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wisteriadaydreams · 1 year

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Can you write a Tanjiro oneshot where he realizes his feelings for the reader after Nezuko gets annoyed at him because keeps crashing girl time between her and the reader while they're all recuperating after a mission at the Butterfly Mansion because he wants to spend time with the reader and Nezuko getting annoyed at him lets him realizes his feelings?

PARTY CRASHER

pairing: Kamado Tanjirō x fem!reader

genre: fluff

words: 1.9k

Part 1

Nezuko can sing praises about her older brother for hours.

She thinks he’s one of the most observant and perceptive people she has ever known, even with his sensitive nose providing an advantage. He’s the kind of person that would subtly lend a hand, showing his kindness through small gestures. At the same time, he is not hesitant to step up and defend for others when the situation calls for it.

He’s someone who would always take the smaller portion of food, who would remember what someone likes and dislikes and how they prefer their food to the last detail, who was trusted by the whole village to mediate a fight while also knowing when to take a step back.

And yet, for all of his attunement to other people’s emotions, he is glaringly and unbearingly out of touch with his own heart.

Case in point, he is wholly convinced the only reason he is seeking you out is because he likes spending time with you.

Now, would Nezuko say that this sentiment is not valid? Of course not. After all, she likes to be in your company herself. You have an inexplicable comforting and heartwarming presence that she could bask in and forget for a moment that she is anything but human. That is not to mention your kindness, tenderness, bravery, and willingness to help others. And it’s nice to be with a girl close to her age for once.

(The boys do provide good company, but there are times when she needs a break from their rowdiness.)

To be honest, she could easily sing praises about you as well.

So yes, Nezuko can fully understand why he likes to be in your presence. Her annoyance comes with the fact that he incessantly seeks you out. Every. Single. Night.

Even on nights that he’s fully aware you’re spending time with her.

The first time it happened, she could forgive her older brother for barging into some private girls’ time, as she does enjoy being with him. Ever since her speech became limited due to the bamboo muzzle, she has become content with sitting back and listen to other people talk. Furthermore, it’s clear from the way you visibly brighten up when he walks into the room that you like being with him, too. No harm done with letting him in for a few hours.

The next few times it happened, she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and reasoned that he simply didn’t know that this was supposed to be private time. However, when it began to occur every single time you decide to spend time with her (he’s using his nose to find you, she knows it), Nezuko began to have an inkling that there’s more going on.

After all, her older brother is already hounding your time in the daylight, what with training and eating meals together and all. What other reason could he have for wanting to monopolize your time during the night as well?

Her answer comes late one evening, when you were running a comb through her hair and humming a simple melody under your breath, the notes seeming to seep into her skin and making her remember happier times. It would have been like any other night if Nezuko hadn’t catch the adoring look in Tanjirō’s eyes.

It’s different from the tender and protective gaze that would watch over their younger siblings whenever they play around with one another. It’s also different from the glimmer that would make his eyes sparkle and his smile to stretch from ear to ear when he’s around his friends.

This is like a fire that is lit from the inside, tempering his molten red eyes into gemstones that catch and reflect the light. It glitters like crystalline snow on a sunny day, and then softens until it resembles a low-burning hearth that warms more than just one’s body.

He looks at you like you’re embers, like stars, like fireworks and the sun and every source of light rolled into one.

(He looks at you like how their father used to look at their mother.)

Nezuko wonders how she could have missed such a look, for once she noticed it, she realizes that he looks at you like that all the time. She wonders if he knows he looks at you like that. She wonders if you know that such a gaze is reserved for you only.

Unfortunately, she can’t ask you that when her brother’s in the room.

But even without verbal confirmation, she’s able to pick up signs that more or less answers her question.

From the way both of you hang on to each other’s words to how he would sneak into the kitchen to bring you your favorite snacks, to how you fuss over him for training too much and pushing his body to the limit.

To how you look at him like he’s the sun rising over the mountains, like the moon on a starless night, like flowers and the gentle breeze and everything beautiful in nature.

And while this revelation makes her happier than anything else, there’s only so much patience a person can have watching two oblivious individuals so blatantly mooning and pining over each other. So, Nezuko resolves to do something about it, for both of your sakes (and for her sanity).

She decides to approach her brother first, fully knowing that any attempt at breaching the topic with you would promptly be interrupted by him anyway. When the night falls, the young girl zips through the hall like a slayer on a mission, intent on finding Tanjirō. Soon enough, she spots the burgundy hue of his hair as he walks down the hallway, and without wasting a moment, she grabs his hands and drags him into the nearest room.

“W-woah! Nezuko, slow down! What’s wrong?”

She turns to face him after closing the door, conviction burning in her eyes. Now comes the hard part, how is she going to get through to her brother without her speech?

“Nezuko, is everything alright?” Tanjirō asks in concern, trying to understand why his little sister just pulled him into a room like there’s a crisis.

She makes a few noises that would take a mind reader to decipher, but it seems to him that she’s trying to figure out something.

Suddenly, an idea flashes in her head, and she quickly snatches one of his hands, turning it over so that his palm faces her. Nezuko taps her nail on his palm emphatically as a sign to tell him to pay attention. She slowly begins to write words on to the surface, making sure to mind her speed so he has enough time to process them.

“Onii-chan...I think...you like... (Y/N)-chaaA-EEHH? W-w-what are you talking about?”

Nezuko had anticipated this reaction somewhat, but she didn’t expect his voice to suddenly rival that of Zenitsu’s. She taps his palm multiple times to get him to focus.

“You know what I mean, onii-chan. You’ve been spending a lot of time with her.”

“That’s because she’s my friend.” He waves his free hand around frantically. “Why wouldn’t I want to spend time with her?”

The young girl gives him a deadpan look. “You’ve been spending time with her almost every single night for the past few weeks, even when she’s with me.”

“Yeah, well, that’s...so I like hanging out with her. But I don’t spend that much time around her...right?”

“Onii-chan, my room has essentially become your room now. It’s fine the first few times, but it’s hard to get some alone time with just her, you know. She’s my friend, too.” Nezuko huffs, and her brother at least has the decency to look sheepish. “Look, please really think about the reason why you like being around her so much.”

He runs a hand through his hair, his eyes drifting to the ceiling in thought. “Well, she makes me laugh, and she encourages me whenever I’m feeling down. And I like talking to her too, and making her laugh. There’s just something about it, it makes me warm all over every time I hear it. And her smile...one smile from her and I feel like everything is better. No matter how many hours I’ve spent with her, it never feels enough. She...she makes me feel comfortable, like I’m safe. Like I’m...home.” He utters the word reverently, like it’s something sacred and holy. Red colors his cheeks like blooming roses. “I feel all tingly and soft inside, like I’m lying on a bed of clouds. But then there are times when I feel like my nerves are all on fire when I’m around her, my tongue gets all tied up, and my feet seems to stop all function. I don’t think...I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way before. What is this?”

“I think you already know the answer to that, onii-chan.” She finishes, her eyes softening as she watches the revelation dawn on him. He lights up for one dazzling moment, and then his expression proceeds to crumble.

“Oh no! How am I supposed to face her now?! What am I going to do, what am I going to do?” He paces rapidly around the room. “I feel like my heart’s going to burst!”

Nezuko takes a hold of his shoulders to stop him from burning a hole through the floor. She turns him around to face her, firmly squeezing them to get him to calm down.

“Nezuko, what if she doesn’t return my feelings?” His head hangs.

‘Oh, if only you knew.’ She makes a series of what she hopes sounds like reassuring noises, while clenching her fists in a “it’s okay” motion.

“Are you saying that I shouldn’t worry?”

“Hhmm!”

“Well, what can I do?” It’s not like I can just walk up to her and tell her how I feel...” He trails off at the sparkling look in his sister's eyes. “WHAT?! NO-NO, I can’t do that!!”

She nods vigorously and continues to try and encourage him all the while hoping that his head doesn’t explode like a volcano. Her poor brother looks like he has steam coming out of his ears.

“What would I even say? What if I stutter or trip over my words like a fool in front of her?”

Nezuko rolls her eyes and snatches his hand again, quickly jotting down some words for him.

“Just tell her how you feel. She’ll understand.”

He stares down at his palm, the words his sister wrote down imprinting on him until they were bones deep. “You know what? You’re right, Nezuko. I’ll–I’ll tell her. The worst that could happen is we remain friends.” He swallows as his heart clenches. He then pulls her into a hug. “Thank you, Nezuko! I’m going to find her right now!”

The girl flings her arms into the air and lets out a string of cheerful noises. As her brother runs out of the room, she makes sure to give him a few reassuring pats on the shoulder. She gazes after the sight of his disappearing back and shakes her head affectionately.

Hopefully her brother will go through his plan and save everyone from having to continue seeing you two act like pining, lovesick puppies. Speaking of which, if he does, then that means you two will become a couple, huh?

That would mean romantic dates, wouldn’t it? And you would probably want to spend more time around each other.

“Wait...” Nezuko swirls around in panicked realization. “Does that mean he’s going to continue to cling to her in the night?”

She slams open the shoji door and chases after her brother.

“ONII-CHAN!!!”

©️ wisteriadaydreams

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#kamado tanjiro #tanjiro #tanjiro x reader #tanjiro x y/n #tanjiro oneshots #demon slayer x reader #kny x reader #sunshine of my life #he's my sun #a dream come true #wisty writes

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livelovecaliforniadreams · 9 months

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#He Can't Believe It

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comphy-and-cozy · 8 months

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can't let this moment go - jt compher

Pairing: JT Compher x Reader (f)

Word Count: 8k

Warnings: Smut (18+ ONLY). Fingering, oral sex (m + f receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, praise. Brief but resolved angst.

series masterlist | nhl masterlist | part 2

August 2023

Dreams are a funny thing. Living a dream come true is even funnier. You typically don’t realize you’re living it until it’s over, and even if you do, there’s no way to make yourself live fully in the moment. There’s always the flickering thought that you’re never going to be able to remember the breeze in your hair, the low timbre of someone’s voice, the specific sound of their chuckle in their throat. And then before you know it, the dream is over, and you’re eternally left looking back and trying to remember the scent of a cologne or the warmth of a hand in yours.

So when JT Compher steps into your apartment, you take a moment as he’s looking around to take a mental photograph: of him, here, now, like this, to live in a corner of your mind forever. And somehow you just know that you’ll never forget it.

A smile forms on his face, like maybe he’s pleased with himself that he made it here. You are, too, still in disbelief that he’s really standing there, toeing off his shoes at your entry rug and making his way to your couch at your invitation.

He declines your offer for a drink, and you contemplate standing in your kitchen if you want another layer of insulation. Ultimately, you decide against it, joining him on the couch. Feeling a little sheepish, you turn on a mood playlist to give yourself something to do. JT smirks a little, asking in a teasing voice, “You nervous?”

“I’ve got a really hot professional hockey player sitting on my couch. Of course I’m nervous.”

He accepts the compliment wordlessly, humming. “That why you left that night?”

You know what he’s referring to, sure he’s remembering the way you disappeared without a word. There’s not much else to say, so you nod. “I was intimidated.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” he says, and the sincerity in his eyes makes your chest tighten. “I won’t lie; I really, really want you, but you can say ‘stop’ at any time. Send me home if you want to. Probably fuck my hand raw tonight if you did, though.”

You’re unable to prevent your laugh at the way he simultaneously makes you feel un-judged and comfortable while also turning you on like you’ve never been before, a low and steady pulse ever-present in your belly. Still, his words send warm butterflies fluttering through your chest, hot at his shameless admission of his attraction to you. Part of you is still waiting for a camera crew to hop out, exposing you, because this can’t possibly be real; JT Compher can’t really be in your living room, expressing his burgeoning desire to take you to bed, looking at you with eyes of rich, melted chocolate.

But then his thigh is pressed against yours, his arm slipped over your shoulder as it rests on the back of your couch. He’s warm, and he tilts your head up to look him in the eyes. His soft, gorgeous eyes.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, without an ounce of expectation. “I thought so from the first second I saw you at that event. It’s why I came up to you after, at the bar.”

Your cheeks grow warm, and you mumble a shy ‘thank you’ as you cast your eyes down. He tilts his head, amused, maybe, at how you grow shy under his compliments. “It’s also why I was so glad to see you across the bar tonight. I had to try again, to see if you’d have me.”

A sarcastic chuckle leaves your throat, almost self-deprecating. “If I’ll have you? You’re the one who’s way out of my league.”

“Not as much as you think.”

You’re afraid to ask, afraid to hear his answer; you’re already in way too fucking deep with a guy that you’ll never see again after tonight. You can’t afford to hear whatever saccharine praise that comes out of his mouth, to let yourself fall deeper into the hole that will surely crush you come tomorrow. But you ask anyway.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that I’m just a normal guy, a human who messes up just like everyone else, and I got chirped to hell when the guys found out I couldn’t… secure the bag,” he chooses his words carefully with an embarrassed chuckle. “That I fumbled a rocket like you.”

You’re processing the idea of JT Compher calling you a rocket—that his teammates called you a rocket, too—sure that your brain has exploded like an alien invasion movie. The sound of your pulse is loud in your ears, barely comprehending all of it when you see his eyes sliding down to your lips, and then your mind really short circuits.

