it’s happening again how did it end?

🍒 author's note: i haven't posted a lot recently; sorry about that. i've had quite a bit on and, on top of social stuff, i caught the flu and started my period and i'm writing this for comfort because i currently feel like shit. pray for me 🙏🙏 still, i've been meaning to write for richard for a while and this has been in my wip list for a little while

The mid-afternoon slump has settled over the prison, with prisoners and guards alike getting drowsy and sluggish from lunch.

Inside the communications office, Richard is a man possessed, hunched over his computer, one hand under the desk. The letter onscreen is written on cheap, lined notebook paper but the words scrawled across it in messy, urgent cursive are anything but cheap. They're graphic, visceral and dripping with a desperate longing that's turned Richard's face a deep, mottled crimson.

He's supposed to be scanning for contraband — clues of drug drops, escape plots, the occasional centrefold — but his eyes are hooked on the descriptions of skin on skin, of what this woman wants to do to her husband the moment he's paroled. Richard's breath hitches, coming in shallow, jagged puffs. He tugs at his collar, the starch of his uniform suddenly feeling like a noose. He knows he should stop, should stamp it and move on, but the illicit thrill of the words has him pinned to his chair.

Then a sharp, rhythmic knock at the door shatters the silence.

Richard jumps, a strangled gasp escaping his throat. He nearly falls out of his desk chair, his boots scuffing loudly against the linoleum. In a blind panic, he closes the letter, his hands shaking so violently he nearly knocks over his cold cup of coffee.

"Yes?" The words come out rougher than intended, his throat dry.

"It's just me." You call back. His expression shifts quickly; from guilty to relieved then to pleased. He stands from his chair and rounds the desk, opening the door.

"Bebé." He whispers, pulling you inside and closing the door behind you.

Large, warm hands immediately go to your waist, pulling you close. Your arms move to his neck and you nuzzle the sharp line of his jaw, his stubble rasping against your skin. A soft hum escapes him and he can still feel the warmth in his cheeks, the thrum of arousal not quite faded.

"Hey, sorry I couldn't make it to lunch." You murmur against his skin and he shakes his head.

"It's alright." His hands slide down to grip your hips lightly, pulling you closer. "I missed you though." He admits, tilting his head just so to kiss your temple, breathing you in. A warm smile tugs at your lips as you pull back to look at him. You notice the flush across his cheekbones and your brows lift.

"Everything okay?" You ask. He hesitates, eyes darting away, thumb tracing your hip through your uniform pants; a nervous tell of his.

"I was just...reading some correspondence." The admission is quiet, almost embarrassed, his face growing even warmer. "Webster; his wife writes...very descriptive letters."

Some of these inmates have loving partners who want to keep that spark alive. Most of the people who write in probably don't even think about the poor guy who has to read through it all. And, bless his heart, Richard gets excited easily.

Your expression softens and you cup his cheek with a fond, knowing smile.

"Did I interrupt something?" You ask and his cheeks darken a fraction.

"Maybe." He huffs a small, guilty laugh into your palm, pressing a kiss there. He's still half-hard in his uniform slacks, you feel it as he leans down to rest his forehead against your own with a sigh. "You know me too well."

"Is it kind of like a voyeuristic thing, maybe? Sitting from the outside and listening in on someone's private conversations?" You ask, partially intrigued by his arousal.

"Something like that." His lips twitch into a small, embarrassed smile under his thick moustache. "I swear, it's not just for the...physical descriptions." Though the colour across his cheeks betrays that statement.

Richard pulls you back into his arms, your chest flush to his, and you snuggle close, nestling your face against his shoulder. One of his hands splays across the small of your back as the other plays with a strand of your hair, curling it around his fingertip. Your soft breaths against his neck soothe him; anchoring him to reality after the intense fantasy he'd been lost in. You drop another kiss to his jaw.

"Could I read one?" You ask and he freezes.

"I really shouldn't, bebé. Even I shouldn't be reading full letters." He warns, a hand tightening on your hip. He's suddenly aware, however, of his half-mast cock twitching against your thigh through his pants.

"Please, honey? Just the one?" You pull back, giving him your best puppy-dog eyes and pouting sweetly.

"Ay, mi amor..." He groans, already defeated. He leans down to press a lingering kiss to your lips before pulling back with a sigh. "Okay, okay. Just one."

