Abbott Junior (Nickname)

“Now,” you mumble, feeling his hard cock twitch in your hand, catching some of the precum on his tip before bringing it to your lips.

“Yes, ma’am,” he whispers, his voice breaking as he watches your lips close around your finger. His mouth twitches, but whatever smart-ass comment he had ready dies before it makes it past his lips.

Beau plunges two fingers into your soaked core, making your head sink back into the pillow as he presses kisses across your chest and starts fucking his hand into you.

He doesn’t stay there long—his mouth trails lower and lower down your body until your heart is pounding in anticipation.

Your legs instinctively start to draw together, but Beau catches your thighs in his hands and pushes them back against his mattress, holding you open while he looks down between them.

You gasp when he spits, the wetness sliding over your pussy before he leans closer, the warmth of his breath brushing over you.

His big biceps and thick shoulders flex from the angle of his body—his hands keeping your thighs spread while his eyes stay locked on yours from between your legs as he gives you one long, teasing lick.

“Holy shit,” you moan, and Beau barely gives you time to recover before his arms wrap around your thighs and pull you closer, burying himself between your legs.

Beau kisses your clit before sucking hard, making your fingers lace into his hair and tug at the roots, guiding him closer. He moans into you at the pull, the vibration making your eyes roll back as your hips press helplessly toward his mouth.

“Ride it, baby,” he hums, his voice barely audible over your breathing as he begs you to move your hips, so you do, grinding your pussy up into his face as he groans at the taste—his hips rutting into the mattress for relief.

“Beau, fuck,” you squeal, hips bucking off the bed when he drops one arm and pushes two thick fingers back inside you without taking his mouth away.

Your heart starts to race as the pleasure builds fast—the wet sounds of his mouth on your pussy filling the room while his fingers curl inside you.

“I’m close,” you whimper, and Beau groans against you.

“Fuckin’ cum around my tongue,” he mutters, voice deep and husky before his tongue slips lower and pushes through your entrance. His greedy fingers move up to your clit instead, rubbing so quickly that your hands slap against the mattress before fisting the sheets beneath you.

Beau’s name tears from your lips as you flutter around his tongue, your vision blurring at the edges while your ears start to ring.

You tremble against his hold when it becomes too much, but Beau only pulls you closer, tongue and fingers working you through every last second of your orgasm until hot tears slip from the corners of your eyes and disappear into his sheets.

“That’s my baby,” he mumbles, pressing teasing little kisses against your clit and watching your body jump with every touch.

“Beau…” you whimper, finally managing to look down at him.

He lifts his eyes to yours and smiles, lips glistening with your slick as he presses another kiss against your inner thigh. “Yeah, pretty?”

“Fucking kiss me.”

That makes him pause, head tilting.

"Does it turn you on? To know I'll wreck you? You want it that bad?"

Behind his mocking words is the concern, the real warning that he's not just Peter Parker anymore. Still, it sends a rush through you. Your hands curve around his arms, nails digging deep into the bruises and cuts that litter them.

"I can take it."

"Can you?"

Pulling his fingers out of you, he runs his thumb through your slick folds. A sharp hiss leaves your mouth as he presses down on your clit. You're already so swollen there, but yet you beg for more.

His eyes flick up to your face as he drags his thumb across your lower lip. Lips parting, you suck his thumb in, tasting yourself on him.

"Please."

The word is so simple, yet it makes his whole-body tense. His blacked-out eyes match your own, pupils dark and dilated with desire.

"Turn over," he says, voice rough.

A sound of absolute glee tears out of you. You wiggle out from beneath him and turn. Pressing your face and chest into the mattress, you raise your hips, pushing your ass high into the air.

Behind you, Peter groans. His hands run along the skin of your thighs and up to your ass before he spreads your cheeks. He blows gently, the cold air against you making your hole clench.

"OH~," you whine, waving your ass in the air.

The chuckle that slips out of him is low and degrading. His fingers dig into the plush skin of your ass.

"I'll give you what you want, pretty girl."

Instead, he does anything but. He rubs his leaking tip across the backs of your thighs, leaving a trail of sticky precum there; he taps his dick against your back; he presses a hand between your shoulder blades, pushing you further into the bed.

"Pe-."

The rest of your plea dies out into a groan as he finally finally drags the head of dick through your folds. He lets the tip catch against your hole once, then twice, before pushing in.

Even just the tip of him provides a delicious stretch, the pressure of his thick dick sliding in has your hands gripping the sheets, a muffled whimper disappearing into the mattress.

Peter's cruel with it though, only giving you the tip before he pulls out again.

"Peter."

"Mhm?"

"Peter!"

He pushes in again, tip pushing through your desperate hole.

Despite the thread of control being loosened, he still pushes into you at a devastatingly slow pace. Inch by inch, he buries himself deeper, revelling as your breath turns to quick pants.

"Feel s-so-sooo good," you moan, "I love this, I love you."

Peter's hips snap into yours then, his balls swinging. You clench around him, your walls moulding around every ridge and vein of his dick.

"You're choking me," he grunts out, holding himself in you. "Gonna keep me buried here forever, baby?"

"If I can," you respond with another purposeful clench.

The sound of his soft chuckle tingles under your skin, somehow sending more heat to pool in your belly.

Peter starts moving then, the pace immediately unrelenting. Each pound into you has your tits swinging and the headboard banging against the wall.

"So warm. So wet. Sooo needy." His voice shakes at every snap of his hips into you. "You're so good."

The praise makes the noises that leaves your lips grow louder. You push back into him, ass cheeks meeting his hips with loud slaps.

"Keep...going...Pe...Peter...yeah...fucking...me...so...good,” you gasp after every thrust.  

Grunting, he grips your ass tighter, spreading your cheeks as he watches himself disappear within you, his dick covered in your juices.

All other sounds in the room disappear. His senses focus on your laboured breathing, skin slapping on skin, and the squelch as his dick easily glides through your slickness.

The musky scent of sex and the smell that is so you overpowers him. His thrusts grow erratic, his curved dick hitting something deep and spongey inside of you.

One hand reaches between you, calloused fingers circling your swollen clit. The pleasure hits you so hard it borders on pain. You twist away from it.

"Fuck!" You cried.

"Aww," he coos without an inch of sympathy, "what happened to 'I can handle it.' 'I can take it.' 'Please.'"

It should have felt degrading, but instead it makes your chest swell with misplaced pride.

"I can," you promise. "For you."

"Good."

Your eyes flutter shut, mouth hanging open and humiliating little whines escaping your throat as he continues thrusting into you. His fingers press harder against your clit.

The orgasm hits you unexpectedly this time, flowing through your body in uncontrollable waves. You squeeze your eyes shut, tears pricking at the corner of them.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." He repeats your name like a mantra as your walls flutter around him.

"Fill me up," you beg, thighs still shaking. "Wanna feel you paint me white."

There's barely a few more hard thrusts before Peter groans deeply and buries himself balls deep in you. Your strength gives out, but he holds you in place as he shoots warm cum into you.

Waves of ropey cum sticks to your walls, filling you to the brim. He keeps rutting into you until his dick starts to soften.

It's not until he's completely spent does he pull out of you with a soft hiss. Without him holding you up, you fall forward onto the mattress.

A soft and content smile crosses your lips, even as his thick cum leaks out and pools on the mattress below you.

Peter collapses on the bed next to you. Your gaze runs over him; his damp hair that sticks to his forehead; his lips that are still swollen from your kisses earlier; his neck that's littered with your bite marks; and his chest, that rises and falls as he tries to bring his breathing under control.

His eyes visibly soften as he watches you watch him, the soft brown peeking out as it clears of the black.

"Are you okay?"

"More than okay."

He leans forward, kissing your forehead, and then the tip of your nose, and then the corner of your mouth.

The gesture is too sweet for the man he was a couple of seconds ago. But, that's Peter. Your Peter.

You giggle against his lips, the sound bright and airy. Your fingers trail down his neck, along his shoulders, and down to his chest. He hums approvingly as you press your thumb into one of the bruises there.

"Don't start something you can't finish," he breaths, pressing his chest into your thumb.

You raise one eyebrow, rising to the obvious challenge. "Bring it."

"I fucking love you," he sighs, pulling you in to his arms.

The first time you read it, you laughed, just your luck to find someone crazy enough to think that they were Spider-Man.

But the more you read over how he recalled your time together, the more you saw the small, intimate details of yourself that you barely noticed yourself. Little things that no stranger could have known.

And suddenly, it all made sense. The headaches, the images you couldn't place, the empty feeling in your chest.

He knew you, and you had known him.

Another knock.

You drew in a shaky breath, shaking your head as if that could clear your thoughts, and finally stood. The apartment felt too quiet without MJ and Ned here, but they couldn't be here for this conversation. Not for this.

Making your way towards the door, each reluctant step seemed to echo through the silence. By the time you reached it, your heart was beating so hard you could feel it in your throat. You paused, hand hovering over the handle.

For a brief, immature, second, you considered pretending you weren't home. But, if he really was Spider-Man, he'd probably be able to hear you anyway.

So, you opened the door.

Peter stood in the hallway, one hand tucked in his pocket while the other clutched a flower bouquet, your favourite flowers.

His eyes softened the second they found you, the nerves in his face melting into something warm and familiar. It was a reaction that had your stomach turning.

"Hey," he said, letting out a long breath. "I'm sorry I'm late. I-"

His voice cut off when his eyes dropped to the jacket in your hands. You were shaking, fingers curled tightly around the fabric. His gaze moved back up to your face, brows furrowing at the glassy look in your eyes.

"Are you okay?"

"You left something in the pocket."

Peter's expression changed, the realisation hitting his chest deep and immediate.

"I'm sorry."

The apology came so fast it almost felt like a reflex.

You pulled the letter free.

"Is it true?" You raised the letter between you both. "Or are you just crazy?"

In this moment, you weren't sure which option you would have preferred.

His head dropped, brown curls falling over his forehead.

"Yes."

"Prove it."

"What?"

"Prove to me that you're who you say you are here." You waved the letter at him.

Peter looked around the hallway before there was a sharp thwip, a web shooting from his wrist and hitting the kitchen counter behind you.

You stared at it for longer than should have been necessary for your brain to process. Every word in that letter was real.

"Oh my god."

The tears begun welling in your eyes so fast it nearly startled you, blurring the edges of his face.

"Take it," you huffed, pushing the jacket and letter into his hands before turning on your heel.

"Wait," he called behind you.

The door closed softly as he followed you into the apartment. He set the things down on the kitchen counter before following you deeper into the room.

"I'm sorry."

"You wanted me to find it?"

"No," he said, holding his hands up, eyes immediately pleading. "I swear, I- I- forgot it was in there."

You let out a laugh so sharp that it barely sounded like one. "You expect me to believe that?"

His eyes fixed on the letter on the counter.

He said your name in a way that was too familiar, too strained, as if you'd had arguments before and he knew how to plead with you. You had, you supposed.

"I'm really sorry."

You whirled around to face him so fast that you felt slightly dizzy. "I don't really need you to keep telling me that you're sorry."

"What do you need?" He asked, moving closer. "Anything, please?"

"I need you to tell me why you'd do this to me."

Peter blinked, caught off guard. His mouth opened and closed as he searched for the right words.

"I lost someone," he said finally. "Someone close to me and it was my fault. I couldn't- I couldn't have that happen to you. I couldn't lose you."

The way he looked at you, genuine and pleading, made your head swim.

You pressed the palms of your hands to your face, willing the stupid tears to go away. It only made it worse, your palms becoming damp as your breathing turned uneven. "That wasn't your choice to make."

"I know."

"Then why did you make it?" Your voice rose and cracked all at the same time.

"I'm sor-." He stopped himself, swallowing. "Because I thought it would be best. And I tried to live my life without you but I can't. I love you. So bad that you're all I think about every day."

Your weight shifted to the other foot. It was hard enough to believe that some guy named Peter loved you, but trying to process the hero Spider-Man telling you he couldn't live his life without you felt all too much.

"Okay." Was all you could say.

He shoved his hands into his pockets; eyes fixed on a spot on the floor.

It took some time before you could find your voice again.

"When you did whatever you did, did I know that I would lose you?"

"Yes."

"And did I ask you to make me remember you?" When nothing came out of his mouth, you knew the answer. Your throat tightened, the words catching painfully as you continued to press. "I feel like if we were as in love as you said we were, I would have asked you to make me remember you. Did I?"

"You did."

"And did you say you would?"

"I did."

At least he had the decency to sound guilty. He continued actively avoiding looking at you.

"How long?"

"What?"

"How long did you keep this from me? How long did you lie to me?"

"Four years."

Something in your chest pulled tight. Four years. For four years he was alone, no Ned, no MJ, no you.

And some small, bewildering part of you wanted to reach out, to pull him into your arms and wipe away the tears that had collected on his face, because seeing him cry felt wrong in a way you couldn't explain.

But the other, stronger, part of you broke down. He had lied to you for four years.

The tears ran freely down Peter's face. "I was trying to protect you."

You swallowed against the ache in your throat. "Protecting me isn't the same as choosing for me."

The sob wracked through you before you could stop it. Peter rushed forward, stopping just before you, his arms opening instinctively.

"Can I?"

"No," you cried. "I don't know you."

The words came out as bitter and cold as you meant them, but when Peter flinched, you immediately wanted to take them back.

"I understand." He stepped back, arms dropping to his sides. "I should go, then?"

He turned slowly, moving slowly to the door as if he could slow down time.

"Peter," you called as his hand hovered over the door handle. You didn't want him to leave just yet.

When he turned back, his face was full of hope, and something horrible twisted beneath your ribs at the sight of it.

"What were the last four years like for you?"

"Lonely," he admits, a laugh that's not really a laugh escaping him.

You nod through the tears, shoulders rising with a shaky breath.

"I know why you did what you did. And I'm grateful that you loved me enough to do something unselfish."

"Love," he mumbled.

You ignored that. "Would you like to say hi to Ned and MJ?"

He looked up at you. "Really? Yeah, I'd love that."

"Maybe not today, we're kind of..." You gestured between the two of you. His face was red and puffy from the tears, and yours probably looked the same, lips raw where you'd been chewing on them.

"Thank you." He turned to leave again before stopping. "Can I ask you something selfish?"

"Yes."

"I know you don't remember me, but could you think about it? About me?"

You looked at him for a long moment, dried tears staining your face.

"I'll try."

taglist: @anglheartz

Logan turned toward you, and you immediately had to remind yourself to look anywhere but at him. His towel was loosely wrapped around his waist, his skin still warm and damp from the shower. Your eyes betrayed you anyway, following the trail of dark hair disappearing beneath the towel.

He noticed, of course, tracking your gaze with a smug smirk.

Grabbing you by the waistband of your trousers, he tugged you toward him. Whatever trace of Garrett he'd been trying to channel disappeared instantly. The grin that curled across his face was all Logan as he ducked his head and kissed you.

"Ew, no, Logan, you're wet," you laughed, smacking his chest as his damp skin pressed against your clothes.

"Now, if I was Garrett, I'd say something dumb like, 'You're gonna be wet soon.'" He paused, fighting a grin. "But I'm not, so I won't."

He planted one more quick kiss against your lips, his still damp hair dripping onto your top.

"Okay, Garrett," you said, wiping at the wet spot on your shirt. "We're going to be late if you keep that up."

"Fine, fine."

You reached for the bottle of TRESemmé curl cream sitting beside the sink and squeezed a little into your palm. You rubbed it between your hands before rising onto your tiptoes.

"Hold still."

"I'm holding."

"You're literally moving."

"That's actually called breathing."

You poked the side of his ribs. "That's not what I meant. Now, head down."

He obeyed immediately, ducking his head until his forehead nearly touched your shoulder.

“Good boy.”

Looking up at you through his lashes, another slow smirk spread across his face. “Careful.”

There was something about the way he said it that made the bathroom suddenly feel even hotter.

You worked the product carefully through his hair, separating the curls with your fingers before scrunching the ends upward and letting them spring back into place. Logan watched you through the mirror, occasionally making faces at himself whenever he caught your eye.

Ever couple of seconds, Logan would alternate between snaking his wet palms around your waist to tickle your skin and loudly shouting 'Garrett~', the word echoing in the bathroom.

It took approximately three Garrett's before you completely lost focus.

"Logan."

"Garrett."

"Logan, stop."

"Garrett, stop."

You swatted at him, laughing as he dodged your hand.

By the time you reached for the diffuser, Logan was mostly dry but no less fidgety. He eyed it suspiciously.

"What is that?"

"A diffuser."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"Garrett," you said, emphasising this t. "Do you want the curls to stay or not?"

He pursed his lips and squinted at you, clearly weighing his options. "Whatever you say, Wellsey."

"You're so annoying," You giggled.

The warm hum filled the bathroom as it came to life. Logan leaned down slightly so you could reach, and you carefully gathered sections of his hair, scrunching the curls beneath the heat without disturbing their shape.

For once, he actually managed to stay still. Mostly.

The sudden silence when you switched the diffuser off almost made the bathroom feel too quiet. You stepped back to admire your handiwork. "Oh, that's hot."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He turned toward the mirror, running his fingers through the air just above his hair without actually touching it.

Somehow, the curls had unlocked a whole new side of him. The cocky athlete, the smug grin, the effortless confidence. It was annoyingly convincing.

"How hot?"

