#this was a few nights ago but im still thinking abt it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

a-kaash-me-outside · 7 months

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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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solarsturniolo · 9 months

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𝖂𝖊’𝖗𝖊 𝕵𝖚𝖘𝖙 𝕱𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖓𝖉𝖘 // 𝕸.𝕾. // 𝔗𝔴𝔬

𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: Matt is so 'sweet best friend that secretly jerks off to your pictures' coded (idea credit to @heartstreet )

𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: SMUT!!! / masturbation / voyeurism / post nut clarity / self-deprecation / intentional lowercase

𝔇𝔦𝔰𝔠𝔩𝔞𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔯: these stories are fictional :)

𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 ℭ𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 3030

It slowly became a habit. It started small, one time a day if even that. But what started as a habit grew into an addiction. Every little thing set him off, and the only thing to satisfy the desire in him was her. He needed her in ways that he couldn’t even describe. He hungered for her.

It began with pictures, just her regular little posts on Instagram and Snapchat that had no hidden undertone to them, but every single one would have Matt beating his dick until his arm was sore. She had Pavloved him. The second he got the notification that his best friend posted, his cock stiffened and his ears got red and hot just thinking about what could be waiting for him. It didn’t matter where he was or what he was doing, he’d drop everything, all of his attention would be on her in an instant. Today was no different; he had already beat off three times in the few hours he had been awake.

As the day moved forward, and he found the inner strength to keep his dick in his pants, Matt remembered telling her that he’d look for the charger she had left when she stayed over a few nights ago. He spent a solid hour that afternoon searching the house up and down for her phone charger; his room, the living room, the kitchen, Nick’s room, hell, he even checked Chris’s room (despite Chris’s many protests followed by a shoe being launched at Matt’s shin), though he still came up empty handed.

Matt went back to his bedroom, shutting the door behind him. He took a seat in his desk chair, rolling himself close enough to his desk to click his monitor on, grabbing the controller that had been set aside on his desk to charge. He turned his gaming console on, the sound of it whirring to life filling the silence in the room. He reached into his pocket, taking his phone out to send her a quick text.

‘i may have lost it’

‘your mind?’

‘no’

‘your keys?’

‘no’

‘OMG’

‘?’

‘YOUR V CARD?????’

‘WHAT NO’

‘omg matty who is she 🤭🤭🤭🤭’

‘I DID NOT’

‘then i fear i do not know what you could be talking about, for i am not a mind reader’

‘your weird’

‘you’re*’

‘i actually hate you.’

‘stfu you love me. now what are u talking abt’

‘you’re charger’

‘your*’

‘you know what 😀’

‘LMAOOOO don’t blow a fuse, it’s a $10 charger i’ll just get another one. thank u for letting me know tho’

‘ofc’

He stared at the screen, his heart beating faster when he saw the read receipt pop up under his message. He waited, taking his bottom lip between his teeth as she began to type. A smile tugged at his lips as the typing message bubble disappeared, waiting for the message to pop up on his screen.

A minute passed. Then two. Still nothing. Matt’s smile faltered a little.

‘?’

‘oh shit i didn’t know you were still here’

‘what we’re you typing?’

‘were*’

‘😀 nevermind i don’t care’

‘noooo matty come back 😂’

‘i’ll get it right one day’

‘i have full faith in you, matthew. until then, im gonna be up your ass about it’

‘so…?’

‘so what?’

‘what were you typing?’

Matt could hardly sit still. His leg bounced anxiously, he bit his nails impatiently. She had been typing for a while, was it something bad? Shit, have i fucked up recently and just didn’t notice?

‘nothing 😇’

‘you’re a dirty liar’

‘😜’

‘cmon, i’m youre best friend tell meeeee’

‘your*’

‘GET A NEW BEST FRIEND’

‘okay okay i’m done 😂 you’re so easy to tease’

‘Ayo 🤨’

‘not like that 🙄

‘well, you probably are pretty easy to tease like that too”

Matt choked on his own saliva. Did I read that right? He read it again, the blood rushing from his cheeks to his cock. His brain short circuited. Any possible responses that he could’ve came up with dissolved into nothingness. He spent two minutes trying to type a witty comeback or some sort of smooth flirtatious reply, but when push came to shove, all he could build the courage to send was-

‘what?’

She started typing, and as the speech bubble floated in the corner of his screen, Matt palmed at the bulge in his sweats. His mind raced with thoughts, all wondering what she could have possibly been thinking about. Fuck, does she think about doing things with me? Does she want to tease me? How would she even-

The speech bubble disappeared. Matt slipped his hand under the waistband of his sweatpants and his boxers, taking his hard cock in his fist. He stroked his shaft slowly, his eyes fluttering shut while he pursed his lips to hold back a moan. He waited for her response to pop up. One minute…then two…then five. He furrowed his eyebrows, his strokes slowly coming to a stop as he eyed their text messages. Why isn’t she responding? Did I make her uncomfortable? Is she weirded out?

His heart nearly dropped out of his ass when the facetime notification illuminated his screen. Without thinking to take his hand out of his pants, Matt quickly answered the call.

It took a moment for the call to connect, but when it finally did, Matt felt almost frozen in place. His heart skipped a beat, his face grew flushed with a warm rosy heat. She smiled at him and his breath caught in his throat.

“Hey!”

Matt smiled. “Hey, what’s up.”

“What, I can’t call my best friend out of the blue just to hang out?” She laughed softly. “What are you up to?” She asked.

“Just, yknow…” he trailed off, shrugging his shoulders a bit. “Was playing fortnite for a bit-“

She tilted her head to the side a little, furrowing her eyebrows. “I didn’t see you online. I would’ve joined you if I knew,” she grinned. “Can’t believe you played without me,” she playfully rolled her eyes.

Matt swallowed. Her eyes looked so pretty rolled back into her head like that, I could watch her do that for hours. Matt slowly stroked his cock, pursing his lips tightly to keep himself quiet. ‘Can’t believe you played without me’ replayed in his head like a broken record. His mind wandered off, thinking about the beautiful girl on his screen sitting on his bed. Her clothes discarded onto the floor mindlessly, seated on his bare thighs. Matt bit the inside of his cheek, pre-cum drooling from the tip of his cock as he imagined her pretty manicured fingers circling her clit, her eyes hooded and full of lust as lewd sounds spilled from her parted lips. His dick ached at the thought of her running her fingers through her wet folds, playing with herself in front of him, on full display just for him. ‘Can’t believe you played without me,’ her voice repeated in his head again, his mouth going dry as he thought of her looking at him with a pout while saying this, her pretty doe eyes staring at him with nothing but desire hidden behind their gaze.

He kept his strokes slow and controlled. This is so fucking wrong, he thought. If she knew…he couldn’t even think of the possibilities. She’d be disgusted, she’d be so upset. Matt would never be able to show his face in a public setting again.

“How was your day?” Matt asked in a soft voice, afraid that if he spoke any louder, his own voice would betray him. He watched as the smile on her face grew and he felt his heart twinge. This is so wrong. What the fuck is wrong with me.

“Aww Matty, you do care!” She teased. Matt let out a breathy chuckle, hoping she couldn’t hear the rasp in his voice. She began to list off the many side quests she endured on her day off from work, and Matt listened to every single thing she had to say. His eyes focused on her lips as she spoke to him. Her lips are so pretty. Fuck, I wanna kiss her so bad. I wanna feel her lips on mine. She’d look so fucking pretty with my dick in her mouth. I wonder how much she’d be able to take. Would I have to fuck her throat to make it all fit? Would she drool on my cock while I fuck her pretty mouth?

“Matt?”

He tugged at his cock, letting out a soft exhale when he heard her voice. Please say my name again. Say my name again. It sounds so pretty coming from you, I’ve never liked my name more than when it’s being said by you. His mind wandered off once more. What positions does she like? Would she prefer missionary? She’d look so pretty under me while I fuck her, her tits would bounce so nicely with every thrust I make. Or would she want something more intense? Would she want me to take her from behind? Would she want to be in charge? What turns her on? Does she wear lingerie?

