#josh anderson imagine

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pairing(s) — foreman!JOSH ANDERSON x reader word count — 3.5k

note — this little number was day one of my patreon kinktober this year, and it was too beloved (by patrons and myself) to be gatekept forever!

recommended viewing — TI WEST'S X (2022) + PEARL (2022)

bingo squares and additional content warnings below the cut.

bingo squares — backdoor play, costumes/roleplay (kinda sorta), + risky location/exhibitionism additional content warnings — implied age gap, outdated patriarchal beliefs, innocence kink, corruption kink, slight humilation kink, spit as lube, dacryphilia, slight overstim, unprotected p in v, possessive!josh x virgin!reader (outdated definition and beliefs here, too) and just general filth

JOSH ANDERSON HATES TO WASTE A SWEET GESTURE, but, even in the scorching mid-day heat, ice-cold lemonade just couldn't compare where it would never compete.

While fresh squeezed is good, drinking the sugary nectar straight from the tap is better.

Still, it hurt Josh's heart a bit to watch the fruit of your afternoon's labor get soaked up by the dirt. He reckons he's the only one who minds the undue waste. 

Though, that shouldn't be much of a surprise; it's hard to mind much of anything when you've long since lost yours.

He supposes you have him to blame for that particular loss, too.

How did a harmless compliment devolve into this?

His hips flush to the skin of his boss' daughter, bent over the tailgate, cotton twisted at the knees, and in full view of the main road...

The afternoon began normal enough; the old man sputtered down the long drive towards town around noon, as usual, and the screen door slammed shut not a minute after the rusty ford dipped around the bend, as usual.

And, as if on cue, the delicate twinkle of glassware on a tray pulled his attention from the task at hand—barrels of hay that now lay abandoned at his boots—and Josh was treated to the eyeful that never failed to make his jeans feel two-sizes too tight and burn his neck faster than the looming sun.

Josh enjoyed the back and forth, however one-sided it often was. Though, not for a lack of trying, however girlishly awkward those efforts might be. It wasn't your fault you were sheltered beyond belief, and it made the mental reprieve all the more addicting, too.

You were easily frazzled in a way many weren't and it—a bashful purse of your lips, the gentle tremble of nervous fingers just behind you back, the way you can't meet his eye for more than a minute at a time—stirred up a sick, juvenile satisfaction Josh thought he long outgrew.

The game was relatively harmless because you were exactly that—harmless. A girl too sweet for her own good, recklessly trusting, and shouldering the heavy predisposition to assume the best in people.

Which is why he hadn't thought much about praising your equestrian skill, having been subjected to the visual torture that was the lessons you gave to local children each weekend.

Josh loved how you couldn't take a compliment without coaxing and, even then, you still squirmed like a newborn kitten.

Blinded by a halo of purity and the lure of a timid smile, your inquiry into his own riding prowess appeared just as unassuming. Another opportunity to get his fix, naively offered up on a serving tray, and he was powerless to resist the temptation.

Josh recalls chuckling to himself, prematurely reveling in the delicious reaction, as he threw a bushel out of the truck bed.

"Not as well as you, darlin', but I know my way around."

He expected you to shrivel. If not at his thinly veiled undertone, at the crass wink he tacked on between innuendos, sandwiched beside the candied term of endearment that made your thighs rub together every time he put it to use.

"I could...teach you a few tricks? Maybe show you my skills one-on-one? Something tells me you're a hands-on learner."

Josh nearly jumped out of his skin. He couldn't tell if you were being serious or not; you've never given back an ounce of what you've gotten from him, but it felt too bold to be a first foray.

Sayin' something as lamely disguised as that? It'd be like jumping into a swimming hole without testing the depth beforehand.

Surely, you were brighter than that. Or, at least, puritanical by proxy.

"You're playin' with fire, darlin'."

Your resolve proved resistant to his polite warning. The grin on your face could've only been categorized as wicked.

"I'm not playing with anything—yet."

"Your daddy know you talk like that?"

"You gonna tell on me?"

You were lent against the truck by then, wide doe-eyes blinking up at him through a fan of lashes. They casted a shadow onto your cheeks that created the illusion of sob-streaked makeup; he groaned out loud.

You've set things hurtling toward mutually assured destruction. Josh had to rein you and your girlish whims in before it was too late for common sense to win out against the ache in his jeans.

That dog won't hunt.

"No, because you ain't serious. I wouldn't wanna get you in trouble for a fib."

"S'not a fib."

Your face pinched in irritation then, understandably annoyed at not being taken seriously.

He hadn't been around too long, but Josh'd seen enough to know hardly anyone did 'round these parts. Probably why you were fixed on him like junebug pursuing light to its own detriment.

For that reason alone, he should've stopped there. It was an easy place to lay the interaction to rest. You'd gotten too big for your britches and it was his responsibility—morally and professionally—to bring your head out of the clouds and put those faded pink boots back on dirt.

Josh should've left it a bluff and sent you on your way, but he had the forethought of a bull straight out of the chute. His impulse control was on par, too, come to think of it.

So, Josh did what any red-blooded man with a death wish would; he hopped down from the truck-bed.

Stalked forward until you were pinned between his bare chest and the hot metal of the truck, his gloves shed and discarded elsewhere sometime between now and when reason got caught in the wind.

"No?"

You bit your lip and shook your head, body shrunken away from his.

Josh would have thought himself safe if not for the mischievous glint in your eyes, sparkling bright and strong in the heavy sunshine. He took that glimmer as a plea for more and caged you between his arms, palms burned by the surface.

It hurt no less than the punishment for his indiscretion would if, God forbid, someone caught him takin' advantage like this.

"I'm not soft and gentle like the boys i've seen droppin' you off."

Half a mile down the road, lights off, and in the middle of the night—Josh had half a mind to steal the ladder right out from under your window in order to facilitate some natural consequences.

"You spyin' on me, Mr. Anderson?"

You weren't too much younger than him, but you treated him with the same respect and reverence as your daddy's business partners or any other senior member of your small community in next-to-nowhere Tennessee. It was endearing, how dedicated you were to respecting your elders, no matter the gap's size.

And nothing in Josh's twenty-nine years has sounded better on his sunburnt ears—or to his throbbing cock—than 'Mr. Anderson' falling from your sweet, glossy lips.

"Got to," Josh shrugged.

He feigned nonchalance about as well as you wore a poker face.

He considered you for a moment then, considered the skin exposed by your top. The way your chest rose and fell; delicious little quakes. Josh liked the way you watched him with bated breath. Perhaps, a little too much.

You were so hungry for attention and approval, so fucking eager for anything he might dish out next—he'd test the bounds of your devotion eventually if luck and time were on his side.

"It's my job to keep all your daddy's property safe and in line, sweetheart... but, i'm also a man, so I can't say I ain't dyin' t'see you ride somethin' else."

Caution bled from his mind hearin' you moan so lewdly at words alone. Any bystander would've been at a loss imagining what he could've done to coax out a sound so broken and overtly impatient from such a pious, pretty thing such as yourself. All he did was utter a quip that would've made a teenager scoff and roll their eyes, and you practically melted in his palms.

You wore your neon innocence on your chest.

"Darlin, it ain't too late to pretend this never happened. We haven't done anythin' wrong, but you're toeing a dangerous line. You're a good girl. Y'wouldn't wanna get us both into any trouble, would'ya?"

"'m not gonna to tell."

You're persistent, he'd give you that.

Bold, too, he came to learn; your warm hand palmed his considerable bulge with enough enthusiasm to negate your palpable inexperience.

"You keep movin' those hands and i'll have to, sweetheart."

"You won't."

You said it with as much conviction as you say grace every night. Josh can almost feel your palm in his.

"How can you be so sure? You hardly know me, sugar. I've been here all summer and this is the most you've said to me in one go."

"Because you wanna touch me as much as i wanna touch you."

"That right, sweet girl?"

"Yessir."

Josh would have you if the creek don't rise.

And even if it did, he would find a way.

You squeak out a garble of protest as you wriggle in his arms. The struggle only worsens the dig of his wide tip prodding the mint hole, his length slick and sliding between your sticky folds with absolutely no resistance—a fact josh goaded you with, one that only made you gush out even more.

"N-not inside, Mr. Anderson," you hiccup.

All your sobbing and moaning has rubbed your vocal cords raw. And thank God for it, because you're louder than a rooster in a hen house and he hasn't even been inside anywhere.

You wouldn't even kiss him with tongue.

"Why's that, sugar? You savin' this sweet cherry for your future husband?"

A pathetic, bashful nod is all he gets from you. Josh chuckles into the musky skin of your soft neck. The patronizing sound makes you mewl and rut back into his lap in spite of your earnest vow of chastity.

"Well, aren't you precious, sweetheart? But that don't mean I can't fuck you, though. You've got another perfectly good hole back here for me to stick my cock in."

You don't hate the filthy suggestion, even though you know you should; you curled into yourself as if you did. The escaped whimper and roll of your body scream the truth when your mouth insists on lying. You might love his idea more than whatever you originally sought out.

In fact, if Josh was a betting man, he'd feel good putting his savings on that.

"Aw, don't get all shy on me now, darlin'. Where'd my little cocktease go, huh? Thought she'd be over the moon at the thought of me stretching out one of her little holes—no matter which one—but I guess I was mistaken."

Josh makes a show of separating your bodies. He leaves you bent over the truck bed, fingers threaded through crumpled hay, as his belt rattles dismissively in his hand.

"Go on, sugar. Run along now. I got work to do and you ain't gonna waste any more of my time."

"No!" you burst, spinning on a bare heel to latch onto his forearm. The tears of a blossoming fit well in your already glassy eyes. "I-I want to, I've just never...nothin's ever been...y'know."

