#nope. never getting over him🥰 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

itneverendshere · 4 months ago

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someone who lets you break them twice - hockey!ex!rafe - part two

warnings: angst 🥰

You shouldn’t be here.

It’s stupid. Dangerous, even.

That’s all you can think as you stand at the bar, fingers tapping nervously against your glass. It’s packed, the typical crowd buzzing after another one of the games. It’s the usual fans, players, and people who’ve never touched a hockey stick in their life but still come to bask in the afterglow of a win.

You’d sworn after the last time — after that night — you wouldn’t let yourself get sucked back into this. But here you are. It’s only been three weeks since you accidentally ended up fucking him.

That night after his game, with your date somewhere outside, waiting for you, oblivious. You didn’t mean for it to happen. It was supposed to be closure, a final goodbye, whatever excuse you’d fed yourself when you let Rafe pull you into that dark hallway at the stadium. Maybe it was seeing him on the ice again, that high, that intensity, had done something to you. The way he’d stared at you in the stands, like he was winning just to prove something. Like he still had something to prove to you.

Now, you’re actively avoiding him again — which is hard, considering he’s everywhere. On the screens, in the tabloids, in your goddamn head.

“You okay?” your friend asks, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Yeah, just... crowded,” you lie, forcing a smile. But she knows better, giving you that knowing look that says, Yeah, sure, totally not about your hockey player ex who's right over there.

“Uh-huh. He’s here, isn’t he?” She doesn’t even have to ask. The answer’s written all over your face.

“I don’t care,” you lie. “I just—”

But you don’t finish because that’s when you see him. You take a sip of your drink, scanning the room out of habit. And there he is.

Rafe Cameron, in all his post-game glory, laughing with his teammates like he doesn’t have a care in the world. He’s still wearing part of his team gear like it’s his uniform for life, that stupidly tight team jacket stretched across those broad shoulders you used to run your hands down. His hair is still damp from the shower. He hasn’t seen you yet — thank God — but you know it’s only a matter of time.

He always finds you.

You suck in a sharp breath and look away fast, pretending to be deeply invested in whatever drink the bartender is making.

Why did you come here again? To prove a point to yourself? To what, show him you’re unaffected? Stupid. So, so stupid. He’s a mistake. A mistake wrapped up in six feet of cocky charm.

Your friend’s watching you, probably already figuring out what’s going through your head, but you’re too focused on him. On the way he throws his head back laughing at something his buddy says. You can’t hear it over the music, but you know that laugh too well, you can imagine the sound like clockwork. You should be past this. You’ve had closure. The kind of closure that leaves bruises and bite marks, the kind that shouldn’t have happened.

“Girl, you need to—”

“Shut up,” you mutter, but there’s no heat behind it. You know what she’s going to say. You know exactly what she’s thinking because it’s the same thing running through your head: Why the fuck can’t you stay away from him?

“Nope,” she says firmly, like she’s reading your mind. “Not tonight, okay? You said you were done.”

“I am done,” you murmur. Liar, liar, liar.

It’s downright infuriating how your body reacts to him, even now.

You can feel it in your chest, something that always pulls you toward him and hasn’t let up since the day you first met him. It’s maddening. You’ll ignore him, just like last time — except, okay, last time didn’t exactly work out. But this time will be different. You’ll stay cool, stay calm, stay—

“Leaving already?”

You freeze, your heart skipping for all the wrong reasons. You could walk away, pretend you didn’t hear him. But you don’t.

You slowly turn around, and there he is, standing right behind you, eyes on you with that same intensity that always makes it impossible to breathe.

He looks good. Too good. And he knows it.

“What do you want?”

He smirks, leaning against the bar like this is just another normal conversation. Like you didn’t fuck him three weeks ago after months of silence. Like that didn’t mean something.

“Can’t say hi to my ex?” He cocks his head, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Or are we pretending that didn’t happen now?”

You roll your eyes, taking another sip of your drink, trying to appear unbothered. But your body hates you. He steps closer, just enough that you catch the scent of his cologne — that stupid scent that still haunts your bed.

“I’m not pretending anything,” you snap, meeting his gaze. “I have nothing to say to you.”

“You were gonna pretend you didn’t see me?”

“I’m not doing this with you,” you mutter, turning to leave. But before you can, he grabs your wrist — not hard, but enough to make you pause.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” he says, his voice lower now, more serious. His eyes bore into yours, searching for something. “Tell me you didn’t come here hoping to see me.”

He knows. He fucking knows. He’s still got you wrapped around his finger, and he’s not even hiding it.

You jerk your hand out of his grip, your jaw clenched tight. “You think I came here for you?” You can feel your pulse racing, the anger inside, because, fuck, maybe there’s a part of you that did. “You think I came here to throw it all away for you?”

He doesn’t even flinch. In fact, he steps closer, he’s huge and takes up too much space. “Maybe you just wanted to see me.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “I have seen you, Rafe. You look like shit.” You take a step back, needing space, needing air. “Not everything’s about you.”

He chooses to ignore your little comment.

“Could’ve fooled me. You’re still thinking about it, aren’t you?”

You know exactly what he’s talking about, and your body betrays you with a flush that spreads up your neck. That night. The way his hands had felt on your skin, the way you hadn’t been able to get enough of him.

“It was the adrenaline,” you snap, refusing to let him get the upper hand. “That’s all it was.”

“That’s bullshit,” he fires back immediately, stepping closer again, eyes locked on yours. “You weren’t thinking about the game when you kissed me. Or when you begged me to—”

“Shut up,” you hiss, cutting him off, your cheeks burning with rage. “We both know what happened was a mistake.”

Even as the words leave your mouth, you know how fake they sound. The memory of that night — his body over yours, his hands on you, the heat between you—

“Mistake, huh?” Rafe tilts his head, eyes narrowing as if he’s daring you to say it again. “That why you couldn’t keep your hands off me?”

You want to kill him.

“We were both high off the win. I wasn’t thinking. It didn’t mean anything.”

His jaw tightens, and you can see you’re hurting him. He leans down, close enough that his lips almost brush against your ear, and you shiver despite yourself.

“You weren’t thinking when you came apart in my arms, huh? You weren’t thinking when you told me you needed me,” he says, his voice a low rasp that makes you clench your thighs.

“Stop.” Your voice cracks, and you hate yourself for it. You feel like you’re losing control, like you’re getting sucked back into him, the one you swore you’d broken free of.

“You’re still thinking about it. I know you are,” Rafe murmurs, and his hand slides up your arm, fingers grazing your bare skin.

You swallow hard, pulling back slightly, needing space to think, to breathe. “You’re not as important as you think.”

He chuckles softly, but there’s no humor in it. “Maybe not. But I’m still in your head. You still want me.”

You want to scream, want to shove him, want to do something to make him shut the fuck up because the worst part is, he’s not wrong. You’re still here, you’re still drawn to him like a magnet, no matter how many times you’ve told yourself you’re done.

And you hate him for it. Hate him.

“I don’t want you,” you say, but the words come out too weak, like you don’t believe them yourself, and Rafe’s eyes glimmer with amusement like he knows you don’t.

“That so?” he murmurs, stepping even closer, crowding you, his presence taking over your personal space in the best and worst way. His hand trails down your arm again, “Then why are you shaking?”

“I’m not—” you start, but before you can finish, his mouth is down on yours.

You don’t even think. You don’t have time to. One second, you’re angry, and the next, you’re kissing him back like you need him to breathe. Your hands fly to his chest, gripping the fabric of his jacket as you pull him closer. So fucking stupid.

You hate him, but you need him.

His tongue brushes against yours, and you moan into his mouth, hating yourself for how good it feels. Before you know it, he’s already pulling back, tugging you toward the back of the bar, weaving through his teammates with no hesitation, dragging you like you weight nothing.

“Rafe,” you hiss, trying to pull back, but he’s not listening. He doesn’t have to, he knows you’ll follow.

“What the fuck are you doing?” you snap, but your voice cracks. Because you know exactly what he’s doing. You’ve been here before. And despite every warning bell going off in your head, your body’s already reacting, already wanting this.

He doesn’t say a word at first, just spins you around and pins you against the door, his body pressing against yours, so close you can feel the hard lines of his muscles, the heat radiating off him. You open your mouth to argue, to push him away, to remind yourself why this is a bad idea — but then his lips are on yours again, and everything falls apart.

Rafe’s breath is hot against your neck, hands gripping your waist like every inch of space between you is unbearable. You’ve barely had time to catch your breath from him pinning you against the wall, his lips crashing into yours like he’s drowning in the kiss, like you’re still his to touch, to hold, to ruin.

And God, it feels like you are.

Even though every part of you knows this is a bad idea, knows you should have walked away the second you saw him, your body doesn’t give a damn. It wants him. It’s always wanted him. You’re making out like you’re about to fuck right here in this tiny, dingy hallway, and there’s no stopping it now.

He yanks your shirt higher, his fingers trailing over your skin in a way that makes you want to forget all the bullshit that came before this. His mouth is on your collarbone now, kissing down, down, like he’s memorizing the way your body reacts to him.

“I miss you,” he murmurs.

And it’s like all the air’s been sucked out of your lungs.

You swallow hard, shaking your head, refusing to let yourself believe it. “Don’t— Don’t say that.”

“It’s the truth,” he says, his gaze locked on yours. “I miss you, okay? I—fuck, I hate this. Hate that you’re not there anymore, that you’re—” He breaks off, sucking in a sharp breath, like he’s struggling to find the words. “That you’re gone. Like I’m nothing to you.”

Just as he’s about to move lower, the door flies open. The sound scares you both, and Rafe steps back, his hands falling away from you instantly, leaving you cold, exposed, and pissed.

“Shit—” Rafe mutters, straightening up, turning around to face the door. And there she is.

Her.

Sofia, the team’s physical therapist — and the woman who’s been at the center of all your doubts, all your insecurities, since she was hired a year ago. The reason you and Rafe broke up in the first place. She’s standing in the doorway, eyes flicking between the two of you. But it doesn’t matter. The sight of her makes your blood boil.

You freeze, your body going rigid with the shock of it. You can’t believe this.

Now? Of all times?

Sofia’s eyes move to Rafe, and it’s like you’re not even there. Like this isn’t the most awkward, tension-filled moment of your fucking life.

“Rafe,” she says calmly, too casually, like she hasn’t just interrupted whatever this is. “Coach needs you. It’s important.”

Rafe tenses, and for a second, he looks torn. But only for a second.

You can feel your chest tightening, your hands curling into fists at your sides. It’s always been like this. The way he looks at her, the way he drops everything for her, how they have this whole connection you were never part of. And it hits you again — she knew things about him you didn’t. Important things. Things that should’ve been yours to know first.

You remember the night you found out about the other team’s offer — how blindsided you’d felt when you saw it on the news. It wasn’t even that he rejected the offer. It was the fact that he didn’t tell you. Didn’t think it was a big deal. But he told her. You feel like throwing up by just thinking about it. The humiliation, the way Sofia had acted like it was normal, like she was so fucking in the loop.

And now she’s here, again, like she always is.

You push past Rafe, your voice cutting through the tension. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Rafe turns to you, “It’s not what you think.”

You scoff, eyes burning into his. “Not what I think?” You can feel the fury bubbling up, your chest tightening with every breath. “Do you think I’m fucking stupid, Rafe?” You look between him and Sofia, your stomach churning at how casual she looks. Like she’s used to this. Used to being there—in the middle of things she has no business being in.

She’s standing there all cool and collected, glances between the two of you like this is just another day at work, another harmless interruption. She even has the nerve to offer you a tight, professional smile. Like she’s the fucking victim. Like she hasn’t been the fucking problem all along.

“Should I go?” she asks, voice sweet and calm, like she’s offering to leave a fucking brunch.

That does it. You snap. The adrenaline from the fight, from being caught, from everything just crashes through you like a wave. You glare at her, feeling your pulse race with rage.

"Are you fucking serious?" you spit, stepping forward, your voice shaking with barely contained rage. “Should you go? You shouldn’t be here. Ever. You’re not wanted.” Every word drips with venom, and the look on Sofia’s face changes slightly. She knows she’s hit a nerve.

She always does.

Rafe reaches out like he’s going to grab your arm, to stop you from escalating, but you pull back hard. You can’t even look at him right now.

“Don’t fucking touch me.”

You can’t believe this is happening. Again.

Rafe’s face falls, like he didn’t expect you to react this way, like he hasn’t been a complete idiot for months. You step back, creating as much space as you can between you, him, and her.

“Wow,” You laugh bitterly, the sound hollow even to your own ears. “This is why we’re here. This right here. You, her—” You wave your hand dismissively at Sofia, who still stands there, too composed for what this moment is. “You’re so fucking blind.”

He looks like he wants to say something, to defend himself, but no words come out. Good.

You’re tired of hearing his excuses anyway.

“I don’t get why you couldn’t just talk to me,” you continue, feeling the familiar burn of tears threatening to sting your eyes. But you won’t give either of them the satisfaction of seeing you cry. Not now. “But no, you had to go to her. She’s your go-to, right? You tell her everything. She makes you feel better, right?”

“I didn’t mean for it to happen like that,” he finally mutters, his voice low, strained. “I rejected the offer. It wasn’t a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “Of course, it was a big deal, Rafe. I was supposed to be the last to know? You think just because you rejected it, it didn’t fucking matter?”

Sofia clears her throat, shifting her weight uncomfortably, but you ignore her, your eyes still locked on Rafe. You can’t believe how casual he’s being about all of this, like your feelings were an afterthought. Like you were an afterthought.

“And you—” You turn to Sofia now, your voice laced with venom. “You knew the entire time. You both did.”

Sofia opens her mouth, but Rafe cuts her off. “Stop,” he says, his voice sharp. “Just... stop.”

“No, you don’t get to do that,” you snap, stepping back, keeping the distance between you. “You don’t get to look at me like that. Like I’m the one being unreasonable. I loved you, Rafe. I trusted you. And you broke that. You broke me.”

This is between you and Rafe, and she’s just a reminder of everything that went wrong, of all the things he kept from you.

With a bitter laugh, you grab your jacket from the floot and push past them both, your heart pounding in your chest. “I hope you’re happy together,” you mutter, not looking back as you storm out of the bathroom, out of the bar, out of his life.

