#screw you fucking round brush

[anomanxious]

I finally colored something, my 

my 20 other layers of uncolored frames are crying, screaming throwing up 💃💃

but (unintentional) pansexual beach demands my FULL attention so they can BURN with my unfinished drafts

[sleepyangelkami]

Hi!! Could I request a fic about Carl and aftercare? Your writing is so good I’m jealous‼️

DESTRUCTION AND REPARATION c.grimes

 ☆ WORD COUNT - 1.3K

CARL GRIMES X FEM!READER

 ☆ SUMMARY - when everything is said and done, carl wants to make sure you know you still are and always will be his precious girl.

 ☆ WARNINGS - mentions of sex, illusion to sex, aftercare, sexual themes, aged up characters, dom!carl, sub!reader, hickies, nudity, vulnerability, bathing as a couple, kinda real world!au, praise, petnames, intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷

descruction and reparation.

in carl's terms, the act of destroying you until you were nothing but a toy at his will to do whatever it was he wanted with you. then building you back up and showing you that no matter the hour, you were truly the only girl in the world that mattered.

his breath was heavy as he relaxed himself against the bed. it was like a ritual every time it happened, no matter the position you found yourself screwed up in. he'd lay next to you, long fingers coming to brush the hair away from your face.

"hey, pretty girl." he practically cooed at the sight of you. you were so fucked out, breathing heavy with swollen lips. there were many marks and traces he'd left down your neck, across your stomach and between your thighs. he couldn't help but admire them while he studied you. "you okay? everythin' feel good?" his voice was low, like a soft whisper that could have lulled you to sleep.

when carl was finished with you, after you'd lost count of the rounds and he knew you were done it was hard not to take you into his arms and allow them to swallow you whole. "mhm." was your response, though behind the tiredness there was a type of contentedness. you always felt that when you and carl were finished.

you could have opened your mouth to spill every little detail on how you felt, god knew you liked to talk.

but now, in the afterglow with the only light source in the room being the little fairy lights overhead, you found your mind so tired that you couldn't will yourself to speak even if you'd wanted to.

his fingers traced against your skin, eyes never leaving your pretty face.

carl liked taking his time having his way with you. he liked to do it at his own pace, flipping you in every position, letting out all his stamina and making you both feel as though you were on fire.

he loved hearing your whimpers and whined, watching your back arch against the bed and listening to himself unravel you completely.

but this as your body lay still next to his own, eyes peering up at him with love and adoration, this is all he'd never needed.

his face came down, pressing the gentlest of kisses to your forehead. "c'mon, bath time." you made an effort to groan to which the boy merely moved his kiss to your lips, dragging you up from the bed.

he did what he said he would, drawing a bath for you both.

this was not a new thing he'd begun. it was often that you'd take a bath together after everything was said and done but that didn't mean you'd ever get used to the low energy needing a spike to get to the bathroom, despite the fact carl was practically carrying you, wedging you in the door and making you sit on the porcelain toilet seat while he ran the bath. he even added that scent that you liked, the one he claimed made him smell like a girl. he'd just have to make sure he lathered on his spray afterwords.

not much was said, carl helping you into the bath as he climbed in after you, sitting with your back to his front, holding you close.

during bath's like these, carl paid extra attention to your body. it wasn't so much about cleaning. i mean, sure, you got clean some way or another, he'd lather on the scented soap, doing it to himself too. but that wasn't the point of the baths.

the low "love you." that you mumbled as you pressed yourself close to him or the soft sniffle as you tried to wipe away the tiredness from your eyes.

the soft "i love you too." he'd murmur back, soft hands caressing your body, pressing kisses anywhere his lips could reach. "beautiful girl." he'd mumble before correcting himself. "my beautiful girl."

that was the whole point of this.

no matter the sex, rough, soft, quick and easy, hard, long. whether or not you came out teary eyed or not, he didn't care. at the end of the night, just the two of you relaxing in the porcelain bath tub was all he'd ever need.

"did so good." he'd praise softly in your ear, as if not to disturb the peace you had, as if he'd ever let you fall asleep in the bathtub. he was always gently tapping your face with his fingers, not allowing you to sleep. but it was so hard, the hot water and his voice lulling you ever so gently. "such a good girl."

he'd wash your body for you, taking extra care in the places you need, careful when passing your bruises and your fucked out cunt.

if he could, he'd keep you in the bath even when the water went cold.

but by the time he was helping you out, you couldn't even complain. you were more excited about getting beneath his blue covers than anything before.

"c'mere." holding the towel around your body. "let me." never allowing you to do anything for yourself. he made sure you were well taken care of in any way you could ever possibly need. he dried down your body, leaving you in it while he grabbed the pijamas on the island of the sink, dressing you.

your cotton long pijama bottoms and the t-shirt with short sleeves were over your body within a matter of seconds.

"so good f'me." his lips pressing a line down your exposed neck, pushing your damp hair out of the way so you didn't have to deal with it any longer.

he'd praise you until the night was up. the two of you, clad in fresh cotton pijamas beneath those ugly navy blankets that he owened, cuddled up while the pictures moved against the screen.

at a time like this, you were fragile, that much he was well aware of. this is why he didn't speak many words, turning on the tv to the show he knew you liked or the new one you'd both been watching together. his fingers would twist your hair, curling it around his fingers and letting it drop. or perhaps his fingers were drawing lines up and down your arms? shapes against your back? whatever he was doing to you, it was soothing enough for your eyes to flutter shut.

"know her from somewhere." you'd mumble, all dazed as you tried to make out the familiar face on the screen.

"yeah?" he'd murmur back, gentle kisses against the slope of your neck, so soft against the earlier bruises. "from where baby?"

he'd hear that little mumble back from you, a practical babble. you babbled until your voice ran out. could he understand or make out a word you were saying? ... definitely not the point.

though he wasn't too worried, knowing you were much too tired to remember it by morning.

even as you finally drifted off into a sleep, he'd never stop those gentle kisses, soft murmurs, what a pretty way to drift in and out of consciousness.

he did it not because he knew you loved it or because he felt obliged to. he did it because he loved you, through the dawn and the dusk, no matter the hour of the day or night, no matter the things you were up to.

he'd trade the moon and the stars for moments like these.

though they seemed almost cheap, compared to you.

main masterlist/carl's masterlist

[selfindulgentpoorlywritten]

My Sweet Girl (Matthew Tkachuk Imagine)

This is by far-- I repeat, by far-- the longest reader insert I've ever written. It's my submission for @wyattjohnston 's Winter Fic Exchange, a gift for @matthewtkachuk ! Excellent URL, by the way.

The creative process here went as follows: Shelbs shows me her On Repeat Spotify playlist -> I see The Band Camino on it and remember that I love that band -> I listen to nothing but them for two weeks -> I hear the song Know It All and am struck with inspiration -> I write this and inflict it on everyone else.

I jumped around a bit while writing, so please let me know if there's anything I screwed up! This is also the type of fic that has had 20+ tabs of Wikipedia pages, ESPN articles, and stats pages open on my computer for two months, but there was still information I couldn't find, so please be gentle with any inconsistencies.

Anyway, I truly hope that you enjoy this one! I apologize for being a day late posting, my job sucks.

Rating: M

Pairing: Matthew Tkachuk/fem!Reader

Words: 26, 028

Warnings: a lot of angst

Contains: best friend's brother, friends to ??? to strangers to lovers, situationship, idiots in love, everyone knows but them, Matthew being kind of a dick, guest appearances by the Weinberg-Hughes family and Jane Gaudreau

Summary: As Brady's best friend, it was your duty to love and support him. You're pretty sure falling in love with his brother does not count as "support", but here you are.

-----

You weren’t expecting this to be as hard as it is.

Luckily, you’d been given a little warning beforehand, but apparently a week wasn’t enough to prepare yourself. Was it kind of fucked up that the news had to come from Brady, because Matthew hadn’t bothered to tell you himself? Yeah, kind of. Sure, Brady and you have been best friends for years, but it’s not like you’re not close with Matthew, too.

You hadn’t realized what was going on at first, convincing yourself not to be upset when Matthew’s texts slowed and his calls stopped outright. It had been the beginning of the playoffs, you reasoned, of course he was going to be too busy to talk to you as much. Despite the fact that communication between the two of you had never waned because of the season before. It was his first year on a new team, you’d told yourself, a team with a great shot at the Cup, at that. You could deal with missing him a little more than usual if that’s what he needed.

When you’d called him to congratulate him on passing the first round, he’d thanked you and wrapped the call up as quickly as he could. Seeing the 3:24:41 call duration on your phone afterward had felt wrong. It was one of the shortest calls the two of you had ever had.

You’d brushed it off, chalked it up to him being tired or busy. Then they’d won the second round, and the process repeated itself. A quick phone call, a few scant minutes. It had sounded like other people were there that time, so you’d convinced yourself that he would call you back when he was alone. He never did.

You got to watch Game 4 of the third series, got to watch them sweep Carolina to win the Eastern Conference. Your friend Terri had laughed and clapped as you cheered, jumping up and down like a child. She was a Carolina fan herself, but was good enough of a loser to hug and congratulate you despite it. She’d offered to leave so that you could talk to Matthew, but you’d waved it off. You knew he’d be celebrating with the boys that night, so there was no real reason to try calling. You’d shot him a congratulations text and spent the night smiling so much your cheeks hurt.

When you’d tried to call Matthew the next day, his voice had been hushed when he answered. You’d given him your congratulations, bubbling over about how well they’d played. It’s not the first time you’d had a phone call exactly like that, him letting you gush about his team’s play and basking in the attention. This time, he interrupted you before you even got a chance to really get going. His voice was still quiet, almost a whisper as he said he had to go. The wind was immediately taken out of your sails and you’d barely had time to say goodbye before he hung up.

At that point, you’d given up convincing yourself that everything was okay. Something was very clearly wrong, and you’d spent the next nine days trying to figure out what it was. You’d reached out to Brady, and he’d told you that he hadn’t noticed anything weird from Matthew at all. Knowing that, you’d tried to downplay what was going on between the two of you, lest Brady go bother Matthew about it. You don’t do well with embarrassment, so you’d preferred that whatever was going on stayed away from any third parties.

The finals started, ending rather anticlimactically ten days later in a 4-1 loss for the Panthers. Knowing Matthew, he was going to go straight back to his hotel room and beat himself up. For the last three, almost four, years, you’d called Matthew after every big win or loss, and this was his biggest loss to date. Yet your finger hesitated at his contact name, hovered over the picture of him with bedhead and a lazy smile. With how things had been going, you knew he probably wouldn’t want to talk to you, even if you hadn’t figured out why yet. But part of you hoped that he would, that everything to that point had been stress, and there, at his lowest, he would talk to you again, and everything would go back to normal.

That, of course, is not what happened.

He hadn’t answered at all. And when you’d tried a second time an hour later, it rang once before going to voicemail. That meant that he’d declined your call, but you didn’t know what that meant.

Two more days passed without you hearing anything from him, so you’d called Brady. All of this had been concerning, but that had been too much. Miraculously, you’d managed to stay calm when you spoke with Brady, sounding impressively level-headed when you relayed what happened and asked him if he’d heard from Matthew. Brady had seemed shocked at the situation, immediately calling Matthew after he’d hung up with you.

Thirty minutes later, when you’d received a text from Brady, your heart had sunk to the pit of your stomach, and it’s stayed there ever since.

Because what the text had informed you of is that Matthew hadn’t lost or broken his phone, hadn’t been sick or depressed or, god, lost in the fucking desert or some shit. It told you that he’d been with his girlfriend, and hadn’t wanted her to see him call or text another girl. Because, apparently, Matthew has a girlfriend now. And just hadn’t deigned to tell you.

When Brady had told you that she would be spending the offseason in St. Louis with Matthew, you’d tried to hide your shock. You’d cleared your throat and told Brady how great that was, even as you wanted to throw up. They’d gotten into town a few days ago, and you’d done your best to keep your distance. But Brady asked you to come to dinner at his parents’ house tonight, citing the limited time you have to see him before he goes back to Ottawa, and you couldn’t refuse.

So now here you are, curled up in a chair in the Tkachuks’ den, across from said girlfriend. Her name is Tessa, she’s 26, and she does remote work for a marketing firm. That explains how she’s able to pick up and go to St. Louis for three months, at least. She’s already recounted the story of how they’d met, a romcom story of spilling his drink on her dress at a party and getting to know each other from there. She talks about the instant connection, the way they clicked so quickly that she knew they were meant for each other. That part of the story was when you’d excused yourself to get a glass of water, just so you could stick your head in the fridge and take a few deep breaths.

Matthew and Tessa are on one of the couches, the older, comfier one. Matthew is propped up against one of the armrests, Tessa curled into his side, his arm around her shoulders. You’ve spent the night pretending not to notice the way Matthew keeps glancing at you.

Brady and Emma are posted up on the other couch, one on either side, Emma’s feet in Brady’s lap as she lounges. Emma is great, and does a great job at keeping the conversation going, despite how little you and the boys are participating. Tessa either doesn’t notice your silence or doesn’t mind, chatting happily about some film she and Emma have both recently seen. You’re pretending not to notice the looks Brady’s giving you, either.

You should really be trying harder. You know Brady wasn’t expecting you to curl up under a blanket and mope when he invited you, and he really is right about time being limited. You should be engaging, enjoying the time you get with the boys while you have it. You would, if you could open your mouth without feeling like you’re going to scream.

Eventually, Chantal calls you all to dinner. It’s easier once you’re all gathered around the table, somehow, and you’re able to talk a little. Chantal has always put you at ease, has always made you feel like just another of her children. If you had it your way, Taryn would be here too. She has a way of lovingly bullying you that always makes you feel better. Unfortunately, she’s visiting some college friends out of state. But you’re doing okay, you think, at acting normal.

Then you lock eyes with Keith, and any sense of ease you’ve gained flies out the window. You wouldn’t be inclined to say that Keith is the most observant person in the world, so the way he’s looking at you– like he knows something is very, very wrong– makes it clear that you’re doing an absolutely dogshit job at hiding your feelings. You look away from him quickly, swallowing hard and forcing yourself to talk even more. 

Maybe if you can just act normal, if you can push down the emotions and act like everything is okay, it will be. There’s nothing else you can really do about the situation anyway. Matthew has made it clear that he’s not interested in talking about it, so you’ll have to suck it up and deal with it on your own.

Dinner goes by a little quicker once you’re actually actively involved in the conversation. Typically, you help Chantal with the dishes after meals, but when you reach for the sponge at the sink, she shoos you away. She sends the girls back to the den, insisting that it’s the boys’ turn to help.

You curl back up in your chair, mind wandering as you operate on autopilot. You’re saying things, contributing to the conversation with Emma and Tessa, but you have no idea what you’re actually saying. Mercifully, they either don’t notice or don’t care.

This entire situation is fucked. What’s really getting to you, though, is how you’d been introduced. You’d walked in, giving out hugs to everyone except Matthew and Tessa. She’d approached you, shaking your hand enthusiastically.

“Matthew said you’re Brady’s best friend, right?” she’d asked. It was simple, innocuous, and true. Brady and you have been best friends for years, and that would be an adequate title in any other scenario. But it felt like a punch to the gut, knowing that after everything, Matthew had told her that you were just his little brother’s best friend. You’d glanced at him as she said it, and the intentionally cool, unaffected expression Matthew had in place still couldn’t hide the guilt in his eyes.

In that moment, you knew that he hadn’t told her anything about you, about whatever the two of you have been to each other for the past few years, and that he never intends to. There was a second where he’d made a decision, a second that you weren’t present for, that had cut off everything you’ve been to him and relegated you back to Brady’s Best Friend.

You want to pull Tessa aside, spill out everything. You want her to know that you’re Matthew’s friend too, that you’ve been more than that. More than that, you want Matthew to do it. You want him to tell her, to acknowledge whatever the hell you’ve been doing for all this time. You want him to admit that you’re something, anything to him.

Instead, you keep it all to yourself. The knowledge of everything between you and Matthew will live and die where it is now, in the minds of the two of you, and nowhere else.

June, 2018

You’re wiping down the counters when the man enters. You force a bright smile at him, still annoyed from the previous customer but doing your best not to show it. He returns the smile, approaching the register. You move to settle across from him, greeting him politely. The shop has a lot of regulars, but you don’t recognize this guy.

“I’ll be honest,” he says, giving a single nervous laugh, “I’m not really a coffee guy. Do you have any recommendations?” It’s not an uncommon question, and there aren’t any other customers right now, so you don’t mind.

“Do you like the taste of coffee?” you ask. He shakes his head. That eliminates about half of the menu, so it’s progress.

“How much caffeine are you going for?” you ask next.

“As much as possible,” he replies. The dark circles under his eyes could have hinted you to that conclusion. He has a laptop and notebook in one hand, down by his side. It’s normal for people to bring work along with them, and he’s definitely young, so you guess it’s probably school work.

“You could always do a triple shot latte with a flavor,” you suggest, your own go-to drink, “The caramel is the strongest. I can put in an extra pump if you want.” Technically, you should charge extra for that, but the kid looks kind of pathetic, and you feel bad. He can have a pity pump this once.

“That sounds good,” he agrees. You do the math in your head and punch in the price manually on the vintage register. The whole cafe is supposed to have a vintage vibe, a real hipster magnet. Math was always your weakest subject, but having to calculate totals in your head has made you a lot better with it.

Once he pays on the very not-vintage card reader, you direct him to the far side of the bar. You start on his drink, pulling shots with practiced ease. You’ve been working  here since high school, so you’ve gotten pretty good at making coffee. He doesn’t try to talk to you while you work, which is nice. There’s something oddly calming about his presence, though, and it’s helping your annoyance fade.

You hand off his drink, and he retreats to a booth in the back corner after thanking you. You go back to wiping things down, bobbing your head along with the music playing quietly over the speakers. It’s later in the evening, so you only get a few customers over the next hour. It’s one thing you like about working the night shift. Not many customers, and most of the people getting coffee around this time are tired enough to not give you much trouble, and are usually extremely grateful for the caffeine.

It’s quiet for long enough that you pull your stool up to the counter, pulling your textbook and notes out from under the counter. You start working on the homework for your summer semester, singing quietly to yourself as you read.

“You have a nice voice,” the guy from earlier says, suddenly standing in front of you. You jump, hand flying to your chest as if you’re a damsel in a period piece. You’d forgotten he was here.

“Thank you,” you say, once the surprise fades. You laugh a little, shaking your head. He laughs too, apologizing for startling you.

“Could I have another?” he asks, holding up his now-empty cup.

“Of course,” you reply, “Same cup okay?” You do your best to be environmentally friendly, so you don’t want to use another cup if you don’t have to. He says that’s okay, so you take the cup and start pulling another shot.

“Y/N,” he says absently as he leans on the counter, “That’s a pretty name.” You thank him again, dumping the first shot into the cup. It’s odd, because people are usually flirting when they say something like that, but his tone isn’t suggestive at all.

“What’s your name?” you ask, feeling like you should say something. You start pulling the second shot.

“Brady,” he says, extending a hand toward you. You look between his hand and your own, feeling rude but needing both hands to pull the shot.

“Oh, um,” you stutter, “Sorry, I’m–” He seems to realize what’s going on and retracts his hand, using it to rub at the base of his skull.

“My bad,” he says, shaking his head at himself, “I’m tired, sorry.” You smile at him, much more genuine than the first time.

“What’s got you so tired anyway, Brady?” you ask, dumping the second shot and starting on the third. His face twists at what you’d thought was an innocuous question. He’s clearly debating something in his head, so you stay silent.

“I’ve got something big coming up in a couple weeks,” he explains, tapping his fingers against the counter, “I’m just trying to be prepared.” You nod, not minding how vague he’s being. You don’t actually need to know every detail of a random customer’s life. There’s a moment of quiet as you dump in the third shot and pour some milk into a metal container.

“And I might be a little nervous,” he says, looking at his hands instead of you. You smile again, beginning to steam the milk.

“Just a little,” you repeat, slightly teasing in a way you usually aren’t with customers.

“Yeah,” he chuckles, looking up at you, “Just a little.” You smile at each other for a second, both knowing he’s seriously downplaying his feelings. You wonder what it is that has him so anxious, sure that it must be something serious. He doesn’t seem to be the neurotic type.

“What are you working on?” he asks as you pour the milk, gesturing toward your books spread out next to the register. You shrug.

“Organic chemistry,” you reply, pumping in the flavoring, “The worst class ever.” He cringes at the mention of it, which you feel in your bones.

“I’ve heard it’s awful,” he says.

“It is,” you confirm. You snap the lid back onto the cup, sliding it over the counter to him. He cradles it between his hands, but doesn’t move to leave. He’s looking up at you from where he’s hunched over, and you can’t help but stare back.

“Do you want to come sit with me?” he asks, “We could be miserable together.” The smile that overtakes your face mirrors itself on his own.

August, 2018

When Brady walks in, right at his usual time, you give him a smile and lean over the counter to hug him. You’ve become fast friends, sitting together a few nights a week, probably talking more than studying. His Big Thing is long past, and he still hasn’t told you what it was, but you don’t really mind. You get to know about his family and his girlfriend and his upcoming move to Ottawa, of all places, but you don’t need to know everything if he doesn’t want to share.

You make two of the usual latte, one for each of you. You grab your books from the shelf, meeting him at the corner booth. You get through some small talk as you both set up, going back and forth with an ease that you were surprised to find has been there since the beginning.

“Matthew’s going to come hang out tonight,” he says as he logs into his computer. He’s spoken about his brother before, so you’re somewhat intrigued.

“Any particular reason?” you ask. To your knowledge, Matthew has never been to the shop, so you’re not sure if something special is going on to spur him into coming.

“He thinks it sounds cool,” Brady shrugs, flipping his notebook open. Maybe you’d know what he’s always working on if you could read his tiny chicken scratch. As it is, you don’t mind letting him have his secrets.

You get four pages into your chapter before another customer enters, laying your pen in the divot between the pages while you go make them their drink. Luckily, they don’t stick around. It’s not awful when other people are around, but you always feel like someone is going to complain about you sitting in the dining room and studying while you should be working. But if there’s no work to be done, you don’t think there’s anything wrong with it. Unfortunately, not everyone agrees. So you prefer if it’s just you and Brady.

Another four pages drag by, reading interspersed with breaks to talk. Honestly, the breaks are also a way to keep yourself sane as you read unnecessarily complicated science.

When the next customer enters, you spring up from your chair, shooting them a smile as you make your way behind the counter. You give your standard greeting, asking what you can get them.

“What do you recommend?” the man asks. You were kind of hoping he’d have something in mind so that this interaction could go quickly, because he may be the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen and it’s making you flustered.

“Do you like the taste of coffee?” you ask. He nods, looking you up and down with a critical eye. It feels personal, feels like he’s searching for something, and you’re not sure if you like it.

“How much caffeine are you looking for?” you ask next. You do your best to maintain eye contact, ignoring the way you have to look up to do so.

“How much you got?” he asks in return. The crooked smile he gives you makes your stomach flip. You grasp for a drink to suggest, all knowledge having fled your mind in order to focus on the curl of his hair over his forehead, the glint of his bright eyes.

“A Lazy Eye would probably be the most,” you say, clearing your throat, “But if you don’t want to have a heart attack, you could do a regular Red Eye.” He tilts his head, smile turning smug, as if he’s noticed your distraction. Something about it snaps you out of your daze, slightly indignant. You’ve seen plenty of hot guys in your day, and you’re not about to look like a fool in front of him just because he’s pretty.

“Red Eye, Black Eye, Dripped Eye, Lazy Eye,” you list off with as much confidence as you can muster, “Each with one more shot than the last. Pick your poison.” Your attitude change only makes him smile wider. Your hand is poised over the buttons of the register, ready to ring up whatever he decides.

“Let’s go with a Black Eye,” he says, bearing a surprisingly sharp canine, “I’ve had a few of those in my time.” That doesn’t surprise you, with his smug face and oozing self-confidence. Something about it feels so disingenuous that it makes your teeth itch. It’s clearly an act, but you can’t exactly call him on it.

You give him his total, he pays, you get to work. You empty the last dregs of coffee in the pot into the sink and set the machine to brew a new batch. No matter how annoying a customer seems, you’re not about to serve them shitty coffee.

“Y/N,” he says, leaning on the counter, “That’s a pretty name.” It’s exactly what Brady had said when you’d met him, which makes you eye the man a little suspiciously. Whereas Brady had clearly not been flirting when he’d said it, this man’s tone is ambiguous enough that you’re not entirely sure what his intentions are.

“Thank you,” you say, dumping the first shot of espresso into the cup. Normally, you would ask for his name in return, but you’re not sure if you want to encourage him talking to you.

“How long have you worked here?” he asks anyway.

“Almost three years,” you reply. You’re not sure you want to tell him anything about your life, but you’re trying to be polite.

“Experienced,” he says, smiling like he’s a lion closing in on its prey, “I like that.” It’s cheesy and kind of sleazy, and you can’t help but scoff in disbelief. He’s watching you like a hawk, studying your reactions to everything he says and does. You dump the second shot, wishing the coffee would brew faster so this interaction could be over.

“I don’t think I want to know what else you like,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest. You used to get embarrassed and rattled by customers making comments like this, but at some point something had changed inside you. Now you just get annoyed, no matter how hot the person may be.

“Feisty,” he says, smile changing slightly in a way you can’t parse, “I like that too.” You roll your eyes, making a quiet noise of disgust. It’s not great for business to react to customers this way, but you can’t help it.

“I like it when men are silent,” you reply, able to feel how withering your gaze is. His expression changes yet again, smile getting smaller but more genuine, scrunching the bottom of his eyes up a little. That feels more natural to you, looks more right on his face. Something about the new softness in his eyes soothes something inside of you.

The coffee machine beeps to signal that it’s ready, and you waste no time in grabbing the pot and filling the cup. You hand it off to him, giving your biggest, most obviously fake smile.

“Have a fantastic night,” you say, immediately rounding the counter and heading back to the booth. When you settle back into your seat, Brady is smiling at you like you’ve told the funniest joke in the world.

“What?” you ask, picking up your pen. Brady’s eyes flick up above your head, slightly to the left, staying there, prompting you to turn around. The man is standing behind you, small smile still in place.

“Brady’s told me so much about you,” he says, and it dawns on you, “Nice to meet you, Y/N. I’m Matthew.” Your jaw falls open and you turn back to Brady, kicking him in the shin under the table. He yelps; Matthew laughs.

“You’re both the worst,” you spit, trying to hold onto your irritation and failing. You laugh alongside the brothers, begrudgingly amused by the ridiculousness of the situation.

“Sorry about that back there,” Matthew apologizes, seemingly genuine, “I couldn’t help myself.” You shake your head at him as he bullies Brady further into the booth so he can sit. Brady shoves him back, but moves his things over anyway.

“It’s okay,” you say, pointing at him, “But if you ever pull that shit again, I’m banning you from the shop.” That startles a laugh out of him.

“I didn’t know you had the power to do that,” he replies, using his crossed arms to lean on the table.

“I do now,” you say, tilting your chin up, “Gonna put a picture up of you with a big X on it and everything.” You stare at each other for a second, and he breaks first, ducking his head as he laughs.

“Fair enough,” he concedes, looking up at you through his lashes. Your heart skips a beat, but you do your best to seem unaffected. This is your friend’s brother, for Christ’s sake. You can’t be all aflutter over him. You’re not sure you have a choice in the matter.

June, 2023

You might actually kill your coworker one day. He’s such a smug rat bastard, and every meeting including both of you makes you think you’re going to grind your teeth into dust. It’s just lucky that the job is remote, so you don’t have to be around him physically. Probably best for both your sanity and his safety.

“I mean, at least you were right in the end?” Terri says, sounding uncertain through your headphones. You’re sauteeing some onions and peppers, moving them around more than you should be just for something to do with your hands.

“Yeah, I guess,” you sigh, “I just don’t understand why he wants to make me look bad.” Ian– the coworker– seems to always have some kind of comment on your work, some type of criticism. Constructive criticism is part of the game, but his is never constructive. It doesn’t help that you’re the only two in the graphics department, so he’s always there when you present work. And really, being the only two should mean that you work together and support each other, honestly.