"Never?" Josh blinks incredulously. He wretches off your iron grip to take your hand in his. "Not even these cute little fingers?"

Your head wags.

He smirks. "What about that hairbrush of yours?"

You wear embarrassment just as pretty as you do lust. Josh thinks you might cry for real this time.

He can't wait to lick your cheeks dry.

Josh does his best not to laugh, but your pained, guilt-ridden expression is too amusing. You try to look away but he's quicker—and stronger—than you. Josh grabs your cheeks with his free hand and squeezes until you whimper in obvious submission.

Like a tomcat with a belly full of yellow feathers, Josh bares his teeth. "Shouldn't leave your curtains open if you ain't inviting me to a free show, sugar. Not that I'm complaining—the hours go by much quicker when y'got somethin' nice to look at."

He smells the shame rolling off of you in uneven waves, can just about taste it, too. Fuck, one taste of you'll never be enough to satiate him. Of that, the foreman is certain.

Josh drops your wrist and cups your face with warm, calloused hands. His thumbs rub the teardrops into your cheeks as he coos, "I promise I'll take real good care of you, sweetheart. Nice and slow...get you so ready you'll be beggin' me to split you open. Y'can trust me, I know what I'm doin'—y'ain't the first i've had the pleasure of breakin' in."

You scowl, jaw set and eyes narrowed; rearing to charge. Invisible steam plumes from your rabbit-twitch nose. You are so dang cute, he could hardly stand it.

"Put that pout away before I spank it off of ya, y'hear?"

He nearly busts with how quickly you fall in line at the mere implication of corporal punishment.

Josh'll remember that for later.

"Didn't even give me a chance to say ain't none of them could hold a candle to you, sugar."

Taking you on your back proved to be too much of a temptation, what with your virginal hole mouthing around nothing like a siren song, and your demure face crinkled into disrepair at the hand of your own perverse wants. Your limp thighs splayed open as Josh fucked your ass bare with no assistance, save from his spit and your dribble.

"Look how ripe you are, sugar. Your little pussyhole is cryin' for me and you won't even let me touch her...not even a little bit."

He gave you your first peak in that position, his teeth ground into the side of his cheek as he fought to keep his own at bay; Josh was far from done playing with your supple, sensitive body. With his thumb pressed to your puffy button, he stroked you halfway to your second and then abruptly pulled out.

The hiss of pain and surprise is swallowed by a mound of hay as you're flipped over and he hikes your hips up high into the muggy air. Your hands curl into fists on either side of your head.

Josh's face lowers until his nose slots in the valley between the rounded muscles. His deep inhale and subsequent hum of approval exacerbates the battle waging behind your glazed, lust-blown eyes. His thick tongue slips past the love-loosened ring and he fucks you with it like he can hear the conflict monopolizing your mind.

Josh laps and laps, kneading the tender flesh of your rear like he's got something to prove, until your back aches and you scream into the earth.

The obscene smacking of his lips as he parts from your tender hole is nothing short of profane, but it's no match for the fresh, hot glob of spit that lands on the sore pucker with a loud splat!

And Josh can't help but throw salt in the wound, "'wanna be able to smell your wrecked little asshole for hours, sugar, wanna be able to taste you on my lips all fucking day."

Tears race down your cheeks. This is everything you've been taught is immoral. A one-way ticket to the fiery domain down below. This is a sin, desecration of the worst kind.

This is the most pleasure you've felt in your entire life.

The sun is far too close to the adjacent range of mountains for his liking; the old man will be home a little before it dips behind them for the night with your mama in tow.

Josh is going to cum before then. At least once. Propriety be damned.

He maneuvers you up and off of the ground, taking the time to brush the dirt and smushed fodder from your tear-stained cheeks and clammy palms.

Your heart jumps to your throat when he finishes positioning you—split open on his girth, straddling his broad hips, turned away from his kind eyes, and facing the dirt road. You grip his rippling, jean-clad thighs.

Josh can feel your freshly-painted claws through the sturdy fabric.

"I d-don't know how, sir."

His hips involuntarily buck at the honorific; it'll never get old.

"Yes, you do, darlin'. I know y'do. Seen it with my own two eyes." Josh taps the fleshy bit of your hip. He's growing impatient. "Go on, pretty girl. Ride me like you ride your ponies."

"Not ponies."

He doesn't need to see your face to know you're glowering. Probably singeing holes into the poor, weathered barn ahead, your kind features scrunched tightly into a frown. If you do it any harder, you'll get stuck that way.

And Josh can't have that. Can't have his sweet, good girl permanently pouting. He'd never get a lick of work done again; he'd be to busy fucking that absent-minded smile back where it belongs.

Admittedly, the open-palm hit is harder than the situation warrants but he's waited too long to watch it jiggle at his hand to control himself.

"What was that?" he growls.

You grind down, swiveling your hips as you grasp onto the lifeline, "Nothin', sir."

"God, even with a cock in your ass you still mind your manners. Your daddy would be so proud of ya, wouldn't he, sugar? Raised ya so good, got ya so obedient."

Josh's vision clouds as you find your stride. The feel of you rocking over his cock is unreal. Entirely unmatched by anything he's ever experienced, in practice or in theory. You feel divine.

You're just as dedicated and passionate in riding him as you are that gentle Tennessee Walker of yours. But there's an intense undercurrent he's never seen before—a fervid need that he could only hope would surface and possess you someday.

Today is that day, and it is glorious.

"Spread yourself f'me, honey."

You do so without lip or hesitation. You just reach back and grab yourself with both hands, hips never wavering.

Heaven-sent, he muses. His very own fallen angel.

A she-devil in disguise; a dirty whore with a greedy, greedy hole.

Josh's never seen anything hotter than your tight little ass fighting to accommodate another of his blessings.

It ain't like you're going easy on yourself either, forcing that sweet hole to take a beating because slow and steady ain't enough anymore. The floodgates have been opened, you're now subservient to the mounting heat low in your tummy and the pulse of your neglected, untouched pussy. You're fucking yourself hard enough for both holes, and you've graciously awarded Josh a front-row seat.

"Sweet Jesus, you're prettier than a peach—juicer, too. I reckon you got the nicest set of holes this side of the Mississippi, sugar."

You preen, back arching. In response, you hold yourself open even wider for his perverted gaze.

"That's it—show me where my cock is. Show me what you've let me take, what you've let me claim—what I'll always call my own. Even when you're good and hitched, it'll be mine. And whenever your empty ass aches, you'll think of this—think of me.

You'll always remember the time you let your daddy's foreman soil you in the middle of his pasture."

The moan that tumbles from your gaping mouth is as uncouth as the visual feast you're treating him to. Even in your struggle to balance on chaffed knees.

Taking mercy on your poor skin, Josh sits up, tugging you back so that your back is pressed tight to his sweat-drenched chest. His grip on your hips matches the ferocity of your hole pulsing around the base of his member, his heavy sack jumping up to repeatedly slap your sensitive clit.

"Y'gonna let me fill this little hole, sugar?" His voice is low in your ear, his breath humid and encouraging.

Your head bobs, your body in a frenzy.

Josh hums his satisfaction, "m'gonna stuff you full and send you back inside—have you make supper right next to your mama with me leakin' down these pretty thighs...M'gonna make you sit in your sin across the table from your daddy."

It's that thought—and your enthusiasm for it—that kicks him over the edge, and, without warning, Josh is unloading warm ropes into your ruined body while you spill for a third time, painting his generous sack in your cream—and it's the crumpled white cotton sticking out of his back pocket that lays the foundation for it to become a reality.

As you limp back to the main house like a freshly dropped foul, Josh knows there won't be any more boys parked at the edge of the property line. No need for the ladder tucked behind the bushes.

Your daddy's gonna be so pleased with him. For weeks, he's been asking Josh for his two cents on how to exterminate the vermin in his field. They're gone now, and Josh'll make sure they stay gone.

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[matthewtkachuk]

promise this won't change a thing - josh anderson

When Josh finds out you've never been satisfied, he sets out to change that...and maybe the nature of your entire friendship

pairing: josh anderson x reader

warnings: light angst, smut smut smut

word count: 6.7k

a/n: here she is! @luvsherleafs i'm so so sorry this is a little late, but i hope you enjoy nonetheless <3 thank u to @antoineroussel for running this whole exchange shindig and for editing as always love u boo. this honestly started as an inappropriate day dream at work and somehow became nearly seven thousand words.......don't ask

It’s a stupid game of Never Have I Ever; cheap wine, some girl friends and a group of rambunctious men who happen to play hockey that sets everything in motion. Among them is Josh—your sweet, best friend since birth Josh—who is currently looking at you with horrified eyes as your drink remains at your side while the feminine presenting half of the table drinks on.

“Never?” he asks incredulously, his eyes ever so slightly glassy and his cheeks and nose tinged pink a sign of his own experiences. 

“That’s why it’s called ‘Never Have I Ever’, Joshua,” you roll your eyes, but your bravado is a façade. The truth is, it’s an almost embarrassing thing to admit no guy has ever been able to get you off.

“Not even Bradley?” someone else asks and all you can do is shrug. 

“He wasn’t half as good as he thought he was.”

“I could help with that if you want.” Joel’s barely got the sentence out before he’s being smacked by your best friend. 

Josh doesn’t need to come to your rescue. You’re a grown adult—even if your choice in sexual partners hasn’t always been the greatest. He does a second time though—then a third and a fourth time and on and—redirecting the game in a manner that has Joel so shit faced by the end of the night, you’re wondering if you should be putting him to bed in Josh’s guest bedroom instead of yourself.

