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ak-vintage · 4 months ago

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I'd Like To...

Pairing: Modern DILF Din Djarin x Plus Size F!Reader

Summary: Din has always struggled to prioritize his own happiness, even more so now that he is a single father. When some well-meaning friends create a dating app profile for him without his knowledge, he finds himself on his first date in years with a woman who seems determined to bring some much-needed softness to his life.

Tags/Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Present-day AU, dating app AU, dual POV, no use of Y/N, private security Din, photographer reader, reader is a plus size woman but otherwise minimal descriptions provided, age gap (unspecified but enough to be noticed), Grogu is a human toddler, Cara is the ultimate wingman, good dad Din, touch-starved Din, fluff, SMUT – exhibitionism, semi-public acts, brief oral sex (m! receiving), protected p in v sex, dirty talk, rough but sweet, switch-y vibes for both Din and reader

Word Count: ~18.3K (I have no excuse...)

Written for @hellishjoel's Hot DILF Summer Challenge. I am unforgivably late to this event, and I’m so, so sorry. I hope the truly preposterous length makes up for it – it really got out of hand!

Dividers by @saradika-graphics <3

Read on AO3 | Masterlist

Cara Dune had never been good at subterfuge.

She was loud, decisive, commanding – a “do no harm but take no shit” kind of person who wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty in a risky situation or to stick her neck out for what she believed. Cara didn’t have the constitution for stealth. She didn’t do subtle or – god forbid – sneaky; it simply wasn’t a part of her DNA. All of her colleagues were well aware of this, of course, so why, out of all of the consultants of Fett Security, Inc., she was the person that the group had selected for this particular mission was something she would never understand.

But, as a former soldier, if there was one thing Cara knew how to do, it was follow orders, so when the task fell to her, she took it on the chin and threw herself into it headfirst.

Which was how she found herself awkwardly hunched over at her desk, broad shoulders rounded protectively around her phone as she scrolled through various social media accounts, screenshotting as she went. A suspicious behavior for anyone, but even more so knowing that the images she was grabbing were all of the same man – her best friend and coworker, Din Djarin.

Nearly a decade ago, Din had been one of the first people Boba Fett had recruited to join his private security firm, and ever since, he had been the kind of man who ate, slept, and breathed the job. There was no doubt that Fett Security owed a great deal of its growth and success in the industry to Din’s expertise, but that hadn’t left him with a lot of opportunity for a full life outside of work. Or, perhaps more accurately, Din simply hadn’t made such a thing a priority.

When pressed about it, he would say that it hardly mattered; all of his friends eventually came to work for the firm anyway, Fett collecting them all like trading cards over the years, so he saw them plenty. What more could he need?

Of course, he came to eat his own words about a year ago when he rather unexpectedly became the foster parent – then adoptive parent – of a little boy, a tiny thing with no living relatives in a part of the city that had had a severe shortage of foster families for years. Din himself had grown up in the system, a fact he talked about rarely, but nevertheless, the experience had shaped him in a fundamental way. He had jumped at the opportunity to take in the kid, and overnight, he transformed from a man who buried himself in his work to a man who lived for the whim of a little boy with floppy, sandy-brown curls, wide, dark eyes, and comically large ears.

It was clear to anyone who knew him well – Din had been meant to be a father, and as his closest friend, Cara had found a great deal of joy in watching the new role shape and soften him into a version of himself that felt truer and more authentic to who he was at his core. But all of his friends agreed: when it came to his personal life, having a child had done nothing but exacerbate the problem. He was still working just as many hours as he had before, only now, when he did have time to himself, he rarely left the house without his son in tow. He had stopped joining the team for drinks after gigs, his appearances at company barbecues were fewer and farther between, and who knew how long it had been since the man had been on an actual date?

Din was lonely – Cara could tell. He loved his job, and he adored his son, but it wasn’t enough anymore. There was a hollowness to him, a shadow around his eyes. Something had to give, and so during their last group outing, the team had come together and formulated a plan. A plan which involved Cara harvesting a selection of photos of Din from various corners of the internet, writing up a quick bio, and creating an online dating profile for him.

Without his knowledge.

Cara hardly relished keeping this secret from her friend, but she knew that if she or anyone else had broached the subject with him beforehand, he would have dismissed it out of hand. He would have made up some excuse about doing just fine on his own, that he didn’t need anyone else when he had his son; she could almost hear his low, rasping scoff now. His refusal would be swift and final, and that would be the end of that.

But sometimes, being a good friend meant doing something in the best interest of the other person even when that person would disapprove.

And Cara had found that sometimes it was better to ask for forgiveness than for permission.

Sending a surreptitious glance around the open office space, Cara breathed a quiet sigh of relief at Din’s empty desk. The man didn’t have any of his own social media accounts, finding the whole concept frivolous and a little bizarre, so she was stuck scrolling through her own and those of their friends in an attempt to harvest a few that would be acceptable for a dating profile. It was taking longer than she had anticipated, and she still had to set up his age, gender, and location preferences and write up a brief bio for him before she was due at a job in an hour. The time crunch had her clenching her jaw as she worked.

Tonight at the bar, she planned to recruit some of their friends to help her get Din set up with a selection of matches. And all of them would owe her a beer for her trouble.

Din, the profile read. 45, 5’11”, Private Security Consultant.

Hardworking, outdoorsy, handy. Love vintage cars and motorcycles. Former boxer, teach self-defense classes at the community center on the weekends. Single father to a little boy who is my whole universe. Looking for someone to give me an excuse to get me out of the house, curb my workaholic tendencies, and show me the softer side of life.

“‘The softer side of life?’” Bo smirked around the rim of her beer as she read, Cara’s phone in her hand sticky from being passed around all night. “Cara Dune, you’ve been holding out on us. Who knew you were such a romantic?”

The crew gathered around the end of the bar all laughed as Cara rolled her eyes, taking a sip of her own drink. “What can I say? A bitch contains multitudes,” she replied with a shrug. “But the profile’s good, right? We can start swiping?”

The redhead nodded, neat bob brushing her sharp jaw as she passed the phone back to its owner. “Yeah, I think you’ve got him down.”

“Good call including the bit about the motorcycles,” Axe quipped with a grin. He waggled his dark eyebrows significantly, adding, “Ladies love that stuff. Speaking from experience.”

From her place tucked into his side, arm wrapped around his waist beneath his leather jacket, Koska offered him a tongue-touched smile and butted her head against his chest affectionately. “You’re not wrong.”

Paz returned from the other end of the bar then, shouldering his way through the crowd with six overflowing pints balanced in his massive hands. “What did I miss?” he asked as he passed each of them out to his waiting friends.

Fennec curled her lip in mild disgust as he sloshed a portion of her beer down the side of her glass, soaking her hand. She sat the pint down on the edge of the well-worn bar and drug her fingers demurely across her black jeans as she said, “Nothing, we’re just about to start picking matches.”

“Good.” He downed half of his own pint in a single glug, thick neck working in the low light. “Let’s do this. The guy needs to get laid.”

With a mock-salute of his glass, Axe groaned his agreement. “Maybe if he loosens up a little, he’ll get off my ass about taking over the Organa account. I swear to god, if I have to spend one more fucking charity dinner trailing after those stuffed-shirts, I think my head is going to explode.”

Fennec shot him an icy, closed-lipped smile. “We both know that was my suggestion, not Djarin’s. You’re a good fit for it, Woves. The sooner you learn how to play ball with the politicians, the sooner we can start putting you on more high-profile jobs.”

“Yeah, babe.” Koska’s dark eyes flashed teasingly. “Maybe then you can come join me and Bo on the Skywalker account. Finally start playing with the big boys.”

Bo snorted into her beer, sending a fine spray of the stuff flying as the rest of the group broke into peals of laughter.

“All right, all right, settle down,” Cara urged, passing Bo a napkin. “This has nothing to do with any of us, right? This is about Din. He’s busted his ass for every one of us for years – it’s his turn to catch a break. So let’s stay on task, okay? Now…” With a few taps and a swipe, she brought up the app once more and flipped to the matches tab. “What do we think of her?”

“Dune.”

“Djarin.”

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

The dark-haired, hawk-eyed woman quirked an eyebrow at him, phone in hand, the thing still extended toward him, waiting for him to take it. “I could do that. But then I’d be lying, and we both know that doesn’t fly with you.”

Din Djarin gritted his jaw and turned his back to her, focusing instead on tossing his towel, lifting gloves, and empty water bottle into his gym bag and slinging it over his shoulder. It wasn’t unusual for Cara to join him for his daily pre-shift workout. She was a reliable spotter, and he liked the playlists she piped through the Bluetooth speakers in the company gym, but there had been something off about her that morning – something cagey and distracted where she was normally the picture of focus. After one too many attempts at getting her attention had resulted in a distant “huh?”, he had decided that enough was enough and demanded an explanation.

With only the faintest traces of guilt shadowing her gaze, she had made her confession. A dating app. She had signed him up for a fucking dating app, and apparently, the whole team was in on it. The bunch of traitors.

“You can go ahead and delete it,” he growled, casting a scathing glance over his shoulder as he made for the locker room. “I’m not interested.”

A strong, blunt-nailed hand wrapped around his elbow, pulling his retreat up short. “Oh, come on, lighten up a little,” Cara entreated. “When was the last time you went out with someone, huh?”

He shrugged her grip off of him. “I go out with you and the team all the time.”

Behind him, his closest friend groaned dramatically. “You know that’s not what I meant. But, while we’re at it, you haven’t exactly been doing much of that, either, big guy. In fact, maybe if you did come out with us once in a while, you could meet a nice girl at a bar or a sporting event or a festival like a fucking normal person, and I wouldn’t have to resort to mining photos of you off our friends’ socials and making you a dating profile in secret.”

“That isn’t fair,” Din snapped, whirling around to face her. “I can’t just be out until all hours of the night anymore. I have my kid to think about. I thought you understood that.”

“Of course, I understand that! No one expects you to be there every time. Not even most of the time! But Din…” Cara let out a sigh, and he watched as that contentious spark fizzled out of her dark eyes, fading into something softer and more earnest. “You are an amazing father. Anyone who has ever seen you with that little boy knows that. But that isn’t all you are. Just like work isn’t all you are. How long have we known each other?”

He ground his teeth and ran his hand through his sweat-damp hair, pushing it back from his face. “About eight years.”

“Eight years,” she echoed, nodding. “I know you, Din Djarin, and I can tell. You’re burning out.”

Something squeezed in his chest at the raw honestly of his friend’s words, and he found himself having to look away. She was right, of course, as she often was. He had always struggled with giving too much of himself – first as a boxer in the ring, then as one of the founding members of Fett Security, then as one of its most senior consultants, and now as a father. As a younger man, he had thrived on it; the busier he was, the harder he worked, the more he proved himself, the better he felt.

But now, knocking on the doors of middle age, he found that the breakneck pace of his life was starting to fray him at the edges. He felt worn through in places and dangerously thin in others, and although he would never admit to anyone, his bed had never felt colder. The small handful of meaningless, one-night flings he had permitted himself over the last few years had left him feeling ill-used and unsatisfied, and when he took his son out to a new restaurant or to the zoo or to the beach, he couldn’t help but feel the distinct absence of another person.

There ought to have been another person holding his kid’s other little hand in the park, patiently walking the unsteady toddler between them. There ought to have been another person feeding the boy ice cream afterward, singing him songs, telling him stories, settling him down for a nap.

There ought to have been another person in his bed – holding him close, playing with his hair, whispering his name in the dark as soft lips traced down his neck…

Fuck. Din Djarin was lonely.

“Listen, I’ll tell you what,” Cara said eventually, pulling him out of his musings. “We’ll get the app set up on your phone, you can log in to your profile, and you can just…take a look at the matches we already got for you. You don’t have to go through any on your own, just the ones we’ve already found. And if you hate them all, we’ll delete your profile and be done with it. But if any of them look even remotely interesting, I really think you should try to connect with them. There has to be more to your life than work and your kid. There has to be, or you’re going to run yourself into the ground. I’m not going to let that happen on my watch.”

Her words hung in the air for a moment, blunt and painfully sincere, and then Din was squeezing the pressure points on the sides of his nose and releasing a reluctant sigh.

“Fine,” he groaned. “I’ll take a look at them over lunch. Happy?”

She grinned victoriously and cuffed him on the shoulder, the gesture warm and fraternal. “Ecstatic. Now hit the showers, Djarin, you stink.”

Cara was at his desk at noon on the dot, barely waiting for him to finish sending off an email to a potential client before she was closing his laptop, dragging him bodily out of his chair, and escorting him out of the building and across the street to their favorite sandwich shop. A few minutes later, equipped with a pair of overstuffed Reubens and a couple bags of chips, the two were settled into a back corner booth with Din’s phone between them.

“Okay, there you go,” she proclaimed, sliding the thing across the table to him with a triumphant grin. “App’s installed, and you’re all logged in.”

The man wiped a napkin across his face and fought the urge to sigh. “Let’s get this over with.” Thumbing through the interface, he fumbled for a bit before finally landing on the tab that contained his list of users with bright pink heart icons next to their profile pictures.

“Now these are people that already matched with me?” he asked, suddenly feeling a bit out of his depth.

“Yep! Me and the crew did some swiping for you the other night.”

Din simply blinked at her. “Swiping?”

Cara’s mouth twisted into a thin line, as though she were attempting to swallow a smirk and failing miserably, and he felt the distinct desire to melt into the plastic cushion of the booth and disappear. “It’s how you indicate whether you’re interested in matching with someone. Swipe right for yes, swipe left for no.”

“So these are the people you…swiped right on?”

“Not quite,” she clarified with a shake of her head. “These are the people we swiped right on who also swiped right on you.”

Din’s brows nearly met his hairline at that. “They wanted to match with me, too?”

“Yeah, dumbass, they did.”

“Hey. Watch it,” he growled, jabbing a finger in her direction as he felt his hackles raise. “You know I don’t know anything about this shit. Cut me a little bit of slack, okay?”

Cara sighed, and her expression shifted from needling to softly exasperated. “Yeah, no kidding, I’m aware. I didn’t call you a dumbass because you don’t know anything about online dating. I called you a dumbass because you act like you’re surprised that people want to match with you.”

Oh.

Cocking his head at her, he replied, “Why wouldn’t that surprise me?”

“Umm…” All of the softness in her face disappeared, and instead she glared at him like he had just grown a second head. “Have you seen yourself? I don’t even like men, and I recognize a DILF when I see one.”

“A DILF?”

Cara smirked lasciviously. “Yeah, a dad I’d like to – ”

“I know what a DILF is, Cara, fucking hell, can you keep your voice down?” Din instinctually ducked his head, his gaze darting around the sandwich shop as he prayed to whatever deity might be listening that no one had heard them.

The woman let out a bark of laughter, dark hair swinging and eyes crinkling with mirth. “Yeah, yeah, don’t get your panties in a twist, old man. No one’s paying any attention to us back here.” Gesturing at the phone in his hand, she added, “Now quit stalling and start scrolling. I think we ended up with ten or so matches before we called it a night? And we were really picky about it, too. There’s gotta be at least one lucky lady in there that tickles your fancy.”

“Hmm.” He hummed dubiously to himself as he opened the first profile in the list, a blonde woman a couple of years his junior with her head tilted back, face in the sun as she posed on some tropical beach. Pretty. Nice smile. Looked friendly. “Suppose I just didn’t think so many women would be interested in dating a single father.”

“Like I said,” Cara shrugged with a wink. “Ladies love a DILF.”

Nearly an hour later, and Din couldn’t help but feel a bit…underwhelmed with the selection of matches his friends had chosen for him. Not that any of them were bad choices, per se. They were lovely women, all of them, with their sunny smiles and their glossy, perfectly-posed photographs and their quippy bios. They were from a variety of backgrounds with a variety of interests, though all struck him as approachable, intelligent, witty. He couldn’t find a red flag in the bunch, which he supposed was a credit both to them and to his friends for sifting through the masses so thoughtfully.

No, it wasn’t the women. It was him, he was sure. What else could explain the…nothingness he felt when he looked at them? The utter lack of interest? Perhaps he had missed his opportunity for such things, he thought to himself. Perhaps he had waited too long, been too content with his own company for too many years.

He could feel Cara’s eyes on him across the table as he came to the last few matches, could sense her impatience at his silence, at his steady, unenthusiastic scrolling. Their plates sat picked over and abandoned between them, chip bags empty and crumpled, sodas drained dry. They were due back in the office any minute, the lunch hour quickly expiring around them, and as reluctant as Din had been to agree to this entire endeavor, he somehow still felt a twinge of guilt at leaving Cara to report back to the rest of the group empty-handed.

But at least he had held up his end of the bargain. No one could say that he didn’t give the idea a chance. It simply wasn’t meant to be.

Of course, that was until he reached the second-to-last match on the list.

Absently, Din tapped on your picture, opening your profile, and almost immediately, he felt himself straighten in his seat.

You were…stunning.

Wide, bright eyes. A warm, mischievous smile that teased him through the camera’s lens, as though you had a secret you were taunting him with, daring him to ask, to figure it out. Your photos were unique – mostly candids, the focus soft, enhanced with a touch of grain and flawlessly lit. And you had a lot of them, more than any other profile he had viewed. As he swiped through them, he came upon one of you in an easy, flowing blouse, hair windswept around your face, a DSLR camera with a colorful, well-worn strap slung around your neck.

He quickly scanned your profile header, taking in your name, your age, your distance from his location. Photographer, the profession field indicated.

And…shit. You were young. More than a decade his junior, on the very edge of what he would consider an acceptable age difference in typical circumstances. The gap wasn’t enough for it to be an immediate disqualifier, but it certainly was enough that if the two of you were to walk down the street together hand-in-hand, others might take a second glance.

He should un-match with you. It would be the right thing, the responsible thing to do.

And yet…

Din swiped through a handful of your other photos. Fuck, but you were sweet. Full, soft curves with wide, plush hips, heavy breasts, thick thighs. Little glimpses of soft skin peeking through comfortable clothing, airy cottons and silky satins and well-loved denims that his palms itched to touch. He wanted to feel the texture of you under his hands, the lush and the give of you beneath his fingertips…

Your last photo was one taken of you at sunrise, your soft body clad in nothing but an oversized T-shirt and a pair of barely-there spandex shorts. Your limbs were stretched and bent into some strange configuration he recognized as a yoga pose, your leg pressed back near your face at an angle that had blood rushing to his cock, his head immediately filled with images of your body contorted in a similar position as he pressed you into his mattress.

New to the city, looking for someone to show me all the best places to get a couple drinks and people watch. Professional photographer living my dream of documenting the most important moments of people’s lives. In my spare time, I like to get out in nature and go hiking, practice yoga, and travel. Excellent home cook, terrible at karaoke. Love dogs, love kids. Let me take your picture so I know it’s real.

Damnit.

You were perfect.

“Okay over there, Djarin?”

Din’s gaze snapped up to meet Cara’s over the table, taking in the quirk of her brow, the suspicious twist of her mouth, and he felt a flush of heat rush up the back of his neck and settle high on his cheekbones. He had been staring. Really staring, and with his mouth open, he realized, mortified. He slammed his jaw shut, his teeth clicking unpleasantly in his skull, and he shifted in his seat.

“Uh,” he muttered dumbly. This throat was so dry, his voice crackled around the syllable as though he hadn’t spoken all day. He cleared it quickly and nodded once. “Yeah. Fine. Uh – ” Flipping the phone around to face his companion, he slid it back across the laminate tabletop. “Her,” he said, tapping the screen with the tip of his finger. “I’ll go out with her.”

Had he not already been blushing, the cat-like grin of victory that Cara sent him certainly would have done it.

“Gonna have to message her first, big guy. Think you can figure out how to do that, or you want me to show you?”

Din’s flush darkened as he yanked the phone back toward himself, feeling a muscle in his jaw tick. “I can manage,” he snarked, and she scoffed a laugh.

However, as it turned out, as he opened the messages tab from your profile, he discovered that you had already taken the initiative and messaged him.

hey din – such a cool name! looks like we have a few things in common. i’d love to get to know you if you’re interested! 😊

Short. Sweet. Polite. Direct.

He swallowed thickly, feeling something suspiciously like butterflies take up residence in his gut. Scrubbing his hand over the back of his neck, he looked back up at Cara sheepishly.

“Actually…yeah, maybe I could use some help.”

You were sitting cross-legged in your oversized office chair, headphones on and iced coffee leaving a ring of condensation on the surface of your desk, when you saw the dating app notification pop up on your phone screen.

1 New Message, it read.

You glanced back and forth between your phone and your computer screen for a moment, debating. You had promised yourself you would be heads-down today, having started to accumulate more of an editing backlog than you typically preferred. The shoot you were working on this afternoon – an engagement session taken in the gardens outside the local art gallery – was due to the clients by the end of the week, and if you wanted to meet that deadline, you couldn’t afford to get distracted.

And yet you couldn’t help but wonder whether the message was a response – finally – from the man you had matched with a couple days ago. The one with the unusual name, the dark curls and even darker eyes, the strong nose and the sharp jaw and the soft, gentle smile. Broad shoulders, big, masculine hands, and a handful of pictures featuring a little boy, no more than two or three years old, his face either turned away from the camera or covered with a little green frog emoji for privacy.

Din the security consultant. Din the vintage car enthusiast. Din the self-defense instructor.

Din the DILF.

You had fired off a message to him as soon as you had gotten confirmation that he had liked you back, and he had been taking up space in your mind ever since. You had always preferred your men a little older, a little more experienced, and the fact that he was a dad, and a proud one at that, had gotten your motor running immediately. He looked like the kind of guy who knew the best bar in town to get an old fashioned and how to grill a good steak. He looked like the kind of guy who would open your car door for you, who would drive one-handed while the other rested calmly, possessively on your thigh. He looked like his palms were calloused and like his skin smelled good even fresh from the gym.

He looked like he had a big –

Fucking hell. It had been a long time since a man had given you this kind of brainrot without ever even meeting him. It was embarrassing and very much not consistent with your independent woman-about-town image you wore like a suit of armor. But you had never been the type of person to deny yourself. If you saw something you wanted, you went for it – full speed ahead. And Din…you definitely wanted Din.

If there was even a slight chance it was him…

Before you could overthink it any further, you saved your progress on your current edit, dropped your headphones around the back of your neck, and scooped up your phone. Tapping the notification, you brought up your messages tab and found one unread message staring back you.

It was from him.

Hi there. It’s nice to meet you. You seem like an interesting person. I would like to get to know you, too. Where is your favorite place you have traveled?

You drew your lower lip between your teeth, smothering a grin as though others might spot it and tease you despite being alone in your apartment. Something about the way he wrote – the dry punctuation, the complete, grammatically-correct sentences, the lack of emojis – all of it screamed someone who didn’t spend much time communicating electronically, let alone online dating. It was a refreshing change from the men you typically met on the apps, the whole thing endearing rather than off-putting and doing nothing to discourage your impression of his “dad” persona.

Poking out your tongue a little in concentration, you tapped out a quick response before you could lose your nerve.

ooo good question! hard to pick a favorite, but if i have to choose, i’d say thailand. i went there with some friends after we graduated college and we got to volunteer at an elephant sanctuary for a few days. coolest experience of my life hands down! what about you? are you a traveler?

His response came much faster than you expected, certainly faster than his response to your initial message.

I used to be. When I was first getting started, I used to travel a lot for work. I have been all over. I am more settled these days. It’s difficult to travel with a toddler on my own.

You nodded to yourself. That made sense. His boy looked young, and he was a self-described single father. You wondered what the story was there, but that was a level of personal that you didn’t need to dive into just yet. For now, your focus was on making sure this conversation didn’t fizzle out.

Frowning slightly, you realized he hadn’t really included anything in that message to prompt much of a response. However, before you could begin to fish around for something to send in reply, another message appeared.

Your profile says you’re a photographer. Your pictures are very unique. I don’t know much about photography, but I can tell that you have an eye for it. What made you interested in that field?

With a huff of a laugh and a mortifyingly strong flush, you closed out of Lightroom and abandoned your headphones on their stand. You weren’t getting any more work done for a while – you could already tell.

The two of you messaged back and forth several more times that day, then again in fits and spurts over the next three days.

You shared how you got your start in photography and the way your best clients were the ones who embraced your photojournalistic style. You didn’t care for shots that were staged or overly posed, you told him. You liked capturing people’s authentic feelings in the moment, and he quipped that he had never been comfortable posing for photos anyway, so you should get along just fine.

You talked about how both of you desperately wanted a dog but neither of you were in a place where getting one would be a responsible choice. You compared your favorite local hiking trails and determined that although he had lived in the area for far longer than you, you had significantly more experience trekking through the nearby national park. You learned a lot about the ’81 Honda Goldwing that he had lovingly restored, how he used to ride it to and from work every day but that now it sat under a protective tarp in the back of his garage most of the time. It wasn’t exactly a toddler-friendly form of transportation, he explained.

In a moment of vulnerability, you confessed that you had moved to the city as a result of a breakup, in an attempt to get a change of scenery far from the place where you had made a home with another man. He confessed that he had never really made time for relationships in the past, but that his son had made him realize that there was plenty of room in his life for love. He finally felt ready to try, and you finally felt ready to try again.

You told him you thought he was stupidly handsome, that you had no idea how he was single if he didn’t want to be. He told you that he had thought the same about you.

Except I would call you beautiful. Not handsome. I guess unless that’s what you prefer?

no lmao, you wrote back. beautiful is fine. beautiful is perfect.

On day four of…whatever this newfound acquaintance was, you spent the full day shooting a wedding – from getting ready to first looks to family photos to the ceremony to the reception. You swore you could feel your phone burning a hole in your pocket the entire time, but you managed to stay professional and present throughout the length of your contracted hours. By the time you stumbled into your apartment, you were so exhausted, you couldn’t have been more eager to pour yourself some wine and melt into the couch with some trashy reality television. You were changed into your pajamas and a glass and a half deep by the time you allowed yourself to check your phone.

Buried beneath all of the other notifications you had gotten throughout the day, there was a single pop-up from your dating app.

1 New Message, it read. Received four hours ago.

Skipping past all of the other demands on your attention, you opened that notification first.

Hi sweetheart. I know you were photographing that wedding today, so don’t let me interrupt you. We can talk tomorrow, but if you could please message me when you’re done for the night? It would make me feel better to know that you made it home safe.

Hi sweetheart, he had said.

Sweetheart.

