NANAMI KENTO WOULD LEAVE HIS WIFE FOR YOU. a truth that crystallized with an intoxicating certainty after a week of nights spent watching your set at the gentleman’s club.
always front and center, whiskey in hand, suit undone, he lounged with his arms draped over the plush velvet red sofa he paid a hefty sum for each night—just to throw you quadruple that on to the stage. if it weren’t for his old lady at home, he would empty his wallet at your feet without a second thought.
after late nights at the office on a business trip miles from home, he could never forget how he had stumbled across club and caught a glimpse of the flashing marquee: “dirty diana.” your name alone sent a thrill throughout him, pulling him in like a moth to a flame.
one glimpse turned into a nightly ritual, each visit an escape from the job slowly eating him alive and failing marriage quickly driving him to insanity. each moment with you a tantalizing promise he couldn't resist. each gaze shared, full of lust and curiosity— intensified his temptation of infidelity.
he could do nothing as he was sucked deeper into a world where all he could think about was you.
you moved under the dim LED lights with a sultry confidence that captivated him completely, each sway of your body around the steel iron pole a siren’s call that lured him further away from his faithfulness. as you danced, every movement seemed to whisper promises he longed to fulfill. a sea of men came to watch your performance every night, but your gaze only found him.
and with that— he knew nothing about you, only that he needed you.
he needed you so badly that the moment you approached him after your fifth set of the week to thank him for his generosity and support, all of his morals shattered in an instant.
he needed you so badly that it took every ounce of restraint not to cum in his pants the moment he heard you speak for the first time—your voice a sultry melody that wrapped around him like a warm embrace. he needed you so badly that within an hour of meeting and sharing a few drinks with you, he was driving you back with him to the penthouse suite of his hotel down the road. he needed you so badly, that he didn't dare feel an ounce of shame when binding your hands together above your head with the tie that his wife gifted him last christmas.
he needed you so badly, that he didn't even have the decency to remove the silver wedding band on his left index finger as he palmed your beautiful tits in between his fingers or as you sucked your own juices clean from his digits.
how could he feel like a horrible person for cheating when your pussy felt as if it were made for him? when your sighs were delicate and pretty, and the way you looked at him beneath your lashes made him forget every worry and trouble he’d ever faced.
with his dick buried deep inside of you, he was lost in a world where guilt didn’t exist.
his wife never fucked him like this. her arch wasn’t as deep as yours… she never drained his cock dry, nor has she ever deep throated his length with such soft and pretty lips. hell she wasn’t even as beautiful as you.
overall, she just wasn’t you.
as you clenched tightly around his dick, your cunt slick with a mix of your climaxes, nanami decided that if he were to die in this very moment, he would die the happiest man on earth.
you knew he was married. you had seen the ring. the way he discarded his phone without a care in the world every time her name flashed across his screen. but you didn’t care. you had never done this before and you should have felt shitty but with every thrust into you, his chants of leaving his wife for you had your orgasm soon crashing over you. voices filling the room, a symphony of praises for each other. he whispers sweet promises of giving you the world.
you’d never have to dance again. at that revelation, you put your all in to satisfying him and he could not get enough of you.
nanami wanted to fuck you for the rest of his life. he wanted to gaze in to those beautiful eyes for all of eternity. dawn broke over the penthouse after countless rounds, and whilst bending you over against the kitchen island and pounding into your sore pussy relentlessly; it was you he let you break the news his wife. in response to her ten missed calls and 17 unanswered messages— under his instruction, you texted her four simple words.
"I want a divorce."
for hours following, he continued to have his way with you, his only regard for you as the new mrs.kento.
YOU CAN'T HELP BUT ADMIRE THE SERENE EXPRESSION ON HIS FACE. his usually intense eyes are closed, framed by his tousled white hair that falls softly across the pillow.
you’re keenly aware of the warmth radiating from his body beneath you. gently shifting your hips, and continuing your motions above him, it felt wrong to do anything other than adore him.
even in his sleep, he was perfect.
the cloudlike fabric of his shirt under your touch feels strangely comforting, and you can’t help but rest your hands along the strong, defined contours of his relaxed muscles to brace yourself. the soft glow of the golden sunrise filtering through the window casts a delicate halo around him, accentuating the profile of his face. his features are softened, his expression tranquil and untroubled.
gojo satarou could sleep through nearly anything. he could sleep through your phone calls, banging on his door to check if he was alive, the kids at school drawing obscene objects on his face, explosions, and more.
but what you never discovered... was if he could even sleep through you, riding the hell out of his morning wood.
you rotate your hips, rocking against his erect dick. your motions are slow and deliberate as you seek only to ride for your own pleasure; seeing as it was his erection and humping that had woken you up and given you the wicked idea in the first place.
