#sorry if all my smut ends up sounding the same it’s the ghost I’m telling u | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

senditcolton · 2 years

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The Movie of Us

summary: you broke up with Josh three years ago but he’s still haunting you. what do you do when the ghost from your past comes back?

prologue | epilogue word count: 21k warnings: alcohol, cursing, smut (but not explicit), and a whole lot of angst with a happy ending

SPRING

“He’s back in town, you know.”

You have to stop the tremor that threatens to run through you at Katie’s words. If she had noticed, you could always blame it on the rapidly cooling spring night. But even then, you knew she wouldn’t believe the lie.

She had been there. She knew why your shoulders tensed at the mere mention of him.

“So?” you reply, trying to relax back into the couch cushions on your back porch, taking another sip of your drink, eyes focused on the horizon.

“No reason. Just thought you might like to know.”

You glance over to her, the light breeze ruffling her hair as she blatantly ignores your gaze.

“Katie,” you say, your tone enough for her to direct her attention back to you.

“Babe, I’m sorry but it’s been… what, three years?” Katie says, this time turning her entire body towards you.

“And I say again: so?”

An exasperated huff falls from Katie, a sound you were all too familiar with.

“You are as stubborn as he is.”

“Wait, you’ve talked to him?”

“Yes! I have. Is that a problem? He’s my friend too. Just because you can’t seem to forgive him, doesn’t mean I have to feel the same way.”

The silence that falls between the two of you is heavy, filled with accusations and mistrust. And you hated it.

You didn’t mean for your words to come out as harsh as they did. Didn’t mean for them to cause battle-lines to be drawn, forcing her to take a side. You knew that wasn’t fair.

But you didn’t have the heart to tell her this was how you were coping. It made you feel better, drawing lines, building walls, dissecting the part of you that still held onto him, deeming it as something malignant, something that needed to be cut off.

It was better than the nights you had spent lying in bed, analyzing the moments that the two of you had shared, trying to figure out what had changed between the first and last ‘I love you’.

“Have you tried just talking to him?” Katie asks, her voice softening.

This time, the sigh falls from you. You run your fingers over the rim of your cup, the smooth glass grounding you as your mind threatens to run back to those moments that you wish you could forget; late night talks, laughing under covers, the feeling of his hand tangled up in yours.

“I don’t think I could,” you whisper, “I’m sorry.” Out of the corner of your eye, you see Katie shoot a small sympathetic smile in your direction.

“I’m sorry too. For snapping at you like that. I just think you need to… hell, I don’t know what you need to do.” Her sentence is punctuated with a slight laugh, causing your lips to curl up in response.

“Me neither,” you chuckle, lifting your glass to your lips as your eyes turn once more to the setting sun.

“How about a night out?”

Another glance back towards your best friend, meeting her bright eyes and wide smile. It’s contagious, being around her and her almost continuous positive attitude. Perhaps that’s why you two worked together her. You and your tendency for melancholy. Her and her propensity for joy.

“Why not?”

“Perfect! Just you, me, and a couple of friends?”

“Sounds good to me,” you reply, reclining back, eyes fluttering close as you breathe deeply, letting the spring air fill your lungs.

Completely ignorant to the mischievous glimmer behind Katie’s eyes as she pulls out her phone, finding the number connected to the four-letter name that you wish you could forget, and typing out a quick message.

Hey Josh! Me and a few friends are planning to go out for drinks this weekend. Want to tag along? Message sent Monday, April 20th at 7:53pm

Sure, just tell me when and where. Message received Monday, April 20th at 8:22pm

*~*~*~*

8 o’clock.

That was the time Katie said she would meet you at the bar. You were sure of it.

For what felt like the hundredth time that night, you pull out your phone, double-checking the text thread between the two of you. And yep. 8 o’clock.

You sigh, leaning back against the leather of the random booth you had claimed for your friends. Your friends who weren’t here yet. Your eyes wander around the room, glancing at the door, waiting for someone to walk in. Katie, Austin, Taylor, Delia… someone.

Again, your phone is removed from your pocket as you pull up your messages, ready to text Katie, asking where she was. But before you can even type out a single word, a voice dances over the noise of the bar.

“Is this seat taken?”

You feel your muscles tense underneath your skin at the sound. You knew that voice. You had heard it in your dreams or perhaps in your nightmares; you never quite knew how to define them when you woke up. But you remembered that every morning, you had prayed to forget that voice.

It never worked. He always came back to haunt you.

But he was just a ghost in your dreams. If you looked up now, he would become real again.

Don’t look up, your brain screamed at you, pleading. Unfortunately, your heart had already made the decision long before your mind did.

Your eyes flickered up. And there he stood.

He looked good. That was your first thought. He looked really good. His hair was a little longer than you remember, his shoulders broader. But he still had that same gentle smile. The same beautiful blue eyes.

“Hey,” he breathed out, the word almost sounding like a question instead of a greeting. You couldn’t quite find your own voice, your eyes simply continuing to travel across the contours of his face. If he notices, he doesn’t call you out on it. Instead, the smile remains as he lets you examine at him.

Finally, he clears his throat, snapping you out of your trance and you hate how you feel your cheeks heat in embarrassment.

“So, is this seat taken?” he chuckles lightly, gesturing to the empty space across from you. A quick shake of your head is the only reply you are able to give but it seems to be enough for Josh, as he sits down, the leather sighing underneath the weight of him.

And the silence settled with him. You weren’t quite sure how to describe it; tense would be the word that you would attach to it if you were asked. But even then, that wasn’t entirely accurate. Yes, there was a layer of hesitance, of trepidation. But there was also an undercurrent of familiarity. As if you hoped he would return to you. As if you had been waiting for him to walk back into your life, no matter how much you denied it.

“How have you been?” Josh asks, breaking the silence between you.

“Good,” you murmur. “You?”

“Pretty good,” he responds. And the silence falls again.

You can’t stop your eyes from ducking down, your fingers tapping a rhythm on the wooden tabletop, trying to fill the space with some form of noise, trying (and failing) to find comfort in the middle of all of this. Once again, it is Josh that speaks first.

“Are you waiting for someone?” he asks and you think that you hear a slight hint of concern in his voice, as if he was afraid you had moved on. That you were waiting for the person that had taken his place.

No, that was ridiculous. He was just being polite, not wanting to interrupt your night. Same sweet Josh Anderson. You wish you could hate him for it.

“Yeah,” you reply, perhaps letting the pause between your words linger a bit longer than necessary. “Just Katie and a few other friends. She said they’d be here at 8.”

“She told me that too,” he sighs, leaning back, his own eyes glancing towards the entrance. It takes a minute for his words to register but when they do, your eyes snap up to him.

“Wait, Katie invited you?”

“Yeah, she texted me saying that her and a few friends were going out and if I wanted to come too,” he explains smoothly, glancing back at you.

“Oh.” The single syllable falls from your lips without warning and when it does, you hope it is lost in the noise of the bar. You weren’t so lucky.

“Why?” Josh asks again, his eyebrows lifted in question.

“I just…” you begin, trying to string together a group of words that sounded believable. “I just wasn’t expecting you, that’s all. Thought you might still be in Montreal.”

It was a lie. A blatant lie. But Josh didn’t need to know that.

“I got back about a week ago,” he tells you. You hum in response.

A part of you wished it was easier; talking to him. But the silence between you wasn’t just an empty nothingness. It was filled with memories: the good and the bad. And you weren’t sure which ones hurt more. You weren’t sure which ones were playing through Josh’s mind as the two of you sat there across from each other, in a bar that was all too familiar, in a town where you knew you could never escape him.

A small laugh falls from Josh and your eyes dart up to him once more. He’s reclined back into the booth, his arms lifting behind him and you have to stop yourself from watching the way his muscles flex.

“I actually haven’t been in this bar forever,” he says, his own gaze travelling over the memorabilia on the walls, the dark wood of the bar top, the old jukebox in the corner. “Do you remember that time after Taylor’s engagement when we all came and got them drunk.”

“Well, to be fair, if they hadn’t dated Austin for so long before finally getting engaged, they wouldn’t have had to take so many shots,” you reply, the memory tugging at the corner of your lips.

“Was that it? I thought it was one for every time they cried during the proposal?”

“I think it might have been a little bit of both.” Your smile grows wider at the sound of his laughter, the familiar trill of happiness running through you at the sound of it lifting over the chaos of the bar.

Both of your laughter dims but the smiles remain. Perhaps this could be easy. His blue eyes dart to you, his lips curled, his gaze gentle.

“Do you also remember after your high school graduation? You snuck out of your house and in my rental car. And we drove here in the pouring rain.”

And just like that, your smile falls. Because you did remember. But like all memories that involved him, it was one that you wished you were able to forget.

The downpour soaking through your shirt as you ran into the bar. The bartender pouring you and Josh a shot on the house. The two of you linking arms to down the tequila. Josh pulling you out to the empty floor, pulling up some ridiculous 80’s song. His arms wrapping around you, pulling you close to him.

“I really miss that,” you hear his voice sound again, pulling you out of that hazy daydream. He’s looking at you now, with those blue eyes that you had once thought you would wake up to every morning.

“Don’t.” Your voice comes out as a whisper; scared, wounded.

“I miss us.”

“Josh, please. Don’t.”

“Y/N…” Josh says, his voice pleading and you hate the way it cuts into you.

“Josh, stop. I can’t go down that road with you again.”

“Why not? It’s been three years.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that? As if there’s some kind of time limit on my emotions. Remember that you were the one that ended things between us. Maybe that means it’s easier for you to remember the good moments and want them back. But you weren’t the one that was left in this town to try and pick up the pieces.”

Your chest is heaving when your words die, the tears pricking at the corner of your eyes despite how much you willed them away.

He didn’t deserve to see you cry over him.

“Y/N,” Josh begins and you can see his hand creeping across the table, reaching out to you. The bell above the door rings and your eyes dart to the noise where you see your friends walk in.

“There’s Katie,” you say, cutting off his attempt at reconnection before sliding out of the booth, your words the only explanation for your departure.

You stalk towards Katie and you can see the understanding register on her face when she sees you. You don’t say anything as you grab her arm, dragging her to an empty corner of the bar. Releasing your grip, you turn to her, your expression a mix of anger and betrayal.

“Listen, I can explain,” Katie attempts to start but you stop her with a raised hand.

“You set me up.”

“Yes, I did,” she resigns.

“Why?” you ask, the anger slowly giving way to hurt.

“I just thought… I don’t know,” she tries.

“I’m going to need something better than that.”

“It’s just – Y/N, you can’t keep locking people out and expect to heal. That’s not how it works,” Katie explains, her voice verging on desperate. “I thought that if you just managed to talk to him, you’d realize that.”

A heavy exhale leaves you, as you turn your gaze away from her and back towards the booth where you had left Josh sitting, watching as he catches up with Taylor and Austin.

“So, did you? Talk to him?” Katie asks from besides you. You give her a small affirmative nod. “What did he say?”

“He said he missed us,” you whisper.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” you reply, turning your attention back to her. “I’m sorry Katie. I can’t do this tonight. I think I’m going to head home.”

You watch Katie’s face fall at you words, the defeated tone of your voice. In an eerily similar move to Josh, you see her hand reach out to you. Unlike with Josh, you willingly take it.

“I know you’re mad at me, even if you didn’t say it. And I’m sorry. I really want you to stay. But I won’t stop you if you think leaving is what’s best,” she says, her thumb smoothing over the back of your hand. Your head turns back towards Josh and you can feel the pang in your heart when you hear his laughter, so warm and familiar.

“I can’t stay.”

A soft squeeze of your hand pulls your attention back to Katie and she offers you a small smile. You let your lips curl in response and you don’t fight her when she pulls you into a gentle hug.

“Text me when you get home safe,” she whispers in your ear and you nod gently against her shoulder. She lets go, walking away from you as you head in the opposite direction. Bracing yourself against the weight of the door, you ready yourself to walk out and retreat to the comfort of your bedroom’s four walls. But before you do, you look back towards the booth where your friends sat.

And you immediately wished you hadn’t.

Because the instant you did, your eyes connected with his again. Ocean blue, the waves of sadness within in them reflecting back to you.

You pushed yourself out into the spring night before you drowned.

*~*~*~*

A pounding echoing around your skull rouses you from your slumber. You let out a soft groan, pulling the pillow over your head in an attempt to silence the noise and block out the late morning sun filtering through the window.

You didn’t sleep well at all, filling the night with tossing and turning instead of peaceful slumber. It didn’t help that every time you closed your eyes, you saw Josh.

Part of you thought you would’ve gotten used to him haunting you like this. But seeing him again just brought his ghost back with a vengeance instead. You could still feel the stabbing pain in your chest when you had woken up in the middle of the night, after dreaming of him. Just holding you close, his hands cradling you, hearing his steady heartbeat beneath your ear.

The gentle pounding that pulled you out of your listless sleep sounds again and you finally realize that it wasn’t your own body creating the racket, but someone knocking at your front door.

You stumble out of bed, not bothering to alter your appearance in any way. It was probably just the mailman. Or maybe it was Katie, coming over to apologize again.

The knocking resumes as you are shuffling towards the door, still soft but very insistent.

“I’m coming,” you call out, your fingers deftly undoing the locks and wrapping around the smooth metal handle. You swing the door open, your eyes finally lifting to meet the figure standing at your threshold. And there is no hiding your surprise when you come face to face with Josh.

“Um, hi,” he stutters out, his eyes quickly flicking downwards and you are suddenly hyperaware of your bare legs, your body only covered by a pair of shorts almost hidden underneath the soft cotton of your favorite oversized t-shirt.

“Hi,” you manage to say, straightening your posture; a guise of confidence. A short silence stretches out between the two of you as you simply look at each other, still unsure.

“Um,” Josh starts again, one hand reaching up to awkwardly scratch the back of his neck. You notice the white bowl precariously balanced in his other hand, your brows furrowing in curiosity. “I just wanted to apologize about last night.”

“Oh,” you say softly.

“Yeah…” Josh replies to your quiet acknowledgement. “The more I thought about it, the more I realized that you were right. It wasn’t fair for me to ambush you like that.”

“I mean, technically it was Katie that kind of ambushed both of us.”

“No, I meant… me bringing up the past like that.”

“Oh,” you say again, no actual words coming to mind at his confession.

“Anyways, I – um – I brought you some strawberries from my mom’s garden,” he says, holding out the ceramic to you. You gently take the bowl from his hands, lifting the paper towel covering the top, the sweet scent of the fruit hitting you, a soft smile appearing on your lips.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he replies, returning your gentle smile.

The two of you stand there, on opposite sides of the threshold, tentative smiles being shared until Josh breaks the silence once again.

“Can I talk about something I said last night?” he asks, his voice soft and kind. You give a subtle nod, waiting for him to continue. You can see his chest rise in a deep breath, as if he was preparing himself to speak the next words.

“I mentioned that I missed us?” he says, the should-be statement being phrased as a question, one for you to acknowledge. You feel your stomach twist, that fear that always appeared when you were forced to confront the past rearing its head again. But in the back of your mind, you hear Katie’s words from last night; her advice about the futility of locking people out. You fight back against your concern, giving Josh another nod, urging for him to continue.

“I know that you maybe haven’t forgiven me for how I left. And I am truly sorry about that. But, when I say that I miss us, I don’t just mean us as a couple. I miss talking to you. I miss hanging out with you. I miss being your friend,” he explains. “So, I guess I’m just asking you if there’s a chance that we can be friends again? Maybe we can grab a coffee and just catch up.”

His request lingers in the air between you, as impermanent as the morning fog that sometimes came rolling in from Lake Ontario. You know that you could grasp it, turn it into something lasting. But you hesitate, that fear taking a hold of you again.

“Well, I was just planning on staying home, watch some movies,” you begin to say, your words tinged with rejection despite the fact that you weren’t entirely sure that was what you wanted.

“Oh, well,” Josh says, clearly picking up on your underlying tone. “I’ll just… leave you to it then.”

He starts to turn away, his face disappearing from your line of sight. And there it was: another moment, another choice. A chance for you to retreat back into the comfort of hiding, of leaving him and the past locked outside both your physical and emotional walls. To stay safe in the darkness of your self-made cage.

Instead, you take a step outside your open doorway, the sunlight falling on your skin.

“Josh,” you call out to him. He turns back to you and it’s clear that the hesitance coiled in his body is mirrored in yours. You take a deep breath, silencing that voice that told you to run away.

“You can stay and watch a movie with me. Help me eat all these strawberries. If you want to,” you say, praying that you sound causal enough, pleading for your heart to stop rattling against your ribcage.

But you can’t ignore the way it somersaults when a grin appears on his face. Can’t stop an identical smile from forming on yours.

“I’d love to,” he says.

Your only response is another subtle nod as you step back into your house, holding the door open for him. Josh hops over the threshold, kicking off his shoes and you pretend not to notice the way his eyes bounce around the room.

“Kitchen still in the same place?” he jokes and a soft chuckle falls from your lips as you nod. “Still have a steady supply of vanilla ice cream in the freezer?”

“Always,” you reply, passing him the bowl, and watching as he walks over the hardwood floor, down the familiar hallways, like he never really left.

A few moments later, you find yourselves sitting on the couch, bowls filled with ice cream and fruit, the quiet clinking of silverware against the ceramic the only noise accompanying the soundtrack of the movie playing on your screen.

And Josh stays on his side, feet resting on the cushions in front of him. And you stay on yours, your legs tucked underneath, blanket covering your skin.

And for the first time, the distance between the two of you doesn’t feel like an ocean that you can’t cross.

It just feels comfortable.

*~*~*~*

You weren’t exactly sure what had changed between you and Josh after that first day.

Yes, there were more casual conversations, catching each other up on your respective lives; your progressing career and his new life in Montreal, how your family just got a new dog and how his parents recently moved houses.

You hung out together more, both with friends and just the two of you. The first time the two of you went out with Katie and a few other friends, she had pulled you aside, bewildered but ecstatic. You explained that it was still new, that the two of you were still navigating this tentative friendship and slightly begged her not to make a big deal out of it. She promised she wouldn’t but you couldn’t ignore the looks she shot you every time she saw you and Josh talking.

But things were easier. You assumed that was the most important thing.

Of course, there were moments when things weren’t easy. Like when he would crack a joke that sounded so similar to the ones he used to tell you when you were upset just to see you smile again. Or when he would recline back on your couch and you had to fight the urge to curl up next to him.

But overall, it was nice having him back in your life.

You had missed him. And you could tell he had missed you.

It was another night out, at the same bar with the same friends as the first night you and Josh reconnected. But unlike that first night, you were having fun; dancing with Taylor and Delia, challenging Austin to darts and failing miserably, chirping Josh when he and Katie played pool causing him to mess up a few shots, giving Katie the win.

It was a good night, filled with a lot of laughter and a few too many drinks. You were sitting at the booth with Katie and Josh, not listening to their conversation, instead watching Taylor and Austin sway on the dance floor. You slightly register the sound of Katies voice, saying something about getting another drink but it’s muffled, the alcohol you had consumed making your body heavy and mind hazy. Your eyes gently flutter close, your body sagging to the side, falling until your weight rests against a solid body, head falling onto a broad shoulder.

“Y/N.” A quiet voice calls to you but you ignore it, snuggling deeper into the warmth of the body next to you. The next thing you feel is a hand on your thigh, gently shaking you until your eyes open. It’s only then do you realize that you were leaning against Josh.

You pull back, fighting the heat that crawled up your neck as you mumble out a quick apology, feeling embarrassed as if you were caught with a hand in the cookie jar. But Josh doesn’t seem to share your concern.

“I think it’s time to get you home,” Josh laughs, his easy-going smile never faltering. You pull your lips into a large pout, widening your eyes at him.

“No, c’mon,” you whine. “I’m awake, I swear! Just another hour. Please?” For additional measure, you activate your muscles, causing your bottom lip to quiver. You almost think it works when Josh lets out a heavy sigh, his eyes pulling away from you. But your hope is quickly dashed when his gaze returns to you, the smile still there but his eyes set in stone.

“Nope,” Josh says. “You’ve hit your limit; I know you have. Let’s get you home.”

Before you have another chance to argue, you see Josh pick up your purse from the table, slinging it over his shoulder and walking to the door, forcing you to follow him. You huff, stamping your feet on the hardwood floor beneath the booth before finally admitting defeat, scooting out of your seat and trailing close behind him. Josh looks back, the smile reappearing on his face when he sees that you’ve followed him. Holding the door open for you, he smirks when you pass by him in a huff.

“You’re no fun,” you complain to the almost empty parking lot, when you heard the bar door shut behind you. The only response you get is a soft chuckle and a hand placed on the small of your back as he starts to gently guide you.

You let Josh push you towards his truck, even accepting his hand to hop up into the cab. Watching as he circles the front, you sigh, leaning your head against the cool leather of the seats, your eyes fluttering shut. You wouldn’t admit it to Josh, but he was right. You had hit your limit a while ago but in the hubbub of the bar, it was easy to ignore it. Now, in the silence of the night, you could start to feel your head spinning. You weren’t completely gone, but you were pleasantly buzzed; buzzed enough to know you would wake up with a little regret come morning.

The rumble of the engine causes your eyes to open and you slide your eyes to the left, watching as Josh pulls out of the parking spot, his hands elegantly moving along the wheel. You are oddly captivated by the way his fingers wrap around the leather, the way his arms move and flex when he turns.

A clearing of the throat breaks you out of your reverie and your eyes pop up to Josh’s face, seeing him smirking at you and you once again have to fight off the heat that creeps up your neck to your cheeks. You adjust in your seat, forcing a scowl onto your face.

“The puppy dog eyes always work on you,” you grumble, turning your head to look out the window, pretending that you were still hurt over the fact that he dragged you out of the bar.

“Worked on me,” he playfully corrects, eyes reverting back to the road.

“Yeah, well, why don’t they work anymore?” you chirp back, directing your attention back to him, slightly leaning over the center console. “Am I not cute enough?”

He smiles softly, his eyes darting over to you.

“No, it’s not that,” he murmurs and there is something in his tone that makes you pause. He almost sounded… sad. You recline back into your seat, widening the gap between you and him, choosing to look at his profile illuminated by the passing lights. You didn’t like the feeling that had started to settle over the two of you; heavy and filled with unsaid words. You wanted the lightness and ease that used to be there.

“What if,” you begin, keeping your tone playful, “instead of puppy dog eyes, I got you an actual puppy?” A smile tugs at the corner of Josh’s lips as he glances back over to you.

“What, do you have one hidden in your purse?” You glance down at the small crossbody handbag resting on the carpeted floor, knowing that you could only fit your phone and wallet in there; maybe your sunglasses if you were lucky. And you knew Josh was aware of that fact as well.

“Perhaps…” you reply, trying not to acknowledge the sense of relief that rushed through you at the sound of a laugh rumbling from Josh’s chest. You respond with your own laughter, relaxing once more.

The quiet falls over the two of you again and you let it settle, turning to watch the dim lights of the city pass you by. Leaning your head against the cool glass, you lift your head up to the moon, shining bright in the night sky.

Something about it felt magical.

Your eyes wander over to driver’s seat once more and you catch Josh’s eyes already locked on you; dancing up and down your frame, curled up in his passenger seat, your face towards the moonlight.

A small smile appears on his lips when he catches your gaze, shy and sheepish and you respond with one of your own. The electricity thrums between the two of you and it feels so similar to all those nights in the past when he would drive you back home after curfew, sneaking you back into your bedroom and you would always leave him with a kiss filled with the promise of “see you tomorrow”.

You pull your eyes away from him, trying to banish those memories. That was then. This was now. There was nothing left to do but move on.

The engine rumbles to a stop beneath you and you snap out of your reverie to see your house right outside the window. Josh gets out and is by your side when you push open the passenger door. You hop down, the world swaying beneath your feet at your sudden movement and you can sense Josh move to your side, his hands reaching out towards you.

“I’m fine,” you say, playfully swatting his hands away. Josh doesn’t give you a verbal response, just a smirk and a small step back.

“I’ll walk you to the front at least, just in case you can’t unlock your door.” You can hear the teasing in his voice and you roll your eyes at his poking.

“I’m sure I will be just fine, thank you very much,” you shoot back, taking careful steps up your sidewalk. Josh doesn’t say anything but you can hear his own gentle footsteps following you until you reach your doorstep.

Your keys feel cumbersome in your hands as you fumble with the lock on the front door. Josh’s steady presence behind you makes you feel safer, even though you know intrinsically that he has a small smirk on his face as he watches you struggle.

“Shut up,” you mumble as you miss the keyhole for what felt like the hundredth time.

“I didn’t say anything,” Josh laughs.

“Yeah, but you were thinking it.” Another small chuckle is his response when you finally managed to fit your key into the lock. You stop the small cheer from escaping your throat, knowing Josh would likely tease you for that as well. Turning the key, you can barely hear the latch click unlock and you turn the doorknob. But it doesn’t budge. A small huff of annoyance escapes you.

“Damn door, sticking at the worst time,” you grumble underneath your breath, bracing your shoulder against the wood, planting your feet on the concrete patio. You turn the knob again and push with all your might against the door but if it moves at all, it’s an imperceptible amount. Another sigh escapes as you reposition your body, steeling yourself to try again.

“Oh, come on, you piece of –“ Your words fail you as the door swings open easily and you feel yourself falling. The tiniest shriek falls from your lips as you careen forward, readying yourself to crash onto your floor. But before your body hits the hardwood, you feel a strong pair of arms wrap around your waist, correcting your trajectory and lifting you over the small lip of your doorway.

The breaths were caught in your throat as you attempt to re-orient yourself to your now upright position, the adrenaline still pumping through you. You don’t quite register that someone is talking behind you until the arms still wrapped around your waist gently spin you around, bring you face-to-face with Josh.

“Y/N, are you okay?” he asks and you might have been caught off-guard by the amount of anxiety in his voice if your head wasn’t already a jumbled mess. You glance up into his eyes, his pupils still dilated in worry. And maybe it was the combination of alcohol, tiredness, and adrenaline that caused your next action:

You started laughing.

Small giggles at first which slowly transformed into genuine laughter. You see Josh’s expression slowly morph from concern to confusion which simply makes you laugh harder. A small smile of disbelief appears on Josh’s face, a chuckle of his own escaping at your reaction.

“Can I ask what’s so funny?” he says, shaking his head lightly.

“I almost fell opening my door,” you manage to wheeze out between giggles. Your head falls forward, gently hitting the center of his chest, your eyelids fluttering close, your hand coming to rest on his chest. You can feel the vibration of another chuckle escaping him underneath your palm.

“What am I going to do about you?” he muses. It’s not a question that requires a response, but you feel obligated to give him an answer regardless. You lift your head off his chest, the remnants of your laughter still rumbling through you as your eyes open to meet his gaze again.

The instant you do, you feel the laughter die in the back of your throat.

Josh is looking down at you, that sweet smile on his face, his eyes soft. But it’s not just the fact that he’s staring at you, the moonlight filtering through your windows dancing over his skin. It’s how he’s looking at you.

Like he used to. Like he still loved you. As if nothing had changed between the two of you. Even though you both know that everything has.

Your own eyes gaze back at him, wide and wanting as you watch his expression change, the smile slowly fading as he registers the emotions playing on your face. You can still feel his hands still on your hips, feel them flex against you, fighting against the urge to pull you in to him. The familiar scent of his cologne floods your senses every time you attempt to steady your breathing and you hate how it feels like home to you.

A quiet whimper pulls itself from the back of your throat, the noise sounded more like a wounded animal than a human. Perhaps that was an accurate description of how you felt ever since he left; a scared creature, afraid and hurt.

But now he’s here and he’s not running away. Instead, he’s holding onto you like a lifeline and you can feel the thundering of his heart beneath the palm still resting on his chest.

Your hand trails up, dancing over his shoulder and finding it’s familiar spot on the nape of his neck, fingers sliding though his hair. His eyes close and you feel his fingers once again tighten against your waist. And it is in that moment that you realize that he might be just as scared as you were.

This time, it’s you who takes the leap.

You take a small step forward, pressing your body against his and hear his breathing hitch. Your hand pulls away from his neck, tracing across his jawline before disappearing from his skin as you reach up, brushing the long hairs that have fallen into his face, a subtle reminder of how many things have changed.

But when your hand glides down, sliding from his hair and coming to cup his cheek, the past doesn’t seem to matter.

Because he leans his face into your open palm as if your touch was the sunlight after a long winter.

Lifting your other hand up to cup his opposite cheek, you gently pull his head down towards you. Your thumbs caress the soft skin across his cheekbones and you watch as Josh’s eyes open, those blue irises almost swallowed by his pupils blown wide. You notice the way his eyes bounce from your eyes to your lips and back. There was no reason to call him out on it because you know yours were doing the same.

The two of you stand there, so close, breaths intermingling. Josh’s eyes squeeze shut and feel the shuddering exhale shake through him.

“We shouldn’t.”

His hushed whisper is a gunshot in the silence of the room. You can feel his words pierce you, cut through to your marrow.

“No, we shouldn’t,” you say, your words just as unsteady as his.

That was the truth. Both of you knew it. And yet, neither of you move. Trapped in the liminal space between the dream of what could’ve been and the reality of what truly was.

You watch as Josh’s eyes open once again, locking with yours and you can’t stop the pang in your heart when you see the pain lingering there. The ache of realization that you were partially responsible for its presence. He leans in and your eyes flutter close in response to his movements.

The whisper of his lips presses into the crown of your head. They linger there for a moment, still holding you until you feel him pull away; your hands falling from his face, his hands falling from you.

You want to reach out, to hold onto him and hold on to this moment. But you don’t. Instead, you stay there, your eyes closed, arms dangling limply at your side because as much as you want him to stay, you don’t want to see him leave. You don’t want to watch as his back disappears behind a closed door.

It isn’t until you hear the sound of a latch clicking into place do you open your eyes.

And come face to face with an empty room.

*~*~*~*

The shifting sunlight filtering through your bedroom window was a glaring reminder that the day was slipping away from you. And with every hour that passed, your regret grew.

Or, perhaps, regret wasn’t the correct word.

You knew last night when you left the bar that you would regret the amount of alcohol you drank, knowing it would cause an ache in your skull. But what you didn’t plan on was waking up with an ache in your chest that was twice as large, twice as painful.

And the guilt? The shame? The – well, frankly, the bullshit that brought it on was a hurdle that you couldn’t quite figure out how to overcome.

Did you regret it? You weren’t sure. There was regret there, when you looked back over every moment of last night. But you didn’t know if you regretted the action or the outcome; letting him close or letting him go.

A humorless chuckle falls from your lips at the thought. If that didn’t sum up every fucking feeling that had thrummed through you ever since the night three years ago when you drove away from his house for what you thought would be the last time. And every feeling that appeared the moment you laid eyes on him again.

You picked up your cell phone from its place in the bedsheets next to you, turning it and lighting up the screen.

No messages. No word from Josh.

Was he feeling the same way, restless in his own bed? Did he feel the same things that you had felt last night, bathed in moonlight?

Did he actually want you the way you wanted him?

A heavy sigh pushes from your chest as your head spins with all the words left unsaid. Until, finally, something settles.

A small memory surfaces, a moment in your history that you never like to have cross your mind. The night of the breakup, standing in Josh’s garage as he tells you it’s over.

‘Our love lacks connection.’

You remembered that line he fed you, how it lingered even after the initial pain vanished. In the moment, you were confused by his words. How could your love lack connection when you two spent every moment fighting for a minute of time together?

Now you realize that wasn’t the connection he meant, that you both needed. You wanted to be together, yes. But it was more of an entanglement rather than a true connection. Both of you were so unsure of the future, of what each of you truly wanted. But you loved the idea of being together, staying wrapped up in each other, too much that you ignored the reality. Until that reality became too tough to ignore.

And now, after three years, did you know what you wanted?

Yes.

You wanted him.

The conviction of your thoughts slightly startles you. But instead of taking a step away from that uncomfortableness, you lean into the feeling, using it as fuel to influence your next actions. A steadying breath falls from you as you unlock your phone, pull up the number that had found it’s old home in your contacts a few short months ago.

Can I come over? Message sent Saturday, June 18th at 8:18pm

The message is fired off before you can give yourself a moment to overthink it, analyze every single letter and syllable. You wait, watch the continually setting sun dip below the horizon, before you feel your phone vibrate in your hand.

Sure. Out on the dock. Message received on Saturday, June 18th at 8:24pm

You force yourself not to dissect his reply. There were things you both needed to say. Things that simply could not be relayed over characters on a screen.

Instead, you lift yourself up off your bed, only bothering to brush your hair once before grabbing your keys.

The drive to Josh’s house feels like it takes an eternity and still, you are pulling up to his house all too soon. Slipping out of your car, you make your way to the backyard, silently pushing open the gate. You spy Josh sitting at the edge of the dock, propped up on his arms, his legs dangling over the edge, rippling the water. Slowly, you make your way towards the lake edge, the sound of crickets and frogs the only accompaniment to your gentle footsteps rustling through the grass.

The wood of the dock is warm beneath your bare feet, the lingering sun trapped within it. It calms you somewhat as you wander closer to Josh and closer to the conversation that you knew would change everything.

Finally, you reach the edge, sitting down next to him. You pull one of your knees up towards your chest, the other leg slipping into the cool lake water, the chill sending a welcome shock through your system. A reminder that this moment was real. And necessary.

If Josh heard you coming, he gave no acknowledgement. And even now, when you were close enough to watch each other breathe, he still doesn’t react. Just continues to stare out over the water of the lake, the lilac sky. Until, finally, he breaks the silence.

“You drove here without shoes on,” he muses.

“I needed to talk to you,” is your only reply, but an honest one at that.

“Okay.”

That’s all he gives you, a single word. But you don’t blame him. Even you didn’t know exactly where to start. But you decide that maybe the best place to start… was at the beginning.

“Remember what you said to me, that night in April? When we saw each other again? How you said that you missed us?” You pause, waiting for some kind of response from Josh.

“I remember,” Josh replies in the gentlest of voices.

“I guess, I’m just wondering…” You fumble over your words, trying to string your thoughts together. Josh hears your hesitation and he directs his gaze over to you. In the fading light, you can see those gentle blue eyes cutting through you in the softest way.

“Do you still miss us? Like that?”

The question crawls from your mouth almost unwillingly, once again wanting to hide from the potential pain that it could bring. But you needed to say it. And needed to hear it from his lips.

You watch the question wash over Josh, watch as it registers in his eyes. He turns away from you, looking back at the forest lining the edge of the water.

“Why are you asking me this?” His voice dances over the still water, delicate as dragonfly wings.

“I thought that it might be obvious. Considering last night,” you mumble into the skin pulled taut over your knee. Josh sits up, turning his entire body to face you, the quiet sloshing of the lake highlighting his movements.

“I can’t read your mind,” Josh says. “I never could. Not last night, not the month before that, and not three years ago. If I could then… maybe things could’ve been different.”

“What do you mean by that?” you ask, your voice just as fragile as his.

“Last night… it just seemed like…”

“Like what?”

“Like maybe you still wanted me.”

His words linger, hanging over the two of you. The silence that stretches between you seems as unnavigable as the ocean, forcing the distance to extend. Unless you reach out to him. A lifeline in the waves. A lantern in the dark.

“I do. Want you.” You let your confession sit, let Josh hear it, understand it, process it, before you continue. “And I suppose I’m asking you if you miss us because last night, I felt like maybe you still wanted me too.”

Your focus turns back to Josh, your eyes never leaving his face. You are captivated by every subtle shift in his expression; perhaps preparing yourself for the worse, maybe hoping for the best. Readying yourself for whatever words he uttered.

Always trying to beat him to the punch.

But when those indigo eyes connect with yours, the barely perceptible upward curve tugging at his lips, you can’t stop your traitorous heart from leaping.

“I do.”

You don’t have to ask him to what was he responding. I do want you. I do miss us, like that. It didn’t really matter anyway.

The shy smile creeps over your features, one that Josh responds to with a smile of his own. The tension between you vanishes, the choppy waves of the ocean receding until they were as soft as the ripples of the lake caressing your skin.

“Can I ask you one more thing?” Josh asks, his hand moving to run through his hair, a nervous tick you were all too familiar with. You lift your chin off of your knee, turning and opening yourself up to him before nodding. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier? That you felt that way?”

You sigh, breaking his gaze as you comb through your thoughts, trying to find the exact reason why you kept your feelings a secret from him, hidden in the dark until they were forced into the light.

“There were so many moments when I wanted to tell you,” you begin, remembering all those moments when your memories hit you and made you ache. “But I spent so much time denying it, trying to leave those feelings in the past where I thought they belonged. Because I thought it was better that way. And because the friendship that we had rebuilt was too good to risk.”

You pause, gathering your fears and anxieties and sorting them into the words your heart had been screaming since the moment you laid eyes on him that April night.

“Part of me missed you too much to lose you again,” you say, glancing back at him. Another small smile dances on Josh’s face, giving you the courage to continue. “I don’t want to swallow my words anymore. I miss you. I miss us. And I want that back. But only if you want that too.”

Josh doesn’t respond, letting another silence cover the two of you. It is a stillness, a quiet that was both filled with possibilities and yet comfortable in its nothingness.

Josh reaches out to you, his palm open and empty. You feel as his knuckles graze over the skin of your leg as his hand stretches out towards your own, settled in your lap. He coaxes your hand into his, fingers intertwining.

You could say that there was a surge of electricity, or butterflies, or sparks, or any other cliché associated with love when your hand settled in his. But that wasn’t the case.

Instead, the feeling that came over you was a serenity, a calm.

His hand clasped in yours felt like coming home.

*~*~*~*

SUMMER

You were going on a date.

Every time that sentence raced through your head, it still sent a small thrill down your spine. You were going on a date. With Josh. Something you had done a hundred times before. Something you hadn’t done in three years.

The dichotomy still fought against each other if you thought too hard about it. Dating Josh. It was everything: new yet familiar, nerve-wracking but casual, scary yet comfortable. You tried your hardest not to let the conflict consume you but as the hours passed, it was clear that ignoring it wasn’t as easy as you wanted it to be.

You were nervous. The clothes scattered around your bedroom floor and the hole you were threatening to wear into the wooden floors of your foyer were evidence of that.

Whatever the tangled mess of feelings you had swirling around in your skull were, it had you changing your outfit at least 20 times. It had you triple checking your text messages from Josh, just to confirm when he said he would pick you up for probably the hundredth time. It had you pacing back and forth, glancing out the window at the sound of every car that drove down your street.

Finally, when you pulled back the soft gauzy curtains from your front window, you see Josh’s familiar red pickup truck idling up to rest in front of your driveway. You quickly grab your keys, shoving them into your purse before bounding out the door and down the sidewalk, still unsure of the exact emotion that was driving your energy.

“Hey,” you say breathlessly as you swing open the door, climbing up into the comfortable passenger seat, and quickly buckling your seatbelt before glancing over at Josh. The anxiety gnawing in your chest relaxes as you see his smile.

“Hi to you too. Are you ready for this?”

“I don’t know. What am I supposed to be ready for?”

“The best first date of your life.”

“Does this really count as our first date? Considering…” you trail off, not sure if bringing up the past was the best idea at the beginning of something new. But Josh doesn’t balk at your words. Instead, he shoots you that easy-going smile, the one that always made you feel safe.

“I guess it all depends,” he shrugs, pulling off the parking brake before rolling down your street.

“On?”

“Whether you like this one better than the other.”

You laugh, once again thankful for his light-hearted attitude easing your concerns.

“Those are bold words Joshua,” you tease, curling up in your seat as the car picks up speed. “I expect to be wooed.”

“Wooing is my middle name,” he laughs.

“We both know that’s not true.”

Another chuckle falls from Josh’s lips and you relax into the twilight, turning to watch the neighborhood pass you by. Josh had the windows rolled down, letting the summer air create a comfortable breeze that rushed through the car, ruffling your hair. You lean back into the passenger seat, observing the soft glow of the skyline before glancing back at Josh.

Maybe you were over-thinking everything. Because he was there, cool and calm in the driver’s seat, the wind fluttering his hair ever so softly, constantly making him run his hands through the chocolate strands, absentmindedly making you want him even more.

Josh notices your staring, his eyes darting back to you with a grin. You smile back and for the first time, the heat doesn’t rise to your cheeks in embarrassment. It was as if that wall that had existed between the two of you had come crumbling down ever since that night on the dock.

Another quick glance out of the window, you see the gentle lights of the city sparkling in the early night.

“Downtown, huh?” you ask, glancing back towards Josh. “Where are we going?”

