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lilac-5ky · 10 months

Note

Oh then! Can I request a scenario where Toji eavesdrops on a convo between Reader and Gojo (or whoever) where Reader confesses to having a crush on Toji?

Thank you so much!

Confessions of a Confection Thief (Toji x Teacher!Fem!Reader)

Plot: On a warm summer day, you confess your love for the man once known as the Sorcerer Killer to the man who, twelve years ago, spared his life. What you don't count on is the man in question listening in, nor the consequences of a mere lunch invitation.

Tags: au in which Gojo heals Toji's ass with reverse jujutsu and makes him his bitch, reader is megumi's teacher, parent/teacher relationship, age gap (reader early 30s, toji early 40s), character development!toji, soft!toji, confession, unprotected sex, oral sex (m. receiving), facial, doggy style, petnames (teach', sweetheart, baby, doll), MDNI (obviously)

A/N: You can tell I got inspired since this took me 9k words to develop that feature not only the confession, but the date and the "happy ever after" ehe. Hopefully this was worth the wait!

“Damn machine!” You grunt as you kick at the vending machine’s side, lamenting over the 1,000 yen bill you were just robbed of.

“Let me give it a try.” The man beside you suggests and you clear the stage for him to work his magic. His right hand lifts from his pocket, open fingers coaxing an entire bundle of sodas out without even making contact. What a show-off.

He gathers the cans off the ground and hands you the one that is your favorite, making you wait while he places the rest on top of the vendor for a lucky student to find.

“Isn’t that considered damaging school property?” You raise a brow, yanking the ring close to the tab with a pop.

“Is it?” He chuckles, bringing his refreshment to his lips. “It was already damaged when we got here. Ijichi’s gonna get an earful later.”

“I don’t think that falls under Ijichi’s responsibilities, Satoru. Cut him some slack already.”

“No harm in harassing your cute underclassmen from time to time, Y/N.” He smiles. “You should try it too.”

Right, you mutter under your breath, already regretting your decision to spill your heart’s contents on someone with such little regard for others. Shoko would’ve been a better choice. Utahime, too. You could wait until the weekend, get on the first bullet train to Kyoto, and have a girls’ night out like you used to before life and work got in the way. They’d surely talk you out of the horrible mistake you’re about to commit. Maybe that’s why you chose Satoru. He’s the only one who’d give you the final push down the cliff, and you don’t mind the fall.

“So what is it that you wanted to talk about?” He brings you back to the parching reality of Jujutsu Tech’s grounds, with the sun glinting across every metallic surface and body of water in the perimeter. The heatwave has only begun, and thankfully, the outburst of curses has finally simmered down, or else you’ve no idea how you’d survive abandoned building-hopping with those three rascals.

You take a sip from your soda, the taste of honeydew melon cooling your throat like the sweetest form of redemption. You struggle not to gulp it all down in one go, eyeing the remainder of drinks that have vanished in the horizon—or rather, you have, your steps leading you toward a path of tori gates that itself leads to the school’s Inari shrine. This should be safe. No one comes around these places.

“I have a confession to make.”

Satoru stops in his tracks, awaiting a follow-up that doesn’t come. His sunglasses come off, and a knowing smile slowly creeps up his lips. “I know.”

“Y-You do?” You blink in surprise. What does he know? How does he know? Since when does he know? “Satoru—”

“You’re the one who ate the last Manzu.”

And he couldn’t be any more off the mark.

You sigh. “That’s not it.”

“It’s not? Huh.” He wipes his mouth with the back of his palm after chugging his strawberry-flavored soda. “Guess I’ll have to ask Ijichi about that too.”

“Please don’t torment him for useless things.” You cast your gaze to your feet, kicking a pebble as you speak. “What I want to confess is… my feelings.”

The cicadas come to a stop, leaving space for your words to take root. You are hesitant to move forward, cautiously treading on the shells of emotions you recently began to accept. Almost there, you encourage yourself as Satoru invades your personal space, cornering you against the red gate’s pillar.

“Finally decided to profess your love for me?”

You shove his smug face away and roll your eyes at the notion. “Dream on, Shit-toru.”

He takes a step back, acting as if you just delivered a fatal blow to his heart. You chuckle at his childish antics while shaking your head in disapproval. To think the future of the entire Jujutsu world rests on the shoulders of a conceited guy who makes everything about him.

“Then who’s the lucky guy?”

Your anxiety resumes before it has the chance to fully dissipate. You close your eyes and lean back against the pillar, the familiar name on your tongue feeling foreign. “It’s… Fushiguro.”

“Fushiguro?” You nod. You understand it’s a lot to take in and give him a moment to process it, yet the longer he takes to answer, the more tempted you are to say this was a joke and call things off. “Don’t you think there’s a bit of an age gap?”

“I mean… I suppose there is.” You sound defeated. If even Satoru saw this as an issue, then there’s no reason he wouldn’t. “You think it’s that bad?”

“Bad?” His lips twitch. “The heart wants what it wants, Y/N. Give it a few years, and the difference won’t matter.”

“You think I have a chance?”

“Oh, definitely! I saw Yuji move some of his American-star posters into his room last week, and he didn’t throw any away. Jennifer Lawrence ‘s your age, right?”

Your memory is put to the test as you go through various Jennifers. Is she the one from Friends or the one married to Ben Affleck?

“I think she’s older by a few years.”

“Older?” He snorts. “Well, if it makes you feel younger, then who am I to argue?”

You decide to let his comment slide for the sake of picking on the dissonance in his words. “But what does a Hollywood actress have to do with this? And Itadori—what are you talking about?”

“Y/N, you should get to know him a bit better before confessing, don’t you think?” Satoru says, as he finds your beloved pebble and tosses it in your direction. You catch it with your heel. “The kind of woman he likes; his best friend; the ages of top-paid actors. These things shape up a guy’s adolescence. They’re as crucial.”

By the time he finishes talking, all the puzzle pieces fall into place, and you have to mentally control every joint in your body to prevent it from lashing at him with fury second only to the Curse King’s. Even by Satoru’s dubious standards, this is plain outrageous.

“Are you outta your mind?” You yell, pushing your hair off your sweaty forehead with both palms. “How could you—why would you—what do you take me for?” You fail to put your thoughts in order until you suck in a deep breath. “I would never crush on any of my students, or any other minor, for that matter!” You declare.

Thin white eyebrows furrow in genuine confusion. “But you said—”

“Fushiguro! The man I’m in love with is Fushiguro Toji!”

And not a single soul is left on campus who hasn’t heard your confession, no matter how far and wide or close you think they are scattered.

Toji’s never set foot on these damned grounds without cursing to himself as if the paths his shoes traverse are paved with nothing but shit. Even after all these years, something about marching through the front door just doesn’t feel right. It’s not hatred, that’s for sure. He’s spent more than two-thirds of his life cultivating his loathing for sorcerers to the point where he can tell it apart by taste alone.

No, what’s tainting his palate right now and will continue doing so in the days to come is more akin to chagrin than resentment. It’s failure. A failure that’s branded onto the bare skin of his torso and that he can’t pawn off for as long as he stands, because if a fate worse than death exists, then that’s surviving on a snotty brat’s pity.

Wiping some of his sweat and plenty of his regrets against his pants, Toji remembers his reason for being here has nothing to do with Six-Eyes or his past shortcomings, as he’s here to share the news of his divorce papers finalization with the only person he’s keen on letting know: you.

A decade has passed since he last heard from his wife—his ex-wife who had no qualms about leaving everything behind (her daughter included) and ran back to her parents, never to be seen or heard from again until a hotshot big firm lawyer showed up at his doorstep with a bunch of papers and a platinum-coated Montblanc in hand.

And with that, another overdue chapter was closed, the rest of the pages flipping through the wind. By the end of summer, the goalkeeper in his relationship with his son will be heading off to college, and with Tsumiki gone, Megumi decided he’d grown old enough to slam the door on his face and choose that faux albino sorcerer over his own blood.

It was that very rebellion that roused Toji to reevaluate his lifestyle. He stopped counting the years after the candle with the number 4 became prominent in each birthday cake, but that didn’t stop time from moving forward. He was aging. And while one-night stands do a decent enough job to distract him from searching his scalp for graying hair, the nights he catches himself wishing his bed could stay warm the morning after add up.

None of the silly little girls he fools around with are capable of that, not the way you are. Since that first PT meeting he begrudgingly attended two months ago, a rusty cog in his heart began turning again.

You don’t match any of his previous criteria. You don’t come from a wealthy family and aren’t an airhead either. You live in the dorms because you can’t afford rent in the city, and you are smart enough to have graduated from a big university. You are one of them, but you’re also proof that not all beauty was lost with her.

Toji doesn’t want to screw this up. Just once, he wants to do things right. He waited until he was a free man in the eyes of the law, wore his good jeans on a day when wearing jeans should be considered a criminal offense, and kept enough cash to afford however many side dishes you ordered—assuming you accepted his lunch invitation in the first place.

The jittery, four-eyed guy he ran into on his way to your class pointed him in the direction of the school’s shrine. After a while of wandering around, Toji spots two sets of imprints in the soil, the smaller ones belonging to your heels and the larger ones undoubtedly being that brat’s. Luck isn’t on his side today. His stride overlaps with Gojo’s as he childishly covers the younger man’s tracks, leaving yours intact, and eventually, the sound of clamor confirms his lead.

He strays off the pebbled path and mingles with the shadows of the dense forest, scoffing as Gojo’s shit-eating grin becomes apparent. That beanpole’s standing way too close to you. Toji almost intervenes when you finally push him. A kick to the nuts would do him better, but that’s enough for a tiny smile to rise on his scar. That’s my girl.

There’s no reason to stay hidden anymore. After all, that brat is already aware of his presence. He takes a few steps forward, turning into a pillar of salt at your sudden outburst.

“The man I’m in love with is Fushiguro Toji!”

His hand nearly reaches inside his back pocket to double-check the name on his ID. Looks like some of his luck returned to him. Asking you out just got a whole lot easier.

“Fushiguro Toji?” Gojo twists a finger in his ear. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

Toji hisses, his fist itching to knock some teeth off his face. That ought to jog his memory, but he holds back, realizing that’s all part of Six-Eyes’ plan. To egg him on into a brawl he can’t win.

“He wiped the floor with your face only a few years back, Satoru.” You sound as irritated as he is. “How could you possibly forget?”

The man folds his arms over his chest, sparing a glare in Toji’s direction as he reclines against the tori gate. “Was it at the arcades? Man, no need to rub it in.”

Your lips part, but no sound comes out. You sigh, hogging the unoccupied pillar with no intention to play his game.

“What about Megumi’s old man won you over?” Gojo gives in. “His kart skills?”

“So you do remember, after all.” You murmur in a low voice. “I don’t know. He’s just… nice.”

“Nice?” Gojo asks with utter disgust painted on his face.

Nice?

You nod, fumbling with the hem of your navy-blue dress. “Hey, Satoru. You know what makes for a good parent?” You don’t let either of them consider their answers. “It’s effort. Not success, but effort. Mister Fushiguro hasn’t missed any of his son’s PT meetings, even when the two of them are clearly at odds.”

Toji feels too guilty to step in and correct you that his priority is to see you. Not that Megumi doesn’t matter, but what’s the point of hearing his son excels in everything he never could for the nth time in a month?

“And?”

You glance at the clear sky. “And you remember those forms Yaga gave us for the kids to fill out? Nobara said her dream was to buy out Daikanyama. You can guess what Yuji’s was. As for Megumi, he left his blank, and when I asked him later, he said that he doesn’t have time for dreams; that his goal is to repay his dad the money he lost from the Naobito deal, so he owes him nothing.”

The two men blink in surprise. “Didn’t think he knew about that.”

“You aren’t exactly a quiet speaker, Satoru.” You shrug. “Point is, he doesn’t know. Neither of them do. Megumi doesn’t know his father attends his PT meetings, and Mister Fushiguro doesn’t know about his son’s dream. Isn’t it funny? They both care about each other but are too awkward to admit it.”

“And you call me twisted.” Gojo yawns. “You wanna act like a bridge between them? Is that it?”

You shake your head. “I wouldn’t want to interfere. Megumi placed his trust in me as his teacher when he disclosed that, and Mister Fushiguro… We are nothing to each other.”

Yet, Toji mentally added.

“You might think it’s crazy, but I think Mister Fushiguro’s heart is full of raw emotion he can’t put in order on his own. He’s not taught how to, and I… I think I could help him out with that; be someone he can direct those feelings to. No, I—” You shake your head again, except this time you do so with a little smile of conviction tugging at your lips. “I want to be that person. I want to be his person.”

Gojo doesn’t say anything for a good while, and you end up nearly as flustered as Toji himself. “Of course there are plenty of other things I like about him! He is funny, charming, has his own house,” your voice drops in volume, “he is very attractive, and we have the same taste in seafood.”

“Sounds to me like you’ve got it all figured out.” Gojo let his hand drop after fixing his sunglasses over his nose bridge. “But you should know, Fushiguro, or rather Zen’in Toji, is a lot more than that. He’s killed more sorcerers in his prime than most curses combined. Not sayin’ that to be a buzz kill, but you should be careful around him, or else,” his tone drops a menacing octave as he peers over his shades, “I’ll have to terminate that relationship myself.

“You get it, right?” He switched back to his usual voice with a lighthearted chuckle. “Wouldn’t want to lose another precious friend.”

Silence reigns between you, and that’s Toji’s cue to walk up. He’s heard enough. The few fallen leaves rustle under his weight, caution thrown to the wind as tiny twigs crunch below his sandals. He’s close enough for you to tell someone’s coming, but not close enough to tell that someone is him.

“Got nothin’ better to do than gossip about others, Six-Eyes?” Toji paces in the middle of you two, his eyes flickering in your direction. He has to brace himself not to smile at how red your face has gotten, his resolve giving way to a suggestive smirk. “Teach’.”

“Mister Fushiguro.” Your smile is shaky, but there. Always there for him.

“Yo, it’s been a long time!” Gojo springs forward. “Came for a rematch?” His hand travels up his neck, rolling his shoulder blades one at a time. “Could use the exercise.”

“I’m done fighting kids.” Toji deadpans.

“Is that so?” Gojo scratches the back of his head. “Your hands must be full with all that jell-o they feed you at retirement house,” he chuckled at his own joke. “What then? Remembered to pay the med bills twelve years later?”

“Satoru!” You object.

“Only if you remembered to hand the Star Vessel cash back.”

“Mister Fushiguro!”

“Money belongs to Amanai,” Gojo raises his volume. “I don’t think she’d want you to have it.”

“Really? ‘Cause last time I checked, corpses don’t talk.” Toji grits his teeth and unwillingly finds himself at the end of your right palm, the other one prompting Gojo to maintain his distance.

Your eyes are round, but the look behind them firm. The same look you assume when you reprimand your students, he bets. His gaze is drawn to your fingers, small and slender as they graze his shirt. You’ve never been so close to him before. If it weren’t for the walking parasite to his left, he might’ve been enjoying the proximity.

Perhaps for the first time in his life, Toji is the one to back away first, clearing his throat with a soundless cough. His eyes remain on Gojo’s while he speaks. “I’m here to take her out.” He stops and considers adding “to lunch”, previous occupation and all, but deems that should be obvious enough.

“You got time?” His tone softens, still bearing hints of the annoyance he failed to submerge.

A single finger pad skims over his chest as you withdraw your hand, slower than you did the other. So cute. He promises to give you plenty of opportunities to touch him later.

“I have an afternoon class, but Satoru can cover for me.” You smile sweetly at Toji and click your heel down on Gojo’s foot. “Right, Satoru?”

He’s inclined to agree, his face lightening up behind his shades. “As long as you agree to grade my papers for the next three months.”

“I’m already stuck grading the papers from when you went to Hiroshima,” you mumble under your breath, your nose scrunching in an expression that’s new to Toji. “Fine.”

“Mister Fushiguro?” You turn to him.

Toji shoots Gojo a stunted glare before his large palm finds its place in the small of your back, prodding you to move forward.

On the way to the car you find yourself making small talk about the weather, and on the way to the restaurant, your getaway is Megumi’s recent success in domain creation. This isn’t the first time you’re alone with him, but with every mile you count away from school grounds, you shrink into an ever-growing bundle of nerves that threatens to unravel on his passenger seat.

You’re in the middle of your third recounting of the kids’ excursion in Saitama when a hand moves to your lap and muzzles your every thought.

“Don’t tell me you’re nervous, Teach’.” Toji says once you’re stopped at a red light.

He’s careful to keep his fingers over your dress, only his thumb looming over the bare skin of your knee. Your glance loses momentum as it travels from his knuckles to his wrist and then his elbow, reveling at the sight of muscles bulging underneath his rolled-up white shirt. You’re glad half of his attention remains on the steering wheel, because if you got to see the other side of his lopsided smile, then you might say something that’s unbecoming of an educator—and you almost do, after his hand drops to the gear stick.

“I don’t normally do these things, Mister Fushiguro.” You admit, preserving some of his leftover warmth with your own palm.

“Hmm? What things?”

“Going on dates with parents—it’s a first for me.”

“Oh? So that’s what this is?” He chuckles lowly, as if the notion were new to him. Other than the few visible wrinkles around his eyes, you wouldn’t guess this man was roughly ten years your senior. “You can relax. Got a long way before the main course, sweetheart.”

Embarrassment flares up in your cheeks at the pet name. You can’t remember the last time you were asked out, let alone called something of that volume. You don’t mind it. If anything, you like the ring.

“Ah, and do me a favor, won’t ya?” His head cocks to the side, tousled black strands falling forward. “Quit callin’ me that.”

“Calling you what?”

“Mister Fushiguro.” He grimaces. “It’s ex mister Fushiguro now.”

“What?” You exclaim with more excitement than you’re entitled to.

It doesn’t go unnoticed. “Check the compartment glove.”

You do as you’re told, discovering a bitten-off subway that’s wrapped around at least four layers of napkins. His sloppy eating habits mustn’t be what he’s so eager for you to see. You nudge it to the side and dig out a few crane toys that are too adorable to be his, and then finally, a stack of creased official documents that you have to separate from the massage parlor flyers stuck between the pages.

You quickly go over the lines, the most notable by far being the words “Divorce Agreement” written in all capitals on the front page. “Is this…?”

He nods. “Got ‘em this morning. Thought you’d take proof over my word.”

“That’s amazing, Mister Fushig—” You bite your tongue. “Looks like you got to keep all your assets, too.”

“All, except that name.”

You remember pondering why, even though Toji was born into the main family, both he and his son left the Zen’in surname behind. Others would kill for a chance to be written in their family registry—but then again, it was just like the Zen’ins to keep clan matters private.

“You can call me Toji until I take on a new surname.” He continues, his voice reflecting his lax smile. “Am open to suggestions.”

You return it, piecing a non-existent strand of hair behind your ear. “Already proposing that I should marry you?”

“Better strike while the iron’s hot,” quietly adding, “figured that should give ya enough time to sort my shit out.”

“What was that?”

He grins as he cups your hand with his own. “We’re here.”

Toji’s restaurant of choice turns out to be a cozy little family restaurant by the park in Nerima. He asks if you’ve been there before, but you shake your head. Having no car means you rarely get to go around Tokyo without Ijichi, the kids, or Utahime whenever she decides to pull a surprise visit. You’re a tourist in your own town.

At this time of the day—neither appropriate for lunch nor for dinner—the tables are mostly empty, and you’re free to choose your own seats. He points at the bar, and you point at the window. He pulls your chair and then plops down on his own, chin quick to balance atop his wrist while he stares off at the greenery on the horizon.

You thought sitting closer to the window would be cooler, but the heat is reflected through the glass. You should have listened to him.

A waiter drops off your menus with a tired smile, patting some of the perspiration off his forehead with a napkin. “Sure is hot today, isn’t it?”

