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a-kaash-me-outside · 2 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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yourmidnightlover · 3 years

Text

ssa hotchner: chapter 2 - one week

TW: threats, language, talking abt abuse/what happened to y/n the night before, mild drinking

WC: 5,116

series masterlist

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you woke up to the bright sun peeking in through your window past the hills, shining brightly into your eyes. you sat up, and rubbed your eyes in attempt to wake yourself up even more. you looked over at your clock to see the tie was already half past 6 a.m.

you didn't have to go to work for the first time in what felt like forever. trudging out of bed, you made your way into your bathroom and started the hot water.

the cut on your face looks exponentially better than it did last night. the handprint's swelling on your face had gone down quite a bit, but the bruise on your arm was definitely still there.

you brushed your teeth while you waited on the water to warm up. once the shower was ready, you shed your clothes and hopped inside. you took your time, letting the events of last night try to sink into your mind.

after you finished up, you used a towel to dry your hair a bit and got dressed in some leggings and a large t-shirt. you figured you might as well be comfortable if you didn't have anything else to do.

going back into your living room you decided to read the note that was taped to your gate. you pulled the bin out, followed by the shoe box, followed by the note.

you've been receiving them for close to 7 years now, ever since that high profile case you did for the bau. honestly, there was no telling if the letters were from more than one person. they are all typed and printed out.

at first they were all 'thank yous' for putting away a serial killer, but then came the anniversary of him being in prison... and people got a bit angry. then, people who were grateful for you putting him away forgot about it, as they should since they have lives of their own, and all that was left were the people who were angry.

the people who would wish you were dead. the people who think you should be inside there with the other killers. the people who were upset about you putting their 'true love' away for good. those were the people you were scared of.

the people that knew your address.

the people that sent you death threats.

those were the terrifying ones. the ones that kept you up at night, looking out of your window, trying to see if anyone was truly out there. nobody ever was. logically, you knew that nobody was out there lurking.

but if you told big bro, he would go all fbi on the letters. he would try to figure out who sent them, and send them to jail themselves. you didn't know if they were truly a threat, so what's the point in poking the bear? if they got too terrible, you would tell him. maybe...

you son of a bitch. you should've been his last victim so you wouldn't be here and he would be. you're nothing but a manipulative little bitch.

you don't deserve anything you have handed to you.

go die, bastard.

you folded it back up and placed it in the box, the bin, then pushed it underneath the couch.

were you worried? of course. would you tell anyone? not yet. if your fear became unmanageable, you would let someone know.

the only problem with the notes is that there was no return address. you put up security cameras everywhere around your gate in hopes of catching the culprit(s) on video, but sadly they were able to hack into the cameras you had gotten.

you would check the video footage after you received a note or picture. the time stamp went from 8:54 to 9:03, meaning they probably hacked into it before they got there.

maybe garcia could find whoever hacked into it every night if you needed her to. surely she would be able to work her magic when necessary.

you went into your room to check your phone for any new messages.

a <3: what're you doing for lunch today? feel up to spending time together two days in a row? let me know whenever you can; there's no case today.

you: i don't have any plans at all today, i guess i'll just have to suffer through another lunch with you.

and... sent.

unknown number: hi, y/n. it's spencer. i just wanted to know how're you doing? is the cut on your face okay?

you: hey back genius :) i'm doing pretty well, all things considered. my face is looking much better than it was before i went to bed, thank you for asking.

send.

while waiting for a response, you decided to clean the house a bit. you vacuumed your rugs, washed the dishes in your sink, did your laundry, and that was pretty much all you had to do today. everything done before 10 a.m.

checking your phone, there were two more messages, one from each of the guys.

a <3: great! would you mind just meeting me at the office around 11:30?

you: that's no problem at all. any place in mind?

you checked the other message from spencer.

spencer :) : i'm glad you're doing well, y/n. and to clear things up, your face didn't look bad at all last night, bruise and cut included.

what a little charmer...

