#sorry this was a much longer response than i intended

[aliteralsemicolon]

I'll wait for your love - 18+

See part 1 | See Part 2 | Part 3 of We can't be friends (wait for your love)

The only thing you’re sure of is that you don’t want things to go back to the way they were and Spencer agrees that change may be for the best.

Spencer Reid X Fem! Reader

DISCLAIMER This story is NSFW and contains graphic depictions + detailed descriptions of adult content. It is intended for mature audiences only, minors do not interact!  You are responsible for the content you consume. Make sure to read all necessary warnings. Please remember this is a work of fiction; if you don’t like it, don’t read. 

WARNINGS: Panic attack mentioned, slight PTSD depictions, case details (barely) mentioned, alcohol mentioned like once. Smut (not the focus at all): making out, nipple play, clitoral stimulation, praise, use of pet names (angel, pretty girl, etc). Proceed at your own risk.

Word count: 10.4K See notes at end for authors note & spoilers.

Avoiding Spencer wasn’t overly difficult on the flight back to D.C. You weren’t entirely sure how to face him after he risked his life for you, so you just pretended to be asleep the whole time. You even took a separate jeep from the tarmac to avoid a car ride back with him, and almost made a clean getaway to your car in the parking lot when Hotch stopped you. 

“I’m sorry to hold you back, but I do need the Anchorage report on my desk before tomorrow morning. It can’t be put off any longer.”

He looked extremely apologetic and you understood. You’re grateful he gave you as much time as he has. That’s how you ended up stuck at work til the later hours of the evening. Besides the few workaholics, security guards and janitors roaming around the corridors, the only other person there with you is Spencer, oddly. Even Hotch has gone home. You’ve spent more time stalking the doctor work through the pile of case files on his desk than you have writing in the one on yours. Only when you're caught do you look away. 

“Everything okay?” The innocent curiosity in his big eyes further reddens the hot embarrassment in your cheeks.

“Fine.” You mutter, dipping your head back down to the open page.

You’re never going to get this damn file done if you can’t get him out of your head, and him being barely three feet away from you doesn’t help. It’s very difficult for you to get your words from pen to paper. Anchorage wasn’t haunting you like it did at first. It was a traumatic event, yes, but alone isn’t the cause of this…block. Obviously the reality that you’re leaving is starting to dawn on you. Somehow your mind has linked this case with your departure and finishing this report makes it more official than your actual resignation. 

Plus, as much as you definitely hate Spencer, you do did care for him. The shock of him almost getting himself killed in front of you is another thing occupying your mind. It’s barely been twenty four hours since then, it’s still fresh. You can see him stand and grab his satchel in your peripheral vision, he’s preparing to leave. There are a lot of memories attached to that brown leather bag. 

Things he would carry in there for you when you forgot your own bag. 

You don’t make it obvious that you’re watching him gather his things in small glances. 

He bought extra hair clips for you to keep in there because you would often forget those too. 

It’s over now. No point in dwelling on it. You shake your head once he’s out of sight, trying to force him out of your thoughts. Now that he’s gone you’re hoping to actually be able to get some work done.

He taught you chess with the mini chess set he keeps in there. You discovered that you actually quite liked chess and would ask to play with him all the time. It was also his ‘secret’ weapon to help you calm down. 

You roll your eyes to push back the tears from the memories that refuse to stop playing. This can wait until you get home, it’s not important. 

It wasn’t the chess set that helped you feel calm. Spencer could win chess against you in just a few moves, but he would deliberately stretch out the game so you could have room to breathe. The longer the game, the more time you had to spend focused on the moves and slow down your thoughts. You could open up at your own pace. He would let you feel in control.

It doesn’t matter if he’s near you or not, Spencer has a way of invading your headspace wherever he is. Your train of thoughts is interrupted with a light thud on your right. You covertly roll the tears away again and turn to examine the source of the noise. A mug of coffee placed on your desk by

“Spencer?” You sputter breathlessly. 

“Sorry. I know you told me to stop. This is the last time I promise.” 

You don’t fully comprehend what he’s going on about, not expecting him to be here at all. 

“I thought you left.”

“I did– was. I was leaving, but I thought I’d make you some coffee before I go. Since you’ve been here a while.” He awkwardly explains. 

You steadily direct your attention back to the mug, reeling in what was happening. 

“Before you get mad, this really is just a cup of coffee from a colleague who thought it might help keep you energised if you’re planning to stay late. There’s no ulterior motive…”

He continues rambling but you’re not mentally present to hear any of it. 

He made you coffee. 

Even though you’ve been nothing short of an absolute bitch. Granted he was a bitch first, but the point is that he’s still thinking of your well being regardless. You can’t hide your tears from him this time. It’s the soft buzz of your name that draws you back to him. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you! I’ll take the coffee–”

His panicked sentiment is cut short when you jump out of your seat and shove past him. The breakdown you’ve been avoiding hits you like a ton of bricks. You run into the nearest empty office and he runs after you, making it past the door before you can lock him out. 

“Spencer p–please get out! I’m fine.” You’re pacing in the same spot, fanning away the stream falling down your cheeks, hyperventilating.

He doesn’t respond to you, instead cautiously taking your hand in his. You’re in too frenzied a state to care. He guides you to sit on the couch against the wall and you blindly go along with it, still trying to get yourself together. 

You want to stop the tears, but you can’t do that until you get your breathing under control. He slowly wraps his arms around you and you slump into him, head buried in his chest. You should try to fight it, you should push him away, but you can’t. Right now, surrounded by his scent, held in his arms, you don’t want to move. It’s not something you can properly explain, but the feeling is so comforting that nothing else matters. All you know is that you’re safe and that’s enough for you to allow yourself to finally break down. 

The first few sobs are loud, like there’s not enough air in the world to stabilise your lungs. They fizzle out into silent whimpers and you grasp onto the fabric of his sweater, balling it in your fist, just letting yourself feel. Spencer still hasn’t said a word. His right hand is rubbing circles on your back and his left hand is gently scratching just above the nape of your neck. 

You stay like that for a while, even after you’ve stopped crying. It’s been so long since you’ve been in this little bubble with him and you don’t want it to end. You pull away when you feel the strap of his satchel across his stomach as your hand drops to his lap. He visually follows every move you make. 

“You’re still wearing your bag.” You sniffle, leaning back. 

“I am.” He whispers, understanding that you no longer want to be touched. 

He stays in his original position; facing you, but now with one arm resting on top of the backrest and the other idly in his lap. You’ve moved so that now you're facing ahead with your back leaning against the cushions, pulling your knees into your chest. You had never found comfort in silence until the first time you experienced it with Spencer. Staying huddled, you divert your eyes towards him. There’s a distinct wet patch on his shirt. It’s less visible on his sweater-vest, but it’s there. 

“Your shirt’s wet now.” It’s almost impossible to make out what you’re saying with your mouth muffled against your arm, but of course, Spencer manages anyway. 

“It’ll dry.” He smiles, tone delicate. 

“But– germs.” You choke a little due to your previous crying. 

“It can be washed.” He’s using his comforting voice again. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

The silence resumes. Neither of you dares to move, trying to freeze this moment. It’s obvious that you didn’t grasp how badly you craved each other’s presence. 

“D–do…” The initial sound grabs Spencer’s full attention again. You take a deep breath, hoping he wants to stay here as much as you do. “Do you still carry that little chess set with you?”

A small, airy chuckle comes out from him. 

“Would you like to play?”

“Please.” 

He creates some more space between you and begins to set up the board once he’s pulled it out of his satchel. You move to accommodate the set up, now facing him with your legs crossed on the couch and shoes abandoned on the floor. You wait for him to make the first move. After the opening moves the game doesn’t seem to get any harder and you know he’s throwing the game. You’re okay at chess, but he’s obviously a lot better. 

“You’re going easy on me.” You mumble.

“Because you’re not even trying.” He replies blithely.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Like I said, you’re making it too easy.” He gently teases.

“Not that. Helping me. You hate me, remember?” You say it like it’s the most casual thing in the world. 

“I don’t hate you.” 

“You literally told me that you hate me.” You chuckle, numb to the hurt that sentence once brought you. 

“So did you.” He counters in defence, trailing your hand as it carelessly moves your queen to her demise. 

“I was angry.” 

“So was I.” He spared your queen, in turn leaving his king vulnerable. 

“It doesn’t matter now…” You don’t finish the rest of your sentence but Spencer still hears it.

You’re leaving soon anyway.

“It matters to me.” If he left something unsaid you choose to ignore it. 

“You’re letting me win.” You whisper, feeling the urge to cry some more, but there’s no tears left. 

He doesn’t make a move, bringing the game to a halt. He’s waiting for you to meet his eyes. You know what he’s going to say. 

“Spencer, don't.” You beseech.

“Why?” If you looked at him instead of the board you’d see the way his eyes are pleading at you. 

“There’s no point.” This time it’s your voice that cracks. 

You're looking everywhere else and it makes you too aware of your surroundings. Like how the couch is lined up directly under a window that anyone could peek into. 

“Leaving is not the only option.” He solicits. 

He regards your discomfort and closes the blinds from where he’s sitting, pulling you back into the privacy of your bubble. 

“There’s nothing that you can say to make things go back to how they were.” You bite the inside of your cheek, fiddling with a random pawn. 

It’s not a proper two way conversation. You’re talking to yourself just as much as Spencer’s talking to you. You’re both trying to convince you of what you’re saying. 

“Things don’t have to go back to how they were.” The squeaks in his soothing tone are starting to melt any resolve you have left. 

“There’s no reason for me to stay.” You oppose, trying to make any argument stick.

“I can think of more reasons for you to stay than for you to go.” 

There’s an underlying tension bubbling. Neither of you notice it over your desperate tug of war. 

“I don’t think there’s anything that you can say to get me to stay.” Another baseless sentence meant more for you than for him. 

“Give me one chance. One chance to convince you.” He can see your internal struggle at his request and he throws out one final plea to sway you. “For nothing more than closure.” 

Closure.

You’ve spent months in turmoil over the hows and the what ifs, trying to conjure answers to questions that wouldn’t stop pestering you. You couldn’t turn him down even if you wanted to. 

“Closure?” You repeat, eyes finally latching onto his.

“Closure.” He whispers back in reassurance. 

“Even if you can’t convince me?” You caution, not wanting to give him false hope.

He doesn’t say anything, thinking over the scenario in his head. He simply nods and you mimic the action, blinking away the blur in your vision and dragging around chess pieces. It takes Spencer a second to figure out that you were moving them back to their default places.

“Okay new game.” You announce. 

Spencer blinks in confusion, waiting for you to elaborate. 

“I can ask you any question I want and you have to answer honestly. If by the end of the game I’m not convinced to stay, you back off for the remainder of my time here.” You pause for him to interject, but he doesn’t. “That means we stay away from each other, only talking when needed for work. Even then as cordially and professionally as possible. No more trying to make casual conversation or bringing me coffee or anything like that.”

“Till the end of the game?” He studies you. 

“Yup.” You smack your lips together. “Til one of us checkmates the other.”

“This means you’ll actually give me a fair shot?” 

“Between the two of us, I’m not the one known for cheating at games.” You jab, trying to ease the tension you could definitely feel now. 

“I meant a fair shot at convincing you. As in you’ll seriously take what I have to say into account.” He discards your attempt.

“No, I know. The opportunity was just too good to pass up.”

He can tell you’re trying to hold back a laugh from the small smile on your lips. It’s as adorable to him now as it was the first time he saw it. 

“Any rules before we start?” He asks, unable to hide his own smile.

“Only that we have to be honest.” You answer, immediately dropping your smile.

“Okay.” He agrees, smiling slightly wider.

“Okay.” You nod again.

When he finally makes the first move it hits you that you don’t actually know where to start. Theoretically, you know what you want to ask, but don’t know how to ask. You don’t know if you should jump straight into the questions or start with some ice breakers. Nothing is said for about four to five moves when Spencer pauses the game. 

“Are you going to ask any questions or have you decided that you just want to play one last game for your closure?”

“Huh?” You snap your vision away from the board. “Oh, sorry. I was thinking.”

“Do you want to return to the game after thinking of a few questions to ask?” He raises his brow and relaxes his jaw.

“No, no, we don’t need to do that. Let’s keep playing, the questions will come to me.” You brush off his suggestion and motion for him to continue with his turn. He doesn’t.

“What?” Your voice raises and you scrunch your nose from perplexity.

“Sorry, it’s just that you’ve put us on a time limit and this is how you’re using our time?” He airs, failing to conceal his amusement.

“Well excuse me if I don’t exactly have a list of questions ready to go for you.” You narrow your eyes in annoyance. 

“Why would you suggest this if you don’t have any questions?” He tries to hold back his laugh and ends up snorting as a result. 

“I have questions!” You jabber, unable to maintain your annoyance. “I don’t know what– where do I even start?”

“Start with whichever one comes to you first.” He shrugs, finally making his move. 

A lot of things come to mind when you think about it. The thing that screams the loudest twitches a nerve and you become instantly irate. 

“Okay.” You nod, tone harsh and flat. “Let’s start with whatever the fuck possessed you on the last case. What was your thought process when you put your life in danger like that?”

He almost gets whiplash from the change in mood, his face literally reads ‘are you serious?’. 

“He was going to shoot you.” He states like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

“I was wearing a vest, I would’ve been fine.” You contend. 

“I wasn’t willing to take that risk.” 

“Risk?! You literally put yourself in danger for no reason!” 

“I think it was a pretty good reason actually!” 

“Spencer that was–” You stop yourself with a grumble, inhaling deeply. 

“It was instinctual, okay?” He softly explains. “I saw him aim the gun at you and I just reacted.” 

“Well it was a stupid reaction!” You whine. 

“I’m not going to apologise for it.”

The glare you give is piercing, you bite the inside of your cheek to hold your tongue before you say something you can’t take back. Spencer throws his head back and sighs. 

“But I will promise not to do it again.” He adds, not fully intending to keep it. 

This was slowly turning into another argument, both of you shooting back too fast with your responses. You aren’t in the mood for another argument. So you redirect your attention to the game. 

“Check.” You mumble, buying yourself time to think of another question. “Why are you here so late anyway?”

“I wanted to finish some work before tomorrow morning.” He replies, moving his king to safety. 

“Yeah, what’s up with that? You could’ve done those tomorrow as well.” Your voice softens out of curiosity. 

“I wanted to get them finished in case there were more tomorrow.” It’s not his best excuse. You don’t know what he means by that. He doesn’t know what he means by that. He’s lying to you. 

You scoff, poking your tongue against your cheek. “Wow. You really can’t not cheat during a game, can you?” 

“Right, sorry.” Spencer clears his throat after the initial confusion clears. Complete honesty, it was your only rule. “I wanted to be here.”

“For…” You egg on, purposely rolling your ‘r’s to prompt him. 

“I wanted to make sure that you were okay.” He admits, looking away from you. 

“Why?” You’re genuinely puzzled at the admission. “You’re the one who almost died. I mean, it was stupid and your fault, but still. If anything I should be checking up on you.”

“Check.” That’s the only response he gives you. He hopes that you don’t push further, but he knows that you will. 

His lack of response only forces you to think about the possible reasons by yourself, using context clues to figure it out. You are a profiler, after all. 

“Is this because of the panic attack?” You note how his jaw twitches when he swallows at the mention. “It is! You seriously chose to spend your night stuck at the office because of that?” 

“What else was I supposed to do? It’s not like you would talk to me, you literally refused to even look at me!” He gripes. 

“Spencer I think anyone would panic if they got tackled to the ground by a six foot man without warning. I’m fine.” You giggle.

“What happened to complete honesty?” It’s his turn to glare at you.

“I am being honest!” You protest.

“Lying by omission is not being honest.” He rolls his eyes.

“Okay Mr. know-it-all, what am I lying about?” You challenge.

“Seriously? You don’t remember?” His approach is doubtful and he just stares at your dazed expression.

“Fucking spit it out already, Spence!” 

Any sarcasm he had geared up for a response dissipates at your use of his nickname. He’s heard it plenty in the last few months, but not from you. For a moment things feel like they never changed. It stings in a bittersweet kind of way. 

“You sc–screamed– uh–” He clears his throat and rapidly blinks, his nose twitches in the process. “During that panic attack, you repeatedly asked me to stay with you. Y–you, uh– you said you didn’t think you could li–”

“Stop. Stop. Stop talking.” Your voice quavers and you hold your hand up, ears burning up. “I don’t wanna know.”

You don’t know why it makes your heart race the way it does, you don’t even remember it. He waits a while before speaking up again, wanting to be careful about how he goes about the topic without you shutting down.

“May I ask you a question?” He voices professionally, trying to make the conversation less personal so you don’t feel cornered. 

You nod, moving your king out of check.

“Is there anybody you will talk to about Anchorage? Without pushing them away?” He keeps the game going as he speaks to provide you with a distraction. 

“Woah– Anchorage? Where is that coming from?” You titter.

“I want you to remember that we promised to be honest and I won’t push if you ask me to stop, but I know for a fact that you aren’t okay.” He waits for you to stop him but you don’t, even though you know roughly what he’s going to say. “Panic attacks aside, your avoidant behaviour around the topic, inability to focus, being easily startled, you’re showing signs of PTSD.” 

“Spence, c’mon. I don’t need to talk to anyone. I already passed the psych evals.” You attempt to make light of the situation with carefully chosen words so you’re not lying. It was a futile attempt, you know he’s not willing to budge when he doesn’t give you anything more than a blank stare. 

“Why does this matter so much to you?” You sigh in defeat. “Whatever happened…that’s a part of the job, you know that.”

“I also know, first hand, that it takes over your life. You can’t run from it, no matter how much you try to.” His tone is soft as he speaks, yet you feel like he’s accusing you. 

“I am not running! Why would you say I’m running?” You object with a high voice, shrugging your shoulders. “And it’s not taking over my life. Also, check.”

“Because that’s what you do when you don’t want to deal with something.” He states point blank.

“Woah– so– that was entirely unnecessary.” You stammer, unable to deny it. 

“I’m not criticising you. I just happen to know you and I know that you have a tendency to run from your problems. And it is taking over your life.” 

“You’re profiling!” You gasp.

“You know that it’s not something we can just turn off! No matter how much we pretend like we can.” He waves his hands defensively. 

You can’t argue with that, your lips twisting to the side. 

“You want me to be honest?” You murmur sheepishly. 

“Always. Please.” He responds gently, wanting you to be as comfortable as possible.

“I don’t want to talk about it. I spend a good chunk of my day actively avoiding thinking about it, but somehow I always end up thinking about it anyway. At times it’s like I can almost feel…” You breathe in instinctively. “This is the first time in months I’ve been able to do anything without it lingering in the back of my mind. Can we please talk about it another time? I would rather talk about other things…”

Another time. 

“...right now.” 

You’ve implied that there will be another time to talk and he definitely caught it, even if he pretends that he hasn’t. You don’t even know if what you said is true, you got too comfortable with the familiarity of his friendship. It was something you said out of habit from back when you two actually were friends. Not even a full hour's worth of conversation with him and he’s already worming his way back in.

“Um–” You drag yourself further back on the couch, creating more physical distance. 

“That’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it at all.” Spencer senses your urgency to leave the situation and jumps into damage control. “It’s your turn.”

“No, um, I should– I should go. Thanks for doing thi– helping me.” You turn away from him, aiming for your shoes and ready to bolt.

“The game’s not over.” He points out.

“Yes it is.” You declare, still in the process of putting on your shoes.

“You said til checkmate.” He huffs, shifting out of his seated position. 

“I forfeit!” You throw your arms out in a shrugging manner, standing up after him.

“I can’t believe this. You’re going back on your word!” He doesn’t even raise his voice. He’s just hurt. 

“What’s the point, Spencer? Closure doesn’t mean anything, I’m still leaving! You can’t magically change my mind!” You yell, getting louder with each sentence. 

“I disagree. I think that you’re running again!” He blocks your way and yells back, maintaining his volume throughout. 

“Maybe you should think less!” You suggest, still yelling. Sarcasm is your defence mechanism when you have no actual defence. 

“You know what else I think?” He continues, emphasising the word ‘think’ every time he says it out of spite. “I think that you agreed to this thinking I won’t be able to convince you, but I am!”

“I don’t care what you–”

“I think you don’t want to finish the game that you started, because you’re afraid to ask the harder questions!”

“Stop.” You command, but it doesn’t deter him.

“I think that you’re scared to hear my answers because then it all becomes too real for you–” 

“Stop!” The words almost get stuck in your throat, but you choke them out. “You’re wrong.” 

“If I’m wrong then prove it. To both of us.” He sits back down and motions to the board. “Ask the real questions.” 

“I don’t need to prove anything, you’re wrong.” You uphold.

“So leave.” He challenges, knowing that you won’t be able to. 

If you truly believed that he’s wrong you wouldn’t feel the need to prove it, but you do and he knows that. You walk back over to the couch, head nodding from irritation, tongue poking your cheek. You kick your shoes off with a bit of force and return to your earlier position across from him. 

“Your move.” He reminds you as you settle in.

You don’t reply yet, but move your rook to set him up for the next move.  

“Check.” He smugly states.

“Who was she?” 

You don’t move, examining him close for any change in his behaviour. He obviously didn't anticipate that question first, snapping his sights back on you. 

“Sorry?” 

“The woman who greeted me at your door. That night at your apartment.” 

“Charlotte.” He replies, holding your gaze to show you he’s got nothing to hide. “We met at the library a week before.”

“Are you guys together?” You break away first, diverting your eyes to the chess board and trying to seem unfazed when moving your knight. 

“No, God, no.” He denies immediately. 

“I don’t know, she seemed pretty cosy for someone you met a week prior.” You don’t mean to sound as snide as you come across.

“No, it wasn’t like that at all.” He shakes his head. 

“You sure? Because I’m pretty sure I saw her mark you up with a kiss on your cheek before disappearing.” You don’t look at him, examining a captured pawn as you wait for him to make his move. 

“Mark me up?” He cognizes it instantly. “Are you…jealous?”

“What? No!” You vehemently deny, your voice rising in several pitches. 

“You are!” His eyes widen. 

“I am not jealous.” 

His jaw slacks and he lets out an amused scoff. He doesn’t say anything, making you feel the need to fill the silence. 

“I only bring it up because…I know you have a thing with…germs.” Your words falter because of your own uncertainty and you want to dissolve into the fucking floor. 

Spencer tries to suppress a smile by poking his tongue out slightly. If the atmosphere was lighter he’d tease you about it, but he doesn’t want to make you take off again. Still, he feels the need to clarify the events of the night. 

“I don’t know why she kissed my cheek, it was completely random.” He takes his time saying it, still fighting a smile.

You swallow nervously and purse your lips to the side in response. One question answered and you only have new ones in its place. Did she stay the night? Did she sleep on the couch or on his bed? Did he see her again? 

“I drove her home right after you left.” He can almost hear your thoughts. 

“Was it a date?” You softly gulp again, unsure if you even have a right to know.

“Yes.” He hesitates. 

“Oh.” 

“I wanted to try out casual dating for once.” He chagrins. “I honestly don’t know how you did it, it’s not even fun.” 

“No it’s not.” You chuckle dryly. “So no second date, I presume?”

“Definitely not. I was just stressed the whole time.” He chuckles with you. 

“Take a shot of tequila before you go next time, it helps settle the nerves.” You joke, jumping to give him advice you hope he doesn’t take. You can’t help it, it’s what you’ve always done. Even if it goes against what you desire. 

“While moderate consumption of tequila can help relax the nervous system, I will not be turning to alcohol for stress relief.” 

“Then blast classical music while you get ready and give yourself a pep talk out loud, it’s actually really efficient–”

“There won’t be a next time. For a really long time, if ever.” He interjects, miffed at your insistence. 

“You willingly plan on committing to lifelong celibacy?” You exclaim with a puzzled look. “Why?!”

Spencer laughs at how raw your reaction is. He didn’t plan on giving out any more details but, with that prompt he decides that it’s now or never. 

“I don’t think any future dates will appreciate me picturing someone else in their place the whole time.” 

Oh. 

Both of you lock eyes at the same time. This is not a road you’re prepared to go back down, even if that’s literally the whole point of this conversation. You’re too stunned to reply and Spencer uses this as an opportunity to be elaborate. He doesn’t want any misunderstandings this time. 

“I couldn’t stop pictur–”

“Shut up.” You blurt out the sentence in almost one word. 

Your heart’s racing like you’re standing on the edge of a cliff. You’re flustered, every part of your body is heated from how terrified you are.

“Y–you don’t have t–t…you don’t owe m–me an explanation.” You try to elaborate, contradicting yourself and stumbling on your words.

“I want to.” He reads that you’re apprehensive but pushes regardless. 

“Please don’t.” The tears that you thought had dried out were building again.

“Why ask if you won’t let me answer?”

You don’t have anything to say to that. Did you want answers? Yes. Still, you didn’t expect how hard they’d be to hear. He whispers your name and you scramble to think of your next move, and not in chess. You’re unable to even think about the game right now. You want to bolt, but you can’t even get yourself to move. So you deflect. 

“Because it doesn’t matter.”

“I disagree.” Although his tone is subdued, the pace of his wording is faster. “I think it does matter and that’s why you’re afraid to hear it.”

He’s right but you can’t bring yourself to agree. This is only going to over-complicate an already complicated situation.

“It’s not enough.” Your voice cracks.

“How can it be if you won’t even give it a fair shot?” 

“Fair?” 

It comes out louder than you intended. His words trigger resentment within you and you snap. 

“Nothing about any of this is fair! I mean, fucking hell, Spencer, four years. That’s how long we’ve been friends. I mean I’ve shared shit that I thought I would be taking to the fucking grave with you! You were my best friend for four fucking years and all it took was like, five seconds?”

You sob, softer than when you were first crying, but the frustration is clear. He reaches out to touch your hand, but you push his hand away. 

“No!” You choke, sobbing harder when you try to compile your thoughts. “Five seconds to destroy all of it! It makes me wonder if everything we shared, our friendship, was it ever even that strong?”

Your anger simmers to sadness, as evident with how your yelling fades into whispering in the last sentence. 

“I can’t even tell you when exactly those five seconds were. I mean, I know…but…I don’t. Where did it go wrong, Spence?” 

“I don’t know.” Is all he can say after a beat of silence.

He knows exactly where it went wrong. 

“Yeah, me neither!” You sniffle, immediately wiping a single tear that manages to escape. “So again, it doesn’t matter.” 

“When you took it back.”

“What?” 

“That’s where everything changed for me. You showed up at my apartment drunk, after your date with Nathan. Your exact words were ‘I mean as an amazing friend’.” His voice strains like he’s forcing himself to speak. 

Your gaze falls, eyes darting everywhere as you try to jog your memory beyond the one sentence you remember. 

“I don’t understand.” You croak.

“You know, if I wasn’t who I am, maybe you could love me the way I love you.” He chuckles bitterly, fighting back tears of his own. “That was– that was, uh, what you said before you took it back.”

“Spence, please…” You whine without sound, tilting your head back and chewing on your lip as a final attempt to stay composed. 

“No, you wanted to know where it went wrong.” He laughs falsely to downplay his tears. “You can say it doesn’t matter all you want, but the fact is, it does matter. It matters to me and I won’t let you run from it anymore.” 

You can’t look at him. Not with tears free falling down your face. You cup your hands together in your lap, pressing your fingers and nails together. 

“You told me that I couldn’t love you.” You struggle to sound your words. 

“I’m an idiot.” Another chuckle, but he sounds defeated. “When you said that, all I could think about was how badly I wanted to say that I do love you.” 

You tearfully laugh at this admission. 

“I only took it back because of what you said. I panicked. I thought I’d ruined things…which I guess, I still did.” Another laugh from you.

Spencer responds with the same regretful sound. 

The irony spurs another fit of giggles amongst you, this one slightly longer and infinitely more rueful than the last. You look anywhere but at each other until it grows quieter. 

“If you loved me, why the fuck would you tell me that I couldn’t love you?” You sound just as, if not more, defeated than him. 

“Love.” Spencer corrects without missing a beat. 

Your brows twitch up and your heart jumps. 

“I was so hung up on every single part of your sentence that I didn’t know what to say first.” He proceeds to answer you without leaving much room to process what he said. “I wanted to tell you that I do love you. I love you as you are. Not as somebody else.”

“But you didn’t say any of that.” You ignore all his admissions, not fully comprehending. 

“Like I said, I’m an idiot. I was in so much disbelief and that was the first thing that came out of my mouth.” He sullenly huffs.

You don’t reply, sniffling with your head down. 

“For like a second, I had everything I wanted. Then you took it back and it was like my whole world had been ripped out from under me. In those five seconds, you’d given me a taste of what I’d spent four years convincing myself I couldn’t have and I just– I couldn’t go back after that.” He adds after a stillness. 

After a short while, your focus shifts from your hands to the board in front of you. The game’s been long forgotten. You’re immersed in the conversation, in spite of how strenuous it is. 

“I understand why you were distant, even mean, at first.” You snivel. “But after a while you just became downright cruel.” 

Spencer doesn’t shy away from your gaze when you do look at him. His skin is as drenched from crying as yours is. 

“I mean ‘I don’t want to see your face’? I know that I don’t really have a leg to stand on anymore, but, what the fuck Spencer?” 

He doesn’t cringe any less with every reminder. He’s truly regretted the words since they left his mouth. 

“I wanted to hurt you.” He reveals. “I thought you were being deliberately cruel and I wanted you to feel exactly how I was feeling.”

“Deliberately?” 

He nods, hanging his head.

“I thought that you knew how I felt and were just trying to be funny or something.” 

“Well I didn’t. I wasn’t.” You cut him off with a constricted voice.

“Even if you did, it’s not an excuse.” His eyes are glistening from the outpour of tears, but he still lifts his sights back to you. “I’m sorry.” 

You don’t know how to acknowledge his apology at all. You’re not even angry anymore, all you feel is sorrow and regret for the way everything happened. An entire friendship down the drain due to an unfortunate set of circumstances. 

“This is so fucked up.” You say with another mordant laugh. “All of this could have been avoided if we just talked about it.”

It stung less when you had somebody to blame for it. Your vision blurs and you make no effort to clear it, letting yourself cry openly. 

“We’re talking about it now?” It’s almost a squeak, the way it’s spoken.

“Yeah, but,” your shoulders slump, defeatedly, and you have to pause to control your sob, “what good does it do now? I’ve already lost the best thing that’s ever happened to me in the most pathetic way possible.”

“I’m right here.” He counters in such a small voice that it gives your goosebumps. 

“Spencer, too many things have been said…”

“When you first joined the team, I instantly knew I liked you.” 

He chews on his lip and darts his eyes around while he contemplates if he wants to continue. 

“I thought it was because of your kind nature. You were so sweet to everybody.” He decides he does, but his voice shakes throughout. “You have this gift…you make people feel so good about themselves. Whenever you spoke to me, I felt like the most important person in the world. It was impossible not to like you.”

You want to pretend like you don’t know where he’s going with this. You want to stop him, but your voice is stuck in your throat.

“It wasn’t until you bought me coffee for the first time that I realised just how much I liked you.” He chuckles again, as he reminisces in the memory. “You didn’t even get my order right until the fourth time, but it was still my favourite cup of the day.”

“You make me sound like a saint.” You finally choke out, attempting to play down the confession so it doesn’t crush your heart. “The only reason I even started bringing you coffee is because you learned how I like my coffee first.” 

“Not a saint, an angel. I’ve fallen so deeply in love with you that there are times where it genuinely feels like I’m in the presence of an angel.” 

It’s stated with such sincerity that it knocks the wind out of your pipes. Your eyes are widened and you’re biting your tongue with your mouth closed, staring at him with your chin tucked. He seems so confident, even with the glistening from previous tears in his eyes.

“I wanted to be in your life in any way you would have me. Even when it meant that I had to accept you with other people. And it was bearable, until…” His reminiscence only ends at the memory of the night that changed everything. “Like I said, I couldn’t go back.”

The last part fades into another whisper, only then do you find the courage to speak up. 

“Exactly.” You stick to your denial. “It can’t go back to how it was before.”

Your heart is so sure of what it wants, but your head is blinded by fear. You’re at a crossroads, except one path, the path that leads to everything you long for, is clouded with a fog of uncertainty. The other path is so painfully clear, you can practically see what’s on the other side. A fresh start, where the risk of fucking up further doesn’t exist. What you don’t see is Spencer.

“Good. I don’t want it to go back to how it was.” 

Spencer’s waiting for you to enter the fog. He’s going to be there holding your hand every step of the way. 

“I’ve already handed in my resignation.”

“That matters less than everything you’ve claimed doesn’t matter.” He leans in, intensifying his eye contact. 

“I’m pretty sure Hotch is really close to confirming my replacement.” You comment half-heartedly. 

You’re trying anything to dissuade both him and yourself from acknowledging the obvious, but he doesn’t plan on letting you avoid it. 

“I love you.” He whispers softly.

“Spencer…” You begin when he takes hold of your hands and whatever you had to say disappears from your tongue. 

“I love you. With every atom that makes up my body.” He repeats himself with further elaboration to instil it in your mind.

“I’m scared.” You whisper back with a sob, finally accepting it. 

“Why?” His voice can’t be any softer, but it still cracks a little.

“Because, you can’t guarantee that it’s going to end well.” You allow your vulnerability to peek through. “And that’s going to hurt more. I’d rather leave now than fall deeper.”

Although you didn’t say it back, it’s an indirect admission that you love him too. And it’s enough for him to fight harder.

“I know that my credibility isn’t the greatest,” he coaxes a small, sad scoff out of you, “but I truly believe that this, us, we’ll work. Because I know that I’m going to do everything I can to make this work.”

He feels bolder when you don’t pull away from his touch, folding your fingers into your palms and cupping over them. You observe the sight as it unfolds in lieu of a verbal response. 

“I’ve spent four years judging any man that comes into your life, wishing I was in their place, swearing I would treat you better than all of them.” 

Spencer feels the need to fill in the silence and he lets honesty guide his confession. He leans in further as if he’s indulging his deepest secret. 

“Four years wasted wondering what could be, cursing out those idiots, but taking no action to make it happen. And that makes me the biggest idiot out of all of them.”

When he speaks like this, with his big, imploring eyes and prayerful tone, it melts your heart to a point where it almost hurts. The more he talks, the more you begin to lean in, opening yourself up to him.

“It took losing you to realise how badly I fucked up and for that I will never forgive myself. I know that I have no right to ask you to waste any more time on me…”

There’s no more resistance against the pull you both physically feel to each other. 

“...but I’m begging you for a chance to do today what I should have done way before yesterday.” 

Your faces grow closer by the second, you can feel each other's breaths against skin.

“And I’m going to spend every tomorrow proving what I said today.” 

The likelihood of him changing your mind with one conversation wasn’t very high, both you and Spencer knew this when you got into it. You’re not entirely surprised when he somehow manages to overcome those odds too. You take the step to close the gap and lightly press your lips to his. 

It starts off soft, there’s no lust, no ulterior motive behind it. It’s a simple confirmation that you’re both present and this is real. Spencer doesn’t shy away from the kiss, not that you’d call this a kiss. It feels more intimate, more unguarded.

Spencer pulls you onto his lap as he shifts and leans back against the backrest to allow more room for you. You wrap your arms around him and the kiss deepens. In the midst of you straddling him, he slides the entire chess board off the couch and the pieces scatter on the floor. It’s only when you feel that the kiss can’t bring you any closer to him does the lust emerge. It fuels a desire to prove that you both whole-heartedly belong to each other. 

There’s no pinpointing when the switch happens. All you know is that the feeling of his lips against yours is no longer enough. You cup his jaw in your hands, swiping your tongue on his lower lip and it causes his grip on your waist to tighten. He parts his lips for you and it starts what you can only call a dance with your tongues. 

Your breathing grows hotter, your hips subconsciously grind against him. There’s a prominent bulge that brushes against your heat and you whine into his mouth. Spencer grunts your name in response and then abruptly pulls away.

“Wait, wait, wait, slow down.” He breathlessly whispers against your lips. 

“What?” You whisper back with concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He gazes into your eyes, afraid that you might regret this later.

“I’ve never been more sure, actually.” You’re confident at first but the look in his eyes makes you pull back further. “Unless…you’re not sure?”

“No, don’t misunderstand me. I want you.” His tone rises just above the previous whisper with his clarification. “It’s just that the last thing I want to do is take advantage of you when our emotions are running high.”

“Four years, Spencer.” You lean in again, just brushing your lips against his. “The only reason you should be making me wait is if you’re not sure.”

He shuts that idea down by crashing his lips on yours. The kiss is so hungry, so desperate, it’s everything both of you have longed for and denied yourselves everytime you’ve been in each other's presence. It doesn’t take long for hands to start to roam. He traces the curve from your waist to your hips, stopping just at the hem of your shirt, tugging it like he’s asking for permission. 

You rush to undo your buttons and he meets you halfway, starting at the bottom. His fingers brush against yours as you two reach the final button and you pull the fabric off yourself. You do the same with his shirt, lips remaining locked, except for the small gasps of air you take in between. It requires a bit more manoeuvring with him, but you’re both soon shirtless. 

His mouth travels to your jaw and you shut your eyes from pleasure as he continues down to your neck. The stubble on his chin tickles your skin. You cup it, gently pushing him away with a giggle. 

“Forget to pack a razor in your bag, Dr. Reid?” Your voice is teasing, more playful than seductive.

He chuckles, airily, hiding his groan. He knows you’re being sarcastic, but the use of his title, with your voice in this context, catches him off guard. You moan as you feel his growing bulge against your heat when his arms tighten around your waist, pulling you into his kiss. You swiftly undo the clasp of your bra, but before you can take it off, Spencer grabs you from just below the hips and lifts you up off him, gently laying you down on the seat of the couch. 

There’s no room for hesitation as his lips find your neck again and he nips at the skin. Every suckle earns him short gasps and the grip in his hair tightens as he travels lower. He stops just above your breast, pulling himself up to sit on his knees. You stare up at him with a heated gaze, the nail of your thumb resting between your teeth with your lips parted to make up for the loss of his lips. 

