#a chance midday meeting! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kooyabooya · 2 months

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OMISSION

m reader x julie // 21k words

There’s always going to be that one occurrence in your lifetime. Where, even when all possibilities of it happening just doesn’t seem to line up, still does.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

Doomed to regret, or relieved of the fact that you’re given a chance after waiting for who really knows how long, it all arrives in the same fashion. You’re pretty certain that things like these transpire for a reason; and sometimes, the best part about this mystery is what’s to come after.

Truth be told, it’s an unexplainable miracle how Julie still remembers you after all these years.

Okay, that statement itself might be an over exaggeration, and it’s been roughly about five years? Maybe seven? Shit, it might be even eight or more. The game of life doesn’t have time for someone like you to stand idly, dozing off and unbothered like that’s how you want things to be.

Nonetheless, you analogized this to your circle of friends about how you and Julie are like parallel lines: destined to be side by side, never to cross each other's paths to meet in the middle. You’ve convinced yourself long ago there would never be any form of instance crossing past that line of being in love with her, ever. Despite what everyone says otherwise, the teasing never stopped; a recurrence every once in a while with your high school friends (and hey, it’s not your fault that you tense up at the bare mention of her name or see a picture of you and her together from when you were kids and not have a crossing thought of what could’ve been). She’s been the one person who was always there for you, until eventually going away and out of your life before you could even understand what any of that meant in the first place.

It doesn’t matter if it’s the first time you’ve set eyes on her or the last, because a part of you seems to stop in their tracks whenever she’s within line of eyesight.

–

Midday, at the peak of rush hour traffic around the airport, there’s a scramble of newcomers and departing travelers through the doors of the terminal. The sporadic influx of people with one or two hand carries, and various cart goers with enough baggage to stay in the country for more than a projected month.

You pull the corner of your lip when you see a familiar shade of bright ash colored hair, retro shades shielding her face from anyone that might notice at a glance. Her luggage was surprisingly less than what you have expected: a bulky backpack that’s roughly the size of her entire midsection (she could go hiking or backpacking for all you know) and a large suitcase with a duffel bag stacked on top of it.

Julie being Julie, she decided to go the comfort route of her outfit rather than the haute couture style that she always plasters her social media profile with which was a nice change to see considering the amount of sponsors she has at her age. She scans the line of cars with the hazard lights on along the lane, immediately bee-lining for yours while you’re leaning against the side with the engine still running and not with the hazard lights on, just to make it easier for her to spot you.

When she finally stops her footing a few inches before the curb, she lets out this sigh when the handle of her suitcase clicks back in, plopping the duffel bag onto the ground as if she’s making her presence known, you take a quick look around ensuring that she wasn’t trying to make a scene. “Hey,” she calls over. There’s no second thought; you could be fifty feet away and still spot her.

Julie runs a hand through her hair, chin tilted up slightly when you get onto the sidewalk from the street, signifying the clear difference in height. She’s at your neck, and you’re glad that she stayed around there - you know, just to annoy her.

Coming off ever-so casually, “Hey.”

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

You lift your eyebrows with one at the highest point you could take on your forehead. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know, why don’t you tell me?”

A shake of the head, you’re giddy in an instant second.

“Seriously?” She starts, pulling out her set of earbuds and her glasses simultaneously, raising an eyebrow before squinting her eyes closely to your face, and all you’re doing is just letting your head fall a few degrees left to keep her second guessing. “There is no way they let you be my personal chauffeur for today.”

“Well, about that.” you scoff, stepping on the concrete away from the asphalt while also fishing out a folded twenty dollar bill from your pocket. “I was doing some errands for my parents before I got hit with the last minute memo to pick up some girl that’s been too busy with stardom.”

“What’s the adult dollar for?” Julie asks, fighting the smile terribly while you’re matching the same energy. “Are you tipping for yourself?”

A pause forms between the two of you, staring, reading into each other’s expressions. The white noise of cars coming occasionally broken with scattered honks across the place. You kinda look stupid with the twenty dollars in between your fingers, but Julie breaks first by looking down, you’re rolling eyes at how simple it’s been after all this time - easing into her, and she does the same.

She steps forward with swinging arms, capturing you in between them. Julie was always the outgoing one with affection. Growing up, you kinda got sick of her being up all in your space. Now, you’ve come the long way ‘round; her hand lightly grips the back of your neck, you’re shaking her side by side with your arms around her waist, suddenly she’s got a hand to your cheek before she pinches it just to annoy you. One thing for sure: you enjoy the small bubble entrapping you with her, not giving a care for what’s going outside of it.

“Oh my god?” you tell her breathlessly, half drunk on the sweet scent of her hair, pushing her back slightly to get a second look at her, trying to process how much she’s grown. “You- your hair….”

“I know right?” she acknowledges, tilting her head off to the right while hiding away. “Didn’t think that orange would be my color in the first place and now, I own it.”

She looks good, and somehow she’s still the same Julie you remember spending a good chunk of your entire childhood with to know that unchanging fact.

“Long flight?” you ask her, hands on her shoulders with a quick massage. “You know what they say about airport crushes; see them once, and they’re gone the next moment for forever.”

“No one has ever said that.” Julie laughs, flipping some of her hair over the shoulder, her lone hand lightly underneath your forearm, not letting the faintest clutch of your sweater get to you because it will, and it seems that the personal point still stands, but you remember the conversation with her regarding that all those years ago - unsure if the sting is still present or not, you’ll have to ponder sometime later. “Always the one to say complete nonsense to me and expect to understand it,” she closes the distance with you again, a slightly more prolonged hug, relaxing into your embrace again with a sleepy sigh, “But yes, I’m still tired.”

“So much for getting lunch.”

“Oh, we can still get lunch, if you’re paying of course.” She says, pressing both of her index fingers together innocently, dodging your eyes on purpose before you realize what she’s actually doing.

“Typical of you, Julie.”

“What? I’m not doing anything.” She replies, shaking her head. Your peripheral view catches a person wearing a neon yellow vest approaching you two, probably coming over to issue a warning that you’re picking up and not parking. Looking in the same direction, she too, takes the hint, realizing that you’re in a slight time crunch and the reunion can take place somewhere else. “Besides, I was always the one to get you lunch after school when you said that you weren’t hungry.”

“I could just take you straight home,” you say, popping the trunk to put all of her belongings in the back.

“Don’t! I’m kidding, obviously.”

That’s your Julie.

“Unless you don’t let me pick the place to grab something, then I guess you could take me home then, if it isn’t that much work for you.” She remarks while you’re rounding the car from behind, slotting in the gap to open the door for her before she swaps places with you on the outside and her on the opposite side.

Regardless of the absence, she’s hit it off with you again like nothing had ever happened, the habits of goodwill when you’re shielding her head from the roof of the door frame and shutting it when she finally sits in.

It’s like a rerun of old memories coming back. When the whirr of the engine springs to life from the ignition, paired with the dragged out sigh of Julie settling into the passenger seat of your car, leaning the seat all the way back with her feet on the dashboard. She’s also surprised that you kept a few trinkets that she put in the interior, but the main takeaway was the polaroid on the left side of the speedometer. The image wasn’t that big of a deal if you’re looking at the date scribbled with a sharpie, but it’s her lips pressed against your face on the last night before she went away to pursue her own endeavors. As for the gesture itself, Julie laughs it off since the main reason was because she had one too many drinks - which was understandable, to say the least.

(Well, friends have their own ways of showing off their love from a platonic standpoint, so this was just one of those instances; nothing more.)

You and her just talk for what seems like ages, forget with the notion of playing catch-up. She’s only been here for probably less than an hour and half at this point, and you could care less with the traffic on the way to the niche coffee spot where you and Julie have always gone to after school days and study sessions.

She points out to you that everything is pretty much the same since she left it - like she runs the place - and in a way, it felt like that to you for a while. It’s all in the scattered corner stores, the park with those two stationary bikes that she’d ride just because she’s bored, that one avenue of houses that you and her talked about owning one day if the lottery was won between the two of you. All of these things start coming back to you like stills from an old film camera.

“I helped get the house redone with flooring and everything,” you tell her, flicking the blinker up and looping right into the parking lot of the cafe. “Figured that it was time to change some things up around there for once.”

Right when you set the car to park, clicking off the seatbelt and she too does the same; you glance over to the passenger seat while grabbing for your wallet and keys, seeing Julie on her side, head propped up to her hand, a leg tucked to her chest before she nods her head down to let the set of sunglasses fall weirdly on the bridge of her nose, fixing it soon after while softly smiling back. “Anything else that I missed out on that I haven’t heard from the others?”

You look up, pursing your lips together with a hum, trying to give somewhat of a legitimate answer, “Perhaps one thing: me.”

Julie stares at you unimpressed, slightly cringing at what was just said while you’re wearing a dumb grin spread across your face. Her chin dips diagonally, insisting silently that you give her a valid explanation, but you don’t. She knows your fair share of flings and failed talking stages, and she’s not far off the cut too; coming to you for advice about how guys operate because you understood well that some of them only think with their fucking crotch and not their brain most of the time.

She sighs, this time with a light smirk in acceptance. “Fine, I’ll take that to be an acceptable answer.”

Phone and wallet in one hand, the other opening the door, a turn of the head shields you biting your inner lip, mind slowly falling into the delusional thought of filling the gap in your amygdala of what should’ve been done in the first place.

Maybe if you had the chance to go back in a time machine to alter the causes, the outcomes might’ve been in a much different space entirely.

–

Though, it’s worth mentioning that you and Julie have never actually tried dating each other up until she left during junior year. The idea itself wasn’t necessarily tempting, but the lone strings in your heart decided at best that it wouldn’t escalate anything higher than what you already had with her.

–

Sure.

Everything comes natural when it’s with Julie. Out of everyone in your small circle of friends, it was you and her that have been tethered together since you two were basically in diapers. She was born a few days before you; in the same hospital, on the same floor. Your mothers already had a tight-knit connection even prior to you and her even stepping in the picture of their lives. Then there’s the special aspect of being a pair since preschool; nearly all the moments were either you and her not too apart from the other.

You poke a straw through her latte before handing it to her first, only to take the same drink and bring it back around for you to have to take the additional one you bought instead. Everything starts to settle like old times. She’s telling you stories about what she’s doing with her career; nothing short of traveling around the world, giving you the most colorful way of what occurred even if it was the most simplest of things. The brand deals, the collaborations, how she loves what she’s doing. You couldn’t be more proud of her for taking her life by the reins because you and her both agreed that staying here in this town would only hold her back to what she really wants.

“So,” she starts, placing her phone down after showing her pictures of her recent outing somewhere in Poland. “Remind me what you’re doing again?”

She’s sitting across from you on the table, leg over the other, hands linked at the knee. Her drink is almost finished, there’s a half eaten croissant while you’re playing back all of the things that might be worth noting. You look up to see that subtle smirk, a hint of her dimples that you’ve probably fantasized about kissing because they’re just there, her pretty cat-like eyes, low and heavy, and her hair just looks amazing to see since the papaya color really suits her well.

“Well, it’s nothing really worth sharing,” you say, grabbing another sip through the opening of your drink, “This job I got starts in a few weeks, and oh- grad school’s finally done and over with.” Julie nods in excitement, clapping quietly with her fingers while you’re waving a hand up to save the embarrassment. You show her the grad photos and ceremony, and tells you looked good, apologizing for not showing up earlier to be that for your massive accomplishment.

“Anything else that you’re doing to pass time?” she asks, stealing your drink since she finished hers.

“I write a little here and there. No big deal.”

“You do?”

You shrug, “Kinda, sort of struggling with this one story or idea that’s been rattling my brain for the past couple days now.”

Julie does the similar action like she did earlier while getting out of the car; that slight lean back with narrow eyes to subject something suspicious. “Is it the kind of writing that I think it is?”

“Jul, it’s just poems.” you tell her, adjusting your chair closer while she spills a mess of giggles while you snatch back your drink for another sip to keep yourself distracted. “You know that I get lost with reading. It was just that one time that you caught me red-handed.”

“You’re not at fault for hooking me onto that kind of stuff too.” she replies, fingers bridged together to support her chin with her elbows on the table, “I will say, the mind can create the wildest imaginations.”

“Have you noticed what you’re doing with those outfits and dances?”

“Hey, I read those comments every now and then.” Julie takes back your drink to finally finish it, placing the cup off to the side with the half-eaten croissant to open up the table for conversation. “It’s just one way of staying engaged with fans without even interacting with them.”

That’s the kind of line you drew with Julie: being her supporter while she’s coming into her own. Making a name for herself through her own route of success to being famous, garnering attention by the minute with every post that she makes of herself or with others. You find yourself staring at pictures of her in outrageous outfits a little too long at times, watch the parts of her in videos on loop because she’s radiating with happiness, enjoying what she does. Her voice is distinct for you to pick out, and you’re wondering also: what did the world do to deserve an angel like her for just being the way she is?

She was a constant in your life, the couple of minutes you set aside in your schedule to see what she’s up to while in school or work - an out reaching thread you’ll dip down to see where she is or what she’s doing.

Can’t be mad at her for not keeping up with you after all this time anyway.

“Why did you bring me here?” Julie asks, her tone serious with hands now on her lap.

Instead of sugarcoating the inquiry, you’re mature enough to the point where some things are best given flat out the first try rather than scaffolding the truth bit by bit.

–

(It’s a flashpoint in the same spot years ago; the end of one thing, the start of another. Only main difference of this was the seating arrangement: you with your back against the fence and Julie on the opposite end with someone carrying a tray back inside the cafe.

The receipt was already on the table, empty orders of drinks just waiting to be discarded. It’s sundown, and the inside was already packed with various students cramming in bits and pieces of study guides for that history test they’re all convinced that they’ll fail. Not you, because you’re confident in your academic abilities so why lose sleep over it.

“I’m finally going forward with this.” Julie tells you, sitting idly while she just went you through the potential plan of her journey to success. Bottom line still stands: she’s going away, and the news still hits you like a deer caught in headlights. She nudges your shin that makes you snap out from your trance off into the distance, “Are you even listening?”

“I am- I was.” you answer, shaking your head while scratching, because you’re aware of the facts. Julie has been pushing to get herself off with her feet up in the sky, and managed to land a chance to finally make that silly dream of being famous into a reality. It’s been brewing behind the scenes, seeing her pace back and forth between phone calls while having a quick bite before dinner at her place. “So it’s really happening this time.”

“Yes.” She says, as if the news itself already didn’t tear an opening in your heart from the beginning. Any lingering feeling that was there for her was about to be ripped away from you in the next few days, and there’s not a lot of time left either; so why put in effort to even try and convince her when her mind is already made.

“Only a matter of time until you’re finally gone.”

“Don’t say it like that.”

“You know how I am with things like these.” you tell her, flatly. “The sentiment coming from me feels wrong, but it's your dream and I don’t want to jeopardize that.”

Julie’s expression softens, meeting your eyes. They’re filled with fading stars while hers are glassy, lip quivering while she reaches for your hand, thumb rubbing the ridges across the wrinkles of your knuckles - how the touch will be an unknown to her, inevitably.

“You’re not hurting me.” she says, smiling, confessing like it’ll give you some comfort to live with. “You never did.”

She knows your wavelength better than anyone else besides your parents. Nodding at her reassurance, you put away the one thing that you should’ve said in hiding, since it’s already too late. You don’t even know when she’ll be back let alone have the expectation for things to be the same later, because it won’t be.

It’s also impossible to satisfy the urge in telling her everything right here and now, put all of your thoughts and feelings on the table with no regrets; it’s there, but you’ve stomached the feeling deep down enough to keep it inside.)

–

“I mean, this is where we left things,” you tell her, bearing a smile, “why not start right where we left off?”

–

What’s talked about throughout years is all recapped in the matter of a few hours. You’ve gone around the town in different spots, talking about the notable events that occurred in each and every one of them. There’s a fill-in between different friends and shakeups of relationships and careers that has Julie in shock at the misdirection through the juicy details that never in a million years she would believe had happened. It’s still going, even when you drop by your home to see your parents and their adopted child (figuratively speaking) for a bit before carrying on with the drive to absolutely nowhere with the switch from your car to your mom’s SUV.

“What’s it about?” Julie asks while you stop at a red light. “Don’t tell me it’s a shitty sob story you’re struggling with.”

A press on the brakes, maybe a little too hard that slightly sends your body and hers jerking forward. And to that she punches your shoulder while you’re laughing. “For calling my story shitty.”

You’re reminded of her rudeness with words - letting out all the profane words that she’s been forced to bottle up for so long, letting it slip here and there for comedic relief. But with you, the rules never really applied to her, and you’ll do a limit test of crossing various things off the list, it’ll happen.

“Still haven’t answered my question.” she reminds you, a pinch to your arm also to let you know that she’s not playing around. You let her get her way, something that you’ve accepted a long time ago. Now with her newfound image, she’ll use that to her advantage that won’t definitely come back to bite her in the ass.

The glow from the excruciatingly long light catches Julie’s face from the corner of your eye. She raises a brow in suspicion when you look forward out into the open road, endless waves of darkness swallowing up the fading street in the distance. “It’s about past lives.”

“What.” she snorts, “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

(You wave your hand back at her while she giggles, and you say that maybe staying at your house was a better idea than going back into town.)

“This was exactly what I was talking about,” you tell her, glancing at her side profile, the canvas of her cheeks, her hair in a loose ponytail that she’s twiddling around between her fingers, eyes looking up to the sky above before looking back as an implication to continue. “I found inspiration about this one movie where two friends who’ve been forced apart from each other, only to find their way back in the most cliché way possible.”

“So original.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“Okay, yeah.” Julie lets out a bigger smile, the one where her eyes also mirror the same movement as her lips. “Give me a more indepth version of this when we get to our destination and I’ll reconsider your pitch.”

As soon as she says that, the light finally turns green, and you gradually press down on the gas pedal.

–

Here’s what the general consensus doesn't know about you and Julie; an omission of facts, one might say.

Only a few handful of people among your circle of friends would know of the situation where Julie had convinced you to pose as her fake boyfriend sometime around sophomore year. To be fair, the guy trying to court her during lunch was a bit of an ass when talking to her - being so stuck up and over his own head that made you want to punch the dude, so not even more than five seconds of their interaction was enough for you to shut any sort of speculation down entirely.

Everyone from the outside looking in would all share the same tune: there would be no way in hell that you’d get past the friends aspect with Julie.

(But it did happen; in that short time, and even if it wasn’t actually a real relationship with her- well, that didn’t really matter anyway.)

It’s all over your face. In pictures from different hangouts, videos in school projects, people calling out of you daydreaming during in between classes or breaks, getting in trouble for cutting class just to make sure everything was according to plan (and not because Julie forced you to ditch since you would say yes regardless). Most guys who were gunning to have their chance turned down by Julie would fall back entirely whenever they see you and her walking together - because they somewhat already knew of the endgame about to occur.

As for the memory itself, you faintly recall some sort of verbal agreement with her, things to sell the whole act from both parts: hand-holding, the mandatory dates, and all of the other stuff that was easy to fall into since you and her were so comfortable with each other already. The only issue, however, was the projected timetable of how long this fabricated ‘relationship’ was supposed to last.

“We have everything down,” she tells you, scruffing up the soles of her shoes along the sidewalk one day after a ‘much needed debriefing’ at the park. She’s pulling you by the sleeve - you know, for good practice. “I think we’ll be fine going forward.”

“You didn’t say how long we’re supposed to keep up this act for.” you say, opening the gate to her front yard and up the steps to the door. “The three month rule exists for a reason.”

“And you expect me to believe that?”

“It’s an unspoken requirement.” you reply flatly.

Julie bats her eyelids at that, getting on the first step of her porch to make herself taller to you, twists her body mirroring yours with hands on both sides of your collarbones. She lifts your face up, thumbs on your cheeks that could pose as teardrops because of how solemn your expression was, and she smirks at the appearance. “You’re nervous.”

“Nervous?” you ask, face slightly flushed and side-eying her fingers pinching your cheek. “I was just a little hesitant, that’s all.”

“What’s there to be afraid about?” she asks, stepping closer to the edge where it was natural for you to circle your arms around her waist. Deliberate, but every action with her was just right without having to question yourself if you’re doing what she wants you to do. “I helped you with all of the things that I wanted you to do with me in this relationship.”

You sigh, “Not all things.”

Julie looks at you puzzled, head cocked to the side at the unknown mentioned. Knowing her, she’s quick enough to realize what was being implied without having to say it explicitly. Few seconds pass, humming, trying to let those nerve synapses do their work before eventually realizing what was running through your mind. “Ah,” she says, nodding along to your level of thinking. “If you wanted me to say that, then you should’ve.”

“What were you thinking?”

“You’re a terrible kisser.”

“Do you really want me to answer that?” you tease, scanning Julie’s eyes, her pert smile, the subtle lip bite you catch at the last second before hiding the lower half of her face with the oversized sleeve of the sweater.

It was the last thing that was necessary to do. You’re thinking of the test drive of that from the other day, how you just gave a weak peck of a kiss only to poorly play it off as being ‘not ready’. Julie assures you that it was okay, and you tried it again.

(The second time was a lot better. And, uh, it still needs more, hm-)

“If we really want to make this work,” you tell Julie, fingers clasped together behind the small of her back, gravitating her closer to your chest. Her hands are slithering around the back of your head and neck, “Best to have it done properly. No mistakes.”

Julie nods in agreement, reminded that she was the one who roped you in to do all of this for her. This facade could have some sort of meaning when it’s over, but for the moment you could see on her face that she was relieved. “Right, if you want the part, you have to own it.”

Her head dips down to yours, sealing the deal with a kiss, smiling at the improvement when you return it fantastically well. She pulls away with half-lidded eyes, and maybe this lip lock was the first of many, time can only share so much.

“Alright then,” she whispers against your lips, brushing against yours delicately, “that was a whole lot better.”

–

Aside from selling the act from nearly all of your friends, you kept it to yourself that this ‘relationship’ with Julie should’ve been real from the start. Though, you can’t even blame yourself for the idiot you’d become whenever Julie’s steamrolling into your personal space in between classes. If anything, even if they knew the thing was real or fake, they all took the hint of backing off to give you two the respected space whether it was intended to be actually authentic or not.

Even if you wanted to be discreet - which, more often than not, was the complete opposite - it did feel like they were invading your guys’s privacy if it was in the halls, in front of the door for her next class or yours, or even at parties to which everyone spread word that you couldn’t stand being a few seconds away from Julie - keeping yourself in close proximity unless she said otherwise.

(Like you’ve admitted; you’re an idiot for letting yourself be this way for Julie. You can't really help yourself when she’s so forward with wrapping arms all over, keeping herself magnetized with you before her going away was even in the picture. Laughing about silly things that others from the outside could never really comprehend what you and Julie talk about. Having conversations with her was incredibly easy; that, and along the hands on hands or hands on legs or arm on shoulder. Then there’s the loving gaze you’d give her - staring shamelessly and blatantly doing it with no problem at all as if it was the last few seconds you’d ever have, and it would be everything.

So. The ‘act.’)

Sometimes you’d completely forget the whole purpose as to why you’re even doing this thing with her in the first place, since it felt so natural. It’s typical for a high school romance, kissing with a reason behind it or without having one at all.

You’d do it to punctuate something, convince her to consider otherwise, lower your eyes and tilt your head, slot your lips with hers. If you were with anyone else besides her in this scenario; it would have the same effect, but wouldn’t hit your heart as hard as you wanted to. Julie would stare at you, nodding, understanding, having known that this cosmic binding was meant to stay that could transcend time itself - linking pinkies together, as an extension of your hearts being hitched together.

When she finally called the verbal agreement of the fake relationship off, you were certain that things would still stay the same between you two; which it did, of course, but she was open about the loving intentions you had for her, regardless if there was a label to it.

(You and her would hide away from others after that, still, just because the company with each other was better compared to your friends - no disrespect to them, of course. And all of those times of doing that - well, you made it known how you really felt about Julie without saying it. The kissing was there as a plus, remember?)

–

The point still stands: you remember all of it. You expected Julie to be the same; hoping to shield the feeling of her leaving with every intent as possible until the clock would eventually reach zero. It was never a part of the conversation, but the weight hung heavy even if you or her mentioned was coming to pass.

You’ve learned to drop such expectations - much like taking things with a very small grain of salt, because any solid assumption would only lead to thoughts that would only crumble you from the inside out. The more blanks you have, the better.

Delusion might be one thing, blindly falling in love was a shot in the dark to your own admission, but that silly idea of ‘she fell first, he fell harder?’; come to think of it, it might’ve been put in writing long ago and it all circles back without any single warning at all.

This is what people realize about Julie, and you were the first person to know of this: she always breaks through other’s expectations.

She’s an ever changing current of some form that could only be described as groundbreaking. Pushing boundaries of standards to new horizons. A highlight that was destined to shine brighter given the right tools and exposure to let her do that one simple thing that she’s good at, being herself.

Miles ahead of everyone, never wanting to look back. And there’s you, falling slightly behind from her, on purpose - because watching her take on the world was something that you could handle for as long as you lived in the same space with her. Distant, but not far. The small thread of imaginary rope in your head clinching onto the fact that she’ll see you for you, and maybe the labels could all be sorted out in due time.

“And here we were,” she begins, arms out to the sides like gliding on air. She’s in your varsity jacket, in trade for the unfinished ice cream in your left hand, nursing it for yourself while she’s elevating herself on planters or benches; anything to bring joy with the simple things no matter how silly it was. “Feels so good to finally be home for a quick minute.”

It’s a little bit late, the light posts are on, wind gusting through the small park where you’ve shared countless memories when you and Julie were kids. Everything around the place is timeless, only replaced with a few renovations scattered here and there around the area, but still the same. She’s alongside the railing, the other side a calm river housing scattered sounds of crickets and cicadas.

On the opposite end, was your mom’s SUV with the back parked in. Some fine luck that they made a space to be near that big old tree with enough branches and leaves to serve as shade when the sun hits the highest point in the sky. Despite the darkness, you liked it compared to the daytime, whereas Julie was the inverse.

“Does anyone know?” You stop short when she turns around, hands pocketed in that lent jacket. “You, being here. On vacation if this was your plan for a while now.”

“Well yeah,” she responds, approaching closer with her mouth open while you spoon feed her another bite of butterscotch from the small cup, pulling lips inward to clean any remains of the desert. “Sure, I could’ve gone anywhere else to have time off, but I chose to come here. Decided that it would be a good thing to come and see everyone after so long.”

You nod at that, admiring the reason. Hiding that small tug in your heart that should be small enough to not notice.

Julie knows you better than yourself sometimes, and she can see from your eyes that you’re trying to go beyond what's being said.

She steps forward, because she can, and you’re not against that. This is where she thrived back then: doing everything to make you uncomfortable. And yeah, it was very simple for her to do back then in high school; the little gesture she does with her shoulders and scrunching face to let you know that she’s won. Putting up with her antics was one thing, but it was nothing that you can’t handle - practicing all of the little tricks and quirks to perfection in the hopes of holding your own if it ever happened again, just like now.

