#mlb fic

But, you’d never get used to women throwing themselves at him in person. Fans know he’s taken. He has hard launched you months into the relationship.

He mentions you at any opportunity. He has pictures of you on his social media, has a chain with your initials on it and so much more. He makes it known he’s taken, yet it seems like that ignited a fire in women.

Jarren is a man with eyes that are only for you. He doesn’t even open his DM’s, not wanting to come across something that’s disrespectful to you.

Whenever he’s out and does get hit on, he’s respectful with how he declines. He’s a gentleman regardless, and that was something you loved about him.

Yet you couldn’t help getting jealous sometimes. You knew he wasn’t the type of man to cheat or sneak around, but it still had your stomach turning.

Especially when you see a women hitting on him in person. You had gone to the bathroom for five quick minutes. When you turn the corner you expect to see him tucked away alone in the corner of the lounge. Large parties were never Jarren’s vibe, yet he’d attend for you. He’d do anything and whatever you asked of him.

Instead of seeing him “people watching” as he’d say, you see a tall blonde in front of him. You can’t see his face, but you can make out that she’s twirling her hair. You stand to watch, even though you know it looks weird.

You see her put her phone out, and then his hand stops the phone from getting close to him. You start to walk over, the loud music is nothing compared to your thoughts. Your mind racing and thinking every outlandish thought.

You get close enough to see his face, he’s looking only at her face. You can’t hear what he’s saying, but you see him shake his head.

When he finally sees you, he says something then points at you. The women turns around and gives a disappointed look. She walks off and you see Jarren’s true personality come back.

His coke in his hand as he leans back on the couch, legs spreading. “Hi baby” he says, pulling you to stand in between his legs. His hands on the back of your knees, rubbing the smooth skin.

Your hands cup his chin, playing with his goatee. “Hi handsome” you sweetly say, and he pats his thigh.

You sit, fixing your dress as you get comfortable on him. Your arm is around his shoulders as he passes you your drink.

“What’d she say” you ask, curiousity killing you.

He laughs, his dimples are prominent. “Something about wanting my number, I kept telling her no. She just kept standing there til you showed up”

You nod, and you look around the lounge. You didn’t even notice how many women were looking at him, yet he didn’t seem to notice. He was focused on you, as if you were the only person there.

He had his arm around your waist protectively as the night passed. It was truly a great night, yet you couldn’t help but let your mind wander.

You took the last gulp of your drink before kissing his cheek. “I only get kisses on the cheek now?” he teases, raising his eyebrow at you.

You roll your eyes and slap his chest lightly. “Say please and you’ll get a real one then” you playfully say. He sits up a little, hands gripping your waist.

“Can I get a real kiss princess, please?” he asks looking you directly in the eyes. You can’t hide the smirk creeping up on your face. You obviously give in, placing a peck on his lips.

He huffs, “A peck?” and you laugh as you play with his chains. “You did say just a kiss” you coyly respond.

Moments like this— where you’re lost in his eyes, his scent, and his skin make you feel like you’re the only two people on Earth. He has you so smitten, while simultaneously having everyone around him smitten as well.

You lean in more, almost completely laying on him. He rubs your side, going on his phone to take a photo of you laid up on him. “Another photo for black mail Mr.Duran?” you joke as he snaps a photo of you.

He laughs, and you can see the smile lines you love spread on his face. His perfect teeth and lips, “Can’t be blackmail if you look beautiful in every photo” he replies.

He always had a way with words. You lean in and press a kiss onto his lips. He grabs the side of your face, keeping you there.

Jarren has always been a guy who strayed away from pda, but he didn’t care. While you realized you could use this to your advantage. You deepened the kiss, letting your tongue make its way into his mouth.

He groaned slightly at you sitting up more. You could feel him growing within his pants. He followed your lead, while you put on a show. Something inside you needed to prove to everyone that he was yours, all yours.

When you pulled back all you could stare at was his puffy lips. “Take me home, please” you pleaded, sounding needier than you expected.

He smiles up and you, “Yeah, let’s go baby” he agrees tapping your leg. You swiftly get up and grab his hand to lead him to the car. You could see the blonde who approached him with her head down, it was obvious your message was received.

The walk to the car seemed to drag. The Boston air leaving goosebumps on your skin. Yet all you could think about is what was gonna happen when you got home.

Once you saw Jarren’s truck you picked up the pace, practically dragging him to the car. You could hear him chuckling, “What’s got you so needy sweetheart?” he says as your infront of the car door, waiting for it to be unlocked.

“Need you really bad” you confess, tugging on the end of his shirt. He curses to himself before unlocking the door and letting you in.

He’s always been a safe driver, going the speed limit and obeying all the traffic rules. But, with the way you were touching his thigh and his erection, he needed to get you both home immediately.

He wasted no time pulling into the driveway and quickly getting out. You got out just as fast, letting your hands wander on his back as he opened the door.

Before you he could even lock it you were on him. Pulling him in for another desperate kiss. His hands on your waist, gripping you tightly as you pushed him onto the couch. He laid back, arms spread over the back of it.

Your eyes wander over to his arms, the way his tattoos look, and how small he makes the couch look. You straddle him, ass directly on his dick. “No teasing tonight” he warns and you let out a small laugh.

You remove his shirt, rubbing the exposed area. Slowly getting off you kneel infront of him to unbuckle his pants. There’s no hiding the erection, it’s prominent and large. You palm it once he’s left in just his boxers. You place a warm kiss on it before leaving him bare.

It lays on his stomach proudly. You stand up and begin to remove your dress, sliding one strap off at a time. He groans at how long you’re taking. He grabs himself and strokes himself lightly, clearly enjoying the show.

When you’re left in your panties he puts his hand out to stop you. “Come here” he asks, and you listen. His hands come up to your hips and rub them. He kisses your side and slowly peels your underwear down.

They’re left at your ankles while he cups and plays with your ass cheeks. “Prettiest girl” he whispers into your skin. He grabs your hand as you step out of the underwear.

You push him back onto the couch, and straddle him once more. You feel him poking your folds, and you can’t wait anymore. You get on your toes, hand reaching between you two and grab him. You align him and slowly sink down. Your arousal spreading over him already, letting you slide down with ease.

You let your eyes close while you slowly lower yourself. His hands are on your boobs, groping and massaging them. Your thighs shake slightly as you lower yourself more and more.

The need takes over, and you slam your hips at the last few inches. You grab his shoulders and lean in, you kiss his ear, neck and cheek. You move your hips, not lifting them just yet.