You don’t give up the room, but you still don’t relax until you’ve received fifty thumbs up emojis and a shirtless pic of Joel in his own bed which might have been another invite if his eyes weren’t half-closed. It makes you laugh at least.

The relaxation doesn’t last as Josh decides to clear the air that you’ve been pretending isn’t thick with tension with an apology. “I’m sorry about tonight.”

“It’s alright,” you say, though it really isn’t. Busying yourself with tidying up empty beer cans, you move into the living room while he follows. “It’s just embarrassing.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Isn’t it?”

There’s a beat of silence, and then two, and then an entire minute passes by in what feels like an eternity as you can sense Josh’s gaze heavy on your back.

“Do you trust me?” he asks. 

Your reply is immediate, no hesitation in your tone, “Yes.” You pause then, some of that aforementioned apprehension seeping into your words, “Why?”

He doesn’t say anything in return, just quietly crosses to where you have your back turned to him. A calloused hand curls around your hip, fingertips sliding under the hem of your top. The other plays with the waistband of your jeans before popping the button and slowly sneaking inside. His movements are slow, unhurried, as if he’s waiting for you to jump away or freak out or yell. 

You don’t; your only reaction is the tensing of your body.

“Relax,” he hums, fingertips dancing over the lace of your underwear. If you weren’t wet before, you’re soaked now—a consequence of the low timber of his voice and the press of him into your back and the slight pressure of his hand between your thighs. 

A whimper of his name passes your lips but you don’t speak any further. He takes it as an invitation to continue, rubbing at your clit through your underwear. You need something to hold onto, one hand gripping at his forearm and the other flying back wildly until you’ve tangled your fingers in the curls peeking out from underneath his hat. 

“You said you think it’s your fault. I don’t think it is,” he speaks casually—cooly, calmly. As if he didn’t have his hand down your pants and his dick pressed to your ass. As if two decades of friendship didn’t hang delicately in the minimal space between your bodies. “Will you let me make you feel good?”

And you’d be lying if the flashes that run through your mind in quick succession weren’t tempting, or if you said you’d never wondered what it would be like to be with him, or if you claimed to never have fantasized about his thick fingers or strong body. 

It’s just… He’s Josh. And you’re you. And you and Josh don’t do this. He features in all the best pictures and memories from your childhood, and he’s the one you come to when you need guidance making a big life decision and you’re the one he tells about the pressures of the league and how hard it was to leave Columbus but how he doesn’t regret a thing. 

Josh keeps your world spinning and you his, and are you really willing to lose all that for a bit of pleasure? 

You say his name again, but with more intention this time. It’s riddled with doubt and worry and anxiety and you don’t have to say a single syllable more—he hears you. 

“I know,” he answers back, calm and sure and pressed to the skin of your neck before he’s kissing and sucking and biting, all the while his fingers never cease their movements against you. 

“This won’t change anything?” you have to say, have to ask. As intoxicating as his cologne is and the feel of him against you and the press of his fingers, you’d stop it in an instant if it meant you’d lose any other piece of him. 

“Not a thing,” he promises with conviction. “Just wan’ be a good friend and get you off.”

You hesitate for a second—full of that fear and doubt until…

“Okay.”

Your nose scrunches in confusion as he slides his hand out of your jeans, wiping your own wetness against the skin of your stomach. But then that very hand is turning your head so that his lips can meet yours. It’s probably sweeter than the moment calls for, but you fall into it just the same. 

It feels like something much deeper than just two friends getting off, something more serious, something with the potential to be devastating. You push it all down in favor of pulling him closer, letting him walk you to his bedroom. 

Your shirt is the first thing to go, awkwardly fumbling because neither of you want to break the kiss. Jeans are next, Josh’s thumb ghosting over the indent left by the button for a brief second before hooking into the side of your underwear until they lay at your feet too. 

The kiss doesn’t break as he lays you down among the cool silk of his sheets. It doesn’t escape your notice that he’s still fully clothed, but you don’t get the chance to say anything when he makes his way down your body. You’re interrupted by the little noises of pleasure you make as he caresses and kisses every inch of your body from your chin down to your waist. 

“Relax,” he says again, pulling the hand you hadn’t even realized you were clenching the sheets with into his own as his other arm rests against your pelvis.

Maybe it hasn’t always been your fault.

-

The next morning is awkward. Without the haze of liquor and lust, you’re just two best friends who woke up naked together. There’s tension and stumbling and a hesitancy that had never existed before. 

It feels like a big mistake that the two of you tiptoe around for a week after. You’re not ignoring him. Not exactly. Not when he’s not exactly blowing up your phone either. 

But Josh is your best friend and Montreal is a big, lonely city that only reinforces how much you miss him even though he’s just on the other side of downtown. 

Brunch is a peace offering he can’t resist, not when you’re playing dirty and promising to make him french toast and sausage from the butcher shop in Little Italy you both like so much. 

He lets himself in with the key you gave him, door shutting noisily behind him before you can hear the sound of him kicking off his boots and jacket. It doesn’t take long for him to appear in your kitchen, sheepish smile and light blush on his cheeks. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” you reply, cringing a little on the inside at how flirty it sounds. 

“Smells good,” he offers, coming up behind you to peek over your shoulder. The press of his body is firm and warm and reminds you of how good it felt to lay beneath him on cool sheets. 

“It’s almost ready if you want to grab some plates? There’s juice in the fridge or, well, you know where the coffee is.”

“Sure.”

It’s normal, sort of. If you just ignore the way he can’t stop staring at you. Or, how jumpy you are every time he so much as brushes against your side in the tiny kitchen. The stilted conversation across the table is also abnormal. 

Other than that, though. Totally business as usual. 

The goodbye hug by the door could even be described as ‘nice, if a bit lingering’.

You were right, it hadn’t changed anything. Not permanently, at least.

-

After brunch, you see Josh a handful of times, each meeting slightly less awkward than the last until a string of away games seems to reignite your friendship. It’s not quite the same as before—how could it be, now that you know the way his moan sounds in your ear—but there’s enough of a literal distance that you can communicate without thinking about it all. 

When Josh is back in Montreal, you settle back into an almost familiar routine while trying to navigate the complicated memories you have revolving around your best friend naked. It’s weird, but he’s your best friend and several of his teammates now make up part of the small inner circle of your friends.

You go out for drinks and hang out at each other’s apartments and the apartments and homes of various other hockey players throughout the city. 

When you’re feeling down, it’s still Josh you can call on. Josh who invites you over with the promise of a random documentary on Netflix and noodle bowls from the restaurant down the road. 

There’s still a little tension between your shoulders as you let yourself in and hang your coat by the door. It lingers as you find him sitting on the couch with takeout containers on the coffee table, gesturing for you to take a seat beside him. 

That tension doesn’t quite dissipate as you polish off your food, fighting Josh off as he tries to swipe one of your spring rolls, and watching two episodes. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything, just pulls you into his side and wraps an arm around your shoulders. 

Being this close reminds you of that night—the feeling of his body on yours, the relief that there wasn’t something wrong with you.

“Dessert?” Josh asks a little while longer, causing you to nearly snap your neck with how hard your head pivots toward him. Does he mean...? “I have that ice cream you like,” he adds. 

Relaxing a little, you nod and pull yourself from his embrace and his couch. You collect the empty drink glasses and take out containers and make your way into the kitchen to deal with it all while he searches the freezer. 

He doesn’t really make it that far, though, body hesitating and stuttering in a manner that has you looking up from where you’re putting away the clean dishes. “You don’t have to do that.”

“If I don’t, you’ll let them sit here all weekend and that’ll drive me nuts,” you joke, the normalcy of the moment letting your guard down almost completely. 

“Let me help,” he offers, sliding up behind you to assist in reaching the higher cabinet door. After putting it away and closing it back up, he doesn’t move away. You can feel every hard line of his body, can smell the scent of his cologne, but you don’t move either. 

The seconds hang between your bodies until he presses a kiss to the junction of your neck and shoulder. 

Several things happen at once then. You spin around and grab desperately at his shoulders as he slides his hands under your thighs and lifts you up on the counter. There’s no hesitation, and the tension that formerly lived here has been replaced by an entirely different kind of tension that has you wanting to rip off his clothes. 

Your lungs struggle to pull in enough air in the brief pauses where his mouth leaves yours, but you don’t care, pulling him closer and closer and closer. 

Until you remember who you are, what you’re doing and who you’re with. You push back against his chest weakly, curling your fingers into the fabric of his shirt first before pushing once more a little more forcefully. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” you pant, breathing heavily as he does the same. 

“Don’t wanna,” he responds, going back in to trail his lips down your cheek. 

“Josh,” you say more forcefully and he pauses, looking up at you through his long lashes. “We should talk about this.”

“Probably,” he shrugs, sinking his teeth into your collarbone, making you jolt slightly, body pressing that little bit more against him.

You push once more against his shoulders. “So let’s talk.”

He kisses your neck once more, before flipping his snapback around so that the bill faces the back and dropping to his knees before you all the while pulling off the clothes covering your lower half. 

Swallowing hard, you continue to press the issue. “We’re not talking...”

Josh smirks at you once before pulling your legs around his head and pressing his face to the warmth between them. “No, we’re not.”

He shouldn’t have bothered with the hat at all, since your fingers promptly knock it off his head entirely in order to pull the strands of his hair between them.

The next morning is less awkward. You wake up slowly, body sore and satisfied as you regain consciousness. The weight of Josh is warm and comforting around you, arm slung low around your waist and chest pressed to your back. As much as you’d like to slip back into sleep, the room is too bright and you’re too awake. 

That doesn’t mean you can’t lie in comfort for a minute or ten in the morning quiet. 

The quiet doesn’t last long as Josh waking up minutes later turns into a soft and slow morning quickie that ends with Josh rolling off of you, chest heaving. 