Richard releases you and walks around the desk to collapse in his desk chair. You follow him, perching on the edge of his desk.

"Can you read it to me?" You ask and he melts a little further, nodding. He clicks the mouse a couple of times to bring up the latest letter; one he hasn't seen yet. Clearing his throat, he begins scrolling through it, his voice dropping lower as he begins to read, one hand resting on your knee.

"'My darling.'" You place your hand over his and he threads your fingers together. "'Only a couple months now and you'll be out. I can't begin to imagine how happy I'll be to see you walk out of that Godforsaken place and to have you back home. Francis and Erica are already making your coming-home presents. They can't wait to see their dad again.'" Your eyes trace over his face, noticing how soft his eyes are, almost as if these words are for him. "'Not much has happened on this end; Francis went on a trip to DC with the debate club and Francis has been rehearsing for the choir concert. I know you're so, so proud of them.'" The letter is, quite bluntly, much more wholesome than you imagined. "'They miss you. I miss you. More than anything.'"

Slowly, you move to sit on Richard's knee and he wraps his arm around the small of your back, drawing slow patterns along his chest and stomach through his shirt as you listen to him read. His voice wavers slightly but he continues. "'I can't believe it's almost over. I can't believe that soon you'll be home again, in our bed. Just knowing that—' She — umm — scribbled something out there. 'I thought about you at work today. I thought about you being home and I...'" You lift your head to look at him as he swallows thickly. "That's it. It gets a little graphic after that." You trail kisses along the side of your neck.

"Keep going, honey." You encourage him and he shivers.

"Bebé..." The hand on your hip squeezes gently but your fingers are already popping open the buttons on his shirt and he can feel himself getting hard under you. It's a battle he's already lost and he knows it. You leave kisses down his neck and slip a hand into his shirt, trailing your fingers directly over his chest now. He tilts his head back slightly but forces himself to focus on the words. "'Just knowing that I'll be in your arms again. God, I miss that. I miss being held. I miss everything you do to me.'" You flick your tongue against the sweet spot just below his ear, your hand sliding back out of his shirt to inch down over the softness of his paunch. "'I dream about it every night.'" He reads aloud, voice strained. "'About how you touch me. About how you will touch me.'"

Finally, you palm him through his uniform pants, feeling the outline of his cock as he reads. Richard lets out a shaky breath, letters blurring in front of his eyes as he tries to keep reading. "'I can't wait for you to come home and show me what you've been saving up for me all these months. I want you to take your time with me, make me yours again.'"

Slowly, you move from his knee to kneel between his legs, nuzzling his crotch with your nose and breathing in the savoury musk of his body. His hand moves to tangle in your hair, his hips tilting up to meet your face as his cock aches against the fabric of his slacks. You lift your gaze to meet his own, starting to unbuckle his belt.

"Keep reading." You tell him and his jaw tightens, knuckles white as he grips the armrests. Richard stares at the screen, eyes glazed, voice shaky as you work his belt open.

"'I've been thinking about that a lot recently. I wanted to ask you about when you got home but'—" He chokes, hips jerking as you tug the zipper down. "Bebé, please..."

"Keep reading." You insist gently as you hook your fingers into the elastic waistband of his boxers. He's painfully hard now and you can see the damp spot where he's been leaking.

"'I've been thinking, maybe we'— O-Ohh, God..." His cock pops free and you pause for a moment, listening to the way his voice trembles. Something in the letter is really getting him worked up. He's breathing heavy, trying to keep control as he reads aloud. "'Maybe we could have...another baby.'" His breath catches in his throat and you wrap your fingers around the base of his cock.

Now you know what's getting him all riled up; you've been talking about maybe having kids for a while now. It's something Richard's always wanted; he's always wanted to start a family. He was quick to assure you that, of course, you, him and Lucero were a family in your own right and he was fine if it was just the three of you forever but... He really wanted kids. Something deep in him wanted to teach and nurture and pass on all his knowledge. The idea had been shelved for a bit but this is clearly tapping into that.

You shoot a loving smile up at him before you lick a stripe along the underside of his cock, kissing the tip and circling it with his tongue. A gasp escapes his lips and his fingers curl tight into your hair before he forces his grip to loosen. "'I know it's too soon and you said you only wanted one when we got married but'— Ah...!" You take him into your mouth, working your way down, sucking lazily as you listen. "'But I think'— God— 'I think we could try for a boy this time. I always wanted a little boy but, more than anything, I want'..." A shudder rushes through him and you note the way the muscles in his thighs tighten. "'I want to be pregnant again.'"

