thechaoslibrarian

[thechaoslibrarian]

exclusively yours - sdv harvey x reader!

-> synopsis: harvey realizes some things about himself and one of those is that he can't stand it when other people look at what's his.

-> warning: NSFW MDNI MDNI MDNI SMUT! jealous harvey mhm. a touch of dom harvey what can i say. slight shane slander nothing too mean. a bit wordy. you've been warned.

-> a/n: i hope you all enjoy! i wrote this whenever i had time free over the course of a week when i should be doing homework.

there's a rare fire in his eyes that night at the stardrop saloon. he's not sure what it is that he's feeling in the pit of his stomach, but he knows for certain that he doesn't like the way shane's eyes rake over your flower dance dress that you had been wearing since this morning when you danced with the doctor, and not shane.

he's reminding himself of the ring on your finger, the farm that you live in together, the bouquets you've gifted him, the necklace that took ages to procure because the weather had to be just right. and yet, none of that is easing the jealousy threatening to bubble up over the surface.

the lust in shane's gaze becomes even more apparent as the crowd dwindles. he's talking to you and harvey can barely make out the words coming out of his mouth, but then there's a touch to your elbow that was well-timed to come after a joke you just made, and now harvey is striding over, wrapping a tight arm around your shoulders to stare at shane.

"what was so funny?" he asks and the interested inflection in his tone is entirely fake. "i know my wife has such a keen sense of humor, doesn't she?" you don't miss the emphasis he puts on 'wife.'

shane's grown awkward now, and he shifts hsi weight from one foot to the next. he's been caught and there's nothing much he can do to salvage this situation. "yeah, uh, she just made a joke about summer. nothing serious. sorry," he stumbles out.

"mhm, yeah. so, we'll see you around?" harvey says which effectively ends the conversation and forces shane back into the booth he was originally sitting down in. with a breath of relaxation, he turns to you with a different kind of fire in his eyes. one that makes you shiver with palpable excitement. "ready to go home?"

you nod and his hand moves from your shoulder down to the small of your back to give you just a slight push away from prying eyes and out the door of the saloon.

neither of you speak on the way home and it feels like even the nature around you is holding its breath in anticipation of what will happen when the door to your farmhouse swings open. the farmhouse becomes visible in the distance and there's a sudden weakness in your legs. subconciously, both you and harvey pick up speed until you find yourself speed-walking to the front door.

he wastes no time in pulling keys from his pocket and unlocking the door and, ever the gentleman, letting you go in first.

once he shuts the door behind him, his hand immediately finds the small of your back again and you feel your body inch closer to the bedroom. anticipation grows and grows until your back is leaning against the doorframe of the bedroom and harvey's stature is looming over yours.

this is new, this is unexplored, this is uncharted territory. harvey had never once been anything other than unadulterated sweetness in the bedroom. he cared about your pleasure, your comfort, and your enjoyment more than anything. but now there was something calling to him to give into this urge building in the pit of his stomach.

harvey's hand crawls from its position by his side, up the curves of your stomach, then stops at the base of your head. a soft gesture tilts your chin upwards so you're looking directly into his brown eyes. you feel small underneath his intense gaze, but it's certainly not a bad feeling.

"you know," he begins with a breath, "i've never considered myself a jealous person." you bite your lip in anticipation, feeling warmth grow from your core and radiate outwards. "but...the way shane was looking at you tonight...i think we just need a small reminder about who you belong with."

there was so much intensity behind his words despite them coming out in a soft drawl. you could have buckled right there on the doorframe but his body was caging you in so that there was no way you'd fall.

with a breath and a swallow, your hand travels from your side to his waist. "then remind me," you tease.

harvey's eyes darken and something about this excited you to no end. his strong hands bring you close to his chest and his lips hurriedly meet yours. they intertwine in a mess, teeth clashing, tongues bumping, but it sets your entire body alight. with ease, harvey inches you away from the doorframe and to the bed where you fall down onto the soft mattress. the white dress on your body falls around your waist, revealing the underwear you had on.

then, harvey growled. like truly, really growled as if something had took over him in these few seconds. he had been suppressing this urge to be with you intensely for fear of hurting you or embarrassing himself. but he's spurred on by your moans and the heat he feels radiating from between your legs.

after making out so roughly that your lips are left feeling numb, harvey's hands travel down your body, stopping at the hem of your underwear. with a strong tug, he pulls you to the edge of the bed and sits on his knees in front of you. he'd regret placing so much pressure on his aging knees in the morning, but that didn't matter now. what mattered now was making you cum to the point that you are unable to think of another man but him.

without much warning, harvey's mouth met your core. you threw your head back to the bed, letting out a moan that made you glad you lived so far from any other person. he was like a man possessed, seeking some salvation in the wetness growing and growing in between your legs.

he pulled away, but not for long as his fingers gripped the hem of your underwear and slid them down your thighs, calfs, and off your feet. for a second, he sat on his knees, marveling at your pleasure and whispered, "you must really like this, huh?"

his voice was laced with lust and darkness. before you could even respond, his mouth met your middle again and every part of your body lurched forward, in awe of the pleasure he was giving you. there was a coil in the pit of your stomach that was growing, wounding around itself, tightening with every stroke of harvey's tongue against you.

"harv! fuck!" you managed to choke out. you could feel his lips tilt upward in a smile, and just when you thought there was no possible way it could get better than this, his finger teased at your hole before plunging in. harvey's anatomical knowledge guided his finger upward, curling up to the spot that sends you reeling.

his name was a prayer on your lips as that coil tightened till the point you think it might snap. you could no longer hold it when harvey added in a second finger, curling both upwards and creating a pressure that pulled the coil till it all fell apart. you were a mess, hair sprawled on the comforter, dress halfway up your body, wetness dripping from harvey's fingers.

he leans back on his knees, eyes blown wide with lust. his lips glisten and his carefully groomed hair and mustache are destroyed. he's breathing heavily, but he didn't stop his frenzy there. with rushed movements, he tugs off his tie, his button down, his undershirt till there was nothing adorning his body.

"need this off," he mumbles, pulling at the hem of your dress. you come out of your daze to rise up and slide the dress off your body. "jesus...," he whispers. he rises from his spot on the floor and gestures for you to scoot up to the bed. slowly, his body comes over yours and once again you become caged in his grip and his scent. "do i tell you that you're beautiful enough? because if i don't i need some sense slapped into me."

heat floods in your cheeks at his words. harvey, ever the kind gentleman, was a whole other person entirely. for a second, you wonder if you could tease more possessiveness out of him. he was already delirious with pleasure. what could a little more hurt?

"i'm glad you think so too, dr. harvey. shane really thinks i'm the best looking person in this whole town," you say with a smirk tilting your lips upward.

that fire reignites in his eyes again. in seconds, his hands come to your wrists and you feel pinned against the bed. his chest is rising and falling with intensity.

"if i hear another man's name on your lips tonight, you're getting it," he threatens.

and, because you can, you push him further. "shane. alex. sam. sebastian. lew-"

in a renewed sense of dominance, harvey clamps his hand over your mouth, effectively cutting you off. "i don't think you'll be able to talk when i'm done with you," he says, voice just slightly above a whisper.

"prove it," you whisper back.

harvey smiles with something sinister lurking beneath the service. he stands from the bed, eyes never leaving yours and tugs off his belt, then his pants. with no flourish, his length comes out, irresistibly hard from the night's activities. he climbs back on top of you, settling his center in front of yours. he's barely touching your core but it's sending you arching upwards.

"i don't think shane could manage making you feel this good, you know?" he teases your entrance. "i mean, if you'd like to try, go ahead, but you'll come back to me crying because he can't make you cum like this." slowly, he slides himself in. you let out an unearthly moan that is met with his own grunts. "you're all mine. no one else's." he fully enters you then, hitting as far back as he could manage.

he drags himself out, then slowly enters back in. it's torturous. horrible. so awfully frustrating.

"please, harv. more!" you beg. he kept up his slow pace, barely budging. "need you more." you sound just as pathetic as you feel.

"can shane make you feel this good?" he asks.

so that's what he wanted from you. "no!" you plead.

"are you all mine, then?"

"yes, all yours!"

"exclusively mine?"

"exclusively yours!"

at those final words, harvey fucks into you again with a quicker, rougher pace. this was what you needed more than air. your hands fly to his arms where your nails dig into the skin there. he would wake up with marks that remind him of the night, but maybe that was your purpose in doing so.

harvey is stretching you out in the most perfect of ways and the closeness of his body to yours sends shivers all over you. his hands are desperately clinging to every part of your exposed skin and his chest rises quickly in attempts to catch his breath. nothing could stop him from his actions right now. all he can focus on is the way you feel so tight around him, the way you're moaning his name, and the way he has to hold in his orgasm until you've came all over him.

which isn't too far away. it's building with every deep, powerful thrust he makes. he's hitting spots inside of you that he hadn't before. it's blissful, filthy, and perfect. in the middle of your ecstacy, you make a note to draw out harvey's jealous side more.

"fuck," he grunts out. it's so strange to hear such filthy language coming from your husband who balked any time you said swear words. "you're so fucking tight for me, huh?"

his dirty words pull out a loud moan from you which seemed to spur harvey on even further. his thrusts lost their rhythm and his breath became rapid. he was close and so were you. with urgent moves, you wrap your legs around his waist which sends his length inside of you as deep as it can go. your eyes meet with a silent agreement.

your moans mingle together, filling the room with lewd noises. your name is repeated over and over again until the moment you both feel that release toppling over the edge, filling your bodies head to toe with pure bliss. his body doesn't still, but instead he returns to the slow pace he began with, pumping his cum deep inside you.

after some breaths and stilled movements, he pulls out with a slick noise and falls to your side. his arms open up in a silent request for you to lay on his chest and you oblige. the bed is destroyed, your bodies are sweaty, and there's certainly something leaking out of you onto the sheets. but sheets can be washed, beds can be made, and showers can be had.

all that matters is that you were exclusively his, and shane could never make you feel like that.

[thechaoslibrarian]

a mini cozy harvey smut would be amazing if possible ❤️ 🤭

no pressure of course!

pairing: sdv harvey x reader

synopsis: one mini cozy harvey smut, coming right up~ just some fluffy smut, pretty much no plot ♡ i really hope you like it !!

warnings: 18+ smut (minors dni), reader is described as having a vagina, oral sex (reader receiving).

word count: 1.3k

Sparrows chirp outside as rays of the spring sunrise filter through your sheer curtains, casting a golden glow into the room. Beneath the layers of yarn blankets enveloping the bed, you luxuriate in their comforting embrace, basking in the tranquillity of the early morning.

Beside you, Harvey stirs, stretching languidly while he haphazardly pushes the duvet off his body. As he arches his back slightly, the fabric of his white t-shirt obediently follows the movement, riding up to reveal a glimpse of his belly underneath and the happy trail that adorns his midsection. Your eyes follow the trail down to his green plaid boxers, hanging loosely on his hips.

“Darling, you’re staring.” Harvey whispered through a grin, his morning voice more gruff than usual; his eyes slowly adjusting to the light.

You smile in spite of the blush that warms your cheeks, “I’m allowed, aren’t I?”

The doctor rubs his heavy eyes as a soft chuckle escapes his lips, “Shh, come here, you’re-,” A yawn interrupts him, “You’re so far away.”

“I’m only on my side of the bed, Harv,” You giggle, shuffling towards your boyfriend, “‘s not that far.”

He wraps you protectively in his arms, one hand lightly massaging your back while the other finds itself on the back of your head, pushing you comfortably into the warmth of his chest. Harvey’s chypre scent was just as comforting as the embrace. Your calloused fingers trace shapes into the skin under his t-shirt, trying to remember where each mole and freckle is.

“I love you, y’know?” You whisper, looking up at him as another smile tugs on his lips.

“Of course, I just hope you know that I love you more.” He kisses your forehead. You still weren’t used to the tickle of his moustache.

You reach a hand up to caress his soft cheeks, while his viridescent eyes scan your face— as if he was memorising every feature. Harvey’s strong arms pull you impossibly closer as you stare at his mouth, your thumb delicately brushes along his lower lip.

Before you could tease him for the flush that was quickly colouring his cheeks, he leans down to kiss you.

His lips, soft and yielding, already carried the faint taste of coffee; it was intoxicating. A soft whine escaped his lips as you threaded your fingers through his dark hair, still tousled from sleep. Touching him feels like heaven; tasting him is like indulging in a forbidden fruit. It was the kind of adoration that devotees created worship for.

You hadn’t realized how desperately you needed this until this moment, a moment in which you two are the only people awake in the valley. Every sensation seems to converge into a single, overwhelming need for closeness.

Harvey’s large hand moves down to your thigh as it rests on his hip, tugging you desperately towards him, as he deepens the kiss. This kiss is nothing like your first just weeks ago: a gentle, yet nervous confession. This is carnally unrestrained; honest.

“Please I-,” the whispered plea slips out of your kiss bitten lips.

“Fucking insatiable,” Harvey chuckles softly, his lips still brushing against your own, before rolling to cage you between his arms. With your back now pressed against the plush sheets, Harvey took the opportunity to tug off his wrinkled t-shirt, fumbling with the hem before discarding it on the floor. With anybody else, at any other time in his life, perhaps he would have been too insecure to do so.

Harvey’s large frame hovers over you, his hand gentle on your neck as he leans in close. “Tell me what you want,” he whispers; you feel the warmth of his breath caress your ear, “I need to hear you say it.”

“Fuck, you’re killing me here— Please, I…” you beg, voice reduced to a hoarse whisper, “I need you, Harvey.”

He kisses down your neck, nipping just to see you squirm, as his hand caresses your chest beneath your t-shirt.

“You’re so pretty when you’re desperate,” he continues to praise you between kisses, marking your most sensitive areas as he makes his way down your body, “So pretty.”

As he shuffles down the bed, he lifts up your t-shirt to kiss your belly— blowing the occasionally raspberry in response to your embarrassed whines. You look down to see him comfortably snug underneath the duvet, kissing your inner thighs with delicate reverence before meeting your gaze.

“Hi.” he smiles, chuckling as he looks at you longingly.

“Hi.” you respond breathlessly, stroking the brunette waves of his hair. You involuntarily tighten your grasp when you feel the warmth of his breathe tease your clothed pussy; a sinful moan escapes his lips in response.

“Careful, darling,” Harvey exhales, “You don’t want me to come that fast, do you?”

Your breath hitches as you hopelessly buck your hips, feeling both of Harvey’s large hands reach to grab your ass “N-no, fuck— sorry.”

Your wetness soaks through your underwear as you feel Harvey’s deft fingers rub slow circles on your clit; his other hand moving to diligently massage your tense hips. Despite the doctor’s dominant act, you could feel him grinding against the soft mattress as he pants pathetically. He glances up with puppy dog eyes, through the hair that had cascaded down his face, to watch for your reactions.

“Do you-,” you whimper, interrupted by the increasing speed of your boyfriend’s fingers, “Do you want to fuck me, puppy?”

“More than I’ve wanted anything,” Harvey sits up, tugging off your underwear, “but right now, I need to taste you.”

Harvey is quick to begin lapping up your juices, occasionally moaning to send vibrations through your sensitive cunt. He is committed to satisfying every inch of your sex so much it almost overstimulates you. His hot mouth, his coarse moustache, his wet tongue, all determined to make you climax.

“So gorgeous for me like this, darling,” Harvey gasps; all you can do— all you want to do— is whimper and moan as you weakly grind against his face.

Slowly, he pushes two fingers inside you— the mess of your anticipation from Harvey’s unrelenting praise making the perfect lube. The delectable stretch just barely satisfies the heavy ache in your pussy; so you roll your hips in time with his digits as they slide in and out, hitting just the right spot. With his fingers fucking you, he continued to eat you out like a man starved. You spread your legs further when he pulls you closer to his face, resting one thigh on Harvey’s shoulder.

“Mmm, p-please.. Fuck—” your moans were becoming unintelligible, your boyfriend’s ministrations unravelling you completely, “Please, Harv’— I’m so close.”

Snapping your hips back and forth, Harvey’s nose nudges against your clit as he groans beneath you; you quickly came undone. As you stumble blissfully towards your release, your eyes squeeze shut and your mouth falls slack; wanton cries fill the room. You feel your legs continue to shake when Harvey pulls his fingers out, the absence of his touch making you whine.

“So good for me, I got you. There you go—,” Harvey soothes; as you open your eyes again, you’re greeted by the sight of him sucking your juices from his fingers. His unwavering eye-contact leaving you breathless, “All for me.”

He makes his way back up the bed, bringing you back into his arms as you catch your breath; after a few moments, your light-headedness fades as you ground yourself in his embrace.

“Wait, Harv—” you mumble, “What time is it? You don’t have to be in the clinic today do you?”

“Shh, don’t you worry, Maru has everything sorted out for today,” he traces shapes in your back, almost lulling you back to sleep, “How about I get you some water while you go to the toilet, then I can make us some breakfast? Is that ok, honey?”

You nuzzle into his chest, nodding emphatically to his morning plans, “Sounds perfect.”

[thechaoslibrarian]

— read you like a book

sdv!harvey x f!reader

rated e - 5k

Tags: gentledom/service!dom harvey, mutual pining/ yearning, mention of alcohol, flirting, kissing, begging, teasing, body worship, oral sex, vaginal fingering, implied squirting, multiple orgasms

A/N: had the thought that Harvey would know just how to take care of you, and wanted to explore that idea (and still deep in my Harvey-is-a-dirty-talker era)

“You want to know what I was really thinking about?” Harvey rasps, the tips of his fingers skating against your waist, slipping down to tease against the elastic band.

“I was thinking-,” A finger slips beneath the band, testing the elastic. Inching it away from your skin, but not making to remove them, “A girl like you should be taken care of.”

His voice drops, “And that I wanted to be the one to do it.”

(Or - Harvey overhears about your past lackluster experiences, and can’t help wanting to lend a hand)

There’s the clack of pool balls colliding in your corner of the Stardrop Saloon. The jaunty piano music muted, your fingers wrapping around a sweat-dewed glass.

A late-night Friday evening, the conversation already turning debauched as your off-handed remark of feeling frustrated was quickly misinterpreted and took another turn. Spiraling away from you, with their overlapping ideas.

Your nose crinkling with a suggestion to use the community board, one that has them bent-over with laughter - you could only imagine the shock at seeing such a message.

Help Wanted: Farmer looking to get ploughed. Used to getting a little dirty. If interested, please call…

“Could use an app. Been a while, but I used to do that.” Shane’s wiggles his phone at you, keying in the website for FerngillFlings. Flashing the front page at you, all while you try to ignore the clench of jealousy that flares to life in your stomach.

Sam leans over you, squinting at the screen, “You can’t tell me that works. Your matches come all the way out here?”

“Sure do.” Shane’s shoulder lifts in a shrug, from where his arm rests on the couch behind you. “Haven’t heard any complaints.”

The double-innuendo isn’t missed, your tongue poking into your cheek as your head shakes in exasperation.

“Haven’t heard, or haven’t listened?” Abigail shoots back with a smirk, and he rolls his eyes at her in response.

“Any matches from here?” You can’t help but ask, glancing sideways at him in curiosity.

He slumps a little further in his seat, knee knocking against yours, “Wouldn’t you like to know, farm girl?”

Thick fingers curl around the can before it lifts it to his lips, hiding his own smirk as you stiffen beside him.

Shane infuriated you. Always teasing, never answering a question directly. Deflecting a sly comment with a dry one of his own, until you weren’t sure where you stood with him.

You’d given up a while ago.

Your heart now quite taken with another.

“I think we’d all like to know.” Abigail chimes in, and you send a grin her way.

“I thought we were still talking about Miss Grange Queen?”

Your look turns apologetic - you know Pierre has been prepping all week as well - but she brushes it off, “I don’t care. Honestly, I hope you win this year. But he is right…”

A chipped polished nail taps her lip, before she fixes you with a look of concern, “When was the last time you got laid?”

The gulping swallow of your drink goes down wrong, making you splutter. A solid hand thumps you on the back, as your palm swipes across your mouth.

“What?” You manage, through watery eyes.

“Okay, we definitely gotta know.” The hand still rests against you, pinned against the plush cushion of the couch. Fingers tapping expectantly between your shoulders.

Yoba almighty.

You know they won’t back down. Even Sam lingers, eyebrows raised as his hip rests against the edge of the pool table.

“It’s been… a while.” You hedge, glancing around the room before you can answer. Voice lowering - not worried about the bar, it’s too far away.

More concerned about the booth that sits just across the room. Occupied when you arrived - your gaze flicking to Elliot often as he had sat alone, waiting.

Knowing who would be coming - a little flip in your stomach with Harvey arrived late, red-cheeked from the run, the novel pinched between his fingers.

You thought it was cute. Their little weekly book club. On another night you would have hoped to eavesdrop - figure out what the choice was for this month.

“You talking weeks? Months?” Sam asks, ignoring the glare from Sebastian, the hip check that follows - indicating his turn.

“Pre-farm,” Your head shakes, “Two years, maybe?”

“Years?” Abigail screeches, as your eyes widen - a hand coming to press unconsciously against a burning cheek.

Unable to help the sidelong look at the table across the way. The heat in your cheek rising to your ears when your eyes meet hazel ones, before you’re dropping your gaze.

“It’s not worth it,” You try to rein them in, all but pleading, “It’s not like it’s all that satisfying either, you know?”

“You mean you don’t…?” Abigail suggests - looking at you dubiously, and even Sebastian is turning to give you a pitying look.

“I mean… sometimes, I guess?” Your shoulder lifts, and then drops, “It’s not a big deal.”

You could get there yourself just fine. Have certainly managed, with your current dry spell. Before, you sometimes would afterwards - alone - easing the unresolved pleasure that licks in your belly.

But you’re sure it wasn’t the same as having someone there with you. Having their focus so solely on you.

It’s not something you’re about to explain. This has gotten too deep. You’re used to the tales of Shane’s old one night stands. The occasional complexities that come from Sam and Abigail both dating the same person, but these talks rarely focus on you.

“What kind of guys are you fucking?” Shane asks bluntly, making you gasp.

“Normal guys.” You hiss, “Besides, it’s probably just me.”

Taking a sip of your drink then to deflect, the sharp flavor making you cough.

“You don’t starfish, do you?” Sam pipes up, helpfully.

It has you almost choking again.

Shane smirks, “Maybe it is you, Farm Girl. Should have someone here take a look-”

You miss the end of his comment with the sudden, loud scrape of wood. Heads turning to where Harvey half-stands, his chair pushed back. Staring your way, with lips parted and brow furrowed.

“You got something to say, Doc?” Shane scoffs, his voice a little too loud.

Harvey blinks, and reddens. Coming back to himself, a sharp click of teeth as they close - swiping his half-full glass from the table.

Mumbling something about needing a refill - before his head is dipping, and he makes towards the bar.

Your eyes follow him, before your hand is scrubbing over your face - the heels pressing into your eye sockets. And finally, mercifully, the subject is changed, a collective groan as Sam accidently knocks two stripes in the corner pockets.

But even as the evening fades - you can’t quite shake Harvey’s expression from your mind.

The air is cool, hinting at the coming frost. Your jacket shrugged on as you step outside, before plunking down on the cobblestone path outside of the Stardrop.

It’s dark, late. The scattered streetlights outside offering pockets of the town, the rest cast in hazy shadow.

There’s a flare of light to your side. Sebastian sneaking out for his smoke break, now that Robyn and Demetrius have called it a night. You sometimes go with him, keeping silent company.

Content to let your legs dangle, to listen to the croak and groan of the frogs near the river. To let your mind wander.

Tonight though, it’s still so singularly focused.

You don’t feel embarrassed about what you said, only that he overheard it. Harvey had so much of his life together - surely a man who was there to discuss books and drink wine would not want to spent his evening listening to the lewd gossip of folks younger than him.

What if he took your words to heart, and thought you were not interested? What if he thought you weren’t good? A sigh to yourself then, as you pull yourself together with a reminder. Not that he thinks anything of you.

But… you admit that you had hoped.

It’s only now that you hear voices just down the path, two friends bidding goodbye. That shade of green you’ve come to associate with Harvey has your ears pricking up - catching where they linger, near the park benches.

Bravery steeling itself, in your belly.

“I’m gonna head out,” You hear yourself saying, as you push to your feet, “I’ll catch up with you guys tomorrow.”

“You sure?” Sebastian asks, with a smoky exhale.

“Yeah.” It’s distracted. Giving him a wave, just as you skirt around the door that opens behind you.

Missing the pair of eyes that follow you as you leave.

Too far out of earshot to hear the murmured words, as he exhales another held drag from his cigarette, “You’re missing your chance, man.”

And then the answer, growled out as Shane’s hands shove deep into the pockets of his well-worn jacket.

“Never had one.”

“Harvey!” You call out, as he splits from his companion.

Missing how Elliot settles amongst the trio of benches, his book cracking open to finish the chapter under the streetlight.

Harvey lingers, in the middle of the cobblestone path. His expression almost wary, your explanation coming in a rush.

“I am sorry if we made you uncomfortable.” Your hands clasp together, fingers twisting, “We should’ve been more considerate. You and Elliot were there first.”

His expression clears at that, a slight mark between his eyebrows. He’s tall, you’re realizing. Not that you didn’t know, not that you haven’t stood next to him on occasion.

But your heart had never quite pounded like this, never so acutely aware of your proximity - too used to the barrier of the counter in his office.

“No, uh, not at all. I wasn’t uncomfortable.” Harvey clarifies, his voice soft, “I certainly didnt mean to try to interrupt. I’m afraid that was rude of me.”

His answer sends your mind careening into overdrive. Not quite taking his half-hearted excuse earlier, but too wrapped up in your embarrassment to truly process it.

That has you thinking - realizing that he had some sort of intention. Your heartbeat kicking up a notch, unable to help but wonder.

“Can I ask you something?” Your eyes search his, voice quiet in the night, “You don’t have to answer.”

The slight curve of his lips fall, an almost uneasy look passing his features - though he does not deny you, “If you’d like.”

“What were you going to say?” You ask him “Back in the bar. You can tell me, I won’t tell anyone.”

Your words hang, for a moment. And then silence, enveloped by the soft sounds of the night.

“Oh.” He hedges, a hand rubbing at the back of his neck, “It’s, ah… it’s just a shame.”

Your eyebrows lift, worry flooding through you as you wonder what he means.

“That you haven’t had a more… positive experience.” He finishes lamely.

The worry transforms, turning into a heated curiosity.

“Why would it be a shame?”

The shade of pink deepens across his cheeks, hidden in the shadows. A finger unconsciously hooking around his collar and tugging.

“Because there’s no reason satisfaction can’t be mutually inclusive,” He manages, “From uh, the point of view of a medical professional.”

Your lips press together to hide your laugh, charmed by his careful answer, “How I wish that were true.”

And that had him fixing on you, catching you in the brunt of his gaze, “It could be. Maybe you just haven’t met the right person yet.”

It makes your breath catch. That hope flaring to life again. Reading into his meaning, daring yourself to ask, “Is that right? You know anyone around here?”

Only to watch the way his face goes carefully blank - his words slow, “I’m sure… I’m sure you don’t need my help to find out.”

It’s hard not to feel disappointed. Hoping that there was an offer, woven into his words. The bit you had clung to leaves you, with the next exhale of your breath.

“I’m sure you’re right.” Your smile is small. Deflecting with a joke, because it’s all you know, “I don’t starfish, by the way. If you heard that part.”

He huffs a laugh, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“I didn’t think you did.”

The look he gives you is at odds with his hesitance in answering. A soft, amused smile that makes your heart flip.

Yoba, you have it bad.

“Goodnight, Harvey.” You smile back - intent on ending the night before you make it worse, “And, thank you.”

His answer echos yours, his feet firmly rooted as you disappear into the night. Silence lingering under the soft glow of the street lamp, as his mind races.

“If you were looking for an invitation, old friend,” An amused voice comes from the benches - where Elliot still sits, his book long forgotten.

“That was it.”

The television blares as you stretch out on the couch - intent on unwinding a bit further, after a long day. Immediately stripping down to your loungewear as soon as you stepped in the door, cracking a window to let in the autumn air.

Your head rests on a pillow, an old quilt pulled haphazardly around your hips as you watch a rerun of The Queen of Sauce - something that fortunately required little attention.

Because your mind is occupied elsewhere, thinking back to the square with both chagrin and disappointment. Hoping that maybe Harvey had drank more wine than you thought - that maybe he wouldn’t remember how you all but threw yourself at him.

Gentleman that he is, he probably just wouldn’t bring it up in the first place. You don’t know if that’s more preferable, or less - perhaps you owe him yet another apology.

A timid knock at the door draws your attention, your feet silent as you slip from the couch. You really should move it - giving yourself a view of the small, narrow porch. Maybe installing another light outside.

But this was Pelican Town, you remind yourself - you’re not in the big city anymore. It was probably Abigail, not wanting to head home yet.

For now, you move to the door, pausing to shrug on the worn, plaid barn coat that hangs by the door, buttoning it in an last-minute attempt at modesty.

Your hand on the frame of the door as you crack the front door open, close enough to grab the old wooden bat you have tucked next to the rickety side table.

Eyes going wide when you realize who it is.

Harvey. His face half-turned away, looking like he’s second-guessing himself from your delay - half-way ready to book it down the steps that lead to the packed dirt road.

“Hi again,” You nudge the door open wider, leaning against the frame.

He turns back, surprise crossing his features again when he sees you. Eyes dipping down, snagging - slowly dragging back up over the bare skin of your legs, the low dip of the collar, as if he has forgotten himself for a moment.

“Hi.” He answers belatedly, blinking as he comes back into the present.

You wait a beat for him to explain, for any sort of sign as to why he’s here. Wondering why he travelled all the way in near-darkness, you knew more than anyone what a trek it could be.

And he must realize, because he blinks again, worry pulling down the edges of his brows, a small crease appearing in the middle.

“I-, well, Elliot-,” Harvey begins, throwing a thumb over his shoulder into the darkness, his other hand still clutching the book from the Saloon. Starting over when he realizes he’s making zero sense, “Back, in the square.”

His lips pressing together for a moment, an inhale of breath before the words rush out, “Am I misreading this?”

An emphasis on ‘this’, a small gesture with his fingers between the two of you. It makes you smile, relief flooding through you - enough to where you’re reaching out, tapping a fingernail against the solid cover of the book.

“I think you’re reading this just fine.” Your head tilts up to look him in the eye, seeing the relief on his own features as well, “Would you like to come in?”

“Yes,” He breathes, and you’re stepping aside with a smile - taking his book from him to rest on the little side table.

Hanging his moss-green jacket on your one good hanger by the door, showing him where to put his shoes.

Steps that make the floorboards creak because he doesn’t know which ones to avoid - not yet - as he lets you guide him to the couch. Carefully sitting on the middle cushion, the sharp, white starch of his dress shirt standing out against the worn, rust-orange fabric.

Your own feet following until you’re standing in from of him. Not quite believing, as your face tilts down to meet the upturned angle of his own.

Harvey was here.

