finnsstyles

[finnsstyles]

the nott-so-fake relationship (t.n.)

Pairing: Theodore Nott x Reader

Word Count: 10.1k

Summary: After your boyfriend cheats with your best friend, you enlist Theodore Nott in a fake relationship to get revenge

A/N: I fear this was better in my head

credits to @cafekitsune for the divider!

There comes a moment in every girl’s life that cements itself into her mind. It takes up a corner of her brain and becomes the foundation for every action she takes thereafter. It rewires her chemistry, ensuring that, years later, it will resurface unbidden, vivid and relentless.

She remembers it as though it’s happening right then. Every detail is etched onto the canvas of her mind with the precision of a master painter. She recalls every word, every inflection, every syllable. She feels again the rush of emotions, as if the pit of her stomach were reliving the moment in real time.

That was how it felt when your eyes landed on your boyfriend making out with your best friend, the girl who had been by your side since first year, the one you trusted implicitly. You stepped into the Hog’s Head that night, and your vision tunneled the second you saw them in the booth, lips locked.

The clinking of glasses around the pub sparkled mockingly in the dim light, a cruel contrast to the way your heart sank, your body shutting down as ice ran through your veins.

First came confusion. Perhaps you’d seen wrong, perhaps your mind was playing tricks. But as the seconds passed, certainty settled in, burning the image into your brain.

What do I do?

In any instance where you had been betrayed like this, your first instinct would have been to go to your best friend—the girl who had stuck with you since your first year when you were placed as dormmates.

Stuck in your place, your brain was short-circuiting, trying to, but in the end unable to do anything else but stare at them.

For fuck’s sake—are they scuba divers? Are they ever going to come up for air?

It seemed like they heard you, finally parting, and it seemed that your boyfriend—or rather, ex-boyfriend, and if he’s so lucky, not late-boyfriend—spotted you first, his face going pale the second he saw you.

You scoffed.

They were doing this in a public place, and he had the gall to look surprised when you managed to spot them?

And then you felt it—the emotion that managed to crush through all of the others like a tidal wave, filling your body and clouding your thoughts. Rage. Fury.

You spun on your heel, barreling through the crowd toward the door.

“(Y/N)!” Your boyfriend called behind you, but you ignored him, sidestepping another patron as you charged and left him in your dust. It seemed like your anger had managed to blur the edges of your vision, and you collided with another student.

“Watch it—!”

Theodore Nott stood at six feet tall, towering over you more than your boyfriend ever had, jawline so sharp it could cut you—if not for that, his words certainly would. He glared down at you with stormy eyes that you couldn’t quite call blue but couldn’t call green.

You heard your boyfriend call your name once more as he approached you, and it seemed the desperation on your face was apparent to someone as apathetic as Theodore, who only raised a brow at you.

And in that instant, you made one of the most reckless decisions of your life.

Your hands curled around the lapels of his jacket before you could even command your body to do otherwise, yanking Theodore toward you and leaning up on your tiptoes to close the gap, pressing your lips to his.

A split second passed, and your head was spinning, body coming back to life.

Have I lost my mind? I’ve just been utterly humiliated by my boyfriend and my best friend. Now I’ve kissed one of the notorious snakes—without consent, no less—which makes me literal scum. He’s going to push me away any second, probably hex me, and make this humiliation ten times worse.

All those self-deprecating thoughts came to a silent standstill the second his arm looped around your waist, another hand cupping your cheek as you tilted his head to deepen the kiss.

The moment stretched, every second dragging out as if the world itself had decided to pause and watch. His lips moved against yours with a deliberate, almost teasing patience that sent a shiver down your spine, making your knees threaten to buckle. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the subtle press of his chest against yours, grounding you even as your mind screamed in disbelief.

Your hands tightened on his jacket, nails digging in slightly as if anchoring yourself to reality. Your mind screamed in protest, reminding you of every reason this was reckless—this was Theodore Nott, the last person you should be doing this with, and yet… you couldn’t stop.

The kiss was urgent, hungry, but also careful, as though he could sense the storm raging inside you and wanted to meet it without drowning you completely.

Finally, reality slammed back into you. You broke the kiss with a gasp, eyes still closed, trying to catch your breath after being so violently knocked out of orbit by a kiss you could only describe as divine.

When your eyes met his again, you were rendered speechless.

Oh, you better admit yourself into St. Mungo's tonight, you imbecile.

“Oh my—uh… I—I shouldn’t have—I'm sorry—” You stammered, tearing your hands from his jacket and stepping back. Embarrassment burned hotter than your anger had moments ago.

You swallowed, shamefully looking down as you moved toward the exit once again, "I'm gonna go—"

Your voice trailed off, choked by a mix of embarrassment and disbelief. You wanted to disappear, to vanish from the pub before anyone could process what had just happened. Before he could.

You pivoted toward the door, picturing yourself in the cool night air where your face might finally stop burning.

But before you could take another step, a firm hand caught your wrist. You froze, the warmth of his grip rooting you in place.

“If you leave first,” He said, his voice low and smooth, carrying that unmistakable edge of challenge, “you lose."

You didn't even know if your ex-boyfriend was still there, you had lost any awareness of your surroundings the second your lips met his.

Your eyes widened, and you stammered, “I… I’m not… I don’t—”

The corner of his lips twitched as though he was fighting a smile at your pathetic state, a teasing glint in those stormy eyes that made your knees threaten to give out again. “Why don’t you… join me and my friends?”

You swallowed, heart hammering, and glanced back at your ex. He was still standing there, awkward, flustered, clearly humiliated. It was… satisfying, in a small, dark way.

If you left now, before they did, it would look like you had something to be ashamed of. You didn’t deserve that.

They didn’t deserve to enjoy the rest of their night undisturbed. They deserved to squirm in their seats, to feel the weight of your stare drilling holes into them. They deserved their night ruined. Their lives ruined.

“…Fine,” you whispered, almost against your will. Your voice trembled with a mixture of exasperation and something dangerously close to thrill. “But only for a little while.”

Theo’s grin widened, that teasing glint in his eyes sharpening. “Oh… I don’t know,” he said, placing his hand on the curve of your waist, leading you to the table that had been taken by the other Slytherins, "We can be quite a fun bunch."

Theodore guided you through the Hog’s Head, arm casually looped through yours, like you’d belonged there all along. You couldn’t help but notice the way the pub-goers glanced at you, whispers flickering through the crowd. Your stomach fluttered with a mix of nerves, shame, and something you didn’t dare name.

When you reached the table, his friend's eyes immediately lit up. They were lounging casually, drinks in hand, and the smirk on Blaise’s face made it clear that they had clearly witnessed your make out session.

"Well, well, well, looks like someone’s been busy." Mattheo drawled, his wicked grin hidden half behind his glass as Theodore pulled out a chair for you and then slid his own closer.

It took everything in you to not look so startled when he wrapped his hand around your shoulder, trying to hide your incredulousness at how seamless this act managed to come to Theo.

You lowered your gaze from Mattheo's who was set on staring at you with an ear-to-ear grin like an imp, only to catch Theo’s eye—he seemed to read your thoughts instantly and, without missing a beat, chucked a fry at his best mate, "Stop ogling my girl, you prat."

“Ohhh,” Mattheo drawled, leaning back in his chair, "She's your girl now? That's the first I've heard of this."

Draco snorted, smirking at Theo, “Yeah, Theo, since when? You never mentioned a girlfriend before.”

Before you could even sputter, Theo’s calm, controlled voice cut through the teasing. “Yeah,” He said effortlessly, as if stating the weather, “We’re dating.”

You froze. What?! You were still reeling from the kiss, and now he was lying with such ease that it made your brain stutter. You were so caught off-guard, so out of your comfort zone that you couldn't even say anything.

He didn’t even flinch, "And we're not first-year girls that I should tell you everything."

Enzo let out a low whistle. “Wow… Theo, good for you, man."

You felt like your chest had been sucker-punched. How could he lie so effortlessly? So convincingly? You were still fumbling over your own thoughts, heart racing from the kiss, and he was… untouchable.

Theodore leaned slightly closer, voice low enough that only you could hear. “Relax. Just play along. Trust me.”

Trust him? You barely knew him. And the two people you’d trusted most in the world had just ripped you to shreds.

This was a bad idea.

But you didn’t move. You couldn’t. Because Theodore was right—if you left, your ex would see it, and you’d lose.

So you stayed. You plastered a grin on your face and let Theodore enjoy himself with his friends. You tried your best not to glance at the betrayers—refused to give them the satisfaction of knowing they occupied even a single neuron in your brain.

When tears threatened to prick your eyes, you bit the inside of your cheek hard and reached for Theo’s drink, taking a slow sip to ease the tightness in your throat.

Thankfully, it seemed they weren’t as shameless as you’d feared. They looked too uncomfortable to enjoy themselves, shifting in their seats, eyes flicking toward you before darting away. The sight of them leaving some time later brought you a sliver of satisfaction. However, that was made very bitter at the realization that they were leaving together.

You held out for another twenty minutes before finally turning to Theodore with a tired smile. “Walk me back?”

He didn’t hesitate. He stood immediately, earning a chorus of jeers from his friends about being a “simp” who couldn’t let his girl walk alone. Theodore just flipped them off before guiding you out with a warm hand at the small of your back.

The walk was quiet. Snowflakes gathered in your hair and clung to your coat, the world muted by the thick white dusting over Hogsmeade. Then, halfway down the path, you stopped abruptly.

Theodore turned to you, “What’s wrong?”

You stared down at the snow-covered road, tears burning at the edges of your vision, “She’s back at my dorm.”

You pressed the heel of your gloved palms into your eyes, your chest trembling with the sobs you’d been holding in all night, “And if she’s not… then I’ll be left wondering if she's with him for the rest of the night.”

Theodore sighed, steering you toward a small alcove behind the pub. It overlooked the rest of Hogsmeade, quiet and dim under the glow of lanterns. You sank down against the fence, not caring about the wet snow soaking through your clothes, hiding your face in your knees as the dam finally broke.

The image of them at the pub replayed relentlessly behind your closed eyelids, no matter how much you willed it away.

They’d done it so unabashedly, so arrogantly—her practically in his lap. Comfortable enough to humiliate you like that in public meant it couldn’t have been the first time.

Your mind reeled back to every time they’d both been absent, every “we just ran into each other in the hallway” excuse, every occasion they’d been “too busy” to join you in Hogsmeade.

They’d done this where other students could see. Had no one thought to tell you? Did your other friends just… choose to stay silent? Were they ever really your friends at all?

Theodore didn’t say a word. He just stood beside you in silence—until the soft clink of his lighter broke through your thoughts. You looked up, face blotchy and eyes raw, just in time to see him take a long drag from a cigarette, the smoke stark against the winter air.

“Can I have one?” You asked.

"No," He glanced down at you, “Take it from me, sweetheart—once you start, it’s very hard to stop.”

You exhaled sharply, lowering your forehead back to your knees. You tried to breathe deep, to steady yourself, to make sense of any of it, “What good even are you?”

There was another beat of silence.

“I’m sorry,” He said, and you looked up again, “I sprang that whole thing on you. If you don’t want to, I’ll take it back. Make it seem like I was the one mistaken. You don’t need to worry.”

“Why did you do it?” You asked quietly, “You could’ve easily pushed me away. I mean, I was the one at fault there.”

“Because,” He said, taking another slow drag, “you looked desperate.”

You huffed a humorless laugh, “I’m swooning.”

Theo’s mouth twitched—almost a smile, but not quite. “Besides,” He added, tilting his head so the dim light from the pub hit the sharp cut of his jaw, “I wasn’t about to let them see you run off like you’d done something wrong.”

You blinked at him, caught between wanting to roll your eyes and wanting to thank him, “So you just… decided to announce to half the school that we’re dating?”

“It’s better this way,” He said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “Rumors spread fast. By Monday, everyone will think you’ve moved on—and not just moved on, but traded up.” His gaze flicked to you, calm but deliberate, “Let them choke on it.”

Your throat tightened, but this time it wasn’t from wanting to cry.

"And what do you get out of this arrangement?"

Theodore glanced at you through the thin curl of smoke leaving his lips. His expression didn’t flicker, but there was a spark of something behind his eyes—mischief, maybe, or calculation.

“Let’s just say…” He exhaled slowly, the smoke catching in the cold air like ghostly ribbons, “…I have my reasons.”

You swallowed and then sighed, watching as your breath became visible in the cold air, tears now dry on your cheeks, “I want them to pay for it.”

Theodore smirked, the corner of his mouth curling like he’d just been waiting to hear those words, "And so they shall."

You pushed open the door to your dorm, ready to collapse onto your bed and pretend the last twenty-four hours hadn’t happened. After talking with Theodore for a while, you’d waited until well past curfew to sneak back into Hogwarts, hoping your ex-boyfriend and ex–best friend had either gone to sleep separately or she was holed up in his dorm.

Honestly, at this point, you didn’t care where they were or what they were doing. They’d been dead to you long before you saw them at the pub tonight.

All you wanted was a bed. Sleep. Silence.

Theodore had still given you the option to change your mind about him — told you he’d take the blame if you wanted to pretend you didn’t know each other. But you were too wrung out from crying, too hollow to think. Your body was ready to collapse the second your face hit the pillow.

Except the moment you stepped inside, sleep vanished.

She was there.

Sitting cross-legged on her bed, biting her thumbnail — that nervous habit of hers you hated that you knew.

Your mind started firing questions faster than you could breathe. Was she nervous? Guilty? Regretful? Did she feel anything at all?

Her head snapped up.

“Hey,” She said softly, eyes wide with something dangerously close to guilt, “Can we talk?”

You froze. Part of you wanted to say yes. She’d been your best friend, the person you’d cared about more than anything. You didn’t want to lose her.

Your heart almost opened the door. Your mind slammed it shut.

“No.”

She blinked, flinching like you’d slapped her, “Please, just—”

“I said no.” You moved past her toward your bed, shrugging off your coat, “Whatever you think you need to say, save it. I don’t care.”

“(Y/N), please! I didn’t mean for it to happen—”

You laughed—sharp, humorless, “You didn’t mean to kiss my boyfriend? How exactly does that work? You trip and fall face-first onto his mouth?”

Her jaw twitched. Then she scoffed, “Fine. If you’re gonna act like you’re so perfect, maybe remember you’re not exactly a saint either.”

Your head snapped up, “Excuse me?”

She crossed her arms, chin tilting higher, “We all saw your little show with Nott earlier. Don’t think you can sit there acting holier-than-thou when you cheated too.”

Heat surged under your skin.

“What I was doing with Nott is none of your business. But don’t you dare pretend that makes you right. You are the lowest, ugliest, skankiest slag I’ve ever met in my life.”

“That’s rich,” She spat, “Coming from the slag who spread her legs for the first guy she saw. Nott probably thought you were easy, didn’t he?”

You took a step forward. Then another. She backed up.

“Theodore has nothing to do with this, and neither does anyone else. The person I’m pissed at is you.” Your voice shook now, not from fear, but fury, “You were supposed to be my best friend! How could you betray me like this? Humiliate me in front of everybody? Go behind my back? I would never have done this to you. I wouldn’t have even thought about it!”

With each sentence, you jabbed a finger into her chest, until you finally shoved her, the force surprising even you.

She didn’t back down.

“You deserved it, didn’t you? Acting all high and mighty — then turning around and doing the same thing.”

Something in your chest cracked. You looked at her, really looked, and realized you didn’t recognize her anymore.

You laughed, breathless and disbelieving, “The only difference between us is I didn’t throw away seven years of friendship for some asshole who can only think with his dick. You think he won’t turn around and do the same thing to you that he did to me? You’re deluded.”

One more shove.

Then you straightened, voice quiet but lethal.

“If you ever approach me again, I’ll kill you. Until then?” You took a step back, smirking like she was something you’d scrape off your shoe, “Have fun with my sloppy seconds, slut.”

The next morning, the corridors were alive with the usual rush of students heading to the Great Hall, but your thoughts were still tangled in last night’s chaos. You tightened your coat around you, trying to focus on anything but the memory of their faces, when a familiar voice cut through the din.

“(Y/N)!” Your ex-boyfriend called, catching up just as you reached the entrance to the Great Hall. His face was flushed, a mixture of anger, embarrassment, and confusion, “What the hell was that yesterday?”

You froze for a heartbeat, then let a sardonic smile creep across your face, “Oh, that? I thought your tongue down my best friend’s throat was a pretty clear indication that we were both seeing other people.”

His face burned red, guilt and humiliation flickering across his features. You barely felt any satisfaction—what you felt yesterday had been raw, scorching, and unshakable. This was just a pale echo.

“Look, I—” He began, his voice tight, “I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

“Didn’t mean to cheat on me with my best friend? Or didn’t mean for me to find out?” You let each word land like a slap.

His jaw clenched, his gaze hard, “You’re one to talk, acting like you didn’t leave with Theodore Nott of all people yesterday.”

You tilted your head, cool and deliberate, “I did. So? That doesn’t give you the moral high ground to lecture me. If you think you’re the victim here… think again.”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice to a dangerous murmur, “Wait—are you serious? Are you actually—”

And then you saw him. Theodore Nott, leaning against the wall with that impossibly calm expression, arms crossed, watching like the world had paused for his amusement.

Your chest tightened, but you squared your shoulders. “Yes,” You said clearly, deliberately loud enough for both of them to hear, “I am dating Theodore Nott.”

The color drained from his face, the clever retorts dying on his tongue. You didn’t give him a chance to recover.

Theo’s smirk sharpened, eyes flicking between you and him, silently daring him to challenge your words, to give him a reason to rearrange his sorry mug this fine morning.

You started walking, leaving your ex behind, and Theodore fell naturally into step beside you. His presence was calm, confident, infuriatingly infuriating—and comforting at the same time.

“You promised, Nott,” You murmured, your voice low and dangerous, “We’re going to make them pay.”

Theo’s grin widened, the corner of his mouth lifting into that familiar, teasing arc. “Oh, don’t worry, mia cara,” He said smoothly, eyes glinting with mischief and you felt your ears get hot, “We're gonna make them regret ever messing with you.”

Side by side, you stepped into the Great Hall. Whispers began immediately, flickering through the crowd like wildfire. And as the students’ eyes turned toward you, you realized—the game had officially begun.

The chatter of students filled the Charms classroom as you stepped inside, your nerves buzzing the way they always did when eyes might follow you. You hesitated in the doorway for a fraction too long, scanning the rows of desks. Usually, your spot was second row, left side—the place you always shared with your best friend. But now? The thought of sitting there made your stomach twist. Should you take it anyway, claim your ground, and glare if she had the audacity to join you?

Before you could decide, a warm hand brushed against the small of your back.

“Over here.” Theodore murmured, voice low but commanding. He didn’t give you room to argue, guiding you through the rows with a confidence that ignored every curious glance that followed. You ended up in the second-to-last row, his chosen territory.

You dropped your bag to the floor and slid into the seat he indicated, shooting him a quick, reluctant smile. Almost instantly, you became acutely aware of the heat of his knee brushing yours beneath the desk.

Theodore leaned back in his chair with practiced ease, stretching his arm just far enough to rest casually along the back of yours. “That’s better,” He said, deliberately louder now, his voice carrying through the classroom. His smirk deepened, “Need my girl next to me.”

The effect was immediate. The two Hufflepuff girls in front of you whipped their heads around under the pretense of adjusting their books. They tried to be subtle, glancing sideways from the corners of their eyes, but the way their shoulders pressed together and their whispers turned sharp made it obvious who they were talking about.

Theo noticed too. His smirk widened, one eyebrow arching as if to say exactly as planned.

You resisted the urge to elbow him in the ribs, ducking your head instead as heat crept up your neck. Subtle was not in Theodore Nott’s vocabulary, apparently.

Your heart jumped when the door opened again and she walked in—your ex–best friend, sliding into the classroom like nothing had happened. She looked tired, as she always did on mornings like this; Charms was the earliest class on your schedule, and she never managed breakfast before dragging herself out of bed. No, instead she always smuggled in a handful of Honeydukes’ cockroach clusters, nibbling on them through class.

And sure enough, there they were, sitting in a paper bag on her desk.

Your lips curled into a knowing smirk.

How could she be so careless? She knew you better than anyone—had known every one of your tricks, your habits, your moods. She should have known you wouldn’t leave her unpunished.

You waited until Professor Flitwick had begun explaining wand movement on the board, until the room was full of the faint swish of quills and the scratching of parchment. Then, when her hand dipped into the bag, you flicked your wand under the table. A silent transfiguration. Smooth, clean, precise.

She popped the cluster into her mouth. Chewed once.

And then froze.

Her eyes widened just a fraction, and then she gagged, clapping a hand over her lips. You bit down on your own smile as, with a sharp cough, she spat onto her desk—not a melted chocolate, but a fat, wriggling cockroach that skittered across the wood.

The room erupted.

Screams, laughter, the scrape of chairs as people leapt away. Someone shouted, “Bloody hell, they’re moving!” as two more clusters in the bag twitched and burst into chittering, crawling life. Your ex-best friend shoved her desk back in panic, her face pale as the cockroaches spilled out in a wave across the floor.

You didn’t react like the rest of them, watching as chaos struck and she turned green in the face, barely able to breathe. You lifted your feet and bag from the ground, careful to avoid all the cockroaches that seemed to multiply from her bag—the replenishing charm you cast on the bag doing wonders.

Theodore didn’t even glance at the teacher; instead, his attention was entirely on you, on the way your chest rose and fell, eyes still sharp, just barely contained.

With a single fluid motion, he pulled your chair a little closer, resting your legs in his lap. You froze, breath hitching, heat crawling up your spine—but there was no time for that. The room still hummed with whispers and laughter, and you could feel every pair of eyes glancing back at the scene.

“Elegant work, sweetheart.” He murmured low, the words meant only for you. His fingers brushed lightly along your ankle, light enough to be intimate, heavy enough to claim attention.

You suddenly understood why in the olden days showing ankle was considered scandalous, judging by the set of shivers Theodore's thumb against your ankle had sent up your spine.

“Detention! For eating in class and causing this disruption! Minus ten points!” Professor Flitwick’s squeaky voice rang across the room.

You fought the grin tugging at your lips, eyes sliding back to your former best friend, who sat frozen, cheeks burning with humiliation.

Oh, poor girl.

That pitiful, shocked face only made you hate her more.

The library was quiet, the soft rustle of pages and the occasional scratch of quills filling the otherwise hushed room. You were bent over a stack of textbooks, notes scattered across the polished wooden table, eyes straining to keep focus as the afternoon sunlight streamed through the tall windows.

You were so absorbed in your work that you didn’t notice the shadow falling across your page. A soft, familiar warmth pressed against the back of your chair, and a low chuckle reached your ears.

“Can’t study forever, you know.” A deep voice murmured.

Before you could turn around, a pair of lips pressed gently against the top of your head. A small, contented sigh followed as Theodore rested his chin lightly on your shoulder.

“Missed you, sweetheart.” He said softly, his words meant only for you, though the air between you carried them enough for nearby students to murmur.

You froze for a heartbeat, pencil hovering mid-note, then tilted your head slightly, allowing him the small indulgence. His hand slid to rest on yours, fingers brushing against your notes, grounding you in the moment.

A few whispers floated through the library, subtle but unmistakable: “Is that…?” “Theodore Nott and—” “Wow.”

The heat rose in your cheeks, but it wasn’t embarrassment—it was the thrill of being seen with him, the quiet intimacy, the silent power you both held over anyone watching.

Especially the power it held over you.

You didn't know how he was able to touch you so intimately, pretend like you had a long history, hold you close and fake that look in his eye that made you feel like you were the center of his universe.

It was baffling.

Theodore rested his head for a moment longer before leaning back just enough to peer at your notes, “Though… you’re really focused, aren’t you? I’d almost feel guilty interrupting.”

You gave a small smile, eyes still on your parchment, “You could say that, yeah.”

He chuckled, nudging your shoulder gently with his own, “Then I’ll just keep you company… silently.”

And with that, he settled next to you, close enough that his warmth was constant, silent enough that you could still work—but every so often, he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple or brushing a strand of hair from your face.

Then you sensed movement behind you. Glancing up, you caught sight of your ex and your former best friend sneaking into the room, eyes immediately locking on you and Theodore.

They didn’t just glance—they stiffened, shoulders squared, and suddenly it was like a performance. She leaned close to him, laughing a little too loudly, brushing against him in a way that screamed look at us, we’re happy, look at what you’re missing. Your ex mirrored her, puffing out his chest and whispering something that made her giggle.

It was painfully obvious—they wanted you to see them, to feel jealous, to react.

You didn’t.

Instead, you reached up, grabbed Theodore by the collar, and pulled him down into a deliberate, teasing kiss, letting them watch the undeniable spark between you. He responded immediately, moving his hand to your waist, deepening the kiss and cupping your cheek.

But of course, they weren’t going to give up that easily. Determined to “out-do” you, they moved to the far side of the library, your ex hugging her from behind and peppering kisses to her neck as she giggled. They ducked into the alcove at the back that was notorious for students fooling around.

Theodore raised a brow, lips curling into that maddeningly flirtatious smirk, leaning to press his lips to your ear, “What do you say, love? Feel like beating them at their own game? I’m sure we’d have a better time anyway.”

You chuckled, shaking your head, trying to ignore the heat crawling up your neck.

With a subtle glance toward the librarian’s desk, you caught Madam Pince’s attention. Quietly, you waved her over, corners of your mouth tugging into a grin.

Theodore’s eyebrows shot up, “Oh? You’re evil, bellissima.”

“Oh, you love it.” You murmured, still holding his hand. You pointed to the bookshelf where they were hiding, leaning back with a sly grin.

What happened next was beautiful chaos.

A shriek echoed through the library—sharp, furious, unmistakably theirs. Madam Pince’s voice rang out, shrill and indignant: “What on earth are you two doing in here?!”

You and Theodore exchanged a glance and stifled laughter as you heard her yelling, her wand flashing to confiscate their belongings, and chasing them down the aisles, half-dressed and completely humiliated.

The whispers and stares of the other students only added to the spectacle. You suppressed another laugh as you watched points being deducted from their house records, their humiliation complete.

For now.

The stands were packed, the cold wind whipping your hair around your face as you and Theo leaned against the railing, watching the match unfold below. You watched as your ex’s team began collecting points, you and Mattheo booing their every move at the top of your lungs.

“YOU CALL THAT FLYING?!” Mattheo yelled, and you cupped your hands around your mouth, “MY GRANDMA CAN FLY BETTER THAN THAT!”

You coughed—cold air and screaming taking their toll—before a scarf was gently draped around your neck. You turned in surprise to see Theodore, not even looking at you, more intent on wrapping it carefully so it covered your ears and nose without smothering your mouth. When it proved impossible, he conceded and settled for placing a warming charm on you.

You smiled bashfully, hiding your pink cheeks in the scarf, “Thank you.”

“Anytime, bella.”

“Disgusting behavior in public.” Mattheo muttered under his breath, earning a soft chuckle from you.

Everything seemed normal—until the golden blur began acting strangely.

Even for a snitch, its movements were erratic. But this was worse than usual. It seemed to purposefully avoid the opposing team, darting exclusively toward your ex’s side. The match ground to a halt as the players floated to a stop, confusion spreading across the pitch. Madam Hooch called everyone together, frowning as she tried to assess the situation.

When the groundskeepers and referees inspected the field, the truth became clear: the snitch in play wasn’t real. Someone had swapped it.

Confusion rippled through the stands as whispers grew louder.

“Where’s the real Snitch?” The head referee demanded, scanning the players.

A quick locating spell revealed it immediately—tucked neatly in your ex’s bag, as if he had accidentally carried it with him. The real snitch sat there, innocently gleaming in the sunlight, waiting to be discovered.

A collective gasp swept through the crowd. Every eye in the stadium turned to him.

Your ex’s face drained of color, hands fumbling over the bag in shock. “I—I didn’t—!” He stammered.

But the damage was already done. The spectators murmured furiously, teammates muttering accusations, and whispers of “he cheated” began circulating instantly.

Theo leaned back against the railing, smirk spreading across his face, and whispered in your ear, “Are you enjoying the show, my love?”

You bit your lip and nodded, trying not to laugh aloud, and reached for his hand under the railing, giving it a subtle squeeze. No words were needed—the humiliation was working exactly as planned.

“Due to tampering with the snitch, it’s an automatic loss for Ravenclaw—Hufflepuff wins!” Madam Hooch announced, confirming the disaster.

“Another impeccable plan. I’m impressed,” Theo murmured in your ear, voice teasing, “You make it look easy.”

The crisp Hogsmeade air nipped at your cheeks as you stepped off the train, Theodore’s hand sliding easily into yours. The village was bustling with students, their laughter echoing over the cobblestone streets, but all you could feel was the warmth of his grip and the soft pull of his presence beside you.

Theodore was actually the one to suggest that you guys spend the day together. At first, you were going to opt out, feeling bad that the last couple weeks had been revolving around you and wanting him to get some time with his friends but he insisted, saying that you couldn't spend your Hogsmeade apart or people would talk.

You couldn't argue with that.

But even then you found yourself looking forward to it.

Despite this being only a temporary arrangement with no feelings behind it, Theodore was actually great company. He was thoughtful and considerate, he liked hearing you talk and a quality people didn't really appreciate a lot was that he was hilarious.

You couldn't go five minutes without him prompting a belly laugh from you.

You paused in front of a small shop, your eyes catching a delicate necklace in the display window. A thin chain with a tiny, intricate charm glinting in the sunlight—it was beautiful. Your breath caught.

“Oh… that’s gorgeous.” You murmured, pressing your palm lightly against the glass.

Theodore leaned over, following your gaze. His eyes softened when he saw the necklace, “You like it?”

“I do… but…” Your voice trailed off as you peeked at the price tag. Your eyes widened, “but I do not love the price tag.”

The bell above the shop door jingled as you both entered. You wandered near the counter, trying to convince yourself it was just a dream. Theodore approached the shopkeeper, exchanged a few words, and before you could even process what was happening, the necklace was being handed to you in a small, neatly wrapped box.

You stared at it, then at him, “No… no, you can’t. This is way too expensive. I can’t—”

“It’s only ten Galleons.” He said, clearly perplexed by your reaction.

“Only… ten Galleons?” You repeated, your voice rising slightly in surprise, “That’s… that’s like… my entire pocket money for the next two months!”

Theodore smirked, as if your shock were the most amusing thing he’d seen all day, “Yes, and? You’re my girl. You like it, you get it. What’s the problem?”

The problem was you weren't really his girl.

So, why was he going out of his way to behave like you were? This was a question that had stayed in your head since that first night in Hogsmeade. What was he getting out of this? Why would he be so readily enthusiastic in your plan when it was clear you were the only one truly benefitting from this?

When you met his eyes again, stormy blue that looked green in some lights, the questioned died on your tongue.

Because whatever the reason, you weren't sure you wanted him to stop.

You stared at him, half in disbelief, half in awe, “You—really? You’re just… giving it to me?”

You laughed, shaking your head in disbelief as you let him fasten the necklace around your neck. The charm glinted against your chest, and the warmth of the gesture left you grinning.

When you turned to meet his eyes again, you smiled bashfully up at him before leaning in to press a soft kiss against his cheek.

Theo froze in surprise the second your lips touched his cold skin, and the sight of his startled expression made something warm bloom in your stomach.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t done more than that—in fact, in your persistence to prove to your exes that you were well past moved on, you’d taken to making out with Theo in nearly every public space Hogwarts had to offer. And if it wasn’t that, it was the way he always had an arm around you, casual and possessive, no matter where you went.

So the fact that something as small as a cheek kiss could knock him off guard made you smile. Made you feel like all the intimacy you shared wasn’t just a front. Wasn’t all fake.

“Thank you.” You whispered.

You settled cross-legged on the soft carpet of the Slytherin common room, leaning back against Theodore’s legs as he sat comfortably on the couch. His hands were busy in your hair, while his scarf lay draped across your lap. Carefully, you threaded the fringe at the end of the scarf, showing him how to braid it so he could mimic the motion on your hair.

“So then you take this left strand and bring it over—it becomes the new center strand—and then you bring the new right strand and bring it over.” You explained, feeling the occasional tug on your hair. You immediately noticed the braid slipping.

“It keeps slipping… your hair is too greasy.” He muttered, brow furrowed.

You scoffed, feigning offense, “I think you mean… smooth and silky.”

“This isn’t working.” He grumbled, letting go of your hair and starting over, separating it into three neat parts.

“Baby, this is the easiest braid ever. You’re going to faint when I teach you about a Dutch braid.” You teased, tugging gently on a strand to demonstrate.

Before he could respond, the door creaked open and Mattheo sauntered in, smirk plastered across his face. “Ohhh, what do we have here?” He drawled, “(Y/N) (L/N), Hogwarts’ first houseless student considering we never see her in her own common room, and Theodore Nott, her loyal… dog.”

He then grimaced at the sight of the two of you, “Can y’all not do this in a public space? Some of us think the sight of happy couples is enough to induce projectile vomiting.”

Theo didn’t flinch, though the corner of his mouth tugged into a small smirk. You felt a small thrill as his thumb grazed the space under your ear, leading to your neck, grounding you in the moment.

You raised a brow, voice dripping with mock menace, “You really wanna piss me off when I’m at prime height to punch you in the balls?”

Mattheo rolled his eyes and collapsed onto the couch, still grinning, “You’re coming to Theo’s birthday next Friday, right? Considering you practically live here.”

You hesitated, unsure, “I… I don’t know. I mean—”

Theo leaned over you, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head. “You'll be there right?” He murmured, voice low and coaxing, the simple gesture making your chest tighten, "Please?"

You bit back a smile, looking up at him, and realized there was no way you could say no—not when he asked like that.

You stepped into the Slytherin common room, barely able to hear your own thoughts over the bass that rattled the walls. It thudded deep in your chest, vibrating through your bones as you descended the staircase to the dungeons.

The room was packed, bodies moving together in a blur beneath the strobing lights, faces indistinguishable in the chaos. But your eyes found Theo instantly. He was surrounded by his friends, laughing at something Mattheo said, until his gaze landed on you.

His entire expression shifted—lit up like you were the only thing in the room. Without a second thought, he left them behind and crossed the room to meet you at the base of the stairs.

His eyes swept over your little black dress, the necklace he gifted you resting prettily on your collarbones, and his hands found their way to your waist—low, possessive, warm against the thin fabric, "Che bella, carissima."

"Happy birthday, Theo." You murmured, your palms resting lightly against his chest.

"Grazie, dolcezza." He replied, voice low and smooth as he leaned in. His mouth met yours without hesitation, your fingers sliding into his hair. Lip gloss smudged against his skin, and the artificial taste of lollipop lippie flooded both your mouths.

If you hadn’t been so caught up in the kiss, maybe you would’ve questioned it. Why you were kissing Theo when neither your boyfriend nor your best friend was anywhere in sight. Why you were feeding into the rumor mill in the shadowy corner of the common room instead of center stage where everyone could see.

Maybe you would’ve wondered why you shaved your legs, wore the dress that made your breasts look perfect, took extra time curling your hair, and reached for the expensive perfume you saved for special occasions.

