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chasedeys · 2 days ago

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If Ja’marr managed to drag Joe out of Cincy and take an actual break - where do you think he would take him? 🤔

(Im depressed over the loss so I’ve been trying to think of happy scenarios for the pookies)

hiiiii as per usual this got long wkwkk and idk more delusional than usual and i kept being sad abt everything 😭😭 so:

they're on different states currently i'm pretty sure?? joe back in cincy terrorizing the bengals facility and himself there while ja'marr had his usual acupuncture rehab session back in nola and who knows if they're both still there. probably tbh. i fully support them being away from each other lollll take some time away from work after that shitshow and that unfortunately includes your best friend (who you are in love with etc) who is also your coworker!

i imagine ja'marr being on a social media cleanse (thank fuck i hope he doesn't tweet anything please for the love of god i need them all to shut up why do they do this) so he probably doesn't know that joe is at the stadium until somebody (his dad? sister?) mentions it to him and he's all 'of course he is. he's throwing with dan isn't he.' and he gives joe what a day or two to get it out of joe's system before flying his ass to cincy and nagging at the man to stop trying to twist himself up into a pretzel.

for those few days ja'marr does spend himself because he too needs it ja'marr drives all around nola, shoots the shit with some old high school friends, plays in his old hangouts arcades hooping idk does he hoop i think not, eats out with his family, does chores with his mom, eats his body's worth in nola cuisine that sports nutritionists would weep at, etc etc. (also i thought his son lives with his mom lol i thought she takes care of him when ja'marr's busy with the season apparently his bm does it??? but i imagine he'd spend some time with junior too he loves that baby like crazyyy)

ja'marr sends joe random pics of his days, a snap of his mom nagging at him because he keeps putting needless shit into the shopping cart, a random cat wearing a bell on the sidewalk, the setting sun, a cloud shaped like a football, some seafood boil, some old friends of theirs messing up his dining room table, etc etc. joe replies back in short sentences or just ok emojis. ja'marr doesn't take it to heart. several random times joe sends the world's most shittiest one liners for some reason and ja'marr hypes him up while simultaneously telling him he needs help.

would they go to miami and get joe on a boat 🤗 ja'marr probably tested the waters first lmao if joe would be susceptible to some forceful shenanigans outside of his comfort zone. maybe joe would be like sighing and going yeah sure whatever can't hurt at this point and mainly because he himself wants to put a smile on ja'marr's face. maybe it's like that gq magazine clothes saga/get me the fucking ball where joe realizes that ja'marr wants him on a boat with him via the media (talk to each other for the love of god why does ja'marr keep spilling shit to the media unknowingly making joe realize what he wants via said media 'i didn't know i do it through media' baby please. please.) imagining ja'marr trying to be sneaky getting joe on that fucking boat but joe knows exactly what he's doing because ja'marr can't lie for shit to him and joe just telling him to quit it he'll go on the boat with him ffs and trying to hide his smile when ja'marr starts lighting up in surprised joy (experiencing joy because you brought out joy in someone else!!! doing something outside your comfort zone to put a smile on someone's face!!!!)

maybe they'll miraculously show up for another bball game. pretty sure ja'marr only fucks with the lakers lmao so maybe they pop by for an at home la game (back to la....hmm.....or just their away games nvm. they play at suns again on the 27th lol), break bengalsblr for a second time with their 🤨🤨🤨 matching outfits and weirdly first date vibes. maybe joe will finally drag ja'marr to a ufc game for a change! (i don't actually know any ufc matches...google says the nearest is the 23rd and then dec 8th?? idk any of these people 😭)

doing some shopping?? finding more matching outfits specifically shoes bc apparently that's where they their fashion interests intersect?? god bless if ja'marr makes joe wear one of his chunky interesting boots.

museummm dateessss but specifically national history museums or those space science museums or dinosaurs museums or those creepy oddities museum do you think they'd fuck with that probably not tbh. maybe they switch things up do things that ja'marr wants (boats, bball games, etc) and what joe wants (museums, ufc matches, etc) that's so cute wow. but ja'marr waits patiently as joe nerds out on the fossils and gigantic ass 3d planet renditions and those augmented topography booths where they can move sand and it automatically changes the color projections??? ja'marr remembers joe talking abt this shit one time and does his due diligence researching where it actually is and takes the man there. joe looks on fondly as ja'marr gets into it himself because the science museum offers so many interactive shit even he gets excited for it when originally he just took them there for joe.

late night walks that seem supremely out of character tbh. post clubbing (?) but they find they cannot stand crowds that night for some reason so they walk out and just stroll the midnight away. hanging out on some bridge leaning over railings talking about some easy plays, some insane ones they've made and want to streamline, ja'marr shares some of his cute little bathroom mirror post it notes goals for the season, joe shares that he's considering switching up his throwing arm practices, joe says he wants to do some blocking and tackling exercises and ja'marr tells him to shut the fuck up....okay sure but don't actually try to do it in game unless he absolutely has to. drinking shitty corner store bought beers and making stupid little jokes about their mistakes they can finally make light of under the flickering street lights and shrouded moonlight and blood buzzing slightly from shit alcohol. i don't think they've ever actually been in the position where they won't make the playoffs together. last year joe was injured so it maybe doesn't count idk. playing so fucking well together yet not making it is…..befuddling. so maybe they'll spend some time talking about that and coming to terms on it too. (actual verbal communication...hmmm)

breaking into a random community outdoor basketball court and they didn't find any bballs to play with but there's a dilapidated little football (of course there is. sharing a little smile because of course there's a football in a basketball court for them. out of all the courts they could end up in.) for some reason so they throw and catch with little success joe throws for barely 3 yards but they make each other laugh because 'damn jb that's pathetic' 'well maybe you should run and catch it what are you doing just standing there' and then it turns into a little game of tag and joe straight up tries to tackle ja'marr except he's shit at tackling and ja'marr never goes down on first contact but he lets joe bring him down and they just end up caking their stupid expensive clothes with dust and dirt with lightly scratched elbows and shins, staring up at the night sky with barely any stars, the street lights irritating their peripheral vision, limbs slightly grazing each other's, finally quiet and settled, barely fidgeting like they've been doing these past few weeks.

they both send stupid little snaps (do they use snapchat??? or just instagram ig) to tee who replies back cursing at them for not inviting him. they pop by his place literally the minute he replies that because technically they're just waiting for an 'invite'.

little family get together where joe finally gets to eat the chase family seafood boil??!!?!?!? the chases comforting him too :( they should go to a pet kennel (??? what are these called omg im too tired to search 😭) and pet some dogs and cats for therapy tbh

before joe goes back to spend more time with his fam and ja'marr with his and whatever shit they want to do apart before back to the reality of practices and season games, they watch the la film together. nitpick on each other's game. apologize for their mistakes once and move on with improvements.

in all honesty if i was remotely aware what places to go to in america that would fit these two this'll be a longer list but well

but wait sorry if i can just yap a bit for the team as a whole ngl i think everyone being away from literally everybody in the team would be good for everyone as whole (yes even joemarr from each other and god why tf is joe in the facility ffs) like just keep to yourselves and stay the fuck off twt and ig jesus these dramatic ass men have they never heard of a 2nd acc or even a burner account. like stay with your family and recharge for at least 2 days idk 3 or a whole damn week actually then come back greet each other like you love them and let go of your baggage and start getting your shit together for real. the vibes are terrible it's so confusing you were THE team the past 3 years and the vibes changed to SHIT starting literally WEEK 1 that i believe is from the jamarr contract debacle suddenly playing game 1 and the entire thing finally got put to rest by ja'marr himself (as he should! the thing about joe and ja'marr is they fix their shit! they know they made mistakes and they actually fix it!! he knows the contract stumps his joy from playing so he left it behind and got his groove back literally scored 2 tuddys the next game). but i do hope they all learn how to navigate each other again and actually work together as a team and better their communication. it's kind of funny that they went on that bonding trip only to have the worst bench vibes that same game 😭. snapping at your teammates is normal tbh but letting that shit keep on festering without actually making an effort to fix it is just cancerous and on whatever miracle hail mary some of them still believe they can make the playoffs needs to start there. and maybe some audacious change in play calling lmao just try anything at this point.

ok bye hhh

#ask #joemarr #ja'marr chase #joe burrow #still sort of sad so there like little whimsy tbh sorry #truly ridiculous #idk this doesn't hit for me like they usually do :( maybe it's because im still sad sigh #this fuck it mentality im trying to grasp is not easy 😭#my writing #should i change that tag damn

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nereidprinc3ss · 8 months ago

Text

come on home

in which the only person who can comfort you after your breakup with spencer reid, is spencer reid

inspired by the song "summer's end" by the artist currently known as phoebe bridgers

wc 2857

warnings: gn!reader (correct me if im wrong), minor mommy issues, angst, happy ending

a/n: thank you to the person who requested this:) u r an angel and I listened to this song the whole time i wrote (if you haven't heard, listen!!) i sincerely hope you enjoy, i like this one a lot<3

She hung up on you.

Forty-seven minutes of being insulted and berated after you’d called her looking for comfort, and you put up with every single cruel word—just for your mother to hang up on you. And it’s exactly the kind of thing she’d do, so you shouldn’t be surprised. An ache, you’d expect—but it shouldn’t sting like this. You thought you knew better.

Now you’re in a ball on your couch, clutching your phone to your chest and crying. There’s no point hiding it. Your roommate is out with her girlfriend for the evening—which is too bad because even though you feel like being alone, you’re sure that’s the wrong call. Your other friends are out having fun tonight, too. They’d even invited you, but you turned them down. Look where that had gotten you. Obviously, your mother is not the person you’re about to run to for comfort, either.

You try to pretend, while you’re thinking of all these people who have ever cared for you, that Spencer Reid isn’t on your mind at all. You try to pretend like you don’t care that the person who loved you until you believed you actually deserved it is a contact going stale deep in the bowels of your text cache. With bleary eyes you scroll down, looking for your conversation where it gathers dust—the end of your relationship was a mutual decision, and you’re friendly, but you haven’t texted in a few weeks. Probably because every time the conversation starts to feel a little too easy, or the phone call lasts a little too long, that aching void in your chest gets worse and worse. Like pain in a phantom limb, you become acutely aware of what you do not have and how much it hurts.

So blame it on the tears, or the mind-muddling melodrama of your relationship with your mother, blame it on anything but the truth—when your thumb drops on that call button like the plunger on a syringe, you don’t regret it.

What you’re not expecting is for him to answer after the first ring.

“Hi,” you say with a snuffle before Spencer can get a word in. There’s a brief interlude, in which you pick at your nails, comfortable to just sit in silence if that’s what he wants. As long as he’s there.

“Hi.” Hearing his voice instantly melts a bit of the weight you hadn’t realized you were carrying. Another pause, for which you remain silent, because you can feel him formulating a question—and you’d like to hear him speak again. “...am I allowed to ask if you’re okay?”

Your lips purse and twist to the side, pained and comforted by how easily he can tell that you’re distraught. One word across a tinny connection, and he knows.

“No. Yes. I mean... I guess that’s why I called you. But you don’t have to ask me about it.” You sniff again and take a deep breath. “How was your day? What state are you in?”

“I’m in the district,” he answers after a moment, easing into a casualness that he likely doesn’t feel for your sake. Wind crunches through the speaker. He probably just got out of work. “My day was... it was good. I got to talk about my job to a bunch of elementary schoolers, which is always a confidence boost.”

You chuckle, still laying on your side on the couch and watching storm clouds gathering outside.

“Nice, nice. What else?”

“Let’s see... I forgot lunch, so I had three oranges, and they were actually pretty good. I reread Game of Thrones—I don’t know why I did that. I’m never going to like that book.”

“Masochist,” you smile. He laughs, and you hear the sound of a car door opening.

“Oh! I talked to my mom. Believe it or not, she says hi.”

A completely inadvertent snort constitutes your response. It’s not what you meant to do, and out of context it’s sort of mean, but you actually think it’s incredibly endearing that he still talks to his mother about you. He scrambles to explain himself.

“I swear, we barely talked about you this time. Mostly we talked about her new boyfriend Leonard.”

“No, no, that’s not... I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you or your mom. That’s really sweet, actually. Tell her I say hi too.”

When he next speaks, you can hear the smile in his voice.

“I will.” Another long pause. You imagine him sitting in the parking lot at Quantico, keys vertical in the ignition of his old car and feeling the silence just as much as you are. He surprises you by not ending the conversation—instead he asks a question. It is concern, poorly disguised with nervous humor. Or maybe you just know him too well. “Do I get to find out what’s on your mind, or are you leaving me in suspense here?”

You bite the inside of your cheek.

“Um... well, actually, I just got off the phone with my mom, too. It didn’t go so well,” you laugh halfheartedly, “I know it was dumb to try and have an actual conversation with her, but... you know me. Always following blind optimism to the depths of hell.”

“Why’d you call your mom?” he asks, so gently it brings a fresh round of tears to your eyes. Still, you attempt to put a cheerful affect on your strained voice.

“Mm, you know. Just needed someone to talk to.”

Spencer’s knowing sigh does little to make you feel better.

“You know you can always talk to me, right? I know it’s... it’s different now, but... I care about you a lot. And, you know, I receive very few phone calls, so the line is pretty much always open.”