The man who got more than a little bossy with you when you came in to the clinic with a bad scrape, or a cold. Who always has a smile, who listened intently when you keep him up to date about the new crops you’re growing, even though he knows nothing about farming.

Who you never had let yourself daydream about too often, because he had always kept you at arms length. You had always thought it was part of his profession, or that perhaps he just didn’t see you like that.

Like he’s looking at you now - like you’ve hung the stars.

You really want to kiss him.

You hope he’ll let you.

Slowly, like when you’re approaching a new calf, you move toward him. The slight, automatic spread of his knees as you step between them, before your own knees are bending.

Hands resting on the wooden frame of couch as you lower yourself - until you’re straddling his thighs, bare knees pressing into the worn cushions on either side.

“This okay?” You ask, close enough to smell a hint of his aftershave, the solid weight of him beneath you.

Hands that slide from their place at his side, up the curve of your calves, until they’re resting on the bare expanse of your thighs.

“Yes.” The word comes out low, fingers pressing against your skin as your own drop to the thick buttons of your coat, slowly working each one open.

Until you’re shrugging the fabric off to pool on the wooden floor - all bare arms and legs beneath in your too-large t-shirt, a pair of cotton underwear.

About to apologize for your choice in clothing - never actually expecting to take someone home - but the hands rise, cradling your face as he tips it to meet his.

A low sound in your throat at his lips touch yours, your hands resting on his chest, fingers fisting in the fabric. A feather-soft brush until you shift, pressing yourself against him as you lean in.

His groan matches yours. Hands moving, skating down your arms, curving around your hips. Your hips roll on their own, seeking the friction of his trousers. Something warm pooling in your belly, when he deepens the kiss.

Encouraging you, as those hands guide the roll of your hips again. As his tongue brushes against lips that part without thought.

There’s the sharp punch of fruit on his tongue, paired with the taste of him. A heady mixture, making you feel like you could get drunk off just this.

You can feel him harden beneath you. Pressing against your cleft as your thighs inch further apart. It’s only when your hands leave his - reaching for the bottom of your shirt, that he breaks away.

His lips kiss-swollen and pretty. Disheveled, his tie crooked, shirt wrinkled from your fingers. Equally dazed, his eyes flicking down to your mouth, and then further again.

“Not here.” Harvey’s voice is a low rasp, unmoving despite his demand.

It has your pausing, until you catch the way his first two fingers slip under the hem, petting against skin.

“Bedroom?” You offer, and he’s smiling. Leaning forward to kiss you again. Easing you off him but it’s reluctant - his fingers twining with yours as you stumble into the next room.

It’s darker in there, the light from the television flickering against the floor. Dissolving as it reaches your bed, your knees parting this time as he stands between them.

Your eyes greedy, focused on his fingers as he loosens his tie, the first few buttons of his shirt. His own drifting over every inch and curve of you. A short intake of air as you tug the shirt from your shoulders, leaving it to drop on the floor.

It feels like you’re on display, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Not with the way he looks at you - his eyes snagging on the damp patch between your thighs, the pale fabric darkening with your arousal.

“You want to know what I was really thinking about?” He rasps, the tips of his fingers skating against your waist, slipping down to tease against the elastic band.

You’re near-mute. Left nodding, as the bed dips. As he urges you back into the pillows, folding himself onto the mattress with you.

“I was thinking-,” He tests the band, a finger slipping beneath. Inching it away from your skin, but not making to remove them, “A girl like you should be taken care of.”

His voice drops, “And that I wanted to be the one to do it.”

You feel yourself clench down around nothing. A low whine in your throat at the tone of his voice. So matter-of fact. Like he knows how to do just what he says.

“Can you?” It comes out strangled, your breath held as his eyes fix on yours, “Could you show me? What it’s like to be taken care of?”

“Would you like that, sweetheart?” He asks - his gaze searching. Slipping a second finger under, the blunt nails grazing sensitive skin.

“Yoba.” Your hips feel like they lift on their own, seeking him, “Yes. Please, yes.”

He smiles again, the moonlight catching on his glasses. A hand running through tousled curls, mussing them further. Fingers joining yours as your panties join the floor, baring yourself fully.

You expect him to touch you and he does - but not in the way you’re thinking. Lowering himself next to you, guiding your mouth to his again. His hand skimming the inside of your thigh. Fingers slipping along the crease where it meet your hip, inches away from where you ache for him.

“Harvey.” You sigh into his mouth. Chasing it when he pulls back, hearing the pleased hum in his throat. Carefully removing his glasses, tucking them into his shirt pocket.

Then his mouth is dropping to your neck, where your pulse flutters. To your shoulder. All while his fingers trace your skin, making you squirm in anticipation.

When his tongue peeks out to brush against tight, peaked nipple, you hear yourself cry out. Clinging to him again, as teeth graze against your breast - followed by a soothing kiss, his mustache tickling against the soft curve.

“I need you to touch me,” You pant.

Long forgetting what it was like to feel like this. The anticipation swirling in you like a dam about to burst. The desperation - knowing after all this time of wanting him, that tonight he is yours.

Your own hands grasping at him - tugging at the buttons. Pale skin and dark hair appearing with each one that loosens, trying to pull the hem from where it tucks into his trousers.

The hand against your thigh twitches, his gaze dark as he glances up at you. No longer hidden behind frames, you can see how his pupils are blown wide, inching out the hazel.

“I just want to make sure you’re ready, sweetheart.” He rasps, inching closer - fingers parting on either side of your mound.

“Want you nice and wet for me.”

It’s too much. You’re too wound up, needy. In your daydreams you’ve thought of him - in your bed, bent over the table in his office. Everything pales in comparison to this, turning you into a begging mess.

“I am,” You breathe, “Fuck, Harvey. You know I am, I’m-”

The words break off, turning into a ragged moan as he finally touches you. Parting your slick seam, where you’re dripping from the press of his mouth and the teasing glide of his fingers.

“There you are.” He hums, though you can feel the way his hips press against yours. Chasing his own urges, seeking friction where he strains.

Your eyes flutter half-shut as he teases as your entrance. Fingertips slick as he brings them up to circle your clit, sparks going up inside your belly.

Watching as he moves, the careful ease from where he lies next to you - now settling between your thighs.

“Yoba, you’re beautiful.”

He says it so simply, almost as if in awe. Your thighs start to clamp shut around his hand but he’s smiling - his left palm pressing your leg to the bed, opening you further.

Not used to his gaze like this. It flicks from your face, down to where his hands shift - his thumb rolling against your clit, as his middle finger sinks inside you.

He can feel how you clench around him already. Movements slow, drawing himself out just to sink further each time.

“So fucking pretty.” He says it again - you think, just to see you squirm. The way your eyes pull from his, the flex of your muscle under his palm.

Transfixed by the way his fingers move. The pressure against your clit, the way he presses deep. Your small room filled with the little sounds you make and the slick plunge of his finger.

Your panting breath catching, turning sharp as his finger crooks on the next pass. Carefully stroking against your inner walls, a throb of pleasure following.

He catches your sounds, a mark forming between his eyebrows. One you’ve seen before, in the way he focuses when you’re explaining something about your farm. A sweet stretch of pressure when he adds his ring finger, opening you further as he strokes again.

You haven’t felt anything quite like this. A ghost of it, with past lovers. Something that made your muscles tighten, but never so focused.

Like he’s intentionally searching for this spot that makes sparks arc up your spine. Making you ache for more - to be filled by him.

“Mm,” He hums with satisfaction, “Right there. Does that feel good?”

It’s hard to think, with the thrust of his fingers. The circling pressure against your clit. Your own fingers curling - one in the sheets, an anchor. The other drifting up to cup at your breast, unable to help leaning into his ministrations.

“Tell me, sweetheart.”

There’s an edge to his voice. One that he uses in his place of authority, one that only stokes the roaring flame in your belly. Everything winding tight in anticipation, each steady pump of his fingers hurtling you towards your peak.

“Yes,” You moan, “Yes. Oh, Harvey-”

His head dips, mouth pressing a kiss against your abdomen.

“Good girl.” He husks, with your answer. The words shoot straight to your cunt, just as you begin to arch into his touch.

“Oh, please-” You whine, eyes sliding shut, “Fuck, you’re gonna make me come.”

The pinch of your fingers harsh against the tight bud of your nipple. The flicker of pain melding with the tight swirl of his thumb.

“Good.” He all but growls, the words low and rough in his throat, “Come on, honey. Show me.”

Your next moan turns high and long - as that tight string inside you finally snaps. A throbbing pleasure that begins at the apex of your thighs, radiating outwards as you bear down around him.

The hand in your sheets grasping and slipping on your way to him - his hand leaves your thigh to twine with it. Anchoring you as your hips buck into fingers that have gone still, giving you something to clench around.

“Just like that,” He coos, “Ride it out, I’ve got you.”

His breath warm against your skin, a kiss pressed to your stomach again, then hip.

“It’s not you,” Harvey tells you, each kiss moving lower, “You know that, right?”

Your breath catching - it feels like your cunt is still pulsing, when his mouth dips further. Not waiting for your answer this time - driving his point home with the talented tongue that suddenly presses against the bud of your clit, wet and warm.

Ensuring you won’t forget.

A moan is ripped from you, as he teases. Tight pointed licks, a flat lick following. A rough groan as he tastes your orgasm that coats his fingers, only just how beginning to move.

You’re too sensitive, squirming at his touch. Panting breaths and little jerks of your hips, the tight twist of overstimulation bleeding into something smooth and sweet as honey.

He’s ruining you for everyone else. The thought is a blurry one, something you can barely snatch. He hasn’t even fucked you yet, and you’ve already come harder than you ever have.

And is already working you towards a second. A rough groan when you let your fingers leave his to twist in his dark curls. Grasping onto his shoulder with the other one, his shirt wrinkling further.

You want it off. You want all of it off, want him bare and on top of you. Want to taste him on your tongue. Taste yourself against his lips, after this.

Unsure how he’s able to do it. Bring you to the edge again so quickly, but maybe it’s because you’ve never desired someone like this.

Deeper than desire, though you’re not quite ready to admit it.

You’re brought back, as his palm presses beneath your thigh. Hiking it over a shoulder, opening you to be devoured. Those fingers more confident now, sure and slick as they pound into you. Louder now, with the way you coat them, your release smeared across your thighs.

This time when you come, it’s against his tongue.

Brought over with the way his lips close sound and suck. The way he groans at your taste, his clever fingers leaving you breathless.

Choking on your heartbeat as you shatter. His wide palm curled around your thigh, keeping your cunt pinned against his tongue.

This time he can feel your pulse. Each throb of pleasure as it resonates through you. Feel the way you gush for him - his fingers dampening further, across knuckles and the flesh of his palm.

“Fuck.” You moan, when you can breathe again.

You expect him to pull away, after this. He must know you’re more than ready. But instead all you can see is dark eyes, a tongue that slips between the fingers that are still buried in you.

“Harvey,” You gasp, as his tongue then lifts to curl over your clit again, “Don’t you want to-?”

Doesn’t he want to fuck you?

Isn’t he aching, like you are?

“Tonight is about you,” He answers firmly. Lips glossy with your release, and despite his words you don’t miss the way his hips press into the bed.

“Sounds like I got some time to make up for.”

Your head falls back onto the pillow as you huff a laugh, breath catching as you feel his fingers slip free just long enough to work in a third.

Already finding that spot again, as he begins to build towards a third.

If he can read you this easily already, you think dizzily…

You can’t wait to find out everything else he knows.

So here for the Harvey Renaissance 🙏💕 would love to know what you thought! Are you enjoying 1.6? (If so what are your mod recs???) | part ii is up here!

[thechaoslibrarian]

Hi Bee!! Idk if you’ve heard Hozier’s new song Too Sweet but it’s giving our grumpy man Joel trying to keep his distance from r cause he thinks she’s too sweet for him and he’d hurt her, idk if you’re taking requests but if you could write something along those lines ugh that would be so great 😭💗

AN | Hi, hello, this has been sitting in my inbox for literal ages, and it’s been drafted for a while, and here we are. It’s time to get back on my Joel bs (not that it ever left). Enjoy💕

Pairing | Joel Miller x Fem!Reader 

Warnings | None

Word Count | 3k

Masterlist | Joel, Main

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

He liked to watch you.

That revelation alone made him feel like a creep. He quickly chugged the rest of his strong, black coffee in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner as he looked around to make sure nobody had caught onto him. He didn’t want the local gossip mill to start spreading rumors; it wasn’t like there was a ton else to do. 

When nobody appeared to be staring at him or offering him judgmental looks, he relaxed slightly and sunk further down in his spot in the small booth. It was moments like these that made him thankful for the small semblance of his life; it allowed him to get away with just being himself.

A plate of pancakes smothered in syrup was in front of him, half eaten and half forgotten as he drank his way through several cups of coffee. If Ellie was here, she’d chide him for both the sugary breakfast and caffeine overload. He always encouraged her to have a well balanced meal and she’d never let him live it down. Especially in what was his old age as she liked to remind him 

When you turned around, something else having caught your attention, he quickly shifted his gaze back to his plate. An ancient crossword book was next to him, a hobby he’d picked up over the last couple of years and he gave it his full attention. Or maybe he was willing it to come alive and swallow him whole. That sounded like a better option than having you catching him staring at you. Again. As usual. 

He didn’t dare to look up, making up his mind to keep his gaze down for the time being. Maybe for the rest of eternity. He wasn’t sure.

“Hey there,” he froze at the sound of your voice, heart thrumming in his chest and his blood practically singing. When Joel didn’t respond at first, a small frown tugged down the corners of your mouth, “is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” he tore his gaze from the aging wood of the sticky table to find you watching him with bright, curious eyes and a smile he loved more than he cared to admit, “‘m alright.”

You relaxed slightly as you smiled at him, his big, brown eyes looking at you nervously, “cool. Listen, there’s a few of us that are going apple picking later, and I was wondering if you wanted to go with me - us?”

He swallowed the lump in his throat, mind racing as he tried to figure out what the best response was. From the expectant look on your mind, he wanted to say yes, wanted to make sure you had the best time apple picking ever, but instead he said, “sorry, I can’t. I’ve got a few things that need to be taken care of ‘round here.”

“Oh,” your smile faltered slightly before you recovered, taking a small step back. Joel wished he could take it back but knew that he had to stick to his guns, “that’s fine. I just…thought I’d ask. Well, I’ll see you around, Joel. Take care.”

With a soft smile and even more shy wave, you walked away and back to the table with your friends, refusing to spare him another glance. Joel groaned internally, wishing he’d something different or that you had had a different reaction. If you hated him, things would have been much easier.

But life rarely worked out that way. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You hummed to yourself as you brushed out the horse's mane. It wasn't the worst job in the world and at the very least you had some company. Even if it wasn't the most talkative company imaginable. But then again, half the people around you weren’t very talkative anyway.

“You have been looking very shiny, Kiri,” you told her, and she made a small sound as you softly played with a few locks of her shiny mane. When you pulled out a carrot and fed it to her as you petted her, she nuzzled closer to you, causing you to laugh sweetly, “and I see your love can still be bought so easily.”

Joel watched from the entrance to the stables, almost frozen as the scene unfolded. It felt wrong in a way, like he’d stumbled upon something he shouldn’t have, intruding on a private moment. Marin eventually sensed his presence as directed her inky gaze towards him, huffing in acknowledgment. You followed her gaze and locked eyes with Joel, your heart skipping a few beats as you stood there. Eventually you caught yourself and cleared your throat awkwardly, “h-hey Joel. Everything alright?”

He made a sound in the back of his throat as he nodded, slowly taking a few steps in your direction. He truly wasn’t a talkative man, especially not in the morning hours as you’d found over the time since you’d met him. After a few moments of nothing but the sound of blood rushing in your ears and Kiri’s soft breaths, he was at your side, gently reaching over and petting Kiri. She immediately took to him, neighing softly as she leaned into him for more petting.

“Such a traitor,” your voice was much too sweet to hold any venom as you watched the two of them. Joel had a tender way about him, and you wondered how many other people saw that side of him. He was gruff, sure, but he was a lot more than what simply met the eye. 

“She and I go way back,” he said eventually, his voice warm and low, sending a shiver down your spine, “took a while to get her to trust me though. But she’s a good old girl.”

“She wasn’t a big fan of me either,” you whispered as you put your hand on her neck right next to Joel’s. You couldn’t help but stare at your hands, mesmerized by how much larger his hand was compared to yours, “I think we’re working up to being friends.”

“She’s a good judge of character,” you could have sworn he moved his hand closer to yours as you looked anywhere but him. He had a way of making you feel a million different ways all at once. The two of you stood there in contemplative silence for a few moments before you came to your senses and took a step back, immediately sticking your hands into pockets of your jacket. 

“I-I, ugh,” you shrugged your shoulders lightly, allowing yourself a quick look at his honey brown eyes. His expression was questioning, searching yours to try and find out how you were really feeling, “I should get going. I promised Maritza I’d help chop some firewood for the big bonfire tomorrow.”

The last time you had left the ball in his court, waiting to see how he would respond to your invitation. This time it was your turn. He was giving you the option of either staying there with him or walking away. You felt so torn; part of you wanted to stay there and be with him, in whatever capacity that entailed.  The other part of you wanted to walk far away and leave him alone. He was trouble they said, and although he hadn’t done anything to support that theory, he hadn’t tried to deny it either.

Whatever he was, Joel Miller was something. And in that moment you felt overwhelmed by everything all at once and decided to just walk away. 

“See you around?” he offered meekly as you took a few steps back, offering him what was a weak nod at best.

You turned and headed out of the stable without another word, leaving Joel and Kiri together. The two of them looked at each other, and Joel gave her a few more pets, “I don’t know either. But I think I might have ruined everything, if there ever even was anything.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

A couple of weeks had passed since you’d had any sort of encounter with Joel. It was definitely purposeful, even if you weren't willing to admit that much to yourself. Just as Joel had finally allowed himself to get closer to you, you'd started to pull away. It felt like such a cat and mouse game, despite the fact that you did have feelings for him. You just couldn't bring yourself to be around him knowing he didn't feel the same way about you.

He couldn't help that he didn't like you in that sense, just as you couldn't help the fact that you liked him. 

The natural solution for you was just to avoid him entirely. Entirely stupid, but wholly effective.

Until he managed to track you down anyway. Not that it was hard in Jackson; the town was big, all things considered, but not that big.

“Hey stranger,” you startled, almost dropping the plate in your hand as you looked up to find Joel watching you intently. You let out a small huff as you set the plate onto the counter of the small diner you helped to run.

“Hi,” you whispered softly, drying off your hands and trying to seem casual as you leaned against the counter, “can I help you with anything?”

“There is one thing,” he leaned on the counter, his warm smell making its way over to you. He always smelled so damn good, “you wanna tell me if I did something to cause you to avoid me entirely?”

“I haven't…” the lie died on your lips as he arched an eyebrow at you. You shrugged your shoulders and picked at a spot in the aged wood, “I've just been busy. It's nothing more than that.”

“Oh honey,” he leaned in, his gaze trained intently on yours, “I may be old and I may be dumb, but I do know when someone's lying.”

“I'm not-”

“It's written all over your face,” he insisted and your cheeks warmed up, “and you've got absolutely no poker face. With your facial expressions, you might as well be screaming.”

“I…” you inhaled deeply before letting out a soft sigh. You found it incredibly hard to look at him; he could read you way too well, “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make it seem…like I was mad at you or anything.”

“You're not?”

“I'm not,” you confirmed softly.

“Then why are you avoiding me like I'm about to turn you into one of the infected?” He wasn't going to let this go. You knew him well enough to know that much and you had still fallen for it. You swallowed thickly and cast your gaze around, annoyed and thankful for the fact that there were only a couple of stragglers inside, “if you want me to go, I can go. You just have to tell me.”

“I didn't want you to think I was weird or to make you uncomfortable,” you whispered as you put your hand on his forearm to stop him from leaving, “because I…ugh, I-I like you. And I just didn't want to make it awkward. Which I just proceeded to do, but at least you know the truth.”

He pulled his arm out from under your touch and crossed his arms over his broad chest. Your heart sank into your stomach as you waited for him to say something. You leaned back and made yourself as small as possible, “was that so hard to admit?”

“Joel, I-”

“And whatever made you think I didn't like you?” Your gaze snapped to him as your heart seemed to stop working, “I ain't ever said that, have I?”

“No, I mean it like…ugh. I mean, I asked you to go apple picking, and you said no so quickly so I just figured I’d overstepped.”

“I know how you meant it,” he insisted and you were positive that your heart was going to burst through your ribcage, “and you're still wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“Listen,” he moved closer so he was almost directly in front of you again, “I'm not…a great man. I've seen and done things that I wouldn't ever want you to even think about. And you are…everything I'm not. And I'm not a good match for you, but I sure as hell can't stay away from you. You keep drawing me in, and I'm tired of trying to stay away from my feelings.”

“Oh,” you blinked at him a few times, trying to process what he'd said. Either he'd said something entirely different or you'd just gotten a whole confession, “oh?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed softly as you turned your head to the side and looked at him so sweetly, “I'm sorry if that's not something you wanted to hear, but I'm putting all my cards onto the table.”

“But…why?” You let out an exasperated breath, “why me? Why now?”

“I don't think I need to justify the why you with an answer,” he insisted, “why now? Because ever since you've been avoiding me like the plague and I haven't been able to see you, I realized just how much I needed that. How much I needed to see you. I want to be around you. I need to be around you. And fuck it if that makes me a bad man.”

This time when you looked at him, you couldn't hide the smile that was threatening to break your face in half. Your entire face felt like it was on fire as you opened and closed your mouth a few times before you finally managed a small, “you're right - fuck it.”

The two of you stood there for a while, grinning at one another, before you realized that you were still in the middle of the diner.  By this point, quite a few of the straggling patrons had turned their attention to you. Your cheeks were burning as you took a step back and cleared your throat.

“Umm…maybe we should save the rest of this for later,” your voice was small again and you felt shy, despite the fact that the man had all but confessed his love for you, “I can meet you when I’m off?”

“How much longer until you’re off?”

“A couple of hours,” you shrugged, “maybe less if it continues to be this slow.”

“I can wait,” the corner of his mouth tugged up as he went to take a seat at the counter, pretending to contemplate what he was going to order, “what do you recommend?”

“Huh?” you looked at him dumbfounded; but you knew that Joel didn’t half-ass do things, he threw his whole ass into it as Ellie liked to say.

“What do you recommend I order off the menu?”

“Oh,” you shook your head before playfully rolling your eyes at him, “I see where this is going.”

“Do you?” he pretended to ask innocently, “‘cause I was thinking I’m pretty hungry and it’s fairly cold outside so I might as well get inside and have a meal for a few hours.”

“Okay,” you bit your lip before turning around to make him his coffee just how he liked it. Just like he had always been paying attention to you, you were always paying attention to him, “here’s your coffee. And I can see what the chef can put together for such a hungry man.”

“Thank you kindly,” he took the cups, letting his fingers linger on yours for a few moments, “such amazing service around here.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Unfortunately, a lot of the townspeople seemed to have the same idea that it was the perfect time to get inside and warm up with warm food and drinks.  The crowd didn’t let up and your desire to leave early with Joel quickly disappeared.  But that didn’t deter him; he sat there, sneaking in a few words here and there but mostly he watched you. 

Watched how you never rude to anyone despite being frazzled; how you never lost the smile on your face; how you listened to everyone with rapt attention.  You were good and kind, and that made him want to hesitate and take back everything he had said earlier.  However, now that he had said it all and gotten it out there, he wouldn’t take it back. He couldn’t.

When your shift was finally over and you were able to get a reprieve,  Joel waited outside for you.  A small part of you was surprised that he had waited but another part of you hadn’t expected anything else.

“Hey,” you greeted him with a small smile, which he eagerly returned, “thanks for waiting.”

“Didn’t have much else going on,” he shrugged it off like it had been no big deal. He was always busy with something. People relied on him an enormous amount, even if they didn’t realize it.

“So…” he had started walking and you had fallen in line with him. 

Before you could say anything else he stopped and turned towards you, his dark eyes searched yours. Joel gently took your face in his hands, brushing his thumb over your cheek. Without even thinking about it, you leaned into his touch, your lips partly slightly. 

After a couple moments of pause, in which he was clearly giving you the option of pulling away or stopping him, he leaned and brushed his lips over yours. Softly at first, and then slowly with more urgency and need. All you could do was lean into him and his touch. If this was what kissing Joel was like, you never wanted it to end. 

But eventually he pulled away, both of you in need of a breath of air. You just looked at him with wide, happy eyes. 

“So…” he picked up where you had left off before continuing to walk. You were so caught off guard that you didn’t follow at first, “you coming?”

“Yes,” you promised breathlessly as you jogged to catch up to him, “so…”

[thechaoslibrarian]

imagine a reader who hasn’t been laid in such a long time and can’t help but look at buck to help out with that. and it turns into a friends with benefits situation!!!

(even though they both like eachother way more than a friends with benefits relationship would incline)

MUTUAL BENEFIT — E.BUCKLEY

buck’s a great friend. maybe a bit too good of a friend sometimes.

evan buckley x gn!reader | nsfw | 1.5k | masterlist.

this post is 18+ for NSFW mentions. MDNI.

a/n | i didn’t take a month’s hiatus… whattt??

You tell yourself it's nothing.

The way Buck laughs at your jokes a little too long. The way his eyes always seem to land on you in a room full of people. The way his hand lingers on your shoulder after a long shift, warm and solid and grounding.

You're friends. You’ve always been friends. That’s all it is.

But then again, you haven’t been laid in months. Maybe longer. You’ve stopped counting because it’s gotten embarrassing—this long, dry stretch of nothing but cold showers and the kind of dreams that leave you waking up flushed and frustrated.

It’s not like you haven’t tried.

You’ve swiped, chatted, even gone out a couple of times, but nothing clicks. No one sticks. It’s hard to get close to anyone when your schedule’s a mess of overnights, 24-hour shifts, and the kind of emotional toll that makes you want to curl up and sleep for a week, not try to impress someone over drinks.

Firefighting doesn’t leave a lot of space for a personal life. And lately, it feels like it’s squeezing the air out of everything else too.

So yeah, maybe you’re frustrated.

Okay—really frustrated.

And maybe Buck’s right there, with his stupidly warm smile and stupidly kind eyes and the kind of body that makes you clench your jaw when he peels off his turnout gear after a call. He’s always been touchy, affectionate. And you’ve always let him. But now… now you’re starting to notice it in a way you didn’t let yourself before.

The way his fingers brush your arm when he passes you something. The way he throws his arm over your shoulders on the couch like it’s nothing. Like you’re his. The way he watches you when he thinks you’re not looking.

You start to push back. Not obviously. Just… testing things.

You lean into him a little longer than you should when you’re sitting next to each other. Let your hand rest on his thigh during movie night at his place. Make jokes that toe the line between teasing and flirting. And every time, Buck meets you right there, just as bold, just as easy.

And still, neither of you says anything.

Because it’s safer not to.

Because if you call it what it is, you might have to do something about it. And doing something about it? That could ruin everything.

But that doesn’t stop you from looking.

It doesn’t stop the ache that curls low in your stomach when he stretches in the morning, shirt riding up to reveal the sharp lines of his abdomen.

It doesn’t stop your imagination from filling in the gaps every time he leans over you, close enough to kiss.

It doesn’t stop the nights you spend alone, needy, sweating, pretending the hand you slide into your pants isn’t yours but his.

One night, after a brutal double shift—fire, accident, fire again—you both crash on his couch, too exhausted to move. You're sore in places you didn't know could be sore. Everything hurts. Your brain is a haze of adrenaline and fatigue, and all you want is to feel good for once. Just for a little while.

The apartment is quiet. It smells like laundry and cheap takeout. Buck’s beside you, half asleep, chest rising and falling slow and steady. You watch him for a minute, and something inside you just… breaks.

“I'm so tired of feeling like this,” you mutter.

Buck shifts, head turning toward you. “Like what?”

“I don’t know empty?” You exhale. “Frustrated. Lonely. Like I can’t remember the last time someone touched me and meant it,”

His brow furrows, sleepy and soft. “You’re not alone. You’ve got me,”

You sigh. “That’s not what I meant, Buck,”

The silence stretches between you, heavy and tense.

Then Buck says, quietly, “I know what you meant,”

Your heart stutters. “What?”

He sits up a little, eyes meeting yours in the dim light. “If you just want to feel good for a while… I’m right here,”

You laugh, but it sounds more like a gasp. “Buck—”

“What?” he says. “It doesn’t have to mean anything,”

You want to say no. You want to say this is a terrible idea. You want to be the responsible one. But your body is screaming yes, and your heart is a knot of feelings you don’t even know how to begin unraveling.

So instead, you lean forward and kiss him.

And he kisses you back like he’s been waiting forever.

It’s not tentative, not soft. It’s hungry. Desperate. Like he needs you as badly as you need him. His hands find your waist, your back, your face. You pull him closer, drag him down on top of you, and when he groans into your mouth, you nearly lose your mind.

Clothes come off in a blur. Skin on skin, finally. You touch and gasp and ache and cling. It’s not perfect—nothing about this ever is—but it’s real, and it’s hot, and it’s him. And that’s enough.

More than enough.

You ride the high together, breathless and sweaty and tangled in his sheets, until you’re both shaking, laughing softly, limbs entwined.

Afterward, you lie there, heart still thudding, trying to catch your breath. Buck’s arm is around you, holding you like you’re something precious, like this is more than what you said it was.

“One night,” you murmur.

“Right,” he echoes.

But neither of you moves.

—

The next morning, you both pretend like nothing’s changed.

You get dressed. You joke about your hair. You make coffee. You leave. He lets you.

But something has changed. It’s in the way he looks at you now. In the way your hand hovers at his arm like you’re afraid to touch him again. In the silence between your words.

You don’t talk about it.

You both try to keep things normal. You work your shifts, eat your meals, shoot the shit in the truck like always. But every time he looks at you, you remember the way he touched you. Every time he laughs, you remember how he sounded when he came.

It doesn’t go away.

And the thing is—it wasn’t just one night.

It wasn’t meaningless.

Because it happens again. And again. Always under the same pretense: stress relief, release, just two friends helping each other out. A favour. A habit.

But each time, it’s harder to pretend you don’t care. That you don’t feel safe in his arms. That your heart doesn’t leap when he pulls you close afterward and murmurs your name like it means something.

You don’t know when the lie stopped being a lie. Maybe it never was. Maybe you were both just too scared to admit what you wanted.

One night, after the third time in two weeks, you’re lying together in that familiar hush, his arm over your chest, your fingers brushing his.

“Does this feel like just sex to you?” you ask quietly.

Buck doesn’t answer right away. Then, softly, “No.”

You turn your head. “Then why are we pretending it is?”

He exhales slowly, staring at the ceiling. “Because if it’s not… then, its something else,”

You nod. You understand that better than anyone.

But still.

“I don’t want to keep pretending,”

He looks at you then. His eyes are soft and full of something you’ve tried not to name.

“I think I’ve been in love with you for a while,” he says.

Your heart stumbles. “Then why didn’t you say anything?”

“Can you blame a guy for not wanting to risk it?”