You nod politely and start browsing the list of appetizers. All those nights you spent bent over your tiny desk lamp pile up against you as your stomach lets out a low grumble—overjoyed to be presented with something that doesn’t require a microwave.

“You drink?” Toji waves the wine menu in your face.

“If the occasion calls for it.” Your reply paves the way for his next question. “I’d say a glass of champagne is due to celebrate your freedom.”

He flings the menu at the next table. “Don’t have that here. Maybe next time,” he says, and you almost stand in ovation at the prospect of there being a next time.

“You don’t want anything?”

“Not a drinker.” He doesn’t care to elaborate. You go back to scanning the pages, and you must’ve taken long enough for him to grab onto your menu. “I can recommend you some.”

Your stomach gurgles again, and this time he hears it. His stare lowers over your body, and you shift in your seat, offering him the menu to distract him from your issue. His bottom lip curls in amusement.

“The stake’s good here since their stuff’s from Kobe-hmm,” Toji pauses as he zeroes in on an item that he taps with his index. “The barbecue ribs are the real deal.”

His green orbs spin like pinball in his eyes while he flips through the pages, pointing out what’s good and what sucks, as those are the two main phrases he uses to describe the specialties. This is the most you’ve heard him speak in a row, and admittedly, you miss out on most of what he says taking in his mannerisms.

His surprisingly well-trimmed nails drum on the table when they aren’t shifting to a different page, while his cheek prop up his fist. He makes a habit out of licking his slanted scar at every nasal consonant, and there’s a slight drawl whenever he stumbles upon a foreign word, his thin brows furrowing in uncertainty. However, his most distinctive quirk of all remains the unintentional frown his lips shape; a trait shared with your young protege.

Toji might be a little rough around the edges, but still carries some of that boyish charm.

“So?” He slaps the menu shut.

You suck on your teeth, unable to remember a single specialty. “I’ll have what you’re having. You sound like you come here often.”

He gestures for the waiter to come over. “The kids dragged me here all the time. There’s a park here,” he points outside the window, as if that’s self-explanatory. The image of a little Megumi and a little Tsumiki tugging at their father’s pants to play hide-and-seek makes your heart swell.

The waiter arrives approximately a minute later, and Toji places your orders. You’re apparently having the aforementioned ribs, along with a beef bowl, some chashu, and a few standard vegetable dishes that, for some reason, should not contain any red bell peppers. He chose plenty, but he chose smart. None of these break the bank.

“Why not bell peppers?” You ask once the waiter goes off to fetch your water. Toji scratches his jaw as if he’s got no idea what you’re talking about, until the realization hits him on the head.

“Fuck, Megumi’s the one who hates ‘em.” He curses and motions for the waiter again when you catch his hand in mid-air and bring it down onto the table.

“I’m not a big fan either.”

Your eyes lock with his and slowly dart to where your hands meet, watching as his fingers decisively slip between your own. He forces your wrist to prop against the wood, your knuckles hugging, while he tests out what it feels like to be holding hands. Ever since the only woman he let himself cherish passed away, he’s avoided the slightest illusion of romance, and if you could peer into his brain, you’d see him contemplating how your hands are small like hers—how they’re soft like hers.

They’re just hands; he dismisses the stupid notion that hands can be anything beyond what they appear to be, and yet yours feel special to him. He looks back at what you told that asswipe and wonders if those shards you claimed to see could ever amount to love or if you’d be cut like all the others he purposely hurt. He wonders if you are dumb enough to love him. He wonders if he’s smart enough to love you.

“Here’s the seasoned spinach and the chilled tofu—” The waiter cuts in, and the table clatters after you fail to retrieve your hand. The man makes room for the plates and the glasses, standing there with an awestruck smile until Toji harshly orders him to “Scram”.

Another man with a lousy temper.

Metallic chopsticks replace your hand as Toji transfers about half of the spinach to his plate. “Man, I’m starving.” He declares and wastes no time to dig in.

You follow his lead and quickly forget all about his rudeness as your eyes well up at the euphoric taste that floods your taste buds—your insides sincerely thanking him for each bite that makes it down your throat.

The conversation dies down while you share the appetizers unevenly, with him discreetly claiming the last bites under the guise of asking you whether you’re going to eat that. You don’t mind. After all, he is paying, and he’s ordered enough for your belly to gain that five-month pregnancy bump without your stolen share.

However, when the main dishes arrive, he does the unexpected and takes on your plate first, separating the meat from the bones without your asking. It’s a clumsy way to compensate, but you can’t help but think it’s more of a reflex than a tactic, considering all the times he must’ve had the kids slide their plates his way. You thank him by dropping an extra three chunks of meat on his plate, which he gladly accepts—no returns.

The waiter who didn’t dare approach your table after delivering the ribs comes back with the dessert menus and picks up the dishes. You don’t fuss over your choices for long—Toji decides on chocolate chiffon cake and you on coffee jelly. It is then that you realize your impromptu date is coming to an end, and you haven’t asked him one question about himself.

“So what is it that you actually do?”

No sorcerer who hasn’t heard the name “Sorcerer Killer” exists, yet only a select few know the urban legend behind it has retired—a decisive factor in his deal with Satoru.

“You mean when your little friend ain’t tasking me with his dirty business?” Toji shrugs. “Stocks, mostly.”

“Stocks?” That’s not at all what you expected.

“Takes about five minutes of your time, and if ya get lucky, you’re settled for life. Rest is knowing how to read people and the market.”

Judging by the sound his car engine emits, he must be still waiting for his big break.

“Would you say you’re good at reading others?”

“The market? It depends. The people?” Toji smiles confidently. “Yes.”

“What’s your reading on me then?” You take the bite.

“Hmm.” He rubs his chin while sizing you up. “I bet you were one of those four-eyed nerds at school.” His serious tone makes you snort out loud. “Eighty percent of your experience comes from dating shows, and the other twenty from group dates with your gals. Y’are too damn trusting and find good even in rotten apples, but don’t mind losing a shoe if someone gets on your nerves.”

“Oh, really?” You snicker into your palm and shake your head once he asks you if he’s wrong. “I’d say eighty percent right?”

“Heh, told ya I’m good.”

The waiter interrupts you as he drops your dessert in the middle of the table. He apologizes and points at a few tables away, where a little girl is devouring the last piece of chocolate cake available. Toji huffs in annoyance, attempting to bewitch the cake from the girl’s plate with his glare alone.

“We can share if you want.” You offer him a spoon, which he begrudgingly accepts.

A few spoonfuls and half a dessert later, he points the spoon at the family behind you and asks if you want one. “Kids,” he specifies. “You like ‘em?”

You tap your spoon against your lips. “Would you believe me if I said I see them as walking-talking grading papers? Don’t get me wrong, I love my job and lucked out with our first years, but this was supposed to be a co-teaching gig before Satoru offloaded even the second years on my back.”

“Want me to teach that brat a lesson?” Toji flashes a grin.

“I think his confectionery going missing before he gets to try any is enough punishment.” You smile mischievously. “I can save you some. Wagashi or castella?”

“I’m beginnin’ to like you more by the minute.” He blurts out and perhaps it’s a slip of the tongue because you catch him cocking his eyebrows upward right after.

“I like you too.” You earnestly say. “God, I sound like a teenager.”

“Nah, pretty sure you’re my dream woman.” You both scoff in unison. “Now that’s lame.”

“Yeah, it was.” You hide your blush by pretending to search for the waiter. “Shall we get the check?”

“Thanks for driving me hom—well, back.” You give a little bow, having yet to unbuckle your seat belt.

“Don’t sweat it.” Toji leans against the steering wheel. He looks even more handsome in the late-afternoon light, the shadows that contour his face bringing out his defined jawline and jade eyes. You aren’t prepared to part with the sight. Not when you were just getting accustomed to it, but every word that follows leads to a quicker parting.

“I had fun today.” He nods.

“Let’s do it again sometime.” He nods again.

“I’ll be going now.” He is reluctant to, but nods a third time.

You open the door and step out of the vehicle, your waving turning into a grip as you tug the car door back open. A perplexed look wanes into a full-blown smirk when you ask him if he’d like to come in for a bit.

“Thought you’d never ask.”

Your desk chair looks comically small wobbling beneath Toji’s weight, a long arm draped over the backrest while he gawks at your crouching form, half your body—save for your backside—swallowed by the mini fridge. He hears a lot of rattling. The dorms are quiet after sundown, and with the expulsion of the third years, the sound of empty drawers being flipped inside out (just in case a minuscule bottle of Ramune has slipped between them) echoes throughout the east wing’s desolate floors.

You should’ve grabbed those soda cans when you still had the chance. You consider running outside, but in the unlikely event no one’s gotten to them first, you doubt they’re safe for consumption after boiling under the hot sun for hours on end.

“Damn, kid screwed this one up badly, huh?”

You glance over your shoulder at Toji, who’s going through the scattered papers on your desk, finding the one test Megumi flunked in his entire four-month career at Jujutsu Tech. You close the fridge and pad toward the desk, balancing against the edge to peer at the answer sheets in Toji’s hands.

“Everyone failed that test.” You trace a finger over the bright red 48 mark. “Megumi actually did better than most; rest scored below 20.”

“Of course he did.” Toji scoffs.

He leaves the papers on the desk and quirks a brow as he takes in your image. Your dress has lifted higher up your thighs now that you’re propped on the furniture, revealing a slit that his eyes discreetly follow to where his imagination needs to fill in the blanks. He’s not here to fuck you, he reminds himself. He’s here because you were kind enough to offer him a drink for giving you a lift, but your hands are notably empty.

“What happened to the drinks?” Toji forces himself to look you in the eye, supposing that your eyes existed on the same level as your tits—perfectly delineated under your dress’ square neckline. He hasn’t even kissed you, and he’s already picturing what your nipples would look like sucked between his lips.

He shouldn’t go there. He really isn’t here to fuck you.

“I… forgot to do my shopping this week,” you answer, oblivious to his lewd thoughts. “Sorry, I brought you up here for nothing.”

“It’s fine.” Toji glances at the wall clock. Time’s the greatest excuse. “I should go. It’s getting late.”

And he really thinks he’s made the right call, until your dangling foot pushes against his chest to prevent him from getting up—slowly traveling down his lap while his eyes travel up to your actual ones, picking on a glint he previously missed.

“It’s not right for me to let you leave empty-handed.” Your voice assumes a sultry intonation that contradicts your angelic smile. The spread of your legs widens to reveal a thin white strip that clashes with the dark blue of your dress. He feels a strain in his pants; his conviction is wearing thin. It’s more of a “maybe” now, if anything.

His hand slides from your ankle to your knee, rubbing rough circles that purposely stray away from your sensitive parts. “Whatcha offering, doll?” Toji rasps.

“How’s twenty percent of what you got wrong sound?” Your toes create friction as they curl against his crotch, swaying back and forth. He doesn’t answer. He expects you to go on. “I was a big-time nerd. Got in college with a fully covered scholarship and all.”

His breath hitches as he moves closer to your thighs. “Expected that much.”

“And I did go on a lot of group dates. The girls wanted to meet guys whose names didn’t start and end with Gojo Satoru.” Your heel presses firmly onto his length. He’s big. You can’t tell exactly how big, but you know it won’t take long to have his cock plugged in one of your holes.

“And you didn’t?” Toji asks, rolling the plush flesh in his fingers like play-dough.

“I valued my precious dating shows a lot more.” You feel the stretch of his lips as they lay on your inner thigh, peppering kisses until the lower half of his face disappears past the layers of your dress.

“Seems to me I read ya like an open book,” Toji inhales deeply, growling a low “Shiiit, Y/N” when his nose nudges your dripping cunt, his jade eyes flickering shut while you shiver. You’ve never heard him use your name before—all pretense of respect in the form of his little Teach’s drops the second you start to rut your pussy into his face.

Before his hands can slip into your underwear, you prod him back onto his chair and get off the desk. His glare fades as soon as he watches you kneel in front of him and rest both your elbows on both sides of his knees.

“Skipping dates doesn’t mean I missed out on the experience.” Your smile drips with honey while you palm him on the way to unzipping his jeans.

You tug them down, and his hips wiggle to accommodate you. It’s a lot tougher than you thought, with the tight fabric stubbornly adhering to every muscle of his bulky thighs until it recedes. His boxers come down with greater ease, and your hand finally wraps around his cock, feeling his girth out in your open fist.

“I told you at the restaurant, but I really like you.” You give his length a slow stroke that has him sucking his teeth. “I’ve liked you since the moment I saw you barge into my classroom. I like you so much I think I can love you.”

Toji bends forward and pinches your chin between his thumb and his forefinger, tilting your head until his lips find yours—soft when they fumble around and rough when they part for his tongue to sneak into your mouth. Your delicate fingers insist on pumping his cock as he cups your cheek, ending the kiss with a playful bite across your bottom lip.

“I know,” he grins. “Heard ya talkin’ to that brat earlier.”

You would be shying away if it weren’t for his cock throbbing in your grasp, his swollen tip flushed with the exact same shade of feverish red as your cheeks.

“Eavesdropping isn’t so nice, Toji.”

“I’m not so nice either, but you overlook that.” Toji throws his head back, holding onto his breath, while you drool all over his cock head—clear strings of saliva streaming down the veiny shaft. “Y’know what’d be nice, hah—having that nice little mouth of yours wrapped around me.” Your hand drops to his balls, pink lips eager to fulfill his wish, with your cheeks barely hollowing around the tight fit. “So fucking nice,” he hisses.

His filthy praises are muffled out by his groans, which grow both in volume and in pitch the more inches you manage in your throat, his raspiness fading into the breathiest of moans once your nose tingles his unkempt base. You let go with a plop, air returning to your lungs through heavy pants. Your fists take over instead, appearing beyond puny as they struggle to engulf his hefty girth. Toji’s by far the biggest you’ve had; another of his assets you’re elated to discover.

You steal a lick from the precum that’s glazing his tip and purse your lips together. It’s a bit strong in flavor, but you don’t mind. It’s his.

“I meant everything I said,” you beam. “I still think of you as nice.”

“You’re bound to milk some kindness out of me if ya keep goin’ sweetheart.” Toji jokes, taking hold of his cock. He starts jerking himself to the sight of you, and you may have all your clothes on, but the way you genuinely smile at him, lips glossy from spit, almost sends him over the edge. “You’re so pretty,” he mumbles. “Even thought you were pretty in that—ugh, what was it?”

“Tunic?” You ask, recounting your first meeting.

“Yeah, right. That ridiculous grandma’s tunic you flaunted.” Raven strands flap over his forehead. “Wanted to rip that right off your body and fuck you on the spot.”

His words send pleasurable tingles throughout your body, with the pool in your panties overflowing your thighs. “What stopped you?” Your lips attach to his balls, your wet tongue lapping around until it finds a spot that has him fisting his cock at a faster pace, the tip rhythmically smacking your forehead.

Toji fails to gather his thoughts; his mind is solely focused on chasing after his incoming release. You feel his balls tighten and back away, setting your palms flat against your lap—eyes marveling at how the man who kept you tossing and turning in an empty bed for months on end is about to spill his load all over your face. A man whom you, up until a few hours ago, dreaded would reject you.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he pants out. “Gonna make you even prettier. Gonna make you into my pretty girl—fuck, all mine.”

“All yours, Toji.” You repeat, lulling your tongue out. “Cum on my face, Toji. Please, gimme your cum.”

And it is that please that gets his cock to spurt his milky cum all over your lips and chin, with only a handful of his velvety ropes making it onto your tongue. He grunts, squeezing the final drops from the tip until it stops twitching. He wipes it clean against your lips and helps you to your feet, taking advantage of your imbalance to hold you by the waist.

“Is there something on my face?” You ask, seeing as Toji blatantly drills holes into your skull.

Heavy eyelashes flutter over his low-hooded eyes. A dark chuckle rings against your skin as his mouth presses against your jaw. “Aren’t ya cheeky?” He licks a portion of his cum off your chin and feeds it to your tongue, all nice and slow, in a heady kiss that brings your bodies closer to one another. Your cunt is still soaked, pulsing around nothing, and his cock is still rock-hard, throbbing against your stomach.

Holding turns into groping as Toji gives your ass a squeeze. “Better not fail Megumi from now on.”

Your teeth clash together as you break into a sudden cackle. “Someone might think you’re only doing this to secure his grades.”

“Among other reasons,” he states.

“Is this how you care for your son’s education?” You humor him. “By seducing his teacher?”

“Nah,” Toji pauses to tug at your dress’ strap. He’s going to have to unzip it if he wants to move things forward. “My kid’s plenty smart on his own. Besides, the teacher’s the one doin’ the seducing here.” He caresses your curves and smiles in triumph once he spots the zipper on the side. “Wouldn’t fuck ‘er if she’d let me go back to my car to jerk it like a responsible man would. Would’ve waited until the second date; buy her something good—you like flowers, right?”

You lift your arms for him to strip you. He leaves you to stand in your unmatched underwear, black lace on your tits, and white cotton around your hips. His tongue darts out, wetting his lower lip. “Is it too late to enroll?”

Your eyes perform a full circle. You almost shove his hands away from your bra when you realize it’s already off. He thumbs at your nipples with his palms cupped around your breasts, refusing to let an inch of your soft skin spill from his calloused, practiced fingers.

“I’m afraid you’re behind the rest of the class.” You go along with his game of role-play. “I’d have to give you private lessons.”

“Sign me up.”

Toji steps back to remove his shirt, undoing his buttons so quickly that you’re certain they’ll fly right off. He discards it on the floor, and you take stock of his physique, inevitably gaping at the jagged scars that span from below his left shoulder to the center of his torso. Your fingers carefully trail over them, as if the violence that caused them still lurks beneath.

So that’s what sustaining limitless leaves you with, you momentarily muse, before your sympathy dissolves into a quarter of a smile. You don’t want him to think you’re pitying him—because you aren’t. Both he and Satoru made their choices, and you refuse to be the judge of their decade-long feud.

His hands return to your waist, while yours meet behind his neck. You kiss again and again, the action of mouths stealing each other’s oxygen repeating until the edge of your desk digs into your lower back. His strong arms smother you like he’s never embraced another before; overwhelming you to the point where you’re moaning despite his cock not being in yet.

“Just so you know, this gonna be a regular thing.” Toji mutters, his green eyes confirming his sincerity in the way he pulls your thighs apart. He doesn’t think he’s never said that phrase before. It’s always the opposite.

He dips a hand into your panties, lathering his palm with your slick, and then strokes his dick. “Not ‘ere for the sex only.”

“You’re gonna stay over and buy me breakfast?” You entertain the idea.

“As long as convenience store Onigiri cuts it. A bit tight this month.” Toji leaves you some breathing space, kicking his pants off his ankles. “A’right. Turn around and arch that back for me.”

A wicked smirk rises on his scar as you face away from him. “I was hoping to fuck you on your little classroom desk, but this will do just fine. You can look back on it next time ya feel swamped with papers.”

“I won’t be able to get any work done!” You protest.

The aforementioned papers glue to your breasts when you prop yourself on your elbows. You glance over your shoulder, catching sight of Toji positioning himself between your legs. You feel him run his cock between your now-bare folds, your panties having dropped in a pool around your feet like tasteless anklets.

Toji kneads your ass with one hand, the other stroking himself along your clenching holes. “You can think of this as my confession.” He trails off as he drives his thick cock into your wet pussy, and he does it slowly enough for it not to hurt, but it’s him who ends up needing a good minute to adjust after he bottoms out.

He knows it’ll feel even better once he moves, but it already feels perfect as is. So warm; so tight; so good that he’s afraid he’ll lose composure and jackhammer into you until the desk legs break.

“Haven’t had such perfect pussy in ages.” Toji grunts, his nails digging sharp crescent moons into the fat of your ass.

