#Yes I’m being over dramatic about it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

1d1195 · 3 days ago

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💕 you're the best Monica!!!

Pucking Rookie VI

Read Pucking Rookie here | ~8.5k words

From me: last part for now 💕 thank you for all the support on this 😍

Warnings: violence Kael, some injuries, anger, some fluff and reassurance.

Summary: She is trying her hardest to keep Harry out; but would it be that bad to let him in?

Has Harry mentioned how much he hates Kael Crowe?

Harry had his hands in his pockets while they skated alongside each other. With gloves on her hands, she held them out slightly at her sides for balance. From someone looking at her, she probably still looked like a toddler when she skated. But she didn’t need Harry to skate backward in front of her anymore, which was a win in her book.

The chill in the air made her nose red and she looked so cute. She was all bundled, nice and warm. Harry wanted to find mistletoe even though it was well past Christmas. Granted, he would have done just about anything to kiss her. She bit her lip when she concentrated, especially while skating. The same expression when she focused on the eye piece of her camera making sure the picture would turn out perfectly. Harry swore his smile was going to split his face in half just looking at her.

Unlike her, Harry looked so at ease. She loved seeing him on his used skates, the ones that he clearly had for years and weren’t for the show of his games and because of his sponsors. He looked so tranquil and happy. The ice was his happy place. It almost seemed more natural for him to be on skates than it did on solid ground.

Also unlike Harry, she was not smiling. Especially not smiling like the joy was going to burst out of him like a princess singing a song.

“Y’look more comfortable on y’skates.”

“Mm,” she shrugged. “It’s getting easier.”

Harry noted that she had seemed a bit more introverted the last couple of days—a little more withdrawn. Something was clearly bothering her, and he couldn’t quite place it himself. Callie flirting with her didn’t even faze her (although it certainly fazed Harry). When she directed the guys to pose, her smile didn’t reach her eyes. She didn’t joke about Asher’s good side (or lack thereof, in Harry’s opinion—especially when Asher insisted that she tell him he had a good side). At The Locker Room she didn’t laugh as much, and she didn’t invite Harry inside when he made sure she got home safely. “Rookie, is something wrong?”

“No.”

But she answered way too quickly. Immediately, Harry did an about face, turned to skate in front of her, gliding backwards so effortlessly. One eyebrow quirked up in question. “Talk t’me, Rookie,” he encouraged.

She took a deep breath. “We’re going to play The Wolves,” she reminded him. Harry had seen the schedule; he knew the game was coming up.

What did that have to do with anything? “Yeah,” he nodded. “So?”

She stopped skating, executing her little stop perfectly. Harry was so proud of her abilities and how much better she had gotten with practice over the last couple of months. Still, she looked upset. She rolled her lips into her mouth as she worked through whatever was going through her brain. “I don’t want you to get into it with Kael.”

Harry shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Is that what you’re worried ‘bout? Why you’ve been so quiet the last few days?” She shrugged and looked away from his face. “Rookie, do y’think distancing yourself from me for a couple of shitty days is going t’make me less likely t’fight that sorry excuse for a man?” She glanced at him briefly, her cheeks turning pink under his assumption. His very correct assumption. “Bunny,” he frowned.

She sighed heavily. “It’s just... you’ll get in trouble, and I don’t want that, and I don’t want you to get hurt. I can barely handle it when you get checked into the boards. I’m always worried you have a concussion,” she grumbled.

Harry felt a tug in his chest over her sweet words. “You like me, Rookie," he wiggled his eyebrows at her suggestively.

She glared at him. “Shut up, I do not.”

“You care about me.”

“I care about you the same way I care about Niall or..." he was praying she wouldn't say it. But she was feisty--one of Harry's favoirte things about her; so of course she was going to say it. "...Kian.”

He scoffed and narrowed his eyes at her. The flirtatious smile left his mouth. “S’not the same way y’care ‘bout Callie, Rookie. Not even a little.”

“You’re so ridiculous about Kian, Harry.”

“Stop calling him that. And quit distracting me,” he grumbled. Taking a deep breath he shook his head of thoughts regarding his least favorite teammate (which was a real shame because other than Niall, Harry loved Callie). Sighing, he smirked again as he watched her avoid his eyes. “You like me, Bunny.”

Her cheeks turned pink. “Of course I like you Harry,” she rolled her eyes as she mumbled the sentiment.

“Yeah, but you like-like me.”

“Are you six?”

He ignored her fake insult and leaned in to peck her cheek. “I like-like you too,” he whispered in her ear.

She shoved him gently, but her cheeks remained flushed with color. “You’re insane.”

He took her hand and tugged her toward him to continue skating. “I don’t care ‘bout Crowe,” he said quietly. “I don’t want y’worrying ‘bout me over him. The last time we saw him... hopefully that got the message across,” he squeezed her hand. It was nice to pull her along now that she could skate better. He liked holding her hand. Touching her in general was one of his favorite past times. “M’worried ‘bout you seeing him again.”

“Well, I’m going to wear my number eleven jersey,” she smiled brightly at the thought. Harry thought he had won MVP, the championship game, all rolled into one. “So maybe you’re right. Maybe he’ll get the message.”

The face-splitting grin was back. “Yeah?” He spun again so he was in front of her, this time he pulled her flush against him. It would be so easy to lean in and kiss her. “Didn’t think y’would be one t’make someone intentionally jealous.”

She shrugged. “If you don’t want to be part of my plan, I could always wear Niall’s jersey, or Lang’s, or even Cal—”

“Do not finish that thought, Rookie,” he growled and pressed her face into his body where she laughed silently against him, shaking as she giggled. “You’re mine.”

The arena where The Glacier Wolves played truly felt like enemy territory. There was something palpable in the air; you could practically taste the venom coming from both teams. The last time they played, the whole team was pissed at Kael. She tried to keep her distance, but she felt the stares of the guys coming from every angle. Harry’s name and number were all over her body. She kept to herself staying by the media and press at the other end of the rink so that she wouldn’t distract the team.

“Is she good?” Charlie asked Harry.

Harry glanced toward the other end, finding her immediately in black and silver. “Think so,” he shrugged hoping it wouldn't be too obvious he was in love with his coach's niece.

“Styles,” Charlie’s voice was deeper somehow, filled with intensity. Harry looked at his coach. Instantly he swallowed nervously, seeing the seriousness on his face that clearly had nothing to do with hockey.

“Coach?”

“You’re going to take care of her?”

“With my life, sir,” Harry vowed.

Charlie ran a hand over his face and then through his hair as he pushed it back. Harry could see the anxiety all over his face. “You hurt one hair on her head, I’ll bench you for the rest of your career.”

Harry smirked and nodded. That wouldn't be a problem. Harry would welcome it. Plus, he appreciated the approval. “That seems fair t’me.”

“If you hit Crowe a little too hard today, I’ll look the other way. Or chip in on the fine.”

Harry smiled brightly. “You got it, Coach.”

Kael found Harry on the ice almost as soon as the game started. Both started essentially in the same position as the puck was dropped between Asher and Kael’s teammate. It was the matchup of the league. Every news outlet was talking about it leading up to the game. Two of the biggest names in hockey. Old rivals playing against one another just like old times. The shit-talking that ensued made him crazy but he tried to keep his cool for her.

Each time he was checked into the boards, he remembered her sweet face saying she worried about him. Harry didn’t want a single penalty (well, that wasn’t true. He wanted to knock every single one of Crowe’s teeth out). Instead, he caught a glimpse of her at the glass the camera lens pressed through the cutout for the media. His jersey with his name and number all over her.

He wasn’t going to fight Crowe.

Fortunately, Harry’s team was having a hell of a time doing it on his behalf. Collectively there had been almost one full period worth of penalties. Callie cheered from the penalty box when Asher laid Crowe into the boards. Their level-headed captain even got sent to the box for two minutes with a smile on his face. Niall didn’t let a single one of Crowe’s shots get past him. And maybe Niall tripped him up when he got too close to the net.

As such, the Chargers played short-handed almost the entire second period, yet they were still winning at the second intermission.

It didn’t stop Crowe from his onslaught of shit-talking despite being down. He told Harry how terrible he was, how shitty his stick handling was, and that he kept missing obvious shots. All his comments seemed to be a projection of how terrible he was playing and perhaps it was because the pretty photographer wearing Harry’s jersey added it to the mind games in Kael's head.

Maybe Harry would have to rethink the whole jealousy ploy she had going on. It was a nice touch (especially when he wasn’t subject to the feeling).

Harry smirked as he stood across from Crowe while they dropped the puck. Almost immediately Crowe slashed at him. Earning zero penalties and no looks from the ref. Harry growled but remained calm. He was only keeping calm for her and only her. Otherwise, he would have added himself to the penalty box. It would mean more to Crowe than it did to Harry if he lashed out about the pretty photographer.

There was only a minute left in the game and Crowe’s team was down by two, so it was sure as hell a win in the Chargers book. But Harry wasn’t celebrating until the piece of shit was off the ice.

With no one in the Wolves’ net, Harry stole the puck away from Kael and slapped it directly into the back of the net. He grinned brightly as his team cheered and tackled him, pressing him into the glass right near the pretty girl who had the camera pressed to her face. He winked at her amidst the madness and Harry couldn’t help but notice how big her smile—not even the camera obstructed how joyful she looked.

As the buzzer signaled the end of the game, Harry and his team skated for their bench. They were happy to win, but they were all thrilled to get off the enemy’s ice.

“Enjoy my sloppy seconds Styles.”

Harry could take the comments about his effort, his ability, his looks, anything.

But he would not, under any circumstance, take criticism about the lovely girl at the other end of the ice.

Harry skated right in front of Crowe standing almost the same height as him, marveling happily at how he was a couple inches taller than his opponent. “What the fuck did you say, Crowe?”

“Harry!” Niall shouted skating back onto the ice almost instantly. Camera flashes from every angle ensued.

“Styles!” Ray shouted from nearby.

“It’s not just talent and ability you want from me, you have to take my girl?”

“She’s not yours, you piece of shit,” Harry was gripping his stick tight, talking through gritted teeth.

“Harry!” She screamed—her voice was far away but Harry could pick it out of a sea of people.

“You couldn’t find your own girl, had to take mine. Don’t worry, I stretched her out for you. She’s a good lay—” Harry dropped his stick and gloves with a quiet thunk on the ice. By then his teammates made it to him, Callie and Asher lunged for him holding him back.

“Crowe, walk the fuck away!” Asher snapped. Harry pushed against him as he got in the fray; he could only imagine what the announcers were saying as they watched two of the top players in the league get dangerously close to fighting after the game had ended.

“Charlie!” She shouted, her voice was closer but not close enough.

“Harry don’t do it,” Callie begged. “Walk away," he tried to plead calmly. "Go get her and you can take her—”

“That’s right listen to every one of your teammates and that naggy bitc—”

Right as he clenched his hands into fists, he felt her soft, delicate fingers wrapping around his hands. She was on the ice. Unsteady and standing in front of him in just her boots. “Hey, look at me,” she begged her eyes a bit wild.

“Bunny—” He started his teeth clenched together. "Get out--"

“Cute, well you got one thing right, Styles. She’s a dumb little puck bunny.”

She shoved Harry as much as she could while he tried to get away from her gentle touch. “Sweetheart,” Asher warned.

Crowe laughed. “You sleeping with the whole team, baby? One whole team to replace me?”

She spun on her heel, nearly sliding to the ground, but Harry caught her by the elbow because he was certain his first priority would always be to take care of her no matter what. “Your problem is with me, Kael,” she snapped. “So, if you’re going to pick fights, pick it with the person you have an actual problem with, you coward.”

“I’m not the one calling you a puck bunny, baby. They are. You must like it if they all call you one,” he teased with a shrug. He knew she didn’t. She said it all the time while they dated. “That’s what you get for riding dick like it’s your job, Bunny,” his tone was antagonizing. Who was he trying to get a rise out of? Was it Harry? It couldn’t have been. Harry was already pissed. Was it her? Maybe. She already hated him.

“Get off the fucking ice!” Charlie shouted.

No one moved. Except Harry who was dying to get his hands on Kael.

Kael took his helmet off and looked at her. “You’re nothing but a groupie, baby. When Harry’s done with you, you’ll come crawling back. You have nothing.”

She was shaking, perhaps as badly as the rest of the team was. She wanted to smack him across his stupid fucking face, but she was trying to remain composed with so many cameras on her. This was already going to be a PR nightmare, and it was all her fault. Although she was sure none of the guys would care, it bothered her. Just another reason to add to how she fucked with the team’s energy and made everything different since her arrival.

“Kael, just stop. Leave me alone,” she hissed.

“Or what, baby?” He taunted. “Your group of fuck buddies will go after me?”

“Watch it,” Harry snarled still straining against Callie and Asher.

“Let’s go,” she whispered, pushing her hands into Harry's chest behind her. He slid backwards a little to create more space between them. “This isn’t worth it,” she said loud enough for Kael to hear.

However, he wasn't accepting their escape. Their way to take the higher ground. But before she could get away, Kael grabbed her arm, hard.

Time seemed to stop for a moment. Truly, suspended in disbelief as she gasped. "Ow, Kael!” She yelped.

“Oh, fuck no,” Harry growled lowly.

“Shit,” Callie grabbed at Harry harder and yanked him back before he could kill Crowe on a live broadcast.

Niall and Lang stepped forward as Asher helped Callie hold Harry back. “Let go of her fucking wrist, Crowe,” Niall said putting a hand on her back.

“You have two seconds to let go of her,” Lang added at the same time.

“Let fucking go of me,” Harry thrashed against his teammates.

She bent awkwardly trying to get her arm back, gasping at the pressure he pitted against her so effortlessly. “HEY!” It was Ray who shouted. “That’s enough! Crowe, let go of my niece or I’ll kill you!”

But Charlie was already on the move, next to Crowe in the blink of an eye. He was shorter than the bulky, built hockey player on skates by a head or maybe even two. Without hesitation he reached for Kael’s neck as if he were the same height and pressed on the space between his neck and clavicle. Within seconds, Kael was gasping, he dropped her arm instantly.

There wasn’t a break in his movements, everything fluid like he was skating on the ice as Charlie shoved his niece backwards making her lose her balance, but Harry caught her just before she hit the ground. “Everyone off the fucking ice!” Coach yelled.

Harry had never been so relieved to have her in his embrace as he skated off the ice, pushing her forward quickly even though he wanted to kill Kael.

“Are you alright, Sweetheart?” Callie asked.

“Shut the fuck up, Callie,” Harry snarled.

“Harry,” she whispered.

“Jesus, Styles, I just wanted—”

“Shut. Up. Don’t ever get in my way like that Calloway, not when she’s—”

“Harry,” she repeated stronger as she nearly had to race to catch up to them on their long legs—even with skates. She grabbed his hand, still balled into a shaking fist. She gave it a gentle squeeze. “Kian isn’t the bad guy here,” she reminded him. Harry glared at his teammate, shoulders heaving with each angry breath. After a moment he nodded, his jaw flexing tautly as he did.

“Sorry, Callie,” she whispered, squeezing his arm which made Harry huff out a breath and look away. He strongly considered snapping his stick in half. Again.

“It’s okay, Sweetheart. We all get a little crazy about you,” he smirked. “Harry,” he nodded and headed into the locker room. She turned to Harry to remind him that his teammates weren’t the problem, ever.

“Are you alright?” Charlie asked, catching up as they stopped in front of the locker room.

Harry stared at her unsurely waiting for her answer with bated breath. She nodded, putting on a brave face. “Yes.”

“You’re sure?” Harry asked, taking a heaving breath. His hands were still shaking at his sides.

She nodded. “I’m fine,” because she was. There might be a bruise on her arm from the grip he had, but she wasn’t in pain anymore. He didn’t break anything (which was a horrifying thought) but it wasn’t any less true. “Please go change, I want to get out of here,” she urged. Harry’s eyes flicked to Charlie before he went into the locker room after his teammates. She twisted her wrist once he was out of sight. Charlie narrowed his eyes at the movement.

“Are you—”

Quickly with an awful realization, she touched her neck. “Oh fuck, I left my camera,” she grumbled rubbing her hand over her face.

Charlie was staring at her just as unsurely. “I’ll have someone go get it.”

“No, it’s fine,” she shook her head. “I need the walk, the air,” she sighed.

“I have a press conference. I can skip it. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Positive. I’m sorry I caused all this,” she frowned. “I really feel like you didn’t ask for any of this with the team.”

“Hey Sweetheart?” He put a hand on her shoulder. “I always hated Crowe,” he smiled. “You were way too good for him. If the whole team got in trouble for hurting him, well, that would be worth it in my book. If he ever touches you again, I think the whole team will kill him.”

“Well, we have a whole season to prepare for that,” she smirked sadly. “Thank you, Uncle Charlie.”

“Anything for you Sweetheart. Go take a few breaths,” he squeezed her shoulder and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Wish you slapped him; you earned it,” he winked over his shoulder as he headed for the media room.

She smiled and took several deep breaths calming herself as much as she could as she walked back down the tunnel to the rink. She had been in the very arena hundreds of times. It never felt like home. Not the way The Arctic Chargers arena felt. In a shorter amount of time at that. The idea that she had ever thought she could live her life in this arena feeling like she was less was crazy. Especially when Harry and the entire team made her feel so important.

She said hello and waved to people she recognized from her days spent watching Kael. Her new media friends said hello as well. She waved to the man driving the Zamboni and snagged her camera off the visiting bench that she dropped there when she saw Kael antagonizing Harry from across the rink. She couldn’t believe she nearly lost it in all the commotion; but she supposed for Harry, it was worth it. It could have been a lot worse.

Following Charlie’s advice, she continued breathing deeply. Hoping to calm herself from the inside out. She was glad she didn’t hit Kael. As much as she wanted to. With her luck, he would have pressed charges or something. It would have played right into his act.

Hopefully everyone saw the way he grabbed her wrist.

For several seconds, she sat on the bench, her head between her knees breathing and collecting herself. Harry looked murderous. She hoped he showered and felt better. She would have to thank Callie and Asher again for holding him back before he did something terrible.

Sighing, she stood, headed for the locker room once more. Relieved there would once more be a whole year between now and the next game she would have to see Kael next season. She was going to forget about any of her stuff at their old apartment. He could have it. It didn’t matter. As long as she had her camera, she could make everything else work. She looked at the screen to continue calming herself. As soon as the boys were ready, they would head to the hotel and get some sleep before a red eye flight home. Her hotel room bed sounded like heaven (even if it was going to be missing a number eleven in her blankets).

She was so ready for this day to be over.

Right as she exited the tunnel and headed down the hall toward the locker room, she was shoved against the wall, hard. She didn’t know how the guys got checked into the boards all the time. Even with padding on that had to have hurt—and multiple times? Forget it. She felt an ache all over her back. The air in her lungs was displaced and she moaned as she tried to breathe through it. It felt like her body was one giant bruise in a matter of seconds.

Kael held her in place. His eyes dark and his face expressionless. “You’re a lot more vulnerable without a hockey team behind you.”

She gaped, as he easily yanked her camera from her grip and dropped it to the ground. Her eyes watered at the sound of all the mechanical pieces cracking. She whimpered. “Kael,” she gasped as the air slowly returned. “Let me go.”

“You were good for my image, baby,” he crooned. “Didn’t you like living the luxurious lifestyle?” He skimmed the back of his finger along her cheek. Other than a helmet and gloves, he was still in all his gear, skates, and pads, so he towered imposingly over her. She whimpered again. “You have no power here,” he reminded her pinning her in place by pressing close to her. If anyone walked by, they would think it was just a heated form of foreplay. His legs caged her in. His body holding her in place.

His hand closed around her throat.

“Stop,” she begged squirming to get away from him.

“You’re pathetic. You think just because your uncle is a coach and your new boyfriend is a sorry excuse of a look-a-like for me that you can do whatever you want,” his voice was low, threatening. If it wasn’t immediately following a game maybe someone would have seen the interaction. But instead, the players were in the locker room, coaches in the media room, other workers in the arena. It was just the pair of them. “You’re nothing, baby. You’ve got nothing.”

He was good. Waiting until she was most vulnerable. Even if she was lucky enough for someone to come by, she was certain he made it so he didn’t look like he was harming her or speaking terrible things to her.