You storm out of the bar, your pulse ripping in your ears, heart slamming against your chest like it’s trying to break free from whatever this is. The cool night air hits your skin, but it does nothing to calm the heat in your body. You can still feel his hands on you, his mouth, the way he pulled you in like nothing had changed, like it was still him and you against the world. But nothing is the same anymore. He isn’t yours to touch, and you’re not his to ruin. You can’t keep doing this to yourself, letting him in just to tear you apart all over again.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you pull it out, staring at the screen. It’s a text from your friend, asking if you’re okay. You blink, forcing yourself to take a breath. Right. Yeah. I’m fine. Just needed some air. I’ll be back in a sec. Lie after lie after lie.

You’re done. For real this time. You’ve said it before, told yourself that you were finished with Rafe, but it never stuck. This time though? You don’t think you could go back even if you wanted to.

You’re tired. Tired of fighting, tired of waiting for him to figure his shit out, tired of being second to someone else. Sofia’s just a reminder of all the ways he’s failed you, of the times he left you hanging in the worst way. But it’s not just her — it’s him. It’s always been him and the way he never truly opened up to you. Not the way you needed him to.

Your chest hurts so fucking bad as the tears finally start to blur your vision, but you don’t stop walking. You don’t look back. Not this time. You don’t make it more than a few steps before you hear it — his voice, calling your name. Loud, desperate.

You curse under your breath, not daring to turn around, but he’s quick. His footsteps are fast, catching up to you before you can get too far.

“Wait!” Rafe’s hand grabs your arm, pulling you to a stop.

You spin around, ripping your arm from his grip, “Don’t you fucking dare. Let me go, Rafe.”

He doesn’t. His eyes are frantic, like he knows he already lost but isn’t willing to admit it. “No, we’re not doing this again. You don’t just get to walk away like that.”

“Like what?” You scoff, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. “Like I’m tired of the same bullshit with you? Like I’m finally done playing this game?”

“You don’t mean that.” There’s something rin the way he’s looking at you, something that makes you almost hate him more. Because he’s right — you don’t mean it. Not fully. And that’s the worst part.

“Don’t tell me what I mean, Rafe,” you spit, shoving his chest. He barely moves. “Stop,” you snap, pushing him again. “Just stop. You can’t keep doing this, showing up, pulling me back in, pretending like you care when it’s convenient for you.”

“I do care.” He runs his hands through his hair, exasperated, “Why do you think I’m here right now?”

“Because you hate not being in control,” you spit back, chest heaving. “Because you hate it when things aren’t on your terms.”

“That’s not it,” he growls, stepping closer again. He’s towering over you now, but you don’t back down. “You think I don’t fucking hate this too? You think this is easy for me? I’m trying, alright. I fucked up, but I’m trying.”

You laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Trying? Trying is telling me the truth. Trying is not keeping me in the dark while you run off to her—”

He cuts you off, stepping even closer, until you can smell the familiar scent of his cologne again, “You brought a fucking date to my game!”

“After we broke up,” You hiss, shoving a hand against his shoulder, “God fucking knows what you did with her while we were together.”

Rafe grabs your wrist, pulling you back toward him. "Nothing happened with her," he snaps, his grip tightening for a second before he lets go, as if realizing he’s too close. "I never touched her."

You pull away, anger boiling over. "Does it even matter? You kept her close, closer than you kept me. You told her things! About us, like she’s some fucking therapist.”

He reaches for you again, his hand hovering near your arm before he drops it. "I never meant for you to find out like that. I swear, I was trying to figure it all out—"

"Figure it out?!" You laugh, but it’s broken. "Rafe, you made me feel like I didn’t matter. Like I was some... some extra piece in your life. But with her? You told her everything. What was I to you?"

He shakes his head, frustration evident. "You were everything! You are everything. But I didn’t want to put you through it. All the shit with the team, with the offer—"

"That’s not your decision to make!" you shout, the words tearing through you. "You don’t get to choose what’s hard for me, what I can handle. I could’ve been there for you. We could’ve done it together, but you shut me out. And now you expect me to just—what? Let it go because you say you didn’t mean it?"

He stares at you, his chest heaving, his jaw clenched. You can see the conflict in his eyes, the same old battle he’s always fought—wanting you but not knowing how to let you in. His hands curl into fists at his sides, and for a moment, it looks like he might say something—something real.

"Why didn’t you tell me how you felt?" he asks quietly, his voice almost pleading. "If you were hurting this much, why didn’t you—"

"Why didn’t I?!" You cut him off, tears brimming in your eyes now. "Because you didn’t give me a chance, Rafe! You made it clear you didn’t need me like that. I thought maybe if I just held on a little longer, you'd let me in. You chose her, Rafe. You always choose her.”

“I didn’t choose her,” he says through gritted teeth, and there’s something desperate in his tone. “I’m standing right here. You think I like seeing you like this?”

“Then why do you keep doing it? Why can’t you just let me go?”

“I can’t,” he says, his voice strained, like the words are being ripped out of him. He grabs your hand, softer this time, “Because I’m still in love with you. I’ve never stopped.”

You remember all the half-truths, all the nights you waited for him to choose you.

You shake your head, “You only love me when it’s convenient. When you need me.”

“I told her things because I didn’t want to hurt you,” Rafe snaps, “I thought I was protecting you, keeping shit from getting messy.”

You laugh bitterly, shaking your head in disbelief. “Protecting me? You let her in, told her things you should’ve told me. You think that’s protecting me?”

His face contorts with something like regret, but you’re not sure if it’s enough to change anything. His chest is heaving, eyes wide and wild.

But then he just blurts out, “You kissed Elijah.”

You freeze.

Of all the things he could’ve said.

“You think that’s why we’re here right now?”

He doesn’t answer, just stares at you like you’ve ripped something out of him. Like you kissing someone else, even for a second kills him.

“You were already gone. We weren’t together.”

He flinches, “So, what? You kissed him to get back at me?”

“What the hell does Elijah have to do with any of this. You know what? Yes, I did. Because you didn’t even fight for us.”

“I didn’t fight for us?” he growls. “You broke up with me without even giving me a chance to explain. You didn’t even let me try to fix it. You just walked away.”

You ended things so quickly, so coldly, because you couldn’t handle the idea of fighting for someone who wasn’t fighting back. You didn’t even give him the chance to explain.

“You think I didn’t want to fight for you?” His voice cracks, and for the first time, you see real pain behind his eyes. “I was trying to keep my shit together, trying to balance everything, and I fucked up, okay? But I never wanted to lose you.”

“Don’t fucking— “

“I watched you kiss him. I couldn’t fucking look away.” He interrupts it physically hurts him to admit it. “I was right there, front and center, like an idiot. And I still needed you after that. Do you know what that felt like? Watching you with him, like I didn’t even exist anymore?” He swallows, his jaw working overtime as he tries to hold it together, but you can see the cracks forming. “It was like everything that I didn’t say, everything I was too fucking scared to admit... it didn’t even matter. You just moved on.”

“Elijah doesn’t matter, okay? He never mattered. But you—” You pause, the words dying in your throat, because you don’t want to say it, don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how deep he’s cut you. But you say it anyway. “You’re the one who made me feel like I didn’t matter. You don’t get it, do you?” Your voice is hoarse, worn from fighting, from trying to make him understand something he’s never been willing to face. “This isn’t about Elijah or Sofia or any of that. It’s about you. It’s about how you make me feel like I’m always one step behind, always waiting for you to choose me when I shouldn’t have to beg for it.”

His eyes well up, and for the first time, you see it — those emotions he’s kept locked away for so long. His lips tremble as he tries to say something, but the words get stuck, like he’s choking on everything he’s never been able to say before.

“I know,” he finally whispers, voice breaking. “I know it’s my fault.” His hands fall to his sides, defeated, and the tears spill over. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want you to see me like this… weak.”

Your chest tightens as you watch him, his face crumpling in a way you’ve never seen. This man who was always so put together, so guarded, unraveling right in front of you. You never thought you'd see him cry — not like this. Not in front of you.

He takes a shaky breath, his voice barely a whisper now. “You were always so strong. So… so good. And I was terrified, okay? Terrified that if I let you see the real me, the part of me that’s so fucked up, you’d leave. That you’d realize I’m not enough. Not for you.”

His words hit you like a punch in the gut, and suddenly you’re not as angry as you thought you’d be. You’re just... tired.

“Rafe…” you whisper, but the words stick in your throat, caught between wanting to comfort him and wanting to protect yourself.

“I know I fucked up,” he continues, his voice breaking with every word. “I pushed you away because I didn’t know how to be what you needed. I didn’t know how to let you in. And now you’re gone, and it’s my fault.” He wipes at his face, but the tears keep coming, his chest heaving with the weight of it all. “But I love you. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone, and I’m begging you for one more chance. Please.”

You don’t know what to say. You’ve dreamed about this moment — him finally opening up, letting you see him. But now that it’s happening, it doesn’t feel the way you thought it would. You don’t feel victorious or relieved. You just feel... sad.

You want to believe that he’s changed, that this time will be different. But then you remember all the nights you spent alone, waiting for him to come home.

“I don’t know if I can do this again,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “I don’t know if I can go through this with you, only to end up back here. Hurt. Broken.”

“I’ll change,” he says desperately, stepping closer to you, his hands reaching out but stopping just short of touching you. “I’ll do whatever it takes. I can’t lose you, not like this. Please.” His voice cracks again, and for the first time, you see it — the fear in his eyes. He’s terrified. Terrified of losing you for good.

But you’re terrified too. You’re scared of giving him your heart again, only for him to break it.

“You don’t get it. I can’t keep waiting for you to figure your shit out while I’m left in pieces. I deserve more than that. I deserve someone who isn’t afraid to love me the way I deserve.”

His face crumples again, and he swallows hard, trying to hold back the sobs threatening to break free. “You do,” he whispers. “You do deserve that. And I swear, I’ll be that for you. I’ll be better. Let me fix it,” he pleads, “Please.”

“Fix what?” you shake your head, “This isn’t something you can patch up with pretty words or promises. I don’t trust you. Do you get that? I don’t trust us. You say you love me, but love isn’t supposed to feel like this. It’s not supposed to make me feel like I’m breaking every time I look at you.”

His shoulders slump, and for a second, he looks almost boyish, like a child who’s just realized he’s ruined his favorite toy. “You’re everything to me. I thought I was protecting you, but I see now that I was just... I was just pushing you away. Let me try.”

You close your eyes, the tears finally slipping down your cheeks as you shake your head. “I don’t know if you can.”

“Please,” he whispers again, “Don’t leave me. I-I can’t do this without you.”

You don’t know who you are without him either. He’s been such a part of you, woven into your heart in ways that can’t just be undone. Your heart breaks all over again, because you’ve wanted to hear those words for so long — needed him to need you the way you needed him. But now? You already left.

You wipe at your face with the back of your hand, trying to calm yourself. You can’t fall apart now, not when you’re finally seeing things clearly.

“I’m not leaving because I don’t love you,” you say softly, each word feeling like a knife to your chest. “I’m leaving because I do. But I can’t keep waiting for you to be the person I need. I can’t keep putting myself through this. You had so many chances to let me in, and every time, you chose to shut me out.”

Rafe looks like he’s about to argue, but then his face crumples, his shoulders slumping forward as he covers his face with his hands. He’s breaking, right in front of you, and it takes every ounce of strength you have not to fall apart with him. He looks at you like you’ve just ripped his heart out of his chest.

“God, I’m sorry,” he sobs, his voice muffled behind his hands. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

You swallow hard, your throat tightening as the tears keep coming. You’ve heard his apologies before — after every argument, every time he made you feel small and insignificant, he’d say he was sorry. But those words have lost their meaning.

“I know,” you whisper. “I know you’re sorry. But we’re not good for each other right now.”

“I love you,” he whispers, “I love you so fucking much.”

You bite your lip, tasting the salt of your own tears as you choke back a sob. “I know. And I love you too.

402 notes · View notes

thewintersoldierdisaster · 12 days ago

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a/n: i love a good wedding fic and ive been excited to share this one! 🤍 not too much to say except i loved writing this and i hope you guys love reading it 🥰

word count: 7.5k

tw: unprotected sex, dirty talk, disgusting amount of domestic fluff,

summary: on a cold february day on long island, you and mat make it official surrounded by your friends and family

You’re awake before your eyes open, the baby fluttering around wakes you most days now, an excited roll in your stomach that gets you smiling before you’re even really conscious.

Watery February sunlight leaks in around the edges of your bedroom curtains, doing nothing to cut the Long Island winter chill. You curl up closer against Mat’s side, the round swell of your stomach pressed against his ribs, one of your legs thrown over his thigh.

Mat’s arm is around your back, his hand splayed over your hip, and he shifts to drag you closer even though there’s barely an inch of space between your bodies. He mumbles something, but doesn’t wake up, and you press your nose against his chest to soak up his warmth. Your usual blanket-hog fiancé has been surprisingly generous with sharing ever since you told him you were pregnant. Of course, now you rarely want the blanket since your body feels like a furnace half the time. But it’s the thought that counts.

The baby flutters again and you grin sleepily into the fabric of Mat’s shirt, patting the side of your stomach and murmuring, “morning to you too.”

You get an answering nudge and giggle, waking Mat in the process.

“Wha’s a matter?” He mumbles, voice slurred with sleep. He’s been back home for a couple of days now, the two week break already half over, but Mat’s always loved catching up on his sleep when he gets the chance.

“Sorry,” you murmur, “just talking to the baby. We’re okay. Go back to sleep.”

He hums and stretches, pulling you even tighter against his side and making you laugh a little. “Nah, I’m awake,” he says, sounding clearer. He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Slept through the night, huh?”

“Nope,” you laugh, tangling your legs with his and enjoying the feeling of Mat’s muscled thigh between yours, “I got up to pee, but you slept through it.” You rock a little against his leg, barely aware you’re doing it.

Mat chuckles a bit and his hand slides over your ass lazily, palming it before giving it a brief squeeze. You lean into him, arm over his stomach, cheek against his heart, just quietly breathing together. You know he was bummed not to be picked for the All-Star Game this year, but you have to admit that selfishly you’re glad he’s home and you can relax together before the baby comes this summer. The season’s been a whirlwind and you’ve been busy planning your summer wedding, so it’s nice to just be quiet together. Not that today’s going to be quiet.

“Ready to get married?” You ask, tipping your head up and resting your chin on Mat’s chest. He looks deliciously sleep tousled, hair sticking up in all directions and a small smile ticking at his lips.

“Hell fucking yes,” he grins fully now, entire face scrunched up. His hand shifts from your ass to stroke at the side of your stomach, tickling lightly. “Baby daddy to husband, pretty solid upgrade.”

