kaydi

ᯤ now playing · pink matter by frank ocean

you should've known better the second chris suggested a 'talk' — something he'd been avoiding every time you'd suggested it for months. you should've thought 'why now?', but deep down, you knew why.

chris had that look in his eyes again: the one that never really cared for talking. the one that used to pull words from your throat, and turn them into something breathless and sinful.

"i jus' wanna talk," he says, like he's trying to soothe you. but you can hear the roughness in his voice, the low tone. he's already closing the space between you two, as if he forgot how messy everything was last time. or maybe he just doesn't care.

his fingers ghost over your waist when you don't speak, all slow and familiar. "y'look good," he murmurs, so low you start to wonder if he hates to admit it. but it's honest.

you should stop it, whatever it is. you should remind him of everything he put you through — not just you, but your guys' son. how he left when you were pregnant, how he left during your birth, how he just keeps leaving. but your mouth parts to gasp for the air his close proximity was restricting you from, and you lean into his touch. that's all the permission he needs.

next thing you know, you’re pinned against the wall, lips crashing like the argument you didn’t have. his hands are under your shirt, dragging it up hastily, like he’s starving for skin. as if he hasn’t already memorized it a hundred times before.

“you always do this,” you breathe, even as your fingers claw at his belt, “always say you wanna talk, then-“

“i am talking,” he mutters, mouth hot against your neck, “m’talkin in my own way.”

it’s toxic, addictive. the kind of mistake that burns so good.

he lifts you with ease, carries you to the couch like the years and fights and custody schedules never existed, laying you out like he’s trying to make you stay.

“missed this,” he groans, dragging his tongue over the inside of your thigh like it’s a damn prayer.

chris looks up, blue eyes pretty enough to stare at in all their lust-filled darkness. “missed you.”

he’s slow at first, taking his time peppering tender kisses that are almost enough to convince you he’s filled with nothing but love and adoration for you. he climbs up your body, fingers soft and light as he discards your clothing item by item, then his own.

the soft pads of his fingers circled your clit, gathering your arousal with a pleased hum. a nice reminder that makes him feel smug, knowing you’re still his.

and when he finally sinks into you, slow and deep and so damn needy, it’s not gentle. it’s not careful, it’s desperate. it feels like he’s trying to remind your body exactly who it belongs to — like he wants to ruin you all over again.

his hand finds your throat, his forehead pressed to yours.

your legs tighten around him, heels digging into his lower back, and he groans, the sound coming from somewhere deep. his thrusts slow just enough to make you feel every inch, every drag, every place he knows you’re weak.

“you say you hate me,” he murmurs, lips brushing your jaw as he drives into you again, “but you let me in like this every time.

you want to deny it, and maybe you even open your mouth to try, but he rolls his hips at just the right angle. your voice cracks into a moan instead. “ahn, chris, i’m- fuck.”

chris’ smirk is smug, knowing. he doesn’t even need an answer. he has all the proof he needs right here.

his hands find your hips, holding you still, forcing you to take every slow, deep thrust like he’s branding you from the inside out.

“that feel like hate to you, baby?” he growls, dragging his teeth along your collarbone. “’cause, to me… it feels like you missed this.”

a/n. not so kindly requested by @k4yd1 my baby sweetheart

fic so good i had to ride it