Your laugh quickly devolves into a cry.

“I appreciate that, but I can’t talk to you about everything.”

“Why not?” he pleads immediately, voice thin and desperate like it’s his most burning question. A million lies dance over the tip of your tongue. A million things that feel safer to say than the truth. But in the end, it comes out anyway—choked, and so quiet, but aloud nonetheless.

“Because I’m trying really hard to stop missing you so much.”

Another long beat of silence. The back of your throat feels dry and hollow—a cage for your hummingbird heart.

“If it hurts too much to talk to me, you don’t need to do that to yourself. But I also don’t want you to hurt yourself thinking you’re alone. You are... so important to me. I will always try to take care of you the best I can—whether that means staying away or being at your front door. If you ever need me, or even... vaguely want me, I will be there.”

Each word caves your resolve. Each syllable is a slap in the face to progress you’d been pretending to make. You can be strong—you've proven that over the past ten weeks. You can be stone-faced and slash at your heart until the scar tissue is thick and jagged, and eventually it won’t hurt anymore. But maybe, by letting someone tend to the wounds, they’ll heal a little nicer. A little kinder. Even if you can’t undo the damage, maybe one day you’ll be soft again.

“What if I vaguely want you right now?” you sniffle.

Finally, you hear the silver jingle of keys turning. The sputter and rumble of an old engine coming to life.

“Then I’m on my way.”

Twenty four minutes later, there’s a soft knock at your door.

After the call had ended, you’d wondered if you made it all up. Surely your ex-boyfriend wasn’t actually about to show up at your apartment. Someone you’ve grieved for can’t just come back—there are countless horror novels and movies based upon that very tenet. Does it matter if they ever actually died? How long is ten weeks, really? It feels like a lifetime.

You shuffle across the room, wiping under your eyes with your already damp sleeves, and undoing all the locks Spencer had conditioned you to start using. When the door cracks open, and you see Spencer standing there, windswept and concerned, for the first time in months, it hits you like a tidal wave. You are, beyond a shadow of a doubt, still just as in love with him as you ever were. The relief that floods your veins as he looks down at you with so much care in his eyes is like sinking into warm water. It’s a dead giveaway, and maybe it makes this whole thing a terrible idea, but you can’t seem to care very much. You open the door wider, and he enters, and he stands in your kitchen with his hands in his coat pocket as you shut the door and he’s perfect. It dawns on you that for the first time since the breakup, you feel safe. Like you don’t have to be a stone pillar anymore. This, of course, translates into even more tears, which you try to hide as you face away, re-locking the door.

“Sweetheart...” he sighs, because you can’t hide anything from him. Hearing the resonance of his voice so close to you once more is overwhelming. In an instant you’re rushing into his arms, and he accepts you without hesitation. You bury your teary face in the vetiver safety of his button-up and slip your arms under his coat, as if you could absorb his warmth and forever hide from the world that way. He pulls you even closer. It’s terrible and cruel how much he is exactly what you needed. “What’s wrong? What did she say?”

You shake your head and gasp a small sob.

Truthfully, you’re not really crying about the petty insults from your mother anymore. You’re back to square one, the reason you’d called your mother to begin with—you miss the man whose arms are currently wound around your shoulders.

His hand smooths over the back of your hair.

“Okay. That’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it.”

You stay like that—content even as you cry because being with him feels so much safer than being alone. It feels right—or perhaps it’s just familiar. You don’t know which is worse.

Spencer is rubbing soothing lines up and down your back as you cling to him, soaking him up in all his ephemeral, comforting glory. He surprises you by chuckling—it vibrates through his chest, buzzing against your ear.

“Nice Magritte print. I bet the person who bought that has fantastic taste.”

“Are you gonna ask for it back?” you mumble into the fabric of his suit jacket. He is, of course, referring to the painting you’d more or less stolen from his apartment seven months ago. You really don’t want him to take it home. It’s the most overt Spencer memorabilia you’d allowed yourself to keep in plain sight.

“No, baby. You can keep it.” The words are low, and kind, and they settle you some, but you can’t seem to get him close enough. “What can I do?” he whispers after a moment, helpless as you take a shuddering breath. “Can I make you tea? Have you eaten?”

“Will you just... stay for a little bit? I’ll—I promise I’ll stop crying.”

There is an unexpected lull where you thought you’d receive pretty immediate agreement, but before you can pull back and ask what’s wrong, he murmurs, “yeah. I can stay for a while. But you have to kick me out before it gets too late.”

You wonder if you’re imagining the double-entendre that seems to underline his words in bold red ink. Spencer is too smart to have not noticed a thing like that. You don’t mention it—it all boils down to the same unspoken idea.

Don’t let me stay, because I might not leave.

“I will,” you sniff, finally stepping back and wiping your own tears. It hurts to lose his touch, but at least you know he’s not going anywhere for the next few hours. This, as opposed to everything else lately, can be a beginning instead of an end.

At least, until he goes home.

Three and a half hours later, after tea, an impromptu dinner comprised mostly of cheese and crackers, and several vinyl changes on your record player (which served only as background noise for your long, ambling conversations), things are seeming to wind down to a natural stopping point. Which you hate. The whole time you’d had a dull ache in your chest because talking to him was easier than breathing and you knew it wouldn’t last. There had been one or two false bottoms already—the first when you’d yawned around nine, and the second when you’d gotten up to do your skincare and brush your teeth half an hour later. Even then he’d just leaned against the doorframe, watching your reflection above the sink as you talked for fifteen more minutes. Now you stand across from each other in the kitchen, plates restacked and everything in order. Of course he’d insisted on helping you clean up.

“I should go,” he says, with a soft sort of finality in his voice.

“Is your carriage turning into a pumpkin?” you tease gently, to hide how much you don’t want him to leave. He smiles—a small, weary thing—but genuinely and endlessly charmed by you.

“That among other things.”

“Would you—would you walk me to my room first?”

The hesitance is clear in his eyes and the way his lips part as if to say, ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea’, but you're sure he’s really going to leave in a moment and you’re also sure he won’t deny you this one small thing before he does.

“Okay.”

It’s a short, silent walk through the living room and down the hall to your bedroom door, but you can feel him trailing behind you the whole way. You stop in front of your open door, turning face to face with him.

“Thanks,” you murmur.

His lips pull into a melancholy smile.

“Anytime.”

There’s nothing left to do but wrap your arms around each other once more, tuck yourself into the you-sized space between his head and shoulder and hold on for as long as he’ll let you. The hug lingers for longer than is wise. Spencer adjusts his arms looped around your waist, pulling you closer, and you nuzzle against his neck, grateful that at least he seems as reluctant to let this end as you are.

But eventually, it relaxes. Your hold on each other loosens. His face is just inches from yours, and you get to study every plane and valley and line like you’d thought you never would again. It seems he’s doing the same—losing himself in the luxury of seeing you up close.

“Will you kiss me goodnight?” you whisper, unable to muster any self-consciousness though you know it’s a fool’s errand. Spencer strokes your waist.

“I can’t do that, honey.”

“Why not?”

His voice is just as quiet as yours. It falters slightly as he speaks, so gently, so patiently.

“Because we’re not together anymore.”

“Why not?”

Your feeble, desperate supplication sounds pitiable even to you. You’re not proud, but you can’t find it in yourself to be ashamed, either. All you want is an answer. But it’s like a child asking why the sky is blue, or the earth is round. There is a definitive explanation, but mostly, the adult will shrug, and say, that’s just how it is.

Spencer’s eyes squeeze shut. His head tilts down.

“We can’t do this again, sweetheart. You know why we’re not together.”

In theory—yes. You’d had so many conversations when you’d broken up. It had been a long, painful process, spanning multiple all-nighters at his kitchen table, nursing coffee and trying to convince each other and yourselves that it was the right choice. But it just feels like a horrible, horrible mistake. You feel desperate to explain this to him before he slips away again—the words come out flustered, inelegant as you cling to him.

“But I don’t think I’m getting better without you. I tried, I tried so hard to be good on my own, but everything is worse and harder and—and we weren’t sure about it then, and I don’t think it was the right choice, because I still really need you. Like, all the time. I’m—it’s not getting better without you. Nothing got better.”

He swallows, eyes darting between yours for an infinite second. You’re breathless and your heart is pounding after your confession—you can feel your eyes stinging with the few tears that managed to escape as you spoke.

“Everything is worse,” he agrees shakily. “Everything. I’m—I’m getting disciplinary infractions from Hotch like I’m a child because I can’t focus on anything. Game of Thrones is the most complex literature I can comprehend right now. I had to use a calculator the other day.”

You want to laugh, but nothing is funny until he’s yours again.

“Then come back. Please come back, Spencer.”

Finally, he leans closer, until your heads are pressed together, and his nose bumps yours, feather light. You're dizzy. You exhale. He inhales.

“I don’t think I knew how to leave in the first place.”

When he kisses you, it feels like home.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fic #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds

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amomentsescape · 10 months ago

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can I also request to yandere slashers and sinclair brothers with a pregnant reader that gets kidnapped if thats ok? Thank you hope im not requesting too much, no pressure to make it 😅

Yandere! Slashers with Pregnant Reader That Gets Kidnapped

Yandere! Slashers x Reader (Separate)

Includes: Freddy, Michael, Jason, Thomas, Bubba, Brahms, Norman, Billy, Stu, Vincent, Bo, & Lester

Warnings: Yandere behavior, mentions of pregnancy, typical Slasher behavior

A/N: No worries! Thank you for requesting :) I also apologize if my last couple of Slasher fics have been a bit short. I've been stuck in a brain fog this past week.

Freddy Krueger

The moment Freddy sees you gone, he just laughs

You couldn't be that stupid to just leave, could you?

You can't escape him when he can show up at any point no matter where you are

However, him popping up and seeing you being held hostage by someone else...

Freddy's smile fades

Of course you wouldn't leave him

But who dares to have put you and his child at risk?

The moment he sees them, he doesn't even care

He immediately slashes their throat and picks you up, not wasting any time taking you back to where you belong

Michael Myers

The kidnapper was careless

Don't they know that Michael would walk to the ends of the earth for you and his child?

His abilities know no bounds

He finds your location within a single night

All you can hear at first are screams and splatters, not sure what is going on outside your little room

But the moment you see Michael, you immediately relax

You weren't sure he would come for you

But here he was

And without a word, he has you lifted in his bloody arms as he walks you back home

Just know he won't be letting you out of his sight at all now

Jason Voorhees

He can hear your screams echo throughout the woods

He knows this area like the back of his hand anyways, so it doesn't take long to locate you

The way you're holding onto your stomach, trying to protect the child from any harm, has Jason seeing nothing but red

He doesn't even want to fool around with the assailant

His machete is plunged into the top of their head before they can even let out a scream

His mood does a complete 180 when he looks back to you, gently taking you in his arms to make sure you weren't hurt

He just sits with you on the ground for a while, rocking you in his arms

He's attempting to comfort you, but there's a part of him that's also trying to comfort himself

Thomas Hewitt

When he comes home to the door wide open, he immediately panics

You didn't leave him... did you?

He thought you were finally happy

Teary eyed and angered, Thomas storms out into the night to look for you

He had wandered pretty far into the area when he heard your screams

Some crazy family seemed to have taken you from your home

Your screams were immediately cut off by the sound of a chainsaw, cutting right into the door

Your kidnappers jumped up and attempted to flee, but Thomas was quick to catch up

You had your ears covered and your eyes tightly shut when he came back in

He gently pulled your hands down and lifted you up

He carried you home without any hesitation

Bubba Sawyer

The screams of devastation he lets out can literally be heard from miles around

Doesn't even want to consider that you left him

You've been so good the last few months

There's no way you would have just left like this

After an hour of him frantically searching around the area, he can finally hear your voice

You were talking to the stranger, asking them to please let you go

The fact that they just kept ignoring you made Bubba even more angry

They only finally looked up when they heard the revving of his chainsaw

They didn't even have time to flee before they were cut in half

He runs over to you quickly, placing one hand on your stomach and the other on the side of your face

He was blubbering, promising you he'll do better next time

Brahms Heelshire

Well this was an incredibly stupid decision on their part

Don't they know that Brahms doesn't ever leave the house?