“You wanted to talk?”

Frankly, you’re having trouble breathing, but you know that fucking your best friend is a dangerous game, only made worse by not communicating clearly. 

Somehow you manage to roll on your side so that you can look at Josh as you speak. “Ground rules. We need ground rules.” His resulting nod has you continuing. “You’re still my best friend. This is just two friends getting off together, lord knows I haven’t been having a lot of luck in that department. And this can’t. Change. Anything.” 

You’ve punctuated the last sentence—the words a reminder of your first encounter more than anything—with pokes to his chest. His hand covers yours to save him from more violence and then he uses the grip to pull you on top of him this time. 

“Okay,” he seals the deal with a kiss that has you forgetting your own name and every thought of why this might be a disaster.

Every morning after that—not every morning, but the ones where you do wake up tangled with each other—is less awkward again. There’s an ease that comes with fucking Josh, something you attribute to your long friendship. It’s not a hardship to add orgasms into the mix, getting what you can and what you deserve when the rest of Montreal is still disappointing you while he’s away.

-

You’re genuinely worried you won’t make it out of tonight alive and with your secret situationship with your best friend still a secret. 

It starts with a steamy snapchat from Josh—literally steamy, what with the haze of his bathroom and his bare chest with water dripping down it indicating he’d just taken a hot shower. There’s a towel loosely slung along his hips, but your pulse races with the implication of what lies beneath. You respond with a nonchalant picture of your own shower, a teasing message along the lines of wishing he were here. 

You should know better than to open his response so quickly, but you’re a glutton and blessed with another shirtless pic and the words that read more like a command—show me

Never really one to follow directions, he finds himself opening a picture of you from the neck up. 

lower is his response. 

Ever a tease, you send one more of your legs to your feet. His response is an eye roll emoji which has you laughing.

hey, some weirdo would probably pay good money for my feet pics. should have stayed the night and maybe you could have joined me in the shower.

You don’t wait for a response, the time at the top left corner of your phone reminding you that the clock is ticking and you don’t want to be late to the party at Joel’s  house. 

Going through the motions, you wash your hair and your body, letting the conditioner sit for that extra moment while you stand with your back under the water. 

If you were a proper lady, you might feel shame in the haste with which your hand slides down your body as you imagine Josh in the shower with you on your knees, or how quickly you find release picturing his head between your thighs, or maybe even the way his name leaves your lips as you do so. You’re not, and so you don’t, cheeky enough to send him one last snap with bright eyes telling him exactly what he missed. 

His response goes unopened as you slip into a sundress and dry your hair, flitting about your vanity and wanting to look good but not like you put in a ton of effort. 

Vehicles line the street when you arrive, and so you find a spot near Josh and walk in like you own the place. A few Habs offer you halfhearted greetings until you find Josh and Joel standing in the kitchen. 

Sliding your arms around Joel, you grin up at him, “Hey Eddy.”

His eyes flicker over to where Josh’s cherub smile has dropped into a grimace before his own smile widens. “My favorite girl!“ he announces loudly, just this side of tipsy with a bud light in his hands. 

“You say that to all the girls,” you laugh, squeezing once and then dancing out of his hold. The temperature of the room seems to increase a couple degrees as you slide over to Josh, slipping under his arm and stealing a sip of his beer. “Hey Josh.”

He doesn’t verbally reply, just sets down his beer and manhandles you until he can wrap his arms around you in a proper hug. It’s comforting and warm and you can’t help slipping into it a little more. “Hey,” he says finally, pressing a quick kiss to your temple and then letting go. 

Joel’s never really been that good at subtlety, but even he knows when it’s time to slip away, leaving you and Josh to work through… whatever it is you need to work through. A few more beers and he probably would have joked about the sexual tension. 

“Did you not like my snapchat?” you ask innocently, not stepping back from his space although his arms now rest limply at his sides. One hand comes up to rest on his chest and the other reaches around him, skimming his side as you go, until you've got his discarded beer between your lips again. 

Your eyes widen when he tilts it back a little bit, causing the cool liquid to fall more quickly than you had anticipated, before he pulls it back and downs the rest himself. “You know I did.”

“Good, it was just for you.” Your tone is low and the implications of it all run through his mind, images of you begging for more, telling him you were his and only his, quickly spinning into the vestiges of domesticity that he shuts down quickly. While he’s battling an internal war, you step back from his space, intending on grabbing a drink of your own but you don’t get far. 

His hand grabs your wrists and tugs until he’s able to press your back into the counter and rest his hands on your hips. There’s a moment of hesitation, a moment heavier than the occasion calls for but then it’s gone as he lays a bruising kiss against your lips. It doesn’t take long for it to turn dirty, a flex of his hips and a love bite on your lips and you’re gripping his neck while his tongue explores your mouth. 

And then there’s movement in the next room, followed by loud chattering that only gets closer and Josh is stepping back himself. He twists away to grab a couple beers, tossing you one and then walking out of the kitchen. 

Your face is warm and your chest is rising heavily with breaths that just don’t fill your lungs. Pressing the cool bottle to your neck for a second, you shake out your shoulders and follow the source of the sounds in the other room. 

All night you can’t keep your eyes off Josh. From him pushing up his sleeves to expose his forearms to the way he pulls off his hat to run a finger through his hair, you’re mesmerized. You’d blame it on the alcohol, but you were still nursing that first beer that had grown warm. 

His laughter warms your chest like his large body warms your bed and you ache for the press of his fingertips against your waist like he grips the neck of the beer bottle. 

It doesn’t help that it feels like Josh is toying with you—murmuring your name as he passes by where you’re seated on the couch talking to one of the rookies, squeezing at your ass while everyone’s attention is across the room, pressing the entire length of his body to your back under the guise of ‘just passing through.’ And then the texts detailing everything he wants to do to you later, culminating in a recreation of your little shower scene in the morning. 

Near midnight you can’t take it anymore, sending him a heated look and inclining your head, hoping he can take the hint for what it is. 

He doesn’t make you wait long in the bathroom of his teammate’s house, slipping inside only two minutes later (not that you counted). 

“What—” he starts to ask, cut off by the force of you nearly throwing yourself at him and attaching your lips to his.

The shock doesn’t last long—mere seconds before he’s responding with enthusiasm and hauling you up until you rest on the bathroom counter with his thick thighs between your own. 

Pulling back slightly, but still hovering over you in a way that has your pulse racing, he smirks. “What’s all this for?”

Narrowing your eyes at him, you curl your fingers through the overgrown hair at the base of his neck and tug. “Been teasing me all night Josh.”

“Teasing? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” As he feigns innocence, he lets his calloused fingertips run up your bare thighs, pushing your dress higher and higher up and stepping even closer. 

You feel a pulse between your thighs where your lower halves are pressed together, and you’d be ashamed of how quickly your body has reacted to his if he wasn’t half hard and rocking against you himself. 

Tugging again, you make him look into your eyes instead of your body. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, Joshua.” 

He doesn’t deny it again, just shrugs and slides his hands beneath your underwear to grab a handful of your ass. “‘M not sorry.”

“I don’t want you to be sorry,” you tell him empathetically, before crawling your lips up his jaw. “I want you to touch me.”

“I am touching you.” He flexes his fingers to prove his point. You give him a look that clearly indicates he knows what you’re talking about. Josh kisses you once, much more sweetly than the moment calls for, and then he slides his hands out of the back of your underwear only to cup the front of you through the very same fabric. His pointer and middle finger press against you and he opens his mouth. “This what you wanted?”

“Don’t tease me,” you pant before he can say anything further.

His ever present smirk only widens as he slowly, torturously, rubs his fingertips against you. The motion has your head falling back and a pleading groan to escape your lips.

“But it’s so much fun.” His admission is complete with him taking a step back from you entirely—your body far too cold without his looming presence. “Don’t you think?” He murmurs your name and pushes his sleeves up his arms like he’d done earlier in the night. Your eyes track the movement, your tongue coming out to wet your bottom lip. 

Realizing you've all but fallen into his trap, your eyes narrow again and you pull the skirt of your dress down and prepare to hop off the counter. “If you’re not going to fuck me, I’ll go home and do it myself.” 

Josh reacts quickly then—almost like he can’t help himself—dropping to his knees, flipping your skirt back up and dragging your underwear down your legs. He maintains eye contact as he tucks the garment into the back pocket of his jeans and then leans down to press a light kiss to your clit. 

The action sends a jolt of energy down your spine, and you curse yourself for how quickly you turn to putty above him. The heel of one foot digs into the strong muscle of his upper back and both your hands tangle in his hair. Josh is enthusiastic, impatient even as he drags the fullness of his tongue against you. Part of him wants to make a stupid comment about you submitting to him so willingly, but he doesn’t take the chance that you might push him off and make good on your threat. 

You’re a whining, whimpering mess in no time. Every sound is like music to Josh’s ears, spurring him on and on as he eats you out with vigor. It’s when he slides two thick fingers into your warmth that you let out a moan that could get you both caught. 

He slows the motions of his tongue, but continues the slow thrusting of his fingers, looking up at you where you’re absolutely wrecked by his ministrations. “Gotta be quiet baby, don’t want them all to hear us. Unless you wanna get caught, want someone to walk in and catch us, catch you taking me so well?”

The thought isn’t entirely off putting but you shake your head empathetically. “Don’t want anyone else. Just you.”

The words go straight to his cock first, but then his traitorous heart takes hold of the sound and tries to infer meaning where there is none. You want him. Maybe as badly as he wants you.

There are decades of history as to why a romantic entanglement with you would be a bad idea - real, tangible, palpable reasons and yet he’s got two fingers buried in you and is that not just as bad?