“Because he’s an insecure man-child,” Terri replies easily. You shake your head down at the vegetables, startling as the oven timer goes off. You jab at the button to turn it off, opening the door to remove the chicken.

“I think I’ve had enough of insecure man-children,” you grumble. You cut open one of the chicken breasts with more force than is strictly necessary, grateful that it seems to be done.

“You finally wanna talk about that?” Terri asks, and honestly? No, you don’t. Ideally, you’ll never talk about it, just push it down into the darkest recesses of your mind and bury it there. Unfortunately, you possess some level of emotional maturity, which means you know that you have to talk about it eventually.

It’s hard, because despite Brady being your best friend, you can’t exactly talk to him about this. If he knew any part of what’s been going on, he’d probably go physically fight Matthew on your behalf. Part of you thinks that might actually make you feel a little better. But he’d also probably be mad that you’ve had a not-thing with his brother, and that would make you feel worse.

“She seems like a nice woman,” you say, trying to keep your tone neutral. Terri sighs, and you take your plate of food to the living room to eat.

“She’s not the problem, here,” she says. She’s right, and you know it. You really don’t have anything against Tessa, and obviously you can’t blame her for any of this. Clearly, she had no idea about your not-thing with Matthew, and genuinely fell for him. There’s no point in being mad at her.

“Yeah, well,” you push some food around your plate, “He’s a fuckface and she can have him.” The mention of Matthew has ruined your appetite, the meal now looking completely unappealing. You push the plate to the other side of the coffee table with a huff. You’ll try eating again later, you tell yourself, knowing that you haven’t been eating nearly enough lately. You can’t help it, your inner turmoil chasing away your hunger most of the time.

“He is a fuckface,” Terri agrees, adding, “But don’t pretend you don’t still want him.” Ugh. Friends are the worst, actually, and you should just become a hermit in a cave somewhere. There’s no point even trying to deny the claim, both of you knowing that she’s right.

“I’m not allowed to want him anymore,” you say, voice coming out weaker than you want to admit, “I never should have let myself want him in the first place.” In the beginning, despite being attracted to Matthew, it was easy to maintain distance. He was in Calgary most of the year, and reminding yourself that he was your new friend’s brother actually worked as a deterrent back then.

You can’t pinpoint exactly when you started letting yourself get caught up, but you’d ended up completely entangled with him. Now he’s put that distance back between you, ripping away the strings you’d been tied up in, leaving you with all these empty spaces where he used to be. And it’s making you hate yourself, knowing that if you’d just kept things cordial, restricted your attention and connection to Brady like you should have, you wouldn’t be feeling any of this right now.

“You can’t help who you love,” Terri says, so gently that it only hurts more. You’re not fragile, okay? You don’t need the softness, the careful handling. You’re not fragile. You’re not.

“I gotta go eat,” you say, not wanting to lie, but needing a way out of the conversation, “Bye, Ter.” She says your name, but you just repeat the goodbye. She sighs, says goodbye, and you hang up. What you should do is eat something and go to sleep. Instead, you eye the easel in the corner of the living room. You sigh, heaving yourself up off of the couch to go grab a glass of water to rinse your brushes with.

April, 2019

It’s probably going to become your new favorite day of the year: the day Brady comes home from Ottawa. His plane had landed yesterday, and his parents had even brought you to the airport with them to pick him up. As quickly as you’d bonded last summer, you’d only gotten closer through the season. It feels like you can talk to each other about anything, like you were meant to meet, like he’s the platonic version of a soulmate. You had patiently waited your turn to hug him after his parents, squeezing him as tightly as you could manage. He’d only squeezed back harder.

With their seasons ending right around the same time this year, Matthew had landed the same night. Knowing they’d have to go back to the airport, the Tkachuks had decided to just spend the day out instead of going home. They’d invited you to come with them, an invitation you’d eagerly accepted. They’re quickly starting to feel like family to you, and you love spending time with them. For the first time in your life, it feels like you fit somewhere.

Unfortunately, you hadn’t been able to come along to pick up Matthew. You’d had to work last night, so the Tkachuks had dropped you off at home to get changed and get going. You’d still gotten to spend most of the day with them, which would have to be enough.

You’re going over to their place today, and you decided to bake and bring along cookies. All of their local family and friends are going to be there to welcome the boys home, and you haven’t met most of them yet, so you want to make a good first impression. Besides, it’s just polite to bring something along to someone’s house.

Though Brady still tries to hug you when you arrive, despite your hands being full, the plates need to be deposited on the dining room table before he can get a real one. There are a few people chatting in the room, so Brady introduces you to them.

Most of the next hour goes much the same, Brady introducing you to family and friends, having small conversations with all of them. You know that Brady isn’t trying to embarrass you, but he has a habit of hyping you up to people. He’s more outgoing than you are, and he uses that social ease to brag about how smart you are, how talented. It feels a little like he’s trying to justify being your friend to them, but you know better than to think that Brady cares what anyone thinks of him and his choices.

The kitchen exits onto a large cherry wood deck, scattered with chairs, some of them already occupied. The back yard is sprawling, green grass lined with lush bushes. There’s a pool to the right, not opened for the summer yet, a jacuzzi positioned between it and the house. You’re still not really used to all of this, the casual wealth of the family. It’s so far from what you’d grown up with, something that had astonished you when you’d realized just how far above you the Tkachuks are.

There are a few yard games set up in the grass, cornhole and ladders and something you don’t recognize. And there, in the center of the yard, Matthew is teaching a child how to play ladders. The kid is probably a cousin, of which they have many. Matthew is barefoot, wearing a bright red Flames hoodie and black shorts that only come to mid-thigh. You’ve narrowed your staring down to a minimum, so your eyes only linger for a second or two before you turn back to Brady.

He guides you around to meet the few people braving the chilly spring weather, much as he had done inside. Everyone is so nice, saying how pleased they are to meet you, and seeming to mean it.

Your last stop is Matthew, who interrupts his lesson to hug you. It’s only the second time the two of you have done so, the first having been the last time you saw him before he left for the season. Despite that fact, he squeezes you almost as hard as Brady had, as if you’re his best friend too. Not that you’d presume to be Brady’s best friend, but. Still.

“It’s good to see you, Y/N,” he says when you pull apart, and the expression on his face tells you how genuine it is. Your smile is almost involuntary, turning up the corners of your mouth and baring just a hint of teeth.

“Welcome home, Matthew,” you reply, “We missed you.” You’re not sure what “we” you’re referring to, but it feels less incriminating than saying “I missed you”. You get the feeling that he understands anyway, beaming at you.

The three of you chat for a few minutes, Matthew introducing you to his little cousin. With there being four of you, you decide to play a game of ladders, to test the little one’s skills. He’s pretty good, for a kid, and you and Brady make sure to throw well enough to convince him that you’re trying, but still let him win. Throughout, Matthew gives him tips and instruction, so kind and gentle that it makes your heart ache. They cheer when they win, high fiving and teasing you and Brady.

You go inside to spend some time with Keith and Chantal. Chantal gives you a big hug, as if she hadn’t just seen you yesterday. Keith gives you a hearty clap on the shoulder. Taryn appears at some point, sneaking up behind you and poking your sides to make you jump. You laugh along with her, enfolding her into the conversation easily.

Time flies by, the sun setting around you, the house lights turning on one by one as darkness descends. Eventually, you end up lounging in the den with the other adult kids. From your visits last year, the chair in the corner has become yours. You’re settled in, legs folded up under you as something that no one is watching plays on the TV. Brady and Taryn get into a heated debate about something or another, and Matthew gives you a long-suffering look as his younger siblings bicker. You just smile back at him, finding the family’s passion entirely endearing.

“Seventeen years of this,” Matthew gripes, clearly not as annoyed as he’s trying to seem.

“And sixty more to go,” you reply. Matthew chuckles at that, looking to Brady and Taryn with such fondness that you almost can’t stand it. It’s the kind of relationship you’d wanted with your own brothers, but that’s best not to think about.

“Hopefully,” Matthew says, turning that fond look toward you. Your heart skips a beat, and you’ve gotten good at ignoring that.

May, 2019

You shouldn’t be this nervous, but you are. Terri is on speaker phone, telling you about her new job. You’re half-listening, staring at the clothing laid out on your bed. You’ve been agonizing all morning about what you’re going to wear, how you’re going to do your makeup, if you should wear makeup at all.

“I’m glad that your boss defended you,” you say to Terri, still tuned in enough to follow her story, “She seems cool.”

“She’s so cool,” Terri gushes, “She’s my favorite now.” You’re so happy that Terri has finally found a good job, especially with how hellish her previous one had been. This one pays almost double what she was getting before, too, which definitely doesn’t hurt. She expounds a little more about the things she loves about her boss, and you decide to hang back up the dresses you’ve laid out. It’s still a little too chilly to wear them, especially after sundown.

“You’re still staring at those damn clothes, aren’t you?” Terri asks, switching the topic suddenly. Your face gets warm as you make a plaintive hand gesture, despite her not being able to see you.

“Clothes are stupid and I can’t decide,” you complain, trying to imagine how each of the final two options will come across. If you try too hard, Matthew might think that you think this is a date, but you still want to look good. You know it’s not a date, but you’re still kind of acting like it is, and it’s embarrassing.

“Definitely wear jeans,” Terri advises, “That’ll make it more casual.” You agree, putting away the skirt you’d paired with the one shirt, trying to picture how it would look with jeans. You move the pants between each shirt, before giving up and just putting them on. You’ll just try on both outfits and see which one you like better.

Once dressed in the first option, you take a picture to send to Terri. You look at yourself in the mirror, turning this way and that. After a minute or two of consideration, you switch tops. You take another picture and send both to Terri for her opinion.

“Oh, definitely the second one,” she says, “The first one makes you look like you’re going to a job interview.” You look at the picture again, and can’t deny that she’s right. You put that one away, settled in your decision. You’re not sure if Matthew has ever seen you in anything but jeans and a t-shirt, so you hope the red tank top layered with a tucked-in sheer pink printed blouse isn’t too much of a change.

When Matthew had invited you to take a walk around the park yesterday, just the two of you. You’ve never spent more than a few minutes alone with him, always having Brady or Taryn or Emma to provide distraction and distance. This time you’ll have nothing to focus on but him.

The time comes soon enough, and you gather your things, not wanting to make Matthew wait for you when he arrives. You’d offered to drive yourself and meet him there, but he’d waved off the idea immediately, saying that he’d pick you up.

A knock comes at your door right on time. You take a deep breath before you open it, settling your frenzied heart. Matthew smiles as soon as he sees you.

“Oh wow,” he says, almost absentmindedly, “You look great.” Your blush is immediate, and you hope he can’t see it. It seems that anything that comes out of his mouth makes you blush, sometimes.

The drive to the park isn’t too long. When you arrive, you gather your bag from the floor of the passenger seat, and by time you move to get a hand on the door handle, Matthew is already opening the door from the outside. It’s a sweet surprise, and you thank him as you climb out of the car.

It’s a nice day, not too cold or windy for once. The two of you walk, talking about this and that, moving from topic to topic as they arise. You point out a few birds as you go, and Matthew listens to the little fun facts you give about them. He seems genuinely interested, but even if he’s not, at least he’s polite enough to pretend.

“I guess we should have left a little earlier,” Matthew remarks as the sun goes down, the light fading around you. The sun sets quickly this time of year, so you’re still a few minutes out from the car by time it’s completely dark. The lights along the pathway bathe Matthew in yellow light, casting warm shadows in the dips and hollows of his face.

“At least I have a big, strong man to protect me,” you joke, elbowing him.

“Oh no, if we get jumped I’m running,” he replies, shooting a shit-eating grin down at you. You gasp and press a hand to your heart, as if you’re truly scandalized.

“You would really abandon me like that?” you ask. His smile softens at the edges.

“Never,” he says, looking so genuine that it makes your heart flutter, pausing before he adds, “Unless we’re getting robbed.” Your combined laughter rings out through the trees.

June, 2023

You’ve managed to avoid any questions about your odd behavior, and it’s getting easier to act normal over time. A couple weeks have passed since your first meeting with Tessa, and you still feel like ripping your skin off when you see her touching Matthew, but you’ve gotten better at hiding it. It’s not your place to be upset, anyway.

The diner is bustling at this time of day, the tail end of lunch rush. You had to wait a little bit to get seated, but now you’re sitting at the end of a booth in a chair they’d pulled up to the edge to make up for all five of you not fitting into the booth. It makes you feel a little left out, the only one not paired off, a fifth wheel to the two couples on either side of the table. You block that out, a skill you’ve had for years, but have had to strengthen rapidly over the past few weeks.

Brady has an arm around Emma’s shoulders, and you can tell by the angle of Matthew’s arm that he has a hand on Tessa’s thigh. You remember when that was you, Matthew touching you so casually, so naturally. Sitting across from Matthew as he nudges your foot under the table, sitting next to him with your shoulders pressed together, fingers tangled together on the seat, where no one could see.

Emma is telling a story about a night out with some of her girlfriends, and you’re laughing along at the antics with everyone else. When she asks you about work, you try to clear the perpetual lump in your throat before answering, succeeding in sounding happy, though the tightness remains.

When your food arrives, you spend most of the time pushing it around your plate to make it look like you’re eating. You never have an appetite around Matthew anymore, weirdly embarrassed about being seen eating in a way you haven’t been since you were a teenager. You’ll take it home and eat it later, if you can stop thinking about Matthew for two fucking seconds.

You’re not sure how long that’s going to be impossible, but you hope it’s not much longer.

January, 2020

You’ve been to a few games when the boys have played the Blues, but you’ve never made the trip up to Canada to see them play each other before. Ottawa is nice, Brady and Emma having shown you around a little when you’d arrived. Your nerves had been shot from the anxiety of traveling abroad for the first time, even though it was just to Canada. The couple seemed to understand, only taking you around for a few hours before bringing you home.

Brady’s apartment is nice, really nice. He’s offered you the guest room for a few days, and you appreciate not having to pay for a hotel. He’ll be home for six days before he has to go to St. Louis for the All Star game, so you’d arranged to stay in Ottawa and fly back home with them.

Luckily, the cafe is pretty cool about rearranging your schedule, so you’ll just have to work some extra days when you go back to make up for what you’re missing. You’d asked for the days of the skills competition and game off as well, Brady having managed to get you a ticket. Your manager has always thought it was cool that you were friends with the Tkachuks, so she had agreed to give you the time off if you brought her a souvenir. Matthew and Brady had offered to sign a jersey for her without you even having to ask, and you’ll owe them for a while, though they insist you don’t.

Matthew gets in that first night, the three of you meeting him at his hotel. You’re not sure how he managed it, but he’ll be staying a few days instead of returning to Calgary with the team after the game. Maybe he got a special exception because this game is the last before All Star week, and he has to go to St. Louis anyway. No matter the reason, you’re glad he gets to stay.

The game the next night is exciting, and definitely worth the trip. With the Senators’ performance in recent years, it’s mostly the diehard fans left, so the atmosphere is electric. You get swept up in the passion and joy, especially when the game ends with a 5-2 win for Ottawa.

The boys have to debrief and get changed, which you know will take a while. Emma and you wait with the WAGs, Emma excited to introduce you to them. Some of them think you’re a new WAG at first, which is honestly kind of flattering. All of the ladies are surprisingly kind and welcoming, and you enjoy interacting with them as you all wait.

Matthew emerges first, guided down the hallway by one of the arena staff. His steps pick up pace when he sees you and Emma, and he shoots a quick thanks to the staff member before jogging over to the two of you. He immediately enfolds you in his arms, squeezing tight and holding longer than usual. You know it’s difficult for him to lose at all, let alone to his brother, so you let him hold you as long as he wants.

Once he lets you go, he meets your eyes. His smile is soft, tinged with a slight sadness that you want to wipe away.

“Hey there, sweet girl,” he greets, and your breath catches at the term of endearment. He’d started using it a few months ago, and it still makes your chest tight. You know that it doesn’t mean anything, but you still imagine sometimes that it does.

He turns his attention to Emma, giving her a hug as well, just one quick squeeze before releasing. The three of you start talking, waiting patiently for Brady. It doesn’t shock you that he takes so long to come out, knowing his unofficial position of leadership in the team. The guys come out one by one, hugging and kissing their wives and girlfriends, the number of ladies dwindling as they leave with their men.

When Brady finally emerges, he heads straight over to give Emma a hug and kiss. He hugs you next, before punching Matthew’s shoulder. They have a little back-and-forth as you all exit the arena, taking harmless jabs at each other all the way to the car.

The main issue with the living arrangements for the trip had been that Brady and Emma were going to have two guests and only one spare room. Matthew had offered to sleep on the couch, but he’s too tall for that, and you don’t want him to end up sore or hurting his neck during the season. You’d insisted that you’d sleep on the couch, but both Matthew and Brady had immediately vetoed that idea. Then you’d found out that the guest room has two twin beds instead of one bigger one, and the answer was simple.

Matthew sets his suitcase and backpack next to the door when you get home. You’ve already claimed the bed on the far side, so he gets set up on the one closer to the door. Emma and Brady are in the kitchen, making a post-game snack for everyone, so it’s just you and Matthew.

“You excited to be roomies for a week?” he asks, unzipping his suitcase. Yours is already open under the window, so you grab some pajamas out of it.

“Depends how loud you snore,” you tease. He shoots you a toothy smile.

“Oh, it’s gonna be loud,” he says. You chuckle a bit, knowing he’s joking. Emma calls for you, then, and you leave your clothes on the bed to go to her. The four of you converse as you eat, seated in a row at the kitchen island. You’ve got Matthew to one side and Brady to the other, and they take turns kicking your ankles. You kick back, grinning at Emma when she kicks Brady’s other side.

Brady and Matthew had already showered at the rink, so they sit in the living room while you and Emma get ready for bed. She uses the master suite, and you use the bathroom in the hall. It’s nice, if small, with a simple stall shower instead of a tub. You go through your routine on autopilot, only realizing when you’re done that you’d left your clothes in the bedroom. You wrap yourself in a towel, doing your best to sneak past the door to the living room.

When you look to make sure your stealth is working, you meet Matthew’s eyes. It stops you in your tracks. You can’t discern the look on his face, and you’re not sure that you care to. He shoots you an easy smile, and you wave at him like an idiot, acting on instinct. It only makes him smile wider, and you scurry off to the room.

After you’re dressed, there’s a knock on the door. Brady asks if you’re decent, and you confirm that you are, so he peeks his head in. Once he sees that you truly are dressed, he opens the door the rest of the way. He and Emma bid you good night, telling you to just ask if you need anything. You thank them and say good night in return, Matthew entering the room as soon as the other two retreat to their own room. He’s barely two steps into the room before he’s pulling off his shirt.

“Woah there, cowboy,” you say, holding up a hand in front of you. He just shrugs at you.

“Gotta get ready for bed,” he says, bending over and lifting his foot to remove his socks. You’d figured that he would wear a t-shirt and shorts to bed like you, but you should’ve guessed he’d be the type to sleep shirtless, no matter who’s around. He’s naked in front of thirty people every day, who cares about being shirtless?

You do your best to brush it off, turning down the covers of your bed so that you can crawl in. Normally, you would read for a bit before bed, but you’re tired enough tonight that you don’t think you need to. You pull the blankets up to your chin, turning on your side. Unfortunately, you sleep on your right, so you end up facing Matthew’s bed. Is that weird? Should you try sleeping the opposite direction?

Matthew doesn’t say anything, flicking the lights off and crawling into bed. He sleeps on his left, apparently, so he’s facing you too. That’s a little awkward, right? As your eyes adjust to the dark, you’re able to see the glint of his teeth as he smiles over at you.

“Sleep well, sweet girl,” he says quietly. You return the sentiment, grateful that the darkness means he probably can’t fully see the embarrassment on your face. You’re backlit by the window, so you convince yourself that he can’t.

The next morning, you wake to Matthew already out of bed, stretching. Your eyes roam his back, taking in the dips and ridges of his muscles. Only at the last second do you realize that his head is turned to the side, and he’s staring at you through the corner of his eye. You quickly avert your gaze, turning to sit bolt upright on the other side of the bed, facing the window.

The four of you spend the day exploring the city, Brady and Emma seeming to have planned what they want to show you. It’s nice, peaceful and fun. You make them take pictures with you in front of landmarks or cool art pieces, all of you squished together to fit in the selfie.

It isn’t until the fourth night that anything out of the ordinary happens. You’re lying in bed, having turned on your back to stare at the ceiling, unable to sleep. You probably shouldn’t have had that affogato after dinner, though usually they don’t bother you this much. No matter how long you toss and turn, how many sleeping positions you try, you can’t even make yourself tired, let alone actually fall asleep.

“What are you, a rotisserie chicken?” Matthew asks rhetorically, breaking the silence. His voice is hushed, but it still startles you. You turn your head to stare at him, finding him staring right back.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, sheepish, “I can’t sleep.” Matthew’s lips quirk up at one end.

“Me either,” he says, sitting up. You mimic his posture, then scoot back to lean against the headboard. He slings his legs over the edge of the bed and stands, and you think for a second that he’s going to turn on the light. Instead, he takes the two steps to your bed, motioning to the mattress. You nod, prompting him to start shoving your shoulder, bullying you into making space for him. You giggle, trying to keep quiet to respect the late hour.

“So,” he leads, taking a long moment to just stare at you before continuing, “Tell me something I don’t know about you.” You’re taken off guard by the request, not sure how to respond.

“I was an Aaron Carter girl growing up,” you pull out of thin air. Matthew’s face breaks into a wide smile, sunshine in the middle of the night.

“Really?” he asks. You nod, mumbling “yeah” in confirmation. That’s all it takes to get you both talking. You trade off back and forth, telling each other small things about yourself that may not come up otherwise, launching into short discussions about some of the statements.

“My favorite color is red,” he says at one point, when you’re starting to think you may fall asleep.

“I thought it was blue?” you reply, remembering Chantal mention that at some point. Matthew starts fiddling with his hands.

“I tell people it’s blue, but it’s really red,” he says. You tilt your head an inch or two, furrowing your brow at him.

“Why?” you ask. He ducks his head.

“Red is an angry color,” he explains, voice quieter than before, “With my reputation, I don’t want people to associate me with an aggressive color. I don’t want to play into the stereotype.” You hum, looking forward. It feels like this isn’t the best time to look at him, like he’ll clam up if you witness his vulnerability.

“It’s also the color of vitality, excitement, love,” you counter, leaving just a breath of a pause, “It’s a good color for you.” The entire room is still for a dragging moment, before Matthew gently knocks your shoulders together.

“What about you?” he asks when you look back to him. There’s a fraction of a change in his face, but you don’t comment on it.

When you wake up in the morning, you’re still sitting up, head resting on Matthew’s shoulder, his head laying on top of yours. You suppress the instinct to startle, not wanting to disrupt him, lest he wake up and move. His skin is warm under your cheek, your arms lined up from shoulder to the knuckles of your fingers. You close your eyes again, trying to keep your breathing steady, as if you’re still sleeping. You’ve been trying so hard to keep distance between Matthew and yourself, but you’ll allow yourself to enjoy this, just for a moment longer.

There’s a shift in Matthew’s breathing, his fingers twitching against yours. It settles after a second, into a different pattern, intentionally deep and even. You’re sure that he’s awake, that he’s doing the same thing that you are. You’re not sure what to do with that information.

The rest of the trip goes by smoothly, Brady and Emma showing you both the touristy things and the better local spots around the city. If the same thing happens the next night, and the night after that, you and Matthew talking in low voices until you fall asleep against each other, neither of you mention it.

April, 2020

While the initial prediction for lockdown was that it would only last a month, it’s clear that it’s going to last much, much longer.

It’s probably lucky that you’d just started a new job, one that can be done remotely, rather than either working at the coffee shop or being laid off. It’s not exactly what you want to do, but it’s at least in the artistic field, so you try to be grateful anyway. It’s difficult being locked away in your apartment, but you’re grateful that you’re luckier than essential workers and people who are losing their jobs altogether.

The thing that keeps you sane in all of this is your phone. More specifically, it’s your friends. You’ve developed almost a schedule with it, calling Terri in the morning for an hour or so before work. At lunch, you facetime Brady and Emma for another hour, not envying them being stuck so far from home. It must be hard to be in an entirely different country than your family.

The highlight of each day is the evening, when you facetime Matthew. Though he spends most of the day sending you videos and memes and updates about whatever little thing he’s doing at the moment, it’s still nice to talk to him out loud. Seeing his face helps your growing loneliness a little bit.

You’re in your living room, your phone propped up against the arm of the couch as you show off the few things you’ve made since picking up crochet a couple weeks ago. Matthew compliments each of them, commending you for your improvement. He’s the only one you’ve shown, too embarrassed to let anyone else see the wonky scarves with uneven stitches.

“You have time to work on any paintings lately?” he asks, once you’re done your little show and tell. The truth is that you’ve got three new canvases drying in the kitchen. The truth is also that the man asking about them is the inspiration for their creation. There’s nothing incriminating about them; it’s not like they’re portraits of him or something. But you’re still hesitant to show him, because even if he doesn’t know, you do.

You show him anyway. The painting of the park is his favorite, and you wonder if he knows that it’s the one you went to for your first time alone together. It’s mostly dark, greens and blues so deep they look black, yellow triangles of light splitting the canvas into section. If you look closely enough, the brush strokes fill in the details of the trees, the grass, the pavement. Your phone camera isn’t good enough for Matthew to see that, but he compliments it anyway.

“You should paint me something for my apartment,” he says after you show him all three. You’re not opposed to the idea, actually enjoy the thought of something you made being showcased in his home.

“What do you want?” you ask, a hundred ideas already flitting through your mind. The only way you’ve seen his apartment is through the background of pictures he sends you sometimes, or little glimpses you catch as he walks around while you facetime. You’re not entirely sure of the vibe, but you’re sure you can figure something out.

“What makes you think of me?” he asks in return. You stop in your tracks in the doorway between the kitchen and living room. The hand holding your phone lowers a couple inches unintentionally, your gaze drifting above the screen, staring into the middle distance. What makes you think of him? Hockey, obviously. Family. Curling up under a blanket on a cold night. Laying on the couch with your feet up on the armrest, your head propped up on a pillow, a sad replacement for his lap. Spruce trees, gold, pitbulls, mushroom pizza, black eyes– both the drink and the wound.

Everything. Everything makes you think of him.

You can’t say that, obviously. You search your brain for something personal but innocuous, something sentimental but still acceptable. You think of all the time that you two have spent together over the past few years, memories springing up, some that you’d even forgotten about. Some that you’ll never be able to forget about.

“Can I surprise you?” you ask. You’re given that familiar smile in response, any iteration of which makes your heart stutter in your chest.

“Yeah,” he says, propping his face up with one hand on his jaw, “I trust you.”

July, 2023

Some people may say that Terri’s apartment is cluttered, but you just find it cozy. She has decorations and knick-knacks on every surface, but the comfiest couch you’ve ever sat on. That’s where you are now, stretched out with your back against the side, Terri mimicking your posture at the other end, your legs tangled together in the middle.

“We should see the Barbie movie when it comes out,” she says, unprompted. You look up from the hook and yarn in your hands, tipping your head to the side for a second and shrugging.

“It looks good,” you say, an indirect agreement. You haven’t been to the movies since before lockdown, so it might be nice to go back.

“D’you think Gabe would want to come?” she asks cautiously, “He could bring the kids.” The mention of your brother still makes ice crawl in your chest, but it’s not as bad as it once was. He’d reached out last year, trying to reconnect with you, and apparently your other brother too. You’ve only seen him a few times since, but it’s more than you’d seen him in the four years prior, combined.

“It’s worth a shot, right?” Terri asks, eyes flicking toward your phone sitting on the coffee table. You look toward it as well, debating for a second. It would be nice to see your nieces and nephews, but it also hurts that they barely know who you are.

