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a-kaash-me-outside · 10 months ago

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˚₊‧ 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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the-oblivious-writer · 27 days ago

Text

Let the Light In |8|

Tara Carpenter x Fem!Reader

Chapter Eight: Old Temptations

Summary: After hiding yourself away for weeks, Anika and Henry get you to return to the living. While you're at the party they bring you to, you run into Tara before a third-party runs into your fists.

Warning(s): Swearing, fighting - whoop whoop!! that's the sound, social interactions, and drinking (underage)

Notes: I made at least ten drafts, combined them, adjusted, and here is the final product. This is more of an R focused chapter, so you'll start to see more of the internal struggles she goes through along with a special guest start. As always, I hope you enjoy

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The incandescent lights of Henry's apartment building buzz overhead as you follow him and Anika up the concrete stairs. Your boots echo against each step, creating a hollow rhythm that matches your reluctant heartbeat. You've been dreading this party all week, but your friends had worn you down with their relentless enthusiasm and pointed comments about your "hermit tendencies."

"I still can't believe you actually agreed to come," Henry says over his shoulder, his keys jingling as he searches for the right one. "Usually getting you out after exams is like trying to coax a cat into taking a bath."

"Maybe I'm turning over a new leaf," you mutter, knowing full well it's a lie. The only reason you'd agreed was because they'd caught you in a moment of weakness—specifically, when you were coming down from a three-day study binge and your defenses were too low to properly deflect their persistent pestering.

Anika snorts, adjusting her glittering top that catches the harsh hallway light. "Right. And I'm going to start watching silent films with you."

"Charlie Chaplin’s a classic," you defend, following them into Henry's apartment. The familiar scent of his signature sandalwood candles hits you immediately.

"Whatever you say, grandma," Henry teases, disappearing into his bedroom. You can hear him rummaging around, probably looking for whatever he plans to wear tonight.

You collapse onto his worn leather couch, the same one he'd rescued from a curb three years ago. Despite its questionable origins, it's the most comfortable piece of furniture you've ever encountered. Maybe if you sink deep enough into it, they'll forget you're here and leave without you.

Anika perches on the arm of the couch, already touching up her makeup in a compact mirror. "You know," she starts, and you recognize that tone—it's the one she uses when she's about to say something she thinks you won't like. "Tara might be there tonight."

Your stomach does an uncomfortable flip. "And why would I care about that?"

"Oh, I don't know," Anika draws out the words, applying another coat of mascara with practiced precision. "Maybe because you've been moping around ever since your little disappearing act?"

"I haven't been moping," you protest, but even you can hear how weak it sounds. "I've been studying. There's a difference."

"Right," she says, sarcasm dripping from her voice.

You open your mouth to argue, then close it again. The past few weeks have been a blur of textbooks, coffee, and a blend of mathematical formulas and historical documentations. You'd thrown yourself into exam preparation with perhaps more vigor than strictly necessary, but that was just your way of dealing with stress.

It definitely had nothing to do with how you'd ignored her texts afterward.

Dork (3:47 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) I can't make it tonight

Tara (3:48 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) oh. lemme knw when u can reschedule

Dork (3:48 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) Tara, don't do that

Tara (3:49 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) dont wat????

Dork (3:49 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) I know what 'oh' means

Tara (3:50 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) well then eblighten me cuz idk what ur ymmaring abt

Dork (3:51 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) *Enlighten/*yammering, and never mind

Tara (3:51 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) 🤓 is u fr

Dork (3:52 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) Excuse me?

Tara (3: 52 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) i have to explain??? but i thougt u were all knowing!

Dork (3:53 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) *Thought. I know you know how to spell, you're just reckless with a keyboard

Tara (3:53 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) my question is when did i ask

Dork (3:54 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) That's an improvement

Tara (3:54 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) stfup.

Henry emerges from his bedroom, now wearing a fitted crop-top that every guy wore in the 80’s. "Are we talking about the Tara situation?"

"There is no 'Tara situation,'" you insist, making air quotes with your fingers. "Can we please just go to this party so I can suffer through it and get back to my peaceful, drama-free existence?"

"Drama-free?" Henry laughs, grabbing his keys. "Is that what we're calling your one-person production of 'Hamlet' these last eighteen years?"

You bite your thumb at him, but there's no real heat behind it. These are your best friends, after all, and you know their teasing comes from a place of love. Even if they're being particularly annoying about it tonight.

The drive to the party is a blur of street lights and the sound of Abbey Road. You're behind the wheel of your beloved '70 Ford Maverick, a car that Henry constantly ridicules. Anika claims the passenger seat, still fussing with her makeup, while Henry sprawls in the back, giving you directions that are more confusing than helpful.

"No, no, turn left at the next—wait, I meant right. My other left."

"Your other left?" you deadpan, making the turn anyway. "How many lefts do you have?"

"Don't sass the navigator," he replies primly. "Oh, there it is! The house with all the cars out front."

You pull up to the curb about half a block away, already feeling your anxiety spike at the sight of the crowded frat house. Music pulses from within, so loud you can feel it in your chest even from here. People mill about on the front lawn, red cups in hand, their laughter carrying through the night air.

"Remind me again why I agreed to this?" you ask, killing the engine but making no move to get out of the car.

Anika turns to you, her expression softening slightly. "Because Henry threatened to sing the entire soundtrack of 'Cats' outside your bedroom door if you didn't come."

"That was a low blow," you mutter, finally unbuckling your seatbelt. "You know how much I hate that musical."

"Desperate times," Henry says cheerfully, already out of the car and bouncing on his heels with excitement. "Come on, let's go find out what kinds of terrible decisions we can make tonight!"

You follow your friends up the walkway, trying to ignore the way your palms are already sweating. The last party you'd attended had been... well, it had been a week before your self-imposed exile. The night Tara had looked at you with those impossibly dark eyes and asked if you wanted to get some air, and you'd panicked and made up an excuse about needing to check on your nonexistent fish.

The front door is already open, music and voices spilling out into the night. As soon as you cross the threshold, you're hit with a wall of sensory input that makes your head spin. The air is thick with artificial fog from a machine hidden somewhere in the corner, mixed with the distinctive scent of cheap beer and various perfumes and colognes. Multi-colored lights pulse in time with the music, turning everything into a strobing dreamscape and your nightmare.

Henry guides you through the crowd with a gentle hand on your back, navigating the sea of bodies with practiced ease. You catch glimpses of familiar faces as you pass. They all blur together in the dim light, becoming a kaleidoscope of features that makes your head swim.

You end up at yet another worn leather couch that's seen better days, probably around the same era as your car. Henry gestures for you to sit, and you do, grateful for something solid beneath you. The cushions seem to want to swallow you whole, and for once, you don't fight it.

"I'll get us drinks!" Henry shouts over the music, already backing away into the crowd. "Don't move!"

Anika lingers for a moment, looking torn between staying with you and pursuing whatever—or whoever—has caught her attention across the room. You wave her off with a weak smile. "Go. I'll be fine right here, becoming one with the furniture."

She hesitates another second before grinning. "Try to have some fun, okay? And text me if you need an escape plan." Then she's gone, disappearing into the crowd with the grace of Mindy, someone who actually enjoys these sorts of gatherings.

Left alone, you let yourself sink deeper into the couch, watching the party unfold around you. A group of girls near the makeshift dance floor are attempting some sort of choreographed routine, though the alcohol in their systems is making it more comedic than coordinated. Two guys are engaged in what appears to be an intense debate about pizza toppings, their gestures becoming more animated with each passing second.

The bass line of whatever song is playing thrums through your body, making your bones vibrate in a way that's not entirely unpleasant. You find yourself timing your breathing to it, using it as an anchor in the chaos. This isn't so bad, you think. You can handle this. It's just a few hours, and then you can go home and binge-watch your comfort shows until the sun comes up.

"Y/L/N special!" Henry's voice breaks through your thoughts as he returns, thrusting a red solo cup into your hands. The liquid inside is an alarming shade of orange that definitely doesn't occur in nature.

You eye it suspiciously. "What exactly makes it a ‘Y/L/N special'?"

"The fact that it's specifically designed for the same people who despise candy unless it's 99% cacao," he explains, dropping onto the couch beside you with his own drink—something amber-colored that you assume is actually beer.

"That's... oddly thoughtful," you admit, taking a tentative sip. It tastes like water that’s had lemons and limes soak in it for months, the kick makes your tongue tingle. "And dangerous."

"Just pace yourself," he advises, watching as more people filter into the already crowded space. "Oh hey, isn't that Charlotte?"

You follow his gaze to see Charlotte, the person you ended things with through a text message. You try to hide behind the red plastic in your hand as you sip, but you nearly spill your bitter bread water all over yourself when she notices you. You can tell it caught her off guard; her eyes slightly widened and she took an uncomfortably long pause mid-sentence. This pause caused her friends to look over which only made things even more awkward—at least for you. After shooting daggers at you and one of them flipping you off, they linked elbows with Charlotte and took her to a different room.

You know you deserved it.

Henry sucked his teeth. “Ouch. Casanova strikes again,” he chuckled with amusement.

“Ugh,” you express in response to the name for you before downing the last of the liquid in your cup. “I’m out. I’m gonna get one more.”