“I’ll give you a hint,” Josh replies with a sly smirk, right before he easily slides his truck up next to the sidewalk. Your head quickly spins around to look out the window and the smile that was on your face only grew wider when you saw the blue awnings and the multicolored Adirondack chairs sitting outside the small ice cream shop.

There a laugh and even a small reminiscing sigh as you watch the groups of friends and family, hanging out. The memories grow bigger when you even spy some kids wearing Eagles hockey jerseys.

“God, I remember this place. Do you remember that time we came here after you lost one of your baby teeth on the ice?”

“Yes!” Josh laughs, hopping out of the truck and coming up to your side, politely extending a hand to help you down from the cab. “I think my parents were mortified that I insisted on coming here with blood still on my jersey.”

“It was kind of jarring but I think if you showed up with a bloody rag next to your mouth in street clothes, that would be even weirder. The hockey jersey definitely helped explain a few things,” you tease. Josh chuckles as he pulls open the door for you, the bell above the shop ringing as you walked in.

The two of you fall into place in line and you browse the familiar, barely-changed chalkboard menu. Josh comes to stand right next to you, his forearm lightly touching yours and you can feel the miniscule space between your skin. You want to take his hand in yours. But something stops you.

Perhaps the wall between the two of you hadn’t disappeared. Perhaps it was just… opaque.

Fortunately, Josh doesn’t seem to feel the same way and your heart skips a beat when his hand slides against yours, fingers slotting in between your own as the two of you waltz up to the countertop. You order your traditional two scoops of rocky road and Josh orders his, the two of you just as easily walk out of the shop, hand-in-hand. He doesn’t release your grasp until you make it back to his truck, unlatching the tailgate and the two of you hop up, sitting in the cool air, the hustle and bustle of downtown in the summer hitting your eardrums.

“Do you know what other memory I like?” Josh asks. You turn to him, spoon halfway out of your mouth, only able to respond with a small hum. He doesn’t mind; just grins at your actions and carries on with his train of thought.

“2010.”

It’s your turn to smile at him. That was all he had to say: one year and you knew exactly what he was talking about.

It was the night after the Ontario Hockey League Entry Draft. Even though you and Josh were still just friends back then, you had kept tabs on the proceedings. And you were dismayed when you learned that Josh had been passed over by every single team.

He had actually texted you, the message short and simple, asking if you could meet him at the ice cream shop. You gladly found your way there and you sat with him; just sat there and listened. Let him talk, let him sit in silence, let him rant, even let him cry.

You could confidently pinpoint that as a pivotal moment in your relationship. A moment where the idea of being something more than friends had crossed both of your minds.

“That was a nice night,” you muse, taking another bite of your dessert.

“Yes. It was.”

You glance back at him, leaning back, one arm supporting him. He looks so relaxed, so casual and easy going. That’s how he was around you and it made you feel good. You just wish that his temperament could make you feel just as at ease as him.

But this – going from friends to something more for the second time in your life – it wasn’t simple. You felt as if you were tiptoeing around intimacy with him. Wanting that closeness, that connection, that ease. But what were you supposed to do with all this baggage and fear that you carried with you from the past?

How could you possibly do this?

“You’re thinking too much.” Josh’s gentle voice pulls your from your restless contemplation. Your eyes drift up to his, the gentle shine of them reflecting back onto you.

“I thought you said you couldn’t read my mind?” you joke, trying to brush off his concern.

“I can’t. But I’ve been around you long enough to know when you’re stuck in your head,” Josh explains, never looking away, confronting you with his honesty. “Talk to me. It’s just me. Same me as always.”

“That’s the problem,” you say and you see his eyebrows furrow at your words. “It’s you and it’s me. We’ve been here before. And every time I look at you and think about this and think about us now, I can’t help but think about us back then.”

“And… that’s a bad thing?”

“I… I don’t know if it is or not,” you sigh out.

“Then, just don’t think. Just do whatever feels natural. Whatever feels good. And remember: it’s me. There’s nothing you could do that would make me want you less.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“Not even if I told you I’m going to become a Boston Bruins fan?”

“Well…” Josh extends, causing a laugh to fall from your lips, a bigger smile coming onto his. Just like that a weight was lifted up off your shoulders.

As the conversation continues, you attempt to take Josh’s advice. You try and let it go. Let go of all your fears and your ghosts, including the ones that look like him. You relax, just letting your body do what it wants. Let your heart guide you.

And when your head comes to rest against Josh’s shoulder, you feel his arm wrap around your waist and sigh contentedly.

“There she is. I missed you.”

*~*~*~*

“Ow, shit.”

You quietly curse under your breath as the flame from your matchstick hits the tips of your fingers. You flick your wrist, extinguishing the light as you raise yourself up from over the patio table. Thankfully, you see the wick of the citronella ignite and you hum happily.

Josh was going to be arriving at your house soon for a romantic dinner and you wanted things to be perfect or at least as close to perfect as possible. You re-enter your kitchen and before you know it, you hear a firm but gentle knock.

Jogging up to your front door, you swing it open, smiling when your eyes immediately land on Josh’s smiling face.

“Hey beautiful.”

“Hey gorgeous,” you respond, your compliment widening Josh’s grin. Your gaze falls down to the colorful bouquet of flowers and pitcher of sangria in his hands. Josh follows your gaze and blushes, holding out the items to you.

“Oh, these are for you.”

“Thank you so much,” you say, graciously accepting them. “I’ll put these in some water and add them to our table,” you explain, gently shaking the blooms.

“Wait, what am I doing? Let me take those back and I’ll put them in water,” Josh replies, taking the flowers from your hands.

“Okay. Thank you again. There’s a vase in the cabinet above the refrigerator,” you explain, walking back into your house, the sangria in your hands, Josh following close behind. The two of you enter the kitchen and find yourself falling into an easy rhythm: you placing the finishing touches on dinner and Josh cutting and arranging the flowers. It’s an easy silence that is only broken when Josh sees you pull dinner from the oven.

“Did you make pizza?”

“Yes I did,” you sing-song, proudly placing the pan onto the counter to cool.

“You are amazing. I feel like I could kiss you right now.”

His words still your movements for a moment, pausing as you look at him with a nervous smile on your face. He continues to prepare the flowers, still completely casual, as if he was ignorant to the words he just said. You bite your lips, trying to stop the heat from rising to your cheeks and let the words slide, finishing up your dish before leading him to the backyard.

After Josh pours your drinks and the two of you settle into your seats, the conversation begins and continues easily. It’s light and playful and even a bit flirty which makes the smile never leave your face, happy that the natural ease that defined your relationship has lasted. The breeze from the lake helps to keep the two of you cool, the flowers and candles adding a natural touch of romance. Even the soft music playing from the speaker perched on the railing helps make the evening feel like something out of a movie.

The shadows grew longer as the candles grew shorter and dinner was consumed. You and Josh were left leaning back in your seats, nursing the remainder of your sangria, relaxing and reminiscing. Suddenly, Josh pauses, his head tilting as he listens to the guitar chords now echoing through the evening.

Before you have the chance to register exactly what was happening, Josh pushes up from his seat and wanders over to you.

“Dance with me,” he asks, holding his hand to you.

“What?”

“Dance with me,” Josh repeats, locked in his position, patiently waiting for your response. You are beyond bewildered, unsure exactly where this was going and not entirely sure what his plan was.

But this was Josh. Your Josh: as soft as summer and as gentle as the setting sun.

He stands above you, his palm empty and inviting. Your head ducks down, the soft smile playing on your lips before you reach up and place your hand in his.

Josh pulls you out into the yard, the last rays of the sun painting the sky in beautiful pastel colors. Guiding you into a gentle spin underneath his arm, you feel his hand fall into place on the small of your back. You reach up and let your hand rest on his shoulder, delicate and featherlight. Josh leads your movements, the two of you swaying barefoot in the grass.

You are still somewhat hesitant, not wanting to completely fall into the warmth of the season, the warmth of him.

‘It’s just him,’ your mind tells you, repeating the words he told you on your first date. ‘Let it go.’

You lean your head against his chest and you can hear the steadfast beat of his heart. Josh pulls you closer, his arm tightening around your waist. Finally, your realize what song is playing, falling from the stereo.

When everything feels like the movies, yeah you bleed just to know you’re alive…

You chuckle lightly under your breath, but since you are so close to Josh, he not only hears it, but feels your body shake.

“What is it?” he asks.

“It’s our old song,” you say, a whisper of laughter coming from your lips. Josh pauses, taking a moment to listen to the lyrics and you can hear a quiet hum come from him. He holds you close, his lips falling to the crown of your head and it’s a moment before you hear him murmur into your hair.

“Maybe it can be ours again.”

*~*~*~*

Tonight, was a great night. What had started as a casual date with Josh slowly turned into one of the best nights you’ve had. He had come over after dinner and the two of you had spent your time relaxing, passing the time.

The night was filled with all the things you loved: board and card games which slowly devolved into you and him trying to sabotage each other, your competitive streaks coming out. A bowl of popcorn settled in between the two of you that you convinced Josh to load with salt and butter, persuading him that it could count towards his cheat meal.

And when the two of you had finally tired, the day catching up to you, you found yourself curled up next to him on the sofa, slotted comfortably under his arms. A movie that you had seen a thousand times was playing on your television and a light blanket is thrown over the two of you, just adding to the warmth of this moment.

It was worlds away from that day in April; the two of you staying firmly on opposite sides of the couch. And you were happy that the transition between then and now had been decently seamless.

But since the romance between you was still new, you were thankful for this night. You were still trying to find your way back to each other and this night created a peaceful break from the complexity of your lives and gave you a solitary moment where you and Josh could just… be.

You feel yourself nodding off, your head falling onto his shoulder and your eyelids fluttering close. You pull yourself deeper into his side and you can feel Josh leaning back, creating more of a recline for you to rest on.

If anyone would have asked, this was a perfect moment for you. And you never wanted to move.

You weren’t sure exactly how much time had passed but soon, you feel someone lightly shaking your body, pulling you back to reality. Bleary with sleep, your eyes open and notice that the movie was over, credits rolling across the screen. You look up to see Josh smiling down at you and you couldn’t stop the smile that appeared on your lips at the sight of him, his facial features highlighted by the soft glow of the lamplight.

“Hey darling,” he whispers, his hand caressing your arm. “It’s time to get you to bed.”

You hum in agreement, slowly unfurling your body, the muscles in your legs slightly protesting as you lift yourself off the cushion. You raise your arms, stretching out your back, hoping that you can wake yourself up enough to wander to the bedroom and fall asleep underneath your sheets.

You watch as Josh folds your blanket, tossing it over back of the couch before a hand comes to rest on the small of your back, helping to guide you down the hallways, a quiet laugh echoing at your sluggish movements.

“Don’t laugh at me,” you grumble as he swings open the bedroom door. Your protests fall on deaf ears when you flop down, face first onto your mattress and rest there for a moment before gripping the edge of your blankets and burrowing underneath the soft fabric.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, another chuckle escaping him. He wanders over to your bed, that gentle smile barely visible from the moon filtering through your windows. Leaning down with one hand resting on the mattress, your eye close as he presses his lips onto your forehead, a gentle parting kiss.

“Sleep tight,” Josh says, his departing weight making a small part of your chest ache. He turns away and you hear his soft footsteps retreating. The light from the rest of your house peeks into your bedroom as he opens the door, preparing to leave.

“Hey, Josh,” you call softly, the sound of your voice forcing him to turn around glance back at you. “You – you can stay the night. If you want to. With me.”

Your words come out staccato, your voice sticking in your throat, that fear wishing that you had swallowed your words. But you are thankful that you didn’t because in the dim light, you can see a smile appear on his face.

“Sure,” he says. “Just let me turn off your lights and I’ll be right back.”

You hum your acknowledgement, nestling into your bedding as Josh disappears behind the door. You hear him move around the house, watch as the light underneath the door slowly fades. Before you know it, Josh sneaks back into your bedroom and you lift up the sheets, a small giggle escaping you as he happily bounds over, lifting himself up onto your mattress. You awkwardly throw the blanket over his body as he gets comfortable, adjusting your pillows to his liking.

After a few moments of rearranging your bodies, finding a position that worked for both of you, you snuggled into soft sheets, the weight of Josh’s body next to you and his arm thrown over you warm and welcoming.

“Goodnight,” you mumble as you press your body closer to him.

“Goodnight, darling.”

*~*~*~*

July 1st. Canada Day. And the day of Delia’s annual barbeque at her house. It was a day that you had always looked forward to every single year and this year was no different. Except for one thing: Josh.

Not that you didn’t want him there. But because the idea of him there with your group of friends while you two were still working your way back to each other was… complicated.

Did you tell your friends that you were dating again? When they had all been there for the aftermath of your previous relationship? Did you want to give them that false hope and erase any lines that were drawn, only to potentially draw them once again if the two of you ended?

These thoughts were racing through your mind as you once again found yourself sitting in the passenger seat of Josh’s truck as he drove down to Delia’s house.

“Hey, what are you thinking about?” Josh asks, bringing you back to reality.

“Just about… us.”

“What about us?” You sigh, tearing your eyes away from the window and adjusting your body in your seat to face him more directly.

“Do you want to tell our friends about us? That we’re dating again?”

“I don’t know. Do you?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe, maybe not. I just don’t know if it would be awkward,” you explain, the entire prospect of the day starting to tire you. “Would you mind if we didn’t tell anyone? Or at least not outright? Like, we wouldn’t act any different towards each other but also maybe not be super obvious about it? If that makes any sense.”

“I got you. And… I think I’m okay with that,” Josh says, his voice remaining casual. Your eyebrows scrunch, slightly taken aback by his laissez faire attitude.

“Are you sure?”

“Babe, whatever you want, I’m cool with. I’m letting you take the lead here, promise.”

“Okay,” you reply quietly. “Let’s just keep you and I on the down low. Since this is the first time we’ll hang out with friends.”

“Sounds good,” Josh responds. You are ready to let the conversation go and prepare yourself for this party but before you can, Josh reaches out and grabs your hand, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. “Although, I’m not sure I can keep my hands off of you that long.”

You laugh, your own fingers caressing the rough skin on his palms. The two of you continue the rest of the drive hand-in-hand and in comfortable silence. It isn’t long until you’re pulling up outside Delia’s front door, finding a place along the already crowded street. Josh sneakily places a soft kiss on the back of your hand before you are both slipping out of the truck and entering the party.

It's already in full swing and as you and Josh weave through the crowd, Josh very quickly gets stopped by the people who still hadn’t had a chance to see him and catch up with him. You shoot him a gentle smile before he vanishes from your sight as you continue forward, moving into the kitchen. You spy Katie leaning against the counter, a beer in her hand. She smiles as soon as she sees you, immediately pulling you into a hug as soon as you were close enough.

“Hey! How have you been? I feel like I haven’t heard from you in forever,” she exclaims.

“Katie, I texted you, like, a day ago,” you laugh, loving her tendency to overexaggerate.

“Yeah, but that’s still not enough,” she replies, playfully rolling her eyes, her body resting back onto the countertop. “How did you get here? Did you drive?”

“No, Josh gave me a ride,” you explain and she hums in acknowledgement.

“I don’t want to risk crossing a line or anything like that but I’m really glad that you guys are such close friends again.” You grin, a laugh threatening to fall from you lips at her words.

“I am too,” you reply, the smile remaining on your face. But god, if only she knew.

Eventually Katie waltzes away, giving you a chance to really take in the party around you. Friends, neighbors, everyone gathered together laughing and talking and it makes you happy. Happy to know that you have a place surrounded by people who cared about you and loved you. Happy to know that despite all the hardships that you had gone through, there was a place where you belonged.

You are so lost in your thoughts that you don’t notice Josh walk up next to you until the cold glass of a beer bottle nudges your arm. You startle at the sudden chill but relax when you see him grinning down at you.

“You read my mind,” you laugh, gladly taking the bottle from his hands.

“So,” Josh begins, leaning against the counter and perusing the party along with you. “What do you want to do?”

“I’ll kick your ass in cornhole,” you quickly reply, a devilish smirk appearing on your face as you walk backwards towards the backyard.

“Oh, really?” he laughs, lifting himself up as you turn and run outside giggling, Josh close on your heels.

The day passed, the sun trekking across the sky and you swore it was one of the best days you’ve had. Something about being surrounded by your friends, laughing and joking and enjoying each other’s company made a certain kind of peace settle inside you. Not to mention the fact that Josh was there.

The two of you kept up appearances, never being too flirty, always tiptoeing that line. But damn, was it difficult more difficult than you thought it would be. Every so often, you would catch his eye from across the yard and it took everything in you not to run up to him and wrap your arms around him, have him pull you close. But still, he was always there and just that knowledge that he was yours again made the smile you wore remain, even as the evening crept in.

You watch from the edge of the party as your friends laugh out on the large dock, the sun falling from the sky, bathing the entire scene in gold. The moment felt perfect: your hair still wet from when you jumped into the lake, the cold bottle of beer in your hand. It was great to be here, but there was still a gnawing guilt in your stomach at the fact that you had been lying to all of your friends the entire day.

Well, not exactly lying. But you hadn’t told them the truth either.

You sigh, wandering away from the hubbub, towards the large tree swing that you knew Delia invested in and installed when she first moved in. You loved it, swearing that every time you visited, you and her spent more time out here than any other place in her house. It was slightly secluded and had the perfect view of the lakeside. Not to mention the fact that you loved to gently rock back and forth, the feeling of the warm wood on the back of your thighs and the roughness of the rope in your palms.

“Y/N,” you hear Josh’s quiet voice behind you and you look back to see Josh walking towards you, his curls more defined from his swimming, the cotton of his shirt clinging to his still damp skin. “What are you doing back here?”

You only give a small shrug in reply, turning back to look at the horizon. You can hear his feet walking over the uneven terrain and you feel his body behind you, gripping the rope above you and gently pushing you forward. A laugh escapes you as Josh continues to move you forward, the entire scene feeling peaceful. Josh slows your momentum just enough to walk around the swing and stand in front of you, a few feet away.

“Hey, seriously, are you okay?” he asks.

“I’m fine. Just a little weird, being out there with everyone and keeping this – us – from them. Even though I was the one that decided not to tell them,” you explain, continuing your gentle rocking while looking down at the ground, your sandals messing with the dirt beneath you. The heel catches on a tree root, knocking the shoe off of your foot.

You freeze yourself at the crest of the hill, watching as Josh kneels down and picks up your shoe from the ground. He turns the shoe in his hands a few times as if he’s contemplating something.

“Do you want to tell them?” Your eyes find his, the gentle question flickering in your pupils from his words.

“What, like right now?”

“If you want,” he replies, his voice still casual, once again letting you make the final decision.

“Nah, that seems a little weird,” you laugh, trying to mimic his light-hearted personality. “Besides, how would we do that? Just walk up and say ‘hey guys, we’re dating’?”

“Are looking for something grander?” he jokes, his grin obvious even in the dying light.

“What did you have in mind,” your teasing voice matching your cheeky eyebrow raise.

“How about a kiss?”

Your heart skips a small beat at his words, a sharp tilt of your head in question. He grins at you, slowly lowering himself onto one knee, his shoe still in your hands. He raises an eyebrow as a dare, a challenge. One that, after a moment, you gladly accept.

You gently let yourself swing forward towards him, his hand lifting to stop your movement. A giggle falls from you as Josh delicately slips the sandal onto your foot as he keeps the swing steady, keeping you perched above him. Your laughter falters as you feel his hand trail up the back of your bare leg, light and delicate before coming to rest over your knee, the warmth of his palm outstretched over your skin causing a small tremor to rush through you.

Your breathing changes when he finally looks up at you, his eyes bright and you impulsively bite your lips in anticipation. It feels as if time in moving in slow motion as you watch his body stretch up, his face moving closer to yours until your lips finally connect.

The kiss is featherlight, almost hesitant at first. Quick and then gone again as the two of you pull away, eyes connecting once more. There is a pause as you evaluate each other, waiting. For what, you aren’t sure. But in what feels like less than a minute, something clicks.

Neither of you know who makes the first move but it doesn’t seem to matter because the two of reach out, desperate as you pull the other closer: your hands tangling in his hair and his grasping at your waist. Your eyes close not wanting to open them again and discover that this was all some sick fantasy, fueled by alcohol and sunshine.

But when you feel the gentle curve of his smile against you, it isn’t a dream.

No dream could feel as good as this one.

Even with the sound of fireworks and cheers echoing across the lake from the party still happening mere feet away from you.

*~*~*~*

“So, where the hell are we going again?” you laugh, turning your head to look over at Josh as he continues to drive you outside of town, the shimmering building lights disappearing faster and faster behind you.

“I told you, it’s a surprise,” he laughs, not even looking over at you.

“And I told you, I don’t like that answer. It’s late at night, you’re driving me out into what seems like the middle of nowhere. I mean, this feels like it should be at the beginning of a horror movie,” you joke and you’re happy when you hear another chuckle come from Josh.

“I promise I’m not going to take you out into the woods to axe murder you.”

“That’s exactly what an axe murderer would say.”

The two of you laugh before falling into silence as Josh continues to drive you down winding roads, bringing you further and further into uncharted territory. You glance around, trying to figure out exactly what his plan was. But he was, quite literally, taking you to the middle of nowhere.

Finally, he turns into a large flat area and parks his truck squarely in the center. You look at him, the question still bouncing around in your eyes.

“Wait here,” he says, hopping out of the truck and you watch as he grabs a bag from the backseat, circling around to the back. You try to peer through the small window behind you to see what he is doing. Unfortunately, the only thing you can register is flickering of lights and the feeling of Josh hopping in and out of the bed of the truck. Finally, Josh appears next to your door, opening it for you and helping you out.

“Okay, are you ready?” he asks taking your hand in his. You are still hesitant but you give him a nod and finally, he leads you towards the back of the truck. You walk over the packed down dirt until you finally reach the open tailgate. And there is no stopping the surprised gasp that escapes you when you see what he prepared.

The bed of the truck is filled with what seems like every pillow and blanket that Josh could find, small camping lanterns in each corner, creating a beautiful comfortable oasis. You look over to him, your eyes wide with disbelief and he just smiles down at you. He holds out a hand, helping you hop up into the back of the truck and you laugh as you climb across the blankets, rolling over onto your back in contentment.

Josh climbs up next to you and you stare at the sky.

“Oh, look at the moon. This is beautiful,” you sigh, turning your head to look at him.

“Actually, the moon is about to disappear,” he says, smiling when he watches the flash of confusion cross your face. “There’s a lunar eclipse tonight and I thought we could lay back and watch the stars.”

“That’s – that sound perfect!” Josh smiles at your excitement and you lean back, reclining against the pillows. “When is it supposed to start?”

“In about…” Josh begins, pulling out his phone. “Oh, in about 10 minutes.”

You watch as Josh crawls around, quickly switching off the lanterns, plunging the two of you into darkness. You can’t even imagine how many more stars you could possibly see. Already being out here with such little light pollution has made more stars show up in the sky than you even existed.

But as you watch the moon slowly disappear, hidden from the sun’s light by the earth’s shadow, it seems as if the sky explodes. So many colors, so many stars, the entire sky alight with the glitter of the universe. You swear you can see entire galaxies.

You lay back, your eyes darting around the sky, the comforting presence of Josh next to you, his hand intertwined with yours.

“Do you like it?” Josh asks, his head turning to look at you, his soft curls flowing across the pillow. You gasp, your eyes still bouncing around in an attempt trying to take everything in.

“This is… probably the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me,” you confess, finally pulling your eyes away from the stars in the sky and connecting with the stars in his eyes. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he says.

“No, seriously, thank you,” you emphasize, the smile wide. Josh doesn’t reply and you take the opportunity to lean in, placing a chaste kiss on his lips.

Josh wastes absolutely no time, pulling you closer and deepening the kiss. You let him, happily wrapping your arms around him, one of your hands tangling into his hair. The kisses get more and more passionate, desperate, handsy. There is a small groan as he grips you tight, one of his legs slotting in between yours, guiding your body, his large frame coming to cover you.

You break the kiss, taking a few moments to catch your breath, Josh doing the same above you. Realizing exactly where you were, a memory comes bounding back into your mind and you can’t stop the giggle that falls from your lips. You can see the outline of Josh’s head tilt in confusion.

“This is a far cry from the backseat of your old car,” you explain and you can feel the chuckle rumble through him as he recalls the same memory. There wasn’t a whole lot of privacy when you two were teenagers, especially when Josh’s visits became few in between. Oftentimes, the back of his car was one of the only places where the two of you could be alone.

“A very far cry,” he replies, ducking down to kiss you once more. You let him kiss you more, his hands still wandering up and down your body. You can feel his hands dip underneath the cotton of your t-shirt and you smile against his lips, hips rolling up into his. Josh groans against your lips, another chuckle rumbling from him. The two of you break away from each other once more, your fingers playing with his hair.

“Are you trying to remind me of another moment in the back of a car?” he laughs. You also laugh, shaking your head slightly as you remember that night.

“Remind me again why we did that? The back of a fucking rental car?”

“It was the only option we had!” he gently exclaims. He was entirely correct: it was the same night as your high school graduation, the same night you and he went to the bar, the night he referenced the first night the two of you reconnected. He had flown in from Ohio for the summer and had to get a rental car. And because he was staying at his parents’ house and you were still at yours, there was no expectation of privacy. So, you made due with what you had: a rental car and an empty parking lot.

“Well,” you laugh, sighing against the comfortable bedding beneath you, “this is much better than that.”

“Definitely.” Josh presses a quick kiss to your lips. “And I think I know a way it can be even better…” he slowly says, kissing you again, his lips moving down to your neck and you sigh at the feeling.

“Is that a challenge Joshua?” you hum, breathless, your words falling softly. He lifts his head from your neck, hovering over you once more.

“More like a promise,” he replies, cupping a hand behind your head and kissing you deeply, with so much passion and intent.

The night passes with you and Josh wrapped up in each other, losing track of time. It’s a mess of stripping off items of clothing, never wanting to break your embrace. It’s lips and hands and heights of pleasure as your bodies intertwine, gasps and moans echoing in the night. Nothing but the stars as your witness.

*~*~*~*

It wasn’t supposed to rain.

The forecast clearly stated that the chance of rain was almost 0%. Perhaps 15% at the most.

Yet here you were, walking on the darkened sidewalk, the downpour soaking through your clothes and down to your skin.

Josh had invited you over to his house, just to spend some time together, just you and him while his parents were away on vacation. And you – foolishly, in hindsight – decided to walk over to his place because it was a beautiful day and you wanted the exercise.

But as you began your trek, the sky grew overcast and before you knew it, the previously miniscule droplets of rain on your skin turned into a deluge, drenching you through and through.

It wasn’t supposed to rain.

Finally, you see Josh’s house standing in front of you, a welcomed escape from the rain. You have to stop yourself from rushing through the waterlogged grass, drowning your canvas shoes even more. Instead, you take measured steps up his driveway, finally relaxing the moment you are under the cover of the front porch. Reaching out, you gently knock on the door, hoping that Josh can hear you above the noise of the rain and thunder.

He does and you breathe a small sigh of relief as you watch the heavy wood swing open, Josh’s bewildered face greeting you when he sees you standing there, shaking from the cold water falling from your hair and skin.

“Holy shit, what happened?” he asks, quickly pulling you inside.

“It wasn’t supposed to rain,” you meekly say, repeating the thought that had been echoing in your mind ever since the first drop hit your skin.

“Okay, wait there,” Josh says quickly, sprinting from the room and reappearing with a dish towel from the kitchen. “Here; for your hair.”

You mumble your thank you, taking the soft cotton from him and run it through your hair. Unfortunately, the fabric quickly becomes sodden and useless and you… aren’t any drier.

“Hey, Josh?” you whisper, shy and embarrassed at your current state.

“Yeah babe?”

“Could I – I mean, is it alright if I just take a shower?” you sheepishly ask, glancing up at him. “This,” you continue, gently shaking the kitchen towel, “is a lost cause.”

A small chuckle falls from Josh’s lips and he shakes his head in agreement. He waits for you to kick off your shoes before holding out his hand for you to take, leading you up the stairs and through the halls to the guest bathroom.

And while he pulls you along, you can’t help but take in your surroundings, still oddly familiar after all this time. It still smells the same; a comforting aroma of rosemary and leather. The walls are that same soft brown and you can see the pictures lining the hallways. And it makes you smile when you realize that most of them are of Josh.

Some you remember, like the picture of baby Josh at his first hockey game, the picture of him on the ice at his first junior ice hockey Eagles game, the picture of him in his London Knights jersey, or the picture of him donning a Columbus Blue Jackets sweater at the 2012 NHL Draft.

But there are others: Josh in picture frames in a Montreal jersey, Josh holding a puck noting his 100th NHL goal, Josh standing in Bell Centre with his team next to the Clarence S. Campbell Bowl.

The sight of those makes something pang in your chest. An ache that you had felt in the months after the two of you ended. An ache that appeared every time anyone mentioned his name to you. The same ache that you had felt in your chest when you woke up from the dream of him the very first night that you saw him again.

An acute exquisite longing. A desire to be with him. An indescribable feeling.

But now, as he guides you through the hallways, passing the pictures of him hanging on the walls, you thought that you could maybe put it into words.

Josh pulls you into the bathroom and you scoot around him, sitting on the toilet lid as he pulls the shower curtain back slightly. You can hear him talking and you know you should be listening but you can’t seem to bring yourself to.

“So, you have to like push on the knob while turning to make it turn on and off. Oh, and when my dad tried to fix it, he somehow flipped the temperature so now hot is cold and cold is hot so remember that but if you need any help just let me…”

Josh trails off when he notices your gaze directed at the tile floor, your mind miles away from him. He walks over, kneeling down in front of you, his hands landing on your bare knees.

“Hey,” he says softly, calling your attention to him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong I just…” you trail off, shaking your head in defeat. “It’s stupid.”

“Nothing you say is stupid,” Josh replies, his voice wrapping around you. “Please tell me. What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?”

You huff out a small laugh, shaking your head once more. Still unsure. But there’s Josh, the same place he’s always been; right with you, patiently waiting for you, making sure you know that it’s safe. Safe to fall.

“I missed this,” you whisper.

“Missed what?”

“This house. These memories. You.” You watch as Josh’s eyes sparkle at your words, his lips turning up into a gentle curve. Another sigh falls from your chest as you gather all the strength you can to push out the words that you had been too scared to say.

“I love you, Josh. And maybe that’s silly to say after all this time, after everything we’ve been through. But I do. I really do. And being with you these past few months have made me remember how much I missed you and how much I really do love you. And I do. I don’t think I ever stopped loving you.”

There is a soft silence as your words hang in the air between the two of you. You hesitate, that fear sneaking into your heart again, worrying that you’ve said too much. But when you see the grin that breaks out onto Josh’s face, the skittering of your heart ceases. And when he leans in and captures your lips in a tender kiss, you swear you can feel the same love he has for you.

He breaks away, letting you rest your forehead against his for a moment before you are the one leaning in, kissing him once again.

The two of you stay like that for a few seconds, the sound of the rain and the shower mixing together, creating a cocoon of white noise, blocking out the world until it’s just you and him.

Silently, you lift your arms, looking at him with a small wicked smile on your lips. Josh chuckles as he understands your unsaid request, his hands grazing over your thighs before gripping the hem of your tank top, peeling it from your body as he stands up. He throws the material to the side but keeps his arms in the air, repeating your previous actions and you return the favor, hands sneaking under his shirt and pushing it upwards, his skin warm beneath your palms.

When you lift yourself up and pull the material away from him, Josh reconnects your lips, hand falling to brush over your hair before his arms wrap around you. You feel his fingers deftly undoing the clasp of your bra and you let it fall from your body before his hands trail down to your waistband.

Josh’s fingers dance over your skin and you can’t help but shiver at his delicate movements as his hands sneak between your two bodies, working on the button and zipper of your shorts. Your hands move similarly, slipping underneath the edge of his sweatpants. The two of you undress, bodies close, kisses rarely ceasing, until you both are standing bare.

You take Josh’s hand, leading him behind the patterned shower curtain, your shoulders relaxing as the warm water hits your chilled skin. Josh follows close behind, wrapping you in his arms and kissing you once more, the cascade falling around you.

It could’ve turned sexual, easily. But it never does. The two of you just wash each other’s hair and bodies, feeling muscles move beneath hands, massaging scalps filled with suds, only occasionally losing focus, lost in kisses and the feeling of being so close to one another once again.

Afterwards, the two of you curl up in bed together, tangled in sheets, you clad in one of his old shirts and sweatpants, both of your hair still damp, smelling like the apples and ginger of his body wash. And before you drift off to sleep, you hear his gentle whisper, lips against the crown of your head.

“You’re my best friend.”

You wake up surrounded by soft blue sheets, the morning sunlight peeking through blinds. Stretching out in bed, you reach over towards the other side, feeling for the strong body of Josh. Instead, you are met with an empty space.

Raising yourself up, you look around. You are still in his bedroom, his shirt still clinging to your frame. But Josh is nowhere to be found.

You swing your legs over the edge of the mattress, padding over the soft carpet and creeping out into the hallway. You take some time to pause and examine the pictures lining the wall, once again smiling at the moments you remember and trying not to feel sad at all the moments you missed. Until you hear a clattering coming from somewhere downstairs, drawing your attention away.

You descend the stairs and turn the corner to see Josh bustling around the kitchen. A smile tugs at your lips as you lean against the wall, content to just watch him for a moment. It takes him a minute before he notices your presence and shoots a large grin in your direction.

“Good morning,” he says as you wander further into the kitchen.

“Good morning to you. What are you up to?”

“Just making breakfast. I have some grapes in that bowl there, eggs are on the stove, gonna make some toast, and your coffee is sitting on the table. Just how you like it.”

You smile, settling down and popping a few grapes into your mouth as you continue to watch Josh move about the kitchen. He’s concentrated, focused on the food in front of him and running back and forth between the stovetop and the toaster. And you quietly giggle at his franticness, leaning back in your seat.

Lifting the warm mug up to your lips, you inhale the smell of homemade coffee before taking a small sip. And grimace when the bitterness hits your tongue.

You pull away, looking down into the brown liquid, realizing that Josh forgot to add sugar. Two spoonful’s, same as always. The exact way that you took your coffee ever since you started drinking coffee back in high school.

Josh knew that. He had made a thousand cups for you before. And he was confident this morning. But he forgot. Why did he forget now?

You are about to call out to him, tell him but something stops you. The harsh taste of coffee lingering on your tongue causes a similar stinging feeling to course through you, one that you had become all too familiar with.

Fear.

It crawls in and forces you to comb through your memories of these past few months, of every date, of last night. You told him you loved him. That you never stopped loving him.

And he never said it back.

You thought he felt the same way, based solely on the way he held you, the way he kissed you. But perhaps you were lying to yourself, trying so hard to get back the thing that you missed so much that you became blind to how he really feels.

And now, watching as he moves around the kitchen, casual and easy-going, the way he had been, the way that he always had been ever since the two of you started dating again, it scared you.

The acrid smell of burnt toast hits your nostrils, mixing with the sour taste of coffee and the unpleasant thoughts swirling around in your head.

He told you he missed you.

But did he miss you the same way you missed him?

*~*~*~*

AUTUMN

The first cool breath of autumn came blowing in, faster than expected.

And the fear came with it.

The same fear that first crept into your heart that early morning late July had grown, twisting its dark tendrils around every part of the relationship that you and Josh shared, staining everything with doubt and mistrust. Whispering a thought that you didn’t want to believe with such conviction that you felt it had to be true:

This was going to end. And you would be the one left to pick up the pieces once again.

That fear haunted you; it walked with you everywhere you went, influenced every decision you made. And it took its toll.

There was a tension between you and Josh now. It felt like the tension at the beginning, in spring. However, it had been timid back then, like a scared creature pushed into a corner that had to slowly learn to love again. Now, it was ominous, a predator lurking in the shadows simply biding time, waiting to tear you apart.

Every night when you laid in Josh’s arms, you swore you could hear it breathing underneath the bed. You clung to Josh, worried about letting him go. And Josh always responded by holding you tighter, trying to soothe you to sleep.

He could feel it too. That anxiety. The change that had slowly washed over the two of you.

Except, Josh didn’t know where it had come from and why it had appeared.

Dinner at your place. A table set for two. And Josh kept glancing up at you as you sip your wine, absentmindedly push the food around your plate. The expanse of wood between the two of you feeling like an ocean and the silence has grown heavier and heavier as the weeks have passed.

You hear Josh clear his throat gently, forcing you to look up from the abstract red swirls of sauce on the white porcelain.

“Hey, Taylor and Austin are throwing a party in a few days. They say it’s for me, before I go back to Montreal but I hate how that sounds. A party for me? Seems pretentious, right?”

You don’t have a reply, only because you felt your stomach drop at the cruel reminder that he was leaving. More evidence towards the truth of this ending.

Something breaks you out of your wide-eyed worry to see Josh looking at you, his brows slightly furrowed but patiently waiting for a response. You just give him a non-committal hum, a sign that you were listening even though that was further from the truth than anything.

“Anyway,” Josh continues, still glancing at you and you can see the slight concern on his face. “I was thinking maybe, at the party, we could tell everyone about us. That we’re dating. I mean, it’s been a few months and we’re pretty solid, right? I think we can make it official.”

Your mind reels. He wanted to make things official? He thought your relationship was solid? Even though he was leaving and you two hadn’t talked about it and he still hadn’t said he loves you? You were spiraling. The thoughts cascaded in your brain, screaming, mixing with the fear and anxiety and all the rest of it. You couldn’t think, you couldn’t move, you couldn’t breathe.

And over all the static in your brain, you barely heard the metallic clatter of your fork falling from your hand, hitting your plate. You startle, snapped back to reality, your eyes connecting to Josh, the worry clear on his face. And you know how you must look: wide-eyed and mouth agape.

Quickly, you gather yourself, swallowing and blinking a few times to remove the ‘deer in headlights look’ from your eyes. You break away from his gaze, looking back down, picking up your fork again and placing it in the center.

“I… I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you murmur, crumbling up the paper napkin next to you and throwing it onto the plate as well, moving just for the sake of moving.

“Why not?”

You shrug, picking up your wine glass, finishing it off before lifting yourself up from your seat, collecting your dishware and wandering into the kitchen. The gentle clatter you cleaning off your plate, placing it in the sink is the only soundtrack to your movements. For a moment, it’s peaceful: a nice reprieve. But without looking, you knew when Josh walked in. Because the tension appeared again.

You ignore him, concentrating on the task in front of you, rinsing your plate before pulling open the dishwasher.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?” Josh asks from the other side of the room, not daring to move closer to you.

“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong,” you say, trying to keep your tone even as you turn your focus onto your wine glass, repeating your earlier movements.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Okay, fine, you don’t believe me. That doesn’t change the fact that nothing is wrong,” you reply, your tone getting sharper because you just want him to leave you alone. To stop poking and prodding you.

“Something is. You can tell me it’s not but I’ve noticed it.”

“Josh, just drop it, okay?” you huff, closing the dishwasher with a little more force than necessary.

“No, I’m not going to drop it,” Josh replies, the frustration creeping into his voice as well, as he stalks across the kitchen towards you. “You’re pulling away from me. And I have no fucking idea why.”

“I’m not fucking pulling away from you,” you scoff, turning away from him. “God, you’re being paranoid.”

“I’m being paranoid?”

“Yes, you’re being paranoid,” you say, spinning back towards him. “We’re solid, right? You’re leaving for Montreal in a few weeks and we haven’t even talked about it but no worries, we’re good. I mean, you obviously think that we’re good because you want to tell all our friends about us and make us official. So, clearly, you’re just imagining these things, okay?

“What are you talking about?”

“Nothing because it’s fine, we’re fine, everything’s fine.”

“We’re fine? No, we are not. A month ago, a month ago maybe we were fine. But now? I – I don’t know what the fuck is happening. Talk to me. I just need you to fucking talk to me.”

“What the fuck do you want me to say!? There’s nothing left for me to say, I’ve said everything and I’ve done everything and you’re the one, you’re the one that hasn’t.”

“What do you mean by that? I have done everything.”

“Oh, really, you’ve done everything,” you mock.

“Yes, I have. I care about you. What more do I have to do to prove that I care about you?”

“Care about me. Care about me? That’s the whole thing, Josh. That’s the –“

Your sentence breaks off as you pace away from him, your hands coming up to tangle in your hair, your fear slowly morphing into anger.

“You say you missed us, you say that you care about me, you say that I’m your best friend. But you’ve never, ever said that you love me. You’ve never said those fucking words to me. I. Love. You. Not once. Not even after I told you –“

Your words stick in your throat, your resolve slowly crumbling, the tears that you have been willing back pushing their way to the surface.