But she was right there. Hearing every menacing word. Every word meant to cut her deeper than any physical harm he could cause her. “You’re nothing but a groupie, baby. You’ll always be a dumb puck bunny.”

“Please,” she croaked, gasping for breath. Her squirming wasn’t enough, he was too strong, and Lord knew how long until the boys would come out of the locker room and Charlie out of the press conference. No one was coming to her rescue.

She clawed at his arms, but the pads protected him. Everything was protected which seemed like a metaphor she couldn’t quite put together right now.

Everything except the hand on her throat.

She bent her head at an awkward angle allowing air to flow just enough. Thrashing against his hold hoping he would slip just a bit. He didn’t notice she was trying to reach for his hand. He must have assumed she was trying to escape. It didn’t have to be a lot she just needed something to give.

When it did finally give, she wasted no time. His hand moved just enough so that she could bend her neck completely. Once she could, she bit down as hard as she could on his finger.

She bit so hard that she tasted blood.

“What the fuck!” He growled yanking away instinctively. She didn’t waste a second and bolted. He was on skates, and she was in her boots so for once in an ice arena she had the speed advantage, and she wasn’t going to lose that.

Without really noticing where her feet carried her, the locker room burst open before her. She couldn’t even see because her eyes were blurred over with tears. She choked out a sob as the door shut behind her.

“Bunny?” Harry sounded concerned, curious, and confused all in one little word that she hated so much (especially right now) but loved when Harry said it.

“Oh hell,” Asher whispered. It was quiet then, no one moving, or speaking.

“Harry?” She cried, unable to see as she wiped uselessly at her face to rid herself of the tears and she pressed her other hand to the top of her chest trying to stop her heart from flying out of her ribcage and soothe the ache and burn of knowing his hand was on her neck. The other hand went to her mouth. Her face tilted down, and her hair fell in front of her face.

If the team was naked, she wouldn’t even know. Her vision wasn’t clear enough to see an inch in front of her.

“Bunny?” He repeated, his voice closer, his hands gently caressing her face. A massive juxtaposition to how Kael held her moments before. “Kitten,” he turned her neck ever so gently inspecting every inch of her face. “What happened?”

“H-he broke m-my camera,” she sniffled and swiped at her eyes. With a little more clarity, she could see Harry was half undressed, just his practice jersey and compression pants on him. He was sweaty and never looked hotter and she was a goddamn wreck.

“I’ll kill him,” but it was Niall who growled out the sentiment. Before another word could be uttered, she heard the locker-room door open.

“Oh fuck,” Lang was quick to follow.

“Bunny,” Harry crouched slightly to meet her gaze. “Kitten, what happened?” He repeated. She shook her head, her cries catching in her throat again. She buried her face into his chest and sobbed. Harry cupped the back of her head, curling around her protectively the way he always seemed to when she cried. “Fuck, Bunny,” he frowned. His lips found her ear. “Did he touch you?” He asked.

She nodded. The rest of the team must have already anticipated what she was upset over, because it was even quieter than when she entered. She felt Harry start shaking again. It started from the center of his body outward. She imagined his toes were shaking. Fully vibrating with anger. “I’m gonna kill him,” Harry’s voice was so low and so terrifying she shivered.

“Please don’t leave me,” she sniffled.

He groaned and tightened his grip on her. “Y’killing me, Rookie,” he mumbled.

“I just want to go home, please,” she begged her voice breaking.

His heart broke. “We’re heading to the hotel soon, and I’ll drive y’home when we land, Bunny, I promise,” he assured her. The thought of leaving her alone was repulsive. Almost as much as this whole moment with Kael.

“No... take me home with you,” she whispered.

Well, if there was one way to keep him sane, he supposed that would be it. “Take you home?” He repeated. “My home?”

She nodded. “Please, I don’t want to be away from you.”

Make that, two ways to keep him sane.

She refused to say what he did specifically. He didn’t do anything but hold her in the hotel bed until the team left in the middle of the night for their red eye flight. He sat next to her on the bus and the plane, carrying her stuff and wincing every time she sniffled. He combed his fingers through her hair, refusing to let go of her for anything other than the bathroom. He made sure she drank enough water and had medicine for all the aches she endured.

Charlie was fuming in his seat. Between what happened and her lack of response about what happened, he may have sent Harry several messages regarding how he would enjoy going to jail if Harry hurt her. He ignored those messages for the time being. But he did pay attention to the one where Charlie said he was looking into getting the security footage pulled before Kael could swipe it from the arena.

The team had no problem messaging Kael. The coward left before anyone could find him. Niall found her camera shattered to bits on the floor. Callie pulled the memory card from the wreck but there wasn’t anything that could be done to save the equipment.

Except of course, Harry ordered her a new, top-of-the-line camera while she showered in his bathroom.

After what felt like hours but was only maybe half at most, she finally exited the bathroom. Harry turned from lying on his bed to sitting on the edge watching her immediately. Her eyes were red-rimmed, hair damp. She looked adorable even when she was sad, and it was so unfair. She was wearing a T-shirt Harry pulled from one of his drawers. It had the Chargers logo across the front, and he wished more than anything it had his name on the back.

“Did that help?” He asked.

She nodded but held the towel out to him. “I don’t know where to put this,” she avoided his gaze which had to be next to impossible because Harry couldn’t tear his away from her. He took the towel and tossed it toward the corner of the room where his hamper lived, although he hadn’t done laundry in a week, and so the towel fell off the side to the pile beside it.

“Bunny,” he murmured. “Look at me please,” he whispered.

She shook her head, her eyes welling with tears. “I’m so embarrassed, I’ll cry again.”

“Y’have nothing t’be embarrassed ‘bout, Rookie, love,” his voice was gentle, he reached for her hip and pulled her toward him, opening his legs so she fit between his thighs. “What did he do?” He asked, keeping one hand on her hip and the other traveled up her arm, cupped the side of her neck and slid along to her face.

“You’ll get mad,” she whispered.

“M’already mad, kitten,” he reminded her.

“What is with you and the animal names?” Her voice was soft.

“You’re an adorable creature, Bunny, I don’t have a choice,” he smirked, spoke just as quietly as she did, but not falling for her dodging what he wanted to know. “Don’t distract me,” he brushed his fingertips softly along the outline of her face.

“You’ll be mad at me.”

“Never, Rookie. M’never mad at you,” he hoped he sounded as reassuring as he wanted to be. It was true. He was never mad at her.

“I bit his finger,” she mumbled. “Really hard.”

Harry tilted his head. “You what?”

“He...” she swallowed and pressed her face into the space of his shoulder and neck hiding. “He was choking me,” her voice was so quiet Harry had to strain to hear it. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the anger to stay at bay so she wouldn’t be scared. “And I couldn’t move and... and I just needed the right angle, so I bit his finger. Really hard. I tasted blood,” she explained.

Harry chuckled despite everything. “Good girl,” he pulled her to him and squeezed her tight. “And y’came t’me?” he mumbled thoughtfully cupping her face watching her eyes. He brushed his thumb along her cheek. It was selfish of him to ask when she was hurt. But he couldn't help it. She was his whole world whether she knew it or not and he needed to know.

“I didn’t want anyone else,” her skin turned the slightest pink. “Is that okay?”

Harry’s heart softened. “Yeah, Bunny. S’really okay,” he assured her, then he pulled her back against his shoulder, tucking her into his embrace. “The guys couldn’t find him... the coward,” he snipped.

Harry felt a smile on her lips warm his skin. He grinned half-heartedly and swayed her gently. “For the best,” she admitted. “I like your room,” she whispered glancing around. “Maybe I will take it.”

“S’fine with me,” he shrugged.

She stared at him pointedly. “I don’t want to live here for free.”

“Oh, come on, Rookie I have a hundred rooms with nothing in them.”

“I won’t live here for free.”

“Fine, but you’re not paying rent-prices. Y’can buy groceries or pay the electric bill. Or maybe the Internet bill. But not all three.”

She laughed and shook her head. “You’re insane.”

“And you’re keeping the car.”

“Certifiable.”

“Harry, are you awake?” She whispered.

“Mmm,” he hummed sleepily. Her soft voice in his bed was going to haunt him for the rest of his life. It was the first time they slept in his bed. Harry was a lot of things, and it was evident that possessive was a major one. He loved sleeping in her tiny bed when there was no room, so she always ended up burrowing into his side. Still, there something about having her in his room, his bed, wrapped in his blankets that made the Neanderthalic part of his mind undeniably happy. He kept space between them, as he always tried to maintain when they shared a bed. But he felt a compulsion to hold her hand between them as he stared at the ceiling unable to sleep thinking about how much he hated someone who hurt the pretty woman beside him.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Bunny,” he whispered quietly shaking his head. “Y’never have t’thank me. Not for that.”

“I do though,” she sounded like she was nodding. “I don’t know why you like me so much. Like... from the start... and still. I’ve been nothing but trouble.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t think s’true. And does that matter from the start?”

“I don’t know... it never really happened to me before...” she trailed off. “Kael and I were just around each other for a while—got to know each other and it made sense. Then we were together for a really long time... I never had someone just like me for me, right away without knowing anything else about me. I guess I’m just worried that if... if you do like me—and I do believe you when you say you do—it will change because it changed for him. I’m not that special, you know? I’m not a celebrity. I just take pictures and—”

Harry sighed, if he was visible in the night, she would see him rolling his eyes at the ceiling and shaking his head. “Y’know I had a bunch of contacts for women for all the different cities we visit, right?” He interrupted. It wasn’t the best segue in conversation, and it probably wasn’t a nice thing to hear when he was trying to convince her he liked her infinitely more than he ever liked anybody. Especially after the day she had.

There was a slight pause. If she said something like that to Harry, he would be jealous for days and would probably have to break another hockey stick. So, he was well aware he needed to give her a second to think through her emotions. “Yeah...?” Her voice was quiet again. Unsure.

He reached beside him for his phone on his nightstand. He unlocked it, turned the brightness down, blinking awkwardly against it so he wouldn’t hurt her eyes as well. He opened his messages and handed it to her.

There were a good number of unsaved numbers listed in the threads. Many had the same start of each message previewed before clicking on it. I am deleting your number because I’ve met—

“Harry,” she said softly.

“Open one,” he offered.

She shook her head. “Harry, you didn’t do anything—I don’t want to go through—”

He reached over and tapped on one of the messages.

—a really lovely girl and I want to take it seriously. I won’t be contacting you anymore... You were a great person to know. I wish you all the best. Xx Harry

“Harry,” she whispered breathlessly.

Only some had answered. From what she could see, most who had responded thought it was sweet; they understood where he was coming from, it was kind of him to reach out and not leave them hanging. Some were less happy for him but since they all knew what they signed up for, none appeared to be outright angry or derisive. Harry took his phone back and opened his contacts. If the unsaved numbers were to be believed, he should have had plenty more contacts listed. Instead, it was just teammates, coaches, his family.

And hers. Rookie 📷🐇

She bit her lip.

“I think ‘ve been waiting for you, Rookie, love. I never wanted someone more,” he put his phone back. “M’not kidding. I’ll wait forever,” he promised. She felt her face crumple in half. Emotional over and in complete disbelief that someone so kind and sweet was willing to wait for her when he could truly have anyone he wanted. Someone way more talented and beautiful than her. "Go t'sleep, Bunny," he whispered softly and pressed a kiss to her temple. "We can talk 'bout it tomorrow."

Harry made sure she had everything she needed for the day; he snuck into her phone to turn her alarm off. He put a note on the bedside table. No work today. Enjoy playing hooky, Bunny. But please stay so I can see you when I come home. She wished she had her camera so she could take a picture of the note, but her phone would suffice for now. She dreaded the thought of purchasing a new camera. But she needed to deal with one thing at a time. First of which meant breakfast and coffee. She headed to the kitchen after using the bathroom.

The doorbell rang at the exact same time. She peered through the window and saw a man in a black shirt with a green apron. She tilted her head. “Rookie?” He asked tentatively.

“Uh... yeah?”

“Here you go,” he handed her a drink—her favorite coffee and the man left.

She blinked. “How many times have you been here?”

“I was instructed to come every half hour with a fresh drink and wait five minutes until you answered,” he explained backing toward his car. She smirked sipping it. It was delicious.

“Did he pay you at least?” She called tapping her fingers against the plastic.

“Excessively!” He shouted with a grin, pulling his door closed. She smiled, closed the front door, locked it, before heading for the living room sipping her favorite kind of coffee from her favorite guy.

She heard the garage door open around five and the door creak from the mudroom attached to the garage to the house.

“Do you like chicken noodle soup?” She asked. “I know that sounds silly, because it’s a classic. But because it’s a classic, there was a time when I was in high school, and I swear I was sick for a month and all I ate was chicken noodle soup. I haven’t had any since, I think. But on a whim, I had some last week, and it was literally the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten,” she explained while Harry took his shoes off. She grabbed the bread she was toasting out of the oven, and she smiled as he slowly made his way to the kitchen.

He looked around the room for a moment. “Did y’clean?” He asked ignoring her rant about soup, he ran his finger along the thin side table that was directly next to the counter. It looked dusted, and the little trinkets were placed back on the table just so.

She smiled sheepishly and nodded. “I know you hate when I do stuff like this, but I was really bored. I shouldn’t be allowed to have a day off. Idle minds, you know? I also figured you must not have time to clean often with your schedule. This place isn’t even that dirty, and I think I’m the one that tracks in all the snow and dirt from the pond,” she explained.

He stared at her as she spoke, dropped his small duffle bag beside him.

She blinked at his weird stance as she stirred the soup in the big pot she was using. “Are you mad?”

His gaze was unmoving from her face. He tilted his head toward the laundry room, the sound of the dryer humming from the hallway. “And laundry?” He asked.

Now she felt like she was in trouble. “Well... you had a mountain of it in your room and I was finished cleaning. Which meant I was about to go insane due to boredom again,” she shrugged. “You’re mad,” she frowned. “I was just trying to do something nice.”

“Dishes?” He jutted his chin toward the empty sink.

“That’s on you for leaving them. You know I love dishes.”

“Grocery shopping?” He hummed.

“I figured if I’m going to live here, I may as well chip in since you won’t let me pay for—”

“What’s this?” He asked looking at the picture frames face down on the kitchen table. He picked one up and inspected it. She had selected several photos. Some of the team, some from her series of photo. There was even one of Marc and Michael. But naturally, the one he picked up was one of the photos from the gallery night.

Harry’s arm wrapped around her waist, his hand resting on her hip. While she looked at the woman holding his phone camera, Harry was gazing down at her. His smile was full of adoration. She picked it to be framed because even though the camera didn’t get a look at his pretty green eyes for one photo (which was truly a loss), she felt like the most beautiful thing in the world with the way he looked at her.

“Oh, I thought they were cute pictures, and we could put them—” Harry put the frame down, turned toward the stove and flicked the burner off. “Harry...? What are you—”

He then faced her; he slid his hands along both of her cheeks. Gently, he tilted her neck, so her eyes met his. “My pretty, pretty Bunny,” he murmured brushing the tip of his nose against hers. Her breath caught in her throat. Whatever smart remark she was going to make about him being bossy or extra was stuck on her tongue. His gaze dropped to her lips and then she was overwhelmed by the color green again. Her face felt hot with a blush that she couldn't stop and she was only seconds ahead of what his intention was. “Y’can tell me t’stop, Rookie, love. I don’t want t’rush it.”

“Please don’t stop,” she whispered.

“Oh Bunny, y’never have t’beg for me, ever,” his voice was deep, gravelly. Filled with desire and wanting.

And he wanted her.

Harry had waited a very long time to kiss her. But these last few seconds leading to their first kiss felt like a literal eternity, but finally his lips met hers.

She moaned softly, a quiet almost-whimper, nearly the exact moment his mouth touched hers. He was so gentle; it felt like his lips were hardly moving and the drag of his mouth was so sinful she could feel it burning. It burned her lips and every other inch of her skin. Her mind was so entranced with the feel of Harry’s lips between hers, the way his tongue slipped gently along the seam of her mouth, carefully coaxing her open so he could get a better taste of her.

Harry knew she would taste delicious. He didn’t know it was going to be so instantly addictive. But he shouldn’t have been surprised.

She was a little unsure how it happened—too distracted by the feeling of the prettiest man in hockey kissing her, but she was lifted to the counter, her legs around his waist. His hips flush against the edge of the counter. With one hand, he cupped the back of her head, his fingers winding in her hair. The other was at the small of her back, pulling her toward him.

“God Bunny,” he groaned and peppered kisses along her jaw and down her neck. “I’ve wanted this for s'long.” She shivered feeling overwhelmed with his desire. Harry had a way of making her feel special and she should have known kissing him wasn’t going to be the exception. She was nearly out of breath and didn’t know how Harry could keep kissing her. “You’re so perfect,” he whispered into her throat.

“Harry,” she whispered.

He moaned. “Oh, Rookie, y’say m’name like that m’gonna be done for. What d’you want, Bunny? Y’can have whatever y’want... anything. S’yours.”

She laughed silently, her shoulders shaking as his mouth worked across her collarbone to the other side of her throat. He was so tender and intentional in his kisses of where Kael hurt her, and he took all that pain away. “Nothing, I just... like—”

He groaned again and brought her lips back to his, kissing her so passionately it ached. “I like you so much, Bunny,” he whispered, his mouth dragging along her skin. “I don’t want you t’go. Please don’t close yourself off from me. I’ll do anything.”

She felt bad that he felt like he had to beg for her attention. He had it, and he always had it. If she was honest, since the very first time she met him. “I won’t, I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered.

“Oh, thank God,” he sighed and pulled her toward him. He wrapped his arms beneath her, supporting her weight and carried her to his room.

“Harry, baby, you gotta slow down,” she giggled.

He moaned or growled. Perhaps a little of both. He tucked his face into her neck again. “Y’call me baby, m’not gonna live.”

She laughed. “Oh, you have to.”

Carefully he laid her back on his mattress. Yeah, he slept beside her the night before. He had snuggled with her in her own bed several times as well. This was different. This was all her walls finally down. Her vulnerability and trust were on full display. Harry was the luckiest man in the world to witness it. To be trusted to take care of her. He didn’t know how anyone could betray such a sweet, perfect person.

“M’gonna kiss every inch of you,” he promised.

“You’ve been awfully patient, Harry. Don’t you want to jump to the good stuff?” Her cheeks warmed once more as she asked.

He shook his head. “No, not even a little. I want every single second of you. Every single kiss. I’d wait forever for you, Bunny.”

She didn’t deserve him, but she would happily keep him. “You’re too good,” she whispered cupping his face and stroking her thumbs along his cheeks. He rested his forehead against hers as he hovered beside her.

“M’not Rookie. You’re too good. Exceptionally intelligent, creative, and deliriously beautiful. My schedule is all kinds of fucked,” he reminded her. “I never had a girlfriend because I can only give you five months.

She smiled. “I’m literally with the team all the time, Harry.”

“But when y’open your studio, y’won’t be.”

“I’m not opening a studio,” she laughed shaking her head, her nose bumping his.

He rolled his eyes. He wanted to kiss her, hold her, and very much wanted to make her come all over him. But this was important to him because she was the most important thing to him. “Of course you are, Rookie. Y’have too much talent t’be wasting it on a group of rowdy hockey players.”

There was a wave of pride that bloomed over her. His unwavering support and constant belief in her. She grinned. “Harry Styles," she sighed. "You’re incredible. Number one twice for sure.”