“Look at you,” you chuckle, “always on some form of borrowed time.”

She steps closer, hand out to guide yours with the empty cup of ice cream, setting it on the stone adjacent from you two.

You’re not sure who’s really in control of who in this current moment. All of this was led on from the continuation of bouncing stories between your work life and hers, the details of people in your corporate circle commensurating a string of complaints and drama that you’re not all invested in, but kept an open pair of ears for them just out of the goodness of your solid gold heart. Julie also spills her fair share of things that she’s done, telling all with that maddening grin of hers, the way her cheeks elevate at the pull of her lips, how her eyes draw this curve that hides the irises while you could see the gums beyond her teeth. The low glow of the light post casts this in bronze, the timeless features you’ve seen countless times, in all of its glory.

“Do you remember,” she prompts, closing the distance once more with her chest slightly puffed up, shoulders rounded back and relaxed, hands still in the pockets of your jacket she’s borrowing. “About that time where we posed as a fake couple back in high school?”

“All because you couldn’t take the fact that everyone wanted you back then?”

“Maybe say it a little better than that,” Julie muses, nudging your elbow to keep on teasing, “You’re within the ballpark, however.”

“Right.”

Julie smirks, mixing a noise between a soft laugh and sigh, looking up dutifully with those doe eyes. “God,” she says, studying your stoic expression, “even now, you’re still the same after all we did.”

This might be a double-edged sword of words, a back-handed compliment if you’re going to dissect the linguistic skeleton. That old rhyme of ‘stick and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me’, has never been more true than now. You remain unfazed, smirking, staring. The wind suddenly picks up where it sweeps Julie’s stray strands of hair in front of her face.

You can’t help but giggle at the way she leans down with a small squeal, hands covering the top of her head to prevent any mess caused by the natural course of nature. Helping her stand up straight, your fingertips sweep those tousled strands, smoothening them to eventually make it look more presentable, not giving any care with how your hands are cupping her face.

Her question pops up in your head again: about how all of this seems familiar. Feeling the small pull of tension in the air when you gaze into her eyes again - filled with a longing that was tucked away, radiating with sparkles that shouldn’t even look real, but they are. You’re trying to think, and yet, “Maybe. You could be right. And you being here with me like this tells me exactly everything that I need to know.”

“Really.” Julie coos, dimples deepening, “Would you like to elaborate on this?”

“I think you can explain that a whole lot better than me.”

She nods her head, raising a hint of suspicion with an eyebrow, “You think?”

“I know,” you respond. Guilty as charged, she played you this entire time, and somewhere along the lines of accepting it the best way, “Well, you know too.”

Thousands of miles apart, decimating that to the single digits, now being mere inches apart - closing in like before; and maybe you were just falling into an old habit the way you pull her face towards yours. Something like this takes practice, could honestly come off as a natural action at this moment: you kissing her, like it was meant to happen. You could never forget all the times she made you feel like this. Only difference is, she’s slipping through the cracks along with you.

Julie tugs herself closer to you, trying to mend her body into yours; becoming one. She’s ballooning more into the press of your lips before shying away, shrinking, hands moving from your elbows straight up to the nape of your neck. One of your hands snake to the smallest point of her back, holding her curving spine steady, not letting up the exchange of her intoxicating air passing through your mouth and nose - it only has you feening for more.

And she hums this sound, low and deep, firing impulses within you that will take nearly every bit of brainpower left to resist.

“Juls,” you murmur softly, pulling away for a slight second, feeling the clutch of her hands around the fabric of your sweater-

All of that attention is zeroed in on this transcendent sound that she makes, sealing it with your lips again, all needy and deprived and in desperate want that would literally kill you on the spot. She’s willing to take you away, devour every bit because she will, and you’d be okay with that.

“You have–” she gasps, “no idea.” Dear Lord, she’s breaking by the instant - pulling herself back with your fingers tangled in her hair. The moonlight towering over illuminates this glow on her skin, basking in it while you’re giving her this same look of endearment that you’ve had for most of your life. You might be deserving of it, she could say otherwise; maybe it’s one of fate’s tricks blessing you for once.

“You do remember.” Playing into Julie’s mind game, falling into the sinking temptation that she’s unknowingly doing over you. It feels tense, but at the same time it doesn’t. “And here I was beginning to wonder if you’d forget everything–”

“Trust me,” she tells you, hand ghosting over the length of your collarbone while yours reels her small body closer. By the neck, she pulls you to close the distance. “My memory is just as good as yours.”

(Oh, and it’s how you’re reminded again and again: at how Julie is one half of your brain - a perfect compliment to you for so many years. No one even comes close, and some have tried; they could never get you like she does.)

“I want you,” Julie’s soft voice twists your ears right back. “Fuck, I’m only gonna say this one more time: I need you.”

You probably don’t recall the number of things you dreamed of hearing, but this might be one of them. It’s not a question or an answer, nor a quote said intrusively. If anything, this was the green light you’ve been waiting for; there’s just only one thing left to do then.

–

Forgetting Julie was always going to be an impossibility.

When a girl like her has her face in literally everywhere that you could imagine: in photoshoots, brand events, social media engagements; the magic of being famous really transforms one’s landscape if they can break the threshold - which she has, and in one way or another - she could never hide away from the bright lights.

Except at a time like this, you’re glad the darkness envelops both of you.

“Mmph.”

Your vision is focusing in blanks, searching for something, fixated on the silhouette of your hand floating over Julie’s head, slowly bobbing down along your length, lips wrapped tight around your cock and her tongue sweeping the grooves along the underside; the ligaments at the knees are way past the possible bending point where you could take them, hips forward while this girl is laid flat on her stomach with the trunk open, and you’re also thinking: who in the actual fuck would be out walking this late in the night to see this form of public indecency? She stops halfway, shakes her head side-to-side, coaxing the head on both sides of her inner cheeks, humming with every intent of praise at how good your cock tastes in her mouth.

“Fuck,” you rasp, letting your head fall slack backwards, smoothening Julie’s silky hair when she pulls back up, teeth grazing the tip that has you let out a pathetic groan. “You’re so good at that.”

“Mmmmh.”

The pop she makes off the head is sinister, and you’re already imagining the smile she has spread across her lips, swiping her tongue across to make them more wet than it already is. She’s giving you a hard time to think straight, and you’re still blown away with how forward she was into blowing you, not wanting to waste a minute before you and her could even make it back to the house.

“How are you holding up?” She asks innocently, seeing the hint of her honey amber eyes dart at you while her wrist is giving a wandering tug up the length, tensing up every fiber in your lower back to keep it there.

“Do you really want me to give you an answer?” And Julie chuckles at the flex of your thigh when she runs her fingernails over it.

Julie then gets back right to work, enveloping your cock into that sweltering heat of her mouth, coaxing it in all the ways you’ve fantasized before - grunting and exhaling spells of air when she dives down deep, deeper, massaging the head with her slick throat - all the way before putting a ring with her thumb and index finger at the base, practically purring at the constant rhythm she’s doing on you, to get you undone.

Your stomach does this funny little twitch, like a punch to the gut once her hand finally gets to dance along the shaft, stroking along the slick surface while her mouth services a fresh supply of wetness swirling all over. She hums in approval when you take matters into your own hands, wrapping two fingers across the bottom of your cock while she’s happily bobbing her head along the length, picking up a consistent rhythm of spit and dribbles coming out of her mouth, pushing you towards that breaking point, sliding her plump lips across the tip before swirling back in, hollowed cheeks, your eyes slightly rolling back, vision swimming, hunting for a way to stay conscious.

And the only subjective thing you’re inclined to do, not like there’s any other option for anything else, is to just let her have it. You’ll cum for her, all over her pretty face, and have her slip your cock back into her mouth to make you cum again in a few minutes flat. She knows that it feels good for you, there’s no doubt about it; how you can see her eyes with the occasional glow of your phone going off to break light, glaring at you with every intent of swallowing you.

“Paint my face baby.” Julie whispers. It’s not a proposition, she wants it to be set in existence, “your cock is so pent up for me, all you have to do is just let go.”

“Christ-”

That’s what pretty much sets you off.

Your shaft is molten around your hand, cockhead pressed agasint Julie’s perfect lips, hips jolting in quick pulses; you also might’ve heard your kneecaps crack a bit in the dead silence, three thick threads of cum landing on the curves of her cheeks, hearing her hum in content. Her mouth opens to let the next few shots of release settle into their new warm home, head wrapped around that opening, riding out the last bits of sensation as you’re draining everything all over her face and in her mouth. The overhanging light for the trunk switches on with what remains of your spent energy, catching that smug grin when she’s resting your cock on her cheek, parting lips open with a small dribble of cum leaking from the slit still, to which she licks with her tongue on the underside while having her eyes still trained on you. She’s all blissed out, irises focusing and unfocusing - almost cross-eyed; and just like before, you’re captured around her little spell once again.

A few seconds later and she’s wiping the damage from her face, licking it up from her fingers - fondly taking in the sweetness of your cum on her tongue while feeling out her jaw again, trying to internalize the feeling of your dick filling her slutty little mouth. She won’t forget it, and neither will you.

“You taste good,” she mumbles after getting up on her knees, ducking slightly so that her head doesn’t hit the roof of the car, “y’know, if that wasn’t already obvious enough.”

“Decorum, Julie.” You tell her, straightening your legs out for what felt like an eternity. “Thanks,” you follow up, “I do try my best with my own things.”

Julie lets out a snort, wiping her lips with any lasting remains of her drool mixed with your cum, “Jackass. Always so stuck up for being an ass.”

“You just said ass in the same sentence twice,” you comment, propping yourself on elbows to where Julie leans down across the width of your chest, towering over you.

She leans lower while your head bumps the backseat, face nearly centimeters away from yours, hearing and feeling the needy breath against your lips when your hand skates up her waist, teasing with a fingertip before you lightly clutch her back, allowing her to fall down and kiss you.

She’s not far away from you now, but instead right here in your arms. This is progress; good progress and maybe even better. You can barely see the hickeys along the column of her throat in the darkness - something that you’ll revisit to make her revel in the feeling of your mouth over them, a get back of sorts in trade for giving what she wants.

“I hate how you’re such a smartass.” Juile tells you while pulling away. But hey, at least she’s saying that with a smile.

–

The whole town gets slapped with inclement weather throughout the week.

And yeah, you’re pretty much giving your phone screen or laptop or even the television that no one really uses around the house a dirty look when you see the consistent set of numbers with the picture of a few clouds mixed with rain at the bottom of them. Though, it doesn’t really make sense for it to rain when the weather was nice for once up till now. The percentages of rainfall were particularly high, especially around this time of year which typically means: hey man, it would be best to just stay inside, maybe catch up on some of those books you’ve been putting off for quite a while because of school. You could also use this ample time to finally get that story also, get some words in while the thoughts are fresh, or something like that. A third option would be calling Julie, since as it turns out, her parents are gone - which also means she’s home alone, and whatever you do with that piece of information is entirely up to you. So what’s it gonna be? Besides, you still need answers as to what your current dilemma is with her relationship-wise, and ignoring the fact that she feels the same way should be ringing alarms in your head as it is.

You could curse your mom or bless her, because she gave you a favor to do by going to her house to drop a few things off.

One worrying drive later in the wet darkness, and a well managed job to beat the unrelenting rain before it got worse, you’re at her doorstep knocking. The steady thrums of the droplets hitting the roof before the knob clicks and the hinges creak open. She lets you in with no hesitation, patting your wet hair while you’re tending your soaked jacket to the coat hanger.

“Didn’t your mom say that it was a good idea to wait until this storm lets up?” Julie asks, walking ahead to the living room while carrying one of two bags that you brought over, contents being various snacks and clothes that you were willing to give to her since you hardly ever wore them. “Thanks for bringing my favorites for me,” she beams happily, “I haven't had these in a long while.”

“Managed to get them a day before today,” you tell her, trailing along her pathing where the space in the house opens up more. “I thought the forecast said less than 40% of rain would come.”

“You still believe in what they say on the news?”

“Not all the time, but it’s good to stay informed.”

Julie steps away into the kitchen while you plop down on the couch, leaning your head back on the cushion while the sound of plastic rustling fills your ears. Few moments later, she comes back with a sizable bowl of pretzels, placing it on the table before she goes and gets two bottles of water; which you scoff at first but appreciate the simplicity of maintaining a healthy diet.

You and her pick up right where you left off. Talking about anything and everything that was worth it in terms of interesting topics. The television has one of those random sitcoms provided on the streaming service after trying to search for one for about five minutes or so, feeding each other occasionally while trying to hold in laughs while staring at each other.

“How long have you had that color?” Gesturing with a head pat to yourself while Julie downs the lasting remnants of what’s in her cup. She gives you this gaze with the clack of the glass on the table, leveling her gaze with you - the low glow from the tv serving as the prominent source of light, catching the smallest sweep of her hair right at the ends, tilting her head to match yours in curiosity.

“For about a month. And honestly,” she breathes, “I was pretty skeptical about choosing this color in the first place,” she adds, pulling her knees closer to her chest, “but I guess you could say that I was convinced to try it out.”

You purse your lips, reaching over the the near empty bowl of crackers while Julie is holding in a laugh, offering the other half to her with an outreaching hand - to which she leans over with an open mouth, happily receiving the remains on her mouth while you’re alternating glances from the screen to her.

“By the way, my parents actually just went out to visit my grandparents,” she adds, realizing that shere was a missing set of keys from the pot where you set yours past the front door; not to mention the two vacant spots on the shoe rack where they would usually be. “So I guess it’s just us alone here if the storm doesn’t let up.”

And by some comedic timing, you get a text on your phone. Basically it just says from your mom to stay over at Julie’s for the night, after getting news of the road being unsafe to drive with the rain as the cause of one or two accidents already.

(You might consider yourself lucky; but what good would that serve since you’ve already put yourself miles ahead of the competition in getting with Julie?)

“If this is some form of good news,” you tell her, showing the message bubble from the phone screen, to which she unleashes this gummy smile, understanding by that cosmic connection you two have built together that doesn’t really need a logical explanation. “I think you’re in good company for tonight at least.”

Julie then leans forward. No- she launches herself at you while you and her were sitting along the bottom of the couch, playing along by letting her weight collapse on top. You pay no attention to how her arms hook around your neck, but you do focus on the press of her lips to your cheek; it’s honestly worth sharing a laugh at her nestling into the groove along your neck and collarbone, patting her back to let her know that you’re also happy with staying.

There’s this odd silence, to where she pulls away. You could also hear the faint sound of whatever sitcom was on the screen to provide a calm ambience. It’s appalling to how beautiful she looks without any makeup on, hand mindlessly clutching onto her oversized sweater to where she tenses up on impulse - almost unsure at first, only to grab your wrist soon after.

“I’ve been wondering,” she prompts, face upright while you press your tongue against the inside of your cheek, “how come you and I never made anything official between us?”

“What do you mean?” you blindly ask. “I thought I made myself obvious enough about how I feel about you.”

“You were,” she responds, inching her body closer towards yours. “Though, it hasn’t crossed my mind before recently, when we–”

“Yeah, I know.”

“You’re not weirded out about it?”

Anything that you say from this point on would only solidify your case. You’ve always wanted the idea of Juile being all to yourself, despite her being big enough for everyone else to get a wanting chance at her too. This realization came to you on a random day, probably, when you’re just going along with your day before you suddenly dropped whatever you were doing - staring off into the distance because at the end of it: you’ve fucked yourself head over heels for her from the start.

“I wanted-” your words get caught up behind the tongue while Juile’s fingers are branching out to your shirt.

“You sound unsure about something.” Her voice is laced with mischief, teasing.

“-to talk about last time, and even if we do bring it up, you know- us,” you add with a raised hand with hers, “I just hope that it’s not a one time thing.”

“It’s not.” she tells you, face pouting with scrunched brows. “You worry too much sometimes, even back in high school, you were always like that.”

She’s not wrong, but also, she’s right for calling you out.

“I could just leave right now if it makes you feel better.” You start to stand up from the floor, only to be stopped by Julie’s tighter grip on your hand, causing you to freeze for a moment.

“I’m just glad,” her shoulders rise and fall with the pressure mounted on top of them finally lifted from whatever was plaguing her, “That after all this time: you still stayed for me.”

It’s just like that other time, and you’re catching her train of thought faster than the words can come out of her mouth. This wasn’t something to think twice about - if you don’t take the second golden chance fallen at your lap, it’ll be a lasting regret filling the back of your mind once she goes back to the world that she created for herself.

“You know.” She tells you, with that endearing grin of hers, filled with so much of everything that has you fractured from within, because she doesn't need to say anything else. “You know all too well for me anyway.”

A hesitating shuffle of your butt across the hardwood, you’re scooching closer to her, lowering eyelids, hand trailed to the nape of Julie’s neck until you and her make ends meet. In an instant, she’s suddenly reformed into this being of wanting, need, someone who will let you have their way over them.

She pulls away panting, you give her another kiss to the jaw. “Funny, how the tables have turned.” You tell her, twisting your head to the opposite end before she meets your lips again - this time a little more hectic, hands grasping along the fabric of your shirt, almost peeling it off at the first go.

“C’mon now,” says Juile, hand underneath to your stomach before trailing down to the waistband of your pants, “Don’t make me change my mind like last time.”

–

Here’s a silly thing: upon arriving, Julie suggested that it would be a good idea for you to sleep in her room (and in this case, it has happened before; way too many times to be exact, gossiping about nonsense or cramming material at the last minute the night before a big test. Another funny memory to recall.) She teases that it’s nothing for you to be worried about, and it's not like you were going anywhere else for tonight.

Instead, you insisted on using the guest room that she has, but here’s the funny part; you and her don’t actually make it back up to her bedroom anyway.

The harmony of a laugh she lets out when you slip your shirt off of your frame, catching her staring for a few seconds too long - biting her lip and some of her index finger, she can’t help but be in awe. A new, fit, and refined look that replaces the scrawny and nimble image that you somewhat hated for the longest time - towering over her on the cushions of the couch, helping her slide out of that oversized shirt to see a white sports bra - sweatpants soon after with a matching set. You’re nicking your head to the side in disbelief, eyes overloaded with the image straight out of your fantasies - only this time now to be all too real.

“Holy shit,” you breathe, unable to blink while you get a hand on her hips, off to the right where there’s a small tattoo - an anchor, grazing your thumb over to see if that was also another secret she kept from you (from everyone, for that matter) - there’s also her impossibly slim waist, her luscious thighs, the definite line down the middle where her abs are at. This could be another win in your year of success, and then again, no one else but you gets to see her like this.

“Got something to say?” Julie asks, smirking with her head slightly tilted back, up on elbows, “They do say that girls are breathtakingly beautiful wearing white.”

A click of your tongue, not willing to argue with that take, because she’s right. It’s within the lines of superiority, giving someone the respect that they deserve. She could have it, but she also likes it when you don’t even think of giving her that kind of luxury. “My mouth has a lot more things to say than just words,” you tell her, the pair of hands sliding up to the tight elastic resting underneath her breasts.

“Care to share what you’ll do to me?”

You get rid of that annoying sports bra, for starters - hands filling up with the supple size of her breasts, fast to wrap around her upper back while you’re peppering the new territory with kisses all over, her head falling back even more to open up and let you ravage and mark and the tens of other things that you’ll get your chance on, eventually.

She’s heaving with shaky breaths, not wanting your lips to leave her body the more you indulge in her perfect skin. Nails are quick to dig into your back, slightly, and it’ll just add on from there. The levels of touching, holding, kissing, and the anticipatory downright fucking you’ll give her soon enough-

“Am I on the right track for you so far?” you ask, quick to get your lips on hers while she’s shrinking into a whimpering mess into the couch.

Julie has managed her good graces for so long now, and you’ve played the waiting game. No matter how long it took, it might be a gamble with your feelings for not being able to move on - it was possible then, but as of this moment, you already made your decision.

“You’re the fucking worst,” she pants, a loosely planted hand that slides off when there’s the press of your thigh against her clothed pussy, feeling her legs sandwich you in between to prolong the wanting feeling. “I’ve been wanting- waiting for so long.”

“Really now?” you say, voice filled with heat when you help her slide out of her sporty bottoms, finally cutting the last line of caution tape. A quick look down - and her cunt is there, in all of its glory - slightly glistening at the lips and primed for what’s to come. You’re surprised at how wet she is, even more surprised when she grabs your wrist to get your fingers alongside her aching slit; a small hiss of air passing through her teeth inward while you're spreading her little by little. “We’re a little ahead here aren’t we?”

“Fuck- please,” Julie spits out, eyes scrunching shut while you press a finger in to asses, and she’s practically liquid down there. She’s acting completely different from earlier - failing terribly to keep composure - but she’s just as infectious as she always is. “You don’t think I know the amount of times you’ve yanked one out while thinking of me? Believe me, I know.”

“I didn’t say anything about it.” you reply, thumb lightly pressing against her clit while your middle finger curls a bit inside her, feeling her hips shoot upward off the cushion. You’re also doing everything in resisting the urge in the growing bulge in your pants, to ignore how badly it’s throbbing for you to snap and get yourself acting exactly how she wants to fuck till one of you goes dumb; cock drunk or pussy drunk, it’ll end in those one or two ways. “But it’s true: I want you also.”

Julie just mewls at your fingers, clenching around them, that forces a soft chuckle out of you. This was the first time that she’s losing her patience, and you’re going to milk the hell out of this moment for as long as you can.

“Don’t be-” she’s rambling with an open mouth, blinking fast, “Don’t be a bitch. Everyone knows that I wanted you for so fucking long.”

Well what do ya know? She would be the one to cut the wire and jump on the grenade between the both of you in confessing. There are very little things kept secret with her, some things you might’ve forgotten along the way, but you’ll keep this in your mind for as long as you live.

“Yeah,” you sigh, pressing your lips together while you slide your fingers out of her, the squelching sound vile for your ears to register. Hands are quick to meet her hips, scooching closer with a pull, to where her ass meets the top of your thighs. “Yeah.”

“Need it,” she pleads, “Need your cock inside of me.”

You’ve managed to get your sweats off in record time, pressing her legs up to where her heels are facing the ceiling. These feelings from embers that were supposed to die out years ago, but they never did, and this dirty act serves as a testament of everything you’ll put out on the table - for her. It’ll be shown in her swollen lips, the trail of hickeys scattered across her body, down to the crimson marks from your hands holding on for too long. Consider this a long shot in a stroke of luck - because no one will know her like you do.

And when you’re doing this steady approach of rubbing the head of your cock, against her aching cunt, waiting to be filled - you don’t even think twice about it at all. There’s this relief, washing over; almost in reverence to being dipped in holy water through the baptism ritual, feeling her walls slide all over the length of your cock. There’s also this shared ache, the mirrored rise of both your chest and shoulders. Once the ache finally subsides, you just stay inside her for a second.

“You–” and albeit you’re at a loss of words also; Julie’s face writhes, grasping for both of your hands secured past the middle, keeping her in place. The limitless amount of things that you’ll get your way in: mouth fast to her neck? You’ll do it. Pin her against the armrest of the couch with her ass up, or maybe have her do the work in bouncing back, and she will. Managing your cock fully inside her tight hole was good to settle with for now, “This fucking cunt, Juls–”

She sucks her stomach in, mouth now slackened, the utterances and noises that she unleashes would never hold up in an interview if they gave her the opportunity to speak her mind as she pleases. But she’s not caught up in the city and it’s stars; instead, she’s with you, on her couch, in her house, taking your- “Baby,” it’s really sweet how she keeps up with the pet name, “fuck, fuck, fuck- I can’t with your- your cock is - that’s so deep, holy fucking shit-”

You’re pretty much slightly drunk at how well she wraps around your cock, crying without fail. The octaves rising up with every hit back in, and she’s absolutely knocked. It won’t stop with the wash of rain hitting the window panes, feeling the rising heat between you two grow gradually larger, fixated on the extremely tight vice she has over you, and you’ll take that as a gift.

“I’ve dreamed of this for so long,” your voice drags lowly, upping the ante the more you carve your cock into her, the tight hotness becoming more and more addicting by the minute. Julie was always an advocate for showing confidence in her looks, and it shows: in her pictures, the way she flaunts around that has everyone’s jaws dropped to the floor, all angles and good sides of her - behind closed doors, you’ll make sure that no one will see this version of her.

(And in a way, you do get it, you’ve understood the script written in your head now that you finally have the feelings fully reciprocated, and claiming this girl as yours would only be the start of it.)

When you’ve finally pushed her over, screaming, that’s the only cue you’ll ever need to keep breaking her.

“Please, please, please-”

“Tell me all about it, hm?”

Julie grins with her eyes squinting barely open, gasping out some form of a declaration.

“You’re, fuck- fuck me,” the air between you clashes with the contrast of warmth from the bodies - the coolness of the air conditioning filling the room, only for it to be backdrafted. Her flawless face is amazing to look at, leaning up for you to dip down and kiss her, hands still fast to her hips, her back arches with a slight lean back, trying to keep the motion going with every stroke and grind and touch you have over her. She’s getting close, you can feel it in the addicting clench, and you’re almost at your wit’s end.

“Needed me for so long, hmm?” you ask, smiling against the hot surface of her porcelain features, “then cum baby, all over this dick. I know you want to.”

She mumbles, something close to a string of ‘yeses’, and her whole body trembles.

It’s filthy, gross, impure, sloppy, pushing deep; angling past the trench to a euphoric feeling that she’ll only demand from you. The way that your hips slap against the bottom of her thighs, grasping her hips and across the supple skin the more you fuck through her orgasm. In some way, this was your get back for what she did to you in the back of the SUV that night, needing little to no words to punctuate the lovely sounds of her hitching breaths with every stroke back into her wet, tight cunt. Her grip on your wrists goes deathly, clenching you the same way her pussy does on your cock, and she’s still stuttering - the whimpers and whines the only serviceable words she can only speak while you groan in slamming her deeper into the couch.

There’s really no room for a margin of error, every drive back into her only gets you closer to that edge, and while she’s reduced to nothing less but a piliant puddle of mush from the head down, you unbury yourself, fist wrapped around the length of your shaft when you finally release your hot, sticky load all over the fine canvas of her midriff. Covering her - over her chest and waist, all fucked out silly and just laid out to immerse in the ropes of cum spread out across, soaking her.

“You- you,” Julie sputters out, while you have a hand off to the left side of her head, barely supporting yourself with what little energy left in not toppling over her nimble body. “Oh my god. Oh my god?”

You’re still riding on that high, finally letting your body go slack when you meet her lips again. She moans in content, how her tongue clashes against yours, trying to power its way through into your mouth. Pulling on the bottom of her swollen lip, just to be a tease, “Julie,” you mumble, breath grazing against her cheek, smiling. That same lip wobbles a bit, an implication that she’s still processing what just happened, aside from the shaky breaths and unfocused eyes. “Baby.”