And wherever you are, he will be too

The kidnapper doesn't even make it out the door with you

The moment Brahms hears your screams, it's over

He emerges from the wall and grabs the kidnapper

You watch as Brahms slams the person's head into the wall, over and over again until they're just a bloody pulp

He storms over to you and grabs you roughly, looking your body over to make sure you and the baby weren't hurt

He traps you in bed with him for the rest of the night

His arms act as a cage, not letting you up for anything

Norman Bates

Everything is a bit of a blur

He comes home to the place ransacked, you nowhere in sight

You weren't reckless

He knows you wouldn't have done this

He turns to go search for you, and that's when things go black

He finally comes to with you crying in his arms on a dirty floor

An unrecognizable body lays beside him, blood pooling everywhere

But you and his child are safe

That's all that matters now

And he'll make sure nothing like this ever happens again

Billy Loomis

Billy is immediately in a rage when he sees you're gone

There is no way you're going to leave him

Never

He'll break into every house in this town if he has to

And that's just what he does

It's only after the 7th house that he finds you tied up to a chair

Oh you poor thing

Of course you didn't leave him

The scene before you quickly becomes bloody

A few bodies lie splattered on the floor, Billy tending to the rope around you

He apologizes for letting this happen and kisses you deeply

It's only later that night you hear of 7 families that had been found slashed in their own homes

There really is no limit when it comes to Billy

Stu Macher

He has a mental breakdown when he sees that you're gone

Goes into a fit of hysterical laughter as he reaches for his knife

He doesn't want to hurt you, but he will if he must

When he hears a scream echo not too far from where he was searching, he sprints to it

And when he sees you being held by some random person, Stu's crazed smile finally drops

He lunges, and things go out of control

Stu is left with a few cuts and bruises, but he doesn't care

He immediately looks you over and makes sure you're not hurt

When he's content, he takes you home and cuddles up with you on the couch, bloody clothes and all

Vincent Sinclair

Vincent doesn't like to venture too far from home, but he'll do it for you

Seeing that you're gone makes him assume the worse

He marches outside the home, already searching every nook and cranny of this desolate place

And it works out in his favor once he sees you in an old building, knocked unconscious

He smashed his way through the window immediately

The attackers come running towards him, but he was quick to act

You awoke to a bloody mess beside you and a worried Vincent knelt in front of you

He rests his hands on your stomach and you nod, letting him know you and the baby are okay

He's content with this and wraps you in his arms to take you back home

Bo Sinclair

If he can't have you, no one can

When he's sees you're gone, he assumes you left just like he knew you were going to try

He hunts you down immediately, ready to do what needed to be done, only to see you scared and tied up

Oh, now Bo can't help the growing smile on his face

You didn't want to leave him, and now he can have fun with whoever was stupid enough to do this

Will knock them unconscious and take you both home

He'll make their death a long and painful one

But it's another addition to the wax museum

One that he is most proud of

Lester Sinclair

He instantly tears up at the idea that you left him

He almost doesn't even want to go after you, but you're also carrying his child

He can't just let you go that easily

He of course checks Ambrose first, and he considers himself lucky to have found you as soon as he did

But seeing you being held by some random person was not what he had planned

Lester's self pity quickly evolves to pure anger

He jumps in and immediately attacks, not even thinking of finding a weapon first

His adrenaline kicks in and it doesn't take long before he kills the kidnapper, suffocating them to death

He then wraps himself up with you, holding you close and apologizing over and over again

2K notes · View notes

tzihomara · 25 days ago

Text

SWEET AS EVER. . . ‧₊˚ ⋅

— look’s like you’re in luck! , your hot neighbor has a sweet tooth..

wc. 3.2k, mdni | fem!reader, breèding, squīrtinġ, clichè trope, age gap, reader early-mid 20s, nanami late-early 30s-40s, creampíe, coúntersex, ditzy!reader, neighbor!nanami, changing relationship, not proofread.

an; first post back yayyy, im so excited i have so many ideas, & nanami seems soo much like the type to think about marriage after this thing, not in a childish way but in a really serious one LOL

recently moving in to the new flat you got was possibly the best thing to happen to you. quiet, spacey, and most importantly having a hot neighbor like kento nanami, who you’ve made yourself quite familiar with over the month’s you’ve settled in, was perfect.

alway’s willing to lend a hand for his sweet neighbor, despite his busy schedule. opening the door every time. and for you, time and time again, appearing in front of his door in less than appropriate outfit’s, subtly leaning into him. a tilt of your head and a cute little pout. batting your eyelash’s at him, making your plea for help, whether it be with putting something together, or a jar too tight.

this time was no different, having bought a new piece of furniture in need of his “help”, why risk lifting your pretty little fingers when you had him? swiftly walking a few doors down, till you see the familiar small hanging plants outside of his door you’ve come to associate with him, giving your signature 4 knock’s.

and per usual, he answer’s. slowly opening up the door, a broad shoulder nudged into the corner of the frame, tensed by the sound yet slowly relaxing when his eyes land to none other than you, looking right down at you. and not just your face. clenching his jaw, the outfit you had thoughtlessly put together gave him a view that left little to the imagination. tiny shorts squeezing your hip’s and thigh’s. tank top with a dangerously low cut. sandal wedges flaunting your newly manicured toes. ochre eye’s narrowing into weary slit’s.

“is there something you need?”, he sighed. keeping that indifferent, stoic manner. never faltering it seems..until it came to you, atleast.

“mnn.. i was ‘jus wondering if you could give a little help putting together a nightstand f’me?” you pleaded, sweetly. a glint of eagerness in those big eye’s of your’s, ones on display for him. ”could bake ya some sweets. as a thank’s for the ‘hard work’, if you’d like mr. nanami.”, you offer, with a tiny grin. leaning in too close to him, your plump bust in his view. an eyeful if you will. the stoic demeanor you’ve come to love to crack wavering just a tad. eye’s narrowing at your proximity. “of course, i can help.” he spoke lowly, deep voice slightly on edge. “no need for sweet’s.” he declined, not wanting to inconvenience you. and you let out a pleasant giggle, always getting your way when it come’s down to him, and anybody else really, who wouldn’t be a sucker for you? “awwh, thank’s. you’re just the best, mr. nanami.” exclaiming, before subtly pouting at his additional rejection. “oh..- are you sure about the sweets? i’ll feel all guilty if i don’t repay you with something. anything ya want.”

he bit the inside of his cheek at your word’s, gnawing even. avoiding the internal debate if the implication behind your words were purposely terribly hidden, or if he was getting ahead of himself.

taking a deep breath, he sighed. “no.., really it's alright. i don't need anything, i appreciate your offer.”, and it’s enough for you to temporarily accept his word’s. with a swift nod and hum, you two were already headed in the direction of your flat, entering the passcode on your door. hearing the familiar beep granting you two entry, gently closing the door behind him. the sharp and weary gaze that was beginning to soften, lingering on the chub of your hip’s. damn those shorts. internally chiding himself and shaking his head. focusing instead on the already scattered piece’s of the nightstand on your table, in a poor attempt at organization, if you could even call it that. it didn’t look that complicated. but for a ‘ditz’ like you, it was way too much. “make yourself at home.”, you commented, familiar set of word’s falling from your lip’s, guiding him over to take a seat. like times before.

nanami sat at the table, eyes flickering between the nightstand pieces, and back to your sweet grin. it was challenging to focus on the task at hand when you’re right there. alway’s. a constant distraction for the older man. chin propped by your palm, wide eye’s watching him already. a sweet, soft hum, filling he silence. larger, rougher hand’s handling the piece’s of the stand, pay attention to everydetail. and occasionally the stand pieces that you could careless about when you had him in your dining room. haphazardly switching between the two. eyeing the few veins running from his hands down to his forearms. button up rolled to his elbow’s. thick finger’s navigating without instruction’s fluidly. it was attractive. looking at a man who knows what he’s doing would always be a sight that could put anyone in a trance, and you weren’t the exception. crossing your leg’s at the slight need forming at your core, nudging it away or possibly egging it on.

“you’re pretty skilled with your hands, mr. nanami..”, you commented, more for yourself, rather than stating a fact. a touch of admiration in your tone, something a bit more intense than mere “interest” hanging off your words. clenching his jaw tightly, with a quiet swallow. “years of experience,” he replied, a slight rasp in his voice. “you pick up a thing or two over time.” he added. his eye’s flickering to meet yours, and back down again. “oh?, i see.” you mumbled back softly, eye’s attentively watching his hand’s. traveling, roaming over to his forearm’s, all the way up to his bicep’s. thick and muscular, tightly fitting in his collared shirt. on perfect display. squeezing your thigh’s just a little tighter together. the only thing that seemed to break the more than ‘heavy’ silence between you two, was a lose screw rolling off the table with a little clink. your eyes shifting to it with disinterest, but a quick opportunity in your mind. “whoop’s. i’ll get that f’ya..” you blurt out, uncrossing your leg’s and bending over in your seat to reach. unintentionally displaying that cute, frilly, thong you just bought on a shopping spree. he had to stifle a groan. clenching the wood of the nightstand in his palm. with a sigh, murmuring a “thanks.” a man could only resist so much.

internally chiding himself for even looking, returning to the task at hand, trying to forget what he just saw. furrowed dirty blonde brows pinched together, the age gap between the two of you making him feel just.. particularly guilty. but not too guilty to stop him from letting something escalate. silently letting his thoughts wonder, while you mumble out a “mhm.” your eye’s back to being fixed on his every move. "almost done," he informed, tightening any loose screw’s on the mostly done stand. big eyes narrowing. “oh-, already?..” you slighty frown, a soft hum following. putting together the last piece’s of your stand, skillfully. letting out a sigh at the finished result, “there��, finished up. should be fine,” he announced. his body thrumming with a slight arousal, and tension. despite his indifference, it betrayed the whirling sensation’s internally. a hand of his rubbing down his face, pinching the bride of his nose. and you notice the slight difference in his demeanor. “something th’matter?, mr. nanami?” you ask, with a touch of concern. you two both knew what you were doing. you two were both adults, it’s not like either of you are clueless. and maybe that was the best part. the looks you’ve been giving him, the outfits, everything. an air of thick, deafening, silence between you both. his narrowed bronze eyes meeting your own, brows furrowed deeper than before. the look alone made you shiver.

you couldn’t tell how it happened, and you didn’t really care either. your attention was entirely elsewhere, and all you knew is that the tension added up, and here you were. shorts, and the same pretty thong you flashed him, dangling off your ankle. nanami had you on the counter of your kitchen, the hand’s that were putting together your nightstand, spreading your thigh’s apart as if he was handling a delicate flower, tender and gentle. careful not to break you just yet. lapping at your fold’s, with a tiny hand belonging to you tugging a fistful of dirty blonde strands that belonged to him. nose, lips, and chin sheen with your slick. clit rubbing just right against his pretty sculpted nose. tired eye’s focused on the treat infront of him. letting out a raspy groan into your cunt with every tug and squeeze of your thighs. deep voice creating a soft hum against your weak spot. tugging just a little harder at his hair, dragging his face all over your sopping cunt, as if you just couldn’t get enough of him. tiny whines, and greedy moans falling right past your lips. and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t make his cock ache in his pants. straining against the fabric of his briefs, subtly seeking friction through that strain. precum staining through the fabric. like a teenager, it’s been a long time since he’s felt this way, a man like him was never into one nightstands, or hookups. the type to want to settle and marry, not please his neighbor. but this time, he just had to taste.

continuing to practically ride his face, having him on his knee’s for you. you were just so close, yanking him up by his hair, pretty pouty expression on your face, mixed with need. a tiny whine escaping, his mouth skillfully moving back to your clit, pressing opened mouth, down right filthy kisses to it. sucking and nibbling, tired, yet slightly adoring eye’s holding eye contact with you. it made your tummy flutter. that tingly sensation that felt oh’ so good building up. rolling your hip’s needily, —impatiently, into his face. mewls gradually building up and escaping from your plumped lips you had bitten previously, he was sucking on just the right spot before you felt that coil snap inside you, clenching around his tongue perfectly, squeezing him between your legs, a firm hold on your thighs to support you, and help you ride through your orgasm. lapping at your release like he was starved. veins in his hands and forearms straining, letting the fat of your thighs fill the gaps of his fingers.

merely a few minutes of catching his, and your breath. his hands were not so respectfully groping at your breasts. raspy, hot pant’s into your mouth, heaving. allowing you to taste yourself on the tip of his tongue, swirling, sucking, teasing as if he die if he’d pull away. he was given his chance, access to you and how addictive you tasted, and he needed to know how you felt. and he’d be damned if he didn’t take the chance. the guilt he had experienced had flew out the window ages ago, already too far gone now once he got a taste of you. he’d been eyeing you, just as you were eyeing him the ever since the day you moved in. to say he was pent up, was an understatement. you didn’t even need to be guided, your hand already tugging at his belt, maybe it was the need making you so eager to get him out of his pants, but you damn sure did. quick too. leaning his hips into your touch, just rubbing, grinding into your hand. muscles in his forearm flexing as he ran his firm hand down your breast, and to your thighs. you could feel just how badly he needed you, how he’s always been needing you. he couldn’t keep being pent up forever. pointer finger tugging at the waistband of his boxer’s, unclothing him, letting his painfully hard cock slap against his clothed abs, tip weeping with precum. fit for a man of his age, and you surely weren’t complaining. gliding the soft skin of your fingers over the head of his tip, smearing the little bead’s. you could feel him throbbing, his larger hand moving to hold yours, pulling you to the edge of the counter with his other, fitted firmly against your lower back. helping you guide him into your entrance, chewing on his bottom lip, and a filthy groan escape’s once he feels just how soaked you were for him, how soaked he made you. the combination of his spit and your slick was perfect. head rubbing and collecting the mixture, glossing his pink tip. teasing almost, before he sank into you.

smaller arm’s quickly moving to cling to his neck, and stuffed full of all his inches, plowing into you. no need for soft, slow strokes when you both knew what you wanted. you two were past the point of taking things slow. returning the pants against your mouth with needy, delicious mewls into his own. he was so filthy— for a man who’s at your every call and request. always so respectful toward’s you, in your cunt like it’s the last, and best sensation he’ll ever feel. maybe it would be. maybe he’d just have to look in getting to know you more after this.., oh—, he for sure would.

