Welcome To The Shitshow

But…he has to admit theres one position that has his head spinning that his ma would probably shake her head at. But he can’t help it. He is after all just a man. Maybe not a human man but god when he hears those cries and feels your cunt wrapped around him he might as well be as weak as one. 

You’re flat on your stomach, hands clawing at the sheets as Clark’s arm gently wraps around your head. A firm reminder of his presence. As if his dick pounding into you wan’t enough. He’s holding himself up with the other hand. Making sure he doesn’t crush you with his other worldly strength. His hips are punishing in their movements. Hard and slow, like he’s carving his name into your cunt.

Normally he likes watching your face as he makes you feel good but with this position he can hear your whimpers and moans so much clearer. His face is pressed to the side of yours, his nose smushed against your cheek. Pretty filth spilling from his lips as he praises you and your body for responding so well to him.

Making such sweet noises honey

You feel so good, squeezing me so tight m’afraid you need to relax baby

Making a mess on the sheets hm? That’s okay I’ll take care of it just let go on my dick.

He has no idea the kind of effect he truly has on you but based on the way your thighs are shaking and your nails are digging into his arm, he has some idea.

He likes feeling you go limp in his arms, melting into a puddle and trusting Clark to take care of you. Your brain turning to mush but you know that he’s there and that he’s safe. Perhaps Superman has a small hero complex as the idea makes his cock twitch.

It was something that got you going. You liked imagining the people behind it, knowing they didn’t know who you were and were just there to see your lower half to get themselves off. So after a stressful day at work, you got comfortable in your bed, angled the camera just right so only the apex of your thighs could be seen and logged into with that secret word that would get people that wanted the same thing as you.

It was taking some time, so you started yourself off with your fingers teasing up your slit. Your eyes popped open as the screen connected and showed you one of the nicest cocks the internet had presented. Not that you had seen millions or were too picky, but this, this Greek god, this is sculpture like. He was big and hard and veiny in all the right places. It was easy to get faster with your movements as you looked at his hand move up and down the girth size. You could hear shuffling to position himself better so he could see the computer, a small groan leaving the mouth of the men that was on your screen. The hand was just as pretty, looked strong and rugged and so familiarly fixed it reminded you of the man who shared your office desk.

You had harbored a stupid crush on Clark Kent you were too afraid to act on. It stayed hidden and sometimes exposed when you instinctively pulled away when your hands accidentally touched when handing you a pen or when he remembered your coffee order and smiled at you like he knew it meant something. Lois gave you a weird look whenever it happened and motioned you to talk to him. No way. What if he could know what you liked? What you did in the privacy of your room?

Your hand twitched in timing with his when he squeezed the tip slowly, as if pulsing himself to give a little more. To drain. You could whimper. It took you so little to get close, so close when a notification came from teams on your computer, making your hand shake away from yourself. What if the mystery person heard? Just as you grabbed the computer, the same teams notification rang from his side. Weird. Weird that it was just at the same time and that the man’s hand had the same thin red bracelet Clark wore and that as he moved you could see he had slacks on the same color Clark wore today and oh-

Oh.

Oh.

Your breath hitched and you shut the computer with a slam, heart beating at a million per hour at the realization. It was Clark. Clark Kent. The sweet, dorky desk neighbour that got you cake on your birthday and told you the red bracelet he sported was a gift from a friend (weird). He saw you getting yourself off, in all your glory with your fingers drawing mean circles on your clit. It was his dick. Beautiful and big and giving you the show of a lifetime. Oh.

Just as you thought about how you would react the next time you saw him, your phone pinged.

Clark Kent @ 9:32 pm Could recognize you anywhere. Was hoping you’d notice. Wanna do that in person some time?

You went red as you put down the phone and slammed your back onto your bed, embarrassed and overwhelmed at the fact that he knew and he liked it.

You walk around the stone path to the back garden and the steady sound of splitting gets louder. Chrysanthemums bloom along the low garden wall and a pile of wood sits next to the round, stone fire pit. To the right of the pit a huge tree stump sits with a log balancing on top of it- splitting apart as the axe comes down. 

“Hey lumberjack,” you smile, setting your bags on the ground and walking towards him.  

“Hello professor,” Andrew smiles back at you, dropping the axe into the large tree stump. He wipes his face with the bottom of his white t-shirt, his tight stomach peeking up out of his jeans as he moves towards you. Your eyes gaze down to the faded scars on his abdomen. He grabs your waist with one hand and your face with the other placing a tender, lingering kiss on your mouth. You sigh into his lips, resting your hands on his biceps which strain against the white fabric. 

“Mmm,” you scrunch your nose, “you’re all sweaty.”  

“Since when do you not like me when I’m sweating?” He playfully furrows his brow.

“Since I’m not sweating underneath you,” You kiss him again and he pulls you closer. Behind you a small babble floats through the air. You turn around to see your daughter in her little outdoor high chair. She smacks her chubby little hands against her tray table reaching for you.

“Gwen! I thought you’d be sleeping, you naughty thing!” You walk over to her and kiss the soft little curls on the top of her head. 

“How’s my Gwenny?” You coo, lifting the smiling girl out of her high chair, “are you supervising Daddy? Chop, chop, chop! You are so helpful!” You smush Gwen's cheek against yours, pursing your lips. Andrew rests his warm hand on the small of your back, wrapping around your waist and pulling you flush to him.

“We missed you all day,” He mumbles into his wife's hair. You sigh and tilt your head back until it rests on Andrew's shoulder. Gwen's tiny hand wraps around the gold sun pendant resting on your chest and she tries to put it in her mouth.

“Oh no, no,” Andrew says as he slips his finger into her little fist instead which she immediately puts in her mouth.

“I think she’s got another little tooth coming in.” He says running a finger along her chubby cheek.

“Yeah?” you say with a high-pitch lilt, “You biting daddy all day?”

“Yeah, she’s just like her mommy.” Andrew teases, squeezing your hips.

“Ok,” You push him off in fake annoyance, “Does daddy want to sleep on the couch tonight? Hmm?”

“Oh, I don’t think mommy would like that as much as she’s pretending to,” He says, lifting Gwen out of your arm, placing a kiss on the baby’s cheek. You smile and roll your eyes, bending over to pick up your bags. Andrew smacks your ass as you walk towards the house in front of him and you squeal, turning over your shoulder to give a flirty smile.

After giving Gwen dinner, most of which she ends up wearing, your little family sits in the upstairs bathroom. Gwen splashes around in the bathtub a small rubber ducky in her tiny baby fits as you make a soapy mohawk in her hair. Andrew’s t-shirt hangs over the shower rod soaked from a particularly powerful splash from Gwen.

“You look so gorgeous,” you say in a high-pitched voice, twirling Gwen’s soapy curls in your fingers, “your little curly hair is so pretty, huh? Just like Daddy's,”

Andrew sits against the wall facing you watching with adoration. His heart swells looking at his girls, Gwen has his hair but she definitely got her mothers smile, bright, and jovial, and constant on her little rosebud lips. A flash of silver on your hand catches his eye and he notices that you are wearing his signet ring on your pointer finger.

“Nice ring,” He smiles.

“Oh!” You turn your hand looking down at your finger, “you left it on the counter this morning, I just slipped it on so it wouldn’t get lost.” You twist it off before slipping it back onto his right pinky, almost mirroring the silver wedding band on his left ring finger. He smiles flexing his hand. You tilt Gwen's head back, rinsing the shampoo out of her hair, making a wooshing sound as you stream the water over her little head. Andrew grabs the little, green towel with a froggy hood and wraps it around Gwen, lifting her out of the bath. He kisses her cheek, resting his nose on it, breathing in deeply.

“You want to shower? I can do bedtime,” Andrew says, still resting his face against Gwen's.

“Ugh, I love you,” you lean forward placing a kiss on his lips then turning and kissing Gwen's face all over, her little giggles filling the room. Andrew steps out of the bathroom catching you pulling off your dress in the mirror before pulling the door shut.

Andrew puts Gwen in her blue footie pajamas that have little ladybugs all over it before sitting her in his lap on the cherry wood rocking chair in the corner of her room. He reads Goodnight Moon in his low, steady voice, saying goodnight to two little kittens and the pair of mittens. Gwen’s eyes start to droop and Andrew stands placing three soft kisses on her head before gently lowering her into her crib. He stares down at her for a moment running his eyes over her dark eyelash, pink cheeks, and rosebud lips. He can’t believe he helped make something so perfect.

“She’s out,” Andrew says, sauntering back into your bedroom, he freezes in the doorframe seeing you. You sit on your knees on the edge of the bed in a sugar pink slip dress, completely sheer. He can see your matching pink panties peeking out the bottom. You stare at him with your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Hi,” you say, batting your eyelashes at him.

“Hi,” Andrew breathes, closing the door and striding across the room, picking you up in one swift motion. He holds you up by your ass and you let out a quiet squeal as he kneels on the bed placing you down underneath him. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” He says gazing down at you, you smile wrapping your arms around his neck pulling him into a long, slow kiss. He runs his hand all over the sheer chiffon covering your body, slipping his hand under the pink fabric, cupping your breast and pinching your nipple. A small squeak comes from your throat in response, arching your back pushing your chest into his hand. He pushes one of his thighs between your legs letting his weight come down on your core. You hum into his mouth at the feeling of pressure as he moves his leg against you. You pull on his hair so he’s looking down at your face, your pink lips parted as you breathed against his mouth.

“Andrew,” you whisper, “I want another baby,”

Andrew’s breath catches in his throat and he sits back on his knees, his eyes glazing over, staring into the distance. You sit up beneath him resting your hands on his stomach, your fingers grazing lightly over one of his scars.