He chuckled softly, ducking his gaze slightly at her compliment. It meant more than any other time he heard it because this was her saying it. “Thanks, Bunny,” he smiled and kissed her again lingering and holding her face in his hands like he never wanted to let go. “You’re pucking perfect.”

general taglist: @justlemmeadoreyou @daydreamingofmatilda @sunshinemoonsposts @loving-hazz @likeapplejuicenpeach

@straightontilmornin @freedomfireflies @littlenatilda @kathb59 @babegoals

@angel-upon @lilfreakjez @mleestiles @ameliaalvarez06 @canyonmoondreams

@summertime-pills @daphnesutton @l4rrysh0use @perfectywrong @foreverxholland

@lovrave @st-ev-ie @pandeebearstyles @toosarcastic03 @luvonstyles

@tenaciousperfectionunknown @classychalamet @love-letters-to-uranus @emmaawbr @crossyourpeter

@kissitnhekitchen @boopookie @indierockgirrl @stylesfever @michellekstyles

@just-another-reader1098 @hermionelove @tiredinwinter @whimsy-willows @hannah9921

@fangirl7060 @triski73 @vikiii07 @prettygurl-2009 @mads3502

@angeldavis777 @tchlamqtsgf @lizsogolden @me-undiscovered @you-sunshine

@rose-girls-world @claimingharrystigertattoo @inlikea-coolway @theseaview @lunaharrygurl

@emmie2308 @fruity-harry @somebunnybaby @avas-queen-black @mema10

@tulips4harry @sturnrc @sassamanda77 @ell0ra-br3kk3r @mp-269

@jmp1494 @fangirl509east @sideboobrry11 @drewrry @dutchtheatrelore @copiastricycle @mypolicemanharryyy

I'm sorry if I missed anyone in the taglist. Please let me know if you'd like to join, if it didn't work, if you no longer want to be included, etc. :)

If you like this, check out my masterlist here

#i'm so sad about this book club being over for a little bit in particular :(#this ending is my happy place #I’m losing my mind in a fabulous way I never wanna find it again I’ll just be here in this moment forever k thanks #a win is a win 😂#tbh callie makes me swoon too. i think harry would HAVE to be jealous of him 😅#they do like-like each other 🤭#idk if it was noticeable but i love half couples if that makes sense #imo rookie and harry were a couple practically this whole series w/o benefits basically. they were just stubborn in their own ways #i thought charlie deserved a moment to shine hehehe #i'm glad you felt it was intense! you know how i feel about these scenes I always worry that i'm being dramatic and it's NOT good #PROFOUND STOP #well jokes on her number 11 isn't getting out of her bed anytime soon #👹 this emoji makes me think of you in the nicest of ways and I love it SO much #I can't get away from kitten. someone said it was like my signature or a name drop that they're soulmates and I love the idea #so yes I had to hehehe #YES #I'm a sucker for “i'l kill him” and “don't leave me” i get GIGGLY #PETTING ZOO I'm SCREAMING #that was my favorite part “it's more than okay”#coffee was spur of the moment hehehe i figured it would showcase how extra he is lol #i'm a little obsessed with them too 💕#thank you for chatting! excellent book club 💕

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reasonsforhope · 1 year ago

Text

No paywall version here.

"Two and a half years ago, when I was asked to help write the most authoritative report on climate change in the United States, I hesitated...

In the end, I said yes, but reluctantly. Frankly, I was sick of admonishing people about how bad things could get. Scientists have raised the alarm over and over again, and still the temperature rises. Extreme events like heat waves, floods and droughts are becoming more severe and frequent, exactly as we predicted they would. We were proved right. It didn’t seem to matter.

Our report, which was released on Tuesday, contains more dire warnings. There are plenty of new reasons for despair. Thanks to recent scientific advances, we can now link climate change to specific extreme weather disasters, and we have a better understanding of how the feedback loops in the climate system can make warming even worse. We can also now more confidently forecast catastrophic outcomes if global emissions continue on their current trajectory.

But to me, the most surprising new finding in the Fifth National Climate Assessment is this: There has been genuine progress, too.

I’m used to mind-boggling numbers, and there are many of them in this report. Human beings have put about 1.6 trillion tons of carbon in the atmosphere since the Industrial Revolution — more than the weight of every living thing on Earth combined. But as we wrote the report, I learned other, even more mind-boggling numbers. In the last decade, the cost of wind energy has declined by 70 percent and solar has declined 90 percent. Renewables now make up 80 percent of new electricity generation capacity. Our country’s greenhouse gas emissions are falling, even as our G.D.P. and population grow.

In the report, we were tasked with projecting future climate change. We showed what the United States would look like if the world warms by 2 degrees Celsius. It wasn’t a pretty picture: more heat waves, more uncomfortably hot nights, more downpours, more droughts. If greenhouse emissions continue to rise, we could reach that point in the next couple of decades. If they fall a little, maybe we can stave it off until the middle of the century. But our findings also offered a glimmer of hope: If emissions fall dramatically, as the report suggested they could, we may never reach 2 degrees Celsius at all.

For the first time in my career, I felt something strange: optimism.

And that simple realization was enough to convince me that releasing yet another climate report was worthwhile.

Something has changed in the United States, and not just the climate. State, local and tribal governments all around the country have begun to take action. Some politicians now actually campaign on climate change, instead of ignoring or lying about it. Congress passed federal climate legislation — something I’d long regarded as impossible — in 2022 as we turned in the first draft.

[Note: She's talking about the Inflation Reduction Act and the Infrastructure Act, which despite the names were the two biggest climate packages passed in US history. And their passage in mid 2022 was a big turning point: that's when, for the first time in decades, a lot of scientists started looking at the numbers - esp the ones that would come from the IRA's funding - and said "Wait, holy shit, we have an actual chance."]

And while the report stresses the urgency of limiting warming to prevent terrible risks, it has a new message, too: We can do this. We now know how to make the dramatic emissions cuts we’d need to limit warming, and it’s very possible to do this in a way that’s sustainable, healthy and fair.

The conversation has moved on, and the role of scientists has changed. We’re not just warning of danger anymore. We’re showing the way to safety.

I was wrong about those previous reports: They did matter, after all. While climate scientists were warning the world of disaster, a small army of scientists, engineers, policymakers and others were getting to work. These first responders have helped move us toward our climate goals. Our warnings did their job.

To limit global warming, we need many more people to get on board... We need to reach those who haven’t yet been moved by our warnings. I’m not talking about the fossil fuel industry here; nor do I particularly care about winning over the small but noisy group of committed climate deniers. But I believe we can reach the many people whose eyes glaze over when they hear yet another dire warning or see another report like the one we just published.

The reason is that now, we have a better story to tell. The evidence is clear: Responding to climate change will not only create a better world for our children and grandchildren, but it will also make the world better for us right now.

Eliminating the sources of greenhouse gas emissions will make our air and water cleaner, our economy stronger and our quality of life better. It could save hundreds of thousands or even millions of lives across the country through air quality benefits alone. Using land more wisely can both limit climate change and protect biodiversity. Climate change most strongly affects communities that get a raw deal in our society: people with low incomes, people of color, children and the elderly. And climate action can be an opportunity to redress legacies of racism, neglect and injustice.

I could still tell you scary stories about a future ravaged by climate change, and they’d be true, at least on the trajectory we’re currently on. But it’s also true that we have a once-in-human-history chance not only to prevent the worst effects but also to make the world better right now. It would be a shame to squander this opportunity. So I don’t just want to talk about the problems anymore. I want to talk about the solutions. Consider this your last warning from me."

-via New York Times. Opinion essay by leading climate scientist Kate Marvel. November 18, 2023.

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lovelivision · 20 days ago

Text

‎‎‎‎THE PRACTICE OF KISSING .𖥔 ݁ ˖

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎‎𐔌.pairing — geto suguru / reader

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎── word count: 10k

✿ summary... after getting asked on a date you feel insecure over your inexperience regarding kissing someone. telling your bestfriend geto about your concerns results in an offer from him you didn't expect

warnings.ᐟ ── 18+ only, smut, pwp, swearing, making out, dry humping, dirty talk, hickeys, biting, (light) nipple play, praise kink, p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), creampie, orgasm denial (once), bsf!geto, virgin!reader, return of tease!geto, afab!reader, no use of pronouns !!

The state of your mind is currently a mess, feeling overwhelmed and staring off into space as you think about how a guy asked you on a date earlier today. You'd turned him down but only because you have a particular hang up you can't get over, hence the feeling overwhelmed. You’ve never gone out on a date before and you feel like you’re missing out, so you definitely would’ve said yes if you weren’t so unsure of yourself.

Geto's hand waves in front of your face, breaking you from your trance, "Are you even listening to me?"

Has he been talking? Damn, you really spaced out, "Would you believe me if I said yes?"

"Not even a little bit," his gaze unamused.

You look away from him and to the poster behind his head on the wall, feeling sheepish, "Then no... sorry."

His frown deepens, legs uncrossing and scooting closer to the edge of his bed, "What are you thinking about so hard?"

"Not telling," you answer, spinning around in his office chair so that you’re facing away from him.

His desk is neat, everything organised and probably put exactly where it should be. Beside his monitor sits a little black cat figurine, one you had bought him not too long ago because it reminded you of him. Seeing it displayed makes you smile; he must like it.

Geto’s voice cuts through your small reverie, "So, you're not only going to ignore me, you're also not going to tell me what's wrong?"

Not even glancing back, you hum at him, "That would be a correct assessment... yes."

"Have I told you that you're annoying yet today?" He exasperates.

Shrugging, "I don't think so?"

"Oh? In that case, you're annoying."

"You're so mean to me; this is why I don't want to tell you what's wrong," you’re being dramatic but so is he.

A sigh leaves him, "If I promise to be nice will you tell me what's wrong?"

Your head flops onto the chairs headrest, jabbing at him jokingly, "I don't know if you're capable of kindness, Suguru."

"Now who's being mean? I'm nice all the time."

"Maybe to strangers..." You mumble out.

There’s no reply from him and for a second you think he’s going to leave the issue alone… that is until you’re suddenly spinning. His footsteps are always so light, you didn’t even hear him come up behind you. You’re facing him now, his hands holding himself up by the arm rests of his office chair. He’d spun you around just to lean down into your space and pointedly look at you.

Geto squints, “I’m nice to you all the time.”

“I don’t think this constitutes as ‘nice’.”

He groans your name, “Come on, you always talk to me when something’s wrong.”

“Maybe this is awkward for me to talk to you about,” you pout back at him.

His tongue clicks in realisation, “So, it’s about your love life?”

The immediate correct guess stumps you, causing you to sputter out, “What!? You have no way of–”

“–You never talk to me about your dates and you also got defensive so I’m guessing I’m right,” his gaze is even, unconcerned.

You huff at him and echo his earlier question, “Have I told you that you’re annoying yet today?”

“Yes, earlier when you almost fell over and I smiled,” he reminds.

Your response is a grimace and a matter-of-fact tone when saying, “I don’t tell you about my dates because I don’t go on them.”

“Ever?” Geto’s eyes widen slightly, clearly surprised by your confession.

Cementing back, “Ever.”

“People have definitely asked you out though.”

“Yeah but not that often because they always think we’re together,” you glare back at him.

A hand reaches for your face and squishes your cheeks between his fingers, “Don’t look at me like that, that’s not my fault.”

Your voice comes out all mumbled and difficult to understand, “It so is.” He rolls his eyes at you and you slap his hand away, “Stop squishing my face!”

Letting go, he sighs and takes a step back, sitting on the edge of the bed again, “Something about your love life is bothering you.”

Crossing your arms over your chest and looking to the side, you complain, “You’re so nosy.”

“Am not.”

What a liar, he’s always in your business. Though, now that you’re thinking about it, you don’t think he’s usually in other people’s business this bad. He does like hearing about the gossip you collect though, always ready to hear it while acting as though he doesn’t care.

There’s no reply you can think to give, so you give him the silent treatment. Still looking away from him and silently pouting, you can feel his eyes watching you, waiting for you to break. It’s a frequent game you start that he finishes, silently ignoring him while he watches and waits until you can’t take it anymore and tell him what’s on your mind.

A few more moments pass by and you already feel ready to give in, you hate how much more effective his silence is. Glancing at him from the corner of your eye, your gazes meet and you feel yourself folding all at once.

Large and exasperated groan leaving you as your shoulders slump back into the chair, “Fine!”

He perks up at your concession, a self-satisfied look on his face that irks you.

Looking at him properly to say, “I was asked on a date earlier today.”

The expression on his face changes to one of annoyance, like he’s not happy to hear that, “Who?”

“Some guy, you don’t know him,” you wave off, not really understanding why it matters to him.

Geto prods for more information, “…And what did you say?”

“…I said no.”

“Oh?” His reaction is indecipherable to you, “Why?”

This question is exactly why you didn’t want to talk about this, “I don’t know…” You’re lying, trying to avoid talking about this in more depth.

“Did you like him?”

“I didn’t not like him,” you shrug, “I would’ve liked to go out with him at least once but…”

“But…” He pushes.

“I don’t know, Suguru,” you scowl at your own reasoning, “I’ve never been on a proper date before, I don’t know what to expect or what’s expected of me. What if he wanted to kiss me or something?”

He’s quiet for a long moment, making you antsy while you wait for him to talk, “…Would you want to kiss him back?”

“Maybe?”

“I don’t think I’m understanding the issue,” his brows are pinched with his confusion.

You’re exhausted with him, like you aren’t the one being purposefully cryptic, “Am I gonna have to spell it out for you?”

“Yes.”

“Ugh!” You kick your legs in a mini tantrum, “I’ve never properly kissed someone… it’s always been like… a peck, I don’t know? But what if he expected more of me?”

You can see the way he’s actively fighting against the smile threatening to break out on his face, “Is that–” he bites down an amused sound, “Is that why you always say no to dates?”

“I don’t like you very much right now,” you were already feeling silly and embarrassed and his clear joy from this is not helping that.

He pouts at you mockingly, “Don’t be like that, I can help.”

“How could you possibly help me with this?”

A smile comfortable on his face when he states, “I could teach you.”

“You want to teach me how to kiss?” You scrutinise him, “Have you gone insane?”

“You’re the one all hung up on this and I’m offering to help you,” he puts his hands up, “But if you’d rather be a dateless loser for the rest of your life–”

“–Hey!” You point at him, “Uncalled for… and rude!”

A very signature and very annoying, polite smile sits on his pretty features. Unbothered by your outburst at his very clear bait. He simply raises his arm and grabs the hand you had pointed at him, tugging you from the chair and into him on the bed. You’re taken aback by his bold move, so close to him so quickly. Falling into his lap less than gracefully, his other arm wrapping around your waist to hold you steady as you sit sideways between his legs.

You stutter out at him, “Wha– what are you doing?”

Letting go of your hand; he reaches for your face. His thumb stroking softly against your cheekbone, “Do you want my help or not?”

“What you’re basically asking me is if I want to kiss you,” you correct… because that is what he’s asking right now.

Geto’s head drops back slightly as he fights the urge to roll his eyes at you dramatically, hand resting on your outer thigh now, “Don’t be so pedantic. You have a problem and I’m offering to help fix it.”

A sound of disapproval slips from you at his wording, “I know the theory behind kissing someone, Suguru. What you’re offering is making out with me.”

“So?”

Your expression is dumbfounded, you know he’s not this dense, “You want to stick your tongue in my mouth and then go back to the usual?”

He leans in again, dodging your question with his own, “Do you want me to stick my tongue in your mouth?”

“Geto–”

“–Ouch–”

“–Shut up.” You cut him off, “If! We did this and I do mean if. Would you be able to look at me the same?”

“The same as I always have? Sure,” there’s no hesitation from him.

He seems so sure, like he’s not worried about what this might mean for your friendship at all. The easy-going look on his face is both pissing you off and relaxing you, emotions he’s always been able to pull from you.

His hand is large on your thigh and the way it makes you feel is not how you should feel for him. Mumbling out a small, “You’re annoying.”

An amused breath leaves him, “You’ve already told me that today.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you look up at him through your lashes.

“That’s kind of the point of this.”

“Right…” You can’t help but find yourself feeling nervous, embarrassed that you won’t be good enough. For some reason… you really want him to think you’re a good kisser.

He must take your silence as rejection because his tone is gentle when he says, “We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“I know, I just…” You frown while looking at him, trying to figure out exactly what steps to take next, “I don’t know what to do now…” Geto’s face relaxes and a smile replaces his concern causing you to chastise him, “Don’t smile, it’s not funny!”

“No,” he agrees, “But it is a little cute.”

“Whatever, can we just kiss now?”

“Desperate?” He asks teasingly.

You deny it, “I just want you to stop talking.”

“Sure.” It’s all dragged out and has a teasing lilt to it. Damn him and his need to have the last word. You don’t reply to that and instead try to shuffle off him, thinking sitting like this would be awkward. His hold becomes firmer on you, “What are you doing?”

You’re confused, “Isn’t this position weird?”

“Makes it easier,” is all he says in reply.

Being sat between his spread legs, your own draping over one of them while he holds you doesn’t seem ideal. To you, this couldn’t be a more awkward position to be in for this. Instead of telling him that though, you settle back, “Alright…”

When you look back up at him properly, he’s already looking at you. There’s a funny feeling that runs through you at the look in his eyes. The hand on your thigh moves to your face again, cradling you as he leans in. Murmuring a soft, “I’m gonna kiss you now, okay?”

Just as he’s about to move all the way in, your hand covers his mouth, “Wait.” You stop him, your nerves getting the better of you, “What if… what if you don’t like kissing me?” He looks a little frustrated so you pull your hand away, giving him a chance to speak.

“Do you want me to like kissing you?”

You feel flustered by his question, “Why do you always answer my questions with a question?”

“Because your questions are interesting…” he pauses, “…And also, I like teasing you.”

“If you answer my question, I’ll answer yours.”

“Fine,” he indulges you, “I’m not gonna dislike kissing you so your question is dumb.”

“But you can’t know–”

He tuts you, interrupting what you were saying, “–You gotta answer my question now.”

You groan at him, “Well… yeah.”

“‘Yeah’ what?”

He’s such a smug bastard, “Yeah! Yeah I want you to like kissing me, Suguru.”

You’re huffy but he seems so pleased by your response. A serene and happy look on his face despite the tone you used. You find yourself waiting for him to say something more, something to tease you further but he doesn’t. He simply leans in again, taking you by surprise when his lips are softly pressing to yours. It’s short and sweet, more akin to a peck than anything else. Continuing to plant gentle kisses to your lips until you return them and then he lets them linger.

The feelings that run through you have you all tingly and hot, kissing your best friend for practice probably shouldn’t feel this good… right? You still don’t really know what you’re doing though, more just letting him kiss you than anything. When you part again, you murmur, “Suguru, I still don’t know what I’m meant to be doing.”

“Just follow my lead,” his eyes stay on your lips, now shiny from the shared kisses, “That’s all you gotta do.”

“But–”

His eyes roll when you go to argue more, “–Stop thinking so hard about it and let me kiss you.”

You can’t help but squirm slightly at that, “Okay.”

Satisfaction rolls off him in waves but thankfully for you he doesn’t comment any further, choosing to kiss you again. Instinctually, your hand reaches for his chest and grips onto his shirt, you need something to ground you.

Geto is taking this slow, he’s trying his best to be patient to savour this moment with you. He doesn’t want to push you too far too soon and have you stop whatever this is. If he were more sure of himself and where he stands with you, he’d have just asked you out like a sane person but he’s not sure and he didn’t want to pass on this opportunity.

He can feel this becoming something he covets, your soft lips on his, uncertain in your movements but so ready to be kissed by him. His heart pulls with a kind of possessiveness that’s not completely unfamiliar to him regarding you. The desire to not want anyone else to ever have this side of you overwhelming him.

It’s addictive, his kisses, his hold on you… him. You can feel yourself falling into him more, the longer you do this dance. You want more, you want him to kiss you more but you have no idea how to ask for that. Following his lead is good, it’s helpful but it’s starting to feel like he’s depriving you.

Pulling back, you force yourself to voice, “I want more…”

“Do you know what you’re asking for?” He sounds strained.

“You said you would teach me,” you remind. “So, teach me.”

His thumb presses into your jaw, “Open your mouth more then.”

Doing as he asks; he angles you just slightly before pressing his mouth to yours. The kiss fuller, his tongue licking into your mouth. It has a shiver running down your spine, the sensation new and mind numbing. It’s messier than before and so much more dizzying, you can’t even really keep up with his movements. Just letting him kiss you to his hearts content, feeling yourself getting drunk on his lips in the process.

You can’t even be sure if you’re doing this right but it doesn’t really feel like it matters, not when you’re this lost in it. Lips gliding against his, a small involuntary sound pulling from your chest at how he grips you tighter. Feeling like he gets impossibly closer, his kisses growing desperate the moment you whine into him.

Geto’s restraint is wearing thin, his desire for you growing tenfold at how you moan for him. He wants to touch you so much more, to put his hands on every part of you. The fear of ruining this moment keeps his hands planted firmly to your hip and cheek though and it’s killing him to not touch you more, more, more.

When you tentatively lick against his tongue he almost all but folds in that single moment, he feels so pathetically weak for you. So unsure of yourself and still trying to kiss him just as deeply as he is you. A guttural groan leaves him, a sound he’d be almost ashamed of if he didn’t notice the way you squirm at it.