and to him, it was. with how good you felt, his mind was completely off of the not so appropriate age gape. purely focused solely on how good your cunts suckin him in, relieving his stress. but hell, he could ignore anything if it meant to feel you again. a man like him abandoning his own standards and critic, was rare if not impossible. but you just managed to do that for him.

you felt like he was hitting, stretching— drilling into every inch of you, every spot that might’ve been unreached before, stretched by him. his hips firm, not too slow, not too fast. perfect, just right, and all for you. you were close to melting right there, manicured nails digging into his shirt, bound to leave marks even with the layer of cloth shielding the pressure. with an adorable tremble, you held on as best as you could. and it only added to his pleasure, a small masochistic turn on, yet a praise for how well he was doing. a rough padded thumb tracing circles into your flesh, a distraction. to keep himself from finishing so quickly inside his pretty lil’ neighbor. already having had the ‘privilege’ of being in your snug cunt raw, he didn’t wanna push his luck…he thinks. but at this rate, it seemed maybe, just maybe this one slip up wouldn’t be all too bad. maybe you’re just too good…no,— you are too good. hands moving to your thighs, to your hip. gripping on the fat of your hip, dragging your hips back n fourth on his cock like a toy, his touch so different from his action’s. slicking the marble counter below, impossibly drilling himself deeper into you. you could feel everything, and it hurt so good. neatly trimmed happy trail brushing against your sensitive nub tantalizingly, rocking your hip’s just a little closer to him subcontiously, clenching and stuttering around him, provoking a low moan from his handsome bruised lips.

he was so focused, so mesmerized watching his length get sucked up perfectly by your cunt, taking every single inch. like how he imagined you would. furrowed blonde brow’s, little strand’s of hair glued to his forehead. pressed firmingly against yours. hot white pleasure shooting up both your bodies. “rright t-there— oh,” you whined prettily, dragging it out in ectasy. short’s and thong long fallen off to the ground, ankle rubbing and wrapping around his hip’s, feeling right up against his defined vline. and he grunted. pace faltering just a little, stuttering patheticly, even a small tease from you was just enough to make him feel like he couldn’t last. he wouldn’t. no matter what distraction he was seeking out, feeling you on his length, under his palms, in his mouth. it was enough to drive any man feral. leaving little crescents into your hip just as you were into his back. marks he’d wish last forever in this moment.

feeling your cunt squeezing, fitting and clenching around him so snug, it made him weak. leaning a bit of his weight into you, and it felt suffocatingly good, his broad frame blocking you from see anything but him above and infront of you, smelling a mix of his cologne and sweat was intoxicating. leaning back to support your own weight with one of your hands, grasping at him like he’s the only thing keeping you grounded. in a way he was— his dick was making you dumb. the only thing on your mind was him, breath stuttering, feeling that familiar coil tightening up in you, tipping your head back to get a glimpse of his face. twisted in pleasure, sweat sticking to his aged, handsome face. it did no justice to slow down your rapidly approaching orgasm, you were already trembling, a mess of noises uncontrollably slipping out, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. it was only so long before you were hit with what felt like lightening, a bolt of hot, intense pleasure, shooting through what seemed like every inch of your body, and struggling to catch your breath, hastily and needing pulling him closer. legs contracting and shaking, and a drawn out whine escaping from your lips as you felt the nonfamiliar wetness soak not only your thighs and the counter below, but his abs and waist. creamy white wring forming and smearing over, and over again on his cock. eyes focused and filled with something deeper than merely wanting sexual gradification, seeing the pleasure he brought you was enough, and feeling how tight you were spasming around him was much, much more than enough. both of your lips forming a small o, and a deep groan following. he could’ve sworn he felt his knees buckling. and the next second thick, warmth, his—warmth, was spilling inside you and trickling out, you could feel just how much he was pumping into you, fucking into you. making sure you had every drop of him. and you couldn’t resist trying to inch yourself closer to him—deeper. despite feeling utterly weak and overwhelmed yourself. the fact he was merely your neighbor was long forgotten, with the way he fucks you you’d think you were newly weds. but you couldn’t bring yourself to care, not when he had you like this. the two of you pressed and bonded together, hunched over your counter panting, trying to regain something to ground yourselves. rough padded fingers desperately clinging to your skin. a moment that felt too intimate for just ‘neighbors’. a moment of heavy breathing and rest, palms slowly stroking over your skin when he had came down from his high, resting his chin on your shoulder.

it was safe to say, you had your fill, and you’d have much more often than expected from now on. a man like him would surely—never, miss out on a woman like you. and all of a sudden, his pretty ‘lil neighbor was much closer than he remembered. but you on the other hand, just couldn’t wait to talk about your new..fiancé.

my masterlist for more .ᐟ

ⓘ all right’s reserved, do not republish, edit, or translate my work.

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freaksun · 4 months ago

Text

eddie doesnt let anyone touch his hair. ever.

it reminds him of his late mother, who had the same gorgeous untamed curls. She used to comb his hair when he was little, being ever so gentle and taking her time brushing out the knots.

his father made him feel less-than for just about everything about him, including his gorgeous mane. Called him awful names and always told him to ‘cut that fairy shit’ when it grew too long.

so, ever since she passed, and his father went to jail, hes been growing it.

unfortunately, she never taught him how to take care of it, she’d always just do it herself. So, he doesnt put product in it, he doesnt cut it, he doesnt even brush it. And, stubborn as his mama, he doesnt let anyone else touch it either.

then you come along, happy and sweet, always loving to everyone. he falls in love with you so fast he hardly even notices. you certainly dont either.

one hot summer day you’re both in his room, you on his bed, him pacing, frantically explaining some sort of nerdy campaign idea. you dont know, you havent been listening for a while, too distracted by the way he keeps wiping sweat from the back of his neck. you cut him off rudely, he doesnt mind

“hey eddie?”

“sweetheart?”

“whens the last time you got a haircut?”

he freezes, silent, which is very out of character, dude never shuts up.

“uhh. like a few years ago. why?”

its your turn to be quiet, suddenly all coy. he finds you absolutely adorable as you stare at his floor, trying to find a way to ask him without startling him. as if he were some wild animal, which, he basically is.

“just.. immm noticinggg its kinda matted in the back…”

you try to sound the least accusing as you can. he doesnt seem offended but you can tell hes thinking.

“well, yeah, i. i guess i just havent touched it since. well my mom used to do it for me”

you feel like an ass, touching on something you shouldnt have, making him all quiet and sad. you backtrack.

“jesus, eddie, im sorry i didnt mean to-“

“its okay angel, i know”

he sits next to you. you give him a nervous smile, still sweet, hesitantly reaching for his curls. you can tell he’s hesitant too, but he nods, granting you permission. you take a single strand between your fingers, twirling it.

“Its so pretty, eds. ..would you let me? take care of it, i mean?”

hes scared. but youre so sweet and youre asking so nicely. a part of him is scared if he lets you, he loses another part of his mom. but the other part is staring into your eyes and seeing nothing but genuine affection.

“i.. i guess you could.. try.”

his heart pounds in his chest. You absolutely beam, thanking him immediately and bouncing around the room, looking for a brush. he laughs, shaking his head. you watch as he rummages through his closet, before handing you a light pink brush. you think about teasing him for it but he already looks vulnerable. you smile sweetly instead, taking it from him.

“sit” you point with the brush. he does as you say, running his hands up and down his thighs in a self soothing motion.

“its okay eds, you dont have to be nervous.. ill be gentle i promise” he gives you an unconvincing smile. you return with a guilty one, downturned. you kneel in front of him, in between his knees, brushing his bangs with your fingers.

“we can stop whenever you want, okay?” his cheeks are bright red as he nods timidly

you move to sit behind him, and run your hands through his curls gently, admiring it. you take a part, hold it at the root, and brush gently.

“that feel okay? tell me if it hurts” ever so sweet.

“mm-hm” you can feel his nervousness. “you- you remind me of her, y’know”

youre pretty taken aback, but honoured nonetheless. you keep brushing through the mattes in his hair as you talk.

“Yeah? Wanna tell be about her?” youre not sure if its the right thing to say, but you figure he probably hasnt talked about her in a long time. you can practically feel his energy shift.

“she was sweet. loving and kind to everyone, like you.” you both smile. “and she was pretty. beautiful. i really miss her.” you stop, rub his back a little.

“i can only imagine.. im sorry eddie.” he turns to face you, smiling.

“s’alright sweetheart. thanks for letting me talk about her” he hugs you. you hug him back, tight.

“hows the ole hair going?” He asks when he pulls back, a joking tone to lighten the mood.

“good!!! ive gotten the mattes outta this chunk here, it looks good. your hair is really beautiful, eds” youre ecstatic and it travels to him.

“thank you. my mom had the same hair.” he smiles, turning back around to let you continue.

“i bet she was really gorgeous.” youre extra-extra gentle. He keeps talking and you keep working. He tells you about how she smelled, the softness of her voice, his favourite memories with her. he tells you about the last time he saw her. he tells you all the things hes been holding inside, everything he never got to tell anyone, never trusted anyone enough. and when hes done, his hair is untangled and soft.

you smile proudly, running your hands through his hair, marveling at your work.

“its done” he whips around, looking at you with wide excited eyes

“really??” you nod, smiling wide. he runs over to the bathroom to see for himself. You stand behind him, peeking over his shoulder in the mirror. Hes surprised, looks like he might even cry. you wrap your arms around him, leaning your head against his arm.

“do you like it? Its a little poofy, but you can wash it out and it’ll look be-“ he cuts you off by turning around and hugging you. he hugs you tight, lifting you up.

“thank you.” you can tell he really means it.

#my fics #eddie munson x female reader #eddie the freak munson #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x gn!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #my fic #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson fluff #eddie my love <3 #my writing

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landoughnut · 2 months ago

Text

My Girlfriend

♡ masterlist - request!

♡ pairing - charles leclerc x fem!reader

♡ summary - at first you were worried about going with charles to the paddock for the first time since you got together, you didn't want to make a bad impression on anyone, what you both least expected was for everyone to like you more than him!

♡ warnings - somewhat possessive charles, lots of fluff

♡ w/c & a/n - 1.07k | ahh im so excited this is my first for this account! please please send any requests you have cause I cant really think of ides ahaha xoxo

"Charles are you sure, they'll like me? I just-"

"Mon amour, they will love you," he kisses your forehead, "I promise". Walking hand in hand with him towards where everyone is, he feels you squeezing his hand.

Charles and you have been dating for a while already, but you'd kept it a secret from almost everyone else due to how harsh people can be. He wanted to protect you from all the nasty comments people may make, but now you are making your first public appearance.

You weren't a well-known figure or model like the other wags, although Charles has told you many times you can most definitely be one if you wanted to. He met you when he went to buy flowers for his mother, Pascale, and claims that it was love at first sight.

Finally, you get to where hundreds of fans crowded behind a gate, they start yelling when they see you two.

Charles wraps his arm around your waist as you two get closer so he can sign some stuff as he's passing by.

"Charles! Charles, who's this?"

"Is this your girlfriend?"

"She's beautiful, Charles!"

People shout many things along those lines making you blush and Charles smile. He kisses your head again as you give them a shy wave, cheeks pink.

Charles finishes a hat he's signing as introduces you to the crowd, "This is my lovely girlfriend," he speaks and is shocked at how loud the crowd was. Clapping, wolf-whistling, and awing. He hadn't heard one nasty comment, not that there was anything to hate on you for, but it's shocking to see the overwhelming amount of positivity.

"Hi, everyone," you speak, smiling at the people.

"Here! Take this!" a little girl yells holding out a bracelet.

Charles steps forward, "Thank y-"

"No no!" the girl takes her hand back, making him furrow his eyebrows, "for you, miss! You are very pretty."

Your eyes widen, "Me?" She nods and you crouch down to her, "Wow! It's gorgeous," you beam. It was a red beaded bracelet with Charles' initials and number on it. "I love it, thank you so much, sweetie!"

Charles' heart races and his stomach flutters watching you with the young girl, and then when you interact with the others, who seem to be giving you heart eyes at this point.

His eyes narrow at some men looking a little too intensely, so he catches up to you and puts his arm around your shoulder. You lean into him as he waves bye to the fans. You blow a kiss, making them get loud once again, and then walk with Charles to where the drivers were hanging around.

"You see, mon cœur, they adored you," he brings your hand to his lips, kissing your palm.

You let out a happy sigh, "They were a bit louder than I thought, but it was such a relief."

Arriving where the others were, Lando was the first one to spot you two. "Ah! Look who we have here! Charles and the girlfriend who he told but not showed," he grins.

You smile and lean a bit more towards Charles, "Hello," your voice quiet. These were your boyfriends friends, if they didn't like you-

You feel Charles give your waist a light squeeze, taking you out of your thoughts.

"Wow, no wonder Charles didn't bring you here yet," Lando grins and puts his hand on Charles' shoulder, "you've got yourself a stunner. Scared someone's gonna whisk her away, are you?"

You laugh and feel yourself relax, "Oh hush!"