He spanks you, “Feel so fucking good” he moans as you continue to kiss him. That motivates you to lift your hips, just enough to slam back down. The skin on skin sounds motivating you more.

You let your hands grab his chain, the ones that have your initials. You tug on it to bring his head up. You pick up the pace and he’s helping you move up and down.

“You’re all mine— only mine. Tell me, need to hear it” you whine in his ear and he bucks his hips up. His head falls back omp the couch, eyes shut and jaw slacked. Your fingers go to the curls that rested on the nape of his neck.

You slammed harder each time. Your fingers grabbed the curls and brought his head back up to you again. “C’mon baby, tell me. Tell me you’re all mine, this is all mine” you moan while touching his body.

He’s a moaning mess underneath you, letting you have your way. Yet you’re persistent, needed to hear him say it. You sit completely on him, clenching and just grinding.

Your hand makes its way to his neck, not squeezing just holding it. “Shit, move please. So good princess” he pleads.

“Say it” you demand while kissing his collarbones.

He puts his arms around you, holding you to his chest. You feel him move up on the couch, and then he starts bucking up. “All fucking yours baby, no one else. I got the prettiest girl in the world” he says through gritted teeth as he pounds into you.

You grip onto him and cry out, clenching around him. He spanks your other cheek and sucks on one nipple. His soft lips wrap around the sensitive skin, causing shivers to move up your spine.

You move your hips faster, chasing the orgasm that’s quickly approaching. “Can feel you tightening around me, go head baby let go. Make a mess all over me” he growls out and his tip is hitting a part so deep inside of you.

Your nails dig into his skin as you shake, cumming around him. He fucks you through it, your name falling from his lips. You lay on him, feeling a euphoric pleasure and then you feel his hips do one last thrust.

He keeps himself still inside you, and you feel yourself get filled. The feeling is foreign, he’s only cum inside you twice.

You can feel the liquid and you clench to keep it in, all while he’s still inside. He rubs your spine and you whine. “You better hope it stays, that’ll prove I’m all yours” he half jokingly says. You hold him tighter, pushing your face deeper into his neck.

“I’ll say it everyday— every hour if I have to. I’m all yours”

Davis doesn’t even notice at first.

He’s stretched out on the couch, one arm slung over his eyes, phone still in his hand like he fell asleep mid-scroll. His duffel bag is half-unzipped by the door, cleats peeking out, the faint smell of grass and stadium dirt clinging to everything he owns. It’s only been a few hours since he got back from another road trip with the Jays, and already you can feel the distance in him. Like his mind is still somewhere else instead of on the girl in front of him.

You stand there for a second, just looking at him, head cocked to the side.

You missed him in that quiet, aching way that builds up over time. Not dramatic or loud. Just… constant. Like something in your chest has been weighing heavy on you for weeks.

“Hey,” you say softly.

He hums, barely awake. “Hm… hey, baby.”

That’s it.

No reaching for you. No opening his eyes. Just a tired voice and a half-acknowledgment that makes your chest ache more than you want to admit.

So you don’t ask for his attention, you just take it.

You walk over and climb onto the couch, gently lifting his arm so you can slide underneath it. Pressing yourself into his side, tucking your head under his chin, your leg draped over his, anchoring him here. Your fingers curl into his shirt without thinking, like you need proof he’s real and not about to disappear again.

He shifts a little, surprised, but doesn’t pull away.

“Hi,” he murmurs again, softer this time.

“Hi,” you whisper back, but you don’t move. You press closer.

For a second, he just lets you.

Then his hand finally moves. It slides slowly down your arm, warm and familiar, like he’s remembering you piece by piece. His fingers trace lazy patterns over the sleeve of your hoodie, your shoulder, and your back.

You nuzzle into his neck, breathing him in like you’ve been holding your breath for weeks. Your hand slips under his shirt, resting flat against his stomach, just feeling him, his happy trail, his warmth, the steady rise and fall of his breath.

“I missed you,” you mumble against his skin.

That’s what gets him.

His arm tightens around you, pulling you in properly this time, no longer hazed and distracted.

“I know,” he says quietly, using his right hand to tuck a few loose strands behind your ear. “I missed you too.”

You shake your head against him. “No. Like… really missed you.”

There’s a pause, hand frozen in your hair.

You can feel the exact moment it clicks for him that you’re not just being soft, you’re being serious. That the distance actually got to you.

His hand moves to your face, gently guiding you to look up at him. His eyes are still heavy with exhaustion, but they’re focused now on you.

He shifts, pulling you fully on top of him, one arm wrapped tight around your back, the other cradling your head against his chest.

You melt instantly.

This is what you’ve been waiting for. What you’ve been needing.

Not the texts. Not the quick calls squeezed in between games. This. The weight of him, the warmth, the way his heartbeat feels steady under your cheek.

“You’re clingy today,” he teases softly, pressing a kiss into your hair.

“Yeah,” you admit, not even pretending otherwise. “I am.”

He lets out a quiet laugh, but there’s nothing teasing about it. Just something soft. His hand keeps moving, slow and steady along your back. His chin rests on top of your head. Every so often, he presses soft kisses into your hair, your temple, wherever he can reach without moving too much.

You can feel yourself softening out, like you didn’t realize how tense you were until now.

“You’re not allowed to leave again,” you mumble, your voice going sleepy.

“Pretty sure my contract disagrees,” he says.

You blow air into his chest, tickling him.

“Hey…” he laughs, tightening his hold on you. “Okay, okay. I’ll try to come back faster.”

“Not good enough.”

“Then I’ll call more.”

“Still not good enough.”

He shifts slightly beneath you. “What would you like, then?”

You lift your head just enough to look at him, your expression soft but stubborn.

“This,” you say, settling back into him. “Just… this. When you’re here, I want all of you.”

“You have all of me,” he says quietly.

You don’t answer right away.

Because you believe it, but there’s still this lingering ache in you, like you need him to show you, not just say it.

So instead, you shift slightly, pressing closer, your fingers trailing a little more deliberately along his stomach this time. You feel the way his breath catches just barely, but enough.

“Do I?” you murmur, your voice soft against his chest.

His fingers slide under the hem of your hoodie, brushing against your skin, warm and careful like he’s testing the moment, making sure you’re still right here with him.

“I’m right here,” he says, but his voice has changed into something lower and steadier.

“Mm,” you hum, not quite convinced, your nose brushing along his neck again. “You were somewhere else a minute ago.”

“I was tired,” he murmurs.

“I know,” you whisper. “But I’m here now. In front of you.”

That lands.

You feel it in the way his arm tightens around you again, in the way his hand doesn’t just rest on your skin anymore.

