ʷʰᵒ’ˢ ᵃ ᵖʳᵉᵗᵗʸ ᵏⁱᵗᵗʸ?

The phone feels heavy in your hand, like it’s bearing the weight of all your inadequacies. Your arm drops limp in defeat, and your body follows shortly after. All you can bear to do is lie on your back and stare at the ceiling fan.

It’s best to not think about how the past four months have been absolute hell—coping with a break up that neither of you really wanted. Your relationship just ended so abruptly. Not in the sense that you didn’t see it coming, but rather in a way that one day you two were together and then the next day you weren’t.

Neither of you have done a great job with setting boundaries. He calls or visits at least once every other week since you broke up, usually just to talk, or share news, or even to fuck. And as much as you know it’s not good for either of you to continue with this “not so not together-ship”, it’s better than not having each other at all.

“God, this sucks,” you think out loud, body shifting to lean on your side. “This sucks so hard.” Mr. Snuffles stares blankly at you from across the bed— a weathered and patched stuffed rabbit given to you on your 11th birthday. Out of all the judgement you’ve faced from family and friends, his is the worst. He knows you better than anyone. Knows what you should do, when you should do it, and who you should do it with. He’s your voice of reason, and despite not having a mouth, he’s quite loud. And it seems with each missed opportunity to cut Katsuki completely out of your life, Mr. Snuffles’ judgment grows louder and louder. It’s the eyes honestly.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you croak, ashamed that a stuffed animal knows better than you. “I know what I'm doing.”

Three firm knocks reverberate throughout your apartment, and it’s like how a forest grows still in the presence of a predator. The ticking of your clock, the blades of your fan, even your own heartbeat grows quiet.

He’s here.

You’ve seen him a billion times and you’ll see him a billion times more maybe; there’s no need to feel anxious…maybe a little sad. Definitely super guilty. But also really happy? Because you love him and love being around him and love spending time with him. Why is this so fucking complicated? You thought love was supposed to heal all wounds…Or maybe that was time.

Just as his fist readies to bang on your door again, your pretty little head emerges from the other side, surveying his person with interest. His arm lowers, milkshakes in either hand, eyes lidded with tiredness. There are a few awkward moments of staring before he speaks, growing tired from holding the milkshakes (and the unbearable silence).

“You gonna let me in?”

His words seem to snap you from your stupor, a sheepish smile stretching your pretty lips: two-toned and lightly glazed with chapstick, top lip sculpted perfectly in Cupid’s image. He misses waking up to those messy love letters your lips spoke into his skin. He wants to kiss you right now. He thinks you would let him if he asked.

You step backwards and open the door to let him in. He walks in with confidence, like he’s been here a billion times before, and he has even since the break-up. He makes his way to your couch where he sits and sets your milkshake down on the coffee table.

“I got your favorite.”

Goddamn him. You can never reject an Oreo milkshake. It only takes a second for you to join him on the couch, an unorthodox amount of space between two people who are supposedly no longer in a relationship anymore—you could fit four maybe five fingers between that space? The close proximity is suffocating and desired all at once. He grabs your remote, turns the television on, then proceeds to lay his arm across the back of the couch directly behind your head. You both sip from your milkshakes for a while, idly watching the cartoon that flashes across the television screen, neither too bothered by the lack of conversation, or so it seems. It feels like how it used to… but not at the same time. You clear the phlegm from your throat that always accumulates when you nurse a milkshake, before turning to him and speaking.

“So what brings you here tonight?”

Obviously to fuck, or at least, that’s the conclusion you come to. It’s 2:30 in the morning, what other reason would he come?

He continues to face straight ahead, but his gaze shifts to his peripheral, noting the weary look on your face. He sits there for a bit, setting his milkshake down and letting the question smolder in the air. He’s grown a bit anxious from the question if the tapping near your head is any indication. Maybe a minute or three passes before he finally gives in, body sinking into the couch with a heavy sigh.

“Imischew,” he mumbles, body folding in to make himself small.

“You mis chewed?” You repeat confused. “Did an Oreo chunk go down the wrong pipe? Do you need some water?”

“No,” he groans, shifting uncomfortably. He follows up with the same undecipherable mumble, but it’s evident you’re not catching on, on account of the perplexed look on your face. “I don’t think I’m understanding, Suki.” Fuck, he loves it when you call him that.

He takes a deep breath to quell the feelings of frustration and anxiety bubbling in his chest. It’s not your fault, he thinks. He’s a mumbler and you’re borderline hard of hearing.

“I miss you,” he enunciates, finally working up the courage to look you straight in the eyes. He sighs dejectedly. “…I miss you.”

Oh...oh. Despite the time you’ve spent together since the break up, neither of you have uttered anything so… sentimental.

It’s silent again. Your lack of response is making him reeeeally fucking anxious.

Fuck, he thinks. This was a bad idea.