"Keep it in your pants big boy," you laughed, patting his shoulder. "You've been talking about this for weeks. We're going."

"You're no fun," he huffed.

You rolled your eyes and walked toward the door.

"Tucker, where we at with the outfit?" you shouted down the hallway.

"COMING!"

Clearly, Tucker took the 'Becoming Garrett' assignment almost as seriously as he took the Friendsgiving meal prep. He came running out of Garrett's room with an armful of clothes, nearly crashing into the doorframe before catching himself.

There were folded shirts stacked precariously beneath his chin, a pair of joggers draped over one shoulder, and what appeared to be three different pairs of shoes dangling from one hand.

"I have options," he announced breathlessly.

Logan stared at him. "Why do you have that many?"

"Preparation is key."

You leant against the doorframe, watching as Tucker became increasingly invested in the transformation.

"Black shirt," he decided finally, tossing one at Logan. "Those joggers. Chain. Sunglasses."

Logan caught the clothes flying at him.

Half an hour later, Logan stood in front of the mirror in full method actor mode, sliding a pair of black sunglasses onto his face.

──────────⋆꙳⛸❅*──────────

The walk over to the athletics hall was considerably less dignified than Logan's new persona suggested. As the three of you made your way across campus, Tucker gave him last minute pointers.

"Remember, Garrett's confident."

"I know."

"Like, stupidly confident."

"I know."

"Don't smile too much."

"I know."

"Actually, don't talk unless you have to."

Logan stopped walking. "Tucker."

"That was so Garrett," you laughed at the same time as Tucker said, "Actual chills."

The athletics hall was already buzzing by the time you reached there. Students gathered around the entrance, drawn by the promise of free booze and stupid entertainment.

You bit your lip as you walked over to where Dean, Allie, Hannah, and Garrett were standing.

"Can someone explain what the fuck are we doing here?" Dean asked.

"I second that," Garrett said.

Allie and Hannah, meanwhile, were already giggling. When you caught Hannah's eye, she glanced around theatrically.

"Wait." Everyone looked at her. "Where's Garrett?"

"You're right," you gasped, looking around just as dramatically. "Where is he?"

Dean's eyebrows lifted.

Right on cue, Logan stepped out from his hiding place.

Shoulders back. Chin slightly lifted. Sunglasses firmly in place. His curls bounced with every step as he strutted over. He wore the kind of smug expression that could only have been practiced in a mirror.

"For fuck’s sake," Garrett sighed.

Hannah pressed her lips together, fighting the laughter that she knew Garrett would disapprove of.

Allie and Dean didn't offer him that grace, doubling over in the kind of laughter that even had the corner of Garrett's lips twitching.

"Stand next to each other," Dean laughed, already pulling out his phone to snap pictures.

"Why are you wearing my clothes, man."

"Why are you wearing my clothes, man," Logan drawled, mimicking Garrett's voice.

Garrett sighed deeply and rubbed both hands over his face. "I hate all of you."

“he’s coming, honey,” you smile, sliding off the couch to lean against the foot of it, tugging her closer to play between your legs. she lets out a little sound.

then, the lock in the door jingles, and she looks at you again, trying to read your expression. you smile. she smiles, then giggles, then squeals, as the door pushes open.

jack can’t even get a word out before your daughter pushes herself up (a little unsteadily, but she’s got the spirit) onto her two legs and hurriedly waddles over to her father, little arms stretched upward as she calls for him in a series of excited babbles. “papa, papa, papa.”

“hey, buggy,” jack grins. he may’ve just worked a twelve hour shift. he may be tired as hell, in desperate need of a good, long shower and an even better, longer sleep, but his baby’s here. and twelve hours is a much, much bigger fraction of her life than it could ever be his, and so he picks her up with a playful growl, her happy squeals filling the room. “missed your papa, huh? yeah?”

he sends you a look, brows wiggling in that still-present playfulness, as he carries your giggling daughter towards where you now stand. turns his body so that he can give you a proper kiss, freeing up his hand to cup the back of your neck.

“morning, baby,” he murmurs into your temple, allowing himself to sound just a little closer to how tired he actually is when he speaks to you.

“morning,” you smile, as you spot the way your daughter’s started gnawing on jack’s shoulder, presumably trying to get all the way into to his heart. it’s working.

jack chuckles, pulling her away just to hold her up in the air, bouncing her. “she been good?”

“mhm,” you nod. he turns to you.

“you sleep okay?”

again, you nod, pressing another kiss to his cheek. he hums contentedly, seemingly unbothered with the way your daughter tries to climb up his shoulders, only keeping a hand on her back to steady her and hold her in place.

“papa, come. trains, papa.” she babbles, one pudgy hand curled into his scrubs. “off-shoes, papa, play.”

jack chuckles, ever-fondly, as he sets your daughter down at his feet. he looks up at you, musing, “off-shoes, she says,” as he toes his boots off. you simply smile, watching him crouch down onto the floor. she waits, once he’s settled, and climbs into his lap.

coming up to him, you lean over to press a kiss to his cheek. “i have breakfast for you,” you murmur, and he groans in delight.

“that’s perfect,” he murmurs, as your daughter continues to babble in his lap. “i can get it myself, don’t you worry about it.” he smiles, wrapping his free hand around your wrist to pull you down with him. “come sit.”

of course, you do, resting your cheek on his shoulder as the two of you watch your daughter with adoration, at the way she coos and babbles all on her own with the good handful of words she’s learned.

“good day?” you ask, softly, fixing your gaze on his side profile, silver stubble white under sunlight.

“eh. you know how it goes,” he shrugs, with a light sigh. “better than—no, buggy, i know. papa’s got the red train. blue one’s all yours.” he smiles, unable to stop himself from pressing a firm kiss to her head. he returns his focus to you, resting the hand that isn’t securing your daughter to his lap on your thigh, giving it a squeeze. “better than yesterday, for sure,” he finishes his interrupted sentence.

“that’s good,” you smile, rubbing a circle into his back. you press another kiss to his cheek. he returns it with one to yours, but before either of you can do anything else, your darling little toddler seems to have noticed the sharing of affection, and clearly wants in.

she twists around in jack’s lap, almost fussing as she pushes herself onto her feet and clenches her fists into jack’s scrubs. brows furrowed, like they tend to be, as she babbles, “buggy turn. papa kiss. mama—mama kiss,” her head flicking between the two of you.

jack laughs, loud and loving, as he holds your daughter closer to him, pressing a firm kiss to her squishy cheek. she bursts into giggles, leaning back against his arm, her chubby hand flying to her cheek. she turns to you next, and you oblige her, pressing your lips to her other cheek, to which she offers the same reaction.

cupping both hands over her lips, she blows both of you kisses (a fancy new trick she’d learned from you), then plops herself back in jack’s lap. clearly having received sufficient attention for the time being, she returns to playing with her train set — but not without the occasional order given to her father here and there. a future attending, jack jokes. you don’t tell him then, but he might be right.

You smiled. "You didn't have to."

Which he just shrugged, squeezing your thigh with one warm hand. "No. I wanted to." That made your heart squeeze and flutter.

Your enthusiastic boys bounced around the house babbling incoherent sentences.

Beau climbed on the counter with chubby sticky fingers. Marshall assisted in pushing a stool underneath his brother's feet so he didn't fall.

After you'd left for the morning, Dean clapped his hands at the front door. "Alright kids. We've got go help wash mom's car." He told them.

Beau tilted his head and waved a small hand. "Car?" Marshall jumped up with energy, smacking Beau across the cheek. Dean stifled a laugh, while Beau looked outright offended at his brother's smack.

-+-

Outside was humid. Your flowers seemed to be thriving happily planted, Dean poured water in them and they uplifted gracefully in response.

Marshall's tiny hands gripped the water hose, aiming it at your black Mercedes Benz. Dean assisted him by turning the handle, his big eyes widening in awe at the sight of the heavy pressure.

Beau made grabby hands at the soapy bucket. "Dad, I want!" He began waddling over towards it. Dean laughed, grabbing the handle and giving Beau the watery-soap bucket.

He smiled, two missing teeth on display. His feet padded with watermarks, gently scrubbing the car doors with ease for someone so small.

Dean sighed and dragged his chair. "Good boys. Dad needs some sleep." He set the carrier down beside him, kneeling down to apply sunglasses to the fussing newborn who instantly relaxed, balling her fists up and waving them around with tiny kicks.

"Relaxation time!" Dean collapsed in his chair. He leaned back, kicking his feet up on the curb and closing his eyes. Beau and Marshall’s changed small frowns of jealousy.

"Dad sleep? We work?" Beau mumbled. Marshall instantly pouted. "Not fair." 

Dean had managed to fall asleep. Big rookie mistake. The twins exchanged mischievous glances and whispers before stumbling inside. 

They gathered different supplies and poured different cleaning supplies, cracked eggs, and yucky smoothie mixtures into the bucket with ecstatic grins. 

Helping assist each other carry the bucket out, they waddled over to Dean. They climbed on the bar stools he had out beside them in case Marshall or Beau wanted to take a nap with him, and poured the thick, clumpy smelly mixture all over his workout clothes.

Dean shot upright, gagging and shrieking. Not a manly one either—more like a little girl. Beau and Marshall pointed at him, laughing manically at his disgusted expression.

"You—AHHH!" He rubbed his eye to get any egg remains he might've had out.

Unfortunately for him, your car rolled up to the driveway. You stepped out in your business attire. "Hey baby. They didn't need me after all to stay all day for work so I—" you paused at the sight of everything.

Your Mercedes Benz half cleaned, the newborn in a carrier with shades on beside a messy Dean with egg splatter, water, and whatever else was on him, and two evil grinning Beau and Marshall's who looked like they had just won the marathon and got millions of dollars.

"Don't ask."

"Wasn't… gonna?"

Dean glared at the twins. "You both are in a lot of trouble." Beau and Marshall's smiles faded. You snort. "What led them to do this anyway?”

Beau snitched, holding up a chubby finger. "Daddy decided we had to clean and he had to sleep!" Marshall nodded frantically, pleading their mother would take their side in this.

You look at Dean. He looked at you. "Now you're in trouble." 

But he couldn't help the smile that graced his lips. "Hey? I was tired!"

After all, he had a terrible track record of taking care of the twins AND falling asleep.

All work belongs to @KODASALBUM 2026. Please do not copy my work, translate it, give to other websites or other platforms, or feed into any sort of ai. You’ll will definitely be blocked. Thank you for getting this far.

Peter didn’t think getting punched by a purse snatcher would be the thing that finally took him out.

Not the multiversal villains, alien invasions, super-powered psychopaths, or even the multiple occasions in which he’d been hit by a train and somehow lived to complain about it afterward. No, apparently his downfall was going to be a guy in a Yankees cap with a metal pipe and surprisingly decent aim.

It had started with a scream somewhere below him, followed by the unmistakable sound of someone yelling for help. Peter had been halfway through patrolling the neighborhood, swinging lazily between buildings while mentally running through the list of assignments he had absolutely not finished, when he spotted the guy tearing down the sidewalk with a woman’s purse clutched under one arm. It should’ve been easy, most muggings were easy.

He landed on the roof of a low building just as the thief glanced over his shoulder, saw Spider-Man standing there, and apparently decided the appropriate response was to swing a metal pipe directly at his head.

Peter barely had enough time to register the movement.

The impact cracked against the side of his mask hard enough to make his entire skull feel like it had been shaken inside his helmet. White exploded across his vision, followed by a sharp ringing in his ears and the nauseating sensation that the entire rooftop had suddenly tilted beneath him. He stumbled backward, one hand flying instinctively toward his head, his heel catching the edge of the roof as his spider-sense screamed a warning that arrived several seconds too late to be useful. Peter managed to fire a web toward the nearest chimney and yank himself forward before he could go over the edge, but the sudden movement only made the world spin harder.

The thief, apparently deciding that a temporarily incapacitated Spider-Man was his best opportunity to escape, took exactly three steps before Peter’s hand shot out. The web hit him squarely in the chest, and the man slammed against the brick wall with a startled grunt, the stolen purse still clutched in his hand.

Peter stood there for another second, blinking heavily at him.

“Stay,” he managed.

The thief stared.

Peter pointed vaguely in his direction. “Just…stay there.”

He did, mostly because several layers of webbing were currently holding him against the wall.

Peter finally sank against the nearest air-conditioning unit, pressing his gloved fingers to the side of his head. The metal felt cold even through the suit, which was probably the only reason he didn’t immediately throw up. His stomach was rolling unpleasantly, his vision still swimming at the edges, and every heartbeat seemed to send another dull pulse of pain through his skull.

“Ow,” he whispered.

Everything hurt.

His head hurt, his eyes hurt, and his stomach had that horrible, unsettled feeling that usually meant he was either concussed or about five minutes away from being concussed enough to make someone else notice. Considering the number of concussions he’d accumulated over the years, Peter wasn’t entirely sure why this one surprised him.

But he was Spider-Man.

And, well, everything always hurt.

So naturally, he did what Peter Parker always did when something was probably medically concerning.

He ignored it.

By the time he got back to his apartment, the sharp pain had dulled into a persistent throb behind his right eye. It wasn’t unbearable, which was what Peter decided mattered. It was just annoying, like a headache after studying too long or the aftermath of staying awake until three in the morning watching quantum mechanics videos when he had an exam the next day. He peeled off the suit carefully, wincing as the fabric pulled against his shoulder, and tossed it over the back of his desk chair.

His apartment looked exactly as he expected: books stacked in precarious towers, textbooks spread across his desk, a half-empty mug of coffee that had probably developed its own ecosystem, and enough laundry scattered across the floor to suggest he’d officially given up on the concept of furniture being used for its intended purpose. Nothing looked wrong or felt particularly different.

That was probably why he didn’t notice.

Peter swallowed two painkillers with the last of the water beside his bed and wandered toward his desk, rubbing absently at the sore spot on his head. His eyes landed on the calendar hanging crookedly above it.

October.

He stared at it for a moment.

Huh?

He could’ve sworn it had still been August.

“Weird,” he murmured, scratching the back of his neck.

He blamed exhaustion immediately because that was easier. Between university, assignments, patrols, trying not to get killed every other night, and whatever social life he’d apparently agreed to maintain, Peter had barely slept in days. He’d probably just lost track of time. It happened. He’d once spent almost an entire week convinced it was Wednesday when it was actually Saturday.

So October wasn’t particularly alarming.

His brain was just tired, that was all.

Peter yawned, glanced once more at the calendar without really seeing it, and headed for bed, completely unaware that somewhere between the impact of that metal pipe and the moment he’d walked through his apartment door, several weeks of his life had quietly disappeared.

He went to sleep without giving it another thought.

***

The next morning, Peter walked onto campus feeling strangely disconnected from everything around him.

Not lost, exactly. He knew where he was. He knew the buildings, recognized the familiar brick paths and the coffee cart near the library, knew which staircase had the broken third step and which vending machine ate dollar bills even though he was fairly certain he’d never actually gotten his dollar back. His feet seemed to know where to take him even when his mind wasn’t entirely sure why, guiding him through the campus almost automatically. That was the strange part.

Everything looked familiar.

But familiar wasn’t the same thing as remembered.

People passed him with smiles, nods, casual greetings, and little waves that Peter returned automatically, his smile appearing before his brain could figure out who he was smiling at. Every now and then, someone would call his name and he’d have to search through his memory for a face that should have been there, only to come up with a vague impression instead. It was unsettling, but Peter had spent enough of his life dealing with things that were unsettling to convince himself it probably wasn’t worth worrying about yet. Maybe he was tired or maybe college had finally broken his brain. Honestly, those were both equally plausible explanations.

“Peter!”

A hand landed heavily on his shoulder.

He startled so badly that his entire body reacted before his brain caught up, his hand twitching as though he might actually shoot a web at whoever had grabbed him. Peter stopped himself just in time and turned around.

Harry.

“Hey,” Peter said, forcing a smile.

Harry grinned and gave his shoulder another squeeze before falling into step beside him. Something about seeing a face he recognized immediately loosened the strange knot in Peter’s chest. Harry made sense, he belonged here and Peter knew him, knew the sound of his voice and the way he walked and even the particular expression he made when he was about to complain about something.

“Where’ve you been?” Harry asked. “I’ve been trying to text you since yesterday.”

Peter hesitated for half a second, his fingers tightening around the strap of his backpack.

“Busy.”

It was vague enough to be true and believable enough that he hoped Harry wouldn’t ask anything else.

Harry gave him a skeptical look but, thankfully, didn’t push. Instead, he started talking about something Peter only half listened to, nodding at the appropriate moments, grateful for the distraction.

A moment later, Mary Jane fell into step beside them, an iced coffee in one hand and her bag slung over one shoulder. She took one look at Peter and immediately frowned.

“You look terrible.”

He glanced at her.

“Thanks.”

“No, like…” MJ tilted her head, studying him with the bluntness that had always made Peter slightly afraid of her. “Medically.”

“I’m fine.”

“You look like you haven’t slept.”

“I haven’t.”

“You have a bruise.”

Peter instinctively touched the side of his head, his fingers finding the tender spot hidden beneath his hair.

“That?”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, Peter. The giant bruise on your head.”

“It’s nothing.”

She stared at him for several seconds, clearly unconvinced. Peter gave her his most innocent smile, which had never worked on Aunt May and apparently wasn’t going to work on his friend either. Eventually, she sighed and took another sip of her coffee.

“Fine.”