But with Theo’s fingers brushing bare skin along your spine—thanks to the low back of your dress—those thoughts didn’t stand a chance.

You pulled away, laughing softly at the sight of glittery gloss smeared across his lips. You tried to wipe it away with your thumbs, but that proved nearly impossible when he kept catching your fingers in quick kisses.

"I have a present for you." You whispered, revealing the small gift bag you’d kept tucked behind your back. Theo pressed a kiss to your temple before taking it, digging through the tissue paper until he pulled out a steel flask—cool, heavy, and etched with intricate designs like something stolen from an ancient temple.

When he felt the liquid slosh inside, he unscrewed the cap and took a sip, brows lifting in surprise when the familiar taste hit his tongue.

"I cast a replenishing spell on it," You explained, "When it runs out, it’ll refill on its own."

His lips curved in a slow smile, still holding your gaze.

"I was just thinking about that day you said you’d miss my cocoa," You added, "So…I thought you’d appreciate it."

Theo chuckled quietly, looking down at the flask with an expression you couldn’t quite read—something deeper than amusement.

"Do you…not like it?" You asked after a beat.

He shook his head immediately, "I adore it, pretty girl."

Before you could respond, Mattheo’s voice cut through the music. "If you guys are done ASSAULTING OUR EYEBALLS—" You both rolled your eyes in perfect unison, "—IT’S TIME FOR CAKE!"

You followed the crowd toward the long table where the cake waited, candles flickering under the dim lights. You expected to melt into the group somewhere between Enzo and Blaise, but before you could even drift in that direction, Theo’s hand shot out, curling firmly around your wrist.

“Where do you think you’re going, Dolcezza?” He murmured, tugging you to stand at his side—his spot—right in front of the cake.

“Theo,” You hissed under your breath, “it’s your birthday, I should be—”

“You're exactly where you should be.” He cut you off smoothly, eyes glinting in the candlelight. His hand didn't lift from your waist, keeping you pinned to his side, the faint smell of smoke and cocoa clinging to him like a second skin.

You didn’t have time to argue before Blaise slid over, holding out a small slip of parchment and a quill, “Here you go, mate."

Your brows furrowed, “What’s this?”

Theo took the quill without hesitation, his head bending low as he scribbled something on the paper in quick, sure strokes.

“It’s an old Nott thing,” Mattheo explained, “Birthday boy writes down a wish, folds it, and keeps it with him until it comes true. You’re not supposed to tell anyone what it is.”

Theo didn’t even glance up, just folded the parchment neatly, tucking it into the inner pocket of his jacket with deliberate care.

“And you keep it on you?” You asked, curiosity getting the better of you.

“Always,” Theo said simply. His gaze met yours, sharp enough to make your stomach twist, “A wish doesn’t work if you let it out too soon.”

You should’ve looked away, but there was something about the weight of his stare—like whatever he’d written down was more dangerous than anyone else in the room realized.

“Now,” Mattheo groaned, breaking the tension, “can we please sing so I can eat some damn cake?"

You laughed, but your mind was already racing, replaying the way Theo’s lips had curved just slightly when he’d sealed the parchment away.

And for the first time, you wondered if that wish had anything to do with you.

The common room was a haze of dancing bodies, flashing lights, and the faint tang of cider and punch. You’d just come back from the corridor with Theo, the warmth of his hand still lingering on your waist, when Mattheo leaned over with a mischievous grin.

“You need to try this,” He said, holding out a tall glass filled with a neon-colored drink. At the bottom, a small, bright candy rested like a hidden treasure, “It’s our latest cocktail—sweet and sour. The sweetness of the drink with the sour candy at the bottom is fucking good.”

You raised an eyebrow, examining the glass that looked radioactive, "This looks cursed."

"It's good, baby," Theo said smoothly, eyes sparkling as he handed you the glass, “You should give it a try.”

With a shrug and a laugh, you took a sip. At first, it was sweet, almost pleasant. Then your tongue hit the candy, and your eyes widened in shock. Your face scrunched up immediately.

“Oh—oh my god,” You choked out, spitting it back a little, "This is awful! I feel like I'm sucking on a lemon!"

Theo chuckled low, leaning closer, his hand brushing against yours as he reached for the glass. “Give it here.” He murmured, voice teasing.

You held the candy between your teeth, letting him tilt your head and take it into his mouth. The kiss that followed was slow, teasing, and intimate, the world around you fading as he skillfully removed the candy without breaking the connection between your lips. Your hands found their way into his hair, fingers tangling naturally like it does whenever you kiss.

When he finally pulled back slightly, forehead resting against yours, his eyes shone with playful delight, "You're crazy," He said, swishing the candy around in his mouth, "This is delicious."

"You two are disgusting." Mattheo muttered again, shaking his head.

You’d slipped out into the quieter corridor for a moment’s reprieve. The cool dungeon air was a relief after the heat of the crowd.

You were seated on one of the stairs, catching your breath, when footsteps echoed down the hall. You didn’t turn, but the scent of Theo hit your senses the moment he draped his jacket around your shoulders and settled beside you.

“Hi.” You murmured, leaning your head down to rest on your knees, offering a small, tired smile.

“Hi. You alright?”

You nodded, “Just a little tipsy. I needed some air.”

“Oh, I know just what to do about that.” He teased, reaching into his jacket and pulling out the flask you had gifted him. You chuckled as he opened it, handing it to you, steam curling into the cold air. You took a few sips, letting the warmth spread through you.

“When I said I was going to miss your cocoa,” He began, a hint of mischief in his voice, “I didn’t mean you should give me a lifetime supply.”

Your brows furrowed, a pang of worry settling in your chest. Did he not like the present?

"I don’t want the flask if it means you won’t be around to share it with me,” He said softly, leaning closer so only you could hear, “I’ve always just wanted you."

You took a sharp inhale, your heart beginning to pound against your ribcage.

"Are—Are you being serious?"

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached into his pocket and held something out between two fingers—a folded slip of parchment, worn at the edges, looking as though it might crumble if handled too roughly.

You frowned, “What’s this?”

“My birthday wish from last year.” He said simply.

You blinked, “Won’t giving it to me mean it won’t come true?”

His lips curved into that maddening, calm smile, “Take a look.”

You hesitated, then unfolded the paper. The ink was slightly smudged, but the words were unmistakable:

I wish for (Y/N) to notice me.

Your stomach flipped in disbelief, “Theo…”

“I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember.”

The air seemed to thin around you, your pulse loud in your ears, “You… you’re serious?”

He nodded, “I’ve felt this way for a long time. I thought last year would finally be the year I made my move, but then you started dating him, and I thought I lost my chance.”

“I didn’t know you felt that way.” You whispered.

“I was ecstatic when you finally turned your attention to me that night. Not the way I wanted at first, maybe, but I was never going to let that chance get away from me.”

You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, your chest tightening with a mix of disbelief and relief. Theo’s eyes were locked on yours, calm and steady, but filled with something so raw it made your heart thrum.

Your hands trembled slightly as you reached up to brush a stray lock of hair from his face, fingers lingering at his jaw. “So… all of this—” you gestured between the two of you, “—the fake dating, the kissing, the… everything… it wasn’t just to get back at them?”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head, “No. That part was fun, I’ll admit. But it wasn’t the real reason I wanted to be close to you.” His hand slid over yours, palm warm against yours, grounding you, “I’ve wanted this… wanted you… for longer than you can imagine.”

Your heart lurched, a mixture of relief and longing flooding through you, “Theo…”

He leaned closer, forehead resting against yours, voice just above a whisper, “So, what do you say? No more pretending. No more games. Just… us.”

Something inside you broke—years of tension, uncertainty, and longing unraveling in a single heartbeat. You cupped his face in your hands, leaning into him fully, “Okay,” You breathed, “Just us.”

His grin widened, a triumphant glint in his stormy eyes, and he kissed you—slow, deep, and deliberate, every touch and press of his lips sealing the promise between you. No pretense, no lies. Just the two of you, finally, fully together.

The two of you stayed there for a while, wrapped in each other’s warmth, the distant thrum of the party fading into nothing. The world had narrowed to just you, just him, and the long-awaited start of something neither of you wanted to hide ever again.

Bonus:

Breakfast in the Great Hall felt different that morning.

You’d think that after months of this routine with Theo, another morning spent at his side wouldn’t feel so significant. But it did. Everything felt sharper, warmer. You didn’t feel like you had to prove anything anymore. You didn’t feel like you had to put on a show. The hand holding yours was hidden beneath the table, but you didn’t care if anyone saw—or if they didn’t. It didn’t matter anymore.

And yet, despite everything shifting, you and Theo were still the same—falling into that easy rhythm, voices low as you traded quiet jokes. Only now, you noticed the way it felt different. How intimate it was when Theo’s gaze lingered not just on your eyes but flickered, unconsciously, down to your lips. How he looked at you like you were the only thing in the room, even in the middle of the bustling Hall.

How had you missed all the signs before?

Theo was brushing a crumb from the corner of your mouth with his thumb when the bliss cracked.

“Everyone!”

The word boomed too loud, slicing through the clatter of cutlery and low chatter. Your entire body stiffened before you even turned around. Of course. Him.

Your ex stood in the aisle, puffed up with self-importance, chest thrown back like he’d just mounted a stage. He had that smug gleam in his eyes, the kind that screamed he’d practiced this speech in the mirror ten times over.

“I think it’s time you all knew the truth about Theodore Nott and (Y/N) (L/N).” He announced, every syllable dripping with fake triumph. He cut a sharp look at you, then Theo, then back to the sea of students now staring.

The Hall quieted, curiosity winning out. Even the Gryffindors craned their necks, waiting for drama.

“They’ve only been pretending to date,” He declared, letting the word hang in the air, “To make me jealous.”

His voice swelled with self-satisfaction, like he’d just solved some grand mystery.

Your hand tightened around Theo's.

“You don’t have to keep pretending just to get back at me. I get it. I was angry too when we ended, but—” He paused, putting on his most magnanimous smile, “I’ll forgive you. I’ll take you back.”

The silence that followed was… brutal. Half a beat too long.

Slowly, you let your gaze drift—not at him, but across the Hall, to where his so-called new love sat, her expression crumbling as her boyfriend publicly begged for you.

A smirk ghosted across your lips, satisfaction unfurling in your chest. I warned her, you thought. You told her he’d betray her the same way he’d betrayed you. You’d just assumed he’d run to someone new. But no—he’d come crawling right back. Pathetic. Maybe you really were just too good to forget.

A ripple of laughter broke out along the Gryffindor table. Somewhere down the line, a Ravenclaw girl snorted so hard pumpkin juice sprayed out of her nose. Even some of the Slytherins traded incredulous looks, smirks curling as if to say, is he serious?

"He has officially lost the plot." Someone muttered loud enough for half the Hall to hear. Someone else chortled in response.

Your ex’s confident smile faltered.

Blaise Zabini leaned lazily on his elbows, his voice carrying just enough to cut through the hush. “Pretending?” He gestured toward you and Theo with a casual flick of his hand. “Mate, the whole castle’s been gagging on their PDA for months.”

Someone else piped up, "Yeah. If that’s pretend, then they deserve Oscars. The way he looks at her—like she’s the only thing in the world—you’d have to be blind to miss it.”

You chuckled, dropping your gaze from the pathetic sight in front of you and turned back to your current boyfriend, who only smirked at you, though you could see the tenderness that lay underneath, "See? Everyone else could see I was gone for you before you did."

Bonus bonus: (Ten years later)

The day you first kissed Theodore Nott was arguably one of the worst days of your life, despite all the good that eventually came from it. The betrayal of seeing the person you loved cheat on you with your best friend was a wound so deep it had reshaped you.

Theo had always claimed he was glad he’d never experienced anything like it. Until the same thing happened to him.

“This is killing me,” He muttered, pacing the length of your shared bedroom like a man awaiting his execution. His hands dragged through his hair, his voice raw, “I hope you know that.”

Your throat tightened, but you forced an eyeroll, masking your sympathy with irritation, “Theo, it’s not that big of a deal. Will you stop getting your knickers twisted?”

He whirled on you, eyes blazing. “Not a big deal? Not a big—” He broke off, laughing bitterly, “You were so betrayed when this happened to you that you practically tore their lives apart. And now you expect me to just—what? Pretend I’m fine?”

You scoffed, folding your arms, “We are not comparing the biggest betrayal of my life with your daughter having a crush on Mattheo.”

The air went still.

Theo staggered back a step, like you’d struck him. His face twisted in horror as his hand clutched his chest. “Don’t say it out loud.” He croaked, his voice breaking.

He looked genuinely wounded, muttering under his breath as though mourning a death, “I raised her better than this…She used to want to marry me!”

Before you could roll your eyes again, the shrill ding-dong of the doorbell cut through the tension.

Theo froze mid-step, every muscle in his body going taut. Slowly, his head turned toward the door like a man staring down a firing squad.

And then—

“HE’S HERE!”

Your three-year-old's shriek echoed down the hall, followed by the thunder of little feet pounding against the floorboards. She practically skidded into the foyer, hair wild, socks sliding on the wood as she lunged for the door.

“Bianca, you know you're not allowed to open the door without us!” Theo barked, but it was too late.

The door swung wide.

Mattheo Riddle stood there, casual, self-assured, hands shoved in his pockets. A faint, rakish smirk tugged at his lips. With the leather jacket and helmet under his arm, it was easy to see why your daughter was utterly smitten. Had you not known the fool he was during school, you might have been just as captivated.

“Hi.” He drawled, eyes immediately landing on his god-daughter.

“UNCLE MATTHEO!” Bianca squealed, launching herself into his arms without hesitation. He caught her with practiced ease, lifting and spinning her once before settling her on his hip.

Mattheo shifted her higher onto his hip, grinning like he owned the place, “And who’s my favorite girl?”

“Me!” She squealed, giggling as she buried her face into his shoulder.

Theo’s jaw clenched so tight you swore you heard it crack. His knuckles whitened at his sides, and he took one menacing step forward like he was about to snatch his daughter back by force.

Mattheo, utterly unbothered, tilted his head, smirk widening. “I see someone’s cranky.” He teased lightly, holding Bianca closer with a teasing flourish.

"(Y/N) did not go through 14 hours of aggravating labour for this horrendous display."

“Now you know how I felt all those years back at Hogwarts, watching you two glued to each other’s lips like a bad romance novel.”

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[finnsstyles]

SUGAR RUSH.

peter parker x afab!reader

fluff. heavy kissing. implied intimacy. teens being ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ teens. light suggestive vibes but nothing explicit. ♡

You're on your stomach on Peter's bed, your legs stretched out while wearing the hoodie you stole from his closet a week ago. The sleeves are too long, covering half your hands, but you like it that way. It smells like him, like detergent and that cologne he pretends he doesn't use. You've been living in it like a raccoon in a stolen nest. You're not doing anything right now, just waiting for your boyfriend to finish studying, with your mouth full of Pop Rocks that won't shut up.

Crack. Pop. Crack. It's funny, honestly. It sounds like a neck getting cracked in half—well, it can sound like fireworks too. It's annoyingly loud because your mouth looks like it's trying to pick a fight with physics.

Peter groans from his desk and doesn't even look at you. "You're so annoying." The words come out flat like he's already said them three times today. You know he doesn't mean it. Not really. He's just complaining. As always. It's his nature.

You chuckle, candy still fizzing. "You said I could have them." You roll onto your side just to get a better look at him, your lips pouting as if you're using them against him. His pen is tapping against his notebook while listening to the popping of the Pop Rocks.

"Didn't say I wanted to hear them every five seconds, baby." He pinches the bridge of his nose. Sometimes you wonder how he can even manage you. Maybe he's praying for patience and not getting any divine assistance.

You shift a little, cheek pressed against the soft fabric of his bed. "You can't even hear me over there," you say before scoffing and chewing deliberately, just to make a point.

"I can. It's like... background music. In my head." He spins slightly in his chair, just enough to throw a look at you over his shoulder.

You snort. "Dramatic." You drag the word out, milk it, trying to piss him off. Then you toss another handful of candy into your mouth like a kid.

He finally turns around the chair creaking. His hair's a mess, and there's a pencil tucked behind his ear like he forgot it was there. He crosses his arms and damn... those muscles are flexing. "I'm trying to study, and you're over here sounding like... I don't even know what to call it." His expression is all annoyed, but his eyes are warm. Tired, but warm. Not angry. Honestly? You love it when he gets like this, grumpy and soft around the edges.

You open your mouth real wide and go "Aaahhh," just to make the fizz louder. It's obnoxious. Truly. The kind of noise that would make people glare at you, and you're so proud of it.

Peter squints at you like he's in pain. "Why is my girlfriend like this?" He says it like a curse, like a prayer, like a man at the end of his rope who still wouldn't let go.

"Aw, come on, you love me." You say it too easily. It's not a question—something settled and obvious and unchangeable.

He exhales through his nose and walks over to you anyway, flops down next to you on the bed, elbow bumping yours. You hold out the package of candy. It rustles between you like a peace offering. Or a trap. He hasn't decided which yet.

He eyes it before looking back at you and your lips. "You're gonna shut up if I take some?" There's no heat in it, like the everyday tone he uses when you're being like this. Just a tired sort of fondness, like he's resigned himself to your antics and this weird little life you two have built. Annoyingly lovable, what he always says when you're asking for assurance if he still loves you even though you're playful.

You shrug. "Probably not." And you mean it. You're indecisive, and impulsive, with tendencies to be pushy. He knew that when he let you steal his hoodie the first time, and when you did things just to get his attention.

He sighs but takes a few and tilts his head back to chew. The sound bursts in the quiet like tiny firecrackers, and he physically winces, like he didn't think they'd be that loud. Hates the sounds. Obviously.

He looks at you like you just committed a crime. "Why does it... feel weird?" His face scrunches, and he's trying not to like it but also can't deny that it's kind of hilarious.

"It's fun-weird, not bad-weird." You roll onto your back beside him, shoulder brushing his, voice smug. "It tastes good though!"

Peter turns his head toward you and looks at your mouth. "You're ridiculous," he says softly, barely louder than the crackle. But he's still watching you, still close before he takes the Pop Rocks from your hand, gets enough from inside, and puts it in his mouth.

Then he kisses you.

Like... no warning. One second he's staring at your mouth like it's got all the answers to his questions, and the next, he's leaning in, slow but sure, like he already decided and you just didn't catch up yet. It's not aggressive, not rushed- it's soft, warm, and easy.

Your mouths meet soft at first. Just lips brushing lips, a little sticky from the candy's effect. But then the Pop Rocks crackle between you, loud and sudden, like someone just started a time bomb under your tongues, and everything jumps.

You giggle against him, nose bumping his, but he doesn't pull back. He just tilts his head and pushes in a little deeper. And, well, yeah, maybe that's when it changes.

Because now it's not soft. It's something else.

His mouth opens just enough for your tongue to catch him, and he tastes like cherry- you're sure it's from the candy. The candy's still popping, still snapping under your tongues, and it's a funny feeling. Literally. Your lips part wider, let it get messy, let it get loud. You lick into his mouth a little and feel him suck in a breath right through his nose.

And God, that's all it takes before he's kissing you back harder now, licking the taste of candy right out of your mouth like he's trying to shut it off. His hand finds your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek, gently and soft the way he knows you like. It's steady; he's holding you in place. His teeth graze your bottom lip, yearningly, just barely, just enough to feel it, and you groan, soft and surprised and too into it.

It's clumsy, yeah. Of course, it is. You're both grinning too much, breathing too hard, lips swollen already, and the candy still going off like a fucking broken record. But you don't stop. Neither of you. Because it's fun and silly. Because it's stupid. Because it's so much better than it should be.

Peter pulls back eventually, breathing hard, his lips pink and wet, a little sugar stuck at the corner of his mouth again. He licks it away automatically, and your stomach flips.

"Okay," he says, voice low and just barely wrecked. "That was..."

He doesn't even finish the sentence.

You're already grabbing more Pop Rocks.

"Again," you say, out of breath but grinning. "C'monnn."

He laughs, but it's a little shaky now. "I'm gonna die."

"Mhm," you hum and press your mouth to his before he can say another word.

This time, it's not that gentle. It's full of tongues and teeth and stupid little moans pressed into each other's mouths, sugar and spit and heat all tangled up in a kiss that has no business feeling this good.

You taste like candy, and he kisses you like he’s starving for it.

𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓© 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍

𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝

[finnsstyles]

༄ coworker!clark kent x f!reader

you look beautiful like this. you sound beautiful. so so beautiful.

you're feeling horribly embarrassed but it feels to good to stop.

your coworker holds you steady in his lap, you back flushed to his thick bare chest. the buttons of his shirt undone and tie thrown over his broad shoulder. he's got an arm wrapped around you, his hand splaying across your side — engulfing it, as his veined forearm presses into the soft of your belly. the other holding your hip, fingers dimpling your soft skin in the his firm grip. the rough callous feel too good on your sweaty skin.

clark rests his head on the crook of your shoulder, pressing little kisses there as he watches you. legs spread wide in his lap as your little fingers prod at your pussy. rubbing your clit, and slipping through your entrance. thrusting in and out. in and out.

it's hypnotic.

clark's never been with anyone intimately. technically, he isn't doing very much now either; only watching you. with his glasses foggy and breath bated — clark swears he almost feels it.

your little moans, the slight tremble in your legs and how the trembling is building. the way your blood rushes in your veins and your heart pounds and the way the sweet smell of your pleasure fills the air and god he feels dizzy.

pretty blue eyes gone wide. his damp curls tickles your neck alongside his breath.

"c'mon baby."

"god she's so pretty. so wet."

"are you close baby? you're close, keep going. just like that. mmmmhph feels good."

he's maybe moaning more than you, watching you with watery eyes, taking all of you in. greedily devoured you with his eyes as you come undone, unaware of the effect he has on you.

you writhe in his lap, trembling like a leaf. glowing and moaning — and all at once he notices how small you are in his arms. so delicate and frail by comparison it makes his heart squeeze. all at once your coming undone.

he sees it. clark sees it as it happens.

your muscles tightening and your eyes rolling to the back of your head. your essence drenching your thighs and his lap; making him feel parched, like he hasn't drank in years and has finally found the oasis that is you. slumping against his body as your hand slows to a stop.

trying to catch your breath, but clark doesn't waste a moment, the hand at your side moving to your puffy folds. two thick fingers running through them and circling your little clit, helping you ride out your high.

your reaction is immediate — practically melting in his hold as moans sounding like the most beautiful symphony leave your prated lips.

"just- oh my. feel good? yea? mmmhg- yea. yeayea." he's doesn't know what he's saying anymore. brows pinched in concentration as he touches you, feeling himself cum in his pants — it just feels so good. sweet clark damn near wants to cry.

"fuh-" he wants to curse, but catches himself. "there y'are. atta girl. atta girl." you call his name and his head spins, voice syrupy sweet and dripping in need. "again." and you do, clark rewards you with the prettiest sound you've ever heard from a man. "god- i. mmmn, god iloveyou." his head thrown back when he makes you come again.

feeling high off you high.

his hand stays there, cupping your pussy like it his, and holding you in his arms with his body hunched over yours. his face flushed red, glasses foggy and sotting funny on his face. he's trying to catch his breath when you say it, "you.... love me?"

three words somehow managing to deepen his flush, not even the three words. three words questioning the ones he just let slip through his bite-swollen lips. god, he's embarrassed. clark wants to hold you still to keep you from looking at him, but oh how he loves looking at you. even when flustered, even when embarrassed, he cant ever look away.

you turn around as best you can in his hold, he looks so beautiful when he's a mess like this — a mess for you, because of you. he sounds so beautiful. clark just is so so beautiful.

[finnsstyles]

ೃ࿔:･ trying to give clark a hickey

you shift closer in the dim glow of the lamp, your lips grazing the edge of his jaw, then lower in that slow and teasing way. you let your tongue drag across his skin until you find the spot just under his collarbone. the one you know would make anyone else melt. you kiss it. suck, just a little. just enough. then, you smooth over the spot with your tongue once again.

and…nothing. you pull back, squinting. with the tilt of your head, you try again—harder this time. you’re focused like a girl with a mission. clark watches, amusement dancing around his eyes. but still, no mark and no color. not even the faintest blush blooming under the skin. it’s like trying to bruise marble. you sit back, scratching your head and blinking at him. “okay. weird question.”

clark, propped up on one elbow, looks up at you with that soft, dopey smile like he’s already charmed and doesn’t know what for. “yeah?”

“do you…not bruise?”

he winces, sheepish. “oh. right. yeah, that’s—that’s a thing.”

you just stare at him. “you let me go at you like a vampire and didn’t think to mention that first?”

he shrugs, cheeks a little pink. “i didn’t wanna ruin your moment. you looked really focused.”

you groan and flop forward, burying your face in his chest. “clark.”

“in my defense,” he says, trying not to laugh, “this is the first time anyone’s been disappointed that they can’t injure me.” you hit him in the ribs—it does nothing. he peeks down at you. your brows are furrowed, lips pursed forward in pure thought. suddenly, your bare feet are padding on the wooden floors. you make a sharp turn into the bathroom and shuffle through your makeup bag. finally, you pull out the shiny tube.

he hears the click of the cap before he sees you again. you’re strutting back, hips swaying and smirking. your lips are twisted in triumph, the lipstick already slick across your mouth. clark’s still propped up against the pillows, watching you with that boyish, utterly doomed look on his face. “uh oh.”

you crawl onto the bed with the kind of slow, lethal grace that should be illegal. “stay still, superman.”

his eyes dart down to your mouth, then back up. “should i be scared?”

“yes,” you say sweetly, straddling his hips. he’s warm under you and still shirtless, still glowing faintly like he swallowed the sun. you grab his chin with two fingers, tilting his face, and then press your mouth to his neck. firmly, purposefully, slowly. you pull back to admire your work. a perfect crimson kiss blooms right beneath his jawline. “there,” you declare, victorious. “perfect.”

clark touches it, awestruck. “you vandalized me.”

you grin. “i claimed you.”

he sits up a little straighter, brows high. “this is your version of a kryptonian bonding ritual?”

“pretty much. and don’t wipe it off.”

“never.” he promises, all starry-eyes and solemn.

the next morning, he stumbles into the bathroom half-asleep, hair a riot of soft curls, rubbing at his eyes. he flicks on the light—bright, unforgiving—and freezes. his reflection blinks back at him, bleary and shirtless. his neck, his collarbone, and the swell of his shoulder are completely covered. your lipstick blooms across his skin. your smudged kisses in scarlet and rose, one dusted over his clavicle, another tucked just beneath his ear like a secret.

he exhales a laugh. quiet and disbelieving. his fingers skim over one of the stains, careful not to smudge it further. “yeah,” he murmurs to the empty room, lips twitching. “definitely claimed.”

taglist ~ @leynetto @illumoria @witchofswans @mauvesmax @kisses4rafey @jimmys-tiara @blushhbambi @sunnliqht @bugisastranger @whyistheskypink @soul-of-daises @take-it-on-the-run @hi346736 @iamthepawn @athenaluvsu @makiplan @replaythatrayrae @maralovescassianandmark @namgification @xsimbaaa @erisemptyskull @bangtanevermore @sugarplum444161 @ursogorgeous13

[finnsstyles]

no strings attached... unless?

pairing: clark kent x fem!reader

summary: what was supposed to be a simple no-strings hookup between best friends turns complicated when feelings inevitably get involved. huh. who would've thought?

wc: 11.4k (i'm just as shocked as you)

genre/tags: fluff/minor angst (miscommunication trope tbh)/smut (TWO smut scenes woohoo!), best friends to lovers, protected sex (condom/bc), p in v sex, oral (fem & male receiving), size kink (clark has a huge dick, but y’all know that 😝), slight praise kink

"just one night," you had said. "no strings. no feelings." you liar.

you were the one who proposed it – all cool and casual, as if it wouldn't ruin you. and now? you can't even get through a bowl of cereal without thinking about the way clark kent sounded when he moaned your name.

it's been a week. one whole week since he wrecked you and then kissed your forehead like it was nothing.

(it was something. it was everything and you hate him for it.)

because now? you know no one else will ever come close.

you scroll through tinder like a bitter old woman; this guy's too short. that one uses the wrong "your." one says their most irrational fear is "women." (kill me.)

all the while, a tiny voice in your brain that you wish would just shut up whispers: clark would never.

and thanks to that voice, you end up mentally replaying that night for the thousandth time – back when it all started. back when it was just popcorn, a movie and a stupid, stupid idea.

– thursday, 9:42 P.M.

it had started the way movies nights at your apartment always did: clark stretched out on one end of your couch, his arm over the back of it, a bowl of popcorn sitting between you, and you on the other end, your socked foot tucked under his thigh, claiming the space like it was normal (which it was). you're halfway through some cheesy drama neither of you were really watching, spending most of the time catching up on life other than the daily planet.

you lean over, tossing your half eaten dragon roll from the takeout sushi platter onto the coffee table, before returning back to slumping against the couch, eyes scrutinizing the t.v.

then came that scene – hot and heavy kitchen counter action, complete with frantic kissing and someone getting hoisted onto the marble and you can tell it's a scene the actors had to practice at least three times by how seamless and graceful it seems.

you scoff, reaching for popcorn from the bowl between the two of you. "god, i miss that."

clark glances over at you, a brow quirking upward. "being thrown onto a kitchen counter?"

you popped a kernel into your mouth. "being kissed like that. hell, being touched like that. my last date ended with a side hug and apple cash request for half the appetizer."

clark winces, face visually contorting. "ouch."

you sigh dramatically, leaning your head back against the couch. "i'm in a dry spell so bad, it's actually concerning."

clark laughs. your transparence was something he had to get used to at first but over time, he realized that's just how you were. unfiltered. bold. honest in a way most people weren't. it didn't scare him. if anything, it made talking to you easy.

he nudges your leg. "join the club. last girl i dated told me i was 'too polite to be hot.' whatever that means."

your brows furrow, internally scolding the woman for ever saying a thing. "it means she had no taste, clark. trust me, you're hot and polite. some of us are into that, y'know."

clark flushes a little at that, lowering his head to conceal his shy smile but you see it anyway.

maybe that's why you said the thing. because of his dumb, stupid, clark smile.

you reach for another handful of popcorn, keeping your eyes fixed on the movie screen even though you've completely lost the plot. you may be blunt at the best of times, but even you have a little shame, so you cover it up well. "you know," you begin, tone softening considerably enough for clark to look over at you again, "we could fix that."

clark tilts his head, confused. "fix what?"

"the dry spell." you glance at him now, meeting his eyes. "you and me. just one night. a mutual exchange."

his mouth parts, just slightly, and then it opens and closes like a blubbering fish. you can practically see the gears turning in his head, the way his jaw flexes before he clears his throat. "are you serious?"

you shrug like it's no big deal, like your heart isn't hammering against your ribcage. "sure. we're both adults. good friends. we trust each other. and we're both painfully single. why not?"

he says nothing for a moment. you can see him doing that thing that he always does: thinking it through, being careful, considering every angle, every potential consequence.

your nails dig into the rough fabric of your couch, dwelling on the proposition you just made. with every second that passes, regret sinks heavy in your stomach.

you open your mouth, ready to backpedal and make a joke of it. you'll laugh it off, blame the movie or your hellish dating era–

clark cuts you off before you get the chance, his voice low. firm. certain.

"okay."

your breath catches, brows lifting slightly.

his eyes are on you now, his expression steady, unreadable but darkened in a way that makes your skin prickles and goosebumps rise on your arms. "if you're sure," he adds, softer this time. "i'm in."

you blink. "yeah?"

he nods. "yeah. just two pals keening for mutual relief." despite the joke in his words, he delivers it a little more seriously.

you nod along. "exactly. just sex. no strings. no feelings. we're still friends after this."

"right," he agrees sharply, adjusting the black frames on his nose. there's something different in his expression now, something unreadable. it's times like these when you wish you could read his mind. you share a planet with a superalien and yet, there's no accessible device you can use to know exactly what clark kent is thinking. pity.

"okay," he says again, resting his palms against his thighs. one of his thighs presses to yours. did he scoot over? "so, when do we start?"

your eyes flutter, startled at the sudden shift.

"um... now?"

and then he looks at you, really looks at you in a way that sucks the breath from your lungs, his gaze drags across your face like he's memorizing every detail he's never let himself linger on too long.

a beat passes.

"now works," he murmurs, nodding to himself and you're unsure if you're seeing things but you think you catch his adam's apple bob in this throat.

he turns to face you and there's another moment of silence between you, darting eyes looking into each other's with neither of you sure how to make the first mood. the tense air falters slightly when you both laugh, visibly shaking as if trying to fray the nerves you feel.

"you're allowed to kiss me, clark." you crack a smile, further easing the tension and giving him the go-ahead.

clark nods, reaching his arm up. his hand comes up gently, fingers brushing along your jaw, like he's hesitant in case you pull away. but you don't. you can't. you're frozen in place, heart pounding in your ears as clark kent, your best friend, your coworker and lunch break buddy, closes the distance and kisses you.

it starts slow and you shouldn't be surprised.

he's soft, tentative, like he's testing the waters, but the second your lips part and your hands slides up the back of his neck, feeling the curls at the nape of his neck, it's like a dam breaks.

the kiss soon turns hungry, almost desperate in a way that makes you feel dizzy.

he groans into your mouth, deep and guttural, the sound vibrating through your chest when you gently tug at his hair, pulling him closer to you. his hands find your hips and he grips them tightly as he sits beside you.

your free hand trails down to tug at his shirt. he's quick to lift it off, breaking the kiss for a mere second, tossing the fabric somewhere behind the sofa.

you don't remember how you ended up in his lap, only that you're straddling him now, grinding down over the thickening length pressed against his jeans.

your hands aren't shy in the way they glide across the newly discovered fair skin of his torso. he's on the fairer side but you can imagine the farmer's tan he'd probably sport had he stayed home and not moved to metropolis.

you knew clark was a big guy. everyone did. he's a tower of a man, standing over you at six-foot four-inches, yet with the most gentlest of demeanors.

there's nothing gentle about clark's body though. you have half the mind to ask him when he finds time to go to the gym consistently but the other voice in your head tells you it'd ruin the moment.

clark's hands travel everywhere, too: up your thighs, your waist, your back. he touches you like he's been waiting for this. starving for this.

he hides pent up energy a lot better than i do, you think to yourself.

your teeth scrape against his bottom lip, holding the soft flesh between them and he exhales sharply, like you've knocked the wind out of him.

"bedroom?" he pants against your mouth when you release his lip.

you nod breathlessly. "please."

he stands with you still clinging to him, lifting you like it's nothing (seriously, what can this man bench?), and in a matter of seconds, you're in your room.

it's not the first time he's been in your room. it's not even the tenth. he's helped you assemble ikea furniture in here. he's helped you hang picture frames and fix a broken drawer. he's sat on your bed, fully clothed, eating pad thai while you struggled to find what to wear for a particular date.

but this...

this is different.

this time you're underneath him, flat on your back, watching as he looks at you like he's never really seen you before. granted, he hasn't. not like this.

his hands smooth under your shirt, eyes trained on the faded material. you're about to ask what he's staring at when he murmurs softly, "this is mine."

you glance down, eyeing the oversized fabric plastered with the logo of an indie band you know nothing about. a distant memory flashes in your eyes. "y'gave it me after that big storm," you remind him, your tone matches his. "never asked for it back."