You snort a laugh and shift a little, hips aching from being on your side all night. “I’m looking forward to the wife upgrade,” you tease back. “I’m tired of the nurse at my OB/Gyn giving me dirty looks because I got knocked up out of wedlock.”

You’re not expecting Mat to have such a reaction to your throwaway comment, but he jolts and half-sits, forcing you to shift away from his side. Your head lands on your own pillow and you squeak from the surprise and sudden movement.

“Wait seriously?” He narrows his eyes at you, a concerned frown turning his lips down at the corners. “You never said anything, that’s bullshit.”

“She’s never said anything to my face,” you wave him off with a shrug. “I’m not overly concerned about it, Mat.”

“Well, I care!” He scoots back up against the headboard, pillows bunched up behind his back and you can see he’s getting worked up on your behalf, which is sweet, but right now all you really want is a cuddle and a back massage. “What right does she have to be judging you? Doesn’t that go against all the like medical codes and shit?”

You roll onto your back briefly to stretch while you answer him, “I think it only goes against medical ethics if she says something or like reports me to CPS? I don’t know, Mat. But after today it’s a non-issue. So, as adorable as you are when you’re defending me, can you please just rub my back and maybe give me one more engaged woman orgasm before they become married woman orgasms?”

That’s been a major perk of the second trimester - after your morning sickness and general all-day nausea had faded, you’d been wildly horny for Mat. Not that you weren’t before you were pregnant, but now everything feels heightened and luckily, Mat’s more than happy to indulge in your pouted pleas when he’s home.

Sure enough, Mat laughs and leans down to kiss you sweetly, tongue tracing over your lower lip, while he nudges you onto your side. “What baby mama wants, baby mama gets,” he teases, slotting himself in behind you so your ass is tucked up against his hardening cock. You hum happily and wiggle a bit, letting the hem of your oversized shirt ride up on your hip. Despite the chill, you more barely able to sleep in shorts because you’re running so hot lately. It’s definitely easier for Mat to indulge in your extra horny desires though.

“Making my job really easy over here,” Mat groans a little, his fingers digging into your hip. “Can feel how wet you are, babe.”

“Good,” your voice hiccups into a whine when Mat’s fingers slip under the edge of your panties, tracing around your clit delicately. “Harder, Mat, please.”

You wiggle your hips again and Mat presses a kiss to the back of your neck, murmuring for you to be patient.

His hips rock into yours and you feel his hands at your ass, moving fabric and caressing your skin until the hot ridge of his cock is pressed against your skin, making you hiccup a gasp. You’re soaked, ready for him and Mat is too gentle when he shifts you into position, lifting your leg so it’s pulled back a little, giving him room to slide his cock into you easily. He groans into your hair as he slides home, buried deep in your cunt.

“Feel so good, baby,” he mumbles, holding your leg up for you and starting to move. His cock glides easily, slicked up from your arousal, and you angle your hips backwards to take more of him.

You whine his name, needy and greedy as he fucks you slowly.

“I got you, I got you,” he chants, kissing your neck and behind your ear. One of your hands reaches back and buries in Mat’s hair, tugging gently, while the other digs at his wrist, holding his fingers in place while he toys with your swollen clit. You rock against his hand as best as you can, belly making smooth movement difficult.

“There we go,” he coos in your ear. “Almost there, can feel you clenching around me.”

Mat’s dirty talk is what finally pushes you over the edge, orgasm hitting like a truck, sparks flashing at the corner of your vision. You’re breathless, moaning his name and burying your face in your pillow as you come around his cock, Mat following you over the edge a few thrusts later. He fills you and you shiver, going limp in his arms.

You’re overly warm now, hot from the inside, and your shirt sticks to your back. Sweat beads at your hairline and you wince when Mat brushes his nose against your temple. “I’m gross now,” you complain, the baby rolling in your womb from the increase in your heart rate.

“Never,” Mat nips at your earlobe, slipping out of you and using his hand to wipe at the come splattered on your inner thighs before shifting your panties back into place. “You’re gorgeous, my fucking perfect wife-to-be.”

“Flatterer,” you accuse, curling up in his embrace with a tiny yawn. “Next time I want it harder,” you say, biting gently at his forearm where it’s banded over your chest.

You can feel his smirk when he replies, “if that’s what wifey wants.” He says it, but you know he won’t go as hard as you’d like because he doesn’t want to hurt the baby. Which is sweet, but you’re definitely trying to change his mind on that.

Mat lets you cuddle with him for a little bit longer, until you really start to feel gross and need a shower before you start getting ready for the day.

While you use the big shower in your en-suite, Mat showers in the guest bathroom and changes the sheets so you emerge from the Sol de Janiero scented steam to a clean fiancé and a freshly-made bed.

“I’m going to make sure everything’s set up downstairs,” Mat says, watching you slather your body in lotion. He reaches out to tap the bump, pressing his palm flat against the curve. You grin, willing the baby to kick so he can feel it. Nothing.

“Okay,” you nod, pulling on a pair of his sweats. Comfort is key right now. “It should all be ready to go.”

You’re having a little ceremony in the house before going out for the reception/dinner. It’s low key and easy, two things that you’re very happy for right now. The bigger party will be this summer, baby in tow. But it had been important to you that you and Mat were married before the baby comes. So, living room ceremony, officiated by your dad in the middle of Mat’s February break it is.

You’d picked up the marriage license yesterday, had the flowers delivered last night.

Your parents and Mat’s parents had flown in earlier in the week, Liana following two days ago. Beau and Emma arrived yesterday afternoon, ignoring your invitation to use the guest room in favor of a hotel, explaining that as much as they loved you both, listening to your sex life wasn’t something they wanted to do again, not after the tropical vacation where your rooms had shared a wall.

It’s not like you can blame them, not when you consider what you and Mat had gotten up to less than a hour ago.

“Last chance to make me go get ready at Bo’s,” Mat teases, pushing his hair off his face.

You shoot him a wry look, cupping the lower curve of your belly. “Hmm, I think we’ve blown that superstition out the window,” you reply. “Besides, you don’t have any plans to pull a runner, right?”

“Not a chance,” Mat says firmly, as if you could ever think otherwise. “You got me for life, Squeaksy.”

“Good,” you tilt your head up for a kiss, smiling against his mouth.

——

Mat disappears for a bit, but you can hear him rattling around downstairs and you assume he’s moving chairs and flower arrangements, so you’re not concerned.

While he does whatever he’s doing, you prop your phone up against the mirror on your vanity, thumbing open Tik Tok with the intention of creating a video diary of the day. Maybe you’ll edit it for Instagram, but right now it’s just for you.

“Well, it’s February fifteenth,” you smile into the camera, “and Mat and I are getting married.”

You shake your head, feeling a little silly for talking to the screen, and continue, “Dad’s officiating and we’re getting married in the living room. A fancy shotgun wedding.”

“I’m so excited to be Mat’s wife,” you can’t help the giant smile that spreads across your face, digging out your Dyson to dry your hair. “I’m so excited to be this little bug’s mom,” you pat your stomach and giggle, thinking about how much your life has changed in the last few years.

“Let’s get this party on the road,” you say, stopping the recording so you can fix your hair.

An hour later, you’re sweating slightly and a little out of breath, but your hair is dry and twisted into a casual up-do. It looks worse than the inspo pic, but better than you thought you’d be able to manage. So you’re treating it as a win.

Mat reappears and you catch sight of him in the mirror. “Hey!” You smile at him. “Did you fall into Narnia or something? What happened?”

“Had to make sure everything was set up,” he shrugs. And then his hands appear from behind his back, a pastry box in one and a smaller wrapped box in the other. “Plus I had a quick errand to run.”

Tears prick at your waterline, heart melting at Mat’s sweet surprise. “You got breakfast?” You ask, voice wavering. “How didn’t I hear you leave?”

“I’m a super spy,” Mat sets both boxes in front of you and takes a seat on the edge of the bed. “Got you a ham and cheese croissant so eat at least a few bites of that for protein before you go right for the sugar.”

“Yes, dad,” you tease, wiping at your eyes with the sleeve of your sweatshirt. Mat’s eyes twinkle and you roll yours at him before pinching off a corner of the ham and cheese, nibbling at it slowly. Morning sickness is in the rear view, but you don’t want to tempt it today. Your eyes keep flicking over to the smaller wrapped box, about the size of one of those perfume sets with lotion and a rollerball along with the full sized bottle and wrapped in, of all things, birthday paper.

Around a mouthful of chocolate croissant, Mat says, “in my defense, I thought it was going to come wrapped and I couldn’t find wedding paper last minute.”

A laugh bubbles in your chest and you pick up the box. It’s lighter than you expected. “Yours is in my night table drawer,” you say, rubbing your stomach for exaggerated effect. “Can you go get it for your pregnant fiancée?”

Instead of getting up, Mat rolls backwards on the bed and reaches for the drawer, withdrawing the small wrapped box. Navy blue paper, because you have nothing but time on your hands.

“You go first,” you encourage him, tipping your chin at the box, wiggling excitedly in your seat. You’re not sure who originally brought up the idea of wedding day gifts, but once you’d decided to do it after Valentine’s Day, it was easy to fold the gifts into one and you’re excited for Mat to see his gift. “From me and Baby B.”

Mat’s jaw drops when he opens the Rolex, its royal blue and gold face twinkling under the overhead lights. “Shit, babe, this is so cool,” he turns it in his hand, thumb brushing over the face. He gives you a beaming smile and leans in to kiss you deeply.

“It’s vintage, 1997,” you say. “And I stole one of your other watches to get the band on this one adjusted, so you can wear it today.”

Mat’s already got the watch on his wrist before you even finish your sentence, turning it so he can see what it looks like from all angles. “Shit, I love it. You shouldn’t have spent so much,” he says, eyebrows drawing together.

“It’s from me and the baby,” you shrug, laughing a little. Your fingers play at the messy edges of the wrapping paper on your gift. “Besides, you deserve it. We love you.”

He shakes his head and tells you to open your gift, wrapping paper falling away to reveal two black velvet jewelry boxes nestled inside an old Amazon box. Mat’s wrapping abilities, or lack thereof, never fail to make you smile. It’s your turn for your jaw to drop when you pop open the boxes to find a huge emerald cut amethyst cocktail ring and a matching necklace, the amethyst set horizontally on the chain.

“Oh, Mat,” you gasp, blinking rapidly to clear your vision. Tears are your new best friend, crying at the drop of a hat lately, but especially when Mat’s being sweet. “These are…”

He ruffles a hand through his hair, looking a little sheepish. “I, uh, talked to the girls. Amethyst is the February birthstone and obviously a wedding isn’t a birth, but I thought it would be a cool thing,” he explains. “And I’ve never seen you say no to a ring.”

You both look down at your hands, dainty gold stackable bands on most of your fingers, and you huff a little laugh. “Yeah, I need to take a few of these off for today,” you say, already pulling a few off so you can slide the cocktail ring onto your right ring finger. It’s a perfect fit.

Mat stands up and takes the necklace, clasping it around your neck and brushing his lips over your temple. The amethyst settles nicely into the notch between your collarbones, the setting cool against your skin. “Glad you like them,” he whispers.

“You’re such a sap,” you wipe at the tears again. “I love you, like a stupid amount, Mat Barzal.”

——-

Mat watches you finish getting ready, flopped on his back on your bed and commenting on your makeup choices until you threaten to spray him with the glittery hairspray left over from Halloween.

“Okay, okay,” he laughs, hands up in surrender as he backs off into the walk-in. “No glitter bombs.”

“That’s what I thought,” you stick your tongue out at him, laughing. Mat shoots an innocent, boyish grin at you and disappears to his side of the closet to get dressed. He shuffles around and you hear him bang into the wall, mutter a curse, and open a drawer. “You okay in there?”

“Fine,” he calls back. “Wall’s in a different spot than I remember.”

You laugh faintly at his terrible joke and smooth your palm over your stomach, murmuring to the bump, “your daddy is terrible at telling jokes.”

“I heard that,” Mat shouts out, laughing too. You don’t bother replying, instead propping your phone up and changing quickly into your dress. It’s a white cashmere sweater dress, comfortable and warm for the cold February day. The soft material stretches over your bump, highlighting the rounding swell and making you smile when you turn to the side and cup your hand under the bump.

A giddy bubble of excitement fills your chest, the baby rolling around and nudging up against your stomach. You’re so excited to make your little family with Mat official.

“You decent out there?” Mat calls.

“When has that ever stopped you?” You shout back, only slightly sad that you’re not having a traditional wedding experience. There’s no reason for Mat to not see you in your dress before the ceremony, not since it’s a simple, little thing.

Your fiancé steps back into the room, looking handsome as sin in his dark navy suit, hair brushed off his forehead. No tie, because why be so formal when you’re just getting married in the house? Selfishly, you love the peek of his chest and collarbones through the unbuttoned collar, the glimpse of his chain around his neck. He’s adjusting his cuffs and when he looks up at you, his jaw drops a little and his eyes twinkle.

“Hey,” Mat grins.

“Hey, yourself,” you reply, feeling giddy.

“You look,” Mat pauses, coming closer and letting his hands rest on the swell of your stomach, thumbs brushing over your belly button, “gorgeous.”

A warm flush heats your face and your smile softens. “Thanks. You don’t look so bad yourself,” you tease lightly.

Mat’s hands roam over your stomach, heating your skin through the cashmere, and sending the baby on a wild movement. He hasn’t been able to feel the kicks yet, but you’re hoping it’ll be any day now.

“Never gets old,” he says, dropping a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth before finishing, “seeing you full with my baby.”

“You’re a caveman,” you shake your head, shrieking a giggle when Mat pulls you against at his chest, your stomach bumping against his, and kisses you hungrily. One hand rests in the curve of your lower back, but the other is splayed protectively over the bump.

“Just wait,” he mutters against your mouth, voice a rough growl, “gonna put another baby in you as soon as I can.”

You brush the tip of your nose against Mat’s, pretending you’re unaffected by his words, even as your stomach flips with excitement. “Mhm,” you hum, lips brushing against his cheek, while your hands wander under his jacket and around to his back, “a little hockey team of mini-Mats? Don’t have to work too hard to convince me.”

“Next year we can get started on the twenty-three man roster,” Mat jokes, hugging you to his chest. You snuggle up to him, making sure not to smudge your makeup on his shirt, and relax into his embrace.

“Lets hold off on baby-making until this one’s here,” you grin against his chest and hold your left hand up in front of his face where your engagement ring twinkles in the bedroom lighting, “and until you’ve made an honest woman of me.”