“A rocket, huh?”

“NASA certified.”

It’s almost unfair—no, it’s definitely unfair—at how smooth he is, how gentle he is, how effortless it all seems to be for him. Like he’s done this a thousand times. Maybe he has.

“You know that song, ‘You’re So Hot You’re Hurting My Feelings’? That’s pretty much how I feel about you.”

He hums, then nuzzles your jaw with his nose, and all remaining coherent thought evaporates in an instant. The roughness of his beard scratches at your skin, and you yearn for more, for burns all over your body from the auburn hair. His cologne invades your senses and enhances the touch of his hands on your waist.

“If that’s the case, then you’re breaking my heart, baby.”

His lips are even more plush than you imagined, warm and soft when they press against yours. He tastes faintly of pineapple seltzer, the rest something that’s uniquely his own, and suddenly it’s your favorite. Your first kiss is just that—a kiss, maybe two or three, before he’s pulling away to look at you.

Another mental photo. Click.

Cheeks flushed and eyes aglow, he looks like something you could only ever have dreamed of, even more unreal when he smiles at you, his eyes darting back down to your lips. This time, when he leans in, his hands thread into your hair, loose, before he’s leaning back in to kiss you again.

His beard tickles your chin, but you welcome it, accepting the flirt of his tongue against your lips. As much as you want him, biblically, you’d be perfectly content just making out with him on your couch, too. He’s warm, steady, patient in the way he kisses you, like he’s got all the time in the world. When his thumb begins to run along your jaw, you shiver, and you can feel the way he smiles into your kiss. A top tier moment of your life, for certain, feeling JT Compher’s smile on your lips.

It feels like an eternity before you feel his hand grazing its way down your side, resting on your waist. You yearn for him to touch you, more, and you lean your body into his under the guise of deepening your kiss. His lips devour yours, breath hot against your mouth as you feel a slight nudge of his hand, urging you to scoot closer. You do, eventually sliding a leg over his, then shifting again until you’re straddling his lap. The sigh that escapes your throat is involuntary, content at feeling him between your legs and transferring warmth through your body.

And then he starts to travel, blazing a trail of fire with his pillowy lips over the curve of your jaw, down your neck. He mouths at the sensitive flesh, every so often nipping and caressing with his tongue. He is intoxicating.

Your hands itch to explore, the way he’s taken the liberty to explore, and you allow them to card through his hair at the base of his skull, scratching your nails lightly against his scalp. The action earns a low groan from him, vibrating against your throat, and you repeat it, relishing the softness of his hair in your hands. You make a mental note to ask him what products he uses because his hair is definitely in better condition than yours, but then his mouth is trailing down toward your chest and suddenly you can barely remember your own name.

His lips pause at your collarbone, pressing heated kisses into your already heated skin. His hands are resting respectfully on your waist, but you’re silently begging them to roam, freely.

As if on cue, they do, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist in a sort-of-hug that pulls you closer to his body, his lips still lingering along your sternum. His hands ghost up and down your back, along your spine, touching as much of you as he can before they finally land on your ass. His movements are slow, timid almost, as if gauging your reaction, pausing to make sure he can continue; you let out a sigh in response to let him know to please, keep going.

And he does, gentle at first, squeezing lightly. It’s only a few moments later that he seems to realize the moans that are falling from your mouth are in direct response to his hands and he begins to knead a little harder. It’s the catalyst to turn a pleasant makeout session from steamy to scorching, and soon your hips are rolling in his lap, his hands guiding your movements.

JT’s grunts are muffled by your skin, trailing back up your neck until he reaches your mouth. This time, your kiss is more desperate, swallowing the sighs you offer when your clit bumps just the right spot.

“D’you…” you begin, distracted temporarily by the way his tongue flirts with yours. You can’t even bother to get the words out, loving the feeling of kissing him too much to tear yourself away. But then you feel a distinct and heavy throb between your legs, and you know you’ll be better off if you can just sacrifice a few moments to speak. The effort is lazy, your lips barely leaving his, enough to ask, “D’you want to go to my room?”

It’s comforting to know he, too, can barely get the words out, nodding eagerly with a muffled, “Fuck yeah, yes, please.”

Before you can speak, his strong arms are wrapping around you and out of instinct your legs hug his waist. The feeling of his hands on your ass are nearly enough to send your eyes rolling in the back of your head. He presses another kiss to your lips before he murmurs, “Which way?”

“Kinda want to see if you can find it on your own,” you muse, and he laughs.

“Normally, I’d be all for exploring, but I’m dying to get you horizontal,” he says, taking the opportunity to seize your lips one more time.

You can’t argue with that, and you jerk your head down the hallway. “Last door on the right.”

His nod is short, allowing you to kiss him once more as he makes his way down to your room, walking almost blindly in favor of keeping his lips on you. Nudging the door open with his foot, he parts with you only for a moment to locate your bed before he’s laying you down in the center, not wasting any time before crawling on top of you.

“Much better,” he murmurs, reattaching his lips to your neck while his hands explore new territory: your chest. His fingers glide along the silk fabric of your shirt, raising goosebumps beneath it when he drags his hand up your ribs before massaging your breast.

Out of instinct, your back arches into him and he smiles against your neck. “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time.”

“Me too.”

“Sorry I can’t recreate it exactly for you. I don’t have a suit. Or a locker room.”

The reference makes you shiver, flattered that he remembers the details, is bringing them up now, in the heat of the moment, like he’s acknowledging what a dream this is for you. Like he wants to make your dream come true. A wave of courage passes through you, finally overcoming the imposter syndrome that he really is here, now, in your bedroom, ready to ravage you. Plus, there’s his erection that’s pressed against your pelvis, something you desperately want to see, and it’s way too hard to be fake. So you let your hand trail between you, palming him through his chinos, and relish the low groan he releases.

“This will do just fine.”

If this was a video game, your words would’ve been the key to unlocking the next level. All at once, his hands are at the waist of your jeans, tugging the hem of your shirt out before shimmying it over your head. After he tosses the fabric behind him, he pauses to look at you, his eyes roving over your body, growing darker when you reach behind your back to unhook your bra.

At the sight of your bare breasts, it’s like he’s lost all coherent thought—which is just as well, because those left your mind a long time ago. He swoops down, hands returning to massage them, freely this time, while his mouth descends on one of your nipples. His tongue is warm and his lips are soft against the sensitive skin, and you can feel every single nerve ending on fire with his hands on you.

He worships you, kissing every inch of exposed skin, though he allows you to tug his collared shirt off so you can feel his skin pressed against yours. It’s everything you wanted and more, feeling the defined muscle and the strength of his body underneath your fingertips that coast along his ivory skin.

Eventually, JT’s lips make their way to the waist of your jeans, kissing the button gently before he’s glancing up at you through feathery lashes. Without a single ounce of will to resist him, you’re murmuring a soft please, and who is he to deny you?

The air on your thighs makes you shiver as he wrestles the denim down your legs, eyeing the expanse of skin hungrily. You watch the way his deep brown irises zone in on the scrap of fabric between your thighs, a deep warmth radiating at the exact spot. His tempting tongue licks his lips, and for a moment you’re jealous that it’s not your tongue tracing the outline of them.

“These are…” he trails off, then curses. “I’m kind of glad I didn’t know you had this tiny little thing on or else I’m not sure I would’ve made it out of the bar alive.”

You’re keening under his praise, his compliments silky and stoking the blue flame in your belly. Though you want him desperately, the feeling of being desirable, irresistible even, is what sends a surge of arousal coursing through your body.

“Close your eyes,” he purrs, hands grazing the skin of your calf gently. “I’m going to correct your story.”

You wonder if you misheard him, and all at once your brain short circuits when you understand his implication. I would use my fingers and then my mouth to make my girl come.

There’s no time to react before his lips are pressing softly to the skin of your leg. The whiskers of his beard tickle as he works his way upward, inching closer and closer to his true target. He spends a few moments mouthing at the inside of your thighs, satisfied at the sound of your whimpers and the way your legs perch on either side of his shoulders.

“If I recall correctly, you weren’t wearing any panties,” he says in between kisses pressed directly against your core, lips warm on the damp fabric. “But I think I like being the one to take them off myself.”

To prove it, JT hooks his fingers in the waistband of your underwear, covering each inch of skin that he reveals with kisses, along your hips and over your pelvis, slipping the material down your legs and off of your feet. You’re completely naked, and you’ve never felt more comfortable being bare around a man for the first time. You can’t help it, not with the way his eyes rove over you like he’s watching a magnificent Santorini sunset or maybe even the Stanley Cup being lifted in his Captain’s hands for the first time.

“So fuckin’… gorgeous.”

And then his fingertip is dragging along your slit, through your slick, and you gasp when he dips inside you. His lips attach themselves to your inner thigh, kissing the tender skin while he works his finger into you. There’s no barrier, not with how fucking wet you are, and he groans at the feeling of your tight heat squeezing just his pointer finger. You’re thinking it, and surely he is, too—the way it will feel when he’s pressing his length into you. You wait desperately in anticipation for that feeling.

JT is patient, eventually adding two fingers to your dripping heat. A cry leaves your throat when he curls upward, pressing against that delicious spot that has your hand clutching the comforter beneath you. Feeling his smile against your leg, you whisper his name, a plea to keep going, don’t stop. This has been an orgasm nearly two years in the making—longer, if you consider the length of your crush—and there is absolutely nothing you can do to stave it off, even if it comes embarrassingly fast. Pun intended.

He doesn’t seem to mind one bit, if the low hum and eager eyes are any indicator. Greedily, he watches your face as the wave of pleasure washes over you, like he’s memorizing the sight of it. Once you’ve come down, breath coming out of your mouth in heavy puffs, he pulls his fingers out to inspect, then presses them into his mouth to taste. A moan escapes his lips that sends a fresh flood of moisture to your core.

“Perfect,” he murmurs.

Your legs are jelly, your mind complete mush, but something in you itches to touch him, and your hand reaches for him. He stops you, and for a brief moment you’re afraid you did something wrong, that your dream is finally going to come crashing to an end, but he’s smiling as he shakes his head at you.

“What did I say? Fingers first, and then…”

Your voice is hoarse, swallowing thickly before you manage to choke out, “M-mouth?”

“Good memory,” he says with a wink that nearly sends you tumbling off the bed.

Large hands gently take your legs and spread them wider, granting him the space to settle onto his belly. JT presses kisses along your inner thighs, tracing the same place he’d run his lips along before, murmuring, “You good?”

Great. Excellent. Incredible. The words can’t come out, so instead you’re nodding. Finally, you manage to get out, “Yes. More than good.”

He’s pleased, smiling when he takes the opportunity to finally delve into your folds. If you thought he was a good kisser—he is—his mouth is just as talented elsewhere, his tongue tracing along your entrance in teasing circles. It flicks, laves, licks, drinking in everything your sopping cunt has to offer, eager to taste more of your sweetness.

The feeling of his groan against you makes you clench around his tongue, and he uses his hands to pin your hips down and repeat the action, humming against you to send vibrations coursing through your body. His beard scratches your thighs, and you hope that the burn lingers for days so you can remember the feeling long after his scent has faded from your sheets.

When his tongue finds your clit, you let out a loud mewl, hands flying into the now-mussed fringes of his hair. It’s nothing short of an assault, lips and tongue working in tandem to flick the bud, shooting waves of pleasure all the way to the tips of your fingers and your toes. He’s good, seeking out the nuances that make you croon, yearning to feel your fingertips scratching against his scalp.

Your eyes flutter shut, unable to focus on anything other than the sinful way his tongue glides along your center, drinking your nectar like a man quenching his desperate thirst, hardly believing that JT Compher’s tongue is in your pussy. He sighs out, the sound far more lewd than it should be, catching his breath before diving back in. You’re close, you can feel it approaching, revved up by the fact that he’s literally recreating a long-time fantasy you’ve had in your head about him for years.

The sound he exhales is nothing short of magical, indulgent in itself as he groans at the taste of you. No man has ever been this good at it, let alone thoroughly enjoyed it. With just the deliciously wicked practiced motion of his tongue, he’s transporting you to the eighth wonder of the world, transcending the highest levels of pleasure; your heart already aches at the thought that he’ll have to stop, eventually. As if he can hear your thoughts in your head, his hands grip at your hips tightly, unwilling to part from you now that his face is buried in your cunt.

“JT,” you whisper, voice hoarse. “Please, don’t stop.”

He hums, your plea igniting a fiery determination in him. You can hear how sodden your folds are, the sound of his tongue lapping you up audible even despite the moans that tumble out of your mouth along with soft sighs of his name. JT doesn’t seem to mind; in fact, you think he’s enjoying it almost as much as you are, if his wanton groans are any indication.

“Sound so pretty when you say my name,” he murmurs against you. “Sound even prettier when you come.”

This time, your orgasm hits you like a freight train, an explosion of euphoria before you even have a change to realize it’s happening. Your hips buck wildly against his face, uncontrollable as the pleasure shoots through your system; his strong arms fight to hold you in place, keeping his mouth attached to you to soak up every last drop of your essence.

