I Love Love Love This! - Tumblr Posts
quick barret and marlene for dad day.. and aerith giving them many flowers
- What are you doing, Giskard?
Upd: thank you for lovely words, it's really meaningful for me🤧🥺❤️
let’s see if this will post this time- train knitting from yesterday!
still working on the celestarium shawl. “only” 30-ish rows to go, but those rows are 600 stitches apiece. and then the edging…
(“maker why are you doing BEADED shawls on the TRAIN” because i love to live dangerously. next question.)
The passing down of the Straw Hat from the legendary Oda Eiichiro (Creator of One Piece) and the one & only Tanaka Mayumi (Luffy’s Japanese Voice Actress)
Can't find this in the tag so!!! Have vanilla content :3
binchan venom................................................. i just fell to my knees oh my god.......... like i cant tell you how much that idea affected me like it actually physically hit me like a train im not kidding, my mind is reeling my heart is thundering my mouth is drooling my legs are spread
Chan. I Like This.
chan rolls his eyes, and you laugh. you card your fingers through chan’s orange hair and see black tendrils shoot up his arms.
“what’s he saying?”
“he said he likes it. hey mate, can you just- can i-? give me a few minutes here.”
No. I Want To See It.
“don’t be fucking difficult right now. you know the rules!”
Rules Shmules. You Are Taking Too Long.
“what’s he saying?!” you tug on chan’s hair in excitement, and he grunts. “chan, i want to hear him. binnie~ changbinnie~~ are you okay?”
a long, black tendril sprouts from chan’s shoulder, and you finally see the symbiote’s head for the first time that night. his eyes almost flutter at you, and he lowers one into a wink that makes you giggle. changbin’s cute, despite his big, sharp teeth and tar-like features.
“Hello My Love. How Are You Tonight?”
“hey handsome, ‘m much better now.” you smile, spreading your legs wider around chan’s shoulders. chan huffs at your enabling, and changbin sprouts a hand from chan’s back and smacks him on the back of the head.
“Ha! Do You Hear That Chan? I Am Handsome.”
“yeah yeah yeah. shit, jeez. give me ten minutes, okay? i need this.”
“We Need This. I Will Watch.”
you can’t stop smiling. watching them interact with each other is so surreal. at the beginning, you weren’t sure you’d ever be able to reach this stage, not with changbin involved. chan was too iffy. however, you’ve been pleasantly surprised. changbin is a shockingly wonderful addition to your life (chan’s too, even if he won’t admit it yet), and the devotion both of them show you is nothing short of heartwarming.
your mouth falls open when chan’s lips find your cunt. he presses a singular chaste kiss to your clit, and your hand scrambles in search of his. you squeeze his fingers, and he squeezes back.
“How Does It Feel, Our Beautiful One? It Is Pleasurable?”
you nod your head yes. “it f-feels so good, so good. i like when he- when he kisses me like th-that- ooh!” chan’s sucking on your clit now, deep bobs of his head in order to give you as much pleasure possible.
“I Like That Noise. Chan, You Must Do That Again.”
chan barely responds, just hums against the heat of your cunt and continues eating. he does keep sucking your clit though, causing you to throw your head back against the pillow and cry out.
“he’s- he’s sucking on my clit just like you told him to, binnie.”
“Yes. Turns Out He Is Good For Something After All.”
chan pauses and turns slowly to look at changbin. changbin mimics his movements and turns his head to look at chan as well. you’re not even mad chan stopped eating your pussy, you just love them. you love to watch them interact.
“really, mate? really? you live inside me, for christ’s sake.”
“Do Not Get Your Panties In A Twist.” now that makes you laugh. chan just faceplants against your thigh. “I Was Making A Joke. See? I Am Hilarious. Sugar Lips Is Laughing.”
“you’re silly, changbin,” comes your response, completely ignoring chan’s mumble of please don’t encourage him.
“I Am In Love With You.”
i love long hair marella, but just hear me out: wolfcut marella.
Another KimHarry from the vault (he does this every time they find a lead in the case)
whar is their problem genuinely
To be fond of dancing was a certain step towards falling in love.
Romeo and Jiuliet / Edwin and Charles
Tee hee🧚
I had to crop his ass I fear but the full things going on pillow fort lmao
𝓟𝓪𝓼𝓽, 𝓟𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓮𝓷𝓽, 𝓟𝓻𝓸𝓶𝓲𝓼𝓮 🔞
(Idol!Yoongi x Ex!Reader)
.｡.:✽It's been years, and the fact that so little has changed hurts him more than anything ever could. Are you still waiting for him?
.｡.:✽Tags: Reignited love AU, Exes to lovers, hurt and comfort, angst, slight Tsundere Yoongi?, romance, adult themes, vanilla smut and it's also not that descriptive, emotional Yoongs
.｡.:✽Story type: Oneshot
.｡.:✽Note: Flashback || Present
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"Yoongi~!" you whine, happily wiggling your feet while he puts the slightly crumpled plastic bottles he'd filled with hot water underneath your legs. They're safely tucked into a cheap sleeping bag he'd bought a few months ago in preparation for winter- he knows you get cold easy, and you also get sick just as quickly. Yet you never complain, never ask him to do anything he doesn't like, simply happy with being with him. "You're the sweetest boyfriend ever, you know that?" you giggle, while he tucks the blanket around your body with a rather stoic face, shrugging.
"How long did you get time off?" he instead asks, taking off his socks and pants before he slips underneath the blankets as well, next to you.
"Hmm, just tomorrow. That's fine though." you mumble, sleepily, rather cuddling closer to him than anything else. "The restaurant is busy these months, so if I work hard the next few weeks, the tip will be good."
"You should take more time off." Yoongi scolds gently. "You've been working non-stop."
"Well, it pays rent though." you shrug, chuckling. He tenses up next to you- something that doesn't get unnoticed. He's been hard on himself ever since letting you move in to help with rent. The apartment is absolute shit, wallpaper flaking off, neighbours loud and police constantly around, but you don't seem to mind- while Yoongi feels like he's contributing nothing. You've told him that it's fine, that you're glad you can help, that you're happy just to be with him- but he's stubborn. "Yoongi-"
"I'm sorry. Fuck, I-" he sighs. "-I'll make it soon. Promise. Then you won't have to work ever again." he says more or less under his breath, feeling like a broken record that keeps repeating this promise over and over again, before he presses a kiss to the top of your head. It's a small gesture, and it's how he loves you.
Not with words. But with actions.
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It's always the second verse he seems to struggle with.
The first is quick to come to his mind. It builds the theme, the vibe he wants to go for, but the second doesn't flow as easily from his hands. It's like it's mocking him, reminding him that he always starts something just to struggle with seeing it through.