So that's it. His head falls back, eyes squeezing shut in sheer pleasure. Your slow, steady pace is driving him crazy but he manages to keep reading, his voice a breathless whisper. "'I want you to knock me up again.'" He groans deeply as you reach the tip again, licking away the precum that spills from the slit. "Ay, dios... Bebé, this—" He breaks off with a low groan, watching you swallow him down again. "I can't— Reading this while you're— ¿Por qué me haces esto?" With a slow pull, you release him and rest your cheek against the inside of his thigh.

"Do you want me to read instead?" You ask with a warm laugh and Richard nods eagerly, face flushed, eyes hungry.

"Yes. Yes, please. Tú lee e yo..." He groans as the image forms in this mind; you, legs spread, reading the letter as he buried his face between your thighs. It's enough to make him cum on the spot.

You nod and stand, quickly toeing off your boots and pushing down your uniform pants and underwear, already damp with slick. His mouth already watering, he pushes his chair back and moves to kneel as you sit in his chair. His bare cock is still twitching, still leaking onto the linoleum between his knees. "Put your legs here, bebé." He says, voice thick with lust, as he pats his shoulders.

Sighing, you find where he left off in the letter before you watch him hitch your legs up onto his broad shoulders. One of his hands is pressed between your legs, his fingers spreading your soft, warm lower lips, and his other hand disappears from view, likely jerking himself off.

"'I want you to knock me up again.'" You repeat and Richard throbs in his hand. He buries his face between your legs, licking and sucking at you hungrily. Reaching down, you tangle your fingers in his thick, salt-and-pepper curls, gasping at the eagerness with which he's eating you out. "'It's all I've been able to think about; you coming home, putting the girls to bed and then taking me up to our room and just loving me for hours. I don't want you to let me leave our bed until you know I'm pregnant.'" It sounds like the words are coming from you now, a confession to him, one he's been praying to hear for so, so long and it's driving him wild.

His tongue works faster and he sucks on your clit before pushing his tongue inside you. You can hear his hand moving faster on his cock, thumb rubbing the slit, his groans muffled against your skin. "'I'— Oh, God, honey... 'I was browsing Twitter and I saw this video. It was of this guy cumming inside a girl. He was wearing a condom but'... Richard... 'B-But, after he came, he pulled the condom off, pushed it inside her and then squeezed his cum into her like a tube of toothpaste or a ketchup packet or something.'" You let out a breathless laugh before it tapers off into a moan, feeling the way he practically growls against your skin. "'I got so wet thinking about you doing that.'"

His tongue curls inside you and you bite your lip, brushing his hair away from his face. "'I'm wet now but you know that already. You know me so well. I've got my hand between my legs, in my pyjama shorts — those little, skimpy ones you always complain about for being too short — and I'm getting myself off because I'm thinking about you just coming home and putting a baby in me.' Richard, honey... God, your mouth..."

Pulling in a quick breath, he sucks your clit into his mouth and you feel two of his fingers slip inside you, stretching you, making you gasp. And he's muttering something against your skin — prayers? — in rapid Spanish. "'I want you to come home and I want you to fuck me. I want you to push me down and rip off my clothes and fuck me, like we did that day by the lake.'" His fingers curl inside you, hitting just the right spot, as your voice grows more and more breathless. You rake your fingers through his curls, the thick hair of his moustache rasping against your mons. "I'm not gonna last much longer, hon..." You warn him but he only doubles his efforts, tongue lashing at your clit as he pumps his fingers faster. "'I-I want you to'— Fuck...! 'I want you to fuck me until you know, you're positive, that you've knocked me up. I bet you saved up so much for me while you've been in there and I want all of it, every last drop, going where it's supposed to.'"

Richard is just so close, fingers wrapped almost painfully tight around his dick as he buries his face between your legs. These are your words now, no-one else's. In his mind, this is your confession to him. "'I want to be so full of you that it's dripping out of me. I want everyone to know what you've done to me. I want everyone to know we're trying again, that you're trying to put a baby in me. God, I can't w-wait until you can'— Richard...!" You fist your hand in his hair as your hips stutter. You toss your head back, mouth hanging open, as you gush around his fingers, slick drenching his mouth and chin. You slap a hand over your mouth to dampen the noises but your desperate moans have already sent him over the edge too.