“Matt…?”

Matt grunted softly under his breath, the speed of his strokes increasing just barely enough to tell. He focused his attention back on the call. “H-Huh?”

“I asked what you did today,” she repeated. “Did you have a good day?”

It took a moment for her words to register in his brain, his mind foggy with lust and desire, his cock dripping with arousal. He gave his shaft a gentle squeeze, a low growl forming at the back of his throat. “It’s much better now,” he admitted, earning a giggle from her in return. He smiled. He loved being able to make her laugh. It was something that most people couldn’t do, but Matt did it so effortlessly. He took pride in it; even his brothers couldn’t make her laugh nearly as easily as Matt could. “Didn’t do much, just-“ he stopped, trying to think of something to say other than ‘i sat around beating off to your pictures all day’. He cleared his throat, a moan threatening to escape as the warmth in the pit of his tummy grew. “Just stayed in bed all day.”

She rolled her eyes again, and Matt felt his balls grow heavy with arousal, his thumb rubbing at his tip with each slow stroke he made. Matt’s lips parted; he wanted to moan so bad. He wanted her to see what she does to him. He wanted her to know just how badly he wanted her. His eyes became glossy as he lost himself in a daze, staring at her through the screen.

“Are you okay? You’re acting weird.”

Matt nodded, still not taking his hand out of his pants. This is so fucking wrong. Why am I doing this? I’m risking our entire friendship. “Hey, I uh- I gotta go,” Matt stated abruptly. He didn’t want to go. He never wanted to go a minute without her, but if he didn’t leave the call soon, he’d end up in a world of trouble for sure.

“Oh…okay, well call me ba-“

Click.

Matt dropped his phone down onto his desk and leaned back in his desk chair, his shaggy hair falling in front of his eyes, strands of his hair sticking to his forehead as a thin layer of sweat began to form at his brow. He pushed his sweats and boxers down just enough to free his cock, a moan escaping him. He tugged the bottom of his sweatshirt and t-shirt up so as to not ruin it, a ritual that had become engraved into his brain from the regular reoccurrence of it. He grunted softly, tugging at his shaft desperately, his eyes screwing shut.

I need her. I need to have her, all of her. I need to feel her and taste her. I want to be between her legs, I want to taste how sweet she is, I want to watch her fall apart from just my tongue. I want to feel her squirm and run her fingers through my hair. I want to hear her whine and beg for more. Matt fisted at his cock, his strokes much faster than before. His breathing was uneven and heavy, almost panting like an animal. He needed her, he hungered for her, he craved her. Something about it was so primal. Every time he saw her or heard her, he had a full body reaction, one that he couldn’t control even if he wanted to.

Although, he really didn’t want to.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned. As if on cue, his phone vibrated on his desk. His eyes fluttered open, a lustful dazed look glazing over his irises. He picked up his phone, a notification from snapchat flashing on his screen. Never ceasing his strokes, Matt opened the app and clicked on the new snap from her. His jaw went slack, pumping his cock in his fist even faster than before. He stared at her photo for much longer than he should have, but how could he not? She had her head tilted a bit, a confused look on her face with the words ‘not even a goodbye? so mean, matty’ printed across the photo.

“Fuck me,” he whimpered. She looks so cute when she’s confused. Fuck, the things I would do to paint her face with my cum while she looks at me like that…I’d probably get put on the FBI watchlist. He knew he needed to reply back soon, not wanting her to assume he was ignoring her. He just couldn’t bring himself to tap out of the photo. His cock ached, the desire building up inside of him. “Fuck, p-please,” he breathed out. Matt threw his head back, his strokes getting impossibly faster with each passing moment. Pre-cum oozed from his tip, his fist slick with his arousal.

Another snapchat notification from her came through and Matt inhaled sharply, tapping out of the photo and clicking on the new one. Matt choked out a whine, the muscles in his bicep tightening as he began to reach his high. “Fuck-“ he grunted. His breath caught in his throat as his mind went blank, pleasure coursing through his veins. It was like a drug to him. He couldn’t get enough of the feeling; It didn’t take long for him to get addicted to it, and soon enough once a day turned into twice a day, which turned into three times a day, which turned into too many fucking times to count.

He groaned, a string of vowels passing his lips, his jaw hanging low as he watched his cum spurt from his tip. He breathed in short heavy pants, slowing his strokes to ride out his orgasm. Five ribbons of white hot cum painted his lower stomach. His dick throbbed from the intensity of his orgasm and his body shivered as he slowly came down from his high.

It took a handful of minutes for Matt to realign his senses. His chest rose and fell with even breaths, his dick rested in the puddle of cum on his abdomen. He looked at his hand, his mess coating his fingers and his palm. I wonder if she’d lick my hand clean. Would she suck on my fingers? Would she look up at me with her infamous puppy dog eyes while she does it?

His eyes darted back to his phone, his heart racing as he quickly remembered that he still hadn’t replied to her. He groaned softly upon seeing her pretty face on his screen, her previous snap still on full display for him. He took another moment to admire her before tapping out of the photo. Matt quickly fixed his hair with his clean hand, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his forearm. He picked his phone back up and quickly snapped a photo of himself. He typed a response before sending it to her.

'Relax I'm here.'

'You costed me my battle royale.'

Matt waited for a response, not caring about the mess that still hadn’t been attended to. The nerves in his brain lit up like a Christmas tree as she opened his snap, the endorphins filling him with dopamine as she sent back another photo. He was quick to open it, not caring if she caught on to his eagerness.

'lol you're stupid. call me back when you're done :)'

He tucked his cock back into his boxers, pulling them back up along with his sweats. He stood up, holding the bottom seam of his shirt up, quickly making his way to the bathroom to clean himself up. He peeked out into the hallway, making sure Nick and Chris weren’t anywhere near before slipping into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

Matt cringed at the sticky feeling on his hand, quickly turning on the faucet at the sink, running his hand under the water to rinse most of his mess down the drain. He dried his hand, then grabbed a handful of tissues, cleaning up the rest of his cum before discarding the used tissues into the waste bin. He let his shirt fall down to cover his torso, his eyes landing on his reflection in the mirror. His gaze darted away, disgusted with what he saw.

You’re a terrible friend. If she ever found out, you’d be lucky to not have a restraining order against you. What the fuck is wrong with you. How can you even call yourself her best friend. You don’t deserve her.

He left the bathroom in a hurry, slipping back into his room, gently kicking the door shut behind him. He sat back down at his desk, picking up his phone once again.

Without a second thought, he opened his facetime app, clicking on her contact. The phone only rang twice before she answered, her pretty face illuminating the screen after the call connected. Matt offered her a warm smile, propping his phone up on his desk. “Sorry I hung up on you before,” he mumbled softly, scratching the back of his neck as his gaze landed on her. He picked his headset up off of his desk, holding it for her to see. “Wanna run duos with me?”

𝔄𝔲𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔯'𝔰 𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢: omg guys, what do we think is gonna happen?

𝔗𝔞𝔤𝔰:

#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo smut #i need him in a way that is concerning to feminism #sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo #matthew sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo smut #smut #bark bark bark #foaming at the mouth

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diorsluv · 9 months

Text

feather , part 25

“ not caring where you are tonight ”

series m. list previous chapter next chapter

( socialmedia!au )

lhughes_06

liked by yourusername, trevorzegras, rutgermcgroarty, and 99,376 others

lhughes_06 i got you blocked after this, an afterthought 🎶

tagged: yourusername

view all comments

markestapa YOU BLOCKED OUR SWEET AMAZING LIL DRIZZY??

→ lhughes_06 NO DUMBASS

→ markestapa HUH??

→ markestapa OHHHHHHH

→ lhughes_06 🙄🙄

yourusername hey that’s me!