Peter relaxed slightly.

Then another familiar figure appeared at the far end of the walkway.

You.

Peter noticed you before he consciously realized he was looking for you.

You were walking quickly toward them, one hand wrapped around the strap of your bag and the other holding a coffee cup, your hair slightly messy from the morning wind. Your eyes found Peter almost immediately, and the second they did, your entire face softened into a smile.

Something in his chest gave a strange little twist but he didn’t know why.

“There you are,” you said, slightly breathless as you reached them.

Before he could even think of an appropriate response, you slipped your hand into his like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Peter’s brain immediately short-circuited.

His gaze dropped to your hands, his fingers automatically curling around yours before he even consciously decided to let them. Your palm was warm against his, your fingers fitting between his with an ease that suggested this wasn’t the first time you’d done it. In fact, judging by the complete lack of hesitation on your part, it probably wasn’t even remotely unusual.

Peter looked down.

Then at you.

Then back down again.

You didn’t seem to notice his internal crisis. You were already walking, casually pulling him along with you while you started talking about something that had happened in class.

“You okay?” you asked when you realized he wasn’t keeping up.

“Hm?”

You glanced over your shoulder at him.

“You stopped walking.”

“Oh.”

Peter immediately started moving again, his face feeling suspiciously warm as he tried to act like he hadn’t just experienced a minor existential crisis over something as simple as holding hands. “Sorry.”

You smiled and gave his hand a tiny squeeze before turning your attention back to the conversation.

Peter stared ahead.

Okay.

Maybe you were just affectionate.

Some people were.

Some people held hands with their best friends. It was probably normal. Maybe it was a New York thing he hadn’t paid attention to before. Maybe it was a you thing. Maybe—

Best friends held hands all the time.

Peter decided they probably did and tried very hard not to think about it again.

Unfortunately, the day seemed determined to make that impossible.

At lunch, you stole fries directly from his tray without asking, reaching across the table with the kind of confidence that suggested you had done it so many times that the concept of asking permission had long since become unnecessary. Peter stared at your hand disappearing back toward your side of the table, then looked at his fries, then at you.

“You just took those.”

You looked at him innocently. “I know.”

“Those were mine.”

“I know.”

Peter waited for an apology.

None came.

Instead, you ate the fry and smiled.

For some reason, that made him smile too.

Later, during chemistry, you leaned your head against his shoulder halfway through the lecture, apparently deciding that his shoulder was more comfortable than the perfectly functional back of your chair. Peter spent the next twenty minutes trying to take notes with one hand while keeping perfectly still with the other, terrified that moving would wake you or, worse, make you lift your head.

And then, after class, you casually borrowed his hoodie.

Peter watched you pull it over your head, the sleeves falling past your hands, and felt another tiny piece of his brain detach itself from reality.

“You always leave it in my apartment anyway,” you explained when he stared.

Peter stopped walking.

“What?”

You looked at him.

“What?”

He pointed vaguely at the hoodie.

“You said…your apartment?”

“My apartment?”

“No.” He frowned. “You said I leave it in your apartment.”

You laughed, apparently thinking he was joking.

“A few times.”

“A few?”

“Peter.”

“What?”

You adjusted the hood, smiling at him with the kind of fond amusement that made him feel strangely embarrassed. “I literally have your toothbrush.”

Peter stared.

For a second, he genuinely thought he’d misheard you.

“…You do?”

You laughed again, shaking your head.

“I bought it.”

“You bought me a toothbrush?”

“Because you kept forgetting yours,” you explained, like this was the most obvious thing in the world.

Peter blinked.

He looked at the hoodie you were wearing.

There was something deeply unsettling about the casual way you said it. Not because having his toothbrush at your apartment was inherently strange, but because you said it like it had been there for months. Like there was a whole collection of tiny routines between the two of you that he had somehow forgotten.

“…That’s actually kind of smart,” he finally said.

You laughed and Peter found himself staring.

Oh, cute laugh.

He’d forgotten how cute your laugh was.

Actually…he couldn’t remember ever noticing how cute your laugh was.

That was weird but he decided to ignore it.

Because apparently that was his strategy now: If something didn’t make sense, ignore it until it became someone else’s problem.

***

That night, Peter sat on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees as he stared at the floor.

He’d spent the entire day collecting strange little details without meaning to: Your hand in his, the fries, your head on his shoulder, the hoodie, the toothbrush. None of them were individually alarming, but together they formed a picture Peter couldn’t quite see.

He rubbed his palms over his face and sighed.

Maybe you two had simply gotten really close.

Best friends could get close.

Probably.

He finally looked around his room, hoping the familiar space would settle something inside him.

Instead, it made everything worse.

There were photographs pinned to the wall above his desk, some old and some clearly recent. Pictures of his friends. Pictures of family. A few of his parents that he remembered well enough to make his chest ache.

And then there were the pictures of you.

A lot of them.

Peter leaned forward slightly.

There was one of you asleep against his shoulder, your face tucked comfortably against his neck while he looked at the camera with an embarrassingly soft smile. Another showed you wearing his beanie, far too large for your head, with the edges folded up awkwardly while you made some ridiculous expression at whoever had taken the picture.

Then another.

You laughing so hard you were bent almost completely in half while Peter stood beside you covered in flour, looking absolutely horrified.

Peter stared at that one for several seconds.

His mouth twitched.

“…Huh.”

He picked up the photograph from the desk and turned it over, expecting maybe a date or some explanation written on the back.

Nothing.

Just his handwriting and a tiny heart drawn in the corner.

Peter frowned at it.

Maybe you two had gotten really close, and he just couldn’t remember when it had happened.

***

The next evening was movie night at Harry’s apartment, and Peter, at least, remembered having those with his friends. That was something good and familiar. He’d spent most of the day trying not to think too hard about the strange gaps in his memory, about the people who seemed to know him better than he knew them and the little pieces of his life that felt like they belonged to somebody else, so the idea of sitting on a couch with people he actually recognized, eating snacks and watching a movie he probably wouldn’t remember five minutes later, was comforting.

Normal.

He needed normal.

Everyone was already sprawled across the couches when he arrived. Harry had somehow claimed the recliner despite the fact that there were clearly other people who could have used it, one leg hanging over the armrest while he argued with the girl sitting nearby about what movie they should watch. She had the unmistakable expression of someone who would rather be absolutely anywhere else, but Harry seemed completely oblivious to it. MJ had settled herself at one end of the couch with the bowl of popcorn she had brought herself, eating straight from it with the protective determination of someone who had already warned everyone not to ask for any. Peter knew better than to test that boundary. So he quietly took the remaining spot at the opposite end of the couch, sitting carefully with his hands folded between his knees and trying to let the familiarity of the room settle over him. This, at least, made sense. These were his friends. Movie night was something they did. He remembered that much.

It was normal again.

Or at least, Peter desperately wanted it to be.

The front door opened a few minutes later, and you walked in carrying a large bowl of chips against your hip. Your eyes immediately found him, and your expression brightened in a way that made something strange flutter in Peter’s chest before he could figure out why. You crossed the room toward him, glancing around at the already occupied couches before looking back at him with a small, amused smile.

“There you are,” you said, shifting the bowl in your hands. “There wasn’t any room.”

Peter followed your gaze around the apartment. Harry was taking up most of the recliner, MJ had surrounded herself with pillows, and every remaining patch of couch was occupied by someone’s jacket, bag, or snack.

He nodded slowly because, yes, there really wasn’t much space.

“Oh.” It was the only thing he managed to say before you set the bowl down on the coffee table and, without a second thought, turned back toward him.

Then you sat directly on his lap.

Peter stopped functioning.

There was no other way to describe it. Every coherent thought simply evacuated his brain at once, leaving behind nothing but a strange, overwhelming awareness of the fact that you were suddenly sitting on him as though this were the most ordinary thing in the world. Your back settled comfortably against his chest, your legs tucked neatly to one side, and you shifted once or twice until you found a comfortable position. Peter, meanwhile, sat so stiffly that he looked less like a person sitting on a couch and more like somebody had carefully arranged him there for a museum exhibit. His hands hovered uselessly beside your waist because he had no idea where they were supposed to go, and he became painfully aware that his heart was beating much, much too fast.

You didn’t seem to notice.

You simply reached toward the bowl of popcorn in MJ’s lap and stole a handful without asking.

She barely glanced at you before moving the bowl slightly closer, as though this happened so often that it wasn’t even worth acknowledging anymore.

Peter stared.

Okay.

So apparently you did this.

Apparently you just…sat on people’s laps.

Except you weren’t sitting on anyone else’s lap.

You were sitting on his.

And Peter had absolutely no idea what the rules were here.

“Peter?” you whispered after a moment, turning your head slightly to look at him. Your voice was soft enough that it was almost lost beneath Harry’s complaints about the movie selection.

He blinked down at you. “Hm?”

“You can breathe, you know.” There was the faintest hint of amusement in your voice.

“I am breathing,” he whispered back, although even he could hear how defensive it sounded.

You raised your eyebrows. “You haven’t inhaled in, like, twenty seconds.”

Peter opened his mouth, closed it again, and then took such a deep, exaggerated breath that his chest expanded behind you. The movement was dramatic enough to make Harry glance away from the television.

“…You okay?” Harry asked.

“Yep,” Peter answered immediately, his voice cracking embarrassingly halfway through the word. He cleared his throat and tried again, forcing himself to sound casual. “I am…perfectly…okay.”

Harry stared at him for a second, clearly unconvinced, before eventually turning back toward the television. Peter exhaled quietly, grateful that the lights were already dimming. At least nobody could see how warm his face had become.

You, however, were still looking at him.

You tilted your head back just enough to catch his eyes, studying him with an expression that was equal parts concern and amusement. “You sure?”

Peter nodded far too quickly. “Mm-hm.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly as you looked at him for another second, and then you smiled. “You look red.”

Before Peter could defend himself, MJ answered from the other end of the couch without even looking up from her popcorn. “It’s warm.”

Peter immediately latched onto the explanation. “Yeah. It’s warm.”

You seemed satisfied with that answer and turned back toward the television, shifting slightly against him as you tried to get comfortable. Peter nearly forgot the concept of oxygen all over again. He stared determinedly at the screen, his hands still awkwardly suspended at his sides until, eventually, one settled cautiously against the edge of the couch rather than anywhere near you.

The movie finally started.

Peter absorbed absolutely none of it.

He tried, genuinely tried. He stared at the screen and listened to the dialogue and even attempted to figure out what was happening, but every tiny movement you made registered with painful clarity. Your hair brushed against his chin whenever you shifted your head. Your shoulder rested comfortably against his chest. He could feel the warmth of you through his shirt, could smell your shampoo whenever you moved, and every few minutes you adjusted yourself just slightly, settling more comfortably against him as though his lap had always been where you were supposed to sit.

Peter had no idea what the movie was about.

There was an explosion at some point, someone laughed, Harry made a sarcastic comment, MJ told him to shut up and Peter missed all of it.

Then, sometime during the first twenty minutes, you reached one hand backward without looking.

Your fingers found his almost immediately.

Peter looked down.

You didn’t seem to notice what you were doing. You simply intertwined your fingers with his, your hand settling comfortably against his palm as though you’d done it a hundred times before. Your thumb brushed absently over his knuckles while your attention remained fixed on the movie.

Peter nearly passed away.

He stared at your joined hands, then at the side of your face, trying desperately to find an explanation that made sense.

Maybe this was normal.

Maybe you were just affectionate.

Maybe best friends held hands.

Maybe best friends sat on each other’s laps.

Maybe best friends stole each other’s popcorn and wore each other’s clothes and looked at each other like—

Peter stopped that train of thought immediately.

No.

***

For the next three days, Peter was convinced of one thing: you were flirting with him.

Not subtly, either. Almost aggressively.

At first, he tried to convince himself he was imagining it. Some people were naturally affectionate, and you had always been close, apparently, even if Peter couldn’t quite remember exactly how close. But then you kept holding his hand, stealing food from his plate, leaning against him whenever there was a perfectly good empty chair nearby. You had called him cute twice, hugged him from behind while he was trying to make coffee, and, on one particularly confusing morning, walked into his apartment without knocking, kissed his cheek, and complained that he was using the wrong brand of coffee. Peter had stood there staring at the door after you left, coffee spoon still in his hand, wondering if this was a normal thing best friends did or if he had somehow wandered into an alternate universe.

But…why?

That was the part Peter couldn’t figure out.

Because Peter knew he loved you. He’d apparently been in love with you for years, although he had no idea why he had decided that keeping such a monumental piece of information to himself was a good idea. Knowing himself, though, it made sense. Peter Parker had never exactly been gifted in the area of romantic confidence. He’d spent years convincing himself that saying something would ruin the friendship, that you didn’t feel the same way, that being your best friend was better than risking losing you entirely. And he was pretty sure he’d been subtle. Very subtle. So subtle, apparently, that you’d somehow missed it for years. Which raised another question: if you had never noticed his feelings before, why were you suddenly acting like you knew?

By the fourth day, Peter couldn’t take the uncertainty anymore, so he cornered MJ outside the library. She was sitting on the low stone wall beside the entrance with a book open in her lap, one leg crossed over the other, completely absorbed in whatever she was reading when Peter approached her.

“I need advice.”

MJ didn’t even look up from her book.

“About?”

Peter hesitated, glancing around as though the answer might somehow be hiding behind one of the trees.

“…Her.”

MJ’s eyes remained on the page, but her expression changed slightly. “What happened now?”

Peter exhaled.

“I think she’s developing feelings for me.”

Silence.

MJ slowly lowered the book and stared at him, looking genuinely unsure whether she should laugh.

Peter immediately caught the expression and added, “I’m serious. I don’t know what to do.”

MJ frowned.

“Why?”

Peter looked at her as if the answer should have been obvious.

“Because I’ve been in love with her for years.”

“Peter.”

“And if she tells me she likes me, I don’t know how to explain that I’ve always—”

“Peter.”

He frowned, frustrated.

“What?”

MJ closed her book.

“You’ve been dating for almost a year.”

Peter stared at her.

“No, we’re best friends.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Peter.”

“We’ve always been best friends,” he insisted, his voice carrying the stubborn certainty of someone who genuinely believed what he was saying.

MJ watched him for a moment, and whatever she saw in his expression seemed to make the last trace of amusement disappear from her face.

“And boyfriend and girlfriend.”

Peter laughed, but it was a nervous, confused sound that barely resembled a laugh at all. “Very funny.”

“I’m not joking,” she said, completely serious.

His smile slowly faded. Peter stared at her, searching her face for any sign that she was messing with him, but there was nothing there. No teasing. No sarcasm. Just concern.

Finally, MJ sighed, pulled out her phone, unlocked it, and shoved it into his hands. Her wallpaper was a picture from Harry’s Christmas party. Peter recognized the apartment immediately, recognized Harry and MJ, recognized himself...and then saw you. You were sitting comfortably on his lap, one arm loosely around his shoulders while Peter kissed your cheek, your left hand cupping his face, your fingers disappearing into his hair. Both of you were smiling so hard your eyes were closed.

Peter’s smile disappeared.

He stared at the picture for several seconds before looking at MJ. “This is…”

“Christmas.”

Peter looked down again. “Why am she's sitting on my lap?”

“Exactly.”

He swallowed. “We’re wearing matching sweaters.”

“Yes.”

He stared at the picture again, visibly trying to fit it into the version of reality he had been carrying around in his head for the last few days. Then, almost instinctively, he pulled out his own phone, unlocked it, and opened his gallery.

There were pictures.

So many pictures.

You eating. You sleeping. You laughing. You reading. You making faces at the camera. You wearing one of his hoodies. You standing in his kitchen. You sitting on his bed. You asleep with your head on his shoulder. You smiling at him. You looking away from the camera because you hadn’t realized he was taking the picture.

Peter kept scrolling, his thumb slowing more and more with every photograph as something cold began settling in his stomach.

Then he stopped.

There was a picture of you kissing him.

Not his cheek.

Not his forehead.

His mouth.

Peter stared at it, completely still. The picture wasn’t posed; it looked like someone had caught the two of you in a moment that seemed so natural and intimate that he felt like he was looking at strangers.

Except they weren’t strangers.

They were him and you.

His hand went instinctively to the side of his head, fingers brushing over the tender spot where the bruise from four days ago was still hidden beneath his hair.

MJ noticed immediately. Her expression shifted from confusion to concern. “Peter.”

He didn’t answer.

“Peter,” she said again, quieter this time.

He finally looked at her, his face gone completely pale. “I…” His eyes dropped back to the phone. “I don’t…”

His thumb moved through another picture.

“I don’t remember any of this.”

MJ stepped closer. “How much do you remember?”

Peter looked at her, and for the first time since waking up four days ago, there was no attempt to laugh it off, no explanation about exhaustion, no insistence that everything was fine. His eyes were wide and frightened as he glanced down at the photograph of you kissing him again.

“The calendar said October,” he whispered. “I thought it was August.”

MJ went still.

Peter rubbed his temple, wincing as a dull pulse of pain moved through his skull. “I thought I was just tired. I thought maybe I’d lost track of time, but…” His voice faltered. “I don’t remember dating her. I don’t remember Christmas. I don’t remember any of these pictures.”

Oh no.

***

By the time Peter and MJ made it back to his apartment, he had gone unusually quiet. A deeper silence that made her keep glancing at him as they walked. He had spent the entire way there staring down at his phone, scrolling through photograph after photograph as though somewhere between the hundreds of pictures of you and the pictures of the two of you together, his memories might suddenly click back into place.