“I can show you, if that’s what you’re looking for,” he says quietly.

You soften, tilting your head up just enough, your lips brushing the underside of his jaw, pressing a lingering kiss to his stubble.

He exhales slowly.

“Is that what you want?” he murmurs, his free hand sliding up to comb lightly in your hair as he tilts your face toward his.

This time when he looks at you, he’s fully there.

You nod.

“C’mere,” he says again, softer now.

His head tilts ever so slightly before he pulls you into a kiss.

It’s not rushed. Not urgent in that messy, overwhelming way.

It’s slow and careful.

Like he’s trying to apologize without saying the words. Not that he wouldn’t, but because you deserve more than just words.

His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing lightly along your skin as his lips move against yours, warm and familiar but just a little hesitant at first, until you press closer and deepen it.

His arm tightens around you, pulling you closer against him, his other hand sliding along your waist.

There’s something softer underneath it all. Something that feels like he’s making up for lost time.

You break the kiss just enough to breathe, your forehead resting against his.

“Missed this,” you whisper.

“Me too, baby.”

Your fingers curl into his shirt again, but this time you’re not checking if he’s real.

His lips trail down your jaw, to your neck, nipping at your skin

You inhale sharply, your fingers tightening in his shirt as your head tips back just enough to give him more room. He hums against you, like he missed this too.

“Davis…” you breathe, barely more than a whisper.

His name feels different like this. Softer. Heavier.

His hand slides up your side, slow and warm, thumb brushing against your ribs, stopping right below your tits, like he can’t decide whether to take your hoodie off or just stay right here, in this moment.

“Yeah?” he murmurs against your neck, his voice low, rough with fatigue.

You don’t answer right away.

You can’t, so instead, you shift against him, separating for a moment, hands moving to the hem of his shirt to pull it over his shoulders, still leaning into him like you don’t want an inch of space between your bodies.

His mouth immediately reconnecting with your neck like a magnet.

A soft gasp breaks from within your throat.

His grip tightens, one hand pressing more firmly into your waist, his hips gently rocking against you.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs softly, brushing his nose against yours before pressing another slow kiss to your lips.

When he pulls away, he brings his hands from under your hoodie, toying with the hem while silently waiting for your permission. 

“Baby, please.”

The way it leaves your mouth makes something in his expression shift instantly.

His jaw tightens just a little, his soft brown eyes darkening as they flick over your face, like he’s taking you in properly for the first time since he got back. His hands don’t rush, but they’re not hesitant anymore. They slide under the hem of your hoodie and lift it slowly, his knuckles grazing your skin in a way that makes you shiver. He watches your face the whole time, like he’s memorizing every reaction, every breath.

You let him.

The second the fabric is gone, his hands are back on you firmer now, spreading along your sides like he needs to feel all of you at once.

“God…” he exhales under his breath.

The sound sends a rush straight through you.

You lean into him without thinking, your hands moving from his shoulders down so your palms flatten against his chest, feeling the heat of his skin and the solidness of him. 

He lets out a low breath when you touch him, how your hips are barely creating enough friction for his liking, his head tipping back for half a second before his eyes come right back to you.

And then his hands tighten.

Not enough to hurt, but just enough to keep you exactly where you are as his hips shift up against yours again, harder this time, more deliberate so you can feel every inch of him.

A soft sound slips out of you before you can stop it.

“Davis…”

“Yeah, feel that?” he murmurs, his voice rougher now, his forehead pressing against yours as a high whine leaves your throat. “I know.”

His hands pushing you harder down onto his lap, mouth finds yours again, deeper this time, less careful. Not rushed but hungry in a way that makes your stomach flip. One of his hands slides up your back, fingers splaying between your shoulder blades, pressing you down into him like he needs the closeness just as much as you do.

You move with him without thinking, your body already responding, already leaning into every touch and shift.

“I missed this,” you breathe against his lips again, barely able to get the words out.

“I know,” he says, but it comes out more like a quiet groan this time, his mouth dropping to your jaw, then your neck again, slower, more intent.

The hand between your shoulder blades grabs at your bra’s clasp, with ease unhooks it, and helps you shrug it off before it drifts along your side and then back around your waist, gripping a little tighter as he pulls you to press your bare tits to his chest.

You cling to him, fingers digging slightly into his shoulders, your head tipping back as his mouth presses into the spot just below your ear.

A breath breaks out of you, shaky, your grip tightening, like you need something to hold onto.

“Need you,” you whisper, impatient and needy for his touch.

He answers without words instead, with the way his hands tighten on your waist and the way he keeps you right there, rocking against him, like he doesn’t want even a second of distance between you.

“Missed hearing you like that, pretty girl.” he murmurs against your skin, his voice low and uneven.

Heat rushes through you at that, and you shift instinctively, closer, pressing into him. A moan escapes from you, making his breath catch again.

“Yeah?” he exhales, his forehead brushing against your jaw for a second before he pulls back just enough to look at you.

There’s something different in his eyes now, something soft but needy and wanting.

His hand slides up your back again, slower this time, fingertips tracing along your spine then back down before settling at your hip, rubbing at your shorts.

“Can I?” he gently asks, glancing down at the waistband.

You nod, a little too quickly. “Yes… please.”

His fingers hook lightly into the waistband, slow and deliberate, giving you time to stop him if you want to.

You don’t.

If anything, you lift your hips just slightly, helping him, needing him closer in every way you can get.

“You’re perfect," he murmurs, more to himself than to you.

There’s something careful in the way he moves, even with the tension between you, like he doesn’t want to rush through this.

His hand doesn’t leave you after, settling warm against your hip again, thumb brushing slow, absent patterns into your skin.

Like he’s making sure you’re still right here.

You lean into him, your forehead dropping to his shoulder, your breath still uneven as you try to steady yourself.

“Look at me,” he murmurs softly.

You do and whatever hesitation was left in him disappears.

Davis gently lifts you off to the side so he can tug both his shorts and briefs down his waist and off, freeing his cock, tossing them somewhere in the room.

“Lay down for me, baby.”

Shifting your body over to lie flat over the length of your shared couch, he adjusts to hover above your body, his mouth latching onto your neck again, slower this time, more deliberate, like he’s taking his time with you. 

His mouth starts to wander with his hands, grabbing at your tits before taking one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking lightly, and humming while toying with the other between his fingers.

“Oh god," you breathe out.

Your head tilts back, your body immediately responding, already reaching for him without thinking.

You feel his lashes flutter against you at the sound. His hands don’t stay still, moving over you with more confidence now, more certainty, remembering exactly how you like to be touched. He releases you from his mouth before continuing down your ribs, to your stomach, to your hips, his moustache gently scratching down your torso as he leaves no spot unkissed.