He suddenly shoots up, humiliated and ashamed.

“I’m sorry,” he grumbles, “I shouldn’t have come.”

He just about makes it past the couch before you quickly set your milkshake down and dive forward to clasp his wrist, body draped over the arm of the couch.

“No,” you yelp, frightened by his attempted departure. A stale silence follows your outburst. It seems to drag on for far longer than either of you anticipate, both bodies unmoving as if frozen in time. And then you finally speak, voice trembling and small. “Please… I miss you too.”

He turns towards you, the television light highlighting the bubbling in your eyes, reflecting the sullen visage of his own features. God, even when you’re crying you look like an angel.

“Come sit?” You request with a sad smile.

How could he ever say no to you?

He heaves a deep tired sigh and nods, maneuvering his body around the couch with your hand still tightly wrapped around his wrist.

There’s distance between you now; about as far as your arm can stretch, but you refuse to let him go (in every sense and meaning). It’s quiet again, and not the comfortable silence you found yourselves sitting in when things were fine between you both. It’s awkward and stifling.

He’s so tense. His leg is bouncing and his muscles are flexing. You're not doing much better. The grip you hold around his wrist is tight. You can feel his pulse racing in your fingertips. You take a deep breath and make an effort to release the tension from your body, hand reaching lower to caress his palm and intertwine your fingers together. He observes your hands noting how large his is compared to yours, the curves and valleys your fingers form, the heat that emits from your palms. It makes his belly flutter.

“Can I hug you, Suki?”

Of course you can. You are always welcome in his arms (except when you’re not).

He pulls you towards his chest and wraps himself around you, enveloping you in his furnacy hold. Your legs wrap around his hips and you tuck your face safely between his shoulder and his neck. This feels like home more than any house ever could. Maybe that’s why you two find yourselves together so often. You miss sharing a space together. You miss spending time together. You miss him. And even with him pressed firmly against your body, breathing life into your clumsy aching heart, do you even really have him? You’re not together anymore. And that makes you so sad.

His shoulder grows wetter by the second. With each sniffle and sob that greets his ears his heart clenches tighter and tighter. His precious angel, so soft and so sweet. How could anyone bear witness to such sorrowful cries? How had things ended so wrong?

“I miss you, Suki,” you whimper. “ I miss you so much.”

He attempts to blink away his own tears. The racking of your body vibrates him to his core. He pulls you closer, as if to mold your bodies into one. He wishes he could make things not hurt anymore.

“We can’t do this anymore, Suki. I-It hurts too much.”

“I know,” he whispers. “I’m sorry.” He shushes your sobs and cradles your head, rocking your bodies to the rhythm of an unsung lullaby. “It’ll be okay,” he chants, trying to convince himself of that as much as he’s trying to convince you.

You both rock for a while, tears slowly simmering, holds growing looser. You lift from his shoulder and just stare at his face. You failed to notice his own sniffles and chokes. His face is streaked with tears. It’s quiet for a moment, and then another, and another, before a wolfish grin adorns his face in an attempt to make this moment a bit lighthearted. You smile in return. He’s just as good at making you smile as he is at making you cry.

Giggling, you knock your foreheads together, and cradle the back of his head. His hands find solace at the small of your back, thumbs digging beneath your shirt and rubbing patterns into your skin. The angle is a bit awkward, but you both just stare into each other’s eyes, wondering what the other is thinking. If you both knew what the other was thinking, maybe you wouldn’t be in this mess to begin with. So many misunderstandings and unaddressed resentment. So many missed opportunities to make things better, and you both fell short on that end. So many things were just…unresolved and unspoken.

But despite all of that, one thing is clear…

“Can I kiss you?”

You still love each other.

He responds by cradling the back of your head and guiding your lips to his own. The kiss is closed and puckered, both sets of lips sitting on the other, unsure of how to proceed, but muscle memory takes over and you fall into a familiar routine, mouths opening and tongues tangling together.

God, he loves this so much: the texture of your lips, the taste of your mouth, the dexterity of your tongue—he dreams about this—about kissing you. It’s all he ever wants to do.

“F-fuck,” he moans, gravely voice resonating in the air. His hands travel back to your hips to encourage the steady grinding you’ve unconsciously started. The motion is smooth, like how a gentle ocean wave licks upon a shore. He follows your lead, grinding up to meet you halfway. The friction is perfect.

His eyes are glazed over and hooded in arousal, unwavering and unable to look away. Your eyebrows are knitted together, and your mouth is ajar and panting. Your head bobs back and forth, unable to hold steady from the pleasure building in your body. It’s mesmerizing.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “Rub that pussy on me, baby.”

Your stomach clenches. Despite his reserved disposition, he is a vocal person, especially when it counts.

“Suki,” you whimper, attempting to quell the fluttering of your eyes. You just want to look at his beautiful face, but you can’t, motor functions completely consumed by need.