“We don’t have to decide right now,” you say, taking his chin in your hand tilting it down so he’s looking at you, “I just… I love you so much, I love our little family, I love Gwen, I love how much she looks like you, I love how much she loves you.” You push your hands into the curls at the back of his neck slowly twisting a strand between your fingers, “You’re such an incredible dad and an amazing partner-” He cuts you off planting a searing kiss on your lips, holding your soft face in his rough hands.

“I would have a hundred more kids with you.” Andrew says, resting his forehead against yours, “I just… I’m so fucking lucky that I have you, that we have Gwen…” A tear rolls down his cheek and you brush it away with your thumb.

“It doesn’t feel real sometimes,” he sniffs, “I’m not sure what I did to deserve all of this, and I can’t believe... I get to have more.” 

“Andrew,” you sigh, “if we had a hundred babies my uterus would self-destruct.”

He laughs and kisses you again.

“Why don’t we just aim for two for now…?” He says, pressing you back down on the soft mattress, one of his legs still between yours. He nips along your neck as you moan lightly, tilting your head back so he can better access your throat. He traces his finger along the thin strap of the sheer pink dress.

“You look so pretty,” He hums, dragging the fabric slowly over your stomach, then your breasts, letting it catch on your nipples before pulling it off, “but I think I like you the best like this,” he runs his hand over your breast squeezing lightly before dragging his fingers over your little, pink thong. He traces little hearts on your hip with his warm fingers.

“Andrew,” you whine, “don’t tease,” pushing your hips up, trying to get him to touch you between your legs where you ache for him. 

“I’m just savoring the moment,” he says with reverence in his eyes. Slowly he moves his hand into your panties and drags his middle finger over your slit. You let out a shaky breath and grab his neck pulling him down so his cheek is right next to yours.

“Please,” you whisper in his ear, “I need you,”

He pushes his finger in slowly, listening to your breath catch. 

“Mmm,” you hum, tightening your grip on his neck.

“You gotta be good if you want me to fuck you,” He murmurs in your ear, curling his finger up inside your slick walls.

“Ok,” you breathe, trying to grind down on his hand, but he slowly pulls his finger out. You huff in annoyance, gripping down on his wrist.

“You gotta say it,” he whispers.

“I’m gonna be good for you,” you whine, and he grabs your tiny panties yanking them down your legs.

“Good girl,” he pushes two fingers inside you, and your head falls back. His mouth is hanging open, watching you with devotion, “you’re so wet for me,”

You writhe against his hand biting on your pointer finger to keep quiet. You reach down with your other hand pushing the grey sweatpants slung low on his hips down his legs, hooking your toe into the waistband shoving them down with your foot. Andrew’s eyes roll back as you grab his rock-hard dick.

“Fuck,” he groans, shifting his body so he is next to you, pulling your waist so you lay on your sides, facing each other. He brings your leg over his hip and reaches down between your legs shoving his fingers back inside you. You gasp as he pumps in and out of you slowly and you twist and tug on his shaft, running your thumb back and forth over his tip. You whimper as he brings his thumb up to rub against your clit in long, aching strokes. He fucks his fingers in and out of you, drinking up the sounds of your pussy squelching and mixed with the sound of your moans Andrew is in heaven. He feels your pussy spasm.

“Andrew,” you whine, writhing against his hand, “I’m gonna come,”

“Come for me, beautiful,” he whispers, keeping up his tantalizing pace. You pull him towards you and press a hard kiss on his mouth, muffling your moans as you come on his fingers. He rolls you over onto your back before crowding over you, pushing your legs further apart with his thick thighs. He grabs the base of his cock with his hand before running the tip over your entrance in long, thick lines. He lines up with your entrance pushing the lips of your pussy open just slightly before leaning down and kissing you softly on the lips.

“Slow, ok?” he says in a low, raspy voice.

“Ok,” you whisper. He pins your wrists above your head and pushes into you slowly. He’s been so gentle with you ever since you had Gwen, even more so than normal, but you loved everything about it. You loved feeling him move against you so gently and with so much care. He buries his cock inside you so his balls press against your ass. He flexes his stomach so his dick twitches inside you making you feel even more full. You wriggle against him as he slides his tongue in your mouth, locking you in a warm, wet kiss, swallowing every sound you make like it nourishes him. He laces your fingers together as he pumps in and out of you, stretching your pussy so good a dull ache starts to crescendo in your stomach.

“Andrew,” you whine against his mouth, and he knows you’re going to come again. He feels your pussy spasm and squeeze around his cock as you tighten your grip on his hands, leaving little white marks underneath your fingers on the back of his freckled hands. He groans at the feeling of you fluttering around him

“Good girl,” he says against your lips, feeling the coil in his stomach tightening, “you want me to fuck another baby in you?” He pulls back so he can look at your face, cheeks flushed, pink lips glimmering with his spit, eyebrows scrunching in euphoric pleasure. 

“Yeah,” you whimper, “I wanna-” your eyes fluttering closed for a moment at a particularly deep thrust of your husband’s cock, “I wanna have your baby,” you manage to get out. Your words push him over the edge, filling your pussy with his creamy cum as he grunts and moans in your ear.

“Fuck,” he whimpers, as you milk his cock. The two of you stay pressed against each other, breathing in the other’s breath like it's the only air you need. He cups your cheek and places a lingering, soft kiss on your lips. He sits back on his heels and drags his hands down your body, running his fingertips over the stretch marks on your belly from your pregnancy. 

“I don’t think it works that fast,” you say, smiling up at him.

“Funny,” he says, leaning forward and crowding back over you as you lace your fingers through his curls placing another slow, warm kiss on your lips. He slides a hand beneath your body and rolls you over on top of him, still his favorite way to sleep. He brushes your hair back as he gazes into your eyes.

“I love you so much,” he says softly.

“I love you so much,” you place a sweet kiss on his cheek, “and I love you and Gwen more than anything.”

“More than anything,” he repeats, pulling you into him, you let out a little gasp as your core rubs against his firm leg. You’ve become so much more sensitive physically since having Gwen, and he’ll never admit it but it is an aspect of your motherhood that Andrew is obsessed with. He loved everything about your pregnancy: trying to get you pregnant, watching you belly grow with the baby you made together, fucking you while your tits were achingly full and your stomach swelled, taking care of you and your little Gwen when he took you both home from the hospital. 

Despite your protests Andrew stayed awake every night for the first month after Gwen was born, just watching her little body as she slept in the cradle next to your bed. If her cries ever woke you up Andrew would kiss you on the temple before whisking Gwen out of your bedroom and into the nursery. He had only started letting her sleep in there at six months, spending many nights sitting in the rocking chair for hours watching her little breaths. You could count the amount of diapers you’ve changed on one hand…

Gwen’s little cries drift down the hallway as you lay in Andrew's arms on the cusp of sleep.

“I got her,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss to your hairline. He slips on his boxers before opening your door and walking to Gwen's room. She wriggles around in her crib crying and Andrew lifts her up in one swift motion, pressing her tiny body against his chest.

“You’re ok Gwenny,” he whispers, rocking her back and forth, “I’ve got you, Daddy’s got you.” He sways with her tucked into his arms until her crying subsides and she babbles sleepily against his skin. He walks back to your room with Gwen in his arms, even though you had told him that she needs to learn to sleep in her crib, Andrew can’t help but want both his girls with him in bed every night. He nudges the door open with his foot and sees you asleep, curled up in his t-shirt. He pulls back the quilt, slipping into bed next to you. Even in your sleep you reach for him, rolling into his side, tucking your face into his neck.

Identity theft was the last crime Andrew ever committed. No, Andrew didn’t kill anyone, just stole a death certificate of a young man who died tragically young at 41 before it could be processed. Robert Carney, whose life was given to something worthwhile after being cut short by a heart attack. Robert, a woodworker with no family and not many friends to speak of, was easy enough to become. And it helped that his middle name was Andrew, a small coincidence that allowed this Andrew to keep using his own name, to keep hearing it in your voice.

It allowed him to marry you and despite your sadness that you weren’t marrying your Andrew Cody he was elated to get to marry you in any way at all. It still made his heart flutter thinking about getting down on one knee in front of you, asking you to be his for the rest of your lives. Andrew loves seeing his ring on your finger nestled against your gold wedding band with pearls, his birthstone, your idea. He loves spinning his own silver ring around on his finger, your initials engraved on the inside of the band along with your wedding date.

And even though he is bone tired, he lays awake, one arm around Gwen sleeping on his chest, the other around you, snug against his side, his forever wrapped up in his arms inside the house he built you as a cool breeze rustles the autumn leaves outside.

“You have to pick which one you want to do more,” you say, threading your fingers through his hair, “sex… or ring…” He lets out a hard breath. He runs his hand up your side, lightly pinching your nipple through your shirt. You give him a small smirk, leaning towards him, fully ready to shed your clothes and get on top of him. He pauses right before your lips touch.

“Ring.” He whispers. Your mouth falls open slightly. 

“You are such a tease,” you say, playfully pushing him back, “you’re lucky I love you so much, a worse woman would change her mind,” you say, turning and walking out of the room towards the front door. He follows you with a little smirk on his face, caging you against the front door, spinning you around by your hips.

“Come on,” he says in a low voice, dropping his hand to the button of your jeans, popping it open, dragging the zipper down slowly, “you know I won’t leave my pretty girl hangin’.” He brings his hand up to his mouth sucking in his fingers covering them in a slick sheen of spit. He slips his hand down into your panties and you gasp as you both watch his hand disappear in your jeans. He runs his fingers over your panties first, a long line dragging over your entrance then catching on your clit.

“You want my fingers, gorgeous?” He rasps, rubbing you over your little thong.

“Yes… please…” you whine, grabbing his wrist. He smirks as he lets you shove his hand beneath the soft fabric of your panties. His fingers find your clit and you pull him into a slow but heated kiss. You moan against his mouth as he rubs teasing circles on you, he smiles into the kiss at the pretty little sounds you're making. You roll your hips down on his hand as you slide your tongue in his mouth, licking against each other as you feel the coil inside you start to tighten. He teases your clit, shaking his hand from left to right, rubbing little ovals on you, making you squirm. 