One drink turns into two, two turns into three, and somewhere during your debate with Henry over which Ninja Turtle’s the best one, you’re interrupted by a pair of familiar dark brown eyes meeting yours. Your attention always seemed to gravitate towards Tara Carpenter.

You momentarily pause your expression of admiration for Leonardo, peeking over Henry’s shoulder to give Tara a downwards smile paired with a finger wave. She rolls her eyes and returns your finger wave in a mocking gesture. After Henry realizes what’s grabbed your attention, he makes an excuse to walk away.

You're nursing your fifth orange drink when she materializes beside you, seemingly out of thin air. "Seriously?" The word drips with exasperation. "You're actually hiding behind Henry?"

"I'm not hiding," you protest, pulling yourself up to what you hope is a dignified height. "I'm strategically positioning myself for optimal social avoidance."

Tara snorts—an inelegant sound that somehow makes her more endearing. "Is that what we're calling it?"

The space between you crackles with a tension that's part irritation, part something else entirely.

"I could ask you the same thing," you counter with a crack in your voice. Tara notices this and slightly raises an eyebrow while giving you a once-over. "Pretty sure you've been standing in the exact same spot for the last twenty minutes."

Her eyes narrow. "I'm observing."

"Stalking," you correct automatically.

"Strategically positioning myself," she throws your earlier words back at you, and there's a glint in her eye that makes your breath catch.

For a moment, you felt uncharacteristically at ease in such a setting—when you catch a fragment of a conversation that makes your blood run cold.

“—Carpenter's got a mouth on her that could—"

The words slice through your alcohol-induced haze like a knife. Your head whips around so fast you almost give yourself whiplash, searching for the source of the comment. Two guys are leaning against the wall near the stairs, one of them making crude gestures as he continues to make vile comments about Tara.

The pleasant warmth in your system transforms instantly into liquid fire. You recognize one of them—Marcus Wheeler from your Calculus class, the one who always makes inappropriate comments during lectures and thinks he's God's gift to mathematics. The other is unfamiliar, but the way he's laughing and encouraging Marcus makes your skin crawl.

Your muscles tense. Tara notices immediately. "Don't," she warns, a single word packed with more meaning than should be possible.

But you're already moving, your body acting before your brain can fully process the decision.

Your fist connects with his jaw before you even realize you've thrown the punch. There's a satisfying crack that you feel more than hear, followed by a burst of pain across your knuckles that you're too angry to properly register. The pain sends a rush through you, pushes you, tempts you for more.

Marcus staggers back, both surprised and hurt, but recovers quickly. He lunges for you, but your muscle memory kicks in. You sidestep, using his momentum against him, and somehow you end up on top of him, getting in another solid hit before strong hands pull you away.

The world comes rushing back all at once. The music has stopped, replaced by the murmur of shocked voices and the ringing in your ears. Everyone is staring at you, their faces a blur of surprise and judgment. Marcus is on the ground, blood trickling from his split lip, and presumably broken nose, looking at you with a mixture of rage, disbelief, and fear.

Your chest feels too tight, like someone's wrapped steel bands around your ribcage and is slowly tightening them. The weight of what you've just done crashes over you like a wave, threatening to pull you under. You need to get out—now.

You shoulder your way through the crowd, ignoring Henry calling your name, ignoring the whispers that follow in your wake. Someone tries to grab your arm, but you shake them off, focused solely on reaching the door. The cool night air hits your face like a slap when you finally burst outside, but you keep walking, your hands shaking as the adrenaline starts to wear off.

The crisp winter air hits you like a slap when you stumble outside, your breath forming small clouds in the freezing night.

“Wait!”

When did she get here?

"Let me see," Tara's voice cuts through your alcohol-induced haze, her hand reaching for yours with a familiarity that makes your head spin—or maybe you've had one too many of those orange drinks.

You thrust your hand toward her dramatically, wincing as the movement sends a spike of pain through your bruised knuckles.

"I totally got that incel good," you slur, a giggle bubbling up from somewhere deep and slightly unhinged. The ice beneath your feet seems to shimmer with your triumph.

Tara's fingers hover just above your hand, not quite touching but close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from her skin. "You're going to need ice for that," she says, her tone caught between exasperation and something else—something softer.

"Ice, huh?" You look down at the ground, the irony not lost on you.

With exaggerated precision, you bend down and scoop up a handful of snow, pressing it against your knuckles. The cold bites, but it's a welcome contrast to the burning anger and alcohol still coursing through your system.

"This works, right?" You look up at her, your eyes wide and slightly unfocused. The world tilts slightly, but Tara remains steady—an anchor in your spinning vision.

Something flickers in her eyes—amusement, maybe. "You're something else," she mutters, but there's no real bite to the words.

Emboldened by alcohol and adrenaline, you lean in closer. The words tumble out before you can stop them. "So… I never did get an answer to that proposal."

Tara goes very still. A smile begins to form, tentative and fragile as first light.

She chuckles at your remark before shaking her head and scoffing to herself. "Sometimes I just don't get you," she says with a smile still etched on her face, but there's more complexity in those words than simple dismissal as she stares back into your eyes.

Confusion must show on your face because she looks away, the streetlight catching the curve of her cheek, the set of her jaw. You didn’t know what else to say so you just said the first thing that came to mind.

“Merry birthday, Tar,” you said.

She’s taken aback by this. She didn’t know what to say, yet still opened her mouth to respond. Maybe something would come to her, but before anything did—

"There you are!" Anika's voice cuts through the moment like a knife. Your car pulls up to the curb, engine running warm against the freezing air. "We need to get out of here before that guy calls the cops."

The moment dissolves. Tara takes a step back, creating distance that feels more emotional than physical. You're left standing there, snow melting between your fingers, the taste of unresolved everything burning at the back of your throat.

As you climb into the passenger seat, you catch one last glimpse of her in the side mirror—a silhouette, perfectly still and impossibly distant.

—

The drive home is mostly silent, broken only by the occasional sigh from Anika and the gentle humming of your car's engine. Your knuckles throb in time with your heartbeat, a steady reminder of your momentary loss of control. The adrenaline is wearing off now, replaced by a mixture of embarrassment and alcohol-induced wooziness that makes you slouch lower in your seat.

"You know," Anika finally says as she pulls into your shared apartment complex, "when I said you needed to be more social, starting another fight wasn't exactly what I had in mind."

You grunt in response, too busy focusing on the way the world is tilting slightly to form actual words. The drinks are hitting harder now that the excitement is over, making everything feel soft around the edges.

"Use your words," she chides, killing the engine.

"Words are for people who don't punch assholes at parties," you mumble, fumbling with your seatbelt. The simple mechanism seems impossibly complex right now.

Anika reaches over to help you, her movements gentle despite her exasperated tone. "Come on, Rocky Balboa. Let's get you inside."

Getting up the stairs to your second-floor apartment proves to be an adventure. You insist you can do it yourself, but after the third time you miss a step, Anika wraps an arm around your waist and practically drags you up.

"I can walk," you protest, even as you lean heavily against her.

"Sure you can. Just like you can make rational decisions at parties, right?"

You attempt to glare at her, but the effect is somewhat ruined when you stumble over your own feet. "He deserved it."

"Oh, I'm not arguing that point," Anika says, fishing her keys out of her purse while still supporting most of your weight. "Marcus Wheeler is definitely in the running for Biggest Douchebag of the Year. But maybe next time we could handle it without violence? You know, like adults?"

"Adulting is overrated," you declare as she manages to get the door open. "If I was a kid, I could just pull Tara's pigtails or something."

Anika steers you toward the kitchen, depositing you none too gently into one of the mismatched chairs around your small table. "Okay, first of all, that's not the approach to crushing on someone that you think it is. Second, stay put while I get the first aid kit."

You slump forward, resting your forehead against the cool surface of the table. "Not crushing," you mumble into the wood. "Just... emotionally compromised."

"Right," Anika calls from the bathroom, where you can hear her rummaging through cabinets. "And I'm just 'casually interested' in my hot girlfriend."

"That's different," you argue, lifting your head slightly. "You two are together. You’re attached to the hip—you don’t hide from each other."

"Ha! So you admit you were hiding!"

You let your head thunk back down onto the table. "I admit nothing. I was studying. Very intensely. In locations where certain people were statistically unlikely to appear."

Anika returns with the first aid kit and a bag of frozen peas, setting both on the table. "Sit up, you disaster. Let me see your hand."

You comply with a dramatic sigh, straightening in your chair and holding out your injured hand. Your knuckles are already starting to bruise, spots of purple blooming across the skin. There are a few small cuts, probably from where you caught Marcus's teeth.

"This might sting," Anika warns before dabbing at the cuts with an alcohol wipe. You hiss through your teeth but don't pull away. "So," she continues, her tone deceptively casual, "want to talk about what really happened back there?"

"Not particularly," you mutter, watching as she carefully cleans each cut. "Can we just chalk it up to temporary insanity and move on?"

"You punched a guy for talking shit about Tara." She applies antibiotic ointment with practiced efficiency. "That's not temporary insanity. That's feelings."

You try to pull your hand away, but she holds firm. "It's not— I just— He was being gross!"

"Mhmm." She wraps your knuckles in gauze with precise movements. "And the fact that it was about Tara specifically had nothing to do with your reaction?"