He lifts his head just enough to look at you again, his hand coming up to your hip, rubbing affectionately, guiding your gaze back to his.

“Focus on me,” he says quietly before kissing your hipbone, trailing to your inner thigh, nipping at the softer skin before licking a stripe through the center of your folds, causing your back to arch, hands instinctively reaching for his hair. 

A high whine breaks out from your throat as his lips close around your clit to suck lightly.

“Fuck, Davis.” 

His tongue begins to lap at your cunt like he’s practically making out with it, hands gripping at your hips to keep them from jolting up. 

“Please don’t stop,” you breath out, barely audible.

His response is immediate.

His arms tighten around your thighs, pulling you closer to his face, anchoring you there as he opens you up on his tongue, taking his time with every inch of you. His breathing becoming heavy with every second he spent between your thighs, like he didn’t realize how much he had been missing this until he tasted you.

Your hands are frantically combing through his messy brown hair, practically holding him against your pussy when you feel the knot in your stomach pulling taut. He resists against you, pulling his face a few inches away to look back up at you, causing you to sob softly.

“Shhh… gonna cum for me, baby? Wanna make a mess on my face?” he coos, feeling his hot breath against your core, trailing kisses along either side of your inner thighs, close enough to tease.

All you can get out is a strangled moan, hips lifting in a sad attempt to regain his attention where you need him most.

A low chuckle leaves his throat before he blows a soft stream of air on your clit. His mouth latches back onto you, tongue working quicker than before, his stubble scraping abrasively at your skin, heightening your senses. 

"M'close," you breathe out.

His tongue continues to map you out, nipping every so often, forcing a moan out of you. Your thighs are thrown over his shoulders and wrapped around his head, his hips rutting against the sofa, seeking any type of friction, your noises causing him to lose any last hint of shame he carried. The heat building in your stomach was hot and uncontrolled, your hands reaching around for anything to grab onto.

“Holy shit, Davis," you gasp as you feel his finger slide into your warm cunt, curling it, before adding another, stretching you out. Your hand flew to your mouth to bite, a sad attempt to muffle the noises that were escaping your lungs. His lips releasing your clit, fingers still plunged in you but no longer moving, he looks up at you. His mouth and moustache are coated in you.

“Take your hand out of your mouth, I want to hear you."

A look of guilt washed over your face before you slowly lowered your hand back down to comb through his hair. A soft smile spread across his face before he continued his abuse on your pussy. 

“That’s my girl.” his words bringing the pressure in your stomach to its peak. 

“Cumming—please don’t stop,” you babbled, legs tightening around his head, back arching off the plush couch.

He didn’t stop, he licked you through each wave, fingers working you till overstimulation. The air from your lungs felt like it was being knocked out, your legs helplessly vibrating as you came down. Leaving one last kiss to your cunt and pulling his fingers out, licking them clean of your cum before pushing himself up, pulling your legs off his shoulders, and gently placing them to either side of him.

“You’re such a good girl for me," he mumbles against your tummy as he trails hungry, openmouthed kisses back up from your neck to your lips, making you taste yourself on his tongue.

A tiny whimper escapes you as he nudges the inside of your knee gently, signaling for you to open up and make more room for him. Your body felt light and airy, head fogged over, legs still slightly trembling. One hand pinned next to your head, he reaches down to wrap a hand around his cock, stroking it twice, needy and leaking with precum, before tapping his tip against your clit.

“This okay?” His eyes meeting yours, boring into you with utter adoration. Something within your stomach flipped, still coming down from your high.

Your head frantically bobbling, needing more, anything from him.

“Words, baby.”

“Yes—please, yes.” Your words come out quick and scattered. 

You felt Davis’ cock run through your folds, feeling you out, spreading the lewd mix of his spit and your arousal before pushing in slowly. The stretch was sharper than usual, it had been a while since the two of you had time for this. His nonstop demanding schedule constantly stole him away from you, it didn’t help with how long the season goes on for, spring training too.

His head quickly dips down to your cheek and jaw, snapping you out of your thoughts, leaving soothing kisses against your throat.

“Oh my god—you’re…” he practically whimpers, face now buried in your neck. “You feel so good.”

His hips met yours as he bottomed out, his free arm looping under one of your legs, opening you up even further, pushing even deeper into your cunt. Dragging his cock out halfway before rolling firmly back into you, causing the breath in your throat to catch and your back to push your tits up against him. His breathing unsteady, gasping at how tight and warm you are wrapped around him. 

“Davis—” you moan out helplessly, grabbing at his shoulders, your nails digging into his soft skin. His thrusts turn quick and sloppy, heavy with desperation for you. 

“I know, baby. I’m with you,” he pulls back to look at the blissed-out expression plastered on your face. His hand reaching up to cup your cheek, forcing you to look at him, eyes immediately finding yours. A softness to his face that you missed so much in his absence. “M’not gonna last long.” 

You nod along frantically, your noses brushing against one another. His lips hovering over yours before catching you in a kiss, pulling back slightly to murmur against your mouth. “You’re so good to me, so pretty filled with my cock.”

The knot in your stomach starts to grow, quick and hot, making your whole body light up. You’re not gonna last long either.

You wrap your legs around his waist, forcing him closer and deeper. He wedges his arm between your bodies, fingers finding your clit with ease, rubbing quick circles, causing your head to spin. 

You were so close, the coil in your tummy pulled impossibly tight. 

“Come on, pretty girl. Cum for me." His fingers begin to move faster, sending you over the edge. You’re clinging to him, legs tightening around his hips, your walls practically clamping onto him. “There she is, squeezing me so tight," he breathes out. Waves of heat roll through your body as he rides you through your orgasm before he tucks his face in the crook of your neck, releasing with a deep moan.

“So perfect for me," he murmurs, hips barely rocking against you as he finally melts against your chest, huffing a lungful of air onto your jaw. 

His body settles over you for a few seconds, feeling the aftershocks before he shifts. Careful not to completely crush you, he tugs the both of you so he can pull you onto his chest instead without pulling out yet. His breathing is still uneven, but it slowly begins to calm as one of his hands finds the loose strands of hair on your forehead, fingers gently brushing them out of your eyes.

There’s a quiet pause, just the soft rhythm of your living room’s heater and the soft hum of the fridge. He brushes his thumb over your cheek as he cups your jaw, absentminded and grounding. When he finally speaks, his voice is low and a little rough.

“Was that okay?”

It’s simple but sincere.