Richard groans loud, the sound muffled against your pussy, his hips pumping against his hand as he finishes. Thick, hot ropes of white shoot onto the linoleum between his knees, making it glisten. His dark eyes are lidded, rolling back in his head, as he pushes his face between your thighs, breathing in the sweet, musky scent of your slick.

And you're panting, chest heaving, as you come down from the high. "'God, I can't wait until you can...hold me like you used to and...rub my belly... We can talk about it when you get home but it's been on my mind a lot lately. I love you, more than anything.'" You read, your gaze drawn under the desk as he sucks his fingers clean, his hair mussed and his mouth and chin gleaming.

"My God... Oh, my God, bebé." He murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your trembling thigh. Glazed, adoring eyes peer up at you from under the desk and you push a few stray curls away from his face, your expression equally affectionate. "I told you they could be quite intense." He murmurs, sliding your thighs from his shoulders.

"You weren't kidding." You chuckle and he rises to his feet, tucking himself away before cupping your face tenderly.

"Though... Hearing you say all that..." He swallows hard.

"It did something to you, huh?" You ask and he lowers himself to your level, kissing you deeply and letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

"It did a lot to me." He replies and you peck his lips again.

"Then maybe...we should start trying? See how we do?" You ask and you swear you've never seen a man look so happy in his life.

Richard doesn't jump or dance or scream. No, he just stares at you for a moment, eyes wide, before he softens again and he gives you this perfect, contented smile that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle. He just looks at you like you gave him the world. And you would if you could. You'll give him everything you have. Because he deserves it. He deserves everything.

if you got this far, it'd be lovely if you dropped me a kudos or a comment (whatever you have time for) on ao3. thanks for reading 💛✨

He's trying to cook a meal for you. It's one of the only things he can actually do for you. Do right.

And you go and re-wire his brain with a soft kiss on his cheek in between tasks.

His face scrunches up and he shakes his head through a reluctant, half-smiling smirk.

"I'm cooking," he'll mutter, concentrating on chopping while you beam at him adoringly.

When he gets home from a mission and you pull his head down to your chest, in bed.

You rake your fingers through his curls while he listens to your steady heartbeat.

He resists you sometimes. That’s when you know he’s taken a life.

He forgets you can love him then. He forgets you understand, he only takes life to save life.

You reach for him, but he shrugs one shoulder. “‘s okay. I’ll go shower.”

He’ll stand there til the water runs cold and beyond, if you let him. If you don’t step in there with him, wrap your arms around his torso from behind. Or at least turn the water off for him and wrap him up in a big, fluffy towel.

"You're supposed to be sleeping," he mumbles as you towel dry his hair.

"Sleep better with you." Your gentle touch makes him tremble.

Your eyebrows arch, questioning if he needs space.

He whispers your name brokenly, fingertips brushing hesitantly at the hem of your sleeve.

He might as well be throwing his arms around you.

"Bed or couch?" You ask him, tracing your fingertips underneath his palm. You give him time to remove his hand or grasp yours.

"It's 2 A.M." He shakes his head once. You're tired. You shouldn't have to do all this for him.

"Bed...or couch?" You repeat, relieved as he grips your hand. "Or kitchen?" You smile at him, which reminds him how much you love a late night (or early morning) snack.

He works his lips in a straight line of contemplation at first, then a slight pout at himself, for always putting you in these situations. A snack will definitely make up for some of it, and he is the only one who can cook a damn thing.

"Nachos? And a DVD." His eyes go wide and hopeful.

"Something sweet," you counter, inching closer. "And nothing from the 80s."

"Done." He nods. “But you gotta sleep, baby.”

“Done,” you echo.

An hour later, the worst DVD from 1992 plays softly. Desserts plates are stashed messily on the coffee table.

You rest across Marc’s lap, asleep. His fingertips trace up and down the length of your arm.

An ache blooms in his chest.

But not from shame or regret. Not this time.

He just forgets, sometimes, how much you love him.

☾ ⋆*･:⋆*･☾ ⋆*･:⋆*･☾ ⋆*･:⋆*･