“Andrew,” you whimper on his lips, he knows you want his fingers inside and he happily obliges. Your pussy is sticky with desire as he slides two fat fingers inside you at an aching pace, curling forward rubbing against your front wall. You rake your fingers through his curls at the back of his neck, whimpering at the sensation of his fingers building your orgasm deep inside you. Restricted by your jeans he presses his palm against your clit rubbing it up and down as he rubs his fingers inside you over and over. You squeak against his mouth.

“You gonna come for me?” He says, licking along your bottom lip as your mouth hangs open in pleasure. You tug on his curls pulling a low groan from the back of his throat.

“Yeah,” you breath, “don’t stop, just like that,” 

He wouldn’t dream of stopping, not with you making those addicting sounds in his ear. He feels your pussy flutter around his fingers and keeps curling them up inside you, grinding your clit on his palm. You pull him tighter against you, bracing your against him as your legs start to shake. He wraps his other arm around your waist, holding you up. 

“Andrew, fuck,” you gasp, “I’m- coming-” he keeps fucking his fingers in and out of you, a smirk on his face as he watches you fall apart, holding you firmly against his body as you try and squirm out of his arms, overwhelmed at the feeling of his fingers filling you through your orgasm. 

As you come down from your high you settle in his arms, resting your hands on his shoulders as you try to compose yourself. He pulls his fingers from inside your pants bringing his hand up to his mouth, sucking your cum off his fingers. Quick, little breaths slip past your lips as you watch him pulling his fingers past his lips, spitting a glob of saliva on his finger tips, dropping his hands back down into your jeans, shoving his fingers back inside you, pressing his spit deep up inside your pussy.

“I want you to feel that dripping out of you when I’m putting a ring on your finger.” He says in a low rasp while his forehead rests on yours. Your lips part at his filthy words and he catches your bottom lip on his thumb, running his rough fingertip over your soft mouth. 

“You ready?” He smiles. You nod as your breathing finally slows. He zips your jeans and buttons them, placing a sweet kiss on your lips. He grabs your coffee from the counter, handing it to you, taking your hand in his.

The first store he takes you to is a vintage ring and diamond dealer. As you walk inside, hand in hand, you look down at the glass cases and immediately feel your heart squeeze. The rings are simple and elegant, gorgeous but not gaudy, not like it was something the two of you ever talked about, but… he nailed it. A small older woman approaches you on the other side of the glass cabinets with a huge smile on her face.

“Hello lovebirds,” she says, “are we looking for an engagement ring today?”

You smile at her enthusiasm, turning to Andrew waiting for him to answer her.

“Uh, yes,” he turns to look at you and smiles seeing you're already staring at him with a light blush on your cheeks, “we are,” he squeezes your hands.

“Well, you certainly found yourself a beautiful bride,” she nods at Andrew.

“I did,” he slips his arm around your waist, pulling you into his side. 

“Well, my name is Rita and I would love to help you find the perfect ring today,” she smiles, folding her hands on the glass counter. “What are we thinking about the color of the band?”

“Gold,” Andrew says, “she always wears gold,”

“Handsome and observant,” she says. Andrew blushes but all you can do is giggle. You love how much older women were drawn to him, it was endlessly amusing to you. You press a small kiss to his red cheek. 

“Is there a particular cut of diamond that you have your eye on?” Rita asks.

“Um,” you look down through the glass at the sparkling diamonds, “probably not round or oval… but I don’t know, I’m open to trying anything… this is our first time looking,”

“Isn’t this my lucky day! The first go around is my favorite,” she crinkles her nose in a smile. “And tell me what you’re thinking in terms of price,” she asks Andrew.

“No budget,” he says, looking at you, squeezing your hip, “whatever she wants,”

“Where did you find him?” Rita says, placing a hand on her chest, “I want one,”

“He is one of a kind, I’m afraid,” you smile at him shaking your head. 

Rita suggests you pick out five rings that catch your eye right away. You point through the glass as Andrew stands behind you with his arms wrapped around your waist. Rita sets the five rings out on a long velvet try. 

Andrew insists on putting each ring on your finger. You pick a radiant diamond in a bezel set first, both of your hands vibrate with excitement as he slides it onto your finger.

“Do you like it?” He asks in a low voice.

“It’s so sparkly,” you say, flexing your hand, letting the diamond catch the light. 

“That stone is about two and a half carats and the band is eighteen karat gold,” Rita says, “how does it feel?”

“It feels… big,” you say, “maybe too… flashy?”

 “We’re just getting a feel for what you like right now, there’s no right answer,” Rita smiles. The next ring Andrew slips on your finger is an asscher diamond in an heirloom bezel.

“Now, this is a very unique ring, it’s mixed metal with an eighteen karat yellow-gold band and a platinum head and prongs. The asscher is one of my favorite cuts, it’s not something you see often but it is breathtaking.” Rita says.

“It’s beautiful,” you say, wiggling your fingers letting the diamond catch in the light, “I’m not sure I love the platinum though,”

Andrew puts a lozenge cut diamond on your finger next.

“Another striking shape,” Rita says, “this is a lozenge center stone with a gold grooved halo and shank with a cathedral setting,”

“I love how unique it is…” you say, flicking your eyes up to Andrew who is gnawing on his bottom lip in anticipation, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a diamond this shape before…I think it might be my favorite one so far,”

“Yeah?” Andrew asks, toying with your hand in his fingers. You nod with a small smile.

“A top contender,” Rita claps her hands in excitement. 

You try on what feels like dozens of rings including an east-west cushion signet, a pear and emerald cut toi et moi which you also decide is one of your favorites, an east-west emerald cut half bezel, a five stone cushion cut which you decide is far too big. The lozenge cut ring is still your favorite but when you put it on again you worry that it might not be as timeless as you’d like. You’re starting to think that maybe you should head to the next store when Andrew points to a ring tucked in the back corner of the glass case.

“Good eye,” Rita smiles at him, pulling the ring out and handing it to him, “a true vintage, this is an antique cushion cut solitaire with a reef knot band. The diamond is nineteenth century, unlike contemporary, highly-symmetrical cuts, antique cushions are cut by hand to produce a warm, romantic candlelit glow rather than a modern, disco-ball sparkle. Because they were fashioned by hand, no two antique cuts are identical.”

“Once in a lifetime,” Andrew says, sliding it onto your finger. Both of your hands had gotten steadier the more rings he put on you but now your hands seem to tremble more with this one than the first ring. You take in a shaky, sharp breath as he pushes it flush to your knuckle. He looks up at you and you have tears in your eyes. 

“What do you think?” He asks, but he already knows.

“It’s perfect,” you whisper.

“Yeah?” He says.

“Yeah,” you whisper. He takes your face in his hands and places a sweet kiss on your lips. He holds your cheeks, wiping your tears off with his thumb.

The two of you drive to the Cody compound absolutely giddy. Andrew wants his brothers to be the first ones you tell and you're happy to oblige him. You don’t wear the ring out of the store, Andrew insisting that he does a proper proposal where he gets on one knee and tells you exactly why he wants you to be his forever, and why he wants to be yours just the same. His hand squeezes down on your thigh the entire ride there while you trace your fingers up the thick vein on his bicep. The two of you pull up and there’s a sleek black car in the driveway that you don’t recognize but it’s clear that Andrew does. He tenses a little beneath your hands.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, searching his face.

“I’m not sure,” he says, his eyes locked on the car, “could be nothing.” 

"Well, whose car is that?" You ask, trying not to panic.

"He was Smurf's lawyer," he says in a low voice.

He steps out and you follow, running up beside him taking his hand as you walk through the front door. You can hear the low murmur of voices as you step inside that stop as soon as the door closes.

“Pope?” Deran calls out. Andrew says nothing but walks to the living room where the voices were coming from. You find Deran and Craig sitting on the couch with a man you don’t recognize. He’s sharply dressed in a suit and tie and doesn’t seem like the kind of guy the Cody boys hang out with.

“Neil,” Andrew says.

“Andrew,” Neil says.

“What’s going on?” Andrew asks, looking between the three men, your hand still firmly in his grasp. The three men exchange a look you can’t decipher. Neil takes a deep breath.

“They found Jeanine Cody’s body in Riverside.” Neil says. Your blood goes cold. You feel Andrew freeze beside you.

“The detective, Louise Thompson, she's been tailing Pope.” Deran says with his arms crossed, “a buddy at the police department called me this morning and we called Neil.”

“Unfortunately, that's not the only charge that Andrew's facing right now.” Neil says. Deran's head snaps towards him.

"You didn't say anything about another charge," Deran says, sounding pissed.

“Oceanside PD is gonna be issuing a warrant for Andrew's arrest for assault.” Neil says.

“Assault?” You say, your voice laced with indignation, but you pause, thinking of all the nights Andrew came home cut up and bruised.

“The victim is someone named Taylor Cline. Does that sound familiar?” Neil says.

“No.” Andrew says, but it sounds familiar to you. You turn to Andrew.

“Taylor… the guy from Deran’s bar,” you say quietly, “he- he was talking to me and you broke his nose.”

“Wait, what's that got to do with Smurf?” Craig cuts in.

“Thompson probably doesn't have enough for a homicide charge, so she convinced someone from Oceanside to prop this up.” Neil says, rubbing the back of his neck. ”Now that we're aware of her investigation, she probably assumes that Andrew may run, so we'll need to go down and get you processed. You should be able to get bail, but the previous felony conviction may complicate things.”

“He's just gonna walk down there and turn himself in?” Deran says, baffled. 

“No,” you say, gripping on his arm. 

“It'll look better for us if we go to the station, cooperate,” Neil says, shrugging, “how much can you raise for bail?”

“Enough.” Craig says.

“Half a million?” Neil raises his eyebrows.