He’s had his fair share of pretty girls with empty brains and tight cunts, but yours is something else. Yours, he wants it owned. He wants it to lull him to sleep every night, only to wake up the next morning to the mess you’ve made creaming around his cock all night long. He wants to make you into his personal cock warmer, and he nearly cringes at the thought, until he feels you pulse around him and realizes you probably want that too.

“Fuck me, T-Toji.” You stammer, pulling your body forward only to slam it back on his length.

That’s all he needs to get going. His hips mercilessly slap against your own while he drills his cock in and out with such vigor that he feels it kissing your cervix. The desk bangs hard against the wall, almost overpowering the sounds of your soft whimpers. He forces you to meet his tempo, using the leverage on your ass to cut down on the distance between his leaking head and your puffy cunt.

“‘member what I told ya when I first saw ya?” Toji slows down, his fingers reaching between your thighs to swipe at your clit while his hips switch to languid rolls.

“Y-You mean after you—fuck, put your shoes on my desk thinking it was Satoru’s?”

“Brings back memories, doesn’t it?” He huffs and brings your arm behind your back, pressing down on it. “Remember,” he mouths hot kisses down your nape and shoulder, his palm cupping your entire cunt while your walls flutter around him. “Remember how I said you’re too hot to be stuck ‘ere teaching brats manners?”

You fist at the table, desperately searching in your foggy mind for a memory you can’t seem to find or a place to grip, the only answer you can muster being, “You never said that.”

“I didn’t?” Toji flicks the sensitive nub upward. “Well, not every thought’s meant to be shared, mhm?”

He pops your dialogue bubble by nipping at your neck, his cock scratching an itch that has you writhing in pleasure.

“Shhh, baby.” He coos, the warm timbre in his voice soothing the shrill ringing in your head. “Promise I’ll be more vocal now on. Tell ya all about how good that sloppy pussy’s flooding me, or how gorgeous your cute face looks lighting up whenever ya see me.”

The flames in your stomach shoot up to your heart, beating so loud you swear it punctuates his every word.

“How many times was it?” He asks. “Eight PT meetings in two months? Or ten? Ya think I wouldn’t notice I was the only parent called?”

Your head droops forward. “Would’ve been eleven if you didn’t come today. Wanna see more of you, Toji. F-fuck, wanna see you all the time.”

“And you will,” he detaches from your neck and picks up his speed, keen on having you see starts with the way he thumbs your clit. “Gonna make you cum around my cock every day, sweetheart. Just call me and—ugh, I’ll come runnin’. No need for that PT crap.”

Your bitten lips do nothing to contain your unregulated cries as you tighten around him like a vice—the only coherent words among your long-drawn vowels being “I’m cumming, Toji!” that you scream at the top of your lungs.

Toji begrudgingly pulls out, letting you ride your high alone. If he stays in a second longer, he knows you’ll end up with a nine-month trouble that will escalate into a lifelong problem in the form of paychecks for him and test sheets for you.

He plops down on the chair to cool down for a moment, proudly admiring your stupefied expression, eyes blown out with sheer ecstasy, and lips gasping for air.

“Hey. Are you free tomorrow?”

Maybe you are worth the trouble.

The delightful buzzes in your head are replaced with a series of acute knocks against your door. You barely have time to locate your rug of a dress in the corner of the room and zip it up, hoping the fabric’s enough to keep the marks on your body out of your visitor’s field of view.

“Should’ve known,” you groan, wishing you'd shoved your head in the pillows and pretended you were missing—except, there's no hiding from him. You step outside and close the door with your back, folding your arms over your chest. “What brings you here, Satoru?”

“Mornin’ to you too, Y/N.” His mouth is full as he speaks, rice grains framing both sides of his lips. “How was your date?”

“It was…” you pause, focusing on the plastic convenience store bag he’s holding rather than his eyes, “good.”

“Good, huh?” He grimaces. He doesn’t have to tell you he was hoping it’d fail. “Anyway, came to drop these. Someone left them on your doorstep.”

You peer into the contents of the bag, full of onigiri in different flavors—two that are tuna mayo, two with shrimp tempura, two with salted salmon, and lastly, a spare pickled plum.

Your lips curl into a smile as you pick your favorite from the bunch. So that's your answer.

"Thanks, Satoru." He is surprised you didn't scold him, gladly taking his chance to leave before you speak again. "Wait."

"I was the one who stole your Manju."

#Toji x reader #toji smut #fushiguro toji #toji x y/n #jjk x reader #toji fushiguro #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #fushiguro toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fanfiction #jjk fanfiction #toji <3 #toji headcanons #toji fic #toji x you #jjk fanfic #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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mindofharry · 6 months

Text

Can’t catch me now | hunger games!harry

The nation of Panem is divided into 12 districts. Each year, two representatives from every district are chosen at random to compete in The Hunger Games. This so called game is the most brutal thing you will ever do, and only one person comes out alive. You are told to play the game and that means doing the most unthinkable things to win.

In district 1, Harry Styles is the most desired man at the moment. With his muscles and long hair, nobody knows if they want to be him or fuck him.

In district 12, Y/N L/N is the underdog. She liked that. Her kindness is her greatest gift and she’ll never let go of that.

Y/N is open with her other districts. She’s a nurturing nature when they were all training, especially for the younger kids. Harry thought she was naive and weak. He didn’t like how pure she was. He couldn’t find anything wrong with her and he couldn’t understand why. Shes from district 12, she should be mad. But she’s not. She’s smiling and giggling, and twirling around like she’s not about to enter a blood bath.

“There’s something wrong with her,” Tori murmured, picking up a gun and looking over its parts. Harry shook his head.

“Definitely. At least we know who’ll go out first,” Harry said, making Tori laugh.

Y/N smiled to herself as she overheard the two. Good. She liked that. They don’t see her as a threat.

She has a plan and if everything goes well, she’ll be the next victor of the hunger games.

After two weeks of intense training, media work and having the best meals of her life — Y/N was ready to enter the game. She felt prepared, well however prepared you could be in this game. Her mentors gave her valuable information and she hopes she’ll do them proud.

“Remember, straight for the trees. The cornucopia is no use to you as of right now, ok?” Her mentor, Lila, advised. Y/N nodded and bit her trembling lip. Her eyes filled up with water and Lila tutted.

“Save the tears for the cameras. They’re always watching. Remember who the real enemy is, Y/N,” Lila whispered, pulling her into a tight hug.

“I hope I do you proud,”

Lila smiled, “You already have,”

The speaker called out ten seconds. She had to get in her pod.

“See you on the bright side,” Y/N grinned, getting into her pod. The door closed straight away and her heart pounded, sweat pouring down her face.

“Use your gifts, Y/N,” She whispered.

Suddenly, it all felt real. There they all stood on the podiums, waiting for the canon to go off. Y/N’s hands shook as she waited for what felt like an eternity. She swallowed and let out a breath.

And then, it happened. The games began.

She ran so fast to the forest, she thought she was flying. She quickly hid behind a bush as people started filing in behind her.

“You know who I want to kill? That little snow white girl. Y/N,” Tori said, cutting branches away with her knife as they walked through the forest. Y/N swallowed and tried to stay as still as possible.

“You’ll get her. We just need to focus on shelter right now,” Harry reasoned, the other allies in his group agreeing.

The retreated into the forest and Y/N was in the clear.

“Assholes,” She murmured, wiping down her trousers. A beeping noise came from the trees. A gift. Y/N grinned. She opened it up quickly, finding a knife.

kindness is the greatest weapon of all — but here’s a little help ~ Lila.

Y/N giggled and put the knife in her pocket. She was going to be just fine.

A few days passed and Y/N had only killed two people. People she had tried to help. But she had no choice. Now she had a bow and few arrows, so she could properly hunt. She used this in her district to help out her mother, so she was pretty handy with it. After shooting a rabbit, she went back to her camp to cook it. Only to fine Harry and Tori sitting down on a log, smirking at her.

“Well, Well, Well,” Tori taunted, walking up to Y/N.

“You lasted longer than I thought you would, I’ll give you that,” Tori said, Y/N cleared her throat.

“Thanks?”

Tori hit the back of her knee, Y/N fell to the ground. She clutched her bow quickly, and shot at Tori. The arrow shot into her stomach and her face went white.

Harry yelled and ran towards Y/N.

A click stopped him.

His foot was engulfed in a bear trap. His other allies walked out of the woods with a laugh.

“It was meant for her, but if the shoe fits,” Alex, a boy from district two laughed. Harry’s face morphed from pain to anger.

“What do you mean? Get me the fuck out of here!” Harry yelled, his voice hoarse. Y/N looked between the two and noticed the guys gun at the ready. They were going to kill Harry and then Y/N.

Not on her watch.

“Oh, for fuck sake,” Y/N groaned, pulling her arrow and shooting straight for Alex’s head. He dropped immediately. Gun shots rang out, aiming at Y/N. She ducked and shot another arrow.

She didn’t miss one.

All three of them were dead and Y/N quickly ran over to Harry.

“Why are you helping me? I was going to kill you,”

Y/N shrugged, “Kindness is the best weapon,”

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles fanfic #hunger games!harry

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s0lam33y · 2 months

Text

not a thing in my name.

a/n: everybody and they mama was in shambles. It’s not my fault YEW chose Tori mane 😭 (I’m just kidding plz don’t get me) so I made this part 2 🙏🏽 I’m personally not the biggest fan of this part 2, but Ik you all have been waiting for it. I was conflicted on how to end this piece and I’m scared that it shows 💀

Here’s part 1

🎶: @pvnks0ul @fentibeauty @onyxstones-world @kissvamps @shurislover @eringranola @elyxiir @oceean @teadah18 @ririshotgf @blushyrawrz @imnotb

A part of you has begun to hate fame. At the same time, you’re grateful for everything, for everyone. You’ve started to hate how invasive everyone has become. There’s a camera in your face every single time you step into your home. There’s always some sort of hateful tweet or Instagram comment which is mostly due to your lack of management. The only person that you know that was ever good with hooking you on to others was Riri.

She’s barely in your life so things aren’t the same. You have a whole group of people with you at all times. Especially on your tour. It’s so close to ending with LA as its last location.

You finally make it to your hotel room with Tori trailing behind you. She seems to be enjoying the fame, she’s gained quite a bit since your relationship is now public. Now it’s broadcasted, and everyone’s wondering who she is. And since you’re with her all the time, you decided that she might as well be a part of your team, as a manager. She manages your schedule, and what time everything happens.

The real reason is so she can communicate with anyone that needs to reach you. Riri included. Not that you can’t speak to her but you wouldn’t be able to handle interacting with her after what happened four months ago. So you have Tori handle it.

“Damn, New York! I did not miss this,” She chuckles as you chuck your heels off. You’re exhausted but you offer a curt smile anyway.

“Yeah, same.” You agree. You rush into the lush bathroom, ripping off your lashes, and wiping off your makeup. You slip into the shower quickly and head out in a fluffy robe to hear Tori on the phone. She’s sitting on the edge of the California-sized Bed, tightly gripping the phone. She catches you at the door frame and visibly relaxes.

“Yeah but you know she got early mornings tomorrow, I don’t think you should come.” She says with some edge to her voice. You approach her, watching her eyes trail over your frame before you cup her cheek. You’d like to think that your relationship is fixing itself. You’re starting to feel like the boredom is stability.

“Who was that?”

“No one.” She promises while wrapping her arms around your waist.

…

You can’t spend your mornings admiring the beautiful city or taking walks like you used to. There’s something nostalgic about being in New York again. It’s like being home again. Despite how irritating it can get, and ending up at the 125th by accident, you’ve missed the chaos of it all.

But, you can’t have everything. You can’t stand still and admire anything either. So you get ready in the morning while it’s still dark. While rubbing cream into your face, you notice the deep bags that have begun to form beneath your eyes after a hot shower.

Sleep has been difficult lately. Not only do you get six hours at best, the quality of it sucks. The mattress in the hotel is barely comfortable to you, too soft. You find yourself sinking in silk sheets at night. And it doesn’t help that you get super cold, Tori likes to keep to her side of the bed and nine times out of ten her back is facing your own so warmth from her isn’t even an option.

You step out of the bathroom, dressed in dark sweats and a gray hoodie to match. You barely look done up, but that’s not anything you're concerned about right now.

You sit at the foot of the bed, reaching for Tori to pull her out of sleep.

“Tori, c’mon, wake up.” You breathe out. She wakes up with a jolt, looking around and forcing a chuckle out of your lips.

…

“That was gorgeous! Y/N!” A manager speaks, hollering from the empty crowd. A thin layer of sweat covers your body as you finally take in a needed deep breath. You don’t remember this hurting so bad during your last performance. You see hundreds of seats in front of you, but they aren’t filled just yet. You’re sure they will be in less than 13 hours. You had to go over your entire routine, it’s a lot. More than you’ve ever done but you’ve worked through it and that’s all that matters. A manager of the venue wanted to watch you rehearse and seems to have enjoyed it. You smile at him in thanks and sit on the edge of the stage, reaching for the water bottle next to you.

After a while, you go backstage to find Tori on the phone. She notices you and smiles.

“Alright, I’ll call you back.” She says, quickly stuffing her phone in her pockets.

“I heard you, you sounded good, babe.” She smiles as her hand grazes your arm. She takes a step closer to you and lowers just a bit to whisper into your ear.

“After this event, we could-“ You begin.

Her phone rings again. She takes a step back, smiling at you before walking away. You’ve been trying your best to fix everything. To bring you back to the way things were before. She’s been on the phone more often than usual lately. You’re sure it’s just to manage your schedule and whatnot so you don’t question it.

…

By the time the performance is broadcast all over social media, you’re already on a plane to LA for your next location. Tori decided to linger in the last tour location, saying she had things to wrap up.

You blast some Sade up into your headphones and lean back into your seat. First class seats weren’t anything that you were able to experience back then so you take advantage of it now and do your best to relax despite the headache beginning to form. You close your eyes, the aches in your body finally releasing.

Before you can truly relax, you blink your eyes open, looking around to see a familiar head. A woman is sitting across the other isle right next to you, facing the window but with gorgeous braids and spare curls gracefully falling next to them. She’s not sitting normally, instead, she has one foot perched up on the seat and low-hanging sweats. She turns around and meets your gaze.

Riri.

You blink again and do your best to shake the thought out of your head. When your vision clears you realize that it’s just a woman that you’ve never seen, dressed in regular clothing at that.

You’ve been trying not to think about her. The guilt is beginning to chew at you again. She was one of the realest people you will ever meet in this industry. The way you ended was messy but you wished she was at least still a friend. But you can’t have that. You can’t have her and Tori at the same time, she told you herself.

“I want nothing less. I don't want to be the other woman.”

She couldn’t ever possibly be the other woman.

…

“Thank you! Los Angeles!” You yell out onstage. This is your second to last show and you went all out. Your adrenaline is at an all-time high like it always is when you’re on stage but all you can focus on is how much these platform heels are killing your ankles. The crowd is so loud you can’t hear yourself and the beat of your music is just as loud if not louder than they are.

The song You were originally supposed to end with was the last one you made with Riri but it was somehow scrapped from the list. You don’t know how or why but right before you got up on stage, Tori had told you to not bother performing It.

You get backstage, relieved that you’re finally done with All the performing and exhaustion. You don’t see Tori backstage like you expected.

It’s Riri in the flesh. Or at least you think it is so blink once, really hard to focus. She can’t be here but you’ll take your chances.

You wrap your arms around her shoulders, tightening so you’re pressed against each other.

“I missed you.” You smile as she rubs your back. She looks the same for the most part, her style is still on point.

You pull away to get a good look at her, she’s in a white oversized tee and some baggy jeans. You notice some concealer but only because it’s covering the pretty marks on her skin that you’d love to see. Gold on the bottom row of her teeth and her chain glimmers in the dim light but you don’t mention it.

“You look good, ma, damn. I saw you up there and I was like, damn.” She praises you. You missed her voice too. So much that you feel like it’ll bring you to tears. You’ve needed some sort of good thing to happen to you lately.

This is wearing you down and you feel like you’ve finally found comfort.

“How are you here?” You question while her hand rests on your waist.

“I ordered the tickets a long ass time ago, I talked to yo girl and she was cool wimme being backstage, I know it’s your second last.” She remembers. Of course, she does. You do your best to memorize the feel of her hands on your skin, the calloused slightly fingertips and soft palms. You feel her hands slowly leave you and the energy shifts once she begins to look at the floor and then at you, like she’s somehow anxious. That’s new. “I wanted to see you one last time. I’m moving away from Chicago…I need something new, calmer. I found some cabin in Montana which is weird, but…I think I need to go somewhere quiet.” She says. You swear you stop breathing. Her hand rubs against the skin of your hip as comfort. This is good for her. “You’ve always been on that spiritual shit, anyway.” You smile while feeling the prick of tears in the back of your eyes and the gentle shaking in your voice. You watch her chuckle, the biggest smile forming on her face. Oh, how you’ve missed her. And now she’s leaving. “Good luck with your tour, baby.” She doesn’t attempt to kiss you on the cheek. Instead, she brings your hand to her lips, kissing them the same way she did at that party and staining you with her touch. You pull her into a hug one more time. You want to tell her that you love her. That you don’t want to be in the music industry without her. That you so badly want to drop everything to go in the middle of nowhere with her. You want to tell her that you wish you weren’t so scared. She hugs you back, securing her arms around your frame. “You were never the other woman.” You admit despite the lump in your throat. “I know, baby.” And with that, she’s gone.

…

Chicago feels weird when you’re back. You should be ecstatic. Your last show is in your hometown. Your career is taking off, you’re becoming a household name. Artists are blowing up your phone and begging to collaborate with you. Labels want to sign you. Fans recognize you when you walk out of the house. It’s amazing but so suffocating.

“You've been off lately,” Tori says from the shower. You continue to do your mascara in the mirror. She’s humming the song that you had made with Riri. It makes you think back to why she had cut it out of the list. “Why’d you take the song out?” You suddenly ask, hearing the hot water cut out. “Ion need everybody listening to it, You made it for me.” She says before beginning to go on and on about your love for her, which you would be paying attention to if there wasn’t constant buzzing in your ear. You look down and hear the buzz in her sweats on the floor. It’s not her usual phone, it’s a different color with a different case. You stand upright and before you can see a contact name, you feel steam right behind you and watch her grasp the phone. “Work phone, Let me answer it.” She insists, barely giving you room to answer before leaving. ..

That phone call turned into some sort of meeting that she dressed too well for. She for some reason wore her best cologne and made sure her hair looked right. Tori left you with a kiss on your forehead before heading out of the house. She’s been gone for five hours. The same way she knows you, the same way you know her. You ain’t fucking dumb. You’ve spent the last five hours on the couch, zoning out and coming back to reality. You saw this coming, especially with her constantly taking too many calls, staying in tour locations without you, her quickly hanging up when you came around. You wait for her to step back into your shared apartment. She has a grin on her face. You feel stupid for not having seen this coming. She tosses her two phones and car keys on the glass coffee table in front of you. “Where were you?” You question while she sits next to you on the couch. She scoots closer and you let her. She looks flushed and all you can think about is how much you used to love her. Her eyes grow wide and you’re sure the look on your face is enough for her to know that you know. “Babe-” “How long?” You ask, it’s not fair. You knew she was insecure about Riri but you never pinned her as the type. “What the fuck are you on?” She curses, damn near yelling before standing up. A loud repeated buzzing turns her quiet. She looks at you like you’ve slapped her. “Pick up and put it on speaker.” You order. She takes in a deep breath before doing as asked. You keep your eyes on her own before she taps the screen. “Hey baby-” A feminine voice greets her through the phone, she sounds so fucking irritating.