He pushes himself back into his chair, sighing before clicking around to save progress. He won't be getting anywhere today, and he still needs to pack too for the next concert he's got scheduled.
Busan is a pretty place, he's got to agree. Mostly because Daegu just reminds him a lot of his past, and about the bad parts of it. He doesn't hate his hometown, absolutely the opposite- but that doesn't mean that the by now changed scenery isn't still haunted by the remnants of what once was.
The buses still remind him of the days he couldn't afford them. The small food vendors still smell just like when he was younger and holding his mother's hand. The police sirens still sound just as familiar as they did back when he lived in that run-down apartment with his first love.
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At home, he yawns a bit to himself as he packs his hard cased travel bag with things he typically needs for a short trip like this. He's got a habit of packing some items just in case- even though he himself never typically needs it.
But old habits die hard.
"Aish, it's not your fault." he mumbles, inspecting your scraped up forearm. "That guy didn't look where he was going." he just says, before helping you clean it with some water in the tap.
"Neither was I." you try and chuckle, though Yoongi can see you're not at all happy. He sighs, leaving you alone in the bathroom of the cheap hotel room (the cheapest he could find in Seoul during holiday season), searching for something in his backpack. He doesn't even know why he'd packed it in the first place- but he's glad he did.
The dog plushy on the bed is a bit dirty, but nothing he cant brush off. What's worse is the ear that had almost completely been ripped off, floppy fabric only hanging by a thread, stuffing slightly exposed. He sits down at the edge of the bed, opening the small plastic case with the needle and yarn, carefully preparing everything before he gets to work.
You don't want to cry- so you pull yourself together in the bathroom, arm now cleaned and angrily throbbing from all the things you've done to the wound to treat it. In the main room however, there's a sight waiting for you as another proof of his silent love.
Min Yoongi is sewing the cheap dog stuffy he'd won you at the arcade back together.
"Almost done." he simply tells you while working on his task, having noticed you walk in already. "It's not good and the thread is not the right color, but better than nothing.." he simply says quietly, tying the yard before finishing it off. "He- huh?" he asks surprised when you suddenly hug him from behind on the bed.
"You know you can cry about it, right?" he says. "I wont tease you for it."
"I love you." you say, and he smiles a little bit, turning around to show the small stuffed toy to you.
"but it's stupid." you complain, already in tears as you inspect the fixed toy. The red yarn is clearly visible, standing out amongst the rest of the fake fur, but in a way, that's lovely. Because it shows his efforts to repair it for you. It's proof of his love.
"It's not. Come here." he just says, letting you hug him in his lap on the bed. "You're an emotional person. I told you it doesn't bother me." he reminds you.
And so you cry, knowing that he will hold you no matter how big or small the reason for your tears might be.
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His shower is a quick one, he doesn't need to take any longer than necessary.
Even still, it's nice to just let himself exist underneath the water for a moment, just relaxing, taking some time for himself and nothing else. Time doesn't matter in that moment, it's routine, comfortable, predictable. Nothing will happen that he's not experienced before.
He's alone in this home, after all.
It's not often that he's living in this apartment throughout the day, most days rather spent in the studio or in the practice room, busy life keeping him on the tips of his toes. He doesn't mind it, he's chosen it after all, but sometimes he envies the friends and family everyone else around him has. Jungkook and Jin both live with their girlfriends after all, and it's really both admirable and scary to think about. He himself can't imagine going home just to have to deal with another person. He likes being alone.
After all, he's not lonely just because he doesn't enjoy the presence of someone else.
He's quite content with his life at this point. He knows his goals are in reach, is confident in the fact that he's gonna be able to do it just right if he sets his mind to it.
Though sometimes, the loneliness does reach underneath his skin.
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"Are you sure? I don't mind waiting." Yoongi is adamant in making sure that you're not doing anything just because you feel like you have to. You're not obligated to sleep with him. He doesn't need it- he's fine the way you are right now.
"No, I want to.." you say, though now unsure it seems. ".. Except if you don't want to.?" you ask hesitantly, becoming a bit self-conscious now at the prospect of him potentially not wanting you like that.
But he shakes his head.
"Don't think I'm saying this because I don't find your body attractive or some shit. That's not true." he carefully says, reaching out to brush some hair out of your face. "I just want to make sure you don't regret this."
"But it's with you." you say, a shy smile on your lips. "I could never regret any second with you." you tell him, and he takes a moment to look at you, burn the image of you into his mind, before he grins boyishly at you, gummy smile showing his own nervousness about it all as well.
"Ok." he says, moving to lean over you, giggles quickly swallowed by hungry kisses.
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Busan is a lovely place.
You've always loved the sea, and with Haeundae so close to your hotel, it's no wonder you're spending most of your trip at the beach. His face is all over the place, people already camping around to get a chance at seeing the band live. It's endearing to see- to get a glimpse of the great things he's achieved.
People love him now. They look up to him, see him as inspiration, as a role model, as an Idol.
The winds are a little harsh, but that's fine. You're cold, but then again, you're basically always feeling somewhat cold, so you don't find it in yourself to leave and go back to your hotel room just yet.
There's something nice about being alone.
The sea is providing a nice background noise for you, while the lights are dim enough to bask you in shadows. You're not scared, never have been- you don't know when it happened or why it's like this. Maybe you're too carefree. Maybe you should be a little more worried about what might happen.
But you don't want to think about what might. You want to just exist in what is.
Someone is playing the guitar somewhere down the street, faded echo of voice and instrument reaching you just barely. It feels nice like this, clean air and soft sand underneath you still warm from the entire day of sun. The towel keeps it off your clothes, but even if it did reach you, you wouldn't mind.
You close your eyes for a moment. Just a little.
A couple is running by. They're laughing, chasing each other. Friends are running after them, a soju bottle slipping out of a guy's hand, falling and spilling into the sand. The others make a sound of both complaint and laughter, attitude happy and free. You like experiencing moments like these.
You wonder if you'd be the friend who dropped the bottle, or the one to pick it up.
Before walking over to pick it up.
But in this friend group, no one picks it up. It's still there when they all long went their way, green glass sticking out of the sand.
You sigh. Stand up. Dust yourself off.
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You're quiet while he's angry.
There's nothing you could away to make it better anyways, and by now you've learned not to do anything as to help him calm down. It's rough to listen to the way he talks about himself- heartbreaking, but it's also part of being with him.
"It's always like this!" he shakes his head. "I'm a nobody. They'll fuck me over like nothing. Every time." he argues with himself.
You stay quiet.