→ lhughes_06 it’s you ☺️

yourusername also THE SABRINA CARPENTER REFERENCE??? i’ve taught you well

→ lhughes_06 yes you have

username24 the way luke is so blatantly professing his love

username48 i was a dryshughes supporter from the start 💪💪

trevorzegras atta boy

liked by lhughes_06

_quinnhughes fucking finally

→ lhughes_06 be quiet

dylanduke25 only took you 100,000,000, years

→ lhughes_06 did not

→ dylanduke25 did too

→ lhughes_06 liar

→ dylanduke25 truther

username38 oh so is that other girl finally gone

username79 y’all when i tell you i have the DRAMA

→ username64 don’t be shy share with the class

→ username79 apparently luke blocked her months ago but she keeps harassing the drysdales 🤷‍♀️

→ username22 the attention seeking is crazy ig

rutgermcgroarty fruity ass caption

→ lhughes_06 fuck off 🙄

→ rutgermcgroarty 🍏🍎🍐🍉🍇🍊🍓🍋🫐

mackie.samo did my pep talks finally get to you

→ lhughes_06 barely even pep talks but whatever helps you sleep at night

edwards.73 did bro finally do what i think he did

→ markestapa just found out he didn’t what a pussy

→ lhughes_06 I WILL I WILL just not rn 😔

jackhughes moosey grew some balls did he?

→ lhughes_06 stfu im telling on u

→ jackhughes was gonna say i’m proud but ig not

username40 other girl is out of the picture now

→ username59 she was never in the picture sweetie

username37 wait so was luke fr just fucking around w miss girl

→ username8 they probably jus hung out a few times but i don’t think they went that far

→ username13 but the smoochie smoochie posts????

→ username29 we’re all too deep in the dryshughes lore

jamie.drysdale yeah you better have blocked her

liked by lhughes_06

→ username66 protective jamie 🥹🥹

_alexturcotte AYEEE LUKEY BOY

adamfantilli YO????

username14 ITS FINALLY HAPPENING EVERYONE STAY CALM EVERYONE STAY FUCKING CALM

yourusername

liked by colecaufield, luca.fantilli, edwards.73, and 94,018 others

yourusername ridin in a getaway car 🚇

view all comments

trevorzegras is that not a fucking subway emoji in the caption of a post quoting our lord and savior taylor swift except the post is also in a FUCKING SUBWAY STATION

→ yourusername did not think this would evoke so much emotion from you trev

→ trevorzegras you used getaway car but it’s practically a damn train.

→ yourusername IM SORRYYY

→ jackhughes the paragraph…

luca.fantilli the yankees hat.

→ yourusername what r u gonna do abt it 🤨

→ luca.fantilli dont play w me 😒😒😒

_quinnhughes is that where u two went

→ username76 “u two” WHO

→ colecaufield was it a date 😱

→ yourusername it was not a date 🙅‍♀️🙅‍♀️

username71 oh my god is this what love feels like

→ username43 ask luke he can confirm (probably)

username9 body goals ahhhhh

markestapa stay safe on subways bc there’s a criminal minds episode where someone got killed in a subway station

→ yourusername bro that was like season 3??? it literally came out when we were KIDS

→ markestapa IT WAS A TERRORIST GROUP

→ yourusername oh my god you’re insane

→ markestapa if you die in a subway station just know i was right

jamie.drysdale who bought that drink bc ik it wasn’t u

→ yourusername how do u know

→ jamie.drysdale i can still see your credit card history

→ yourusername STOP.

→ lhughes_06 i bought it

→ jamie.drysdale such a gentleman lukey boy

rutgermcgroarty i do not understand your obsession with green-colored drinks

→ yourusername this is a judgement free zone

→ rutgermcgroarty ��️🤙✊

lhughes_06 solid pics

→ yourusername appreciate the compliment that was definitely meant for me

→ lhughes_06 but i mean that photographer just seems to be super talented

→ yourusername mhm!

→ lhughes_06 and super cute too

→ yourusername oh!! well!!!

→ lhughes_06 just overall a great person

→ yourusername ofc ofc!!!!

→ markestapa goddamn just say you’re fucking

username26 mother is mothering

username19 WHERE IS THE TOTE BAG FROMMM

username57 the outfit is so good!!

username65 i swear luke is putting his heart out on the line ready to risk it ALL

→ username31 i meannn i would do it too

edwards.73 you’re either real fuckin oblivious or real fuckin evil

→ yourusername maybe a little bit of both 🤫

dylanduke25 i swear to god if neither of you make a move i will do it for you

→ yourusername aw you’re no fun duker

→ dylanduke25 you’re killing me here

_alexturcotte i’m so damn invested in this relationship i’ve spent literal dollars on you two

→ yourusername LMAOOO

→ yourusername it’s okay tho ur rich

→ _alexturcotte is that all u see me as 😐

→ yourusername my rich, loving, amazing, kind, generous, honorary brother 🤗🤗

→ _alexturcotte there we go

→ jamie.drysdale i feel like i’m being disowned and replaced here 😕

next chapter notes ) i’m really milking it here w the luke being a simp but it’s okay because we love that do we not?? BUT THEY’RE NOT DATING YET and that last jamie reply.. i just realized that’s basically what just happened with the trade but uh! it’s okay bc he’s happy fairly short chap but i hope you enjoy it all the same

tags: @aliaology @hockeyboysarehot @absolutelyhugh3s @jackquinnswife @freds-slut @love4ldr @blueeyedbesson @43hughes @v1olentdelights @dancerbailey3 @random-human02 @ho3forfakeguys@loveforaugust

#luke hughes fanfic #luke hughes fic #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes x y/n #luke hughes #quinn hughes #jack hughes #alex turcotte #jamie drysdale #adam fantilli #cole caufield #trevor zegras #luca fantilli #ethan edwards #mark estapa #rutger mcgroarty #dylan duke #mackie samoskevich

320 notes · View notes

whorediaries-09 · 3 months

Note

ok so i had a thought, i want to write this but im not sure if its good, what if reader was like no. 1 ambassador of hookup culture and remus was an old-school hopeless romantic and these two would be like best friends and remus would like take her home while she's drunk and everything and one day they both just talk really flirtily while being tipsy and kiss on the road and fuck and start to date but then remus gets insecure abt whether reader thinks he's just a fling but then reader tell him i love you while being piss-drunk and vomits on his jacket right after and he just knows it was meant to be?

wolfstar variant you say?

burning flames or paradise;

pairing- remus lupin x reader warning(s)- hurt/comfort, substances. a/n- i left out the vomiting part cause it kind of gives me the icks. sorry!

little train.

'you didn't kiss me,' you say, pouting your lips. the taste of cherry wine lingers on your tongue. his amber eyes stare into yours, hot breathe craning your neck. amongst the drunk giggles of your friends and the party background, your ears stay perked solely for his words.

'you're too drunk,' he says, half bored, half bemused. it was no tell tale or word of mouth that you were flirty with literally everyone. the 'femme fatale'. the 'brand ambassador of hookup culture'. those were the nicknames that were notoriously famous for you during your school days.

but not once had you ever flirted with him. until tonight, when the cherry wine was high on your tongue, your words not in your control. he tried to reach out for the glass in your hands. you laughed, the sound contagious as always, pulling the glass away from his reach. he watches the liquid swirl before he stares into the glossiness of your eyes.

'won't you kiss me, lupin?' he shakes his head.

'why should i kiss you?'

you flatter your eyelashes, puckering your lips. as if asking for something. he's afraid he's way too sure about what you want.

and he might have just given it to you if you weren't so pissed drunk.

'because you don't actually want me to kiss you.'

you put the glass on the table. resting your back on the pillar behind you. he walks closer to you, so that he can hear you over the barring noise of the speaker.

'i think, lupin, its rather the other way around. its you who doesn't want to kiss me. you treat your mouth as if it's heaven's gate,'

'why should i kiss you anyways?' he asked. 'i don't remember us being in a relationship of that sort.'

you stick out your tongue, blowing a raspberry at him.