A rush of heat passed over you at his words, and you swallowed thickly, wine burning its way down your throat at the thought of Din at home thinking about you, worrying about you. Had this been any other man, you might have found the message a bit overbearing, especially this early on, but rather than feeling controlled or stifled, instead you felt only warmth and safety. You felt…cared for. Protected. Important.

The sensation had you shifting in your seat, gulping down the remainder of your glass in a single go as you felt the apex of your thighs pulse with interest.

Din was so fucking hot, and he had no idea.

Setting your now-empty wine glass on the coffee table, you typed out a rapid reply and hit send.

heyy! made it home okay, thanks for checking in!

Fatigue pulling at your eyelids, arousal burning low in your belly, quickly-consumed wine flushing your limbs with a soft weightlessness, your thumbs seemed to move of their own accord as they tapped out a second message.

din idk how much longer i can keep this up without meeting you. i wanna see your handsome face in person. can i take u out sometime soon? please say yes.

You hit send before you could second-guess yourself, then immediately tossed your phone to the other end of the couch as though it had burned you. It disappeared into the stack of throw pillows there, and you breathed a sigh of relief. You couldn’t look at it, couldn’t stand to wait for his reply knowing that it was after midnight, knowing that he likely had been asleep for hours and wouldn’t see your messages until morning. Taking a deep, calming breath to steady your nerves, you forced yourself to refocus on the television. One episode, you promised yourself, and then you would get some sleep.

Less than 10 minutes later, you felt the faint vibration of your phone travel through the couch cushions to where you sat, and your show was abandoned without question.

You tossed several of your unnecessarily large throw pillow collection onto the floor in your hasty search, and though you knew you would be annoyed at having to tidy them in the morning, in that moment, you could hardly bring yourself to care.

1 New Message, your phone screen read as you recovered it from the pile. With something akin to nausea roiling in your stomach, you opened the notification and resisted the urge to physically cross your fingers.

Glad to hear you made it home safely.

…

That was all. “Glad to hear you made it home safely.”

Your stomach sank like lead in your abdomen, all of the soft, fuzzy warmth of the wine and your arousal evaporating from your body like sweat on a hot day. Only exhaustion was left in its place – exhaustion and the surprisingly poignant hurt of rejection sitting heavy on your limbs. You had come on too strong, it seemed, stated your desires and intentions too boldly and directly. You ought to have held back more, ought to have waited longer before asking or maybe couched the question in a joke or a suggestion of something more casual first. Or maybe you shouldn’t have asked at all and instead waited for him to ask you out. You supposed men probably preferred that – to be the one to initiate, the one to take charge. Fuck, you were always so impatient, so goddamn eager –

In your sweating palm, your phone buzzed once more, interrupting your string of self-curses.

Nerves roiling beneath your skin, you risked a glance down at it.

1 New Message

You had no control over your body as you opened it, watching the action from inside your own mind as though walking through a dream.

As for your other message, of course my answer is yes. I want to meet you, too, sweetheart. But be warned. Even though you did the asking, I WILL argue with you if you attempt to pay for the whole date yourself. It’s against my personal creed to let a lady pay my way without contributing.

All of the breath left your lungs as you took in his words, reading them over and over again until you could recite them from memory.

He wanted to meet you. He wanted to go out with you.

A high, breathy laugh bubbled over from your chest, spilling through your lips into your quiet apartment like the glistening champagne tower at the wedding this evening. You laughed as you typed, as you hit send. You laughed as you turned off your TV and as you completed your evening skincare routine. You laughed as you crawled into bed, as you burrowed under the covers, delirious and giddy.

i think i can allow it just this once. wouldn’t wanna violate your creed.

It took a handful of messages to determine the best place to meet. Din had offered to pick you up, wanting to treat you right, to be a gentleman, but he did not hold it against you when you turned him down. He understood that meeting a stranger from the internet, particularly as a woman, came with a particular set of risks, and he had no desire to make you uncomfortable in the slightest. He was happy to simply meet you there instead if that would make you feel safer.

Eventually, you settled on a moderately popular restaurant not far from your neighborhood. Din had never been there before, but over the last several days, he had discovered that the two of you shared a love of spicy food, and you had promised that the “modern Mexican fusion” menu did not disappoint.

they also have the cutest patio so we can sit outside if the weather’s nice 😊 , you had said, and he had been sold.

Under the assumption that Din would have a difficult time finding a sitter on a weekday evening, you agreed to wait until Friday to meet. However, the moment he had attempted to discretely broach the subject with Cara while on a jobsite, he immediately had three additional volunteers in Bo, Koska, and Axe, all of whom assured him that they hadn’t been eavesdropping and insisted that he had just been “really fucking loud” with his question.

So perhaps finding a sitter would not have been as challenging as he presumed.

Regardless, the two of you continued to chat throughout the week leading up to your date, first using the dating app’s messaging platform and then, eventually, via text. Din had grown weary of the limitations of the messaging interface days before, but he had been concerned about coming across as too forward if he were to ask for your number. But he needn’t have worried. You offered it freely late one night when the two of you were deep into a discussion about your favorite music artists, and something about getting to put your name and phone number into his contacts made the whole situation feel startlingly real. It had felt…personal, almost intimate. And it was nice.

If he was being honest with himself, it made him nervous – how much he liked you, how quickly he had begun to think of you as part of his daily routine. A text good morning after his pre-shift workout, when he knew you were just rolling out of bed. Checking his phone over lunch to find a whole stack of little videos you had found on the internet during your morning scroll, watching every single one of them as his coworkers rolled their eyes and laughed at how quickly he had fallen into line for you. Countless late-night conversations after he had tucked his son into bed, his tired body sprawled out on the couch or propped up against his headboard and wishing you were there with him.

He wanted to experience the laugh that went with that stunning smile from your photos. He wanted to hear you talk for hours on end about whatever crossed your mind while he just…listened. And fuck, did he want to touch you. It had been almost two weeks since he had first matched with you, and that need he had felt deep in his gut that first day he had seen your pictures had only gotten more acute over time. He had to know – for certain – whether the skin at the small of your back was as soft and warm as it looked. He had to know whether your plush thighs and generous hips would give beneath his hands.

He wanted you in his arms, in his lap, in his bed. He wanted you in his life, and he had never even met you.

He needed to rein it in, he knew. He didn’t want to come on too strong, and he didn’t want to dive headfirst into something without the proper consideration. It had been over a decade since he had last been in a relationship, and he was a completely different person now than he had been then. Not to mention his son. His boy was his top priority – the most important thing in his world. He would need to be cautious about dating anyone seriously with him in the picture.

But something told him that he had nothing to worry about with you, that you wouldn’t resent his priorities or demand things of him that he couldn’t give. And if things went well, and he liked you as much in person as he did online… If after a while, you earned his trust, his commitment…

You and the kid would get on like a house on fire. He could sense it.

But.

Before you could meet his son, before Din could welcome you fully into is life, he had to meet you.

Din beat you to the restaurant that Friday.

You wouldn’t describe yourself as the type of person who was chronically late (though some of your friends might have had a different opinion on the matter), but in your defense, you had had a new client intake call right at the end of the day that had gone on for longer than you anticipated. Thankfully, you had gotten yourself ready before the call so that by the time the talkative new parents were done describing in great detail their precise vision for their new baby photoshoot, all that was left for you to do was slip on your shoes, grab your purse, and run out the door.

The walk to the restaurant was brief but pleasant, the weather having worked out perfectly for an outdoor meal, and as you approached, you spotted him immediately. Tall and absurdly broad, posted up outside the restaurant’s main entrance with his hands on his hips and one leg popped in a stance that absolutely screamed “dad,” even from a distance. He wore a long-sleeved, charcoal gray henley with the sleeves shoved up to his elbows and a couple buttons undone at the collar, well-fitting, dark-washed jeans, and a pair of black boots with thick soles that you had a feeling he favored when riding his motorcycle. A classic pair of dark sunglasses perched on his prominent nose, and in spite of the warm weather, he had a black leather jacket grasped in one fist, hanging down by his side by its collar.

In the golden hour sun against the worn brick of the restaurant’s exterior, he looked like something out of a movie. Or maybe a men’s cologne ad – something clean but rugged, so masculine you could die. Taking a deep breath against a sudden wave of nerves, you made a mental note to bring your camera the next time the two of you went out. If he was going to look this fucking delicious every time you saw one another, it would be a crime not to document it.

You were in the middle of crossing the street when he spotted you, and you watched with heat rising in your cheeks as he visibly paused and swept you from head to toe with his gaze. His adam’s apple bobbed, and then he was straightening himself and eating up the sidewalk in a handful of long strides to meet you when you arrived.

“Din?” you found yourself asking as you came to stand before him, as if you didn’t know, as if you wouldn’t recognize that striking face, those powerful shoulders anywhere in the world.

He offered you a gentle half-smile, ducking his chin in a single nod, and you took notice of his free hand balling up into a fist at his side, like he was physically holding himself back from reaching for you. After a beat, he replied, “It’s…good to see you, sweetheart. Happy you got here safe.”

His voice. Low and rasping, worn and manly, strangely reminding you of metal scraping against leather. It was painfully attractive, and you felt your cheeks darken further even as a grin spread across your lips.

You had been right. The man was a certified DILF, and he couldn’t have been any more your type if you had designed him in a lab yourself.

“Same to you,” you said, your voice sounding a bit breathless even to your own ears. “Should we go get a table?”

Din made an affirmative noise and gestured for you to precede him down the sidewalk. “I put our names in when I got here. The table should be ready any minute.”

A small thrill went through you at the realization that he must have gotten here at least 45 minutes ago if your table was nearly ready. This place notoriously didn’t take reservations, and there was always a wait, especially for the patio. Which reminded you…

Before you could think better of it, you asked, “Oh, did you request the patio by chance? Sitting out under the lights is the – ”

“ – best part, I remember,” he interjected, his tiny smile quirking up in one corner. “Yes, I requested the patio. They should text me when the table’s ready.” No sooner had the words left his mouth and he startled unexpectedly, glancing over his shoulder as though to look at his own back pocket. He reached behind himself and pulled out his phone, the sleek, black thing dwarfed in his broad palm, and you caught a glimpse of his background picture as he unlocked it.

A little boy with floppy, too-long, sandy-brown hair, huge dark eyes, and big ears, grinning up at the camera with a toothy smile. He was adorable.

“Ah. Speaking of. It’s ready,” he said, showing you the automated text. “After you.”

He gestured again for you to walk ahead of him, and you drew your lower lip between your teeth as you acquiesced. Not a moment later and you felt the soft, warm press of his palm against the small of your back, the steady, unobtrusive pressure gently guiding you toward the entrance to the restaurant. The sensation had something low and hot simmering in your abdomen, the way the heat of it sank through the fabric of your dress into your skin, the way your body listened to his touch instinctually. It was protective in a way that felt comforting rather than overbearing, and it occurred to you that such a thing would be easy to grow accustomed to.

You had always needed to be the one to look out for yourself. How freeing would it be to be able to trust another person to carry that for you, even if it was only every once in a while?

Your restaurant recommendation proved to be a good one; the food was rich and delicious, the atmosphere was lively, and Din indulged in a couple of their house cervezas throughout the evening, which he found pleasantly light and refreshing. As the sun set behind the city skyline, casting long shadows across the flagstone patio, colorful strings of lights crisscrossing the seating area flared to life. The effect was charming, particularly the way the lights cast a warm glow over your face, arcs of gold and red and green streaking across your hair and illuminating your eyes. You were so pretty – even more than he had expected, even more than in your photos. He wasn’t sure he had ever felt “enchanted” by a person before, but he would say that was close to describing how he felt sitting across the table from you.

To his great relief, Din found that the time passed just as quickly while talking to you in person as it did over the phone. You were sweet, funny, and quite talkative, so even when he found himself dipping into introverted lulls or long silences, you were there to pull him back out of himself. You seemed to have an endless fount of things to chat about, which was perfectly fine with him, as it meant he didn’t have to wrack his brain for things to say, and he got to listen to your voice.

You also seemed to find him funny, snorting cutely into your glass every time he said something even faintly amusing, and he would be lying if he said that didn’t have his ego swelling a bit. He liked the idea of being able to make you laugh. And when your eyes flashed at him over the rim of your margarita, when you drug the tip of your slick, pink tongue across the line of salt there, when you offered him a slow, knowing smile with just the barest flash of sharp little teeth…it wasn’t only his ego that threatened to swell.

That was one thing he had not accounted for, he found, one facet of your personality that he had only barely glimpsed over text that was now staring him in the face as the two of you wrapped up your meal. You were powerfully, blatantly flirtatious in a way that felt completely foreign to Din after more than a decade of singlehood. Your lowered lashes, your intentional eye contact, your sweet compliments. Your little touches across the table, burning the backs of his hands and the insides of his forearms with the warmth of your skin. And that wasn’t even mentioning the surreptitious peeks at your ample cleavage your dress kept allowing as you leaned and shifted in your chair. That one, perhaps, wasn’t intentional, but it was still making it difficult for him to avoid embarrassing himself in the middle of this restaurant.

When it became clear that the two of you could no longer draw out your meal, the debate over the check began. Thankfully, you did not propose to pay for both your meal and his, seemingly taking his warning to heart. However, you did suggest that you pay for your own meal and drinks, and something about that still rankled. Eventually, after much back and forth, you compromised and agreed that Din would pay for the meals while you would cover the drinks. The waitress had looked at you a bit oddly when you made the request, but she hadn’t protested, and a handful of minutes later, the two of you had paid and were making your way back out onto the sidewalk outside.

Din wasn’t ready for the night to end. Spending time with you was the most fun he had had with anyone that wasn’t a coworker in…well. Too long. You were sweet and funny and full of life, and every moment he spent in your presence, he could feel warmth and vitality being breathed back into his lungs. He wasn’t ready to let that go just yet.

Thankfully, neither, it seemed, were you. Slipping one of your manicured hands into his, you said, “You know, there’s a park a couple blocks from here with a really nice walking path. You want to go check it out?”

He glanced down at your joined hands, dragging the pad of his thumb across the ridge of your knuckles almost absently as he reveled in the feeling. You were so fucking soft, just like he knew you would be, and the sensation of your skin under his almost distracted him from his response. After a beat, he nodded, and you hit him with a thousand-watt smile that Din couldn’t help but return.

You kept up a steady stream of conversation as you made your way to the park hand-in-hand. Din had proven just as easy to talk to in person as he had online, and although the evening had confirmed your suspicions that he was much more introverted than you, he was by no means reticent. He had matched you beat for beat all night, and even in the moments where he seemed to need a bit of prompting, you chalked it up to him simply being out of the game for a while and didn’t hold it against him.

More than anything, though, your impression of him as you made your way down the block was one of an old-fashioned gentleman. There was an earnestness, a seriousness about him that you had never really seen in a guy your age, and it made you feel like you were the only person in the world to him. It was a heady feeling, to be the center of such focused attention. You wondered if he knew that if he wasn’t careful, that attention was going to give you ideas. Ideas you weren’t certain someone with his sensibilities would be interested in on a first date.

Just when you thought you might need to pull him to the side of the walkway and give him a little taste of what you had in mind, his phone rang, and he dropped your hand to fish it from his back pocket.

You couldn’t stop yourself from taking a glance at the screen as he examined it. CARA DUNE, the caller ID read, and the photo that lit up the background was of a striking woman with raven black hair, sharp eyes, and smug smile.

Oh. You felt something in your chest deflate a little. Another woman.

Din pulled up short, looking at you with dark, apologetic eyes shadowed by the streetlamps. “I’m sorry, I have to take this,” he said, and you found yourself nodding your agreement even as your stomach sank further. And to think, you had been convinced that this man was nothing but a bundle of green flags held together by a gap-necked henley and a pair of slutty black combat boots…

Turning away from you slightly, putting one of his broad shoulders between you and the view of his phone, he swiped up to answer the call.

“Dune? Everything okay?” he asked, a flavor of urgency to his tone that had you frowning.

Wait – Dune? He was calling her by her last name?

You couldn’t hear what the voice on the other side of the line said in reply, but you watched as Din’s shoulders dropped from up around his ears, and he brought his free hand up to squeeze the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine, put him on.” A pause then, and he sighed deeply. “No, I don’t mind, really, you just scared the shit out of me. A call from you at this time of night? I thought something was wrong.” Another pause, and you could hear what you would swear were several voices talking over each other ringing from the phone’s speakers even as they were pressed against his ear. “Okay, yeah, that’s fine. Put him on.”

Din pulled the phone away from his face then and tapped the “video call” button on the glowing gray call interface. Half a breath later, the screen flared to life, blinding you a bit in the darkness, and the image of a little boy with unruly hair and dark, sleepy eyes blinked at him from the phone.

“Daddy!” the boy cried, a toothy grin splitting his chubby little cheeks as he seized the phone from whoever was holding it on his end. He was too close to the camera, the angle giving Din a spectacular view directly up the toddler’s nose, and you smothered a giggle as you watched the boy make faces at himself in the viewfinder.

“Hey, kiddo,” Din said softly, and oh, but you could hear the smile in his voice, could feel the fondness radiating off of him in waves even though you couldn’t see his face. Every sinking feeling that had taken over your body disappeared at the sound as you realized what exactly you were witnessing. The other woman was his babysitter.

“Are you being good for Aunt Cara? Hm?” he asked, and you could just melt at the gentleness in his low, rasping voice.

“Good!” the little boy replied, nodding vigorously in a way that bounced his floppy curls across his forehead.

Another face appeared on the screen, the same woman from the caller ID photo, and you watched as she scooped the squirmy kid up into her arms with an exaggerated, theatrical groan. “Tell him,” she prompted playfully. “Say we played with your airplanes and your cars.”

The little boy grinned toothily. “Yeah, cars!”

“And we wrestled with Uncle Axe and Aunt Koska,” Cara prompted, to which the kid giggled.

“I winned!”

Cara nodded with a fond smile. “That’s right, you won.”

From somewhere off-camera, another voice – this one male – called out in protest. “Debatable! I still say the ref was biased!”

The boy laughed again, the sound high-pitched and full of joy, and even the woman holding him seemed to be fighting back a chuckle as she plowed on. “And then Aunt Bo made dinner, and this little dude ate alllll his vegetables!”

“You did?” Din replied, genuine surprise coloring his words. “That’s great! I’m so proud of you!”

“Daddy! When you come home?”

From your angle slightly behind him, you could see your date’s shoulders fall slightly at the question, so sweetly and innocently asked in that little baby voice. On the other end of the line, Cara offered him what you would call an apologetic smile and shook her head. “Someone doesn’t want to go to bed without Dad.”

“Kiddo, Dad’s not going to be home until after your bedtime,” Din sighed. His words were slow and patient on the surface, but you swore you could hear a note of guilt underlying them, and it made your heart ache in your chest. “Remember, we talked about that before I left tonight? Aunt Cara is going to do bedtime tonight, and then when I get home, I promise I will come give you kiss, okay?”

The boy was clearly disappointed by this response, his eyebrows pulling up in the center and his wide, dark eyes shining pitifully through the screen, and he let out a wordless little whine that you were sure would have had you caving in an instant had it been directed at you. However, Din held strong. Voice low and gentle, he offered, “How about this – let’s say goodnight to each other right now instead. Is that okay? Just for tonight?”

He seemed to weigh that response for a moment, uncertain, but after a beat of silence, the kid tucked himself snugly under Cara’s chin and sighed. “Okaaaay.”

“Okay. I love you so much, kiddo. Get good sleep, have good dreams, and I’ll be there in the morning when you wake up.” Din’s words, so soft and intimate, sounded almost rehearsed to your ears, and you realized that this man was completing a long-standing bedtime ritual with his son via video chat in the middle of a darkened sidewalk on a Friday night. The thought had your heart swelling behind your ribs, the core of you warming and softening with a rush of fondness that you were helpless against.

Fuck. Din wasn’t just a DILF. He was also just a really good dad.

On the other side of the connection, Din’s little boy yawned widely and snuggled his curly head deeper into his babysitter’s chest. “Love you, Daddy,” he murmured sweetly, and you knew that if it were possible to die of cuteness, you would have done so that those words.

“I love you, too,” Din replied softly. “Good night, buddy.”

“Night night.”

Cara shifted the phone away from the kid’s sleepy face then, refocusing herself in the frame. “Okay, that should do it. I’m gonna go tuck this guy in while he’s still feeling cooperative.”

He was quick to nod his agreement, clearly not wishing to make this task any more difficult on his friend than he needed to. “Yeah, go. I’ll text you when I’m on my way back.”

“Hey.” She sounded rather serious then, making intense eye contact with Din through the phone screen. “Take your time, ‘kay? I got this.”

“Have fun, Djarin!” another woman’s voice chimed from a distance, off-camera and seemingly getting further and further away as Cara carried Din’s son to bed.

There was a chorus of good-natured laughter, then the man’s voice from earlier returned. “Don’t do anything we wouldn’t do, eh?”

This, of course, was met with an uproar on the other side of the connection, none of which could be seen. All you could really make out was a stern woman’s voice, one you hadn’t heard before, groan, “Axe, I swear to god – ”

You laughed softly at that, hiding your smiling lips behind one of your hands and Din quickly started to fumble with his phone. “Oookay, that’s enough of that,” he muttered, and with a swipe of his thick thumb, he ended the call.

Slipping his phone into his back pocket once again, he finally turned back around to face you, guilt and embarrassment tightening the corners of his eyes. Even in the dark, you swore you could make out a flush high on his golden tanned cheekbones as he said, “I’m…sorry about that. My kid, he’s got some separation anxiety issues. He’s not used to me being out of the house at bedtime. Tried to talk to him about it before, but he’s not even three yet, and – ”

“Din,” you interjected, closing the narrow distance between the two of you and resting your palm on his arm. “You don’t have to explain. Or apologize. You’re a dad. Your kid comes first.” With a slow, sly smile, you slipped your hand into the crook of his arm, holding tight to it as you proceeded down the sidewalk once more. “Besides, that was an interesting look at your family dynamic. Or were those your friends? The one called Axe sounds like a character.”

He huffed a laugh at that. “Friends. Well, also my coworkers, but they were friends first. I’m an only child, so they’re the only aunts and uncles my kid has ever known.”

“How many of them are watching him tonight?”

“Four,” he replied with a grimace. “I had originally only asked Cara, but the others overhead and…wanted to support me, I guess. I think I mentioned, I don’t exactly do this often. I haven’t been on a date in…well. Let’s just say it’s been a long time.”

You smiled to yourself, feeling your cheeks heat at the idea that this man who didn’t date had decided that he wanted his first date in however long to be with you. You would be lying if you said that wasn’t going to go to your head a little. Leaning your forehead against his bicep so he couldn’t meet your eyes, you asked, “And how are you finding it?”

With a low, rasping chuckle, Din brought his free hand up to cover yours, wrapping his long fingers around the back of your hand where it cupped his elbow. “I’m thinking…if it means I get to spend time with you, I should do it more often.”

Not even an hour later, Din found himself in the back of a cab, arm around your shoulders, fingers linked together, your beautiful face flushed and grinning wildly as you traced the very tip of your nose along his jugular. Your voice breathless and on the verge of laughter, you gave the driver what must have been the address of your apartment, but he couldn’t have repeated the words you said if you had paid him. He was far too distracted, too overwhelmed with where the night was heading to pay attention to such details. You were so soft against him, plastered up against his side. Your mussed hair on his cheek, your breasts against his chest, your round hip snug against his, and fuck, your lips – plump and swollen and glistening with his kisses, the ones he had stolen under the lamp light during your stroll through the park. He couldn’t believe he had done that. He couldn’t believe you had asked him to.

When the two of you had planned this evening, he had had a firm talk with himself – he would keep the physical contact to a minimum, he would not allow his eyes to wander inappropriately, he would be a perfect gentleman, he would treat you like a lady. First of all, because it was the bare minimum of what you deserved, and second of all, because tonight would be your first ever in-person meeting, and he wanted to be very clear that this meant more to him than just some casual hookup. Din had had plenty of those over the years to know that what he felt for you ran so much deeper than that, and he was loathe to give you the wrong idea about his intentions with you.

The moment he saw you walking across the street toward him – backlit by the golden hour sun, hair dancing in the breeze, all your perfect, curvaceous softness swaying with your perky stride – all of that chivalry had nearly been abandoned by the side of the road. And he had been fighting tooth and nail all evening to keep hold of the reins of his desire for you.

But the two of you had meandered through that park for a while. You had stopped along the shore of a little pond to admire the water, and you had looked up at him with these wide, soft eyes, your long lashes casting intricate shadows across your cheeks, and god, it had nearly killed him to keep his hands balled up in the pockets of his jacket.

And then you had taken the smallest step forward, eating up what little distance still remained between you.

And then you had whispered, in a voice so low he could barely hear you, “Will you kiss me, Din? Please?”

How could he have refused you?

Now your breath was on his neck, your lips softly brushing his skin, and he was slithering his arm down from around your shoulders and instead pressing his palm to your thigh. His fingers dug into the softness there of their own accord, tucking the tips inward and brushing his thumb across the cap of your knee firmly, possessively. He felt you exhale against his collarbone at the sensation, the softest, faintest sound of need reaching his ears, and then he was ducking his chin, finding your mouth again, pressing his lips to yours with an urgency that ought to have felt out of place with the poor cab driver sitting right there but somehow didn’t.

Your kiss tasted like lime from your margarita, like salt from the rim. Your fingers threading through his hair felt like heaven. Your body under his hands melted like putty, warm and pliant and so fucking soft that it had blood rushing to his cock, the swell of it pressing uncomfortably against the zipper of his jeans.

And it wasn’t enough. You needed more. He needed more.

Breaking the kiss with a soft gasp, Din pressed his forehead against yours, brushed the tip of his nose against yours. “Easy, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice low and gravely in the hot, moist air between you. “We’ve got to slow down, or I’m going to embarrass myself.”

You shifted beneath his grip on your thigh, hips squirming in your seat, thighs pressing together, and when he met your heavy-lidded gaze, he was struck with how dark your eyes looked just now, how wide your pupils had blown. Shaking your head, you whispered, “Don’t care.”

He bit back a curse at the way his cock throbbed at your words, at the soft, panting tone of your voice. “Not going to fuck you in the back of a cab, baby.”

Giggling breathlessly, you tucked your face into the side of his neck to hide your blush. “You can’t talk to me like that and not expect me to be all over you, Din Djarin,” you huffed, the tip of your tongue darting out to taste the little patch of skin just beneath his earlobe. “S’not fair.”