“– after I told you that I’ve never stopped loving you. Even after all this time, even after all the bullshit we’ve been through, after you left me without so much of an explanation. I still love you. Still. You.”

The energy drains from you and your body slumps against the counter, right in front of the sink, the exact place where this argument started. You look up at him, defeated, a sickening single teardrop falling onto your cheek.

“Why can’t you say it back? Please, just… say it back.”

“I… I can’t.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” Josh sighs, his own shoulders dropping in a similar sense of defeat.

There’s nothing to say in response to those words so you stay silent, turning back to the sink and begin to rinse of the remaining dishes from dinner. Your hands move deftly, occasionally lifting up and brushing your tears away. You can’t hear Josh but you don’t want to turn and check to see if he’s still there. After a few moments, you hear his footsteps cross the kitchen and feel his arms wrap around your waist. His body molds against yours, gentle and comforting as he presses his lips into your hair.

“I care about you. I do. And I want you to believe that I will say it. Eventually. I promise. But you have to trust me. Don’t you trust me?”

You want to believe him. You want to prove to yourself that all this wasn’t for nothing. All the pain and hurt and rekindling and trepidation and risk actually meant something. But you trusted him before. And he let you down. And there was a chance he would do it again.

“How can I?” you mutter, the lingering hurt echoing in your voice.

Silence again but this time, it cuts, sharp and definitive and you can feel Josh tense against you. He pulls away, his own energy shifting, a wall falling between the two of you and you can hear it in his voice when he speaks.

“Well, then… maybe this was a mistake. Because you can’t build a relationship without trust.”

You don’t look back at him: just continue your motions, taking that coldness from his tone and using that ice to steel your resolve.

“You’re right. You can’t. Goodnight, Josh.”

The last sound you hear is your front door closing, the click of the doorknob echoing, signaling the end.

*~*~*~*~*

You were at the party. Why were you at the party?

It was an absolutely terrible idea for you to even entertain the thought of showing up on Taylor and Austin’s doorstep. Especially when you know that he would be there.

But that was the whole thing, wasn’t it?

He was there. But to all of your friends, who had seen you two together, getting along, who had seen the new yet still easy-going friendship that you two shared…

Josh’s presence was no reason for why you wouldn’t be attending. And you didn’t have the stomach to make up some bullshit excuse. Nor did you have the heart to air your dirty laundry to all your friends on what should be a celebration.

All you had to do was get through this party. That was all. Then Josh would leave for Montreal and you both could blame your separation on distance; that easy unavoidable truth. Nothing more.

And it was working.

You had been there for hours but perhaps it only felt like hours because you were so conscious of your actions. Avoiding Josh as best as you could, but never immediately leaving a room as soon as he entered. Being civil with him whenever the two of you were included in a conversation together. It was… exhausting to say the least. But you kept reminding yourself, ‘if you get through this, it will all be over’.

You didn’t acknowledge how much it hurt every time that mantra passed through your mind.

But, regardless, this was working.

Or, at least, you thought it was working.

Until Katie’s hand wraps around your upper arm and before you can blink, she is dragging you up the stairs, pulling you into the closest guest room she can find and locking the door behind the two of you. She spins around, her eyes sharp and you are slightly taken aback by the emotion behind her movements.

“Okay, spill. What the fuck is going on between you and Josh?” she asks abruptly.

“What do you mean?”

“Something is happening. Or, something happened. I don’t know exactly, but what I do know is that you are acting weird.”

“How am I acting weird?” you ask, continuing to pretend that nothing was going on. But this was Katie you were talking to. Your closest friend. She could always see right through you.

“The way you two are barley speaking? The way you look like you want to jump out of your skin every time you hear his voice? Making up excuses as to why you can’t seem to stay in the same room?”

“I’m not doing that,” you deflect, turning away from her, focusing your attention on the décor scattered on top of the dresser. You hear a sigh from her and out of the corner of your eye, you see her move to sit on the bed before turning her attention back to you.

“Y/N, you’re my best friend. You know that you can tell me anything. I’m only asking because I’m concerned. You seemed really happy these past few months and I know it might sound weird but, it feels like Josh had something to do with that. And now… you’re not. And it’s not just you. I can see it in Josh too. I just want to know what happened.”

Your eyes turn to her, perched on the edge of the mattress. You didn’t want to admit anything, didn’t want to talk. There was a weakness inherent in confession, one that you never liked. But there she was: a friend who would go to war for you and a safe harbor for you to escape the storm in your head.

It takes a moment of silent patience before you walk over to the bed, sitting next to Katie and reach out for her hand. She takes it, rubbing her thumb against your knuckles and that singular soothing motion causes the walls to fall.

And you tell her everything.

Josh coming to your house after that first night. The moment the two of you were bathed in moonlight and almost kissed. The night on the dock when you agreed to try again and everything afterwards. Including the argument that led to where you are now.

Katie simply listens to you, letting your feelings pour out in tidal waves. And when you finally finish, she sits quietly, digesting all of your words before speaking once again.

“Do you remember what I told you a while ago? When I – well, when I set you and Josh up to meet again? That you can’t lock people out and expect to heal?”

“Kind of,” you reply.

“Maybe I should have explained it better,” she sighs, locking eyes with you and you can see the earnestness reflecting in her pupils. “When you lock people out and build these walls that you are an expert at creating, brick by brick… sure, you save yourself from getting hurt. But you also block out the world. And, it sucks to say but, life doesn’t exist behind walls. You have to take risks and chances. Is there a chance that you’ll get hurt? Yeah, absolutely. But there’s an equal chance that everything will work out. You’ll never know if you don’t try.”

She pauses, letting her message sink in and you find your mind replaying the moments when you did exactly what she said: you hid, safe behind the comfort of your walls. And you remember the moments when you took the risk. That afternoon when you invited Josh back into your life. That night when you told him that you wanted him back. Katie clears her throat, bringing your attention back to her.

“You didn’t want to lose him. But guess what? You did any way.”

There it was. The truth wielded like a knife, cutting right down to the ache that you felt in your chest ever since Josh walked out of your house a few nights ago.

“If that’s what you wanted – to stop yourself from getting hurt – you should feel good right now. Do you feel good right now?”

Another pause, her question hanging in the air, waiting to be answered.

“No…” you say, your confession lingering in the stillness. Your eyes turn skyward, a sigh of frustration rushing through you as the implications of your feelings surface.

“But I don’t know what to do. What if I already fucked everything up?” Katie shoots you a sympathetic smile.

“I don’t have the answer to that. But I know who does.” It takes a moment for you to register who she is referring to and when you look back at her, you know that she can read the distress in your eyes. The only thing she offers is another smile and a gentle pat onto the back of your hands before she lifts herself up off the bed, wandering back to the door. She opens it and is about to walk out when she turns back to you.

“Talk to Josh. It might be too late. It might not. Take the risk. Take the leap. You are strong enough to survive the fall.”

*~*~*~*

You spend the rest of the evening replaying your conversation with Katie. Even after you return to the buzz of the party, your mind hums louder, pulling you away from the present, trapping you in the maze of your thoughts. You acknowledge Taylor and Austin’s invitation for you all to stay the night and ‘make yourselves at home’. Your friends follow their encouragement, stumbling off to guest beds, sunroom lounge chairs, and living room couches, the mixture of fading adrenaline and alcohol lulling them off to sleep.

But your brain does not give you a reprieve. Instead, it drones on, reverberating around your skull, keeping you awake. So, you wander; footsteps quiet as you explore the house around you, looking at pictures on the wall, books on the shelves. All while your mind spins, just like the blades of the ceiling fans hanging above your head.

It isn’t until you see the sky shift from black, to dark blue, to the hazy grey of morning does your mind settle. You’ll talk to Josh. As soon as you get the chance. Tell him the truth. And hope that will be enough.

You wander into the kitchen, naturally falling into your own morning routine, trying to find some peace in the methodology. The tile of the kitchen feels cool underneath your feet as you quietly open the cabinets, spending a few minutes of furious googling to figure out Taylor’s fancy coffee machine until the warm brown liquid pours from the spout, it’s aroma filling the air, a scent that always felt like a greeting to the rising sun, the start of a new day.

You are so focused on watching the mug fill that you almost don’t notice Josh amble around the corner, entering the kitchen. Eventually, you see movement out of the corner of your eyes and you turn your attention to him, unable to stop the smile that appears on your face at his disheveled hair.

“Hi,” you whisper, careful to not shatter the quiet morning.

“Hey,” he replies, his casual tone having an underlying caution that you can feel, the tension and hurt still dancing on the edges of both of your words. He continues to walk through the kitchen, grabbing a banana from the hanger sitting on the top of the fridge. You watch him carefully, wondering exactly how to approach him.

“So,” you begin, his attention turning to you. “I – um – I spent probably the past twenty minutes figuring out this coffee machine,” you continue, letting the humor bleed into your words, thinking this might be the best way to start; nonchalant yet still tentative. “And I don’t want to keep my newfound skills to myself. So… do you want a cup?”

A small thrill of relief rushes through you when you see Josh smile.

“I’d like that. Thank you.”

You respond with a gentle nod, turning back to the machine as Josh settles down into one of the stools lining the island. You grasp the warm mug in your hands before spinning and placing it on the marble in front of Josh. He murmurs another thanks, taking a sip and humming in appreciation. You turn again, grabbing another mug from the cabinet and starting up the brew again, this time for yourself.

When the coffee fills the ceramic, you finish it off and wander back over to Josh. You settle across from him, your body leaning against the cold countertop, taking an apple from the fruit bowl sitting in the center.

Josh and you stay like that, munching on your fruit, taking quiet measured sips of your coffee. You watch him: he watches you. The silence isn’t comfortable but it isn’t unpleasant either. It’s… restrained. Both of you holding back.

Finally, you clear your throat, lifting your body up but keeping the space of the island between you, a barrier of safety to prevent your next words from sounding confrontational. Although, you still look down, avoiding his gaze.

“Um, I wanted to talk to you about… what happened. Between us,” you begin, stumbling over your words, the syllables feeling clunky in your mouth. You look up and it’s a comfort when you see Josh’s eyes locked on your frame, nothing in his body language hinting at hostility. You take another deep breath before continuing.

“Well, actually, what I really want to do is apologize.” Another glance back at Josh, his full attention turned to you, his body lifting in curiosity at your statement. “That night, I blamed you for my own fear and insecurities. And that wasn’t fair to you. And I know that’s not an excuse. There is no excuse to how I treated you. You have been nothing but kind and caring and sweet and patient with me and I still lashed out.”

“It’s just… I was scared. Scared of this ending again, scared of losing you again, scared of having to live life without you. I love you, Josh. I know I’ve said it before and I know that sometimes it might not seem like I do. But I do.”

You let your last statement and the imploring tone of your voice press at Josh, pleading for him to understand. He doesn’t respond for a minute, his head dropping down as he processes everything that you told him, his hands fidgeting around his empty mug.

“Again.” That’s the first word that falls from his lips and your forehead wrinkles in confusion. He lifts his face towards yours, connecting your eyes to his. “You keep saying that. You don’t want this to end again. Like history is determining all of our actions now. Like we’re going to end up in the same place that we did back then.”

It’s your turn for you to break his gaze, eyes falling to the countertop.

“I know.”

“You can’t keep holding onto our past like that.”

“It’s hard to do that when the past is all we have,” you murmur, the words echoing in the space between the two of you, that awful tension creeping in again.

“I’m not sure how we can fix this,” Josh confesses.

“Me either,” you whisper. The admission remains, heavy in the early morning light. You know that you could leave it at that, let this become the truth that separates you and Josh forever. But you could just as easily change that. All you needed to do was be brave.

You could be brave.

So, you reach out to him, your hand crossing the space between the two of you. And in a move that was so similar to the one he made that night on the dock behind his house months ago, you coax his hand into yours, fingers intertwining before you speak again.

“But I want to. I really want to try and fix this.”

The two of you stay there. Waiting. Until finally, Josh breaks the delicate silence.

“Then… let’s try. No promises, no guarantees. Just you and I, trying.” Those blue eyes connect with yours, the sunlight highlighting the hope that you can see shimmering his irises, a gentle smile on his lips. And you respond with a smile of your own.

“I’d like that,” you reply. Josh’s hand tightens around yours, his eyes shifting into a sincerity that made your heart flutter.

“I will try and prove to you that I am never letting you go again.”

“And I will try and not hold the past against you. I trust you.”

“That’s all I can ask for.”

#summer fic exchange 2k22 #nicole writes #the movie of us #josh anderson fic #josh anderson imagine #josh anderson angst #josh anderson fluff #montreal canadiens fic #montreal canadiens imagine #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey imagine

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lavendermin · 3 years

Text

from sea of flowers, garden of eternity | xiao

pairing | xiao/reader

word count | 2k

genre | pwp, fluff, light angst, brief smut

note | glaze lily spirit reader, you are also in perpetual pain I’m sorry

“Xiao…” he hears your voice meekly call.

The adeptus is already on his feet before you can fully enter the room, his eyes quickly focused on you. He scans your body language diligently, looking for signs of pain or discomfort. It’s become a routine by now.

“Are you…?” His voice trails off when you shake your head apologetically. The slight strain in your smile doesn’t go unnoticed by him.

“I’m alright for now. The pains haven’t started yet. I think I’m set for another few hours, a day if I’m lucky,” you reassure him. “I just— wanted to check on you.”

Xiao gives you a blank look, one you recognize as confusion. “Check… on me…?”

“Just to see how you’re doing,” you clarify with a shy smile. As you make your way to sit on the bed, you gently pat the space next to you.

There’s a slight red upon his cheeks as he chooses to take up your invitation. The bed dips under his weight, and words do not need to be spoken to know both your minds drift briefly to past trysts that took place where you sit.

“I’m heading out to patrol the area in an hour. If you need anything at all, speak my name,” Xiao announces quietly. It’s a brief awkward silence as he rigidly sits next to you—tense almost. You answer him with a simple nod, hands absentmindedly rubbing little circles on your legs to ease the tingles of pain that slowly resurfaced.

Conversation was scarce the past few months you were placed into his watchful guard. The relationship you both harbored was a blurred line you tried not to think about too much for fear of over-complicating it.

And with your entire being, you could say you came to the unfortunate doom of falling in love with him. The emotional distance he kept oftentimes only confused you as much as your own emotions left him puzzled and a little flustered.

He kept you alive. That was the simplicity of the details Xiao was given. Perhaps it was a favor he was doing you, but he diligently carried it out with all the steadfastness of a contract bestowed onto him by the former Lord of Geo.

—

“I’m sure you are aware of the situation near Qingce Village,” Zhongli had brought up upon summoning Xiao several moons after the stirrings of a slumbering god.

Though the situation was previously dire, all was settled—Xiao knew this as a fact, for he was the one that swiftly took care of the aftermath of a dormant god’s power seeping through the earth. So, the battle hadn’t ended then…

“I was careless—“

Zhongli cut him off, carefully setting down his cup in its saucer. “On the contrary, this was in no way able to be foreseen by you. The world has a way of ending and raising new questions, just as easily as it provides answers to those who seek them.”

On the small garden table, Zhongli’s eyes trail to the glaze lily that sits in a small decorative vase. Unlike most, this lone flower is fully bloomed despite the time of day. It glows ever so slightly—weakly almost.

“You are aware that glaze lilies grow in the Qingce area, and there are a few wild outcroppings that shy away from prying eyes,” Zhongli starts.

His gloved finger reaches out to tenderly graze the petals, and at once the flower closes up. The petals take on a dullness, and visibly they start to wilt in small patches.

“The reasons are uncertain, but rumor spread around the village of a wandering ghost that followed the moon aimlessly. A spirit born of glaze lilies appeared after the battle that took place near there. It seems the power seeped deep into cracked earth among the flowerbeds.”

The young adeptus remained quiet, taking in the information. What exactly did this have to do with him, he wondered?

With a hint of apprehension, Xiao asks, “This spirit—has it taken on a malevolent nature?”

Instead of answering straight away, Zhongli wordlessly stands and makes his way back indoors. Xiao obediently follows, curious of the nature of this spirit.

“Nothing of the sort. However, these glaze lilies fell victim to the corruption of your karmic debt and at the same time were nurtured by immense adeptal power. There is a wavering balance that must be kept, for her body is as fragile as a flower’s and cannot withstand the depletion and shifts of adeptal energy.” With graceful steps, Zhongli stops before a door. “No other adeptus has successfully remained compatible with the energy she needs. So far it has only brought excruciating pain for her, and I fear she may die at this rate.”

With a silent nod, Xiao processes this information. His gloved hand is unmoving on the door handle.

“What are the terms of this contract,” Xiao silently asks, amber eyes trained on the door in front of him.

“My time has long passed to give you a new contract, Adeptus Xiao.” Zhongli chuckles fondly at the serious habits of the adeptus before him. “This is a choice I am giving you. It may take centuries for her body to adjust to the adeptal power she now harbors. If she is compatible with you, it is up to you to decide whether you supply her with your adeptal energy, otherwise she may not make it past next week.”

Xiao remains quiet for a brief moment before speaking softly, “Her body is tearing itself apart…”

“Correct.”

There’s something in that fact that stirs feelings Xiao isn’t used to in his chest. He accepts, and the first memory of you that adorns his mind is one that clenches his heart in a way he rarely experiences. The pain that twists and contorts your face as you desperately heave, body seemingly tearing itself apart in a way the naked eye cannot see.

You’re a beautiful tragedy born of moonlight and sweet soil. And in that moment when your eyes meet his, a single tear rolls down your cheek. He cannot fathom the thought of letting your life end as quickly as it began.

The door behind him clicks shut, and he takes your fragile life into his hands.

—

The lights of the house are dim—a subtle golden glow against a comforting darkness in the blanket of night. A meadow of glaze lilies surrounds the little cottage in a sea of fragrance. A prominent mark of your abode.

The little house defended by mountains is secluded, one which Zhongli sent to be made for you while your body stabilizes.

And though the exterior is tranquil, within its walls come soft pants and gasps. Xiao’s brows are knit together in concentration as he ruts against you.

“Please—Ah…nnh a–again,” you beg against your trembling body’s protests.

And he wordlessly complies, folding your legs until your knees are practically at the sides of your head. His hips pick up the pace and his thrusts become desperate, bodies covered in a sheen of sweat. The moans you let out are loud—obscene as he fills you up until you’re overflowing. The pains have long subsided, and you choose to let him overcompensate in giving you the energy that will get you by another few days.

In the serene calm of night, the tranquility is drowned out by the squelching sounds of your bodies meeting each other through desperate thrusts as both of you are sent over the edge. His name falls from your lips in a melody Xiao has grown addicted to. For the nth time that night you come undone beneath him, your essence stabilized.

There’s a swelling warmth in your chest that blooms like spring meadows as Xiao buries his face in the crook of your neck. The tips of his ears are a bright scarlet and though he tries to control it, he is still left a breathless mess as he rides out his orgasm.

“Is it…enough?” Xiao asks between pants, his cock still buried deep within you.

He’s still twitching within you and your entire body shudders with delight at the feeling.

“You… haah—can keep… going if you want,” you offer weakly. There’s a dazed look in your half-lidded eyes that makes Xiao’s chest squeeze. “‘M full but you’re still…”

Hard.

You glance down to where you two are still joined together, the view of his come leaking out of you shamelessly sending heat between your legs again. The tips of Xiao’s ears turn bright red though he tries to remain composed.

“I’ll be fine. You should get some rest to preserve the energy longer.”

He pulls out and ignores the way your eyes look away dejectedly. Before he can stand to go, your hand gently tugs him back down. Xiao allows himself to be pulled against you, his head resting in the valley of your naked chest.

“Stay with me for a bit?”

Xiao doesn’t answer right away, and your heart leaps when he lets out a little sigh and agrees.

“Alright.”

The minutes tick by in tranquil silence. Both tired bodies ignore the sticky feeling of sweat and sex. It’s a feeling you’re both quite used to by now.

“Xiao?” you start quietly after a while. He hums in response, your fingers running through his dark hair soothingly. “Can I kiss you?”

The question is soft, self-conscious almost with the fear of rejection. But you were beyond a breaking point. The feelings were welling up in your chest like a high tide as you felt him tense up at your question.

Sex was common—quite often as a means of easily transferring adeptal energy to you. And because it was a painful process to take in, you found that this method dulled the pain through the twisted pleasures and mixed sensations.

But that’s all it was— a means to keep you alive. You could never say there was a time Xiao kissed you and he always showed restraint in touching your body more than necessary. His bodily needs were never foremost on his mind and he would never tell you how his hands ached to roam your body, how this arrangement became an illusion of a different reality he couldn’t have. And so he locked away his emotions for his own sake.

Xiao lifted his face from your chest, his golden eyes wide with momentary confusion—perhaps even shock. And your face… those wonderful sparkling eyes that glistened with glossy tears on the brink of rolling down your face. He wished he wasn’t the reason you were crying.

In an instant he propped himself up on his forearms, feeling you lightly tremble beneath him from holding back the urge to cry. A quiet hiccup left you as you were overwhelmed by bottled up feelings all at once, his thumb gently brushing your tears away.

“Why?” was all he asked.

Though it was a genuine question, his actions remained tender and calmed the anxiety that gripped your naive heart.

“Because I love you—because I think I love you.”

Quietly you hiccuped beneath him and Xiao gently rested his forehead against yours, eyes closed.

“Then love me if it makes you happy,” he responds softly. The tears that twinkle down your face like falling stars are gently kissed away by his soft lips. “I’m with you until the day I die, and if loving me makes living less painful for you then use me as an anchor to reality.”

Your soft crying is hushed as Xiao presses a tender kiss to your lips. It’s short and just enough to bloom your heart with newfound emotions you had yet to experience. Perhaps you reminded the adeptus of himself in a simpler time—naive, innocent. For that, he took pity on you, and also fell deeply in love with you though he would not know it for a long time.

Simply put, he wouldn’t allow himself to know it.

The flowers that surround the small house glow and dance in the night breeze. They bloom with your newfound knowledge—heartache.

#adeptus xiao #xiao/reader #xiao x reader #zhongli #xiao just trying his best #genshin xiao #genshin fanfic #genshin impact #genshin #light smut #smut #pwp #fluff #drabble collection: coffee break for two #drabble #soft #the concept of this is hor knee I’m so sorry

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geminixevans-stan · 3 years

Text

The Ghost

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Black Reader

Words: 2,254

Summary: Reader is on a business date when a blast from a toxic filled past shows up

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, Explicit language, smut(Fingering, squirting if you squint, voyeurism)

A/N: I have just been on a disrespectful kick and who can do disrespect like our man Ransom. This came to me just out of nowhere and I wanted to write it because Ransom is just nasty and petty as hell. I hope you all like it! Reblog, Like, and Comment. Happy reading thots!

I do not consent to my work being copied, plagiarized, or translated in any way >:P

The mellow murmurs of the other guests could be heard as you sat across from the man you have been with for three years. You could see the nervousness in his demeanor as he checked his watch, adjusted his tie, and kept looking over his shoulder. His eyes were nowhere on you and it was getting annoying. You had to remind yourself that this wasn’t a date, something he hasn’t taken you on in months. This was only to meet with his boss who he wanted you to meet for whatever reason.

Getting tired of his fidgeting, you tried to give some type of reassurance, “Case, you look fine, babe. I’m sure your boss won’t be checking you out. Just relax,” you said reaching out to squeeze his hand.

He gave a smile that didn’t reach his eyes as he slipped his hand from under yours causing a small sting in your heart, “You just don’t get it, sweetness, my boss is very well dressed and I just want to make a good impression.” You didn’t understand just why he needed to make a fashion impression but there was part of you that didn’t care.

You looked out at the look of the restaurant admiring the ambiance of it. The restaurant was upscale, dimly lit, and decorated just right. There were couples on dates, groups who looked like they just got off of work, and a ghost that you thought that you would never see in a million years. His facial features were more chiseled, but the face, god that face, remained the exact same. But no one was with him.

His clothing choices had gotten better since your college days and it only added to how good he looked. Shifting in your seat, you looked over at Case as he stood up. Curiosity then confusion set upon your face as the ghost appeared to be inching closer to your table. No, no. He couldn’t be.

But as Case shook the hands of your college sweetheart, you knew that you were definitely in the twilight zone. He turned to you, full set of teeth on display as he began the introductions, “Mr. Drysdale, meet my lovely girlfriend, baby meet Mr. Drysdale. Oh, you knew that motherfucker. Ransom took off his shades, looking down at you as you could see the faintest smirk on his face.

Sticking his hand out over the table, he grasps yours in his, pressing his lips to your knuckles, “It’s very nice to finally meet you,” his voice still sounded like pure velvet and you couldn’t deny the electricity from feeling his lips on your skin again.

Your mouth suddenly became dry as you stared back at the man that once or still held your heart. Snapping out of your trance, you decided to respond, “I could say the same, Mr. Drysdale. Case couldn’t stop talking about you.”

He never broke eye contact with you as he spoke, “Well I am always on the tongue in more ways than one,” he smirked again knowing just what to say.

Smug bastard

With all the formalities out of the way, everyone took their seats. If seeing Ransom wasn’t enough, he had to sit right next to you. He threw you a smug look, his cologne lingering under your nose as he turned to Case who began having a conversation with him.

During the talk, Case decided to go to the bathroom, leaving both of you sitting at the table. Ransom felt like he just won the lottery and he was definitely going to make the best of it. He knew he had to get you back and that was exactly what he was going to do.

Ransom turns to you when you both are now alone, “That’s who you decided to be with? Why you with that asshat anyway?”

You shot him a look of disbelief as if he didn’t know or was too oblivious to the fact, “Well I wouldn’t be with him if you know, you would have taken us seriously. Instead, you wanted to fuck everything walking,” crossing your arms as his jaw clenched. It was no secret that he missed you. He wondered where he would be if he would have just been all about you. But young Ransom was a whore who cared only about himself.

But seeing the only girl that had his heart with someone else was just something he didn’t agree with, “Still doesn’t answer my question kitten,” that name. That fucking name. He knew what that name did to you and you let out a low whimper, hoping he didn’t hear it. But he definitely did because as soon as it was heard, he placed his finger under your chin, “Looks like some things don’t change. Still my kitten, baby?”

How bad you wanted to say “yes” was on the tip of your tongue. He was looking damn good and the ache in your core made you want him to ruin you. But the hurt in you wouldn’t let that happen. Moving slowly away from him, you dropped your head a little, “I would have been whatever you wanted me to be,” you didn’t expect all the hurt to come rushing back. But Ransom treated you as if he could have better. So, why on earth would he want you now?

“You still can be kitten, dump this fuck wad.” He placed his large calloused hand on the exposed skin of your thigh, rubbing small circles in one spot.

His touch, any touch really was something that you missed. Case hasn’t touched or even been affectionate with you in months. To have Ransom touching you was becoming more than you could bear. You tried to move his hand but you were no match for his strength, “Ransom, let go!” you spoke through clenched teeth.

Inching higher up, he dipped his hand under your dress, placing his lips to the shell of your ear, “Let’s play a game kitten,” he breathed as he pressed his lips to the spot behind your ear. He still knew your spots and it was maddening, “If my pussy isn’t soaked, then I’ll move. If she is, daddy isn’t moving any damn where.” Before you could retort, Case was coming back to the table, smiling at the both of you.

He sat down, fixing his suit jacket one more time, “I see you two are getting acquainted! Anything I missed?” He said raising his hand to signal the waiter to the table.

Ransom chuckled deeply, sliding his hands further up your dress, “Just getting to know your beautiful girlfriend over here. Quite the smart girl you have here,” But he knew you better than Case ever would. He knew you weren’t getting properly fucked let alone having orgasms. He could just tell by how responsive you’ve been without him even touching you.

Case beamed at the impression that you were giving Ransom. If only he really knew what was going on, “She’s amazing,” it took everything in you not to roll your eyes. That fucker didn’t know a damn thing and barely paid attention to you. As the waitress came to the table, you felt Ransom prod at your clothed mound, his fingers tracing over the wet material. Your body had betrayed you and he looked at you like he just won the grand prize.

You all had ordered drinks as Ransom rubbed soft circles on the soft fabric. He hated panties and would make sure you never wore them in college. He would soon rectify that after Case was out of the picture.

He pushed the soaked material to the side, playing with your exposed skin as you tried your hardest to sip your drink. Extracting his hand slightly, he tapped your inner thigh two times making you spread your legs wider. He slid back to your exposed lips, rubbing his fingers over your folds as you let out an inaudible sigh.

The conversation was taking way, ransom mindlessly playing with the wetness leaking from your aching hole. He was teasing you to no end and you were growing needier by the second. You wanted to feel him knuckle deep and all he wanted to do was toy with you.

You were barely paying attention to the conversation when you felt your entrance stretch and suck in his thick digit, inviting him back home. He stilled his finger inside of you, relishing in the warmth and wetness of you. He raised the cold glass to his lips and you clenched around him at the same time he took a sip.

He choked a little bit on the cold liquid as a small smirk formed on your lips. Case looked at him in concern, “You okay Mr. Drysdale?” Pressing into your seat, your hips rolled slowly letting his finger slide in deeper.

Ransom waved Case off to ease his worry, “All good, just the drink went down the wrong,” he pushed a second in your tight canal, you gripping your napkin tightly at the added intrusion, “pipe. Now where were we?” He wanted to let you know that he could play your game better than you and he always won.

He began to slide his fingers in and out of your sopping wet hole, sliding in deeper with each stroke. You tried keep a straight face through him playing your body like his favorite instrument and you were doing good until… He found the right spot. Only he knew how to find it and once he did. Oh, you were fucked. Curling his fingers at the spongy surface, he rubbed over that spot over and over, the heat dissipating all over your body as you tried your best to keep calm.

But your juices leaking over his fingers caused him to piston his fingers in with not give and he was taking all the advantage of it. You tried to clench your thighs, but he shot you an inconspicuous look that urged you not to fuck with him. Rocking secretly against his fingers, you could see him smirking while listening to whatever the fuck Case was talking about.

You grabbed your drink, bringing it back to your lips, preparing to take a sip when Ransom pressed his thumb to your overly sensitive clit, pressing into the center, “Oh fuck…” They both shot a look at you, amusement in Ransom’s face as Case was full of annoyance.

He looked at you like you just embarrassed him and you had to make a quick excuse, “I’m… so sorry. Babe this drink is so good.” Case clenched his fist still staring at you as Ransom let out a small chuckle.

“This place does have the best drinks. I’ve caught myself saying Oh fuck once or twice,” he said, strumming his thumb over your bundle of nerves, you downed the entire drink as Case resumed back to the conversation, looking completely ticked off. You bucked against the sensation making him withdraw from you as you already missed clenching around him. Squeezing your thigh tightly to stop your movements, he dove back in with the same movements.

Pulling your lip between the tightness of your teeth, you gripped the napkin once more, letting Ransom bring you closer to a well-deserved orgasm. Your juices leaking down his hand and you knew that this chair was about to be ruined. Your chest heaved up and down as his strokes and circles grew faster as you heard Case ask a question.

“So what do you think about that Mr. Drysdale?” Honestly, Ransom didn’t give a fuck about this conversation. The moment he laid his eyes on you, he knew he was going to take you home tonight and Case was far from his worries. He doubled down on his strokes as he drew quick circles, feeling you flutter around his fingers. He knew his kitten’s body after all this time and it was time to give her exactly what she needed.

Ransom placed the hand that hovered over the top of his lip on the table as he smirked deviously at Case, “Well, I only have one thing to say really,” he looked him dead in his eyes as the next words sent you over to an earth-shattering release, “Come kitten,” The tightness in your core finally snapped and you threw your head back as a silent cry erupted from your lips as you soaked His fingers and the seat beneath you.

He never stopped moving as your walls fluttered and clenched his thick digits, coating them in spurting cream. Case looked over at your blissfully fucked out face, then back and Ransom in complete shock. Ransom kept that same smirk, still staring at Case, “Good girl…” You began to come down from your high and before Case could say anything, the waitress showed up.

She smiled at the group as she placed the empty glasses on her tray, “Would you all like entrees or desserts?” Ransom pulled his fingers from your tight hole, not wanting to let him go as he withdrew with an audible squelching pop.

He put his fingers in the light as your creamy juices glistened against his skin, “Actually, I have my dessert right here,” darting his tongue out he slowly lick your sweet nectar from his fingers, placing them in his mouth to suck the rest completely off. Moaning at your taste, he pulled them from his mouth, directing his gaze to yours.

“Just as sweet as I remember kitten,”

Fuck…

#ransom drysdale daddy #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale x black reader #ransom drysdale smut #ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #chris evans characters

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noritoshiikamo · 4 years

Text

lunch date

part 2 of this childhood friend drabble (ok fr frshould i name this childhood friend series or public sex series bcs hmm you'll see) pairing: gojo satoru + fem!reader genre: smut bcs i think with my hand down my pants when i see gojo tags//warning: established relationship public sex, gojo thinking with dick part 2, mention of breeding kink tagging: @unabashednightmarepizza @sukirichi @sassyeahhhh [lemme know if wanna be tagged in the next part] note: the obligatory trio of mine: unedited, lowercase intended, the obligatory trio of mine: not well edited, lowercase intended, english isnt my first language im sorry if i murder it.

“toru- ah, that hurts!”

his grip to her thighs tightened, “shhh, they can hear you.”

when gojo satoru suggested that they have lunch together, she happily accepted. she didn't suspected anything odd of his behavior. he was so kind to offer to bring her something over and she has been so stressed with her works, she just accepted it with no questions. it was the first text she’d replied after ignoring his many messages and calls.

it has been two weeks since the staircase incident and she started to suspect that he knew that she was actively trying to avoid him for almost a week. she knows gojo satoru like the back of her own hand, she knows he will not forget his promises, and he will hold against her until he gets it. their newly blossomed relationship was doing okay until he popped the question out so casually as she cooked. she couldn’t forget the look on his face.

“so, when are we going to have a baby?” his question that freaked her out lingered in her mind.

a baby

what was she thinking? she smacked her head on the table. “you could’ve asked for a house, or his black card, or something else. but a baby?” her voice strained.

“yes?” the hair on her back stood at the familiar deep voice.

she looked up so fast, her head spun to see her door opened wide. sara, her colleague stood with a slight frown on her face and on her side, gojo satoru. he wore teasing smile, traded his blindfold for his glasses and he looked different. he wore a white dress shirt, sleeves rolled up with a pair of black pants and boots. his outfit looked simple and minimalistic, but don’t be fooled. she knew his shirt costs about the same as her monthly rent.

i can’t believe i picked a baby over his black card, her mind cried at the thoughts.

“i’ve tried stopping him,” sara explained, a glare on her face. he interjected. “i don’t need appointment to see my girlfriend,” gojo stepped inside, holding the door. “girlfriend?” sara questioned. she couldn’t help but to feel satisfied at the reaction her assistant’s face held.

“she gave you, her number?” she asked, one night where he came over. the bed sheet wrapped around her bare body as her eyes raked up and down satoru’s own bare body as he leaned against the headboard. his eyes shut close with his arms flexed behind his head. a small satisfactory smile on his face as he said, “right after telling me that you like me.”

“that bitch,” she hissed, gritting her teeth.

“y/n chan,” his eyes opened, a teasing smirk grew on his face. he leaned forward, the blanket pooled around his waist as he cupped her face in his hand, “didn’t see you as a jealous kind.”

it wasn’t that fact that she was jealous that sara is actively into gojo. she was fuming at her assistant for divulging her personal matter to him. that part first, and then maybe she was a little jealous. but then, sara was the reason she finally gets the guy she’s been waiting for; so at the end she still wins. sara will remain a bitch for a reason.

“it’s okay, we are having lunch together. you can leave,” she dismissed her, rubbing her strained eyes. gojo happily slammed the door shut.

“so, wanna tell me why you’re avoiding me?”

she sighed, her fingers ghosting over the keyboard, his presence has disturbed her mind, “i’m not. i-i’m busy.”

he sat on her chair, crossing his legs as he rested his lanky body against the chair. “you can’t even look at me. what is it?” he asked. her finger stopped above the enter key. she wanted to press it, but she can’t. something is holding her back. she knew what he’s doing. she sighed in defeat and turned to face the elephant in the room. her brows frowned when she realised; “where’s the food?” she asked staring at the empty table.

“huh?”

“lunch? you told me we are having lunch?” she frowned. this idiot did not just suggest that they’ll have lunch together, show up at her office without the promised food. gojo looked at her sheepishly, a small smile on his face.

“oh, that. yeah, i just want an excuse to see you,” his small smile turned sinister as he lolled his head to the side, “you could be my lunch.”

her face pressed against the glass window overlooking the city. her floor wasn’t that high, they could see the streets bellow and the office in front of them. she repeatedly told him that they can’t do this. “they can see us,” she panicked, despite being delirious from his kisses as she let him unbutton her shirt. but a few kisses later, her skirt hiked up, panties in his pocket and his dick hitting her cervix roughly, she was convinced.

“you think you can come for me six times?” he heaved, lips against her bare shoulder, accentuating his words with his every thrust, “six for the amount of days you've ignored me. another five to go, buttercup. should be easy.”

his hand trailed down her chest, her belly until he found her neglected clit. a gentle tap of her bundle of nerves had her throwing her hair back. she was about to come undone; he could feel it from the way she was desperately clamping down on his length and her whining. tears streaming down her face as she bit down on her lips to hold herself from screaming, she could taste blood. her body shuddered, her sweaty skin leaving marks on the glass and the way he just mewled against her ears, praising her made her legs buckled.

he was quick to catch her, hands gripping her waist.

they moved to the desk, pushing all her files and pens aside as he laid her down. he showered her with kisses, slowly trailing them down to her cunt. he eyed her glistening slit, mouth watered. grabbing her legs, he held it open, she whined at the feeling of his warm breath ghosting over her. “satoru, i can’t,” she moaned at the first lick, her hand pressed on his head trying to get away, but he held her tight. “n-no more, ah fuck, fuck!” she could feel his eyes on her, watching her every reaction as his tongue worked their ways. the feeling on his teeth grazing her clit, the tip of her tongue teasing around her entrance, before slipping in.

she tasted so good; it was more pleasurable for him than her. she looked pretty squirming to get away as he held her tighter, tongue darting in and out. overstimulation was hitting her full force and she was high in pleasure. her brain couldn’t comprehend; between the feeling of his breath against her slit, his tongue fucking her, his calloused palms against her waist and the sound he was making. she didn’t give two fucks if the office heard them fucking.

“close, fuck, toru i want-” her words cut off by her own moan.

his tongue switched, sucking on her swollen clit as his finger took over the fucking. it didn’t take long for her to gush out. her head was pounding, his words went in one ear and out the another. he stood up, drools and her fluid covered his chin and onto his bare chest. he helped her sat, she was beyond exhausted. the feeling of his fingers brushing her hair back brought back to the office, she looked up to him with her eyes half drooped. a soft chuckle escaped his lips as he pressed it on hers. “you okay?” he whispered, planting kisses after kisses. “i miss you so much,” he cooed.

“miss you,” was all she could mustered out.

“did i scare you? with the baby talk?” he asked, pulling her in his arms. truth be told, seducing her into fucking in front of the glass window wasn’t the actual reason gojo was here. but her words were just so inviting, he doesn’t mind a little detour. she tasted delicious. she mumbled something against his chest, but he was sure it was a maybe.

“i thought you wanted it.”

she pouted, finally the first sentence her brain could scrambled, “maybe i change my mind.”

“that’s why you ran away from me? you’re scared?” he tilted her head up, his heart warmed at the little pout she had on, “oh buttercup, i won’t lie. the thoughts of you all round and milky with my child is turning me on-” not a lie, because she could feel his cock pressing against her slit, “but it’s okay. one day i’ll change your mind but for now, i’m fine with a little practise now.” she groaned against his lips as she felt his tip slipped in, stretching her once again.

this one was quicker, she was already sobbing mess, clutching desperately on his chest as he chased his high.

the deeper he pushed into her, the faster he had to circle her clit. he’s not a selfish lover, he wants her to feel as good as him too, despite being borderline torturous as she was clearly an overstimulated mess. “you’re so good to me,” he hummed, “you take me in so well. i love the way your tight cunt suck me in.” she really was, with mouth apart panting his name, eyelids drooped, and fingers dug into his flesh with legs apart.

she’s his good little girl.

she nodded, soft mewls could be heard through her pants. the wet kisses he was peppering her skin soon turned into a desperate attempt to leave a mark. she was beyond exhausted to berate him for doing it, so she learned to enjoy the feeling of his fangs against her flushed skin.