those slightly parted lips, always the prettiest shade of pink to you are irresistibly tempting. unable to resist the allure, you lean down and press a soft, lingering kiss against them.
from the angle of being pressed against his chest, and continuing to raise your ass above him in a steady motion, a quiet moan escapes your lips. you could feel him deeper inside of you, your pussy clenching around his length. sucking him in like a vacuum.
as you attempt to sit up, strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you firmly against his chest. you feel him shift, bending his knees up at an angle, securing you in place. "shit." you exclaim, shamefully feeling caught.
gojo tsks. "come on sweetheart, did you really think i'd stay asleep through that?" he murmurs gruffly in your ear, his voice heavy with sleep. he slams his hips into yours, thrusting every inch of his veiny cock into your slick cunt.
you cry out, burying your head in his shoulder as he assumes an animastic pace, pistoning in and out of the overwhelming heat in between your legs. together, your moans filled the room, a symphony of pleasure.
"i didn't mean to wake you jo." you whine.
"too late." he hums. "lets finish what you started hm?" he adds before continuing his assault deep inside of you. hell bent on fucking you both back to sleep.
THE ORIGINAL PLAN FOR YOUR ONE-HOUR LUNCH BREAK WAS AS FOLLOWS— surprise toji at his tattoo parlor with chinese takeout, spend and enjoy time with your husband as you both eat said takeout and make it back to work before 2 pm.
you hadn’t even made it to step two when the plan quickly became— toji making you cum as many times as you could bear before 2 pm. it was 1:25 now. by this time, you had orgasmed twice.
but toji was ever determined to make it a third.
that's how you ended up in his back office at “cursed ink tattoo shop” on his peeling black leather sofa spread ass up; face down over the arm of the couch getting fucked stupid.
clothing and undergarments lay strewn carelessly across the room, a testament to the heat of the past few rounds. toji’s dominating presence was accentuated by the sheen of sweat glistening on his powerful naked form.
he held your hands firmly behind your back, his grip unyielding as he pressed them down, deepening the curve of your arch. with his free hand, he braced himself against the back of the sofa, his muscles tensed to maintain his balance and control.
with every thrust into you, you could feel your abused walls tightening around him. the pain was intense but the pleasure far fucking greater.
“i can't quite--," your husband in between his powerful strokes. "hear you, woman. speak up."
he knew what he was doing. when he fucked you like this— like a madman— you were always lost for words. the way he rammed his thickness into you at such a force, your only response was the loud lewd moans escaping your lips.
this doesn't suffice for toji.
with a deliberate, firm release of your wrists, his hand slides around to grasp your chin, his grip intense as he forces you to meet his gaze. he leans in, his breath mingling with yours, drawing your face closer to his until you’re mere breaths apart, a deep hunger in his navy eyes.
"should i stop? thats what you want baby? for me to stop fucking you?"
though his words are threatening, his pacing does not falter. he continues to pound his thick length into your soaking cunt.
"huh?" he growls, awaiting your response.
you choke on your moans. you felt unable to form a coherent sentence, thus furiously shaking your head in protest. "n-no. fuck- augh,"
"then let me fucking hear you my love," he whispers in your ear. his hypnotizing tone sends shivers down your spine down to the pool between your legs. "wanna hear you scream my name, mrs. fushiguro."
he loosens his grip on your chin and guides your forearms to rest on the arm of the sofa. pressing his body against your back, you can feel the slickness of sweat causing your bodies to cling together.
he leans in and plants a soft kiss on your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin.
toji drastically slows his pace; allowing you to catch your breath and regain your composure. albeit further delaying your orgasm. you whine in complaint.
he gently coos you, wrapping his muscular bicep around your barred throat. his touch is firm yet tender, applying just enough pressure to hold you in place while eliciting a soft, controlled choke.
he teasingly pulls out, thrusting himself agonizing slowly— back in. bottoming out, he asks, "whose dick is this?"
"mine." you sputter.
"thats right.” he drags his tip along the folds of your cunt. “whose pussy is this?"
"yours. all yours."
his hips connect with your ass. the force rocking you forward, a moan catching in your throat.
"good girl." he praises. he thumbs his fingers between your nipples. pinching and twisting softly. "who fucks you like this?"
"just you toji. only you. please, feels so good i'm gonna cum. was having a bad day, i need it.”
your responses seem to please him, as he speeds up his pace. he abandons his assault on your nipples and finds purchase on your clit. tracing circles against your bud.