You look behind Lando and see Daniel, Oscar, Max, Carlos, and Lewis coming over.

They all greet you and for the next few minutes all of you are having a great time together, laughing, making jokes, and it's as if you've all been friends forever.

Charles frowns as he watches, none of them even glances at him, too engrossed with you telling some stories from your floral shop. After a few more minutes he decided he had enough and walks over to you.

"Mon amour, why don't we head to my drivers room, I'll show you around," he smiles, though it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Alright, love. It was nice meeting you all! I'll see you guys soon!" You smile and they reciprocate it as you walk off.

Lewis and Max whistle in sync, "What a woman."

Charles huffs and hits his shoulder, "My woman, you mean."

Carlos chuckles, "Awh, is little Charles jealous?" Lando and Oscar laugh, glancing at each other.

"I'm not jealous," he frowns, crossing his arms. "It's just everyone we've seen today is fawning over her and it's like I'm not even here! Some of these people are ogling her like I, her boyfriend, am not right next to her!"

Danny shakes his head smiling, "Well, mate, she's a real sweetheart, what did you expect?"

"Well- I don't know! But she's waiting for me so... I'll see you guys later," he rolls his eyes as he hears his friends whistling as he walks towards you.

His eyes light up when he spots you chewing your lip, seemingly lost. "There you are!"

You turn towards him, "Thank goodness you're here! I was scared to ask for directions," you laugh.

"Good thing I'm here to be a guide then," he takes your hand gently and brings you into his room.

The moment the door is closed his lips are on yours, one hand cupping your face and neck and the other around your waist.

It took you a moment but you were kissing him back with the same passion. "I've been waiting to do that," he whispers, lips brushing yours.

You smiles, kissing him against. The rhythm of your lips together expressing your love without words.

He slowly walks back until he hits the bed, then sits down and grins as you straddle his lap.

"You're my girlfriend," he whispers, tracing your face, "my love, my angel."

You study his face as he admires yours, "I love you," you whisper, kissing him gently.

"I love you more, I don't know how I got so lucky."

You smile and hold his face in your hands, kissing his cheeks, nose, forehead, chin, and finally pecking his mouth, which was swollen from before. "I'm the lucky one, you are everything, darling," you smile.

He twirls a piece of your hair, "Alright, now how about I show you around the garage before people start wondering where we are?"

#charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #formula 1 #charles leclerc fanfic #formula one #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #carlos sainz #max verstappen #lando norris #x reader #fear #charles leclerc oneshot #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fluff #f1 #daniel ricciardo #lewis hamilton

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a-kaash-me-outside · 9 months ago

Text

˚₊‧ ᴡɪʟʟ ɪᴛ ʙᴇ ᴄᴀsᴜᴀʟ ɴᴏᴡ? ‧₊˚

♡ ft. geto, toji, gojo, higuruma, nanami ♡ total wc: 10.9k // nsfw minors dni! // ♡ contents: ౨ৎ 𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑢𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 ౨ৎ, afab reader she/her pronouns, no smut in gojos or tojis im sorry, emotionally stunted men kinda but they grow isnt that nice (not talking abt higuruma and nanami god no), the aftermath of fwb caught feelings, consolation, emotional aftercare ig, lotta domestic fluff for higuruma and nanami's!!!! (everyone say ty @noosayog for nanami's bc she is the only reason i wrote his) ♡ listen along: casual by chappell roan ♡

- ᡣ𐭩 time passes and people change, and just because you fell first doesn't mean you don't get a happy ending + bonus continuation of higuruma's and nanami's ᡣ𐭩 -

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ɢᴇᴛᴏ [ 3 ʏᴇᴀʀs ]

on the list of people that you thought you’d see tonight, geto isn’t even in the top 100, not because of probability or likelihood, but solely based on the fact that you have not thought about this man in years. if you were asked the question from your future self, “holy shit, guess who we saw tonight?” you would’ve listed old friends, distant relatives, exes, minor celebrities, other flings, teachers from high school, people from stories you’ve only heard of, and then geto.

after that night, you really didn’t see barely any of him. a few posts on your feed: one 2 weeks after and another 2 months after that one when you remembered that you forgot to unfollow him. once on campus: him across a million tables getting lunch with some girl too long after your little thing for you to care about who she was to him at all. once at a mutual (though you didn’t know was mutual at the time) friend’s party close to graduation: you ran into him grabbing a drink from the cooler and neither of you said a single word to each other, just exchanged a very knowing glance.

fast forward a handful of years, with geto not on your mind during a single one of them, and you’re stunned, nearly speechless, as you recognize him across the bar. the track of which your mind is racing takes you stop after stop to thoughts and feelings you didn’t really ask to experience. they follow a curving roadmap in your mind of: why is he here? ↝ wow, he looks great ↝ does he live nearby still? ↝ that’s weird ↝ no, it isn’t weird, i still live here ↝ then what are the fucking chances that he’s here ↝ no, seriously he looks so good

he looks different though, you realize about 3 minutes into sneaking glances in his direction, in some way that you just can’t put your finger on right now. in your slightly tipsy state, you barely stop to ask yourself how you even clocked that it was him so quickly, how there was no hesitance in the recognition or questioning in the placing. he looks really fucking good.

in fact, now that all of the obligatory thoughts have come to a heed, that’s really the only thing that you can think about. how good he looks.

the events that happened that ended your situationship all of those years ago are nothing but outlines now; whatever you said or he said just sounds like underwater conversations. you can see the way that you left and you remember being dumbfounded, but everything else has lost its sting, like a story you’d recall to a friend of a friend in a setting much like the one you’re in. time has handled the memory the way that time does and as a result, when the two of you finally make eye contact after what feels like an hour of missed mutual glances, you offer a small wave. a wave that says, “i remember only knowing you in past tense. we are such different people now, i wonder what it would’ve been like if we met now instead.”

the wave was the first step, technically, sure, but he makes the literal first step. he departs from the conversation he’s been enthralled with for as long as you’ve been stealing glances and he weaves between people in the middle of their own stories before ending up in front of you.

when he does, he asks, as if he’s just randomly bumped into you rather than intentionally coming over, “shit… is that you?” he puts his hand on the back of your chair, thumb brushing your shoulder.

the friend that you’re with cocks their head, furrows their eyebrows, has no idea who this is or their connection to you, the timelines of their interactions with you spaced too far apart for one to know the other. geto notices this look, addresses it. “we used to…,” he pauses, “see each other? for a little bit.”

you can’t help the laugh that bubbles up from your chest at the way he describes it. “yes, yes we did,” you nod. “back in college,” you explain a little further, “been a while.”

the interaction quiets, the two of you exchanging soft smiles instead of words, and your friend knows where this thing is going before either of you even do, so they bow their head, offer their seat to geto, and take their leave in the name of some bullshit excuse. he takes it without a second thought, asking you how you’ve been, laughing about the time that you saw each other at that party, and after an hour of just talking he says, “yeah, i actually thought about you the other day.”

you nearly choke on the drink he’s bought you. you rush to put it down. “you did?” you ask.

he nods. “i don’t even remember what prompted it. i think, maybe, i saw a photo of myself from college and how different i looked and how different i feel now and then just, out of nowhere, remembered how shitty i was to you.”

you don’t say anything in return, running your finger around the lip of your glass as you stare at him. you don’t know how to say that you don’t care anymore, that you haven’t thought of those days in years, that the surprise that you displayed a few seconds ago was completely genuine, because you were so convinced that neither of you had. it comes out something like a shrug and, “we were practically kids.”

he answers so quickly, “well, kids or not, i’m sorry.”

you laugh, gently so he won’t think you’re laughing at his apology. really, you’re laughing at the notion of apologizing for an act that no longer warrants forgiveness. you laugh at the thought of giving it anyways. you place your hand on top of his on the edge of the bar. “thank you,” you nod. he nods back.

when you let him take you back to his place for old times sake, you’re half-expecting the same person from the ghosts of memories from years ago, like all of the things he said at the bar were just a last ditch effort to usher the night in the exact direction that it’s heading in.

but he’s different now, just like he said he was before he apologized, and you can feel it in his movements and his actions. more confident, more intentional. he kisses you first and it doesn’t taste selfish. it doesn’t feel rushed to get to the main event. he savors it, holds your head in his hands, and doesn’t touch a single other inch of your body until he’s found the right combination of fingertip pressure and tongue that has you melting into his palm.

your mind flickers to the notion that these actions might be pre planned because they feel so meticulous and thought out, but that impression quickly dissolves when he sinks inside of you, slowly, keeping his eyes locked on yours as he does, his hand reaching down to cup your cheek, fingers nearly trembling against your jaw when he presses his hips completely against the insides of your thighs.

“shit,” he hisses, hands moving down to your waist, fingers light like feathers practically crawling against your skin, as if each print was so grateful it got to make contact with the softness below. when he grips into the fat of your hips, he’s careful, intentional or not, pressing his thumbs into the bone, but not letting his nails leave a single mark. it’s pressured, but comfortable.

he holds you in place, slowly pulling his hips back and he can’t help but look down between your legs, watching himself disappear inside of you, a creamy mess at the base, shallow breaths recycled in his chest.

“hey,” you say, eyes locked on the tenseness of his jaw and the way that he stops himself with sharp inhales. he finds your gaze in a second. “don’t hold out on me here.” you rest your arm on his bicep, fingers curling around wherever they can reach.

you can feel it under your palm, his muscle tensing as his pace picks up, rhythm consistent, but unrelenting. the breaths come out of you quickly and you’re unable to hold any sort of facade. “ah- shit, f-fuck,” you cry, “holy shit.” you squeeze your eyes shut, swallowing harshly as strangled noises leave you without vetting a single one.

“n-no,” you shake your head, regretting it instantly as he slows down in response. you shake your head harder, “no, don’t stop, but- ah,” you groan, “your- you were- i meant,” you exhale a laugh, “let me hear you.”

his eyes widen slightly as he processes what you want from him, and then he listens. he leans down to kiss your lips and then your cheek and then your jaw and then your ear. yes, he’s fucking you better than you’ve ever been fucked in your entire life, but that’s not what makes you crumble. no, it’s his grunts and pants and breathy groans pressed right up against your skin.

you thread your fingers into his hair, twirling the ends of the locks between the tips, raking your nails down the base of his neck to the front, and then smoothing them down his chest. “more,” you mumble against him, and you’re not sure exactly what you mean, but he gives it to you, whatever it is. you’re certain he’d give you anything in the world right now if you just asked for it.

there’s a moment after when you’re lying there with him, shoulder pressed up against his, chest heaving, barely recovered, that you find yourself back in that college dorm. you don’t know why the tightness is rising in the hollow below your sternum, but it is. you remind yourself that you weren’t expecting anything from this anyway, so it doesn’t matter, but it does. you’re not sure if you just don’t want to be treated like that again or if it has something to do with geto being the one lying beside you.

when you turn your head to face him, he’s already looking at you. he doesn’t shy away in embarrassment, like it’s wrong that he’d be gazing at you after all of that. his features are steady, confident, strong. he smiles softly, brings his hand up to cup your cheek. “should we get breakfast in the morning?”

in the morning, you repeat in your head. you wait a beat, trying to come up with something to say, to proceed with caution or to discern his intentions or to at least not sound desperate, but all that comes out is, “in the morning?”

he nods, turning on his side so he can stare at you without his neck getting sore. he inches closer to you, kissing the top of your shoulder and then your temple. he drapes his arm over your stomach. “if that’s okay with you,” he says and then kisses you again.

“okay,” you nod back, lazy smile on your lips, eyelids heavy at the warmth surrounding you now as he pulls you closer to him. “yeah, sure,” you affirm, voice so soft and airy that the tightness in your chest is lifted away with the words, all that’s left is a hope you feel comfortable letting stick around.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ᴛᴏᴊɪ [ 3 ᴍᴏɴᴛʜs ]

you are not expecting anyone. you have resigned yourself to a nice pair of pajamas and comfy socks and a warm cup of tea and a spot in the living room that you will only leave for a refill and bathroom breaks. you are tucked into the corner of your couch, back pressed up against the sturdy arm, legs crossed, and a throw blanket over your lap.

you are not expecting anyone, so the sound at the door should have felt a lot more jarring. well, it is jarring for a second, a few seconds actually, the echoing disruption bouncing off of the walls of your living room and back to you, but then the noises repeat themselves, like they’re on a looping track, and you realize that-

you know that knock. heavy-handed with a tight fist, back of the knuckles, not the tops. almost pittering out by the end of the three successions, like the first one is direct and assured, but the second and third don’t really bother keeping up. that knock almost makes you run to the door. if it were 3 months ago, you’d be skipping to the door.

but you hesitate for a few reasons. firstly because when the connection hits that you know that knock very well, you remind yourself to proceed with caution. secondly because it sounds the same but with a difference as small as a hairline fracture. you heard that knock far too many times during the span of a year and a half, and this one sounds almost completely identical, but there’s a half second pause between the first knock and the second knock and the raps feel less impatient.

you don’t have to look through the peephole to know who’s standing on the other side of the door, but you’re glad you do anyway. if for nothing else, it gives you a slight edge, you’re convinced, like you’ve seen him first, you have the upperhand now. at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

toji hadn’t contacted you since he left that day. no texts. no calls. no showing up at your apartment at 3 am. nothing. you kept telling yourself that you’d hear from him. when that didn’t happen, you started telling yourself that you didn’t care if you heard from him. you’ve actually been waiting for this moment, replaying what it would look like if he came back, the things you’d say to him and how you’d say them.

now, looking out at him just standing there, you’re frozen. every scenario you’ve replayed in your head, all of the emotional venting and blow out screaming that you’ve rehearsed and you can’t recall a single scene. you think about leaving him out there, about telling him to go away through the door or just pretending like you’re not home.