“toru, it feels so good,” she rolled her eyes back and he hummed in agreement.

gojo held her throat, not too harsh but not exactly gentle too, “it does, does it?” he grinned, “come, clench around my cock, y/n chan," he teased, in a sing-song tone, "i’m about to fill you up to the brim.” he tightened the grip, she whined. the way the walls tightening around him, had the world strongest’s sorcerer a moaning mess, as his hips snapped faster.

the sound of their skin slapping each other got louder and louder with the squelching of her cunt. his eyes rolled to the back of his head, as he forced his cock all the way inside, his thick seed shooting directly into her womb. his grip on her waist tightened, he was all choke up. they stayed in each other’s arm, struggling to catch a break.

he pinched her cheek for the fun of it, seeing her annoyed and bothered for his own personal pleasure. “what luck you have, y/n. falling in love with someone like me,” he brushed the tear stains on her cheek.

“who said i love you?”

he pressed his hand on his chest, faking the pained look on his face with an ouch. it was never an exchange of i love yous between them; it was him annoying the fuck out of her and her being constantly concern by his childishness. “would you still come home, y/n. i miss you so much, no lies.” he asked as he pulled his pants back up. "i will," she promised. he helped her off the desk, cleaning the mess they’d made and her chasing him around for her pair of panties. she never got it back, her face was as red as her stilettos as she made her way out of the office bare under her skirt. she could hear him snickering behind her.

“c-cancel the rest of my day please, sara. i have some business to take care off,” she glared at the white-haired man running toward the elevator. lunch time was over, and she was beyond fucked to continue her work. literally. not when gojo had made sure to give her the fucking of her life, she couldn’t focus on her work no more. sara gave her a glare, a dirty one, as she eyed her skewered hair and wrinkled clothes. she placed the files on her assistant’s desk, rushing as gojo held the elevator opened.

she made in, jumping instantly in his arms as the door closed. it was just two of them in the empty lift.

she giggled in his arms; his huge smile was contagious. he kissed her so gently, thumb on her back rubbing shapes. his smile grew wider as they pulled away. she tilted her head, confusion on her face and he nudged his head to the door. she turned around only to see their reflection on the elevator’s door. “look closer,” he whispered, and her eyes widened as she realised a trail of his cum, peaking out of her skirt down her legs. her face got even redder as she wasn’t sure if it had just happened or gojo has been letting her walk around with his cum down her legs.

“i’ll murder you, satoru.”

the lift suddenly halted. the number stopped at the ninth floor and she cursed. the lift wasn’t malfunction; she knew exactly what he was doing, and he wasn’t even trying to hide it.

“not going to lie, seeing my cum down your legs, it looks hot,” he said sheepishly, a kiss on her cheek while his hands already made their way underneath her blouse. his brows raised up suggestively.

“will you stop thinking with your dick, satoru?”

“you still owe me two more orgasm, buttercup.”

the light of the lift suddenly tripped, engulfing them in a pitch-black darkness. she jolted in his arms. the emergency light turned on and under the dimmed light, she could see his blue eyes on her like a predatory to its prey. she could feel her throat drying as a kiss landed on her neck.

“we better make our time worth.”

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yeojaa · 4 years

Text

come over, pt. i

pairing. jjk x f!reader. rating. explicit. tags. this is pwp. smut in the forms of: kissing, oral (m/f), fingering, deepthroating, hickeys, protected sex. use of the pet name shy girl. wc. 6.2k. beta reader. @hobi-gif and @snackhobi aka the loves of my tiny life. author note. this is an adaption of an rp with my beloved @velvetwicebang. while the writing is all my own, i owe so much to loma for inspiring me and being such a wonderful partner. 💛 if you enjoy this, feedback goes a long way. tysm for reading! (and yes, there will be a second part.)

You’ve been friends for thirteen months, classmates for another three before that. You’ve worked on countless projects together, watched him fall off a roof, and have had to bail him out of campus security’s grubby little hands. Your friendship is easy, based on mutual suffering in Professor Kim’s class and long study dates spent in the library. He smuggled you chocolates in his pockets and you brought iced coffee to the 8 a.m. lecture you shared.

You’re not sure why you’re riddled with uncertainty now then, every nerve ending shot, lit up bright like the still-up mini Christmas tree sitting in the corner of your dorm room. (You know you should take it down but it’s so cute, slouched ever with a tiny gold star-shaped bell hanging from the end.).

Spending time with Jungkook was normal - a part of your weekly routine - but then again, you hadn’t somehow developed a weird little crush on him until recently.

(If you think hard, you could probably pinpoint it to a night a few weeks ago when he looked particularly good, fluffy powder puff of hair stripped of shadow and gleaming gold beneath the warm lecture lights. You’d never had a thing for blonds but he made it look good - surprising you when he’d dropped into his seat beside you and winked in response to your surprise.)

(It’s something you can't tear your thoughts from now, that infuriatingly charming smile burnt into your retinas. It sits at the forefront of your mind, stealing your attention from the movie that's playing on the television hung across from your bed. One of those blockbuster flicks, because who didn’t love gratuitous action and lens flares?)

A hand reaches for the chip bowl propped between you - homemade chex mix, because you’ve been obsessed with the recipe since discovering it a few weeks ago - and you flinch away when it brushes the hand that's already in there.

"Sorry!" You squeak before coughing, a quick-witted (but not altogether believable) attempt at hiding the sudden heat that flares across your cheeks. The same hand disappears between your knees, fingers curling into the soft throw laid over your legs. You tell yourself to relax at least three times before speaking, peeking at your companion from beneath a fringe of sleep-tousled strands. “Stop stealing all my chips.”

The boy beside you only grins, tosses that lazy smile in your direction before turning his attention back to the explosion on the screen, entire expression lit up by the fireworks that explode in flashes of colour.

You think you’ve gotten away with it - that he hasn’t noticed - and then he’s speaking again, pointedly staring forward, seemingly unbothered. (You know better though. Jungkook’s infuriating like that, picking up on all the little things despite the fact that he’s a dumb boy, too good at reading between the lines when he barely studies.)

“You’re blushing.”

The callout is, well, uncalled for.

You choose to ignore him at first, opting to shove two chocolates past your lips. They’re unbearably sweet, minty and cold - your favourite - and the richness spills across your tongue, eliciting a soft hum as your teeth buzz from the sugar. (Note to self: thank Jungkook for the chocolate later.)

“You’re blushing,” you retort once you’ve swallowed, cheeks puffed out and a dent gathering between your brows. “I’m just—“ Hand waves wildly - nearly hits him in the face with how wobbly it is - and you pretend-glare at him, faux affront laid in spades. “—hot.”

It comes snappier than you mean it to, spoken in something close to a pout. You aren’t actually. The campus is notorious for having garbage heating, floorboards more akin to packed snow in the dead of winter. It’s just annoying. You refuse to be another one of those girls.

(Not that there’s anything wrong with said girls. It’s more an issue with Jungkook, stupidly handsome and charming and far too popular for his own good. People already told you all about Jungkook’s escapades - even though you often heard them from him firsthand and in gruelling detail. One of the downsides to being friends with someone who, for all intents and purposes, carried the title of campus heartthrob.)

“Pay attention to the movie.” The same hand reaches for the mix again, careful to avoid brushing his this time. You think you’ve succeeded, snatching up a piece of pretzel, morsel halfway to your mouth when it drops to your lap.

The same lap that suddenly has a hand on it, palm warm over your knee.

If you’d thought your nerve endings were shot, now you knew they were. Every inch of skin was on fire - heat shooting up your spine and over your neck the moment his hand comes in contact with bare skin. Damn your need for comfort, damn your choice to wear shorts, damn his freaking hot tattooed hands—

You almost yell at him. The sound’s on the tip of your tongue when you bite down, stare trained wholly on the movie and the blood that splatters across the screen..

Really, you shouldn't be surprised. You’ve known Jungkook for nearly two years - okay, not quite. You’ve heard all the rumours about him, the whispered words that sound something like playboy and flirt and be careful. You know and yet you’ve found yourself in this situation, desperately trying to figure out what the hell is going through his mind as you stare straight ahead, refusing to move a muscle.

His profile is picture perfect from your periphery; he's focused too, acting like he's done nothing wrong. Sly as a fox, as always.

“Still blushing,” he repeats conversationally, as if he’s commenting on the colour of the sky or how cold it is in your room. Not as if he’s got a hand where it shouldn’t be, ink spilling over his skin in pretty patterns, burning the shape of it where he touches.

"I didn't blush.” It’s a retort made for only argument’s sake and even then, without weight. Feather soft and feeble in an attempt to keep your voice level. It's hard when you’re burning up, a livewire settled where you feel him. "I'm not blushing."

It's a lie - you can feel the flush, embarrassment flooding from your cheeks all the way down over your chest. It’s an inferno beneath your skin, lava coursing through your veins.

It spreads further and further, blooms somewhere new when his hand drifts lower, tracking across the soft inner of your thigh. Doesn’t cease even when his hand does, palm firm over your leg, the ghost of a touch passing so close to your core you can’t help but jolt. It’s as if he’s rearranged your pieces, mixed them all up. A brush of his finger over your clothed entrance feels like it hits you right in the chest, snaps your heart to attention. It roars to life, thundering madly, pulse erratic when he repeats the gesture, with that much more pressure.

You’re dripping, you realise to your horror, cotton of your thong sticking to your skin, grey of your shorts made darker by the arousal that spills over the one not-so-innocent digit.

A part of you wants to run from the room. Nearly do, heart hammering in your chest when Jungkook's face is suddenly too close, the warmth of his breath stifling against your neck. It feels good, anticipation and desire fizzing in your stomach like fountain pop. (The movie theatre kind, that’s somehow flat and too bubbly all at once.)

"Kook." You mean to say it reproachfully, with a hand pushing his wrist away. Instead it comes out like a whisper, a soft sigh of his name that sounds almost needy, laced with worry and anticipation that makes you want to tear your own hair out. Fingers remain locked around bone, other hand digging into the blanket and the linen beneath it, searching desperately for some form of composure beneath the material.

For the first time, you hazard a glance - know it’ll be bad for your own well-being - dropping your stare to where his hand rests. (You have to admit - you like the sight of those tattoos, a stark contrast to the unblemished softness.)

Like it almost as much as his kisses, the first of which lands exactly where you want it most. Delicate, polite, right on the junction of your jaw. A sigh escapes before you can help it. "Shy girl,” he coos, teasing in a way that makes your heart skip a beat.

“I’m not shy,” you huff - try to, anyway, around the kaleidoscope of butterflies that are threatening to choke you. "We're watching a movie." You’re trying to redirect his attention, even as you’re desperate for it, even as you think you’d give your whole heart for it.

You’re this close to combusting, eyes widening the moment he extracts his hand and tucks it back into the bowl of chips. A part of you wants to yell at him - for starting this in the first place but mainly for leaving you high and dry, turned on and soaking through your underwear.

(It’s not fair, but then again, you’d never expected them to be. You’ve seen the rules Jungkook plays by - namely those of his own creation. Term paper due the next morning? He’d somehow pull it out of his ass that night. Break something at a house party? He’d be let off with a smile and a wave, those doe eyes of his utterly lethal when paired with his pout.)

“Watch the movie then.” He sounds almost bored, utterly unbothered as he seamlessly slips back into the proper role of friend, classmate, study partner.

"Let's." Without tossing another glance in his direction, you stare straight ahead, own hand delving for snacks. So what if you very purposely brush your fingers against the pieces he's just touched, popping the pieces into your mouth before slotting your thumb against your tongue, cheeks hollowing around to suck the last bits of salt and butter off.

Despite your nerves - you’re hoping he's watching - you readjust, bringing knees up, crossing legs until one is resting atop his own thick thigh. The full of your bottom lip disappears between your teeth, worried to within an inch of its life as you shift beside him, seemingly manoeuvring your shorts into their rightful position.

(You’re not. They’re hitched higher than they were, barely worthy of the title of shorts, more akin to a belt. So revealing it’s almost uncomfortable, wet of your arousal sticking them to your skin.)

(Two could play this game.)

(Maybe him better than you, but still.)

You know what you’re doing and yet you’re somehow surprised when he’s suddenly disappeared from your side and situated himself in front of you, eating up too much of the space on your small double bed. “What’re you—“ The question disappears in the same moment he does, unable to track his movements when Jungkook slips forward, pressing his mouth over yours.

You’ve kissed a lot of people. (Okay, not a lot, but enough.) You were a senior in college, where kissing was like talking and fucking happened more often than dating.

You’ve never kissed Jungkook before.

Why hadn’t you?

His lips are terribly soft, pink and pouted, slanting across yours as if he’s trying to devour you. There’s no semblance of delicacy, nothing gentle and sweet like those brushes against your neck. They’re forceful, demanding payment in full when his tongue glides over the seam, seeking entrance despite the fact that you think he might’ve slipped in anyway.

There’s not a single wall he couldn’t break down, not a lock he couldn’t pick. Not with how he moves, purposeful and reassured, tongue sliding over yours, sucking it into his mouth as if it’s something he does every day. (Which it very well could be - just not with you.)

“Shy girl,” he repeats with a mouth filled with affection, praise that pours over you honey sweet and sticky. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

The thing is, you’re not pretending. You’re half-afraid this entire moment is going to explode into a thousand pieces, a dream shattered by reality. You hope it doesn’t. Couldn’t bear it when he feels so nice, hand spanning your waist, tucked beneath the safety of your shirt and the fleece blanket between you.

“I’m not.”

“Oh?” There’s something in his eyes, something that coils heat in the pit of your stomach. You swear you can see the devil sitting on his shoulder, gleeful little smile rearranging his features. “Do I make you nervous, ____?”

Did he? Of course he did. Had, even before you’d known him.

(You’d grown comfortable, though. Found a way to separate the popular heartthrob from your friend.)

But you’ve lost your marbles, gone certifiably insane when you make a noise that sounds nothing like you. Because you’re once again far too interested in the way Jungkook’s touching you, manhandling you as if you’re some sort of puppet. It really shouldn’t turn you on so much, slick coating your bare thighs when he guides you onto your back, pushes you back against your too many pillows.

He’s your friend and he’s told you all about the way he fucks girls until they can’t walk.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want the same treatment, though.

The moment Jungkook’s mouth finds your skin - sensitive and soft and so close to your soaked core - you keen, hands immediately flying into his silky head of hair. It threads between your fingers like fine silk, filaments of gold overlaid in colour by the movie that still plays.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, entire body arching off the back of the bed in an effort to bring some form of relief. You can’t help the heat that burns your cheeks or how you sound, begging and pleading as you tug gently at his blond roots. “Don’t tease me.”

You’re not asking very nicely but you figure Jungkook will give in. It’s his fault, after all.

His fault - which you don’t mind when he hooks fabric aside and drags his tongue across your slit, the flat of his tongue arching your back from the bed. Can’t mind when he does it again, rounded nose bumping against your clit. You’re trying to stay just a little bit decent, moans soft and caught between your teeth. You’re practically biting a hole through your lip in an effort to stay quiet, hands curled into fists. Gold spills between them and you imagine it hurts but he doesn’t stop, only works harder to drive you crazy.

Of course he’s good at this. Too good, if you’re being honest.

You’re dripping, legs trembling in his firm, unyielding grip. There's molten heat building in your stomach, creeping up your spine, and with each pass of his tongue over your sensitive core, it only expands. You want more - need it - and almost beg when he catches your clit between his teeth. A breathy baby spills out on accident when your eyes meet, gaze half-lidded.

It’s bad for your health, how good he looks right now, chin slick, lips rubied and pretty like jewels. “Shy girl sounds so pretty.”

There's something about his praise that completely ruins you, the words dragging a delighted, sexpot moan off your tongue. You want him to tell you how pretty you are now and later, over and over.

You want to be his pretty girl.

"I want you. I need more," you whine, hips rutting desperately, slick messy across your thighs and shining across Jungkook's mouth. He smiles then - brighter than the sun, utterly radiant, so devastatingly handsome you swear your brain short circuits - and then he’s doing exactly as you’ve asked.

He eats you out like it’s an art form, flicking his tongue over your clit with practiced precision, sucking the pearl between his lips. When he grazes his teeth over it - just the lightest pressure - you jolt, the feeling of a finger sliding into you stealing the breath from your lungs.

He’s always had nice hands, big broad palms and long fingers. They reach places you could never hope to, stretching you deliciously when he sinks another in alongside the first, exploring you with ease. The sting is slight, the fullness overriding any pain, further dulled by the suction of his mouth on your clit.

He even hums when he finds the spot he’s been looking for, hooking his fingers against it and pressing. (You swear you see stars; you know you feel him smile, lips spread like butter over your skin when you sob.)

You can’t help yourself, writhing and moaning, trying to ride his face with a desperation that has your chest heaving. It feels so good to have him between your legs. You almost miss the appearance of his other hand - in view for but a moment before it disappears past the waistband of his sweats. Dark as they are, pitch black like most of his clothing, it’s impossible to miss the way he touches himself. It has you even needier, pussy clenching at the thought of him fisting his own hard cock.

“Do you want a hand?” You ask as if you’re doing him a favour and not salivating at the prospect, eyes wide, blinking down at him from behind thick lashes.

“Fuck.” He’s sin incarnate, undeniable when he sheds his sweats, kicks them off with just one hand, other still slotted snug against your pussy. He never ceases his movements, fucking you on his fingers even as he sits upright, leaned back on his calves. “You want a taste? Shy girl wants a big fat cock in her mouth?”

There's something about hearing him so turned on, the expletive shooting a dizzying bolt of desire straight between yours legs. You’ve seen Jungkook worked up - he was awfully competitive, after all, dominating most intramural sports, breaking PR records in the gym - but it's something else completely when he's making you drip cum all over his hand.

"Wow.”

Jungkook's cock is pretty, flushed and glossy from the pre-cum he spreads with his thumb, massaging over the tip like it owes him something.

You want to taste it.

A contented hum rolls off your tongue at his question, though you don’t give him the satisfaction of an answer. His ego's big enough without it and you’re much more interested in stroking something else. Still, you lean into his palm, nuzzling your cheek against the warmth of it when he threads his hand through your hair, gathering it in his fist.

Then without looking away, your mouth falls open, tongue peeking past your lips to lick a fat stripe up the length of his cock, from base to tip. It's hot and heavy on your tongue, the salty taste of his pre-cum better than candy. You hum again, swirling your tongue around the head, and keep your gaze locked with Jungkook's, almost smirking when you drag your tongue over his fingers, gently grazing the edge of your teeth against the pad of his thumb.

“Please.” You’re usually far more reserved, not the kind to ask for more until you’re three months into dating and certain of where you stand. You simply can’t help yourself now, the feeling of your own wetness painting your skin, making you clench around nothing. "I need it."

The groan that comes sounds more like Christmas, a gift given by Santa Claus himself. It filters into your ears and has you grinning up at him, not even bothering to hide the pride that flutters your lashes and has you pursing your lips around the head of his cock.

When he speaks again, it’s dangerously quiet, low in his throat, laced with whatever same emotion that seems to shackle your limbs. “Open up, ____,” he instructs, though he offers little time to adjust, guiding his cock forward, stuffing your mouth full. “Show me how bad.”

You don’t mind. If you were to speak, it’d practically be a prayer, tongue tracing the veins that run the length. A chorus of yes please more when he takes just as much as he gives. You love the power that comes with Jungkook speaking so filthily, drunk on it when he continues, spewing filth in time with each rock of his hips.

Lips seal around the swollen head each time he withdraws, cheeks hollowing around the tip. Tongue passes over his fingers again before your hand rises, fingers curling around his wrist to pull his own away. (You probably shouldn't - it's too romantic - but thread your fingers through his in the same instant you sink down upon his cock, taking him halfway before pulling off with a pop!)

"Do you think you'll last long enough to fuck me?" You’re pushing his buttons on purpose, just like he had yours during the movie.

Something close to a snarl comes, a growl that reverberates out of that big cavernous chest of his, and he grips your hair tighter, tries to hold you still as he grins down at you. The expression is so at odds with the warmth in his eyes, the boyish tilt of his head.

You repeat the motion again and again, taking him a little bit deeper until the head brushes the back of your throat, reflexively swallowing around the intrusion. He's still so long and thick you haven’t even taken him all, drooling around his length, breathing through your nose and pushing past the desire to gag. Then you relax your jaw just a little more, humming when your nose brushes the neatly groomed patch of hair at his base.

Your free hand slinks across his thigh, nails digging into the meat, delighted by the flex of muscle and sinew beneath your hand. He's so hard, both on your tongue and beneath your touch. It prompts you to shift forward just a bit more - you can feel the slick on your thighs, dripping down onto the sheets with each movement - and trace across his thigh to gently palm his balls.

If you could speak, you’d probably ask for more. For Jungkook to use and abuse your throat as much as he wants. As it stands, you can only moan around him, spit and his pre-cum smeared over your lips.

“Look at you.” He’s talking to himself, lost in his own world as he fucks into your mouth, soothes the pad of his thumb over your cheek. You adore the way he sounds now, dazed and a little messed up. “Look so pretty with my cock in your mouth, ____.”

You can’t do much more than look up at him, batting your lashes when he compliments you, dragging your tongue everywhere you can reach as the head of his cock batters the back of your throat. It's not an easy feat, drool all the way down your chin, trailing down your neck and staining the silk of your camisole.

At some point, you’ll need to pull off - get a proper breath of air - but not now. Instead, you swallow around him, savouring the feeling of him filling your mouth, and squeeze gently at his balls. When you wink up at him, it's half-hearted and with moisture in your eyes, lining lashes in the form of little gemstones.

You do it again and again, moaning lewdly around his cock before it gets too much, pulling off of him with a gasping breath and tears down your cheeks. “Is it my turn yet?” You’re only half-joking, made needier by the soreness in your throat, the same you want to feel so desperately between your legs. Pressing a sweet, chaste peck to his head, tongue dipping into his slit to gather the pre-cum that leaks out, you offer the sweetest smile you can, saccharine sweet and soft.

“Your turn?” The way Jungkook snorts is derisive, playful. It pulls straight off his tongue - which finds yours, swapping spit as he guides you back to the bed. Teeth collide, lips grown swollen by the intensity of your kiss, and you startle when he nips hard at the bottom petal. “I thought you were shy.”

“I am,” you retort, returning the gesture, biting into the curve of his jaw with surprising repose. Colour blooms beneath the edge of enamel, a smattering of colour that makes you smile, eager to leave more.

Which you would do, if Jungkook weren’t stripping before you, peeling his shirt from his front, tugging it over his head in that weirdly hot way that somehow all boys did. It reveals skin in a single fluid pull, clothing discarded to the side before he levels you with a smile of his own, one that stirs to life the dimple in his cheek, eyes squinting with the intensity of his delight. He looks deceptively sweet this way, nothing like the demon who’d just stuffed his cock down your throat.

You’re not sure which version of him you like best.

Seeing him now, dressed in nothing but that absurd, devilishly handsome grin of his, you’re not prepared. You’re unsure where to look, gaze bouncing between the tattoos that crawl up his arms and span over his left pec, down the neatly defined ridges of his abs, and all the way back to his swollen, shiny cock.

“You’re drooling.” Of course it’s something he’d say - because he always knows what to say, plucking perfect words from thin air. The casual banter calms the rattle in your chest and refocuses it on his face that’s too close, looming over yours as his hands make quick work of your clothes, shedding the fabric from your form with deft, measured movements.

You’re ready to say something teasing - anything to distract from the fact that you’re still ogling him - when he catches you in another kiss, softer this time, infinitely sweeter. Suddenly, you’re shy - which really makes no sense, given what’s transpired.

"Don't make fun of me," you mumble, as bashful as you were during the movie, embarrassment burning across your cheeks. Arms rise to cover what little of your chest you can, folding around his broad palms that encompass them whole, tweaking at the straining buds.

“I’m not,” Jungkook reassures against your lips, face dropping into the crook of your neck. He nuzzles against you, sucking affection into the column of your throat, shamelessly laying a wreath of lust into the delicate skin. You wonder whether he can hear the stutter of your pulse, the reaction his next words elicit. “You’re pretty when you do it.”

You can’t quite pull your eyes away from his face, shrouded in lemon tart, so good-looking it’s unfair; his broad back and the muscle that threads it, undulating with each movement; or the way his thighs flex between your spread knees. You’re dragged through heaven and hell by the brush of his lips, each glide overstimulating your senses to the point of no return. You’re still burning up, all the foreplay leaving your legs like jelly, cunt dripping with need. "I bet you say that to all the girls."

Probably not the best thing to say with the position you’re in but the reality of the situation is hitting you and you’re feeling a little vulnerable. Want an answer that’ll soften the sharp edges of his teeth, the intoxicating glint in his stare.

“No, just you.” Whether it’s true or not, you can’t say for certain. You hope it is - wish upon a star for it, laying all your hopes and dreams into the constellations in his eyes. They’re lovely, winking down at you from the darkest depths, guiding you home.

You don’t mean to scoff - really, you don’t. It comes of its own accord, spilling forth like a glass too full.

“You don’t believe me?” He sounds almost offended, the picture of innocence when he reaches down, hand scrambling about for pooled black fabric. Comes back up with a packet between his index and middle finger, held aloft like a prize.

How can you when he’s ready to devour you whole, primed to feast as he rolls the condom over his length, stroking himself once, twice, gaze never wavering from where it rests between your legs.

“Always prepared.” It’s scathing but somehow tender, too mesmerised by the way he fucks into his loose fist. You’d say more - maybe make a flippant comment about his reputation - but can’t find the words when he’s teasing you, swollen head tapping teasingly over your core. It feels like too much, leaves you breathless when he hikes your legs up and nearly folds you in half.

When he presses into you, the sound you make is sinful, a moan you can’t help. Jungkook’s so fucking big you’re sure you’re about to split in half, pussy clenching tight around the sudden intrusion. “Oh my god,” you whine, hands coiling into his hair, trying desperately to relax, the sting of the stretch battling the pressure that builds as he sinks further in. “You’re so big. I c-can’t—” You’re starting to babble nonsense and he hasn’t even begun moving yet, lips hot over the sweat-slick column of his throat when he bows, burning his presence into the grace of your neck. A hickey of your own creation blooms right where your mouth is, right over his shoulder. The salt of his skin distracts you, makes it easier to accommodate the fullness. “You feel so good, Kook.” You rock experimentally beneath him, clenching tight as if to draw him deeper. “Please, move,” you beg, aiming to form another bruise beneath his skin.

The first thrust chases all the breath from your lungs, a gasp ricocheting off your tongue and into the minimal space between you. He's absurdly big, stretching you out so well that every stroke feels like heaven. When he pushes back in, snaps his hips in that easy, effortless motion of his, you’re making the most obscene noises, words lost to his hair as he lavishes your tits with attention.

B-big! is all you manage to squeak out. It sounds like that, anyway. With how he's filling you, it's hard to speak coherently; you can practically feel him in your throat. (Or maybe that's just from choking on him earlier. You’re not really sure.)

Hands find their way around his neck, over his shoulders, periwinkle-painted nails leaving light etchings in their wake. They bloom colour over his back - not too hard, careful still, motor skills barely functioning - before you tangle your fingers in his hair, holding him recklessly close as the pressure builds and builds, flooding your abdomen in heat.

There’s slick all across your thighs. You can hear the wet sounds each time Jungkook slips almost all the way out and then rocks back in. It's terribly messy and so hot but you’re greedy, drunk off the feeling of having this Adonis break you in half. "Harder, p-please." Eyes wide, you tug gently at the soft strands at the nape of his neck, meeting his with a flutter of your lashes. "Please?"

He acquiesces without hesitation, fucks you harder, deeper, like an animal in a rut. Grinds against you with each thrust, pushing you to your limits. Even has the audacity to push further, until the strain in your hips conflicts with the pleasure skipping up your spine, melting you into a boneless mass.

You’ve never felt like this, stretched out and used. You’re used to gentle lovers, sweet - if not boring - lovemaking. The way Jungkook's pounding into you is unheard of and you’re loving it, his name whimpered on a feedback loop. A steady Kook, Kook, Kook that twinkles in your ears, inarticulate and pleading as you rock shamelessly against him.

“You like that, ____?” It’s a question for his own ego, something he knows but asks anyway. (It’d be impossible not to know the answer when your cunt’s sucking him in, coating his cock in a pretty sheen.)

You’re nodding dumbly, breathless, eager to meet him each time he snaps forward. (It’s not easy like this, practically prone beneath him, twisted into a pretzel.) "Like it so m-much. Feels so good.” You can’t stop smoothing open mouthed kisses over his fluffy hair, basking in the sunshine that radiates off him.

There's an ache starting between your legs, pussy swollen around his thick length. You’re grateful for your natural flexibility, the hot yoga sessions you’d entertained on-and-off for years. You’re sure you’d feel it in your legs too, knees pushed all the way up by your ears, if not for that.

But still, you’re defenceless, made to experience each and every thing he has to offer: every vein and ridge, the head of his cock reaching so deep it's almost too much. With each stroke, Jungkook’s brushing against the sensitive spot that has pleasure skyrocketing, blossoming like a rose garden in spring. "R-right there," you manage, rolling your hips purposefully, nearly crying each time he brushes against your g-spot.

“Right there?” He parrots it back, infuriating and adorable, the teasing tenor dripping over you like raindrops. They settle beneath your skin, sinking into your bones as he rears back just enough, enough to steal a kiss that’s far more tongue than it needs to be.

It’s almost as if he’s trying to drown you, sink you beneath high tide.

Spit descends down your chin, trails over your neck and it’s a little gross but you don’t care. The attention he’s giving is shameless, passed over your cheeks, your throat, your breasts. He gives and gives, both with his lips and the praise that comes unfettered. “Perfect,” he hums, sucking your nipple into his mouth, worrying the bud until it’s straining and puffy, too sensitive when he kisses you again and your own thigh brushes against it. You whimper at the feeling, pulling softly at his hair, unsure whether you want less or need more. “So sensitive. Such a shy girl. Such a pretty girl.”

Every word of praise has you beaming, nearly purring with delight despite the pain that comes when he puts you through the same once more, laving over the other bud with abandon. He's sweat-slick, beads of it running down his neck, over the mosaic of bruises you’ve left behind. It's almost embarrassing how dark his throat is coloured, a dozen reminders left all over his skin.

(You wonder how long they’ll last, how many days will pass as the colour shifts, changing like autumn leaves. Whether they’ll still be there at your next lecture, if he’ll wear them with pride or cover up beneath one of his big baggy sweaters.)

(You hope it’s the latter.)

(Maybe he’ll let you give him more.)

(Maybe he—)

There’s a change of pace and you’re crying out, hiccupping with each thrust, the head of his cock finding your g-spot with unbearable, unrelenting precision. Clawing at his arms, long nails digging into the firm muscle of his biceps, something between a sob and a plea rolls off your tongue, over and over. "So big. It's too m-much.” And yet you don’t want him to stop, punch drunk from the way he reaches deep and pulls you tighter against him, hips risen off the bed.

You’re begging again, eyes rolled so far back in your head you can hardly focus, the coil in your stomach pulled so tight you know it's about to snap. When Jungkook laughs - a sweet giggle that proves his duality - you clench almost painfully, tears finally spilling over.

One last brush against your most sensitive spot, one last thrust of that monster cock, and you’re peaking, coming so intensely you feel as if you’re soaring. Everything's suddenly so much more wet, release soaking into the linens beneath you, coating your thighs and his legs and dripping between you.

You’ve never come like this before, without some sort of direct stimulation on your clit. It’s pleasurable in a different way, severing all your sensibilities, explosive in its magnitude. It tingles beneath your skin, flooding all your senses.

"Kook—please—come for me.” You’re rocking up, forward - trying to, at least, folded as you are - singing his name, pleading for him to fuck his cum into you (momentarily ignorant to the fact that you’ve been responsible, a thin wall of latex separating you from your fucked out fantasy).

Despite the sensitivity, you’re clenching around him, eager to bring him to his own high. You want to feel him come apart above you, eroded into a mess like you are.

He’s just as pretty reaching his peak as he is at any other time, handsome face screwed up as if he’s reached nirvana, bliss slacking his features the longer he rides it out, bucking into you as he fills the condom and still doesn’t stop. It’s almost unbearable, oversensitivity spilling into pleasure until he leisurely grinds to a halt, stops the inconsistent pressure against your bundle of nerves, the assault on your fluttering walls.

When he collapses against you, whole face squished between the valley of your breasts, you can’t help but laugh, the sound breathless and endeared. “Are you okay?” You don’t mind where he is, weight comforting, skin sticky on yours. He’s unbelievably warm - a blanket fresh from the wash and yet so much better, lulling you into a sense of security.

“Better than okay,” he murmurs against your chest, smothering open-mouthed kisses over skin, snickering when you jolt at the feel of his teeth over your nipple one last time. “You’re welcome.” It’s an indulgent, facetious expression of gratitude, one that you haven’t asked for. You laugh all the same, ducking your head into the crown of spun gold atop his head.

“You too.”

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @codeinebelle

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thepremedthatwrites · 3 years

Text

Insufferable

request: Hi lovely, can you do Peter pevensie x reader imagine, please? The reader meets Pevensies in Narnia, but from the beginning she and Peter can't get along together, lots of arguments, while secretly and slowly developing feelings towards each other they don't want to admit, lot of sexual tension before smth happens but eventually they'll end up together. you can include some smut stuff. Thanks xx

hi, so i was gone for a while sorry about that haha but now school is done for the year so i can focus on writing more also this is going to be a multi part story cause it’s enemies to lovers

part 2 | part 3

A soft breeze brushed my face as my eyes fluttered open. I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion as I turned to where my bedroom window should have been. Instead, a large bookshelf filled with a myriad of leather bound books was there. The confusion grew as I took in my surroundings. Where my nightstand should have stood was a trunk. My dark blue comforter was now a deep maroon. My sheets felt softer than they ever were. As I ran a hand over them, I realized they were silk.

“You’re up,” a voice said. I jumped, my head snapping in the direction where the voice came from. A tall, blond man sat in an armchair across the room. “Lucy found you laying in the meadows. I carried you here. I should fetch you a maid. You look like a mess.” He spoke quickly, not giving me any time to interject until he was finished.

“Where am I?” I asked, choosing to ignore the man’s last comments about me.

“Narnia,” the man said. He stepped closer to me and as he approached, the light from the lantern on the nightstand illuminated him. On top of his head sat a golden crown decorated with jewels. He had good bone structure, his jawline strong and sharp. His sparkling blue eyes studied me.

“I’m being serious,” I said, crossing my arms. I wasn’t wearing a bra and the shirt I was wearing did not offer much coverage concerning my breasts. The man pulled his full lips into a smirk.

“And so am I.” I took a deep breath, not wanting to start a fight with the man who seemed to have some power if his crown was any indication.

“Please just tell me where I am. I have a very important presentation for school tomorrow and I cannot be wasting time sitting here.”

“You’re from Earth, aren’t you,” he said, the smirk still on his face as he sat down on the bed.

“What kind of question is that? Of course I am.”

“I hate to break it to you, darling, but you aren’t on Earth anymore.”

“I seriously don’t have time for this. If you don’t tell me where I am, I’ll have to call the police.” I started searching for my cell phone which had been tossed somewhere onto my bed before I fell asleep. My hands moved the sheets around, my eyes frantically looking for the familiar rectangular shape of my phone.

“I already told you where you are,” the man said, laughing at me. “You are in Narnia.”

I let out a huff as I gave up my fruitless search. “Alright fine, whatever. I’m in Narnia. How do I get back to Earth?”

“How would I know?” I wanted to bury my face into the pillow and scream. Was he being serious?

“If you won’t be of any help, you can leave.”

“I’m afraid not, darling. You see, I’m the high king here which means I have to make sure you aren’t a threat to my nation.” I let out an incredulous laugh.

“Who let you be king?”

“High king, actually.”

“King, high king, whatever. You most certainly aren’t acting like any sound ruler right now.”

“Would you prefer I tied you up and interrogated you?” I bit back my response. I wasn’t sure if he would actually do that if I weren’t careful enough.

“Okay fine. What must you know in order to determine that I am not a threat to your precious nation?”

“Well first, you could be a bit more respectful. You are talking to the high king after all. Second, tell me your name.”

“I was told not to tell my name to strangers.”

“I’m hurt, don’t you trust me?” The man feigned a look of betrayal as I stayed silent, narrowing my (e/c) eyes at him. “Okay fine, I’ll go first. My name is High King Peter the Magnificent, Lord of Cair Paravel and Emperor of the Lone Islands.”

“That’s a mouthful.”

“Now that you know my name, will you tell me yours?”

“Okay, fine,” I sighed. “My name is (y/n). Happy now?” King Peter smiled, nodding his head slowly.

“Very good, (y/n). My second question is how did you find your way to Narnia?”

“I’m not sure,” I said, my voice softer as I tried to rack my brain for any memory of how I could’ve ended up here. “All I remember is falling asleep in my bed and then waking up here.”

“Interesting,” the king said, almost more to himself than to me. “Well, I’m not sure how you got here or how we can get you back but I’m sure Aslan would know.”

“Who’s Aslan?” I questioned. King Peter looked at me, the ghost of a smile on his face.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. Perhaps I’ll have Lucy explain that to you.”

“Who is Lucy?”

“My sister. You’ll meet her tomorrow along with all the others. But now, you should sleep. It’s late. I’ll see you tomorrow (y/n).” He walked over to the large mahogany doors.

“Good night, Your Majesty. It was a pleasure talking with you.”

“You should drop that sarcastic tone if you want to survive here,” King Peter said as he started to open the door.

“Is that a threat?” I asked, raising my eyebrow.

“Only if you want it to be.” And with that, he left the room, closing the door behind him. I buried myself deep into the covers, squeezing my eyes closed. Maybe when I woke up, I’d be back in my bedroom. That’s what I hoped. Instead, I tossed and turned in the sheets. Although they were of the softest material imaginable, I couldn’t fall asleep. I let out a sigh, admitting defeat before getting out of the bed. I looked around the room, spotting a wardrobe in the corner. I pulled open the door to see a white robe, along with a few other articles of clothing. I grabbed the robe, wrapping it around my body before opening the door.

The door opened to a hallway, torches lighting the way. The cool stone pressing against my feet as I walked along the corridor. Every now and then I would pass a few doors. All of them were always tightly shut. I wasn’t sure where I was going and I was definitely not sure of how to get back to the room I had been in before. That didn’t matter to me. I just needed to clear my head. The hallways I was walking in seemed to be reaching an end, two large wooden doors waiting for me. The right one was slightly ajar, candlelight spilling from behind it.

I crept towards the doors. I peeped in to see shelves upon shelves of books. I felt my mouth fall slightly open as I cautiously walked into the room. The shelves reached up to the tall ceiling. In the middle of the ceiling was a large glass dome where the full moon was visible. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” a voice said. I tore my eyes from the moon to see a man sitting in an armchair near a fireplace, a brown book in his hand.

“I’m sorry for disturbing you,” I said quickly. An amused smile formed on his face.

“Don’t be. You must be the girl Lucy found in the meadows.”

“Apparently I am,” I said while slowly walking towards the man. “May I?” I asked, motioning to the empty seat across from him.

“Of course.” I quickly sat down, fidgeting with my hands.

“Am I truly in Narnia?” I asked.

“Trust me, if Peter was lying you would know. He is a horrible liar.” I couldn’t help but smile.

“I just never heard of Narnia before.”

“Most people from Earth haven’t.”

“I feel like I should do my research on the place. I don’t want to offend anyone.” As soon as the words left my mouth, my mind immediately flashed to my interaction with Peter. “Well, not offend anyone else, I mean.”

“I’m guessing Peter wasn’t the most welcoming.”

“I don’t know. There was just something about the way he talked to me that was infuriating. It was like he was amused by me. I couldn’t stand it.”

“Well, I apologize for my brother’s actions.”

“You’re his brother?” The man nodded. “Does that mean you’re a king too?” He nodded again. Great, I’ve met two royals and both meetings had been in my pajamas.

“King Edmund, that’s me.”

“Why isn’t your title long like your brothers?”

“Oh it is, I just don’t like stroking myself.” I let out a chuckle, King Edmund joining in. “You’ll get to meet Susan and Lucy tomorrow morning at breakfast.”

“Oh, I’m invited to dine with the royals?” I questioned, raising an eyebrow.

“Only if you choose to grace us with your presence.” I felt my lips tug into a smile.

“Of course, I couldn’t disappoint the kings and queens of Narnia.”

“How generous,” King Edmund replied, a matching smile on his face. “We should head to bed now. You don’t want to be sleeping at the dining table tomorrow.”

“Yes, we should,” I said, exhaustion finally hitting me as I got up.