“Not fair?” With gritted teeth, pure electricity running through his veins, he returned the favor and buried his nose in the soft, fragrant skin of neck. The scent of you there was intoxicating – warmth and musk with a touch of floral, a touch of sweetness. He wanted to sink his teeth into you, might have had you been alone. “Fine. You want not fair? I’ll give you not fair.”

Shooting a furtive glance at the driver, who mercifully seemed committed to keeping his eyes on the road, Din delicately slipped his leather jacket from where it had been tucked around your shoulders and instead draped it over your lap.

You pulled away from him slightly at that, meeting his gaze with bright, burning interest in your eyes as you realized what he was about to do.

“If we’re doing this,” he whispered, “you have to keep your eyes forward and your mouth shut. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”

Din watched as you swallowed hard, your swollen lips parting with lust. You nodded wordlessly, and your thigh muscles tightened under his hand, now hidden by the drape of his jacket.

“Okay then. Not a sound.” He cocked his head toward the front of the cab. “Now face forward, behave yourself, and I’ll take care of you.”

He felt the sharp exhale of your breath against his face, and then you were obeying – shifting your hips square to the front of the car, turning to face the windshield, and balling your fists up at your sides. Din shifted, too, turning to face forward and tapping into every ounce of discipline his profession had ever instilled in him to school his expression into something carefully blank and neutral. Beneath his jacket, however, was a different story.

He started with a soothing caress of his palm from the cap of your knee to the top of your thigh, using the heat and the weight of his hand to ease your tense muscles. After a couple of passes, he could feel that softness return, and unprompted, your knees eased apart – not quite spread, not yet, just parted slightly as you relaxed into his touch. The realization sent a surge of satisfaction through him, and he could not stop himself from slipping his fingers down, down, down to the very edge of your knee and slowly starting to gather the fabric of your dress in his grip.

Din heard your breath catch for a moment as you realized what he was doing, and then it sped up, and your knees dropped even further apart. Before he could wrap his head around what he was about to do in the back of a cab car, he had hiked the skirt of your dress up far enough to slip his hand underneath.

Now it was his turn to not be able to breathe. Fuck, your thighs were soft – smooth like silk, supple and pillowy and forgiving as his calloused fingers traced slowly across your skin, seeking your warmth. He could feel a muscle in his jaw jump as his fingers drew higher, as you subtly adjusted yourself in your seat so you could open your legs even wider, permit him even closer to where you both knew you needed him. Every instinct in him begged him to go faster, to give you more, to whip the stifling cover of his jacket off your lap so he could take in the sight of his fingers reaching the smooth, cotton gusset of your panties with his own eyes. Instead, he pulled his face into a scowl of concentration and kept his pace measured.

By the time the side of his pinky bumped into the apex of your thighs, Din felt ready to combust with urgency. He could feel the heat of you there through the fabric, could feel the slickness seeping through it to dampen his skin, could feel the tension in your hips as you tried desperately not to arch into his touch. You were being so good for him, staying silent, never looking his way, just sitting there, the picture of innocence as you let him touch you. It had something hot and nearly feral rising in his chest, the fact that he could give you such impossible instructions in such an impossible scenario and you would drive yourself mad in an attempt to obey them.

It made him wonder what else you would do, if he asked, and just the question had his cock pulsing in his jeans. Unable to hold himself back any longer, Din tucked his fingers under the seam of your panties and slipped them softly, gently through your folds.

A groan bubbled up in his chest, and he allowed his eyes to fall shut for a moment as he collected himself. You were absolutely dripping for him – hot and wet and slippery, trim little curls sticky with it, underwear soaked against the back of his hand. It coated his fingers, and it took every ounce of restraint in his arsenal to stop himself from pulling his hand from under the jacket and popping his fingers directly into his mouth. But no, he told himself. There would be time for that later. Now, you were practically vibrating in your seat trying to keep yourself together, and he needed to watch you fall apart before the cab arrived at your apartment.

Din allowed himself to gently pet you for another moment, reveling in the feel of your soft wetness, and then he was seeking your clit, finding it swollen and puffy and begging for attention near the top of your folds. With the first delicate caress, you lost the battle with your own vocal chords and let out a quiet, breathless whimper, and a rush of pride raced through him at the thought that he had finally overwhelmed you to the point where you couldn’t keep silent anymore. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from leaning over into your space and murmuring into your ear, “I said keep quiet, sweetheart. Or I stop right now. Understood?”

You let out a shaky exhale, and Din felt more than saw you nod your agreement.

“Good girl,” he growled, and he swore he felt your clit pulse under his fingertips at his words. Interesting. That was something he was going to need to explore more later.

For now, he offered you a few more gentle caresses, a few soft, tight circles around your clit as acknowledgment of your suffering, and then he dipped down to your entrance and slowly, sweetly slipped his middle finger into your throbbing pussy.

God, you felt incredible – hot and wet and so fucking tight that he could feel his cock leaking in his jeans at the idea that he might have the opportunity to be inside you with more than just his fingers. Your velvet walls fluttered around him in desperate little waves as he gently thrust inside you, in and out, in and out, pressing deeper on each pass, seeking that elusive spot inside that he knew would make you see stars. After a handful of strokes, he added a second finger, and your hips stuttered at the stretch, hitching against his touch in a way that felt both needy and overwhelmed. You were so tight, and his fingers were so thick; it was no wonder it was a shock.

Din turned and dropped a tender, comforting kiss to the crown of your head. Fuck, you were so good, just sitting there in the back of the cab, letting him touch you, letting him finger you, letting him make you feel good. The ease with which you gave it all up to him was driving him insane. How long had it been since he had been with someone like you, someone who seemed to know innately what he needed, who fit with him so perfectly it was as though some divine being had had a hand in your introduction? Had it ever been this good? Had he ever needed someone as badly as he needed you?

Grinding the heel of his hand into your clit, Din sped up his thrusts. In and out, in and out, pressing, stretching, seeking. Your knees fell farther apart seemingly of their own accord, as your eyes had taken on a faraway look to them, staring unseeingly out the front windshield as you took what he gave you. In your lap, his leather jacket began to slip, and one end of it fell suspiciously down between your spread legs. Although his hand and the apex of your thighs were still hidden, if the driver were to take a look in his rearview mirror, he would clearly be able to tell what was happening in his back seat.

The same idea seemed to occur to you then, because in that moment, you broke his second rule – you glanced over at him with a fucked-out look of urgency on your face, and Din could swear he felt you starting to tighten. Fuck, this was turning you on. The near-exposure, the precarious position the two of you were in, it was making you drip around his fingers, making you clench around his thrusts.

You were a wild thing; Din had known it from the moment he laid eyes on you. Now here was the proof. You were going to come on his fingers in the back of a cab car, and then you were going to invite him up to your apartment and let him fuck you senseless –

“Here we are,” the driver said, his voice slow and unaffected, almost bored as he pulled the cab off to the side of the street and turned on his blinkers.

No matter how nonchalant his words, the sound of them sent a bolt of terror through the both of you, and in a flurry of limbs and fabric, each of you scrambled to put yourselves back together as the car came to a stop. Din yanked his fingers from your body, the quick withdrawal pulling a little hiccupping whine from your throat, but he paid it no heed as he tugged your skirt back down where it belonged around your knees. You gathered up his jacket and draped it over your arm, running your fingers through your mussed hair. By the time the car rolled to a complete stop, each of you were looking mostly put together, save Din’s raging hard-on tenting his jeans and your flush-cheeked, glassy-eyed stare.

Although he had already paid for the fare, as the two of you slid out of the back of the car, Din pulled a wad of cash from his wallet and discretely slipped it into the driver’s hand.

“Thanks for the ride,” he murmured hoarsely, and before the man could reply, he threaded his fingers through yours and followed your lead to the door of your apartment building.

You would be lying if you said you hadn’t been hoping that this would be where the night would end – Din’s broad, calloused hand in yours, your dress askew and your thighs damp, the two of you moving with urgency down the hall outside your apartment, breathless laughter on your tongue. You had never been strictly opposed to sex on the first date, if the chemistry was there and you felt comfortable and safe with the person, and he had checked all of your boxes and then some from the moment you spotted him outside the restaurant that night. You had decided then and there; if the date went well, and he seemed to be on the same page, you would be taking him home with you that night.

You had worried that your advances might be a bit much for Din, but clearly, those fears had been unfounded. He seemed a bit overwhelmed, a bit in disbelief, but that hadn’t stopped him from jumping at every chance you had given him – holding your hand as you walked, kissing you down by the pond…

Giving you one of the hottest experiences of your life by stealthily fucking you with his fingers in the back of the cab while you struggled to stay perfectly silent and still…

Your pussy clenched at the memory of his thick fingers inside you, the perfect stretch of them, the way they had both soothed your ache for him while also somehow making it worse, knowing how much better it would be if it were his cock filling you up like that. Fuck. You needed this man, and you needed him now.

Thankfully, Din seemed to have no interest in stopping. When you finally reached your door, he wasted no time in crowding up behind you as you fumbled for your keys, hands slipping around your waist as he dropped hot, open-mouthed kisses to the side of your neck. Your eyelids drooped at the sensation, your hands halting in mid-air, keys dangling from your grip, and you felt more than heard him chuckle against your skin.

“Don’t get distracted, sweetheart. Open the door,” he murmured, breath hot on the shell of your ear, making you shiver. What a little shit.

After another second of fiddling with your keys, you finally were able to work open your door, and the two of you nearly fell inside. He slammed it shut behind you as you tossed your keys onto the nearby countertop, and then he was on you – one hand gripping the swell of your hip, one hand slipping along the side of your face to cup your jaw, fingers tangling in your hair at the base of your skull as he cradled you. You could smell yourself on him, the scent of your arousal clinging to the hand that now held your face, and god, you could swear your insides turned molten at the idea. His mouth was covering yours before you could comment on it, and then every lucid thought evaporated from your mind.

For a man who claimed to have been out of the dating pool for a while, Din certainly knew how to kiss – he was passionate, meticulous, and completely relentless in the way he took you apart. His lips were soft, his tongue precise, and the single-minded focus with which he stroked your jaw, coaxed you open, and devoured you was enough to make you blush.

Almost absently, you realized his other hand had swept around the crest of your hip and taken a palmful of your ass, and you whimpered into the kiss, your hips hitching toward him of their own accord. His hands were fucking huge, warm through the fabric of your dress, callouses on his palms catching on the fabric. You needed them all over you – on your skin, in your hair, between your legs –

Pulling his lips away from yours with a gasp, he groaned, “If this is too much – if this isn’t what you want – ”

You shook your head, digging your fingers into his dark brown curls, pulling his neck down to your mouth so you could suck on the skin there. “I want it, Din. I want it,” you reassured him.

You felt a shudder pass through him, and then both of his hands were on your ass, dragging you closer, pressing the full length of your torso along his. “Know it’s early, know we just met, don’t have to do anything you don’t want – ”

“Din!” Yanking his hair sharply until he hissed, you watched as he finally seemed to focus on you, eyes darkening as he took in your flushed face, your swollen lips, your glossy, heavy-lidded eyes. “I want to fuck you,” you proclaimed bluntly. His mouth dropped open, just slightly, pouty lower lip trembling as he stared at you. “Do you want to fuck me?”

The man blinked a few times, seemingly taken aback, but he didn’t allow the question to hang in the air for too long. With a heavy, audible swallow, Din replied, “Yeah, baby, I want to fuck you.”

A bright, electric thrill of victory surged through you, and you couldn’t have smothered the grin that split your face if you tried.

“Okay, then fuck me. And don’t hold back.”

You winked at him playfully, and a dangerous smirk that had your pussy fluttering pulled at the corner of his lips. No sooner had you registered the expression and he was toeing off his boots, leaving them abandoned in front of your door, and driving you backward into the apartment. A breathless yelp followed by a laugh escaped you as you allowed him to push you into your living room, shedding your own shoes as you went, and then you were kissing again, and just like before, all of your surroundings melted away.

A rush of cool air met your thighs as balled fists pulled up the hem of your dress, gathering the fabric in worn palms as more and more of your body was revealed, and you let it go gladly. Lifting your arms above your head, you allowed him to pull the whole thing off over your head, and through the wild, fluffed-up strands of hair dangling in your eyes, you watched as he took you in – your blushing cheeks, your heavy, heaving breasts cupped in a black cotton bra, your soft, rounded belly, your thick thighs and wide hips, the narrow strip your black cotton thong completely soaked through and clinging to your pussy lips. You had no name for the expression on his face, but if you had to relate it to something, you would say it was close to awe.

Din was in awe of you, completely and utterly gone for you, and the surge of power that sent through your veins was like a drug.

“Take off your shirt,” you murmured, lip between your teeth, and as he rushed to obey, you dropped to your knees in front of him.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you don’t – ” he groaned, but your hands were already working his belt buckle open, already thumbing at the button of his jeans.

“But I want to.” Looking up at him through your lashes with wide, soft eyes, you held his gaze as you slipped his zipper down, as you felt the hardness poorly concealed behind it swell and surge against your palm. “So let me.”

He gave no further protests, simply watched as you tucked your thumbs into the waistband of both his jeans and his charcoal gray boxer briefs and shoved, pulling them both down around his knees in one, smooth tug. One more push and they were pooled around his ankles, and then Din was stumbling out of them, holding onto the back of a nearby armchair for support as he kicked them aside.

He was naked now, staring down at you with dark, heated eyes, broad, muscled chest rising and falling with every labored breath, and fuck, if he wasn’t the most beautiful man you had ever seen. Thick and strong with long, powerful limbs and a soft stomach, a fine dusting of dark brown hair from his bellybutton down, and miles and miles of golden tanned skin decorated with a heavily curated collection of black and gray tattoos that you hadn’t been able to see earlier. They looked like beautiful work, and you were eager to examine them later, but for now, something else was begging for your attention, and you couldn’t ignore it any longer even if you wanted to.

Inches from your face, long and thick and curved, flushed and leaking precum, his cock was just as beautiful as the rest of him, and you needed it in your mouth. Now.

Holding yourself steady with one hand on his narrow hip, one hand around the base of him, you leaned forward and dragged your tongue along the underside before taking the tip of him in your mouth and suckling gently. Slick musk coated your tongue, and you moaned at the taste, immediately surging forward and taking more. Above you, Din let out a colorful string of curses and dropped a hand to the back of your head, cupping the bowl of your skull in his palm as you worked yourself over him. He never put any pressure there, never thrust himself deeper than you were choosing to take him, but you could feel his restraint in the tension in his hips, in the grip of his fingers in your hair.

He was trying so hard to be a gentleman for you. You kind of wished he would give it up already.

Pulling back, letting his cock fall from your mouth, you took up your strokes with your hand and said, “S’okay, baby. You can take what you need from me. M’not gonna break.”

Din groaned, low and gravelly in his chest, and then he was using his grip on your head to coax you up and back onto your feet. “Need to fuck you, sweetheart – I can’t wait any more.”

Your cunt bottomed out at that, the swooping sensation deep inside you almost leaving you dizzy, and although you had been looking forward to sucking him off, you found yourself nodding your agreement anyway. “Where do you want me?” you asked, and the question had him tugging you forward into a hard kiss.

“On the couch,” he growled. “Just need to feel you around me.”

Pulling him deeper into the living room, you shed your bra as you went, tossing it who-knows-where in your eagerness. You could feel his eyes on you – on them – as your breasts swayed with your movement, and perhaps such direct attention ought to have made you self-conscious, but instead in made you bold. The moment the backs of your knees collided with the couch, you stripped your thong from your body while holding his gaze, and the pure, molten want in his stare had you feeling like the sexiest woman he had ever seen.

“Lie back,” he rasped, and you were quick to obey, laying down with your head at one end and your legs stretched out along the length of the couch. Snagging one of your many throw pillows, Din tapped the side of your hip twice, adding, “Lift your hips for me, pretty girl.”

You did, and he slid that pillow underneath your ass. Then he was clambering up onto the couch with you, all long limbs and big hands and sweat-damp curls, kneeling between your legs, urging one of them up to drape over the back of the couch, nudging the other down to drip limply onto the floor. You went where he guided you, happy to arrange yourself however he pleased as long as it meant you got to feel that gorgeous cock inside you.

But he started with his fingers first, coaxing and petting and caressing your dripping folds in much the same way that he had in the back of the cab, only this time, you were free to arch your hips into his touch and let out soft, breathy moans with every delicate stroke.

Din seemed to realize this at the same time you did, as he began to nod slowly, encouragingly as he slipped two fingers into your quivering, grasping pussy. “That’s it, let me hear you now. You don’t have to be quiet anymore, sweetheart. Let me hear you feel good.”

And fuck, but it did feel good – his fingers stretching you, filling you, pressing steadily against that soft, elusive spot inside you with every thrust, making you want to thrust against him, to drive him deeper, to take even more of him.

“God, baby, you’re so fucking wet. Is that good? Is that what you need?” he groaned, and you nodded furiously, too overcome to speak, just knowing you needed him to keep going…needed him to give you more.

Again, it was like Din realized what you wanted at the same time you did. Gently slipping his fingers from you, he used the thick coating of your wetness on them to stroke his cock as he shuffled forward on his knees. Pressing down on the blunt, swollen tip with his thumb, he dragged his length through your folds collecting your slick, starting at your entrance and sliding smoothly up to your clit. You let out a low, startled moan at the feeling, and you couldn’t help but grind against him, letting the tip of his cock press and circle against your puffy, throbbing clit. Shit, when was the last time you had hooked up with someone and been this outrageously turned on? You felt like you were on the ragged edge of your orgasm already, and he had barely touched you.

However, just as Din began to trail the head of his cock back down to your entrance, a shock of reality broke through your dazed, lust-fogged mind, and you found yourself pressing your hand against his stomach, stopping him from thrusting in.

“Condom,” you panted, sex-addled and breathless. “We need a condom.”

His dark brown eyes widened with a sudden wave of awareness, and you felt him pull back immediately. “Shit. You’re right, I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I wasn’t thinking.”

You let out a winded laugh and shook your head. “Me, neither. Did you bring one? I have some if you need.”

Din nodded, hopping up from the couch and crossing back over to where the two of you had abandoned his jeans. Digging his wallet out of the pocket, he slid a conspicuous foil packet from inside then dropped the wallet back onto the pile of denim. A moment later, he was settled back between your legs, perched up on his knees with his hands on your thighs and the condom tucked securely between two of his fingers.

“You ready, sweetheart?” he asked, and you nodded urgently.

“So ready. Beyond ready.”

Your eagerness seemed to be all he needed to get back into the moment. With a few quick strokes of his cock, he ripped the condom wrapper open with his teeth and slid it on. You watched with hooded eyes, lower lip trapped between your teeth, and you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching out to stroke him yourself as the latex stretched over his skin. Din groaned at your touch, and then he shooed your hands away and lined himself up with your entrance.

“Eyes on me, pretty girl. Want to see your face while you take me,” he groaned, and with one long, smooth thrust, he filled your cunt with his throbbing length.

“Ah! Fuck, Din!”

It took everything in you not to let your eyes fall shut as he thrust inside you. The stretch was incredible – just the slightest burn, but even with his size, it wasn’t too much after how he well had prepared you, how long he had teased you in the cab, how turned on you were. It was enough to feel truly full – stuffed to the brim, the weight of him absolutely gorgeous as he bore down on all your most sensitive spots. Above you, your date was gritting his teeth, a muscle in his jaw twitching as his nostrils flared, as he dug his fingers into your thighs with a grip so hard it would likely bruise. He seemed to be fighting very hard to keep himself together, and you immediately felt the sinister urge to clench around him just to watch him struggle. Instead, you chose to take mercy on him and simply roll your hips against his, driving him deeper.

“No – shit, baby, you can’t – ” he stammered, hands tightening on your legs even harder, hips surging forward in the smallest of thrusts completely out of his control. “I am…hanging on by a thread here, and if you – ”

“If I what?” you taunted, the power you had over him flowing through you like an aphrodisiac, making you bold, making you reckless. “If I do this?” You rolled your hips against his again, smooth and lazy, and you could actually feel his cock throb and twitch inside you.

Deep in his chest, Din released what could only be described as an animalistic growl, and in an instant, he had one hand tucked behind the back of your knee – the one up on the back of the couch – and the other gripping the couch cushion beside your head. Arching his broad, muscular body over yours, bringing his face down to your level, he pressed your knee back toward your head and thrust so deep into you, you couldn’t help but whine at the feeling.

“Naughty girl,” he rasped.

You nodded with a smile. “You like that about me.”

He huffed a laugh into the hot, humid space between you, shaking his head at you exasperatedly. “You’re right, I do. But right now – ” He pulled back his hips until just the very tip of his cock remained inside you, brows drawn low in concentration. “ – right now, I really just need to fuck you. Can I, sweetheart? Can I just fuck you?” He thrust back in, all the way to the hilt, and you could swear your cunt was literally dripping at the intoxicating feeling. Your body was writhing beneath him, completely out of your control, and you swore that if he didn’t just fucking rail you in the next three seconds, your head might explode.

“I swear to god, Din, if you ask me one more time – ”

His mouth sealed over yours before you could finish your sentence, and then he was finally – finally – fucking you.

With swift, firm thrusts, he drilled you into the couch cushions, all hesitance and restraint fully evaporated. The angle was perfect, the extra height and the little tilt added by the throw pillow exactly what you needed to have his cock dragging against your G-spot on every thrust, and that combined with the way his pubic bone ground against your clit had you moaning and whimpering and digging your manicured nails into his shoulders in your ecstasy. Din was like a force of nature, the way he fucked – gripping your thigh, driving your leg back toward your head, holding your eye contact, watching with deep, unflappable intensity as you trembled and shook beneath him. Every once in a while, he would drop his gaze to trace over your soft, folded stomach or to watch the hypnotic bounce of your tits, but mostly, he kept his eyes on yours, and rather than making you self-conscious, it simply drove the heat between you higher, made it more powerful.

“Thought about this,” he confessed, a whine creeping into the edge of his low voice as his thrusts sped up. “All those fucking pictures of you – doing yoga – all bent and twisted and – flexible.”

A smirk made its way onto your face, and you ran your fingers through his hair, brushing his limp curls out of his eyes. “Yeah? You like a bendy girl, Din Djarin? How’s it live up to the fantasy?”

He groaned, leaning even further forward to press his sweaty forehead into yours, driving your leg even further back toward your face. Tucking your knee up onto his shoulder, the angle of his cock inside you deepened. “Even better,” he admitted. “You’re perfect – so perfect.”

“P-Perfect?” God, that soft, spongy tip was hammering your G-spot now; you could barely comprehend any of the words he said to you, let alone string together any of your own.

“Perfect body,” he elaborated, gritting his teeth, groaning loudly. “Sweet, soft, perfect p-pussy. Perfect – hnng fuck – perfect girl.”

“Din!” you gasped. That low pool of heat in your abdomen was starting to tighten, starting to pulse. You could feel it rising inside you, threatening to take you over. It felt…massive, life-altering in a way you hadn’t known orgasms could be, but fuck, if this one wasn’t promising to do it.

“Shit, baby, can feel you,” Din groaned. “You gonna come for me? Gonna come all over my cock? Hm?”

“Y-Yes, I’m gonna – you’re gonna make me – ” You hiccupped a sob, raking your fingernails down his arms in a move that had him hissing and his hips stuttering as he thrust. “Fuck, I’m so close!”

“What do you need? What’s gonna get you there?”

“My clit – can I – ?”

He cursed, dropping a wet, sucking, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of your thigh. “Yeah, baby, touch yourself. Make yourself come. Need to feel it.”

Wiggling one of your hands into the tight space between your bodies, the tip of your middle finger found your throbbing clit and immediately began to play. You wouldn’t need much more – just something a little more direct, a little more concentrated, a little more –

“Yes! Fuck, Din, right there!”

And then you were gone – that tight, wet heat inside you bursting, dripping down his cock and flinging you into the stars on the edge of the event horizon. The walls of your cunt pulsed around him as you rode out your high, and Din was quick to follow you into his own abyss, unable to hold back anymore the moment he had felt you start to fall apart. With one final, deep surge of his hips, you felt his cock pulse and twitch inside you, and for a brief, wild moment, you regretted the use of the condom. You would have liked to have felt the warmth of him spilling inside you.

In the aftermath, Din was tender, as you had had no doubt he would be. After the two of you had taken a moment to catch your breath, he reached a hand down to hold onto the base of the condom as he pulled out. A low, husky groan escaped him as he withdrew, and you felt a sympathetic throb deep inside you at the sound. Even now, everything he did was unthinkably hot.

A moment later, he had removed and tied off the condom and retreated to your kitchen to toss it, returning with a warm rag he had clearly dampened in your sink. He was gentle and methodical as he cleaned you, wiping between and around your swollen pussy lips with steady hands before he moved on to cleaning himself.

He would need to go now, you realized. He had likely already stayed out later than he had planned, already imposed upon the generosity of his friends long enough. His little boy was waiting for him, and as much as you wished he could stay, you knew it would be unreasonable to ask him to.

So without prompting, you pulled yourself up to sitting, and when he came back from tossing the rag back into the kitchen, you rose to your feet.

You had to admit, you felt a bit exposed, a bit awkward, but even now, as Din looked at you, you could see all of the same warmth and affection you had seen in his eyes before the sex, and that eased your nerves a bit. The first real nerves you had felt since the start of the night, you realized.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, but I have to – ”

“I know,” you interrupted, giving him a smile you weren’t certain would reach your eyes. “I understand. It’s late. You have to be getting back.”

“I do,” he agreed. Crossing to stand just in front of you, he reached out a hand and traced the backs of his fingers down your arm, leaving goosebumps in his wake. “Thank you for tonight. I had a great time with you. And not just…this.” He gestured awkwardly at the surrounding room, at his own nakedness that matched yours, at the trail of clothes between the couch and the apartment door. You giggled in spite of yourself, and he joined in, the whole mood lightening considerably as the two of you found your way back to laughing with one another.

“I had a great time with you, too,” you said, draping your arms around his neck. “I’d like to do it again sometime, if you’re interested.”

Din smiled, soft and genuine, and pressed a kiss to your hairline. “I’m definitely interested. And, ah, maybe next time I’ll call in a few favors. See if I can arrange an overnight sitter.”