Mat snorts a laugh and you nudge his stomach before stepping back and rolling your eyes at him. He smirks, “babe, that ship is so far sailed it’s in Australia.”

“Mean,” you pout, tugging at the lapel of his jacket. “You can make it up to me by joining me for a little video. Wedding day fit check?”

“Whatever you want,” he replies, brushing a kiss to your temple. You beam and shift so you can set up the recording on your phone, Mat settled in at your back, chin resting on your shoulder and palms splayed over your stomach.

You wave at the camera, smiling, and start narrating, “hi everyone! I’m posting on a delay, but today this guy,” you jab your thumb over your shoulder at Mat and he gives a little wave too, “and I are getting married.”

After a brief pause, you continue, “little bit of a shotgun situation and I’ll give some more details later, not all of them, but some. For now, how about a quick fit check?”

Mat’s hands shift to your disappearing waist, holding you steady so you can lift your foot and show off the navy velvet heels you’re wearing. “Sam Edelman,” you explain. “A perfect match to Mat’s suit.”

“The unconventional wedding dress,” you cover Mat’s hands with yours and smooth them over the bump, “is Tom Ford.”

The dress isn’t technically maternity, just sized up a bit, and it fits over the bump and your pregnancy boobs like a glove. The hem flutters around your shins, long sleeves and mock turtleneck making it a little more modest. But Mat presses his lips to your exposed shoulder blade and you’re reminded of the triangle shaped cut out on the back.

“Mat’s also in Tom Ford,” you step slightly to the side, so his suit is fully visible. He gives the camera a smirk and tugs you back into place so you can finish and get downstairs.

You show off your new jewelry, described as gift from Mat without mentioning that he got it from Anthony, his private jeweler in the city. A quick mention of the Tom Ford Rose d’Amalfi perfume you’d bought especially for the wedding and don’t plan on using unless it’s a special occasion.

“And finally,” you giggle, turning to the side and outlining the bump, “baby bump courtesy of Mat Barzal, baby daddy and soon-to-be husband.”

Mat cradles the bump and tugs you back against his chest, looking right at the camera to say, “off to make an honest woman out of Squeaks, see you guys!”

“Joke thief,” you accuse, wincing as the baby gives a particularly forceful kick to your side. Behind you, Mat gasps a little into your hair, his palm flattening and pressing harder against the spot where the baby just kicked. “Wait—“ you murmur, eyes wide. “Did you -?”

“I just felt a kick!” Mat yelps, excitement radiating off of him. He turns you in his arms, a huge grin splitting his face. His hands never leave your stomach, pressing against the spot. Baby kicks again and Mat’s smile seems to grow impossibly wider. “Holy shit, she did it again!”

His eyes are a little glassy, his smile crinkling at the corners of his eyes.

“She?” You hiccup, emotion clogging at your throat. You’ve been waiting so long for Mat to feel the baby kick and it just seems like the little bug was waiting for the perfect moment. You press your thumb against the inner corner of your eye, trying to stem the tears that are gathering.

Mat shrugs. “Just a feeling,” he says. “Could be a boy with that strong kick. Shit, I don’t care one way or the other, I just want to feel the kick again.”

You hold your breath, waiting. Mat taps the side of your stomach, but the baby seems to be done for now, settled into a comfortable position.

“Later,” you promise him, watching his smile fade slightly. “Give me a full fat Coke at dinner and bug will be rolling around like a lunatic.”

“I’m holding you to that,” he laughs, giving your stomach one last tap before kissing your forehead and letting you slip away to grab your phone. You tap the screen to stop the recording, thrilled that you got Mat’s reaction to feeling his first kick on video. That one will be just for you.

—-

Mat leaves you sequestered upstairs so you’ll be surprised by the way the living room has been transformed, his words, and you’re briefly bored until you hear the front door open.

Suddenly, there’s plenty of noise and commotion. downstairs. You can pick out Liana’s voice and your mom’s. Then the chatter of children signalling that your friends are here too, all on time for the relaxed ceremony.

Soon enough, you’re joined upstairs by Liana, Sydney, and Holly, all three of them showering you in compliments before passing over your bouquet of pale roses and eucalyptus.

“Mat said he felt a kick?” Liana exclaims, pulling you into a hug. “I want to feel!”

You laugh and guide her hand to the spot where you’d been elbowed a few minutes ago. “Maybe here? Bug is chilled out in there.”

After a few seconds, when it becomes clear Liana won’t feel anything, she frowns and pulls her hand away. “Kid’s already being difficult, like their dad,” she shakes her head.

Bo appears in the doorway, grinning at you, with Tulsa held in his arms. “I think everything’s ready down there,” he says. “I was sent to retrieve the bride. Also,” he adds, “you look beautiful.”

“Consider the bride retrieved,” you joke, following everyone out of your bedroom and out onto the second floor landing. “And thank you.”

They all traipse back downstairs and you’re left alone for a few minutes, completely calm and more than excited to get downstairs to Mat.

You stroke the curve of your stomach and whisper, “let’s go down to Daddy, huh, Bug?”

The baby rolls around in agreement and then the music starts and in a blink you find yourself downstairs, barely registering the transformation of your living room and all your excited guests. Your only focus is Mat, standing by your fireplace, a soft, goofy grin on his face.

He mouths “hi” at you as you come to stand in front of him, immediately grabbing your hand and leaning in to try and kiss you. Everyone laughs, including your dad, who, as a retired Nassau County judge, is officiating the ceremony.

“Save that for later,” he jokes, getting laughter from the crowd again.

Mat grins and says, “sorry, can’t help it,” before letting your dad take over again.

The ceremony is a blur, you cry your way through your vows and through Mat’s, wiping delicately at the tears gathering. You’re grateful that everyone is taking pictures and video, because you’re barely able to process Mat’s vows as he says them.

Mat’s hand is steady as he slides the pavè diamond band on your ring finger, but yours shakes while you push the gold band over his.

Your dad announces you as husband and wife and Mat doesn’t wait for his cue, wrapping a hand around your waist and pulling you close so he can cradle your cheek in his other hand and kiss you deeply, dipping you back slightly and chuckling into your mouth. You gasp a little as your back arches, giggling against his lips while you return the kiss.

He pulls back a little and kisses you again, your friends and family whooping and cheering for you.

“Ma belle femme,” Mat whispers against your mouth when he pulls back again, the French endearment hitting right in the chest and making your stomach flutter with joy. “Je t’aime.”

“I love you, husband,” you reply, equally quiet, barely audible over your dad announcing you as Mr and Mrs Mathew Barzal. It barely feels real, but the baby kicks and your hand is at the side of your stomach, a huge grin hurting your cheeks.

Mat kisses you again and you wave your bouquet a little, immediately bombarded by your mom and Nadia and Liana, three sets of arms wrapping you up in hugs. It’s not a typical wedding, so everything is a little chaotic, with all of your guests happy to smother you and Mat in love. His hand never seems to leave your body though - fingers laced through yours when he accepts a hug from Syd, pressed up against your side when Bo gives him a handshake and back-slapping hug.

Your face hurts from smiling, the pure excitement at finally being Mrs. Mathew Barzal making you a little dizzy.

Holly presses a bottle of water into your hand and grins, “drink, girl. You look a little pale.”

After sucking back half of the bottle, you shrug sheepishly. “It’s been a minute since I had anything to drink,” you admit, “between the baby and the excitement I didn’t want to have to run off to the bathroom, mid-vows.”

Mat’s hand is on your lower back, fingers absently stroking as he chats with Marty, Casey, and Beau. You look over your shoulder at him and feel your grin go stupid. He must feel your gaze, because without looking away from his conversation, he taps at your lower back and says, “we’re heading out to Primehouse in a few, Squeaks, but do you need to eat something before then?”

“No, I’m okay,” you assure him and wrinkle your nose at Holly when she starts teasing you about how cute you and Mat are.

——-

The party moves to Primehouse for dinner, Mat’s Defender leading the parade of cars to the steakhouse. You giggle when you see it, paint-markered words across the back window proclaiming you and Mat ‘Just Married’ with little doodles on the back passenger windows that look like they were courtesy of the kids. Someone even tied a string of cans to the back bumper and your dad shakes his head, cutting them off before you can drive away.

“That’s a traffic hazard and I’d like you three to get to the restaurant in one piece,” he says, kissing the top of your head.

“Don’t worry,” Mat assures him. “I never would’ve driven with that on.”

“Liar,” you whisper to your husband - husband! - knowing he had mentioned adding cans to the back of the limo for your summer wedding, claiming they looked cool.

Mat nudges you into the car, giving your dad a winning smile until he pulls the door shut behind him and leans over the center console to grip your chin in one hand and lean his face down to yours for a kiss. You hum into his mouth and then one of the cars behind you honks, startling you away from Mat, laughing loudly.

“Get a room!” Noah and Beau shout simultaneously, laughing while Marty hits his palm on the back window. Mat flips them all off and gets the car started, leaving his hand on your stomach after he’s shifted into gear. The baby kicks at Mat’s palm and he grins widely.

“Shit, I love that,” he laughs, tickling your stomach gently with the tips of his fingers while he drives. You squirm and press your hand on top of his, flattening his fingers in place.

“Stop that,” you grumble, “I’m going to pee my pants if I laugh.”

Mat grins at you and shakes his head, flipping his hand over and lacing his fingers with yours. “Got it, first stop at Primehouse is definitely the bathroom,” he wiggles his eyebrows as he talks and you shake your head at him.

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Mister Barzal,” you retort primly, sticking your nose up in the air with a faint giggle. “I’m a married woman now, I’m keeping it classy.”

“You’re my married woman, Mrs. Barzal,” he shoots back, eyes twinkling delightedly. “I like you a little dirty.”

You wink at him, smile splitting your face. “I’ve heard married sex can get stale, let’s make sure that never happens to us, okay?” You squeeze his fingers lightly and he squeezes back.

“Babe,” Mat replies seriously, turning to look at you as he pulls to a stop at a red light, “that is never going to happen. I can promise you that.”

Mat’s serious expression makes your heart skip a beat and your throat clog a little with emotion. Damn pregnancy hormones. You only manage a little nod in response and Mat holds your hand for the rest of the short drive.

He opens the door for you after he parks and helps you down from the seat, closing the door quickly and pressing your back against it, so he can crowd you against the side of the car and cup your cheek to angle your mouth up to his for a kiss. You grin against his mouth, your belly pressed up against his making the baby kick wildly.

You lean happily into the kiss, melting under Mat’s touch. His free hand is warm on your waist, thumb stroking gently at your ribs. His leg tries to wiggle its way between yours, but is stopped by the knitted fabric of your dress and he grunts a little into your mouth, frustrated. You giggle.

“Love you,” he mumbles against your lips when the kiss breaks apart.

“Love you more,” you reply, breathless from the kiss and pregnancy. Your lips feel swollen and you swipe at Mat’s mouth the pad of your thumb to get rid of a smudge of lipstick. Ever the menace, your husband darts his tongue out to lick at your thumb before capturing it with his teeth and sucking at it gently. You press your fingers against his cheek and shake your head against the flood of warmth between your legs, clit twitching. “Stop that, we’re respectable married people now, and we’re in public.”

He lets go of your thumb with a little pop and wipes off his spit for you. “The only respectable thing about us is that we’re married,” he laughs, placing his hand on your lower back and guiding you into Primehouse. To the hostess, who smiles widely at you, clearly recognizing Mat, he says, “is everything all set up?”

You look back at Mat slightly, wondering what exactly he has planned. You’d just booked the private room for dinner with everyone. He just winks at you.

“Yes, sir,” she confirms, nodding. “Everything is ready for your party and you and Mrs. Barzal can head right down to the Reserve Room.”

She gestures down a hallway and you let Mat nudge you along with a press of his knuckles against your lower back. The hostess calls out a ‘congratulations’ as you head off and you turn your head back to smile a thanks at her.

Mat holds open the door to the Reserve Room and you step inside, gasping when you see how he’s had it transformed. The room is covered in the same flower arrangements that decorated your house and there’s a flower wall installed against the back wall, a neon sign spelling out your new last name. Tears flood your eyes and you turn to face Mat, completely speechless.

He smiles softly at you and wraps his hands around your wrists to bring one of your hands to his mouth so he can kiss your palm. Your heart kicks into overdrive and you feel the tears slip down your cheeks. “Like it?” He asks, pulling you to his chest.

You nod against him, tucking your nose against the notch of his collarbone. “You’re the best,” you whisper against his skin. “Seriously, I wasn’t expecting it to be decorated here too.”

“I know,” he strokes his hands up and down your back. You can feel his chest vibrate under yours when he laughs. “I wanted to surprise you with a reception that looks a little more like a reception.”

You didn’t quite realize just how much you wanted a reception until you saw the decorated room and now you can’t stop crying, overwhelmed by Mat’s thoughtfulness and how well he knows you. He keeps rubbing your back, holding you in place, while you cry. You’ll be doing a bigger party over the summer, but something about having the private room decorated means more than all the other planning that’s happening. Especially since it was all Mat’s idea to surprise you.

“Everyone’s going to be here in a bit,” Mat whispers in your ear. “I told them to give us some time, but I think you might want to clean up. Not that I don’t love the raccoon look…” He trails off with a laugh and you give him a watery one in return, swiping underneath your eyes.

“You are the sweetest man alive,” you murmur, leaning up on your toes to kiss the corner of his mouth. “I can’t wait to see you be a dad.”

He waves you off to the bathroom with a wide smile that betrays his nonchalance at your comment and a love tap to the ass.

By the time you come back, all tidied up and ready to party, the rest of your family and friends have arrived and appetizers are making the rounds. You snag a spring roll and accept a hug from Liana.

“Big sis!” She teases, planting a kiss on your cheek. “Finally official. How does it feel to know you’re never getting rid of my brother?”

“Oh, he was already baby trapped,” you deadpan, breaking into a smile when you spot Mat across the room, thumb wrestling Jack for the last pig in a blanket on the tray. Jack wins and you can hear him chirping Mat, your husband laughing delightedly. Your heart squeezes, just a few more months and you’ll get to see Mat with your baby.

“Ugh, god,” Liana groans good-naturedly, “you have such a gooey look on your face. You guys are so gone for each other, it’s literally disgusting.”

You smirk at her, waggling your eyebrows like Mat, and lay it on thick, “he is literally the best man I know. Handsome, smart, funny, and the biggest d-“

Liana smacks her hand over your mouth before you can finish, your laughter cut off by her palm. She narrows her eyes at you, smothering laughter even as she scowls, “do not finish that sentence.”