You interrupt his thoughts with a tug of his hair, eyes wide and chest heaving. “Don’t have time. Want you to fuck me.” 

And Josh’s mind might be up in the clouds but his body is planted firmly in this room and so he rises from his knees and uses the strength of his forearms to spin you around until your front is pressed to the porcelain. The position is meant to separate him from his thoughts, to depersonalize the moment a touch, but he can’t keep his eyes off you. From the first moment he enters your body until the last, his eyes track your every facial expression, his heart hammering in his chest for reasons far beyond just the physical exertion of fucking you from behind in Joel’s guest bath. 

Watching as your gaze glazes over and your body relaxes back against his in your post orgasm haze, he follows you, grip flexing against your hips and face burying in your neck. A lot of thoughts fly through his mind, dangerous ones full of promise and potential heartbreak, and so he settles for a few chaste kisses to the smooth skin of your neck. 

The two of you clean up in silence and then Josh is reaching for the door. You stop him, manicured fingernails curling around his wrist until he turns to look at you. 

“You wanna get outta here?” you ask, eyes glinting with the promise of more mind blowing sex. And he really shouldn’t—should really take this time to reflect, take some breathing room and figure out exactly what he wants. But he doesn’t really need to. 

Because what he really wants is you and all that you’re willing to give. 

Taking your face in his hands he kisses you fully, stopping only to murmur out an ‘okay.’

“How did you know there were condoms in the drawer?” you ask as the two of you sneak out of Joel’s apartment. 

“Do you really want to know?” Josh’s teasing tone falls a little flat, but you don’t notice, far too caught up in the inherent ick behind his words. “There’s some in the kitchen island too.” 

“Gross,” you say, but you laugh too, all the way to Josh’s car. You don’t stop laughing until he’s tossing you onto your bed and covering your body with his. 

-

Days, weeks, a month passes in much the same way—you and Josh navigating and balancing both the friends and benefits in friends with benefits. It’s a fine line to walk, and one you end up stumbling over and under as time passes. Sometimes it’s like the flip of a switch. An innocent evening watching the latest binge-worthy drop on Netflix ends with you on your back. Post-sex pillow talk becomes a discussion on carpooling home for the short Habs Christmas break, and whether you would be baking sugar cookies like you do every year. 

It’s blissful and it’s passionate and it’s exciting, but it’s also all just casual. 

You’re under no illusions here, Josh is just your best friend. Your best friend who you regularly and often fuck, but just your best friend nonetheless. This isn’t some shitty made for TV romcom, it’s real life.

Hooking up with Josh doesn’t prevent you from seeing other people. You go on dates set up by friends and with men you meet on dating apps, and, yes, sometimes those dates go well enough that you end up back at theirs or they end up at yours at the end of the night. 

Both you and the other people you hook up with pretend that you don’t see Josh’s face in their eyes before your own eyelids shut.

Mid-December the Habs find themselves in the midst of a losing streak they can’t quite snap out of for longer than a game at a time. Just like his team, Josh is not playing his best—far too deep into his own mind, making stupid mistakes that end up costing leads and even resulting in losses. 

You do your best to make him feel better, just as any friend would. When he’s on the road it’s late night calls, good luck and you’ll get ‘em next time text messages, baking him those sugar cookies he loves so much and leaving a tin of them in his apartment for him to come home to. 

And when he’s at home...

“Do you wanna talk about it?” you ask as you swing the door open to reveal an anxious looking Josh. His hair is wet and his game day suit is disheveled, but he’s as handsome as ever. 

“No.”

Your stomach swoops at his gruff tone of voice. “Josh—”

“I said I don’t want to talk about it,” he speaks through gritted teeth. And, well, he doesn’t have to tell you more than twice. 

You want to reach for him, want to hold him and reassure him that everything is going to be okay. But that’s not who you are and that’s now what you do, at least not right now. Not with him looking at you like he wants to devour you. And so you wait for him to make the first move, standing in your own vulnerability while he tries to mask his. 

He doesn’t make you wait long, two long strides and he has his hands in your hair and his tongue in your mouth.  

It’s not soft and sweet, it’s all-encompassing. Josh has taken over all of your senses in a bruising, searing kiss. 

You want to wrap yourself around him like a vine, pull him closer and closer until you’re not sure where he ends and you begin. He clearly wants that too, gripping and pulling and leading you backwards toward your bedroom and then your bed.

For as heavy as Josh’s grip is on your body, his gaze is tenfold. There’s something deeper swimming in the murky depths of his blue eyes that makes your heart hammer. 

He’s marking up your throat when your phone starts vibrating on the bedside table. You ignore it in favor of arching your back to get even closer, but whoever’s trying to get ahold of you clearly isn’t getting the message as it continues to ring and ring.

“Do you need to get that?” Josh asks, looking up at you.

“No, it’s just some dude,” you reply, sliding a hand through the hair at the base of his neck and attempting to use it for leverage. Ordinarily the action would be enough to have him bending to your will without so much as a protest. “Not important at all.”

Not this time, though. This time he freezes.

“I’m not seeing other people,” he says, body hovering over yours on your bed. 

You falter then, only a little as you reply. “I am. What? We’re just doing the friends with benefits thing. We never had the exclusive talk.”

It would be comical the speed with which he pulls himself from you and your bed. He doesn’t even look at you as he gathers some of his discarded clothes throughout the room and then exits your bedroom.

“What are you so mad about?” you ask, following him through your apartment after throwing on your robe. “You’re seriously telling me you haven’t been picking up on the road?”

“I haven’t been with anyone else since we started hooking up.”

“Oh.”

“Oh? That’s all you have to say is oh?” He’s angry, but he’s not yelling and that’s almost worse you think. Yelling you could handle, but the quiet fury has your stomach twisting, almost as if he was saying ‘I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed.’ 

“Josh—”

“I can’t be here right now,” he grits out, slamming the door and leaving you in the quiet of your apartment all alone.

You’re confused and worried. Worried that two decades of friendship just walked out your door. Worried, because Josh had just left into the cool air without a coat. Worried that despite your mutual promises and assurances that this wouldn’t change a thing, everything had just changed. 

The front door taunts and teases you as you just stand there staring at it, willing Josh to return through it and give you the explanation you deserve.

He doesn’t reappear, and so you will your legs to move and take you away from the confusing scene. Except every inch of your apartment screams Josh now, even if you had made it your home long before Josh’s trade found him in the same city as you. The fluffy blanket on the couch that you bought with your first roommate only makes you think of Josh with that very blanket pooled around his waist. His discarded coat on the chair looks like it was always meant to lie there. 

The kitchen is no better—the cramped counter layout only reminds you of how Josh’s cool, granite countertop felt beneath your bare ass as Josh descended onto his knees in front of you. 

Josh has always been important to you, and the orgasms he’s given you—that none of the guys you’ve slept with when he isn’t around have been able to even come close to—aren’t even in the top ten reasons why.

He’s good and kind and loving in a way you’ve never experienced before. 

The knock on your door is somehow completely expected and yet a total surprise. Maybe it’s the time between the slamming of your door and the subsequent knock—not even a full forty five minutes had passed. Maybe it’s the feelings you’ve come to terms with. Maybe it’s the pounding of your heart. 

Regardless, you slip into a cool exterior mask as you open the door and attempt to casually lean against the frame. “What do you want?”

His responding “I’m sorry” is sincere enough for you to let him in, but not sincere enough for that mask to drop. “You’re right. I don’t have a right to be upset.”

“No you don’t.”

He sighs then, “I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. It was just such a shit game—”

“Bullshit,” you interrupt. “What?” He looks flabbergasted, like he hadn’t expected you to speak at all. “No, I played a shit game and—”

“No I know you played like shit,” you interrupt again, arms crossed over your chest. “You turned over the puck and your shitty cross check resulted in a goal. I’m saying it’s bullshit that it was the game that made you so upset you slammed my front door on your way out.”

“If you’re such a fuckin’ know-it-all, if it wasn’t the game, then what was it?” He’s challenging you in a way, you think. The hard set of his face and the furrow of his brow are a dead give away. 

There’s a few ways this can go. You can let him pretend like it was a shitty game that had him so pissy—maybe you talk it out a little, maybe you fuck it out a little, but it’ll be like a shitty dollar store bandaid over a bullet hole. Eventually it’s gonna bleed through. 

You can put an end to all of it—the tension, the hooking up, all of it—and go back to being best friends who at one time had a thing together. It’ll hurt like hell, but you’ll get over it eventually. Until he settles down with some girl who looks kinda like you in the right light. It’s a safe option, if cowardly.

Or...

“You’re pissed because you’re in love with me.” He opens his mouth to interrupt, maybe to say you’re wrong, maybe to say you’re right but you shake your head vehemently and he promptly closes it. “Well guess what, Joshua. I’m pissed because I’m in love with you too.”

“How long?”

“What?” You stumble over the question, you don’t know the truth well enough to answer without some thought. Maybe the question will buy you some time.

It doesn’t. Josh is quick to clarify, “How long have you loved me too?

“Not as long as you, I don’t think,” you say, slowly, tentatively. “But longer than I even realized. Does it matter?”

He looks like he’s considering it, before he shakes his head and steps closer. “No, not really.”

And then he’s kissing you. The same way he’s been kissing you and yet somehow it’s completely different. It’s not lust, it’s love. It’s not rushed, it’s tender. 

You and Josh should have known better. It was always going to change everything.