They didn’t.

He recognized himself in every photograph. He recognized the apartment, the streets, the people around him. He recognized you, that was the strangest part. He knew who you were, knew your name, knew that you mattered to him, but none of it carried the emotional weight it apparently should have. It was like looking through a window into somebody else’s life and somehow knowing that the person on the other side was supposed to be him.

When they reached the apartment, you were already there. You were sitting on the kitchen counter, swinging one leg idly while Harry searched through the cabinets for something to eat, occasionally complaining that there was nothing in the apartment despite the fact that he was currently staring directly at a shelf full of snacks. The second you saw Peter, your expression brightened automatically, the familiar smile appearing on your face before you could stop it, but it faltered almost immediately when you noticed MJ’s expression and the way he lingered just inside the doorway instead of walking farther into the room.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, sliding off the counter and immediately looking between them.

Peter didn’t answer.

He was looking at you, and for a moment everything else in the apartment seemed to disappear. You smiled at him instinctively, but there was something cautious beneath it now, something that told him you already knew this wasn’t normal. His stomach twisted.

MJ exchanged a quick glance with him before quietly saying, “We need to tell you something.”

You went completely still. “What happened?”

Peter opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His eyes dropped to the floor before lifting back to you, and you noticed the way his hand unconsciously went to the side of his head, fingertips brushing the spot beneath his hair where the bruise had begun to fade.

Your expression changed immediately.

“Oh.”

The word was barely audible.

Peter swallowed. “You knew?”

You stared at him for a moment before your eyes softened, and there was something in that expression that made his chest ache despite not understanding why. “I knew something was wrong.” Your voice was quieter now. “You’ve been looking at me like I’m a stranger.”

Peter looked away.

“And,” you added carefully, “you’ve been acting really weird whenever I touch you.”

His face flushed.

“Right.”

You were watching him too closely, trying to figure out how serious this was from the little things he wasn’t saying.

Peter shoved both hands into his pockets, suddenly unsure of what to do with them. “Somehow I hit my head a few days ago, and I…” He hesitated, struggling to put something so impossible into words. “I don’t remember a couple of things.”

MJ made a small sound under her breath.

“A couple?” she repeated.

Peter gave her a look.

You didn’t say anything.

“I don’t remember us,” Peter finally admitted.

Your lips parted slightly, your shoulders dropped, and for a second you looked like you’d forgotten how to breathe. You swallowed and glanced down before forcing yourself to look back at him.

He noticed.

And suddenly, for the first time, he understood that this wasn’t just frightening for him.

You had spent almost a year with him. Almost a year of routines and inside jokes, of falling asleep beside each other, stealing his clothes, sitting on his lap during movie nights, holding his hand without thinking about it. You knew how he took his coffee, what he did when he was nervous, which side of the bed he preferred, what made him laugh when he was having a terrible day. And now he was standing three feet away from you with no idea what any of those things felt like.

“I’m sorry,” Peter whispered.

You immediately shook your head.

“Don’t.”

“But—”

“Peter.” Your voice softened. “I don’t need you to remember everything tonight.”

He looked at you carefully, almost as if he was trying to memorize your face.

“You’re not mad?”

“At you?” You gave a tiny, nervous laugh. “No. Just worried.”

Peter nodded slowly, looking down at his shoes. “Because apparently I’ve forgotten almost a year of my life.”

“Apparently,” you said, then frowned slightly. “And you didn’t go to a doctor?”

Peter winced.

“I didn’t know I needed one.”

You and MJ stared at him.

Peter lifted his hands defensively. “I know how that sounds.”

“It sounds like you got hit in the head and decided the appropriate medical treatment was painkillers and sleep.”

“I was tired.”

“You were concussed.”

“I didn’t know that.”

Despite yourself, you laughed quietly.

Peter’s shoulders relaxed at the sound.

“I’ve been acting like you’re flirting with me,” he admitted.

That made you blink.

MJ immediately coughed into her hand from across the room, very obviously trying not to laugh.

You looked at Peter.

“Wait.”

Peter’s face turned red.

“Yeah.”

“You thought I was flirting with you?”

“For three days.”

You stared at him and then you laughed.

Not because it wasn’t serious. It was serious. You knew that. But the image of Peter Parker spending three entire days convinced that his girlfriend was suddenly developing feelings for him was simply too ridiculous to resist.

He looked offended.

“It’s not funny.”

“It is a little funny.”

“I thought you suddenly liked me.”

Your eyebrows lifted.

“I suddenly liked you?”

“Yes.”

You covered your mouth, trying to suppress another laugh, while Peter looked increasingly embarrassed.

“I didn’t know we were dating!” he protested. “And you sat on my lap.”

“You usually complain if I don’t.”

Peter blinked.

“…I do?”

“Yes.” You smiled despite yourself.

He stared at you.

Then, slowly, the corner of his mouth lifted.

For the first time since he’d walked into the apartment, Peter smiled.

“Okay,” you said gently. “We’ll start small.”

Peter tilted his head.

“Small?”

“You don’t have to remember everything at once.”

You stepped closer, but stopped before you reached him, giving him the choice to close the distance himself. Then you held out your hand.

“Can I?” He asked.

You nodded.

“Of course.”

His fingers slipped carefully between yours.

For a moment, neither of you said anything.

Peter stared down at your joined hands, his thumb moving almost unconsciously over your knuckles. It was still strange. He didn’t remember doing this. He didn’t remember the countless times he’d apparently held your hand, didn’t remember what it felt like to reach for you without thinking.

But it didn’t feel wrong.

Maybe this wouldn’t be as terrifying as he’d thought.

just you and him.

and the ring that sits heavy in his pocket.

so far this summer break has been going perfectly, and you honestly seem to be none the wiser to his actual goal for this trip. lando truly can't even fathom how lucky he is to be with you. he can't help but let his eyes drag over your body, the fitted, knitted dress you're wearing hugging all your curves perfectly. your swimsuit stands out underneath the dress and he feels a familiar warmth spreading through his body as he watches you.

it honestly makes him want to lay you out on the sand and take you here and now. no. not right now, maybe afterwards when you say yes.

well... he's hoping you'll say yes. lando is 99.9% sure you'll say yes to him.

the world champion feels like everything is falling into place. finally. even after the shitty season he's been having, nothing can take away this moment for the two of you. lando would probably fight someone if they did try to ruin it for him.

"hey," he calls out softly, earning your attention immediately. lando watches you turn around, eyes sparkling under the golden sky and he feels his heart skip a beat as he looks at you. it honestly takes him a moment to gather his thoughts back. "come here, pretty girl."

you laugh before you're walking over to him, his hand out stretched for you to take. he notes how soft your hands feel, remembering the lotion you rubbed all over your body earlier that morning. that's probably why his hands feel so soft as well, cause you made him also put some on his hands. "they'll get too dry if you don't moisturize, lan!" you told him as you rubbed it into his hands for him.

lando tugs you towards him once he has your hand, letting you bump into him as you both smile at each other. his free hand coming up to move some stray hairs from your face. "let's play twenty questions," he says, arms wrapping around your waist as your own dangle off around his shoulders.

he watches your eyebrows raise for a moment before nodding, "okay!"

"what's your current favorite color?" he starts off.

you can't help but roll your eyes at the question, "you always start with that one, lan!"

"just answer."

"fine..." you huff with a smile, "i guess it would have to be... pink! for right now anyways." lando doesn't think there could be a better answer than that. "my turn! what's your favorite memory of us together?"

"the night after my first win – after the partying and we came back to the hotel room and you basically smothered me in kisses until we fell asleep like that."

"who would have guessed mr. world champion is such a sap," you tease, laughing lightly as lando presses a kiss to your cheek.

"only for you, princess, no one else."

"see~ something only a cheesy sap would say!" lando can't even argue with you because it's true. "okay, you're turn again."

"current ateez bias– and you can only pick one!" he says, making sure to add the last part quickly when he sees you opening your mouth to quickly answer.

"i can't just pick one," you groan out with a pout as you look into your lover's waiting eyes. with a huff, you then make a thinking face – pausing for a moment as lando can see you actually trying to make a decision, "san." you finally answer.

"see? that wasn't so hard to answer," he teases, his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you flesh against his half-bare chest.

"maybe for you," you mumble and lando can most definitely hear the pout as you bury your face in his chest. your own arms wrapping around him to hug him back. "if you had to associate us with any emojis, what would they be?"

"hmm," he says fake thinking as if he didn't already know what two, "i think the tulip for you and the frog for me."

"because you're funny looking?" lando's hand immediately came down on your ass. hard. "ow! lando!"

"you had that coming, brat, don't even," he says as his hand then kneads the flesh to try and soothe it.

"gosh, you're so mean to me," you say, peering up at your lover who is already looking at you. the golden sky shining beautifully on him and his bronze skin. "okay~ why a tulip and frog?"

"easy. tulips are your favorite flower and a frog because that's what you and fans like to associate me with."

"its your representative animal like a k-pop group would have!" you tease making lando sigh in return.

"yeah... exactly."

at some point, you pull away just enough to tug lando's hand to keep the two of you walking along the shoreline together. questions continuing to bounce off of one another. lando asking you about your favorite moment from the season so far. you ask him what's his favorite meal he's had. 

"oh look at the shells, lan!" you say, bending down to start digging through the sand some more. the british driver can't help but smile as he crouches down next to you, eyes moving between your excited expression to your hands that are covered in wet sand.

his eyes then focus on your left hand, more specifically your ring finger that sits bare. it only reminds him of what is sitting inside his pocket. waiting for him to get on one knee and pull out.

"here, baby, let me hold them while you look," he says, holding his hands out so you can easily place the small shells you've already managed to find.

"thank you~" you say with a cute, sing-song tone as you move the beautifully colored shells from your hand to his. "kiss?" you ask, eyes meeting his and lando nods with a small before he's meeting you halfway. the kiss is nice and slow, your lips fitting together perfectly and lando can taste the cherry lip gloss you put on your lips earlier.

when you pull away, lando asks, "what question are we on?"

"sixteen~ its your turn," you say as you go back to looking through the sand.

lando thought for a moment, trying to think of a question that the two of you haven't asked before. he looks at you, eyes trailing down the expanse of your bare neck and shoulders and then back up to your side profile, bottom lip between your teeth as you concentrate on digging through the sand.

"what's your favorite sex position?" lando can't help but smirk when he sees that you were caught off guard.

"gosh, i thought this was supposed to be romantic, not vulgar, lan."

"sex is romantic."

"whatever," you say, rolling your eyes but lando can see the small smile gracing your pretty lips. "favorite sex position?" you repeat his question, and he can tell you’re thinking about it. "i think... i don't know probably the mating press," you finally say with a shrug.

"mating press, huh?"

"yeah, i like when you manhandle me into it and my legs over your shoulders. you look really sexy when we do it," you explain. your boyfriend can tell that by the way your voice softens that he's made you a little flustered. which he can't help but find funny because of how often the two of you do have sex.

"don't get shy on me now, baby, just this morning you were drooling around my cock before breakfast," he teases.

"ugh, lando!" you say, hand coming to gently shove him which makes him let out a loud laugh as he's reaching over to give your hip a playful squeeze. "i just can't help it! i can't believe i still get flustered when me and the girls talk about sex. like i'm some teenage virgin."

"you probably get flustered cause you don't want them realizing how sex-crazed you are," he's leaning over in the sand just enough to breathe it hotly into your ear. "how many times have we done it on this trip alone, hm? i think i've honestly lost count. everyday?"

"no, not everyday..."

the driver can't help but to raise an eyebrow at your words, "oh really? do you want me to go back and count?"

"no, no, no! you don't have to do that! anyways, isn't it my turn to ask a question now?"

lando lets out a hum as he nods, watching as you stand up from the sand so you both can continue to walk. "go on then, ask away."

you pause for a second, stopping again so you can look through the sand for more shells. lando easily bending down with you. "what's your favorite cryptid that you most definitely believe is real."

lando smiles at the question, he remembers how this was the first question you decided to ask him on your first date. "nessie, obviously. or mothman since you seem pretty convinced he's real."

"because he is!" you defend, tone hitting a higher pitch at how excited you're getting. "we should have gone to scotland to search for nessie," you tell him.

"next time, i'll take you in-between races," he tells you. your head turns to look at him – side-eye in full effect.

"you promise?" you ask, holding your pinky out and your lover nods before wrapping his larger pinky around yours.

"i promise." he leans over to kiss your cheek as you put another shell into his hand.

"question eighteen, right?" you nod, "do you believe in soulmates?"

"of course, you can't believe in love without believing in soulmates."

"are we soulmates then?" he notices how you pause, breath catching and even though you're not looking at him, lando can still see how your eyes get a certain glint to them.

"i... i like to think we are," you say softly, your fingers drawing random patterns in the sand. the water slowly coming ashore around you both, but neither one of you reacts to it. "i mean... i feel like fate wanted us to be together, and we would have found a way to each other eventually."

"do you think we would have made it this far if we met earlier in our lives?"

"i think we met right where fate wanted us. i don't think either one of us would have been ready if we met before that day at the karting place. you were still building your f1 career and i was still focusing on school before 2022, so... i think we met in the right moment."

"you always amaze me with your talk of fate," he confesses, which makes you let out a small laugh before you're standing up once more. lando also comes to his full height as you reach to open your purse for him to put the shells in. he knows he'll hear you complaining about the sand later.

"i can't help it," you laugh, taking his hand in yours, fingers intertwining together like it was second nature at the point for the both of you.

mainly because it was second nature.

"everything happens for a reason and that reason is fate," you add, hands swinging slightly as you walk side-by-side. the sky in front of you both is a beautiful golden color mixed with pinks, purples, and oranges. lando doesn't think there could be a more perfect sky than this.

"okay, my turn! nineteen– when did you realize you wanted to date me?"

"easy. it was right after our first date. i remember dropping you off and on the way back to max's house i just... i realized that i wanted to see you again. over and over again. and every time we texted, or facetimed, or saw each other – it just helped me realize how much i wanted you in my life, but in a more official way." he says, gently stopping the two of you from walking further.

"lando..."

"i remember how nervous you were when i came to your place for the first time. shoulders tense when i walked in, and then i watched as you slowly relaxed more and more through the night. i remember picking you up from the airport for the first time and taking you to monaco. how you made sure all your outfits were cute and pretty – like you wanted to show-off just for me," he says, taking your other hands as bumps his forehead against yours. his curls brushing against your skin as he smiles at you.

"i still think about how excited you looked at your first race. how pretty you looked in my garage for the first time, not understanding a thing that was going on, but you still came. still cheered me on and hugged me whenever i got out of the car," you laugh at the memory. lando feels his heart pounding in his throat as he continues to look at you. "i realized i wanted to date you after our first date, but it took me until october to finally ask you out officially."

"we were in austin and had just gotten back to the hotel after i begged you to take me to wendy's," you add with a smile, thinking back on the memory fondly.

"you begged me, but i would have taken you regardless."

"because you love to spoil me," you tease, and lando can't deny it. because it's true.

"question twenty," he says, heart pounding and body heavy. "i've... been thinking about asking you this for a while. since..." he trails off with a laugh as he straighten his body, "you've– y/n, you're the most important person to me. i love you so, so much that sometimes my chest hurts from the amount of love i have for you. every since i seen you at the indoor karting place in london four years ago, i just... knew you were it for me. the way you easily spoke to me because you didn't know who i was and even after you found out. you didn't treat me any different. i ask myself how can i be so lucky to have you in my life? to have someone love me so much like you do?"

"because you deserve it, lan, all the love from me, your friends and family, your fans. you deserve it and so much more."

he shakes his head, "i don't want anyone else's love if its not yours, y/n. you've been with me through some of the best and worst moments of my career. from when i crashed in las vegas to my first win in miami. you let me drag you all over the world without any complaint, and... fuck, you love me so selflessly that i feel like i take you for granted sometimes."

"you never take me for granted, love," you say, hand coming up to cup his cheek. wiping away the tear he didn't even know was running down his cheek.

lando lets his free hand slip into his pocket, the small box now feeling even ten times heavier now that he's about to pull it out. like a very expensive brick that could either build a new path, or destroy everything he's been planning.

"my twentieth question," he says with a deep breath, "since last year. i told myself that when i became world champion i would finally ask you this one question. it took everything in me not to just ask you the same night i won, but i knew mom would have died if i did," he laughs out, eyes looking down at your still joined hands. your left hand preciously sitting in his larger, right one.

"you're making me nervous," you confess with a light laugh, trying to ease yourself as you feel your own heart starting to pick up speed.

"don't say that, babe, it only makes me more nervous," he scolds you softly with a laugh, shaking his head. "y/n," he starts, looking up to meet your awaiting eyes, "you are the most beautiful person i have ever met. both body and soul, no one will ever come close to being like you, and i'm so honored that i've been the one you have trusted your heart with."

lando then gets down on one knee, pulling out the small, pink, heart-shaped ring box. you immediately let out a sharp gasp, both hands shooting up to cover your mouth and lando sees how your eyes turn a glassy texture. he's 100% sure that his eyes are matching as he feels that tears start to build up in his own eyes. 