“A million?” You say, eyes wide. “For an assault charge?”

“Convicted bank robber.” Neil says flatly.

“We got it. We got it.” Deran says.

“Alright,” Neil says, fiddling with the cuff of his shirt.

“We'll all go with him.” Craig says.

“Only one of you,” Neil says looking between Deran and Craig “both of you will make this a much bigger story,” Neil's eyes fall on you, “she can come. She’ll make you look… sympathetic,” 

Andrew moves his arm in front of you, tucking you behind his body.

“You’re not using her for optics,” Andrew says, voice cutting.

“No, I’m coming,” you say, tightening your hands around his arm.

“You shouldn’t have to-” Andrew says, his voice so much softer towards you that Neil is taken aback. 

“I’m coming with you,” you say firmly. 

“Okay. I'll go too.” Deran says, patting Craig on the shoulder.

You, Andrew, Deran, and Neil walk towards the Oceanside police department and your hand is like a vice on his arm.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” You whisper to him so Deran and Neil can’t hear. “I feel like this is a bad idea,”

“Neil… he’s… a friend of the family,” Andrew says. Taking your hand in his, he stops walking and holds your face in his hands. Your expression is a mixture of sadness and fear. He strokes your cheek with his thumb before placing a soft kiss on your lips.

“I’ll be coming home before you know it,” he says, resting his forward on yours for a moment, dropping his hand back to yours, lacing your fingers together. You take a deep, shaking breath and nod.

“I'll let them know we're here.” Neil says, as you all walk in the building.

You’re squeezing Andrew’s hand so tight that his skin under your fingertips turns white. Neil walks up to a long counter where a woman in a suit stands talking to a uniformed officer.

“I'm here with Andrew Cody.” He says. The woman you assume is a detective seems taken aback by this, her eyes flicking over Neil’s shoulder and landing on you and Andrew. 

“Mr. Cody. I'm Detective Hutchins,” she says, walking around the desk, her hand already on her cuffs, “you're under arrest for assault.” 

“Wait,” you whisper, grabbing his arm with your other hand.

“It’s ok,” Andrew says, squeezing your hand before reluctantly pulling his arm from your grasp.

“Put your hands behind your head.” Detective Hutchins says. Andrew rests his hands on his head.

“Is that really necessary?” You say, trying to keep your voice from shaking. Detective Hutchins’ eyes flick towards you as she puts the cuffs on his wrists.

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney.” Detective Hutchins drones.

“He's aware of that,” Deran snaps.

“She has to finish the Miranda,” Neil says, smirking, “she knows I'm watching this entire waste of the taxpayers' money.”

“If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand?” Detective Hutchins finishes. You gnaw on the inside of your lip trying not to cry.

“Yeah.” Andrew says. You try to wipe a tear away quickly hoping he doesn’t notice but of course he does. He notices everything about you. The detective takes Andrews arms where you can still see the small indents of your nails where you were just gripping down on him. She leads him down the hallway as he turns his head to get one more look at you. She brings him to a small interrogation room in the back of the building.

“I want my lawyer.” Andrew says as soon as they walk in the door.

“I know,” she says, uncuffing him before sitting down, gesturing for him to sit across from her. “but I suggest you hear me out first before your attorney comes in…”

“I'm not listening,” Andrew cuts in.

“...and there's things you and I won't be able to control.” She finishes, ignoring his objection. She places a folder across the table. She opens it, pushing a picture towards Andrew.

“This is how we found your mother,” she says, he keeps his gaze fixed on his lap. “Go on. Look. Look. That sheet you wrapped her in didn't do much. Animals got to her pretty fast.”

Andrew flicks his eyes up to the table but quickly averts his gaze again.

“Lawyer.” He says.

“I thought you might say that,” Hutchins says, squinting. She slides another grainy photo across the table pushing it right in front of Andrew. It’s of you and him, sitting outside at a restaurant, his hand resting on your thigh while you smile your brilliant smile at him. His throat tightens. That was such a good day, you were both feeling good so you’d decided to go out for dinner, try and be normal again… or at least the new normal. She drops another photo on top of that, it shows you, alone, walking across the street in front of your apartment. You look so beautiful but his fists clench in his lap. They had been following you while you were alone? Andrew squeezes his jaw tighter as the detective drops one more photo on the pile, you and him sitting in his black Jeep, his hand cupping your face, locked in a kiss.

“This has nothing to do with her,” he sneers.

“Oh but it does,” she says. “She’s beautiful, your girlfriend.”

“Fuck you.” Andrew growls leaning forward, Hutchins pulls back slightly.

“It seems unlikely that someone as close to you as she is would know nothing about your little indiscretions.” She says, smoothing down her jacket, composing herself. “We can call her back here, right now even, hope she talks… and if she doesn’t charge her with obstruction. Nothing you could do about it unfortunately, you don’t have spousal privilege.” Hutchins kisses her teeth, “she doesn’t really strike me as a jailbird. It’d be a shame, too, from what we’ve found she’s deeply admired by her students and her peers, no criminal record at all, not even a parking ticket. Not sure how she’d do in a co-ed prison…” 

“What do you want?” Andrew snaps. She leans forward, folding her hands on the table.

“A confession.” She says.

Andrew has been back there for at least an hour and you feel like you are going to crawl out of your skin. Your leg hasn’t stopped bouncing for twenty minutes at least.

“Is it supposed to take this long?” You say to Neil, biting your cuticle.

“She might be trying to get him to talk without me,” Neil says.

“She can't do that,” you say.

“Not technically but I doubt that will stop her,” Neil leans back in his chair.

“But he won’t, right?” You say, looking at him desperately.

“No he knows what to do,” Deran says, arms crossed.

“I’ll go ask the beat cop for any updates,” Neil says, giving you a sympathetic smile. You and Deran sit alone in silence for a moment

“Andrew asked me to marry him,” you say and Deran’s head snaps to you.

“You know that’s crazy right?” Deran says, scanning your face.

“I know,” you say, letting out a shaky breath. “I said yes.”

Before Deran can even respond another young detective pulls both of your attention.

“Deran Cody?” She asks, looking at him.

“Yeah?” Deran says, standing. You stand next to him. Neil is already halfway back to you.

“I'm Detective Louise Thompson. Riverside County.” She rests her hands on her hips.

“So, you're responsible for all this bullshit?” Deran says.

“Bullshit?” She says, raising her eyebrows.

“How long until my client is finished processing?” Neil sighs.

“Oh, Andrew Cody's gonna spend the night with us.” She gives a cruel smile.

“You said they’d let him come home,” you turn to Neil, eyes desperate. 

“On what legal basis?” Neil asks, standing up straighter.

“He confessed to the murder of Jeanine Cody.” Louise says. Your stomach drops.

“What?” You breathe.

“No, he didn't.” Deran scoffs.

“I want to talk to my client.” Neil says.

“No, he didn't.” Deran says louder.

“Because he cooperated,” Louise reaches into her back pocket, pulling out a small velvet box, “he wanted you to have this,” she gives it to you but you can barely bring yourself to take it. You look down at it like she’s just handed you a small dead bird. Your eyes sting with tears that you don’t even try to hold back. She turns and walks away and the three of you just stand there in total silence. Your vision starts to go white around the edges and you hear Deran say your name as if he’s calling out to you from a great distance.

You wake up in the back of Neil’s car as he pulls into Smurf’s driveway.

“What happened?” you say, rubbing your eyes.

“You passed out,” Deran says. “You ok?”

“Andrew-” it’s the only thing you can think to say.

“Yeah,” Deran says in a low voice, getting out of the car before opening your door and holding a hand out to you. You take it and let him wrap his arm around your waist as you walk back in the house.

“What happened?” Craig says as soon as he hears the front door open, rounding the corner to see only you and Deran walking in.

“The cops say Pope confessed,” Deran says, walking you to the couch, sitting you down beside him.

“To the assault?” Craig furrows his eyebrows.

“To the murder.” Deran says, flatly. 

The first week is hell. You struggle to keep food down. You lie awake from sunset to sunrise and sleep the whole day. You sit with the ring box open on your bed staring at the diamond like it’s taunting you. Andrew had managed to slip his silver signet ring in the box as well, not trusting the prison's cataloging system and not willing to lose it. You put his ring on a chain so you can keep it close. The small metal dings when his ring knocked against the sun pendant he got you makes your heart ache. How could the best day of your life turn into the worst one so quickly? 

Andrew has gone radio silent. He hasn’t called you and you can’t call him. You do call Deran everyday to see if he’s heard from his brother. You call the prison to see when you can come visit and they let you know you’re not on his list of approved visitors. When you ask how to get on that list the man on the line tells you that the inmate has to submit a request for your approval. You write a letter to him every day telling him that you still love him and you miss him and to please call you.

On Sunday you get a call from Deran.

“Craig and I are going to see him tomorrow,” he says in a low voice. He knows you haven’t been able to talk to Andrew but this isn’t him rubbing it in, it’s him inviting you to tell him whatever you want to tell Andrew. 

“Ok,” you say, running your fingers through your hair as your leg bounces. “Can you tell him that I love him? And I miss him. And I want him to call me please.” You take in a deep, shaky breath. “And I want to come see him. And whatever convoluted reason he’s come up with as to why that’s a bad idea… tell him it’s stupid.” 

The next day Craig and Deran are sitting in the visitors room waiting for Andrew. He walks in, lined up with the other inmates and shuffles over to the table where his brothers sit. The first thing he asks about is you. 

“She wants you to call her,” Deran says, sympathetically, “and she told me to tell you that she loves you and she misses you. And she wants to come see you,”

“You think I want her to come here? To see me like this?” Andrew says.

“And she says the reasons you think she shouldn’t visit are stupid,” Deran says. This gets a small, half-hearted laugh from Andrew, “you should let her come see you, man, it’ll make you both feel better,”

“Yeah,” Andrew says looking down at the table, “I’ll think about it,”

“If you’re gonna do it… you should do it soon,” Craig says in a low voice. 