He's never gotten angry at you, and you hold that dearly. Yoongi isn't one to insult without reason, but he can lash out with glares and words if he feels cornered. He absolutely hates being like this, doesn't want to scare you- and with one look your way, he deflates, visibly.
"Why're you with me?" he asks, quietly, almost scared of the answer you might give.
"Cause I love you." you shrug. Honesty is something he holds highly- it's why he keeps you so close to himself and his heart.
"But is that enough?" he wonders. "Love won't pay bills, or buy a house, or bring you places. Fuck, I want to treat you so good because you deserve it but all I do is run after my own fucking goals while using you." he shakes his head.
"You can use me all you want, Yoongs." you simply say. "Love is giving and taking, after all."
He scoffs, before joining you on the bed, leaning over you.
He rests his forehead on your collarbone. You're warm. Way too warm for him, scolding hot, burning every time he touches you. It's wrong of him to be loved by someone as selfless as you. He hates that you deserve someone way better than him, but that there's probably no one out there ever fit for you. He hates that he can't let you go because he want to keep you close until he himself becomes the one who's worth your time.
"I love you." you say, and he holds you close.
"...love you too." he mumbles almost inaudibly.
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Someone's throwing away trash on the beach.
He enjoys seeing people do little tasks like this to improve their surroundings, even small actions capable of leading to big change in his opinion. However, he does feel a little uncomfortable seeing the young woman alone in a place as bustling as this, as late as it is.
The world isn't a nice place. People aren't nice beings most of the time. Devastation hides around every corner.
At a convenience store, he buys a pack of snacks and a bottle of soju to go with the food he's going to order from room service later in his hotel room. He wants to finish that second verse so badly, it's itching the back of his mind constantly it seems. Paying quietly for his stuff was the plan, until he gets hit by a wave of nostalgia.
And then he spots your face, right in front of him.
He doesn't know who's wearing some weird perfume that might smell just like his old apartment, but it catches him completely off guard. It's not exactly the same, there's an odd freshness to it, but the basic structure is still the same.
A little like cinnamon, artificial sweetness to it, a hint of that floral sensitive fabric softener and very faint cigarette smell.
It's only your side profile as you pay with your card to the young guy behind the counter, but he'd recognize you anywhere. You've grown a little older just like he himself has, but your features are still the same, creating a face that's forever engraved into his mind.
There's no way he could ever forget you.
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"It's fine." you say, though he can see that you're sad. Hell, he's too, but fuck, this could be his chance. "..are they nice? Like, do you feel well there?" you wonder, and he wants to throw up because of course you only care about his wellbeing and not your own feelings in this situation.
"..." he can't find good words, it seems. "I don't know what I should do." he admits, and you laugh.
"You do know. You're just scared." you say, and he despises how well you can read him. "you're wondering if it'll all be worth it in the end."
"what if I throw this all away for nothing?" he asks defeated, unsure if he's gonna like the answer he's gonna get.
"Yoongi, I'm sorry, but look around you. You can only gain, you've got nothing here to loose." you laugh as if joking, but he shakes his head.
"I've got you." he mumbles.
"You'll have me if this fails too." you say, picking up his hand to curl your smaller pinky finger around his, your eyes glossy even in the darkness of your shared bedroom. "I'll be here."
"..promise?" he asks, quietly, almost impossible to hear.
"promise."
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"They demolished the apartments." Yoongi says, sitting next to you on the park bench, drenched in darkness. "Don't know when. Saw it beginning of this year."
You nod. "They took them down Last year november I believe. Something about the structure being unstable." you explain, licking your fingers as you eat your cold meal.
"It's always been unstable in my opinion. Remember the huge cracks on the balcony?" he chuckles, and you laugh along.
"Oh god yeah. You basically banned me from ever going out on there because you were convinced it would just snap off and fall down at any moment." you joke. Your voice hasn't changed much at all. He still can't help but cling to every word that leaves your lips.
Fuck, he's falling for you all over again.
"Hm but I still got that picture I took from our first date." you tease, and he cringes.
"Aish, come on, that's embarrassing." he complains, though you shake your head.
"It's not! The table was a cardboard box and the meal was pizza I think. I thought it was sweet." you say, and he rolls his eyes a little.
"You thought a lot of the things I did were sweet." he reminds you, and you nod.
"That's cause they were." you tell him, finishing your meal.
"Well, I can afford a table now." he reminds you, carefully stepping around, feeling the boundaries and searching for any potential hurdle in his mission to get closer to you again. "And good food."
"hm, I can imagine." you say. "life's been treating you well. I'm glad." you explain, looking at him, and he can't stand your warm gaze on him like that.
You're yet again burning him, and he's not even touching you.
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"I don't want to go." he says quietly, packed bags at his feet. "Fuck, I can't do this."
"You're not turning this chance down." you tell him, trying hard to keep yourself composed. "Yoongi, you're talented. And not just something out of the ordinary- you're one of a kind." you say, holding onto his shoulders. "Please. We talked about this."
He nods, quietly, before picking up the bags. He hates that he can't hug you. Can't kiss you goodbye. Can't even look at you. He feels awful, wave of regret ready hitting him the moment he steps outside the door of your shared apartment.
Or, now more or less your apartment.
And it gets worse the moment he's at the dorms he's gonna live in for the next few years, as soon as he opens the bags you'd packed for him. His clothes are so neatly folded, still smelling like you, and home, and you even packed your laptop with a sticky note telling him to use it well and fuck. He already misses you, already feels horrible for doing what he's done.
But then he picks himself up with newfound determination, folding the note and putting it into his wallet.
He will use it well.
He will make it big.
All while you're at the apartment, crying alone, for the first time in years no one there to hold your shaking body.
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"That's gonna be the most expensive bed I'll fuck you in." He breathes out, earning a slap to the chest and a laugh from you before he continues his attack on your neck. You've got no chance to really look at his way more expensive hotel suite, too busy with his knee between your legs and his hands unbuttoning your coat as if he's got time to loose.
"way to- be romantic, Yoongs.!" you giggle, and he grins against your skin, coat falling helplessly down to the floor. "Yoongi!" you scold playfully when his cold hands grab at your bare skin underneath your sweater.
"No." he shakes his head. "Don't call me that. I've missed that stupid nickname you gave me way too much." he says, letting you pull his own sweatshirt over his head the T-Shirt he's got underneath easily going along.
"Yoongs?" you tease. "Baby?" you go on, eyes closed by now, just experiencing the moment back in his presence. "Bestest Boyfriend?" you laugh when he picks you up and brings you to the bed.
"All of them, don't fucking care." he answers, pulling your sweater from your skin and over your head. "As long as it's you who calls me that." his deep voice says, and it's a reminder of how much time has passed.