"so you decided to steal it?" he asks, eyes flitting up to yours, a hint of amused challenge in his eyes.

"more like long-term borrowing," you correct him firmly. "i was going to return it eventually," you add.

"eventually," he echoes, like he doesn't believe you for a second.

his fingers toy with the hem of the shirt, brushing along the bare skin of your navel. it sends a shiver across your body, not only by his touch alone, but how he looks at you.

you swallow. "you want it back?"

clark hums, leaning in, nose brushing against yours. "eventually," he teases.

he kisses you again.

it's slower this time, like he has all the time in the world to taste you. his hands skim your sides, pushing the shirt up gradually, savoring each inch of skin he reveals. your arch to help him, letting the fabric slide up off your arms, over your head and get tossed somewhere beside your bed.

clark sits back just enough to look at you, really look at you, and the look on his face makes goosebumps raise your skin. his eyes drag down your chest, still clad in a bra.

"um, may i?" he asks, voice strained.

a smile cracks your features, warmth blooming in your chest at the his display of shyness during your moment of intimacy. you nod with a hum of approval, grateful that the bra you decided to wear today had the clasp at the front between the two cups.

clark breathes out a quiet sound of relief, like he's also grateful for the simplicity. his fingers find the clasp easily, but he doesn't rush. he hesitates for just a second, giving you one last chance to change your mind, even though your body is already arching toward him in invitation.

the clasp clicks open with a soft snap and you bra loosens against your skin.

with a bated breath, you feel clark slide the straps from your shoulders carefully, until the bra has been tossed aside to join your – his – shirt on the floor. you blink up at him as he finally takes you in fully, his breath catches.

"you're beautiful," he says simply, like it's a fact. not a line, not flattery. just the truth.

you swallow hard, unable to speak, so you reach for him instead, pulling him down into another kiss, your hands wrapped around the back of his neck. this one is deeper, messier. your tongue slide together, desperate and hot enough to make your thighs press together.

clark groans into your mouth, feeling the movement of your legs, as if he knows exactly what it means. his hands slide down your sides, settling on your hips, thumbs tracing slow circles, just under the waistband of your sweatshorts.

then he shifts, dragging his mouth along your jaw, down your neck, pressing slow kisses to every inch of skin he can reach. you gasp when his lips find the sensitive spot below the corner your jaw, your fingers tightening in his hair as he sucks softly.

"clark," you whisper, barely able to get the word out.

he lifts his head slightly, eyes searching yours. "tell me what you want," he murmurs.

you bite the inside of your lower lip, feeling the heat pool in your lower belly. "i want you to touch me. really touch me."

he lets out a breath, nodding.

clark moves lower, trailing kisses down your chest, pausing to mouth at your breast, his tongue flicking over your nipple until you arch beneath him with a croon. you moan softly when his lips close over your nipple, sucking at the stiffened flesh. your eyes flutter shut as his large hand gropes the breast that's not in his mouth, before it begins to trail down.

his hand coasts down your stomach, slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts, and then he goes lower, beneath the cotton of your underwear.

your breath hitches when his fingers brush over your slit, already soaked and his breath stutters against your skin. he releases from your nipple with a soft 'pop,' eyes meeting yours.

"oh my," he groans, "you're so wet."

you whimper, half-embarrassed, half-desperate. "yeah, well... you're kind of hot."

he huffs to himself – maybe a laugh, maybe it's out of disbelief – and presses a kiss to the slope of your breast before slipping a finger between your folds, circling your clit with a precision you don't want to know from where he learned. your body jerks at the contact, a soft moan leaving your lips.

clark watches your expression closely, trying to read your pleasure.

"like this?" he asks lowly, swallowing the lump in his throat.

you nod frantically, your fingers tangling into his hair as you pull him closer. "mhm... just like that."

his touch grows more confident, smiling to himself as he coaxes another croon from you when he pushes the finger inside your velvet walls.

you gasp, hands moving to clutch his shoulders, eyes fluttering shut at the slow and deliberate stretch of his digit inside you.

he hums in approval at the feel, like the warmth of you is enough to drive him crazy. his thumb moved to your clit, circling in tandem with the curl of his finger, drawing sounds from your lips he's never heard before. now that he has, he doesn't think he'll ever forget them.

your hips buck up to meet his hand, your breath hitching as his finger begins to move faster and with more purpose. he carefully adds a second finger, watching your reaction closely.

"oh, clark," you pant, voice breaking.

"does it feel good?" he checks in softly, continuing to crook his fingers inside your gummy walls.

"y-yeah, real good," you nod, lashes batting.

your body burns and your pulse pounds in your ears, thighs trembling as he works you closer and closer to the edge with just his fingers.

"clark, i'm– oh my god–"

you're at the precipice. he can feel it, too.

"mhm, go ahead, sweetheart," he hums against your temple, his thumb circling faster over your clit.

you're unsure if it's his fingers or the pet name that triggers your orgasm but you cum with a sharp cry, legs tensing and back arching as waves of pleasure roll through your body. he doesn't pull his fingers out until you're gasping, twitching and whimpering from the overstimulation.

when you finally open your eyes, you look at his expression: tender. a littler in awe.

you pull him into a kiss before you can overthink it, your lips a 'thank you' for the orgasm he gave you. one of your hands drift down and feel how hard he his through the denim of his jeans.

"your turn," you murmur against his lips.

clark shakes his head slightly, kissing your jaw. "we're not playing a board game."

you arch a brow, still catching your breath. "clark."

he grins softly. "okay, fine. 'm not going to argue with you."

you laugh breathlessly tugging at the loops of his jeans before your reach the button of them. he lets you unbutton his jeans, finding the zipper and pulling it down.

clark hisses when the zipper comes in contact with his bulge, separated by the cotton of his boxers. you glance up at him, eyes flitting to his face, just in time to see him bite down on his lower lip and knit his brows together.

you push the denim down his hips and he helps, standing off the bed momentarily to tug the rest of them down his legs and kicking them aside.

"those, too," you murmur, eyes zeroing on his boxers, more specifically the hard outline behind them.

clark exhales sharply, his cheeks tinting a faint pink as he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and leans over to slide them to his legs before stepping out of them and leaving them in the pile on the floor.

your breath catches as he straightens again, fully bare now and yeah... you're in awe.

your eyes roam over him and he shifts slightly under the weight of your gaze. he's not bashful per se, but he's something close to it.

"jesus, clark," you whisper.

"what?" his ears flush a darker pink and that makes you grin because of course he's shy about it. it's so him, it almost makes your chest ache.

"you, clark," you smile, chuckling through your nose. "that," you add, nodding toward his cock, hanging thick and heavy between his legs.

he sucks in a breath and you find his reaction dear. of course the guy with the biggest dick you've ever seen is modest about it. and of course it's clark kent of all men.

"c'mere," you beckon him over, sitting up in your bed. "wanna make you feel good."

he kneels at the edge of your bed, voice strained, raspy with want. "you don't have to," he murmurs but the twitch of his cock says otherwise.

"i want to," you answer softly, gently tugging him by the arm until he's settled against your headboard.

"sweetheart..." he trails off.

there it is again. that damn pet name.

"let me," you ask, practically beg, eyes boring into his with desperation. "please."

his lips purse as if he's holding something in and then he's nodding. "okay."

you wrap your fingers around him, heat returning to your belly when you realize your hand barely encircles his entire circumference. you stroke him once slowly, and clark's eyes flutter shut. his jaw tenses, tossing his head back against the headboard.

"god," he breathes, the sound low and guttural, like the air's been vacuumed from his lungs.

you smirk a little to yourself, tucking the moment away in your memory.

your hand moves again, slow and steady, watching his every reaction. you watch the way his chest rises and falls a little faster now, and the way his brows scrunch together while his lips part with a groan when you twist your wrist just the right way.

"feel good?" you ask.

clark's eyes flutter open, glassy and dark with heat. "yeah," he rasps. "feels... feels great."

you beam at his words, pride filling your chest.

you shift lower on the bed, settling between his legs and placing a hand on his thigh for support. his breath catches when he realizes where this is going and you don't give him a chance to overthink it.

you run your tongue along the underside of his cock, slow and deliberate. he lets out a sound that's part groan and part whimper, hips twitching up instinctively.

he moans your name softly, pressing the back of his head harder against the headboard. part of you wishes you could take a picture.

you hum around the thick head of him as you take him into your mouth, swirling your tongue and easing forward until you feel the weight of him on your tongue, nearly overwhelming in girth. his hands twitch at his sides before one reluctantly moves up to your hair.

clark doesn't push. doesn't guide. he just holds, like he needs something to ground him.

you set a rhythm, bobbing your head and stroking him with one hand what you can't take. you relish in the way his moans grow louder, more broken, a sound you want etched into your mind forever.

"sweetheart," he calls, voice tense with strain. "you have to wait– i'm–"

you glance up at him, eyes wide and pupils blown, trying to read his expression.

"you're going to make me cum," he warns, voice cracking.

why does he say that like it's such a bad thing?

you double-down, sucking harder in response, flattening your tongue along the underside of his cock again, and that's it.

clark groans, loud and low and helpless, as he comes, hips bucking once before he stills them. his hand fists your hair while the other attempts to cover his mouth as if he's afraid of waking the whole building (too late, you think).

you ease off him slowly when his thigh trembles beneath your hand, lifting your head up and wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as you look up at him.

he looks completely and utterly wrecked. his hair is mussed, his skin is flushed pink and damp with sweat. his eyes are still dazed, slowly blinking at you as he comes down from his high. he looks... so pretty.

"jesus," he pants softly. "you really didn't have to do that."

"i know," you murmur with a small smile, crawling up his body until you're in front of his face. "i wanted to."

and then he smiles at you, a dazed one that sucks the breath from your lungs that you cant help but lean in to kiss him. he reaches up to cradle your jaw, uncaring at the fact that he can taste himself on you. his other hand drifts to your waist, pulling you closer and against him.

your tongues meet each other's, gliding together in almost a lazy manner. his kiss is languid, almost reverent, like he's trying to memorize the inside of your mouth.

you sigh into it, boneless and content as your body arches into his, bare chests pressing against each other's.

his hand drifts to your hip, toying with the hem of your shorts. "can't believe these are still on," he murmurs against your lips.

"you're the one who fingered me without taking them off first," you remind him with a chuckle.

"mm, my fault," he muses, beginning to tug down the material. you let him, allowing him to slide down your shorts until they're low enough for you to kick off and off the bed. "and these?" he asks, fingers playing with the lacy hem of your cotton panties.

you pull your head back slightly, eyes darting between his. "you want to?" you ask softly.

he swallows as he looks at your face in the dim light, just as flushed as his. "if you want," he answers, fingers still idly pinching the lacy fabric between his fingers.

you nod once with certainty. "yeah," you answer in a breath. "i do."

clark leans in to kiss you again, hands gripping your waist to flip you and ease you onto your back. he pulls away, his hands skimming your sides as he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your underwear. his eyes meet yours once more, another silent check.

you lift your hips up in answer.

he slides your panties, soiled from your first orgasm, down slowly, tossing them aside into the growing pile on the floor.

you let him pull your thighs apart, exposing your core to the air and his gaze.

"you're so..." he trails off, but he doesn't finish, like the words fail him.

you look up at him, curious despite feeling so vulnerable before him. "so what?"

he smiles softly as if he's amazed. "just... beautiful."

your breath hitches at his words. it's so clark for him to say; it's so earnest and devastating at the same time, it makes your heart stutter in your chest.

he takes another glance down at your pussy before he snaps out of it, scooting away to reach for something on the floor. "i think i've got a condom in my wallet," he murmurs, a little hurried.

you choose not to dwell on wondering how often clark gets propositioned with sex to regularly carry a condom in his wallet.

it's clark after all.

any woman would be lucky to be with him.

you stop him, your voice calling out, "i've got a box somewhere in my nightstand."

the look on his face as he turns to look at you is boyishly flustered and adorable. you watch him crawl back over to you, hovering over you as he reaches in your nightstand drawer and retrieves a foil packet.

clark kneels up on the bed, leaning back against the back of his calves and carefully opens the packet. he rolls it on his hardened cock and you swear your brain circuits watching him do something so mundane and yet so intimate.

is this how you usually reacted to a date rolling on a condom?

then, he's hovering over you and his hand moves between you both, wrapping around himself and dragging the head of his cock slowly throughout your folds, gathering slick.

you whimper softly, hips twitching instinctively.

"you're sure about this?" he asks through gritted teeth, like he's not pressing his tip against your entrance, his restrain a hairline away from snapping. his glasses are already fogged and you hate to admit to yourself that it's one of the hottest things you've ever seen.

"yeah," you nod, letting out a breath.

he nods back at you, maybe to himself, before pushing inside you.

you cry out softly at the invasion, the head of his cock stretching your walls as he sinks into you. your hands scramble to find something, anything, to hold on to. they end up gripping his shoulders, nails digging into his warm skin as your breath stutters.

clark is big. thick. huge as he fills you in a way that feels overwhelming yet perfect at the same time.

"'s tight," he rasps, staying still as your walls flutter around the two inches he has inside you. "'m sorry."

"don't apologize," you pant, your eyes fluttering. of course he's apologizing for being too big. "i can take it."

he groans at your words, unable to resist pushing deeper inside you, another inch entering your tight walls. "sweetheart, y'sure? i don't have to go in all the way–"

how sweet.

"please," you whine, legs wrapping around his waist and pulling his hips closer to you, not letting him pull out.

he grunts at your eagerness as you urge him in closer, deeper as he sinks another inch into you, the stretch burning just enough to make your toes curl.

"fuck," he breathes, like the sound is punched from his lungs. is this the first time you've ever heard him swear? you think stars form your pupils just because he sounds so pretty when he curses.

you feel so full, so deliciously and impossibly full and yet you still want more, knowing there's a little more of him to go. you babbles something along the lines of 'more' and 'please' and who is clark kent but the man who'd grant your every wish?

with one final roll of his hips, he bottoms out, cock fully seated inside you. he lets out a low groan, feeling his pelvis press against your slick fold. the breath in your throat hitches at the pressure, the fullness you feel.

for a moment, the two of you stay sill like that, bodies locked together and foreheads touching. clark removes a hand from your hips to gently brush your jaw with the pad of his thumb.

"you okay?" he murmurs, voice so soft it makes your chest ache.

you nod, nails pressing into his back, but your grip loosens slightly. "yeah," you manage to say, a little breathless. "just... give me a second."

clark kisses your cheek, then your temple. "take all the time you need."

and so you do. you catch your breath. you adjust, the dull ache between your legs slowly becoming one of pleasure. you give him a nod, tilting your hips, silently inviting him to move and he takes the cue.

he starts the thrust, slowly at first but it's deep. so deep. every movement is unhurried and almost reverent. his gaze remain on you, maintaining an intense eye contact through every thrust, his lips parted as soft groans leave his lips.

"i can feel you everywhere," you whisper, half-dazed. "you're everywhere."

his pace stutters for a beat at your words. he lifts his head to look at you, to really look at them. you think you see a flicker of something raw in his gaze but you can't be sure.

he leans down to kiss you and it's messy, deep, and needy, while his hips roll into yours with a growing urgency. his hips pick up their pace, moving harder and faster now, each thurst enough to make your vision blur with pleasure.

you clutch his back tighter as the coil in your belly gets tighter. your walls flutter wildly around him, desperate for release.

"sweetheart," clark pants, his voice ragged. "i'm so close."

you nod, voice barely a whisper, "me, too."

clark buries his face in the crook of your neck, breath stuttering as his body tenses. you feel him twitch inside you, his release crashing through you like a tidal wave, your own orgasm ripping through your core in response.

you cling to each other as your breathing slows, skin slick with sweat and hearts pounding in your chests. clark stays inside you for a moment, catching his breath, and you’re both too dazed to say anything.

then he presses a kiss to your forehead.

and that’s when you know.

you’re fucked.

totally, completely, emotionally fucked.

the next morning, you blink awake to an empty bed.

the sheets are cold and tangled where he was only hours ago. the faint scent of his cologne lingers, but the warmth is gone – vanished with him.

your hand instinctively reaches out, only to find the space beside you painfully vacant. no familiar weight. no slow morning breath against your skin.

you sit up slowly, heart hammering in your chest, eyes scanning the room. you notice the faint imprint on the mattress where he had lain, and your hands brushes over the cold sheets.

his clothes are missing too. no sign he'd ever been there.

you swallow the lump in your throat, running a hang through your messy hair and check the clock on your nightstand: 7:02 A.M.

how could he just... leave? no goodbye?

your mind races but you push down the swirl of panic, reminding yourself: no strings. no feelings.

you shake your head bitterly.

but the ache in your chest says another story.

your morning routine is quiet, your mind muddled with the memories of the night prior: the way clark's hands skimmed your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake, the way his mouth moved so smoothly against yours, the way he practically engraved himself in your gummy walls.

you expected some form of conversation when you woke up that morning. then again, what would you even say? good job, clark! maybe too good of a job haha... ha.

maybe not.

but still!

a text. a note. something.

you keep glancing at your phone like it'll buzz with a text from him. but your screen stays blank. almost mockingly silent.

it was supposed to be uncomplicated. it was to just be physical. fun, even. and that's all it was – right? so why does it feel like he permanently carved himself into you and then disappeared, making you feel hollow?

you try not to spiral, really. but it's hard when your body still aches from how he held you, how he was inside you. you continue relaying the night like a film reel with a stuck stop button.

within an hour, you arrive at the daily planet still shaken, though you pat yourself on the back for looking otherwise; your hair is neatly done, lip gloss on and blazer crisp over your shoulders. your stomach is still in knots but you're hoping the distraction of news will take your mind off it.

you half expect clark to avoid you completely, given how he left your apartment. instead, he's there, at his desk (early for once) and as chipper as ever.

"morning," he greets, offering that charming grin that usually makes your chest warm. today, it makes you want to scream.

you manage a polite smile, your throat dry. "morning."

he holds up a to-go tray, offering you the contents in it. "got your usual. extra shot of espresso. thought you might need it – perry's been on edge all morning."

your fingers wrap around the warm cup, but your heart twists at the casual way he says it. thought you might need it. not because of perry, but maybe because he spent the night buried inside you.

he moves on, heading over to jimmy's desk to talk about the recent superman sighting.

apparently there'd been some alien creature on the clinton bridge – some grotesque, hulking thing with four arms and acidic spit, according to eyewitnesses. superman had swooped in early enough before any casualties were made, defeating the alien. you suspect clark is the key reporter on the case, given his connection to the superhero.

still, since when did clark go to jimmy first about stories?

you stare down at the coffee in your cup as if it'd give you an answer.

the morning drones on. perry barks headlines across the office, jimmy's frantically pacing the tiled floors while chewing a pen cap and clark... clark is perfectly normal. he's chatting with interns, bouncing article ideas off perry, tossing you a smile when he passes your desk.

around noon, you're about to get up for lunch when he beats you to it, strolling over with a brown paper bag and a casual, "hey, got you that turkey pesto you like. hope that's okay."

you blink at him, startles as you crane your neck up to look at him. "oh. yeah. thanks." you glance toward the break room. "are you...?"

"nah," he cuts in, shaking his head. "swamped with edits. gonna eat while i finish the luthor piece."

and just like that, without waiting for you to respond, he's gone.

you try to not let it bother you. you try to convince yourself that this is how it was always supposed to be. always supposed to be before your big mouth ruined it.

but all you can think about is how warm he was in your bed. how soft his eyes were in the dark. how different he felt.

and how different everything is now.

what you don't see is the way clark watches you from his desk. how he catches every flicker of confusion on your face, every little sigh when you assume no one's listening.

the weekend creeps by in slow and dragged hours.

with no deadlines hanging over your head (no perry yelling in your ear about headlines), nothing to dive into, nothing to keep your brain from looping over every moment of that night – the silence is so loud.

you try to distract yourself. you do laundry, you achieve some cleaning, all while some old rom-com plays in the background – which just makes matters worse because even that couple seemed to check in on each other the morning after.

clark hadn't.

by sunday evening, you're mostly numb to it. not okay, but dulled around the edges. detached.

if clark could carry on so easily, so seamlessly (as if sleeping with your best friend was no big deal), then so could you. you'd have to.

monday rolls in with a dreary drizzle and a headache you can't shake, despite the two aspirin you'd taken already. when you step into the planet, clark is already at his desk, tapping away at his keyboard with the same focused expression he always wears.

he looks up when you enter, lifts a hand in greeting and gives one of his clark boyish smiles. "hey," he says, like nothing is different. "usual on your desk."

you blink. "thanks," you murmur.

the coffee cup is still warm when you pick it up. the lid has your name scribbled on it in his handwriting – something he does when he picks up coffee for everyone else in order to remember whose is who. your lid was always different – special – though. a smiley face is scrawled beside your name, just like always.

now, the smile seems like it's mocking you.

you shuffle into the morning meeting and take the seat farthest from him. clark barely notices. he doesn't even look at you.

at least not that you can tell.

lunchtime comes and goes. he stops by your desk with a neatly packed container of leftovers. "made extra this weekend. figured you wouldn't say no to pasta."

you look up at him, then the container in his hand. you can smell it from here. you love his cooking and you can feel your stomach rumble at the sight of it.

"thanks, but i brought mine." you give him a pressed smile, pulling out your own container from home. it's got a sad excuse of a sandwich in there but still, you're too proud to accept his.

you see something flicker across his face, so subtle and brief you're not sure if it was ever there at all, but he recovers fast. "oh. okay. cool." clark pats your desk softly before walking away.

by wednesday, your strategy of coping has been reduced to silence and sidestepping. an absolute shutdown.

you haven't looked clark in the eye once.

not really.

you pretend he's not there, except when you have to acknowledge him. and when you do, you do it with the same kind of politeness you'd give a coworker you don't really know.

you've been packing your own lunch consistently now, every day. it's not because you're being petty, but because you can't keep accepting his gracious offers.

today, he hovers by your desk with a paper bag and a hopeful smile. "brought you that chicken teriyaki over rice you like," he says. "figured you might not have had time–"

"i packed something," you cut in, before he can finish. you plaster a polite smile on your face. "but thank you."

you don't wait for his reply, turning back to your computer and after a moment too long, he sets the bag down and walks off.

you don't touch it.

today 7:15 P.M.

and that leads you to where you are now, scrolling on tinder in hopes – desperate hopes – for something, anything to distract you from your mood.

but there's a knock at the door.

you thought, no, you hoped clark would skip movie night. you really did. after days of keeping your head down, of ducking out of rooms the moment he walked in, of dodging any and every attempt at closeness, you figured he'd get the hint.

you freeze on the couch, bowl of half-eaten cereal in your lap and an oversized hoodie swallowing you whole, phone in the other hand, screen still showing off a man’s dating profile. you consider ignoring the door. you could pretend you're asleep, or not home, or–

"hey," clark calls from the other side of the door, his tone gentle. "i brought thai. they were out of the dumplings you like so i got extra spring rolls."

your stomach flips.

you set the bowl down on the coffee table, standing from your seat and slowly pad over to the door, hesitating for a moment before you open the door.

there he is.

normal as anything. stupidly handsome in a soft blue henley and worn jeans, his hair a little messy from the breeze. he holds up the takeout bag with a hopeful little smile.

you can't believe it took you sleeping with him to realize just how handsome clark kent is.

"movie night," he says simply, raising the bag for emphasis.

you blink, mouth opening and then shutting.

"i'm... not really feeling up to it tonight," you say, pulling the sleeves of your hoodie over your hands. "sorry. kinda under the weather."

it's a decent lie. passable. you even sniff for good measure, eyes avoiding his.

clark doesn't say anything right away.

behind his glasses, his gaze dips over you, scanning the faintest tension in your shoulder, the steadiness of your pulse, the evenness of your breath, the warmth of your skin. they're all signs that your body is just fine. signs that you're lying.

he doesn't call you out on it. he just lets a slow nod carry his chin. "okay..." he murmurs quietly, frowning. he hands you the bag of takeout anyway. "you can text me if you need anything, alright?"

you nod and start the shut the door.

he turns to leave, letting the door shut behind him and you move to place the bag on the coffee table.

but then clark stops. you don't even hear his footsteps on the stairs before they pause and double back to your door. the knock is softer this time.

you open the door again, brows furrowed in confusion.

clark stands before you, his own brows knitted. "did i... do something wrong?" he asks, his voice careful.

you freeze.

"what?"

"you've been avoiding me," he reveals gently. "not just today. all week."

your mouth is dry and it takes a second for you to swallow. "i've just been busy. tired," you answer weakly.

clark exhales through his noise, eyes narrowing slightly. he doesn't buy it. you can feel him not buying it. the air between you tenses but he still doesn't push you.

you sigh and rub your hand over your forehead in attempt to buy time and think of some excuse for your detached behavior that doesn't make you seem pathetic.

"i just needed space," you say finally, eyes still averted.

clark shifts his weight. "so i did do something."

"no!" you manage, too fast. too loud. then softer, you force calm into your tone. "no. you didn't... not really."

clark waits. patient. unmoving.

the silence is long enough that your embarrassment starts to rise hot in your cheeks. you should shut the door. thank him for the food. tell him you'll see him at work tomorrow and crawl back into the shell you've spent the last week building around yourself.

but you don't.

you lean your shoulder against the doorframe, staring off to the side.

"i just thought it'd feel different," you admit, voice so quiet and just above a whisper, you're unsure if he hears it.

clark's brow creases. "different?"

"afterward," you clarify. "i thought..." you sigh. "i don't know what i thought." your words trail off and clark doesn't rush you to elaborate.

he waits.

"i guess i didn't expect you to act so normal," you finally settle on. "and then i didn't expect me to care so much that you acted so normal."

clark's eyes darken, and something in his jaw tightens. "i wasn't trying to brush you off."

"you didn't," you say quickly. "that's the worst part, clark. you didn't do anything wrong. you were just... being you. sweet and thoughtful and friendly and perfect."

with a calm tone, he murmurs, "well, apparently not if you're not okay."

you finally meet his gaze, though your head remains slightly tilted downward, looking up at him through your lashes.

"i was the one who said it'd just be physical. i made a whole thing of it. i joked about it. and then i–" you catch yourself. the words tremble on your tongue, about to slip.

clark doesn't look away, his gaze settled heavily on you. "you what?"

you hesitate, swallowing the lump in your throat.

"i caught feelings," you admit, the confession dragging out of you like you're wincing. "i said no strings but i lied. not on purpose, but... i did."

a beat passes.

you avert your gaze, too afraid to see his expression.

here's where your mouth moves before your brain can compute, attempting to fill in the excruciating silence.

"i didn't expect to feel this way," you say, quieter now. "but i do. and i just... i don't know how to be your friend and pretend like that night didn't change anything for me. i... i'm just sorry."

clark's eyes search your face, his face unreadable for long second.

then, he finally says your name. and the way he says it is so soft, so full of emotion, it feels like a kiss. he takes a step closer to you, crossing the threshold into your apartment.

"i didn't want to leave that morning," he says suddenly, voice low. "i had to."

that makes your head shoot up. you blink, head shaking slightly. "had to?" you echo.

his eyes flicker, almost like he regrets saying it, but he nods. "there was something... urgent. i should've left a note. i thought i could just... make it up to you. you know, the coffee, lunch, the usual clark stuff."

"i didn't know how to act," he continues, his head tilting down as he looks at you. "i didn't want to assume what that night meant to you since you brought it up in the first place... hell, i even asked steve about hookup culture and what was the appropriate thing to–"

"clark." you snap your head up to meet his eyes with incredulity. "you asked steve? for dating advice?"

clark huffs, shaking his head. "no, not dating advice. hookup advice," he corrects, matter-of-fact-ly.

"oh my god," you mumble to yourself. "you asked steve, the guy who has a horrible track record when it comes to woman for advice."

"well, i couldn't ask jimmy. he'd know it was about you and then i'd never hear the end of it."

you blink, stunned, your mouth opening slightly before you let out a short, surprised laugh. "you are so bad at this."

clark shrugs sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "yeah, well. sue me for trying to respect your boundaries while quietly losing my mind."

you're taken aback. "you were losing your mind?"

his hand drops, and he takes another step closer to you. "you seriously can't believe i just walked away from that night and felt nothing," he murmurs, voice quiet and earnest. "i've been thinking about you nonstop. i couldn't be around you for more than a few minutes because every time i see you i..." he trails off, gulping.

"you what?" you ask softly, your breath halting.

"every time i see you, i want to touch you," he says, voice low, almost like he's confessing a sin. "i want to pull you into the nearest room and kiss you. touch you. hold you. have you."

your breath hitches in your throat.

clark takes another step forward, so close now you have to tilt your chin to meet his eyes. "and it's not just physical. i think about how you laugh when you're half-asleep. how you hum when you're focused. i think about things i shouldn't know after one night."

you swallow hard, your throat suddenly dry. "clark..."

"let me be clear," he says quickly. "i do feel the same. maybe – probably more."

you glance up at him, noting the sincerity in his expression, the barely restrained tension in his frame.

"i'm not going to pretend it was just sex," he says. "not when every second of it felt like something i didn't want to end. not when i still think about the way you sounded – how you looked under me."

your breath stutters, legs nearly giving out at the memory alone.

his voice dips even lower, if that's possible. "not when i've had to physically stop myself from calling you every night since, just to hear your voice while i–" he cuts himself off, swallowing the words.

your stomach drops and a familiar heat grows. "while you what?"

"i think you know."

"every night?" you ask, your voice a small murmur.

he exhales sharply, face flushing but his eyes are still as darkened as ever. "yeah."

your chest tightens at the confession. there's a beat of silence where the air between you feels heavier than ever, thick with things you never thought he'd say. never thought he felt.

"i tried to respect the line you drew," he says softly, almost apologetically. "but i crossed it the second i touched you and i haven't been able to stop wanting you since."

your heart pounds in your ears. you want to speak, say something, but your throat is dry and your mind is racing too fast to catch a single coherent thought.

so you choose to act instead.

you surge up, gripping the collar of his henley, and kiss him.

it's clumsy at first, all heat and urgency and too many feelings shoved into the kiss. his hands immediately find your waist, anchoring you as your fingers tangle in his shirt, wrinkling the blue material between your fingertips. you're already tugging at him. tugging him further into your apartment – he takes the hint and kicks the door behind him.

he groans into your mouth when your hands slide uo under his shirt, palms brushing over warm skin. his muscles twitch beneath your touch, like he's been waiting for this.

he lifts you effortlessly – god, you missed his strength – and your legs wrap around his waist like it's second nature. your back meets the wall with a soft thud, and his mouth never leaves your. it's greedy, relentless. it's like he's making up for lost time. granted, he is.

his hands roam with a desperate urgency, memorizing every curve and contour of you with free reign. the heat between you is palpable, a built up tension bursting at the seams. you cling to him, breath hitching as his lips trail down your jaw to your neck, nipping softly.

"you don't know how much i've missed this," he murmur against your skin, voice rough with need.

you shiver, fingers threading into his hair as he kisses lower, just beneath your ear, along the line of your throat. his breath fans hot against your skin. you're practically melting into him, undone by the weight and warmth of his body.

"i thought about you every night," he confesses, his pressing forward, still hoisting you up against the wall, making your breath hitch. all the while he presses open mouthed kisses to your skin. "your laugh." kiss. "your face." kiss. "your body." kiss.

you whimper, the memory of it rushing back all at once. you feel yourself clench around nothing, the heat in your belly pooling.

the words are stuck in your throat. you're too embarrassed to admit what he already seems to know: it was supposed to be just a hookup and you thought you could keep your heart out of it. but you failed. spectacularly.

so, instead, you lean in, teeth catching his bottom lip in a kiss that's filthy. needy. his groan rumbles against your chest, hand squeezing at the flesh beneath your thighs as he carries you, sliding up to your ass.

"i need you," you whisper finally.

his eyes darken at your words. "you have me," he rasps, and then his mouth is back on yours.

he carries you with effortless strength toward the bedroom, only breaking the kiss to make sure he's not bumping into anything in your hallway. your legs still stay locked around him, arms around his shoulders, fingers still tangled in his hair like you're afraid this moment isn't real. like he actually isn't here.

when his knees hit the edge of the side of your bed, he lowers you onto the mattress with a care that contradicts the heat in his gaze.

"tell me to stop," he murmurs against your lips, his forehead brushing nose, voice barely holding back restraint. "and i will."

you shake your head. "please don't."

and that's his green light.

his mouth is back on yours as his hands trail down your body. they slide along the curve of your waist, the dip of your hips until they find the hem of your hoodie. you easily slip out of it as he helps pull it over your head, tossing it aside. he pulls away for a moment glancing down at the shirt your wearing.

"what?" your question cuts through the tense air.

"you look better in my shirts," he murmurs, pinching the material between his fingertips.

you smile – grin, really – finding amusement in his words. "you should give me some more then," you answer, arms hooking around his neck. he lets you pull him in, smiling against your mouth as you attempt to press another kiss.

his hands grow more eager, tugging the shirt up and over your head in one swift motion.

he lets out a sigh, eyes raking over your chest with reverence and hunger all tangled together. his large hands cup you through your bralette, thumbs brushing over the lace.

you whimper beneath him, fingers tugging at his henley until he stands over you, yanks it over his head. that was hot.

you'd forgotten just how solid he was. all broad chest, sculpted arms. smooth skin over muscle. the kind of body that made you ache.

your hands glide over his chest, fingertips trailing down the dip of his sternum to the line of his abs. his muscles twitch under your touch, and then he's lowering again, mouth hot and wet against the swell of your breast as he works your bra off.

he mouths at you, tongue flicking and teeth scraping enough to make you gasp, "clark." your lashes flutter, fingers reaching to tangle in his curls. one of his hands stay at your chest while the other slips between your thighs, cupping you through your shorts, your heat unmistakable.

he groans, like it hurts. "oh my," he breathes, pressing his forehead between the valley of your breasts for a moment, like he's taking a moment to pull himself together. but then his fingers are moving again, sliding beneath the waistband of your shorts and underwear in one slow motion. he drags them down legs, eyes never leaving your center.

you're wet. he sees it. you feel it.

"sweetheart," he murmurs like a prayer.

that damn pet name.

he knows you like it, he can tell by the way it makes your heart stutter in your chest. clark makes a mental note to continuing calling you it.

then he sinks to his knees on your floor between your spread legs, your calves dangling off the edge of your bed. his hands grip your thighs, thumbs brushing reverently along the inside, like he's committing this to memory.

you're also committing the sight to memory. despite the obsceneness of clark kent kneeling between your les, there's still something so pure in his face: the adoration shining in his ocean eyes behind those glasses.

he presses a kiss to the inside of your knee, then higher and higher.

you suck in a breath when his lips ghost over the skin of your inner thigh and his glasses nudge you slightly. it unintentionally reminds you that it's him, still him, still the clark who holds open doors open and rambles about his dorky interests.

except now his hands are parting your thighs further, spreading you open.

