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holy-puckslibrary · 4 months

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━ 𝐅𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐃𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐑

˗ˏˋ main masterlist ˎˊ˗

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

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

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

bingo squares and additional content warnings below the cut.

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play, costumes/roleplay (kinda sorta), + risky location/exhibitionism additional content warnings — implied age gap, outdated patriarchal beliefs, innocence kink, corruption kink, slight humilation kink, spit as lube, dacryphilia, slight overstim, unprotected p in v, possessive!josh x virgin!reader (outdated definition and beliefs here, too) and just general filth

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

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

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

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

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

How did a harmless compliment devolve into this?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm not playing with anything—yet."

"Your daddy know you talk like that?"

"You gonna tell on me?"

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

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

That dog won't hunt.

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

"S'not a fib."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Got to," Josh shrugged.

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

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

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

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

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

You wore your neon innocence on your chest.

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

"'m not gonna to tell."

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

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

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

"You won't."

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

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

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

"That right, sweet girl?"

"Yessir."

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

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

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

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

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

You wouldn't even kiss him with tongue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your head wags.

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

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

He can't wait to lick your cheeks dry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Josh'll remember that for later.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Not ponies."

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

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

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

"What was that?" he growls.

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

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

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

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

Today is that day, and it is glorious.

"Spread yourself f'me, honey."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your head bobs, your body in a frenzy.

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

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

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

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

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matthewtkachuk · 1 year

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promise this won't change a thing - josh anderson

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

pairing: josh anderson x reader

warnings: light angst, smut smut smut

word count: 6.7k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s not your fault.”

“Isn’t it?”

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

“Do you trust me?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe it hasn’t always been your fault.

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

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

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

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

He lets himself in with the key you gave him, door shutting noisily behind him before you can hear the sound of him kicking off his boots and jacket. It doesn��t take long for him to appear in your kitchen, sheepish smile and light blush on his cheeks. “Hey.”

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

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

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

“Sure.”

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

Other than that, though. Totally business as usual.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You wanted to talk?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

lower is his response.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And when he’s at home...

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not this time, though. This time he freezes.

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.”

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

“Josh—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No you don’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or...

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

“How long?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

#nhl fic #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #nhl fanfic #nhl fanfiction #josh anderson fic #josh anderson imagine #josh anderson imagines #josh anderson fanfic #josh anderson fanfiction #nhl smut #shelb writes

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secretlittlerandezvous · 2 years

Text

Exhaustion - Josh Anderson

Summary: Tired and overwhelmed reader limits her contact with Josh. He finds her asleep after returning home from a trip.

Words: 1675

It was Y/n’s first instinct, a natural reaction she hardly ever noticed but it happened every time. Each time life was getting a little too overwhelming she distanced herself from people she loved. The explanation was simple. She didn’t like it when her loved ones worried about her, and it was always something that passed away on its own. Sooner or later anyway. Her issues were her own, her worries were her own and so on and so on. There was no need to bother someone else with it. People around her saw through it, of course they knew something was upsetting her. They tried to help, cheer her up. But she avoided them, declined all offers. Too stubborn to accept a helping help. And so, they learnt to give her time and space, to check up on her occasionally to make sure she was doing okay and to wait for her to get back to them.

This time was no different. As soon as the first leaves turned yellow and started covering the streets of the city the time started to go fast and she felt behind. Behind her work, behind her studies, behind her personal and social life. There was simply not enough time. And when all the work and studying piled up into one big mess her body gave up. Y/n tried to ignore the feeling of hopelessness for as long as she could. But one Friday afternoon after yet another bad day at work, after forgetting to turn in her essay it all broke inside her. She came home and cried for hours, staining the pillows of the living room’s sofa with mascara.

Josh was in the US with his team and Y/n felt lonelier without him than usual. He was a tough guy on the ice, tough guy in front of his teammates but to her he was the nicest person she’s ever met. He knew what she needed better than herself. When to cuddle her, when to surprise her with ice cream, when to give her space and when to just listen to her venting for hours and hours. She wanted him back more than anything. If only he was home, he would know what to do to comfort her. But he was far away with the team, doing exceptionally well with three wins in a row and she wasn’t going to ruin it.

Sure, she could call him or text him to complain a little. Get a little bit of steam off her chest. But he would get too worried, he might stop focusing on the game. No. She wasn’t going to be a distraction. She can deal with it on her own.

And so, for the following few days Y/n limited her interactions with everyone to minimum, focused purely on finishing everything that needed to be finished. Every day she became more exhausted and by the end of the week she could barely walk. She didn’t even know where the strength to carry on was coming from.