She knows it’s the end of your relationship. …

“Thank you, Chicago…truly. I’m honored to finish my tour here.” You watch the video of you ending your tour. It was amazing, the fans were perfect, the energy was everything. Now you sit in a cab on your way to your apartment.

You figured that Tori cheated on you because of Riri. She had been with the mystery girl for a year and a half. If it was after Riri maybe you would’ve given her some chance. Even before Riri, she had been with someone, perhaps that’s why she was so tolerant for so long. You didn’t ask for many details just for how long. She tried to make excuses about how she didn’t feel cared for and how she always felt like you saw her as some sort of pawn. As far as you know, Right now she’s packing her bags and making her way out of your apartment. You won’t know until you get back home. “We’re here, Ma’am.” The cab driver, you leave him with a generous tip before quickly making it home. You need to be home, your bones are beginning to ache and so are your joints.

As you approach your apartment you swear you hear shifting and a voice. The closer you get, the more distinct it becomes. It’s not Tori for sure, It’s some woman with a grating moan that you hear sounds too fake to be true. You quietly walk through the door only to find a naked body on top of your ex. You stand there in silence, crossing your arms. You already thought it was crazy for her to have been cheating on you for months. But for her to fuck in your apartment, that’s another level of disrespect. You knock on the doorframe, watching both of them jump like they’ve got blood on their hands. She’s riding your ex like there’s no tomorrow. “What the—Y/N, You..” Tori starts breathlessly.

“Be out in ten minutes.” …

Your finger hovers over Riri’s contact name. Her photo is cute, it’s a selfie of the two of you in her studio. You’re sitting on your washer, cleaning the fucking fluids off your couch cover while a tall glass of wine sits in your palm.

You miss her. So much. This breakup should hurt. You’ve known Tori for so long but for some reason, it doesn’t hurt. You feel relieved instead.

“I’m not gonna be your second choice, Y/N. I refuse to be an option, okay?”

Riri was never the second choice. And all you’ve thought about since your career has taken off is her. She should have her arm wrapped around your waist at events. She should be the one driving you home.

You would hate to see her again and have her feel like she was the last option. So you decide that maybe it’s about time you fix that.

….

Turns out she really went to fucking Montana. You double check her location which she gave you ages ago. You’re close, right next to each other almost. It’s bright out, after a rough night at your apartment. You abruptly decided that there was no use in waiting to not go see her. So you chose to book an early flight.

It’s beautiful, there are mountains everywhere and it looks like she’s alone. You walk up the steps of the cabin’s porch. Maybe this is a horrible idea. Maybe she’s moved on. She could very well have already moved on.

There’s a light chill this morning. You raise your hand and knock at the door, waiting for a response.

“How’d you find me, y/n?” She questions. She doesn’t make a single sound of irritation. There’s a small smile on her face and her toned frame is showcased because of the sleeveless top she has on.

She doesn’t look like the Riri you know but she does. She doesn’t have any makeup on, no lashes done, she’s barefaced with her hair slicked back in a neat bun. She’s still so beautiful. She looks happy. Less stressed.

You can’t help but smile at the sight of her. She looks all the same for the most part, so carefree, with a small smile on her face and blissed eyes.

You smell her vanilla perfume that brings you home every time. It reminds you of a home that you don’t recognize. It just feels right. She feels right.

“A lot happened and I missed you.” You admit, still a little afraid of her reaction.

“Just say you still got my location…Come here.” She laughs before grabbing your hand and pulling you into her arms. You don’t hug her back immediately. But then eventually you settle into her touch for a while. She pulls away to get a good look at you.

Her eyes are dilated, more than you’ve ever seen them. You’ve never had the privilege of admiring her up close. She’s so beautiful, you knew that already but watching her from a distance is different. Her hand is gentle against your cheekbone. Her sweet eyes scan over your makeup that’s somehow still dewy although it’s been hours since you put it on.

“You hate red lipstick,” She points out at your stained lips. You’re confused before thinking back to what she’s talking about. In your last performance in Chicago, your lips were a vibrant shade that you hate. She’s not wrong, you hate how much attention it draws but you’re glad she’s seen it. She’s been keeping up with you.

“That hasn’t changed.” You murmur, watching her reach her thumb to your skin to wipe at your lip as if the lipstick is still there.

“Come in,”

….

“Oh damn, so she has been fuckin’ somebody else,” Riri says with raised brows and a hushed tone. A sour taste grows in your mouth even though you know it shouldn’t.

“I guess.” You murmur while looking around Riri’s place. Most of the interior is just the old warm decor she had at her old place. Her guitar sits up against the wooden wall next to the fireplace. You see why she moved here. It’s gorgeous and all you hear is birds chirping outside.

You take a sip of the hot chocolate she’s made for you before leaning back onto the couch.

“I’m sorry ‘bout that, baby.” She comforts you while inching closer to you and rubbing your knee. The pet name makes you melt all over again. She leans back, watching the fire pit.

“You going back to the city soon?” You wonder.

“Mhm…in a couple of months. I can’t let down my artists. I’ve been working from home for the most part.” She comments.

“I’ve missed you.” You admit. You haven’t felt this calm and centered in a long time. It’s just so quiet. It’s just you and her.

“Me too.” She agrees while both of you look at each other. She’s always been good with eye contact but this is something different. You wonder if she’s always looked at you like this.

You know she won’t take the initiative to lean in so you do and eventually she follows, the hand she had on her knee moves up to your waist and you’re so close you could count the cute little freckles by her eyes.

Your lips ghost over each other and you almost taste the mango-flavored chapstick on her lips before her face tenses.

“I can’t be your rebound either, Y-“

You ignore the sheer irritation brewing in you before leaning in to kiss her. You pull away to gauge her reaction, her chest is rising and falling at a pace you don’t think you’ve ever seen before.

“You can’t be a rebound when you were never the other woman, And I’m sorry that it took so long for me to realize that,” You blurt and for the first time, you can’t tell what she’s feeling. Her hands wrap around your face as she speaks.

“Took you long enough.”

She kisses you again and she doesn’t stop until your lips go numb.

#riri williams #riri x reader #riri williams x reader

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underoospeterparker · 1 year

Note

can we pleaseeee have a fic of Jade and fem reader being together on Tory's first day and Tory accidentally spills coffee on reader and when she tries to wipe it up Jade gets really pissed off and later just pulls Y/N to sit on her Lap.

this is so cute!

blurb, jade west x fem!reader, victorious

warnings: literally nothing except tiny bit of swearing

jade was forced to walk tori around the school to show her around by the guidance counsellor. apparently it would be good to 'broaden her horizons' by 'welcoming a new student to hollywood arts'. what a joke.

tori was, in short, the most basic girl jade had ever met. she was wearing the latest style, and of course, she carried a vanilla latte. her hair was platted to her face, clothes so bright it made jade want to vomit. disgusting.

"and.... here's the lockers. one last thing, and i swear to god, if you touch my girlfriend, i'll rip you to shreds-" jade was interrupted by a quiet voice.

"hi, baby!" you smiled up at your girlfriend. her usually angry eyes softened when she saw your smile. it never failed to brighten up her day.

"hi, sweetheart," your girlfriend murmured, letting out a small smile.

tori's annoying voice interrupted your conversation. "who's this?" she asked perkily, so cheerful it annoyed jade. in her eyes, you were the only one who could be bubbly in the mornings and she wouldn't get annoyed at you, ever. jade was a softie when it came to you.

jade rolled her eyes and proceeded to not respond, so you did it for her. "um, i'm (y/n), i'm, uh, jade's girlfriend." you stuck out your hand after your introduction, which tori took enthusiastically. "welcome to hollywood arts, i guess," you murmured.

you were kind of anxious introducing yourself to new people. you were scared of what they thought of you, which jade picked up on almost immediately. once people got to know you, they understood the person you really were.

jade grabbed your hand, squeezing it gently. her thumb gently stroked the back of your hand, trying to comfort you without words.

"you okay?" she said quietly.

"yeah, i'm good."

she smiled at you gently. "let's go eat?"

tori interrupted your conversation again. "do you mind if i join you guys? i don't really know anyone else yet, and-"

"sure, loser, you can hang with us."

the tables were crazy crowded, but you managed to find one outside. your table was you, jade, tori, beck, andre and robby.

while eating lunch, jade casually rested her hand on your thigh, and you loved the warmth of it. she always made you feel so safe with her.

tori suddenly stood up. "i'm just gonna go use the bathroom, i'll be right back-"

she got up from the table, but not before the remnants of her vanilla latte spilled all over you. the cup dropped to the floor and tori stood in shock. "oh my god, i am so sorry. here wait-"

she grabbed some tissues from a nearby table and tried to mop up the mess she had made on your clothes.

jade was watching the scene, infuriated with this girl who had just spilled a drink all over her girlfriend. "stop," she said calmly.

jade effortlessly pulled you onto her lap, where you rested comfortably as she tried to remove the stains on your shirt herself. she was so gentle. after trying her best, your shirt still looked like an absolute shit show.

you looked down, giggling at what you saw on your shirt. jade took the opportunity to plant a kiss on your forehead. she mumbled against your forehead, "i swear, i'm gonna kill that girl."

I have another jade west x reader fic coming soon!

#jade west #jade west x reader #fluff #victorious

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fanaticsnail · 8 months

Text

Bar Shift: Part 4 (Finale)

And just like that, this little collection is complete! I hope you enjoyed reading my writing as I develop my style.

Word Count: 3,407

Part 3 here.

You immediately found Tori and gave her a warm hug and dismissing her from her duties before seeking out Jacob.

“What’s on the agenda?” you asked him while picking up a rag and beginning to wipe down the bar.

“I’ll do the till and start getting knock-offs ready for the chefs, if you start shutting down the unoccupied areas and chuck on the closing setlist,” he nodded at you with a warm smile, “don’t worry, I’ll leave Sanji’s for you.”

“Thanks, sweetheart,” you smiled at Jacob and continuing to wipe down the bar and collect empty drinking vessels, “anything interesting happen while I was on my fifteen?”

“Oh, the usual,” he shrugged, “some green-haired swordsman challenged the broody swashbuckler to a duel. I’m placing my bets on the wine-drinker, to be honest with you.”

You hummed in response before making your way over to start cooling down the room with a slow set-list. You shuffled the bar regulars into the broader communal space and bid farewell to the ones done with their dining experience at Baratie.

“Hello pumpkin,” you heard Patty call from behind you. You groaned in response, knowing he was going to playfully jab at you regarding your encounter with Zeff earlier in the morning.

“Hello, you crusty old peppercorn,” you jabbed back at him, causing him to laugh in response. A swarm of chefs entered the bar area, their white chef’s jackets, blue cravats and tall hats removed from their bodies to reveal their casual underclothes.

“Got anything special for knock offs?” he asked you with a warm smile. You collected an empty pitcher formerly containing an amber ale and held it in your arms as you wiped down the surface.

“Jacob’s getting some beer ready for you, if you’re keen,” you responded offhandedly.

“I am absolutely keen, sweetheart,” he responded, clapping a firm hand on your shoulder affectionately. You scrunched your nose at him before ushering him out of your way so you could continue packing down the bar.

After you collected the final miscellaneous pieces of glassware in your arms and placing them in the sink behind the bar, you decided to commence the task of creating something special for Sanji to enjoy. Sure, you’ve shared a bottle of wine or two between you, but after the meal he prepared for you earlier this morning; you couldn’t just bring out any old thing.

You pursed your lips and looked to the vast amount of ingredients laying before you. Several different whiskey varieties, vermouth, wood chips, citrus and rum were calling to you specifically. You then allowed a broad smile to fall over your face.

“What’s got you smiling like that?” you heard Jacob call over your shoulder. You turned to him with a determined look on your face.

“Oh no,” he said with a mock surprise, “you’re going to bring out the big cannons, aren’t you?”

“Oh yes I am,” you responded cracking your neck slightly at the challenge.

“You’re gonna do the Rum Martinez?” he asked you with a quirked brow.

“I’m gonna do the Rum Martinez,” you confirmed with a nod of your head, a smirk pulling at the corner of your mouth.

“Good luck,” he said, patting your back before returning to line up several tankards of amber ale for the chefs as they arrived at the bar.

You collected apple tree wood chips, a blow torch, semi-sweet vermouth, maraschino liqueur, rum bitters and a bottle of one of the finest rums you had on the menu. You placed a tea strainer next to the bar, an empty corked decanter, a cocktail mixer and three glasses on the counter as you began your assembly. You also began rolling three cigarettes and placing them on the counter for later assembly.

As you began assembling this overly complex cocktail, you paid no mind to the amount of your coworkers watching your movements. One set of eyes you were particularly unaware of belonged to your boss, who decided to join his staff for a drink after retiring for the night. He quirked his brow as he saw you reach for the special reserve rum, but chose to remain quiet and not protest at the use.

You used the blowtorch to ignite the woodchips, setting the semi flame-thrower down and immediately dampening the chips with a maraschino cherry reduction. You placed the uncorked decanter over the smoke and successfully syphoned the fumes into the glass container, corking the bottle one completed. You set aside the now cloudy decanter and discarded the woodchips in the compost bin beneath the bar.

You moved on to preparing the liquids for this complex cocktail, pouring equal parts special reserve rum and the semi-sweet vermouth into the cocktail shaker. You brought a small, long armed teaspoon and placed a small portion of the maraschino liquor onto it before moving to place the spoon within the liquid. You scooped some ice into the metal shovel and placed several pieces into the liquid, twirling it to cool it down to a lower temperature for a solid minute.

“What are you making there, sweetheart? Looks overly complicated for a simple knock-off,” you heard Carne call over to you, prompting you to smirk in response.

“Leave her alone, Carne,” you heard your boss order the line cook, prompting your eyebrows to slightly raise, “I’m allowing it, just this once.”

You smiled to yourself, making a mental note to ask for permission, forgiveness and gratitude at him in future.

You brought the tea strainer to the liquid and moved it to the cloudy decanter, timing it in your mind.

“Uncork, strain, recork, swirl, uncork, sift” you repeated three times in your mind before you hyped yourself up enough to undertake the task.

You timed it perfectly: uncorking the smoke-riddled decanter, sifting the rum mixture into the jug without missing a drop, recorking the neck and you began to swirl the mixture within the walls of the glass container.

Sanji walked up from below deck, smiling at Patty and unbuttoning his wrists from his floor uniform and rolling them up. He walked over to the seat Zeff was atop, noticing the intensity of Zeff’s gaze at something behind the bar. He followed his gaze to fall directly on you, rotating a darkened liquid within a cloudy decanter. He smiled as he watched your concentration while you rotated the decanter for the final time, successfully imbuing the apple tree wood-chips into the liquid within.

He took a seat on the bar stool directly beside Zeff, which drew your attention immediately to the two kitchen superiors in front of you.

“Evening Chef,” you acknowledged Zeff first with a nod, “sous-chef,” you nodded at Sanji.

“Evening, Pumpkin,” Zeff responded with a small chuckle, “what are we having?”

You laughed at his question, knowing he would absolutely want a sample of this overly complicated concoction you had assembled: which was why you brought out three glasses instead on just two.

Although he had a complex relationship with the blonde sous-chef when it came to sampling new dishes; when alcohol was involved, his tastebuds were prepped and ready to participate.

“It’s called a Rum Martinez,” you said with a broad smile, placing two crystal short glasses in front of the two leaders of the kitchen. You uncorked the crystal decanter and began pouring 90mls of liquid into the three glasses in front of you. You smiled as you felt the gaze of both Sanji and Zeff completely fixate on the dark liquid as you poured it.

Zeff reached for the glass, prompting you to reprimand the chef.

“Tsk, tsk, impatient as always, Chef,” you scolded him, prompting him to release a low growl. You laughed at his reaction, reaching for the three cigarettes and bringing the filter end to your lips before reaching for the lighter in your lefthand pant pocket. You flicked the flint and ignited the ends of the three cylindrical objects before collecting them from your lips while exhaling away from your guests. You placed the cigarettes with the filters facing your head chef and sous chef with a smile, before doing the same with your own.

“This seems like an overly complex way to propose, but I accept,” Zeff laughed, reaching again for the glass which you finally allowed him to collect. You scrunched up your nose and felt again a blush rise to your cheeks in semi-embarrassment. Sanji laughed at your reaction and leaned in to collect his own glass, placing the cigarette between his lips and inhaling the nicotine ridden object while closing his eyes. As he held the smoke in his chest, he took a small sip of the rum cocktail and held it on his tongue. He released a long breath as he focussed on the burn your cocktail left on his tongue as his senses became engulfed by the flavours you presented before him.

“You’re a bit late, Chef,” Sanji exclaimed with a small smirk, “apparently we’re already married.”

You laughed at his comment, picking up the cigarette and drawing in a long breath while bringing the liquid to your lips and taking a sip. You exhaled the smoke through your nose while you gulped back the dark contents and savoured the burn it left behind.

You and Sanji exchanged glances now and again while you continued to aid Jacob in packing down the bar while refilling the tankards belonging to the chefs before you. You placed your glass down behind the bar while you wiped own the bar for the hundredth time this particular shift before removing the till and locking it, placing it in the safe below the bar.

“And I’m done,” you heard Jacob say next to you, “I’m cutting Carne off, by the way. No more for him.”

You laughed at his comment while welcoming him into an embrace as you felt the relief of completing a successful shift with your coworker.

“Well done, Jacob,” you laughed with him, finally feeling a tiredness overcome your body. Jacob held you there slightly before bringing you in to murmur quietly to you.

“I’ve decided I’m covering your split-shift tomorrow,” he smiled at you. You widened your eyes in shock, a large smile widening over your cheeks.

“You’re joking,” you exclaimed in delight.

“I am absolutely not,” he again murmured to you, “now go get your man.”

You laughed at him before playfully hitting his arm in response to his comment. You then looked over his shoulder to see Sanji looking at you with a vacant expression while engaging with Zeff.

“I’ve already marked it on the roster and signed you out,” he further clarified while exiting the bar to join the chefs for his knock off.

“You’re amazing, Jacob,” you called after him before turning to walk back over to Zeff and Sanji.

Zeff began rising from his place on the stool, and turned to exit the bar.

“Heading in, Chef?” you asked him with a smile on your face.

“Yes, love,” he responded with an exhausted expression on his face. You reached forward and patted his arm gently.

“I’ll see you tomorrow for inventory,” you chirped lightly at him, extending familial warmth to him.

“You absolutely will not,” he growled, “Jacob is covering for you. I’m going to teach him inventory. Enjoy your day off.”

You laughed at him before he dismissed you to make your way over to Sanji who was resting his elbows against the bar while waiting for you.

“Finally,” he exclaimed when you joined his field of vision, prompting you to tilt your head to the side coyly.

You retrieved your glass containing the complex drink you made earlier and brought it to your lips, knocking back the remainder of the liquid.

“Finally,” you confirmed with him after swallowing the flame-like, smoky liquid. He looked down at the bar bashfully before returning his gaze to you.

“When do you start tomorrow? I should let you turn in,” he said, a small amount of sorrow expressed in his tone.

“As it so happens,” you began while reaching for a bottle of sangiovese and collecting two wine glasses, “I’m off tomorrow.”

Immediately Sanji widened his eyes and extended a solid grin your way.

“So, I can keep you up past your bed time, then?” he asked you playfully, his grin turning into a small smirk at the corner of his lips.

“Honey,” you taunted him with a mischievous smirk, leaning your body over the bar to bring your face closer to his, “you can keep me up all night long.”

His playful glint fled from his face as he shifted his gaze between your eyes, flittering to your partially parted lips in complete silence at your comment. All playfulness seemingly fell from your face in turn, unsure as to if your comment was crossing some unwritten line between you and your coworker. The words truthfully fell from your lips faster than your brain could keep up with them, allowing your little proximity crush to possess your lips as they spurted those flirtatious words.