He reaches for your bra strap and begins pulling slowly, searching your eyes for any signs of you withdrawing consent. All he sees is how beautifully they sparkle when you give him a light nod. It’s been too long since he’s seen the stars that you hold in your eyes, stars he accustomed himself to before he even got to properly know you. 

Gazing into his eyes, you’ve never felt more sure, more safe. You trust him implicitly and you’ve never wanted anything more. His constant need to make sure you're comfortable sends shivers down to your core. He slides the garment off you and Spencer’s beyond grateful that he’s already on his knees, knowing that if he was standing he’d fall to them because of the sight below him. 

His eyes don’t falter once, he’s trying to permanently etch this moment into his brain. He hovers his fingers above your body, thumb brushing against your hardened nipple and you softly whine. He looks awestruck, almost like he doesn’t believe what’s happening. You can’t help but wonder if he thinks your boobs look weird. 

“Beautiful.” The words fall out of his mouth in a whisper, as if on cue. He’s really just thinking out loud.

Before you can respond he lowers down and plants a small peck to your sensitive nub before taking it into his mouth. You gasp again, head lolling back in pleasure. One of your hands goes for his hair, while the other clings to his hand that’s already holding yours. He switches between sucking, pulling and squeezing; rolling it between his tongue and uses his teeth to squeeze ever so slightly.

“S–spencer.” A strangled moan falls from your lips. 

You tug his hair, whining and moaning as your hips roll against the strain in his pants. When your motions become continuous, he lets out his own strained groan and is forced to release your nipple with a small ‘pop’. 

“Angel, I really need you to stop doing that.” He murmurs in your ear with a gentle, gravelly tone.

As soon as the nickname reaches your ears your hips involuntarily buck up again, making his hips automatically push down against yours. His cock presses against your core and you both moan, his head falling against your shoulder.

“Spence, more.” You quietly whine in against his ear. “I need more.” 

“More?” He echoes back, turning his head so that your lips brush past each other when speaking. 

“Mhm.” You nod weakly as he brushes a strand of hair out of your face and weakly connects his lips with yours.

Even when he’s got you vulnerable and at your most compromised, he’s still as gentle as ever. You don’t feel him undo your pants or sneak his hand in them, but you definitely feel him press the pads of his fingers against your clothed clit. Air escapes through your nose in a huff of surprise and you hum in his mouth, hips jolting at his touch. He can feel your slickness through your underwear. 

“Oh, my pretty girl.” He sighs, breaking the kiss and directing his whispers in your ear again. “All wet for me?”

“Please..” Even with your broken whimper you beg him for more. 

“Like this?” His deft fingers swipe your panties to the side, fingers landing directly on the clit this time. 

They feel cold at first. The contrast against your heated body makes you squirm and you groan in a soft, high pitch. 

“What are you feeling right now?” He pries a verbal response from you, circling your bud lightly. “Tell me.”

“Good.” You sigh, eyes shut as you try to savour the pleasure. 

“Good?” His voice is still soft against your ear.

“Mhm.” You nod, one arm draping against his shoulder and the other hand running along his scruffy jaw. “So good.” 

“And this?” He adds pressure to his movements. “Does this feel good?”

Your hips buck again and he feels rewarded when you moan. There’s no doubt that the sound of your voice is his favourite. He especially loves it when it’s directed at him. Whether that be in the form of a laugh or your sweet moans. It makes him somewhat dizzy. His lips attach to the skin just under your jaw in an attempt to coax more. 

It’s very effective. Fingers working your bundle of nerves, circling and flicking while changing the pressure, and mouth kissing and sucking near your pulse. It makes your back arch, hand gripping his shoulder so you don’t float away. He’s careful not to leave any purple traces of him on your neck, mindful of you being bombarded with questions from your colleagues.  

“I love how reactive you are, Angel. You sound divine– fuck.” He can’t help the grunt that escapes him. “You are divine.”

His touch alone is enough to make you feel electric, but the sweet nothings he’s whispering in your ear will be what send you over the edge. It’s a foreign feeling, being reminded that he values you for more than just your body. Just under an hour ago you had incredibly high walls built around you and none of them are left standing as you exposed under him.

Spencer’s not the first man to touch you, but he is the first that loves you. It’s something you’re not at all used to and it feels as overwhelming as it does good. It transcends the want, no, the need for the man on top of you beyond lust or love. You plan to show him just how strong that need is tonight. 

The carpeted floor is littered with your clothes, carelessly thrown around and tiny chess pieces scattered around the abandoned chess board. Spencer’s comfortably lying on the couch, facing the ceiling and you’re lying directly on top of him with your face buried in his neck. 

You run your fingers back and forth along his jaw, scratching his beard in slow streaks. He’s enveloped you in his arms, one around your lower back and the other playing with your hair. It doesn’t feel as peaceful as it seems, both of you are afraid of being the first to speak. You know you can’t stay like this forever and you decide to bite the bullet. 

“Spencer?” 

You only get silence from his end. You know he’s awake because his motions in your hair don’t stop. You push yourself up to face him, trying to study his face. The sudden movement brings him back from wherever he was zoned out to. 

“Hm?” His features jump.

Does he regret it?

“What’s wrong?” Your voice shakes from worry. “You have this look on your face.” 

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m just thinking.” 

“About…?” 

“How bad we are at communicating.” He chuckles. “It’s concerning when you think about how all we ever do is talk.” 

Hearing this makes you snort and you fall into him again. It sends both of you into a short fit of laughter. 

“Oh that’s promising for the success of this relationship.” You giggle, sarcasm evident. 

Hearing relationship makes Spencer inhale sharply. 

“So you’re staying?” 

“Well obviously, Dingbat.” You scoff playfully at the question and shift upright, straddling him. “But we really do need to get better at the communication thing for this to work.”

Spencer mounts his weight on his hands by either side of him and pushes himself up to you, stealing a deep kiss. 

“Yes, we absolutely do.” He whispers, breaking away for only a second. 

The kisses fizzle in you a plethora of smaller kisses. 

“Spencer, I’m– serious.” You voice in between, loosely draping your arms on his shoulders. 

“I am too.” He says in a hushed tone as he pulls away. 

“I want to take it– this,” you motion between the two of you with your finger, “us, slow. Not four years slow, but, like, by a couple of months at the very least.”

“Okay.” He agrees, his eyes scouring your face with complete adoration. It’s not ideal, but he understands where you’re coming from. 

“That means that we start again. Romantically. We have to talk about a lot of things first.” 

He shifts his body out from under you, resting his back properly against the couch and pulls you back into his lap in one swift motion. Both of his hands graze from your shoulder to your wrist.

“How about…you come over this weekend,” He suggests, wrapping his arms around your waist for a hug, “we’ll do snacks, a movie, maybe an actual game of chess.” 

“That sounds like a date.” You wrap your arms around his neck to return the gesture and lean your forehead against his. 

“It’s not a date. Not yet, anyways.” He whispers. “I’m asking you to come over this weekend so we can talk about things properly, because frankly, I don’t think either of us is in the right headspace for it right now.” 

“Should I be offended at that?” You giggle, not entirely sure what he’s alluding to. 

“No!” He snorts with a high tone. “Dopamine aside, our Norepinephrine and Serotonin levels are too high right now for us to have a proper conversation about this.” 

“I’m not saying that you’re wrong, because you’re not, but I also think you’re just using science to try and confuse me, so that I agree to wherever this speech is heading.” 

“It’s times like this where your attentiveness puts me at a disadvantage, because this tactic has a hundred percent success rate on everybody else.” He grins and you chuckle, both leaning in for another kiss. 

“Can we hold off on starting over? Just for tonight.” He reluctantly voices, not wanting to push any boundaries. 

You draw back and raise your eyebrows with your eyes widened. 

“Spence, I have waited for years for this. You’re insane if you think I’m giving that up without relishing in it for at least a night. We’re not starting over until we’re both officially back on the clock.” 

“Okay.” He heaves from relief, leaning in for another kiss, but quickly withdraws with a new question. “Don’t you think the team’s going to be suspicious when we’re not fighting tomorrow?”

“Forget them, what am I gonna say to Hotch when I ask to withdraw my resignation?” You huff out a tiny groan. “He’s gonna hate me for all this paperwork.”

Paperwork reminds you why you’re here to begin with. You audibly gasp, jumping off Spencer and scrambling to put your clothes back on. 

“Fuck! Spencer, get dressed!” 

Spencer doesn’t share your panic, but adheres to your demand. You mutter a continuous line of obscenities as you throw on your clothes and when you don’t seem to be getting calmer, he intervenes. 

“Hey, hey, hey!” He coos as he steps towards you, still undressed on the upper-half. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong is that we’ve been here for hours!” You shriek, now fully dressed. 

You push past Spencer and grab his shirt, deciding that he was too slow on his own. He lets you dress him as he probes further. 

“That’s okay. No one’s going to notice this late.” 

“No– Spence–” You sigh, throwing your head back. “In less than four hours, Hotch is going to walk into his office expecting the Anchorage report on his desk. I’ve barely been able to get half of it done in weeks, how am I going to finish it in four hours?”

You shake your head and begin working on his buttons. He grabs your wrists, urging you to look at him. 

“You’ll have it done in less than one. I’ll help you!” His voice is light, airy, soft and accompanied with a chuckle.

“Spencer, you’ve already been here later than you need to be. It’s okay–”

“Let me help you.” He resorts to pleading, releasing your wrists and cupping your face.

You don’t have it in you to argue, his eyes staring back at you with sincerity. He wants to help. There’s no point in pushing him away, because as scared as you are about being too vulnerable with your trauma from that case, you trust him wholeheartedly. You know he won’t push for more than what you choose to share right now.

“Okay.” You nod and smile into the kiss he leans in for after the confirmation. 

“Okay. Now, you go and start some coffee.” he instructs softly with a wide grin, waving to the scattered chess ensemble. “ I’m going to clean up here and join you.”

“I love you!” You lean for another kiss and hushedly exclaim as you break away, receding towards the door. 

It’s Spencer’s turn to lose his breath. He’s affirmed his love for you countless times tonight and this is the first time you’ve verbally reciprocated it. He knows that it won’t be the last time either. That, to him, makes him the luckiest man in the world. He stops you from going any further by your arm and gently yanks you in his direction, crashing his lips with yours. 

“I love you too.” He whispers after the kiss, letting you go. 

Heat rises in your face again and you struggle to hide a huge dopey smile, one that Spencer has too. You’re floating on cloud nine, finally out of the blurry hurricane you’ve endured for months. There’s still a lot of things that you need to work out, but the thought of them doesn’t make you feel dread like it once did. 

"One word frees us of all the weight and pain in life. That word is Love." - Socrates

Spoilers: Yapperoni (so much dialog in this chapter), BAU! Reader, enemies (kinda) to lovers, hurt, comfort, love confessions (they might be a little too sappy, idk, I was sleep deprived), the praise made me giddy at some point, smut but I edge you by not writing out everything, happy ending.

AN - I have a little tiny fear that people (me) will nawt (I don’t) fuck with this monstrosity, but out of all my drafts, this felt like the most natural course of action. I thought it would be really fun to go from friends to enemies to lovers. Now, literally nobody talk to me about writing fics after this. Uni’s started, so I’ll be very inconsistent for a bit. Casual reminder: I am not Spencer Reid. I don’t have an IQ of 187. Any facts I make him spew could very well be bull-shit and he only spews them for the purpose of the story. I also have no knowledge of how the FBI works and lack a ton of common sense. A lot of things were made up for the purpose of this story.

A comment today keeps semicolon away (from showing up to your house and eating all your snacks).

Thank you for reading!

[teapartyprincess4two]

Affectionate- M. Sturniolo

pairing: TouchStarved!Reader x Affectionate!Boyfriend!Matt

classification: SFW & NSFW head cannons

inspiration: request, thank you @sugrhigh for helping me figure this out luv u shnookums

warnings: some 18+ content, use of y/n, established relationship, slight cursing

summary: head cannons of Matt being affectionate with his touch starved girlfriend!

—

☆SFW

Affection and PDA isn’t something that comes naturally to you. When you and Matt first started dating, you would keep your distance, but eventually you grew used to it.

☆ When you and Matt first started dating you struggled with any and every form of physical intimacy.

☆ You’re mindlessly flicking through clothes racks at the mall. “Opinions?” Matt asks, holding a shirt in front of your face and slinging an arm over your shoulder.

☆ Subconsciously, you shrug his arm off your shoulder. “That’s cute! I like that,” you reply, scooting further away from Matt.

☆ “Okay, weirdo,” he laughs, but deep down it hurt every time you shied away from him. He tried not to look too into it, but it seemed like you were always avoiding his touch.

☆ “I’ll be back, babe. I’m gonna take Chris to the store,” Matt informs you as he throws his wallet and phone into his pocket.

☆ “Okay, have fun,” you reply simply. Matt stands in front of you fully expecting a quick kiss or even a hug, but you return to your previous activity.

☆ He leaves feeling sad, but still doesn’t bring it up.

☆ It goes on like this for a while, and Matt tries his best to see past it.

☆ You’re currently at an influencer event. The venue is crowded, loud, and overstimulating, forcing you to remain at Matt’s side for the entire night.

☆ He introduces you to a few of his friends, “Hey guys, this is my girlfriend Y/n.” His arms wrap around your waist, immediately causing your body to stiffen.

☆ “Hi,” you say meekly. Matt pulls you in closer, resting his head on your shoulder and peppering your face with kisses.

☆ When you keep leaning away from him, he stops and lets go of you completely. It bothers him enough for him to bring it up once you’re home.

☆ “Y/n, can we talk?” he asks, leaning on the restroom doorframe as you wash your face. You hum in response.

☆ Matt takes a deep breath, preparing to ask the question he’s been dreading the answer to. “Are you embarrassed of me?“

☆ It catches you off guard, “What? No! Why would you even ask that?”

☆ He rolls his eyes, “Because you never let me hug or kiss you.” No response from you, you don’t even know what to say.

☆ The conversation starts innocently but quickly becomes an argument. Matt keeps pushing the subject no matter how hard you try to avoid it, asking you questions you don’t know how to answer.

☆ “it’s not my fault you’re clingy!” you exclaim, throwing exasperated hands in the air. Matt nods his head slowly as his lips form a tight lipped smile.

☆ He doesn’t say anything else, instead leaving to your shared bedroom before he says something he’ll regret.

☆ You immediately wish you could take the words back. “Matt?” your voice is quiet as you enter the room, slowly crawling over to his figure on the bed.

☆ His back is to you. You snake an arm around his waist and apologize for everything you said.

☆ “Do you actually think I’m clingy?” he asks, looking at you over his shoulder. “No, I’m sorry. I struggle with the whole PDA thing, but I’m gonna try and work through it okay?”

☆ From that moment forward, you’re much more conscious of your actions.

☆ Matt will hug you, kiss you, or hold your hand in public and you no longer pull away.

☆ Instead you’re pulling him in for a longer kiss than he intended. And eventually you’re the one who initiates the PDA.

☆ You and Matt are sat on a picnic blanket, watching as the sun begins to set. “My back hurts,” he mumbles, shifting uncomfortably in his spot.

☆ You mindlessly scoot closer to him, pulling his body in until it’s resting against your chest.

☆ He gives you a surprised look, “Literally who are you and WHAT did you do to my girlfriend?”

☆ “Shush,” you chuckle, placing soft kisses all over his face.

☆ Other times, you’ll just seek his touch when you’re alone.

☆ “What’s taking so long?” you ask. Matt’s been stirring the pasta for what seems like forever.

☆ “It’s almost done, you goof,” he laughs. You groan, resting your head on his back and wrapping your arms around his waist.

☆ “You smell good,” you murmur, earning a dopey smile from him.

☆ NSFW

The lack of affection can be attributed to a lot of things, and Matt knows that, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. Sometimes, he can only think of one way to teach you a lesson.

☆ “What the fuck was that?” Matt grits, referring to the scene you caused in front of his friends. All he wanted to do was kiss you, but you dodged the kiss so aggressively that it was embarrassing.

☆ “Here we go again,” you say. “I’m not doing this right now, Matt,” you turn on your heels, ready to escape the conversation.

☆ “You are doing this right now actually.” He grabs you by your elbow, pulling you into him abruptly.

☆ “You think it’s cute to embarrass me in front of my friends like that?” his voice is low, his breath fanning against your neck with each word. You’re slightly intimidated, but mostly aroused.

☆ He holds a firm grip on your neck, bringing you in for a hungry kiss.

☆ Before you know it, he’s fucking you in front of the bathroom mirror. “Look at how fucked out I have you,” he growls, “remember this next time you wanna act stupid.”

☆ Other times, he’s just so extremely touch starved.

☆ Matt trails kisses from your jaw down to your collarbone, kisses that you’re trying to avoid.

☆ “I’m busy, Matt,” you whisper, but with each kiss your breath becomes choppier.

☆ “But I need you,” he whines, pressing his erection into your lower back.

☆ “Later,” you try and reason, but he’s not listening.

☆ That’s what leads to you riding him on the couch until he’s so overstimulated his eyes tear up.

☆ “I can’t—,” he whimpers. “You can,” your voice is firm. “You begged for this, baby. Don’t you remember?”

☆ He clenches his eyes shut, fists bawled at his side. His teeth bite so deep into his lip that he draws blood, orgasming for the 5th time.

—

MASTERLIST

A/n: you stumped me with this rec anon lolol had to pull out the reinforcements ( @sugrhigh )

- L.A.M.B👼🏻💗

—

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[lyvhie]

hi omg read the jeno one I requested ATE DOWNNNNNN…… so for nowwwww maybe thinking jeno (sorry I love him…) x shy!reader who doesent really like the idea of jeno seeing her naked cause reader is SCAREDDDD… so he just praises her throughout the whole thing… LOVE UR WORKS they’re so good 💖

-🦋🦋🦋🦋

touch it | ljn

jeno x fem!reader (18+ mdni)

summary: jeno never intended to invest so much time and effort just to have sex with you.

a/n: my sweet 🦋 anon... i'm sorry it took me so long to post this. as soon as i saw it i started writing but it wasn't coming out like i think it should and i didn't want to give you something bad 😞 please forgive me 🙏 i hope you like this one too, it ended up being longer than i was planning. love u, please don't give up on me!

cw: smut, shy/inexperienced!reader, jeno big dick agenda, very slightly bulge kink, fingering, oral (m), unprotected penetrative sex (bcs i forgot to write the condom part sorryyy 🫣), praising, pet names.

jeno never considered himself a patient person. he always got what he wanted when he wanted. and that's why you were driving him crazy.

at first, he enjoyed toying with you, finding it effortless to get under your skin. it was just a game to him, a way to pass the time by teasing and taunting. he loved pushing your buttons with even the slightest action, knowing how easily you would react.

he wasn't entirely sure why you acted the way you did around him. was it shyness or fear of people in general? perhaps a combination of both. regardless, he found your reactions incredibly endearing. whenever he looked at you, he couldn't help but smile at the way you fidgeted and stumbled over your words.

it was cute. he just knew he had to fuck you. he made it his personal goal.

he was aware that winning you over wouldn't be easy, and that he'd have to gain your trust and go through the whole song and dance. but he saw it as a thrilling challenge, and he was determined to make you his.

he surprisingly found it easy to become your friend. given your lonely nature, he didn't need to put in much effort. you didn't appear to have many friends, which made it simple for him to step in and fill that role.

what began as innocent gestures, like whispering sweet nothings in your ear or tenderly tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, quickly escalated into more intimate encounters.

his “accidental” touches or the casual placing of his hand on your thigh, how he enjoyed wrapping his arms around you from behind, his chest pressed against your back as his hands gently roamed your sides. he did all of this to get rise out of you, to see you get all flustered and embarrassed and it worked perfectly.

he knew that simply being a good friend wouldn't be enough to take you to bed with your legs all open for him, so he doubled down on his efforts. he had to be the best friend you ever had.

he became the person you could count on for anything — if something was troubling you, he'd be there to listen and provide comfort. you wanted a plushie from your favorite show? no problem, he would make sure to get it for you. feeling lonely and in need of companionship? all you had to do was call him, and he'd be right there for you.

all of it was part of his grand scheme to lower your defenses and draw you closer to him. and it worked little by little.

when you confessed that you had never kissed anyone before, his response was instant: "that's what friends are for." he gauged your reaction, noticing the way you nibbled on your lip and fidgeted with the hem of your skirt, all little habits that he had noticed in you a long time ago.

his words were merely to test the waters, to see how you would respond to his subtle advances. he was overjoyed when you finally agreed to his suggestion, after taking some time to consider (a good 5 minutes). he couldn't help but feel proud that he was the one who would get to kiss your innocent lips, a thought that thrilled him. this small victory fueled his confidence in the belief that winning you over wouldn't be hard.

it was fun to him, teaching you how to kiss for the first time and seeing your reaction to his touch. the moment he reached out to touch your face, you quickly recoiled, as if you had been burned. it just fueled his desire to go further and explore this nervous, inexperienced side of you.

"relax, baby," he spoke softly, your favorite term of endearment rolling off his tongue effortlessly. he gently took your hand in his, soothingly rubbing his thumbs over your skin in a reassuring manner. it was his way of calming you down, a small gesture that never failed to affect you.

as you tried to follow his words and relax, he cupped your face between his hands and leaned in closer. with a soothing tone, he instructed you to close your eyes. he was so close that you unconsciously held your breath, which made him chuckle. his breath ghosted over your skin as he spoke, his proximity to you causing your heart to flutter in your chest.

as his lips finally touched yours, a soft gasp escaped you and you nearly jolted. he started with just a gentle peck, giving you a chance to adjust to the sensation. your heart pounded wildly in your chest, the rapid rhythm so intense that you feared it might burst out of your chest at any moment. you were almost certain he could hear it, the sound of your heartbeats echoing in your ears and filling the silence between you.

his soft voice gently commanded, "open your mouth slightly, sweetheart," and you obeyed eagerly, parting your lips. a small hum escaped you as you felt the warm, wet touch of his tongue slipping into your mouth. the sudden sensation sent chills down your spine, surprising you in the most pleasurable way.

as you started moving your tongue against his, following the rhythm he set, he was the one who couldn't help but let out a pleased hum. his hand moved from your face to your hair, fingers gently grasping the locks and pulling you closer to him.

the feeling of your mouth against his, your inexperienced but eager tongue trying to keep up with his, was beyond what he imagined. the taste of you, so sweet and untainted, drove him to become more demanding, rougher, and you didn't seem to mind, responding to his intensity with a sense of abandon.

he carefully maneuvered you onto your back on the couch, crawling over you and bringing his body on top of yours. his hands began to explore your form, tracing every contour until they reached your thighs and gently caressed the soft skin. with a sly smile, he squeezed the supple flesh, grateful that you were wearing a skirt, making his plans even simpler.

tou were so absorbed in the way his mouth captured yours that it took awhile for you to notice his hand roaming further up your skirt. the feeling of his fingers slowly tracing your inner thigh sent shivers up your spine, igniting sparks of pleasure that made you almost gasp into his mouth.

you managed to pull away from the kiss, panting for air, and stopped his hand before it went any higher. "w-wait, jeno," you gasped, your voice breathless and filled with hesitation.

jeno's breath was shallow, his mouth moving to your neck as he inhaled your scent and began to place soft, gentle kisses there, making you left a soft sigh. he hummed against your skin, his voice still unsteady as he responded to you. "what is it, baby?" he murmured against your skin, his warm breath teasing your sensitive flesh.

“i-i don't—” your words were interrupted by a gasp as he sucked on your neck, his lips creating a pleasant suction that made your head spin. but as he continued to nibble and kiss your skin, you softly pleaded, "j-jeno, stop.”

jeno grudgingly pulled away from your neck, his eyes a mix of desire and annoyance as he looked at you. but you were too flustered to notice his expression, hastily hiding your face in your hands, unable to meet his gaze. your embarrassment was palpable, and the moment was suspended in a brief silence.

before he could utter another word, you hastily scrambled out from under him, mumbling a clumsy excuse before hastily retreating to your room. he sat there on the couch, a little bewildered, as he watched you disappear. the sound of your door closing echoed in the silence that followed, leaving him alone with his frustrated thoughts.

he ran his hand through his hair. of course he wouldn't get in your panties so quickly. he got a little carried away by the moment and forgot that he needed to take things very slowly with you.

he had assumed you would lock yourself in your room for a while longer, probably consumed by a million thoughts and doubts that he was all too familiar with at this point.

after a while, he stood up from the couch and approached your door, knocking softly on the wood. "i'll be waiting," he called out softly, and that was all he said.

he was already starting to turn away, but the sound of the door opening caught his attention. you emerged from behind the opening, looking at him timidly, and he was taken aback by your whispered request.

"can we... keep practicing? j-just the kissing…" you spoke in a small voice, your words barely audible but filled with trepidation and desire. he froze for a moment, surprised by the unexpected request, before a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

“you don't have to ask twice, sweetheart.”

in the days that followed, a new routine was established between you and him. every time you found yourselves together, whether at his place or yours, the hours would pass in a haze of lip and tongue, mouths moving against each other in a frenzy. by the end of each session, your lips would be swollen and sensitive to the touch, a reminder of the time spent indulging in such an activity.

but what truly fueled jeno's frustration was the fact that your interactions always seemed to stop at the same point. no matter how much he touched and caressed you, nothing ever went further than a few brief moments of physical contact.

he felt an intense sense of desperation growing within him, the unfulfilled desire weighing heavily on his mind. he longed to take things further, to explore more of you, but somehow he always found himself stuck in this endless cycle of heated yet ultimately unsatisfying make-out sessions.

he was already mentally bracing himself for the challenges ahead, but then you caught him off guard once more.

sitting on his lap, your tongues intertwined in a hungry dance, you suddenly did something unexpected. you began to subtly grind against his thigh, your movements and moans so natural it was as if you weren't fully aware of what you were doing.

the sensations were immediate, and he felt a twitch in his pants. the feeling of you riding his leg set his body trembling with desire. a low groan escaped him, his kiss growing more fierce as he tried to keep himself together in the face of your unintentional provocation. he could feel his arousal growing with each passing moment, and the thought of having you so close yet so out of reach was driving him insane.

jeno's grip on your waist became a little tighter as he pulled you down, pressing you against him more firmly. the thin fabric of your shorts did little to disguise the wetness building between your thighs, leaving a noticeable dampness on his pants.

your moans grew a little louder as you lost yourself in the sensations, and jeno reluctantly broke the kiss to look at you. he clutched your waist, stopping your movements and holding you firmly in place, drawing a whine from you.

your words escaped your lips involuntarily, a soft plea for more. "jeno, please," you murmured, desperation tinging your voice. he chuckled softly at the sound of your plea, his smirk growing wider. “please what, baby?" he whispered, his lips brushing gently against yours, barely making contact, teasing you with the lightest touch.

his question hung in the air, unanswered, leaving you floundering to articulate your desires. you felt a mixture of shyness and embarrassment, unable to vocalize what you truly wanted. so, your response was a soft whine as you hid your face in the crook of his neck. his chest vibrated with a low chuckle, his amusement evident at your inability to express yourself clearly.

“you want some relief here, sweetie?” his hand slid between your legs, his middle finger pressing against your clothed cunt, making you gasp at the sudden contact.

this time, you made no attempt to stop him, instead nodding silently in agreement. you buried yourself deeper into the safety of his neck, feeling embarrassment and need. you knew deep down that you were desperate for some form of release, and the realization only flustered you.

jeno, on the other hand, was practically bursting with excitement and joy, mentally launching fireworks and wanting to dance a victory lap around the house. he was finally close to getting the hardest fuck of his life — not exactly in the good way.

his voice was a soft whisper in your ear as he nibbled gently on your earlobe, sending shivers down your spine. "we should do something about it, shouldn't we, pretty girl?" he murmured, his nose nuzzling tenderly against your ear. "will you let me help you again?" he asked, his breath warm against your skin.

your response was immediate, a desperate plea for his touch. "yes, please," you managed to stutter out, your voice tinged with a hint of need.

even though he just wanted to empty his balls, he knew he had to make you experience some of the sensations and induce you to want more.

jeno leaned against the bedhead, preparing himself for what was to come. his one hand began to trace gentle circles on your thigh, while the other continued to soothe you with soft caresses on your back. "okay, baby," he assured you. "just relax and let me take care of you, alright?”

jeno had become skillful in taking care of you, and his request for you to relax was met with an immediate submission from you. he wasted no time moving your pajamas shorts out of the way, efficiently tugging the fabric to the side.

due to your current position, where you were on his lap, with your chest pressed against his and your face still buried in his neck, jeno had limited visibility of you. he could feel your body against his, but he couldn't see much more than that. despite being mildly frustrated by the lack of visual access, he knew you wouldn't pull away anytime soon, even if he asked. you seemed too focused on hiding your flustered face against his skin.

even so, he could feel how soaked your panties were and that was enough for him right now. once again, jeno wasted no time in his actions, pulling your panties to the side with decisive motion. his digits pressed gently against your sensitive flesh, eliciting sigh from you. his fingers parted your folds, gently exploring your wetness with delicate movements. he took his time, savoring the moment, your soft sounds and how you were already squirming with just a few touches.

you gasped as he slipped a finger inside you. he started pumping slowly, he could feel how tight you were and he couldn't help but feel his cock stir inside his pants, his mind swirling with thoughts of what it would be like to be inside you.

"how does it feels, baby?" he coos, adding another finger to stretch you just enough, feeling how you clenched around his digits and moaned timidly into his neck. “g-good… very good,” was all you could mutter, your breath hitching as you felt him scissor and curl.

jeno hummed, a contented sound escaping him, as he used his free hand to gently push away the strands of hair that hung over your neck. he pressed his lips against your skin, gently kissing and nibbling at the sensitive flesh, feeling a shiver run through you.

jeno's fingers began to search inside you, seeking out the spot that would make you melt. when you trembled and a loud moan escaped you, his smirk widened. "found it," he chuckled, continuing to target that sweet spot with deliberate precision.

he added pressure with his palm against your clit, rubbing it softly but firmly enough to ignite intense sensations. he knew exactly how sensitive you were, and even this gentle touch was more than enough to leave you moaning and trembling.

jeno nuzzled your ear, his breath warm against your skin as he spoke soft words to you. "you sound so pretty, baby," he murmured, his hand never ceasing its movement as he felt your body clenching around him. "i know you're close already," he continued, increasing the speed of his movements. "just let it go, don't hold it back, okay?" he coaxed.

you didn't even realize how close you were, the sensations stirring in your body completely unexpected. there was a strange feeling in your stomach, your toes curling as you clung to him tighter. then, his words struck you like a command, and suddenly, a wave of pleasure washed over you. the new sensation was overwhelming, almost transporting you to another realm.

jeno absolutely loved the way you mewled his name in the midst of your climax. he relished in the sweet sounds you made, eagerly anticipating the chance to hear more and feel more of you. his desire was palpable as he continued to watch you come undone in his arms.

with your body quivering from the aftermath of your climax, you leaned against him, allowing your weight to fully rest on him. the tingles that coursed through you seemed to reach every inch of your skin, leaving you breathless. you panted slightly as you felt your body slowly returning to a state of stability.

jeno slowly withdrew his fingers, wiping them clean on your shorts. with a gentle tug, he drew your face away from his neck, allowing him to finally get a proper look at you.

your mind was still hazy from the intensity of your climax, and you barely registered his actions until you saw the smug expression on his face. the realization that you looked so utterly wrecked just from a little fingering made jeno silently contemplate how you would look when he pushed you further than just his fingers.

you were on the verge of speaking when he silenced you with a kiss, a kiss that you gladly returned. the touch of his hands slipping under your shirt sent a shiver down your spine, his fingers gently caressing your bare skin. you felt his touch drifting over the clasps of your bra, his movements deliberate and suggestive.

despite being consumed by the myriad of sensations he was evoking in you, you couldn't help but notice the way his hand tugged at the hem of your shirt, clearly signaling his intention to remove it. but as he began to lift the fabric, you instinctively halted his movements by placing your hands over his, preventing him from proceeding further. you pulled away from the kiss, gazing into his eyes a hint of hesitation.

“n-not yet, jeno,” you managed to stutter out, biting your lower lip as you averted your gaze from him. the thought of revealing yourself even partially in front of him sent a wave of fear and nervousness coursing through you. despite the intimate moment you had just shared, the idea of baring your body to him, even further, felt overwhelmingly nerve-wracking.

frustration and disappointment etched itself across jeno's features as he suppressed the urge to curse aloud. instead, he released a soft, frustrated breath, his forehead coming to rest against yours. he had been eagerly anticipating a night of finally fucking you senseless until you can't even remember your name, and your hesitation dampened that hope once again.

your soft-spoken words brought him back from his momentary disappointment. "but i..." you began, your voice tinged with coynes and a hint of determination. "i want to make you feel good too," you confessed, your eyes drifting down to his lap, where you couldn't help but notice the evidence of his arousal. there was curiosity and desire in your tone as you confessed your wish to return the favor. “j-just tell me what to do…”

a spark of something akin to admiration and appreciation flared up in jeno's eyes as he processed your words. out of all the things you had ever said, these words felt like music to his ears. a hopeful glimmer of satisfaction shone through, a realization that the night might not be a complete wash after all.

jeno chuckled affectionately, his voice carrying a hint of genuine appreciation as he spoke. "that's so nice of you, sweetie,” he murmured, gifting you a gentle peck on the lips which prompted a smile to bloom on your face. following his instructions, you carefully repositioned yourself, assuming a kneeling position between his legs, your eyes looking up at him expectantly.

a glimmer of greed flickered through Jeno's eyes as he took in the sight of you looking up at him. his hand cupped your face, his touch soft as he traced his fingers along your cheek. a subtle smile played at his lips as he issued a command, his voice dripping with desire. “you can start by taking off my clothes,” he murmured, his eyes locked on yours, hungry and full of heat.

you followed his directions without hesitation, slowly unbuttoning his pants and gently pulling them down, the sound of the fabric rubbing against his skin filling the room. as the fabric pooled around his ankle, your eyes couldn't help but drift towards his impressive package, your breath catching in your throat at the sight.

you saw a darker spot on the fabric of his boxes, damp with pre-cum, you wasted no time in removing the remaining piece, freeing his aching cock that stood proudly in front of your eyes, eliciting a soft sigh of relief from him.

you continued to stare at his dick, blinking a few times as you processed the sight. he was big. too big.

jeno chuckled heartily at the sight of your eyes widening in surprised awe, his ego swelling with a touch of cocky confidence. he knew exactly what was running through your mind. "don't be shy, pretty girl," he teased, a sly smile playing on his lips. "you can touch it." he leaned back, resting his weight on his hands as he waited for you to make a move.

as calm and collected as he appeared to be, jeno was practically craving your touch. his muscles tensed under your gaze, and there was a hint of desperation in his eyes as he longed for your caress. however, he was determined to maintain a facade of coolness, masking his inner pleading with subtle smirks and sultry words.

as your delicate hands finally encircled him, a soft sigh escaped jeno's lips, his eyes closing for a moment as he savored the sensation. jis breath hitched, his teeth gently sinking into his lower lip in response to the pleasure coursung through him. his dark gaze was fixed on you, watching intently as you explored him with a look of curiosity and wonder in your eyes.

you started to stroke his cock slowly, the pre-cum acting enough as a lubricant, facilitating your movements. “just like that, sweetheart,” he said in low groans, his breath heavy.

yes, this. more. fast. please. he closed his eyes tight to savor the sensation. each sweet, slow movement of your hand pushed him closer to relief. and then... a new sensation joined the others. a delicate, refreshing affection, at the tip of his cock. almost like a breeze. you were licking it. rolling that pink, shy and naughty tongue around the head of his erection. kissing and tasting lightly. the feeling was intense. sublime. insufficient.

it took him by surprise how you effortlessly seemed to know what to do, and he found himself thoroughly enjoying it. his hands threaded through your hair, his fingers delving into the soft strands as he lavished his touch upon your head. in that moment, he found himself unable to hold back his words. his voice came out in a rough whisper, "put it all in your mouth.”

for a brief moment, a flicker of worry crossed jeno’s expression. he feared that his request might have intimidated you, that you may stand up from your position on the ground and refuse to continue. he was on the verge of pleading with you, nearly uttering a desperate “please,” but before he could voice his concern, you unexpectedly acquiesced to his command, enveloping the head of his cock in your wet, ecstatic heat.

you began hesitantly. which was understandable, since this was your first time. but you didn't need much skill. he throbbed with desire while you showed great enthusiasm, even though you had no experience. there was little you could have done — except bite him, perhaps — that wouldn't have been delicious.

you were more than good. it was fantastic. he found himself rocking his pelvis, trying to go deeper each time your sweet, juicy mouth descended on him.

a ragged moan escaped his lips as he spoke, his grip on your hair growing tighter as he moved his hips in a quicker, more insistent rhythm. “you are doing so well, baby. so, so, well,” his words came out in a deep, raspy tone.

the mounting tension between you had taken its toll on jeno, and he was acutely aware of the pleasure that had been denied to him for a considerable amount of time. it was a struggle to maintain control, and he found himself teetering on the edge of climax.

as you continued your ministrations, he swallowed hard, the air around him seemingly growing thinner. his body trembled under your touch, his breath escaping in ragged gasps as he felt his climax building up, on the verge of tipping into pure ecstasy.

and, before he could even warn you, he came in your mouth, holding your head in place, forcing you to take his entire load. he didn’t mean to do that, but it felt so good he didn’t want you to pull away at the best part.

as you pulled away, gasping for breath, jeno's grip on your hair loosened, his hands gently releasing their hold on you. his own chest heaved with effort, his breathing ragged and labored from the intense encounter. he gazed at you with eyes heavy with desire, drinking in the sight of your disheveled appearance and the thin line of his cum that traced the corner of your mouth. in that moment, his expression was one of pure contentment and satisfaction.

a ghost of a smirk played at the corners of jeno's lips, his voice lacking any trace of remorse. "i'm sorry, i should have warned you, baby," he said, his words carrying a hint of satisfaction rather than regret.

you glanced up at him, offering a timid smile as you assured him, "i-it's okay, it wasn't that bad,” he watched as you ran your tongue over your lips, innocently cleaning the remnants of his essence.

god, he thought, you're so sexy.

from that point forward, not only had making out become a regular occurrence, but oral sex had become something you enthusiastically welcomed. jeno couldn't help but notice the change in you, how earnestly you seemed to embrace the act of pleasing him. it looked like you derived a sense of satisfaction from bringing him to such levels of ecstasy.

even though jeno was completely happy with the addition of a new activity to the menu, it still wasn't enough. don’t get him wrong, he loved getting a blowjob whenever either of you were in the mood, but what he really needed was to actual fuck you.

he found himself perplexed by your reluctance to take the next step. while he was fully aware of your penchant for shyness, he couldn't help but wonder why you hadn't given in yet.

considering the things you had already engaged in, he assumed that your comfort level would have already reached a point where you would be receptive to more.

the mounting impatience and desire finally got the better of him, and he decided that it was time to address the issue directly. he took a deep breath and gathered his thoughts before addressing you with a blunt question.