You laugh—light, disbelieving. “You idiot,”

His grin is sheepish. “Yeah. Kinda,”

You reach for him, and this time, it’s not about sex. It’s not about frustration or loneliness or stress. It’s about him. About you. About everything you’ve both been too scared to say.

You kiss him like you mean it.

Because you do.

[thechaoslibrarian]

Pure (Matt Murdock x Fem!Virgin!Reader)

Author’s Note: Well, everyone, I’ve strapped on my slut pants for this one. How I got this idea, I don’t know. All I know is that I had it, wrote it, needed to take a cold shower in the middle of writing it, and finished it. I think it’s even a little funnier after this last episode of She-Hulk, especially since I wrote it before I saw it. Is this self-serving? Yes. Is this also the perfect alternative fic option for me to include a gif of Bed Matt™️ when I wanted to but didn’t for another fic? Also yes. Enjoy, sluts (affectionate)! :)

Summary: After Matt overhears a conversation between you and Karen, his feelings that he holds for you already take on a new life, and his thoughts won’t rest until he sees them through.

Warnings: Fluff, mutual friends pining but neither of them know it until they know it, swearing, smut (virgin reader, nervous/excited reader, oral - f!receiving, fingering, sloppy kisses, P in V, praise kink! praise kink!, soft!dom!Matt (did I use that right?), Communication King Murdock, light corruption kink?, unprotected sex–if I’m gonna do a corruption kink, I might as well go all the way on it), cutesy cuteness because I just love seeing Matt happy.

Other Characters: Foggy Nelson and Karen Page

Word Count: 5,957

Keep reading

[thechaoslibrarian]

love's perfect ache

Summary: Your husband wants nothing more than to love you breathless.

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Warnings: smut! Matt is a soft dom (that alone deserves a warning); fingering, multiple orgasms (one somewhat forced but it is not non-con); dirty talk

A/N: Holy shit. So. A lot of things have happened since I last posted. Some of these things include but are not limited to

a) I have been seeing someone romantically for a year and four months

b) I'm graduating with my Bachelor's Degree in Education in May.

c) I've been Student Teaching full time in order to graduate, so I haven't been able to write.

However, these last three days have given me a spark of madness. I first started this draft a little less than a year ago, and only now have I finished it.

This fic is based off of... personal experience. ;) I hope you like it.

The clatter of plates and silverware jumps through the apartment. The smell of shrimp scampi still lingers in the air, though the windows have been opened and the leftovers have been put in the fridge.

Matt leans his arm over the back of the couch as he sits down, relaxing into his seat. A small part of him wants to go back to you, the remarkable woman behind him who had insisted on doing the dishes and taking care of the leftovers yourself. “Go sit and be handsome,” you’d said, kissing his shoulder. “I can manage it.”

Oh, you.

You never like asking for help, or accepting it when it is given. Not that you think you’re above it, but because you don’t want to trouble anyone else with anything.

He doesn’t love that, but he loves you.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he breathes, toying with the ring on his finger.

“Yeah?” you ask from behind the counter.

“Mm, nothing,” he mutters. “Was just thinking ‘bout you.”

The hum of amusement you give him is a common little sound. One of quiet acknowledgement. It’s almost like you’re numb to what he’s telling you.

Selfless, as always.

The sound reminds him of more intimate times between you two. Sighs, moans, squeaks, breathless laughs and barely audible whines. All from you. And then, he thinks of what you say to him sometimes, when he offers to do certain things.

“It’s alright, baby, you don’t have to.”

“I don’t need to finish. It’s okay. I’m too tired.”

“Honey, I’m good. I promise. You don’t have to do anything.”

Matt snaps back to the current moment. His heart hurts.

In the two years that you’ve been married, you’ve had a bit of trouble; not only with accepting help or kind words or generous gifts of affection, but with accepting pleasure too, pleasure that Matt so willingly wants to give to you. He knows about that, how you find it difficult to fathom the love he has for you and the ways he wants to express it.

Yes, you’ve discussed your kinks and your turn-offs with him. You’ve been intimate, and you’ve enjoyed it immensely. But you’ve never quite gotten to where he wants you, to where you should be.

You deserve pleasure, and you don’t see it.

Matt’s jaw clenches.

“Honey?” he asks. “You good?”

“Yup!” you chirp. “Just putting the last pan away."

“Ok.”

Thirty seconds pass. He hears you, in that time, put the last pan into the lazy-susan cabinet and wipe down the counter one last time. Then, you step away from the kitchen and sit next to him on the couch with a sleepy little mumble.

“Everything okay?” Matt asks softly, leaning in to nuzzle into your neck. He leaves a feather-light kiss there.

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Everything’s… good.”

“I have an idea,” he mumbles into your skin, his hand trailing up your thigh. “And I need to know what you think about it.”

“What are you thinking?” you ask, a hint of a smile in your voice.

“Well, I was thinking… that we could… have some fun.” Matt grins.

You breathe outward, silently, your breath heavy and shuddered, as his lips trail to the back of your neck and he bites into the flesh.

“I’d like that,” you say.

“I wasn’t finished. We have some fun… but I spend the night just… letting you feel everything. I want to make you come, sweetheart. A lot, if I’m honest.”

He can hear the sharp inhale — quiet but noticeable — and how your heartbeat picks up almost instantly. His grin widens. “I want to spoil you tonight. All I want you to do is lay on the bed and be your beautiful self. I’ll do the rest.”

“I — um — ” you stammer, “you don’t have to do that — ”

“Uh uh.” Matt shakes his head. “None of that now. I want to do this. You don’t see how much you deserve this, honey. What is it that you’re afraid of?”

“ ‘m not afraid… just…”

“Just?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re too damn humble for your own good, you know?”

You shrug.

“Baby, look at me,” Matt says softly. When he knows you have done so, he says, “If you really don’t want to, we don’t have to. But I’ve noticed it. I just wanna give my girl what she deserves. Will you let me do that? Even just for tonight?”

It takes a good ten seconds for you to give him the slightest sound of approval. A tiny little “uh huh,” close to a whisper, but he can hear it.

“That’s my girl,” he says, grinning.

Matt carries you to bed bridal-style, shutting the door behind him with the back of his foot, and sits you on the edge of the bed.

He starts by just kissing you; your lips, your cheeks. Softly, gently, with both hands coming up to your jawline and your neck, thumbs swiping your cheeks and temples.

His affection is always, always welcomed. You have never felt safer than when you are in his arms — those same arms that are often covered in bruises and scratches and blood, those same arms that drop snitches from buildings and punch the daylights out of bad guys. You have never felt safer.

His hands fall down to your chest, your waist, lightly applying pressure or squeezing gently. You're in the warm embrace of someone who could break you, and the fact that he chooses to treat you with such delicate care makes your heart swell and your chest ache with such love — and this turns you on even more.

Matt treasures you. Cherishes you.

He sighs into the kisses he gives. “You have no idea how much you turn me on,” he says, his voice low. “You know that?” He moves his head up and kisses your forehead; his lips linger there for a while. “And you don’t even realize it… you don’t realize that I get off by making you feel good.”

What Matt has just said to you doesn’t register fully until he’s already laid you down onto the bed, gently pushing you down with his right hand. He straddles you, taking his shirt off and throwing it on the floor. “You beautiful, wonderful, lovely girl.” He leans down, kissing your clothed chest and your stomach before shuffling your pants off of you.

He gets in between your legs, sitting on the bed sideways but still facing you. You’re wearing black boyshorts, the comfiest pair you own. Matt’s favorite. He likes imagining how the black would look on you, and how the cloth would hug your hips.

His hand gently strokes the crotch of your underwear, the pressure sending sparks up your privates. It’s so much different, you think, to have someone else’s hand there rather than your own.

“You smell so good,” he mutters, in that tone of voice, and you know that he’s not talking about the vanilla eau de parfum you put on every day. No, he’s talking about a different scent you give off.

You flush, embarrassed, crossing your legs and putting your face in your hands. His hand stays where it was, unmoving, between your legs.

A finger moves, right over your clit, and you twitch.

“None of that,” Matt whispers. “No hiding today. I want to see your pretty face.”

“You can’t see,” you whimper through your hands.

“When has that ever stopped me?” he says, and you know he has that shit-eating grin on his face. “Come on,” he coaxes, “take your hands off your face.”

You don’t move. “Matty…”

“There’s no need to be embarrassed, sweetie.” A finger moves on your clit again and you gasp. “You’re so beautiful. Every part of you. Even the parts you’re insecure about…”

When you say nothing, he moves his finger again and you twitch at the shock it gives you. “I’m not gonna do anything else until you take your hands off your face,” he says, and you know he’s serious.

Matt’s finger moves for the third time and that’s when you remove your hands. His little chuckle sends shivers down your back.

“There,” he says, “there’s my pretty girl. See? Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

His hand, quick as a bullet, goes into your underwear and cups your pussy, adding pressure again. A strangled sound comes out of you and you cover your mouth. Matt chuckles again, and coos at you, "Aww, what? What's making you so shy? You know I love hearing you."

The teasing is too much now, but you can't seem to get over your shyness. You whimper into your hand, moving your hips to try and get some more friction. It works, but only for a second. Matt immediately notices what you're doing and he draws his hand away again.

"What do you need, baby?"

"Ffffingers."

Matt nods and shuffles you out of your underwear.

Slowly, he puts a finger in you, keeping his eyes lowered and concentrating on your feel, your sounds. The relieved sigh is all he needs, and he stays where he is, knuckle deep inside you. He doesn't move it yet, and instead, he chooses to feel you clench around his finger to no avail.

"So warm," he says, "so warm and wet."

You flush, embarrassed at that. For no reason at all, you've been self-conscious about that part of you, and how it looks, smells, tastes. You turn your head and try to keep yourself away from the praise he's giving you.

Matt tsks. "None of that now. It's beautiful, honey. You're so beautiful."

"M-Matt," you whimper, "no."

"Yes," he says, and starts to move his finger. In and out, slow and steady. The burn and stretch is a welcome one, but you start to feel something else. Almost like a wall, a barrier to your pleasure. You can't come without that wall being torn down.

"Can — can you get the vibrator, please?"

"It's been a while since you've asked for what you want." Matt grins. "That's a good girl, hm? Of course, I can."

He moves, pulling his finger out of you and getting off the bed. He opens the nightstand drawer next to the bed and pulls out a magenta colored vibrator.

Matt gets back on the bed and puts his finger in you again. The wall comes back once he starts moving his finger again, but this time he puts the vibrator in your clit and presses a button. It buzzes to life, only on the lowest setting, but it's enough.

The wall comes down and all you feel is pleasure. You sigh, relieved. The vibrator is a nice distraction from the stretch.

"There you go," Matt says quietly. "Just feel that, honey. I've got you."

I've got you.

The reassurance that Matt gives you is both comforting and sexy. You like being submissive, and you like being taken care of. More than anything, you like being taken care of by the man who made his vows, before God and the world, to be your husband for the rest of your lives.

You melt into the bed as he continues to make love to you. Subspace is setting in and your mind goes fuzzy. You wouldn't normally describe yourself as a pillow princess, but here, right now... you are. And that's what Matt wants.

He smiles, shushes you gently, and this hurls you down into subspace even more. "Such a good girl," he whispers, "always so good to me. Just let me take care of you."

And with that, you're gone. Completely vulnerable, giving yourself over to Matt. And he finds it so lovely. so beautiful, how much you trust him.

"I think what you need is a little more... maybe right here — "

His fingers do something else, they go lower and deeper. Immediately, you feel like you're being punched in the stomach, but the sensation itself is far from painful. You can't stop yourself this time; you moan, a choked sound, and you bury your head to the side and into your pillows. Dear God, if Matt keeps this up, you're not gonna last much longer.

"There," he says, his voice low but filled with warmth, keeping his fingers moving right there, in and out, "that's what you need, hm? I know, honey, I know."

Matt knows you. He knows you, inside and out, body and soul. He knows your laugh, your smile, your voice, your smells. He knows how you moan, how you shiver, twitch and gasp. He knows what makes you tick. He knows how you come, what you need to get there. There's nothing more comforting — or sexy — than that.

You're unbelievably tense - your entire body is stiff, coming close to that edge. Matt can feel it, simply on his fingers, but he can hear it, too: the way your breath hitches and the way your moans increase, both in frequency and in pitch. He can feel your blood flowing, he can hear your heartbeat increase, feel how warm your skin has become. He notices all of these things, and he thinks it's the most beautiful thing in the world. A small part of him is still regretful that he cannot see, but only because... oh, what he wouldn't give to see your face.

"Matty," you whimper, "M-Matty, I'm cc-close. I'm so close—"

He loves hearing that desperation in your voice. You're starting to move around, turning and panting, almost in an attempt to get away from the pleasure that's sure to overtake you in a few moments. He can sense how tight your eyes are closed, how dry your mouth has become from all the sounds - oh, the beautiful sounds - that you're making, how tightly your fists are clenched, and where your arms are going. You don't seem to know exactly what to do with your hands. A few times, it looks like you debate whether to hide your face again, but you don't do that.

"M-Matty!"

And he knows, then, that you're peaking, that the orgasm has already begun and you're just on the edge of letting go, letting it completely overtake you. You've given yourself completely to him, and you're at his mercy.

And the Devil of Hell's Kitchen does have mercy, believe it or not.

"Come for me, sweetheart," he whispers, with such gentle fondness and delight that you have no choice but to obey.

You're gone, your body in flames and filled with electric sparks. Fireworks.

The sound that comes from you then is the most beautiful sound Matt has ever heard. He's heard it before, and he will never get tired of it. It's a sound of release, of letting go... a cry of pleasure, almost a guttural scream and a shuddered breath all at once. It's an orgasmic wail or sometimes it is even a period of silence where you are just completely lost in the agonizing ecstasy of it all.

You're coming, and you're coming hard... He always knows what to do or say to make that happen. When he married you, he made a vow to himself to always make you feel like the most satisfied woman in the world. It's always a reward when this happens, when he can hear and feel you like this.

It's a long one, he realizes, because you gasp and shiver and twitch and spasm and cry out in surprise as the waves of pleasure keep rushing over you. He laughs, then, a small amused chuckle that leaves you even more breathless than you already are. Matt delights in making you feel this way. If he could go down on his knees and beg God Almighty to let him do this forever, he would.

"Oh, that's it," he coos, "that's my girl."

His praise, combined with the continued moving of his fingers - shouldn't they be getting sore by now? - only makes your orgasm last longer. Once it begins to fade, your body relaxes and you breathe out a sigh of contentment and warmth. Your eyes remain closed - and it's probably a good thing, because the way Matt is looking at you now would be enough to kill you with how loving it is The aftershocks of your orgasm - little jolts of pleasure - start to course through you.

"That was beautiful," he mutters to himself. "I think I want another from you."

You eyes snap open. "Honey," you mumble.

"What?" he asks gently. "I know you can." His hands are moving now, all across your body in an attempt to soothe you. You look down and see the tent in his pants: he's never been so hard in the years that you've known him.

"You need help with that?" you ask with a smile, sitting up. By the direction that your voice is going, he knows what you're talking about.

"No, no, no," he says, using a hand to push you back onto the bed. "Don't change the subject."

"I wasn't."

"Yes," Matt kisses your chest, "you were."

"I can't come again."

"Yes, you can." Matt clicks the vibrator on again and, before you can move away, puts it on your clit.

Your whole body seizes up, your clit goes numb, and all you can feel is good, but too good. Your mind blanks. You shriek out a sound of surprise and pleasure and agony, your body instantly trying to get away. It's too much, you're too sensitive, but he won't let up. He holds you down, shushing you again as you let out little cries and sobs and moans. Your body convulses, twitching in his grasp.

"Shh, shh, baby... I got you. Remember that. You're alright."

"MattMattMatt — I can't!"

"Yes, you can," he says again, firmer this time, but laughs as you try to get away. "Just hang on a little longer, you'll feel good again. Your body is already adapting to it. You're okay."

And of course, it's true. Your body is already getting used to it. Your sobs die down and now, the pleasure is bearable. Extremely good, actually. Your moans are weak, your eyebrows are furrowed, and your eyes are shut again. The convulsions are stopping, and now all you can do is feel it all again.

"That's it, bubba," Matt says, "see? I know you can handle it."

He puts two fingers inside you, slowly, and the burn is less uncomfortable now. A guttural sound leaves you again as you're filled up, and once Matt starts moving again, you tense up immediately. Two fingers and a vibrator are a recipe for an extremely quick orgasm, and you both know it.

"Baby," you whisper.

"What?" he coos. "Is my girl close already?"

"Nnngh," is all you can reply back. "Mm hmm."

"That's what I wanted," Matt says quietly, triumphantly. "You don't have to say anything anymore. Just feel it."

It doesn't take much longer for you to get close to coming again. Especially when Matt begins to drive his fingers into you harder, faster. You can't even speak anymore; all you can do is vocalize; moan, whimper, gasp. And you know that Matt is having the time of his life. One of the first things he ever said to you about things like this was that he'd get off by getting you off, and that has always stuck with you.

Your legs start to quiver.

You peak again, sobbing out a high pitched whine. The feeling is strong now, like an unstoppable force is meeting an immovable object. Your body is tense, unbelievably so, and the pleasure keeps building, but it never crests. It never reaches that point. That's the trouble of having one orgasm after another. It's hard to come. "MMMatt, pplease, please, p —"

"Shh," Matt says again with a grunt, "don't worry. We'll get you there. Relax as much as you can. Remember, I'll take care of you." You try your best to relax your body but it's still a bit difficult. All the while, Matt is practically shoving his fingers into you now, relentlessly, and you start to hear noises down there that send your mind reeling. Your back arches.

"You fuckin' hear that?" Matt's sudden vulgarity is a surprise. He's ravenous. "Oh, you want it, don't you?" He hoists a leg over your own to keep you from moving. "You're so close. Stay here, don't run away from me."

He pauses, but his fingers keep moving. "I'll get some restraints later."

After a few more seconds, it finally hits. You crest, your orgasm starting again, and all you can shriek is a simple, "Oh, oh Jesus — "

"Just come," Matt says quietly. It contrasts heavily with the way he's ramming his fingers into you. "Don't do anything else. Just come. Let go. Let go, let go, let go — "

And, with the encouragement comforting you, what else can you do but do as he says? You're stuck in place and your mind is mush. You come with another wail, this one stronger and more primal than the first, louder too, and you see stars behind your eyelids. Your leg is shaking, and if your other one could move, it would, too. Your clit is warm, almost numb again, and your arms are quivering above his head. The sounds from your privates get more intense, and Matt grunts in exertion. You don't know anything anymore, you can't think or speak. All you can do is feel, and that's exactly what Matt wanted from the start.

You're sure Matt's senses are overloaded. Sound, smell, taste, feel. He can hear how desperate and overtaken you are, he can smell and taste your arousal and sweat in the air, and he can feel your quivers and shakes and your tightness. He's rock hard now, and it probably hurts a little, but he doesn't care. You're all that's on his mind and once again he wishes that he could only see your face in this moment.

"Oh, look at you," Matt praises, slowing his fingers now. You're a mess, a beautiful, satiated mess. There are tears in your eyes and sweat on your brow. Your hair is tangled and unkept, and your knuckles hurt from how hard you've been clenching your fists. It's amazing how this is only from a fingering, but you needed this. You wanted this, as shy as you were to admit it. You pant, weakly, your legs completely unable to move. You're jelly, practically limp, and you twitch and shudder as the last of the aftershocks hit you.

"Can I put it in now?"

You shriek and Matt laughs, falling beside you and immediately wrapping his arms around you. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding, baby." He kisses your forehead and cradles your head to him. "Such a good girl," he says, "you did such a good job. I'm so proud of you."

You swallow, and the saliva is a welcome sensation on your dry throat. "I think... I'll call off of work tomorrow," you pant. "Holy hell, Matty."

"Careful," Matt says, "if you do that, I won't be able to stop myself from doing this all over again once you wake up."

"I'm in danger," you say with a breathless laugh. "Just be gentle, okay?"

"Of course," he says, "always. I'm so happy that you allowed me to do that. It's been a while since you've given in that much. You don't know how hot it is to me when you let go like that."

You look down and see the tent in Matt's pants again. "Do you want me to take care of that now?"

"When you're half asleep already? I'm good, honey. That will go away eventually. But it'll be there in the morning, waiting for you. And I may or may not slip out in a few hours and get some restraints from the sex shop later. You may or may not wake up with your arms and legs tied to the bed. Just be warned."

It isn't long before you slip into sleep, completely exhausted but satiated and happy. And while you sleep, you can still feel Matt's lips on your forehead, and you think you can hear a small, "I love you, sweetheart," too.

[thechaoslibrarian]

PATCHING UP; MATT MURDOCK X FEM! READER

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Description: when Matt Murdock comes to reader one night asking for help getting patched up, things escalate (reader x Matt have a similar dynamic to Clare and Matt season one)

➵ Warnings: smut! oral (f receiving), fingering, praise, nipple sucking, unprotected p in v, religious symbolism, mention of wounds, matts heightened senses, teasing

⭑.ᐟ Reminders: feedback and reblogs are what keep writers going! Please feel free to leave something!!

† A/N: minors dni. This is meant to be read as the original Netflix Matt Murdock because I was missing him lol. Not fully proofread. Forgive me if I get anything wrong about catholicism, I'm an atheist lmao.

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The city outside was alive, pulsing with the chaos of the night. Sirens wailed in the distance, laughter and shouting mingling with the occasional honk of a taxi. Rain had slicked the streets earlier, leaving behind the damp, metallic scent of the asphalt. Your apartment window was cracked just enough for the sounds and smells of Hell’s Kitchen to seep in, a reminder of the world beyond the dim glow of your living room lamp. 

You barely had time to register the soft creak of the fire escape before the door burst open, the figure in black stumbling through. The air shifted with him, the scent of sweat, blood, and the acrid tang of gunpowder flooding your senses. Beneath it all was something unmistakably him—the warmth of his skin, the faint trace of soap and leather, something dark and electric, like the storm that had passed through earlier but still hummed in the air.

Matt stumbled through the door, the black Daredevil suit torn and bloodied in places, his breaths shallow but measured. He smelled like the city—sweat, metal, the faint trace of gunpowder—but beneath it all, there was him, that heady mix of scents, sandal wood and cologne, and something inherently Matt.

“You look like hell,” you murmured almost instinctively, crossing your arms as he pulled off the mask, revealing the bruises painting his face and around his dark eyes.

“Yeah well you should see the other guy” His voice was low, roughened by exhaustion but still carrying that teasing lilt. He smirked, lips splitting slightly at the movement, and he winced a little

You rolled your eyes, but a sharp jolt of excitement ran through your body at the sight of his smirk. He never failed to do that to you, Matt Murdock. The last thing you wanted was for it to show, though. You knew he knew the way you felt about him, ever since you saved him from nearly bleeding to death on your roof. 

“Sit down, Matt” you ordered, already reaching for the first-aid kit.

He chuckled as he eased onto the couch with a groan. “You’re bossy.”

“You’re reckless.” You snapped in response. You knelt beside him, fingers already working at the shredded fabric of his suit. “And an idiot.”

He chuckled. “You worried about me?” His smile grew when he felt your heartbeat increase and your breath shudder.  

“And what if i said that i was?” You replied hesitantly, your hands running over his carved abs as you assessed the damage. 

“Then I’d tell you that i’m a big boy, and that i can  take care of myself,” he replied with all the smooth candor that you recognized as being inherently Matt.

You ignored his comment and continued to run your hands over his abs, his chest, his shoulders. You were feeling for broken bones, that wasnt a lie, but something about the noises he was making and the soft groans that erupted from his chest temporarily distracted you. 

“mmm.. careful, sweetheart. If you keep touching me like that, I might start thinking you enjoy patching me up. I’ll be here every night.”

You scoffed. “Yeah, because there’s nothing I love more than cleaning blood out of my couch.”

Matt hummed, the sound almost thoughtful. He chuckled before speaking again. “I didn’t say you liked that part, but you do seem to enjoy me being here.. shirtless under your hands” 

You froze, but it was too late. He’d already tilted his head slightly, his lips quirking like he’d caught onto a secret you were trying desperately to keep. Fuck. You knew he had these abilities, but what you didn’t know is how leniently he used them.

“You’re messing with me,” you replied quickly, in an attempt to save face, but you knew he had already caught on.

“I don’t have to.” He smiled and his voice dropped an octave, teasing but laced with something darker, something you recognized as being his “daredevil” voice. Raspy, deep. “I can hear your heartbeat. I can feel the way your breath hitches every time I groan. I can Smell the way you—”

“Shut up, Matt. You know i dont have to be patching you up, bleeding half to death, in my apartment.”

His grin widened. “And i appreciate that, sweetheart”

“Would you stop calling me that, Matt?” You pressed harder than necessary on a particularly nasty cut, and he hissed, his muscles going taut beneath your touch. But then, he moaned—low, throaty, wrecked.

Your stomach flipped.

Matt exhaled shakily, his smirk curling at the edges. “Oh,” he murmured, voice dripping with amusement. “That got your attention.”

You willed yourself not to react, not to give him the satisfaction, but you knew it was useless. His senses missed nothing. The way your pulse stuttered, the warmth blooming in your cheeks, the heat pooling low in your stomach. He could taste your arousal in the air, in the way your thighs pressed together, in the way you bit your lip.

You swallowed hard, fingers fumbling with the antiseptic. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re ignoring the obvious.” He tilted his head, grinning. “Come on, sweetheart. Be honest. You like it when i’m here, like this, dont you?”

Your breath hitched, and his smirk turned positively sinful. Before you could fire back a retort, Matt moved, fast enough to make your head spin. One second, you were kneeling in front of him with gauze in your hand, and the next, he had you pinned against the couch, his weight pressing into you, his lips dragging along your jaw.

“You smell so sweet,” he murmured, nosing at your pulse point, inhaling deep like he was savoring it. The smell of you was overwhelming, like a drug almost in the way it entrapped him and made him unable to resist you. 

“Matt,” you whispered, your voice low and begging. 

“Shh.” His lips brushed your ear. “Tell me, sweetheart, use your pretty voice.” 

You let out a moan at his words, at the way his lips crept down your jaw and latched onto your neck. Your hips shifted, pressing against him, and the groan that rumbled in his chest sent shivers down your spine. 

Matt’s fingers traced the curve of your waist, his touch featherlight but intentional, dragging over every nerve ending with a precision that made you shiver. When his hand found your clothed wet cunt, he smirked at the way your pulse skipped beneath his hands, at the way your breath caught before you even realized it.

“That feel good angel?” His voice was a rasp of satisfaction, laced with amusement. 

“Mhm,” You whimpered, and Matt let out a low, dark chuckle, pleased. Of course he already knew how it felt, he could taste your wetness in the air, hear your soft breathing and your rapid heartbeat, smell the pheromones on your skin, feel the way your body reacted to him. His senses were overwhelmed, but he drank you like you were holy water.

“Please Matt,” you begged as his fingers rubbed small, tantalizing circles over your clit.

“What is it sweetheart? Use your words,” he said as his hands moved to your chest and removed your top almost as if he were unwrapping something sacred. His lips latched onto your nipple and you could feel his hot breathing on your chest. 

You let out a piercing moan and gripped his hair, pushing his head down further into your boob. He whimpered at the added sensation, and that only made you want him more, made you even more frustrated. 

“You know!” you managed to get out through a moan. Matt chuckled, lifting his head from your boob and smirking as though he really were the devil, and then he was gone—suddenly lower, kneeling before you with the kind of reverence that made your head spin. His strong hands gripped your thighs, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh there as he spread you open. The heat of his breath kissed your inner thigh before his lips did, and your heart pounded in anticipation.

“Matt, please”

“Patience sweetheart” he purred, nosing along the sensitive skin near your core. His voice was a velvet promise, thick with hunger. “Patience is a virtue, you know.”

And then his mouth was on you, warm and wet and devastating. His tongue flicked over your clit in a teasing, light pass before pressing flat, dragging slow, savoring you. The wet sounds of his mouth on you filled the room, obscene and deliberate. He felt the way your thighs trembled in his grasp, the way your body responded, and his own breath hitched. The moment was sacred, like a prayer murmured at the altar, like a confessional where he worshiped you with his tongue.

“God, you taste so good,” he murmured against you, his voice thick with arousal. “I could stay down here forever.”

Your hands found purchase in his hair, tugging hard, and he groaned into you, the vibration making you arch off the bed. He liked that—liked when you pulled, liked when you lost control.

“That’s it,” he breathed, his voice rough, wrecked. “Let go for me.”

Your heartbeat thundered in his ears, a frantic rhythm he chased as he flicked his tongue against your clit again, relentless. He could hear everything—every gasp, every needy whimper, the way your breath hitched just before you shattered.

“Matt—Matt, please—”

He didnt let up. His tongue moved even more roughly against you, and the vulgar sound filled the air. Something so primal, so evil was in the way he tasted you. 

You came with a cry, your body tightening, your thighs trembling in his grasp. He groaned like he was the one falling apart, lapping up every last wave of your release, savoring you until you squirmed from the overstimulation.

But he wasn’t done with this prayer—not yet. Before you could fully catch your breath, he was over you again, his body caging yours, his lips claiming yours in a searing kiss. You tasted yourself on his tongue, and he swallowed your whimper like it belonged to him.

He pressed his forehead to yours, his nose brushing against your cheek as he nudged at your entrance, teasing, dragging the tip of his cock through your slick folds. His restraint was hanging by a thread, but he wanted to feel you tremble for him again.

“Fuck, you’re wet,” he groaned, his voice a wrecked rasp. “You feel that? Feel how ready you are for me?”

You nodded, panting, and he smirked, brushing his lips over yours.

“Words, sweetheart.”

“Yes,” you gasped. “Matt, please—”

That was all he needed. He slid into you in one slow, deep stroke, burying himself to the hilt, and the sharp inhale you took sent him spiraling. The stretch, the heat of you wrapping around him—it was too much.

“Fuck, you feel perfect,” he gasped, his forehead pressing to yours, his voice reverent. He started slow, deliberate, making you feel every inch of him. His hands cradled your face, his lips brushing yours between praises.

“You take me so well, sweetheart. Feel so good around me.” He groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck, dragging his lips over the damp skin there as if repenting, as if your body was his salvation and damnation all at once.

“This—” he thrust deep, pulling a whimper from your lips, “—this is all I’ll ever need.”

His fingers found your clit again, circling it with precise, torturous ease.

“Let go for me again, angel.” His voice was a benediction, a command, something holy wrapped in sin.

The coil inside you tightened, wound unbearably taut, and Matt felt it, felt the way your heartbeat stuttered, the way your body clenched down around him.

“Come for me,” he rasped, voice wrecked. “Come all over my cock—let me feel you.”

And when you did, when you shattered around him with a cry, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer, he groaned deep, burying himself to the hilt as he came undone, warmth spilling deep inside you.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, just panting, tangled in each other, skin damp, bodies humming from the aftershocks.

Then, he let out a breathless chuckle, pressing a kiss to your temple. “That’s the best I’ve ever felt after a fight.”

His lips trailed over your throat, pressing reverent kisses to your skin like he was offering thanks, like you were something divine. And maybe, in this moment, to him—you were.