“Yeah,” you agree after a second, “Worth a shot.” You grab your phone, feeling as if it’s going to explode in your hands if you move too quickly. There are a few notifications when you wake the screen, which you ignore to unlock it. You open your texts, backing out of your thread with Terri from earlier. You have a picture message from Brady, just a selfie of him and Emma smiling, which you send a heart in response to. Backing out of that thread, you see another new message, underneath the contact name you haven’t had the heart to change. The red and purple hearts next to his name– each of your favorite colors– having been there so long that getting rid of them feels wrong, no matter how it makes your chest hurt to see them.

Can we talk?

You tap the back button as quickly as you can. You can’t respond. You should, to be polite, but you can’t. If you do, you’ll say something you regret. It’ll probably be agreement or the words “eat shit”, and either option will get you into trouble. You can’t respond. You want so badly to talk to him. You want so desperately to go back in time and never meet him.

Your fingers tremble as you draft a text to your brother, typing and deleting and re-typing a few times before you settle on the wording. You have more important things to worry about than Matthew.

August, 2020

The bubble was an interesting idea. It may not be the best idea in the world, despite the safety precautions, but you know Matthew is just happy to be back on the ice. He’s already sent you a dozen pictures of the hotel, of him with his teammates and friends, masked up together in the lobby. You tell him to tell the boys that you say hello, and he texts you each of their responses.

The first round goes well, the Flames only losing one game to the Jets. You know Matthew had been worried about going through all the rules and protocols just to be eliminated immediately, so you’re glad that that isn’t the case.

The series against the Stars starts out with an exciting back-and-forth, the teams trading off wins. Then the Stars win game 5, breaking the pattern. You’re not expecting the last game to actually be the last, convinced that the Flames would at least make it to a game seven. But the Stars pull a decisive 7-3 win, the Flames falling apart in the second period and unable to get themselves back together.

Matthew has called you as soon as he got back to his hotel room after every game, so you’re expecting your phone to ring some time in the next hour or two. You putter around the apartment a little, putting away some dishes and wiping down the kitchen counters. You’d been painting during the game, a commission from a friend of a friend of a friend. You return to that, losing yourself in the meticulous movements of your brush.

It feels like it’s been too long. You try to focus on the canvas in front of you, but there’s a nagging sense in the back of your mind that something is wrong. It sits heavy at the base of your skull as you try to ignore it.

Eventually, it becomes too much. You check your phone to make sure that you haven’t missed his call, but there are no notifications. It’s been a little over two hours. You unlock your phone and pull up his contact in a second, pressing the video icon. Typically, he’ll pick up after one or two rings, but you hear the third ring, the fourth. The call disconnects, shock shooting up your spine. It only lasts a second, your phone ringing with a voice call almost immediately.

“Hey sweet girl,” Matthew greets you in his typical fashion as soon as you accept the call. There’s something off about his voice, and it takes you a second to realize what it is.

“Hey there, darling,” you respond, voice as gentle as you can manage. It’s not the first time you’ve heard Matthew cry, but it breaks your heart every time. As much as he tries to seem tough and aloof, you know how deeply losses like this affect him. Now it makes sense that he didn’t want video involved.

“How are you?” he asks, clearly moving his face away from the receiver as he sniffles, but you can still hear it. You move to the couch, sinking into the cushions, as if you’re as crushed as he is.

“I’m okay,” you reply, “You holding up okay?” You know he’ll say that he’s fine, but you also know that he’s not. He may not be for a while. There’s a pause, a long stretch of silence, only interrupted by his deep, labored breaths.

“I wish you were here,” he says. He sounds absolutely miserable, his voice cracking in the middle of the sentence. The urge to hold him is overwhelming, your arms buzzing with the desire to wrap around him. You want to pull him down into your lap, let him tuck his head into the crook of your neck, let him cry on you as you scratch his scalp and kiss his head. Lockdown isn’t the only reason that can’t happen.

“I’m going to hug you so hard,” you insist, “As soon as I can see you again.”

July, 2023

While you’re still a third wheel with Brady and Emma, it’s better than being a fifth wheel with the entire group. You’d asked Taryn if she wanted to tag along, but she has training to do. Brady had already done his that morning, so he’s free for the rest of the day, and had invited you to spend some time together.

You’re certain that he doesn’t know how you feel about this place, how much it hurts to be here. As far as he’s aware, this is your favorite park, the one you visit with Matthew at least a few times a month every summer. He probably thinks it’s a great choice, something to cheer you up from the slump you know he’s noticed.

Despite the memories tugging at you from every direction, you’re mostly in a good mood. You’d gotten excellent news the day before yesterday, an opportunity you’ve dreamed of for a long time. You wanted to text Brady right after the meeting to tell him, but you’d decided it was better to share it with him and Emma in person. You’re debating something that absolutely doesn’t matter, all of you talking over each other. You’re waiting for the right moment to change the conversation. It doesn’t come until almost an hour into your walk, but you jump on it as soon as it does.

“I have some cool news,” you say, breaking the silent pause that had fallen over the group.

“Well?” Emma replies, “Go on.” The excitement is bubbling up inside of you again at the thought of it, your stomach turning, your chest too full.

“You know that gallery downtown that I love?” you ask, continuing after they agree, “I’m going to do a show there.” They stop in their tracks, Emma immediately enfolding you in her arms. You hug her back, squeezing tight as she bounces on her toes. When she pulls back, she holds your face in her hands, voice high and thrilled as she congratulates you. The smile on your face is unavoidable, happiness from the news mingling with the happiness of your friends being proud of you.

“Cool news, huh?” Brady asks, lightly smacking your shoulder as he says, “What an understatement.” The circle of his arms feels safe, his chest warm against your cheek as he holds you tight. The look on his face when he releases you is the best reaction you’ve gotten so far, his pride meaning more than anyone else’s.

“When is it?” he asks, taking Emma’s hand in his own once again and resuming the walk. You follow along, too excited to be self-conscious of the visible skip in your step.

“August 20th,” you say. There’s an unspoken question there, a silent invitation. You don’t want him to feel pressured to come, knowing that despite how supportive he is of your artistic endeavors, he’s not big on things like art shows. In the end, you don’t have to ask.

“You know we’re coming, right?” he asks, aiming a crooked smile at you, “You can’t stop us.” Though the smile hasn’t left your face since you brought up the topic, it gets brighter in return.

“I’d never dream of trying to,” you reply, and you mean it.

October, 2020

It’s odd to have the boys around at this time of year, the season usually taking them away at the end of August. You’re grateful for it, though. It means that you get to spend time with them, lockdown finally over, freeing you from the confines of your apartment. Your job has stayed remote, so you’re able to be around even more, saving time on what used to be an hour long commute each way.

Right now, it’s you and the boys, Emma, and Terri. You’d introduced her to them less than a month ago, but they already love her, just as you knew they would. She doesn’t always come around with you, considering how you spend nearly every day at the Tkachuks’, but she has some time today.

After twenty minutes of debating what you should watch, you all agree on a true crime documentary. You’ve given up your chair for Terri, squishing yourself onto the couch with Brady and Emma, pressing your cold feet against her leg and laughing when she yelps. She kicks you, only serving to make you laugh harder. Brady playfully threatens to fight you to defend his woman’s honor, and you put your fists up in front of you, jabbing out into the air as if you’re going to take him up on the offer. He chuckles, reaching out to fist bump you instead of punch. You drop your hands, looking past his big ass head.

Matthew is lounging in the second chair, the leg rest of the recliner up despite his legs being crossed under him. It’s the only way the chair will lean back, he’d told you once, and he doesn’t like sitting upright.

The smile on his face isn’t the wide grin you’d expected. It’s small, a gentle turn of the lips. Combined with the look he’s giving you– something unfocused, something unbearably soft– it implies an emotion that you know can’t be the correct interpretation. You swallow hard, turning your eyes back to Brady.

“Press play already, nerd,” you demand, tone playful enough to show that you don’t mean it. He sticks his tongue out at you, but does as he’s told.

Five minutes in, you glance over at Matthew, finding him already looking at you. You look away, slightly embarrassed to be caught. Another five minutes later, you can’t help but peek back at him again, as if your eyes are magnetized to him. It’s almost disappointing that he’s actually looking at the screen. It only takes a second for his eyes to move to the side, peering at you in his peripheral. The corner of his lips quirks up the tiniest bit, almost unnoticeable. But you notice.

You only make it maybe half an hour into the film before Matthew leans forward and snatches the remote from its place next to Brady. The plaintive sound Brady lets out is kind of funny, but you seem to think everything is funny today. Matthew pauses the show, declaring that the group needs snacks.

“Y/N, come give me a hand,” he says, beckoning you to follow him. You grumble a bit, but stand and follow him up the stairs and out of the den. He leads the way through the living room and into the kitchen. They’re fancy, so they have a walk-in pantry, of course. The two of you enter one after another. You start looking at the snack section, deciding what to grab. The good thing about being the one to retrieve the food is that you get to choose whatever you want and there’s nothing the others can say about it.

You’re rifling through the chips and pretzels when you feel a presence close behind you. It’s obviously Matthew, but he’s so close that you can feel the heat of his body radiating into your back. His left hand comes into your field of vision, pressing to the shelves next to your head. You twist your neck to look back at him, confused as to what he’s doing.

You’re not expecting the look he’s giving you. His eyes dark, completely focused in on your face. Your eyes flick from his eyes to his mouth without your permission. He’s not smiling, his lips parted just a fraction of an inch.

He rests his right hand on your shoulder, using it to turn your entire body around to face him. You can feel how dumbfounded your expression is as you stare up at him, your brow furrowed, your mouth slightly agape. He returns the gesture of looking at your mouth, his tongue quickly flicking out to wet his lips. He looks like he’s about to eat you alive. You would let him.

There’s a long, unbearable stretch of silence as the two of you just stare at each other, faces only a scant few inches apart. If this were anyone else, you would know exactly what’s going on, exactly what they want. But this is Matthew, your insanely wonderful, insanely hot, insanely out of your league friend. There’s no chance that he’s about to do what it feels like he is. No matter how many times you steal glances at each other, how closely he holds you, how many times he allows himself to be vulnerable with you, there’s no chance he’d ever want you. And just as you tell yourself that, he speaks.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, his breath brushing across your lips from the proximity. Your eyes go wide, your mouth falling open wider in shock. You’ve spent the last two years valiantly suppressing any type of attraction you have to him, trying to respect his station as your best friend’s brother. And now, in just four words, he’s let it all loose. It floods you inside, so overwhelming, so much to take all at once that it triggers a full system reset. You swear your heart stops, your mouth opening and closing as you struggle to tear the words from your lagging brain.

The words won’t come. The look on Matthew’s face is changing, something embarrassed, something guilty. He moves back an inch and you reach out, unwilling to let him go. You cup his face in your hands, pulling him in to press your lips together.

It’s lingering, almost chaste, and entirely sensational. Your lips are tingling, sparks shooting down your spine. Your chest feels cracked open, your innards exposed for his inspection, your true self exposed for his judgment.

When you pull back and open your eyes, his are still closed. He looks like he’s in heaven, like he’s trying to imprint this moment in his mind the same way that you are. After a moment, his eyelids slide up and he looks at you again. His eyes are hazy, unfocused, his blown pupils leaving only a thin ring of blue around the edge of his iris.

“Again,” he says, breathless, “Please.”

Who are you to deny him?

The second kiss is as good as the first, your breath abandoning your body to pant out against his lips. You meet again, his tongue flicking out for half a second to touch your top lip. It makes you breath hitch, makes you kiss him again, makes you gently bite his full bottom lip. The sound he lets out is barely audible, but it only feeds the fire inside of you, an inferno that blazes up from your hips to your throat. You cradle his face in your hands, hold just strong enough to move his head how you want, to slot your mouths together perfectly each time.

“Hurry up, asshole!”

Brady’s shout violently snaps you out of your haze. You jerk backward, trying to step away, but already pressed against the shelves. Matthew doesn’t seem as put off as you, smiling as if nothing happened. You relinquish your hold on his face, dropping your hands to your sides. His hands had wandered as you kissed, one on your waist, the other on the back of your neck. He squeezes once at the base of your skull, dipping in to give you one last quick kiss.

After frantically grabbing random snacks, you return to the den. You can feel how hot your face is, and you can only hope that it’s not too obvious how flustered you are. You and Matthew deposit the snacks on the coffee table, everyone immediately selecting one. You curl back up in your chair, legs pulled up to your chest as you lay sideways, head on the armrest.

Every time your eyes drift to Matthew for the rest of the evening, he’s looking back.

January, 2021

Just as the day the boys come home is the best day of the year, the day they leave for the season is the worst. Sometimes you wish you were Emma, that you could follow them back and forth and never be without them. But St. Louis is your home, is where you have a job and friends and more recently, family.

You’d helped both boys pack for the past few days, but you won’t be able to go along to drop them off at the airport. When Matthew had left for the playoffs, Emma had offered you her spot in the car. You’d told her that she didn’t have to, but she’d assured you she wanted it that way. She has to go along this time, so the car is already overpacked. Besides, you have to work that morning anyway.

You still show up at the Tkachuks’ beforehand, so early that the sun hasn’t made an appearance yet. Matthew had forgotten to pack his favorite sweater, of course. You fish it out from where it had fallen under his bed, straightening up to hold it out to him. He thanks you, deciding to wear it for the flight instead of shoving it into one of his bags. It looks good on him. Cozy.

Brady and Emma are double checking their room as well, one door down from you. Keith, Chantal, and Taryn are down in the living room, waiting as patiently as they’re capable of, which isn’t very much.

Being alone with Matthew used to be exciting, used to make your heart change its rhythm, used to start up a buzz under your skin. Now, it’s just… comfortable. Safe. Right.

When Matthew approaches you, crowding up into your space, you know exactly what he wants. The first time you’d kissed should have been the last. You’re too drawn to him, feel too much toward him, more than you should. More than he will ever return. The two of you haven’t discussed exactly what you’re doing here, but it’s clearly meant to be casual. Matthew isn’t typically the kind to shy away from voicing what he wants, and he hasn’t spoken up to define anything.

Is that what you want? You’re not sure. Making out like teenagers for months has been nice, has satisfied a part of you. But only a part.

You’re avoiding thinking about what you want, too afraid of what you’ll find. Some part of you, buried deep inside, hidden behind a recently built wall, already knows. If you allow yourself to acknowledge it, this will end badly. If you allow yourself to want, you’ll destroy yourself in the process.

The kisses he lays on your lips stay sweet, gentle presses, just a tease of tongue here and there. His arms are wrapped around you, resting on your shoulders, while your hands rest on his hips. You haven’t progressed past kissing, and you’re not sure if he wants anything beyond this. You’ll take what you can get.

Keith calls up the stairs for you to hurry up, lest the boys miss their flights. Matthew leaves one last peck on your lips, just as he always does before you part. You glance around his room a final time, making sure everything is packed. You help him bring his bags downstairs, help him and Emma get their things outside and into the car. You’ll have to go home as soon as they depart, and you’re actually a little grateful that you have work to distract you from the first hours of missing them.

As per usual, Emma is the first to hug you. You squeeze tight so that you can lift her off of her feet for a second, just to make her laugh. Brady grabs you next, as if both of them know that Matthew wants to be last. Brady wiggles you side to side, planting a kiss on the top of your head. You headbutt his shoulder, then kiss the same spot you’d hit. He says how much he’ll miss you, something he always reiterates for a few days before he leaves. You return the sentiment honestly, earnestly. When he pulls back, you punch his chest lightly, and he returns the gesture.

Matthew steps up and opens his arms, and you step into them easily. He doesn’t squeeze too hard, just holds you close, hand cupping the back of your neck, calming your anxiety and dulling the sharp edge of your pain.

“Gonna miss you so much, sweet girl,” he whispers into your hair, just loud enough for you to hear. You try to swallow the lump that has suddenly formed in your throat.

“Miss you already,” you reply, a little uneven, a little raw, “Can’t wait to see you again.” He places a kiss on your head as Brady had, but his lips linger, hesitant to let go. But he does let go.

They all wave as they drive off, Brady, Emma, Matthew, and Taryn all crammed into the back seat. You wave back, watching the car go, staring down the street even after the car turns and disappears.

Time to work, you suppose.

July, 2023

Art has never frustrated you so much in your life.

When you were young, the struggle and annoyance came from trying to get things just right, though they were above your skill level. As a teenager, it was due to the struggle of developing your own unique style. In college, it was not having the energy to paint most days, falling asleep at the easel others.

For the past month, the art has been flowing. You’ve been painting most every day, the ideas coming easily, creating almost a compulsion that you can’t resist. It’s only satisfied when the painting is complete. There are a couple dozen or so canvases scattered around your apartment to dry, the most you’ve ever produced in a single month. But the frustration– the frustration comes from the fact that all of your ideas are about him. All of your paintings are moments with him, things he’d said, how you’d felt, how you’d hoped he felt.

There’s a feeling inside of you, as if you’re right on the edge of catharsis, as if you paint just one more thing, you’ll be able to let it all go. That’s your motivation for everything you’ve been making, just desperately searching for the release that will save you from the pain. At this point, you’re not sure it will ever come.

You’re working on a bigger canvas, the biggest you’ve used in years. You’re glad your current job allowed you to move into a bigger apartment, because you surely wouldn’t have been able to fit something like this in your old shoebox, packed so full of your things that you’d barely had space for an 11x14. You have to stand to reach the upper portion, swiping a brighter red over the dark red base. You don’t want it to be about him. It is anyway.

The show at the gallery is rapidly approaching, only a month away. You’ve been working with the curator to decide which pieces to use, filing through years of work. So far, everything that she’s found compelling has been about him. Things you’ve made recently, things you made years ago when things were still good. One day, you’ll get over this. But not today. Today still just hurts.

June, 2021

With neither of the boys making the playoffs, they’d come home earlier than usual this year. Sadly, Brady is pretty used to it by now, usually coming home around this time anyway. You’re used to getting a few weeks with Brady and Emma before Matthew comes home, but you don’t have that this year.

While Brady sulks for about two days when he gets home, Matthew is far more upset. The Flames had made the playoffs for the last couple years, and he was getting used to being a contender. So not even getting a chance at it this year clearly stung. He moped around for a week or two, face tight and arms crossed over his chest most of the time. The only time he let his arms down, let his guard down, is when the two of you were alone.

You’d comforted him through the couple weeks of upset, even staying the night a few times. It wasn’t intentional, you’d just stayed so late that you fell asleep, and Matthew didn’t have the heart to wake you. You have to get up early to get home for work, so you’d snuck your way out of the house before anyone else had woken. You’re not sure how Keith and Chantal would have felt about you staying the night in Matthew’s bed, but you know what they would have thought was going on, and you didn’t want to put yourself or Matthew in that position.

Once he’d relaxed, taken a deep breath and accepted defeat, he went back to being his regular happy, seemingly aloof self. You’re grateful for it, not a fan of seeing him upset and always wanting to help him through and cheer him up.

June had come kindly, bringing along more sun and nicer weather. You and Matthew had resumed your walks in the park, and the whole group of you spend about as much time outside as you do in the den. Things with Matthew had picked up where they left off in January, him pulling you into a secluded area any time he could get you alone, kissing you senseless. You’d missed the feeling of his lips, of his body pressed to yours.

Tonight is one of the more rare nights where Matthew comes to your apartment, instead of you going to his parents’ house. You’ve offered to make dinner and follow it up with movies. You’re already on the couch, your dirty dishes abandoned on the coffee table. You’re laying on your side, Matthew spooned up against your back, your knees hanging off of the couch with the way they’re bent to accommodate Matthew’s too-long legs. You’re warm and comfortable, enjoying the feeling of safety that he brings, something you’ve very rarely felt in your life before.

The movie is good, but you’ve found that being in Matthew’s arms makes you sleepy, so you’re having a hard time focusing. You manage to mostly follow it, letting out a jaw-cracking yawn when the credits start to roll.

You feel Matthew place a kiss on the back of your neck without comment. Then he’s moving you, rearranging your bodies carefully until you’re on your back, Matthew staring down at you from his position straddling your thigh. The way he’s looking at you is intense, somehow simultaneously fond and hungry. It wakes you up almost instantly, and you reach out to rest your hands on his thighs.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says quietly, reverently. It’s not the first time he’s said it, but it feels different now. Maybe it’s the position you’re in, maybe the way he’s looking down at you as if he wants you, as if he–

He takes your hands in his own, bending down as he brings them up to cradle his cheeks. You run your thumbs across his high cheekbones, tilt his head up a little by the jaw as his eyes slide shut. You press your fingers into the soft spot behind his jaw, under his ears, pull him down, down, down.

Kissing him feels as easy as breathing. Guiding his head this way and that to get a better angle, pressing your lips together over and over, longer each time, deeper. Matthew has one hand on the arm of the couch to hold himself up, the other wrapped loosely around your wrist. He’s not trying to move you or take control, just holding on as if he needs something to ground him. You press your thumbs into the hollows of his cheeks, feeling the solid wall of his teeth under the skin. His mouth drops open and he lets out a soft sound. You press your thumbs in harder, between the new gap between his upper and lower teeth, testing how far you can push from the outside.

He squeezes your wrist once and you release the pressure. His mouth stays open, lips wet and shining. He opens his eyes halfway, as if his eyelids are too heavy to get all the way up, eyes hazy and unfocused.

Again, he squeezes your wrist. He’s suddenly standing, using his grip to guide you up as well. He immediately crowds up against you, as if being more than an inch away will kill him. His eyes have managed to refocus, but there’s still a dreamy look in them.

He takes a step backward, using the hand that had instinctively gone to the back of your neck to bring you with him. He kisses you, lingering. He takes another step back, gives you another kiss. He rounds the end of the couch and you realize where he’s leading you, kind of impressed that he can find his way to the bedroom without even looking.

Of course, your heart is a frantic mouse scurrying around your chest, thumping hard like you’re a prey animal facing down a predator. But as much as it freaks out in the cage of your chest, there’s no panic in your head. Being with Matthew calms your mind, keeps your hands from trembling, feels so right that you can’t find a reason for the anxiety that used to plague you around him.

He stops you halfway between the door and the bed, pulling back a couple inches to stare down at you. You’re hesitant to put a name to the look on his face, not sure if reverent is being dramatic.

You flatten your palms against the front of his shoulders, shoving him gently, bullying him toward the bed. He allows it for a moment, but stops after a few steps. He takes your hands in his own, brings them to his mouth to kiss your knuckles. You try to swallow down the desire that grows inside of you, threatening to spill out. He holds your hands close to his face, enough that you can feel his lips move when he speaks.

“You don’t have to be in control, sweet girl,” he says, lays another kiss on the bump of your right middle finger, looks deep into your eyes with such adoration you feel ready to split at the seams.

“Let me take care of you,” he says. The part of you that’s spent your entire life with a fist clenched desperately around any sense of control that it could find, for the first time, relinquishes its hold. And Matthew does, indeed, take care of you.

February, 2022

It’s your first time in Vegas, and the atmosphere is electric. There are hockey fans everywhere, plenty of people wearing jerseys as they explore the strip. Everything is so big, so bright, so fancy. As exciting as it is to be here, it makes you feel a little off, a little like you don’t belong. It reminds you of the first time you’d been to the Tkachuks’ house, amazed at how different everything is from the way you grew up.

Each player was supposed to be allotted two tickets, but they had allowed Brady to take additional tickets for his family, considering Matthew is his brother, in addition to how well-known and beloved Keith is. He’d managed to get Emma included as well, luckily.

You weren’t sure how he did it, but Brady had gotten another player to give one of his tickets so that you could come. Apparently the guy’s family couldn’t make the trip, and he only had one friend that he really wanted to bring. He won’t tell you who it was, but the way that Timo Meier winks at you as he passes the stands gives you an idea. You weren’t aware that the two talked, but there’s always the possibility that he had just gone around and asked everyone. The idea makes something bloom in your chest, as if you could love Brady more than you already do. You’ll have to find a way to thank Timo some time.

The skills competitions are fun, though Brady doesn’t win anything. It’s nice to see the players relaxing and having fun, a well-deserved break from the stress of the season.

You all go out to an early meal before the games the next day. You don’t realize until you arrive that Jack Hughes and his family were joining you, and you trip over your own feet when you see them waiting for you. You’re a huge fan of Jack’s, but more than that, Ellen Weinberg-Hughes is an icon. You stumble with your words when you greet her, shaking her hand and screaming silently in your head. With how the boys are looking at you as you do so, they obviously anticipated your reaction and are incredibly satisfied with themselves.

For the meal, you’re sat between Matthew and Jack. You’re grateful that Matthew is next to you, needing his calming presence as you meet some of your favorite players. The families are friendly with each other, the parents catching up on the news of each others’ lives, the children doing the same in separate conversations.

You spend most of the dinner talking to Jack, Quinn, and Matthew. They tell you all sorts of things, including embarrassing stories about Matthew that you weren’t privy to. You grin at Matthew every time they share one, absolutely intending to tease him about it later. This seems to be what the Hughes boys want, eager to give you more ammunition. Matthew buries his face in his hands at one particularly humiliating story, even as he shakes gently with quiet laughter. When he emerges and sits back up, you take a chance, placing your hand on his thigh. You squeeze once, trying to reassure him. He does his best to not react, but he also rests his hand on top of yours under the table.

“So you’re a painter, right?” Quinn asks at one point, curiosity evident in his perpetually sleepy eyes.

“Yeah,” you confirm, asking “How did you know?” You’d told them about your official job, but you hadn’t mentioned being a traditional artist in addition to a graphic designer. Jack turns a smug smile on you.

“Matthew talks about you a lot,” he says, pleased with himself. You look to Matthew just in time to see his face flush.

“Shut up,” he says to Jack, which only makes him smile wider. Jack’s attitude rubs off on you a little, and you give Matthew a delighted smile.

“How much is a lot?” you ask Jack, feeling Matthew dig his fingertips into your knuckles.

“Like, a lot,” Jack replies, Quinn nodding from his other side. You look back to Matthew, who looks like he wants to crawl under the table and hide.

“I talk about him a lot, too,” you say. That makes Matthew look at you again, bright eyes nearly sparkling in the restaurant’s dim lighting. His expression shifts, a small, grateful smile scrunching his eyes up the slightest bit.

After dinner, you all make your way to the arena. Brady and Jack left a while before the rest of you, needing to arrive in time to get dressed and likely do some more media. Before he’d left, Jack had requested your phone, creating a contact for himself and inputting his number. As he dud, you turned your face away, toward Matthew, opening your mouth wide as if you’re screaming. He looked amused at it, but there’s a sharp edge there. Quinn took the phone next, doing the same thing. You squeezed Matthew’s thigh again, and his expression softened. You’ve been following the Hughes brothers since they were in Juniors, and having them like you enough to want to keep in touch– you can only describe the feeling as elation.

The lines are out the door at the arena, and a few people catch the boys to request photos before you can get to the special entrance for players’ guests. They’re all very kind and courteous about it, taking a few pictures with people, finding a way to move through the crowd even as they do so. You probably should have come a different way, or maybe gotten there earlier, but as long as the boys don’t mind, you don’t either.

The seats are good, the second row of the first balcony. It seems to be the section that they put all of the family and friends, people milling around and chatting with each other. You spot Johnny’s parents a couple rows away, the only people around that you’ve met before. You wave to them and they return the gesture. They make their way down to your seats, greeting each of you in turn. They start chatting with Keith and Chantal, so you continue talking to Taryn and Emma.

The games are great, surprisingly fast. The Atlantic division plays a great game again Central, despite losing by 3. You still can’t help being proud of Brady. You’ve been next to him since his first season, and you’ve loved getting to watch him grow and improve. As long as he’s in the world, you’re going to be proud of him.

The final is awesome too, and you jump up to cheer when Jack scores in the first. When the Metropolitan wins, you high-five Taryn, glad that Jack could win when Brady couldn’t. Not a bad consolation prize.

The group hangs around for a while after, and you get to meet a bunch of new people. Everyone is so nice, making you feel welcome, feel like you belong. When you finally start up the stairs to leave, Johnny’s mom Jane stops you for a second. She pinches your jersey and gives you a sly smile.