You pull back from him and he can’t help but chase your lips, he doesn’t want to stop. An amused breath leaves you, “Hold on.”

He doesn’t understand what you need a moment for until you’re pulling his hands from you and moving to straddle him. Your thighs resting beside him, he feels dizzy with need, the need to touch you, to undress you. To have you naked and straddling his lap just like this could make his whole year. His hands are on your hips, tugging you up his lap just slightly further, encouraging.

Going to sit on him, you notice his erection and gasp. Heat rising to your face, suddenly so conscious of how heated this exchange has gotten, “Maybe we should stop…”

It’s almost like it hurts him to hear those words, “Do you want to stop?”

You wish you weren’t so certain, so quick to immediately know that, “… No, I don’t.”

“That’s good…” he smiles, “Cause I’m not done teaching yet.”

And then you’re kissing again, wet and sloppy. He’s holding back less, depraved in how he sucks your tongue into his mouth, bolder now. Revelling in every twitch you make against him, every mumbled whine you let out.

Mindlessly, your hips lightly roll downwards and his resulting grip holds you so still against him. A debauched moan leaving him at your unexpected movements, parting his mouth from yours with it. Geto’s head tucks into your chest, controlling his breathing, like he might snap at any moment.

You feel a little frantic, like you might’ve hurt him, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

“–Don’t– fuck– don’t apologise,” he can feel how warm you are through your pants and it’s making him feel feral.

Your fingers run through his hair, to comfort him, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Hurt me?” He huffs an unamused sound, “The only thing hurting me is how badly I wanna stuff you full.”

“Sugu–”

“–I know you can feel just how hard I am,” he pulls his head back to look at you, eyes blown wide and dark, “I’m practically aching for you.”

Your heart stutters in your chest, “Suguru… are you some kind of closeted perv?”

The question makes him laugh, “Wanna find out?”

“You were only supposed to teach me how to kiss…”

“Mhm, and you’re doing great,” his nose traces along your neck, inhaling you, “I still have so much more knowledge to give though.”

“Don’t be so– hah!” He licks at your skin before latching his mouth to the side of your throat, the pressure making you fidget in his lap. You feel so sensitive, so much more than what you thought you would.

When Geto pulls back from the mark he’s made, he blows softly on it, enjoying the way you shudder on top of him. “‘Don’t be so’ what?”

That’s right you were going to say something, he looks really nice right now though… eyes lidded and cheeks just slightly pink, lips slick. What were you going to say to him? His grin only grows, taking satisfaction in your glazed eyes and struggle to think. Averting your gaze, you try to remember what you wanted to say. The break in eye contact short lived since he grabs your chin and pulls you back.

“Come on, pretty, what were you gonna say?”

The effect he’s having on you is becoming too much, “I was gonna tell you to not be so depraved!”

“Hmm…” His head quirks at you, “You seem to like it though?”

How presumptuous of him, “You can’t know that!”

“You know… the human body is really interesting, for example…” he looks down to where you’re sitting over his prominent erection, “You’re so incredibly hot against me that I feel like I’m going insane,” smiling back up at you evilly, “Just how wet are you?”

The possibility of fainting is very real all of a sudden, his question has you hot everywhere. “I jus– I just told you to not be so depraved.”

“Yeah and I ignored you,” he deadpans, ignoring your indignant sounds. “Do you want me to stop?”

Again, you hate how badly you don’t want to stop. Right now, you think you’d let him do just about whatever he wanted to you. “Promise not to tease me later?”

“You know I can’t promise that.”

You pout back at him, “Then I’m not gonna say what I was thinking.”

His curiosity is sufficiently piqued, “Fine, I promise to try not to tease you later.”

“That’s not good enough.”

He tries again, “I promise.” You both stay looking at one another for a moment before he adds, “That’s as good as you’re getting.” And you know it to be true.

How to say this without embarrassing yourself, “You can… you can touch me… however you want, Suguru…”

He feels like he’s gone into shock, “What?”

“Did you not hear me?”

“No… I heard you,” he can’t help the way his cock jumps in excitement, “I’m just double checking I heard you right.” He leans in to taunt, “You’re gonna let me touch you however I want?”

“You said you had more knowledge to share,” It’s a dangerous game that you’re both playing.

He breathes out, “And if I wanna touch you in a depraved manner?”

So certain in yourself when you reply, “I want to be touched in a depraved manner… by you.”

Ah, so you’re trying to kill him, is the conclusion that Geto has come to. A breathless laugh leaves him, “For practice?”

“Sure,” you give him the answer you think he wants, in reality you just want to desperately be touched by him. You don’t think you’ve ever been this turned on in your life and it’s all his fault.

An amused sound leaves him, “Hah– Don’t know if I believe your answer there…” his hands are on your hips, slowly dragging you over his dick. Biting his lip at the feeling, cock jumping when your breath stutters.

“Wait– wait,” your hands hold onto his and he stops moving you. Realising now that he might’ve gotten carried away, that he should’ve double checked again.

When you get off his lap and onto shaky legs Geto feels his heart drop, only for it to suddenly pick up speed when you’re shuffling your pants down and off. Crawling back onto him in your panties, he – shamefully – has to put so much focus into keeping calm, so worked up he could cum from this alone.

“Yeah…” you murmur back at him, placing yourself right over his erection again, gasping at how hard he is, at how much more you can feel even through the layers left on, “I lied just now.”

He wants to ask more; he wants to know what you lied about but if he thought you were hot before then he’s melting now. You’re sitting on his dick in the cutest little panties, already so drenched from making out with him that the affection he feels for you fills up his chest. He’s way too distracted right now to ask what he wants.

“Be honest,” it feels like a chore to rip his gaze away from your pussy, “Are you trying to kill me?”

Geto’s eyes are all glassy and blown, cheeks flushed as he implores you, like he’s worried you’re actually trying to kill him. He’s making you feel shy, “It’s your fault I’m acting like this.”

That has him feeling a little prideful, “Is that so?”

“Mhm,” you confirm.

“In that case,” he’s slowly dragging your heated core over his erection again, “Should I fix it?”

You nod your head at him, “…Yeah”

The shivers that run through you make you gasp, the drag over Geto’s dick feeling so much better without your pants on. And yet you can’t help but feel so greedy, a kind of need in your bones that you’ve not experienced before.

He takes his hands away from your hips and you stop moving, whining pathetically at him, “Why–”

“–Keep doing it yourself,” he encourages.

“But–”

“Just do it how it feels good, use me for a bit,” he grins, “I wanna watch you pleasure yourself on me.”

“You really are a perv,” you mutter back at him.

His retort is quick, “Say that to me when your pussy’s not drooling all over my pants.”

Your cunt jumps at his words, “Are you gonna be this crude the whole time?”

“I can be worse if you want?”

“I can’t stand you.”

“We both know that’s not true,” he looks pointedly down to where your cunt is pulsing hot against him. “Now do us both a favour and move,” he hisses out through clenched teeth, apparently nearing his limit.

“You’re so bossy,” you frown, “I’ve never…” You’re at a loss for how to phrase it.

“Dry humped someone before?” He finishes for you, “Though with how wet you are–”

“Shh!” You cover his mouth with your palm, “Stop… talking about how wet I am.”

He pulls your hand away, “You know, I’m not surprised you’ve never–”

“–You don’t have to say it again,” you cut him off.

He rolls his eyes, “You hadn’t even made out with someone, I’m just saying that I didn’t ask you to use me without knowing.” He holds the side of your face gently, “Stop worrying about it so much, I know already… that you’re a huge virgin.”

His gentle touch greatly contrasts his teasing words. He’s so evil to you, “This is why I say you’re not nice.”

“Do you want me to be nice? To tell you how pretty you are and how good of a job you’re doing?” The reaction you have is almost visceral, skin heating and looking away from him. Even more embarrassed when he chuckles at you, “Got a bit of a praise kink, hmm?”

“You’re making this difficult for me.”

“You should’ve just done what I asked then,” he shrugs easily.

If you thought holding out would punish him more than you, then maybe you’d just get off him and go home to get yourself off but you want him to make you feel good. So instead, you’ll just give in and hope he shows you mercy, though by how this is going, he doesn’t seem to be the type.

Experimentally, you roll your hips down into Geto and he huffs out a breath like he wasn’t expecting it. Your hands move to his shoulders for purchase, using the leverage you have there to grind down into him harder.

He holds onto your waist. Not moving you, just resting his hands there, “Oh fuck– no– hah– no warning?”

You shake your head at him, brows pinched as you focus on seeking your own pleasure, “You– hnn– wanted me to– hah– to do as you asked.”

His head falls back slightly at the pleasure, a lazy smile on his face, “That’s true.”

The longer you do this, the slicker his pants get, you’re so unbelievably wet that it’s coating the material obscenely. Geto is in awe of it, eyes fixed on where you’re rutting down into him, marvelling at the damp spot on his pants, at how drenched your panties are. So soaked that they’re practically a second skin, leaving nothing to the imagination with how it’s sticking to you.

He holds you still suddenly and the whine you let out is endearing, “Wait for a second,” he huffs.

Moving his hands to his belt to undo it, shuffling his pants down his legs. You lean up on your knees for a moment for him to drop them to his feet but before you can sit back down, his hand is holding you there. He runs the fingers of his other hand through your covered folds, a groan coming from the back of Geto’s throat.

“Seriously, you’re so fucking wet,” he reminds you.

“Sorry…”

He almost chokes, “‘Sorry?’” His fingers draw up to your clit, pressing into it, “Don’t be fucking sorry… I’m nearly salivating because of how drenched you are.”

That catches you off guard, “Sugu–”

He doesn’t let you speak, “–This wet because of me? It’s my fault you said?”

You bite your lip, his fingers circling your clit deliciously, “Mhm.”

His eyes brighten, “Perfect. Aren’t you just perfect for me?”

Your legs start shaking and he lets you drop back to his lap, one less layer between the two of you now. He’s so warm and hard and if you weren’t straddling him, you’d be clenching your thighs together for relief.

“You are doing such a good job for me,” he whispers low against your ear, “Having the most perfect reactions.”

You whine at his praise, “You’re doing this on purpose.”

“Yeah,” he licks against your ear, “But that doesn’t make it any less true.”

His size is honestly daunting, large and thick as you sit on it, throbbing underneath you. “Suguru?”

He noses at your cheekbone, “Mmm?”

“I’m worried…”

“About?”

“What if you don’t fit…” you look down to his lap, “I just mean, you feel…big.”

“I don’t have to put it in you,” he comforts but he can’t help the way he twitches at your genuine concern over taking him.

“But you want to?”

“What sort of a question is that?” he holds you down while he grind up into you, “Does it feel like I want to?”

“I was jus– ah!– I was just checking,” you sulk back.

Your mind melts, getting away from you. He’s rutting up into you in a way that has you shaking and your breaths stuttering. On edge for so long while sat in his lap, you want to meet his grinds, you want to move your hips into him but his grip is firm and steady.

It’s honestly a little pitiful how quickly he’s building you up, your insides clenching with the pleasure. The drag back and forth on his clothed cock driving you slowly to insanity. His boxers almost as ruined as your panties, your slick coating his covered dick. The glide much smoother than what you’d expect. It’s like you can feel him throbbing for you and it makes you want to fully take him even more.

Your own thoughts riling you up, the idea of him sitting so heavily inside you makes you huff out a whine. A sound that Geto relishes in, in fact, he’s relishing in all of this. You’re so malleable to his will, he thinks in this state, you’d let him do whatever he pleases. The thought alone nearly has his eyes rolling.

He needs you to cum like this, he needs to see it. How you shake and writhe on top of him, the expression you make. He wants to make you cum in so many different ways just to see how your expressions might differ each time.

It’s relentless, how he humps up into you, how he pulls you down into him. Your clit catching on the tip of his dick making you jump each time, shocks of pleasure running through you. You never thought something like this would feel so damn good.

Fingers grappling at the material of his shirt, pleasure wracking your body as he draws you closer and closer, “Stop– ah!– if you keep going I’ll– hnn–”

“–So soon?” he hums, “I don’t know if– hah– I believe you… you’re gonna have to prove it,” he leers back at you.

His eyes on you feel so consuming, calm and watching but so hungry that it’s driving you to the edge. It feels like you’re melting, so warm and unbelievably close. Body twitching on top of him with your impending orgasm. You don’t even get to try and warn him again, sounds you’ve never heard yourself make falling from your mouth before you can think to stop them. Trembling with the force of your orgasm, feeling so weak as you slump into him, eyes wet and bleary.

Geto feels like he’s vibrating, watching you come undone on top of him making him feel too much at once. His arms wrap around you and hold you close, hands smoothing up and down your back. Lips close to your ear when he speaks, “You know… you make some really cute noises when you cum.”

Lazily, you look up at him through your lashes. Feeling a stupid kind of pleasure running through your body, still jolting slightly with the come down. “Stop trying to embarrass me.”

“I’m only being honest,” his hands slip under your shirt, groping your waist, “You getting embarrassed is just a bonus.”

“Have you always been this sadistic?”

He leans in and presses a kiss to the side of your mouth, “Who knows?” He smiles.

Turning, you catch his mouth with yours. Kissing him properly, hands tickling the back of his neck as you try to kiss him like he did you earlier. His hands on your waist grip you, lips imploring. So needy in how he returns your kiss, all but whining when you part. A string of saliva connects your mouths and he wipes your lower lip with his thumb, pressing it to your lips like he might push it inside.

Eyes lost as he dances his digit over your plush lips, “You’re beautiful,” is all he says, gazing at you with so much affection.

Opening your mouth, you gently take his thumb between your teeth. Biting so very lightly before flicking your tongue over the tip of it. Geto looks like he blushes at the action, pulling his hand back.

“Seems as though I’m not the only tease,” he accuses.

You mutter back at him, “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His compliment had made you feel so soft and tingly that you didn’t know what to say or how to react. It’s not like he’s never complimented you before, you just weren’t expecting him to call you beautiful so earnestly. Being given compliments by someone has never made your insides flutter as much as they did just now.

He hums at you, redirecting his attention. Pulling at the hem of your shirt to show what he wants; you lift your arms up so he can remove it from you properly. Feeling so bare on top of him but not really minding, still too blissed on your orgasm to care.

Geto doesn’t waste any time, groping your tits in his large hands. Rolling your nipples experimentally and grinning wide at how you twitch and bite back moans at it. “My, you’re sensitive.”

Teeth digging into your lower lip to stop the pitiful noises he’s threatening to pull from you, “Try not to sound so pleased about that.” Your blood is still thumping through your ears, pleasure fresh in your bones.

“Would you rather I be upset?”

“I’d rather you not make– ah!–”

His wet mouth wrapping around your nipple has your words cutting off suddenly, back arching into him. Huffing out breaths at how he flicks his tongue over your sensitive skin, dizzy from the heat he’s making you feel. Pulling back with an obscene pop, licking at you a final time while keeping eye contact before swapping to your neglected tit.

He’s playing with you, or he’s waiting for you to say you’re ready for more… no he’s definitely just playing with you. Taking his time leaving marks all over your tits, even biting some places. Neglecting himself in favour of teasing you to insanity, though it can’t be that painful for him considering how he’s enjoying this immensely.

Whining at him, “You– hah!– You’re gonna leave too many marks,” he ignores you in favour of making a new mark to the top of your breast, “Suguru!”

Threading your fingers through his hair, you pull him back with a tug. You’re frowning at him but your eyes are so wet and dazed and you’re nearly completely naked on top of him. Covered in hickeys and his saliva, despite your pulled brows you look so euphoric.

Feigning ignorance, he simpers, “What’s wrong with that?” A finger trails over the marks he’s left, grazing a sensitive nipple in his journey, “You seemed to liked it.”

Swallowing your pride, you tell him directly, “I want more.”

“You want to cum again?” He muses, “Greedy.”

Taking offence at his accurate guess, you add, “I want… you to as well.”

Geto ignores the thumping of his heart, “Take off your panties then.”

“But…”

A brow raises at you, “‘But’ what?”

You don’t really want to tell him about how shaky your legs are, you’re a little concerned they’ll give out as soon as you try to stand. He really doesn’t need the ego boost right now, “Nothing.”

Moving off him so so carefully, you keep your hands on his shoulders as you stand between his spread legs. With the way your knees are wobbling and fingers gripping to him so harshly, it doesn’t take him long to figure out that you’ve not really got a great sense of balance right now. A smug smile gracing his lips when he sees you fight to figure out how you’re going to take off your panties with your hands on him.

“Something wrong?”

“No,” You quickly answer.

“Then take them off,” a finger pulls at the waistline of your underwear only to let it snap back to you. At your continued struggle he adds, “Or do you want me to take them off for you?”

You look to him, eyes hopeful for mercy, “Please?”

“Sure,” his tone polite but you’re not sure you’re that trusting of him.

Thankfully, his hands slide them delicately down your legs, brushing against your thighs. Though, he’s an opportunist and he uses this chance to grip at your thighs, pulling at your skin further and further up your legs. Humming low to himself at the slick coating your inner thighs, unable to help himself when he drags his fingers through your folds, touching your pussy directly.

“Fuck, alright–” He bites out, pulling you to his lap suddenly, “I’ve reached my limit.”

“Wait,” he stops his frantic movements and you pull at his shirt, “Take it off.”

He doesn’t even tease, just immediately does as you asked, hastily tugging his shirt off. It’s dropped less than gracefully onto the floor. Your fingers dance along his shoulders, down his chest. You want to take it all in a bit more but he’s flopping onto his back and shucking his boxers down enough to pull his cock free.

The size of him almost has your eyes bulging, you wonder how he’s been so patient when he’s this hard and achy looking. Tip flushed deep pink and already smothered in his own leaky precum, your cunt throbs while looking at him. Caught between concern over his size and a desperate need to be full of him.

“You don’t have to take it but please just–” He grabs and moves you until you’re hovering over it, “Sit on it at least.��

Lowering yourself cautiously, you sit on him lightly. He can feel your heat and it makes him shiver, “I don’t need you to be gentle with me,” he snickers, “Split your pussy open on my dick.”

Geto doesn’t even give you the chance to do it yourself, hands tugging you down onto him with more force. A gasp ripping from you when he immediately starts dragging you back and forth on his whole length. Stifled groans leave him from under you, his chest vibrating under your palm.

“Sugu–”

“–Sorry,” his brows are knitted together, “I got– nnh– impatient.”

It’s so wet, slipping over him repeatedly, the head of his cock nudging your clit over every pass. Your teeth dig into your lower lip to fight the whines bubbling inside you but eventually you give up and just let yourself moan. He seems to like it anyways, cock jerking at the soft breaths and whimpers leaving you.

He’s on the brink of stupidity, you’re so soft and unbelievably warm and his tip keeps catching on your hole and it makes him shudder each time. Looking down, he watches the way you’re coating his cock in more of your slick, cock shiny with how wet you are. Lewd sounds of your pussy grinding over him fill the room and now he’s thinking about you creaming around him. He’s never wanted something so bad in his life.

“Sugu,” you call out to him and he dopily pulls his eyes to yours, “Do you think I could just…” when his cockhead catches on your hole again, you press down, not even taking him in any real way and yet still stretching slightly for it.

His grip hardens on you, holding you completely still, “There’s no ‘just’ anything.” He struggles to breath out evenly, “Not with how tight you are.”

“I wanna feel full though,” you try wiggling down into him but he’s truly got you in a vice like hold.

His cock twitches as excitement rushes through him, “You asking me to take your virginity, pretty?”

Shy when you ask, “Would you?”

He’s not passing on the chance to pick on you a little bit, “How bad do you want it?”

He can feel the way your hole flutters when you think about his question, your answer seemingly downplaying how you feel, “Pretty bad.”

“Hmm,” He pretends to think about his answer.

You’re taking issue with his faux deep thought, “Sugu, stop acting like you’re not…”

“Go on,” he encourages, “‘Like I’m not’ what?”

“Like you’re not…” you look away from him, mumbling out, “Aching for it…”

“Oh? You aching for it?” The smile he’s wearing can be heard in his words.

He sounds way too gleeful over this and it’s ticking you off, “Nope,” you pop the ‘p’ as you lift yourself off him.