'at least take me home?'

the lights in your apartment are revolting and far too loud. the dopamine of last night still lingers. so does the ever present feeling of headache after a lot too many drinks. you rush through the drawers of your nightstand, searching for painkillers. otherwise you fear, you might just burst your head.

your eyes fall on a glass full of water, a coaster used as a lid to cover it. on top, there's a sachet of pills and a note with scribbled with a handwriting you recognize all too well.

you take the pills, sliding the note from between the wood and the glass.

'you fell asleep by the time i brought you home. take these pills. i know you'll need them.- love, lupin.'

the sunlight filtered through your curtains. a strange figment of fear crossed your heart, boiling it with trepid heat. you realized you'd fallen for your friend a few weeks ago-at least had a little crush on him.

you took the pills, chugging down the water. your drunk memories flashed in your head like a film. the faded memory of you asking him for a kiss popped in your mind. so did the one with him declining the offer.

did you mess up your friendship? god you hated yourself.

you crammed your face into the pillow, muffling your scream.

remus was surprised when he found you at your doorstep, wearing the scarf he'd knitted you on your birthday, flowers in your hand. and his favorite kind of chocolates.

'hi,'

'you should've said you were coming! i would've cleaned up...'

'come on you fold your socks, lupin. what are you on about?'

he smiled, an awkward curl of his lips. you leaned against the doorway. the smell of soup was distinct, stains on his apron visible. you noticed he wasn't wearing a t-shirt. just an apron. your eyes fell on scars on his shoulders, each telling a tale. some terrible, some horribly terrible.

'so you're just gonna stare at me or?'

fuck, you got distracted.

'you didn't ask me in,'

'you know you don't need to be asked in,' he said, moving as your footsteps faltered on his carpeted floor.

'what are you cooking?'

'sweet corn soup and some toast. didn't feel like making much,'

'lupin, that'll be my 5-star michelin cuisine if i had the energy to make that. now these, are for you,'

'for the record, you take your whiskey neat. and you take your coffee black at three. and what for?'

'you're drunk on life, and i think that's great. and these are as an...apology.'

he walked to the kitchen, turning off the stove.

'an apology...for what exactly?'

'oh, you know because i asked you to kiss me,'

'you asked me to kiss you. you didn't force me.' he says, sitting down beside you. there's a pregnant pause before you keep your hand on his thigh, letting your touch linger.

'it's okay,' he whispers. 'you were drunk.'

'i wasn't. i take my whiskey neat. a little bit of cherry wine does nothing to me.' he chuckles.

'you were piss drunk. you fell asleep on the way home! i had to call a cab midway.'

'accusations accusations,'

'are they?'

you stay silent. you let the charge in the air linger. you let embrace you, entangle you in its ruins. your eyes travel to his face. his dusty blonde hair tangled across his face. lips chapped, pale skin rosy with the bits of chilly air of autumn.

'why didn't you kiss me?'

'what?'

'i said, why didn't you kiss me?' your grip tightens around his thigh. 'i really like you, you know?'

'come on, don't be a bitter liar.'

'i'm not lying.'

he neared your face, hot breathe scanning your face.

'i would love to kiss you,' his hand cradles your cheek, finger on your lip, 'taste these beautiful, soft lips. but i'm afraid, i can't. i can't be a fling for you,'

'who says,' you whisper, nearing his face, touching your forehead with his. 'that you're a fling. i'm not lying. i really do like you. hell have you seen me hooking up with anyone recently? i do like you. just trust me, for once.'

'hopefully,' he says brushing his lips against yours, 'i can.'

'you can,' you confirm, thrusting your lips against him, your tongue loitering in his mouth, tasting him.

he really did treat his mouth like it was heaven's gate.

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taglist - @reggieisfit @siriuslycaptainofthedawntreader @jamespottergf @eternallybipanicking @fictional-magic @iamgayforyourmom1510

(if you want to be tagged please send a request through my inbox.)

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#harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #marauders #the marauders #marauders era #remus lupin #remus lupin x you #remus lupin smut #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin fanart #werewolf

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sugar-omi · 8 months

Note

Piggybacking off your last hc. Step 4 Cove DEFINITELY repays the favor when you are older. He forgives but he won't forget it. Once he gets more open and smug about it he waits until you aren't expecting it.

"Now you understand how I felt." With the biggest grin on his face. Absolutely ruining you for the foreseeable future.

YES YES YES THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT IM ALWAYS THINKING ABT !!!! i think this is from after i posted *this post. this draft has been sitting here awhile, im so sorry....

tags : NSFW, gn reader, dom/top cove, mayhaps a tad ooc, high libido cove+reader,

older cove becoming more confident in pleasing you, becomes less shy about all his desires and how much he wants you.

and now it's his turn to ruin you.

afterall, you edged and overstimulated him so many times. you've shamelessly begged for just one more round or "just let me get you off once, please?" and you two still ended up sneaking away from your friends or family for a quickie.

now it's his turn to beg for a quickie before you go to work.. "i'll make it worthwhile so please?..."

between those puppy eyes and the promise of the best head you could and will ever get in your life, you can't exactly say no~

even if he doesn't end up pulling you into the bed for a quick round before work, you end pulling him in.

one morning you were showering, cove on the other side of the curtain, fluttering about trying to get ready for the day

and you really did try to ignore your urges. you thought if maybe you just waited for him to finish brushing his teeth, you could shower in peace.

but distance makes the heart grow fonder, even if the only distance is a few feet between the shower and your bedroom, and your heart is your aching sex.

even when you slip your fingers into your cunt / wrap your hand around your cock, it isn't enough. you're e just fucking yourself on your fingers / into your hand so pitifully you can't ignore it anymore

cove almost laughs when you call for him, all pitiful needing him, needing his cock. anything. you just need him to make you cum

he'd be so torn between giving in and fucking you over the counter, and hopefully he either isn't dressed or isn't wearing his best pants because otherwise they'll end up soaked in water

doesn't matter, though, since he gets to see your lewd satisfied expressions in the mirror, and he gets to see you limp, melting into the counter after you finish

but he'd definitely consider leaving you pent up..

kisses you and tells you that you can do it when you get home, and if he's feeling bold, he'll outrightly tell you that if you behave, he'll fuck you once you get home <3

mmm we talked about this a long time ago, but not being able to cum without cove...

after all those years of bringing cove outta his shell sexually, practically training him to please you, and making him crave your body...

you didn't realize you were doing the same to yourself.

after all, you were the one fucking cove senseless and practically milking him.

sucking him off in the middle of your date, all the hot birthday sex, fucking him or being fucked by him...

oh and especially when you made him cum over and over again, pulling all you could from his poor cock until he all but sobbed about how he couldn't cum again

you loved how much he craved you, spurred on by the raging horiness of most teenagers, the two of you feeding off each other in that way, and hs tauntilizing partner

but now it's totally backfired on you, now you just feel restless when you finish by yourself. almost needing your boyfriend in order to have a satisfying orgasm

and some nights you do, more specifically the nights you and cove are apart

doesn't matter which one of you is away for work or just on a trip, cove preens when you call him, all breathless and needy, trying and failing to get yourself off

encourages you to tell him more, tell him how you need him.

i wonder if he'd make you facetime him so he can see how needy you are, see how much of a mess you make of yourself

promises to fuck you once you or him gets home

oh and he holds up to that promise, the luggage hitting the floor and he closes the door louder than he'd have liked, and fumbles to blindly get the locks and chain done up

will fuck you until there's tears in your eyea, if not rolling down your cheeks.

if he ends up fucking you all night, and you finish many more times before him..

well you did help build up his stamina, so you can't really blame him for being able to keep it up so long

he'd be happy to remind you of it as well!!

he'll have you caged between his arms, his hips pistoning into yours, the bed hitting the wall and you're on the verge of tears...

all while he's growling about how you spent so long teasing him, almost using him for a fucktoy when you were helplessly horny in the dead of night

how you used to always pull him aside or sneak in, how you two would take advantage of every second you had alone...

although he's happy to be gentle, that way he can enjoy pulling orgasm after orgasm out of you, and can devour the sight of your lewd expressions and loud moans

don't feel bad, though, for corrupting your sweet boyfriend, you two are soulmates after all, so you two can handle each other in desperate times like these, right? <33

#olba #our life: beginnings & always #cove holden #cove holden x reader #smut #cove holden smut

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eepyuii · 5 months

Text

frostbite — pt. 14

pairing ; childe x gender neutral!reader

content ; childhood friends to “rivals” to lovers, slowburn

cw ; mentions of scars (edit: im a fucking idiot i forgot they talk abt scars at the start of the chapter) and like… brief dottore mention, so u know it’s icky. also u guys will be mad at me.

notes ; AHHH!!!!! I LIVE!!!!! oh gosh so many hectic life events lately….. i hadnt been able to get my hands on this dang chapter for so long

anyhow, i was planning to publish this one early like a day or two ago with a reference to an arlecchino voiceline that was THEN a leak and not out yet, so i’m glad i waited and developed this one just a little more LOL

also good luck with everyone’s arle pulls!!! (better luck than mine i hope ;w;) just like childe and the reader at some point, WANTERS WILL BE HAVERS ‼️

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“agh— be more gentle!”