you: thanks for the clarity, it's very appreciated. so how've you been since last night? save any other damsels in distress?

you put your phone down and decided to start getting ready. you opted for some blue jeans, high rise, and a lavender halter top. you paired that with some white high-top converse and threw on your gray blazer spencer brought you from last night, after you retrieved it from the dryer.

wearing something so casual, you decided to just wear your natural hair to the office. you did, however, need to cover the remnants of your adventure last night so aaron wouldn't be upset upon seeing something.

you used some good ol' color corrector, concealer, a bit of foundation, and some powder to cover the bruises and fail to disguise the cut. then again, there's not much that can be done to cover that up.

you checked the time on your phone, 10:53, and saw two more message notifications.

a <3: i was thinking about ordering some mexican food to the office so we could just stay there.

you: i'm good with anything, so that sounds great! i'll see you soon.

you sent the message and hopped over to the one spencer had sent you.

spencer :) : sadly, no other damsels. although i suppose that could be considered a good thing to most. oh! and if you were wondering, i got your number from garcia. i wasn't stalking you or anything, no worries.

you: yes, i'm glad i was the only damsel in need of saving last night. also, if i were to find out you had been stalking me, i don't think i'd be afraid. in fact, i'd probably be more flattered that THE dr. spencer reid would consider me stalk-worthy.

was it flirtatious? yes. would it make him flustered? probably. would i enjoy being the person that flustered him? absolutely.

sent.

you got into your car and began the journey to quantico. the drive isn't very long, only about twenty minutes. you hopped out of the car, and made your way to the front desk to check in. looking over your shoulder, you saw none other than spencer reid walking up to you before the woman gave you your visitor's badge.

"hi there, damsel," spencer smiled as he greeted you. you walked closer to him after thanking the lady.

"hey, hero," you laughed as you both got closer. "is it too soon to hug you?"

"oh, uhm... not at all. i was actually-yes. i do want to- i'm just gonna..." he stuttered as he opened his arms for you to snuggle into.

"i like your hugs," you surprisingly announced.

"th-thank you," he smiled as he rested his chin on your head, secretly enjoying the coconutty scent that wafted off your hair into his nose.

"yea this is gonna be the new greeting tactic for us. just saying," you huffed into his chest.

"i wouldn't mind that at all," he laughed before you pulled back from his embrace, giving his shoulders a little squeeze before relinquishing all contact.

"okay, i'm here to see aaron. i'm assuming he's in his office, like always?" you rose one eyebrow in question before feeling a hand on your shoulder, turning to see aaron.

"i'm not always in my office," he rebutted as he embraced you in his arms. "how are you?" he asked nicely.

"i'm good! i hope you aren't overworking yourself like you usually tend to do," you voiced into his chest. he pulled back, not releasing your shoulders but looking deeply at your face.

"what's that?" he pointed to your cheekbone, his brows furrowing in concentration.

"oh, pshh. it's nothing," you shrugged as you waved his hand off, noticing spencer behind aaron with a look on his face that suggested you tell your brother what it was.

"y/n. what happened?" he pushed, giving you his 'brother' look.

"fine," you huffed. "i was gonna have to explain it eventually," you rolled your eyes. "last night before i left, ron got a bit handsy. before he did too much, spencer showed up to return my jacket. things got out of hand, ron might've slapped me, spencer might've pushed him against a wall, all's well that ends well," you grinned in hopes that he wouldn't have understood a word you just uttered.

"ron slapped you?" he asked in disbelief, his face still showing no emotion as per usual.

"yea, but spencer stopped him before he got to do anything else. oh! i don't have a job at all anymore, so i'm free for the next two weeks," you pressed your lips together.

"reid was there?" he turned to face spencer, who's face looked like a deer in the headlights.

"yup. i don't know what would've happened if he didn't show up. i really owe him, aaron," you said, trying to calm your brother down from the edge he was not-so-clearly teetering on.