“Just a family friend?” she asks, not a question but a suggestion. A few years back, Matthew had given you one of his jerseys to wear to a game, and you’ve worn it tonight, despite him not playing. You realize now how it could be interpreted, ducking your head for a second to smile at the floor, before looking back up to Jane.

“Just a family friend,” you say, firm and definitive. She holds your gaze for a moment, looks behind her at Matthew, who’s waiting patiently a few steps up. He’s looking at you, that soft look he gives you sometimes. After a second, he smiles brightly at Jane. She waves and turns back to you.

“We’ll see,” she says. She pats your shoulder twice before making her own way up the stairs with Guy. Once you process the statement, you shake your head and make your way up to Matthew.

“What was that?” he asks as you enter the corridor. There’s no way you can tell him the truth, and honestly, you’re not sure what the fuck that was either. You just shrug at him, continuing your way out of the arena.

The comment sticks with you, no matter how you try to brush it off. Johnny is Matthew’s best friend, and you’ve met Jane a few times before. If it had been a stranger, you would’ve dismissed it outright. But to hear it from someone who actually knows the two of you? That’s harder to let go.

July, 2023

Laurel, the curator for the gallery hosting your show, is a lovely woman. She’s also very, very good at her job. You’ve been to countless shows at this gallery, and they’re always perfectly compiled, excellently arranged. You’ve brought her your most recent paintings today, which makes you glad that you have a car, because hauling them through the city would be a nightmare.

The only problem you have with Laurel is that she seems to see straight through you. You’re not used to someone looking past the professional figure you present, let alone someone seeing every part of you that you put into your art.

She’s staring at your offerings, examining every last detail. She’s already chosen about half of the pieces that will be displayed, creating a theme with your relatively impressionist style. She moves one canvas to the side, away from the others. She takes an extra few minutes to consider one of them, the largest one. It just finished drying yesterday. Having to see it every day as you passed it in the living room has been torture.

“Everything except that one,” she says, gesturing to the one she’d set aside. If she wants all of these, that’s likely going to be everything for the show. With everything else she’s chosen, this is all they have the wall space for, considering the way that you’ve seen Laurel arrange the art in previous shows you’d attended.

“That one is the centerpiece,” she adds, hand against her cheek as she continues staring at the large canvas. You swallow hard. Of course. Of course every painting she likes is about him. Of course the centerpiece will be him. No matter what you do, you’ll never escape him.

She asks a bit about your inspiration and motivation for the piece, and you give her vague answers that sound more philosophical than the real thing. The two of you discuss some of the minutiae of the show, trying to get everything finalized ahead of time. There’s less than a month left, and your excitement is starting to pair itself with dread.

When you get home, you go straight to your bedroom and throw yourself face first onto your mattress. You bury your face in a pillow, finally letting out the scream that’s been stuck in your throat since you learned of Tessa’s existence. It helps.

You make and have dinner, barely aware of what you’re eating. At least you can eat without getting nauseous now. You don’t feel like watching TV, probably wouldn’t be able to pay attention to a real show right now. Instead, you sit on your bed, leaning back against the headboard. You scroll social media mindlessly for a while, the ghost of Matthew next to you, his invisible arm pressed against yours.

February, 2022

Despite your better judgment, the first time you and Matthew had slept together wasn’t the last, either. It had continued through last summer, then again when he’d come to play the Blues. Now you’re in Calgary, in Matthew’s apartment for the first time, in his bed again.

A lot of people idolize the first time they sleep with someone, comparing every subsequent time to the first and often coming out disappointed. You had no reason to do so, because the sex only got better over time. As you and Matthew learned each other’s bodies, figured out what got the best reactions, the sex kept improving. Even if you wanted to fall back on your morals and resist him out of respect for Brady, you know you couldn’t stay away for long. It’s irresistible.

And it’s not just the sex. It’s the way he holds you after, lays on his back so that you can rest your head on his chest. It’s the way his breath ruffles your hair as you fall asleep together. It’s the things he says to you.

It’s the nights like this.

You’re in Matthew’s bedroom, the dark dead of night offering only the moon to light the room. Your head is on Matthew’s chest, his arm around you to keep you close, as if you would ever willingly leave. Your breathing had returned to normal a while ago, your body cooling off and beginning to recover from the rush of feeling. Matthew kisses the top of your head every so often, and you return the sentiment by tilting your head to lay kisses against his sternum.

“I wish I could keep you here forever,” he says, so hushed that you almost miss it. He’s always so quiet when he talks like this, as if he’s afraid to say it. He says these kinds of things anyway, but never above a whisper, not willing to share the vulnerability with anyone but you. Again, you press your lips into his skin.

“I wish I could stay here forever,” you reply. It would be nice, wouldn’t it? To stay here, with him. No need to be quiet so as not to wake his family, no having to sneak out in the morning, no work to keep you away. Just laying here, together.

“I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you,” he says. There’s desire in his voice, of course, but also earnesty, like he really means it. Part of you would like to believe that he does, but another part knows how important it is to not get caught up in the fantasy. It’s easier said than done.

“Not any of the other girls you’ve had?” you ask. You’d meant for it to come out teasing, but your honest curiosity wins out. Then there’s a hand on your chin, fingers gently guiding your head up until you’re looking Matthew in the eye. It’s not exactly comfortable to crane your neck like this, so you prop yourself up on one forearm, resting the other hand where your head had been as you stare down at him.

“Never,” he replies, insistent. He looks so serious, sounds so sincere. You don’t say anything, can’t think of anything. There’s something in the wide roundness of his eyes that speaks to you, pulls you in, encourages you to search deeper. It takes a second to figure out what it is that’s hiding in there, but… it’s fear.

“I never want this with anyone else,” he says, tangling his fingers with yours over his racing heart. There’s a question you want to ask, something you’ve been wanting to ask for a while, but the fear in him has mirrored itself within you. You should just shut up, keep it to yourself. The words come out before you can convince yourself to stay quiet.

“What is this?” you ask. You’re not sure what answer you’re expecting, but you know which one you’re hoping for. He takes a deep breath, exhales slowly. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and for the first time, you don’t divert your gaze to admire the sheen of them, unable to look away from his eyes.

“I don’t know,” he says, pauses, presses your entwined hands harder to his chest, “But I never want to give it up.”

May, 2022

Again, Matthew is the second to come home. Brady returned almost a month before in April, the Senators not in the playoffs, as usual. You feel bad sometimes, because Brady is genuinely a great player, but his team has just struggled to gel together. Even through all of their trials, Brady insists on keeping hope. He loves his teammates, and that’s what really matters to him.

Matthew, on the other hand, isn’t so great at dealing with failure. The Flames make it to the second round, which is an achievement all on its own. But after winning Game 1, they’d lost four in a row and been knocked out. It feels to Matthew almost like they got swept, he explains over the phone after the final loss.

When he gets home, he once again spends a week sulking. You mimic what you’d done last year, though staying the night is intentional this time. So long as you sneak out before anyone wakes up, you’ll be fine.

On the eighth day, you tell Matthew for the hundredth time how proud of him you are. He shoots you a bittersweet smile and says that he’s proud of himself too, and you know he’s bouncing back. It doesn’t help that he’s been debating for months whether to re-sign with the Flames, an agonizing choice for him. He loves his boys, but he’s not sure he belongs there anymore. You’ve assured him that you’ll support him no matter what decision he makes. Johnny hits free agency next month, and if he moves, you’re not sure that Matthew will have the motivation to stay.

The next couple of weeks go by the same way that they always do, with you spending as much time with the Tkachuks as possible. At least, you think you’re doing a good job of acting like everything is the same as years past. No one knows about you and Matthew, and it seems like he wants to keep it that way. You like having this little secret life with him, getting to have him all to yourself. You’re okay with the way it is, you convince yourself.

June came quickly, having begun only four days after he’d returned. The weather improves, you and Matthew once again resume your walks in the park. You play yard games and watch trash TV with Brady and Emma. You help Chantal cook dinners, help Keith clean up afterward. Everything is back to the summer standard.

The day had been nice, sunny and warm. The light had turned the leaves of the trees golden during your walk this afternoon. The sun is long gone now. Nighttime has become your favorite part of the day, the only time you get to indulge in whatever it is that you and Matthew have. The only time you get to touch his skin, to hear the low sounds he can’t help but make, to feel his warmth against you, inside you.

It’s been some time since you’d finished, but you can’t quite fall asleep. Matthew is spooned up against your back, face buried in the nape of your neck. You’re not sure if he’s asleep or not, too distracted to bother trying to figure it out. You’ve been thinking about it since your visit to Calgary. Any time Matthew called, or texted, or even crossed your mind, you thought of it. It made your heart leap into your throat, your breath catching as you choked on it.

He doesn’t know what you’re doing together, what you are. He didn’t give the response you’d been hoping for, but he didn’t outright deny it either. Sometimes you think it would have been better if he had, if he’d said that it was just sex. Then you could start working on moving on. You wouldn’t have to lie awake at night, wondering.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his groggy voice making you startle and snapping you out of your head. You take a deep breath, debating yourself for a couple seconds before you decide.

“Nothing,” you reply, patting his forearm where it’s snaked around your waist, “Go back to sleep.” He takes a quick, deep breath, the air rushing out over your skin. You’re helpless to resist when he starts moving you. If you did put up a fight, push back against his hands, you know he would stop. But you’re tired.

“What’s wrong?” he asks again once you’re flipped to face him. He looks tired too, the exhaustion of the season still lingering. The moonlight paints his face in silver. It makes his skin shine, almost glowing in the darkness.

“I’m afraid,” you say. You wish he hadn’t turned you around. It would be easier to speak it into the wall than it is to say to his face. You say it anyway, watching his brow furrow, admiring the way the silver light adds contrast to the wrinkles the expression creates.

“Of what?” he asks. You could make something up. Telling him that you’re afraid of monsters under the bed would be less embarrassing. You’ve never been very good at lying to him.

“The day you move on,” you whisper, invisible pressure on your throat making the words come out tight and unsteady. The surprise on his face surprises you in return. He’d refused to put words or labels to whatever this is, of course you would think that he’s going to leave eventually. You’d have to be an idiot to think that he means it when he says forever.

“I won’t,” he says, resolute. You can only manage a half-smile for him.

“You’re not the first man to say that,” you reply. He reaches up and cradles your cheek in his wide palm, warmth seeping into your skin.

“But I’m the first one to mean it,” he says. You close your eyes. They begin to prickle at the corners, but you refuse to cry about any of this. He’s so adamant, so steadfast in his insistence. You try to remind yourself of what this isn’t, what it will never be, but you’ve never trusted someone the way you trust him, and you can’t help believing him anyway.

August, 2023

You hadn’t anticipated this happening, let alone how hard it would be, but finally, finally it’s a little bit easier.

You’re not over Matthew, not by a long shot. It’s going to take months, years. It may never happen, who knows? As long as you can cope with it, can keep your friends around, that’s all that matters.

The first half of the day was spent with both boys and their girls. You didn’t have to curl up so tightly on your chair, didn’t have to force words out so they didn’t think anything was wrong. Conversation was relatively easy, topics changing and flowing naturally. You’d smiled, laughed, and a couple of times you actually meant it.

Matthew had apparently planned a date for Tessa and himself, so they excuse themselves in the late afternoon. Brady, Emma, and you stick around the den for a bit, continuing to talk. Eventually, Emma stands, stretching dramatically.

“Let’s go for a walk,” she suggests. You’ve spent too much time lately sitting at an easel or curled up in bed, and a walk sounds like a great idea.

You expect it this time when Brady takes the three of you to the same park. It’s easier when you’re not blindsided by it, and you have the lovely memory of the last time you were here with the two to focus on, instead of Matthew. You walk for a while, music playing softly from Emma’s phone, tucked in her back pocket. Once you’re deep into the wooded area of the park, she stops dead in her tracks. You follow suit, spinning around to shoot her an inquisitive look. She takes the two steps forward to close the space between you two, grabbing you by the shoulders and walking you backward. You stumble, trying to look behind yourself to keep from falling. She pushes until the backs of your knees hit a bench on the side of the pathway and you fall onto it. You gape up at her, befuddled by the behavior and the way her arms are crossed over her chest.

“What’s going on,” she demands, not a question. You furrow your brow, at a loss for words. You know what she’s talking about, and you know that she knows that you know. But why would she wait until the day that it starts to fade, the day that you can finally think of something else, to ask you about it?

“C’mon, Y/N,” Brady says, plopping down on the bench next to you, “We know something’s wrong.” You had accepted the possibility of this back in June, but you weren’t expecting it to take almost three months for it to happen.

Your first instinct is that you absolutely can’t tell them. You’ve been keeping this secret for years, and if Matthew has his way, you’ll keep it forever. If Matthew gets his way, you repeat in your head. That’s it, isn’t it? All this time, you’ve been so focused on what Matthew wants that you ignored your own wanting. What do you want?

You want to tell someone, to finally have this horrid pain out in the open instead of keeping it caged up around your heart. You want your best friend and his wife to hug you. You want them to understand.

“Matthew,” the name tumbles out, and you don’t want to stop it. Brady and Emma are still looking at you, waiting for anything you want to tell them. God, Brady is your goddamn best friend and you’d convinced yourself that you couldn’t tell him something? That there was anything on this earth that he would shun you for?

It all comes spilling out in a rush. Everything from the first time you’d met him. Hell, some information that isn’t strictly necessary, but they don’t interrupt you or complain, so you venture on. It takes long enough to recount that Emma sits on the metal armrest of the bench. Brady’s holding one of your hands in his lap, Emma taking the other to do the same.

You’d promised yourself more than once that you wouldn’t cry about this, but you don’t really care enough to stop yourself now. The tears come two-thirds of the way through, falling silently as you recount some of the things Matthew had told you, the things he’d promised you. You’re not outright sobbing, so you manage to power through the rest of the story. Your eyes are squeezed tightly shut by the end, like closing them will block out the memories.

It takes a couple of minutes for the tears to stop. The three of you let the silence hang as you wait for it, nothing but the leaves rustling in the trees, something scurrying in the bushes. When you can safely open your eyes to face the world again, you look over to Brady. He looks devastated.

You watch his evolving emotions morph the expression on his face, from heartbreak to anger and back again. The anger makes your heart skip a beat, suddenly afraid that maybe the whole “I slept with your brother” thing will be a problem after all.

“Do you want me to kick his ass?” he asks, startling a laugh out of you. You know he’s dead serious, too. Part of you thinks it might be cathartic to see Matthew get beat up by his little brother, but your soft heart doesn’t want anything bad to happen to him. After everything he’s done to you, you still don’t want him to have to feel even a fraction of the pain you do.

February, 2023

This year, the boys don’t have to bribe anyone else to get you to the All Star Game. Each of them is allotted two tickets as per usual, but Taryn is too busy with school to come. She’d aimed a satisfied smirk at Matthew through the camera of her phone, saying guess you’ll have to take that one along as her eyes darted slightly to the left, clearly looking at where you were on the screen.

Since your work is remote, you’ve brought along your laptop. You spend the morning of the skills competition working, still averse to using your PTO if it’s not completely necessary. The boys have to do media, so there’s no one around to bother or distract you. You kind of wish there were.

The special skills competitions are as fun this year as they were last. You especially love Sidney Crosby in the dunk tank, seemingly having the time of his life. You may not know him personally, only having met him once in passing, but after everything he’s been through, you think he deserves some carefree fun.

The sun has set by time you emerge from the arena after the regular skills competitions. The days are shorter at this time of year, even in Florida. It is warmer than St. Louis, though, which you’re grateful for.

Jack is in the competition again this year, so you meet up with the Weinberg-Hugheses again that night. You’ve gotten much closer with Jack and Quinn over the past year, building relationships on texts and calls and dinners when they play the Blues. Luke has tagged along this time, and you get on with him just as well as his brothers.

Matthew shoots Jack a look when he slings an arm around you on the way back to your hotels after dinner, but Jack just grins at him. You’re still not sure what that’s all about, but you’re just going to stay out of it.

The games the next day are fantastic. You’ve never gotten to watch both of your boys win at once, and you love it. When the Atlantic wins the whole thing, you cheer so loudly your voice cracks. Emma laughs at you, but you just laugh along with her.

You stick around for a bit after the game again, Keith and Chantal mingling while Emma shows you the decorations she’s planning for the wedding on her phone. After a while, someone taps you on the shoulder from behind. You turn your head, immediately recognizing Jane. Johnny had made it again this year with his new team, so it would make sense that she’s here too. You stand, reaching up to hug her in her elevated position.

“Matthew got you a new jersey?” she asks, referencing the All-Star jersey you’ve got on. You wish you could say that you bought it for yourself, but it had indeed been a gift from Matthew. It shouldn’t be embarrassing, so you act like it’s not, even though it is.

“Yeah, he’s a great friend,” you reply, shrugging, “He likes to take care of me.” The thing about Jane is that she’s not really a jerk. Sometimes the you-and-Matthew comments bother you, but she’s generally a very sweet woman.

“It’s good to have someone like that,” she says, smiling gently at you, “Matthew is a good boy.” Jane had been at enough Flames games for you to know her, and definitely enough for Matthew to become a pseudo-son to her. They don’t interact much anymore, save for when she pops up in the back of Johnny’s facetimes, but you know she still has a soft spot for him. You don’t blame her.

“He really is,” you agree, nodding. The two of you make some small talk, and you get some updates on Johnny’s new life on the Blue Jackets. You give her some updates on Matthew in return. After a bit, Guy shuffles up next to Jane, telling her that it’s time to go. She acknowledges him quickly, turning back to take one of your hands in her own.

“I know he takes care of you,” she says, patting the back of your hand with her second, “But you take care of that boy, too. Okay?” You just nod, smiling and bidding her goodbye. Her and Guy retreat up the steps and out of view. You’re not sure why she feels the need to say these things to you, and you’re not sure why you take them to heart.

You meet Matthew and Brady outside the player entrance, the boys immediately scooping up you and Emma, respectively. Matthew sweeps you off of your feet for a moment, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. Once you’re free, you start to dip forward, realizing what you’re doing at the last second and changing track to make sure the kiss lands on his cheek.

He beams at you, and you’re absolutely certain that you’ll spend the rest of your life trying to make him smile.

April, 2023

The day Brady comes home is the best day of the year, you remind yourself for the thousandth time. You’re excited to see him, you are. The way your chest has felt rent open for days isn’t his fault in any way. You’re not going to make him pay for being the messenger.

Once you all get the couple home, you go upstairs with Brady and Emma to help them unpack. They don’t really need help, obviously, but it’s an excuse to spend time together. Brady talks a little about the season, but mostly focuses on his plans for the summer. He talks about wanting to go see G, maybe even take a trip out to visit Tim.

For the most part, you just fold clothes and listen. Eventually, they switch to the topic of the wedding, Emma showing you even more pictures. She’d asked you to be a bridesmaid forever ago, so you’ve already seen most of it, had even helped her pick half of it out, but you’re never going to squash her excitement.

Exhausted from their travel, the two make their way down to the den after everything is put away, collapsing onto the couch. You curl up in your chair, allowing the couple to choose what you watch. They pick something or another, nothing that you can pay attention to right now. Instead, you find yourself examining Brady, picking apart his features, finding all the things he shares with Matthew.

It’s the best day of the year, you remind yourself again. The light of the TV highlights Brady’s jawbone and your skin crawls.

August, 2023

The show is going exceptionally well, exceeding your expectations. The space is filled with strangers, friends, and even your brother and his family. There are critics and collectors, some that you’ve seen at other people’s shows, some that you don’t recognize. Everyone wants to talk to you, and you don’t get a spare moment to breathe for the first few hours.

When you do get a chance to exhale, the rich couple that had been occupying you finally walking away, you catch the color out of the corner of your eye. You’ve been all around the building all night, mingling and networking in equal measure. You hadn’t realized where you ended up until right this second. You turn to the piece, staring as if you’d never seen it before.

You don’t need to look over to see who steps up next to you a minute later.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Matthew says. It doesn’t feel like an accusation, though it is one. All you can do is sigh.

“What did you expect me to do?” you ask, not expecting an answer. You glance at his hands out of the corner of your eye, noticing the wine glass in one hand, water glass in the other. Without a word, Matthew holds the water out in your direction, still fixated on the painting. You take it, feeling odd that not only does Matthew know that you forget to drink enough water, but also that he’s still trying to take care of you.

“It’s me,” he says after a pause. You’re both facing the largest canvas, the centerpiece. Swirls of bright red spread across a crimson background, highlighted with orange, accented with a royal purple. There, in the center, are two comparatively small, even circles of icy blue.

“They’re all you. Or about you, at least,” you say, seeing no need to deny it any longer, “About us.” It’s obvious that Matthew hadn’t expected you to admit it outright, thrown off for a minute by the admission.

“Can we talk?” he asks as you take a sip of water.

“We’re talking right now,” you reply, feeling petty. It’s his turn to sigh. He sets his wine glass down on the nearest horizontal surface before returning to your side, facing you this time.

“Somewhere private,” he clarifies, pauses, “Please.” You may be mad at him, enraged, incensed, but you’ve never been able to deny him anything, and you still can’t, even now.

You shut the storage room door behind you, flicking on the light to chase away the darkness. Matthew has his hands shoved in his pockets, looking around as if there’s anything interesting in here. You cross your arms over your chest, waiting for him to nut up and look you in the face.

“Listen,” he begins, rubbing the back of his neck but still not looking at you, “I know I should have gone about this better.” You snort. No shit. The sound finally brings Matthew’s gaze to meet your own.

“I’m sorry, okay?” Matthew says, motioning with his raised hand, “I didn’t think you’d care that much.” You can feel how incredulous your expression is, and you don’t even try to hide it.

“In what world would I not be upset?” you respond, “After everything?” You can hear yourself, know you sound like a bitter, jealous old ex, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows and looks away again. When he looks back, there’s an almost pleading look in his eyes.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he says, more sincerely than the first time, “You shouldn’t have had to find out from Brady.” You avert your gaze, working your jaw for a second before you raise your chin and square your shoulders.

“No,” you agree, “I shouldn’t have.”

“I’m sorry I stopped talking to you,” he says, motioning helplessly with his hands, “You have to know how hard that was.” You shake your head, almost disgusted.

“Imagine how hard it was for me,” you reply. Your fingertips are digging into your own arm, fingernails biting into the skin. The fact that he would stand here and imply that this was a struggle for him– as if he expects you to offer sympathy– makes your stomach churn. The guilt in his expression makes you sickly satisfied.

“Listen,” he leads with that word again, as if he has any right to ask it of you, “I didn’t want to upset her. You know how some girls are.” You do know. And it’s still not an excuse.

“You didn’t tell her about me,” you say, anger and hurt straining your voice, “You said that I was just Brady’s best friend. You didn’t even tell her what we had.” You want to scream it at him, just want to scream in general. Maybe if you did, if you released your tight grip on control in a different way than you had with him, maybe it would make him understand.

“What did we have?” he asks. His voice is quiet, just as yours had been when you’d brought up the topic all those months ago.

“I don’t know,” you say, turning his own words back on him. It’s true, anyway. You’ve never known what any of this was. You’d only known what you wanted it to be, what you stupidly, fruitlessly hoped for.

“We never dated,” he replies, voice still low but seemingly not bothered by the uncertainty, “We never called it a relationship. You were never my girlfriend.” It’s a simple fact. It tears your heart out of your chest.

“Just because we didn’t name it doesn’t mean it was nothing,” you insist, squeezing your eyes shut for a second to push down the urge to cry before admitting, “I stopped dating.” He looks even guiltier at that, but it doesn’t soothe anything in you.

“I didn’t look at another man,” you continue, embarrassed and ashamed but unable to let him continue through life without knowing, “I didn’t even want to look at anyone else.” The shame makes the fiery anger burn brighter.

“I gave you three years of my fucking life,” you say, voice raising just enough to make Matthew flinch. You keep it reigned in enough that no one outside will hear, not interested in sharing this conversation with anyone else, especially not potential business contacts. The flames engulf your chest, lick up at your throat, threaten to consume you.

“I never asked you to do that,” Matthew replies, solemn. Your jaw drops, just half an inch, enough to part your lips as your breath hitches. He never asked. He never fucking–

“You–” you begin, breath catching in your throat as your eyes burn with tears you refuse to let escape, “Everything you said, everything you did, and you expected what? For me to just move on?” Your nails are digging so deeply into your biceps that you’re surprised they haven’t drawn blood. Matthew doesn’t respond right away, and you can’t tamp down the impulse to be petty.

“But I guess that’s what you did, huh?” you jab. Matthew shuts his eyes tightly, fists clenching like he wants to fight. It should be threatening, but you’ve always known that he would never dream of laying a finger on you in violence. But then again, you’d thought you knew a lot of things about him.

“Why do you care?” he asks, shoulders tense as he opens his eyes to stare you down, “You don’t even want me.” That shocks a laugh out of you, so completely ridiculous that you can’t help it.

“That’s the most fucked up part– I do want you,” you respond, simultaneously an answer and an admission. His brow furrows as he continues looking at you, as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing.

“Did you seriously think I didn’t?” you ask, more of a demand, slightly offended because, “Do you think I said all those things for fun? For shits and giggles?” You can’t read his expression, don’t even bother trying. He can feel whatever he wants. That’s not your concern anymore. All you care about is the cold spreading through you, crawling up from the tips of your fingers, freezing your arms, creeping into your chest and beginning to extinguish your rage.

“I loved you, dickhead,” you continue, the words spilling out of you starting to sound pathetic, no matter how hard you’re trying to hold on to the anger, putting the last grasp of it into the words, “Stupid fucking idiot asshole, I loved you.” Matthew gapes at you, hands going lax at his sides. His jaw moves as if to say something, but nothing comes out.

“I loved you and you threw me away like garbage, and didn’t even have the balls to tell me yourself,” you force the sentence out, feeling like you’re choking on every syllable. Matthew’s breathing stutters. You’re expecting annoyance, irritation, maybe even shame or guilt. You’re not expecting his wide eyes, his eyebrows turned up in the middle, his slack jaw.

“You loved me?” he finally asks after a few agonizingly long seconds of silence. There’s something in his voice that you tell yourself you don’t care to analyze.

“Of course I did. How could I not?” you say, huffing as you look upwards, needing a momentary break from this staring contest, “The pathetic part, the part that makes me hate myself, is that I still do.” It’s physically painful to say, no matter that the hurt is psychosomatic. You’ve spent the last few minutes breaking open your ribcage, one bone at a time, revealing to him the space you’d made for him inside of yourself.

“You love me?” he asks, so dumbfounded that he’s repeating himself.

“Yes, Matthew,” you say, facing up to the dread inside of you, the one fact you’ve been struggling with the most since you’d found out the news.

“And I’m terrified. Because I’ve always loved you,” you pour out, barely able to hold yourself together as you meet his eyes, “And I’m afraid that I always will.” There’s not even space for half of a breath before Matthew speaks.

“Please do,” he says. His hands are open, palms facing your direction, as if pleading.

“What?” you ask.

“I didn’t know,” he says, and apparently he’s decided it’s his turn to reveal himself, “I was surprised that you wanted anything to do with me at all. But then you kissed me, and I spent the next three years waiting for you to leave.” The confusion comes over you so quickly that it almost masks the hurt.

“Why would I leave?” you ask. There’s been nothing subtle about your feelings. You’ve told him that he’s the only one you want, that you want to spend the rest of your life by his side, that he’ll always be the only one. How could he hear all of that and think that you would ever leave?

“Because you’re smart and kind and funny and hardworking–” he starts listing off.

“Tessa is all of those things too,” you cut him off. It doesn’t come out as resentful as you would’ve expected a sentence like that to. As you’ve told Terri, you really have nothing against Tessa. Besides, she really is everything he’s saying.

“But she’s not you,” his response comes immediately, emphatically, “I don’t want just anyone like that; I want you, and you happen to be that way.” You’re stunned into silence.