And for a moment, time stops, as you both just stare at each other.
"I missed you." you say, smiling tearfully. Fuck.
He tears up himself. Busies himself with kissing you instead, mind and soul and body hungry for anything you're willing to give.
You don't need him to say anything. Even after those years you know him well enough to realize that he's talking with actions when words fail him. Just like he does now, with the way his hands start to gain courage and confidence again, finding old territory in a new light again, so to say.
Absence makes the heart grow fonder, after all.
And finally, as your soft breaths and desperate whimpers find his ears, he realizes that this is now, not then. This is his past, present, and future meeting. This isn't just some random memory his brain has spun into a dream that haunts him with the fact that he'd given this up for fame and money.
No, this is a promise being kept.
It's him going back to free laughter and carefree smiles when you roll on his big twin-sized bed while he searches for a random condom that's buried in his suitcase deep down. "heh, well prepared for a man with fame." you joke, though he shakes his head at you when he joins you again.
"Never had time nor really any craving for someone else." he shrugs, though he somewhere deep down wants to know what it's been like for you. If there's been others while he's been busy touring and writing songs. Surely, a girl with your looks and personality-
"Had the time, not gonna lie." you say, before your finger traces a beauty mark on his bare leg. "but no one was you." you mumble.
He stares at you.
"You don't have to lie, you know." he tells you. "don't be mad or anything. You know me."
"hmm." you say. "that's why I couldn't be with anybody else." you say, staring at nothing at all for a moment. He leans over, kisses you more tenderly now, less urgency in his actions.
"you're still way too fucking nice." he playfully complains, before laughing when you roll your eyes.
"And you swear too much!" you say, making him raise his brows.
"Maybe I should start putting my dick in, let's see who's swearing then, huh?" he challenges, and you laugh with a scandalized expression.
"yeah well maybe, I'm aging fifty years fown here old man!" you giggle, making him click his tongue.
You might not be aware of it, but this is the most at ease he's been in years. There's no time, no hurry, no urgency and no real reason behind anything he does. He just acts on simole thoughts, on his desperation for you, and mostly, his love.
He cast help but love you just as much as he did years prior. Or.. No.
He loves you more. Definitely.
You hold onto him with every thrust of his hips, needing him close, closer, even closer than he already is. His lips on yours steal your breath away, but you don't mind suffocating if it's due to his affection. You know he will make you come alive again with a simple touch, you know he's never going to let you fly away from his grasp.
He never did, after all.
The moment after your climax feels like all emotions crash onto you like the waves did back at the beach. They're just as loud, as heavy and cold but beautiful the same, and you can't help but cry, sob, move your hands to shield your eyes and let yourself feel all of the years of longing for one last time.
But this time, you don't cry alone anymore.
Tonight, he holds you again, keeps you close, and makes sure that from now on, he's back at your side. He's become the man who's worth your time.
Worth your love.
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Again, you know that you’ll be coming back for more. And that no matter how many times you come back, it will never be enough.
gave me chills!!! so so so good jana!
glitch
pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader
word count: ~1k
summary: Prequel to nights are so starry, blood moonlit. How you and Javi became neighbors with benefits.
warnings/tags: explicit smut (-> 18+ only!), smoking, alcohol consumption, able-bodied reader, a hint of dom!Javi, unprotected p in v, kinda rough sex, ass slaps, dirty talk, oral (f receiving), Javi is a menace, a hint of angst and feelings because of who i am as a person
a/n: written for @iamasaddie’s writing challenge 2.0 with the prompt "never knew you were such a freak", and since my first story about these two was also part of one of aly's writing challenges, it just made sense to revisit them :)
dividers as always by @saradika-graphics <3
find my full masterlist here and follow @janaispunknotifs for fic updates!
It had started out with fleeting glances in the hallway, quick greetings when your apartment doors opened at the same time, then short conversations on your adjoining balconies, late night talks with your feet propped up on the railing and his back leaning against it, sometimes exchanging a cigarette or a light, or occasionally a bottle of beer when one of you had run out.
Of course you noticed the ridiculously tight jeans that really shouldn't look that good on him, the way his broad shoulders strained against his clothes, and the way his shirts always revealed a little too much of his golden-skinned chest. You couldn't deny the fact that your neighbor was incredibly attractive, and that he knew it.
You probably should have said no when late one evening, after Javi had found you on your balcony, smoking and watching the glistening city lights, he invited you to share a glass of bourbon. Together. At his place.
He had been flirting with you, which you suspected he did with every woman he met, and you had tried not to pay it any mind, but you were well aware of how this evening would end if you accepted.
You should have said no, and a stronger, less lonely version of you might have, but you craved human contact, craved to be touched by someone else than yourself, and if the sounds that traveled through the thin walls from his bedroom to yours frequently enough were any indication, Javi knew what he was doing.
You should have said no, because it became clear to you very quickly that Javier Peña would ruin you for all other men.
He was more gentle, more caring than you had expected him to be and he prioritized your pleasure in a way that you had never experienced from any man before. He took you to heights that you hadn’t thought possible before, and it was addicting.
You should have said no, but you hadn’t, and now you keep coming back for more.
You keep coming back for the way his skin tastes under your tongue, for the way his lips press against yours, swallowing moans and whimpers, for the way his fingers and his cock reach so deep inside of you that you still feel him hours later, when you have said your good nights and crawled under the covers of your own bed. Never his, never crossing the line to a different kind of intimacy.
It’s another one of those nights, a soft knock on a door, a mutual understanding passing between you, gentle touches that burned under your skin until they got more demanding, until you both gave in to that pull that kept you coming back.
He’s already made you come on his tongue twice, until you were dripping onto his sheets, his name the only word in your mind and on your lips. You’re on your hands and knees, limbs shaking, trying to accommodate his length and the harsh rhythm that he’s setting.
“Taking me so fucking well,” he pants, running his hands down your back and over your ass. You chase his touch, goosebumps forming in its wake, your moans filling the air as he keeps hitting impossibly deep inside of you.
His palm connects with your skin, nothing more than a playful swat, but the sensation sears through you, lighting your nerve endings on fire as you all but scream your pleasure into the softly lit bedroom.
“Oh?” His voice is low, rough in his throat. You don’t need to turn your head and look behind you to know that he’s smirking down at you right now. “You liked that, huh?”
You nod eagerly, too far gone to be ashamed of the way your hips are bucking back against him, working desperately to feel him deeper inside of you.
He slaps you again, harder this time, and you feel yourself clenching around him, feel the way a new wave of slick is coating his cock. His fingers dig into your shoulder and he pulls you up, until your torso is pressed against his, his mouth moving against the delicate skin of your neck.