"I would have done the same for anyone," you insist, even though you both know it's a lie. "It's about basic human decency."

"Right. Basic human decency. That's why you've been moping around our apartment for two weeks, taking different routes, and muttering under your breath when you think I can't hear you."

Before you can form a suitably indignant response, your phone buzzes. Henry's face appears on the screen, caught mid-laugh at some long-ago hangout.

You put the call on speaker, feeling too exhausted to hold the phone. Henry's excited voice crackles through, bursting with energy.

"Holy shit! Are you okay? That was the most badass thing I've ever seen in my life!"

"I'm fine," you mutter, wincing as Anika presses a bag of frozen peas against your bruised knuckles. "Ow! Except for my so-called best friend trying to give me frostbite."

Anika's tone is no-nonsense. "Keep the ice on, or your hand will swell up like a balloon."

Henry can barely contain his excitement. "You should have seen Marcus's face after you left. He was completely shaken. I don't think anyone's ever stood up to him like that before."

You groan, tilting your head back. "Great. Now I'll be known as the crazy chick who starts fights at parties. That'll look amazing on my resume."

"Are you kidding? You're going to be a legend!" Henry starts, then suddenly there's a scuffle in the background.

"Am I on speaker?" you ask, suspicion rising in your voice.

"No!" Henry says simultaneously with another voice declaring, "Yes!"

You recognize the second voice immediately. "Henry James Martinez," you say, using his full name—knowing how much he hates it—"Are you and Tony back together?"

"No!" Henry protests. "His place flooded, and he needed a place to stay!"

"Sure thing, Hef," you chuckle, catching Anika's amused smile.

Tony's cheerful voice joins the conversation. "Hey, heard you knocked some douche on his ass for talking shit about your girlfriend. Nicely done."

"She's not my girlfriend," you respond quickly.

Henry can't resist. "Define girlfriend."

You're ready with a comeback. "Define sharing a living space with—"

"Uh oh, bad connection," Henry interrupts, and suddenly the line goes dead. Anika bursts into laughter.

“I’m gonna get you some aspirin,” Anika offered, patting your shoulder as she passed. “But just so you know that whole ‘emotionally compromised’ thing? Yeah, that’s basically the definition of crushing.”

You make an incoherent noise of protest into the table.

"Oh, and by the way," Anika calls from the kitchen, "you're totally teaching me that right hook tomorrow. After your hangover wears off, of course."

You lift your head just enough to deadpan at her.

"Love you too, champ. Now take your aspirin and go to bed before you fall asleep on the table. Again."

Not long after she went to her room, you stumble into the bathroom, hand throbbing and head spinning—the former a reminder of the night’s events. The light is harsh against your alcohol-fogged brain. The tile floor is cold beneath your bare feet as you stumble to the sink, turning on the water and splashing your face.

When you look up, he's there.

Your Uncle's bloody corpse stands behind you in the reflection, that familiar crooked smile that's always been more predatory than comforting. His appearance is exactly as you remember from old photographs—that slightly manic glint in his eye, the way he holds himself like violence is always just beneath the surface.

"Killer punch," he says, leaning against the bathroom wall. No greeting, no preamble. Just direct observation.

You don't jump but roll your eyes. "Go away," you mutter, gripping the sink's edge.

He chuckles—a sound that's more bark than laugh. "I saw myself in you tonight. That rage? That precise moment of calculated violence? Pure genetics that chose you."

"I'm nothing like you," you snap, turning to face him directly. The bathroom suddenly feels smaller.

He takes a step closer. "Oh, but you are. That moment when you heard those guys talking about your girl? That split second before the punch? That wasn't just anger. That was hunting instinct."

You close your eyes, trying to block him out. "I'm not a killer. I'm not you."

"Not yet," he says, and there's something almost proud in his voice. "But you've got the potential. I saw how you moved. How you calculated. How you knew exactly where to hit to cause maximum impact."

"My dad’s a professional pig," you counter. "It’s not like I attended murder school."

His laugh is sharp, brittle. "Call it what you want. But we both know there's something inside you. Something sharp. Something waiting."

The argument feels familiar—like every nightmare, every family gathering where his memory haunted the edges of conversation, their fear of the parallels you both held. You're tired of it. Tired of him.

"I'm going to bed," you declare, pushing past his spectral form.

He doesn't disappear immediately. Instead, his voice follows you. "We're not so different, you and me."

You pause at the doorway, not turning around, as your hand tightly grips the edges of the doorframe. "We're nothing alike."

The silence that follows is answer enough.

As you crawl back into bed, the room feels normal again—just another night, just another internal argument with a ghost who refuses to stay buried.

But somewhere in the darkness, you can still feel him watching. Waiting.

-----------

A/N:

gobble, gobble

#tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x female reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x y/n #tara carpenter #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega #let the light in au

224 notes · View notes

ningvory · 10 months ago

Note

hii!

could i pretty please req g!p brat tamer kkura x brat reader with some cockwarming ?? (its totally fine if you arent comfortable on writing this, just ignore!)

i love ur works <33

and also, could i be 📷 anon ?

parings: ceo!gp!sakura x brat!f!reader

warnings: brat taming 🤭🤭, you guys fuck in her office, cockwarming, cum eating, oral (kkura receiving), mentions of dumbification at the end, not proofread🙏🙏, pet names like baby, princess, and pretty, voice kink, mild choking

wc: 1.1k (1,178) words MIGHTVE GOT CARRIED AWAY..

saw these pictures on my pinterest feed and ceo kkura came to mind😵‍💫😵‍💫 she’s so fine omg just want her to ruin me…OMG HEAR ME OUT..RIDING HER ABS-*GUNSHOTS*🔫

📷 welcome aboard!!🤭🤭 <33

there’s just something about being such a brat to your sweet girlfriend to the point where she just breaks and does something abt it 😵‍💫😵‍💫 the best time to get under her skin is when she’s busy with work.

as a ceo, her whole day is filled with several boring meetings she could probably care less about, but yk as the ceo she has to attend them. of course you know not to call her unless it was an emergency but that didn’t stop you from doing so, you just needed her so bad you couldn’t help it! :((

when she felt felt her phone ringing she excused herself and told them to carry on. stepping outside of the meeting room’s door so she can answer your call.

“k-kkura~ mm! need you so bad!” your words kept getting cut short due to your moans, she could barely make out any words you were saying.

when she put two and two together, she was downright furious, her cock was starting to harden and she clenched her jaw, trying to keep her cool.

“-mm! baby- ‘gna cum!!” you brought the phone closer to your dripping cunt, the squelching noises and the buzzing vibrator that was stimulating your cunt so she can really hear the noises. anyone walking by could see how pissed she was, her veins in her hands were showing from how hard she clenched her fists.

your orgasm must’ve been intense, right after your loud whine you were panting and soft whines were spilling out your mouth. your noises would’ve been adorable had she been there to see your pretty face and your stimulated cunt, but it wasn’t in this situation that you got yourself in.

“how cute, princess. come by my office once you’ve finished at home. i have business to attend to so it’ll be a while.” her voice was stern and low, and fuck she sounded hot, making you bite back a moan.

“kkura—” you tried to speak out but she hung up the call. you know you definitely pissed her off, but it wasn’t exactly your intention to do so! but your cunt throbbed just thinking of what she’ll do to you.

once you arrived you of course did the usually when you come to her work place, getting everyone with the same smile while making your way to your girlfriend’s office.

once you reached her office, you open her door but she didn’t bother to look up. no one would dare to come in her office without knocking. you took in her appearance, her hair was in a low ponytail with a few pieces of her front hair sticking out on the side. she looked so damn good in her business suit you couldn’t help but clench your legs around nothing.

“lock it.” she spoke out sternly, eyes glued onto her computer screen.

you obliged to her words but not after a exaggerated huff. you were all dolled up for her, wearing your pastel pink skirt that you knew she liked with one of her hoodies just for her to not look at you.

she has you standing infront of her desk while she was still typing away at whatever she was on. you fished out your phone to take a quick glance at the time to see, it’s been about 15 minutes of you standing here.

“kkura..” you spoke out but got nothing in return. the only thing audible was the clicking and tapping coming from her computer, which annoyed you.

you stood for another 15 minutes, you were even more annoyed. she’s been on her computer acting as if you weren’t even standing here, your hands were clinched in fists and your face rested in a pout.

“sakura, why the fuck did you tell me to come here if you’re gonna act like i’m not here?” you starkly spoke out, you noticed she clenched her jaw and let out a sigh.

“c’mere.” she finally spoke out, man spreading in her 360 chair.

she’s got you on her lap, shoving her tongue in your mouth which has you choking and whining into her mouth. her hands are tightly gripping your hips, forcing you to grind on her clothed cock.

“on your knees, pretty.” she says, unbuttoning her pants and lowering her boxers, revealing her hard member.

she doesn’t even waste a minute, she has her hand in your hair, shoving her cock so far in your mouth it has you choking and unable to breathe.

“fuck~ put that mouth to use baby.” she groans, bopping your head up in down. your hand rest on her thighs trying to keep up with her fast pace.

your tears and drool was making a mess on her pelvis, you have no room to speak and nothing was heard but her grunts and the gagging noises you make when her cock is so far down your throat.

you hear her let out a loud grunt and she presses your face down until your nose is touching her pelvis, deepthroating her cock. you feel her buck into your mouth, making tears fall down your pretty face because it hurts so much! she cums in your mouth and has you there until all her load is released and that you’ve swallowed it all. she finally brings your head up for you to breathe, a long string of your spit was keeping your mouth and her pretty tip connected.