"i've thought about this moment for months now. dreaming of it and every single scenario that could happen, but having you here in front of me like this... it just makes me more certain that this is it for me," he says, a few stray tears finally running down his cheeks. "my y/n, my soulmate, will you marry me?"

lando's then opening the small box, revealing the beautiful pink, oval-shaped diamond ring that sits perfectly inside. the gold bands decorated with smaller white diamonds and it absolutely takes your breath away.

"lando," you sob out, tears running down your face as you nod your head. "yes! yes, of course i'll marry you!" you tell him as another sob rips through you. lando lets out a wet laugh, his own tears finally coming out as he takes the ring, hands shaking as he slips it onto your left ringer finger.

lando doesn't even get a chance to admire your hand before you're throwing your whole body weight into him. hands cupping the back on his head as you press your lips to his in a full-on passionate and messy kiss. his own hands holding your waist as you both tumble into the sand. the small grains flying around and covering you both as you continue to kiss in the sand. the water coming up and wetting lando's entire back but he doesn't care.

he could be completely covered in oil and wouldn't care because you said yes. yes, to becoming his wife and being with him forever.

"fuck, how did i get so lucky," he says against your lips, his hands holding you tightly against his body – afraid that if he lets go you'll disappear.

"shut up, you muppet," you tell him, tears still running down the apple's of your cheeks as you move to smother his entire face in kisses. "i love you so so much, lando."

"i love you, too, future mrs. norris."

the door to your quarters lightly opened as your dear husband enters ‘ my sweet angel ’ he walks over to you and places his hand on your shoulder , rubbing them in a rhythmic motion while you brushed your hair . ‘ hm? ’

he started to place kisses on your shoulder , then your neck and your jawline , ‘ i love you . . . but you have to stop with this attitude of yours . people talk ’ you put down the brush and turned to face him , ‘ people already talk . they say that i am only hear for your money , for the silk and the silver . we can’t stop them can we ? ’

‘ i assumed you liked all the stuff i give you ’

‘ yes , of course i do . but am i not here for you too ? ’ you leaned in for a kiss but robb pulled away ‘ a wife doesn’t give her husband attitude ’

you scoffed , ‘ a true wife does . and don’t forget lord stark , you have the worst attitude of all ’ his eyebrows shot up and he pointed at you ‘ ah there it is ’ you rolled your eyes and got up moving towards the bed . per usual he follows you , likes a dire wolf pup following it’s owner , ‘ my sweet , sweet angel , i think we need to do something about this ’

‘ there’s nothing that needs to be - ’ his lips connect with yours , bringing you into his embrace , making you slowly forget about everything . ‘ these silvers ’ he tugs at the necklace you’re wearing ,‘ these silks ’ his large hands grip your thighs and move up slowly ‘ i can give you more , all of them . you know i can but you need to be kind , respectful . can you do that for me ? ’ you know exactly what he’s doing , he doesn’t want to put you in your place , he doesn’t want you to stop being rude to him . if anything he wants you to continue so he can go through with his ‘ plan ’

‘ i don’t think so ’ well , it didn’t take long for the festivities to begin . robb was quick to maneuver you on his lap , quick to take off his clothes and rip yours off . quick to have you body and soul . he’s rocking you back and forth on dick , your hand on the bed frame and the other on his chest . he’s kneading your breasts , leaving kisses on your flesh while looking up at you with those pretty , glossy eyes of his . he’s trying to suppress his groans , trying to keep it all in as he’s supposed to be the one in control , but the faster he’s guiding you the worse it’s getting for him

you can feel him crumbling apart and naturally you’re going to make him suffer . when he leans in for a kiss , his hands holding your face you take that moment to shift , to move uppp and downn on his dick . robb goes stiff , his hands no longer knowing where to go as you continue to bounce on his cock . his mouth is agape , moans slipping out with every plap plap plap sound your skin makes with his . he slightly leans back and rests his shaky hand on your waist , you look down and see robb trying to stay composed

you smile and grab ahold of his jaw , forcing him to look at you . his eyes are glossier than ever , his iris’ blown , full of pure love ; ‘ my love , my lord ’ you stop moving and lean in , he groans ( well whines basically ) and you can feel him throbbing inside of you . ‘ you can’t contain me , you know it and frankly i believe you don’t really want to . you love it , you always have to leave the room so no one sees the pretty lord of winterfell fuck his wife dirty right ? ’

he nods vigorously ‘ fuck - yes . yes i do ’

‘ so then show me . show me how much you love this attitude ’ robb didn’t need to do much to show you , all he needed to do was finish and when you continued, faster now , moans slipping from mouth and the way he watched his large cock disappear in your cunt ; well he was already close up satisfying you . his hands tighten their grip on your waist and he matches your speed with every thrust he makes , making the arousal so much more unbearable for the two of you

the room is filled with robb’s moans and your screams , the rest of the castle probably can hear it too but right now it’s just you two in the moment . robb let’s one more groan out , something carnal that came from deep down , and finishes inside of you . he sighs in pleasure and leans back once more meeting you take your time to finish . he’s catching breath , his eyes are closed and he’s listening to the wet sound of your bodies , the wetness of his dick inside of your pussy while his hands roam free . feeling the curves of your body and squishing your flesh in all the right places , the places he knows where you’ll go soft

and then we you finally finished you slumped forward , he took you in his embrace and brushed his fingers through your hair . ‘ robb ? ’

‘ yes , my angel ? ’

‘ i want a new nightgown ’ he smiled into your hair and lightly laughed ‘ as many you want my love ’ he pulled the fur blanket over the two of you and held you ‘til you both fell asleep

before you go ! ﹕ this one’s for @twlightzne specifically !! don’t forget to like and reblog to support writers <3

Because fuck, you were jealous. You usually rolled your eyes at half the shit that came out of his mouth, but apparently you’d decided you’d had enough of someone else touching your boyfriend and were taking him home, and the six-foot-two hockey player being dragged obediently behind you had never been happier to go.

He never fed into it—never flirted back just to get a reaction or made you wonder where his attention was. If anything, he’d pulled you closer, kissed you sweeter, and carried on with the conversation like there was never any question about who he was leaving with.

But fuck if he didn’t love you like this. Not the part where you thought another woman had a chance with him—that shit he’d happily spend the rest of the night correcting. It was the way you wanted him enough to get greedy about it, like Rafe Cameron belonged to you and everybody else should already know better.

Rafe Cameron is exactly where he wants to be.

He spends the entire ride home pretending he doesn’t notice the way you keep looking at him, knowing damn well what’s waiting underneath that pretty little attitude.

Because the woman at the bar could look at him all she wanted. You were sleeping in his bed tonight, and you sure as hell were going to wear eighty-six while doing it.

And judging by the trail of clothes leading straight to his bed, you weren’t interested in pretending anymore either.

He walks toward his bedroom, following the trail of discarded clothes—your jacket, your jeans, and that top he wanted to tear off you all night, gathering each one as he goes, your perfume still clinging to the fabric.

He presses the clothes to his nose, biting back the smile pulling at his lips because somewhere between the bottom of the stairs and his bedroom door, he has to pretend like he isn’t completely delighted by this—there are levels to it, after all.

Because how could the woman he couldn’t live without possibly think she has competition?

He chuckles sleazily when he sees your pretty red bra on his floor, Rafe’s blue eyes lifting to his bed to find you sitting pretty on the edge, waiting for him.

And of course you’re swimming in his jersey. And of course you look like every late-night fantasy he has when he comes back to a dark hotel room after an away game, having to settle for his fist around his dick and your voice coming through his phone instead of pressed against his ear.

Before he can even ask, you’re on your knees, crawling slowly toward him. His eyes roll back at the sight of you like this…

He tugs the buttons of his shirt away, tearing it off his shoulders as you kneel before him, pawing for his belt, tugging his pants around his ankles.

He wraps his big fist around your hair, pulling your gaze away from his thick cock to his soft blue eyes. “C’mon, pretty... Been thinkin’ about this shit all night,” he mumbles as his thumb brushes along your bottom lip.

He hums out a satisfied breath when your lips wrap around his digit, sucking and humming, and you look up at him through your lashes.

“Tongue, baby,” he mumbles, and you lay it out, the fat tip of his dick slapping shamelessly against it as he moans at the contact.

You wrap your lips around him, eyes fluttering shut like it’s all you need. The vibrations of your moan around his cock leave his thick, rough fingers tightening in your hair.

He uses his hold on your head to pull you into him, watching tears spring in the corners of your eyes as his tip kisses the back of your throat.

“Atta girl,” Rafe hums, his praise only fueling your desire. You bob up and down on his long cock as he guides your strokes, spit seeping out of the corner of your lips.

“You like that shit?” he asks, breathing out a sigh of relief as he watches you work his dick in your warm, wet mouth. His head falls back because you’re sloppy with it, just like he loves, gagging on him like only you can.

“Suckin’ my dick with my name on your shoulders, princess? Fuckin’ dream girl,” he groans hazily between thrusts when he starts to use your mouth.

Rafe blows out a breath as you release his cock with a pop, causing him to let out a grunt for more, almost instantly eased by your fist, jerking him off. His own possessiveness flares, his jersey big enough that he catches a tease of your tits through the little gap beneath the collar, the white gold necklace he bought you glistening against your soft skin.

You can feel your arousal pool in your panties, a rapid throb between your thighs matching your pulse. “I can’t wait to fuck you,” he presses the words out between his teeth when he feels your lips on him again.

You moan, feeling the weight of him on your tongue, Rafe’s precum swirling with your saliva, making your eyes roll back in your head. You arch your back, nails running down the back of his muscular thighs, your jersey lifting slightly, giving him a glimpse of your round ass, a tiny number 86 embroidered on the back of your thong.

“Fuuuck,” he groans at the sight, tossing his head back—the salty taste of his precum intensifies as he cums in thick ropes, painting your throat. You wrap your hands around his body, nails sinking into his skin, making his muscles clench.

Rafe’s cock throbs on your tongue, blood pumping in his shaft as you cup his balls in your hands, rolling slowly, not wanting him out of your mouth just yet.

“C’mere,” he breathes as he helps you to your feet, pulling you to his lips. He kisses you deeply, walking you backward toward his bed, pushing you down before mounting you fast.

“These panties… You fuckin’ kidding me?” he mutters against your lips as his thick fingers shove the satin aside, running up your soaked slit.

“Don’t,” you mumble, but the warning loses some of its bite when your hips lift instinctively into his hand.

Rafe’s mouth curls against yours. “Don’t what, princess?” he asks, dragging the question out as his fingers continue their slow path between your thighs. He knows exactly what you mean. You can see it in the smug little smile he’s trying and failing to hide.

“You know what.” Your hands slide around his shoulders, nails trailing down his skin as you pull him closer, rough enough that you know it’ll leave a mark, and he knows it too.

The teasing in Rafe’s expression softens as he studies you. His big hand grips your thigh, spreading you wider against his mattress. “That what tonight was about?” he asks, pinning you down.

You hesitate, your eyes dropping briefly to his mouth. “I didn’t like her touching you,” you whisper, and his tongue skims his bottom lip.

“Yeah?” The word comes out low as he dips down until his forehead presses against yours, your arms wrapping tighter around his neck, needing him close. “Don’t want her touching me either. She isn’t you.”

“Still didn’t like it,” you mumble.

That nearly gets his smile back. Fuck, he loves you. Rafe catches your jaw in his hand, tipping your face toward his until there’s nowhere else for you to look. “You know who I went home with. Who’s my girl, huh?”

Your fingers slide into the hair at the back of his neck, holding him there. “Me.”

“Yeah, you.” His answer comes without a second of hesitation as his body settles heavier against yours. “Always gonna be you.”

The words barely have time to settle before you’re pulling him back into another kiss, your hips lifting into his hand as his fingers slip beneath the satin and push inside you. Rafe swallows your moan, smiling against your mouth because apparently reassurance only makes you wetter.

His fingers curl inside you, the heel of his palm hitting your clit at the perfect tempo—two fingers turning into three until his name is screaming past your lips and your back is arching off the mattress into his chest.

He works you through it, kissing you softly and breathlessly as you beg for his dick. He has to bite back another smile because he was already dreaming about ruining you from the moment your fingers laced possessively through his at the bar.

He’d pictured that same hand pinned to your lower back, each rut of his hips sending the jersey he just knew you couldn’t wait to slip on higher and higher as your perfect pussy swallowed his dick whole, tears of pleasure wetting his mattress with your face pressed against the sheets.

He lifts his hand, slipping his fingers between his lips, sucking your wetness from them as that filthy, satisfied smile slowly returns. “That’s my fucking bunny.”

Cardinal’s leash remained firmly gripped in your hand as you followed the guard past the front entrance. His paws pittered-pattered against the tile flooring, echoing in the long hall along with your footsteps. Every so often, his side would brush against your calf before he righted himself only to bump you once again after a few moments. His presence kept you calm; prison—even if you weren’t the one in handcuffs and a jumpsuit—made everyone nervous, and you were no exception. 

If this were any other place, Cardinal would heel frozen at your feet, nose bumping into the flesh of your leg to signal that something deep inside you was unsettled. He wasn’t a certified therapy dog, not after he’d growled too much and refused to give up his toys during training, but the deeply instilled instinct to protect and comfort remained wired into his brain. He’d been a gift from your parents. 

You need something to look after you while you’re off getting your master’s your father had stated before you finally left the coup of your hometown. Since you don’t have a boyfriend, we’ll get you the next best thing. 

And the next best thing happened to be a two-year-old doberman, fresh from failing training, who, upon meeting you, never once left your side. With his baby blue collar and harness, the matching set starkly contrasting his inky coat, he served as your sole protector through the move to Sacramento almost a year ago and apparently now while you walked deeper into the Folsom State Prison’s belly to be a part of their “Canines for Comfort” rehabilitation-slash-rehab program, which had been instated around the time you started year one of school. 

You had signed up and sent in an application on a whim, something to help fill the odd space in your Saturdays a few hours after sleeping in where you weren’t hungry enough for lunch but didn’t want to just sit around twiddling your thumbs. Their approval had come swiftly, and before you knew it, you’d made the hour drive to arrive for your first session. Up ahead, the guard stopped at a plain, gray door that didn’t have a window. 

“With me,” you muttered, and Cardinal sat almost on top of your feet. 

“Session starts in five minutes. There are seats in there; choose one and stay in it during the duration of the thirty minutes,” he gruffed. 

A low groan rumbled down by your feet at his bluntness, and you were quick to hiss a small sht towards your companion. It didn’t take much to get Cardinal to quiet, but even you could tell that the longer you stood there, the more he was getting unnerved. 

Thankfully, the guard tapped a keycard on the lock and the automatic click boomed loudly. He pushed down on the handle before swinging the door wide open to reveal the few people and dogs already in there. You, obviously, were the last one. 

“Up,” you said as you took the first step toward the threshold. 

Cardinal trotted in tandem with your stride and paid no attention to the others in the room, deep eyes locked on your face even if you were looking around. In one corner of the large, almost classroom-like room, an older woman sat with a dopey golden retriever panting at her feet. In the one adjacent, a middle-aged man stood, back pressed to the wall, hand wrapped around a lead that connected to a very sleepy beagle. You thanked the air. If someone got him howling, there’d be no stop. And across the empty corner—the one that you were supposed to “choose” even if it was the only nonoccupied one left—a college-aged girl nervously looked around, fingers fiddling with the hair of her collie that was half sitting in her lap. 

You took the chair. “Feet.” 

With a small pushed out groan, Cardinal plopped down on his stomach, legs out in front of him, head held high. Your left hand splayed across his head while your right kept a hold of his leash. The session was going to be co-ed and only available to prisoners who kept a good rep with impeccable behavior, but that still didn’t do much to calm the lapping wave of anxiety in your stomach. 

Eyeing the guard who stayed by the door, you noted the way he kept his hands next to his weapon. Only the sound of the secondary door on the other side opening got you to look the other way. As the first few prisoners trickled in, wrists held close together with metallic chains, you sat up a bit straighter. A few of them glanced your way, but as you thought, most of them seemed to gravitate toward the . . . friendly looking dogs, especially the golden retriever who looked like he’d never met a stranger. 

Cardinal huffed, sides filling with air before deflating, and his head lowered until it fit between the slots of his feet. You bent at the waist to give his head another small pat and rub. So focused on him, though, you missed the one person approaching you slowly until his feet stopped mere inches away from Cardinal’s. You stayed bent, but your neck craned until your eyes met peered hazel ones that flickered downward and then back to your face. 

You sat up straight, the plastic chair creaking under the sudden change in position, and squared your shoulders. “Hi.” 

The man drenched in God-awful orange didn’t reply. His lips curled in a thin line, and his hands clenched and unclenched near his navel. You watched as he shifted his weight, body tense like he wanted to speak and move but held back. You quickly looked around. If you had another chair, you’d offer it to him, but the only ones seemed to be occupied by the dog owners. 

“Um, there’s not an extra chair, but . . .” you trailed, lip catching between your teeth. “I can always stand up and let you sit or—” 

Still without answering, he started to lower to the ground instead until he was fully seated, legs crossed in front of him. His head tilted slightly to the side, and his eyes didn’t look away from Cardinal, yet, he made no motion to reach out and pet him. 

You leaned back down and placed a hand on your dog’s head. “He’s friendly,” you said, hand dragging down his fur. “Might growl at first, but I swear he won’t bite your hand.” You paused before adding, “Unless you have food. Then he might not be able to tell the difference between that and your fingers.” 