"well, reid. uhh, thank you. and y/n. you should've told me this the second it happened," he ordered, looking at you shooting daggers.

"sir, yes, sir," you nodded off. "i'm sorry i didn't tell you. i just knew you'd be upset and i figured since everything's okay now that it wasn't important," you shrugged, trying to diffuse the situation.

"it is important. it will always be important because you're important to me," he emphasized before taking a deep breath. "as long as you'll tell me next time i think i'll be okay."

"great! now when's the food supposed to get here because... food," you excitedly asked as you followed aaron as he turned to go to his office.

"it'll be here in about 10 more minutes," he announced as he motioned for her to sit beside him in the chairs in front of his desk. "so... what's the full story of what happened?"

"are we really gonna talk about that right now?" you huffed, clearly over the situation from last night.

"yes. we are. harassment is a serious issue that should be dealt with accordingly. you know that, y/n," he reasoned, propping his arm on his desk as he looked at you with his stern face.

"i do know that. i also know that he only ever did that to me. he has a wife and two kids; he'd never do anything to put them in jeopardy," you announced, trying to convince aaron not to press the issue any further.

"but he would be willing to risk a law suit from you because of what happened?" he questioned in defiance, not accepting the ask to drop it.

"i wouldn't give him a law suit, aaron. you know that," you remarked, leaning in towards him slightly.

"you should. logically, you should sue him for hitting you. and i'm assuming for whatever else he's done to you in the past," he corrected you.

"how do you know he's done anything in the past?" you questioned, aaron nodding his head to the side. "right. profiler," you sighed. "look, he used to call me names i'm uncomfortable with, but now i won't have to deal with him. i don't work there anymore and never will again."

"you may not work there, but what if another woman starts working in the office? who's to say he won't harass them as well?" you looked down into your lap, fondling your fingers in avoidance. "look, i'm not trying to be rude about it. i just don't like seeing you hurt, and to know that the guy who hurt you isn't getting anything done to him is ludicrous."

"i know. you've always looked out for me since we were kids, but i'm not a kid anymore. i'm a grown woman and can take care of my own business when i need to," you replied softly, placing your hand over top aaron's in comfort. "but thank you, for always caring. i know you do it because you love me, even though you don't say it often," you laughed, trying to bring some light hearted-ness to the situation.

"i do..." he nodded along. "love you, that is," he added with a rare smile.

aaron has always been there for you. ever since you were kids, because of you dad he would take the role of protector for both you, sean, and your mom.

because of his role of 'protector,' he has this external shell that he feels as though he can't shed. in his mind, if he sheds it he's not able to mask his feelings, leaving not only himself but also those he protects vulnerable.

"i love you too, a.," you smiled back, giving his hand a gentle squeeze before releasing it from your grip. aaron took his phone and checked the time.

"the food's here now," he announced as he went to go pick it up from the front desk.

when he returned he gave you the food and you began to eat together, him telling you the latest garcia story that got quite the kick out of you until his attention went elsewhere.

"... so...?" aaron asked sneakily, a sly grin appearing on his face.

"... so what?" you furrowed your brows in question as you took a sip of your drink.

"you and reid, huh?" he widened his eyes in suspicion.

"what about me and reid?" you wanted to press him further, even though you knew exactly what he meant.

"that's exactly what i would like to know. what's going on with you and reid?" he finalized, pointing his fork accusingly at you.

"nothings going on with me and spencer," you raised your hands in defense. "i just drove him home after he intervened in the... situation, last night so i made sure to thank him. he texted me earlier today to ask me how i was holding up after yesterday evening- like a gentleman," you pointed out, raising your eyebrows to establish some sort of dominance you knew you didn't have over your brother.

"right," he said in a sing-song voice, you rolled your eyes at his tone.

"shut up," you scoffed as you threw away each of yours' trash. "so, i think it's time for me to go," you smiled as you turned to face aaron from the doorway.

"ahh, right," he sighed with a small grin. "i actually talked to strauss about getting you onto the team," he raised his eyebrows.