“baby, why don't you just let me fuck you?”

jeno caught you off guard, interrupting your casual routine as you were making your way to bed and using a towel to dry your hair. you momentarily froze, the towel suspended in mid-air as you turned to face him with widened eyes. “w-what? jeno…!” you stuttered as you hastily grabbed the towel, clutching it against your face in an attempt to conceal your flustered expression.

he couldn't help but roll his eyes, at your reaction, with a smirk on his lips and a chuckle in his voice, he reached out and pulled you closer to him, his arms encircling your waist and drawing you into his embrace. he settled his chin on your belly, gazing up at you with a curious expression and added with nonchalant tone, "i’m just curious, you know.”

with a single movement, jeno reached up and took the towel from your hands, tugging it away from your face to reveal your expression. his eyes scanned your face, taking in the adorable sight of you all bashful and shy.

"i-i..." your voice trailed off, your nervousness clearly evident. jeno's eyes remain fixed on you, waiting patiently for you to continue. sensing your hesitance, he encouraged you gently, his voice soft and soothing. "mmm, i'm listening," he urged, silently coaxing you to continue.

you averted his gaze, your voice barely above a whisper as you finally confessed. "i-it's just...you'll see me naked and all...," you admitted, the thought alone making your heart race with anxiety.

jeno's eyes widened momentarily as he processed your words, his expression alternating between disbelief and shock.

that was the reason? no fucking way.

"are you serious?" he asked, his voice filled with a touch of incredulity. you responded with an eager nod, still not looking at him, "i-i can't do that, you'll see everything!" your voice trembled slightly, the thought of being fully exposed in front of him clearly terrifying to you.

jeno couldn't believe what he was hearing. it seemed almost unbelievable that the reason you were hesitant to take the next step was solely because of the thought of being completely naked in front of him.

his facial expression softened as he tried to understand your perspective better. "baby, it's me, you know," he said, his voice gentle and reassuring. he reached out to cup your face, his touch tender. "you don't have to be embarrassed with me," he continued, his eyes searching yours.

"i...i know that," you stammered, feeling your heart fluttering in your chest at his touch and the soothing sound of his voice. despite knowing that he was someone you trusted deeply, the thought of being completely nude in front of him still felt overwhelming.

you tried to articulate your feelings, your words coming out in a shaky whisper. "but... it's just... i'm worried i won't look good enough for you," you confessed coyly.

great. you were insecure. he forgot that.

“that's just so stupid," he muttered, pulling you onto the bed with him and positioning you straddling his lap. his fingers gently cradled your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. "you know i love every single part of you, right?" he repeated, his tone tender and sincere. "even those i'm yet dying to see," he added with a smirk, his eyes roaming over your body, taking in every contour. "you are just perfect.”

your eyes widened slightly at his words, his unwavering confidence in your beauty causing a flutter in your chest. insecurity still lingered, but the way he spoke with such certainty made your doubts waver.

your hands unconsciously found their way to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as your breath hitched. "you...you really think that?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper as your lips form a small pout.

jeno chuckled softly, his hands moving from your face to your hips, their grip firm but gentle as they held you in place on his lap. "i don't just think it, i know it," he replied, his eyes scanning your face as his thumbs began to trace soothing circles on your hipbones.

his voice dropped lower as his eyes held your gaze, “your body is incredible," he repeated, "i love every inch of it." his expression softened, and he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin. "and i would love even more if you just let me see more of you. you have nothing to be shy about, baby. let me show you just how much i appreciate every part of you.”

your heart skipped a beat, his words igniting a flutter of anticipation within you. despite your lingering insecurities, you couldn't deny the way his words made your stomach churn with excitement and nervousness, he sounded so inviting.

after a few moments of contemplation, your voice trembled as you finally gave in, your eyes meeting his.

"o-okay," you whispered, the word barely audible, as if spoken more to yourself than to him. taking a deep breath, you made the decision, your heart racing in your chest. “i-it's fine.”

as soon as the words left your mouth, granting him permission, Jeno's lips were on yours in a heartbeat, the kiss passionate and feverish. his hands didn't waste any time either, slipping under the fabric of your shirt to caress the soft skin of your back.

“that's it, sweetie,” he said against your lips. “i promise it will be worth it,” he pulled you closer, the intensity of his embrace and the hungry way his tongue sought yours sending waves of pleasure coursing through you.

jeno's impatient hands were soon tugging at the hem of your shirt, his movements eager and insistent as he lifted it over your head, revealing your bare upper body, clad only in a bra. his breath caught in his throat as he took in the sight of your exposed skin, his eyes roaming over you, appreciating every inch. his hands continued to caress your skin, the feeling of flesh on flesh sending shivers down your spine.

his touch was gentle and deliberate, his fingers tracing soft lines along your collarbones, your arms, down your sides. he leaned forward, his lips pressing kisses along your neck and collarbones, nipping and nibbling at the sensitive skin there. "you are so beautiful, baby," he murmured against your skin. "i've been wanting to do this for so long.”

he continued to kiss and nibble at your neck and collarbones, his movements soft but insistent. as he trailed a path of kisses down your chest, his fingers traced the lace of your bra, tracing the edge of the fabric with the tip of his fingers.

his lips moved lower, his kisses growing more frantic as they reached your chest, his tongue tracing the contour of your cleavage as his hands continued to roam your body. his fingers trailed a path down your back to the clasp of your bra, his knuckles brushing against your skin as he fumbled to undo it.

jeno's fingers worked quickly to undo the clasp of your bra, his touch both impatient and skillful as he finally managed to free you from the confines of the undergarment. he pulled it away, revealing your bare chest to him, your tits jiggling slightly.

“fuck,” he exhaled a shaky breath, his eyes taking in the sight of your exposed flesh. "you're more beautiful than i ever imagined," he murmured, his voice filled with desire and awe.

as jeno continued to gaze at you, you couldn't help but feel a wave of shyness wash over you. your arms instinctively moved to cover your chest, attempting to shield yourself from his unabashed staring. embarrassed, you muttered, "s-stop looking at me like that.”

he reached out and gently pulled your arms away from your chest, exposing your bare skin again. “don’t be embarrassed,” he said, his voice soft and soothing. “you’re gorgeous. i could look at you all day.”

He leaned down, his hands trailing a path across your chest, his fingertips gently caressing your boobs. his touch was feather-light, almost reverent as he explored the contour of your flesh. he took his time, seemingly wanting to savor every moment of this encounter.

slowly, he lowered his head, his hand reaching out to cup one, his thumb brushed over your nipple, his fingers closing around your breast, squeezing gently as he drew your nipple into his mouth, sucking softly. he hummed contentedly, lost in the sensation, his lips working slowly, savoringly.

a soft gasp escaped your lips as jeno's tongue worked its magic, sending shivers down your spine. your body writhed beneath him, your fingers tangling in his locks, tugging at them softly.

feeling your body respond to his touch, he took the opportunity to lay you down on your back, gently coaxing you into the plush pillows. he never stopped his ministrations, he caught your nipple between his teeth, giving it a light bite and then sucking, his hands roaming over your body with a possessive touch, as if marking you as his own.

“god, you're so perfect," he whispered, he moved to your other tit, giving it the same attention. "don't hide yourself from me again.”

jeno's hands slid to the waistband of your shorts, his touch burning against your skin. he pulled them down, along with your panties, as you lifted your hips up to help him guide them down your thighs and off your body.

when you were finally bare before him, he couldn't help but take a moment from sucking your boobs to admire the sight of you laid out beneath him, open and vulnerable.

“look at how hot my pretty girl is,” he bite his lower lip, leaning closer to capture your lips in a rough kiss, his fingers making their way to between your thighs. he knew he needed to prepare you for the main event, to make sure you were ready for what he was dying to give you.

you were so sensitive that it was easy to get reactions from you, he didn't even need to finger you that much to make you come a few times, that, along a few praises on your ear while hitting your sweet spots, were enough to have you squirming under him.

jeno's breath was warm against your ear as he spoke, his words sending delightful shivers down your spine. "okay, sweetie," he whispered, his lips still pressed against the sensitive skin of your neck. "you're doing so well."

he could feel your quick breath and the sweat beginning to form on your forehead. his wrists were growing tired from his efforts, but he wasn't backing down. "i'll make you feel even better," he promised, his voice low and seductive.

he shifted his body, his hands working quickly to remove his clothes, discarding them carelessly on the floor beside the bed.

your eyes drank in the sight of jeno's body, taking in his toned muscles and the way his body glowed in the faint light of the room. your gaze fell on his cock standing proud and ready, and a wave of heat washed over you, making you instinctively press your legs together. he was so hot. it was unfair how good he looked.

“like what you see, pretty?” he asked with a smug smile. you weren't brave enough to say the words out loud, but you wanted him to know that you appreciated him too, so you only nodded fiercely, making him laugh and lean over you to press his lips against yours in a gentle kiss while positioning himself between your legs, his erection rubbing against your thigh.

jeno broke the kiss to look into your eyes, his gaze intense and serious. he gently cradled your chin in his hand as he spoke, his voice filled with concern and desire. "just listen to me for a moment, okay?" he said softly. "i need you to promise me that if it becomes too much, if it hurts in any way, you'll tell me to stop. can you do that for me, baby?”

his words hung in the air for a moment, the implications clear. you knew why he was saying that. the size of his cock was undoubtedly intimidating, and it was natural to feel a pang of fear. but your desire for him overpowered any reservations you might have had.

with a nod, you responded. "yes, jeno, i can," you gave him a small smile, "i’ll tell you if it's too much.” he studied your face for a moment, making sure you were sincere and not just saying it to please him. he could see the want in your eyes. the way you nodded your head and answered him firmly gave him the reassurance he needed.

“that’s my good girl,” he kissed your cheek, straightening his back and wrapping his hand around his cock, stroking it a few times before pressing it against your entrance, teasing you lightly by rubbing the tip up and down.

then, he slowly pushed his lenght inside you, as he advanced, you gasped and clutched the sheets, small whimpers of pain escaping your lips. you were lucky you were wet enough to ease the pain, his dick slid into you with ease, he really prepared you well.

jeno's expression mirrored pleasure, his eyes closing in ecstasy as he threw his head back and let out a silent moan. it was as if he had been waiting for this moment for an eternity, and the feeling of you enveloping him was like entering a state of nirvana.

he paused for a moment, his body trembling with pleasure and exertion, as he looked at you. he was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling as he tried to regain control of his breathing.

"are you doing okay, baby?" he asked, his voice hoarse and low, he wasn't even half way and you seemed to be struggling already.

he looked at your face, taking in the expression of pain and pleasure mingled on your features as your eyebrows furrowed and your eyes welled up with tears. despite the discomfort you were feeling, you reassured him. “y-yes, keep going," you managed to say through trembling lips, your voice shaky but determined. "i can take it, i promise.”

jeno couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt for finding you so incredibly hot even in that moment. he leaned in closer, pressing his face against your neck, and sought out your hands, intertwining his fingers with yours. it was an attempt to provide some distraction from the pain, and his words were a soothing whisper against your skin.

"that's it, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice low and comforting. "you're doing so well. just a little more,” he continued to move his hips, causing you to gasp once more, and he couldn't help but moan at the feeling of you squeezing him. his grip on your hands tightened as he fought to maintain control of his own desire to simply fuck you hard.

and when he was finally fully inside you, a wave of relief washed over you, releasing a soft sigh from your lips, you never felt so full before.

he soon let go of your hand to straighten his back again, you were speared open by his cock and when he pressed the palm of his hand on your belly and you felt the bulge he made there, it was too much. neither of you were expecting you to cum right now, your voice crying out his name as your entire body tremble.

“fuck, baby, already?” he asked under his breath, a smile on his lips. again, that was so hot of you. he can't believe he made you come like that.

and that was enough for him. he pulled his hips back slowly, his cock almost all the way out, a brief moment of relief when your insides were empty again, which didn't take long when he pushed back into you hardly, his tip hitting your cervix, making you both moan loudly. you didn't even had time to recover from the most intense orgasm of your whole life.

“fuck,” he said almost breathless. “feel that, pretty girl?” his grip on your hips tightened enough to feel painful and leave bruises. “feel how deep i am?”

the room was filled with sounds of skin against skin as he increased his pace, thrusting even harder while voicing out a few praises to you, saying how well you take him, how good your pussy feel, how he wanted to fill you up with his cum.

he nipped and nibbled at the sensitive flesh, leaving behind a trail of kisses and light love bites as he continued to move in and out of you. your name spilled from his lips like a prayer, a plea, a mantra.

you had intended to speak, to ask him to slow down, but before you could utter a word, jeno sealed your lips with his own, effectively silencing your pleas. his kiss consumed you, capturing all your moans and protests.

he picked up the pace, his movements growing more urgent, more desperate as he feel himself getting closer to his climax. jeno's voice was a low, seductive whisper, his breath hot against your neck. "gonna fill you up, pretty," he murmured, his teeth sinking into your flesh. "you're gonna take every single drop," he whispered fiercely, nibbling at your neck once more as he continued to move, his thrusts growing more insistent.

his hand went to your clit, wanting to make you cum once again, this time right with him. he was close to his limit and he knew he was overstimulating you, then it wouldn't be so difficult. within moments, jeno felt his body become tense and his thrusts more erratic, his movements stuttering even more as he felt you tighten around him.

it didn't take long for you both to cum and you feet him fill you with his hot seed, both moaning loudly. jeno gave a few more thrusts to make sure you were going to take everything he had to give you before pulling out of you.

jeno's body collapsed onto yours, both of you panting and struggling to catch your breath in the aftermath of your climax. the room was filled exclusively with the sounds of your labored breathing.

you could feel the hotness of his skin against yours, his heartbeat racing against your chest as he tried to regain some control over his own breathing. his weight pressed you into the mattress, his body limp and sated.

he buried his face against your shoulder, his breath warm against your neck. his grip on you loosened, his arms coming to rest by your sides as he lay on top of you, completely spent.

after a few moments of comfortable silence, jeno rolled off you and settled onto his back beside you. he broke the silence, his voice gentle, "how are you feeling, baby?" he asked, turning his head to look at you. he noticed the tired yet content smile on your face.

“blissful,” you answered with a light giggle, making him smile back at you.

good. he was going to focus on that now instead of thinking about how stupid he was for cumming inside you on the first fuck and how this could be a big problem in the future.

[afterthatidontknow]

—𝐰𝐞'𝐥𝐥 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐚𝐫, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐥𝐥 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐦𝐞—

pairing. ex! Natasha Romanoff x fem! reader

summary. in a day you simply wanted peace, two unexpected visitors showed up. for one of them, you were glad.

warnings. smut! I am NOT responsible for your content consumption! — making out, thigh riding, strap on usage, cursing, angst (w happy ending), soft dom Nat.

notes. my first language is portuguese, so I apologize for any grammar errors. feel free to give me advice, though!

divider credits: @cafekitsune ★

Natasha Romanoff was known as a cold, ruthless woman, who never cared for anyone besides herself. Most of the people didn't know this was due her past — the Red Room was always in complete secrecy, so they feared her. She was already used to it. Whenever she started something with someone, in the next day, she had an empty bed as a gift. To be completely honest, she always felt used. Men and women touched her, to leave her in the morning.

That changed when she met you.

You could say you'd changed her completely, for the best, of course. She became more open with you, learned to express herself better and was not known as the most selfish Avenger in the team anymore.

But just like people say, not everything is a bed of roses.

Instead of using that achievement to improve your relationship, she began to care a little too much about her team of superheroes. At some point, she was no longer paying attention to you.

Reports this, reports that. Missions and more missions. "I have to go somewhere with Cap." "I have to train with Tony to a mission." "I can't, I'll have to go with Clint."

When you confronted her about this, begging for her to understand and willing to help her change, she decided that it was a better option to part ways. You were devasted, and she saw it. That made her heart ache — someone actually lov— liked her enough to want to stay.

This was the one and only reason Natasha didn't forget about you. The only reason she thought about you everyday. The only reason she teared up whenever entering her car and seeing the polaroid with the heart pendant you gave her hanging on her rearview mirror, that she didn't dare to take down.

Today, you were leaving work, heavy tired steps echoing on the pavement's wooden floor as the moonlight illuminated the room. The building was already empty, the streets, darker than your thoughts.

As you started walking to the nearest bus stop, you heard quick footsteps behind you — it was already late and usually there was no people on the streets like this. You turned your head, "you gotta be kidding me".

"Hey, Y/n!" Peter exclaimed, running to catch up with you. "I didn't know you were going to be here at 11:30pm."

You rolled your eyes and took a sharp inhale, but like always, tried to be polite. This so called coworker of yours was always looking at you, following you everywhere, and asking you things, not always work-related. You always made it clear that you weren't interested in men, and he insisted on saying he could 'change your mind'.

"Hey, Peter." you replied, faking a smile and nodding. "You need me to review your documents again?"

"Oh, no. I was just wondering if you wanna go on a date with me. Did you see the restaurant that just opened over there? I could treat you to—"

"No, I don't." you cut him off, more harshly than you intended to. "Look, Peter, I'm sorry. But I don't want anything to do with you, alright? So if you want, go ahead and find somebody else."

You shook your head, not even waiting for his reply and picking up the pace again, quickly rushing to the bus stop. That's when the guy showed you a side that you just suspected, but preferred to believe he didn't have

"C'mon, Y/n." he grabbed your arm, nails digging into your skin. "You won't broke my heart, will you? You're such a gentle, beautiful, kind woman. You will give me a chance."

You cleared your throat, feeling him get closer, and thinking about a certain Red Head — how she would gently, delicately graze your skin with her fingers, so softly whispering into your ear and bringing you to her embrace—

"Back off."

"Oh, no." he laughed. Such a creep. "I won't back off. And if you don't cooperate, I'll make you give me a chance."

Your hands trembled now, silently praying to whoever was seeing this just call the cops or do something. You didn't know the guy anyway. He didn't talk to anyone at work beside you, and you never got to know him, you would never. That's when it would be a good use to have a spy girlfriend. Just the last thing you expected to happen was to hear the sound of a gun cocking behind you, and a very familiar female voice.

"She said back off."

Relief unconsciously washed upon you as your arm was released, only because of the gun, though. You knew that if if wasn't for her, who knows what could've happened there. Peter left, annoyed, but the Russian swore to herself that she'd make his life a living hell.

"... Natasha?" you whisper, turning around with a confused and even scared frown.

"Yes," she worriedly rubbed your arm, shooting you, slowly making the feeling of the disgusting hand fade away. "Are you okay?"

"I am..." you nodded subtly, leaning into her touch. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, I saw a woman being harassed. What was I supposed to do? Mind my business?" she said, obviously avoiding your question.

"You know this is not what I mean." you frowned, carefully letting go of her caress and wrapping your arms around yourself.

Natasha sighed, trying to think of a way to explain herself. 'Oh, I'm here because I miss you so much I can't even sleep anymore.'? No, it wouldn't do.

"I... followed you."

"Oh, great, so I'm being stalked twice today." you hissed, making Natasha look down with your harshness.

"No, Y/n.. I'm here for.. personal reasons. I saw you leaving work, and I noticed that guy following you. I decided to follow too, until he grabbed you and I knew I had to intervine." she explained quietly.

The fact she had said 'personal reasons' deeply hurt you, but you couldn't do anything, you had broken up after all. You nodded, and prepared yourself to walk tp the bus stop again.

"Wait," Natasha quickly stopped you, her eyebrows furrowed. "I won't let you go home like this."

This was something about the old Natasha you knew, the protective one. It was okay, you were tired, and a ride would be no harm. "Where's your getaway car?"

She smiled softly at your joke, and tilted her head. "Around the corner."

You two walked silently towards the vehicle, as she unlocked the doors with the keys and you entered the passenger seat. You threw your bag on the backseat before you could focus on the environment around you, and see the polaroid of you and Nat with the heart pendant you gave her hanging on the rearview mirror.

Natasha noticed your gaze as soon as she entered the driver seat, clearing her throat and starting the car's engine. "Couldn't bring myself to take those down."

You stayed silent, but your eyes could tell everything. I'm glad. Oh, I'm so glad.

Natasha remembered your address as if you hadn't broken up nine months ago, and when you reached your place, you too much disappointed for your own good.

"Thank you for the lift," you whispered, turning your body to be able to grab your bag from the backseat — in the exact same moment Natasha turned to unbuckle her seatbelt — your fronts touching, which made you two a little startled.

The problem was that you didn't pull away, neither of you. You slowly turned your head to meet Natasha's gaze, your face so close to hers you could feel her breath. Familiar. It was pure instinct, almost muscle memory, of the times she always kissed you goodbye when dropping you somewhere.

You didn't even notice your hand going up to hold the back of her neck, much less when she placed her hand on your thigh, and leaned in so your noses brushed. Natasha closed her eyes for a brief moment, almost savouring your closeness, your aura enveloping her once more. Then your lips barely, barely grazed, breath hitching, as she couldn't take it anymore.

The redhead pressed her lips against yours, giving them a long peck. It was surprising how much time you lasted without air. You didn't break the kiss, just darted the tip of your tongue out to lick her bottom lip, begging for entrance. She gave in, trying to pull you closer but being stopped by the goddamn control panel. As soon as you felt her tongue touching yours you realized that this was going too far. You pulled back harshly, leaving you two panting for air and a disappointed Nat.

"Do you..." you shakily breathed. "... wanna come in?"

"Mhm." Natasha hummed, turning off the engine. "Can I?"

You didn't answer, just opened the door and slipped out the car. As you entered, you could practically feel Natasha's eyes burning the place. How you didn't take down any picture of yours. How her stuff was spreading across the pavement. It gave her a sense of... hope? Of course, since she was in the same situation.

"So.. are you seeing anyone?" you asked her while kicking off your heels and leaving them by the door.

"I think you know the answer for that." the redhead practically hissed, making your head snap towards her.

"But I want you to say it." you retreated. "I want you to look at me in the eyes and tell me you didn't forget me. I want you to look at me in the eyes and tell me the reason of why you came to my town again and followed me when I left work. I want you to tell me the reason of why you kissed me just like we always did before."

"I didn't! I didn't forget you, Y/n!" Natasha snapped, looking away and tucking the loosen strands of hair of her braids behind her ears. "I didn't forget you and I never did. Alright? Happy now?"

"Is that so?" you laughed humorlessly, crossing your arms. "I thought you cared more about your superheroes buddies. Where are they now!?"

"I left them." Natasha replied, looking at you again with a mixture of anger and pain. "I left them and came back, to you, Y/n."

You froze at her words, swallowing your saliva. "... okay?"

"I came back here, because I wanted to at least a chance to explain myself. I wouldn't be able to live knowing that I hurt you, and that you think that I did it on purpose. So please, just give me a chance."

"...go on."

Natasha sighed in relief, exhaling the air she was holding. "I'm sure you know my story. You were the first one to know everything about it, about me. And I'm also sure you know you're the first one to ever love me. No one else ever loved me like you did."

You leaned against the kitchen counter, listening carefully to her words, ready to give her time and patience, like you usually did.

"... I didn't know what I was doing, Y/n. Every other relationship I had, ended in less than a week. Love is a weapon and it's letal for me, for people like me. I was, I am startled by all of this, by this fuzzy warm feeling that you always gave me, that you still do, in my thoughts.. the Avengers were my first family, and when I panicked, I tried to hang on to them. In order not to hurt you, and myself." she didn't even realize the tear rolling down her cheek, and shook her head. "That's it. I'm sorry for everything, but Y/n, you will always have a piece— you'll always have my whole heart in your hands. I'll get off your hair n—"

You couldn't. Not anymore. You rushed towards her and grabbed her face, cutting her off with a deep kiss. She was taking aback, but her hands traveled to your waist, pulling you flush against her, your fronts pressing. Nothing changed. Natasha pushed you backwards against your room's door, her tongue entering your mouth and dancing with yours. You could feel yourself getting lost in her, damn it, once more. It was like she had this spell on you — you were trapped, and didn't complain.

"Y/n," the russian uttered, hands slipping inside your shirt and giving your waist a squeeze. "I've got to have you again, at least for one last time. Please, just this once—"

Tired of her rambling, you smirked and grabbed her by the jacket, pulling her into a kiss again and dragging her into the room, slamming the door shut. Natasha took this as a 'yes', and her hands, under you shirt, went to unclasp your bra, making it fall to the ground and a groan of relief escape your throat. Before she could remove the rest of the fabric of your body, you stopped her, pushing her down to the bed.

"I always wanted to do that," you started to slowly, so slow that it almost tortured her take off your clothes, stripteasing for her.

"Shit, Y/n." she quickly started to get rid off her jacket, snd everything else she was wearing. You were careful not to trip on the pile of clothes on the floor, and walked over to her again, straddling her leg on the edge of the bed.

Natasha's hand grabbed your hips roughly, keeping you in place and it didn't take two seconds before you started to grind on her. "Nat," you breathed, arms going to circle her neck.

"Who else touched you like this while I was away?" she growled in your ear, pressing your body against hers. "Answer me,"

"No one," you whined, giving her a subtle shake of your head. "No one, Natty. J-just myself,"

"My poor girl," Nat began to roam her hands up your sides, her lips pressing kisses on your jawline, "I'm so sorry I wasn't there to help,"

"You're here now..!" you gasped, your movements faster, as she began to move her thigh to stimulate you more.

"And I don't plan on going away," Natasha murmured, tilting your head to look at her in the eyes. Even in your high, you could make sense of her words, and the weight they beared.

"Nat!" you moaned, closing your eyes shut. "I need... please.. I—I need you, inside me."

Natasha almost lost her mind with that, grabbing your hips and pinning you down to the bed. She reached her arm out for the drawer that she hoped your strap still was, and luckily, she was right. "I'm gonna fuck you like never before, Y/n." she attached the silicone cock to her hips with urgency, holding your hips in place as she ran the tip of it across your folds, making you whine in need.

"Don't tease me," you gently gripped her arms on your hips and looked at her with dreamy eyes. She couldn't resist — but your walls were so tight she had to put a little effort to enter you.

"Holy fuck, baby." she moved her hand to brush your hair behind your ear, giving you a little time to get used to the length. "So fucking tight for me,"

"I—" you breathed, interrupted when Nat started to slowly move in and out you, her red hair falling into your face. You moaned, putting her hair up in a makeshift ponytail and with your free hand, holding her neck. "God, I missed you,"

Natasha pounded faster in you with those words, your moans only getting louder by the second. She grabbed one of your legs and placed it over her shoulder, allowing her to hit your g-spot repeatedly. You thumb went to your mouth, wetting it and starting to rub her clit — she couldn't say she expected that, her soft moans saying everything.

"Cum with me," you breathlessly requested, eyes fluttering close. Natasha didn't have to be asked twice. Her hips slammed into yours, the wet sounds of her thrusting echoing the room. "Natty!"

You back arched, head thrown backwards as your orgasm hit you. Natasha's legs shook, her weight falling onto you and your arms immediately wrapping around her, keeping her close.

"Don't make me go away,"

"I could never."

[appalachiancowboy99]

After Dark

Arthur Morgan x CurvyFem!Reader Established relationship, high honor, grumpy Arthur in desperate need of release, 18+, MDNI (Minors DO NOT ENTER)

Arthur comes back to camp later than usual, with nothing but a bad disposition and a desperate need to release his pent-up frustrations.

Warnings: longer read, sexual content (oral, unprotected p in v, rough sex), mentions of violence, mentions of anger, and dabbles in sensual fluff.

Gif by: @sunwingsunset

A/N: Thank you so much to @photo1030 for not only being my sounding board in the never-ending chaos that is my writing process but also for being such a wonderful friend through it all. So grateful for you, don't know what I'd do without ya, C! <3 Thank you so much to @rivetingrosie4 for being an inspiration for my little works and being so supportive of my creative endeavors, not to mention the kind generosity of your friendship! Forever grateful for to have met you! @tortureddpoett I'm so excited to explore this budding friendship with you! Thank you so much for showing so much excitement for my work, IT MAKES ME EXCITED (EEP!). It means an absolute ton to me <3 @mr-inkslinger your friendship has been an absolute delight to explore! Thank you for posting that toe-curling smut that always has me giggling and kicking my feet! So happy to have met ya! And thank each and every single one of you for liking my first drabble and expressing interest in this next one. I'm so sorry it's taken me forever to publish this post, but hopefully, the next ones won't take me as long. I'll forever be grateful for your patience and kindness <3 But now, enough of my babbling, y'all enjoy yourselves with this one- I know I did ;)

Fuck. From the second he opened his eyes, he knew that the day was going to be fucking awful; his neck had a crick in it, his head was pounding from what little sleep he’s received over the last few nights, and now he had to trudge back out into the goddamn muggy heat to work. One disaster after another had piled up; everything that could have gone wrong, went so terribly awry that he wound up farther away from camp than he originally intended and managed to add a solid fifteen-dollar bounty to the mounting collection resting atop his head. Dutch had sent him out on a wild goose chase, following a lead from Micah that, of course, ended up being a complete waste of time. And that meant he was coming back to camp empty-handed, which almost certainly meant he'd be on the receiving end of another one of Dutch's lectures on the endless responsibilities placed upon his shoulders. He dreaded it, wanted to avoid spiraling down another conversation that would end in Dutch questioning his faith in the ever-evolving plan he’s found himself working on these days.

As if he needed any of that horseshit tonight. All he wanted was a moment of peace and quiet, a chance to catch his breath after the disaster of a day he'd just had, but instead, he was headed back to camp with nothing but bruises, a bloody lip, and a bad disposition to show for his efforts. Trees and other bits of scenery whipped by in a blur as Arthur spurred his horse onward, his surroundings melting together into a muddy mess of shapes cast by moonlight. He passed through New Hanover, his furious pace leading him down the familiar roads of Lemoyne, reaching the clearing outside of camp. Lenny and John are the first to spot Arthur approaching the thicket of trees disguising Clemens Point's main entrance. “Hey, who goes there?” Lenny’s voice echoes through the forest, bouncing off the thicket until it reaches Arthur’s ears.

“‘S me.” Arthur grunts out through gritted teeth, clearly not in the mood for any chit-chat. Even underneath the shadow of leaves and limbs, the scowl etched upon his face is easily distinguishable, a clear sign for anyone with any common sense to give him a wide berth for the rest of the night. Lenny and John, both, had a pretty good idea of what might happen when Arthur steps foot into camp and they don't want any part of it. As a result, they give each other a little knowing glance and stay in the treeline, preferring to avoid the impending shitstorm and let Dutch or Hosea deal with it instead. He strides past them in a fit of frustration, dismounting his mare with a jerky movement before she's even come to a complete stop. Kieran spots him and hesitantly approaches. That poor fool. "H-Hey, Mr. Morgan. Would ya like me to unsaddle the 'ol gal here?" Kieran's question was nothing more than an innocent query, but his expression turned the young man into a nervous wreck. If looks could kill, Arthur’s certainly could; his steely eyes are set ablaze with annoyance and irritation as he casts a hateful glance in Kieran's direction. Even Kieran knew better than to talk to Arthur when he was in this state, knowing that it would only lead to suffering at the hands of his unbridled wrath. Kieran’s eyes immediately darted to his feet, desperate to avoid Arthur’s icy gaze as his fingers trembled with the frayed ends of rope in his hands. Quickly as to not start any trouble for himself, Kieran took hold of the mare's reigns and led her away to the field of horses, putting as much distance between himself and Arthur as he could. A slight pang of guilt runs through him when he sees the way that Kieran high-tailed it out of his line of sight. He doesn't want to be harsh to the boy, he's been a useful asset to the gang, but his temper is just too far gone for him to muster up an apology. As fast as the angering thoughts snapping through his mind, Arthur turns on his heels and storms into camp in search of Dutch. His boots furiously hit the grass and reddened Lemoyne dirt as he passes by a few of the wandering eyes from those still awake at this late hour. Charles casts him a wary glance, and so does Sadie, but neither of them cares to look long enough to entertain what's about to happen. He passes by his own wagon and heads straight to Dutch's tent. Dutch is nowhere to be seen, yet the lamp light inside casts its soft golden glow upon the closed canvas flaps of the tent, indicating that he might be inside. Not wasting any more time than he has to, Arthur approaches the tent, not bothering to stop and think until it's too late. His hand raises, readying to peel back the canvas flap, when all of a sudden he hears the sweet amorous sounds of lovemaking echo through the night air.  Molly’s sweet voice gasps out between each movement of their squeaking cot, calling out for Dutch as the unmistakable sound of skin slapping skin penetrates through the thin canvas walls, revealing exactly what’s occupying Dutch’s time tonight.

“Oh, Dutch. Don’t stop,” she encourages through strained, unabashed moans of pleasure. Dutch’s deep, husky voice murmurs back something unintelligible, but the increased squeaking of their bed and the filthy little noises coming from Molly are a clear indicator that Arthur should be stepping away to give them some privacy. Embarrassment washes over him, causing a faint rosy flush to heat his face and bloom across his cheeks. For once, he's grateful for the distraction from his current frustration. On most nights, he'd find comfort in your presence, seeking you out to vent his grievances as a distraction from the ever-present aggravation that seemingly follows him around these days. But tonight, he just wants to retreat to his tent, away from everything and everyone, to try to calm down before he says or does something he regrets.

He strides past the dying campfires and tables that are askew from daily camp activities, and his mind tirelessly races from thought to thought, stealing his attention away from his surroundings. If Arthur had even bothered to look, he would have spotted your sleeping form laid out upon his bed the moment he stepped inside. You had been waiting for him all evening. After working yourself to the bone doing laundry, dinner prep, and other camp chores for Ms. Grimshaw all day long, you wandered your way over to Arthur’s tent in search of a quiet place to sit. Part of you wished to find him seated right there on his cot, wanting to simply have a conversation with the man who has stolen your heart, but to your disappointment, he wasn’t anywhere to be found. So, you waited for him.. And waited until the very idea of waiting became too tiresome and you unknowingly fell asleep.

Sneaking away from the gang for private talks with him has been one of your favorite things to do since you joined the gang so long ago. Y'all have always had a knack for avoiding the company of others. But somehow in the midst of squirreling yourselves away, both of you have come to find that you'd prefer being alone together. Eventually, this led to many nights where Arthur would seek you out just to speak his mind, allowing you to see the world through his eyes for a short while. You have not only embraced Arthur's thoughts, but in doing so, you have captured his heart all the same. If it weren't for you, he's certain he'd have lost his damn sanity long ago.

Arthur takes that dusty old gambler's hat off his head and runs his fingers through his hair, taking a moment to calm himself down. His eyes glance over the things laid out upon his bedside table before catching a glimpse of your figure awash by the pale moonlight in his periphery. Your hair is sprawled out over the small blanket you've rolled up into a makeshift pillow; curls flowing like a roaring waterfall, laying a mess, and finally free from the bun that was atop your head earlier in the day. His eyes rake over your voluptuous figure, noting every dip and curve from your plump waist and hips to the ample swell of your breast hidden by a layer of clothing. The moment his mind registers that your presence isn't a dream, his eyes soften and his mind no longer races with anger. You are his peace, the only thing in this world that he cherishes above all else. 

Sighing softly, he finally discards his hat from his hand and places it onto his nightstand before working off his worn leather jacket and satchel, resting them on the back of the chair nearest his shaving mirror. And while he's on his feet, he takes the time to carefully roll down the canvas walls of his tent, unraveling them with the quiet precision of a mouse, and securing them in a few simple knots to hide you two away from the world.

It's quite dark by the time he wanders over to the cot, dark enough not to notice himself brush against your legs as he takes a seat on the edge of the old creaking bed. The familiar, welcomed-warmth of his body pressing against your shins rouses you from your restful slumber. Your eyes flutter open to find his figure perched next to you, shrouded in a darkness so thick that you are sure you're still dreaming. His head and broad shoulders are slumped over as he begins working off his dusty boots, caked with remnants of mud and manure.

"Hmm... Arthur?" Your voice floats through the quiet darkness, laden with fatigue and clearly carrying the lassitude of someone who could fall back asleep at the drop of a hat.

He quickly glances over his shoulder at the sound of your voice, his eyes already adjusted enough to the shadows to see your tired face staring back at him with confusion. He silently curses himself for waking you. "Shhh, Darlin'. Don't wake up on my account. I'll be done in just a minute," Arthur lightly grunts out the last word as he struggles to remove his right boot.

Even in your own weary state, the exhaustion in his tone isn't lost on you. Thinking it best to rouse yourself as quickly as possible to free up his bed for him, you sit yourself up and will yourself awake with a slight stretch. "'S okay. You need rest more 'n me."

"No. You was restin' 'fore I got here. Go 'head and lay back down." He isn't having any of your courtesy tonight. He's worn out, far too tired to argue with you about whether or not it's appropriate for you to share his bed for the night.

The rest of the gang, aside from John, Abigail, Susan, and Hosea know nothing about the true nature of y'all's relationship. Although, the rest of the girls have picked up on the changes you've brought about in Arthur since your arrival so long ago now. Seeing him get all soft and doey-eyed at you over these last few weeks has most definitely tipped them off about what y'all really get up to when you're out running errands together. But they catch wind of you sleeping in his tent tonight, it will all but confirm their suspicions. And yet, you just can't bring yourself to move from the comfort of Arthur's cot with him sitting so close to you.

"What time is it?" The question falls from your lips, carried on the soft currents of a gentle breeze pushing through the tent flaps. Fine sinewy muscles flex beneath his shirt as he leans over to work off his other boot and you are powerless to admire the shape of his body beneath.