A deep feeling in your chest wanted him to crack a smile or actually acknowledge he was being talked to, but when his lips stayed flat, eyes unwavering. He didn’t even flinch when it appeared Cardinal got too impatient to be pet and lifted off the ground to get a closer smell. You smiled as his nose twitched while he carefully inched forward. 

Then, finally, the man reached out before keeping his hand held in the air, letting Cardinal come to him instead of forcing a connection. A small, warning growl accompanied a curled lip to show off his canines, but the man didn’t cower. Almost like he needed your approval as well before fully giving into the outreached hand, Cardinal turned his head back towards you, and you slightly laughed. 

“You big doaf,” you teased. “Go on.” 

That’s all you had to say for Cardinal to dive right into the man’s lap, tongue hanging out of his mouth as his full body wriggled around. The man gave him the most gentle pets you’d ever seen someone do. It made you wonder if he was scared of himself with the way he held back. He stayed firmly upright despite Cardinal jumping around, putting his paws on the man’s chest, and even going around him as far as the leash would allow to nose at his spine before plopping back down into the lap made by criss-crossed-applesauced legs. 

You stayed quiet and watched the two mess around. Because your companion wasn’t the most trusting of men, it’d been a while since you’d seen Cardinal get to rough house around with someone that could take it. You weren’t weak at all, but with the amount of energy stored in that lithe black and brown body, most times you ended up curled in a ball on the floor as he continued relentless play attacks at your sides and back.  

After a few minutes, Cardinal settled fully as he draped himself across the man’s legs, chest rapidly rising and falling in low pants. Big hands continued running down his short coat in long strokes. 

“What’s his name?” 

The sound of his voice caught you off guard, the addition to the small three-way circle so sudden it sent your head reeling before you blinked the stunned feeling away. You tried not to note that he had a nice voice. But it was impossible and slotted in the back of your mind. 

“Cardinal,” you managed to sputter out. 

Definitely not attractive. 

“Cardinal,” he parroted, and the most magic thing followed: the corners of his lips curled barely by a hair. “Nice name.” 

“I’m glad you think so. I originally wanted to go with Bishop, but I knew a guy with that name in high school, and he was a grade-A asshole,” you babbled. “And I think Cardinal fits him much better.” Your fingers fiddled with the leash. “My name’s (Y/n) . . . if you were wondering.” 

He—still the unnamed prisoner—lifted his eyes to meet yours. 

“And you probably weren’t wondering,” you backtracked with a sigh, cheeks heating just a bit under his gaze. 

“(Y/n).” He nodded once. “Nice name.” 

The heat flooded down your neck, and you shyly murmured a thank you. His hazel eyes returned to the puddle of dog between his legs. 

“Can you tell me more about him?” he asked. 

“Oh, sure,” you responded, shifting in your seat as though this were an interview. “He just turned three last week, but I swear he still thinks he’s a puppy. His favorite toy is a stuffed white puppy; he literally cannot sleep without it. Um, we do bite work every Monday night, and then advanced protection on Thursdays. And—” 

“All right, that’s it for today,” a low voice near the exit door cut you off, and it was as if a switch had been turned off in the man. 

The barely-there breath of a smile dropped instantly, and his back went rigid, hands stopping along near Cardinal’s ribs before ripping away back to his lap. Confused at the lack of pets, Cardinal stood back up and nose nudged near his jaw, but the man was already pushing up from the floor. 

You also stood up once he got to full height. “Well, it was nice meeting you . . .” 

He glanced over to where the prisoners were already lining up before quietly offering, “Andrew.” 

You repeated him just as quiet. A small secret shared. Two names for one; something to hold onto until the next time. 

“Thank you for sitting with us,” you said. “He really likes you.” 

As though to reinforce your statement, Cardinal all but put his snout into the space between Andrew’s shackled hands, squeezing a soft whine into the air. 

“Cody!” the guard barked. “In line.” 

Andrew tensed before slowly turning around without a second glance back to you, and just like that, it was only you, the other three dog owners, and the one guard who led you in left in the room. The moment the door locked shut with the prisoners on the other side, the three hounded in on you, questions pouring from their mouths. 

“How on earth did you do that?” the older lady asked above the others. 

Your brows pinched tightly. “Do what?” 

Her eyes flickered towards the door. “I’ve been here for five sessions, and not once has that man interacted with a dog much less the person as well. He never spoke and stood to the side like a creep.” 

A warning grumble reverberated from Cardinal just as you scoffed. 

“Maybe he just didn’t find anyone quiet enough to feel comfortable to approach,” you said, quick to defend the man who hadn’t even said twenty words to you in a span of the thirty minute session. “Go time,” you said before stepping away from the group with Cardinal right on your heels, falling back into a perfectly matched rhythm. 

Before even going into the session, you had wondered if this was going to be your first and final attendance, but when the sun shown brightly and warmed your skin and Cardinal pulled lightly on his leash, acting like he wanted to go back inside and sniff Andrew out, you decided that next week, you’d get back into your car and make the hour commute again. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

With more anticipation than the last time, your knee bounced rapidly as you waited for the prisoners to trickle through into the room. You kept your eyes glued, and if someone had pointed it out, you would have realized that you and Cardinal had the same look: something yearning and waiting and excitement all jumbled and stuffed into your bodies. People did say that owners somehow picked dogs that looked like them without even realizing. 

You hadn’t even made Cardinal sit nicely at your feet again, and his little nubbed tail swished back and forth with a fast viciousness only saved for his favorite people, the list usually being just you. But now, you guessed Andrew’s name was right under yours. 

At the sound of the door being unlocked, you subconsciously leaned forward. The first few prisoners stepped out, and your breathing stopped as you mentally calculated how many were coming in. To keep everyone from being overwhelmed, only a handful of prisoners were allowed in, and you prayed that Andrew would be the next to step through the threshold. 

The corners of your lips curled upward when you finally spotted him in the mix, hair still cropped, hands still shackled, but unlike last week, he seemed more interested in what was going on. It only took him a moment to turn his face towards your small corner, and Cardinal let out a small happy yelp when he started to walk over. You allowed his leash to go slack enough to let him meet Andrew halfway, backside moving back and forth since his tail seemed to not be able to keep up. 

Andrew tried not to trip on the dog, keeping his eyes downward and his steps careful until he reached the spot where he sat the last time. His knees creaked just a bit as he lowered down to the ground and kept his feet out straight. Immediately, Cardinal hopped into his lap, rolling stomach up, the universal ask for belly rubs. 

With both hands, he started scratching along his soft under-belly coat. 

“Hi again,” you said gently. 

“Hi,” he greeted back even if he didn’t look up at you. “He seems happy.” 

“Oh, you have no idea. I could barely get him to sit in the car on the way over here. I think he missed you the entire week,” you said. 

His brows furrowed. “I’ve only met him once.” 

You shrugged before leaning down to drop the leash fully knowing Cardinal wasn’t going to dart at all. “That’s all it takes for a dog to decide if you’re their new favorite person or their arch nemesis for the rest of time.” 

“Oh.” He frowned, deeply thinking of what he’d done to be on the receiving end of such excitement from an animal. “That’s it?” 

“That’s it.” Your growing smile stretched until your teeth showed. “Plus, he loves scratches and love pats, and you seem to be doing a pretty good job.” 

Andrew noticed that his hands had moved on from scratching to gently patting along Cardinal’s ribs in rhythmic motions. His mind raced to what the two of you had been talking about the last time before the session had ended. Normally, he wouldn’t be so invested in a person and dog, but there was something about the way you looked so soft yet fierce while your canine looked fierce while Cardinal didn’t hesitate to jump into his lap. 

“You said he did bite work?” 

“What?” you asked. 

His chin tilted downward, and he looked up at you through his eyebrows. “Last time. You said he did bite work.” 

“Oh yeah,” you breathed before giggling to yourself. “He has a lot of energy that can’t all be burned out from just going to a dog park or going for a run. So the moment I moved here, I looked into places that had training courses for him to go through. Plus it’s helpful.” 

“Helpful?” he echoed. 

“Yeah, ya know . . . if I ever get attacked or some guy comes after me.” You leaned down and settled a hand near Andrew’s on Cardinal's back. “He protects me.” 

“Has that ever happened before?” Andrew suddenly asked, almost personally confused as to why he did. 

The sessions weren’t supposed to be chat hours. He knew the prison offered this to get him to be more docile. If he didn’t attack the dogs, maybe he’d learn not to attack or hit others. This plus the meds they’d been giving him, he wasn’t sure how trusting he could be, and asking questions about your wellbeing was the complete opposite of being on the offense. 

Your eyes glanced down before you leaned back into the seat. “Once after I first moved. I don’t live on campus—I’m here to finish my masters—and after class, this one guy followed me home. I don’t know exactly why; I’d never seen him before, but he tried to corner me near my door. I had just gotten it open when he tried to grab me, and Cardinal came rushing out the door.” 

The more you talked, the more rage built in Andrew’s chest, simmering just below his skin. And instead of questioning why he felt this way, he gave into the feeling and clenched his hands. However, Cardinal, the everknowing soul, felt the change in him right away, and Andrew wasn’t ready for him to stand and press his cold nose into the side of his neck, huffing loudly near his ear. 

You laughed quietly after seeing how still Andrew had become, confusion on what to do next. Your fingers quickly found the dropped leash on the ground, but before you could give Cardinal a small tug, Andrew shook his head. 

“He’s okay,” he murmured. 

A wave of sadness crashed over you as you watched him try to wrap his arms around Cardinal but failed since the cuffs kept his wrists together. 

Maybe one day once he’s out, he can give Cardinal a full hug quickly flashed through your mind, to which you quickly shook your head to get rid of it. Once Andrew was out, he would disappear from your and Cardinal's life entirely. 

One glance toward the clock on the wall told you that only ten minutes remained for the session, and your heart clenched. The thirty minutes weren’t enough. 

“What are you in school for?” Andrew asked after a quiet moment, arms finally wrapped awkwardly around Cardinal’s neck, basically using him as an arm wrest. 

“Behavior sciences. I like knowing how people tick,” you replied. “Everyone acts differently, but I believe that at our base, we all have a need and want to be liked. It’s human nature to want to please. Kinda like dogs.” 

“Is that why you signed up for this?” he spat the last word. 

“A little. I think I wanted to find a way to help people since school doesn’t give me time to do extra volunteer hours during the week,” you provided. “I mean, one of our assignments was to find an outlet that could help, and I found Folsom’s application online.” 

“Oh.” 

“But,” you swiftly kept going, “we only had to go once for the grade.” 

Andrew looked back up at you. “Then why are you here?” 

“Well, Cardinal seemed to really like this one guy we met last week,” you teased, and he finally gave you more than a hint of a smile, lips pulling outward until lines appeared. 

“Just him?” 

You pretended to think, eyes looking upward to the ceiling. “Hmmmm, maybe not just Cardinal. I think I liked talking to the guy too.” 

A rosyness bloomed across Andrew’s face. 

You liked talking to him? Probably the first time someone ever said that, and his first instinct was a desperate want to hear you say it again. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

For the next two years, you always faithfully showed up to the sessions. During that time, you’d gotten to know some about Andrew’s life outside of the concrete walls. You learned that he was a twin, he had two younger brothers and an older adopted brother, whose wife he used to love, and that his father had died before he was born. 

He enjoyed skateboarding whenever he could get away from his mom. If he had a slow evening, he liked to listen to nature documentaries on the TV. He told you about his arrest, though barely giving you full details but enough that you decided he wasn’t in prison for the right reasons. Every time he spoke, you listened with intent, wanting to soak up any knowledge about the man you’d come to look forward to seeing every Saturday afternoon. 

In return, you told him about your own life. Unlike him, you were an only child, parents still living and married together. You were twenty-five; fifteen years his junior. Your favorite color was green despite Cardinal’s leash and halter being blue—he’d picked it out himself you told him through a fit of giggles. You confessed that after college, you really didn’t have a plan for your life, and that you preferred to go with the flow to see where you ended up. 

And somewhere along the way, untold to either, you both felt a certain care for the other. 

Andrew had felt drawn to you the moment you had told him that you liked that he was quieter and softer than the others, that he didn’t try to talk over you and remembered the smallest things you’d said. And every time you gave him a compliment like the time you mentioned hazel eyes were your favorite hues and that you enjoyed looking at them, his heart yearned for you a little bit more to the point he started being first in line for the sessions to get the smallest handful of seconds longer in your presence. 

You, on the other hand, started feeling something for him when he quietly defended Cardinal. One of the newer volunteers who started coming around five weeks after you started had loudly proclaimed that a Doberman wasn’t fit to be a therapy dog. You’d wanted to shut his comment down, protest that Cardinal had been approved just as his yappy, little rat Chihuahua had when Andrew slowly stood, faced the man, and berated him in front of everyone. You’d been scared that he’d get reprimanded, but the guards never did a thing.  

Through these small moments and honest conversations, Saturdays became both of your favorite days of the week. 

Well . . . that was until a random Saturday almost two years after you’d first signed up. 

The entire drive over, you were excited to tell Andrew that you’d passed your exams, meaning that graduation would be right around the corner for you. The second bit of exciting news was that you’d been offered a three-year contract for a job in Sacramento. You’d get to stay close, see him more often if he let you. School wouldn’t be in the way. 

Cardinal could sense your excitement in the air, and he matched your energy the entire way into Folsom. He bounded around your feet, not even listening to your small commands and corrections. Once inside, you were the first to take a seat, Cardinal finally sitting next to the chair like normal. 

The door unlocked, and the first few prisoners walked through, and your heart began to race. However, after the fifth and sixth prisoner, with Andrew not in sight, your stomach backflipped before sinking when the door closed. 

Andrew hadn’t made it through. There must have been a mistake. 

You pushed off the metal chair—the plastic one had broken during one of the sessions where Cardinal managed to push you off and down to his and Andrew’s level—and approached one of the guards. 

“Excuse me,” you meekly said, tensing under the man’s steeled gaze. “I’m wondering if Andrew Cody couldn’t make it today. Is he doing okay?”

“Sorry to tell you, but he was released a couple days ago.” 

You swallowed thickly. “What? He said he had another three to go—” 

“Got out on good behavior. Guess the Canine-Comfort thing did its job. Never seen such a violent man turn into someone normal.” 

A sneer pinched your face, and you had to fight the urge to tell him off that Andrew was always normal. A little lost in life, but he wasn’t an animal, wasn’t violent . . . at least towards you. But you found it hard to believe after being around him and his kindness for two full years, seeing nothing but the gentleness he gave you. 

You turned and looked around the room before looking back at the guard. “Am I able to leave early?” 

Quietly and quickly, he opened the door for you to slip through, and as you walked through the empty hall, Cardinal whined loudly. 

“I know, bud, I know,” you whispered. “I’m going to miss him too.”  

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Never once had you slipped Andrew’s mind, not even as a year passed since the last time he’d seen you and Cardinal. He hadn’t even known that the session before he got released was going to be the final time, and if he had, he probably would have done something reckless like tell you to find him once he got out. 

But the way he had to leave without even getting to say goodbye tore at his chest whenever you crossed his mind or when he saw a doberman walking on the street. If he imagined hard enough, he could morph whoever to have your soft hair and your sweet smile that Andrew believed to only be reserved for him. Distance made the heart grow fonder, but the longer he was away from you, the more his fondness turned into obsession. He looked for you in every aspect, and before he knew it, he was typing your name into his computer. 

To his chagrin, only your past references would ever be brought up in the search engine. He did see that you had graduated a few months after his release, but that meant that you were probably long gone by then. Andrew cursed himself. He hadn’t even told you where he lived. 

From then on, he learned to curb his wants and desires for you, only giving in under the cover of night. He’d imagine your voice next to his ear, your weight over his bare chest, fingers dragging down his pecs and abs as your hips rocked against his. His hand would dip below his shorts into his boxers, cock already hard and straining by the time he wrapped his hand around the length. His soft, warm shaft would already be wet and slick with precum. With tantalizing strokes and bucking pelvis, it wouldn’t take him long to cum in his pants by the mere thought of how you’d taste on his tongue.  

What really got him spurting though was when, instead of hearing moans and whimpers from your lips, he’d envision you giving him soft commands as you did to Cardinal. A down here, a speak there, a bite down as he filled you completely. And above all, he’d whimper hearing you give him a good boy if he managed to please and do what you’d asked. 

In the haze of orgasm before clarity would command his senses once again, he’d reach for his phone and google harnesses and leashes for people, only to swipe the tab away the next morning with burning cheeks. 

Though, those moments started to spread far and few between as his mother began to commandeer his life once again. But after he found out she’d been drugging his food, he left. Put the whole life behind him. 

He stayed close to Oceanside in case his brothers needed something, but the life of Pope Cody, criminal under his mother’s thumb, was over. With any hope of finding you again keeping his heart beating, he changed. Got a job—one that gave him money the legal way. Started skateboarding again. You’d be proud of him, at least, he believed you’d be proud of him. 

It wasn’t until one Saturday morning that his reason for life walked right on by without even stopping. 

He nearly fell off his skateboard, because there you were, tan and glowing under the sun. You looked a bit older, not as soft as he once knew you, but the world worked in funny ways like that. It dangled what you wanted the most after they’d been changed. And as he watched you walk away, Cardinal at your side, he wanted to say something—scream something, but he stayed silent. For as much as he begged to see you again, here was no telling if you'd actually wanted the same. 