Your lips curl up into a grin under her hand and your shoulders shake with muffled laughter until Liana releases you with a dirty look. “I’m sorry,” you gasp out, “I couldn’t resist.”

“I’m taking back everything I’ve ever said about how glad I am that you’re my sister,” Liana bumps your hip with hers. “You’re just as bad as he is.”

“They one hundred percent match crazy for crazy,” Emma teases, coming up behind you to loop her arms around your shoulders in a hug. Beau presses a kiss to your cheek and nods his agreement.

“I’ve never met someone who could out-yap Mat, but here we are,” he grins at you.

You lean back against Emma and chew at the inside of your cheek, a thought occurring to you. “Definitely going to bust out the Harley Quinn and Joker costumes for next Halloween,” you tease and pat your stomach. “Bug can be Batman, or Batgirl. But I’m kind of hoping for a little Batman.”

A mini-Mat would be fun, you think. But you waffle back and forth on whether you want a girl or a boy, mostly you’re just praying they’re healthy.

“No one needs another Mat,” Liana shakes her head before getting pulled into a different conversation.

You spend time wandering around and chatting, your mom or Nadia or Mat popping up at your side to make sure you eat and drink enough. You end up with Alice Martin on your lap at one point, eating your steak over her head while she goes to town on a lamb chop. There’s a smudge of sauce on your skirt and your shoes have long been tossed in a corner. You can’t stop smiling.

Mat loses his jacket, his sleeves get rolled up, and he makes a quick toast with Winnie Martin hanging off one arm and Tulsa Horvat dancing around his legs. Jack flicks a few peas off his plate at Reese and she shrieks, ready to start a food fight before Kristy snatches her hand up and pulls her onto her lap, keeping her contained.

It’s loud and it’s chaotic and it’s perfect.

Dessert is served and Mat pulls you onto his lap, one arm wrapped around your waist, palm resting on the side of your stomach. He strokes it lazily, absently, while he talks with your dad and his about the season. You poke at your brownie, uninterested, and look over at Mat’s cheesecake. He’s got his fork in his other hand, gesturing wildly, and you take the risk of taking a bite off his plate with your fork. He doesn’t notice, but Nadia does and she laughs faintly, shooting you a little wink.

Mat finally notices your dessert theft when half the slice is gone and he looks up at you, betrayal written on his face. “Squeaks! You ate my cheesecake?” He knocks your fork out of the way with his.

“What happened to what’s mine is yours?” You defend yourself, pushing your plate towards him in exchange.

“That doesn’t apply to dessert,” Mat retorts, incapable of keeping the serious expression on his face. He leans in and kisses you, in front of all your parents, which still makes your blush even though you’re five months pregnant and you’ve been dating for years. “Taste sweet,” he mumbles against your lips. He tastes a little bit like whisky, even though his last drink had been hours ago.

You shift on his lap, leaning harder against his chest, and let your fingers card through his hair. Mat leans into your touch and returns to his conversation as if the dessert theft hadn’t happened.

The party is slowly winding down now, everyone with kids having left, and you wonder briefly how long Mat reserved the room for.

“Hey,” Mat whispers in your ear, both hands on your stomach now. The baby’s rolling around, hopped up on your excitement and dessert. His thumb rubs against a spot where a tiny foot jabs you. The gold band on his left ring finger glints under the lights and you smile, tracing the tip of your index finger over the metal.

“Hey,” you whisper back.

“Wanna dance with me?” He asks. Mat’s fingers tap lightly at your stomach and the baby reacts, rolling and jabbing. “We never had a first dance.”

“No, we didn’t,” you reply, letting Mat set you on your feet and take your hand. “I don’t even know what song this is.”

The room isn’t really set up for dancing, not that had stopped the kids from finding a corner earlier and rocking out on their own. You’d joined in on the fun briefly too, shimmying until something in your hip had popped slightly painfully.

Mat tucks you up against his chest, holding your hand over his heart. “Me either. But I still think we’re supposed to dance at our wedding. For luck or something,” he jokes, swaying back and forth.

His cheek rests on top of your head and you lean into his warmth, feeling the baby nudge at your stomach. All three of you, together. Not quite the wedding you had pictured back when Mat proposed in June, but it might just be better.

Mat’s free hand roams over your back and you inhale the spicy scent of his cologne, happier than you’ve ever been.

“Or something,” you agree.

#mat barzal #mat barzal x reader #mat barzal x you #mat barzal fic #nhl fic

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weird-is-life · 7 months ago

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Hello i have a request for spencer reid x reader. If you have noticed in the show, esp early seasons he doesnt really get jokes a lot and takes stuff literally. Can you write a reader who is the same way, and the team is partaking in a funny joke and they are the only two who dont get it??? They r so perfect for each other

Hiii, lovely🥰ty for the cute request, hope this is okay. Warnings: fluff, clueless Spencer and reader, mentions of drinking and tea, (0.5k)

The latest case is finally over, and the whole team is more than happy about it. There are drink being passed around the jet in between, well almost everyone, except from you and Spencer.

You two are comfortably sitting next to each other on the jet's couch with the cups of tea in your hands. You didn't feel like drinking, and neither did Spencer, so instead he made you both some tea.

You are still very much present in the merry conversation happening between the team though, just without the alcohol.

And suddenly everybody is laughing, something to do with Derek and a bar, but you don't get it. You force a fake laugh out because you don't want to ruin the fun.

You find that Spencer is laughing as well, so even he must get the joke. It's only you that doesn't understand. You think of how embarrassing that is for you. Never getting the jokes.

The laughter dies down, and the conversation continues going as smoothly as it has been before.

Abruptly, you get an idea. Maybe Spencer could explain the joke to you?

It takes you a few minutes to find the courage to lean closer to Spencer, and ask about the joke.

"Spencer? C-Could I ask you something?" You whisper as inconspicuously as you can. Not wanting to get anybody else's attention.

Spencer looks at you with a soft smile, and he says, "sure."

You clear your throat, feeling a bit sheepish about it," did you....could you explain the joke to me?"

Spencer frowns in confusion, " what do you mean?"

You sigh in defeat," I mean the joke that everybody was laughing at. I didn't get it." Your cheeks go a bit red at your confession.

"You didn't get it?" Spencer asks curiously. Not mean or cruel about it, just curious.

You shake your head. Too embarrassed to say it out loud.

"I didn't either," Spencer grins at you. Eyes shining with sparks of amusement.

"You didn't?" You baffle. You saw him laughing.

"Nope. I often don't. I usually just pretend that I know what they are talking about, and laugh at it," Spencer shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly. The sides of your mouth go up.

"Did you pretend now too?" You question with a quiet giggle. You can't believe that he's done the same thing as you.

"Yeah. Did you pretend too? I saw you laughing," he raises his eyebrows. His own smile appearing on his pretty face.

"Yeah, didn't want to be the only one not laughing," you admit.

"Good," he laughs, bumping his shoulder to yours, "now we can pretend to understand together."

You can't contain the laugh as he says it. The both of you chuckling on your own inside joke.

"Oi," Derek draws your attention, your laughing gone, but the smiles remaining on your faces, " what are you two lovebirds laughing at?"

Your cheeks go impossibly more rosy, "nothing." It's an easy lie, you don't feel like telling them the truth.

And one look at Spencer you know he doesn't either, his own cheeks a bit more pink than they were before.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x gn!reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid

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iamgonnagetyouback · 3 months ago

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Heyyyy! I saw your post looking for AU Marauders requests so I thought I’d have a go.

I concept I’ve been loving recently is Doctor/Paramedic Remus so maybe something with that if the idea sparks your interest. Preferably something hurt/comfort (I will never get enough of that trop). I’ll let you decide on the rest 🥰

Hope you’re having a nice day!

doctor!remus lupin x teacher!reader who gets pushed by her students

You rubbed your head as you trudged into the hospital, the dizziness making each step heavier. Today had been... a disaster. Your students—well, they were good kids, but today’s rowdiness had gone too far, leaving you on the ground, injured, and with a splitting headache.

“Of course, I get pushed around by teenagers,” you muttered, glancing at your phone. You’d intended to head straight for your dad’s office, but fate had other plans. Because standing at the reception desk, clipboard in hand, was none other than Remus Lupin.

Your stomach twisted as your eyes locked onto him. He glanced up, and you saw the flicker of recognition in his gaze. His warm, amber eyes were now watching you with concern. But, oh no, you were not in the mood.

“Y/N?” Remus started to approach, but you turned on your heel immediately.

“Nope. I’m good. I’m fine. Just gonna go bleed somewhere else, thanks.”

Before you could get far, James Potter caught up to you, blocking your path with wide, worried eyes. “What do you mean, 'bleed somewhere else'? Y/N, sit down. Now.”

“James, I swear I’m—”

“Remus!” James called out dramatically, waving at the doctor like he was hailing a taxi. “Get over here! She’s being an idiot, but you’re a doctor, right? Fix her!”

You glared at your best friend. “I don’t need fixing.”

“Yeah, and I don’t need glasses. But here we are.” James rolled his eyes before turning to Remus. “Do something before she faints or worse.”

Remus sighed, clearly reluctant but professional. “Y/N, come with me. Let’s get you checked out.”

“I don’t—”

“You don’t get a say in this.” He caught your arm as you swayed slightly, that damn dizziness getting worse. “Lean on me.”

“I’d rather not,” you grumbled, feeling the weight of his hand steady you.

Remus wasn’t fazed. “I don’t care that you hate me. Do you see anyone else here to help?”

You raised an eyebrow and turned to James for rescue, but your so-called best friend was... flirting with Lily, who you had called earlier for backup. He wasn’t even pretending to be concerned anymore, laughing at something she’d said.

“Traitor,” you whispered under your breath, your eyes narrowing at James before you let out a resigned sigh. “Fine, fine.”

Remus’ arms gently enveloped you, guiding you to a nearby room. The warmth of his hands settling on your waist as he helped you onto the hospital bed left an unexpected tingling sensation. He knelt in front of you, glancing up with that infuriatingly soft look. “Can I?”

“Just get this over with.”

He nodded and dabbed cotton in some antiseptic. “This is going to hurt,” he warned, his tone a little too kind for your liking.

You braced yourself, but the sting still made you wince, and before you knew it, his free hand was extended toward you. You blinked at it.

“Hold it,” Remus said. “It’ll help.”

You stared at him, incredulous. “What? Seriously?”

He didn’t waver. “Yes. Seriously.”

You sighed and grabbed his hand, squeezing it hard as he dabbed at your wound. He didn’t flinch, just kept working, and you had to admit—it did help, a little. Not that you’d ever tell him that.

Once he finished bandaging you up, he smirked. “You’re reckless, you know that? And your students are completely undisciplined.”

You shot him a glare, ignoring how his hand was still warm in yours. “They’re just kids. They didn’t mean to hurt me.”

“They threw you on the ground.”

“It was an accident!”

“Hmm, sure.” He raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. “Maybe you should be a bit stricter, professor.”

“Oh, shut up, doctor.”

Remus chuckled softly and stood, calling James and Lily back into the room. They rushed over, their faces immediately turning into a picture of concern. Well, Lily’s did. James looked more like a frantic mother hen.

“Merlin, Y/N, why didn’t you tell me you were this hurt?!” James exclaimed, kneeling beside you. “Remus, she’s dumb. You have some medicine to knock some sense into her, right?”

“Hey!” you protested.

Lily, on the other hand, was far more composed. She gently patted your shoulder. “How are you feeling, Y/N?”

“I’m fine, honestly.”

“She’s not fine,” James argued. “Remus, tell her.”

“I already did,” Remus said with a smirk, crossing his arms. “But she’s stubborn.”

You rolled your eyes as James and Lily continued fussing over you. But somewhere in the middle of all the chaos, your eyes found Remus’ again, and for just a second, you weren’t as annoyed by him as usual.

#remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin hurt/comfort #remus lupin fluff #doctor!remus #doctor au #teacher!reader #teacher au

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butlervibesonly · 20 days ago

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𝐵𝑒𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑎𝑖𝑠𝑙𝑒 | Austin Burler

• SUMMARY: Ashley, Austin’s sister, is checking up on her soon to be sister in law, and on her brother too before their wedding, to find out they’re both nervous wreck’s and, well… So made for each other.

• PAIRING: Austin Butler x female reader + Austin’s sister is included 🥰

• WARNINGS: nothing just fluff and most cute nervousness before wedding, maybe typos

“Oh my gosh, Y/n!” you hear Ashley gasp. You're counting down the last minutes until the ceremony. By now, your friends, who helped you with your dress and makeup, also had to get ready, so you were alone in your room. “You look absolutely gorgeous, Y/n!”

You fix some details on your dress, smiling at Ashley who also looks so beautiful in her dress. “Thank you, Ash.” As Ashley comes closer to you, she helps to adjust your veil. “How are you feeling?” she asks, noticing the nervousness in your eyes.

"Honestly?” you sigh. “I feel like my heart is about to jump out of my chest. I’m so nervous. What if... what if something goes wrong? What if I mess up, or he realizes—" Before you can even finish this sentence, Ashley stops you.

"Whoa, slow down. Let me stop you right there. First of all, nothing is going to go wrong, alright? And second you’re marrying my brother and he loves you. Like, completely, unconditionally, can’t-stop-talking-about-you loves you."

You laugh softly and nervously “He does talk a lot, doesn’t he?" Ashley nods while taking your hands in hers. "Oh, trust me, nonstop. He’s been like this since the day he met you. You should hear him when you’re not around. You’re his world, Y/n. And I’ve never seen him so happy."

Ashley’s words make your eyes filled with tears. You can’t believe you’re here, few minutes before marrying the man of your dreams forever. “Really?” you smile surprisingly at her.

“I wouldn’t joke about this. You’re everything he ever wanted. And trust me — this day is the day he always dreamed about.” Ashley was like your sister since the day one. She supports you in everything and loves you like you have always been the part of family.

“I just... don’t want to let him down, you know.”

“You won’t. Just be yourself as you are always “, Y/n, and this day will be perfect. You’ve got this, okay? And we all love you not only him!” Her hands are on your shoulders as he is looking into your eyes - with those eyes that are so familiar to Austin’s.

“Woah, thank you... really. You guys are the best thing that could ever happen to me.” you say, relieved. Ashley wraps her arms around you to pull you into a gentle hug as she doesn’t want to ruin your beautiful dress.

“Anytime. You’ll be part of family after all,” you two giggle. “Now, take another deep breath, and you will make my brother the luckiest man alive in any second.” she says and before she leaves, she turns in the door. “But first let me check on him,” she smirks making you laugh.