You feel the way your pussy throbs on his tongue, hear the way he moans at the sensation. He stays still, ensuring he drags out your high for as long as he can, only pulling away once your legs fall open and your body relaxes, spent. When he does, he grins at you, and you feel a pull when you notice that the whiskers of his beard are damp with your arousal.

“God, you’re fucking perfect,” he blurts out.

“I was thinking the same about you,” you reply with a weak smile, coated in a layer of bliss. You mean it; the thought has been repeating in your mind ever since you saw the flash of red hair across the bar.

His hand finds yours, tugging your body close to his as both of you pause to catch your breath. It’s intimate, almost more than when he had his tongue buried in your cunt, basking in the afterglow together. If he wants to keep going, he makes no indication, content to lay with you for the rest of the night with no expectation of moving further.

You want to, though, when the haze finally clears a bit and you remember the way his cock felt between your legs, rigid and tempting and wicked in its promise.

JT’s eyes glitter when he sees the way you’re looking at him, crawling over him to connect your lips with his again, far too long since they touched you last. Your hands are quick with his belt, and you feel the heat of his gaze on you, watching you, waiting for your reaction while he helps you shuck his shorts down his legs. His arousal, thick and firm, is tucked into the navy boxer briefs that do little to hide his decency, and your mouth waters at seeing its outline straining against the fabric. Your heart flutters at the sight of it, hardly believing that you’re here and this is real; that he’s hard just for you. The NASA certified rocket.

As much as you want to remove the cotton barrier between you and his dick, you can’t resist the urge to press your lips against him through the material. He groans, savoring the feeling of your mouth on him, twitching when you lick a wet stripe down his length.

When your fingers hook into the waistband of his boxers and free him from the confines, you let out an audible whimper when his erection springs against his belly. It’s divine, flawless in every sense of the word, a bead of sticky, delicious precum pooling at the tip.

“Is it like what you expected?” he asks, mostly joking but, admittedly, a little curious.

You resist the urge to laugh, though a smile plays at your lips. If only you could put into words how beautiful, how surreal, how exquisite he is. But nothing comes. Instead, you run your palm along his length, familiarizing your touch with the velvety skin, memorizing the weight of him in your hand.

Then, with a light squeeze that chokes a groan out of him, you purr, “It’s perfect.”

JT’s chest puffs up at your admission, perhaps with confidence and a little bit of an ego. Not that he shouldn’t have one; he’s a Stanley Cup champion bedding a woman who has desired to have him for years. It’s what every athlete dreams of, deep down, buried beneath layers of modesty and humility.

He pushes his hips forward and you pull away, smiling at him as if to say, Not yet. With weak limbs, you slink off the edge of the bed, kneeling on the soft, plush rug and looking up at him expectantly. It takes a millisecond for it to click, but then he’s scrambling off the bed, too, rising to his full height as he kicks his shorts the remainder of the way off his legs. Finally, he’s fully naked, and you take a moment to admire the expanse of pale skin, tinged with sprinkles of dark hair, smattered across his chest, along his toned arms, down the muscular surface of his thighs.

“My God, you’re gorgeous,” you mutter, barely even realizing the words slipped out.

The smirk on his face returns, preening, and he reaches down to stroke his length with a large hand—the same one that brought you to your first climax of the night; his fingers still have the slight sheen from your arousal, catching just so in the light that shines through the bedroom window. Your eyes are glued to him, watching the way he pulls, slowly, leisurely; it’s insanely erotic, and you feel a pool of wetness between your legs, wondering if you’re going to ruin your rug. Not that you care, not with the way the world’s most beautiful cock is staring you straight in the face.

“Is this what you did when you read my story?”

His smirk grows, and you see a flash in his eyes. “You want to know what I thought about?”

“Fucking me in your locker room?” you ask cheekily.

JT laughs, nodding, “Yes, that was certainly a hot detail. And not opposed to making that a reality, too.”

For a moment, your heart flutters at the idea; not just at the thought of fucking him in the Detroit Red Wings locker room, but at the idea that he would do this again. This, when you haven’t even done it yet.

“What else?”

Eyes blazing, his free hand reaches forward to caress your cheek. His thumb catches on your lip, and you take it between your teeth, running your tongue along the digit.

“I thought about this,” he murmurs, and the velvety hum of his voice sends a shiver down your spine. “About getting these gorgeous lips on my cock. Fucking this smart mouth of yours, before I fuck your delicious, heavenly pussy.”

You whimper at his filthy words, and if you weren’t already on your knees, they would’ve given in. His thumb presses against your tongue, briefly, and you keep your eyes on his as you feel the pad of it gliding against you. Time has completely stopped, orbiting around you while JT Compher strokes his erection in your bedroom.

“Well,” you purr, “you made my fantasy come true; what do you say I return the favor?”

JT groans, nodding, not even bothering to come up with a clever quip back. You smile, pleased that for once you’ve rendered him speechless. And when he guides the head of his dick toward you, your mouth opens earnestly to welcome him.

He tastes like heaven, because of course he does. No dick tastes good—tolerable, sure, but never good— and yet, you find yourself craving more. Kitten licking his tip, you lap up the precum that’s blooming before dragging your tongue down his length. You press your lips in open-mouthed kisses along his base, flicking your tongue at the vein that throbs on the underside of his shaft, before you end up back at his head.

When you take him into your mouth, he lets out a sound that’s halfway between a moan and a whimper, and it fuels you to continue. You experiment, testing the swirl of your tongue paired with the bob of your head, seeing what will elicit the most delicious noises from his pretty throat. By no means are you a blowjob expert, but you’re determined to make sure this is the best one you’ll ever give; it has to be, since this is your once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to blow his mind and make sure he never forgets you.

With a glance up at him, the sight is beautiful: his lips parted, cheeks flushed, a strand of hair falling over his face as he gazes down at you, drinking in the sight of you taking his cock between your lips.

“Fuck,” he curses, threading a hand through your hair. Your eyes lock with his, molten and dark, hinging your jaw to take more of him. Slowly, you do, pressing forward until you feel him bump the back of your throat.

With a hum, you repeat the action, gradually picking up the pace until the sounds that fill the room are nothing short of filthy; wet, sloppy, downright pornographic. Above it all, his delicious grunts of pleasure puncture through the noise, each one of them encouraging you to don’t stop, even despite the tears welling in your eyes.

“So pretty like this,” he rasps. Your heart soars, both at his praise and at the fact that he’s even more perfect than you dreamed, sprinkling in the perfect amount of chatter, filthy promises that have your pussy melting with lust. “You gonna let me fuck you now?”

His words have you imagining the feeling of his thick length pressing into you, spreading you open with steady, solid thrusts. There’s something insanely erotic about feeling the weight of him on your tongue, knowing that he’ll soon be stretching you out like you’ve been dreaming of for years.

“You want to ride me, baby? Like in the story?”

If your cunt wasn’t throbbing with need, you’d probably be melting at how erotically sweet it is that he’s paid such attention to detail in an attempt to make your dream come true. But your desire is more powerful, and the thought of bouncing yourself in his lap is too tempting to pass up, so you’re nodding eagerly, accepting his hand to pull you up to your feet.

JT tugs back the comforter on your bed, fluffing the pillows up to give him a soft back rest so he can sit up and watch you more closely.

“D’you—” he starts, then stutters when you perch yourself in his lap, capturing his lips in a heated kiss. His erection, still slick from your saliva, bobs between your bodies, pressed against your core and the mere friction has both of you groaning. Your hips roll against him, dragging your sopping wet folds over his length, and the feeling is enough to distract you both from whatever he was going to say.

Then, as if he’s fighting for his life, he chokes out, “D’you want me—want me to wear a—fuck—condom? I’m—m’clean.”

You hum, and you honestly, truly believe that you wouldn’t be able to part from him even if you did, not now that you know how his cock feels pressed against your clit. It’s electric, enough to send shockwaves through your entire system.

“No,” you say. “Want to know what it feels like when you come inside me.” You may never get the chance again.

JT moans, and the sound is so delicious, you pause for a brief second to commit it to memory. His hands fly to grip your hips, sucking in a breath when you grip his length and tease him against your slit. The feeling of his warm flesh against your most sensitive area is enough to drive you insane, eyes fluttering shut when just the tip brushes your waiting, eager entrance.

If you liked the sound of his moan, the sound he makes when you finally sink down on him is nothing short of divine. He fits inside you perfectly, and you think Michaelangelo himself couldn’t have sculpted his cock any better. The stretch of him is euphoric, fucking sublime, even more so when you start to move experimentally, feeling each ridge and vein sliding against your snug, warm walls.

Your hands fit into the dip of his shoulders, clutching onto him for dear life as your hips begin to move. A string of mumbled curses fall from his beautiful mouth, his eyes glued to where your bodies connect.

“JT,” you whisper, searching for the strength to finish your sentence, already weak for the pleasure shooting through each nerve ending in your body. “You’re so… feel so—fuck.”

He hums, pushing his hips up as if he knows exactly what you’re trying to say, agreeing wholeheartedly with the sentiment. “You feel like fuckin’ heaven, baby.”

It’s all you can manage to say, not that you could find the words even if you wanted to, so you opt to keep creating that divine, blooming feeling from his cock splitting open your cunt. Each pass is better than the last, and a fleeting thought in your head says that this is what porn actors act like they’re feeling, except it’s infinitely better because this time, the feeling is real. A symphony of moans, sighs of his name, low, grunted curses into the darkness fill the four walls of your room, the rest of the world oblivious to the transcendental experience happening. And what a shame.

Your thighs burn, a delicious heat that almost rivals the one that’s between your thighs. Almost. Yet again, you have the feeling that he’s read your mind when his hands grip the globes of your ass to aid your movements. His skin is hot, scorching against yours, and you wish that he’d leave burn marks, angry red handprints on your ass so you can see them in the morning to prove this isn’t all a delicious dream.

Another cry leaves your mouth when you feel his lips press against your breast, unable to resist the temptation of them heaving and swaying in front of his face. He groans, too, savoring the feeling of it in his mouth, the weight of it on his tongue.

With his strong arms helping the way you bounce in his lap, your hand is free to trail down your stomach, fingers itching to touch your aching, singing clit. JT feels the press of your knuckles against his pelvis, tearing himself away from your breast for just a moment to glance down at the way you press the pad of your finger against yourself; the sight makes him groan and thrust his hips upward to drive even deeper into your pussy.

“Oh my God,” you cry, unsure if the coil inside you can wind any tighter. Of course, it does, with every push into your insatiable, greedy walls.

At hearing your moans lilt higher, he mouths around your nipple, “Fuck yeah, baby, that’s it.”

His encouragement is enough to give you the strength to ride him to high heaven, chasing that feeling of euphoria. The sounds that slip out of his throat are delicious, low murmurs of praise ticking you closer and closer to the cliff that you’re hurtling towards with no helmet, no seatbelt, no nothing, prepared to fly across the edge and free fall into oblivion.

“J—” your warning cry is cut off by the force of your climax, an explosion of color dancing inside of your eyes that are squeezed shut. Everything nearly fades to black, all sound, sight, touch going dim save for the ecstasy that fills each and every one of your cells, heightening the bliss that floods your mind.

Five seconds, minutes, or maybe even hours later, your senses return and you realize you’re panting, fingers clutching the meat of his shoulders while your hips stutter atop him. As your high subsides, you feel the way your walls clench around him, and you slowly relax your grip on him, feeling the harsh indentations from your fingernails in his skin.

“Holy shit, that was fuckin’... insane,” JT says breathlessly, looking up at you hotly. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life, swear to God.”

You laugh—or try to, anyways, but the sound doesn’t quite make it out—and you realize your body is still tingling as he rubs gentle circles into your hip with his thumbs. Wordlessly, JT soothes you, bringing you back to earth slowly with gentle kisses dotted across your chest like an intricate constellation.

“You good?”

You nod blissfully and he pauses, pulling back to lock eyes with you. “Can you say it, please?”

“M’good, JT,” you say, sounding less confident than you feel. “Promise. Want you… t’come. Please.”

Heat flares back up in his eyes and you feel him twitch deep inside of you. Your muscles instinctively contract around him and he groans before he’s wrapping his arms around you to tenderly turn you around and lay you on your back. The softness of the mattress is welcome beneath your muscles, your body aching with the most delicious exhaustion.

His body looms over you, large and indulgently intimidating. Quick to slip back into you, JT’s hips roll with a new intensity now that he’s made you come, now that he’s completely transported you to another galaxy—another universe entirely. Dark eyes gaze into yours, like he can’t get enough of you; the feeling is mutual, you think, and you attempt to tell him so by wrapping your legs around his waist, sliding your hands up the muscles in his back. In another life, you hope you get to spend more time exploring each dip and ridge and curve of the body he’s spent so much time working on, a slight tinge of sadness that you won’t get to appreciate him in all his glory for much longer.

“Fuck,” his voice is barely intelligible with his mouth now buried in the curve of your neck. His breath is hot against your skin, every nerve already alight from your orgasm. “Y’r gonna fuckin’ milk me dry, baby. God damn. Squeezin’ me so tight.”