He suddenly removed his elbows from the bar and brought his hands to cradle your face between them and hungrily placed his lips against yours. You heard him sharply inhale through his nose as he opened his mouth to deepen the connection shared between you. You let out a small squeal at the passion of his actions and widened your eyes in shock at the haste of his sudden expression of desire. He held your face in the palms of his hands before snaking them to the back of your neck with a light moan as he gently massaged his fingers into the hairline at the nape of your neck. And as soon as the connection was brought between you, he pushed himself away from you and released his hands from behind your neck. His newly reddened lips were parted and his eyes were wide seemingly as in shock as you were at the wild intensity that his body voiced to you.

“I am so sorry,” he spluttered apologetically at you, refusing to bring his off-guard gaze to meet yours. You bit your lip and looked at the bar, still in shock from the kiss you shared with him.

It felt like a full century had passed between you, although in reality it had only been a few seconds of uninterrupted, awkward silence. You turned your head and softened your gaze to look at the young sous-chef in front of you, as he continued to fixate his sights on the polished wooden bar in front of you both. Partially fuelled by the flaming liquid you consumed earlier and the knowledge that Sanji potentially returned your formerly unrequited infatuation with him, you mustered up some courage to perform something you never thought you would.

You hoisted yourself on top of the empty bar in front of him, tucking your knees beneath you to sit on top of your calves. He snapped out of his trance and brought all of his attention to your actions. You reached down and grasped his jaw between your hands, lifting him to plant his feet on the ground rather than remaining sitting atop the wooden stool. You allowed your hair to cascade over your shoulder as you leant down and brought your lips against his own for the second time tonight.

It was Sanji’s turn to be in complete shock as you began to physically return the kiss he planted against your lips moments prior. You laced your fingers in his hair and raked it away from his face while tilting his jaw up for you to deepen the kiss. You rolled your head slightly while teasing the entrance of his mouth by flickering his bottom lip with your tongue.

The small flick of your tongue seemed to break his trance as he reached up and wrapped his bare arms around your thighs and hoisted you off the top of the bar; prompting a delighted gasp to escape from between your lips. In one swell movement, he sat your body on his lap as he took a seat once more atop the bar stool. He moved his arms from beneath your legs to allow you to relax now, fully sat on his lap, choosing to embrace your lower back with his right hand to secure your body against his own. His left hand moved to the space between your shoulder blades and pulled you flush against his torso as he moaned into the kiss.

You felt him smile against your lips as he moved his own tongue out to flick playfully at your own. You gasped at that small flicker, using your tongue to move beneath his and caress the small piercing located beneath his tongue you saw earlier this morning. He moaned in response to you finding the small piercing, which prompted you to laugh slightly into the kiss.

He stood once more, gently lowering your body to your feet without breaking the kiss. You moved your hands down to his neck, successfully locating his navy tie hanging loosely from his neck. You successfully laced your hand around it and used it to lever him closer against you to maintain some semblance of control in this completely unforeseen turn of events.

Sanji grinned into the kiss before being the first to pull away from your grip. He looked at you through half-lidded eyelashes with a look of pure adoration overcoming his features. You attempted to bring his lips against yours for a third time, but he stopped you from continuing your assaulting flurry of passionate kisses. You widened your eyes at his actions, again assuming you somehow misread the situation unfolding between you.

“I’m sorry, Sanji,” you gasped out in shock, apologising for your sudden intimate outburst.

“No apologies necessary, princess,” he replied with a bashful smile, “I was very much enjoying our little kiss and I want nothing more than to kiss you again.”

You quirked your head to the side and released his tie from your restraining grasp, opting to lace them behind his neck instead. He continued to hold your lower back in an embrace, tracing small circles into your skin.

“What’s stopping you from kissing me again now?” you asked him, creasing your brows in confusion but continuing to smile at the blonde chef. He exhaled a light laugh before nodding his chin to the corner of the bar.

You shook your head before following his gaze to meet with the beady and ever watchful eyes of the Den-Den Mushi Snail Zeff had placed in the corner of the bar earlier in the year to catch potential thieves from stealing liquor and berry from the till. You froze against him, prompting him to laugh again at you before caressing your cheek to return your gaze to seek out his own.

“That was watching the whole time?” you hissed through gritted teeth at him.

“I only just noticed it myself,” he took a deep breath through his nose and held it slightly, “just before you decided to crawl over the bar, to be completely honest.”

You groaned and pressed your forehead against Sanji’s chest in an attempt to shield you from further embarrassment. You felt him smile as he pressed his lips to the side of your head and held you in an embrace.

“C’mon,” he said, capturing your chin with his thumb and index finger and bringing your eyes to meet his, “let’s go to the kitchen. We’ll break in to the old man’s office, take back any pictures the bloody thing took and I’ll cook you anything you want.”

You smiled warmly at him and pressed your lips against his in what was intended to be a partially chaste kiss. Instead; he held your chin firmly and continued the kiss, chasing your lips as you intended to pull away from him with his own. You smiled against his lips before patting his chest to signal for him to break from your lips.

“Enough,” you emphatically scolded him in a playful whisper before pulling away from his embrace and briskly making your way towards your boss’s office.

“You’ve been teasing me over these past few years, what do you expect?” he called after you with a teasing tone. You chose not to acknowledge his taunt, which caused him to bite his lip before twirling his piercing between his teeth and follow closely behind you.

#one piece #sanji #sanji opla #sanji x reader #x reader #opla

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a-kaash-me-outside · 1 year

Text

the walls are thin - epilogue

in which atsumu is your college neighbor with whom you share a wall. previous | epilogue [masterlist]

// proudly unpredictable and awestrukenly trusting ~ ᴀᴛsᴜᴍᴜ x ʙᴏᴋᴜᴛᴏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ~ 12504 ᴡᴏʀᴅs

a look into this chapter: 18+ minors dni omg even more smut, lots of fluff!, established relationships, seriously just a lot of fluff, we get to see all our favs, gatherings, party vibes, threesome, oral m!receive, throat fucking, oral f!receive, slight objectification but its hot?, afab she/her pronouns

a note from ♡ tori ♡: ah okay guys, i can't believe we're finally here. the END of twrt. i really didn't think that it would get this much love and all the interactions really just made me so happy and like would make my days, every week, all the time. tysm and ah, i can't wait for you guys to read THIS. it's like, ah, my fav. <3 <3 <3 can't wait to hear your guys' last thoughts on this silly little fic. ♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡

ever since you woke up 3 hours ago, you’ve been an anxious mess. productive, sure, but still uneasy. even now, you’re tidying, moving about the kitchen, wiping down the counters, putting away dishes, moving with purpose, quick, short movements from task to task.

“can ya stop pacing? it’s making me nervous,” atsumu calls from the living room, clicking his tongue and shaking his head as he emerges in the archway.

“how are you not more nervous already?” you ask, not stopping a single bit, actually pacing more now. before it was a way of getting around between chores, now you’re heel to toe, heel to toe, heel to heel toe until you reach the edge of the invisible barrier between your kitchen and dining room and then you turn 180° and repeat the process again.

it’s much roomier here than the kitchen in your apartment. the distance between your 180s is much longer than you had the luxury of before. you’re grateful for that, more time to overthink before spinning around.

you’re grateful for a lot of things in this kitchen compared to the last. the countertops are much nicer, shinier, easier to clean. the cupboards are roomier, don’t slam as loudly. the sink is big, spacious, with a spraying feature that actually gets the food off of the dishes. the stove has gas burners and there are two ovens instead of one really shitty one (though, those were a part of the non negotiable luxuries list you and atsumu came up with months ago). the fridge makes ice without having to fill the trays and the freezer has built-in shelves.

you’re grateful for the little things scattered around the kitchen too, the things that make it feel like home. the electric kettle is a matte sage and it matches your tea green dishware. the two cacti on the window sill, the hanging flowers to the right of the sink. photos of you and atsumu and friends, stupid lovey notes, oikawa and iwaizumi’s save the date, all attached to the fridge with tasteful souvenir magnets. the notepad on the freezer door where you and atsumu write your meal plan for the week. a dry erase calendar sprinkled with events in both yours and atsumu’s handwriting.

“hey, c’mon,” he says, walking over to you, reaching out his hand and wrapping it around your wrist gently to stop your repetitive motions. “makin’ me dizzy too.” he lets your hand fall as you stop, walking a few more steps away from him, deeper into the kitchen.

you huff, leaning your lower back against the cool countertop, heels digging into the tile floor as you cross your arms over your chest. “seriously, tsumu, how are you not nervous?”

he leans against the adjacent counter, palms gripping the edge, “what exactly are you worried about?”

“i don’t know,” you mumble, head tilting forward slowly, base leaving your spine, chin coming into soft contact with your chest as you take a deep breath.

you can’t see atsumu as he moves towards you, too busy looking down at your feet, but his voice is close to you as he speaks, “yea you do.” it’s soft, knowing, but patient.

“i just…,” you trail off. atsumu waits a few moments, trying to let you articulate whatever you’re feeling and wherever your worries are stemming from, but you look up at him and you’re not making any attempts to explain, so he tries to fill it in.

“everyone will get along, i promise. i know it’s been awhile, but that doesn’t mean that-,” he starts explaining.

you cut him off, shaking your head, “no it’s not that…”

“then what, baby?” he asks, nudging your legs apart, stepping in between them until the outsides of his thighs are pressed against the insides of yours. he grips onto the counter on either side of your hips.

you speak, small and somewhat under your breath, “we haven’t seen everyone in too long, i just really want everything to go well so i can enjoy the night.”

“come here,” he wraps his arms around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest, smoothing his hand over your hair as he presses a soft kiss onto the top. you let him move you, embrace you, wrapping your arms around his waist and finally taking a much needed deep breath.

you’re already feeling so much better, but he keeps explaining, “we get to see friends, some that we haven’t seen in years, all in one place, under this roof, our roof,” he pulls you back gently, kissing your cheek and then your cheekbones, “we own this roof,” he says, kissing you again and you giggle, “and we get to just hang out and play stupid games and catch up with everyone.”

atsumu steps back from you, interlocking his fingers with yours and spinning you around until your back is pressed up against his chest, swaying with you. “and we will play terrible music and feel so weird when two obscure friends talk to each other and we don’t even have to worry about stupid downstairs neighbors,” he says, spinning you back so he can see your adorable face again, watch the worry melt right off of it as he often gets to do because he’s so good at the melting, “and everyone will give us gifts, some really cool and some really bad, and we get to just have a really great night with everyone all in exchange for hours of veggie prep and hundreds of dollars in sliced meats and days of setting up and coming days of cleaning up.”

well, fuck, you can’t even remember why you were so worried a second ago.

“we still have so much work to do before everyone shows up at 6,” you note, no longer hurriedly anxious but still aware of how quickly time seems to pass when you’re being smothered in kisses by atsumu. your eyes flick to the clock above the stove that reads 10:15 am, but you don’t move an inch. even after all of this time, you’re still painfully aware of how difficult it is to unravel from a comforting atsumu.

bzz bzz. atsumu sits up, kisses your forehead quickly, and then walks back to the living room where his phone is buzzing. well, maybe it’s not so difficult for him. you almost yell out a pout, but realize that this sudden interruption should probably be welcomed, allowing you to actually focus on getting the house perfectly ready.

“hey,” atsumu says into the phone, muffled by the distance of being two rooms over now. “yea.” … “great!” … “okay.” …. “alright.” …. “okay. see you then.” …. “love you too.”

you scan your list of things to do, open the fridge to truly take in the quantity of vegetables and amount of side prepping you have to do, put the last dishes from the dishwasher away, and make a tiny note to remind atsumu to grab the mini burners from the basement. “who was that?” you call out.

“god, it’s a good thing we did all the shopping yesterday, or you’d be an even bigger mess today,” atsumu says, popping into the kitchen again, jumping up onto your freshly cleaned counter.

you throw him a look, eyes narrowed and jaw open in faux shock. “i literally just cleaned that,” you say, gesturing to the counter he is now sitting on, “also, i probably would be a smaller mess if someone was a bit more helpful.” you can’t help your smile as he shrugs his shoulders, playing along. just as you spent the entire morning cleaning the kitchen, atsumu had spent the entire morning cleaning the living room. the two of you both knew this.

you walk over to him. “can’t believe i’ve had to do everything today,” you shake your head at him, smile even wider as he leans forward and kisses it. “in return, i’d like you to go downstairs and find those stupid burners and also bring up the extra tables so i can set them.”

even amidst the chaos, clock ticking down with your to-do list still impossibly full, atsumu has a way of pulling you into these small moments. he always has, your entire relationship. it doesn’t matter what you were worried about, how you were feeling, what you were doing, he always creates space for you and him to just enjoy each other.

most of the time, just like this time, it comes in the form of teasing and poking fun. “y’know,” you tack on, leaning forward and kissing him back, “because you haven’t really done anything,” you explain.

he wraps his arms around your waist, leans back pulling you with him, kissing the side of your face, “oh is that so?”

you squirm to get out of his arms, but he holds tight, laughing now as he continues to press kiss after kiss after kiss wherever he can reach. “yes! it is so!!” you yell, laughter making it nearly unintelligible.

“right, the living room cleaned itself?” he asks.

you can’t stop laughing as you quip back, “magic, maybe.”

he lets you go completely now and shakes his head at you. “just like the table is going to magically find its way up here?” he asks, tilting his head.

you place your hands on his knees. “nope. that’s all you,” you tease.

knock knock knock. the fear creeps up on you quickly, all rational thought leaving in an instant as you worry about how much time could have passed, wrong information you could’ve sent out, unexpected people that it could be.

the crooked smile on atsumu’s face combats it instantly. “it’s a good thing i recruited back up then, huh?” atsumu says, nodding in the vague direction of your front door. your eyebrows knit together in confusion, but atsumu doesn’t say anything else, nods in the same direction again.

you make your way to the front door, tip toeing on perfectly cleaned hardwood floors and over brand new decorative rugs. just a week ago, this place was filled with boxes and disassembled furniture. now, in their places are the trinkets that filled them and the put together pieces.

the front door doesn’t even have a chance to open completely before you’re jumping into his arms, squeak of excitement leaving you, hanging off of his neck. whatever he was holding in his arms is set gently onto the ground so that he’s able to reciprocate the tightness of the hug.

you pull back, eyes wide and smile even wider before wrapping your arms around him once more and hugging him even tighter. you’re so enveloped in his embrace that you don’t hear atsumu approach behind you, only notice that he’s there when he scoffs loudly.

“what was one of the first things i said when you learned that he existed?” atsumu jokingly scolds. you pull away from your hug, half turning to see atsumu’s smitten smile and teasing head shakes. “i said that you weren’t allowed to like my brother more than me.”

you take a step back from the doorway, allowing osamu to actually step into the house. osamu reaches down to pick up his bags, one neatly packaged reusable kitchen bag and a just as neatly packaged gift bag. “that is somethin’ he usually has to say,” osamu says, looking in your direction, “when people meet atsumu first, it sets the bar pretty low.”

atsumu reaches forward to hit the side of osamu’s head, but osamu ducks out of the way like he’s been anticipating it from the moment the thought popped into his head. “besides, most people can’t help it,” osamu loudly whispers to you, smirking, “i’m just the better twin.”

“never shoulda invited ya,” atsumu shakes his head.

“but i’m so much help,” osamu replies, leaving his shoes neatly to the right of the door.

“yea, you’re just in time to go get stuff from the basement,” atsumu points out, nodding towards the basement door down the hallway.

“oh, absolutely not,” you step in front of atsumu’s nodding, blocking the view to the basement as if to prove a point. “samu’s gonna help me in the kitchen because duh and also so he can tell me all about the onigiri miya drama,” you explain to atsumu, shifting your weight forward onto the tips of your toes and smiling huge.

“god, i made a mistake inviting you over to help prep, didn’t i?” atsumu asks, but you’re already pulling osamu by the forearm into the kitchen, loudly excited to tell him every little detail about your new kitchen.

“you remember the old kitchen, right?”

“yea, of course, was kinda shitty.”

“i know, i know, but look! look at this, samu, 2 ovens.”

“gas stove too?”

“yea! works much better with the pans you got tsumu and i last christmas.”

“oh! do ya wanna see the housewarming gift i got ya?”

“now?!”

“why not?”

“then, yea! duh!”

nope. definitely not a mistake.

atsumu peaks his head into the archway with every intention of telling you that he’s heading to the basement and asking you if you could think of anything else that was down there that he needed to bring up. instead, he gets to watch this scene unfold, doesn’t dare to interrupt as you tear the tissue paper out of the bag, throw it onto the floor that you were so worried about moments ago, dig your hand around inside to feel for the contents, and then pull out a wooden box. “no way,” you say under your breath, turning quickly to set it down on the counter with excessive care. “my own?”

“come on, yn, every time you and sumu were at my place when ya came to visit, ya wouldn’t stop talkin’ about it,” osamu says, beaming, watching you closely as you gently pop open the latch.

“yea but then i went home and tsumu and i looked up how much it was and then we couldn’t stop randomly bringing up how much you spent on a fucking knife for 3 weeks straight,” you explain, shaking your head. you reach down into the box, running your fingers over the engraving on the side and it takes everything in you not to burst into tears as you read it. miya.

“i heard ya had a lot of veggies to prep,” osamu says, shrugging, “you’ll get enough use out of it today alone, i bet.”

“this is insane, samu, fuck,” you say, turning towards him and hugging him for the third time today already. “thank you so much.”

“of course,” osamu says, hugging you back.

“not really a gift for tsumu, though, huh?” you ask.

“the gift for sumu was how happy it makes you,” he replies without missing a beat, as if he actually thought it all the way through when buying it, saw the price tag, and took into account how happy his brother would be if he bought it for you. you can’t stop smiling.

the food prep flies by, not just because of your incredible new knife, but also because of the company. it’s actually been hours by the time you get everything washed, chopped, prepped, and plated, but the entire time was spent catching up on months worth of onigiri miya drama and the trips that you and atsumu had recently taken.

the second that the door to the basement closes, you lean in close to osamu, “so how is it going with that girl who keeps coming in right before closing?” you don’t have to be as close as you are to osamu to notice how flustered he gets instantly.

“i’m gonna switch jobs with sumu,” osamu threatens, shaking his head as he brings packages of vegetables to the sink.

you follow right along. “evading the question is just going to make it worse,” you explain.

“i don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replies, evidently evading the question.

“the last you told me, she was still coming in and you were still staying open just to make her food,” you say, turning off the faucet so that he pays attention to you. “is that still happening?” he doesn’t respond. “you have to at least give me that!”

he sighs, turning his attention to you. “the second that atsumu walks up those stairs, you don’t say another word about this,” he says, finger in your face.

“deal! deal deal deal!” you say, nodding along. “is it still happening?”

“and,” he adds, “you let me wash the veggies while we talk about this.” you reach over and turn the faucet on again, smiling. he continues, “yes, it’s still happening.”

“have you told her that you like her?” you ask, not contributing a single bit to the prep that osamu is doing.

“well, i’m not 12, so, no?” he replies.

you hit his shoulder, “you don’t have to be 12 to have a crush on someone, samu. but, seriously, do you get that vibe?”

“probably just hungry after work or something,” osamu mumbles.

“so nothing has happened since we last talked that would make it seem like maybe she’s into you?” you ask, squinting at him despite the fact that his attention is solely on washing the bunches of broccoli.

you hear the sound of ascending steps from the basement, the door knob jiggle open, and you know osamu does too as he quickly says, “i mean, maybe the one time we were chatting until 4 am.” the door squeaks open and osamu raises his eyebrows at you and shakes his head. you will get this information out of him later.

it’s not long until it’s just a few short hours of everyone arriving. the decorating is mostly done, the food is prepped in the fridge, the tables are mostly set up. you entrust the rest of the prep to the miya twins- which might be a terrible idea, you’ll have to see once you come back downstairs- as you go upstairs to get yourself ready.