“Why?” Andrew furrows his eyebrows. Craig and Deran look at each other.

“They’re gonna transfer you,” Deran says, “but you’re not gonna make it to the other place,”

“The transport bus goes through the desert,” Craig says.

“Alright…” Andrew looks at them skeptically, “and what else is out there?”

“Nothing.” Craig shakes his head. “Just buzzards and dirt.”

“We’ll hit it on the state road.” Deran says, “It’s just 20 miles of nothing.”

“We can use the utility access roads, and then we head out south.” Craig adds. “That's where the motel is. Then we lay low.”

“You should assume that the transport deputies are gonna get a call out.” Andrew says. “Police will respond in force. Helicopters, too, probably.”

“Yeah, so we'll be using dirt bikes and dune buggies.” Deran shrugs. “We'll be out of there fast.”

“They'll assume we're taking the state road, and we'll be out in the open desert,” Craig adds.

“You can definitely get the information on the transport bus? Which one I’m gonna be on and when?” Andrew says.

“Yeah.” Craig slides his hand across the table, patting Andrews, he feels Craig slide something into his palm. “GSM chip. Swallow it the morning they transfer you. We can pinpoint you within about two feet.”

“I have to think about it... but she can’t know. About any of it.” Andrew says firmly, rubbing his hand over his mouth, placing the tracker on his tongue discreetly. “There can be nothing connecting her to this, understand? I need to keep her safe.” 

Craig and Deran nod. 

“We’ll find a way for you to reach her once we’re across the border.” Deran says. 

Andrew rubs his hands over his face, praying his brother is right.

You’re pacing around your apartment waiting for a phone call from Deran. You nearly jump out of your skin when you feel your phone vibrate in your hand answering so fast you hardly notice who’s calling.

“Deran?” You hold the phone up to your ear.

“The is a collect call from the Mira Loma Detention Center,” a metallic voice says in your ear, “to accept this call please say yes or press one,” 

“Yes, yes,” you say frantically, you hear a small click on the line, “Andrew?”

“Hi,” his voice crackles through the phone.

“Oh my god,” you gasp in a breath as tears fall down your face, “Andrew- oh my god- are you ok- I- I miss you-”  

“I’m ok,” he says softly, “it’s all ok. I miss you. I love you.”

“I love you,” you choke out. You feel like you’re about to hyperventilate, you don’t know how he’s so calm right now. You want to reach through the phone and pull him through so he’s back home with you.

“You need to take a deep breath my love,” He says. You try your best, taking in a jagged gulp of air.

“I want you to come home,” you whimper.

“I know,” he says, his voice gentle, “I wanna be there with you,” 

There’s pause. You both just listen to the other breath for a moment.

“Did the detective give you the ring?” He says.

“Yes,” you say in a small voice. “I have your ring too,”

“Good,” he says.

“They wouldn’t… you couldn’t keep it?” You ask, “I just… I just wish you had something to remind you of me,”

“I don’t need anything to remind me of you,” he says, “I’m always thinking about you,”

“I don’t- I don’t understand-” you say, tears rolling down your cheeks slowly, “why did you confess? You were supposed to wait for Neil,”

You hear him take a deep breath in.

“I can’t tell you,” he says, voice low.

“Andrew,” you say in desperation.

“I have good news,” he says, cutting off your spiral, “you’re gonna come see me tomorrow,” 

“Really?” You sniff.

“Deran’s gonna come get you around noon, ok?” He says, slow and measured.

“Ok, ok,” you wipe the tears from your eyes. You’re going to see him. You already feel better. But you know that sitting across from him is nothing close to having him back with you.

“You-” he starts.

“You have one minute remaining,” the automated voice interrupts him. Your stomach drops. This wasn’t enough time.

“You have to do me a favor,” he says and you can hear a bit of reluctance in his voice.

“Anything,” you say.

“You can’t…” he pauses, “dress like normal…”

“Like normal?” You say, slightly confused.

“You just can’t dress all…” he sighs, lowering his voice, “you always look so pretty… but you can’t wear your little skirts or anything like that here,”

“You have 30 seconds left,” the automated voice cuts in again.

“Men can’t tell women how to dress any more, Andrew,” You tease, trying to bring a little levity, a little light to the man you love desperately. He sighs out a small laugh. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow dressed like a twelve year old boy,” you say.

“I can’t wait,” he says, “I love-”

The line goes dead.

“Andrew?” you say, grasping on your phone, aching that you didn’t get to hear those words from him. That you didn’t get to say it back.

That night Andrew is failing to sleep. The itchy wool blanket, the rigid cot… he aches to be with you in your bed, wrapped in your sheets, in your soft hands. He wishes his hands were on your skin, your lips were on his... In the cold of the cell he is desperate for your warmth.

Even if he got out of here somehow, across the border, and was able to reach you... could he really ask you to live a life on the run with him? You have actual dreams and aspirations, could he ask you to give all that up just because his only dream is you? The thing that kills him is he knows you would. But he's not sure he'll be able to ask you to. He loves too much to be so selfish.

“Pope.” Andrew hears a voice in his cell, “Pope, come on.” He turns to see Baz standing in the corner of the room.

“What are you doing here?” Andrew says.

“Me? I should be asking you that question. You're the one who said you were never coming back to prison.” Baz sits next to Andrew on the bed.

“They found Smurf In the desert, where I put her. I told them the truth. I told them what I did,” to protect you, Andrew tells him.

“It wasn't your fault.” Baz says.

“Bullshit. I did it. Nothing ch- changes that. I deserve this.” Andrew says.

“Oh, yeah? Says who?” Baz says, “Huh? Says who?”

“I love her, man.” Andrew whimpers, “I love her more than anything. I- I need to protect her.”

“I know. What you did… It wasn't you, okay? It was Smurf. It was always Smurf” Baz says. “Hey…. Pope… She made you what you are. She knew what she was doing. Smurf got what was coming to her, but you… You never had a chance, did you?”

“I didn't have a chance.” Andrew mumbles.

“No.” Baz says quietly.

“Why are you here?” Andrew turns to his brother.

“I don't know.” Baz says, looking around the room, “It's probably all those meds they're giving you.”

“Yeah,” Andrew sniffs.

“You took all that shit for all of us. All of it. You paid. You don't belong here, Pope. You understand?” Baz says, and Andrew can almost feel his hand on his shoulder, “You deserve to be happy. You deserve to be with her.”

“This is not real.” Andrew says, pressing his palms into his eyes. “Stupid, stupid. Stop. Stop it.”

“This shit again. I'm not gonna do this again.” Baz says, standing.

“You're not real! God, man.” Andrew cries.

“What? You paid!" Baz shouts.

“Stop it! Three, four, five…” Andrew holds his hands over his ears but Baz’s voice is crystal clear.

“You don't belong here.” Baz says.

“Not real. He's not real!” Andrew shouts.

“You don't belong here.” Baz repeats.

“Hey! Phone call.” Andrew bangs on the door of his cell, finally an officer walks to the door, “Phone call.”

“Hello?” Deran’s voice comes through.

“Let’s do it,” Andrew says.

When Deran pulls up to your apartment complex you're sitting on the stairs of the front walkway waiting for him. You’re wearing a grey hoodie, a pair of blue jeans, and your Nikes, as plain and boring as you could be. You slide into the passenger seat as soon as the olive green car slows.

“Hi,” Deran says.

“Hi,” you say, you both just look at each other for a moment before you lean over the console and hug him. You can’t imagine that this has been easy on him either. His hand slowly comes up to your back, resting there. No one had really tried to comfort him through this. You pull back. “Thank you for driving me. I really- I know this must be so hard for you,”

“Yeah,” he says in a quiet voice, “it’s no problem,”

The pair of you drive in silence for a while before you break it.

“Can I ask,” you say, picking at your cuticles, “what- what do I do when I get there? Am I… allowed to touch him- can I hug him?”

You turn to Deran who is looking at you with just a touch of pity in his eyes.

“Yeah you can hug him but only at the beginning probably,” Deran sighs, of course you had never visited someone in prison before. “You’re gonna go, sign in, they’ll check your ID and search you… they’ll be… thorough. It’s like the TSA on steroids, they’re gonna be all up in your shit. You should leave everything in the car with me, phone, keys, everything-”

“Can I bring this?” you hold out a little strip of paper. Deran looks at your hand. His heart aches.

“Yeah,” he says, “you can bring that.” He takes another deep breath.

“A corrections officer is gonna bring you and all the other people to the visitors room, you’ll sit at a table then they’ll bring in the uh… inmates. He’ll find you. I wouldn’t- don’t stand until he comes to you, ok?”

“Ok,” you say, picking your nails again, “how long can I stay with him?” 

“It’s about an hour,” Deran says, pulling into the parking lot.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” You say, unbuckling your seatbelt.

“Nah,” Deran shrugs, “you should get some time alone with him.”

You reach down to touch his hand, squeezing it once in your own.

“Thank you,” you say.

The beginning goes just like Deran said with little fanfare. You sign in and they check your ID. The search is a little worse than you imagined. You set the metal detector off and are pulled to this side for a pat down. The male office spends a little too much time running his hands under your chest along the under wire of your bra.

“Yeah, I might have to pull you aside to do a more thorough frisk,” he gives you a sleazy smile. You pull your arms through your hoodie sleeves, grateful you’re wearing a tighter tank top underneath, unhook your bra and pull it down the front of your shirt.

“Keep it,” you say, pushing it into his chest as a guard further down waves you towards him. You sit at a metal table and bite at your cuticles. A buzzer sounds and a CO walks through the door a line of inmates behind him. Your leg bounces under the table as you search for Andrew. He’s one of the last ones through the door. You spot each other almost immediately and you bite back tears. He looks so tired.