“Do you know where you’re going?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“I can show you, I have a feeling I know which room Peter put you in.” He got up from his seat, walking towards the doors with his book still in his hands. I quickly followed as he opened the door, holding it open for me. We walked down hallways that seemed somewhat familiar to me.

“How do you remember where to go?” I asked as we walked.

“I don’t. I just walk and hope I go to the right place.” I let out a soft laugh as we passed a door where guards stood. “I would use the guards as reference,” he continued, motioning towards the standing guards, “but they all look the same with that ridiculous face.” He mimicked the face of the guards, eyebrows furrowed, nose flared, and mouth twisted into a frown as they stayed focused on protecting whatever was in their room. “They look constipated all the time.” I let out another laugh, louder than the other. I immediately covered my mouth, hoping the noise didn’t disturb anyone. Edmund laughed at this, the sound of the door opening cutting him off.

King Peter stood in the doorway, sleep still clouding his eyes. “What are you doing, Ed?” he asked, before his eyes landed on me. “You both should be asleep.” His voice was sterner than before as his cold blue eyes focused on me.

“Don’t worry Pete. I was showing her back to her room, that’s all.”

“You two shouldn’t be alone together, lest someone believes you two to be partaking in a scandal.” My face warmed at his accusation.

“I’m sure my reputation isn’t going to be ruined by being seen with King Edmund,” I said.

“I wasn’t talking about you. Ed, you are a king. You shouldn’t be seen with any girl, especially a peasant.”

“I’m not a peasant.”

“Well, you certainly aren’t royalty.”

“So that makes me less than?’

“Technically, yes.”

“Well being royal doesn’t make you any more pleasant!”

“You should be thankful I’m letting you stay here. Unless you want to live on the streets.”

“At least the streets don’t have you.” I made my eyes meet his. My face felt like it was on fire as I narrowed my eyes. His jaw was clenched as his eyes stared down at me.

“Let’s get you to bed,” Edmund softly said, his hand wrapped around my arm. “And you, go to bed,” he added, looking at King Peter.

“Good night,” King Peter said roughly.

“Good night, your majesty,” I replied before mockingly curtseying. He turned around, slamming the door behind him.

Edmund and I walked on in silence for a moment. “Well that went nicely,” Edmund finally said as we neared a door.

“He truly is insufferable. Did you hear what he said? Calling me a peasant like I was worth nothing. The audacity!”

Edmund only nodded, a small smile on his face. “You should go to sleep before you get yourself kicked out by Pete.”

I let out a huff. “I’ll try to be on my best behavior tomorrow,” I promised as I opened the door. I was surprised to see it was the same room I had woken up in. “How did you know which room to take me to?”

“This is the room Peter has his most important guest stay in,” Edmund said, the smile still on his face.

#peter pevensie #high king peter #high king peter the magnificent #King Peter the Magnificent #peter pevensie fanfic #peter pevensie imagine #peter pevensie smut #peter pevensie x reader #peter x reader #Peter x Y/N #narnia #The Chronicles of Narnia #narnia fanfiction #narnia imagine #narnia smut

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troubatrain · 3 years

Text

twisted in bedsheets - m. tkachuk

a/n: this is straight up smut.... like minimal plot mostly filth. but i hope you guys like it, i may give it a part two if anyone wants to see it but i don't know yet. big shoutout to my resident whores @hookingminor & @tkafuckit ily both sm

taglist : @barzysreputation

warnings: it's smush time (smut)

You almost wanted to make fun of him.

A part of you wondered, what did a single, twenty three year old, professional athlete who lived in a different country most of year need a house this big for? That wasn’t your business, and really neither was showing up two days after Matthew moved in with a bottle of wine and silly housewarming gift to make yourself feel better about where his little brother, also known as your best friend, was. You knocked loudly, hoping the car in the driveway meant Matthew was home and you weren’t wasting your time.

Matthew was inside, finally getting some peace and quiet after spending the day listening to his mother and the interior designer he hired argue about throw pillows. He jumped at the knock of his door, not used to the way it echoed through the house he bought on a whim. You were standing on the other side, bouncing on your heels with a bag in your hand and Matthew couldn’t help but smile.

Matthew always had a soft spot for you, Brady was your best friend and just like Matthew found himself watching out for Brady, he did the same for you. It was easy to keep it like that for years, Brady being far more possessive because you were his friend and not Matthew’s and not everything needs to be about you Matt, but it’d gotten harder lately. It was sudden, one summer Matthew came home and you were lounging by the pool and he swore his dick twitched in his pants, and it just wasn’t getting easier. It wasn’t easier when he tried to convince himself that there was an age gap between the both of you, even though it was barely two years and no one would blink an eye. It wasn’t easier when he beat the Senators and you quietly told him he had a good game because if Brady caught wind of it he’d lose his mind. And it sure as hell wasn’t easier when Brady mentioned your boyfriend constantly.

Your boyfriend who was having a party that Matthew knew for a fact Brady was at, but why weren’t you? Matthew couldn’t possibly get his hopes up, knowing if you were single he’d find some way to break your heart and you didn’t deserve that. That was the thing, Matthew ruined people and you were a far better person than he was to begin with. Matthew opens the door regardless, a smile on his face when he meets your eyes.

“Hi,” You beam, trying to play off like you were happy when you were just looking for a distraction that didn’t involve driving around and crying to Taylor Swift, “I, uh, congrats?”

Matthew chuckles, cocking his head to the side and opening his door a little further for you to come in, “Thank you, you really didn’t have to bring a gift.”

“It’s rude not too,” You scold, tapping Matthew in the arm and forgetting for a second you weren’t talking to Brady.

You pretended like you couldn’t feel it, the way his arms felt like a solid fucking rock and it was getting harder and harder to shove down that silly crush you’ve had since high school. You remember it so clearly, the moment Matthew went from Brady’s brother to just Matthew. You were a freshman, a dorky quiet kid who everyone knew not to mess with exclusively because Brady would kick the shit out of them, and you overheard a few girls in Matthew’s gossiping about how cute he was. Then it hit you, just as Matthew was leaning against his car to drive you home - he was cute. Cute turned into hot quickly, and you spent summer after summer wondering if you’d be bold enough to make a move.

You watched as Matthew pulled out the picture you’d framed for him, one his mother had taken of the three of you as kids. You were at the same ice cream shop you went to after every Blue’s game, chocolate ice cream smiles on your faces.

“You dropped your ice cream right after my mom took this,” Matthew hums, smiling at the memory himself.

“And you gave me yours because you felt bad for me,” You finish, hence the reason you chose that photo in the first place.

“You were crying,” Matthew nods, remembering the way his heart broke when he saw tears well up in your eyes. Even then, Matthew was a protector, constantly defending the people he held close to his heart, “Brady wouldn’t even share his… speaking of, isn’t there a huge rager you could be at right now?”

“Something about a party at my ex boyfriend’s doesn’t sound fun to me at all,” You sigh, hoping you wouldn’t have to explain it any further.

You didn’t have a boyfriend anymore.

It was all Matthew could process, his brain malfunctioning because he couldn’t believe it. Matthew gave you a sympathetic smile, “Let’s crack that bottle open then?”

You agreed, following Matthew into his yard to sit out by his fire pit, an early summer breeze making St. Louis unseasonably cold. He came back with two glasses, and you tried simply to ignore that his hands were big enough to hold both glasses in one, “So, Brady’s at a party at your ex-boyfriend’s place and you’re not mad at him at all?”

“I can’t be mad at Brady,” You explain, pouring yourself a glass of wine that was just a bit too big, “He doesn’t know what happened.”

“I thought you had no secrets,” Matthew questions, knowing that Brady knew everything about you and you were the same way. You turned your attention to the glass, swirling it in your hand while you seemed to shut down under Matthew’s gaze, “Y/N… it’s me, you know you can tell me.”

“It’s really embarrassing,” You whisper, “He cheated on me…”

“That’s not your fault,” Matthew scoffs, throwing an arm around your shoulders, “Why didn’t you tell-”

“He told me it was because the girl he was hooking up with was better in bed than me,” You whisper, Matthew closing his mouth immediately. He took a deep breath, his fingers scratching against your scalp while he looked straight ahead, “Please don’t tell Brady.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Matthew nods, his bottom lip between his teeth, “You’re perfect, and if he doesn’t see that he can go fuck himself.”

“What if he’s right?” You ask, taking a gulp of your drink. Matthew knew what road you were headed towards, one that was going to leave you insecure about this for the rest of your life if Matthew didn’t choose his next words carefully.

“He’s not,” Matthew shakes his head, hopping off the outdoor sofa you were on and kneeling down in front of you, “And you don’t need some douchebags opinion to make yourself feel good.”

“Would you sleep with me?” You ask, Matthew’s hand that had been rubbing your thighs gently stopped. You craved the validation, and a part of you always wondered if you had a shot with Matthew. If you were both able to drown out the noise from your friends and family, would he want you? Matthew’s hand crept up to your cheek, his thumb tracing your lip. You looked at him like this was the most important question he’d ever have to answer, and like if he said yes your lips would be on his, “And tell me I’m good.”

Matthew shut his eyes, running every possible scenerio knowing all of them include him fucking this up and hurting your feelings, but he couldn’t stop himself from trying. His lips ghosted over yours, stubble rough against your skin, “You’re sure about this?”

“Please,” You pout, not even bothering to give Matthew your best sexy face. You’d faked it enough, a year of trying to be something you weren’t to please some asshole who left for someone else anyways. Matthew’s hands slid on either side of you, his lips against yours and your hands on the back of his neck.

“Inside,” Matthew mutters against your lips, knowing if he didn’t stop himself now his new neighbors would get a show they didn’t ask for. You deserved better than that anyways. You snuck inside, your lips pressing kisses to Matthew’s neck while his arm stayed around your waist until you ended up in his bedroom. The back of your knees hit the edge of the bed, Matthew crawling on top of you, “I cannot believe that asshole let you slip through his fingers like that.”

“Make me forget about him then,” You let out a breath, Matthew smirking against your skin when you lit up that competitive fire he’d always had. You tugged at the bottom of his shirt, Matthew taking the hint and grabbing it from the back of his neck to toss off. Matthew’s hands slid under your shirt, unhooking your bra and swirling his finger around your nipples, pulling a moan from you.

“You even moan pretty,” Matthew could believe it, knowing just how many dreams like this, but really hearing it was something else entirely. Matthew shed your clothes quickly, leaving you just in your panties while he pressed kisses against your skin, murmurs of praise left in their wake.

“Matty,” You whimper, tilting Matthew’s chin up from where it was nestling between your thighs, “No one’s ever made me cum like this before.”

Matthew swore he was going to blow right there. The way your eyes looked into his, a trust that you were giving him that it was becoming clear you’d never given anyone. If it was anyone else, Matthew’s cocky nature would have broken through, a challenge accepted attitude that he couldn’t have with you.

You weren’t nervous but it wasn’t some secret that Matthew got around, and admitting something that seemed as trivial as what you’d told him was a big deal to you. Matthew’s blue eyes were soft, a small smile on his face, “We’ll go slow baby.”

And slow it was, Matthew was patient, trying to figure out what was going to get you off. His tongue was lapping at your core slowly, smirking at the way you squirmed whenever he got close to your clit. Your hands were in his hair, curling his overgrown hair around your fingers. Matthew’s tongue flicked your clit, your soft grip on his curls tighter, “Fuck, sorry-”

“Keep tugging on them,” Matthew groans against you, the vibrations sending a chill up your spine. His fingers were digging into your thighs, undoubtedly leaving a mark to worry about later, but you didn’t care. Matthew was eating your pussy like it was his last fucking meal, growing harder from the way you were moaning his name. You were close, your hips lifting off the bed and Matthew’s hands against your stomach to keep you right where you were. The only sounds echoing through that house were the ones from your orgasm, washing over you while Matthew finally pulled away. His finger swiped your core, sucking your cum off his finger, “Fucking delicious…”

You could feel the heat on your cheeks, holding your arm over your face from Matthew’s praise. He let out a light laugh, pulling your arm down and pressing a kiss to your forehead, “Don’t be insecure, when you’re with me you don’t have to be.”

You didn’t have a second to process his words, the way say with me like this was something meant to last more than a night, because Matthew’s lips were back on yours. Your hand snuck between you, palming him through his sweats and swallowing the groan with your lips, “I want to try something.”

Matthew’s brows raised, letting you push him onto his back without a fight. You’d never been the most confident in the bedroom, and you really never tried anything that wasn’t missionary, but something about Matthew’s praise had your head held high. You grind your hips against him, a smug smile on Matthew’s face, “You’ve never been on top before?”

You shook your head no, biting your lip and waiting for why have you had the most boring sex life imaginable laugh that should have followed. It never came, instead Matthew’s hands gripped your hips and lifted you up so he could kick off his sweats and boxers. His hand fell, searching through his bedside table for a condom, tearing it open with his teeth and rolling it onto his cock. He tapped your clit with the head, his thumb that was still gripping you was rubbing softly against your skin, “Whenever you’re ready babe.”

Matthew watched you sink yourself onto him slowly, biting his lip to stop himself from cumming too soon because this was hotter than anything he could have imagined. All of those fantasies included finding out you were secretly dirty as hell, but finding out you weren’t and the trust you seemed to give Matthew because he’d never done you wrong was even sexier. Matthew’s hands guided your hips slowly, his head thrown back from the pleasure, “Am I doing good?”

“You’re doing fucking wonderful baby,” Matthew groans, grabbing a fistful of your ass. You moan, falling forward and kissing Matthew’s jaw lightly. He threw his arm around your back, fucking up into you at faster pace, “I want you cum again, c’mon.”

“Matty, I-” You whimper, a protest that you didn’t think you had another one in you until your pussy clenched around him. Your legs were shaking, Matthew stopping himself before he got too rough with you. You caught your breath for a second, Matthew pushing your hair away from your face so he could kiss you. His kisses were gentle, a stark contrast from the fact that his cock was still buried inside of you. You tried to move, grind your hips against his to get him off like he’d just done to you, but your hips bucked from the sensitivity.

“Slow down babe,” Matthew hums, his large hand rubbing your back gently, “We’ll get there.”

Getting there wasn’t hard at all. Not after Matthew had you on your back so he could keep fucking you. You looked beautiful, moaning his own name below him like you’d never said anyone’s name like that. Matthew’s head was tucked into your neck, the sounds of his skin slapping against yours filling the room until he finally came with a loud groan.

When you finally came down from the after sex high, a realization washed over you. You’d had sex with your best friend’s brother. The same brother you’d spend years of your life with. Matthew walked into his bathroom, grabbing you a warm washcloth and a clean shirt from his closet. He got back into his room, glancing at the way you were looking around his room with his sheets over your chest unsure of whether or not you should leave. Matthew leans down, pressing a kiss to your lips, “I want you to stay.”

“You don’t have to let me-” You start to protest, a weird feeling in your chest you couldn’t quite describe. You were a relationship type, hook ups weren’t your playing field and you knew Matthew lived by them. You never forgot it either, the way he slugged back a beer and looked Brady and yourself dead in the eyes and told you he swore he wasn’t built to last more than a night. Matthew chuckles, cleaning you up and throwing his shirt over your frame. He laid down next to you, pulling you against his chest and kissing your shoulder.

“I want you to stay here,” Matthew assures you, smiling wide when you tucked yourself into his side.

Hey Matty?

Yeah?

Don’t tell Brady about this.

Secret’s safe with me Y/N.

#matthew tkachuk #matthew tkachuk imagine #nhl imagine #nhl imagines

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apocalypticgargoyle · 3 years

Note

could i pls get a part 2 of elevator with dream🥺 the way that they show their vulnerable sides to each other is adorable <3

yes! of course! i still kept this pretty fluffy but in another request, someone asked for smut so it's a little spicy.

𝐍𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑. ♘ 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

pairing: dream x reader (dre™ my beloved)

warnings: light smut (i didn't completely write it out I'm sorry), a virgin reader, language, fwb kinda, mentions of sexual content

previous part: elevator

After nearly two hours, the elevator began to buzz with life, hoisting up to the floor where Clay and Sapnap lived. The two of you had bonded in the dim, red elevator, coming out of the cramped room as friends when you had previously just been an odd mix of acquaintance and mutual. Sapnap stood in the threshold, an apologetic look on his face as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders.

You and Clay became nearly inseparable. You found yourself showing up at his apartment for him just as much as for Sapnap. There were even times when you’d text Sapnap to see if he was busy when your roommate would be trying to shove you out the door and he’d send Clay over instead. His presence always made it awkward for your roommate’s boyfriend and while you hated to admit it, it was hilarious.

“So, you do what kind of farming?” Clay asked from his spot beside you, leaning on the counter with his eyes zoning out to watch your hands as you cooked.

Her boyfriend---who the two of you often referred to as Ricky Fitts behind his back---sighed. He had explained his profession to Clay numerous times, but the manner in which he did it was so pretentious that Clay was addicted to picking at him for it. “It’s botanical gardening. Not farming,” he groaned. “In simple man’s terms, I curate a garden for plant research and help to diversify the plant species in the area.”

Clay nodded. “And how many strains of marijuana do you have in the span of, say, a year.”

“I’m not going over this with you again,” he nipped, making Clay look down in mock defeat.

He sighed longingly before straightening up. “Okay, fine. So, hypothetically speaking, how many strains.”

Ricky stared at him blankly and you knew if you looked up, you’d break character. “Don’t the two of you have somewhere to be? Like a cave or something?”

Clay let out a short laugh. “I’m free all night actually,” he spoke, smirking slightly. “Did you wanna check out a cave with me, baby?” Clay asked him, fluttering his eyelashes.

The two of you often rode the bus together; Clay's height mimicking a skyscraper over you to grab at the bar or handle above you and kneeing you in the butt just because you were short enough that he could. That would usually end in you elbowing him in the gut. When you were coming back from class was when you were a bit quieter usually, nearly falling asleep as you stood by him and then fighting off a blush when he would wrap an arm around you just to keep you balanced upright. When he had first ridden the bus, you had completely forgotten what had told him in the elevator.

Your fingers tightened around the pole attaching the overhead bus shelf to the ground, attempting to steady yourself as you stared out the window adjacent to you. The bus screeched to a halt, jolting you forward slightly. The sea of new people obstructed your view, namely a tall figure as he sidestepped through the crowd of people. You furrowed your brows, brushing your hand against Clay’s arm to capture his attention.

He removed his headphones after pretending not to recognize you. He greeted you and grabbed onto the bar you had commandeered, leaning on the bus wall beside you. “Don’t you have a car?” You asked, reaching out to lightly pull on the lanyard sticking out of his pocket.

He smirked, brushing your hand off. “It’s dangerous down there, careful,” he jeered, making you roll your eyes at his lude joke. “Is there something wrong with supporting local businesses?”

Your brows knitted together in disbelief. “We’re on a city bus, Dream.” He shrugged. You bit your lip slightly, your mind breaking off into another explanation. “You wouldn’t be stalking me, would you?” You baited, a ghost of a blush settling over his cheeks.

He reached forward to cover your mouth. “You ask too many questions.”

He moved closer to let someone have the seat beside him, his hand settling to the space just above yours as your sides threatened to touch. You bit back the idea that Clay was following you around, finding a silent pleasure in that fact. He would probably never admit it fully.

He towered over you as the bus swayed, you having to lean back slightly in order to talk to him. “So, are you gonna walk me to class too then, simp?” You mocked, making him shake his head.

He narrowed his eyes at you. “I’m not a simp, thanks,” he answered with a tinge of sarcasm in his voice. “And maybe I will.”

You crossed your legs, knees popping as you bent out of your previous position on the kitchen floor with your back pressed against one of the sink’s cabinet doors. Clay was on his back, shoulders emerged in that same cupboard as he messed with the sink. You handed him a tool that he vaguely asked for, your eyes lingering on his old high school shirt celebrating some kind of sports achievement.

You chewed the inside of your cheek. “Dream?” You got his attention, delaying your question. He hummed in acknowledgment. “How many people have you slept with?”

He was quiet for a moment. “Let me think,” he murmured, making you snicker. “Three.”

“You had to think about that?” You joshed.

He chuckled at your words. “Well, I mean. No one’s asked me what my body count is since like… I don’t know honestly.” He peeked out at you momentarily. “Why? You looking to be number four?” He jeered, a smirk brushing across his lips as you rolled your eyes.

You huffed sarcastically. “Yeah, you wish,” you mumbled, fighting not to blush.

“Maybe I do,” he stated plainly.

You opened your mouth to retort, but Sapnap walked in, peering down at his phone with an unbending concentration. Clay sat up beside you, flashing you a look before Sapnap began to speak. “I have a date. I just wanted you guys to know,” he stated before grabbing his coat off of one of the hooks. He finally looked up from his phone, lazily point a finger at the pair of you. “Don’t hook up. It’ll make it awkward for me and I’m not ready to deal with you guys being together yet.”

Clay laughed and your ears warmed, rolling your eyes as he left the two of you with his words.

After an hour, Sapnap’s words were blown to the wind as Clay’s fingers carded through your hair, his lips pressed against yours in some kind of heated passion to prove himself to you; that he was worthy of being with you in such an intimate way.

You weren’t hesitant, to say the least, and had even initiated the manner as the sun had begun to set. You had been sitting beside each other, lazily discussing your sex lives and lack-there-of.

“So, these three… Do you still keep in touch?” You asked him, watching as his green eyes searched yours for the reason behind your questions. The deep orange rays of the sunset peeked through the blinds to reflect against his blond hair.

He shook his head. “They were all me being stupid, basically. I didn’t really like any of them,” he admitted, making your stomach turn. “What about you? What’s your number?”

You shrugged. “Zero,” you snorted.

He raised his eyebrows slightly. “Oh, that’s right. I knew that,” he recounted as if he were remembering what you’d told him when the two of you were trapped in the elevator. “Um… Why?”

You shrugged again. “I’ve never trusted anyone enough.” He barely bit his lip, nodding in understanding. You cleared your throat. “It’s not that it’s a big deal to me or anything, I just… I’d like to feel safe during it, at least,” you clarified.

“It’s okay if it’s a big deal,” he stated. “It was important to me too at one point. I just…” he sighed. “I don’t know. I guess I got caught up in the pressure of losing it.”

You nodded, letting a breath of silence pass between the two of you. “Would you want to…” You looked away from him, biting back a grin at how stupid you were about to sound. “Would you want to take my virginity?”

He nearly giggled. “You feel safe with me?”

You snorted. “Yeah. I mean, I like you,” you answered, biting back a laugh. The air between you was mellow and easy. You had thrown your awkwardness out the window after Sapnap had left. “I mean, you’re one of my best friends, you know. But it’s just an offer.”

He grinned, a dusting of red settling in his cheeks from the pride he was beaming at you. “No, I want to. I just… I want you to be sure.”

You chewed on your bottom lip. “Yeah, I’m sure. But if it’s too much pressure and everything, like I get it.”

He chuckled. “Quit. I’m honored honestly.”

You laughed. “Okay, then do it,” you stated.

And there the two of you were, Clay’s breath warm against your skin as he knotted his fingers with yours, moaning as you ground your hips against his. You could tell he was holding back for your sake, being as gentle as he could and trying not to crush you under his massive frame.

When you had pictured losing your virginity in the past, you’d always thought your body would be urging you to be thinking of something else, racing with pure terror as your partner got themselves off to get it over with. But Clay’s hands were careful, slowly introducing you to different sensations and testing the waters for you. Your mind was only focused on the fact that Clay smelled like lavender; the scent lingering on his clothes and in his hair.

You slipped your hands under the hem of his shirt, before pulling it over his head. You hadn’t seen him naked before, but heat flushed to your cheeks at the view of him, even if he had pressed you into another kiss as soon as he had discarded his shirt. As he pressed a leg between yours, you moaned, fingers traveling along the length of his spine. His taste of bitter coffee and mint was becoming your new obsession as his tongue pressed into your mouth, grinding his hips against yours.

He leaned off of you to remove your shirt, every instinct telling you to cover back up, but he brushed it off, pressing his lips to yours again as his thumb gently brushed against your side. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone you’re hot,” he joked, making you giggle as he lightened the mood.

“You’re so charming,” you mocked, running your fingers into his hair as his lips pressed against your neck lovingly.

He chuckled. “Only when you’re around,” he answered, making you laugh again.

The next morning, you sat beside Clay at the breakfast table, the two of you chatting about a movie you were planning on seeing later in the day. Sapnap strolled in, eyeing you carefully with his lips pursed. You both looked up at him as if to motion for him to spit out whatever was bothering him.

Sapnap took to the chair on the other side of Clay after pouring himself a cup of coffee. “Okay, so am I supposed to pretend I didn’t see you sneaking out of Dream’s room this morning?” He gestured between the two of you. “And now you’re wearing each other’s hoodies.” Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Clay look down with a small “what?” whispering from his lips quietly. “I mean come on, that one was mine at one point,” he continued, his comments mainly directed at you.

You scoffed. “Am I supposed to pretend you didn’t come back until an hour ago and I know you don’t carry condoms?” You countered.

Clay let out a soft gasp. “Sapnap… safe sex.” At this point he was just the Sophoclean chorus; the peanut gallery.

Sapnap sent you a sarcastic grin, disregarding your statement. “Am I supposed to pretend like I didn’t tell you guys not to hook up and you did?” Clay sipped his drink at this. “I mean, look at you two!” He swatted his finger to point at where the two of your hands were joined together.

In reality, you weren’t even sure when Clay had grabbed your hand or even that you here holding onto him as well. “Am I supposed to pretend like you didn’t do that on purpose so we didn’t bother you for a few hours?” You shot back.

Sapnap’s mouth dramatically tilted, brows raised in shock. “A Few. Hours?”

You covered your mouth as Clay laughed beside you.

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@karlkitten @pluto-dizzz @more-like-reyna

#dream x y/n #dream x you #dream x reader #dream fluff #dream fic #mcyt fluff #mcyt x reader #dream imagine #dream my beloved #dreamwastaken x reader #dreamwastaken fluff #dreamwastaken fanfic #dreamwastaken imagine #dreamwastaken scenario

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inkykeiji · 4 years

Text

all she want is payback for the way i always play that shit

characters: dabi | todoroki touya

genre: smut + angst

notes: aaaah yikes, sorry it’s so long???? the first part of a companion piece to i can take you there but baby you wont make it back; touya + reader have been fooling around for just under six months, our innocent lil good girl reader is the teeniest, tiniest bit more firm now. jealousy makes people crazy, yk how it is. touya is marginally softer for like, a second or two. | title credit: save that shit by lil peep

warnings: 18+, pseudo-incest (stepcest), public sex, cheating, drug use, generally toxic relationship (possessiveness, jealousy), size difference, dubcon if u squint i guess???, the tiniest bit of cumplay

words: 11k

synopsis:

Why can’t you just be mine? You want to ask, the words searing into your tongue, refusing to leave your lips.

“You’re gonna make yourself sick, angel,” he chastises softly, brushing your hair away from your clammy forehead as another shuddery sob rips through your chest.

“I want you,” you say instead, words garbled.

“You have me, baby,”

“All of you,”

His chest heaves with an exasperated sigh, head turning away and gazing up at the ceiling. “You have all of me, princess,”

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

In early February, your parents finally tie the knot.

“Now it’ll be official,” you remember Touya whispering in your ear, the night before. “I will officially be your niichan,”

The wedding is gorgeous—elegant and classy, just like Rei herself. A wintertime wedding is so beautiful, you tell Rei as she’s busy being fawned over by several stylists, adding the finishing touches to her hair and make up. She’s absolutely stunning, a lacy ivory dress clinging delicately to her small frame, accentuating her natural curves. It glitters gracefully in the pale sunshine streaming through the large bay windows, sparkling any time she moves.

Touya doesn’t sit with his family. Their eyes sear into your flesh, although Touya keeps his stare pointedly in front of him, glaring at the alter. But you can feel their gaze on your skin, can feel their eyes travelling up your body slowly, critically, sending shivers skittering up your spine. It makes your skin crawl, both of your hands curling around Touya’s, a tangled knot of fingers resting in your lap.

You’ve never seen his other siblings before. Rei talks about them sometimes, but never when Touya’s around. You know that once every month, the three of them join Rei and your father for a family dinner, but you’ve never had the pleasure of attending.

You’d missed the first family dinner by fluke, held up late at the library studying for midterms. But every occasion after that, Touya had made absolute certain that you weren’t there. You hadn’t thought much of it the first time it happened, too enraptured and tangled up in Touya to care, grinding desperately against him in the backseat of his car as his tongue forced its way down your throat. But then it happens again, and again, and it becomes too coincidental to ignore.

“Why do we never go to those dinners with your siblings?” you’d tried to bring it up subtly the third time you guys skipped out on dinner, heart thudding in your chest and gentle voice quivering slightly.

Touya sighed, raking a hand through his hair roughly, eyes not straying from the road ahead of him. It’s complicated, he told you in a quiet voice, and you were so startled, so shocked by his sheer, unadulterated honesty, that you couldn’t find your voice, rendering you incapable of replying. Touya didn’t bother looking over at you, didn’t need to, to know that his response surprised you.

The other Todoroki’s are all strikingly beautiful—not that you expected any less. The one with pure snow-white hair and gunmetal grey eyes captures your attention the most, looking as if he’s around your age. He smirks at you when he catches your stare, giving you a small, polite nod—though you can see that tiny glint of mischief in his eye, the same glint you’ve seen in Touya’s a thousand times before. Choking on a surprised gasp, you rapidly avert your gaze, eyes snapping back to the pile of hands in your lap.

Touya notices, of course, because Touya notices everything. He doesn’t say anything, but his hand squeezes yours tightly, just a little too tight to be comforting, as his eyes dart to his siblings across the aisle, glare losing most of its heat when it meets his brother’s stare.

Tense shoulders relax, falling slowly with the measured breath he exhales as he turns back to glower at the alter.

You know other guests are staring at you—you can feel their eyes, too. You know the pair of you look more like a couple than siblings, know you should both probably put some distance between yourselves, at least try to keep some semblance of normalcy, some masquerade of a typical sibling relationship.

But Touya’s knee is bouncing, and he seems…unsure. It’s unsettling, really—Touya always seems so confident in himself—and you can almost feel the tense anxiety rolling off of him in heavy waves. So instead of scooting away from him or untangling your hands, your other palm finds a spot high on the thigh pressed tightly against yours, small fingers beginning to knead the flesh.

Sapphire eyes find yours, and he gazes down at you with an odd sense of fondness in his stare, the tiniest smile ghosting across his lips. It makes your chest swell with pride, makes you want to grab his face and crash his lips against yours, forces a tingling warmth to spread through your veins. It shouldn’t, but it does.

He barely lets you leave his side that day, keeps you glued to his body, an arm wrapped tightly around you. He’s a constant, looming, protective presence, glaring at anyone who dares to look at you for more than a second.

“Touya-nii,” you laugh a little while leaving the ceremony, watching as one of your cousins immediately averts their eyes. “That’s my cousin,”

“And I’m your brother,” he says flatly.

You suppose he has a point.

The two of you find your parents and the rest of Touya’s siblings—yours too, now, you guess—standing around a limousine, beckoning you over.

Rei begins to explain their protocol for pictures—and yes, you both have to come—but you aren’t listening. Their eyes are on you again, you can feel them, gliding up your skin, taking sharp note of the way Touya has you pressed flush against him, the way your arm is wrapped firmly around his waist, little fingers twisting in his suit jacket as your heart begins to speed up.

Touya can feel it, too, and he looks down at you in concern, his thumb caressing your shoulder, before he meets the stares of his siblings with a glare so ferocious you’re surprised it doesn’t turn them to ash on the spot.

They offer for you to ride in the limo with the rest of them, Touya cutting them off as he curtly declines their offer—no thanks, you’ll take his car instead and meet them there.

Rei tries to reason with him, but the pointed look he gives her causes her to trail off mid-sentence, holding his eyes for a moment before a sad smile settles on her face, nodding once.

✰ ✰ ✰

Shinjuku Gyoen is nothing short of stunning in the wintertime. It had snowed this morning, around six AM, blanketing the garden in a soft layer of pure white powder, glittering delicately in the early afternoon sun.

Wide eyes drink it in as your face presses against the glass of the car window, your breath fogging it up. There’s something so whimsical and dreamy about snow, you think, about the way it softens even the sharpest of edges, the way it makes everything look prettier.

“You’re so cute,” Touya remarks, watching you from the corner of his eye, a hint of teasing in his voice.

“I’ve never been here during the winter,” you murmur in response, still captivated by the grounds.

Rei and your father are immediately whisked away by several photographers to do their photos alone, leaving the rest of you to litter the parking lot.

But the moment they disappear from view, Touya’s got you trapped between his body and the cold metal of his car, lips moving against the shell of your ear as he whispers filthy promises, things that force soft whimpers from your lips, things that make your legs feel like they’re about to give out as heat pools deep in your belly. He knows, of course, smirks and teases you even more when he feels you squeeze your thighs together helplessly, tells you you’re his perfect little slut and vows to reward you for being so good as soon as he can.

His other siblings are staring, you try to tell him in a quiet, broken whine.

“Oh yeah?” he breathes, pushing his hips harder into yours, practically grinding his hard cock against your waist. “Let ‘em. I bet they’d love to watch me fuck you stupid, huh? What do you think about that, baby? You want them to watch?”

A pathetic sound hitches in your throat and you bury your burning face in his neck, a low, wicked laugh rumbling deep in his chest.

He doesn’t let up on the absolute filth spilling from his mouth until he can hear your father hollering in the distance, calling for the kids and waving the five of you over.

✰ ✰ ✰

Pictures take too long, and Touya’s antsy by the end of it, picking anxiously at his cuticles as his knee bounces. He’s hauling you out of there the moment you’re officially released, a strong hand wrapped tightly around your wrist. You can hear his mother calling for him, and you look back at her desperately, mirroring her worried frown.

He doesn’t even wait for the rest of them to pile into the limo and leave, immediately rooting through his pockets the moment he’s in the safety of his own car, pulling out a little baggie of white powder. He can feel your wide eyes on him, watching his every movement, but his hands are beginning to shake, and panic is starting to rip viciously at his throat, and he just needs it all to fucking stop.

“There’s no way I could endure this shit sober,” he explains as he searches for something in the powder, cursing when he doesn’t find whatever it is he’s looking for. Frantic cobalt eyes dart around the car, landing on the glovebox, and he leans over you, hastily pulling a reflective object from the compartment.

It’s a mirror.

A tiny, circular mirror that he uses to tap out a line, fingers unsteady and breathing slightly laboured. The gentle sounds of his platinum credit card colliding with glass echo throughout the car.

Hovering over the small mirror, he pauses, a finger pressed to his nostril. He almost wants to tell you to look away, almost does, but he knows you’d disobey either way.

He doesn’t like doing drugs in front of you—you’re too precious, too pure and innocent and he doesn’t want you around anything that could potentially tarnish that. But he also can’t stand that look you get in your eyes, almost like you’re scared of him, on the rare occasions that you have caught him.

He nearly snaps at you when you quietly ask if you can help, if he needs someone to hold the mirror steady, currently balancing on the center console compartment, but you’ve got that goddamn look in your eyes, wide and terrified.

No, he says sternly, telling you that he doesn’t even want you near this stuff, much less touching it.

But cocaine highs don’t last long, he explains to you when you ask about the little round white pills clacking together in his pocket. You’re positive he shouldn’t be mixing drugs like that, positive that your apprehension and disapproval are written clearly across your face, based on the simmering look he shoots at you.

Don’t fucking start.

So you don’t. You swallow down your worries and sit nice and pretty and good for him, just like you’re supposed to.

✰ ✰ ✰

He only leaves you twice, briefly, throughout the entire night. The first is almost immediately after you enter the reception venue.

Depositing you near the head table, he tells you to stay put before he hurries away. You know where he’s going, what he’s about to do, an odd ache taking root and throbbing deep in your chest.

He’d scold you if he could see you, able to read your expressions like a fucking book, would tell you not to cry for him—he doesn’t need your pity. The words cut through your mind in a snarl, and you work hard to rid your face of the frown marring it; he’s already having such a difficult time today, and the last thing you want to do is upset him more with your concern.

Distraction, you need a distraction. Wide eyes scan the extravagant ballroom, all shimmering golds and beiges and crystal chandeliers, searching in a frenzy for something—anything—to rid your mind of images of pretty boys with inky hair and white, white, white.

You swear you hear your name, then Touya’s, hissed out in a sharp whisper, and your gaze lands on a small group of people not too far from you, with snow and fire for hair—the other Todoroki’s, huddled in a loose circle.

The air around you just feels off, you catch his sister saying in a low but frantic voice, eyes darting between her brothers. She sounds worried about you, you think, and it makes you feel weird. She shouldn’t be worried about you; Touya takes fantastic care of you. It isn’t any of their business anyway, you can almost hear Touya sneering in your head, and he’s right. You know he’s right.

Her brothers don’t look too keen on discussing the subject, especially the youngest, who keeps pulling at his collar and fidgeting with his cufflinks.

“Well, why don’t you go and tell her that yourself,” the one with white hair says, grey eyes connecting with yours. She whirls around quickly, mouth snapping shut when she finds your face. Her lips morph into a smile half a second later, and she waves you over.

You avert your eyes, hands tangling nervously in front of you. No. You shouldn’t go. You really, really shouldn’t go. Touya told you to stay put, and you can’t bear to think—don’t even want to consider—how furious he’d be if he found that not only had you moved, but you had moved to talk to his siblings.

You must spend too much time deliberating, though, looking back up to find them advancing towards you, only a few feet away. Your heart’s pounding almost violently in your chest, breath accelerating with each step closer.

“Hi,” she’s saying warmly as she reaches you, causing you to subconsciously take a step back. “We haven’t had a chance to meet. I’m Fuyumi,”

You want to say your name, to introduce yourself politely, but your lips are sealed shut, only able to manage a small sound of affirmation.

“Shouto,” the youngest says, cold heterochromatic eyes glancing at you for a moment before looking away. “M’Shouto,”

“I’m Natsuo,” the man with white hair smirks down at you, eyes burning into yours.

Some of your anxiety melts away as you meet his stone eyes; there’s something comforting about the way that he has Touya’s smirk, Touya’s mischievous glint to his gaze, Touya’s playful lilt to his voice.

You feel like you can breathe again when you’re looking at Natsuo, so you keep your stare directed at him as you stutter out your name, gazing up at him through your lashes.

“You always miss the family dinners,” Natsuo accuses with a knowing smirk, raising his eyebrows suggestively. “Y’know, eventually, our parents are going to catch on,”

Your blood turns to ice in your veins, chills crawling on your skin. He knows?

And he says it so nonchalantly, so casually, as if he’s discussing the weather and not the fact that Touya deliberately kidnaps you to fuck your brains out in his car every single time they gather for one of those dinners. Fuyumi and Shouto look over at him with brows furrowed in confusion, but you choke on a gasp, coughing a little and nodding.

Touya returns then, saving you from having to respond.

“What’s wrong?” he’s asking immediately as his hands find purchase on your hips, pulling you back against his chest and wrapping his arms around you. A soft sigh leaves your lips as you lean on him, heart finally beginning to slow.

“N-Nothing, niichan,” you wrap your arms around his, hugging them to your chest, and he squeezes you in reassurance.

“You sure, baby?” Sapphire eyes search your face as you tilt your head back to look up at him, scanning for any sign of distress.

He shouldn’t be using that pet name here, not in front of his blood siblings, not loud enough that any of the passing guests can hear him with ease.

He shouldn’t.

But that doesn’t stop it from sending sparks skittering up your spine, heat beginning to coil in your tummy. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t love it, if you said you didn’t get some sort of twisted satisfaction at the loud gasp that leaves Fuyumi’s chest, or the sharp intake of breath Shouto chokes on, coughing as he tries to cover it up, all at the drop of that one, simple, four letter word.

Touya loves it, too—you can see it in the way his smirk grows into a full smile, a grin big enough to crinkle the edges of his eyes, can see it in his gaze, in the way his cobalt eyes almost sparkle at their reactions.

Your gaze flits back to the three people standing in front of you—your step-siblings, your mind corrects—eyes gliding over their faces slowly.

Natsuo looks thoroughly entertained, a stupid little grin stretched across his face, amusement dancing in his eyes. Fuyumi and Shouto, on the other hand, look thoroughly uncomfortable, shifting a little in place, their faces screwed up with poorly masked disgust.

Touya’s smile drops the moment he looks back at them. Azure eyes scan the faces of his siblings cautiously, giving Natsuo one quick, sharp nod of acknowledgment before his gaze lands on the youngest. And the glare Touya gives him is nothing short of terrifying, practically snarling at the boy, a rough, dangerous sound that gets lodged deep in his chest. It makes the boy cower away, shuffling ever-so-slightly closer to his sister, who shakily glares back.