“i can see the shadow of your feet under the door,” toji calls out, muffled by the barrier between you guys, and yet it still rings out through your entire body.

you slowly open the door. though, even if it took an entire hour to open the door, you’re not sure it would’ve mattered. you don’t think time is something that could’ve prepared you for seeing him. seeing him didn’t even prepare you for seeing him. you don’t know what to say, so you don’t say anything, folding your arms over your chest. you just wait.

“i-,” he starts, but then immediately stops, half sighs/half scoffs as he leans his chest forward, eyes scanning the inside of your apartment, for what exactly you’re not sure.

“what, toji?” you ask, voice stronger- and more annoyed- than you anticipate it being. you’re grateful for that. “why are you here?”

“shit, this is already hard enough for me t-,” he says, shaking his head, corner of his mouth tugging upward in frustration.

you narrow your eyes, cutting him off, “sorry, this is hard for you?” you feel like laughing or strangling him more than you do crying, which is a desired outcome in this situation, you suppose. “you know that you haven’t talked to me in three months, right? you haven’t talked to me?” you ask, and you can feel your pulse in your wrist and your chest now, because the lines are coming back to you slowly, one by one, circling your brain, fueling your confidence.

“yeah, no, of course i know that,” he combats, like you’re the one that’s being an asshole right now.

you smooth your fingertips against your eyes, blocking the sight of him out for just a second before gesturing with your hand as you ask, “are you going to answer my question or…?”

“look, i said that this is hard enough as it is for me to just be here,” he snaps, and if you were a little less annoyed, if he hadn’t come at this whole thing exactly how he was, you might’ve clocked the desperation in his voice or the uncertainty in his pupils.

“do you know how fucking stupid you sound right now?” you ask. it’s a rhetorical question.

one week after he left, you were certain he was going to come back. you and toji had gone a week without seeing each other or even speaking. you had even gone two weeks. sure, the conversation felt much more serious and, sure, really deep down you knew this time was different, but still, you held out dumb hope.

one month after he left and you realized this was not just him being weird and distant. this was something brand new that you had never had to deal with before. you were still trying to figure out how to navigate it when the two month realization hit: that maybe he wasn’t coming back at all, ever, maybe you had done something wrong. if he had shown back up on your doorstep during that time this conversation would’ve gone very differently you think.

but he didn’t. he showed up at month three when your reaction to random memories of toji were no longer tears and guilt, but laughter and bitterness. there weren’t many things that toji could say right now that would warrant anything more than you standing in your doorway for 4 minutes or less.

“i-,” he starts, but then sighs. he looks left, down the hallway of your building, eyes shifting from object to object out of your view.

“please don’t waste anymore of my time,” you reply and it’s softer than you intend. you thought it’d come out angrier. that seems like a theme for you tonight: everything sounding different in your head. when he doesn’t reply, you start a countdown, promising yourself that when you make it to 15, you’ll close the door in his face. you only make it to 13.

“i’m not here to waste your time,” he says, with no air of disgust or annoyance, the first halfway decent thing he’s said to you tonight. “i-,” he huffs again, “i’m here to say sorry. and-,” he hesitates.

you wait, just listening. the longer that he hesitates, the more time you have to think about what he might say and how you’re standing with your door open for the entire floor to hear your conversation. you’re not sure what’s worse, having this conversation in the confines of familiar grounds or the openness of neutrality.

“and ask… are you already seeing someone else?” he finishes.

you’re dumbfounded, blinking at him slowly before responding in the only way you can think of right now, “goodnight, toji.” you shake your head, cursing yourself for expecting anything more.

“no,” he rushes to say and then stumbles over the rest, “i- i tried to see somebody else, quite a bit of other people actually…”

you scoff, squinting at him, saying more sternly this time, with an added attestation of closing the door in his face, “goodnight, toji.”

he reaches out with a quick reflex, grabbing the door before you’ve barely even moved it. “wait, no, i- fuck,” he mutters, scrambling, “can i just come in?”

“so that was your plan then?” you drop your hand from the door. “to come back here unannounced, be shitty to me, ask if i’m sleeping with anyone, tell me that you’ve slept with lots of people, and then ask if you can come inside?” you ask.

“i didn’t have a plan-,” he replies.

“clearly,” you interject.

“but i’m trying,” he finishes, and you’re waiting for there to be more, to explain exactly how this constitutes as trying, because you don’t really see that here.

“fucking christ, toji, you’re going to have to try harder than whatever the fuck this is,” you sneer.

“we- we had a good thing,” he tries again. you don’t understand how every time he opens his mouth it gets worse and worse. why are you even entertaining this anymore?

“fuck you, man,” you scoff, and it feels like all of the anger has left your body, and in the void where it once was present is nothing but disinterest.

“no, not like that,” he backpedals. maybe if he would say more than four words at a time, or four better words at a time, then you wouldn’t have to keep filling in the blanks or being pissed off or- “for the last six months of our relationship, i didn’t sleep with anyone else,” he admits like it’s the answer to all of your problems. the word relationship burns at the forefront of your mind so hard that you don’t realize what he’s said for 10 whole seconds.

“i, so what?” your voice is unconvincing even to your own ears. you had slept with other people even 2 months before that last day. that wasn’t the issue. you guys were allowed to sleep with other people. you had an explicit conversation about the fact that you could sleep with other people, something along the lines of, hey, we can see other people right? yeah, we’re not fucking dating. okay, just checking.

the so what, you had already answered for yourself, inner voice replying to your own question, screaming, you guys were exclusive, unknowingly to each other, for 2 whole months before you confessed and he left.

his answer is much different. he says, “so nothing really. i just- i needed you to know that.”

“well, what the fuck do you want me to do with that?” you ask, and it comes out bitter and discouraged, but what you really mean is, please tell me what you want, please, can you just tell me that you missed me.

“whatever you want,” he answers instead.

you take a deep breath, a million emotions coursing through your veins and up your throat. “you know what?” you say, and it doesn’t sound angry, it sounds playful, “no, seriously,” you smile and then you laugh, “fuck you, toji.” you close your mouth like you’re done talking, like that’s all you needed to say, but your heart disagrees, forces more words out into the air no matter how hard your jaw is clenched shut.

“you show up here and you’re an asshole and then you’re decent and then you say shit like that and then- then i ask you what you fucking want from this, what you’re trying to play at here and you tell me whatever i want?” you say, exasperated.

“what i wanted was for you not to leave me three fucking months ago. that’s what i wanted,” you spit, “i wanted you to tell me this shit three fucking months ago before i sat alone, by myself, sad and then angry, and the entire time, fucking missing you, you fucking asshole. that’s what i wanted.”

and then it’s there, out in the open, airing for the two of you to witness and to face, and no matter what happens, you know you’ve done everything and said everything that you’ve needed to. he’s quiet for a few moments and you let him be, not tapping your foot or rolling your eyes or being pissed off, but just letting it play out. if this is the last time you ever see toji, why not just let it play out?

“okay,” he says, and it’s soft in a way you’ve only ever heard from him one time in your entire relationship. “i’m sorry.” he pauses. “i really don’t know how to do this,” he admits and you believe him. it feels different from when he told you something along those lines earlier, but you have a feeling that this is what he was trying to say all along.

“do what?” you push, because your mind is making assumptions, but if he’s going to prove anything to you, he needs to start now.

“ask for forgiveness?” he says, like he’s thinking out loud, “apologize? date someone?” you don’t say anything. you’re looking for something more concrete than that. it takes a handful of uncomfortable seconds before he says, “actually care about someone.”

“and do you?” you ask.

his lips press into a thin line, his eyes shift from left to right again. you can feel him getting antsy with the conversation and he’s barely said one vulnerable thing. you look at him, eyes soft and pleading, silently begging him that if he’s grown from this, you’ll let him back in, you swear, but you’ve been hurt before and you know what you’re worth, so you’re going to need some sort of evidence as collateral. “yeah,” he mumbles, but it’s audible. “you,” he says like it isn’t obvious, and it’s quiet and daunted, but you really appreciate the effort.

“okay,” you say, and that’s all you say.

“okay?” he questions, confused. “that’s it?”

“yup,” you say, but your small smile and the fact that you’re not slamming the door in his face again gives away a bit more than that.

“can i… come in?” he asks, hesitant, like he’s still being tested.

you shake your head, hand gripped onto the edge of the door. “no,” you say, scrunching up your nose and furrowing your eyebrows. “because if you come in here, we’re going to have sex,” you admit, half because it’s the truth and half just to see the look on his face. (it’s worth it.)

“wait,” he says, placing his palm flat against your door, but not moving it. his hand is now inside of your apartment, the only part of his body that’s made it past this invisible barrier of hallway and your place. “that sounds like a great thing. why am i not allowed in?”

“because this is me having self-control,” you explain, placing a hand on his shoulder and pushing the small portion of him that’s crossed the division back into the hallway. when you feel his skin against your pinky, soft fabric of that familiar shirt underneath your palm, you almost make a fool of yourself right after you say the word self-control, but you remind yourself what’s at stake here, what you really want.

“i came all the way out here to see you-,” he starts, but he doesn’t make a move to replace his hand on your door, letting his arm fall back to his side. it’s for the better, too, because you’re not sure how much more self-control you have already, no matter how much you tell yourself about longevity and whatever.

“if you really care,” you interrupt him, using his few vulnerable words against him, “and you weren't just trying to sleep with me tonight,” you pause, letting those words sink in, “you will go home and you will call me tomorrow morning and we will get breakfast- the least sexy meal of them all- and then maybe coffee if i enjoy hanging out with you outside of just having sex with you, and then we will go from there.”

“i-,” he starts to protest, but you cock your head. the truth is, if he said another word, reached out and touched your cheek or your hip or really anywhere on your body, if he kissed you, or just walked inside of your apartment and sat down on your couch, you wouldn’t have stopped him. you might even have gotten breakfast with him anyways. he doesn’t know that, you don’t think, but even if he does, he doesn’t act on it. he bows his head slightly, conceding, and says, “okay. i will just… talk to you… tomorrow… then.”

you nod. “goodnight, toji,” you say, hand on the door, closing it as slowly as you opened it.

“uh, yea, night,” he says back. you won’t tell anyone, and neither will he, about the stupidest small smile you see on his lips as he leaves your apartment that night or the fact that he wakes up extra early the next morning, muttering under his breath about how ridiculous dating is before he calls you at 9:30 on the dot.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ɢᴏᴊᴏ [ 3 ᴡᴇᴇᴋs ]

being away from ɢᴏᴊᴏ feels like detoxing. not from like hard drugs or alcohol, but… coffee.

like you know it’s not necessarily good for you, drinking it every day, but it’s a habit you’ve had for a while now and you just can’t seem to break it. it’s not really hurting anything in your day-to-day and you’ve been doing it for so long that it’s probably fine to just keep doing it.

but out of nowhere it hits you that maybe drinking coffee as much as you do is a waste of money and even if you don’t feel the negative effects constantly in your daily routine, you remind yourself of the times where you could distinctly feel the thump of your heart and the unsteady of your hands. you recall the time that you stayed up all night for the promise of a cup of coffee to get you through the day. in every memory that you’ve ever had in your entire college career, you’re holding a cup of coffee.

so one day you make the choice to stop. you stop buying coffee from coffee shops and pods for your coffee maker and cups from diners and accepting free ones from friends. you don’t really need a good cup of coffee as badly as you think you do. and it’s stupid, you think, because it’s just coffee. it doesn’t mean anything. just because you’ve been drinking it consistently for quite awhile doesn’t mean it has any sort of hold over you. it’s just coffee.

but then the headaches come and the irritation sets in and nights are hard, but for some reason mornings are unbearable, and you feel antsy all the time and you haven’t left your room in the past three days and the only thing you want is a cup of fucking coffee and you can’t relapse with coffee; it’s fucking coffee.

yeah, being away from gojo feels a lot like detoxing from coffee.

you try to just not see him. it’ll be easier for you if you just don’t see him, you tell yourself. you go out of your way to avoid his walking path on campus and you refuse to leave your dorm when you don’t absolutely need to in fear of bumping into him or worse, just seeing him from afar, and god forbid you even come within three streets of the corner where his apartment resides. you block his number and you delete social media off of your phone for the time being, too many mutual friends to make casualties, and you do not let yourself think about him. not falling asleep, not when you wake up, not while you’re doing homework, not in your dreams or in the shower, not when something reminds you of him, not when you see his favorite show on your recently watched, not when you really need a good cup of coffee.

and it works for a while.

but not forever.

three weeks into your detox and you’re doing such a good job at not thinking about gojo that you mix up his monday schedule with his tuesday schedule and on your way back to your dorm, you see him. if you keep walking at the same pace that you’re walking, you will collide with him. if neither of you do anything, one of you will get hurt.

you look down at your phone, hoping, in the forefront of your mind, that he didn’t see it was you. (in the back of your mind, you’re hoping that he’s the one to break the longest bout of silence the two of you have had since you met.) when you sneak a glance, he’s already almost reached you, jogging to catch up with you. “hey,” he calls out, just in case you haven’t seen him.