"aww, my poor wife was having a bad day at work? maybe after i let you cum this third time, it'll get better." he drawls.
he wasn’t lying; work had built up a pent-up tension deep within you. If there was any way to release the stress weighing on your shoulders, toji was the perfect remedy.
as if reading your thoughts, he quickens his movements. your walls suck him in deeper, tightening well around him. his groans like music to your ears. "you feel so good y/n. you're so beautiful like this. 'm gonna nut from the sight of you. "
the praise gives you a boost of confidence as you were unable to differentiate what felt better? the pressure of him pinching and massaging your clit or the feeling of him massaging your guts and hitting all the right spots.
you rotate your hips around him, almost as if you were fucking him right back, and toji moans with you. you chant his name like a broken record. you can't help yourself. It's the only thing you can think of. him. him. him.
his arm tightens against your throat in response to you clenching around his length. your pussy pulsates, your orgasm nearing its release as he hits that one spot- over and over and—
in sync, you cry out as you cream around his dick; feeling toji’s hot loads shooting inside of you. your juices flowing together, coating your walls and spilling out of you as toji removes himself.
the room was filled with the sounds of panting as the two of you fought to catch your breath.
toji is the first to move. he presses soft kisses against your lips before he opts a glance at his wristwatch and stands.
“well then mrs fushiguro, it's one thirty-seven." he remarks, casually sauntering around the room in search of your scattered clothing. "i’d say we have fifteen minutes to fix you up, get some food in your stomach— Lords knows you’ve had enough of me in there,” you snort. “and on the way to work before two.”
he pads in front of you, in all his six foot two perfectly muscled glory. he was no longer erect, but that hadn't diminished his length in the slightest. he motions for you to take your clothing.
“wait,” you begin. he quirks a brow. “you made me cum three times. least i can do is give you one more so that we’re even. yeah?”
“you sure? ain't you hungry?” he asks, cupping your hands against his face. his thumb swiping across your parted lips. you captured his thumb into your mouth, swirling your tongue against his finger. looking up at him beneath your lashes, you suck softly.
he pulls his thumb out of your mouth with a soft pop and groans. "hungry for something else that's for sure." you reply, eyeing his growing erection.
you grin lustfully as he runs his fingers through your hair, eventually grasping a fistful.
"fucking hell," he says under his breath; tossing your clothes to the side. "do your worst woman."
synopsis: an incubus uncovers your darkest desire to please and satisfy you.
content warning: virgin!reader, incubus!suna, cunnilingus, and missionary.
∞
FOR THE PAST SIX NIGHTS, YOU HAD BEEN PLAGUED BY THE SAME REOCCURRING SINFUL DREAM.
dream. these were no ordinary dreams. a lucid dream you dare say-- but no, they were real. you knew they were. his presence, his touch had been very real.
you’d wake up in your bed, enveloped in a blood-red hue flooding through your windows from the crimson-hazed sky. sweat glistened on your skin, covered by but a thin silk white slip-on nightgown that clung to your braless and pantyless state like a second skin.
you were in your bedroom, but it was not the one you knew. you were not in the world you were familiar with. the stifling heat of the room and the hellish state of the world outside mildly alarmed you, you being accustomed to this disposition after waking here for days.
this was the least of your worries.
your biggest one being the horned man in the corner of your room. you could never let go of the terror that struck your heart at the sight of him. there he always stood, shirtless, head pressed against the tall window pane obscured in the shadows of your room. unmoving.
even with your vision restricted by the lack of natural lighting, it was hard to miss the distinction of muscles that graced his tanned back. he dawned black slacks that sat low enough on his hips you could see his defined v-line. his feet bare.
thunder booms across the sky, shaking your room violently and startling you; the horned man, however, is unaffected. seconds following, scarlet lightning strikes down and had you blinked you would have missed the way the bleeding night sky illuminates his features allowing you mere milliseconds to gaze upon him and admire his features.
it was his eyes that captured your attention first. feline and sharp. a sea green that held no warmth. his thick pink lips turned downwards in a grimace that seemed to be permanently etched on his face. his curved horns were masked in the dark brunette mop of his hair that fell just before his eyes.
inch by inch of him, perfectly sculpted. as if michelangelo himself carved him with the utmost precision and care. you almost mistook him to be a statue like those of museums.
until he spoke. breaking you from your enchantment with him. a startling realization that he was not made of ceramics and wood but flesh and bone.
“what is your deepest desire?” he says slowly as if he is tasting the words. his voice was deep and laced with honey from the seductive nature of his tone.
and for the past six nights, you were at a loss for a response every time he asked and only met his question with your own. who are you? what are you? what do you want from me? what’s your name? is this a dream?
to which his reply was always the same.
“wrong answer, y/n.” your name on his tongue sounding sinful.
and each time, the horned man of an abnormally tall stature would pad across the room towards you. heart hammering, you’d scramble backward, your back digging into your wooden bed frame.
he stops at your bedside, and as if leaning for a kiss he hovers his face mere centimeters from yours. his eyes drop to your lips. instinctively, you lick them, your breathing heavy and uncontrollable. he reaches out, his thumb gliding across the moisture of your lips. his skin is hot and the warmth that rolls from him in waves sends chills through you.