"did you, now?" you smirked. "what'd she say about it?"

"she said that you'd need to fill out an application, and that if you were to be hired there'd be a trial run first to see if everything would work out smoothly," he announced happily.

"really? so there's a chance i could work here?!" you squealed, rubbing your lips into a tight line from the excitement.

"a pretty good one, at that. i actually have an application right," he reached over his desk to retrieve a couple pages stapled together, "here," he smiled, handing you the application forms.

"oh my gosh!" you shouted, throwing your arms over your brother's stomach and squeezing him tightly. "this is so exciting! do you think i'm actually qualified?" you asked, pulling back from his embrace.

"are you kidding? of course you are?" he asked incredulously. "just fill those out, return them to strauss, and i'm sure she'll review them quickly," he nodded.

"right. i'll get going now," you smiled widely. "thank you, a. thank you so much," you said, giving him one last hug before you whooshed out of the door, papers in hand.

you walked down the stairs and out of the glass doors towards the elevator. the doors started to close after you pressed the 'lobby' button, but there was a brown satchel stuffed between them to stop the from closing right before they shut. once thy opened back up, you noticed who the bag belonged to.

"hey, spencer," you smiled, scooting over in the elevator to make more room for him.

"hey, y/n. how was your lunch?" he asked, returning your smile.

"it was pretty good. aaron gave me an application for the bau, which is very exciting," you bit back a wide grin.

"really?" he asked happily, his eyebrows raised, you nodded in return. "that's so great!" he said cheerily, wrapping his arms around your waist an lifting you off the elevator floor as the two of you giggled together.

"i know! if i'm being honest, i'm a bit nervous about it, y'know?" you said as he placed you back onto your feet, your hands still on his biceps.

"why? we already know you'll fit in well and do great. what's making you nervous?" he asked, his head tilting slightly as he looked at you with a confused expression.

"i don't know..." you started. "i guess since i've only worked at one job, doing one thing, moving nowhere, staying stagnant, i just don't know anything else," you shrugged.

"it's actually incredibly normal to feel nervous about a new job. over 80% of working professionals feel nervous or anxious when starting a new job," he clarified as the elevator doors opened, you both walking out together. "think of it this way: you know the material, you're more than qualified, you know everyone you'd be working with, and you're passionate about what you'll be doing. there's no doubt that you'll do amazing," he encouraged as you continued the walk to your car.

"thank you. at least i know i'm not the only one that gets this way," you sighed. "so why'd you walk all the way out here?" you giggled. "don't you still have work?"

"uhh, yes. i-i do have to work. i just f-figured- i just wanted to uh, talk to you?" he stuttered out, clearly not realizing how charming it was.

"well, thank you, spencer. i really enjoy our little chats," you nodded as you unlocked your car. "thanks for walking me out. i'll see you?" you asked.

"yea, yes. i will uhm, see you later. goodbye, y/n," he smiled gorgeously.

"see you later, spencer," you grinned back as you closed your door and began to drive off after buckling up.

halfway home, you got a call from someone. you pressed the bluetooth answer button on your radio to answer.

"hello?" you replied, readjusting your hands on your wheel.

"y/n hotchner. i can't believe you were at the office and didn't even bother to say hi to me!" emily's voice rang through the speakers.

"emily! hello to you too," you giggled.

"you even said hi to reid! but not me?" she shouted. "what gives?"

"sorry, i just kinda ran into him, i guess. well, he ran into me," you corrected yourself.

"what does that mean?"

"well, he kinda stopped me while i was in the elevator so he could talk to me. he's such a good friend," you complimented.

"only friend?" emily asked suggestively.

"yes, em. only friends," you laughed at the insinuation.

while it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to be more than friends with him, it certainly wasn't the right time for a serious relationship in your life yet.

"righhtt... anyway, that's not the only reason i called you," she stated.

"and why did you do that?" you asked as you turned onto the highway, a straight shot to the street with your house on it.