“stand up.” she orders, which you stood up almsot immediately.

she slowly pulls your soaked panties down, groaning when she sees your slick connecting with your cunt, “so wet for me baby.” she lowly says after taking them completely off, collecting your slick on her fingers, making you let out a small whimper.

she sinks you down on her thick cock, whining and squealing out when you feel her stretch you out, filling you up so much better that puny vibrator you were using earlier.

“n-ah~ kkura!!” you squeal out moving your hips back and fourth. until she stills you when you go to bounce on her thick cock.

she lands a harsh slap to your ass, making you yelp and look at her with tears in your eyes. “aw~ what’s the matter baby? only good girls get to ride my cock.” she coo’s which has you look at her with wide eyes, tears threatening to fall.

“kkura! you’re joking-” you go to say but her grip on your neck shuts you up immediately, her expression still tells you that she hasn’t forgotten nor forgave you for what you pulled earlier. this must be your punishment.

“oh, i’m deadass princess, just sit still and look pretty on my cock while i finish my work, if you’re a good girl f’me, i might let you cum.” she smirks, pushing your body to rest on hers.

the best way to teach a brat is to punish them by not letting cum and then finally fuck the brat outta them until they’re a babbling mess who can barely remember their name <33

#ningvory #♡.nabi’s anons #♡.nabi’s asks #♡.darling:📷#kpop smut #g!p #wlw smut #le sserafim x fem reader #le sserafim smut #sakura smut #miyawaki sakura smut #le sserafim sakura #♡.sakura

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sleepybugeyes · 6 months ago

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I read through all of Elias/Jonah's dialogue (as you do) plus some relistening and mentions of him, so here's a big list of some fun things and behaviors I noted!

I thought he made a lot of eye puns/jokes, but he only does it once in mag161, however he does enjoy making jokes. "Creativity never was their forte." from mag80, "You want my account? My sworn testimony? My statement?" from 82, "If you die, I’m afraid you probably won’t be able to claim your expenses." in 116 and "I only have two eyes, after all." in 120. no one ever laughs at his jokes only he finds them amusing

His last words telling Jon a sarcastic or mocking "good luck" are mirrored earlier as he also tells Basira good luck the last time he sees her, and Martin, as he's getting arrested

He loves gloating. "I forget how new you all are to this." from mag92, "Coffee is not as good for disguising tastes as you might think." in 98, "She’s hoping that even if I see it coming she’ll still be able to overpower me. She’s wrong, of course," in 102, "A masterpiece, isn’t it?" abt his panopticon in 158 and of course his whole monologue in 160

He does his budgeting on tuesdays and his scheduling on wednesdays

He also likes getting lost in work

in mag40 he makes up proper incompetency (said he didnt know how the fire system works, while he later admits he was actively waiting) just that once, but more so he acts like he doesnt get the full picture (doesnt know whats in the tunnels, whats strange about the institute) or acts too late and apologises (not stepping into jon's stalking behaviour). Which makes me think he is quite fine letting people think less of him but unless he has something to hide hes not actively looking to give the impression

in mag92 elias slides the papers for basira across his desk, but you don't hear him take them out before, meaning he prepared and got ready for this before he called the police

in general he's a very preparing man, Lukas steps in when Elias is arrested so has has control over who'd run it. in mag118 he says he prepared something to hurt martin (my speculation is that he likely has some trauma that could hurt you prepared for any person that could cross him, just in case he needs it). When he gets arrested he has something prepared so he doesnt get killed and ofc s1-4 is preparing Jon for his grand ritual

Elias admits the idea for his ritual kinda fell into place after Getrude didnt do anything about the people's church in march 2015. He shot Getrude and appointed Jon shortly after so "when you came to me already marked by the Web, I knew it had to be you." is pure dramatics as Jon was hired 4 years prior

also he got his ritual in 2018 so he managed to acomplish his life's goal in only 3 years, love his grindset 🔥

We never get a number for how many people Elias has killed in his ritual, the real life millbank has held over 1000 people at once, but id imagine his one panopticon held less than a whole complex

its really interesting to me in mag92 that hes SO sure they all know he's talking to them of his own free will. is he just that dead set on being in control or making sure they take no credit for his confession

there is a clock in Elias' office (but it's only heard in mag98)

He has killed people but Elias is very much not a blood thirsty person. Getrude and Peter are both surprised when he results to that. He's very much just ruthless and does not care, if to get his way he has to kill someone. It doesnt seem like he's ever happy to do so, maybe this is a quirk of being eye aligned and getting rid of any type of knowledge is painful (he does for example never want Tim to die at the Unknowing), or he just finds covering those murders up a hassle

for the Unknowing Elias books them all hotel rooms, how thoughtful

something cute to me that Jon was too good at the Eye that Elias couldnt meet him face to face post coma

In mag158 he implies that even Institute employees not in the archives are tied to it, at least enough that they could suffer or die if it burned down

between finding other people just as tools to watch and discard and saying empathy holds you back he was definitely a very very lonely man

He is a very breathy person. He sounds breathy when he talks. He takes deep breaths to ready himself and before he uses his powers. And he often breathes through his nose before speaking or during pauses

He has said Jon's name 62 times, only twice calling him "Jonathan" and called him archivist 25 times (24 in the mag120 statement, 1 in mag138 and 1 in mag161)(he also kinda calls him The Archive in 160)

other fun amount of words: know (65 times), see (42), martin (35), detective (20), eyes (20) and eye (9), afraid (9) and "bullshit" (1)

its still insane to me they added all of those sound effects of Elias' cuffs in prison, thats something fun to appreciate. It also means its canon he gestures quite a bit!

#elias bouchard #jonah magnus #meant to read through ALL MENTIONS of him too but i dont got the time rn #i have to share this.. i shall add if i find/remember more fun things about him

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420technoblazeit · 11 days ago

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do u think either viktor or mel are any good at cooking... u mentioned the sims room having spices and while i think viktor and mel understand cooking in theory and Would Add Spices i dont know how much theyve done it in practice... viktor knows chemistry from singed and his own work im sure which is a similar skillset but i cant imagine him ever cooking for himself (before the events of this AU) beyond stock basic low effort meals to get through the week.. and mel i dont think would be comically bad at it necessarily (cuz idk i just think its an overplayed trope and mel is all about how she is actually quite grounded and careful despite her outwardly fancy exterior- thinking abt the sequence of her mixing her own paints with her own hands) but i think she would have even less experience with it in practicality than viktor since its always been something provided for her...

i just am imagining mel buying spices she knows she likes and viktor advocating for filling starches that go a long way and dont go bad quickly and are easy on the stomach (Viktor lost so much weight while ill i cant imagine he was eating that well) and then the two of them both having such different experiences with food- wanting for it, never wanting for it- and both ending up with the same condition of Constantly Forgetting They Should Eat because of it... but both being so empathetic they notice the Other is forgetting to eat. ugh i love narrative foils

that ask got rlly long but btw i think jayce would love to cook (when he has time for it outside of the lab) i think he would be so happy watching his loved ones eat the food he made. some hobbies can be stress relief (i think this is the forge for jayce) and some require some more energy summoned to put into them and i feel like cooking would be more like that for jayce- something reminding him of his childhood and parents (before Everything), something he doesnt do all the time for fun but makes him really happy when he does do it

oh no i think they're Dogshit at it. to be clear. mel grew up filthy rich and in my mind viktor only ever eats the plainest easiest to cook meals unless jayce cooks him something. he probably has like. oatmeal every day and whatever the piltover equivalent of instant ramen is. my headcanon for the spice rack is actually very close to yours, i think mel picked it up from the market one day because she wanted to get better at cooking. i think she's very out of her comfort zone now that they're more or less on the run so she buys it and at first viktor wrinkles his nose and is like this is an unnecessary expense we should be focusing on other things. but maybe he misses when jayce cooked for him and eventually he gets really into it. maybe TOO into it bc now he's making the most ridiculous spice combinations you've ever seen and it's a disaster half the time but hey it's part of the process and at least he's having fun. i think they deserve to be a little bad at something relatively low stakes together. ty for this ask btw im so glad you like the au so much!!! :}

#arcane #two mages au #viktor arcane #mel medarda #meljayvik #melvik #kind of. like a little bit. i might start taggign this au with that bc it very much might become canon to it #the pig squeals

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tumbleweedsthesecond · 29 days ago

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Tophvan post yayy... I wanna explain why I ship it or whatever. Why its silly to me or like how I view their dynamic or whatever. This is gonna cringe so probably ignore this if you don't like tophvan I'm not trying to say its like the best ship in the world or they have a great dynamic or whatever I just wanna explain how I view them. This will probably sound delusional but yk whatever. Cringe and free I guess. Here's some old art

Basically me going on their interactions sorta kinda plus my own headcanons.