“It’s not the traits, it’s you,” he says, insistent, like he’s trying to convince you of your own worth, “And I kept waiting for you to find someone else, someone who wasn’t hotheaded and self-centered and–” He stops himself, swallowing so hard you can see his throat stutter under the thin skin of his neck.

“Someone better,” he finishes. The thing is that Matthew doesn’t have low self-esteem. He knows he’s a catch, and yet… And yet, he’s standing here, admitting that he’d still thought of you as being so far above him that you could never want him. And it’s not that there isn’t probably someone out there better than him–

“I never wanted someone better,” you tell him, voice almost a whisper. Growing up, you’d created this picture of the perfect man, told yourself that you’d find him one day, would never settle for less. Then you’d met Matthew, and he was nothing like that imaginary ideal. He was flawed; he was real. And you couldn’t help but love him for it.

“And I never wanted anyone else,” he replies, his own voice hushed to match yours, but no less certain, “I still don’t.” Three months ago, you would’ve given anything to hear that. But things are different now.

“I thought that if I went and found someone like you, someone close enough, that I could fall for them too,” he confesses, shame making his face tense, “I thought that if I stopped talking to you, if I kept my distance, that I could get over you.” A fraction of the anger buds in your chest at the idea.

“So you’re using Tessa,” you accuse, instantly offended on her behalf.

“No!” Matthew denies emphatically, pauses, shakes his head, “Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.” If he is using her, at least he seems ashamed about it. Something in his posture makes you think he isn’t, that he really thought he could love her.

“Look, she’s great. She’s amazing. She’s too good for me, too,” his shoulders have been hunched up to his ears, but they fall now, defeated, “She talks about that spark she felt when we met, the way she feels about me now, and I want, I really want to feel that way too. It would be easier if I could.” Believing this entire time that he truly loves her has been hell for you, but it’s still somehow worse to know that he doesn’t. That he did all of this, hurt you so deeply, for someone he doesn’t even love.

“As much as I’ve tried, I don’t. And I can’t,” he says, turning his gaze to the floor, “And if I’d ever thought that I had the slightest chance with you, I never would have dated her to begin with.” All these years, all those words, all the touches you’ve shared, and he’d still never taken you seriously. It’s not your fault, you know. But you realize now that for every time you’d indirectly confessed your feelings to him, he’d said the same things back. He’d returned every sentiment readily, easily. And as much as he’d apparently had the same idea as you, that the other could never love you back, you hadn’t seen it either. You’ve been just as ignorant of his feelings as he was of yours, just as deep in denial. And now there’s this rift between you, a deep chasm that keeps you apart, all for no reason.

“So, what now?” you ask. There’s nothing else to ask.

“What?” he seems genuinely confused.

“What now?” you repeat, too tired to be upset anymore, “You break her heart? Or do you keep pretending? Fake your way into a wife and kids and a house in the suburbs?” His confusion persists, tongue darting out to wet his lip the way it always does when he’s anxious.

“I thought–” he shakes his head the tiniest bit, as if he can’t believe what’s happening, “I mean, I love you. I want to be with you.” There’s a sadness sitting heavy in your chest, only getting deeper at his words.

“I love you too,” you say, tipping your head an inch to the right, perfectly aware of how melancholy your smile must be, “But you hurt me, and now you have to hurt her too. I thought you were better than this.” You’d thought the world of him. You don’t hate him now, could never force yourself to. But you are disappointed in how everything has played out.

“I thought you didn’t want better?” he says, not really a question. Your lips turn up another centimeter at that.

“Listen,” you say, turning the word back on him. You inhale deeply, exhale slowly. He stays quiet.

“The opportunity of a lifetime is on the other side of that door,” you gesture vaguely over your shoulder, then let your arms relax, your hands fall to your sides, “I don’t know what to do with any of–” you give another vague gesture, “--This.” The devastation is writ clear on his face, telegraphed by his posture, bared in the forefront of his miserably beautiful eyes.

“Out there?” you say, smile still in place, “I know exactly what I want. So I’m going to go get it.” you pause, take another deep breath, “And maybe you’ll be there tomorrow, and maybe you won’t.”

“I will,” he jumps in. You huff an almost-laugh.

“We can figure this all out later,” you say, sure a definite, “For now, I have to focus on the things that I’m sure of.” He nods, looks at the floor, raises his head and looks back at you.

“Did you used to be sure of me?” he asks, an uneven, shaky whisper.

“Yeah,” you say, your entire being feeling so heavy that you can barely hold yourself upright, “I used to be.���

September, 2023

While Brady had departed yesterday, Matthew doesn’t leave until tomorrow. It took some internal debate, but you’ve decided not to go along to drop him off at the airport. His family will think it’s weird if he doesn’t hug you, and you’re not sure if you can handle him touching you yet.

You’re curled up on the couch with a book, letting yourself get lost in the story. A knock comes on the door and you startle. You mark your page and stand, rounding the couch to open the door. When you do, Matthew is standing there.

“Hey,” he greets, giving you the same bittersweet smile you’ve become accustomed to over the past few weeks. You’d given him a key to your apartment right after you’d moved, but you appreciate him not using it right now. You welcome him in with a gesture of your hand, turning to lead the way. You get four steps away before he speaks.

“I broke up with Tessa,” he blurts out. He doesn’t seem happy about it, but he doesn’t seem particularly sad either.

“Why?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest, “You’re that sure that I’ll take you back?” The anger comes and goes as it pleases, and it’s starting to sneak through the space between your ribs.

“No,” Matthew says, looking so unbearably fond of you, “I think you’ll tell me to get fucked.” Some days you want to.

“Then why did you break up with her?” you ask. Part of you has been wondering if, despite everything he’d said, he would stay with her. You’re not sure you would have been able to keep the conversation to yourself if he had, but you would have at least tried.

“Because none of this is fair to her,” he answers, shrugging, “She deserves someone who feels the same way about her that she does them. Someone who’s obsessed with her. She doesn’t deserve to be settled for.” You examine his expression, his stance, and realize that he’s truly being honest. He genuinely wants the best for her.

“How’d she take it?” you can’t help but ask. It makes him grin down at the floor for a moment.

“Honestly?” he asks when he raises his head, “Not great. Could have been worse, though.” As much as you love Matthew, you would have been proud of Tessa if she had slapped him.

“Probably should’ve been worse,” you reply. He grins again, tilting his head as he admires your face.

“Probably,” he agrees. For long moments, you both stand still, eyes locked.

“What now?” you ask, the same question as a couple weeks ago. He shrugs again, but he doesn’t seem as miserable or desperate as he had at the gallery.

“I don’t know,” he replies, that same phrase that you’re still trying to make peace with, “I know what I want. Same thing I’ve wanted this entire time. So I guess it’s up to you.” After three years of him encouraging you to give up control, to let go and follow his lead, he’s handing you the reigns now. However this ends or continues is completely your decision.

“You leave tomorrow,” you say, though you’re both viscerally aware of the fact.

“Yeah,” he gives you the crooked smile that had captured you the first time you’d met, “Don’t suppose you want to come with me? The winter weather’s nicer in Florida.” You let out a breathy chuckle, shaking your head at him.

“If you’d asked me that last summer, I probably would’ve said yes,” you admit. You kind of expect him to react with sadness, but you prefer the hope that blooms on his face.

“Maybe I’ll ask you again next summer?” he suggests, offering you the option. At this point, you have no idea where your relationship will be at this time next year. You don’t know if you’ll even have a relationship, of any kind. But if he’s willing to try, so are you.

“Yeah,” you nod, smiling wider than you have in a long while, “Next summer.”

June, 2024

The Hughes brothers are a funny trio. Seeing Jack’s upbeat, outgoing energy bookended on each side by two reserved, perpetually exhausted brothers is always kind of funny. You’d run down the pavement from the Tkachuk’s door to the driveway when you’d seen Quinn climb out of the car’s driver seat, immediately sweeping him up in a hug. The boys had decided to road trip around this summer, so of course you’d strongly suggested that they visit you.

You help them haul their bags out of the trunk, taking Luke’s backpack in hand and insisting on carrying it in for him. The three of them had started teasing you the instant they saw that Matthew hadn’t come out with you.

“Come on, I heard him at the All Star game,” Jack pesters, voice taking a mocking edge as he croons, “Sweet girl.” You laugh brightly, stopping the careful steps you’re taking backwards up the pathway to the house.

“We weren’t dating, I swear,” you insist. Plenty of people over the years have accused you of dating Matthew, but at least he’s funny about it. He stops in front of you, lifting his chin and giving a shit-eating smile.

“Wait, weren’t?” he asks, “As in, past tense?” You feel heat begin to crawl up your face. You’d intended to tell them, of course, but not the second they got here.

“Yeah,” Matthew calls from behind you, and you twist around to watch him close the space between you, “Past tense.” Jack’s glee is overt, but you can see the little signs of happiness on the other two boys’ faces too. Matthew lines himself up against your back, wrapping his arms around you, the gaudy Cup ring on his finger glinting in the light.

“Hey, sweet girl,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss into your hair. You can’t see him, but Jack’s smug face makes you sure that Matthew is staring straight at him. “My sweet girl,” Matthew says. It might be the best thing you’ve ever heard.

[eds6ngel]

first of all: i absolutely love “double the pleasure” !! thank you so much for writing my silly slutty thoughts babe <3💋

i currently can’t stop thinking about robin buckley while listening to “burning desire” which got me thinking:

“have to touch myself to pretend you’re there. your hands were on my hips your name was on my lips”

or: robin accidentally walking in on her roommate (reader) touching herself, maybe even humping one of robin’s pillows (or using one of her “missing” shirts as a pillow case) while moaning her name.

-🪷

when two become one ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆₊˚⊹♡

robin buckley x fem!afab!reader

summary: you'd liked robin ever since you met her in your college class, so what happens when you hear her moaning your name from her room in your shared apartment? and what could possibly spiral from there?

warnings: SMUT!! fem!afab!reader. implied lesbian!reader. college!au. mutual masturbation. self pleasure. pillow humping. kissing. hickeys. hair pulling. boob play & sucking. fingering (r receiving.) oral (both receiving.) scissoring. dirty talk. swearing. pet names (baby, sweetheart, my love, pretty girl.) homophobia mentions. roommates to lovers/friends to lovers. fluff and comfort right at the end!! [7.5k].

a/n: thank you so much for requesting!! sorry it took me so long to write this, but as you can see, it's a long one :')) regardless, i really hope that this is what you wished for!! ♡

You and Robin had become friends when you met in your communications class freshman year of college. You quickly bonded over your love for language learning and female rock artists.

However, the more time you spent with her, the more a certain kind of feeling cropped up. You tried to bury it down as much as possible, immediately doubting that she would even be into girls like you were. She was always talking about her co-worker, Steve, so the chances of her being straight were at an all time high.

Freshman year soon passed by and it was time to think about a second year living situation. Fed up with the confined living space of a dorm room, you two had decided that a shared place would be more convenient this time round, and you quickly found a two-bedroom apartment to lease for your sophomore year together.

You and Robin had just finished up dinner, a late occurrence since Robin was closing up Family Video tonight. So, by the time your stomachs were full, you both called it a night.

After brushing your teeth and washing your face, you placed your crate of skincare items on your bed, along with your fingerprint-stained mirror, and begin your nightly routine.

You manage to get through your toner and eye cream, before you notice a certain sound creeping through the thin wall.

“Ahhh…”

You assumed at first that Robin was just getting comfy, or maybe was simply yawning, so you continued with applying your acne cream.

However, another word followed by a more identifiable sound all but confirms what Robin is actually doing.

“Oh, fuck Y/N. Just like that.”

The soft, yet strangled cry unleashing from her throat sends shock waves straight to your core. And her moans don’t let down. If anything… they increase.

“Such a perfect pussy for me.”

Were you living in some sort of fucking fantasy? Did you in fact finish your skincare fifteen minutes ago and now you were imagining some sort of wet dream in your sleep?

You had to pinch yourself to double check. Yeah, definitely real.

And with the ever increasing moans, the ever more wet your pussy got. This couldn’t be happening. You had fucked to the thought of her for the past year. Had she heard you? Is that why she was doing this?

But, screw the reasoning. The heat between your legs was just growing and growing, the resistance becoming harder to ignore.

And soon enough, you were abandoning your skincare products to the end of the bed and getting comfortable, leaning your upper back against the headboard.

Your hand slipped below your purple, cotton panties, quickly finding the normal rhythm that you would pace yourself at on your clit.

Your middle finger creating an endless circling motion around your clit, your left hand grips onto the sheet below you, Robin becoming louder and louder by the second.

“Yeah. Rub it just like that.”

You imagined your own technique being used on her, her experiencing the desire you are, the pleasure you are, the same shivers running up her spine. It took an ultimate amount of courage not to buck your hips into your palm, your lower body desperately planting itself to the linen sheets.

“Mmm… Need more. Need your fingers, please.”

It was almost instinctual, you falling directly to her command. You gather your juices on your middle finger, coating it in your warm slick, before inserting it into your hole. Your left hand leaves a section of the quilt scrunched up into a ball as it instantly slaps to your mouth, your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

You couldn’t be loud. You couldn’t reveal how pervy you were. Not yet.

“Faster, please!”

Your finger speeds up to the sound of her voice, another one sneaking into your entrance. Your mind was flooded with images of Robin on the other side of the wall. Her sprawled out on her cream-coloured mattress, hand shoved underneath her blue-checkered shorts as her fingers pump in and out of her sopping wet pussy, her juices cascading down her thighs like a goddamn streaming waterfall.

Your hips could no longer handle it, and neither could the sound of Robin’s pleas and cries. The wet sound of your pussy bounced off the four walls of your bedroom, deeply surprised at how Robin hadn’t caught on to the entire situation yet. Your hips bucked up into your hand, fingers driving into your hole at an unbelievable pace as the sound of your own voice desperately tries to escape from your throat, the only thing stopping it being the intense grip your palm had over your chapped lips.

“Fuck, Y/N. I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna cum!”

And how could your body cope with that pleasurable statement? The knot in your stomach was ever increasing, tying itself tighter and tighter into a thick ball, threatening to burst at any given moment.

Robin wasn’t even attempting to keep her voice down anymore, her cries so ridiculously loud that it was basically confirmed in your mind that she wanted you in this vulnerable position. How could any woman listen to those pathetic whines and whimpers and expect not to jerk off?

“Fuck! I’m cumming!”

There were the words. The words that gave your body permission to explode into a bloody dam. Your teeth gnaw down onto your hand, eyes rolling so far back that all you can see is white as the entire orgasm washes over you in a second.

You imagine Robin right now. Hips bucking wildly, fingers furiously speeding over her clit, mouth opened wide as the sounds force themselves out of her like a demonic spirit exiting her soul. Her hair a wild mess, panties stained with her arousal, leaking through onto her pyjama shorts as her orgasm struck through her.

All of a sudden, it goes quiet. You sit there revelling in the moment for a few seconds, before you hear the sound of the toilet being flushed from Robin’s en-suite.

Did that really just happen? It took your brain a little while to catch up to reality. This wasn’t a late night thought, or a spicy dream, or any other sexual scenario your mind conjured up. This was reality. You just got off to the sound of Robin Buckley’s voice. Moaning your name.

You masturbated with Robin fucking Buckley.

Robin has another early morning shift at Family Video, her darting out the door at a whopping 8am. Way too early for you to be fully functional.

But, you would be fully functional around midday, and Robin would still not be home yet.

You knew that Robin wore a cropped, ripped Blondie t-shirt to bed along with her blue pyjama shorts. She would sometimes change into them after a long day of work or classes, making it a real struggle for you not to let your eyes wander.

Your mind had been going crazy over the fact that Robin had been jerking off to the thought of you in that shirt. The sweet smell of her skin, her hand bunched up in the fabric, most likely pinching and swirling her nipple around through the thin material, her palm squeezing the flesh of her rounded breast.

It was too much for you. You needed that shirt. And what better way than to steal it when Robin wasn’t here to potentially catch you.

You first checked the small pile in the laundry hamper, making sure she didn’t shove it in the mix of dirty clothes. It wouldn’t be a shock after all, she probably ruined the fresh, fruity smell of the laundry detergent extremely quickly.

But, once that place was scratched off your list, you instantly headed towards her white bedroom door.

Pushing it open with your palm, you are greeted with a blue-patterned wallpaper. Her walls are adorned with many more movie posters than when you last visited her bedroom, ranging from “The Breakfast Club” to “The Terminator.” Her desk is a cluttered mess, textbooks lying open on random chapters with half-finished notes decorated with random little doodles she obviously got distracted by. But, the main character was sitting ruffled on her bed.

There it was, in all its glory. Your hand cautiously lifts up the fabric, instinctively bringing it towards your nose. You take a deep breath in, letting the smell invade your senses. You knew what sex smelt like, the pheromones hitting your nostrils instantly. The distinctive smell made your throat release a small whine in pleasure. It was perfect. She was perfect.

You debated taking the shorts as well, but you didn’t want to make yourself too obvious. So, placing the shirt underneath your arm, you exited her room and closed the door behind you.

She was definitely going to notice. But, you just had to play dumb. Pretend you didn’t know a thing. Pretend as if you didn’t sneak into her bedroom on purpose just so you could get off to the smell of her sweet, floral scent gracing her clothing. To the thought of her wearing that exact t-shirt to bed every single night.

No, that was nothing like you, of course. You definitely weren’t going to wear it later. And you definitely were not going to jerk off whilst doing so. And, no, the last thing you would do is purposefully be loud about it.

That definitely was not on your list at all…

You were getting ready to head to bed, water running at a cool temperature in your bathroom as you applied your face cleanser. You could hear the distant sound of huffs and puffs, a few objects falling to the floor on the other side of the wall, Robin’s trail of voice slowly approaching your room.

“Hey!” she half-shouts, her breath coming out in jagged pants, her hair aloof from rummaging through her room. Her blue pyjama shorts were already sitting comfortably on her waist, her long legs being accentuated, making it hard for your eyes to stay fixated on her blue orbs. “Have you seen my pyjama shirt? I swear to God I left it underneath my shorts, but I just can’t find it anywhere! I mean, maybe it could be buried in my closet somewhere and I was just being a klutz this morning, but why on Earth would I even put it in there in the first place? Surely I would’ve been functional enough to leave it in the most obvious place in my room, right?”

You keep yourself composed, effortlessly trying not to swoon over her rambles. It was one of the things that made you fall in love with her in the first place. You just loved it when she would go on and on about whatever was in that pretty little head of hers, whether it be college, work, or a new random hobby she had picked up during the week. Whatever it was, you would spend eternity listening to her if you could.

“Uh, no, haven’t seen it. Sorry, Robs,” you lie through the skin of your teeth.

“Huh, that’s strange,” she questions, thinking deeply as to where she could’ve left it, having no idea it was buried right under your cream-coloured, silk pillow. Meanwhile, whilst she’s deep in thought, you wash off your face and begin to brush your teeth.

She sighs in slight annoyance, “Oh well, I guess I’ll have to find another shirt. Or I could just sleep in my bra, of course—”

You almost choke on your own toothbrush at that statement. You already had a million images in your head on what you could fantasise about tonight, but knowing what she would look like on the other side of the wall? That erupted something completely new in your brain.

And it seems as if she was blushing too, her cheeks rising in temperature, the pink hue beginning to glow on the soft fat, “Not that you need to know that, of course. It was just my brain moving faster than my mouth, or, wait… my mouth moving faster than my brain? Um…”

You spit out the leftover toothpaste collected in your mouth, washing your toothbrush and placing it neatly back in the holder. You turn to face Robin fully now, using your palms to lean against the bathroom sink. There’s a new found tension between the two of you, your gazes staring into each other’s souls, searching for the connection you both desired to have.

As Robin rubs the back of her neck, small toned muscles on show which you try your hardest not to directly stare at, she yawns, trying to break the ever growing awkward atmosphere, “Anyway, I’m tired. Are you tired? Of course you are, you’re getting ready for bed. So, I should just…” she signals behind her, “Go, right? I mean, unless you want me to sta— No! You’re going to bed! Yes! So am I!”

She yawns once more, “See? Tired. So, I’m just gonna… skedaddle out of here, I guess. So… class, tomorrow, 10:15, yes?”

You hold up thumb upright, pursing your lips and nodding your head slowly, “Yes. 10:15. Bright and early.”

“Yes, okay…” she looks you in the eye once more, before swiftly turning her back and practically running to her room, “Night!”

“Night… Robs…”

You stayed in place, impatiently waiting for her door to close. And once you heard that click, you were leaping onto your bed, getting yourself comfortable against the headboard. You leaned behind you, grabbing Robin’s ripped Blondie t-shirt and throwing it over your head roughly. You wasted no time in dragging your fingers underneath the lining of your panties. You were gonna be loud, and you were not afraid to show it.

Your middle finger collected the dripping slick that was oozing out of your pussy, the pure thought of Robin describing herself as half-naked in her room just moments ago having a physical effect on your body. Once your finger was lubed up, it came to lazily rub circles around your swollen clit.

The pure motion had your body relaxing into the sheets below you, a soft sigh escaping your throat. Your fingers danced over the bud, moving from an up and down motion, to a side to side.

From the other side of the wall, Robin could hear the faint sounds of sharp inhales. She pressed her ear to the wall, stopping her search for her t-shirt once again to be met with a cry of “Oh, Robin. That’s so good.”

The sound sent shivers up her spine, your voice becoming louder and louder by the second.

In your room, you begin to experiment, dipping your middle finger into your hole, letting out a strangled cry.

You used your spare hand to massage your left boob in your soft palm. You squeezed and massaged it, imagining how many times Robin had teased her perfect breasts in this exact t-shirt.

You knew they were perfect, you didn’t have to see them to confirm that. You remember the way they slightly bounced at the pool party you both attended last summer. Water dripping down the gap between her breasts, boobs sitting just right in her red bikini, hardened nipples ever so slightly peaking out from beneath the fabric. It took all your willpower that day not to find some mysterious way to get your hands on her.

Meanwhile, Robin was dipping her own hand underneath her panties, body splayed across her bedsheets. “Need another finger, Robs” is what she heard from you, her soaked digit circling her entrance before diving right in, her hips setting a steady rhythm so she could fuck herself on it.

She imagined you sat on her chest, the front of your pussy rubbing up against her perked nipples as she fingered you slow and steady from behind, slowly increasing the pace to make you mewl and cry for her.

“Jesus Robs, that’s so fucking good!”

Robin let out a loud whine at your words, her finger hitting a particularly sensitive spot within her hole, her velvet walls clenching on the long and slender digit. She targeted it, curling it and deliberately dragging her finger over it again and again, her other hand coming down to join her in attacking her swollen clit, swiping it back and forth in her palm, a rough pace being set. Her imagination was going too wild in chime with your phrases for her body to react in any other way.

You almost paused at the sound of Robin’s moans, but the overwhelming pleasure you were experiencing from your now two fingers sliding in and out of the delicate walls of your puffy pussy made you continue to be loud and proud about the pervy attitude you had towards your roommate.

Your mind conjured up the image of Robin between your thighs. Her soft, wet tongue gliding up the centre of your folds, paying close attention to your clit, swirling around in continuous circles. Your eyes were completely closed, the sight consuming your every thought, the made-up physical sensations transferring over into reality, as if you could feel her golden blonde locks tickling the inners of your thighs as she shook her head violently on your vulva.

Your moans were almost synchronised, the sounds bouncing off each of your walls, transferring through the thin material, desperately expressing your need and want for each other.

Robin’s bangs were stuck to her forehead, hips lifted off the bed as she rode her fingers fiercely. In the other room, you visualised those same ring-covered fingers stroking the delicate inners of your pussy, making your legs begin to shake, your rhythm almost being lost at the sudden violation.

“Ah! Ah! Ah!”

“Oh! Oh! Oh!”

You could feel the knot tightening in your stomach, letting out a loud, “Holy fuck, I’m gonna cum, Robs!”

And for the first time that night, you were pushed over the edge by the sweet sound of Robin’s voice replying to you.

“I’m gonna cum too, Y/N!”

The waves hit you like a vigorous ocean desperate for crash-landing, your legs struggling to stay put as your eyes rolled into the back of your head. Your palm was pressed flat against your vulva, fingers still buried deep inside you as you let your hips do the talking. They kept thrusting upwards, thighs shaking intensely as they tried to find some sense of calming.

Robin followed just after you, your cries of pleasure from your impending orgasm sending her over the edge also. She rubbed her clit powerfully, hand moving from side to side as her voice let out strangled moans and high-pitched whines. Maybe she was thankful for the missing shirt as sweat was dripping down her body like no tomorrow.

As you came back down to reality, you caught up with the situation. Your hand was still tightly gripped onto your boob, you having to remember to loosen your hold. You could hear Robin’s pleas of pleasure, your brain obviously knowing that she was cumming alongside you.

There was an empty silence from her side of the wall, before the sound of the water pipes working away signalled her washing her hands, a slight pang of disappointment in your mind as you thought of her sweet, lovely juices being carried away by the gliding water coming from the sink.

You stayed lying down for a moment, taking another smell of the t-shirt. You sighed in satisfaction as both of your smells deliciously blended with one another. Everything about your plan was working perfectly so far. Robin now knows that you are also into her, and the sexual tension was forever growing.

Now, there was only one more thing left to conquer in this grand plan of yours. Robin had to not only hear you jerking off… but see you as well.

You seemed to get through your 10:15 communications class with Robin without bringing up the events from the previous night. However, you would be lying if there wasn’t some unresolved romantic tension. You were desperately trying not to test the waters there and then inside the classroom, but you wanted to save that surprise for when Robin got home later.

Robin had another class after you, so it was the perfect opportunity for you to set up your little plan.

As soon as you got in the apartment, you threw your keys into the tray by the front door, taking your comfortable coat off and hanging it delicately on the hook. As soon as you entered your room, you got out of your stylish clothes and changed into something more comfortable. You decided that a long t-shirt and a pair of panties would do. After all, you were hoping by the end of today, all of those items would be on the floor in a messy, unorganised pile alongside another person’s…

You organised your pillows neatly, Robin’s Blondie t-shirt peaking out, almost teasing you for the upcoming events. One of your pillows is arched up against the headboard, whilst you stare at the other. It was covered in a pink pillowcase, dotted with white stars across the material. It was a beautiful combo, you had to admit, but sadly, that had to be abandoned. You grabbed the end of the t-shirt, before sliding it over the bare pillow.

Perfect. Your new pillowcase.

You couldn’t wait to leak all over it, leaving a permanent stain, your scent forever being marked on Robin. Every night when she went to bed, she could feel and smell the essence of your juices, the liquid consuming her entire being.

So, now you just had to be patient and wait. Robin’s second class of the day was luckily quite short, and an even shorter walk home than the one you had returned from.

Just another fifteen minutes until it ended. Another fifteen minutes until you could hump your pillow to your delight. Your door was perched open at just the right amount, enough for Robin to be able to see you the closer she got, but also concealing enough for it to seem like a genuine mistake. And of course… for her to hear you moan her name at the loudest volume possible.

Robin sighed as she entered the apartment, running a hand through her golden locks as she closed the door behind her. She throws her backpack down on the couch, about to head to the kitchen to grab a mid-afternoon snack when a certain sound can be heard down the hall towards the two of your bedrooms.

She stops in her tracks, the noises being ever so familiar and reminiscent from the night before. She shouldn’t be doing this. This is weird. This is creepy. This is perverted.

But she came with you last night.

She’s heard your moans many times now, and you’ve basically confirmed that you get off to the thought of her, so what was the harm in seeing you pleasure yourself in person? What’s wrong with a little curiosity?

She slowly tip-toes towards the sound, heading towards your bedroom. Your door was slightly ajar, just enough for her to take a peek through if she leant back against the wall.

She could hear some sort of repeated thudding sound now, almost at the right spot to see you and…

There you were.

Robin had to refrain from letting out a light gasp as she took in the sight of you. Joan Jett t-shirt adorning your chest, the slight peek of your red, lacy panties grazing across the… pillowcase.

