#colston

⋆ ͘ . ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ 𝑠𝑦𝑛𝑜𝑝𝑠𝑖𝑠 sweet, sticky nights. surf boards propped up against garage doors. slipping up the steps of your filthy rich grandfather’s vacation home. sneaking an awfully tall “best-friend” into your bedroom past midnight (through a window..?).

⋆ ͘ . ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 tons of fluff & explicit unprotected (do not recreate this in real life!!) sexual intimacy.

⋆ ͘ . ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ 𝑑𝑦𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑐𝑠 colston loveland x black!fem reader, colston as your summer lover and devoted-bestfriend, and simply headcannons which make sense if you see my vision <3 + colston is very very ughhh he’s just so open & willing & sweet, he’s down to do anything in this fic. i’ve never wrote for him so slight mischaracterization might be obvious.

ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🪽་༘࿐ 　 ྀི　𓈒    my   di𝚊𝚛𝓎  𓈒  ୨୧ ! this should be my second time writing headcannons, if u have any suggestions pls enlighten me :) i must say, it does bleed into prose for a majority.

❛ tell me, when is the next time i’ll run into you? ❜

— one humid june night.

𓂃 ོ☼𓂃 sand finds its own way of sticking to your feet, retreating itself within beach bags and forming layers of awful crust atop microfiber towels. you’ve got no clue as to why you’re grandmother likes this kind of fabric — but naturally as a sweet girl you put up with her fads and ways of life.

𓂃 ོ☼𓂃 every summer, and i mean every summer, it has become destiny to stay with your filthy rich grandparents who insist on having their favorite grandchild over; you are their only grandchild. unless we count a cousin who’s living somewhere in marseille with a man that speaks more french than colston’s french 2 teacher from eight years ago!

◡̈ 𓇼      still, it is unbelievable to you that he understands a pinch (like a grain of salt) of french to this day. don’t ask him about conjugations or proper pronunciation though — he’s not all that great.

◡̈ 𓇼      for reference, he pronounces bonjour like ‘bohn-ju’ instead of ‘bon-zhoor.’ told you, don’t rely on him for foreign languages.

𓂃 ོ☼𓂃 you like colston though for one major reason: love. his love is unwavering, unconditional, and easy to detach every single summer! sure, is this a self-destructive manner of spending june, july, and august — well of course. 

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🍓˚ yet, the memories you two have formed together is adorably cliché! 

◡̈ 𓇼      baking with him. creating spotify playlists that become a picture-perfect combination: solange, drake, paramore, bad bunny, mf doom, and a sprinkle of future if you’re feeling generous. very disorganized & very messy. teaching him how to crochet even though his fingers are too big for the hooks. spending $40 on overpriced smoothies downtown at some indie pop-up shop. colston teaching you how to surf at a less convoluted beach. 

◡̈ 𓇼      understanding the art of surfing felt more mathematical than expected, having to find your happy balance in your weight against the hollow board, and stifling screams whenever icy waves carried you to shore.

◡̈ 𓇼      he’s much more artsy than he lets on, but experimenting with crochet and yarn would be a first step to unlocking the inner picasso in him. settling on making shell-jewelry seams feasible to him though.

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🍓˚ you now have a tiny anklet wrapped gorgeously around your left leg, it glimmers with sandy beads of shells, cleaned sand dollars, and minuscule conch’s. how thoughtful. 

𓂃 ོ☼𓂃 i wonder whoever thought: sneaking a six foot six man into your bedroom through a relatively small window is realistic — you did. colston’s good with climbing, you’re good with scoping the scenery out. should be easy as pie.

𓂃 ོ☼𓂃 summer breeze past nine in the evening makes you sick however, very sick. you couldn’t tell if your grandmother’s essential oils (sea moss & a tinge of herbs) blasting through the diffuser is what exacerbated it, or rather a mass of butterflies swirling endlessly in the pursuit, the mission, the task: get your childhood bestfriend inside your bedroom. 

  ❛ wait at your bedside, i’ll land right next to you

i’m goin' stateside, where i’ll see you tonight. ❜

— your alexa murmuring.

𓂃 ོ☼𓂃  he’s inside. his knee got scraped on the way in since your blinds still found their place of tangling up against the panes and mangling him — the horror. 

𓂃 ོ☼𓂃  colston’s incredibly dramatic. incredibly. did i mention that?

◡̈ 𓇼      “(your name), i can’t fucking believe it. i’ve snuck into your room how many times—”

“like four times, col.”

“exactly! so how did i even manage to scrape my knee against blinds,” he bristles at some cold salve being rubbed against his knee, the brunet assumed it likely came out of an emergency kit. 

your emergency kit was mostly from the swimming lessons you’d volunteer at on bi-weekly days, much to your mother’s dismay you refused to take summer courses. summer was supposed to be fun. 

“i dunno—now stop shifting, lemme put it on you—” brushing a coil out of your face, your nails caught the glimmery lighting coming from fairy lights strung above an adjacent wall covered in polaroids. “colston loveland, move one more time and i’ll show this tube down your throat.”

he huffed, laying back against a coral-shaped throw pillow. “damn. rude much.” 

he settles down with time as always, losing that dramatic edge he rarely showed unless being with those he trusts. something in the air lingers — luckily, it is no longer your sea sickness. 

your eyes dart at his knee no longer twitching, you giggle slightly to the residue of whatever ointment caught in the low light of tonight. your hand is still placed there, poking at the hard muscle he’s gained over years and years of football conditioning.