Okay so hc wise I've always kind of imagined they wouldn't get along in some way. For obvious reasons, Topher tries too hard and Ivan doesn't try at all. So obviously Topher would at least try to seem like he didn't know him s1 and I don't think he does really know him s1 I feel like they would've followed each other on Flipflop(gah I hate saying that) and Topher just didn't care to block him because he only has two followers and doesn't want to lose one. Anyway I think with s3 I imagine the bleacher creatures met during summer school mayhaps because they all failed gym or math or something? That's my hc on it. I think they do seem close? At least good friends I think that jackée Ivan and Topher are the three main(vlad and lizzie I still loveee but its harder to get a read on them they don't talk much) anyway I don't think that Ivan and Topher would immediately get along obviously Topher let loose more because he's happier with his friends but still I don't think its perfect obv. so going to actually get into the analysis now I yap so much

Cringe part

I think that based off lines of dialogue like "its a fuck no from me" "a simple no would've been fine Ivan" that Topher kinda keeps him grounded at least a little bit???? Ivan doesnt seem to retaliate I think he does sort of view Topher as the leader in a way. Because Topher talks the most and tbh he does seem a little bit bossy. There's also that one time that I immediately think of when I think tophvan the part where he looks over at Topher as if to see if its approved or not before he agrees with jackée.

Like hes like 'is this funny? ' though it could be because he doesn't listen to jackée because female and he's a dumb teenage boy(throws tomatoes at him) I still think that its funny cause he doesn't even look at all the guys in the group to approve it first he just looks at Topher. you can tell by the animation

Anyway before that I think these two do talk more off screen Ivan looks at him when the others don't (even in other scenes though I don't really think that's a big deal imo) okay full headcanon time I think Ivan knows about tophers supposed crush on joan. I don't think Ivan likes Joan but I think he was like "give it a shot because Topher or whatever 🙄😒' but I also feel like he had a bet that she wouldn't be any help. Don't get me wrong I do think ivans dumb obviously but I also do think he just doesn't like Joan. He doesn't full on hate her or anything just don't think he completely trusted her. He does trust her in the vip room thing he thought that was coll but he is also the first to say she ditched us straight up. Ivans very blunt

We are standing in a closet!

Past that I think they do get closer or whatever afterwards. Kind of. We see them in the shower but I kind of ignore that episode and scene altogether so. That's not rlly a big thing I think abt so anyway

Dumb thing incoming I think its also like the way they look at each other or whatever. Like. whatever dude. I think they'd be kind of sweet or whatever. I don't know. Idiots who caresbro.

Overall I think Topher is a complete idiot too like obviously that one scene where he gets bitten by the snake and jackée says to suck the poison out and Ivan sucks the snake because he's a stupid stupid idiot. Dumb. Tophers stupid too very stupid but that's why I think they're fun together.

Forgot abt that scene where they highfive Topher laughs at ivans dumb jokes. They highfive. (I think Topher laughs way too hard at it like we get it bro. You think its funny. I would say it kinda sounds like forced like haha you're so funnyyy but that's probably a bit of a stretch 😔😔😔💔💔)Edit: I think he genuinely finds that stuff funny cause he's so stupid like bone high is not that funny he just has dumb humor. Anyway another hc I have Topher does like his jokes alot and at first I van laughs along with him but then Topher laughs too much so Ivan just like stares at him

Akso the thing where he sees Topher as the leader of the group I don't think that's too serious or anything I think its just like okay ill listen to you sometimes they're still a dumb high school friend group.

ALSO THIS ISNT ME TRYING TO BE LIKE ITS BETTER THSN OTHER SHIPS OR THAT "OH THRY HAVE SO MUCH DYNAMIC" they're background characters basically I just want to point out some canon stuff! Its fine if you don't ship them who cares anyway if anyone has any tophvan hcs please comment them I love seeing tophvan stuff!!!

Also I love all the bleacher creatures I'm ocifying them too.....sorry to single out the ship I just wanted to explain stuff

Also is this reaching? Probably but they're two characters with low screen time so. Shrugs

#clone high #tophvan #Topher bus #clone high ivan the terrible #clone high Ivan #Clone high Topher #again feel free to share tophvan hcs I love tophvan #Stupid idiot bromance to me #I think they'd be kinda sweet to eachother. Sometimes. As a treat🙄#THEYRE STILL DUMB DUMB IDIOTS THOUGH

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arolesbianism · 1 year ago

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they make a Jackie duplicant and her stress reaction is all of them at once and her overjoyed reaction is also every stress reaction at once because I think if this women felt an ounce of legitimate happiness again shed immediately self destruct herself into the ground

#rat rambles #I have found the way to make myself like jackie and its by percieving her as way more pathetic than she was intended to come off qs #this is a woman who is torn between science and her ex and her urge to be petty to said ex #like tbh this is the reason I want jackie to get more logs because we just do not get to see her perspective on their relationship #we know that olivia was and likely still is very important to her #but this is from environmental stuff we dont hear a wiff of it from her own mouth #in general we do not get to know a lot about who jackie is as a person beyond second hand information #the only time we see her openly talking by herself is in the time ribbon logs #and those were both just abt yknow. the time ribbon bullshit.#and both were before gravitas and before she and olivia fell out #rly the only thing it tells us is that jackie is Very dedicated to what she thinks is important and at the very least started from a place #of wanting to better the world and likely she still thinks she does #but at the same time I think its become pretty clear that as time went on it sorta became more about bending reality to its limits #which is a thing I think she and olivia kind of have in common tbh #after they achieved the time ribbon I think they sorta both got a smidge bit progress hungry in their own ways #olivia less so but the two are still scientists at heart and more importantly scientists who only care so much abt the ppl around them #again olivia less so but like. I could not lie to you and say she cares That much about the ppl around her #she does care just. not enough to really... respect them I feel like?#as in clearly not enough to strongly oppose the whole dna stealing thing lol #even tho she probably sees it as not a big deal it's still not a great look lol #but yeah jackie is a lot harder to truly analyze because we just. dont get a whole lot from her.#I can presume a lot of her downhill spiral was from being put in a position of authority #its very easy for the human mind to start seeing real people as a bunch of numbers and statistics #she was likely very demanding even before then tho #like as far as we can tell olivia was like. her Only friend. which tbf we dont know nearly enough to know that for sure but still #I feel like jackie and olivia became friends because they both had a lot of out there theories that no one took seriously #and they took eachother seriously so they became fast friends as they finally found someone who would truly listen to them #but once the time ribbon was done and they were both left kind of flailing for smth to chase after next they ended up drifting #and I could see this deeply upsetting jackie and leaving her feeling deeply conflicted #idk its just interesting to me to imagine how jackie felt under the proffessional I need everyone to take me seriously face

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m1ckeyb3rry · 8 months ago

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── PEREGRINE // TWO

Series Synopsis: The ways that you and Seishiro Nagi fall together and fall apart over the years.

Chapter Synopsis: You and May hang out at the mall before going to dinner with Reo, Ryosuke, and Nagi.

Series Masterlist

Pairing(s): Nagi x Reader, Kira x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 6.1k

Content Warnings: unhealthy relationships, cheating, non-linear narrative, probably ooc, angst, nagi is endgame, kira sucks, alternate universe, original characters

A/N: ok so i lowkey hate writing nagi atm simply because he is a character who (imo) NEEDS a build up to feel like he actually cares abt someone instead of being generally apathetic. but in this part of the story we’re like…past that build up if that makes sense?? so he feels weird to me rn since he’s the product of character development that’s happened chronologically but not narratively. idk that was a long rant for no reason LMAO i hope you guys don’t hate the chapter.

divider credits: @/benkeibear

You were awoken from a pleasant dream whose contents you could not remember by banging on the room door. When Ryosuke only groaned and mumbled something violent in response, you realized that it fell to you to see what was happening. Yawning and rubbing your eyes, you rolled out of bed and stumbled over to the entrance, swinging it open to find a straight-faced Reo and a playfully irritated May.

“What happened to not sleeping, huh?” May said, poking you in the forehead.

“We weren’t sleeping,” you said, though your statement was punctuated by another yawn, somewhat detracting from its validity.

“That’s believable,” Reo said.

“Oh, that’s enough out of you,” you said. “What’s up? Why’re you guys here?”

“We were going to show you around, remember?” May said.

“You weren’t answering our texts and calls, so we came to see how you were doing in person,” Reo said, his expression uncharacteristically sour.

“Don’t mind him,” May said. “He’s just mad because he lost one of our bets.”

“What was it this time?” you said. For as long as they had been acquainted, Reo and May had constantly been making lighthearted bets against one another, and it seemed that even with their wedding looming so close, their games had not ceased any.

“It was a stupid bet,” Reo grumbled. “I was so sure I was going to win, but my own best friend betrayed me!”

“Me?” you said, pointing at yourself. “What, because I fell asleep? Did you seriously bet I was going to stay awake? You should’ve known better.”

“So you were asleep!” May said.

“Er,” you said. “Well, there’s no point in hiding it. Yeah, we were.”

“Shame on you,” May said.

“Actually, I’m talking about Nagi,” Reo said. “I bet that he wouldn’t come to dinner with all of us later tonight, because it would be way too much of a chore.”

“That’s a pretty sensible option,” you said. “He doesn’t really do things unless they’re easy for him.”

“Exactly my point!” Reo said. “See? I’m not stupid!”

“Maybe neither of you know him as well as I do,” May said with a mysterious shrug. “I guessed he was going to come, and guess what? He is!”