[senditcolton]

As Long As I'm With You

After coming home from work/a long trip, finding your lover sobbing on the couch/in bed after a hard day, wiping away their tears with soft touches and gentle words – trying to convince them it’s okay, and that you’re there for them now.

part of my Valentine's Day prompts requested by anon | word count: 0.9k | warnings: reader is injured, self-doubt and self-criticism, hurt/comfort

If there was one thing that you prided yourself on, it was your independence. You had gotten this far in life without using others as a crutch. You didn’t realize that that emotional strength would be shattered the same time that your physical strength was. You didn’t realize how much you relied on your autonomy until it was taken from you and replaced with actual crutches.

A torn ACL that required surgery to fix was all that it took to remove the one aspect of your personality that you cherished. A torn ACL was all it took to leave you helpless.

That loss made you fight harder to recover, just so you could have that strength back, both physically and emotionally. But that need to regaining your independence was how you wound up here; on the couch with tears streaming down your face.

You had just come downstairs for a bite to eat, that was all. After being in bed most of the day, you needed to move. You had been able to walk about the house without help recently and that shouldn’t have changed today, you thought. How very wrong you were.

Leaving the bedroom and making your way down the stairs was easy enough, just as long as you went slow and kept a firm grip on the railing. But when you tried to retrace your path and ascend the carpeted staircase, your knee started throbbing in pain. And you were stupid enough to leave your crutches leaning by your bed.

You had made it halfway up before you couldn’t manage another step, collapsing on the carpeted floor and sliding your body back down to the landing. You managed to hobble to the couch before collapsing onto the soft cushions, your legs stretched out in front of you.

That’s when the tears started. Not just from the pain radiating from your injured knee but also from the complete feeling of helplessness. Once the first tear hits your cheek, there is no stopping the downpour, covering your eyes as you choke back sobs.

You are so frustrated, so overwhelmed, that you don’t hear the garage door open. The sound of your boyfriend Josh returning doesn’t even register until you feel him gently grabbing your arms, pulling your hands away from your face. 

The minute your eyes connect with his blue ones, your heart breaks at the sight of fear shining in his irises. His mouth is moving but it takes a minute for you to fully register the words falling from his lips.

“Baby, are you okay? What happened? Are you hurt?”

The questions come in rapid succession, the panic in his tone obvious. You take a few shaky breaths, trying to piece yourself back together.

“I’m fine, or,” you sniffle, “my knee is fine. Just a little sore.”

Josh’s gaze stays locked to yours, waiting patiently for you to continue, intrinsically knowing that there was more you wanted – no, needed – to say. You heave a sigh, your eyes looking skywards as you feel another wave of tears swell.

“It’s just…” you begin, your words sticking in your throat. “I just hate this, Josh. I feel so goddamn useless. Like, I can’t even – I can’t even walk up the stairs without help. Everything I used to be able to do effortlessly, I now just… God, I just – I feel like such a fucking burden.”

The teardrops fall again, hitting and soaking the fabric of your clothes as your head drops. You don’t want to look Josh in the eye. The last thing you needed was his sympathetic gaze. Instead, you keep your eyes locked on your hands, clasped tightly in your lap. A moment of silence passes until Josh speaks.

“Hey,” he whispers. “Sweetheart. Look at me.”

The gentle plea is all you need to hear. And when your eyes lock, you are slightly surprised to not see a shred of sympathy in those baby blues that you loved. Instead, Josh is staring at you with the utmost understanding and care.

“You aren’t a burden,” he tells you, his fingers tightening around your hands. “Not to me, not to anyone else. If you need help, we’ll help you. Because that’s what you do: help the people you love.”

This time, the tears that come aren’t heavy with frustration and sadness. Instead, they are happy – Josh’s words making your heart both ache and mend. His gentle assurance that he would be there for you feels more healing than any of the physical therapy you had already gone through. Josh shoots you a soft smile, his hand lifting to wipe the moisture away from your skin.

“Come on, let’s cheer you up, yeah? Do you want me to call your injury buddy? Have him come over?”

You let out an unsteady laugh at his suggestion. He was referring to Joel Edmundson, the defenseman being a close friend of yours far before you the two of you became, as Josh said, ‘injury buddies’ – you with your knee and him with his back.

“Are you alright with waiting on both of us?” you quip, the words playful but still twinged with some lingering fear. A fear that Josh immediately silences with his smile.

“Absolutely. Well, Eddy might have to fend for himself but for you, anything.”

“Don’t be mean,” you laugh in response to his joking words. Josh’s grin brightens when he hears your lighthearted tone return. “Okay,” you say, “Yeah, call Joel.”

Josh lifts himself from the carpet next to the sofa where he had been kneeling, pressing a quick kiss to the crown of your head before he moves to the kitchen where he must have dropped his cellphone when he came in.

“Hey Josh,” you call out to him, bringing his attention back to you. “Thanks for taking care of me.”

“Always.”

[wyattjohnston]

hi! can you do "i love you more than i did yesterday." with josh anderson pls!

The lightness in the air is everything you’ve ever hoped for in a relationship; an ease you all but gave up on ever experiencing. It’s just you and Josh against the world, freezing your asses off in Montreal.

Despite the weather—which doesn’t seem to bother you half as much as it bothers Josh—you still get out for your weekly walk together around Parc du Mont-Royal. It’s an easy tradition to keep, malleable given Josh’s schedule, and one you never want to get rid of.

“It has to be about a year since we met, right?” you ask, out of the blue, staring out over the city with Josh’s arm tight around your shoulder.

He hummed. “It’s gone so fast.”

“I love you,” you say easily, so easily that it almost feels casual even though it’s filled with the sincerest of emotions.

“I love you, too. Even more than I did yesterday. Or the day before. I’m going to keep loving you more every day.”

You curl into his chest, relishing in his touch.

prompt requests are open!

[myussytastelikeapple]

THEY ARE SO CUTEEE IT MAKES MY HEART MELT (Kinda wish it was me) I LOVE HIS SMILEE

(Also the hands up the jacket?!??!?!?!?!!!)

AND HE LOOKS SO HOT LONG HAIRRRR AHHHHHH

(Screaming without the s)

[smth-intheway]

I haven't seen anyone talk about it, or maybe someone noticed but didn't said anything...

Neil and Charlie are connected, not only by the bonds of friendship but also by their shared symbolism of “death”, which is shown at the very end of the movie/book when their seats were empty. They are both key characters and as those who, despite their differences, are very similar.

Let's start with Neil. We all know that Neil is the one who started the dead poets society in 1959, he is the speaker and the leader of the group, as if leading the boys. He is the first to find the album with Keating's photo in it, the first to learn what the society is (yeah boys were near him), the first to read the official opening speech and assign roles to everyone. Who will read and who won’t. He acts as a confident person, his actions are based on a new feeling and finding freedom from the grip of his father. Everyone noticed how he looked at Keating when he gave his famous speech that every person in this fandom knows?

Yes, you can't help but notice how his eyes shine with hope, that he like a prisoner, will free himself from the shackles and escape from the clutches of his father. By the way, about his dad.

This man plays a very important role in Neil's life, as he does in his, albeit in the most disgusting way. His father sees himself in him only in his youth, he wants to achieve what he could not in the past. He uses Neil to turn back the time and become an ideal version of himself without caring what Neil thinks. Most likely, Mr. Perry was an unsuccessful person and perhaps he did not succeed in many things, proving this with the following phrases: "I sacrificed so much for you to be here" and "you have opportunities that I don’t had” He kind of puts pressure on Neil shoulders to give him false motivation to do things as he said, setting himself as an example, like... if you don’t do as I say, then the worst will happen to you, because I know better than you and I have lived longer than you. His father makes his son a submissive and obedient boy who is obliged to do and act as he is told, simply because he has no choice, because he is inexperienced and "impressionable" in the opinion of his father and he must definitely listen to the one who knows better in order to avoid the worst outcome. Just lower your head and show obedience like everyone else.

By the way, it is interesting that in the book the first description of Neil, and the first words about his appearance sound like this: "The breast pocket of his Welton blazer was covered with a huge cluster of achievement pins." (page 5, ch.1) Ironic, right? Now try to close your eyes and imagine the same student, without imagining Neil. What impression will you have of him? Right.. smart, successful with a brilliant future. This is what people who don’t know Neil see. He has become someone who is held up as an example. A diligent student and an example of behavior. Even the fact that in the book he wears a pillar with the inscription "excellence" as if hanging a label of idealism and perfection on himself. That is why they gave him this sign, so that he would carry it, introducing himself as the personification of that very perfection that teachers want to have in their students. But is that what he needs? Neil did not know what he wanted, he did not allow himself to go beyond what was permitted, always silently and following the rules. Afraid of getting burned like a moth over a fire. He was suppressed by his father, all the time his desires and dreams were rejected and not accepted, because there is a coordinate system and you cannot move against it. I can even assume that his father pressured him if his academic results did not satisfy him, from which Neil tried to prove that he could do better, because he wants his father to be proud of him and love him for being a good son, perhaps Mr. Perry could punish Neil for disobedience, from which the boy began to fear his father like a nightmare. Remember the scene when his father entered the room at the very beginning of the movie after the ceremony? Neil's behavior changed from before to after. With his friends he was happy, self-confident and the life of the party, but when his father showed up on the doorstep all of these traits were washed away and Neil showed his fear and insecurity.