“i’ll be more gentle if you stop flinching away. you’re a war machine who can turn into an abyssal beast, withstand how draining it is to use it, hold your ground against a champion duelist but you can’t handle a little cotton ball soaked in alcohol?”

“well there’s no adrenaline anymore to remedy this sting, now, is there?”

it’s almost comically reminiscent of your meeting with childe back in zapolyarny palace, where he got himself hurt just to come tell you that he was to leave for liyue— feels like it was ages ago. childe leans against the elegant marble counter of your hotel room’s bathroom, pile of bloodied cottons and tissues piling by his hands, while you clean the fresh wounds he’s just acquired from clorinde.

from how much he flinches and hisses, the wounds almost seem grave… but they’re no more than a few scratches, slashes and bruises. after his witty remark, you can only attribute his absurd resilience during battle to the mentioned adrenaline— otherwise he wouldn’t have gotten nearly as far as he has with those reactions of his.

“so did you get what you wanted from that spar? how was it in comparison to your other tries?”

childe pauses thoughtfully and proceeds to pout.

“…i think she was still holding back. i need another spar.”

“gh-! are you kidding?! childe tartaglia ajax, i am not letting you resplit the forehead i just fixed up anytime soon.”

he sighs melancholy like a grounded child, but nods in agreement anyhow. childe’s eyes remain downward, he mindlessly fiddles with the hem of your shirt as he awaits patiently for you to finish tending to his wounds. once you finish, you scan him up and down to certify that you’ve taken care of everything, until your gaze is caught by his scars.

his war medals.

he’s got an insurmountable amount of them scattered all over his body and not one is like the other— some are large lashes most likely caused by weapons like axes or claymores; some are finer lines caused by swords or daggers; a few of them even look like different types of burns, likely the work of varied elemental catalysts; and some look like small stars or circles, probably the result of arrows or the tips of polearms.

the inches of his skin that his scars don’t cover are littered with the tiniest specs of freckles… ones you’ve barely had the privilege to see over the years as a result of living in eternally cold lands. it’s only been since you’ve both been to warmer regions like liyue, inazuma and now fontaine that you’ve began to notice them.

and you’ve found that the intricate, graceful tapestry that childe’s scars and freckles weave is… gorgeous.

it’s so uniquely mesmerizing that you nearly struggle to find a worthy comparison within words or the world around you. the closest one would be to a starry sky— you imagine that his freckles become the stars that remain stationary and furthest away in the night sky, small and bountiful, while his scars are the shooting stars that flash by in a vivid explosion of light.

it’s beautiful. he’s beautiful.

you’ve realized that you’re less afraid to admit this to yourself now. perhaps spending so much constant time with childe after such a while of misencounters and diverging schedules, has made you become more comfortable around him— to the point where you barely minded him childishly playing with the hem of your shirt. it feels fine, domestic even… almost in the same way that a coup—

“hey, why’re you staring so hard? am i not gonna make it, doc?”

you flinch as you’re snapped away from your train of thought, taking in how childe’s eyes flicker worriedly over your face. unfortunately, your mind isn’t freed from the grasp of your thoughts of… admiration and your gaze quickly flies over his scars once again. the delicacy of the moment, unexpectedly, fuels you with enough confidence to raise forward a hand that lightly grazes a particularly eye-catching gash on childe’s neck— the stretched healed skin ever so slightly bumping against your digits.

“nothing… j’st looking at your scars.” you answer absentmindedly.

beneath your hand, you feel his adam’s apple raise in a hearty gulp. next, childe inhales deeply and exhales a shuddered breath, as if an attempt to ground himself.

“what about ‘em?” he whispers expectantly.

“i like them.”

it’s as if you’ve gotten the liquid courage of a drink while being entirely sober, you’re surprised that you’ve done so much as let yourself say that out loud. though perhaps… that bewilderment might just be your downfall— within the thought, you notice just how close you and childe stand before each other. he leans against the bathroom counter in only the deep red undershirt of his uniform, eyes laser-guided onto your every move while you’re only a hair’s length away from him. his absurd height doesn’t help the moment either, as he’s forced to hunch over and his figure arches forward into you— it’s suffocating.

you can’t allow yourself to crumble and panic right now, it would absolutely destroy you for the rest of your life, so you opt to breathe deeply. childe watches intently as you do and returns it with his own deep sigh, one that you feel hit your face warmly the moment it leaves his lips and so it further capitalizes on just how obscenely close the two of you are— to the point where you breathe each other’s air.

childe’s piercing azure eyes move from matching your own to slightly further down on your face…

to your lips.

“yeah?” he mumbles in the most delicate tone possible, it’s not like you’re too far to hear anyway.

it’s an inexplicable magnetic pull that brings you the smidgenmost closer to him, it has to be so. it must be that same pull that brings you to look at his mouth— plump and pink, likely still store from the split at the corner of his bottom lip. and there’s no other possibility other than that damned magnet as to why your hands slide up to wrap around his neck, childe’s shyly snaking around your waist in response.

you don’t feel like you’re in a bathroom in a hotel room in fontaine anymore, you don’t feel like the seconds pass anymore. it’s a pocket between space and time that has enveloped the two of you, away from everything else.

and there’s nothing in this world left to do other than to lean just a breath closer to each other… just a little more and—

knock knock knock knock!

you flinch away faster than lightning, heart thudding ironically like thunder. childe also seems to have been entirely spooked by the knocks on the bedroom door and he pretends to bring his hand up to scratch something on his face, but you know very well he means to hide his glaringly flushed face— you know that because you do the very same, only you briskly step away to open the door instead.

outside the room, two fontainian officers greet you, though they seemingly go wide eyed for just a brief second as if you’re not who they expect to answer.

“forgive me, friend, this is… mr. tartaglia’s room, is it not?” one inquires.

you frown in suspicion, and you plan to not directly confirm the question as to pry exactly what business two policemen would have with childe. unfortunately, the devil decides to announce it himself by coming up behind you, arms crossed defensively.

“and what might be the problem, officer?” childe asks pointedly.

both officers simultaneously eye the two of you, the blushing idiots opening the door together, and proceed to share a knowing look. the first officer sighs while the second clears his throat awkwardly.

“we apologize for… intruding so abruptly but— mr. tartaglia, you are currently being suspected of being the culprit behind the serial disappearances of young women case. for the time being, you are under arrest and must face trial at the opera epiclese to make your case.”

…what.

“what?”

coincidentally, both you and childe exclaim at the same time— though, childe’s tone is rather condescendingly skeptical while yours is laced with pure, unadulterated shock.

the harbinger scoffs. “well, i can very confidently tell you right now that i didn’t do it.”

yeah, great way to clear any and all suspicion, man.

frustratedly pinching the bridge of your nose in an attempt to help you process the last five seconds, you sigh.