“hi,” you say, stopping in place and letting him approach you.

“i’ve been trying to get ahold of you,” he offers, like you wouldn’t have known that.

“oh, sorry, haven’t been on my phone,” you lie. he knows that you’re lying. he can tell that you’re lying, so you don’t really know why you lie in the first place. maybe to prove a point. maybe to make him feel bad.

“look, about…,” he trails off, trying to remember how long he’s been without you, “about that… day…,” he opts for instead.

you put your hand up, waving the topic off. you mean to say something like, don’t worry about it, see you later, but it comes out like, “we don’t have to talk about that here.” here. fucking here. if you would’ve left those four letters out, it would’ve been a perfect line to walk away with, but you don’t. your stupid coffee-craving brain tacks it on, hopeful.

“right,” he says, nodding, “should we get coffee maybe, then, or?”

it’s not out of the ordinary, or it didn’t used to be, but now it feels taboo. you want to snap and ask him if he’s sure, because coffee sounds a bit too much like a date for people that aren’t together, but you realize very quickly that the irritation from your coffee detox is maybe a little bit too much to hold in without any closure. “sure,” you agree, “i just got done with class so we cou-.”

“i know,” he says, because three weeks hasn’t erased your schedule from his brain either.

you order an iced tea. you’re still convinced you’re done with coffee for good. he looks surprised at your choice, like he’s never seen you order an iced tea before, because he hasn’t, but he doesn’t say anything. you sip on it throughout unpleasant pleasantries and it’s refreshing, but it’s lacking something. in fact, the longer that you drink this stupid drink that has caffeine anyways and isn’t as good, the irritation bubbles higher and higher until- “can i start?” you ask, tapping your fingers against the table in rhythmic succession.

“yeah, sure,” he says, bringing his coffee to his lips and taking a sip.

“if at any point in this conversation your answer to anything i have to say is that we weren’t together, i don’t think we should have this conversation,” you reason, and you mean it, but his reaction takes you aback. you notice the smallest flinch when you say weren’t.

“i wasn’t-,” he shakes his head, sighing, “no, i wasn’t going to say that.”

“okay,” you say, dragging your fingertips along the condensation on the side of your glass. “then what were you going to say?”

he thinks for a minute, like he didn’t assume that he’d get this far when he brought up the idea of coffee. “i wanted to stop you from leaving,” he says.

“but you didn’t,” you rebuttal.

“i didn’t,” he affirms. it’s quiet again. you can hear the scrape of the cups against the table as they’re picked up, drank from, and put back down. the chatter in the coffee shop drones over the sounds of hesitance and nerves. “i’m sorry,” he says after a while.

“so, do you think we were together?” you ask, “and be honest. i’ll know if you lie.” you search his face as he answers, and the only thing that comes up is another flinch when you talk in past tense again.

“yeah,” he says, honest. “being apart from you these past three weeks has been one of the shittiest things i’ve ever been through.”

“ever?” you ask, quirking your eyebrow, as if it isn’t somewhat true for you too.

he nods in response, continuing, “it’s been hard.” he pauses. “i’m sorry i was so shitty.”

“pretty shitty, yeah,” you agree, but you can’t hide how nice it feels to just talk with him again, to call him shitty and to sit across from him at a coffee shop table. “i’m sorry i ghosted you these past few weeks,” because it deserves to be said too.

“i really missed you,” he says, and he doesn’t hide from it. he looks you directly in your eyes and you can tell that he wants to reach across the table and hold your hand. you want that too.

“me or just, like, sleeping with me?” you ask, somewhat terrified of the answer, scanning his face for the truth once again.

he laughs softly and, try as you might, you can’t stop the fluttering in your stomach or the warmth in your cheeks hearing that for the first time in too long. “please, i haven’t thought about sleeping with you once,” he jokes.

“oh, no? not at all?” you ask, scoffing lightly, a tiny smirk threatening to break.

he forces a thoughtful frown, shakes his head dramatically and says, “can’t say that i have.” you’re laughing now, but through smile-squinted eyes you can still tell that he’s actually being genuine. “not really,” he says.

“so just me then?” you ask to make sure.

“just you,” he affirms. “a lot of just you.” you hum, content with his answer, but he gives you even more than thought he ever could, “i don’t want to just go back to the way things were. i don’t think that’s enough for me anymore.”

even though you’re sure a response like this would’ve sent waves of shock through your entire body, it doesn’t. it just feels right. you reply quickly, “good. i don’t think it’s enough for me either.” you reach across the table. the back of your hand brushes against his, and then past it. you wrap your fingers around the handle of his coffee cup and bring it to your lips.

he doesn’t protest or snatch it away from you or make a snarky comment. he places his chin in the palm of his hand, elbow against the surface of the table, and smiles at you. you take a sip from his mug, warmth spreading through every bit of your body.

why would you deprive yourself of coffee when it brings you so much comfort?

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ʙᴏɴᴜs! ʜɪɢᴜʀᴜᴍᴀ [ ɴ/ᴀ ]

you’re not exactly sure how many times something has to happen before it becomes a theme.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

“do you -huff- want to -huff- have kids someday?” higuruma asks from beneath you, palms resting on the tops of your knees, thumbs massaging up to the insides of your thighs.

you slow your bounces and then you stop them completely. you blink at him once and then twice. “that is a really wild thing to ask while you’re inside of someone,” you scoff, searching his face for any kind of tone indicator. is he being serious? is he just saying something to get a rise out of you? is this a kink thing?

he smirks, placing his hands on your hips, coaxing you to continue your movements, and you do. you lift yourself off of him, slowly at first, but then picking up speed as you chase the feeling you lost when he asked the question. you’re breathless when he asks again, the repeated question no longer stilling you. the second time around it feels almost normal. “do you?” he asks on his exhale.

you shake your head and then tilt it side to side, closing your eyes so all of the conflicting fast paced movements don’t dizzy you. “i- don’t- know-,” you huff, “maybe- conversation- for- a- different- setting.” each word is punctuated by the slap of your thighs against his hips. he nods, completely okay with that answer, and then just drops it.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

“shit,” you say in realization, hips circling, fingers combing through his hair. you pull your head away from his shoulder, pushing yourself up to look him in the eyes. “wait, how did your meeting go today?” you ask, and this time neither of you miss a beat.

when he slows to think about it, you pick up his slack, rolling your hips, feeling the drag of him inside of you, a breathy moan floating up your chest. he answers over your noises, “really good actually.”

“everything as planned?” you ask further, genuinely just as invested in this as you are in the act.

he nods, smiling. “yeah, to a t,” he says, wrapping his arms around your lower back and pulling you against his chest. he kisses the side of your temple, holding you in place with a tight grip as he lifts his hips off of the bed, thrusting into you. “surprised you didn’t ask as soon as i came through the door.”

you shake your head against his shoulder, placing a soft kiss against his collarbone. “was thinking about it all day,” you explain. he fucks into you faster in response and it feels like a reward for caring about the things that are important to him. “but when- shit- when you got home…,” you grunt, “it completely- ah, fuck- completely slipped my- ah- mind, s-sorry.”

“ts alright, pretty.” he nudges his nose against your cheek, peeling your attention to his face. your cheek rests against his shoulder and you blink at him, focus dipping from the topic at hand as you feel that familiar tightening in your core. he can see it written all over your face, so he drops his head to kiss you, silently communicating that you don’t have to worry about finishing the conversation right now. he’ll bring it up again in a bit.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

“should we get married?” he asks, back up against the headboard, looking you directly in your eyes, gaze following yours as you rise and fall.

“you are not proposing to me while i’m riding you,” you say, shaking your head, but you don’t still or slow. conversations like this in a setting like this just don’t phase you anymore. honestly, it wouldn’t surprise you if he did propose right now. you’re not even sure you’d say no.

the corner of his lip tugs upward and he exhales a laugh as he leans forward the smallest bit to kiss you. “i’m not, i’m not,” he assures, “why? would you say no?”

you’re quiet for a minute, not because you don’t know the answer, but to keep him on his toes. you won’t lie to him, you don’t think, but you don’t want to come right out and say it. his questions are rhetorical anyways, half-jokes that he’s not expecting serious answers to; you’ve known higuruma well enough and long enough to be confident of that. you could’ve replied with an eye roll and a scoff and nothing else and he would’ve dropped it. instead, however, you answer, “course not. i’d say yes in a second.”

he nearly comes inside of you right there.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

maybe it becomes a theme when someone points it out.

you can’t tell if it’s intentional or not, the way that the two of you keep having these serious conversations during sex. you know that you don’t do it on purpose; things will just hit you during the repetitive motions and you worry you’ll forget them and you know that higuruma won’t judge you for just saying them, so you do. whether this is the case for him, you’re not sure.

but the interruptions just keep getting more casual. it starts with big conversations: weddings and promotions and thoughtful decisions, and then it’s like you just start remembering things in this position: work drama and mundane did you knows. it’s almost as if starting with big topics just made it seem so easy to talk about anything like this.

it didn’t help, you think, that it’s just always easy to talk about anything with higuruma. you guys have been together, officially together, for over four years now, and conversation, no matter the topic or severity or setting, is something you’ve never struggled with. you continue to not struggle with it, inside of the bedroom and out.

you’re not sure what about the position and the moment makes you so susceptible to remembering little things that you want to tell higuruma when he’s not around, and vice versa. in fact, you’re not even convinced that it’s something about the action that jogs your memory anyway, it’s probably just a really weird and common coincidence.

and then one night you can’t find your keys.

you’ve searched everywhere for them, in your car, in your bag, every nook of your room, the places where they normally are, higuruma’s coat pocket just in case, and then everywhere else in your guys’ apartment. they’re nowhere to be seen.

when higuruma walks through the front door, even from where you’re searching in the kitchen, you hear him let out an elongated, “woah.”

you pop your head into the doorway, “don’t say anything about the mess.” you can see his eyes resting on the overturned couch cushions and then on the various opened drawers. “hey,” you warn, pointing towards him as you walk quickly into the living room. you throw your arms around him tightly and give him a small greeting peck. it’s routine at this point; if you don’t do it your whole night feels off. “i said don’t say anything.”

he lets you hang off of his neck as he puts both hands up in surrender. “i didn’t say shit,” he says, pressing a kiss into the side of your neck, then moving his hands to your waist, “the fuck happened here though?” he laughs against your skin and you can feel the vibrations travel to your fingers and toes.

you pull away from him, shaking your head. now that you’re back in the living room, it’s like you have to start this room’s search over too. you start checking under the couch and in the hall closet. “lost my fucking keys,” you grumble, smoothing your palms over your face, “i swear i’ve looked everywhere. i just can’t remember where i left them when i got home.”

“did you check th-,” he asks, walking into the kitchen, grateful that you’re not in there with him or he knows you’d yell at him for the way his eyes go wide at the clutter and chaos everywhere.

you cut him off, “wherever you’re about to say, probably yes, ughhh. i’ve retraced my steps, i’ve looked in places that are fucking stupid to look in like every pair of shoes we own and in the fucking guest bedroom pillowcases. i’ve looked everywhere.”

from where he’s stood in the kitchen now, he can see you scrambling as you vent. he leans against the wall, “well, not everywhere or you would’ve found it by now.”

“i’ll kill you,” you say, eyes snapping up to meet his to show how serious you are.

he just laughs, “i’ve got a pretty good lawyer, you might not want to do that.”

“good legal can’t help you when you’re dead,” you snap, almost completely joking. he meets you back in the living room, helping you check all the places you’ve already checked.

15 minutes pass and then 35 and then he stops abruptly. “oh my god, i have an idea,” he says, and you look at him, hopeful. “you know when you usually remember things?”

your first reaction is joking annoyance, picking up a throw pillow and sending it his way. he catches it and sets it back down on the couch. “i’m serious!” he yell-laughs.

you throw another pillow at him as your second reaction sets in. “that’s not going to fucking work,” you say.

“how do you know?” he asks.

“because,” you say, trying to come up with a good answer other than just blind doubt, “because i don’t remember things while i’m riding you. it’s not a fucking superpower.”

“you don’t know that,” he jokes back and braces to be hit with another pillow. “okay, okay, but i’m being serious! besides, what’s the worst thing that can happen? you don’t remember and we’ve had sex, how horrible,” he reasons.

you let your arms fall, pillow in your hands resting against the tops of your thighs. you look at him, thinking, which, in hindsight, was a dumb thing to do, because higuruma can see the contemplation on your face.

eight minutes later and he’s inside of you and you’re the most embarrassed you’ve ever been.