You snorted, tucking your face into his neck as joy began to bubble beneath the surface of your skin, making you feel light and filling you with an impish energy in spite of the hour. “Hey, if you can swing it, I’m definitely not going to say no. I’d like to actually, I don’t know, make it to the bed next time? Maybe?”

He playfully squeezed your sides in response, and you let out a squeal. “Can you blame me?” he quipped. “Driving me insane all night.”

Offering him a tongue-touched smile, you pulled away and started collecting his clothing from around the room. “Again. You like that about me, baby,” you teased. With a wink, you dropped the bundle of clothes into his waiting arms. “Now get your cute ass back in these jeans. And go kiss your son good-night.”

A handful of minutes later, Din was fully dressed and hovering by the door to your apartment, the scent of you still lingering on his skin, his heart lighter and freer than he had felt in years. You had gone and gotten yourself a robe to cover up with while he dressed, and now you stood, hip leaning against your kitchen cabinets, arms crossed over your ample chest, watching him attempt to delay the inevitable of having to say good-bye.

He didn’t want to leave you – he hoped you knew.

He didn’t want to sleep away from his son, but he also didn’t want to leave you. An impossible conundrum, and one that didn’t bear examination seeing as this was only your first time meeting in person. It was far too early for the direction his mind was heading; he headed it off before it could travel any further down the road.

Instead, he gathered you into his arms one final time for the night, cradled your face in his hands, and planted a soft, gentle kiss on your swollen lips. “Good night, sweetheart. Can I text you in the morning?”

“You can text me anytime,” you replied with a smile. “You could even, um…call me. If you wanted. When you have some free time.”

Din drew back for a moment, eyebrows raised. “Yeah, if that’s okay with you. I’d like to call you.”

Your smile widened, and he could swear he felt a piece of his heart leave his body and lodge itself in you at the sight. “Great. Then I’ll look forward to hearing your voice again tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” he echoed, and with one final kiss, Din slipped out the door.

#hotdilfsummerchallenge #din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #ppcu #ppcu fanfiction

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dollfacefantasy · 1 year ago

Text

Restless Dreams

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: leon gets home late after another hard day at work to you having some extra sweet dreams.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, fingering, somnophilia, wet dream

word count: 3.6k

a/n: hey everyone!! hope you all enjoy this :) i guess i've been into soft leon with somno lately idk LOL. i was kind of tired myself when writing/editing this, so forgive any errors pretty please. new divider from here. thank you for any comments and reblogs <3

tags: @sleepyluxe @kaitkatme @tosuckmyweenis @pupthepokemonenthusiast @bizzarethirst @death-paint @petitecolibri @iron-toxinz @wildest-dreams-at-midnight @nexysworld @explorevenus

“So what time do you think you’re gonna get here?” you ask before blowing on the drying polish that coats your nails.

“My shift finishes up at 12, and then I gotta file some reports. I’ll probably be done at 1, so not too long after that,” Leon explains through the phone. Despite his attempt to lay it out for you, there’s still a pause, one he came to recognize as your reaction of displeasure. A smile plays on his lips. “But you know the real answer is as soon as I can.”

You look down at your phone on your vanity, a pout forming on your face. Obviously, it wasn’t his fault he had to work so much now. He’d warned you when he started at the police station a few months ago, but it didn’t prepare you for how much you’d miss him.

It made you feel dumb, that nagging, achy feeling of longing in your chest. It wasn’t like he was off to war or something. You still saw him almost everyday. But more and more of his time was consumed by work now. Even when he was with you, he was often exhausted.

Sometimes all you could think about his new job was that he was your boyfriend, not theirs. You’d mentally scold yourself for being so immature when that happened, but the sentiment still lingered in your head.

“Ok…” you say, trying to keep your voice neutral. He hears the dejection in your tone though.

“Baby,” he coos in that voice that sent warmth through your spine and got you to agree with everything he said, “You know I’d rather be with you. I’m just new and have to take the time to learn. Plus, with the caseload and the number of officers here, they need me at the station.”

“I need you more,” you say. You try to pass it off as playfulness, but it comes from real feelings. Your heart was beginning to tense with resentment for the RPD for taking him away so much. You knew the job meant a lot to him though which is why you would never unleash your admittedly petty frustrations.

A low laugh leaves him, and you can hear that loving smirk on his face as his voice comes through your phone’s speaker.

“Do you now? You’re really missing me that much?” he teases, leaning back in the driver’s seat of his cruiser.

He knew that you did in fact miss him that much. And even though, since starting at the police station, he tried to project the image of a tough guy, he missed you just as much. That’s why he started calling you during lulls in his shift.

“Mhm. It’s not fair. It’s like I’m sharing you with the station. And I don’t like sharing,” you say with an exaggerated huff.

“Oh, I know you don’t,” he chuckles. He sighs happily, checking the time to calculate how much time was left before he could have you in his arms again. “But not much longer, baby. Then you get me all to yourself for the whole weekend.”

“I better,” you grumble with a smile.

“I promise you will,” he says genuinely. A light on his dashboard flickers, alerting him that his attention is needed elsewhere. “Just don’t stay up too late waiting for me tonight, ok? Your rest is important.”

“Seeing you is more important,” you respond.

“I know, but I prefer my girl when she’s not all cranky and sleep deprived. So try tonight, sweetheart. For me?” he asks.

“I guess,” you concede. Your heart already aches, knowing he’s about to hang up.

“I love you, baby,” he says softly, “I’ll see you later.”

“I love you too,” you tell him before he disconnects the call.

The silence that falls over your room makes it feel even more empty. You tap the glass screen of your phone, scanning for the time before you finish getting ready for bed. Your mouth curves downward when the numbers light up on the screen.

Only 10:30. Too much time till you’ll hear him come through your front door, but it’s not like you can do anything about it. You haphazardly go through the rest of your routine before dragging yourself over to your bed and getting in.

Sliding between the soft pink sheets, you flop down against your pillow and stare at the ceiling as you contemplate how to kill the time. Nothing grabs your interest because none of it’s him. It’s all just filler.

And worst of all, you were starting to feel sleepy. You wanted to wait up for Leon so badly, but you also went through a whole day of your own that tired you out. Plus, your bed was just so comfy with your plush blankets and full pillows, stuffed animals and frilly decorative cushions scattered on one side.

Thinking it would help to keep your eyes actively focused on something, you try to read. Your eyes scan over the words, and it isn’t long before you realize you’d made a horrible mistake. Moving your eyes along the page only made them more drowsy.

Next you turn on the tv and put on something you didn’t really have to pay attention to. But the soft glow of the tv casts across you and the low chatter of the characters becomes background noise, making it even harder for you to keep your eyes open.

You lazily reach across your bed and grab the bunny stuffie Leon had bought for you a few weeks prior. Tucking it beneath your chin and close to your chest, your drooping eyes fall shut and your breaths become soft and even. Barely any time has gone by before you’re sinking into slumber.

Leon glances down at his phone, the small numbers illuminating 2:04 in the darkness of the hallway. He enters your place with the key you gave him and shuts the door as quietly as possible. He knows you’re sleeping from seeing the dark bedroom. Already feeling guilty for taking longer than he’d expected, he didn’t want to add to that feeling by waking you up.

He makes his way to your room, padding silently down the hall. Once he reaches the door, he pushes it open with almost no force in an attempt to avoid even the slightest creak. You’re where he expected you to be, curled up in your bed, completely peaceful as you slept. He knew he probably looked like a little lovesick puppy right about now, eager to hop into bed and snuggle up to your side, but he didn’t care.

It takes him no time to shed his police uniform. He makes quick work of unlacing his boots and kicking them off. His pants and shirt crumple up at the foot of your bed next to his belt and socks. Finally, once he’s got on a pair of sweatpants he kept at your place, he climbs into bed with you.

He shoves your stuffies and extra pillows out of his way with a playful roll of his eyes and gets as close to you as he can. His arm drapes over you, and he nuzzles the back of your neck, planting a few kisses on the base of your head. You smelled so good, felt so soft, perfect to come home to.

His body melts into the mattress, and he’s ready to give into his own urges to sleep. That is until he notices you’re not as peaceful as you appeared from the doorway. His eyebrows raise as he feels your legs squirming. Restless movements from your feet beneath the covers and your thighs shifting aimlessly against each other.

He’s ready to brush it off at first. ‘Must just be having some wild dreams,’ he thinks with another kiss to your head. But then he hears the faintest sound, so quiet that he probably would have missed it had he been focused on anything else. It’s a whimper. A gentle, tender squeak that slips from between your lips into the cool air of your bedroom.

Now, his face conveys his concern. He worries you’re having a nightmare. That at any moment you’ll wake up with tears in your eyes and your heart pounding out of your chest. Immediately, he begins stroking your arm, kissing your temple, murmuring “It’s ok, baby. I’m here.”

But you make that little noise again, and this time it paints a different picture in Leon’s head. This whimper didn’t sound scared or stressed, like you were crying out for his protection. No, this sound brought to mind images of you writhing beneath him, nails marking his biceps with small crescents as he pumped himself in and out of you.

He shakes his head because that couldn’t be it. That’s just his horny mind creating things that aren’t there from being so pent up.

At least that’s what he tells himself until you make the noise again. It brings the same memories up, but this time he’s even more sure of it. He lifts his head off of yours to look down at you and try to figure out what to do next.

You look so cute, brows slightly furrowed, lips parted. As he brushes some hair from your face, he notices your fingers clutching your stuffed rabbit a little tighter. Your breath hitches for a moment before you let out a soft, sleepy whine of his name.

It’s unmistakable now what’s going on. He smirks and traces a finger over your lips. The pad of his index finger drags on your bottom lip slightly, turning your mouth into that pout he loved so much. He leans and kisses your cheek as you whine again.

“Please.”

He chuckles at how needy you sound even in your sleep, but at the same time, your voice has blood rushing to his cock while his head swirls with desire. He shifts his own hips, subtly pressing his erection against your ass. His eyes flutter at the minute pleasure. He grows more bold, and his hand rubs your hip before coasting up your side to your chest, giving your breast a gentle squeeze.

You whimper louder and squirm. He squeezes again softly while lowering his head to your neck to lay some tender kisses on the side of your throat. His palm leaves your tits and smooths down over your tummy in the direction of your shorts.

Cautiously, he maneuvers his hand past the waistband and dips into your panties. He cups your pussy, feeling the heat radiating off the area. A single finger slides between your folds in almost an exploratory touch. He feels your slick all over his digit. Clearly, this dream was a pretty good one.

He begins to use another finger, sliding the two up and down through your wetness. You roll onto your back, your breasts rising and falling as your breath gets heavier. Your thighs spread a little as if you subconsciously sensed his presence between your legs.

In your dreams, Leon was doing a lot more than rubbing you with his fingers. After you had fallen asleep, it felt like no time had passed. All of the sudden you were just on the table in your dining room, spread out for his rapture.

You didn’t realize you were dreaming, everything felt so real. To you, he was really there, looking down at you with those loving yet lecherous eyes. Hands roaming your exposed body, lips caressing your skin all over. Everything seemed light and airy while also feeling heavy and thick. Your head, filled with clouds, slipped in and out of the moment. The sensation of him rutting his cock between your thighs and sliding inside of you was your reality at the moment.

In actual reality, Leon continues to move his fingers slowly, swiping them over your entrance and taking them back up to circle your clit. You mewl when he applies some pressure, sending sparks through you. Your squirming becomes more motivated, and he can tell your drifting away from your restful sleep back toward consciousness.

“I’m right here, sweetheart. I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his voice huskier with arousal this time around.

You hear his voice in your dreams. The deep rumble enters your ears as you envision his hips pistoning into your wanting cunt. You mumble something in response, but he can’t understand the sleepy babbling. He rubs your clit a little harder with some more speed. You twitch in response, yet your eyes remain closed.

“I know, baby. I know it feels so good,” he coos and kisses behind your ear.

More incoherent words fall from your mouth. He sucks love bites into your neck, and you tilt your head back, craving more of that feeling. The dream version of him began mimicking the actions of the real Leon as you neared waking.

Whining louder, your fingers dig into the smooth fur of your plush bunny before letting it go. He nips at the sensitive skin of your throat as his fingers travel down and push inside your heat.

The feeling rips a moan from you and causes your eyes to open. Your back arches as he works them deeper. Your hips wriggle a little as you make sense of what’s happening.

“Leon?” you whimper. Your sleepy eyes struggle to stay open after being torn from the fog of sleep.

“That’s right, baby. It’s just me. You were having some nice dreams, weren’t you, pretty girl?” he says.

“Mhm,” you hum mindlessly.

“About me?” he teases, eyes watching your body fidget with the pleasure you felt.

“About you,” you confirm before he leans down and kisses your lips. They were so soft against his own. He slowly moves his mouth with yours and languidly slides his tongue against yours.

You moan into the kiss as his fingers curl within you and hit your favorite spot. Your feet lightly kick at the sensation. Your hips rise a little as you feel the flood gates holding your release about to break.

You’re too sleepy to tell him out right, but he knows the signs. He keeps working you there until your body seizes and arches off the bed. You let out a throaty moan and turn your head to bury your face against his shoulder.

“There you go. Let it all out, sweetheart,” he whispers and kisses your head.

You ride out the high on his hand, and by the time you’re done, you’re ready to fall asleep again. Your mind is hazy with the fog of release. You’re drifting off as your body settles without even realizing it.

You’re only yanked back to reality by Leon scooping you up into his lap. He’s sitting with his back to the headboard, and he situates you between his thighs, back against his chest. His arms keep you caged in nice and close, safe and warm.

“Don’t fall asleep again just yet, babydoll,” he murmurs while kissing up your neck.

Your head lolls back against his shoulder. The fight to stay awake gets a little easier as his hand returns to your soaked panties. He doesn’t tease this time, just slides in two fingers and starts moving them in and out.

The new angle makes you squirm and whine, but he holds you tight in place with his free arm.

“Gotta work you open, honey. Can’t just slide my dick in you with no warm up,” he says with a smirk.

His voice pulls you towards lucidity a little more. Your hands wrap around his free arm for support while your hips instinctively roll into his blissful touch.

“I missed you,” you choke out between gasps and whimpers.

“I know you did,” he teases, grinning against your throat. His cock throbs against the small of your back as his ears latch onto the sound of your slick around his fingers. “Came home to cuddle with my sweet girl, and I find her having such dirty dreams.”

Your cheeks heat up as you start to piece together what had happened. You fully realize now that your escapade on the kitchen table was entirely in your mind. You feel embarrassed for a moment, but the feeling dies pretty quick as you rapidly approach the edge for a second time.

“Not my fault,” you whimper shyly.

He chuckles and kisses your temple once more. “I know it’s not. If anything, it’s mine. I think I’ve been neglecting my baby,” he says with a mocking lilt in his voice.

You cry out as his fingers brush against those same spots that brought you to the finish last time. Your hips twitch, and you grip his thighs as your peak rises within you. Moments later your cumming all over his fingers, sucking in a harsh breath as a second release courses through you, even more intense then the last.

His free arm keeps you secure against his chest while rubbing your side soothingly. The heel of his other palm roughly massages your clit as his fingers pump in and out.

“Good girl,” he coos, “That’s it, just one more and then I can put you to sleep how you deserve.”

As soon as you seem to be coming down, Leon lifts you up again, tugging your clothes off and moving your body around like a doll to get you in the position he wants. You were definitely more pliant after two orgasms, but you could also see how his training had been paying off. Maybe this new job wasn’t all bad.

He has you on your back now, thighs against your chest and knees hooked over his arms. Again, he had no patience to tease right now, so after pushing his sweats down to mid thigh, he takes his cock and slides it in you with no hesitation. He groans as your hole takes him in, your walls pulsing around him even after he bottoms out.

“So wet. I can just slide right in,” he mumbles as his own hips twitch.

Your eyes droop at the stretch. It always felt so satisfying, having him buried balls deep in you. As close as he could possibly be. No fear of him leaving or pain of being separated. You whine and reach up to pull him closer.

He follows along and rests his face against your neck as he begins thrusting. You hear him panting right in your ear. His hands grip your hips so hard you know there’ll be marks.

“Perfect pussy’s made for me,” he grunts while snapping his hips, “Miss it every second I’m not inside it.”

You nod lazily as you continue to clamp down around him. After two releases, you didn’t even feel a building ecstasy anymore, just a constant stream of pleasure.

“Leon,” you whine, “Harder. Wanna feel it.”

He moans at your plea but indulges you, grabbing you harder, pressing your legs higher, filling you deeper.

“Wanna be sore after, don’t you, sweetheart? Want a reminder of me while I’m at work. Something to tide you over till I can do this again. Won’t have to rely on dreams then, right?” he says.

“Yeah,” you whimper. Your bed creaks as he picks up the pace, but your moans mask the sound as they grow in volume.

He fucks into you over and over, stoking the flames within himself, trying to build to that explosion. You were so tight, so warm. He hums another low moan and whimpers softly as he feels it right there. He gasps softly before holding you tighter and muttering in your ear.

“Ready for another one, honey? Gonna be the last one and then we’ll get you comfy and off to sleep.”

“Yeah,” you moan again, unable to say much else.

“Good… good girl,” he moans before his hips buck wildly and he finally releases.

You finish for a third time. You cling to him tight as the euphoria washes over you again. Locking your legs around his hips, you keep your face pressed to the warm skin of his neck as it goes through you. You feel the hot flood of cum he fucks into you. His chest is heaving now too as he recovers from the high.

He stays on top of you for a moment before pulling out. You cling harder upon losing that full feeling. He smiles at your desire to be close to him and gives you one more kiss before sitting up.

“So sweet to me, baby. I hope that made up for the late night,” he whispers and strokes your hair.

“It did,” you say with a nod. Your eyes were already shutting again, ready to go back to sleep after being fucked so good.

He looks at you with all the love in the world as he pulls his sweats up. He then helps you pull your panties and shirt back on, trying to laugh at your sleepy, half-assed movements.

After that, he gets you all tucked in next to him, snuggled up in his arms like he originally intended. He even grabs that stuffed bunny he got you and fits it close to you in case you want it.

“Get some rest, honey. You need it,” he whispers while rubbing your back.

“Mhm,” you respond tiredly, “You too. You’re all mine for the weekend, and I don’t want you tired out the whole time.”

“Alright, but I’m gonna be tired out if we do some more of that again tomorrow,” he jokes. He pulls you close to him and shuts his eyes, nestling his head against yours and settling in to rest.

That puts a smile on your face and you nuzzle him once more before letting yourself fall asleep for the night.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #resident evil imagines #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy imagine #resident evil smut #smut #kenny fic <3 #ch: leon kennedy 💌

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jiniretracha · 3 months ago

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ꕤ 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 '𝟐𝟒 - 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝟐𝟎 ꕤ

Min Yoongi x fem!reader: mirror sex

summary: Yoongi will not stand with you criticising your body.

warnings: smut, mirror sex, unprotected sex, slight choking, yoongi being a slight mean dom, you are beautiful pls don't be mean to yourself <3

word count: 1.8k

kinktober masterlist // masterlist // ko-fi

You often struggled with your image. You hated feeling like you weren’t enough, when you looked in the mirror and saw your curves as something disgusting, your boobs too saggy or your butt too flat.

You thought that getting a boyfriend would calm these thoughts.

Oh, how wrong you were.

In fact, it did quite the opposite. It took you over a month to let Yoongi sleep with you because you thought that, the moment he saw you without clothes, he’d bail. He kept complimenting you during the act, but you always thought he said those things because he just wanted to make you feel less nervous.

And there you were.

Standing in front of your bedroom mirror, wearing a dress that you had bought specially for a date with Yoongi, your boyfriend.

But what you thought about the dress when you tried it back at the shop a couple of days ago, you now thought the exact opposite of it.

You thought you looked hideous in it.

It was probably your arms, the skin near your armpits was sticking out too much. Maybe your legs too…

You let out a frustrated sigh and prayed for the tears not to fall. You were going to ruin your makeup if you continued thinking.

Your phone buzzing pulled you out of your self destructive thoughts. Your heart slammed inside your ribcage crazily when you saw that Yoongi had texted you.

Yoongi: heyy!! just arrived, babe

Yoongi: going up :)

You just replied with a thumbs up emoji and left the phone right next to your body.

Staring at the floor, you started thinking at what Yoongi could think of you in this dress, how he’d show disgust at how your legs looked horrible in it, how your hips maybe looked way too big-

“Hi, sweetie” Yoongi smiled as he walked inside your bedroom and came to a halt when he saw you in that yellow dress. “Holy shit, Jagiya” he whispered to himself. “You look stunning”

He walked over towards you in his white shirt and black pants that looked way too fucking good on him, it should be illegal.

But your thoughts unfortunately were showing on your face.

“You okay, love?” he asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

Oh shit. You quickly shook your head and smiled at Yoongi. “Nothing, bub. You look so handsome, should we get going-”

“No, tell me, what’s up?” he asked, sitting next to you, placing a hand on your bare back due to the lack of fabric of the dress in that area. “You were pouting when I arrived”

You smiled and placed your hand on his cheek, rubbing it softly. “Nothing’s up, Yoongi. And if there was something going on, you have nothing to worry about”

“So there is something going on” Yoongi said.

He could always see right through you. You’d hate him if you weren’t so pathetically in love with him.

You let out a sigh and he pecked your cheek. “Tell me, baby”

“Okay, I- uh… I just don’t like how I look in this dress. That’s all” you said quietly, trying your best to avoid his gaze.

Yoongi’s eyes visibly widened like plates. “Huh? Are you kidding me, babe?” he chuckled. “I think you look so fucking stunning in it”

“Well, I don’t”

“Then let’s change it. Let’s find something you like” he said, not understanding what the problem really was.

You huffed and placed your palms on your face, covering it. “You don’t- you don’t understand, Yoongi” you told him. “It’s not the dress. It’s me!”

Yoongi frowned. “I am not following, sorry” he said slowly.

“I look horrible in this dress and every single dress because I have a horrible figure and body!” you whined, on the verge of tears.

Yoongi shook his head. “What are you talking about, Y/N? You are perfect, are you kidding me?” he said, now getting angry, pointing at you.

“I hate my legs. I hate my arms. I hate my waist, my stomach, my hair, my face, my feet, fucking everything!” you cried.

Yoongi stayed silent and then stood up from the bed.

This is it. He realized just how worthless I am and how horrible I look so he’s gonna break up with me. I always knew it was gonna happen-

“Stand up” he said curtly.

You looked up at him and gave him a confused look. “Huh?” you deadpanned.

“Stand up. Now”

You did as you were told, beyond confused.

He grabbed your hips and walked with you towards the mirror. He paused as his eyes raked all over you through the reflection and let out a breath. “I’m not gonna stand here… and tolerate you saying mean things about your body. I won’t allow it” he stated, firmly. He sounded angry. “You… are by far the most amazing woman I’ve ever met. And it applies to how you look physically too. Look at these hips-” Yoongi said and let his hands caress them, biting his own lip. “Look at the fucking goddess standing in front of me. Do you see her? Do you see just how ethereal she looks?”

You swallowed, feeling yourself getting wetter at how low his voice sounded complimenting you.

Yoongi then grabbed the straps of your dress, and pulled them off of you, letting the dress pool by your feet as you standed only in a pair of white underwear.

His hands came to your stomach, caressing the soft skin there as they went up to grope your breasts. “Do you see? Do you see how fucking beautiful you are?”

You felt tears blurring your eyes.

“No?” he asked in a small voice. “You don’t believe me?”

“I- It’s just- It’s hard-” you were cut off with your own gasp as Yoongi ripped the panties sitting on your hips.

He grabbed your hips and he sat down on the bed, pulling you to sit on top of his thighs.

“Spread your legs” he said. You gave him a hesitant look and you jumped when he smacked your thigh. “I said spread your legs”

You spread them slowly and he let out a breath.

His fingers went to your core and he started rubbing circles over your hole, teasing you. You close your eyes, feeling the pleasure running through your veins. You were sure your wetness was falling down on his dress pants, ruining them.

“Watch… come on, open your eyes” Yoongi said in your ear, and you did as you were told. “Look at you, Jagi, look at you… stunning”

His fingers then left your core, making you whimper in disapproval. You weren’t ready when he grabbed your hips, making you stand up only to watch through the mirror how he unbuttoned his shirt and threw it off, along with his black dress pants. Yoongi hooked his finger on the hem of his briefs and pulled them down, his erection slapping against his tummy.

He sat down back again and grabbed your hips, pulling you down so your core rubbed over his tip.

You moaned in unison with him and he slowly pulled you down on his cock. You let out a whimper when he buried himself to the hilt and then started to move your hips, up and down, to bounce you on his cock.

“Shit, Jagiya. I’m so fucking hard” He whispered, meeting your eyes through the mirror. “I’m so fucking hard and it’s your fault. You wanna know why?”

He made you whimper after a particularly hard thrust and you dug your nails on his thigh. “Wh- why?” you stammered, feeling the sweat running down your flushed back.

“Because my girl is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on, and just the fact that I’m lucky enough to have you fucking bouncing on my cock is making me insane, Jagiya” he said against your neck, nibbling your neck.

You threw your head back and moaned, feeling Yoongi’s length hitting your spot over and over.

His hands went from your hips to your tits, groping them and letting his fingers rub over your sensitive nipples. “Fucking- shit” he moaned. “You’re clenching so hard on me”

Yoongi hooked his hands on the underside of your thighs, lifting you up and down on his cock, making his cock go further in you due to the position. You were sure the neighbors were going to fill a complaint to the landlord at this point but your boyfriend was making you feel so fucking good, you couldn’t care less.

“You close, my love?” he asked you breathily.

You just nodded, dumbly, feeling like you were going to drool from the pleasure he was making you feel.

One of his hands came to wrap around your neck, choking you lightly, angling your head so you could meet his gaze through the mirror. You felt yourself clenching even harder around him, founding the fact that he was making you watch yourself as he fucked you, so freaking hot.

“Answer me…” he demanded with a low pitched voice.

“Yeah, so fucking close” you nodded your head.

“Then fucking come” he said, slapping your pussy, making you whine and explode around him.

Yoongi groaned, feeling your clench around him and he was only a man. He thrusted hard a couple of times before filling you up completely with his seed. Yoongi caressed your hips lovingly as he felt the last of his orgasm spurting in you.

He fell back with you on top of him as you both tried to catch your breath.

The air was humid and smelt like sex, and you were more than happy that you had someone like Yoongi to call yours.

“Yoongi?” you asked him.

His arms came to wrap around you, one of his hands, stayed on your stomach. “Yes, my love?”