“what is your deepest desire?” he whispers tenderly against your lips.
it was then you became aware of the growing heat that pools your belly and the wetness that fills between your legs. you clench your legs tightly together, hoping to rid of this sinful sensation. this wasn’t right. you were being seduced by a hauntingly beautiful devil. and you were at mercy of his touch. a touch you desired.
“i-i don’t know.” you would stammer without fail. a lie.
he would hum in disappointment and trail his thumb from your lips across your exposed collarbone. “wrong answer again. shame.” he murmurs, his finger sinking lower. his thumb ghosts over the fabric of your hardened nipple, eliciting a whimper from you. his other hand finds contact against your thigh reaching forbidden territory.
everything about this was wrong, but why did it feel right? why did it feel good?
his hands halt abruptly just before he reaches your dripping cunt. he stands, returning to his usual perch near the dark corner of the room, resting his head on the window. “goodbye y/n. have an answer for me tomorrow night. sleep.”
and you fall through the sheets, waking in a cold sweat in your actual bedroom. morning light intruding your eyes. without fail, that was how the dreams would play out.
but tonight, tonight would be different. through the long days and hours of the week, the face of the horned man haunted your thoughts and clouded your mind. you could think of nothing else but him. during your lectures, during your shift at work, during your morning and night prayer, and your services at church with your family.
tonight, you would give him an answer.
you had never felt the touch of a man against your skin for all the twenty years you’d been around the sun. you hadn’t even allowed your fingers the pleasure of exploring your own sex. the idea of saving yourself for marriage had been ingrained in your mind at the words of your priest father who shunned the idea of sex before marriage.
“protect your virtue y/n. do not give into temptations” he would say.
but this temptation was screaming your name.
“what is your deepest desire?” the beautiful horned beast asked again for the seventh time that week, in the same spot without fail.
“m-my deepest desire?” you start, unable to find your voice. the man hums in response as if to confirm indeed that was the question. “it’s you,” you say, sitting taller in your bed.
“from the moment i wake up, it’s you i think about. you, i burn for.”
thunder. lightning cracked across the sky shortly after. and the horned beast wears a lazy smile in replace of his usual grimace. you find confidence in this, standing as you wearily make your way across the room.
“is that what you wanted to hear? the sinful thoughts that fill my mind when i think about you? the way i grow hot and every night anxiously await sleep so that i can see you again? the times that i’ve touched myself wishing that it were you instead? is that what you wanted to know?”
your heart is racing with excitement now. you reach your hand out and touch his back ever so lightly. he spins to face you with inhuman speed, snatching your hand in his. you stumble backward in surprise at his iron-like grip and the heat of his hands. he edges towards you, his face smug.
“yes, y/n. i’ve watched you. all those nights, your pretty fingers playing with yourself. unable to give you the satisfaction that you need. crave.” he growls.
the back of your legs hit your mattress. afraid, you crawl atop your bed as he inches closer. something shifts in his eyes as he looks down on you, like prey seizing up his predator. his eyes shine with something sinister.
“what a-are you?”
he smiles. it’s wicked and it’s alluring. “an incubus. a sex demon. someone who will fulfill your desires. do you know your problem, y/n? do you know why i have visited you every night for a week straight?” he asks, voice softer.
unable to manage words, you shake your head, trembling.
“because for the twenty years, you’ve graced this earth– you’ve never experienced the pleasure of an orgasm. not even by your own hands… but i can change that.” his hands dance across the spaghetti strap slipping from your shoulder. you leaned into his touch, sighing.
“i can smell your arousal right now. rolling off of you in waves. i could smell it for a while before i came to you. the sweetness and strength of it were enough to drive me insane.” he sniffs the air around you deeply. “i knew i needed to have you. needed to taste you.” his breath tickles your skin, his breath fanning hot against your barred neck.
“like humans need food to survive, we incubi need sex. it is an incubus’ only nourishment. and for reasons i will not disclose, i starved myself of it for months. naturally, because i was voiding myself of nourishment– it took a toll on me.” and at his mention of it, you notice the bags that sit below his eyes. his skin paler. eyes duller. “until i discovered you. a preacher’s daughter. untouched and filled with sinful thoughts i find that only i can satisfy.”
his nudges his lips against yours, grinning.
“will you let me satisfy you y/n?”
without hesitation, you nod. he tsks, unsatisfied with your response, and digs his knee between your legs, pushing them apart.