You try to neutralize your expression, you don’t want to cry here, you don’t want him to try and take care of you because you know he will. You are supposed to be comforting him right now. You do what Deran says, waiting until he’s right in front of you to stand. You throw your arms around his neck and squeeze him hard, his arms go around your waist and he holds onto you just as tightly.

“Hi,” you whisper into his neck. 

“Hey, pretty girl,” he says into your ear. He takes a deep inhale, breathing in your sweetness. You tangle one of your hands in his curls and pull back placing a soft kiss on his lips, running your thumb over his cheek-

“That’s enough,” a prison guard snaps at you, it’s the same guy who patted you down, “this isn’t a conjugal visit.”

You let go of each other reluctantly, both shooting daggers at the guard and sitting down across from each other.

“You look so tired,” you say, turning to him while resting your hands on the table so your fingertips touch. “Are you sleeping at all?”

“Not very much,” he sighs, eyes scanning over your face, “you look beautiful,”

You smile, shaking your head. 

“I thought I nailed the looking not beautiful,” you say, leaning back looking down at your plain outfit.

“You always look beautiful,” he says, taking you hand in his. 

“You’re not wearing your ring,” he runs his fingers over yours. His eyes flick up to you sees your lip quiver as you look away from him, “hey,” he squeezes your hands in his, “it’s ok,”

“I want-” you say, looking down where your hands meet, “I want you to put it on,” 

His heart aches. 

“I-” you pause, putting all your energy into not crying, “why didn’t you tell them the truth?” You lean forward, voice dropping down to a whisper, “it was self-defense. You- you were protecting me-”

“Stop.” He says. He shifts slightly in his seat. “I couldn’t drag you into this. Not more than I already have. They can’t know you were there. They could charge you as an accessory after the fact. And they would.”

“They wouldn’t if they knew she shot you first-” you object quietly. 

Andrew says your name sharp and firm.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says, voice still low, “that detective, the one who gave you the ring back… she threatened you… she- she followed you, she had pictures of you outside your apartment, she had pictures of us… that’s why I confessed. I- I had to protect you.”

“Andrew,” you say in utter disbelief, “I-” 

“It’s ok,” he grips down hard on your hands, “I would do it again. Every single time I would choose to protect you.”

Despite your strenuous efforts a tear slips down your cheek.

“I want to protect you too,” you say, voice breaking. 

“Please don’t cry,” he says, squeezing your hands. You pull one of your hands back, wiping the tear off your cheek. You sniff before reaching into your back pocket.

“I brought you this,” you slide the photostrip across the table, it’s from the day the two of you took Lena to the arcade. His heart tugs as he picks it up carefully, looking down at the pictures. The first one shows you in his lap, arm around his shoulder, both of you looking at each other instead of the camera. The second is of you titling your head into him, but his eyes are still to the side, looking at you. The third photo is you holding his jaw in one of your hands forcing his head forward placing a kiss on his cheek. The last photo is the two of you locked in a delicate kiss, his hand cradling your face while your hand rests on his jaw. “I know you said you don’t need anything… but I wanted you to have it,”

Now it’s Andrew who wipes a tear off his cheek. That was one of the happiest days of his life. He wishes he could blink back there. It was all so simple then. He still had Lena, he still had Baz, and as complicated as it was, he still had Smurf. More importantly, he still had you. Really had you, not across a metal table… in front of him, beside him, underneath him.

“Thank you,” he says, taking your hands back in his, “I’ll keep it with me all the time, I- I love you,” “I love you,” you say, tightening your grasp on his hands. All of a sudden another loud buzz interrupts blasts through the room.

“Alright inmates,” a guard calls, resting his hands on his belt, “time’s up,”

You look up in the guards direction and your eyes widen and you grip onto Andrew’s hands tightens.

“Wait,” you say, looking back at him, “that can’t be it,”

“It’s ok,” he says, standing, letting his hands slip out of yours, “I’m gonna see you really soon.”

A guard comes up to him and takes him by the arm.

“Can I keep this?” He holds the photo up to the guard. She takes it in her hand, turning it over once. 

“It’s fine,” she says curtly.

“Thank you,” you say to her, Andrew's heart tightens at your sincerity, “can I hug him?” You ask the guard and he swears he can see the tough facade that all the guards wear on their faces slip for a second at your earnest request. 

“Yeah,” she says in a low voice, taking a step back. You slide your arms around his waist and he wraps his arms around your whole body, tucking your head into his neck. 

“I’m gonna come back as soon as I can ok?” You say, taking in a deep breath, relishing in his warm scent. You sleep in his shirts every night so you can smell him against your body but it’s just not as good as the real thing. “I love you, I love you so much.” You cling to the back of his shirt desperately as he places kisses along your hairline.

“I love you more than anything,” he says into your skin.

“Alright,” the guards voice cuts through the room, “time’s up,” 

You place a quick, frantic kiss on his lips before he steps back.

You place a quick, frantic kiss on his lips before he steps back. The guard takes his arm and leads him out of the room. You can’t even bring yourself to look back at him. You sit down again, holding your head in your hands as a silent sob shakes your body. 

Andrew did look back. He watched you crumple down to the table, trying and failing to hold in a cry. He’s going to get back to you. Whatever it takes.

Three days later Andrew is woken up by a guard early in the morning. “Rise and shine,” the guard says with a flat affect, “it’s moving day. Grab your shit.”

Andrew rubs the sleep from his eyes but even half awake he only has one thing he takes. The photostrip of the two of you taped to his wall. He folds it in half carefully and tucks it in his pocket. He holds his hands behind his head as the guard snaps the cuffs on his wrists. He walks Andrew down the long corridors of the prison to the bus bay, pushing him into the bus. As Andrew sits he takes stock of his surroundings. There’s only two other prisoners on the bus. One guard, one driver, and one cop car escort, two uniforms in the cruiser. 

Andrew takes the photo of you two out of his pocket. Taped to the back is the small GSM tracker his brothers had brought him. He subtly brings it up to his lips, faking a yawn, and swallows it. The bus pulls out slowly and it only takes about twenty minutes before they’re driving along the desert road. He doesn’t know exactly where he is but he knows they’re on the state road. He braces himself, holding onto the bar on the window, waiting for…

That.

The bus flips. Andrew is slammed against the metal bars of the window. His ears are ringing and he feels the warmth of blood dripping down his forehead. He can hear the muffled screams of his brothers outside, interspersed with gunshots. He looks down at his hands, cut from the glass and bloody. His whole body hurts.

“Pope, back up!” He hears Craig yell before a loud crack breaks through the bus. The back door is wrenched open and Andrew sees his brothers decked out in bullet proof vests and goggles. The two cops from the cruiser lay dead on the ground. Deran grabs Andrew by the wrists, uncuffing him and pulling him towards the dirt bikes. Deran and Craig hop onto the bikes and Andrew slides on behind Craig. They punch the throttle and the bikes shoot forward onto the sand. Andrew feels a dull punching sensation on his side as they zip off the road into the desert. They drive hard and fast for about thirty minutes before cutting over to the service road and pulling onto the highway. It only takes five more minutes before they’re peeling off the main road.

They pull into a parking lot of a seedy motel, driving around the back, tucking the dirt bikes behind a dumpster so they’re out of sight. Andrew clutches his side, following his brothers to a room on the first floor. Deran pounds on the door hard. Andrew’s head feels light. Was this part of the plan? Who was meeting them? He couldn’t remember. The door swings open and Deran and Craig push inside and Andrew stumbles in behind them looking around the door to see who let them in.

You.

His heart drops.

“Fuck! Man, I told you to leave her out of this!” Andrew screams at his brothers.

“What happened?” You gasp, looking at the state of him. Andrew blows past you grabbing Craig by his vest but as soon as he moves his hand away from where it was pressed in his side he falters. Craig’s hands reach out to steady him, guiding Andrew to lay down on the bed as he presses his hand down against his stomach again.

“Andrew?” You kneel down next to him. He slowly moves his hand from where he had been pressing against his side, his shirt and fingers covered in blood. Lifting his shirt you gasp. A gaping bullet wound on the left side of his stomach. There’s so much blood. 

“Oh my god,” you breathe out.

Deran and Craig look at each other behind you. This is not something Andrew can survive without a hospital. And the hospital is not an option right now. They can hear sirens in the distance. Craig steps out of the room, moving to start the getaway car that had been left unlocked in the parking lot.

“Hey, hey,” you say trying not to cry, wiping smeared blood off his face, “you’re ok, you’re gonna be ok,”

“You gotta get out of here,” he says, reaching up and cupping your cheek, “I’ll be fine,”

“No,” you whimper, “I’m not leaving you like this,”

“I’ll come find you,” he says, wincing slightly, “I always will,”

“Andrew,” you whisper. Your heart feels like it’s breaking. You both know he’s lying. He groans as he pushes himself up, placing a long, lingering kiss on your lips, tears sliding down your cheeks.

“I love you,” he says, “more than anything.”

“I love you more than anything” you say, voice breaking, tears streaming down your face. 

“I know,” he says, brushing his knuckles over your soft cheek one last time. 

“You have to go. Now.” You don’t move for a moment, running your fingers through his curls, memorizing his face. His gaze flicks past you to Deran.

“Get her out of here,” Andrew groans out. You still don’t move from his side. Deran wraps his arms around you, pulling you up as you struggle against him, fully panicked.

“Wait, wait,” you scream, trying to reach out to Andrew, “no, I need to stay with him, I can’t leave him like this.”

“Andrew!” You scream as Deran lifts you against him. Andrew’s body looks so weak, so crumpled on the bed, a small pool of blood spreading from underneath him. You can see his breathing slow as he gives you one last soft smile. 

You thrash against Deran wailing and screaming as he hauls you out of the room to the car. As you struggle against Deran, Craig tries to help shove you in the backseat but you’re moving so violently, so erratically, so desperate to get back to Andrew that you smash your head against the doorframe. Everything goes black.