“i-i think what he means to say, officer, is that it’s not plausible for him to even be a suspect in this case. i mean— if i remember correctly, doesn’t that case extend for over twenty years? we’ve only been in fontaine for a few weeks! you can check our travel tickets, they’re dated. plus, we haven’t done anything even remotely disruptive while we’ve been here, both of us have multiple reliable alibi’s regarding our whereabouts over the past few days, and—“

the officer puts up a dismissive hand, effectively interrupting you. “please, leave this for the iudex to hear.”

a metallic jingling catches your attention and you see that the second policeman wordlessly produces handcuffs from his tool belt, the panic bubbles in your throat even further. childe’s shoulders visibly tense and it’s clear that he’s intent on fighting back— with once again lighting fast reflexes, you put a hand on his shoulder and throw him a warning look as a means to discreetly impede him. childe sighs frustratedly but ceases anyhow, allowing himself to be guided out of the room. out of pure illogical desperation, you chase after.

“don’t say anything hostile or stupid until we find you a lawyer! i promise you i’ll be right behind!” you call out as the three are at the other end of the hallway and catch a final look from childe, the emotion behind it is indescribable.

your chest feels overwhelmingly tight.

—

who knew such a resplendent room could be so suffocating.

it feels as though you’ve been waiting for an eternity and the intended comfort of the opera eplicese’s waiting room only serves to unnerve you more. the most important person in your life has just been abruptly accused of being a serial kidnapper and you’re supposed to indulge in sickeningly sweet pastries and tasteless tea? it’s almost derogatory.

your leg has become sore from how much it bounces restlessly, your nail plates scratchy from how much you fidget with them, all the paper napkins on the table sloppily folded into failed paper stars. none of it helps.

you can’t even decide what to worry about, all of it swirls and spirals in your head like a rumbling tornado. is he okay? are the officers treating him well? who will defend him? will he go to prison? for how long? when in the tsaritsa’s name will arlecchino retur—

the door slams open and you jump, partially with the abruptness of it and out of sheer panic to get some news on the situation. your heart starts palpitating again and it takes everything within your willpower to seem more put together in front of the knave.

“s-so?” you ask with an uncontrollable shake in voice.

“it’s invariable, childe must face trial and defend himself. we can only count on the factuality that he is innocent and the oratrice will say accordingly.”

you sigh, at least… whatever in the archons’ name constitutes that machine is infallible.

“the trial starts in five minutes.” arlecchino adds curtly.

you nod and allow yourself to take a deep, grounding breathe before standing up to leave the waiting room. as your hand reaches out to the doorknob, there is a firm grip on your shoulder. you turn ever so slightly to find a pointy-nailed, stark black hand holding you back— another moment to analyze the hand reveals to you that… that’s her skin. black.

a chill runs down your spine.

“allow me, for a moment, to ask a selfish question in exchange for a selfish answer, sargeant.” she stands, voice dark and menacing. “as an asset of the doctor’s… do you share his ideals?”

the question takes you off-guard but it also… doesn’t. you’re not an idiot— you’ve heard of dottore’s letters to the house of the hearth suggesting the, err.. ‘rejects’ be sent to his custody so he can further his experiments. you remember how utterly appalled you were when you first came across the information. if the knave truly cares about the children in her orphanage, it’s no wonder how tightly she grips your shoulder, sharp nails just a breath away from breaking skin.

and so she asks you selfishly, a question not of loyalty but of morality.

dottore’s face flashes before your eyes and your hand subconsciously tightens into a fist, expression hardening.

“if his life were in my hands, i’d crush it in a heartbeat.” you whisper bitterly.

the grip releases you and it’s as if air is easier to breathe after that. arlecchino wordlessly steps ahead to open the door for you and gestures for you to leave first, expression neutral as if nothing had happened.

the courtroom looks like no courtroom at all, rather you feel as though you’re about to watch an opera in a grand theater— the rumors about fontaine seem to be true after all. in the rows of cushy seats, people whisper and gossip endlessly until you find yourself a seat and the booming sound of a gavel being struck echoes through the court, all sound ceases.

“court is now in session for the case of serial disappearances of young women, today we will hear both the prosecution and defense’s arguments regarding mr. tartaglia of the fatui’s alleged involvement.”

a baritone voice echoes through the silent courtroom, the direction it rings out from reveals a white-haired man in proper blue robes, sitting in a balcony that floats above the courtroom’s stage. you recognize him as the iudex, the chief justice, monsieur neuvillette. his tone is elegant and intellectual, with complete considerate professionalism—- its cadence almost reminds you of zhongli in a sense. but that’s not all that reminds you of zhongli… you can’t quite put your finger on it though.

what follows is merely formal introductions from the prosecution and the defense and you take the opportunity to become distracted and ponder over just how catastrophic your morning had turned out. it all happened so quickly too— one second you were… ah… canoodling with childe and the next he was being escorted out the room by law enforcement. had you been cursed by the gods? would they be so cruel as to make every peaceful moment in your life just merely bedding for the next major inconvenience? would they be so frustratingly taunting as to let you get that close to the one you have feelings for only to rip you two away from each other right afterwards?

“it would appear i must repeat my question, mr. tartaglia.” neuvillette says firmly, catch your attention and breaking you from your daze.

“do you accept the charge that you are the true culprit behind the serial disappearances case?”

“to be perfectly honest, i don’t understand your country’s complicated court systems, or the reason why i’m being charged with something i’ve never even heard of.” the harbinger answers bluntly.

“however, i did hear that people who have been charged can choose to participate in a duel to clear their name— is that right? in that case, as long as i accept the charge, i can have an all out fight with that champion duelist clorinde, right?”

…

how can the supposed love of your life be this stupid?

“when i privately sparred with her last time, she was obviously holding back… real disappointing.”

“hey, don’t you understand? you’re currently the prime suspect for a major case! this isn’t the place for you to be looking for fights.” a female voice calls out from the balcony directly above where you seat— while you can’t see who it is, you can only assume from the bossiness of her tone that it’s lady furina herself, the hydro archon.

“oh? sounds like the hydro archon wants to lecture me on the ways of the opera house…” childe taunts. “then why don’t you duel me too? i’m the kind of students that learns best in the heat of battle.”

you’ll kill him, oh you’ll kill this idiot one day… does he want to rot in prison for the rest of his days? this time you truly cannot hold yourself back from subconsciously standing up in panic, limbs urging to get up there and try to amend the situation yourself by arguing like a normal, sane person— but the judging stares of the other spectators hinder you glued to your seat out of sheer embarrassment.

“alas, it would appear that communication with the defendant is going poorly, and we have made very little progress.” neuvillette intervenes. “in that case, let me explain everything from the very beginning again. the goal of this trial is to determine the culprit behind the serial disappearances case—“

“that case had nothing to do with him! you’ve got the wrong man!”

huh? …who said that? did that not come out of your own mouth? seems like something you’d blur out… instead it comes from a flamboyantly dressed blonde woman who bursts into the courtroom at that very second. to you, she nearly seemed angelic in the moment.

“miss navia, this is the second time you’ve interrupted the court proceedings. i only tolerated your behavior last time because you were able to provide the court with a key eyewitness. but that was exception rather than standard court protocol— i can very well charge you with contempt of court for your interjections.”

“oh please, did you ever think i had any respect for this place’s pointless theatrics?” navia scoffs.

“we can put aside that discussion for now, i’m not here to argue with you. i’m here to charge the true culprit behind the serial disappearances case. and if my charges prove true, the tartaglia here will be proven innocent by default, correct?”

neuvillette proceeds to dismiss childe from the stand to make way for navia and allows him to seat in the audience and you feel like you should owe this lady your life. childe’s eyes scan through the seats and when he spots you, he visibly lights up and beelines to the seat next to yours.