“that won’t do y/n… use your words.”
never had you been so sure of something in your life. quite frankly it was embarrassing how badly you lusted for him. wrong. it didn’t stop you from whispering breathlessly, “yes,” and pulling your nightgown over your head, discarding it across the room.
he took in your body from toe to head, his gaze unreadable. insecurity creeping upon you, your hands fly to cover your exposed tits when his hands pull yours away. the hunger in his eyes was suddenly unmistakable. he was very pleased.
and he consumed you in a hungry passionate kiss. his tongue danced with yours, and your bottom lip was pulled between his teeth. he swallowed your moans. his hands found refuge clasped around your throat, squeezing the sides of your neck with just enough pressure for you to feel the pressure throb in your dripping cunt.
his kisses trail down the side of your neck, down the valley of your hardened breasts, he even catches your nipples in his mouth, biting and kissing softly and amongst your stomach, so dangerously close to your pussy. his lips drift past the crook of your hips and legs when his movements halt just as he reaches the inside of your thighs.
he pulls away from you, your legs perched on each shoulder; panting breaths the only sound filling the room, muffling the roar of the thunder outside. you try to pull him towards you desperate for more but he stops you gently.
“rintarou,” he breathes.
“what?” you ask, confused.
“rintarou is the name you will scream as you cum into my mouth.”
with no warning, rintarou dips his head and latches his mouth onto your clit, sucking roughly. the foreign sensation elicits piercing cries from you and your hands find a hold on to your bedsheets, your back arching off of the bed.
his expert tongue, darted in and out of you– licking at your folds with the right amount of precision and pressure as if he was familiar with your body. he lapped at your juices, like a starved man, which perhaps he was… your moans filled the room as you scramble for purchase, searching for something- anything. your hands grip the curved horns atop his head at the same time that his teeth graze your clit, you tug against the hardened bones mercilessly, a moan escaping him, the shock of it stopping rintarou in his tracks.
“i-i’m s-sorry-,”
“do it again,” he demands, resuming his assault on your pulsating vagina. you could feel the build-up of pressure vibrating through your body and proceed as told when rintarou slides a finger inside of you. he matched the pace he fingered you with the speed at which he lapped you up with his tongue. drinking in your juices.
“rintarou, please. feels so good.”
“tastes even better,” he hums against your entrance.
he lifts your hips in the air with his mouth as he toys with your nub relentlessly and adds a second finger. curving it against your walls, your moans grow louder. his resting hand moves to fiddle with your bouncing breasts, pinching and pulling at your nipple. he adds a third finger to the rest sheltered inside of your walls that tighten around him, and thumbs your clit wildly; your cries and whimpers like music to his ears.
the growing sensation in your core, burning like fire in your pit, one could only recognize as an orgasm on edge, shakes you.
“i can’t- i can’t- please!”
“you can. let go.” he coaxes, removing his hand from your sore breasts and entangling his fingers with yours.
you give in to the sensation and release yourself, your eyes rolling to the back of your head at the sudden release of pleasure. he releases his hold on you, allowing you to fall back against your sheets at a loss for words and air.
you’re given mere seconds to regain your composure and possibly think about your life choices at being celibate before rintarou pushes up from the bed. his hair is wild and his low eyes are locked with yours as he slides down the band of his pants down his waist. it’s not hard to notice the bulge itching to be freed. his hands slide against his waist. slowly. teasingly. testing you.
your pussy still burns from the ache of pent-up release and rinatoru’s assault but you knew that this was nothing in comparison to the orgasm that soon awaited you. you spring up, impatiently enjoying the show.
rin looks between you and his pants, silently permitting you control. you were surprised at how calm you appeared under his watchful gaze. you push his pants down his hips, allowing his cock to spring free from its entrapment.
you marvel at its sight. a few lengths longer than your hand, you were unfamiliar with the likes of others, but a gut feeling told you this was an impressive size and girth. like him, it was beautiful in a way.
the tip was angry and red. leaking with precum and as if calling out to you– drew you to reach out to offer release.
halted by rin, he stares at you a while before drawling, “i’m here to please you y/n. don’t worry about my pleasure. tonight, i’ll take it slow on you. this is not the last you’ll see of me. you taste addicting.”
his lips meet yours, raw and red from his constant sucking and biting. he nudges your back against the mattress, your body at his will. his dick brushes against your lower abdomen and you can hear the way the pressure shakes him so. he halts his movements and hovers his body above yours, still.
“if you find yourself uncomfortable or in pain, tell me to stop. i don’t want to hurt you. understood?”
“y-yes. i will. i’m ready. i need you.”
“and you’ll have me. remember to breathe.” he advises, aligning his tip with your entrance.
and he eases his length into you, stretching your walls. your nails graze against his back, dragging along his skin, marking him at the sudden intrusion. your mouth is stuck in an O as rintarou pushes into you, groaning, from your chastened walls tightening around him, the pleasure unimaginable for either of you.
“fuck, y/n. you feel so good and tight.”
your pleasure is blinded by a piercing pain that swells in you; robbing you of words, only managing to cry out. before long, rin bottoms out and holds himself still, allowing you to adjust. but you, ever impatient, beg for him to move. you itched for pressure.