“What is it, baby?” God, his voice is heaven.

“I wanna feel you.”

“You don’t feel me,” he goads, one hand coming to cradle your head as it bobs back. “You don’t feel how hard I am for you?” You clench again.

You do feel him, all seven and a half inches, hard and steely like an iron rod, nestled neatly between your soaked folds. Even through the layers of clothing that obstruct you from his skin, you can still feel him. “No,” you drawl. “I wanna feel you inside.”

“Yeah? You wanna feel me, baby?” He pulls your hips harder against his own, reveling in the wetness pooling over his shaft. “You wanna clench that wet pussy around my dick?” He pulls your head towards his face, swollen lips wisping across your own. “You wanna ride me and milk the cum from my balls?”

“Please,” you whimper, falling into his chest. “Please, please, please—”

At this rate you’re going to cum. Your clit is hard and pulsing, easily sliding across his shaft and pubic bone. With each roll of your hips, electricity shoots through every nerve ending in your body. You’ve soiled through your shorts and his sweats, sobbing the fabrics so thin you might as well be naked.

The hand at your hip sinks beneath your panties to grab a handful of your ass. He squeezes hard, unable to restrain the molten need surging through his veins.

“You’re close,” he states. He’s close too. His tip is leaking and sticky, balls drawn close to his body in preparation to release his load.

“No,” you shoot up and whimper. “Want you inside!” You’re nearly crying, and yet your hips make no effort to stop.

He shushes you and kisses your lips. You’re so cute when you get like this. The fingers gripping your ass travels further between your cheeks, pass your asshole, and down to your fluttering pussy. He gathers the wetness spilling from your hole, and lathers himself in your slick. He continues to pepper kisses on your lips and cheeks, heart and loins clenching from the desperation in your eyes.

After his fingers are completely soaked and pruned, he transfers your slick to your asshole. His fingers rub and prod at the puckered opening, his breath shuddering at the faraway look in your eyes. That’ll do it. That will definitely take you over the edge. Your hips frenzy and your holes pucker. His length twitches and bobs.

A deafening moment of silence, like how static builds in the air before lightning strikes, and then a wail, guttural and bone chilling. Your body convulses and twitches and seizes like you’re possessed. You see nothing but black. And he sees nothing but you. It’s almost spiritual how his body follows after you. Like a current travels through you body into his own, your pleasure igniting every nerve ending that lies dormant beneath his skin. The last image he sees before his eyes roll to the back of his head, is that of the only person in his life he wishes he worked a little bit harder to keep.

🎶Doofenshmirts Evil Incorporated🎶

Phineas and Ferb is on. All of a sudden, your surroundings are there. Beneath, behind you, and all around you. You feel sticky and gross, and can barely keep your eyes open for more than a second. Katsuki’s head is laid across the back of the couch, mouth open and muscles twitching involuntarily. You smile at how goofy he looks.

“Suki.” Your voice is barely above a whisper. He doesn’t respond. You try again, a little louder. “Suki.”

He manages a small hum.

“We should get up and shower.”

He doesn’t respond again for another minute or two , probably fighting off the sleep that comes with such an explosive orgasm.

“Okay.”

You follow his lead when he moves to get up, lifting off of him and waiting at his side for him to collect himself. You look up at him as he looks down at you and you give a small smile before leading him to the bathroom by his hand.

The shower feels nice. You take turns under the water and gently bathe each other of the sweat and cum you’ve collected. This moment feels nostalgic, like it’s a distant memory, and not playing out in real-time. It feels like how it used to be…when you two were together. Intimate. Warm. Fuzzy.

After a while you two just end up holding each other, soaking in the water and the love and comfort this moment offers you. It makes you want to cry how perfect this is.

After you’re clean and dry, you offer him some clothes he hadn’t bothered to take with him when you two broke up. You change in separate rooms.

After it’s all said and done, you escort him to the front door. He’s hurt that you’re kicking him out, but he thinks he understands. You both do a pissy job at setting boundaries, and this is your attempt at establishing one. He gets it.

You both stare at each other for a good long while. You fight the urge to drag him back to your bedroom, but you stand firm on your decision.

“I’ll call you,” he sighs. And he will. He always wants to talk to you.

You take a shuddering breath and nod, weakly smiling up at him.

“Okay.”

He wants to kiss you, but thinks maybe he shouldn’t. He nods, turns towards the door and leaves, shutting the door quietly behind him.

You’re rooted to your spot, soaking in the gravity of your situation.

You and Katsuki are not together anymore.

The light from your screen seems brighter than the sun. Your fingers move in trepidation, hovering and cycling over icons and back buttons, but you finally make it to the anticipated contact.

Suki ❤️❤️❤️

Send message…

Add to emergency contact…

Block this caller….

You take another deep breath. Mr. Snuffles is right.

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