She found her t-shirt all right. It was being used as a pillowcase, your pussy rubbing across it. You were letting out the sweetest moans, high-pitched squeals as your clit evidently bumped against the material. Your eyes were closed, one hand gripping onto the bedsheets, the other latched onto your t-shirt as your mouth hung wide open. Your hips were doing all the work, moving you up and down, up and down the pillow.

But, when you started moaning out her name again? Robin was a goner.

“Your pussy feels so good, Robbie.”

That final bit of restraint snapped suddenly. She quietly popped open the metal button on her jeans, sliding down the zipper so she could slide her hand under the waistband of her black boxers.

Her black-painted fingernail found its way to her swollen clit, the juices already leaking from her vagina, swirling around in a deliciously perfect motion. She used her other hand to grip onto the wall, almost smacking it by the sudden pleasure she experienced.

She tried her best to keep her eyes locked on your body, watching as you kept moving and moving and moving, not daring to slow down, too consumed in the pleasure to have a care in the world.

She let out little soft gasps, her eyes fluttering shut every once in a while to just take in the sounds of your voice calling out to her. However, one gasp seems to be too loud, as an “Ah!” leaves her mouth.

She has no time to hide herself, your eyes already snapping open and taking in her position. Her right hand is sunk beneath her underwear, bangs beginning to stick to her forehead as her fingernails are digging into the cream-coloured wall, fingertips turning red from the sheer pressure she had on it.

You smile softly at her. You wanted to put on this dominant attitude, that was your entire plan, but your world shattered when you saw her in that vulnerable position. She looked so pretty, so beautiful trying her best to keep quiet. You knew that you wanted to get her into this place, this state, but you didn’t actually prepare yourself for what that would entail. Your mind conjured up some pretty gorgeous sights, but nothing compared to the real thing. Nothing compared to Robin Buckley, being caught jerking off to the sight of you, rubbing your pussy against her pyjama t-shirt. It was Heaven on Earth.

“You were touching yourself…” you let out breathlessly, completely unsure of what else to say. The girl had rendered you speechless.

“Yeah…” she whispers back, before raising her voice a little and gulping, gesturing to you and your position on the bed, “That’s really fucking hot.”

There’s a stark silence between the two of you, a tension that neither of you know how to react to. But, finally, after so goddamn long, you ask the question you’ve been meaning to ask her since last fall, “You wanna come join me?”

She nods immediately and in such a helpless manner, “God, yes please.”

You climb off the bed, practically running up to her as she rushes to you, grabbing her by the back of the head and smashing your lips into hers.

It’s messy. It’s desperate. It’s passionate. But, you also wouldn’t want anything else.

Your hands are tangled in her hair, hers cupping your face as she opens her mouth wide, slotting her tongue in yours. She tastes absolutely divine, your tongues sliding hungrily across each other as you feel her pushing you towards the edge of the bed.

You shift back onto the mattress, lips never parting as she towers over you, slowly pressing your body down into the bed. She parts from your lips to leave a trail of kisses from your cheek all the way down to your collarbone. She pays particular attention to your neck, sucking and leaving love bites, finally claiming you as her own. With every sinking of her teeth into your skin, you let out a soft moan of “Robs…” infatuated by her presence.

She stops attacking your neck to softly look up at you, stroking your cheek with her thumb, the rest of her palm resting behind your ear, “How long have you known?”

“Since last November…”

“Jesus Christ, baby,” she mumbles, heading back to your neck again, “So long I could’ve had you…”

She leaves small pecks over the red marks that were now forming, “Had a good long think last Christmas Break… Realised I did actually like you…”

“I like you too…” you reply back quietly, eyes closing from the sudden delicate turn from her.

She looks up again, “Can I show you how much I like you?”

You take a gulp before nodding frantically, “Please, Robs. It’s all I ever needed.”

She smiles sweetly before bunching up the ends of your t-shirt, your arms instinctively rising above your head so that she could remove the item of clothing.

Her eyes immediately are drawn to your breasts, leaning down to place tender kisses on each of them and in between them, anywhere she could gain access to. She swirls her tongue around your left nipple, gently sucking at the perked bud, cupping the outside fat with her palm before repeating the movement on your other breast. You close your eyes and let whatever pleasure consume you be let out into the atmosphere, various soft moans and breathy whines escaping your throat.

She continues the trail of kisses from your cleavage, down to your stomach, leaving some more love bites in her quest, and finally reaching the waistband of your panties.

“Can I take these off?” she murmurs, eyes that were once a beautiful shade of blue just like the ocean, now consumed by an eternity of blackness, the absolute extreme lust filling her orbs.

“’Course you can, baby. You can do anything to me,” you weakly smile, the newfound nickname sending shivers down Robin’s spine as she hooks her painted nails underneath your lace panties, you aiding her by lifting your legs in the air so she can glide the garments off of your long, luscious legs.

She glides a finger up your folds, your juices collecting on her digit as your hips involuntarily buckle, your mouth letting out a “Gosh, Robs—”

“Such a pretty pussy for me,” she mumbles, smiling up at you through her lashes as another finger joins her in getting lubed up. And it doesn’t take long before she’s biting her lip and slipping her two fingers deep inside your hole.

Your hand instinctively grabs at her locks, head being thrown back before you quickly regain yourself, staring at Robin as she gasps herself, “God, they take me so well.”

She shuffles closer, kicking her jeans off where they had pooled around her knees, letting them fall to the ground at the edge of the bed as she curls her fingers inside you.

A whine forces itself from the back of your throat as she begins to set a steady pace, eyes locked on the way your juices slowly spill out of your vagina.

Your hand is massaging her scalp, gently tugging on her golden locks as you make eye contact. It’s so… trusting. So safe. You knew that she was likely going to ruin the shit out of you, but there was an underlying tenderness to it all.

You had been waiting for this for so long, and your dream was finally coming true.

She shuffles forward once more, eyes remaining connected with yours as her head leans closer to your pussy. She quickly looks down, making sure she is in the right position, before staring at you as she licks a big, long stripe up your folds, holding them open with her left hand.

A much louder moan is projected out of you, head hitting the headboard as your eyes roll to the back of your head. You try to focus on the way her tongue is perfectly circling around your clit, but your body is making it increasingly hard to do so.

The way her fingers were gliding along the inside of your walls, curling as they reached your g-spot, along with the way her mouth movements switched from kitten licks on your clit, to full on sucks, had your mouth letting out the most disgustingly loud sounds to ever grace it.

Your hips started to move, Robin not stopping you as they fucked themselves on her fingers, her mouth simply following the sporadic and scattered motions they were taking.

Your hand grips tighter in her hair, making sure to keep her in place, your body never wanting her to leave your pussy.

As Robin could feel your inner walls tightening around her fingers, she began to moan around your clit, the vibrations sending more signals to the ever-growing knot developing in your core.

“Robbie, Robbie. I-I’m getting close, God—”

She simply replies through more moans, head now shaking against your clit as her fingers targeted your g-spot, doing short, curled movements against your velvet walls.

“Robbie! Robbie! I’m gonna cum!”

And before long, the dam breaks. Your legs tighten around Robin’s head, her continuing her movements as she let you ride out your orgasm. Your eyes closed firmly, mouth hung open as strings of moans and whines left it, you just letting your body react in whatever way it needed to. Your vision had turned white regardless, the sheer power of your orgasm knocking the wind out of you.

When Robin feels you calming down, she pulls her fingers gently out of you, mouth detaching from your clit with a little ‘pop.’

She licks her lips, chin dripping in your juices as she comes up to softly kiss you, you tasting the familiar liquid on her tongue.

As she parts, she asks you, “How was that, my love?”

You cup her face weakly, your hands still slightly shaking from the aftershocks of your orgasm. “It was perfect, baby. Thank you.”

“You’re so welcome, pretty girl.”

You take a moment to rest, not wanting the situation to be over just yet. You wanted to pleasure Robin too. You couldn’t just let her watch you get off, then make her do all of the work. She was the one standing outside your room rubbing her pretty little clit to you after all. And personally… you wanted to play with that pretty little clit yourself.

“Robbie?” you ask softly, to which she replies with a quiet hum. “Can I take this off?”

You play with the hem of her t-shirt, to which she agrees, lifting her arms up so you can discard of the item. Leaning over to your side, you reach for the abandoned pillow, taking off the Blondie t-shirt and holding it in front of Robin.

“Could you wear this for me? Ever since I heard you two nights ago, all I could imagine was you fucking yourself in that t-shirt and all I wanna do is return the favour.”

Robin nods gently, “I’d be honoured, sweetheart.”

She lifts the t-shirt over her head, getting it comfortably situated on her body. All your fantasies were coming to life and it was perfect. You cup her face once again and give her another sweet kiss to the lips, taking in her cherry-flavoured lips and slowly lowing her so she is beneath you.

Careful not to make the situation too obvious and to protect yourselves from judgemental outsiders, you refrain from giving Robin any hickeys for tonight. That could be reserved for another private and intimate moment between the two of you, your brain desperately hoping there was gonna be one.

You press your lips to slight exposed skin at the bottom of her cropped Blondie t-shirt, lifting her boxers away from her mound, gripping her thighs and squeezing the plush skin, long fingernails digging in.

For that reason, you also refrained from fingering her tonight. You were no pro in doing it to someone else, and you were not risking giving Robin any cuts or potential infections from something that could be so easily avoided.

So, your mouth was about to be the star of the show. You lowered your attention to her vulva, hairs adorning her parts as you opened it with the pads of your fingers, careful not to hurt her. You slowly dived in, experimenting by focusing on her clit with a few kitten licks.

It was seriously that easy as Robin let out a moan and her thighs came to cage you in, your hands moving back to her fleshy thighs to keep them in place.

You experimented further, changing your actions from targeting firmly her clit, to licking from her hole, all the way up. You tried everything, seeing what made her twitch, jolt and whine the loudest, focusing on the elements that caused the most extreme reactions.

Robin’s grip on your hair was causing your face to be pushed more and more into her vulva, not that you were complaining, of course. But, when you looked up to see her right hand massaging her boob, you quickly realised you were missing the stars of the show.

You specifically asked her to put that t-shirt on, and you were actively ignoring it. How shameful of you.

You softly push her hand out the way, letting go of her thighs, not caring if they trapped you in anymore, so you could squeeze and fondle with her breasts. They felt perfect underneath the shirt, your thumbs flicking over her hardened nipples, a loud whine being let out from Robin.

“Baby, that feels so good, oh my God—”

You could feel her legs beginning to shake, so you followed her technique, shaking your head back and forth whilst sucking directly on her clit. You maintained eye contact with her, thumbs flicking over her nipples continuously whilst your other fingers delicately massaged the underneath of her breasts.

And that is what sent Robin over the edge. With a loud cry and announcement of “I’m cumming!” her thighs began to cage you in drastically. But, just like she did with you, you didn’t let up on her clit until you could sense her legs calming down and her breathing slowing.

However, something within you was telling you that you still weren’t satisfied. There was nothing wrong with what Robin did to you, nor what you did to her, but your body craved something else, something deeper.

It wanted to feel Robin against you.

“Robbie, I’m so sorry, but I need more. I need to feel you. I need to feel your skin on me. Properly.”

Robin was slightly unsure of what you were referring to at first. Your bodies had been pressed together many times already, but, with your body slowly rising and your leg hooking around her own, she completely understood what you were referring to, and she was not against it one bit.

Scissoring had always been one of your fantasies. You had envy for straight couples when you were first figuring out you were into girls as they had such an easy way to connect with each other fully, skin to skin, body part to body part.

But, when you picked up a lesbian porn VHS that one of your male gay friends got for you to hide both of your sexualities, you discovered the beauty of scissoring. And you had been wanting to experience it since.

And what better time than now. You look over your shoulder at Robin, just to get her confirmation that this was okay, which was signalled by an enthusiastic nod, her impatiently waiting for you to lower your mound over hers.

And soon enough, you did. The moan that immediately left both of your mouths in sync was so incredibly beautiful and sexy.

That immediate feeling of her juices mixing with yours was something you wanted to experience day in and day out. You thought being between her thighs was something you would want to spend an eternity doing, but this had just taken the top spot for you.

Robin’s legs were firmly planted on the bed, allowing for you to grip onto her knee and just underneath to steady yourself.

Not knowing exactly what to do, you alternated between rubbing back and forth, which felt incredible as it was, swirling your hips in a circular motion to try and locate her clit, and bouncing on her to hear the gorgeous sound of your joint wetness sticking together and coming unstuck.

At first, your bouncing allowed for Robin’s clit to slightly press into your hole, you letting out a variety of moans to signify the enjoyment of her entering you.

However, it’s the moment that you slow down, your body struggling a little from the rhythm, that your clits rub together. You both knew how perfect it was by your jaws dropping open, loud cries echoing across the apartment as you locked eyes.

Robin knew this was the pleasure she needed, so gripped your hips and began moving you against her in the correct motion.

You let her do all the work. You wanted her to feel the most pleasure she had ever felt in her life. Even though this was your fantasy, most of the enjoyable elements for you were the other person having fun. That was the one thing that always got you going in the pornos.

Both of your previous orgasms made you extremely sensitive to the movements of your hips, and as you felt Robin’s legs begin to shake, little grunts came out of her mouth as she rocked you harder and faster against her vulva.

You began pressing soft kisses to her knee, encouraging her with words of endearment and praise.

“That’s it, baby. Get yourself there for me. Wanna see you fall apart for me, pretty girl.”

Robin stared at you as she cried out, you taking over as you moved your hips faster than she could control herself. She simply squeezed the flesh of your waist, her hands signalling that she was getting closer and closer to falling off the edge.

“C-Close. So fucking close—”

You smiled in between the moans that escaped your sweet lips, “I know, baby. Can feel you twitching for me down here. You gonna cum for me? You gonna cum on my pussy?”

She nods, whimpering out, “Y-Yes, ah! Yes I am! Yes I am!”

Your hips are now struggling with the way she was replying to you, the knot in your stomach tightening for the second time tonight, fingernails scratching at the skin adorning her knee.

“Then let go for me, pretty girl. You got it.”

And with a loud cry, Robin lets go for you., the feeling of her juices leaking onto your pussy sending you spiralling right alongside her.

The both of you are moaning messes, legs shaking violently against each other as you ride out your highs in unison. Both of your names, along with a few expletives, fill the atmosphere, the smell of sex lingering in the four walls of your bedroom, dissipating to the living space of the apartment from where your door was still open when Robin had entered earlier.

As your orgasm comes to an end, you move your leg to the other side of Robin’s waist so that you can simply collapse onto her chest.

You look up at her with a sense of love and adoration in your eyes, giggling in your post-orgasm haze at the event that just occurred. “I think it’s safe to say that we’re both idiots.”

Robin takes a breath before replying, “Idiots? Yeah, most likely. But, I was debating for a little while longer after you, so it probably should’ve been me. Plus, you always talk about your friend Eric all the time, so I thought that you were into him or something—”

“Robs?” you interrupt her.

“Yeah?”

“Eric is gay.”

She purses her lips, trying not to laugh at herself, “Okay, that makes a lot more sense.”

You laugh along with her for a little while, before the atmosphere turns into a comfortable silence.

“So…” you let out, “I guess that means I should take you out on a date.”

“Really?” Robin lights up.

You look at her with a little confused expression as you laugh, “Yes, dummy. You think I wasn’t gonna take you out on a date after this?”

“Sorry!” she holds her hands up in surrender, “I’m used to girls at the lesbian bars around here fucking me and then never calling me back.”

“Ouch, that’s gotta suck,” you cringe, “Well, good for you, I can hear you through the walls, so if you ever need me, you don’t even need to leave your room.”

Robin blushes at that, her cheeks turning a rosy pink colour, before you turn the conversation back around, “Anyway, about the date. Where would you like to go, baby?”

Baby. That was something she would have to get used to on the regular.

“Um… There’s a new Italian place that’s opened up about ten minutes from here, we could try that? Plus, then I can impress you with my Italian language skills,” she wiggles her eyebrows.

And even though she was joking, it did turn you on just the slightest bit, “Italian sounds good. So… it’s a date?”

Robin looks down at you, her eyes glistening with warmth and affection, her mouth turning up in a wide curve, her teeth showing as she replies, “It’s a date.”

And with that, you had a date with the girl of your dreams. She was yours, and you were hers, and you were never going to let anything change that.

taglist: @robinsno1lesbian @agxxb @agenderrat

[lycheedr3ams]

Closet Fun | fem!reader x Dom!Konig

MDNI

Konig joined 141 needing a fresh start, and on a slow day on base, Soap suggested that you, Gaz, and Konig play hide and seek. But when you're hiding in a closet with Konig, things get heated....

TW: konig is a tad mean/demanding, thigh riding, locked in a closet, Konig is a teaser, use of Maus (I can't help myself)

Not proofread, I wrote this fast so it's lowkey lazy

this is my first cod fic I'm publishing plz be nice

It was Soap’s idea for him, Gaz, you, and Konig to play hide and seek one slow day on base. It was Team 141’s day off, but most everyone else was occupied. Ghost opted to go to a bar by himself, not interested in the other members’ gam

“Okay, Soap’s it!” Gaz said after the third round. 

All took off in different directions, and you found a spare closet down one dingy hallway. You quickly hid inside and peeked out through the crack to check for Soap. But then you saw Konig’s massive form, and you opened the door and whispered.

“Konig, hide in here!” you called. 

Konig hesitated for a moment before hiding in the closet with you before you shut the door.

“Damn it,” you said as you stood on you tiptoes. “I can’t see out.”

Konig wordlessly leaned down slightly so that he could look through the locker-like slits in the door. But as he did so, his wide shoulders gently brushed against your back. You couldn’t help the way you shivered. Konig smirked.

“Everything okay, Maus?” he asked as his voice lowered. You nodded silently. “Don’t worry, Soap’s not out there.” 

Even though Konig was behind you, you could feel the way he was looking at you, could almost taste his predatory instinct as he stared down at you. You were scared to turn around, and the hairs on the back of your neck stood up, but it wasn’t because Soap’s footsteps echoed in the hallway outside. Konig leaned down, and his breath through his sniper hood ghosted you ear.

“Be quiet, Maus,” he whispered in your ear. You shivered and you breath stopped. “Wouldn’t want Soap to know we’re in here, would we?”

You shook your head. You dared to make eye contact with him out of the corner of you eye, and the way he was looking at you scared you as much as it aroused you. 

“Konig…” you sighed as you closed your eyes. But they flew open once you realized how you said his name. 

He laughed quietly in your ear. “Yes, what is it, Maus?” he purred lowly. 

You blushed and screwed your eyes shut. You wished you could just tell him wordlessly what you needed. But Konig pushed.

“What is it, Maus?” he asked. You could practically hear his smirk. You shivered.

Suddenly, Konig’s voice dropped even lower, and even quieter. He breathed in, and whispered, 

“Tell me what you need.”

You moaned breathlessly. 

“Fuck,” Konig murmured. “You’re irresistible.”

“Konig,” You said as you turned around and looked up at him with doe eyes. A lamb staring down the wolf. Konig’s pupils were so dilated that you could barely see his irises. The only thing you could think to do was put you hand on his forearm and look up at him desperately.

Konig sat lazily on the edge of the table in the closet and smirked. 

“Use your words, Maus. Have you forgotten how to say anything other than my name?”

Konig laughed gently when you blushed and looked at him with wide eyes. You hid your face in your hands. When you worked up the courage to look at him again, you saw how smug and confident he looked, leaned up against the table with his legs wide enough for you to stand between. You slowly walked forward between his legs and looked up at him as you gently put your hand on his chest. He instantly started breathing deeper. Like petting the stomach of a bear. You looked up at him through your lashes as you kept you hand on his chest. He looked down at you though hooded eyes. Your hand gently trailed down his chest and stopped when you reached his abs. You couldn’t help but notice how his cock was straining in his pants.

“Tell me, Maus. What. Do. You. Need?” he said huskily, his patience thinning.

“You.” You said as you stared into his eyes. 

He looked like he could murder you. “Say it again.”

“You,” you breathed, more earnest. “I need you.” 

Konig wrapped his arms around you and leaned down.

“Lift my hood. Come under with me,” he said with a hint of playfulness. 

You hesitantly lifted his hood and did as he instructed. You shared the same air, taking in each other’s presence despite not being able to see, before Konig crashed his lips onto yours and trapped you in his arms. You instantly whimpered into his mouth, and he groaned. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer. You broke for air, gasping.

“The door…” you murmured. “It’s not locked.”

Konig leaned forward, keeping you close against him, and locked the door with a quiet click. But he was wordless as he kept you underneath his hood. You gingerly pecked his bottom lip before he took you lips in his again. 

“Konig…” you whimpered into his mouth. Konig used the opportunity to gently shove his tongue into your mouth. You held onto him tighter. He moved his hands from you back to grip your waist. He groaned. You couldn’t help the way you pressed your thighs together and whimpered. 

“My poor Maus,” Konig said against your lips with a smile. “Do you need help?”

“Yes,” you nodded shyly. 

Konig put his hands on your hips and guided him to his thigh. 

“Spread your legs,” he instructed. You instantly obeyed, and Konig tugged you closer and onto his thigh. You squeaked, and his cock twitched in his pants. He held your waist firmly. You held onto his shoulders and looked up at him.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” he asked. You blushed. “Get to riding.”

You looked away shyly before moving your hips against Konig’s muscular thigh. Your mouth fell open and soft whimpers escaped your mouth as you grinded against him. 

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” Konig whispered as he leaned over you. You looked up at him with wide eyes. 

“They’ll find us…” you said as you rode his thigh.

“No, they won’t, don’t worry,” Konig soothed. He smirked as you rode his thigh desperately, rolling your hips hardly. “The door is locked. Just be quiet, and they won’t know we’re here.” 

When you looked back up at him, he lifted his hood slightly and kissed you passionately again. He began to bounce his leg, and you moaned.

“Shh, Maus, shh,” he soothed as he moved his lips to your jawline. “Don’t want them to find us, do we?”

“Feels so good…” you whimpered. Konig smirked. 

“Yeah, I can tell,” he teased. “I can feel how wet you are through my pants.” 

You whimpered. Konig’s lips moved to your neck, and you let breathless moans slip.

“You like that?” Konig asked as he nibbled you neck. You breathed out deeply.

“Yes!” your hips moved earnestly.

“That’s it, ride my thigh, Maus. Fuck,” he breathed against your neck. “You ride it so good.” 

“Ah!” you breathed. Konig laughed. Konig lifted his thigh so that your feet weren’t touching the ground, and all your weight was on his thigh. You gripped his shoulders tightly. He laughed and licked you neck. 

“That’s it, Maus,” he cooed against you neck. “Come on my thigh.”

“Fuck!” you said quietly. Konig laughed heatily.

“I see you’re enjoying yourself,” he teased. 

Suddenly, Soap and Gaz’s voices echoed through the hallways. They jostled opened doors and were getting closer. You stopped grinding on his thigh and looked up at Konig, panicked. 

“Don’t fucking stop,” Konig growled as his eyes darkened. “Don’t fucking stop riding my thigh.”

You obeyed with a blush, and your heart jumped when Soap jiggled and pulled the closet handle. You gasped and looked at Konig, but he gripped your hips impossibly hard and got close to you ear.

“I told you to keep. Going,” he growled. You whimpered and ground down on his thigh. 

“You’re in there, I know it!” Soap called through the door. 

You kept riding Konig’s thigh as he gripped your hips.

“Konig!” You whimpered in a panic as your hips moved erratically.

He smirked under his mask. “You close? You gonna cum?”

You nodded as you dug your nails into his clothed shoulder. Gaz called Soap from farther down the hall, and both men disappeared as you came hard on Konig’s thigh. 

“That’s it, that’s it,” Konig praised as you gasped as you came down. “Gutes Mädchen,” he cooed as he kissed your lips. 

You looked up at him with kiss-reddened lips. 

“I’m not finished with you,” Konig growled. 

[axelsagewrites]

Roy Kent*Whats That?

Pairing: roy x f!reader

Kinktober Day sixteen: caught in the act with Roy Kent – when Roy came home all he wanted to do was curl up in bed with you but when he heard a buzzing from under the sheets his plans took a very different turn

Word count: 1202

Warnings: sex toys, masturbation, p in v sex, teasing, roughish sex, smut 18+

Masterlist Here

Kinktober List Here

After a long, long, long, day of yelling at Jamie, scolding Jamie, and swearing at Jamie all Roy wanted to do was collapse onto his bed and pull you into his arms. Despite his size and usual aggression Roy enters the house as quiet as a cat, setting his stuff down as he trudges round the downstairs looking for you.

When he can’t find you, he first assumes you’re away for one of your usual mid-day naps that he often loves to join. He’s all ready to strip off and dive under the sheets to fall asleep when he gets to your bedroom door. its slightly open so as quietly as possible he opens it just enough to slip into the dimly lit room.

For a moment when he sees you under the sheets Roy thinks he was right, and his sweet innocent perfect little girlfriend was sleeping peacefully. However, it didn’t take long for him to hear a familiar buzzing noise.

A grin spread across Roy’s face when he realised what you were really doing under his sheets with your back to him. Roy crept over to the bed, noticing your eyes screwed shut and your teeth sunk into your bottom lip. “Having fun?” Roy said, grin in his voice, as he slammed a hand down on either side of your body.

“Fuck!” you squealed, thrashing round till you were on your back, staring up at your boyfriend, and trapped beneath the covers, “You scared the hell out of me you fuck!” you scolded him, slapping at his shoulders.

Roy just chuckled as he moved to sit next to you, “Oh yeah?” he teased, his hand reaching for the covers, “what’s under here then?”

“Nothing,” you said instantly, your legs tightening out of instinct accidentally pressing the vibe onto your clit. Your teeth clench as you tried to look unfazed, but the way Roy was smirking was making it near impossible not to crack.

“Really?” he teased, his hand gripping the covers before tearing them away, “so that’s where that went,” Roy chuckled, his hand slowly moving down your body only covered by the jersey you had stolen from in, “and what do we have here?” Roy asked but before you could respond his hand slipped between your legs, pushing the vibe up and directly on your clit.

Your hips bucked out of instinct making another low chuckle leave his throat. Roy leaned down, his hot breath fanning over your cheeks as his lips brushed your ear, “Did somebody miss me?” he whispered, shivers fanning down your spine.

You whined when he grabbed the vibe, moving it in slow circles over your clit, “Such a needy thing,” he said, his lips moving to press kisses along your jaw, “Tell me, what do you think about when you touch yourself love?” his words made your breathing stop as you tried to stutter out a response, “Cmon doll I won’t judge,”

Fuck whenever this side of Roy came out it made it hard to even breath but as he kissed the hollow of your throat you were finally able to reply, “You,” you tried to say but it came out as more of a whine when he pressed the vibe closer.

A low growl left his throat as he pulled away the toy, turning it off in an instant and settling his legs between yours, “Bit naughty doesn’t you think princess?” he husked, grinding his hips against yours making you realise how hard he’d already gotten though his jeans, “What? Cat caught your tongue?” he teased, his hand moving to your jaw, pulling open your mouth with his thumb, “How long have you been thinking about me?”

“All day,” you replied, mesmerised by the man on top of you.

Roy’s hand moved from your jaw to your hips, gripping them tightly. You squealed as you felt him flip you on your front, “This what you’ve been thinking of?” he asked, leaving no time for you to answer as he pulled you up till you were on your knees, ass on display for him as your hands gripped the sheets in anticipation.

You shivered when you felt him run a finger up your slit, hips bucking for more friction, “Fucking wet already,” Roy said and when you heard the zip of his jeans you couldn’t help but bite your lip, “This what you want then?” Roy husked, “me fucking this pretty little pussy?” he asked, running his tip up and down your slit.

You bite back a moan as his tip rubbed against your sensitive clit, “Yes,” you eventually whined out and this was all it took for Roy to lose his composure.

You gasped when you felt his tip push in, hands tightening in the sheets as you took him in. Roy eased his length in, grunts leaving his lips as he finally sunk all the way in, “Fuck,” he gasped, “you take me so fucking well,” he said, his hips starting to move in slow and steady thrusts.