“Don’t be like that,” he sits up, “I’m not letting you go anywhere… not when I know you’re aching for my cock.”

“I did not say that.”

“That’s what I heard you say,” he shrugs.

Geto’s arms wrap around you only to throw you down onto the bed, gone from you for a second while he shoves his boxers off quickly. And then he’s crawling over you, hands tracing up your body, relishing in your reactions to him.

“You really are so sensitive,” he mutters, trailing a finger up your thigh and watching your skin break out in goosebumps.

He’s being so unbearable, the need you feel is so loud and he’s here taunting you, “You’re so frustrating.”

“You’re just a needy little thing,” he returns, “So desperate to be filled even though you’re not prepared in the slightest.”

“Then prepare me,” you whine back.

He finds this about you cute, your insatiable greed, your back and forth between shy and so horny that you’re getting pissy at him. “I should teach you some manners,” he grumbles.

You spread your legs for him obscenely, growing even more impatient. “Please, touch me,” you pull his hand towards your pussy, “please.”

If he ever gets the chance to touch you like this again he’s going to torture you because right now you’re playing so completely unfairly that he can’t even think to deny you. His brows pull up as he flushes, finding himself doing exactly what you wanted, fingers gliding through your folds.

The way you keen at his touch almost makes it worth it. “You don’t play fair,” he complains.

“Someone lead by– hah!– po– poor example, I guess,” you shudder when he slips a single finger inside you.

Geto groans at the snug heat of your cunt, closing his eyes to take a quick breath at just how you feel wrapped around his digit. The fear or cumming the minute he gets inside you is real; he’s going to have to develop an insane amount of self-restraint between then and now.

“You’re hilarious,” he leans down to whisper in your hear, “Now shhh…” He draws his finger back before fucking it back in, lewd wet sounds of your pussy filling the silence, “Hear that?” He keeps repeating his movements, taking immense joy in how you writhe under him, “I think… pretty things that are this wet and begging to get fucked… don’t get to mock me.”

Your fingers dig into his shoulders, eyes glassy when you look up at him, “Don’t– nnh– be sooo mean.”

“You haven’t seen me be mean,” he pulls his finger back just to stuff another inside you, grinning when you arch your back at it, “I’ve only been nice to you today.”

“Be nicer,” you pout.

“Don’t wanna be,” he smiles graciously back at you.

The fingers he has in you scissor to spread you open, pleased hums leaving him at your responses. Your mouth drops open and legs shake, fighting to close but unable to with how he’s in-between them. He’s hitting all the perfect spots inside you, crooking his digits to rub against your inner walls in a way you’re never able to reach.

He’s getting you so close to cumming that you want to hide from him, somehow feeling so much more vulnerable like this than when you were sitting in his lap earlier. Slowly, he works you to the point of taking another of his fingers, fucked open on three of them now. Your toes curl and your thighs hoist themselves on either side of his waist. Hips grinding into his hand, meeting his movements.

Geto finds the frenzied and desperate grinds into his hand adorable, satisfied with just how much more greedy you get when you’re this turned on. He already knows you must be close, your sudden drive to fuck down onto his fingers a dead giveaway to him.

He adds his thumb, rubbing circles into your clit. You jerk at it, tits bouncing in a way that has him drooling. To be honest, if you weren’t practically begging to get dicked down earlier he would’ve put his mouth on you. Maybe if he weren’t also desperate to put his cock in you he’d do it anyways but for now, he’ll settle for fingerfucking you to insanity and then shoving you full of his dick.

Your voice comes out smaller than you want, “Sugu, I think–”

“–I know,” his eyes are bright, fully aware of how close you are.

He can feel the way you twitch and clench down on him, back arching off the bed. Speeding up his movements just to get you there that much quicker and when you’re about to cum all over his fingers… he pulls them from you. Leaving you without your orgasm but so high that he could blow on your clit and you might cum.

You whine at him, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. Expression dopey and angry, sexually frustrated from the cruel and unexpected edging he just put you through. “What the hell, Suguru?!”

His grin is wolfish, merciless expression painted over with faux pity, “I’m so sorry, pretty. Were you close?” A hand cradles your face, soothing you for something that is completely his fault.

“Why would you do that?” All he’s succeeded in is making you needier than before, squirming under him with no way to find relief.

His answer is simple, “Just to see how you’d react.”

“I shouldn’t have hung out with you today.”

“Don’t be like that,” he guides his dick to your cunt, “I’m ‘bout to treat you so good.”

“If you don’t let me cum we’re not friends anymore,” you warn.

He snickers at how genuine you’re being, “Alright.”

“I mean it, Suguru.”

“I know you do,” he presses a kiss to your temple, “That’s why it’s a little tempting.”

You whine at him, “Can you stop being so cruel for a moment?”

He blinks at you, “What do I get if I do?”

“What do you want?”

“I want to be the first person you go on a date with.”

His request confuses you, “What? Why?”

He doesn’t answer you, “Those are my terms,” he says matter-of-factly.

“Okay! Fine, yes, whatever you want,” you nod at him.

He smiles and starts pushing into you, the stretch is a lot and it aches more than his fingers. You’re trying to breathe through it but it seems like he is too. His thumb is on your clit, trying to get you to relax for him. “St– stop– hah– fuck!– stop clenching so tight,” he hisses through his teeth.

“I can’t– nnh– help it,” your nails dig into his skin.

His lashes flutter when he gets his tip inside you, groan leaving him. “Wh– when I s–say date I mean– hnnn– a real date. A ‘I take you out and then try kissing you at the end of it’ date.”

For some reason, that makes your insides twist and you squirm. “Wh– whatever you– nnh– want, Sugu.”

“Yeah? You’re gonna– hah– dress up and let me take you out for your first ever date?” His fingers grip at his blanket below.

Your eyes roll as he slips further inside you, babbling out, “If you– hnn– let me cum? I’ll date only you.”

Geto sputters at that, hips driving forwards on their own making you both moan. His upper body drops down to you, lips ghosting over your neck and cheek before taking yours in a sweet kiss. He knows you’re out of your mind horny and probably not even sure of what you just said but he’s going to live in this moment while he fucks you.

He’s kissing your breath away while he slowly fills you to the hilt, trying so hard to be careful with you. His lips successfully distract you from the ache you were feeling, melting into him as he licks at your tongue.

Parting from you only when he’s balls deep inside you, head flopping to your shoulder as he moans. Struggling to keep it together, you’re wrapped so snug and hot around him, pulsing so tightly around his aching cock that he feels like he might cum at any second.

“Sugu?” When he hums, you continue, “Move please?”

You wiggle your hips into him but he’s quick to stop you with a firm hand, “If you don’t want this ending right now then you need to give me a moment.”

“Hmm, that’s awfully cute of you, Suguru,” you tease him.

“That’s bold,” he licks at the shell of your ear, “I’m going to ruin you.”

“More than you already have?”

He agrees, “So much more.”

It feels like an eternity before he’s finally dragging his hips back, that alone has your breath stuttering. He wants to set a punishing pace so bad; he wants to fuck you until you’re mad but he starts slow. Thrusting back into you at a languid pace, still carefully opening you up on his fat dick. It’s your first time and as much as he loves torturing you, he also loves pleasing you.

You’re scrabbling for purchase at his leisurely pace anyways, not expecting the heavy drag of his cock to feel this mind numbing. He chuckles lowly at the way you’re already weak for him, though it’s completely his fault considering all he’s put you through up until now.

“I think you may be the awfully cute one,” he smirks at you.

Your insides tug at his tone, “You can– hnn– be quiet.”

Leaning up, he rest on his knees, pushing your leg back and up. He has a great view of you taking him like this, able to see all your reactions. “I can but your pussy really likes when I talk.”

He’s so smug and he gets to be too because he’s right, his lightly mocking tone and that polite smile he wears is a deadly combo that has your cunt seizing around him. “I like it– hah– better when you’re nice to me.”

“You’re taking me all so well, pretty,” he praises, “Pussy sucking me right back in, so greedily.”

Your eyes roll back at how he thrusts into you, new angle hitting deeper than before, “That’s not– hnn– being nice!”

“Really?” He watches the way your hole clenches and feels how much wetter you get around him, “‘Cause you seemed to like it a lot.”

You bite your lip as you look up at him, silently asking for him to fuck you.

He looks down his nose at you, “What are you asking for?”

Sulking, “I want you to– hah– move more.”

“You should’ve just said that then,” he crooks his head to the side at you.

The slow drag out is the same as always until he’s fucking himself back into you sharply, a gasped moan stumbling from you as your hands seek stability in the mattress below. Your whine is dragged out when he repeats it over and over, brows knitted together in your pleasure.

“That’s a nice reaction,” he comments smugly.

You only hum at him, too consumed by the feeling of him shoving his dick in and out over and over in such a relentless pace that you’re seeing stars. Either you’ve closed your eyes or they’ve rolled to the back of your head because you’re not seeing much of anything right now.

Your eyes are welling with tears, chest heaving with your breaths. The stretch in your leg increasing when Geto pushes down into you further, pushing back on your leg with it. He’s basically folded it over his shoulder, you had no idea you were capable of bending this much. You’re so dazed and fucked stupid when you look to him lazily, he looks so pretty like this. Hunched over you and driving his cock in and out of your tight heat, his hair hanging messily over his shoulders and face as his expression twists in bliss.

Reaching a hand up, you tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear, “You’re pretty.”

You say it so dopily that he wonders if you know what you’ve just said, “I’m fucking you to the point you’re cock drunk and you think I’m pretty?”

A shudder runs through you at his voice, “Mhm, and– ah!– you have– hnn– have a pretty voice.”

God help him, he’s about to cum from you calling him pretty. “St– stop– hnn– talking.”

“Sugu, you feel so–”

He cuts you off with a hand over your mouth, he has a feeling that whatever you were about to say would have him cumming inside you. “You’re so cute but I need you to shut up before I cum.”

From behind his hand, you look ruined. Tears slipping from your eyes, he can feel the way you’re drooling against his skin. The only sounds in the room his grunts, your muffled moans and the slick squelching of you swallowing his cock.

You want to keep telling him how pretty he is and how good he’s making you feel but even without him hindering you, you feel as though you may be beyond words now. Brain not able to form very cohesive thoughts as of this moment let alone speak them. He has you feeling so full, his cock throbbing against your walls in a way that has your skin thrumming.

Geto’s eyes lock down on where he’s stuffing himself into your little cunt, he feels himself short circuiting at the sight. Pussy bulging around him, struggling to take him all, dick so shiny with your slick. White creamy ring at the base of himself, it’s messy and lewd and it has him feeling so unbelievably obsessed with your cunt.

Thinking distantly that he’s going to do his best to impress you on your date so he can have you again, next time he’s definitely licking your pussy. Debauched groans vibrate in his chest at the thought, he’s going to make this so unforgettable for you, he needs you to be as obsessed with him as he is you. He’s going to be so much worse after this and he was already down pretty bad.

Your hand grabs at his wrist, trying to tug it away so you can speak. He pulls back out of curiosity, “I– hnn– I’m– ah!–” Giving up trying to warn him after a particular thrust has you crying out, there’s no real point in warning him anyways.

He grins at your inability to say anything meaningful, “I’ve gotcha, go ahead and cum for me.”

Of course he knew exactly what you were trying to say, how does he already know your body so perfectly. He leans down to you, impossibly close, just to kiss your cheek and say, “Come on, pretty, I wanna feel you squeeze me tight before I cum in you.”

Crude and obscene and effective because his words make you shudder as you suddenly cum around him. A little frantic in how you squirm under him, eyes rolling as your hips fight to fuck yourself onto his thrusts. Pitiful whimpers of his name leaving you repeatedly, the only really comprehensive thing you’re able to utter out.

Geto’s orgasm is immediately triggered by yours, he was hoping he’d get to play with you a little more but as soon as he felt the sinful way you gripped him while you came, he was done for. Your cunt pulsating around him milking him for all he’s worth, he’s cumming so much so deeply. His hips flush to yours as he only grinds into you to ride out both your highs.

He doesn’t think he’s ever cum that much in his life and he’s unsure if it’s because it’s you or because he held back for so long. His weight drops to you as he catches his breath, feeling spent and so drunk on your pussy that if he thought too hard about you he’d get hard again.

Your hand taps lightly at his shoulder, words all garbled when you speak, “Sugu, too heavy.”

Shoving his arms under you, he rolls until you’re on top of him. Cock slipping from you in the process and it has you letting out a cute whine.

“It’s leaking out of me,” you warn him.

He groans, “Don’t say that.”

You rest your check to his collarbone, “Why not?”

“I’ll get turned on again.”

Rolling your eyes at him, “You’re an insatiable pervert.”

“You’re not much better.”

His hands tickle up your sides, repeating the motion over, it’s making you feel sleepy. “You’re still worse.”

He just hums at you, apparently not caring to argue back. “You gonna be okay to shower?”

“In a bit… and only if you carry me the whole time.”

He laughs at that, “Sure.”

You draw mindless patterns on his chest with your finger, “So… where are you taking me on my first date?”

𝒂.𝒏. this was actually a request that i got carried away with,, my requests aren't even open i just fucked with the idea that hard hehe.... i hope you all enjoyed and thank you very much for reading !!!

(i recently made a discord for my followers so if you guys are interested in that please check out the pinned page on my blog :3)

[⚠︎] — 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈.ᐟ do not reupload / repost / translate / plagiarise my works © all works are the intellectual property of lovelivision

#visionwrites #jjk smut #jjk x reader smut #geto suguru smut #suguru geto smut #geto suguru x reader smut #suguru geto x reader smut #suguru smut #geto smut #geto x reader smut #getou suguru x reader #suguru x reader smut #jjk x reader #geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #geto suguru x you #geto x you #suguru geto x reader

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incognit0slut · 4 months ago

Text

was i stupid to love you?

in which a lingering glance at Rossi’s wedding threatens your engagement.

content: angst, 4.8k, takes place right after truth or dare (14x15), a lot of dialogue, mention of prison arc, emotional distress, relationship conflict, not proofread a/n: when was the last time you saw me write angst? exactly. this is inspired by malcolm & marie bc i really like the idea of having an argument while moving around the house (also disclaimer i have nothing against JJ i just like being dramatic)

The lock clicks open. The door swings with a creak. Your heels tap against the hardwood in a hollow rhythm that feels almost too loud. There’s a tightness in your chest, that prickling behind your eyes, and a familiar ache pressing up from the pit of your stomach, churning into a faint nausea that you try to ignore. You’re trying to hold it back.

Not here.

Not now.

Spencer doesn’t even look up. The keys slip from his hand with a soft clink as they hit the side table, and he turns away with a quiet sigh that reverberates deep in your bones.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, tossing a glance toward the kitchen. “Think we could order something?”

You trail after him, the sharp click of your heels echoing as you step onto the kitchen tile. “We just came back from a wedding.”

He’s rifling through the cupboard, his fingers brushing over the mismatched mugs and neatly stacked plates before he pulls down two glasses. “I barely ate anything at the reception.”

You watch him, biting back a response as memories flicker to mind. The slice of cake he’d poked at absentmindedly, washing it down with sips of water instead of real food.

It wasn’t hunger he seemed focused on tonight. No, it was his quiet glances across the room you keep on catching from the corner of your eye, and that conversation he’d had at the bar. The one where his posture softened, his gaze so intent you’d found yourself staring at the back of his head, trying not to read too much into it—and obviously failing.

“Why didn’t you eat?”

He shrugs, his back still to you as he fills the glasses with water. “I don’t know,” he says, sounding almost absent, like it’s something he hasn’t really thought about. “I didn’t get around to it, I guess.”

The muscles in your jaw ticks as you bite the inside of your cheeks.

Spencer turns, offering you a glass. “I was thinking of Chinese, or maybe we can check if that Thai place you like is still open.”

You take the glass from him, barely sparing it a glance before setting it back down on the counter. “Whatever you want is fine.”

A subtle crease appears between his brows. “You sure? You usually have some opinion when it comes to food.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You don’t want to eat anything?”

You suppress a sigh. "No. I'm tired."

The soft amber of his eyes dims slightly as he studies you. There's a flicker of uncertainty passing through them before he nods. “Alright,” he concedes. “We don’t have to order anything.”

A faint, humorless laugh escapes you before you can stop it. It tastes bitter, a little unfair, but it slips out before you can pull it back, “You don’t have to change your plans on my account, Spencer.”

“I’m not changing any plans,” he responds. “I’m just making sure you have something to eat in case you’re hungry.”

Your shoes dig uncomfortably into your feet. You shift your weight, starting to pace a few steps back and forth. "It's dinner, you don't have to check on me for every little thing. Do whatever you like."

He blinks, looking genuinely perplexed. "What are you saying? I was trying to be considerate."

"Right. Considerate.”

There’s an unmistakable bite in your tone.

“Yes, because we like doing these things together," he observes, watching your uneasy pacing. "Am I missing something here?”

You shake your head. “Nope.”

"Honey."

The term of endearment lands softly, slipping from his lips like he believes it has the power to melt whatever tension has suddenly crept between you. But it only tightens the knot building in your stomach. It’s stirring the words you’re trying to hold back, tangling them somewhere between your chest and throat.

He calls your name this time, his eyes narrowing into sharp lines. “You’ve been awfully quiet on our way home, and now you’re… honestly, I don’t know why you're acting this way.” His voice dips with a tinge of exasperation. "What’s this really about?"

The words you’ve been biting back feel like a stack of stones in your throat, rising up, up, up, each one pressed tighter by the gnawing nausea in your stomach. You can feel them gathering, and before you know it, they tumble out messily.

“I’m just saying, don’t let me hold you back from getting what you want. I wouldn’t want to stop you from anything—or, god forbid," you add, letting your gaze drift away as if a little distance might soften the blow, “anyone.”

The soft, almost stifled inhale he takes is audible. You don’t even have to look up to see his expression shifting. You’ve known him long enough to recognize the way his shoulders tense, the way his breathing slows as he processes your words. You know his reaction by heart, yet right now, you wonder if saying this was a mistake, if this is the start of something neither of you can take back.

His fingers twitching at his side slip into your line of sight. He's angry.

Maybe this isn’t the time to start a fight.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Your heels click softly as you turn.

“Forget it. I shouldn't have said anything,” you mutter, already moving toward the bedroom that’s been yours, too, for the past year. Although it feels strange tonight, like a space that belongs to someone else. A life you’re not entirely sure you belong in.

“No." His voice is somewhere behind you. “I think you should explain to me what you mean by that.”

You don’t respond, choosing instead to sink onto the edge of the bed, hands fumbling as you try to undo the straps of your heels. You twist the stubborn leather with more force. His shadow fills the doorway.

“Honey.”

Not again.

You decide to ignore him.

“Is there something you’d like to say to me?”

You tug harder at the strap. “No.”

He doesn’t buy it. “You’re clearly bothered by something.”

You shake your head, fingers still fumbling, the leather cutting against your ankle with each pull. “I’m just tired. Can we leave it at that?”

There’s a flicker of frustration in his gaze now, a crease forming between his brows as he studies you. He moves into the room. You barely have the chance to react before he lowers himself, bending one knee to the floor as he reaches toward the strap you’ve been fighting with. “Here, let me—”

“Don’t,” you interrupt, pulling your foot away. “I can do it myself.”

“I know you can. But let me—”

“I can do it myself!”

Your heartbeat thuds loud in your ears, each pulse feeding the frustration that’s wound its way up from your chest. He rises slowly, not a word passing his lips, but the tension radiates off him like heat. He’s close enough that his warmth presses against your skin, although it’s not the kind you usually find comforting. It’s almost suffocating.

You turn your focus back to the stubborn strap, your fingers trembling slightly as you struggle to grip it. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch him slipping off his shoes, one after the other, the soft thuds barely audible over the rush of your own heartbeat. He pulls off his suit jacket, carefully smoothing the crumpled fabric before hanging it in the closet. For a moment, it seems like he’s going to let it go… until his gaze drifts back to you.

You can tell his patience is fraying, and you’re proven right when he asks again, “What did you mean by that? When you said you wouldn’t want to stop me from anyone… what was that supposed to mean?”

You finally manage to tug the strap loose. The heel drops to the floor with a muted thump. “It was nothing.”

“I don’t think you’d say something like that if it was nothing.”

Your focus shifts to the other shoe. “Just drop it, Spencer.”

