#tinder

The first time you went on a Tinder date, John didn't think must of it. Sure, he felt a little weird, but he chopped it up to him being overprotective. You were his best friend, and he wanted you safe. So, he stayed up all night waiting for you.

You texted him at 11:51.

Can I come over? Bad date.

Door's always unlocked for you.

John felt guilty. Just a little. He wasn't sure why, but for some reason, he was a little happy that the date didn't go good. Maybe he shouldn't have been. And maybe he was a shitty person, but he couldn't help it.

The love of your life was not on Tinder, he was sure.

So he waited, and you came over, still dressed up and still in your makeup. He let you wear his clothes and you took your makeup off with the spare wipes you had on his desk. You ranted on and on about how disrespectful the guy wason.

To you. To the waitress. To society. It turned you off immediately, and by the end of the night he was still trying to get you to come home with him.

John listened, carefully and closely, humming along and making noises of disgust at certain parts. The guy sounded like a douchebag, and he was glad you had enough sense to get away from him.

The night ended with the two of you in his bed, your phone silenced from the Tinder notifications going off, as they did mostly in the middle of the night. You laid there, before John slowly wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer until you were on snuggled into him.

"Maybe Tinder's just not for you," he whispered.

You chuckled, shaking your head. "One bad date doesn't mean it's not for me, silly."

John smiled, but there wasn't a lot of light to it. He wasn't sure why he was feeling like this, but he knew it wasn't going away.

 ++

 The second time you went on a Tinder date, John felt worse. His chest got a little tight, and his brain kept telling him to talk you out of it. He didn't, of course, because he had no right. But it was miserable hearing you get excited for it.

You were feeling good about this one, and that made him feel worse. He knew he was a shit friend for thinking the way he was, but he didn't want the date to go good. He wasn't sure why, but he couldn't help it.

Everything felt bad when you discussed it. But he held it in. He was being supportive. Even if it killed him.

So, he waited, like the first date, all night for you to say something. To send him a text or call him for a fake emergency. The text didn't come until later, but it still came. 12:32.

Well, that failed miserably. You up?

Yep. Door's always unlocked for you.

You looked significantly more disheveled this time around. Your makeup was smeared slightly, hair a mess, and your dress was a little less put together. There was a lump in John's throat. He ignored it.

Again, he gave you some of his clothes and watched as you cleaned off your makeup and brushed your hair. You ranted, again. This time, he seemed decent. A good kisser and blah blah blah—John was feeling a little sick from it all.

And then his girlfriend showed up. Now, John was feeling a little pissed. Yeah, he wanted the date to go bad, but not because you were some second sneaky link pick. He wanted it to go bad because you thought the guy was bad.

Not because he had a girlfriend.

He immediately felt guilty for wishing it went bad in the first place. You were clearly a little sad and shaken up over it, and when you climbed into his bed, John didn't hesitate to pull you closer, wrapping his arms around you and kissing the top of your head.

"Seems like it might be me," you mumbled like it was a joke, but it didn't land like one.

John held you closer. "No way in hell is it you."

You chuckled softly, but it didn't really hit right either. John felt it then, the all-consuming heat in his chest.

Fuck.

That's what it was. He felt like an idiot for not figuring it out sooner.

He wanted you. All to himself. Exclusively.

Fuck, he was so fucked.

   ++

  By the third date, John was losing it completely. He was a shell of a person, really. He was trying to be supportive and keep it together, but you looked far too good for some douchebag off Tinder. He was sure of it.

Still, he kept quiet. He had to. He wasn't going to be the dickhead who ruined something for you because of his own selfish desires. Even if they were big and consuming and he felt like he was on fire by keeping his mouth shut.

So, just like the last two times, he waited.

This time the text never came.

He accepted that at exactly 4:02 in the morning. His eyes were closing on him and his body was exhausted, but more than that, his heart hurt. This date went well. Fuck.

He should've been happy. Should've been supportive and all that good friend bullshit. All he felt, though, was this pit in his stomach. Overwhelming jealously and complete and utter despair. He should've opened his mouth.

He should've said something.

He hated himself right now, for so many reasons. He sighed, climbing into bed and putting his phone on the charger as he grumbled inaudible words to himself, tossing and turning as he tried to get comfortable.

He was almost asleep when his phone dinged. His eyes opened, throat working as he swallowed. He was telling himself not to get his hopes up, but who else would be texting right now?

He turned over, grabbing his phone.

You up? I need to talk to you.

John smiled softly, like a fucking idiot who was too whipped to really care how desperate or embarrassing he was.

Yeah. What's up?

The next text made his throat dry. He wasn't sure why, but something felt daunting about it.