"i wanted to know if you'd like to come with us to a bar after we get off of work tonight?" she asked.

"hmm... who's 'we'?"

"well there's me, morgan, garcia, and you if you'll come?"

"sure, it sounds fun," you agreed. "besides, not like i have anything to do with no job and all," you laughed out.

"great! now we could probably convince reid to come now that you're going!" she exclaimed.

"jeez, em," you huffed as you rolled your eyes and turned onto your street.

"you know it's true. morgan's already teasing him about it and everything," she snorted out over the phone.

"oh poor spencer..." you grimaced as you thought about the relentless teases.

"yea, yea, yea. but you're coming, and there's no backing out! i'll just pick you up before i head to the bar. be ready at 8, ma'am. dress hot, please, garcia and i already agreed to it," she demanded.

"yes ma'am, sounds good," you nodded even though she can't see you.

"alright, love you, bye," she said, holding out the 'e'.

"love you too, bye," you said as she hung up the phone, finally turning into your driveway to be met with your gate.

you entered the code and the gate opened, allowing you to drive half a mile up to your house. you had always wanted a nice, big house as a child. the kind that people had in movies, and everyone looked at online. you signed a lease for this house a while back, and got an amazing deal on it sense you knew who owned it previously.

unlocking your door, you walked into your house with the papers in hand. you walked into your dining room and started filling the papers out easily. it was only 1 p.m., so you had a while before you had to start getting ready for going out with them tonight.

*******

you threw on a maroon colored corduroy skirt, tucking in your spaghetti strap, black tank top. adding some black heeled booties, you added a few silver pieces of jewelry.

after adding some mascara, lip gloss, and a bit more powder you felt like you were ready to walk out of the door. you did a few spritzes of perfume before grabbing your black crossbody purse, letting it hang on one shoulder before grabbing your black denim jacket, dashing out of the door to emily's car.

"hey em," you said as you swung the door open, crawling not-so-gracefully inside.

"hey there," she said as she examined what you were wearing. "i seriously did my makeup for half an hour and you come out looking like that? it should be illegal to look that hot, y/n," she rolled her eyes with a huff.

"are you kidding me?" you replied, looking over to see what she was wearing herself.

she had on a short, black dress that had a low neckline, allowing tasteful cleavage to show through. she wore that with some red pumps to match her lipstick and some shimmery eyeshadow.

"okay, you can't say that. you look hot, em! don't sell yourself short," you punched her arm playfully.

"yea, yea, yea," she said, beginning to drive out of your driveway.

once you arrived to the bar, it looked like it was almost full. the music was loud, and you could feel the base through your feet on the floor. it took you about a minute until you could find the others, derek, pen, and spencer, sitting at a booth in the corner of the bar.

because of how crowded it was, you sat across from penny and derek and in between spencer and emily. you were practically on top of spencer because of how small the seats were, the poor guy.

"damn, you look great, y/n," derek gushed before looking at spencer with a smirk. "don't you think, pretty boy?" he laughed out, earning a jab from penny in the stomach.

"play nice, derek," she scolded him. "but you do look great, y/n. your legs look amazeballs in that outfit... like wow," she exaggerated.

"oh, shush," you blushed. "i'm kinda hungry... you guys?" you asked them.

"i could go for some cheese sticks," emily replied.

"i ate before we came here," spencer replied with a smile, leaning into your ear a little bit to answer.

"so cheese sticks and... cheese fries? i adore cheese fries," penny added.

"i'm okay with whatever. i'll go order," you said as emily got up to let you out.

"i'll help," spencer added as he scooted out with you.

"great, any drink requests?" you asked, pointing out to all three others.

"jack and coke," emily requested.

"anything fruity they have!" pen told you.

"whiskey, on the rocks," derek said with a smile.

"you've got it," you said as you turned around, realizing how crowded it was as you tried to weave through the first few people in your way.

you felt a hand grip yours firmly, turning to see it was spencer's hand you felt a sigh of relief wash over you. he leant down to your ear to talk to you, so you leaned a bit closer to him.