A muffled grunt escapes his mouth the moment he finally frees his aching feet from the confines of his boots, "Late," he simply replies.

You take a deep, cleansing breath, allowing the tranquility of the night to settle around you like a soft, comforting blanket. Outside these walls, no sounds of chatter or lively activity can be heard, aside from the gentle hum of crickets by the riverbank and the faint sounds of a squeaking cot stopping abruptly. The gang is unusually quiet, the air filled with repose now that Arthur's returned safely to you. Only a few stragglers tend to the campfires, their focus solely on themselves, interested in anything beyond the flickering flames; not even the sounds of Dutch and Molly or Arthur's irritation can disrupt the peaceful bubble encompassing Clemen's Point tonight.

The plush heel of your palm rubs over one of your eyes as you flit them toward the tent entrance, watching how the wind slightly ruffles the bottom of the canvas. It's only then that you realize that Arthur has tied down the walls for privacy on your account. Normally, he wouldn't bother setting up the walls before collapsing on the cot for a few restless hours of sleep. But tonight, he's gone out of his way to ensure your comfort. Your heart couldn't feel any more full of love for this man by your side, a man who puts your well-being above all else, even above his own. Never did you think that love would have been like this for you: sitting in the comfortable silence of privacy for lovers when that luxury is rarely afforded for women like you. But despite your gratitude for his thoughtfulness, a pang of guilt gnaws at you knowing he made the extra effort while you took up residence in his bed, a cot that's barely big enough for the two of you given your plump frame.

In an attempt to make up for taking up so much space, you roll yourself forward along the thin mattress and quickly slide past him, crawling toward the foot of his bed where his trunk of clothing is kept. You've decided to give him his space for the night, even though in your heart, you'd prefer to stay. Before your foot even slides off the trunk to touch the soft grass below, you're reminded of John stopping by Arthur's tent earlier in the day.

Through a half yawn, you speak, not giving Arthur the chance to catch-on to where you're headed, "'Fore I forget: John stopped by while you was out."

Arthur slightly leans back as his fingertips mindlessly fumble with the buckle of his gun belt. The slight clicking of the metal rings out as he works to remove the clunky accessory from his body. His strong back brushes against you as he moves with the comfortable ease he's come to enjoy over these last few weeks of secretly being yours.

"What about it?" His concentration is split half between himself and the presence of your body behind him.

Your words don't register in his mind until he's completely removed the belt from his body. He figures it was that stagecoach job he reluctantly handed off to John; it had completely slipped from his mind until this very moment, much like yourself. The cool metal filigree atop his trunk moves under your feet as you rest them just shy of slipping off its edge, causing the hazy memory to play out behind your tired eyes.

-

You were just settling yourself in, resting your weary body on the edge of Arthur's cot, just as you're doing now. Little beads of sweat accumulated on your forehead from working out in the intensity of Lemoyne's miserably humid heat. Grimshaw had you and the rest of the women working on camp chores, which you hadn't complained of, since it usually occupies the time until Arthur's usual return. However, the day was far too hot for you to not complain about the harsh conditions she had y'all in. Eventually, evening came and you were finally finished with the laundry, allowing you a moment's rest to seek out the comfort of Arthur's cot.

In the midst of wiping your brow down with one of his neckerchiefs you'd secretly swiped, the hard thump of boots hitting grass caught your attention. You'd anticipated Arthur's arrival, but something didn't feel quite right. The boots didn't move with Arthur's measured stride; they scuffed the grass and dirt, signaling a different, but familiar presence. The moment you look up, you spot John standing at the entrance of the tent, not at all surprised to see you sitting upon his cot as if it were your own.

For a brief moment, his brow furrowed in a mix of frustration and exhaustion. It was as if he was caught between the two warring emotions, each pulling him equally. Clearly, he expected Arthur to be back already.

"He not back yet?" The gruffness of his voice has you believe the former, rather than the latter.

"Not yet," you say in kind, hoping to ease some of his burden. "Was you needin' him for somethin'?"

John did and the news certainly wasn't going to sit well with Arthur at all.

-

When the thoughts finally coalesce within your fatigued mind, you internally grimace knowing that Arthur isn't going to like the reality of the situation. Gentleness has always been your strong suit, especially when it came to dealing with half of the bull-headed men in camp. So, you lace your words with the softest tone you can manage, "Said it weren't as much as y'all had planned on: about fifty-dollars tied up in what little him 'n Charles found."

And you were right. The news doesn't sit well with him at all. All of the compiled frustration of working a nothing-lead and now knowing that the other job didn't pay well either boils beneath the surface of his skin until he explodes like a whistling kettle. Preventing himself from lashing out at you, Arthur kicks his boot toward the other side of the tent, knocking it into the chair. The loud thunk of its sole hitting wood claps harshly and causes you to flinch, startling you fully awake from the suddenness of noise and his movement.

"Every goddamn day it's some shit," he spits through his teeth.

Although you know he'd never intentionally hurt you, the anger in his voice sends a cold shiver down your spine and your stomach flips and churns in knots. Usually, you'd blame yourself, reprimanding your big mouth for even opening up to mention something that you knew wouldn't bode well for his weary mind. But you're in too much of a shock to even consider self-deprecation as an option. Your wide eyes search through the darkness, watching the shadowed outline of the man you love heave in a deep breath to steal his nerves. His shoulders slump forward and head hangs low as he rests his elbows on his knees, utterly defeated from the compiled anger and exhaustion coursing through him.

It's at this moment that you remember the job Dutch sent him on earlier in the day; Arthur didn't want to go and had very little sleep after working on yet another lead that barely got them anywhere. If it had been left up to you, you would've made Arthur stay right here in this bed to get some rest like he deserves. You would've taken care of him so tenderly, but, as usual, what Dutch wanted would have far outweighed any of your concerns. You've learned to recognize the pattern of these situations by now, and given Arthur's aggression, assuming that today's job didn't go quite as planned would be hitting the nail right on its head. You test the waters with a quiet question, "Lead didn't pan out today, did it?"

The soft shake of Arthur's head, coupled with the shadow of his palm running over his face tells you all that you need to know: no, it hadn't gotten him any farther than where he had started. Another useless effort. Your heart aches watching him struggle with so much weight on his shoulders. No matter how strong Arthur might be, he's just a man struggling to carry his own burdens, let alone everyone else's. Ever since settling down here, Dutch has placed so much responsibility on him that you've wanted to scold the man for even mentioning Arthur's name in passing. He's worked himself thin and thread-bare, barely having any time for himself outside of the time he spends on the road traveling from place to place at Dutch's convenience.

Empathy for the man that you've fallen in love with so long ago breaks your heart, aching in desperation to relieve some of his pain. Instead of walking away, keeping to yourself, and silently shouldering any of the blame for setting him off, you choose to stay the night. Despite knowing full well that the girls will have their gossip circulating by morning, Arthur's needs are far more important than any snickering comment or playful jest that'll inevitably come your way.

You scoot back where you were and lean toward him with less apprehension than what your words had suggested. Resting your delicate palm between the broad expanse of his shoulders, you feel him tense at the soft slip of your tender touch over his shirt. The tips of your fingers glide over his shoulder and silently take purchase on the taut muscle there. With a gentle, yet firm pull, you coax Arthur back toward you.

"C'mere. Lean back 'n talk to me..." Your dulcet tone pierces through his irritation, encouraging him to rest in your awaiting arms.

Arthur slowly reclines back, allowing himself to unwind in your embrace as his much larger body sits snugly against your plump bosom. Relaxing doesn't come easy for him. Hell, you'd be surprised if it had, given the high tensions between him and Micah these days or the tiresome back and forth between the two rival families in Rhodes. He has every right to be terse and tensed up like a snake ready to strike, but you aim to comfort him even if that means you risk getting bit. Silence hangs in the air between you, aside from the gentle breaths and the occasional strained grunt catching in the back of his throat while he struggles to get comfortable against you, due to the remaining stress insisting on clinging to his tired body. Your loving hands splay out over the firm expanse of his chest, feeling the steady and reassuring thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palms as you try your best to soothe your brooding lover. It's as if your mere presence cracks away at the anger lingering in the stiff tendons and taut plains of muscle along his torso until he relents and finally lets go. His body relaxes back into you as if he were sinking into the plush, luxurious drapery and bedding found in the finest hotels of Saint Denis; much like the bedding of the room he'd paid for the very same night he had whisked you away to bed you properly for your very first time.

He's silent for a long while, almost reluctant to burden you with his troubles. So, you take it up on yourself to start the conversation by spilling what had happened to you earlier in the day, thinking it might earn a laugh or two, "Well, I'm sure my day weren't as rough as your'n," you hum. "But I did fall off the dock, landing my hind-end right in that water."

The image would usually cause a humorous snort to escape him, but the irritation still bristling at his nerves prevents him from reacting with anything else other than a huff of annoyance, "I told ya to watch your footin' out there. Ain't no use to nobody if you get yourself drowned."

Fortunately, as he chides you his words begin to lack much of the anger from moments ago. But you sigh softly anyways, relenting to his incessant need to protect you from life's dangers, despite being able to handle your own, "I know, I know..."

With a few buttons of that old blue work shirt popped open by your deft fingers, the smallest opening there is just big enough to slip your hand inside and rest it up on the soft but wiry hairs at the very center of his chest. "You shoulda seen me, though," you murmur as you lean down toward his ear, lowering your tone as you press your cheek to the side of his head. "Was drenched head to toe, clothes clingin' to me like feathers on a wet chicken."

He sulks, trying to stay mad at anything and everything he can to give into the bristling anger at the back of his mind, but he can't. No, not when he can clearly envision you all soaked and surprised from falling into that cold lake. A faint smile curls up the corners of his lips and then, just as he almost chuckles, he clears his throat, holding his laugh back. However, you catch on far too quickly for him to play it off so easily.

You gasp softly in mock surprise as if offended by the idea of him laughing at you, "Arthur Morgan. Are you laughin' at me?"

That's when his temperament breaks, giving way to the huff of laughter rumbling through his chest. "I ain't laughin' atchu, per say..." he counters. "Just maybe at the thought of what ya mighta looked like comin' up outta that water: madder 'n hell, hair clingin' to your head," and as if to illustrate his point, Arthur reaches his hand backward and turns his head to try and catch a glimpse of you in the thick shadows, barely making your face distinguishable to his eyes, as he brushes his fingertips over the bits of hair clinging to your forehead from the muggy heat.

Though you narrow your eyes in mock annoyance, you lean into his calloused fingertips, accepting the gentleness of his touch while a giggle of your own creeps up into your throat, "Oh? Is 'at so? Maybe next time I find you out on that dock, I'll think 'bout pushin' ya in 'n lettin' you see how it feels."

He huffs out a skeptical breath and raises an eyebrow at the very thought of you even trying something like that with him. It'd be a futile effort and one that you truly wouldn't consider without the clear consequence of him pulling you right down with him.

And just as soon as the laughter came, it was gone again, replaced instead with a comfortable silence that settles between you two once more, giving him some space to think about what's happened to himself today. Long before the days of your arrival, Arthur would keep to himself and dwell on the ever-present burdens troubling his mind, brooding for hours. But with you, he feels a safety that men like him are rarely afforded.

"Well, if ya think fallin' in Flat Iron's bad..." he continues, "Try goin' halfway 'cross the state lookin' for a man that don't exist. Then when ya find someplace to get a drink, ya end up catchin' a few stray hits from some drunken bastard."

A soft gasp enters your lungs at the revelation. Another fight? You lean over his shoulder, reaching to take his scarred chin into your hand. It's hard to see through the inky-black darkness of the night, but even in the haziness, your eyes can make out the bruising along his jaw, the harsh scrapes of knuckles cutting over his cheek, and the jagged cut on his upper lip. It isn't a rare sight to have him come back battered and bruised by some job from time to time, but that still doesn't quell the uneasiness in your heart at him going through such pain and aggravation.

Your eyebrows furrow in sympathy for your rugged cowboy, eyes softening to match as you breathe out, "Oh, Arthur."

He's quick to dismiss your concern with a soft sigh, pulling away from you to lean forward and distract himself from your sympathetic gaze, "Ah, don'tchu go 'n worry yourself over me none, Darlin'."

Being fussed over or thought of so tenderly still isn't something he's used to; he's shown you that time and time again. But it never deters you from trying to make things better, to make things easier on him however you can. Whatever turmoil Arthur's got rolling about in his mind is far from the usual and it takes patience to understand; a patience that he finds only you can give.

You reach your hand out toward him. The delicate ends of your fingertips reach up to brush over the nape of his sun-kissed neck, grazing over the ends of his slightly overgrown hair, silently making a note to yourself that you'll trim it for him tomorrow. His body shuffles slightly backward, leaning in to accept your touch while he slips off his suspenders: pulling them down his shoulders heavy with burden, before taking his time to unbutton that tattered old work shirt you're so used to seeing around his muscular frame.

"'Sides..." he starts. "I did have some good that came from today."

"What's 'at?" you hum softly with a lilt of dryness. "Hittin' that feller back?"

He can't help the chuckle rising in his throat at the dry sarcasm touching your words. Arthur shakes his head softly, "Nah, Darlin', " the last word strains from his lips as he rises to his feet with a groan, leaving the safe comfort of your touch as he stands to undo his pants.

He glances over his shoulder, peering down at you through the darkness with a smirk curling up at the right corner of his mouth. Watching as your sweet eyes follow his every movement, Arthur turns to face you, allowing you to gaze at him as he slowly pushes the brass button through the eyelet at the top of his riding pants. The fabric opens effortlessly, revealing the red cloth of his union suit underneath. The sight of him before you, suspenders hanging loosely on either side of his long legs and his pants aching to be peeled from his strong form has your lips parted in awe at the man standing mere inches away from you.

He continues from just seconds before, "Seein' you laid out on my bed, purdy as a dream."

After stepping out of his pants now crumpled around his ankles, Arthur lowers one knee upon the cot nearest your thighs. He leans over you, using his thick fingers to tilt your chin upward, meeting his crystalline eyes. "Was one helluva sight I could get used to seein'."

The low timbre of his voice sends a shockwave of desire straight through your heart and into the aching pit of your stomach. Your lips draw up into a shy smile, and a faint dusting of pink envelops your cheeks just like the moment you'd first professed your feelings for him under that canopy of trees he led you through so blindly. Although it hasn't been long since that fateful night, the closeness of your relationship has escalated so quickly that your head and heart dizzy at the mere mention of his name.

Arthur's calloused thumb brushes over the supple swell of your bottom lip, enticing you to part them just for him. You comply, of course, unable to resist how a ghost of his touch makes you so pliant beneath him. And when he leans down to meet your lips with his own, your heart swells with tender affection. Those warm, slightly chapped, but pleasantly plush lips are heady as they connect with a passion that stokes the burning coals of desire in the very base of your core.

"Been waitin' to use that one for a while, hmm?" You hum contently while blindly guiding your hands toward the flare of muscle encasing his ribs. God, how you could worship this man and never tire of feeling how warm, how strong he is beneath your palms.

"Depends. It workin'?" He murmurs, smirking cockily against your lips.

Your mind begins to spin as the calloused pad of his thumb dips from your chin and swipes over your jawline. His fingers splay out over the side of your neck, fingertips gripping you with tender passion to hold you in place. He could easily break you, bend you with his finger and thumb as if you were nothing more than a twig beneath his rough and weathered hands. Never have you felt so small and fragile, always knowing in your heart that you took up much more room than other women. But, when you're with Arthur, he makes you feel as delicate as the petals on a beautiful flower, something so precious and worth loving; it's so much more than you'd ever experienced in your whole life. He touches you so tenderly as if you were made from nothing more than ash, a veritable pile of matter waiting to slip through his fingers at any moment.

You want to hum your praises to your lover, to let him know exactly how much you've wanted this, how much you've missed him, how well he's kissing you, touching you... But you can't. There are no words. He's stolen them from you, drawing all the air out of your lungs with his lips, leaving you gasping for the air coated in his divine masculine scent: sweet tobacco, wood ash, and mossy earth. He encompasses you, wrapping one arm around your waist as he pulls you close to his body, all the while shuffling himself forward to join you on the small cot. Your back presses against the hard wooden frame of the wagon making up the other half of his tent. He presses against you, holding you close to his strong body as he slides his right hand from your jaw, trailing it down over the soft skin of your neck, and down to your chest, where he heatedly palms your breast hidden just beneath your blouse. To have him touch you like this, like a man frenzied and dying for a taste of intimacy, has your head spinning and your heart on the verge of exploding if it hadn't already; for all you know, you could've died the moment his lips crashed into yours, and all that's left is a heaven you'd only dreamt of.

A low growl of appreciation rumbles through his chest for the plumpness of your body. Most men do not know the fine pleasures that extra curves on a woman can bring. But Arthur sure does. And oh how he worships your full figure, despite your opinions about yourself. His large, calloused palm shifts his attention to your other breast, kneading you tenderly while his lips work from your mouth, and instead, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses over your jawline and supple neck.

His name is a breathless sigh across your trembling lips as you allow your hands to explore his body in return. Touching over the large expanse of his torso and gliding your fingertips over the worn fabric of his union suit, you desperately search for the button that would bare him wholly to you. In the time it takes you to undo one of his buttons, his skilled fingers undo two of yours. Button after button unthreads upon both of your bodies, though his hands are much quicker at ridding you of your layers, leaving them strewn about on the ground until he's stripped you down and laid you beneath him in nothing more than your chemise and bloomers to conceal your decency. Arthur then crawls over you, his movements deliberate and enticingly slow as he cages you in with his hands pressed into the thin mattress on either side of your head. Shadows danced and shifted restlessly, playing tricks on your perception as you try to focus on what little of Arthur you could see through the haziness, making the absence of light feel alive. To feel him above you like this has your stomach in knots, tightening with a firey passion that's ready to snap at any given moment. Hearts are pounding, thrumming wildly against your ribcages like birds desperate to escape the confines of your chests. You hear it, hear how his breath shutters with each wild thump of his heart, and you feel it in his breath as it puffs over your cheek. He's losing himself to you and you him, slipping so quickly that rational thinking is no longer of use. You need him and he needs you.

The flaps of his union suit hang loosely from his body, allowing your hands to reach in and press flat over his heated skin. He shivers slightly at the contact, his muscles tensing and flexing beneath the tender meeting of your palms placed upon his scarred, goose-pimpled flesh. Your fingertips ghost over a scar on the right side of his ribcage, causing your face to crinkle with sorrow for what hardship your lover, this great outlaw, has had to endure in his lifetime. The damaged tissue is the result of a nasty fight he had as a young man: when someone stabbed him with the broken end of a beer bottle; they had aimed to kill him, but he had survived. The spot still aches with the memory of Hosea digging out the shards of broken glass from the angry, bloodied wound. But somehow, the way your delicate touch brushes over that old scar with such love and care causes the outlaw's skin to tingle, and his cock to ache with the pride of knowing that you love him so.

He takes his time with you here, laid out beneath him like a perfect little thing he's captured and kept safe by hiding you away in the privacy of his tent. After the day he's had, he wants to savor every bit of loveliness he's blessed with in your presence, so he can't rush this with you, not now. Arthur takes his time admiring you, letting his eyes rake over what he's able to see, and feeling what he cannot. Leaning down close enough to your face to capture that seductive glint in your glittering, lust-blown eyes, Arthur searches for any change within them as he maneuvers his right hand away from the mattress to trail along your sensitive flesh. The rough pads of his fingers ghost over your thigh, caressing the plump deposit of flesh along your middle, snaking up over your collarbones, and over your neck in search of your delicate face before sealing your mouth with his own in a kiss so tender you whimper from the initial contact.

Shivers of anticipation roll through him as your body responds to his touch: back arching off the bed, hands pulling on the nape of his neck to hold him down and assure that his lips won't leave yours, and the way your bloomer-clad hips roll upward in search of some much-needed friction. God how he could spend hours with you like this, letting his hands roam over your body to make you shiver and plead for any ounce of affection that he can give you. Your needy state is only exacerbated by the slight tremble in your thighs as he snakes his hands down over the pillowy flesh, seeking out the waistband of your bloomers. Ridding you of the cloth separating your pussy from his line of sight is an easy feat: the clad, slightly damp undergarment peels away from your plump hips with ease at the help of his precision; the Lemoyne heat causes the clothing to stick to your slightly dampened skin, but dammit if the temperature pales in comparison to how heated Arthur makes you feel. He tosses them down onto the ground, and places his hands upon your knees, spreading them apart as he sits above you to admire the feeling of your plump body beneath him.

His hand is unhurried and exacting, gently brushing his calloused knuckles down over your inner thigh, then lightly petting them over your soaked need covered by a soft thatch of hair. He can't see you fully, but that does nothing to stop his mind from envisioning how your cunt glistens with slick, all for him. The moment he presses his fingertips to your seam, parting you with the practiced precision of a lover, he lets a low, ragged breath escape his nose in appreciation for how wet you are. You shiver and instinctively try to close your knees from the pleasant surprise of his touch, and fuck does it feel good to have him brush over your folds like that.

"Always so ready, ain'tchya?" He murmurs, a teasing lilt to his voice as he takes his time in savoring the feeling of your slick upon his fingertips.

Your hips involuntarily twitch, bucking upward into his hand, seeking out his fingertips to make him swirl them over your aching little clit. You want him to touch you right where you need him, feel him right on that little spot upon that nub of nerves that makes your mind swirl and your body careen into a blissful orgasm. But he doesn't give that to you, not yet. He wants to work you over slowly, savoring every little sound he can draw out of those pretty lips. You're far too shy to answer him directly, instead favoring to cover your face with your forearms as he takes pleasure in taunting you like this. But the moment his fingertips threaten to part your folds, you let out a delicate little noise, someplace between a whine and a prayer to let him know that you're in no mood to endure his teasing tonight, "Arthur... Please."

Oh, how he loves to hear the sound of you begging; he's already half-hard at the idea of you wanting his touch, let alone hearing how desperate you are for it. He answers your prayer with a long, smooth stroke of his thumb parting your puffy, wet folds. You keen at how just a simple touch causes your stomach to flutter and your slit to clench around nothing at all. Your thighs, thick with strength, covered by a layer of squishy softness, part for him, relaxing lazily as he guides his thumb over each of your labia.

It was nearly impossible to get you to lay like this for him a few weeks ago; you'd been concerned about the unsightly appearance of your inner thighs: scarred over with dimples and imperfections, as well as the slight discoloration of having them rub together after so many years of being a larger woman. Most women that you've seen naked, don't have the same ailments upon their bodies as you have on yours. Just the other day when bathing with some of the girls in the lake, you'd noticed that even on Karen's body, a woman closer to your size, still didn't have the scars or discoloration across her skin in the same way that you have. And that night that Arthur had you laid out for him for the very first time, he'd noticed that apprehension in you, taking it as having second thoughts. But once you had explained how you felt about your own body, he hadn't even given the idea a single thought; his own body is mauled up, covered in old and ugly scars, and carrying more than three colors from all his time spent out in the sun. So, he couldn't have cared less about some scars, a little extra hair, weight, or even the discoloration over your thighs. What he did care about, however, was making sure that you felt loved in spite of it all. And now, it feels no different. To have you spread your legs for him like this, without a single worry holding you back, is a goddamn treat.

Fuck how good it feels to have the soft press of his thumb tease over your cunt, tracing the delicate path between your weeping entrance, to your swelling bud with a pressure so teasing and light that you squirm to feel more. Your plush lips tuck between your teeth to hold back any sounds that give away what you two are doing in here after dark, but it's useless; the lewd sounds of his thumb circling over your clit echo throughout the tent: a dead giveaway to anyone that dare walk by. Holding your breath like this isn't easy, not when the pounding of your heart echoes in your ears and your chest feels as if it's being seared from the inside out. A ragged gasp finally inhales through your nostrils, desperately trying to fulfill your body's need for air when you can no longer restrain your breaths.

He huffs out a low chuckle in amusement at the state he has you in: clearly desperate and in need to have your clit rubbed just the way you like it.

"Hmm.. Hear that?" He rasps out before going silent, letting you hear the sounds of your own slick being spread over your soaked cunt. He only continues when he finally reaches your clit, circling over the throbbing little nerve-ending to make you sigh out in pleasure for him. "So goddamn wet. All for me."

In a blur of movements, Arthur's chapped lips and teeth skim over your knee, slowly working their way down over your inner thighs. He nips at you, earning a few little squeaks and giggles until he kisses over your plump mound. His thumbs take hold of either side of your cunt, spreading you open to let the night air hit your wet skin. It's pleasant like this, to feel yourself spread out beneath him like a meal ready to be devoured and dammit if he ain't starved for a taste. Being eaten out has quickly become one of your favorite acts of intimacy in recent weeks; his tongue is so skilled at finding spots on you, making you come so deliciously, that most days it's all you've been able to think about. Hell, it's all you're thinking about now as his head sinks down to your core and his hot breath fans out over your aching need. His tongue slips out of that perfect mouth and flattens out over your seam, lapping at you once to earn him that little sigh of pleasure escaping your throat.

Your hands immediately seek out his head, combing through his slightly sweat-dampened hair as he swirls the blunt tip of his tongue over your clit.

"A-Agh, Arthur.. N-Not so fast," you whine out in protest, yet your hips bucking up into his mouth says otherwise. But he relents, nonetheless, giving you a moment of reprieve before he delves back in at the same pace.

He's aiming to make you cum quick and hard: slithering his tongue over your clit with the precision of knowing exactly what side and spot makes you writhe beneath him. Just left and then a little upward beneath that little hood of skin and he has you singing for him. Explicitves roll off your tongue one after another in between sweet little sounds that praise him for what effort he's putting in just for you. To hear you, feel you crumble beneath him like this is better than any robbery or score he gets out on the road. But just before he lets you come, he pulls his head back slightly and puffs cool air over your clit, making you whine.

"Shh.. Shh.. 'M gonna let ya cum, Darlin'. Don'tchu worry 'bout that none. 'M gonna take real good care of ya," he hums lowly as his lips and bristly scruff brush over your quivering inner thighs.

His promise isn't far off from fulfillment, not when he sinks his tongue into your heat and presses his opened mouth over the entirety of your cunt. He sucks hard, feeling your walls constrict around the wriggling muscle of his tongue as he laps inside your spongey center. Your thighs tremble with need as he fucks you with his mouth and slurps up your slick, drinking in as much of you as he can and relishing the tangy sweetness of your delectable taste. You throw your head back against the rolled-up blanket you had been using as a pillow earlier in the night, all while he eats you out like a man who's desperate to consume you.

But the aching throb of his cock, constricted by the thin fabric of his union suit, is far too angry for him to ignore. He's got to have you, now.

As he shuffles back up to his knees, leaving your cunt longing to cum on his tongue, you flutter your eyes open and snap your head up to try and catch a glimpse of what he's doing. Clearly, you ain't pleased with him teasing you like this, but when you feel his fervent movements, you realize that he's trying to work off his union suit. He wastes no time it peeling it away from his torso, but the moment he starts to tug it down his thighs, allowing his weeping cock to spring free, he nearly topples over and just about slams head-first into your body. Thankfully, he catches himself in the knick of time, grunting out a few curses as he grows impatient with his incapability to slide that damn fabric off his legs.

Amid his struggle to bare himself, you can't hide the giggle creeping up your throat as he curses under his breath, frustrated with how the fabric insists on clinging to his muscular legs. You help him slide the old red union suit off his body by digging your heels against the back of his thighs and pushing it down the long length of his legs until it reaches his ankles. The undergarment hangs loosely off his feet, causing him to kick it haphazardly off the side of the bed, letting it fall onto his trunk to skirt down on the grass below.

The instant his turgid length brushes over your inner thigh it twitches with the anticipation of feeling your tight, wet walls clamped around him, milking every drop of spend nestled away in his balls; spend that he so desperately wishes he could drain right inside of you. For now, however, just a single brush of your fingertips against him is enough. He has to hold his breath as he guides your delicate palm over his velvety shaft to stroke the needy ache away; if he isn't careful, he'd cum just like this. He hisses, sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth as your fingers wrap around him and your thumb seeks out the weeping slit of his blunt tip. Arthur is, by no means, a small man: his legs are long, torso strong and wide, feet and hands are like bear paws, and his cock.. God, his cock is big. You could use both of your hands to stroke him and still, there'd be enough room for his tip to be entirely untouched. But you make sure as you stroke him with one hand, you pay extra attention to his tip, smearing his drooling precum over as much of him as you can, even down to the dark and wiry curls along his base and balls.

He's trying so hard to hold himself back, but with each tender pass of your thumb over that sweet spot along the underside of his tip, the last remnants of his patience crack away. You feel him crumbling like this, crumbling into a frenzied mess of low-hummed breaths and grunts through gritted teeth, and you fucking love it. Before you can even think about the desire roaring in the cavernous pit of your stomach, aching to be quelled, he smashes his lips into yours so hard that you're sure one of you is bleeding. The pain of his busted lip splitting back open is an angry reminder of the frustration still lingering at the back of his mind; he's as tensed up, pent-up, as a taut rope ready to snap.

With a quick movement, he swats your hand away, preventing you from jacking him into a fast climax. Then, in one swift motion, he grabs hold of your thighs and forcefully yanks you toward him, making the round swell of your plump ass plant firmly against the hard front of his strong body. Your thighs spread out, squishing over and conforming to the contour of his hips, the intimate contact leaving you both ragged and breathless. Your heart drums a frantic rhythm in your ears, drowning out all other thoughts and sensations that belong to you alone. It's as if your mind has descended into a tangled web of strangled noises and glorious sensations that only Arthur seems able to untangle or soothe. The faint outline of his body nestled between your thighs is a constant reminder that nothing beyond this moment, beyond him hidden away with you inside of this tent, matters.

The hard length of his turgid pride parts your folds, gliding over the slick thatch of curls usually concealing your cunt from his eyes, but with his sight hindered, he can explore every single nook, roll, and crevice without you shying away. His weight bares down on you as he holds your legs into the crook of his arms, nearly bending you in half as he drags his cock over your seam. It feels so good like this, even though you can hardly breathe with the thickness of your thighs pressing against your already plump stomach, but when the tip of his cock knocks into your clit, it makes the strained pain well worth it. The back of your hand flies over your mouth as he continues on like this, pleasuring himself and you with each agonizingly slow thrust. Hearing your ragged, strangled half-breaths, he releases your thighs, leaving them to splay out lazily on either side of his hips as he leans down to steal a tender kiss.

Upon breaking his lips away from yours, the low hum of his voice finds its way through the haziness of your lust-broken mind as he murmurs against the shell of your ear, "Gonna take ya just like this..."

Chapped lips skim over your jawline and trail to your lips, where he gives you another tender kiss filled with gentle affection: polar opposite to the rough sex-driven outlaw you've gotten a taste of tonight, but aligning perfectly with the man you fell in love with all those years ago. Scraped knuckles skim against your slick heat as he slips his hand in between you both and presses flat over the thick, dark curls at the base of his throbbing length. His fingers spread wide over his pubic bone, holding his cock between his middle and ring finger, stiffening himself outward to seek out your clenched entrance. With a slight pullback of his hips, he guides himself to your slit, catching right on the taut muscle before pressing forward and splitting you open.

A soft cry hums in the back of your throat and he shushes you so tenderly, sliding his hands over your knees and down your shins to soothe the ache he knows you're feeling. You're so fucking tight, hardly different from the first night he took you and bedded you properly back at the Saint's Hotel. It nearly shatters him when your walls flutter around him, squeezing and pulling him in inch by inch as if you were carved out just for him to sink into. He stills only for a short moment, letting you feel him nestled up against your cervix before he slides himself out and enters you again with a sharp snap of his hips. Lingering anger and frustration from the shit day he's had still pulsates at the back of his mind, desperate to be released as the tension in his body rises.

The tight walls of your cunt clench onto him for dear life as jolts of pleasure and pain rack through your body.

Behind the shield of your palm, you cry out, "A-Agh, Arthur!"

You're trying your best to be quiet, to still your ragged breaths and hide your whimpers, but he's making it incredibly difficult. Each slow drag of his cock coming out of you with a satisfying pop, only to pierce you with a hard roll of his hips, sends you reeling. You're seeing stars, shaking from the pleasurable burn of the passionate fire he's stirring within you. Strong hands grip your hips, keeping you still as his thrusts guide you into a steady rhythm that makes the old wooden frame creak and groan with every subtle and sharp movement that your bodies make. Being discreet has left his mind entirely, no longer concerned with what sounds are coming out of his tent as he fucks you good and proper. No, he couldn't care less when the sounds of your slick pussy squelches as he presses himself flush against you and groans against the pulse point of your neck.

"Don't want ya hidin' them purdy sounds, Darlin'. Let 'em out for me," he grunts out between slow but hard thrusts.

Usually, intimacy like this is savored in the shaking breaths and whispered little sounds only audible to your ears, but tonight... Tonight Arthur is something else entirely. Primal. A damn, dirty outlaw. You love this new view of him, but you can't allow yourself to let the others hear. What if someone were walking by? Or Hosea or Dutch hear you two going at it? You wouldn't be able to look at them for a week! But he doesn't give you much choice in the matter: snaking his hand down between your bodies, his muscular forearm presses against your plush belly while his thumb immediately finds your clit.

"O-Oh, God," you whine as the pad of his thumb circles over you, followed by his name dripping off your tongue like the sweetest honey. "At's it... Such a good girl takin' me so deep. Mmm.. Gonna cum 'round me ain'tchu? Gonna give me a real good one, baby?"

God damn him if his mouth ain't filthy. The way he croons out those little praises and words of encouragement has your climax building faster than you ever could have anticipated. And the swirling of his thumb? It has you shaking, whining, pleading, practically begging for your release as he talks you through it, "C'mon, Darlin'... I feel ya squeezin' me real tight," he praises, "'At's it. Focus on me."

With one more swipe of his thumb over your sensitive clit and his cock hitting that sweet spot right against your cervix, you're tensing, digging your heels into the thin mattress, and cumming around him so hard that you see white. It takes everything in you not to scream, but the strangled sound coming out of you is loud enough to warrant some head-turning if anyone were awake. The moment your walls flutter and start milking him, he falls forward and drops down onto his elbows to cage you in. His thrusts are relentless as he takes his anger out on you in this way, using every movement of his body to release the bristling anger clutching onto his mind like a damn vice grip. No matter how fervent and frenzied, he's still careful not to hurt you, always thinking about how good he's making you feel while chasing his own release.

Arthur isn't a man of many words, but when you're gripped around him like this, clutching him with your arms, legs, and your fluttering pussy, he is downright mouthy. "Oh, such a good girl for listenin' to me. Shh.. Shh. I gotchu, baby. I gotchu."

His mouth hovers over yours, claiming your lips as he kisses you hard and possessively. Moans spill out of you, traveling through the expanse of his throat until it hums within his chest and he echoes one back. To talk like this with him, in a language only two lovers could understand, is far more intimate and pleasurable than anyone could ever know. Arthur is yours and you are his, no ownership or proprietary claim, but just the pleasant knowledge that both of you choose to love each other is enough.

With a few more rolls of his hips, he's nearing his own orgasm: length twitching and engorging as his balls tighten. In desperation, he quickly climbs off of you and pulls his cock out from your core. His right hand tightens into a fist around himself, and although you can't see it, you hear the lewd, effortless slide of his hand vigorously pumping over his tip like his life depends on cumming for you.

Finally, his orgasm hits him, working its way out of his tightened balls and spurting over your plump mound and belly. If he could see his spend on you like this, it'd be enough to make him cum all over again. But both of you are far too exhausted to even consider that so soon. You're still shaking, panting heavily as he lowers himself down onto you, not caring that his sticky spend is now covering the front of his body as well, as your sweaty bodies come down from such an enormous height.

His touch traces a slow, deliberate path down your leg until his fingertips reach the softness of your hip, where he gives your flesh a gentle but firm grasp. Reveling in the smoothness of your skin and the feel of your curvy form beneath his palm, he lets out a slow exhale through his nose. The heat of his breath spills over your neck and shoulder, doubled by the heavy breaths leaving his lips as he lazily peppers your clammy skin with kisses.

After a long stretch of quiet spent nestled into his hair, breathing in the comforting remnants of campfire intermingled with his musky scent, your breathing finally begins to steady. Slowly, your senses return to you one by one, like pieces of a puzzle falling back into place. Shock and disbelief jolt through your entire being as it finally hits you how easily he manipulated your body with his own strength and skill as a lover. You'd heard of men being rough with women, but never did you think it could be this pleasurable.

Your voice finally cuts through the relative silence, carrying a deep sense of satisfaction and astonishment with it, "Wh-here in the hell did that come from?"

An amused chuckle rumbles inside his chest, slightly huffing out of his nose as he slightly pushes himself off of you to gauge your reaction, "Reckon I were a little pent up. Why? You like it?"

To say you liked it was an understatement, but you'd like anything as long as Arthur were right there with you to experience it just the same. While his right hand slides up over the plump contours of your body, appreciatively grabbing at the plushness of your stomach and breasts, he lovingly brushes a few stray strands of hair off your forehead stuck there by the sweat covering your body. You hum softly in agreement to his question, deciding that you did enjoy this different side of him you hadn't respected, despite his rough exterior.

"Mhmm.. 'S always good with you," the loving words you murmur cling to his heart and earn you a pleasant kiss that tastes like the remnants of his busted lip.

As his lips trail back down over your jawline, his beard delightfully scratches over your sensitive skin, causing you to hum in appreciation for him loving you like a man who worships the very ground you walk upon. Your own body follows his lead, fingertips glide down the entire length of his back, tracing the contour of muscle that hint at the immense strength lurking beneath. You can't help but marvel at his shape, this man you love so dearly, and how his body was molded for love and carved from such a hard life. While your fingertips glide across his muscled frame, you can feel the subtle shift of his body as he adjusts himself on top of you, notricebly more relaxed than before: a clear testamanet to the calming eddect your touch has on him.

Curiosity peaked, you murmur, "You relaxed now?" as your fingertips idly trace the two little dimples that grace the base of his spine, just above the firm and muscular curve of his ass.