She limited her interactions with Josh as well. She didn’t answer his FaceTime calls because he would see how tired she was and hardly ever picked up a call because he’d tell just from the tone of her voice there was something wrong. The excuses came easy to her: once she was in the shower, then she was stuck at work, other time she forgot her phone in the car and didn’t notice. Even her texts were as short and as simple as possible. Josh spammed her phone with sweet messages and voice notes daily and it made her both unbelievably happy and sad. She felt bad for being so cold to him, he in no way deserved it. But it was for his own good and for the good of his team as well.

Josh noticed the change in her behavior immediately. Most guys wouldn’t notice the tiny changes, but he did. And he was sick worried about what was going on back home.

“For the millionth time Josh, “Y/n sighed during one phone call. “Everything’s fine.”

“If you say so,” Josh answered with a hint of disappointment. He knew he was getting nowhere with his questions, but he didn’t know what else he could do since he was away. Maybe it was nothing, but what if it was?

And not only he was worried, but he also missed her. He was used to traveling, being away from people he was close to, but when she came into his life everything or rather, he changed. And sleeping without her in his arms meant a bad night’s sleep. A day without seeing her meant an okay day at best. Going without her touch or kiss for longer than a day could drive him insane. He needed her. More than he would admit to himself, to her or anyone else.

The days kept on passing and Y/n completely lost count of the days. She didn’t know if it was Monday or Thursday, if October ended already or not yet. She had no track of time. Every single day she woke up and went either to school or to work, survived until it was time to leave and then kept on working at home until she passed out. She didn’t remember the last time she had a proper meal or a shower longer than 5 minutes because she was too tired to stand there and wash herself. She rushed personal care to have more time to focus on what she needed to focus on.

Another Friday, two weeks later after Y/n’s issues started was spent at her desk studying. Writing three essays at once while also making notes to study for her exams. It also happened to be the Friday of Josh’s arrival which Y/n completely forgot about.

On the other hand, Josh couldn’t wait to be home finally to check on her.

As soon as he landed in Montreal, he wasted no time and rushed to her apartment. His heart was beating fast with anticipation. He was overjoyed with the results of the last couple of games, but he was most happy about being home and to be just a few minutes away from seeing Y/n after such long time. He didn’t know what news were waiting for him, how bad or serious it was going to be, but he felt relieved anyway. Relived because he would soon know, relieved because he could take care of everything now.

He unlocked the doors and entered the deadly silent apartment. He saw a light in the living room, but the tv wasn’t playing and Y/n wasn’t running to greet him like she usually did. He continued from the hall to the living where he finally saw his girlfriend. Fast asleep on the desk surrounded by papers and post it notes. He stopped for a moment just to adore her face. She was in a deep sleep, most likely a very needed sleep. Her hair was slightly messy but that just made her look cuter in his eyes. He slowly came to her; with gentle touch he removed a piece of hair from her face and tucked in behind her ear. He sneaked his hands around her waist, kissed the top of her head and just as he was about to lift her up, she woke up. Her eyes opened slowly, she looked around trying to figure out what was happening around her and when she realized Josh was standing there just few inches away from her, she gave him a surprised look.

“I’ll punish you for not greeting me later,” he laughed. “But right now, I just want to go to bed and cuddle.”

Y/n didn’t say anything, but she wrapped her hands tightly around his neck, he hugged her even tighter and kissed the side of her face a few times. He then took her into his arms and carried her to her bedroom where he tucked her in. His heart could just melt seeing her so sleepy.

“I couldn’t wait for you to come back,” she mumbled into his chest when she snuggled next to him.

He pulled her closer to his body, making sure she was safe and sound and kissed her again and again. At that moment it felt like a single kiss could fix all her worries. His fingers gently ran through her hair, occasionally scratching her head and each time he did that Y/n let out a quiet whimper of enjoyment. His other hand caressed the skin of her back. Y/n for the first time in over two weeks relaxed, she wasn’t tense anymore, all worries disappeared from her mind as soon as his strong arms wrapped themselves around her body.

“Don’t you wanna tell me what was going on, baby?” Josh whispered into her ear as he kept playing with her hair.

Y/n snuggled even closer to him, took a deep breath and thought for a moment of what to say. She realized now how scared he must’ve been and for what? For nothing more serious than a little bit of stress. “There was just too much going on,” she said quietly. “Too much work and studying. I felt very behind everything.” She then added and stroked the palm of his hand with her fingers.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked although he already knew the answer.

“Didn’t want to worry you?” she answered. “And yes, I do realize now I made you more worried by not telling you.” She admitted.

“It’s okay, I’m just glad you’re safe”. He kissed her. “I love you so much, I couldn’t wait to be back home with you. To hold you and fall asleep with you beside me. And most importantly I couldn’t wait to figure out what was going on with you.” Josh paused for a moment realizing he was getting no reaction from her. “Baby?” he whispered and looked at her. She was asleep with a smile on her face, clinging onto him.

“Good night baby.”

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