Top. (Reader x Various Kakegurui)

Meari Ending

AN: Way more romantic than the last one... I just wasn't feeling Ibarra \_O_/

Meari travelled a lot for work; it was part of her job. But, no matter the time or place, she always wrote you love letters. This last letter she wrote said "I love that hazy, crystal clear kind of focus you get from drinking coffee on airplanes."

She wrote it out long-hand with a pen that balled up little ink globs around the tops of her o's. She said, "I think up new ways to fuck you. Just daydream to whatever music I have on your phone, shit from years ago. I stare straight ahead and your stomach spins. I'm always so horny on planes. Never flying with you though, and the bathrooms are disgusting anyway, so I don't know where we'd do it. You're too loud to get fingered with a jacket over your lap, but that wouldn't stop me from trying."

She wrote you a letter that didn't say much but made you miss her fiercely. It had that sort of perfect lack of urgency you swim through like syrup when you know you'll be with someone for decades. There's no hurry to get your words out. There's no rush to make it mean something, to reach a conclusion, to proclaim, or promise, or renounce.

She just is and you just are. She lets you get so close without trying to stitch each beautiful, strange quilt square of her personality into one continuous tapestry. She lets you see the spaces in-between. The impatience. The anger. The childish fantasies of power and revenge.

You know her better than a person knows another person. You know her like the only suitcase I've ever owned. The exact size and shape, all the little nooks and crannies, some with fuzzy memories tucked inside. you know her texture, and where the leather has worn through to canvas. you know her so well you can see her. you can see that sleep crusted, shallow breathing moment. You can see her pen looping over the page. Sitting there, trapped in space by a lap belt, but really rocketing along through the air above the Earth. Thinking of you.

She wrote you a love letter and put it in an envelope and mailed it back over the ocean she'd just crossed.

She says coffee and sleep deprivation catch her at her most creative. They draw her into a thin line and suddenly she can see the route—like those simplified subway maps—from where she is to where she's going.

You felt like she felt. you knew exactly how she thought about things in that moment. How she thought about me. you felt your heart tipping up and over that arc, hanging in the weightless peak. That's love. And love is reaching it again and again. It's not the euphoric high of falling, of "falling in love." It's realizing and realizing and, ten years later, realizing that you're still falling. Your feet never hit the ground. And you can still get that dizzy tip. Just look. Just look at her. Read her words. Touch your chin. Smile at nothing.

She wrote you a letter and mailed it back and the paper smelled like her fingertips. you taped it to the fridge, didn't read it again, and tried not to recite its lines in your head.

You sent her a text to ask how she thought about fucking me, matching her eloquence with your own blunt question mark. You went to sleep with an old sweater of hers balled up where her pillow should have been.

You woke up to a voicemail, time stamped 2:07 am, that started with a crackly rustle of fabric. Then her voice came through, breathy and out of rhythm. She was already so far gone. You knew her head tipping with her words, rolling loose on her neck. You didn't need to see her to know her face was flushed and her eyes were dark, eyelids heavy.

She was talking about eating you out and her voice kept catching. Catch—pause—gasp. The kind of noises that tug on the delicate thread that runs from your throat to your gut. The noises that make you melt and rewind the message to listen again. She told you just how she wanted to hold you down and fuck you. She said, "Two fingers in your pussy and my tongue on your clit—" her voice faltered into a moan and she slurred, "Fuck, I want you." She made herself come and muffled the noise with something thick, maybe a pillow. So considerate of the neighbors.

You listened to it three times through, then replayed her thickest stutters a few times with your eyes closed. When you got out of bed to take a shower, you felt the slick slip of your pussy between your legs.

You were so wet that your body was sending up emergency shivers. Want prickled up the back of your neck and flushed down your arms. your legs felt heavy and clumsy.

You turned on the water, stepped inside, and slid the shower door closed. With your hand against the glass, you sank to the ground and opened your knees. An incredible wave of arousal washed through you and your mouth dropped open on its own accord, triggered by the tame act of spreading your legs. you let your shaky hand settle light on your skin and slid it lower. Thick lips, the goo was pulling away in strands. you ran your nails over the length of your pussy and moaned, then slid one finger inside just to feel the heat. you curled it up, stroking nerves through that engorged mess, and bent forward, shaking your head. It had to wait.

So, you pulled your finger out and found your razor. You shaved your pussy bare and covered it with aloe. The cool wetness made you zone out on the bus. You listened to her message again with your phone pressed to your ear and thought about her fingering you with a jacket over your lap.

At work, you mirrored her airplane reverie. You sat at your desk and stared straight ahead; your face carefully blank. you sent her a text and told her you were thinking of her.

She texted back immediately, "Send me pictures."

You said, "Be patient."

Arousal walked around with me. It sloshed in your stomach and never quite faded. When you had to pee, the pressure made your pussy swell. When you sat on the toilet, you saw white streaks in your underwear. you sent her a picture.

When you got home, you dropped your bag—couldn't even eat, you were so horny—and headed straight up the stairs. you propped your phone up and pulled a few sex toys out of your bathroom drawer. You've got one that's a slim dick with a heavy, wide base. You set it flat on the carpet and knelt over it.