“Never knew you were such a freak, baby,” he whispers, his lips curling into a grin, teeth nipping at you.
“Shut up.” You try to hold your voice steady, ignore the throbbing need between your thighs, but he just chuckles and presses another kiss against the side of your throat before he loosens his hold and pushes you back towards the mattress.
His hands grab your hips instead, pulling you into his thrusts, filling you so deeply that you see stars behind your eyelids.
“You want me to do it again?” You hate how smug he sounds, would love to deny him the satisfaction, but god, you do want him to.
“Fuck– please, Javi.” You’re breathless, reduced to a mess of trembling thighs and desperate whimpers, and you wish that you could stay like this forever.
He slaps your ass twice in quick succession and deepens his thrusts at the same time, punching all air from your lungs. His hand snakes down to graze your clit and you’re overwhelmed with sensations, pure pleasure coursing through your veins so suddenly that it’s almost disorienting. You collapse onto the sheets, your pussy pulsing around him as your body shakes through its third orgasm of the night and you’re whimpering his name as he buries himself deep inside of you and comes with a groan, painting your insides with his release.
After more kisses, more touches, and a shared cigarette, you get dressed and eventually, his apartment door clicks shut behind you. You lean your back against the wall, closing your eyes and breathing deeply for a moment before you enter your own place.
Again, you know that you’ll be coming back for more. And that no matter how many times you come back, it will never be enough.
thank you for reading 🤍 if you liked this, please consider reblogging, leaving a comment or sending an ask, it truly makes my day every single time!
I’ve been wanting to do a thing like this for a while. Behold my amazing animu mongah skills there wow swoons
I was not the one to beg, not the one to feel sorrow. Can my unspoken words reach to you? We speak in a language that we are the only ones to understand. Without words we fall deep... Without words we fall deep...
"Friends with feelings" - Luke Hughes x Reader
Summary: In which forgetting a glass of water before bed might just be the best thing you've ever done. Based on this blurb.
Warnings: Kissing, a lil ass grabbing, alludes to self-pleasuring, mentions of abs, nipples and pretty curls.
A/N: Hi! It's been a while since I've written a longer fic (it's 5.5K words, that's a lot for me HAHA) like this, and I would be sososososo very appreciative of any feedback at all<3 Also, I've written Luke slightly differently than I usually do, a little bit more cocky and confident and probably a bit more like how he'd be with his actual friends/ a girl he's liked for a while and is close with, but anywassss, I hope you enjoy! __________________________
Usually, you like to think you're a person with little to no regrets, always finding a way to appreciate the memory or use the situation as a valuable life lesson.
Not bothering to go downstairs and get a glass of water before you got into the air mattress on the floor next to Jess, your best friend and designated roommate for the week, though? That's probably the biggest regret of your life. Or, at least that's how it feels when you wake up at two-thirty in the morning, mouth dryer than the Sahara (the effect of a few too many beers and cups of Pink Whitney trying to exit your system, no doubt). The last two days have mostly consisted of varying types of drinking; day drinking, night drinking, drinking games, you name it, but that also always seems to be the case when your college friend group meets up over summer break.
This year, Luke Hughes, despite not actively being in college anymore but still a valued member of the friend group, has so graciously been allowed to borrow his big brothers' lake house for the week, saving your group money on an Airbnb and the struggle of finding something big enough to accommodate ten people. Despite not having enough rooms for everyone to get their own (hence the air mattress and the sharing of a room with four girls), the lake house is by far better than whatever cramped shoebox of a house Mark and Ethan managed to book you into last year.
Truth be told, you were thankful for Luke even asking his brothers in the first place, especially since you had been walking around with a slight fear of not getting to see him this summer, considering the whole NHL-Star-Rookie-Thing. You and Luke had always had a weird thing going on, good friends, maybe slightly more but also...not?
The youngest Hughes had never made a move on you, despite people telling you on multiple occasions that he "definitely has a thing for you" and that "it's obvious you like each other". And sure, you hadn't chanced your luck either, too worried about a possible rejection, that people were overanalyzing his feelings and it all would end up one awkward mess you would then have to navigate on top of your broken heart and bruised ego.
So, Luke and you stayed just friends until his inevitable departure to the big league, your daily coffee meetups now replaced by the occasional call or Facetime.
Despite the inconsistent calls, your string of texts never seemed to waiver.
Luke telling you about the smallest, seemingly insignificant, updates in his life, you complaining about school and the dad-joke competitions, all came together to silence the voice inside your head yelling at you that he'd forget you into nothing more than the faintest of whispers.
Nevertheless, it's nice to see him again, to hear his voice and his laugh, and to see his smile in real life and not through a tiny pixelated screen. The way you had fallen straight back into your old rhythm is nice too, if you're being honest.
Combined with the presence of your other most precious friends, the amazing weather and having the big lake house all to yourselves, you can't be happier about how great this summer is going.
Well, except for one teeny, tiny, insignificant thing: seeing him again made you realise your feelings for him hadn't disappeared one singular bit, as you have otherwise spent months trying to convince yourself and your friends off. Every touch, laugh, look into his eyes and comments from your friends about how "close the two of you look" disguised as friendly banter throws you off your game, making you nervous and self-conscious about how much your feelings are showing and if he notices. You're still debating with yourself if you want him to or not.
But that is also a lot of deep thoughts considering the time of the night, and as five minutes of laying wide awake turn into ten (mainly contemplating the pros and cons of getting up), you finally decide to do something about your predicament. You're hardly going to be able to fall back asleep now anyway, the dryness of your mouth combined with the constant quiet psst of the air slowly leaking out of the mattress beneath you and thoughts of your crush coming together in a lovely way of torture you like to call sleep deprivation.
Pushing the duvet aside and trying to make the least amount of noise as you rise, you decide to forgo the effort of putting any additional clothing on besides your oversized t-shirt and panties (because, really, who would be up at this hour?) and walk on your tippy toes towards the door. Slow, slow, slowly you turn the golden knob, freezing instantly when a loud click echoes throughout the otherwise dead silent room.
"Where are you going?" Jess mumbles, face pressed into her pillow, making the voice slightly incoherent.
"Water," you whisper back, hoping to not wake any of your other friends, could you help it. A brief pause leaves you wondering if Jess is even actually awake, but then her sheets rustle and she hums. After a few seconds, a mumble meant to sound like Bring me some comes from her general direction, your best friend no doubt already crossing back over the border to dreamland before the sentence is fully out. You nod in confirmation, not sure why considering she can't see you in the dark, and once more move slowly and quietly when opening the door.
