork down. Picks up his water. Takes a very long sip.
By the time the check arrivesā¦ he pays, of course, because he's āpoliteāā¦ Nanami Kento looks like he's been through a war.
"Call me." You wink. ā I had fun.ā
You left him standing there, looking like he needed a cold shower and possibly a priest.
Two down.
Folder 3
Ryomen Sukuna, 29
His photo wasā¦ intimidating.
Tattoos visible even in what was clearly a professional headshotā¦ which, props to whoever convinced him to sit for that. Expression that suggested he was mentally planning your murder.
CEO of a luxury hotel chain with international reach.
Also: multiple arrests.
Three assault charges, all dropped. One arson investigation, dismissed. Suspected ties to organized crime, never proven. The Itadori family's lawyers are apparently worth every yen, because this man should be in prison, not on a dating profile.
You switched to social media. His accounts were private, but fan accounts existed. FAN ACCOUNTS. For a CEO with anger issues??
Rich and dangerous. Probably bored of women throwing themselves at him.
Day 3 - Sukuna Ryomen Thursday, Private Members' Club
Operation: Gold Digger
You walk in wearing every piece of designer clothing you own. Dress with the Dior label clearly visible.
Sukuna makes no move to stand or pull out your chair when you arrive.
āHi!ā You slide into the seat across from him, dropping your designer bag on the table with a heavy thunk. ā Sorry I'm lateā
He nods onceā¦ crimson eyes dragging over your outfit with absolutely zero expression.
Not impressed. Not disgusted. Justā¦ nothing.
āThis place is so fancy. Is it expensive? It looks expensive." You lean forward, smiling brightly.
āYes.ā his expression doesn't change
Okay. Man of few words. You can work with this.
Silence.
The kind of silence that would make most people uncomfortable.
You push through it.
"So," you continue, "I looked you up. Your family is like, really rich, right? What's that like?"
His eyebrow raises slowly. Like he couldnāt believe youād just asked that. āIs that relevant?"
"Well, yeah." You laugh "I mean, that's why we're here, isn't it? To see if we're a good match? And I think lifestyle compatibility is super important."
Something that might have been disbelief crosses his face.
You flag down a waiter and order the most expensive thing on the menu.
"I love nice things," you explain. "and I can always tell quality when I see it. You can't really put a price on quality, you know? This dress, for exampleā¦ā You point at the dress āā¦.twenty eight thousand yen. Pre season Dior. I have a personal shopper who gets me things before they hit the regular collections.ā
The waiter returns with the champagne. You make him pour you a glass and immediately hold it up to the light, examining it critically.
"This is the '98, right? Not the '02? Because I can tell the difference."
You absolutely cannot tell the difference. You bought your last bottle of wine from a convenience store.
"You're quiteā¦.. direct," he says finallyā¦. watching you with an expression that's impossible to read. Disgust? Annoyance? Homicidal intent? All three?
Three words this time! Progress.
"I just believe in honesty." You take a sip of champagne. "I know what I bring to a relationship, and I know what I expect in return. Fair trade, right?"
"And what do you bring?" Sukuna asks, and you can't tell if hes genuinely curious or just morbidly fascinated by your audacity.
You gesture to yourself again, "Isn't it obvious?"
Sukuna picks up his wine glass and drinks half of it in one go. He spoke maybe twenty words total throughout the entire meal.
By the end, he looked ready to flip the table.
"This was fun," you say brightly as you leave. "We should do it again sometime. Maybe somewhere with better champagne?"
He just stares at you like you're an alien species.
āIāll wait for your messageā You give him a little wave. āCiao!ā
Three down
Folder 4
Gojo Satoru, 27
āOh fuck offā The photo alone made you want to throw your wine at the wall. Gorgeous didnāt even cover it. He looked like someone had designed him specifically to make women stupid.
You kept reading, already annoyed.
Heir to Gojo Enterprises. Worth billions with a B.
There were photos. So many photos.
Gojo at charity galas with models. Gojo at clubs with actresses. Gojo at a beach in Monaco with someone who was definitely an Instagram influencer.ā¦. always with beautiful women who looked like theyād never eaten carbs.
Rich, bored, and fucking everything that moves.
You grabbed your laptop and did what any sane person would doā¦ went full stalker mode on social media.
His Instagram was a goldmine of red flags. The comments were even better.
āMarry meā
āI volunteer as tributeā
āHe can ruin my lifeā
Jesus Christ.
This man has probably seen more lingerie than a Victoria's Secret buyer.
A manwhore with a trust fund
Day 4 - Gojo Satoru Friday, the Peninsula Hotel
Youre going to vomit.
Not from nervesā¦ well, maybe partly from nerves, but mainly because youāve stress eaten an entire sleeve of crackers in the Uber.