"d'you wanna take off your glasses?" you murmur softly, swallowing thick.

he's quick – almost too quick – to shake his head. "mn-hm, wanna see you clearly," he answers, not revealing the real reason. he exhales shakily, seeing you up closes and the sound alone makes your core throb.

"so, so pretty," he says, almost to himself. he drags his thumbs along your folds, gentle at first. "

you drape your arm over your eyes, too flustered to answer and he smile – you can hear it in his voice, "don't hide from me now."

before you have a chance to answer, his mouth on you.

you gasp as his tongue licks a slow, careful stripe through your slick. when you whimper, hips shifting, his hands tighten on your thighs to hold you steady.

he eats you like he's starving, like you're the only thing he's allowed himself to have after months of being denied. his tongue flicks, circles, presses just right against you and he groans every time your body jerks against his face.

"been wanting to do this," he grumbles against your clit, pressing a chaste kiss to the sensitive bundle of nerves. "thought about it for days."

you gasp, back arching when his tongue plunges into your center, nose rubbing between your folds.

"clark," you whine, nails digging into his scalp as you push him closer to you, keening at the sheer pleasure from his nose and tongue. you don't know how long he's pressed to you like that but you're sure it's longer than a person can be before they need air.

he finally pulls away. "dunno why i didn't last week," he huffs to himself, as if he's scolding himself, breathing a puff against your twitching core, making your walls flutter.

he dives back in. he works you open with patience and purpose, like he wants to unravel you right here, right now, just with his mouth.

and you do start to unravel, your hips rolling and thighs tensing around his shoulders, his name slipping past your lips in broken gasps. you're close.

so, so close.

he pulls back.

your protest is immediate, a whimpering sound of frustration leaving your lips, but he's already climbing up over you, kissing your jaw, your cheek, your lips and murmuring softly, "i know, sweetheart."

you eagerly reach between your bodies, palming his through his jeans. he's already hard, straining, almost painfully so, and the sound he makes is low and guttural.

"clark," you pant, squeezing him through his jeans.

"yeah," he hisses, sucking his lower lip between his teeth. "yeah." he repeats with a nod, reaching down to unbutton his jeans with one hand, the other braced beside your head. you hear the rasp of the zipper being pulled down and then he's fumbling to shove them down just enough to kick off. his boxers follow and you can feel the weight of him slap against your thigh.

"normally, i'd want you to cum before i get inside you," he murmurs through a breath, swallowing hard. "but i just can't wait."

"it's okay," you say quickly, looking into his eyes, heat filling your gaze.

he glances around, reaching for your nightstand drawer and you stop him, grabbing his wrist.

with furrowed brows, he turns to look at you.

"i'm on the pill." you whisper, "and i promise i'm clean."

clark's jaw ticks and then he nods, only once, before you feel the deliberate roll of his hips as he lines himself up.

"you sure?" he asks, voice rough like gravel, like he's barely holding himself back.

you roll your hips back against him, nodding with a soft croon as the head of his cock glides between your slick folds. "y-yes," you breathe out.

"i'll have to go slow because..." he starts.

"–you're huge," you answer for him, a ghost of a smile on your face.

his face flushes. "i was going to say i had little time to properly prep you but i guess that also works."

you giggle, the sound a little breathless, a little wrecked as you lay plaint beneath him as he stands before you. "i mean... both are true."

clark huffs a quiet laugh through his nose but there's a brewing darkness in his eyes. "okay, sweetheart," he murmurs, lowering his voice. "deep breath."

you inhale and then he starts to push inside. the head of him prods against your velvet walls, barely squeezing through your entrance. the stretch is instant. it's hot, thick, overwhelming, just like you remember it but it's oh, so different now without the barriers of latex between you. you feel him more than ever, the bare skin of his cock sliding and rubbing against your walls.

"f-fuck," you whisper, fingers clutching the sheets.

"i know, i know," he pants, lifting the underside of your thighs up to anchor him as he struggles not to shove himself in in one push. "god, you're–" the glasses on his nose, fog up as he pants and slowly sinks another inch into you.

"so good," you whisper, your words a little slurred as you blink ip at him.

clark's jaw is clenched, tendons straining in his neck as he watches your face with utmost focus. it's like he's mapping your pleasure in real time.

"you're doing so good, sweetheart," he croons, squeezing the fat of your thighs. "so tight, warm... christ–"

you whimper, overwhelmed by the stretch and the praise. the way he's only barely in but you already feel full.

it takes a while for him to push himself in, whispering praises and sweet words your way all the while.

then, finally, he bottoms out.

a shaky sound spills from your lips as he buries himself to the hilt, pressing against a spot inside you that has you cumming in seconds without warning.

clark feels your walls spasm around him and he groans, throwing his head back. "shit, baby," he rasps, voice trembling. (mentally, you add another tick to how many times you've made clark swear). "did you just–?"

you nod, dazed, still catching your breath, your whole body twitching from the aftershocks as he stays buried inside you. "i... i didn't mean to," you mumble, blinking up at him, lashes wet.

his smile is crooked and fond as he looks down at you, pupils blown wide. "oh, that's alright sweetheart," he says, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. "you okay?"

you hum, looping your arm around his shoulders, keeping him close. your legs wrap around his waist, making his arms move from holding your thighs up to brace beside either side of your body. "better than okay."

he grunts at your closeness, rolling his hips just a fraction. "sweetheart, you're squeezing me s'tight."

"sorry," you whimper, attempting to unclench around him. "y'can move," you add softly.

his eyes soften as he looks down at you. "you're not overstimulated?" he asks.

you must have the kindest man inside you right now.

"i need you more than that," you answer, looking into his eyes with determination.

he sucks in a breath at that, experimentally bringing his hips back slightly before pushing back in. your walls are slick with your orgasm so it becomes easier for him to slide between your walls. at your soft moan and fluttering lashes, he starts to move.

clark pulls out a few inches and thrusts back in with a slow, deliberate snap of his hips. you gasp, nails digging into his back and he hisses softly.

the rhythm he sets is measured and patient, but every stroke presses right against that devastating spot inside you that made you fall apart the first time. he doesn't look away from your face, like every flutter of your lashes, every gasp and tremble is something sacred.

"you feed so good, sweetheart," he mumbles, dipping his head to kiss along your jaw. "could stay here all night. buried inside you. just like this."

you shudder from beneath him, his words sending another wave of heart in your belly. "you can," you murmur.

"yeah, you'd let me?" he grunts against your neck, needing the confirmation between every slow roll of his hips. his glasses press against your cheek to the point you're worried they might snap.

"mhm, we could'a been doing this every night since last week," you whimper, squealing when he deliberately snaps his hips against yours out of rhythm.

"then, i guess i have to make up for lost time," he murmurs against your skin, picking up his pace.

you cry out, legs tightening around his waist as he begins to fuck you harder. it's still tender but it's deeper now. it's more insistent, like he's trying to imprint himself inside you (you think he already has from the week prior).

“fuck,” you breathe, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist, anchoring him to you. “clark—”

he groans at the sound of his name, mouth trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your throat. “say it again,” he pants. “say my name like that.”

“clark,” you whisper, and he gives a sharp thrust in return that has your back arching, the pleasure overwhelming. you whine when he pulls his torso away from you, leaving your hands to grip the sheets beside you instead.

his fingers curl under your knees, pressing them up toward your chest to angle you open for him. the new angle has him hitting that spot with merciless precision, and your moans dissolve into something breathless and high-pitched.

“look at me,” he murmurs, brushing your hair from your face with a tenderness that contrasts how deep he’s fucking you. “wanna see your eyes when I make you cum again.”

your eyes flutter open, teary and half-lidded, and the moment they lock with his, noticing his blue eyes blown behind his fogged-up glasses, you shatter.

your walls clench around him, your cry muffled by the way he kisses you through your orgasm. it's the kind of kiss that feels like everything. it feels like home.

“that’s it,” he whispers against your lips. “good girl. you’re perfect. perfect.”

your body trembles under him, but he doesn't stop. not yet. he keeps thrusting through your aftershocks, voice low and ragged. “can I cum inside, sweetheart? please... need to feel it. need to feel you.”

you nod, dazed and desperate. “please, clark. want it.”

with a strangled groan, he pushes deep one final time, hips stuttering as he spills white ropes of cum inside you. he holds you tight, face buried in the crook of your neck, catching his breath.

you don’t say anything for a while, your limbs heavy and boneless as his weight settles over you. clark’s still inside, still pulsing faintly, and your body feels like it’s humming, buzzing with the aftershocks. he carefully pulls your legs back down from your chest, letting them dangle off the bed again.

"you okay?" he asks softly.

you nod, a dazed smile on your face as you look up at him. "yeah."

he cups your jaw, thumb caressing your flushed skin softly. "sorry if i went too hard at the end," he murmurs.

"it's okay," you quickly reassure him, turning your cheek to kiss the palm of his hand.

clark smiles at the gesture, basking in the warmth of you and being inside you. "can i stay over?" he asks, breaking the silence that falls between you.

the way your eyes narrow makes his heart stutter in his chest, second guessing everything that just happened prior. but then you speak.

"are you going to leave in the morning like i was some dirty mistress?" you ask, tone mostly teasing.

his shoulders relax and he laughs through his nose, leaning down to kiss your cheek. "sweetheart, i'm sorry," he apologizes, smiling against your skin. "i swear it was urgent. i didn't mean to do a walk-of-shame on you."

"mm, yeah okay," you hum along as if you don't believe him.

he pulls back to look down at you. "i'll spend the rest of forever apologizing to you for it," he promises.

"you better."

sure, tonight he won't tell you the real reason he left in a scramble and without a word that morning was because of the alien monster wreaking havoc on the clinton bridge that he had to deal with as his alien superhero counterpart, but until then, clark will do whatever it takes to make it up to you.

for now, he'll be right here and by your side until morning light.

ʚĭɞ reblogs and interaction always appreciated! ʚĭɞ

[finnsstyles]

baby, it's you!! ( clark kent )

you're the one i love! you're the one i need! you're the only one i see! clark kent finally works up the courage to ask you to dinner; only to run behind on work with lois and completely stand you up. it's fine, you're three glasses of wine in and ready to rant at your friend lois' door, only to find the cause of tonight's rage sitting there on her sofa. now, clark has to find a way to tell you the truth; that this is all a misunderstanding and it's only ever been you. it will always be you.

pairing: clark kent x journalist fem reader (no use of yn)

themes: angst, fluff, implied cheating (more so accusation)

the voicemails started off polite, poised and then four missed calls later you were bordering into unhinged, murderous woman who had been stood up on her first date territory. which you were- so that take is completely true.

you've known clark kent for a few months since you joined the daily planet as a journalist for their women's health section. separated by the plastic wheels squeaking as his bumps his chair into yours and the sweet cups of coffee he starts your mornings with, it wasn't long between your smiles at him became softer. you let yourself look at him a little longer, hanging on to whatever slivers of himself he'd let sneak past his usual charming and boyish front.

he returned those feelings pretty quickly too, through the holding of hands under the desks, him learning a little over your shoulder purposefully to read over your work, the intensity of his closeness throwing you off- how when he'd speak it was as if he had reserved a separate tone just for you- one that felt a little more breathless, thoughtful, pooling heat in your stomach instantaneously and laced with a feeling a lot like love.

it took him weeks to work himself up to ask you on a date. your first date, you mused. clark kent was clearly a man who did things by the book and you had hoped that after tonight, he'd finally meet you in the middle of this strange dance you're stuck in and kiss you silly already.

you'd imagined it in your head a million times; so often that you had once unintentionally started typing out the scene like a true novella; how he'd wine and dine you at the little italian place a few blocks over, dance with you in the dark on the walk home and kiss the remenants of sweet dessert off your lips on your doorstep- instead of filling the column with your recent musings on the importance of gut health in retaining a balanceful mood. you had never smashed the backspace so hard in your life- the angry crushing of keys and the rosy pink flushing the tips of your ears and neck drawing attention to your best friend, lois who stared at you amused.

"he's obsessed with you," she assured with you once, the very first time he looked your way and sent you spiralling. it was the same day he asked you out, a casual question for dinner and maybe it was your fault for overthinking this. he gave you one look and you went running straight into his heart, demanding entrance and free rent.

"hey this is clark! leave your message and i'll try and get back to you-" and you can imagine his obnoxiously gorgeous face, slight chirp in his voice and suddenly the alcohol buzzing war in your veins is giving you the confidence.

"you know clark, if you wanted to just embarrass me you didn't have to take me out to dinner to do that," you grit between your teeth, "oh wait, you didn't even take me out to dinner! call me NEVER." the breath of anger is hot on your phone, steaming the screen. the phone hangs on by a thin thread of misplaced hope and largely embarrassment as it sits between your collarbone and ear.

it's a contrast to the chill air of the apartment stairwell that bites at your bare skin. the off white slip you paired with a soft knit cardigan that was a sweet butter yellow seemed incredible in the moment but right now, only the breeze- bordering wind territory is getting a treat of it tonight. your kitten heels clatter on the stairs up because your friend's stupid elevators are out of service. like mystery man, lois lane had also not returned your calls tonight. you figured she was going through her usual work phases, her perfectionism and hyperfixated need for the chase of a story stealing most of her time. you let her do her thing, its what she loved and you loved supporting her.

when you first moved to the daily planet she was the first to show you around and became the sister you never had; an instantaneous friendship that made the world spin a little slower for you to keep up.

and that's why tonight: three sweaty flights of stairs and two more voicemails that ended with the escape of sniffles has you knocking on your friend's door- in need of an ear to lift this heavy burden of embarrassment of your shoulder.

"lois!" you don't even knock, just throw the entirety of your body weight at her door. your figure is slumped against it when she opens it just by the smallest of inches and maybe if you were intoxicated less, that could've been the first sign.

"he stood me up," the tears stream and before you know it you're sobbing in her hallway- loud wails that widen her eyes comically in fear you're going to wake up the whole neighbourhood.

"i waited," you throw your arms around miserably, like a toddler having a tantrum, "and he never showed."

something instantly freezes in her and what looks like guilt flashes over the sympathetic smile she sends your way before she crushes you into a bone-bending hug. "oh honey," she soothes into your skin and you let the tears soak up her tank top and then you pull back.

"can i come in now?" your voice quiet and lois decided she'd rather the earth swallow her whole.

"i'm a little busy," she winces, trying to close the door a little bit more behind her but you peer through nonetheless anyways, blood freezing cold at the sight of soft black curls you know from the memorisation of how they've felt under your fingers.

"clark," you breathe. its not exactly a question, more so a snot fuelled statement of betrayal as your eyes flicker between him and your friend. you don't know which one to settle on, shift all your focus and blame on because you're so tired and the alcohol is making you drowsier as the minutes tick by.

"honey," he gets up from his spot on the sofa and tries to meet you at the door but the wrinkle in your brow and fury laced in your frown tells him to stop exactly where he is.

"don't you dare come near me," shame rises in your throat and you feel flushed as hell. the heats on the back of your neck, tinging your cheeks in a rosy fire of embarrassment. "god, how could i have been so fucking wrong?" your voice stretches out with a strain and you take a step back in defeat, "i knew i was in over my head," and then you decide no. this is not a pity party for one, you will not take the blame. you were stood up!

"yeah!" you shout with a growl and the two of them look between themselves in concern, unsure of how to approach you.

"honey, wait," a warm and heavy wrist reaches out to grab your arm as you make a sharp turn on your heel- ready to end this night of drunken shame and theatrics.

"oh i did!" you fight the empty laugh with a scoff, "for a whole hour, no texts no calls, nothing," your voice gets quieter, thudding in clark's chest like warning signals blaring disasterously. this is all on him, he thinks. he's fucked up majorly.

you shrug yourself out of his hold, throwing your small purse in the direction of the two of them and hobble away in a huff. the stiletto heels swelling at your ankles as you shift the weight. the air is heavy as you leave it and face the chill of the outside air swimming around you.

the walk back to your apartment isn't far- you live pretty close to lois and when you reach your door, you sigh heavily. leaning your head onto the wooden frame, and as the tears start to well up all over again you bite them back down. in your fit, throwing your purse at the two traitors you forgot that you left your phone and your keys in there. however, sober you is smarter and you use your excellently hidden spare key to unlock the door and crash inside.

it's safer in your home- no one can reach you here, you think. the kitten heels are abandoned at the entryway, and your body collapses straight onto the sofa, not even making it to your bed before sleep chases you and claims to you a life that was kinder to you, where you ate donuts for breakfast and didn't gain a pound, wrote about things that interested you instead of the latest shopping trends and where you could fall asleep in the arms of someone who let you in all the way and just liked you back enough to choose you first.

...

he softly places your purse on your desk infront of you, shifting his weight back and forth, rocking gently on his feet as he waits behind your chair. at 6'4, his height looms over your area, like a cool of shade on a warm summer day, you normally welcome his presence instantly. usually you notice him in a second, with a soft sweet smile in which your nose scrunches a "good morning" and clark kent knows the day is going to be a good one.

instead, he's met with silence.

pure, heavy, lonely silence.

you were thirty four minutes late this morning- he was absolutely counting as he watched the door open and close, hoping it'd be who'd pass in. and when you did you were quieter than usual, hair tied in a messy knot at the back of your head, glasses perched on the bridge of your nose and the same damn yellow cardigan wraps around your frame. only today it sits on top of a black satin slip that sways in the breeze as you take the furthest seat from him. he's instantly tortured with the memories of last night, how undeserving he was to see you in such a fragile but gorgeous state and he blew it completely.

your eyes narrow in on the purse to the side of your computer.

he watches carefully as you poke your tongue in your cheek in thought and prays like hell that you'll just say anything. instead what he soaks up is your snail- like movements who takes all the time in the world to open your purse, not bother checking whether all your things are still there but unlocking your phone.

"i charged it," he has to clear his throat but the earnest rumble still peeks through. you nod slowly, switching it off within a moment and letting it clutter on your desk with a gentle thud- a careless offhanded movement and he winces.

he still waits, hoping you'll throw another crumb his way. he tries not to let the fact that you've not touched the cup of coffee he left steaming at your desk this morning sting his chest like you've poured gasoline over his heart and are just waiting to set it alight.

"not hungry?" he asks, fighting back a stutter. you look over to the muffin he left by the side of your mug and then back at him, a bored expression on your face and clark wishes he could make this whole thing right again. it was a misunderstanding- hard to explain to someone who's drunk- not that he'd ever blame you. it was his fault for getting caught up in his interview with lois he didn't realise the time. he planned this date, he knew about it, scheduled it weeks in advance and he had let it all go to shit because there was someone out there who knew him. and that changed everything, scared him more than anything.

but seeing you so detached, god that's got to top the list for sure.

"no thanks," you deliver flatly, turning your attention back to the screen. your fingers hover lazily over the keyboard and in the reflection of your glasses, clark can still see his reflection fading to the background.

"listen, about last night-" he starts the story he's practises over and over again with great precision but the nerves in his stomach threaten to rip him open still.

"i said no thanks," you repeat more firmly, "look i get it, you're not interested and it's my fault for dragging this on but for the love of god, please don't make this any more awkward for me i will actually die," you don't take your eyes off the screen once but your fingers are frozen. no words typed out but everything said in the open.

"that's so far from the truth-" he begins and you cut him off with a glare sent with pure edge. he stands firm and watches the ice melt with a softened stare. he thinks he has you for a moment and then all the light fades from his eyes when you give him a reassuring nod.

"clark, it's okay. please just go now," and just like that, your focus is taken back to your computer screen and clark is frozen behind you. he stands for a couple more seconds before jimmy places two hands at his broad shoulders and diverts him away.

"i don't know what you did kent, but it's best to wait this out maybe?" he suggests but clark's mind screams the opposite. he has to fix this and quick or the best thing to happen to his life is going to disappear- and he would've just let it all happen.

...

lois gives him a nod across the room and he delivers one exactly the same. at his side, jimmy crosses his fingers and says a prayer which clark thanks him quietly before getting up and walking with such stealth a few feet behind you.

it's lunch time- later than you usually take it but you've grabbed your work bag and have it slunched over your shoulder and make way to the elevator. clark keeps his steps purposefully measured- slower than yours but quick enough to keep up with your momentum. he stops at your side and presses the button to call for the elevator and feels you still beside him.

it's comical how statue-eque you've transformed that clark has to look extra closely to check the rise and fall of your chest to make sure you're breathing.

"hey, do you wanna grab a bite fro-" he can hardly get the question out before you've darted in the direction of the stairwell, taking off at such an incredible speed that clark has to beg for a few huffs of breaths to keep going.

"honey!" he calls out and growls lowly when you do not pause for a single second, jumping down the flights of stairs like each step is burnt straight from hell. clark uses the last of his strength and ounce of caffeine to pull through getting slighter ahead of you and knocks you against the wall.

his hand shoots out in a razor sharp reflex, cushioning your head from where it was moments from meeting the wall as the other pushes itself gently into your abdomen, holding you still.

"stop running from me please," his voice is dangerously low, a plead heavy in the subtle vibrations

"oh," you whisper stupidly at the hand placement, heating pooling in your stomach at the sudden proximity. you hate yourself for how easy it is for him to break your stony resolve. you planned to give him a whole day's worth of the silent treatment but had already broken your pact by charging your stupid phone like a nice human being. ugh.

he stumbles out an apology and pulls back gently, enough to give you some more room to breathe. his hand covering your stomach travels to the side of your hip instead and squeezes it gently in comfort.

"i'm sorry," he whispers, hanging his head low. "lois and i got paired for a new article and we just ran over time. it was my fault, i thought i'd make it to you on time but as we got deeper in the work i forgot to even call or text and," he breathes out slower, "i'm worried i've blown this all because i'm fucking stupid."

his breaths are heavy, slicing the air as it settles thicker with emotions and regrets of last night.

"so you and lois are not?" you can't get the words out and he shakes his head immediately.

"no," he firmly puts, "god, no," theres more emphasis this time, "she's amazing but she's not you. there's only ever been you- there will only ever be you and it fucking kills me that you thought i wasn't interested anymore. honey you hang the stars in my sky and rotate the damn earth, it could never not be you," he whispers again and you nod, staring straight into those gentle eyes.

"i got all pretty for you," your voice cracks, the shards worming its way and seeping through clark's heart. he watches how your eyes glass with a fresh batch of tears and he reaches out to catch the strays intimately, fingers cupping your jaw and he presses his forehead against yours.

"i know baby, and god i'll be sorry till i die,"

"bit dramatic," you ease to break the tension and he huffs out a laugh, "but i appreciate it nonetheless."

"let me make it up to you?" he asks hopeful and you bite your lip, the insecurity and fear of being left behind still making its way into your bones. he can feel that you're inside your own head and curses himself for making you feel this way.

"i don't know clark," you get out honestly, "i felt real stupid sitting there, you also owe me fifty bucks for all that wine," you face the floor, unable to keep eye contact.

he uses a finger to hook under your chin and lift your eyes to him, "i broke your trust," he speaks gently, as if being any louder might scare you away, "i'm so sorry for making you feel forgotten and alone last night, you are important to me more than anything and i'll show it to you. i'll prove it to you, i'm here," he pleads and you sigh, resting your head into his chest and he melts under your touch.

"one chance," your voice heats at his heart. "as long as you promise to delete all those voicemails- i went a little bit overboard," and you flush with sniffle of embarrassment once more. he promises with a chuckle and soft kiss to your temple, holding you in the stairwell for moments that stretch into an eternity.

you don't know that clark cried so hard to each voicemail, he threw his phone in anger, almost breaking it. that he followed you home last night from a distance to make sure you made it back home safe even though he was probably the last person you'd have wanted to see. you don't know that now as you stand in his arms, every bit of honour he has to fight and hang on to desperately when he wants nothing more than to lean down and kiss you stupidly.

he wants forever with you.

and he'll spend the rest of his life working towards it- one dinner, three glasses of wine and eight raging voicemails at a time.

note: i think im just a hardcore david corenswet girl im ngl the press run hes been on lawddddd - 2k on this is crazy!!!!!!! tysm i love u & have posted some clark fluff to celebrate that- but also make up for the angst, i love u!!!! 💘💘

[finnsstyles]

love love love Peter and Shy!Reader

can you write how they first met? maybe Peter being flirty idkidk

<33

thank you for ur request this was so fun! It starts with a very heavy library book that you can't quite reach. 

Obviously, the thought of asking anybody for help is frightful. You struggle on your tiptoes and moan to yourself because how could anybody ever hope to reach something this high up? Are all the librarians giants? 

"This one?" a voice asks, warm and kind. 

You startle ever so slightly and step back onto your heels, bumping into a solid body. "Woah," he breathes, reaching out to steady you, a big hand gentle against your shoulder blade. You flinch forward and look up to find his second hand pointing at the book you'd been aiming for. 

"Yes," you say, quiet with embarrassment. "Please." 

He leans up though it's hardly necessary and pulls your desired tome down from the shelf, a shushing of leather and paper. You shuffle out of his way. He holds it out for you with both hands and you accept tentatively. Something on his face tells you that you've piqued his curiosity. 

"You need help carrying that thing?" 

"It's okay," you say quickly. 

His eyes lighten with mirth before he's even said the joke, "It's a brick. They made houses out of those things, like, a century ago." 

You surprise yourself by smiling. He smiles back. 

"Where's your protection detail?" he asks, faux-suspicious.

"My detail?" you ask quietly.

"Well, for insurance intents and purposes. Can't let a million dollar smile like that out into the world without some protection." 

It takes you a second to catch his meaning. Your body flushes from head to toe, a wave of pleasurable heat. You smile, startled at being so brazenly flirted at.

"Ever seen Ocean's Eight? She had two bodyguards and it still didn't work. One trip to the bathroom and it was all over," he continues, mostly to himself. 

"I don't have any bodyguards." You indulge him. 

He smirks. "Maybe I'll keep an eye on you, then, in case you get any funny ideas," he says, lightly teasing. 

He's endearing. You clutch your book to your chest and try to return the compliment or further the joke, grasping at straws, skills you don't have. You hesitate with your mouth open.

"I'm Peter," he says, throwing you a life preserver. He's all movie star handsome and bubbly, an ever-present amusement lining even the bump of his nose. "What's your name, doll?" 

You know from that moment on that he's gonna ruin your life. 

[finnsstyles]

thinking about sitting on clark kent’s lap while you vent after a long day of work.

it doesn’t matter if you’re a journalist at the daily planet, or a lawyer, or currently in school with a part-time job to help hold you over. whatever it may be, you can always count on clark to listen to you while you debrief, his hands on your thighs as you rant and rave about your boss being a dick yet again.

clark’s interest in your day is always genuine. he’s a guy who truly cares about the little things— hell, he’s probably the first superhero to ever pause mid-battle to save a squirrel from getting crushed, even when the world-at-large is clearly at stake. that’s one of the things you love about him— how his heart seems to rule everything he does, rather than his head— and because of that, you never have to worry about whether he’s being authentic or not. but heart of gold aside, clark’s far from good at everything.

and one thing about clark is that he’s never been a good actor.

“clark,” you say to him suddenly, the sound of your voice forcing him to straighten up. his eyes painfully pry themselves away from the curve of your lips to meet your eyes— which he finds beautiful too, don’t get him wrong— but alongside their usual admiration for him, he finds that they regard him with an endless amount of mirth.

ah, fuck. he’s been caught, hasn’t he?

“you’ve been staring at my lips for the past 5 minutes,” you say, chastising him softly. “did you hear a single word i said?”

yeah. he’s definitely been caught.

“i— god, sorry,” clark says quietly, blue eyes helplessly falling back to your lips. he’s in no position to be making excuses, and he really doesn’t mean to keep staring at you like this, but, god, he can’t seem to help it! all clark wants is to kiss you really, really badly right now, because no matter how much you like to deny it, he finds you absolutely stunning when you’re all ready for bed and talking his ear off. but despite his desperation, clark was raised to be a gentleman, not a dog. he acknowledges that there’s a proper order to these things: first, he should listen to you talk, then validate your feelings, and wait until you declare yourself finished before making a move, but clark’s never been all that good at controlling himself and, if you keep going, he’s not sure if he’ll be able to—

you’re leaning down to kiss him before he can even complete that thought.

clark melts into the kiss like clockwork. those big, strong hands of his that have been drawing mindless circles into the skin of your thighs begin to knead them softly, palms slowly creeping up to disappear under your his sleep shirt. he squeezes the fat of your hips and waist firmly until you pull back to rest your forehead against his, and he’s disoriented enough for his pupils to dilate in a way is distinctly inhuman, but so incredibly clark kent that it makes it endearing, rather than unsettling.

oh, you love your alien boyfriend.

“was that enough for you, supes?” you say coyly, a hand gliding effortlessly from his shoulder into his hair. your fingers tangle into the cropped curls at his nape and clark’s eyes flutter shut from the feeling, the weight of his head falling lax in your palm. he swallows dryly and cracks a crooked, boyish smile at you before opening his eyes back up.

“not really, but it’ll do.” clark stares up at you adoringly, giving you the opportunity to watch those pupils of his finally return to normal. “the good news is that i’m not all that distracted anymore.”

you roll your eyes at him, but clark grins slyly, his thumbs tracing lightly across your stomach.

“i think superman can behave himself until you finish what you were saying.”

# — navigation

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it was simple, it was sweetness, it was good to know

Roy Kent × Fem!Reader

word count : 15.1k a fucking whopper I started writing and couldn’t stop this is the longest oneshot I’ve ever written in my life

summary : the 5 times Phoebe got dropped off at your house and the 5 times Roy realised he was in love with you.

content warning : tooth rotting fluff with the whole Kent family line, a little angst if you squint really really hard, allusions to smut towards the end but non actually written, me calling Roy’s sister Molly but I can’t remember where I first saw it, no use of yn.

masterlist

a/n : if you want to see a spin off based on any part of this please dot because writing this has broke my writers block!!!! I’d love to write some more Roy <33

1. the first time

It had taken Roy about 15 seconds to decide he was going to drop Phoebe off with you.

When Molly had shown up on his doorstep at 5am, with an asleep Phoebe in her arms, citing she'd been called in for a surgery, he mentally rearranged his whole day to accommodate for his favourite girl. It wasn't until lunchtime rolled around that he remembered an important meeting with Ted and Beard that he, unfortunately, couldn't get out of. So, while brainstorming who on earth he could leave Phoebe with, his mind quickly settled on you.

You were sensible and probably good with kids considering he could remember a couple of mentions of a niece of your own, and he knew - given it was the weekend - that you'd probably be free to look after her. And, not to Roy's surprise, you'd quickly said yes when he called to ask if that was okay.

While it had only been 20 minutes since Roy called, he was already at your doorstep, Phoebe's hand held tightly in his as they waited for you to answer the door.

"Is she pretty?" Phoebe asked, eyes unmoving from the unfamiliar front door as she spoke to her uncle Roy.

Roy scoffed at the question, unsure where it had come from and why his niece couldn't have asked this in the car. If she'd asked in the car he would've given an enthusiastic yes, a smile creeping on his lips as he thought about you, and how you always looked pretty - even if you were in a Richmond pullover and sulking in your office - especially then, actually. "Why does it matter?"

Before Phoebe could answer him, your front door swung open, you behind it with a wide smile. No sooner then it had opened, you'd crouched down to Phoebe's level, giving her a small wave and a bright smile. "Hi Phoebe! I hope you don't mind that you've got to spend the day with me instead of your uncle Roy."

"I don't mind at all," Phoebe shrugged, the straps of her backpack moving greatly with the movement of her much smaller shoulders. "I see my uncle roy all the time."

The laugh that bubbled past your lips made Roy's heart skip a beat, and for a moment he forgot why he was even standing on your doorstep.

As you stood up straight, you gently took Phoebes hand in your own, pulling her closer to you and your home and giving Roy the opportunity to head off for his meeting. "We should let your uncle Roy get going then, shouldn't we?"

"Thanks again for doing this, I owe you one." Maybe I could take you to dinner as thanks? Roy wanted to add, but wasn't brave enough to do so. If he wasn't so head over heels for you, maybe it's be easier to do something about it.

"Don't worry about it," you brushed him off, gently pushing him off of your doorstep and back in the direction of his car, knowing he had places to be. "I'd like to think you'd do the same for me."

"Bye uncle Roy!" Phoebe shouted, giving him one last wave before running into your house, you quickly following after her to make sure she didn't injure herself exploring the new territory.

Thankfully, she made a b-line for your couch, climbing onto it and emptying the contents of her backpack out on the seat next to her. She pulled a colouring book into her lap and grabbed a fist full of pens, quickly pulling off the caps of her favourite colours and getting to work on her masterpiece.

"Have you had any lunch yet, Phoebe?"

"No, uncle Roy was about to make me lunch when he called you."

While you knew Roy was rushing to his meeting, you didn't realise he'd seemed to forget about it completely.

Phoebes lack of lunch had you searching through all your cupboards for something suitable to feed a 7 year old, and when you couldn't find anything you'd have wanted to eat at 7, your turned to her with a smile. "How do you feel about a trip to Tesco? You can pick out whatever you want for lunch?"

"Perfect!" Phoebe cheered, pushing her pens to the side as quickly as she'd picked them up, running back to your front door to put her shoes and coat on. As soon as she was dressed, you opened up the front door, grabbing your car keys from the dish by the door and directing her in the direction of your car as she ran ahead of you in her excitement.

"Phoebe, you don't need a booster seat do you?" While you had your own niece, she was still young enough to be in a carrier everywhere she went, so you weren't entirely sure what the protocol was for 7 year olds.

"I don't have one in my uncle Roy's car." That was good enough for you.

Phoebe spent the whole car ride to the shops chatting your ear off, bringing you up to speed on everything that was happening at school and football and how many times she'd been red carded this season alone. In many ways, she was like a miniature version of Roy, so it was easy to love being in her presence.

As you arrived at Tesco, you made Phoebe promise she'd stay close to you at all times, not wanting to lose her as soon as Roy had entrusted her in to your care - that wouldn't be good for anyone involved. Phoebe was quick to pull you by the hand in the direction of the frozen aisle, clearly set on something in particular for her lunch.

She broke free from your hold as you reached the end of the aisle, heading straight in the direction of the frozen chicken nuggets and pulling as hard as she could to open the door. Once she'd managed to pry the door open, she climbed inside of the freezer, attempting to reach one of the higher up shelves in search of what she wanted.

"Phoebe, sweetheart, let me help you." As you stood behind Phoebe, you put your hands under her arms, picking her up and bringing her to your height so that she could grab whatever she'd been looking for. "Turkey Dinosaurs? Good choice."

"The only correct choice, bruv." Isaac was right behind you, Colin on his left and Will on his right.

"Oh, boys, hi!" Phoebe leaned in closer towards you as the sudden appearance of the three men. While she'd exhumed confidence from the moment you'd met her a few hours ago, she seemed to shy away slightly at the sight of the three footballers. "What're you doing here?"

"Day off, innit." Isaac, never a man of many words, was quick to answer your question, though had one waiting for you in return. "Who's this?"