“It’s just not plausible for you to know him better than me!” Reo said. “Y/N, sure, that makes sense. She barely ever talked to him, so it’s not impossible for you to have the upper hand if you’re betting against her. But me? Me? That’s — it’s — it’s just preposterous, that’s what it is!”

“He’s taking this pretty personally,” you observed.

“I know,” May said. “It’s really funny. Every time I pretend like I might know more than him about you or Nagi, he freaks out. The trick is that most of the time, he actually does win bets involving the two of you. I just really ham up the few times that I do win, so it seems like I’m some kind of clairvoyant genius or something.”

“Maybe you’re not clairvoyant, but you’re definitely comedic,” you said. “I’m grateful you’re the one marrying him. He needs someone that keeps him on his toes.”

“It’s a duty I take seriously,” she said. “Anyways, is that fiancé of yours going to come with us or not?”

“Oh, right,” Reo said, his anger dissipating entirely. “That was the other question. Will he want to be there?”

“I’ll make him come to dinner for sure,” you said. “I don’t know if he’ll want to go shopping, though. I can ask.”

“You don’t have to,” May said.

“True,” Reo said. “The three of us could just hang out. It’d be like old times.”

“I’d feel embarrassed third-wheeling you two,” you said. “What would I do when you started getting all lovey-dovey? It would be really awkward if I didn’t even have anyone there to commiserate with.”

“You’re such a baby,” May said. “It’ll be fine. We’ll keep our PDA to a minimum.”

“I’ve known Reo for too long,” you said, pointing at where his hand was already intertwining with hers. “Asking him to refrain from PDA is a cruel and unusual punishment that I could never inflict, even if it was for my own personal comfort.”

“That’s true,” she said, leaning against him slightly. It was the kind of love that was so assured they did not even have to think twice about it. It came naturally, simply. There was no facade to be maintained, no perfect image that was always mere seconds away from shattering entirely.

“Right, so let me just wake Ryosuke up and see what he says,” you said, though of course, you didn’t need to. Perhaps there was not as much love between you and him as there once had been, but your understanding had only grown in the years that had passed, so you could predict his answer with perfect accuracy before you had even asked the question.

He was already stirring when you returned to his side, running his fingers through his hair and drinking from the bottle of water that the hotel staff had so kindly left on our bedside.

“Morning, babe,” he said to you.

“It’s actually afternoon,” you said.

“It’s morning somewhere,” he said. You rolled your eyes.

“Sure,” you said. “Look, Reo and May are here. They’re going to take us to the mall and show us around, and then we’ll all go to dinner together.”

“Okay,” he said. “Give a minute and I’ll meet you all outside.”

“You’ll come shopping?” you checked.

“Of course I will. I need to make sure you don’t buy anything unfashionable,” he said, winking at you cheekily. You did not respond in kind.

“We’ll wait in the hotel lobby,” you said. You wanted to badly to believe that he was being like this because seeing Reo and May had reminded him of what your life used to be like, but the truth was probably just that he had not had the chance to see another woman in some time and was therefore feeling fonder of you because you were his only option, as he was yours.

“He’ll meet us in the lobby,” you said to Reo and May, taking your purse off of the hook by the entrance. The strap rested on your shoulder as you made sure you had one of the copies of the key in your wallet before shutting the door behind you, trusting Ryosuke would lock it.

“If he takes too long, we’ll leave without him,” May said. Reo did not say anything, but considering his policy of being as polite at all times as he could manage, it was as good as an agreement on his part. You supposed May must’ve made clear her dislike to Reo, although if you were recalling correctly, Reo had never exactly been Ryosuke’s number-one-fan, either. He was just better about hiding it than May and Chigiri, both of whom were all but open about their true feelings towards him.

“He won’t,” you said. “He’s basically ready. He just had to use the bathroom, I think.”

“I was just saying,” she said. “It would be in character for him to take forever, is all. What did Chigiri always call him? A peacock bastard or something?”

“Believe it or not, he still calls him that,” you said.

“To his face?” Reo said, eyebrows shooting up. “That’s gutsy, even for him.”

“I knew I liked him for a reason,” May said.

“Not exactly to his face, considering he refuses to even look at Ryosuke. Apparently, it breaks him out,” you said. “And you know how he is about his skin care, Reo.”

Reo, who had been Chigiri’s roommate just as you had been May’s, made a face in acknowledgment, likely recalling as you were the bottles upon bottles of expensive lotions and hair products that Chigiri had invested most of his allowance and, later, salary in.

“He’s not wrong, per se,” May said. “I can feel an itch under my skin as well, just from being around him for so long.”

“I hope that you can get over your allergy on this trip, then,” you said. “Considering he’s going to be at your wedding, and you’ll be at mine.”

“He’s only here as your plus one,” May said.

“That doesn’t change the fact that he’s here,” you said slowly, like you were explaining the concept to a child.

“No, but it does mean that I didn’t invite him,” she explained. Reo tried to cover his snicker by hiding his mouth behind his hand, but considering his eyes still scrunched at the corners and glittered with mirth, he was overall unsuccessful.

“Just be nice to him, please,” you said. “It’s my life you’re making harder. At least with Chigiri, there’s that old rivalry to explain it, but you’re just going out of your way to be rude.”

“You’re right,” Reo said, suddenly guilty, shoving his hands in his pockets and shrugging up his shoulders high as a defense from your disappointment. “We’ll call a truce for the duration of the wedding.”

“We will?” May said.

“May, she promised to get along with Nagi for us,” he said. “It’s the least we owe her.”

“Stop bringing Nagi up,” you said, shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably.

“Sorry,” Reo said. May pursed her lips but nodded, though she looked more contemplative than unwilling, as if some new information had suddenly been revealed to her. You couldn’t be sure what information that might’ve been, exactly, but since she did not reveal her hand, you were left to guess.

Ryosuke stepped out of the elevator a few moments later, wearing a new set of clothes and an easy grin. He waved at the receptionist when he passed her, and then he crossed the room to stand at your side, though you noticed he did not even try to put his arm around your body or his hand on your own. He seemed more like a particularly close friend than a lover, and you trained your gaze on the ground instead of reaching out for him as you could have.

“Hope I didn’t keep you guys waiting for long,” he said. May shook her head, smiling at him as best she could. She must’ve picked up that political savvy from Reo, who had a natural-born charm which endeared him to all.

“It’s not a problem,” she said. Ryosuke seemed taken aback by the sudden switch in her demeanor, but he took it in stride.

“Alright,” he said. “Should we get going, then?”

“Yes, that sounds good. Should we take one car or two?” Reo said.

“I vote two,” you said, wanting to give Reo and May the privacy that would be hard-won in the coming weeks. May nodded.

“Agreed. I call having Y/N with me!” she said, wrapping herself around your bicep and batting her eyelashes at Reo.

“Okay,” he said through gritted teeth. “Looks like it’s you and me, Kira.”

“Fine by me,” Ryosuke said.

“Wait, May, don’t you want to spend some time with Reo?” you said. “You guys are going to be so busy getting ready for the wedding soon, so you’ll barely have any moments alone with him.”

“We have our entire lives to spend together,” she said, smiling fondly at Reo. “And I haven’t seen you in years. Of course I want to go with you!”

“If you say so,” you said.

“We’ll meet you there,” Reo said, walking towards the first car waiting in the pickup lane of the hotel, Ryosuke following after him. You and May waited for them to drive off and the second car to pull up before you, too, exited the hotel lobby and got into the backseat together.

“Alright, now that those two are gone, let’s get to the real stuff,” May said, rubbing her hands together.

“What real stuff?” you said. She beamed.

“I want to know what’s up with you!” she said.

“I always text you whenever something happens,” you said. “So you’re pretty much all caught up. Not that there’s really much to catch up on.”

“Why haven’t you picked a wedding day?” she said.

“It’s always straight to the point with you, isn’t it?” you said. “I don’t know. I just don’t feel ready to get married yet.”

“You’re the one who’s holding back?” she said.

“I’ve always been the one holding back,” you reminded her. “Even when we were in college. If you’ll recall, he had to try quite a lot to get me to agree to go out with him.”

“That’s true, but now that the two of you are together, I would’ve said for sure that Mr. ‘I’m-Scared-of-Commitment’ would’ve been the one making a fuss about having to actually get married,” she said.

You almost caved. You almost opened your mouth and told her that it was because you resented Ryosuke, resented him as much if not more than you loved him, and you could not marry someone like that. But neither could you leave him, and so you were stuck in this strange, endless limbo, which you could not escape from nor meaningfully exist in.

“He’s happy,” you said. “He actually brought up choosing a date the other day. I’m the one who’s being weird about it.”

May made a noise of sympathy. “Why?”

You leaned your head against the tinted window, watching the familiar sights of your childhood flashing by, so different and yet still the same. That girl who you had been when you had lived here last…you wondered what she’d think of you now. Was this what she had imagined her life would look like one day?

You didn’t need to ponder it for very long. You knew the answer already — no.

“Why did you say yes when Reo asked you to marry him?” you said instead of responding, thinking back to the day he had proposed to her.

“Because saying yes meant spending the rest of my life with him,” she said.

“And that was something you wanted?” you pressed.