An amused smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, obviously enjoying the path your fingertips are carving out over his back. He'd never admit it, but he loves it when you grab him unabashedly, palming his ass like he so often does to you. The warmth of his cock brushing over your leg, hardening much faster than he expected for a man his age, tells you all you need to know.

He agrees with you, humming softly against your chest as he inches himself down to where his mouth hovers over the plump swell of your breasts, "Thinkin' that we just might need a little more time for relaxin', don'tchu?"

A/N: Big thanks for the divider from @saradika-graphics and the beautiful gif from @sunwingsunset, please go send them some love for their work! <3

Other creators that expressed interest and drew inspiration from: @subpopizzy , @cassietrn , @coltermorning , @redwritr, @zae-heeyyy, @twola , @amorgansgal

Please do go check all the blogs I tagged! You surely won't be disappointed!

As always, sending my love - M. <3

[bamboobooshark]

IM BEGGING FOR A LOGAN X FEM READER WHO CAN TURN INVISIBLE BUT WHEN SHES NERVOUS OR FLUSTERED SHE DISAPPEARS INVOLUNTARILY essentially it’s just logan flustering reader till she disappears??? (mostly fluff but also suggestive/smut end)

LOGAN HOWLETT X F!READER

˖⁺‧₊˚ ㅤ⚜️ 𝜚 SHY AWAY : 1.3K WRDS

<RATING: PG-13, FLIRTING, SOME LANGUAGE, KISSING>

A/N : Soooo as far as “suggestive/smut” end goes, the most you’re getting is some mild flirting and kissing. I do have my age in my bio and my pinned; I am a minor! Sorry to disappoint anyone, but I doubt it would be socially acceptable for me to write anything too suggestive. Post writing note; I made this way longer than I intended to OOOOOPS !!Warning: Detailed kissing and use of pet names!!

Out of all the mutations the universe could’ve graced you with, you were damned with involuntary invisibility. Sometimes it could come in hand when you’re about to be harmed. You have a sixth sense of fear, and any time it kicks in, you go invisible. That sixth sense has saved your life a handful of times, to be fair. However, the past month has been hell for you. You met a fellow mutant through your friend Rogue. Logan Howlett is his name. You’re so envious of his mutation. Built in claws that aid him in being up front and in the enemies’ faces rather than hiding away in plain sight.

 

You sheepishly walk over to Logan, already nervous that he’ll cause a sudden disappearance. He’s lounging in one of the chairs within the common room. One of his legs crosses on top of the other. Rogue is sitting on the couch across from him, reading some romance book that she’s been telling you all about. She glances up at you, and before she can speak, you give her a face, begging her not to speak. She looked back down at her book without another gesture. 

Logan takes another drag of his cigar while leaning back a bit in the recliner. You walk in front of him and sit next to Rogue with a light smile on your lips. “Heya, girl! What brings you down here?” she asks as she gives you a quick hug. You hug her back and shrug. “Not much. Just missed you and Logan,” you say casually, subtly trying to catch Logan’s attention. It works, and he shoots you his iconic look with one eyebrow raised in slight confusion. He takes his cigar out of his mouth between his pointer and middle, causing you to shiver slightly at the sight. “Missed me? Why the hell would you miss me, doll? I’m nothin’ special,” he tells you as his expression becomes more relaxed.

You feel your heart flutter and your mind fill with anxiety of you going invisible. You try your best to keep yourself together before replying to him. You tug at the neck of your shirt and bit and attempt to get comfortable. “Well, I just like being around you. You seem pretty comfortable around me, and you’ve been nothing but welcoming since Marie introduced me to you.” You ramble while trying your best to maintain eye contact with Logan, but ultimately end up looking in his direction instead. He raises his eyebrows and shrugs slightly in response. “Alright. Thanks for checkin’ on us then, princess,” he says with a soft smile. Damn, that does it for you. Your cheeks feel like fire before you go invisible. You quietly hold in an annoyed and embarrassed groan. You look to your side and see Marie looking down at her book in attempts to hide her snickering and smiling at the situation. You roll your eyes before you glance over at Logan. His lips are slightly parted, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Kid, am I crazy or did your friend just disappear?” he asks with slight concern. Marie lets out a few strangled laughs before wiping stray tears from her eyes. “Yeah. That happens sometimes,” she huffs out. Her eyes point in your direction before she smirks mischievously. “Usually when she’s really flustered. But it happens when she’s feeling some strong emotions too. I’m sure it’s the first case though,” she says to Logan before going back to her book.

Logan nods in understanding before taking another drag of his cigar. He keeps it between his lips this time.

Soon enough, you fade back into sight, and Logan immediately gazes at you. “Welcome back,” he murmurs against his cigar. You smile idiotically at him and nod your head to let him know you heard him. Marie looks at you and nudges your elbow, encouraging you to say more. You subtly shake your head no, but gain a knowing look from her in response. You bite at the inside of your cheek in anticipation for what she’s about to do. She stretches and lets out a bit of a groan before getting up on her feet. “I think I’ll be heading to my room now. I might hit the hay soon,” she tells the two of you before walking off.

Logan’s gaze lingers on you, and he smirks at you. Your cheeks began to heat again. The chair squeaks as he gets up and walks over to you. One of his hands goes to slip a thumb through his jeans’ belt loop. The other reaches for his cigar and falls to his side. He stands in front of you, looking down at you with a soft smile. “I don’t bite, baby girl. I know the huge metal claws could be a bit intimidating, but I swear I’d never hurt ya’. Alright?” he asks sweetly as his hand moves from his belt loop to your shoulder. He gently rubs his thumb against it while awaiting your response. You sit there for a few seconds in shock. You haven’t disappeared yet, but you wish you could right now. Your flesh is burning up so much that you’re sure Logan can feel it through your clothes. He leans in close to your face, his pupils right on yours, causing you to look away. “Hey. Look at me,” he asks gently while waiting for your eyes to meet his again. When you sink into yourself, Logan grunts, puts out his cigar, and uses his hand to hold your cheek in his palm. You involuntarily lean against the calloused skin, causing him to chuckle. In fear of him pulling away because of your defiance, you decide to look at him again. “That’s it,” he murmurs. You let out a quiet whine at his praises, and it does nothing but fuel the fire in Logan’s chest. You let yourself relax, your eyelids feeling a little heavy, your chest rising in falling shallowly. You’re not sure if you’re seeing right though when you see him lean in. His breath is strong with the scent of cigar smoke, but you ignore it the best you can. You’ve been waiting for this since you’ve met him. Both of you slowly close your eyes as his lips press to yours. You immediately go invisible, but that doesn’t mean you’re not physically there. Logan’s hand that was previously on your shoulder moves to cup your other cheek. His hand doesn’t miss your face. Fuck, it’s like he spends so much time looking at you that he has your entire figure mapped out in his head. You wouldn’t be too surprised if he genuinely did. He slightly leans more against you, your head and back pressing against the fabric of the couch. You can feel his legs shift between yours as he attempts to get as close as he can to you. The two of you unwind with each other. Your mouth opens for him, and he kisses you deeper. You breathe into each other, finding a good rhythm that keeps the two of you connected for longer than anticipated. But when you finally pull back, you are panting like a dehydrated dog. Your mouth goes dry as you realize you’ve been invisible since Logan started kissing you. He chuckles softly, his head hanging down in front of you. He catches his breath while attempting to look back up at you. His thumbs caress your cheeks before he leans in near your ear. “I know I can’t see you, doll, but I know you look so damn pretty and wide-eyed right now,” he mutters to you, causing your hands to clasp over your mouth to muffle your gasp.

[slayfics]

Late night texting with Eijiro.

Warnings: Eijiro aged up | NSFW themes

Eijiro tossed and turned in bed unable to drift to sleep with the memories of today's spar plaguing his mind. He had been rougher with you than he intended to today and he couldn't help but feel guilty.

Giving in to his worry Eijiro grabbed his phone and decided to message you.

Hey, I just wanted to say I'm really sorry about today's spar. I didn't intend to be so rough. I hope you're alright.

You responded to him almost right away,

Kirishima it's late you should be asleep!

I couldn't help it! I just wanted to make sure you were doing ok.

I'm fine, no need to worry. Look, it isn't even that bad.

You texted and sent over a picture of your injuries from the spar. Eijiro felt his breath catch in his throat as soon as his eyes focused on the image.

You were lying in bed and had pulled your shirt up to show the injuries to your abdomen left from the spar.

He knew you were just trying to ease his mind by showing him the injuries weren't anything to worry about, but he couldn't help his mouth from falling open and his cheeks warmed by an excited blush.

The image showcased your body so perfectly lying delicately in bed. Eijiro couldn't look away from it as badly as he wanted to. This isn't manly at all. He thought as he found himself excited by a picture of your bruised body. Even still knowing it was wrong, his grip tightened on his phone and his heart rate increased the longer he stared.

Just as his hormones shot him nefarious thoughts causing his member to enlarge, you messaged him again.

Hello? You fall asleep on me Kiri?

Fuck, he typed out a response fast.

I'm still up! I guess it's not too bad, but I'm still sorry!

Stop apologizing! Besides, I got you pretty good too right?

Yeah, you did! You did amazing today!

Alright, let's see it then!

Eijiro felt himself freeze for a second time tonight. You- You wanted a picture of him? Eijiro shook all crude thoughts out of his mind. Don't be a perv, he told himself. You were just wanting to make sure his injuries weren't bad.

Eijiro must have been contemplating the meaning of your request for longer than he thought because you texted him again.

Unless you feel uncomfortable then it's totally fine you don't have to!

No no, it's fine! Give me a second!

Eijiro jumped out of bed panicking. You wanted a picture of him! He looked around his room and clumsily stumbled into the restroom deciding that was the best place to do it.

Ok ok, you can do this, he thought trying to hype himself up. Besides he is usually shirtless in his hero costume right? But for some reason, this felt so different. Eijiro struggled to keep his hands from shaking as he ripped off his shirt and nervously took selfies in front of the mirror.

What the hell am I doing, he second-guessed himself as he scrolled through the pictures he took deciding on the best one. Finally settling on one he nervously pressed the send button.

Your response came in minutes but felt like ages as he shakingly waited. Did he show too much skin, he wondered? He hoped his picture didn't look too suggestive. But you asked for one right? So it's fine, he thought, trying to ease himself.

Eijiro's eyes snapped to his phone as soon as it buzzed with a response from you.

Damn.

Was all your message said.

Damn, what?! He thought, running his hands over his face. Maybe you meant his injuries? Of course, right? That is what you two were talking about.

Yeah, you got me pretty good, but don't worry I'm alright!

He responded, commenting on the darkened bruises on his own abdomen that you had given him.

Not the injuries silly. You. You look good.

Eijiro's face burnt red hot reading your message. Do you really think he looked good? Was that the real reason you had asked him for a picture? Were the injuries just an excuse to ask, he wondered.

You look good too.

He typed and sent before thinking, panic caused him to quickly send a follow-up text.

Oh man, that sounded so pervy I'm sorry! I didn't mean for that to be weird or anything!

However, you didn't respond to Eijiro with a text but with another picture instead. This one was more provocative than the last showcasing even more of your body.

Eijiro suddenly felt his sweats become tighter as his excitement grew at the revelation that you were doing this on purpose. You wanted him to look at you with lustful eyes.

Yet again, Eijiro found himself staring too long causing you to send him a follow-up text.

Don't be rude, send one back.

Eijiro dabbed at the blood beginning to leak from his nose, as he realized: this was going to be a long night.

Tags: @unofficialmuilover @maddietries

[pastryfication]

hihi could I request a fic where arthur is babysitting leo and takes him on a walk and meets y/n and their dog?

love at first sniff | arthur leclerc

part of the love at first . . . series.

pairing: arthur leclerc x reader note: it ended up just being very short but i hope you like it either way xx

when charles asks arthur to look after leo for the weekend, he doesn’t hesitate for even a moment. leo’s a tiny dachshund with big brown eyes and an even bigger personality, and while arthur’s not entirely sure how he’s going to manage, he can’t say no to charles—or to the way leo wags his tail when he sees him.

the first morning, arthur decides to take leo for a walk around the neighborhood. it’s early, the sun just beginning to rise, casting a soft golden glow over everything. the streets are quiet, and arthur finds the calm refreshing. leo trots along beside him, his little legs working overtime to keep up, and arthur can’t help but smile at the dog’s enthusiasm.

as they turn a corner, leo suddenly perks up, his ears twitching. arthur follows his gaze and spots another dog up ahead—a cocker spaniel with a golden coat, ears floppy and a leash held by a girl around his age.

you’re standing near a patch of grass, watching your dog sniff around, a soft smile on your lips. arthur notices the way the light catches in your hair as you fondly look at your pet, and he feels a flicker of nerves in his chest.

leo, however, doesn’t share his hesitation. the moment he sees the cocker spaniel, he’s off, tugging at his leash with surprising force. arthur stumbles after him, trying not to laugh at the little dog’s determination.

“sorry about that,” arthur says once he’s close enough, a bit breathless as he finally gets leo to slow down. “he’s really excited.”

you laugh, glancing down at leo, who’s now stretching up on his hind legs, trying to sniff your dog’s face. “it’s okay,” you say. your voice is warm and comforting and arthur never wants you to stop talking. “he’s adorable. what’s his name?”

“leo,” arthur replies, gently pulling the dachshund back to a sit. “he’s my brother’s dog. i’m just looking after him for the weekend.”

“well, leo’s very charming,” you say, smiling down at the little dog. “this is daisy,” you add, nodding toward your brown dog, who’s watching leo with curious, gentle eyes.

“leo and daisy,” arthur says, grinning. “they sound like they could be the stars of a children’s book.” immediately after saying it, he cringes on the inside. what was that?

but you only laugh again, seemingly not put off by his awkward humour, and arthur can’t help but feel a bit more at ease. the conversation flows naturally after that, both of you chatting about the dogs and swapping stories about their quirks. arthur finds himself relaxing, enjoying how easy it is to talk to you. daisy seems to have taken a liking to leo as well, sniffing around him and wagging her tail, while leo bounces around her, excited and playful.

as you talk, arthur learns that you live just a few blocks away and that you often take daisy on early morning walks.

there’s something about the way you speak—open, friendly, and warm—that makes arthur feel like he’s known you longer than just a few minutes. he’s never been particularly good at small talk, but with you, it doesn’t feel like an effort at all.

eventually, you glance at your watch and sigh softly. “i should probably get going,” you say, though you don’t seem in any real hurry to leave. “daisy’s going to start pulling if we stay much longer.”

arthur nods, feeling a twinge of disappointment but trying not to show it. “yeah, leo’s got a lot of energy to burn off too.”

you kneel down to give leo a quick pat on the head, your fingers gentle in his fur. “it was really nice meeting you, arthur. maybe we’ll see each other around again?”

“i’d like that,” arthur says, his response coming out a bit more eagerly than he intended, but you just smile.

“me too,” you reply, giving daisy’s leash a gentle tug. “come on, daisy.”

as you walk away, arthur watches for a moment, a small smile lingering on his face. leo whines a little, clearly disappointed to see daisy go, and arthur chuckles, giving the dachshund a gentle nudge with his foot. “come on, leo. let’s head home.”

as they continue their walk, arthur can’t help but think about the way you smiled at him, how easy it was to talk to you. maybe looking after leo isn’t so bad after all, he muses, a small spark of hope warming his chest.

and as they make their way back to charles’s place, arthur finds himself wondering if maybe, just maybe, tomorrow’s walk might lead them past that same corner again.

[kakitetan]

Sebastian Solace x GN! Reader | Daily Life AU | Sleeping

Ever since you were released, you were forced to take Sebastian in, you have no idea if Urbanshade even knew, since it was upon Sebastian's request. Or more like demand…

You were watching TV in the living room, you lived alone with Sebastian now. The house wasn't normally this quiet, the silence occasionally interrupted by Sebastian banging into something with his large body. You paused the show you were watching and got up. The silence was eating at you, and he was nowhere to be found.

You walk over to his room, knocking.

"Sebastian? It's me, I'm coming in." You spoke, walking into the room.

His TV was on, with Painters' face flickering on the screen.

"Oh, hey Painter. Have you seen Sebastian?" You asked, your next question was going to be why Painter was even here. Advanced AI is scary…

"Does it look like I've seen him Y/N? He's your responsibility!" He remarked, before turning the TV off in a huff.

You blinked and looked around the room. You made your way to the window, looking around for Sebastian. It was odd, a grown-ass man was your responsibility. Besides, he knew better than to go outside without your permission. You leaned against the window, at times… The mission still bothered you. It's how you and Sebastian met, and even now while living together, he tries his hardest to avoid talking about his past and being human. But you can tell it bothered him too.

From the way he'd look at you when you asked about his document, to the way he tried to hide his voice crack when he ate soup for the first time in god who knows how long.

You knew it still bothered him, no matter how much he yelled at you for simple things, or when he made snarky remarks to hide behind that bitchy exterior.

Yet oddly enough, you were grateful. Without that experience, you wouldn't have met him, so it's not for nothing. You blinked, snapping out of your thoughts. You scanned the outside, Sebastian wasn't anywhere to be seen. You turned away from his window, walking out the door. You walked down the hallway, the bathroom door was open. He wasn't in there either. The last room was your room…

You were hesitant, you drew near the door. The potent smell of fish hit your senses.

"Sebastian, it smells in… Here.." Your voice trailed off, seeing the man curled up on your bed.

Thoughts flooded your mind, on one hand, it was charming. On the other hand, your room was going to smell…

You silently took out your phone, snapping a picture of the cute sight in silence. You were in the middle of putting your phone back into your pocket when you heard the bed creak. You snapped your head to the source of the noise when your bed snapped and collapsed onto the floor. His weight was too much!

He woke up immediately, snapping up. He looked at you and glared. "What are YOU looking at?!"

You knew he knew that Sebastian had broken the bed. His cheeks were flushed in a dark blue hue. You blinked, before smiling.

"Nothing, go back to sleep. Sorry for interrupting you." You spoke, before leaving the room.

Authors Notes! Hi! This is my first fanfic I've ever written, I intended on it being longer, since I just enjoy long fanfics as a reader, but it was sortaaa hard to make this one long. My writing may come off as odd, I don't intend for that to be a bad thing. I allow criticism too, since I want to improve. I hope this is still a good read! This was just an idea I had in my head for a while, I plan on making it a series, if anyone even wants that. Anyways, enjoy this mess, ahahaha!

[moonstruckme]

Hi, I absolutely love your writing and i’d thought i’d try to request a remus lupin x reader kinda hurt comfort fic or blurb? Reader comes from a dysfunctional family where her dads alway angry and she feels like she’s walking on egg shells when around him and her mom throws all responsibilities like taking care of younger sibling onto reader so they always feel like they aren’t doing enough and they kind of cary these traits into their relationship with remus? maybe remus comes home from a hard day at work and reader can immediately sense he’s in a bad mood and like gets really quiet and starts working on the house instead of spending time with him bc she thinks he will be mad or something

This was way longer than i intended it to be im sorry😭 and I totally understand if this was too much or a topic that you don’t wanna write about there is no pressure at all!!!

love ya! -anon

Thanks for requesting lovely!

cw: implied past harmful/abusive dynamics

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 849 words

If the sharp turn of his key in the lock didn’t tip you off to Remus’ mood, the way he shuts the door behind him would. Automatically, your mind starts whirring with the things you can do. 

Your boyfriend has barely taken his shoes off before you’re in the kitchen, unloading the overfull dish rack. You’ve no idea how you let it go this long; some of these things have been dry for days. You’re shutting drawers and cabinets as softly as you can, wary of worsening Remus’ irritation with a racket. 

“Hey.” He pads into the kitchen, reaching for you. 

“Hi.” You smile and give him a kiss. His hands start to come around your waist, but you pull away in favor of grabbing a pot from the rack. 

“What’re you up to?” he asks. The exhaustion in his voice has a terse edge that makes your fingertips crackle with nervous energy. 

“Just tidying a bit.” 

“Want some help?” 

“I’m good, thanks,” you reply in your most serene voice. “You’ve only just got home, why don’t you relax?” 

Remus hesitates a handful of moments, watching as you go back to whizzing about the kitchen before wordlessly retreating to the living room. 

Once the dish rack is empty, you decide to start filling it up again. There’s an unwashed pot on the stove, an old container of leftovers in the fridge, and a handful of dishes on the coffee table. You make yourself as scarce as you can when you go to retrieve the last. Remus is still emanating traces of a worn-thin temper from where he sits on the couch, reading his book, and you try to minimize the clatter of the dishes as you stack them. When there’s a sigh, you try even harder. 

“Would you stop for a second?” 

You freeze in your tracks. “Stop what?” 

“Just,” he shakes his head, frustrated, “put the dishes down.”

You obey wordlessly. 

Remus looks at you with something you can’t decipher in his expression. “Now would you come here, please?” 

You walk over to him, tensing for—you don’t know what. You don’t think Remus would hit you, and he doesn’t seem like he’s going to shout. You’re stiff with anticipation nonetheless. 

He reaches for you. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, slotting against him naturally, the way you always do. Remus presses both palms into your back, hugging you tighter than usual but not enough to hurt. 

He nuzzles his face into your neck. “What’s going on with you?” he asks, and he sounds like the soft, grumbly version of himself that tells you to stop fidgeting at 4 a.m. before trapping you in his hold. You start to relax. 

“You seem like you’ve had a hard day,” you say. Not quite an admittance, but close. 

“I have,” Remus agrees. “I was hoping to come home and relax with you. Maybe have a kiss if you were feeling generous.” His teasing comforts you further, and you don’t flinch when he adjusts his hold so he can look you in the eyes. “Are you being weird because you know I’m in a bad mood?” 

When he puts it like that it sounds so silly. This is how you’ve learned to be around hot tempers, quiet and useful, but of course Remus would want someone to console him. To be with him instead of hiding away. 

“I’m sorry,” you breathe out. Your hands smooth over his shoulders, a belated comfort. 

He sighs, and this time when you hear the frustration in the sound you know it’s not meant for you. Remus takes your face in both hands, pressing a firm kiss to your brow before resting his own against it. 

“Nobody’s angry with you,” he says softly. 

“I know,” you reply just as quietly. “If I think about it, I know you wouldn’t be. It’s just…” 

“Old habits die hard?” he guesses. There’s a wry twist to his tone. 

You hum apologetically. 

Remus lets his cheek slide along yours, pulling you in for another hug. This one is gentler, his hand running the length of your back and squeezing in all the right places. “It’s okay,” he reassures you. “I’m sorry I came home so cross, sweetheart. I never want to worry you.” 

“I like to worry about you a little,” you tease, and you can sense the reward of your boyfriend’s smile spreading unwillingly over your shoulder. “And it’s not fair to expect you not to have any bad feelings around me. That’s just normal.”

Remus hums thoughtfully. “What if we try this: when you’re feeling like I’m upset, you just say something and we’ll talk about whether it has anything to do with you. Do you think that would work for you?” 

You turn your head to rest your cheek on his shoulder. Remus’ palm cruises down the curve of your spine as you let out a breath. “Yeah, I think so. Thanks.” 

“Thank you, lovely.” He tucks his chin to skim a kiss over your temple. “This is just what I needed. I feel better already.”

[hockey-fics]

That Week in Vancouver ~ Quinn Hughes

(Pt. 2 of That Night in Michigan)

"You can just keep believing whatever you want to believe if it makes you feel better about the way you treated me."

Word count: ~11,800

Warnings: some toxic behaviours (primarily arguing), drinking, language, smut.

A/N: there is a small potential for a part three, I have an idea for it but it depends on how motivated I am to keep going with this as a series. It's already gotten much longer than I ever intended it to.

“Do you have time to talk?”

There’s a silence that falls over the line that makes your heart race, your hands growing clammy. He had answered the phone at the very least, you had to hold onto some hope that he would be willing to have a conversation. It wasn’t a big ask, you didn’t need all day. You just needed a few minutes, a few minutes that could determine the outcome of your entire relationship.

“Quinn?” you whisper, unable to sit in the silence for any longer. 

“I don’t really have time,” Quinn tells you, his voice distant and cold. 

“Oh,” you mumble, your eyes prickling with tears. “When, um…when would you have time?”

“I don’t know,” Quinn replies quickly. “Things are kind of busy right now.”

Your breath catches in your throat and you blink quickly, trying to stop the onslaught of tears coming to your eyes. “Quinn, please,” you plead. 

“Sorry,” Quinn mumbles. “I’m sorry, I have to go,” he croaks, the first indication that this wasn’t as easy for him as he was making it seem. 

Before you have the chance to say anything else the call ends, your heart sinking with it. Pulling your knees to your chest you feel a few tears slip from your eyes. “Fuck,” you mutter under your breath, tossing your phone onto the couch beside you. Wiping the tears from your face with your sleeve you struggle through a few deep breaths, your breath catching in your throat each time. Was this really how it was going to end? A lifetime of friendship. Years of feelings. All of that to end without so much as a conversation. 

You don’t know how long you sit there until eventually your body is so exhausted from crying that you climb off the couch, heading straight to bed. At least if you were asleep you could silence the never-ending stream of thoughts about you and Quinn. It doesn’t take long till you fall asleep that night, sleeping till late the next morning. 

When you finally pull yourself out of bed you take a shower, your body numb as you go about some sort of normal routine, unsure of what else to do. Standing in front of the coffee maker in your kitchen you stare at the drops of coffee splashing into the slowly filling pot. Your phone vibrates on the counter beside you and you glance over at it, opening the text message from Luke. 

‘if I get a dog would you look after it when we’re on the road?’

Sighing you read the message before locking your phone, setting it back down again to pour yourself a mug of coffee. As you’re stirring some cream into it you hear your phone vibrate again. 

‘at least turn your read receipts off if you’re going to ignore me’ 

Picking up your phone you quickly send him a message back. ‘sorry, just not having a great day’.

A second later your screen is filled with an incoming FaceTime call from Luke. Groaning quietly you slide to answer it as you walk into the living room. “Hi,” you say quietly, flopping down onto the couch. 

“What’s wrong?” Luke asks, skipping past a greeting. 

“Nothing,” you mumble, fiddling with a loose thread on the blanket that was tossed over the back of your couch. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Alright,” Luke drawls, clearly not convinced. “So will you look after my dog?”

You can’t help but giggle, rolling your eyes. Luke was always there for you when things weren’t going well, even if he didn’t always know the appropriate responses to your emotions. “I don’t know if you’re even responsible enough to take care of a dog when you are home.”

“I am,” Luke defends quickly. “I just have to feed him and walk him.”

“And train him and brush him and take him to the vet and the dog groomer and make sure he’s getting enough exercise.”

“Yeah, yeah, I can do all that,” Luke says with a shrug. “I think it’ll be fun.”

“Sure,” you say with a quiet laugh. “I’ll look after him when you’re on the road if you get a dog.”

“Thank you,” Luke replies, smiling happily. “Now tell me why you’re so sad.”

Sighing loudly you toss your head back dramatically, staring up at the ceiling. “Quinn won’t talk to me,” you state quickly, knowing that if you didn’t just say it you wouldn’t be able to get the words out. “I called him last night, he won’t talk to me.”

“What did he say?”

“Literally nothing,” you mumble. “He said he didn’t have time to talk and he’s too busy to talk later.”

“He’s just upset about you and Holtzy,” Luke explains, as if you were completely in the dark as to why Quinn didn’t want to talk to you. 

“I know, Luke, I’m not an idiot,” you exclaim, eyes flooding with tears again. “Sorry…I just…I don’t know what to do. I miss him.” Reaching up you quickly wipe away the tears that had pooled under your eyes. 

“I know,” Luke mutters, nodding slowly. “Are you doing anything today?” 

“Not really,” you tell him honestly, shrugging it off quickly. 

“Get ready, I’m going to pick you up.”

“I don’t want to go anywhere, Luke,” you mutter, sighing quietly. 

“You just want to sit there and cry alone all day?”

“Oh my god,” you whine, shaking your head. “Leave me alone.”

“I’ll be there in like forty-five minutes,” Luke tells you, hanging up before you can argue against it. 

Sighing you pull yourself off the couch, finding an outfit for whatever this mysterious outing was. You busy yourself getting ready until Luke texts you, telling you he was there. Hurrying out of your apartment you find him idling on the street in front of your apartment building, hopping into his car. “Hi,” you greet, pulling your seatbelt on. 

“Hey,” Luke replies, waiting till you were situated in your seat before pulling back out onto the road. “Do you want like a coffee or something?”

“You’re trying really hard, aren’t you?” you tease, giggling quietly. 

“Yeah, I don’t want you to be sad,” Luke tells you. “But if you keep making fun of me I might stop.”

“No, please don’t,” you laugh. “Yeah, I’d love a coffee.” 

Luke takes you to your favourite coffee shop, after you gave him step by step instructions of how to get there. With a latte in hand you climb back into Luke’s car, still unsure of where he was planning to take you. 

“Where are we going?” you ask. 

“It’s a surprise,” Luke tells you with a mischievous smile. 

“I’m scared,” you joke, taking a sip of your coffee as you look out the window, trying to figure out where you could possibly be headed. 

Shortly after Luke pulls into the parking lot of a large building, your eyes focusing on the sign out front. “You’re unbelievable,” you laugh, looking at the animal shelter in front of you. 

“Come on, you know that seeing dogs is going to cheer you up.”

You follow Luke out of the car and towards the building. “We’re not leaving here with a dog, Luke,” you warn, stepping inside as Luke holds the door open for you. 

After talking briefly with the woman at the front counter she guides you through the building to the dog kennels. “Looking to expand the family?” she asks with a friendly smile.

“What?” Luke asks cluelessly. 

“No…we’re not, um, we’re-,” you begin. 

“Ew,” Luke mutters. 

Looking over at him you narrow your eyes, scoffing. “Well you don’t have to act like it would be disgusting,” you joke. “We’re just friends, he’s looking for a dog, I’m just the designated pet-sitter.”

“Well it’s always good to have a pet-sitter lined up,” she says uncertainly. “Anyway, I’ll leave you two to take a look, let me know if you have any questions.”

Walking over to one of the kennels you look at the tag on the door, reading it over. “Muffins,” you gush, looking at the small dog in the kennel. “His name is Muffins,” you repeat. 

“Muffins is ugly,” Luke mutters from behind you, staring at the little dog with scraggly fur, bulging eyes, tear stains on his white fur. Reaching over you playfully whack Luke’s arm. “Don’t be mean to Muffins,” you scold. 

“Look at this one,” Luke says, drawing your attention away from Muffins and to the large lab in the next kennel over. 

“You’re so predictable,” you tease, reading the description of Dewey the lab. The two of you wander along the rows of kennels, fighting against falling in love with each and every one of the dogs. By the time you were leaving that afternoon you were covered in dog fur, no longer quite as sad as you had been when you woke up that morning. 

Sitting in the car with Luke he scrolls through the pictures that he had taken of the dogs, clearly wanting to go back in and adopt one right then and there. Leaning over you look through the pictures with him, stopping him when he gets to a picture he took of you and one of the puppies. “Can you send that to me?” 

“So you can post it on instagram?” Luke teases. 

“Shut up,” you wine, rolling your eyes. “Yes.”

Luke chuckles, sending you the picture before setting his phone down. “What do you want to do now?”

“I don’t know, you’re the one who dragged me out.” Saving the photo to your phone you open instagram, adding the picture to your story with the caption ‘puppies really do make bad days better’, tagging Luke in the corner. 

“You’re so dramatic,” Luke says, pulling out of the parking lot. “Are you still going to pretend you didn’t have fun?”

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “Thank you, Luke…I do feel a bit better.”

“Good.” Luke turns down another street, seemingly on the way back to your apartment. “Quinn’s just an idiot,” Luke says suddenly. “He’ll come around, I promise.”

“I don’t know,” you mumble, glancing over at Luke. “I think this is different.”

“Why?”

Shrugging you look down at your hands, fidgeting with your fingers. “Because he’s never been like this before. He’s never been mean to me before, he’s never said things like…that.”

“What did he say?”

“He basically called me a whore…I mean, not directly, but it was easy enough to figure out what he meant. He said that I don’t think about anyone other than myself and that he’s done with me.”

Luke is quiet for a few seconds before looking over at you when he stops at a red light. “What?” he finally mutters. 

“Yeah,” you whisper, sniffling quietly. “Maybe it really is just time to move on. I just…I love him so much, I don’t know…it’s hard.”

“He’s an asshole,” Luke mutters under his breath. “I didn’t know that’s what he said to you,” Luke admits. 

“I didn’t really want to talk about it,” you tell him with a shrug. “I mean, I guess maybe he’s right, maybe I was flirting with everyone, I don’t know. I’d take it all back, it never even meant anything to me, I didn’t realize it was affecting him like that…I just…I just want him back. Maybe things will never be more than they were before, maybe we’re not meant to be together or anything but to lose him altogether, as a friend…I can’t handle that.” You hadn’t even realized how quick your breathing had grown, tears streaming down your cheeks. “Sorry,” you mumble, wiping the tears from your face. 

“You’re fine,” Luke assures you, glancing over with a smile so full of pity that it makes you want to hurl yourself out of the car. “Can I, um, can I do anything to help?”

Choking out a breath of laughter between your shaky breaths you shake your head. “No, I don’t think anyone can do anything to help.”

Luke turns into the parking lot of your apartment building, pulling into one of the visitor spots. “Well can I at least come hang out for a bit?”

“I’m not going to say no,” you tell him, picking your purse up from the floor of his car. “But you really don’t have to stay just because I’m sad.”

“You know that I actually like spending time with you, right? I don’t know why you’re acting like I’m doing you a favour.”

“I just don’t think that I’m that fun to be around right now.” Climbing out of his car you fish your keys from your purse, guiding Luke into the building. 

“Remember when I had the flu and you spent like a week taking care of me?” Luke asks as he watches you press the button for the elevator. “Was I fun then?”

“I mean it was kinda funny,” you say with a playful smile. “I would never have expected a little flu to take you down so easily.”

“It was bad,” Luke defends, chuckling as he leans against the wall of the elevator. 

A few minutes later the doors slide open and you guide Luke to your apartment, kicking off your shoes and heading for the couch. Luke joins you a minute later, grabbing the remote from the coffee table. “What do you want to watch?”

“You’re actually going to let me pick?” you ask in shock. 

“You’re the one who’s sad,” Luke reminds you, handing the remote to you. 

You pick your favourite show on Netflix, pulling your legs up onto the couch and curling up in the corner. You watch the show in silence for a few minutes before looking over at Luke, watching him type something on his phone. “Do you think he ever loved me?” you whisper, a feeling of shame washing over you for even asking the question, of wanting that reassurance. 

Luke is quiet for a minute, as if he wasn’t sure how he should reply, like you were a ticking time bomb waiting for the next thing to set you off. “Yes.”

Nodding slowly you turn your attention back to the tv, your vision blurry as you stare through a layer of tears. You didn’t know what else to say, didn’t want to talk about anything else yet you didn’t want to talk about it either. So you remained silent, watching episode after episode till you were beginning to drift to sleep. 

“Hey,” Luke whispers, gently shaking your shoulder. 

Inhaling sharply your eyes fly open, glancing around in a tired shock. “Hm?” you hum. “What time is it?…How long was I asleep?”

“A few hours,” Luke tells you with a shrug. “I’m going to go home now though, I have practice in the morning. Do you want to come? I’ll give you my bed again.”

Shaking your head you sit up, blinking tiredly. “No, no, that’s okay…thank you though.”

“Are you sure? Are you going to be okay alone?”

“Luke, I’m fine,” you assure him, swinging your legs off the edge of the couch. Standing up you pull him into a hug, resting your head on his shoulder. “Thank you for coming over today. Text me when you get home, okay?”

Luke waits for you to pull away first before saying goodbye, heading out to drive back to his place. After waking up a bit more you find something for dinner, calling your best friend to talk, needing to get out of your head. You end up talking with her for most of the evening before heading to bed rather early, the intense emotions of the last couple days catching up with you.

The next morning you wake up early, trying to keep yourself busy so that you didn’t fall into the same sadness that you felt the day before. You couldn’t spend the rest of your life wallowing. After having breakfast you take your coffee and grab your laptop, heading to the living room to sit on the couch. You pay a few bills before opening your email, your eyes narrowing in on one email from 1:46am. 

Flight Confirmation. 

Nervously clicking on it you scroll down, confusion building when you see that it was indeed a flight booked under your name. Then your eyes fall to the destination. Vancouver. Glancing at the date you realize it’s for next weekend, your heart racing. 

Picking up your phone you dial the number of the only person you thought would be buying you a flight to Vancouver. You listen to the dial tone for so long you begin to wonder if he wasn’t going to answer at all. 

“Hi?” Quinn mutters, his voice groggy and tired. 

Looking at the clock you realize how early it still was in Vancouver. “Shit, sorry, did I wake you up?”

“It’s fine,” Quinn mumbles. “Did you get the email?”

“Yes,” you whisper, your eyes not leaving the screen of your laptop. “Why?”

“Because I’m sorry,” Quinn says quietly. “I’m sorry I was such an asshole to you, I shouldn’t have treated you like that and I want to see you. If the date doesn’t work I can change the flight, just let me know when, I figured you have weekends off so I thought it would be better to pick a weekend but I know the flight is Friday morning so if you can’t leave that day I can just-.”

“This weekend is perfect,” you interrupt. “I’m sorry too, Quinn, I never meant to hurt you.”

“It’s okay,” Quinn assures you. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” you reply, not expecting your voice to grow shaky in the way it did. “I can let you get back to sleep now.”

“No, it’s okay, I was going to get up soon anyway.”

“Okay,” you whisper, still staring at the flight details on your laptop screen. “You didn’t need to buy me a first-class ticket, Quinn.”

“It’s the least I could do,” Quinn tells you quietly. “You’re going to let Luke get a dog?”

You can’t help but laugh at the question, pushing your laptop off your lap and curling up on the couch, staring out the window across the room. “I can’t really stop him…you’re his big brother though, maybe you should talk him out of it,” you tell him. “How long has he been talking about this?”

“Not long,” Quinn mumbles. “We talked yesterday.”

“Oh,” you whisper, wondering if wanting a dog was the only thing that Luke talked to Quinn about. “About a dog?”