Phoebe's grip around your neck increased slightly again as Isaac pointed directly at her. You shifted her in your arms so that she'd face the three a bit better, knowing non of them posed any threat to her. "This is Phoebe. Phoebe this is Colin, Isaac and Will; say hi."

Now that she'd been introduced to them, a wide smile curled onto Phoebes face, her toothy grin making an appearance that had Colin and Isaac smiling right back.

"I didn't know you were a mum." Will spluttered out, staring at you and Phoebe with a rather surprised look on his face.

"Oh, I'm not," you were quick to reassure, though immediately regretted it as you had no clue how to explain how this child they'd never seen before had come into your care. You knew Roy well enough to know he loved his privacy more then anything, so you decided the best course of action was to keep it. "She's my niece."

"Cool." Isaac nodded, prompting the others to nod on silent acceptance of the knowledge they'd just gained. "Can you pass me a bag of the turkey dinosaurs, Phoebe?"

As soon as Isaac got his bag of turkey dinosaurs, he, Colin and Will were quick to leave, waving a goodbye to the two of you and getting on with the own shop. Once they'd left the aisle, you let out a loud sigh, pent up tension from the sudden reunion seeping out of your body. Phoebe dropped the turkey dinosaurs into the basket you'd picked up, wiggling out of your grasp and taking your hand instead.

"Why did you tell them I was your niece?" Phoebe guided you further down the frozen aisle as she questioned your actions, walking a few paces in front of you, your connect hands dangling between the two of you.

"Your uncle Roy is a very private person," you started, unsure exactly of what was the right thing to tell a 7 year old on such a matter. "I didn't want to tell them you were Roy's niece in case they decided that meant something more"

"Something more?" Phoebe wandered out loud, stopping in front of the ice cream section and pulling the door open. "Like if they though that meant you were dating my uncle Roy."

Jesus Christ, 7 year olds were so much smarter and observant then you'd thought. "Yeah, something like that."

"And why aren't you dating?" You didn't know what to say to that, instead opting to pick Phoebe up once more so that she could reach the specific tub of ice cream she was searching for. "My mum says uncle Roy should date someone nice and you're nice."

"Well I'm glad you think I'm nice, pheeb's." You ruffled the blondes hair as you placed her back on the ground, allowing her to place the ice cream in the basket before grabbing her hand once more. "How about we grab a pizza too? Just incase you're here for tea?"

Phoebe loved the idea, sprinting down to the end of the aisle in search of the pizzas with a wide smile on her face.

The rest of your day with Phoebe had flown by, you'd come home and eaten your lunch of turkey dinosaurs and potato waffles, done some colouring in, played knights and dragons, eaten your ice cream, and watched a movie. As the first spy kids had come to an end, something you'd put on at phoebes request all though you were heavily invested in it the whole time, you put the pizza she'd picked out in the oven.

"Phoebe," you shouted from the kitchen as you made your way back into the living room. "It's getting kind of late, sweetheart, do you have any pjs in your bag?"

"No," she instantly replied, licking her spoon clean of ice cream even though it only really added to the rim of vanilla that had formed around her mouth. "I don't pack pjs in my bag because I have some in my room at uncle Roy's house."

If you'd have had the common sense to ask earlier, you might've picked some up while the two of you were in Tesco, but you hadn't, and now you had to make do with what you had. "You want to get in some of my pjs pheeb's? I'll get into pjs too and then we can be all comfy while we eat our pizza and watch spy kids 2."

"I won't fit in your pjs." Phoebe countered, but got off the couch nonetheless, placing her empty bowl on your coffee table and joining you by the kitchen door. Lacing her fingers through your own she allowed you to guide her in the direction of your room.

She dove straight for the bed when you opened the door, similarly to how she'd made a b-line for your sofa earlier in the day when she'd arrived, but was quick to hop right back off of it when you opened your wardrobe doors. You stood quietly behind her as she picked out one of your T-shirts to act as a night dress.

"This one!" She proclaimed, quick to swap her current outfit for your top before sprinting out of your bedroom. Before you could ask what on earth she was doing, the oven started to beep. "Pizza's ready!"

You picked up the pile of clothes Phoebe had left behind, throwing it by her shoes at the door so that you wouldn't forget to pack them up whenever Roy came to collect her. Then you went back to the kitchen, clicking the timer off to stop the loud beeping and pulling the pizza out of the oven. Phoebe stood behind you doing some kind of 'pizza dance' as she'd called it as you cut it into 8 slices, grabbing one big plate to place it onto.

"Race you back to the sofa." Phoebe didn't need to be told twice, running for the sofa and throwing herself into the mess of blankets, pillows and felt tip pens. As soon as the two of you were comfortably settled, you put spy kids 2 on, the pair of you tucking into your dinner without a thought spared as to where Roy was or just how late it was really getting.

Though you didn't remember falling asleep, a knocking at your front door had you waking up. Sometime between pizza and now, Phoebe had crawled into your lap, and instead of waking her to go to the door, you scooped her into your arms, resting her on your hip as you stumbled sleepily from your sofa to your front door.

When you opened the door, Roy looked like he'd been prepped with an apology, something about how he'd never meant to come back so late and how he really owed you one now but his words befell him at the sight of you and Phoebe on the other side of the door.

It was a sight to behold, especially to a lovesick Roy. Your hair was all tousled and you still looked half asleep, Phoebe was fast asleep in your arms and in what he guessed was one of your shirts. "Roy," you crooned, opening the door even wider. "Come in, I just need to pack up Phoebe's stuff."

Roy shuffled into your living room, his hands still tucked stiffly in his pockets as you began to pace around the room packing phoebes things while she was still in your arms. It was a level of domesticity Roy hadn't been prepared to see when he came to pick up his niece, and it sent his head whirling.

It was almost too easy to imagine you in this position with him, and a child of your own in your arms instead. He shook the thought from his head, bending down to pick up phoebe's day clothes and shoes from beside the door as you put all her felt tips back into her bag, along with her colouring book - save the first drawing she'd done which she'd torn out, demanding you keep it to remember your day together.

When you were certain you'd collected everything from the couch that had come in her bag, and put it back where it belonged, you turned to face Roy with a sleepy smile. "How was your coaches meeting?"

A smile curled on Roy's lips, something rare that almost surprised you to see. "Good. Long. But we got shit done so I can't really complain; although it would've been nice if it could've wrapped up before fucking midnight."

"Oh my god, is it that late?" You passed Phoebe's backpack to Roy, watching fondly as he slid one strap over his shoulder like clockwork. The thought couldn't help but slip into your mind that it was a sight you'd like to see more often.

"What did you two get up to today?" Roy asked, pulling Phoebes coat from the hanger by the door and slinging it over the crook in his elbow.

"Well, we went and got some lunch, and did some colouring, and played knights and dragons and watched spy kids 1 and 2. She kept me nice and busy, don't you worry."

Roy reached out for phoebe, taking her slowly and gently from your hold in his best attempt to keep her asleep as he took her home. "Not too busy I hope."

"No just the right amount." You bit back a laugh, cautious to not wake the sleeping child now that she was safely in her uncles arms. Pushing a strand of hair that had fallen out of her ponytail back behind her ear, you thought back fondly on the day you'd shared and how easily It was to get on with Phoebe. "She's a great kid."

"Yeah, she really is." Finally, Roy was back on your doorstep, Phoebe in his arms and the pitch black of night behind him. "Thanks again, I really owe you one."

"It's no issue, really, I had a great time." You closed your door too, you leaning against the edge of the it being the only thing keeping it open. "Always happy to do it again, if you need me."

A million different responses crossed Roy's mind, some just inappropriate and some really fucking corny, so he settled on the easiest one to say. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight." You responded with a small wave, creeping back into the darkness of your house without another word.

As Roy made the short walk down from your front door to his car, he tried to control the erratic beating of his heart less it wake Phoebe up. Though you'd offered to take Phoebe in again if he ever needed it, he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to take you up on the offer, not when the domestic scene of you with his niece made his feelings for you even more intense.

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2. the time when Roy had too many appointments

Though Roy had sworn he wouldn't drop Phoebe off with you again for the sake of his own feelings, he was calling you up to ask if you could look after her again less then a week later. Molly had been called into work again last minute, and it just so happened to be on the day when Roy decided to get all his check ups out of the way in one fell swoop.

You'd assured him through the phone that it was okay, and that you'd absolutely love to hang out with her again, however, when you'd asked how soon he'd be dropping her off the line went quiet.

"That's the thing," Roy started, a hesitance to his tone that told you he was reconsidering this whole request and on the verge of rescheduling his 5pm dentist appointment. "You'd need to pick her up from school. I can pick her up from 7pm, at the latest, so you'd just need to pick her up from school and give her some tea. I hope that's not too big-"

You didn't let Roy finish his sentence. "It's no problem Roy, really. Send me the address and I'll be there at 3pm?"

"Pick ups at 3:10, but that's perfect, thank you." You couldn't even see him and you could feel the smile that was pulling at his lips on the other side of the phone. "I really fucking mean that too, thank you."

"It's no problem Roy, really, I'll see you later."

You had an hour before you needed to pick Phoebe up, so you made a run for Tesco, picking up a jar of pasta sauce incase she didn't want the half a bag of turkey dinosaurs and potato waffles that were still in your freezer, a bag of popcorn incase she didn't want ice cream again, and a set of kids size 8 pjs.

Though Roy said he'd be back for her by 7pm, you doubted she'd want to stay in her school uniform, and it'd be better to get a size 8 and it be too big then pick up a size 7 and it be too small.

On a second thought, you grabbed a second pair of the plain pjs, and some tiny slippers, knowing it wouldn't harm anyone to keep a spare pair of comfy clothes and shoes for her incase she came by again at the last minute. While you were in the kids clothing section, you picked up a pair of jeans and a pack of plain T-shirts, wanting to be prepared incase she were to ever show up in her pyjamas instead of her day clothes. Deciding you'd got everything you needed, you sped through the checkouts and got in your car, not wanting to be late to pick up Phoebe from school.

Luckily, you arrived with 5 minutes to spare, lingering around the gate with the other parents that had come to pick up there kids. Only then did it dawn on you that you may have needed some kind of note to prove you weren't kidnapping Phoebe and as you pulled out your phone to text Roy in a frenzy, you'd discovered he'd already sent you a message.

Teacher knows you're coming, I got Molly to send a message. might ask you to sign some shit confirming you picked her up though.

Even though Roy wasn't here, you felt ten times calmer, moving through the gate as it opened and towards the classroom door furthest from it, as Roy had told you to go to. A loud bell rung and suddenly kids came sprinting out from all directions, some running straight to and out of the main gate and others nervously looking around for whoever was picking them up.

You watched as a head of blonde hair in two neat plaits lingered in the classroom door, eyes scanning the playground for a familiar face, her mouth dropping open in a gasp as she made eye contact with you. With a cry of your name, Phoebe came running from the classroom, a bright smile on her face at your sudden appearance outside her classroom. "What are you doing here?"

"Your uncle Roy has got the dentist, so we're going to go back to mine for tea - if that's okay pheeb's?"

"That's perfect! Lets go home." Phoebe tried to pull you out of the playground and back to your car, but you pulled her back to stand in front of you.

"One minute sweetheart, got to make sure your teacher knows I'm not kidnapping you." Phoebe lead you right back to the classroom door, calling on her teacher, Ms Bowen, as she dragged you into the room. "Hi, Ms Bowen, I'm here to pick Phoebe up; I think Molly told you I was coming?"

"Ah yes, Mrs Kent, it's a pleasure to meet you." Mrs Kent Mrs Kent Mrs Kent. Molly, Roy's sister, had told Phoebe's teacher that you were Mrs Kent. It took everything in you not to absolutely spiral with the new piece of information.

"Yeah, lovely to meet you," You tried to avoid Ms Bowen's gaze, it having an edge to it that suggested you weren't entirely welcome here. "Roy said I might have to sign something, so you know I'm not fucking kidnapping her or anything." As soon as the words slipped from your mouth you were apologising for them. "I'm so sorry that just slipped out."

"Well, at least I can be sure you're Mrs Kent. You and Phoebe are free to go." You barely had time to say goodbye to Ms Bowen before Phoebe was dragging you towards your car, impatiently pulling at the handle in an attempt to get in quicker and spend even more time with you. If you weren't so caught up in the fact you'd just been called Mrs Kent, then maybe you'd find her excitement even more endearing.

"So, how was school, pheeb's?"

The car ride back home was filled with another update from Phoebe on what you'd missed in the 4 days you hadn't seen each other and the 3 days of school she'd had since the weekend. Since it was a slightly longer drive back home then from Tesco, you'd even got to introduce Phoebe to some of your favourite songs.

As you pulled onto your street, Phoebe was already buzzing in her seat, desperate it seemed to get inside. Letting her make a run for the door as you got out of the car, knowing she couldn't get in without your key, you made your way around to the boot, pulling out your bag of goodies. "Got you some stuff to change into pheeb's," pulling out both the pyjamas and the normal clothes, you handed them to her, keeping the slippers in the bag still. "Go get changed and bring me your uniform when your done, yeah? I'll pop it in the wash for your mum and we can put on a movie or something until tea time."

Phoebe was sprinting off in the direction of your bedroom to change within seconds of you finishing speaking. In the two times you'd had the pleasure of meeting Phoebe she always seemed to be rushing and running about, but that was what kids were like, you guessed; even if she was the calmest child ever - and she was pretty calm compared to some of those other kids you'd seen in the playground today - you reckon you'd think she was all over the place, especially compared to yourself.

When Phoebe came back out in the plaid, pink pyjama bottoms and a plain white t-shirt, she declared she wasn't hungry yet and wanted to watch spy kids 3; telling you it was basically mandatory for you finished the movie series now you'd watched the first 2. You were happy to oblige of course, Phoebe cuddling into your side as you took a seat next to her on the sofa.

Half an hour into the movie, you whispered the question of what to have for dinner to Phoebe and she perked up at the mention of pasta, allowing you to bail on the second half of the film in order to make it. It didn't take long of course, but you were wary of the fact Roy was picking her up sooner rather then later this time around.

Roy. Roy. Even thinking of the handsome coach you worked with had your thoughts spiralling. Once you'd managed to crack your way through his hard exterior, you'd found one of the most thoughtful and caring people you've ever met, and if you didn't like him already, that side of him had you falling head over heels. The Roy that brought you coffee in the mornings when he stopped to get his own, the Roy that would buy you lunch without asking if you wanted any but would kick up a fuss if anyone else tried to get him to add to that order, the Roy that left sticky note reminders on the door of your office because he knew you'd forget something, the Roy that trusted you so much he was willing to leave his niece with you on multiple occasions. Your brain had been so consumed by Roy that you'd made him up a plate of pasta, and instead of putting it back into the pot, settled with covering it in tinfoil and giving it him to take home. However, before you could call Phoebe in to ask if she wanted cheese on top of her pasta, there was a knock at your door.

In an instant, you pulled the tinfoil back off of the extra plate of pasta, and opened the bag of grated cheese, then rushed to the door, opening wide to find Roy on the other side. "You're just in time for dinner." Without thinking, or so much as a hello, how are you, or how was the dentist, you grabbed Roy's hand, pulling him inside your house and into your kitchen. "Pheeb's dinner!"

"Uncle Roy!" Phoebe shouted, running into the brunettes arms, him bending down to pick her up. As soon as she was perched in his hold, she was quick to recount the days events like she had with you a couple of hours earlier, only pausing to answer your question of 'cheese?' and taking a fistful to sprinkle on her plate whilst finishing her recap of the day.

It was only then did Roy notice that you'd already played three bowls of pasta up, even though you shouldn't have been expecting him soon enough to eat with the two of you. Carefully he put Phoebe down, handing her her bowl of pasta and urging her to get back to the sofa and eat, promising that the two of you were right behind her.

"You made me up a plate?" Roy asked, part confused and part in complete adoration. The simplicity of it; such a small action meant so much to the retired footballer. Even in his absence you'd thought of him, made extra food for him, plated it up perfectly in time with his arrival. If he allowed his thoughts to wander, he would've revelled in the warmth of the action, in how loved it made him feel - as though normalcy was something completely within his grasps. As if it was something he could easily have with you.

"Yeah, of course I did. Can't have my favourite coach going hungry, can I?" You squeezed at his hand when you called him your favourite coach, and only god knows what would've happened if Phoebe hadn't called your name from the room over. Roy was certain he would've made a move; told you exactly the kind of effect you had on him, or squeezed your hand back, or even kissed you. Though he wasn't entirely sure, he knew he wouldn't have let the moment slip through his fingers so easily.

Although, when he walked into the living room, palate of pasta in hand, he received something better then anything that could've happened in your kitchen. You and Phoebe were curled up together on the couch, her little legs thrown over your lap and a pillow on her lap for her to balance her pasta on. Phoebe's head rested against your shoulder as she ate and you turned to see where Roy was, a smile curling on your face as you saw him in your kitchen doorway, pasta in hand.

You craved the domestic scene that was now playing out before you, like something straight out of a dream.

Phoebe's favourite place on your sofa had quickly become the corner, meaning the only space available was next to you. Roy, for once in his life, took full advantage of the opportunity, sitting as close to you as he could claim was suitable and allowing himself to really enjoy the moment.

Even when dinner was long finished, the three of you were curled up together. Spy Kids 4 had been put on in order to appease Phoebe's demands that you finish the series and Roy's arm moving to the back of your couch cushions, and in turn over your shoulders, meant he'd slowly moved closer to you. The two of you spent the movie talking in quiet whispers, you filling him in on any context needed from the first three movies and him telling you about his day full of appointments. The pair of you would've happily stayed there, on your couch, cuddled up together, forever, but Phoebe's gentle snores told you it was best for them to get going.

"She's already in pjs, so you don't have to worry about that and - oh!" You left Roy in your doorway, an asleep Phoebe in his arms in a mirror image of 4 nights before. "I washed her uniform so Molly wouldn't have to."

Roy's heart was bursting at the seams at the evening you'd shared, and now this? While it may not seem like much to most people, to Roy it was everything. Not only had you offered to look after his niece on multiple occasions at the last minute, you'd gone out of your way to buy her pyjamas that fit just because she was coming by, and you'd washed her uniform to take a weight off of her mum's shoulders - who you'd yet to even meet. It's like you were trying to make him fall ridiculously in love with you.

Love.

That wasn't a word Roy was supposed to use; at least not when you were only friends. But how could he not fall in love with you? He was sure that anyone who spent more then 10 seconds in a room with you fell in love with you; how could they not? You were so easy to love; selfless and caring in a way he'd never seen before, someone truly one of a kind.

"Seriously, thank you." Roy's face entirely softened as he spoke, tension seeping out from his features to a degree you'd never seen before. "I don't think you know exactly how much this means to me and Molly."

"Oh please Roy, It's nothing-"

Roy cut you off, his hand coming to rest on your arm, his thumb running up and down your forearm. "No. It's a fucking lot - and it means a fucking lot. Just accept the thank you, yeah?"

A bashful smile creeped onto your lips, your head ducking as you suddenly became very aware of the fact Roy was looking at you and touching you. "Okay, yeah, you're welcome."

"Perfect." Once again, you got a glimpse at the dazzling smile that Roy kept reserved for only the most important people in his life, the look of it alone making your knees weak. They only got weaker as Roy leaned in closer to you, placing a chaste yet scratchy kiss to your cheek. "Goodnight."

In a daze, you murmured a 'goodnight' back, this time waiting until he'd driven off before going back inside; and even then, you stood behind your door, processing exactly what had just happened and why you hadn't returned the sweet gesture.

Roy Kent and his adorable niece were going to be the death of you.

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3. the time you were meant to be going on a date

So far, in the three hours you'd been getting ready, you'd done your eye liner, wiped one side off, redone it, wiped the other side off and redone that, at least 200 times. You just couldn't get it to look right. And when you'd expressed to Keeley that maybe this was a sign from above you shouldn't be going on this date, she'd insisted, yet again, that you had to go because she was your perfect match.

Though you'd never met the girl, Keeley was determined to set you up with her, claiming from the very second she'd walked into KJPR asking about a job, she knew she was the one for you.

Part of you thought she just wanted to help you get over Roy, especially since this was the 9th blind date she'd set you up on since you'd confided in her about your feelings for the ruggedly handsome coach. Each one she'd claimed was your soulmate and each one, so far, had turned out to be a complete and utter douche bag. Despite her failure to actually find someone compatible for you, you greatly appreciated her enthusiasm and effort.

A knock on your door had you screeching down your phone at Keeley that you weren't ready for this, but one last twirl in front of the camera, and a 'you look hot as fuck babe' from the matchmaker herself, had you ready to face your date.

To your surprise, however, when you opened the door you were met with Roy, Molly and Phoebe, all in pyjamas and Phoebe's little hands curled into tight fists that twisted into the fabric of her uncles T-shirt. It took you a second to process the scene before you before you could offer a rather confused, "Hello?"

Though this wouldn't be the first time Roy had shown up with Phoebe on your doorstep, it was the first time he'd ever shown up unannounced and with his sister in tow. "This is a bad time, isn't it." Roy's sister, who you'd come to recognise as Molly, whispered, her gaze flickering across your knee length, fitted, red dress. "You look stunning though."

"Oh my god, thank you." With the silence finally broken, it was like your brain had brought the rest of your body up to speed, offending a hand out for Molly to shake. "Molly, right? It's great to finally meet you."

"Great to meet you too, I've heard great things." General pleasantries we're exchanged between the two of you, though it wasn't as awkward as it usually was when you were meeting new people, instead it was like bumping into someone you hadn't seen in a few years but genuinely missed.

In the noise of your small talk, Phoebe took the opportunity to whisper three little words into her uncles ear. "She's so pretty."

Roy's cheeks burned as his niece said everything he couldn't, and so easily too. It was obvious you were dressed up for a date in that long, burgundy dress that hugged you just right, and he was struggling to take his eyes off of you.

"So what brings you to my doorstep at 6pm on a Monday?" You asked, hesitant to ask at all incase you touched a sore spot. Molly had never shown up with Roy when he dropped Phoebe off, which told you this was potentially more serious then his other last minute drop offs - especially when he'd never shown up unannounced before. "Not that I'm upset that you're here or anything, just a bit confused."

"Clearly, you're on your way out, so we won't bother you, we just-"

You didn't let Molly explain, pulling out your phone, and sending to a quick message to your date and to Keeley, explaining some family stuff had come up last minute and offering to go out some other time. "My evening just freed up, actually." You offered Molly a genuine smile, taking Phoebe from Roy's hold and into your own. "Why don't you go and get into your pjs Hun, and then we'll pick out a movie?"

"Do you still have my ice cream?" Phoebe asked, tilting her head to look at you better. Now she was closer, you noticed her eyes were rubbed red, almost like she'd been crying.

"Of course I do sweetheart, and I've still got turkey dinosaurs if you've not eaten dinner yet."

A sniffly 'yes please' left phoebes lips before she got down from your hold, running into the direction of your bedroom without so much as a goodbye to her mum or her uncle Roy. When Phoebe was out of earshot, you closed the door a little, talking in hushed tones. "Is everything okay? What's going on?" And with a second thought, you added. "You don't have to tell me, I didn't mean to pry."

"Phoebes dad showed up." Molly simply stated, folding her arms across her chest protectively. "He knows he's not allowed around her, and we didn't know where else to take her while we dealt with him." Your heart ached for the little girl. In the short time you'd got to know Phoebe, you'd quickly come to absolutely love her to pieces - and you couldn't understand how anyone wold want to hurt her. Phoebe was a complete and utter ray of sunshine and, considering she was only 7 years old, was one of the kindest and smartest people you'd ever met. "You didn't have to take her, if we'd have known you had plans we wouldn't have just fucking shown up."

Molly sharply dug her elbow into Roy's side as she spoke, clearly signalling that she'd thought that Roy had had the decency to ask you if you would watch Phoebe before they showed up in your doorstep. A laugh bubbled past your lips at how offended Roy got by his sisters words, a comeback never leaving his lips as you interrupted him with a smile. "It's fine, really, I love hanging out with Phoebe. Besides, I wasn't really looking forward to this date anyway."

Now that caught Roy's attention. "Why not? You look fucking great, you'd have probably had a great time too."

Rather selfishly, Roy was incredibly thankful that they'd show up unannounced, he didn't want you to go on a date, and it seemed as if you didn't either. "Keeley keeps pushing me to go on these blind dates, it's not really my thing, but she keeps insisting she's found my soulmate, so I keep going on them to appease her." You leaned in closer to the two incase Phoebe heard your next words, though considering she was related to Roy, you knew she'd heard worse. "All of them have been fucking pricks so far though."

"Good thing we showed up then, yeah."

"Yeah."

Molly looked between the two of you with a smile bit back between her teeth, trying her hardest not to give anything away as she watched the two of you. "Well, we better get going, deal with this so we can take her off your hands as soon as."

Taking Phoebe's back pack from Molly's outstretched hands, you slung it over your shoulder. "Oh don't worry about rushing back, she's more then welcome to stay the night here. Do you need me to drop her off at school in the morning?"

"Oh no, she's all finished for summer now, so you don't have to worry about that." Molly's gaze lingered on you for a while, then she pulled you into a tight hug, cradling you in such a way you felt like a kid again. "Thank you so much for this. I really mean that."

Tears threatened to pool in your eyes at the genuine thankfulness to her words. Roy had told you before that he and Molly greatly appreciated you looking after Phoebe every now and then, but this felt so different to that - it made you understand why he'd told you to just accept the thank you.

"Yeah, of course, like I keep telling Roy, anytime you need me, I'm here."

"Oh, wait." Before Roy and Molly could head back to his car, he handed you a carrier bag that he'd been holding at his side since he appeared on your doorstep. "Your tshirt, and those pyjamas. I wasn't sure if you had anymore, and kept meaning to return them to you anyway."

"Ah, thank you!" Though you never said anything when Phoebe raided your closest, she'd picked your favourite sleep shirt, and you were glad to have it back. "I got another pair of pyjamas for her in my wardrobe anyway, or she could've just used another one of my shirts; she would've been fine either way. But, thank you Roy, I appreciate it."

"Yeah, no worries, washed them for you and everything so, they're all good to go." Molly shouted a goodbye to Phoebe who had made herself comfortable in her spot on your couch, and then said one to you, thanking you again for your help. You said one last goodbye to both her and Roy, waiting on your doorstep to wave them off before going back inside to tend to Phoebe.

Once Roy had driven out of your street and had started on the journey back to his sisters place, she turned to him with a shit-eating grin on her face. Molly had been waiting years to be able to tease Roy about someone he liked, and while he'd had plenty of flings over the years, nothing was ever serious enough, and non of them were ever nice enough, that Molly felt like she could get a rise out of Roy by teasing him. This time though, she knew it was different.

"She's incredible." Molly started, keeping her gaze intently on her brother, though his remained firmly on the road. "She cancelled her date to look after Phoebe, already had a change of clothes and food for her, and she's fucking hot." Molly let out an overly loud sigh as Roy ignored her words. "So tell me why on earth you haven't made a move on her yet? Because if you don't, I certainly will."

"Fuck off." Roy grunted, his grip on the wheel tightening at his sisters words. "She's obviously not interested in me like that if she was going on a date with a fucking stranger." Now that he'd started talking on the matter, Roy was worried he'd never stop. He'd not yet had the opportunity to talk about his feelings for you, the matter being as simple as he wasn't sure who he could tell. He even went as far as considering calling a diamond dogs meeting to get the weight off of his chest, but luckily, or rather unluckily for Roy, his sister had beaten the diamond dogs to it. "I wouldn't want to ruin what we already have anyway. She's so... good, with, like, everything. She's so kind, and she cares so much about everyone else; did I tell you she made me dinner when I asked her to pick Phoebe up when I had the dentist? And Phoebe! She's so good with Phoebe and I just- fuck!"

"That hard to get the words out, huh?" Molly teased, poking her brother sharply in the arm. "You must really like her." Before Roy could interrupt with what Molly knew would be another iteration of 'fuck off,' she added. "She likes you too, y'know."

"I'm sorry," Roy gasped, eyes tearing away from the road for only a second to stare at his sister incredulously. "Did you forget she was about to go for dinner with someone who isn't me?"

"Yeah I know that stupid," Molly scoffed, folding her arms back across her chest as she sunk into the seat of her brothers car. "But I did see the way she was looking at you - the way you were looking at each other - and I'm telling you, she likes you."

"Shut the fuck up." And that was that. Molly didn't need to tease Roy any further because she knew she'd hit a sore spot. Roy really liked you, and not that it mattered but Molly really liked you too - and Phoebe absolutely loved you - but Roy was still too scared to ask you out. That was punishment enough.

Phoebe hadn't seemed phased by the departure of her mum and uncle, and a part of you was thankful for that. Though you didn't really know anything about Phoebe's dad, apart from what you'd learnt in the past 10 minutes, you were surprised to see she'd bounced back pretty quickly.

"So pheeb's, you want dinner now, or in a little bit?" Throwing yourself next to the blonde on the sofa, she was quick to cuddle into your side, wrapping both her arms around your bigger one.

"Can we have dinner now, please." She whispered into the warm skin of your arm, her fingers scratching at the fabric of your dress.

"Of course we can sweetheart." You squeezed her in for a tight hug, before standing from the couch, quickly putting on the oven and pulling the turkey dinosaurs and potato waffles out of the freezer. You lingered in the doorway as you waited for Phoebe's dinner to cook, watching as she searched for a movie to put on while the two of you ate. She seemed so much more relaxed then when you first opened the door, and you hoped it's stay that way now she was here and safe. At the beeping of the oven, your turned away from her, plating the two of you some dinner and quickly returning to the sofa.

With a pile of dinner plates and ice cream bowls on your coffee table, and a movie minutes from ending, you turned to face Phoebe with a soft smile. Brushing back the hair that had fallen into her face, you gently woke the girl, telling her that it was time for bed now. Too sleepy to fully wake up, you picked Phoebe up, opting to carry her to your guest room instead. However, when you'd tucked her in and tried to leave, she'd gripped tightly onto your hand.

"Can you stay with me?" If her quiet and sleepy state didn't have you agreeing, the knowledge she was in an unfamiliar environment would've. Even though Phoebe had been in your house plenty of times now, she'd never stayed the night before, and it was easy to understand how that might freak her out - especially on top of the night she'd had.

"Yeah. Come on then." Instead of sleeping in the guest room, you picked Phoebe right back up, carrying her to your room and putting her down on the left side of your bed. Finally having the opportunity, you sat down at your desk, pulling out a packet of makeup wipes, and wiping off the eyeliner you'd worked so hard to get right. Even though your date never got to see it, Roy did, which was even better as far as you were concerned.

Just as you'd finished brushing your teeth, in fresh pyjamas, and making a mental note to buy a toothbrush for Phoebe next time you went to Tesco, you heard a shrill cry of 'mum.' Running back into your bedroom you found Phoebe wide awake with tears in her eyes, looking around in an urgent search for the woman she'd just cried out for.

"Hey, Pheeb's," you soothed, flicking the bedroom light back on before you approached her, not wanting to freak her out more. When she recognised your face past the haze of sleep, she was quick to reach out for you and you were quick to cross the room to meet her, pulling her into a hug and rubbing soothing circles into her back. "We're at my house remember, your mum and uncle Roy had to do some stuff so you're having a sleep over with me, okay?"

It took a good half an hour for Phoebe to fully calm down, but once she had, she was out cold again. This time, you lay in bed beside her, keeping an arm wrapped around her shoulders to  make sure she knew she was safe. Before you went to sleep yourself, however, you sent Roy a text, leaving out the details of phoebes nightmare and just keeping him updated on things.

Phoebe's out cold so don't worry about picking her up until morning. Breakfast is at 8. There will be a plate for you and Molly whenever you get here xxx

You didn't wait see if he replied, and didn't worry yourself over if three x's at the end was too many, setting an alarm for 7am and putting your phone into do not disturb.

Thankfully, you beat Phoebe and your alarm to waking up, giving you a head start on making breakfast. If you knew anything, it was that kids loved sweet stuff, and given Phoebe's affinity for ice cream, you knew waffles were exactly what she needed this morning. Ted had given you a waffle machine as part of your present in last years Secret Santa and promised you you'd find a use for it eventually, and you were slightly surprised to find out he'd been right.

You got right to work on the batter recipe that came with the machine, letting Phoebe sleep in until the point you were ready to cook them. Though she'd been reluctant to wake up at first, at the mention of waffles and ice cream for breakfast, she sprang out of bed, hesitating in your hallway as she heard a knock at the door.

"You wait here while I get it, yeah pheeb's?" Phoebe nodded silently, creeping down the rest of the hallway so that she'd be able to hear who was at the door without being seen. Although you were 90% sure it was Roy and Molly on the other side of the door, you didn't want to risk anything.

Looking through your peep hole, your suspicions were proved right. "Good morning Roy, Molly." Phoebe came sprinting round the corner at the mention of her mums name, running right into her arms as you opened the door wider for her. "Waffles and Ice cream for breakfast, think we all deserve it, yeah?"

Molly mouthed a thank you at you as Phoebe directed her towards your couch, Roy allowing you to close your front door then following you to the kitchen.

The image of you, still sleepy and in your pyjamas, hair mused and making breakfast for him and the rest of his family, made his heart twist and his stomach churn. In some cruel twist of fate, everything he wanted was right in front of him but it wasn't that which he could call his.

"I know it's non of my business," you started, placing two scoops of mix into the two waffle shaped holes in the machine Ted had bought you then closing it, flipping it over, and scooping up another spoonful of mixture ready for when these ones were done. "But, is everything okay? Are Phoebe and Molly okay now?"

Why did you have to care about his family so much? Moments like this made Roy think you knew of his feelings for you, and that you were doing every thing you could to push him to tell you. Surely you had to care for him, at the least, not everyone would do what you did for him, and definitely not with the same level of enthusiasm and genuine happiness to do it.

"Yeah, everything's okay." Roy kept it short, knowing that ultimately, it wasn't his story to share. "Are you okay? I know we kind of ruined your plans last night."

"How many times am I going to have to tell you that I didn't even want to go?" The laugh that bubbled past your lips had a smile forming on Roy's face. He loved how easy it was between the two of you here. Sure, you made him smile and laugh at Nelson road all the time, but at Nelson road he felt like he had to be Roy Kent: here, he could just be Roy, Phoebe's uncle. And you really liked Roy, Phoebe's uncle.  "Besides, I had a better evening with Phoebe, and the 10 minutes I spent with you and Molly, then I would've had on the date anyway."

"How can you be so sure of that?" Roy's voice was even deeper then usual, not that you'd ever thought that was possible, from tiredness, and you'd only just noticed that he was still in his pyjamas, much like yourself. "That you wouldn't have enjoyed yourself?"

Roy leant over you, not noticing how blood rushed to your cheeks as he took the first two waffles out of the machine for you, allowing you to get the second lot started without hurting your fingers from picking up the fresh waffles. "My hearts not in it, you know?" You turned to press your back against the counter top, now chest to chest with Roy in the closest proximity you'd ever been. Neither of you made an effort to move. "The whole dating just to date isn't for me, I don't think. And if I'm going to date to, um, to marry someone, I'd much rather it be someone I know, someone who knows me."