“I love you”

He chuckled and kissed your shoulder. “I love you”

You fell to his side and looked at him. “Thank you for that. I feel- I feel better. I mean, if I managed to keep someone liek you around, I must be doing something right” you chuckled.

Yoongi looked into your eyes and caressed your cheek. “You don’t have to do anything to keep me around. Just the fact that you are how you are is enough. Don’t feel like you need to change yourself or try at all to keep me” Yoongi said. “I love you for you”

You smiled at him and crashed your lips into his. The dinner date was soon forgotten, opting for ordering chinese food.

As you were eating, you started to understand why Yoongi was so protective over you and how you saw yourself. As someone who struggled with body image himself, you understood why he didn’t want to see you suffering the same as he did.

So, as long as you had him, you knew you’d be okay.

── .✦

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it-was-summer · 18 days ago

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... And Fall In Love Whenever You Can.

A/N: This fic genuinely had me tearing up as I wrote it. Therefore, it shall hold a sweet place in my heart. As a kid, I used to say, "If something makes you feel, then it is good." I still believe that today. If it makes you happy, sad, flustered, ANYTHING! To feel something while reading is such a beautiful reaction to media. I often cry at movies, I cry when I read romance novels, I cry when I read poetry, and I laugh when I do, too. I hope you enjoy it, and I hope you feel something, Em <3 (I also apologize for vanishing; I got sick, and it made me feel brain fog)

Link to the Ao3: ... And Fall In Love Whenever You Can Link to the: Yee olde masterlist Tags: Grief support group, mention of death(s), loss of romantic partners, struggling with mental health, tears, the rise and fall that is nonlinear healing, fear of forgetting a loved one, falling in love after tragedy, Spencer sounds like he had therapy, Maeve mentioned, guns mentioned, she/her pronouns for reader used at like one point, Reader's POV for the most part, Reader is in extreme denial and feels guilty, a secret other thing??, lightly proofread tehe!

Genre: Light Angst, Some? Hurt/Comfort, Fluff! Pairing: Season10! Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Plot: Meeting Spencer at a grief support meeting might be the best and the worst thing to ever happen to you- but it's all relative in the eyes of love.

Word Count: 9,791

You were pacing a dimly lit parking lot outside of the funeral home. It had been eleven months, two weeks, and three days since Alexander’s death. The grief meetings occurred every third Wednesday, and everyone was lovely enough. You just couldn’t find it in yourself to go inside this particular Wednesday. Because it was on this date, two years ago, Alexander had gotten on one knee at the aquarium and asked you to marry him. It was two years ago that you had said yes, not knowing that a little over a year from then, he’d be dead.

Your feet kept making strides to the double door entryway, only to slow to a stop when your hands reached the door’s push handle. Then, you’d shake your head and turn around to circle the parking lot once more. With your luck, the meeting would be over before you even got the courage to go inside.

A groan escapes your throat as you firmly put your hands on your hips, tilting your head to the Summer sky. “I’m sorry,” Your voice is raw, barely a whisper as you struggle to keep yourself from crying. You knew everyone said not to keep it in, to express your grief freely. It minimized stress. At least, that’s what the grief counselors say.

The worst part was no longer knowing who you were apologizing to— yourself or Alexander.

You were walking around one of the parking lot’s street lamps when you saw someone standing at the doors, frozen in place. It was like watching a mirror of yourself—rigid shoulders, twitching hands, shaking head.

You approach the man slowly, your image warped in the reflection of the glass doors. He turns to face you before you can speak, and he looks like you did eleven months ago. His eyes have dark circles around them, tinted with a red water-line and dull cheeks. That doesn’t stop you from gracing him with a gentle smile, “Are you going inside?”

His eyes meet yours for a second, looking away to glance back at the doors. “I’m not sure.” His voice is quiet, scared. He sounds like he is still on the fence. You nod, drawing your lips into a tiny line as you drop your hands to your sides. “Are you?” He asks, stepping out of the way for you.

You feel your mouth open to say you are going inside, but the words never come. Instead, you shake your head side-to-side timidly. “I’m not sure either,” You laugh out feebly. He nods, a dull smile gracing his delicate features for a millisecond before looking off with a forlorn expression.

“I was thinking about walking around the parking lot again… to try to gain the confidence to go inside. You’re,” you pause, wondering if it's a good idea to offer the man an invitation, “You’re welcome to join me if you’d like.”

The man looks at you again, his eyes widening for a second. You’re sure he’s about to decline, return to his car, and drive away, but he nods. You feel yourself smiling. It’s a little subdued, but it’s real. You mouth a silent ‘okay’ as you move your hands to your pant pockets, stepping away from the doors with this mourning stranger. You figured you didn’t have to talk if he didn’t want to, so everything was quiet as the two of you slowly walked around the large parking lot.

Eventually, your quiet stranger speaks, “Thank you,”

You shrug a little, sniffling, “It’s daunting, especially the first meeting.”

He frowns a little, watching your eyes flit over to him and then back to the night sky. “That obvious?”

“Only a little, but that’s not a bad thing.” Your voice is gentle as your feet slow to a stop, a light smile appearing on your face as you stare into the night. Spencer tilts his head to look at the stars, silently hoping that what makes you smile will make him smile, too. “Do you see her yet?” You ask, voice like honey.

He feels like crying as he says, “No,” He doesn’t even know who you’re looking at.

Your right hand is coming out of your coat pocket as you point to Cassiopeia slowly, tracing the stars with your index finger. “Cassiopeia, she’s a little low right now, but in a few months, she’ll get higher. You see her?”

And Spencer does. He feels his body relax, just for a moment. “I do.” He feels himself smiling a little at the sky, and the feeling feels almost foreign. His gaze falls back to you as you stuff your right-hand pack into your pocket, “I’m– I didn’t introduce myself earlier. I’m Spencer.”

“That’s alright; I didn’t introduce myself either,” you sigh before you tell him your name. He nods at your response and follows you once your feet start moving again.

“Have you—” He motions to the funeral home in the distance, “ever been inside?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m a funeral home grief support group regular.” You joke lightly, though the soft chuckle you let out sounds like a sad one.

He nods, nervously adjusting the beige cardigan on his chest. “Is everyone—I mean—” He draws his lips closed as he tries to gather his thoughts. “Do you like it?”

Your feet slow for a second as you think about it. Sure, everyone was friendly, and the support was more helpful than harmful. But did you like it? You give him a little nod when you answer, “Yeah, it’s been nice. Less,” You tilt your head slowly like you’re choosing your words carefully. “Less Lonely.”

Spencer lets out a relieved-sounding sigh as he mutters a gentle “Right.”

“I just,” You swallow carefully, “I’m having a hard time going in today. My fiancé proposed two years ago today. I just— I mean everyone inside knows, I just,” You trail off for a second, sniffling lightly as a cool breeze brushes against your watering eyes. “It doesn’t matter.”

Spencer didn’t know what to say to that. With Maeve, he had barely met her in person before she was murdered in front of him— the future pulled out from under him. Nowadays, he spends his time rereading books, remembering conversations on the phone, and mourning her silently in his apartment. Sometimes, he didn’t know which would be worse: losing her when he did or ten years down the line. Nonetheless, there is no Maeve to help him answer that question.

He struggles to find the words for a second before he nods, slow and unsure of himself, “It matters.”

You grin at how scared he sounds, the sound of a man holding on to the memory of a face that keeps fading away in his mind. “I know,” you can feel the ghost of the engagement ring on your left hand, a ring that now lies in a coffin.

As the two of you get close to the building once more, you ask, “Are you going to go in?”

Spencer swallows hard, the knot in his throat making it difficult for him to breathe. “Maybe next meeting,”

You nod, “Me too.” You stare at your car in the distance before you feel yourself standing in the parking lot with Spencer— unmoving. “I know it’s not a lot, and I know that I can’t help that much, but,” You pull your phone out of your pocket, opening the keypad cautiously before holding it out to him. “If you ever want to talk about it, or anything really, I’d be happy to talk with you.”

Normally, Spencer would decline such a kind gesture. He would thank you, drive home, and find solace in something familiar. His fingers twitch lightly as he reaches out for your phone, staring down at the keypad for a second before he puts in his number. He doesn’t know why he wants to talk with you. He thinks it’s because talking with a stranger about Maeve seemed less daunting than talking about it with his coworkers— his friends. You barely know him, and that makes your offer seem safe. No preconceived notions, pity, or gentle promises of being there for him, just a stranger talking to another stranger.

Two weeks go by like usual— no text from your stranger named Spencer, coffee for one at the café that was Alexander’s favorite, taking his mom to dinner on Thursdays, and so on. Sometimes, the days blur into a muddled painting filled with muted tones, and you try your hardest to remember when everything had a vibrant hue.

Most days are easy, easier than most, at least. It’s not that you forget about him. You remember him when you see a couple holding hands or golden retrievers going for walks, you think about him with everything you see, and it feels good to remember him. You’re happy to have known him so well, loved him so deeply. But all the love inside you has nowhere to go, so you go to his grave on Saturdays, hoping you can pour all the love in your heart onto a tombstone with his name on it. It never works, of course, but it helps.

You're running late this particular Saturday morning. You have two coffees in hand—one of which always goes untouched—and you’re stuck on the metro. That’s when you see him again, your stranger sitting in the fluorescents of the railcar.

Pushing through a small crowd, you approach him, slowly taking the empty seat next to him. Spencer doesn’t look up at first, his eyes glued to the book in his hands. That is until you’re leaning over to him to say a small “Hello,”

He jumps at the sound, head snapping to look at you with wide eyes. He doesn’t know why he’s so surprised you remember him, but he is. “Hello,”

Your eyes meet his, “Do you remember me? I-I’m sorry I shouldn’t have invaded–”

“No! I mean, yes, I remember you. You’re not invading my space. You’re fine.”

You let out a relieved sigh, looking away from him for a second to look down at the cups in your hands. His eyes follow your gaze, and he offers you a shy smile, “Are you meeting someone?” Small talk was never his strong suit.

You look at him, eyes lingering on his polite smile. “Oh,” you laugh like it's funny. “No, it's just me.” Spencer gives you a confused look, and you quickly answer his silent question. “I visit Alex’s grave. He loved black coffee. It was the most unsettling thing about him.”

Spencer doesn’t know how you’re smiling so wide as you say it. How could you talk about someone you lost and smile so wide talking about them? Would he smile like that one day? Would he even have things to smile about, or would what-ifs haunt him until the day he dies?

You find that you hate the silence that follows, the lack of sound creeping over your skin, making you itch to say something more. “I’ve always liked cemeteries too, so bonus, I guess.”

That gets you a sharp laugh, “You’ve always liked cemeteries?” Spencer’s eyes seem slightly brighter now, less red than two weeks ago, and they’re laser-focused on you.

You happily nod, “Always thought they were beautiful. It’s a creation of love, a way for your love for someone to live on.”

“Not sure everyone thinks about them that way,”

“Well, I guess they wouldn’t, and that’s alright with me.” You hum softly as the intercom announces in a static-filled voice that the railcar will be moving soon. “It’s quieter that way.”

Spencer glances towards the intercom for a second before turning back to you, “I suppose you’re right— about the quiet thing, not sure I agree with always liking them.” And he’s smiling at you, a real smile.

You feel yourself smiling back, wide as ever, “What’s your opinion on cemeteries then?”

“I’d like to say I don’t have an opinion on them, but if I had to form one, I would say they’re…” He trails off for a second, thinking about it more now. He laughs for a second, “Well, I suppose I find them rather serene.”

Your eyebrows raise for a second as you study him. How he seems to be relaxing in the conversation, and you can’t help but consider extending him an invitation to your weekly visit with Alexander. The longer you stare at him, the more you think the worst he can say is no, so you ask. “Would you like to join me?”

Spencer reels back slightly at the invitation; it feels intimate, yet he doesn’t want to say no. He wants to see what you see, to understand your mind, “I–” He looks away for a second, staring at the still-opened book in his lap. “If you’ll have me.”

Once you are on the street, you hum lightly while walking beside him. Spencer doesn’t seem to mind very much, his fingers fiddling with the edges of his book that now resides closed in his hand at his side. He’s nervous for some reason. He doesn’t understand why you invited him, nor why he said yes. He thinks maybe he should announce that he has other plans, turn on his heel, and book it in the other direction.

But when the two of you tread closer to the cemetery gates, you start talking again. “I hope you don’t find it strange that I invited you. It’s been a little under a year– well, a year next week– and I know it might seem weird, but I’d like to think he’s happy about me having a new friend.”

He knows it is a coping mechanism, and he knows Alexander cannot feel anything anymore. Spencer’s a man of science, but hearing you say that makes him feel at ease. His shoulders unwind slowly, “He sounded like a nice person,”

You let out a playful hum, “Sometimes. If he didn’t like you, he made it pretty obvious.” You pause for a second, glancing over at Spencer. “He was tall, kind of like you, and nerdy. But he was so funny; no one knew how funny he could be. They never listened hard enough, you know? I hated that people would talk over him in a crowd. To me, he was the only person worth listening to.”

Spencer finds him smiling at that, following you as you take a left. He sees that you're smiling, too, and when the two of you get to his grave, you’re still smiling. You let out a happy sigh as you talk, introducing Spencer as “Your new friend.”

For a while, you tell him stories—memories from when Alexander was still alive—and he finds he doesn’t mind listening to them. He sees them as a great distraction from his lack of happy stories with Maeve. You’re laughing a little as you tell him of the time that Alexander’s mother wouldn’t stop sending him a massive, bulk-sized trail mix every time she sent him a care package in college. He had so many bags that they lived under his bed for the better part of four years.

“Did he even like trail mix?”

“Honestly? Yes, but he only liked the chocolate and peanuts. It would just be massive bags with an abundance of raisins inside.” You shake your head a little as you stand next to Spencer.

Spencer lets out a slightly amused hum. His mind keeps going over how good you are with everything. You talk about Alexander openly. You don’t hold your feelings back. You smile so wide, even when you look at his headstone. He wants to know your secret— some secret to grief that he has yet to uncover.

His mouth opens briefly, closing quickly as he shifts his weight awkwardly beside you. He sucks in a nervous breath as he tries to muster up the courage to speak. “How do–” He sighs heavily, “I mean, I’m sure you struggle–” He licks his lips nervously, your eyes meeting his slowly. “When does it stop hurting?”

You’re silent for a second, your soft smile fading as you stare at him. He’s scared that maybe that’s the wrong question to ask as he watches you turn your head to look down at Alexander’s grave. He is about to apologize when you whisper, “It feels different now.”

Spencer’s mouth snaps shut as he waits for more, his eyes scanning your side profile slowly for some sort of sign that you’re uncomfortable. “Last year, it just felt like–” A pause, your free hand rising to your chest slowly. “It felt like someone had plunged a dull knife into my chest and left me for dead.”

Spencer’s chest tightened for a second, his own heart feeling painfully dull as he listened to you.

“But, I’m not the one who died. Alex did. I was so angry— disappointed that he had the nerve to leave me when we were about to start the next chapter of our lives together. I had–have– all this love inside my heart for him, and he’s gone. It took me a long time to understand that, to be okay with it.”

Your words catch in your throat, and you clear your throat quickly. The familiar burn of tears threatens to build in your eyes as you force yourself to look at Alexander’s grave. “He was so kind, and once I got past that feeling,” your voice sounded thick. “Life kept going, and so did I. He wouldn’t have wanted me to stop living my life. When you love someone, you only want them to be happy– with or without you.”

You sniffle lightly, relaxing your shoulders slightly, “It never stops hurting, I guess, but days get better. I’m happy that I got to be a part of his life. I find some comfort in that. Somewhere, in the story of him, I’m there.” Eventually, you find the courage to look over at Spencer. When your eyes meet his, you find that he’s staring at you with a compassionate expression. You can see the understanding in his eyes. You swallow hard, pushing the emotional lump down your throat.

“It does get better.” You whisper, your voice warm.

Spencer nods quickly, mouthing a little ‘I know’ before his eyes trail away from you for a second. A cool breeze passes between the two of you when he says, “Just needed the reminder,”

The next time you see him, it’s the third Wednesday of the month, and he sits right next to you. You find yourself smiling a little when he does, nudging his shoulder playfully as more people fill the space. He scoffs playfully, the silent gesture letting you know he’s happy you’re here.

The meeting passes like usual: New members share their stories, grief counselors hand out business cards with their phone numbers, recurring members offer kind sentiments, and then, just near the end, your seat partner stands up.

Your eyes widen for a second as you watch Spencer stand, his eyes laser-focused ahead as people turn to look at him. You watch how his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. A shaky breath leaves him as he tries his hardest to start talking. His hands flex for a second, pressing against his pants to wipe off what you can only assume is sweat.

He stutters for a second, his confidence creeping away from him. You’re surprised when he turns his head to look at you. His breathing steadies as he watches you. “I’ve been having difficulties sleeping again. After,” His hands move a little as he speaks, his eyes periodically looking towards the rest of the group before trailing back over to you, “I just– I used to have a hard time sleeping, and lately, it’s been happening again. Every time I sleep, I see her, and I feel so–” He used to dream of her after her death, dreamt of touching her, but these were different. Dreams that constantly left him waking up feeling devastatingly alone.

He shakes his head a little, “It’s been seven months, and I keep dreaming of everything that could have been.”

The confession is met with comfortable silence and sympathetic looks, but not from you. You’re nodding, an encouraging smile spreading across your face. For some reason, he likes that better. “I don’t like leaving her when I wake up.” The admission feels like a weight lifting off his chest when he says it.

There’s a pause of silence before he sits down, unsure of what else to say besides his admission. As one of the counselors begins to talk to Spencer, he finds himself listening intensely. Seven months, and he’s finally willing to take some much-needed advice.

After that month’s meeting, Spencer has back-to-back cases. He’s keen on keeping in contact with you, which you’ve said he doesn’t have to do if he doesn’t want to, but he insists. He likes having someone to update, a friend waiting to see him when he’s free.

The next time he’s free, it’s a rare Saturday. He’s been awake since five and can’t seem to go back to sleep. He does keep dreaming of Maeve, but they’re a little different now. This time, he was in a cemetery with you. It was freezing, the kind of cold where you could see your breath, and you were laughing about something when the two of you bumped into her. Maeve’s not angry. She just laughs and glances at Spencer before hugging you. You hug her right back and say something– and that’s when he wakes up.

Spencer doesn’t like the feelings that stir inside him with that dream: confusion, curiosity, sadness, something else. The feeling is warm, tinged with an overcoat of sorrow, and he finds himself needing a good distraction.

However, reading isn’t helping, nor is the crossword. So eventually, he finds himself getting ready to go out for the day in the search of a good distraction that will get his mind off his dream.

He doesn’t know why he thinks about the cemetery where Alex’s grave is on his way to get coffee that day, but he does. A part of him feels that a nice walk will do him good, so, coffee in hand, he finds himself walking… then taking the subway… then ending up in front of Alex’s grave… alone.

Spencer’s lips slightly pout when he sees no coffee cup on the headstone. He knows that you have yet to visit your late fiancé today. He doesn’t exactly know why he’s visiting your late fiancé today; without you, it feels… strange.

The longer Spencer stares at the letters etched in stone, the more he feels a realization dawn on him. He feels guilty… guilty for dreaming of you, guilty for craving your warmth right now, and guilty for a million different little reasons.

Spencer feels his lips part for a second, a sigh escaping his lungs, before he whispers, “I’m a mess. " He knows he’s talking to thin air, but he feels lighter, admitting it to himself.

“I don’t know what I’m feeling. All I know is that I shouldn’t be, and it won’t do anyone any good, and secretly I think–” He sucks in a cold breath of air, “Secretly, I think I don’t deserve it.” The grave is silent, of course, but Spencer smiles anyway.

For a while, he thought his future had passed him by. A brief image graced his vision before leaving him blind. He can see now. He sees that he still has things to do, goals to accomplish, people to meet. Then he’s walking away.

Two meetings and four coffee ‘dates’ later, you’re rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet as you watch Spencer laugh over something with one of the grief counselors. It’s a strange feeling to see him laugh so openly. It's heartwarming if you’re being honest. It’s hard to explain it, and the feeling is too intense– too raw. It’s a feeling you dimly remember, and suddenly, you’re nauseous.

You have a crush, which is incredibly laughable because you’re an adult. The last time you had a crush on someone was three years ago, Alexander. This almost feels cruel. The longer you stare at him, the more real it becomes.

Spencer catches your eye for a second and excuses himself from the conversation in his polite Spencer way. When he reaches you, he smiles warmly: “Somebody’s all smiles.” You hum with a playful roll of your eyes.

Spencer pouts for a second, good-natured and playful, as he mutters a little, “When did smiling become a crime?”

“It isn’t. I’m just being observant, and you have a nice smile.” You try to keep your voice calm and level, but he seems to catch on anyway. Spencer’s eyes seem laser-focused on you, studying you carefully. Internally, you’re beginning to pray that his profiling skills fail to notice the classic signs: your sweaty palms, wandering gaze, and too-tense shoulders.

And if he does notice… you hope he doesn’t say anything. That’s not Spencer’s way, and you know it. “Everything okay?”

You nod quickly, “I’m good, sorry, I was just thinking about… bills.” You know he catches the lie the second you say it; you can see it in his amused smile.

“Bills?”

“Bills.”

“I’m not sure I like this story you’re going with, but if you’re sticking to it, I won’t pry.”

You nod, letting your shoulders relax as you sling your bag over your shoulder. “Thank you,”

“I was thinking,” Spencer starts as he grabs his messenger bag, following you out. “We could get dinner together Friday night.”

“Why?” Your tone is a little flatter than you’d like it to be as Spencer walks you to your car. You'll admit the idea of being alone with him is nice, but the admission feels strange— still too raw, surreal.

“Because…” He trails off slowly, hoping to find a better reason than it being because he wants to have dinner with you, but the longer he sits with the ideas, the more he feels like you’ll turn down his idea. He feels self-preservation take over, and for the first time (and what he hopes is the only time), he lies to you. “My teammates are having a get-together.”

“Oh!” You say as the two of you reach your car. “And you want me to meet them or?” The idea seems less daunting. Yes, Spencer and you had been to get coffee together, but that was just coffee. Dinner seemed too intimate, but dinner with friends? Now, that was less scary.

“Yeah! Yes, I think it’d be nice!’ Spencer’s voice cracks slightly before nervously clearing his throat in a weak attempt to control the anxiety that creeps into his tone. “Would you… like to meet them?”

You’re leaning against your car door, and the air smells sharp with the promise of snow, and Spencer’s sure you’ll decline. You grin, nodding slightly, “Sure, I mean, it’s just dinner with friends. What time Friday?” Your arms fold over your chest, pulling your coat closer to your body.

“Six.” He doesn’t know how his fake dinner has a time, but he’s surprised at how easy it is to come up with one. “Nothing fancy. I’ll, um, text you the address.”

You watch him for a second, trying to read him the way he reads you. His voice seems higher in pitch, and his eyes keep glancing at yours. You chalk it up to him being nervous. The combination of two groups already frying his nerves before it even happens. “Can’t wait. See you Friday.”

Spencer stuffs his freezing hands in his pockets as he watches you enter your car and drive off. Then, the panic sets in.

He’s tailing Derek desperately, “Listen, I know it’s rushed, but–”

“I don’t see why you can’t just text her the address and ask her out. Straightforward.” Derek says as he takes the left towards Penelope’s office. “Or you could say we canceled and make it just the two of you.”

“Considering I already lied to her once, I’d rather not lie twice. And–” He fumbles with his words for a short second. “It’s not a date. I just thought she thought it was one, and I panicked.”

“What’s wrong with it being a date?” Derek asks, knocking on the door gently before entering Penelope’s office.

“Date?” Penelope echoes back as she turns in her chair.

Spencer holds out a hand defensively, “It wouldn’t— it’s complicated! Please say yes. You’re the first person I’ve asked.”

“Asked what? Am I going to be asked?” Penelope chirps as Derek hands her a coffee.

“Pretty boy here,” Derek motioned to Spencer with a light wave, “Lied to one of his ladies. Invited her to a team dinner that doesn’t exist.”

“A team dinner would be fun! With a new addition, too!” Penelope said with a sip of her coffee. “When?”

“Friday,” Spencer mumbles, avoiding her gaze.

“Friday, as in, tomorrow Friday?” She sucks in a breath of air, “Spencer…”

He frowns and mouths a little, ‘I know’. He looks at them, pleading, “Please, even if it’s just the two of you…” He trails off slowly, watching Penelope and Derek share a look.

“I’ll text the rest of the group.”

“Not the whole story,” Spencer adds as Penelope pulls out her phone. “Please.”

“I’m already doing you one favor, boy genius.”

Spencer is surprised at how many of his team members agree to dinner. JJ, Penelope, and Derek all promise to bring their respective partners. Rossi and Hotch politely decline, but given his sudden plans, he doesn’t blame them.

However, by the time five-thirty rolls around, he can see that he’s been played. The first text comes from JJ, claiming that Henry is sick and that she can’t make it. Derek follows, saying that he accidentally double-booked and cannot cancel his reservation with Savannah. He can feel himself sending a silent prayer to Penelope before she, too, is texting him to cancel.

So now, he stands outside the restaurant in a long brown trench coat and purple scarf tied tight around his neck. When you arrive, adorned with a cream sweater and rosy cheeks, you ask him the inevitable: “Where’s the team?”

Spencer's throat tightens as he answers, “They’ve canceled, so it’ll be just us if that’s alright with you?”

He can see your smile falter momentarily before you nod, “That’s fine, another time.” You shiver a little, glancing towards the restaurant. “Should we…?” Spencer, silently elated that you aren’t leaving, nods and hurriedly rushes over to open the door for you.

Once seated, you are greeted by a slightly uncomfortable awkward silence. You’re sure that it will soon resolve itself, but Spencer seems too lost in his thoughts, and it becomes clear that if you want this long silence to end, you’ll have to speak first.

“I’m sorry every–”

“Do you–”

The two of you stare at each other briefly before laughing softly. Spencer’s eyes crinkle a little when he’s laughing, a feature you seem to be adoring silently before he says, “I’m sorry that everyone canceled.”

You push out a little breath, your gaze falling to the menu on the table. “That’s okay, I’m sure everyone has busy lives.” You shrug a bit before glancing up at him, “I do have a question for you, though,” You watch as Spencer’s back straightens, and he gives you a small smile as the ‘go ahead.’