A lazy smile brightens up her whole image. Her eyes are fluttered shut, but her lips and the faintest tip of her ears tell a different tale entirely. It’s the same smile you fell in love with since seeing it the first time, it never gets old.

“I love it when you say ‘baby’,” she starts with a soft tone, gentle, tender. “You have no idea how bad my head spins when you say those things to me.”

Through the small pitter-patter of raindrops hitting the window panes and the roof tiles, you think to yourself at how this moment should never end. The present moment like now will be ingrained into your brain for as long as you’ll move on with living. “I think.” you say with a whisper, laying your body over her - kissing her cheeks, her forehead, feeling her hands slide up the well defined muscles on your back. She tries to hide away, putting her head off to the side, and you’ll get the top of her neck too. Anything for her to finally have you, it’ll be a fair transaction. “I do.”

“Tell me more?”

“I’m just glad you didn’t forget about the many things that I’ve already put myself out for you.” you tell her, and she nods in agreement. The interlink between you two has never been stronger than ever, and this moment will just solidify it.

–

You’re scouring through the fridge and cupboards for something substantial to satisfy your spontaneous midnight cravings. There’s actually a load of different options; a wide variety of chips and snacks in the pantry. In terms of drinks, not much for you to work with - and a glass of water or milk would be good enough to take since it wouldn’t be much longer until you’ll eventually fall asleep.

Unless you're Julie, who’s standing next to you in the kitchen while you’re assessing her foods (still naked along with you, by the way), licking off some of your cum off her stomach slowly, a stray finger trailing up your waist since some of it did get on you as well.

It also doesn’t help how she’s sucking on her fingers shamelessly - hollowing her cheeks, pursing her lips, sticking out her tongue that will only put your head in a downward spiral. She’s massively fucked for doing that, with those cat-like eyes she has - but dude, you’re still staring at her.

“Can you like-” you nick your head off to the side, diverting your attention away from her to lock on the same open bag of half-full pretzels she put in the bowl when you first came in, deciding to settle with that but pulling it out onto the edge of the counter. “Do you really have to do that in front of me?”

“Doing what?” she asks you innocently, almost stupidly. She’s wetting her bottom lip, and man is she evil for doing that continuously. “It’s not my fault that you came so much. My pussy is just that amazing for you.”

Oh, fuck her. Seriously.

She’s back to her chirpy, bubbly vibe with that tone in her voice, the witty remarks also came back in full force. Your brain is probably in overload mode with how she’s blinking sweetly, smiling all knowingly like she usually does. It’s a longshot that you’ll draw this up to be a one-time thing, let alone be a golden chance done by your work single-handedly. Within these walls and as long as she’s with you, everything about it just feels right in its place.

“You’re such an asshole,” you breathe, closing the door to the fridge with a quarter-full bottle of orange juice, Julie getting ahead with two empty glasses ready on the counter. Everything that she does even if it’s the simplest of tasks is undeniably attractive for some reason; no matter if it’s her on the balls of her feet, reaching the cupboard or walking past you with the sway in her hips, one thing does settle back into your mind: she’s here, and that’s pretty much all that matters at this point. “I should give you a napkin to wipe off the stains on your abs.”

“Or I could just keep on licking it off while you pour me a glass.” She muses, tilting her head up while you kiss the crown of her head, pulling a few lazy strands of hair to the side, “Why did it take us forever to finally do that? I mean, and here I thought that you would be a little more underwhelming with your moves in bed.”

“You mean the couch, Juls. C’mon. Let me remind you that you’re the one who went and kissed me first.”

“And the things that you said about dreaming to fuck me actually came true,” she laughs, lightly clinking the rim of her glass with yours before sharing a nice, homey drink together. “All of those jokes about you and the guys wanting a chance with me, well guess what, you’re the winning contestant that blew away the competition.”

Side-eyeing her, you press your back to the fridge, she’s standing on the opposite end, legs crossed together - mirroring your posture, she’ll match whatever energy you give her, knowing that you’ll always do the same. This could be some silly pairing of toothbrush to toothpaste, and despite the difference in lifestyles, how your lines of successes came at different times, it seems that the parallel line you drew between you and her long ago finally reached a crossroads, which is a good thing, of course.

“The girls also said the same thing,” she tells you, “about how out of everyone in our circle of friends, it was somehow going to end up with us being together.”

You take that with a grain of salt, unsure if what she was saying was true or not. But she knows that she’s right; you took the realization first before she did - since she’s usually stubborn in some cases and won’t listen until it finally hits her, but it took her long enough. All of those rumors back in school and the whole skit of you posing with her may be a tipping point, but after putting yourself through that with her, a part in your head was always confident that she’d see what you’re seeing.

“Maybe they saw it first before you did,” you say, pulling her by the arm and into your space, feeling her arms circle around your waist while you’re rubbing her shoulder. “I’ve always been like this.”

“You got there first,” she replies coyly, tilting your head down for another meaningful kiss, “Blame me for being oblivious.”

–

Turns out that Julie’s parents came back to the house first thing in the morning. Well, they’re pretty relieved that you came over and stayed the night even with the weather going absolutely crazy over the past few hours, telling you about how one of the old trees came down blocking the road and cutting off access in some areas of the town. They didn’t bother to ask about the obvious marks spread across her neck and yours, and the bite mark on your wrist was also a small concern to be worried slightly - uh, you’ll talk to the girl regarding that later.

As for the present situation in terms of appearance while breakfast was made, you’re wearing one of her shirts that was blindly pulled from the closet before instantly passing out soon after. In all honesty, Julie liked how cute you looked with that stupid Hello Kitty graphic across your chest, but it was still a good laugh.

“She could’ve given me one of your shirts,” you tell her dad, passing a plate with half a stack of pancakes soaked in syrup, “Though, my clothes were already drenched from the rain and all.”

“I would’ve been fine with it,” her dad says, “Would’ve been better to get you changed out and not keep you in your own clothes for the night.”

“He knows that I steal from your closet as it is. He’s also crazy if I was gonna have him walking around the palace in one of your shirts, dad.” Julie butts in, bumping your shoulder while her parents are drinking in the sight of their daughter getting along so well with you like it’s old times. They’ve treated you as if you were one of their own, and it goes the same way whenever Julie stays over at your place. Even as kids, staying over and waiting for the other to pick you or her up was always the usual gig. Julie’s parents saw you as someone who is very easygoing, only to be chained to their daughter till the point where separating you two was a stupid decision. You could also assume that they even talked to her about the whole relationship stuff, and they’d be supportive of it, and marriage wouldn’t even be an issue to get around with.

“Will you be busy this summer?” Julie’s mom asks, breaking all the stories from past years in the kitchen. “You finished school and everything, right?”

“I did,” you answer, feeling Juile’s arm on your shoulder, pulling your head towards hers to wipe off a small patch of syrup stuck on your bottom lip with her finger. “Not supposed to start my new job for another few weeks or so.”

Julie’s mom hums in excitement, “Look at you, all grown up and getting your life together in the real world. Like your parents, we’re also proud of you too. Julie especially.”

You gawk at Julie comically, earning a side-eye from her before she playfully slaps your shoulder in retaliation. Both of her parents let out another laugh while you’re veering your face away from her hands. She puts a leg on top of yours on the seat, subconsciously palming it while feeding you another piece of pancake from your plate. “I really appreciate you guys, and I don’t think I could ever express that enough.”

“And you have already.” Julie agrees, openly kissing your cheek while you’re internally breaking down for a slight second soon after. That assumption about her parents being super supportive if you and her finally made it official - well, that was most certainly the case when the both of them nod in approval towards you and her.

“Your parents love me, and we most definitely love you.” Julie says, and you’ve never been more reassured or comfortable about anything in your life.

–

Everything falls into the same sense of normalcy like it was before. Some days you’re spending your time at her place, and on other days she’s over at your place. And in between those days where it’s just you and her together, it’s replaced with the sporadic rotation of hangouts with old friends and colleagues who got wind that Julie’s now a mainstay (just for the summer, in case you forgot).

Some of your friends also tell you and Julie about their insights about the same stories, all while sharing a few bites of appetizers and circling drinks until one of you guys play the silly idea of putting all your credit cards on the table for the waiter to pick a lucky winner at random to pay for the whole meal.

Not long after, the small party migrates from the restaurant to one of your friend’s houses, where the drinks seem to keep on coming it feels like - being a bit buzzed on the couch while your eardrums are pounding from the somewhat acceptable cover of whatever song they blindly picked from the song book. You’re a little out of it, but still conscious enough to have another sip of water as the viable substitute, words loosely slurred but still discernible to be fine with.

That is, until Juile is heaving out on your arm, leaning over away from the couch, laughing about some funny memory that happened back in high school - it’s also worth mentioning: she’s drunk, and also a lightweight. You could also look back at the apparent irony that she wouldn’t go all out with the alcohol before entering the restaurant, but here she is - completely lost in the plot at this kickback.

“You’re gonna throw up if you lean forward like that.” you tell her, holding her up by the shoulders to correct her posture, some hair is also in her face and you part it off to the side with the instinctual thumb rub on her cheek.

“Did you tell everyone here that you and I finally fucked?” she slurrily spits out, causing everyone in the group within the close proximity of the couch to be in a collective state of shock, though, that’s quickly dissipated with you confirming everyone’s suspicions - despite not being fazed or fully surprised.

(Before anyone else asks, you’re telling the group. Yes, we also made it official after God knows how long. Are you happy now?)

–

Later, she’s back in your room for one night, maybe two.

The whole place is riddled with waves of nostalgia, Julie’s additional presence opening up the sweet wound that never really hurted you in the first place; if anything, it makes the nocturne appearance of the moonlight breaking through your blinds and into the space where you’d want to keep things just the way they were. It’s in the trinkets and collectibles; the multitude of shirts you’ll let her steal (which she already has), a trophy that she broke on accident, and the wilted corsage for when you took her to do anti-prom activities for fun when she gave you the news about moving away from you and this town. The small recap on film running through your head is short-lived, kind of like the roll burning up when there’s nothing left - much of a story unfinished. You and her could recount all of the things that make your room yours, and you wouldn’t mind wasting time talking about the many different kinds of nonsense with her.

“I’ve been wondering,” she tells you, “actually, more than just wondering.”

She’s straddled across your lap, fingers dancing along the back of your head - your hands and eyes are wandering all over, from the visible window of her cropped shirt, helplessly holding onto her on her sides, the gradual curve from the rise of her ass, hiking to the spots where you’ll bruise her skin and–

“I’m sorry,” you’re left breathless and laughing a good amount when you look down at her sweatpants, “since when were you so bold with hiking up the ends of your lacy panties for me to notice?”

Julie presses her tongue to the inside of her cheek, knitting one brow closer to the bridge of her nose, hands neatly rested across your traps while she’s snickering at you keeping your eyes stuck to her body - letting your fingers trail up and underneath her cropped shirt, realizing that she didn’t have a bra underneath to begin with. She reads into your next move when your hands stop at her sides, crossing hers over and slipping the shirt, tossing it in some corner of the room where you’ll look for it later, taking in the valley of her breasts and the nice size when you get your thumb and finger beneath them.

“You’re getting off topic.” She says to you with a click of her tongue, calculated, knowing that there were more pressing measures to be discussed rather than have you shamelessly lusting and drooling all over her pleasantly enticing skin. “Answer the question, dickhead.”

“Language.” you chuckle, leaning your neck up for a pitiful kiss - to which she accepts.

It’s awfully quiet around your side of the neighborhood. The only things that break the silence in every few moments or so is the distant beep of the smoke detector downstairs; that, and probably the occasional pass by of a car down the street.

She asks you the question bouncing around her mind, but you pay no attention since you’re leaving chaste kisses across her chest.

“Hm?” you have the audacity to hum, causing Juile to flip some of her hair forward - a flash of her ego at best; and another thing about it, you’re so into that. “Must’ve missed the question again. Wha–”

“You really didn’t have anything serious going on while I was away?” Julie’s implying about any kind of special connection, whilst being very indifferent in the way that she speaks. “Not even good fuck that’s worthy of swiping your v-card?”

“Okay, then explain how good the experience was when you were doing it with me.” you reply, touch of the fingertips nestling on the outer edge of her back - sliding lower, more forward when you give the faintest pull to bring her closer to you chest. “I’d love to hear all the details about it, actually.”

“You just want me to say that you’re a good fuck for me.”

“In more ways than one, yes.”

Her arms make way, coiling around your neck - tauting themselves gently when you slip the lace at her hips between your fingers. Pulling them down a bit, just to test something, an attempt at best to make her open up all the neat perks and merits of what will entail later. No need to get more depth in the details, you already have most (if not all) of it memorized about her. She’s leaking out the bedroom eyes in the blackness of your small room, and it’ll reel you in whether you’re sensible to resist them or not.

“If this feeds your ego,” she tells you, singing the sentence along her tongue and to your ears, “you’re right, and I won’t bother to argue.”

Like you could ever complain to her or vice versa, Juile knows that her own pride will come tumbling down at the cost of you - as you’re electrifying her with every passing touch, sliding the pants and underwear off of her while giving her no chance to recover with a tit in your mouth.

A pop off the nipple, and she’s running a hand through her hair, trying to keep herself focused, and failing. “Want me to prove myself to you again?”

She presses her lips to yours, hard. A clash of the tongue and pull of your neck for more leverage, rut her hips across yours to test the friction - that growing heat from within her core, a singularity that many others would die to feel let alone hear the lovely sounds coming out of her mouth.

“Please,” murmurs Julie, smiling against the bottom of your chin, the grip on her ass tweaks tighter. You’re already imagining the red marks that would defile that creamy, holy skin.

“Try me,” she husks, “you’ve pretty much earned it.”

–

(Julie has never been more right about you. The way she puts up all of these walls and red tape; basically begging you to rip right through them, and you do. She’s flustered and left in broken pants the first time you make her cum, screaming and trembling by the second, and you have her a sobbing mess by the third time ‘round, coming undone by your cock. When you slide out of her well-worked pussy, her eyes roll back and up - raw, undone, satisfied - a move up to licking you clean with a swipe of the underside, a kiss to the tip that keeps you hypnotized for a few seconds, and she wants you to keep this in mind.

“Have I proven a point?” you ask her in full content, hand fastened to the headboard of your bed while you’re straddling her chest, happily wrapping her pretty lips around the head of your cock. “You looked like you enjoyed it a lot.”

She curls her back in and out when you finally shift and collapse next to her, a lazy kiss to your neck, humming sleepily as if she gave up in keeping it hidden from the rest of the world. “I did,” she whispers ‘round the cuff of your ear, kindly admitting it along your skin. “You’re everything I wanted bundled up all into one.”)

–

The implication still stands: Julie was never meant to stay rooted to this town.

She altered her own destiny into becoming a well known individual (since the term ‘famous’ wasn’t too appealing to put it, according to her). She’s sharing all of these different experiences, events, the interactions with people she would have never thought of meeting in her life let alone be in the same space as them. You’re sharing a buttload of things from your end of the scope, how some things stayed the way they are, for the most part. And it’s something that crosses your mind–

“I never really said to you directly about how proud I am of you,” you tell her, happily swinging your right leg around on the swingset outside your guys' favorite cafe. “I’ve told your parents countless times whenever I would see them, but-“

She has her leg over yours, shoulder meshed with her head leaned over - in one of your hats doing its job well enough to keep her appearance concealed; a bit pointless when literally everyone around the town could recognize her with ease.

“They told me,” she reassures, fiddling along the plastic bit of the string from your hoodie, pursing her lips out with a crease of the eyebrows. “You couldn’t keep in touch with me, but they could, and maybe I could’ve squeezed you in along with them - all you had to do was just ask.”

Her lips quirk when she makes eye contact with you, rolling them over and right when she scrunches her nose, knowing well at how much you could put up with her antics.

“That would’ve made things a whole lot easier, but hey,” she laughs, admitting stupidity where it stands, “What matters to me is that you finally had the chance to tell, despite everything.”

Well, I’m proud of you. You’re saying it again, this time straight to her face and not playing as the messenger. I was with you every step of the way, and now we’ve both made it to where we want to be, and maybe more.

You’re pulling a piece of hair over the cuff of her ear, she melts at the touch of your palm. Julie then leans in eyes pulling to a close, then the abrupt call of your name on the intercom signifies that the order was ready; letting out a short laugh while a parting slap to her thigh separates you two for just a few moments.

One quick tip later of a few cents, and she looks up with those oversized rims of her glasses, smiling sweetly once you hand her the same latte she always orders during schedules and events. She’s sipping it instantly while you’re moving her leg up back to where it was before; nodding along at how good the drink tasted.

She appears distant, pondering about something - zoning out to the distance while she slowly learns back against your shoulder. You’re looking out also, letting the eyes wander for anything in the cool early hours of the morning.

“Do you resent me? For leaving you? This town, our friends, and everything behind?” she suddenly stops drinking to ask.

Blinking, you’re trying to find something substantial for an answer. “Well…”

“Be honest.” she says enthusiastically. “I want nothing but the truth.”

It takes only a few moments to consider, and you’re always honest with yourself when it comes to talking to Juile. She always wanted to understand your side on certain things: opinions on important matters, what kinds of clothes look good on her and what doesn’t, even the stances on who matches with who and the possible compatibility between the two that isn’t you or her. You lick your lips, tilt the drink in your hand but just enough to not where it’ll spill.

“I’ve already told you what I thought about everything that day,” you say, placing the drink on the bench to prevent from letting the wetness from the cup soak to your fingers. “It hasn’t changed. And it never will. Me being with you since the beginning should already say enough.”

“Ah, you’re right,” she breathes, pouting her lips slightly because you could easily tell that she’s managed to let that slip from her mind, and you don’t blame her for that. She continues to ramble on about all of these regrets that seem to unravel and fall out - her cool breaking down once the realizations set in of the countless sacrifices she had to make. “How silly of me, overlooking that day.”

A shake of her head only brings the disappointment to the front faster, and she keeps drinking up her latte. You catch the smallest hint of a twinkle in her eyes, the middle part of the plastic top hitting the edge of her nose once finished with the beverage. Instinctually pressing your lips to her cheek as reassurance, she smiles at that, letting you take her empty cup to toss a few steps away from the bench.

Coming back, she’s on her phone, smiling her heart away at something that she’s proud of for sure; you can’t help at how cute she looks when she’s all geeked out - emitting more confidence that you could only dream of matching.You’ll get a chance of that with her help, or not; either way, if she’s happy, you’re happy.

“I was out in Europe for a shoot before our break,” she lets you in on her project, “The concept is very niche for all of us, and I’m very happy we pushed forward with this. Consider it as an insider look as appreciation for the way you’ve been treating me.”

She’s showing you a quick slideshow of Julie in an extremely wicked bikini top, a roll of green wrapped around her middle in a poor attempt of a ribbon around her body. Then there’s the short video of her on the stationary bike, and then the actual choreography. It’s leaving you in shock, so there’s really only one way of reacting. “I- holy shit. Julie, the–”

You’re watching how exciting it is for her to show these things to you, it’s adorable. She lets you in about all of the logistics, music, overall approach to how they wanted this thing to be received. The drive, passion, how everyone played a part into making this work; you understand that level of thinking entirely. “Right? This was exactly what I was talking about.” she’s tapping along your arm, “I can easily tell which part is your favorite already.”

“Not even gonna say it.”

“You should because it’s me.”

“Fucking christ,” you mutter, swiping her phone to get a closer look. She leans closer with a mischievous giggle at the thumb replaying the clips over and over again. “Hate it, someone like you should never be this hot.”

“But I am.” she replies, placing both of her legs across yours. “That’s the fucked up thing, isn’t it.”

“It’s also amazingly fucked up how good you are at twerking.”

“Didn’t come from practice baby, it’s all natural.”

You’re left gaping at her, shocked even. Julie’s eye smile is the only thing you see while she's covering up her face in embarrassment, wondering if the current judgment you’re giving her will stick for the foreseeable future.

It’ll throw you for a loop, but it’s still hot.

“I might have to rethink my life choices from here on out.” you tell her, staring up at the ceiling with a smile while she playfully punches your shoulder out of annoyance.

–

A beat later, you’re staring at the ceiling.

More specifically, the ceiling in your room, barely holding it together when you look up at the sight of Julie’s backside, cock vanishing in between in that glorious canyon of her ass, bouncing up and out with the pitches in her moans go further up the gradual scale.

“Fucking hell,” you hiss, hands resting along her calves while she slams her hips down, lightly thrusting yours up to meet her in the middle. The pressure already hot around your length, murmuring some words of praise that fall toward nearly inconceivable to understand. She sits up, and you’re hypnotized by the way she raises her hair up to reveal more of her surprisingly toned back, peeking over her shoulder, while your head just plops back to the pillow behind.

“You like that,” she murmurs, rocking her hips in a forward-backward motion along the stiff line of your cock, “oh- you love when you get to have my ass like this for you.”

“God-,” you huff out, pathetically, vision blackening to a fine point. “Holy shit- I could never get tired of this pussy, ‘feels so damn good.”

She falters forward, letting most of her lower body do the work, spreading her thighs out more for your hands to come to grips with. Flipping some of her hair back, while reversing her ass at the angle where you feel all of her, you’re worried if your dick will stay in one piece by the end of it.

“Just sit there like a good boy and relax,” Julie tells you, with a firm determination above the creaks of the bedframe, “don’t even do anything.” When she grinds down, deep, to where you’re thrusting your hips upward to hit her favorite spot, she coos at how you failed to put up with her instructions. “Look at you, not even listening to what I’m saying, shame on you.”

“Don’t really care,” you offer - an admission of guilt would be a better way of describing it, “You always get what you want anyway, so it’s my turn.”

You could feel the smile from across her lips, happily taking the opportunity to fuck herself over your cock choking her all the way down to the hilt. The slick sounds coming away from your groin and hers is a lovey track you’ll never get tired of hearing, and she adores the sounds coming out of you as well, it’s unholy, slamming back down with the sweetest whines projecting from her mouth.

She shimmy’s her hands up your thighs, sitting upright, letting you rest inside her warm hold for just a second while she catches her breath. Then, with a move of one leg, and the other to follow, she’s on the opposite side, caressing your head while your fingers are quick to get her hips moving again, amazed when you slide up in her, quivering thighs and a shaky breath to get you softly laughing.

The slaps of her hips on yours get louder for a few moments; admittedly, you kinda just let yourself go because her cunt should not be this easy to spread apart. In addition to that, her mouth hovers next to your ear, mumbling words or something remotely close to a verbal sound while you’re fixated on the clench her walls have over you.

The vision only fades out more, then the hearing also goes:

“Pill.” she tells you. That singular word entails a thing. One thing, and probably the testaments that will come after - if you’re ready for it, but let’s face the facts: for someone like her and the industry that she’s affiliated in, no one is ever really ready, but you’ll be in on it if she’s the first on board.

You’re not letting up your pace anytime soon, grabbing a handful of her ass, and bringing her back down to Earth. “Juls, you–”

“I want your cum.” she simply says, “just yours.”

It’s also not worth putting up a fight for much longer when she cums first; the gritty groan that has you sighing in tandem. She’s powering through with her lips on yours, wanting your body to completely crumble underneath her, fucking past your threshold - a kiss to the corner of your lip, in the most menacing action she could do to you, well pleased and–

“You’re so- fuck, filling me up was also one of your dreams, wasn’t it?”

Hey, in all fairness, let her have this one on you. If it means having her breasts all over your tongue or her nails gripping the nape of your neck, you’ll be adamant in not letting her go.

–

Your mind gets in this gray area. Things might be in a constant loop in terms of activities, or maybe you’re dialing it back from the hammering heatwave the other day. It’s not that, just the foggy morning on a lazy Sunday.

You’re taking slow steps across the hardwood floorboards in your house, glass of water in your hand. There weren't any plans for you and Julie for today, so the second best option which was the logical one was to stay inside, despite doing that for four out of the seven days last week. There’s also this quiet appreciation you have when the ominous setting of the house is in complete darkness, with the light fog serving as the present light source when you reach back to your room upstairs.

Upon returning, the visible spot of where you slept, and Julie adjacent to the right, still knocked out. It’s very calming, you realize, how peaceful she looks while sleeping, the gentle rise and fall of her chest underneath the sheets. The small tousle of her hair is spread out across the pillow, with her left arm and leg in the same position as it was when you were in bed with her before waking up.

Mindful of what she mentioned about her sleep schedule being all over the place at times, you decide to admire her bare face when you’re thumbing her cheek.

She twists a bit at the touch, the subtle stretch of her body underneath, shaking off the slumber little by little. The comforter resting along her neck shifts down, revealing the apparent lines of hickeys across the column of her neck - a favorite preference of yours that you’re carefully examining while she slowly flutters her eyelids open.

A look up, and you’re leaning down to kiss her cheek. “Figured I’d let you sleep in for a bit longer, but it looks like you don’t want to.”

Julie pulls a lazy smile, shifting her body slightly deeper into the cushiony confines of the bed, not wanting to move. “Do I want to know when we both passed out last night?”

“I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“It’s also not like we’re gonna do anything today. I mean, it’s been hot for most of the week. And, we only got lucky with the rainfall around here.” She finally decides to sit up a bit, pull some of the sheets over her body for a little more coverage. Your parents are out early again seeing relatives, an advantage in this current scenario: just you and me alone? Where you’ll fuck me again and again until the screams bounce off the walls and the neighbors will come over to complain for the hundredth time-

“You’re right. We don’t have anything planned for the time being,” you tell her, another helpless kiss to give that sends your brain giddy signals because your gorgeous lover and best friend for years is making you act like a freaking kid once more - not that you’d complain about it.

“Aside from watching that series you found, I’d rather just stay inside for today.” Julie suggests, scooching closer to you on the edge of the bed. “Cook us something for breakfast.”

That will happen, eventually, but you’re too busy working your lips all over Julie’s face. Tip your forehead in, get a kiss to her temple, then her cheeks, a stray one next to her nose, the end of her nose, her jaw. She’s too smitten with the private displays of affection, gratefully accepting it with an arm thrown over the shoulder, lightly laughing a crinkled nose with her face brightening.

It’s moments like these, away from the attention of others, behind closed doors, where the cameras and die-hard fans of Julie’s persona don’t typically have the golden chance to see, they’d envy to be in your place - as the one person out of everyone in her life to have this side of her. She tells you that fame itself is a weird paradox to get sucked in by, and in a way she’s absolutely right. You know from the get-go that Julie is one of the most beautiful, soft-spoken, and well respected individuals you have ever had the blessing of knowing.

“Anyone ever told you how amazing you look?” you ask her, her squinted eyes losing all seriousness when you laugh.

The look of adoration you have on her bare, sleepy face. It’s a sight that you don’t want others to cherish other than yourself.

“I’d rather just stay in this room and stare at you if I could.”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing already?” she asks, biting her lip while you’re tilting your head from right to left, mimicking her doe eyes that she rejects with a hand soon after, for now.