You were worried you'd been a little too on the nose in your explanation, but Roy didn't seem to mind. He leant forward slightly so that he could rest his palms against your countertop, caging you in between his muscular arms. "Is that right?" You nodded silently, allowing your gaze to flicker down to his lips now that he was inches away from you. There was no way you were reading too much into things this time. "And, would that someone, would they have to be anyone in particular?"

"Yeah, yeah they would." You answered breathlessly, tilting your head back up so that your gaze would meet Roy's but instead brushing your nose softly against his.

Roy was finally going to do it.

A cry of your name and the padding of footsteps had Roy stepping away from you, Phoebe running into the kitchen with Molly hot on her tail. "Are the waffles ready?"

"You came at the perfect time!" You answered, brushing the moment off of you, and turning back to the slightly cooled waffles, sliding them down the counter towards Phoebe and Molly along with the ice cream scoop. As they plated up their waffles, you took yours and Roy's out of the machine, putting them onto plates and giving them time to cool before you added your ice cream on top. You watched intently as Molly and Phoebe plated up their food, your fingers drilling against the countertop in wait.

The second they'd left the kitchen and headed back to the living room, you turned to face Roy, leaving him no time to think as you grabbed the front of his shirt and pressed your lips to his. It was hot and messy, the two of you fighting to condense several months worth of building tension into one moment. At even the slightest of noises from outside the kitchen, you pulled away, turning your back to Roy immediately and scooping some ice cream onto your cooked waffle.

"Want ice cream on yours?" You asked Roy, turning to face him. His cheeks burned red and breathes heaved from his chest as though he'd just run a mile, his hair was a little more tousled then it had been when he first walked into your house and his lips were red and wet.

"Fuck the ice cream."

Roy grabbed you by your waist, twisting his fingers into the fabric of your sleep shirt to keep you close to him as he pressed a firm kiss to your lips. Roy's free hand moved up to caress your cheek, his other hand snaking around to rest on your lower back, pulling you even more into him. Moving one hand up to his hair, you kept the other on his shirt, keeping him close to you. While you'd imagined Roy to be a smooth kisser, you'd never imagined the day would come where he would actually be kissing you.

At a call of both your names from Phoebe, you broke apart once more, passing Roy his ice-cream-less waffle and pushing him out of your kitchen, taking full advantage of the fact that if he sat down first, you'd have no choice to to sit basically on top of him. You were sure he wouldn't mind.

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4. the time when Molly dropped Phoebe off instead

"And that's why the two of you need to get married."

Roy had been actively avoiding you since your kiss in the kitchen two weeks ago. And this was the 4th time in two weeks that Molly had asked if Phoebe could come over; two of them due to the fact both her and Roy were busy, and the other two being due to the fact Phoebe needed to have 'girl talk' with you. So far, girl talk had consisted of Phoebe listing reasons as to why you and Roy were perfect for each other.

"We're not going to get married, Pheeb's."

"But why not?" Phoebe dramatically collapsed into your sofa cushions, ignoring the fact her over the top tumble had knocked over one of your piles of folded washing in favour of going back to questioning you. "He talks about you all the time. And I see the way you look at him when he drops me off and picks me up."

"But he hasn't picked you up or dropped you off in two weeks sweetheart," you were back in the uncomfortable scenario of exposing something to a 7 year old, and you were trying your hardest not to let your confused feelings towards Roy interfere with what you wanted to say. "So, I don't think he wants to see me anymore. And that okay! But it also means we're not going to get married."

"But why not?"

"Phoebe." Your sterner tone had Phoebe sitting up right, her legs dangling over the edge of the sofa. Putting down the freshly washed t-shirt, you  knelt down in front of Phoebe, taking her hands in your own and squeezing gently. "It's not that simple, sweetheart," pushing a strand of hair back behind her ear, she met your eyes. "I wish it was, but it is isn't. Me and your uncle Roy aren't going to get married, Pheeb's, but I'm sure he's going to find someone amazing someday, and you're going to love them."

"But I don't want him to find someone else amazing." Phoebe sulked, tears brimming at her eyes as she thought about a future without you and Roy together. While she was definitely thinking of the worst possible outcomes, the potential it could come true alone was enough to send her to tears. "I want him to find you! I don't want my uncle Roy to marry someone else because then I'll have to hang out with them and not you and- and- and-"

"C'mere." You pulled Phoebe fully into your arms, adjusting yourself so that you were both sat comfortably on your couch. "When your uncle Roy finds someone he loves, and he wants them to be a part of your life, I'll still be here. And you can always come and hang out with me, whenever you want. That isn't going to change Phoebe. I care about you a lot, okay?"

Phoebe couldn't find the words to express what she was thinking. She wanted to scream that you were the person her uncle Roy wanted be a part of her life, that you were the one he loved. Even though she was only 7 years old, she was certain that she knew what love was: and love was the way you and her uncle Roy had sat together, eating waffles for breakfast and talking with her mum, love was the way you and her uncle Roy talked about your day in a whisper over spy kids 4 because you wanted her to enjoy the movie still, love was the way it took her uncle Roy exactly 15 seconds to decide he wanted you to look after her on that Saturday 2 months ago. But she didn't know how to say all that in a way she could get you to understand. She'd tried everything and you still wouldn't digest the crumb of Roy's love that she was trying to explain to you, so she settled on the saying the best thing she could.

"Promise?"

"On my life." You ruffled her blonde hair, causing a smile to pull at her lips. You went back to folding your washing and Phoebe went back to watching her movie, like the two of you always did.

The peaceful moment was unfortunately interrupted by a loud and quick succession of knocks at your door. You put down the shirt you'd been folding and even Phoebe paused her show to come and see who was at the door.

"Jamie? Hi, what- what are you doing here?" Phoebe seemed to have some idea, walking past you to grab Jamie by the hand and pull him to sit on your sofa.

"I invited him." You had too many questions to counter that statement, mainly how she'd contacted Jamie and why he didn't bat an eye at being invited to your house by a 7 year old. "We need to discuss uncle's day."

Phoebe had told you about uncle's day - a day to celebrate her love for her uncle Roy - but you weren't entirely sure where you and Jamie fit into that puzzle. "Why do you need me and Jamie to discuss uncle's day, Hun. I don't think your uncle Roy would want either of us to celebrate uncles day with him."

"Of course he would!" Phoebe cried, pulling out her notebook and one of her felt tip pens, flicking to a blank page in her notebook and writing 'uncles day' at the top neatly. "Jamie is his best friend and Uncle Roy loves you, of course you've got to be there!"

Before you could remind Phoebe that you'd just had a conversation about why that wasn't the case, Jamie turned to face you with a wicked smile. "I knew you and Roy had something going on."

"We don't."

"Is that why he's been all moody at training for the last two weeks?" At your silence, Jamie took it that he was correct, a gasp slipping past his lips. "Did you turn him down? Of course it's okay if you did, but why?"

"No. I didn't turn him down." Phoebe's ears pricked up at that, making you realise exactly how what you were saying sounded. "I can't turn him down if he never asked me anything."

"But something happened?" Jamie pushed, leaning his elbows on his knees, Phoebe sat in a scarily mirrored image of him beside him.

"Fuck off." You scoffed, a smile curling onto Phoebe's lips. In the weeks you'd spent hanging out with her, she'd filled you in on every inside joke she shared with her uncle Roy and everything that made him the best uncle ever. "You can bill your uncle Roy for that one Pheeb's." Phoebe flicked back to the front of her notebook, adding a line to a very long list of tally's that had accumulated there.

Jamie tightened his gaze on you, readjusting his headband so that it kept his hair out of his eyes better. If it weren't for the unwavering, and slightly creepy, nature of his gaze, you were sure you would've just kept it to yourself.

"I kissed him." You'd attempted to mouth the words at the striker, but he hadn't picked them up, instead mouthing them to himself over and over again until he loud out a loud gasp, repeating the words out loud. Phoebe let out a squeal, jumping up and down on your couch cushions in complete and utter joy. An hour ago you'd told her you and her uncle Roy would never get married and know you were admitting that you'd kissed - things were coming up Phoebe, she'd decided. "But, he hasn't spoken to me since."

"Yeah, but that's what Roy's like, you know?" Jamie extended an arm to you, encouraging you to crash down in between him and Phoebe on the couch. You took him up on the offer, curling into his side and letting Phoebe curl into yours. "He's like, super mean and cold on the outside and once he lets you get to know him, he's all... all soft. And I don't think he knows it's okay to be soft sometimes." You let your head fall against Jamie's shoulder, Phoebe nodding beside you at Jamie's words. "I think you've got to show him it's okay for him to be all soft. Cause he really does care about you, I just don't think he knows how to tell you that."

"That was," you didn't even have the words for it. Somehow, Jamie had crawled inside your brain and soothed the exact source of your worry. "That was very insightful Jamie, thank you."

"No worries, I'm proper smart when I want to be me. Plus, when you spend so much time around the guy, it's hard not to see past that façade he puts up." Jamie removed his arm from around your shoulders, rubbing his together and then loudly clapping. "So, uncles day-"

You, Phoebe and Jamie spent the rest of the after noon feasting on whatever snacks they could find in your cupboards and planning out every little detail about uncles days. The pair had convinced you to make an appearance even if you and Roy hadn't reconciled come uncles day; Phoebe wanted you there and that was enough for you. By the time 5pm had rolled around you'd offered to get started on dinner for the 3 of you, but Jamie said he'd best be heading out and Phoebe reminded you her mum was picking her up soon enough anyway.

"Pheeb's, go and get your bag your mums here."  When you opened the door, however, you were surprised to find Roy on the other side of it, his hands shoved into his pockets and half facing away from you. "Oh Roy, hi, I didn't know you were picking Phoebe up."

"Me either," he grunted, staring intently at the floor as he let out a long sigh. Finally, he looked at you, shifting nervously under your gaze. He's practiced what he wanted to say at least 200 times on the way over; he knew Molly asking him to come pick Phoebe up was her pushing him to talk to you. All he wanted was to talk to you. But he was too scared of fucking things up and loosing you entirely that he'd resigned to the fact that he would just have to avoid you for the rest of his life. For once, Roy needed to just do it, to tell you how he felt and throw sensibility to the wind. If you liked him, and that kiss wasn't a heat of the moment thing, then great; if you wanted nothing to do with him? He'd figure it out. All he had to do now was-

"Jamie? What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Jesus, Roy, hello to you too." Jamie scoffed, pushing his hair back and out of his eyes then folding his arms across his chest. "I was just dropping off something for Keeley. Don't get all jealous on me old man, I'm not here to steal your missus." Jamie then turned to you, wiggling his eyebrows at you suggestively now his back was turned to Roy. He pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek before running down your driveway, presumably to escape the clutches of a pissed of Roy. "See you later love, you too Phoebe!"

"Bye Jamie!" Phoebe shouted, waving enthusiastically at her new friend then turning to her uncle Roy with a frown. "You owe me £1, uncle Roy."

"Bill me." He took Phoebe by the hand, taking her backpack in his other and walked away from your doorstep without so much as another word to you. Phoebe yelled a goodbye before she get in Roy's car but Roy continued to ignore you, even as you waited on your doorstep to wave them one last goodbye.

Roy spent the whole drive back to molly's and the rest of the evening absolutely kicking himself. Part of him wished he'd just come out and said it while he had you alone on your doorstep, but the worse part of him - the part that didn't believe he was worthy of you - told him Jamie being there was a sign it wasn't the right moment. And maybe, he thought, the right moment would never come.

Jamie was right. You were going to have to be the one to show Roy it was okay to be soft; especially with you.

—————————————————————————

5. the time where Roy told you how he felt

Phoebe had kicked up a fuss when she found out she was going to have to spend the night at her uncle Roy's, which was a massive surprise to everyone involved. It was well known that Phoebe loved spending time with her uncle Roy, and no matter what Molly or Roy said to her, they couldn't get a confession out of her as to why she didn't want to sleep at her uncle Roy's tonight.

When Molly had dropped her off, for the first time in years, Phoebe cried at the though of her mum going to work, and that told Roy enough that he was in for an eventful night.

He'd tried absolutely everything. He'd offered pizza, turkey dinosaurs, spaghetti, ice cream, popcorn and every favourite food she'd ever had in an attempt to wipe that frown off of her face, but nothing had worked. He'd even willingly been the princess in princess and dragons, put on a fucking tiara and tutu and she still didn't budge from her place on his couch. When bed time finally rolled around, he'd spent 6 hours in silence with Phoebe, a frown etched onto her poor, little face that all he wanted to do was turn into a smile.

The first sound he got out of Phoebe all day was a loud and shrill cry of your name at 4am. Roy ran for the first time in months from his bedroom to hers, terrified as to what could have his niece crying out for you in the early house of the morning. When he arrived on the scene, he was met with Phoebe sat upright in her bed, tears spilling down her cheeks and her hair sticking up in every direction. Her tiny fingers were death gripping a teddy bear that Roy had bought her when she was a baby and when she saw Roy in her doorway, her sobs only got louder.

Roy was quick to cross the length of the room, scooping his niece into his arms and holding her tightly against him, whispering soothing words into the crown of her head and running his fingers up and down her arm. Usually, this method would have Phoebe back asleep within half an hour, but as the clock pushed closer to 5am then 4am, he knew things were different this time. With each sob came a long pause, filled with shaking of shoulders and sniffles galore, and the occasional whimper of your name. Whatever had upset her, clearly wasn't going to be fixed with the usual uncle Roy remedy, and so Roy picked Phoebe up, slipping on his slippers and walking out his front door with his car keys in hand.

While the drive to your house had never been quick, it felt even longer then usual today. Phoebe spent the whole drive over still sniffling, and even though her tears had stopped flowing, the ache it caused in Roy's heart made it feel like they'd never stopped. In his whole life, he'd only seen phoebe this inconsolable a handful of times, and even then, she'd always been responsive to his attempts to find out what was wrong. The fact she kept calling out your name amidst her tears made his heart ache all the more.

It was no secret that since he first dropped phoebe off at your house all those weeks ago, the two of you had become practically attached at the hip. He loved phoebe, and as much as he tried to deny it, he loved you, and he loved that two of the most important women in his life loved each other, but he didn't think he was ever going to be brave enough to let you in in the way the he wanted to. Phoebe had happily voiced her opinions on the matter the last time he'd picked her up from your house, happily proclaiming that the two of you needed to get married yesterday and live happily ever after with 2 dogs and a family trip to Disney world. Roy had told her the two of you weren't going to get married and Phoebe had scoffed, saying that you'd said the exact same thing and she didn't understand why when you loved each other.

If he wasn't so distracted by how distraught Phoebe seemed, he'd have maybe taken the time to consider this was some wicked scheme she'd concocted.

When he pulled up outside your house, like he expected for 5am, all your lights were off, but with a still teary-eyed phoebe in his arms, he didn't think twice about knocking on your door with enough vigour you'd think his life depended on it. As far as Roy was concerned, it did.

Once he saw your hallway light flicker on, he let out a sigh of relief, a weight being lifted from his shoulders as you approached the door. The soft glow of the hallway light far behind you made you look more like the Angel Roy thought you were, your hands wiping at your eyes as you tried to wake up. Before you could ask what was going on, or why Roy and Phoebe were on your doorstep so early on this summers morning, Phoebe was throwing herself from Roy's arms with a cry of your name, blubbering into you shoulder the most words she'd said in the past 12 hours. "I had a nightmare."

In that moment as Roy watched you take his niece into your arms and comfort her more in 10 seconds then he had seemed to be able to do in an hour, he knew Phoebe was right that day in the car.

He was in love with you, and he was pretty sure you were in love with him too.

Roy closed your front door behind him, following behind you as you carried phoebe towards your bedroom. He couldn't hear what you were saying to her, but he could see how easily she relaxed in your hold - it made him relax knowing that whatever had plagued her nightmares was being calmed, even if it wasn't by him.

As you finally entered your bedroom, your bedsheets tousled from when you'd got up to answer the door minutes ago, Phoebe had dropped back to sleep in your arms. You weren't entirely sure if it was your words that had sent her back to sleep or if she'd tired herself out from crying so much, but you didn't dwell on it, tucking her into your bed and pressing a kiss to her head. Turning around, you found Roy leaning against your doorframe, the tight, grey shirt not leaving much to the imagination as to what was underneath it. Taking him by the hand, you pulled him back down your hallway and into your kitchen, leaving him in the doorway, you clicked the kettle on and pulled two large mugs out of your cupboard.

"Can't believe you got her talking." Roy whispered, suddenly very conscious of the fact it was 5:30 in the morning and you were no where near awake as he was. "I couldn't get a word out of her, except your fucking name."

You nodded as he spoke, putting a tea bag into each before and then, when the kettle had whistled and clicked, filling them 3/4 full of hot water. "So, she didn't tell you what her nightmare was about?"

"Wasn't even entirely sure it was just a nightmare until I heard her say it here."

"She thinks you're not going to let her see me anymore if you marry someone else." You'd both heard tearful stories from Phoebe about how scared she was that you two weren't talking anymore, but you'd never realised just how much it was affecting her. "I've talked to her about it before, you know, promised her I'd always be apart of her life even when you found someone you were going to marry, but I didn't think it was stressing her out this bad."

Roy didn't take a sip of his coffee when you passed it to him, instead looking at you confused while you took a long sip of yours. "What makes you think I'm going to marry someone else?"

"Well, you know what I mean Roy." You took another long sip of coffee, waking up more and more with each drink. "We're not going to get married, and I don't want phoebe thinking that you're not allowed to live your life and keep me in it."

"Why are we not getting married?" Roy's question had you stuttering and stumbling to try and make a sensible and coherent answer. It was one thing for him to show up at the crack of dawn and speak to you for the first time in weeks. It was another for him to now be suggesting he wanted to marry you. "I'm not sure if you realised, but I don't just go around introducing Phoebe and Molly to everyone... and I don't go around kissing just anyone either."

"Well, that's rich," you scoffed, using both hands to bring the warmth of your coffee closer to your face. "I'm not sure if you realised, but a normal person doesn't kiss someone like that, and then go no contact with them for nearly a month."

"Kiss someone like that, huh." Roy placed his untouched coffee down on your kitchen counter and took two steps closer to you, his hands coming to rest on your hips as he was now right in front of you. Though when you thought on it, he always had been. "And what exactly does that mean." Roy let his thumbs run over the exposed skin between your T-shirt and your pyjama shorts, the gentle motion sending tingles down your spine and causing you to arch yourself slightly into him. The smirk that formed on his face told you things were playing out how he wanted.

"You know," you whispered, letting Roy take your coffee cup from your hands and place it beside you on the counter. "Like," he gently cradled your hands in his larger ones, moving them to rest on his shoulders becket letting his fall back to your hips. "Like you want to be with them, like you-"

Roy cut your words off by pressing his lips to yours, using the momentum of his movement to tilt your head back, allowing him to get a better angle as he pushed his tongue past your lips. Quickly, you pushed him off of you, not giving him the chance to get a word in edge ways before you began to speak. "You can't keep kissing me like that, or at all actually, if you don't want this, us, whatever we are, to become something. Because I want it to become something." Jamie's words echoed though your head. Maybe you had to be the one to show Roy that it was okay to be soft sometimes, to let people in.

"I love how kind you are beneath all the gruff and cold exterior you try to put up. I love how fiercely you love Molly and Phoebe. I love how you leave little sticky notes on my office door so I don't forget to do things. I love how you bring me coffee in the mornings when you get your own. I love that you buy me lunch and get all grumpy when someone else tries to add on to the order." Sweeping your thumb across the middle of his brown, you brushed away the tension that had clearly been building there since the moment you'd pushed away from his kiss. "I love how your face gets all scrunched up when your confused and how you have the most wonderful smile I've ever seen but only let the people you love get a glimpse at it. I- I love you, Roy, but I can't handle you liking me one minute and ignoring me the next. I need you to open up to me about what's going on inside you head."

Roy pressed a kiss to your forehead, moving one hand up to cradle your face. If his heart wasn't already so full of you, it would've been now. Even though he'd known he was in love with you before this conversation in your kitchen, it had really consolidated to him why he was in love with you. You loved Roy Kent, Phoebe's uncle, lunch buyer and wonderful smiler.

"I've never been told I have a wonderful smile before." He pressed another kiss though this time it was to your temple, and the another to the end of your brow. "That's probably because you're right, I only show it to the people I love." Another kiss was pressed just below your eye, the scratchiness of his beard against your cheeks eliciting a giggle from you. "And I really fucking love you."

Roy leaned in for another, proper, kiss, though you dodged it allowing it to land on your cheek instead. "Is there anything else you wanted to say?"

Roy let out a loud groan, your head thrown back in laughter at the image before you. He shook his head at you though the wide and bright smile you loved never left his face. "I'm sorry I ignored you for 3 and a half weeks because I was a grumpy sod who couldn't talk about his feelings like a fucking grown up."

You hummed happily, nudging your nose against his, a smile now curled onto your own lips. "Yeah, that'll do just nice." Standing on the tips of your toes, you wrapped both your arms around his neck, pulling the two of you together. "Now, C'mere."

Roy happily complied, pressing his lips firmly to your own in a mess of groans and tongue, only pulling apart when you couldn't contain your smile any longer. Even then, he pressed a series of quick kisses to your lips moving them up across your cheek, along the tip of your ear and then down the side of your neck. You tilted your head to rest against his left shoulder, giving him better access to the right side of your neck, but before things could escalate any further, you gently pushed him away from you. "Phoebe is a room away."

"You've got a guest bedroom though, right?" Roy purred, resuming his attack on your neck, the scruff of his beard scratching against your skin sending shivers down your spine.

"She'll be up in an hour or so." You tried to deter Roy further although you didn't particularly have your heart in it, wanting more then anything to continue what you'd started now that the pair of you had everything out in the open.

"I can do a lot in half that time." He countered, his grip on you tightening a fraction and the kisses he was pressing against your neck now having scrapes of teeth to them.

Grabbing Roy by the chin, you turned him to face you, pressing a soft and slow kiss to his lips. "Please, with what I've got in mind, it's going to take at least twice the time we have." You revelled in the look of pleasant surprise that crossed Roy's features, pressing another kiss to his lips. Now that that was something you could do whenever you wanted, you weren't sure you were ever going to stop; he was just so kissable. "Want to help me make breakfast?"

"Where do you need me?"

You and Roy danced seamlessly around each other as you prepared breakfast for the two of you and Phoebe, sneaking kisses between exchanges of ingredients or just because you could. When things were nearly ready and it was just past 7am, you went to wake Phoebe up, careful not to startle her after the long night she'd had. Since you hadn't discussed with Roy anything about you telling Phoebe, you didn't mention it, letting her sandwich herself between the two of you as you ate breakfast together over reruns of adventure time.

Part of you couldn't believe that everything had pretty much worked out how you wanted it. Sure, it wasn't a nice feeling when Roy left you in the dark after sweeping you off your feet, but ultimately, the two of you were together, and with Phoebe snuggled between the two of you on your couch, you had a glimpse of the domestic life you'd dreamed of.

Roy was thinking something similar, looking at you and phoebe beside him. Something so simple as eating breakfast together had him dreaming of a future, that a few months ago, he never would've thought would be within his grasp. He could already picture a scene like this but with you slightly older, and still as beautiful as ever, two kids snuggled between you and a dog or 3 curled up at his feet. He hoped one day the image would be as real as the one before him right now.

"Shit, what time is it?"

"8am."

"We need to get going soon." Both you and Phoebe turned to Roy in confusion, heads similarly tilted in a way that had him fawning over the both of you. "Your mum is picking you up at 9am and you need to be dressed and ready to go, Pheeb's."

"Tell Molly to pick her up from here," you said, taking Phoebe's empty plate and stacking it on top of your own. Placing them both down on the coffee table, you turned to Phoebe with a soft smile. "There T-shirts, jeans and some shoes in my wardrobe, next to where I keep your pj's, yeah? And you know where your tooth brush is, don't you?" Phoebe nodded her head, still chewing her food, but with a kissed pressed to her temple, she was sprinting off in the direction your bedroom.

"You have day clothes here for phoebe? As well as pyjamas?" Roy whispered, a bright smile forming on his face for the millionth time this morning. This was a sight you were never going to get sick of.

"Yeah. I picked the day clothes up when you asked me to pick her up from school the first time, and then after you and Molly took her home after she slept over, I figured it couldn't hurt to also get a tooth brush and some other stuff. Just incase she ever needed them."

You'd never seen so much love and adoration in one persons eyes. "I fucking love you, did you know?"

Before you could respond, the padding of feet all the way down your hallway and across your living room filled your ears. "So you are getting Married?"

a/n : if you made it this far hello!! thank you for reading my first ted lasso fic, feel free to leave feedback and/or send in a request to my inbox!! much love <33 mwah

[finnsstyles]

WITHDRAWAL | theodore nott

summary; theo decides to quit smoking, but doesn’t realise that his decision would affect his girlfriend, too.

word count; 3007

notes; just a cute, fluffy little piece based on something that I was tagged in about 2 months ago! unfortunately, I cannot find the original post or tagger, but if it’s you, please let me know!!

Keep reading

[finnsstyles]

come into my bedroom

description. you and JOAQUÍN TORRES take a week long vacation to the beach together. just a week on the coast, spending time in each other's bubble, without falling for each other ... probably. visuals

includes. coworkers to friends to lovers, SMUT 18+ MDNI, reader has been kept as ambiguous as possible (hair type, skin color, body type, place of birth, etc), reader is able to tan, the location is ambiguous, slight spoilers for brave new world, takes place after bnw, protected p n v sex, oral (f receiving), soft dom! joaquín, reader is called "baby" a couple of times

wc. 12.3k+

a/n: title from champagne coast by blood orange. i tried to keep where they vacationed as ambiguous as possible, but it's definitely at least a little bit obvious. for my bsf who recently got back from miami. thanks to @luckypunklemonade for beta reading :D

You’re drunk. 

No, you’re not drunk. You’re too drunk, inching towards shitfaced. You’re still here, at least here enough to walk beside Joaquín down the street towards your hotel, but you’re not really here. You know you’re not exactly walking in a straight line, and you know where you’re heading, but you don’t know how long you’ve been walking. You could’ve left the club five minutes or 50 minutes ago. 

You weren’t going to get this drunk. Honest. You and Joaquín were just going to go out, have a few drinks, and go back to your separate rooms. 

But the music was good, and the drinks were good, and the people were good, and suddenly you and Joaquín are drunk and navigating your way down the street. Well, he’s navigating your way. You’re just trying to keep up with his long strides. 

He walks a little in front of you the entire time, slightly more rigid, and a little less drunk than you are. You’ll probably be at his level in another half hour, that is if you get something in your stomach by then. Every so often, he looks over his shoulder to make sure you’re still there. You thought about hooking a hand around his elbow to keep him close, but the thought entered your mind and left before you could act on it. 

There’s not much small talk happening, but you don’t mind it that way. You’re focused on making your feet pick up and land one (mostly) in front of the other. Actually, you’re focused on walking and finding an open food spot on the way. 

One part is going fine, the walking part, but you’re still blearily searching for something to eat. You pass bars and closed businesses, restaurants that require reservations weeks in advance, one of them you think you and Joaquín actually have a table at later this week, but nothing quick and greasy. Which is exactly what you need before calling it a night. 

Joaquín calls your name and you hum. 

“You up for stopping in right here?” He points to the side and you look around his wide shoulders to find your saving grace. It’s like he read your mind, or maybe you’d been audible harping on about wanting something to eat the entire time. Right now, either seems plausible. 

Either way, you nod and let Joaquín hold the door open for you. 

You and Joaquín end up sitting across from each other at a tiny outdoor metal table. With the wind blowing against your skin as you’re sipping freezing cold water from a to-go cup, you finally realize how hot you’ve been this entire time. You lift your skirt up a bit to press your thigh against the cool metal and a sigh pushes out front your lips. Your eyes fall shut as you just sit in the moment. 

“You still drunk?” Joaquín speaks from across the table. 

You open your eyes and destroy your brief peace to glare at him as you wrap your lips around your straw. “What do you think?” you ask him only when the cool liquid has slid down your throat. 

He laughs. “First night here and you’ve already gotten shitfaced.” He shakes his head as if he’s ashamed of you, but the playful glint in his eyes keeps you at ease. 

“It’s your fault!” you accuse. “You’re the one who made friends with that couple. They kept buying us drinks.” 

Joaquín throws his hands out to the side in a surrender. “I’m not going to say no to free drinks. Don’t blame me!”

He’s right. Even if he wasn’t, you aren’t in the arguing mood anymore. You would rather finish the greasy taco sitting limp in your hands. And you do.  

You’re not being very attractive about it, though, you can tell from the way the juice slides down your fingers and around your mouth, but that’s not really the point to all of this. 

Besides, you and Joaquín are just coworkers and friends. Just two coworkers/friends on vacation together. Sitting across from each other in front of a taco spot, fighting for sobriety as you occasionally lock eyes between large bites. There’s no reason for you to be attractively drunk eating when you’re only with your coworker/friend. 

You finish the last bite, wipe around your mouth with a crumpled napkin and throw it onto your empty tray, looking up to find Joaquín already looking at you. He has this look on his face, nothing different from the one he usually wears—soft eyes and a softer smile—but it feels different this time. Maybe it’s the city lighting and your drunkenness that’s skewing the meaning. You’re going to blame both factors for the flutter in your heart, too.

Neither of you say anything for a moment and in that moment, a thought flashes across your mind. It’s quick and fleeting, but still strong enough to evoke a reaction. Just a thought of you leaning over this small table and pressing your lips to Joaquín’s. And the thought was truly fleeting, but you bring it back and sit in it to imagine how he would reciprocate with his hands on your lower back, big palms resting on the strip of skin between your top and skirt, and he would taste like lime and alcohol and when you pulled away he would have a look almost identical to this one on his face. 

Joaquín’s eyebrows push together, skewing the soft look he wore before and knocking you out of your drunken trance. 

“What’s that look?” he asks. 

You shrug, feigning nonchalance. “What look?”

His gaze lingers for a moment, but then he licks his lips and cleans up his area. “You think you’re sober enough to walk back now?” 

You scoff and attempt to make a point by quickly standing to your feet. When you wobble, it’s because your shoe didn’t land right on the concrete. Honest!

You have a crush on Joaquín. 

You don’t know why you’re realizing it here and now—laying in a hotel bed on vacation first thing in the morning. You don’t even know how long this crush has been here, but you know for sure you have a crush on Joaquín Torres, your partner/coworker/friend. 

You thought your little image from last night was fleeting, nothing but a drunken thought that you let yourself imagine for less than a minute, but it proved to be way more than that because when you got back to your room, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. 

As you took your makeup off, you thought about Joaquín waiting in your room for you to finish, snuggled under the blankets and scrolling through the channels on the TV until you came out of the bathroom in his shirt. As you climbed in the shower you imagined him standing at the sink brushing his teeth and humming that song he’s always singing but you never ask the name of. As you finally climbed into bed and clicked the lights off, you imagined fighting for covers with him and sleepily talking about your plans for the next day. 

It was so domestic and loving and absolutely sickening and unexpected. 

Well, maybe you should have expected it. At least a little. 

Joaquín is kind of the perfect guy. Everyone in your life made sure you were aware of it. He was funny, attractive, hard working, and easy to get along with. Even his flaws—his incessant nature and occasional annoyance for one—was quickly reworked as lovable in your head. 

You struggled with falling asleep for at least a half hour last night, and as soon as you knocked out, you were out. You might not have remembered your dreams but you knew deep in your mind and body that he was there. 

Just as he is here now, standing in front of you early  in the morning, wearing a bright smile and an athletic set. 

“No,” you sternly shut him down before he can even say anything. 

Joaquín’s jaw drops and he wears a mixture of shock and humor. “C’mon, you didn’t even let me say anything.”

“I know what you’re gonna say, Torres. I’m not going to some ‘sick workout class’ when we’re supposed to be on vacation.” 

“Oh, so we’re on last name basis again?” He crosses his arms over his chests and widens his stance. “I thought we moved past that.” 

“If you ask me to come with you then we’re back to last name basis, yeah.” 

He pouts and it’s so stupidly cute that you want to slam the door in his face. “Don’t let the hangover speak for you. I know you secretly wanna come workout with me.” 

You squint at him accusingly, leaning into the doorframe. “‘m not hungover.” 

“Uh-huh. How’s the headache?” He’s obviously not buying your shit.

“I don’t have a headache.” Bullshit and you both know it. 

“How’d you sleep?” He asks you instead, this time lacking any suspense. For a moment, he seems like he’s actually wondering how you slept. 

“Like a baby.”

“Then that means you should be energized enough to go for a workout. It won’t be bad. It’s only an hour.” 

You shake your head. “That’s an hour that I could be sleeping.” 

“And basically waste the whole day away? That doesn’t sound like the partner I know and love.”

You don’t let your mind linger on that word, especially when you know he doesn’t mean it like that. But still, knowing that Joaquín has some sort of love for you makes your chest feel all airy and glittery. 

“Yeah because that partner isn’t here right now. We’re on vacation.” 

Joaquín doesn’t respond. Not verbally at least. Instead, he tilts his head and fully pouts, lips pushed out and eyes big. He’s not backing down and truthfully, it might be better for you just to say yes and halfass the entire session. 

Finally, he reasons with you. “I’ll buy you a smoothie afterwards. Whatever overpriced shit you want. Fair?” 

Fair enough. 

Compared to what you’re used to, the workout is quick, but it’s certainly not painless. The instructor, some woman with much more energy than you’re willing to exert on vacation, seemed to find pleasure in kicking your asses. For a brief moment there when you were catching your breath and wiping your forehead on a towel, you wondered if she could be some big and bad super villain hiding in plain sight. That would explain the inhuman stamina, and the almost eerie cheery personality, but other than that your theory didn’t make much sense. And even if it did, you were on vacation. Now wasn’t the time to seek out trouble that wasn’t presenting itself. 

The only thing that pushed you through the entire thing was looking over at Joaquín, one because of how attractive he looked with sweat glistening along his tanned skin, and two because you refused to let him show you up, even if the workout was his idea. 

You will admit, though, that every time he lifted his shirt to wipe his forehead, your knees did feel just a little weaker and your last rep in a set was not nearly as strong as it could’ve been when you heard him grunting beside you. 

You couldn’t understand it. You and Joaquín workout together all the time. You train together, sometimes with Isaiah and Sam, sometimes with friends of friends, sometimes with just each other. You’re used to seeing him sweat, you’re used to hearing his grunts and breaths, you’re used to all of it. But something about all of this happening now is making you lose your mind. 

As soon as the class ended, relief entered your entire body. 

The relief certainly didn’t last for long, though. 

Since you did what Joaquín wanted to do that morning, he did what you wanted to do right after. Before you could even really think about it, you happily suggested sunbathing on the beach until you were too hot or hungry to continue, whichever came first. 

It wasn’t until Joaquín slyly grinned and sang your name that you realized what you signed up for. 