Quinn is quiet for a little too long, your palms growing clammy, realizing that the answer probably wasn’t yes. “About you,” Quinn finally admits. “I um, I saw the Instagram story and called him. I just, uh…I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“And he told you I’m not?” you ask, though it was more of a statement than a question. 

“Not exactly,” Quinn replies. “He did make sure that I knew I was an asshole…not that I didn’t already know that.”

“If you already knew that why have you been refusing to talk to me, Quinn?”

Quinn sighs heavily, silence falling over the line. “Because I was hurt,” Quinn mumbles. “I was hurt and jealous and I don’t know…I just didn’t want to admit that. I’m sorry.”

You wanted to forgive him, wanted to tell him that it was okay. But it wasn’t. It wasn’t okay the way he treated you in Michigan, it wasn’t okay the way that the situation had played out since. Dismissing it, telling him it was fine, you knew that wasn’t going to help the situation. You needed to talk about it, to really discuss it. Maybe he was right in booking you the flight, maybe this just wasn’t a conversation that you could have over the phone. 

“What should I pack for Vancouver?” you whisper, doing your best to change the topic. 

Quinn hesitates a moment, clearly taken aback by the 180 degree change in the conversation. He tells you the plan for the weekend, primarily just that he had a game on Saturday, though he assured you that you didn’t need to go if you didn’t want to. You told him you did, making a mental note to add an outfit to wear to the game to your list. 

You talked on the phone for nearly an hour before Quinn had to go, not wanting to be late for practice. You spend the rest of the day preparing for the week ahead, grocery shopping, meal prepping, laundry, all the chores that kept your mind busy. 

The week went by slowly, each work day feeling never-ending. The closer you got to your 6am Friday flight the closer your anxiety gets to overtaking your excitement. Of course you wanted to see Quinn, wanted to make up for the months of not even speaking to each other. But you also knew that the point of this trip was to talk about what had happened, a conversation you were dreading having. 

Friday morning you wake up at 4am, collecting your luggage and climbing into an Uber half asleep. You’re not fully awake till you’re on the plane, the six hours ahead of you seeming like they were going to stretch on forever. 

By the time you landed in Vancouver your heart was hammering so heavily you were worried you might just drop dead of a heart attack right then and there. Your hands were shaky and clammy as you wiggled your carry-on out of the overhead compartment. You follow everyone off the plane, down the long hallway and to the arrivals area of the airport. 

Weaving your way through everyone around you stopping to greet their loved ones your eyes scan the crowd of people still waiting. When your eyes land on Quinn you nearly stop walking altogether, your heart stopping for a moment. Three months of not even talking to him made it feel like years of not seeing him. Hesitantly you force yourself closer, not knowing what to expect when you get to him. But as soon as you’re close enough Quinn has his arms around you, pulling you close against him. 

“Hi,” you whisper, fingers curling into the fabric of Quinn’s hoodie. 

“Hi,” Quinn replies, pressing his lips to the top of your head. “How was your flight?”

“Really good,” you reply. “I’ve never flown first-class before.”

“I’ll make sure you only ever fly first-class from now on.”

“Stop,” you giggle, shaking your head. “A seat on a flight is good enough for me…especially if it means I get to see you.”

“I love you,” Quinn whispers in a way that makes your heart skip a beat. You had been telling each other you loved each other since childhood. In the same way that you told Jack and Luke that you loved them. But your love for Quinn was so different and you weren’t sure what his admission of love entailed. “Should we go get your suitcase?”

“Y-yeah,” you stammer, nodding quickly, thankful that Quinn had said something to break you from your train of thoughts. Heading to the baggage carousel you wait till you see your suitcase, dragging it off the carousel. 

Quinn swoops in quickly, taking your bag from you. “Ready to go?” Quinn asks, gesturing towards the door. 

Nodding you follow Quinn through the airport and out into the cool air outside, rain drops hammering onto the sidewalk. “People weren’t lying about how much it rains here,” you comment. 

“You can wait here, I’ll bring the car around,” Quinn offers. 

Shaking your head you step closer to Quinn. “No, it’s just rain, I’ll survive.”

Quinn slides his jacket off quickly, wrapping it around your shoulders. 

“It’s okay,” you whisper, your eyes locking with his as he keeps his hands on the jacket wrapped around you. You slide your arms into the sleeves when you realize Quinn is not about to take the jacket back. “Thank you,” you tell him, pulling the fabric around your body. The jacket smells like Quinn, his body wash or cologne or maybe just his laundry detergent, but whatever it was it was it felt comforting, familiar. 

Quinn picks up your suitcase again and you follow him through the parking lot, quickly climbing into the dry car. Quinn is in the driver’s seat a moment later, starting the car before looking over at you. “Thanks for coming.”

“I just want to figure this out,” you say quietly, pulling your seatbelt on. Glancing over at Quinn for a moment before you turn your attention back to the drops of rain landing on the windshield. “I can’t lose you, Quinn.”

Quinn reaches over, his hand sliding into yours, squeezing it gently. “I know I fucked up, but I promise you that I’m not going anywhere.”

Sniffling quietly you nod slowly, not entirely sure you believed him. Sure, you were here with him now. But it seemed so easy for him just weeks ago, to tell you that he simply didn’t have any time to talk. 

“I’m sorry,” Quinn adds, squeezing your hand again before shifting the car into drive, pulling out of the parking spot. 

You remain silent through the entirety of the drive, your mind racing with thoughts that brought tears to your eyes. You knew what was coming. You knew you needed to have a real conversation about what had happened in Michigan, about what was going to happen now. But you didn’t know how it would go, didn’t know what Quinn would say about it, and you were scared that somehow, someway, it would only make things worse. 

When you get to Quinn’s apartment building you follow him inside, sliding his jacket off your body and hanging it in the closet by the door. You had never been to his apartment before, almost all of your time together was spent in Michigan. 

“Are you hungry? Do you want something to eat or drink?” Quinn asks, walking into the kitchen.

Shaking your head you rest your hands on the counter, looking over at him. “I think we should talk.”

Quinn nods, sighing quietly. “Yeah,” he mumbles, nodding towards the living room. “Should we go sit down?”

“Sure.” Turning around you walk to the living room, sitting on one end of the large couch. Lifting your legs onto the couch you pull them to your chest, wrapping your arms around them in an attempt to comfort yourself. “I don’t really know what to say,” you admit. 

“Me neither,” Quinn agrees, sitting on the edge of the couch, leaning forward, eyes focusing on the living room floor. “I know it’s not an excuse but I was so drunk that night,” Quinn begins, glancing over at you. “And I see the way people look at you, the way everyone just falls for you, which I get, but, I don’t know…it’s hard. Seeing you with Alex that day, on the dock, I was jealous,” Quinn rambles.

Nodding slowly you dig your fingers into your legs, forcing deep breaths into your lungs. “But you didn’t have to be so mean to me, Quinn. We could have just talked about it.”

“I know,” Quinn replies quickly, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t have said those things to you. I shouldn’t have treated you like that. I don’t have an excuse, I was hurt and drunk.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” you whisper, your eyes prickling with tears again. You had never cried so much in such a short period of time, had never expected to. “You know that, right?”

Quinn shrugs, his elbows resting on his knees, leaning forward to stare at the ground. “Yeah, I mean, I guess.”

“Quinn,” you croak. “What do you mean you guess? I promise the last thing I would ever want to do is hurt you.”

“Then why did you do it?” Quinn snaps, turning his head to look over at you. 

“I-,” you begin, shaking your head. “I don’t know, I really didn’t mean to, nothing I said or did with them meant anything, it was just-.”

“No?” Quinn interrupts with a scoff. “Nothing you did with Alex meant anything?”

“It wasn’t-,” you begin before getting interrupted again. 

“Don’t lie to me,” Quinn interjects. “I’m not that fucking stupid. I saw your stories with him, I know when you were going out with Jack and Luke that Alex was there too. I know you went home with him after you guys went out drinking. If you’re going to sit there and tell me that none of that meant anything then maybe none of the stuff you said to me meant anything either.”

“That’s not true,” you plead, eyes glossy with tears. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Quinn. I’m sorry, I really am. Yeah, Alex and I were hanging out but that doesn’t mean what I said to you wasn’t true.”

“If it was true you wouldn’t be fucking one of my friends,” Quinn mutters. 

Swallowing heavily you wipe away your tears, shaking your head. “You’re such an asshole,” you mumble under your breath. 

“I’m the asshole?” Quinn snaps. 

“Yes,” you exclaim, dropping your legs off the couch and standing up quickly. “You called me a whore, Quinn. You said such horrible things and now you have the audacity to get mad at me when I started spending time with someone who actually was nice to me after all that.”

“I did not call you a whore,” Quinn defends, staring up at you from where he was still sitting on the edge of the couch. "I would never say that."

“Maybe you didn’t use that word but how do you think I would take you telling me that I’m flirting with everyone, that I want the attention of every single man around? Do you know how bad that hurt, Quinn? You’re telling me that you’re not sure if you believe I didn’t mean to hurt you but you’re not acknowledging how much you hurt me.”

Quinn is quiet for a few seconds, his eyes falling back to the ground, not looking you in the eyes. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Maybe you should have thought about someone other than yourself then,” you tell him, repeating his words from that night in Michigan back to him. Maybe you shouldn’t be so petty. Maybe you should have been the bigger person. Maybe you should have let it go. But your heart was racing, your hands clammy, your mind scattered in a million directions and a part of you selfishly wanted him to feel the way you felt that night. 

Quinn visibly flinches in response to your words, inhaling deeply. “I’m sorry,” Quinn breathes out. 

You were already on your way towards his front door, body moving faster than your mind. Grabbing your purse you toss it onto your shoulder, yanking the same jacket Quinn had let you wear earlier off the hanger in the closet. 

“Where are you going?” Quinn asks, hopping up from the couch and hurrying over to you. 

“I don’t know,” you tell him honestly, spinning towards the front door. Your hand lands on the door handle just seconds before Quinn is wrapping his hand around your wrist. “Don’t,” you mumble, yanking your hand away from him. “And for the record, I didn’t sleep with Alex. I’ve never fucked any of your friends. But you can just keep believing whatever you want to believe if it makes you feel better about the way you treated me.” Yanking the door open you head out into the hallway, finding the stairs and hurrying down them. 

Outside the rain is still pouring heavily from the sky and you begin walking quickly, continuing till you find a coffee shop. Inside you pull the soaking jacket from your body, laying it over your arm and heading to the till. After ordering yourself a coffee you find a seat tucked away in the corner of the coffee shop, watching the cars passing, the rain drops bouncing off the sidewalk. 

You’re not there long before your phone begins vibrating. First with a call from Quinn. Then a text message. Then a couple more calls and a few more texts. Sure, you probably should have replied, but your mind was still racing a million miles an hour. All of your thoughts were so incredibly cloudy that you didn't even know what to say if you were to reply.

Eventually, long after your coffee cup is empty, your phone rings and this time it’s Jack. Sighing you slide to answer it, bringing the phone to your ear. “Hi,” you say quietly. 

“Hi,” Jack replies with an audible sigh. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” you tell him honestly, fiddling with the cardboard sleeve on your paper cup. 

“Where are you? What’s going on? Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m in a coffee shop, Jack, I’m perfectly fine.”

“Quinn is freaking out,” Jack tells you. “Can you please just call him?”

“No,” you mumble, watching a man walking by with his dog, the dog’s hair plastered to their body with rain. “I want to come home, Jack.”

“Oh my god,” Jack groans. “You two are so fucking annoying.” 

“Fuck you,”  you whisper, glancing around to make sure nobody in the quiet coffee shop could hear you. “Why would you say that? I haven’t done anything.”

“Both of you need to get over what happened in Michigan,” Jack tells you. 

“Tell him that,” you mutter, rolling your eyes to nobody but yourself at that table. 

“I did,” Jack exclaims. There’s a few seconds of silence after he says it, unable to think of anything to say. Because he was right, you both needed to be honest. You both did and said things you wished you hadn’t, both made mistakes. “Do you want me to book you a flight home?” Jack finally asks. 

“No, it’s okay…thank you though.”

“So are you going to go back to Quinn’s place or do you want me to book you a hotel room?”

“I could book my own hotel room if I wanted to,” you tell him with a quiet sigh.

“You’re always complaining that you’re broke,” Jack comments.

“I know how much money you make, Jack, I’m broke in comparison.”

“I’m never buying you drinks again,” Jack replies with a chuckle. 

“Please,” you say with a giggle. 

“If you go talk to Quinn and figure out whatever is going on with you two and leave me out it, then I’ll consider buying your drinks when we go out again.”

“Fine,” you whine playfully. “What do I even say to him?”

“I don’t know, just go talk to him. I’m sure you two will figure it out.”

“I’m scared,” you admit. 

“Why are you scared?” Jack asks, a sudden intensity in his tone.

“What if he never forgives me?”

“Just go talk to him,” Jack sighs. “He’s losing his mind right now, just go talk to him.”

“Fine, I’ll go back,” you groan. Standing up you pick up Quinn’s jacket from the back of the chair, pulling it on. “I’m sorry you had to get involved in this,” you tell Jack, picking up your empty coffee cup to toss it into the garbage on the way out the door. 

“It’s fine,” Jack assures you. “Just figure this out, okay?”

“Okay…we’ll try,” you tell him. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Good luck,” Jack says. 

“Thank you,” you say with a sigh, stepping outside. “Bye, Jack,” you say before hanging up. Hurrying through the rain you make your way back to Quinn’s apartment, stopping outside to text him to let him know you were back. 

Quinn is down in the lobby a second later, letting you inside. “I’m sorry,” Quinn says as a greeting, reaching over and pulling you into his arms. Your jacket is soaked, seeping into the fabric of his hoodie.

“Let’s just go upstairs,” you mumble, though if you were being honest the last thing you wanted to do was let go of him. 

Quinn pulls back, guiding you back into his apartment. You’re quiet as you pull off the jacket, kicking your shoes off a second later. Following Quinn back to the living room you slowly sit down, sighing quietly. “I talked to Jack.”

“I figured,” Quinn mumbles, sitting down across from you. “I’m really sorry.”

“Me too,” you mumble, looking across the couch at him. “I-,” you begin, eyes filling with tears again. “I don’t know how to deal with this, Quinn, I can’t lose you. I love you so much. I don’t know…I don’t know what to do.”

Quinn slides closer to you, pulling you into his arms. “I love you too,” Quinn tells you, pressing his lips to your forehead. “You’re not going to lose me. I’m not going anywhere, okay?” Nodding slowly you clutch at Quinn’s arms, holding him tight against you. “I’m sorry for everything I did, everything I said. I promise I’ll never talk to you like that again. I don’t expect you to forgive me right now, I know what I did was horrible.”

“I do,” you whisper, pulling back to look up at him. “I do forgive you, Quinn. I know you’re sorry, I really do. I just need you to stop holding me flirting with other people over me. We weren’t together. I’m sorry that I didn’t realize the way it was making you feel, I really am. But I wasn’t trying to hurt you, I wasn’t doing it to make you feel bad.”

Quinn reaches down, taking your hands in his, squeezing them gently. “I know we weren’t together, I know you weren’t doing anything wrong and I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you whisper, reaching up to wipe away a few tears that had slipped from your eyes. You weren’t even sure why you were crying anymore. Relief, exhaustion, an overwhelming level of emotions. “What now?”

Quinn shrugs, glancing over at the TV. “Do you want to go somewhere? Or do you want to just stay here and hang-out?”

“Stay here,” you tell him laughing quietly. You didn’t need a mirror to know that your eyes were swollen and red, that your skin was splotchy from all the tears you had shed. “If that’s okay with you.”

“Of course,” Quinn assures you, reaching over and picking up the remote. He hands it to you before leaning back on the couch, watching as you turn the tv on. “We can order dinner too, just let me know when.”

Picking up your phone you look at the time. It had been a long day but you were still shocked to see that it was nearing 6pm already. You pick a show, watching an episode before the two of you order dinner. The rest of the evening goes by quickly, most of it spent in relative silence as you watch a few more episodes of the show you had put on. 

Eventually Quinn shows you to the guest room and you change into some pyjamas before settling into the bed. You fall asleep easily that night. Maybe it really was just because the bed was so comfortable, but you’re sure there was more to it than that. 

When you wake up the next morning Quinn is already gone for morning skate, a note on the kitchen counter letting you know he would be back that afternoon. The note also told you that there was coffee in the cupboard and to help yourself to anything else you wanted. You were almost certain he bought the coffee specifically for you, something you confirmed when you found it unopened in the cupboard. After making yourself a cup you head to the living room, watching TV while waiting for him to get home. 

The sound of the front door opening draws your attention just a little after 12pm. “Hey,” Quinn greets, walking over to sit on the couch next to you. “How was your morning? I didn’t want to wake you before I left.”

“It was good, I slept in, that bed is really comfortable,” you tell him, moving closer and wrapping your arms around him. You rest your head on his shoulder, feeling his arms circle around you, pulling you closer. 

“It’s not bad,” Quinn says with a chuckle. “My bed is better.”

“Are you bragging? Because I am your guest and that’s kind of rude,” you tease, pulling back slightly to look into his eyes. 

“Maybe a bit…but I’m not stopping you from sleeping in it with me so I don't think it's that rude.”

“I don’t know, the last time I slept in a bed with you seemed like the beginning of the whole disaster,” you joke. 

“Too soon,” Quinn chuckles, shaking his head. He stands up and reaches down, taking your hand and pulling you to your feet. “Come on.”

“Where?” you ask, though you’re in his bedroom before he has the chance to answer you. You watch him lay down on one side of the bed, gesturing for you to take the other side. Walking over you lay down beside him, rolling onto your side to face him. “It is really comfy,” you admit. 

“I wasn’t lying,” he tells you with a chuckle. "I do need to have a nap before the game though."

"That's why you brought me in here? To break the new sthat you need to have a nap?"

"Kinda," Quinn admits. "And because I did actually want to brag about the bed."

Rolling your eyes playfully you sit up, looking down at him. "Okay, Grandpa. What 24-year-old gets this excited about a bed?"

"It was expensive," Quinn exclaims.

"I'm sure it was," you reply with a giggle. "Do you want me to tuck you in for your nap before I go or are you okay all by yourself?"

"Get outta here," Quinn jokes, shaking his head.

Giggling you climb off the bed, heading back to the living room to continue keeping yourself busy for the afternoon. It wasn't hard, after an episode of your favourite show you head to the bathroom, finding a towel and hopping into the shower. By the time you're out of the shower Quinn is already up, startling you as you step out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel.

"You scared me," you breathe out, clutching the towel to your naked body.

"It's my apartment," Quinn says with a chuckle. "Why are you not expecting me to be here?"

"I thought you'd still be napping. Must need a lot of beauty sleep to look that cute," you tease, stepping past him towards the bedroom.

"We can't all just be naturally cute like you," he comments before you disappear behind the closed door of the guest bedroom. It was such an insignificant comment but you couldn't stop your stomach from filling with butterflies regardless.

Later that afternoon you're in the bathroom, running your fingers through your hair, fixing it slightly. Your eyes shift over your shoulder, seeing Quinn appear in the mirror behind you. Your lips curl into a soft smile, eyes drifting up and down his body. Quinn was always attractive to you but you were more used to Quinn in a t-shirt and shorts at the lake than Quinn in a suit before a game. 

“You look good,” you tell him, turning around to look at him. Leaning back against the counter you watch Quinn walk closer. “Very handsome,” you add, running your fingers over the lapels of his suit jacket once he’s close enough to you. 

“You look good too,” Quinn mumbles, his hands landing on your hips. 

You feel your breath catch in your throat, swallowing heavily. “Can’t believe this is the first time I get to see you play in Vancouver.”

“Hopefully it won’t be the last,” Quinn replies, stepping close enough to cause your heart to hammer heavily in your chest. “You sure you’re going to be okay to get there alone tonight?”

“I’m positive,” you whisper, your eyes flicking down to his lips. Your heart was hammering so fast in your chest you were sure it was about to burst. “Good luck tonight,” you whisper. 

Quinn smiles softly, leaning in a little closer. “Thank you,” he mumbles, his lips nearly brushing against yours. You could feel your breath catch in your throat, your hands running up his chest, resting you arms over his shoulders. Just seconds before your lips touch his your phone rings loudly on the counter beside you, making you jump. 

Laughing you pull back, pressing your hand over your heart. “Oh my god,” you breathe out, reaching over to silence your phone. “Sorry,” you add with a sheepish smile. “Really ruined the moment there.”

Quinn chuckles, leaning in to kiss your forehead quickly. “I’ll text you later, okay?”

You couldn’t deny the disappointment you were feeling that the moment really was ending this way. But you knew that Quinn said he was already running late and you weren’t about to make him any later. “Okay,” you whisper, watching him turn around and head out of the bathroom. 

You order yourself dinner after Quinn leaves, hanging out by yourself until you needed to head to the arena. The sky is dark already as you climb into the Uber outside Quinn’s apartment building, pulling your seatbelt on. 

“Going to the Canucks game?” you Uber driver asks you, looking at you through the mirror. 

“Yeah,” you tell him with a nod and a friendly smile. “First Canucks game here.”

“First game ever?”

You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “No, I’ve been to a few before. Never in Vancouver though.”

“Oh, really? Who’d you see play before?”

“Mostly the Devils,” you tell him, realizing the more information you gave the more you would need to explain. “I’m just here visiting a friend.”

“You’re from New Jersey?”

“No, I live in New York now.”

You watch him glance back at you, clearly not following along. “Something against the Rangers?”

“I guess you could say that,” you tell him with a shrug. You’re at the arena shortly after, heading in and finding your seat.

The game passes quickly, your attention on Quinn throughout the entirety of the game. It was different than watching Jack and Luke play. It felt more intense, like the outcome of the game would somehow be an indicator of the outcome of this entire trip.

When the game ends and the Canucks win with a score of 4-2 you can't help but feel a mixture of relief and happiness. It really did feel like a good omen of sorts.

You wait around the arena after the game, doing your best to fill the time till Quinn was ready to leave. You scroll though Instagram, liking post after post till you hit the point of not having a single new thing to look at. Eventually Quinn finds you, pulling you into a tight hug. 

“Congratulations,” you whisper, not pulling back. “You’re even more impressive to watch in person.”

Quinn laughs at your comment, shaking his head. He had always been humble, refusing to accept your compliments. “Do you want to go out for a drink or something? I know it’s kind of late but you flew all the way up here, I don’t want you to just have to stay in my apartment the whole time.”

Giggling you lean up closer, your hands on his shoulders. “I’d be fine staying in your apartment with you the whole time.” You lean in a little closer, lips almost brushing against his. “Doing anything with you,” you whisper. 

“You coming out with us or what?” someone calls, making you jump back from Quinn, turning in the direction of the voice. 

Quinn places his hands on your hips, pulling your body back against him. “No, I think we’re just going to do our thing.”

The man in front of you chuckles, shooting Quinn a knowing look. “Sounds good, man, see you later,” he says before heading off in the other direction. 

Giggling you spin around, looking up at Quinn. “Well, where are we going for drinks?”

Quinn reaches his hand down, sliding it into yours. “It’s a surprise,” he tells you. Guiding you out of the arena and to his car Quinn opens the passenger door for you. You climb into the car, pulling on your seatbelt. A few minutes later you’re on your way, heading downtown. 

The lounge Quinn takes you to is small and intimate. The table you’re seated at is equally as intimate, tucked away in the back of the restaurant. Opening the menu your eyes scan over the options, more specifically the prices on that menu. Glancing over at Quinn you watch him look at the menu himself. It wasn’t that you didn’t have the money for the drinks, you just never would have picked a place so expensive yourself. You had also never seen this side of Quinn. You weren’t oblivious, you knew he had money. But you were so used to him with a bottle of some middle-of-the-road beer he picked up at the liquor store on the way to the lake house that you could barely picture him ordering a $25 cocktail.

“Do you know what you’re going to get?” Quinn asks before looking up from the menu, an uncertain smile on his face when he realizes that you're already looking at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” you say, shaking your head as you look back to the menu. “No, I’m not sure yet. What are you getting?”

“A sazerac, probably,” Quinn tells you with a shrug, the menu already closed letting you know it was most likely more than just probably. 

“What’s that?” you whisper, your eyes scanning the menu again.

“Whisky,” Quinn tells you with a quiet chuckle. “Kind of like an old fashioned.”

“Right,” you drawl, nodding slowly. You couldn’t say you were that familiar with the old fashioned either but at least you knew what it was. “I think I’ll try the clover club.”

A few minutes later you order your drinks and you lean back in your chair, gazing across the table at Quinn. Was this a date? You hadn’t even stopped long enough to consider that possibility. You had gone out so, so many times before that you didn’t think the suggestion to go out this time was anything different than that. 

“What are you thinking about?” Quinn asks uncertainly. 

“You,” you whisper, with a small shrug. “Us,” you add a moment later. 

“What are you thinking about us?” Quinn presses, leaning a little closer. 

“I don’t really know,” you admit, glancing down at the table for a second. “Do you think there’ll ever be an us to really think about?”

Quinn swallows heavily, silence falling between the two of you as he stares across the small table at you. His silence makes you nervous, shifting in your chair under the intensity of his gaze. “I hope so,” he eventually tells you. 

“I-,” you begin, your sentence getting cut short as your server returns with your drinks. She sets a coupe glass in front of you filled with a pink liquid, three perfect raspberries balanced across the top of the glass on a cocktail skewer. “It’s so cute.”

“It’s fitting,” Quinn says, picking up his glass and taking a drink of his own cocktail. 

You can’t hold back your smile at Quinn’s comment, rolling your eyes playfully. “Okay, Casanova,” you tease. 

“Am I not allowed to flirt with you now?” 

Giggling you shake your head, “of course you can,” you tell him before picking up your glass and taking a sip. It’s stronger than you expected, catching you off guard as you slowly set it back down. Maybe that’s why they were so expensive. “I asked for some time off work before I came out here,” you say suddenly, watching Quinn closely, trying to gauge his reaction. Of course it had been presumptuous of you to take the time off before discussing it, but you had the vacation days anyway and you had assumed two days probably wouldn’t feel like long enough. 

“Yeah?” Quinn says, reaching over and taking your hand, running his thumb across the back of it. “Does that mean you’re staying longer?”

Shrugging you stare down at your interlocked hands. “Depends if you want me to stay.”

“Of course…I don’t want you to leave yet,” Quinn tells you with a reassuring squeeze of your hand. 

“Good, because I don’t want to leave yet either,” you tell him. Picking up your glass you take another sip of your drink, the liquid going down a lot smoother now that you were expecting it. 

The two of you sit there at that table for hours, over multiple drinks and a couple appetizers. Your conversation is comfortable, the issues that had brought you to Vancouver in the first place no longer seeming so heavy or intense. Quinn pays the bill at the end of the night and your previous thoughts about the possibility of the evening being a date come flooding back into your mind. 

Walking back into Quinn’s apartment you kick off your shoes, sliding your jacket off. “Thank you for tonight,” you say as you hang your jacket in the coat closet. 

Quinn glances over at you, eyebrows furrowed. “Thanks for what?”

Shrugging you lean against the wall behind you. “I don’t know…taking me out, showing me a bit of Vancouver, paying for the bill.”

“It wasn’t a big deal,” Quinn assures you. “I wanted to.”

Reaching over you take Quinn’s hands in yours and pull him in front of you. “Just take the thank you, Quinn,” you whisper. 

“Okay, fine…you’re welcome,” Quinn mumbles, staring down at you. 

There’s an intensity in the moment, a heaviness in the air. Your heart was racing so fast, stomach filled with butterflies. The apartment is silent, so silent you begin to wonder if Quinn can hear it all. The shakiness in your breath, the hammering of your heart in your chest. The apartment is dim, lit by a single warm lightbulb a few feet away. Your eyes gravitate down to his lips and this time you don’t care how obvious it is. 

He begins to lean in and your patience quickly wears thing, fingers grasping at the fabric of his shirt, pulling him down to press your lips to his. His hands land on your hips, pulling them closer to him, your shoulder blades pressing back into the wall. Sliding your hand up you tangle your fingers in his hair, your tongue brushing against his. His grasp on your hips tightens, a quiet moan slipping from your lips. 

Your mind was hazy, your emotions overwhelming. Your body was begging for more, his hands on your body felt intoxicating. Sliding your arm over his shoulder you lean your body further into him, desperate to be as close to him as you could, desperate for more. When you pull away it’s to catch your breath, steady the racing of your heart. “I love you,” you whisper against his lips. 

“I love you too,” Quinn replies, pressing another gentle kiss to your lips. He’s smiling when he pulls back, reaching down to take your hand. He guides you into the living room, sitting down and pulling you down beside him. He places his hand on your thigh, fingers just a little too high for your mind not to be filled with less-than-PG thoughts. “Do you want to watch a movie or something?”

“I, um, y-yeah,” you stammer. Quinn knows what he’s doing and you can tell by the smirk on his lips as he hands you the remote. Taking it from him you put something on the TV, the very first movie you could find that seemed alright. 

You’re not watching the movie long before you feel Quinn’s fingers move on your thigh, a heavy breath escaping your lips. Your eyes flicker down to this hand, watching him brush his thumb on your leg. When you turn your attention to Quinn you see that he’s not watching the movie at all, his eyes are locked on you.

Pushing his hand off your thigh you swing your leg over his body, your hands resting on his shoulders as you lean down to kiss him. It’s fast and eager, your back arching as you roll your hips forward. 

“Fuck,” Quinn breathes out as he pulls back. “Baby, you’re…,” he begins, cutting himself off with a strangled moan. You didn’t need him to finish the sentence, you knew what you were doing when you felt him growing hard beneath you. 

His hands slide underneath your shirt, his fingers warm against your skin as he slides them up your waist. Pulling back you let him tug your shirt off, dropping it onto the ground beside you. Quinn leans closer, pressing his lips to yours as he unhooks your bra. You feel your bra come undone and you pull back. Your eyes lock with Quinn’s as you slowly slide the bra down your arms. It wasn’t like it was the first time he had seen you naked, but this time it was different. This time you were inviting him to do far more than just skinny dip with you. 

Setting the bra down Quinn places his hands on your waist, sliding further down towards the edge of the couch. Leaning in your lips lock with his again, your body begging for more. “Quinn,” you whimper against his lips. 

“Yes, baby?” he mumbles, his hands exploring your body, sliding to your hips as he tugs you in a little closer. 

“I need you…please,” you whisper. 

He doesn’t need you to say anything more, standing up and pulling you with him. He leads you into his bedroom, pushing you across the room till the backs of your thighs hit the mattress. Laying back on the bed you gasp in surprise as he lifts you further onto the bed, hovering over you as he unbuttons your jeans. “Quinn,” you gush. 

“What?” he asks with a smirk, pulling your jeans down your legs as you lift your hips to make it easier.  

“I just didn’t expect…this,” you tell him, sitting up as you push his shirt up his torso, letting him take over and toss it aside. 

“I can slow down,” he offers, running his hands down your thighs. 

“No,” you say quickly, giggling at your own eagerness. “Please, don’t,” you add. 

Quinn chuckles, nodding as he leans down, pressing his lips to your inner thigh. He moves further up your thigh, and each time his lips brush against your skin your body jolts with desire. Slowly he pulls your underwear down your legs, letting them drop onto the floor. Your breathing is heavy by the time his tongue brushes against the spot that you had been nearly begging for. 

“O-oh,” you gasp as he flicks his tongue over your clit. You weren’t sure what you were expecting but whatever it was you weren’t expecting it to feel this good. 

Your fingers tangle in his hair, back arching as you moan loudly. “Fuck,” you breathe out, breathing heavily. His hands wrap around your thighs, your fingers curling into the fabric of the comforter on the bed, trying to keep yourself still as waves of pleasure rip through you. 

Your body flushes with warmth, desperate to reach your climax as your hips begin to squirm. Quinn presses his arm against your hips, stilling them as his tongue flicks against your clit. “Oh fuck,” you whine, moaning loudly. A second later your muscles are tensing, waves of pleasure ripping through your body. “O-oh my god,” you cry out, flinching away from his tongue when the sensation grows too intense. “Okay, okay,” you mumble, hands cradling his face as you tug him back to your lips. Pressing your lips to his you kiss him deeply, your legs wrapping around his torso. “Please,” you whimper.

“Please, what?” Quinn teases.

Your breath leaves your lips shakily, eyes locked with his. “Please…I want you inside of me,” you plead. 

Quinn leans in, kissing you gently before climbing off the bed. You watch him open the nightstand, grabbing a condom. You reach over, taking his hand and pulling him towards you, till he was standing in front of where you were sitting on the edge of the bed. Looking up at him you unbutton his pants, slowly pushing them down. 

“Fuck,” Quinn breathes out, his hand on the back of your head, fingers weaving into your hair. You slide his underwear off a second later, your hand wrapping around his erection. Leaning down you swirl your tongue around his tip, taking him into your mouth a second later. He lets out a shuttering groan, his fingers grasping at your hair. “Holy shit,” he mutters. 

You take him as far into your mouth as you can each time you bob your head up and down, suppressing your gags as your eyes well with tears from the sensation. You can feel the saliva building in your mouth, wrapping your hand around the base of his cock, the saliva dripping down onto your fingers. Moving your free hand to Quinn’s thigh you readjust on your knees, the hardwood floor below you is not particularly comfortable, but the quiet groans he’s making make it worth it. 

A few minutes later Quinn pulls back and you wipe your lips with the back of your hand, staring up at him. “You’re so beautiful,” Quinn mutters, running his thumb along your bottom lip. He leans down to kiss you again, gentle and slow. 

Pulling back Quinn opens the condom, sliding it on quickly. Scooting back on the bed you reach up, grabbing his hand and pulling him down on top of you. He kisses you passionately as he slides his hand between your legs, fingers brushing over your entrance before slowly pushing one finger inside you. He moves slowly at first, brushing up slightly, sliding another finger inside you a minute later, your moans growing in volume. 

He pulls his hand back quickly, wrapping around his dick, sliding himself inside you. It’s slow at first, almost teasing as he watches you beneath him, moaning quietly. “Oh my god,” you whimper, your hands grasping onto his shoulders. “You feel so good inside me,” you whisper as he picks up the speed, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through your body. 

Leaning up Quinn places his hands on the backs of your thighs, gently pushing your legs back further. Sliding your hand down you run your fingers over your clit, Quinn watching you for a moment as your moans grow in frequency. “Oh, fuck,” Quinn groans, tipping his head back to look up at the ceiling. “I’m close.”

Your fingers pick up speed when you hear Quinn say he’s close, bringing yourself to the brink of orgasm just a moment later. As your body is overtaken by the familiar tensing of your muscles you cry out in pleasure, your free hand wrapping around Quinn’s bicep, fingers digging into his arm. 

Quinn finishes just a minute after you, groaning as his thrusts slow in pace, slowly pulling himself out of you. He leans down and kisses your forehead gently before pushing himself off the bed, heading towards the bathroom as he takes off the condom. 

Laying on the bed you stare at the ceiling, trying your best to catch your breath. It had been awhile since you had sex in general but a very long time since you had sex that felt that good. Your hand rests on your bare torso, rising and falling with each heavy breath. You turn your head to the side when Quinn returns, tugging on a pair of underwear before sitting on the bed beside you. “How are you feeling?” he asks. 

“Good,” you tell him with a giggle. “Really good.”

“Good,” Quinn echoes with a chuckle, leaning down to quickly peck your lips. “I’m going to get us some water, do you want anything else?”

Shaking your head you sit up, tugging your underwear back on. “No, just the water would be great.”

“I’ll be right back,” Quinn tells you, kissing your forehead again before leaving the bedroom. 

Pulling the blankets back you slide under them, realizing just how tired you really were. Quinn returns a minute later, setting a glass of water on the nightstand beside you. He joins you in bed, reaching over and pulling you closer. His fingers brush against your back, your arm resting on his chest. 

“Was tonight a date?” you whisper. 

A soft breath of laughter leaves Quinn’s lips as he tips his head up to look at you. “Well I thought it was but that’s kind of embarrassing if you didn’t.”

Giggling you lift your head, looking up at him. “I didn’t know but that doesn’t mean I didn’t want it to be.” Rolling over you slide one leg over his body, straddling him as you lean in, your lips hovering over his. “We can call it a date but I don’t usually kiss on the first date and look at where tonight went,” you joke. 

“Well I’m definitely looking forward to the second date then,” Quinn replies with a chuckle, his hands on your hips as he rolls you off of him to hover over you. “I’ll make sure you know it’s a date next time,” he says with a smirk, kissing you gently. “Get you some flowers or something.”

“Ooh,” you say with a giggle, running your fingers along his arm. “I love flowers.”

“I’ll get you all the flowers you ever want.”

“I didn’t expect you to be so romantic, Quinn,” you tease, leaning up to peck his cheek. 

Quinn shrugs, settling onto the bed beside you. “I’m not normally.”

Rolling your eyes playfully you shake your head. “Okay…whatever you say.”

“I’m being serious,” Quinn assures you with a quiet laugh. 

Turning your head your eyes meet with his and you realize he’s not joking. “Well please don’t stop, I like it.”

“I won’t,” Quinn promises, leaning over and kissing your forehead gently. 

Smiling softly you curl in closer to Quinn, letting your eyes fall shut as you feel the steady rise and fall of his chest under your hand. It doesn’t take long for you fall asleep in his arms, feeling an overwhelming sense of contentment that extends into your dreams, lulling you into a deep sleep.

Your eyes flutter open the next morning, rolling onto your side in the dim bedroom, the blinds blocking out the early morning light. “Good morning,” you whisper when you watch Quinn’s eyes open, turning on his side to face you. 

Quinn reaches over, brushing your hair behind your ear. “Morning,” he mumbles with a tired smile. “How’d you sleep?”

“Really good,” you whisper, unable to contain your own smile. “Did you sleep okay?” Rolling onto your stomach you move closer to him, resting your arm on his chest. 

“Yes,” Quinn replies, his hand sliding down to rest on your lower back. “Was last night okay?”

“More than okay,” you assure him, drawing imaginary shapes on his chest with your fingertips. “What do you want to do today?” you ask him, knowing it was one of very few days where he wasn’t doing something for hockey. 