Can you come over? Sorry, but this is important.

With a text back, John hopped out of bed and put some clothes on, immediately on his way to your apartment. He didn't hesitate, even if he was nervous and everything felt wrong, he didn't hesitate. If you needed him, for any reason, he'd be there.

He pulled up to your building ten minutes later, buzzing in and heading to your floor. He, like a fucking idiot, waited at your door for a whole minute, just trying to get his shit together. Then he knocked. Once, twice. Then paused. Knocked again. Once, twice.

He always knocked on your door like that. It was a sure way for you to know it was him. The door opened soon after, and John's breath hitched at your appearance. Your eyes were red, makeup tear-streaked.

He didn't ask questions, he just stepped forward, closing your door and pulling you into a hug. Your breath was shaky, your body tense. Whatever this was, John was equal parts worried for you and pissed at whatever happened to make you like this.

Silently, he picked you up, carrying you over to your couch and sitting down on it, you in his lap. He look at you, pushing your hair away from your face. "What's going on?" he asked softly.

You swallowed, shaking your head. "I'm gonna tell you something, and it'll probably ruin everything, but I have to say it. It's killing me."

His heart sped up. The thought that maybe you were about to confess your feelings didn't cross his mind. Instead, he was convinced you were about to break his heart somehow. Unintentionally, of course, but still.

He stiffened slightly, head nodding. "Okay."

You sucked in a breath. "Tonight went really well. Like, really well. I even invited him over." The pit in his stomach got worse, but he stayed silent. "We were literally about to have sex when I sort of realized something. Something that was embarrassing to try and explain to a guy who had his hands in my pants."

You chuckled breathlessly, shaking your head. "I know why Tinder's not working out. It's not because of the douchebags or the lustful losers, it's just...it's you, John. You're fucking...you're in my bones. And this is terrifying to say because I love our friendship, but I think if I don't say it, it'll ruin me. Because...I love you. I'm in love with you."

The air stilled, as if it knew how big of a moment this was. John's body was still as well. Nothing was moving, nobody was daring to do anything. His eyes searched yours, for confirmation or maybe for deceit, but he knew that wouldn't be there.

He knew you'd never just say that.

Words didn't come, not right now. Stupidly, he had none. So, instead, he just leaned in, kissing you softly and deeply like he'd been dreaming of, grasping your jaw and pulling you closer. You gasped into it, following his lead.

His lips moved desperately against yours, not wanting more, just wanting this forever. He pulled back suddenly, panting. "Fuck, fuck," he whispered, swallowing. He had to remind himself to slow down. He wanted everything all at once and he needed to breathe.

He looked at you, smiling. "Sorry, I'm getting ahead of myself." He chuckled lowly, and you shook your head, a smile on your face.

"It's okay."

"I love you too, angel. Of course I fuckin' love you," he murmured, thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

You smiled brighter, leaning in and kissing him deeply, tongue slipping into his mouth. He groaned, grabbing your hips and squeezing. "Tell me when to stop," he mumbled into your mouth in between kisses, making it clear that he didn't want anything you didn't want.

"Don't stop."

"Angel-"

"John, don't stop."

He moaned as your hips ground against his, and his lips traveled to your jaw, sucking softly, before exploring your neck. He sucked behind your ear, and you moaned, gripping his biceps, nails digging in slightly. John sucked harder.

In one swift motion, he was standing up with you in his arms, heading to your bedroom. He laid you on the bed gently, hovering over you as he looked down at you. "Are you sure you want this? I can wait for it, angel."

You smiled, hands running through his hair. "I can't."

He chuckled, leaning in and kissing you again, messier this time but no less passionate. The hand not holding him up slipped under your shirt, large hand spread out against smooth skin, giving you goosebumps.

You moaned softly, and John pressed his hips into yours. His lips found your neck again, sucking gently, not hard enough to leave lingering marks, but enough to make you squirm. He smirked against your skin, pulling back and resting on his knees to pull his shirt off.

Your hands came up, nails gently raking up his torso to his neck, and he let out a shaky breath. "You have no idea what you do to me," he murmured, looking down at you with half-lidded eyes.

You smiled, sitting up slightly to tug your shirt off, leaving your torso bare. John's breath hitched, and he leaned down, pushing you into the mattress as he kissed down the valley of your breasts, taking a nipple into his mouth and sucking.

You moaned, back bowing for him as he slipped a hand behind you, pulling you into him as he sucked on your tits. His lips were precise, tongue greedy as he did so. He was devouring you, and he was just getting started.

His lips slowly trailed down your belly, to the waistband of your shirt. His breath ghosted past your skin, tongue darting out to taste. His eyes flickered up to yours, and he waited for the signal. Didn't rush, didn't push. He was content where he was until you were ready.