[thechaoslibrarian]

Backseat Benefits

"You are the sun and I am the moon; What light you see in me is merely yours, reflected across the length of night" --William C. Hannah

——————

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: In which Spencer's innocent curiosities about the benefits of a backseat lead to some exploration and revelations. Category: Smut (18+), Fluff Content: Making out, Heavy petting, blowjob, vaginal fingering/oral, good ol' fashioned car foolin' around. Baby Spencer is low-key insecure but fighting through it Word Count: 3.1k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: Yeah, so what Spencer wonders about backseats is the thought I had while loading in my groceries this morning LMAOO, and then Diet Pepsi by Addison Rae came on shuffle when I got in, and I started this in the Walmart parking lot. Therefore this is not proofread. I briefly skimmed after I finished, but that's IT. Enjoy!

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You like to think you know Spencer pretty well; Two years of being friends and two more of a relationship under your belts has more than proven your mutual knowing and loving and understanding of each other.

Still, he manages to find ways to surprise you every day without even trying.

Tonight, you're on your way back to his apartment from seeing a movie a few towns over. The moon flashes in and out of view as tall, full trees whip past you in the night. You think Spencer might be staring, craning his head and trying to focus on the moonlight, but eventually you notice his eyes are trained on the rear view mirror.

"Something on your mind, Sunshine?"

His nose crinkles affectionately at the pet name you've coined for him. While you're sure there are more poetic ways to describe his aura and the way he makes you feel, there wasn't a better word in the moment you could have come up with to fully encapsulate his warmth. He was pure sunshine incarnate, and so the first week you'd known each other, it became clear that there was no other option. The nickname slipped past your lips without a second thought, he looked panicked and flushed for a moment before bumbling through his response, and it stuck.

The memory of it makes you smile as he answers you.

"I was just thinking... A large percentage of vehicles have backseats, but I wonder how many of them actually get used... I mean, sure, children basically only know the backseat, and families and friend groups will spend time there... But if you're the owner of a vehicle, chances are you haven't sat in your backseat. And after all, why would you? But it makes you wonder, how many vehicle owners are truly familiar with the backseat of their car?"

The momentary silence between you feels almost comical, but you're only trying to process. Is it a truly curious statement, or...

"Are you asking if I'm familiar with my backseat?"

The suggestive implication in your tone completely goes over his head, answering your question. "Well, no, that wasn't my intention, but... Are you?"

"Kinda," you answer truthfully. "I mean, I've loaded groceries into the backseat, and I've... Spent some time back there."

Spencer looks to you and raises an eyebrow, genuinely curious and asking for elaboration. It hadn't clicked yet.

Another silence falls between you for a while before he understands, his features contorting with realization and then embarrassment. "Oh..."

You can't help but laugh. "I mean, it's been a while, but... Yeah."

"I mean, I suppose it is a cliche for young lovers to hook up in the back of a car... But I didn't even think about it..."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, this car has only seen one rendezvous in my lifetime with it, and it has been heavily sanitized since then. So if you're curious about the backseat of my car, you're welcome to sit back there anytime you like."

He groans, scrunching his nose again, only less affectionately and in that way you've come to recognize as embarrassment. "I'm sorry. That was an odd conversation."

"Hey. I'm serious. Don't you ever apologize for being curious, especially not around me, alright?"

"Yeah, alright."

You can tell he's just trying to move on but that he doesn't actually believe you, and it breaks your heart a little—another thing that's surprised you tonight. After all your years as friends, his inability to recognize precisely how much you adore literally every facet of him never seems to go away. It's gotten better over the years, but on occasion, like now, he fails to believe that someone like you could truly love someone like him. His sunshine slowly starts to disappear behind a little cloud, and though it doesn't happen for very long, each time it does, it makes you want to curse the world and whatever forces have sprung him with storms of sorrow.

And it's happening now.

You make a quick decision to pull over, and he looks over at you quizzically as the car comes to a complete stop.

"Is everything alright?" he asks, concerned more for you than himself.

"No. You put the thought in my brain, and now I just wanna sit in my backseat and see what's going on back there."

Spencer's eyes drop. "You don't have to do that..."

Instead of responding, you unbuckle your seatbelt and leave the car running, opening the door. "C'mon."

He tries to stop you, but you climb out away from his hand and close the door behind you, bracing yourself against the gentle summer wind. And now the thought really is running rampant in your head; You'd never thought about it before, but merely opening the back door feels different in your hand than when you open the driver's door. You don't know if it's just a trick of the mind—a product of the task at hand—or if there's any technical difference in the way back and front car doors are designed.

When you finally sit down in the backseat, you're about to tell Spencer about your thoughts on it only to find out that he's gone, but only for a few seconds. He climbs in beside you, his hair astray from the wind.

You smile. "Welcome to the backseat, Sunshine. Take off your jacket, stay a while."

Your words have managed to make him laugh. A small victory— a beam of light protruding from his little cloud.

"It's roomy back here," he muses, looking around, his smile still lingering.

"It's like a whole new world."

Spencer laughs again, and then you follow, and before you know it, the both of you have fallen into a small cyclone of laughter that parts the clouds and lifts the mood entirely.

"I love you," he says at last, scooting in closer to you, your legs touching now.

You reach your hand out to grab his, bringing it to rest on your chest, right where your heart sits beneath flesh and bone. "I love you, too, Sunshine. Don't you ever forget it."

Your faces have drifted closer now, noses nestling against one another as one more silence befalls you. Only this time, the thing forming in the midst is a different kind of storm. Electric, gravitating, and warm.

His lips find yours with ease, and what a gentle endeavor it is; A small gesture of gratitude and adoration that makes your heart flutter like it had the first time you kissed him. Your hand tightens over his, a squeeze of affection that lets him know you're embracing his warmth, and that you can only hope to return it to him in full.

When your lips part against his, however, something shifts in his gentleness. It firms and grows bold, pressing into you with a desperation that isn't necessarily surprising, but igniting.

You admittedly never pictured yourself making out with Spencer Reid in the backseat of your car, but now that it's happening, the low hum of the air conditioning rumbling through the space between you and the wind rustling outside, you fully embrace the pang of need that takes hold in your body and spreads to every limb.

Wandering hands, curious tongues, and saccharine sighs become your whole world for what feels like hours. Cars occasionally whoosh by, but you pay them no mind, too entirely wrapped up in your boyfriend and the way he's loving you to even consider them. Though, the thought of two government employees being caught for public indecency briefly crosses your mind and makes you huff a laugh into Spencer's mouth.

He breaks apart. "What is it?"

You kiss him again, humming mischievously into him. "Ohhh, you know."

Another kiss, slow and deliberate...

"Just thinking."

Your kisses travel along his jaw, and then his neck. His pulse under your lips is a thrill in its own right, a tangible reminder of the life he so beautifully offers you.

"About the benefits of having an unexplored backseat."

You feel his whole body sigh as your hands untuck his shirt from the band of his pants.

Then he laughs, the sound strained and desperate, and you want to bottle it up and keep it forever. "I thought you've already... explored this backseat."

In another life you would have laughed back, but there is absolutely nothing funny about the way you want him right now. Your body is on fire, screaming at you, begging to please him and feel the weight of him in your mouth, aching for the sounds that slip past his pretty, pouty lips.

Fuck.

"I want to explore it with you," you nearly whine, unbuckling his belt and licking at his collarbone. "God, Spencer, I want you so bad..."

You're not entirely sure what sound escapes him then, but once again he sounds desperate and unbelieving as your hand dips into his pants and palms him over the gray boxers you watched him put on this morning.

It spurs you forward, his desperation feeding your own, and your hand tightens around the length of him, feeling how hard and aching he is.

"Mmm, you want it too, don't you?" you moan into his chest, sinking yourself lower and lower, crawling down his body until your crouched half on the floor of the car.

Spencer swallows hard and tries to control his breathing. "Always want you..."

You grin, satisfied with his state. A man of many words, reduced to half-sentences and mindless whines of want at your mercy. Your sweet, bright boy is putty in your hands, and it's utterly intoxicating.

He manages to lift his hips enough for you to wrestle with his pants and move them down enough so you can slip his cock out of his boxers. Once it's out, firm in your hand and glistening with need, he sits back down and throws his head back.

The sound of your name falls short on his lips the second you put your mouth on him, like he's stopped thinking all together. His world stops, frozen in time as your lips wrap perfectly around him and sink down slowly. Your tongue lays flat under him, firm and wet and warm, and only when he hits the back of your throat does he let out a sound.

You hold yourself there as long as you can, gagging around him briefly before lifting your head and coming off of him with a pop of your lips. A trail of spit comes with them, which you use to help your hand glide smoothly up and down his shaft as you look up at him.

He's watching you work with disbelief, and you're about to say something about it when he surprises you yet again.

"A-Aren't you... uncomfortable? Crouched down like that?"

"Maybe a little," you tell him, squeezing his cock and working the tip in your fist. His eyes squeeze shut, trying to restrain himself from feeling pleasure when you're down here, contorted with uncomfortable limbs. "But that's the whole point, I suppose..."

"I don't follow," he breathes, a whimper chasing after his words when you lean down and press an open-mouthed kiss to the head of his cock.

"When you're young and in love... Hooking up in the backseat... Desperate and passionate for someone..." Your tongue comes out and teases under the tip before you continue, his eyes straining to keep open as he writhes underneath you. "If it means finding a little thrill with the one you love... What's a little discomfort?"

You take him fully in your mouth again, bobbing your head up and down when you see him finally submit to it— the pleasure, the thrill...

Spencer moans, loud, the sound vibrating through you and settling deep in your core. You squeeze your legs together grind your hips into the cramped air, seeking friction in nothing but the fabric clinging to your thighs. Quite literally the living breathing definition of hot and bothered, you can't help but slack your jaw and drool on his cock, reveling in the way it glides over your tongue and repeatedly hits the back of your throat.

"I—I can't... I'm gon—na—"

You moan your approval around the length of him, reaching up to hold Spencer's hand as he twitches and writhes in your mouth. With a final squeeze of his hand, he cries out and lets go. You swallow as much as you can, but with the small space and limited room for precision, it gets messier than you figure he'd enjoy. Still, he sighs blissfully as his load lightens, and when he's orgasmed out, you make quick work of cleaning him up.

He watches you in reverence, softly whimpering at every slow stroke of your tongue as it cleans him. You take your time, leaving no inch of him untouched, uncared for...

Your cunt is practically throbbing by the time you come back up, the sensation only intensifying when Spencer pulls you into him immediately. His lips move over yours wildly, a languid labor of love that isn't laborious at all. In fact, he kisses you like he's been doing it his whole life, with no hesitation or question, and with every ounce of enthusiasm one could possibly carry.

Sunshine radiates through his fingertips, hot and enveloping as they slip under your shirt and against the skin of your lower back. You climb over him instinctively, straddling his lap and kissing him back with that same desperation that had infiltrated his kisses earlier.

He's tired from coming, you can tell, but his love for you doesn't waver— it urges him forward, carries his hand down to the front of your pants, and offers the same relief you'd gifted him.

"Please, baby, I need your fingers in me," you whine into his mouth, helping him unbutton and loosen your pants.

"Anything you want," he responds in earnest, finally getting into a comfortable enough position to slip past your underwear and touch you where you want him the most.

He kisses you through a whine, gliding through your cunt with ease.

"Mmm that's what you do to me, Sunshine," you tell him, grinding into his hand. "You make me feel so good."

His middle finger is precise, circling your clit as you try not to fall over on him. Your pants hanging around your thighs make it hard to give him more than restrictive access, but as you told him before, it's all part of the experience.

It certainly adds to your desperation, your kisses becoming urgent and sloppy, and then he manages to slip a finger inside. The fullness isn't stimulating enough to get you off necessarily, but it's welcome and hot all the same. You help him out, softly lifting and dropping your hips to meet his rhythm, and then you reach down to frantically rub your clit.

"Fuck it," he finally breathes, pulling away from you and shifting his weight. "Can you lay down?"

The two of you shift and struggle to position yourselves more comfortably, another fit of laughter tangling between you as you attempt it. Eventually, Spencer is able to remove your shoes and slide your pants down over your ankles, and then he's throwing your leg over his shoulder and bending down.

Even though you have more room, the car suddenly feels cramped, sweat gathering on your body and your muscles cramping from contorting so oddly just minutes before. And now, with your boyfriend's mouth and fingers working in tandem to get you off, you're exerting yourself even more.

It doesn't take very long to approach your orgasm, the evening's built-up tension finally coming to a head.

It also helps that Spencer knows what he's doing— That had been another surprise at the start of your relationship. He was so shy and awkward and prone to bumbling when it came to dating you at first, that the first time you had sex with him, you weren't expecting to be so exhausted that you'd slept straight through three alarms.

His tongue flicks over your clit with rapid, even strokes, meanwhile his fingers accompany them with long and meticulous accuracy that makes for the perfect orgasm. It builds and builds, until your head thumps back and hits the hard plastic of the inside of the door. You laugh through it, your body shuddering under Spencer's care, and you can feel him laughing, too.

As you come down, your body relaxing, he helps you sit up. "Are you okay?"

You can help but giggle, taking his face in your hands and kissing him firmly. "Absolutely. It's all part of the backseat charm."

He considers this with a grin that makes you weak. With one simple smile you've fallen in love with your Sunshine boy all over again. "After all, they say nothing worthwhile comes easy..."

"Mmm..."

He helps you put your pants and shoes back on, then tucks himself back into his own pants and fixes his shirt. And in comfortable, loving silence that needs nothing to fill the gaps, the two of you make your way back to the front of the car, ready to journey home.

The moon sits higher in the sky, not as disguised by the trees, and you look up at it and think about what Spencer said, not pulling the car out of park just yet.

"I don't think it's true," you say, prompting him to tilt his head.

"What's that?"

"That nothing worthwhile comes easy. I don't think it's true at all. Do you know why?"

Again, he ponders, not with a grin but with thoughtful eyes and the pout he pulls when he's considering but coming up empty handed. He shakes his head. "Why?"

"Because I love you. It's the most worthwhile thing I've ever done, and it's not difficult in the slightest."

His brown eyes, impossibly big and always brimming with wonder, have started to also brim with tears. They don't fall—they only well and glimmer in the wake of your words, until he blinks and forces them out.

Your hand reaches for his and he squeezes.

"I love you, too. More than you will ever even begin to comprehend." His voice breaks and puts itself back together through each syllable, and in doing so, chips away any sort of belief that he may not truly be lovable. Day by day, moment by moment, you continue to prove to him just how bright and deserving and inherently good he is.

A direct reflection of the two of you suddenly embalms the car— his bright smile that radiates like sunbeams and the glow of moonlight through the windshield that reminds him of your opaline heart.

Spencer lifts your hand to his lips, and in that moment, you vow to yourself that for the rest of your life, you will do everything to keep the clouds away.

And silently, in the gentle press of his lips to the palm of your hand, he vows the very same.

[thechaoslibrarian]

astronomy ❀ s. reid x reader

in which nothing can live forever, and you would be naive to believe that something as minor as this relationship will be exempt from that fate. 

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: angst tags: s10 spencer reid. maeve as a plot point. argument yay. spencer says some mean things (#needthat). all around unhappiness. stars and light and the sun. lack of communication. reader my avoidant attachment queen. i’m holding your hand throughout 🫂 word count: 2.7k a/n: a late happy mercury retrograde. sorry for disappearing off the face of the earth for a hot minute. here's how my brains been feeling. i don't really know what this is. it was written amidst a dissociative episode. hopefully future me figures it out.

"your worst sin is that you have destroyed and betrayed yourself for nothing." (fyodor dostoevsky) 

A melodic hum of air whirs in this apartment. Keeping dust particles from settling on too many surfaces, swirling around your heads. Tiny, and unseen, but there. You familiarise yourself with the thought of them being there. They tickle your skin when you sit down in the armchair nobody ever really resides in now, and you find comfort in knowing there is more that exists invisibly than just your own feelings. 

He does not say anything to you as you tuck your feet beneath yourself, and it hurts, but a large part of you doesn't want him to anyways. He will only say things that will liquidise your brain into thinking he cares more than he does, and you have had too long of a day to act like he is not using bare palms to crush your heart. Too heavy of a week to let him bypass your walls once again. 

A foreign voice tells the air you need to talk, and you distantly recognise it as your own. You had rehearsed the very sentence in your car a thousand times. Once it got past your lips, this would all become easier to discuss. 

It isn't. 

You're focussed on the steam that lifts from a cup of coffee he had probably made seconds before you knocked on his door. An impromptu visit he did not ask you for, but you hope he understands your awful guest manners once this is all over. 

"Talk about what?" he answers the question you don't even remember asking, and out of the corner of your eye, you see him tense when a shuddering breath leaves your lips. 

You wonder if he's shocked when you tell him you want to end things. 

It's storming outside. The rain pelting against the window mirrors your heavy heart, but you aren't too naive to believe it is storming in your name. Though, there are few pleasures in life you still enjoy these days, and perhaps pretending the universe is centring around you for just this one night isn't selfish. 

"You want to end things," he repeats your words back to you. They don't sound right. Like a language Earth's never discovered. Two weeks ago you wouldn't have ever dreamed uttering these words. 

Two weeks ago, you were incandescent. Light bounced off your skin, the rays of sunlight creating a halo around you that would leave anyone breathless. Spencer Reid would never be an outlier in that demographic. 

You'd sat in a very similar position to how you are now, but your head was in the space between his jawline and his shoulder, and your hands were woven within his. Thumbs stroked the skin, and he'd bitten back a comment about how soft you felt. 

Unfinished — but definitely touched — Thai food sat atop the coffee table in front of your bodies, and the tenth Doctor Who episode in a row was playing on the television. He'd discovered your weakness for his widened eyes and hands-on coercion, and used and abused the power ever since. 

He stared down at you, and you could feel him without the need to look up. You should've. Perhaps, if you'd crawled out of the comfort being physically entwined with Spencer Reid on his living room couch provided, you would've noticed that beneath his intense gaze on the sunlight encircling your body, he was thinking about the dead. 

You didn't, though. You had laughed as he quoted lines as they were said of the episode he'd no doubt seen a thousand times, shoving his shoulder and calling him a nerd with the stupidest grin on your face, and the sweetest flutter of your heart. 

He said, "Nerd is a noun to describe someone who is an expert in one particular thing. I am an expert in a lot more than one."

And you replied, "Oh, of course. My mistake. What else are you an expert in, Spencer?"

Your skin would tingle, because he'd take the invitation for what it was, and his lips would brush against your ear as he whispered, "You, for starters."

And you'd get whiplash from how easy he was to go from the biggest dork on the planet to the very reason you researched early onset heart attacks. 

One week ago, you were cracking. 

Instead of the halo glow that settled around your body, it'd fractured. Sticks of light throwing out in every direction, but still reflecting back the hope you had for this crumbling relationship. 

Knives pelted into your edges with every new piece of information you learnt. 

A book you'd never paid mind to, now opened on the front page, a dedication to his name, accompanied by another name you'd only heard in passing whispers. The written down addresses of the nearest pay phones from his apartment, a phone number circled three times in the corner of the page. Written down for no reason. You knew he didn't need it, really. The slow withdrawals of telling you about his life the further into it he gets. Not mentioning more about a past relationship than that it'd ended tragically. 

The more dots you connected, the closer your personal implosion neared. 

You'd apologised to him, saying you didn't want him to relive anything that would return his mind somewhere darker than you can ever fathom. 

"I have you, now. I can't ever get there again even if I tried to," he said. You stupidly took his words with full intent, head reeling and heart racing all over again. 

You smiled, and kissed him. He tasted of coffee and content. He kissed you back with more force than you had left in you, and you'd gone down like a sinking ship. Falling back against his couch cushions, fingers entwined in his hair. 

Each new day was another loss to cut. Four days ago, it was his hands refusing to touch you intimately. Even when you'd moved them for him, pleading him with your own body. Three days ago, it was his honesty. You'd grown desperate. 

Questioning if he was okay and receiving a wordless hum in response. If he wanted to order food, and getting a disgruntled non-answer. Sitting with a foot between your two bodies this time, albeit with your feet in his lap, so maybe you were just as close as you were last week by principle. Finally, seeing if he actually wanted you there, with him, and him taking more than one second to give you his, 

"Yes. Obviously."

You lack energy when you are trying so desperately to stay alive, so you did not question why he had to think about his answer, unsure if you needed him to tell you, regardless. His mind was increasingly becoming preoccupied with the girl behind his book dedication. Behind the payphone addresses, and the thrice times circled phone number. He was disintegrating before your eyes, and your relationship was slipping through the cracks. 

"Why?" he asks you, and you're forced to stop reliving every single moment that brought you here. You will again tomorrow, anyways. The day after that, too. You will probably live through the end of this relationship a thousand times before you begin to heal. A thousand, to mirror every single shard of your heart lain out before him. 

Your voice hurts to use when you reply. "Because you don't love me, Spencer."

You're grateful he doesn't scramble to disprove your claims. You're sure it would hurt even more to hear him force a lie. 

He does, however, look confused. By you. Not your words, though. You know they register fully because the confusion doesn't come until you meet his eyes, and he really takes you in. For the first time since you met him, you see the truth behind his gaze. A disgusting reality that he is not staring at you with love, or even a hint of recognition. 

No, to him, you are a stranger. Somebody he does not know, sitting in his unused armchair across the living room, telling him words you don't really want to be saying. You don't get that luxury of choice, though. 

"Your silence is answer enough," you murmur, and you force your limbs to react to your brain's signals, feet pressed firmly on the floor as you stand. 

"Hey, wait," he stops you from moving without even a lick of firmness. You grow sick, knowing he will always have some subconscious hold on you that you'll never not respond to. "Why do you say that? Have I done something to make you feel that way?"

Yes, you want to scream. Yes, you have, and I'm begging you to tell me I'm wrong and that you do love me. Instead, you're jumping through hoops to turn this into an unnecessary conversation. 

However, "I'm just becoming... aware. Of certain things. That would mean us ending things is the best thing to do," is what you do say. 

"Like what?" he quips.

"Things."

Air blows out his nose, frustratedly. "That's not an answer."

Light bulbs burn out when the filament — the three wires in its centre — breaks down, and ceases to produce electricity. Burning out after an average of a thousand hours per lightbulb, because nothing can live forever. Nothing can live forever, for the sun will eventually burn out. Not in this lifetime, and definitely not in the next five, or ten, or twenty. The hydrogen will eventually deplete, and it will die the way fifty-two stars die each century. Nothing can live forever, and you would be naive to believe that something as minor as this relationship will be exempt from that fate. 

"What does it matter, Spencer?" you whisper. A pathetic tone for response, but you think you'll choke on anything louder. 

"You matter," he argues. Words are bullets, and he seems to have perfect aim. 

"Not to you, I don't," you stumble over your feet as you try to head towards his door. You've said what you needed to say. You've ended things. You can go, and this can all be over. 

"Yes, you do," he's standing too. He got closer to you at some point. You don't really remember. 

"You don't even know me!"

You're crying, you think. Staring at him, and he's blurry, which must mean your eyes are full of water. Ridiculous, because he is very clearly not. Too emotional for this conversation to drag out any longer, and yet he has the power to keep you constrained to it like a prison as long as he keeps talking. 

"You're shutting me out as a form of defence for something," he says. The words are calm, but he's taken on a higher pitch in his voice, which tells you this is affecting him. Or maybe he's pretending. "I don't know what. You won't tell me. That's your prerogative, I guess."

"You don't love me," you repeat the words from earlier with less conviction. You believe them less, yes, but still trust your instincts enough for them to hurt. 

"I don't understand why you think that," he replies, a hand dragging down his face. "I don't. All the knowledge in the world, and I cannot think of any logical reason behind you believing that."

"Who's Maeve?"

The silence that follows is deafening. His head snaps up and his hands fall limp by his sides, your vision clearing in an instant. You know, deep down, who Maeve is. The tragic ending to an even more tragic relationship has her name printed all over it.

"That's why you think I don't love you." It isn't a question, and he almost sounds like he's ridiculing you for coming to such a conclusion. 

Your panic rises. "I saw the book, and the addresses, and the—"

"—Maeve is dead!" Your heart sinks, as, for the first time in your life, you see Spencer Reid exhibit anger. No, not anger. He is not angry. Not with you, at least. He's hurt. "I am never going to get over her because she is dead. I watched a bullet go into her head. I mourned her, and I told myself I would never let myself get that close to somebody again. Yet, here you stand."

You stay silent. You don't know if he's finished speaking. If he is, he doesn't let you know. He doesn't prompt you for a response. He continues before you even start to think of something to say back.

"I didn't plan on letting you into my life like this. When I met you, you were not supposed to be this important to me. Is that why you think I don't love you? Because you saw me and got attached at first sight, and had to work for me to give you attention?"  Your chest aches. "Was it because I distanced myself from you for weeks in the beginning? Every coffee date, more spread out than the last. Not letting you into my space until you were my girlfriend? No sex for months?"

"You're angry," you state the obvious, and his eyebrows shoot up. A deprecating laugh leaves his lips. Not to deprecate himself, though. No, you. 

"You somehow played a role in getting me out of the self-loathing pit I fell into after Maeve died, and now you're telling me I don't love you—Yes, I'm angry! We were fine two weeks ago. I loved you the same way I did two weeks ago as I do right now. I'm frustrated, because I don't understand how you can possibly believe my feelings for you have changed so drastically!"

"The books are new. And the addresses. And the phone number," you say, almost desperately.  

"No. They're not. I have had that copy of that book for two years. Those addresses have been printed in there for longer. Everything you are finding are results of you noticing more about my apartment, which happens when you are in a space often enough. You will pick up on things you didn't notice the first time you were here. Or the second. Or maybe even the tenth. I have not hidden the fact that I had a girlfriend two years ago from you. Just how it ended." You don't have any energy to fight back, despite how badly you want to. You suppose, deep down, you know you deserve this. His bulleted words and cold voice. Even his sarcasm, as he drawls, "I hope you can forgive me for not making you privy to my ex-girlfriend's death."

"Spencer," you take a step forward, and he stiffens, so you halt. 

Now, you feel stupid. Scrutinised under his gaze, knowing how ridiculous he probably now views you as. Starting an argument over something you should've just asked him about. Driving yourself crazy, letting every single element still fuelling your mind run dry, when you could've just said something. 

"Is this going to be a one time thing?" he asks you, carefully levelling his voice. To hide how he really feels, or to make you feel worse, you don't know. "Or should I live in fear of you jumping to conclusions every time something from my past gets brought up?" 

It isn't a nice assumption to make, but it's fair. You give him that. Still, your gut twists uncomfortably, each organ stuttering in their role of keeping you alive for only a second. Just enough for you to feel sick, and stumble backwards. 

"I... I don't know," you provide him with honesty. "I'm sorry," you add, quietly. A poor attempt at making this situation any better. A bandaid over a bullet hole. 

"I know," and you're sure he does. There's bound to be regret painted on your face, mixing wonderfully with fear of where this relationship is going to go now. 

You don't even want to ask him, but you're sure if he doesn't force you to, you'll start throwing up at his feet. "Do you want me to go?" 

A shuddering breath is his response. You take it for what it is, and nod your head with the most sincere smile you can conjure up. You barely have anything to collect before you leave. Just your ruined mind, and new astronomical statistics.

Fifty-two star deaths this century just became fifty-three.

your reblogs and replies are always welcome ♡

[thechaoslibrarian]

*screams into the void*

hi athena I've been reading your shy!reader fics and I had this idea about them hugging or something and the reader is like overheating because she's so nervous and spencer thinks she's sick and she has to awkwardly explain why? whether they're dating yet or not is up to you but it's been running through my head all day lol

as always love your work <333

hug — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: just fluff a/n: hiii !!! i love love love shy!reader so so so much so i loved this idea <3

You never regretted smiling at Spencer Reid. Why would you? He always smiled back, and his smile—soft, genuine, a little shy—was your favorite thing in the world.

But right now, as you stood in front of your apartment, his arms wrapped around you, you weren’t so sure.

The day had been long, filled with exhausting paperwork. Spencer had been quieter than usual, though most people wouldn’t have noticed. But you did. You always did.

Maybe it was the way he only rambled three times instead of his usual five, or how his fingers fidgeted just a little more than normal. Or maybe it was just that you paid too much attention—because having a hopeless, all-consuming crush on him made you hyperaware of everything he did.

So when you were walking out of work together, you’d mustered up the courage to ask.

"Hey, there's this new coffee shop a few blocks away. Want to check it out with me?"

His face had brightened instantly, as if you’d flipped a switch. "Yes! I'd love to."

And just like that, he was back. Rambling, animated, in his element. And you just smiled, nodding along, listening to every word like it was the most interesting thing in the world—because to you, it was.

The coffee shop had been perfect. Spencer had ordered something with way too much caffeine, and you’d teased him about it. He’d told you about a study on caffeine metabolism, and you’d pretended to understand even though you were mostly distracted by how nice it was to see him happy again.

And now, here you were.

Outside of your apartment door. Spencer had insisted on walking you home, and you hadn’t argued, secretly loving the idea of a few more minutes with him.

You turned to say goodbye with a smile, expecting the usual awkward wave or maybe even a hesitant "see you tomorrow." But instead, he smiled—soft, fond—and before you could process it, he was hugging you.

It wasn’t a brief, polite hug. It was warm and lingering, his arms firm but gentle, as if he wasn’t in any rush to let go.

"Thank you," Spencer mumbled, his voice quiet.

He knew.

You could tell by the way his grip on you lingered, by the way his head dipped just slightly closer to yours. He had understood exactly what you had tried to do—how you’d casually pointed out the little bookstore on the way back, pretending you wanted to take a look inside, when really, you just knew that walking into a bookshop always lifted his mood.

You hugged him back, trying not to tremble too much as the warmth of his body seeped into yours. And then you felt it—the soft press of his lips against your shoulder, barely there but enough to send a shockwave through you. His hands, resting at your waist, brushed against the fabric of your clothes, and you prayed he didn’t notice how tense you’d gone.

Or how your body was reacting in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with the temperature outside.

But, of course, he did.

Spencer pulled back slightly, his hands lingering at your waist as he studied you. His brows furrowed, eyes scanning your face before he hesitated, then lifted one hand to your forehead.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his fingers cool against your burning skin. "You're warm."

You swallowed hard. If you were warm before, you were practically on fire now. The way his hand rested against your forehead, the concern in his gaze—it was all too much.

"Y-yeah," you stammered, biting your lip nervously. "I'm fine, Spencer."

But he didn’t believe you. You could see it in the way his lips pressed together, the way his head tilted slightly as if analyzing every little detail of your expression. His hand slid from your forehead to your cheek, his palm cradling it gently.

"Are you sick?" he asked, completely ignoring your weak attempt at reassurance. His thumb brushed absently over your skin, and you nearly forgot how to breathe.

It wasn’t fair.

How could he touch you like this, look at you like this, and not realize what he was doing to you?

"I'm not—" You started to deny it again, but your voice faltered, betraying you.

Spencer's brows were still furrowed, his lips parted as if about to launch into some kind of explanation about temperatures, fevers, or some obscure medical fact you wouldn’t have a chance of keeping up with.