“i will keep an eye on him,” osamu says, flinging his arm around atsumu.

atsumu instantly pushes osamu’s arm off of him, shaking his head and reaching to smack the side of his head again. “it’s my house!” atsumu yells, missing once again and then instantly trying to hit him again. when osamu keeps moving out of the way, atsumu jumps at osamu, sending the two of them flying backwards and into one of the tables that needs to be finished setting up. the table bumps against the wall and even from your place on the stairs, you can see the ding in the freshly painted wall.

atsumu and osamu look at the wall and then up at you, waiting to see how you’ll react and how much they should start blaming each other. you just laugh, “the first of many, i suppose.” and then you make your way upstairs.

/++/

5:39pm and you walk downstairs, breath held because you’re not exactly sure what the state of the house is going to be in, but whatever expectations that you had are surpassed. everything looks exactly how you want it to look.

atsumu and osamu are standing side by side looking down at the large, mostly empty table where, in an hour’s time, your closest friends will be gathered, enjoying food and each other’s company. “i still think we should just set up the broths and vegetables,” atsumu says.

your torn between pulling out the camera or committing this adorable scene to memory, atsumu and osamu in the same exact pose, arms folded across their chests, posture mimicked, head tilted to the same degree. you opt for the camera. it’s more replicable that way, more provable.

it’s over all too soon, osamu bumping his shoulder into atsumu’s and shaking his head. “i told ya already, stupid,” osamu jeers, “if people aren’t eatin’ for another hour, there’s no need to bring em out yet. ya don’t even have to do anything, just hafta take the plastic wrap off of em.”

“yeah, but when we’re-,” atsumu starts to argue.

“yer wrong, just be wrong, sumu,” osamu interrupts.

atsumu moves to hit him again, but you speak up, “we can just bring it out when everyone arrives and settles.” the two of them turn to face you and atsumu can’t help the smitten face that quickly takes over, doesn’t even have the heart to argue with you right now. “seriously, everything looks great, guys, thank you.”

osamu sends back a quick, not a problem that you don’t have a chance to reply to, because atsumu meets you in two quick strides, kissing the side of your cheek. “you look a lot less stressed,” he says against your skin and then moves to pull away. osamu, the most perfect man in the world who can read any room and react with impeccable timing, tells the two of you that he’s going to finish cleaning up the prep mess in the kitchen.

you place both of your hands on either side of atsumu’s face, pulling him to kiss you. “you’re really good to me, y’know that?” you ask.

“ya look really good tonight, y’know that?” he asks back.

you shake your head at his evaded question. you know that he knows that. you kiss him again. “don’t you have to get ready? people are going to walk through that door any minute.”

“yes,” he says quickly, kisses you once more, and is then bounding up the stairs, “i’ll be 10 minutes tops!” he yells from your bedroom.

/++/

atsumu is the third person that shows up to your party and that’s not including you and osamu. the first person that shows up is maki at 5:58pm because, sure, he could’ve waited for those 2 minutes and shown up right on time, but that would’ve been 2 minutes that he could’ve been spending with you. he earns a hug just as hard as osamu, harder even, longer, despite the fact that you saw maki just last week when he helped you move in.

“you’re early, y’know that?” you ask when you pull away. maki steps inside of your house as if he’s been there a million times, leaves his shoes right next to osamu’s and nods.

“2 whole minutes,” maki replies, shrugging, “issei’s on his way and i’m sure oikawa and iwa will be late,” he informs you and you nod along. sure, maki had helped you move in, but he hadn’t gotten to see your house put together like it is now. he takes the liberty of exploring the rooms of the ground floor and you follow him around as you ask him how his drive was.

when you make it into the kitchen, excited to start rattling off everything about it that you love, osamu is in there casually on his phone. osamu and maki had met before, several times. it was inevitable, really, the most important person in your life other than atsumu and the most important person in his life other than you knowing one another. and you’re grateful for the fact that you don’t need to introduce or entertain the two of them as they instantly start a conversation because someone is already at the door and atsumu is nowhere to be seen.

the second person that shows up at your party is kita at 6:00pm on the dot. you know everyone that’s coming to the party, but you know kita the least and yet, the second that he starts talking, you feel like you’ve known him forever. you’ve only really met one other time, but kita steps inside and tells you how gorgeous the entryway to your house is and hands you a small gift and you understand very quickly why atsumu and osamu have raved about this person for years.

atsumu makes his way downstairs, quickly and haphazardly and almost falling on his ass, at 6:14pm. he just barely beats out sakusa and hinata who show up together at 6:15pm. in fact, he’s there to greet them at the door with you. they’re the first people that you greet as a couple and it, along with the soft chatter in the kitchen from osamu, maki, and kita, is making the night feel very real.

sakusa and hinata don’t need any introductions or hand-holding. even though they have never been in your house, they make themselves feel at home, walking in and leaving the two of you in the doorway as they explore. “this is crazy, right?” you ask atsumu, unable to focus on one conversation that’s happening and it’s filling you with a joy that is unmatched.

he answers by pressing a kiss into your forehead and nodding down the hall where hinata is touching something that he maybe shouldn’t be and sakusa is scolding him, something about how he’s so glad bo isn’t here yet. you can’t help but laugh, taking a single step in their direction before the next person is knocking on the door.

issei shows up at 6:16pm. he’s the first person to say the word, congratulations! to the two of you and it feels warm on your mind and in your chest. “maki’s already here, right? he said he was coming early to see you,” issei says, peering down your hallway.

“two minutes, issei,” you say, shaking your head, “he was two minutes early and it’s a good thing too, because i haven’t been able to spare anything other than those two minutes.”

“ah, there’s that college you,” issei jokes, pulling you in for a hug, “i knew it was in there somewhere, that interesting mixture of super stressed and in love with atsumu.” you narrow your eyes at him, but can’t get a comeback out as he continues, “where’s kawa and hajime, anyway?”

“come on,” you check your imaginary watch, “it’s still practically six o’clock.”

“true, but iwa did say that he was really going to try to get oikawa here on time,” issei notes as you shut the door behind him.

“and i’m saying that even really trying, there’s no way oikawa shows up before 7pm,” you shoot back and pull issei into the direction of the kitchen. you make quick eye contact with atsumu who gives you a warm smile and gestures towards the living room, making his way over there as soon as you return an affirming nod.

“i know you’re right, but sometimes i just want to have faith in them, y’know,” issei says, the two of you entering the kitchen. maki immediately (and politely) leaves his current conversation to join you guys when he sees you.

“who?” maki asks, quickly and very nosy.

“hajime trying to get oikawa here early,” you reply.

“oh, there’s no way that oikawa shows up before 7pm,” maki says matter-of-factly.

you grab onto his shoulder, nodding with your whole body because it’s really nice to have someone in your life who understands you as much as maki does. “that’s what i said!!!!”

the three of you catch up as much as three people who are in four different group chats and who talk to each other every day can catch up with one another. it is different, though. you hadn’t seen issei in months and maki hadn’t seen him in almost as long as you and you feel like you’re back in college in the best way possible and you really wish oikawa and iwaizumi were here.

you’re so immersed in your conversation that you actually don’t hear the door open. instead, you hear the voices traveling from the foyer, through the halls, and to the kitchen at 6:43pm.

“i don’t think you’re supposed to just walk in, rin,” you hear a familiar voice at the front door.

“well, then, maybe they should lock their door, aran,” you hear a different familiar voice reply.

you excuse yourself, walking to go greet the two people at the door. atsumu beats you to it, practically running down the hallway and pulling aran and then suna into a half hug. “yo, careful, atsumu, geez,” suna pokes, but hugs him right back. “you’re gonna break whatever this gift is.”

“how do you not know what it is?” atsumu asks, grabbing the large bag from him.

“because rin just asked if we could get something together so he wouldn’t have to go shopping,” aran says before suna could offer any sort of bullshit excuse. suna doesn’t deny it then, only lets a knowing, lazy smile creep onto his face.

“yea, guilty,” suna shrugs, “but to be fair, it was really expensive, whatever it is.”

aran nods, “it was really expensive.”

atsumu shakes his head, “you guys really didn’t hafta get us anything.”

“i mean, if it was just you, we wouldn’t have,” suna explains, looking passed atsumu and walking towards you. “thanks for havin’ us.”

you are pulled into two more hugs. you should have been keeping count of the amount of hugs you’re giving out tonight because the number is definitely getting up there and you’re not sure that it’s going to stop anytime soon.

“of course,” you reply, “thank you for whatever this really expensive gift is.”

“yea, whatever it is,” suna laughs.

you rest your hand on aran’s shoulder, “kita’s already here and osamu’s been here all day.”

“what? where was our all day invite?” suna asks.

“we’re literally here 45 minutes late, rin,” aran says, face unphased but voice questioning.

“yea, and you wouldn’t have helped,” atsumu tacks on.

“alright, yea,” suna says and the four of you walk into the kitchen. you note in your head that another thing you’re very grateful for about this kitchen is how much bigger it is than your last one, the open connection to the dining area granting the ability to fit everyone without having to worry about being too cramped.

you note the different groups of people forming, the different conversations that are taking place. you’re still playing host right now, walking from group to group and adding a few words or giving a side hug or asking if anyone wants a drink.

“who else is coming?” aran asks when you interrupt his conversation with kita and sakusa.

“oh, my friends, oikawa and iwaizumi, and then bo, i think, right?” you answer and ask atsumu across the room.

“yup,” atsumu nods, returning his attention to the conversation that he’s having with issei and suna.

“oikawa and iwaizumi are usually this late, but i’m not sure why bo is so late,” you say, thoughtful, but then shrug your shoulders. as if on cue, there is a knock at the door. “oh! that’s probably him.”

you rush over to the door and are very surprised to see oikawa and iwaizumi at 7:02pm. “i’m sorry that we’re late. i really tried this time,” iwaizumi says, looking at oikawa with a death stare rather than you with an apologetic one. you laugh, shaking your head. you hug them both, one arm around each of their necks as you squeeze them tight.

you hadn’t seen them even longer than you hadn’t seen issei, almost an entire year. sure, you kept in contact all the time, but you hadn’t physically been able to hug them and see them in far too long. they had just been much too busy with life and travel and wedding plans and life. “‘ts fine, but you’re staying later to make up for it,” you reply, still not letting go.

“oh, we’re staying in town for a few days, actually,” oikawa smiles, “surprise?”

“oh my god!” you say, indeed surprised. “that’s incredible!”

“yeah, atsumu helped us set the whole thing up the second we even made a mention in passing,” oikawa explains.

“guess that’s why kawa thought it would be okay to be the last people here?” iwaizumi says, evidently still playfully bitter about the fact that oikawa made them late again.

“actually,” you say, “not the last people to get here. somehow.”

“dammit! no way?” iwaizumi says in disbelief. you’re about to question why that’s such a bad thing, but oikawa’s sweet smile contorts into mischief and told ya so.

“ha! pay up! i told you, hajime,” oikawa says, poking his finger into the side of iwaizumi’s cheek.

“ridiculous,” iwaizumi shakes his head, “who else?”

“oh, just bokuto. i’m still really not sure why he’s so late. i thought you guys were him,” you reply, shaking your head. “i’ll send him a text-.”

“hajime,” oikawa says monotonously, cutting you off, “pay. up.”

“what? not here?” iwaizumi says, shaking his head, eyebrows furrowed like oikawa has just asked for something he should not have. knowing oikawa, he probably did exactly that.

“yes, here. pay up!” oikawa says, nodding back in the direction that they came from. you tilt your head curiously, wanting to ask questions, but just letting whatever is happening unfold.

“absolutely not,” iwaizumi refuses.

“no, because i said that-,” oikawa starts, finger in iwaizumi’s face once again.

“okay, okay, fine,” iwaizumi gives in. you’ve known the two of them long enough to know exactly what’s going through iwaizumi’s brain. there were times before that he didn’t give in to oikawa as quickly as this, but all three of you know that when oikawa starts droning on about whatever he said, it never ends in iwaizumi getting his way.

“it’s in the car,” oikawa smiles.

“i’ll be back,” iwaizumi grumbles, turning around and then he’s gone again.

you choose not to ask any questions because oikawa is not responding to your very confused face and instead starts asking you about your new home. you only get halfway into a partial conversation when iwaizumi shows back up at the door, shaking his head, sighing heavily with a white t-shirt that reads oikawa was right. “perfect,” oikawa says, placing his palm against the words and patting softly.

he walks down the hallway on his toes, swaying back and forth proudly, “issei, come look at this stupid fucking shirt that hajime’s wearing!” within seconds, issei appears in the hallway, attacking oikawa with a hug and then pointing at iwaizumi, shaking his head and laughing. maki follows behind with less force, but all of his composure vanishes the second he sees the shirt.

“god, i can’t believe i get to marry that idiot,” iwaizumi says softly and you know that if anyone else were standing here with him, he wouldn’t have let it slip out into the air, but he knows that you get it more than anyone.

once everyone is settled, back into small groups conversing, you take out your phone to shoot bokuto a text message to at least ask him where he’s at. he responds in seconds.

> bokkun ♡ / 7:14 pm> SORRY. walking up now ♡♡♡♡♡♡

“well, well, well,” you say, clicking your tongue as you open the door. you’re there before he’s even knocked. “you’re very late, bokuto.”

“i’m sorry! i’m sorry,” he says, leaning down and wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you into an enveloping, warm, tight hug. “but i have a good reason?” he says as he steps back.

emerging from behind him is akaashi with an almost embarrassed, sheepish smile.

“oh my god! i haven’t seen you in so long! ah!” you say, greeting him with a hug as well. it’s less warm, more friendly than bokuto’s, and you can feel how nervous he is. you met akaashi a few times before and really hit it off. he was easily one of your favorite people even though you’ve known him much less than some of the other people at this party. but he didn’t live in the area and neither of you were very good at keeping up with each other.

“i’m sorry i dropped by uninvited, but bokuto said that it would be okay and-,” akaashi smiles apologetically.

“of course it’s okay!” you say, pulling him inside.

“well, okay, i didn’t bring kaashi so that you would ignore me,” bokuto says, stepping inside on your other side, throwing his arm around your shoulder and pulling you into his side.

“me? ignore you? come on, you’ve gotta be joking,” you tease, wrapping your arms around his neck, practically hanging off of him. “tsumu!” you yell excitedly, walking as quickly as you can with bokuto attached to your hip into the living room where everyone has migrated, “bo is here!” you emerge from the hallway. “and look who he brought!”

you’re so excited to start introducing anyone who doesn’t know akaashi to akaashi because everyone loves akaashi, but just as you’re about to start pointing everyone out and giving names to faces, akaashi speaks, soft and timid in this room of so many people, but clear nonetheless. “samu?”

osamu’s head swivels around quickly, following that voice that he evidently knows so well, because the word is already coming out of his mouth, before he’s even made eye contact with him. “keiji?” there are conversations still happening, people still chatting, but a few of them stop, and most importantly you hear it and notice it.

“you two know each other?” bokuto asks, surprised and excited all in one.

for you, it’s more about figuring out what’s happening than being excited and happy that they already know each other. “you two know each other that well?” you question.

osamu turns away, tilts his head down to the floor and clears his throat, but akaashi isn’t that quick. you watch the blush spread across his nose and cheeks.

“yeah, i work near onigiri miya and i usually stop there after work,” akaashi explains, “samu- er, osamu is usually kind enough to let me stay and eat while he cleans up.”

it all clicks.

you can’t stop the expression from creeping onto your face. the warning glance that osamu sends your way is just more proof of how heavily it’s showing. you have so many questions, need so many answers, at the very least want some sort of confirmation that you are as right about this as you feel and akaashi gives you just that.

he laughs, light and airy, and you can see the effects that it has on osamu. “just the other day he let me stay until like,” akaashi lowers his head, slightly embarrassed, “i had a really annoying day at work and he let me hang out in the restaurant until like 4 in the morning. and you had to be in at like 9 the next day, didn’t you?” he asks osamu.

“oh, even earlier, actually,” osamu teases back, “like 7 or something ridiculous.”

akaashi shakes his head, tucks a piece of hair behind his ear and exhales, “i’m not even going to make any promises that i won’t do it again.”

“well, i would never ask that of ya,” osamu says and you can feel how genuine it is and it’s not even pointed at you.

atsumu shoots you a questioning look, very aware of the silent exchanges between you and osamu. you shoot him back a wide-eyed, excited expression and mouth the word, later to him. atsumu nods back at you, gives you a quick thumbs up, and then continues talking with hinata, sakusa, aran, and suna.

osamu and akaashi practically don’t talk to anyone else that night, moving over to the quiet corner of the living room. osamu takes it upon himself to drag him into the kitchen, to grab him a drink, to ask him about work, and to tell him that he looks really nice tonight.

“it’s just because i’m actually freshened up,” akaashi reasons.

“no way.”

“yes way. you usually see me after an 8 hour shift.”

“or maybe it’s just because i always think it, but we’re finally outside of my restaurant and so i can say things like that.”

a pause. “well, i think you look better in your onigiri miya shirt.”

“oh is that so, keiji?”

“yeah. you look good in black.”

“well, i’ll have to keep that in mind.”

now that everyone is here, you’re leaving host mode. everyone is settled. everyone is having their own conversations. everyone looks like they’re genuinely enjoying themselves. you scan the people, the different groups that everyone is forming and then reforming. it’s weird, but deeply moving, to see every single facet of your life come together like this. people that would have otherwise never have met, all together in the same room. interactions that you never could have predicted, going really well. and all within these walls, your walls.

everyone eats and everyone laughs and you get to show off your new knife to everyone and halfway through the night, atsumu pulls you into his lap and wraps his arms around your waist, and you know that this night was meant to see everyone and mingle, but you’re not sure that you want to move from this very spot for the rest of the night and neither does he. in fact, he orders osamu around from his place at the table, telling osamu to clear the table and to grab the game that’s in the cabinet of the tv stand.

osamu doesn’t want to listen, really, he doesn’t, but akaashi starts walking towards the tasks before osamu can refuse. akaashi helps clear the dishes and laughs when atsumu starts yelling at osamu for making akaashi do his work and before you know it, everyone is at the table and all of the dishes are in the sink and the food is put away and there is two stacks of cards in the middle of everyone.

“game’s real easy, even samu can play,” atsumu explains, nodding towards the colorful cards. osamu doesn’t even bite back, just seems happy to be sharing a bench with akaashi. “someone draws a question card and they have to answer it or drink unless someone at the table uses their veto card which they can accrue more of by doing the dares in the other card pile, got it?”

everyone nods. “honestly, we’ve never played with this many people or this many veto cards, so it should be interesting,” you say.

“so, basically, no one is getting out of not answering a question,” sakusa replies.

“that is definitely what that means,” aran agrees.

“alright, atsumu should go first,” osamu says, “it’s only fair.”

“fine, fine,” atsumu says, waving his hand, grabbing a card from the pile, “who is the worst dressed person in this room?” he reads. “okay, actually, a lot of them are like this and there are a lot of people here.”

“well, are you going to drink or answer it?” kita asks.

“you gotta answer it,” hinata says.

“well, someone would be stupid to use their veto on this anyway, because it’s obviously iwa,” atsumu answers quickly, shaking his head and throwing the card down. iwaizumi nods in agreement as oikawa stands up in his seat.

“hey! that shirt is the best piece of clothing hajime owns!” oikawa says.

plenty of insults fly across the table as the game continues. atsumu wasn’t lying. a lot of the cards are very similar in nature, just calling out people in the room for various things like being a bad kisser or still being caught up on an ex. no one even has to use a veto card. they’re all harmless enough, poking fun and joking around, or no one cares enough to force someone to answer.

until it’s your turn.

you reach forward, getting out of atsumu’s lap for just a second to draw the card before he’s pulling you back into him. you and atsumu read the question at the same time, but atsumu reacts much quicker than you do, laughing loudly. if he had been drinking something when you pulled the card, he would have made a huge mess.