He reaches out, grabbing the blanket hung on the back of the couch, pulling it around both of you, tucking it up just a bit higher around you on instinct to keep you warm. His other hand drifts to your arm, tracing slow, reassuring patterns, letting you know he’s still with you.

You let out a slow breath, the warmth of him against you grounding, steady. You nod faintly, or maybe just lean into his touch a little more, your answer coming in the way your body relaxes rather than words.

His thumb continues that gentle motion along your cheek, a small, repetitive comfort. When he notices you settling, something in his expression eases too. His shoulders dropped, his breath evening out.

“Good,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “M’sorry I’m not here for you as much as I should be.”

You shift yourself so your chin rests on his chest. “Don’t apologize, I just want to spend as much time together as we can while you’re home,” you say quietly, your voice vibrating softly against him.

For a moment, he doesn’t respond. His hand stills where it rests on your arm, like your words landed somewhere deeper in his chest. Then his fingers start moving again… slow, thoughtful, tracing the same gentle path as before.

“You deserve more than that,” he says after a beat, voice low, a little steadier now, honesty causing him to get more vulnerable than you expected.

His other hand shifts to the back of your head so your cheek is flush to his chest, cradling it lightly where you rest against him. His thumb brushes along your hairline, careful and unhurried.

“I’ll try to be more present and spend every waking second making sure you never feel alone when I’m home. I love you, baby.”

The words sit between you, quiet but real.

"I love you too."

He tilts his head just enough so it rests lightly against yours, closing his eyes for a second. His breathing has evened out now, matching yours more closely, rising and falling in the same slow rhythm as the both of you drift off. 

thank u for reading!! feel free to chat in my inbox!! i am always down to be a freak or talk whenever! ✭

 “Then you get my point. Look, I know now that I shouldn’t have lied, but the alternative was that I clawed his face off — metaphorically speaking — on camera. In front of a crowd, and all of Paris, right next to the mayor. I was just trying to steer him away from you.”

 “The alternative was that you did nothing, Chat.” He sighed, rubbing at his eyes with his offhand. “What was he gonna do? Spam-call my yoyo? And it’s not your job to protect me!”

 “I’m your partner, bug. If I have one job—”

 “If today proves anything, it’s that I don’t need your protection! And I don’t want your protection, for that matter!”

 “Look, I agree with you, Ladybug. I do,” he said, trying his best to sound as passive as possible. “But the day I stop trying is the day I need to hang up the tail. I just couldn’t look away from that, okay? It’s not how I’m programmed.

 “Men like that… they look at kids like us and decide that they have to have us. And they don’t take ‘no’ for an answer, and they don’t stop. You wave them off and smile them away and suddenly th-they’re turning up at your house, at your work a-and recording you when you least expect it, then the police get involved and your father is lawyering up and suddenly you’re just entrenched in a world of—”

 “Chat… what the heck are you talking about?” He bit his lip.

 He really should keep all that to himself.

 “Just trust me, okay? You gotta take a hard line with guys like that, or they’ll never leave you alone. We might be superheroes, but we’re still kids, you know? We aren’t invincible.”

 “Look, whatever… just never antagonise a civilian again, okay? Please?”

 He crossed his fingers behind his back.

 “Sure, bug. Whatever you say.”

 “Okay, good. Goodnight, Chat Noir.”

 “Goodnight, m’la—” The line cut off. “ —dybug… ah.” He sighed. “So that went well.”

 He briefly considered whether or not he should go on with the harebrained scheme he’d concocted. Was this really for the best, or was he just angry over his own unresolved issues?

 He steeled himself.

 If there was a time for this, it was now. If he left it till tomorrow, Hawkmoth would have had enough time to recharge, and then monsieur Barbot would be akumatized all over again.

 Though… he did say that he’d leave it alone. What was it Ladybug had said, earlier? ‘Liars are losers. Chat Noir may annoy me to pieces, but he’s never lied to me.’

 The sound of hurried footsteps — running — dragged his mind away for a moment and he looked back down at the street below to watch the plagiaristic Parisian he’d fought hours before enter into his workshop, carrying in his arms rolls of paper, stationary and other equipment. He looked excited. Inspired.

 Chat Noir’s lips curled into a scowl.

 “Welp… I guess I’m a loser, then.” There was a first time for everything, after all. Though, if Ladybug never found out, her confidence in him wouldn’t be shaken, would it?

 But he’d know.

 He reconsidered again, briefly. Whenever she claimed to trust him, have faith in him, he’d know it was misplaced. But if he let this go and Théo did find a way to get to her — to harass her with his misplaced affections, in even the tiniest capacity — and he didn’t make an attempt to prevent that?

 To prevent even an inkling of what he went through; the price of his fame? For existing in the limelight as Adrien Agreste?

 Any thoughts of guilt were washed off of him by a wave of newfound resolve. He clicked a button on his baton and placed it back on his belt.

 He leapt off his perch with all the strength he could muster and flew over the road, slipping through the still-open skylight in his descent. He hit the ground with a mighty crash, the concrete below cracking under his knee, and the artist yelped in surprise, turning towards the noise and finding…

 … nothing.

 “H-hello?” Théo squeaked. “Hello?! Who’s there?!”

 Nothing. Nobody.

 He was alone.

 Perhaps something had fallen? Yes, that must have been it. He was safe, and alone, and—

 “Whatcha workin’ on?” The artist screamed out at the voice that chirped up from right next to his ear, and he twisted, terrified, in its direction, coming face to face with none other than…

 His alarm faded. His horror turned to anger.

 … that jealous little brat.

 “You? What the heck do you want?” he said, glaring down at the boy. Chat Noir tucked his hands behind his back as he stepped past the man, making a show of looking around the shop.

 “Théo, buddy, what’s with the venom? I thought we were cool?”

 “I could call the police. This is breaking and entering!”

 “Well, if you wanna get technical about it, I didn’t break in, I just… fell through your skylight. Haphazardly. You really should close it, Barbot. You’re bound to let in all kinds of birds, bats… mangy alley cats. Ooh, that rhymed.” He turned to the man. “Besides, who’s going to take Théo Barbot, the ‘Copycat’s’ accusation against moi seriously?”

 The artist gritted his teeth.

 “You didn’t answer my question.”

 “Oh, I’m here doing my friend a solid. See, Ladybug is a girl with a lot on her plate. She doesn’t need creeps like you bothering her.”

 “Creep?! No, you have it all wrong, Chat Noir. I love her! I’m in love with her. And I’ll prove it!” Chat approached the man and though his posture and expression didn’t change, something shifted behind his eyes, and it unnerved him.