You had in fact been thinking of this all-fucking day like Roy had accused you off but somehow you forgot how good it felt to be fucked into the pillow by your boyfriend. When his hands tangled in your hair, pulling your head up and deepening your arch you gasped as his cock hit deeper spots than before.

Living with Roy was amazing for so many reasons but right now you were grateful no one was around to hear the filthy moans coming from your lips. Just as you thought life couldn’t get any better you heard a familiar buzzing, “What’s that?” you tried to question but you gasped when Roy pressed the vibe against your clit, his hips still setting a steady pace.

You couldn’t stop the loud curses or whines as you felt your peak quickly approaching. Your legs went weak however before you could crash into the mattress Roy had dropped your hair, your face burying into the pillow, as his arm slipped around your hips to keep you up.

“Fuck,” you heard Roy curse, but you were too busy having your eyes roll into the back of your skull to care. a familiar knot tightened in your stomach and your body jolted when you felt Roy press the button again, the buzzing increasing against your sensitive nerves.

You felt your walls tighten around his length, your knuckles going white as you clutched the sheets as your orgasm washed over you. Roy grunted at the feeling, his pace growing sloppier as he felt you squeeze around him.

Once he was sure he had fucked you through your peak he dropped the vibe, his hands moving to grab your hips tightly. Your body jolted as his thrusts grew harder and messier as he chased his own release, and it didn’t take long for him to catch it.

Soon Roy dropped down into the bed beside you, sweaty and breathless as he went to grab a towel, “Fuck,” was all you could say as you stared at your boyfriend, “What got into you?”

“Jamie Tarts a prick,” was all he could bark out as he helped clean you up.

“Thank god for Tartt,”

[g-xix]

Charity Match | Tobi TBJZL Brown🔞

Imagine inspired by sidemenreacts vid: "reacting to sidemen charity match moments" moment when Tobi points out the scar Simon's medal left on his back (link to video at the end of the oneshot for reference)... Look at bae tho:

Little slayer. Anyways, go read the oneshot:

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

The Sidemen FC placed their hands on the cup- the smell of lynx body spray, sweat and victory crowding the changing room- lifting the cup high above their heads with an uproarious cheer which could be heard all the way from the Allstar FC's changing room.

Everyone celebrated, medals clanging as they kissed the cup and jumped for joy, though Simon's hand smacked to his mouth barely a moment after he'd jumped. The sharp edge of his medal had pierced through Tobi's shirt, and the black polyester was dampened with a dark spot which appeared to grow by the second. 

But Tobi hadn't noticed the blood filtering through his shirt.

No, Tobi was too focussed on lifting the cup up as it came around to him, still victorious cheering,so much so that he didn't even notice as Simon brushed Tobi's shirt to the side slightly to inspect the damage the hard-edged metal had inflicted upon his friend's back. But as soon as Simon lifted the shirt slightly, his eyes widened- jaw dropped open. For whilst Simon had expected to see just a gash on his otherwise unharmed back- Tobi's back had angry purple lined jagged and shooting across his back like lightning, starting all the way at his shoulder-blades and running all the way down to his lower back. 

Simon gulped after the presentation as he found Tobi in the changing rooms, spraying some deodorant under his shirt and packing his duffel bag- ready to get back onto the coach to London. 

"Hey, Tobes?" Simon called for his smaller friend's attention. Tobi turned with a big smile, still giddy following the Sidemen FC win.  "I err, I accidentally nicked your back with my medal when we were celebrating..."

"Ah, I didn't notice, must just be small." Tobi shrugged, Simon's eyes lowering as he recalled the large gash it had left besides all of those lightning-streak lines.

"Uhm, also I... I noticed some other purple-y scars on your back like, kinda uneven lines... Is your back- are you- are you alright?"

Tobi scrunched his brows together, not knowing what he purple lines he was talking about on his back. Pulling his locker door open, he peered over his shoulder and pulled his shirt up.

Suddenly, those purple scratch marks weren't so unfamiliar...

A moan was ripped from your throat as Tobi thrusted back into your roughly- not even giving you a moment to recover, post-orgasm.

He paused only a moment with a low groan as his cum filled you, before his hips began slamming back into you- still somehow not satisfied and desperate for another round. His hands roamed from your tits down to your hips, bringing you to his chest so that your body was flush against his- your body weight supported only by Tobi as he walked you until your back was pressed against the wall, cock still hard inside of you as his lips found yours, sloppily meeting in a passionate open-mouthed kiss. 

The smell of sex filled the hotel room which the Sidemen had booked for all the players, pre-game- though it felt as though Tobi and yourself seemed to be using the room to its fullest potential. And your next-door neighbours in the hotel were NOT going to be happy with the noises you two were making. 

Your hands found the back of his neck- pulling him in and drawing him even closer as you moved your mouth synchronously with Tobi's, intoxicated with the way he tasted and the way his tongue ravaged your mouth. A whimper fell from your lips as your felt Tobi pull out slowly, clearly rearing to move and thrust inside of your overstimulated pussy once more. 

"Fuck, Tobi-" You whimpered, your eyes screwed shut as you felt yourself fluttering around his wood, thighs shaking as they were wrapped around his hips- your whole lower body completely spent. Tobi noticed your shaking and rested you on the table, which was at perfect height for you to sit on whilst his cock was still inside you. 

"C'mon gorgeous, you can go another round," He slowed his pace as he pulled out more slowly, fingers threading through your hair and finally giving your clit a well deserved grace-period as you let out whispered moans, nodding your head in agreement despite the tingles of overstimulation that Tobi sent racing through your core- not wanting to say no to Tobi. "Atta girl," He pressed a lazy kiss to your forehead as he pulled all the way out, before making your whole body jerk and your throat emit a gasp as Tobi slammed right back into you, his cock undeniably kissing your cervix as he bottomed out instantly.

"TOBI!" You gasped your moan, hands gripping his back as he pulled out once more, thrusting in with the same toe-curling force which make you scream from the feeling, rolling your head back and only exposing your neck to him, which he wasted no time in attaching his mouth to, to shower in hickeys and bruises as he thrusted at a mind-numbing pace, your head going fuzzy from the feelings.

A loud moan was ripped from your throat as you felt Tobi hit your g-spot, the bundle of nerves sending pleasure through every molecule of your body as your fingernails dug into his back- creating marks of your own as they dug into his skin and ripped downwards, etching deep purple lines against his dark skin. Tobi didn't even register the pain, all too drunk on the feeling of your walls clenching around his cock, making lewd noises each time his balls slapped into your aching core, arousal coating his cock. 

His mouth caught onto one of your tits as he pounded, his lips wrapping around your sensitive bud and making you let out somehow an even louder moan as the feeling of his hot mouth around your breast paired with his tip hitting your g-spot with every thrust had you toes curling- back arching into the glass window behind the desk, overlooking all of London as you felt the heat rising to your face, all too aware you were going to cum soon...

"Tobi," You gasped, screwing your eyes shut and letting your head roll back. Tobi groaned from the way his name fell from your lips, along with the feeling of your nails still running down his back aggressively- catching the reflexion of his back in the reflective glass behind you- the angry lighting-lines across his back making his cock twitch at the thought that you'd marked him up so possessively. "I think I-I'm gonna cum..."

"That's my fuckin' girl, cum, gorgeous-" His words along with the fingers that trailed down from your nipple down to your clit, rolling a few tight circles over the sensitive spot, pushed you over the edge- euphoria fuzzy-ing your head and clouding your vision as your fingernails ran down his back, fading into nothing as Tobi felt himself release inside you also.

Your eyes opened dazedly, lazily looking up at your wonderful boyfriend, before your eyes caught onto the mirror on the other side of the room- reflecting the image of Tobi's ruthlessly scratched back. Tobi caught the look of horror that you wore on your face as your eyes turned to him- though Tobi just smirked- ready to wear those marks as a badge of honour...

"Tobi?" Simon's voice pulled Tobi out of his thoughts with a cautious tone. He turned around to face Simon once more, grinning as his eyes flicked from Simon to the beautiful figure of his girlfriend, watching as she wandered into the changing room, looking for him. "Those marks alright? Are you... good?"

"Oh I'm more than good," Tobi grinned lazily as you spotted him, making your way across the changing room before Tobi pulled you into his arms proudly for another victorious kiss, deciding to leave his shirt off for the ride back home- instead showing off his bare back- and all the markings you'd left across it.

----------

Video in reference:

okayyy sidemen charity match done icl i thought allstars was gonna win but LESSGOO SIDEMENNNNNMy final notes from the charity match:

-Angry ginge is so fine icel (the tackles n squaring up to speed...) -It was so hard tryna convince my dad "no, speed is actually good at football..." after missing the pen... and a shot on goal... AND A SHOT ON AN OPEN GOAL-So proud of behz- scores in the stadium he's supported since he was a child, with his daughter watching, and got his dream knee-sliding, topless celebration-Congrats Harry for that beaut strike-I want Chris to weave into my DMs like he wove through that defence line-Why was JJ... not a bad goalie???-XQC looked like a proper sweetheart in goal negl-Manny hattrick i love to see it - esp with Simon always tryna set him up to score instead of taking it for himself &lt;333 -WILLNE TWO FOOTING THE CAR BRINGING THE BALL IN LOOOOOOOL -MAX FOSH SCORES A GOAL THEN WHIPS OUT THE UNO REVERSE CARD???? (also why's he so caked lol)

Hope you enjoyed reading!! Feel free to interact- whether that be a comment, vote or follow! Requests open, feel free to submit what u wanna see... Much love!!

To see more, here's my MASTERLIST

And here's my WATTPAD, with 50+ more oneshots to read

[bitchlessdino]

Put it in Writing (m) teaser

posting tomorrow 6pm cst

In collaboration with @camandemstudios Pairing: college student!seungkwan x Fem!TA!reader Genre: humor, smut Word count: 7.9k tags: college au, TA x student dynamic, push-and-pull, mentions of TXT's soobin, mentions of Ryan Gosling, a lot of fucking lying, explicit content, unprotected sex, hair pulling, cream pies, oral Summary: You keep things professional--as you should--even if one of your students is someone you hooked up with one night before the college semester started. Meanwhile, Boo Seungkwan is anything but honest--he's a writer after all--but if he is honest about one thing, it's about wanting to write a new story with you. interact if you want to be tagged.

 “Now tell me your work. What is so amazing that you do?”

“I’m—“ a teacher’s aid in massive debt on their way to graduating with potentially a useless degree neither of their parents is proud of because, although you love it,  you’re too proud to say otherwise, “—a indie movie producer with one of the films up for a reward. Super lowkey right now, but…we got Gosling.” You shrug, impressed with your own lies. “So, things are looking up.”

“That’s quite impressive.” he hums, intrigued and interested in hearing about more. “Is he as nice in real life as he is in interviews?”

“Ryan’s got a screw or two loose, but pretty okay guy. At least not into Scientology or anything.”

“Interesting,” He gaze dips towards you, being drawn to you immensely, if not locking eyes with you, scanning over your features, particularly your lips that wished to be claimed. “You call all big-name celebrities by their first name?”

You shrug, the lying coming more and more naturally than anticipated. “Only the ones I’m close with.”

His palm hugs the curve of your cheek, thumb softly brushing against your bottom lip. “I wonder what getting close to you entails.”

“Are you planning on finding out?”

You give each other a long look, one that keeps waiting and ushering the other until your lips decidedly crash into his. His lips part, making way for your presence, the heat of the kiss flushing your skin and pleased shivers running throughout your entire body. Your breath hitches when you feel his teeth pulling your flesh and a soft sigh escapes his lips before his hand creeps behind your head and muffles a moan that neither were sure from who.

You lift your body from the couch, chasing his pace, and pull him closer, kissing him deeper with all your might. You crawl over his lap, straddling his hips, hands in his hair, breath on his skin. Your chest tightens as he presses you closer by the small of your back, to which you gasp as you part from his lips.

He finds your gaze, his round and glistening eyes meeting yours in soft urgency. “You okay? Something wrong?”

You shake your head, palm clasped against your burning face. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

He lets out an amused scoff. “Keep up, Miss producer.”

[jamessluttythighs]

@moutainrusing @reguluskeys - taller regulus agenda - word count:491 - (because they both encouraged my taller reg antics)

“There will be times when you doubt your abilities but that is when you have to push even harder. You are in the last 50 metres before the finish line, don’t give up.”

McGonagall’s words echoed in James’ head. It was almost 11 on a Thursday evening and his Potions essay wasn’t nearly finished. Tomorrow would be hell if he didn’t hand anything in to Slughorn. Head boy excuses could only get you so far.

Polyjuice potion effects on modern day society: Describe the process required to achieve …

James rolled his eyes. The Restricted Section. That place always gave him the creeps but he, for the life of him, could not remember if the lacewing flies went in before or after the boomslang skin. Reluctantly he left his work nest, collected the key from the kid on duty and made his way to the back of the library.

The scent of old parchment and dust sat in the air. The candles burned low as he sauntered to the ‘Potions’ section. The silence in the room was eerie. Trailing his finger along the spines he reached the ‘P’s. 

“Shit,” James muttered under his breath. He looked up. Of course it was just out of his reach. Now he had to fetch a stool. Great. A splendid day, really. As if he wasn’t tired enough. Stomping to round the corner, he slammed into a firm chest.

“Fuck, Potter! What are you doing here?” 

Regulus looked slightly flustered. His curls falling loose from where they were tucked behind his ears. The book that was in his hands, now laying on the floor. 

“Reg, what are you doing here?,” James exclaimed.

“It’s a Tuesday, I have shifts on Tuesdays and Thursdays,” Regulus whispered back, looking at James as both of them bent down to retrieve the book. Their hands brushing accidentally. A warm feeling spread up James’ hand, leaving his arm tingling.  

Regulus cleared his throat. “What do you need from the restricted section?”

“Potions essay tomorrow”

Regulus’ eyes lit up. His love for the subject bubbling to the surface. “Oh so you’ll be needing this,” he said. 

In one swift motion he reached up, crowding James against the shelf. Coconut and sandalwood filling the air around James. The heat of the younger boy’s body created a fire in James. Regulus didn’t even need to get on his tiptoes. The proximity left James breathless. 

“How’d you know?” James asked as Regulus took a step back and held the book out to him. James wished that he didn’t move away.

“I tutor Benjy Fenwick.”

And he’s a year ahead in Potions?  James knew he didn’t stand a chance. Smart, gorgeous, slightly mean. What more did James need?

“Any chance you could give me a hand? I am so screwed for tomorrow.”

James could swear he saw a small smile dance at the corner of Regulus’ lips. 

“I don’t know, Potter, what’s in it for me?”

[queenshelby]

Our Little Secret (Part 22)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Infidelity

Monday came around quickly and, at around 6 o'clock, just after you had gotten home from university, Cillian arrived at your doorstep, ready to tackle the cot assembly head-on.

After greeting him with a warm hug, you led him upstairs to Baby Mara's nursery, your heart pounding with anxiety. You wanted to create the perfect space for your little girl, but you were afraid that your efforts would fall short.

"Have you done anything with this yet?" Cillian queried, glancing around the room. He appeared hesitant, his gaze darting nervously towards the mountain of the opened up flat-packed boxes piled high on the floor.

"I haven't touched any of these. I promise," you chuckled, your cheeks reddening slightly as you handed him the instruction manual.

"Fuck, these things are confusing, aren't they?" Cillian muttered under his breath, his brow furrowing in concentration as he scrutinized the instruction manual and placed some of the boards on to the floor as indicated.

"What? Are you saying that you can't figure out a simple set of instructions?" you teased, a spark of amusement dancing in your eyes while you watched Cillian trying hard to assemble the bottom part of the cot. 

"Hey, I'm trying here," Cillian protested, his eyes flashing defensively. "This stuff is more complicated than it seems," he argued, squinting at the diagrams intently.

"How many fucking panels are there supposed to be anyway?" he cursed, his frustration escalating.

"I don't know, but let's start building," you proposed eagerly, eager to bring your vision to life. "Are you sure you can handle this?" you joked, your laughter filling the room.

"Of course, I've got this," Cillian asserted confidently, his gaze sweeping over the myriad of components scattered across the floor. "I've assembled far more complex things before," he boasted, his voice thick with bravado.

"Now where is that silver L-shaped thing?" Cillian groaned, running his hands through his hair impatiently. "I swear, this is like finding a needle in a haystack!" he grumbled, tossing aside a handful of bolts and screws in frustration.

Your eyes widened as you watched him throw pieces haphazardly onto the floor, a nervous laugh escaping your lips. 

"You mean the Allen key?" you questioned, arching an eyebrow at Cillian in feigned confusion.

"Yeah, the screwdriver thing they include in those packs, Cillian clarified, scanning the pile of parts on the floor in search of the elusive tool.

"It's called an Allen key" you laughed, watching him scramble through the mess before, finally, finding what he was looking for.

"Right," Cillian echoed, attempting to regain composure. He turned his attention back to the instructions, scrutinizing the diagram carefully. "I believe we need to attach Panel B to Panel G," he suggested, pointing at the paper.

"Or maybe it's the other way around?" he murmured, squinting at the illustration doubtfully.

"Oh, dear," you stifled a giggle, noticing the perplexed expression on Cillian's face. "This is harder than it looks, right?" you teased, nudging him playfully.

"You're absolutely right," Cillian grunted, struggling to fit the panels together. "These damn pieces just don't seem to want to cooperate," he grumbled, his frustration mounting.

The atmosphere in the room crackled with palpable tension, and you found yourself biting your lip to suppress a laugh.

"Here, let me help," you offered, moving closer to Cillian. Your skin brushed against his, igniting a spark of desire that both of you desperately tried to ignore.

"You should probably rest Y/N," Cillian breathed, his gaze locked on your perfectly round baby belly. 

"I am fine. I am pregnant, not sick," you chuckled, guiding Cillian's hands to the correct panel.

"Alright, but just take it easy. I will do the lifting, okay?" he replied, focusing intently on the task at hand. 

"Sure," you acquiesced, offering a lopsided grin. You leaned back against the wall, observing Cillian's focused expression as he meticulously fitted the parts together. The scent of sawdust and wood varnish wafted through the air, mingling with the lingering remnants of your floral perfume.

Suddenly, Cillian halted mid-assembly, his gaze fixated on a loose bolt that stubbornly resisted his attempts to secure it.

"You know what?" he said aloud, his knuckles whitening as he squeezed the errant bolt tighter.  "This cot," he muttered under his breath, "is a complete pain in the ass."

You suppressed a giggle, your eyes sparkling with amusement as you inspected the incomplete structure before you. Despite the seemingly endless complications, something about the chaotic mess of wooden planks and metal bolts stirred feelings within you that you couldn't quite comprehend. A feeling of warmth spread through your chest at the sight of Cillian's frustration, and you couldn't help but feel drawn to the connection that formed between the two of you as you tackled the assembly together.

You soon gathered him a glass of wine while getting a soda for yourself, hoping that it would help him relax, and he gladly accepted it, sipping it as he sat down to continue working on the cot.

You admired his determination, even as the clock ticked onward, and as he labored tirelessly on the project, you began to sense the strain on his face.

"Would you like to take a break and have something to eat?" you asked him, hoping to alleviate some of the pressure he was under. "I will heat up some pasta,” you added, a hint of excitement creeping into your voice. 

"That sounds lovely," Cillian replied, placing the partially completed frame of the bed on the ground and setting his tools aside. "I'm starving," he admitted, stretching his aching muscles.

"Come on, let's go downstairs," you urged, leading him down the staircase just as a lightening bolt struck outside, startling you and causing you to almost trip down the stairs.

"Shit, careful Y/N" Cillian said, instinctively wrapping his arms around you protectively. His embrace felt strong and safe, like a protective shield enveloping you.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice laced with concern as he examined your face closely.

"Yes, I am fine," you reassured him, your pulse racing at the speed of a thousand horses. "It just surprised me. That's all," you lied, smiling faintly.

"You are still scared of thunder and lightning, aren't you?" Cillian asked, knowing that this was one of the few phobias you had after having spent some time in a hurricane affected area in the US. 

"A little, maybe," you admitted, smiling sheepishly. "It's silly, really," you added, peeking up at him through your lashes just as you heard another loud rumbling. 

"Fuck," you whispered, your voice trembling slightly.

"Can we just sit here for a moment?" you pleaded, clutching his arm tightly.

"Of course," Cillian assured you, his voice thick with concern. With gentle care, he guided you to the couch, ensuring that you were comfortable. "Do you want some water?" he offered, checking in on you.

"Maybe later," you murmured, your gaze fixed on the storm raging outside. Thunderclaps rattled the windows, causing you to shudder involuntarily.

Cillian noticed your fear and hesitated to release you from his embrace, knowing that it was futile to argue with you right now, and just as there was some more lightening, the Livingroom turned black.

"What happened?" you gasped, gripping Cillian's shirt tightly. 

"I would say that the power is gone" Cillian explained before looking out of the window and realizing that the surrounding houses had no power either.

"Oh, fucking perfect," you muttered, your voice laced with annoyance as the storm continued to rage outside.

"It's alright Y/N," Cillian said reassuringly while reaching for his phone and turning on the flashlight. "Do you have some candles and matches? Or a torch perhaps?" he asked, his voice softening as he attempted to ease your panic. He moved toward the fireplace, illuminating the dark space with his cell phone as he searched for any signs of a lighter.

"Top right, next to the wood stand," you instructed, your voice barely audible as you stared out into the stormy night.

"Got it," Cillian confirmed, locating the box containing matches, striking one to life before lighting several candles.

As the room gradually filled with warm, flickering light, you sighed deeply, your heartbeat gradually slowing down.

"You know, every time there's a storm, I expect someone to show up out of nowhere and save me," you mused, smiling wistfully.

"Save you from what?" Cillian asked, raising an eyebrow as he joined you on the couch.

The scent of burning wax filled the air, and the shadows danced around the candlelit room, creating an intimate atmosphere.

"From the storm," you clarified, glancing out the window as the storm raged on. Lightning flashes illuminated the room intermittently, casting stark shadows on the walls. The wind howled, causing the trees outside to sway wildly.

"Well, I don't think that you actually need saving but, if there is a storm again, call me and I will come over, alright?" Cillian said, his words reflecting the genuine affection he held for you.

"Alright, deal," you agreed, resting your head on his shoulder as he wrapped his arm around you. The room filled with a comforting silence, except for the occasional crackle of the dying fire.

As the storm raged on outside, you and Cillian settled deeper into your embrace, savoring the peaceful moments shared in the dim candlelight.

"Should I make us some sandwiches?" Cillian spoke up, breaking the silence. "It's better than cold pasta, I guess?" Cillian chuckled while waiting for your answer. 

"Yes, please," you nodded, your stomach protesting at the mere mention of food. The thought of a hot sandwich sounded heavenly right now, and you couldn't wait to dig in.

"I'll just grab some plates," Cillian smiled, rising from the couch to retrieve two plates from the kitchen cabinet. He returned shortly thereafter, handing you a plate stacked high with freshly prepared sandwiches.

"Thanks," you murmured gratefully, biting into the cheese and crispy bread while Cillian checked his phone, seeing how long this storm was going to last and when power was meant to be restored. 

"The power is not meant to come back on until the morning, apparently," Cillian announced, his brows furrowed with concern.

"What?" you gasped, staring wide-eyed at the darkened living room. 

"Relax, Y/N," Cillian soothed, squeezing your hand reassuringly. "Everything is going to be fine," he murmured, his gaze never leaving yours.

You nibbled distractedly on your sandwich, your thoughts spiralling into worry. You hated being trapped in the dark, especially during a storm. However, Cillian's comforting presence calmed your nerves somewhat, allowing you to breathe easier.

"Do you, uhm," you began to say, pausing to gather your thoughts. "Think you could stay here tonight?" you ventured cautiously, your voice wavering slightly.

"I know it's a lot to ask, considering our circumstances, but I honestly feel safer with you here," you confessed, your gaze darting nervously between Cillian and the storm outside.

Cillian paused, his mouth full of sandwich, and swallowed deliberately before responding. "Amanda is meant to be coming over to my house at nine, but yeah, I mean, sure," Cillian stammered, a slight flush spreading across his cheeks.

He looked down at your hand, still nestled in his, before meeting your gaze again. "I will stay here," he confirmed, his voice softer than before. "But we probably shouldn't stay in the same bed, so I will have the couch, okay?" Cillian said, his voice tinged with uncertainty. He rose from the couch, carrying his plate to the table before returning to you with a determined look in his eyes.

"Thank you," you responded, a flicker of relief washing over you. The idea of spending the night alone in the dark, amidst the chaos of the storm, seemed unbearable. Having Cillian there, even if he slept on the couch, provided a sense of comfort and safety that you sorely needed.

As you finished your dinner, the storm intensified, the wind howling relentlessly, battering the windows. Your fears swirled, like the tumultuous clouds outside, threatening to engulf you but Cillian did his best to keep your mind preoccupied and suggested playing a game of cards.

He retrieved a deck from somewhere in the house and the two of you huddled on the couch, using the scant light from the candles to guide your hands. The soft whispers of shuffling cards echoed in the otherwise silent room, punctuated by fits of giggles between hands.

You played several games until around ten o'clock that night, by which point Cillian had ignored more than five calls from Amanda after cancelling their date and, just as the storm calmed down a bit, you decided to call it a night. 

After getting changed into your PJs and saying goodnight to Cillian who, by that point, had gotten himself comfortable on the lounge, you crawled into bed, feeling exhausted and afraid.

You were laying there awake, listening to the rhythmic patter of rain hitting the garden below. Each clap of thunder caused your body to tense, and the sporadic flashes of lightning served as reminders of the danger lurking beyond the windows.

It was as though nature itself conspired with your inner turmoil, amplifying the torrent of emotions coursing through your veins and, just as another bolt of lightening struck nearby, you jumped out of bed. 

The sudden jolt of adrenaline propelled you to seek solace in Cillian's company, and you hurriedly grabbed your robe before fleeing the confines of your bedroom. Your bare feet padded softly against the cold hardwood floors, and the scent of damp earth filled the air.

You knew that it was a reckless decision, and the consequences could prove disastrous if Amanda found out, but it was almost like you couldn't help yourself. 

"Cillian," you called out softly, your voice echoing eerily in the dimly lit living room. "I really can't get to sleep," you confessed, your voice trembling slightly. "Could you just lie down with me for a little while?" you requested, swallowing nervously.

Silence enveloped the room, and you feared that Cillian might refuse your request, or worse, question your motives. Your heart pounded in your chest, and beads of sweat trickled down your temples. You waited for what seemed like an eternity, your breathing shallow and rapid.

"I suppose why not," Cillian finally replied, his voice muffled by the distance between you. "I mean, it's not that we haven't shared a bed before," he added, his tone shifting uncomfortably. "So, I guess it wouldn't hurt to just keep you company for a while," he agreed cautiously, his reluctance noticeable.

You heaved a sigh of relief, your body relaxing visibly as you allowed yourself to lean against the couch. "Thank you," you whispered, your gaze locking onto Cillian's tired eyes.

With trepidation, you followed him back to your bedroom, navigating the darkness cautiously.

Once inside, Cillian closed the door behind you, shutting out the storm's chaos, before climbing into bed, wearing only a t-shirt and a pair of black Calvin Klein briefs.

You followed suit, slipping your robe off, leaving you in a singlet and shorts, and crawling beneath the covers, careful not to touch Cillian too closely for fear of provoking unwanted desires.

For a few minutes, nothing was spoken between you, the only sound being the distant thunder and the rhythmic patter of rain against the window pane. 

"I am sorry. I feel like an idiot," you then eventually said, breaking the silence between you. 

"Don't be silly," Cillian whispered soothingly while turning towards you. "Everyone has fears, even big boys like me," he joked, a ghost of a smile tracing across his lips. 

"Big boys like you huh?" you giggled before asking what his fears were, the answer to which surprised you. 

"Being alone," Cillian admitted, his voice barely audible. "When I was younger, I had this uncle who really never settled down with anyone. He was on his own when he passed away of old age and I figured that, never being able to experience love in such a deep and meaningful way must suck," Cillian confessed, a trace of sadness clouding his features.