“challenging the hydro archon? really?” you whisper playfully.

childe contains himself not to laugh loudly. “can’t say it wasn’t worth the shot.”

it’s as if a wordless conversation settles between the two of you, silent glances and deep sighs that express the mutual hopefulness for a good outcome of this trial. after a solid few seconds of staring at each other like fools, childe’s gaze drops down, you follow it to see his gloved palm sat in the armrest between the two of you— it faces outward in an invitation. your hand joins his without thought and the second your skin registers the warmth that radiates from his hold, it’s like an electric shock runs through your veins. one so buzzing that makes you two simultaneously face away from each other to hide your burning cheeks.

you’d like to pretend that you’re paying attention to the trial, but the ever so gentle squeezes childe hand gives yours periodically seem to take up all of your focus and cause it to short circuit. suddenly, there’s another burst of the courtroom’s doors and there stand the traveler and paimon, because of course they’re somehow also involved in this.

“naviaaa, we’re back!” paimon calls out.

“as expected of my partner! i just knew you’d come back in the nick of time!”

“just how often do you intend to flout the rules of this court…” neuvillette mutters disappointedly.

the traveler’s appearance contributes new evidence towards navia’s favor, who expertly disperses all of the oppositions statements. the culprit is revealed to be a man by the name of vacher, who was intent on bringing back his dear vigneire to the point where he began dissolving innocent young women with primordial seawater. as overtly ridiculous as fontaine’s spectacle culture seemed to be, you couldn’t say that watching this trial play out wasn’t extremely entertaining.

but speaking of innocent…

“at this point, the verdict of this trial is clear. with mr. marcel’s conviction, the charges against mr. tartaglia no longer hold any basis.”

you giddily look over at childe, who seems as aloof as someone who didn’t worry for a second. your fingertips tingle with excitement and you can feel the stress evaporate off your shoulders in real time. neuvillette summarizes the entire case once more and submits the verdict to the oratrice— the machine hums loudly and flashes a blinding blue, producing an envelope finally confirming his guilty status. much to unspoken disappointment, childe lets go of your hand to stand with his chest proudly puffed up.

“well now, hasn’t this been the most delicious piece of drama? the villain has been caught, justice has been served, pas wrongs have been righted and it’s a bit ol happy ending… since it’s been such a great show, i’ll just let the false accusations against me slide. either way, i’ve still got some business to attend to, so if you’ll excuse me—“

the harbinger looks back to offer you his hand once more and you happily take it before childe begins to lead you two out of the room. unfortunately, the guards at the doors of the courtroom remain unmoving as they block the doors and you frown in confusion.

“please wait just one moment, mr. tartaglia.” says the iudex.

“oh, what now? none of this has anything to do with me.” childe groans.

“according to court protocol, since this trial was initiated due to a charge against you, a verdict must also be made regarding the initial charge before the trial can conclude.”

you sigh out of selfish frustration, but opt to respect the proceedings anyhow— it’s not like the verdict will change now. childe, on the other hand, voices his annoyance like a petulant kid.

“please respect the laws of fontaine. this has always been the rule.”

“it’s fine, we’ll just have to wait here a few little seconds more.” you whisper to childe coaxingly.

he sighs. “alright alright, but this has been a lot of hassle. all i need is to stand over there, right? let’s just get this over with…”

“through evidence presented in the public trial that was just held, it has been established that mr. tartaglia has no direct connection to the serial disappearances case. the guilty party has been established and thus, it is logical to suppose mr. tartaglia is innocent of the charges.”

the machine whirrs once more, stirring some curiosity within you as to what exactly makes it tick or give accurate verdicts at all. as the envelope reaches the chief justice’s hands, he seems to stutter for a moment as he reads it. neuvillette’s ever so stoic face falls slightly into a vexed frown and he hums in confusion.

“according to the judgment of the oratrice mechanique d’analyse cardinale, mr. tartaglia is— guilty.”

taglist ; @kentply @osaemu @rain-and-a-nice-nap @koichirana

#genshin impact fic #childe genshin x reader #childe imagines #childe x reader #childe x y/n #childe x you #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #childe fic #tartaglia x y/n #tartaglia x you #childe tartaglia ajax #tartagalia genshin impact #tartaglia x reader

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l44serbeam · 1 year

Note

Have you ever considered Mechanic!abby 🫣 like peeking up readers skirt from under that lil roller thing covered in grease😩 girls deserve to be pounded on the hood of a truck as a treat

OOOUUUUUUUU🙈🙈🙈😝😝🫦🫦 i like how ur mind thinks

i kinda got carried away and ended up with this detailed creation LOL i’ve been wanting to write abt abby for a while and took advantage of this request

— OIL CHANGE ★ 𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

warnings: y/n is quite the raunchy gyal, y/n also has like a sorta y2k hot pink fem vibe, lowk perv abby, mentions of drinking, pet names, smut, heavy petting, oral (r!receiving), making out, the knee thing (ikik it has a clutch on my im j rlly gay)

yall read the requestttt😝😝

not proofread

“Lev!”

Silence.

“Leeeeeevvvv!!”

Silence.

“LEV!!”

“Um. I don’t think Lev is here.” A voice chipped from the front desk.

Abby tumbled through the door from the backroom of the auto-shop behind the counter, her face pink from what could’ve been heat or embarrassment and her eyes wide.

“Uh- Im so sorry I thought he was still around. I mean, he was like five seconds ago.” Abby laughed, her hand scratching the back of her neck. Y/n laughed, leaning her elbows on the counter.

“What you doing here y/n?” Abby asked, surprised by the sudden appearance. Abby had known y/n from around. She was a friend of many of Abbys friends and the two had partied together a few times, but had never actually gotten to know each other privately.

Pretty much all Abby knew about in regards to y/n was that she was incredibly attracted to her. The very first time they’d met, their friend having brought them both along to a party at a club a few months ago, Abby had interacted with the girl and immediately wanted her. Her hot pink dress that hugged her figure tightly and lips that glimmered with gloss that night called to her. Her cheeky and brazen personality read brat all over it with tons of pink glitter dumped on it and Abby wanted a taste of it.

Now was the first time Abbyd seen her in a casual situation and she couldn’t help but swallow harshly at the sight that her style didnt water down even slightly on a daily basis.

Her tightly cropped pink long sleeve, the hem of the sleeves decorated with a lighter pink fur, and tiny denim skirt that showed the entirety of her legs had Abby eyeing her up and down the second she caught a glimpse of her full figure.

“Needed to get the oil of my car changed and i remembered that youre like the car genius.” Y/n said, batting her eyelashes prettily at the muscular girl.

Oh she shouldnt be real. Abby thought to herself.

“You’ve come to the right place pretty. Pull the car round back.” She instructed, throwing a hand towel over her shoulder.

“Yes ma’am.” Y/n said coyly, walking backwards for a second to flash a slick smile, then turn around and walk out, Abbys eyes pasted on the back of her legs the seconds she turned. Her eyes lingered, like if she stared hard enough the skirt would lift even the slightest of an inch and show the bottom of the supple skin of her ass.

When Abby caught herself staring, she shook her harshly. You’re worse than a man. She reprimanded herself.

Walking out to the back, Abby set up her tools as she watched y/n pull into the marked spot on the concrete, her black ford fiesta decorated with stickers in the bumper and there was a thin pink line that was painted onto the sides. Abby couldn’t help but giggle at the large pink dices hanging from the interior rearview mirror.

Abby loved y/ns femininity and the way she wore it with no remorse or hesitation. She wore it for no one but herself. The men that dogged after her faced brutal rejection because she didn’t dress like that to appeal to them. No, she didn’t even like men like that. She did it because thats who she is.

And oooohhh the way that made Abby feel.

As y/n hopped out of her car, throwin her keys and purse into the passengers seat and shutting the door.

“Mk you can sit over there this wont take long.” Abby said, pointing to the row of chairs against the wall next to the car.

“Ou how luxurious.” Y/n sneered. Walking towards them.

Abby snorted and began getting to work, placing a tire lifter under one of the tires and securing it in the air.

Y/ns eyes lingered on Abbys arm as she pumped the car up, her braid falling over her shoulder and to hang next to her face. Her white tank was already painted with grease from her past jobs. In all honesty, y/n was at the car shop for more than just an oil change.