"I’m not sick, Spencer." You said, your voice firmer this time, even though you could feel the heat of your own cheeks betraying you.

Spencer's hand slowly dropped from your cheek, but his gaze never left you. You closed your eyes for a moment, bracing yourself.

"I’m just..." You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the words you were about to speak. "You make me nervous."

When you opened your eyes again, you focused on his dark blue tie, avoiding his gaze at all costs. You could feel your heart racing, could hear the deafening pulse in your ears.

Why were you even saying this? How had it come to this?

Spencer stood completely still. His eyes widened slightly, and the faintest hint of confusion flitted across his face.

"Nervous? Why?" His voice was quiet, almost hesitant.

Oh God, did you really have to spell it out for him? Why was this happening? Why couldn’t you just stay composed for once?

"Because of you?" The words came out more as a question than a statement, and you immediately regretted it. You squinted, not meeting his gaze, still staring at his tie like it was the most important thing in the world.

Spencer blinked, his eyebrows shooting up in genuine surprise. "Me?" His voice was almost a whisper, the disbelief evident.

You slowly nodded, still too terrified to look him in the eyes.

Spencer stepped back just slightly. His hand reached up, brushing through his messy brown hair as if he was trying to process what you had just said.

"Why would you be nervous because of me?" he asked, his voice quieter now, softer, as if he was genuinely trying to understand.

You immediately regretted every choice that had led you to this point. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks.

"Spencer..." You breathed out, a whisper of defeat in your voice, hoping—praying—that he’d get it. That somehow, he’d understand without you needing to explain it further.

But he didn’t.

"Yeah?" he asked, still waiting for you to continue, his voice filled with a quiet curiosity.

You glanced up at him, tilting your head ever so slightly, as if to silently say, Please, just don’t make me spell it out for you.

Spencer knew how to read your face—he always had—and once you finally met his eyes, he finally caught on. His expression shifted, the light dawning in his eyes

"Oh," he said simply, as if the realization had just clicked into place.

You bit your lip, feeling a rush of heat flood your body, and the silence between you both stretched out longer than it should’ve.

You weren’t sure what to do with your hands, or your heart, or your thoughts—all of it was so overwhelming.

You were about to turn to open the door, desperate for an escape from the growing tension when Spencer suddenly spoke again, his voice a little too quick.

"If I ask you out on a date, would that be our second date?" he asked, his words tumbling out in a rush.

You froze, blinking up at him, your mouth slightly open in surprise.

He winced slightly as if embarrassed by his own question, and then, with a nervous laugh, he added, "I mean, today felt like a first date..." He adjusted his tie as if it would somehow make the moment less excruciating.

His eyes darted around, anywhere but your face. "To me, at least."

You couldn’t help it; you just stared at him, utterly caught off guard. This wasn’t exactly the direction you’d imagined this conversation going.

"I like you," he said plainly, as if his earlier sentences hadn’t been clear enough. His voice was quieter now, more vulnerable.

"I might not heat up—" he added, a slight smile pulling at his lips. You quickly looked away, embarrassed by how warm your body was suddenly feeling. "—but you do make me nervous too," he finished, the smile turning into something gentler, more vulnerable.

"I make you nervous?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper as you looked back at him, stunned. He nodded.

But then, it hit you. Your own fear of him not liking you back had kept you from seeing it all along. You had been so wrapped up in your own anxiety, you hadn’t noticed the signs.

You glanced down at his foot, tapping nervously on the ground, its rhythm quickening in time with the rapid beat of your heart. His fingers were practically picking at his satchel bag, pulling at the strap as if he was trying to distract himself. His eyes, when they finally met yours, darted away almost immediately, and you saw the flush coloring his cheeks.

"Oh," you murmured, the realization hitting you all at once.Now it was your turn to use the word.

"I guess we’re both nervous, then," you said softly, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

Spencer’s eyes softened as he took a small step forward, still unsure, but less guarded than before. "Yeah. I think so." His voice was quieter now, almost shy.

With a final glance at him, you smiled, stepping closer again. "So," you began, your voice affectionate, "about that second date…"

Spencer's face broke into a grin, his nerves seemingly forgotten for a moment. "Yeah?" His voice was hopeful, his smile almost playful.

"Yeah," you confirmed, smiling. "I think I’d like that."

[thechaoslibrarian]

steve + making out + dry humping

a/n. 18+ smut mdni. more rambling, no plot just a lil smutty blurb. not proofread. no actual sex just over the clothes stuff

———

one of steve’s large hands was tangled up in yours, fingers enveloping each other in a warm embrace. his full lips captured yours perfectly, like they were meant to be pressed together like this forever. it all started off soft and slow, a pace you two kept a lot while fooling around. sometimes it progressed into undressing each other, and other times - well, other times it led to this.

steve’s tongue lapped into your mouth in a desperate search for anything and everything. it clashed with yours in a wet tangle you quickly took ahold of and guided. strings of spit connected your lips together, which would normally gross you out. right at this very moment, it couldn’t be any hotter. steve’s hips were logged between your thighs, his weight leaning over top of you and cornering you into the bed.

you two were chest to chest, heavy breathing almost as in unison as the rest of your body. your hand that wasn’t occupied with your boyfriends was resting on the back of his head, fingers tangled into his soft hair and tugging at particularly good movements from his hips that shifted and thrusted into you desperately.

steve’s thick bulge was nestled perfectly against your clothed cunt, rutting and rolling against you in a heated passion. every other drag across you caught your puffy clit at the perfect angle, and even through your panties it was the exact kind of friction you needed. you didn’t care about how his jeans felt against your inner thighs or your soaked cloth. this was your own personal heaven and you were currently living it.

your hips started to roll up to meet him halfway, desperately rutting against him, tiny whimpers slipping into steve’s mouth. he tasted like mint and coffee, and you couldn’t get enough. every last thought in your brain was about him. his scent, his taste, his warmth, his large bulge pressed perfectly against you. your ankles moved to cross behind his tailbone to keep him in position, your plead for him to just keep going.

every soft moan steve let out you swallowed and savored like it was the last time you’d ever hear it. you wanted to make sure you kept them forever, the memory of his pretty noises always staying in the back of your mind, rattling. and, against your desperate need for his mouth to stay on yours, you tugged him by his hair to pull off, gasping slightly for air.

still grinding down against you, steve’s eyes, struggled to open up to look into yours. the moment he did, heavy eyelids revealing his dark brown eyes to you, you knew you were as much as a goner as he was. his lips were slick and pink, and as puffy as they could be. for someone who hadn’t even felt you bare yet, steve looked so fucked out. his pretty eyelashes fluttered at you, stare intense.

steve was all yours, and this was the best reminder of that fact.

———

taglist. @songbirdofthenight

[thechaoslibrarian]

never second best

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: after a run-in with his ex, steve reassures you that you'll never be second best, proving it in a way he knows will stick

warnings: 18+ this is smut, graphic depictions of sex, p in v, oral (f receiving), tears, insecurity

a/n: part 5 but can be read as a standalone. half of this is super long, pure filth, AND my first time writing smut so pls feedback is welcome. thank you @andvys so so much, hopefully, i didn't let you down <3

series masterlist

Steve perched on the edge of his neatly-made bed, hair painstakingly combed into that signature swoop, the red knit jumper hugging his broad shoulders just so. The sleeves are pushed up to reveal his forearms—a look he recently realised drives you a little wild, and one he now makes an effort to wear often. 

He liked to catch you staring. 

He’s wearing his go-to faded jeans, and every time he glances your way, his eyes take on a softer appearance. You’ve already spent some time in his room before, but every time he sees you there, he still can’t believe you’re in his space.

He’s trying—really trying—not to grin too widely. If he breaks into the excited smile he’s been fighting all morning, he worries he might come off too eager. But truth be told, he is too eager. Hosting Dustin’s birthday party is one thing, but now he has the honour of introducing you to everyone. Officially. 

He’s practically bursting at the chance to show you off, the very thought turned his mind all giddy. Knowing that you would be the one with his arm around your waist for everyone to witness. 

The idea distracted him from the real drama occurring not four feet away from him. 

From your spot by the mirror, you can see him watching you, and it sets your stomach off again. You’re not sure why today feels so monumental. You’ve met Dustin in passing, shared a few laughs with Robin over coffee after she basically saved your relationship a few weeks back.

But tonight is the full show. Everyone. All at once. And for some reason, your carefully chosen outfit no longer feels quite right. You tug the hem of your top self-consciously, tilt your head, and scrunch your nose at your reflection.

“I look awful,” you say, voice laced with the sort of frustration that’s all nerves. “This looked so much better in my head.”

His brow furrows, and he pushes off the bed in a single fluid motion. “That’s nonsense,” he replies, crossing the room to you in three quick strides. He rests his hands lightly on your shoulders, gaze flicking to meet yours in the mirror. "You look beautiful, sweetheart. Always do. You know that."

You huff out a breath, trying not to get lost in the warmth of his praise—easier said than done.

“No, I don’t,” you insist, staring critically at your clothes. “I should’ve brought something else.”

“Well…do you have anything else here?” He asks gently.

There were little traces of you scattered around—a few forgotten items here and there, most notably, the new toothbrush sitting beside his. Still, nine times out of ten, you took your clothes home, leaving behind only your pajamas.

“A set of pajamas.” You sigh dramatically, cursing yourself for not packing more than one option. “That’s about it.”

“Hey, that could work,” he teases, eyes crinkling with amusement. “That’s one of my favourite looks on you.” His hands slide down your arms, his grin growing as he watches your reaction.

Under normal circumstances you would lean into his teasing, but this was not the time. You turn to give him a shove, but he catches your wrist before it can make an impact.

“Steve,” you whine, trying to see the humour in this the way he is.

“What? I’m just being honest,” he says, eyes dancing. “Would you rather I lie?” 

Truth is, he does love you in those pajamas—almost as much as he loves you wearing his old shirts. Honestly, you could throw on a trash bag, and he’d still think you’re stunning.

“Please stop,” you groan.

You’re not smiling the way you usually do at his jokes—no little giggle, no playful roll of the eyes. 

The shift clicks for him: you’re actually stressed. 

Concern crosses his features, and the jovial edge in his voice softens. He lowers his tone, warmth flowing through each word, and slides his hands down to cradle your waist.

“Alright,” he murmurs, thumbs drawing gentle circles against your hips. “Talk to me. What’s not working here?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, exhaling as you sink into him. “I just feel… unprepared. I mean, I’m meeting everyone. Should I have brought something? I should’ve baked. Everyone likes baked goods.”

A breathy chuckle escapes him, and he tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear. 

Like you’re not already sweet enough.

“Angel, Robin is bringing the cake. And you”—he squeezes your waist a little firmer—“are a guest here. Your only job is to relax and look pretty. Can you do that for me? Please?”

The earnestness in his voice steals the protest right out of your throat. You look up at him, heart thumping in that heady way it does whenever he turns on the charm full-blast. 

Damn those big, stupid brown eyes. 

You turn back to the mirror, pulling at your shirt once again. There’s a crease here, a wrinkle there—things no one else would ever notice, but to you, it’s just off. You can feel his eyes on you, his concern and affection practically radiating from behind. 

He’s been so excited, so patient, and yet you can’t shake the last bit of anxiety churning in your stomach about today.

In the reflection, you watch him hover, trying to be casual even though you can see every thought flit across his expressive face. He wants you to be happy and comfortable. He wants to show you off and make sure you feel like a million bucks doing it.

“Can I wear something of yours?” you ask softly, turning to meet those wide, hopeful eyes. “I want something more comfortable.”

Comfortable.

His heart practically leaps at your request. He’s not sure why that single sentence sends a jolt of excitement through him, but it does—and it’s powerful. He tries to school his expression into something normal, but the eager beam that spreads across his face betrays him.

“Absolutely,” he says far too quickly, glad to be of use. “Knock yourself out. Have at it—any one you want.”

He opens the wardrobe, stepping aside like he’s unveiling some prized collection. You slip past him, still self-conscious, but the warm brush of his hand on your lower back comforts you. 

Leafing through the soft fabrics, you finally find one that matches the rest of your outfit—a cosy, oversized number that’s equally stylish and undeniably Steve’s. You hold it up, glancing back at him for approval.

He grins—big, unabashed. “Fantastic choice,” he declares, in an exaggeratedly formal tone meant to make you laugh.

It works—you giggle. The sound washes over him like a balm, chasing away the worry in his eyes. 

He lives for that sound.

Then, your focus shifts back to the mirror. You pull off your shirt in one smooth motion, baring your bra and the long, graceful stretch of your spine. 

The air feels cooler against your newly exposed skin, and you instantly sense the spark of awareness coming from the boy behind you.

He goes still. A part of him wants to look away, to be respectful, yet he can’t stop his eyes from drifting along the curve of your waist and the softness just above your navel.

He’s had the privilege of touching your bare skin before—tentative, lingering caresses that never ventured too far. He’s wanted more, of course he has. He’s human—he’s got a pulse. 

But you deserve slow. You deserve a careful pace, no pressure. He’d beat himself up about it for weeks if he even thought he made you uncomfortable.

But that didn’t stop his mind from running. 

He wanted to trail his fingertips down every inch of your body, to feel you melt under his touch. Imagining the way you’d arch into his palms, voice breathless as it tickled his ear, egging him on. Images of pressing you up against the mirror, sliding his hands across your hips, your ribs, your chest, discovering every inch he’s been dying to explore. 

He tears his eyes away, cheeks heating at his own explicit thoughts. 

You slide his jumper over your head, letting the fabric fall into place. Instantly, you’re enveloped in the faint smell of him: cologne, fabric softener, a hint of hairspray. 

You turn, a playful, knowing smirk on your face, you catch the flush on his cheeks—his pupils slightly dilated, his posture taut with the effort of keeping his hands to himself.

“More comfortable?” he asks, managing a wobbly smile.

“Yeah,” you smooth the jumper over your sides, nodding. “Much better.”

A smile spreads slowly across his face, relief flooding his features. He steps closer, gently adjusting the jumper on your shoulders, as if making sure you’re perfectly bundled in his warmth. His knuckles skim your collarbone, the gesture sends a pleasant shiver through you.

“Good,” he murmurs. In the silence that follows, you can almost hear the unspoken thoughts swirling behind his eyes. He drops his hands, brushes a quick kiss to your temple, and lets out a breath. “Come on, let’s get downstairs before the others barge in. The peace isn’t gonna last once the party kicks off.”

The house was buzzing with the kind of kinetic energy that made the walls hum. You can feel it reverberating through the soles of your feet the moment you step back into the living room. The cosy space was adorned with colourful streamers and a Happy Birthday! banner—Dustin’s own insistence, of course.

Steve had nearly suffered a heart attack watching you put it up single-handedly earlier, bursting into the room just in time to steady the wobbling chair beneath you.

I mean, Jesus, were you trying to take years off his life?

You had been blissfully unaware of the impending disaster, balancing precariously as if gravity was a suggestion. 

He had been right there. You could have asked for help. But no—apparently, terrifying him was just part of the fun.

None of that mattered now the party was in full swing, chatter overlapping, laughter weaving in and out of a sweetly melancholic track Max had just dropped onto the record player.

He had introduced you with obvious pride, making sure to state—loud and clear—that you were his girlfriend. Watching you greet everyone with a tender smile. His attention lingered on each reaction, quietly noting how they took in the girl he was lucky enough to call his.

It felt like unveiling a winning hand in a game he never expected to play so well—like holding onto something rare and knowing, deep down, that he’d beaten the odds.

You quickly spot your host—your boyfriend—hovering near the stereo console, running a hand through his hair, trying to appear unruffled while Max and Lucas sift through his precious vinyls. And in typical Steve fashion, failing at appearing calm, because he can’t quite hide his grin when he sees you looking. 

From across the room, he gives you a gentle wave, checking that you’re still alright. His eyes stay on you as you maneuver around the coffee table and dodge a crumb-strewn plate that might have once held cake but now looks suspiciously empty.

“Hey,” he greets, sliding an arm around your waist the second you’re within reach. His hand settles warm and comforting at your side, fingertips lightly pressing into the soft fabric of the borrowed sweater. 

“Hey yourself,” you reply, leaning into the contact without a second thought.

He seems to shine in a way you haven’t seen before. Surrounded by the people he calls family, he’s the best version of himself, brimming with confidence and a natural leadership that emerges when he’s trying to make sure everyone else is okay. 

You see it in the way he’s just handed Max the next record she was eyeing (despite complaining it’s not appropriate music for a birthday party), the way he’s offered Dustin a refill on his drink twice in the last ten minutes, and the way his entire face softens whenever he looks at you.

You hear Will’s loud gasp behind you—apparently, Jonathan just teased him about some underground album you had never heard of. The brown-haired boy claps a hand on his brother’s shoulder, spinning him into an ongoing argument about what to play next. 

Meanwhile, Robin’s perched on the arm of the couch, describing some comedic fiasco at work with her trademark flair for dramatics. You catch only snippets—something about a misfiled horror movie in the kids’ section, a frantic parent demanding a refund, and Steve heroically stepping in to salvage the day.

He rolls his eyes at that particular story, mouth curving in a half-smile. “She’s gonna exaggerate it,” he mutters to you, “just watch.”

You grin, nudging him gently. “Hey, maybe it’ll make you look good.”

“What, me saving the day?” He shakes his head. “Sweetheart, I already look great,” he says in a faux-arrogant tone, then immediately flushes when he realises how that might’ve sounded. But you know him well enough to catch the joking glint in his eye, so you laugh.

“C’mon, Steve,” comes a voice from the left—Nancy, stepping forward with a cautious smile. Her hair is pinned back, a few strands framing her face, and she looks surprisingly at ease despite the chaos around her. “Give yourself some credit. You’re basically running a daycare every shift the amount of times the kids are there,” she teases, though her tone is warm, not biting.

“Yeah, well, if it keeps me from being bored outta my mind, guess it’s worth it.” He snorts.

You shift, letting Nancy into the conversation fully. She meets your gaze with an inviting smile, and it strikes you how nice she is. 

Steve had mentioned her coming, and at first, it rubbed you the wrong way. Not in a dramatic, soap-opera kind of way, but in that small discomfort that settled in your stomach before you could talk yourself out of it.

You didn’t want to be that person—the one who couldn’t handle a little shared history, who needed their partner to rewrite the past just to make the present more comfortable. But still, the thought sat with you longer than you liked.

Steve had noticed, of course. He was too perceptive when it came to you, reading the tension in your jaw before you even had the words to explain it. So he reassured you—gently, patiently, with that soft-eyed sincerity he always had when something really mattered.

Without hesitation, he’d offered to uninvite her. But you shook your head because that wasn’t fair. If they were all part of the same friend group, who were you to come in and break it apart? Nancy was part of his history, but that didn’t mean she had to be an issue in his future.

And if he could move forward without looking over his shoulder, then so could you.

She was not the intimidating figure you’d somewhat imagined— the girl he had cared about so deeply in the past. Instead, she’s approachable, her eyes bright with curiosity as she acknowledges you.

“Hi,” she says, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I don’t think we’ve had a real chance to talk yet. I’m Nancy.” She offers her hand, and you take it, noticing the gentle, firm shake.

“It’s really nice to finally meet you properly.” You tell her, giving your name in return. “Steve’s told me a bit about you.”

She arches a brow at him, a playful glint there. “All good things, I hope?”

“Nothing but the best.” He raises both hands, half-defensive. 

She laughs quietly, then turns that inquisitive gaze back to you.

“So, I heard you’re, um… you work in—”

“Journalism,” you supply with a small nod. “It’s not as glamorous as it sounds, but I really like it. Kinda took your place at the Hawkins Post.” You joke. “They treat me a lot better now though. It’s not anything huge, but I get to read new articles, help shape them a bit, get the occasional coffee run… it’s fun and sometimes totally insane.”

Steve leans in, beaming with pride. 

It had gotten easier—less and less often did you show up at his house on the verge of tears after a shift. Turns out, grown men get pretty uncomfortable when you call them out on their bullshit directly. And damn, was he proud when they finally started taking you seriously.

He always knew they would. You’re a smart girl, after all.

“She’s underselling it.” He says, without the slightest bit of shame, gently nudging your shoulder. “She’s great at what she does.” 

“That sounds so much better than when I was there.” She shakes her head, reminiscing about her experiences. “I still do a lot of writing myself. I’m working at a local paper in Massachusetts right now.”

Something about her tone clicks into place for you, like a puzzle piece sliding in. 

“Right, Steve mentioned. You like it?”

“Yeah. It’s… challenging, to say the least.” She nods, crossing her arms loosely. “Still a small paper, still small stories. But I’m building my portfolio, hoping to maybe do bigger pieces eventually.” 

A warm sense of camaraderie blooms in your chest. You completely understand that hustle, that feeling of needing to push through the drudge work to get to the fulfilling stuff. 

“Oh, absolutely,” you say. “I used to think I’d be working on these huge headlines right off the bat, but it was mostly basic editing work. Still,” you add, “I’m kind of a sucker for persevering.”

Her eyes crinkle with a real smile, and for a moment, it’s just you two, connecting over the rollercoaster that is words. 

“I know exactly what you mean. It’s exciting to be at the start of something, you know?”

“Makes the early mornings and late evenings worth it,” you tease, and she laughs. 

This was easier than you thought.

The conversation flows so smoothly that you almost forget the context—that this is Steve’s ex you’re talking to, that the only reason you even worried about her presence was because of that shared history. But here she is: easy to talk to, friendly, and—if you’re honest—reminding you a bit of yourself in how she lights up when discussing her work. You could understand how Steve fell for her in the first place. 

And that’s when it happens: Dustin bounces by with a half-eaten cake slice, eyes going wide as he sees you and Nancy chatting. He glances between you, leans in—crumbs falling from his mouth as he finishes eavesdropping. 

“Whoa, you guys are so alike.”

“Took you long enough to notice.” Erica chuckles, passing behind him.

Steve nearly chokes on air. “Excuse me?”

“I told you—” Dustin smirks at Steve, “both super nice, pushy in a good way, and way too into all that reportage stuff.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “Patterns, man. I see them.”

Nancy, amused, shakes her head but doesn’t deny it. Meanwhile, you feel a curious prickle in your stomach. 

Even though you haven’t felt threatened by Nancy at all, it’s… interesting, hearing Dustin phrase it that way, noting how similar the two of you are.

Before you can dwell on it, Steve is in full damage control mode, waving Dustin away. 

“All right, all right, that’s enough outta you, birthday boy.”

Dustin, unbothered, snickers, then scampers off to deposit his napkin onto Jonathan’s pile of party rubbish. You catch Nancy’s eye, and she looks like she wants to say something, but a flush of colour creeps across her cheeks instead. You wonder if she’s embarrassed at the topic or if she’s also noting how the conversation just positioned you and her in the same category.

“Anyway,” Nancy says softly, clearing her throat, “it was really nice talking to you. And I do want to chat more about writing. Would be great if our paths were to cross again.”

“Sure. ” You nod, smiling. “Anytime.”

She dips her head in a polite goodbye, departing to rescue Mike from an argument with Lucas. That leaves you and Steve standing there in the aftermath of Dustin’s remarks.

“Uh… sorry about that,” he mumbles, glancing down at you. “Dustin’s always been, like, embarrassingly direct.”

A wry smile tugs at your lips. “It’s okay. I’m not offended.”

The evening drifts into its final hours with a soft sun lingering in the corners of Steve’s living room windows. Most of the balloons have deflated a little, and the noise has died down into pockets of lingering conversation. 

Dustin’s boisterous laugh echoes one last time as he heads out the door, hauling an armful of presents. Max trails behind him with the rest of the kids, carrying a few he couldn’t manage. She pauses to give you a small nod and a grin—her quiet way of saying, I like you.

You thought at first she was a tad standoffish, but her actions made you feel accepted into the small group. And if they approve of you, that's a sign that maybe you do belong here, in this makeshift family. 

Not that you’re getting ahead of yourself or anything…

Robin departs next, hooking her arm through Erica’s at the last second to drag her into some half-joking conversation about finally getting a break from babysitting Steve. Which she wholeheartedly agreed with, even if she was multiple years his junior. 

Nancy laughs, glancing your way as if to share the humour, and you wave goodbye with a soft smile. Jonathan, her hand in his, offers you a polite nod. They looked so in sync, bodies unconsciously angled toward each other, moving as a unit. There’s no tension, no leftover drama—just two people who found their other half. 

The thought made you more anxious than relieved. 

When the door finally shuts, the hush that falls over the house is unsettling. You can still hear the faint crackle of the record player, the needle resting in a quiet groove before you switched it off. Now, there’s just the quiet clink of dishes in the kitchen and the soft hum of Steve’s voice—he’s singing along to the old radio as he stacks up the glasses. He told you he had it under control, and knowing you didn’t like the feeling of leftover food in the sink, he took this job for the team.

You’re left gathering discarded wrappers and balled-up napkins, your mind spiraling in circles you really don’t want to follow but couldn’t help yourself.

Nancy is lovely. Infuriatingly so. 

In fact, she was so kind, so pleasant, that it almost stings more than if she’d been cold. Because it means you can’t hate her. Not that it was your goal to do so, but you couldn’t just dismiss her as some memory in Steve’s past. 

She was right for him once, and the knowledge of how closely her life aligns with yours—similar ambitions, the same drive for success, the spark of curiosity—makes your throat feel tight.

What if Steve also sees her in you? What if every moment you thought was unique and special was just him trying to relive something he used to have with her?

You can’t stand the idea, but the rational side of your brain doesn’t seem to be cooperating. 

Steve isn’t cruel. You know that. 

He’s never been anything but considerate, thoughtful, patient with you. Hell, the amount of times he was there for you—without hesitation, without needing to be asked. Holding your hand when you were nervous, pressing a kiss to your temple when you overthought, making you laugh when you wanted to cry.

He had never once made you feel like an afterthought. He was all in. And yet, the thought gnawed at you—was he here because he chose you, or because he was still reaching for a shadow of the past? Was he even aware he was chasing her ghost?

Your fingers tighten around a crumpled paper plate, and you swallow against the lump forming in your throat. You wonder if you really are just a Nancy 2.0 as you step into the kitchen, tossing the rubbish in the bin and retreating back to the now clean living room. Not wanting to talk to him just yet. 

The water stops running, the tap squeaking as Steve turns it off. You hear him dry his hands on a dish towel, then he appears in the doorway, face lighting up for a moment—until he sees your expression.

“Finished in the kitchen,” he starts, voice warm and a little proud, then pauses. “...What’s wrong?”

He settles beside you on the couch, the cushions dipping under his weight. Your shoulders tense a little—his proximity normally soothes you, but tonight, your mind won’t quiet down, and every small gesture feels magnified. He notices immediately.

“Nothing,” you say, forcing a small, tight smile. “I really liked your friends. They’re all super sweet. I can see why you get along so well.”

“Oh yeah?” There’s a warmth in his tone, a hopeful rise.

You nod, dropping your eyes to your hands. He slides closer, until his knee brushes against yours. 

“You even got Erica to like you,” he points out, sounding genuinely impressed. “It took me weeks to win her over, and you waltz in and manage it in a few hours? So not fair.”

You can’t help the soft laugh that escapes. “I’m sure she’s just being polite.”

A quick scoff breaks from Steve’s throat. “Erica doesn’t do polite unless she means it.” He places his hand lightly on your arm, and despite the tension coiled in your chest, you feel a rush of affection at the contact. “No, seriously—I loved having you here, angel. Made the whole day so much better.”

“Really?” you ask, voice wavering just enough that he picks up on your uncertainty.

“Well, yeah,” he answers, brow creasing. “I’m just glad they didn’t scare you off.”

Your lips form a weak smile. “Oh, they didn’t.”

But there’s something about your tone—some waver you can’t quite hide—and his eyes sharpen. 

“Okay, spill,” he says, leaning in. “What’s going on?”

“Huh?” You try to keep your expression neutral, but his gaze pins you.

“I know you,” he insists, a furrow carving between his brows. “You’re stressed about something.”

“I’m so not,” you counter, folding your arms tight against your chest.

“Yeah, you are,” he replies, undeterred. “You have tells.”

“Tells?” you echoed.

“Yes, tells.” He shifts forward, voice low. “So tell me—what’s on your mind? Did someone say something? Because I swear to god—”

“Steve,” you cut him off, irritation sparking. “Nobody said anything.”

“Then what is it? Was I too much? I swear I just wanted people to know how much I—”

“Steve,” you say again, louder this time, frustration rolling through you in a hot wave. “I’m fine. Drop it.”

His expression crumples the instant your sharp tone slices through the air. It’s like someone yanked the rug out from under him, and he sits there, quiet and unsure, those warm eyes losing some of their usual shine. It kills you to see him look so hurt, and you can practically feel the guilt creeping up your spine.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs at last, voice soft and almost hesitant. “You… you don’t have to come to the next one. If it wasn’t fun, or if it was too much—”

“That’s not it,” you say, cutting him off. You watch the confusion linger on his face, and it only makes the ache in your chest worse. 

He just wanted to have a good time, to share his world with you. 

And now here you are, turning what seemed like a perfect day into something heavy and complicated.

“Then—what?” His shoulders sag. “I don’t know what else could’ve gone wrong.” His gaze flits over your features, looking for answers you haven’t yet spoken.

You swallow, steeling yourself. 

“It was just… Nancy.”

“Nancy?” Steve’s eyes widen in surprise. “I thought you two got along really well tonight.”

“Yeah,” you admit, speaking around the lump in your throat. “We did.”

He pushes a breath through his nose, like he’s sifting through every possible explanation and coming up empty.

“I thought you’d, I don’t know, bond over books or something. I mean, I know you were anxious before, but you’re both so… nice. She’s already with Jonathan, you’ve got me—”

“Steve.” You cut him off again, trying not to let your voice waver. “We’re similar. That’s the problem.”

He blinks. “What d’you mean?” His tone is gentle, even though you see the concern in his eyes.

You rake a hand through your hair, fighting for the right words. He shifts forward, bracing himself.

“Steve, we’re really similar,” you say at last, voice low. 

“Okay?” He nods, urging you to continue. “So you have some shared interests. Where are we going with this, sweetheart?”

A shaky breath escapes you, and you force yourself to look him in the eye. 

“Are you sure you’re not still… looking for her?”

He frowns, confused. “Looking for her? I don’t—”

“Yes, Steve. Searching for someone like Nancy because you couldn’t have her. Like I’m just the next best thing. Even the kids picked up on how alike we are.” Your voice cracks, and you hate how vulnerable you sound. “I don’t want to be some bullshit replacement, filling up the space she left behind.”

All it takes is that one word—bullshit—and the floor drops out beneath him. 

You’re looking at him, voice trembling with hurt, and the realisation that you think you’re not enough guts him. Because he knows that feeling too well. He’s been there, on the other end, wondering if he was any good for anyone. But this? This is a thousand times worse. Because it’s you—and if there’s one thing in this world he’s certain of, it’s you.

He can’t stand the heartbreak in your eyes. Can’t stand the idea that he might be the one making you feel that way. His mind scrambles for something, anything, that might put your mind at ease—words to counteract that awful notion of being not enough. 