“rin, don’t hold back... fuck me, please.” you beg.
and he does. he slams upwards into you, a screaming moan escaping you. his hands find your nipples and he plays with your tits as he rocks his hips into you. you could feel every inch of him, gently sliding against your walls with each thrust.
quickly, you could feel the build up of pressure in your stomach and knew you were not far off from coming. it felt too early, you clenched around him, hoping to hold off on your release. but you only set rintarou off.
he quickened his pace within you, hungrily pulling you into a kiss to drown out your moans. his tip hits that spot that shatters you. you come loudly, white hot liquid spilling from you painting his member.
its no secret that you’d come sooner than expected. but you’ve pleased him and yourself nevertheless.
you lie still against the cum and sweat-filled sheets. unable to move and not wanting to pain yourself further, trying to hold on to that warmth. your chest heaves wildly. you feel the bed spring up from the movement of rintarou standing, you sit up quickly. too quickly.
he turns at the sound of wince and guides you back down towards your pillow. “no, you need to rest. you’ll feel sore tomorrow.”
“you’re leaving?” disappoint heavy in your tone and face.
he chuckles, thumbing your chin. “i’ve awakened something hidden within you, i’ve yet to explore what makes and breaks you.” he cups your sex, tracing soft circles into your folds. yelping, you squeeze your legs together tightly at the intrusion of pain and cover his hand with yours. “i’ll be back when you’ve had your rest.”
“sleep y/n.” he says pulling the cover to your chin.
you sink into the mattress, back in your room. you dreamt of positions and feelings that you needed him to explore with you.
you could tell as much from the phone call. barely could you make out a sentence through his slurred words and the loud music, but you had picked up on several, i miss you’s and you were my everything’s.
a small part of you wanted to hang up on him and go back to sleep-- if one could call being wide awake, tossing and turning-- but you were still friends. good friends. it had been a few months but a three year relationship ended through mutual decision didn’t erase a decade’s long friendship.
and even if the breakup had been messy, you knew that he’d come to you in a heartbeat.
you found him perched against the wall of the bar, lost in a drunken thought when you drove up. perhaps the thought somewhere along the lines of, why the fuck did i ask my ex to come pick my drunk ass up at 3 in the morning?, was running through his head. because the exact opposite thought was sure running through yours.
you park the car across the street and can’t help the loud sigh that escapes you. a million different scenarios of how the rest of your night could go, plays through your head and each of them ends with even more heartache on your behalf.
you rest your head against the steering wheel, and mutter to yourself, “grow a pair y/n.”
exiting the car, you shiver and pull your coat tighter around you, the chilling night’s wind a harsh reminder that he was standing outside shaking like a leaf from his lack of a jacket. it was the middle of winter. how messed up did he get?
you coolly make your way towards him. in utter awe at the sight of you, he leans his head against the brick wall, grinning lazily. that goddamn smile. the lamppost behind you illuminates his features. allowing you to give in to the temptations and admire him once more. his cheeks are dusted pink and his lips are slightly chapped from the cold. his eyes are glossed over and his pupils dilated.
“hi beautiful,” he says. his voice raspy and hoarse.
you could say the same to him. but you only narrow your eyes. a silent warning. you knew his tricks and games. “don’t hi beautiful me. It's three in the morning. i have to get up for work in a few hours. you know this.”
he sighs regretfully and slides against the wall to the snow littered concrete. “i do, i know. i’m sorry y/n.” he replies, his head in his hands.
“and it’s freezing out. where’s your jacket?”
no response. you lightly toe his shoe with your boot.
“hey. where’s your jacket? and where are your keys?”
he looks up at you beneath his lashes and huffs a laugh, void of any humor. “i’ve got no fucking clue y/n. not the slightest. i don’t even know what i’m doing here. i don’t even know why i wasted your time calling you here.”
“are you okay?” you inquire, voice laced with concern.
“are you? we haven’t spoken in a while. and i miss you.”
“so you’ve said.” he quirks an eyebrow. “over the phone. among other things.”
“oh,” he groans melodramatically. “how bad?”
“terrible. pretty sure you said something about me having a killer body-,”
“jackass.”
you shrug and lean against the wall next to him. “hey, you know you can talk to me if something’s going on.”
he nods, acknowledging you. “i know. i know.” he stands, albeit disjointedly and stepping on your toe in the process. “i’m sorry for waking you. i’ll just walk home.” he says to no one in particular, making his way across the street.
you smack your teeth and reach out for his arm. stubbornly, he pulls against you and you latch on to his fingers, holding tightly. “jesus you’re freezing,” you whisper, your breath forming in the air. “and you’re going the wrong way genius. you live the other way. you’re so fucked up right now you can’t even tell. i don’t want to argue with you. just get in the car.”
he doesn’t bother to reply, he simply opts to stare into your eyes. searching. hoping. and for a second you forget its cold as hell. for a second, you forget that he’s no longer yours. you feel his thumb brush against the back of your hand and you flinch. there it is. that trap.
you snatch your hand back. nope.