"And I don't want to end up like that, Y/N," he revealed, his voice heavy with emotion. "I don't like being alone," he admitted. 

"Do you think Amanda is the one for you? The one to grow old with?" you questioned, your voice softening. "Do you think she is the one for you?" you repeated, a hint of curiosity dancing in your eyes.

Cillian hesitated and ran his fingers through his short hair, a troubled expression clouding his features. "To be honest, I don't," he confessed, his voice cracking slightly. "I mean, I like her, but I am also not completely satisfied with our relationship," he admitted, his gaze flitting apprehensively between you and the window.

"Well, only you can figure out what you want but, if it is not her, then why waste your time?" you asked before, suddenly, gasping for air as Baby Mara gave you a kick.

"What's wrong?" Cillian asked, sitting upright abruptly.

"Oh, nothing," you waved dismissively, trying to hide the fact that your baby girl had kicked you. It was amazing, yet terrifying, to witness the physical manifestation of your child growing inside your womb.

"It's just that I think our daughter might become a kickboxing champion," you chuckled, rubbing your swollen belly tenderly beneath the blanket. 

"Is she still moving around?" Cillian asked, his gaze drifting towards your covered abdomen as he laid back down beside you. Your laughter bubbled forth, and you felt the familiar sensation of a small foot kicking against your palm.

"Yeah," you marveled, gently stroking your protruding belly. "And it feels really weird" you added, smiling appreciatively. "Would you like to feel her kick?" you asked Cillian, extending your hand underneath the blanket, inviting him to join you in the intimate experience.

His eyes widened slightly, and he hesitated for a moment before reaching for your hand. His fingers intertwined with yours, and he placed his palm beneath your singlet, right against your tummy, pressing lightly.

"Can you feel her?" you asked tentatively as his fingers grazed your belly lightly, a puzzled expression clouding his features in the dark.

"No, I don't think -" he started to reply, his brow furrowing in concentration. "Wait," he suddenly interjected. "Yes, she definitely just kicked," he affirmed, his voice brimming with wonder.

His fingertips lingered on your stomach, tracing gentle patterns as he adjusted to the unexpected sensation and, soon, you rolled on to your side, facing away from him and thereby giving his hand better access to your round baby belly. 

"She will kick me all night, you watch," you laughed softly, squirming against the soft cotton sheets. The smell of damp earth still clung to the air, a tangible reminder of the tempest raging outside.

"She is going to be a force of nature, I just know it," Cillian hummed, his fingers brushing against your sensitive skin, sending ripples of pleasure coursing through your veins.

"Probably, but, right now, I think she is simply excited," you speculated, the corners of your mouth curling upwards in a soft smile. "I think she enjoys your touch," you noted, observing Cillian's reaction carefully while he traced gentle circles on your tummy, his fingers dancing along your skin.

"It's surreal, isn't it?" Cillian commented, his voice hushed. "Feeling a tiny human moving around inside you," he added, his finger continuing to caress your abdomen. "I can't believe we actually made this miracle," he murmured, shaking his head.

"Well, neither can I," you laughed softly, snuggling back, closer against his chest and, much to your surprise, Cillian's hand remained firmly on your stomach, the pads of his fingers pressing lightly against your skin while he traced slow, deliberate circles.

His attention was solely focused on the movements beneath your skin and, occasionally, he would pause to examine your reactions, seeking confirmation that the sensations he experienced were indeed real while you lay there, nestled against him, feeling his warmth seeping into your body while the storm raged on outside.

"Cillian," you murmured softly after a while, your voice barely audible. "I think I am falling asleep," you confessed, your eyelids fluttering as you fought to remain awake.

"It's okay," Cillian whispered reassuringly, his grip tightening on your hand. "Just rest. You both need it,” he affirmed, his voice soft and tender. " I will be right here," he promised, his breath warming your neck as he inhaled the floral scent of your hair, reminding him of the many nights you had shared in the past.

"Goodnight, Y/N," he whispered, his voice soft and tender.

"Goodnight, Cillian," you murmured, your eyelids fluttering shut as sleep claimed you but, unfortunately for you, you were woken up at around 3 o'clock in the morning by a sharp pain in your stomach. 

You groaned, rolling onto your side and clutching your abdomen as the discomfort radiated outward.

"Cillian," you cried out softly, your voice trembling slightly. "Something is wrong," you whimpered, your breathing becoming increasingly laboured.

"My stomach," you groaned, clutching your abdomen tightly as the pain subsided. "I feel like I am having a contraction," you whimpered, the realization sinking in.

Cillian shot up immediately, throwing the blankets aside and rushing to the other side of the bed. 

"It's a contraction," you confirmed, your voice quivering with fear. "But it is too early for that," you whispered, tears welling up in your eyes.

"Y/N, we need to get you to the hospital," Cillian declared, his voice firm despite the obvious concern etched across his face.

"Where are your car keys?" Cillian asked, his voice strained under the weight of the situation while he helped you stand up and guided you down the stairs. 

To be continued...

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[auratux]

saw requests were open sexy lady 😏

how about kunigami + breeding kink? i just know he has one and his dick is just too fucking big to not have a breeding kink 😩

gIRL WE BOTH KNOW IT WE BOTH DO (I haven't written smut in over a year pls be nice to me)

warnings: breeding kink and my lame ass attempt at dirty talking!

“Fuck baby,” Kunigami inhales sharply, fighting back a groan that rumbles in the back of his throat. “You look so perfect like this.” His head tilts back as a moan passes from his mouth, his eyes screwing shut. 

The way your cunt clenched around him almost caused him to finish right there. He fucking loved it when you would voluntarily clench around him. Your pussy was so pretty and perfect. It was molded just for him and only him. It made him ecstatic knowing that only he was able to have you like this under him – to be able to give you all the pleasure you deserved. 

His hands grip your hips, his knuckles turning white from how tight he was holding you. It was certain you would have marks the following morning.

“Taking my cock like a good girl.”

Your moans sound like music to his ears. To him, you were the most beautiful thing in the world. Your naked body was on display for him – only him. Your curves and other assets on you only enhanced your beauty. 

Kunigami was big. Every time he put you on this bed and had his way with you, it always caught you by surprise at the first thrust of his hips. You could never forget that feeling and the same gasps you both let out.

The way his cock dragged inside your walls, in and out at a fast pace had you uttering obscenities and the male above you could only chuckle at your lack of words. Your nails dig into his forearms, your lips in a small ‘o’ shape, and tears well up in your eyes. His orbs gleam at the expression on your face.

“P-Please!”

“Please what baby?”

“C-Cum in me!” you gasp, feeling the muscles in your abdomen contract.

Hearing those words escape your lips set off something within him. The thought of him breeding you and you walking around with a round belly and knocked up with his baby is enough to let him go. He never thought he would get this turned on by you saying that but fuck, he loved it. 

“Fuck you’re perfect.”

His lips capture yours in a rough kiss as he lowers himself closer to you, feeling your nipples brush against his chest.

“Gonna breed you,” he grunts in your ear, the pace of his thrust fastening as he gets closer to his end. “Gonna fill you up so much, and even after that. You want me to fill this pretty pussy up over and over?”

“Fuck– yes!”

“Gonna show everyone you’re mine, and only mine.”

[palioom]

day twenty-five - pregnancy

pairing: marcus moreno x f!reader

word count: 676

warnings:18+ content; no use of y/n; pregnancy kink, breeding kink, cowgirl position, creampie

• kinktober 2023 masterlist •

“Oh, you look stunning, darling.” Marcus groaned, his huge hands smoothing over her belly, round with their child. “So gorgeous, can’t wait to see you grow more.”

She hummed, her hips rocking back and forth on top of him, head thrown back, her own hands groping at her breasts.

“You need to shut up, Marcus.” Her words caught on her moan, his hips jerking up, disturbing her rhythm momentarily before she could catch herself again. “Getting off more to my belly than my pussy, naughty boy.”

He whimpered, unable to keep himself from rocking up into her again. So sensitive and desperate, her body making him lose his mind.

It was like she was teasing him all day, in her pretty summer dresses as she roamed around the kitchen, belly large and enticing, rock hard just at the sight of her.

And of course she had noticed just how much more touchy and close he had become ever since she had started to grow bigger, as if that was even possible with a man as attentive and loving as Marcus.

But he couldn’t keep his hands off of her, eating her out when he could, sneaking his hand below her dress as she was cooking in the kitchen, inviting her into his office just so he could bury himself inside of her.

“Can’t help it, sweetheart.” He moaned, watching her head roll forwards just to give him an amused grin. “You look so pretty when you’re pregnant."

She laughed, grinding down harder, her hands leaving her breasts, immediately replaced with his, to move down to his chest, thumbs brushing over his nipples, another sweet moan making her clench around him.

Marcus was so easily flustered and aroused, hands twitching on her skin as she sped up just a little. 

“Wanna fuck another baby into me right away, don’t you?” She asked, seeing the crease between his brows deepen, his eyes screwed shut while he nodded. “Love me like this so much, don’t you? Fuck, Marcus.”

He absolutely did, something about him was just crazy about her like this.

“Fill me up some more, honey.” 

Squeezing her full breasts, it was almost enough to make him cum, imagining them leaking and round like this forever.

Her heavy weight felt heavenly on him, trying to meet her movements with his own thrusts, stopping when her fingers pinched his nipples. Always so demanding and in charge, even now, even like this.

“Gonna fill you up, you look so beautiful like this.” Voice hoarse, clearly close to bursting, his eyes opened to look at her again.

Those sweet, dark eyes so full of lust right now, desperate.

Changing the angle slightly, she ground into him, her clit receiving just the perfect amount of friction, his rough hands on her breasts only providing further stimulation, letting the coil inside her burst.

“Fuck, yes! Cum inside me, please, Marcus!” She cried out, losing her rhythm but trying to coax him over the edge too, nails digging into his skin. “Please, honey!”

Marcus couldn’t hold back much longer, her tight pussy gripping him too much to resist, his hands moving to her hips to push her down onto him as he spilled himself inside of her with a whine.

Soothing the skin with his thumbs as he slowly calmed down, helping her off of him and down onto the sheets. 

“Are you serious about what you said, honey?” Marcus asked as he rearranged the pillows for her, making it more comfortable for her to lay down, his hand smoothing over her belly after. “You want more kids?”

She hummed, looking back at him with a tired smile.

“Yeah, you clearly enjoy making them and seeing me pregnant.”

A blush crept over his cheeks, leaning down to kiss her, lingering on her lips for a moment, then kissing her shoulder tenderly.

Just laying down behind her, a smile on his face as he slotted his body against hers, his hand still stroking her pregnant form.

He would really enjoy having more kids with her.

[shuchu]

imagine saying you're gonna participate in no nut november and the boys get absolutely devastated i think that'd be so funny

bonus if you avoid their advances and leave them all needy and begging for ur attention ｡ﾟ(ﾟ´Д｀ﾟ)ﾟ｡ heavy on shoto since he tweeted he was gonna fail it as soon as it started 😭😭 he would be inconsolable if u said u were gonna participate hes a very needy boy (*'▽'*) -🌸

nsfw, minors dni ; gn!reader

omg- i will literally kiss your brain, all these ideas tskr

i'm sorry if anything doesn't make sense, i'm falling asleep as i type this ＞▽＜

here are some headcanons lovelies, enjoy ♡

ꨄ VOX AKUMA

“alright bet.”

after 2 days, he comes to you pouting, “babe, i can’t. i’m so fucking horny.”

you smirk at him and say, “use your hand then.”

“please baby, i need you.” he whines, “besides, it’s just a silly little challenge the internet came up with, you don’t need to participate in it.”

“i like it when you beg, beg for it a little more and maybe i’ll consider it.” you giggle

vox leans in and starts kissing your neck, his hand rubbing your thigh

“come on darling. please? pretty please?”

eventually you give in and mans was so pent up, he kept you up the whole night

ꨄ MYSTA RIAS

“no way you’re actually gonna not cum for a month.”

you look at him and say, “i’m dead serious mysta. imma do it.”

“but babe...what if i get horny?”

“well, you’re just going to have to use your hand or your tenga egg.” you chuckle

a week goes by and you’re surprised mysta hasn’t come to bother you about being horny until you see him sulking on the couch

you sit beside him, giving him a kiss on the cheek, “what’s wrong babe?”

“i haven’t felt your mouth or your hand or your hole around my dick for a week. my hand and tenga egg feels nowhere as good as you.”

you giggle and all of a sudden your breath is knocked out of you when mysta grabs your wrists and pins you down to the couch

mysta kisses you and one of his hand reaches down to rub you through your shorts

you end up letting him have his way with you

mysta would fuck you like an animal in heat because of how pent up he is

ꨄ LUCA KANESHIRO

when you tell luca you’re participating he goes, “oh okay! pog!”

but after a few days he realises it isn’t so pog after all when he sees you swaying those hips while you’re cooking in the kitchen and seeing that ass that he loves so much being shoved in his face when you’re wiping down the kitchen counters

he gets such a raging hard on and he excuses himself to go relieve himself

after you’re done with what you were doing you walk into the bedroom to see luca thrusting his hips into his hand and moaning your name

you sit on the side of the bed and luca looks at you while still jerking himself off, “babe. i- i can’t do it. i need you. i need to feel you. please.”

you rest your hand on his chest and smirk, “keep going.”

he does as you asked and you start rubbing his chest up and down, brushing against his nipples occasionally, making him jolt and his dick twitch

after edging him for a few minutes, you finally lower yourself down onto him

he would tear up from how good it feels to finally have your walls wrapped around him

it isn't long before he cums and he'd ask you if you're good to go one more round because he's so pent up

ꨄ IKE EVELAND

i feel like ike wouldn't really mind tbh so when you tell him he'd go, "oh...okay!"

in my mind, the only scenario would be that ike just feels an overwhelming amount of love for you and the both of you start making out

things heat up after the both of you make out and he would want to make love to you but he would remember that you wanna participate in nnn and he would have to reluctantly cockblock

but i think at that point you'd just say, "screw it." and just continue with what y'all were doing

ꨄ SHU YAMINO

i feel like with shu you'd have to go into this with the intention of teasing him to the point where he can't resist the urge anymore

but let's be real, shu probably wouldn't be the type to beg

if anything, you'd give up on nnn and plead him to fuck you at which he'd smirk and say, "oh? given up already?" (i'm screaming-)

ꨄ SHXTOU

he would visibly deflate when you tell him you're participating in nnn

"but babeeee..." shoto whines and you just giggle walking out of the bedroom

whenever shoto would try to turn you on, praising you and telling you all the things he would do to you if you give up on nnn

you just laugh and say, "good try my love."

he wouldn't stop trying and at this point he's desperate

he flops on the bed and goes, "i feel like i'm dying. we haven't been intimate in a week babe! a week!"

"drama queen much? it's only been a week babe." you giggle at his antics

but of course, eventually you give in and shoto literally lights up

he starts leaving kisses all over your face and down your neck, getting straight to work

[niki-phoria]

This may be a little boring ......

I was thinking about chishiya and arisu reaction if reader wipes their kiss away. Like i said this might be boring but i would be really happy if you could do this!

‧₊˚✩ chishiya, arisu and kuina reaction - wiping their kisses away

warnings: ooc chishiya, fuck canon chishiya and kuina will forever be a t4t duo in my fics poor depictions of drunk people, drunk kuina

a/n: thank you for requesting !! i kinda struggled with this one ngl (specifically chishiya's) but i think this idea is really cute :) i hope you like it <33

additional note: i've been writing for enha a lot lately so i wanted to make it clear that i still write for aib !! i just mostly write requests so feel free to send anything :))

gn reader (no pronouns used)

requests open !! read my rules first

‧₊˚✩ chishiya

word count 404 i'm obsessed with him send help

chishiya leans down, quickly brushing his lips against your cheek before he pulls away. instinctively, you brush your hand against the skin he kissed. he pauses, blinking at you in shock for a few seconds. deep brown eyes stare at you as he tries to make sense of what you just did. 

you twist the soda can in your hands, cutting into the metal to prepare it for a mess of wires that will make it into a makeshift bomb. behind you, the door swings open and a tired kuina enters. she lets out a dramatic sigh, sitting down at the table beside you. “another bomb?” 

“you can never have too many, right?” you chuckle. 

kuina hums, cocking her head at chishiya. “you look like you just saw a ghost.” she leans to look at him over your shoulder before whispering in your ear. “i’ve never seen his eyes so big before. it’s kinda freaking me out.”

you look up at him, setting the can aside. 

chishiya takes the opportunity to lean down again, this time kissing your lips. he pulls away just as quickly before silently disappearing back within the beach. 

kuina sits on one of the beach chairs, rolling her wooden cigarette between her lips. she lights up when you approach. “have you seen chishiya?” 

“you know he doesn’t hang around out here,” she sighs. “he’s probably back in the workshop.” 

you nod. “thanks.” 

you make your way through the winding hallways of the beach’s hotel as you retrace the route back to the workshop chishiya usually works in. true to kuina’s word, he’s sitting at the table, tinkering away at another new invention using a variety of random items he found at the beach. 

he doesn’t react when you enter. you silently make your way over to sit next to him, leaning over his shoulder as you watch him. “are you ignoring me?”  

“no.” he sets the tape aside, finally turning to face you.

“then why are you acting so weird?” 

“you wiped my kiss away.” 

you stifle a laugh, moving closer to straddle his hips until your knees rest on either side of his thighs. chishiya rests his hands on your hips as you wrap your arms around his shoulders. “i’m sorry, baby. it won’t happen again.” 

he presses another sweet kiss against your lips, this time long enough for you to pull him back in for more. “it better not.”

‧₊˚✩ arisu

word count 407 he's terrified but he's also so cute dnkslns

you close the door to arisu’s room behind you as you enter before setting your bag down by the side of his bed. he’s sitting at his desk with a headset on, occasionally talking to chota and karube. you make your way over to stand behind his chair. you lean over his shoulder as he focuses on the round. his fingers are fast as they move between the buttons of his controller, moving expertly to kill each enemy he comes across. 

sensing he hasn’t noticed your presence behind him yet, you brush your hand against his shoulder. he jumps a little, glancing up at you before returning his attention to the screen. “hi babe.” 

“oh no, y/n’s there,” you can hear chota through the headset. “that means arisu will be leaving soon.” 

“well, let’s hope whoever replaces him is decent. otherwise we’re screwed.” karube chuckles.

“come on, i don’t always leave.” arisu complains. 

“yes you do.” 

“do you really want chota to list every time you’ve abandoned us early because y/n showed up?” you stifle a chuckle as arisu sighs, accepting his defeat. 

he leans up to press a kiss against your cheek, setting his controller down on the table in front of him. you bring your hand up, wiping it across the skin he just kissed. arisu looks up at you with wide eyes, gasping. you cock your head at him. “what?” 

“did you just wipe my kiss away?” he dramatically presses a hand against his chest, leaning back in his chair as if he’s been shot. “i can’t believe this! how could you?” 

you try to hide your smile, moving to sit on arisu’s lap. he sits up immediately. you smirk down at him as he hesitantly moves his hands to your hips. “i sincerely apologize, arisu ryohei,” you tease. “how will i ever make it up to you?” 

“a kiss would help.” he mumbles. you lean down to gently pull him into a sweet kiss. you can feel him smile into it, making you smile as well. 

the moment is interrupted by karube and chota complaining over his headset. “are you really gonna make out with your mic on?” 

“hey! we’re about to start another round!” 

arisu leans over, hanging up from the call. the blush on his face has deepened when he looks back at you. you laugh, slipping the headphones off of his head, pulling him back into another kiss.

‧₊˚✩ kuina

word count 463 this one is my fav i love her

“kuina?” you call, searching for her through the crowd. she’s easy enough to find - sitting on a beach chair and joking around with usagi and arisu. her head is thrown back as she laughs. her joy is infectious as you stand, watching her for a few seconds. it’s not often that you see authentic joy in the borderland - especially not at the beach. 

a small smile of your own spreads across your face as you make your way over to her. she’s still giggling as you approach, lighting up when she notices you. “baby!” she cheers, all but throwing her body onto yours in her excitement. you stumble a little as you wrap your arms around her waist, catching her body. you can smell the alcohol on her breath as she clings to you, still racked with drunken giggles every now and then. 

“sorry,” usagi gives you a sympathetic smile. next to her, arisu is also laughing. you can see the empty bottles and cans of alcohol on the ground around the beach chairs next to them. “they got a little carried away.” 

you shake your head, still holding kuina up. “it’s alright. thank you for keeping an eye on her.” 

“of course,” she smiles, glancing back at arisu. “i should probably get him to bed.” 

“me too. i’ll see you tomorrow?” 

usagi nods. “we’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“come on, honey,” you whisper to kuina, coaxing her to follow you into the hotel and back through your room. it’s easy enough to drag her through as she wraps her arms around your shoulders. 

you’re grateful chishiya told you to choose a room on the first floor by the door; even more so when it only takes a few minutes to get kuina from the pool into your shared bedroom. she pulls your face down as you set her on your bed, leaning up to press a kiss against your cheek. you wipe the alcohol from her lips off of your face, leaving to grab a water bottle to set on the bedside table. 

kuina is pouting at you when you return. “what is it?” 

“you wiped my kiss away!” she whines. 

you can’t help the laugh that escapes you as you sit down next to her. you brush her hair behind her ear. “i’m sorry baby.” 

kuina wraps her arms around your shoulders, twisting your bodies so she’s hovering over you. she stares down at you for a few seconds before leaning down and pressing a million little kisses against your skin. you laugh at the ticklish feeling, gently pushing her away. 

after pressing a final kiss against your lips she pulls away, laying down next to you. “satisfied?” 

she rolls onto her side to look at you with a wide smile. “very.”

[xythlia]

꒦꒷♡ . . . HONEYMOON WEEK 𓂃 SHANKS \ DILF . ·˚ ༘

♡⃕ ࣪ WARNINGS | f!reader ⸝⸝ age gap ⸝⸝ shanks has both hands ⸝⸝ modern au ⸝⸝ au pair reader ⸝⸝ masturbation ment ⸝⸝ pwp really ⸝⸝ shanks wants to make u a stepmommy ⸝⸝ creampie ⸝⸝ hickies ⸝⸝ clit play ish

♡⃕ ࣪ NOTICE | forever babygirlifying him I NEED to fuck this old man

♡⃕ ࣪ HONEYMOON WEEK M.LIST

His large, calloused hands slid sensually up your hips, fingers dancing beneath your shirt to raise goosebumps across your skin as he squeezed your breasts.

"You like it when I touch you?" He asked, nuzzling his face against the side of your neck.

His breath tickled, the feeling of it mingling with his touch as one hand slid down to knead the softness of your ass. You knew it was wrong, he was your employer and this was a serious violation of your professional boundaries... but wasn't it already a violation when you'd slid your fingers inside yourself at night wishing they were his?

"Or maybe you'd like this a little more?" His lips placed open mouthed kisses to your neck as the hand that had been at your ass shifted around, his thumb pressing against your clit making you whine and roll your hips.

"Please," you gasped, grinding against his hand. He chuckled against your skin, ducking his head to suck against your nipple as your hurriedly tugged your shirt up and off. An aching need burned through your veins, one hand tangling in his crimson hair as the other wrapped around his cock, thick and heavy in your grip. It made you whinier, eager to feel him inside you.

His lips met yours in a breathy laugh as his hand covered yours, your excitement making his movements jumpy as the head of his cock brushed against your puffy clit before settling against your soaked entrance.

Stray fragments of thoughts bounced inside your head, but any lingering trepidation was overpowered by his thumb rubbing smooth circles over your clit and the feeling of him slowly pushing inside you. It ached in a different way, but as your jaw dropped open that ache gave way to a blissful feeling of fullness when he was finally buried inside you, the head of his cock pushing against that spongy spot inside you that made your cunt spasm and your brain melt like heated sugar.

His thrusts were slow, lips and teeth making a necklace of beautiful red blooms against your throat as gasped moans bounced off the dim bedroom walls. A fleeting fear came: hopefully his kids won't wake up, but as his rhythm changed that thought dissipated as quickly as it came. Your back arched against him, hips bucking and meeting his thrusts as reached deeper inside you.

Shanks eyes were screwed shut as he placed frantic kisses against any part of your skin he could reach, the way you squeezed around his cock meant he probably wouldn't last long, but it wouldn't all be a waste; maybe you could go from au pair to step mother?

Pulling back he was mesmerized by the way your breasts bounced in time with his harsh thrusts, your broken moans and sweaty skin enchanting as his balls slapped heavy against your ass. Without thinking he gripped your legs, pushing them up and enjoying the way you squeaked and whined at the depth change.

His breathing was ragged, mind full of visions of you glowy and round with his child. Your wailing grew in pitch and he felt it, the way your pussy clenched around him in a vise of spasming flesh and your nails dug into his shoulders.

Through the sound of blood rushing to his ears he could hear you hiccuping, babbling chants of his name as he gave one last messy thrust inside you before letting you milk him dry, thick spurts of cum settling inside your needy cunt as his breathing steadied.

He collapsed on top of you, sweet kisses pressed to your lips as satisfaction bubbled in his chest. Maybe one more round, to make sure it takes.

[fayes-fics]

Kinktober you say? Well go on then…

Ben + modern + public orgasm

Kinktober: Benedict + Public Orgasm

Kinktober 2023 Masterlist

Paring: Benedict Bridgeton x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, vaginal fingering, public orgasm,.

Author’s note: hi nonny! I hope you enjoy this cinema outing with the Benace, it's err longer than I thought it would be lol 😁 Enjoy! 🧡

“Shhhh,” Benedict admonishes, smirking but not looking at you.

You whimper, biting your bottom lip so hard you swear you should taste blood, transfixed by the flex of his forearm tendons where they disappear inside your drawstring trousers.

“That's it,” he encourages, his eyes glued to the cinema screen as your gaze flicks to his profile, unable to do anything but writhe on his talented hand, dragging your swollen clit over the hook of his thumb as two long, shapely fingers are buried inside you, stroking just slow enough to make the edges of your mind frazzled. 

You watch in disbelief as he casually grabs a kernel of popcorn with his other hand, tosses it into the air and catches it with his mouth—smooth bastard. You want to hate him for how cocky he is being but fuck if he isn't delivering on the promise that you would enjoy this film. Not that you have looked at the screen in the last ten minutes. Thankful the rest of the row is empty.

He swivels his hand slightly, and you throw your head back and stifle a moan, grasping the narrow threadbare velvet armrests for more leverage to rock faster. 

“Fuckkkk,” you stammer mutely, eyes screwed shut, the feeling so good your toes scrunch inside your shoes.

“Not here, but we will,” he responds nonchalantly, then twists towards you suddenly, soft, warm lips brushing over your temple. “First though, you have to come on my fingers. Right here, with all these people in the room,” he commands tacitly, nodding to all the groups of heads in front of you tilted up towards the big screen.

“But this scene is so quiet,” you hiss in protest, “can we wait until a loud chase scene?” you lament under your breath, impressed you can string any words together as the white-hot pleasure intensifies, radiating in pulses through your pelvis.

“Where is the challenge in that?” he teases with a throaty chuckle, nuzzling your hairline as he hooks his fingers, pressing firmer against your pussy wall so you have to jaggedly swallow your screams. You know this arouses him, your struggle. To not make a sound beyond heavy panting and cursing his name silently, a sheen breaking over your skin, a shiver running up your spine.

With a side swipe, an edge of rounded thumbnail catches a pinpoint on your clit, and you break. He leans in to hold your body down as you shudder and spasm, shushing you as you scream behind your lips, sealed shut, huffing deep draws through your nose as fireworks explode behind your eyelids. Every ounce of your body seems to fracture and rearrange, clamping onto his fingers so strong he groans lightly. Then you slump back into your chair, bones heavy, body sated.

“Oh, good girl,” he compliments, withdrawing his fingers delicately from within you and sinking them into his mouth lasciviously.

No taglist as these drabbles are so short.