"How am I supposed to drop it when you're implying... whatever it is you're implying?"

You keep your eyes down, wrestling with the strap in silence. He cuts through the quiet before it has a chance to grow.

“Don’t do that,” he says. “Don’t brush it off like it’s nothing when it clearly means something. I need to know why you said that.”

You kick off the other heel and meet his gaze for the first time since you walked into the room. “You really want to know?”

He reaches for his bow tie, yanking it loose it with one hard pull. “Do I want to know why you’re giving me this attitude right now? Yes. Yes, I do.”

Oh. So this is going to be that kind of fight.

You hadn’t expected it to go here. Fights with Spencer are very rare, usually more a clash of misunderstandings that you both laugh about with limbs tangled between sheets by the time you’ve made peace. But seeing him standing there with the tie hanging loosely around his neck and his five o’clock shadow casting an even darker line along his jaw, it hits you differently.

This is real. And this time, you don’t know if brushing it off will fix anything.

“Fine, let’s talk about it then.” You rise from the bed, tension carrying you to your feet. “Emily’s speech tonight.”

His brow furrows, not quite a scowl, more a cautious crease as he processes your tone. “Emily’s speech? What about it?”

“What do you remember of it?”

There’s a slight pause, and you can tell he's clearly caught off guard by the question. “She mentioned how Rossi and Krystal are twin flames."

“Right. Two souls that are always meant to be together.”

His face is still marked by confusion, but there’s something else creeping in. A subtle tightening around his eyes tells you he’s starting to piece it together. “I don’t understand what that has to do with—”

“You looked at JJ the second Emily made that speech,” you cut him off. “Spencer, you didn’t even spare a glance at your future wife because you were too busy making eyes at the woman who’s apparently been in love with you all these years.”

There. You said it. The words that have twisted around your insides all evening are finally out. And maybe they taste a little bitter, but at least they're not choking you anymore.

A second passes, then another, and by the time the fifth heartbeat ticks by, he’s standing there with his hand on his hip.

“That’s not what happened."

“Then what was it?” you demand. "I sat beside you the whole day, you didn't even try to hide it."

“That’s not—you’re twisting things.” His hand moves through his hair, fingers digging in as his curls tumble forward onto his forehead. “And you know what happened that night wasn’t real. It was a forced confession. She was under duress, we both were. JJ and I are just friends.”

You arch an eyebrow. “You look at all your friends like that?”

His hand drops to his side. "I don't know what else you want me to say. JJ said what she did because she thought we might die. She has a family, and a husband who she loves. We already went through this, I don't understand why this is suddenly an issue again."

“Maybe I wouldn’t be bringing this up if you didn’t look at her tonight like you were ready to break up that marriage yourself.”

A flash of shock and anger crosses his features.

“That’s not fair,” he snaps, his voice sharper than you’ve heard in a while. “Do you really think I’d disregard everything I have with you because of a look? Because of a history that has never gone anywhere?”

“I don’t know what to think. It's not like it happened just once, I saw you looking at her the same way at the bar." You step forward, accidentally kicking your discarded heel as you move. "What were you two talking about, anyway?”

He lets out a tight breath. “She was checking in on me. She… we haven’t talked much since then.”

The corners of your mouth pull down. “Mhm. Another round of truth or dare?”

“I can’t believe you’re using that against me." His hair flops forward as he shakes his head, falling messily over his brow. "If there were anything unresolved with JJ, I would’ve said something. But I didn’t, because there’s nothing there."

“And yet, she’s always been an important part of your life, hasn't she?"

He tilts his head. "What are trying to say now?"

Your tongue darts out, briefly brushing your lips. You're not sure you should say it, but it feels like a door has swung open—a door to words that have been waiting for their moment.

You take a slow, deep breath, filling your lungs with as much air as you can.

“When you were in prison, you put her on your visiting list ahead of almost everyone else. Doesn’t that say something about where she stands with you?”

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand over the back of his neck.

“She’s part of the team,” he says, as if he’s trying to spell out something he’s already explained a dozen times. "There were strict rules, I already told you that only a handful of people were allowed to visit. It wasn’t like I could just put anyone on the list.”

“But you could’ve put me on there!”

The familiar burn of tears prickles at the edges of your eyes, but you blink them back, refusing to let them fall. An explanation or protest is poised on his lips, but you’re already moving, closing the distance with a single, decisive step. A finger lands on his chest.

“I was your girlfriend, Spencer. Were you that determined to keep me out? Was the thought of seeing me really so unbearable? Do you even understand how hard it was to sit at home, knowing you were locked up, feeling completely helpless? Do you have any idea how much I hated myself day after day because I couldn’t do anything to help you?”

Your lips quiver. You feel like your heart is about to leap out of your throat.

“I was out here, just… waiting. Wondering if you were okay, if they were treating you alright, if you even had someone to talk to. And meanwhile, she’s there, with you. Every single time, she’s the one who gets to be by your side.”

Your nail digs into the fabric of his shirt.

“So forgive me if I can’t just let that go. Because when it mattered, it felt like you didn’t want me to be there for you. And now… now I don’t even know if you need me the way you seem to need her.”

Your breathing turns shallow, each inhale catching in your chest. The tears you’ve been holding back are dangerously blurring your vision. You swallow the knot lodged in your throat.

“I need a minute.”

Without another word, you turn and walk out of the room, leaving him standing there in stunned silence. You slip back into the kitchen, leaning against the counter as you finally reach for the glass of water that’s been sitting there untouched. You take a sip, barely feeling the cool water on your lips, when you hear his footsteps behind you.

“You think I don’t want you in my life?” he demands. “You think I somehow need her more than I need you?”

You set the glass down. “What part of ‘I need a minute’ do you not understand?”

“You really expect me to wait quietly after you unloaded every doubt you’ve ever had about us?”

You life your chin up. “Yes, I do. I need space to think right now.”

“What more do you want to think about when you’ve already convinced yourself that I’m always going to fall short? Is it so hard to believe that you’re the one I want?”

“You want to know why it’s so damn hard to believe?” You turn towards him. “Because every time I try to let this go, there’s always something. A confession. That—that not-so-subtle look. And when those things happen, it reminds me that I’m not as close to you as she is. I’m fucking tired of feeling like I’m fighting for space in your life.”

“Do you think I want you to feel like that? Do you think I’d go through everything we’ve been through if you didn’t matter to me?”

“Then explain to me why I wasn’t on that list!” you cry out. “Explain to me why, in one of the hardest times of your life, you couldn’t make space for me?”

“Because I was trying to protect you!”

A heavy, dreadful silence falls between you. He takes a step back, his eyelids fluttering shut briefly, and when he opens them again, there’s a softness in his gaze that mirrors the gentleness now threading through his voice.

“I know it probably doesn’t make sense to you, and maybe it never will, but I couldn’t stand the idea of you seeing me like that. Living through it was hard enough, but having you there, seeing me so helpless… It would have crushed me. I didn’t want that to be your memory of me.”

His Adam’s apple dips as he swallows, a quick, almost anxious movement you’ve witnessed countless times.

“And when JJ came to see me,” he continues, “the way the inmates looked at her, the things they said after she left… it was disgusting. I couldn’t—wouldn’t—let that happen to you. I couldn’t live with thought of you being subjected to that because of me.”

You lower your head with a sigh. “I don’t care if they looked. I don’t care what they would’ve thought.”

“But I care,” he fires back, taking a step forward. “Because you mean more to me than anyone. All I wanted was to keep you safe, and maybe I didn't handle it right, maybe I made the wrong call... but it was only because I—" His voice drops into an even more gentle note. "Because I love you."

Your heart stumbles, an uneven beat that feels almost bruised, pounding hard against your ribs.

"I-I love you so much. More than I know how to put into words." The ache in your chest sharpens as his hands come up to cup your cheeks. "I don't like fighting with you. I hate it, actually. I hate seeing you look at me like this."

You also hate the way he’s looking at you. There’s a depth to his annoyingly pretty eyes that makes it impossible to hold up your defenses without feeling them crumble. You let your eyes flutter closed.

“Why don’t we… call it a night?” He suggests. “Let’s lie down. We don’t have to talk about this now.”

The blackness behind your eyelids does little to quiet your mind. Nor does his voice. Or his touch. Instead of offering peace, his presence throws every glance, every moment of tension from tonight into sharper relief.

You draw in a breath, trying to find some comfort in his palms against your cheeks. Yet, even this can’t smooth away the doubt that’s settled in. With a resigned sigh, you release the breath you’ve been holding along with the words that have been pressing at the back of your throat.

“You haven’t explained it to me.”

The shadows in his gaze seem to deepen when you open your eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“We’ve been going in circles, but you haven’t explained to me what happened tonight,” you say quietly. “Why did you look at her, Spencer?”

His thumb absently strokes your cheek in a way that feels more hesitant than reassuring.

“Be honest with me,” you press. “Was there a part of you, even the tiniest part, that still wanted something with her? Some small part of you that… wondered what it might be like?”

The silence between you presses in from all sides, broken only by the faint hum of the refrigerator and the distant, muffled ticking of a clock on the wall. It’s the kind of quiet that sharpens even the smallest sounds, yet his lack of response feels like the loudest thing of all.

You pull back from him with an incredulous laugh.

“Unbelievable.” The word barely makes it past your lips, then louder as you start to move, pacing the length of the apartment. “Unbelievable.”

“Wait,” he says, trailing after you, “I didn’t even say anything.”

You stop short by the couch and whip around to face him.

“You didn’t need to! You—you hesitated," you stammer, searching his face for any flicker of denial, but it’s there, plain as day, that split-second of doubt you caught. “That was already an answer.”

He inches closer. A hand closes in on you. “Please—”

You flinch, pulling back, and every muscle in your body tightens. “Don’t. Don’t touch me right now.”

His hand falls to his side. “Please… let me explain."

You watch his hand drop, fingers twitching like they’re not sure if they should retreat or reach out again, but he keeps them there, hovering in some invisible line you’ve drawn. He looks at you with those big, pleading eyes, and for a split second, you almost feel bad for him.

Almost.

A bitter sort of smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. "So now you want to explain?"

He takes that as permission, and his voice comes in low, almost cautious. "When I first started at the BAU, I had… maybe a crush. A passing thing, barely anything, really. But that was fourteen years ago.” His hand scrubs through his hair in a frustrated sweep. “Fourteen years."

Your brows pull into a frown. “Why am I only hearing about this now?”

“Because it was nothing,” he says, almost too quickly. “I was young, it didn’t matter. I didn’t think it was worth bringing up.”

“Oh, I get it now. All those old feelings came rushing back the night she confessed, didn’t they?”

He mirrors your frown, a visible line of tension etching itself between his brows as he protests, “It’s nothing like that.”

“Then what is it?” you press. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks a whole lot like you’re caught between us because some part of you is still hung up on what might’ve been with her."

He shifts uncomfortably, and you notice the muscles in his jaw clenching the moment his gaze falters, dipping away for just a heartbeat before he looks back at you.

“It’s not that I don’t know what I want,” he starts to explain. “I didn’t expect her to say those things, and, yes, it threw me off for a moment. But that doesn’t mean I’m looking back, or that I want her. I want you.”

You shake your head, feeling a tired sort of frustration settle over you, and walk over to the couch. The soft cushions give slightly beneath you as you sink down.

“If you really wanted me, this wouldn’t be happening. You wouldn’t have let her get into your head like that. And now, you expect to believe that none of it meant anything?”

He’s quick to follow, closing the distance in a few tense steps. “It’s not—” His hands flex open and close at his sides. “You’re acting like one single look tonight is enough to decide I’m not committed to you. Do you really think I’d let some confession I didn’t even ask for get in the way of what we have?”

“It’s not just about that single look. It’s the way she could say something and suddenly, you’re pulled back to something you swore you’d put behind you. How am I supposed to feel secure when she still has that power over you?”

“And what am I supposed to do, then? Apologize for things I don’t even feel anymore?”

You flinch at the sharpness in his voice. A low, frustrated noise rumbles in his chest when you don’t respond.

“You’re always going to question me no matter what I say, aren’t you?"

You glance over at him, catching the disheveled strands of hair falling over his forehead, and it pulls you back to that night he came home after that dreadful night. He’d walked in looking worn in a way you’d never seen before, his whole posture weighted down as if he was carrying more than just the fear of being held hostage.

You remember sitting with him on this same couch, fingers brushing his, and asking what was bothering him.

JJ said she loved me.

Your heart lurched, a quick, quiet ache that you tried to swallow down. Really?

Don’t worry. It’s not true.

But with that same haunted look in his eyes right now, you can’t help but wonder if it really was just a well-intentioned lie.

“One glance and you’re accusing me of things that are never going to happen,” he starts again. “Do you really think so little of me? After everything we’ve shared, you really think I’d betray you like that?”

In true honesty, you don’t believe he would ever cross that line. But the doubts still linger, fed by those small hesitations, the moments when his eyes seem somewhere else. It’s not that you think he’d betray you. It’s that a part of him might still be holding onto something he won’t let you see.

“It’s like you don’t know me at all.”

Now those words you might actually believe.

“Maybe I don’t,” you say quietly, eyes drifting to the ring on your finger. You twist it absently, remembering the night he proposed. How he’d stumbled over his words, his cheeks flushing as he tried to make the moment perfect but ended up rambling in that endearing, nervous way of his. You’d laughed, reassured him that it was exactly right, that you didn’t need grand gestures. All you needed was him.

And yet, you don’t think he needs you as much you need him.

A hollow ache settles around your hand as you slip the ring off.

“What are you doing?”

You stare down at the gold band in your palm, blinking back the sting of tears.

“Tell me what you’re doing.”

Panic. Desperation. There’s a sudden rush of melancholy in his voice, a heaviness that wasn’t there a moment ago.

You swallow the lump in your throat. “I don’t know,” you whisper. “I—I don’t know anything right now.”

His face crumples, and in a sudden, almost instinctive movement, he drops down to his knees.

“No, no, you do know me. I’m sorry… I’m so sorry. Isn’t this—” he stops, then dips his head, trying to catch your gaze. “Isn’t that what couples do? They argue, they mess things up… but they work through it, right? Right?”

You look down, feeling the cool weight of the ring pressing into your skin.

“Spencer…” you begin. “I trust you. I do, and I’m sorry if I made it seem like I didn’t. But… I need to feel secure. I… I need to know that I don’t have to wonder or worry about where I stand. I never thought you’d be the one to make me doubt that.”

There’s a sharp ache in your chest.

“I didn’t think it could hurt this much. Not from you.”

Your pulse ring in your ear.

“I can’t—” The words catch in your throat, a stinging burn rising as you force them out. “I can’t be your wife when I’m constantly questioning if I have all of you. When I feel like… there’s always a part of you that isn’t mine.”

“I’m yours, honey. I’m always yours.”

“I wish I could believe that.”

There’s a slight falter in his voice. “Don’t—please don’t do this—”

“I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t hurt.”

He falls silent, and for a moment, the only sound is the rough, uneven rhythm of both your breaths filling the space between you. Then, like something inside him finally cracks open, he sinks down, pressing his forehead against your lap. The sudden weight of him forces a broken sob from your throat.

“Please,” he begs, fingers clutching at your sides. His chin presses deep into your thigh. “Tell me how to fix this. I can’t— I can’t lose you.”

“Spence…”

“I love you,” he blurts out, the words tumbling from him in a rush. “I love you.”

But what is love, really? Is it just a word people reach for when they’ve run out of things to say, a way to patch over bruised hearts and broken promises? Or should it feel like something more solid, something that doesn’t leave you questioning or aching? You can’t even tell anymore.

You wonder, too, if maybe you’ve been wrong all along. If this feeling in your chest isn’t love but something dressed up as it, something that fills the gaps while slowly hollowing you out. Because here you are, clinging to a love that somehow makes you feel like you’re both needed and unseen. Everything and nothing all at once.

You feel like a fool.

“I want to go to bed.”

His head lifts from your lap, a flash of surprise darting across his face, as though he hadn’t expected you to say anything at all, let alone that. “Yeah, okay, let’s go to bed. We’ll… we’ll figure this out in the morning.”

“I’d rather be alone.”

The words hit him visibly. His mouth opens, an argument forming there, but he catches himself, letting the silence stretch before he nods slowly.

“Then… I’ll stay out here. On the couch,” he offers softly. “Just… in case you need anything.”

A pang cuts through you at the thought of him stretched out on the couch, his legs too long, his shoulders folded in to fit the cramped space. But the idea of sharing a bed right now feels impossible.

You reach down, holding out the ring towards him.

“No,” he says firmly, gently pushing your hand away. “Don’t do that. This… it doesn’t mean we’re giving up. It just means we need time. That’s all.”

You’re not sure if your mind will change in the morning. The ring presses into your skin, but finally, you close your hand around it, nodding faintly before you peel away from him.

The tears start the moment the bedroom door clicks shut behind you. It spills over in a jagged, helpless cry that sounds nothing like you imagined heartbreak might sound. It’s messy, a kind of aching grief that feels too big for your chest, clawing its way out with no grace at all. You can practically hear how pathetic you sound, and yet you can’t seem to stop.

Even when the hem of your dress trails across the floor. Even when you finally collapse onto his side of the bed. There’s no stopping you. With the ring sitting cold in your hand, your tears keep coming, soaking into the pillow as you cling to the last trace of him woven into the sheets.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x female reader #spencer reid fem!reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #angst #angst with no happy ending

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fairy-angel222 · 1 year ago

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𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

—gojo’s single and geto’s a good friend. good friends share everything.. including girlfriends

pairing: gojo x fem! reader x geto

content: crack, smut, threesome, praise, cum eating (gojo), pussy eating, blowjobs, cream pie, throat bulge, throat fucking, tag team, playful banter, squirting

Geto thinks he’s a great friend. Being willing to share his precious girlfriend with his best friend. He’s seen the way Gojo looks at you. And he’s not mad, no, he’s quite happy. It makes using you as a gift so much easier— especially when he knows you get wet at just the thought of a threesome with the white haired man.

“I am not lonely. I could go get a quick fuck right now if i wanted too.” Gojo defended, taking another gulp of the beer in his hand as he leaned back into the couch.

“Hmm, i smell lies, you’re very lonely this season.” you teased, giggling softly when Gojo glared at you with the flip of his middle finger. You gasped dramatically, turning to Geto with a pout, “Baby your friend just flipped me off.”

Geto simply smiled at you with the shake of his head, taking a quick swig of his drink before he was wrapping his arm around your shoulders. Pulling you into him and placing an especially wet kiss onto your head. “Don’t disrespect my girl bro.” He joked along, Gojo only scoffing before flipping him off too. “I’m being targeted by weirdos. Great.”

“Weirdos who aren’t single. Can’t relate now can you?” you retorted with a grin. Gojo finally letting out a chuckle, “Ya got me there.” downing the remaining contents of the bottle. “I’m gonna get another one, you guys want any?” he questioned, standing up to head to the kitchen.

“Oo, yes please.” you piped in cheerily, Geto’s head snapping towards you with an eyebrow raised. “Uh, no. She’ll just have a coke or something. But i’ll take one.” Geto corrected.

Gojo nodded, making his way past the dining area and into the kitchen to open the fridge.

Geto winced lightly when you pinched his side. “Why can’t i have one?” you whined. Geto pinching your cheeks with a faux frown, “because your alcohol tolerance is too damn low.” You simply huffed, fiddling absentmindedly with the hem of your boyfriend’s sweater.

“So, is it still happening?” you questioned in a whisper, a smirk forming on your boyfriend’s face as he brought the bottle to his lips to empty it out. “Mhm.”

Gojo came strolling back into the room with two opened drinks and a cherry flavored soft drink. And you fought the urge to roll your eyes when he handed one bottle to Geto and the red colored drink to you. A smile on his face as he bit back his teasing words about Geto not letting you drink alcohol.

Geto cleared his throat, setting down the drink and placing his hand on your thigh. Squeezing as he travelled it higher and higher, his breath hot on your ear when he leaned in. “That’s your queue baby.”

Your face heated up, watching as Gojo raised an eyebrow across from you, taking a swig at his drink after mumbling “fucking weirdos i swear.”

Getting off your seat, you bit at your lip as you looked back at Geto. Your boyfriend only giving you a reassuring nod before his drink was at his lips, watching as you almost shyly walked up to Gojo.