You bite your lip, let out a tsk, and something snaps in your head for one second. Lips are fast to the line of her neck, hand slithering to her back, laying her back down on the bed gently. Julie tenses up for a moment, then lets her body go slack, allowing you to leave no nook or crevice untouched with the feeling of your tongue.

“Breakfast?” she asks.

“Not now,” you answer, kissing the pulse point right beneath her jaw, soothing with a soft bite of your teeth, “Just indulging.”

“I see.”

She murmurs and squeaks once you let your hands join the party. Kneading and massaging her breasts while you shift yourself down to the line of her collarbone, inhaling the leftover aroma of sex from the previous night. Her hand’s quick to the back of your head, tugging hair while you let your right hand jump down to her hip. A move of the sheets, to open things up, and your mouth shifts in between the cleavage, getting lower.

Julie putting legs together was a futile effort, sliding along her luscious thighs while your tongue streamed down her abs. The grip of her fingers got a little tighter, closer to desperate.

“Enjoying your fun?”

“Very.”

Your eyes lock on to that tattoo that hugs above the hard bone of her hip. It's a simple design: an anchor. The meaning of it is something that she never got around to explaining, feeling the ink across the pad of your thumb before smothering it in a string of kisses, to where she laughs at the silly feeling. Your hands curve up her waist, while your head is at her belly, descending down even more to where you're hovering right above the designated area you’ve set your sights on.

A check of the clock in a quick glance, and it reads nine-thirty. There’s definitely some extra time to waste before starting the day.

Juile lets in a sharp inhale when you get yourself comfortable, arms underneath her legs, parting them. She sees the glint in your eyes when you’ve finally started to bring the trail of kisses from her inner thigh upwards, anticipating for what’s to come. You can tell that her vision is getting hazy, a cross-eyed gaze that only pushes you to absolutely ruin her, and hold your end of the deal.

“Have I ever told you,” you start, a teasing kiss to her folds, “how amazing your body is?”

“I don’t think you’ve told me explicitly, but showed in other ways.” she replies, propping herself up with an elbow and a heel down to your spine.

That’s your Julie.

You press her down, from the waist, a harsh suck on the clit, and get the first few samples of her addicting slick down your mouth. She sucks in her gut right underneath your fingers, and you hum in approval.

Pulling away, licking your upper lip, and some of her bed hair gets in front of her face, heaving. “And by the way,” you tell her, “I”m getting you back with the whipped cream this time.”

She nods, knowing well that it’s pointless for her to fight the foreshadowed climaxing sounds coming out of her mouth with the back of her hand.

–

Julie brings out a side of you that only seems to really bloom fully when she’s around. It’s something that never really gets acknowledged, let alone be brought up in moments where you’re truly at your most vulnerable state - the side where all of these hardships and struggles in being a good person, blinded by perfection, all seem to wash away from the touch of her hands and lips, combined with the reassuring words of encouragement.

That said side truly blossoms when you genuinely feel the intimacy above what the mind wants you to think. Aside from all the hand-holding, arms linked, stolen kisses while waiting at the red lights, sharing bites of the same food order, tearing away skin in little nips, the sex itself escalated a lot more than just sheer lust taking over both of you. It’s above than just the regular conventional fucking.

So you bring it back to where you and her unpacked all of the bottled up feelings:

On the couch, but this time at your place rather than hers. By literal unpacking, when you sink your cock inside, the relief of her walls clamping down around you, moaning out alternating expletives and your name, letting her body go limp as you increase the pace, pounding her senseless, have the raw urge to just get rough and pin her down in this spot where she’s supposed to be. You’ll want to be locked away with just her for no one else to see, to have her all to yourself; it’ll be selfish of you, but she’d agree where your head is leveled.

“It’s not even all that special- ah-” she blurts out while you have your hands cuffed to the back of her shoulders, leaning in to place a languid kiss across the fine column of her neck. You’re fucking out all the sounds and whines out of her, bottoming out every drive in, her legs rest just above your backside ankles stacked - your mind is already frizzled out, and so is hers, pulling ever fiber inside your muscles and bones into getting her astonishingly destroyed, “it’s just- your cock is- fuck- fucking perfect.”

She’d want you to be gentle sometimes, but when it’s rough? Oh man, you’ll let the actions speak louder than your fucking words.

“In through your nose, Juile,” you whisper with a bump to her forehead, holding her down at the waist while your hips aim tried and true, into the hottest spot deep in her cunt where you can reach, “That’s it baby, there we go. Just be pretty for me, like this. I’ll take care of the rest.”

“Ugh,” she huffs, letting her eyelids drop finally when you’ve made her reach that euphoric sensation first, gasping when she feels a hand wrap lightly around the jaw, forcing her mouth open, a few broken sounds get let out, panting. Her back arches while you slip your other arm under, and manage to drive your cockhead even deeper - it's a new feeling of bliss that has you in disbelief. “More, please-”

She is so- so slick around your cock. A dam of an orgasm within you and her just waiting to finally break. You keep the motion going: pull your hips out, and drive back in. Pull your hips a bit further out the second time, and the snap of your thighs hitting has her crying. It’s mind numbing; you’ve lost your composure with her the first time fucking your feelings out to her, and it’ll be like this for as long as you’re together. She could ruin you like right now - in the next day, week, month; hell, for the foreseeable future. The notion in itself is already devastating to think while this girl beneath you is shuddering, as you’re pounding her ruthlessly, pulling her hips back to yours, coaxing her worked pussy well past the brink to the point where you’re hearing your own heartbeat thumping in between your ears.

“You’re so good…” she croons, lifting her head up bareilly to kiss you, get a few nails dragging along your back, let the pain soothe the filthy fuck you’re giving her. “Please, just– like that, god, fuck me, more, more-”

“Shh.”

Some things in life are better left unsaid.

“I want to be yours before I go.” she whimpers, sounding off depressingly - like she’s unwilling to cope with the fact of leaving you. Her eyes are glassy, begging almost - like this was the one fear she’s afraid to live out when the time comes.

The sobs mix in with the slaps. She’s reduced to much less than a puddle, all worn out and exhausted, reaching out in desperation, keeping you close. You and her are so flushed, the stifling warmth could make you sick.

“Baby,” you breathe, a fast and tender kiss to give her all the reassurance that she’ll ever need. “You’re not- I’m never letting you go. Not now, not ever.”

By the time she’s whining and writhing and spilling out these bittersweet sobs, rocking your cock down the crevice until you’re fucking your load right down her gut. You’re hunched over, fingers digging into the two small divots below the small of her back, hips bucking, a culmination - a nod, callback, homage, whatever you’d like to call it. You’ll leave your sentiment here, along with your heart, pulsing every beat out until the strokes get slow, lethargic.

Until you finally lay to rest with a kiss to her temple.

You tilt your face, let the breath graze across hers. Her hands are clasped together, your thumb pulling a bit of her hair away from her cheek. She’s shaking a bit, chest heaving but calming as the seconds pass on the clock.

“I was always yours.” This was the lasting resolve you’ve had with Julie, “from the very start.” You’re muttering while she’s knitting her eyebrows, trying to take time to recuperate, fluttering her eyes open that tears down the final wall within your chamber.

She tries to form something within the rows of her teeth, and though it might not be recognizable to your ear canals, you press your forehead against hers again, letting that lazy smile do damage for the thousandth time since she got here. Drink in the moment while the crickets start singing their patchy tones.

“It’s you,” she says, tiredly. “It’s always been you.” She’s softly laughing while you’re peppering her with kisses, and she’s quick to get both of her hands on opposite ends of your face, having one for herself because she’s selfish. “No one else even comes close.”

Finally closing her eyes, you pull a soft smile, internalizing what was just said.

–

The agenda is running blanks - you’re stuck doing the usual, daily routine that you’ve built a proper consistency with. Sometimes, it feels like you’re running a rerun of that one annoying sitcom your dad plays to serve as background noise while doing chores around the house.

In other words, it’s been a little bit dry.

“You never really told me,” you tell her, leaning back against the car while squinting through your sunny’s, staring up at the building in front of you. “I’ve always wondered if you’d take the chance to teach a class here in your free time.” The building, that is, Julie’s old dance studio; one of a few places that has served a pivotal purpose in your friendship and relationship with her. She tells you that you would’ve done a few things well if you had chosen to pursue the same passion as her years ago, and you laugh at that.

“Something to consider,” she starts. Walking back towards the car while you sigh and have an eyebrow lifted. “Think they’d take me in when I’m supposed to lay low for the time being?”

“Talk about laying low when everyone knows you’re back in town.” You shrug.

“I might just do it.”

“Then go for it.”

You pass her a drink that was bought from one of her favorite spots just five minutes down the street, puts the refreshing taste down her throat before returning the cup.

“I’ve only got a few more days,” Julie says, twisting your attention from your phone back to her. And once again, you’re reminded. You’ve known the stakes long before she even arrived here. The low burst of a bus passing by, a daunting noise you'll hear again once you drop her off at the airport when it happens. “The company wants me back to finalize a few things before the next project.”

“Right,” you nod, remembering clearly about the short topic when she brought it up the other day. “Can’t be a show if they don’t have their star present to make it happen.”

Julie shifts a shoulder, tilting her head and prompting you to walk with her. There wasn’t anywhere else to go in this town, and you’ve done the lot. At this point, you’re just enjoying the quality time spent well with her.

And it gets you wondering - probably the fine line between delusion and deep thought about: What would it be like if she didn’t become famous in the first place? Would she pursue other endeavors besides doing dancing and music that she could be proud about? What if it didn’t work out back then, and she had to come back here? None of those things really matter unless she tried, and look what happened; she did try, and she made it.

It’s after all these years of building her own life, you realize again, that even though there's that apparent gap of leaving you in the dark for all this time, she’s still the same - deep down, in this very moment where no one else sees her as this superstar, but a regular person. A person, to you, that has grown much more than what you could have ever imagined possible. The list of things in your mental checklist has filled up to the point where the paper roll in would have to be extended, maybe stapled to a stack.

You hit the jackpot in the roulette love-life that some are very lucky to have. That longtime childhood friend-next-door neighbor turned to lover seems very make-believe and cliché if put in writing, but you’ll fill the blank journal page of that story somewhere down the line.

(An idea, or, ideas - for the topic of that entry, start forming. Maybe it’s a good thing to set some time aside to rewrite that empty draft completely.)

She’s here now, she’ll be gone soon; but the unchanging fact is that you’ll be her strongest supporter. An act of affection that doesn’t really need to be said out loud, and you’re cheering her on even if she’s begging to stay in this town. You love her and what she does; you’ll love her even if there’s some distance between you two.

Love. You blurt out while zoning out to the small skyline, it’s such a funny concept to think about. Even if–

“What was that?” Julie asks, stopping in place while you’re suspended on the sidewalk. “Did you say something?”

And, some things in life are meant to be said.

“I love you.” The own voice in your throat sounds unnatural, like a spirit possessed you into saying it. You clear your throat, not willing to hide away from anything - especially her. “I’ve always loved you. Didn’t you know that?”

Julie turns her body square to you, a tilt of her head, inquisitively, lightly scrunching her face at what you just confessed, admitted - determining if you just committed perjury at this very moment. All she did after a second was nod in agreement, looking you in the eyes that tell a whole lot more, “Yeah, I knew that.”

You cringe, throwing the most gummy grin at her imaginable. She laughs, walking forward with a small hand slap to your chest. It’s silly, cute, and so sweet. This girl has weaved into your heart, threading it so tightly that everyone else outside your little bubble knows that you’re hers. A keepsake, one of many.

“Think you can handle missing me?” she asks, hand on your cheek - and this time you’re the one leaning into her touch. “From the looks of it, you’re gonna be struggling. Like, a lot.”

“Tsk,” and you’re rolling your eyes while she starts to walk again, “I worry, like a normal person should.”

“What’s there for you to worry about?” Julie asks you with her hands stacked behind her back, “until then, we’ve got all the time in the world. Now c’mon!”

She grabs you by the hand, and you’re left smiling since it’s been something to be fine with. Because at the end of it all, she’s always right.

Best believe that you won’t forget it.

// i hope you enjoyed!! wanted to pop in here to say a quick massive thank you for all the amazing support since my debut so far. it genuinely means the world to me and I appreciate you guys from the bottom of my heart. much love to everyone, stick around for more, and stay healthy <333 //

#julie smut #julie #kiof julie #kiof smut #kiof julie x male reader #male reader smut #kpop smut #kpop fanfic

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otkuhotgirl · 2 months

Text

─── 𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐒 .

# with black leg sanji.

returning earlier from the crew’s usual strolling through the newest island, you’re startled to witness sanji viciously lapping his tongue at a stolen tangerine. pitying his position, you allow him to have a taste of the real thing.

⎰ & afab!reader. smut (mdni!). oral. slightly sub!sanji. he eats you out like he’s starving. no y/n used.

W.C: 3K

when you decided to announce an early retreat to the sunny, much too dizzy to withstand the island’s scalding heat and deciding the most suitable course of action would be to seclude yourself within the cooler walls of the ship, the last thing you had expected was to find sanji in such a compromising position.

minutes previous to that encounter, you were quite frustrated. the shore town was a beating heart of commerce and people, filled with opportunities to find useful acquisitions to oneself. you were looking forward to a shopping-filled afternoon; to observe nami’s wits in action — her bargaining that was nothing but diplomatic theft — and listen to chopper’s ramblings about the books he managed to find. of course, the midday sun and its ruthless warmth had ruined it all, meaning that a day of privacy with sanji was the second best thing.

he had been the one assigned to watch the ship while the rest of the crew explored the town. considering the high temperature and his never-ending will to be of use, you had no doubt that the cook could be found in the kitchen, slicing up fruits to prepare delicious cocktails. hence why you followed the scent of tangerines, growing slightly puzzled. he was one brave man — or a suicidal one, you could not quite decide — for picking up nami’s tangerines when she was not around.

you should have knocked, truly. it was a mistake not to have done so. but you hadn’t cared much for courtesies whatsoever, eager for a refreshing beverage and perhaps the chance to share a pleasant conversation with the cook.

upon entering the kitchen, you were expecting to be met with ice and diced fruit, yes, but not under those circumstances.

half a tangerine was placed on the counter, as well as a glass cup with a singular and melting cube of ice. sanji busied himself with the other half of the fruit, swirling his tongue around the middle, his chin dripping with its juice, which caused you to clench around nothing; your legs forcing together as you observed the scene without a word.

after hearing the opened door, sanji froze in place, moving his head to catch a glimpse of the intruder as though he was experiencing the most terrifying seconds of his life. his shoulders slumped with a temporary sense of relief as he noticed your figure, before his entire frame threatened to burst up in flames out of embarrassment.

you cleared your throat, forcing a rough snicker in an attempt to lighten the shared atmosphere. then, finding yourself a seat, you grabbed the tangerine with one hand, placing the other on your chin. “having fun?”

although not aflame, sanji was as red as that one clown-pirate’s nose, averting eye contact as he placed the tangerine on the sink and searched for a cigarette. it became clearer that he had no courage to meet your eyes, stressing over the consequences of that endeavor. your glance, however, was tethered to the positioning of his fingers above his half of the tangerine, noticing polished and short nails, the well maintained hands, for a cook of his caliber could not indulge in carelessness.

the saliva sent to your dried throat was a fuel to a forest fire, rather than a soothing rain to a desert. your treacherous mind flashed sinful scenarios of those fingers. your juices of pleasure tainting them, warmth enveloping its skin as he curled them close to your sweetest spot before shoving his fingers into his mouth, loyal to his personal code of never wasting any food—

“pearl of my life,” he began at last, sounding a bit hesitant, yet calmer. “i can explain.”

sanji’s voice grew rougher due to the cigarette between his lips. inhaled nicotine that traveled past his vocal chords to settle on his lungs before he expelled them through his nostrils. you found yourself at a loss for words, wondering how one could differentiate the intonation of desire from the consequential coarseness of smoking. was there even a difference? oh, how desperately you wished to find out.

the cook seemed to have misinterpreted your silence, all of the sudden growing anxious, searching for a lighter despite not having finished his first cigarette just yet. luckily, for the both of you, the oven filled in the gaps with a repetitive beep, informing that the dish he had prepared was set to be served.

the scent of one of your most favored desserts danced around the talons of smoke from sanji’s unfinished cigarette. he smashed the tip of it against the ashtray, and hid his hands from your luscious eyes with the kitchen gloves. sanji had to bend to remove the sweet treat from the oven, offering you a clear sight of his butt and the powerful muscles of his thighs, strained against the fabric of his pants. as if hypnotized, you observed, with a certain hunger — for both the dish and the cook — as he then moved towards the counter.

sanji, at last, faced you. “a bargain, mon sirène.”

you raised an eyebrow with an expression of pure confusion, having your next words swallowed by hushed explanations as sanji’s composure crumbled, no longer bearing the weight of your silence. he knelt and encapsulated your hand with his, assuming a pleading tone.

“i thought i’d have a tad more time for myself, you see. at first, i was merely preparing you something sweet, planning to welcome you back with the luxury you deserved, but then my thoughts trailed entirely to you—”

sanji cleared his throat, the gears of his mind turning as he searched for a better explanation. “we’re discovering more of the new world, and oh, my golden star of the open seas, not a thing will ever be able to diminish your brightness and influence over my beating heart—”

“sanji,” you voiced softly.

“but, you see, what if a lady ever so happens to reciprocate my passion and desires? how could i live up to what she deserves? by training, of course—”

“sanji.”

“and oh, well, i meant to prepare tangerine cocktails to ignore those thoughts. but the fruit does resemble a woman’s intimacy—”

“sanji.”

“or so i heard. from zeff. i never had the honor of verifying it myself—”

“sanji!” you interrupted his ramblings, caging his face with your hands, not at all surprised by the high temperature of his skin.

the cook was a passionate man, with a heart that had been dipped in molten gold; filled with nothing but love and the urge to please. but you hadn’t fallen prey to fantasies of his embrace due to bashful flirting, well-pondered gifts and delicious dishes. though those were of aid, sanji, while clueless, managed to become the center of your affection because of his endless kindness, the infinite will to help those in need, those alluring and prestative eyes that never failed to brighten up in your presence.

processing his previous words, and the reasoning behind the decision to train his tongue with a fruit, you felt as though a sharp blade toyed with the fragile skin of your heart. the mere thought of witnessing his care delivered to someone else — a stranger at that — was both vexing and painful. for a second, under the burning and expectation-filled glance of his, you struggled to maintain your thoughts linear. what was needed for him to keep his attention focused on you, and you alone? the answer came with such easiness that you felt a bit ashamed.

sanji squeezed your hand, as if to tether your mind to the instance at hand. with a clear of your throat, you offered him a sympathetic glance.

“i’m not zoro,” you told him, aiming for a reassuring tone. “embarrassing you for the sake of having the last word isn’t something i’m interested in. if you want me to keep this interaction a secret, i will. no bargaining needed.”

he observed you as if the moon was kept in a pendant wrapped around your neck. for a second, your very name escaped from your mind.

“i have always known that you were as kind and merciful as a heaven sent angel. i’ll make sure to return the favor.”

oh! you were surprised that he caught on your desires. sanji was observant, but you were obstinate to a fault and thought that your behavior had been one of composure. well! at least you wouldn’t have to take the first step. he’d be the one to slide down the material of your shorts and panties and guide your hand to his blonde hair and—

sanji got up and moved towards the dessert, scanning the kitchen for the scarce fine cutlery in order to serve the sweet with a noble-worthy decoration. you shoved the revolt that surged due to the distance, mouth agape in both embarrassment and bewilderment. without a second thought or an ounce of patience, you gathered up the courage to act.

“you know, sanji,” you hummed. his sudden straightened posture made you feel a bit wicked, for he behaved as though a deer caught in the woods at the intonation shift of your voice. “if you wanted to practice, you could’ve asked me.”

the cherries he was carefully piling up on the plate crumbled like a house of cards. his nervousness was palpable. sanji turned his head towards your figure, face adorned with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“mockery isn’t a kind act, my seastar,” he said, voice strained. “but i would have forgiven you for committing even the most violent crimes.”

you blinked, straightening your posture. a bit disheartened, for he seemed unable to believe that you were capable of nurturing a genuine desire for him.

“sanji, i mean it. it would be my pleasure,” literally.

sanji shifted his entire body, facing you with certain hesitation. his adam’s apple bobbed up and down as his glance trailed to your lips; then to your breasts; then glued to your crossed legs. his pupils dilated.

with careful steps, as if fearing that a sudden move would tear him from what he believed to be a dream, sanji approached you. the cook breathed in, trembling with nitid nervousness and excitement.

“how do we—should i kneel? i don’t—”

somehow, both his innocence and lack of experience managed to soothe your own nerves. although sanji seemed a wreck, your confidence grew as you tapped a finger on the dining table.

“would you mind if i sat on it?”

he flushed immediately. “what?”

sanji then noticed his error, clearing his throat and gripping a fistful of his hair with an apologetic expression, almost as if expecting a reprimand.

you merely smiled instead. “i can sit on your ‘it’ later, but you should learn the basics first.”

he nodded with fervor, observing with certain desperation as you sat on the edge of the dining table, parting your legs with ease; beckoning him closer.

sanji remained glued in place as though a statue, stunned to a fault. “would you get on your knees for me?”

his reaction was immediate, and the sound of his bones meeting the wooden surface of the ground made you wince for his sake. if the impact caused him pain, sanji didn’t express it. instead, he crawled closer, his breath fanning above your thighs.

“don’t feel forced to do it,” he stuttered at last, offering you the chance to halt.

“this is the part where you remove my shorts,” you instructed instead, and his fingers eagerly worked to unbutton the piece of clothing.

with a raise of your hips, you aided him in the task at hand, watching sanji drool at the sight of your drenched panties. it was endearing, but the lack of contact was maddening.

“you’re allowed to touch me.”

“where?”

“everywhere.”

he placed a careful hand on your thigh. with a groan, your fingers encouraged him to squeeze the tender flesh, and so he did. sanji approached your clothed cunt, his hot breath fanning above the sensible spot. you shivered in anticipation, gripping the blonde locks of his hair with non-thought strength.

before you managed to apologize for the harshness, sanji moaned, latching his mouth to your core. his tongue lapped at it as though a beast, carrying nothing but desperation, with no regards for the piece of cloth that separated you both. you let out a yelp of surprise, breathing heavily at the contact.

“sanji,” you whined, pressing his nose to your folds. “the p-panties.”

he understood it well enough, moving his face afar, nimble fingers tugging on the straps. you raised your hips to help him, and watched as sanji sniffed the material before shoving it inside his back pocket.

sanji trailed his eyes to your cunt. a broken whimper tore through his throat. “where is it?”

“what?”

he flushed, pressing one of his fingers at your slick entrance. you shuddered, and his face inched closer, a temptative kiss pressed to your middle. sanji’s visible eye caught on whatever he seemed to be searching, and his tongue followed-in-suit. he circled the muscle around your clit, slowly, as if testing out the waters.

you tugged on his hair. “faster. use your fingers as well.”

he hummed, sending a wave of vibrations through your core. an involuntary noise escaped your lips once sanji inserted two of his fingers inside. removing your hand from the one he had above your thigh, you gripped his wrist, correcting the angle.

“it’ll hurt less for you,” you explained, and sanji hadn’t even answered, too lost on your pussy to pay your words any mind. he was reacting to your instructions due to mere instinct.

sanji’s lips closed around your bud, sucking on it before he used his tongue to lap at your folds, moving it up and down. you arched your back, controlling the speed of his wrist until sanji caught on it himself, dominating the field.

as he moved his jaw, you felt the roughness of his goatee caressing your warm flesh. “scissor it.”

he obliged, alternating his movements. sanji removed his fingers until the nails, only to insert them again with your desired speed. he curled them inside, exploring your intimacy with his touch while he busied his mouth with your clit and folds.

the hand once placed on his wrist returned to the counter’s edge. you gripped it without much thought, eyes trailed to sanji’s face in between your legs. he interlocked his free fingers with yours, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your palm — aching due to your previous grip —, coating your hand with saliva as well. your juices dripped down his chin and glistened on his nose.

“don’t hurt yourself, bien-aimée,” sanji whispered, tears of glee pooling in his pleasure-wide eyes. “hurt me instead.”

you opened your mouth to retort, but the protest melted into a broken moan as sanji spat on your cunt, replacing the fingers inside with his tongue. he whimpered at the taste; his thumb drew circles around your clit, while the longer fingers busied themselves with your folds.

your legs trembled, and your fingers tightened on his hair. sanji’s mewl of pleasure lost itself within your cunt, his thumb pressing harder on your clit as he plunged his tongue deeper, angling his head as if he was trying to devour you.

“l-left,” you told him through a broken moan, seeing stars when his tongue managed to reach a particularly sweet spot.

you felt the built pressure that indicated the nearing of release. sanji parted his face from your cunt for the briefest of moments. softly, as if handling a luxurious and delicate piece of golden cluttery, sanji grabbed a fistful of your thighs with both of his hands, dragging your body closer. your back met the wooden surface of the dining table, and before you managed to ground yourself, sanji had guided your fingers back to his scalp, allowing you to force his face into your pussy.

two fingers stretched you as he bit on your clit, soothing it with his tongue afterwards. you arched your back against the table, toes curling with pleasure.

“so good,” sanji moaned with desperation, his voice mingling with the wet sound of his fingers working on your cunt.

you felt him hump against nothing, nose teasing your folds, and kicked his sides meekly, searching for his dick. sanji caressed your ankle before guiding it to rest on his shoulder.

“ma belle,” he mumbled, kissing your leg, dragging your essence through your skin. “don’t worry about me.”

he fastened his pace, sucking on your inner thigh as his fingers led you to the heavens. you saw stars. your eyes rolled and your mouth parted to give way to a scream, yet your voice failed. somewhere amidst that cloud of pleasure, you caught the sight of his figure towering over your own, one hand grabbing your breast as he pressed his lips against yours. sanji’s tongue invaded your mouth and the taste of your essence, combined with the movement of his fingers, led you to the edge.

your climax came accompanied by a broken moan, diligently muffled by sanji. again, he knelt, removing his fingers lick at your leaking hole, swallowing as much of your cum as he could. you squirmed due to the overstimulation, tugging on his hair to force his face away from your cunt.

“too much,” you whispered, observing the ceiling while coming off from your high.

sanji’s clean fingers caressed your cheek, and he supported your weight once you gathered the will to sit. he pressed loving kisses to your neck, mumbling compliments against the skin. your eyes landed on his softening cock, the wet patch indicating that he came undone.

you tugged at the waistband of his pants, beckoning him closer. your fingers toyed with the zipper, and sanji shivered, his hand trembling where it laid above your hip.