So he hid himself, his dreams, ambitions and desires including emotions in front of his father. Several times in the book, (the movie didn’t showed it) Neil had the outbursts and slightly hysterical release of his emotions he was holding when his father was around. “Neil held the achievement pin in his hand as he spoke. “The bastard!” he shouted suddenly, jabbing his thumb with the metal point of the pin and drawing blood. Todd winced, but Neil just stared at the blood intently. He pulled the pin out and hurled it against the wall.” (Page 19, Chap3)

“Mr. Perry turned and stalked out. Neil stood still for a long time, then, walking to his desk, he started pounding on it, harder and harder until his fists went numb and tears began rolling down his cheeks.” (Page 119, chap11) Neil isn’t an emotionally stable person because his emotions only show when his father is not around. He is mentally weak because he is afraid to speak his mind around someone who will not listen to him. This is important and worth remembering because Neil has no voice around his father, so he did not tell him what he wanted, so he kept silent because he understood and built a mental reflex that his father's stubborn nature would still make him do what Neil does not want. He already knows what his father will say. Rejection. This is his weak point. He is afraid of rejection and does not want to hear it again, because he has heard it so many times ... over and over again. This Neil is very different from the confident guy he shows himself to be in society.

he did not share his feelings/thoughts with anyone, because he most likely not had close friends except Charlie. Because His entire life was planned and controlled by his authoritarian father, from A to Z. His dad would’ve probably not be happy about his son being friends with the “who the hell knows”.

That's why when he heard Keating's words about enjoying the moment, living here and now while this moment is here because one day it won't be. Carpe diem my friend. You need to look at things in the different way and not be afraid of what others think because what matters is what you think. These words entered Neil's thoughts as a basis for changing his situation, to free himself from the shackles and become who he always wanted. Because if not, this moment will never come. He began to think differently and began to go towards his dream that he wanted to acquire so much. Neil was slowly drowning in his ideal world, living freely and hopelessly, but he misunderstood Keating's words, because he had to change his idea of ​​the world and not himself. Neil did not understand that you cannot change the situation you are in, you can only change your idea and vision of it. He wanted to take control, but he forgot that sucking out the bone marrow, you need to do it so as not to choke on the bone. It is interesting that he was the first to come and recreate the Dead poets society and the first to leave, thus killing this society.

His death has a huge influence on the plot as well as on the symbolism itself, because if you look closely, in the book he dies with his crown of flowers as if killing his personality "Puck" through which he embodied the archetype of the deceiver (his father’s deceiver), challenging the established standards of behaviour. The second one is a reference to Jesus that many talk about. So, if you think about it, the crown of branches that he wore is very similar to the one that Jesus had. At first, he looks up, supposedly into the sky, in search of the meaning of life and pondering his decision. He puts on the crown, proclaiming himself his own liberator, just as Jesus was in Christian culture.

He didn't want to depend on his father or the rotten system anymore, Neil thought he would make his own decision outside of his father's wishes. After all, if there is no freedom in life itself, then why should he live?

Then, he lowers his head as if accepting his fate and knowing that he has chosen the right path for himself.

Neil showed obedience to himself and not to someone else which made him one step freer before he got freedom completely. He, like Jesus, accepted himself as a sacrifice in the face of freedom intending to be free even if not for others then for himself. Therefore, it was his own "crucifixion".

It is interesting that he lowers his head just like the boy from that very wall painting.

Okay, but then how does he relate to Charlie? It's simple, Charlie isn't always himself either, and unlike Neil's hidden symbolism, he directly proclaims himself to be another person, namely "Nuwanda". He abandons his boring, past self by forgetting who he was through self-destruction. "I have an announcement. In keeping with the spirit of passionate experimentation of the Dead Poets, I'm giving up the name Charles Dalton. From now on, call me 'Nuwanda.'" (page 89, chap9) In the same way, he added more nuances to his personality, such as his famous phrase "getting red" and when he painted the Indian symbol of virility on his torso supposedly giving himself confidence through the symbol's underlying meaning, which is anchored in the Indian goddess Shiva-Lingam which signifies masculinity, virility and association with fertility due to its sexual significance.

The same goes for the symbols he drew on his cheek, what's interesting is that in the movie he drew it with lipstick using red again, which usually symbolizes power, passion and life, this colour is used to attract attention. But in the book... he literally scrapes dirt off the wall to draw this symbol on his cheek. (What a cheerful boy fr)

Charlie is a time bomb. He constantly has ideas in his head, at first it may seem empty but there really is a lot of things, plus this “dish” is also seasoned with the guy's self-confidence and huge ego. This is proven by the fact that Charlie literally claimed the cave when he entered it and then used it to bring girls, without worrying about the opinions of others. He kind of stands as an example of the opposite of the Welton school value system, and encourages boys not to be afraid to be more confident. In the film, he was the first to support Neil in the idea of ​​creating a club, standing on his side, and also defending him after Cameron's betrayal at the very end, knowing that he is risking his education in Welton, but he is not afraid to take on such responsibility ... well, because why should he be afraid? He already has a future full of money, knowing that his father will force him to work with his business. By the way, about his father.

Unlike Neil, his relationship with his father is controversial and he can fight back with the confidence that he will be forgiven. In the film, his parents are shown in the background.

And in the book we only know his mother. I can assume that Charlie is a child from a rich family who lives as an accessory in the hands of his parents. He, like Neil, is the "pride" of his parents and should be an example, only Charlie does not want to follow the coordinate system and enter it instead he moves against it. Like Neil at the end of his path.

We know that Rebellion is already embedded in any ideology at the time of its creation, and rebels only personify rebellion and do not bring it to the established system of values. After all, there will always be those who are against the established system, moving in the opposite direction and trying to find other conclusions, other ideas that will definitely suit a certain type.

Charlie could become a rebel for two reasons, the first: the search for attention. Unlike the hyper-care of Neil's father over his son, his father could be so bogged down in work that he forgot about his own son, perhaps not even his beloved, because then the marriage would be of convenience. His parents did not give him enough attention, pushing him away, rejecting him. He wanted to be noticed by them so that they would give him love, so he tried to achieve it in every possible way and it became a habit. Or the second option: He was tired of living a pretense. Straightforwardness is always a way out when it’s difficult to explain. Just be simple and do not bother to be complex, so the fear of making a mistake disappears. So Charlie did, because as far back as he could remember, he hated being told how he should behave, how he should talk to guests, how he should smile, how he should take utensils for food, and so on. Charlie was tired of seeing people from high society smiling at each other with such hypocrisy, as if a second ago they had not been in deep judgmental discussion. The world of big business disgusted Charlie, because those people were too worried about how they looked in front of others and they ran after status. Charlie was a prisoner of this every day and he didn't want to be like the others, he wanted to create something of his own in his personality, something that the others didn't have and something that would distinguish them from him, or him from them. So he chose the easy way - rebellion. So Keating's words meant something to him in the sense that he would enjoy the moment of rebelling against the school's rules and building his own system. Charlie could relate to his own approaching "death" if life at Welton was not symbolic but real. That is, his expulsion is an actual death. It could be similar to the phrase that Carpe diem oppose - Memento Mori. Carpe diem, in simple terms, says that death is inevitable, but it is unknown when it will come, and therefore it should not be feared, but instead enjoy the moment, which is what Keating taught his students, but there is also memento mori, which says that death is inevitable, but the moment of its onset can be delayed by behaving, so to speak, you should live “correctly” and act rationally for the benefit of your own life. In other words, memento mori means that everything is in your hands and when you die is determined by how you live. And Carpe diem is about the opposite, that nothing depends on you. And therefore you can and should take everything from life here and now. These two terms are closely related to the understanding of Keating's lessons, so each DPS boy had his own end. Tragic or partly happy. Knox and Todd understood that you can't change this system, but you can change your attitude towards it by finding beauty in things and avoiding death, but Neil and Charlie didn't understand him, wanting to change system and putting their lives on the line, so both of their seats are empty at the end.

If you think about it... Charlie is Neil's desire for suicide. After all, he too is moving towards self-destruction by excluding himself from the system directly through death, while Charlie does it indirectly by going through exclusion.

[jhutchismyl0verb0y]

[hutchersonsgurl]

Can I have this dance? - Sean Anderson

Paring female reader and Sean Anderson

WARNING fluff

Synopsis You and your boyfriend Sean had a big fight before prom and he comes over to your house to surprise you and make it up to you

❦︎✹✧✦✷✶ ❦︎✹✧✦✷✶ ❦︎✹✧✦✷✶ ❦︎✹✧✦✷✶ ❦︎✹✧✦✷✶ ❦︎✹✧✦✷✶ 

you are lying on your bed doing homework that day you had a fight at school with your boyfriend Sean for getting in trouble with the law again. He has called your phone 5 times but you have been ignoring his calls, not wanting to fight with him

➜﹐➜➜ ➜﹐➜﹏➜﹐﹏➜﹐﹏➜﹐﹏➜﹐﹏➜﹐﹏➜﹐﹏

30 MINUTES LATER >>>>>

You hear something hit your window you don't get up till the second thud you open you walk over to your window and see Sean at the bottom he has a rope with a picnic basket

He pulls up the rope till the basket makes it to your window you just smile down at him and pull the basket in within a split second Sean climbs in through your window and enters your room

" What are you doing Sean I thought you were grounded?' you ask

"I am but nothing is gonna keep me away from my girl," He says pushing his thumb over your bottom lip

"You make it hard to be mad at you, you know that right? You say melting into his touch

"well we both know I'm an idiot and I can't go to sleep knowing you're mad at me so I brought you some food" He replies

Sean pulls out a blanket and puts it on the floor pulling out pizza and chocolate-covered strawberries

"Look babe I'm sorry for doing something stupid again I get why you are mad at me but please talk to me," He says

"I get it that you are still getting used to your stepdad Hank and you are having problems adjusting but going out and getting arrested or God forbid you got hurt I couldn't handle it I just can't. That's why I get mad each time I hear you got in trouble because I don't wanna lose you " you respond with a tear falling down the side of your face

Sean looks at you for a few minutes and sighs feeling guilty he slowly leans over and kisses your forehead and wipes your tear away

"I'm not going anywhere baby and if it makes you feel better I'll do a cross my heart promise to not do anything stupid again," He says

"Fine but you better mean it, Sean I'm serious" you reply back

The two of you make the promise and sean crosses his heart that he will not do anything like that again.