Sitting yourself on his lap with practically no warning making the man’s eyes widen. “What are you-” being cut off by your lips on his, your ass lightly grinding on his cock as you gripped his shirt. Gojo’s eyes met Geto’s in panic, the latter simply tilting his head, “Better enjoy it while you can.”

Gojo groaned, your hands slipping under his shirt to run your nails over his hard abs. Slowly bringing them down until you stopped at the bulge in his sweats, groping it through the fabric before smiling as you pulled away. “You’re already hard?” you giggled.

“Shut up.” His face flushing red as you got off of his lap, situating yourself on your knees between his legs. Your hands working to pull his pants down mid thigh, your head in his crotch as you licked a strike along his cock through his underwear. Looking up at him through your lashes before freeing him from the thin black fabric

Gojo nearly choked on his spit, watching as you ran your thumb over his tip. Collecting glistening precum before using it to stroke him, circling your wrist while you moved it up and down. “S-shit.”

Your eyes met his cock with a hard swallow at the length. Taking in a breath before sucking him into your mouth. Swirling your tongue around his leaking tip then taking him in deeper. Bobbing your head up and down as your drool coated his veiny skin.

You could hear Geto standing up behind you, reaching your kneeling frame in two large steps before his hand was stroking your hair. “She’s good ain’t she?”

Gojo only letting out a cracked moan as he nodded. Geto’s hand suddenly grabbing hold of your hair to quicken the pace of your mouth. “But trust me, she can be better.” Roughly pushing you to take Gojo down your throat before pulling you back up again. Repeating the process as you slobbered onto the man’s dick with muffled moans.

Your eyes pooled with water each time your boyfriend forced you to take his best friend all the way. Gojo’s cock bulging in your throat as your nose pressed at his base. “See that?” Geto hummed.

Gojo’s mouth hung open in breathy grunts as he began thrusting his hips upwards. Head falling back onto the back of the couch with his breathing speeding up. Basking in the way his best friend used your warm mouth to fuck his twitching cock. “F-fucking hell— ahh.”

“Good girl” Geto dragged out. “gonna make him cum already.” he praised, “Wonder how long it has been since he’s felt a pretty girl’s lips on his cock.”

Gojo grunted, “f-fuck o-off, shit—” a loud groan sounding in his throat when he began to spill into your mouth. His body shuddering when you continued to suck on his tip while maintaining eye contact. His cock throbbing as the last bits of cum spurted onto your tongue.

“Now what do you do?” Geto asked with a smirk, watching you swallow the thick substance before glancing between the both of them with a smile. “That’s my girl.”

Gojo panted with heavy breaths, receiving a pat on his shoulder from the black haired man. “That’s not even the half of it.”

It wasn’t long until you found yourself on your hands and knees. Geto’s cock down your throat as Gojo fucked into you from behind. “Is this what you like baby?” your boyfriend groaned, Gojo’s rough thrusts effectively rocking your mouth on and off of Geto’s cock. “Showing this lone fucker how good your pussy feels?” Gojo being too lost in how deep you were sucking him in to even respond.

You mewled, clenching down on Gojo’s cock as he hammered into your g spot. His thick length easily sliding in and out your tightness.

Gojo’s hand groped at the flesh of your ass, the sound of his hips slamming onto your flesh only getting louder when he sped up his pace. Allowing his tip to graze your gummy walls with force. “Haah- think this might just be the best pussy i’ve ever had.”

“Hear that baby? He loves that perfect pussy of yours.” Geto breathed, his eyes closing as he used his hand to guide your head faster. “Shit. Swear that mouth of yours is made of gold.”

You let out a muffled cry when you felt a coil build in your stomach. Your body still being jerked between the two men as you drooled onto your boyfriend’s cock. Your back arching when Gojo leaned onto you, his chest against your back as he brought his hand down to rub your clit. Your loud mewl sending vibrations through Geto’s dick.

Gojo groaned into your ear. “You feel so good pretty girl. Wish i could fuck into this pussy forever.” His thrusts getting sloppy as he moaned noisily into your neck, his eyes fixed on the way your swollen lips had stretched to fit his best friend’s girth. “O-oh shit— clenching down on me so tight.” he rasped into your skin, voice cracking into a higher pitch at the feeling of your warmth ready to milk him dry.

Geto pulled you off his cock with a grin, watching as you whimpered before taking in a well needed breath, your chest rising and falling as your eyes lost their focus. “Nnhg— Suguru, ah- Satoru, ‘m close,” you cried out, feeling yourself getting closer as Gojo continued to rub small circles on your sensitive bud, his cock hitting deep inside you with each movement

“Yeah baby? Gonna show him just how good he made you feel?” Geto husked, pulling your head back onto him before you could even nod in response, using your mouth as a wet flesh light to get him off the edge.

Gojo groaned loudly, his thrusts hard and mean as they lost their speed. Rolling his hips desperately into yours to chase his release. “Shit, can i cum in ya, pretty?”

You were only able to let out an incoherent babble, feeling the coil in your stomach painfully close to snapping.

“Don’t push it.” Geto warned, your chin getting messy as he lazily fucked your face, his head falling back with a string of deep curses.

“Selfish prick.”

“You’re fucking her aren’t you?”

Your body shook as you came, whimpering with a broken cry around Geto’s cock as your pussy spasmed. Eyes rolling back and your head fuzzy as you gushed messily. The force of your orgasm threatening to make Gojo’s cock slip out.

“There you go baby.” Geto started, Gojo finishing his words as he slowed his movements on your clit, “That’s it.”

Both men breathed heavily as their movements came to a halt. Geto holding your face down on his cock to spurt ropes of his cum down your throat.

“Suguru- fuck, please let me cum in her. Tight pussy doesn’t want to let me go.” Gojo moaned out, pleading blue eyes looking up to your boyfriend.

“You do that and you’re gonna lick it all out.” Geto growled out, tapping his cock onto your tongue a few times before he was pulling out. Watching as you moaned softly when his cum slid down your throat.

Gojo’s lips parted as his cock ached for a release. Deciding to take his chance at burying himself inside you, his twitching cock pumping thick ropes of cum into you. Looking up to meet your boyfriend’s fake grin.

“Baby, lay down, and you, better get every fucking drop outta her.”

Gojo pervertedly smiling as he willingly crawled in between your legs. Lapping at your sopping folds and swirling his tongue around your clit as you moaned and mewled into the air.

Your fingers tangling in white strands as his tongue dipped into your hole, sucking a mixture of your juices and his cum into his mouth with a groan.

Geto let out a short laugh in amusement, “So this is what a lack of pussy does to a guy.” Watching as Gojo licked you clean, bringing you to another squirting orgasm in the process.

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yanderenightmare · 3 days ago

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♡ TW: break-up, angst, hung-up yandere, anger issues, insecurity, threats to regrets

♡ GN reader

Thinking about pro-athlete ex-boyfriend…

You know, the one you broke up with because he couldn't focus on anything but his career, the one you just couldn’t stand by and watch any longer as he nearly ran his health into the ground—not to mention your relationship—all to reach his goals.

He’d been so mean—meaner than you ever thought possible when you told him you couldn’t do this anymore—said it was a real class act of you to abandon him now when it mattered most. He’d made it about you not wanting a no-known sportsman for a boyfriend, how you never believed in him anyway, how you never cheered for him, how he thinks you don’t even want to see him succeed.

He’d been so loud and so ugly you’d been in shock for weeks afterward, unable to wrap your head around it. You didn’t even dare tell anyone—feeling it was a beast of burden you ought to keep for yourself. Oddly enough, you felt that if anyone knew or saw him like that, it would be not just detrimental to him and his image but embarrassing for you both.

And you hadn't spoken to him since. At least not face-to-face. He’d sent you a few drunk texts then and there, which you’d replied to in short, though mostly ignored. You’d thought about blocking him at one point, but you didn’t want to be dramatic, either. And suppose, in some way, you were still waiting for an apology.

But months passed, and nothing like it ever came, and so, instead of being bitter, you accepted that was just how the two of you ended. And that was that.

Still, it's a little awkward. You wonder if you should congratulate him on his rise in popularity, how he’s finally getting all those long hours spent training back in full—but somehow, you feel it would just sound petty coming from you. And so, you don’t bother.

He’s got other people in his life cheering him on now—he doesn’t need a measly text from his ex. No, it's better to leave it be, is what you think.

Which is why it’s surprising when you get the dinner invitation.

And following the initial surprise, you don’t really know what to expect of it either. But you end up accepting—some part out of curiosity, wondering what he might want after all this time, and another part hopeful it was to finally address the awful break up so that the both of you could move on without it hanging heavy over your heads and hearts.

This, however, was the last thing you had in mind when sitting down with him for the first time in a long time.

“Will you marry me?”

Your whole body flares up with something reminiscent of the feeling when you trip and fall—that type of split burn that rushes through you from head to toe and then leaves you feeling cold all over. Heart in your throat, you’re speechless.

Or no, you just don’t know where to begin.

“What are you doing?” you end up accusing—a little too harshly, maybe, but who could blame you? Looking around, you’re glad your table’s in a more private sector of the restaurant before you look back at him, eyes wide and brows knit.

“I–we broke up a year ago and haven’t seen each other since—and you’re—” Your eyes fall back to the thing in his hands. It’s an outrageous ring. “Asking me to marry you?”

He makes no move to withdraw the offer—keeping his hands where they are, on your side of the table. “You said yes to the dinner. That must mean something. I thought—”

“Yeah. It means that I still worry about you,” you say. “It doesn't mean–”

“I fought my way up. I’m finally at the top,” he cuts you off in earnest. “I’m the best, and the world finally knows it now–”

“I don't care about any of that,” you state, feeling it should have been something you told him from the very beginning. “I'm sorry. But I never cared about you being the best. I just wanted…”

You just wanted the two of you to be like other couples—together and happy. You just wanted that to be enough, but it never was for him.

“Never mind…” you end up saying. “I think I should go.”

You’re about to get up when his hand, suddenly around your wrist, tightens in a harsh grip.

“I don't think you understand,” he utters, voice lowered with a hint of a growl. “It’s either this ring or I bury you in rumors that won’t leave you a moment’s worth of peace.”

You go stiff while looking back at him.

Did he just… did he just threaten you?

You blink. He's got that same warped expression you remember from the last time you saw him, that very odd look as if the guy you know has been switched out with someone entirely different.

Only this time, it just as quickly disappears, and he lets go of your wrist, quickly pulling his hand to himself.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that–I’m just—” he apologizes with a stutter, looking startled.

He puts his face in his hands. Then there's a sound—close to a sob.

“I’m just a mess without you.”

Goosebumps rise on the surface of your skin when hearing it. And swallowing thickly, you sit back down again, albeit a bit begrudgingly. But spotting how he trembles, you just can’t stop feeling sorry for him.

You sigh. “No, you’re not. You just…” Reaching across the table, you stroke his arm. “You just lose your head a little sometimes, that’s all.”

He peaks up from his hands. A sheen under his eyes reflects the ceiling light, and your heart twists in your chest.

He really is a mess.

“But I know you…” you try smiling. “You were always destined for greatness.”

He takes your offered hand in his, stroking it, then sniffs, voice fluttering weakly, “Yeah, well…”

He keeps his head low, resting it in his other hand as if he just couldn't muster the strength to sit straight or even attempt to pull himself together.

“If I'm such a great guy, why wouldn’t you stay?”

He sounds as if he’s been holding things back for the entirety of the year since you left. Broken now... it's all spilling out.

“Because," you start, even though your throat’s tight and you’re fighting back tears of your own, your mind hasn’t changed.

You didn’t come here to get back together.

"You want to go places, I just can’t follow.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Dabi, Hawks, Enji ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Gojo, Naoya ♡ HQ – Kageyama, Oikawa, Sakusa, Miya twins ♡ CSM – Aki ♡ BLLK – Reo, Isagi, Rin, Sae, Yukimiya, Karasu, Shido ♡ AOT – Eren ♡ DS – Akaza, Sanemi ♡ WB – Sakura, Suo, Kaji

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

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pucksandpower · 2 months ago

Text

Kiss It Better

Charles Leclerc x medical student!Reader

Summary: your boyfriend has a habit of faking injuries in order to receive some tender loving care

Warnings: 18+ content and non-life threatening health issues

You let yourself into the Monaco apartment you share with your boyfriend, dumping your heavy backpack by the door with a sigh. Another long day of classes and clinical rotations. Being a medical student is exhausting.

“Charles? I’m home!” You call out, slipping off your shoes. No response. Frowning slightly, you pad down the hallway toward the living room. “Charles? Are you here?”

That’s when you hear it — a muffled groan coming from the bedroom. Your heart leaps into your throat as you rush over, pushing open the door. There’s Charles lying on the bed, face contorted in apparent agony.

“Charles! Oh my god, what’s wrong?” You hurry to his side, dropping to your knees by the bedside. His eyes are screwed shut, jaw clenched as he lets out another pained groan.

“It hurts,” he grits out between clenched teeth. “So much pain ...”

“What hurts? Where does it hurt?” Your mind is racing, trying to diagnose based on his symptoms. Does he have gastritis? Kidney stones? A twisted intestine? You reach for his wrist to check his pulse.

Charles doesn’t answer, just squeezes his eyes shut even tighter and groans loudly. You feel a surge of panic. This could be serious!

“Charles, you have to tell me what’s wrong so I can help you! Where’s the pain?” You grip his arm urgently. “Should I call an ambulance?”

“No … no ambulance,” he manages to choke out, shaking his head minutely. “Just need … you ...”

“Me?” You stare at him in bewilderment. “Charles, I’m just a med student, if you’re really sick we need to get you to a hospital right away!”

He cracks open one eye to look at you piteously. “Please … you’re the only one who can make it better.” His voice is strained as he reaches down to grasp your hand, guiding it lower … lower ...

You suck in a shocked breath as his hand moves yours to cup his crotch over his thin athletic shorts. “Charles! Is that what hurts? Your … special place?”

He lets out a shuddering breath and nods weakly. “Yes … I need you to take care of it. Only you can fix this pain.”

It hits you then — the dramatic groaning, the vague answers, guiding your hand … Charles isn’t sick or injured at all. He’s turned on beyond belief and putting on this whole pained act to get you to help relieve him.

You gape at him, caught between exasperation and reluctant amusement at his antics. “You complete dork! I was so worried something was seriously wrong!”

Charles finally breaks into a sheepish grin, though he’s still palming himself urgently through his shorts with your hand. “What can I say? I’ve been thinking about you all day. Imagining you in those tight little scrubs … bending over examining patients ...” He gives an unconvincing whimper. “The ache has been unbearable, ma chérie.”

You roll your eyes, but can’t fight the smile tugging at your lips or the warmth unfurling low in your belly. Even after all this time, Charles can still make your heart flutter with his flirtatious charm and that roguish smile. You lean in closer until your face is just inches from his.

“Is that so?” You murmur, voice dropping into a sultry register. You give him a lingering stroke through the thin fabric and he draws in a sharp breath. “Well, we can’t have you suffering, can we Mr. Leclerc?”

“Please, no more suffering,” he whimpers unconvincingly, eyes sparkling with mischief now. “You’re the only one who can cure me, Doctor.”

You chuck softly at his overacting and lean down to kiss him, long and deep. Charles moans into your mouth, hands coming up to tangle in your hair as the kiss turns hungry, passionate. When you finally break apart, you’re both panting harshly.

“Well then, I better take a look and get you … taken care of,” you murmur, slowly inching his shorts down over his straining erection. His hips rut up shamelessly as you wrap a hand around his hot, silky length.

“Oh god … yes ...” Charles groans, head tipping back against the pillows as you start to stroke him firmly. His eyes slip shut again and his breath comes in harsh pants as you steadily work him over. You drink in the sight of him like this — cheeks flushed, lips parted, utterly lost in the pleasure you’re giving him.

“Tell me if it still hurts,” you tease lightly, swiping your thumb over the slick head in a way that makes his body jerk. “We have to take care of all your aches and pains.”

“It hurts so good, mon ange,” he gasps out, hips rocking shamelessly up into your fist now. “Don’t stop … please don’t stop ...”

You lean down to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses along the taut cords of his neck, relishing the whimpers and moans you pull from him. Charles always loves a bit of teasing during sex. You torture him sweetly by licking and sucking at the sensitive spots that drive him wild even as your hand continues to steadily pump his length.

“You like that, don’t you baby?” You tease against his skin as he writhes beneath you, mewling and chanting your name. “Can’t get enough of your girlfriend playing doctor for you.”

“Yes, oh god yes,” he gasps, hands fisting tightly in the sheets as his hips stutter. You can see his abdomen tensing, muscles clenching as he nears the edge. “I’m so close … I’m going to-”

You silence him with a searing kiss, swallowing his cries as you jerk him firmly through his climax. Charles bucks and shudders, body pulled taut as a bowstring for long moments until he finally slumps back against the mattress with a ragged groan. There’s a sticky mess between your bodies but neither of you care in the least.

“Better now?” You tease lightly, gently stroking the sweaty curls from his forehead. He blinks up at you looking utterly blissed out and sated.

“I’ll say,” he rumbles throatily, pulling you down for another lingering kiss. “My own sexy doctor, taking such good care of me.”

You grin at his playful tone, happiness blooming in your chest. You’re so lucky to have this man in your life — this kind, generous, funny, impossibly charming man who somehow loves you just as much as you love him. What did you ever do to deserve someone like Charles Leclerc?

He seems to read your thoughts in your eyes and smiles softly. “I love you, do you know that? So much.”

Your breath catches and you lean down to rest your forehead against his. “I love you too, you big goof. Even when you pull crazy stunts like this to get my attention.”

Charles chuckles unrepentantly, cupping the back of your neck to hold you close. “What can I say, ma belle? I’m skilled at getting what I want.”

His eyes are shining with quiet devotion and you know, without a doubt, that underneath the teasing bravado Charles truly means those words. He loves you, wholly and completely. A swell of emotion rises in your throat.

“Yeah, well, lucky for you I don’t mind playing doctor,” you murmur, leaning in to kiss him again. Charles’ arms come around you, holding you flush against his body as the kiss turns heated once more. You’re breathless when you part again.

“If I get sick, will you put on that naughty little doctor’s outfit for me?” He waggles his eyebrows at you comically.

You laugh out loud, swatting his arm in mock chastisement. “You’ll be lucky if I don’t send you to a real hospital and leave you to the not-so-tender mercies of Nurse Helga.”

“No need for jealousy, mon amour,” he croons, rolling you onto your back and hovering over you. There’s a wicked glint in his eyes as he leans down to nuzzle your neck, making you shiver. “You’ll always be my favorite caregiver.”

And with that, he shows you just how much he appreciates your caregiving in a very thorough, very passionate way …

***

A few weeks later, you’re settled on the plush couch in Charles’ motorhome, legs tucked up under you as you watch replays of the post-race interviews on the large TV screen. Your heart swells with pride as your boyfriend appears, beaming and sweaty in his race suit as he answers questions about his thrilling come-from-behind victory today.

“It feels incredible to get this win,” Charles is saying, running a hand through his tousled hair. “The team worked so hard and we’ve had some tough races recently, so to finally get back on the top step is amazing.”

You can’t help but grin at his obvious elation. Few people know just how driven and dedicated Charles is — how much time and effort he pours into racing at the absolute highest level. Seeing that hard work and sacrifice pay off never fails to fill you with joy.

“I just want to thank the team again for all their-” Charles breaks off, wrinkling his nose and reaching up to dab at his lip with a finger. When his fingertips come away smeared with red, you frown in concern. Is he hurt?

“Ooh, looks like I bit my lip out there,” Charles says with a rueful chuckle, still prodding gingerly at his mouth as a thin trickle of blood runs over his chin. “Must have been clenching my teeth a little too hard battling for position.”

“I didn’t realize you were injured!” You start to rise from the couch with worry etched on your face, moving towards your now off-screen boyfriend. “Here, let me take a look ...”

“No, no, it’s just a little cut.” Charles tries to wave you off, smiling reassuringly even as he winces again, dabbing at the fresh flow of blood. “No need to fuss, mon cœur. Just a tiny thing.”

You hesitate, hands on your hips as you scrutinize him skeptically. Charles has a bit of a flair for the dramatic at times, always playing up little hurts or mishaps as if he were holding vigil at his deathbed. But you know from experience that he tends to downplay any actual significant injuries.