So, Andrew stayed quiet, but that didn’t mean he stayed still. After you’d walked on a few feet, he fell into your invisible footprints along the sand-specked sidewalk. You were none the wiser, earbuds letting music flow too loudly to hear the outside world. He would have to have a discussion with you about that. There was only so much Cardinal could do if you were attacked unsuspectingly. Not knowing your surroundings terrified him to his core. 

He followed you for around thirty minutes, enjoying the walk along the way but also enjoying being around you after so long. His eyes trailed your back and the way your shoulder blades and muscles shifted beneath the tank top draped over your torso. The hazel hues lingered at the bottom hem that lifted with each step, revealing more of your ass that was perfectly sculpted by the tight green leggings. 

You only stopped when you reached a small white house and used a key to waltz in, and Andrew’s stomach clenched. You’d been living here. You’d only been less than an hour away this entire time. He could have had you sooner. 

But now? Now he knew where you lived. Someplace he could come to when you weren’t there. A home that you could possibly invite him in at some point. However, he wasn’t about to waste anymore time away from you. 

The next time he was out skating, he didn’t stay long, choosing to follow the memorized path back to your house. It wasn’t his fault you left a second key under a false rock, and it wasn’t his fault that you were out and about. He noted that you desperately needed a security system once he realized there was a lack of cameras. 

His footsteps were soft as he walked through the hallway and into the living room. The air smelled like a mix of your perfume—vanilla and salt air—and clean dog shampoo. Even if every aspect of your home held evidence that Cardinal lived there too in toys and the bed near the couch, he was grateful you kept it clear of dog hair. 

He moved on toward your bedroom and stopped in the threshold as though the space he was about to enter was too holy for him and his dirty soul. His eyes scanned each inch from your curtain choice to your bedspread: green gingham with white pillows. However, a sprawled piece of navy fabric caught his attention, and he gave into the urge to walk over. It wasn’t until he picked it up that he realized what it was. 

His large fingers fiddled with the lacy part of your underwear, thumb running along the hem before stopping at the gusset. There was no dampness, no leftover scent from what he could tell; the pair was clean, and that wouldn't do at all. He carefully laid it back down, spreading it as though he never picked it up in the first place and turned direction. 

Your closet was his next victim. His lower half peeked out around the door as he dug through the hamper of your dirty clothes. Your scent was thicker here. Not as sweet, but even more so addicting as it wafted upwards to his face. A small moan crawled up his throat, the sound echoing in your empty bedroom. 

However, as he continued digging around, he didn’t hear the soft sound of your door clicking shut or your footsteps as you walked in his direction. 

For one split second, you were terrified to see half of a man sticking out of your closet. Cardinal was currently at his handlers for one-on-one time; your one protector was gone the moment you needed him most. And yet, when the man pulled back, revealing the face of the man you’d been dreaming about for a year, your soul settled enough to let you watch what he did next. 

In his hands, yesterday's thong dangled between his thick fingers before he slowly brought it up to his nose. Your eyes stayed trained on his chest as it inflated deeply and a groan rumbled right out of it. Something inside you warmed at the scene even if you should have been calling the police. 

You shoved your hands into your pockets when he took another deep breath in and decided it was time to make your presence known. 

“You know,” you said, making Andrew’s eyes widen and hands drop to his sides. “If you missed me this much, you could have approached me normally. Unless this is your way of showing exactly what you’ve been wanting to do since we parted ways?” 

Your thong fell to the floor in a heap, and a redness crept up his neck and settled in his cheeks. He felt frozen, glued to the floor, unable to move even an inch under your hungry gaze. Your head tilted slightly when he made no move, made no attempt to apologize or explain what he was doing. 

“Andrew, come here,” you stated, slightly joking. 

However, your words seemed to light something in his mind, and he quickly walked over to you in large strides until mere inches were left between your chest and his. He wasn’t much taller than you exactly, but he had a few good bit above you where you had to look up. His shoulders, though, felt larger, and you bet you’d fit right into his chest with enough of him left to curl around you. 

Just the thought sent a shiver down your spine. 

Slowly, you lifted a hand and rested it against his cheek. Instantly, he leaned into your palm. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally breathed. 

But an apology wasn’t what you were looking for. 

“I asked you a question, Andrew,” you restated. “Have you been thinking about me?” His jaw dropped before clamping back shut. The hand at his cheek traveled upwards and tangled into his grown-out curls. “C’mon; speak. Tell me what you’re thinking.” 

He swallowed loudly, Adam’s apple bobbing in his neck. “I’ve . . . I’ve wanted you.” 

You cocked an eyebrow. “For how long?” 

“Since Folsom. Since you said you liked hearing me speak.” 

A small part of you shattered. “That long?” 

He nodded, hair pulling slightly in your grasp. “That long. But then I left. Couldn’t find you after that.” 

“Well, now you’ve found me. What are you going to do about it, Andrew?” 

At his sides, his hands clenched like they did the first time you met him, and somehow, it clicked to you that this was his tell, his silent plea for someone to help him do what he wanted. You’d done it before; when you first offered your chair for him to sit down only for him to take the ground instead. But here he was, looking at you with expecting eyes as he waited oh so patiently for your next direction. 

Your fingers curled deeper into his roots, and the pressure drew a sigh from deep in his lungs. 

“Poor Andrew,” you cooed. “Can’t do anything unless I tell you to.” 

“Please,” he whined. 

“Okay, okay.” Your eyes met his, the hazel almost completely covered by his blown out pupils. “Down.” 

As soon as the command hit his brain, neurons firing for him to obey, obey, obey, he fell to the floor, knees crashing down in one fluid motion. His face pressed into your navel, and his hands finally planted themselves on your hips. You took two steps back until your spine molded against the wall, and Andrew shuffled forward to follow. 

“Take off my pants and underwear,” you breathed. 

His fingers gripped both hems and pulled downward until the fabric puddled at your feet. It took every ounce of self control that Andrew had left to not shove his face between your thighs and breathe you in. 

Slowly, you lifted your right leg, using the wall as support, and rested it over his shoulder. Your cunt was now in full display, less than an inch from his nose. He slightly leaned forward, but you held his head in place by his hair. 

“Did I tell you to go ahead?” you questioned with lidded eyes. 

He shook his head, looking more guilty than he had when you’d caught him with your underwear under his nose after he’d broken into your home. 

“Good boys do as they’re told, Andrew.” 

“‘M sorry,” he whimpered. 

“Do you want to be a good boy?” 

“Yes,” he answered almost before you’d even finished the question. “Yes. I wanna be . . .” His words died in his mouth, and your brows pinched. 

“Go on, baby. Tell me what you wanna be.” 

He huffed, a sound that reminded you of when Cardinal didn’t want to do as told. 

“. . . wanna be your good boy.” 

An elated expression morphed your face with raised eyebrows and a small smile. 

“Then show me what your tongue can do and lick.” 

Like a tightly coiled spring, he launched forward, face diving into your cunt all at once. His chin rubbed along your already dampened folds as his tongue began to lap mindlessly at the sensitive space between your clit and your entrance. While that felt good, you needed him higher. 

“Slow,” you managed to get out while your fingers used his curls to direct him. When the flat of his tongue ran along your clit, white, zinging pleasure shot up your spine. “There. Right—fuck—there, Andrew.” 

Under your hand, Andrew learned quickly, eagerly doing just as you told him. He kept his hands in place while he traded tonguing your throbbing bundle of nerves and licking at your fluttering hole, your taste seeping into his mouth. He hoped that it would stick, that when he fantasized about you next, he’d be able to swallow the lingering taste. 

“Fingers,” you panted once ecstasy settled warmly in your navel and your thighs began to tighten around his head. You’d played with yourself enough to know exactly what you needed, and since meeting Andrew, his thick fingers had been a craving during your lapses of self pleasure. “Use your fingers.” 

Andrew’s right hand slowly dragged downward across your hip and slightly under where his lips stayed connected to your clit as he sucked it between his teeth. Using his pointer finger, he prodded at your hole, fingertip barely breaching you before sliding right in. 

A strangled moan ripped from deep in your throat at the feeling. One of his fingers felt like two of yours, the stretch delicious and borderline painful in sweet tantalizing pressure. 

“Andrew!” you whined, head tilting back, throat bared to the ceiling. Your hips canted upwards into his face and finger, desperately searching for something more. “Move.” 

He dragged his fingertip along your walls, memorizing every soft ridge until his soaked digit cooled slightly before thrusting it back in. Your cunt clenched tightly around it. 

“Hmmmm—fuck!” you keened when he managed to reach a particularly deep part of you that had only been accessible with a toy. “Oh, shit, fucking—Andrew!” 

The sound of you calling his name had his cock straining even more against his pants. He’d never admit it, but his cock had already started swelling the moment he inhaled your heady scent from your thong. But now, hearing your whimpers and half-croaked moans that tangled his name, he needed to get some pressure off, or he was going to cum untouched. 

You’d been so distracted with his finger and tongue that you failed to notice the first jerk of his hips against your shin. But when he did it a second time and then a third, you couldn’t ignore it any longer. 

“Are you—fuck—are you humping my leg?” you asked. 

Andrew stilled against you, and you swallowed a moan. You could feel how hard he was against your skin, how large his cock was, even with being restrained by two layers of fabric. 

“I’m sor—“ He choked on a moan when your leg rose slightly and pressed into his bulge. He hunched slightly at the waist, face pulling back from your cunt, cheek resting against your thigh with eyes pinched tightly. 

It’d been so long since someone touched him, and your approval of letting him use your body for his own pleasure made the fire in his stomach build and roar. 

“Go on,” you muttered before pushing back his sweat-soaked curls from his forehead. “Hump my leg like a fucking mutt, but don’t you dare cum, Andrew.”  

He nodded mindlessly, and his hips began to rock once again in slow, dragged out motions. You left him to his pleasure for a few moments before tugging his face back into your core. 

“Get back to licking like you know how to do,” you commanded even if you were just as pathetically holding onto strings as he was. “Add another finger and make me cum all over your face.” 

You kept your leg as steady as you could manage while Andrew started licking and nibbling at your folds and stiff clit with renewed fervor. His pointer was soon joined with his middle, the delicious stretch even tighter than before. And when his hips jerked, a groan vibrated through your folds, almost sending you right over the edge. 

“An-Andrew,” you gasped, overwhelmed with his fingers and tongue working in tandem to make you cum. “C-curl—fucking, I’m—curl your fingers upwards—oh!” Your elongated moan turned into whine when his fingertips managed to brush directly at your g-spot, and stars dotted your vision. “That’s—Andreeewww—feels so—I’m gonna cum!” 

Andrew kept humping your shin in methodical thrusts, careful to heed your words and hold back the urge to cum. From below, he lifted his eyes, gaze running up your stomach to your pinched face. He wanted to see what you looked like when you came undone, to see if he obeyed correctly. His lips puckered, and he sucked your clit between them, the tip of his tongue kitten liking the bud as he curled his fingers again. His fingers massaged that small, spongy spot, and the next moment, your thighs clamped down on his ears. 

“Cumming—fuck!” you moaned, torso bending over Andrew’s head, hips jerking absentmindedly to seek out as much pleasure as possible. 

Your walls rhythmically clenched around his two fingers, and your arousal dripped down to his knuckles. A shudder wracked through your entire being when the bliss started morphing into overstimulation. 

“Okay, okay,” you whimpered. “Enough.” 

Andrew licked from your fluttering hole up to your clit once last time before pulling back to sit on his calves.  Already half-lidded, your eyes fluttered closed, and your head felt back with a soft thunk as you tried to catch your breath, mind reeling and fuzzy. Down by your knees, a slurping sound echoed in the room, and your eyes ripped open in time to see Andrew hollow his cheeks around his fingers. 

Once your chest fell into a softer rhythm, you looked down at him. “Andrew.” He paused, fingers halfway in his mouth, and looked up. “Up.” 

He pushed off the ground without a second thought and stood to his full height, but his eyes were no longer on you. The blown-out pupils were fixated on a spot just over your shoulder, and when he noticed you’d caught on, he quickly shifted them back to your face. However, your curiosity wouldn’t let you forget, and you looked toward the wall near your face, eyes widened when you realized what he’d been looking at with a yearning look: one of Cardinal’s choke chains that you used specifically for obedience training, its gold links beaming and glinting under your gaze. 

You turned back to face him. “Pants and shirt off.” 

At lightning speed, he shucked both clothing articles off before neatly folding and setting them on the edge of your bed. A certain soft type of fondness that made you want to keep him forever filled your chest. You raked over his body with a hungry look, letting your eyes linger on the outline of his abs and happy trail that dipped into the waistline of his boxers before lowering down to his thick thighs. 

“Good,” you praised, and his chest puffed out ever so slightly. “Now . . . sit on the bed.” 

He turned without thinking and walked until his knees hit the edge before slowly lowering until his ass rested on top of your duvet. As he did so, you had also turned around, but in the opposite direction to grab the choke chain from the hook. Its weight settled heavily in your palm, the loop swinging as it dangled. 

When you looked up from it toward Andrew, he was already eyeing the chain as well with interest as well as apprehension. 

You held the special collar in the air. “Do you want me to use this on you, Andrew?” 

He swallowed thickly, and his head bobbed. 

You gave him a sharp sht. “Speak.” 

“Yes,” he sighed breathily. “Please.” 

Instead of answering, you rewarded him by walking over to stand between his spread legs, your thighs brushing and resting between his. Slowly, you fed the chain through the one hoop, allowing the hooped part to loosen and spread. The small links shinked against their metal counterparts, and the sound sent a shiver down Andrew’s spine. 

As you would do with Cardinal, you lowered the open-feed loop until it swallowed his head before drooping around his neck. You let it rest against his skin, let him get used to the cool metal as it drew in his radiating body heat. 

“There,” you whispered. “You look so good in a collar, Andy.” 

His brows pinched tightly, and he locked his confused eyes onto yours. “Andy?” 

You nodded. “Every good boy needs a nickname.” Your left pointer finger hooked through the end ring and pulled lightly, making Andrew follow the lead until his face stopped right next to yours. “Do you want to fuck me?” 

“Yes,” he was quick to answer this time. “Yes, please. For a long time.” 

You leaned in and placed a chaste kiss against his lips before muttering, “Crawl up the bed and sit against the headboard.” 

The end ring slipped from your finger and landed in the divot between his pecs. Without turning away from you, Andrew used his arms to pull himself farther up the bed, biceps bulging under his weight until he got into the position you wanted him to be in. Seeing that he settled himself, you pulled your shirt off before your bra followed suit. 

Almost instantly, your nipples pebbled in the cool air, and you swore a drop of drool escaped the side of Andrew’s lips. Your knees sunk first into the mattress, and then your hands. You slowly crawled over the bed, never looking away from him even as you partly straddled his thighs. He huffed out a soft whine when your nails scraped against his stomach and caught on his boxers. 

“Let’s get these off. Lift up,” you said. 

Andrew’s hips rose off the bed, giving you enough room to pull the black fabric down. The hem dragged down inch by inch in a teasing manner until his cock was fully revealed. You paused to watch it bob upward against his lower navel, and the heavy girth of it tilted the head to the side as it swayed. Your walls clenched around nothing; your cunt ached for it to fill you to the brim. 

Your tongue ran along your bottom lip as you all but ripped his boxers off the rest of the way, flinging them behind you to join your own pile of clothes. For a split second, you wondered if he wanted you to fold them like he had with his shirt and pants, but with the way he was looking at you . . . you could tell he didn’t mind them being wrinkled on the floor. 

Hesitantly, you reached out and trailed your finger down the vein on the underside of his length, his cock jolting and spurting a bead of precum when you reached the thick base. His hands, lying next to his thighs, once again began to rhythmically clench into fists. 

You shuffled forward more into his lap, one hand gripping his cock while the other took a hold of the dangling end of the choke chain. Your movements paused so you could slide his ruddy tip through your soaked folds, drawing moans from both of you. 

A small upward tilt of his hips had you pulling back and hand tightening the chain around his neck in a warning. 

“Nuh-uh-uh,” you tutted. “Stay.” 

When he stilled under you, you slowly positioned back over his cock until the head notched at your opening once the length was thoroughly soaked with your sticky arousal. But even just the first breach felt like you were being split open, and the breath from your lungs ripped up your throat. Andrew’s head tilted back, and his eyes fell shut as his face pinched. 

In a tormenting pace, you inched yourself down onto his cock, walls clenching and relaxing at the thick intrusion. Your fingers never left the chain as you pushed your hand into Andrew’s chest for stability. And never once did he move under you. 

“You f-feel so big, Andy,” you whimpered when he was around halfway in. “Biggest cock I’ve ever ha-had.” 

A groan rumbled through his chest, and his eyes finally opened back up so he could watch your face twitch with pleasure. Your back arched during the last few inches, and a high pitched whine crawled up your throat once he was fully sheathed, his tip digging into spots you didn’t know could be reached. You swore he was up in your throat, and one glance down to the swell in your abdomen almost made you cum right then and there. 

Without moving much, you blindly reached down, fingers finding purchase in his wrist to raise his hand to span across your stretched skin.   

“You feel that, Andy?” you questioned. “That’s you. So, so, so deep inside me. Reaching all those places I can’t even get to.” Your chin dipped so you could look at him and into his glossy eyes. 