EPILOGUE

“We should go inside, I think,” you say, turning to Deran. He nods without looking at you and opens his door slowly. You follow him inside the house, pausing in the doorway for a moment. The two of you sit on the couch, the cool air inside the house feels sharp in your throat. You bite on your nail until you taste blood. Deran springs up from the sofa moving to the kitchen, pulling a six pack out of the fridge. He sets it on the coffee table, cracking a bottle open with his teeth before taking a long drag, finishing more than half. If you tried to drink anything right now you were certain you would throw up immediately. You watch him closely, his face unreadable. 

“Are you ok?” He asks without looking at you.

“Me? No- yes- I’m not hurt-” you grasp at words that all seem inadequate, “are you?”

“I don’t know,” he says, his eyes flicking up to you. You nod, eyebrows furrowed in sympathy.

“Can I-” he starts, shifting in his seat before sliding over next to you and wrapping his arms around you. Your hands hover in the air for a moment before coming down to rest gently on his shoulders.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, “I don’t- I’m not sure what to say.” You feel his hands tremble against your back and he takes in a broken breath, hot tears falling onto your shoulder. You feel paralyzed. This poor guy just watched his brother kill his mother… because of you. 

You sit completely still as Deran cries against you. All you want to do is ask when he thinks Andrew will be back and if he thinks his brother is ok. Your head is throbbing from where Smurf hit you with the butt of her gun early that morning. Your ears are ringing. You hear Deran speak but the words come out all fuzzy.

“What?” you say as Deran shifts back creating a little space between the two of you.

“They’ll be back soon,” he says as if he’s trying to convince both you and himself. 

“You don’t think we should…” you start but trail off. Should what? Go look for them? Go help them? You don’t know what. You just want Andrew. Here. With you. Where he should be.

“They’ll be back soon.” Deran repeats, sounding as unsure as before.

Time drags. You pick on your cuticles until your finger tips bleed. Deran drinks four of the six beers. The sun slowly fades outside but neither of you move to turn on the lights in the darkening house. Then, headlights swinging across the wall. You and Deran move fast towards the door, him pulling it open with you on his heels. Andrew is already nearing the front door as Craig lags behind him. Tears start streaming down your face at the sight of him. Deran takes Andrew in his arms, burying his face into his older brother’s shoulder. Andrew’s eyes are fixed on you as he holds Deran and you make no move, letting him comfort his brother. Deran moves to Craig and you throw yourself into Andrew, his arms gripping around your waist while yours lock around his neck. You sob into each other.

The four of you sit in the cold quiet of the house. Andrew keeps you pressed against him and you keep your hand tightly around his wrist as if you’re afraid the other will vanish if you let go. Craig is the one who breaks the silence.

“How did she get you in the car?” He says. Your eyes flick up at him and he’s staring right at you. You open your mouth but no words come out.

“Leave her alone man,” Andrew says, squeezing you closer.

“I’m just asking a fucking question-” Craig holds his arm our gesturing towards you.

“Yeah, she doesn’t have to answer your questions,” Andrew's voice gets louder.

“It’s ok,” you say, turning to Andrew, running your fingers along the inside of his wrist. “I- uh- it was early, maybe close to seven in the morning? I’m not really sure. There was this loud banging at my door so I got up and just opened it, mostly to try and get the noise to stop… And it was- um- Smurf and she was hysterical, she- she said there was an accident,” you bring your eyes up to Andrew’s face, “she said that you were hurt, that you were gonna-” you bring your hand to your mouth to try and contain a sob, taking a trembling breath in. 

“She said I had to come with her now if I wanted to see you,” you say, tears crawling down your neck, “I’m sorry, I was so scared that you were hurt and-” your sentence breaks into another sob. Andrew pulls you into his chest, tears falling down his face at the state you were in. “I don’t really remember what happened next, it was so fast… we were at her car and she hit me in the head… and then we were all in the desert.” You try to take a deep breath but only swallow gasps, “I’m so sorry- I didn’t mean for-”

“It’s not your fault.” Deran cuts through your broken sentences. “It’s not your fault she fucking kidnaped you and held you hostage.” 

“No,” Craig agrees, “that’s… not what I meant… sorry,”

“What, uh,” Deran looks down at the floor, “what did you guys do with…”

“We buried her.” Andrew says, voice flat.

“Ok,” Deran says quietly. He turns to you, “you know you can’t tell anyone what happened, right?”

“Yeah, um, I-” your words are jumbled and you can’t really organize your thoughts, “why didn’t we, um, call the police? Isn’t that self defense, I mean, she shot you,” you turn to Andrew looking at him almost pleading. He knows you only want to protect him but it’s more complicated than that. 

“You can’t talk to the cops,” Craig says sharply.

“I won’t I just-” you start.

“Ever,” Craig says more harshly.

“Don’t fucking talk to her like that,” Andrew says, standing but you grip onto his arm holding him beside you.

“We can’t talk to the cops,” Deran cuts through, loud and firm, “because even though, yeah it might seem like it’s self defense, they would want to know why she had another bullet wound in her leg,” he looks at you sympathetically, “and then they could trace us back to the… job… then we’d all go to prison… probably.”

“Ok,” you say in a small voice, “I’m- I’m so sorry,”

Deran’s face twists with grief and he stands heading towards his room in the back of the house. Craig looks at the two of you quickly before following him.  

“Your head,” you say, suddenly panicking, remembering his injury. You take his face in your hands, turning his head to search for the wound, “are you ok? She could have killed you, she could have-”

“I’m ok,” he says, moving his hand to brush your hair back, looking at the dried patch of blood on your forehead, “your head,”

“It doesn’t matter,” you say, shaking your head. “Andrew- I don’t- I don’t even know what to say- I’m sorry- I’m so sorry that you- I didn’t mean for this to happen- I would never want her to get hurt-” you gasp in a breath. You look into his bloodshot eyes as tears stream down his face. Your chest feels tight. How could he not hate you after this? You’re the reason his mother is dead. You’re the reason he had to kill her.

“Please don’t hate me-” you sob. His eyes shift from sadness to a look close to confusion.

“Hate you?” He breathes. “I- I love you- I- I wasn’t going to let her hurt you. I promised you I’d keep you safe from her and I-” a strangled cry breaks through his chest, “I couldn’t protect you-”

You push yourself forward, wrapping your arms tight around his neck. 

“You did,” you whisper, “you protected me. I’m just… I’m so sorry you had to do that… You shouldn’t have had to do that.”

You and Andrew sit on the couch wrapped in each other for hours. Crying and whispering ‘I love you’s’ and ‘I’m sorry’s’ back and forth until it feels like words are all together losing their meaning. Eventually the pair of you move to the bathroom, stripping off your clothes stained with blood and smeared with dirt and dust. You stand under the hot water pressed against each other until the water running down the drain turns from rust red to clear. 

“Can we stay here tonight?”Andrew asks in a small voice. You pull back and cup his jaw in your hand, fingers wrinkled from standing under the water so long.

“Of course,” you say, stroking his cheek, “whatever you need.”

You dress yourselves in Andrews clothes before crawling into bed. The two of you lay awake all night unable to relax enough to drift to sleep, rolling over on each other, tears slipping onto the pillows, hands never leaving the other's body. You let him hold you, tucked into his side, but your heart aches to hold him instead. What you had been through today was horrific but what he went through was worse. Smurf had tormented him his entire life up until the very last moment. And even though she was gone the damage she had caused hung heavy over the house like a storm cloud.

Andrew is a mess. Of course he is. And you can’t help but feel lost in this whole situation. You’re trying to process your own feelings, scared to offload on your boyfriend who is already struggling immensely. He spends hours at Deran’s bar drinking with his brothers. He comes to your apartment early in the morning covered in cuts and bruises and won’t tell you how he got them. Sometimes he doesn't even know himself. Some nights in the darkness of your room you get him to talk about his feelings, trying to help him through it, let it out, not keep it all pressed down inside…

“She was horrible, she was vicious, what she did to you- I’ll never forgive myself for letting that happen,” he says in an unsteady voice, “but I can’t help feeling… I miss her… I wish she wasn’t…”

“There’s no right way to feel,” you say gently, “the way it all happened… it was so fucked up… I think you can mourn the relationship you always wanted but never got to have with her. We always hope that the people we feel close to can change, even if they disappoint us over and over.”

Andrew rolls over, his body half on top of yours, nuzzling his head between your neck and shoulder. He takes in slow, shaking breaths. You run your hands through the hair on the back of his neck. 

“Maybe you can find some peace, let go of the hope that things could be better… I don’t know.”

“I love you,” he murmurs into your skin.

“I love you,” you whisper.

“More than anything,” he adds.

“More than anything,” you echo.

The strange calmness you had maintained for the week immediately following Smurfs’s death starts to give way. You weren’t calm, it turns out, you were numb, and now as you slowly gained back feeling the whole situation settles over you like a heavy coat. You’re losing weight. You can barely keep food down, anxiety sending it right back up. You sleep fourteen hours a day. When you’re awake you hardly leave your apartment, watching old horror movies with corny effects and overly dramatic scores. You don’t make jokes or laugh. You drop out of your fellowship before it even starts. You’re just doing enough to stay alive, some days not even that much.

Andrew becomes increasingly distraught. Both with himself and at the state you’re in. He drives around aimlessly, falling asleep in his car, waking up places he doesn't recognize. He loses track of time. He thinks he sees Smurf… in a car, in a store, on the sidewalk, like a vicious specter. He tries to help you. He brings you food everyday, throwing it away after a few days in the fridge, with only a couple bites taken. He cleans. Constantly. He sweeps and mops and dusts. He reorganizes your cabinets once a day while you sleep. Sometimes you watch him if you’re awake.