“what does it say?” maki asks, nosy, trying to peer over your shoulder and at the card before you read it.

you move away from him, cheeks warm, hoping, praying, if there’s a god out there, that no one uses their veto. you move your hand, ready to drink already as you read, “if you could have sex with any of your partner’s friends, who would it be?”

the only people in the room that aren’t laughing are akaashi and kita and even they are giggling and wide eyed at the question. “i’m drinking,” you say, already bringing the cup to your lips.

“not so fast,” oikawa says, slamming his veto card down on the table, “i’m sure i’m not the only person who would have done this anyway. and besides, i can use hajime’s card later if i need it.”

“no, you will not,” iwaizumi scoffs.

“fine, then you want me to take my card back?” oikawa asks.

“no, obviously not, i want to know yn’s answer,” iwaizumi laughs, directing his attention back to you. in fact, everyone’s attention is on you.

“i don’t think this question was designed to be played when every one of my partner’s closest friends are in the same room?” you challenge.

“tough shit, answer the question,” suna says, pointing his finger in your direction.

“right, and to clarify, that doesn’t include people that used to just be your friends like iwa and maki,” issei says, “because then obviously we know your answer would be me.”

you shake your head, ignoring his comment and taking a deep breath, “this is so stupid.”

“come on, ya gotta play the game,” osamu jeers.

atsumu squeezes your waist, pressing a kiss into the back of your shoulder, “yea, babe, you gotta play the game.” you turn your head and narrow your eyes at him.

“ridiculous that the first thing you two agree on is making me answer this in front of everyone right now,” you scold.

“just get it over with,” atsumu teases, “it’s not hard. even i know it.”

“no you don’t,” you scoff.

“so there is someone on your mind right now?” maki says, leaning forward as if that will make the answer come faster.

“i-,” you start, but anything that you could think of saying would just dig this hole deeper. “well, i-.”

“come on, just say it,” sakusa pokes.

your eyes flick over to him quickly, face burning, absolutely radiating heat now, you’re sure. and you’re sure that everyone can tell how flustered you’re getting, because there is an obvious answer in your mind, one that’s been in your mind since the moment you met him.

“obviously, it’s bokkun,” you mumble and atsumu, true to his word, does know it. he says the name right alongside you, laughing at how perfectly the syllables align. you and atsumu seem to be the only two people at this table that are expecting this answer because the rest of the table is in an uproar now. symphonies of what?!?!?! and bokuto?!!?! and what about me?!?? arise in stereo.

“me?” bokuto asks, floored and flustered in a way that affirms your answer perfectly. you’re feeling just as shy as before and everyone is screaming around you and at atsumu and each other and bokuto, but you offer a small nod to bokuto, just to bokuto, and you watch him attempt, and fail, to hide a smile.

after everything calms down, you’re able to play a few more rounds, thankfully not getting any other question that tops that one, not even when you get the question that reads, was your ex good in bed? and you answered a quick yes and then pushed forward.

the clock is ticking down, the night is getting later and later and as the game is packed up and put back in its safe place beneath the tv, people start to trickle home. hinata and sakusa, issei, kita, aran and suna. you offer goodbyes and thank you for comings and when you walk oikawa, iwaizumi, and maki to the door, you say a very sincere, “i don’t want it to be this long until we do something like this again.”

“come on,” oikawa says, shaking his head, “hajime and i are getting married in less than two months.” oikawa lifts his hand, showing off his dainty ring as if you forgot that they were engaged.

“shit, it’s already that close?” you ask.

“yea,” oikawa nods along, smiling, “most of those dumbasses are invited too, so, it won’t be long, i promise. it’ll be louder, and i’ll be the happiest i’ve ever been, but it won’t be too long.”

you nod, hugging oikawa tightly and then iwaizumi and then maki. “seriously, thank you guys for coming.”

“wouldn’t miss it for the world,” maki says, smiling, “i’m crashing your guys’ lunch tomorrow, so i’ll see you then.”

“obviously,” you reply, locking the door behind them once they’ve left.

the only people left in your living room that don’t live there are bokuto, akaashi, and osamu. before you can make your way back in there, atsumu grabs your forearm and pulls you into him, kissing you hard, hand cupping your cheek, fingers scratching over your jaw.

“what was that for?” you ask when he finally pulls away.

“because i can,” he shrugs, and you take that as an okay to start to move again, but he holds you in place, “and because look at this house we own together, isn’t that crazy?”

you laugh, “yes, yes it is.” you wait to see if there’s anything else.

there is.

“and because i trust you more than anything in this world.”

you cock your head. “okay…,” you say, hesitant.

“and if you want to have sex with bokuto tonight, i would be okay with that,” atsumu finishes, proudly unpredictable and awestruckenly trusting.

you physically have to jump back, unable to process that sentence any other way. “what?!” you ask, loudly, and atsumu can’t stop laughing, shushing you and shaking his head. “no! what?! why would you say that?”

“because i’ve known that you’ve wanted to fuck bokuto our entire relationship and if you want to ask him if he wants to spend the night with us, that would be okay with me,” atsumu says, calmly. way too calmly for what’s coming out of his mouth, you have to admit.

you don’t know what to say. you can barely think or understand what he’s saying, let alone how to respond. “with us?” you ask for clarification.

atsumu nods, “i’m sure he will not be difficult to convince if that’s what you want.”

you’re afraid to ask it because you’re afraid that all of this is just some elaborate joke. or, rather, you’re afraid for only a second after thinking it, because atsumu doesn’t surprise you anymore. he squeezes your forearm, looks you directly in the eyes as you ask, “and it’s something you want?”

“i offered, didn’t i?” he asks back and you nod.

“okay,” you say, nodding again. “i’ll ask him.”

it’s easy enough to pull bokuto aside with osamu and akaashi being as involved in their own conversation as they are. you don’t really know how to approach it, not completely. how do you just ask someone that? but the second that you pull him into the kitchen and away from the few people that are still in your house, he exhales and steps close to you. and it’s not anything that you’ve said all night, it’s just how he’s always acted around you.

you lean against the counter and he follows, shaking his head and standing right in front of you. “you’ve got a lot of cool friends, y’know that?”

“oh, yea,” you nod, punching his shoulder and then poking your finger into the middle of his chest, “the coolest.” he laughs and you can feel it against the tip of your pointer finger. you can hear murmuring in the living room. it fills up the comfortable spaces of silence. you look up at bokuto, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “i don’t really know how to ask this,” you say back, softly enough so that the people in the other room can’t hear your murmur.

bokuto tilts his head, “what’s up? is everything okay?”

“no, yea, really great,” you say, nodding and then you take a deep breath. just say it, just say it, just say it, just say it, just say it. “would you,” you say, you curl your fingers against his chest, “want to spend the night?”

the first emotion to come to the surface is excitement and then quickly after that confusion hits bokuto’s face much harder, like his mind filled in the blanks, but didn’t let himself get his hopes up. “like…,” he trails off, hoping that you’ll explain further without him having to ask.

you reach forward and tug on his forearm, coaxing him closer to you. “like…,” you say, heart beating violently against your chest. you try to evade his gaze, head down, focusing on the feeling of his soft skin against yours, nails scraping against it eliciting a tiny shiver from bokuto.

he reaches down, places his finger beneath your chin, and tilts your head upwards. “like?” he asks, eyes evidently flickering down to your lips. it couldn’t be helped, the way your tongue swipes against your lips and your breath catches in your throat. you just nod.

before his lips meet yours, you both talk at the same time, overlapping one another, but hearing the other perfectly.

“is this okay with atsumu?”

“like, with atsumu too.”

you put both of your hands into bokuto’s hair and he reciprocates quickly, putting both of his hands on either sides of your face and pulling you towards him, lips crashing into his. it’s like he reads your mind, one arm around your waist, one hand bracing the back of your thigh as he props you up on the counter to get closer to you.

you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him impossibly deeper into your lips, leaning forward as if there was any space for you to move into. large hands grip onto the fats of your hips, sliding you to the edge of the counter, stomach pressed up against his, arms sliding down his back, fingernails dragging against the fabric of his shirt.

bokuto pulls away, laughing softly, “so this is why tsum tsum comes into practice complaining about his back.”

“it actually gets much worse than this,” you say back, low and airy, pressing your forehead against his and kissing him once more, quick.

atsumu appears in the archway, leaning against the wall, not an ounce of jealousy on his face, but rather, a very devilish smile. you feel warm regardless, but you don’t make a move to untangle from bo. “so, are you staying the night, bokkun?”

bokuto almost immediately says yes, but then hesitates. “god, yea, i’d really love that, but i-,” he sighs, “i have to make sure akaashi gets home and-”

“i can take akaashi home,” osamu calls from the living room.

“oh, you don’t have to do that, i can just get an uber or something-,” akaashi dismisses.

“no way,” osamu says, shaking his head. from where atsumu is standing, he can peer around the corner and see his brother’s hand grasped around the back of akaashi’s elbow. “let me take you home, keiji.”

“whose home, samu?” akaashi says so quietly that if you were not actively listening for whatever akaashi’s response is, you would not have heard. you decide that that’s enough eavesdropping, actually, allowing them their private conversation and turning your attention back to bo, having your own private conversation as you repeat atsumu’s question.

“so, are you staying the night, bokkun?” you mimic exactly.

he nods, about to say something else maybe or try to kiss you again, but it’s interrupted very quickly as osamu calls out, “we’re out of here.” you barely have time for bo to help you hop off the counter before osamu and akaashi appear in the archway behind atsumu hand in hand.

you look directly at their interlocked fingers and akaashi’s pinkish cheeks and you tilt your head at osamu. osamu looks at bokuto’s hand on your hip and your disheveled hair and he tilts his head at you. you decide to call it even.

you contemplate letting them walk out on their own because there is nothing else in your mind right now than bokuto, atsumu, and a whole bunch of fantasies coming to realization. you don’t do that. you leave bokuto’s grasp, walking towards the front door with akaashi and osamu. atsumu offers a goodbye to akaashi and osamu, unbothered because he’s sure he’ll see osamu a few more times this weekend before he makes his way back home. atsumu is much more concerned with having a very quiet conversation with bokuto.

you only catch bokuto’s concerned, “are you sure about this?” as his head moving back and forth from you to atsumu. and atsumu’s assured, “i’m the one that brought it up.”

“have a safe drive home,” you say to osamu and akaashi at the doorstep. “and a fun rest of your night.”

“yn,” osamu warns, but you just feign ignorance.

“you also have a fun rest of your night, yn,” akaashi says in the same exact tone, tugging on osamu’s hand, placing the other on his bicep.

“ha!” osamu laughs, turning around and pulling akaashi to the car. it’s like he can’t get out of here fast enough. “thanks for having us!” osamu calls from the car window and then they’re gone.

when you shut the door, locking it for the last time, you realize how quiet the house is without the different areas of chatter. in fact, you can’t even hear the conversation that you know is happening in your dining room.

except, there isn’t a conversation happening in your dining room. instead, there is atsumu, the love of your life, the most important person in the world to you making out with bokuto, your closest friend of atsumu’s, the one person you’ve wanted to fuck other than atsumu in the last 4 years. your voice is small, not because you’re timid or embarrassed, but because you think if you speak any louder, a whimper will come alongside it. “can you take me to bed?”

the whimper escapes you anyway as a tiny string of spit connects atsumu and bokuto’s lips and as atsumu looks like he’s trying to regain composure and as he leans over to bokuto and says, “i get to do it all the time, you go ahead.” your stomach is doing a million flips and as bokuto approaches you, your mind goes blank. not that you need it.

because bokuto picks you up, same hold as before. his touch feels familiar and his grasp feels strong. “i don’t even know where i’m going,” bokuto admits as he reaches the top of the stairs. you gesture in the direction of your bedroom and open the door as he walks close enough to it. he leaves the door open, lays you down on the bed and as if he’s pictured this in his mind a million times, he quickly and assuredly kisses down your clothed chest, lifting up the bottom of your shirt to press kisses into your stomach before sinking onto the floor.

everything is happening so fast and you cannot explain how grateful you are because you’ve wanted this for so long and you’re finally getting it. bokuto doesn’t waste a second in hooking his arms under your knees, pulling you to the edge of the bed, spreading your legs, and ducking under your skirt. your thighs squeeze the sides of his cheeks as you feel his warm breath between your legs.

“enjoying yourself, pretty girl?” atsumu asks as he sinks into the bed beside your head, smoothing over your head and lifting your shirt. you can feel both pairs of hands on you independently, but somehow moving in perfect time with each other. it’s overwhelming in the best way. atsumu doesn’t even take your shirt off, just pulls it up far enough for your bra to show and then pulls your bra down enough for your tits to pop out and the way that you are so clothed, but so exposed all at the same time is making you grow warm between your legs.

you whimper at the question, nodding as atsumu runs his hands down your sides and then back up to your tits and then off of you all at once. without them, you can feel bokuto’s completely, nothing to distract you from how big they feel on the inside of your thighs. with him under your skirt, you can’t see anything at all and you want to watch him, but the fact that you don’t know what’s happening, relying on touch alone, is causing you to flood.

he licks a strip into your panties, harsh enough to cause them to push between your lips, digging his tongue into your hole, slipping past the fabric, thick tongue pushing them out of the way with no help at all. you roll your hips into the sensation. “shit,” you breathe.

so focused on the feeling between your legs, you don’t notice atsumu’s cock until he’s pressing the spongy tip against your slightly parted lips. you turn your head for a better angle, parting your lips further, opening your jaw, and taking him in your mouth. atsumu puts his hands on the back of your head, pulling you onto his cock. you’ve had years and years of practice with this which means atsumu knows your limits and capabilities and he gets to move you however he wants as a result.

bokuto’s hand creeps up your inner thigh as he laps at your clothed pussy, sucking the fabric into his mouth and swallowing all of the accumulated juices before slipping his finger into you. your jaw opens further, moaning around atsumu’s cock involuntarily and atsumu needs to feel that again. “shit, bokkun, ‘m gonna need ya to do whatever ya just did again.”

he laughs against your pussy, adding another finger inside of you and you already feel so full. his fingers are so thick, they’re so fucking thick, like four of your tiny fingers are jammed inside of you in two motions, but they’re longer than your fingers too, can reach so much deeper. you’re squirming on his fingers, moving your hips to fuck yourself on bokuto’s fingers and you can’t help how much your hums and whimpers and whines are effecting atsumu. “holy fuck, don’t stop,” atsumu says, hips pressing forward, hands pulling you onto his cock to meet his thrust.

the angle is still slightly awkward, hitting the back of your cheek rather than sliding down your perfect, tight throat like he loves so much, so he swings his leg overtop of you, both knees on either side of your head, balls resting on your chin as he lifts your head and places a pillow underneath. “fuck, that’s better, baby,” he says, barely giving you a warning before fucking into your mouth, letting you hollow your cheeks on his head, tiny movements of his hips pulling the tip in and out of your tight lips.

“she’s close,” bokuto announces into the room, talking about you, not to you, and you tighten around his fingers even more. bokuto pushes his fingers inside of you completely, pulls them out to the tips, pushes inside of you completely, pulls them out to the tips, and then he curls them over and over again, and you come so fucking hard that you can’t even imagine the mess underneath your skirt.

“so fucking wet,” bokuto says, mumbles against your cunt as he moves your panties to the side, pulls his thick fingers out of you and uses the tip of his tongue to coax the come out of your fluttering hole and down his throat. the lewd sounds are filling the room and your ears even more than the sound of atsumu whining and whimpering watching his cock disappear between your lips.

“shit, fuckin’ mouth feels so goddamn good, fuck,” atsumu growls, pulling you by your hair onto his cock and you can barely breathe, spit drooling out the sides of your mouth and down your chin and neck. his strokes are long and slow, relishing the feeling of his length being squeezed by your tight throat. “gonna fuck yer throat all fucking night. won’t even be able to talk tomorrow.”

“fuck,” bokuto says, “gotta- fuck-” all at once you feel even more fucking full. bokuto slips inside of you without a word, stretching your drenched hole around his huge cock. you can feel it in your fucking guts, so fucking deep, speared. you wrap your legs around his waist, holding him in place because you don’t want to not feel him so fucking deep in you. you need to feel him this deep in you forever.

you feel the breeze on your stomach, on your sloppy clit, as bokuto pushes your skirt up and out of the way, not that you could see anything anyway with atsumu where he is and his cock destroying your throat how it is. bokuto reaches down, rubbing small circles into your sensitive, swollen, pretty clit with his thumb. “so pretty,” bokuto mumbles.

you pull bokuto closer with your legs, moving your hips to meet him and he understands perfectly, pulling his hips back and slamming into you. his moans are lower than atsumu’s, more grunts than whimpers, and the fact that you can hear them both is making your walls flutter around bokuto’s thick length. “god, so fucking tight,” bokuto praises, “shit.”

“i know,” atsumu replies, rolling his hips, sliding the underside of his cock against your tongue. “feels so fuckin’ good.” he presses forward, pulls your head onto him until his head hits the back of your throat and then he holds you there. you can’t breathe, gagging on his thick head in your throat, but the noises that are coming out of him are well worth it. they always are. you swallow around his length and something breaks in him.

bokuto starts fucking into you faster, harder, the inside of your thighs already sore and very reminiscent of another first time you had. his fingers are gripping into your waist and your fingers are gripping onto the sheets, unsure of where else to put this pure need, unable to reach atsumu’s back or arms. atsumu sees you, hands moving across the bed, looking for somewhere to root as you take all of the abuse that’s coming to you.

he removes his grip from your hair for a moment, reaching over and grabbing your hand. “pretty girl, hey, baby, here,” he guides your hands to his thighs and tears are streaming from the corners of your eyes because your cunt is throbbing and your throat is burning and you can’t breathe and atsumu is still there to take care of you in ways that you don’t even understand.

you curl your fingers around his toned thighs and everything feels right in the world, everything feels more manageable. it’s something for you to ground yourself on, the feeling of the soft, toned muscle in your hands, against your fingernails, scraping and digging. “shit, doll, feels good, harder, yea?” you nod, effectively shoving atsumu’s cock down your throat even further. you dig your fingernails into the skin harder, harder, not dragging across, but digging into. “fuck, baby.”

bokuto is fucked out of his mind with the feeling of how tight and perfect you are around him and the exchange that’s happening in front of him with you and atsumu. it’s all so fucking much. he can’t stop pounding into you, fucking as deep as he can, slamming the tops of his thighs against the insides of yours, holding you in place with his large hands spanning over your stomach. “fuck, gonna come,” bokuto breathes, stare not pulling away from the way that atsumu and him are making you feel so used, so good.

atsumu answers for you because you couldn’t be expected to answer with your mouth as full as it is. “you can come inside,” atsumu says, looking down at your tear-pricked eyes and swollen lips as you hum an affirmative plea. “she wants you to come inside,” he corrects himself.

“fuck,” bokuto says with a shaky exhale, because he wasn’t exactly expecting that, but it’s exactly what he wanted.