As Ashley knocks on her brother’s room, walking in she sees Austin adjusting his tie in the mirror. “Knock, knock. How’s the groom doing?” Austin lets out a breath, running a hand through his “Oh, you know... I’m so nervous. Like I have never been.”

Ashley smiles widely, remembering you told her the exact same thing. “Yea, definitely soulmates…” she murmurs, coming closer to help Austin with his tie. “What was that?” Austin asks as he didn’t understand what Ashley said.

“Oh, nothing. Just confirming what I already knew. You two are perfect for each other.” she replies and is done with his tie. Austin sits down on the bed with a deep sight. “I just... I don’t want to mess this up, you know? She’s everything to me. What if—“

“Nope. Don’t even go there. Listen to me, you’re not going to mess anything up, okay? You are over the heels about Y/n since the day one, do you know how I know?” Ashley looks at her brother as he furrows his eyebrows, waiting for what she wants to tell him.

“Because you never stop talking about Y/n, Austin. I’ve never seen you happier over anyone else like this. She’s good for you. And more importantly, you’re good for her. She loves you just as much as you love her, maybe even more-.

Austin smiles softly, taking notes of what Ashley says. “So stop worrying. She’s walking down that aisle because she wants to. All you have to do is be there, say 'I do,' and try not to cry much."

“No, no… Absolutely no promises on the crying part.” Austin says, pointing at the emergency tissue in his pocket. Ashley laughs, and as Austin stand up, they both hug,

“Remember, Aus, you’ve got this. You’re her everything, her friend, her partner in crime, her future husband. Now take a deep breath and let’s go make her Mrs. Butler.” Austin nods and as the clocks ticks the time of the ceremony, that is where your future begins. Your future as Mr. and Mrs. Butler.

#austin butler #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler imagine #austin butler x reader #austin butler x you #austin butler x y/n #austin butler fandom #austinbutler #austin butler fic #austin butler imagines #Spotify

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carolmunson · 8 months ago

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2 ✨ Orange Colored Sky Eddie, if I may 🥰

‘don’t wanna wait on it tonight i wanna get nasty.’

ocs!eddie girls come get y’all smut juice (18+ drinking, p in v sex.)

"Tell me how good it feels."

Eddie's voice always got low and husky after a few drinks, confidence mixed with something dark and brooding.

You both got home from work with rough days weighing on both of your shoulders. He immediately made his way to the bar cart to make margaritas. Not even slipping off his shoes. Not even speaking.

You sipped them quietly on the sectional, just the lamp on in the corner. Then another, then another, until you both were stumbling when you stood up.

Not so drunk that you both needed to go to bed, but drunk enough that the couch was so comfortable. Drunk enough that when he looked at you and patted his thigh you slid over onto his lap like you have so many nights before. Drunk enough that getting undressed felt fluid and sexy, but to an onlooker - awkward and messy.

You breathed for each other, lips and teeth gnashing and kissing. Calloused tattooed fingers pulling at your skin, gripping the meat of your hips, pulling you in around your waist. He does anything to kiss more, to dip his tongue further into your mouth, to devour you whole.

He flips you around with your back to his chest, tequila breaths ghosting over that spot on your neck that makes you squirm while he parts your legs open wide on his lap. One hand pushes your face towards his while the other sneaks between your legs, teasing over your already damp panties — cotton, hunter green, thrown on this morning in an uncaffeinated haze. He'd never been more turned on in his life.

Your hips move against his fingers, whimpering into his mouth.

"Tell me how good it feels."

His innate need for praise made his acts of dominance seem like a farce.

"So good," you whisper against his lips.

"Yeah?" he murmurs, running over your panty line.

You nod, doing the job for him and getting up to take your underwear off. He pulls a face.

"What?" you ask.

"I could've taken them off all sexy," he complains,

"But you just — y'know."

"Did that!" he gestures toward you, naked in front of him.

"Are you upset?" you ask, turning around to grab a sip of your abandoned fourth margarita. You hear his dreamy sigh, a quiet 'mmm' at the view in front of him. The nectarines at Trader Joe's not the only reason the nickname Peach has stuck around so long.

"Nope," you hear the smile on his lips, "But don' make me wait, sweetheart."

You hear the shuffle of him pulling his boxers down, giggling when he tosses them at your feet.

You turn back around, offering him the glass where he down the rest of the drink in two gulps. In his post gulp breaths he looks you over, a grin flashing his teeth at you when he looks you over.

"What did I say?" he asks up at you, reaching forward to pull you by you hips toward his lap.

"Don't make you wait," you smirk, knees finding their way to the edge of the couch when you crawl on top of him again. He takes you in, nose and lips skimming your sternum up your breasts before his teeth graze over the side. He bites, but not hard.

"Yeah," he whispers like smoke against your skin, "Don't make me..."

In his distraction you take the moment to sink slowly down onto him, a needy whine pulling from your chest while you press down to the hilt.

"Mmm, shit — don't —" he groans.

"Don't make me wait..." Eddie sighs gruffly, eyes hazy in love while he leans his head back on the cushions to watch you. You're already nearly falling apart after a few bounces on his lap.

Needed this all day.

God, he needed you all day.

#ocs!eddie #orange colored sky #older!eddie munson #older!eddie x reader #eddie munson x reader #Eddie munson smut

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kkreadsstuff · 15 days ago

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*giggles excitedly and kicks my little feet* guess who's about to get into BLOODY, SLUTTY, AND PATHETIC by WhatMurdah?

ME, bitch 🥰🥰🥰

it was published over about 5 months in 2024 (so it's complete obvs, i don't read WIPs sorry not sorry), is 21 chapters, and just over 195K words! so a nice sized fic that i'm about to devour like a starving man, tysm.

i am and have truly been looking forward to this fic ever since someone on reddit said they have never seen draco simp and pine and be stupid for hermione harder than he ever has in this fic. i think they said she slaps him in public and then he is just like, "omg she fucking touched me!!!!!!!! *nuts*" like... LMAO yes bitch. yes pls! and then that possessive draco tag is staring at me like 👀😈 and i'm staring back like 👁👄👁💖

this will be my FIRST EVER marriage law fic and i am so happy that it is this one. i can't wait to see what happenssssss. i have tried to avert my eyes from the hype, summaries, think pieces and such because i'm not trying to set myself up or know too much or be disappointed or go off anyone else's interpretation, i just want to let the fic take me where it's gonna take me!!!! i want to scream, cry, giggle, pine, laugh, throw up, feel the feels, etc. my body is ready!!! *rubs hands together vigorously*

summary:

“In my humble opinion there’s only three things that men should be and that is bloody, slutty, and pathetic.” And, on a good day, Draco Malfoy can be all three. When war heroine Hermione Granger and Azkaban-tattooed war criminal Draco Malfoy are forced to wed as part of Shacklebolt’s controversial Reconciliation Act, they openly fight the match and each other—their public brawls breathlessly reported by the press. Secretly, a deeply traumatized Draco delights in Hermione’s attention and pines for a real marriage with her—even as her forced proximity to the Black family magic irritates the cursed scar Bellatrix left on her arm, reminding her why she can never truly trust or forgive him. Then Hermione discovers that Draco’s blood will soothe the scar . . . and Draco is willing to trade his blood for her body. (With post-war blood purity politics, black market potioneers, Pansy Parkinson’s career advice, the Malfoys blackmailing Hermione’s Wizengamot opposition, BDE Neville Longbottom hunting Death Eaters, a slutty Theo Nott serving as Draco’s right-hand man, and Crookshanks loose in Malfoy Manor.)

tags: Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Marriage law, Forced Marriage, Post-War, Angst, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pining/Possessive Draco Malfoy, Morally Grey Hermione Granger; rating: EXPLICIT

very interested by the pairings outside of D/Hr which are Pansy/Neville, and Theo/Everyone lmfao we LOVE a slutty theo, we truly do. i can't wait to see the friendship between him and draco in this one!!! i love their friendship so so so soooo much. (sidenote, i might have to read some theo/harry fics soon enough but that's neither here nor there) ANYWAYS apparently neville has big dick energies in BSP so i'm ready for that. crookshanks is innis bitch where he BELONGS, i love me some crookshanks i truly do.

anything else...? nope i don't think so LET'S MF GOOOO

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always-just-red · 2 days ago

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hi rach ♡ for the christmas prompts, can i request zayne and 04? (and i hope you're having a good week! ♡)

Hiiii! Hope you're having a good week too, thanks for the request! 🥰💕 ALSO everyone say a big thank you to Rafayel, who had to physically restrain me throughout the writing of this fic for the safety of our dear doctor! No writing would have been done!!! 😇

A New Patient

Zayne x Reader ❄️

Prompt #014: on an ice rink, careful to dodge the bustling crowd that stumble and rush past.

Warnings/Additional tags: gn!reader, established relationship, super minor injury, a lil bit of PDA and a pinch of suggestion at the end (Zayne can't help it-- look at you!!!)

| Word count: 1.2k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“Zayne! Zayne! Look, no hands!”

Mittened fingers wave in front of the doctor’s face, having finally— after a slow twenty minutes— left the ice rink’s railing. Clad in skates, your feet are still threatening to slip out from underneath you, even more so as you make your humble boast, and you wobble precariously.

Zayne chuckles, reaching to help steady your balance. “Impressive.”

“Right? Anyway, let go! I’ve so got this!”

“You’re sure?”

“One hundred percent. Unhand me, sir.”

“As you command.”

His grip on you slips away as he takes an overtly confident step back. He’s sporting the same, enthralled smile of disbelief that lit-up the moment you set foot on the ice. The grace with which you evade and strike down Wanderers? Gone. The calm competence you employ when stitching a wound under his instruction? Gone.

The only thing you’ve managed to hold onto is sheer, near-delusional stubbornness, and Gods, he adores it. His silly, self-destructive Deepspace Hunter. He’s never been gladder to be a doctor; at this rate, you will be needing one.

A couple skate past you, giving you a wide berth, like the rest of the crowd on the rink. Zayne is acting as a sort of barrier, but he doesn’t really need to. You’re getting the same courtesy paid to you as the children here: space for mistakes. Space to slip over without taking anyone down with you.

Not far away, a man loses his footing, landing straight on his ass. He laughs unashamedly. You and Zayne both beam at him. See? It could be worse. Miraculously, you haven’t actually fallen o—

Something careens through your legs, and the next thing you know, you’ve crashed to the ice and you’re staring up at the sky, winded. Your breath aches as it comes back.

Zayne is saying your name: leaning over you, and— is he trying not to laugh?! His hand is over his mouth, but his eyes are creased so obviously. A single scrape in battle is worth making a fuss over, but this is funny? Nope. Nuh-uh. Get up, you have to kill him.

Just as you’re sitting up, rubbing your head, you spot the culprit of your fall. A little girl is slumped across from you, having similarly skittered down to the ice. Her eyes are wide with shock, and the second she meets your gaze she wails— sobs and cries stuttering out of her throat. Your blood goes cold.

“I’m so sorry!” exclaims a woman who has waddled frantically over to you, and the girl cries louder.

“It’s quite all right,” Zayne reassures, and is it? Is it really? “Accidents happen.”

The girl’s mother lowers herself, cooing and comforting, but the child is having none of it. Tears run down her puffy red cheeks. Snot leaks from her nose. Maybe you should start acting out too. I mean, you’re the victim here— hello?!

Zayne speaks from above you: “Here, allow me.”

Ever the angel on your shoulder, whispering into your ear; your valiant doctor stoops down beside you. He’s not even looking at you, but the sedative of his bedside manner still seeps through your aching body, inducing a sort of sleepiness.

The girl hasn’t stopped crying, and Zayne puts his hands together: ethereal, sparkling snowflakes emanating from between his palms. Still committed to the bit, the girl sniffles, but one eye is open, peeking: what is he—?

Zayne lifts one hand, and nestled in the other is a little, familiar snow seal. The girl gasps in delight.

“This is my friend,” Zayne smiles, indicating the creature. “Do you like him?”

The girl nods eagerly with another long sniff, captivated.

Zayne puts the seal to his ear. “Ah,” he nods, squinting thoughtfully as though he’s listening, “yes. I understand.” He turns back to the girl. “My friend would like to know if you are feeling all right. He asks—” he consults the seal again— “he asks if anything is broken?”

“I don’t think so,” the girl answers, shaking her head. Her voice wobbles with earnestness: she is very determined to not worry Mr Seal.

“Wonderful.” Zayne continues to translate: “Are you all in one piece? Do you have all your arms? Your legs?”

You think your heart is going to explode; the girl actually checks. “Yes!” she chirps.

“And your head?”

The girl’s hands fly up to her face. “Yes!” she confirms again.

Zayne nods, pleased. One last consultation with the seal, and... “My friend is very happy that you’re okay, but he’s still a little bit worried. Do you think he could stay with you? That you could look after him for me?”

“Yes, yes, yes!” the girl squeals, hands extended— reaching out. “Please!”

Her mother laughs, and Zayne chuckles too. Carefully, he sets the snow seal into the hands that are grasping towards him. The girl holds it like it’s the most precious thing in the world. Her eyes are twinkling with awe and adoration. “I love him!” she squeals again. “I love him, I love him, I love him!” The seal is lifted so she can stare directly into its eyes. “I’m going to call you… Mr Fluffykins!”

It’s no Clopidogrel.

“That’s a very good name,” Zayne grins. “I think he likes it a lot.”

The girl’s mother helps her daughter up from the ice, although she doesn’t get any thanks; the child is babbling away in conversation with Mr Fluffykins, thoroughly enamoured. “Thank you,” the woman smiles gratefully at Zayne.

“It was no trouble,” he assures.

Was it no trouble? Neglected, forgotten— you cross your arms as your attacker is escorted away. Crouched before you, Zayne finally returns your gaze with a soft and dazzling smile. You won’t be charmed by it. “So,” you huff, “you’re just making seals for anyone nowadays, huh?”

He chuckles fondly, regardless of your pouted lips and wounded, narrowed eyes. “Would you like one as well?”

“No.”

“Good.” Good? He has some nerve, and no wonder an open chest cavity doesn’t faze him, for he leans in daringly close to whisper: “I don’t like it when other doctors poach my patients.”

His fingers are brushing your forehead, smoothing back a stray hair. “Mr Fluffykins comes highly recommended,” you let out on a weighty breath.

“Mr Fluffykins is overworked. Inundated with patients, I hear. So tell me…” His lips peck your cheek. “Is anything broken?”

“Everything.”