You flatten out the front of your sweater nervously, “Do you think it’s weird that I was supposed to meet your friends— the team?”

Spencer gives you a slightly confused look before you quickly add, “I don’t think it is, but I was talking to my coworker about tonight, and she said it seemed like an excuse for a date. Then I explained it, and she called it weird, and I don’t know—Do you think it’s weird?”

Spencer can feel his cheeks heating up against his will, and his head shakes from side to side, “No! No, it’s not weird.” he pauses, thinking about it for a second. “Well, maybe a little. But not for you, for me. You’ve never expressed an intense interest in meeting them, but they mentioned bringing someone, and I thought—” He motions to you with a shaky hand, “Thought you’d be a good person to bring to dinner. You’re lovely, and my friend, and I—” he feels the rest of his words die in his throat. He wants to tell you that he wants the team to meet you. He wants everyone to see how wonderful and kind you are.

He feels his mouth dry, realizing he wants you to meet the team now. He wants a third party to witness your calming effect on him, and, most importantly, he wants them to like you because he likes you.

A slow ringing grows in his ears at the full realization of his feelings for you. Your smile, usually calming, has his heart leaping in his chest. He finds himself leaning closer when you say, “I didn’t think it was weird either,”

Spencer lets out a little huff of relief, “Good, that’s good.” His heart was beating fast in his chest. He knew he had feelings for you but was unaware of how deep they ran.

“Though I will say, it is strange that they all canceled.”

He feels awful lying to you. He can count two lies now and doesn’t want to tell a third. “Yeah, I can’t explain that one. They all did it at the last minute. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t mind, though I was scared this was all a set-up for a date.” You laugh as if it’s the silliest idea you’ve heard.

Spencer can feel his heart in his throat, his breathing quickening slightly. “Would it be bad if it was?” he can’t stop the words from spilling out, his eyes widening at his sentence.

Your surprised face stares back at his, breathless as you look at him. You’re about to say something when the waitress comes by to take your order. You manage a slight, polite smile as you order before you’re staring off at Spencer. His nervous eyes flicker between the waitress and you as he orders quickly.

When she’s gone, you stare at each other with bated breath. You draw in a slow, calming breath when you say, “I don’t know,”

“You don’t… know?”

“I just, I haven’t thought about—” You pause, knowing it’s a lie. “I have—” You correct gently before you let out a frustrated sigh. “I thought we were friends.” Your voice cracks slightly.

Spencer draws his head back at that, “We are friends. We are. I didn't know if you ever thought about—” He doesn’t know what he’s saying. What is he aiming for here?

“Anyone dating you would be lucky, Spencer.” You say, sweet and gentle. You don’t know how to save this situation. Your love for Alexander will always be in your heart, strong and genuine, but… looking at the man across from you.

You watch his fingers nervously trace patterns on the glass of water in front of him, how he’s looking at you with such a sweet expression. You just didn’t think this would happen to you. You were sure that Alex was it. He was all you would ever know— you had resigned yourself to it.

Would you be a bad person if you fell in love again? After everything, it feels… selfish, dirty, wrong, terrifying. “I’m not sure I’m your best option.” Is what you settle on.

Your heart silently breaks as you watch Spencer’s face fall. His nervous fingers slow their movements until he whispers a sad, “Right.” There’s a pause, like he’s deciding what to do next. He then nods, like he’s coming to terms with something.

“Right, I’m not saying I’m looking–” His brown eyes scan your face, “I’m not even sure I want something like that. I don’t know why it sounded like I was. I just want you to know that I—” He swallows thickly, “I like being your friend.”

“Me too! I like being your friend, too.”

“Good!”

“Great!”

His smile doesn’t reach his eyes, “So we’re on the same page?”

“Same chapter and everything.”

Spencer lets out a huff of a laugh at that, nodding slowly.

The rest of the dinner seems normal; the interaction from earlier seems to be brushed under the rug, and you’re grateful it is. However, the topic kept worming its way into your train of thought. The nagging thought of ‘What if…’.

It's not a terribly horrible idea to date Spencer. If you were honest with yourself, you had thought about it before—not obsessively, just in passing. A little whisper of an idea, lovely and new. It was nice to fantasize about love, but it was just a fantasy. You had a great love, and you were grateful.

Wanting more than that was greedy.

After dinner, Spencer insisted on walking you home. He wouldn’t listen to a single one of your protests and simply convinced you with a firm, “I’ve seen what happens to people when they go off alone late at night,”

The reminder made you readily accept his company on the cold December night. Walking by his side, watching how your feet started to sync in step, your mind began to wander. What did a date even feel like? It had been so long since you’ve had a date… you weren’t even sure you would know if you were on one unless it was explicitly said.

The thought makes you chuckle, earning the interest of one Doctor Spencer Reid. “What’s on your giggling mind?”

“Nothing,” You sigh, glancing over at him. “I was just thinking about how long it's been since I’ve been on a date. I don’t even think I would know if I was on a date if I was on one. Someone would have to sit me down and explain it to me,”

Spencer’s lips quirk upwards at the idea, listening to you. The sweet look he’s giving you is not lost on you as you continue to ramble, “I mean, I’m not even sure I remember the last time I tried to look for a date.”

“Care to take a guess?”

“Uhm,” You draw out the sound as you think, your tongue wetting your lips. “Six months ago, maybe, kind of, sort of?”

Spencer’s clever mind quickly realizes that this failed dating experience happened a month before he met you, and then he notes that it also happened ten months after Alexander’s death. “And.. What do you mean by that? How does someone, kind of, sort of, maybe look for a date?”

You roll your eyes, “It wasn’t really my idea. My friends convinced me to go on some dating apps, and I tried!” You laugh lightly, “Well. I pretended to try. I just didn’t like it. It wasn’t what I expected.”

“What were you expecting?”

Your feet falter momentarily before finding their pace next to Spencer again, “Something from a Nora Ephron movie, maybe? Something like You’ve got Mail.” As you say it, you see the strange look on Spencer’s face, and it makes you grin. “It’s a romantic comedy.”

He mouths a soft ‘oh’ and feels awkward because he still doesn’t know what you mean. You’re quick to explain, “It just means I had high expectations. Alexander and I were friends for a while before we,” You trail off before you wave the sentence off with your hand. “I just didn’t like it. Felt too forced.”

Spencer understands that part, slowly taking a left with you. “Haven’t tried that yet.”

“I wouldn’t recommend it.”

He grins and nods, “What do you recommend?” His curious mind was getting the better of him. His left hand slipped out of his coat as he waited for your answer, his knuckles dangerously close to yours.

“In a world seemingly becoming increasingly dependent on technology for everything? I’d recommend shooting your shot with every pretty stranger you see.” It's a joke, but the idea of Spencer asking for the numbers of every pretty person in DC made your chest feel strangely tight— a light reminder that your crush was still going strong. And you’ve already turned him down.

“I’m not sure you’ve been paying close attention to me these past four months,” He jokes lightly.

“Oh, trust me, I have been.” The words tumble out before you can stop yourself, and you can feel your cheeks growing impossibly hot.

Spencer’s quick to tease, “You have been?”

You nod, trying to act like it's nothing but friendly, but your nervous breathing might give you away. You take a steady breath, happy to think that if he sees red on your cheeks, you can blame it on the cold weather.

Instead, he slows to a stop just steps away from your apartment complex. You stop, turning to look at him, and when you see him, all composure leaves you with one little glance. Spencer’s ears are red, his hazel eyes glued to yours, and his hands nervously fidget with his long purple scarf.

He draws in his lower lip nervously, his brow furrowing in the way that lets you know he’s meditating on something in that beautiful brain of his. His hands move as he begins to talk, “I have been too,”

With that, you feel all the air knocked out of you, and your trembling fingers hide in your pockets. You’re not sure what he wants you to say or do. It feels like a confession, making your heart pound in your chest. His sweet eyes study you, “I’m not sure what I—” He steps closer.

“Not sure what I want. All I know is that I feel something—” He makes a weird motion with his hands like he’s trying to shape his feelings with his hands. “Hopeful? I don’t know! I just,”

“I know.” You rasp out, nodding quickly. “I know.” You repeat it because you do know. You know what he’s feeling, that dangerous feeling of tentative hope, the sense that something is beginning again. The world shifting into focus and becoming colorful again.

Spencer’s gaze softens as that, and then the two of you just stare at each other for a moment. Guilt seemed to creep into your chest, invading your heart the longer you stared into those pleading brown eyes. Some part of you wanted to give it a shot, take him in your arms, and just let go. The stubborn part of you couldn’t let go of what you once knew.

What would you say to your friends— or worse, Alexander’s family? Thinking about being happy with someone else again felt like a betrayal.

Spencer could see the shift in your demeanor, the way your eyes glossed over with emotion, your back rigid, and he knew you weren’t ready. The feelings you were feeling were ones he wrestled with weeks ago after visiting Alexander’s grave. “I visited his grave without you a few times.”

Your brows knit together at that, stuttering gently as you manage a soft “Why?”

“I felt guilty about how I feel about you. I thought visiting his grave would make me back down, but it didn’t. I visited Maeve’s grave and thought about my feelings there too. She would have liked you.”

“Spencer, don’t–”

“You told me once that he would’ve wanted you to be happy with or without him. Why can’t you let yourself be happy? I know it’s uncharted territory; it is for me, too, and he knows you don’t love him any less–”

“You didn’t even know him!”

Spencer's lips draw into a tight line at that. You can’t stop yourself before saying, “You don’t understand the love I had for him. It was different from how you felt about Maeve. It was special.”

Your breathing is heavy, and you're trying to stop yourself from crying. The second you say it, you regret it. Your rigid posture slacks, and you step towards him quickly, but he steps back once you get closer.

“You don’t get to say that,” his voice is colder, his eyes cast down to his hands. Then he takes a sharp breath and looks up at you; his warm hazel gaze turns cold. “My love for her was just as special as yours was for Alexander. I can see that, even if you can’t. But at least I can see when something exceptional is right in front of me. Unlike you, I didn’t want it to slip through my fingers again.”

Your mouth feels dry as you try to respond, anger and guilt fighting an internal war inside you before Spencer turns on his heel and says, “Goodnight,”

The snow starts again as you watch him walk away, blinking flakes out of your lashes, cheeks red from the tears falling as you watch him disappear around the corner.

The conversation is still fresh in your mind at dinner with Alexander’s mom Tuesday night. She lives just outside the city in Maryland, so whenever she made her way into the city, you made it a point to meet up.

She watches the way you’re staring at your sandwich. The intense look you’re giving the meal almost makes her laugh. “Don’t be upset with the club. We can always get you another sandwich, dear.”

You raise your head slightly at that and let out a nervous laugh, “No, the sandwich is fine. I’m just thinking. I’m sorry, Shannon.”

Shannon lets out an understanding hum, waving you off with a simple flick of her wrist as you apologize. “Is it work?”

You give her an easy smile, “Ah, no. It’s… confusing and probably boring; don’t worry about it.” She gives you a little look that says, ‘Come on, really?’ and it makes your smile widen.

“When you retire, everything is confusing and boring, so lay it on me.”

“Shannon, please, I promise you don—”

“I will make you pay for this meal; do not force my hand.”

“I am paying?”

“Exactly. Now tell me what’s on your mind.”

You slump in your seat and nod in defeat. “Alright, well,” you wet your lips nervously, trying to figure out the best way to tell her. “You remember last time I mentioned that I had that friend from the group? The genius—Spencer.”

Shannon nods, motioning for you to keep going slowly, “Well, lately, he and I have become aware of some feelings for each other, and I–” You can feel your legs trembling, “He just doesn’t get it. I can’t do that to Alex or you. He just doesn’t understand—”

“Sweetheart, slow down.” She held up a hand, an amused look on her face as you rambled at the speed of light. “Start over.”

You let out a little huff, trying to calm your growing nerves. You roll your shoulders back, gaining some composure, “I have feelings for him, and I thought it was just a passing crush, but now it’s getting so messy. And he told me that he has feelings for me too, but I told him off, and we haven’t talked in four days– which would be fine if we didn’t fight, but we did— and I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“He’s really sweet and great, but I just… I keep thinking about my love for Alex and don’t want to let go of him.” Your voice gets quiet with the admission. “I’m happy loving just him, only him.” Your voice shakes lightly, forcing your gaze down, your eyes filling with tears.

You hated telling her this— hated telling her that your stupid heart found itself attached to someone other than her son. You mentally prepare yourself for something, anything, yet you still cringe when you feel her hand rest on yours.

“He’s dead–”

“I know–”

“No, listen,” Shannon says sternly, watching as you lift your gaze to meet hers. “He’s dead. Every day, I have to remind myself he’s dead. I know you do, too.” She frowns for a second before she gives you a weak smile. “But, you? You’re alive. You’ve experienced a loss no one should have to experience at your age, and yet here you are. Would he be ecstatic over you falling in love with someone else? Not quite, but I know my son. He wouldn’t want you to be alone. Or worse, unhappy.”

You blink away tears, your bottom lip trembling, “I don’t want to forget him,”

“Who said you’re going to?” Shannon jokes lightly, giving your hand a light squeeze. After a moment, she whispers, “Knowing Alex, he probably sent Spencer your way.”

You laugh at the idea, but the sound dissolves into a little sob, “He would.”

Shannon brightens momentarily, “He was always jealous of how good you were at trivia night. Maybe he wanted someone to beat you for once?”

“Spencer can!” You laugh harder than you should, but you can’t help it. You picture Alex’s face, joking about how you have too much useless knowledge in your brain.

As your laughter dies away, a wave of anxiety rolls over you. “I was awful to him last Friday.”

“Then make it up to him,”

After much deliberation, you knew you would, or at least, you would die trying. The next meeting was in two weeks, which seemed too far out. After three texts, two calls, and one voicemail, you decided to go to him.

You had been to Spencer’s apartment once before and were sure it was on this block… maybe. It was early Saturday morning, and you could only hope he would look out his window and see you pacing the sidewalk.

But an hour passed, and the cold wind forced you into a coffee shop down the block. Shivering as you waited for your coffee, you glanced at the unread texts you sent him one last time before stuffing your phone back into your pocket.

Clearly, he didn’t want to see you, much less talk to you. You chewed on your bottom lip, lost in thought until you resolved that seeing him at the next meeting would have to do if he didn’t text you back before then.

And so, two weeks and no texts back later, you sat in your usual foldable seat and waited. But he never showed. Your eyes watched the doors patiently, and you counted every last participant, thinking that the next one had to be Spencer.

But they weren’t. He was nowhere to be found. You had sat on your feelings for him for weeks, sat on with nasty comments and behavior for two weeks, and found yourself still waiting. He didn’t have to attend every meeting, but you felt even more desperate than before. Hating the feeling, you left halfway through.

It wasn’t like you could force him to talk to or forgive you. But it hurt knowing just how much you had hurt him. Were you being selfish for wanting a chance to confess to him again? Was it selfish how you looked for him in every crowd?

The unfortunate reality of your pain was that you were so scared of falling in love again that you pushed love away before it could even touch you. You found yourself driving to Alex’s grave that night. It was out of your way, but you didn’t want to go home just to wait by the phone again.

After parking in a nearby parking lot, you found yourself standing in the middle of a very dark, isolated cemetery. If Spencer were here, he would say how dangerous this was, maybe even throw in a statistic just to solidify his point.

You smile, eyes adjusting in the moonlight as you look down at your dead lover’s grave. You crouch, touching a bouquet of almost-dead flowers at the foot of his grave. “Was I bad at this with you, too?” Your fingers trace the brittle petals of a dying rose.

You can hear the crunching of gravel and slush approaching you, and a part of you freezes. As the sound gets closer, you can hear panting, your head turning cautiously to look for your rapidly approaching company.

When you see the silhouette of a man not too far down the trail, you tense. How stupid were you to be in a secluded area in the middle of the night? You curse under your breath and stay crouched, hoping it’s just a late-night jogger passing through and that he won’t see you if you stay low.

Your eyes stay on the figure, and you mentally go over possible escape plans when you see it— a messenger bag. What kind of serial killer or jogger wears a messenger bag? Your tense shoulders briefly relax for a second at the thought.

Then, a hint of moonlight illuminates your huffing stranger— messy brown hair and a crooked tie. You stand, “Spencer?” You say his name when he approaches you, the moonlight letting you get a glimpse of his soft eyes for a moment. “What are you… How’d you know I’d be here? What are you doing here?”

“You weren’t at the meeting,” He huffs, leaning over to rest his palms on his knees.

“I–” You scoff, slightly amused. “I left early. Did you show up?”

“No,” he admits, his tone becoming sharper as he catches his breath. “No, I–” he hesitates for a moment, “I saw your car on my way home, and I got worried, and I–” He roughly drags a hand through his curls, “You shouldn’t be in isolated places like this late at night.”

Your shocked expression melts, and your lips quirk into a slight smile. Spencer sees this and responds sharply, “I’m being serious!”

You hold up both hands, “I know, I—” You sigh, a slight chuckle following the sound before you say, “I knew you were going to say that. I could hear your voice when I parked across the street.”

“Maybe you should listen to it sometime,”

You nod, and then a moment of cold silence follows. The two of you stare at each other for a long moment before you feel your lips moving against your will, “You never called,”

Spencer can feel his heartbeat quicken, “Wasn’t aware I had to.”

“You didn’t have to. I just would have–” You cut yourself off, nervously licking your lips. “I wanted you to.”

Spencer stays quiet before he replies with a soft “I’m sorry,”

You find your smile returning as you shake your head, “That’s my line,”

He lets a little chuckle at that, ready to tell you it’s okay, when you quickly add, “I’m sorry for how I acted three weeks ago. I shouldn’t have been so cruel or close-minded, and I should have been honest with you about my feelings. I’m sorry I pushed you away. I’m sorry for implying your love for Maeve wasn’t special. Oh, Spencer,” You let out a heartbroken sigh, “I feel terrible. I was such a bad friend, and these past few weeks, all I’ve wanted to do is make it up to you.”

You can feel the tears threatening to fill your vision, your cheeks burning in the cold as you let out a meek, “Tell me there’s something I can do to make it up to you,”

Spencer can see your pleading eyes in the moonlight, and his chest tightens at the sight. Ignoring your calls and texts wasn’t easy, but he was convinced that it was the right thing to do. You weren’t ready to move on, and neither was he— not completely, but he didn’t want to try with anyone else. He only wanted to try with you.

He swallows thickly when he says a sweet “You’ve already done it,” Then you’re beaming at him, and he’s right back where he was three weeks ago. As you dry your misting eyes, he softly confesses, “I watched You’ve Got Mail.” He pauses, smiling lightly when you give him a surprised look through your tears. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you, so I–” He nervously moved his hands as he talked, “I watched any Romcom that I could get my hands on because I—”

You smile as he trails off, his hands twisting together in that nervous way that tells you he’s scared to say the rest of his sentence— he’s too afraid to say he missed you. “Me too,” You confess, “I missed you, too.”

He nods, a grin on his face as he looks at you. He can feel his confession rising in his throat, his lips moving awkwardly as he tries to gain the confidence to confess to you again.

But, before he can say anything, you’re speaking, “I don’t know if you still feel the same as you did three weeks ago, but I–” You swallow hard, clearing your throat softly. Your hands move with you as you speak, the cold making them feel slightly stiff. “For the longest time, I couldn’t imagine myself happy with anyone other than Alex.” You blow out a sigh, glancing back at his tombstone. “I thought one great love was enough— I only deserved one. I was happy with that, and I felt lucky for it.”

You can feel yourself trembling, and you don’t know if it’s the cold or your nerves getting the better of you; nonetheless, you keep going, “But lately, I’ve been thinking— hoping really— that you’re the expectation.” You squeeze your eyes tight at that last bit, trying to calm your breathing as you wait for his response.

“If anyone deserves more than one great love, it’s you.” Spencer’s voice sounds closer, soft.

When you open your eyes, you realize he is closer, inches from you. You gaze up at him, giving him a light smile when he whispers, “We can take it slower,”

“I like slower.”

He laughs and nods, “Me too,” he holds out a cold hand for you to take, “Let me walk you to your car?”

You stare at his palm, watching your cold fingers intertwine with his. The sensation makes the tips of your fingers buzz with anticipation. You feel his hand gives yours a slight squeeze before guiding you to the parking lot across the street.

It’s not the last time you walk side-by-side, holding hands in the middle of the cold East Coast winter, and he’s determined to make sure it’s not your last.

And whenever anyone asks how the two of you met, Spencer lets you tell the story, his hand slipping into yours as you say, “Well, it’s a bit of a long story.”

#fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #dr spencer reid #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds #spencer x you #spencer reid fanfiction #doctor spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid criminal minds #dr reid #spencer reid angst #spencer reid hurt/comfort #...and fall in love whenever you can #it-was-summer

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stargirllanaa · 1 year ago

Text

Pretty when you cry

Warnings: NON-CON SMUT, Dark!Rafe, Toxic relationship, Abusive relationship, domestic violence, drug-use, manipulation, lying

Summary: Heavily Based on ‘Pretty when your cry’ by Lana Del Rey, like really heavily, Your relationship with Rafe Cameron is falling apart before you’re eyes.

A/n: First smut 🫣 anyway, request are open so hit my inbox with your darkest ideas! I would definitely recommend listen to Pretty when you cry by Lana Del Rey while reading!! Enjoy <3

Wc: 2k

18+ ONLY MINOR DNI!!

Your friend group had planned a fun night all together; you were all going to stay at the beach till dark and watch the stars. You had been looking forward to it; things had been rocky with Rafe, and you just wanted to get out and enjoy a night with your friends and boyfriend.

As you applied your blush, you were completely lost in thought; images of a few nights ago and your encounter with your boyfriend flashed through your brain.

You tried to focus on your makeup routine, but the bruises that were revealed on your wrist when your sweatshirt sleeve fell were a constant reminder.

“Are you serious, Rafe?” You questioned your boyfriend when you caught him in the bathroom doing a line.

“You said you were done... You said you were quitting.” disappointment filled your voice.

He looked up at you with dilated pupils, trying to wipe away the white powdery residue from under his nose.

“I'm sorry baby… I-” he thought to himself for a minute.

You signed in response.

“I should have known…” you softly said under your breath,

“No… listen…I got into a fight with my dad earlier...This is the last time...” The blonde promised you in a shaky tone.

Your eyes shot to the leftover coke on your bathroom counter; there were about two lines left, you didn't want that shit in your house, and more importantly, you didn't want him doing that shit in your house. So you moved your hand over, ready to wipe it straight onto the floor.

But Rafe saw it coming; he had been analyzing your eyes the whole time. He caught your wrist before it came close to the counter; his grip was tight and rough.

“Come on, baby, don't make this complicated.” your boyfriend threatened as his grip got tighter and tighter.

“Rafe, you're hurting me,” you said as your eyes brimmed with hot tears.

“You’re hurting me, y/n!” he pulled you closer to him; the scent of his cologne was so strong it made you nauseous. “You know I'm going through stuff and… mess up sometimes! And I-”

“You promised me, Rafe!” you cut him off. “You promised you would stop.” tears spilled over, and you smiled, lacking happiness. “But you don't care about that, do you?”

His eyes narrowed at your words, and his grip on your wrist became tighter, causing you to let out a sob.

“You clearly don't give a shit about spending time with me because you're high all the time.” you voiced between sobs. “You don't even give a shit about me…you care about one thing,” you said, voice broken as you used your free hand to point at the two remaining lines on the countertop.

Rafe said nothing, but you could tell you were spot on by how he looked around as his breathing sped up.

He dropped your wrist before leaving the bathroom and the lines he had just fought you over; he made sure to slam the door and stomp down the stairs.

You shivered as you thought about how tight he was holding on to you, but he was high, and people do crazy things under the influence. But the problem was Rafe had been under the influence a lot recently.

And every time he hurt you, it would always go the same way; you guys would argue, usually about his drug problem. He would hurt you, usually to make you shut up. Sometimes were worse than others, but it always ended in you sobbing and him profusely apologizing. He blamed it on the drugs…his dad and you would forgive him. Or he would just leave you there and text you ‘sorry’ later.

You missed the days when the two of you first started dating; everything seemed so simple and sweet… So normal.

You and your boyfriend were going ice skating together; you were excited but nervous. It was your first time, and you didn't want to fall and embarrass yourself.

As you entered the rink, you immediately held onto the railing as you tried to keep your feet in place. They were slipping and sliding everywhere, and the railing was your only hope not to fall and bust your ass.

“Baby,” Rafe said with a slight laugh as he stuck his hand out. “I got you; hold my hand.”

You took his hand, one hand on the railing, one in his. He showed you how to push yourself forward and keep balance, but you were still struggling.

“How do you do that,” you said with a chuckle as if he was a professional ice skater.

“Youre cute,” the blonde said with a smile; the truth was you were the girl he had always dreamed of; you were so naive.

You always hoped he would stop using and times could return to how they were, but part of you knew things would never be how they were; they hadn't been in a long time.

Looking back at the mirror, you realized you had been applying blush to one cheek for about 2 minutes. You needed to finish getting ready. Things would be better tonight, at least you hoped they would be.

When you made it to the beach, Rafe wasn't there yet; that was fine, though he was probably late, traffic or something. You tried your best to focus on your friends, the music, and the alcohol, but as the night went on and the stars came out, Rafe's lack of presence was very noticeable. Your friends and even his friends had asked you where he was, and you just responded with a quiet ‘he’ll be here soon.’ was that true? You didn't know. He wasn't answering texts or calls; you even dm’ed him on Instagram, hoping for a response.

But he didn't show up, he didn't come through… he never did.

And as you looked up at the stars surrounded by friends, all you could think about was when Rafe told you that ‘all the pretty stars had shined for you.’

———-

One of your friends dropped you back home after your night out. Rafe was supposed to take you home with him, but it was apparent why that didn't happen.

As soon as you started taking off your jewelry, your phone started ringing; you looked over at it to see who was calling and quickly picked it up.

“Rafe, are fucking kiddi-” you started.

“Open the door. I'm outside,” he stated before hanging up.

You rolled your eyes at the sound of him ending the call; you were so fucking angry. The two of you were supposed to have fun tonight, not fight. He stood you up. He did this shit all the time, using stupid excuses like, ‘I lost track of time,’ ‘my dad and I got into a fight again,’ and ‘I fell asleep.’ But those excuses could only work so many times.

As you stomped down your stairs to the front door, you took a deep breath; you didn't want things to go left more than they already had, but that didn't stop you from opening the door when your gut told you not to.