“there’s no need to repay me, mrs. princess,” sanji voice out softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “it was enough a pleasure to get to touch you, and your dessert—”

“i want it,” you interrupted, grinning with newfound confidence. “and besides, it’s your turn to teach me, isn’t it?”

sanji had to resort to a tangerine before tasting the real thing. luckily for the bananas, you managed to dodge the same fate.

— 🐈‍⬛ : this was actually supposed to be about teaching him how to kiss. and then i had ten tangerines for dinner and thought “waiiiiit it does look like a pussy” and boom, 3k words. i ended it with humor because i need to be funny at all times, otherwise i die. it’s a medical condition!

#one piece x you #one piece #op #op x reader #op x you #op x y/n #one piece x y/n #one piece x reader #one piece smut #black leg sanji #vinsmoke sanji #one piece sanji #sanji x reader #sanji #op sanji #sanji x you #sanji x y/n #sanji smut #sanji imagine

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rosygaze · 1 year

Text

cupid

pairing: eddie munson x female!reader

summary: you swear cupid hates you but maybe he’ll finally take mercy when you meet eddie.

warnings: reader insecurity, slight period misogyny, mostly fluff, eddie being a cutie patootie, inspired by cupid by fifty fifty <3

word count: 2.4k+

masterlist

You were starting to think that Cupid had a personal vendetta against you.

Three failed dates in a row, all with different guys.

You were optimistic about the first date. After hitting it off with a friend of a friend at a party, you agreed to go on a date with them—a simple movie and dinner. Only you didn’t make it to dinner since your date started hysterically sobbing after watching the newest rom-com. Apparently, he was missing his ex, and seeing two people in love on screen was the breaking point.

The second date came and went. Another movie and dinner but this time you actually made it to dinner. Which you quickly regretted when he kept trying to play footsie with you under the table. At the end of the date, he leaned in for a kiss. You panicked and dodged which had your date kissing the brick wall behind you instead. You didn’t hear back from him again.

On your third date, you lowered your expectations exponentially. You wanted to play it safe and have a coffee date. It started out normal enough. In fact, you were even having fun. He made you laugh until the conversation drifted to the topic of the future. You told him you wanted to get out of this small town and get a job.

For some reason, that made him extremely upset. He started talking about how women shouldn’t ever work and that the only work you should do is cleaning the house, taking care of the kids, and all that 1950s bullshit. You stared at him, mouth agape, not knowing how to respond.

When he was done with his tirade, he excused himself to go to the bathroom. You waited a few seconds before jumping out of your chair and sprinting out of the coffee shop at a speed that should’ve qualified you for the Olympics. You didn’t stop walking until you reached the park down the street and sat down on the empty bench to catch your breath. You looked at your surroundings and grimaced.

Couples.

Everywhere.

A couple having a picnic on the grass. A couple kissing sweetly on the bench across from you. An elderly couple taking a midday stroll. There was even a pair of kids hugging while their parents cooed at them. It’s like the universe was playing some cruel prank on you.

Did Cupid enjoy watching your love life crash and burn? Did he take some sick enjoyment out of hitting you with one of his arrows and shoving you in the direction of another failed love interest?

What was so great about love anyways? It can’t possibly be as good as all the movies and songs made it out to be. Surely, everyone had to be lying or delusional.

And yet…

You wondered what love was like.

The kind of love that kept you smiling all day, that made you see the beauty in the world. The type that swept you off your feet and made you feel like floating through the clouds. The type that completed you.

This is why you kept going on these dates, giving that little cherub second chances in case he finally takes mercy on you and gives you the right man.

Because someone had to be out there for you. Right?

You groaned and slid down the bench enough for you to lean your head on the back of the bench. Watching the clouds float across the sky, you wished the overwhelming loneliness in your chest could float away just as easily. Tears pricked your eyes and you tried desperately not to let them fall. You would not cry here, not in public. You can save the crying for your room like you usually did.

Despite your best efforts, tears still trickled down your cheeks. You huffed in frustration. You are pathetic.

All of a sudden a sharp pain shot from your head. Your eyes shot open and you sat up. With crossed eyes, you could make out a blurry form of a stick. You gripped the stick and realized that it was literally stuck to your head by suction. You dug your nails into the sides of the rubber to release it. Rubbing your forehead, you finally got a closer look at the toy arrow that hit you.

What. the. hell.

You glanced around the park, looking for who could’ve hit you. Turning around until you faced the open field behind you where you saw two people: a short, curly-haired kid and a tall, long-haired man.

The latter was holding a toy bow looking incredibly guilty.

You blinked at each other for a couple of seconds, in shock about what happened. The boy nudged him and he came stumbling forward. You stood up as well and wiped your tears away. God, you hoped you didn’t have a giant red circle on your face.

The ten-foot distance between the two of you felt bigger than it was. The awkwardness alone almost made you turn around but you pushed through. Once you were close enough, you stopped and took him in.

Everything about him screamed ‘danger’. He wore a black shirt that said ‘Coroded Coffin’ and dark jeans with a chain hanging from his belt. You wondered how he wasn’t sweating under the sun.

Black polish chipped off his nails and a collection of chunky rings adorned his fingers. Trailing your eyes up, you saw the patches of dark ink etched into his skin. He was all hard features and sharp edges that had you slightly antsy but when you finally met his eyes, that feeling flew out the window.

He had these big baby browns that softened his entire look. His long hair was wild and framed his face. The combination made him look slightly like a puppy. He had full, pink lips that opened and closed slightly as if he was trying to find the right words to say.

Stop ogling him. He shot a projectile at you.

You cleared your throat, deciding to break the silence. “I assume this is yours?” You held the arrow out to him.

He seemed to snap out of his trance and took the arrow from your hand gently. “Yeah! I’m really, really sorry. I swear I wasn’t aiming for -” He stopped mid-sentence and you saw his eyes flicker with worry. “Are you okay?”

“Oh yeah, I’m fine. It didn’t hurt that much.” You waved a hand over your forehead, dismissively.

“No, not that but I am glad to hear I didn’t hurt you.” He smiled lightly but as fast as it came, a frown settled in its place. “You were, uh… were you crying?”

Taken aback, you furrowed your brows at him. How he could’ve known? “Uh…”

“Sorry! That’s weird. It’s really not my place. It’s just… your eyes are red but you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” He rambled and held his hands up to show he meant no harm. You couldn’t remember the last time someone had actually paid attention to you like this.

“I’m okay.” He nodded but, ultimately, didn’t look convinced. You sighed. “I just had a bad date.”

“He didn’t hurt you did he? We can track him down. I’ve got a weapon.” He held up the plastic bow.

You giggled and that made him relax just a tad. His shoulders dropped and the wrinkle between his brows smoothed over. “He didn’t, don’t worry. No need to wield a deadly weapon on him.”

“Yet.” He narrowed his eyes at you but had a playful smirk.

“Yet.” You copied his expression. The tension had disappeared and lighthearted laughter took its place.

“I’m Eddie, by the way.” He introduced himself.

Eddie. It suited him, you thought.

You gave him your name. A charming smile tugged on his lips and you felt your cheeks heat up. “Pretty.” Eddie said under his breath.

Your cheeks flushed even more.

“Eddie, did you get the arrow?” A voice called from behind Eddie. You peered over his shoulder and saw the younger boy. Only now did you notice that he was decked out in a full medieval costume, his curly hair peeking over the edge of his pointy hat.

“Yeah, dude.” Eddie held up the arrow.

“Then come on! You gotta help me with my shield.” The boy whined which made you chuckle slightly. Eddie looked back at you and smiled.

“In a sec, man!” He yelled back but kept his eyes on you. A childish groan came from behind Eddie which had him rolling his eyes playfully. “Sorry about that.”

“Your brother?” You asked.

“Dustin?” Eddie asked, surprise clear in his voice. “Yeah, he is.” A fond smile spread across his face. You could see the resemblance in their unruly curls.

“So, what’s with the outfit?” Peering over Eddie’s shoulder, you could see Dustin practicing with the shield, swinging it at invisible monsters.

“He’s testing out his costume for the Faire.” He said, casually.

“The Faire?”

“The Renaissance Faire?” Eddie’s brow lifted. You shook your head, not understanding. “It’s like an amusement park for history buffs. People dress up, eat, drink, roleplay. It’s great.” He explained.

“Have you been before?” You wanted to hear more, both equally fascinated by the concept and Eddie’s voice.

“Yeah, a couple of times. It’s the little guy’s first time and he wants to go all out. He said he wanted to try his costume out in the correct environment. He’s a bit of a nerd like that and that’s saying something coming from me. King of the nerds, right here.” Eddie held his arms out as if presenting himself and bowed low. You smiled at him.

You haven’t stopped smiling since he made you laugh the first time. “It’s sweet that you spend time with him like that.”

“It’s nothing, really. He’s a special kid.” He scratched the back of his head. You tried not to notice the slight flex in his muscles.

“I’m sure he’ll have a great time.” You said, managing to pull your eyes away from his arms.

“You know.” Eddie started, looking a bit timid. “I’ve got an extra ticket. You could come with us if you want. It’s this weekend in Indianapolis.”

“Oh, I don’t want to impose.”

“You wouldn’t be.” Eddie stepped a quarter of an inch closer to you. The proximity made you the slightest bit dizzy. “Maybe you’d have some fun. Forget about the asshole who made you cry.”

“The asshole?” Your eyebrow quirked up.

“Every man who makes a woman cry is an asshole and should be jailed.” He said with the most serious expression that you knew he wasn’t joking around.

“My, what a gentleman.” You found yourself inching closer to him too.

“My uncle taught me well.” Eddie puffed his chest out proudly. “So what do you say?”

“The Faire does sound really fun.” You paused. “But I think you should spend time with your brother. Since it’s his first time and everything.” “Oh, y-yeah. You’re right.” Eddie’s cheeks were turning red. He started to move back when you spoke again.

“But… maybe you could tell me all about it after? Over coffee?” You offered, biting your lip shyly.

Eddie froze then his face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Really?” You nodded, just as excited. “Fuck yeah! I’d love to.”

“I should… uh, give you my number. So you can call me?” That initial bout of confidence was fading away. The intensity of Eddie’s gaze made your knees weak.

“That seems like a good plan.” He nodded.

You pulled your pen out of your bag and dug around for a piece of paper but you couldn’t find anything. Pausing to think, your eyes drifted to the spattering of tattoos on Eddie’s arm. “May I?” You pointed at the back of his hand.

“Go ahead.” He gave you his hand. “I’m not afraid of some ink.”

You let his hand rest on your palm while your other hand scribbled your number on his skin. You had to write slower than usual to make sure the ink stuck. His eyes were burning holes in the side of your face. You spared a glance up at him and the corner of his lips twitched up when you met his gaze.

Ducking your chin, you tried to finish writing but your pen stopped working on the last number. Your lips pouted, petulantly. Eddie must’ve noticed since his thumb rubbed against the skin of your wrist, comfortingly. If you were a cartoon character, you were sure there would be a comical amount of steam coming off you right now with how hot your body felt.

A couple of taps against your thigh and the ink started flowing again. After the last stroke on the final number, you added a small heart beside it.

“Beautiful.” Eddie said. He still hadn’t taken his eyes off of you nor did he let go of your hand. “I should have you design my next tattoo.”

“Oh yeah, ‘cause my little hearts will definitely look good with that.” You poked the bats on his forearm.

“Damn right, it will. Hearts are metal.”

Before you could continue your banter, Dustin’s voice cut through the air. “Edward Munson, stop flirting and help me!” He had his hands on his hips and looked extremely cross with his brother. You let go of Eddie’s hand in embarrassment.

“I’m coming!” Eddie’s cheeks were red but his eyes were full of amusement. “As much as I’d love to stay, it looks like I gotta go.”

“I figured.” You were actually sad that your time with him was up. “You two have fun this weekend.”

“Thanks. Don’t go on any more dates with assholes, okay.” Eddie still had that playful grin but you heard the slightest hint of unease in his voice.

“I won’t.” You assured him.

You said your goodbyes and walked away. Every couple of steps, you looked back at Eddie. You felt like a teenager again, willing for her crush to look at her in class. You took one last look at Eddie and, as fate would have it, he was turning to look at you too. Both your eyes went wide, a similar situation to your meeting just a couple of minutes ago.

The two of you laughed and Eddie drove the toy arrow into his chest dramatically. He threw his body back on the ground and rolled in the grass. When he got up, he had a smidge of dirt on his cheek but that smile never dimmed. You’d be thinking about that smile all day.

That very night your phone rang.

“I hope you don’t mind.” Eddie said over the receiver. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

You twirled the phone cord around your finger. “Neither could I.”

This is your last chance, Cupid. You thought. Please let him be the one.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x female reader #stranger things #she speaks

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kykyonthemoon · 2 months

Text

Distraction

When you need to study for the upcoming Hunter competency assessment, yet his presence becomes your ultimate distraction.

── .✦ Character x Female Reader|MC

Included parts in order: Caleb - Xavier - Rafayel - Zayne - Sylus

Ky Ky's note: I chose this particular order for the LIs based on the time of day that you would meet him:

Caleb - early morning

Xavier - around midday

Rafayel: late afternoon

Zayne: evening

Sylus: night

── .✦ Tags: R16, MDNI, suggestive themes, biting, teasing, pinning, soft fluff, established relationship, study/work date, pet names (pip-squeak, kitten), no y/n - as always.

── .✦ Word count: 5k6

── .✦ Requested by Yue AuV

── .✦ Masterlist ♡ Request a fic

Caleb

You awoke when the sun was still sleeping. Even on break, you had to carry a stack of books home to Grandma to prepare for the critical Hunter competency assessment the following week. The combat skills test was no issue for you. You were apprehensive about the theoretical test. That was the reason you had borrowed more materials from headquarters to study during these spare days.

As you proceeded down the stairs, you noticed heavy breathing in the living room. You were on high alert, clutching the book hard in your palm. With its thickness, a single throw may cause someone to faint on the spot. You walked gently down the final steps and entered the living room.

It was not quite as bright, but you could see everything in the room. On the floor, a person was facing the ground and doing push-ups. His unclothed back, soaked in perspiration, was displayed. You blinked for a second and recognized who it was.

"Caleb?"

He placed one hand on the floor and the other wrapped behind his back. He stopped performing push-ups and returned his attention to you.

"You woke up so early, pip-squeak?"

"When did you get back? I feared the house was being robbed!"

You sighed with relief, walked up to the sofa, and sat down. Caleb continued doing push-ups, saying:

“The train was delayed so I came home late. When I arrived home, you were already asleep, pipsqueak. So I missed the chance to say hi."

“I see. And why are you doing push-ups here?”

Caleb shifted his other hand to the floor. He replied:

“This is my morning practice routine at the Academy. But pip-squeak, you don't know this, right? Because you always sleep until past noon.”

Caleb chuckled, while you aggressively grabbed a nearby pillow and flung it at his back. "You are pestering me again! Every time you return home, it's simply to tease me, right?"

He rose up and turned towards you. His bare chest was exposed to you. When you realized you were staring at it for too long to the point it was not appropriate, you glanced away.

"What about you?" Caleb asked. “Why are you up so early on a day off?”

You were going to respond but lost what to say as Caleb suddenly leaned in close to you. With one hand, he lifted your book to read the title, while the other moved behind you; his intention left unknown.

Warmth radiated from Caleb, so much that the air in the room became stifling. Drops of sweat rolled down his face, his neck, his chest, and the muscles in his abdomen. He was right in front of you, only a touch away. His breath caressed your hair and cheeks. Burning.

"Review questions for Hunters?" Caleb commented after rapidly reading the book cover. He gazed at you, who appeared rigid and petrified in place. "Pip-squeak?"

You cleared your throat and coughed. Then pulled the book from his grasp. You explained:

“Well… I have to take the Hunter competency assessment exam next week…”

You hastily covered your face with the book, scared Caleb would see your scarlet cheeks. You also had to rely on the fragrance of papers to help you forget the scent of Caleb's body, which was both familiar and emphasized his masculinity more than ever at the time.

You simply hope the sofa would swallow you up so you would not feel embarrassed anymore. You were used to Caleb, including the fact that he trained his muscles in every possible place in the house. But it did not imply you felt fully at ease when you looked at him in this way. Even after you had confessed your feelings for each other.

Caleb knew what was going on in your mind. Why not, given how it was written on your face? He grinned and patted your head. The hand behind you abruptly took out a towel. He stated:

"You're leaning back against my towel."

He stood up and backed away with the towel. It turned out that was what he needed, not you. You inhaled heavily.

"Then let me get another one for you…"

You murmured. But Caleb brought the cloth to his nose. After closing his eyes, he said:

“Mmh. No need. This towel smells like you.”

Your cheeks burned like fire. You turned fast away.

“Y-You should get back to your push-ups!”

After speaking, you quickly opened the book and pretended to read more. You could hear Caleb laughing in the living room. He said:

“Pip-squeak, you can read books upside down? That is very great of you!"

That's when you realized how ridiculous you were. You swiftly adjusted the book in the correct direction and said nothing else. Caleb returned to his morning workout. Your mind could no longer concentrate. Your gaze was attracted to Caleb's strong physique. He looked to be much more purposeful about exercising in front of you. You exhaled.

"Caleb, can't you bring your push-ups to the garden?"

"Nope." Caleb reacted quickly, as if he had previously planned his response in case you wanted him out. “I was here first. You came here after me. If someone must go, it should be you."

You did not like to give in, but maybe you needed some cool, fresh air to recharge. You stood up. "Alright. I'll go out. Happy now?"

But as soon as you approached the main door, you felt heat emanating from behind. Caleb approached behind you, his chin resting on your shoulder. He whispered, somewhat petulantly:

“We haven't seen each other for a month. Are you just going to ignore me like that?”

You did not dare turn around, instead said gently: "I can't ignore you even if I wanted to..."

Caleb put one hand on the door, the other hand turned you around so he could look directly into your eyes. The book you clutched in your palm felt increasingly tight as he got closer. Your bare arm brushed against Caleb's toned abdomen. You held your breath while staring at him.

“So, pip-squeak, how should you welcome me home?”

Caleb gently stroked your chin with his hand. You blushed. The feet automatically tiptoed. You gave Caleb a kiss on the cheek. But it appeared that this gift had left him disappointed.

“Is that all? Do I need to go on duty for another month so you will miss me even more?”

You knew Caleb was teasing you, yet you did miss him a lot. It was just that you were still not really used to intimate contact with him. You looked up at Caleb, his eyes still fixed on you, waiting. Having failed to disappoint him, you stepped on tiptoe again, this time with your lips on his.

Caleb grinned softly. He placed his arms around you and pulled you up against his damp body.

"This is... how a welcome home should be like..." Caleb whispered to you between lengthy kisses.

Xavier

“Have you seen my book anywhere? I think I dropped it.”

Xavier's words echoed out over the coffee table. You looked up from the stack of books and stated:

“Why don't you check on the floor?”

The two of you were not on the sofa, instead, the floor. Xavier leaned down and discovered the half-read book lying under the table. "Here it is!"

You sighed. “Did you fall asleep again?”

"What?" Xavier's perplexed expression resurfaced in your vision. He massaged his eyes. “I didn't sleep… I just closed my eyes to rest a bit and tried to remember the information I just read.”

“Hmm.” You glanced at him. Obviously, you caught him falling asleep when he pledged to study with you.

Long story short, all Hunters must go through a competence assessment. The test included both combat skills and a theoretical test. Hence you had invited Xavier to your flat for a study date. Even a top Hunter like him would have to take the assessment exam.

After barely five minutes of sitting, Xavier asked you: "Is it time to break yet?", and then he felt frustrated when he received a shake of the head from you.

After that, Xavier was continuously distracted by many things around him, like the sound of a kettle boiling in the kitchen, birds chirping outside the open window, and even neighbors arguing down the street. You had to close the windows so you could concentrate on your studies. Xavier gave you one of his headphones and the review session proceeded well for the next half hour. Then he fell asleep and dropped the book on the floor again.

"Xavier, you're cheating!" You spoke as one hand reached out to pinch his face.

"It hurts."

Xavier spoke with a puppy expression. Even if he were like that, you would continue to review. You cleared your throat and coughed.

"Let us proceed. We have to complete the evaluation tomorrow."

Xavier put up his reading glasses and nodded. You heard him mumble a few questions from the book, followed by a long pause. You glanced up to him.

"Why do you keep looking at me?" You asked.

You placed the book you were reading on the table. You simply could not focus anymore. Your mind was racing, words from the document leaping all over the place. Your body screamed for rest.

You crawled to Xavier's side and rested your head on him. He was silent about everything, but softly rested his chin on your hair. The two of you stayed there for a long time, enjoying the tranquility of the lovely morning. Unfortunately, the test prevented you from going out with Xavier. A walk then would be great. You were ready to invite Xavier for a stroll later, but before you could say anything, you noticed his faint, regular snoring next to you.

"Eh, Xavier?" You were astonished. "Are you sleeping now, really?"

The bit of his head lying on you grew heavy. Even when you sat up straight and grasped his head in both hands, Xavier did not bother to wake up. You thought it both amusing and miserable. You allowed him to recline against the sofa. With a very gentle gesture, you helped him take off his reading glasses and put them away. You set one arm on the sofa, laying your head on it while watching him sleep. How beautiful Xavier was; like a prince, a knight who was always there to protect you. And in times when he was being vulnerable like this, you would defend him.

You could not resist but reach out and poke his cheek. Xavier did not immediately wake up, although he moved slightly. You tried to suppress your laughter. Your hand found a pen from the floor nearby and began a grand scheme.

You got up very carefully and climbed onto Xavier's lap. With the pen in hand, you sketched him a fantastic mustache. The tickling of the pen tip caused his face to quiver slightly, but he remained asleep. You gleefully painted the tip of his nose and slid a few strokes across both cheeks. After that, you removed your bunny ear accessories and placed them on Xavier's hair.

You reflected on your work once it was completed. He looked like a giant rabbit that had just grown a mustache. You giggled, planning to flee and get your phone to photograph the situation. But Xavier instantly held you back.

"Ouch!"

The power from him drew your wrist back, forcing you to collapse into his arms. Your rabbit awoke and appeared to comprehend what you had just done. Xavier looked down at your little body lying in his arms and said sleepily:

“What did you just draw on my face?”

“Eh… I didn't do anything…” You chose to deny the crime. You immediately flung the pen away, but Xavier caught you in the act.

Xavier adjusted his posture to sit up straighter, gently pulling you closer to his body. You were hugged tightly from behind by Xavier. His hand caressed your neck, causing you to tilt your head back and stare at him.

And you could not help but laugh at his funny face right there. Xavier grimaced, obviously dissatisfied.

"A Hunter sneak-attacked another Hunter. You understand that's against the rules, right?"

"Yeah…" Still, you thought it amusing. "You won't go gossiping about this to our supervisors, will you?"

Xavier said, "If you want me not to report back, you have to compensate me."

"How do you want me to compensate?"

Xavier's eyes were keen, unlike his drowsy demeanor only a few seconds before. He smiled gently at you, but why did you sense danger as if you had stumbled into a trap?

"You will know very soon."

Xavier's fingers began to move across your face. He drew an invisible mustache for you, followed by a nose and a bunny's whiskers. You felt ticklish and twitched in his arms, but Xavier gripped you even tighter. A while later, you thought he had finished drawing then realized, he was only getting started

“It would be so easy to let you go like that.” Xavier muttered into your ear before softly biting it, sending a powerful electric shock through your entire body, and a reminder to never tease him while he was sleeping again.

It was too late to backtrack; you clenched your teeth. Xavier's warm breath invaded from the nape of your neck to your ear. The kisses he placed on your hair, ear, and neck made you feel heated. Xavier chewed the shoulder of your shirt and removed it, showing your slightly shaking bare shoulder. He softly bit it, followed by a deep kiss. You inhaled extensively, turning around to feel his lips.

Your intention to go for a walk after the study session that day might need to be postponed.

Rafayel

You were seated across from Rafayel in his sunlit studio. Rafayel was painting and singing gently as you buried your head in the book, clutching a highlighter pen and marking practically every word on the page.

"So loud, Rafayel. You are too loud." You spoke with some irritation. Of course, you did not mean it, but the competency evaluation for all Hunters would be held in a few days. To proceed to higher ranking, you must score well in all tests, including the theoretical test.

"And you're so ferocious, Miss Bodyguard. You scared away my inspiration!"

You rose up and moved around the desk full of books and papers to stand next to Rafayel, gazing at the landscape that he was painting. An afternoon at sea that looked just like the sight outside the studio at the time, but in Rafayel's hands, it felt like an enchanting tale.

“It looks like you're still doing well even though your inspiration ran away.” You replied, folding arms across your chest. “As for me... If only I could pass the test as easily and gracefully as you when you paint.”

Rafayel did not glance at you; his brush was still moving across the canvas. He said, "Painting for me is not as easy as you think. It requires all of my attention, passion, and devotion. You, too, will perform well on the test. You've been getting ready for it over the past few weeks."

"But I still feel worried."

Rafayel stopped painting. He turned and looked at you. "Then it's great if you rest and relax a little. When your mind is at peace, everything you do will be more productive."

You groaned as you looked at the mound of books on your desk. You said:

“Let me find something to do then.”

You turned around, and by some force, your hand accidentally brushed his shoulder. In his artwork, an undesired stripe of color appeared.

“Oops! I'm sorry!" You responded instantly. Rafayel gazed up at you with a sulky expression.

“That's it. I'll have to tell Thomas that you've just chased away my inspiration and you're spraying colors all over my painting."

“I didn't mean to ruin it.” You explained. Rafayel said again:

“It's not really ruined. I can still fix it. But, why should I do that? You're the one causing trouble here. So you have to compensate me.”

"Huh?" Your eyes were wide and innocent as you gazed at Rafayel. He took your palm and placed his paintbrush inside.

“Come on, Miss Bodyguard, how should I fix this painting?”

You were not an artist. When you were a kid, you used crayons to draw on papers, but this was Rafayel's creation. Your fingers shook as you gazed at him. He gave you the palette while tilting his head towards the easel.

“Just consider this a way for you to relax for the time being.”

Hearing him say that made you even more stressed. You scowled and stared at him. That irritating smile of triumph made you resentful. Obviously, he was able to fix the painting himself, but he continued placing you in a difficult situation.

"So? If you can't fix it, you must give me a hundred compliments this week."

You frowned. His pompous demeanor was too much to tolerate. You grabbed the brush and began working. But instead of painting on the canvas, you traced a blue line over Rafayel's face.

"HUH?!" Rafayel stared at you, puzzled, and you chuckled. You lifted your hand to paint another line on the opposite side of his face, but he seized your wrist. "What are you doing?"

"Relaxing." You responded with a mysterious smile. "You just suggested that I should relax after studying hard, didn't you?"

"I told you to paint on the canvas, not to paint on me!"

Rafayel pouted, encouraging you to torture him even more. You quickly replied: "For me, Rafayel is the most wonderful work of art."