“and where do you want me to come, pretty?” atsumu asks, relentlessly fucking into your throat. the only air that you’ve gotten is in tiny breaths between harsh strokes and inhales from your nose. you feel lightheaded, but the fact that it’s about to be over is much worse than your inability to get a proper breath.

you can’t speak so you move your hand from his thigh, dragging your finger down your throat and fuck, if that wasn’t the cutest gesture atsumu had ever seen. there’s a lack of pressure on your chest as atsumu changes positions, leaning forward, bracing himself against the wall as he changes angles so that he can get even deeper in your throat, can fuck your throat like a pretty cunt.

bokuto watches this unfold and he can’t fucking hold it any longer. it’s so much different than atsumu, the way that bokuto unloads inside of you. he doesn’t still, doesn’t stutter. his hips keep moving at an abusive pace, fucking you even harder than before as stream after stream of his thick come coats your gummy walls. you’re coming around his cock, sobs trying to escape you, but failing because of atsumu’s cock crammed down your throat, heavy balls slapping against your chin with every quick stroke inside of you.

bokuto’s come is spilling out of you. it was inevitable with how fast he was still fucking you and how much he was coming inside of you. it feels like it’s never ending, coupled right along with the noises that are leaving bokuto, low and needy. even after he’s finished filling you, he stays completely inside of you, breath catching, not ready to pull out just yet.

atsumu’s cock is throbbing against your tongue, pulsing, leaking, and he shoves it as far as he can fit it and you’re so sure that he’s going to pump his come directly down your throat, but then he pulls out, opening your mouth with his thumb, letting his tongue fall open in hopes that you mimic it and you do. “needa see it all pretty on yer tongue, baby, open, yea, fuck.”

he doesn’t even stroke himself, comes at the sight of you with your tongue out and messy eyes and swollen lips and gasping for air. his thick come doesn’t spray in ropes against the inside of your mouth, it drools onto your tongue. it leaks out of the tip lazily, pooling and collecting on the dip in your tongue until there’s too much to fit and a part of the fat glob slips down the back of your tongue and he grunts, replacing whatever disappeared down your throat. “all of it, baby, suck,” he directs, tilting your head, placing the tip between your lips and coaxing you to suck whatever’s left from his sensitive slit. you do exactly as you're told and as a reward, you get to hear the sob tear from his throat and watch him wipe away the tiny tears that threaten to fall.

everything is quiet. no one moves for at least two minutes. it takes the entire time for you to catch your breath.

“fuck, shit, i’m sorry i didn’t savor that more,” bokuto breaks the silence, shaking his head, inhale and exhale heavy as he stands up completely, putting his boxers back on.

atsumu takes this as a cue to move as well, getting off of you maybe as he should’ve from the very beginning to help you recover faster. though, you’re actually certain that lack of immediate movement is what allowed you to feel as okay as you do this quickly.

“next time,” you say, or try to say, because it hurts and it comes out shaky and hoarse. atsumu leans down and presses a kiss into your neck and then the side of your face and then your lips. he would be more phased by this if it wasn’t a weekly occurrence.

“yea, maybe come to town more often,” atsumu says, confirming.

“don’t say that,” bokuto says, shaking his head, “because i really will.”

“then, maybe come to town more often,” atsumu repeats, a tiny smirk forming on his lips.

“alright,” boktuo affirms.

atsumu leans down, places a kiss on your forehead. “c’mon, let's get you cleaned up,” he says, helping you up. you don’t try for a thank you or a yes, just give a small nod and move towards the attached bathroom.

“do you have a guest room or something in this cool big house?” bokuto asks, clearly feeling like he’s invading.

“we do, but,” atsumu says, walking out of the bathroom, over to the dresser and pulling out a big t-shirt. he disappears into the bathroom again, water running, clothes shuffling, and emerges with your clothes in hand. he throws them into the laundry hamper in the corner of the room. “you’re welcome to spend the night here.”

“oh! no, no, i wouldn’t want to-,” bokuto starts, but is interrupted by the sink running again, teeth brushing, and now he really feels like he’s invading. but then you walk out of the bathroom, as fresh and clean as you can be without having taken a shower, and you wrap your arms around bo’s bicep. the feeling of displacement fades pretty quickly then.

“yea,” atsumu says, hand on the back of his neck, “someone gets a bit clingy after sex.” atsumu nods towards you and you playfully scowl back at him even though you know it is very true. “just until she falls asleep though. in the morning, she’s usually like, tsumu, fuck off, i’m trying to sleep. it’s weird, really.”

“i mean, if you- yea, i’ll stay if you want me to,” bokuto says and looks down at you nodding very convincingly. you walk over to the bed, pulling bokuto along by the arm and you crawl under the covers, laying perfectly in the middle of the bed. this wasn’t the exact use that you thought you would get out of your king size bed, but you can add it to the list of splurge items that are turning out to be very worth it.

“didja need anything before ya go to bed?” atsumu asks because he knows it’s something that you would ask if you weren’t so unable to ask. bokuto shakes his head no. he can’t imagine needing anything at this moment. “cool.” atsumu shuts the light off and the room goes very dark.

it’s awkward first, weird for only a few moments, figuring out your place in all of this, and then it just kinda works out.

huh, reminds you of something.

♡ tori's polls ♡ ( which tori self-indulgent element was ur fav? )

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join my taglist here!! ~~ no more twrt BUT i do have other fics comin' up ♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡

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shouldbewriting · 4 days

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UK Followers: Ok I know I don't go off on politics very often, and this is a red meat policy from a party that is PROBABLY going to lose. But by god if you're a young person you probably should be aware this is now a thing:

This shit is why you should vote. This is the contempt being shown for you because they think you'll stay at home, and that the 65+ voters (still overwhelmingly pro-Tory even now) will loooove it. Now's the time to wipe them out. Is Labour perfect? Fuck no, none of the parties are. Look up who is best placed to beat the Tories in your local area (ElectoralCalculus is my general go-to but please link other tools). You deserve your early 20s, and to Choose if you want to volunteer. You owe these fuckers Nothing. Evict them.

#politics #uk politics #vote #general election #uk

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kitten4sannie · 1 year

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23 - ᴄʜᴇᴀᴛɪɴɢ/ᴄʀᴇᴀᴍᴘɪᴇ - ꜱᴀɴ

ᴀɴɢᴇʟ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴀʙᴏᴠᴇ

pairing: business man! san x stripper! reader (fem)

summary: san finds himself visiting his favorite dancer instead of going back home to his wife.

w.c: 3k

warnings: alcohol use, san and reader are both a mess, sub! leaning san, dom leaning! reader, cheating, lap dance, grinding, unprotected sex, creampie

a/n: shoutout to the anon for giving me this idea by sharing this vid whewwwwww this is for you <3 also i struggled sm trying to explain what she was doing on the pole im so sorry loll

btw some song recs would be fwm by tone stith, me by summer walker, lavender sunflower by tory lanez, and the weekend by sza

FFF Masterlist

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Sitting in an almost-empty office, San stared blankly at the monitor in front of him, knowing he finished his work early but finding himself reluctant to pack up and go home. Why wouldn't he want to go home? He had a beautiful wife waiting for him, who was probably pulling something yummy out of the oven. Maybe she was even wearing a cute little apron, hoping he would come home and see her in it. Yet, he found himself thinking about the dancer he met a few months ago at the gentlemen's club just around the corner from his work. There was even an ATM right outside of it, just asking him to take out hundreds of dollars and spend it all on her.

"Hey, San," his coworker said, putting his hands on San's tense shoulders and patting them, noticing that he had shut his computer down and was putting some files away into his suitcase. "Heading home?"

San stood up and slicked his hair back, allowing a few strands to fall onto his forehead. "Yep," he replied shortly, giving the man a polite smile and walking past him, hoping he couldn't somehow tell that he was about to cheat. Well, it wasn't technically cheating, right? It was pretty much the same thing as looking at those certain magazines that they sold at gas stations, but just in real life. It’s not like he was sleeping with you. He still loved his wife. He did. He really did. He just needed to see you one more time. After this, he was done. He was certain of it.

"Are you coming in or not?" the oversized bouncer asked in a deep voice, looking at the anxious, sweating businessman idly standing in front of the open club door with a thousand dollars just sitting inside his black tailored pants.

Fixing his glasses out of habit, he let out a nervous laugh, nodding his head. "Yep, I'm coming in. Uh, have a good night." He gave the man a weak wave and shuffled past him, making his way through the long hallway past some patrons and a few dancers. When San made it into the main room, he was immediately bathed in crimson lighting, dark and seductive, like he had stepped foot into hell. He might as well have. He was ready to sin.

After he was done taking in his surroundings, he headed to the bar and sat down at the seat that had the best view of the main stage. "Your usual, Mr. Choi?" the bartender asked, wiping a pint glass with a rag, noticing how San simply sat still on his stool and scanned the various platforms on the other side of the room.

You weren't anywhere to be seen. Would you be coming out soon? You always worked on Friday nights. Maybe you were in the back getting ready. Probably putting some glitter on your eyelids and drawing a tiny heart near your cheek with some eyeliner. It was the cutest thing. You were always so cute, like a pretty little angel. Yet, when you got on stage, you would always give him this look. Like you were picturing all the things he could do to you, and all the things you could do to him, maybe even right there where everyone could watch. That’s when you reminded him that you were actually sin incarnate. But he knew that already. And he didn't mind.

"Mr. Choi?" the man tried again, holding out a glass filled with ice, tea, and various amounts of alcohol. "Your long island ice tea."

San snapped his head back towards the man, taking the glass and nodding his head. "Thanks, man." He brought the straw up to his lips and sucked the drink down, delighted that it got rid of the remaining guilt he felt, idly glancing around the room again, this time scanning the various men sitting in their seats, some with a dancer in their lap. None of them were you.

The bartender shook his head, leaning his forearms on the table below. "Are you waiting for Angel to come out, Mr. Choi?"

Halfway through his drink, San choked on some of the liquid, swallowing it down anyway and clearing his throat. Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, he faced the man again, a slight frown forming. "Am I that obvious?"

The man smiled to himself, glancing over to the main stage entrance, knowing you would be coming out soon. "She talks about you a lot, you know. She's constantly asking when we think you'll come back."

This was news to him. Sure, you were always friendly and flirty with him. Always referring to him as "Mr. Business Man" or "Sannie." The second was his favorite. It always made him melt. His wife wouldn't even call him that anymore. Said it was childish. Though, when you said it, with that coy look on your face and batting your long eyelashes at him, the only thoughts he had were inexplicably adult. Maybe you were into him. You. His angel. That changed things. And at this point, he was already in too deep, so why not get buried?

"What does she say about me?" San probed, drinking the rest of the tea down until he was sucking on the ice at the bottom of the glass. Warmth flooded his brain and body, encouraging him to unbutton his black blazer and pull it off. As he carefully draped it over the bar counter, everything around him began slowing down to a crawl.

"That you're her favorite," the man replied softly, idly glancing at the silver ring San was wearing on his ring finger, then walking over to serve another customer. It wasn't any of his business. He was just a bartender. He tapped the table near San, motioning his head to the main stage. "She's on, by the way."

Spinning around in his seat, San felt like all the air inside his lungs suddenly dissipated. His reddened eyes focused on your curvy figure appearing out of the darkness of the stage entrance, his eyes traveling along your almost naked body. You were wearing a matching set like you always did. This time, you were wearing a tiny black latex bra, the nonexistent cups barely covering your nipples, your tits practically spilling out of them. He gulped so hard, he almost swallowed his Adam's apple by accident. An equally black, equally nonexistent thong clung tightly to your hips and pelvis, one micro-movement away from having everyone see your pretty pink–

"Pussy," said a random drunk man sitting next to San, throwing back a shot of vodka. When San gave him a dirty look, the man shook his head. "Don't just stare at her, bro. Go sit in that chair over there and let her know you like her. Trust me. Angel's worth it."

Turning away form the guy in silence, San undid his tie and laid it over his jacket, trusting that the bartender would look after it for him. Putting the image of his wife sitting at the empty dinner table by herself, San quickly made his way past a few tables and booths, eventually sitting down in the empty seat near the front section of the stage.

Taking a few drawn out steps around the pole, you ran a hand up your body, your hips swaying along to the slow, thumping beats of the song playing through the surrounding speakers. Like a snake hypnotizing its prey before striking. Once you grabbed the pole and moved your body in a slow wavelike motion, you turned around and leaned your body back against it, gazing down at your favorite businessman. Your eyes surveyed his lap, wondering if the visible tent in his work pants was a stack of cash or his hard cock. Either was fine with you.

"Angel..." San murmured to himself, unconsciously spreading his thick thighs apart, hoping you could read his lips. He slipped his hand into his pocket, pulling some of the cash into his tense hand.

Once the song picked up a bit, the bass still so intense it vibrated through your chest, you propelled yourself forward and climbed onto the pole like it was second nature, hooking one of your legs onto it, moving around the pole in steady circles. Sighing, you slid a hand up from your abdomen, up and over one of your tits, then up your neck. Everyone's eyes were on you, though you couldn't blame them. You were the true embodiment of desire. The angel that everyone wanted to defile and keep for themselves. Yet, they had no idea that you were the one who did the defiling, the corrupting, the owning. And your current target was…

"San," you whispered, running your tongue along the inside of your glossy lips, gripping the pole tight enough with one hand so that you could lean your head back. Amused by the businessman's submissive demeanor after eyeing the growing tent inside his pants, you squeezed the metal securely between your thighs, allowing you to release your hands from it and hang more upside down, slipping your fingers up underneath your bra to grab at your tits, pulling a bit on your nipple piercings for your own pleasure. You continued to spin around the pole in slow circles, the monochrome lights flashing above the stage further enhancing the hypnotic show you were putting on.

One of the men stood up and sent a stack of cash into the air, watching it rain down around you. You smiled to yourself, sitting back up to hold the pole both in front of your chest and one below near your lower abdomen, making sure you were stable. You lifted yourself up into an upside down vertical position and clenched your legs around the pole before slowly spreading them, appearing like you were doing a full split in the air. Another man followed the actions of the first, pulling some twenties out of his pocket and sending them out into the air, his hooded eyes locked on the way your ass was eating up the thin strap of your thong. All these men were like putty in your hands. Ready to give up most of their paychecks, all for the slim chance that they could fuck you for real. It was pathetic.

When the song came to a drop, you slid yourself down the bottom of the pole, slowly lowering yourself onto the cool stage in the splits, arching your back, your hands groping along your body, squeezing your tits and letting out a soft moan, though no one could hear you over the loud bass on the song. You looked up over at San, licking your lips, before you got onto your knees and crawled towards him, your heavy heels clinking against the stage with each deliberate movement. Gazing at him like a predator cornering their next meal, you eventually got to the edge of the stage and slowly sat back on your knees, running your hands slowly up your body, slowly leaning your head back and arching your back again.

Drunk with lust and alcohol, San couldn't help but readjust himself in the leather chair, the pulsing beats of the song emanating heavily inside his ears, a similar pulsing occurring below the belt. Swallowing down his nerves, he pulled a few hundreds out, waiting for you to look at him, before he leaned forward and sent them out onto the stage in front of you.

Licking your lips at the money spread out below you, your fingers snuck up to the front of your bra and popped it up, your tits dropping out of it. The men around all emitted various low sounding groans, some of them palming themselves or sliding down in their seats. San was in a similar state of desperation, his cock so hard it was about to burst out of his pants.

When the music played the sound of a woman’s moans playing alongside pulsing, synth like music, encouraging you to begin moving your hips in an up and down motion, as though you were riding an imaginary dick, making San and everyone else in the room wish it were his. You kept your eyes on the struggling businessman, grabbing at your tits, moaning softly, your eyebrows drawing together.

Not able to take it any longer, San held out three hundreds and placed it down on his crotch in between his large thighs, spreading them apart to entice you.

Drawing you in like a moth to a flame, you found yourself climbing off of the stage as elegantly as possible and taking a step up to the large leather chair he was lounging in. Once you got off, another dancer walked up to the pole to take your place, distracting all the surrounding patrons.

Straddling San’s lap once he picked the bills up, you leaned into his ear to purr, “Sannie, it’s so nice to see you back. I’ve missed you.”

San angled his head up, trying to keep his eyes on your hooded ones instead of staring at your tits that were just below his chin. “I’ve missed you more, Angel.” He reached down to slide a hundred through the strap on your hip, continuing, “I’d like a private show. I have a lot more love to give you.”

Smiling down at the hundred-dollar bill, you sat fully down on his lap, feeling his hard on pressing into your latex panties. “You always give me lots of love, Sannie. Should we go then?”

San slipped the other two hundreds into the other strap, groaning when you dragged your clothed pussy across his length. Biting at his bottom lip, he sent a suggestive smile in your direction. “Lead the way, Angel.”

In one of the small dimly lit private rooms, you hovered over San’s lap, your knees pressed into the leather couch on each side of his thighs, gyrating your hips along to the slow, pulsing music. “What’s with that look, baby?” you asked softly, running your hands down the front of San’s chest.

“You’re just so…beautiful.” He couldn’t keep his eyes off of your body, especially your tits, because they were covered in…Was that body glitter? As if you could get any hotter. He was losing his mind.

“Yeah?” you started, watching as the businessman put more cash into the straps of your nylon panties, until there were no more spaces left. “You like me better than your wife, don’t you? Is that why you’re always here and spending money on me instead of her?”

“Mm-hmm, I like you a lot, Angel,” San sighed softly, his hands roaming around the outline of your body, but not touching you.

Arching your back, your hands rested on the top of the couch behind San’s head, slowly moving your body in a slow, but fluid motion on his lap, your cunt brushing across his heavy cock still trapped inside the waistband of his pants. “If you like me so much, then touch me. Fuck me. Make me yours, Sannie.”

Entranced. Mesmerized. Seduced. Those were only a few words to describe what came over him while he was inside you, his hands all over your body, getting glitter all over himself. San didn't understand how a single person could have such a hold over him. He never experienced anything like this, and he couldn’t pull himself out of it.

Bouncing up and down on San’s length like it was your life’s mission, you wrapped your fingers around his jaw on either side, bringing his mouth towards your tits. “Suck on them, Sannie. Bite them. Spit on them. Do whatever your wife won’t let you do.”

Completely gone at this point, his cock throbbing heavily inside you, San slurped your tits up into his mouth, one at a time, biting and tugging at your nipple piercings, pulling away every so often to spit on them and watch it drip down your glittery skin. “You’re so dirty, Angel,” he huffed, squeezing your hips tightly, his ring cold against your hot body.

“Not dirty enough,” you complained, in between pants, gripping his shoulders tightly, trying to bring yourself to your peak as fast as possible. “Cum inside me, Sannie. Please.”

“Oh, fuck, Angel, I don’t think…” San gasped, losing his train of thought, as your glossy lips attached to his neck, sucking and licking, leaving a mark on him. He knew he would have to cover it up with makeup later on. “I shouldn’t…”

Tempting him further, you moved your body at a slower, more deliberate pace, wanting to draw the sin out of him. “Cum, baby, come on,” you purred into his ear, nipping and pulling at it with your teeth. “I know she never lets you cum inside, so fill me up instead…Please, Sannie…Please give it to me.”

Truly, you were an angel in every sense of the word, even letting a cheating stranger like him fill you up with his seed. How gracious of you.

“Fuck, okay, I’m–aaah–” San jerked his head back, holding onto your waist for dear life, feeling your cunt tighten around him like a vice. “Jesus, Angel, you're…oh my god.”

“What, Sannie?” you whispered near his lips, bringing yourself down onto him one last time, your body shuddering, your arousal pouring out of you and staining his work pants. “Does it feel better to fuck me than your wife? Is that it?”

“Yeah, it does. So much better.” San looked down at your lower half, his mouth hanging open, a bit of saliva dripping past his lips as his cock shot out rope after rope into your slick hole. He wished he could see it pouring into you, wanting to witness the mark he left inside your body.

You let out a satisfied sigh, lifting yourself up from his lap and collecting the bills he offered you, putting them into a neat stack. “I thought so.” Smirking to yourself, you lifted one leg up onto the couch, allowing San to watch as his load dripped out of your pulsing cunt and down your inner leg. “So, will you be coming back next Friday too, Sannie? I’ll have a new routine ready just for you~”

San simply sat there and watched the milky liquid drip down onto his stained tailored pants, knowing there was no way he’d be able to escape your angelic clutches after this. But he still loved his wife. He did. He really did. He just needed to see you a few more times. After that, he would be done.

✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖

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