“you stare a lot, ma,” colston peeks up, no longer covering his eyes. his voice is all warmth and melty, how it undoes you is more than skin deep.

“liar. ‘m not.” equally as quiet, matchin his audible level but never his pitch—you know your naturally bubbly lilt couldn’t go so low, so touching.

his eyes flicker up to meet yours, and there it is. the same look he gives you every summer. unconditional. unwavering. loyal. somewhere when late june and early july kiss sweetly, everything begins to feel a little too real there.

“come closer, you acting like imma bite.” 

you obey, making yourself a spot right next to him. pulling another throw pillow close to your ample breasts, covering the skin that’ll show there. 

unwarranted modesty, although he could carve your body into shape with his eyes closed if he wanted to.

“mm.. don’t cover yourself, baby.” 

◡̈ 𓇼      sex with him is mind-blowing, back-arching, and skin-crawling all in one mixture. a very reactive mixture of unadulterated bliss, his lips meet your plush inner thighs, tracing whatever untouched skin he could find—yet all of you is mapped by him.

colston eats pussy like a starved man, he indulges himself with seasoned fervor in knowing worshipping you is heaven on earth.

your clit gets most of his attention,

a pretty pearl those dark eyes fixate on, just barely, as his pupils are consuming whatever’s left of his irises. 

his motivation is fueled when he gets you to the apex, sweetly watching you unfold—juices spilling across his soft lips and beading on the tip of his tongue. you taste like fresh honey and sweet acrimony, leaving him wanting more. the first taste of you left him hooked—hardly two years ago if your mind would recall it properly. 

“i know you want this dick.” 

“mhmm.. col, please.”

“you gon’ beg?” 

“y—yea,” a pang hits you, coursing through every nerve. “please, i need you. need you so bad it hurts.”

he smiles in knowing you’re hooked, its tragic. he’s accustomed himself to it being the other way around, him devoting whatever time he had on his hands for you — although, tonight you’ve outdone him, dramatically. 

𓂃 ོ☼𓂃 “just like that, taking it real good f’me, (your name).” 

colston sounds utterly wrecked, muffled by a sudden crash of waves against the sand—continuously driving deeper into you. his hips flush against your own, pining your thigh open with his hand while the other grips the wooden headboard so hardly it creaks. 

each thrust taunts you, drawing a sycophant symphony of sweet, broken sounds almost drawn out by the sound of sticky skin meeting.

“shit, fuck—look at you,” he groans against your lips, forehead pressed to yours, sweat-slick strands sticking to his temples. “so pretty when you’re creamin’ on me like this.”

your nautical-themed nails rake down his back hard enough to leave marks and indents as you please. the anklet on your ankle bounces with every punishing stroke, shells clicking like a tiny secret whispered between you two. 

he perfectly angles his hips to find the innermost part of you just right and you shatter. 

back arching, thighs trembling, colston’s name falling out like a sob, helplessly pulsing around him.

colston groans low, burying himself within you as he comes hard, his abdominal muscles flexing with every spill deep inside you with a guttural moan that vibrates through his chest.

in that moment the only sounds you could manage to make out was heavy breathing and the distant waves outside. (also, your speaker which shifted its rhythm to ‘sweetest taboo’ by sade. ironic isn’t it?)

and so, summer heat softens. a pearly moon hangs above with a disappointing look. and you pray your very-much asleep relatives did not hear a peep.

❛ all those years i put in for the american dream 

is it worth all the work if you can't be here with me? ❜

— the disappointed look on your lovely face, when being told you he’s going back to lake forest, il.

𓂃 ོ☼𓂃 “don’t talk to me.” weaponizing your dangerous pout and how it appears across those glossy, shiny lips he spent an evening tending to. brows furrowing. eyes squinting and staring into oblivion. 

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🍓˚  he did this the previous summer, and the previous summer except he returned back down to ann arbor. 

𓂃 ོ☼𓂃 colston is a bit dramatic when it comes to you. naturally. there’s some finely mastered and weird attunement you have from each other — like a symbiotic relationship.

𓂃 ོ☼𓂃 he swallows his pride, easily around the girl of his dreams, as you could pick apart any man’s ego with ease—he was no extremely hard feat. insanely attractive and thoughtful of not.

“imma make time for you and i swear it.” he starts, luckily your faith in him wasn’t measured by fickle promises—this, you could believe in. “after camp, i still got more than enough time for my girl. you know that.”

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🍓˚ of course you knew that. the previous year, on a very amicable, friendly, totally not-romantic trip to the florida keys (you’d developed a knack of snorkeling, and he dragged you into one too many ceramics classes down there—leaving you with several pieces of art.).. and then down to the bahamas’s to visit your great grandmother who called him “darling” like no other.. and convinced you into kayaking. 

𓂃 ོ☼𓂃 “you’re lucky i love you, loveland.”