He’s close, you can tell, by the choked curses and short groans that spill from his throat, lips openly mouthing along your jaw. And just as his hips begin to stutter, he kisses you deeply, moaning his release into your mouth just as you feel hot spurts spilling inside of you. It’s far more intimate than you expect, so connected to him everywhere as he touches his own euphoria; you can’t help but moan again at the communion.

With a last twitch of his hips, JT slumps over, hot and heavy breath panting as he rests his head on your collarbone. He’s still completely sheathed within you, and you can feel the way he twitches as he comes down from his high, the way liquid seeps out of your cavern. Your walls hug him snugly, content to stay wrapped around him forever.

It’s your turn to return the favor, running a soft hand along his back as he catches his breath, and after awhile he slips out of you with a regretful whimper; you instantly miss him, even though he slumps beside you on the bed, hand blindly finding yours in the darkness.

“I don’t think I’ve ever come so hard in my life,” he confesses with a wry chuckle. The admission makes you preen with pride, an achievement you’re sure you’ll never top.

“I thought the same,” you reply slowly. “But then you did it again. And again.”

JT, too, is ruffled with a smug pride. “Once I get the feeling back in my legs, I’ll do it again.”

Your brain short circuits at the promise, barely able to comprehend getting to feel that euphoria again. “JT, you don’t have to—”

“You think I don’t wanna do that again?”

His question makes you shy, as if he wasn’t just buried inside you, like his cum isn’t seeping out of your cunt at this exact moment. You tug the sheet over your chest, toying with the edge of it. “I just… I meant that you don’t have to keep up the act. And you don’t—you don’t have to stay, either, if you don’t want to.”

JT’s warm hand lays over yours, stopping you from picking at the material between your fingers. He waits until you glance over at him, even more beautiful under his post-coital glow. “I like morning sex too much to leave.”

He rolls off your bed with a grunt, and you sneak a long look at his perfect, perky ass as he strides freely through your room to your closet door that he confidently opens thinking it’s your bathroom. You giggle, then point him toward the other door, and he sends you a sheepish grin before he disappears into your bathroom. The ghost of his touch lingers over your skin, feeling the delicious ache between your thighs as you listen to the sound of the sink running, of him opening and closing your cabinet drawers, undoubtedly searching for something.

A few moments later he’s back, and this time you have a full frontal view of his nudity, appreciating the god-like figure walking back toward you. The moonlight illuminates his pale skin, his hair looking so dark it almost looks brown as he gently tugs back the sheet covering your modesty. With the warm, damp washcloth in his hand, he is careful as he wipes down your thighs, biting his lip when he sees his essence dripping out of you.

After tossing the cloth in your sink, he slips back into bed beside you and you have to resist the urge to stare at him. He pulls you into his arms, and you deeply inhale his scent, memorizing the way it feels to ensure you’ll never forget it.

“By the way, there is no act. This is the real deal.”

The light peeking through the blinds is what wakes you, a few moments spent blinking away the sleep before the memory of last night floods back into your psyche. Warmth spreads through your body as the scene unfolds in your mind, remembering the whispers of your name, the way plush lips felt on your skin, the delicious stretch between your legs.

Stretching your sore muscles, it’s only then that you realize the space beside you on the mattress is empty. Your hand presses against the sheets to find them cold. With a frown, your heart sinks.

That’s it, you think, the dream is over.

You allow the disappointment and defeat to wash over you, tightness welling in your throat—of course it was too good to be true; a guy like that would never stay to the morning, not with someone like you. Still, you can’t deny that it stings; he’d seemed so genuine. There is no act. This is the real deal. But, you remind yourself, he was trying to get in your pants.

And he had. And it had been… marvelous. Ethereal. Celestial, even. But he’d gotten what he wanted and bolted out as soon as you fell asleep, which is deep down what you had expected.

You wallow in self-pity for a few moments, letting the smarting tears sting your eyes before you heave yourself out of bed with a glance in the mirror to make sure you hadn’t entirely dreamt it. But the fevered marks on your neck and swollen lips confirm that you hadn’t, which ultimately makes your heart sink a little further.

Digging into your dresser drawer with a heavy sigh, you pull out your favorite vintage Red Wings sweatshirt, something you’ve had since childhood. It’s oversized, which is why it’s become a staple in your wardrobe all these years later; you don’t bother slipping on underwear.

When you open the door from your bedroom, you yelp involuntarily at seeing the figure standing in your kitchen. Your eyes are drawn to the messy, russet hair and the pale skin, and all at once the identity of the stranger in your home registers.

“JT?”

Whipping around, you’re met with his sleepy eyes and a warm smile. “Hey, good morning. I hope you don’t mind I dug around your kitchen to make some breakfast.”

You gape at him, staring at him even as he slides a mug of coffee across the counter toward you. Then, seeing your shock, he laughs, shifting the frying pan off the burner before he steps toward you. It’s not until his warm hands wrap around your waist that you register he is, in fact, really still here, and now he’s leaning in to kiss you. His lips are plush, familiar now, and you barely have the chance to savor the feeling before he’s pulling away.

“You thought I left?”

“Well… yeah.” The question makes you shy, like you’re airing out your insecurities with a guy you just met. A guy you’ve never spoken to when the sun is up. A guy you’ve barely spoken to while sober.

A slow smile curls onto his face, eyes crinkling in that sweet way that makes your heart melt. “I told you, I’m not the hot shot player you seem to think I am. And I think you’re really, really…”

Your eyebrows raise when he lets out a sigh, gazing off like he’s searching for the right word.

“Well, let’s just say I really want to see you again. If you want to.”

“Are you sure this isn’t a prank?”

JT smiles, amused at your refusal to believe his interest in you is real. Instead of speaking, though, he opts to cup your jaw between his hands, pulling you toward him to press his lips against yours in a slow, sensual kiss. It brings back a flood of memories and feelings and sensations from the night before, almost like he’s reminding you of the spark that’s undeniable between you.

When he pulls away, you’re thankful that his hands return to your waist, for your knees are a little wobbly and your vision is a little cloudy. But then, he pushes his hips forward against your front so you can feel the unmistakable sign of his interest pressed against your abdomen. “Does this feel like a prank?”

Your reply is a strangled sound, unintelligible, and he smiles. “I was very serious when I said I want to do that over and over again. But I’m also serious about wanting to see you again. Maybe you’ll come to dinner with me, sometime? I believe you still owe me the rest of my tour of Detroit.”

It takes a moment for you to speak again, but something in the sincerity of his voice finally has you shifting to reality, and after a third mental photograph, you quip, “Depending on your omelet skills, I may need to show you Detroit’s best breakfast first.”

“To be honest with you, after seeing you in this t-shirt, I’m way more interested in having you for breakfast.”

With a cheeky smile, you say, “I never said it wasn’t me.”

Tag list: @somuchf4rstardust @tpwkstiles @smileysvech @senditcolton @robindrake13 @laurenairay

#jt compher fic #jt compher imagine #hockey fic #nhl imagine #nhl fic #hockey imagine #jt compher smut #a dream come true

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ratboydefenselawyer · 2 years

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Y’all this will probably kill me but I have to share:

My confidence is basically non-existent. Please be kind.

I did it. My biggest dream and biggest nightmare came true all at once. I spoke to him, looked him in the eyes and hugged him.

This part is really important!!

He looked me up and down and said “I love all of this!”talking about my outfit, and Billy Hargrove shirt. Huge confidence boost for me. I was out of my comfort zone in that outfit.

He said “Hello Zoe” to me when signing the picture and I almost screamed.

It was magical, it was surreal and I’ve met 6 other celebrities…nothing comes close to the joy I felt when standing next to him. ❤️

#dacre montgomery #strangercon #billy hargrove #i almost died #a dream come true #it was amazing #and terrifying #i was shaking #and couldn’t breathe #I’ve been smiling ever since

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exc-lsior · 6 months

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in hopes of continuing to bask in the magic and pure joy that was naddpod at carnegie hall, here is a playlist of songs that were performed (as best as i can remember rn and minus the unreleased tracks)

plus some of mine and my friend’s reactions to the songs as they were being played in attempt to freak out quietly so that we didn’t interrupt the music 💀

#naddpod #how i yearn for the day that kingshammer and alexandrite are released 🥺#if you’re like me the music was the most important part of the show #the joy i felt at listening to emily’s music being performed by a live quintet was truly unmatched #just pure magic #a dream come true #(esp as a someone who’s top artist for the past 4 years has been emily 😭)#(will continue to update the playlist as memories return to me of other songs if that happens)#naddpod music #naddpod live #emily axford #Spotify

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favoritejohn · 1 year

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BREAKING NEWS: President Suh is headed to the USA for New York Fashion Week ⚜️

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seradyn · 2 months

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WIP WED- I mean Saturday

Thank you @blossom-adventures and @savage-rhi for tagging me on this, and also for your patience. Writing has been hard for me lately (aka the last 6 months or so) but yall have inspired me and I finally got a chunk I am happy sharing :) Hope you enjoy ~ 💕

As always if anyone who wants to do this sees it then please do. Share you works with us!

A Dream Come True Chp13

You were quite shocked by the crowd that had gathered around the gates when you got there. The area surrounding the road was overrun with people, held back only by imperial troops and MTs. A mix of paparazzi, citizens and press, given the near constant flash of cameras and how everyone was pushing and shoving their way to the front, trying to glimpse any of the nobles who passed by. Some were even bold enough to reach microphones over the crowd on long poles, hoping to steal an interview or two. They appeared ravenous, almost feral. Untamed animals held back by a thin layer of soldiers.

You pressed yourself into your seat subconsciously, hoping none were able to capture your face as you waited for the gates to open.

The inside was much less crowded, but no less bustling with excitement and activity. A line of cars slowly inched their way to the palace doors, only stopping to let out what you could only assume were the richest people in Niflheim. You’d thought the people outside La Compañera had been fancy, but these people were…almost excessive in their display of wealth. Some of their garments had so many seequines you found yourself squinting at them, while others had bunches of fabric that stuck out ridiculously. You were rather glad Ardyn had picked something more “normal” for you to wear, compared to these outfits.

As normal as it was for you to wear something worth more than your paycheck.

You felt your heart clench as you watched them, carefree and light as they walked into the palace. While they all made merry, all you could feel was a crippling sense of dread as you pulled up to the front, Justin stepping out of the car. Your hands went clammy - how were you supposed to mingle with these people? What could you even say to them? You were sure they would be able to tell you were different, the black sheep in their happy flock, just as you had always been.

Gods, what made you think this was a good idea?

You weren’t left any more time to ponder it. Your door swung open, and you instinctively stepped out, shielding your eyes from the lights. Laughter and the hum of distant conversations wafted down the stairs, enveloping you with what was to come. You stared numbly at the couples who ascended the steps, until you faintly registered the car hum to life, and Justin sped off into the night.

No turning back now.

One foot in front of the other.

Your legs began to move, and you followed the other nobles into the palace. The interior was unsurprisingly decorated the same way the exterior was. Servants darted about with trays of liquor in hand, and golden silk had been woven around the marble columns in the foyer. Another tapestry hung from the high ceiling, a dominating centerpiece with only the tilt of a head. The usual MTs that guarded the palace were replaced by regular troops, who watched over the party goers like a rooster over his hens. For the lack of MTs, you were at least grateful.

Even though the party was taking place in the main ballroom, a fair number of guests lingered here. Excited greetings were exchanged as old friends reunited, hands shaken and embraces given. Many quickly dove into conversation, too distracted by it to proceed to the main event.

You observed this all silently for a few moments, admiring the decorations before hurriedly crossing the room. You remembered what Ardyn had told you about getting to the ballroom, and you didn’t trust yourself to not forget in a fit of anxiety. You kept your head down and walked smartly, as Ardyn had shown you, trying to blend in to the crowd. It didn’t escape your notice though, how some of the guests turned their heads, eyebrows rising as you scampered past them.

Down the hall, third door on the left. Down the hall, third door on the left.

With every step you repeated the words, determined not to lose yourself in the winding halls of the palace. Justin’s week old warning rang hollowly in your ears, and you had no desire to make good on that threat.

Really though, you had no reason to worry; the grand ballroom was loud and lively, echoing through the corridors like a festive beacon. A wave of anxiety made your heart stutter as you followed the other guests, passing through a massive set of double doors to arrive at the gala.

The room was massive, certainly the biggest room you had ever seen. Much like the rest of the palace, it was carved of polished white marble from floor to ceiling, making the streaming overhead lights almost painfully bright. Pillars with elegant designs lined each side of the room, holding a beautiful domed ceiling. As your gaze followed them upward, you could see the ceiling was actually painted, what you guessed was a depiction of the first oracle and the hexathon.

You found yourself swallowing thickly as you tore your eyes away from the image, instead choosing to focus on the rest of the decor. Tables with gold and white linens were strewn about, while longer ones pushed to the sides were covered in a banquet of high end foods. To the left, a full bar had been set up, rows of colorful bottles reflecting the light onto staff as they mixed drinks for the guests. Farther back and to the right, a makeshift throne had been set up, complete with guards who clutched heavy assault rifles at their hips. The emperor would surely be making an appearance tonight.