Hearing that, his eyes brightened up and he gazed at you with adoration. However, you must use the opportunity to swipe the brush over his other cheek while he let his guard down. You laughed loudly, and Rafayel became so irritated that you began to picture a fish with smoke coming out of his ears.

Your victory did not last very long. You felt something chilly on your face, and it smelled like paint. Rafayel lifted his index finger, which was coated in pink and purple. He was chuckling:

“You are also a work of art that I want to paint.”

Following that, the war between you and Rafayel began. You even let go of the brush and used five fingers to wipe as much paint as possible across his body. Rafayel applied additional paint from the tubes in the corner. Both his hands were stained. Seeing this, you attempted to flee, but Rafayel immediately grabbed your waist. He seized you from behind, and his pink, purple, and crimson handprints were all over your garments, covering your chest and neck. You resisted until turning the tables and snatching Rafayel's arm, holding it behind his back and forcing him to the floor.

"Ouch! Ouuuuuuch! You're breaking the arm of an esteemed painter!”

You snorted bitterly, then took advantage of the situation by pinning Rafayel to the floor and letting him struggle. You sat on top of him and began your revenge.

Starting with his dream-like, charming face. Fingers in varying shades of blue and white created traces on Rafayel's cheekbones, nose, and chin before sliding down his neck. He shuddered slightly in defeat.

"You… What do you want to do with me?"

You laughed in an incredibly hazardous manner. "What do you want me to do to you?"

Rafayel's face went crimson, and with the colors you had painted on him, he resembled a sunset over the sea. You slid your fingers inside his white shirt, brushed his powerful chest, and watched Rafayel slightly arch his spine.

"You…" Rafayel inhaled heavily. His heart rate surged. You could feel the heart throbbing beneath your hand. You leaned down very close, looked into his eyes, and whispered:

"Turned out, Rafayel also has the effect of reducing stress and giving me inspiration!"

Rafayel's lips curved up to say something, but you gently bit him. Rafayel fought but was unable to do anything since you gripped both of his hands and pinned him to the floor. You caught his heavy breathing between kisses, both unwilling and adoring to be pestered by you in this manner.

Zayne

Zayne picked up a glass of cold water and pressed it against your cheek, startling you awake. He noticed you nodding on the sofa, with a book face down on your stomach in your lap. He remarked:

“How can you fall asleep after just five minutes of reading like that?”

“It's the book's fault, not mine.” You made an excuse and reached out to grab the glass of water Zayne had given you. Soon, you would have to take the competency assessment for all Hunters. Since studying alone was dull, you asked Zayne over for a work date. However, the only hard-working person here was him alone.

He returned to the desk and typed on his laptop again. A little cool water only woke you up for a while. You leaned your head on the sofa, eyes half-closed, gazing at him in front. When Zayne focused on his task, he looked breathtakingly beautiful. Everything about him seemed to draw you in. These eyes, these eyelashes, the bridge of his nose, and the corner of his mouth... All of a sudden, he turned around and caught you staring at him. He asked:

“Does my face inspire you that much?”

You did not feel shy at all but nodded heartily. The corner of his lips curved slightly. He replied:

“Then after you're done staring at me, go review your papers.”

"Too far." You extended your hand towards him, as if you wanted to hold him. "My inspiration is sitting so far away, no wonder why I am so sleepy."

Zayne gazed at you. Obviously, he laughed. Then he rose up, held his laptop, and approached you. The seat next to you sank when he dropped down next to you.

“Is this okay?”

“Yeah. It's good now." You joyfully responded and resumed reading the book. The Hunters Association handed you a vast stack of books to study, each of which was thick. You were certain that you would perform well on the combat skills evaluation, but the theoretical questions caused you a headache.

After a time, you started to become distracted. You noticed Zayne sitting by your side with a laptop on his lap and wondered how he could focus so intently. He seemed to be able to work at any time and in any location. You looked over to his screen. The stuff displayed there was much more perplexing than your books. You grumbled and struggled on the sofa for a bit, but failed to discover a position that helped you focus. Zayne inquired:

"What's going on? Are you uncomfortable sitting?"

You nodded your head.

"Maybe because you've sat in the wrong position for too long," he told you.

Before Zayne could give you any suggestions on how to improve your posture, you raised your legs on the sofa and positioned them in his lap, on top of the laptop keyboard. He rolled his eyes at you, then gently raised your knees up with one hand while swiftly taking out the laptop and setting it aside.

"Lean back against the cushion." Zayne placed a cushion between your back and the armrest of the sofa. After fixing everything, he inquired:

"Are you more comfortable now?"

You chuckled and nodded. Zayne gave you a face that conveyed both surrender and excessive tenderness. You buried your head in the book again, but the words faded away since all you cared about was Zayne's long fingers brushing your exposed uncovered legs. He was softly rubbing them, which made you feel a little ticklish.

Zayne turned to look at you; your face had become scarlet behind the book.

"Read your book." He said. Despite your best efforts, you could no longer recall anything. Your mind was whirling as he touched your legs. His hands are strong but soft, making you feel at ease and eager to be caressed by him.

So when you saw Zayne's hands leave you as he reached for his laptop again, you stretched your leg and pushed it as far as you could, all the way to the opposite end of the sofa. He grasped your ankle and gently reminded you:

“Be a good girl.”

Then he released you and took the device. He placed it on your legs like they were a desk. Of course, you refused to give up so fast. You continued shifting your legs, causing the laptop to tremble so much that Zayne was unable to continue working. He glared at you, and you retreated behind the book, pretending not to see his agony at all.

"Did you really call me here to work together?" Zayne's voice soared out, as if he had become upset. Before you could respond, he raised the laptop, placed his other hand around your waist, and drove you towards him.

"Erm… Doctor Zayne?"

Being pulled so suddenly, you leaned completely against Zayne. Your forehead lightly hit his chin and your nose touched his Adam's apple. It seemed he was also a bit startled, his throat became dry. For a moment, he looked down at you, and you looked up slightly to observe his reaction.

Zayne said nothing, his eyes fixed on your parted lips. Your heart rate began to rise at such a close distance. Your ragged breathing on Zayne's neck made him gradually forget his original purpose in coming to this place. The laptop was once again put down, and his lips glided lightly across the bridge of your nose.

“Hmm… Doctor Zayne… Are you not working anymore?” You asked softly, when his lips were only about the size of a mint candy from yours. He replied:

“Someone keeps distracting me. In order to work more effectively, I need to address this matter first."

You grinned. You were on Zayne's lap, but when he leaned slightly towards your lips, wanting to touch them, you turned away. His eyes were filled with disappointment when he gazed at you, wondering what you wanted from him or why you placed a little sweetness in his heart just to leave him hanging like that.

You looked up. Your hand stroked Zayne's face before moving down to his lips. Your voice was quiet:

“Doctor Zayne, it's not just your face or your lips that inspires me…”

Your fingertips carefully went down to Zayne's neck. He remained immobile, waiting to see what you would do next. You pressed closer to his body and muttered:

“To me, everything about you serves as an inspiration…”

Zayne's throat was dry. Perhaps when he accepted your offer to come here, he anticipated a work date with you that looked nothing like the way you grinned so wickedly as you pushed him closer to the sofa, slowly turning around and wrapping your legs around his sides. Sitting on his lap, you tilted your head, smiled, then gave him a kiss on his Adam's apple.

Sylus

Sylus appeared at your apartment after the doorbell rang so loudly that if you arrived even a second late, the door would definitely not be intact.

The problem was that he assumed something was wrong with you after learning from Luke and Kieran that you had not left the house in almost three days.

Sylus grabbed and spun you around to ensure you were not wounded. You had to explain that you were alright, but exhausted from several days of studying for the approaching Hunters' competence evaluation.

Sylus shook his head at the mound of books in your living room:

"They teach you these useless things in Linkon?”

“I've got a combat skills test, and a theoretical test. I must pass both.”

Sylus said nothing else. He allowed you to continue immersing yourself in books as he sat comfortably on the sofa, as if this place was his very home.

A short while later, you heard a rattling sound coming from Sylus. Looking over, you were startled to see his gun pointing in your direction.

"What on Earth—"

Sylus lifted his head to look at you, grinned, and continued cleaning his weapon. You let out a loud sigh. Before he came to shatter this quiet atmosphere, you had memorized many questions for the test. But his presence made it hard for you to focus since your gaze was always drawn to him.

You observed him for a long time. There were a few raindrops in his hair and leather jacket. His crimson eyes focused on the gun in his grasp, his head leaned slightly, and the light illuminated on one side of his gorgeous face. Every now and again, you would look up, and when he noticed your gaze fixed on him, he would smile as if he had you in his palm. And it was true.

When Sylus was around, you had trouble focusing on anything else. You groaned and asked him:

“Why are you still here? You know I'm safe and sound. Go home now, Sylus.”

Sylus replied with a to-the-point question: "Do you really want me to leave?"

Outside, it was pouring rain. It was past eleven o'clock at night. You decided to wait for the rain to cease before telling him to go home again. Otherwise, you would find yourself unable to pass the competency evaluation! How dare he be so desirable and captivating?

You had no option but to sit with your back to Sylus. About half an hour later, when the rain was over and you had finished most of the book that needed to be read, you turned to seek for him. Sylus slumped back on the sofa, his eyes closed tight. It appeared as he was sleeping. You approached and called his name.

Sylus did not respond, so you poked his cheek with your hand. He did not open his eyes, but gripped your hand fast.

“Let me sleep. I'll play with you later, kitten."

Even after he stated that, he refused to let go of you. He used force to pull you down next to him on the sofa. When you sat down, he leaned closer, putting his head on your thigh.

"Sylus?"

"Shhh. Just a moment..."

You decided to give up. Looking at him sleeping so peacefully, like a vicious cat who had retracted all his claws and snuggled up on your lap. You ran your fingers through his hair, tracing each line from his forehead to his chin. You thought to yourself how tempting it would be to steal a kiss from him. But the moment you dropped your head, he awoke.

His fiery eyes secured on you. You abruptly sat up straight, as if nothing had occurred. Sylus cracked a grin

"I caught you trying to sneak up on me, kitten."

"What are you saying?" You disputed it and then used your hand to shove him down. "The rain ceased. It's time you go home."

But Sylus grasped your arm. His moves were so quick that you were left startled. He rose up and spun around, using enough power to pin you to the sofa in a sitting posture, your hands securely clutched on both sides of your head.

Sylus leaned down to get closer to you. One of his knees was pressed tight to your thigh on the chair, while the other leg kept his body poised in front of you. This position made it difficult for you to flee, even if you wanted to. Sylus glanced at you like a cat toying his mouse. He clarified:

“I didn't come all the way here to Linkon just for you to order me around and send me back like that.”

Your chest started to throb. You said, "So, why did you come here?"

"To help you pass your test, of course."

"Huh?" You attempted to get away from Sylus, but he grabbed you so hard that your wrists began to turn red.

"Now that you've thoroughly read the book, kindly answer me. If a Hunter found herself in a situation like this, what would she do?”

You returned your attention to Sylus after looking at the pile of monotonous books on the table. He appeared to offer you a challenge:

Sylus undoubtedly had superior fighting abilities than you. He knew which way you would go, so he grabbed you around the waist with a simple arm extension. He picked you up with one arm and shoved you hard into the sofa. As you struggled to get away, he grabbed your ankle.

"Ouch! It hurts!" You yelled, but all you received in return was Sylus' smug laugh.

"Too slow, kitten."

He flipped you over so you could see how tightly he gripped your leg against his dominant chest. Sylus chuckled in a vicious manner and asked:

“Are these little tricks all that the Hunters Association teaches you?”

“You… Sylus… I… Argh!”

You were enraged and tossed several cushions at him at once. When one of them smacked his face, he did not even dodge; instead, he closed his eyes. After that, he gazed down at you, your hair tangled and your arms and legs thrashing in an attempt to escape. His fingers go along your exposed leg. He wrapped both of your thighs around his waist, and his enormous figure crushed down on you on the sofa. His hot breath painted your face and neck, causing you to lose track of everything else. He softly bit your ear and murmured:

“Be still. I could teach you a few combat tricks. But, I'm curious how much you would pay for it."

Header photos by x and x

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jolapeno · 1 month

Text

take my picture

francisco "frankie" morales x ofc!reader | collection masterlist

summary: you find a polaroid camera, and offer to let frankie take photos.

chapter kink: photo exhibitionism. warnings: smut. frankie takes polaroids of you (consenting). oral (m!receiving). bit of cock praise. fingering. lots of sexy photos. underwear to the side. fuck bud things aka two fools who won't talk. frankie is a sleepy boy (not a warning, just stating facts now). blue has a name and job/likes/dislikes. no physical descriptions. wordcount: 3.9k. an: thanks to @pedgito for beta'ing. dedicated to @luxurychristmaspudding because i haunted her with this, she told me to write it, and i told her only if i could gift it to her. i love you bby. one day we hug, yes?

You’ve only been awake for an hour when he lets you know he’s here.

The clock on your kitchen wall tells you it’s midday, though the light outside seems to have forgotten. Everything is muted, as if the sun has forgotten to rise fully, the sky from your kitchen a blanket of dull grey, casting shadows over everything. You can sense the hum of activity—the muffled clatter of life moving above you, or people in the hallway.

Then, in a hundred and forty-six seconds—that’s all it takes—his knuckles tap softly on your door before he’s twisting the handle.

The coffee you’d only half-finished is swirling down the sink, and you’d just manage to fluff the cushions on your two-piece sofa when your eyes meet his. You worry, briefly, that the signs of your night shifts are as obvious on your face, as they are in your home. Little traces of exhaustion are scattered around—the shoes kicked off near the basket of unworn pairs, your jacket draped over the armchair, and your bag lying on its side, carelessly dropped and forgotten.

When he steps through, it appears as though he’s blind to it all. The usual duffel swings down from his shoulder, but this time he’s an accompanying pair of bags under his eyes—a tiredness that doesn’t filter away even when he smiles. There’s a tightness in his face, a 4 o’clock shadow you trace with your eyes that’s beginning to darken his jawline.

The greeting is gentler this time. Softer kisses, his fingers skating along your jaw, thumb resting on your chin, as his mouth slants over yours. Your lashes flutter closed as you tug him closer, pulling him in, melting into him before his face finds the curve of your neck. The duffel drops with a thump as both his arms cage you.

He breathes in, right against your neck, before he grazes unspoken words against your skin as your fingers massage the top of his neck, feeling the tightness, hearing how he lowly groans into your skin.

“You slept, captain?”

“Hmm,” he hums as his mouth presses slow, open-mouthed kisses to your neck.

Ones you almost bow towards, lean into, let happen.

“Frankie.” Fingers sliding around his cheeks, lifting him, forcing his eyes to wander over yours. “Have you slept since you’ve been back? Preferably in the last day or two?”

Scratching the back of his head, temporarily averting his eyes as his nostrils flare, he eventually spits out, “Here and there.”

Tilting your head, sighing. Something there, unspoken. An explanation, one that would weave a thread between the two of you, a deepness you’re not sure either of you is willing to surrender to.

You’d sensed something was simmering beneath the surface when he told you he was back. The timing of his return and your string of night shifts had become an enemy to you both, keeping you apart, forcing him to go home and make excuses instead of—what you suspected was his usual—lying and saying he was back later than he was. The benefit of this was that the two of you rarely had the chance to converse as much as you have in the past few days—conversations broken up by your erratic sleep schedule and shifting time zones. Still, it had felt strange to find him keeping you company as you tried to eat leftover lasagne at three in the morning.

Thinking you like texting me too much.

What makes you say that?

You’ve responded within seconds, Morales.

You don’t admit you like texting him. That it’s nice, almost normal in the grand schemes of whatever this thing is. This thing where you text him and wait for a response, giddy when you see his name flash up; this thing where you count down, in your head only, to the day you think he’ll be home.

For sex, you remind yourself. Just sex—and food.

“Here or there less than three hours a day or…”

He glares, but smothers it quickly, jaw tightening as he keeps his hands in place.

“Bed, now.” His brow arches at your words, lips rolling as he stares. “Alone.”

“Blue… c’mon.”

“The plans we have require you to be awake for the duration, not somewhere between snoozing and existing. Just go, I don’t know, sleep for an hour or two in my bed.”

His brow raises again, remaining there, hovering over his brown eye. “In your bed.”

“Yeah, my bed.” Folding your arms, letting your lips slide into your cheek. “Don’t be difficult and argue with me. I’ve done four back-to-back night shifts.”

He snorts, eyes slightly wider than usual—as though acknowledging it, how you’ve overshared, how there’s a bit of you amongst the other parts.

“Look, I can study—I’ve got another nursing exam thing coming up and you can sleep, and then when you wake up, we can…”

Dragging his eyes up and down you, you try to remain tall, strong. Not giving in as you feel your skin warm under his gaze; not crack under the way he lingers on your legs, on your arms crossed just under your chest.

“Nurse, huh.”

“Go.”

“Fuck, alright.”

Smiling, watching him move to grab his bag, you begin biting the inside of your cheek, gnawing at it. “Hey,” you say, watching his eyes flick up, staring through his brows as he remains hinged, “Am I eating for one tomorrow night or?”

Softly, he begins to smile. Likely remembering the texts—the odd few the two of you have managed to send between whatever he does and your work.

It rises, the smirk kissing his eyes at the same time as the dimple appears on his cheek when he straightens up, sweats in hand as he takes a step closer. “Was thinking about you not eating alone for another night after that, if you still wanted?”

Swaying on the spot, you mirror his smirk. “You’re buying.”

Then he’s kissing you, fingers sliding around the back of your head, cupping it, as he smothers a reply to your mouth, a murmur of being back soon as he swats at your ass.

You don’t stop smiling for several minutes after your bedroom door closes.

Frankie wakes around the time you’ve grown sick of diagrams, words and note-making.

When your pastel highlighters are suddenly not as cute and the clear post-its are not as innovative as you first thought. When you’re distracting yourself with making a coffee, struggling to adjust to the fact it’s almost evening when in fact for you it’s more midday.

You’re barely three sips into your drink when he takes it, dwarfing your cup with his paw as his sip is larger than yours.

“Oh, help yourself, Morales.”

Smirking, he takes another small sip before handing it back. “Fuck, somehow forgot how pretty you are.”

You hum, placing the cup down, it clinking against the counter before he slides his arms around you. Instinctive, that’s how you’d describe it, your nails scraping against the base of his neck, the edge of your counter digging in as he presses his body flush against yours.

“Been thinking about you.”

“Memories of me serving you well, Morales.”

He groans as you kiss him, as you pull his mouth to yours—feeling how warm his mouth is, how there’s the slightest taste of mint.

“Poor Frankie, having to use his mind to jerk off in the desert or forest or… wherever you get sent to.”

Snorting, he grabs a handful of your ass, making your mouth open in a gasp before he smothers it with his lips. Kneading it, making your hips meet his. Your hand reaches for the side, knocking into it—the unboxed surprise that just catches his eyes.

“What’s that?”

“Well,” you say, picking it up, and turning it over in your hand. “It's a Polaroid camera.”

“I can see that.”

“Thought you might have grown tired of your imagination. Thought maybe I could give you a gift—especially when you left me with one of your shirts.”

“No, I didn’t.”

Smirking, you press the button—a flash illuminating, making him hiss a swear under his breath as the machine conjures and spits out the image.

“We can call it even then—what I’ve thought up.”

Fingers rubbing his eyes, one trying to crack open. “What’s that then?”

“You can say no.”

“Something I’ve yet to do with you but go on.”

Smiling, a flutter of nerves rumbling through you as you swallow. “Thought you could… take some souvenirs with you. For you. Your eyes only kinda thing.”

His brows furrow, flicking his gaze to the camera and back again before he’s biting his cheek. It dawns slowly, slipping over his face as his eyes darken, as he catches on to the nature of your suggestion.

Continuing, you meet his gaze. “You can pick how you want me, can shoot as many as you like—but you only get to take three with you.”

“Just three?”

Nodding, biting your lip. “I almost said one, but thought you’d like a mix—especially since you were gone longer this time.”

“You want me to have dirty photos of you, Blue.”

Smiling, nose brushing against the tip of his, “I’m just doing my bit, captain.”

The last word is punctuated by the way you hook a finger in your shorts and let them slide down to your ankles. Empowered, confident, even as a chill rushes over you and your skin goosebumps.

The way he stares, makes you wonder how you’ve ever settled for anything less than the lust in his eyes. An easy explanation for why you wait, because there can’t be anything better, right? The way he tilts his head slightly and runs his hand against his jaw as your clothes fall in soft thuds to your floor until you’re stood in nothing but a pair of panties.

Ones chosen, all intentionally picked. Selected.

All set to remove them when his hands stop you. When his rough hands slide over them and press your palms to the counter, mouth slanting over yours, softly but hungrily. The kind of kiss that would make your knees go if not for his frame pressing on you, his grip on your hands tightening as you bite at his lower lip.

“How do you want me?”

The tip of his nose brushes yours, eyes closed, before he breathlessly whispers, “On your knees.”

You smile, ghosting it over his. “Help me down then, baby.”

It slips out, slithers. The name he calls you, that you now call him.

His fingers slot between yours, gripping them tight as he helps you lower yourself to the ground—to the cold tiles of your kitchen as you stare up at him. Left only in a pair of lace panties you’re grateful you’d thrown on before.

“Can I taste you, captain?”

“Fuck—yeah. Sure.”

He’s already hard when you’re pulling him free—thick, twitching. The tip already glistening as you glide the fabric down, teasingly, watching the head of his cock meet the base of his stomach.

“Your cock is so perfect.”

Your hand wraps around it, smearing the bead of precum, smirking at the hiss you make him emit, lifting onto your knees as you begin to work him, his soft stomach shifting as he breathes deeply.

“Can’t wait to taste you, Frankie—”

“—Li—”

You make him choke on your name when your mouth wraps around him. The tip at first, tongue swirling around, savouring the tangy taste of him—until you take more of him. And more. Doing so until your eyes prick with tears and you feel annoyed that you’re not at the base.

But, it’s fleeting, passing. His moan makes it worth it.

From the weight of him on your tongue to the taste of him, it’s all worth it. You lick around the head and flick your eyes up to see his stare already trained on you, the muscles in his legs twitching under your palms, gliding your tongue—all flat—on the underside of him, smearing the tip along your lips as though its gloss.

If you didn’t know what he did for a job, you’d tell him with that glare he’d be good at it.

Especially when you take him deeper, hearing the reward of a hiss, of your name—all elongated and breathy. Tears prick and spill over as your nose meets the thick curls at the base of him, feeling him twitch, pulse—all thick and fucking divine in your throat before you’re forced to slide back up. Your cheeks hollowed, eyes flicking up to see his mouth parted in surprise, chest heaving.

You smirk, with difficulty. The thickness of him makes it challenging as you swirl your tongue around the tip and feel his fingers sliding under your chin.

And you want to touch yourself.

Smudge the mess between your thighs around your aching clit, dip two fingers into your heat—

“Too good to me, Blue.”

His praise and the sight of him in the low light, the evening bathing your room, making the perspiration on his chest glitter. It’s then you notice the camera in hand—dwarfed almost, by the size of his palm.

He’s holding it like a gesture, like a silent ask of permission. One you give. A nod, a slow blink, and you spot the surprise sewn into his brows. A look vanished a moment later as you take him to the base, nails digging into the back of his thighs as you plead for yourself not to choke again.

You don’t.

Not even when he gently rolls his hips to your movements,

“Need to take a picture, Blue. Need it.”

You hum, nose against the curls at the base of him, almost feverish with how much you want him. Desperate, agitated with it.

So you flick your eyes up, swallowing—a flurry of curses leaving his lips.

Click, flash—

—Click, flash.

It illuminates you. The bright light makes your eyes widen, forcing them to, filling them with surprise. It’s barely a second, but he steals what the glare provides in the thickening darkness as the clock ticks on.

He doesn’t need the photo to develop, he’s sure the image will be burned into his brain for a lifetime. You with your mouth full of him, cheeks hollowed around his spit-soaked cock as it dribbles down your chin and wets his palm.

There are stains on your cheeks—tears. One's from taking him so deep earlier, when he’d felt the need to remind you to be slow. He caught a glimpse of your glare then, but there’s no sign of it now. Your eyes are all glassy, completely fucked out. Knelt before him in nothing but the thinnest pair of panties, likely soaked, ruined. All for him.

All. For. Him.

Then the room dims again, the photo ejecting out of the camera as it begins to bloom and paint the scene, forever immortalised, and he has to stop himself from clicking the button again just to see you in that light.

You hum as though thinking it. So he snaps another, and another. Each flash creates a different scene, one with your eyes closed—your wet lashes against your cheek. The next you smirking, fingers around the base and your tongue licking at his slit—eyes burning into the camera lens.

You loosen up the more he takes, performing, kneeling up as your hand moves to cup his balls, to gently, ever so carefully roll them as you lick another stripe up the underside of his cock.

He hisses in curses, ones barely bitten back.

It takes all of his restraint not to come down your pretty little throat the next time you take him down it. Because you’re beautiful, but this is something else. An enigma, a gift, a heavenly being that is here for him, taking as much of him as you can.

Bobbing and sucking, little moans and mews around him as you do so. It’s all too much, his eyes clenching shut, feeling, just feeling, and feeling—

It feels like something should have ripped, as though the universe has pulled apart, but he knows it’s in his head. It rushes through him so quickly, splintering and knocking him off base as his elbow awkwardly collides with the dresser before he’s gripping it with all he has, panting through his nose, hips meeting your movements.

And then his hips buck, cock twitching on your tongue.

Then, he’s coming hard down your throat. From the top of his head to his toes, his muscles clench, tighten. Body roaring, licked with flames, his cock twitching as you lick up every drop, as he begins to tingle all over from it.

Whether it’s an intention, just for the camera in his hand or him alone, when your mouth slides from him, it hinges open. Waiting, hands falling to your lap. And he knows before he brightens you with the flash what he’s going to see. But, nothing compares when he glimpses it. Your pretty, perfect fucking mouth full of him.

It stirs in him. Hunger, agonising covetous to have you—to taste himself on your lips, tongue.

“Swallow, baby.”

And he hears it, in the thick silence that you do.

The photo hangs from the device as he plants it down, as he rests it and descends to his knees to meet you. Hand cupping the back of your head as he brings your mouth to his, as he licks into your mouth, as he groans at the way you open up to him and the suppleness of your skin.

Perfect, perfect, so fuckin’ perfect.

He whispers it to your lips, groans it against your jaw as he slides a hand between your legs, underwear moved to the side as the two of you moan in unison at first contact. You shifting, adjusting, knees spread as your ass meets your floor, palms pressed to the ground behind you, head tipping back, letting it escape—

“Please. Please, baby.”

It’s delicately said, all smooth, but encased and embroiled in damned desperation. Baby—he likes it when you say it, a thing he so rarely hears.

He rewards you for it by pressing two fingers inside you, finding you soak him to the knuckles. You tighten around him, the lewd sound of your pussy filling the air, and he swallows, transfixed—a slither of light is all he has. His attention fixed, thumb pressing to your clit as you arch into his hand, bearing down against it.