Also, your shapewear was cutting off circulation to your legs.
Why did you wear shapewear under a modest funeral dress? What were you even shaping? The outfit is practically a potato sack.
Too late now.
You're dressed like you're going to a funeral. Or church. Or a funeral at a church. Currently clutching a small cross pendant you borrowed from your grandmother's jewellery box.
You push open the doorā¦ which is heavier than it looks and you nearly face plant, great startā¦ and immediately spot him.
Gojo Satoru is impossible to miss. Jesus fucking Christ, those eyes.
He's scrolling on his phone, completely at ease, probably sexting three different women right now.
He looks up when you walk in and smiles
Oh no.
"You must be my future wife," he says, and his voice is warm honey poured over gravel. "I have to say, the photos didn't do you justice."
Don't react. Don't react. You're a good Christian woman who doesn't react to sinful men.
You arrange your face into something you hope reads as "scandalized."
"Thank you for taking the time to meet with me," you say, voice soft and earnest like you're greeting a pastor.
āOf course.ā He pulls out your chairā¦ gentleman points, you supposeā¦ and gestures. āPlease.ā
You sit, immediately folding your hands in your lap like you were at a prayer meeting.
He settles back into his chair, still smiling. That smile hasnāt faltered once. Is it surgically attached to his face?
āCan I get you anything?ā he asks. āCoffee? Tea?ā
āJust water, please.ā You smile sweetly.
The waiter brings water. You thank him quietly, taking small, delicate sips like you were in a Victorian novel.
Gojo leans back, completely comfortable. āSo, I have to admitā¦ I was curious when my parents mentioned this meeting.ā
āOh?ā
āYeah.ā That smile somehow got wider. āThey said you wereā¦ different from the usual arrangements.ā
Different. That could mean anything.
āDifferent how?ā you ask, tilting your head innocently.
āJust different.ā His eyes are doing that sparkly thing. Is he always this sparkly? Its unsettling. āBut Iām already intrigued.ā
Oh, he was intrigued now.
Just wait.
āThatās very kind of you,ā you say, voice still sweet and soft. āI should probably mention something upfront, though.ā
āOh?ā
āYes. Mr Gojoā You fold your hands more carefully, sitting up straighter
"Satoru, please." He sits back down, legs crossed, "Mr Gojo is my father. And he's an asshole, so."
You don't laugh. "I believe in traditional values."
"Oh?" his smile flickers
You pull out your phone and show him your lockscreenā¦ a stock photo of a church you found on Google last night. "I actually volunteer with my local congregation here. We do purity workshops for young women."
"Purity... workshops?"
"Mmhm. Teaching them to save themselves for their future husbands." You tilt your head. "Do you go to church, Mr Gojo?"
āNo.ā
Just flat out āno.ā Not even trying to soften it.
āOh.ā You bit your lip, looking concerned. āThatāsā¦ we might need to work on that. I could help you.ā
āAnd I should mentionā you add, voice dropping to a more serious tone ā We should have a chaperone for our dates until weāre engaged.ā
āA chaperone? Why?ā
āJust to avoid temptation!!!! Once weāre engaged we can spend more supervised time together.ā
Gojo drained his entire coffee in one long gulp.
The server came by to check on you. Gojo looked at them like they were a life raft. āActually, could I get another coffee? Double shot.ā
Every time Gojo tries to steer the conversation toward something normalā¦hobbies, work, interestsā¦. you bring it back to your values.
By the time youre finished, Gojo looks like heās aged five years.
āIāll be praying about this,ā you add brightly. āAbout whether God is calling us together. Iāll let you know what He reveals to me.ā
āRight. God. Sure.ā
āHave a blessed eveningā You give him your sweetest smile and leave him standing there, probably questioning every decision that has led to this moment.
All down
ā
Now you just had to wait for them to reject you.
The week that follows is blissfully silent. No calls. No texts. Youāve done it. Youāve successfully repelled four of the most eligible bachelors in the country through the sheer power of being a fucking nightmare.
You wake up on the eighth day, the morning sun streaming through your window, a victorious smirk on your face. You stretch, feeling lighter than you have in weeks.
The war is over
You reach for your phone on the nightstand to check the time.
And freeze.
Four notifications. Four messages. All received within minutes of each other, night.
Your heart plummets into your stomach. No. No, no, no.
With trembling fingers, you open them.
From: Gojo Satoruā¦ Round two, sweetheart? My place, Friday. Donāt worry, Iāll be on my best behavior.
From: Ryomen Sukuna Name your terms. Iām interested.
From: Nanami Kentoā¦ I would like to continue our discussion. Are you free Thursday evening at 7:00 PM?
From: Fushiguro Toji Hey. Youāre weird. Iām in.
You drop your phone on your face.
Fuck.
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