“You tryna see me shirtless?” he teased at the time. And you rolled your eyes and called him a freak and continued walking down the hall towards your rooms, but as soon as you were behind the closed door you were digging into your suitcase to find the cutest swimsuit you brought. 

Not that you were trying to impress Joaquín or anything. 

As soon as your bare toes are sinking into warm sand, you slowly feel yourself relax. Slowly. 

Laying on your back in a swimsuit that was a nice mix between cute and attractive, your eyes closed, your ears full of a playlist you made just for this occasion, the sun radiating down on your skin. It’s easy to forget everything laying just like that. The breeze cools your skin as soon as you get too warm, the sun heats you back up as soon as you get too cold. Absolutely nothing to worry about except how long you’ve been laying on one side and when you should flip over. 

Absolutely no stressors. 

Until Joaquín speaks. 

“Do me a favor and get my back?” 

You peek an eye open and lift your sunglasses up to see Joaquín standing next to you, holding out a bottle of sunscreen. 

You don’t mean to hesitate, but you still do. It takes a moment to process his question, and it takes another moment to find an answer, even though the clear one is yes. If he wasn’t standing there without a shirt, wearing forest green trunks that hung low on his hips, and his skin wasn’t glistening in the daylight, it wouldn’t have taken nearly half the time to help him out. 

“What would you do without me?” You try not to let your voice falter while you watch him massage sunscreen onto his chest, but you’re sure the little dip at the end of your sentence was noticeable. 

Joaquín just tilts his head and tosses the bottle into your lap.  

It’s not awkward. At least you don’t think it’s awkward. You rub the sunscreen on Joaquín’s skin as quickly as possible, trying to ignore the sturdiness of his muscles beneath your hand. You know how fit he is, it’s impossible for you not to know since you’ve been working with him for a while now. But knowing and knowing are two different things. 

Seeing is not the same as feeling. 

Feeling his muscles as you work them beneath your fingers, feeling the warmth of his skin under your fingertips, grazing your hand lightly over the scars littering his skin, only lingering for a second on the life altering scar that trails down from the side of his neck to his shoulder. You try not to touch it too much. He hasn’t talked to you much about the accident, not since you visited the hospital with high quality food instead of flowers for him. Even then, he joked around it, even if you saw sorrow in his eyes like you’d never seen Joaquín wear before. 

You rubbed the sunscreen down his back and finished above the waistband of his trunks. Not even a second later did he look over his shoulder and down at you through a squint. “Now let me do you,” he urged without leaving much room for argument. 

Doesn’t mean you wouldn’t make room. 

You shook your head. “‘m okay, I already got it.” 

Joaquín turns around to face you completely. He laughs through a quick puff of air, his lips pulled up at the corners. “Barely. I saw you struggling over there. C’mon, let me top it off for you.” 

His hands take the sunscreen bottle from you, but he doesn’t put any in his palm. Not yet. For now, he stares at you, eyebrows lifted, waiting for you to give him the final answer. 

You turn around, moving whatever needs to be moved to give him basically full reign over your back. 

The first touch makes you jump, even if you were expecting it. You hear him quietly apologize under his breath, and you quietly brush it off, but you aren’t sure if your response was heard or if it was carried off with the wind. 

He continues in silence. 

You’ve had Joaquín’s hands on you before. A hand clasped in yours to pull you up, a touch fixing your posture when he was showing you a new trick Isaiah taught him before, a finger jabbed into your side when he walked past you. But again, this is much different. 

Having Joaquín’s bare hands on your bare back makes you tense up, and you hope he doesn’t notice it. He rubs with a lot more attention to detail than you did; he reaches beneath the straps of your top with curt permission, and even asks if he can get the backs of your arms too. 

By the time he finishes, you’ve started to relax just a bit, to the point where the expected disappearance of his hand on your back feels unwanted. Joaquín’s hands are big and soothing, you could do with them on your skin for the rest of your life. 

Of course, you don’t tell him that. Not just because it would be completely inappropriate, but because he would never let you live it down. He would go the lengths to change his phone contact to Joaquín “best hands there ever were” Torres. 

Which is just a step below Joaquín “best co-worker there ever was” Torres. 

Somehow, you manage to make it through the rest of the beach day without much trouble. You tan until you don’t think you could tan anymore. Joaquín lays next to you most of the time, besides when he began to feel fidgety and he ran to grab both of you drinks, and pre-cut fruit for you, as an excuse to stretch his legs. You used the few minutes of solitude to text your group chat about the agony you accidentally put yourself into. Agony that was only made worse by Joaquín coming back with two drinks in one hand, fruit still in its rind in the other, and his newly tanned skin glistening from sweat in the sunlight. 

Shortly after, you had to leave and take a cold shower to get your head on straight. 

You think you’re doing pretty good at ignoring your feelings. You know you have a crush on him, but acting on it would change nearly too much, and a lot in your lives—his especially—has already changed. It’s not a leap you think you’re ready to make yet, so you’ve been ignoring your feelings. 

Over the course of the past couple of days, you and Joaquín have been spending your time doing every relaxing thing you could think of. Decompressing at that same club from the first night, but leaving as soon as the crowd proved to be very different from before—more rowdy for the hell of it and less generous in general. Eating at trendy, overrated lunch spots, or underrated hole-in-the-wall dinner spots. Spending a little too much money on new clothes but enabling each other anyway, because the shirt might look similar to another one that you already have but that shirt back home wasn’t that shirt there in your hands, so you needed it. 

There were just two nights left and then you would have to pack all your stuff, somehow fit in more new clothes than you anticipated, and return to the real world. One that entailed mission debriefs and learning how to work new tech. The only thing you were looking forward to about the real world was Sam, since he happened to be a natural barrier between you and Joaquín. It’ll be hard to focus on how badly you wanted to be underneath the Falcon whenever Captain America was in the vicinity providing tasks that required your full attention. 

But that is days away. For now, you’re going to try and enjoy the remainder of your all too quick vacation as much as possible. Even though you’re becoming more and more tense as you go on, a tension that your fingers beneath your panties hasn’t been able to fix yet. 

You didn’t think your behavior was noticeable, but Joaquín notices more than you thought. 

The two of you are walking side by side down the boardwalk. You’ve been fairly silent throughout, but not for any particular reason. Silence made sense to you, there wasn’t much to talk about right now. 

Apparently, Joaquín felt different. 

“What’s up with you?”

You furrow your eyebrows, quickly trying to figure out if you did something wrong between the walk from your hotel to the walk at the start of the boardwalk. Coming up short, you ask for clarification. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean why’re you so tense? Isn’t this relaxing for you?”

Yeah, this is relaxing for you. Walking side by side, letting the beach breeze blow your dress in the wind. Showered, fed, at the end of your vacation, this moment you exist in is like heaven. It’s a little too much like heaven, a perfect plane where the guy you’ve been crushing on is wearing a button up with the first two buttons undone so you can see the fresh tan he has and the gold glint of the chain he wears instead of his dog tags. 

It’s hard to relax when right beside you is someone you’ve wanted so badly, and he looks like everything you’ve ever wanted. 

“I’m not tense,” you finally respond. Although it’s a lie. 

“You so are,” Joaquín counters, “let me show you what you look like walking around here.” He takes a few quick strides ahead of you, and then pulls his shoulders up to his ears, straightens his spine, and walks with a little too much purpose. He looks odd and menacing. And definitely not like you. 

You tell him as such. 

He turns around to face you, grinning and walking backwards. “Okay I did take some creative liberties there, but you do look tense.” He turns back around and slows until he returns to a stride right beside you again. “What’s wrong? Do you wanna do something else?”

You shake your head. “No. This is fine. I like doing this.” 

Joaquín takes a moment and you see him look down at you from the corner of your eye. “Then what’s up? Anything you wanna get off your chest?” 

God, you should just tell him the truth. Well, not the full truth. 

Joaquín is chill personified. If you told him that you’re wound up sexually, he would likely make a joke about it, then brush it off and avoid asking you about it again. Friend to friend, you could just let off some steam—verbally!, although the other option is much more preferable—and then hopefully feel better. 

But just imagining yourself saying those words makes you tense even more and you have nothing to do but shake the thought out of your mind completely. 

“No. ‘m okay. I was just … thinking. But not anymore.”

He doesn’t say anything for a second and you don’t know if he believes your lie. But he moves past it. He points to an ice cream shop to your right, and you swerve for the window. 

You and Joaquín end up sitting side by side on the beach, willingly letting sand press into your nice clothes but neither of you care much. You have a dinner reservation soon, and you’ve just been killing time—and also your appetite, but you and Joaquín both swore to eat dinner. Even if you’re devouring ice cream cones. Truthfully, this is a perfect way to end your night, sitting by your partner's side, letting the world exist around you both. 

The breeze blows against your skin. You and Joaquín sit with your bare toes digging into the sand, shoes having been discarded to the side, your shoulders close enough to brush against the other if either of you move. You’re looking off at the ocean, watching people enjoy the evening air around you both as you sit in a moment of stillness. There’s paragliders, a few jet skis, some boats, and a large cruise ship sailing into the port. 

Joaquín points off at the ship with the hand not holding his waffle cone.

“We should cruise for our next vacation.”

You turn to face him, tilting your head to the side. “Our next vacation?”

Joaquín nods. “Yeah. We should make this a regular thing. You know we work well together.” 

That you do. You grin and knock your shoulder into his.  “Let’s hope Sam doesn’t start feeling left out.”

Joaquín laughs with a quick exhale through his nose. “He’s definitely having the time of his life back home.” 

You’re unable to stop yourself from grinning as you imagine it—Sam working back home, likely enjoying the rare lull in the terror that the three of you have been fighting and will continue fighting. “He’s probably blasting Marvin Gaye over the speakers in the office.” 

This gets a real laugh from Joaquín, likely because he, too, can see it perfectly. 

Your laughter dies down and for a few moments, you and Joaquín sit in comfortable silence. 

Then, “You been having fun?” 

You hum. “Yeah. It’s nice not having to deal with—” you gesture vaguely in the air and Joaquín nods beside you. “Especially after everything.” You don’t say it exactly, but you know Joaquín still understands you. He knows you’re talking about his accident. 

You weren’t even the one in danger, having stayed grounded on the ship, but the horrors still settle deep in your heart some nights. Things are repaired, or currently being repaired in the case of D.C, but everything still feels so fragile to you sometimes. 

Which is why you’re so glad to be here with him at your side, reminding you that he’s okay. Everything’s okay. 

Joaquín takes a breath as if he’s about to speak. You turn to look at him. He’s staring off at the sunset, his face mostly stoic except for a slight twitch in his eyes, a flare of his nostrils, and his jaw clenching. “For a moment there when I was falling out of the sky, and when I could barely move my body on my own in the hospital I was worried that I wouldn’t get the chance to see places like this again. To … you know…” he hesitates and you’re about to tell him that he doesn’t have to keep going if he doesn’t want to. You and Joaquín have avoided talking about the day his heart stopped, and you don’t have to start now. But then he inhales through his teeth and continues. “To see home.” 

Your breath hitches and your eyes sting. Without thinking too much about it, you scoot closer into Joaquín’s side, tilting your head and resting it on his shoulder. Immediately upon contact, Joaquín wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you fully into his side. 

“I’m glad you’re here with me, Joaquín.” 

“I’m glad you’re here with me,” he says your name at the end, echoing you but somehow sounding more earnest. More meaningful. 

He places a kiss on the top of your head and in that moment you decide you could stay here just like this for the rest of your life. It all settles in your body at one time, the realization that you want Joaquín, you’ve known that for a while, but you want more than his body. 

You want Joaquín Torres in his entirety. 

“Is that what you’ve been thinking about?” he continues, “Is that why you’ve been tense? Because I promise I’m okay. It was scary for a bit but my heart’s fine and I feel fine physically—”

“No. It’s not that, Joaquín. I promise I was just a little tense but I’m good now, too.”

He nods once. “Okay.” He pulls his phone out and checks the time. He doesn’t say anything for a while as if he doesn’t want to disrupt the energy, but he speaks eventually. “If we wanna make our reservation we gotta leave now.” 

He stands to his feet and puts a hand out for you to grab. You take a moment to look at the sun setting and to finish the rest of your ice cream in one bite, then you take another moment to look at him. With resolution, you place your hand in Joaquín’s and let him pull you to your feet. 

Yeah, ignoring your feelings isn’t working anymore. 

It’s not like you’re exactly able to ignore how bad you want Joaquín when you’re at dinner with him, sitting in such an intimate setting—sat at a small table tucked in the corner of the restaurant next to a window looking out on the street, his tan skin lit by candlelight and ambient low lighting around the both of you. 

Having just come from the beach, the two of you are still wearing the same outfits (now without as many grains of sand as possible), meaning you have an even better view of Joaquín’s chest and the chain sitting right below his collarbones. He looks so nice and put together—his curls out more than you’ve ever seen them before, his face a little unshaven and adding an older look to him. 

God, he’s so pretty, it’s impossible for you not to think so. Not when you’re faced with him like this. 

Joaquín’s looking at the menu, acting like he didn’t look at it on his phone two hours ago. You’re holding the menu open, acting like you’re still deciding between two options, when really you’re just trying to decide if you should make a move or not. 

When Joaquín looks up, you quickly look down, furrowing your eyebrows and pouting as you stare at words that aren’t processing.  

Joaquín calls your name and you hum without lifting your eyes. When he doesn’t say anything immediately, you glance up. Not only is he already looking at you, but he’s looking at you with a certain look in his eyes. Infatuation, admiration, something else that you don’t wanna name, for it feels like too much of a jump.

“What?” you ask, a shy grin splitting your face open as your skin starts to warm. 

Joaquín shrugs like he’s going to say the most casual thing ever. Instead, he tells you, “Nothing. I just wanted to tell you how pretty you look.”

Oh my godddd. 

What are you supposed to say to that? Everything thus far on this vacation has been widely platonic, and anything crossing that barrier has been nothing but a hopeful figment of your imagination. But his words, paired with the way they were delivered, feels like a step towards a future you want to live in. 

But maybe you’re overthinking it. Joaquín is honest and earnest when he wants to be and maybe now is one of those moments. 

You wrap your hand around your glass of ice water and bring it to your lips, pausing just long enough to respond. “What is it? The tan?”

Joaquín nods but that look in his eyes is still there. Chocolate brown dances across your figure before settling back on your own eyes. “Yeah … among other things. The tan and the color of your dress,” a bright colored fabric that hung loosely over your body and dipped around your back, you chose it especially because you knew it would look good on your skin, “and just you.” 

You gulp down water, trying to contain yourself. 

“Thanks, Joaquín,” you finally respond, trying to remain as casual as possible. “You look good, too.” 

Joaquín grins and you can see the man you’re used to coming back to himself. He tugs at the collar of his shirt and dusts off invisible particles. “I clean up well don’t I?”

You halfheartedly roll your eyes and return back to the menu. That interaction has already been catalogued for you to hyper analyze in the shower later. 

You thought that interaction was mind boggling, but the one you find yourself in later is ten times worse. 

You’ve both steadily worked through your plates, giggling and laughing about any and everything you could think of. The waiter mentioned the option of drinks at one point, and you looked to Joaquín for his reaction, wanting to see if that’s how the night was going to go. Not exactly as drunk as you were the first night, but at least a little buzz. When Joaquín politely shook his head, you did the same, and continued to sip your water instead. 

You do, however, decide to split two desserts. 

“Can I say something?” Joaquín speaks whenever he scrapes his fork across the decadent chocolate dessert sitting in the center of the table. 

You hum, grabbing a forkful of the fresher, citrus dessert instead. “Depends. How stupid is it gonna be?”

“Um … let me say it and then we can decide.”

You sit back in your seat, thereby giving him the floor. 

He takes his time chewing and swallowing before he goes to respond. “I’m shocked that we’ve been together every day and night of this trip.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “What d’you mean?”

“Like we haven’t … been with other people.”

His words shock you. “Is that what you think of me, Joaquín?” 

You don’t feel upset, or particularly offended. You’re just a little confused on why Joaquín has been thinking about your sex life while the two of you have been on vacation together. Sure, you’ve been thinking of the same thing, but his sex life hasn’t exactly crossed your mind. Besides whenever you pictured the two of your sex lives merging into one. 

But now that he’s presented the idea, you, too, are shocked that things have been contained to just the two of you this entire week. It’s not that you expected Joaquín to sleep around, you actually didn’t know what to expect when it came to his dating life. You did know that Joaquín was attractive and people other than yourself thought so, and he obviously knew it as well, but it’s unexpected that you didn’t see him intentionally ogling at least one other person on your nights out. 

You don’t know why he would think the same of you, though. 

“No!” he’s quick to defend himself, “But I wouldn’t judge you if that’s how you wanted to spend your vacation. I mean I wouldn’t blame you.”

“You’re digging yourself further and further into a hole, Torres.” 

He laughs. “Yeah, I can tell.”

A moment goes by and you sip your water. The air here feels open, but certainly not casual. You feel like you can tell the truth in this intimate atmosphere, and your words would hold intentional weight. 

You take the jump. “I didn’t wanna be with anyone else. I liked being with you.”

Joaquín looks surprised. “Really? So you preferred beach trips and coffee shops and working out over a hot hookup?”

You shrug. “I haven’t been interested in hooking up with anyone else.” 

His eyebrows lift in the center. “Anyone else?”

Fuck. 

It seems you have joined Joaquín in that hole, but you don’t mind being here. It’s about time you did something, right? You don’t bother responding, at least not verbally. Instead, you just look at Joaquín over the rim of your glass, sincerely hoping that he’s starting to understand. 

Before any more progress can be made the waiter comes back with the check and you’re already reaching into your bag for your wallet, verbally chastising Joaquín before he can even reach for the bill. 

Quiet returns to you both during the walk back to your hotel. It feels natural this time, likely because you’re not speaking, but it isn’t silent. Cars against asphalt as they drive down the street beside you, music spilling out of establishments that line the way, the automated voice of the pedestrian crossing pole when Joaquín presses the button for the both of you. There’s not anything being said, but there doesn’t need to be; much is being communicated through the energy radiating off of your body. 

Walking closer to each other than you had ever before, elbows grazing, a lightness to your bodies even if you both indulged a little too much over dinner. Everything just feels so right, even if there’s still an emptiness inside of you. Even if you leave this trip without getting laid, you’ll still feel fulfilled because you and your partner are closer than you’ve ever been before. Though, after existing in this bubble with only him, it’s going to be hard to return to your normal life and let other people in. 

A car honks and skirts to a stop. Before you can even realize what just happened, Joaquín’s already throwing an arm over the front of your torso, his face turned to the car that almost (wrongfully) hit the two of you. He yells something at them and blindly grabs your hand, pulling you in front of him and pushing you to the sidewalk and out of the street. 

He mutters something under his breath, but you don’t hear it. “You good?” he asks at full volume. He stands next to you but still holds onto your hand. 

“Yeah. We’ve been through worse than almost getting floored by a Benz, right?”

He laughs and continues leading the way back to the hotel. 

Your hand stays in his the entire time.

You and Joaquín make it all the way inside of the hotel with your hands still clasped together. They don’t part until an unattended child runs between your bodies, forcing you to separate. 

You end up standing in front of the elevator with the up button pushed. It dings every few seconds, an indicator of its steady descent, but it makes a few stops along the way. While you wait, you lean your shoulder into the wall next to it, crossing your arms over your chest and your legs at the ankle as you look at Joaquín standing across from you. 

He speaks first. “You wanna go out again tonight?  End the week with a bang?”

You shake your head. Your eyes are big, your lips are pulled into a soft smile, your entire expression is soft. Fuck hiding it, you’re done pretending. 

“Nah. I’d rather stay in tonight.”

Joaquín nods and tucks his hands in his front pockets. “Alright. Together or separate?”

“Together.”

His eyebrows lift as if he’s shocked, but there’s a little glint in his eyes. You think he’s starting to catch on. 

“Okay,” he drags the last syllable out and shifts his stance. He clears his throat before he speaks again. “What d’you wanna do?”

The elevator door opens and you and Joaquín stand out of the way to let people come out. As soon as everyone has cleared out, the two of you enter the elevator alone and you push the button to shut the door before anyone else can come around the corner. With the doors closing you turn to face Joaquín to see him already looking at you. 

You smile up at him and he smiles down at you. 

You take a step closer to him and he takes a step closer to you. 

You reach a hand out to his face, hesitating, and then he nods just before he reaches a hand out and places it on your waist. 

And then finally, your lips press against his. 

The first kiss is tentative. It’s testing. Your lips press together, you stay like that for a moment, and then you pull away. The two of you stare at each other, Joaquín’s expression as soft and docile as it always is. You think you’re mirroring him in this moment. 

Then, without any words exchanged, you both move towards each other again. Your heads are tilted and without much trouble at all, your faces slot together nearly perfectly. This kiss is more exploratory. It’s open mouthed, teetering towards a messiness that you’re sure you’ll both fully succumb to by the end of the night. At least, you hope so. 

You don’t have much time, you’ve realized that as soon as the elevator dings the first time to indicate its ascent, therefore you’re trying to get what you can while you can. You throw your arms over Joaquín’s shoulders and hook them around his neck, pulling him down towards you as you tilt yourself up into him. His body curves to engulf yours in his warmth, but he kisses you like he has all the time in the world. 

He kisses you like he means it, like there’s more than one mutually shared goal at the end of this motivating him. 

It’s hard not to give in to the slow and longing way Joaquín kisses you. You don’t even try resisting it at a certain point. Instead, you press your chest up into his and lean up on your toes to get more of him, yet not initiating a change in the pace at all. You like the slow way Joaquín’s lips move against yours. You feel much more this way. 

Your fingers lay across the back of his neck and just as they start to inch up into the faded part of his haircut, the elevator dings and announces your floor. 

You and Joaquín separate with clear hesitance in the movement. The two of you stare at each other, unmoving, just looking in each other’s eyes. His eyes look darker than you’ve ever seen them before. If you got closer, you think you would see his pupils blown out. From here, though, you see his desire in other ways—the flush on his cheeks, the prominence of his chest rising and falling, the hint of your lip products that have rubbed off on his lips. 

The elevator door starts to shut and Joaquín is forced into making the first move. He slots his arm between the doors just before they close and he stays there when they open. He turns to look at you, tilts his head in a beckon, and holds his hand out for you to grab.

The walk to your rooms feels much longer than it usually does. You try to make it go as fast as possible, skittering ahead of Joaquín as fast as your impractical sandals would allow, but you’re trying not to look too eager all the while. Still, when you reach the number you’ve memorized for the week and turn around to look at him, he has a slight smile of amusement on his face. 

You’re already searching into your bag for your key when you ask, “Yours or mine?”

Joaquín reaches around you for the handle to the door without speaking. You watch him press the key card to the sensor and push the door handle down just as you feel your fingers find the piece of plastic. 

“We gave each other one of each when we checked in, remember? Just in case.” comes his unprompted explanation. And now that you’ve been reminded, you do remember. Your key to Joaquín’s room has been sitting on the dresser forgotten the entire week. You know he wouldn’t have done it, not without your explicit consent, but you wish Joaquín had used the key to his advantage once this week. You wish he would have acted on the tension between you both, the tension that you’re finally realizing has been reciprocated this entire time. 

But now it’s happening. There’s no reason to complain when you’re getting what you wanted. 

His hands are on your hips as he leads you into the room, your bag is thrown to the floor and your shoes are kicked off of your feet. Your body is turned at his will, your eyes meet his as he lazily grins  down at you. His tongue flicks out over his lips in a quick and smooth movement, and at a much slower pace, you lean back in to press your lips back to his. 

Joaquín’s hands automatically latch onto your lower back, one warm palm pressed into the thin fabric of your dress and the other settling right on your bare skin in the opening. Meanwhile, you start working on his shirt, popping button after button through the holes. You stop when you’re halfway down, not on your own accord. 

You’re forced to stop when Joaquín slots his hands behind your thighs and he easily lifts you up. You squeal into the kiss on instinct. 

There’s a moment where both of you are grinning against each other’s lips and it just feels so right. It feels incredibly natural to be doing this, to be smiling when you’re kissing Joaquín, even though nearly everything else about this situation isn’t natural for the two of you (your erect nipples rubbing against his chest, your panties stuck to your cunt, the very faint brush of his cock stiff in his pants that you get on the journey up). 

“You’re just showing off,” you half-heartedly chide. 

Joaquín shrugs and walks you back to the bed. “Maybe just a little.” He places you down, kneeling between your legs and finishing off the remaining buttons on his shirt. “You love it, though.”

You don’t admit it verbally, but the way you shamelessly ogle his chest when he pulls the shirt off says everything. 

As soon as his shirt is gone, he places a hand on your ankle, slowly inching your dress up a few inches before he stops and looks at you. His expression is open, you can tell what he’s asking without words. But for good measure, he includes them. 

“Can I keep going?”

You nod, eager and unashamed. “Yeah. Keep going.”

He starts to push the bright fabric further and further up your legs, speaking to you as he continues. “You gotta let me know if …” his words taper off when he sees the first hint of your panties, and you don’t know exactly what he’s seeing, but it makes him speechless for a moment and your ego inflates. 

“I’ll let you know if …?” Cockiness is audible in your words but he doesn’t comment on it. 

Joaquín blinks and comes back to himself. “If you wanna stop, or if you want something changed. We gotta communicate.” 

“M’kay.” 

And with that, Joaquín pushes the fabric completely over your hips and he’s met with your panties. They’re a bright color that compliments the color of your dress, and, consequently, your tanned skin. He swears under his breath and although you don’t hear him clearly at all, you’re pretty sure it wasn’t in English. 

You sit up fully and slip your dress over your torso with Joaquín’s help. He lets the fabric drop to the floor without looking, his eyes are focused solely on your chest. 

You’re laying back on your elbows, elevated just enough to look at him. You stare at his eyes, even if you aren’t making eye contact, while he leans up to hover over you. His head dips and he presses a single kiss in the center of your chest and repeats the action right over each side of your ribcage. The tip of his nose grazes your breast and instinctively you arch up towards him. When he pulls away just enough to look up at you, you see him smiling.

You could beg, but the night has only begun. You decide to save that for later. For now, you huff and stick your spine back to the mattress. 

Joaquín places a hand around your side and dips his head back down, this time higher than before. When he latches his lips around your nipple, a little gasp breaks from between your lips. He lets his teeth scrape against the bud, alternating between giving you pressure and giving you wet heat from his tongue. By the time he switches to your other nipple, you’re already desperate for a true relief focused on your cunt. His lips travel upwards, brushing against your skin throughout the journey, until he’s pressing them into the side of your neck and under your jaw. You let him continue upwards, you let him kiss you a bit more, but you can only go so long without real, fruitful stimulation. And maybe another time after this (circumstances willing) you would love to prolong everything. 

But right now you need to get fucked, whatever that could entail. 

You buck your hips up and end up catching the bulge in Joaquín’s pants where his zipper lies. You think he’ll catch on that way, and maybe he does, but he just chooses to ignore it. Either way, you send him a hint and Joaquín doesn’t do anything about it. He continues kissing you, he tweaks your nipples and slots a knee between your legs, all of which you’re grateful for since it is a stepping stone in the right direction. But you need stimulation, you need to get off, and the slow crawl is slowly driving you crazy. 

You pull away from Joaquín to call his name. He responds with a gruff yeah that immediately settles deep in your gut. 

“I need more. Please.” 

He grins right in your face. The expression almost looks wicked on him for the first time ever. He has the power here right now and he’s obviously letting it go to his head. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asks while his hand slides down between your bodies until his thick fingers can slip between your clothed folds. 

His question was rhetorical (and smug but that’s besides the point), yet you still find yourself going to respond. Your lips part, you can feel the corners turning down as you prepare to say something just as smug back to him, but then he presses down and quickly finds your clit after a moment of fumbling. As far as words go, you’re silent. Nothing but sounds slip from your mouth from that point onwards. 

Joaquín toys with your clit. He starts with one finger, just the pad of what you think might be his middle finger, and when that has you forcing your hips up into his touch, he adds a second finger. With two fingers, he has more space to work with, resulting in larger circles right over the most sensitive part of you. He speeds up, too. 

Your back arches and you dig your nails into the sheets. You know what you want to ask for, it's simple and you’d already said the word in this space, but it gets trapped in your throat this time. You’re close already. Yeah, you’d been getting yourself off throughout the week, but finally having Joaquín do it for you has made you so much more responsive. 

You get the first syllable out, the ‘M’ vibrating in your throat before you open your mouth to round it out in an ‘O’. 

Joaquín picks up where you left off. 

“More?” he asks, eyebrows lifting as he holds your heavy gaze. Before you even respond with a nod, he’s already sitting back far enough to slip his hand in your panties and repeat his emotions. 

The first real touch dizzies you for a moment. You pinch your eyes shut with the pure intention of orienting yourself, but then Joaquín chastises you in a soft, but firm voice. 

“Look at me. I wanna see you.” 

You do as told, of course. 

He nods. “There we go.” His fingers get just a little faster, the circles tighter. You’re so wet that there isn’t any uncomfortable friction at all, his skin easily glides against yours. 

“You close?” he asks after a moment. When you nod, he continues, “If I give you this one, you’ll be able to give me another, right? You can give me more?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I can.” You’re breathless when you speak, and it certainly doesn’t help that it’s then when Joaquín decides to pull his fingers away completely, pull your panties to the side, and sink down completely until his face is level with your cunt. 

Just the image below you is enough to twist that section deep into your stomach into a knot. He’s barely able to give you anything before your back is arching off of the bed and everything in you mounts to a peak. 

When you come, it’s from the controlled and effective licks Joaquín delivers to your cunt. You don’t know when your hand moves on its own, but you feel silk-like strands between your fingers. It helps anchor you, gripping his hair helps keep you sane, especially when Joaquín keeps going. 

He broadens his reach this time. His mouth opens wide enough to slide his tongue down from your entrance and back up towards your clit. And he doesn’t just lick this time, you hear the audible suck from him. He’s slurping that shit, and you can already feel the introduction of another orgasm. 

If you were with anyone else, you’d be shocked at how soon another is on the precipice. But it’s Joaquín, and aside from the fact that you’ve wanted him for a while, you’re not exactly shocked that he knows what he’s doing. 

He slowly sinks one finger into you, pumping the digit in and out of you with meticulous ease. It’s a stark contrast from the almost sloppy way he’s eating you out. But it works. 

One finger is nice, it’s thicker than your own, rougher, too. You could get off just like that. And then, he adds a second. 

“Fuck,” you swear without any conscious intention. 

Joaquín comes up for air, releasing you with an audible smack. “Yeah?” he asks, the word coming from right in his throat. 

You nod as you take in the way he looks—cheeks flushed, hair tousled and hanging over his forehead, pink lips shining, his eyes wide and nearly doe-like. 

“Yeah,” you confirm. You see a look flash in Joaquín’s eyes then. It’s a look similar to the one he has whenever Sam affirms his work with a clap on the back—self-satisfied, delighted, proud. It occurs to you then that he doesn’t know what he’s doing to you. He can read your body language, sure. It’s obvious from your cunt, along how good he’s making you feel, but you know verbal affirmation is different. It’s better, especially for Joaquín. 

As he goes back in to finish you off, you speak to him.

“Just like that,” you tell him. Just this little bit encourages him, you can feel it in his movements.  “Keep going. ‘M close, so close, Joaquín. Please, don’t stop. You’re so … you’re so—” Before you can even get it out, all noise dies completely from you. Your mouth uselessly hangs open, not even air comes out as your entire body stiffens. Nothing happens for a moment, Joaquín continues, you’re stuck, and then a nanosecond later everything knocks into you. 

Sound emits from you, moans and groans and breaths. You’re digging into whatever you can find—the heel of your foot into Joaquín’s back, your hands in his hair, the rest of your body into the twisted sheets beneath you. You’re simultaneously trying to escape and trying to keep Joaquín from parting with you for even a moment. It’s hard to decide which you prefer, you don’t even think your mind has any say in the dilemma, your body is in control at this point. 

Ultimately, your body decides to let go, releasing both of you at the same time. Still, Joaquín takes a moment to pull from you. He continues licking and sucking, but his fingers slowing down indicates his intent to free you. It comes after a few drawn out moments where you’re stuck twitching beneath him until finally, he pulls his fingers out of you and presses one final kiss right onto your clit. 

His head lifts and the evidence is more obvious than you expected. It’s gathered all over his chin, stuck along the beginnings of facial hair that will likely be gone first thing Monday morning. It’s gathered on his lips and along his tongue when he uses the muscle to pull the remnants of your arousal into his mouth. 

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and only then does he realize how much of a mess you’ve made of him. He pulls his hand back, brown eyes big as he stares at the evidence. 

“Shit,” he laughs. 

All you can do is agree through labored breaths. 

He tries to clean you off of his mouth, but not much is done. He leans in tentatively after that, as if you’re going to shy away from him. You don’t. 

You kiss him back eagerly, although a bit lethargically. You’re trying to hide it from fear that Joaquín could think that you’re done. But your body needs a moment to recover from that. 

When Joaquín pulls away from you with a small smile on his face, you know he’s onto you. 

“You need a minute?” The way he says it isn’t much different from the way he asks you those same words when he’s kicking your ass in the gym. 

And just like when you’re in the gym, you shamefully nod. 

Joaquín chuckles and leans in to kiss your forehead. “That’s okay. You want anything? Water maybe?” 

“Water sounds good.” 

You watch him leave and then your eyes are focused solely on the ceiling. You can’t even let what’s happening sink in when you’re still a little spacey. But you can handle more. You want more from him. 

Joaquín comes back with a glass of water. He stands next to the bed and passes the full glass to you. You don’t question the source, you just drink until there’s half left. You offer it to him and he gladly takes it from you. 

“Are you … do you wanna stop?” He speaks when the glass has been emptied and placed on the nightstand. For the most part he looks like he would be unaffected by whatever answer you gave, but you think you can detect some premature dejection in his features. Quickly, he adds, “Because it’s fine if you do. I’m okay with that.” And he’s being honest. You don’t feel any pressure coming from Joaquín at all. 

It’s what you truly mean and want when you immediately shake your head. “No. Let’s keep going.” 

He nods once to himself. “Alright. Cool. Yeah.” 

Excitement leaks from his pores but you don’t comment on it. You felt just as he did not long ago. You still feel like that, but you’re under a haze right now and that’s what your emotions are being led with. 

Joaquín hooks his thumbs into his already-loosened jeans and goes to pull them down. First, though, he pats at his pockets. When he doesn’t feel what he’s looking for, he swears. 

“One second.”

You watch his form retreat until the door of your room is pulled open. Not even a minute later he comes back in with a foil pocket brandished between his fingers, the same fingers that were in you not long ago. 

“You came prepared?” The question comes out more judgemental than you meant it to. 

Joaquín shrugs. “I keep an emergency bag full of … stuff. You know, in case of an emergency.” 

“Freak.” You don’t mean it. 

“You’re about to get fucked by a freak so, wouldn’t that make you a freak by association?” He seems to mean it. 

“I don’t think that’s how that works.”