"Sooo can you stop calling me by my name now? it feels weird" he asks

"Yes babe I'm sorry for calling you by your name" you answer in a chuckle

Sean gets up and turns your stereo on and offers you his hand

"Can I have this dance with my beautiful girlfriend?" He asks

"Yes you may my handsome boyfriend," you say as you give him your hand

He presses play and the song starts to play

The two of you start dancing around your room he spins you around and he dips you a few times and eventually after a few minutes the two of you stop dancing and look into each other's eyes

"I love you so much I can't imagine my life without you" He says looking at you lovely

"I love you more then you know" you say as you kiss his nose

"Now that we made up let's go eat I'm starving" sean says as he pulls you back over to where the food was

The two of you chat and eat the rest of the night away

----------------------------------------------------

I had fun writing this I just watched high school musical 3 again and this idea came to me

NOT EDITED

[loveyu4]

AUGHHHHH

why has nobody talked about this edit i’m obsessed with it (the quality is way better on their tt)

[siennaamiaa]

SEAN ANDERSON

whos ur fav josh hutcherson character??

[fulltimecatwitch]

BIG DAY FOR THE DEAD POETS SOCIETY FANDOM

[misiahasahardname]

whoever typed this (me) should explode right now

[whatcruelworldisthis]

josh hutcherson character imagines

*disclaimer i am obsessed with sean anderson but most of these imagines apply to peeta, sean and sometimes clapton so feel free to mix according to preference*

♦ - fluff

♥ - smut 18+!!

♠ - angst/hurt (with comfort)

PEETA MELLARK :

always ♠

golden ♦

lovers rock ♦

sweet ♠♦ (mentions of smut)

SEAN ANDERSON :

dearly ♦♥

inexperienced ♥♦

innocent pt. 1 ♦♠

innocent pt. 2 (final) ♦

CLAPTON DAVIS :

hopelessly in love ♦

[senditcolton]

Work Song

a/n: i was not surprised that this song was the first one grabbed. hozier really just fucked around and invented romance. i don’t think i was as successful but i hope i did this song justice. word count: 1.6k warnings: hurt/comfort, injury mention, fears & anxieties. gender neutral reader.

If the lord don’t forgive me, I’d still have my baby and my babe would have me.

It was a rare occurrence whenever you weren’t at the Bell Centre during a Canadiens game. Usually, it took heaven and hell fighting against you to prevent you from sitting in the stands, cheering on your boyfriend Josh as he played his heart out on that smooth sheet of ice.

Or, maybe all it took was an overbearing boss to prevent you from attending.

That was the case tonight and you heave a sigh as you push through the apartment door, immediately collapsing onto the couch. You grab the remote to turn on the game, not bothering to even take off your shoes. The third period was still going on as you settle into the cushions, your body relaxing as you watch Montreal battle Tampa.

You knew the standings were dismal and that a win so late in the season would likely have no real sway over the inevitable outcome. But you still wanted the Canadiens to triumph; if nothing else, at least for Josh.

Your heartrate increases when Tampa closes the gap late in the third, making it a one goal game and the pounding in your chest does not cease when Tampa pulls their goalie in an attempt to tie it. You watch with baited breath and your heart leaps when Drouin flips the puck out of the zone, directly to Josh speeding towards the empty net.

However, your heart drops as quickly as it jumped when you see Josh gets pulled down onto the ice, colliding with the empty net and knocking it off its moorings.

You faintly register the cascade of boos fall from the fans within the arena but they are inconsequential as you watch in fear as Josh writhes on the ice in obvious pain, your anxiety spiking when he doesn’t get up on his own.

The broadcast shows the replay, discussing the possibility of a penalty and your eyes are glued onto Josh, needing to know what happened, needing to know how bad it was. Your questions are answered when a new angle is shown and it doesn’t take a medical expert to notice how his foot made impact with the post, the force of his body compressing his ankle.

When the feed cuts back to Josh still laying on the ice, the medical staff next to him and a few of his teammates skating over to help him up, your anxiety doesn’t relent. Your previous suspicions are further confirmed when Josh is finally helped off the ice and down the tunnel, using two people for support, barely placing any weight on that right foot.

There is no thinking as you grab your car keys, flying out of the apartment and racing over to Bell Centre. It was ridiculous for you to be doing this. There was only 30 seconds left remaining in the game and you knew Josh would find his way home without your help.

But you had to be there for him. Something in your bones screamed that you needed to be next to him as soon as possible.

By some miracle, you manage to get there before everyone leaves and even manage to talk to the staff who lead you to the after-game waiting area. You greet the few families and significant others but don’t pay them much mind. They do not fault you though, all of them understanding why you were there, giving you a wide berth as you settle on the couch, leg bouncing as you stare towards the elevators, waiting for Josh to appear.

The rest of the families trickle out and you sit, worried and impatient until finally the elevator dings and you leap up when you see Josh step out of the elevator on crutches, his right ankle in a temporary cast, Joel walking next to him with Josh’s bag slung over his shoulder.

There is no hesitation as you run the short distance towards him. You barely have time to register the surprise on his face at your appearance before you are pulling him into a kiss, your relief and love pouring from your lips, simply happy to see him somewhat mobile. You can feel Josh relax into you and your heart flutters at the feeling of the tension being released from his body.

“Wow, if that’s the kind of greeting I get when I’m injured, I might try and get hurt more often.”

Eddy’s voice breaks in and you pull away from Josh to shoot Joel a soft grin, always thankful for his humor. Joel returns your smile but you can see the genuine concern in his eyes.

You turn you attention back to Josh, his own blue eyes still taking you in, still registering that you were here in front of him.

“Come on, let’s go home,” you say, tilting your head towards the exit.  

The three of you wander out to the garage and Eddy helps place Josh’s bag in your trunk, the two of you forming a plan to pick up Josh’s car at some point tomorrow, before he waves goodbye and you hop into the driver’s seat of your car and start the route home.

The car ride back is silent and it remains that way as you and Josh enter the apartment, moving in tandem as you both prepare for bed, you occasionally extending a hand to help him. You let him settle into bed, preparing the pillows and grabbing a cold compress as he takes off the temporary boot and elevates his injured ankle.

You finish up the rest of your nighttime routine before crawling into bed with Josh, curling up next to his side, your head and hand coming to rest on his chest, your fingers starting to absentmindedly draw patterns on to his skin. The silence lingers for a moment before Josh finally speaks.

“I’m out for the rest of the season,” he whispers and you can feel the weight of the words as he says them. You glance up towards his face and see his eyes distant and far away from you.  

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I knew it as soon as it happened.”

“I’m sorry baby.”

You aren’t sure what else to say, so you stay silent and let Josh think, content to listen to his heartbeat and feel the steady rise and fall of his chest.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” he confesses, his eyes still turned away from you. Your only response is a hum, a gentle encouragement for him to continue, a sign that you were willing to listen, one he accepts with a sigh before speaking again.

“I’m almost 30. And this is another injury on my list. I can just feel it creeping closer; the end of my career. I don’t know how much longer I have.”

There is no stopping the pang in your heart at his words, so tinged with defeat and you have to fight back the tears that threaten to fill your eyes. Josh loved the game of hockey so much and it broke your heart to even think about that happiness being taken away from him.

You lift yourself up, propping yourself up on one elbow as you reach up to Josh’s face. Your hand gently lands on his jaw, turning his face towards yours forcing his eyes to connect to yours.

“I love you,” you say, the first words that passed through your mind falling from your lips. You watch as Josh’s eyebrows furrow and you continue in an attempt to explain your declaration.

“I know that might sound stupid or it might not be what you need to hear right now but I want you to know that I love you. I love your passion and I love seeing your joy whenever you lace up the skates. I want you to be happy which means that I want you to fight because hockey makes you happy. Don’t let anyone or anything stop you from chasing your dreams before you’re ready to give them up.”

You watch as those beautiful blue eyes soften, Josh’s lip turning up in a smile in response to your passion. He stays silent, inexplicably knowing that you had more to say and you let the intensity in your voice dissipate as you speak your next words.

“But I also want you to know that whenever it ends, whether it’s your decision or because of something that neither of us can control, I will be here. And I will still love you just as much as I do now.”

At the conclusion of your confession, you look back at Josh and find him staring at you with such tenderness that it makes your heart ache. One of his hands raise to brush against your jawline and you don’t stop yourself from leaning into the warmth of his palm against your skin.

“Do you want to know the first thing I thought about when I went down? The first thought that cut through the pain?” he asks, his thumb tracing the edge of your cheekbone. You give a slight nod in affirmative, eyes glued to him, intent to hear what he had to say.

“I wanted was you there with me. That was the only thing I wanted when I was laying on that ice. But soon I remembered that you weren’t in the stadium. And that thought pushed me to get up. That need to be by your side helped me push through the pain because I knew I had to get back to you. Even if this was the end, if this injury was finally what beat me, I had come home to you.”

Josh pulls you closer to him and you do not fight against him as he brings your face towards his until your foreheads are pressed together, lips barely brushing.

“I love you too,” he murmurs. “More than you will ever know. And I will always find my way back to you.”

[georgeweasleyslostearhq]

guys Josh Hutcherson is so hot

would you guys like to see something for him?

[myussytastelikeapple]

BROO THIS EDIT IN PARTICULAR GOT ME IN A CHOKEHOLD LIKE GOOD BOY? HIM GETTING ON HIS KNEES?! (ima faint)

Also lil announcement

I just took a break from writing for a lil bit but now I’m BACKK onn trackkkkkkkkkkkkk I’ll start writing today/tomorrow