Lips tugging down into a frown, you look up at Touya, forehead creasing in confusion. He’s still glowering at the kid, eyes narrowing just a little before he huffs and turns away, leaving without speaking a word to any of them.

“Don’t you ever talk to them again,” he’s murmuring as he whisks you away, something malicious in his voice. “You’re my little sister,”

You nod obediently, promising him that you won’t, reassuring him that you didn’t even want to as you relay the entire situation. But he can see it, the curiosity swirling in your eyes, a question dancing on your tongue.

Because although Touya appears to be on seriously awful terms with his younger siblings, Natsuo seems to be some sort of exception. From the interaction you just witnessed, you’re able to deduce that something, some line of communication, must be present between Touya and Natsuo, evident in their shared looks and swift, discreet nods.

He sighs, irritation coating his voice as he demands that you spit it out already.

It makes you jump a little, but the words come tumbling out of your mouth the moment he commands them to, powerless to disobey a direct order.

“Does that include Natsuo?”

Your voice is so tiny that he barely hears you, brows knitting together. There’s an odd look in his eye as he observes you—something that isn’t quite jealousy, but close to it—nose twitching a little as he considers.

“Alone, yes,” he finally says. “With me around it’s fine, I guess. But you are not to speak to him alone, do you hear me?”

Yes, niichan, of course, niichan.

✰ ✰ ✰

Dinner is absolute torture, and the two of you can barely keep your hands off of each other. It starts innocently enough, discreetly enough, with palms on thighs, fingers brushing down arms, hands interlaced under the table. But the need to touch grows, and grows, and grows, these simple actions too teasing to satisfy that dull burning in the pit of your stomach, flaring a little more each time his fingers press into your thigh, or his thumb runs across your knuckles.

And you shouldn’t, you really shouldn’t start acting up now, not while the two of you are seated at the head table, looking out amongst the guests—a few months ago, you would’ve never thought to do something so indecent, so dangerous, in such a public place. But you just can’t help it, you’re getting restless now, brain going hazy with thoughts of him as your fingers trail up his thigh and ghost over his lap.

“Getting bold, are we, princess?” his hand catches your wrist, holding your palm in place and grinding up into it. His voice is low, head tipped towards you, sapphire eyes dark. A breath catches in your throat and he smirks, an evil little quirk up of his lips, raising an eyebrow at you in expectation.

You’re lucky they’re seated in a straight line instead of a circle, he murmurs in your ear, Natsuo snickering beside him. “Imagine what your daddy would think if he could see you, acting like such a desperate little slut in front of all of these people,”

A soft, broken moan escapes your lips without your permission, thighs squeezing together in an attempt to combat the heat pooling in your panties. Someone down the line of the table says something, but you’re too enticed by Touya to hear them, your father writing off whatever the remark was with an easygoing smile.

“Oh, those two are always in their own little world,” you hear him dismiss, voice sounding muddled and distant.

“Be a good girl and sit still,” Touya growls in your ear, grip tightening to near bruising.

“But niichan,” you whine, much too loud, gazing at him with glazed, blown eyes. “Niichan,” you repeat, leaning forward to whimper in his ear, fingers flexing around the bulge in his trousers. “N-Need you,”

“If you can’t behave, niichan won’t let you cum later,” he breathes, though his voice is stern, heavy with the weight of the threat.

A pout forms on your lips as he releases your wrist, firmly placing your hand back in your lap and holding it there for a moment, a silent warning for your wandering fingers to stay put.

But he’s up and out of his chair the instant dinner’s over, moving so quick his seat wobbles a little as he grasps your hand tightly in his, practically yanking you up and dragging you along behind him.

The best thing about these fancy venues, he’s telling you as he strides through the halls, cerulean eyes searching for something, is that they have single person washrooms.

The granite is cold on your cheek as Touya shoves you up against the wall, head bouncing a little as it whacks against it.

You whine and he laughs, a cruel, piercing sound echoing off the walls.

“Aw, baby,” he coos contemptuously. “Did that hurt?”

“Y-Yes,” you whimper, eyes squeezing shut against the throbbing pain radiating through your cheek.

“Poor little thing,” he hisses, lips against your ear as his hands begin to bunch up your dress, gliding over your silk covered thighs, hands fisting in the material as he goes. Pushing it up around your waist, he leans back, hands travelling over the globes of your ass and kneading hard enough to make you cry out.

“You’re a slutty little brat, y’know that?”

Deft fingers hook in the waistband of your thong, all delicate baby pink lace, Touya snickering about how much of a whore you are, wearing such skimpy, slutty panties, as he lets the elastic snap back against your skin.

A little shocked gasp escapes your lips as he begins tugging the dainty fabric down your thighs—you had expected him to merely push them to the side, but he forces you to take them off entirely, stuffing the soaked material in his pocket.

“You think you can just tease niichan like that and get away with it?”

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head against the wall.

“No,” he murmurs, hips grinding against your bare ass. “Good girls don’t tease their niichans without delivering, do they?”

“No,”

“On your knees,” he orders, spinning you around and stepping back just enough to allow you to sink to the floor. “Get my cock wet,”

Little fingers work quickly, eager to obey, as they undo his pants, practically salivating as you free his cock from its confines.

“Your cock’s so pretty, niichan,” you breathe, eyes glittering with pure, potent desire as you take it in your hands, tongue darting out to trace the prominent veins.

“No teasing,” he growls, a hand knotting in your hair. “I wanna see you choke on it,”

You nod as best you can, mouth instantly falling open, reduced to nothing more than a wet, warm little hole for him to stuff.

And then he’s shoving it down your throat, the hand fisted in your hair holding your head still, and you gag around it almost immediately, working to force you jaw open even more.

“That’s it, that’s my good girl,” he rasps out, voice echoing off the walls of the washroom.

The praise has your heart soaring, has you sucking hard around him as he thrusts into your mouth, coating his cock in thick saliva and desperate to hear more. It’s intoxicating, every quiet moan you manage to pull from him, every breathless good girl that falls from his lips, makes you feel lightheaded and heady and dizzy for more.

His hips pump a few more times before he’s pulling you off his cock completely, devious smirk forming on his lips at your whine of protest, and commanding you to go bend over the sink.

Calloused hands are bunching your dress up around your waist again, toe of his shoe kicking at your inner ankles and forcing your feet further apart.

He doesn’t bother stretching you out, not because he doesn’t have the time to, but because he simply doesn’t want to. It’s truly one of his favourite things, to see tears fill your eyes while his cock stretches your cute little pussy, and he knows you love it too, don’t you?

Yes, niichan, of course you do.

His cock glistens with your saliva, sufficiently wet that it slides in easily enough, with minimal pain for him. And the soft groan he lets out as he watches your little hole struggle to take him, paired with your sweet little whimpers of his name, is nothing short of gorgeous.

It has your pussy fluttering around him, pulling a breathless chuckle from his lips as he fills you to the hilt, hips pressed against your ass.

And then doesn’t fucking move.

Your brow furrows, eyes meeting his in the mirror. You try to fuck yourself back on him, but he’s too quick, hands stilling your hips immediately and tutting in disapproval.

“Niichan,” you whimper. “N-Niichan, please fuck me,”

“Do you think you deserve it?” he’s asking, tongue tracing the shell of your ear as he holds your gaze through the mirror. “After the way you behaved at dinner?”

“M’sorry,” you whine, wiggling back against him, his fingers digging into your flesh as he stops them, grip tightening. “Couldn’t help it, wanted you so bad,”

“Of course you couldn’t,” he smirks, hips starting to move slowly, teasingly, stilling after only three simple thrusts. A hand reaches down and finds your clit, forcing a gasp from you as his thumb brushes over it, back and forth, back and forth, featherlight grazes that have you arching back into him, trying to press further into his touch.

“Think you can cum just like this for me?” he asks, beginning to thrust shallowly again, just enough to have the head of his cock dragging against that spot buried deep inside your cunt, that spot he knows so well, then nudging your cervix. “Hmm?”

“Mhmm,” you nod, breath starting to come out in short little pants.

“Then do it,” he demands in a whisper, eyes still holding yours. “Show niichan how pretty you look, cumming all over his cock,”

And the combination of his deep, rough voice rumbling against your back as praises tumble from his lips, his thumb and cock, and the fact that anyone within a fifteen foot radius of this washroom could probably hear you, has you cumming within minutes with a sharp cry of Touya-nii!

Touya laughs at how pathetically quickly you came, about how easy it is to have you creaming on his cock, heat seeping into your cheeks as you try to look away.

“My turn,” he breathes, yanking your head back up by your hair, fingers finding root in the intricate updo that has begun to fall apart. “And I wanna see your face as I fuck you, so keep your damn head up,”

And then he’s slamming into you with enough vigour to propel you forward, face pressed against the mirror, toes barely touching the ground. Every moan and whimper and mewl he forces from your throat fogs up the glass, leaving tiny glistening drops of condensation as they fade.

You’re trying so hard to keep your eyes open, to watch him as he fucks you, because he always looks so damn pretty.

He’s stupidly attractive, with his shirtsleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, first few buttons undone and collar popped, revealing his sharp collarbone, smooth ivory skin stretched taut across it. Ebony hair clings to his forehead and neck delicately, coated in sweat, and he’s emitting the most glorious noises, heavy pants and little broken whines, peppered with praise.

Nails bite into your flesh as he holds you in place, hips snapping relentlessly, your fingers curling around the porcelain sink.

“You want niichan’s cum?” he growls in your ear, eyes burning into yours. You whimper in response, nodding against the mirror. “Yeah? Then fucking beg for it.”

Pleads are spilling from your lips immediately, nothing but senseless babbling as he pounds into you.

“Please, niichan, please, need it, your cum, stuff me with your cum,”

“That’s it,” he gasps, voice hoarse. “I want every single person in this godforsaken hall to hear you, I want every single person to know how much of—” he cuts himself off with a shuddery curse. “—How much of a slut my baby sister is,”

“Pretty please,” you whine out the words, eyes rolling back in your head. “Fill me up with your cum, niichan, I-I want it,”

His hips still just as your cunt clenches around him, cockhead pressed tightly against your cervix as he fills you with hot, thick ropes of cum.

He pulls out a few moments later, and you uncurl your fingers from around the rim of the sink, wincing at your appearance; lips bitten raw, hair beginning to fall from it’s elegant style, body covered in a thin layer of sweat.

You look back at him to find him already staring at you, expectantly, impatiently, hands jittery as he quirks his head towards the door.

“We can’t leave together,” he says, as if it’s obvious, even though you stumbled into the washroom together twenty minutes ago.

He needs more.

You nod, slow and dumb, staggering a little on your trembling legs. Grasping the doorknob you pause, turning to look at him again.

“What?” he asks as he searches through his pockets, not bothering to glance at you. He can feel your eyes on him.

“Um...” you shift nervously from foot to foot, lip caught between your teeth.

He looks over at you sharply, brows rising as if to ask why are you still here?

“M-My panties, niichan,”

Oh.

A wicked smirk spreads across his face, eyes twinkling, brows relaxing.

“What about them?”

“Well, I—I can’t return to the reception without them,”

“Oh, and why not?”

You pause, blinking a few times, at a loss for words. Why not? Because you can feel his cum beginning to trickle out of you, mixing with your juices and dribbling down your inner thigh?

“Exactly,” he says, when you take too long to reply. “Now be a good little girl and go. I’ll be out soon,”

✰ ✰ ✰

You don’t go back into the ballroom, terrified that you’ll be ambushed by his—your—siblings again. Collapsing in one of the plush chairs, you cross your quivering legs tightly in a desperate attempt to keep the cum oozing out of you from getting on your dress.

People are looking again, probably think you’re drunk based on the way you teetered over to the seat, or the way your hair’s begun to come undone from it’s intricate updo, wispy strands framing your face.

He returns from the washroom only a few minutes later, eyes finding you immediately. There’s a stupid, smug smirk on his face, thinks it’s so cute that he fucked you so good you can’t walk, can’t even get up, that you need your niichan to help you.

A pout forms on your lips, eyebrows furrowing. “Not funny,”

“Very funny,” he chuckles as his hands snake under your armpits, hauling you to your feet. You stumble a little, bumping into him and he laughs again, wrapping a sturdy arm around your waist and propping you up against him.

“Alright, let’s get this over with,”

“Oh, niichan,” you murmur and he pauses, glancing over at you. You reach up, your thumb swiping across his nose to collect excess white powder.

“Thanks,” he breathes, winking at you. You hum noncommittally, about to rub your thumb across his white dress shirt to clean it when he catches your hand, bringing your thumb to his lips and licking it instead.

It isn’t discreet. It’s slow and deliberate, tongue sticking out of his mouth, flattening it against your thumb and dragging it up, from base to tip. You’re sure someone saw that, but you can’t be bothered to care, not when another bout of intense heat rushes to your core, forcing you to squeeze your legs together, trying in vain to keep Touya’s cum from seeping out, from your juices traveling down your leg. A soft whimper leaves your lips, breathing beginning to accelerate as your eyes bore into his, now half-lidded and dark. He holds your gaze for a moment before something snaps.

“We need to go,” he says, voice firm with no room for negotiation. “Now.”

And, God, his voice is rough and raw and fucking dripping with desire. It’s got you nodding before he’s even finished speaking, a flock of butterflies invading your stomach at the downright sinful grin he gives you in response. Such a good girl for him.

Despite the fact that you’ve barely recovered from your previous orgasm, you nearly moan at his look alone, the urge to kiss him burning through your veins and alighting your entire body in direct juxtaposition to the shivers his eyes just sent rippling across your skin. The insatiable need overwhelms your senses, and it’s dangerous. It’s dangerous, how captivated he has you, entirely wrapped around his slim finger and hanging on his every word, how you’re positive that, in that moment, you’d do anything he asked.

You wobble awkwardly in your heels, legs still shaking and having trouble keeping up with Touya’s swift pace. You’re about to ask him to slow down just a little so you don’t break an ankle, when you bump into your father.

Who just so happens to provide you with the perfect excuse to leave early. You can practically see the gears clicking into place in Touya’s mind, sapphire eyes glittering as a sinister smirk spreads across his face.

Your father’s eyes widen as he observes your appearance, strands of hair sticking to your clammy face and eyes half-lidded, chapped lips beginning to crack, leaning heavily against Touya and seemingly too weak to stand on your own.

“Hi dad,” you greet hoarsely, wincing a little at how grating your voice sounds.

He frowns immediately. “Jesus, sweetheart, are you feeling alright? You look…” he trails off, forehead wrinkling with worry.

“Oh, she’s not feeling too good,” Touya says softly, smoothly, just the right amount of concern and compassion in his tone.

“Oh no,” your father breathes, frown deepening. “That’s terrible,” he clicks his tongue with a shake of his head. “Do you think you’ll be able to tough out the rest of the reception?”

You begin to croak out an answer, but Touya speaks over you.

“She’s burning up, sir,” he informs him, and it isn’t a lie—not exactly, anyway. Technically, if your father were to feel your forehead, your body temperature would be above average, a result of Touya fucking the absolute life out of you a mere ten minutes ago.

Touya looks down at you with painfully sympathetic eyes, but you can still see that little glint of mischief, buried under all of that artificial benevolence.

“Maybe I should take her home?” Touya muses, looking back at your father, mimicking his anxiety effortlessly.

“Mm,” he hums in agreement. “I think that’s the best thing to do,” his eyes dart to yours. “You really don’t look well,”

Oh, you’re sure you don’t. Resting a little more against Touya, you play up the symptoms a bit, whimpering quietly as little fingers twist in his shirt, nuzzling your face against his side. A soft noise of endearment sounds at the back of his throat, large hands readjusting your body to support you better.

Another whimper falls from your lips, but this time it isn’t from pretending you’re ill. You can feel his cum leaking out of you, slimy and cool as it drips down your inner thigh, and a sick thrill shoots through your body, abused cunt throbbing greedily.

Rei comes up behind your father then, wrapping her arms around his midsection and resting her chin on his shoulder, eyes flitting between the two of you carefully.

“What’s going on? Is everything okay?”

“I’m gonna bring this little princess home,” Touya explains, nodding his head at you in indication as he speaks. “She isn’t feeling very well, poor thing,”

And it’s scary, scary how terrific he is at lying, how easily he slips into that niichan role, the one painstakingly crafted and flawlessly maintained around your parents, the one he’s perfected at this point.

Rei doesn’t say much, only cooing in sympathy, remarking that it’s such a shame, but your father’s eyes soften. “Such a good big brother,” he praises, clapping a hand on Touya’s shoulder.

Touya has to consciously work to smother the smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he responds.

“You have no idea,”

✰ ✰ ✰

Your parents don’t come home that night, opting to go straight to the airport from the venue, embarking on their honeymoon immediately.

It’s nice, playing house with Touya, having the entire place completely to yourselves. He’s been home an awful lot these past few weeks, more than he ever has in the past, and you get to experience things you never could before.

Every morning and every night, you cook breakfast and dinner together. You go grocery shopping together, wash the dishes together, fold the laundry together, all while stealing kisses in between; little domestic things you didn’t really do with your parents around.

You spend every night that they’re away in his bed, being fucked into his mattress, surrounded by the smell of him—campfire and Marlboros and expensive cologne—absolutely full of him in every sense.

You wake up in the mornings with his hand between your legs, playing with your cute little clit, or his cock pressed against your ass, grinding until you wake up. You have sleepy, slow morning sex while you’re both still half asleep, and it’s the most gentle he’s ever been. It consists of lazy, sloppy, messy thrusts against each other, hips meeting halfway—just grinding until he gets too impatient, though he usually lets you cum two or three times before he finally flips you over, trapping you under his body and slamming his hips into you, growling and grunting, your legs pushed up and folded on either side of you.

You get to fuck in the kitchen—not that you hadn’t before, but this time you get to take it slow. He eats you out while you sit on the counter and then fucks you into oblivion and it’s nasty, it’s disgusting, it’s so good. He cums so much that it’s leaking out of you, onto the counter, his chest heaving as he observes it with an odd little smile and a soft “fuck,”

And you get to fuck in the bathtub, that big jacuzzi in your parents room, water and bubbles sloshing around as you bounce on his cock, loud cries echoing off the walls.

It’s going great, until the last weekend of the honeymoon, a mere few days before your parents are supposed to return.

✰ ✰ ✰

A party.

Keigo tries to talk him out of it, tries to at least talk him out of letting you stay.

“She shouldn’t be here,” you hear Keigo hiss under his breath as guests begin to fill the house, Touya snorting in retort.

Keigo doesn’t think you should be around any of this at all—there’s no reason you should have to witness this shit, you catch him growling, gold eyes blazing. No, not a poor innocent babygirl like you, this isn’t the place for you.

But Touya’s too stubborn, too selfish to let Keigo take you out for the night. He knows he’s right, would rather not have you around these people, but he doesn’t have a fucking choice. The thought of you being out of his sight, out with another man, has anxiety rising in his throat, panic clawing at his chest.

As a result, you spend the entirety of the party being passed between Touya and Keigo. There are so many girls here, so many people you don’t know, wide eyes scanning the living room as your fingers twist in Keigo’s hoodie.

Niichan’s busy, Touya tells you, when you ask why you can’t just stay with him, when you ask where he keeps disappearing off to. Niichan’s working, don’t you know? Be a good girl and stay with Kei.

You can tell that Keigo isn’t happy about it. He coos softly when you timidly ask if he’s upset that he’s stuck babysitting you all night, in the middle of an apology when he cuts you off.

“It isn’t your fault, songbird,” he murmurs, gentle fingers tracing the curve of your face.

He’s even angrier at Touya when he takes that first girl back to his room, because the look on your face—the way it crumples accompanied by a soft, hurt sound caught at the back of your throat—kills him.

And it isn’t like you don’t know about his side whores. You do. They’re customers, he had snapped at you, the only time you had ever asked about it. But it’s an entirely different thing to actually have to witness it with your own eyes.

You can’t help the flare of jealousy that rises in your chest every time he takes a girl by the hand and leads them to his bedroom. It stings, burns, feels like a fire’s been lit in your chest, filling your lungs with dense smoke and making it hard for you to breathe.

Keigo tries his best to distract you, gentle fingers on your cheeks turning your face towards him, golden eyes softening in sympathy. He keeps you as preoccupied as he can, but it still isn’t enough. Your eyes are drawn to Touya every time he’s in the room—an automatic, instinctual reaction you couldn’t control even if you wanted to.

And every time you watch a girl giggle into his ear, or hop up with him, that fire smoldering in your chest blazes, rages, has you wheezing and hissing and pressing a palm flat against yourself, a desperate attempt to get the pain to stop.

Tomura’s here, too, though he’s sitting in a shrouded corner on his phone, the light from the screen reflected on his pale face, colours flashing intermittently. He looks absorbed with whatever he’s doing on there—probably playing a game, Keigo tells you, but why are you interested, anyway?

You don’t know, you aren’t sure, you can’t exactly put it into words. He terrifies you, but he sparks a morbid curiosity in you, too. He’s so silent, private, almost inobtrusive; and yet Touya never lets you anywhere near him. Your eyes keep flitting his way, as if trying to will something to happen, staring at him longingly and hoping he’ll look up from his phone for a split second and catch your gaze, that he’ll somehow magically get the hint that you’re desperate and dying to talk to him, and take the first step.

But it doesn’t happen.

Touya is thoroughly unimpressed each and every time he finds you sitting on Keigo’s knee or lap, leaning back against his chest as he speaks with that easygoing lilt that is so distinctly him, but there isn’t much he can do. The third time he returns to take you from his friend he can tell you’re beginning to get tired, can see it in your eyes, in the way you’re cuddling into a warm chest. He debates sending you to bed right then and there, but you protest, little hands tangling in Keigo’s hoodie.

“Aw, she’s alright for a little more, isn’t she?”

Touya’s sharp jaw clenches twice and he exhales slowly through his nose, eyes darting between your faces.

“Fine,” he says, although it doesn’t seem fine.

And you are exhausted, straddling Keigo’s hips, face pressed into his shoulder and hot breath evening out softly against his neck. Fingers ghost up and down your spine nonchalantly as Keigo talks softly to the people around him, his laugh vibrating against your chest and filling you with an odd, tingly sensation, a warmth that seeps through your body. You snuggle a little closer to him and he coos, readjusting you in his lap and wrapping an arm around your waist, holding you tightly to him.

“Don’t wanna go to bed with him,” you whisper, words muffled by his skin.

Keigo hums in question, squeezing you once. “Who, songbird?” he presses his lips to your ear as inconspicuously as he can, lidded gold eyes lazily scanning the room for your brother. “Touya?”

You nod sluggishly, little fingers curling in his hoodie, a silent plea not to let you go.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Keigo says softly with a small chuckle, but it sounds off to your ears—sad, even.

“Don’t wanna,” you repeat, pout evident in your voice. “Wanna stay with you,”

You wouldn’t have noticed the way his chest hitches at those four words if you weren’t pressed flush against it. But you feel it, feel his breath getting caught in his throat, reverberating against you as he clears it quietly. Unexpected guilt sours your mouth, makes your stomach turn to a block of heavy lead, weighting your body down.

“You know you can’t, sweetheart,” he finally responds, voice cracking just a bit, right on that last word. “Don’t hurt your niichan like that, he loves you,”

No he doesn’t, you want to say, but you can’t seem to force the words from your mouth, opting to shake your head instead, eyes shutting tightly against the burn of tears.

“He does,” Keigo says, more sternly this time. “Don’t doubt that,”

But you’re not so sure. If Touya loved you—really loved you—would he have disappeared no less than three times tonight, each with a different girl, leading them into his bedroom with those dark glittering sapphire eyes while they gaze up at him like he hung the fucking moon himself?

Honestly, is that even a question you want answered?

You keep your face buried in Keigo’s chest to block it out, to keep yourself from watching your big brother as he flits around the room, handing out discreet baggies in exchange for ridiculous wads of cash and talking in hushed voices, in code, to men who look much too old to be at a house party.

Eventually, Touya returns to retrieve you, bending down and speaking softly.

“It’s time for bed, princess,” A hand pets your head, and you flinch away.

“Hey,” you feel the couch dip beside you as he sits down. “Look at me,”

You’re shaking your head, trying in vain to press even closer to Keigo, but that doesn’t stop Touya from reaching out and gripping your chin, forcing you to face him.

Crystal eyes search your face carefully, wide and alert—he always works sober, you found out. He can tell you’re upset, can see it written plain as day across your face, eyes glassy with your lips set in a deep pout, eyebrows pushed together. Exhaling harshly, he closes his eyes, fingers rubbing at his eyes in exasperation.

“C’mon,” he says lowly, wrapping a hand around your bicep and tugging as he stands.

“No,” you nearly growl, shaking your head and viciously pulling your arm from his grip.

Touya stares at you for a moment, like he cannot believe you just had the audacity to tell him no, before he speaks, an incredulous laugh bubbling up from his chest. “What did you just say?”

Keigo’s sitting up straighter now, more alert as your body subconsciously curls into his chest, cowering away from your big brother. “Y-You heard me,”

Snorting in disbelief, Touya raises his eyebrows as his tongue runs along the front of his teeth, huffing out the remnants of a chuckle before his smile drops completely, blue fire blazing in his dark eyes.

“Get up,” he snarls, hand in a vice grip around your arm as he yanks harshly. The force of it has you practically falling off Keigo’s lap, though Touya catches you roughly before your knees hit the hardwood, hoisting you up by your arm to stand on unsteady feet.

“Move.” He instructs, giving you a shove in the vague direction of his bedroom. “Now.”

His chest bumps into your back and you stumble forward, yelping softly. He keeps pushing like this, strong hand clasping your shoulder so tightly you’re sure you’ll have five little bruises in the shape of his fingerprints in the morning, driving you to walk with the sheer force of his body.

“No,” your whispering, trying desperately to turn back and look at him as you approach his door, tears flooding your eyes, frantically shaking your head and trying your damnedest to plant your feet, heels digging into the floor in an attempt to stop him from pushing you forward.

“You really gonna say no to me a second time tonight? In less than fifteen minutes? You think that’s wise, baby?”

You don’t—of course you don’t. It’s probably one of the stupidest things you could do, in this situation.

But even though you know, know this isn’t a smart move, know you shouldn’t be testing him like this—challenging him like this, especially in front of so many people—you’re powerless to control the words that tumble from your lips next.

“I don’t want to sleep in a bed that’s been infested by your whores,”

They come out as a hiss—you don’t mean for them to, but they do, voice quivering under the combined weight of your fury and fear.

That gets him to stop, entire body going rigid. Icy dread rushes through your veins, panic clawing its way up your throat, forcing uneven breaths through your parted lips. Squeezing your eyes shut tightly, you brace yourself for the impact of his bellowing voice, shoulders tensing in anticipation for the blow, for him to really snap.

Except then he starts laughing, his hand relaxing around your shoulder, spinning you around to face him as he backs you up against his bedroom door, caging you in with his body.

“That’s what this is about?”

Eyebrows furrowing, you blink twice in disbelief, prompting hot tears to finally spill over. “I—Wh-Why are you laughing?”

“Because you’re being silly, princess,”

It hurts, stings like three massive spikes just shot through your heart, causes a tiny whimper to sound from deep in your throat, chest hiccupping with pathetic little half-sobs.

“Sil…Silly?” Time feels as if it’s slowed, your sluggish brain having trouble comprehending the situation unfolding.

His lips pull down into a frown, eyes narrowing slightly as he regards you with extreme precision. “Yeah,” he says, but his voice sounds far away, muffled, like you’re underwater and he’s speaking to you from above the surface. “Hey—”

Your head’s shaking again, in slow, delayed motions from side to side. “No,” you whisper. “No.”

You feel nauseous, and the proximity of his presence is only making it worse, making you feel like you could hurl at any moment. Little hands find purchase on his chest and push, stomach lurching painfully as your head spins.

He catches your wrists easily, holding them together in one large hand, his other coming to grip your chin and force you to look at him.

Thick silence settles between the two of you as Touya’s eyes study your face slowly, noting the tears flowing steadily down your face, the way your breath stutters with sobs you’re so desperately trying to hold back, the way your entire body trembles.

“Are you seriously upset over this?” he asks, laughing a little.

Your gaze holds his, tears casting a thick, gleaming screen across your eyes.

“Yes, Touya,” you whisper, wishing your voice didn’t sound as small and weak as it does. “I’m seriously upset,”

That’s the first time you’ve used his first name—just his first name, void of any honorific—in a long, long time.

It gets him to pause again, his usual and well-worn mask of passivity melting away for just a second as shock crosses his face. Then his features are hardening again, brows knitting together and creasing his forehead, eyes narrowing into near slits.

“Don’t be fucking stupid,” he spits harshly, the words cutting into your flesh. “You know none of them mean a thing,”

“Then why do you fuck around with them?” you shoot back almost immediately, voice fading into a whisper.

He glares at you, as if you’re wasting his precious time with such childish questions when he’s told you this already, and you can see the blue fire simmering in his eyes.

“It’s late,” he says curtly, voice sounding off to you. “You need sleep.”

You try to fight him on it, but he’s too quick, reflexes too swift, and he shoves you into his room, door slamming shut less than a second later.

Tears obstruct your vision as you stumble around, finally finding his desk chair and collapsing heavily. You don’t even bother trying to open the door, know it’s locked without having to hear that soft click! as the lock turns into place.

He’s right—it is late, well past three in the morning, and you are utterly exhausted, drawing your knees up to your chest and curling up in the plush chair.

But no matter how tired you are, you absolutely refuse to sleep in his bed. The party’s dying down, you can hear Touya’s muffled farewells as guests begin to leave while you fade in and out of consciousness.

You think you might’ve heard Keigo say something, might’ve caught the word stay, might’ve detected the annoyance laced in Touya’s voice as he responds, but you’re too worn out to reflect on it.

At some point in the night, Touya reenters his room, chuckling a little at your antics and carrying you to his bed.

The move wakes you, and you weakly protest—no, you don’t want to be in this bed, please, just let you go sleep in your own bed—but Touya ignores you entirely, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you tightly to his chest.

It’s then that the tears start up again, salt staining your puffy cheeks, head beginning to throb from dehydration.

“Shh, baby, shh,” he hushes you, nimble fingers combing through your hair. “I’m here, right here,”

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about Touya over these past few weeks, it’s that he becomes marginally softer in the middle of the night. Your fingers twist in his t-shirt, trying in vain to pull yourself impossibly closer, Touya making a soft noise akin to a coo in the back of his throat.

“I’ve got you, niichan’s got you,”

You hate it. You hate that he’s the only person you want comforting you right now, as you lay in his bed, surrounded by the smell of cheap perfume and clinging in desperation to him, needing him close, needing his body heat warming you and his hands on you. You hate the way your sobs come harder the more he soothes you, the heavy ache in your chest almost bruising, crushing your lungs and making it near impossible to breathe.

But you crave his comfort nonetheless. It’s a special kind of comfort, one that’s difficult to describe, one that only comes from the love and adoration and protection of a big brother.

Why can’t you just be mine? You want to ask, the words searing into your tongue, refusing to leave your lips.

“You’re gonna make yourself sick, angel,” he chastises softly, brushing your hair away from your clammy forehead as another shuddery sob rips through your chest.

“I want you,” you say instead, words garbled.

“You have me, baby,”

“All of you,”

His chest heaves with an exasperated sigh, head turning away and gazing up at the ceiling. “You have all of me, princess,”

There’s something in his voice that makes you stop, pause, his words reverberating in your mind. He sounds almost like…like he’s upset over this fact, like he wishes that you didn’t have all of him.

You want to press for more, to probe and prod and pick away at it, but exhaustion finally claims you, rendering you incapable of speech, your tongue moving sluggishly in your mouth as you desperately try to form words.

✰ ✰ ✰

It’s grey when you wake, only a few hours later, eyes sticky and dry from lack of sleep. Your head is pounding, feels like it’s been stuffed full of cotton, lips cracked and dry from dehydration, and a painful lump forms almost immediately in your throat when you get a whiff of sickly sweet artificial vanilla, then another of intense, synthetic citrus.

The tears are starting up again, collecting in your eyes and clouding your vision. It makes you nauseous, makes your skin crawl and your chest burn as your throat fills with acid. The tears sting, but you blink hard to keep them at bay. You will not cry, not in front of him, not in his bed surrounded by the remnants of those other girls, not again. You refuse to give them the satisfaction.

You spring up quickly, halfway through climbing over Touya’s body when a strong hand latches onto your wrist.

“No,” Touya mumbles, face half buried in his pillow. “Stay,”

“No,” you whisper, pulling yourself free from his grasp and hurrying out of his room. You can smell them on your clothes, on your skin, and it makes you want to scrub your body under scalding water until it’s raw.

Everything hurts—it hurts so much it feels like your chest is collapsing in on itself, like you can’t breathe, gasping for air as you stumble onto the porch, nearly tripping over your own feet as you stop and realize you have nowhere to go.

Touya has cut you off from all of your friends at this point; any spare time you had was now claimed by him.

And that’s exactly why he doesn’t bother rolling out of bed to follow after you, isn’t worried about you going anywhere, knows you can’t leave him, no matter how badly you want to. No, not a precious little girl like you, with nowhere to find refuge.

You sit down heavily on one of the front steps, vision so blurry with tears you’re barely able to make out the figure advancing towards you. They’re finally escaping your eyes, rolling down your cheeks as you blink twice, trying to clear them. Your chest stutters under the force of a sob you’re desperately trying to hold back, clapping both hands over your mouth in an attempt to silence it.

“Hey—oh no,” Keigo breathes the moment your watery eyes look up at him. You squeeze your eyes shut, causing more tears to leak out as your shoulders shake, whole body trembling from the force of your sobs, poorly muffled by your palms.

“No, no, no, sweetheart,” he’s saying as he rushes to sit down next to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders tightly.

Keigo’s the closest thing you have to a friend now. And really, you should be embarrassed by the way you practically fling yourself into his arms, burying your face in his chest as your hands form fists in his t-shirt. He’s a little startled by your borderline violent reaction, but he recovers quickly, arms encircling your body and pulling you against him.

“It’s okay,” he says softly, one hand rubbing your back while the other pets your hair. “Hey, it’s alright, I’m here,”

And you hate the way his words almost directly mirror Touya’s, the way his low sultry voice turned gentle and soft as he carded deft fingers through your hair echoing almost painfully in your head. But Keigo lets you cry, lets you stain his t-shirt with salty tears and saliva until you’ve got nothing left, never stopping his compassionate motions.

“You…Stayed the night?” you pull back a little, the fact that he’s still here, blonde hair all mussed up from sleep, finally dawning on you.

“Well, yeah,” he says, a little bashful as he looks away and ducks his head. “Wanted to make sure you were alright, s’all. Last night was…” he trails off, frowning. “What happened?”

Golden eyes search your face, his forehead crinkling in concern. A beat of silence passes.

“I mean, you don’t have to tell me, but…” kind fingers move to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’ll feel better if you let it out, promise. And, not to brag or anything, but I’m preee-tty good at this kind’a stuff,” he chuckles a little.

“Got in a fight,” you whisper, eyes staring intently at the brick wall behind his shoulder as your chin trembles slightly, memories of last night flashing through your mind.

“A fight? With Touya?” Keigo moves his head a little, forcing his face into your field of vision and catching your face with tender fingers when you try to look away.

“Yeah,” tears are beginning to well up in your eyes as you think about it, the sheer fact that you’re in a fight making your heart feel like it’s ripping itself to shreds. A chaotic storm of emotions brews in your chest, switching mercilessly and swirling together so quickly that you can’t even tell what they are. Your insides feel all jumbled up, and trying to decipher what the heck’s going on only makes your head ache more.

They torment you, a deep sense of anguish finally settling at the core. You’re confused, livid at Touya for being such a jackass; jealous, because you want him all to yourself; heartbroken, because you want—need—his approval, desperate to hear him tell you that you’re his good little baby girl.

You want to be his good little baby girl.

But it isn’t fair. Life isn’t fair, sweetheart. Get used to it, he had told you once, when you had complained about something so silly, so simple as him eating the last ice cream cookie sandwich (he made it up to you, of course, telling you he wanted to taste your cream—such a cheeseball—and making you cum three times before taking you out to buy more).

No, it isn’t fair, but you don’t care. You want him to be yours, too.

Keigo tsks, bringing your attention back to him, mouth set in a hard line as sad eyes watch you. “What was it about?”

“I-It…H-He—” a shuddery breath cuts you off, and Keigo draws you into his arms, holding you against his chest as the sobs start up again, sobs that make it feel like your body’s about to tear apart, desperately clutching Keigo to try and keep yourself together.

“Oh, songbird,” he coos, rocking you gently. “Is it…Um, the other girls?”

“Yes,”

“But you know you’re his favourite, right?”

“D-Does it even matter, if he’s still fucking them anyway?” you ask, pulling back suddenly as hot anger flashes through you. “Why does he need them? Am I—” a sob cuts you off, but you swallow it, persevering. “Am I not good enough?” your voice breaks on the last word, fading into a whisper, big teary eyes scanning his face almost frantically, seeking an answer in his expression.

Keigo blinks, surprised by your sudden brashness, then gives you a small, sad smile. “Only he can answer that, sugarplum,” he whispers, using the pad of his thumb to catch a stray tear and wipe it across your cheekbone. “But just because he’s fucking around, doesn’t mean that you can’t, too,”

Your head tilts to the side, brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

“Give him a taste of his own medicine,” Keigo shrugs, leaning back a little. “He definitely deserves it, for making an angel such as yourself so upset,”

You sniffle a little, wiping at your nose with the paw of your sweater as you consider the prospect.

“Y’know, it technically isn’t cheating, since you guys aren’t in any sort of official relationship to begin with,” Keigo reminds you gently, nudging just a tiny bit more.

It isn’t right—you know it isn’t. You’ve never been one to fight fire with fire, often preferring to avoid conflict and drama, but you’re so hurt; you’re so angry at him—angry at the way he reacted, as if it was you in the wrong, angry at the fact that he doesn’t even seen to care about your feelings on the issue, because he knows you’ll come running back either way, angry because he’s right, as evident in the way pathetically clung to him last night—that all you want to do in that moment is cause him a shred of the pain he’s causing you.

It’s an impulsive decision that has you pulling out your phone, quickly scrolling through your contacts, thumb jabbing at Tomura’s name—Touya had given you his number for emergencies only—before you have time to think it through, before you have time to regret it.

Tiny thumbs fly across the keyboard, your heart pounding in your chest as adrenaline accelerates your breathing.

Hey. Let’s hang out.

Keigo inhales through his teeth next to you, and your eyes dart to him in surprise, as if you had forgotten he was there.

“Well,” he begins, though his voice sounds odd to you—unlike his usually nonchalant, happy-go-lucky manner. “That’s, uh, definitely one that’s gonna hurt him, songbird,”

You look back down at your phone to see Tomura typing a response.

Yeah, definitely. Pick a day.

“Good.”

#dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi smut #todoroki touya x reader #todoroki touya #no idea how this MONSTER grew so much???#big apologies #part two is DARK and it is coming tomorrow!!!#tw pseudo-incest #tw toxic relationship #tw dubcon #tw drugs #tw cheating

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pleasantanathema · 4 years

Text

Pairing: Tetsurō Kuroo x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Warnings: Consensual non-con (reader and Kuroo have agreed together to engage in a consensual non-consensual situation), degradation, rough sex, dirty talk, biting, choking, hair pulling, mentions of blood, spit, and smoking cigarettes

Word Count: 6k

A/N: This is a collab piece for the The Smut Pile Mafia Collab hosted by myself, @present-mel, and @linestrider

You can find all the other wonderfully creative and smutty pieces on our masterlist!

And thank you @present-mel for this beautiful banner 💕

Kuroo always took pride seeing you on stage, especially when you wore those provocative gowns that he bought for you. He sat back in his chair, one arm crossed across his chest while the other nursed a glass of bourbon to his lips. Tonight, you were more sensual than he’d seen you before, your hands cupped around the microphone, hips swaying as you sang. You were a harpy culling her crowd. The designer dress was dripping from your curves, every seam crafted to hug your body. He couldn’t keep his eyes off your waist, couldn’t keep his eyes off the high cut of the slit that exposed the smooth flesh of your thigh. He knew every man in that room was doing the same, all of them lost to the delirium of melody, but none of them got to have you like he did.

You never asked for the dresses, or the shoes, or the pearls, or his favorite color of lipstick; no, you never asked for anything, his seductive little songbird. But you always said thank you, a peculiar glint in your eyes that he knew you saved only for him.