Though what had you staring wide eyed into the expanse of the room was the massive ocean of nobles and the like that stretched from one end to the other. This…this was way more people than you had been expecting to see. You were expecting a crowd, yes, but…this was absurd. There wasn’t much space from one person to another, and whatever space there was got filled by the dozens of servants darting around, holding trays filled with everything from food, to liqueur, even to white roses.

It was all…It was all too much.

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That’s all for now. It’s up to 4K words so it’s coming along, just slow. Hope yall look forward to seeing it 🥰

#ardyn #ardyn izunia #ardyn lucis caelum #ardyn x reader #ardyn izunia x reader #ardyn x you #a dream come true #ffxv fanfic

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29xo · 1 year

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NEW YORK CITY, 22 DEC 22

#a dream come true #new york #💙

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cluusheen · 3 months

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I FINALLY FOUND THIS ICON TODAY

#A DREAM COME TRUE #glasgow

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latalpavolante · 1 year

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UPRIGHT PIANO!!!!!

#aaaaaaaahhhhh #i mean it will also have some plain swatches won't it?#the sims 4 #sims 4 #ts4 #growing together #sims 4 growing together #sims 4 new expansion #and would love if there was a version without rolls #but apart from that #a dream come true

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wisteriadaydreams · 1 year

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Hello! Hope you’re doing well!

I absolutely loved your Tanjiro x Haganezuka’s daughter piece! It was just too cute!

May I request one with Tanjiro x Urokodaki’s daughter? She’d probably be really strong and train with Tanjiro, finally convincing her dad to let her become a Slayer, only to get lectured after accidentally falling on top of him or something because Urokodaki can just smell the puppy love brewing between the both of them!

Sorry, got a little carried away! 💗 Tanjiro is just too cute!

I’m most likely going to come back here, so if it’s alright, I’d love to be your 🌺 Anon! Sending lots of love and good vibes your way!

TANJIRŌ W/ UROKODAKI’S DAUGHTER!READER

pairing: Kamado Tanjirō x fem!reader

genre: angst in the beginning, mention of canonical character death, fluff later on

Words: 7.5k (buckle up ppl, it's a long one)

a/n: I was so excited when I first read this ask! I’m sorry it took so long for me to get to it! And yes, you can 100% be 🌺anon (≧▽≦)

Urokodaki and his wife have had a hard time conceiving, and as they grew older, they resigned themselves to accepting that they will not have a child of their own, no matter how much it pained them.

In a way, they had tried to fill the void by adopting and taking in orphaned children, but that doesn’t mean they don’t come to love them any less. Some of them eventually leave to forge their own lives when they become adults, while some decided to follow in Urokodaki’s footsteps and become a Demon Slayer.

Knowing the dangerous nature of the job, he vehemently denied the request, but after seeing the relentlessness and determined nature of his child, he finally relented. When it came time to send his first student off to the Final Selection, he and his wife did so with a heavy heart.

When their child never came home no matter how long they wait, they buried their memories and a piece of their heart at Mount Sagiri.

(Urokodaki would refuse to train anyone else for years to come, but there are always those who managed to convince him otherwise.)

Nevertheless, his household is one that always ring with laughter and joy, a household that sticks together through the hard times, holding each other close and wiping away each other’s tears.

So when you came to this world, it was to a home overflowing with love.

You were their miracle baby, a blessing from the gods, the light that makes their world brighter. When the news was announced, there was not one dry eye in the house. Suddenly, everyone became even more overprotective of your mother when she was pregnant with you, and she had to scold her husband and her children several times for coddling her.

When you came into this world, your brothers and sisters take turns holding you, cooing and feeling their hearts bursting from the sight of your smile.

You grew up in a world like that — protected and loved and never lonely.

They would sneak you sweets and gifts they got from the nearby town, and sometimes those training would let you hold their swords for a moment, at the expense of being reprimanded by Urokodaki. You were spoiled beyond compare.

When your mother was taken by a swift but deadly illness while you were still too young to register death, your family did what they always do — mourn in each other’s arms, and slowly piece everyone back together.

If possible, your father became even more protective of you. He has lost too much. His comrades, his friends, his wife, his students and children. It would break him entirely to lose you, too.

You grew up in a home that protected and love you, but also a home that grieves for the lost souls that will never be able to find their way back. Over the years, you’ve watched all of your father’s apprentices leave the safe embrace of Mt. Sagiri, a sword by their hip, a fox mask by the side of their face, and hope shining in their eyes.

“Otou-san.” You tugged your father’s sleeve. “Where are they going?”

“To hopefully make the world a better place.” “When are they coming back?” “Soon, my daughter. I pray every day that it would be soon.”

Many of them promised you that they will come back and play with you. Many of them broke their promises.

One year, your father rescued two boys, Sabito and Giyū, whose families were both eaten by demons. You immediately took to them, constantly trailing behind them and jumping onto their backs. They in turn dote on you, keeping you company whenever they weren’t training. You would sit on the ground to watch them spar with your father, twirling the grass under your fingers and giggling when they were swiftly disarmed.

You didn’t really understand why they were training. You had an inkling of the demons beyond the safe vicinity of the mountain from the stories your other siblings would tell you, but other than that you couldn’t grasp why they were serious about it.

“Sabito-nii, why are you and Giyū-nii training with father?” You asked him one day.

“Because there’s dangerous creatures out there who would stop at nothing to kill humans, and there are only a select few who could deal with them.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, (Y/N)-chan, maybe that’s just the way of the world. We’re no matched for the strength of demons, so we must become stronger.” “But why you and Giyū-nii?”

He patted your head softly, a tender but sad look in his eyes. “So that no one would have to go through what we went through.”

Their training continued, progressing from proper breathing lessons to when their blades are suddenly embraced by foamy, cerulean blue waves that twist around one another. Your eyes would shine with delight whenever you catch their fluid movements.

The day comes when both of your brothers have to leave, just like all the other apprentices before them. Your heart sank to the pits of your stomach the night before, making you unable to sleep even a wink. What if they don’t return as well?

The next morning, you stubbornly cling to them, refusing to let go even when your father scolds you.

“But I don’t want you to go!” You exclaimed.

“Come one, (Y/N)-chan. It’ll only be for a little while. Sabito and I will be back before you know it.”

“Promise?” “Promise.”

About a week went by without any sign of them returning, and you’ve never felt so on edge. You started to stand outside diligently to hopefully catch a glimpse that peach shade of Sabito’s hair and the deep blue of Giyū’s eyes, only coming inside when your father urged you.

Finally, one misty morning, you were out pulling weeds in the garden when you spotted a head of thick jet-black hair from up the road. Your eyes widened when you saw the familiar figure trudging down towards the house.

“Otou-san!” You shouted as you ran towards him. “Giyū-nii is home!!!”

You resisted the urge to tackle him into a hug once you saw his fatigued and wounded state. Nevertheless, your heart soared in happiness.

“Giyū-nii! You’re back! Are you hurt anywhere?” Your eyes roam over him, wincing at the amount of dirt on his clothes. But your brother was unresponsive and dazed, even when your father put a hand on his shoulder. Something itched in the back of your mind, and your stomach twisted unexpectedly when you felt like something was not right.

“Giyū-nii,” you began slowly, your eyes darting all over the place. “Where is Sabito-nii?”

His silence was answer enough.

Nothing was ever the same after that. You’re no stranger to lost, but it didn’t stop your heart from cleaving into two and the tears from running down your face at night. Not when a piece of you seems to die every time you’re met with your father’s silent grieving, or heard the sobs from your brother that he so desperately tried to hide.

You were both just children grasping with death.

When it was time for him to leave and officially embark on his journey, it was pouring like they had never seen before. Perhaps that was best. Perhaps then none of them would notice the tears.

Your home became quieter. Still filled with love, but more somber somehow. Laughter came a little harder for you, and each time you watch the sunset, you can’t help but feel your shoulders become heavier, as if the twilight was a corporeal thing that weighed down on you.

For a while, it was only you, your father, and the silence. But that all changed when a little girl around your age stumbled into your lives.

Like many siblings before, Makomo came to your home unexpectedly, and yet it also felt like fate. She lit up the whole house with her gentle smiles and brightness, restoring some of the warmth that have been lost.

You take to her immediately, spending your days braiding flowers into each other’s hair and running through the mountains until you can draw a map with your eyes closed. You felt your soul healing in the presence of her calming demeanor. She became a sister that you could unconditionally trust to always have your back. Imagine your horror when she too was determined to walk down the same treacherous path.

“Makomo-chan! You can’t!” You tearfully protested. “It’s too dangerous!”

‘What if she doesn’t come back?’ The sentence replayed over and over in your head like a broken mantra, and you were once more squeezed by multiple stabs of fear and anxiety. Your father shared the same sentiments as you, and firmly denied her request.

How could he forgive himself if he let someone as young as her entrench herself into such a cruel world.

But Makomo was resilient and stubborn. She would sneak out and practice with a sword and had even somehow been able to grasp the basics of Total Concentration Breathing. When asked, she only smiled mysteriously and told you that she had some help.

When your father saw that his warnings fell on deaf ears and after seeing how much she improved, he finally caved in and took her as his apprentice.

To say that you were unhappy with the decision would be an understatement. You watched her train and become more graceful and quick on her feet, dread pooling in your stomach with every progress and injuryYou and your father hugged her and sent her on her way, and it felt like goodbye. You prayed to any gods that were willing to listen to protect her and bring her back to you.

You stayed by her side, occasionally offering her tips from what you’ve observed from the other students. You bandaged every single wound, lightly chastising her and telling her to be more careful next time. Her only response was to smile and thank you. The more you did this, the more you couldn’t help but wonder about her willingness to put herself on the line to help fight demons, and whether if there’s anything more that you could do.

As you had expected, she passed your father’s final trial. That night, you sleep in the same bed as Makomo, putting your arms around her and pulling her so close that it was difficult to tell where you end and where she began. You didn’t want to let go.

You and your father hugged her and sent her on her way, and it felt like goodbye. You prayed to any gods that were willing to listen to protect her and bring her back to you.

The gods too, did not answer them.

The pain coursed through your body like a beast made of liquid fire, clawing at your insides and erupting from your throat as you cried in your father’s arms. You cried until you became numb, until every muscle in your body feels like it had been crushed by the weight of your grief. Her grave was marked alongside the others. Wherever she was, she held a piece of your soul with her.

It was you, your father, and the silence, once more.

One afternoon, you return from working in the garden to see your father reading a letter, Giyū’s crow perch on his shoulder. Your spirit lifts momentarily, relieved that he is still doing well.

It’s hard to read your father due to the mask he wears, but from the way he grips the paper tightly and crinkling it, it can’t be good news.

“Otou-san, what is it?”

He lifts his head to look at you, then fold the letter and tucking it into his kimono before going back inside. “I need to go for a bit, (Y/N). Stay here, and prepare for some visitors.”

You only manage to blink a few times before he’s out the door again. Even at his age, he is still as fast as a Demon Slayer at their prime. As you prepare the ingredients for dinner, you wonder who the visitor could be.

You get your answer later that day, when your father comes back with a young boy in tow. Your father looked like he didn’t even break a sweat, but the boy trailing behind him seemed as if though he’s fighting for every breath. With a basket strap to his back, you can understand why that’s the case.

“Otou-san, who is this?” “This is Kamado Tanjirō. He’ll be staying with us for the night,” he says simply. “This is my daughter, (Y/N).”

You bow in greeting as he walks through the door. You watch in curiosity as he unwraps the basket, unveiling a sleeping girl tucked inside.

You would have reacted in horror if not for the fact that your father is being so calm about it, but it doesn’t stop you from wondering what’s going on.

“This is my sister, Nezuko. She’s…um…” Tanjirō looks to your father, asking for help.

“We’ll take care of her,” your father says. You quickly catch on and run inside to fetch a pillow and blanket, temporarily laying her on the ground until you can arrange a futon for her. “But for now, you and I will be climbing the mountain.”

With those words, it dawns on you. Here’s another person hoping to become your father’s student and become a Demon Slayer. All of his prospects go through the same process, and climbing the mountain is only the beginning of the trials they will face.

When your father returns, he fills you in on the situation. Your heart drops in sympathy when you hear that their family was killed by demons, and flinch when it’s revealed that the girl sleeping so peacefully near the crackling hearth is a demon.

“Otou-san, how can this be? She seems nothing like the demons you would tell me about.” “You feel it too,don’t you (Y/N)? She’s different from any demon I’ve encountered before. It’s like she’s still human somewhere in that body of hers.”

You look back down at Nezuko. It’s difficult to reconcile the image of blood-thirsty demons that has been instilled into you since childhood. Those that pillaged villages and killed without mercy. Those that…

You clench your hands into fists. It’s definitely difficult, and if both your father and Giyū are willing to put their trust into her, then you can try as well.

The first threads of dawn are beginning to slip through the horizon, and Tanjirō has yet to return from the mountain. You fidget in your seat, your eyes flickering every few minutes to the door, ears train to see if you can pick up the sound of any footsteps. You’re torn between wanting to see him succeed and fail. If he does, then you’re afraid that he’ll become another lamb on its way to slaughter. But if he doesn’t, then which other path can he walk on to restore his sister’s humanity?