The feeling of success from not waking anyone else doesn't last long, though, replaced by remorse of not at least finding some socks. Silently cursing the Hughes Brothers and trying not to yelp as your feet leave the warm fluffy comfort of the guest bedroom and are instead met by the cold hardwood floor of the hallway, you try to navigate your way to the kitchen through the still-unfamiliar house.
Despite it being your second night here, the layout of the upstairs interior still confuses you, even more so in the dark, and it takes you a while longer than it would in daylight to find the correct staircase. Which, by the way, seems a ridiculous thing to even have. What house, what people need not one, not two, but three whole staircases? It's like those idiots (affectionate) want their guests to get lost.
You're still grumbling about the absurd amount of staircases when you turn the corner into the huge eat-in kitchen, foregoing turning on the lights, and your faux annoyance only fueled by the water glasses of course having to reside in the top cabinet. The poor brothers receive a string of new curses.
Ever the problem solver, you swing one leg over the white marble counter, plant both hands on the cold stone, pray the limited hours in the gym working on your biceps could just be a little help, and count to three before hoisting yourself onto the counter. With it taking far more effort than you're proud of, your knees hit the marble, the wood of the beige cabinets scratching against your palms as they close around it for balance. So far so good.
Despite a fair amount of wobbling, you manage to grab a glass, choosing the one looking most like it will help bring your ice-cold-water-chug-in-the-middle-of-the-night desires to life.
"I was planning on asking if you need help, but this is far more amusing to watch," a voice brings you out of your deep concentration on your mission, startling you and having your neck turning so fast a whiplash almost sounds. Your mouth drops open, eyes going wide and cheeks heating up faster than the new induction stove your mom was recently raving about to you.
Because there Luke stands, not only proving your nonchalant dismissal of anyone being awake wrong but also making you incredibly aware of a few things you'd like to change at this very moment. Like the fact you're currently perched on top of not his, but his brothers' marble counter, gripping a glass like it's a precious painting stolen from a gallery. Or maybe like how his stare, amused and holding your own, ever so often dipping down a few inches, reminds you how you aren't wearing pants. With that realisation, you drop your arms, hoping the t-shirt is long enough to provide you with some sort of modesty. A sort of half-smirk paints his lovely face, eyes shining with amusement, as he leans against the archway into the kitchen.
Mouth opening and closing a few times, you try your best to come up with something witty, anything to not let it show how his mere presence in the room affects you - or how you feel a little guilty for sneaking around in the middle of the night, despite his instance of make yourselves at home!
"How long have you been standing there?" you land on instead.
A hint of accusation laces your words like he's the one who should be ashamed in this situation.
Luke cocks his head to one side, sleep-riddled messy curls bouncing a little at the motion, drawing your attention to them and the way you would really, truly, like to run your fingers through them. They've grown to the perfect length since he sent you a picture of the fresh cut earlier this summer, still holding the mullet form but longer overall, only adding to his attractiveness.
"Long enough to watch you calculate how to climb the counter," you jump at his words, not having noticed how he's slowly been stalking towards you, now across from you, leaning against the island parallel to the counter you still reside on. Crossing his arms over his chest, Luke carefully watches as you gently place the glass down next to you like this is the most intriguing yet amusing thing he's seen in a while. The remaining steps of the plan don't involve accidentally splintering a glass into tiny little pieces, so you're playing it safe, okay?
Deciding to ignore him, you focus on the next task at hand: getting off the counter. Or, at least turning around. You sorta manage to do it without much damage, the only victim a small pot with salt falling over after contact with your knee, leaving a trail of the white mineral on the blank surface.
"Not helping a damsel in distress isn't very gentlemanly of you," you say matter-of-factly once you've managed to manoeuvre around on the limited space, finally facing him without having to turn your neck in an uncomfortable direction.
Luke simply shrugs at your words, his chain, one you gifted him, you realise with gleeful pleasure, catches in the moonlight shining through the window, in return making your breath catch in your throat. It has you questioning if he's been wearing it since Christmas when you gave it to him, or if he just recently thought to put it on. Maybe to make you think he enjoys the present, wearing it in your presence and all. Or perhaps, it's been a permanent fixture around his neck since the cold months?
Could the silver jewellery be joining him at games? On road trips, in the shower, in his bed- electricity shoots through your mind as it wanders too far, conjuring up images of him in bed, but soon turning sour at the thought of him sharing those sheets. The green monster inside you jolts awake, clawing at its bars, begging to be let out and riot at the thought of him with another girl. Somehow, some way, you manage to silence it, throw on some extra locks and throw away the keys.
If Luke wants to sleep with other girls, he can. Now, that's a bitter pill to swallow, but nevertheless, the reality is that he can do anything he wants. After all, he isn't yours.
He could be, Holden the Hope whispers, caressing your mind with lovely images of shared confessions of love, kisses of adoration and tangling in sheets.
Don't let flowers bloom in the false spring, Reese the Realism scolds, burning the images with a snap of her fingers.
"You're not a damsel," he finally says, clearing his throat like the words hurt him to sound out. Molten eyes meet yours, so green and distracting that you don't even notice yourself leaning forward, less than a centimetre, but enough to make the fun little thing called gravity suddenly decide it wants to play. Fate, or maybe just pure clumsiness, seemingly joins in, giving you the final push, and before you know it, your arms are flailing, your body unable to stop the descent towards the floor.
Strong arms move quickly, engulfing your waist and bringing you to a stop, steadying you against the counter with the added press of a body against yours. "Just in distress then?" your voice comes out breathy and unsteady, craning your neck to look up at him, the closeness of your bodies rendering you unable to do anything else if you want to see the self-satisfied smirk on his face, obviously proud of his heroic action and quick reflexes (thank you, hockey).
And you do, gosh do you want to stare at any and all expression he makes for the rest of his, and your, life. "You had it under control," he drawls, noticing your body shaking at the same time you do. His first instinct seems to be to tighten his arms around you, muscles twitching at the motion. You hope your peeking isn't noticeable.
Instead of thirsting over your friend's arms, you try to focus on not shaking (the near-fall may have shaken you a bit more than you'll willingly admit), grounding yourself in the feel of the cold tile beneath your feet, toes scrunching to limit the contact. On the other hand, you can't help basking in the way Luke's body seems ten degrees hotter than yours, engulfing your body and sending heat throughout it- okay, maybe that isn't the best thing to focus on either.
"Yeah, until I fell." "Can't all be perfect."
A smile threatens to break free on your lips at the lighthearted banter returning to your conversation, willing you out of your Luke-induced haze and giving you enough strength to push him away with a soft palm flat in the square centre of his chest. Mentally, push him away, that is. Physically, it would have been impossible without his compliance.