“y/n...” he groans strangely.
“don’t say another word. just get in the-,”
and the motherfucker retches into the snow and on to your boots.
∞
the car ride to your apartment was silent. thank god. mostly because he’d fallen asleep sometime during the fifteen minute drive. but still, thank everything holy. the silence gave you time to think about whatever the fuck that was and confront the horrifying fact that he still had a choke hold on you.
you shudder at the thought, all the way from the car to your front door. the shudder stays even as you slip out of your boots marked with bodily fluid and into your house slippers. you toss his dead weight to the sofa collapsing to the floor, breathless, you nearly fall with him.
you fix a glass of iced water and grab two pain killers and a stomach soothing pill from the kitchen. when you make your way back to the living room, he’s moved from the sofa to the rug. you kick at his unconscious form, startling him
“sorry. take this. wash it down and drink all of it.” you hand him the pills and water, standing directly over him to watch him carefully as he follows your directions. “i’m going to run the shower for you. okay?”
he mutters something incoherent, pulling a pillow from the sofa and flopping on his side comfortably.
“and take your goddamn shoes off in my house,” you call over your shoulder. “caveman.”
he grunts a caveman-like response.
you snort and shuffle to your bedroom to rummage through the drawers for some of his clothes that you never thought to return. strangely enough most of his shirts and joggers sat in your laundry basket... as if ... a certain someone had been wearing them to bed or late night trips to the store...
the steam from the hot shower engulfs the room whilst you lay out clothing, body wash, an unopened toothbrush, mouthwash, and-- towels. shoot. you open the closet and fish for towels when he stumbles in.
“oh hey, i was just about to come get you and ohmygodwhatareyoudoing?”
you lift the towels to your eyes to obstruct the view of him pulling his pants down to take a piss. he’s so fucking out of it. you’re sure he hasn’t even noticed your presence.
“jesus!”
you hurriedly rush out of the bathroom, throwing the towels behind you and running to your room which happened to be void of half naked exes. it was going to be a long night.
an hour later, you’d nearly drifted back off into sleep when there’s a knock at your door.
“come in.” you croak, switching on your bedside lamp.
he opens the door, peaking in, fully dressed, hair damp. “you don’t happen to have a blanket or something do you? i was half tempted to use your rug for warmth.”
you press your palm to your head and curse. “no, i’m sorry, a friend stole my only one because she liked the designs.”
“oh,”
“yeah.”
“that’s fine. goodnight y/n. thank you anyways.” he starts to close the door.
“wait,” you’re going to regret this so much. “honestly you’re plenty familiar with this bed.” he clears his throat at the sudden rush of memories. “just sleep in here. i can make a pillow wall or something.”
the room stands so still and silent it almost makes you want to scream. was that weird to offer? did you overstep?
“are you sure?” he asks, slowly making his way in.
no! “yeah, pfft i don’t care.”
“cause i was fine with using your dish towel. really.” you giggle at the smart remark.
a familiar sensation one could only describe as nostalgia fills you when you feel the bed dip in as he crawls in beside you. you’d lived through this night routine countless times. some part of you half hoped that he’d lean over to give you a goodnight’s kiss and tell you he loved you. like he used to. like he did hundreds of times before.
but he doesn’t.
he simply places a pillow in between you two and you turn out the light. you both had more to say to each other. but in your hearts they were best left as words unspoken.
IMAGINE THE DAY OF YOUR WEDDING, your nerves are through the roof and your bridesmaids are trying their very best to calm them. every suggested method-- immediately shut down by a very frustrated and on-the-verge-of-a-mental-breakdown-bride. no amount of breathing exercises, ice packs, glasses of wine, or whatever the fuck helped.
how could they when nothing was going as planned? the photographer that you had booked months in advance cancelled last minute, on the way inside the building the wedding cake designers’ assistant tripped and dropped the expensive wedding cake your parents paid for, everyone was bombarding you with questions you didn’t have the answer to, the room was hot as balls and for gods sake you couldn’t-
“breathe, y/n. do the exercises we talked about.” your maid of honor says comfortingly to your reflection in the vanity where you perch.
“you look beautiful. everything will work out. just breathe. in and out. out and in.” she squeezes your shoulder reassuringly. for the fifth time, you obey her advice.
and for the fifth time, it doesn’t work. of course it doesn’t. you knew what, who, you needed— to calm you down. your bridesmaids did too.
you could feel a lump crawling its way up your throat and place a shaking hand over your belly. has it always been this hot in here? has this dress always felt this tight? you snatch your phone from the vanity dresser.