Quinn shrugs, brushing his thumb along the skin of your lower back, sending a shiver of pleasure up your spine. “Anything as long as it’s with you.”

“What a coincidence…that’s also what I want to do today.”

You spend most of the morning in the apartment, not going more than a few minutes here and there without touching each other in some manner. Brief kisses here and there, a hand on your back, your arms wrapped around him. The afternoon brings you out of the apartment and into the streets of Vancouver, Quinn showing you around the rainy city. 

You spend the rest of the week at Quinn’s apartment. Watching movies on the couch, making dinners, going to another one of his games, afternoons spent at his kitchen table working through projects your laptop. You spent a night alone there when he had a road game, curled up on the couch in one of his t-shirts, watching the game on the TV in his living room. Everything felt so comfortable, so normal. Like this was the life you were supposed to be living. Just you and Quinn in an apartment together. 

But no matter how good it felt you knew it wasn’t going to last. You had to go home, had to get back to your job and the classes that you were barely keeping up with online. It didn’t matter how much you wanted to continue living in this blissful state with Quinn, it just wasn’t reasonable. 

Your time in Vancouver had to come to an end, the time slipping by so much faster than normal. Before you knew it you didn’t have another day or even another night together.  

You force a deep breath into your lungs, the lights in the airport feeling too bright, the air a little too cold, the bustling of people a little too loud. “Well,” you whisper, blinking quickly as you glance around, at anything and everything but Quinn. You were certain that if you looked at him a little too long you wouldn’t be able to keep it together. “I, um, I guess I should go…don’t want to miss my flight,” you mumble, though if you were being honest you wouldn’t be too upset if you did miss your flight. 

Quinn nods, reaching over and pulling you into him. The two of you stand there in silence, neither one wanting to pull back, not wanting the inevitable to happen. “I’m going to miss you.”

Sniffling quietly you curl your fingers into his hoodie. “Me too,” you whisper, pulling back just enough to look up at him, your hands still on his arms. “Don’t get too busy that you can’t talk to me when I call,” you joke, a sad breath of laughter following. Reaching up you wipe away your tears as you take a small step back. 

“Never,” Quinn assures you, a clear hesitation as he lets you go. “Have a good flight.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, slowly turning around and heading towards the security line. You don’t look back, didn’t want him to see the stream of tears that you had been holding in all morning running down your cheeks. You fight through your emotions till you're through security, finding yourself a seat to hide away from the rest of the world as the sleeves of your hoodie grow damp with the tears you’re wiping from your face. 

Who would have thought that leaving on such great terms would be just as hard as leaving thinking you were never going to see him again. 

[mynameismckenziemae]

Every Part of You

Bob Floyd x Female Reader

Summary: Bob shows you how much he loves your body; curves and all. Based on this prompt (thanks @phoenix-rising-starbird-one for the idea!).

Rating: Explicit! This is intended for adults (18+) only! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Warnings: smut, dom!Bob, body worship, cum play, ass play, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, spanking, uniform kink, mirror sex, body insecurity. I think that’s it.

Please note-reader is curvy and has hair long enough to pull. If that offends you, don’t read.

.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.

"Come in," you call when the doorbell rings, knowing it's Bob, "I'm in here."

"Sorry I'm late, that last hop took longer than expected," he replies, toeing his off shoes by the door before entering the living room, "I haven't showered yet either, couldn't wait any longer to see you...”

He trails off when he sees you biting your lip, looking him up and down like he's a piece of meat.

You thought he was cute when you met him on the beach in a tee shirt and swim trunks, more so later when he had put jeans and a sweatshirt on for the bonfire. Handsome when he wore slacks and a button down on the first date, sexy when he woke you up with breakfast in bed the next morning in nothing but gray sweatpants.

The bottom line is he always looks good. But in service khakis? He's downright mouth-watering.

"I've never seen you in uniform," you murmur as you rise, fingers tracing the color ribbons on his chest, “you look good, Bobby."

"You think so?" His lip quirks before he brushes his lips over yours.

You nod as you wait for him to kiss you, but instead, he kisses the side of your mouth down to your jaw, shivering at the smell of his clean sweat and jet fuel.

"You look good too, honey," he murmurs, his big strong hands finding your legging-clad ass to squeeze, "love your ass in these."

A bashful smile tugs at your lips as he continues his assault on your neck as he walks you back towards the couch, lifting the oversized tee over your head.

Bob loves your body; even the fuller, thicker, and squishier parts you hate. But when you open your eyes and see your reflection in the large mirror in the corner beside the couch, those parts are all you can focus on.

"Let's-ah," you sigh breathlessly when he nips your collarbone, reaching around your back to unclasp your bra, but you hold it up by the cups before it can fall. "Can we take this to the bedroom?"

Where the late afternoon sun isn't steaming in through the sheer curtains, and there are blankets to cover up with.

Your back arches when he sucks a bruise there before opening his eyes, brow furrowing when he finds yours focused on your soft belly instead of him.

"Nah," he replies, continuing when your eyes flick to his in the reflection, "I want you right here. Right now."

Oh.

"Why do you want to go to the bedroom?" He asks though, sensing your hesitation.

"I don't know," you lie, looking away and focusing on the tan buttons of his shirt, "it's just... kind of bright out here."

"Which is exactly why I want to stay," he tilts your chin, forcing you to look at him, "so I can see your beautiful body."

Without thinking, you huff out a laugh of disbelief and your eyes roll before widening at your rudeness.

"Sorry, that was-"

"Disrespect of a superior officer," he interrupts with an exhale, slowly shaking his head.

His body language shifts in an instant as he straightens. Gone is your sweet, easy-going boyfriend. The man who stands before you radiates a quiet, but unyielding confidence.

Arousal races through you at the change.

“I’m sorry Bobby,” you gulp at the new, almost predatory look in his eyes, “I’m just-“

“Just digging yourself in deeper with your fake apologies?” He finishes for you while he gently pulls your hands away from your chest, letting the bra from your arms, “and it’s ‘sir’ to you.”

You choke back a whimper and your nipples tighten in response to his request-no, his order.

“Put your hands on the mirror,” he says, lightly flicking your nipple before stepping back.

You take a shaky breath in before doing as asked, looking at the floor instead of your flushed face and naked breasts.

“I’ve let this behavior go on too long,” he says, slowly pacing behind you, “it ends today.”

“Wha beha-“ you cut off with a gasp when his hand slaps your ass, the thin material of your leggings offering no protection.

“I don’t want to hear anything from your pretty lips besides ‘yes sir’, ‘no sir’, or ‘stop’ if I do anything you don’t like. Do you understand?”

Your heart is about to beat out of your chest as you nod, which earns you another spank.

“Use your words.”

“Yes sir,” face burning at the way your voice shakes.

“That’s what I like to hear”, he replies, the smile evident in his voice as he pulls your leggings over your ass. “Pretty,” he whispers as his fingers follow the lace of your thong down your cheeks, chuckling when he feels how soaked they are taking them off too, “wet too, but you won’t be needing these either.”

He pulls your hips back into his to rub his clothed erection over your ass before sliding his hand up your spine, making you arch your back. His hand slides into the back of your hair and you whimper when he grips the roots, guiding your head up.

“Eyes on me,” he says lowly. Only his erection and the faint pink staining his cheeks give away how affected he is.

“Yes sir,” you whisper.

“I love every single part of you,” he punctuates it with a roll of his hips, “your beautiful eyes that I too often get lost in. Pouty lips that get me hard just from thinking about how they stretch around my cock,” his hand releases your hair, coming around to brush his thumb over them. He sucks in a breath when your tongue darts out to lick it.

“Your neck, God. Don’t know how many times I’ve thought about how good it would look with my hand around it,” his hand trails lower, making your eyes flutter when he lightly squezes. “The way your arms wrap around me in my sleep. Never knew I’d like being the little spoon,” he smiles into your neck as his hands slide down your arms to your hands, “the soft hands that fit perfectly in mine, that feel so good on my cock, this finger” he taps your left ring finger, “will have to hold up the rock I’m gonna put on it someday.”

Your already-pounding heart skips a beat at that. You’ve only been dating for 2 months.

“These,” he grunts, cock surging against your ass when he cups your breasts, “the way these full, gorgeous tits bounce when I fuck you, God. And the little sound you make when I do this,” he pinches your nipples and makes your breath catch, “yeah, that’s the sound. Sensitive pretty nipples. Could suck on ‘em all day.”

“Please?” You whine, eyes falling closed.

He steps away and you shiver when the heat from his body is gone too.

Your body jolts and your eyes fly open when his hand comes down on your ass a second later.

“Is ‘please’ one of the words I said you could say?” He asks after spanking your right cheek twice more.

“No sir!” You shake your head.

“Didn’t think so,” he gives the left side equal treatment before straightening to growl in your ear, “Keep your eyes on me.”

“Yes sir,” you pant, feeling a little lightheaded by how turned on you are. You don’t have to look to know your arousal is leaking down your thighs.

“Love your belly,” he continues, hands resuming their gentle journey like they didn’t just take your breath away with their harsh spanks, “so feminine and soft. Can’t wait to see it round and swollen with my baby inside.”

His nostrils flare as he thinks about fucking a baby into you. You whimper but don’t say a word, keeping your eyes on his.

“And your legs? Christ,” he breathes, rutting into you harder, “strong thighs that wrap around my head when you cum and squeezing tight when I don’t stop.”

It’s a love-hate relationship when he overestimates you like that.

“Hell, I even love it when you put your freezing feet on me to warm them up,” he chuckles, and you smile. He kisses your shoulder before he straightens, “Stay put while I get a condom.”

“No sir,” you blurt, shaking your head.

He gives you a questioning look, “What is it?”

“Take me bare,” you breathe, “I want to feel you without.”

His eyes squeeze closed as his head drops back with a groan. You squirm when he opens them again, hardly any blue is visible with how blown his pupils are.

“Are you sure?” He asks, hands going to his pants button, waiting for your answer.

“Yes sir,” you bite your lip, “We’re both clean.”

“Your period is due in a few days, right?” He asks as he fumbles with his pants before guiding his cock between your legs.

“Yes sir,” you laugh breathlessly that he knows your cycle that well as he pushes in easily even though hasn’t touched you there yet.

“Oh fuck,” his voice gets higher as he feels you for the first time without a barrier, “this pussy was made for me,” he groans, heading lolling back, “You’re so wet and warm.”

Your fingers turn white as your grip tightens on the edge of the mirror, whimpering as he fucks into you with fast, rough thrusts.

“And-and these hips, baby,” he pants, giving away he’s growing close. His fingers flex against them hard enough to bruise, “thick and full and the perfect place to hold while I make a mess of you.”

“Yes!” You nod, catching yourself quickly, “Sir! Yes sir!”

Even without any stimulation to your clit, you could cum like this. If he keeps going just that…

“Ah! Sh-shit!” He gasps, pulling out suddenly.

A strangled whine leaves you as he suddenly pushes between your cheeks to release there and across your lower back. A shiver wracks your body as you feel the warm evidence of his release.

“Mmm,” he hums as he releases your hips, sliding back to cup a cheek in each hand and squeeze, “I love your ass.”

You nod along, hardly listening anymore as your body trembles from being denied release.

“The way it jiggles when I pounds into you from behind,” fingertips trail through his release, gathering it before sliding them between your cheeks. You tense with a sharp inhale when he finds your puckered hole, “How good it’s gonna feel when I fuck it.”

“Yes sir,” you force yourself to relax, sighing at the foreign feeling of being touched there. It helps he’s kissing the sweet spot under your ear.

“I really like the recoil when I spank it,” his spent cock twitches back to life as if to emphasize his point, “which is going to happen whenever I think you need reminding of how much I love your body.”

“Yes sir,” you breathe, deflating a little when he steps away.

But he steps in front of you, “Did you really think I’d leave you wanting?” He drops to his knees with a smirk.

“No s-sir,” you stutter when he leans in to kiss your needy, swollen clit.

“Better not be,” he murmurs hotly against you, “now watch yourself. You need to see how beautiful you are when you cum.”

.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.

Hope ya liked it 🙃

Tagging my Bob girlies:

@lexixstewart

@dizzybee03

@its-the-pilot

@hisredheadedgoddess28

@atarmychick007

@littlezee80

@k-k0129

@jessicab1991

@lonelysoul50

@landpiranha-blog

@fandomology101

@writtingrose

@rascallyrascalreads

@sweetwhispersofchaos

@sorchathered ry

[tarjapearce]

ok, sorry if this sound dumb but what if Miguel broke his arm on a mission or training or something and his kinky brain can't think of how to fight off his desire for the reader while his right hand is no longer useable? sorry words are hard. just thinking about obsessed simp Miguel and i can't even!

Need a Hand?

Miguel O'Hara x Reader

(no pun intended). NSFW, Masturbation, Voyeurism, Dirty talk, a little of sub! Miguel.

Bizarre.

There wasn't another word that described the situation before you, but a lot of different synonyms. Funny, preposterous, ridiculous.

Him, out of everyone, out of the high endurance and resilient people you've met, had broken his arm while fighting Kingpin.

Fisk had snapped his arm like a twig while trying to stop him from rebuilding the particle collisioner. Even though the big man was put behind bars on his world, Miguel had suffered the consequences of the criminal's misguided wrath.

Another lesson for the Boss, really. He might have encountered many variants and villains through the years, even gotten used to their fighting like a second nature, however he was often prone to forget that some of those variants were even more vicious than the others and that he was still human.

And this Kingpin was either narcotically enhanced or was having a bad bad day.

"Serves you right." You chided him while taking a look at his forearm, tucked in within a thick mesh of resin, allowing his skin to breath and heal properly without restricting his limb completely, something he had designed himself.

"You're not funny."

"And you're a sore loser. Anyways, I'll shall get going. This Spiderwoman needs to face the landlord for increasing my rent without telling. Stay out of trouble and rest, Miguel."

With a pat on his shoulder, a portal was open to your dimension. His eyes fixed on your disappearing form through it.

A deep exhale. His hands rubbed softly where you had touched him. Warmth still lingered for a second before disappearing.

"Heartbeat frequency and neural activity increased, should I arrange a visit to the medical bay?"

"No. Just... get the coffee machine brewing."

"Wouldn't that make it worse?"

"Lyla" He warned and Lyla rolled her holographic eyes

"Yeah, yeah. I'll get Jessica if a heart attack happens."

"That's not how caffeine works."

Lyla shrugged before disappearing out of his sight.

-----

Despite being light and doing it's work as it should, the cast was turning into a nuisance. Even the Spider doctor had told him to keep it easy. Spider people healed fast that was much true, but that didn't mean they had to be as reckless as he was being.

Holed up in his lab, trying to get a proper hold of his cock after his eyes had stumbled upon a rare and delicious gem. Footage of you removing the watch and taking a shower. Other of you getting out of your suit and laying naked on your bed as you scrolled through your phone to watch silly videos.

But the one that had put in him in the predicament he was now, replayed over and over, as if engraving it in his brain wasn't enough.

You in bed, naked, a frequent habit he supposed, dragging slow and lazy circles on your clit while watching a saved porn video.

Smooth flesh parted and toyed with, glistening by the neurological response to such imagery.

His hand stroked himself but it felt wrong and painful. His bone wasn't cooperating, and neither was he with the aftercare.

You'd probably be nagging him on how stupid he was being for being so careless and stupid. A lazy smile crept to his face. You were so annoying, pretty and clearly making a mess out of him. The pain remained in his arm but it mattered little as the strokes were heightening his senses.

But as soon as Miguel tried to increase the pace, the sharp discomfort anchored him back to reality.

"Puta madre" He growled and let his cock go, frustrated for being unable to jerk off properly. He tried with his left hand but it wasn't as coordinated and vicious like his right hand. His upper back muscles tensed before throwing a metallic jumble of things in the wall. Suit quickly trapped his cock again.

What was the use of having it free would be if he couldn't get off without feeling pain?

"Miggy Miggy, where are you?"

Shit

He punched the screen off before you ventured in his room. Just in time to not blow his cover.

"Heard something crash, what's not working properly this time?"

His eyes darted to his own hands, but yours were settled on him, red eyes followed your line of sight and it dawned on him. A little flush bloomed in your cheeks.

"Oh."

A smirk displayed on your lips. Certainly a reaction he wasn't expecting.

"Need a hand?" You giggled while he frowned at your own little joke.

"That's... That's not funny."

"I'm not mocking you, Miggy. " With every step closer you gave, he stepped two back, until his back collided with the TV he had just punched. Turning it on back to life.

The lewd moans of your video echoed behind him and your eyes widened.

"Is that..."

You gulped at the sounds. It was impossible to not recall such moans when you knew them by heart, your favorite video. Something you had fantasized a shit ton of times with Miguel, if you were honest. You pushed him out the way to see what had gotten him all worked up.

"W-Wait!"

Your eyes remained glued on the screen, watching how you played and touched yourself. Fingers spreading and toying your cunt.

"Where did you get this?" He had to snap his head your way to divert his attention from the video and pin it on you.

"You leave the... uh... channel open."

It wasn't a lie. Ever since a little mission your gizmo had been malfunctioning. And the recording had been one of them.

"Makes sense. Told you to fix it and you didn't listen."

He swallowed thickly, hoping you'd forget about it. But of course, that wasn't possible.

"Did you like it, though?"

That smirk of yours made his senses to flare up in danger. He shrugged and your brow quirked in disbelief.

"Your cock betrays you, O'Hara"

His eyes narrowed when you stepped closer, but again the chair behind him blocked his escape, he plopped on it while you sat on one of his muscular and meaty thighs. He had to improve the distribution of the place later.

"Let me help with that."

His breath hitched at your words. Eyes locked with his, visual contact sacred to him, as your hand slid down his firm torso, the suit vanishing as you reached down his groin.

Hefty cock sprung back to freedom, a pearly bead of his precum greeting you while you took a hold of his base.

"So big and pretty" You nodded. It sent shivers down your spine, the way he breathed. His generous lips parting to give you a low groan as your thumb smeared the cum on his tip.

"Yeah?" He rasped and you pumped deep.

His jaw clenched and his eyes drooped, lust blown. A fiery flush covered his cheeks. His legs instinctively spreaded more to you, giving you more access to him. We'll worked arms rested on the chair, clawing at the hardened material of it.

Your hand let him go for a moment, fingers collected a good amount of saliva, to then paint his cock with it, making the pumping motion swiftly and faster.

His mouth slacked open, his left hand coaxed your head closer, pressing your forehead against his.

His eyes never left you, just like your hand never abandoned his cock. In fact, your fist had trapped his tip and squeezed his tip, earning you a well deserved whimper.

"You like that, Miggy?"

He nodded in between breathless and deep pants. His groans increased their intensity as you moved your hands to his base. Index and thumb finger circled around him, tightening as much as they could without hurting him. A delicious hiss escaped his mouth followed by a shivering moan.

"Wished it was my pussy right now, don't you?" The pace you settled on him, had his hips slowly fucking into your hole shaped hand, your words only urging the already running rampant imagination.

"So tight and squeezing your cock, hmm?"

"Si" A hiccup as the chair trembled with your ministrations, "Ay por Dios, si"

Fingers focused on his tip again and his teeth ground together. His grip on your nape firmer, as if to prevent you from escaping

"Want to fill my pussy with your cum, Miggy?"

"E-Everyday" He croaked and you smiled above his lips, hot breath fanning over his mouth. Hands clenching and unclenching at the motions your hand provided him. His cum was a magnificent lube.

"My God, so so greedy" You cooed while smirking. You had him a babbling mess since your hand never waned, your voice was like a merciless guide, exposing his deepest desires with such ease it only added more gasoline to his scorching need.

His spine arched subtly, making his head throw back, chest heaved in erratic breaths, matching the thrumming of his heart and the unceasing waves of pleasure, set to drown him.

"Wanna ruin me, Miggy?"

"Yes." He hissed.

His body slowly melting into he chair. You could feel his thighs trembling.

"Are you close?"

His lips searched yours in a measly attempt to placate his babbling mouth, instead you took a hold of his jaw with your free hand, bringing his eyes to yours, and God, you groaned at the sight.

"Give it to me" You moaned. His brows knitting together in a deep yet pleasurable frown, mouth shaped in a messy 'a'.

"Así... Si..." He gulped a choking sob. He inched closer and closer to the fire, calling him to be consumed.

"Wanna cum?"

"No pares por favorno-" He slurred and tripped over his words as thick blobs and spurts of his cum spilled over your hand and wrist. His breath hitched to finally be released in a jagged groan while you gave him the last and deepest strokes.

"Dios..." He whimpered and held onto you, anchoring to something before his soul floated away from his body. The hot of his breath was captured between your lips, granting you a low growl as he rode his high.

Some of his cum had stained the floor. You stood and licked his cum off your fingers, relishing the tangy and salty taste.

"Let me know when you need help again, Miggy"

Before he could reach out again, you were already at the door, waving a little taunting goodbye. He'd definitely need help again.

[thatsdemko]

room 305 - l.stroll

masterlist

requested: n

pairing: Lance stroll x fem!reader

warnings: build up + childhood friends trope + not intended for minors + long(omg I’m so sorry) + mentions of oral (f + m receiving)

a/n: I want to thank @oconso, @monzabee, and @holllandtrash for being the people who inspired me to keep writing this fic 😅your reactions were my motivation to keep going! so sorry for the two posts in two days, just felt the need to get this out there xx feedback is appreciated 🫶

《 the following content is not intended for minors. 》

how you got to this point in the conversation is beyond you.

you can feel the saliva thicken in your throat. sweat begins to break out across your forehead that you wipe with the back of your hand nervously. he seems so calm, so collected. like he didn’t just learn his best friend, of childhood, was a virgin.

it wasn’t a problem you had. you didn’t mind walking around sexually frustrated that not a single man was ready to take you to the next base, but the way lances skin quickly dropped pale, eyes nearly jumping out of their sockets, you knew it wasn’t okay.

“so like,” he pauses, you can see he’s trying to digest the news. you watch him swallow before continuing, “you’ve just never had sex before?”

he realized how stupid he sounds. just repeating your words back to you, and he watches red spread further across your cheeks. he cannot imagine how embarrassing this conversation had to be, but he can thank the wine for finally pushing you open to him.

you nod, reaching for the bottle of wine in the middle of the table, your hands are too shaky from the embarrassment. the bottle dips, about to hit the wood table, but Lance is quick enough to catch it and takes a knowing look at you, “you don’t have to be afraid. it’s me.”

he says it in a matter of fact tone, because it is him. the guy who wasn’t shy to be your first kiss, or the guy who wasn’t shy to risk his life and teach you how to drive. he would be more than honored to teach you what good sex is, and he knows by the look in your eyes, you’re thinking about it.

“if not tonight,” he pauses, watching you adjust in the uncomfortable hard wood chair, hoping and praying this conversation would be over, “some other time. I’m always down.”

—

it’d been a week since your confession, and the idea always stayed lurking in the back of your mind.

even when he introduces you to his team, when his back muscles flexed in the skin tight fireproof, you were thinking about him on top of you, how his skin would feel against yours.

you’re lost in your thoughts, thinking about how warm his body would be against yours, his cold palm against your throat, when he interrupts your thoughts.

“so you’re thinking about it too?” he shifts in front of you. you watch the smirk turn against his lips as his hand slips down your arm, finger tips ever so gently brushing your skin.

he watches your lips slightly gap, eyes becoming doe-like. “the offer still stands.” he says.

the way he’s acting is killing you. he’s so nonchalant, like it’s not a big deal to him, but your mind races with the boundaries you were crossing. this was no longer going to be an easy childhood friendship, it’d much more complicated for crying out loud. he’d see your most vulnerable places, and you cannot believe he’s acting with not a care in the world.

“I want it to be with the right person,” you say, your voice sounds shaky like you weren’t sure of yourself, but deep down you were. “It’s important to me you understand that.” you add.

he shifts from one hip to the other, giving you a tiny nod in understanding, “do you think I’m not the right person for you?” he asks. he picks up on your hesitation, air caught in your lungs because you weren’t expecting that response. you had a whole planned out response, and instead you’re looking for words to answer.

that same smirk toys his lips again as he slips into his teal green racing suit, “you know where to find me.” he sends you a wink, but doesn’t leave without a final word, “I’ve got a condom with your name on it, you just say when.”

—

your fingernail is gushing with blood. you’ve been chewing it nonstop since the race started.

the gnawing at your skin might’ve started with the race, it wasn’t an easy start and finish, with yellow flags, safety cards, and animals at risk; the race was anything but calm. now that the race was over, and you were watching Lance climb out of the car, the nervous tick now wasn’t because of the race anymore. it was because of the butterflies in your stomach and the throbbing from your pussy.

you’ve never felt this hungry for someone before. you watch his hair fall out of the helmet, the dark brown locks were flattened due to the balaclava, but the hairs find their way back to their natural shape as he shakes them off his sweaty forehead.

you feel like a little girl at school again. getting all excited when your crushed looked your way, or how nervous you got around him, it all felt too familiar. it was how you used to feel about Lance when you were in middle school. always looking at him when no one was watching, and being anxious when you were left alone with him. some feelings never do go away.

“I heard p9 is the newest p1.” you say when he’s finally made his way over to you. you watch him as he steps up to your body, arms wrapping around you. there was nothing that could of prepared you for this moment, there was no better feeling than Lance against your own body.

his arms are loose around you, his hand rests in the middle of your back, thumb lightly stroking your back. you inhale his sweaty scent, the mixture of his cologne lingers the odor, it’s oddly enough to send a pulse back down between your inner thighs.

“p1, huh?” he asks pulling away from your body, fingers running through his hair, he gently pulls on the strands before running his fingers down his face.

“that’s what they’re saying.” you reply, stumbling backwards, knees a bit too weak to stand you need something to grab onto. you never expected a man to ever do this to you. at least not Lance.

he licks his lips, “what does p1 get?”

“me.” you say.

every vessel in your body is sure of this. you might not of been hours ago, when he was playing his asshole cards, but now? you’re sure he’s the one. in fact, you’re sure he’s the only one.

you watch him swallow the lump in his throat. he’s never seen you be so bold. he watches your face to see if any signs of bluffing, but you’re not folding, you’re sure of this.

“meet me back at the hotel, room 305.”

—

you sit on the edge of his hotel bed, once again gnawing at the skin of your fingertips. you weren’t sure what to expect, should you dress up for the occasion? maybe sport a g-string? you couldn’t even focus on trying to eat dinner, there was too much on your mind.

“would you stop eating your skin?” he asks emerging from the bathroom with a towel around his waist. he’d been in the shower when you arrived. he heard the door click open, and listened to you carefully place it behind you to not make too much noise. of course, you failed by running into bathroom door that was wide open allowing the steam from the shower out the room.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter putting your hand underneath your thighs, “I’m just nervous.” you admit, as if it wasn’t obvious. he’s known you your whole life, that tick was a dead giveaway of your anxiety.

you watch him bend down to pick up one of his shirts out of his suitcase. you’re a little unsure why he’s getting dressed if in the next ten minutes you’ll be throwing the shirt off of him, and you can tell he’s reading your confusion just by the way he laughs.

“we are doing this my way, dinner first then sex. I gotta get to know you before I fuck you.”

you scoff. like he hasn’t spent over a decade or two learning the in’s and outs of you. you find it ridiculous, but he’s truly the only man that’s ever agreed to second base. he’s your only safe option to show you what a first time should be like.

“fine, should I change?” you gesture to the outfit you’re wearing. a midi white skirt, pair of sandals, and a black tank top.

he shakes his head, “no it’s fine, skirts are easy to take off anyway.”

you laugh, and decide to wait for him to change. of course, he changes with the bathroom door cracked open. it’s not enough for you to see anything, but you can hear the zip of jeans, the sound of his socks against the cold tile, all the things to let you know he was naked.

“ready?” he asks while grabbing his keys and wallet off the nightstand.

you stand up and watch him, you see the gold packaging that was hidden beneath the wallet, and you know exactly what it is. he wasn’t hiding it.

“where to?”

he gives you a knowing look like you shouldn’t of asked, and you know exactly what he’s about to say, “Lester’s deli.”

—

the sandwich in front of you is just as good as you remember it being. Lance sits across from you, halfway finished with his when he looks up at you, “so tell me, what do you like in a guy?” he asks.

you nearly drop the sandwich just to swallow before replying. it took all of the strength in you to not look down at his growing hard cock in his jeans.

it was evident the whole drive. his hand resting on your bare thigh, fingertips dangerously move up your skirt. he was such a tease, it was killing you how he was acting.

you shrug your shoulders, “I don’t know, just as long as he’s nice.” you reply to his question taking another bite out of your sandwich.

he nods taking a sip of his drink before asking another question, “I want the specifics. what did and didn’t work. do you like it when I touch you? do you hate hair pulling?”

the questions roll off his tongue, it’s hard to keep track. you can tell he’s been around the block, whereas you’ve barely been in the house let alone allowed to park your car in a man’s garage.

“Lance,” you say, finally stopping him from getting into orgys and sex toys, “I’ve never had sex. I don’t know what I like, but I know I like you.”

he finds himself blushing. he owes Chloe at least twenty bucks for predicting the expectable outcome: that you would fall for each other.

“well then what are we waiting for?” he asks, standing up from his chair. the few customers turn around hearing the legs of the chair scrape against the floor.

you watch him like you used to. with those silly little doe-eyes and follow his lead because even if you wanted to say no, you couldn’t. you dreamt of a moment like this at some point in your life, and you cannot believe it was Lance stroll who’d fuck you in his hotel room.

—

you lay against the mattress, his lips press against yours every so often while he takes off his shirt. you study the way his body looks as the black t-shirt comes off his back. you take your index finger and trace the outlines of his abs, the tattoo on his rib cage. there’s so much to see.

“I’ll help you.” he guides your hands to the zipper of his jeans. his hands steadies your shaking ones as you pull on the tiny metal that’s holding all of him together.

the jeans come off, they are in a ball on the floor along side his t-shirt he was once sporting. he’s hesitant to take off your tank top for you, his cold hands are on top of yours while you lift your shirt up over your head.

he licks his bottom lip before pressing them against yours for a brief second, “so beautiful.”

during the kiss he took the chance to unhook your bra, and when he pulls away, the material that was holding your breasts up is ripped off of you exposing your nipples to the cool air of the hotel room.

“lay back, for me.” he says, and you obey. it wasn’t much of a demand, rather than a statement for comfort. he takes the opportunity to spread your legs far apart, feet pressed into the mattress.

the white skirt you’re wearing rides up your thighs, he can see the lacy panties as clear as day, a smirk lifts his lips, “for me? you didn’t have to.” he jokes, but its sincere. he finds it charming you put in the effort to look presentable.

“whatever.” you grumble.

he smiles, hands running up your legs to your thighs. he stops at your hips that currently hold the floral lacy material in place. he’s careful to not tear the material as it trails down your legs before being tossed aside.

he gets off the bed for the gold wrapper on the nightstand. while he’s tugging off his boxers, the realization hits you. you’re about to have sex with the Lance stroll. the man who you once took showers with when you were babies, held you while your parents bickered and fought. this man was more than the perfect guy for the job to take your virginity.

“you just tell me when to stop, okay?”

his thumb grazes your cheek for a brief second before his hand slides down your throat. he’s gentle over your voice box, “I need to hear you, you’ll tell me to stop.”

his chain dangles off his of chest, the dim lights of the room reflect off it, nearly blinding you while he speaks. you feel that pulse once again as you nod, “I’ll tell you.” you try to vocalize your needs, but it’s caught in your throat making you sound raspy and hoarse.

he lets go. allowing that hand to caress your body while the other balances him in between you. his chain hovers over your eyelids, shoulder blades lining up with yours you can feel the heat radiating off of him. your breath is caught in your lungs by the sight of his beauty.

you feel his skin against yours before his tip inside of you. your hips grind together, chests nearly colliding with one another. your back arches into him, a gasp rolls off your tongue, nails digging deep into his skin. he hisses.

the strokes weren’t deep and long at first, rather quick and sporadic to get a feel. you’re tight, and he expected this, but he didn’t expect the challenge to open you up to feel so good.

his head tilts back a bit, a little grunt escaping his lips as he goes deeper into your core. you’re whining under him, absolutely soaking wet under him already.

he’s big, god he’s incredibly big. you’re not why he doesn’t walk around flaunting it, because you’re sure it’s the biggest dick you’ve ever seen and you weren’t even sure he’d fit in you.

you squirm when he goes long, the pain is met with pleasure shortly, a whimper escapes your lips, nails still digging into his back.

his strokes start to pick up again, you can feel the mattress beneath you two begin to shake, the headboard lightly tapping the wall behind you. you’re about a second away from coming when he hits the bundle of nerves that send a rush through your body. a whine slips off your tongue, and suddenly he’s slowing down— pulling out to be exact.

“yeah?” he asks. trying to catch his breath, he takes a long look into your angelic eyes, “let me taste you.” his voice is quiet. picking your legs up over his shoulders, his eyes dazzle with excitement at the thick moisture against your folds.

you shutter, when you feel his wet warm tongue against your skin, it’s a sensation that itches your brain, makes you dizzy, and gets your legs to twitch.

he takes his time wiping up your moisture in every fold before he re-enters your center— this time with his tongue. his name rolls off your lips, he stops for a brief moment before you guide him to continue. your fingers are tugging hard on the strands of his brown hair.

“you taste amazing.” he lifts up sitting on his knees wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, a question in his mind sparks his interest.

“you want to try something?” he asks. curiosity flows through you. what more could he have up his sleeve?

you nod, allowing him to take your hands and lift you off the bed. you’re struggling to stand on your two feet, he helps you onto your knees, eye to eye with his hard cock.

“open your mouth, relax your jaw.” he instructs. you follow his commands, doing as so before taking his cock into your hands, fingers carefully stroke the shaft before your mouth closes around his tip.

the rest of his words get caught in his throat when your tongue swipes his tip. your fingers are beginning to wrap tight around his hard cock. how the hell were you so good at this? he thought to himself.

you may not be experienced enough, but you know just what you’re doing. you’ve read enough smut in your life to know where your hand should be, how your tongue should flick him. you know this will get him to come.

“g-good girl.” he moans.

his head is thrown back in pleasure. he can’t get enough of the feeling of your hand move up and down him, tongue swiping every inch of his cock.

he’s got one hand in your hair, the other is gripping the edge of the nightstand for balance. his knees are weak, he can’t stand it. he gives into the pleasure that he’s holding onto and let’s go. he’s enjoyed every second, every gasp that exits his mouth is a reward to your ego.

your mouth is met with his cum, a soft whimper escapes his lips that ends with a sigh in a relief. you pull away from his body, and when you look up from his cock, your eyes being greeted to his cocky smirk.

“not bad for a first timer.” he says, a light chuckle escapes his lips as he collapses against the mattress. it was finally over.

his arms are extended upward, fingers motioning for you to join him. you get up off the floor, and climb into his arms.

“now what?” you ask, resting your head against his chest. you can hear his heart still rapidly pounding.

it was a question you didn’t want to ask. once this was over, now that you no longer were a virgin, you figured there was no challenge left for him.

“now? we cuddle. next time? I get to teach you how to ride.”

“sounds like a plan.”

[binniebakery]

lights off

College AU Bestfriend!Beomgyu x Gn!Reader .. not exactly fluff! kinda suggestive? ♡ Warnings: thunder? rain? ig being in the dark? my first time writing kissing .. my first time actually writing ANYTHING so it might be bad im so sorry guys ♡ A/N: this is my first little fic (if you could call it that)! i literally hate it but i think i got the point across LOLL regardless i hope someone will enjoy please lmk what you think <3 lowercase intended + not proofread ~

7:32 pm. sighing softly, you placed your phone that was softly playing your favorite tunes back down on the small table over your lap. you tapped your pencil on the table in frustration as you once again for the fifth time readjusted your legs on the bed of your best friend's bedroom. time was going by excruciatingly slow and it didnt help that this math problem was taking you a million years to solve. the sun had already set outside and heading back to your dorm seemed less favorable by the minute. hearing a soft shuffle from the other side of the room you looked up at your best friend. rain began to patter outside. looks like you'll be staying for longer than you intended. beomgyu, who had his deep-colored headphones on was moving his head to the music as he wrote down notes from his study guide. his hair softly wrapped around his features most attractively. you began to mentally trace the lines of his nose, his eyes… his lips.. the dim lighting of the room adding more charm to his aura. "y/n..? are you okay? i could feel you burning holes into my head." beomgyu said as he shook off his headphones to fully put his attention was on you. snapped out of your daze, you mentally kicked yourself as you felt embarrassment creep onto your cheeks. how long had you been staring at him for..? "sorry gyu. if i was staring i didnt mean to" you softly laughed, trying to seem nonchalant and cool about the situation. beomgyu, seeing your embarrassment, chuckled at your reaction. "youre okay, i know you look at me because im cute" he grinned and you rolled your eyes. "oh shut up! you know i was daydreaming. i cant focus on this assignment anyways, its too hard. i think im gonna just finish it tomorrow." you smiled as you threw a pillow at him. he was always cheeky when he had the opportunity. anything to see you react. "daydreaming? so you do think im cute?" he grinned wider after recovering from your pillow attack. you huffed and placed the table that was on your lap onto the ground. "you know youre so-.. ugh and what if i do think you're cute?! what would you even do about it, huh?" you retaliated as you sat on the edge of his bed, now fully facing him. you faked a pout as you were feeling a bit bolder than usual today. your homework giving you enough pent-up rage to have the energy to give in to his bickering.