Then, suddenly, clarity strikes. He can’t think of anything else but to go full-force, stern, direct, because you’re far too precious for soft reassurances that could be mistaken or ignored.

“Hey,” he says, voice firm enough to startle even himself, “listen to me and listen to me good, all right?”

He can see how shocked you are at the tone he’s using; you go still, your gaze locking on him in a way that assures him every word will sink in. It has to.

“Never—and I mean never—are you some kind of half-ass replacement. You hear me? So get that thought out of your head right now.”

He’s never spoken to you quite like this before, but desperation thrums under every syllable. 

I can’t lose you. Please believe me.

“I don’t care how long it takes or how many times I have to say it—you are not second place. You are not a replacement. I didn’t settle for you, I chose you. You think I’d waste my time with someone I didn’t want wholeheartedly?”

He asks the question as though there’s no logical answer except the truth: Of course he wouldn’t. And he can’t stop now; your silence pushes him to continue. He needs you to know.

“God, if you could see yourself the way I do, you’d never think this again. You would never doubt how much I love you. How stupidly lucky I feel every day just to have you. You are not some ghost of my past. You are my future. And nothing—no one—could ever change that.”

There’s a ringing in his ears from the intensity of his own words, and he breathes hard, every muscle coiled with tension. Your eyes are wide, shining with an emotion he can’t decipher—shock, relief, maybe both. He hopes to God his message got through.

And then—amid the silence—your voice comes out soft, almost a whisper. 

“You love me?”

The question slices through him like lightning. He falters, suddenly off-balance. 

Fuck.

Because he’s just laid bare his entire heart, more than he’s ever dared to before. But there’s no taking it back. No gentle way to hedge now.

“Yes.” He swallows. His voice is steadier than he feels inside. “I do... Simple as that.”

That was all it took.

The words barely leave his mouth before you surge forward, meeting him in a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue, messy and urgent, the taste of each other a heady mix of relief and need. 

He gasps when you grip the collar of his sweater, tugging him closer, refusing to let a single breath of space linger between you. In response, his hands slide down your waist, pulling you tight against him until he can feel every curve, every line of your body against his.

“God,” he rasps against your mouth, already sounding relieved. “You—fuck.”

You hum a soft, breathy laugh escapes as he hauls you closer, helping you out as you sit and straddle his lap. His mouth is trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your throat as you sink your fingers into his hair, tugging, making him hiss against your lips.

He’s so desperate he doesn’t know where to touch first—fingers skimming over the curve of your hip, the dip of your waist, sliding boldly beneath the hem of your—his—jumper to feel the heat of your skin. 

Everything about you feels like an invitation, a promise he’s craved for far too long. And each gasp, each little whimper you give him, only fuels that growing ache inside of him.

“Steve,” you whisper, voice cracking with urgency. He glances up, eyes dark, pupils blown. There’s something unbridled there—devotion, longing, raw determination to make sure you never doubt him again.

He pulls you closer, one hand curling around your waist, the other sliding around to grip your ass, pulling you flush against the growing hardness in his jeans. 

Then, as though a last spark of caution flickers through his brain, he stills, pulling back just enough to look at you—really look, eyes darting between yours. There’s a flush high on his cheeks, lips reddened from your kisses. But behind that is a tenderness, a protective streak that roars beneath his surface need.

“Tell me you want this,” he says, voice so low it practically reverberates through your chest. He needs to hear you say it. Needs to hear you tell him it’s alright. “I want to make sure you’re positive, because I—I want this more than anything—to show you, to make you feel so fucking good, but…”

You let out a noise that’s both a laugh and a moan. 

“Steve,” you repeat, more breathless this time. “I want this. I want you. Please.”

He groans, eyes squeezing shut. Thank God. 

“Shit, you have no idea how long I’ve—” He takes a breath as he shudders against you, every nerve ending on fire. “Angel—fuck—wait, just a sec.”

You blink, momentarily dazed. “What—did I do something?”

He just about melts at the concerned look you’re giving him, hands immediately cupping your face as he presses his mouth against yours as he mutters reassurances. 

“No, sweetheart. You didn’t—you’re perfect.” He wills his brain to formulate a coherent sentence. Easier said than done when he has you sitting on his lap. “But, if I’m going to make love to you, I’m not going to do it on the living room couch.”

A glint sparks in his eyes, but there’s nothing playful about the way he suddenly gathers you up into his arms, hands cupping beneath your thighs, hoisting you effortlessly against his chest as he stands. Your squeal of surprise echoes in the now-quiet house as you cling to his shoulders, heart pounding.

You laugh out his name and his only response is to tighten his hold on you, a grin tugging at his kiss-swollen lips, before he turns and starts up the stairs, carrying you like you weigh nothing. 

Your arms wrap around his neck, your lips brushing the line of his jaw, and his low groan vibrates in your ear, spurring him to climb faster.

He kicks the bedroom door open with his foot, all too eager to finally have you in his arms, in his bed. He sets you down on the edge of the mattress, his hands lingering at your hips as though he can’t bear to lose contact. 

You’re about to tease him for being so careful, but the sight of him—flushed cheeks, hair a disheveled mess from your fingers, lips reddened—steals the quip from your tongue.

“You okay?” he murmurs, his voice low and husky. As urgent as he feels, there’s that undercurrent of protectiveness, that need to check you’re here with him for all the right reasons.

Your smile is a little breathless. “I’m more than okay.”

He exhales slowly, like your reassurance is the only permission he needed to keep going. Then he nudges your knees apart so he can step in closer, pressing your bodies flush. The warmth of him is addictive—solid arms, broad chest, that steady heartbeat thrumming beneath your palms.

A shiver runs down your spine when he bends to brush a slow kiss along the side of your throat, teeth just barely grazing your skin. Your head falls back, and he uses the moment to trail more kisses along your jaw, your collarbone, mapping the curve of your shoulder as if memorising every inch.

“Lie down for me,” he whispers, voice trembling with the effort it takes to keep it gentle.

You slide back onto the bed, propping yourself on your elbows, and he kneels near the edge, guiding your legs up so you’re fully on the bed. His hand glides beneath your clothes, pushing it slowly upward, knuckles skimming the bare skin of your waist. His gaze locks with yours as he slips it off over your head, making sure you’re still okay with each inch of exposed skin. You can’t help the small, playful grin that tugs at your lips. 

“Careful, Harrington,” you tease, breath hitching when he plants a soft kiss at the center of your sternum. “At this rate, it’ll be sunrise before you get these clothes off.”

He huffs a little laugh against your skin, the warm puff of air sending a tingle racing across your flesh. 

“You deserve careful,” he says, words muffled by the increasingly desperate kisses he’s leaving along the tops of your breasts, your clavicle. “But don’t think for a second I’m not dying to tear everything off you, angel.”

His fingers drift to the waistband of your jeans, undoing the button and zipper with a focus that makes your stomach flip. He eases them down your hips, helping you lift so he can slide them all the way off. Then, with a featherlight touch, he glides his hands up your thighs, sending sparks of electricity racing through you.

“Steve,” you breathe, voice catching when he leans down to kiss your newly bared skin. He starts at your calf, working his way leisurely up, each press of his lips driving you a little bit more insane. By the time he reaches your inner thigh, you’re trembling—desperate for him.

“Look at you,” he coos, voice shaking with something close to awe. His fingers slide along the band of your underwear, and he gently pulls them down, letting them join your jeans on the floor. With each inch, he leaves more of you uncovered, and the intensity in his gaze leaves you feeling bare in more ways than one.

You try to close your legs, feeling slightly exposed with the way he is gazing at you, but his hand is firm as it grips your thigh, holding you open. You hold your breath as his fingers skim over your folds, head falling back as his thumb circles your clit slowly. 

“Shit,” he breathes out, second hand joining to gather some of your wetness on his fingers. “You’re fuckin’ soaked, angel.”

“Steve,” you murmur, voice quivering with need. Your fingers thread into his hair, urging him closer, your body already winding tight from the warmth of his breath against you.

“God,” he mutters, words muffled by another kiss to your thigh. “I’ve wanted this—wanted to do this—for so damn long.”

He shifts, situating himself more comfortably. Then, with a half-lidded glance in your direction, he leans in and presses his mouth against your clit in a way that shatters every remaining thought in your head. 

A soft cry tumbles from your lips, and he groans at the sound, pulling you in deeper, his grip on your thighs tightening.

He moves carefully, learning your reactions, letting your gasps and moans guide him. Each flick of his tongue, each gentle suck, is a question: Is this good? More? Show me. And every time you arch your back or let out a ragged whisper of his name, he answers with another fervent, deliciously slow pass of his mouth.

"Fuck, angel, I could do this all night.” He dives back in. “Keep you here, keep you shaking over and over on my tongue."

He’s so tender in his insistence, balancing the sharp edge of hunger with a profound concern for your pleasure. One of his hands slides up to lace your fingers together, and he squeezes—almost like he’s grounding himself in the moment, sharing each pulse of sensation so you know he’s right there with you. The other hand strokes up your thigh and curls around your hip, keeping you anchored against him.

“Oh, God,” you gasp, voice pitching higher when he drags his tongue across your pussy with a pointed languidness. Your thighs tighten around his shoulders, and he shudders, his fingers reflexively pressing into your skin.

He pauses just long enough to rest his forehead against your thigh, breathing hard. His voice comes out in a low rasp, intense in its sincerity. 

“You taste so fucking good,” he mumbles dazed as he returns to his ministrations. Lapping against you like he couldn’t possibly get enough. 

A wave of warmth crashes over you at his words—any lingering insecurities vanish beneath the heat of his devotion. You tug lightly at his hair, guiding him back, and he happily obliges. His tongue moves in slow, deliberate strokes at first, building you up in a dizzying ascent, then quickens when your moans become urgent.

Your heels dig into his back, and you choke out something unintelligible—his name, a plea, a broken sob of bliss. He groans in response, the sound reverberating through your entire body, heightening the sensation until you think you might shatter from it. 

There’s something almost reverent in how thorough he is, like he wants to memorise every reaction, every hitch of your breath.

“You’re making the sweetest fucking noises, baby.” He murmurs. “Driving me insane.”

Tension coils in your stomach, winding tighter with each measured flick of his tongue. Your grip on his hand is borderline crushing, but he just grins against you, absolutely thrilled by the desperation in your touch. 

That’s all the encouragement he needs to push you closer and closer to the edge. His name tumbles from your lips again, a breathless entreaty, and he groans, the vibration sending sparks skittering across your skin.

He can tell you’re close—he can feel it in the way your hips jerk, the way your pussy clenches, the way your voice climbs. And he wants it for you, wants to be the reason you come apart so completely that you’ll never doubt his devotion again. 

“Come on, sweetheart, I’ve got you,” before diving back in with a perfect, rhythmic swirl that makes your entire body tense.

The tension snaps. A rush of pleasure bursts inside you, and you let out a cry that would embarrass you if you could think about anything but the ecstasy roaring through your veins. 

Your hands grip his shoulders, nails biting into his skin, and he moans like the taste of your release is exactly what he’s been dying for. He works you through every pulse, every aftershock, with gentle flicks of his tongue until you’re quivering in oversensitivity, pushing lightly at his head to let him know you can’t take another second.

When he finally straightens up to see you—lying back against his pillows, clad in just your bra—you spot a flicker of pure hunger crossing his face. He swallows hard and you see your release glistening against his chin as he does. He’s trying to keep himself tethered to sanity, but it’s a losing battle.

“Not fair that I’m the only one so… exposed,” you breathe out, hooking a finger into the hem of his jumper.

 “Impatient, huh?” He lets out a shaky chuckle as he licks his lips.

You roll your eyes in faux annoyance, tugging firmly at the fabric. He gets the hint. In one smooth motion, he yanks his shirt over his head and tosses it somewhere behind him. You catch a glimpse of toned arms and the lean planes of his chest, and it steals your breath all over again.

But he’s not done—he pops open the button of his jeans, sliding them down until they pool at his ankles, stepping out with a sense of urgency that has you biting your lip. For a moment, he just stands there, letting you take in the sight of him, hair messy, eyes blown wide with desire, wearing only his boxers.

“Better?” he asks, eyebrows lifting.

You drag your gaze up and down, unrepentant in your ogling. “Much.”

Steve’s eyes glitter with raw need as he hovers over you, his body pressed so tight you can hardly breathe. Every breath you take is steeped in the mix of his cologne and the sweet, desperate scent of your own arousal. 

“God, you’re so fuckin’ gorgeous,” he mutters under his breath, his gaze roaming over your curves with a barely restrained hunger. One of his hands grips your thigh, dragging it higher around his waist. “Don’t know how the hell I got so lucky.”

You can’t manage a reply—your breath stutters as he runs his other hand up your side, fingers skimming your ribs, his thumb grazing the underside of your breast in a fleeting touch. The contrast between how tender he’s being and the way his voice drips with a filthy promise makes you whimper, arching into his touch.

He leans in, teeth nipping at your lower lip before he kisses you slow and deep. It's messy and you can taste yourself on his tongue. 

“Fuck,” he whines, “I need you, sweetheart. Need you right now—can I?” His voice cracks with urgency, and you feel every syllable reverberate through your body.

“Yes,” you whisper, voice trembling with anticipation. “Please, Steve. I—”

He cuts you off with another kiss, sliding his hand between your thighs, which have only got stickier. He groans at the way you shiver, so worked up that you feel like you might combust if he doesn’t fuck you this instant.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “So wet for me.” Then, in a lower tone. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, baby—gonna make you forget anything else exists except how good my cock feels inside you.”

His words took you by surprise. Your usual sweet boyfriend was downright obscene with his words.

You knew he had a sharp tongue, but you had no idea how damn filthy he could make it. 

He reaches into the bedside table and tears the condom wrapper off with his teeth, making quick work of sliding it over his length.

The moment he lines his cock up at your entrance, you can feel the tension in his body—like he’s holding back a tidal wave of desire, absolutely determined not to hurt you, to make sure you’re comfortable.

“You good?” he rasps, voice tight.

“Yes,” you pant. “Steve… please.”

He exhales a ragged breath and pushes into you, inch by inch, until the stretch of him draws a moan so raw from your lips that he answers with a guttural “Fuck.” 

Your head falls back, the sensation an exquisite combination of pleasure and the ache of being so completely stuffed. He stays there a moment, trembling arms caging you in, nose brushing yours as you grip him like a vice.

“Angel,” he chokes out, voice thick, “You—you feel so fucking perfect. Look at me.”

You force your eyes open, meeting his gaze, and the ferocity of his desire sends another wave of arousal flooding through your veins, clenching around his length. 

“You feel that, sweetheart? Feel how deep I am?”

All you can do is nod dumbly as his hand presses on your lower stomach. He knows you can feel him there.

He starts a slow rhythm, hips rolling, each thrust calculated to bring you higher. And for all his filthy talk, there’s a sweetness in the way he cups your cheek, kisses your jaw, your collarbone, like he can’t decide which part of you he loves most.

“God, yes,” he groans, each thrust picking up in intensity. “You like that? Tell me you like it.”

“I love it,” you gasp, fingers clawing at his back. “Steve, you feel—God, you feel amazing.”

He lets out a breathless laugh that ends in another throaty moan as he angles his hips just so, making you keen against his lips. His pace quickens, every stroke hitting deeper, sending sparks of pleasure through every nerve.

“Fuck—baby, you’re so tight,” he hisses, his mouth at your ear. “So damn tight for me. Never want this to end—wanna keep you like this, under me, always on my cock—cumming so hard you forget your own name.”

Jesus, if you knew this was how he was going to talk, you would have given him the green light weeks ago.

He punctuates the filthy promise with a particularly deep thrust, and your toes curl, a cry spilling from your throat as you cling to him. You’re quickly losing yourself in the haze of his words, his body, his everything.

You utter his name in a choked sob, and it’s like a starter’s pistol. He shifts his angle just enough that the strokes perfectly grind against that sensitive spot inside your walls. The pleasure mounts in a dizzying spiral, your body tensing as you hover on the brink of release.

“That’s it,” he coaxes, voice gone ragged, snapping his hips more insistently. “God, cum for me, sweetheart. I need to feel it—want to feel it so bad.”

And with one more roll of his hips, you do—crying out, body arching as the orgasm shatters through you. Every nerve in your body lights up as you clamp down, and his guttural moan tells you he’s right there with you, grinding through your climax until he’s spilling himself into the rubber, breathing your name over and over like a prayer.

For a moment, you’re both lost in the aftershocks, hearts pounding, bodies tangled in the sheets. Then he sags against you, pressing lazy, tender kisses to your shoulder and murmuring small, breathless praises that make your cheeks burn with warmth.

The afterglow is still pulsing between you—soft, warm, and intimate. He leans down to press feathery kisses to your shoulder, your chest, up the side of your neck, murmuring words of reassurance and awe.

“You did so good,” he breathes, voice low and reverent. “So perfect.”

Heat flutters in your chest at the praise, and you can’t help but giggle, reaching up to tangle your fingers in his hair and guide his face to yours. Your lips meet in a searing kiss, slow and sweet. When you finally pull back, you find him watching you with those big, earnest eyes.

“Was I… okay?” he asks, cheeks turning pink in a bashful sort of way. “Like, everything good for you?”

“More than okay.” You let out a satisfied sigh, your body still humming with pleasure. “That was perfect.”

“Yeah?” he echoes, a shy grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Yeah.” You brush a thumb across his lower lip, feeling a spark of amusement as you remember the filth he whispered moments ago. “When were you gonna tell me you had such a dirty mouth?”

Instantly, his face flames. He cannot be blamed for what he said in the heat of the moment. It was hard to have a filter when he had you mewling underneath him.

“Hey, well, uh… I don’t… I mean, I—”

“Shh.” You chuckle, placing a finger over his lips “I loved it.”

“Oh yeah?” He exhales, relief and pride mingling. “Well, I’ll keep that in mind—my girl likes it a little dirty.” 

“C’mon, lover boy.” A fresh wave of laughter bubbles out of you. You let him help you up, your legs still a bit shaky. He steadies you with a strong arm around your waist and guides you to the bathroom so you can rinse off the sheen of sweat and bliss.

The shower is warm and comforting, the water sluicing away every last trace of tension as you help each other soap up and rinse off. When you emerge, toweling your hair and feeling the pleasant ache of satisfaction in your muscles, you notice Steve holding out one of his old T-shirts for you to slip on. You beam, tugging it over your head before crawling into bed next to him, the soft cotton drowning you in his familiar scent.

He pulls you close, cradling you against his chest. The hush of the room, the warmth of the covers, and the steady sound of his heartbeat lull you into a sweet, sleepy contentment.

“Hey,” he murmurs, turning so his nose brushes yours.

“Mmm?” you reply, lashes fluttering.

“I love you, sweetheart.”

Your heart clenches at the simple sincerity in his tone. “I love you too, Steve.”

And with that, his arms tighten around you, and you drift into a peaceful sleep, knowing that in the morning, you’ll both wake up in the same bed, same sappy looks on your faces, same lovesick smiles as you bask in the golden morning light. Steve will probably be watching you already, grinning like a fool, fingers tracing lazy patterns over your back, because he’s just that smitten.

[thechaoslibrarian]

Cherry.

Synopsis - The lines of friendship get a little blurry, one unassuming Friday night in December.

Pairing - Bestfriend!Steve Harrington x Female Reader

Warnings - smut. cursing. steve's got an ego, but for good reason.

Age Rating - 18+

Word Count - 2k

Author's Note - hi lovelies!! my first steve fic!! listen, I actually really didn't enjoy stranger things, but... I love this man. he's charming and he's a softie and he's such a good character to write. hope you enjoy this - it's got me all warm and fuzzy. please feel free to send me a christmas request if you fancy, I'm in the mood to write some seasonal fics. much love, always!! <3

as always, reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics!! please, if you enjoyed, consider reblogging this so it gets further reach. comments and feedback are always appreciated!! thanks, angels. <3

Part Two. Part Three. Part Four. Masterlist. Inbox. The Moodboard. Series Masterlist.

Three rocks ping off the panes of your bedroom window in quick succession.

You're applying your moisturiser in the mirror, winding down and almost ready for bed. Your reflection is illuminated by a faint glow from the fairy lights you've draped over the headboard for the festive season, warm and comforting. A soft, jazzy melody is drifting from the radio softly, a welcome noise to break up the silence.

Another rock hits your window.

You fly out of your seat and towards the source of the trouble, worried that he's going to throw one too hard one of these days.

"Steve," you hiss as you yank it open. "Cut it out. Just come through the door."

"Where's the fun in that?" he chuckles, eyes rife with mischief.

You roll your eyes but step back anyway, making room for him to climb the tree and dive through the window into your room.

"Hi, sugar."

"Hi, Steven."

He grins at you, bright and awake despite the late hour.

"Don't you have better plans on a Friday night, King Steve?"

"And miss out on seeing you in your little pink pyjamas? Absolutely not."

You shove at his chest, smacking him upside the head for good measure. He feigns pain and wraps his arms around your middle, picking you up off the ground and spinning you in circles. You shriek, and the sound makes him laugh.

"Okay, okay! I'm dizzy! Put me down!"

He obliges by throwing you unceremoniously onto your bed, smirking when you almost bounce off it.

"So," he begins, sitting down across from you. "How was it? Do you feel like a whole new woman?"

You scoff.

"What? That bad?"

"Yeah, that bad. We didn't even do it."

He quirks a brow in curiosity, tilting his head to look at you.

"I thought tonight was the big night?"

"Yeah, it was supposed to be. But he was kissing me, and it just didn't feel... right? He started grabbing at me and I realised that you can only lose your virginity once - and that definitely wasn't how I wanted to lose mine."

You shrug, trying to play indifference, but Steve can see the hurt in your eyes.

"You always deserved so much better than him."

"Thanks, Steve."

"Come on, Cherry. The guy is an asshole who happens to be attractive. His face is the only thing he's got going for him."

The mention of your childhood nickname has memories of fruit flavoured popsicles on summer days flooding back. Laughter by the pool, pushing Steve in and screeching when he dragged you with him, staying out in the sun until you were both exhausted. Cherry. You've always been Steve's Cherry, for as long as you can remember. You still wear the lip balm he bought you last year, fitting for your moniker.

"You didn't like him from the start. Actually, you've never liked any guy that has ever liked me."

"Because they're not good enough for you."

"Says who?"

"Says me."

"And you're the boss of me and my love life now?"

"I'm the person that knows you better than anyone in the entire world. I think I have a pretty good view on things."

You huff, but accept your defeat in knowing that he's right. No one knows you like him. Steve always does this. He pisses you off, but makes you love him a tiny bit more each time.

He grabs your foot from the bed, pressing his thumbs into your sole. You relax instantly, tired of half arguing with him.

"I give up."

"With what?"

"Dating. Fuck it."

He chuckles, rubbing soothing patterns into your ankle gently.

"You've barely even started."

"Ooo, sorry Mr Womaniser."

"Stop it," he chides, pinching your calf. "Maybe The One for you just isn't in Hawkins. This place has always been too small for us anyway."

"Yeah, maybe. It'll all change when we go to college, hopefully."

"Exactly. It'll be a whole different ball game. There'll be tonnes of hot guys begging for your attention."

"And you'll be fighting them off."

"Yes I will."

You laugh, poking him in the chest with your foot teasingly.

"And maybe the college guys will actually know what they're doing in bed."

"Hey, some of us do know!"

"Yeah yeah, Steve's good in bed. I've heard it all before."

"Don't be jealous, Cherry baby."

"Jealous isn't quite the word I'd use."

"No?"

He drops your foot and scoots closer, settling in between your parted legs.

"You're not even a little bit curious what all the rumours are about?"

"Steve," you laugh. "I think they're probably just exactly that. Rumours."

He inches in towards you, so his forehead is almost touching yours. Running his fingers up and down the outside of your thigh, he takes a deep breath in.

"You should let me show you just how much I know. We're not all clueless, Cherry. I'm confident I could make you feel good."

You exhale with a shudder.

"I'm not letting you take my virginity, Steve."

"I don't want to. There's a thousand ways I can make your legs shake without fucking you, baby."

You stare into his big doe eyes, admiring the way a single strand of hair has fallen across his forehead. You look for a shred of doubt, or amusement, but all you see is love. Admiration. Trust. Sincerity.

"Okay," you breathe, before your mind has truly processed what you're saying. "Show me what you got, Harrington."

He grins, slow and saccharine, like the cat who got the cream.

"Steve?" you whisper.

"Yeah?"

"This isn't going to fuck things up between us, is it?"

He smiles, big and bright.

"Never. Nothing is ever going to fuck things up between us. It's you and me forever, Cherry Pie."

You chuckle at the nickname, stroking his cheek with your thumb.

"Well, then what are you waiting for?"

He shakes his head and grabs your ankle, pulling you across the bed and into his body. Wrapping a hand around the back of your neck, he leans in, pressing his forehead to yours.

"If at any point this gets weird, or you don't like it... Just say the words, okay?"

"Okay," you breathe, inhaling the scent of mint from his tongue. "Promise."

"Can I kiss you?"

"You don't usually ask," you tease.

It's no secret that you and Steve have kissed a few times. Once after prom, once at a party here and there, once when you were cuddled in bed comforting him after a break up. But it's never led to anything more. Which is probably why this feels a little different.

"I know, but this is a little more... intense, than usual."

You try to ignore the way your heart swells at his consideration for you, and nod your head gently.

"Kiss me. Please."

Steve wastes no time, leaning in to press his lips to yours. He tastes like spearmint and soda, with a hint of the cherry lipbalm he steals from your nightstand. You instinctively shuffle closer to him, straddling his lap as his arms bracket themselves around you. It's like he can't decide where to put his hands - they're roaming up your back, squeezing your ass, kneading your thighs. He's antsy and impatient, eager to feel you.

"Lie back," he whispers against your mouth, tipping you onto the bed.

Your head hits your pillows and you crane your neck to watch him as he crawls down your body, eyes never leaving yours.

"Steve-"

"Stop thinking so hard, Cherry. I can practically hear your thoughts."

You huff but can't keep the smile off your face, willing your mind to stop racing.

"Let me quiet things down, hmm?"

Steve presses a gentle kiss to the inside of your knee, trailing up and up until he reaches your hip. He licks across your hipbone before nipping it with his teeth, smirking when you gasp.

Grasping the waistband of your pyjama shorts, he asks for permission with his eyes, no words needed. You nod and lift your hips, letting him slide them down your body.

You've never been so exposed, which is causing a sudden realisation that the two of you are crossing a line that can never be uncrossed. As if he can read your mind, Steve presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, tender and full of love.

"Babe, if you want to stop..."

"I don't, I promise. I'm just nervous. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise," he murmurs, resting his head on your thigh and looking up at you. "Never apologise. You're doing so good, Cherry. I love you."

You didn't know what you were expecting, but it wasn't I love you. You've both said it to each other a million times, but something about saying it in this exact moment makes it feel... weighted. You'll talk about it later. You'll make sure of it.

"I love you too. So much."

You're whispering, scared to ruin the peace you've created. Steve kisses your skin again gently, gazing at you like you've hung the stars just for him.

"Let me make you feel good, okay?"

When you nod, Steve nudges your core with his nose, arms wrapping around your thighs to keep you anchored in place.

"So pretty," he's mumbling. "Prettiest fuckin' girl I've ever seen."

He starts slow, easing you in carefully. Kitten licks and gentle nips, testing the waters. When you tangle a hand into his hair and tug, Steve gets the message.

"You want more, pretty baby?"

"Yes," you confirm, more breathless than intended. "Please."

He dives back in, this time with more intention. His nose keeps nudging your clit, the friction licking up your spine deliciously. It's like he can't get enough, eating you out like a man starved.

He groans into your heat, the vibrations making you whine. When he curls his tongue just right, you keen, the sounds leaving your mouth foreign to the both of you.

"Fuck, you sound so beautiful. You're perfect. God, you're perfect."

"Stevie," you pant. "So close."

"I got you. Atta girl, I got you. That's my girl, give it to me."

Maybe it's the my girl, or maybe it's the way he's slipped two fingers into you, but the coil snaps. Your back arches off the bed as white heat engulfs your body, vision going black for a moment. You can hear him talking you through it, loving and encouraging. Eventually, your grip on his hair loosens as you go lax, collapsing back against the comforter.

Steve grins at you as he licks his fingers clean, crawling up your body to kiss you. You groan when you taste yourself, arms wrapping around his shoulders to keep him close. Resting his head on your chest, you run your fingers through his hair, humming gently when he relaxes.

"You okay?"

"Never better," you laugh. "You're good with your mouth, Harrington. I'll give you that."

"Told you the rumours were true."

You shake your head and reach over, grabbing the glass of water from your nightstand and taking a sip. You offer it to Steve without a second thought, rolling your eyes when he downs the rest.

He plucks your cherry lipbalm from the drawer and applies it to himself, before leaning up to carefully do the same to you. He pecks your lips sweetly before returning it to its rightful place.

"You replace it, don't you?"

"Hmm?"

"The chapstick. I've had it for a whole year, and I've never even come close to reaching the end."

He blushes as he looks at you, suddenly bashful.

"It's special," he murmurs. "It's our thing, you know? And it smells good. I like knowing that I'm the only one who knows you taste like cherries."

You want to poke fun at him, say something to make him laugh. But you can't. He's rendered you speechless, for the second time in one night.

"I like knowing the reason you taste like spearmint is because I've been slipping pieces of gum into the pockets of your jeans for ten years."

"I knew it," he laughs, leaning up to kiss you firmly. "I can't tell you the last time I bought gum."

"You're welcome."

Steve shucks off his jeans and his shirt, climbing into your bed with just his boxers on. You slip your underwear up your legs before getting under the comforter with him, tangling your limbs with his.

The tunes from the radio still hum gently as the fairy lights flicker.

The room is unchanged.

The people in it are not.

read Part Two here. Part Three here. Part Four here.

@lillian-gallows @bookish-embroidery-witch @sweetdazequeen @fruityforcocoapuffs @steviespookie @livsters @diffrent-spokes @violet2022 @mrsjoequinn @valerievortex @chrrymunson

[thechaoslibrarian]

Faint of Heart (Part 6)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem! Reader

Word count: 5.1k

Summary: You don’t know his name, but Eddie becomes a regular at your diner. Scared you’ll run like everyone else, he can’t bring himself to tell you how he feels, until…

Warnings: 18+ only 🔞 brief mention of undressing, a smidge of self consciousness, some smut, heavy petting, fingering, that’s about it.

A/N: I am so SORRY this took way longer than I wanted it to. I hope anyone still interested in this fic enjoys this offering. It’s made with love. If you feel like reblogging I’ll smooch you so much, k thx byeeee 🥰

FIC MASTERLIST

•••

•••

“Ask him”

“You ask him!”

“I said it first!” Lucas hisses quietly, flicking a rubber band at Dustin’s head.

The scrape of chair legs across linoleum flooring has their heads snapping sideways, attention further held by the loud thwack of a heavy notebook being forcefully closed.

“Ask me what, buttheads.” Eddie’s ringed hands sit on his hips, disapproving frown etched between his eyes.