4:30 PM
27 MISSED CALLS.
thirty minutes before you were set to walk down the aisle and all 27 from your mother and mother-in-law combined. you stand, a little too quickly one might add-- and the room begins to spin. Hands reach out to grab you.
you shake them off and stumble your way to the door. your bridesmaids stand in unison. the maid of honor inches towards you wearily.
“y/n. please, it's bad luck if the groom sees his bride before the wedding.”
“and how much bad luck do you think it’d be if the bride jumped from the goddamn balcony?” you hiss, slamming the door in their aghast faces.
fuck. that was completely unlike you. you’d have to apologize to them later. but now, you needed to see him. your heart began to beat faster. louder. you could feel tears threatening to spill. his number was saved on speed dial and he picked up on the first ring.
“y/n?” his husky voice thick with concern was like music to your ears.
you clutched your chest tightly. “i need to see you right now please.”
“meet me at the gazebo.”
∞
he beat you there, of course, knowing him— he probably ran. the slight heaving of his chest and shoulders was of plenty enough indicator. the clack of your heels alerts him of your presence. when he turns, it seems as if the world slows. you don’t think you’d be able to formulate a sentence without choking up. so you two say nothing.
there you two stand, with nothing else in the world mattering but each other. all you can muster is a smile from ear to ear that he reciprocates and the strength to fight back sobs. for a few beats, he cannot find the words that were nearly applicable enough to describe your beauty in this moment.
and unsurprisingly, it’s him who cries first.
you break your intensive stare, exclaiming, “don’t cry! fuck! now i’m gonna-,” its as if the ball in your throat bursts. one second you were fighting to keep your composure and the next, well composure be damned.
his body slammed into yours as he pulled you in a damn near rib shattering hug filled with nothing but love as you wail into his arms.
“how can i not?” he starts through sniffles. “i’m marrying the woman i’ve loved for damn near a decade and you look-”
“don’t say beautiful,” you choke out.
“divine. alluring. stunning. lovely. radiant. exquisite. shall i go on?” he drawls, without skipping a beat.
“don’t let me stop you.” you joke, sharing a laugh. and perhaps its the nerves, or the wine and champagne or the fact that your wedding day was going to shit; you couldn’t help but laugh harder. confused, your fiancee laughs at your state. perhaps contagious, you both double over, shaking with laughter. wheezing, together you collapse on the wooden planks until your laughter dies down.
“what are we doing?” you say through an exhale of breath as you push yourself up against rails of the gazebo. your fiancé follows suit.
“getting married?” he says, serious.
you lightly punch his arm. “well duh. but why all of… this? this isn’t we wanted. or how we wanted it to go. we always talked about something simple and private.” you say, referring to the wedding guests.
“you’re right, its what our mothers wanted.”
“i don’t even like half of the people in there.”
“at least your mom didn’t invite your primary school bully.”
“she invited all four of them actually.”
“jesus.” he comments, scoffing.
a beat.
your groom takes your hand in his, squeezing lightly. “d’you wanna leave?”
you smile. “that’s the best fucking idea i’ve heard all day.” you exclaim. locking eyes with you, you grab his face into your hands and kiss him passionately. a kiss so fervent, you lose your breath. this man before you was your husband. till death do you part.
you don't remember at which point in the story you'd drifted off to sleep but your exhaustion rendered you silent. he needed not a reply when the soft snore that escaped your lips was enough to answer itself.
he chuckles. closing his copy of your book pick of the month, pride and prejudice, he exchanges it for a bath towel on the bathroom sink before shifting his weight from the stool perched beside the porcelain claw-foot tub to the rug adjacent.
"y/n." he says softly. "my love," he cups his large palm against your face, thumb stroking your cheekbone—lightly cooing for you to wake up. at first, you opt to not heed him any mind and continue with your slumber, but when he presses a kiss so delicate and warm against the temple of your forehead, it almost makes you forget that your bath water has since grown lukewarm, and the bubbles have started to dissolve.
he knows your weakness.
your eyes flutter open, blinking back drowsiness. you smile softly at the sight of him. he was so beautiful. he wore the kind of beauty that he wasn't aware of and that made him even lovelier.
you sighed gently.
"are you okay y/n?”
"you're just such a sight for sore eyes." you remark, grinning at his bashful reaction. "i didn't mean to interrupt your reading. you can keep going. i like when you read to me."
"nah, that's alright. we were done for the night. i'd much rather carry you to the room and have you sleep comfortably in our bed where it's safer. yeah?" he stands, spreading the towel open across his chest.
"yeah." you repeat, sleep thick in your voice; you stand, allowing him to envelope you in the towel and melt into his embrace.