“I see.” Another kiss, on the tip of your nose. “And your limbs... all still attached?”

Your eyes have closed so you can savour the not-knowing of where each touch might come next. You smile, tilting your head to nod backwards: “One of my legs are over there.”

Zayne is grinning too. You can’t see it, but you feel it as his lips graze yours, not quite a kiss this time.

“How about it, Doctor Zayne?” You open your eyes as he draws back, and your smile is as dangerous as a beating, still-bleeding heart, at the mercy of his hands. “Think you can save me?”

He gently rises to his feet, steady on his skates as he reaches towards you. “I think,” he says, as you grasp his hand and haul yourself up, only to be trapped in his arms, against his chest with his lips by your ear, “we both know I can.”

#🖋rach is actually writing #zayne x reader #zayne #love and deepspace #lads zayne #lnds zayne #l&ds zayne #li shen #lads x reader #zayne x mc #lads #lnds #l&ds

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ronearoundblindly · 1 month ago

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What are you thoughts on the Cevans characters (+ Bucky hehe) on giving & receiving oral? Who’s more into what, like which role do they prefer. Are any of them not into it at all? Do any of them like it more than actual sex?

Your takes on the Cevans characters are always so accurate 🥰🎀 Luv your blog <3

Ohhhhhh nessie. So spicy. So 😙🤌. Let's GO!

Warnings for, yeah, discussion of oral (both m and f receiving) with some references to other sexual acts for comparison, etc. We got there this time, gang, like all the way to hell...

Andy Barber

Into both but not his fave. Since Andy wasn't originally in my list of characters (and thus never got a favorite sex position), I'll tell you now that Mr. Barber is more of a face-to-face and hands-on lover. He enjoys a blowjob, sure, and he's by no means against going down on you, but his hands like to grope and wander more than those allow.

Ari Levinson

Really into both. Wow, just, really really into both. Can't say he enjoys it "more" than actual sex, but ohhh fuck it's close. Ari is a roar-as-he-comes-down-your-throat type of guy. He definitely is sloppy on you, not afraid to soak his beard before you even peak. I stand by my headcanon that Ari doesn't like his hair pulled though. He understands it'll happen sometimes, but he will move if you keep tugging hard. Much happier if you leave scratches across his shoulders instead.

Also, Ari strikes me as a man who would enjoy road head or pull over to go down on you if he's horny or bored or just because. I don't have a reason for that, but it's true. The end.

Curtis Everett

He's a giver 100%. Curtis isn't *against* getting a blowjob, but he can't enjoy it much if you aren't really into giving, too.

Maybe TMI, idk, but I also get the impression that Curtis really adds a lot of his tongue thrusting into you during the act. No reasoning, just vibes. He wants to actually fuck you with his face.

Jake Jensen

Whiny and needs practice but he appreciates both ways. Jake needs you to verbally tell him what to do and what feels good, so for a while at least, some of the fun is taken away from that. He also needs the practice not blowing his load about 30 seconds after your lips get on him. That visual--you kneeling or bent over trying to fit him in your mouth--just...does him in so fast.

Jimmy Dobyne

Nope, not really. Surprisingly, he has the skill to make you come without having to do it a lot, but Jimmy still crawls up under your skirt rarely. It's like The Best present when he does. Like, who the fuck did he practice this on to the point of expertise??? Makes no sense, but I'm telling you, Jimmy is the secret munch of the bunch. He'll let you go down on him, but he won't be the one to suggest it. That's purely up to you.

Johnny Storm

Eh--little here, little there. He enjoys the riskiness of oral in semi-public places more than p-in-v sex. Johnny is DTF always...mostly, so nothing is off the table...and he's fine being on the table, just for reference.

Lloyd Hansen

Lloyd is more of a receiver and a giant tease for going down on you. He talks a good game, and you'd think with the mustache that he's practically been groomed to be sat on. However, Lloyd likes to be smug as hell, telling you he'll take care of you but he just needs to unwind after his day. He doesn't really intend to put in much effort because Lloyd is good enough with his fingers and dick. He gets away with avoiding it.

James Mace

Similar to Andy for different reasons: he's into both but neither is his fave. Mace likes a lot of things a little bit. Every position is on rotation. He doesn't want you to get bored, or worse, to be boring, so Mace plays around constantly. Yes, you two still fuck in the bedroom 'the most,' but that's not from lack of other variety.

Ransom Drysdale

Mostly a receiver but in a less controlling way than Lloyd. He uses his tongue as torture on you, i.e. Ran has no intention of bringing you to climax and he wants for you to beg. He wants you to prefer fucking him. Ransom is too lazy for this to be a regular thing he has to do.

Now, again, don't ask me why but I truly believe Ran gets a kick out of choking you on his dick. There's a distinction here, though, because Lloyd enjoys watching you struggle to take him in your mouth while Ransom purposefully thrusts to choke you. It's not prolonged. It's just a kink he likes.

Steve Rogers

Will eat you out at the drop of a hat but thinks a blowjob is degrading to you. Steve has a very traditional notion of respect for the people he loves...and, no, he doesn't see the hypocrisy in that. His excuse is that he likes his mouth all over you, down there no different than anywhere else 🤷🏻‍♀️.

Bucky Barnes

Oh, fuck yeah.

What's there to expand on? Bucky 100% loves to watch you worship his body and loves to worship yours. This dude may have some social and professional hangups, but sex hasn't changed much since the '30s. Anatomy (more or less) is anatomy, and at least all of his romance bits are the same.

Does he prefer giving or receiving? It's pretty equal. You both go gaga over the other dressing up fancy...or dressing down...or when you're dressing...or, ya know, not dressed. Basically, it's just a 'yes.'

Thank you for asking!

[Main Masterlist; Who Would... Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555

@yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory

@brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn

@late-to-the-party-81 @bigtreefest @mistressmkay @astheskycries

@rogersbarber @blogbog710 @yenzys-lucky-charm

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snoopyracing · 5 months ago

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14 from the fluff list + charles 🥺

here it is! hope you like it 🥰❤️

charles + person A's brain short circuiting at how good person B looks

charles adrenaline was still pumping even hours after crossing the finish line at the monaco grand prix. it still didn’t feel real to him that after so many years he had finally won his home race. the whole weekend had been surreal and he had wondered many times if this was all just one big dream and as he buttoned the cuffs of his dress shirt he pinched himself for good measure.

nope. definitely not dreaming.

there hadn’t been a moment for him to take a break today and really process his emotions. after the race it was press duties and then a small celebration with the team that may have involved jumping into the marina. then fast forward to his current task- which was getting ready for the gala dinner.

you had been back at the apartment getting ready for awhile. it was a big event and you’d be eating dinner with the prince and princess which meant hours would be spent making sure you looked your best.

you sang along to the music playing from your phone as you put the finishing touches on your makeup, not even hearing charles enter the bedroom until he spoke up.

“chérie you almost ready?”

your eyes flickered to his reflection of him standing behind you in the mirror. big smiles on both of your faces as you made eye contact.

“yes. i just need help zipping up my dress”

in an instant you were out of your robe and pulling the satin dress up over your figure. goosebumps forming at the feeling of charles fingers brushing over your skin and when he pulled your hair to the side to zip up your dress it caused a shiver to run down your spine. it was embarrassing how much of an effect this man had on you.

he placed a chaste kiss on your shoulder before letting your hair cascade down your back once more. and after slipping on your heels and grabbing your clutch you did a little spin for charles, showing off the final look. “how do i look charlie?”

charles had never been at a loss for words before. his brain was short circuiting and the line from his brain to his mouth had been severed. you looked so beautiful, so radiant, so perfect, like an ethereal being- but he was too stunned too speak. how he had managed to have someone like you by his side he wasn’t sure, but he thanked the gods everyday for you. he didn’t realize he was stood there like a dumbfounded fool until your angelic voice broke him out of his trance.

“baby. close your mouth. you’ll catch flies.”

he could feel the heat radiating to his cheeks as he choked on his words. “sorry-“ he reached his hand out for yours, pulling you into his embrace “but mon coeur you’re the most beautiful woman i’ve ever seen. think you scrambled my brain there for a minute.”

your giggles only made his already rapid heart beat even faster. “thank you. you’re very handsome too charlie.”

he’d never felt more in love than right now and when you two made eye contact he knew your were it for him.

you saw charles start to lean in to give you a kiss, but put your finger up to his lips instead. “um no. i love you, but i worked too hard on this makeup for you to mess it up.”

a playful groan escaped past charles lips. “chérie! come on! just one little kiss?”

you patted his chest as you walked past him and towards the door. “we are gonna be late. plus i think the race winner deserves a good prize later no?”

charles didn’t need to be told twice. he was hot on your heels ushering you out the door.

come chat it’s sleepover saturday!!

#nervous writing anything for you lilli..:#but i hope you like it #🥺😭#charles leclerc x reader #sleepover saturday #maddie answers stuff #hctknives #charles leclerc drabble

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hereforhalstead · 1 year ago

Text

CPD Gala

*GIF NOT MINE, full credit to the owner*

Requested?: Nope! Wanted to get something posted now I'm back :)

• Warnings: N/A

• Summary: Jay reminds you of the annual CPD gala but knows it's not your idea of fun

Words: 1,321

• A/N : I’m not gonna apologise again for being gone as god knows how many of these I post with that intro but I’m hoping to be back in the swing of things as I have a tonne of requests to get through and I don’t want anyone thinking their request is being ignored as I promise it isn’t!

Meh I don’t love it as I defo need to get back into the comforts of my writing (its gone so downhill lmao) but here we are..

Hope you enjoy🥰

****

Jay knew you weren’t the biggest fan of social occasions, so when you happily agreed to attend the annual CPD gala he had invited you along to, he was beyond surprised.

“I mean, I’ll ask her but don’t get your hopes up” he had joked with Kim a few days prior, following endless begging from her after finding out Hailey wouldn’t be there and wanting a familiar female face there.

“Tell her I’ll by her drinks all night” she quickly exclaims as Jay chuckles, eyes still firmly on the road as they drive back to the district.

“You do realise it’s a free bar?”

“Oh” she huffs, “more reason for her not to say no then” she happily shrugs, sinking back into her seat with a look of confidence.

As much as Jay could go on for hours about how he knew you better than anyone, least of all Kim who you had only met on a few occasions it was like talking to a brick wall sometimes and he didn’t have the patience.

You and Jay were homebodies and this suited you perfectly, he would come home after long shifts and you would still more than likely be sat in the same spot he left you at that morning. Countless half empty mugs filled with coffee that was now ice cold, papers scattered all over the table and floor with your eyes pinned firmly on the screen in front of you.

He would convince you to call it a night, you’d either order in food or you’d wander into the kitchen together to whip up dinner whilst he told you about his day. Depends on what you had, you’d either quickly tidy up the table as best you could or you both just slumped on the sofa with the pizza box balanced on your laps as you watched some trash TV.

You would always fall asleep before Jay, he would get too into the show you had put on and then couldn’t finish until he had got to the end whereas you probably wasn’t paying too much attention in the first place so would easily doze off to only be awoken with a light kiss to your head when Jay has turned the TV off.

It worked like clockwork, some may say boring but it just worked for you and you couldn’t picture it any other way. You were each others comfort, the feeling of home.

***

Jay had bought up the idea of going with him to the gala the previous year but you had only been dating for a few months and hasn’t told many people so you decided against it in mutual agreement.

The truth was it hadn’t left you mind since that exact day he casually asked you over dinner last year

“would be fun you know? “ he raised his eyebrows as he took a sip from his drink “having you on my arm all nice and dressed up” he teased

No Jay, it wouldn’t be fun.

Social outings weren’t your thing, you had a close family and the relationship you had with Jay and that was more than enough. An evening spent in Molly’s was something you had to build yourself up to, let alone a huge party with tonnes of people you had never met before.

Every week the thought would re-enter your mind on whether or not he would ask again this year, secretly hoping he would’ve forgot or they had a case on which meant they couldn’t go. You knew it was in August as Kim had mentioned it one night at Molly’s so as the month got closer, the more it played on your mind.

You even forced yourself one weekend to go dress shopping for the occasion to try and get yourself in the right mindset of being there to support Jay, after all you were beyond honoured he would want you by his side but sometimes the voice in your head would have a way of getting through.

“You know the CPD gala is this weekend?” Jay broke the silence, still chewing on his pizza as he flicked through the channels.

Shit

“I know it’s not your thing so I’m thinking of just third wheeling Kim and Adam, do you think they’ll mind?” he joked but you could tell there was something in his voice that had a twinge of disappointment.

“I’ll come with you”

Before you could register your voice to your brain, the words came out of your mouth.

“Baby, you do-“ he began but you were quick to cut him off in reassurance, placing a finger onto his lips as you smiled

“It doesn’t matter, you want me to be there so I’ll be there”

You placed a light kiss to his lips, the confusion plastered across his face but the light behind his eyes showing through in a gleam.

“Just promise me you will think about it first, don’t do this for me. You know I’d rather stay at home with you anyway but there isn’t many of us going to Voight wants us to make our presence known bla bla bla”

“I’ve already bought a dress” you lied, knowing it would be the thing to distract him

The chewing on his mouthful slowed, scanning your face with a slight narrow to his eyes as he tilted his head “what does it look like?”

“It’s just a little black dress, that alright with you?” you suggested, playful tone as he pouted his lips and nodded with a sign of approval “how comes I haven’t seen this dress?”

You lifted the pizza box from his lap whilst you began to tidy, scanning down to see him lift his hips to get more comfortable, slinging one arm to rest on the top of his head whilst the other clutched at the bottle of beer.

The gaze that was piercing into your back felt like it could burn a hole, the extra swing in your hips and swish of your ponytail was giving you the confidence you needed.

Placing the pizza box down on the side you turned to see Jay towering over you, one arm resting against the door frame with the other resting low in his sweatpant pocket.

“Seriously, let me see this dress”

You tried to keep your composure, acting like you couldn’t see the smile he was trying to hide despite the corners of his lips already turning up with his every word.

His eyes were pinned to you as you picked off a piece off fluff from his tshirt, following each move as you let your hand rest onto his chest.

Gazing up at him, innocence in your eyes as you could feel his heart pounding beneath your touch amongst the silence.

“You’re not allowed to see it until the Gala”

He huffed, rolling his eyes whilst running a hand across his forehead in stress

“but the guy in the store said I looked like a million bucks”

His eyes widened, smirk spreading across his lips as you felt his hand drop to your hip as he cleared his throat “did he now?”