Silence fills the room, an awkward slurp from Erica’s direction as she drinks the last of her soda echoing loudly around the Sinclair’s kitchen.

“What, think I can’t hear you gossiping over here?” Eddie steps forward, spinning a chair round to throw a leg over it, sitting backwards at the table “I’m in the same damn room. You got something to say, just say it.”

“It’s, uh…” Lucas scratches the back of his skull with a bitten down pencil “Dustin had a question!”

“Asshole!” Dustin aims a shove at his shoulder before turning to face forwards again, hands resting on the table and forming a steeple as he considers his words “Okay, Eddie, here’s the thing - we just wondered…if you were okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” He reaches for the bowl of pretzels and throws one up in the air, catching it in his mouth like it’s second nature.

“Well you haven’t been quite yourself lately, is all…”

“Yeah - you seem really happy” Erica interjects.

“…and it’s concerning us”

“Are you sick or something?”

Mike leans forward, trying to place the back of his hand on Eddie’s forehead and being slapped away before he can get close enough.

“Yeah is this some ‘only-got-weeks-to-live’ type thing? Like, embracing life while you still can?” Dustins voice is laced with genuine worry for their friend and mentor.

Shaking his head with a deep rumble of laughter, Eddie stands and goes to the fridge, helping himself to a beer. Cracking it open on the counter top, he leans back against the door and takes a long pull of his drink before addressing the sea of younger faces in front of him.

“This may come as a surprise, knuckleheads, but I seem happy because I am happy” He shrugs.

“You - Eddie Munson - are a self-proclaimed happy person now?”

Mike’s face crinkles in confusion as Erica’s eyebrows disappear beneath her bangs.

“Uh-huh. Is that really so hard for you little goobers to believe?”

They glance at each other, silent looks of surprise and shared frowns, spinning to stare hard at Eddie as their voices rise in a chorus of utter suspicion.

“YES!”

•••

Laying on the floor of your apartment, Lisa reaches across to refill your wine glass to the brim, discarding the now empty bottle to one side with a tipsy giggle when it clatters against the leg of the side table.

Cucumber slices slip off your eyes, plopping to the carpet as you roll yourself closer to the bowl of chips - belly laugh tumbling from your lips as you catch a glimpse of Lisa’s face mask starting to smear under her chin.

You snort into your glass, and when you push yourself up to a sitting position, you find your best friend with her chin resting on her hand, head tilted and wearing a huge smile.

“What?”

“What?” She repeats back

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’m not looking at you like anything!”

You narrow your gaze and refuse to back down until she caves.

“Fine! I just…I haven’t seen you smile like this for so long. You’re happy - it’s nice.”

You can’t stop a grin from stretching your cheeks, it reaches all the way to the tips of your ears. She’s not wrong, you can’t remember the last time you felt this way.

“See!” Lisa laughs, waving a hand in front of your nose “This is exactly what I mean. He’s turned you into a blushing teenager.”

“How do you know I’m smiling because of Eddie?”

“I didn’t mention any names…” she winks, talking over the rim of her glass with a quirked brow “…but glad to know he’s as good of a performer between the sheets as he is on the stage.”

You splutter into your wine, shaking your head forcefully.

“It’s not like that” you protest “We’re not at it like a pair of rabbits. Jesus. I mean, it’s just…we haven’t even…y’know…”

“You haven’t?!”

“Well it’s not like we don’t want to, but with our shifts at work, my studying, and him still living with his uncle, I don’t know - the timing just hasn’t quite been working out.”

“Wait, wait, hold on - are you really trying to tell me it’s all just heated gazes and holding hands that have you looking like you swallowed a coat hanger?”

“Not exactly…”

•••

Fingers hooking gently in the pocket of your apron, a small tug brings you close between Eddie’s thighs - spread wide as he leans his weight back against the hood of your car. His wallet chain clinks softly against the paintwork, soft white-blue light from the moon painting you so beautifully, he can barely wait for you to lean towards him before his lips chase you down for a taste.

A stolen few moments outside the diner on your break has become his favourite time of day, when you’re all his and he can just drink you in, just for a minute. Get his fix to help him through the rest of the hours until he sees you again. Like a drug, he’s addicted to the way you make him feel - it’s like the air is lighter in his lungs, the sun warmer on his skin, the world…that little bit more bearable now.

Eddie kisses you harder - warm lips, a gentle tongue needy and asking for permission you immediately give. He hears you inhale a shaky breath and smiles against your mouth. Soft fingers rake up Eddie’s bare arms, until he shivers at your touch on the velvet skin of his biceps. His grip closes in around your waist, pulling you firmly to his chest until there’s not an inch of space between your bodies.

You giggle as he nibbles across your jaw, mouthing sloppily at your neck and feeling you melt in his arms. Letting a hand drift lower, fingers smooth over the curve of your ass to give an appreciative squeeze. You whisper into his ear.

“Eddie?”

“Mm?” His lips are too busy grazing down towards your delicious collarbone to lift his lust filled head.

“Eddie!” Your hands frantically pat at his chest, reluctantly pulling away from the warmth of his body as you glance over his shoulder wide-eyed.

“What’s up?”

“Uh, I think we have a spectator…”

He twists from his seated position on your car and glances around, instantly spotting the source of your interruption.

“Oh, that little guy?” Eddie throws a thumb out and chuckles “That’s just Lemmy, you don’t have to worry about him”

You stare slack jawed at the raccoon in front of you rising on his hind legs and blink back at Eddie in confusion.

“I’m sorry, that’s who?”

“My pal Lemmy.”

“As in…Motörhead?”

He’s impressed you picked up on that reference so quickly, adding it to the ever growing list of reasons why you’re steadily taking up more and more space inside that previously bruised and guarded heart of his.

“Gold star for you.” A dimple revealing grin splits his lips, knuckle chucking under your chin “Spotted him a while back when I’d come out for a smoke, scavenging through the trash, so I sneak him some food when I can. We bonded.”

“Yeah, I can…I can tell”

You bite back a smile as you watch the raccoon make his way to your side, patting a tiny paw repeatedly on Eddie’s denim clad leg.

Tapping you on the waist so he can access his jeans pockets, Eddie moves to reach in and pull out half a bread roll which he tosses gleefully in Lemmy’s direction, watching as he grabs it eagerly and scuttles away.

Returning his attention in your direction, Eddie grabs your hand and twirls you, tugging your body back into his warmth, shoulders settling against his solid chest - weight leaning fully on his seated thighs, just the way he likes it.

“Bread from the diner, huh?”

“Uh-huh” Lips nuzzle into the soft crook of your neck.

“So that’s what was in your pants - and here I was thinking you were just happy to see me…”

•••

The sun is already setting as Eddie’s van pulls up to park at Lover’s Lake, pink tinged clouds peeking through the trees as the last stragglers of afternoon bathers make their way home. Cool air breezes through the open window and you smile behind your palm as your arm leans on the door to prop up your chin. Like everything else involving you and Eddie so far, nothing about the few dates you’ve managed to squeeze in has been conventional. Stolen moments here and there, the odd unusual hour between shifts. You’ll take what you can get.

In this case, it’s worked entirely in your favour - an evening picnic next to the lake which you now seem to have all to yourselves.

Eddie leads the way, carrying the heavier basket while you take one a large blanket from the back of his van. You can’t keep the grin off your face at the way Eddie drifts this way and that, stumbling over his own two feet as he insists on searching for the ‘perfect’ spot to set everything down. Coming to a sudden stop, dark curls whip around his face as he looks over his shoulder for you, pointing enthusiastically to an area of ever-so-slightly flatter ground near the water’s edge

“Found it!” He declares, triumphant smile showing off his dimples, wrapping a coil of warmth around your heart.

By the time you’re done filling your bellies with leftovers you’d procured from the diner, darkness begins settling like a cloak above the trees - tiny orange flicker from the solitary candle Eddie had found in his kitchen drawer throwing off just enough glow for you to be transfixed by the highlights dancing along his perfect jawline, captivated as you watch his legs stretch out with a little hum of contentment while gazing across the still water.

Leaning back on his elbows, he glances up at just the right moment to catch you staring. Your nose crinkles and you turn your face away in embarrassment, which only makes his smug grin stretch further across his face.

“Don’t say a word” you warn, shrinking back and hiding behind your palm.

“Hey, now” he reaches to gently tug down your hand “there’s absolutely nothing wrong with enjoying the view, Sugar!”

Eddie cackles, earning a forceful shove to his shoulder that knocks him completely off balance. With a yelp, he grabs your wrist in a futile attempt to keep upright until he’s sprawled flat on his back with you draped over his body, a comical ‘oof!’ leaving you both as you land.

Fits of giggles erupt from your tangled bodies, echoing in gleeful ripples that wind themselves through the trees. Your forehead drops, resting on Eddie’s chest as the combined force of your laughter bounces your head up and down against him until your cheeks are hurting from uncontrollable smiles, skin streaked with tears as you can barely catch your breath.

It’s been far too long since you’ve felt comfortable enough to let your guard down so completely around anyone that wasn’t Lisa, and the realisation is a sobering one, your happy noise tapering off as you lift your head to look down at Eddie.

To really look at him.

The laughter lines at the corners of his mouth, dimples you could get lost in, freckles delicately adorning the bridge of his nose, little crinkles that permanently reside at the edges of his eyes…his eyes, so deep and dark and full of endless emotion that you’re scared they might actually drown you one day.

He notices a little notch form between your brow and lets his own laughter fall silent as he gazes back up at you - eyes going impossibly soft and round.

“Hey…” He whispers, head tilting in concern.

Eddie lifts a hand to trace a knuckle along your cheek with a tenderness you’re still not quite used to feeling like you deserve.

“You okay?”

It’s a simple question, yet the answer still feels like a lead weight in your chest. All those years you desperately needed someone - anyone - to say those two little words. All the times you wished with your entire being that someone would notice the pain in your eyes that you couldn’t speak out loud through fear. How the broken pieces of your soul would have shattered and the truth you’d been hiding would have spilled it’s way out sooner…if only someone would have just seen you.

Eddie sees you.

“Yeah,” you nod, trying to hide the way your voice falters “actually…I really think I am.”

“Good” Eddie grins, seemingly bright enough to illuminate everything within a 2-mile radius, shifting to hold your face gently in both hands, thumbs stroking the apples of your cheeks as he shamelessly lets his eyes roam your features with a hunger that grows in ferocity every time he sees you.

Smiling under his heated gaze, you inch yourself closer to his lips, now desperate to escape within their soft warmth. He welcomes you easily into his space, hand dropping to wrap around the small of your back, the other still cradling your jaw. Eddie bends one knee, slotting seamlessly between your thighs, pressing you closer to his body.

You nudge his nose, eager mouth dropping open - yet your lips barely graze. Every time you’re close enough to nip at him, he shifts just out of reach, only to return so his tongue can lightly trace the crease of your mouth, where a frustrated pout is forming. It’s slow and teasing and infuriatingly sexy. The heat of his breath falling across your skin pulls the tiniest whimper from you as lean in, needing that little bit more…

A crack of lightning comes from nowhere, making you jump in his arms, a deafening rumble of thunder ominous as the thick air is suddenly fractured by a deluge of cool raindrops that plummet from the sky, piercing the tranquil surface of the lake.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me…” Eddie grumbles against your mouth, reluctantly releasing you from his grip.

The pair of you scramble to your feet in the downpour, gathering your belongings and hurrying to the shelter of Eddie’s van, trying to shield yourselves from the rain. You squeal as he helps you climb into the back before clambering in behind you, leaving the doors open so you can watch the storm unfold in relative safety.

“Mother Nature really picks her damn moments doesn’t s—“ as you turn to face him, your words are cut off by Eddie’s lips pressing to yours, firm and insistent. Arms snake around your waist and you can do nothing but melt into the pull of his endless warmth. Body solid and unyielding against you, tongue begging to deepen the kiss you’d barely started down by the water.

•••

As much as Eddie cursed every known god he could remember for interrupting your moment next to the lake, right now he’s thanking his lucky stars a hundred times over.

If it weren’t for that downpour, he wouldn’t be gazing at you like this in the back of his van, breathless and kiss-drunk. Wouldn’t be staring at your swollen lips in awe, or admiring the glint that shimmers in your eyes every time a crack of lightning throws a shock of light through the open doors.

Entranced by the droplets of rain that gather at your temple and trickle slowly from the edge of your brow down the curve of your cheek, his eyes flit downwards noticing the way your chest heaves under your rain soaked uniform as you stare back at him wordlessly.

Blinking slowly, Eddie’s consciousness catches up with him and he clears his throat, shifting onto his knees and away from you, glancing around the van for something he can offer in place of a towel. Spotting some old blankets stored behind the front seats, he scrambles to retrieve them - holding the threadbare material towards you with an apologetic grimace.

“Not quite the same luxury as Egyptian cotton, but they’re better than nothing…”

You take a blanket gratefully, dabbing at your face and arms. Eddie mirrors you, then throws it over his head, scrubbing his hair up and down in the same manner you’d dry a wet dog after giving it a bath.

Reaching back to tug his wet shirt off, he leans over to the dash to make sure the heater is turned on then hangs it over the back of the drivers headrest along with his jeans, no longer ashamed of the collection of scars scattered across his body.

For a long time after, they made him feel like a monster. Pieces of himself lost forever, left behind in the darkness he fought so hard to escape. Torn apart and stitched back together - never feeling quite the same, never feeling whole.

Until now.

Until you.

Especially when he catches you ogling his bare torso, despite your attempt to go undetected. A smirk tugs at one side of his mouth as he folds his arms across his chest and nods towards your uniform.

“Your turn, Sugar”

Your response comes out a flustered stutter that tapers off in the most adorable way when you meet his eyes in the dark.

“Oh, me? I think I’m fine…because, y’know - I mean, I’m sure it’ll dry soon…”

Eddie’s gaze narrows as he reaches towards the bottom of your dress, slowly closing his fist around a handful of the yellow material and squeezing. The backs of his knuckles graze your damp skin as water squelches and dribbles from the fabric to form a little pool on the floor of his van.

You swallow hard as he looks up at you from under his lashes, silently gloating that his point is very much being made.

“You sure about that?”

Sensing your mild hesitation, Eddie is quick to insist that it’s entirely your choice, even covering his eyes with his hands and turning his back on a solemn promise not to peek - a move which has your giggles echoing off the inside of his van as you decide to embrace the moment and remove your wet uniform, hanging it over the back of the passenger seat.

True to his word, Eddie keeps his eyes closed even once he’s settled with his back against the walls of the van, legs open in a lazy ‘V’ shape. He feels you kneel in front of him, gently tapping his thigh.

“Eddie, you don’t have to stay like that y’know”

“Just making sure you’re comfortable, sweetheart” he mumbles from behind his palms.

“Eddie…”

He squints one eye open before immediately clamping his hands over his face with an exaggerated groan.

“What’s wrong?” You humour him.

There’s a big sigh, Eddie’s chest puffing up and deflating again with a dramatic shake of his head.

“My eyeballs can’t take it,” he pretends “you’re so beautiful like this it actually hurts!”

He can’t see how you roll your eyes before slapping him playfully on the shoulder, making him sway to one side. Eddie splays his fingers and peeks at you through them, trying to bite back a laugh when he sees the furrow of your brow.

“Let me just…try again…no, it’s no use - I can’t do it, i’m not strong enough!” Wailing theatrically, he holds you at arms length eyes scrunched up.

He’ll never admit it, but Eddie’s going all out to make you smile - showing a different side of himself, being a fool to try and put you at ease in a situation he knows you might find a little awkward. What you don’t know is that he means every damn word.

Looking at you really IS too much for him sometimes. He gets that full on ‘washing machine’ feeling in his stomach when you laugh at his stupid jokes, that spark of light in your eyes catching at his insides like a match striking fire against his ribcage.

You wriggle free, hands wrapping round the crook of his elbows and tugging firmly, bringing Eddie’s arms away from his face until he has no choice to look at you. Practically nose to nose, you’re met with a boyish grin that’s full of teeth and mischief.

“Sorry.” He whispers earnestly “Can’t help it…despite what you might think, having a pretty girl like you in the back of my van doesn’t actually happen very often.”

Your lips curve up at one side, head shaking as you click your tongue off your teeth slowly, eyes widening.

“Wow…”

“Wow, what?” He probes

“Well, here I was thinking you were Mr deep and meaningful this whole time. Brooding musician with mystery hiding under that dark surface - but it turns out…” you pinch his cheeks and place a gentle kiss to the tip of his nose “…you’re just a giant, grade A dork aren’t you?”

His head rests back against the van with a soft clunk, brow disappearing beneath his damp bangs as his head cocks to one side.

“Is that…going to be a problem?”

“It’s absolutely going to be a problem…” you nod, using a finger to brush hair from his eyes “…for me, that is”

“Yeah?”

He shifts to sit straighter, coaxing you to rest sideways between his legs. Eddie’s warm hand settling just above your knee - thumb stroking blissfully soft circles on the skin of your inner thigh.

“Yeah, unfortunately dorkiness is kinda like kryptonite to me."

"No kidding?" His face lowers, mouth brushing the apple of your cheek, free hand grazing idly up and down your back “That is indeed a sad misfortune”

"Mhmm. And now that we’re talking about it - I can actually feel myself becoming weaker by the second in your dorky presence…”

"Well, lucky for you I did a life-saving course one summer when i was 17, so i will happily provide mouth to mouth resuscitation if required."

He manoeuvres your positions so subtly, you don’t really register the movement until your back is suddenly pressed flush to his chest, the fiery warmth of his body engulfing every part of you.

“My hero…”

Your whisper is smothered, head turned by his grip as your lips meet his waiting mouth in a kiss so desperate, Eddie is utterly helpless in containing the moan that bubbles up from deep in his chest - entirely lost in the moment as rain continues to batter the roof of the van, a shroud of white noise cascading over your little shelter.

Slick lips glide and caress, tongues beg to be tasted. Eddie cups your chin, hand covering half your face to hold you still as he kisses you like his life depends on it.

He feels your body shiver as his fingers trace your throat, ghosting over the straps of your bra. Slotting a thumb under the elastic, he strokes along the top of your shoulder - never pushing too far, no matter how much he feels you start to become restless. Eddie needs you to know you’re still in control.

Wrenching away from his kiss with a whined plea of his name, you take him by surprise - grabbing his hand in desperation and slipping it into the front of your bra, a huff of hot air rushing from his nostrils tickling your skin when a pebbled nipple presses stiffly into his palm.

“Shit…” His voice rasps, like he’s just been forced to swallow a fistful of gravel.

Eddie’s eyes fall closed, trying to still the pounding of his heart, nose pressed into the crook of your neck, gently squeezing at the swell of your flesh while his bottom lip drags up the side of your throat, warm breath fanning the shell of your ear.

“You’re making it really difficult for me to remain a gentleman right now, you know that?”

Your hips press back against him in a way that has his whole body lurching forward, a hiss of air sucked through his teeth.

“Mm” He grunts “I need you tell me now if you want to stop, Sugar, because if you keep that up, I’m done for”

“Don’t want to stop, Eddie…”

His response to the urgency in your voice is another muttered curse and gentle pinch of your nipple, rolling the stiff peak between thumb and finger; electricity shooting straight to your core, nails digging into the skin of his thighs as every cell in your body throbs with need.

Letting his free hand skim over your stomach, he lingers to stroke patterns below your belly button until you whimper. Eddie toys with the hem of your underwear and you feel him smile against your skin when he reaches the heat building between your legs.

Dancing over the silky material, his middle finger traces along your clothed folds, soft sighs escaping your lips with every flick of his wrist. Teeth nip at your shoulder, Eddie keeping his movements precise and focused - stroking up and down, circling your clit with the perfect amount of gentle pressure, groaning out loud when feels you getting wetter.

Eddie is certain he has the perfect view, slouched forward with his chin tucked into the curve of your neck, looking down your body to see the way your legs have spread for him; parted at the hips, ankles draped over his shins. Seeing his own hand pleasuring you is something he’ll be committing to memory, along with the sound of your breath hitching when he uses his other hand to hook your underwear to one side.

You feel him swallow thickly, hear the click of his dry throat when he sees evidence of your arousal soaking through the material.

His fingers glide easily, you’re so warm and welcoming and needy. Eddie takes his time: stroking, caressing, building pressure until he finds the right combination of movement that has your hips bucking up into his hand with a breathy moan.

“Feel good, baby?”

You keen when he calls you that, nodding helplessly, clutching at his forearm with a whimpered confirmation. It spurs him on, the green light to dip a little lower and press teasingly at your opening.

“Ohmygod…”

The quiet gasp of your statement is punctuated by your head lolling back against Eddie’s solid shoulder, you melt against him like marshmallows turning into goo over a campfire while he groans at how tightly your body grips his fingers.

He coaxes you towards the cliff edge over and over, stroking in just the right spot to have you forgetting your own name as you repeat Eddie’s back to him like a treasured prayer.

Eddie circles you with his thumb at the same time and feels you start to tremble in his arms. He presses a string of sloppy kisses to your temple, a silent thank you for trusting him enough to be this close. It’s more than he could have ever hoped for.

•••

Heat spreads through your body, a raging wave of fire under your skin that engulfs everything in its path until there’s nothing left. You have nothing left, disintegrating as the power of your orgasm consumes you whole, surroundings blurred as white spots paint themselves behind your eyelids while praise is poured into your ear.

“Good girl. So damn beautiful…I got you”

Your body hums with an electrical current, brain incapable of focusing on anything as you struggle to get your eyes to work. Letting your head fall to the side, you lean into the warmth of Eddie’s lips on your skin and tuck your legs up towards your chest. His palms soothe goosebumps prickling at your flesh, letting you turn into the sticky heat of his body; arms wrapping you tightly into his space as if he can’t quite bear the thought of you leaving it just yet.

“I could stay like this all night” Eddie mumbles into your temple and you nod your agreement.

“Me too, although we’ve only got until…” your fingers glide down his arm, tugging the wrist that bears his Casio watch into vision “…SHIT!”

Scrambling to your feet, you wrestle your uniform over your head with a panicked string of expletives.

“My shift started ten minutes ago! Clyde’s gonna kill me”

“Damn, time sure does fly when you’re having fun” Eddie tugs his t-shirt back on with a barely disguised grin.

“Shit, shit - this is bad, Eddie! This is so damn bad!”

“And there I was thinking you enjoyed yourself…”

“What? No! I mean - yes, I did, and yes, it was…very good, actually - but that’s not the point!” you throw the still damp jeans into his bare chest with a comical ‘schlop’ sound and clamber into the front seats at breakneck speed.

“Don’t worry, Sugar,” Eddie throws himself head first over the top of the driver’s seat, hair flying wildly as he turns the key in the ignition “I think I’ve already proven I can get you there quickly…”

It’s the cockiness of his arched brow that has you aiming an empty cassette case towards his head, but Eddie’s cat like reflexes see it coming with an excellent forearm block. He catches you by the wrist and pulls you to him for one more lingering kiss, lips melting against you in a teasing apology. Pulling away with a boyish giggle, his hand comes down to rest on your thigh, fingers curling with a firm squeeze as the van tyres kick up a trail of gravel while speeding away from Lover’s Lake.

There’s that buzz again. That tingle of energy that seems to live inside you and vibrate through your bones whenever Eddie’s near. Even the thought of Clyde yelling at you all shift for being late doesn’t bother you so much anymore, nor does the idea of Shirley’s sour-puss face at your tardiness. They all just fade into background noise compared to the way he makes you feel.

So yeah, maybe you tell him to pull over half way into the drive and yeah, maybe you tuck yourself between his knees in the footwell and yeah, maybe you give him head at the side of the road that’s so messy and desperate his knuckles turn white when he grips the steering wheel above you.

And yeah, maybe it’s the way he looks down at you afterwards like you’ve just hung the moon while he runs his thumb along your slick bottom lip that finally makes you realise you might be falling in love…

•••

•••

•••

Thank you SO much for reading 🙏🏻

I’m committed to finishing their story, hopefully the next chapter won’t take me quite as long! 💛

[thechaoslibrarian]

relief

evan buckley x fem!reader

gif by @suledins

PSA IF YOU’RE A MINOR: GET THE FUCK OFF MY PORCH BEFORE I WHOOP YOUR ASS. THIS FIC IS STRICTLY 18+. I RESPECT YOUR BOUNDARIES, YOU RESPECT MINE.

word count: 6,568

warnings: nsfw 18+ only; swearing, inexperienced!reader, mentions of therapy/insecurities regarding inexperience, conversations about sex, heavy petting, fingering

synopsis: buck is a walking golden retriever. when he asks you out for the first time and begins to learn more about his arson-investigating coworker, it’s easy to say he puts that eagerness to use.

a/n: this is the very first smut fic i have EVER written (aside from some old old dirty nsfw headcanons). that being said, please bear with me, because this stuff is hard!! shoutout to all the wonderful writers who do this all the time because phew! 🤧 i am pretty happy with how this turned out, and i’m proud of myself for writing for a new character and trying something totally different from my norm! i had no plan of direction for this fic when i started it, but i hope the end result will resonate with some of you, and if it doesn’t, i still hope it gives you some good feelings and a little escape from this fuck ass world <33

————

Evan Buckley is a hellishly gorgeous man. Oftentimes, you have to remind yourself that he’s real—that he’s not some sort of mirage, a result of your constant sleep deprived state. He’s the kind of breathtaking that you find to be unfair.

You started working for the 118 as their house arson investigator three months ago. Captain Nash soothed every nerve you had going in, showing you to your quaint little office, introducing you to everyone else in the house. You’d definitely needed the comfort of that transition, but hadn’t expected your colleagues to be so welcoming. 

You were transferred as part of a greater Los Angeles initiative to create stronger communication and collaboration between the first responders and specialized investigators, as so much of their jobs go hand-in-hand. Although you’re pretty sure it’s only because the department heads get sick of answering follow-up questions about causes of fires—if people had insurance, if it was an accident or an attack, etc. 

So they split up you and the rest of your original team into varying firehouses so that there would always be an arson investigator on hand. And if there’s any foul play, then the police can be contacted quicker, as the investigator becomes a direct source to target those issues. You’d complain about all these silly loopholes if it weren’t for the fact that you’d gotten a pretty raise for your trouble. 

In truth, working with the 118 is the most useful you’ve felt in a long time. You know you’re good at your job, and you’d tell anyone who asked that you’ve done the work and you know that to be true. This opportunity has allowed you so much more field work than you could’ve imagined, which excites you. And there is the benefit of the eye-candy your coworker provides. 

Which is why, each time Buck approaches you, you have to blink a few times, press your nails into your palm, do something to ground yourself so that you might be able to carry on a conversation with him. Tonight though, he’s managed to sneak up on you, giving you no time to seem more like a sociable human being. 

“Hey, uh, you ever figure out the cause of that house fire from the other night?”

Buck is propped up against the door to your office, the air immediately responding to his presence, making everything feel lighter. 

You look up from your desk, huff out a breath to try and blow the hair away from your eyes. 

“Oh, hey, Buck. The house that the newlywed couple had just bought?”

Knowing him is enough to tell you that this particular fire would be the one to stick in his memory come week's end, the others being much too mundane for conversation.

Buck nods, a mischievous smirk appearing on his face. 

“Yeah, actually,” you say, encouraged to continue. “Turns out the couple started it without even realizing. They didn’t remember everything at first, but after going over there and questioning them some more, they finally pieced it together.”

Buck steps a little further into your office. You watch as he bends at the waist, hands coming to rest on one of the squishy chairs across from you. 

“How do you start a fire in your own house, and not notice?” he asks, that playful lilt to his voice reaching your ears. 

Your cheeks burn, a flush running through your body and turning you hot, head to toe. You tap your pen against your wrist. This isn’t usually the kind of information you’re excited to share with your coworkers—not that they wouldn’t be entertained by it. It’s that they’ll all be too entertained by it. 

“Well,” you cough, “turns out they were having a rather aggressive intimate moment and one thing led to another…” You trail off, hoping you won’t have to say it out loud. It was bad enough being in the room when they described their evening in detail, talking directly to one another like you really weren’t there.

Buck cocks his head at you, like a cat that’s just spotted a bug. “I don’t follow,” he says. His mouth quirks up the slightest bit at the corners. 

You inhale, mustering up enough courage to blurt it out before this becomes any more awkward than it has to be. 

“They were having sex in the kitchen and her ass bumped up against the stove top, turning on the burner. She’d grabbed onto a dish towel, for support or whatever, and when they moved it upstairs, she tossed the towel behind her and…”

“Neither of them noticed the fire because they were too caught up in the heat of the moment,” Buck finishes for you. 

You nod, sucking your teeth just slightly. “Yep. What’s worse is after spending an hour digging around and talking to them, the wife went ‘You know, now that you say all this, I do remember my bum feeling hotter than usual before we made it to the bed.’” You roll your eyes.

Buck drags his hands down his cheeks, straightening. There’s a smile on his face when he says, “Well, I guess they say love makes you do crazy things.”

“I suppose that’s one way to put it,” you say, laughing a little tensely. You chance a bit of eye contact with him, realizing he’d already been staring at you for who knows how long. “Was there anything else you needed? Or just curious about the local arsonists?”

Buck chuckles, turning his face away from you momentarily. 

“Actually, I was wondering if you’d want to go out for drinks tonight.” 

You glance at the clock on the upper right hand corner of your computer monitor. It reads 5:43. “Is it a special occasion or something? I feel like no one’s really done that since Chimney had a kid.”

Buck says your name. A knot forms in your throat. “I didn’t mean with everybody. I meant just the two of us.”

You blink. “Why?” You blurt out, the one syllable making you stutter.

His brows knit together. “Uh, so we can get to know each other better? I mean, I thought it was pretty obvious that I like you.”

You’re pretty sure steam might be coming out of your ears. “Um, well, I don’t like to assume. I mean, you’re a pretty flirty guy, you know?”

He says your name again as he plants his hands on your desk. Your pen falls out of your grasp. You’re mesmerized as you watch him pick it up and place it in the cup over to your left.

“This is Buck 3.0, remember? I don’t just flirt with anyone. Besides, flirting usually comes to me, what with being a sight for sore eyes and whatnot.”

You snort: this cute little laugh that comes straight from the back of your throat that Buck has grown to love. 

Buck decides not to rile you up anymore. “So, drinks or no? I definitely won’t cry myself to sleep tonight if you say no.”

You facepalm. “Yeah, alright. Filling my bloodstream with alcohol might be exactly what I need right now.”

————

Two cosmos in, and you’re feeling a lot better. You’re grateful for having kept a pair of jeans and a relatively-okay-for-going-out top in your locker, allowing you to look somewhat presentable enough to be so near Buck for an entire evening.

So far it’s been pleasant, the both of you making small talk, you showing him pictures of your cat and him listening intently to all the antics said cat gets up to during the night. 

You’re chewing on a bacon covered cheese fry when Buck speaks. “What did you mean earlier, when you said you didn’t like to assume? Like, not assuming a guy would be into you?”

You nod, pausing with your hand in front of your mouth while you swallow. “That’s exactly what I meant. This isn’t something that happens often.”