"okay well i dont know how much truth there is to that but if you really meant that id probably kiss you." your eyes widened at his response. you see beomgyu's face turn into an unreadable expression. he hadnt realized you were only half joking and fully meant the compliment, but it was too late and by the time he caught wind that you were actually flustered he felt his stomach flip. even he was shocked by his own words. he slipped. had he said too much? after a few seconds of silence that felt like minutes. the rain outside seemed to get louder. his eyes finally met yours and you looked away. you felt your heart pounding at the thought of you saying too much. both of you overthinking the situation and awkwardness that you both never have had before taking place. you and beomgyu have never had an awkward moment like this. normally you both laugh things off but this time felt different. "you trust me right?" his voice sounded sincere. this tone was rare for you to hear from him but you knew immediately he was being genuine with his question. "h- huh? yeah of course.. why?" you responded. "okay well.." you noticed beomgyu was now fiddling with his headphones, it seemed like he was turning all the gears in his head to get out what he wanted to say. "y/n.. theres a chance you may have not been telling the truth but if you were- look regardless if you meant it, i meant what i said." you could feel your stomach turning. he hardly flirted with you but when he did it always felt different from his usual teasing. you never said anything though, in fear of ruining your friendship. yet you always thought about what it would be like if he also returned the feelings you felt.

the room's atmosphere seemed to change. suddenly you were both hyper-aware of his neon led light being the only source of light aside from his computer. your playlist had stopped and the silence felt unbearable. in one swift move, he stood up, and turned off the led light on his wall.

the room was a lot darker now, his computer screen's light being the only way of telling you what he was going to do next. you watched as he plopped down next to you. he was so close that you could see the slight tinge of pink on his ears. your senses began to be filled with the light scent of his cologne. "i.. look- the only way i can say or do this is if the lights are off- im not trying to be weird its just you make me so nervous.. i cant look at you." he mumbled as he looked at your hands resting on your lap. it was so dark and both your hearts were racing. "gyu.. " was all you could muster with his hands now softly on yours.

"can i…" beomgyu began as he leaned in closer, only centimeters away from your face. his eyes staring intently into yours. he had this look of pure admiration, nervousness and love. it was all too surreal. realizing what he was asking, you silently nodded as you stared at his lips. he pressed his forehead on yours, the thick tension in the air causing your body to tingle in anticipation. as you felt his hair softly tickle your features from him leaning in, your lips connected. he kissed you oh so softly as he held your cheek gently. your hands, as if moving on their own, were softly placed on his arms. his lips softly moving along your own. he was patient. it felt as if he was waiting for you to respond, unsure if what he was doing was okay with you. you moved your head to the side slightly to deepen the kiss, causing him to sigh. it was all he needed to know you felt the same. his hands moved to your waist as you settled your fingers into his long hair. softly pushing him towards you to intensify the kiss. all that could be heard was the rain outside aside from the soft exchange of sighs and hands roaming. "ive liked you for so long.. you have no idea.." he began between kisses. it was all passionate, slow, and tender as if he was handling you like glass. his hands pulled your waist impossibly closer to his. he separated first, leaving you craving for more. "trust me, i liked you so much i was so scared you didnt feel the same way despite you teasing me the way you did." you chuckled as you pecked his cheek. "you drive me insane.." he softly spoke. "y/n, every time i tried to say something.. my brain just went to mush.. its so bad i swear. i could only be this confident with the lights off.." beomgyu laughed as his eyes began to trail your facial features. he was admiring every curve and feature, and at that point, both your faces were impossibly red. "gyu.. can you just.. kiss me again..?" your voice came out hardly a whisper. "i like you so much i feel like im going insane from the way you just confessed." he smiled fondly at your words and nodded, leaning in once again. as soon as your lips touched you could both practically feel the electricity pouring through your bodies. as if on cue, thunder struck the moment you connected again. your arms wrapped impossibly tight around him, slightly tugging and playing with his hair. his arms remained at your waist, slightly circling over the shirt you wore. you could feel the warmth of his fingers through the fabric.

his tongue slightly swiped along your lips for permission, and you parted your lips in response. having his tongue explore your mouth had your brain going numb. time felt like it had stopped, with just the rain as your only witness to the quiet whispers and confessions that only you two could hear. when you both finally were running out of breath, you separated with beomgyu looking into your eyes. you stared back, lips equally as glossy as his. "are you.. going back to your dorm yet?" thunder struck once again, as if responding to his question. you smiled. "its raining a little too hard dont you think?" beomgyu chuckled, realizing how silly his question was. "yeah. youre right, i think you should stay." you bit your lip as you pulled off each other, both of you immediately missing the warmth. beomgyu shook his head fixing his now fluffed hair thanks to you as he ran his fingers through. he then stood up to turn the led light he had turned off previously back on. "so.. how about we watch a movie?" he spoke as the light clicked. you could almost burst into laughter from the question given the events that just happened a minute prior. give it to choi beomgyu, your best friend, to turn a situation less awkward by simply being his charismatic self. the personality you fell for since day one of knowing him.

"sure gyu, but.." you trailed off, shy about what you were about to say next. honestly, could this get any more awkward? "yeah?" he turned to you and tilted his head in that attractive way he does. "leave the lights off." you looked at him with a shy smile. he flushed at your words. and for the last time again, lightning struck. "yeah.. lights off" he replied, led light clicking once again.

[trippinsorrows]

with me + part two

authors note: well, holy shit, the response to this has been so unexpected yet insanely appreciated and humbling! the kind words of support and interest really have been so wonderful to receive. thank you thank you thank you!

this ended up much longer than i intended, but i couldn't find a "good" place to break it in half, so i apologize for the length.

i also feel like this is a bit on the boring but necessary side in terms of setting the scene and backdrop for what's to come....

i also feel like this is gonna def be more than 4 parts, so sorry!!!!

warnings: language, slight sexy time, suggestive themes

song inspo: with me by destiny's child

words: 7.5k

tag gang: @pixiedust4000 @southerngirl41 @yolobloggers @msbigredmachine @wonderingfashion @tshepisho @lizzycaraballo-blog @xiamentshoneypot

“I need a break.” He slid out of you, the absence of his thick dick noticeable and borderline uncomfortable. Despite the fact that your voice was hoarse, limbs jello, and pussy tender as all outdoors, you still wanted him. Wanted to feel him inside you. But you knew you also needed some amount of time for your body recoup for the next round, so you made logic overpowered lust.

He made a sound, lying on his back, eyes on the ceiling. “So fucking needy for this dick.”

“Shut up.” It was intentionally not a denial, because he wasn’t entirely wrong. It’d been a shitty past couple weeks, what with parent teacher conferences, your least favorite time of the year. There were only so many different ways you could try to gently explain to parents that their child wasn’t the next Cornel West and actually could benefit from “additional evaluations.” But that almost always went over their heads as they attempted to tell you, the professional, the real reason why their child wasn’t doing well.

You were just over all of it and damn near at your wits end when you got the text from Joe that he’d be in town this weekend. That goofy ‘i’m about to get some good dick’ smile was damn near stamped on your face in the days preceding his arrival. You needed an outlet, and wearing yourself out on his dick until you were physically incapacitated happened to be the perfect one, the best one.

It wasn’t like you didn’t have options, you did, but they were subpar. And that was the problem with having a chance to experience superior dick, everything else that followed was mid. No one had ever fucked you like Joe. No man before him had ever made you come from just penetration. You always needed more. Had to sometimes physically instruct them on what you needed. Not with him. He gave you more—-the man could and had stayed with his face buried between your legs for hours on end—-but it wasn’t necessary. He could fuck you to a toe curling, light blinding climax with just a few good, deep strokes.

And yes, you still struggled with the guilt of fucking someone else’s man, but in times like this, where you were beyond stressed the fuck out, all you could think about was getting off and decreasing that stress. The guilt session could come later.

“What’s wrong?” He asked after a few minutes of comfortable silence. You could both be around each other and not say a word without an ounce of discomfort. It was nice.

“Parents suck.” You answer, bluntly, afterwards realizing how vague that is. “I’ve had parent teacher conferences the past couple weeks, and they’ve been getting on my nerves trying to tell me how to do my job.”

“That sounds annoying.”

“Beyond, and makes me feel like they’re insinuating I don’t know what I’m talking about. I do. They just don’t want to hear it.” They prepared you in school, to some extent, to expect those select parents that weren’t the easiest to work with but to always stand behind your professional judgment regardless if one agreed or not. And for the most part, your parents in the years since you’d been teaching were relatively chill. It just seemed that this time of the year is when all of them decided to be in their difficult era.

One hand behind his head, Joe looks over at you. “Then that’s on them.” He shrugs. “You can’t make them hear what they don’t want to hear.”

Groaning loudly, you turn on your side, propping your own head up with your hand. “I know. It just sucks for the kids. There’s a couple who might be on the spectrum or have ADHD, but I can’t outright say it, so all I can do is strongly imply. And trust me, my implications are clear as fucking day. It’s just annoying when I have to work harder than I should to get people to be their kids' advocate, not their adversary.”

He’s quiet for a second and then asks. “What’s the best part of your job?”

The answer doesn’t even require contemplation. “My students. Hands down. I love kids. I love helping them learn and seeing the excitement on their face when they finally grasp a concept I’m teaching. It’s super rewarding.” 

His gaze lingers on you, “Then focus on that. You do this because it’s a passion and a love and you’re clearly good at it.” 

His words marinate over you, reminiscent of past conversations where you’re the one feeding positivity into him, reminding him to not lose focus of what’s most important and why he does what he does. The roles being reversed is different but nice. It’s nice to have him to talk to, it’s always easy to do so.

You move your hand to his chest and slowly walk your fingers downward. “Good dick and good advice. This trip is a double win for me.”

His jaw clenches when you begin to stroke him, sinfully and intentionally slowly. A smirk forms on your face. He’s just as needy for you as you are for him.

Joe’s voice is hoarse with desire. “You ready for the next round?”

“Yes.” You’re not sure if physically, you’re well enough, but that’s what epsom salt baths are for. And Motrin. You need him. Climbing on top, you grab his hardened length and align it at your entrance, dew coating the tip and serving as natural lubricant. “But I want to be on top this time.” 

________

“Mommy!”

You’re startled awake by the loud voice, jumping body, and smiling face of your personal alarm clock. The only alarm clock you’ve ever had that you can’t dictate the time it goes off. It takes a second for you to settle yourself, to push away the inappropriate afterthoughts of such a salacious dream—one you’re slightly disappointed couldn’t play out longer—to focus on the little human in front of you.

The shining sun beaming down on you from the curtains you’re certain she opened assists in doing just that. You rub at your eyes, a small, warm smile growing. “Good morning, Callie Bear.”

Her eyes, big, brown, and always full of curiosity are focused on you as she stops jumping and lands on her knees. “You’re up!”

You chuckle, how can you not be up with a rambunctious four year old jumping on your bed and screaming for you to wake up? ”I’m up.”

“Yay!” She cheers, tiny fists raised up and victory. “Can we have pancakes?” 

“I don’t know.” You pretend to contemplate her request, index finger against your bottom lip. “Can we?”

She pouts, and you bite on your lip to suppress your laughter. Her arms cross over her tiny chest, bonnet covered head tilting to the side. “May we have pancakes?”

Sometimes, you feel bad for your daughter, having a teacher for a mother. You’re always going to be on her about anything academic related, especially English. “We certainly can.” Yawning, you sit up in bed and scratch your scalp through your bonnet. “But first, hygiene.” 

Swooping her into your arms, you’re met with a chorus of giggles as you tickle her stomach with your index finger. Walking into the bathroom, you sit her on the counter and reach her her toothbrush, putting on her (Halle Bailey) Little Mermaid themed toothpaste before letting her do her thing as you do hers.

This is the first time in a while that you’re grateful for your daughter waking you up so early on a weekend. Those dreams….you’d be lying if you said they didn’t happen more than you’d like to admit. You’d tried to figure out what triggered them but have yet to be successful. 

The simplest answer would be that you miss him. You miss Joe, but that’s also the answer you refuse to admit. You can’t miss him. Don’t have the right to miss someone else’s man, someone else’s husband. 

All you can do is be appreciative that one of the biggest regrets in your life brought you your biggest blessing.

Calista, Callie, to almost everyone she knows, was a complete and utter surprise.

It was time for your women’s wellness exam, and in the set of questions they asked you, one was of course the date of your last menstrual cycle. Being stumped for a second was normal, hence why you used your beloved Flo app to track your cycle. But, it’s when you opened the app and realized you hadn’t logged a period in two months, you knew.

Didn’t need a blood test to tell you the obvious. 

You were most definitely pregnant. 

You’d used Flo consistently since you were 14 years old, there was no way in hell you’d forgotten for two whole months to input the period dates.

So, after crying and damn near having a panic attack, your doctor provided you with pamphlets. Options, as they were called. You wouldn’t review them until a couple days later, needing that time to process that you were actually pregnant. Pregnant by a married man that you’d ended things with, ironically, on the night your daughter was conceived.

What in the actual fuck were you supposed to do? Send him a text and say ‘nvm. Congrats, we’re expecting. Are you gonna tell your wife or should I?’ To this day, you’re convinced that the nasty wave of ‘morning sickness’ you experienced the first few weeks of finding out you were with child was actually just your absolute disgust that you’d allowed another woman’s husband to impregnate you.

It was like you were walking in the same footsteps your mother molded for you. Something you swore you’d die before letting happen.

What’s that saying? We make plans, and God laughs. Well, he must be having a field day with you. 

It was actually in confiding in Mariah, your best friend since kindergarten, that you were able to look past your shame and panic to see this for what it is.

“You want to have kids, don’t you?” She asked in an obvious tone, picking through the big bowl of popcorn you two shared while Insecure played at a low volume on your TV. “Well, here’s the kid.”

“I wanted to have kids with a husband, Mariah.”

“Well—“

“Shut up.” You tossed a few pieces of popcorn in her direction. This was not the time for her occasional joke. You were too busy having a mental breakdown.

“Does it really matter how the baby got here? Aren’t you the one always saying kids are a blessing? Why are you trying to block yours?” It’s a fair, valid point that you’re too stubborn to want to hear, even if it’s what you needed to hear. “I’m just saying if you’ve been blessed with being a mom, something you’ve always wanted. Seems kinda silly we’re having this discussion instead of baby names, baby showers, and gender reveals.”

“I’m not doing a gender reveal.” That much you are absolutely sure of. Never. But, Mariah’s words do resonate with you. Why were you so caught up on how you got pregnant? Yeah, it was fucked up, but dwelling on it did nothing but make you feel worse. You always imagined this would be a happy occasion, couldn’t you find it in you to be happy? Regardless of the father and that whole Tubi of a situation.

There was a life growing inside of you, no matter the dynamics of the creation, the child had done nothing wrong, didn’t deserve to be blamed. And the truth was you weren’t really that upset, you were more happy than anything, if you really allowed yourself to feel without reservation. Borderline excited, even. Maybe even at the fact that you would always have a small piece of him with you in a really big way. 

Even if he wouldn’t be a part of that experience.

And it was then that you decided. You didn’t care what anyone thought, couldn’t think about how your mother, who was completely unaware about your relationship with Joe for the entire three years, would react. You’d figure out the rest of this later because you were having this baby, but you were having this baby by yourself. Joe couldn’t know.

He wouldn’t know.

And almost five years later, nothing has changed. Yes, you absolutely couldn’t see yourself making it through your pregnancy and even the first few weeks postpartum without the help of your mom and Mariah. But, for the most part, you did everything you could by yourself for your daughter, wanting her to see the strength and perseverance of a strong, single mother. 

She finishes brushing before you and spits out the remnant toothpaste in her mouth. “Are we gonna see grandma today?”

You finish a few seconds after, spitting and wiping your mouth before answering. “We certainly are.”

“Yay!” She celebrates as you bring the towel to her face, giving it a gentle cleanse before tossing it into the hamper. Callie wastes no time in removing her bonnet and giving her curls a good shake. The two of you share a laugh as you follow suit. 

 “Pancake time?”

Separating some of her coils, you answer with a wink. “Let mommy wash her face, and I’ll be right out, kiddo.”

“Okay.” Nodding, she jumps off the counter and hurries into the kitchen knowing good and well what’s about to come out of your mouth.

“Sis, what have I told you about jumping off this damn counter?” All you hear is giggling in the wake of her dash. This child has daredevil tendencies that bring out a certain, uncomfortable level of anxiety. Medical bills weren’t in the budget, so you needed her to calm the hell down. 

She probably gets it from–

Shaking your head from unnecessary thoughts, you quickly work your way through your routine and eventually meet her in the kitchen to find her on her tablet, probably trying to figure out what movie to put on while you two cook. On the weekends, you remove the passcode from her device but still maintain the time limits for her overall screen time. 

You refuse to allow her to become an “ipad kid.”

“What’cha pick for us?” Moving through the kitchen, you pull out the necessary items and place them on the small island. 

Climbing onto the barstool, she flips the screen with a proud smile. “Moana!”

Gasping with faux surprise, you ask, “again?”

Much like her mother who was like her mother, an affinity and passion for all things Disney is another thing your child inherited. She could watch Disney movies for the rest of life and never get bored. And Moana was at the top of that list, the new Little Mermaid was a close favorite, but Moana resonated deeply with Callie for reasons you still don’t fully understand. 

Well, she is half Pacific Islan—

Clearing your throat, you and Callie get to work on breakfast, both singing along and dancing to the catchy Disney music. It’s a sweet bonding moment between the two of you, a bit of a tradition on the weekends. You’re not much of a cook, at all, but breakfast food is relatively simple. And thankfully, your child is not as picky as some other kids. A stack of pancakes with sausage is always enough to satisfy her. 

It’s when you’re both sitting in the living room, on the floor, legs crossed while you eat the delicious breakfast that you’d prepared together that a thought crosses your mind.

A distraction could be beneficial, the dream from earlier still floating around in the back of your head. And not even the dream in as much as the main event from the theme. 

You needed some dick. It’d been too long, that itch needing a scratch to give you some much needed reset. 

So, it’s when Callie is focused on the scene in Moana when Maui’s hook is broken that you grab your phone and shoot off a text. 

You free today?

Not even five minutes later, your phone buzzes with a response. 

Just tell me when and where.

________

Walking through the doors of your mother’s hair salon is always an experience, nostalgic almost, to all the times you and your friends would hang out there with the hopes that you could get free or discounted services. Usually free for you, not so much for your friends. 

Business was still business.

The familiar smell of hair oils, deep conditioner, and the overall sound of flat irons sizzling through hair brings a warm smile to your face. It’s things like this, this place even, that remind you why you decided to come home after college.

Home, where the closest major stores like Target and Walmart, and even the airport, are nearly half an hour away. Where you have only one elementary school, one middle school, and one high school. Where many of the streets are two laned and littered with storefronts, like your mom’s salon. Hell, the freaking bank, post office, and city hall are in the same building.

Everyone knows everyone, and for the most part, everyone looks out for each other. 

It isn’t for everybody, this almost Hallmark movie type setup. You know this. Hence why many leave for school and never or seldom return. But, for you, it’s home.

It’s also the perfect place to discreetly and raise the daughter of a celebrity.

“Grandma!”

Your mom is in the middle of a conversation with a patron but almost immediately redirects her attention to the equally familiar voice of Calista. “There’s my grandbaby!” Callie runs into your mom’s arms and is peppered with kisses all over. “Looking more and more like your mama every day.”

That genuinely makes you smile. You tend to think she favors Joe more than yourself, usually when she’s making certain facial expressions. She has a lot of his mannerisms, which you are grateful for, happy that she has characteristics from both sides. But any and all of the good things she can take from you, you want her to have.  

Callie’s smile is bright and infectious, as always. “That’s cause mommy’s my mommy!”

You laugh, approaching them and leaning in for your mom’s one armed hug as she has Callie in her other arm. “Hey, mama.”

“Hey, baby.”

Your relationship with your mom has definitely been up and down over the years, which you’d like to think is the standard for most mother-daughters. It’s something that’s arguably strengthened over time, especially post Callie. You’d gained so much more appreciation for your mother raising you on her own as a single parent. There was always appreciation, but infinitely more now as you were also in the same position. 

“I was hoping she could hang out with you for a little bit today. I have some business to take care of. If that’s okay?” 

Your mother gives you the look, the look that indicates she knows there’s more to what you’re saying but she won’t push out of respect for your privacy. And you’re grateful for that. You don’t necessarily want to explain that you need her to keep an eye out on Callie while you attend your dick appointment. 

Sucking her teeth, she starts walking to the back where her office is located. “When have I ever had an issue spending time with my only grandchild?” She has you there. Your mom would take Callie every day if you let her, and you’re so thankful for that. Not even for the tremendous assistance your mom provides but for the close relationship she has with Callie, similar to how close you were with your grandma. “Want me to do her wash day for her while she’s here?”

At that, Callie’s eyes go wide as she starts to whine, “noooo. I don’t want to.”

You chuckle. “That’s how mommy feels too, babes.” You dreaded her wash day as much as you dreaded your own. The women in your family were blessed with long, thick, healthy curls that Callie clearly inherited from you but also her father’s side cause the girl had some hair. “If you don’t mind, mama.”

She waves off your unnecessary added comment and starts to assess the state of Callie’s hair, murmuring comments to herself. 

You lean down in front of Callie and move your hand to her knee. “You sure you’re gonna be okay, sweetie?”

She nods and asks, “can we get ice cream when you come back?”

“We surely can.” You don’t allow her to have a lot of sweets—she already has enough energy as it is—but every so often, you two get the homemade ice cream cones at the local parlor. Sometimes you’ll sit outside and just talk, sharing laughs and inside jokes over the best ice cream anyone could ever have. And considering she’s about to endure a wash day, she deserves it. “I love you, Callie Bear.”

Putting her tablet on her lap, she leans over and hugs you tight. For such a tiny human, she always gives the best, most loving hugs. “I love you too, mama.”

Callie goes back to her tablet, and you issue your mom one more statement of appreciation before heading out so you can have your urge squashed and get back in time to have dessert with your little girl. 

On the car ride there, you send up a quick prayer that this time will be different, that you can get what you need and be gone without being asked to stay. It’s always the same answer, so maybe the last one finally stuck to where he won’t hope.

Won’t get his own feelings hurt.

________

“You know you don’t always have to leave right away.”

Of course.....of course.

You’re in the midst of hooking your bra back on when he hits you with the offer you were stupidly hoping he’d pass on this time around. 

Bold of you to assume you could come get some dick without this man trying to turn it into a cuddle session. 

Your smile is tight as you politely decline. “I don’t want to leave Callie at the salon too long. You never know what she’s hearing.”

It’s a weak excuse, hence him poking a hole right through it. “You know your mom would shut that down right away. Get back in the bed.”

“Really, Amir, I can’t stay.” Once your bra is on, you reach on the ground for your panties, sliding them back on as well. The sooner you get yourself decent, the sooner you can dip.

“Can’t or won’t?”

And here it goes. Sometimes, you wonder why you continue to put yourself in this situation. Amir’s stroke game is nice, but is it really worth this constant routine? You two fuck, he tries to make it more, an argument, silence on both ends for a little while until one of you needs that urge handled. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. 

It’s been roughly the same since you were in high school.

Amir was your first damn near everything: first crush, first boyfriend, first kiss, first time. It was a textbook small town romance. He was the quarterback, and you were the cheerleading captain. Everyone said you were perfect together and predicted at one point you’d get married after college. Truthfully, you once thought the same. But outside of aesthetics, your relationship was always rocky, borderline toxic. 

He had poor boundaries with other girls but never saw an issue because it never went beyond flirting. And because you were young, dumb, and just as toxic sometimes, you’d intentionally flirt with other guys to piss him off, knowing it was wrong to drag innocents into your Bobby and Whitney of a relationship but more interested in making him see your side of it.. 

Still, young and dumb. Not an excuse, but definitely a reason.

Even as you both went off to college, each attending separate schools, you’d occasionally hookup during the winter breaks. More often during the summer. He was your constant, preferred over allowing random dick into you, especially as he was most familiar and you knew he was clean. The devil you know type of thing.

Post college was when you really ended it, deciding that it was time to put the childish things behind you, time to put him behind you.

And you’d done relatively well for a while, the two of you becoming damn near strangers. Especially when Joe came into the picture. Amir was good in bed, but Joe was heavenly. Just the thought of anyone other than him fucking you at that time was repulsing. 

But, Joe is gone, has been, so now you’re stuck returning to the same nigga you just can’t seem to get rid of because he has a decent sized dick he, mostly, knows how to use.

And your rose can only go so far. 

“Fine. Won’t. Don’t. Not interested.” Standing up, you shoot him a look of challenge, of defiance. “Better?”

Your words understandably tick him off as he cruelly asks, “How long are you gonna let yourself be stuck on him? That nigga abandoned you and his kid, what is there to even be stuck on?”

Regardless of what happened between you and Joe, mostly with how it played out, you refuse to allow anyone to speak badly of him. Specifically when it pertains to his absence in your and Callie’s lives, especially since that was 100% your call. Only a select few know the full story, therefore the majority have no right to speak on it. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, so please just shut the fuck up.”

“Where is he then, huh? It’s been almost 5 years, Y/N. You need to move the fuck on. He’s your past.” Moving out of the bed, he comes up to you and places one hand to your face. You fight the desire to pull away. His touch is suddenly uncomfortable, feels wrong and noisome. “It’s time to focus on your future.”

Not that you’d ever admit it to Amir, but there’s a hint of truth to his voice. Eventually, random hookups to fulfill your sexual needs will become insufficient. Hell, even now, you still desire to be married, to give Callie that 'traditional' family. The problem is mostly lack of options, even if Amir seems convinced you two should give it another try.

 When hell freezes over. 

Your voice is even and to the point as you finish dressing and pull out your key fob. “Like I said, thanks for the scratch, but that’s all this is.” Without giving him time to talk more shit, you head out the door without another fucking word.

________

“Oh shit, is that ole girl Randy used to mess with?” Joe is only halfheartedly listening to what his cousin is saying, mostly focused on the work email he’s reading on his phone. It’s far and few in between they actually have time off, let alone enough time to go home and be among the rest of family. He’s trying to enjoy it and is enjoying it, but work is always on his mind, hence his inability to ignore the email notification that slid in mid-group conversation. “What was her name?”

“It started with an M, didn’t it?” Jey suggests. “Mariah, I think.” 

It's when the correct name is stated that Joe’s attention is briefly redirected. Mariah was your friend, the reason he was ever introduced to you. It’s a name he hasn’t heard in years. If only that was the same amount of time it’s been since he thought of you. No, instead, you’ve taken up real estate in his mind more than he’d ever like to admit or acknowledge.

“Wait, isn’t that—-” Jimmy is silenced, and out of the corner of Joe’s eye, he can see it’s because Jey gave him a look. That look you give someone when you want them to shut up.

Now…now they have his attention.

“What?” It’s when the twins share a look with each other, Jey shaking his head that Joe puts his phone to the side as Jimmy hits the lock button on his phone. “Let me see.” 

“Look, Uce—”

“I said, let me see.” One thing Joe can’t stand more than anything is when people beat around the bush or try to hide things from him. He prefers people to be upfront and honest, damn whatever feelings come up. The truth is always better, in his mind.

And yet……

Shaking his head, Jimmy blows out a breath and hands his cousin the phone.

Joe looks down and instantly regrets ever pushing the matter.

Five years.

It’s been almost five fucking years since he’s seen that beautiful smile, those deep dimples that were one of the first things he noticed about you, outside of your breathtaking beauty. You looked almost exactly the same, maybe a bit heavier, still in all of the right places. Hair a little longer but still the same deep onyx with streaks of purple. You’re smiling and posing with Mariah who also hasn’t changed much outside of a new hair color and the huge baby bump she’s sporting. A baby shower, he’d guess. 

But outside the shock of seeing you, Joe’s attention is also on the third person in the photo. A child, young in age, no more than 4 or 5, black, curly hair styled in two space-buns and a deep dimpled smile that’s almost identical to yours. Her eyes are a beautiful light brown shade, a contrast to your chocolate colored eyes.

But similar to….similiar to his. 

Brows furrowed, Joe is surprised to see you’re tagged in the photo, so he goes to your profile and is even more shocked to find it public. You were always such a private person, but he chalks it up to the fact that the only people who’d really know how to find it would have to be those close to you.

You don’t have a ton of pictures, but he clicks on the first one that has a set of photos of you and the same little girl from the baby shower. It’s dated almost six months ago, so not the newest but better than nothing. The post is a slideshow, so he begins to scroll through the photos, each of them with you and that same child, clearly at various points in her life. The last one stops him for a moment, a photo of you, crying, in a hospital bed holding a newborn baby. 

Swallowing back his emotions, Joe redirects his gaze to the caption:

my calista, my callie, my baby girl. God used one of the hardest periods of my life to bless me with the best gift anyone can receive. every day with you is an adventure. from your incessant questions about the most random of things, constant requests for disney movie marathons, to the way you refuse to part from me without giving the biggest hug and kiss goodbye while yelling ‘i love you, mommy!’. callie, you are my whole heart, and there’s nothing i wouldn’t do for you, sweet girl. here’s to year 4 and many many more of having the biggest honor and privilege ever of being your mama bear. 

So many things are going through his head right now. 

You had a child.

You have a child.

Based upon the date of the post, you have a child who will be five years old in a couple of months.

A child who has your smile, but his eyes, his nose, and a complexion that looks the perfect combination of the two of you. She looks like the perfect combination of the two of you.

It’s hard to not jump to the obviously glaring conclusion that all of this brings, and still, he tries to not allow his head to go there. You would….you would never do that. You would never keep his child from him, no matter how things ended between the two of you. There was wrongness to that that reached low levels of depravity, and he just couldn’t conjoin that kind of deception with who he always knew you to be. 

You were a woman who believed and tried to live by her morals. It was the reason you eventually cut him out of your life. Nothing about not telling him he has a child is moral. 

He wordlessly hands the phone back to Jimmy and goes back to reading the email, acting like nothing just happened and he doesn't have a million and one thoughts running through the back of his mind. 

It’s after he walks away, giving off an excuse that he needs to call Hunter to discuss a proposed promo that the conversation commences.

“So, we all just gon act like that lil' girl don’t look like Uce? She even got his eyes, man,” Jimmy, being Jimmy, is the first to say it aloud, the only one to actually verbalize what the others are thinking. 

“Jimmy,” Naomi chides but can’t help adding. “Do you really think that could be his kid?”

Jey decides to join in on the conversation. “It’s possible. They messed around for years.”

“But would she really do that? Have his baby and not even tell him about her?” Naomi only met you a handful of times, but all of the interactions were pleasant, and she secretly thought you and Joe would have made a cute couple if the stars were aligned differently. “She had to have told him.”

Jimmy gestures to the sliding door Joe walked through minutes earlier. “Does that look like he knew?”

“This is all just speculation.” Joseph decides to join the conversation, always the one who prefers to listen to all sides before adding his two cents. “Similiar facial features don’t mean they’re related.”

“No, but add in the timeline plus the way it ended, and you can’t help but lean one way.”

“What did happen between them?” Somewhat newer to this circle, Joseph realizes that’s a topic he’s never really heard much about. He knows his cousin basically has an open marriage and sleeps around, but he’s always heard whispers there was a woman he was with for years. 

“She just ended it one day.” Jey answers with a shrug. “Uce really ain't say much outside of that. It was sudden though.”

“But was it? Three years of waiting around for a guy to maybe or maybe not leave his wife for you?” Naomi serves as a counter, shaking her head and leaning forward to rest her chin in her hand. “Sounds like more than enough time to me.”

“It wasn’t nothing like that though. They was just messing around,” Jimmy defends.

“He cut off every other woman he was messing with when they were together.” Jey distinctly remembers how his cousin had one woman and only one woman on speed dial during that period, and it was you. It was always you. “I think it was more than just messing around.”

Joseph nods, taking in all this information. “So, if she is his, do you think she kept her a secret to get back at him for not divorcing Jadah?” It’s a bold question, but a valid one that Jey is the first to dispute.

“Naw, I’m with Naomi. Y/N wouldn’t do that.”

Jimmy shakes his head, starting to see how this is all looking to play out. “Well, if that is Joe’s daughter and that’s how he found out he has a child….this shit is about to get real ugly.”

________

Joe tried to tell himself it was just a wild coincidence. Reminded himself that you yourself said you wanted to get married, have kids. And you’d done that, had a kid. However, revisiting your Instagram pictures, in none of your posts did he see a man.

Or a wedding ring.

And just how fucking quickly could you have moved on? Doing the math, you would have had to have someone on speed dial to get pregnant as fast as you did. And that doesn’t line up with who he knew you to be. You were fucking him and only him. 

You were with him and only him.

So that left him and only him.

And like a man hyperfixated on trying to solve a puzzle, he looks at every single post on your Instagram, starting from the year you met up until now. He focuses especially on the posts that include your daughter, not that many, but enough. 

And when it’s all said and done, thoughts vs counterthoughts, logic vs emotion, Joe is 100% convinced that this is his child.

That he’s just now found out he’s a father through fucking Instagram. 

And now he’s pissed because who the hell were you to keep his child from him? He didn’t give a fuck how you felt about him and his being married, that didn’t give you an excuse to hide a whole kid? 

His kid. 

________

“Ready for your bedtime story, Callie Bear?” 

Reading with Callie has been a must since you found out you were pregnant. Your mom always told you how she read to you in the womb and to this day believes it’s why you always tested out so high with your reading abilities, even in the first grade. You’re not sure how accurate it is, having read some studies and whatnot, but you’ve followed suit, reading to Callie even when she was in your belly. Almost five years later, it’s now a tradition. She can’t go to sleep without a story.

She nods happily. You laugh and slide into the bed next to her. Naturally, she cuddles close to you, book already picked out and waiting on the bed. It’s one she’s heard a dozen times before but one of her favorites, so you read it just as theatrically, voice changes, and everything. Her giggles of happiness and merriment warm your heart. You love these one-on-one moments, wishing you could jar them and keep them stored away forever.

You’re a couple chapters in when she starts to yawn, eyes struggling to stay open, that you slide in the bookmark and promise to pick it up again tomorrow. You know Callie is ready to call it a night when she doesn’t protest. 

But, it’s after placing the book on the shelf and going to tuck her into her covers that she hits you with a question that nearly sends you into cardiac arrest.

“Mommy, why don’t I have a daddy?”

You’re not stupid, far from it. This question was bound to come up, sooner or later. For your own selfish sake though, you were hopeful for later, much much later.

She continues, almost nervous in tone. “Ms. Leah said you need a mommy and a daddy to make a baby, so where’s my daddy?”

Curious how the conversation of where babies came from came about, you make a mental note to discuss this with your daughter’s preschool teacher before working to answer her valid question. Truth be told, you have no idea how to answer it. But if anxiety was the dominant emotion before, sadness and devastation easily topple that at the next thing to come out of her mouth.

“Does he not  love me?”

It’s not until that moment that you truly know what it feels like for your heart to shatter into absolute pieces.

“Oh, baby….” Crouching down beside her bed, you move your hand to her forehead, thumb gently caressing her soft skin. You’re so damn lost on how to handle this, what to say to take away her obvious pain, that you go with the soonest thing that hits the forefront of your brain. “Your daddy…..he….he wasn’t ready to be a daddy.”

It could be the truth, it could be a lie. You never gave yourself—or him—the chance to find out, and up until this point, you never saw an issue with that. But now….now you’re wondering just who you made that decision for. 

And if it was the right one.

Callie’s frown deepens, the answer clearly not one that makes her feel any better. “What if I’m a really good girl? Will he be ready then?”

The shattered pieces are now dust, granulated dust that you struggle to hold together in trembling palms. You bring both hands to her face. “Calista, you listen to me. You are the kindest, sweetest, most amazing little girl in the whole wide world. You don’t need to do anything to be a good girl because you are already a good girl, the best girl.”

Her eyes glaze over as she sniffles and asks in a small voice. “So why doesn’t he want me?”

“Oh, sweetie…” You pull her into a hug, holding her close and tight, as if doing so will allow her to absorb all of the love and adoration you have for this tiny human who made your life have meaning. “I’m gonna talk to him, okay? I’ll….I’ll talk to him.” That’s all you can say, even if it’s not a guarantee, even if you have no idea where such an offer came from. And you hate yourself for doing that, for getting her hopes up over something that may not even happen. You haven’t spoken to Joe in almost five years, there’s no guarantee the number is even still the same.

Still, you know you have to at least try, especially when you pull back and see the renewed hope in her teary eyes, the eyes she shares with the father she’s clearly desperate to know about, to meet, to have. 

You close your eyes and press your forehead against hers, speaking with all the love and affirmation in the world, “I love you, Calista. Always, baby.” 

You’re relieved to hear her reply in a less saddened and more hopeful tone, “I love you too, mommy.”

It’s after you’re certain Callie is knocked out and you’ve exhausted every single step of your nighttime routine that you pace around your room, partially trying to avoid an action you know you need to take. 

Especially when you find his number in your phone from an old text thread you could never find it in you to delete. 

You go back and forth for nearly twenty minutes before deciding on a simple question.

is this still joe’s number?

You feel like a damn child, throwing the phone down on the bed and burying your face into your hands. This is so much more difficult than it needs to be, or maybe it isn’t. You made the executive decision to not make Joe aware of your pregnancy for a variety of reasons that felt solid at the time.

Now…now you don’t know any fucking thing anymore, it seems. 

What you do know is that you nearly jump off the bed when your phone begins to ring. Frowning, you look at the time, wondering who in the hell could be calling you at damn near midnight.

But, it’s when you lift your phone to see the caller you know exactly why someone is calling you at damn near midnight.

Ignoring it is so tempting, but the image of Callie in tears wondering why she’s not loved or wanted is more than enough to trample your selfish desires. Sliding the green button upward, you place the phone against your ear, take a deep breath, and speak, “hi.” 

He exhales, your name leaving his mouth for the first time in years. Hearing his voice, let alone hearing him say your name, creates a heaviness you weren’t expecting. Then again, you weren’t expecting to speak to him at all tonight.

Or ever, for that matter.

Communication is suddenly incredibly difficult as you struggle to string words together to create a cohesive statement. “I’m….I’m sorry for calling so late, but—”

“We need to talk.” While your tone is soft and nervous, his is serious and borderline stoic. It takes you for a bit of a loop, but you try not to put too much into it. The real focus should be why he interrupted you so harshly with such a bold statement. He’s not wrong, but why does he think you need to talk? “I’ll get a flight out tomorrow.”

That breaks you from your thoughts. A what?  “wait—”

“You still at the same place?”

Swallowing, still very much confused, you answer, “yes, but—”

“I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

The phone goes silent on the other end, and you realize it’s because he’s ended the call. You must stare at that phone for a good five minutes in complete utter shock. Eventually, coming out of the catatonia, only one thought circulates around your mind.

What in the actual fuck just happened?