In the midst of battling with yourself, your ears perk up at the sound of heavy footsteps. You whip your head to the door the same time your father does, and a second later it slams open to reveal a dirtied and injured Tanjirō, blood flowing from his head and shoulder.

“I’m…back…” He pants and is only able to utter before he collapses by the door frame. You rush to his side, preparing to carry him inside and treat his wounds. You look to your father, who stands stoic and in silent contemplation. You know that he has made his decision.

Every early morning, even before the sun rises, your father and Tanjirō would make their way up the mountain to begin their training. You would look after the still slumbering Nezuko, and then bring lunch to wherever they are. After having lunch with them, you would stay for a while to watch them train. In the evenings, you would take care of any injuries Tanjirō incurred throughout the day.

Your talks with him are often short, something to fill in the silence while you bandage him up. You’re grateful that he isn’t the type to pry, and instead is content with letting the conversation flow wherever it may. Your heart is still healing, and you’ve yet to recover the strength to open those scars again.

But the more time you spend around him, the more you realize that it’s terrifyingly easy to put your guard down around him. It’s like he has a soothing and warming aura radiating from him, causing you to unable to resist melting in his presence. It feels both familiar and so wildly foreign to you, that at times you’re unsure how to act around him.

Your father is harsher on Tanjirō than with any of his other students, and you can understand why. His improvement is gradual, and it’s clear that he doesn’t have the raw talent that Sabito and Makomo had. But what he lacked in talent, he made it up with determination.

Even on what is supposed to be his rest days, he would be out swinging his sword and working on his breathing. During those times, you would make sure that he’s eating and not neglecting yourself.

“You’re thinking too hard about it,” you say as you watch him try to master Total Concentration Breathing. “You have to be more subtle about it. Here, close your eyes.” You stand up and approach him. “Try to imagine the air as water. Let it enter you.” You close your eyes and breathe along with him. “Imagine it moving through every part of you.” You trail your fingers down his arms. “Feel it in every cell and vein, feel it touch you and flow around you. See the difference?”

“I-I think so.” You open your eyes to smile, and that’s when you realized that his hands are now clasped tightly in yours, and the distance between you two is too close for comfort.

You drop his hands like they’re hot coals, a blush quickly rising to your cheeks. “Sorry!”

“N-no, it’s okay.” As opposed to your worryingly flaming face, his cheeks only had a tinge of pink. “But thank you, (Y/N)-san! I understand now.”

“It’s-it’s nothing. Just something I picked up while watching others train.” “Just from watching? That’s amazing! I’m surprised you’re not training already. You would leave me in the dust.”

“…You think so?” “I know so. Just last week you helped me with my stance and how to properly swing my sword. And you seem to already know how to do Total Concentration Breathing.” He pauses and begins his next sentence tentatively. “Sorry if this is rude of me, but I’m just wondering why you haven’t become Urokodaki-san’s student yet.”

You tilt your head, giving thought to his question. “Honestly, I’m not sure. I guess it’s partly because I know how it feels to be the person on the other side. I don’t think I could bear putting my father through having to worry about me like that. But at the same time, it’s not like I haven’t thought about it before. I don’t know though…”

Can you do it? Can you actually take up a sword and leave everything behind? Knowing that you're risking everything and never come back?

But…maybe then you can go and explore beyond the mountain. Maybe you can help other families sleep better at night. Children won’t have to look behind their back in fear of things creeping in the dark. No one would have to go through what you went through.

“Well, whatever you decide.” Tanjirō pats your shoulder reassuringly. “I believe it’ll be the right decision.”

“No.”

You’ve expected this response from your father, but it didn’t cause you to flinch any less. “But otou-san–”

“No means no, (Y/N). I will not allow you to become a Demon Slayer.” “But I’ve been watching you teach for years! I know how to do Total Concentration Breathing, and I basically know all the stances by heart. If only you would let me try, then I know I can master them!” “And you know perfectly well how dangerous is it.”

“Of course I know!” You can’t help but raise your voice a little. “And how many more have to lose their lives? I’m sick and tired of sitting around and doing nothing, waiting for the next bad news. I want to do something to help!” “And you’re already doing that by staying here and being safe.”

“Maybe I don’t want to be coddled and safe anymore!” Your chest heaves and you turn around, unable to bear looking at his masked face any longer. “I just wish you would believe in your daughter a little more.” With that, you walk out the door, ignoring the words of your father.

Your legs take you to the huge frothing waterfall a distance away from your house, a favorite place of yours when you want some peace and quiet. It’s just you and the sound of rushing water to drown out your thoughts. Or so you thought.

“(Y/N)-san.” Your soul nearly left your body. You wildly turn around to see that Tanjirō had followed you.

“Tanjirō-san! You scared me to death! How did you even find me?” He taps his nose and that’s all you needed to know. “…Right. Well, you’re welcome to sit next to me, since you’re here already.”

He takes your invitation. “I just want to know how you’re doing.” You hug your knees to your chest and sigh. “Thanks. Sorry you had to hear that, by the way. I understand where my father’s coming from, I really do. But at the same time, I can’t help but think he thinks I’m not enough in his eyes, like I’m still a baby that needs to be cocooned. But I’ve been by the sidelines for so long, always watching and worrying and feeling useless. If I have the ability to, I should stand up and do something. Shouldn’t I?”

“Hey.” Tanjirō places a warm hand on your shoulder. “You’re not useless. You take care of the whole household. You cook for us and remind us to take a break. You give me advice, encouragement, and always take care of me when I get injured. I think you’re already incredible as you are. But if you believe you can do something more, then I say go for it! I’ll support you!”

“Really?” You ask, eyes wide in wonder at his words. He nods, and you know it to be true. You feel your fingertips become tingly, and all the water in this world could not wash away the bubble of warmth in your body. “Thank you.”

You scoot a little closer to him, content to be in his presence. Nothing needed to be said that isn’t already felt in the blank spaces of your words.

When you return, your father is waiting for you, his arms crossed. You gulp, knowing that you’re in big trouble, but you stand your ground anyways.

“Tanjirō, go inside. I need to speak to my daughter privately.” “Yes, Urokodaki-san.” He gives you an encouraging look and heads inside, leaving you and your father alone. The tension is so thick you can cut through it with a sword, and your foot fidgets in anticipation of who will be speaking first.

“I made a promise to your mother,” your father begins, and that makes everything you’re going to say go back down your throat. “That I would keep you safe, and make sure no harm comes to you.”

You hang your head, that familiar wisp of sadness creeping up on you. Over the years, you’ve heard many stories about your mother, wanting to know everything about her to fill in the gaps of your memories, selfishly clinging to the last vestiges of her presence that you can remember.

“But I’ve also made another promise to her, that I’ll always make you happy,” he continues. “And if this is truly the path you want to take, then I’ll fulfill your wish.” You whip your head up at his words, surprise overtaking your face. “But just because you’re my daughter doesn’t mean I'll go easy on you, do you understand? If at any point I deem you not suitable, I’ll pull you from training.”

“Yes, otou-san!” “Good, then be up by 4 am tomorrow.”

If he’s already hard on Tanjirō, then he’s hard on you 10 times over. If Tanjirō has to swing his sword 1000 times, you have to do it 2000 times. If he only has to descend the mountain 2 times, you have to do it 5 times. If he has to stay under the waterfall for 5 minutes, you have to do it for 15. But you take it all in stride, finally being able to find an outlet for your pent up energy over the years.

You and Tanjirō becomes closer due to this, bonding over your shared misfortune of being tortured mentored by the former Water Hashira. One some days you would spar with him, eager to see how much you’ve improved.

Today, you’ve managed to disarm him and goes through the motion to pin him to the ground, but a miscalculation quickly cause you to lose your balance. Before you know it, you let out a yelp and is dragged to the ground with him. You brace for impact, but your fall is broken by a soft weight below you. That weight being of course no one else but your sparring partner.

You open your eyes and is mortified to see Tanjirō staring back at you, your noses almost touching one another. From this proximity, you’re able to see the closer the soft gradient of his dark maroon eyes, like embers blazing in the hearth. Your body is pressed against his, his arms settled lightly at your waist no doubt to soften your fall. Your eyes unconsciously travel down to his lips for a brief moment, but enough for you to begin scolding yourself incessantly for the intrusive thought that runs through your mind.

“Kamado Tanjirō!” Your father’s voice booms through the field. “What do you think you’re doing?”

You and him immediately scramble away from one another, faces so red that even a ripe tomato would be jealous. Your father stares down at the both of you, the silence even more unbearable with the menacing aura radiating from him.

“1000 sword swings from you, Tanjirō. And you, (Y/N), I’m going to properly teach you how to stay on your feet.”

You both shiver, the calm way he said it making it sound even more cold to your ears. “Y-yes sir.”

6 months go by, and Nezuko have yet to wake up. Even when the doctor assures that there’s nothing wrong with her, you still can’t help but worry about her. 6 months go by, and your father declare that he has nothing more to teach you.

You and Tanjirō look at each other with surprise. While you know what’s coming next, you’re astonished when instead of leading you up to the mountain towards a boulder like Tanjirō, your father leads you to the waterfall where you’ve spent countless days training.

You look to your father for answers, but he is quiet against the mighty rush of the water.

“This will be your final task. With your sword, part this waterfall in half. Do this, and I will allow you to attend the Final Selection.”

Your eyes nearly pop out of your sockets at what he said. Water in its essence is fluid and flexible, capable of taking any shape or form. It flows wherever it wants, unyielding to the obstacles in its way. How could you hope to conquer it with your blade?

“Otou-san! But–” “Prove yourself to me, my daughter.” With that, he turns around and leave without another word, no matter how many times you shout and urge him.

True to his words, he did not teach you or give you any more explanation. The first time you attempt to do what he wanted, all you got back was a mouthful of foamy water. You’re hit with the realization of how much you still have to learn. For the first 6 months, you devote yourself to honing your knowledge and fortifying your previous training. You work until you feel your arms fall off every night, until all the breathing forms are engraved into your very bones. And still, you make no progress.

There are days when you feel worthless, and the last thing you want to do is hold a sword. During those times, you resign yourself to sit by the river, skipping stones and filling your mind with questions and memories. You wonder how Tanjirō’s doing. Has he made any progress with the boulder yet? You can’t help but miss him. You’ve only realized how much time you spend with him once you’re apart. You miss having him there to encourage you when the training becomes too much, miss laughing whenever both of you would end up on the ground, tired beyond belief. Miss eating meals with him and sharing happier stories about your childhood. Miss tucking him into bed and sitting by him in this very spot even on nights when you’re both yawning.

Your father has forbidden you to go see him to allow both of you to focus on your task, but what’s the harm in one little peek? You know the way by heart, and soon you arrive at that familiar clearing. As you’ve expected, he’s already hard at work, but the person he’s fighting makes your blood turn cold.

You would recognize that peach shade anywhere. You see it every day in the sunset. You open your mouth, but no words leave them. You’re frozen, unable to do anything but watch as Tanjirō and your (dead) brother encircle each other. Blood rushes to your head and you feel like you might faint. Your vision becomes blurry, the dance of their swords become streaks of light. You brace against a tree, and out of the corner of your eyes you see another sight that makes your world tumble and your heart to lurch into your throat.

“...Ma...komo?”

Her smile is as gentle as you remember it. Everything about her is just as you remember it, like a pristine memory come to life. She nods at you and gestures for you to follow her deeper into the woods. Against all reason (of which you have none at this moment), you follow her drowsily. This has to be a dream. You’ve hit your head while making your ascent and now you’re dreaming. This has to be the only reason.

But then she leads to a spot so familiar to the both of you, and for the first time since you’ve seen her you have to wonder if you’re not actually hallucinating. She turns, and her voice is just as you remember it. “Hi, (Y/N)-chan.”

Gods, you feel like throwing up.

“Makomo...how...? How?” You’re only able to mutter. She sits you down and explain everything, about how she’s tied to this mountain, and how countless students before her have also found their way back here.

“So the person who helped train you...” “Was Sabito, yes.” “Why didn’t you tell me?” “I wanted to, I really did. But Sabito wanted me to focus on my training. And...he didn’t want to stop you and Urokodaki-san from moving on.”

You twist your hands into the grass, sorrow coiling tightly around your stomach. “So...I’m guessing that Sabito-nii is helping Tanjirō grow stronger.” “He is. Tanjirō has a lot of potential, he just has to learn how to unlock it. As do you. We’re all so happy when you began training, you know. You’ve become so strong.” “But not strong enough to finish my father’s trial.”

Makomo sits pensively. “Maybe you’re approaching it the wrong way. Remember what Urokodaki-san told us when we were learning the forms?” “Become one with the water. Do not resist its flow. Embrace it, and it will answer your call.” “I think that’s something to think about.”

You let her words sink into you. “Okay, I’ll give it some thought.” Makomo stands up. “It’s time for me to go back. But (Y/N)-chan, I must ask you a favor. Can you keep the truth from Tanjirō? We don’t want him to be distracted from his progress.”

“But can I see you again?” She shakes her head. “No, (Y/N)-chan. You must also focus on your own self. But know this. We are all watching you, and we will always be by your side.” “...Then this is goodbye.” “Only for now, we will meet again.”