“You’re fuckin’ with me,” Buck says, taking another swig from his beer. If he’s not careful, he’s going to spill it down his shirtfront. 

Your chest thumps with self-deprecation, the voices from the sides of your head—the ones that create that pressure behind your eyes—telling you this might be a great moment to talk shit about yourself. To air out all your faults to this man you probably don’t even deserve to be sitting across from. God knows he won’t be interested when he really gets to know you. 

You inhale.

You’ve been in therapy long enough to know the power of positive thinking. You know that everyone is on a different, unique timeline—that things happen for everyone at different points in their lives. 

But being inexperienced in all aspects of the romantic world is something you’ve carried shame for practically your entire adult life. Only you promised yourself that you wouldn’t let it consume you anymore. It’s your life, and you have the ability to change the way you think. That doesn’t mean your body doesn’t still react, though, doesn’t still flush with anger at how your life has gone thus far, like your veins don’t thrum as you think of all the vile comments you could say about yourself, the ways you could punish yourself for being the odd one out. 

That’s why being approached by Buck in such a blunt, upfront way was such a shock to your system. That just doesn’t, or rather, it hasn’t ever happened to you. 

And with Buck being who he is, it felt like even more of a fever dream. You almost wanted to spin around and tell them to cut the cameras, the lenses zooming in on your face—mockumentary style. 

“I’m not though,” you say. “Guys don’t usually come up to me and ask me out on a date, or ask me anything really.”

Buck is staring at you intently, and you almost wonder if you went too far by calling this a date. 

“Are you for real?”

“Well, I wish you wouldn’t say it like that, but yeah. I guess there’s just something about me that’s not super alluring to most men? That’s why I was so surprised by you.”

He waves his hands around gently. “I didn’t mean it like a bad thing, I’m just having a hard time wrapping my head around that.”

You eat a few more cheese fries. “Why?”

He stutters for a few moments. “Because you’re just so…so perfect?” You snort, an air of sarcasm to it.  “Like, for one, you’re super hot. You’ve got this whole shy but totally badass vibe about you, and you’re passionate and great at what you do. I guess I just can’t fathom there not being a line of guys wanting to jump your bones if you’ll let them.”

You laugh. It makes Buck smile. 

“I appreciate that you think those things about me. For a long time, I thought that was pretty impossible. Guess when you go twenty four years without anyone actively pursuing you, you start to wonder.”

The table falls silent, and you finish your drink, thanking the waiter when he takes your empty glass, returning with a full cup of water for you.

“So, let me get this clear,” Buck says. Normally those words would freak you the fuck out, but you’re feeling a lot less tense now, less scared of talking about your situation. It’s not what you want, but it’s how it is. “No guy has ever asked you out. So you’ve never had a boyfriend? Never had a first kiss? Never had…sex? Or anything adjacent to it?”

“That’s right,” you say. “And the orgasms I’ve given myself don’t count towards the adjacent. So yeah, you’re right. It’s embarrassing, trust me, I know.”

Buck is still reeling from you saying the word orgasm out loud to him right now, not to mention the images flashing through his mind because of it. He pulls himself together. 

“It’s not embarrassing. Are you embarrassed by it?”

You clear your throat. “I’m certainly not happy about it. Honestly, I’ve spent a lot of time wondering what it is that I’m missing that makes me so behind everyone else. And I’ve spent a lot of time being angry at myself. But it’s not like I can force those things to happen for me, you know?”

Buck gives you this look, and you know exactly what he’s going to say. A small grin makes an appearance on your face. 

“Well, I mean, you could,” Buck says. “But I can see why you haven’t. In my experience, just hooking up with someone to get off, or just say you’ve done something, kinda makes you feel like shit.”

You wrap your hands around your cool glass, running your fingers up and down through the condensation. 

“Unfortunately, I’m also a hopeless romantic. So I’ve thought about just hooking up with someone so that I’m not a virgin anymore, but that’s not what I want. I want a proper relationship and someone that cares about me and wants to be with me. Seems that’s a lot to ask for though.”

Buck reaches across the table and sets his hand on your wrist. “Hey, no, it’s not a lot to ask for. And it’s not bad to be a hopeless romantic! Honestly, I think there are more people like that than we know, but they do whatever to fit in. I am sorry that you’ve felt like this is something to be ashamed of. I can’t imagine how that feels. But I also think it means any relationship you’d have would be more successful because you’ve got your shit together already.”

That makes you laugh, just a little, and Buck is immediately thrilled, fully taking your hand in his. You don’t even have it in you to argue with him. For once, you just listen and try to see yourself through his eyes. 

“Well, I do appreciate you saying all of that, Buck. It’s only that I’ve been patient for so long, and I’m starting to think being wanted isn’t in the cards for me.”

Your gaze has dropped to the glossy table in front of you. You can see the reflections from the overhead televisions, from other patrons walking by, waiters carrying trays of drinks. Buck squeezes your hand in a way that makes you lock eyes with him. 

“So…what is it you think this is then?”

You blink. You have absolutely no response in your brain that would be the appropriate answer for this question.

“You asked me out for drinks.”

His grip on your hand moves up to your wrist, and a shiver runs down your spine when you feel his thumb press into your pulse. This is the most contact you’ve ever had with a man. Suddenly you’re hyper-aware of his skin on yours, the feeling of his calloused palms, shockingly cool and free of sweat, much to the contrary of your own. Your heart begins to race when it finally catches up. Maybe it’s better that this is coming on so unexpectedly.

“And…” Buck says. 

You cough even though absolutely nothing is tickling your throat. “You said you wanted to get to know me better.”

If it’s possible, Buck’s smile gets bigger. “Because?”

“You said you liked me?”

“Atta girl!” He teases. A shock of heat shoots straight from your throat down to your low belly. You pray he can’t see it on your face. Luckily, he continues talking. “So, now that we’re clear on me having a thing for you, what would you like to do with that information?”

You take a quick sip of water, mouth suddenly dry. “Well, my immediate thought is that I should run away and hide because in my head, a potential relationship, or whatever, sounds great but right now? Right here with you touching my hand and looking at me? It sounds kind of terrifying.”

Buck starts with the reading again, sliding his thumb further up until it’s nestled in the center of your forearm. It makes you shiver and his eyes flash. 

“Sounds like we’ve gotta get you out of that head of yours and into the present.”

————

With therapy, you’ve gotten exponentially better at learning how to breathe, how to focus on what’s happening right now, so that you don’t spiral out of control just thinking about what might be happening in a few hours, days, weeks. Being more present is something you’ve learned. That is, in your daily life. But when you’re not used to interacting with men, these feelings are so strange, uncomfortable and scary. 

Your imagination can only take you so far, and you’re accustomed to those limitations. Not knowing what a kiss feels like, not knowing the feeling of anyone else’s touch but your own, not being able to properly picture what might happen to your mind and body when in physical contact with someone you want.

It’s both exciting—sitting here, in Buck’s Jeep, as he drives you home, imagining that those feelings might finally be attainable—and nerve wracking, because how does any of this really work?

Reading about relationships, hearing about your best friend’s escapades, watching a love scene on tv—it’s all different than really experiencing it. Truthfully, it feels like there’s a part of your brain focused on dissociating so that your heart doesn’t fall out of your ass or so that you don’t go into hiding before anything can happen.

By the time Buck pulls into your driveway, you’re feeling like hiding might be your safest bet.

He stops the car, turns off the engine. “Let me walk you to your door?”

You nod, unbuckling your seatbelt with shaky hands. 

Buck follows you up the short sidewalk and up to your little front porch. You both pause under your outside lights, listening to the sound of crickets screeching from the shrubs. He puts his hands in his pockets and starts to rock back and forth on the balls of his feet. 

“So, uh, you were kinda quiet on the way here…did I freak you out earlier? Because if I didn’t, I didn’t mean—”

“No!” you blurt. “You didn’t freak me out, you made me hopeful, actually, I think I’m just afraid of all that romantic stuff because I’ve never done it before…”

He smiles. “Well, yeah, of course it’s a little nerve wracking, but wouldn’t it make you happy to experience those things? Like say, a hug, for starters?”

“Are you trying to hug me right now?” You deadpan, though excitement is thrumming through your veins, blocking out any hesitance. 

“Well, actually, I was hoping to kiss you, but warm up to it first, you know?” Buck says, a teasing lilt to his voice, a naughty smirk playing on his lips. You wish there was another word for it, but there’s not. 

You freeze. Your face has got to be on fire. You bring your hands to your cheeks, covering yourself from his view. 

Buck chuckles. Loosely, he circles your wrists. “Hey, don’t hide. What’s wrong?”

You’ve glued your hands to your face. “You’re making me sweat, Buckley.”

If at all possible, this makes him smile bigger, laugh harder, insanely pleased with himself. You hear the rustling of his coat as he leans down, leveling his lips with the shell of your ear. “Is that such a bad thing?” he whispers. 

You pull away quickly, pointing an accusing finger at him. “Not fair!” you joke. “But, I would like a hug…”

At your consent, he’s on you immediately. If you thought he was big just looking at him, having his body pressed to yours, in the most beautiful bear hug embrace you’ve ever experienced, he seems impossibly huge. It makes it feel like you’re the only person in the world. He’s so warm, so solid. His arms are around your back. He’d helped guide yours around his neck, but you’re so dazed that you hadn’t noticed. 

God, he’s so tall. You can feel the soft of his tummy, and you’re afraid that if you stay like this for too long you won’t ever be able to get through another day without craving the contact. His hair is surprisingly smooth where you feel it against your cheek. His form practically swallows you whole. Not to mention how nice he smells. You’ve never been able to understand those lines in your romance novels, talking about spice and man and ginger whatever. But now you do. He smells like vanilla shampoo and woody body wash. 

“This is so nice,” you mumble into the side of his neck, way before you can talk yourself out of it. You can feel Buck’s laugh against your chest. It feels amazing. It’s like an out of body experience. 

He pulls back just enough so that he can look at you, but he doesn’t remove his arms, only shifts so that his hands are gently grasping your waist. You’ve never felt this way before—like all your nerves are being sent into overdrive. You’re alive with the smallest of touches. 

“I genuinely can’t fathom how any man has ever looked at you and not wanted to make you theirs on the spot. I could scoop you up and keep you all to myself right now.”

This time you manage to maintain eye contact with him. You grin, biting the inside of your lip. “Buck?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m feeling really brave right now so if you were serious about that kissing stuff, this might be the time to act.”

Buck tosses his head back, gleeful laughter filling the small space of your front porch. Even so, his hands move up to the sides of your neck, fingers warm against your skin. “You’re sure?” he asks, his thumb caressing your pulse. He feels a kick of cockiness knowing he’s done that to you. 

“I’m sure,” you say. Nod your head one firm time.

“Maybe your cheek first? As a warm up?”

You nod again. You’ve officially steeled yourself. Buck bends to meet you, tilting your head back just slightly so that he can reach you from a better angle. His hand cups the back of your neck as he presses his lips to your cheek. He’s so sure of himself, so passionate about this small thing, that it feels sensual. It puts you in a trance. His lips remain on your cheek for just a minute, the beginnings of stubble scratching at your skin. You have the urge to giggle like a frenzied teen.

“How was that?”

You bite your lip, hating the way you’re buzzing with adrenaline, filling with excitement at all these new sensations. But more so, you feel so special. So seen. You feel fuller than you ever have before at being treated so gently, being cherished and looked at like you’re this precious being. “I really, really liked it,” you tell him.

“Well, I’m glad.” He winks. “I did too.” He relishes in your little giggle. “How about a real one before we call it a night?”

You’re nodding again. “Yes. I would like that very much. I just want you to know that I might be really bad at it and I’m probably gonna embarrass myself and it’s probably going to be the worst, most awful kiss you’ve ever had and—”

Buck’s lips are on yours, successfully shutting you up. You squeak. 

In truth, it does feel pretty awkward for the first few seconds, buck Buck takes it in stride. Doesn’t make you feel uncomfortable, just takes what you’re giving him and guides you in a better direction. He tips your head back again, slotting his lips over yours and pressing himself to you. Your brain goes completely quiet. You can’t think or feel anything that isn’t Buck. This feeling spreads throughout your body, easing the ache in your chest, making you feel light on your toes.

Relief.

You admittedly have no idea what you’re doing but try your best to follow his lead, trying to kiss him back with as much passion as you’re feeling inside, tentatively threading your fingers through his hair, setting a hand on his chest. At one point, his tongue runs over your bottom lip and you shiver. Buck’s hand flies to the small of your back, keeping you grounded. You let it happen, curious as to how it might feel. You don’t have words. He licks into your mouth, and you giggle. It makes him smile and he separates from you long enough to enquire what’s got you laughing. 

“I just realized what people mean when a couple looks like they’re eating each other's faces. It’s really nice, actually. Not as gross as people make it out to be.”

Buck snorts. “Thanks for the compliment.”

“You’re welcome,” you say, already scrambling to get his mouth back on yours. He doesn’t feel like teasing, letting you pull him down, letting you try and lead this one. You’re so gentle—trying to figure out the right way, the way that works for the both of you, to kiss him. He likes that you treat him so carefully.

When you finally end the kiss, you break the silence created by an intense few minutes of eye contact. “Was I bad? You can tell me, I know I was a little clumsy at the least.”

“Nah, not bad,” Buck says. “You’re a quick learner. I enjoyed it. Ten out of ten, would do it again.”

“Me too. Practice makes perfect, right?”

————

For the past few weeks, things with Buck have been going well. Since that first night out, he’s prioritized getting to know you better, spending time with you that doesn’t revolve around a nasty fire and the plethora of causes it may or may not have had. Time that doesn’t allow for any of your coworkers to pick and tease. 

Buck is starting to feel like one of your best friends. That was cemented the night he watched you play Resident Evil 7: Biohazard, enraptured by how quickly you were solving the puzzles and taking down those grimy basement monsters that, frankly, scared the shit out of him. You only told him that you’d played at least four times at the end of the evening. But hey, all your romance novels have told you that the best relationships are based on solid friendships. 

You’ve had the opportunity to kiss him more, some of it sweet and exploratory, you being courageous enough to ask Buck how he likes to be kissed, if he likes it when you tug his hair, if there’s anything you can change or do differently. He’ll only answer those questions if you do first, telling him what’s working and what you want more of. As useful as all of this communication is, it was tremendously embarrassing to share your intimate thoughts with him at first. 

Some of the kissing has gotten a bit heavier. The first time you sat in his lap ran through your mind constantly for days after, appearing in your dreams, day and night. You couldn’t get over the way he felt beneath you—solid, warm, so real. How he sounded when he kissed you, how his hands felt on your hips and the curve of your ass. How it had felt when he’d encouraged you to grind against him for the first time. You hadn’t meant to moan, but it was like relief had shot through you. Like your imagination was finally getting to take a break because now you were actually doing the things you imagined. You felt so alive, so powerful, feeling him get hard between your legs, hearing the strain in his voice as he encouraged you to keep moving until you finished. 

Tonight is the first night of your long weekend. Neither of you have shifts for the next few days, and you took it upon yourself to ask if he’d like to stay over, maybe get takeout and watch a movie or something. It hadn’t been meant as a request with the hope that it would turn into something more. Frankly, you’ve been feeling more shy since that moment you shared a few weeks ago. 

You hadn’t expected to watch a movie in your bed instead of on the couch, hadn’t expected to pause it halfway through because Buck’s stare was practically burning a hole through the side of your head and you had to figure out what was up. 

“You’re staring, Buck. Is something wrong?”

He’d laughed. It was unlike a laugh you’d heard from him before. It felt sensual. It felt laced with want. 

“Nah, nothing’s wrong. I just can’t get you out of my head.”

Your eyebrows had bunched together. “But…I’m right here. Shouldn’t that help?” That laugh again. 

“That’s not what I mean, sweetheart. I mean that I can’t stop thinking about fucking you with my fingers.”

And that’s how you’d ended up on your back, head pressed to your pillows, with Buck hovering over you. He’s kissing you, dragging his tongue over the sides of your neck and kissing a trail back right back up. His hand is resting on your collarbone, fingers tilting you up to him.

“How’s this feel?” he asks, voice muffled against your shoulder. 

“G-good,” you manage. “Really good.”

He pulls back, sitting back on his knees and setting his hands on your thighs. “Yeah? You’ve been squirming an awful lot.”

The heat radiating off of you, the way you cover your mouth with the back of your hand is enough of a response. Buck doesn’t say anything more, the both of you sitting in silence for a few minutes. He knows you want to say something. But he won’t force it out of you. He’ll wait until you use your words. 

“Buck?” Your voice is a whisper. He hums. You clear your throat, and he bites his lip to hide the pride racing through him at knowing he’s got you all flustered. “What you said before, about touching me? I want you to do it.”

“Yeah?” His smile is so gorgeous, so cocky, and if you weren’t so dazed with lust you might reach out and smack him. 

“Yeah,” you say. You give him your best, pleading eyes. That’s the first time you’ve ever looked at him that way, and Buck knows that he’s gonna give in any time you do from here on out. He leans back down, kissing you again. You take one of his hands and bring it between your legs, encouraging him to cup you. “You’ve been kissin’ me like that for so long…already feel pretty wound up.”

He nudges your nose with his, a smirk playing on his lips. He sets his palm down against you, over your shorts. The heel digs into your clit and he starts rubbing you, slow, but firm enough that you gasp. Your hips buck.

“Honestly,” he says, “I’d thought about teasing you, but I feel like you deserve this, after all that patient waiting you’ve done. Is that what you want?”

His middle finger presses over your hole. You’re so warm. He can feel how damp you’ve gotten, that you’ve started to soak through your panties. 

“Please,” you breathe. “Want you to touch me, so bad, Buck.” You brace your hands on his shoulders, feeling like all this pent up sexual energy is just begging to come out. You feel feral. 

“Okay, baby, okay. Let me get your shorts off, alright?” He taps your hip and you lift up, letting him slide them down your legs.

“Oh, um,” he pauses, a concerned look on his face. “I just wanted to tell you, I-I haven’t shaved or anything. I mean, I trimmed like a week ago, but, if that bothers you, I-” 

“Hey, no big deal,” Buck says. “Doesn’t matter to me. Not ever gonna stop me from making my girl feel good.”

My girl. 

That alone felt like an orgasm.

He pulls your panties down, and you feel heat rising to your face when he marvels at how they stick to you. But the second Buck lays eyes on your perfect little pussy, he’s the one feeling dazed. 

“How no one has ever touched you like this…” He licks a stripe up your inner thigh. “How no one has ever told you how much they fucking want you, never fallen on their knees for you…” He spreads your legs farther, shamelessly trying to memorize every detail of you. “Is beyond me.” 

Buck sets his middle and ring finger on the hood of your clit, starting to rub you in slow, agonizing circles. 

“Because I feel like I could devour you right now.” 

Your feet slide up the bedsheets, legs bending at the knee and allowing Buck to get more comfortable as he settles between them. Buck sets his chin on top of your knee. He’s watching his own hand and how it moves over you. His left hand is pushing up your t-shirt just a little so that he’s massaging the fat of your hip. For a moment he pictures holding onto said hips while he fucks you for the first time, imagines what sounds you might make, and he has to keep himself from letting out a moan.

Buck slides his fingers down to circle your hole, reveling in how soft your skin is, how warm and messy and perfect. He gathers some of your arousal on the tips of his fingers, dragging it up through your lips and over your clit. 

“How’s that feel?” he asks. “Tell me what you need, and I’ll give it to you.”

You swallow hard, looking up at him. “Feels good. When you do t-that—jesus—the up and down? It’s so nice, but the circles, that’s what will get me to—” 

“That’s what’ll get you to come all over my fingers?” 

You moan. It’s high pitched and whiny, a sound you didn’t know you could make. You force the words out of your throat. “Yes.”

“You wanna take a finger now?” Buck kisses your knee. You’re pretty sure he’s sucked a hickey into the skin above it while you’ve been otherwise distracted. 

“Please, please, Buck, I need to know how it feels—fuck!”

Buck’s fingers are bigger than yours. Much bigger. The sight of him hovering above you, his eyes almost black, burning with desire for you, really does you in. He starts slow: a few soft thrusts of his finger rubbing your walls, exploring the inside of you. 

Then he curls his finger upwards. Your eyes roll back in your head and at the same time your body gives away how fucking turned on you are, how desperate you are for him—and it’s loud. 

You’re so wet that your pussy squelches. Something about that sound flips a switch in Buck, and you’re crying out as he adds a second finger, curling them both, clearly enjoying the filthy sounds you’re making. 

Buck pushes your knee down and away, settling completely beside you, propped up so he can see your face properly while he’s fingering you within an inch of your life. The way he’s looking at you tells you that he’s going to make you come soon. He’s making it a mission. He wants your orgasm as much as you do. He needs it.

“You’re so fucking wet, baby. ‘M so glad you let me help out this time. I bet you’ve spent so many nights spread out on this bed, fucking yourself, doing all the work alone.”

Buck’s fingers are making you brainless. You feel blissful, so serene, so calm, so fucking good. He keeps curling his fingers, scissoring them every once in a while. You want to tell him that you can’t usually come just from this, that you need external stimulation. You grab onto his bicep. 

“Yeah, yeah, Buck—I have. You’re takin’ such good care of me.” He slows down his ministrations, letting you take a breather. Letting you gather your thoughts before he pushes you over the edge. You cup his cheek, pull him down for a kiss. He’s practically got hearts in his eyes. 

“Need you to play with my clit, B-Buckley. W-won’t come without it. I wanna come.”

You look down, suddenly entranced by the way Buck’s fingers are moving inside you. He follows your gaze, chuckling to himself. “You like to watch, pretty girl? Guess next time I’ll have to get you a mirror.”

Buck pulls his fingers out of your pussy and you whine. You shiver. You feel so empty. But all is forgotten when he puts the very same fingers that were just inside of you into his mouth. He maintains eye contact with you while he sucks them clean. You moan, despite the fact that he’s not touching you. It’s just so fucking sexy.

His hand returns to your drenched skin, fingers pressing firmly against your clit. 

“Where’s that spot, huh?” he asks. “Show me where it feels the best.” You guide him, a little to your left, that spot on the hood of your clit, not directly on it where the stimulation will be too much, but the spot that has you arching your back, quite possibly more revved up than you ever have been before. 

Buck is quick to begin soothing those precise little circles again, a look of determination on his face. For a moment, neither of you say anything. There’s only the sound of your breathing, the wet, filthy sound of him rubbing at your clit.

That telltale heat spreads its way through your low belly, through the tops of your thighs, through your pelvis, up your spine. It’s right there, you think. 

“Fuck, I’m—” The words are barely out of your mouth by the time your orgasm washes over you, making the room go fuzzy, shrouding you in pure, thoughtless bliss. He fucks you through it, rubbing you until you’re twitching, successfully overstimulated. 

You lay there, covered in a sheen of sweat, attempting to restore your breathing to a normal rhythm when he comes back with a damp cloth. You’d been able to tell him where they were, tell him you could clean yourself up, but he insisted. He wipes you off, gets you clean underwear and a fresh t-shirt. 

You sit on the edge of your bed, taking in your surroundings, taking in your own feelings about what you’ve just done. You feel so nice. So special. Confident in yourself and your body. 

You feel happy. Having this little piece of you cared for so well doesn’t make you whole. You didn’t need the experience to feel complete, or like it made you normal. But you do feel powerful. This was just the icing on top of the cake. Something of a treat. You wish you could think of another way to put it, but you feel like a badass woman. 

Buck’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts. He bumps your shoulder. 

“I was gonna ask if you enjoyed yourself, but…I mean, I did kind of see that you did.”

You laugh, taking his hand in both of yours. “I did, Buck. I’m glad I got to do that with you. It was perfect for me.”

He shoots you a wink. “Good. And I did wanna preface that I’ll be here whenever you’re ready to do all the other stuff.” He watches the way your eyes crinkle up as you smile. 

“I look forward to doing all that other stuff with you. But for now…wanna have a sleepover?”

————

note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever don’t credit someone properly!

[thechaoslibrarian]

Please excuse me while I sob

this one is kinda angsty, but imagine Aaron and Reader are still kinda new (not even a year yet) and reader does something Hailey used to do all the time and Aaron (still grieving) just breaks down about it

-🗣️

flashbacks

aaron baby :( cw; fem!reader, established relationship, mentions of haley, references to the foyet arc, discussions of grief/death, food mentions, hurt to comfort <3, aaron cries :( wc; 1.4k

"Hi honey, welcome home."

"Hey," Aaron greeted you, confusion laced in his voice as his brows furrowed. "You're awake at this hour?"

It was about four in the morning, and the team had landed back in Quantico not even an hour ago. He had expected to come home to an asleep apartment, but found you fully awake, in the kitchen making something that smelled wonderful. Cinnamon, was it?

"Yeah, I couldn't sleep." You shrugged slightly, cracking an egg into a bowl and discarding the shell. "So I figured I'd make you a very early breakfast. I thought coming home to something warm would be nice." Glancing over your shoulder, you offered him a bright, kindhearted grin.

Aaron's mind immediately flashed to an image of Haley, the scene nearly identical. In her pjs, a dimly lit kitchen, the aroma of french toast drifting through the air. They'd both sit down to eat, Haley's lighthearted conversation pulling him from the case induced fog that always followed, until he felt like himself again. This was years ago, back when they were happy. Back before... everything.

It was like a smack to the face; the abruptness, the vividness, the grief took him completely by surprise. His whole upper body tensed up ; his chest was particularly tight, as if an exhale would break the barrier and a major flood would erupt.

"Aaron?" Your concerned voice pulled him from his thoughts.

"I'm not hungry."

That's not what he wanted to leave his mouth (he was also starving, in fact) but it was simpler. Horribly simpler by the look on your face that developed. Your expression dropped completely, cheeks warming from hurt and embarrassment.

You turned too late to hide it, beginning to tie up the bread. "Okay, that's fine."

"No that's not what I... shit." He mumbled under his breath, raising his hand to momentarily cover his face. Your wavering, not-sounding-like-you voice shattered his heart profusely more.

He was awful. Awful awful awful.

"It's no big deal, really," you insisted, your tone borderline high-pitched as you forced normalcy. "It was silly of me to assume-"

The very last thing he wanted was to push you away. To make you feel forgotten. Unwanted. In which from previous experience, he was evidently an expert in. He couldn't make the same mistake twice - he couldn't lose you too, by plain idiocy.

"Haley..." he began to explain, taking a deep breath and using it to open up the broken part of his heart - the one he purposely kept hidden away. He also didn't want to deny you any part of it; it was clear you loved him with all of yours, and you deserved to know all depths of his. "She used to do this for me whenever I got home from a case late."

Any short lived walls were dropped, and you faced him with slight horror, now fully aware of what you had done. "She did?"

Aaron met your eyes, nodding silently.

"I'm..." Lost for words, you urgently walked towards him, frazzled yourself. "I'm so, so sorry."

"You didn't know. I mean, how could you." Aaron shook his head, forcing an apologetic smile. He sat down at the table, his back hitting the chair defeatedly. "I didn't mean to be so harsh. It caught me off guard. I'm sorry sweetheart."

"I can only imagine." You dropped onto his lap, looping your arms around his neck. You felt horrible, greeting him with anguish rather than the warmth you had intended, especially after a long, grueling case.

"I didn't expect the memory to be so..." He searched for a word, ultimately failing as his chest rattled slightly.

"Grief is unexpected. It has its ways of sneaking up on you," you consoled softly. "It's okay."

"Yeah, but..." Aaron sighed, looking down with intent to gather his thoughts, if the deep line drawn in his eyebrows was anything to go by. Your fingers ran through the nape of his hair soothingly, an indication he could open up. You were here to listen.

"I feel bad grieving. As if I don't have the place to. I mean, I'm the reason she's well..." Dead. Even more images flashed through his mind, specifically ones of high school Haley: auditioning for Pirates of Penzance just to find the excuse to talk to her, the initial puppy love, the certainty they'd found their person. It made him sick to his stomach. She was so young, so full of life, and she made the deadly mistake of falling for him. "Not here."

"It's not your fault."

"I'm the one who-"

"No, you're not." As he raised his head to look at you, the tears he didn't know had escaped trailed down his cheeks. "Aaron, honey. That man," Your teeth clenched. You didn't want to say his name, knowing what he did to Aaron. The scars he caused, the very ones you saw Aaron glare at in the mirror while shirtless. The terror he caused Haley before taking her life. And Jack, too young to understand why he'd never see his mom again, "Is the only one responsible for what happened. You did everything you could."

"I let her down." He'd never forget Haley's voice during that phone call - the panic as she realized who she had encountered. He had failed her, he had failed to protect their family.

"No, you didn't. And in terms of the present too, you're still aren't." You breathed out softly, sympathetic. "Please, don't blame yourself. I know it's easy to, but it's unfair. And I'm certain Haley would agree."

You tightened your grip around him, pulling him closer with all your strength, as if doing so would alleviate some of his sadness. More than anything, you wished you could absorb some of his pain. You'd gladly take it and more, if that meant relief on his end.

And the two of you stayed like that for a while. Aaron pressed his face into your neck - savoring your warmth, your presence, that you were here with him. He never thought he'd find love again, let alone someone would love him. You were the sweetest miracle he could imagine.

"Thank you," he mumbled into your skin, closing his eyes.

"No need to thank me," Aaron pulled back as you spoke, opting to give you a kiss. "I'll always be here for you."

"I didn't mean to sound ungrateful before."

"I know you didn't," you graced him with another kiss. "And I understand. Moments like that will come and go, they most likely always will. I'm willing to help you through them."

He offered you a gentle smile, his sweet brown eyes relieved but sad.

You reached up, brushing back the cowlicks lazily draped over his forehead. "Tell me about her."

"Hm?"

The subject of Haley had never been forbidden - you wanted to keep her memory alive, for both Aaron and Jack. She played a huge part in both their lives, shaping who they had become. But you were always hesitant, not wanting to bring up the painful memories.

Aaron and yourself were a few days shy of your six month anniversary. But within that first month, in your heart you made her the promise to look after the two of them. You only hoped she somehow approved of you.

And talking openly about Haley could do wonders for him - helping the ongoing grieving process.

"Tell me about her." You used the pad of your thumb, to wipe away his stray tears. "Did she do it after every case?"

"Almost," Aaron chuckled, adjusting his seated position to get more comfortable, his hold on you not daring to lessen. "Sometimes my 'I'm almost home' message would wake her up, and she wouldn't be able to go back to sleep afterwards. I think that's what started it, but she also had trouble sleeping early on when I wasn't home." His thumb causally brushed against your hip bone as he reminisced. "Plus she would get on my ass for all the takeout I'd eat while away. She made sure to sneak some fruit onto my plate."

You couldn't help but laugh, offering an encouraging, soft smile. "She sounds sweet."

"Yeah..." Aaron sniffled lightly, a wistful smile tugging at his lips. There was a tenderness in his gaze, a warmth that wasn’t overshadowed by grief, but rather carried a sense of nostalgic, loving fondness; a ghost of the past. "She was."

"Tell me more." Before he could even begin, he was interrupted by a small grumble of his stomach. Your nose scrunched in amusement, a giggle escaping you. "Hungry?"

"Starving."