You nodded, hand running through his messy locks. He smiled, fingers hooking in the waistband of both your shorts and panties, pulling them down in one big motion, tossing them on the floor with your shirts.

He paused, breathing heavy as his eyes scanned you. He licked his lips, hands rubbing your thighs and slowly pushing them apart. "So fuckin' beautiful," he murmured, leaning in and pressing his tongue flat against your slit.

You moaned, head falling into the mattress as he began eating you out. His lips sealed around your swollen clit, sucking softly as his tongue swirled. His hands massaged your thighs gently, leaving your skin with goosebumps and your breath heavy with desire.

He was lapping at you like a dog starved, and honestly, that's what he felt like. He moaned against your pussy, tongue tasting every bit of you he could. "Fuck," you breathed out, hands tugging at his hair.

He groaned, tongue flicking over your clit faster. You cried out softly, back bowing once more as you pressed your hips into his face. He slowly pulled back, your slick covering his face as you both panted.

"Sorry, baby, but I gotta feel this pretty pussy," he murmured deeply, hands going to his sweats and untying the drawstring.

You swallowed, nodding as you smiled softly, a little dizzy from it all. You reached over, opening your bedside drawer and pulling out a condom. John smirked. "Oh?"

You giggled. "Safety first, John Logan. Don't make it weird."

He slipped his sweatpants and boxers off, and your breath left your body at the sight of him. He smirked, grabbing the condom from you. "Nothing weird about safety, baby." He leaned down, kissing you deeply, hand on your jaw as he did so. "I'll be gentle. So fucking gentle, I promise."

You nodded, kissing him deeper, before pulling back. "I trust you."

He smiled, a real, genuine smile. "Good. I'd never hurt you."

He opened the package, rolling the condom on. He grabbed your leg, hooking it over his hip as he lined himself up. "Ready?" he asked softly.

You nodded. "Been ready for this for a while," you murmured, a small smile on your face. He chuckled, slowly pushing in, just enough for you to feel the stretch.

You moaned and so did he, the feeling of you amazing. He kissed your cheek, your temple, your jaw, your neck—pretty much everywhere he could as he slowly pushed in a little more, letting you adjust the size of him.

"Fuck, John," you moaned softly, nails digging into his bad.

"That feel good, angel?" he murmured against your skin, and you nodded, moaning.

He rolled his hips once, pushing in a little more until he was about halfway, and then he stopped, not wanting to push you too far or hurt you. His hips stilled, letting you adjust as he kissed your skin softly.

His breathing was heavy, small moans and whines escaping his lips as the feeling of you fluttering around him. "Feel so good," he murmured. "Fuckin' made for me."

You moaned, and he grabbed your other leg, hooking it over his other hip and deepening the angle. You cried out softly, his hips starting to move slowly, deeply, letting himself feel every rub against your walls.

"Fuck, angel," he moaned, sucking your collarbone. His hips slowly sped up, your moans filling his ears as he made love to you. It wasn't just fucking, it was deeper. It was raw and real and everything he'd been wanting for so long.

"You're fuckin' mine, you know that?" he murmured into your jaw, moving so his eyes were on you. "Look at me," he whispered. Your eyes fluttered open, full of pleasure as you moaned. HIs hips never stopped, never faltered, just drove into your deeper and deeper until your legs were shaking.

"Mine," he repeated, kissing you deeply. You nodded against him frantically, moaning into his lips.

His hand came down, slipping between you and finding your swollen clit, thumb rubbing tight circles. You whimpered in pleasure, head tossing back as your nails dug into his back, spurring him on. "Feel good?" he rasped, hips continuing to hit that spot inside of you.

You moaned, nodding. "Use your words, pretty girl," he told you.

"Y-yes. Fuck! Yes!"

Your moans got louder as your legs started tightening, and John continued, wanting to feel you come around him, needing it.

"Fuck, that's it, baby. Let me feel you."

You cried out as your orgasm crashed over you, your back bowing and nails scraping down his back as your toes curled and your pussy pulsed. You gasped, legs shaking as you tried to ground yourself in the moment.

John hummed, moaning against you as he worked you through it. His own orgasm crashed over him seconds later, and he twitched deep inside of you, head buried in your neck as he whined. "Fuckk," he choked out, hips continuing to roll against you, dragging your pleasure out.

You were panting below him, whimpering every time his cock moved inside of you. "Fuck, I love you, baby," he murmured, hips slowing down to a stop. "I love you so fucking much."

He lifted his head, kissing you deeply even as you both panted and tried to come down. You moaned into his lips, nodding. "I love you."