“Take it,” you moan, hips beginning to rock against him. “Take a picture, Frankie.”

He smirks, almost grins. Almost full of delirium that you exist, that you’ve chosen him, let him in, let him—

You whine his name, already so close. His free hand reaching, patting for it, knocking things over to the point you laugh—

“Break it all, Frankie. I don’t care, just need—”

“Shh,” he soothes, rubbing circles with his thumb, the other hand grasping the camera, pulling it with him as he adjusts his knees on the floor. “Got you, Blue. Always got you.”

I know, I know, I know.

A chant, a soundtrack to the way he curls his fingers until you’re pleading, sobbing.

Click, flash—

Fuck, you’re a mess. Wrecked, ruined. Underwear pulled to the side, black, maybe even ripped a little, with your back bowed and your face contorted—twisted in pleasure. He sees tear tracks on your cheeks from earlier, slick spread in the crease of your spread thighs. Your hips meet his movements, pressing his fingers down on the spongy spot that has you babbling—whining; thumb pressing against your swollen, puffy clit.

Let go, he thinks. Readying to say it, to plead. But then your hips jolt, your chin raising as your head falls back.

The sound of you when you come is one he’ll never grow tired of.

Least of all the taste of you when he slowly removes his fingers and licks them clean, his other thumb massaging your knee when you wince at the loss of him.

“Go get on your bed, Blue.”

You breathe, pant. “You bringing the camera?”

“If you want?”

He hears you exhale and almost feels your smirk even in the darkness.

By the time the two of you are done, there’s a sea of them—the Polaroids.

The sheets under the two of you are a mess, with little photographic evidence of the two of you scattered all around. A play-by-play of the last forty-five minutes.

His breath is caught, as is yours. The soft hue of your bedroom illuminated by the late afternoon filters in, shades of purple and deep oranges.

You’re resting against him, fitting under his arm—heart still beating, even through him as you try to catch your breath. It’s not like the last time, when you’d looked half-awake and rode him until he had to roll you over, it’s not like the time before when he’d watched soap suds slide down your spine, pussy swallowing his cock over and over as your cries echoed around the tiles. It’s soft, sweet, the moment the two of you are sharing. Fingers, splayed out, soft with nails trimmed, skate up and down his side, and it shouldn’t be a thing he thinks, never mind confessed.

But fuck is this perfect, you’re perfect.

Frankie fumbles for the camera, for the device forgotten amongst the sheets, leaving it there, resting. Waiting.

“So how many bedpans do you have—”

You swat at him first, the lightest laugh following, spreading out. So, he continues. Asking more oddities with a shake of your head, not breaking you, not earning more than a light giggle, until:

“You got a pair of scrubs around? I do like a woman in uniform.”

It bursts out of you then, a laugh—a real one—and he lifts the camera as your head rests on him. The click comes, the flash brighter than he remembers.

It’s snapped, taken—a laugh, yours, all but frozen in time.

Later, when the photo is developed and mixed in with a stack of others waiting to be chosen, he sees his own smile. It’s light, almost unfamiliar, given how long it’s been since he’s seen it.

That photo might be his favourite, but it isn’t one he keeps. He thinks it’s too soon for things like that.

#frankie morales smut #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #francisco morales x reader #francisco catfish morales #francisco morales #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier smut #triple frontier #frankie morales x reader smut #francisco morales x reader smut #frankie morales x f!reader #francisco morales x f!reader #triple frontier fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfiction #Pedro pascal character #triple frontier x reader

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lightseoul · 1 year

Text

cw. gn!reader, prohero!katsuki, aged up (around mid 20s), some cursing

“You okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Crimson eyes that, more often than not, can see right through you—narrow in suspicion. Bakugou shifts on his feet from where he’s standing, approximately a foot away.

And, coincidentally, on his childhood home’s porch.

After a few more seconds of staring you down, he scoffs, opting to glare at the blaring sun instead, squinting.

You brace yourself for a taunt, but it never comes.

Instead, Bakugou only mumbles a quiet albeit skeptical ‘okay’ before, to your horror, moving to knock—no, pound—on the door.

Your brain doesn’t get the chance to catch up with your body because not even a second later, you find yourself instinctually lunging forward, reaching to stop his hand in his tracks.

You look up from where you’re staring—your death grip on his wrist—only to be met with a devilish smirk.

His smirk widens. “Nervous?”

You shoot him a withering scowl.

“You wish.”

At that, you promptly let him go, straightening your pants as you do so.

The sardonic grin still hasn’t been wiped off of Bakugou’s face by the time he straightens up, and you promptly wish the ground would swallow you up.

“Really now? Because your sweaty palms beg to differ.”

You subconsciously wipe your hands against the fabric of your blouse. “It’s hot.”

“No shit. It’s midday in May.”

If you just weren’t in his childhood home’s entryway, you’d strangle the guy.

Or kiss him to shut him up.

Like you’ve done that one time.

Whichever works.

But you are, and you’re 30 seconds away from meeting the guy’s mother.

“Stop being a dick, Katsuki,” you spit back lamely.

“Or what?” he barks out a laugh.

“Or I’m gonna tell your mom I’m just a date for hire.”

#bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou imagines #bnha imagines #mha imagines #bnha scenarios #mha scenarios #mha x reader #bnha x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou imagine #bakugou drabble #bakugo x you #bakugo x y/n #bakugou fluff

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themotherofhorses · 1 year

Text

pairing: aemond targaryen x handmaid!reader

summary: “please,” aemond begs, keeping you flush against him as he nuzzles your breasts. “allow me to make love to you, sweet girl.”

(or aemond's first time with his handmaid).

warnings: explicit lang. a tiny bit of angst at the beginning. protective!aemond. p in v smut. slight breeding kink. spitting kink towards the end. fluff. all around good vibes bc aemond's in love and we all love that for him.

notes: happy birthday to me. pls be nice to me, i'm unfortunately entering my twenties today.

his handmaid's tales | main masterlist

Aemond spends the better part of the chilly winter day searching for his handmaid.

You had been missing when he returned to his bedchamber at midday, wishing to eat his lunch in your company. Did she forget my first rule, by chance? Aemond thought to himself, holding the chalice to his lips. Perhaps…but he could not stomach another bite of his roasted meat, his mind too consumed with thoughts of you.

So he looks throughout the kitchen wing, and the library and Great Hall, until he passes by his mother and sister in the hallway.

But neither woman claims to have seen you, and he’s left twice as confused and frustrated and concerned as he continues to wander about the Red Keep like some lovesick and anxious fool.

“Ah, my prince,” Lord Larys Strong purrs as his steps falls alongside Aemond’s. “Perchance I could be of service. I overheard you are looking for your little handmaid.”

Aemond turns to look at him. “Yes,” he answers, his eyebrow raising, “-have you seen her?”

The lord’s smile is sly. “Several hours ago, actually. She was heading up to the servant quarters…” but his smile then drops, quickly replaced with a frown, “but she seemed to be in tears, if I’m to remember correctly. Poor child, she was an awful, trembling mess, never once looking up to meet my eyes when I greeted her.”

“She was crying?” Aemond cocks his head sideways, swallowing down the ire beginning to bubble inside his chest.

“Yes. It was rather grievous and sad,” and Clubfoot shakes his head dolefully. “A maiden like her deserves a smile on her face at all times, would you not agree, my prince?”

Aemond’s jaw clenches, and he glances to the stairs leading upwards to the servant quarters. Someone made you cry? His blood turns cold, and his fist balls up at his side. Remembering where he was, he gives the lord a curt nod. “Thank you, Lord Strong,” and leaves it at that, rushing up the stairway and down the hall, whilst hundreds of questions thronged in his head.

Who dared make you cry? You, who is rightfully his- his handmaid, his woman. You were supposed to remain safe and happy within his room, tucked away from ill-tempered bastards and envious tongues. If he could not protect you…

He turns the corner, huffing. He’d see whoever made you cry is punished, Aemond decides as he walks down the strip, passing by shut door after door, until he hears fainting sobbing. A sniffle, then, and a tiny hiccup that soon follows. That stops him in his steps. You. You. You, you, you…

“Love,” he whispers, knocking his knuckles on the door before slowly cracking it open. “Love, it’s me.” You twist to meet him in sullen silence, and his heart shatters at the sight. Your pretty doe-eyes are both red and teary, and your bottom lip quivers. It’s busted too, more scarlet now than pink. But it is the ugly bruise coloring your left cheek- large and hand-shaped, that causes his eye to widen.

“Who?” he spat, crossing the room to gather you in his arms, his voice raising. “Who’s done this to you?”

But you lower your eyes, and bury your face within his neck, hiding away from his gaze and questions. Aemond softens, and his thumb gently strokes your cheek, pausing when you flinch. “My love, I need to know at once. This…this is a horrible injustice served upon you, one I know you did not deserve!”

You shake your head, face crumpling as another sob escapes you.

His eye narrows.

“Was it my brother?” Aemond demands. “Or a houseguard?”

“No,” you mumble, feeling ill, like your tummy is tied in a knot. “It was neither, my prince.”

“Well?”

You sigh. “It was one of the septas, a new one to the castle. I do not know her name,” you explain. “She caught me in your room and scolded me, saying how it was beyond disrespectful and ill-mannered of me to flaunter about your bedroom as if it was my own. She said…she said you would have my head for such, and when I tried to explain myself,” and you hiccup, feeling a wave of fresh tears, “-that I was your handmaid, she slapped me!”

“She said I would have your head? That I would kill you?”

You nod, wiping away the few fat tears streaking down your cheek, wincing at the slight sting from the bruised skin. “She said she would bring it up with the Queen herself, that there was no need for insolent little maids like me running around the castle. Oh, I’m so sorry, my prince. I’m terribly sorry. Please, please, please forgive me!”

But Aemond’s thumb brushes lightly across your plump lip, shushing you. “Those words should never fall from these lips, sweetling. They were not made for that.” You feel like crying again, this time from relief.

“You’ve done nothing wrong, my love. I couldn’t even imagine…” his voice trails off. How could this septa easily plant a seed of doubt within your mind, and make you think he would ever harm you? Or call for your death? As if you’re not the very air he breathes every day.

“You terrified me when I could not find you earlier, love.”

By now, you’re a lot calmer and breathing fine again, nestled within his embrace. Your cheek still stings but you’ll live. You lay your head against Aemond’s chest, listening to his faint heartbeat in his breast. Thump, thump, thump.

No more words are shared between the two of you, but his kiss on your temple says much more than anything could.

Soon, Aemond takes you back to his bedchamber, to his tub, and calls for several women to tend to you while he busies himself in burning the servant garb you were wearing today, until nothing is left but sooty ashes and singed cloths. He refuses to allow you to wear that shabby, tainted dress you were so wrongfully punished in. If not for you, then for himself. It eases his mind. And someday you’ll wear nothing but the finest and prettiest gowns, he swears, ones that are fit for no one but a princess.

He’ll have a talk with his mother too. His queen mother has a soft spot for his handmaid, he knows, and Helaena too. This will not go unseen and unpunished.

The prince returns when your bath is finished, and dismisses the women before carrying you off to his featherbed. You’re still quiet, hushed, lips pressed in a tight line while he dries your hair. “You do not need to do this, my prince,” you tell him softly, nervously lacing your fingers together. “I’m undeserving of such treatment, really. It should be I who does this for you.”

“Nonsense, sweetling.”

He’ll be your husband one day, and is merely practicing his husbandly duties, although he doesn’t actually say that piece aloud. It’s all a bit tricky right now, but he’s already decided he will not marry anyone who isn’t you.

Aemond bends to kiss your shoulder, ever so tenderly. You have four pretty birthmarks littering the skin, and he presses a sweet kiss atop all of them. He loves it. You’re so fucking gorgeous. “You’re mine,” he mumbles, nuzzling his forehead against your shoulder blade. “It’s my duty to care for you.”

“No, my prince, ‘tis my duty as your servant.”

He smiles up at you. “Ah, and I’m your protector, best to remember that, sweet girl.” And he leaves nothing more to be said, quickly standing you up in front of him, naked and breathing messily and too shy to meet his eye. Oh, but you’re too pretty for your own good, he tells himself. His fingertips gently trace along your hipbones while he leans to nuzzle his face into your tummy. Aemond then feels your soft hands finding his hair, fingers raking through as you sigh deeply.

“You smell good,” he whispers. “So damn good.”

You giggle. “Do I, my prince?”

Aemond hums, raising his face up to kiss your nipple- once, twice, thrice. He feels you suddenly tense against him, your breath catching in your throat. “Nice and warm and all mine,” he adds, blowing a puff of warm air over your breast that earns him a sweet little moan, one that sends blood rushing down to his cock. His arms circle around your waist, hands falling to knead your asscheeks.

“Let me make love to you.”

“My prince?” you ask, eyes widening as you recoil from your prince’s touch, your legs suddenly feeling weak like water.

Did you hear him right?

“Please,” Aemond begs, keeping you flush against him as he nuzzles your breasts. “Allow me to make love to you, sweet girl.” I see my future in your face. My children in your eyes. His hand cups your right breast, catching a hard nipple between two fingers. My sons at your breasts. His handmaid has come for him, to deliver to him everything he’s been so cruelly denied in this life. “Say yes,” he murmurs. “Let me finally claim you as mine own.” It is your blood I need, your blood on my sheets, and my seed in your belly, and your life and name as my own.

You close your eyes, yet still see your handsome prince grinning at you.

It’s wrong, you think. It’d be so wrong of us. I’d be banished.

I can’t.

“Okay, my prince,” you say, with a bated breath. “Make love to me.”

An hour later, the wind has risen to a sharp howl against the stone walls, and fat raindrops ping against the windowpane. A winter storm, but there is little to no need to worry about such.

You’re quite nicely warm and dry, and safe within your prince’s arms as he nudges your thighs open. He’s already been down there, spending a good half of the last hour feasting on your wet cunt. It was like he’d been fasting for weeks; he took little mercy on you.

“Open wide,” he mutters. “Good girl. Keep ‘em like that for me.”

You whimper. Your Prince Aemond is gorgeous, with silver hair that shines like fresh snow and pale, naked skin that is covered in faint scarring, undoubtedly from boyhood. You’ve never seen someone so beautiful. His arms are thickened with lean, lithe muscle as he holds himself above your body, one hand laced firmly in yours.

And he looks down at you with bright, violet eyes, with a look perhaps only a man gives his new bride on her wedding night.

It makes you squirm beneath him.

He slides his cock in slowly, hissing at your tightness. “FUCK.” His head dips down near yours, lips barely grazing your ear as he lets out a low moan. “Gods be fucking good, you feel so fucking good…wrapped around my fucking cock, at last,” he says, voice raspy. “Right where you belong.”

Aemond feels that he won’t last long. He’s back to the days of his boyhood, during his thirteenth nameday when Aegon took him to the whorehouse, and he felt a woman’s touch for the first time.

Except now he has the woman he wants- soft and submissive and cunny wet and ready for him- and it is his turn to teach and guide her.

“Ah, my brave girl,” he tells you, pausing to kiss your forehead, then your swollen, pink lips. “It hurts, I know. It’ll feel better soon, I promise.”

And afterward, Aemond Targaryen’s watching as you shake and sob and fall to utter pieces, your beautiful face scrunched up in blissful pleasure as his thrusts soon quicken, and his hips snap into yours with such a harsh pace, it’s sure to leave dark bruises behind.

Your hands find his shoulders in a tight grip, in some desperate attempt to cling onto him whilst he fucks you good.

And, thankfully, it’s his name that tumbles out of your mouth, and not his stupid royal title. It follows your cries and moans and whimpers that echo throughout his bedchamber. To Aemond, it is poetic in some way. Several months back you were seated on his settee, singing, and now you’re buried within his sheets as he makes you a mother.

His loins ache for release, and he fondles your breast, toying with your nipple as he pounds you only harder. Aemond hopes to any god listening that the guards outside are listening in, and the serving girls too. He’s a prince of the realm- he means to claim all his rights. Let them all hear as he plows into his handmaid and stuffs her full of his sons.

Beneath him, you shudder and gasp- again and again- before arching your spine and flinging your arms around his neck. “AEMOND,” you scream, feeling a sudden tightness deep within your belly, almost like you’re only several seconds away from exploding into flames. Perhaps you are.

“Mercy on me, Aemond! Please!”

“Shhh,” Aemon coos, cradling your face as he fucks you through your orgasm. “I have you, pretty girl. You’re okay. Doesn’t this feel good? It feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Ah, so- so good, Aemond…!”

He grins at your fucked-out face, and the little bit of drool pooling around the corner of your mouth, before lightly tapping his fingertip against your bottom lip. “Open up,” he commands, squeezing your cheeks together, when your mouth opens, he spits in it. “Now swallow- mmm, such a good girl, always doing what I say.”

Aemond chooses all his words carefully, loving the way his sweet little handmaid preens under all his given attention and praises, so prettily that he’s willing to discard all of his morals and seed her full of his future bastards. Silver-haired babes that would gurgle at him happily, and grow to carry on his name and legacy.

For her, he thinks, leaning to kiss you again, feeling your cunt clamping down on him, she’s worth every damn thing and more.

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#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond smut #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond fanfiction #handmaid!reader #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #hotd fanfic #vic writes 🧸

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writella · 4 months

Text

Daryl comes home midday and you allow him to distract you from your work and studying with kisses. (cw: daryl x afab!reader, just a little more than suggestive- 18+, mdni- but ends quickly, kisses and sweetness! wc: a little over 1000)

Palms slide on the bed, arms caging your backside as you read; and soon enough, without you even knowing he came through your door, Daryl is there— lips right by your head, whispering in a mixture soft and gruff, the word, “Hey.”

“Hi,” you reply, turning over to look up at him, not hesitating to let your favorite distraction invade all your thoughts. You take in his face in the sun’s high noon glow. From your view, the sun brightens his features, making strands of his brown hair a dark blonde, and his blue eyes become deep ocean wells even through the squint. But to him, the sun is shining down on you, creating an outline of an angel’s glow in the sky.

Well aren’t you two in love?

“Still at it?” He asks, taking note of the book and papers and packets surrounding you before kissing at your jaw and nuzzling into your neck. It was just supposed to be a greeting, obviously you were studying, but then he lingers there for a moment. It feels so nice here, with you, in this room— it’s peaceful; quiet and airy.

Your cottage was dark other than the sunlit window. It felt cooler than any other house in Alexandria. A nice change for his hot skin that had been out working since morning; and of course before that, he was gone for most of the week. Typical, but you’re both used to it. Him, always doing something, always helping. It’s just what happens when you’re the guy everyone goes to when they want it done right. Not to mention he did like to be needed— even if he never showed it— and he preferred the outside more than indoors. The outside did sometimes mean without you though, so any chance to remember exactly how the feeling of your touch felt, he took, like now. Even if he memorized every part of you, the feeling of the pads of your fingers against the hair and veins and scars of his arms and face, nothing was like the real thing. You felt the same, that’s why you instinctively parted your knees when you turned over to face him. How could he help how perfectly he fit in between? It was seamless.

Soon enough you were kissing. It’s soft, but the undertones of fire hearts wanting more were there and fastly growing. Daryl comes closer, elbows placed above your shoulder, your thighs closing in his waist. You grind upwards, and he downwards. He puts a hand on your cheek, your jaw. You touch his own. He kisses you, slips his tongue into your mouth, taking the lead. The small mmms come out then. Everything is perfect, this feeling is so right. Even if he’s sweating. Even if you hate when he dirties the sheets with his muddy, forest worn clothes. When it’s Daryl, it’s hard not to give in. The next moment is always unknown.

You touch the shorter part of his hair at the front, his bangs— he hates when you call them that— and then your fingers slide through the rest, twirling down to the end of his strands. The sweat and humidity from outside has made patterns in them. Your kisses become pecks until you let go. Looking at him tenderly you say, “I like when your hair gets wavy like this.”

He moved his face to the side, your palm meeting his jaw. He nuzzles until you reach his nose, he kissed your hand, then kissed your shoulders, breathing in the tops of your arm, you feel the air, it’s warm; it tickles lightly. “You smell nice,” he finally responds. A compliment as a thank you to yours. Never can take one, can he? He just focuses on you. Right now: your scent. He can’t describe what it is, something that he can only define as pretty; the color pink; flowery— you.

You smile as softly and sweetly as the smell he describes in his head and kiss his lips again, quickly, a peck, then another, kiss, kiss, kiss until your lips mold again. Your tongue enters his mouth this time, sliding against the top and you twist your head, but he overpowers, he can’t help it. Daryl really likes kissing. It’s more than he ever thought he would before he started to love you. There is something about the innocence that comforts him. You can make it passionate, sexual, but you can always bring it back to innocence and puppy love and being like teenagers; things he never got to experience with the purity of it all. It’s nice. A way to show his affection through action; wordless romanticism. He adored it. He thought you deserved it.

Your hands reach for his hair once more, you play with it. Your fingers lace through the nape to the split ends you couldn’t even tell were there. He likes it, it feels soothing. Your other hand is on his neck and you feel the vibrations of his gruff humming. Even if you’re under him, you’re able to make him feel good. You sigh happily and start to roll upward on him again, he’s making you feel good too and you need him. You kiss him quick, returning to the open mouth pecks: kiss, kiss, kiss, and then you linger- two pairs of parted lips locking in on a final moment, it feels enchanted, but then he withdraws.

Your eyes become wide as you look up at him. What will he do next? You want him back.

“Gotta finish your work, sunshine.”

Wait! But— you knew he was right… you were procrastinating, but really you let him, he started it, it’s his fault! So, really? Now? No more? Not even just a little?

Afraid not.

He kisses your shoulder, smelling that pretty flower pinkness one more time. “I’ll be back when you finish.”

You reply with a voice of sad reluctance, “…okay,” you sigh.

You knew better though, working in daylight was for the best. Who else was going to teach these Alexandria kids unless you committed yourself to learning how. “Promise?”

His eyes examine the blooming of your lips. “Y’know I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.” Usually he’d keep it there, but he did miss you, and he sure did take note of how needy you were getting. He gives in to the pretty pink flower pout. “Promise.”

And with that, his finger slowly moves down your clothed mound until it finds your clit, one press in as he kisses your lips once more and all the heat from below pools. You feel it hotly. It was the quickest touch, as quick as he retracted it, and then he left.

Oh… guess it’s time to finish that reading, you suppose.

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bon2bonn · 10 months

Text

In daydreams with me

Charles leclerc X female!reader X Max Verstappen

This is set in an au! With CEO!Max and professor! Charles .

Words count : 1.7k

*I'm in my lestappen mood so here we are ✨

The shuffling beside (y/n) snapped her attention away from the book she was reading for the past half hour or so , looking down as a low groan came from Max when he turned around, moving to settle his head on her stomach with his face buried in her (Charles's) oversized shirt With one arm around her as she cradled her fingers through his hair in a soothing motion .

He was still tired from pulling an all-nighter the night before , receiving an emergency meeting call due to some mixed up in emails causing his day to bile up with calls and online meeting until the early hours of the day locked away in his office . Leaving you and Charles to take care of him , bringing him meals and water every now and then even little Alec and baby Mila would pop in to give him a hug sharing candy to lift up his mood or to just say hi , her and Charles stayed up checking on him through the night even though he'd scold them both not to on his behalf but he still grateful for their care .

And instead of cancelling the next day he insisted on going , for it's rare for them and their families to find time to gather without someone having to cancel due to mixed schedule , so they took the chance to spend the day out at sea as her father invited them all to his yacht for the day , having more space for the kids to roam around and their parents to spend relaxing time with family away from the bustling city .

They were to first to arrive followed by Sophie and Victoria along with her boys both exited to spend time with their cousins , then the leclercs and her brother came last , late as usual, getting teased by everyone as he made up excuses . And it didn't take long for them to set sails leaving the harbour behind .

Everyone got comfortable chatting and catching up on what's life been since the last gathering , the kids ever the energy balls they are now doubled with them reunited it was a havoc in the making but they stayed well behaved playing and chatting their uncles ears off about something they thought .

Baby Mila stayed with her grandad babbling on with him about God knows what both content as he went around with her clinging to him , refusing to let go even when Charles tried to take her leaving him with a permanent pout until Luka came running up to him to tell him about something , getting his full attention within seconds .

That left her with Pascale , Sophie and Victoria to stay in the shade , carrying on catching up from where they left the conversation with them when the meals were served . Starting with upcoming birthdays parties and planning on going to camping trips before the end of summer break , up to discreetly trying to set the youngest (her brother and Arthur) up on dates , but that would take more planning and scheming .

Around midday max found his way to her , greeting her with a kiss and a tired smile as he crawled up on the couch beside her , he must ran out of energy as it shows in his dropping eyes and slow steps . humming with half closed eyes as he saw the closed book that lays on the side , she took note waiting for him to settle before she grabbed it and started reading to him in a soothing tone running her fingers through his hair massaging his scalp lightly , not two minutes later she felt his breathing slowed and his body relaxed as he drifts to sleep with his arm draped around her waist , Charles came by a couple of times having seen Max walking up the second floor to her tiredly , he worried about him but he felt relieved as he found him cuddled up to her fast asleep so he left them with kisses on both their heads before going back down .

And now as he woke up still drowsy from his deep slumber but more rested than before , looking up at her apologetically " sorry lifeenje I kept you here all day " she shook her head "no , don't worry love . We still got the whole weekend ahead , and I'm glad you took some rest " giving him a kiss on the head , going back to read with Max now having his head on her shoulder following the lines with his eyes she read them aloud , but stopped as both looked up as Charles approached them leaning over to greet them with kisses before sitting beside them , reaching to take Max's hand in his giving it a squeeze after placing a kiss on the back of it , " how do you feel Mon Amour?" Max smiled up at him interlocking their fingers before answering " I'm alright now lieveling , how is it down there ? " Charles only groaned " I'm about to throw Arthur off deck , (B/N) too if they kept teasing me , and Enzo is ditching me for the kids , I'm not going down there anytime soon !" Both laughed at his dramatic act as he laid on top of them groaning dramatically " even my Mila won't comfort me ! What a cruel world!" Glaring at them playfully he added " don't laugh at my misery !" .

Y/n gave him comforting pats on his back " you know they love to target you the most , it's their way to show their love for you" Charles gave her a disbelieving look " they bully me!" She shrugged at him " it's the same thing" causing him to groan again as Max agreed to her statement before moving to squeeze himself between them , they both gave sounds of protest as he shifted and turned moving them to the sides as he settled himself face down , his head on her shoulder now and his arm going around Max who moved back to give them more space to lay comfortably as they could be with them tangled with each other , but nevertheless enjoying the silence and the lull of the waves .