His station in life as the leader of the Nekoma Mafia allotted him any woman he wanted in Tokyo—and he had plenty of playthings, but you? You were his favorite. You always fucked him like you loved him, let him do anything he pleased and still begged for more. But then you’d always let him go; there was no pleading, no big eyes and pouty lips begging him to stay the night. You let him be who he was, let him do whatever the fuck he wanted to, never asked where he was or what he did or who he killed, and it was your indifference to him that kept him coming back.

He wanted to make you beg for him to stay, but tonight, he wanted you to beg for him to stop.

Your voice rang in his head unconnected to the lyrics you were singing.

You can force me to fuck you any time you want, Tetsurō—god his name sounded good in your mouth, even in his thoughts—surprise me one night. I’ll say no, I’ll fight back, but only stop if I say our safeword.

The two of you had this conversation a few months ago and, at the time, he hadn’t thought much of it, still too blissed out after fucking your face underneath his desk. You’d still been swallowing his cum when he mentioned how he liked to take control of you like that, all rough hands and violent kisses that left bruises even on your cheeks where he had pulled you in to suck his cock.

But now, after too many weeks of being away from you on business, he’d had a lot of time for the exchange to settle into ruminations. He came here tonight with the full intention of forcing himself onto you after you stepped off that stage, and the image in his mind alone was enough to have him resituating his aching cock in his trousers.

__________________________________

Of course you spotted him in the crowd. He was unmistakable, black hair simmering beyond the heat of the stage lights. You couldn’t help but keep your eyes on him for a little too long at moments, excitement curling inside your belly.

You hated to admit to yourself that you’d missed him, that you’d been looking for him within the throngs of people every night, just hoping to catch a glimpse of golden eyes and a loosened tie in his usual spot in the back of the nightclub.

And there he was, eyeing you down like a predator would his prey, a grin so cavalier and catlike it made you shiver. The sleeves of his white dress shirt were already rolled up like he was prepared to sink his fingers into you at any moment.

It was hard to focus on your set, hard to keep your attention on other members in the crowd. Your hands were sweating and you were glued to the microphone out of fear that, if you let go, you’d wander right off the stage and into his lap. It was an agonizing, and quite titillating, half hour of singing.

You made a beeline to your dressing room in the back after taking a bow and blowing a few kisses, foregoing mingling at the bar with patrons. You needed to wash your hands, you needed to take a breath before you went out to see him, before you hurriedly texted him to come meet you.

But he was already there, a fresh cigarette between thumb and forefinger as he lounged against the doorframe to your room.

“Hey, kitten, been a while.”

His voice had your hair standing on end, made you stumble in your stride.

“Tetsurō,” a smile pulled at your cheeks, “you’re in my way.”

“I would say give me a password, but I suppose a kiss will do.”

You stood before him, plucking the cigarette from his fingers and pressing it to your lips for a drag. Your weight shifted to one heeled foot, your eyes never leaving his as you took a long inhale of the menthol and tobacco, the cherry of the cigarette growing hot.

He reached for you, pulling you against him so his lips could capture the smoke, drinking in the taste. You both groaned at the contact, a voltaic hum syncing your bodies together. His lips were forceful, commanding, taking the lead and easily prying yours apart for him to explore the familiar home of your mouth. The action felt natural, but you could sense there was something unknown pent up inside of him.

Your free hand fumbled with the doorknob behind him, the other holding the ashen cigarette at a safe distance away.

“Mhm, did you miss me?” he mumbled against your lips, hand trailing down the satin of your dress to trace the slit at your thigh. Long, nimble fingers curled up to find your panties.

“Not very much,” you were being cheeky, but he didn’t have to catch that.

“Oh yea? Your pussy tells me otherwise.”

A sharp moan erupted from your throat as his middle finger pressed against the dampness of your panties, his forefinger following and circling against your clit.

“Fuck—get, get in the room,” you breathed, finally getting purchase on the knob and shoving him and his greedy hands into your dressing room.

Kuroo snatched the cigarette back from your hand, taking in a pull before smothering it into the ashtray on the vanity built into the wall.

You stood before the mirror, catching a flash of him moving behind you. You felt hot, a little overwhelmed, and you weren’t sure if it was the heat from the bulbs that lined the edges of your dressing table, or if it was his presence making you edgy.

His hands were back on your hips as you removed your earrings and set them onto the table. His fingers were eager, one hand ghosting up your body to slide down the strap of your dress so he could kiss and suck at your neck and shoulder.

“Shame you didn’t miss me,” there was a tonal shift in his voice, the timbre deeper, darker, “cause I sure did miss that pretty little mouth of yours.”

His fingers dug into your jaw, roughly pulling your face to the side so he could nip at the corner of your lips.

“Easy,” you warned, pressing your elbow back against him to get some space.

“Easy? Oh kitten, there will be no easy, tonight. I haven’t had you in weeks, and I’m taking what I want.”

Realization washed over you after a few heartbeats. You grinned against the fingers pressing into your cheeks, knowing and delighted.

“Sorry, Tetsurō,” you added a vile bite to his name as you pulled your face from his grip, “I’m not interested tonight.”

“Not interested?” he sneered, that wild, feline smirk back in its place.

He was still behind you, pressing up against your back with fingers digging into the flesh of your thigh. He eyed you through the mirror. He looked menacing behind you, amber eyes narrowed and glowing within the reflection of yellow lights. You’d almost forgotten how big he was; his broad body dwarfed yours, meaty shoulders caging around you, strong, round biceps curling underneath your arms as he encircled you in a tight embrace. You were drawn to the moving hand on your leg, the entirety of his palm almost eclipsing your thigh as desirous fingers once again crept towards your pussy.

“You should leave,” you meant for the words to sound serious, but there was clearly an underlying, breathy want within your voice.

“Absolutely not,” he sunk his teeth into the juncture of your shoulder and neck, groaning at the taste of your skin, “I came here for you.”

You held back your moan, struggling within his hold. Your hands flew over his, one on your thigh, the other on your stomach, bidding to pry off his ironclad fingers.

“Get off me.”

He only pulled you deeper into him, his grip tighter, teeth harsher. You winced at the pain of his bite. You struggled again, panting as you found no fruition to your efforts. God he was strong, and he was barely using any of his power to hold you.

You stepped a heeled foot onto his, jamming the stiletto into the leather of his shoe. He hissed and shoved you forward, sending your hips to knock into the edge of the vanity.

“I said get off me!”

You thought he’d hesitate, that he would take a moment to see if you really meant it, but you were mistaken.

He was into the game now.

“I like it when you’re feisty, kitten.”

You turned around to say something, but he was already on you, already one step ahead. The moment you turned, he had you in his arms, using his strength to lift you up onto the hot vanity.

“Tetsurō—!”

“Oh, shut up, you little slut, I know you want me, there’s no need to hide it.”

His hands were on your legs, in your dress. Too easily he tore at the fabric, the threads snapping like crackling fireworks against your skin. You gasped, pressing your hands against his shoulders, pushing at him with a genuine amount of strength to which he didn’t budge.

“Fuck, you can’t just—”

“Yes, I fucking can,” he scoffed, continuing to tear at the seam that lined the side of your gown, “don’t forget who spoils you.”

“Yea, a fucking mob boss,” you slighted, digging your nails into his wrist as if that would stop him.

He slapped your left cheek, hard, quick, like the fast swipe of a panther swatting at restless prey. Your neck swung to the side and you moaned, deep and strained from your chest. Your face throbbed, blood welling under your smarting skin like it was trying to figure out what happened and how to dull the pain, even though the pain was blossoming into pleasure.

“I’m someone who could end your life any time I want to, kitten. I can either hunt you down here or somewhere else, so I suggest you stop fighting.”

The gown was finally tugged from your body, and what was left of its shape fell down to your sides, the fabric caught underneath where you sat on the vanity.

With his hands free, he cradled your face, palms engulfing your cheeks. He forced you to look up at him. When you did, it brought you back to reality. He appeared wicked, enthralled, you could practically see thoughts churning inside his mind like the inner workings of a clock—he always was too smart for his own good, or, perhaps, for your own good. Your irises danced over the handsome planes of his face, over the feline curve of his eyes, over the full lips that you truly had missed feeling against yours. But you held yourself back; if he wanted to force you, you’d damn well let him.

“You’re mine, all mine.”

“No, I’m not yours. You don’t own me.”

His thumb caught to the edge of your lips, keeping them parted.

“Oh kitten,” he purred, sucking his tongue back into his mouth.

Your heart began to race as you heard a swish.

He spit down onto you, a slow, viscous string of saliva dripping from his mouth onto yours where he kept your lips pried open.

“I do own you.”

You tried to turn your face, but his hold was firm, keeping you from avoiding his territorial marking.

“Stop,” your voice was weak.

“Drink it all up like a good little girl.”

He shoved himself between your thighs, getting even closer as he watched your eyebrows furrow while you obediently licked your tongue along your lips, gathering his saliva to gulp down.

He groaned aloud at the sight, smashing his mouth down on to yours, wet and messy from spit. You didn’t kiss him back. You kept pressing back against his shoulders, trying to pull one of your knees up between your bodies to push him away, but he was quick. One of his hands snatched your thigh, roughly pressing it back down against the table to keep you in place. His mouth still worked against yours, hungry and ferocious, taking from you even though you weren’t giving anything back.

You needed to do something before you gave into him, before you wrapped your arms around him and spoiled the fun. He was intoxicating, especially with one of his hands drifting around your back to unhook your bra with ease.

One of your hands slid to his loosened tie, fingers entangling in the red fabric. You tugged, hard, attempting to force his mouth away from yours; he merely chuckled, continuing to pull at your own clothing, a little too effortlessly removing the cups of your bra from your breasts.

As cool air swept over your exposed nipples, you shivered and groaned, attempting to swat away the strong hand reaching to grope one of them.

You bit his greedy mouth, sharp and quick, catching his bottom lip between one of your canine teeth. He reacted immediately, shoving your head back against the mirror so harshly that a thick crack burst into the reflective glass.

“Fuck!” it was both of your voices shouting together, you cupping your aching skull and Kuroo fingering his busted lip.

“God you fucking bitch, you’ll pay for that.”

Blood was slick down his chin, the plump flesh of his lip noticeably pierced and split.

Your instincts were telling you to apologize, but you kept them at bay, choosing instead to take the moment to attempt to dash around his side towards the locked door. The remnants of your ruined dress fell to the floor as you quickly stood from the vanity, feet nearly tripping over one another in your heels.

“Oh no you don’t!” He caught your upper arm, swinging your helpless body back towards his. The severity of his motions had your legs buckling underneath you, your balance completely lost. He caught you before you hit the floor, keeping his arms tight around your nearly naked body as he maneuvered you to where he wanted you.

“Tetsurō,” your fingers were clawing into his forearms, feet dragging against the hardwood as he wrangled you to stand in front of him, “let me go.”

You were startled to see yourself in the mirror, having already forgotten your nakedness. You both looked disheveled, wild, his normally pristine shirt wrinkled, the white collar soaking up the drippings of blood from his mouth. You had bite marks on your neck, dark and glaring against your skin, your breasts shaking as you struggled against his encroaching arms—it was sensual, to watch yourself wrestle against him, to see his smoldering eyes watching you just as intently in the mirror. You caught a glimpse of your panties, the rustling of your bodies against one another having pushed the fabric higher on your hips, and deeper within your sopping folds.

One of Kuroo’s hands settled around your throat, using his fist as an anchor to keep your body still. His grip was harsh, fingertips solid but dormant against the sides of your neck, but there was the lingering threat that all he had to do was twist, squeeze, or press, and you’d never sing again, perhaps never leave this room again.

“Do you know what normally happens to people who fight me?” he tilted your neck back in his hold, bringing your ear closer to his mouth.

Your eyes stared at him through the reflection, your attention not leaving his face even as his free hand began to stroll across your body, fingertips tracing figure-eights on your stomach, climbing toward your breasts.

“Answer me when I speak to you, slut.”

“N-no,” it was hard to gulp underneath his palm, saliva pooling against your tongue, “I don’t know…”

“Oh yes you do, you just don’t like thinking about it.”

You could feel him smirk against your ear, see the catlike grin spreading like wildfire in the mirror.

He groped your breast, fingers brutal against your sensitive skin, pressing into the fatty flesh with unbridled possessiveness. It was painful, making your back arch away from the touch and into his chest. But it was stimulating all the same, your nipple hardening and beckoning to be pinched, tugged, owned by his hand.

“I kill the people who displease me, kitten,” he disclosed, admiring how large his hand looked against your breast as he kneaded your flesh. His knuckles were scattered with bruises, ring finger still forming a fresh scab from a recent altercation that required his fist. His skin looked barbaric compared to yours, scars and bruises against a fresh, smooth body.

He captured your nipple, wringing it between thumb and forefinger. Your whine was stopped by his hand, trapped within your vocal cords and unable to emerge under his grip.

“I could kill you so easily…” there was a pleasured grumble within his voice, bloodied mouth now kissing at the column of your neck between his spread fingers, “does that turn you on?”

You tried to shake your head, your hands pushing at both of his forearms in an attempt to free yourself. He only clutched onto you more tightly, your nipple now stinging from pain, your vision blurring from the decreased oxygen to your brain.

There was a panic brewing in your belly that you didn’t expect, true fear creeping up your spine. You knew you could mutter out your safeword and he would stop...or at least, so you thought. He looked lost within the mirror, bloodstained face almost drunk with power, his cock hard and nudging between your ass cheeks. He was getting high from this, and while you could feel a craving gnawing inside of you to give yourself up to him, there was also an edge of reality still pressing into your thoughts. Kuroo was dangerous, and if he wasn’t careful, if he crushed into your windpipe just a little too hard, and he’d have a mess on his hands, a dead plaything to throw in the dumpster behind the nightclub.

“Do you know how many mouthy whores I’ve had to get rid of? I’ve learned it’s so easy to snap pretty little necks,” his fist grew tighter around your throat to emphasize his point.

“Don’t say things like that,” you gasped, nails nearly tearing into the skin of his wrist.

His hand released your breast, your skin hot and burning from his harsh ministrations. But the reprieve was brief, his fingers snaking down your body and into your panties. You jerked your hips backwards to avoid his touch, only to find yourself grinding against the fat cock straining against his pants.

“I think you like what I’m saying,” he emphasized his words by running the pad of his index finger over your clit, your body shivering at his touch. He laughed in your ear, pressing his hips firmly against your body as you struggled to get out of his hold.

His fingers were ruthless. He spread you apart, sliding between your shamefully dripping folds with quick ease. His palm was cupped against your sex, thumb shoved directly against your clit as the other long digits prodded your tight hole. You tried to clamp your legs shut, but his hand was more durable than you expected. There was no physical way you could wiggle yourself out of this situation, and that realization alone had a concoction of panic and pleasure toiling inside your belly.

You bit your lip to stop the moans from bubbling out of your mouth.

You’d always loved his fingers; they were long, thick, perfect for curling inside you and finding that fleshy patch against your inner walls that had you shaking and panting. Two of them pushed inside of you, your panties ruined and forgotten against your thigh. He wasn’t gentle. Each move of his hand was a satisfying jab into your pussy, jolts of hard pleasure racing up your spine. And his thumb was just as merciless. He twirled it in tight circles across your sensitive clit, the bliss turning hot under your skin.

“Stop, stop, please stop, it’s too much!”

He knew the words were a lie, he could tell by how your legs were shaking.

You were Kuroo’s favorite instrument to play, he knew your melodies of ecstasy by heart. You might be able to cull him with that siren’s voice of yours, but he could string you along no other man could.

Your slick was dripping against his fingers now, each squelching push of his fingers had you pressing farther into him. His cock was nestled perfectly between your ass cheeks and each convulsion of your body, every clenching, stimulated him just as much.

“Fuck, no, no, you have to stop, Tetsuroō, please!”

“Shut. Up.”

His hand squeezed tighter around your throat, your eyelids fluttering at the increased loss of vision as your oxygen flow waned.

Kuroo watched you in the mirror, watched how your stomach was tightening, your thighs clamping together, knees buckling together from his invasive touch. You could see him watching you behind your closing lids, could see his smirk growing like a weed in a garden.

You felt his fingers begin to curve inside of you, wrist twisting to get the perfect angle. You were gasping, trying to catch short breaths beneath his hand before your inevitable fall.

“T-tet—”

You came hard and fast, the pleasure so blinding that you slumped within his hold, knees dropping to where the only thing holding your body up were his hands. Your cunt was aching, now cinching his fingers inside of you almost painfully. You cried out, sobbing at the intensity of it all, tears pricking at your lashes. Your body was humming, buzzing, almost like you’d left your skin and were hovering above your body in a cloud of euphoria.

He kept pushing his fingers inside of you, thumb never ceasing against your clit.

“Stop! Stop!” you were screaming it a little too loud now, if someone were to walk by your dressing room, they’d hear you. Kuroo’s hand flew to your mouth, finally giving your neck a reprieve from his monstrous grip. You exhaled shakily into his palm, your body calming down as his hand between your thighs came to a halt.

“I’m not stopping, kitten. No one could stop me now. I think your filthy little body is finally warmed up enough for my cock, what do you think?” his voice was husky against your ear, breath fanning into your hair.

“N-no! Anything but that, please don’t, Tetsuroō, please, I’m sorry!”

Your words were muffled against his palm, tears now streaming into his hand.

You didn’t expect that you could actually get yourself to cry—were you truly scared? Or had you fallen deeper into your role than you expected?

Kuroo paid your sounds little mind.

Your body was weak as he pushed you forward, hand releasing your face to grab the back of your head as he pressed your face into the vanity. Your legs were shaking, wobbly within your heels with your ass pressed into the air like this, your hands flat against the counter. You took a few moments to take deep breaths, your eyes focusing on the table. The ashtray was still lightly smoking from the half-smoked cigarette that had been shoved into it, your lipstick and earrings appearing like lost treasures drifting upon a sea out before you.

You heard the clinking of Kuroo’s belt buckle behind you, felt his hand secure itself into your hair, keeping your face smashed against the vanity’s surface.

Then his other hand was on your ass, kneading your flesh before smacking the rounded flesh. You winced, hissing between your teeth.

“You’re a worthless whore, I don’t know why I even bother with you anymore.”

That jab stung more than your smarting ass cheek.

You whimpered, closing your eyes as you felt his hand pull at your panties, once again shifting them to the side so he could access your weeping pussy, already spent from your first orgasm.

“Mhm, I can’t wait to see you cry when you're stuffed with my cock.”

“Stop this, please. I’ll do anything else you want, I-I swear!”

You felt the hot tip of his cock press against your folds, gathering your slick against his heated skin. You tried to angle your hips away, but Kuroo drew the back of your panties up into his fist, using them like reins to keep you in place.

“I don’t think you understand, kitten. This is what I want.”

He shoved his cock ruthlessly inside of you, the sharp pain of being spread racing across your nerves. You cried out, mouth hanging open against the cold countertop as his cock speared into your insides. But that pain quickly morphed into pleasure, his hips snapping up against yours with a ferocity that had moans spilling from your mouth even as you tried to stop them.

Your body was bouncing from his actions, ass slapping against his unbuttoned slacks as he pounded inside of you. There would surely be cum stains against the threads once he was done.

“Such a helpless little thing, aren’t you? Couldn’t stop me even though you tried.”

And you had tried. You told him you’d fight back if he ever wanted to play like this, and you expected that you’d be able to stave him off to some extent. But you hadn’t been able to. Every attempt to run, to move, to get him to stop, had been futile. He was too strong, his will too powerful for you to overcome. And that’s what had you quaking beneath him; you’d truly fallen prey to him, and you knew that if this ever wasn’t play, he would probably use even more force against you. You were helpless, save for the trust you had in him.

He kept a tight pull on your panties as he fucked you. His fingers were fisted around the fabric, pulling it tight against your skin, keeping it molded against your clit as his cock continued to barrel inside of you. Your walls were clamping down from all the sensations, fluttering with every thrust of his fat cock inside of you. You could feel that familiar, thick vein that ran along the underside of him rubbing against your pussy with every plunge. You felt stuffed, like your body was taking on more than you could handle.

“St-stop,” it came out with a moan.

“You know you love it,” he groaned, loud and deep and it made you shiver, “you love it when I treat you like the slut you are.”

You weakly threw your hands behind you, hoping to claw at him, to throw him off his game, but all he had to do was fist his fingers into the roots of your hair and tug to get you to stop. You screamed at the searing pain, not used to him pulling your hair so roughly. Your neck arched back at the force, lifting your breasts from the cool table to bounce with his thrusts. Your hands were slick with sweat as you trained to gain purchase on the vanity, lewd sounds pouring from your mouth with every thrust of him inside of you.

With his hand jerking your head back, now you could see him again in the mirror.

He was grinning, that smear of blood still staining his lips, his chin. He looked wild, black hair tousled even more than usual from your tryst. The sight of him had your heart racing, blood pumping even faster to where your bodies were joined together. You loved that look in his eye, like at any moment he was going to devour you and spit you back out spent and needy. You felt violated, wrecked, but you knew he wasn’t going to stop soon.

“You like watching, kitten? Like watching me stuff this pretty pussy of yours?”

“I hate you,” you spit the words out like venom, narrowing your eyes at him through the reflection.

“Say that again and I’ll slap you harder than I did earlier.”

Your cheek stung with the memory of his palm.

Before you could open your mouth again, he increased his pace, using the leverage of his hands in your hair and around your panties to slam you back into his cock as if you weighed nothing, as if you were nothing.

Curses painted your lips each time his cock stretched you again, and again, and again, as the angle he pulled you into had his cock brushing against that sweet spot inside of you. Your underwear was pulled even tighter than before, each jostle of your bodies making the fabric rub against your swollen clit. The feeling of orgasm was growing again, your senses constantly being propelled into a state of bliss every time he took a deep stroke inside of you.

“You think you’re special, don’t you? That’s why—fuck—you think you can tell me no? You’re just another whore to fuck,” he was growling, panting, “that’s all you are, you’re pathetic.”

His words felt like acid on your skin, burning you, heating you in all the wrong ways, but your body loved it, soaked up every curse and slight and turned it into boiling pleasure.

“Fuck, stop! I don’t wanna cum, I don’t wanna cum!”

“You’re gonna cum, kitten. Cum so that little pussy gets tight enough to milk my cock.”

You clenched your lower muscles, genuinely trying to avert the churning coil of pleasure inside of you, but all it did was make matters worse. Your pussy kept sucking him in, each thrust messy, loud, your ass slapping against his slacks and slick pooling down your thighs.

“Oh you feel so good, feel so fucking good squeezing me like that.”

That fresh praise had you coming undone. You felt him pull your panties even tighter against your curves, the fabric now almost cutting into your clit, and the sensation was all too much.

“Tetsurō, Tetsurō, stop, stop, I-I’m cumming, stop!”

It was more intense than before. You felt your whole body go numb, you watched as your mouth opened in a silent scream, every part of you trembling as the seams of sanity split with your orgasm.

He didn’t stop, not even as he came inside of you, ropes and ropes of hot cum filling up your sloppy pussy and spurting out onto his clothes, onto your thighs. He was unrelenting, keeping you within the throes of orgasmic bliss with his cock plunging inside of you over and over again. His force had your underwear splitting in his fist, threads snapping against your ass as the cloth broke apart.

The sound of your ripping panties had him slowing, now grinding his cock deep inside of your walls as you both came down from your highs.

When your bodies finally came to a halt, he let go of your hair, allowing you to catch yourself with your palms flat to the vanity. You hung your head, trying to even out your breaths and let your heart rate calm down as your vision unblurred.

You could hear him panting behind you, then finally felt his spent cock slip out of you, trails of cum and slick falling against your thighs.

You finally began to move, reaching between your legs to pry the remnants of your panties away from your cunt, letting the ravaged fabric fall to the floor where the remains of your dress still lay.

“Kitten?” Kuroo’s voice was soft, hands even more gentle as he wrapped his arms around you from behind, “are you okay?”

“Fuck,” you groaned, straightening your back to look at him, to fall into his arms, “that was...exhiliarting.”

He pressed tender kisses into your neck, tongue soothing over where he had bitten you earlier.

“God I fucking missed you,” he mumbled into your skin.

“I missed you too.”

You turned in his arms, pressing your weary body against his chest, feeling the sweat that had cooled into his white dress shirt. He kissed you slowly, deliberately, the taste of iron still present from his split lip. You embraced him, kissing him back with the same kind of easy passion.

“I need a drink after that,” you mumbled against his lips.

“I need new pants.”

You stepped back and looked down at his black suit trousers, finding them all kinds of soiled with creamy cum. You couldn’t help but laugh, the heaviness of your earlier actions breaking with the sound of your giggles.

“You normally keep spare clothes in your car, right? In case they get all bloody? Let me get dressed and I’ll go get them for you.”

You bent down to gather your own ruined clothes, wadding up the fabric of that beautiful dress and dumping it in the bin. You heard Kuroo mutter something about buying you a new one as you sifted through the small closet in your dressing room, slipping on a short cocktail dress and a fresh pair of panties to catch whatever cum was going to continue to leak out of you tonight.

He was smoking another cigarette as you left him behind in your dressing room to fetch him a new pair of pants, car keys in hand.

The music of the jazz band was loud as you meandered back and forth between the nightclub. You realized that no one could have heard you screaming over the sound of the plucking bass and the shrill of the trumpet.

You hurriedly returned to your dressing room, pants in hand.

You cleaned Kuroo’s lip with a damp cloth as he slung on his fresh pants, the cigarette now between your lips as you did your best to clean the blood from his face.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have bitten you so harshly.”

“Don’t worry about it, made it feel real. I can’t believe you didn’t call the safeword.”

He plucked the cigarette out of your mouth once he was done buckling his belt, grinning despite the clear cut on his lip.

“I told you I wanted to play along.”

You flicked off the lights to your vanity, grabbing his hand to pull him from the room.

The two of you found empty stools at the bar, Kuroo ordering your favorite drink as a few patrons wandered by to compliment you on your earlier set. You leaned your chin into your palm, keeping your eyes on the handsome, wondrous creature next you. You never knew what each encounter would consist of whenever he came around, but you felt yourself falling deeper into his web every time he fucked you. But you were still a little afraid of his world, but knew you’d be on the mafia’s doorstep if he ever asked you to be.

You thanked the bartender as your drink arrived, holding the cool glass in your hand.

“I think tonight deserves a toast, don’t you?”

That catlike grin was back on his face, amber eyes glowing with mischief.

“Mhm, what to, Tetsurō?”

He dipped his glass closer to yours, the rims kissing together.

“To being daredevils.”

Taglist:

@thirsthourdemon @tomurasprincess @badtimechara @present-mel @sgoldberg1997 @donica95 @hi-itsbonny @linestrider @shoutosplaything @kyberhearts @dhyaena @heyybrittannia @thisisthehardestthing @presmiic @kittifer @lemonsqueexx @iwaizumi-chan @kitten-on-ecstasy @dekulover @thatpeachybandgirl @skincrepe @whats-her-quirk @littlewhitefairy7777 @unboundbnha @tinitimesims125 @disasteren @misfitgirlwrites @tsum-samu @pineappleinmyass @nk-echi @wei-wuxian-wangji @sheneeza @buferfliz @marifujioka @bbyspiiice @deathcab4daddy @tenyacakebby @sadgirlsupremacy @hosino-a @donthurtmeimbaby @thingsladyjazzloves @bakarinnie @super-spooder

#thesmutpilecollab #Kuroo Tetsurou #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro x you #kuroo x you #tw: consensual non-con #mafia!au #mafia au #haikyuu!!#hq fanfic #haikyuu kuroo #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #kuroo tetsuro

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megumitski · 3 years

Photo

hi hi this is just something to track all the hq fics i’ve read recently! this really seemed like a lot when i was putting this together but most of them are less than 15k. this has a LOT of kagehina, plus some kuroken, bokuaka, iwaoi, tsukiyama, and a few other random pairings. favorites are marked with a ✨!

KAGEHINA

✨ his weight in marigolds - karasuno013 (11k)

Tobio imagined that the petals were soft, orange, perpetually messy locks of hair, and his fist clenched around the bud involuntarily.

Oh.

Oh, no.

Please Kiss Him Instead! - Bird_Of_Dreams (6k)

Recently, Kageyama has been receiving what appears to be countless confession letters. The Karasuno volleyball team reacts appropriately with surprise, jealousy, and bemusement (depending on who you ask). But no one is more surprised than Hinata, who is confused and more than a little hurt that Kageyama never told him about them. But is that the real reason behind his conflicted feelings?

As It Should Be - gghostnebula (7k)

Based on a request I saw on Tumblr that someone send fanfics where "Hinata is bullied without the team knowing and then they find out." I like the idea of everyone (including Tsukishima) enraged and vengeful. So I. Did that. I'm so sorry. I'm also really really sorry that the 'ungrateful second-years' aren't really in this because I wanted them to be but I couldn't find a good place for them, since this focuses so much on just Kageyama and Hinata.

Five Plus One - Xachyn (1k)

Five times other people thought they were dating and one time Kageyama wondered if they were.

The Crown and The Crow - Yuu_chi (9k)

Somewhere out there is your forever one wearing your Mark on their skin; it's just a matter of finding them.

✨ In Transit - Mysecretfanmoments (5k)

Hinata finds that he likes standing close to Kageyama on buses and trains. It doesn't mean anything--probably. Maybe.

four times hinata and kageyama almost kiss (and one time they do) - spaceburgers (2k)

When it happens, it’s not romantic. Things between them have never been romantic, after all. They’re too stupid for that.

spoiled - buu (2k)

It's the Kageyama that gently takes Hinata's hand when they're walking together, or rests his head on the top of Hinata's when they're watching TV, or pulls Hinata into his lap when he complains about being cold. Hinata struggles at first, confused and thinking Kageyama's making fun of him or something, but he slowly starts to realize that, beyond all belief, Kageyama is the Doting type.

Thaw - peppermint_wind (40k)

Kageyama Tobio just wants to get through the day. He hates winter, he hates most people, and he really hates getting up for an 8:00AM class. That's when Hinata Shouyou, bright and obnoxious, literally comes running into his life at full-throttle and changes everything Kageyama thought he knew.

Basically, the College AU where Hinata and Kageyama meet by Hinata literally knocking into him and spilling hot coffee all down Kageyama's clothes.

touch - buu (3k)

Hinata doesn't notice it at first, really. It's small things, natural things, like when they sit together at lunch and Hinata ends up hooking his ankle over Kageyama's and he doesn't move away; in fact, he seems to not notice it, and go on eating his lunch like nothing's different.

✨ Routine - someonestolemyshoes (29k)

Kageyama Tobio has a routine. Up, shower, dress, breakfast, classes, practice, work, dinner, laptop, show time. Hinata is a well-known cam boy, and Kageyama is his biggest fan.

✨ Acceptable Risk - Mysecretfanmoments (46k)

Tobio braced himself and stood, gathering Hinata’s warm body close. Hinata’s weight settled against him, strengthening the impression he always had at these times: that he was collecting a part of himself, severed by some weird circumstance. In these moments he couldn’t help feeling that Hinata belonged to him, and as long as he didn’t talk about the impression out loud it harmed no one. As it was Hinata mumbled a little, curling into him the way he’d anticipated.

(Kageyama and Hinata navigate living together at university while not dating. It's hard—the not-dating part, that is.)

hot - buu (6k)

Hinata should not be this hot. Kageyama shouldn't find his short stature attractive, shouldn't have problems with his eyes lingering a little too long on Hinata's smaller frame, the way his shirts hang just a little too big on him sometimes.

Oh God - orphan_account (6k)

No, class distinction had never held much meaning for Kageyama. Until the day he met Hinata. One-shot Omegaverse! AU. Smut is heavily present within this story. Mostly PWP, but there's plot, if you squint.

operation: find out if hinata has a hot bod - day (2k)

Kiyoko compliments Hinata's body. It turns into a chaotic mess where the team (aka Tanaka and Nishinoya) tries everything in their power to get a glimpse of Hinata shirtless.

Hinata is oblivious and Kageyama is stressed out.

well, maybe i’m a crook - aruariandance (7k)

The thing is-- Hinata is in love with Kageyama and everyone knows it, including Kageyama.

5 times Kageyama purred + 1 time he didn’t - orphan_account (3k)

No one at Karasuno had ever heard Kageyama purr, but that was normal. He wasn't exactly the most expressive on the team, and no one really minded.

Hurt - someonestolemyshoes (27k)

It’s alarming, Kageyama thinks, how quickly things can go downhill.

One minute Hinata is fine, at the top of his game, spiking left and right and everywhere in between and the next he is crumpled in a limp, lifeless heap on the gym floor and the resounding crack of his head hitting the wood is still echoing in Kageyama’s ears.

knock knock - writedeku (6k)

“I don’t need telepathy to win,” is the first thing he says; nearly shouts it, to be precise. “We can play it without me being linked.”

One by one, the teambonding practises stop as they all turn to Kageyama to gape. Play volleyball without telepathy? It’s not that it’s not possible, but that would put them at such a major disadvantage it’d be like having a team full of one-sided Kageyamas.

the hedgehog’s dilemma - drunkonwritting (17k)

So when he comes to Karasuno, Tobio expects more of the same. He won't make the same mistakes again, but he doubts anyone on the team will like him—Tobio's grown used to his solitary existence, to the point where he can't imagine what it's like to have people around all the time, people who actually want to spend time with him outside of school or practice. He's resigned himself to being alone, because no one in his life has ever decided they want to get to know him or spend time with him or even like him as more than a casual acquaintance. Tobio's tried time and time again to change that and failed over and over—he doubts it's going to change anytime soon.

But when he sees that orange-haired shrimp staring at him from the gym doors, eyes wide and betrayed, he feels a vague sense of premonition.

Don’t Make Me Walk When I Want to Fly - MissKiraBlue (24k)

"I don't want to leave without an apology"

After Hinata rushed from their fight he ended up in a car accident.

But when he wakes up he's not dead and he's not in a hospital either.

Hinata has to live the same day – the day when he and Kageyama fought – over and over again until he finds a solution where he could get out of the time loop.

he may suck at beer pong but he slam dunked my heart - Authoress (9k)

After a while, Kageyama kind of just...forgets how angry the floral snapback makes him. It becomes a companion, almost. It's seen him through many a late library study session, through feeding planaria and wrestling bean beetles into petri dishes. He feels something close to affection for the ever-present hat.

Oh no, Kageyama thinks. I'm attracted to a douchebag.

(The AU where struggling college student Kageyama meets and very unfortunately falls in love with his frat boy lab partner, Hinata.)

room to grow - Mysecretfanmoments (6k)

Third year Kageyama is considerate, careful, doesn't grab Hinata's hair. Hinata's still trying to figure out how he feels about it.

Dare - majesticartax (10k)

“W-wait! Kageyama! What—hold on!” Hinata cries, kicking his legs, flipping around in his setter's strong arms and struggling uselessly, scrambling.

“Can’t we talk about this!?”

Wish You Would - longleggedgit (7k)

The title of this document was just jealouskageyama.docx so that pretty much tells you what to expect.

"If you don't want me to go out with him," Hinata says, lifting his eyes to meet Kageyama's, "then give me a reason not to."

Right Here All The Time - longleggedgit (5k)

"You were flirting," Kageyama says, sounding bewildered, almost accusatory. His chest is heaving under Hinata's hands.

Hinata laughs. "Yeah, and it worked."

Immolate - Marks (2k)

Kageyama balls his hands into fists at his sides and grits his teeth as want builds up in his stomach and sets up camp. It's not the first time he's felt like this around Hinata, but it's the worst every time and he wishes he could just will it away.

come on closer - skeletalparade (6k)

Kageyama shifted uncomfortably on the bench, fingernails scraping against the plastic of his water bottle. He was trying so hard not to stare at Hinata, but it was difficult. Hinata was a good vice captain, but he was ruining Kageyama’s life.

2-Player Mode - medea_azyungele (5k)

Are you ugly or something?" Hinata asks, with his usual lack of tact.

"Oi, dumbass! I'll let you know that-" but he couldn't finish because Hinata interrupts him: "Let's turn on the webcams!"

Suddenly, a square icon pops up in a corner of his monitor.

Oh no he's hot.

I like the way your clothes smell - Mysecretfanmoments (75k)

Power outages, ghost stories, and the presence of a certain orange-haired boy lead to bad decision-making on Tobio's part. He'd planned to keep his crush a secret; the universe has other plans.

a first time for everything - Mysecretfanmoments (4k)

He rolls away from Shouyou, his breathing just a little fast. His body has been weird today, more like when they first started dating. It happens sometimes—mostly when they’ve been on the court together, or they haven’t had time alone—but it feels just a bit different than usual.

((Kageyama bottoms for the first time. established relationship, iltwycs-verse but can stand alone.))

✨ Color Theory - kageyamz (41k)

That’s right, he thinks I’m straight. Kageyama sighed in relief at the answer then tensed up, the gears turning in his brain. Wait, I am straight, right? Kageyama wants a simple time at university, but life has other plans for him.

cheater, cheater (pumpkin eater) - teddy_or_something (7k)

Closets hold many things, one of which being skeletons. In Hinata's case, there was a person where there should've been a vibrator, and that was definitely enough to wilt his erection.

Song fic to Lying is the Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off by P!ATD.

✨ change in pressure - viscreal (37k)

Kageyama couldn’t for the life of him guess what he’d been doing to get so goddamn beat up, but it was there, and the guy wasn’t even taking care of any of it. The pain was making it hard to concentrate during class, making it hard to think at all, and that plus the boy’s overenthusiastic emotions were putting Kageyama in a particularly sour mood, so he really couldn’t be blamed when he snapped something sarcastic at the teacher and got detention in response.

alternatively titled: in which kageyama, an empath whos still just as socially inept as ever, ends up having a gay crisis because hinata cant stop getting hurt.

seventy-thirty - viscreal (4k)

Hinata was the first one to bring it up.

KUROKEN

reddit boyfriends - NeverNothing (4k)

Lev goes on reddit to talk about his senpais and accidentally goes viral. Yaku helps.

✨ you’re the break lines failing (as my car swerves off the freeway) - ghostpot (15k)

Kenma thinks that Kuroo looks ugly with his head bent against the arm of the couch like that. Then Kenma thinks that he wants to marry him, and is promptly thrown into the 5 stages of grief.

✨ the galaxy is endless (i thought we were, too) - cosmogony (31k)

Kuroken AU where the last words your soulmate will say to you appear on your skin when you turn 16, and how Kenma and Kuroo learn what this means over the course of their lives

✨ Best Friends - Mysecretfanmoments (6k)

Every evening they walk home together, Kuro smelling of salt and suntan lotion, Kenma’s hands sore from scooping ice cream all day, and it feels nice. Peaceful.

He’s glad Kuro came, after all.

((During the two weeks he spends manning his uncle's ice cream booth on the coast, Kenma decides that maybe he likes his best friend back, after all))

BOKUAKA

tea-stained polaroids - dalyeau (6k)

“I'm gonna date that,” Bokuto declares solemnly, and Kuroo throws a plastic spoon at his head.

cookies and cream - norio (6k)

Some people might tell Akaashi that he couldn't bake his worries away.

But some people haven't dated Bokuto Koutarou.

Komorebi - OwlBeDamned (8k)

When his thirteenth birthday comes, Akaashi should be elated.

Instead, he is worried.

"WWOOOAH, YOU HAVE GOT THE MOST BEAUTIFUL HUMAN BEING I HAVE EVER SEEN - NO, THE MOST BEAUTIFUL HUMAN BEING THE WORLD HAS EVER BEEN BLESSED WITH...CAN I TOUCH YOU?!"

✨ Upstairs - yoogiboobi (16k)

For about a second, a heartbeat, he's met with a pair of dark, piercing eyes, with what is probably eyeliner, looking back at him. It really is just a split second before his hand knocks down three cereal boxes that hit him square in the head, effectively making him break eye contact and drop his groceries to the floor.

In which some of the first things Bokuto learns about his upstairs neighbour are the colour of his eyes and the sound of his moans.

steam - orphan_account (8k)

bokuto: why is he so hot bokuto: why am i so gay kuroo: LMAO you mean your vice captain right bokuto: yeah

kuroo: i got this bro bokuto: what bokuto: wtf does that mean

Bokuto started to panic.

heavy heart, a love apart - drifloon (7k)

(802): Our sex has gotten so much better since we broke up.