“Tell Sabito-nii I still think of him. That every time I make mushroom nabe I would still remember him, and that there will be a day when I watch the sunset and feel happy.” “I will.” “Goodbye, dear sister.”

A few more months pass, and despite Makomo’s advice, you have still yet to put her words to good use, no matter how much you’ve tried. But you can’t give up now, not when you know you have everyone’s trust in you.

It is near the hour of twilight, and you’re sitting on a rock underneath the waterfall, letting the waves pour down on you. Your eyes are closed, and all the sounds of the world are lost on you. You tune out the sensations of your body, your heart, your mind, every muscle and vein, until they’re nothing but water. You slowly rise to your feet and lift your sword, but instead of resisting, you succumb to the weight. You let it guide you, trusting it to show you the way. It answers your call. You swing.

You open your eyes, and your jaw drops. The current of the waterfall is perfectly split into two, the resulting drops of water flying from your blade like bejeweled dew against a backdrop of pink that extends its darkening arms toward the golden sunset. Entranced by the sight, you only notice your father and Tanjirō when they’re by your side. Tanjirō’s eyes are as wide with wonder as yours, while your father is hard to read as ever.

“I had no intention of sending you or Tanjirō to the Final Selection,” he finally says. “I could not bear to lose any more of my students, nor can I bear to lose my only daughter. But you’ve surpassed all of my expectations. Perhaps it’s time for me to realize you’re not that same little girl who would cling to me anymore.” He takes you into his arms, and no matter what he says, you’ll always feel like a little girl when you hug him. “You’ve become so strong, my daughter.”

That night, you’re barely able to sleep, and even though you should be sick of the waterfall at this point, you can’t help but sneak out to it one more time. It’s not long until you hear a pair of familiar footsteps joining you.

“Hey Tanjirō-kun. Can’t sleep?” “Yeah, I can’t help but feel anxious about tomorrow.” “Me too. Congratulations on completing father’s final challenge, by the way.” “That’s nothing compared to you. You were incredible! How did you do that?” You blush at the compliment. “I had some help.”

You rest your head on his shoulder, the action as normal as breathing. “What do you think will happen tomorrow?”

“I don’t know. But whatever happens, we’ll face it together.” You nod. “Together."

What makes Tanjirō so different to you? Why do you feel so drawn to him? Why does your heart sing when he is near? When did your eyes come to search for him, and why do you crave for these moments like they’re the air that you need to breathe? In the back of your mind, you think you have the answer, but you’ll have all the time in the world to decipher it.

You lift your head and stand up, extending your hand to him. “Come on, let’s go back.”

He slides his hand into yours, and it feels right.

The next morning, you and him are all packed and prepared. You never thought you would be the one on the other side, a sword by your hip and your father’s fox mask by the side of your face, saying a bittersweet goodbye to him.

Just before you two leave, Tanjirō turn back one more time, mentioning Sabito and Makomo in his farewell. You wince, and you can only imagine what your father’s reaction was.

“How come you’ve never mentioned them?” “...You’ve never asked.”

Thankfully, he didn’t pry anymore into the subject, and your journey to Mount Fujikasane is smooth. You’re amazed at the sight of the wisteria blossoms before you, so abundant that it falls like rain. You arrive at the main area, and after hearing the rules, the actual challenge begins.

You and Tanjirō agree that it would be best to head east in order to receive sunlight the quickest. Along the way, you encounter two demons, both of whom you two quickly dealt with. You watch as he prays over the disintegrating corpses, and at times like these you have to wonder how he manages to remain so kind when he has been broken by this world.

You proceed, when suddenly Tanjirō stops you in your path, holding his nose as if he smelled something foul. A scream from the darkness sends chills down your spine. The next thing you see fills you with horror. A demon far too big and monstrous to be considered befitting the level of an amateur slayer trudges through the forest, each of its heavy footsteps thrumming in your ears. Each of its limbs are veiny and as huge as your entire body, twisting and coiling around it like mangled flesh. You can barely make out where its main body is, let alone its neck.

It holds a dead man in one of its horrific hands, devouring him in one motion. Bile rises to your throat at the sight, and you feel your legs tremble and rooted deep to the ground. The demon seizes another man with its extended arm, your breath quickening when it opens its gaping mouth. Fortunately, Tanjirō recovered before you, and rush out to slice its arms with the second form of Water Breathing. You snap out of your fear only a second later, even out your breathing and sprint out to push the man behind you, your swords drawn alongside Tanjirō.

The demon becomes incensed when it spots your fox mask and rages as it curses your father’s name over and over. You listen in horror when it reveals how many humans it has eaten, but that is nothing compared to the fire burning in your blood when he says how many of your father’s students it has devoured.

Thirteen. Thirteen of your brothers and sisters. Thirteen souls that will never come home. Thirteen names that you can recite in your sleep.

The fire blazes into a vengeful inferno when you hear it describes the deaths of Sabito and Makomo with glee, as if they’re as trivial as bugs. As if there are not still those who mourn for them.

You advance with rage and with only one working thought in your mind. Kill.

The demon is even more amused at your reaction, and to your dismay no matter how many arms you and Tanjirō cut down, more would just grow back. One of them lands a hit on Tanjirō, sending him flying and hitting a tree.

“Tanjirō-kun!” You shout, your heart dropping at the blood on his forehead and his unconscious state. You’re left to fend the demon by yourself.

“Control your breathing, (Y/N)-chan. Do not worry about us, focus on saving Tanjirō.” You hear Makomo’s voice inside your head, and only then did you realize how you’ve essentially forgone every lesson your father has drilled into you. You quickly chastise yourself and regulate your breathing, standing your ground and working to divert the demon away from the unconscious boy.

“Tanjirō-kun! Wake up! Please, I need you!” You exclaim as you sliced another limb, your muscles starting to ache from how many times you’ve done so. You couldn’t severe every one of them all alone, and to your terror one of them escaped your attention and is targeting right at him. “Tanjirō!”

As if answering your prayers, he finally opens his eyes and move out the way. But you’re barely able to let out a sigh of relief before more come at you. You dodge and run to his side, your sword brandished and held tight, face-to-face with the enemy. You spare a quick glance to Tanjirō, both of you nodding.

“Together?” “Together.”

You advance, cutting down any obstacle standing in your way. At a warning shout from Tanjirō, you both leap in the air to avoid the arms underground. A limb lashes out to grab Tanjirō, but he’s able to utilizes that hard head of his. You both land on the arm, ready to execute the final attack.

“Tanjirō-kun, I’ll take care of its arms! You aim for the neck!” You carry out the Fourth Form and destroys anything blocking his path, and in a fast flurry of the First Form, it is done.

He is no more.

When there is finally time to rest and you’re done taking care of his forehead injury, you’re left to grasp with the ugly truth displayed right before your very eyes. So many lives lost, all of it fueled by hatred so deep that it makes your heart sinks. What would your father think when he realizes that a small decision of his may have led to his students’ demise?

“I’m sorry for not telling you the truth,” you whisper as you rest under the shade of a tree. Tanjirō turns away from you, and the action makes your stomach twist. He is silent for a moment before speaking. “It’s not your fault. To be honest, I had my suspicions, but I didn’t want to face them and realize that they’re true.” Another pause. “Do you think they’re at peace now?”

You grip your kimono where your heart rests. “Yeah. Yeah, I think they are.” You don’t lie about this, you feel your soul getting lighter.

“Will you tell me about them?” “Later,” you shuffle next to him, curling into his warmth as your eyes become heavy. “I promise.”

You spend your mornings like this, sleeping after a long, arduous night. Moving ever closer until you two fit like puzzle pieces, hands gripped tight in search of the other’s warmth, a confirmation that you both are still alive.

Against all odds, you both survived the 7 days.

Drained of all energy and adrenaline, the trek back home is just as taxing for your weary bodies. You support each other by lifting the other by the shoulder, praying with every step that you’ll soon see that thatched roof that you call home.

Your journey comes to an end when you see the light from that lone house near the mountain. Your shoulders sag in relief, and you would have buckled if not for Tanjirō’s arm around you. Suddenly, the door is kicked down, and out comes the girl that you’ve only ever seen in deep slumber. She looks even more beautiful under the moonlight, and you gasp at the recognition in her still human eyes.

“Nezuko!” Tanjirō rushes down to meet his sister, and at the halfway point she cradles his head into her chest, so gentle that it makes tears well up in your eyes.

You spot your father, his arms full of firewood, and a tired smile makes its way up your face. “Otou-san...”

Uncaring about the wood he just dropped by his feet, he pulls all of you (his children) close, and there is no stopping the torrent of tears from flowing down all of your cheeks.

“You’ve survived. You’ve come back to us.”

The days that followed allow you to recuperate and come to terms with what you have learned at the Final Selection. You all devote an entire day to clean and make offerings to the graves of those that are gone and spend the entire night reminiscing your memories about them.

It also allows you to bond with Nezuko, and once again you’re convicted to help Tanjirō find a way to turn her back into a human.

But those halcyon days are short-lived, and after receiving your Nichirin sword, uniform, and first joint mission, it’s finally time to leave.

("That’s a gorgeous shade of blue, huh Urokodaki?” “Of course, she’s my daughter, after all.”)

You stand on the other side, hugging your father and promising that no matter what, you will come back to him. This is a promise that you intend to keep. He fixes your uniforms, his fingers lingering as if he’s still not ready to let go.

“Take care of her, Tanjirō,” he says, and unexpectedly pulls him closer so that he could whisper something. You don’t know what he said, but whatever it was, Tanjirō becomes deathly pale and shivers uncontrollably. You look at them curiously, but none of them would meet your gaze.

Finally, you take your first few steps down that dirt path, sparing one final look at your world and everything you’ve ever known. But you’re not afraid, for you have Tanjirō by your side.

“We’re in this together.”

“There’s no one else I would rather do this with.”

➺ All of the following works belong to me. Please don’t repost, copy, or steal my content off of Tumblr. Plagiarism will not be tolerated.

#kamado tanjiro #tanjiro #tanjiro x reader #tanjiro x y/n #tanjiro headcanons #kny x reader #demon slayer x reader #sunshine of my life #he's my sun #a dream come true #wisty writes

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hobiebrownismygod · 4 months

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holy shit ur blog is immaculate 🫂🫂 it’s sk nice to see meet other desi people who love mig and the mcu🎀

OMG TYSM!! YOURE SO SWEET

my blog is a desi safe space (and for any other members of any groups) and I’m so glad people can see it that way :3

#Desis unite #Seeing these kind of things make me so happy #PEOPLE LIKE MY BLOG!! :DD #IDHWJSJS #A DREAM COME TRUE #[silvia’s asks]

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comphy-and-cozy · 8 months

Text

unforgettable - jt compher

Pairing: JT Compher x Reader (f)

Word Count: 3.1K

Author's Note: This is fully the most self-indulgent and personal fic I have ever and will ever write, so if no one likes it I'm still not gonna be sorry. This is wildly contrived and barely passable as realistic. It is quite literally Y/N's Story (C's Version). You'll know what I mean when you read it. Thanks to @smileysvech for listening to me be unhinged about this for like two months straight - you a real one. And in case you are wondering, this is the fic in question.

Warnings: Suggestive/adult content (18+ recommended), discussions about sex/sexual implications, alcohol use/consumption, full insanity. Like a medium burn/banter that's basically foreplay but no actual sexy times.

series masterlist | nhl masterlist | part 2

November 2021

Meeting a personal idol is always a special experience, full of excitement, nerves, anticipation; hopefully making a connection to tell them how much you admire them or what they mean to you. Even if it’s the intention, it feels a little embarrassing to be at a fan event put on by the team, like you’re too old to be at a function for the sole purpose of meeting professional hockey players, and the concept of being perceived is, frankly, almost overwhelming.

But then they turn out to be kind, funny, and courteous; not at all what you expected. They smile at you, ask you your name, thank you for coming, engage with you like you’re a regular human being. Like they’re a regular human being. (They are, of course, but it’s difficult to comprehend that when you’re used to them being little men on your television screen with ice knives strapped to their feet.)

When you get to your favorite TV Ice Man, he’s beautiful, and it takes you a moment to get rid of the shakiness in your voice when you hear him say your name for the first time. The warmth of his hand on your back when you pose for a photo together lingers long after he pulls away, smiling at you as he says, “Tag me in that on Instagram.”

It’s exhilarating, enough to have you bouncing from cloud to cloud as you leave, heart soaring. Still, after walking out on shaky legs with the most precious memories and photos tucked safely into your phone, you’re in need of a drink to settle the nerves that have been floating in your belly since the night began.

As soon as it touches your tongue, the drink helps to calm you down, and you’re in a dreamland as you reflect on the evening behind you. A real conversation with JT Compher, the man you’ve had a crush on for years—and he talked to you! He is aware you exist! And though you’re sure it’s a figment of your imagination, you’ll remember the warmth in his eyes when they connected with yours for the rest of your life.

Luck is on your side, it seems, when you catch a group of tall, muscular men walking in out of the corner of your eye; the aura of the room instantly changes in their presence, like the room automatically got ten degrees hotter. In the middle of the pack is the unmistakable red hair, styled meticulously, only now he’s lost his tie in favor of unbuttoning the top button on his shirt. He looks good, dressed down in a way that makes him look even more delicious than before.