 “Take it from someone with his fair share of admirers,” he started, and then, his tone shifted into something angry, plainly threatening, “she’s a kid. You’re like twenty-five or something. Whatever you think you feel, it isn’t love, and nothing good will come of it.”

 “I-I’m eighteen! Not twenty-whatever! However o-old she is, we’re close enough in age that I’m willing to wait—” Chat Noir lunged forward and grabbed at the man’s jacket, and the artist yelled out, terrified, as he was flipped over and sent tumbling to the ground.

 “Oh, good,” Chat growled. “That’s fine, then!”

 The man scrambled back, eyes wide in fear as Chat Noir crawled towards him, animal-like, his face marred by fury. His eyes, wild.

 “S-stop! You— you’re just jealous of us! Of what we could have!”

 “Oh, sure, soulpatch. Nothing like a groomer with a man-bun to get the jealousy boiling up inside. Hawkmoth gave you power and the first thing you thought to do with it was chain down a child in your workshop!” He stood over the man and grabbed him by the jacket once more, leaning down to him with his claws extended, the workshop lights making the metal glisten above his foe. “Tell me, did you craft that trap for me, or did you have it just lying around, ready for use?”

 “I-I didn’t, I mean, I… it—it’s not, it wasn’t—” Chat Noir curled the claw into a fist and brought it down on the floor beside the man’s head, and he screamed out in horror as the concrete cracked as if struck by a sledgehammer. “Please, please wait! I’m sorry! I-I—”

 “I don’t care!” Chat Noir seethed. “You will leave her alone. You won’t talk to her. You won’t talk about her. You won’t make anything in her image. Or it’ll be more than this floor that I crack in two. Do you understand?”

 “B-but—”

 “I WILL LEVEL THIS BUILDING!” Chat Noir raged. “I will tear it down and turn everything it contains to dust! I will find everything that you’ve ever so much as had a hand in making, and I will reduce them down to their component molecules and when I’m done, I will find you, and take the time to consider how badly I want to know what a cataclysm does to a man!”

 “I-I…!” The artist tried to speak, but he was petrified. Tears brimmed his eyes.

 “And when I’m done with you, I will release this recording,” Chat sneered as he pulled the baton from his belt and pressed a button on the display. “Or snippets of it, anyway.” He hit the playback, and Chat’s own words echoed back at them.

 ‘She’s a kid. You’re like twenty-five or something. Whatever you think you feel, it isn’t love, and nothing good will come of it.’ Then, he fast-forwarded a moment and it was Théo’s words that played next.

 ‘— we’re close enough in age that I’m willing to wait —’ He pressed pause.

 “Imagine that one going viral over the Ladyblog. Do you understand what’s happening here? I will be watching you very closely, Théo Barbot.” He leant down until they were almost nose-to-nose. “I will destroy everything you have and everything you are, right down to the memory of you, if you so much as utter her name. This is your one and only warning, pervert. Do not make me come after you.” 

 He released the man and took a step back, peering around the room. At the drawings, photos, half-finished statuettes, so many of them of the girl he loved; the girl who wouldn’t see him. Who wouldn’t see what he’d do for her.

 Théo only looked up at him, still paralysed by fear.

 “All of this will be gone by tomorrow, Théo. Anything with her face, her name, polka-dots, I don’t care. Anything that’s even a passing reference to her. If I check in and see that you haven’t done as I have told…”

 “I get it…” he whimpered. “I understand. I won’t give her any trouble, I promise.”

 “Good,” Chat Noir uttered sharply. “Because if you think she hates liars, well, you haven’t seen nothing yet. Get it done.” He looked up at the skylight above. “And consider leaving town. Because all it will take is one slip-up.”

 He extended his staff and launched up into the sky.

 And he was gone. 

 Only then, once alone, did Théo Barbot allow himself to cry.

Miraculous Episodic Shorts Series Master List

The field lights are still on when you get there, casting everything in that soft, almost hazy glow that makes the whole place feel a little unreal.

You weren’t expecting him to still be here this late, but then again, when Ernie’s stuck in his head, he lingers, You’ve learned that much about him. 

He’s out near the dugout, bat resting against his shoulder, not even swinging it. Just standing there, staring out at the empty field like he’s replaying something over and over.

“Hey,” you call, your voice echoing faintly.

He turns immediately. The second he sees you, something in his expression shifts, tight to relieved in a blink.

“Hey sweetheart,” he says back, softer.

You walk over, leaning against the railing. “You gonna tell me why you’re still here?”

He exhales, glancing down at the dirt. “Just needed a minute.”

“You’ve had, like… two hours”

That earns you the smallest huff of a laugh.

There’s a pause, then he looks back up at you, something tentative in his eyes. “Go with me?”

You raise a brow. “Where?”

He jerks his head toward the field. “Out there. Just wanna walk it.”

You glance out at the empty diamond, then back at him. He’s not joking. He actually looks a little nervous asking.

So you tilt your head, pretending to think about it. “Only if you hold my hand.”

You expect him to roll his eyes, maybe tease you.

Instead, he says, “Okay,” way too fast, already reaching for you like he didn’t even need a second to consider it.

Your hand barely meets his before his fingers lace through yours, grip warm and steady and just a little tight.

“you agreed to that really quickly,” you point out

“Yeah” he shrugs, but there’s a hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. “It didn't seem like a bad idea.”

You let him pull you along, hopping the low railing and stepping onto the field with him. The dirt crunches softly under your shoes, the grass cool and slightly damp as you cut across the edge.

For a minute, it’s quiet. Just the two of you walking, your hands swinging slightly between you.

“You had a bad game?” you ask gently.

He makes a face. “I’ve had better games.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

He squeezes your hand, like he caught that. “Yeah. I did.”

You nod, not making a big deal out of it. “Happens but you’ll have a better game tomorrow”

“Yeah, but it’s-” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does if you’re still here thinking about it.”

He glances at you, then down at your hands. His thumb starts brushing over your knuckles.

“I just hate feeling like I left something out there,” he admits. “Like I should’ve done more.”

You slow your steps a little. “You can’t fix it tonight.”

“I know.”

“But you can not be out here alone stuck in your head.”

He exhales, shoulders easing just a little. “Yeah,that’s why I asked you.”

You give his hand a small squeeze. “Good.”

You end up near the pitcher’s mound, stopping there without really planning to. The field feels even bigger from the center, the stands stretching out empty around you.

Ernie looks out for a second, then back at you.

“Thanks for coming,” he starts, and then softer, almost like he’s admitting it to himself, “If there was ever anybody meant for me, it’s you.”