In languid rocks, you began to lift off his cock in shallow motions, his length barely pulling out before you dropped back down, cunt fully engulfing him. Your knees deeply dug into the mattress on either side of his hips, and your breasts slightly bounced as you started to quicken your up and down grinds. When your pelvises met, the coarse hairs that hid the base of his cock added needed stimulation to your clit with a tantalizing texture. 

After finding a good rhythm that danced between harsh downward sitting and slow dragging to feel his cock run across every ridge of your walls, you moaned, “Andrew. You can move. Fuck me, baby; fuck me like a good boy.” 

Large, calloused hands planted themselves on your hips, and Andrew began to meet your thrusts halfway, his grip helping aid you to slide along his length. On a particularly punchy roll, your body jolted, and your hand yanked on the chain to tighten the loop around Andrew's neck. The gold links dug into the sides of his pretty, freckled skin, and put pressure on his pulse points. 

You watched as his eyes grew hazy, mouth dropping to draw in labored breaths. After a few seconds, you loosened the chain, and some resemblance of cognitivity returned to his hazel hues. 

“You like that?” you asked, pulling your hips up only to drop them back down to pull a whimper from Andrew. “You like being choked? You look so hot under me, Andy. Letting me use you for my own pleasure.” 

“Use me,” he parroted. “Use me, please. I want to be goodhnnggg—” 

“Use you?” You yanked the chain again, cutting off his words to bring that fuzzy pleasure back to the front of his brain. “Oh, I will, but I need you to stay for me. Can you do that?” 

This time you held the chain taut for longer and started rolling your hips again. You kept the chain at a safe tightness, making sure not to pull it and completely cut off his air. But the longer you held it tightly, and the more Andrew’s eyes fluttered, you noticed how glossy they were becoming until the first tear slid down the side of his face. 

Your cunt constricted around his cock at the sight, and you dropped the chain out of a strange mix of surprise and concern as you quivered above him.

“Hey,” you softly said, hand coming up to cup his cheek. “Are you okay? Are you hurting anywhere?” 

The last thing you wanted was to accidentally hurt Andrew, and while the sight of him crying did unspeakable things to your insides, you needed to make sure he was alright before continuing. 

“Good,” he croaked once he realized that you’d stopped, eyes hooded and mouth agape as he stared up at you. “So good. Not hurt.” 

His left hand rose and covered yours and gently guided your fingers back to the loop that rested hotly between his pecs. He finagled the ring back into your hand and gave a soft tug against it.

 “Again—again, please,” he begged pathetically, timber filled with desperation. “Don’t stop.” 

“Oh, Andy,” you cooed as your hips started to rock again. “So, so good for me.” 

You slightly curled the dangling chain around your pinky before holding the rest tightly against your palm and tugged. A strangled moan fell from Andrew’s parted lips, and the sheer sound had you involuntarily clenching around his cock. Another tear slipped out of the corner of his eye, and his chest stuttered under gasping breaths. He looked so beautiful like this: crying underneath the pleasure only you could give him. When his tears started falling more freely along with the whimpers from his mouth, your hips worked harder and faster, rising and falling to stuff yourself to the brim. 

Using his chest to balance, you dipped your head to get in closer until the small puffs of his hot breath fanned against your nose. You placed a small kiss to the corner of his parted lips before your tongue darted out to lap at the streaming tears. The small tang of salt was addicting, and it only made you want to see him sob. 

“Fuck!” Andrew cried out, hips bucking upwards as you gave your hardest pull yet, the chain constricting around his throat tightly, and you hoped there’d be a pretty bruise-shaped necklace to show for it. 

You clicked your tongue against your teeth, abruptly stopping all movement. Your unoccupied hand reached out and closed around his jaw, lifting and shaking his head to coax his eyes back open and make them focus on you. 

“What did I say?” you asked, tone deep, face inches from his. 

Andrew’s mouth flopped open, and he floundered for an answer even if all words seemed to escape him. The only expression he could muster was a dumb little thing, brows furrowed, corners of his lips tugged downward in a pout. 

You feigned disappointment and shook your head. Your hand left his jaw in order to take a new hold of the choke chain and loop. “Ya’ know, Andy, good dogs follow orders.” 

“No, no—” His hands scrambled, darting between the chain, your hands, and your hips like he didn’t know where to touch or even if he could touch. “Please, please. ‘M good—swear I’m good; ‘m your good boy.” 

“Then what did I say?” You ground down into his hip as hard as you could, and you relished in the way he groaned and shivered. “What did I tell you to do?” 

“Then what did I say?” You squeezed your walls around him as hard as you possibly could, relishing in the way he groaned and shivered. “What did I tell you to do?”

“Stay!” His chest heaved. “You told me to stay!” 

“Good boy,” you murmured, other hand coming up to gently brush his fallen curls from his forehead. He went crosseyed to track your movements. “My good boy.”

“Y-your good boy,” he stuttered.

Two fingers from your right hand hooked into the ring, and two fingers from your left slid between his lips, fingertips settling in the middle of his tongue. You tugged, and his lips closed around your digits, suckling softly as you found the perfect rhythm to drive the head of his cock into the soft, sensitive spots inside you. 

Each draw back made a wet, squelching sound, your inner thighs and his base already soaked with your essence. Your walls clenched and held around his cock, desperate to keep him in and hold him inside. 

“Doing—fuck—doing so well f’r me, Andy,” you slurred. The pleasure pit in your stomach was quickly tightening, and you knew you were so close to cumming, but there was just something missing. 

Andrew hadn’t moved since you told him the second time to stay still, but that’s not what you wanted at all anymore. In one fluid motion, you tilted to the side and used the momentum to flip you both. At the feeling of turning over, Andrew’s eyes popped wide open. His cock hadn't even slipped out, length still buried inside you. Your hips continued softly rocking against him, but the new position had somehow made him reach deeper. 

“C’mon, Andy,” you moaned when he shifted forward to put his hands on both sides of your face to tower over you. “Fuck me like you mean it.” You gave the chain a yank to emphasize your wants, and Andrew was quick to comply. 

His hips drew back before kicking forward, and your legs twitched at the force. Every thrust had your spine digging and pushing up the bed and your mouth opening for wanton moans to fill his ears. At his shoulder, your nails dug into his skin and worked with the tight chain to keep him against you. 

Andrew’s hazel eyes shifted along your face, gazing at how he was going to bring you over the edge from his cock alone. When your moans began to change into high-pitched songs that broke halfway through choked gasps, he sat up slightly and placed his hands under your legs to push them up until the tops of your thighs brushed against your breasts. 

“Oh—oh! Fucking—Andrew!” you mewled, head tipping back to push into the pillow. “So fucking deep—fucking me so well! Gonna make me cum!” 

With a fire lit in his stomach, his hips pistoned against you with wet plaps, stilling momentarily to grind and let his tip rut into your soft spot. By now, your walls gripped him so tightly it was almost impossible to draw back all the way. 

“Gonna-gonna—Andyyyyyyy!” Your body tensed beneath him as your orgasm ripped through you, sending shockwaves up and down your limbs. 

Andrew kept his pace slow, wanting to draw out as much pleasure as he could for you, but his hips started to stutter intermittently, waiting for you to tell him to either pull out and stay inside, not expecting to get to finish. However, when your legs locked together at his lower back to push him as deep as possible, he grunted loudly. 

“You can cum inside, Andrew,” you panted, still experiencing the softer licks of pleasure that made you feel floaty. For one last measure, you pulled the chain taut once again. “Be good and cum.” 

Andrew stilled in your grasp, only needing your words and chain for his cock to start spurting cum along your walls. A low whimper whistled through his partly opened lips, and his eyes closed once again to focus on the way the chain dug into his neck, cutting off what he needed for the haze to grow at the edges of his mind. He rutted against you in half, unfinished thrusts, a mix of his spend and your creamy arousal coating the length of his cock. 

When he had nothing left to give, his arms slightly gave out, and his weight settled on top of you. You hummed lowly at the feeling and finally dropped the chain in order to run your hands through his curls. Every so often, you’d lift your chin to place small kisses along his cheek and jaw, whispering soft praises into his skin. 

The two of you lied there for several moments, basking in the afterglow and breathing in the scent of sex and something so entirely each other, neither of you wanting to let go at all. It wasn’t until Andrew leaned back and his cock slid out of you did you sit up slightly to look at him directly. 

“Thank you,” you softly said, one of your fingers still twirling a stray auburn curl. 

Andrew tilted his head slightly. “For what?” 

“For this, silly boy,” you laugh, the sound airy with disbelief. “You found me again.” 

He looked rather bashful after you said that before his lips formed into a frown. “Should’ve found you earlier.” 

“Maybe . . .” you trailed, “but we’re here now, and I’m not letting you disappear from my life again, Andrew Cody.” 

Finally, he fully smiled at you, crooked teeth on display. “Okay.” 

“Good,” you said, head bobbing in a nod. “Because you wouldn’t have to just deal with me. I will put Cardinal on your ass before you could even think of leaving without saying something.” 

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tmz Hailey Baldwin posts a not so cryptic post about her short relationship with Harry Styles in relation to a recently released song by the singer.

The socialite captioned her post saying "can 'me and you' run it back?". The caption is a reference to a song by Styles called 'Coming Up Roses' and the lyric "There's only me and you," while the relationship seemed to be brief is there any weight to what Baldwin is implying?

It's important to remember that Styles has been in a relationship with singer Y/n L/n for over 2 years now, which is making people wonder if the two are as happy as they appear...

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user1 oh brother this guy STINKS

user2 does she know that y/n does NOT play about harry or....

->user3 like she's going to come on here and drag her ->user4 idk she hasn't been like that for a good minute 😬

user5 she ain't got no business acting like they were anything more than a fling

user6 they dated for a month YEARS ago... why is she doing this??

user7 patiently waiting for y/n to come on insta or twitter and put her in her place

user8 how do you slap someone through the internet?

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Liked by user1, user2 and 136,721 others

deuxmoi Y/n L/n seen keeping a low profile admist split rumors with Harry Styles.

L/n and Styles haven't been seen together for close to a month.

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user1 oh im sick

user2 say it ain't so!???!??!

user3 need them to step out together SOON

user4 she's still in london so i feel like they haven't broke up

->user5 when her and her ex broke up she was out of london the next day 😭 ->user6 yeah they gotta still be together

user7 at least their next albums are going to hit i guess?

user8 they had engagement rumors like a month ago, i just don't believe this lol

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Liked by lewishamilton, bellahadid and 7,159,944 others

yourusername 'love language' out May 1st.

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user1 oh i have no clue what to expect

user2 the cover is just her serving face.... this song is going to be so fucking good

user3 please be a happy song i BEGGGG

user4 her ex in the likes but not her man.... im so fucking scared right now

->user5 wait now im scared ->user6 hs is rarely on ig, i wouldn't be too shook up

user7 needing her to drag h*iley a little bit

user8 new song and they haven't been seen together IM SICK

user9 it's going to be about how only SHE knows his love language 🤫

->user10 see i like this hopeful language

user11 babe can we get a hint at the topic pls

user12 lewis please back up she's TAKEN

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Liked by user1, user2 and 752,865 others

tmz Hailey Baldwin releases an apology to Y/n L/n and Harry Styles after the socialite captioned her post saying "can 'me and you' run it back?" in reference to a song by Styles called 'Coming Up Roses' and the lyric "There's only me and you".

Baldwin said "The caption was only meant to be a joke between friends and it left it's circle. I sincerely apologize for the way that it came off." she posted on her Instagram story.

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user1 trying to clear her name before the song comes out lol

user2 "for the way it came off" girl what other way would it come off???

->user3 she just wanted a little bit of attention ->user4 like "it left it's circle" when she has millions of followers.... don't be dense

user5 omgggg girl find someone else to leech off of

user6 she had no business to be talking about him after being together for like a week

user7 honestly just stop giving her attention she's annoying

user8 we really don't gaf...

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Liked by harrystyles, dualipa and 9,846,378 others

yourusername celebrating 'love language' being out now 💐

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user1 oh so she really meant that when she said "I ain't tryna sign no lease, I'm just gon' make you my home"...

user2 i feel like you're also celebrating something else.....!??!?!??!?

harrystyles 😊🤍

->yourusername 😚🤍 ->user3 GIRL WE THOUGHT Y'ALL BROKE UP!??! ->user4 parent are getting married WTF

user5 i did not think i would find out that harry styles was getting married from a photo dump.... and it's not even the FIRST picture 😭

user6 this is so much better than a break up

user7 u are gonna be the most iconic bride I can’t wait

user8 !!!!!!!! AHAHAHAGAGWOWOW !!!!!!

charli_xcx congratulations lovebirds 💞

->yourusername ty ily <3

user9 OH MY GODDDDD Y/N ❤️❤️❤️💍

user10 not the point of the post but harry looks so hot in the 3rd picture

dualipa 🤍💍🤍💍

->yourusername ily !!!!!

user11 the most casual engagement announcement wth??

user12 she'll forever have long songs written about her.... i've never been more jealous

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✎…… hopefully you like anon <3!!!

(let me know if you want to be added to any taglists here also let me know if you want to be removed for certain people)

“What the fuck is this?” 

“Gonna have to be a little more specific, baby,” You drawl, slinging your arm over your face as you shake off the remnants of sleep. 

The huge windows in Shane’s cottage were beautiful, but light tended to seep into the room early, which meant you pretty much never slept after eight. You cast a bemused glance to your right: Ilya’s still knocked out, snoring softly into the pillow. He does not have your problem.  

“Don’t try and ‘baby’ your way out of this, asshole,” Shane snaps, throwing up the comforter draped over your hips to straddle you, hands coming down possessively on your chest. Your palms instinctively rest on the curve of his waist. 

“Uh, am I in trouble?”

“When the hell did you record a Quinn audio?”

“Oh shit, that came out? I forgot I did that.” 

Shane’s seething on top of you, one AirPod tucked haphazardly in his left ear. You quirk an eyebrow at his expression. “Yeah, it came out. Why is it so slutty? Is that what you’ve been debased to, now?”

You laugh. “Debased is a bit much, sweetheart. Rose loves that platform, and they’ve been trawling around for a bigger celebrity to do a feature. Did ‘ya like it?”

“I would have paid you the exact same amount you made from this project to not do it,” Shane growls, grinding back against you. 

You drag your hands up and down his chest in sweeping, soothing motions. “I don’t think I took a paycheck.”

“What?”

“Well, it’s not like I need it, do I? Rose wanted to see the sets, and it was like two days of filming. No skin off my back.”

“Jesus Christ, Y/n, you can’t just—”

“Mm?” Ilya groans, cutting Shane off as he rolls over, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He peeks his head up and grins when he sees Shane’s position. “Starting without me?”

“No one’s starting anything, you pervert,” Shane says, waving a dismissive hand. “No, wait, actually… Y/n is. He recorded audio book porn.”

“Chto?” Ilya splutters, leveraging himself up. “You did porn? When? For who?”’

“I did not do porn!” You shout, startled out how quickly the situation has slipped out of control. Shane’s nails dig further into your chest and you splutter. “I recorded some audio book erotica. It’s a fucking listener’s insert! There was no one else in the room!”

“Is this cheating? It feels like cheating,” Shane says, and Ilya nods quickly. 

“Yes. Y/n is cheating on us with America again. Mr. People’s Princess.”

“Audio book erotica is not cheating!”

“Oh, yeah?” Shane demands, tugging the airpod out of his ear. “What’s this, then?”

He shoves his phone at Ilya, who thumbs at the “unpause” button on the screen. You scramble to get to the phone, but Shane leans forward, pinning you with 200 pounds of hockey player muscle. You leverage him off, but Ilya collapses back-first onto you, until you’re lying hopelessly flat with one man perched on your waist and another draped over your chest.

“Let’s listen, yes?” Ilya asks, glancing up at you. 

“Yeah, not like I’m going anywhere,” You deadpan. “Honestly, I don’t remember a lot of it. I think I’m, uh, a firefighter, or something? We filmed in March.”

“Just the sexiest of all the jobs, yes,” Ilya grouches, rolling his eyes as he skips through the first episode, turning up the volume on Shane’s phone. Immediately, the low bass of your moan filters from the speakers. 

“Fuck, yeah, sweetheart. Just like that. So good for me, aren’t you?” 

You jolt, not quite remembering your booth session getting that dirty. Shane lets out a vindicated huff as Ilya whips his head towards you, scandalized. “You did do porn!”

“Once again, it’s called audio erotica! Let people enjoy sexual liberation!”

“Yes, with their own boyfriends!” Ilya cries. “Not with ours! Shanya, tell him!”

“Y/n, the paywall on this app is like eight dollars a month. You’re whoring yourself out for eight dollars a month.”

“So many people have done this!” You exclaim, flailing under Shane and Ilya’s weight. “It’s basically become a press tour stop!”

“No,” Ilya says, turning his head to sink his teeth into your pec. “Press stop is eating spicy chicken wings with bald man. Press stop is not making spank bank material.”

“Spank bank material? Ilya, what—”

Shane starts slowly rocking his hips as you talk, and you shoot him an incredulous look. “Are you serious?”

“I think if my boyfriend’s gonna help three-fourths of America get off, he may as well pull some weight in his own bedroom,” Shane hisses, and you laugh, letting the tension fizzle out.

“Yeah, alright,” You say, squeezing his upper thigh and pulling Ilya’s mouth to your neck. “Fair enough.”