His aura is different now that the event is over, like he’s able to remove the mask he put on for the public at a work event; now, he’s just a normal guy out on a Friday night with his friends. Other than the Gucci belt and Tom Ford suit, one would have no idea that he’s got an extra digit at the end of his paycheck, and he loves that.

Until he sees you. You, who knows exactly who he is, who is fully aware he’s unwinding from a long and tiring fan event with his friends. He’d have to be an idiot to forget your face, the one that made him pause when you told him your name, his breath hitching in his throat just for a moment.

When he sidles up next to you at the bar, the last thing you expect is for him to greet you, let alone remember your name. You look at him in surprise when he offers to buy your drink, gaping for a little too long until you’re nodding shyly.

“Have fun at the event?” he asks after sliding his card across the bar to open a tab, leaning up against the ornate marble as he faces you.

“It was incredible,” you reply with a blissful smile. “They—you guys—are always so nice.”

The corners of his lips curl upward, just slightly, pleased at your positive review. “I’m glad to hear that. The fans are so important to us, so I—we—like to be able to give back when we can.”

“It doesn’t get exhausting? Talking to all those people?”

Something shifts in his eyes, and briefly you wonder if he’s toying with the line of talking to a fan versus just a stranger, contemplating if he should drop a layer of his public persona. Eyeing the extra sliver of creamy skin peeking out from his unbuttoned collar, you’d say he’s already halfway there.

“It can be a lot,” he admits. “But it really is fun. And very humbling.”

Your drink is placed on the bar in front of you, and the bartender nods at JT when he asks to keep the tab open. Your heart does a flip, but you remind yourself he’s here with friends.

“How long have you been a fan?”

“I’ve been watching hockey since I was a kid,” you say, and he nods in understanding. You tell him of the photos of you as a toddler, standing in your neon windbreaker next to the Stanley Cup; you note the way his eyes glitter when you mention it, like he’s wistfully envisioning the day he’ll lift the trophy himself. You note the way you like it.

“Let me guess. Your favorite player was Joe Sakic.”

“Actually, you might hate this, but my favorite player was Steve Yzerman.”

JT’s eyebrows raise as he shrugs. “Hard to argue with that, even if he did beat the Avs. Are you a Wings fan?”

“I went to U of M, so I went to a lot of games when I lived in Ann Arbor. So I think I am by default.”

You can see his eyes shift at the mention of his alma mater, like something’s permanently altered in the dynamic between you. He doesn’t need to tell you that he went there, too, but he does anyway. “Go Blue.”

With a smirk, you raise your glass and clink the base against his as you say it back. Your eyes flick to the group he arrived with, upstairs in the VIP area, surrounded by pretty girls in tight skirts.

“Do you need to get back to them?”

JT takes a sip of his own drink, an Old Fashioned, then licks his lips again like he knows it’ll catch your attention. Then he shrugs, nonchalant. “Would rather stay here with you. Have to make sure the drink I paid for doesn’t go to waste.”

He’s too smooth, you think, warning yourself to keep an eye on him or you’d be swooning at his feet. Not that you aren’t already ready to, your own willpower barely holding up under his gaze and your Amaretto Sour weaving its way into your senses.

“What’s a Wings fan doing in Denver?”

It’s a simple question, the logical one, but you’re still surprised that he asks, that he wants to know more about the one of many fans he met tonight. Still, you answer, explain that you’re visiting friends who are big Avs fans. You don’t have it in you to tell him that you’ve had a crush on him for years, that you timed your visit to coincide with the event. That you’re having an internal meltdown just existing in his presence and trying desperately hard to remain cool and composed.

And you can’t tell if he’s flirting with you, or if he’s just being nice, which makes you panic even more, gulping down the remainder of your drink in an attempt to calm your nerves. Do his eyes keep shifting down to your cleavage, or is that your imagination? Is he letting his cheek brush against yours when he speaks into your ear, or is it just an accident?

Another round of drinks later, and he’s still here, and now you’re sure he’s at least some kind of interested. His friends are upstairs, loud, rambunctious, and he hasn’t even given them so much as a glance, instead focused on you and making you shiver under his attention.

The conversation has been steady, making its way through hockey, past childhood, and college, and jobs, and now you’re onto hobbies. And you may have accidentally let it slip that you like to write.

It’s against your own will that your mouth announces, out loud, to a professional athlete, that you write hockey fanfiction. Or, wrote. Have written. Either way, it’s the alcohol’s fault, and you’re tempted to dump the remaining contents of your glass on the ground to avoid saying anything else.

His eyebrows raise in amusement, a grin breaking out onto his face. “Oh, now you have to tell me more.”

You’re shaking your head no, face sweltering hot when you realize what you’ve just admitted. “Jesus Christ. I can’t believe I just said that. I think this conversation is done.”

“Aww, come on, tell me,” he prods, nudging your knee with his. “Was it about someone I know?”

You draw your lips tight, shaking your head to tell him your lips are sealed.

“It was!” he exclaims, his eyes lighting up. “I bet it was about Gabe. Wasn’t it? All the girls love Gabe. He’s a dreamboat.”

Covering your mouth with your hand, you shake your head at him again. This cannot be fucking happening right now.

“No Gabe? Hm…” he looks around, as if he’s searching for the subject in front of him. “Oh! Josty. He’s got a whole following of fangirls.”

Part of you wants to laugh, and the other part of you wants to die immediately on the spot, buried beneath the ground without another word. He isn’t wrong, but he is dangerously close to discovering the truth.

He sees your reaction, inferring that no, it wasn’t Josty, and he takes another sip of his drink as he racks his brain. You can practically see the gears turning in his head, mulling over the options like he’s mentally running through an encyclopedia of NHL players. Then, his eyes shift, a glitter returning to them before they’re landing back on you, and suddenly you feel hot all over, sensing the end of your life hurtling rapidly towards you.

“It’s me, isn’t it?”

Face scorching hot, you can’t help the defeated smile on your face as you cast your eyes away, mortified beyond belief. Why did you have to say anything? Things were going so well, and now you’re preparing for him to make a quick exit and dash upstairs to laugh at you with his teammates, a story that would surely make the rounds through the league. You’re contemplating which path to the door is quickest, which will get you out of there fast enough to avoid dying of embarrassment on the spot.

But instead of making a run for it, he just laughs, a surprised expression on his face. “Oh, my God.”

“I’m just gonna go now—”

“No, no,” he’s quick to say, waving his hand to show he isn’t bothered, and maybe an air of, please, stay. “I’m flattered, honestly. I didn’t think anyone liked me like that.”

Oh, they do, you think, but your semblance of self-control has taken over again, covering your mouth before the thought can verbalize; at least you can shut the fuck up sometimes. Instead, you shrug playfully, then take another sip, thinking that at the very least, you can drown out your humiliation with more alcohol.

“You gonna tell me what it was about, or you playing hard to get?”

His question is subtle but clearly twofold in meaning, and you nearly choke on your drink again. Is this real? This has to be a dream.

Forcing yourself to get your wits together, you say, “I’m gonna need another drink if you want to even remotely convince me to share that.”

“I can do that,” he grins. “Say no more.”

It’s only after he returns with another drink in hand that you notice the flush in his cheeks, the way the warm mahogany of his eyes have turned a little more molten. Maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe—unlikely—it’s you. Probably the former. Surely the former.

He keeps the conversation light, allowing you to ask about life as an NHL star, about his favorite part about Denver, about who his funniest teammate is. He’s surprised, though, when you ask what he misses the most about life before the NHL; what he wishes he could have amidst the fanfare of being a professional athlete.

Mulling over your question, he takes another sip of his cocktail, and you seize the opportunity to admire his face, up close. The neat landscaping of his beard, the perfectly styled coiff of his hair, the deep mauvey-pink shade of his lips. God, he’s handsome.

His laugh pulls you out of your daydream, and he raises his glass toward you. “Thank you.”

You’re confused for a moment, until you realize that your thought wasn’t an internal commentary at all, but something that slipped out of your mouth by accident. You have quite literally turned into a stuttering, bumbling fool in his presence. He doesn’t seem bothered, though, swiftly moving past the moment to answer: “Honestly, I think what I miss most are conversations like this. Where I don’t have to be ‘on,’ where I can just be a normal guy with a pretty girl at a bar.”

“A girl telling you she wrote smutty fanfiction about you is ‘normal’?”

JT’s face shifts, and all at once you realize the additional descriptor you used, immediately groaning at the accidental admission. Why do you keep doing this? Why does it have to be him?

“Smutty? Like, it’s spicy?”

“No,” you lie, but the speed of your reply is a dead giveaway, and suddenly he’s grinning.

“You wrote—” he drops his voice to a whisper, “—sexy times about me?”

Your non-answer is an answer in itself, and the smile on his face is so wide, he might as well have won the Stanley Cup. Your face burns, could probably fry an egg on your cheeks, ready to slink into a hole and never come out.

“Oh, come on, now you have to tell me!” he says. “I won’t judge. I swear.”

“I’m sorry, that information is classified. It’s firmly secured under lock, key, and shark-infested waters with lasers attached to their heads.”

“Okay, fine, I can play this game,” he grins, pretending to crack his knuckles. “Was there… a blowjob?”

“Jesus, JT. Coming in hot, are you?” Then, “No.”

“That hurts, but I understand,” he places his hand over his heart. “What about… cunnlingus?”

“I am shocked that you know what that word means.”

“I have an elite education. You should know.”

“The leaders and best,” you say with a raised glass.

“Stop deflecting. Did I eat you out or not?”

The intimacy and bluntness of the phrasing makes your heart flutter, along with the area in question. The devil on your shoulder is whispering, fuck around and find out. So, with an internal shrug, you do. “You may have.”

JT beams. “Excellent.”

He rapid fires off more categories—spanking, handcuffs, edging, foot fetish?—all of which make your cheeks burn the more he inquires, as casual as asking you about what you do for a living.

“Threesome?”

“No.”

He hums. “Good. I didn’t want to share.”

The admission catches you off-guard, and judging by the way he eyes you for your reaction, he said it intentionally to rile you up. You hope he can’t see the rapid way your heart beats in your throat, the idea that this professional athlete would ever be possessive over a fan with a crush.

His last question pulls you from your thoughts and also makes you nearly snort your drink out of your nose. “Anal?”

“Jim Tim, I’m really gonna need you to cool it with topics I’m wildly unprepared to discuss.”

“That sounds like you’ll be ready at some point, though.”

“Maybe if you call me in about 100 years, I will be.”

He hums, then swirls the ice left in his glass. “What about the time it takes me to cash out and Uber back to mine?”

Your brain completely shuts down at the invitation, the proposition striking you in the face. He couldn’t have seriously been flirting with you this entire time, could he? Surely, he was just being silly with a girl—a fan—who he’ll never see again?

But he’s looking at you, and it feels like the time has long since passed if he was going to announce that it’s all been a joke. He’s waiting for your reply, for a confirmation that all of his hard work and perfect banter has not gone to waste.

So you nod, letting out a loud sigh as soon as his red hair disappears back into the crowd to pay his tab. Your hands are shaking, your heart threatening to leap out of your throat, and you glance around like everyone is going to start laughing at you for believing that JT Compher would want to take you home.

JT’s skin tingles as he signs his check, nodding a ‘thank you’ at the bartender before pocketing his wallet. This wasn’t what he expected when he prepped himself for the event tonight; he anticipated photos, nervous fans, hand aching from signing so many hats and jerseys—and afterward, decompressing at the bar with the guys, having a few drinks, guffawing along as Bo surely makes a fool of himself. Instead, he feels like he’s been smacked in the face, in awe of the girl he met and promptly learned he can’t get enough of. It’s only been a few hours, but he’s hooked on her smile, on her quick wit, on the way she makes his cock twitch in his pants when she laughs.

He yearns to be with her, now, to try his chances at feeling her pretty lips on his, to get a better glimpse at the jeans she painted on over the tempting curve of her hips. Though he’s confident—she wrote fanfiction about him for Christ’s sake—it’s far from a slam-dunk, but he’s eager to embrace the challenge ahead, and equally content to just spend more time basking in her presence.

But when he returns to the spot he left her at, she’s nowhere to be found. He scans the crowd, searching for the eyes that have captivated him so deeply. A tinge of nerves blaze through him, the thought of being ghosted flitting through his brain, but then he remembers the way she looked at him, the way her breath hitched when he leaned in close to her.

So, he searches for her, sure she’s just stepped away for a moment. He checks the bar, the restroom, the front door, the back door—nothing. And then he finally accepts the truth: She’s gone, disappeared without a word, far too good to be true.

JT Ubers home alone, left to quell the burning in his gut in the somber solidarity of his bedroom, wistfully wondering if your paths will cross again someday.

SIMILAR CONTENT: Already Ready to Go* A Night in Paris* Adore You

Tagging: @somuchf4rstardust @laurenairay @senditcolton @fallinallincurls

#jt compher fic #jt compher imagine #jt compher x reader #hockey fic #nhl imagine #jt compher fanfiction #jt compher smut #nhl fic #hockey imagine #a dream come true

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