For a second, everything else fades,the lights, the field, the empty stands.

It’s just him.

“Ernie…” you breathe, your voice gentler now, your fingers tightening around his.

He looks like he almost wants to take it back, like he said too much all at once. His shoulders shift, a little unsure, but he doesn’t let go of your hand.

“I just” he starts, then stops, shaking his head with a quiet, nervous laugh. “You show up for me. Even when I don’t really say what I need.”

Your heart pulls at that.

You step closer without thinking, closing the small space between you until your joined hands are pressed lightly between your bodies.

“You don’t have to be perfect for me,” you tell him softly. “You just have to be you.”

His gaze flickers up to yours, something warm and a little overwhelmed settling in his expression.

“I know,” he says, barely above a whisper. “That’s kinda the point.”

Your thumb brushes over his knuckles, slow and reassuring, mirroring what he’d been doing to you the whole walk out here.

“You’re allowed to have bad games,” you add gently. “It doesn’t change anything.”

He exhales, and this time it sounds like something loosening, like he’s finally letting himself believe that.

“Yeah,” he says. “Feels different when you say it.”

You smile a little, soft. “Good. I’ll keep saying it, then.”

That earns you a real smile,small, but steady.

He shifts closer, not rushing it, just enough that your shoulders touch. His hand doesn’t loosen, if anything, his grip softens in a way that feels more intentional, more certain.

“You know I meant it, right?” he says after a moment. “What I said.”

You tilt your head, meeting his eyes. “I know.”

“And?” he nudges gently, a hint of that familiar warmth creeping back in.

You huff a quiet laugh, but it’s fond, your forehead dipping just slightly toward his.

“And if there was ever anybody meant for me,” you say softly, “it’s you too.”

That does it.

Something in him settles completely, like the last bit of tension finally lets go. His thumb brushes over your hand again, slower now, almost absentminded.

“Good,” he says softly.

You stay like that for a moment, standing in the middle of the field, hands laced together, the quiet wrapping around you in a way that feels less lonely now.

Then you nudge him lightly.“C’mon. You’ve had enough dramatic sad staring at the field for one night.”

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, you’re probably right”

But he doesn’t let go when you start walking back.

“come on, man, you gotta loosen up.” he remembered the way marcelo said it, his hands were massaging his shoulders as they walked out of the training facility together with jarren trailing behind them, scrolling on his phone. checking his phone to see if anyone dmed him, probably looking for a hookup all things considered.

“yeah, get some of that tension out, you’ve been hitting like shit.” jarren muttered in agreement, roman winced at the observation, because it was true.

he was hitting like shit.

but he knew why. he didn't want to tell either of them, he knew what they would say: “you're hung up on that?” or “grow a backbone, dude.” and roman could only shift awkwardly at the thought.

tell them about you. the person who he always went back to no matter how many times he sat in his car after seeing you, banging his head against his steering wheel while muttering something about being ‘so stupid’. nothing official. just hook ups, and maybe breakfast sometimes. roman didn't complain, why would he? at the end of the day he still got to have you. that was enough, he lied to himself.

it was dumb. oh, christ, it was so stupid of him to think this would go any differently than it had.

roman had asked you to come, it was a bar, there would be alcohol. sure, his teammates would be there but they didn't have to sit with them! right? at least that's what roman insisted, but you declined. he never said which bar, he never said where, he just asked. he told himself there was no harm in asking after almost crying for ten minutes drafting out a million different texts to send.

what was the point anyways? you said no.

he tried to not be butt hurt about it, but he was. marcelo teased him when he walked in, pinching his cheeks and asking why he looked so down, as if roman hadn't been sniffling the entire way over.

he was glad for the distorting overhead lights, maybe that’s why none of his teammates teased him about his red nose or reddening waterline. he hated crying, but it was different when it came to rejection, or at least what felt like it.

before he knew it, a beer was pressed into his hands and he was sitting down surrounded by half his team, he was really only half listening despite just getting there. he couldn't help it, there was this awful lingering sense of helplessness that settled in his gut, he went through the motions - nodding, smiling, laughing, when everyone else did.

marcelo and jarren exchanged looks, roman was so jumpy, nate had patted his back as he passed roman and roman literally jumped. this was supposed to take him off edge, not push him even further on it.

he looked painfully disinterested while being anxious, the way his eyebrows naturally knit together with the pout making his bottom lip jut out slightly.

despite everything, roman couldn't help but keep glancing at the door, he knew you wouldn't show up, he knew you didn't even know which bar he was at. despite himself he still hoped you’d walk through the door.

he didn't expect you to actually walk through the door.

you were laughing at something your friend had said, and it's like time slowed down for roman. the way the bar lights caught in your hair, and the way you’d dressed up. roman shifted. then he swallowed hard.

fuck, he needed to learn self control.

something flared in him, something in the pit of his stomach, something ugly, and something dangerously close to jealousy. you were giggling with someone else, someone who wasn't him. he made you giggle like that too. his eyebrows drew closer together.

“dude, you good?” marcelo waved a hand in front of romans face, feeling the sudden shift in his demeanor.

“what? yeah. all good.” roman responded dryly, marcelo didn't believe it for a second.

marcelo shifted to sit next to him, trying to match his eyeline to see exactly what he was looking at, because even with a hand in front of his face, he still looked like he’d poured spoiled milk into his cereal.

“no way…” marcelo’s jaw dropped slightly, “dude, go talk to her.” he hissed, shoving his shoulder to which roman scowled.

“dude, stop,” roman huffed, trying to shake marcelo off him to no avail, he turned to marcelo to glare at him rather unconvincingly, “i don't know her-”

liar!

roman practically wore a yellow sticky note with his emotions in big, capitalized, bold letters scrawled across it on his forehead and he would still lie about it.

“roman?” you called out, almost making roman jump out of his skin as he turned to you with wide eyes, “you didn't tell me you were going out tonight.” you teased. another lie. he did tell you. maybe you were playing him up in front of his teammates.

“hey,” he croaked out, mentally kicking himself for his voice sounding like he hadn't spoken all night, but his throat was suddenly very dry.

“you know her?” jarren snorted out a laugh, letting out an ‘oof’ when triston smacked his abdomen, a silent ‘be nice’, jarren tried his best to school his expression but just couldn't help raking his eyes over you. you were undeniably a sight for sore eyes that he, honestly, was not expecting, “like…friends, or?” jarren glanced between the two of you while roman’s face slowly started to get red.