"i'm gonna put my arm around your waist so we can get through easier. is that okay?" he asked. his breath on your neck and ear almost distracted you from the question.

"y-yea. that's uhm... that's okay," you nodded your head as you felt his arm snake around your waist, pulling you closer to his side.

you moved one of your arms around his torso in return, squeezing yourself further into your side so you could avoid bumping into as many people. you could smell his sweet cologne, and the smell of what seemed to be coffee and old books. the warmth of his entire being was undeniable, drawing you closer to his presence.

eventually when you made it to the bar, you both kept your arms around the other. after ordering the food and drinks, you finally pulled your arm back, but stayed just as close to him.

"have you filled the application out yet?" spencer asked sweetly, leaning into your body.

"yea, i finished them just before i got ready to come here, actually," you nodded your head with a smile. "i guess you could say i'm a bit eager to start working."

"i think that's a good thing," he smiled brightly.

"oh, it definitely is!" you agreed. "i'm just so bored at the house. i've only been gone for a day and i need something to do, y'know?" you shrugged.

"busybody?" he questioned.

"oh you have no idea," you laughed, pushing his shoulder back playfully.

"i guess it runs in the family. hotch is always working on something as well," he mentioned. "so working at the bau would be a great fit for you both."

"yea, i sure hope so," you said longingly. "so what else do you do for fun... besides reading and working, of course," you asked.

"uhmm, i enjoy magic, i guess," he expressed.

"really?" you perked up, straightening out your posture at what he revealed.

"yea. i know a few little party tricks. wanna see?" spencer proposed, you nodded eagerly. "okay," he licked his lips as he began digging into his pocket and pulled out a $20 bill, also getting a pen. "watch..." he said as he jabbed the green paper with the pen.

"okay?" you squinted your eyebrows at what he was doing, unsure of where this trick was leading.

he then started to drag the paper around the pen, not tearing the bill at all. you felt your jaw drop in awe as he continued playing with it. then, he drug the pen all the way out of the bill, not a hole in sight. he made the bill disappear, leaving you stunned.

"what? how did you-? where did it-?" you stuttered, looking at him accusingly.

he reached around your hair, behind your ear and pulled out the same twenty dollar bill as earlier, a smug look on his face as he did so.

"okay... wow." you said as you began slow-clapping in awe. "i'm thoroughly impressed, spencer."

"thanks," he smiled shyly as he tucked the bill back into his pocket. "i've been doing magic since i was a kid. it's one of my hobbies when i'm we're not trying to catch serial killers," he shrugged.

"i'd say you've picked a good hobby," you chuckled. "i bet kids love it when you do them, huh?"

"yea, it's quite the entertainment for children," he nodded. "i love their reaction to it. it just makes me happy that i can bring a smile to their face."

"that, spencer, is fascinating," you complimented as the bartender handed you the drinks and spencer the food to take back to the table.

walking back was much easier than your journey to the bar, people actually making way for others with their hands full of refreshments. at least some people still had their manners.

"okay guys," you addressed as you began passing out the drinks, "here is your whiskey, jack and coke, and a tequila sunrise for pen."

"ouuu! i like the sound of that!" penny cheered as she took a sip of the drink, her eyes widening with delight.

"thank you, ma'am," derek thanked as he took a sip of his drink.

"absolutely perfect, y/n," emily relished in her beverage.

the rest of the night was fun. you laughed, joked, and danced with the girls. you even got to know spencer a bit more, much to your liking.

the next day you turned in your application, and was surprised when you got the job on the spot. you would begin your trial run in one week.

and you couldn't believe how fast that week went by, because as soon as you blinked, you were in the bullpen of the bau at your very own desk.

#spencer x reader #spencer x you #spencer reid #y/n #agent hotchner #y/n hotchner #ssa hotchner #criminal minds #aaron hotchner

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