Saturday from last week was why she was really there. A party at a gay club that their mutual friend invited them both to and after an hour there led to Abby and y/n having quite the tantalizing conversation. A few shots of tequila in, Abby ended up sat on a bar stool, y/n standing between her legs slightly too close to me merely friendly. They’d interchanged slight backstories like where they worked, how they met their mutual friends, and the recents of their love life. That was the main reason that y/n was here.

Nah im not seeing anyone. Not looking for nothing serious really just like wanna fuck around with pretty girls. Abby said, close to y/ns face as to hear each other over the music.

If you’re fucking around with pretty girls than how come we haven’t. She responded, turning her head to talk into Abbys ear with a sly smile.

What do you think im trying to do right now dummy?

But that night ended up with y/n running out the club with her friend who was drunk beyond comprehension, rushing to get an uber to take the two of them to her house.

Y/n loved her friends and would never be mad at having to take care of them in a given situation, but damn it if she said she wasn’t cursing her friend shed be lying for losing the developing flow between her and Abby.

So when her friend had suggested to y/n she should get her oil changed, she caught the opportunity shes been looking for to get ahold of Abby, considering they never got the chance to interchange numbers before y/n had to leave.

Y/n was distracted from her phone when she heard Abby say something from under the car, her back laid on a wooden rolling plank to slide in and out from under.

“Sorry what?” Y/n asked, standing up and walking to the side Abby was.

“When was the last time you got it changed?” She repeated, Sliding out from under and sitting up, to wipe her hands.

“Hmmm like a year and a half maybe?” Y/n shrugged.

“Should’ve called me up sooner.” Abby said, looking up at the girl from her seat.

“I would’ve if i had a way to do so.” She responded, crossing her hands in front of her chest and leaning back against the pillar next to the parking stop.

“You have to light three candles and say my name into a mirror.” She quipped, making y/n laugh.

Suddenly, y/ns phone rang urgently and she looked down at the contact.

“One sec.” She said before answering, pushing herself off the pillar and turning around.

Abby laid back down on the plank, ready to go back under the car but before she did shoe caught a glimpse of lilac between y/ns thighs. From this angle, Abby had a clear view of y/n’s ass, the soft supple skin that peaked down. Abby couldn’t help but lick her lips, rather excited by the view.

Abruptly, y/n turned back around which sent Abby to frantically whip her head and search around her for some tool she didn’t even know she was looking for.

Little known to her, Y/n had caught it, realizing exactly what Abby saw.

I knew wearing good panties would pay off.

Y/n hung up the phone and walked towards Abby. “Sorry it was a friend of mine. Lost her cat and shes freaking.”

“Don’t worry. This shouldn’t take that much longer.” Abby said, going back under the car on the plank and continuing her work.

Y/n stood watching Abby work, her knees bent out from under the car, being lifted enough for y/n to see glimpses of Abbys arms and face. God she wanted her.

Walking up to the car, she leaned against it next to where Abby laid. “So what have you been up to? Been fucking around with some pretty girls lately?” She snorted.

Abby chuckled from underneath. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” She responded, her sultry voice muffled.

“Im just so curious Ab.” Y/n giggled, extending the o in so.

Abby rolled back out from under the car and laid eyes on the girl standing against the car, her arms crossed in-front of her chest and her legs crossed over each other. She had a mischievous glimpse in her eye, one that Abby wasn’t sure how to dissect considering it was always present in her eyes.

Y/n brought her leg forward and lightly kicked Abbys leg with her platform.

As she extended her leg, from beneath Abby could clearly see her clothes mound, her eyes frantically running around trying to avoid looking so obvious. When her eyes fell onto y/n’s own, she saw the bashful smirk on her lips and the tilt of her head.

She knows exactly what shes doing.

Abby stood up, quickly towering over the girl in pink. Out of instinct, y/n pressed her back against the car as Abby got closer.

“Is this what you came down here for?” Abby sneered, darkness growing within her eyes. Y/n looked up at the muscular girl with round eyes, her bottom lip catching in between her teeth.

“What is it baby? You want me to fuck you, is that it?” She said, confidence bubbling in her chest as y/n’s hand pressed onto her chest and looked up at her.

“You’ve kept me waiting Abs.” Y/n groaned.

“Me?” Abby chuckled, her hands coming up to the girls waist. “You’re the one that left running the other night.”

Before y/n could even think of replying, Abbys lips pounced on hers, the kiss immediately heated and desperate.

Their bodies pushed and pulled against one another’s, hands clawing at each other and the noises coming from their mouths obscene.

Abbys lips jumped from y/n’s own and onto her neck, biting and sucking at the space below her ear. Y/n breathed heavily, faint whines leaving her lips at the feeling of Abbys knee pressing against her clit, the heat of the denim and cotton in between their bodies sending bolts through y/ns spine.

Abbys hand wandered below y/ns top, her hand kneading and palming her breasts, the combination of stimulation making y/n automatically rock her hips lightly against Abbys thigh, searching for any kind of release.

Abbys tongue shot into y/n’s mouth to drown the growing moans tumbling from her lips.

“Keep quiet for me pretty girl.” Abby instructed before collapsing to her knees before the pink clothes girl.

“Fuck.” Y/n hissed under her breath at the sight of the larger girl sitting on her knees and looking up at her, her fingers hooking onto the lilac panties blocking her way.

“This ok?” Abby asked, her thumbs caressing the soft skin on y/n’s hips. She desperately nodded im response, Abby shaking her head.

“No baby, words.” She instructed.

“Yes Abby- please.” y/n babbled, her hands coming to push strands of hair that had falles out of Abbys braid behind her ear.

With a shit eating grin, Abby pulled down y/ns panties, wetness pooling on the material that made Abby groan.

Diving beneath the skirt, she didn’t wait for a second to lick a long, painfully slow stride along her, separating y/ns and ending with a flick on her clit.

One of y/ns hands flew to the back of Abbys head, the other cupping over her mouth to stifle the moans that fell from her lips.

Abby went to town on y/ns burning pussy, sucking and flicking in places that made y/ns body twitch and whine.

Her tongue caught itself in y/ns clenched hole, teasing it repeatedly as she felt y/n pulsate around nothing, pleadingly trying to grip onto anything given.

“Oh fuck Abby.” Y/n mewled, making Abby groan into her, the vibrations on her clit making her to fold forward slightly.

Abbys hand came to the back of y/n’s thigh, lifting it up and placing the back of her knee on her shoulder, the newfound angle almost making y/n scream as Abby went down on her.

“Shit Abby- Im close.” Y/n moaned, her grip on the girls hair tight and burning, making Abby more and more feral by the second as Y/n’s hips rocked against her face.

“Cum for me baby.” Abby mumbled into y/n’s mound, the very vibrations of her words sending y/n over the edge.

Y/n’s legs shook, her thighs coming to squeeze around Abbys head, her mouth falling open and her eyes squeezing shut. The rope within y/n’s stomach snapped and Abby didn’t falter her lapping on her pussy, breathing in and licking up all of y/w wetness as it dripped down her chin.

When y/n’s moans of pleasure started becoming whines of overstimulation, Abby separated, pulling up y/n panties that rested at her ankles.

When she stood back up, y/n immediately gripped her by the back of the neck and slammed into her, tasting her own juices on her lips.

“You’re good at that.” y/n laughed lightly as the two barely separated.

“Why thank you.” Abby snickered back.

Y/ns phone rang, sitting on the top of the car. When she reached for it and saw the contact, she sighed, swiping to pick up the call.

“Yes?” Y/n said sourly into the phone, Abby smiling into her neck at her attitude as she pressed kisses into it. “Are you for real right now?” She groaned. “Ill be there in 30.”

Y/n hung up the phone and Abby rose her head again. “The change is done. I just gotta make sure everything screwed it well.” Abby said, her face not even closely suiting the words coming out if her mouth considering she had a big smile plastered onto her lips.

“Perfect. What do i owe you?” Y/n asked referring to the oil change.

“A date.” Abby said without hesitation.

Y/n laughed at the sureness and placed her hand on Abbys chest.

“Consider it paid.”

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