Rafe pushed past you, letting himself into your house.

“Baby, I'm sorry I lost track of time.” classic Rafe.

You looked down at your phone, taking in the time, then back at him.

“For 4 hours, Rafe?” You scoffed at his words; how many times would he use that excuse?

“The ‘fight with your dad’ would have worked better this time.” you sarcastically stated as you rolled your eyes.

“Don't be like that.” the blonde spoke as he walked closer to you.

“No, don't tell me how to act! You always do this to me.” your eyes brimmed with tears as you thought about how broken your relationship was.

Rafe brought his hand up to your face, initially causing you to flinch, but he brought it closer to the top of your head and began stroking your hair.

“I'm sorry… stuff's been hard for me with my da-.” he started.

“I can't do this.” you tearfully confessed, trying to pull away from him.

His hand paused in your hair, but he still kept you close.

“What do you mean ‘you can't do this?’” your boyfriend questioned, voice mixed with confusion and anger.

“Rafe, let go of me.” you calmly stated, trying to get away before things got ugly.

The hand stroking your hair was now grabbing a handful of it; he pulled you back slightly, but only enough to make eye contact.

“I need you, y/n,” Rafe said as his eyes narrowed.

“Don't say that-” you stated under your breath, looking down at the floor.

“Don't say I need you?” the blonde asked you as he pulled your hair slightly, forcing you to look back at him.

“You know you're just gonna leave again,” you shouted through tears.

Rafe looked away from you, thinking of what he should do; he needed you; you couldn't leave; you couldn't just decide that you ‘couldn't do this.’. He had to show you how much he needed you.

You gasped as Rafe’s grip on your hair tightened as he started dragging you. The pain coming from your head was so brutal it left you screaming for him to stop. Before you knew it, he pulled you up by your hair and pushed you back onto the couch. You were terrified; when you looked into his eyes, they were darker, just like they were the night he grabbed your wrist, and every time he had ever hurt you before, but you were confused; he usually just slapped and pushed you around. This was a different level; he had never taken it this far.

“Rafe!” was all you screamed out before he cut you off.

“You don't think I need you?” he smirked before pushing your hair back so he could see your whole face. “I need you so bad you don't even understand.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, wondering how hurting you could possibly show that he needed you, but when you saw him start to undo his pants, everything became a lot clearer.

“Rafe..” you trailed off, hoping he wasn't about to do what you thought he was.

“Shhh baby... You’re okay.” the blonde says as he reaches under your skirt.

“No, I can't do this,” you said as you tried to sit up, but your boyfriend immediately pushed you back down.

“I told you to shut the fuck up.” He hissed, clearly annoyed by your words; he had already made up his mind; there was no going back now.

And when you felt him inside of you, you couldn't stop the sobs that escaped from the back of your throat, and when you glanced back at him to see him staring directly into your eyes while taking advantage of you, it made your stomach turn.

“Fuck” Rafe said with a moan, “you're so pretty when you cry.”

#dark!rafe cameron #dark!rafe x reader #dark!rafe cameron x reader #dark rafe cameron #dark rafe x reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x reader #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron #rafe x reader #rafe imagine #rafe smut #rafe fanfiction #rafe obx #obx fanfiction #obx imagine #rafe cameron imagine #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks

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remiratboi · 2 months ago

Text

Lost Souls Campground - Ollidar

Masterlist

Yandere!MHalfOrcXFatAFAB!G/NReader ~ 11K Words

You met when you were children, and he never spoke. You were childhood best friends. Now, a decade after you last saw him, you've returned to the very campground you grew up seeing him at. You never imagined you'd find him there again.

CW: Monster fucking, noncon/dubcon, stalking, yandere, obsessive relationship, unhealthy relationship, body image issues, bondage, gaslighting, manipulation. Let me know if I missed something.

I re-edited it and changed a few things, and posted it all as one!

Every year, your family would vacation in the Moonlight Realm. The pocket universe that had been discovered around 100 years ago. ‘Moonlight Realm’ it was affectionately called because of the creatures who dwelled there. Monsters.

As well as monsters of all kinds, the Moonlight Realm boasted of beautiful scenery, cheap rates, and what humans originally deemed “exotic cultures”.

But the humans and the monsters had settled into a comfortable coexistence, and monsters were far from rare any longer. You grew up with creatures all around you. It was common and equal. The human race had come a long way.

The little cabin you always rented for the whole summer was small and cramped. You, 3 siblings, your parents, and an elderly dog made the 2 bedroom unit feel like a shoebox. From a very young age, you had learned all the best hiding spots and getaways in the park. When you were around 10 years old, you found that apparently someone else had found them too.

A young half orc named Ollidar, or Ollie.

You didn’t speak the same language, and the first time you met, it had been awkward and confusing. You had tried to tell him he was welcome, and that there was enough room for the both of you. He seemed to understand, as he ended up sitting across from you in the small natural clearing that sat just inside the forest.

You probed him with questions, you tried acting things out, you tried writing them down with a stick in the dirt. He didn’t respond. Sometimes it looked like he understood something but he never gave any reply. Just sat there, watching you. Sometimes he’d smile shyly.

The first summer it had been a lot to get used to. He started meeting you every day in the same spot. Sometimes he’d read, or listen to music on his AirPods, but mostly he watched you.

You wasted a few days trying to get him to respond, but since he never did, it slowly switched to you just talking to him. You told him… everything. You had to fill the silence. It would be too awkward if not.

You told him about your friends back home, your cat who you missed terribly and hoped was liking the pet sitter. About your favourite movies, books, foods. You told him about your fears, you weren’t sure why. You told him embarrassing stories. Sometimes you even worried he would think you were lame or weird and leave, but he never did. He just listened.

The summer came to an end and you did your best to tell him goodbye. That you hoped to see him again.

And you would. Every year. Every summer you spent two glorious months glued to each other’s sides. Your families became close through you. He had a sister and two moms. Your parents got along, and all of your siblings as well.

No one understood why he never spoke. It wasn’t a language barrier anymore. After 7 summers together both families knew more than enough about the other’s language. Enough to communicate with little confusion. He seemed to understand everything. If you asked him to pass you something, he would. If you gave him something he didn’t want, he’d shake his head. But he never spoke.

You stopped going on family vacations when you turned 18. You had moved out, so had most of your siblings. Your parents decided it was time for your own family vacations.

The first summer that you weren’t going, hit you harder than you’d ever imagined. Your chest hurt.

The next year was better.

And the next.

Soon you were 28 and that little half orc was just a fond, albeit, bittersweet memory.

Until your parents decide to do a sort of reunion trip this year. All of your siblings, and their families, plus you and your parents, would be taking a summer vacation to Lost Souls Campground in the Moonlight Realm this year.

It had barely changed. Some machines had been upgraded, the cabins had clearly been renovated to function with modernity, but other wise it was beautiful, serene, and just like you remembered it.

“It’s you.” A strong deep voice full of awe whispered from behind you. You turned around and was met with a face indeed in awe. It took a moment but you realized this was the first time you’d ever heard his voice.

“Oh wow!” You exclaimed. Genuine joy spreading across your face. “You’re here?!” You cried and raced up to him. He didn’t even flinch as you threw yourself at him. His arms opened and he gathered you in a powerful embrace. There was a hint of desperation in the way he clung to your soft body.

You felt a pang of anxiety that had been previously overtaken by the shock of seeing him. You were not thin anymore. And while you loved your body, and felt sexy in it, not everyone else was as comfortable with fat bodies as you were. What if he didn’t want you like this?

Want me like this? What am I thinking?!

You tried to pull yourself away from the hug, but he held tight.

“It’s you…” he muttered into your hair. He was warm, and huge. The orc part of his genes must have been strong. He dwarfed you. It took a lot for someone to make you feel small. Some part of your brain short circuited when you finally registered he had been lifting you. You panicked slightly then, worried about being too heavy and pushed yourself from his chest. He reluctantly lowered you down.

You were blushing from feet to head as you smoothed out your clothes. “Sorry, I… I was just surprised to see you.” You stuttered out. You looked up at his face. He was beautiful. You could see hints of the boy you knew, but he had grown, developed thick muscles, his face thinned out and lengthened.

“You came back.” He replied. His gaze was hyper focused on you. It seemed nothing else registered to him any longer. You squirmed a bit under such overwhelming attention.

“Yeah, we stopped back then, when all of us had moved out. But we are doing a sort of reunion trip this summer!” You explained excitedly. You felt giddy. You didn’t even really understand why. You felt excitement at seeing him.

“Does your family still come here every year?” You asked and leaned around him to see if any of them were standing near by.

“No, just me.” He answered. For the first time since seeing you, his gaze dropped. His cheeks darkened.

“You must really love this ratty old place, huh?” You joked and nudged his arm with your elbow.

“I guess.” He replied, still avoiding eye contact. “So how long are you here for?” He asked.

“The whole summer!” You exclaimed, throwing your arms out wide as if that would show the physical manifestation of time. “I had about a decade of vacations days saved up, so I decided to take the whole summer. Everyone else is just here for a couple weeks.”

He nodded and glanced back up into your eyes. “So just you and your partner are here for the summer? Or do you have kids now?” He asked and dropped his gaze again.

You chuckled. Kind of a transparent attempt my guy. “No, no partner. No kids. Never found anyone willing to put up with me long enough.” You joked self deprecatingly. “You of all people know how much I can talk.” You grimaced at yourself.

“That was my favourite thing about you.” He replied quietly. He seemed nervous. You blushed again. “The way you spoke was mesmerizing.” He continued before, it seemed, he could stop himself.

A manic sounding giggle escaped your lips. “Wow, marry me?” You joked. It was his turn to laugh like a crazy person.

“So, uh,” you continued “how long are you here for?”

“Whole summer.” He answered and smiled up at you. “How solo were you hoping to spend your time?” He ran his hand down the back of his neck and rested it on his shoulder.

You laughed and placed your hand on his arm.

The first few days with Ollie were a little awkward. Not in an uncomfortable way, but in that you didn’t know eachother anymore. It had been a decade since you had spent time together, and while he talked a little more than he used to, it was still few and far in between.

You couldn’t tell if he found it awkward though. He never mentioned it. He just followed you around. He seemed content to just exist nearby you.

The first two weeks breezed by in a flurry of family, kids, games, and way too much food. At the end of it, you waved them goodbye and excitedly hurried back to the little cabin. This would be the first time you’d had it all to yourself.

You pulled the door shut behind you and basked in the quiet for a moment. You could always hear other campers outside. Kids shrieking, vehicles moving, multiple different music sources all floating on top of eachother. And inside was a sort of haven from it all.

You made your way to the kitchen to grab a drink when you found a plate full of cookies, uncovered and still warm on the counter. You were surprised, you hadn’t noticed anyone baking before they’d left? Weird.

You inspected a cookie. Sniffed it, licked it. You didn’t immediately explode, so you shrugged your shoulders to yourself and took a bite. It was a very good cookie. You grabbed a couple more and threw them in a baggie. You gathered some other things, and changed into your bathing suit.

The beach was a short 5 or so minute walk from your cabin, and you munched away at your cookie the whole way. It was a bit overcast, so the beach wasn’t as crowded as it usually was.

You claimed a spot near another family, so that you felt comfortable leaving your stuff alone if you swam, and laid your towel out. You pulled your slinky bathing suit cover over your head and dropped it next to your things.

It was still a bit early in the day to go into the water so you opted for sunbathing with the hopes you’d get all warm and toasty then cool off in the water. Soon you were face down on a towel, your head on your arms, dozing away. You were interrupted by a prolonged blocking of sun rays.

You craned your head up and struggled to make out who it was looming over you with the suns rays blinding you from behind them. You glanced down at their feet next to you and recognized pale green skin.

“You liked the cookies?” Ollies deep voice asked. You were about to say yes, when you processed the implications of him being the one to hand deliver, into your kitchen, without asking, the surprise treat you’d found. You sat up and tugged his hand so he wasn’t standing in front of the sun anymore and you could actually see him.

“Uh, yeah they were good. But, that means you were in my cabin?” You asked incredulously.

“Oh, sorry, was that inappropriate?” He asked, genuine concern seeming to lace his tone. “Sorry, I sometimes…” he trailed off. He looked anxious again. You chose to let him work through what he wanted to say. Words were hard for him, and you wanted him to feel safe sharing them with you. Even if right now you were kind of peeved with him. “Sometimes I don’t understand what’s.. ok, or whatever.” He finished.

“Well, I appreciate your apology. No, going into someone else’s space without their consent, isn’t ok.” You softened. He wasn’t trying to cross a boundary. And he had apologized immediately. “How did you get in anyway?” You queried, already moving on from the emotions.

“I, uh, it was unlocked.” He stuttered out. Your eyebrows knit together. You could have sworn it was locked. But you shrugged past the confusion quickly. How else would he have gotten in?

“Weird. Well, anyway, I do like the cookies, they are delicious and very sweet of you.” You placed your hand on his lower calf where you could reach in a comforting way. “Just next time please knock.” You winked and giggled.

He nodded emphatically.

You and Ollie spent the day at the beach. You realized later that you never actually asked him to join you, but you weren’t displeased that he did. Even after only two weeks, you were pretty used to having him around you again. It was just like when you were kids.

Well, almost. You couldn’t help but notice some of his gazing wasn’t quite as… wholesome as it had been when you were kids. But it didn’t bother you. He wasn’t lewd about it at all, and if you were being honest with yourself, you kind of enjoyed it. Also, you had to admit, you had done some gazing yourself.

He was huge. He was muscled. He was gorgeous, and didn’t seem to be aware of it. He was exquisitely shy around everyone but you. And on top of all that, he seemed to notice only you.

You had watched countless others throw themselves at him, just to be rejected one way or another. More often than not, it seemed he just genuinely didn’t realize he was being hit on. Sometimes he’d be forced into straight up turning someone down, but mostly he’d just give them a puzzled look, and walk away.

Today was no different. You were reaching for the sunscreen when a volleyball sprayed sand all over you. You yelped and sand filled your mouth. A very pretty woman jogged over.

“O-M-G! I am so sorry about that!” She said in one of the fakest voices you’d ever heard. She said it to Ollie, not you, even though he hadn’t been hit with the spray at all. Normally you would have said something sassy, but you were too busy spitting sand from your mouth.

Ollie didn’t respond to her, but he leaned over to grab the volleyball from where it had landed between you.

“I’m Selina!” She said, all bubbly. “I’ve seen you around, you should play with us some time!”

Ollie looked up at her, volleyball still in his hands. He glanced at you. He turned back to her and thrust the ball towards her. He held it tightly in one single hand. You couldn’t help but notice how large his hand was.

“You should be more careful.” He replied, emotionless.

She took the ball and giggled anxiously. “Oh, yeah of course, we totally will.” She smiled awkwardly at you. “So, do you want to come play now?” She shot her shot.

“No.” Ollie replied.

“Aw, come on. We don’t bite.” She joked and wiggled her finger at him.

Ollie glared at her now. His face no longer impassive but furious. It surprised you. He didn’t normally express much emotion visibly.

“First you spray sand all over my partner,” he started.

Partner?!

“Then you apologize to me, not even the one you sprayed.” He continued, his tone developing an edge. The girl raised the hand not holding the ball in front of her and took a hesitant step back.

“THEN you hit on me in front of them, and don’t take no for an answer?” He shook his head at her, his soft black curls bouncing with the movement. “I am so, painfully, not interested.” He finished.

The woman blushed deeper red at each of his words, before spinning on her heel and practically running away.

“That was kind of rude.” You said quietly. You could feel his annoyance rolling off of him.

“Did I say anything untrue?” He asked you. His words were demanding, but his tone was soft. He was always soft with you. He glared in the direction she had ran.

“Well, not really.” You answered speculatively. “Mostly. Partner?” You asked and turned to look at him.

“Ah, yeah, sorry. I guess that wasn’t true.” He replied. He glanced up at you from the side, but didn’t turn to face you.

“Why did you say it then?” Your voice sounded small, but you felt bold for vocalizing the question pounding in your head.

He turned to look at you for a moment. A fire blazed in his eyes. He didn’t say anything for a long time. He just stared into your eyes. You found you couldn’t look away.

Finally, “Sorry, I guess I wanted more reason to defend you. I felt… more angry than made sense.” He turned to look back down in front of him. You mulled his words for a moment. That made sense. What you still wondered about was the feelings that made him ‘more angry than made sense’.

You reached out and lay a hand on his shoulder. He tensed for a moment, but then quickly relaxed into your touch. “Thank you for defending me.” You said quietly. A smile played at his lips. He glanced back at you for just a second.

“Oh, also I think that was the most words I’ve ever heard you say all in a row about the same topic.” You teased him.

Your hand still lay on his shoulder. A part of you recognized the moment was over, and it made sense to remove your hand. But you didn’t. His skin was warm and you could feel his muscles tense and move with him.

You were surprised by a sudden, intense desire to touch him everywhere.

“I like your bathing suit by the way.” He mumbled. You almost didn’t catch it. Your cheeks burned and you stared at him for a second too long.

You snapped out of it and finally pulled your hand from his shoulder. You found yourself fidgeting with the ties that hung down the side of your string bikini. To be honest, you hadn’t expected to see him here, and this suit was one you normally reserved solely for private sun bathing as it was pretty skimpy. You were suddenly very aware of the soft rolls on your sides. The way your thighs pressed together.

“Oh, really?” Your laugh had a slight edge. “My mom told me it’s not… flattering on my body.” You didn’t know why you told him that. It was embarrassing. Not only had your mother insulted you, but she’d body shamed you. And now you were telling the absolute hunk of a man sitting next to you looking like an Adonis? “But I like it, still.” You finished lamely.

You looked up then to see Ollie staring at you. The fire in his eyes had returned. The same fire he’d had when you asked him why he’d called you his partner. “It’s very flattering. Your mother is a lovely woman, but clearly blind.” He spoke with an almost comedic level of seriousness. You fought the instinct to brush off the compliment. You didn’t want to. You wanted to believe him.

You tucked your hair behind your ear and smiled to yourself. “Thank you.” Your voice was soft.

After that day on the beach, Ollie became significantly more protective of you. More possessive. He was always around you. He brought you coffee and breakfast, he fixed little things around the cabin for you, he planned activities for you both to do.

You wouldn’t have thought him a hardcore hobby guy, but he took you rock climbing, and snorkelling. He took you to a local pottery studio, he brought you to the library in town. He always had you doing something.

It was starting to drive you crazy.

You had wanted to relax?! Not that you didn’t enjoy the activities, and his company, but it never stopped. You were on vacation. You had planned to lie on the beach for two months straight, eating, drinking, and probably smoking a lot of weed. Now here you were, sober, and painting in the woods.

You felt guilty. This was a beautiful activity, and you were genuinely enjoying it. But it just hadn’t been what you planned for. You would have loved a few things here and there, but not every day, all day long.

You decided to tell him that evening. The painting class ended, and you were actually pretty pleased with your work. It was a life painting of the little waterfall and pond the class had been set up next to. You weren’t anything special, but you were proud of it nonetheless.

Ollie jumped into his old, open jeep and carefully placed both of your paintings behind his seat. He leaned across the bench seat to offer you his hand. He pulled you up onto the bench like you weighed nothing. It’s something he must have done 100 times by now, but every single time, you blushed like a fool. Your core heated at the casual way he handled you.

“You’re not heavy, you know.” Ollie broke the silence as you headed back to the camp.

“… what?” You asked, confused.

“You always look so worried after I help you into the car.” He glanced at you then back to the road. “You’re not heavy.” He stated matter of factly

You blushed again. He had no idea.

“Oh, yeah, I guess I’m worried about that.” You lied lamely. You’d always been bad at lying. You chewed on your lip.

His brows furrowed slightly. “Ok, so if that’s not it,” His voice was smooth and deep. He didn’t speak much. Even now. He mostly used basic gestures to communicate. But sometimes, when you were alone, he’d talk. You loved it. More than you probably should have. A warmth spread from the centre of you and radiated out. “what is it then?” He continued, pulling you out of your own thoughts.

“Uh, what is what then?” You replied, hoping he’d drop it if you pretended not to understand.

“Why do you blush so hard every time you get in my vehicle?” He asked. There was no getting around that one.

You sighed to yourself. Do you tell him? What the hell, you thought to yourself. What does it matter if he thinks you’re a horny slut? He’s just some guy you’re going to see for another month and a half, then never again. Who cares… right?

“I… gods this is embarrassing,” you started. You saw his one eyebrow raise. “It’s… ok… it’s hot as fuck, ok?” You forced out. You could feel how warm your cheeks were. This was worse than you thought it would be. You cared more than you liked.

“… what’s hot?” He asked slowly. You died a little. Of COURSE he was going to make you spell it out.

“Omg Ollie, I just… I’m not… small alright? So having a very attractive man casually lift me like it’s nothing?” You stared out the open window, unable or unwilling to look at him. “That’s really hot.”

He nodded slowly beside you. You could see in your peripheral that his cheeks had also darkened.

“Is it hot because any man is lifting you, or because I’m lifting you?” He finally asked.

Jesus Christ

“You know,” you started, your voice an octave too high. “I REALLY haven’t given it much thought.”

It was silent in the car for a long time.

Finally you couldn’t take it anymore. “So…”

He didn’t look at you. His knuckles were white on the wheel.

“So what are we doing tonight?” You asked.

“Nothing.” He replied, too quickly. Your heart fell. Here it was. Just like always.

You were quiet the rest of the drive. He dropped you off at your cabin. Normally he’d jump out and open your door for you. Not tonight. Had you really read him that wrong?

You shut the door behind you and turned around to speak. Before you could, he shifted the gear and drove slowly away.

You spent the evening alternating between disappointed, embarrassed and annoyed. It surprised you how hard it was to keep your mind off of it. Normally rejection rolled off of you. You were pretty used to it, unfortunately. Dating while fat was… something else.

But this was different somehow. You cared this time. It hit you like a truck when you realized it. For the first time, in a very long time, you cared.

You hated it. You hated giving someone that power. Being vulnerable wasn’t something you did well.

You had spent your entire life being “too much”. You were too big, both in personality and body. You were too loud, you had too many emotions, and thoughts. You talked too much. And people were not scared to tell you. You couldn’t even count the times and ways people had defined you as “too much”. The blatant words, the subtle actions, the micro aggressions. That was your life.

But not him. He had told you his favourite thing about you was how much you talked. Which, honestly, felt fake, but it was hard not to believe his genuine eyes. He had done so many things to make you think he…

You instinctively shut down that train of thought. You shouldn’t get your hopes up. He’s made it clear you read things wrong.

The next day came slowly. It was raining. You rolled over in bed, not eager to start the day. You debated going back to sleep, when you heard dishes clinking.

You shot up, fear ripping through your chest. Had you imagined that? No. You heard it again.

A chill settled in your bones as you carefully, silently, crawled out of bed. You wore a skimpy tank top that barely covered you. It was low cut, you never wore a binder/bra, you didn’t need to, you had been blessed with only tiny handfuls for tits, and it rested under your waist showing your lower stomach. The booty shorts you wore didn’t make things any better. They were practically underwear. You debated trying to throw more clothes on, but knew the closet doors creaked.

The little cabin was small, but the bedrooms were on one side, and the kitchen on the complete opposite. You made your way towards it, picking up a badminton racket on the way. It had been discarded in the hallway after another one of your activities with Ollie.

You raised the racket above your shoulder and took a deep breath to steel yourself. This was it. You slowly stepped around the corner. Your mind filled with murderers and villains.

The tall, pale green half orc that was bent over the stove with his back to you was not what you were expecting. You practically sobbed with relief.

“Ollie?!” You demanded, your voice cracking and sounding a lot more desperate than you’d like. He turned slightly, but didn’t look away from whatever he was doing.

“Good morning!” He said cheerily. “Sorry if I woke you. I just wanted to make you breakfast to make up for yesterday.” He continued. You noticed now milk and eggs on the counter. The smell of food wafted towards you.

You didn’t say anything. Your brain was struggling to compute. You had like 7 questions. How had he got in? Why did he do this? Why did he think it was ok? But most importantly, what does he mean ‘make up for yesterday’?!

Just as you realized you’d been standing there, slackjawed, not answering, for far too long, he turned. As soon as he saw you, he froze. His cheeks went dark green and the flipper he was holding clattered to the ground. You were confused for about .02 whole seconds before you remembered you were almost naked.

“Uh, I’ll be right back.” You blurted out and raced back to your room. You threw the door shut and leaned against it. What the hell was he doing here? In your cabin! While you were asleep!

Your mind raced as you threw a loose tee over the tank, and a pair of thin sweats on. You made your way back to the kitchen.

“Ollie, I think we need to talk about boundaries-” you started. You stopped when you noticed the front door was open. You looked from the door to the kitchen. He was gone. A thin plume of smoke started on the stove. Something was burning.

A quick toss of the pan into the sink dealt with that. You turned off the burner and leaned on the counter in bafflement.

No, fuck that! He doesn’t get to just run away from this!

You ran after him.

You stormed down the little path, through the camp, and straight to Ollies cabin. You always thought his cabin looked less like a vacation home, and more like a regular home.

Three raps rung out as you knocked on the front door.

No answer.

You were like 90% sure he had gone home.

“Ollie, I know you’re in there. We need to talk.” You called. It was silent for a long moment. You almost began second guessing yourself.

“I… I can’t.” Came softly from inside.

Can’t?! CAN’T?!

“Like HELL you can’t!” You shouted through the door. You cringed slightly when you ended up being louder than you’d meant. A couple walking by stared at you. You raised your hand and smiled unconvincingly.

“Ollie,” you continued, a bit quieter. “You just broke into my cabin while I was sleeping. We are talking about this, right now.” You gritted your teeth. “Open. The. Door.” You left no room for discussion.

A long moment passed with no reply. You fidgeted. Just when you had started to consider squeezing your ass through a window, his voice came through the door.

“It’s open.” He answered.

Oh.

You turned the handle and pushed the door open. He sat, in the afternoon light filtering through the window, on his couch, head hung so you couldn’t see his face, with a large pillow gripped in front of him.

He looked sad. You hadn’t expected sad. You don’t know what you’d expected, but not sad. You steeled your resolve.

“Ok, this has gone too far.” You started. “You’re a great guy, but you don’t seem to understand boundaries, so I’m going to lay them out, clear as day, and if you cross them again, that’s going to be it, Ollie.” You finished and crossed your arms. He looked up through his curls. He looked like he was in agony. You instinctively took a step back, surprised by his intense reaction.