“Of course,” she said. “Even now, my life with him is so wonderful. I want to share as much of myself as I can with him. Isn’t it the same for you? Isn’t that why you said yes? After all, Kira proposed first. If anything, I should be asking you these questions.”

“I guess so,” you said. No. No, of course not. The thought of spending the rest of your life living like this was akin to an imprisonment. It was a great burden weighing down on you, but then again, it was better than the alternative, which was the reason why you still could not bring yourself to leave.

“I’m not judging you or anything,” May said. “And trust me, I could, but I’m not, because I really just want you to be happy. Are you?”

“Am I what?” you said.

“Happy,” she said. “When you were a kid, is this what you dreamt your life would look like?”

You laughed bitterly. “Of course not. People outgrow dreams, May. I was an idealistic girl when I was younger, and there’s no place in this world for that. I have a stable job and a fine home. I have a fiancé who does not mistreat me. I have a cat of my own and a friend who lives only minutes away. Maybe I’m not as happy as I could be, but I’m satisfied.”

“I see,” May said. “If that’s the way it is…I’m glad for you. After everything, you deserve it.”

You exhaled heavily, unsure of what to say. “Thank you.”

Reo and Ryosuke were waiting for you in the front of the mall, and you could not help but take notice of the marked difference between the two of them. Ryosuke was looking around, his lively eyes settling on every girl as they walked past, his posture inviting and casual. On the other hand, Reo was closed off to any approaches, entirely focused on scanning the entryway, craning his neck every time the doors opened in case the next person to walk through would be May.

Unfortunately for him, the people you entered behind were taller than both you and May, so you escaped his notice until the two of you were behind him and May was grinning devilishly. Abruptly, she placed her hands on his shoulders, shaking him back and forth as he shrieked in surprise.

“May!” he said, clutching his heart as he fought for breath. “You scared me. I thought I was being kidnapped.”

“Maybe you are,” she said. “Y/N, I’m holding your best friend for ransom. Give me lots of money and I’ll let him go!”

“No, thanks. You can keep him,” you said.

“Wow, Y/N,” Reo said, pretending to wipe away a tear. “It’s heartwarming how much you care about me.”

“Oh, you guys are here,” Ryosuke said, finally tuning into the conversation. “Took you long enough.”

The joking mood vanished immediately. Suddenly, you were a child again, your mother shaking her head at you in disapproval every time you did something wrong, your father sighing every time you asked him why he was upset, as if you should’ve known just from the way he looked at you what he was feeling.

“We had to make sure you got a taste of waiting, too,” May said before looping her arm through your own. “Though you really had no reason to. You boys can go do whatever, and Y/N and I will go through every single store together!”

“That’s not fair!” Reo said. “I want to help you guys shop.”

“I know, but don’t you think it would be rude to leave Kira on his own? Anyways, this way we can surprise you with what we get,” she said.

“Kira wants to go, though, right?” Reo said, turning to Ryosuke, his eyes wide and pleading. Ryosuke, who had been gazing at a girl as she laughed with her friends, jumped at the mention of his name.

“Huh? Nah, it’s okay. May will make sure she doesn’t buy anything hideous, won’t you, May?” he said. Out of his sight, Reo’s face crumpled, and you thought he genuinely might start sobbing. Reaching out, you patted him on the shoulder comfortingly.

“I would never let her walk around looking ugly,” May said. “Come on, Y/N. Let’s get started — this is a big mall, and we only have so much time before we have to meet back up with everyone for dinner.”

“Bye, guys,” Reo said forlornly, the tendons in his hand flexing, like he was considering reaching out and forcing you to stay back. He must’ve decided against it, though, as he only waved before trudging behind Ryosuke, giving you one last, desperate look over his shoulder before rounding the corner.

Surprisingly, you didn’t buy as much as you thought you might. Without Reo there to insist you and May try on half of every store’s merchandise, you both ended up spending more time making fun of the clothes you saw than anything.

“That sweater is so fucking ugly,” you said, pointing at a strangely posed mannequin. May pretended to gag.

“I think designers have this thing where they purposefully try to design the most horrendous clothes possible, and then, once they genuinely cannot look any worse, they put a brand name and a massive price tag on them and watch people go crazy,” she said. You giggled in agreement.

You had forgotten what it was like to have a friend like this. Your relationship with Chigiri was different — no less important, but different. Being with May was exactly what you needed to calm the turmoil of your mind, and for her part, May was happy to just spend time with you, even if your discussions were more superficial and silly than anything.

The restaurant that Reo had booked a reservation at was in a five-star hotel across town. It was an upscale place, and you spent the entire drive over fidgeting with your clothes, hoping that you were wearing something appropriate for the occasion.

“You look fine, seriously,” May reassured you as you got out of the car.

“Are you sure? I feel underdressed,” you said.

“I’m the same level of dressed as you, so if they’re going to judge you, they’re going to judge me, too,” she said. “We’re in this together. Feel better?”

“A little bit,” you said.

“Good. Excuse me, miss, but we have a reservation for five? Some of our party has arrived already,” she said.

“What’s the name?” the hostess said. She was pretty, with long, smooth hair and innocent features.

“Mikage,” she said. The hostess’s eyes widened, but to her credit, she did not otherwise freak out. Beckoning you to follow after her, she led you to the table where Reo and Ryosuke were sitting.

“Here you are,” she said. “Will the final member of your party be along shortly?”

Reo pinched the bridge of his nose. “He’ll be here at some point. Being on time isn’t exactly his strong suit. Knowing him, he’s probably asleep right now. Say, May, if he ends up being a no-show, does that mean I win the bet?”

May paled. “I’m calling him.”

“That’s cheating! May — May, that’s cheating, stop!” he said as May held her phone to her ear, waving him off.

“I already won the bet, so it’s not cheating if I’m just ensuring my victory remains secure,” she said.

“What are they talking about?” Ryosuke said to you.

“They made a bet about whether Reo’s best man will come to dinner tonight,” you said. “He agreed to earlier, which meant May won, but now he hasn’t shown up, so Reo’s gunning for a comeback victory.”

“Interesting,” Ryosuke said. “Aren’t you glad we’re not so childish?”

You looked at the plush carpet beneath your feet when you answered. “Yes.”

Ryosuke, who was sitting beside you, rubbed your thigh, clicking his tongue as Reo tried to grab May’s phone from her. She barely warded him off with one hand, holding the cell up to her ear with the other.

“Hello? Nagi?” she said. “Mhm, this is May. Yes. Yes, we’re all here. Oh, you’re on your way? Well, sorry, asshole, but you being so late has been more of a hassle for me than answering this call was for you. Okay. Yep. See you soon, I guess. I’ll tell him.”

She hung up with a sly smirk, poking Reo in the cheek. He hung his head in defeat, though of course, he was smiling the entire time, belying his true amusement. They never had any stakes for their bets, and this was on purpose: the competitions were just a silly way for them to liven up how mundane everyday existence could be.

“He was seriously already on his way?” he said.

“Yeah, and he wanted me to tell you to just order the appetizers already. He’s apparently so starved that he might die if he doesn’t eat within the next few minutes,” she said.

“For helping you win the bet instead of me, he deserves it. Traitor,” Reo said, though he waved the waitress over and began listing off the many appetizers he wanted for the table regardless.

“Looks like I’m finally going to get to meet the infamous Nagi,” Ryosuke said, giving the waitress a brilliant grin that forced a blush out of her as she scurried back to the kitchen.

“How do you know him?” you said.

“I’ve heard his name around,” he said. “Once or twice. There was that whole scandal a couple of years ago, too, don’t you remember? When he lost that game and then quit soccer for good?”

There was no way you couldn’t remember. That was the last time you had been back in Japan. You had been in this very town when it had happened, but despite your proximity, you had never found out the reason for it all. You had never understood why he had done it. But, then again, there were so many things about him that you had never understood, so it wasn’t a shock. To you, he would always be an enigma, and one you had no interest in unraveling anymore, to boot.

It was a few minutes later that he walked in. You were dimly aware of Reo high-fiving May in congratulations, never one to be capable of even pretending to stay angry for very long, and also of Ryosuke straightening his back in interest at the newcomer, but none of these things could hold your attention when it was Seishiro Nagi standing in front of you.

He looked almost the same as he had when you saw him last. His pale hair was still kept in the same messy style, though it was soaked for some reason, water dripping down the strands and splashing onto his cheeks. He still wore that same sleepy expression, though something sparked in his dove-colored eyes when they met yours. His shirt was wet, too, the fabric clinging to his muscular body as he draped his jacket over the back of his chair and sat down across from you.

“It was raining,” he said by way of explanation, and though he was speaking to everyone, you could tell he was waiting for your reaction, specifically. You pursed your lips and avoided his heavy stare as best as you could.

“You’re so dumb. Why didn’t you just use an umbrella?” Reo said with a groan, reaching over May’s lap to hand him a napkin.

“Don’t like them,” he said, accepting the napkin and using it to dry off his hair, giving him the frazzled appearance of a mad scientist. “It’s too much work carrying them around.”

You swallowed back the lump in your throat, wanting to say something but finding yourself completely unable to. Thankfully, Ryosuke spoke up, leaning forward with an uncharacteristic interest.