He holds the packet between his teeth while he slides his jeans off of his legs, stepping out of them and leaving them at the foot of the bed. He comes back around to the side, pulling the packet out from his teeth and staring down at you. Like this he looks more imposing than he ever has before. 

When he’s been out in the field, when he’s training, when he yelled at the car earlier tonight, he didn’t look as imposing as he does now—staring down at you over the bridge of his nose, hair tousled, cock tenting in his black briefs. 

“That’s definitely how that works,” he claims as he leans down. He presses his hands into the bed beneath you to leverage himself as he kisses you, slow and passionate. You wonder if he’ll fuck you like that too. 

You reach a hand up and pull the elastic away from his waist. When he doesn’t react, you tug the fabric down. You feel it get stuck around his cock just before you feel his cock spring free. It brushes against your wrist and you make a little noise into the kiss. 

As soon as Joaquín’s briefs are laying at his feet he assumes his previous position, this time sitting right on his haunches. You avoid looking at his cock for a moment, but when you watch him tear the condom packet open, you get the first glimpse at him. 

Even this part of him is attractive. He’s thick, that’s the first thing you notice. Thick and heavy, if the way he hangs to the side is any indicator. There’s a vein leading from his taut stomach down towards the dark and trimmed thatch of hair at the base of his cock. You hadn’t noticed the vein ever before, not when you had been too busy ogling the v-line chiseled into his torso instead. 

Now that you’ve seen all of Joaquín, you can easily conclude that he’s perfect. Just as you have that thought, Joaquín takes an inhale as he prepares to speak. 

“You’re so perfect,” he says. 

The warmth instantly floods your body. 

“I was just thinking the same thing about you,” you tell him. 

He dips his head almost shyly and doesn’t say anything. Instead, Joaquín pulls the condom out of the packet. 

“Wait. Lemme do it. Can I do it?” 

He looks momentarily surprised at your request, but he passes you the condom and politely places his hands on top of his thighs. 

It’s truly an excuse to feel him beneath your palm as you glide the latex barrier down his length. You revel in the warmth beneath your hand, because as soon as you’ve secured the barrier around the base of his shaft, Joaquín's leading you back without even having to touch you. He leans forward and in response, you lean all the way back until you’re nestled amongst the pillows at the head of the bed. 

“Ready?” 

You nod, letting your legs fall open for him. 

One warm hand falls to the inside of your thigh while the other disappears between your legs to line up his dick. Then, slowly, Joaquín pushes forward. The stretch is instant, you can feel yourself opening up wider and wider to fully fit him in. If you weren’t as soaked and prepped as you were, you’re sure the burn would’ve been way worse. 

For a few moments it’s like the length of him keeps going and going, but then you feel his thighs press up against the back of yours and there’s the faint feeling of his balls resting against your ass and you know he’s bottomed out. He looks at you, gauging your reaction, and your response comes in the form of linking a leg around his back.

Joaquín smiles through nothing but the twitch of the corner of his mouth upwards, and then he wastes no more time. He rests his weight on his hands at either side of your head, and pulls his hips back just to roll them forward and slide his cock back into you. 

And for a bit, Joaquín does fuck you slow and passionate. He fucks you in full strokes, a nice tempo that doesn’t overwhelm you too quickly. There’s punctuation at the end of each thrust, followed by a nearly agonizing pull back out. Whether intentional or not, Joaquín’s introducing you to the feeling of his cock filling you up, just as he’s introducing the concept of another release to you. 

But you’ve had your fill, it’s his turn now. 

You press your hands into his shoulders. They glide back, one hand grazing over the raised skin of the scar that leads down his back, the other following a smooth path, but they meet in the same place—back around the front to where his chain hangs. You hook one finger into the gold link, the other going behind his head. You pull him closer until you can nudge your noses together. 

His eyes flutter shut and his eyebrows pinch together in the center. You kiss him once and pull back to tell him, “You can use me, Joaquín. Take what you want.”

His eyes open to stare at you with confusion written on his face, bordering on hope, as if he already has an idea formed in his head of what he really wants to do to you. 

You nod assuredly. “It’s what I want.” Just as you’re about to add a quiet plea to seal the deal, Joaquín adjusts his position and then he pulls nearly all the way out of you, only to forcefully drive back into you. 

The switch is immediate. He still fucks you in complete motions, but they’re shorter, no longer the tip to the shaft each time. These are faster, much faster. It feels like he’s reaching up into your guts each time, just to pull back and do it again and again and again. 

You’re forced to find purchase again, hands digging into whatever you can find. One hand attaches to his hair and the other holds onto his chain, your legs have linked around Joaquín’s hips, your head has craned backwards, leaving the area between the base of your neck and your chest open for Joaquín to rest his forehead on. 

You can’t hear his sounds over yours, but you feel them—quick breaths let out onto the sweat coated area of your chest. You would try and silence yourself to better hear him, but you couldn’t even if you tried. 

Luckily, though, Joaquín lifts his head and notches his nose against the side of your neck instead. He kisses you right beneath your earlobe, but when he can no longer complete that action, his jaw goes slack and every single noise he makes travels directly to your ear. 

You swear and it comes out as a whimper, not even a second later Joaquín swears and it’s a deep groan all the way from the back of his throat. You call his name and he calls yours. He’s affecting you, and you’re affecting him, even just by laying back and urging him to get himself off by using your body.

“Are you close?” you eventually gather the strength, and will, to ask. 

You feel Joaquín nod against your neck. “Yeah,” he confirms, “yeah, baby, ‘m almost there.” 

Your reaction is instant. You groan, a sound that could be interpreted as frustration if you weren’t having your guts completely rearranged right now. 

He chuckles deeply against your skin. “What? What’s up?”

“C…Call me that again.”

“What? ‘Baby’? You like when I call you baby?” 

You hum affirmatively. 

Joaquín lifts his head and slots one hand against your cheek. His pace slows as he stares at you. “You’re my baby? Hm? Are you?” 

You nod, whining out an “uh-huh”. 

“Yeah?” he grins as he says it, as if he’s shocked that you agreed. You don’t know if he’s serious, if he knows that his words are holding weight even if you’re a little dumb right now, but you do mean it. 

He licks his lips and you see an idea coming to his head. “You gonna be good for me, too?” When you nod, he continues. “Be good for me, baby, and touch yourself, alright?”

He gives you the space needed and watches your hand slide down your stomach. When you use two fingers to tweak your already overstimulated clit, Joaquín nods. 

“That’s right. Just like that.” 

He resumes his original pace, this time with his eyes fully locked on your cunt. He pulls one of your legs up and throws it over his shoulder, leaning forward to get even deeper into you. 

You’re close, you’re almost there, and the erratic way Joaquín practically jackhammers into you as he chases his own release is what pushes you over. You finish just after Joaquín buries himself into you and curls his body over yours. This orgasm truly feels like a release. Everything in you melts into the world around you, just as Joaquín’s body melts on top of yours. 

He kisses the skin closest to him, first in small almost discrete pecks, and then they gradually get bigger and more audible until he’s clearly making them ridiculous on purpose. 

His cock is still nestled in you and his head is still resting on your chest when he speaks. “You think you’ll be up for a shower?”

You hum, letting the question run through your head for a minute before responding. “In about ten minutes, yeah.” 

“Take your time.”

In the meantime, Joaquín slowly slides out of you. The emptiness is immediate, but after all you’ve been through since getting back to your room, you don’t exactly hate it. Your eyes start to feel heavy but you let them close for a little while. You rely on your other senses throughout. 

The feeling of Joaquín kissing over where you think your bikini tan lines are, the rim of the glass that he brings to your lips, the sound of his voice as he gently urges you to drink, the feeling of cool water sliding down your throat. He holds you steady as you drink with a hand behind your head. Your lips turn up tiredly, and you feel his thumb at the corner of your lip catching a stray drop of water. You don’t have to open your eyes to know he’s wearing that same soft look on his features.

You’re so pampered there that you don’t force yourself to get up until you hear the shower running. 

Joaquín’s already there waiting for you at the door. He smiles when he sees you as if he’s shocked that you came, even though this is your room and your bathroom. Still, he reaches out and grabs your hand, pulling you into the bathroom and in front of him. His hands push at your back, guiding you towards the shower. He pulls the door open for you and lets you step inside before he follows after you. 

You reach for the towel and soap, but stop when he tuts behind you. 

“I got it,” is all he says. So you let yourself completely relax with the feeling of Joaquín dragging the cloth up and down your limbs. He talks to you throughout, mostly asking you to lift an arm or turn around, sometimes bringing up small bits of conversation, every now and then singing bits of songs—some that you recognize, some that you don’t. There’s a familiarity now that you’ve gained since his hands had massaged sunscreen into your shoulders. 

Eventually, though, he finishes with you, leaving you to lean against the wall and watch him shower.

“You know what I realized like a few minutes ago?” he says when he’s rinsing the soap off of his body. 

“What?”

“Remember the couple from the club that first night? The one who kept buying us drinks?”

“Yeah, how could I forget?”

“Yeah well I’m pretty sure they thought we were like … swingers or some shit.”

You’re startled awake. “Huh? Why do you think that?”

“Oh I don’t think, I know. The guy gave me his number and everything. Plus you saw the way they were looking at us, and the woman kept cozying up to you.”

You frown. “I thought she was just drunk or friendly.”

“She definitely was drunk and friendly. And she also wanted you.” 

You blink. “I thought she wanted you.”

Joaquín shrugs and rinses the last of the soap from his back before he shuts the water off. “She probably did. That’s sort of part of the whole swingers gig, isn’t it?”

You laugh through a quick exhale of air. “Come on, Joaquín, let’s go to bed.” 

You step out of the shower and wrap a towel around your body. Joaquín follows after you. 

“Oh, I get to sleep with you tonight?” He sounds giddy when he says it, as if he wasn’t just fucking you so good that your legs are still getting used to walking again. When you tell him that, you see the unintended compliment go straight to his head. 

You end up getting exactly what you wanted. Joaquín leans into the bathroom counter with the towel hung low around his waist and his eyes watching you do your skincare routine. As soon as you’re finished, he’s trekking off to his room for a change of clothes and to do whatever he needs to do, and he comes back in nothing but boxers with a big shirt in his hand. He lays it on the counter for you casually, but you see the tips of his ears tinted just a tiny bit red when he retreats back to your room. 

You come out in his shirt to see him lying on your side of the bed, the remote in his hand and pointed at the TV. As if the entire trip had been going like this the entire time, he instantly scoots over when you come to the side of the bed and lifts the sheets for you to climb under. You lay curled into his side, telling him to click a channel playing a movie that you know he likes. 

The remote is placed on the nightstand, the lights are clicked off and you’re snuggled up next to Joaquín, wearing his shirt and talking about how the two of you are going to spend your last day of vacation. 

Not everything goes how you thought it would, though. Joaquín ends up being pretty mindful with his blanket usage. 

[finnsstyles]

lauren my love please tell me how you think sweet baby boy Joaquinn is in bed ,I believe he starts as sensual and loving, and once your relationship progresses he turns as kinky as you need him to be, like everytime he discovers something new about you, he must absolutely excel on it

bestie!!! i completely agree okay, he is the type of man to literally ask you to show him what you like/watch every time he's touching you, asking if you like it, or just like that? ahhahahahahh

take care of you like this.

pairing: joaquín torres x (f)reader

word count: 606

warnings: fingering, teasing, dirty talk. 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI.

i do not give anyone permission to translate or repost my work, please be respectful — if you enjoyed please comment or reblog!

He has two fingers hooked inside of you moving rhythmically, slow, gently, testing the waters, trying to find that perfect spot that’ll make you see stars, that makes you moan so loud that it makes his cock throb; leak. 

His thumb is pressed to your clit, the pad of it rubbing slow circles against the sensitive nerve, just the way you like. You're sat on the edge of the bed, Joaquín perched on his knees between your legs, his other hand gripping your hip stopping you from moving too much-too fast; looking up at you through his lashes as he watches your queues, as he notes every breathless whimper, moan, and contour of your face, studying your body’s reaction to him. 

His mouth feels dry, lips chapped, from how lost he is in watching you, hot puffs of air coming from his lips each time you let out one of those high pitched moans, one of those sharp intakes of breath. The more you grip onto the sleeve of his shirt, nod your head when his fingers graze over a sensitive spot—or to tell him to go faster, slower; whatever you want he does, whatever you need. 

He thinks he’s got a pretty good understanding of your body thus far but he loves relearning it, loves cataloging all the ways he can make you cum whether it be on his fingers, tongue, or cock. Loves finding new ways to make you lose complete control because of him, for him. 

And seeing you completely lose it on his fingers, your head thrown back, your hips trying to move against his hand, he can't get enough of it. 

The sight is fucking beautiful. 

When his fingers finally hit that spot, finally find that spongy part of you that has you wanting to scream, to pull his fingers in deeper wantonly; your hips buck against his palm, your knuckles straining. There’s a smirk on his face, “That feel good?” 

Even with your mouth hung open you can't seem to form words, can't articulate anything other than how good his fingers feel in and against your cunt right now, how the pleasure is consuming you like a forest fire; your entire body burning with the need-the want—to cum on his hand. All you can give him is a nod and a weak moan, your throat feeling raw and strained from how badly you want to cry out even louder. 

The pleasure is almost too much, too good, your hand coming to wrap itself around Joaquín’s wrist, to do what you’re not completely sure, slow him down? Have a respite? Your mind is hazed with pleasure and your body is riding on cloud nine, it’s all so much and you feel so sensitive that you feel your knees start to move to recoil from him. 

“Hey, hey,” his words are soothing, his own desire laced within it. His free hand comes up to cup the back of your neck, bringing your forehead down to his, the smirk still present on his lips as he looks up at you; his fingers slowing only slightly. “Do you want me to stop, baby?” He hums, “it feels so good doesn’t it? I can feel your pussy clenching around my fingers, you’re so close aren't you?” 

Your only reply is a moan, a shake of your head, weak eyes that feel like they may start to tear up from all that you’re feeling right now. It makes him laugh softly, his fingers start to move faster, regaining that relentless rhythm, your legs a shaking mess. 

“Good girl.” He kisses your forehead, “Come for me.”

[finnsstyles]

WITHDRAWAL | theodore nott

summary; theo decides to quit smoking, but doesn’t realise that his decision would affect his girlfriend, too.

word count; 3007

notes; just a cute, fluffy little piece based on something that I was tagged in about 2 months ago! unfortunately, I cannot find the original post or tagger, but if it’s you, please let me know!!

Keep reading

[finnsstyles]

mmmm thinking about sweaty make out sessions with luke with copious amounts of shameless dry humping!

luke catches your heavy breath in his mouth with his fingers in your hair, tugging your face closer to his until your noses knock and your teeth clash. his onyx curls feather over your fingertips when you weave your fingers behind his skull, and his chest expands against your pulsating one. "wait, wait," your breath catches against a notch in the back of your throat, and you swallow back your heart when it leaps up there. "can't breathe."

his halfie aches underneath your bottom; it's smothered by your quivering thighs and it chubs up with every brazen drag of your hips and wanton cry into his mouth. "took your breath away already, huh?" the corner of his lips dances up, and you kiss it away, erasing the smug expression.

"it's just hot in here," you excuse, limbs slick with uncomfortable perspiration. "don't get ahead of yourself."

luke laughs, then, chasing after your retreating mouth and catching your bottom lip between his gleaming teeth, surprising you enough to slip his tongue in against yours. he gathers each drop of saliva that oozes out, enthralled and inebriated on the taste of desperation that seeps out.

your clit throbs underneath the seam of your joggers, and you press further on it, catching the eager bud against the outline of the cock squeezed in between your legs. your lips slip against luke's and the threat of a bloody, swollen lip has your heart leaping again. "want you to cum," your hips drag lazily, and his dick responds accordingly.

"before you do?" he drawls, and you lap up the sarcastic remark with another low whine.

luke grapples sloppily for your hips, guiding your stuttered movements as you swivel downward, obscuring your selfish desires behind the quick grinding. "i'll clean you up," you preen, pressing a sloppy, wet kiss against his cheekbone when he pulls up for air again. "get you clean and everything."

the grey of his sweats darkens, the small patch growing in size with the betrayal of his hidden arousal, and luke groans through his teeth. pre spills from his rouged cock, and you move harder - faster. "you're such a whore," he teases against your mouth when you find it again, and your fingers tighten around the wiry strands of sweaty hair between them. "practically begging for it, aren't you?"

your eyes squeeze shut, jaw loosening with another tight mewl of rapture. he echoes the same noise, palm holding fast against the small of your back. burying his searing dick inside your cunt; tucking it inside those warm walls with his balls pressed tight against your perineum -- luke is losing it, eyes rolling back inside his skull as your grip on his hair yanks his head back, exposing his vulnerable jugular.

your seat below grows damp as ropes of warm cum paint the inside of his pants, and your lips seal around his bobbing adam's apple, sucking an angry mark into the pulsating flesh. he smiles again, cheeks cratering with audacious dimples, and you thumb soothingly at his tacky temple. "go on then," he swallows, chasing for some air to enter his breathless lungs. "clean me up."

[finnsstyles]

rivalry — blackwood and bracken arranged marriage au

pt. 1 — bracken!reader x davos blackwood

au where two marriage pacts end the rivalry between the blackwoods and the brackens (i don't care if this has been done before this is my version gbye)

as always, warnings: misogyny, davos is a fucking FREAK, smuuuuut, dirty talk, breeding kink

lmk if u want pt 2 — aeron bracken x blackwood!fem!reader ;)

my fiancé actually loosely edited this for me so if this sucks it's his fault

____

“let’s get this over with.”

you gulped. you had been dreading this moment ever since your father announced there would be a peace treaty between your family, the brackens, and the blackwoods. the ceremony, the feast, and the dancing were not your biggest concern — but your wedding night? nothing could stop your hands from shaking — and your new husband, davos blackwood, surely wouldn’t step forward and aid you in your time of anxiety.

you folded your lip in between your teeth, playing with the exquisite shift that was custom made for this exact night — a night supposed to be consumed by the throws of pleasure and a hopeful future, possibly in the form of an heir. you couldn’t believe the brokering of peace came in the form of a marriage pact — to someone who would never see you as anything but a bracken, his enemy.

two marriage pacts, actually — you married davos blackwood, and your brother, aeron bracken, married davos' sister. two feuding families. bound not just by one marriage pact, but two — because everyone knew that only one marriage would not have been sufficient for peace. not only was he forced to spend his life, or the rest of yours, with a bracken — but his sister? forced to marry a bracken, as well? aeron bracken? of them all?

you could see it on his face — gray with sick. it turned your stomach as well — to realize you were loathed so much.

“i can’t change who i am,” you said suddenly, keeping your eyes on the floor. “nor my heritage. i understand you loathe the sight of me, for what it reminds you of — but i can’t change that.”

he didn’t respond. he just undressed with his back turned to you, save for his pants and under shirt. you watched the muscles in his shoulders and back ripple as he tugged off the garments, preparing for bed. you couldn’t see his face as he undressed — and you weren’t sure if it was good or bad. good because you could speak boldly — bad because he refused to look at you, and possibly would refuse your request.

“but as your wife... even if it’s the one you didn’t wish for…” you sighed, losing your thoughts and confidence. “i promise to not be a bother to you — the only thing i ask… is…”

he turned towards you then, but not completely. it was like he gave you his attention, but was fully aware of what he withheld from you — even though you were practically baring your soul to him. you weren’t in his head, you couldn’t be sure… but his silence was enough of a signal that he most likely would not understand a woman’s anxiety in a moment like this.

here goes absolutely nothing, you thought. you mustered up whatever courage you had — albeit very little — and continued, “you do not owe me anything — but i… i…”

“spit it out,” he bit.

your mouth fell slightly agape with his tone. it was the way feuding men speak to each other — not a feuding husband and wife. it was like you were stripped of your femininity and your new identity as his wife, and replaced with that of a rival male — causing you to come to the realization that this feud ran so deep that not even two marriage pacts with the hope of inspiring peace would be sufficient.

he would always hate you. always.

he’s going to hate you as if you’re your brother anyway, you thought. might as well have the stones to match.

you clenched your jaw, raising your eyeline. you refused to cower to a man when it wouldn’t make him hate you less — and especially not if it definitely wouldn’t get you what you wanted. you were afraid, and out of options. with a sigh, you responded, “be gentle with me the first time. just the first — that is all i ask.”

you held his gaze then — refusing to look away. he needed to know how desperate you were, to avoid that unfathomable pain as much as possible. you’d look him in the eye, the eye of the enemy of your family for the last few centuries — because otherwise the shame and dishonor was too great, and too heavy for a new wife to bear.

if you weren’t so intent on not seeming weak, you should have looked — actually looked — at your husband. at how broad his shoulders appeared in comparison to his lean waist and hips. his light eyes that seem to pierce you in a way that only a dagger could; sharp, and forever on edge. how he was so handsome that you might done anything to see him smile or laugh… but you couldn’t. wouldn't. you most likely would never get that chance — but you bet that he looked so handsome when he smiled.

but he would never smile for a bracken.

“be gentle with you?” he asked, accusation already in his eyes. his fists were bawled at his sides as he walked towards you. “as if your craven brother would be gentle with my sister?”

“how dare you even insinuate my brother would treat his lady wife with anything but kindness and respect!” you spat, leaning towards him with anger dripping from your pretty lips. “he may not like this situation any more than us — but he would never harm a woman, no matter what family she came from.”

he shook his head, glancing away from you. “you are actually naive enough to believe that?”

you narrowed your eyes at him. “if you’re stupid enough to believe that of him — then why would you want to be the very thing that you hope does not enter your sister’s bed this very same evening? — do you wish to be as despicable as you believe him to be, my lord husband?”

“watch your mouth, wife!” he spat through gritted teeth. “you would do well to mind your craven tongue.”

you mouth fell agape at his words. “my craven tongue, blackwood?” you scoffed at his words, suddenly too angry to be in the room with him. you didn’t want to get this angry — you wanted this to be as peaceful as possible. “i suddenly find myself wanting to leave this room — do enjoy our wedding night by yourself husband. i’m sure you’re well acquainted with your hand —“

you went to push by him, but he grabbed you by the elbow. he refused to let you pass, but you did not press the subject with words or jerking movements of your body. you did not know your husband — only his reputation from the mouths of kin. you did not dare push his anger — not when he could do with you as he pleased in this room, with no consequence outside these walls.

“i have been made very well aware of a bracken’s inability to perform their duty — but you will not stop me from performing mine, wife,” he grit, glaring down at you.

“i asked you to perform it honorably, husband! — if you can’t, then your reputation precedes you,” you spat. “so what will it be? i put the cards in your hands — so deal.”

his nose curled into a snarl, matching the hateful expression on his face. hatred poured from his veins, while you could feel your own resolve slipping away from your face. fear was creeping back in, as boldness only got a woman so far in the bedroom of an angry man. fear, fear, fear. it leaked from every one of your pores like tears, but you fought those. you blinked several times in order to hide what you could. if he saw the fear on your face, his own expression didn’t change.

…unless he knew the fear was always there, and he didn’t care.

“…please,” you whispered, anger still on your face but your voice threatening to break. “just tonight, husband — please.”

“i would never hurt a woman,” he spat, the flames on his face beginning to subside. “only a bracken —“

“i didn’t think you would hurt a woman,” you spoke, trying to soften your voice. “i asked — because others have described this pain as one of the worst. i was afraid, lord husband — but not of you.”

while you intentionally softened your voice, your husband did no such thing. he merely let his anger die with your words, most likely at the fact that you were the one to admit weakness. you were the one to admit vulnerability. you were the one to have to beg. you had won, but at what cost to your pride?

it didn’t matter now. all that mattered was getting this done. quick, done, and over with.

“lie on your back,” was all he said, holding your gaze.

your lips parted as your eyes looked down at the floor. you turned in place, and began walking towards the bed. you laid down on, fighting the urge to twist your fingers together in anxiety. you kept your head forward, but your gaze down and to the side. out of the corner of your eye, you could see your husband walk over to the bed and climb on top of you.

he unlaced his leathers as he spoke, both of you avoiding the other’s eyes. “avoid allowing your muscles to tense up — it will only make it worse.”

you whispered a small “okay,” barely audible.

you opened your legs, lifting up slightly at your hips for him to rest comfortably. he adjusted, before you watched him bring his hand to his mouth. you couldn’t help yourself — you watched as his lips sucked his long fingers past their opening, lubricating the digits. his eyebrows knitted together with the motion, before his fingers found their way between your thighs. you fought the urge to jump or squeal when you felt his warm, wet fingers thread through your folds.

he let out a sigh of discontent before glancing up to your face.

“trust me, alright?” he asked.

you didn’t verbally respond. you simply looked at him with your lips slightly parted, eventually nodding.

that was enough for him. he climbed down the length of your body, settling himself between your legs. he raised the length of your shift up to your stomach, leaving your bare from the abdomen down. in your nervous state, you took it as a cue to slip your dress off. when he saw the cool air hit your naked breasts and harden your nipples into a peak, his own lips parted — and you felt a growing mass harden against your leg.

“you’re beautiful, wife,” he spoke — seemingly without realizing it. you almost thanked him, before he added, “...for a bracken.”

you narrowed your eyes at him, ready to respond — when he dipped below your navel.

you sucked in a sharp breath of surprise — you couldn’t help it.

his tongue licked up and down the length of your slit, and dove in between your folds. you immediately covered your mouth with your hand, all of your muscles going tense. davos had wrapped his arms under your thighs, hoisting them around his shoulders. his tongue was thick and messy against your folds, causing them to glisten in the flames of the nearby fire.

and once his tongue made contact with the pearl at the very top of your slit, you let out an exhale of ease. it was not lost on your husband — who drew a circle around the circumference of the bud. when he noticed you relaxed more, he drew another. when he noticed you fought the urge to buck your hips up to meet his mouth, he drew yet another. he knew what was happening — but he wasn’t sure if you did.

when you began to fist the sheets with your one free hand, he didn’t stop drawing.

he locked his head in between your thighs with them thrown over his shoulders. your cunt was dripping juices from your sweet, untouched hole — and davos found himself ashamed to admit that he lost himself in the act. for a moment, he couldn’t help but forget the name of the girl above him — the one taking everything he gave her, and acting so grateful with the way she couldn’t stay still.

but after that moment… he could’ve ripped away and plunged into you, making the act become done and over quicker. he could’ve… but he found himself enjoying it.

he continued to draw those circles — those small, tiny, wet circles that sent you in a haze — as he slipped a finger inside your cunt. and then two. he was greedy for your reaction. he was greedy for the way he knew, he fucking knew, that you had never experienced pleasure like this — not by you or anyone else. him, a blackwood, would be the one to make you feel so good you would forget your name and house for even the smallest moment — even the smallest moment would be a win for his pride and for his house.

a small part of him hoped you’d feel shame at the fact he’d make you succumb to the throws of pleasure... but a larger part of him wanted to make you feel so good that you allegiance to your house wavered. ...but when he began to suck on your clit, sounds filling the room — he knew it would be both.

from below, he watched you shove the side of your face into the pillow and pull at its threads. your hips began to ride against his face, coating his chin with everything you could give him. he held you down the best he could — bratty little thing you were, but it was difficult as he also wanted you to lose control. he watched as you tried to bite your lip, harder and harder and harder — before you gave up. you left out a sob into the pillow, legs still shaking, and davos kissed your clit.

when davos crawled back up to meet you, every nerve ending had pins and needles. you were warm from head to toe — no longer in need of the fire, your shift, or any blanket. you were shivering, but not from the cold — but from the comedown, a stranger to passion and lust and pleasure. all three twirled around in your womb like a fire that had never been lit; a treasure to be discovered — only by davos.

“can i kiss you?” you asked before thinking it through.

davos had a look of being caught off guard. he wasn’t expecting you to ask, and you saw it flash on his face. you suddenly grew worried —

he didn’t let you finish your thought. davos leaned forward and kissed you.

he kissed you in the way you would expect a boy you love to kiss you — sweet, gentle, but with a growing passion that could only be shared in the bedroom. he held his weight with one of his strong arms, the other tucked behind the back of your knee. he pulled your knee to his hip and you wrapped both legs around his hips. you pulled him into you and felt the skin of his pelvis brush against your cunt.

“you’re so sweet,” you spoke against his lips. with obvious sarcasm, you added, “...for a blackwood.”

he laughed then. “you’re obedient for a bracken.”

you flicked his stomach, causing him to yelp — but you didn’t let him pull away for long. with both hands, you pulled him back to meet your lips. it hadn't even crossed your mind to ask him to wipe his mouth, for you did not want to. the old gods and the new would surely curse you for such lust filled thoughts — but you didn't care. how could you care when you had found a way to bring peace between a blackwood and a bracken, even if it was temporary? how could you care when you sharing one of the most holy of relationships, being the intimacy between husband and wife? how could you care when this night was going better than you could have hoped?

you could sense him bring his own hand down to his large member, feeling his forearm brush your thigh as he fisted his length. as much as you wanted to reach out and pleasure him — you were worried for what came next. the pain. the inevitable.

davos lined up the red tip of his cock with your tight hole, barely stretched out by his fingers. he slid his cock up and down the length of your slit with the intent of collecting as much of your juices as possible. with a slight push, he entered you.

you immediately let your head fall onto the pillow as the stretch began to burn. the pain on your face was evident, and davos guided his hand to draw circles on your clit once more. your muscles loosened, welcoming the pleasure that davos brought you.

“please,” you gasped, flicking your eyes up to him.

he stared at your face with an intense look of study. with his eyebrows knitted together, he brought one of your legs over his lower back and held you by the back of your thigh. the stretch was felt in the length of your cunt, as it stretched to fill his size.

davos was concerned for your well-being, of course, but something was beginning to curl in his lower abdomen. he wanted to take your by force — prying your legs open, holding your thighs in place, and drilling his cock into your swollen, dripping cunt. he wanted you to moan his name in his ear and pull at his hair or scratch his back — but he couldn’t, not yet. not just yet. not when you were you worried before, especially now that your attitude had been lost.

he had half a mind to point that out — lest that return.

“keep going,” you spoke.

“what if —“

“i’ll tell you to stop if it hurts,” you interrupted. “it’s all felt so good — i don’t want it to stop.”

he quirked an eyebrow at you. “is my wife claiming to know more than her lord husband?”

you squinted your eyes at him, ready to bite back. “i’ll have you know —“

but he didn’t wait for you to finish.

he leaned forward, placing both forearms on the side of your head. you could feel his lips against your earlobe, causing a quick intake of breath to overtake you. as he leaned forward to your ear, his hips leaned forward as well. his large cock was fully buried inside you now, rocking back and forth as it hit a spot so deep inside you that you didn’t know how he was able to fit. it felt like it was right behind your tiny pearl, which was being nudged by your husband’s pelvic bone. the combination was driving you crazy, only nonsense poured from your pretty lips…

“you’ll take what i give you, my pretty bracken wife,” he spat. “or should i say, blackwood, hmm? no longer craven?”

you wanted to bite back. you wanted to slap him. you wanted to push him from between you and make him finished himself off — but you couldn’t. you couldn’t fight your hips as they raised to meet his own, holding still as he pounded into your pretty cunt.

“a cock made you forget where your loyalties lie?” he questioned with a scoff, but never forgetting to smirk. “that’s all you need, wife? no one’s ever made you feel like this before?”

“you fucking —“

“say it,” he spat, almost growling against your lobe. his hips were snapping against yours as your cunt milked his cock, hoping for the spend that would seal the accomplishment of the marital duty. you were almost in tears from the frustration and the pleasure — not sure how to channel it, not sure what to do with it. “say it!”

“no one, davos,” you cried into the open air above you. “only you, only…”

his hands were tangled through your hair now, keeping your head upright as he sucked on your neck. little nips and bites sent shockwaves throughout your body, and your hips began to stir in the familiar way they had moments prior. davos’ weight held you perfectly still and taut, subjecting you to the pleasure his cock brought in the most perfect way.

“bet you can’t stand that you’re buried in a bracken right now,” you bit, almost succumbing to tears. “— can’t stand that only my womb will give you an heir —“

he yanked on your hair then, extending your neck so you were at his mercy. a strangled gasp left your mouth as you clung to him, which surprised you. you once asked for gentleness, kindness, sweetness… but if you had known how good this would feel… you wouldn’t have even bothered. you would’ve pushed and pulled him all night — subjecting him to the same insults that he hurled towards you if it meant he would fuck you this good.

“and i’ll coat your womb in everything i have, wife,” he growled, pushing his hand between your bodies to rub circles on your clit. “everything i have — until you’re full of blackwood seed. until there's blackwood in your veins. a full blackwood honorable enough to give me a blackwood heir.”

“i’ll never be —“

you couldn’t finish your sentence. the combination between his large cock taking you and his skilled fingers working you… it was all too much. you couldn’t handle the pleasure and the bittersweetness of his attitude, as you were already so close to your peak and losing to him. you could feel the heat rise to your cheeks, as well as spreading throughout your womb… ready for him…

“davos, please — “ you cried. “i’m so close. please don’t stop…”

“tell me you’re a blackwood,” he spat. “say it — or i’ll stop.”

“you wouldn’t —“

“i would dare, lady blackwood,” he spat, interrupting you. “now tell me who you belong to — or i’ll leave you unsatisfied with this pretty cunt dripping.”

he immediately began to slow down his hips, and you felt his fingers begin to slow as well. you tried to fight the incessant need to have him continue, but it proved difficult. soon, frustration replaced pleasure. anger replaced lust. need replaced pride.

“i’m yours, lord blackwood — !” you cried, pulling his hips back into yours. “please —“

he didn’t let you finish. immediately, his lips were on yours. he tangled your tongue with his until you could feel it down your throat. his tongue, his fingers, and his cock — they filled you whole, leaving you wanting for nothing. he held you to still so tight that all you could do was whatever he wanted. his own hips were thrusting against yours — chasing his own pleasure while you unraveled like pretty thread.

“this tight, perfect cunt…” he growled. “so many little blackwood heirs will bless this womb… seven hells…”

he kissed you once more, and you felt something break inside you. your head threw itself back against the pillow as every muscle in your body tightened and stood still. a sob left your mouth, incoherent — but when davos heard it, heard it crying for him and only for him, he broke as well. the heat and passion between two sworn enemies threw you both into climax that neither of you had ever experienced before. you pulled at his hair, while he bit down on your shoulder. and there was your bond — sealed in pain, pleasure, and blood.

when your peak had cooled, you found yourself clinging to your new husband as he still laid on top of you. he was breathing heavily, having expended much energy and couldn’t bring himself to leave your warm embrace. you began to scratch his back, hoping to relax him and get him to stay on top of you…

“that feels good,” he grunted from his spot in your neck. “are you sure i was once to hate you, wife? i find myself unable to remember why our families hate each other at this moment.”

you giggled. “we might not be able to help them… but i don’t see why it must carry into our union.”

“oh, wife…” he spoke, kissing your neck once more. “if our fights always lead to that — i believe our union will be forever blessed.”

____

lmk what you guys think!! who's ready for pt 2 w aeron?? - L xo

[finnsstyles]

so I got into grad school today with my shitty 2.8 gpa and the moral of the story is reblog those good luck posts for the love of god