A funny look flashes briefly across his sharp face, something looking a lot like disappointment, but the likelihood of you misjudging that is high. The mop of curls dances once more as he shakes his head, letting that gorgeous lopsided grin out of its box and completely disarming you. The executive board of directors in your brain forces you to look away.
"Why are you up, anyways?"
The inquiry brings you back to your briefly forgotten quest, having you spring into action, hurriedly turning to locate the abandoned glass. Luke snickers at your eagerness but stays silent, awaiting your answer.
"Getting water, overthinking," you explain, keeping it vague, as you turn the tap to cold and wait for it to forget its previously warm preference. The stark sound of running water fills the otherwise quiet kitchen and even quieter house, and you internally wince, hoping it doesn't wake anyone up. You'd be lying if you said that hope doesn't stem from a bit of selfishness, quite like the way this little meet between Luke and you is panning out. Like a little pocket in time, it's almost as if anything goes, anything can be said and maybe, just maybe, anything can be done.
"You?" You interrupt him just before he opens his pouty mouth and asks just what you're overthinking exactly.
So, maybe not everything can be said, you think, suddenly finding yourself not fully prepared to take the embarrassment of telling him he's a part of the whole not-sleeping thing.
Luke's eyes flicker away as you bring the now-filled glass to your lips, fixating on a spot above your head, suddenly very interested in the cabinet you have yet to close. A few seconds pass before he deems it safe to look at you once more (criteria? unknown) and answers your inquiry.
"Was wondering why a robber would be yelping each time they take a step down the hallway, needed to see I would have to defend the house," he teases, immediately bringing a pout to your face and getting you defensive. Placing the glass back down on the counter with a thump, you close the distance between you and press your pointer finger into the middle of his chest.
"Hey, you guys keep this house concerningly cold!"
Luke catches your hand in his before your finger can do any more damage to his chest, all amusement flickering out of his eyes as quickly as a gust of wind passing by a fickle flame.
"Yeah..." he trails off, eyes moving downwards, like something's drawing his gaze in and he can't control it the moving of his pupils.
Suddenly, you find yourself acutely aware of the way your nipples have hardened from the low temperature, now straining against the thin material of your sleep shirt and you silently beg, plead and pray like a sinner about to enter hell, that he doesn't notice. Okay, who are you kidding here, he definitely does, he's practically making eye contact with them, but to his credit, though, it looks like he's trying really hard not to. Jaw clenching and unclenching, he almost manages to tear his eyes away each time he tries.
Hopefully, he thinks it's just from the cold.
If you guys could stop standing attention just because he keeps looking, that would be great, you mentally scold, choosing not to dwell too hard on the fact that A) you're scolding your nipples and B) how Luke can't stop staring.
You decide it means nothing, part B, at least, (you should probably deal with the slightly concerning part A), because Luke is merely a boy and honestly, you should probably be concerned if he didn't stare. Yet, a tiny flicker of hope blooms in your chest, fueled even more so by the way he clears his throat a few too many times to be casual and lets go of your hand to drag his own over his face.
Your wrist burns from where he held it, branded by him and his touch and god do you wish you could feel that brand everywhere.
Not sure where to go from here, you decide to put him out of his apparent misery and make light of the situation once more.
He almost beats you to talking, though, and your voices blend as you ask, "Well, you've established I'm not out to rob you. Going back to bed?" at the same time Luke asks "This my shirt?"
You didn't realise it was his, or maybe you did and you didn't realise he would notice the plain fabric once belonging to him. You stole it way back at one of your first visits to his dorm.
"Don't think I can sleep now." "Yes."
Time stops and words seem to have different meanings, the lightheartedness you went for not having the desired effect, only adding to the tension slowly building between you, leaving the air hot and heavy. You're not sure what the change is this summer, and if your mind wasn't currently clouded and preoccupied with having him so close and looking at you like that, you'd probably reason your way into it being the fact you had been a part for months. Seeing him again has surely unlocked a part of your heart, the part wanting to throw caution to the wind and finally feel what it would be like to not be just friends. Seemingly, hopefully, a similar part has been unlocked in Luke's as well.
Summer being his best season didn't help your case either. Luke always looks more relaxed in the warmer months, healthier and more vibrant, the tan he so quickly manages to obtain has you wanting to lick him all over, the sun practically dripping from his skin and his curls, your favourite curls, looking their best. You never fail to notice his happiness in the off-season either. Sure, he loves hockey and he loves playing it all season, you know that, but he's also confessed to you on multiple occasions that the pressure gets to him, residing just under his skin like a rash never quite going away.
Here, at his brothers' lake house, surrounded by his favourite people, he laughs more, smiles more and reminds you more of the boy you knew in those very first few months of your college career. Summer Luke is the real Luke, your Luke and the Luke you so desperately want to pull close and kiss silly.
Yet, it's also the Luke in front of you now, confident and with all the power in his hand, as he, at once, brings you back to your previous question and both of your apparent dilemmas of not being able to sleep.
"I'd challenge you to a game of ping pong to get us tired, but you tend to get loud when you get worked up."
White, hot flashes of embarrassment fill you up from the inside out, wondering if he's alluding to yesterday's weak moment of self-pleasure. You had allowed yourself it after seeing him shirtless on the boat wakeboarding, the motions making his hard abs twist and turn deliciously, droplets caressing his stomach and- "losing, I mean..." he clarifies, the smirk on his face making a return, hinting that he may or may not know exactly where your mind went just then. He had definitely heard.
Seemingly deciding to cut you some slack, Luke offers you an out. "What do you usually do when you can't sleep?"
It doesn't help, not at all, because now you're thinking of your usual way of tiring yourself out, and that looks a lot like what he apparently heard you doing last night. The pink on your cheeks deepens to a healthy red and Luke no doubt notices, judging by the small grin appearing on his face. You huff out a nervous laugh, one that quickly dies out as a yawn stretches over Luke's face. He wipes it off, or at least tries to, by bringing a hand to his mouth. The motion makes his shirt rise the tiniest of bits, just as you open your mouth to speak.
"Usually I'll try to distract myself, try to get my brain to stop working overtime," you say, eyes finding a life of their own, drifting down to the peak of skin between his plaid pyjama pants and white t-shirt. That would make for a nice distraction.