“yeah! friends, rommy and i go way back,” you nodded with a sweet smile, roman just kept his mouth shut - if he didn’t he might throw up. she was lying, straight to his teammates faces like it wasn’t the most embarrassing thing, well technically the most embarassing thing was the fact you just called him,

“rommy? no way, you have a nickname?” marcelo snorted in disbelief while nate barked out a laugh, and roman felt his face go hotter.

“no, it’s cute,” jarren hummed halfheartedly while glancing at roman with a look, roman could tell there was something underneath but he wasn’t apt enough to be privy to it, which only dialed his nerves higher.

“the cutest,” you nodded in agreement, moving behind him and your hands moving to rest on romans shoulders, making him tense under your touch.

roman wasn’t stupid, he was just kind of awkward sometimes. he could tell jarren was pushing him, and he knew you were pushing his buttons on purpose.

“well how’d you guys meet?” marcelo piped up, curious now.

roman held his breath - please don’t say dating app, please don’t say dating app. if any of his teammates knew you had met on a dating app, it wouldn’t be hard to assume that you two met just to fuck. which wasn’t far off the truth. but roman didn’t want to admit that, athletes already were pretty stereotypical, he didn’t want to seem desperate.

(he was.)

“well, when i moved to boston i got so lost trying to get to work, and i ended up in a coffee shop and i asked rommy for directions,” you smiled, tightening your grip on his shoulders, resting your chin on the top of his head, “he was so adorable.” you smirked.

jarren stared at you, not believing it for a second while the rest of his teammates nodded or muttered something about it being “so roman”. roman could see how jarren was looking at you, his parted lips and slightly narrowed eyes, it was the same look jarren got when he was picking girls up at bars, but this felt different. it felt like he was giving roman the look as much as he was giving it to you.

romans mouth was dry.

his pants felt tight.

he shifted uncomfortably.

“it was a couple months ago,” he offered dumbly.

“yeah? so not long then,” jarren nodded passively, as if he was trying to understand the unspoken dynamic between the three, roman just nodded his head, and jarren took a slow sip of his beer.

no, this was too much. between jarren and you, mentally, physically. it was too much. the lights were too warm, his throat was too dry, his pants too tight. he was getting overwhelmed for some reason, he forced himself to move which felt more like torture than anything else.

he stood up more abruptly than he had intended to.

“i’ll be back in a minute,” he managed to say.

you gave him a look, he hated that look, the look you gave him whenever he was spent. the look of pity. he just shook his head and went off, and you just let your hands slide off him.

he practically barged into the bathroom, he was glad it was empty. it was one of those shitty bathrooms that was just one room with a toilet and sink that forced people to make unreasonably long lines during busy nights. for once he was grateful for that.

he splashed his face with water, taking deep breaths. hoping his boner would die off with time. okay, maybe he wasn’t thinking right because the only thing he was thinking of was jarren making out with you. realistically, he should be pissed at the thought.

instead? fuck, he was painfully turned on.

he screwed his eyes shut, trying to think of anything else. him and marcelo going to miami. aaron judge hitting a home run (come on, like that would help). and even being in a press conference. why wasn’t anything working? he was just about ready to jerk off there and then until he heard the door creak open. of course, he forgot to lock it.

he was gonna say something about it being occupied but when he looked in the mirror, he saw you leaning back on the door, giving him the look. that look you gave him whenever you were unimpressed.

“you’re hard? just from a conversation?” you scoffed, stepping closer to him, making him swallow hard, “what were you thinking about, come on, tell me.” you cooed, pushing him back into the sink.

roman was never one to deny you.

“...you and jarren making out.” he admitted quietly, looking down at you with baited breath.

“that’s all?” you snorted, laughing in his face, “you didn’t think about jarren fucking me against the wall? holding me up, you don’t wanna see how his tattoos look flexing holding my weight up? you watching like a good boy, not saying a word unless spoken to?”

oh, now roman was in for it.

roman was already painfully hard with the thought of just kissing but now with that image in his mind that would keep him going for a week.

you didn’t give him any more time to overthink it, you pulled him into a kiss by the front of his shirt, pressing your body into his intentionally grinding onto his boner to which he couldn’t help the whimper that left his throat.

it was too much and you were forcing his brain into a shutdown. he rutted his hips against you involuntarily, his hands finding your face, maybe he was thining about jarren still, you couldn’t it was all the same at the end of the night.

he couldn’t believe how close he already was by literally just making out with you while desperately dry humping you in a filthy bar restroom. thinking about his fucking teammate! god, if he wasn’t so tangled in your warmth, your facade of comfort, then he might actually feel guilty about it.

but with your hands roaming under his shirt, providing the skin to skin contact he so desperately loved during sex, and your mouth swallowing all his moans and whimpers, he couldn’t even think about the real life consequences about it.

when you finally broke away he whined, a small beg that left his lips that you couldn’t quite make out. you wouldn’t let him finish, that realisation was creeping in at a devastatingly slow pace as you moved away from roman to fix your hair in the mirror. roman was still catching his breath, his face was flushed, his lips were swollen. and he was still hard.

but it was obvious you were not interested in helping him out any further than he you already had.

“i hope you have a good night, roman,” you smiled sweetly at him, patting his cheek and leaving the bathroom - leaving him to his own devices with the images that you put in his head.

by the time he had jerked off and cleaned himself up, everyone at the table were too drunk to question where he was for the last twenty minutes.

but he did notice something peculiar: both you and jarren were gone.

fuck.

Warm cinnamon and leather greeted her. Old memories flooded to the surface: hanging out after school together in Adrien’s room, playing video games, eating forbidden foods like glacé and pizza, studying for exams…

Ah, the good old days.

Being here was like taking a step back in time. The Agreste home was exactly as she remembered it. Homey and inviting. With Emilie’s flair splashed all over it, and happy memories lining the walls. The coffee cup warmed her fingers as she took another sip, studying the pictures, as if seeing them for the first time.

A two-year old Adrien, with spaghetti sauce smeared in his hair and all over his face, grinning maniacally as he waved his fork like a call for action.

A shrine dedicated to their son, filled with trophies and medals from his childhood sports and piano recitals.

Adrien, at seventeen, a slim rod, with luscious, wavy hair brushing his jawline. Standing with his friends in lycéen caps and gowns: Alya on the end, then Nino on his left, and Marinette on his right, pressed shoulder to shoulder against him. Adrien's thin right arm wrapped around her, tucking her in, as he sported a fierce, red blush. A soft smile tugged on his younger lips, just as the camera flashed, capturing his eyes, soft and yearning, and entirely focused on her.

How hadn’t she noticed it before?

Huh. To think, if she hadn't been completely obsessed with Bug back then, would she have seen the sweet, cute boy standing beside her?