You shook your head, trying not to let those puppy dog eyes break you down. “How do you keep getting into my cabin?” You demanded. “And don’t give me some shit about it being unlocked. I know it was locked last night.”

He looked up, further. His eyes scanned your face. He seemed to be debating if he wanted to answer. You waited.

Finally “I… have a key.” He said, guilt lacing his words.

“A KEY?!” You practically shouted. “Where the hell did you get a key?!”

He groaned and leaned back on the couch. He ran his hand across his face. “I own it.”

Your mouth dropped open. “What does that mean?” You said slowly, dangerously.

“I, I bought the campground a few years ago.”

“You own the ENTIRE campground?!” You demanded. Your voice had started to enter dog whistle pitches.

He leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. He buried his face in his hands. The large pillow was squished and stuck out at weird angles.

“You never came back.” He said quietly. The dam broke. “One day, you just never came back. 4 years went by and I did everything I could to find you. No one had information, no one knew how to contact you or your family. I kept coming back every year, desperate to see you again, to hear you again. But you were never here.”

He glanced up at you. You felt numb. His eyes were filled with sorrow.

“4 years after you last came they were going to shut it down. It hadn’t been doing as great and the owners were old. They told us it would be the last year. I had some money from my grandparents inheritance, and…” he shook his head at himself.

“I couldn’t let the only connection I had to you disappear. Even if you never came back, all those places we had spent time in, the feelings I had for you, here I got to live in them. I felt you everywhere. Every little memory.”

His cheeks were a deep dark green, but he seemed unable to stop the flow of words from his mouth for the first time in your entire lives.

“I made a lot of changes, put a ton of work in, and the campground is doing great now. This is my life here. I don’t run the day to day anymore, but I live here, I maintain it.”

He looked back down at the ground. “And you finally came back.”

You stood there, stunned. Long moments of uneasy silence passed between you.

“Ollie this…” you didn’t even know what to say. Panic started to rise in your throat. “This is too mu-” you heard yourself start to say it. The words you’d heard your entire life. Too much.

“I need to go.” You blurted out and turned to leave. A noise came from behind you.

Ollie grabbed your shoulder and turned you around to face him. He pushed you against the door, your back to it. He held you there with his hands against the door next to your head. His huge arms framed your face and he bent down to look at you. His face was so close.

“Please, don’t go, just listen, I-” he stuttered. Desperation filled his eyes. Frustration filled yours.

“No!” You shouted. “You don’t get to stop me. You don’t get anything!” You poked his chest, jabbing your finger accusingly. “You don’t get to reject me then tell me you’re obsessed with me!” You spat, the words cruel. You didn’t care. Your nerves were frayed. You didn’t know how to handle yourself after his confession. His obsession.

Confusion pulled his eyebrows together. “Reject you…?” He asked. You blushed. You hadn’t meant to bring that up. But apparently even now, your stupid little monkey brain could only think about that.

“Yesterday.” He still didn’t understand. “And today.” He grimaced but still seemed not to understand. You rolled your eyes and ran your hand through your hair. “You’re so dense sometimes.” You muttered.

“Yesterday, I told you… that I thought you were hot, and how turned on I was, ok? And then you just ran away.” You couldn’t look up at him not with his face so close. Not with his eyes boring into yours. Not with his lips just inches away. “And then today, you see me in skimpy clothes and run away again.” You couldn’t believe you were about to say it. “Like, I get if I’m not your type, but… I guess I just thought you felt differently ok?” You looked up into his eyes for one second before looking back down. The desperation hadn’t gone away, but it looked hungrier than before.

“This doesn’t even matter, I shouldn’t be talking about this right now.” You placed a hand on his chest and pushed softly. He didn’t move. “I need to process what you just told me, and I’m not thinking right.”

“I didn’t run away because I wasn’t into you.” He said. His voice was surprisingly hoarse. Gravel had filled his throat. You looked up in surprise. His cheeks had a new kind of heat to them. Hunger filled his eyes. But there was also fear. You could see how unsure he was.

“I ran away, both times, because I was about one second away from throwing you to the ground and fucking you.” Your breath caught. Your eyebrows pulled together slightly. You shouldn’t be so happy to hear that, you thought. He’s crazy. He’s obsessed with you. Like actually.

But he’d never hurt you.

A small voice in the back of your mind said.

“I love you.” He held your eyes. His gaze softened slightly. The hunger didn’t go though. Neither did the fear. “I always have. I could listen to you talk for the rest of my life. You’re funny, witty, gorgeous, and a bit of a dumbass.” He smirked. “I would do anything for you.” You believed him. “Just give me a chance to show you.”

He moved one hand from beside your head to rest it on your waist. He pulled himself into you. His hard chest pressed against yours, the solid door against your back. You couldn’t breathe.

You felt hot. You felt like you were standing on a knife’s blade. Fall into him, into this crazy, terrifying fantasy, or fall back into reality. What if you could make fantasy a reality? Did you even want that? Some rational part of you screamed. He had been in your home while you slept. He bought an entire huge business because he might get to see you again. He was obsessed with you. He was dangerous. How many times had he let himself in while you slept? What could he have done?

You felt yourself shaking your head before you’d decided to. You pushed your hand on his chest again. “Ollie, I need some space. I need to think.” You said.

“Please,” he begged. “Please just let me show you how well I can take care of you. I can give you everything you’ve ever wanted.” Some part of you wanted that to be true. Wanted him to be true. But could you handle the obsession? What if it went deeper, darker.

You shook your head again and he let out an exasperated groan. “You’re not giving me a chance.” He complained. And edge of mania had started to show in his voice and expressions. “I need to show you. If you just let me show you, then it will all be ok.” He spoke fast and low. You felt his fingers playing with the hem of your shirt, then the hem of the tank top underneath.

“Ollie-” you warned.

“No, no, just, you don’t understand.” He cut you off. He leaned down and kissed your neck. You froze. “I’ve been waiting years for you. You think now that I’ve finally got you back, I’m going to let you go?” Darkness seeped at the edges of your vision as fear took hold. “That moment a month ago changed my life, and I’ve spent every second since learning about you.”

His hand on your waist tucked under your tank, and he placed it against your ribs. His hand was huge. Almost comically so. And it rested just inches from your chest. No fabric separating you any longer. All he had to do was move up.

His other hand came down to hold the back of your neck. He pressed you even harder against the door. His breath was ragged as he kissed up and down your neck and shoulder in between words.

“I know what you like. I know how you like it. I’ve watched you.” A sob wracked through your chest at that. The first time you’d reacted outwardly since he started kissing you.

“You’re so lonely. I’ve heard you cry in your bed at night. I’ve heard you beg to be loved. That’s what I want to do, baby.” He pulled back and looked deep into your eyes. “Let me love you.”

“Let me love you.” Ollies plea rang through your head. He was so close. Too close.

“Let me make you feel good, love.” He said. He pushed his knee between your legs, parting them. You gasped and wiggled but he held you firm between his hand on your waist and his arm bracing the door by your head.

You didn’t know what to do. You could scream. Somehow that felt like the wrong thing to do. You knew you weren’t thinking straight. You could feel your cunt throb against his leg.

“I want to show you how well I know you.” He nuzzled into your neck, nipping at your soft flesh. You couldn’t help the half sob, half moan that ripped from your chest. “I want to show you how well I can take care of you.” He pleaded with you. He raised his knee and ground into your clit through your clothes. You moaned and tried pushing him away. He didn’t budge.

“Please, Ollie, don’t-” you tried to beg him to let you go. Just as you started talking he reached up under your shirts and rolled his thumb over your nipple. You choked on your words.

“I’ve wanted to touch you for so long.” He whispered into your neck. “But I thought you’d never look at me that way. Until yesterday.” He squeezed the nipple he was rolling. Your back arched instinctively and you pushed yourself into his body. He groaned.

“Everything about you is so expressive.” He practically growled. The words flowed like they’d never been stopped up before. “I used to imagine you were singing. The melody of your voice. I would play beautiful instruments in my mind worthy of keeping up with you.”

He ran his lips up your neck to your jawline. You felt him tremble slightly. He didn’t kiss you there. He just lingered. “I wished a thousand times I could talk to you. That I could open my mouth and words even half as clever as yours could fall out.”

He pulled back and looked you in the eyes. You were still pressed against him, your pussy was resting, and throbbing on his leg. His thumb rolled your nipple slowly while he spoke.

“But you didn’t force me to talk. You were ok to let me be silent. I never got to thank you for that.” You saw a pain flash through his eyes. He didn’t break eye contact and you found yourself unable to. You were surprised when your own heart throbbed at his pain. “You were… are the only person in my entire life to accept me as I am, no expectations.”

He kissed you. It was soft, warm, but just like everything else, desperate. You didn’t move for a moment. You didn’t know what to do. He kissed you harder, and you felt his anxiety rise. The panic that you weren’t going to kiss him back. You felt how badly he wanted you to kiss him back.

And then you realized, you wanted to. You wanted to kiss him. Not like this, but you did. Some where along the lines, you’d developed feelings for this huge, stupid hot, and completely crazy man. You knew it was dangerous. The fear chilled you. But the desire warmed you right back up.

Suddenly you were kissing him back. Your hands were in his hair, on his neck, his shoulders. He leaned in even further, crushing you against his chest. His other hand came down to your neck and gripped you tightly. The hand on your chest explored further, touching all of you. Just as quickly as it started, it became overwhelming.

“Ollie, stop, not like this.” You said in between kisses. You tried pushing him back again. He growled again, but this time it was frustrated, feral.

“Stop pushing me away.” His words were heavy with warning. “You want this, me. I know you do. Just let me show you how good i can be. How i can make you feel.” He spun you around faster than you could react. He pressed you against the door, his hard cock pressing into your lower back. He twisted one of your arms behind your back and held you there. “I don’t want to hurt you, but you wont give me a chance.” His other hand snaked back under your shirt and pinched your nippled, hard. You gasped. “I know you’ll love it, eventually.”

Tears started to spill from your eyes silently. You didn’t fight back. You knew there was no point. He was so much bigger and stronger than you. It was more than just that though. For some reason you couldn’t bring yourself to. If he was telling the truth, he knew exactly what kind of things you liked. You knew how wet your pussy was already. Being taken against your will was probably your number one fantasy.

BUT IT IS JUST A FANTASY

You shouted inside your mind. You should be screaming. Fighting, kicking, anything! And yet, as he picked you up and threw you over his shoulder, all you could do was think about how hot that was. He threw you around like you weighed nothing. And he wanted you, so badly. You had never been desired like this before. Not to these extremes.

He threw you down on his huge, orc sized bed. It was reinforced with a thick wood frame. You instinctively curled into the fetal position. The tears hadn’t stopped, even if you didn’t really feel that sad. You were in a strange state of disconnection. On one hand you logically understood how wrong this all was. How dangerous this was. What he was about to do to you. But emotionally, you couldn’t care less. You were dripping wet, and the way he felt about you gave you butterflies. The way he talked about you and his feelings for you, made you feel valuable. It wasn’t something you had experienced much in your life. What he had said about you being the only one to accept him, rang in your mind. Was he that for you? Could you accept what he was about to do to you because he was the only person you had never been too much for?

You could give him permission, you thought. Then at least it wouldn’t be r*pe. But a part of you knew no matter what happened, it still would be. And another, quieter, more insidious part knew you’d rather it be forced. To finally fulfill that deepest darkest fantasy.

Ollie stood over your curled body on his bed. “You’re so beautiful.” He muttered. He didn’t seem to be speaking to you, but about you. It made you blush regardless. What was wrong with you? He bent down and tried to pry your limbs apart. You held to yourself tightly.

“Don’t make me hurt you. I don’t want to, but you need to listen to me.” The warning had returned to his words. You didn’t relax your position, but when he tried again to move your body, you allowed it this time. “Good pet.” He purred, satisfaction lacing his voice. Your cunt throbbed at his words. He slowly raised you up to a sitting position.

“Take off your shirt, love.” He said softly, but with intent. You found yourself staring into his eyes while you crossed your arms across your chest to reach for the hem on either side. You paused. He nodded once, and you slowly pulled both shirts up and over your head. His breath caught as your chest was revealed. You were surprised to find he hadn’t stoped looking into your eyes, and after the shirt was past your face, your gazes caught again. You blushed and squirmed under his intense eye contact. Instinctively, you lifted your arms to cover your chest. He raised one eyebrow in a disapproving way and you froze. He reached out and gripped both of your forearms.

“If you can’t keep your arms down, I’m going to have to restrain them. This is your only warning.” You lowered them and he smiled. Your heart thudded in your chest, his approval suddenly the most important thing. Where had that shy boy gone? Where did this confident, dominant man taken over? He moved forward, kneeling with one knee in between your legs. He pushed you gently until you were lying on your back on the bed.

Ollie lifted one of your legs, and started tugging at the hem of your sweats. it suddenly became too much again and you bolted back up. Your hands gripped his on the cuff of your pants. “Wait,” you panicked.

Ollie sighed. “I warned you.” You didn’t understand for a moment, until he reached by the beds headboard and pulled an already attached silk tie out. One end was tied to the frame. An alarm went off in your head that you silenced immediately upon realising he’d prepared for some eventuality of tying you up. He quickly grabbed your right hand and started tying it tightly to the headboard. Now the panic really set in. It was too real. You started crying in earnest, blabbering and begging. You weren’t coherent. Even you didn’t know what you were saying.

It was too late.

With one hand tied, he snatched the other and repeated. You pulled and wiggled, but he clearly knew what he was doing. The ties were soft, and not tight enough to hurt, but the knots themselves were solid. He returned to slowly removing your pants.

“Please Ollie, it’s not too late, you can stop still.” You pleaded. You honestly didn’t know if you meant it or not.

“Baby, you know I can’t stop.” He replied in a patronizing voice. “I need you, don’t you understand that?” He pulled the sweatpants fully off, and you were left in only your little shorts that were basically underwear. The cold air answered the reality you had been dreading. You were soaked. Your shorts definitely had a wet spot. And if you somehow hadn’t been sure already, the look of pure, animalistic satisfaction that spread over Ollies face, solidified it.

“I knew you’d like it.” He said smugly. “I told you, i know what you like.” He leaned forward, knee in between your legs again. He brought his face next you yours and whispered in your ear. ‘I know you’re a desperate slut, just begging to be fucked into oblivion.” He placed his huge palm against your clothed cunt. The heat was tangible. “Luckily for you, I’m happy to oblige.” He teased. His voice cavalier and excited. It was like he couldn’t understand how far past ok he had gone. He raised his hand from your cunt and brought it back down in a swift, hard smack. You cried out, not able to stifle yourself. It devolved into a long drawn out moan. “You can’t lie to me, beautiful.”

He turned and kissed you, hard, frantically. His hands roamed over your body. He ground his knee up into your clit again. Your breath hitched as you tried desperately not to moan again. He pulled himself away and looked down at your still clothed pussy. He looked mesmerized.

Ollie slowly hooked his fingers in the waistband and tugged down. You pushed your ass into the bed, trying to keep the shorts from pulling down. He glanced up at you, a look of impatience on his face. “Lift.” He demanded. You relented. The shorts peeled from your skin, highlighting just how wet you were. You squirmed in embarrassment both from the exposure and the fact you were dripping. He folded the shorts and tucked them into his pants pocket. You didn’t miss that he had tossed all of your other clothes.

He leaned forward, hand reaching for you, but you started wiggling violently, trying to close your legs. “Wait, wait, Ollie, no you need-” He stopped and smacked your inner thigh, hard. You cried out, the tears redoubling. You pulled at your restraints and tried to push your legs from their positions on either side of him. He held them down.

“Do you need me to tie your legs up too?” He said condescendingly. You cried, not answering. “Hmm? And maybe a gag too?” He started leaning back, reaching for something behind him.

“No no no no, Ollie, that’s not what i mean, stop, just listen to me a second.” You begged. You sighed with relief when he paused and looked back at you.

“It’s just...” You started, then suddenly felt shy. He waited. “It’s just, you can’t touch me… yet.” He cocked his head, clearly perplexed. You wished you could hide your face. “You can’t.. I can’t…” He held your eyes, not giving you an out. “I can’t be the only one naked.” You spat out finally.

You don’t think you could ever describe the look that crossed his face then. You understood you were basically giving him permission now. And you were no longer fighting it in any way but for show. He had you, and he knew it. Thankfully, he didn’t rub it in your face.

Ollie leaned back up, until he was resting on his own legs, bent and still in between your open thighs. He smirked as he pulled his shirt up and over his head. You’d see him shirtless many times. It was a campground with a beach after all. But this time, with the settings, the circumstances, it was much more intense. The daylight filtered in through a window, and no other lights were on. Thin curtains stopped anyone from seeing inside, but did little for the light. He was muscular and toned, the light rays almost illuminating him. He was beautiful, and not overly ripped, but clearly did a lot of physical work.

The green of his skin was slightly paler than on his arms, but was replaced with a surprising amount of freckles. You hadn’t really noticed them before, but now that he was so close and you were hyper aware of everything, you saw how his skin was covered with tiny, barely visible freckles.

He started undoing the buttons on his pants. His cock was visibly hard through them. Your breath caught. You squirmed at the idea of being utterly taken by him. He hooked his thumbs under the hem of both his pants and boxers. He leaned up as if to pull them down, but stopped and raised and eyebrow.

“What do you want?” He asked, his voice leaving no room for defiance.

“Wh… what?” You asked.

“What do you want?” He asked again, enunciating each word.

“I…” you couldn’t believe he was making you say it. “I want you to take off your clothes.” You said, finally. “Please.”

He sighed hearing that, and continued pulling them down. His hard dick sprang out and it was huge just like everything else about him. You were halfway between excited and terrified. You didn’t think it would fit.

“Don’t worry love” he said, reading your expression. “We will get you nice and ready first.” He leaned over your body, his chest pressing onto yours. His dick rested against your thigh. He leaned in to your ear and whispered “and I’m not going to fuck you until you ask me to.”

He sunk two fingers deep into your cunt with no warning.

You cried out and arched your back. His fingers alone were probably thicker than any cock you’d taken. His eyes were glued on your face.

“I love you so much. I’ve been in love with you my entire life. I tried dating other people, I tried letting them in, but I couldn’t. I always compared them to you.” He spoke softly as he fucked his fingers in and out of your dripping cunt.

“I never felt safe enough to open up, and then there you were. Finally back. At first I was scared you wouldn’t recognize me. But you did. Then I was scared you wouldn’t like me, but you did. It was just like we were kids again. I almost kissed you that day.” You tried focusing on his words while he lazily thrusted into you. He was clearly not trying to make you cum. Just rile you up. You squirmed under his touch and words. It felt strange and alien to have someone want you so much.

“I spent years telling myself if I ever saw you again, I’d talk. I’d tell you everything. About myself, about my feelings. But then I saw you, and I was a kid again. A dumb kid with a crush and no ability to do anything about it.” He kissed your neck and chest while he spoke. You felt worshipped. “It didn’t make it any easier that you’re just ridiculously attractive.” You gripped the ties holding your wrists. The fear was bleeding out of you with every word.

His tone shifted. “I know I fucked up, I know I’m not… not a good person, I’m so sorry.” He sounded genuine. A pain you didn’t expect, while he was fingering you no less, laced his tone. You believed him, despite his apparent unwillingness to stop.

“Ollie,” you said breathlessly. He paused his kissing and looked up at you. “We,” you moaned between your words. “We can talk about that shit later, ok?” You found yourself smiling at his dumb face.

It was that moment you realised you might be just as crazy as he was. You wanted him to fuck you. It didn’t matter to you that a few moments ago you were crying and begging him to stop. You wanted him. You were pretty sure it wasn’t just because you were desperately writhing on his fingers. Pretty sure.

He smiled back and slowed his movements until he stopped altogether. He didn’t say anything and just looked down at you, smiling like a fool. You whimpered and ground yourself against his fingers. He groaned in response.

“I can’t believe you thought I wasn’t into you.” He teased.

“I can’t believe a lot of things, ok? I’m a self conscious idiot, and you might be a crazy stalker, I haven’t decided yet.” He chuckled and thrusted his fingers deep into you, once. You moaned loudly.

“Please.” You said, almost by accident. A dark, hungry look covered his face.

“Please what, beautiful?” His voice had lost all joviality. He was dead serious now. The words he’d been waiting his entire life for, were so close.

You squirmed on his fingers. He stayed still, staring into your eyes. “Ollie…” you trailed off. You looked away from him. You knew he was going to make you say it, but you really didn’t want him to. You felt embarrassed begging for him.

“Please say it.” He asked quietly. You were surprised by the sudden vulnerability in his voice. Your eyes dragged back to his and you could easily see the precipice he sat on. A similar one you teetered on earlier. One simple sentence and you both could have everything. Fall into the reality of what he’d done, into the messy, scary world of pushing everything good away to hold a place for the bad he’d done and the way he’d hurt you. And he had hurt you. Or, you could both plunge into the fantasy, the dream, the feelings you’d longed for your whole lives. To belong. To be loved. To be accepted as you were.

You took a steadying breath. You could see he was trying to not react yet, but the fear and worry in his brow was unmistakable. “Ollie, what you did wasn’t ok. And how you handled this wasn’t right. I honestly don’t know how to forgive you.”

His face fell. He didn’t look upset with you.

“But,” his breath caught as you continued. “I’d like to try.” You smiled softly at him. Your heart throbbed as he hesitantly smiled back at you.

“Please, for the love of gods, please fuck me.” You spoke with conviction.

He didn’t waste time. In seconds his huge fingers were replaced with his huge cock. He teased your entrance, coating his dick in your wetness. He leaned forward and kissed you deeply. It wasn’t desperate any longer. It was passionate and hungry and eager.

He slid the tip of his cock into you and you groaned at the stretch. “Fuck you’re tight.” He practically breathed into your ear.

“You’re so big.” You whined out.

“I know you can take me, baby.” He peppered your face with kisses while he pushed further. His breath hitched as he claimed another inch. He was moving painstakingly slow. You knew he was doing it for you, to not hurt you any further, but he was also driving you crazy. Every bit he sunk into you, you were desperate for more. You wanted to be absolutely filled but him, to be taken and owned. You wanted his powerful body ramming into yours.

You squirmed and tried pushing back against his cock. Ollie raised an eyebrow. “Please…” you trailed off.

“Are you ready?” He asked, incredulous. You nodded and chewed on your lip. You gazed up at him above you. His eyes were heavy lidded and his face was flushed. He was so beautiful. He smiled down at you and gently cupped your cheek.

And then he was inside you. He thrust the rest of the way, in one, hard push. You screamed, fear at being heard forgotten. He chuckled and covered your mouth with his hand. It dwarfed your face. He held your jaw while he pulled out and sunk back in.

He set a brutal pace, pounding into you. The extreme stretch started feeling more comfortable and your screams turned to moans behind his hand. Ollie pressed his fingers against your lips and you opened your mouth. Two thick fingers played with your tongue. He worked them deep to the back of your throat. He held them there, slightly gagging you on them. He smirked.

“Say it again.” His tone teasing but his eyes serious.

“Say wha-at” you sputtered out between thrusts and his fingers. His smirk twisted the other way and he frowned slightly. His pace slowed and after a couple more thrusts, he stopped moving. He pulled his fingers from your mouth. “Why…” you panted.

“Ask me to fuck you.” His eyes lit up at the prospect.

“You just were, why did you stop?” You complained and ground your hips into his. He snapped his hands tight to your waist and held you in place. “Ollie…” you whined. You gave him the best doe eyes you could.

“I told you what I want.” His voice was stern but you could read his amusement. He liked seeing you desperate for him.

“Why do you keep making me say embarrassing things?!” You demanded. You tried moving on his still deep cock once more and his grip tightened to a painful extent. You’d have bruises for sure.

“Keep saying them.” He leaned forward to suck on your neck. You gasped as he worked a dark hickey into your skin. You whined without words, desperately trying to instigate his movement again. He held you tight, moving down your neck to your chest, leaving a line of deepening bruises in his wake.

You realised he wasn’t going to let you out of saying it before you finally actually started talking. You tried putting it off as long as possible but he wasn’t wrong when he said he knew how to make you feel good. You were getting past desperate and moving to unashamed and wanton.

Finally, “Please Ollie, please fuck me.” He grinned against your skin. You didn’t stop. A string of only semi coherent pleas spilled from your lips. “I want to feel you cum in me, I want to feel you wreck me.” Some part of you still held onto that embarrassment, but mostly you didn’t care anymore. And Ollie loved it. The most beautiful sounds in the worlds were of you begging for him.

He snapped his hips back into motion and your pleas shifted to half moaned words and expletives. You had been brought close and denied, your pleasure slowly building but never releasing, and whether he meant to or not, he had you at the brink in moments.

Your orgasm ripped through you with almost no warning. You cried out his name and gripped his back, nails digging in like claws. Your passion threw him over the edge as well and he trapped your lips in a rough kiss as you felt his hot cum flood your insides. You felt more full than you even thought possible.

You rode out your orgasms locked tightly together, his hips stuttering as the last few ropes filled your already full cunt. Everything that had happened, the emotions, the hormones, wiped your mind right out, and before he had even pulled out, you were dozing in Ollie's arms underneath him.

**********

You woke, apparently hours later, since no light came through the windows. The room was dim, but the door was open and light spilled through from somewhere else. You were wrapped in Ollies massive bed, several blankets layered on and around you, pillows framing your body. It was like a cozy nest and you snuggled in deeper.

The smell of food wafted in from the rest of the home and you thought you heard low humming. You couldn’t help grinning to yourself. You had a hot, huge half orc making you food after railing you? Yeah, you could get used to that.

You heard soft steps coming towards the room and you squeezed your eyes shut, hoping to stay in this moment for a little bit longer. You heard Ollie pause at the door. He stood there for a few moments, not saying anything. Did he know you were awake?

You opened one eye just the barest amount, just so you could see. You hoped it wasn’t obvious. You told yourself it was dark in the room. You could see Ollie’s form, arms crossed over his broad chest. He leaned against the doorframe, face split with a wide smile. You still couldn’t tell if he knew you were awake.

He stood like that for longer than you’d expected. Long enough that your pretend sleeping became real. You drifted in and out, hovering right between awake and asleep.

You surfaced as you felt Ollie’s lips gently press into your forehead. You nuzzled against his face, and his breath caught. Ollie’s fingers danced along your jaw as you slipped back under.

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