"Are you still drunk?" your face scrunches up in confusion at his words, the change of subject catching you off guard. Turning your head, you search his face with narrowed eyes, trying to figure out his angle. "No, it wore off a few hours ag- oh," you cut yourself off as the counter hits the top of your ass, not even having noticed Luke backing you into it until he's right there. Caged in, you once more have to tilt your head to stare at his pretty face. The intense look he's giving you leaves you stumped, lips parting slightly- maybe in a silent invitation. At this point, your brain has switched off, his closeness and the way his cologne overpowers your senses leaving you completely at his mercy.
The little people in your head seem to have taken over your actions, leading you like a puppet on a string and you don't mind. Not when Luke moves his hand to rest on your hip and the other on the column of your throat and they allow him.
Not when they move your hands to rest on his broad chest, his heart pounding against your hands and letting you know he isn't as unaffected as he appears.
Not when he leans down and hovers over your lips and they don't make you pull away. Luke's hot breath mingles with yours and you can almost feel the way he's holding himself back, letting you decide if you want this. In the end, you regain control from your puppeteers, rising to your tiptoes, just that last bit needed, and meet Luke's soft lips.
It's like the restraint he's been having over himself snaps, the hand on your hip tightening and bringing you close, close, closer until he's got you completely caged between him and the counter. You get braver too, your fingers finding the curls you've been so desperate to touch. As you tug ever so slightly, Luke lets out a gasp and you can't help but use the opportunity to slide your tongue into his mouth.
A thousand tiny explosions go off in your body, angels sing and the sun comes out behind the dark clouds. Too cheesy? Perhaps, but it’s like your world is clear again, your focus turning sharp and honing in on Luke, his touch (soft, urgent, guiding), his taste (mint, did he brush his teeth before coming down here?) and the delicious way his teeth are tugging on your lower lip. “Been waiting…so…long,” breathy words tumble out through breathy kisses, Luke's confession spreading warmth throughout your whole body. Sure, you are putting two and two together just from the heavy make-out session you’re currently partaking in, but either way, it’s nice to know that it isn’t just you who has been harbouring the very same desire.
Taking you by surprise, Luke grabs ahold of your shirt and in one swift motion lifts you onto the countertop so you’re both in a more comfortable position. His big hand slides up your thigh and under your shirt, stopping just over your panties. Hesitantly, Luke pulls away from your lips to look you in the eye, removing his other hand from your waist in favour of running it through his hair. The messy curls fall all over the place, even though he tries to shake them out, and you can’t help but grin at the fact that you messed them up.
Reaching behind you to rest his hand on the counter, effectively caging you in, Luke opens his mouth to no doubt ask for permission to move his hand higher. The words yes, god yes are on the tip of your tongue, but instead of sticking to the script, Luke yelps out instead. His eyes go wide, quickly shooting to his hand beside you before an annoyed expression overtakes his face.
"Salt," he mumbles into your lips, already on them again like he just can’t help himself. Reaching under your shirt, you guide his hand higher, silently letting him know it’s okay. Your whole body feels on fire with the way he’s touching you, thumb swiping over your underboob, goosebumps erupting in its wake. If you could stay like this forever, you would, with no hesitation. It feels like you’re sinking, deeper and deeper into the abyss that is Luke Hughes. The harness is off and you’re barrelling straight to the bottom with no regard for your safety. But that’s just the thing; you feel safe. So very safe with the way Luke is touching you, kissing you and wordlessly assuring you that he’s got you. Forever, if that’s the case.
Unfortunately, the universe isn’t a fan of forever. Or at least, it just has a very poor sense of humour. Because just as you’re about to spread your legs a little more, let Luke in a little closer, the kitchen door bangs open. Two drunk idiots, otherwise known as your friends, tumble inside, arms around each other holding on for dear life, one more gone than the other. You would later learn they had been out and about crashing all the nearby house parties.
“Dude, I so could have taken him- what the fUCK?” Mark screeches when he notices Luke and you, who just barely manage to tear your lips apart before Ethan straightens himself up and turns in your direction.
And so a period of awkward silence and confused glances begins. Mark and Ethan are not quite sober enough to put the evidence presented before them together, their brows drawn together in funny angles. Mark lifts his hand and motions between you and the boy still pressed to you, now just with his back facing you. Probably to spare your friends from seeing you in just your panties, you realise and just like that, your heart turns to mush. You sneak your hands around his waist and prop your head up on his shoulder. Luke leans back into you, hands going to your knees, as he levels Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum with a warning look.
Never one to let his friends off easy, though, Ethan flashes a megawatt grin before copying Mark’s actions. “What’s going on here?”
“Late night snack.” “Luke had something in his eye.”
Silence. Luke’s hands squeeze your knees, you press your eyes closed. Surely they would catch on.
Then, a slow nod from a contemplative-looking Mark and a slap to Ethan’s chest as the blonde’s too-talkative mouth starts to open once more. “Sure, have a good night, guys!” Mark rushes out, a firm hand on Ethan’s shoulder guiding his friend out of the kitchen and up the stairs to their room. There’s no way Mark believed that lie (your suspicions would later be confirmed when you walk past their room and hear him explain how it “would make no sense since the lights were off”) but as Luke lets out a deep sigh and turns around, you can’t find it in you to care.
The second he’s fully facing you again, his hands come up to rest on either side of your head, pressing a soft, much sweeter and slower, kiss to your awaiting lips. As he pulls back, a different Luke stands before you, all traces of his previous confidence leaving him, nervousness taking over as he brings a hand up to the back of his neck. Your favourite crooked smile returns, but this time filled with awkwardness and uncertainty.
“Would you, um- Would you want to go out with me? Tomorrow, maybe? Or later today, I guess, considering the time and all-”
“Yes, god yes,” You say, finally getting the chance to voice the words, immediately getting flashbacks to a mere ten minutes ago when they had been on the tip of your tongue and his hand had been under your shirt. At your agreement, confident Luke returns, not wasting any time before he’s diving back in for your lips.
Half an hour later, you’re standing in your bedroom, leaning up against the door. Touching your fingers to your lips, no doubt a dazed expression on your face, you will your heart to stop galloping like a thousand wild horses. Maybe, if you pinched yourself- nope that just hurt. Luke kissing you in the kitchen hadn’t been a dream and neither had it been when he pressed a soft kiss to your lips, and then your forehead, only a mere minutes ago. You had said goodnight with the promise of seeing him when you’re both well rested. When you asked him about the upcoming date, he only smiled and told you it was a surprise. You do not doubt that the speculation will keep you up for at least another few hours. Or perhaps that will have more to do with you replaying every kiss and touch over and over in your head.
“Did you get me water?” A voice croaks out in the darkness, duvets and sheets shifting loudly in the silence. Water, Jess. You had completely forgotten.
"Shit, I’ll be right back," you promise, this time determined not to get swept up in stolen kisses.