IWAOI

✨ It’s Tradition - MelissaWritesStuff (4k)

Every year, without fail, on Oikawa's birthday, Oikawa has somehow gotten a kiss out of Iwaizumi.

lips like sugar - ohhotlamb (8k)

Hajime is offered to learn the art of kissing from a true professional, one Oikawa Tooru. It's not as bad as he thought it would be.

darlin’, your head’s not right - aruariandance (14k)

'“Our wedding,” Oikawa says by way of explanation, tapping his finger against his magazine more emphatically. “What colors should we use? Color scheme is important, apparently.”

Iwaizumi feels his lifespan shortening.

or,

Oikawa teases Iwaizumi about a childhood promise he made to marry him when they were older, except suddenly it's not really a joke at all.

✨ Bet On It - originalblue (13k)

Hajime knows exactly how shitty Oikawa's personality is, and has no scruples whatsover about betting Oikawa six thousand yen that he can't be nice for an entire week.

Something Borrowed - rageprufrock (16k)

In which Oikawa and Iwaizumi have always been a foregone conclusion to everyone else, but a massive, unanswered question to one another.

The PDA jar - orphan_account (10k)

“What is that thing for?”

“I’m glad you asked, captain. This… is the Public Display of Affection jar. Or PDA jar for short.”

“Now whenever you do something that may hurt our children’s innocence, you’ll have to put money in the jar as a punishment."

✨ stumble into the sun - sunsmasher (4k)

“So,” Hajime says, as he peels off his uniform shirt, letting it fall on top of his gym bag. “Have you guys ever heard of like, someone being turned on by people saying nice things to them?”

Matsukawa slams his locker shut. “Oh my god,” he says.

by chance - crossbelladonna (62k)

When Iwaizumi Hajime meets Oikawa Tooru, suddenly everything bursts into color. The only problem is that for the other, it doesnt seem to happen the same way.

the world is black and white until you meet your soulmate au

TSUKKIYAMA

by any other name - parenthetic (5k)

A Concise Guide to Dealing with People Asking if your Best Friend and/or Crush is Single:

Panic Lie Run

Do you see what I see? - honeydragon (1k)

Three times Tsukishima wonders what colour Yamaguchi's eyes are, and the one time he finds out.

The Great Yamaguchi-Tsukishima Split (Capitalization Necessary) - WyYeuw (2k)

"But no, the current situation isn’t normal. This situation requires the full attention of the team. No, what’s really concerning this time around, is that Yamaguchi is the one ignoring Tsukishima.” Yamaguchi confesses. Tsukishima fucks up—like, really fucks up. The volleyball club notices and loses a week’s worth of practice.

Baby, this is how it all goes down - psych0tastic (7k)

In the midst of revising for a class test over at Yamaguchi’s place one night, Tsukki suddenly spoke up and said, “I'd like to bottom the next time we have sex."

OTHER

Rewards Program - surveycorpsjean (8k) - bokuroaka

Akaashi enjoys his normal life, as a normal grocery checker, at a normal grocery store.

Of course, it all goes up in flames when two hot as hell college kids dump their items on the conveyor belt.

Donuts. Glue. Donut holes.

And that's only the beginning.

Edelweiss - ostentatiouslyrealistic (6k) - semi/tendou

Hanahaki Disease (n.) An illness bred from unrequited love, where the victim suffers from coughing up flower petals.

Sympathy From a Lost Boy - meraki_drabbles (11k) - ushiten

The figure was hollow-cheeked and gauntly, with prominent eyelids bulging out under thin raised eyebrows, casting a shadow over irises that Wakatoshi couldn't decide the colour of, but rather processed them as a strange mix of crimson and ruby and scarlet dripped against a mahogany canvas.

"Sorry, am I intruding?

#hq fic rec #fic rec #haikyuu!!#haikyuu fic rec #bokuaka #kagehina #kuroken #iwaoi #tsukiyama

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newcaptainofsquad9 · 3 years

Text

To Be Loved And Deserved~Myoui Mina x black! fem! reader

Pairing: Mina x reader

Genre: Fluff, Romance, angst, smut, hurt and comfort

Summary: With the distance you created due to your anxiety and self doubt, Mina sought to lessen it and show you how much she cares about you.

Word Count: 1, 962

Author’s note: A continuation/sequel to this fic. Smut ahead, so there’s your warning, 18 plus from this point. Also, sorry if it’s trash I’m having a hard time focusing and finishing things so I finally got something done! Hope ya’ll enjoy!

Cosplay is always fun for you, especially when your girlfriend, Mina joined in the fun. At first, she loved to only gush about you and your presence and flair with the craft (her words), but with enough pleas and kisses, she gave it a try. The first cosplay the both you did together was Korra and Asami from The Legend of Korra, and the first you both shared on tiktok. It wasn’t the last as the both of you delved into some of your favorite pairings/partnerships, or ships in general from media: Renji and Rukia from Bleach, Jon Snow and Daenarys Targaryen, and various Marvel characters (Mina insisted of course).

There was one that people criticized you the most for and that was your cosplay of Princess Bubblegum, in all her pink and pretty glory, yet many commenters didn’t feel the same way about you. Like how they thrashed you of your sailor moon and other anime cosplay, they stressed over how Bubblegum wasn’t black and how you weren’t built for cosplay as much as Mina was. It hurt, damaged you as much that you began to distance yourself from your girlfriend. You only told her you need space, of course being Mina she didn’t question until it became weeks--your phone blew up with texts from a worried Mina which escalated to calls, tik tok and Instagram messages. You cut yourself off from her and the comments, only leaving your room when necessary. The calls soon stopped.

Instead, a knock echoed throughout your home, jerking you from your burrito like position wrapped around your comforter. You knew she’d come over eventually, but the conversation isn’t something you’re looking forward to. Did Mina want to break up with you? You didn’t, you loved her so much that it hurt but she wouldn’t understand how much you felt. People only praised her when she tried, not calling her ugly or telling her a cosplay isn’t right because of her race.

You got up from your bed, sighing at the cold that fit your tummy and toes once your comforter fell. It took a few shuffles but you found the front door as more knocks continued. Your heart pumped with each thud before you gathered enough courage to open it.

Mina’s fist was still raised as she ceased knocking.

“Y/N,” she said.

“Mina I--”

You were cut off by Mina throwing her arms around you.

“Thank God,” she whispered against the skin of your cheek. “You’re OK, you’re actually OK.”

Your arms wrapped around her back instantly as the emotion that bubbled up inside you came crashing down through a heat of tears that rushed.

“S-So, does that mean you don’t want to break up with me?” you asked.

Mina pulled back immediately.

“What? Did I do something wrong?” she said. “Y/N please just--”

You cut her off with a deep sob, no longer holding on without her. Mina’s arms wrapped around your waist, cooing softly as she cupped your cheeks. She stepping with you, slow and steady as the both of you moved as one towards your room.

Once you reached it, she lay back against the bed next to you with enough space between you both.

Your eyes dart to the covers beneath you as silence fell. Mina opened her mouth to speak, yet closed it as you began to speak as well.

Mina’s hands flew back to your face as her face flushed with a bit of red.

“You should go first,”she said.

You nodded, it’s the least you could do since you kept her in the dark for awhile.

“You did nothing wrong Mina,” you started. “I-I had a bad time on Tik-Tok, my anxiety got out of hand and--”

The sound of Mina’s gasp cut you off, her face serious yet again.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she said. “I always check in with you when things are hard for me.”

You nodded; the sadness Mina expressed breaking your heart more and more.

“I know, and I wanted to talk to you, believe me I did but,” you paused. Mina tilted her head.

“But?” she asked before silently telling you to go on.

“My problems, are completely different from yours, you get so much praise from our cosplays,” you said. “I scrolled through thousands of them all commenting on how accurate your cosplay is, even if it wasn’t completely all there--no one called you names or sought to stereotypes to discredit you.”

Mina’s lips parted, looking to speak but she only nodded and rubbed your back.

“A-And I’m not blaming you, it has nothing to do with you,” you declared. “But seeing how they brought you up, just to yank me down made me resent you--just for a moment! That’s why I needed space.”

Mina blinked away tears, forcing your own to build up as she wrapped her arms around you.

“I’m sorry Mina,” you whispered against her chest.

“You don’t need to apologize,” she said. “You let me back in, even if we have different problems, I’m always here to listen and support. OK?”

Her hands traveled up and down your sides, making the shirt you wore ride up a bit to bare soft skin. You nodded, then a shudder rippled through at Mina’s contact; your girlfriend noticed and narrowed her eyes.

“I missed you,” she whispered. “Every part of you.”

Her words followed with a few pecks to your lips, across your jawline then down to your neck.

“I-I missed you too.”

Mina smiled. It was her toothy smile with her adorable gums and the shininess of her eyes.

“Yeah? I hope you didn’t just miss me and lay here all day,” she said with a hint of teasing.

“No,” you said, heat flushing to your cheeks. “I-I watched a lot of Netflix, thought about things and ate some cookies.”

Mina giggled.

“Oh? What kind of cookies?” she asked while her hands still lingered at your sides softly.

Her touch almost made you lose your train of thought. You shifted around the bed, flopping to the other side before reaching over to the dresser to grab the pack of cookies.

“Strawberry cream ones,” you said in between a few bites. “Want some?”

Mina smiled as you chewed, then eventually swallowing.

“No, but I’d much rather enjoy lovely strawberry kisses,” she whispered.

You nearly choked on the rest of your cookie as Mina giggled and caressed your face, gently while you finished the few cookies you decided to eat.

“Is it OK, if I kiss you?” she asked, leaning in to touch your forehead with her own. “And show you how much you are loved?”

Her words were tender, you barely reacted as her lips ghosted across your throat, jaw then cheek. A sigh escaped you; Mina’s kisses got harder, most likely leaving bruises and marks but you didn’t care. All you cared about was the warm feeling your girlfriend spurred within you. Mina noticed your silence and pulled back with soft eyes.

“Y/N? Are you OK?”

You nodded.

“Yes,” you said before initiating the kiss this time.

Mina moved fervently against your lips, hands moving down your sides to lift your shirt just enough to caress more skin and soft noises from.

“Mina,” you moaned.

“What would you like me to do, baby girl?” she whispered. “Anything you want, just let me love you.”

Your hands tangled themselves in her curly hair while she trailed kisses down your neck and parts of your chest exposed to her thanks to your v neck.

“I just want to get lost in you,” you said. “Make me feel good. Make love to me, Mina.”

Mina’s kisses ceased once you told her, eyes sparkling with as much love and passion that you almost cry again. She kisses you once more. It’s softer now while her hands gently pull up your shirt; you help by taking it off completely. A knowing smile spread while her eyes wondered down and your bra-less chest.

“Y-You, I-I,” she paused as she tried to get her words together. “S-Stunning.”

You pulled her back to be flushed against you. Hands and fingers moved everywhere and all at once: Mina’s tracing each curve and stretch mark she could find; you tried to chase and follow her movements by unbuttoning her own shirt and tossing it on the floor.

The both of you ended up panting on the bed. Mina straddled you with you lain on the bed in a heap of breathless giggles. She continued marking you to the quick moves of her hips, making you gasp at her clothed heat.

“M-Mina-”

You were cut off by her getting off of you for a moment to pull you to the edge of the bed where she sat on her knees. The pajama bottoms you wore slipped off by Mina carefully, underwear following as she slipped them off in a matter of seconds. Her lips traced your legs, up thighs and lingered near the place you needed her the most.

“I need to gear you up, baby,” Mina whispered against the softness of your skin.

Her fingers swiped slowly at your folds. The sensation had moans slipping from your mouth; Mina smiled and coaxed you through are her movements as she slipped a finger inside you.

“Please, Mina--”

She finally followed your request, leaning up to climb over you, pulling her jeans down and kissing you fiercely. Her tongue slipped through, both of you not fighting for dominance over one another but the lust that was pent up for weeks. Your hands traveled down to Mina’s forearms, gripping tight as she sunk down: both of your soaking cores meeting. Her thrusts started up again with each kiss from your lips, jaw, chest then neck. The sensation wasn’t enough for you to handle. Mina smirked at the mess you were already with the moans building from you. When your eyes met, your heart-rate spiked up and the breath you barely had left; her eyes were shiny, careful and too pretty to look at. So much so, you couldn’t help but get teary eyed--you wanted to blame yourself again but Mina’s movements grew softer as her thrusts lessened.

“I love you so much,” you said, choking on the sobs that rocked your body.

Mina bit her lip at the slowed movements, both of you so close to climax while being lost in each others feelings and emotions.

“I love you too,” she panted. “Every part, do you understand? You’re beautiful OK?”

You nodded, adverted your eyes. Mina shook her head before gripping your chin.

“Say it, babygirl,” she purred. “Tell me, look at me. Tell me you’re beautiful.”

The deep, huskiness of her voice sent you over the edge, climax taking over while the words spilled from your lips.

“I-I’m beautiful!” you cried.

Mina beamed down at you with a sense of passion mixed in with enough cockiness to force you to climax yet again.

“I’m not the one you have to say that to,” she said. “But it is sexy seeing how I could make you do that and come.”

You rolled your eyes, then tried to roll over only for Mina to hold you by the arms while slipping from between you and onto the soft sheets beneath.

“Are you still thinking about what happened with those disrespectful people on Tik-Tok?” she asked while playing with rubbing her fingers softly down your arms.

“No, not when my girlfriend is here cheering me up and telling me how loved I am,” you said. “And you’re right, I need to start learning how to love myself better.”

Mina pressed a hard kiss to your forehead before burying her face into your neck.

“I’ll be with you every step of the way baby.

149 notes · View notes

mercy-burning · 3 years

Text

Fake Fiancée - Part 3

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Reader and Spencer write letters back and forth, both of them slowly starting to fall in deeper. Category: Smut (18+) Content Warnings: Strong language, sexual themes, masturbation (male and female), sexting, face sitting Word Count: 6.3k

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

MASTERLIST

NOTE: Hello!! Sorry this has been so long in the making, but for a while my inspiration for this story absolutely disappeared, and then I tried to think of how to bridge the previous chapters to the final one with absolutely no luck. And then I re-read Part 2 and got stuck on the letter, thus this chapter was born! I didn’t want to drag this miniseries out any longer than 4 parts, and the letter format combined with other inner monologuing and description really allowed me to do that in an interesting way that hopefully doesn’t feel rushed!

It was so much fun and very refreshing to write. I hope you like how it turned out!

Thank you all for being so patient while I get my shit together 😅 Love you guys! Enjoy 🥰

***

We've been sending letters back and forth for about a month now.

If I'm being honest, it took me about two weeks to decide whether or not I actually wanted to send one back, but could you blame me?

Here was this guy I couldn't stop thinking about after a one-night stand, only for him to catch me—months later at the same exact bar we'd met in—flirting with his friend. And then after our sexual encounter that night, all the things we said, the connection I thought we had, all of it...

He left it all behind the next morning, only to send me a letter in the mail.

I was pissed.

Sure, it was a nice letter, but the fact that he'd reduced what we had down to a piece of paper and scribbled ink had made me angrier than I cared to admit.

In retrospect, I may have overreacted.

Over time I started re-reading his words, and the more I thought about it all, the more I started to regret my anger. And more than anything, I just wanted to see him again. I couldn't stay mad at him, not when all I could picture was his pouty face and nervous hands. His sunbeam of a smile peeked through the clouds of my anger here and there, and the longer it settled, the more it bathed me in a warm light that should have made me happy. But all it did was make me long for him.

Once I'd actually started writing that first letter back, I wondered why I hadn't jumped on the opportunity in the first place. I mean, after all the cliché shit we'd experienced in our short relationship thus far, adding love letters to the mix was just as perfect as you could get, right?

Spencer,

I'm sorry it's taken me this long to finally write you back. Truthfully I wasn't sure I wanted to write you at all, but your letter kept drawing me back in. I couldn't stop re-reading it, imagining you sitting down somewhere and contemplating every word as you wrote them down. I wondered if you'd thrown out hundreds of pieces of paper after messing up when you could have just as well typed out a letter without wasting them.

And then by that point, all I could think about was just you.

I always pictured what your living room looks like, or your kitchen table, or your office, or wherever you sit down to write. I wondered if you looked like one of those hopeless writers in the movies that have a scruffy face, coffee stains on their white tee shirts, and messy hair that hasn't been washed in days due to lack of inspiration.

But in the end, the image that won out over all the others was just you as I remember.

I'm not going to lie, that image most of the time was your body above mine while I held my hand to your throat, but for the sake of romance I guess I should probably tell you what it was every other time— the outfit you were wearing the first time we met.

When I think of you, I think of your hand nervously clutching that beer bottle for dear life and the other one occasionally pushing your glasses up your nose. I think of your eyes every time they'd look away from me, probably to keep yourself from staring too long.

But the thing that always gets me the most is your smile— even when it comes in little flashes, after you've said something you probably thought was lame. You covered it up with that perfect smile.

I've dreamt of that smile nearly every night since I met you, and I wouldn't be opposed to seeing it in person again.

I'd love to meet you for dinner some time.

But since you did manage to "more or less abandon me twice now", I think it's only fair that you make it up to me first.

Make the next letter a good one, and we'll see what happens.

Yours, Y/N

P.S. I hope my handwriting is as pretty as you hoped. I'd hate to disappoint.

***

Y/N,

I'm incredibly grateful that you've given me a chance to redeem myself. Every night since I last saw you has also been spent wondering what your house looks like on the inside... What you looked like reading my letter (perhaps at your kitchen table?)

And this might sound silly, but I've also wondered what your bedroom looks like. You may be laughing at me, because I've been in your bedroom, but in my defense I was a bit preoccupied to really take notice of my surroundings— I was simply surrounded by you.

But since I've been to your home, I figured it was only fair that I invite you to mine, possibly for dinner. I don't know how to cook much— in fact I'm pretty awful at making anything that's not a can of Spaghetti-Os... But one of my co-workers is an excellent chef, and with a recipe from him and some practice under my belt, I'm sure I can pull it off.

But by "some" practice, I mean probably weeks or months of practice. So hopefully that gives you ample time to mull it over.

Perhaps in the meantime we can get to know each other through our letters. And who's to say, it might spare us the awkward "getting to know each other" stage of a first date. Though, pretty much every stage of every date is awkward for me, so it might not help at all.

Regardless, I'm very much looking forward to hearing from you again.

I do get called away for work quite often, however. So I apologize in advance if I can't get back to you as soon as I'd like.

But in any instance, you're still welcome to text message or call me. I know it isn't as romantic or personal as handwritten letters, but it's certainly practical.

Yours, Spencer.

P.S. Your handwriting is just as beautiful as I'd imagined it would be. And you could never disappoint me.

That being said, if you somehow decide that this letter wasn't up to your standards and reject my offer, I may just find myself in the deepest despair imaginable.

***

I was definitely way too in my head about this.

It was just a text. Sure, it was a risky text to send, but I had no doubt in my mind that it would be fine in the end.

So why was my stomach churning just thinking about sending it?

Some might have chalked it up to my fat ol' crush on Spencer, but I knew it ran deeper. It had to do at least a little with my history with Patrick... The man stood me up and sent divorce papers to my place of work rather than to my face... And as much as I liked to think I was completely over it, we'd been together for years, and it really did a number on me.

I didn't want to ruin this new thing with Spencer so badly that I was overthinking everything.

So even though I could see his face opening the text, my heart doing jumps at the mere thought of it, a bigger part of me worried that it would be a step too far in the wrong direction. I didn't want him to think I was only in this for... sexual reasons. Which, don't get me wrong, have been pretty damn great so far, but I really did want to get to know him and see where this went.

In the end I decided to hold off. I settled for something a little lighter.

Spencer,

Don't feel too bad about your cooking skills. I've been through my fair share of burnt frozen pizzas to know how you're feeling. So the fact that you've given yourself the opportunity to practice and learn a recipe just for me is extremely romantic, and I appreciate the thought.

I won't stop you from following through, though I'm telling you now that no amount of slaving away in the kitchen will make me change my mind about you. We could probably eat stale crackers on the floor and I'd still find you utterly fascinating.

Maybe that's a bit too extreme, but I hope you get my point.

Anyway, I'd love to come over for dinner some time. Whenever you think you're ready to show me those improved cooking skills, you just let me know and I'll happily make my way over.

In the meantime, I'm thinking of sending more with my letters. I don't want to give away too much, but I will say that I'm very crafty. And don't feel like you need to send anything in return, though I'll let you know if I ever change my mind.

Yours,

Y/N

***

In the bottom right corner of the letter, right next to her signature, was a red lipstick stain in the shape of... well, her lips. It was common sense to know that they were hers and no one else's, not just a stamp or a drawing, and rather her actual lip stain... But even without it, I would have been able to tell by their shape.

Was that pathetic?

I could hear her, picture her in front of me, hovering above me with red-painted lips in the shape of a smirk, visibly cooing as she called me names... I could feel the ghost of her fingertips trailing up my throat and tilting my chin up to look at her as she rocked her hips teasingly into mine...

The whine I let out truly was pathetic.

You pathetic, needy little thing, I could hear her say...

My hands clutched the paper so tightly I thought I'd tear it, but it didn't matter when all I could see while staring at it was her luscious, red lips... Her voice was right there in my ear, like she was really beside me, watching me...

Oh, God, what would she do if she saw me right now? Staring at her lipstick stained paper and subconsciously grinding down into my chair...

You pathetic, needy little thing...

My hips jolted with a small, broken shout of her name, and in no time the front of my pants were flooded with warmth. I felt her eyes burning into me from the void, sparking to life with amusement as her voice crept into the deep corners of my brain and whispered praises to me.

Ohh, what a good little whore... Getting off to the thought of me... That's it, sweet boy... Come for me...

By now my eyes had squeezed shut and the letter was crumpled in my hand, the other reaching down to add much-appreciated burning friction to my crotch as I rode out my orgasm. My whole body tensed and shuddered at every sensation, from Y/N's image behind my eyes to the sweet warmth that pooled in my underwear and soaked through onto my hand.

Holy mother of—

The next time I saw her, I was screwed. I wouldn't be able to keep a straight face. I'd surely go red the second I laid eyes on her, and she'd know right away what I was thinking and feeling.

Simply put, it scared and excited me at the same time.

She'd utterly and thoroughly wrecked me, and if she didn't already know it, she certainly would soon.

Y/N,

I'm not sure what you intend to send in addition to your letters, but if it's anything near the sentiment of your lip stain, then you might have to refrain in favor of my poor, fragile heart.

See, it aches for you. It's bad enough I think of you always, but the moment I saw the shape of your lips on that letter, my heart almost shot straight out of my chest. Maybe it was the familiar shape of your lips or the implications of its place next to your name, signed after the word 'yours', that sent me into a tailspin, but whatever the case...

I'm pretty sure I've completely fallen under your spell.

I suppose I should also tell you that my heart wasn't the only part of my body that came to life at your added signature. I assure you, it took no time at all for me to come undone at the thought of your lips pressing gently against the paper, imagining that they were instead pressing to my skin... I didn't even have to touch myself, really. It just happened. Because of you and you alone.

I hope that wasn't too forward, but I felt it necessary that you know just how much of an effect you have on me.

If I could see you again in a millisecond, it wouldn't be soon enough.

That being said, I am determined to spend as much time as possible to perfect this dish for our dinner. Because you deserve nothing but the best, even if you insist that you could settle for less.

It's the least I can do.

Yours, Spencer.

And a week and a half later, when I didn't get a letter back on time, I was sure I'd messed up for good.

My mind was racing a mile a minute, yelling at myself for even thinking for a second of being that detailed in a letter without any consent. Sure, she'd taken it a step up by signing off her letter with a kiss, but I'd been absolutely idiotic in telling her that I got off to it.

I was honestly well and truly prepared to show up at her house with a big bouquet of flowers and an apology so wordy and probably too long for anyone's liking, in hopes that she'd forgive me for making this huge mistake.

Thankfully, though, it wasn't needed.

My phone chimed as I was pacing, my lip near bloody with how hard I'd been chewing at it, and I saw an unknown number attached to a text message and photo attachment.

The photo wouldn't load (I would have to plug it into my laptop and transfer the image there to see it— a fact which always irked Penelope to the core), but with the sentences I saw above the file, I almost knew exactly what I'd find when I had the means to see it.

There. Now we're even... Who says text messages can't be romantic and personal? XXX, Y/N

I felt like Bambi as I scrambled to my laptop three rooms over, stumbling over weak legs with my phone clutched tightly in my hand. My heart raced faster than it ever had as I started everything up and retrieved the right cord for my phone. With a few shakes and stumbles here and there, I briefly entertained the idea of upgrading my phone.

I probably would have left the apartment to do it immediately after seeing her photo attachment, but the moment it loaded up on my screen, my brain and body lost all ability to function properly.

A familiar burn coursed through the lower half of my body and tightened my chest at the sight of her, open and exposed and... wet.

My laptop screen was completely taken over by the image of Y/N's pussy, visibly glistening and aroused. A manicured hand—her hand— was in frame as well, middle finger resting snugly between the supple skin of her wet lips.

The fact that I only tasted her once felt downright cruel.

I tried to imagine it again— my face buried between the softness of her thighs. As much as I wanted to lay her down and indulge myself as long as possible, taking all the time in the world to slowly devour her and truly explore her for myself, what ran through my mind then was something more in the vein of our dynamic thus far.

My mind wandered, specifically to a place where I was the one laying down as she sat down directly onto my face and gave me what she thought I deserved. My hands were tied to the bed, maybe handcuffed. All I knew was that I couldn't touch her, and it bothered me. So I whined, and every time the sound left my mouth, she would let up, lifting further out of reach and causing me to instinctively reach my head up to chase her.

You greedy little slut... Take what I give you...

Desperately seeking her approval, I told her I'd be good and rejoiced when she lowered herself down to me again, allowing me to me completely wrapped up in her once more. My tongue lapped and lapped, gathering as much of her as I could before she'd inevitably leave again.

But she never did.

Somehow I kept my quiet, even though it was extremely difficult, and ate her out like my life depended on it. She glided smoothly over my face, coating more than just my lips in her arousal, and it thrilled me to my very core.

Every time I breathed in I could smell her, every time she groaned out my name my stomach fluttered, and it wasn't long before she was clutching my hair, shaking above me while I drank her in and repressed my whines.

My hips were uncontrollable though, bucking up into nothing and begging for any type of stimulation.

But then suddenly it was there— Her hand, firmly wrapping around my dick and gliding over it beautifully with a slickness that she must have transferred from her pussy. I could still taste her as I cried out her name, her movements quickening with every second until—

I didn't even realize I was actually alone until my eyes opened, cum coating my hand, my heartbeat heavy and loud, and the laptop screen in front of me a shade darker signaling a long period of inactivity.

I'd done it again...

And now we most certainly were not even.

I glanced over at my phone—plugged into the laptop—and then down at my lap, and my stomach knotted as my next move rang clear as day.

***

I woke up the next morning to texts from Spencer, and my heart picked up speed, a gentle warmth blooming through my chest at the sight.

I thought maybe he'd thank me for the photo I'd sent. Maybe he'd return it with an influx of messages along the lines of Oh my god, Holy fuck I miss you, and the like.

But what I wasn't expecting was to see a photo in return, of his hand that I'd dreamt of nearly nightly, wrapped firmly around his cock and all of it completely covered in cum.

Below the photo were three messages in a row, and each one gave me more butterflies than the last.

Sorry for low quality. No smartphone.

Also sorry we're not even anymore.

But I'm not sorry I did it- you're too perfect to resist.

***

Dearest Y/N,

I'm sorry you haven't gotten a letter from me in a while. And I know we've kept in touch through texting and calling while I was swamped at work, though now that I have some time off, I'd love to write you again. As much as I enjoy our virtual conversations, I still find sending letters to be my preferred method of communication (only second to speaking with you in person, that is).

Which brings me to the main point I'm trying to make.

I want to see you again. In person. I'm not completely confident in my cooking ability yet, but if you wouldn't mind the potential of it tasting awful, I'd love to have you over. I promise you nothing but the best, and I know that's a high promise, especially considering I probably haven't sold you on the meal, but it's true.

I'd do anything to please you.

And I really do mean 'anything', I hope you understand that.

Yours, Spencer.

***

The thought of seeing him in person again after so long made my hands way shakier than I would have liked. It made no sense the longer I thought about it, because it was obvious that we liked each other, and seeing each other in person wouldn't be a problem. Because it'd never been a problem before.

It irked me.

Still, I knocked on his door and physically shook out my hands, praying I could keep my cool when he finally opened the door.

But I should have known better.

One second I was staring at a large plank of wood, and the next I was staring into frantic eyes, golden and sparkling just as I remembered, but with an added glimmer of fear that matched the shakiness of my hands.

I don't know how long we stood there, just staring at each other, but the longer we did, the more we relaxed. His fear was gone, and the shaking in my hands turned into a dull hum that longed to reach out for him.

Still, I refrained, settling on a simple, "Hey, pen pal..."

By the way he looked at me, silent as ever, I started to wonder if that was a stupid thing to lead with. So I opened my mouth to apologize, to say anything else, but he beat me to it.

"Y/N... I... H—Hi, you look... incredible."

"O—Oh, thanks... Thank you, yeah, I um... figured I should... dress up a little. I know we're not going out anywhere, but I thought it might be nice."

He doesn't need to know that, Y/N, stop talking!

I gave him a small smile and a nervous laugh in an attempt to stop myself, hating how I was so nervous around him.

Spencer didn't seem to mind, though. He let me in and closed the door behind me as I quickly glanced around his apartment. It was littered with greens and browns, books everywhere, and I'd never felt more at home.

"Is it, uh... What you expected?"

"Hmm?" I turned to meet him, his soft voice pulling me from my wandering eyes.

"My apartment."

"Oh! Yeah, it's very you... I love it."

The compliment had his cheeks turning pink, and there was nothing I wanted to do more than kiss them over and over again.

And just like that, once again we were caught just staring at each other. I didn't know what he was thinking, and honestly, I didn't know what I was thinking either. All I knew in that moment was that Spencer Reid was standing right in front of me, close enough to touch, and I wanted to give in.

I was so wrapped up in the idea of feeling him that I almost didn't hear him speak. I wouldn't have heard him at all had it not been for his lips moving.

"I'm sorry, I haven't started dinner yet..."

"That's okay," I reassured. Or, at least I tried to. Really, though, I think it sounded more like I was uninterested in what he was saying, my voice flat and lifeless as I continued to stare at him.

Suddenly we were closer, and I had to look up higher to see his face, butterflies swarming in my stomach at the way he looked down at me.

"You're sure?"

"Mhm."

"I can start it now if you're getting hungry."

Food isn't what I'm hungry for, is what I thought. I almost said it, too, because he was even closer now, his hands coming out to touch mine. If they were humming before, they were certainly blaring with life now, growing hot under his light touch. And it took everything I had not to look down, because it had been too damn long since I'd seen his hands in person, and I wanted them on me immediately.

He could tell, too. He could sense my urgency, feel the longing radiating off my presence, and I knew this because I could feel his, too. His eyes practically dared me to say what I was thinking, and so I did.

"Don't you dare."

It was hard to tell who moved in first, but it really didn't matter.

I was here, in his apartment, feeling his lips glide over mine with reckless abandon, and that's all that mattered.

His hands gripped my waist so tightly I would have thought he was trying to hold me in place, to make sure I wasn't ever going to leave his sight again. And if that was the case, I would have let him hold me there forever.

My hands, meanwhile, clutched at his hair, forcing myself closer and closer to him with every sharp tug. I reveled in the way he whined into my mouth with every little thing I did, whether it was a tug of the hair or a roll forward of the hips, or even a swipe of my tongue over his.

He was putty in my hands yet again, and just like every time before, it turned me into a fucking goner.

Being with Spencer wasn't like anything I'd ever known. And the only other thing I'd known was Patrick. He didn't want me, not really, and even though he was good to me in the beginning, it was never like this.

I didn't come over to his apartment with shaking hands. I didn't send him fucking love letters almost weekly, and I certainly didn't get kissed like this...

Spencer was drunk on me, and I wasn't any sober myself.

"That picture you sent me..." I mumbled over his lips, still keeping myself as close as I could while I got out what I needed to say. "Where did you take that?"

We kissed for a few more seconds, unable to stay apart, before he answered, his voice just as breathy and brimming with desperation as mine. "My office. Just down the hall."

I kissed him again, hard, and then pulled back to look him in the eyes. They widened when I said, "Show me."

He dragged me through the apartment on rushed legs, and I almost laughed at the urgency, only stopped by the realization that I was just as urgent. It occurred to me that perhaps my laughing at his urgency might just be a slight turn on for him, given our history with my playful degradation, but still I pulled back— Tonight felt... different.

It didn't feel like we were headed in the direction of me calling him my dirty little whore throughout the night, and it was something I was more than okay with. In fact, I welcomed it, excited to see where this new night would take us.

We ended up in his office, which remained more or less the same aesthetic as the rest of his place. In the middle sat a small desk with a laptop and some papers scattered about on it, accompanied by a tall floor lamp and a rolling desk chair.

"Where were you exactly?" I mused, gripping his hand tightly and buzzing at the way his fingers flexed against my own.

"In the chair... I pulled the photo up on my laptop."

"Right. No smartphone."

Spencer hummed in confirmation before dragging me along to the chair, and I fucking giggled as he plopped down and practically pulled me right on top of him, the chair rolling back a foot or two. I went down for a bright, messy kiss that ended with his hands clutching my ass over my skirt and my own cradling his face.

His growing bulge nudged right up into my inner thigh, and I groaned lightly in his mouth, my fingers dragging softly down his jaw and neck until I reached his shoulders.

"What were you thinking about?"

He raised his eyebrow, and I rocked my hips forward with a sly grin, hoping to get my point across. "When you were looking at my picture, in this very chair, what were you thinking about?"

Seeing his eyelids stutter and his tongue dart out at my movements sent a rush through me, and I moved my hips once more to emphasize my urgency.

"I... I thought about you... riding my face. You tied my hands..."

"Oh?" I sighed, rocking forward again and humming into his neck. "Well, that can definitely be arranged if you want it bad enough..."

"Please, Y/N, yes... Please..."

The need dripping from every syllable made it near impossible to breathe, and I was suddenly very inclined to give him everything he wanted. With or without the begging.

So I reluctantly peeled away from him and stood up on weak legs. Staring at Spencer as he sat there, leaning back in the chair with disheveled hair and obvious desire in his eyes, made it all the better when I took my panties off from under my skirt and motioned for him to come forward. "On your knees?"

I would have demanded it in any other situation, but I was feeling a bit more sweet this time around.

And he seemed grateful for it, sliding the chair back further and getting down in front of me. I reached out and played with his hair, trying my hardest to commit his beautiful face to memory. I wanted it burned there for the rest of time.

"Hands?"

Spencer offered his hands to me, and I hummed happily, doing my best to tie his hands together with a makeshift knot from my panties. It wasn't really tight or secure, but it was enough for him to whine as he set them in his lap.

He watched intently as I dropped my skirt—a bit redundant now, but I thought it'd be a nice way to get him more excited. Plus I wanted to see his face (or at lease what I could see of it while it was buried between my legs).

I stepped forward then, looking down at him with a smile while my hands reached out to comb through his hair. "You ready?"

"Uh huh."

The look in his eyes right before I came forward and hovered over his face almost made my come on the spot.

But as fun as that would have been, I was glad for the way my body held off and settled for a beautiful, burning increase of pleasure that dragged out the longer he swiped his tongue through my folds. Actually, I forgot for a moment that I was supposed to be moving, riding his face like he'd thought about.

I willed my eyes open and clutched Spencer's soft locks of hair beneath me, gently rolling my hips and grinding down further on his face. The groan he let out not only felt good against my skin, but it sounded like pure bliss, eliciting a small whimper of my own as I tightened my grip in his hair and rocked faster.

"God, I missed having your mouth on me, baby... You're... so good..."

The longer I spoke the more breathless I became, not because the words didn't come easily, but because I truly believed them to be true.

Spencer really was so fucking good, his tongue the most delicate, divine object of the universe as it drew out every ounce of delight from my body. I may have been the one above him, calling the shots and directing him where and how to please me, but he was the one who clung to my soul like static and politely guided me towards damnation.

I wasn't even sure of my surroundings to tell you the truth. As my body tensed and took me through one of the most blinding pleasures I'd experienced in weeks, My eyes were squeezed so tightly it's like I saw the universe. All I knew was Spencer's lips sucking my clit and my hands deeply rooted in his hair as I shouted incoherently, stars swirling around behind my eyelids.

Truly, for all I knew, we could have been in space. It wouldn't have made any difference.

But eventually it came to be too much. I was reaching a limit I didn't want to get to so quickly, and so I flashed my eyes open and tried to adjust to this brand new atmosphere, unweaving my fingers through pretty brown waves of hair and stepping back to assess the situation.

What I found was the most beautiful man I'd ever known, panting like he'd just ran a marathon and yet harboring the most intense joy and desire a person could hold. He was on his knees, bound hands writhing in his lap as he awaited further instruction and licked up as much of myself on his face as he could before I stopped him.

Under normal circumstances, I would have wanted to absolutely ruin him. That adoring, desperate look in his eye would have spurred me to more devious endeavors, but all I wanted in this moment was to make sure he was satisfied. I wanted to take care of him, to let him know that I longed to make him feel as worshipped and adored as he'd made me feel.

I got down to Spencer's level, quickly removing the fabric from his wrists and hauling him to his feet, where he now towered over me, still waiting for words to address and instruct him.

Instead, I leaned up with soft hands upon his cheeks and pulled him down to meet my lips in a kiss that changed the tone entirely. It was erotic still, of course, what with my arousal infiltrating my taste buds and eliciting a soft sigh from the both of us, but our urgency manifested in sweeter ways... Softer lips, gentle touches of the face, and an exchanging of breath that was so smooth and seamless it felt like we were floating on air.

I was finding it hard to breathe again, but it wasn't an issue in the slightest. In fact, there was nowhere else I'd rather have been than right there, kissing Spencer Reid like we had all the time in the world.

When the breathlessness was a little too much to bear, we pulled away, though only leaving just enough space to breathe. Our lips stayed briefly connected while we caught up, and his hands found their way to the sides of my face. The way they practically engulfed my whole head brought a brief smile to my lips as I finally gave him the words he was looking for.

"I'm so glad I met you," I whispered.

"Funny, I was just thinking the same thing."

We kissed each other again, naturally and with so much ease that I wondered how I had ever lived without him.

And then, as my hands slid gently down his chest, I felt it.

Something that felt very much like a ring attached to a necklace sat right where his heartbeat resided, and I knew exactly which ring it was.

"W—" I pulled back and circled the shape of it with my finger through the shirt, then looked up at him. "Is that what I think it is?"

Spencer looked briefly panicked, pulling away a little and fishing down the front of his shirt for the chain. "Oh... Um, yeah. I, um... I forgot to take it off, I'm sorry. I..."

"You... kept it?"

I observed the diamond as it laid flat on my palm, still attached to the chain and around his neck. Honestly, after all this time I figured he'd never found it or gotten rid of it, seeing as he never brought it up. And yet there it was, glittering in the palm of my hand as my other one presses firmly against Spencer's rapidly beating heart.

"Y—Yeah... It um... It was really the only physical thing I had to remember you—Well, at least until we started sending letters... And I guess I just... W—Wearing it has become such a habit that I forgot to take it off."

"You never take it off?"

I could tell he was nervous, and rightfully so given I wasn't really letting on how I was feeling about the whole thing.

Still, he answered my short question in such a small whisper I'd have thought he was trying not to get in trouble.

"No."

"Why?"

My words certainly weren't helping ease his anxieties, so I remained close, dropping the ring and focusing rather on his eyes. I softened the look in my own and glided my hands down to hold his. His fingers flexed against mine, squeezing them for dear life as he sighed out in relief and flashed me a soft smile.

"Because... I wanted you close to my heart."

With a smile that mirrored his eyes, full of enchantment and pure adoration for the person in front of me, I didn't use my brain and instead focused on what my heart was telling me, consequences be damned.

"I think I might love you..."

Spencer squeezed my hands tighter, that relief spreading out to all his features and brightening that beautiful smile.

"Funny... I was just thinking the same thing."

Our lips met once more, and I swear it was like nothing bad was ever going to happen for the rest of time.

I'd never felt that way. Not once with Patrick did my heart feel settled into place, even during the great parts of our relationship.

And now here I was, with a man who sent me love letters and kept every physical reminder of my existence, who kissed me like I was the most precious thing in the world and slowly mended my wounded heart.

He held me close the whole way to his bedroom and never let me go until the morning. Though, even then his arms outstretched towards me and his fingers flexed, needing to grab onto any part of me that he could find.

And as I was sure I always would, I welcomed him with open arms.

***

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