It didn't take long for Alec to make his way to his parents , both tired and crashing down from the sugar rush he had after his youngest uncles snuck him and his cousins, leaving them cranky and tired , so now he's done for the day making his way straight to his mother's side , climbing and settling between her and Charles and reaching over demanding Max to hold his hand , who did after he leaned over to plant a kiss on his head , drifting as his parents watched over him fondly .

They talked quietly among themselves, minding their sleeping boy as they spoke in a hushed tone getting lost in their conversation , but they turned their heads as a distraught (B/N) with Arthur beside him held out a pouting Mila with her fists balled and up as if ready to fight , her nose scrunched up and her frown is permanent as she whines at her parents , Max chuckled at their state after one look at them , their hair looked like birds nests , and they looked like they've been through a fight and they both lost . He reached carefully to take her from their outstretched arms before asking in amusement as she immediately clutched onto him " what have you done to get her this upset?" , They both scoffed at her as she turned to glare up at them " we did nothing! your spawn got offended! , she saw us teasing Charles and went for blood!" , Causing the little girl to glare even more as she took what looked to them as a threatening sniff before looking up at her dad innocently pointing at her uncles with a whine her mother looked mildly amused as her and Charles cooed over her " my baby would never! , Right Mila ? " Charles agreed as he took her next prepping kisses around her face causing her to let out joyous giggles"that's right, my Mila is too sweet to do such thing! Look at her , is this the face of someone who can do such thing!?" He held her up to their faces as he stood up , careful not to wake the sleeping boy , and both of them stepped back as she reach out her small hand to them .

Pascale sat back along with Sophie , both watching in amusement as their little granddaughter reached out her grabby hands giggling as Charles held her up chasing after the Arthur and (B/N) , voicing in a joking manner " I believe that (B/N) and Arthur thought they were invincible and nothing could touch them , but God sent Mila to humble them both " , Charles laughed the loudest as he sat down helping her to balance her feet while holding her arms "is that right Milly ?, You were defending dada ! That's my baby ! Teach them not to mess with me " she gave him a wide toothless smile as she kicked her feet as if agreeing with him both now grinning as they made their way down to follow their new quest of scaring her uncles and claiming revenge for Charles .

Max watched them disappearing down the stairs giving Y/N a thoughtful look " imagine if she could walk ", she countered back equally amused " imagine if she have teeth !" Max made an ooooh sound before they both started chuckling but stopped as the boy who now slept in hi mother's arms shifted slightly but kept sleeping , giving eachother a knowing smile as they settled back hearing Arthur's and her (B/N) shout's followed by the girl's giggles " get her away from me ! , Charles I'm telling Maman on you!" , Charles taunted them both " tell her what , little Mila just wants to show you her love , isn't that right Milly? " Followed with loud squeal from the said girl as in confirmation .

Max turned his head with thoughtful look as he asked " should we held them ? " She shrugged then shook her head " they deserve it " .

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mischievousmoony · 3 months

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𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚕𝚞𝚌𝚔, 𝚋𝚊𝚋𝚎!

⟢ lily evans x fem!reader

⟢ summary: lily evans is haunted by memories from years ago before she started dating james potter and before you left her life. amid feelings of guilt, regret, and a shocking discovery, she finds herself on your doorstep . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ 5.1k

⟢ warnings/tags: reader has a bad relationship with family (implied homophobia), lily struggles with her sexuality, loosely based on the song it's named after, angsty but gets a little fluffy, second chance trope, will have another part, gave up on proofreading

⟢ masterlist

note: pls leave feedback if you have it regarding this fic being told mostly from lily's pov but awkwardly still in second person... since i was writing for fun for a while without the intention to post, i found myself focusing on the characters rather than the reader. do we like it or do we want more reader centric stuff? xo ty

Lily Evans has grown accustomed to restless nights. It started when she moved in with her boyfriend. She likes to blame the insomnia on their new flat. Some days it's the whistling radiators or the bed being too hard or the noise of their upstairs neighbours staying up late.

James, being a sweetheart who inherited a knack for potions from his father, brews his girlfriend a supply of Dreamless Sleep Potion every week. Lily takes three of the seven potions, the rest finding refuge down the drain. She feels terrible about the waste but she finds that coming in and out of dreams all night is better than a good nights rest without them.

She could simply tell James that she likes to dream. But there was the problem of James absolutely brewing a different sleep potion for her that would likely require more work and less accessible ingredients. Plus, to announce her fondness of her dreams would mean facing why she adores them so much. Because when Lily finds herself naturally dozing off, memories of you come flooding in.

It was the first warm day of the season. The snow had finally melted away and signs of life crept back into the earth.

It was midday. Was it the weekend or was she skipping class? She couldn’t remember. All she knew is that she was laying in the grass, staring up at a dogwood tree that was starting to get some life back, with her head resting someplace soft. Your lap.

Your hands were in her hair, braiding and unbraiding small strands over and over again. Lily closed her eyes.

“What’s going on in that pretty mind of yours, Flower?” Your voice was treat for her ears, soft and gentle like your touch.

Lily’s eyes fluttered open to meet yours. You looked radiant. Beams of sunlight filtered through the tree branches and traced your silhouette. The wind was tame, but it made your hair wisp off to the right, some stray strands dancing across your forehead and cheeks.

“Nothing, nothing at all,” Lily replied, “Isn’t that beautiful?”

“Relaxed?” You mused.

“Very,” Lily said, leaning into your touch as you buried your hand in her red locks, your thumb tracing a braid you left there.

“This is nice.” she sighed happily.

“I told you so,” you teased, “This is much better than hiding in some dark corner.”

“I hate when you say that.” Lily groaned playfully.

“And I love saying it.” You grinned as you poked Lily in her side where you knew she was ticklish.

Lily yelped and writhed away as she laughed. You surrendered quickly, not wanting to be the cause of her leaving your lap.

After you both settled down, Lily closed her eyes again and whispered, “I wish it could be like this forever.”

“It could,” you said softly.

Suddenly, Lily felt very cold.

Lily stirs. A sliver of soft light is shining through a gap in the curtains, signaling the impending morning. She tosses and turns for a while, pleading with the universe to send her back.

When she flops onto her right side she finds James facing her. Pretty eyelashes lay across his cheeks as he peacefully sleeps. Something about the sight makes Lily’s heart race. She wishes it meant what she told herself it did, but she couldn’t ignore the pit in her stomach that came along with it.

Lily turns onto her back as she brings her hands over her eyes. The weight of anxiety and self-loathing begins to settle in. She wants to think of anything, anything at all please, that will distract her. Her mind drifts back to you.

At ease, she snoozes off again. But not all of Lily’s dreams are happy ones.

Lily finds herself back under the same tree, which was now in full bloom. Birds were chirping on the branches above.

“Lily, I just-,” your expression was one of pure desperation.

“Just what?” Lily snapped. She had never been so vicious in her life. “You embarrassed me.”

You shake your head helplessly, “Embarrassed you?”

“You can’t act like that in front of my friends! They’re going to get the wrong idea.” As angry as she was, she kept her callous voice hushed.

“Remus and Sirius? Seriously? They’re dating, Lily. They’re not about to judge you for being-"

“Stop!” Lily shrieked, looking around ferociously as if someone might overhear, but you two were completely alone, “It’s not about that! I’m not… I am just not.”

“Then what do you call what’s happening between us?” you asked bitterly.

Lily’s green eyes went wide. “What’s happening between us is nothing. We’re just- just friends.”

“No. Remus, Sirius. They’re your friends. James, Mary, and Marlene are your friends. You'd be seen in public with all of them! But me? I’m not your friend.” You swallowed hard, willing the tears to stay at bay, “I thought I was more than that to you. Turns out I’m nothing.”

Lily sucked her lower lip in between her teeth. “That’s not true,” she said.

“You only ever see me by this stupid tree at the edge of Hogwarts’ property! Or in a deserted classroom. Or in the back of the library only at times no one else would ever be there.” You spat the words like they were poison and your trembling voice rose with every syllable.

“Please lower your voice!” Lily pleaded. The castle was far away, but close enough to see students as tiny specks leaving its’ doors. For Lily, that was too close.

You released a dry, bitter laugh, “You see? I’m nothing but your little secret.”

Lily looked distraught trying to come up with the right thing to say. “Isn’t that what’s fun about us?” she asked.

You sucked in a sharp breath. For a while you just stared at Lily. Each passing second, she became more unrecognizable.

“No. Not for me. I know who I am Lily. I’m not going to keep pretending that I’m someone else.” You said it like an accusation.

“I’m not pretending,” she said so genuinely you couldn’t help but feel sad for her. But that didn’t cancel out your anger.

“You can’t run away from yourself forever, Lily. If you try, you’re going to wake up one day and hate the life you’ve built. Good luck with that.”

Lily wakes up and the back of her neck is clammy. She remembers that day clearly. For a long time, she would only acknowledge it as the day she agreed to go on a date with James.

Speaking of, James enters the bedroom with two freshly brewed cups of tea in hand.

“Good morning, sunshine,” James’ beaming smile fades when he meets Lily’s eyes as he enters their shared bedroom, “The potion’s not working well?”

Lily reaches for a hand mirror that lays on her bedside table. When she sees herself, she’s met with puffy dark circles, bloodshot eyes, and sickly pale cheeks.

Lily places the mirror down in her lap. When she meets James’ eyes again, she finds herself at a loss for words.

The look on James face induces agony in Lily. James Potter is not meant to be sad—he’s probably the most cheerful person Lily has ever known. But today he stood before her with forlorn in his eyes.

James approaches Lily’s bedside and after setting the tea down, he cups one side of her face with a warm hand. He lightly brushes her cheek with his thumb as he says, “Maybe I’m brewing the potion incorrectly. I should owl my dad and ask for advice.”

“No!” Lily blurts.

Oh, Merlin, she thinks as guilt starts to chew away at her. James is absolutely devastated because he thinks he’s failed at helping her. Lily feels sick for doing this to him.

“It’s not your fault,” she insists, “It’s… surely a fluke. I slept rather well the night before, remember?”

James looks like he’s considering Lily’s words. “Yeah, yeah, alright. Maybe it went sour. When I’m off for a break at work, I’ll try to research proper storage methods for sleep potions.”

Lily wants to insist that he just enjoy his break, but she relents. She feels terrible about it, but if there's one thing about James Potter, it's that he will work endlessly to find a solution to his friends' problems. After all, he did become an unregistered animagus as a teen to ease Remus’ pain, and that was no small feat.

Lily can’t help but think to herself that she doesn’t deserve his big heart.

Throughout the day, she tries to keep her mind off of James and sleeping potions and dreams about her past. At work, she is able to keep herself fairly busy. But when she goes on her break, she sits miserably staring at the wall, thinking about James trying to solve a nonexistent problem through his own break.

Lily decides to return to work ten minutes early and she is met with a stack of new tasks. At the moment, she's probably the only one in the office who's happy to be overworked.

Work is able to occupy her thoughts for the rest of the day. Even on her way home, she recounts the work that she was able to complete and considers plans for the work she has left.

She barely even notices the emptiness of the flat when she arrives, drafting a letter she needs to send to her boss in her mind. She doesn’t come back to the present until she sees a note on James’ bedside table.

She frowns slightly and brings the parchment close to read James’ scribble.

Visiting the library to read up on sleep potions. Be back soon.

Love, James

Great. Instead of relaxing after a full day of work, he’s at the library doing research as if they’re back at school and a potions essay is due tomorrow.

In a fit of despair, Lily crumples up the note and throws it aside. In the heat of the moment, she carelessly bumps her fist into James’ plant.

It’s a wretched fake plant that Lily hates. She recalls asking James for days to buy a real plant, promising to take care of it for him. But James claimed the artificial monstrosity was his most prized possession and begged her to leave it, so eventually she did.

She worries that she’s broken the awful thing, but as she moves to clean it up, something more pressing replaces that concern.

The plant is fine, anyway. The ceramic vase survived the fall, but the plant had popped out. It seems that the fake dirt that the waxy leaves were glued to was only a thin disk. And when it came free of the vase, something else came tumbling out as well. A little wooden box, the sight of which made Lily’s stomach turn.

Lily feels like she’s moving through gelatin as she bends down towards the box. With trembling fingers, she picks it up like it's a bomb that could go off if she makes any sudden moves.

Oh, so carefully, Lily fiddles with its latch and slowly flips it open.

Lily’s world comes crashing down as she stands face to face with the most beautiful engagement ring she’s ever seen.

The golden band has an intricate botanical design. Leafy vines interlace dazzling emeralds and every detail complements a striking diamond set in a beaded frame.

James surely dipped into the Potters' fortune for this. Whilst he prefers to live by his own means where he can, he is also not one to spare any expenses for something so momentous.

Lily doesn’t know how long she stood frozen, staring at the ring resting on its velvet bed. This is everything she's always told herself she wants yet standing there with the ring in hand, she didn’t want it at all. The contradicting emotions have seemingly short circuited her.

Eventually, she snaps out of her trance at the sound of a holler.

“Lilypad! I’m home!”

Panic sets in as Lily scrambles to hide her discovery. She snaps the box closed and nearly dives for the ceramic vase that still lies on the floor.

The sound of James’ footsteps are like a threat as she plops the vase back on the table and sets the box inside.

“Lily?” James calls as she is trying to force the plant back into the ceramic pot.

With a final ‘pop’ the brown disk finds its home and Lily has just enough time to whip her body towards to door before James enters.

James’ eyes dart around the room, looking for anything that could be astray.

“Everything okay?” James asks when he doesn’t find anything obviously wrong.

“Yeah!” Lily says despite feeling like she can’t breathe.

James studies his girlfriend’s flushed face, “Are you sure? You look-“

“I have to go!” Lily blurts out. She’s suddenly racing around the room, collecting her keys and sliding her shoes back on.

Confusion floods James’ expression, “What? Go where?”

Lily waves her hand in the air as if it doesn’t matter, collecting her purse and flying out the door.

James calls after her, “Wait, Lil-"

Lily doesn't wait to hear what he has to say as she makes a rash decision to apparate away. Her destination? For reasons Lily cannot explain nor understand, your doorstep. It was the first place she thought of and she doesn't have the slightest clue as to why—she’d never even been here before. She only knows the address from the exchange of Christmas gifts between you two one winter.

As soon as you turned 17, you moved out of your parent’s house even though you were still at Hogwarts. You had told Lily that you couldn’t even bear one last holiday with them, so that winter you found this place.

It was a charming little townhouse in London. Lily remembers that you disliked the plain exterior, but the vivid teal door made up for it.

The place was considerably nicer than Lily’s flat. She always wondered how you were able to afford it, but she suspected that your parents might have ‘misplaced’ some money before you moved out. And from what Lily has heard, you had secured a job right out of school.

Lily feels ridiculous. She doesn't even know if you still live here. She doesn't even know if she wants to see you. More importantly, she fears that you don’t want to see her.

She thinks she should leave, but she feels glued in place as she takes in the exterior to the home and she realizes that it must still be yours. You have two giant potted plants on your doorstep that look well taken care of. They stand on either side of a doormat that has simple black writing reading "welcome". You still have Christmas lights up and a wreath hanging on your door despite the holiday being a few months ago.

Lily doesn't mean to look through your windows, but one of them has the curtains drawn. She can see a cozy looking room inside. Lily tries to decipher what the little trinkets on your windowsill are. Little crystal figurines, perhaps? A jade elephant, a rose quartz cat, a lapis hippogriff, and one more. The stone was orange, or maybe red, it's hard to tell. Lily wonders if it's red jasper. No, it's not that red. Maybe carnelian?

"Lily?" A voice interrupts her train of thought.

Lily tenses. She knows exactly who that gentle voice belongs to. She turns around like a machine that desperately needs oiling—stiffly and slowly.

You suck in a sharp breath when you see that it really is her. "What are you doing here?" you ask softly.

Lily is unable to speak when she sees you. After only seeing you in her dreams for so long, this moment feels surreal.

"Are you alright?" you question, getting more worried the longer she takes to respond. Lily is the last person you expected to see when you noticed someone standing in front of your house during your walk up the street.

"Yeah I- I'm sorry. I don't know why I-" Lily shakes her head, "I was apparating and it was the first address that came to mind for some reason. I- I'm sorry, I shouldn't be here."

You were a bit scared by the way she was acting. "Lily, it's freezing out here," you say, "Why don't you come inside?"

Lily's eyes widen and she opens her mouth to protest but you don't give her the chance.

"It's fine. I promise." Your keys jingle in your hand as you pass Lily to unlock your door.

Lily follows you inside timidly. You lead her to the drawing room that she had seen through the window. You insist that Lily takes a seat as you close the room's french doors, which seems like a difficult feat. You heave the doors and some dust floats into the air. It seems like they haven't been closed in a long time.

"Sorry," you strain as you finally get the doors moving, "I don't want to wake Cami. They work the night shift, so, y'know?"

"Cami..." Lily repeats. She doesn't know why it shocks her that you've met someone, and it makes her feel worse for being here.

"Yeah," you wave your hand around like the words are lost from your tongue, "my-"

"No, yeah, of course." Lily says quickly. She tries to change the subject. "This is a nice place."

"Oh yeah, and having someone to split the rent with was long overdue," you joke.

With the doors finally closed, you turn around with a huff and place your hands on your hips. You finally have a moment to look at Lily.

She looks almost the same, but she's missing a certain fire in her eyes that she always had back when you knew her. She still had that beautiful hair that you loved. It looked just as soft. And did she have less freckles somehow? No, must just be from the lack of sun in the winter months. The last time you saw her she was sun-kissed since it was nearly summertime.

You bite your lip, feeling stupid for just staring at her while she sits distraught on your sofa.

"I should've offered you tea by now," you blurt out. You look over your shoulders at the heavy doors and hold back a sigh.

"I'm alright, no worries, really," Lily assures you.

Your eyes dart down to her trembling hands. "At least let me start a fire, yeah?"

Lily sits as still a statue, her spine rigid like she's afraid to relax in your home. She's uncomfortably aware that she is here unexpectedly, extremely unexpectedly.

She watches as you get a fire going. You have to move some firewood into the fireplace before you can cast a spell to light it.

You look different from the person Lily sees in her memories. The way you carry yourself has a certain confidence that wasn't there before. There's also physical differences. You have a new piercing, you changed the way you dress, and most shockingly to Lily—

"You cut your hair." she says thoughtfully.

"What?" Your hand reaches up to touch your hair as you move to sit on an armchair near the couch, "Oh, I suppose so, yes. I started cutting it this way about a year and a half ago to be honest."

This serves as a reminder to Lily that it has been a very long time since you were in her life. It made her being here feel impossibly more uncomfortable. Any more discomfort and Lily would start choking on it.

"Stop worrying," you chastise, "I don't mind that you're here."

All these years later and you can still tell what she's thinking by her expression.

"It is odd, though, isn't it?" Lily keeps worrying anyway, but you really do mean it. Sure, maybe a couple years ago you would have told her to go away and never come back, but you were angrier at her and angrier at the world when you were young.

You sway your head side to side, acting like you're weighing out the answer. A small smile threatens to overtake Lily's lips.

Quite chuckles emit from your mouth as your head stills, "I'll admit it's unexpected."

"Sorry."

You offer her a gentle smile as if to say it's okay. A moment passes while you gain the courage to ask her what's going on with her.

"Are you gonna tell me what brought you here?" you ask tentatively.

Images of the engagement ring flash in Lily's mind, but that's the last thing she wants to talk about.

"I've been thinking about you." Lily says. Stupid, she thinks. That topic isn't exactly much better for her. "Not like that! I mean I- I've just been feeling so... Well, I've been thinking about my past." Lily struggles to find the words to make her point, "And the mistakes I've made... one of them being you."

"Ouch." you say playfully.

"That is not what I mean!" Lily panics.

"Just joking, Lils, I get it." The nickname slips out, but seemingly goes unnoticed.

"You do?" she asks, sounding a little scared.

A sad expression overtakes your features and Lily slumps back into the sofa in response.

“You can say it.” she says shamefully.

“Say what?” you ask as you draw your eyebrows together.

“You told me so. I know how much you loved saying it. So go ahead, because I officially hate my life." Lily's head tips back and lands on the cushions behind her miserably.

"You don't mean that." You feel a piece of your heart break for her, along with a twinge of guilt.

"Why shouldn’t I? When I look at my boyfriend the only thing I feel is guilt." Lily's head tips back up to look at you again. "I can’t sleep, I can’t get a moment of peace unless I’m mind numbingly busy. I-” Lily trails off, exasperated. The only thing she leaves out of her rant is why she feels this way. She feels bitter about the fact that she still can’t even say it.

You see the turmoil in her stormy eyes and would give anything to make her feel better, even just for a moment.

“Everyone takes their own time, you know?” You tread lightly because she hasn’t technically confirmed the reason for her turmoil. “My sister, she- uh, she just came out to me,” you half expect Lily to turn on you like she did that day under the dogwood tree, but she doesn’t flinch, “and she’s almost forty.” You joke a little, lightening up the conversation. Your sister was actually in her mid thirties but sometimes even estrangement doesn’t seem to take away the instinctual need to poke fun at your siblings.

Lily remembers the way you talked about your sister. Your relationship was like her and Petunia’s, but it seemed to be worse. “Your sister?”

“Yeah, she sent an owl. Apologized for the way they all treated me. She was going through her own stuff and she was scared, I get it, but… still hurts, y’know?”

There was a lull in the conversation as Lily isn’t sure what to say.

“She asked to see me” you admit suddenly.

“Will you?”

“I don’t know.” you say wistfully, “It’s hard to forgive sometimes. Especially people who’ve said such cruel things.”

Lily sinks into the sofa even more, assuming your hinting to her, but then—

“I’m sorry.”

“What!?” Lily gapes, “What could you possibly be sorry for?”

You chew the inside of your cheek. “The last thing I ever said to you was too harsh. I never should’ve told you that you’d hate your life. Now here you are saying it’s true… I feel like I planted seeds in your mind-”

“No,” Lily interrupts, “You didn’t do anything wrong. If you must hear it, I accept your apology, but you were rightfully angry with me. And we were just kids!" A familiar fire flashes in Lily's eyes for just a second as she's consumed by an urgency to ease your feelings of remorse. "Please don’t feel guilty about that when what I did was so much worse. I was only thinking about my own feelings and I forgot about yours. I treated you like a dirty secret when you were probably the best person in my life back then. I’m the one who's sorry. I’m so sorry.” Lily sounds desperate for you to hear her apology by the time she finishes.

You didn’t know how much you needed to hear that. At some point you had decided not to let the situation with Lily hurt you anymore. You rationalized that it wasn’t about you—She was on her own path to discovery and you just happened to get wrapped up in it. So you let yourself heal, and you let yourself forgive Lily. But there was a small shrivel of anger still stowed away in your heart and you can finally feel it as it dissipates.

“I accept your apology too,” you rasp.

Lily lets the relief wash over her. She has been carrying the guilt for how she treated you for so long. And as the years went by and she reflected on her actions, it only grew worse. Finally being able to apologize and actually hearing that you accept it lifts a weight off of her shoulders that she’s forgotten what it feels like to live without. It’s almost disorienting.

“I think now’s a good time for that tea,” you say with a shaky breath and pad out of the room, closing the french doors behind you.

A sweet silence settles over the room as Lily sits alone. She takes the free time to absorb her surroundings. You’ve filled your drawing room with color and life. Artwork and portraits decorate the vibrant walls. And you have so many beautiful plants. Some hang by the windows and other small ones are scattered across the different surfaces in the room.

She wonders how much of this room is you, and how much of it is Cami. She tries to cast the stupid though aside, but she can't help noticing two stockings from Christmas still hanging on the fireplace's mantle. One has a glitter glue snowman on it, along with your sparkly initial. The other has candy canes and poorly drawn snowflakes under the letter ‘C’.

She thinks of you crafting the stockings and makes up the scene in her mind. You and Cami wrapped up in blankets on a snowy day, laughing at the juvenile designs as you eat Christmas cookies. The idea warms her heart and, for some reason, makes her sad at the same time.

Despite the weird mixed feelings, Lily feels at peace here. You seem to have built a happy life in this house and Lily finds herself wishing to be apart of it. She hopes today can be the door back into your life, but part of her fears it might be the conclusion to your story.

Eventually, you return with tea. Lily thanks you and takes a sip. It's perfect, and she realizes you remember the way she likes it.

The room remains silent even though you are back. Lily’s eyes drift around the room as she wracks her brain for something to say. With each passing second she gets more and more nervous that you’ll realize you don’t have anything more to talk about you’ll say goodbye forever.

Meanwhile, you’re watching her eyes move around the room and wonder what she’s thinking. You see her eyes falter on your record player. An idea suddenly emerges, and you get up to play a song.

It takes an awkward moment, but once it’s on you hear a small gasp.

“This was my favorite song.”

“Yeah, I know.” You bite your lip, “Was?”

Lily considers it for a moment, then corrects herself, “Is.”

“Yeah, it’s still mine too.” You begin to approach the sofa Lily is sitting on. “Do you remember when we charmed your cassette player to play this song?”

Lily starts laughing, “And we couldn’t get the bloody thing to shut up."

“And we tossed it in the Black Lake afterwards! That was our grand solution?”

Lily laughs harder, “My mum was so cross with me for that. ‘How do you misplace something like that!’ she asked me.”

“You told her you lost it? That thing was so clunky,” you snort.

“Why do you think she didn’t believe me?” Lily shook her head at her past self, “Oh! And do remember the time with the baby owl?”

“Yes!”

The world disappears around you both as you reminisce on the good times. From rescuing wild baby owls that you wrongly assumed were of the magical sort to angering the house elves after sneaking into their kitchen, you two had gotten yourselves into a lot of sticky situations back at school.

Lily loses track of time as you recount story after story, scooting closer and closer to each other on the sofa as you do.

The chimes of your blue grandfather clock suddenly catches Lily’s attention.

“Is it that late already?” Guilt sets in for how she left James, who must be worried sick.

You’re also taken aback by how long you’d been talking. You’ve forgotten how easy it was with Lily.

“I have to go,” Lily sounds panicked as she stands up.

“Oh, of course,” you stand with her, “let me walk you out.”

You lead her the way you came hours ago and step outside with her.

“It was, uh, nice seeing you, Lily.” You rock back and forth on your heels nervously. When you realize what you’re doing, you still yourself, but now you can’t stop wondering if you’re too still.

Lily smiles warmly, “I’m glad I ended up on your doorstep, even if it was a bit impromptu,” Lily rubs the back of her neck sheepishly, “Thank you for inviting me in.”

You give her a final nod and she makes her way down your front steps. You watch as she pauses at the bottom. She turns back.

"Can I see you again?" Lily knows she's being bold but she just can't help herself. She's only had you in dreams for so long. She doesn't want to let go of you as easily this time.

Your lips part, and you find yourself saying, “Yeah. That’d be… that’d be nice.”

Lily smiles for a moment, then apparates away. For a minute you stand alone in the cold, staring at the space she just occupied. Then, you go back inside to wash the teacups. You hate washing dishes, but you can’t help but smile through it.

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