“The falcon of the field,” he said. Nagi’s face was impassive at the mention of his old nickname, from back when he was still one of the top players in the league. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

“Who are you?” Nagi said, pulling out his phone — you were impressed he had lasted so long without it — and began to play a game that, judging by the movement of his fingers, was either Candy Crush or some variant of it.

“Ryosuke Kira.” This earned him a grunt from the clearly uninterested Nagi. “You went to high school with Y/N, right?”

Nagi glanced up at him. “Yeah.”

“I’m her fiancé,” Ryosuke said, wrapping his arm around you in a way that implied possession more than affection. “We got engaged a few years ago.”

“That’s great, man,” Nagi said, returning to his game. “Congratulations.”

“I’m lucky. She’s really the perfect girl,” Ryosuke said.

“Mhm,” Nagi said. His phone vibrated, indicating he had cleared another level. A smile flickered across his face. He was like that, you remembered. Never happier than when he had won a game.

“Ryosuke, stop,” you said. “He doesn’t care.”

“I’m just trying to be friendly,” Ryosuke said. “What about you, Nagi? Anyone special waiting for you back at home?”

Nagi’s phone let out a sad sound. You could picture the screen, the mournful characters and the swirling font, which would read something along the lines of You Ran Out of Moves! He frowned, clicking to restart the level.

“Nope,” he said.

“Wow, that’s a surprise. Well, don’t worry about it. It may seem hopeless now, but the right person will come along when you least expect it!” Ryosuke said.

“Probably not,” Nagi said. “Reo, I’m hungry. How much longer until the food gets here?”

“I’m not sure,” Reo said. “I’ll go speak with the waitress and ask her about the delay.”

“I’ll come with,” May said immediately, springing to her feet and dashing after Reo. You didn’t blame her — if you had a way to escape the awkward situation, you would’ve taken it in a heartbeat.

“Don’t be so pessimistic!” Ryosuke said, in what you were sure he thought was an encouraging tone. “It really does happen like that. Take Y/N, for example.”

“Or don’t,” you said.

“She had never even dated anyone before meeting me,” Ryosuke said. Nagi snorted.

“Really?” he said.

You kicked him under the table, your foot coming into contact with his shin as hard as you could manage. Unfortunately, it had all of the effect that a fly landing on him would’ve, as he only peered over his phone at you for an instant before returning to his game.

“Yup, and now we’re going to get married. All of that is to say we never know what’s going to happen and who we’re going to meet,” Ryosuke said. It was a speech that you might’ve found inspirational, if the circumstances were different. As it was, though, you could only sink down into your chair in embarrassment.

“Sure,” Nagi said. “I’ll keep my eyes open.”

“That’s the spirit. Who can tell? Maybe your future wife is sitting right in front of you!” Ryosuke said.

“Doubt it,” Nagi said. “Considering it’s your fiancée sitting right in front of me at the moment.”

You kicked him again. He blinked at you innocently. You glared at him, begging him to keep his mouth shut. Shrugging his shoulders only slightly, he set his phone to the side as Reo returned with the waitress, who murmured apologies — mostly to Ryosuke — and set your food down in front of you.

“Apparently, they had sent our food to the wrong table,” Reo said. “Go figure. Nagi, you had better not go on your phone while you eat, or else you’ll get bored of chewing and May will have to do the Heimlich on you again.”

Nagi, who had already put his phone face-down on the table, muttered rebelliously to himself but did not pick it up again, as per Reo’s directive. For her part, May inched her chair away from his, obviously not too keen on being volunteered as the resident Heimlich-maneuver-performer.

“Say, Y/N, I’m feeling a little full already,” Ryosuke said, pushing his plate towards you. “And I’m tired from earlier. Do you mind if I go back early?”

“Go ahead,” you said. “Do you want me to come?”

“No, no, I wouldn’t want to take away your time with your friends,” he said. It was then that you realized the hostess who had greeted you had left her station, presumably to change out of her uniform, and your shoulders slumped as you nodded.

“That’s good. I was actually going to ask if I could sleep at May and Reo’s, so it works out,” you said.

“Huh, what?” May said. “I’m alright with it as long as Reo is, but why?”

“For old times’ sake, I guess,” you said. “Although I’m sure just the closet alone at your house is twice the size of our old dorm room.”

“Probably,” she said. “Reo?”

You thought for a second that he might protest, but in fact, Reo actually looked like he might burst into tears of delight.

“Yes!” he said. “Of course — but on the condition that you let me finally talk to her for a bit!”

“Oh, sure,” May said.

“Then it’s a deal,” Reo said.

“That works out,” Ryosuke said, stooping over to press a kiss on your temple. “Now I won’t have to worry about how you get back.”

“Right,” you said, and you were so practiced that the lie came to your lips easily. “I’m glad.”

“I’ll go call the driver for you, Kira,” May said, excusing herself from the table and striding out of the restaurant. A few seconds later, Reo’s phone buzzed. He glanced down at it before groaning.

“Ugh, they keep doing this!” he said.

“What happened?” you said.

“Sometimes, people get it into their heads that just because May is from a different country and isn’t officially married to me yet, they can get away with treating her as less than a Mikage,” Reo said, standing up and pushing his chair in. “If you’ll excuse me, there’s someone I need to fire. Come on, Kira; I’ll just drive you myself. Y/N, Nagi, will you be alright on your own for a bit? I’ll come back with May once we’ve dropped off Kira and she’s calmed down a bit.”

“No,” you said.

“Yes,” Nagi said at the same time, giving you a quizzical look. “It’s alright, Reo.”

“Be civil,” Reo ordered. “I’ll speed a lot, so it won’t be long.”

“See you tomorrow, babe,” Ryosuke said, kissing you again, this time on your lips.

“Ew,” Nagi said.

“Ah, excuse me?” Ryosuke said politely.

“You’re excused,” Nagi said.

“No, that’s not—” Ryosuke looked around for help, but of course none was forthcoming. “Never mind. Um, I’ll just go, then. Reo, do you mind if I stop in the bathroom first?”

“Whatever. I’m going to go check on May and yell at that driver, so meet us there,” Reo said, already storming off. He was so good-natured most of the time that it was easy to forget just how quick to anger he was as well. He had a fearsome temper that he had only recently learnt to control, and on the occasions it reared its head, someone almost always regretted their actions immensely.

As soon as the others were gone, you were unabashedly scowling at Nagi, who did not visibly react.

“Stop it,” you said.

“Stop what?” he said.

“Stop provoking my fiancé,” you said.

“I’m not provoking anyone,” he said, admiring the depths of his drink instead of looking at you. “That would take a lot of effort.”

“You are,” you said. “You keep saying these things that anyone could misinterpret!”

“Misinterpret?” he said. “Uh, you do know what that word means, right?”

“Nagi,” you hissed.

His mouth rearranged itself into a small pout. “The others are gone now. You can just call me Seishiro.”

“I’m being serious,” you said. He let out an aggravated sigh.

“No, you’re just being a hassle. Whatever. Call me Nagi, if that’s what you want. I’m still going to call you Y/N,” he said.

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever.”

“Very original,” he observed.

“Look, I don’t care what you do,” you said. “Just leave me out of it. I’m going to get married soon. I don’t need you acting odd and complicating things the way you always do.”

“I’m not acting odd,” he said. “You’re acting odd.”

“No, I am not!” you said.

“Yeah, you are,” he said. “Also, you suck at kicking. And your fiancé is a pain.”

“Maybe he is,” you said. “But at least he wants me.”

“Is that so?” he said. “I dunno. It looked like he wanted that waitress, too. And that hostess. And May. But I don’t think he’d go after her, because, y’know, Reo would be pretty mad, and he can definitely afford a better lawyer than Kira can if it comes down to it…”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said.

“Sure,” he said. “Fine. I don’t know anything. You know everything. This is such a pointless conversation.”

“I agree,” you said. “Let’s finish it. I promised Reo I’d get along with you for the sake of the wedding, but please, Nagi, I’m begging you…once it’s over, let’s just go back to being strangers. That’s the best way.”

“This is the first time I’ve seen you since you left,” he said. “You never once messaged me or called me. I thought you would apologize or something once we met again, but you’re not apologizing. You’re saying you want us to be strangers. Do you mean it was on purpose?”

“Of course it was on purpose,” you said. “What good would it have done for me to message you? To call you? It wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“It would’ve,” he said quietly, picking up his phone again. “For me, it would’ve.”

“But I didn’t,” you said.

“You didn’t,” he agreed. He was playing Candy Crush again, but though he seemed entranced by the game, you knew he was listening to you still.

“Look, dwelling on the past doesn’t accomplish anything,” you said. “For better or worse, this is where our lives have led us. This is the culmination of all of our decisions. Okay? Stop pretending like any of it can change. It can’t.”

“Mhm,” he said. “Look. I cleared the level.”

He showed you his phone. Just as you had thought, he was playing Candy Crush, and true to his word, the characters were smiling and dancing on the screen, the congratulatory message written in a sweet, bubbly pink.

You Won!

For some reason, it didn’t feel like either of you had.

taglist (comment/send an ask to be added): @mariyumemi @naatggeo @prettyarsxnist

#nagi x reader #nagi x y/n #nagi x you #nagi seishiro #bllk x reader #bllk #blue lock #reader insert #modern au #peregrine #m1ckeyb3rry writes

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