“this is so stupid,” you mumble. you haven’t moved an inch after slowly lowering yourself onto him. you’re fully seated against his hips, hands smoothing over your face and then lingering there, covering.

he reaches up, fingers soft and kind as he wraps them around your wrists, pulling them away from your face. “ts not stupid,” he reassures, but you’re not convinced. you groan, turning to look away from him, but that just won’t do. he reaches up again, soft grip on your chin coaxing your gaze back to his. “hey,” he says softly, “just focus here, angel.”

you listen, somewhat, mind still flickering back to why you’re even riding him in the first place. “just enjoy yourself, okay,” he tries again, rolling his hips upwards, pressing himself inside of you as deep as he can. you close your eyes, and it’s quite easy to just focus on the feeling of being as full as you are right now. “good,” he whispers, “just like that.”

it doesn’t take long for you to lose yourself completely, moving on your own, letting the whimpers and whines take over any other thought you might think to say, chasing that feeling rather than worrying about whatever you’ve lost.

it all kinda clicks at once: where your keys are and why you always remember shit when you’re like this.

in the midst of everyday noise, so many things get lost: important and unimportant thoughts alike. but now you’re not worried about anything else. you don’t care about anything else right now. you don’t have to. you don’t want to. and in this state of letting everything go, mindless and blissful, some things slip back through the cracks.

you collapse onto higuruma’s chest, spent and happily aware of this new revelation that you have not, for once, shared in the middle of sex, but kept quiet as a come down surprise. you hum softly as he rubs up and down your back, hum again as he presses a kiss into your forehead. “m sorry it didn’t work, angel,” he murmurs.

you turn your head, ear pressed right against his heart as you gaze up at him. “i left them in the fridge,” you reveal, and he knits his eyebrows together.

you assume that he’s going to say something about how did you leave them in the fridge? or why are they there? but instead he questions, “what? and you didn’t tell me until now?” like you’ve harbored a life long secret. you laugh softly, snaking your hands up and scratching your nails against his scalp, playing with the ends of his hair. “don’t think this is going to get you out of it,” he says, “‘ts my favorite thing when you just blurt shit while you’re on me.”

you can feel the warmth in your cheeks and your chest as you breathe a laugh. “you’ve never told me that before,” you murmur.

“think it’s cute when you just can’t wait to tell me things,” he says, “feels more intimate than being inside of you.”

“ew,” you say, scrunching up your nose, even though you weirdly agree.

he just laughs in response. a few seconds of quiet comfort pass before he backtracks, “wait, why the fuck are your keys in the fridge?”

and you tell him all about it, about the day that you’ve had and how you remembered you hadn’t drank enough water so you were refilling your bottle from the pitcher in the fridge as soon as you got home from work, but your hands were full so you set your keys on top of the leftovers from yesterday, but then you had to go and set everything down and the fridge closed and by the time you left the kitchen you remembered you needed to do something else… and it just keeps going.

you tell him as you’re taking a shower and as you’re eating dinner together and as he’s brushing his teeth and you’re washing your face and laying in bed and setting your alarms. every room in the house is a mess, but you’ll deal with that later, you decide. you rest your chin on his shoulder. “and how was your day?” you ask, even though the clock reads much later than it should for how much sleep you both should get before you’re up early for work tomorrow.

nevermind that, he decides, and tells you all about it anyways.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ʙᴏɴᴜs! ɴᴀɴᴀᴍɪ [ ɴ/ᴀ ]

“can i ask you something and when i ask you, you’ll know i don’t mean anything bad by it at all because i love you more than everything in the world?” you ask, putting down your phone only after you’ve finished your sentence.

you wait a few seconds for nanami to take in what you’ve asked. he reaches over to the night stand for his bookmark and sticks it between the pages. he shuts it with an audible shuffling of paper and a sharp thump.

nanami has been with you long enough to not typically be surprised by your out of the blue… questions. (dronings? is there a word like droning but the connotation is more positive? like you talk at him a lot and he loves to hear the ramblings in your brain, but sometimes he is just trying to read his book before bed. whatever that word is.)

he places the book on his lap and then turns his chest towards you completely. you now have his full attention. “is that a yes?” you ask.

he inhales deeply, “if i say no, will you still ask it?”

you think on the answer to that question, really mulling it over before shaking your head. “no, i don’t think so.”

“then yes,” he smirks, “i suppose i have to say yes then.”

“great,” you say, tossing your phone onto your bedside table with a clunk. you sit up straighter, rocking forward to fully adjust your position on your side of the bed. you put your hand on his thigh and cross your legs, letting your knee rest on the side of his comforter covered hip. “do you ever regret not dating more?”

it definitely takes him by surprise. he thought you might drop another weirdly specific hypothetical about would he love you if… or request a glass of water even though you already told him tonight when he was getting into bed and he asked if you wanted one, that you did not.

now he’s the one mulling over your question and despite how nerve wracking it could be to wait for an answer to a what if that involves not you, you’re not anxious in the slightest. you’re quiet, just waiting for his answer, and when he finally speaks, you know exactly why you weren’t scared in the first place, “i’ve honestly never thought about it since i met you.”

“really?” you ask, and you’re mostly feeling very lucky that nanami is yours and you are his, but there is an underlying feeling of guilt that he’s unintentionally caused with this statement.

he nods. “sounds like you have though,” he says, and it’s not even a little bit judgmental. it sounds like he’s imploring you to keep talking, like he wants to hear exactly what you’re thinking, why you brought it up in the first place.

“i wouldn’t trade this security, this love, exactly what we have, you for anything in the world,” you start to explain, and it’s nothing but the truth, “but sometimes i just think about that first night when we were in that bar. the flirting, the risks, that feeling of not knowing where the night is going to end up. sometimes i think about that a little bit.”

he hums, thinking about that night, and after a few seconds of silence, he speaks up again, “first date nerves,” he nods, “now that i think about it, i miss those.”

you cock your head at him. that’s a weird part of dating to miss, you think, but then he explains further, “like when we went out on our first date and i didn’t know what you were going to wear or if you liked the restaurant i picked or if you’d let me pay for your food.”

“or if i’d take you back to mine,” you joke, raising your eyebrows at him, but really you’re burning inside. your cheeks feel warm just hearing about these feelings he’s never mentioned to you before.

“yeah, that too,” he laughs, getting back on track, “like, i’m still finding out new things about you all the time, but back then i was discovering who you were every second we were together, and that- that felt like…”

“like finding out soulmates were real?” you ask, because that’s what it felt like to you, that same exact phenomenon he’s describing. he smiles at you warmly, like you’ve just put to words what he felt he could only experience. “i know what you mean,” you smile.

he leans forward, cupping your cheek with his hand and guiding you towards him. he kisses you softly, placing his other hand on your other cheek and kissing you harder. “should we go on a first date again?” he asks against your lips, barely pulling away to speak.

you laugh, but when you pull away, you can tell he’s not joking. “what?” you ask, “what do you mean?” you’re already blushing though, already feeling the exact first date nerves he was just talking about.

“let’s go on a first date,” he repeats himself. “i’ll pick you up at your front door and i’ll choose the restaurant and it’ll be a surprise and i’ll ask you questions that i’d ask you on a first date even if i know the answers to all of them and more at this point.”

you’re smiling so big that your cheeks are sore as you nod fervently at the concept. “okay, yeah,” you agree.

“right, so we probably shouldn’t kiss or make out or sleep with each other until then to really play into the whole thing?” he teases, and you roll your eyes in response.

“you’re very funny, kento,” you say, leaning in, brushing your nose against his. he doesn’t even last a second, closing the gap with a small peck and then another and then another and then a much longer one and then he’s putting the book on his nightstand so he can pull you into his lap.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

you get a text 5 minutes before 7 that nanami is going to be 3 minutes late picking you up. the text looks a little weird underneath a thread of:

>> nami <3 >> how’s work baby

<< read << if you love me you’ll come and pull the fire alarm to get me out of here early :) :) :)

>> nami <3 >> fine but that’s a class four felony in some cases. will you be providing legal assistance or should i look elsewhere????

<< read << how do u know that?? nerd!!!

>> nami <3 >> google tbh.

<< read << wow. first i have to stay at work all day alone and sad and now i get to know my bf isn’t sexy and off the dome smart about everything. :(

>> nami <3 >> goodbye.

<< read << :(

>> nami <3 >> i love you

<< read << :)

you bite back the urge to reply with something you’d say to him after knowing him for years. rereading the text and thinking back to your first date, it makes you giggle. actually, it makes you kinda nervous. you text back a polite no worries! take your time! and he replies with a heart and you truly feel like you’re dating for the first time again. you feel honest to god giddy.

arriving to the restaurant, you are genuinely surprised. you thought after knowing him as long as you have and having gone to as many restaurants with him as you have, you’d go back to somewhere nice you’ve already been. but that isn’t the case.

he drives you to a pop-up restaurant 20 minutes out of town that you’ve never even heard of, but is the cutest place you’ve ever been, and the entire time he can’t stop sneaking respectful glances at you. he won’t stop telling you how nice you look. he even apologizes for it by the sixth time, pushing your chair in at the restaurant saying, “i know i keep mentioning it, and i’m sorry, but if i said it every time i thought it, it’d be a never ending string.”

if he keeps this up, you’re going to feel like you’re cheating. this seriously feels like a first date, like you’ve been in a relationship for over 5 years and you’re also going on a first date and it’s really messing with your head, but you never want it to stop.

he stays true to his word, asking you questions he already knows the answers to, but hearing them again, they sound brand new. he doesn’t know if he’s just forgotten some of them or if the testaments of time have weathered your answers just enough to sound unfamiliar, but either way, he’s hanging on to every word.

by the end of the night, you’ve truly convinced yourself that there are stakes to this date, like if you play your cards wrong, you won’t get to keep seeing this incredible guy. he pays the whole bill, even though you insist on getting your meal or at the very least dessert. he says, “you can try next time too.” and you can’t breathe, you feel so lucky.

“i’m sorry if this seems forward, but i’d really like to keep seeing you tonight,” you say as the waiter takes away the paid bill, and your heart is thumping so violently against your chest, you swear he can feel it too.

he shakes his head, “perfectly forward,” he smiles, “your place or mine?” you break character for the first time tonight, giggling at the reality of the question, hiding behind your hand as you do. “what’s so funny?” he asks, but he’s grinning just as big as you are.

“just thinking about how dreary my life would be if i hadn’t gone on this first date,” you say, and it’s a little too meta, but he’ll let it slide, because he’s a bit flustered at the sentiment. “mine is great,” you answer, placing your hand on his, rubbing the tips of your fingers against his knuckles.

everything about the rest of the night feels like a first too. it feels like your first kiss in front of your front door. it feels like he’s seeing “your” apartment for the first time. it feels like you’re making out on your couch for the first time.

it feels like the first time he’s ever been inside of you.

when he pushes deeper into you, eyes on yours shut tight, you tell yourself that you want to pretend you’re on a first date every single day of your life. you can’t stop whimpering, pleading for him to never stop fucking you ever, please don’t stop, please never fucking stop.

you break character for the second time when you’re right on the edge. he keeps looking down at you with so much love in his eyes and his hands all over you feel like they know every inch of you, and you can’t stop yourself. you grab his face in your hands, “kento, baby, please, ‘m gonna- ‘m sorry, i- fuck, please. i love you, fuck,” you whine, and he can’t stop himself either, hips stuttering, head falling against your shoulder as he feels you clenching around him as he empties himself inside of you, murmuring how much he loves you right back.

the way you’ve been feeling all night: blissful and coy, it’s not because it’s a first date, it’s because he’s nanami. it’s because he’s orchestrated the entire night and no matter how “new” everything feels, the underlying foundation of that newness, and the reason everything feels so good, is familiarity and safety.

“i’m sorry that i-,” you breathe, but he stops you, reaching his hand up to drag his fingertips against your lips, and you laugh, pressing a soft kiss into them. “okay, okay,” you say, and he places his hand back down by his side. “done with the first date stuff, just want to be yours again,” you murmur.

he scoffs, light, and you can hear his smile in it. he falls over onto his back, pulling you into his chest and kissing the top of your head. “never weren’t,” he mumbles against your hair. “always will be,” he mumbles again, holding you tighter.

“good,” you say back, settling into his arms like that’s the only thing you know to be true in the entire world. you wouldn’t trade that truth for a million first dates.

sure, holding your breath at quick witted flirts and stolen glances is nice, but it’s a lot nicer just knowing that you will never be loved better and you will never love harder.

♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡ no bc the yelling really worked very well idk yell at me more to write a continuation for toji (maybe also gojo bc hes the only one i havent written even an inkling of smut for) idk i'm just thinking of so many scenes idk throw hcs at me in my inbox IDK! toji dating for the first time? got me fucked UP

ᡣ𐭩 ᴛᴀɢs ᡣ𐭩 @igocrazyeveryday @vernasce-blogs @minty86 @abrielletargaryen @pompompompompompompom @mysticrays @lilolpotato @thisisew @pnkoo @optimisticsandwichgladiator @ryumurin @cisseadven @multi-fandom-fanfic @noosayog @anxious-chick @mintleafwrites @(tried to tag some other folks but couldnt!!)

#jjk x reader #jjk smut #toji x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader #geto smut #toji smut #gojo smut #nanami x reader #nanami smut #higuruma x reader #higuruma x reader smut #higuruma smut #nanami x reader smut #jjk x reader smut #actually not really tbh theres no smut in tojis or gojos cant even lie #toriwritesshit

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