You nodded, feeling his grip tighten as he let out a huff in laughter which you knew he didn’t mean in amusement.

Before you could think of what to come back with, his arm was slung over your waist, picking you up like you were a piece of paper and tossing you onto his shoulder. Marching towards the bedroom, not letting the fists you were prodding into his back stopping him.

“Jay?! What are you doing!” you exclaimed, being laid on the bed as he pinned his arms either side of your head to stop you from getting away from him. Dark glint in his eyes as he roamed about your body, taking in every inch as he admired.

“I think you need to show me this dress baby”

***

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ferida-kahlo · 2 years ago

Text

I can read it in your eyes

Mikey Berzatto x F!Reader

Summary: Hanging out with your boyfriend at your apartment, you sense he needs something special from you, tonight. Something to lighten the load on his shoulders... so you provide.

Or: the one where Mikey has a praise k!nk 🥰

Warnings: 18+, SMUT, praise k!nk, Oral (m receiving), BJ, dom/sub undertones, light dom/sub dynamics, light soft!dom, established relationship, PWP, p*rn with feelings, aftercare, c!m eating (blink-and-you-miss-it). Minors DNI.

Word count: 2.7k

Notes: I'm sorry in advance, this is pure filth that I needed to purge out of my system.

Read below the cut OR on AO3

‘Sweetheart, what the hell are you doing over there?’

You peeked at him from the kitchen doorframe to the couch, where he was slumping. You grinned. ‘Is that early onset dementia, babe? I told you I was getting us some popcorn.’

‘Yeah, and it’s been a thousand years. Come here already’. He patted the cushion next to him and made a face that reminded you of a small, abandoned puppy being kicked to the curb.

You stared right back with cold, narrowed eyes. ‘Michael. Are you fucking pouting at me?’

He tilted his head. ‘Is it working?’

‘Nope’, you said sweetly, blowing him a kiss and returning to the microwave, where the sporadic sounds of corn popping inside the bag let you know it was almost done.

A half-hearted grumble could be heard from the living room. You smiled. To be honest, you’d been spending most days anticipating these moments. Getting home after work, taking a shower, cooking some quick dinner, and eating it lazily whilst watching random stuff on TV… until the text notification came through. Be there in 10. The rush of excitement you got after that never got old.

You returned to the living room, triumphantly holding a giant bowl full of popcorn, and giving your boyfriend the most doe-eyed look you could muster. ‘Are you proud of me?’

He laughed at your attempt to be sexy – which if Mike was being honest… was kind of working. He loved seeing you like this, relaxed in your lounge wear – especially if that lounge wear consisted of tiny shorts and even tinier tops. He knew for a fact you weren’t wearing any underwear. You never did when he came around the house. And that was more than fine by him.

‘No offense, baby’, he reached over to the bowl, took it, and settled it on the floor, gently holding your hands in his big, rough ones. ‘But right now, I just need you to bring your beautiful ass over here’. He pointed to his lap and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

‘Wow. So subtle, Mikey.’ You laughed, making no move to resist his pull. You sat across his lap with your arms around his shoulders. ‘You’re lucky you’re cute. And sweet. And funny. And hot. And caring. And oh my god, so perceptive. And…’. With each compliment you feel an irresistible urge to kiss his nose, so you do.

He smiled weakly. ‘You’re too much. I ain’t none of t…’.

You shushed him with a finger on his lips and a hard stare. ‘Mike, honey’, your voice was sweet, but lower than usual, ‘you need to shut up and listen more. I was talking to you, saying all these nice things, and you go and interrupt me like that?’. With a feigned hurt look down at his chest, where your hands started softly rubbing, you tsk-tsk, disapprovingly.

‘You know I…’, he begins, but stops as soon as you lift your eyes, staring hardly at him, and your previously soothing hand suddenly rests still on top of his heart. He holds his breath for a bit, caught in your gaze like a deer in headlights. Oh. It’s going to be one of those nights, then, you think, with a mix of trepidation and excitement deep in your belly.

Finally, he closes his eyes and releases a deep sigh. You feel his entire upper body go limp beneath your hands – shoulders slump forward, the hands gripping your waist drop to the couch, and his forehead slams between the valley of your breasts. It’s like the whole week is melting off him. In nights like these, he needs you to take care of him, but seldom has the courage to ask for it. You gotta work it out of him.

‘That’s right, sweetheart. God, that’s okay. I know you’re tired. But you are so good. So good for me. So good for everyone.’ You coo at him, holding his face close to your chest, fingers threading between his thick locks of raven hair and lips slowly kissing all over his nose, cheeks, beard, temples...

‘Babe…’ he whispers meekly, looking at you through half-lidded eyes.

You halt your caresses, concerned. ‘Sorry, honey. Is this okay? Do you need to stop?’

‘No, please. Absolutely not. Please… don’t stop.’

‘Okay, then.’ You smile, stroking his cheek gently with one hand while the other moves tentatively lower, moving through his chest, reaching his belly. ‘… Mikey?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Are you gonna shut your beautiful mouth and let me take care of you tonight?’, you whisper against his lips.

He scoffs, defeated, looking at you like you hung the moon and all the stars in the sky. Like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. ‘Yeah, I guess I am.’

The pillow is soft against your skin. Mike never lets you kneel directly on the floor – even in nights such as this, when he’s so pent up with desire and longing that he turns speechless and melts into the couch, vulnerable to your every whim. Even though you’ve told him several times before that you like it – the stark contrast between the cold, hard floor and the warmness that seeps out of him, where he holds your cheek so softly. As if you were going to break.

His cock always feels really nice, too. Heavy against your tongue, a slightly tangy taste, a perfect girth stretching your lips. Right now, you’re looking up from under fluttering eyelashes, to check on him (sometimes, when his hand tightens in your hair, you notice he’s frowning with tightly shut eyes – something pulled him out of the moment and plunged him right back into the world, outside of the little bubble of love and bliss you created for him).

Thankfully, he looks fine. More than. He is staring right back at you, mouth agape, hair disheveled, chest heaving. It’s embarrassing how wet that sight leaves you.

You release his cock with a wet pop, giving the tip a kitten lick as you continue to stroke him, slowly. ‘Okay, baby?’

‘Yeah, honey… very okay. God, your mouth… can I fuck it? Please’, he pleads.

You smile sweetly, suddenly becoming aware of the silence that permeates the flat, and how both of you seem to be in tandem with it. You’ve been quietly delighting in each other’s touch for almost an hour now, speaking only once or twice, in whispers.

‘Of course you can, Bear. Can you be a good boy for me and hold my hair up, please?’

‘Fuck, yeah, baby, I can... Thank you, so much’. He sounds out of it, in the best of ways. Like he’s on autopilot, waiting for your instructions, the script of your dance engraved on the tip of his tongue, completely surrendered to the pleasure you allow him to take from you. It takes all your self-control not to lose it and pounce on him. But tonight isn’t about you – so you take a breath and recenter. Mike. Mikey. Michael.

Ever so helpful, he moves his hands to smoothly hold your lose hair in a makeshift ponytail. He never stops looking at you through glazed, fucked out eyes. ‘Too tight?’, his voice raspy.

‘No, Mikey, it’s perfect. Thank you’. You close your eyes and allow yourself a moment to revel in the grounding feel of his hands. You know he likes seeing you are enjoying this as well. When you lazily reopen your eyes, you realize both of you are smiling stupidly at each other.

‘You’re being so good for me, tonight… you know that, right?’. You rub his thick, trembling thighs, up and down. ‘So good at following instructions… trusting me to take care of you… Do you know what I’m thinking, baby?’. You can’t resist punctuating your speech by licking all around his shaft, red and throbbing and drooling with pre-cum at this point. A low moan rips out of him when you suddenly envelop almost the entirety of his cock with your mouth, lightly sucking…

His grip on your hair tightens and inadvertently lifts your mouth away from him, startling you. He gives you a regretful look. ‘Sorry, sweetheart… you gotta give me a few seconds, or I’m gonna shoot my load all over your face, like… now’. He chuckles dejectedly.

You pause to consider this. ‘Hm… okay, baby. But you didn’t let me finish what I was saying…’ You tilt your head to the side, a suggestive smile dancing on your face.

He frowns suspiciously, and you want to grab his face and cover it in smooches. ‘What?’

Slowly, never looking away from him, you slide your body between his legs, your arms gliding over the sculpted planes of his belly and chest, covering them in kisses, until you reach his neck, and with your arms around it, stroking his hair, your forehead against his, you sigh into his mouth.

‘I think… good, well-behaved, and polite boys should get rewarded’. You look up at him. ‘I think they should be allowed to cum wherever they want… as a treat.’

He sits there, immobile, lips parted – suspended in the exhilarating expectation of what he knew you were going to say.

‘Mikey… I want you to fuck my mouth and cum on my face… now. Can you do that, baby?’, you whisper against his lips.

You think you hear ‘fuck’ right before he roughly grabs the back of your head and smashes your mouths together in a searing kiss. You whimper, surprised, but allow yourself to relish this loss of control. After all, you did say he deserved a reward.

For a few seconds, you let him maneuver your head freely, fucking your mouth with his tongue – like he’s saying ‘here, sweetheart, take this appetizer, the main course will fucking reck you’. His hands paw at your breasts, thighs, waist, and ass, like he’s a starving man presented with a seven-course meal, not knowing where to start or finish. You desperately press your thighs together for some relief to your neglected core.

When he starts thrusting up his pelvis, unconsciously trying to fuck your tits, you decide it’s time to take back control. With a bite to his lower lip, you steal a startled noise out of him and push him firmly back against the couch.

You school your face into a stern, disappointed expression. ‘That’s enough, honey’. You are proud of how smooth your voice sounds, considering how horny you are.

He looks absolutely defeated – his hair all messed up from your hands, chest heaving, panting for air. You want to eat him whole.

‘God, baby… that must hurt’. You say in mock pity, looking sadly down at his fully hard cock, an angry red, shiny from spit and semen. You look back up at him. ‘Are you gonna be a good boy, and do what I told you to do, Mikey?’

‘Fuck, yes, please, sweetheart, please, just… fuck, I can’t take it anymore. I need your mouth, please…’. He’s babbling, overwhelmed, his eyes watery with unshed tears. By this point, you know the teasing is over – he needs release, and you need to give it to him.

You cup his face gently. ‘It’s alright, baby… you’re alright. Okay? Hm?’ he nods frantically. You kiss his nose sweetly and get back down on your knees, never taking your eyes away from his.

‘I’m gonna take care of you now, baby… my big, soft, sweet Bear’, you whisper, sliding down his chest until you reach his cock. His hands are immediately back to their native place, holding the hair away from your face.

You open your mouth and begin enveloping his cock, slowly. He watches you intently, thighs trembling and mouth quivering, new tears ready to burst from his eyes. Waiting for permission.

A slow blink and small nod of your head are enough for him. Go ahead, Mikey. Take what’s yours. He releases a broken moan, a dam of want bursting open with his first thrust into your mouth. He bottoms out, because he knows you can take it. He knows that, right now, all you want is for him to let go.

You never stop looking at him. Even as his thrusts lose rhythm, and his hands start slipping from your hair down to grip your jaw, and his cock his constantly hitting the back of your throat, cutting off the air supply.

Your eyes water and tears run down your cheeks with abandon, as your mind enters that stage of pure bliss. No thoughts but a loop of keep mouth open, tongue out, breathe out of nose in time with thrusts, check if he’s OK, keep mouth open, tongue out, …

‘Baby, baby, baby, I can’t, I can’t anymore… I’m gonna cum, please, g – fuck’. Shaking, he takes his length in hand for the first time tonight, pulling it out and stroking it with abandon over your face.

You nod frantically, closing your eyes and crying out as soon as his cock is out of your mouth, a desperate string of yes, yes, yes, yes, baby, please –. Tongue out and mouth wide open, you feel a smile forming on your face as the first strings of cum hit your chin and cheeks. You lap up every drop that falls near your mouth.

Everything goes very still, suddenly – like time stops. Your body is frozen, but so is your mind. Light as a feather. A hand swiping your cheek gently brings you back to the present – you look up, fucked out of your mind, to see Mikey looking down at you, equally exhausted, but smiling so sincerely, he reminds you of a prophet. Maybe it’s the beard. That makes you laugh.

‘What’s so funny, lady?’ he asks softly, joining you on the floor, your face between both his giant hands, kissing it all over, taking his time to wipe off the cum with his tongue, then bringing it to your mouth in a long, languid kiss. Griping his strong arms, you try to pull him in as close to you as possible, eager for his touch. He chuckles.

Then, one of his hands cups your entire pussy roughly through your soaked shorts.

You moan into his mouth and, like a lightning bolt, you’re coming so hard it knocks the air out of your lungs. You’re shocked, but Mike doesn’t stop the kiss for a fraction of a second, managing to blabber out a string of filth at the same time.

‘Oh, fuck yeah, baby, that’s it, let go… holy shit, you can come just from getting your mouth fucked and a little kiss? Jesus Christ… go ahead, sweetheart. What the hell did I do to deserve such a sweet, beautiful thing in my life…’

‘God, Mikey, shut the fuck up’. You don’t know when you started crying, or why you are also laughing like a maniac – nothing makes sense, and yet everything is so right.

‘How do you feel, baby?’, you ask, sniffling and stroking his face.

He laughs. ‘I feel so good, sweetheart. You took care of me, and I didn’t even know how bad I needed it. But you always do. And you put me in my place… fuck… you break me into pieces and put me back together. Thank you’. He whispers that last part, his mouth hovering over yours as his fingers wipe away the tears from your barely open, reddened eyes.

You smile, contented. ‘You are a good boy, Mikey’.

‘And you are an amazing girl, who needs to go to bed now’.

You let him lift you up like a sack of potatoes and throw you over his shoulder, barely complaining. ‘You’re lucky I’m exhausted, or you would regret this’, you mumble.

He slaps your ass, and you yelp. ‘Wanna square it up in the morning?'

‘I’ll kick your ass in 30 minutes, asshole’.

He arrives in your bedroom and puts you down on the bed with a chuckle, following right after. ‘I’m sure you would, sweetheart’.

After he cleans you up with a warm, wet towel, you snuggle against him beneath the sheets. You feel yourself drifting off, but before that, you pull yourself up, grab his face, and kiss him sweetly.

‘I love you, Mikey’.

He smiles. ‘I love you, baby’.

#the bear #the bear fx #michael berzatto #mikey berzatto #michael berzatto x reader #mikey berzatto x reader #mike berzatto #mike berzatto x reader #fic #smut

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