He senses your continued concern and lets out a theatrical moan, tipping his head back dramatically. “Oh, the AGONY! So much pain … so much … if only there was a way to make it stop ...”

Your eyebrows shoot up as realization hits. Oh, you know that tone. And the coquettish look he’s giving you from under his lashes, lower lip caught between his teeth … yes, you definitely recognize those signs. You shake your head slowly, fighting a grin.

“Seriously, Charles? Not this again.”

“Non, I fear it’s no use,” he groans pitifully, draping a hand over his eyes. “My poor, mangled mouth … so damaged and bloody … the pain is becoming … unbearable ...” Charles pauses to peek at you from between his splayed fingers, eyes twinkling mischievously.

You put your hands on your hips and arch one eyebrow at his antics. “Uh huh. Is this the part where I’m supposed to swoop in all concerned and give you a bunch of sympathy kisses to make your agony all better?”

“If you insist,” he quips, pursing his lips in an exaggerated pout. The effect is somewhat ruined by the fresh smear of crimson at the corner of his mouth.

You can’t help but laugh softly as you move closer, cupping his stubbly jaw in your palms. “For someone so good with their mouth, you’re just a giant wimp, you know that?”

“Maybe,” Charles allows with a roguish grin. “But you love me for it, no?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” You trace your thumb lightly over the plump curve of his lower lip, wiping a smear of blood. “Now hold still, I guess I better give you a little tender loving care for that gaping wound.”

“Oh please, doctor! I need your magical healing touch, I’m in so much — mmph!”

You cut off his theatrical plea with a firm press of your lips, kissing him hard and insistent. Charles moans into your mouth, the sound sending a shiver down your spine even as his hands come up to grip your hips and pull you flush against him.

The coppery tang of blood mingles on your tongues as the kiss turns heated, deep and wet and dizzying. You suck lightly on his split lip, gentling when he winces, and Charles rewards you by dragging blunt nails over the sensitive skin at the small of your back.

When you finally part, you’re both panting harshly, staring at each other with heavy-lidded eyes. Charles’ pupils are blown wide, lips red and slick.

“Better?” You murmur, voice low and throaty.

He gives a slight shake of his head, tendrils of curls falling over his forehead. “No … I need more treatment, I fear. The pain … it still lingers ...”

You chuckle at his dramatics, hands sliding up to tangle in his hair as you tug him back in for another searing kiss. Charles releases a noise that’s almost a growl against your lips, big hands cupping your backside and grinding you firmly against him.

You can feel him, hot and hard already as he ruts shamelessly against you. The desperate urgency of his movements thrills you, sends sparks of arousal zinging through your veins. Charles always gets so worked up so quickly when you two play these little games.

This time it’s you who pulls back first, sucking in a shaky breath. His eyes are blazing, swollen lips parted invitingly. You deliberately rake your gaze over his disheveled appearance — the tousled curls, the swipe of crimson over his mouth, the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

“Mr. Leclerc, are you quite sure your … condition requires such aggressive treatment?” You try for a clinical tone but it comes out more of a lustful purr. Charles’ nostrils flare and his fingers tighten convulsively against the curves of your ass.

“Yes, yes, it absolutely does,” he rasps out urgently, already trying to pull you back in. “Please, you must heal me ...”

He captures your lips again in a fierce, demanding kiss and you melt into him with a soft moan. His clever tongue is doing wicked things, slick and hot as it slides against yours in a sensual mimicry of what’s surely to come.

A teasing nip to his swollen lower lip makes Charles gasp and jerk against you. Taking shameless advantage, you swiftly divest him of his sweat-damp race suit until he’s bare from the waist up. Muscles rippling beneath tawny skin, his toned chest and abdomen shiny from his hours in the cockpit.

It’s a deliciously debauched look that makes arousal curl hotly in your belly. You drag your lips in open-mouthed kisses along the sharp line of his jaw, down the strong column of his throat as he tips his head back with a groan.

“There … is that helping with your … condition, Mr. Leclerc?” You tongue at the hollow of his collarbone, tasting salt and musk as your hands skim over his chest in teasing caresses.

“Ohh god, yes … but I need more ...” He’s panting harshly now, muscles jumping as you rake sharp nails over one reddened nipple. “Please … more ...”

“Good. Then you’d better hold still for me to examine the problem area more thoroughly.” Before Charles can blink, you’ve shoved him back to sprawl gracelessly against the soft leather couch. He stares up at you with heavy-lidded eyes, lips parted enticingly as his chest heaves.

You drink in the sight for a long moment, satisfaction curling in your belly. Sometimes it’s nice to be the one calling the shots, to see Charles squirming and flushed and desperate beneath you for a change.

Slowly — torturously — you strip out of your own clothes until you’re equally bare. Charles tracks your every movement with burning eyes. When you sink down to straddle his hips, both of you groan at the scorching friction as bare skin meets bare skin.

“God, you’re exquisite,” he husks out reverently, hands trailing up the dips and curves of your body with something like awe. “An absolute goddess ...”

You can’t resist leaning down to capture his mouth in another heated, messy kiss as you grind down shamelessly against his rigid length. Charles muffles a hoarse cry into your lips, hips jerking up to meet your movements.

You let the kiss turn sloppy and wet and deep, both of you luxuriating in the hot slide of tongues and the delicious glide of bare skin. Charles’ hands roam greedily over your body, squeezing and caressing as you rock together in a sensual push and pull.

“Please … I need you ...” he growls against your lips when you momentarily break apart. His voice is wrecked, eyes dark with lust. “Need to be inside you … now ...”

You shudder at his heated words, arousal a molten ache between your thighs. Reaching down, you grasp his rigid length and line him up with your slick entrance. Charles sucks in a sharp breath, muscles going taut beneath you as the swollen head catches on your folds.

“Like this?” You breathe, swiveling your hips in a teasing grind that has him throwing his head back with a guttural groan.

“Yes! Putain, just like that ...” He bucks up helplessly, trying to force you to sink down onto him, but you resist with a low chuckle.

“Patience, Mr. Leclerc. Don’t you want me to take care of your … condition properly?” You murmur, lips brushing the shell of his ear. You punctuate the words with another maddeningly slow roll of your hips and Charles legitimately whimpers.

“Yes, yes … anything! I’ll do anything, just please ...” His eyes are wild, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs hard enough to leave marks. “I need you so badly, ma chérie ...”

Smiling, you finally take pity and sink down in one smooth glide until he’s sheathed to the hilt. The sensation of being utterly filled, stretched and burning in the most delicious way, makes you throw your head back with a long moan. Beneath you, Charles lets out a broken litany of French and English and Italian curses as his hips pump up in short, jerky thrusts.

You set a driving pace, lifting and dropping in a dizzying rhythm as Charles matches you stroke for stroke. The room is soon filled with the lewd sounds of slick flesh and harsh breathing, punctuated by grateful whines and moans. You lean down to capture his mouth again, the angle shifting to let him plunge even deeper until you’re both trembling on the razor’s edge.

“You feel so good, so incredible,” Charles pants harshly against your lips between sloppy kisses. He grips your hips hard enough to bruise, using the leverage to somehow take you even faster and harder. The pace is almost punishing but you can’t get enough. “Always so tight … so perfect for me ...”

His praise and the delicious drag of his thick length have you quickly spiraling higher. You brace your hands on his heaving chest as you throw your head back, overcome. Every nerve in your body feels electrified, set alight from the inside by the sheer intensity of your joining.

“Oh god … Charles, I’m gonna-” You cry out sharply as he aims for that one angle that has stars bursting behind your eyes. He latches onto your exposed throat, sucking a stinging mark as his thumb finds your pearl and begins rubbing merciless circles.

That’s all it takes to send you shattering apart with a keen, clenching down with bruising force as your climax rips through you. Charles pounds up twice more, teeth sinking into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, before following you over the edge with a guttural roar. His hips stutter erratically as he empties himself in hot pulses that you can actually feel hitting deep.

You both gradually come down, slumping gracelessly together as your harsh breathing slowly evens out. Charles carefully rolls until you’re cradled against his sweat-slicked chest, nuzzling languidly at your temple. His palms stroke up and down your spine in a gesture that’s somehow both possessive and worshipful.

After a few minutes, you let out a breathless giggle that has him pulling back slightly to look at you quizzically.

“What’s so funny?” His voice is gravelly and well-fucked.

You tap the wound on his lip lightly, tsking in playful reproach. “I’ll say this — you certainly know how to get my attention when you’re … ailing. I think you milked that little injury for all it was worth.”

Charles doesn’t even have the grace to look sheepish. He breaks into a slow, self-satisfied grin and shrugs unapologetically. “What can I say? Worked, didn’t it?”

You roll your eyes but can’t fight your own matching smile as you lean in to kiss him softly, carefully avoiding his split lip. When you pull back, you brush back the tendrils of hair from his forehead with a tenderness that makes his eyes go warm and molten.

“You’re ridiculous, Charles Leclerc. Completely ridiculous … but I love you.”

His smile somehow grows even more blinding. “I love you too, mon ange. And I always will.”

His sincerity washes over you in a wave. You know without a doubt that despite his antics, his words ring completely true. This funny, passionate, caring, magnificent man truly does love you with every fiber of his being. And you love him just the same.

Maybe you’ll both drive each other crazy for the rest of your lives … but at least you’ll never be bored. Settling back against his chest, you let your eyes drift shut contentedly. Yes, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be than right here in Charles’ arms.

***

A few months later, you’re woken abruptly in the dead of night by the sounds of muffled groaning coming from beside you. At first you think it must just be a dream, but then Charles lets out a pained whimper and your eyes fly open.

“Charles?” You blink groggily and prop yourself up on one elbow to peer at him in the dim light filtering through the curtains. “Hey, are you okay?”

He’s curled into a tight ball on his side, arms wrapped around his midsection as if cradling his stomach. A sheen of sweat glistens on his brow and his face is pinched in an unmistakable expression of agony.

Alarm spikes through you and you quickly reach over to grasp his shoulder, giving him a gentle shake. “Charles? Baby, what’s wrong?”

Charles just groans again, a low wounded sound that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. He’s trembling finely against you, teeth clenched and eyes screwed shut against the obvious wave of pain rippling through him.

“Talk to me,” you urge, trying to keep the rising panic from your voice. “Where does it hurt? Should I call an ambulance?”

For a long moment he seems incapable of speech, muscles going rigid and a harsh gasp tearing from his lips. You watch helplessly as he rides out the spasm, cold dread coiling in the pit of your stomach. This is bad … this doesn’t seem like one of his pranks or games to get attention. Charles looks to be in genuine, serious distress.

“Charles?” You try again once he’s relaxed slightly, dragging in shallow panting breaths through his nose. His eyes slit open to mere glassy slits, unfocused and hazy with pain.

“M’stomach ...” he finally gets out through gritted teeth, voice thin and strained. “It hurts so bad … like I’m being stabbed ...”

Your own abdomen clenches reflexively at the words as your brain kicks into high gear. Severe, stabbing abdominal pain that seems to be localized in one area and radiating out … it could potentially be appendicitis. That would definitely explain the excruciating nature of Charles’ discomfort, as well as why he’s curled in the fetal position. Appendicitis is considered a medical emergency — a ruptured appendix can lead to a life-threatening infection if left untreated.

“Okay, we need to get you to a hospital now.” You scramble out of bed and quickly throw on some clothes, grabbing your keys and phone. “I’m calling for an ambulance to come get you. Just stay still and try to breathe evenly.”

Charles doesn’t argue or even crack one of his customary smirks or jokes, just nods weakly and tries to pull himself into an even tighter ball. It’s frightening, seeing the normally confident and charismatic man so thoroughly debilitated by the waves of torment rolling through him.

The emergency dispatcher responds promptly and assures you that an ambulance is being dispatched to your address straight away. You quickly relay the situation to them — the acute pain, localized in the lower right quadrant of the abdomen, along with the nausea, fever, and Charles’ otherwise good health. They seem to share your suspicion of appendicitis and promise to give you further instruction once the paramedics arrive.

In the meantime, you hurry back to Charles’ side and try to keep him as comfortable as possible. You gingerly help him out of bed inch by agonizing inch, grimacing at the stifled cries he can’t quite bite back. It’s slow going, but eventually you have him propped up against the pillows and headboard in a semi-upright position that seems to ease his suffering slightly. You grab a cool damp washcloth and gently sponge the beads of sweat from his ashen face, murmuring soothing nonsense as he pants through another visible spasm.

“You’re alright, just keep breathing,” you coach him. “In and out, nice and slowly … the ambulance will be here any minute now.”

“Hurts so much ...” he whimpers, looking utterly pitiful and nothing like the cocky, self-assured star athlete he normally is. It nearly breaks your heart to see.

“I know, I know ...” You stroke his sweat-dampened curls back off his forehead. “And I’m sorry, but please no joking right now, okay? I want to stay focused in case … in case this is really serious. Like, potentially life-threatening serious.”

A ghost of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, there and gone in a flash. “Trust me … m’not … feeling cheeky right now.”

You press a feather-light kiss to his clammy forehead, relieved that he seems to understand the gravity of the situation. “I didn’t think you were. Just hang in there for me, okay?”

Ten long, agonizing minutes later, you finally hear sirens blaring outside. The paramedics move swiftly once you let them in, whisking Charles onto a gurney and starting an IV line. They pepper both of you with rapid-fire questions as they assess him, all while carefully not jostling his abdomen too much to avoid exacerbating the pain.

All too soon, though, it’s time for them to whisk him away to the hospital. You trail after them anxiously, only pulling up short when Charles suddenly grasps your hand like a lifeline.

“Wait … wait!” His eyes are still hooded with pain but there’s fierce urgency there too. “Kiss me one more time? Before they take me in?”

Your heart clenches in your chest at the pleading in his tone. Brushing your thumb soothingly over his cheekbone, you lean down and press the sweetest, gentlest kiss to his parted lips. Charles sighs and seems to melt into you for a moment before the gurney is jostled and he grunts in agony again.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be right behind you,” you promise softly. “We’ll get you all taken care of.”

He nods weakly and blows out a harsh breath as the paramedics start wheeling him back towards the elevator. You let his hand slip from yours reluctantly as you watch him go, then hurry to grab the essentials and follow. The whole way to the hospital your mind whirls with fearful possibilities as you pray that whatever is causing Charles such terrible pain, it isn’t life-threatening.

Hours later, after CT scans and blood tests and evaluations from the E.R. doctors, you finally get confirmation — it is indeed acute appendicitis. Charles is swiftly admitted and prepped for emergency surgery to remove the severely inflamed organ before it ruptures.

You’re pacing anxiously in the pre-op area, wringing your hands, as nurses bustle around him getting the I.V.s ready. In the harsh fluorescent lighting, Charles looks small and pale against the crisp white sheets. But he greets you with a wan smile when you approach his bedside.

“Well … this is certainly not how I thought this day would go,” he quips tiredly, always looking for an opportunity to try and lighten the mood. You snort a quiet laugh despite yourself, allowing your fingers to brush against his arm in a gentle caress.

“Yeah, you and me both. Believe me, I didn’t think the first time I’d ever have to rush you to the emergency room would be for a burst appendix of all things!”

Charles frowns thoughtfully, looking exhausted and drained but mercifully no longer in dire, crippling agony. “Remind me … have I ever pretended to have appendicitis before?”

“No, somehow that particular organ didn’t come up in any of your medical fantasies,” you tease lightly. Then your smile falters as you recall just how horrifically bad it had looked earlier. The memory of Charles stifling those tortured groans, jaw clenched and body wound tighter than a bowstring, has a sobering effect. “But I’m really glad this wasn’t some dumb prank or act this time. You were … it seemed so awful, I was really terrified there for a while.”

His eyes soften and he captures your hand to give it a comforting squeeze. “I know. I’m just sorry I put you through that kind of scare with all my previous fake bouts of pain to rile you up.” Charles grimaces ruefully. “Not my finest habit, in retrospect.”

“Well, we can discuss suitable penance for all that later.” You try for a playful wink though it falls a bit flat against your lingering nerves.

Just then a nurse bustles over, all brisk efficiency as she prepares to wheel Charles back to surgery. “Alright Mr. Leclerc, we’re going to take you back now. The anesthesiologist is ready.”

You squeeze Charles’ hand one more time before leaning down to press a soft kiss to his forehead. “I’ll be right here when you wake up, okay?”

He nods bravely even as the nurse starts pushing the bed toward the operating room doors. “See you soon, mon amour. Try not to worry too much.”

“Me? Worry?” You force a small smile, desperately attempting to keep things light despite the knot of tension in your gut. “When do I ever do that?”

Charles chuckles weakly before disappearing through the swinging double doors. You stand there for a long moment staring at the entryway, running your hands through your hair agitatedly. This entire situation is your worst nightmare — your loved one being wheeled into surgery, their life quite literally in someone else’s hands.

Blowing out a shaky breath, you turn to find a place to wait during the procedure. It’s going to be a tense few hours, that’s for sure. You just have to trust that the doctors and nurses will do everything in their power to get Charles through this safely.

Several agonizing hours later, a surgeon in scrubs finally appears to fetch you from the waiting room with an update. Your heart leaps into your throat but the man is smiling, so it can’t be too terrible, right?

“Ms. Y/N? I’m Dr. Beaumont, I operated on Mr. Leclerc. I’m pleased to report that the surgery was a complete success. We were able to remove his inflamed appendix without any complications before it could rupture.”

You nearly collapse with relief, legs going watery. “Oh, thank god! He’s okay then?”

“He’s doing very well, all things considered,” Dr. Beaumont confirms with a nod. “Of course, we’ll need to keep him here for a few days to monitor for any signs of infection or complications from the anesthesia. But barring any unforeseen issues, I expect him to make a full recovery within a couple weeks.”

“That’s … oh, that’s wonderful news. Thank you, Doctor. Truly.” The words are woefully inadequate but you hope he can hear the depth of gratitude behind them.

A few minutes later, you’re settled into a chair at Charles’ bedside in the recovery ward. He’s still unconscious, face lax and peaceful in drugged sleep as the anesthesia slowly wears off. His chest rises and falls evenly with each reassuring breath. You reach out to gently brush some wayward curls from his forehead, relief crashing over you in waves.

It’s only been a few hours, but it already feels like a lifetime ago that Charles was writhing and groaning in unspeakable agony. To see him now, resting comfortably with the threat neutralized, it’s almost surreal.

You lean forward to press a feather-light kiss to his forehead, breathing in the familiar, grounding scent of him. “You really gave me a scare today, Leclerc,” you murmur against his skin. “But I’m so thankful you’re okay.”

His eyelids flutter slightly, lashes brushing high cheekbones as he starts to slowly swim back toward consciousness. You sit back and simply watch, letting the tension finally drain from your shoulders as he gradually blinks awake.

“Hey there, champ,” you say softly when his eyes find yours, still looking a bit dazed and glassy. “How are you feeling?”

Charles considers this for a moment, taking stock. “Floaty … but not too much pain anymore.” His tongue darts out to wet dry lips. “Did they ...”

“Yeah, they took out your appendix,” you say, unable to stop the relieved smile that curves your mouth. “Surgery went perfectly, and the doctor says you’re going to be just fine.”

He returns the smile, looking exhausted but still radiant with that dimpled grin you love so much. “Well … maybe there is an upside then.”

You tilt your head quizzically. “An upside to your burst appendix nearly killing you?”

“Of course.” Charles releases a tired chuckle, leaning back against the pillows. His gaze grows impish despite his pallor. “At least now I’ll save some weight in the car, no?”

You stare at him for one long beat of silence … before bursting into somewhat hysterical laughter, tears of sheer relief and exasperation pricking the corners of your eyes. Trust Charles to find the humor even in the most dire, frightening circumstances.

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” You roll your eyes fondly as your giggles taper off, leaning forward to take his hand and squeeze tightly. “Honestly Charles, what am I going to do with you?”

His expression grows impossibly tender as he squeezes back just as firmly. “Just keep loving me, ma chérie. No matter how many stupid jokes I make or stunts I pull to get your attention.”

You hold his gaze for a long moment, letting the warmth and sincerity of his words wash over you. Despite his recent trauma, you can see the pure devotion shining in his eyes. How could you ever want anything else?

“Always,” you whisper, fiercely meaning it with every fiber of your being. “I’ll always love you, Charles Leclerc. No matter what.”

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