He doesn’t sleep much any more, staying awake watching you as if someone will come take you from him if he closes his eyes. He watches your face as you sleep, finally rid of the scrunch of despair between your brow. His mind starts to wander in ugly directions, wondering if you’d be better off if you’d never met him. Of course you would. He is a tornado, sucking up everything good and spitting out destruction. Some nights he’s glad he’s awake, like when you sobbed in his arms for hours after a nightmare where Smurf shot him instead of the other way around. He doesn't tell you he has the same dream too.

You have sex all the time. Once a day at least. It’s the only way you feel like you’re still in your body. You’re both aching to be close to each other but struggle to connect, each in a unique version of being shut down. It’s almost always the same, you on your back, one hand loosely on his waist and the other on your clit, him between your legs, his face in your neck. You hardly kiss, focused only on chasing the chemical release. You both need the dopamine, the distraction, but sometimes emptiness and anxiety hit right after the physical rush wears off. He always wants to hold you after, but you’ve begun getting up immediately after going to the bathroom, staying in there for a little too long. He did this to you, he thinks.

Andrew wants to help you so badly but he’s struggling to process his own feelings, never mind helping you navigate yours. If he was more steady, he thinks, he could do it. If he could just stop blacking out, forgetting hours of his day at a time... He's tried to soak in the ways you take care of him but his mind is so clouded, so jumbled, he can hardly remember. He got you to leave the house one day, dragging you to the library on a particularly gloomy, overcast afternoon. As much as you appreciated him trying so hard to make you feel better, you walked down the aisles aimlessly, picking up a copy of The Stranger, which sits on your nightstand long past the due date. A week later he tries to get you to go with him to the library again.

“The book’s due date was weeks ago,” he says, sitting on the edge of the bed trying to coax you out of it. You roll away from him with a groan.

“It’s fine,” you say, voice raspy, “it’s just a book.”

“Come on,” he says, pulling the blankets down, “you have to get out of bed,”

You curl into a ball exposed to the cool air in your room.

“I don’t want to.” You say in a small voice. Andrew’s heart aches.

“I know, but it’s just for a little,” he says, gently resting his hand on your leg. You jerk up and pull back, climbing off the far side of the mattress.

“Fine,” you say, walking out into the living room, “I’m out of bed. Are you happy?”

Andrew follows you looking almost sheepish.

“Please don’t be mad at me,” he says quietly.

“I’m not mad Andrew,” you huff, sitting on the couch, “I’m just… I’m tired.”

“You just slept for… ten hours,” he sits next to you with a noticeable space between the two of you like he’s scared to get too close. You rub your hands on your face in frustration. Andrew starts to feel frustrated too but tries his best to swallow it down.

“I just- when we weren’t talking Deran made me leave the house even though I didn’t want to and… it helped.” He says.

“Ok!” You snap, turning to him with a look of such disdain on your face he feels tears slowly rolling down his face. He stares at you as that expression melts off your face and you morph into pure sadness.

“I’m trying,” he cries, “but I need you right now, I need you and all you do is sleep-”

“I’m sorry,” you cut him off, “I’m sorry I can’t be here in the way that you want me right now. I really am. I can’t- what you had to do- I can’t imagine the pain you’re feeling. I wish I could take it away. I wish I could just take it from you and carry it myself.” You take a breath like a gasp. “But I am not ok either. You think I’ve ever had a gun pointed at my head before? I didn’t grow up with guns around. I didn’t grow up with all this insane shit. I don’t- I don’t know how to cope with this.”

Andrew's throat feels like it's about to close, he can hear his heart in his ears, his skin is making him feel claustrophobic. His heart starts to pick up and his palms are sweating. His mind flicks back to how you looked on the ground next Smurf, shaking and terrified. Covered in sweat from sitting in a hot, locked car for god knows how long. And even after everything Smurf had done to you and to him, the man you loved, you had still told him, with a gentle shake of your head, to choose mercy. To not shoot his mother even though she was begging for it. Even though she was threatening both of your lives. Of course he knows you’d never had a gun pointed at you before… not until you met him. 

“I’m leaving,” he storms into your bedroom, grabbing his duffle bag and emptying the things that have accumulated at your place since he essentially moved in after Smurf's death.

“What are you talking about?” You say, following him and sounding annoyed. 

“I have to go,” He says, shoving more things into the bag.

“Stop.” You say, grabbing his arm but he just pulls away from you.

“I can’t stay here,” he says, walking out into the living room.

“Andrew,” you say firmly, “just tell me what you're thinking. Talk to me,”

“I’m forgetting things- where I am- I’m waking up in places I don’t know how I got there- I’m confused,” his voice cracks and tears roll down his cheeks.

“Ok, so we’ll go to a doctor,” your face waivering from anger to concern.

“I’m blacking out, I’m hearing voices, I’m hearing Smurf's voice, everywhere I see her, everywhere.” His voice breaks into a shrill scream. “I can’t stay with you. I can’t be with you. I keep hurting you. You were perfect. I- I ruined you,”

“You- you ruined me?” tears form in your eyes. “So now- what- you just wanna leave me? After everything we’ve been through?” Your voice picks up, “I never said I was perfect,” you cry, voice shaking, “you said that," you point at him sharply, "and I told you I wasn’t. I’m just a person, Andrew, just like you. And now you’re leaving because- because what? Because I can’t take care of you? Because I can’t live up to your fucked up fantasy that I’m perfect?” 

Andrew stands completely still, tears filling his eyes. You had never yelled at him like this before. You stare at him expectantly, waiting for him to try and answer your rhetorical question so you can snap at him again, your red eyes filled with anger and sadness.

“You know what, get out, get out of my fucking house,” you say, venom in your voice. He takes a step towards you and says your name like a plea.

“Go!” You scream at him but he takes another step forward. You try to push him back by his chest but he takes your wrists in his hands, firmly but carefully. He wraps his arms around you as you break into sobs. He holds you, kneeling down as you slide to the floor in a ball. You grab onto his shirt as you weep into his chest, your head aching from the pressure of your long, loud cries. You hold onto him like he’s the last thing tethering you to the earth and he holds you just the same. 

“Please don’t leave me,” you whimper into his neck. “I love you..."

“I’m right here,” he whispers, swallowing back his own sobs as tears fall down his face, “I’ll never leave you.” He rubs small circles on your shoulders as your cries soften in his arms. He’s not going to let you down. Not like he let down Baz. Not like he let down Lena. Not, even, like he let down Smurf. He’s not going to let you slip through his fingers.

“I love you more than anything.” He says.

The pair of you shower together after you both calm down a bit, warm water streaming down your puffy faces. You stand with your arms wrapped around him, chest pressed his as he runs his fingers through your hair with shampoo but he gets caught on a particularly large knot.

“Sorry,” you say in a shy voice, “I haven’t brushed my hair in… a while,”

“We’ll get it out,” he says, placing a soft kiss on your cheek before turning you so your back is to the water, rinsing all the suds out. 

“I mean if we can’t we can always take a page from Lena’s book,” you smile at him and make a scissor cutting motion with your fingers. He breathes out a laugh. You shampoo his hair next, twirling the curls between your fingers.

“I love your hair,” you say, looking up at his sudsy halo. “Don’t go bald, ok?”

“Ok,” he smiles.

You wrap yourselves in towels, drying off before you sit on the edge of the bed in your underwear, Andrew sitting behind you in his boxers, a comb in his hand. You had run your fingers through your hair with some hair oil to try and help but it takes about ten minutes total for him to get the knot out. He’s so careful not to pull too hard, gently working the tangle and only snagging you once, immediately apologizing with a kiss on the back of your head.

Andrew was also right, you did have to leave the apartment, you knew you did, so you got dressed in a UCSD sweatshirt, denim cutoffs, and your birkenstocks, the closest thing resembling an outfit you had worn in weeks. You decided to go get ice cream, opting to take a lyft instead of driving so you could sit pressed against each other, your arms wrapped around one of his, drawing little shapes on his bicep. You were dropped off near the little ice cream shack at the base of the pier, you got a cappuccino chip cone and him getting chocolate in a cup. You wander down the pier, not talking, just enjoying being near each other, stopping to sit on a little wooden bench towards the end. 

“Remember when you yelled at me for taking Lena to get ice cream before dinner?” You say, a small smile on your face as you look out at the horizon.

“I don’t think I yelled at you,” Andrew scrunches his eyebrows.

“You weren’t happy with me,” you turn to him, a knowing look on your face, “you didn’t like me there for a minute,” you take another lick of your ice cream.

“I didn’t not like you,” he says, seeming offended that that’s how you recall your early encounters with him, “you were just so-” he looks at you searching for words as you look at him expectantly, “You just made me really nervous. I was kind of… jealous, I think,”

“Jealous?” Your eyebrows pop up, “of me?”

“You’re just so… easy to be around,” he looks down to his lap, “I’ve never been like that. People… don’t like when I’m around,”

You move closer to him, taking his face in your hand, placing a soft kiss on his cheek.

“I like when you’re around,” you say softly, “I’m happy to keep you all to myself.” He rests his hand over yours.

“I wanna keep you all to myself too,” he says, resting his forehead against yours, “but other people like having you around,” you let out a small breath resembling a laugh and give him a light kiss on the lips. 

“Yeah, well, I like being around you the best,” you say as you shift in his arms as he wraps one around your back, the other coming around your front linking his hands together on your shoulder as you lean into him, tucking your head into his neck. You sit there quietly for a while, watching the setting sun sparkle over the ocean.

“I think-” he starts, as you both look out to the water, “I think you’re a once in a lifetime person,” 

You pull back so you can look at his face with pure adoration. You bite your lip as you feel tears start to prick your eyes.

“That is… the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to me.” You place a sweet kiss on his lips. “I love you so fucking much,” you say with your forehead resting against his.

“I love you,” he says, placing a kiss on the corner of your mouth, “also so fucking much,”

You let out a small laugh as he wipes away your tear with his thumb.

“Wanna go home?” He asks in a low voice. You nod and your heart flutters because he thinks of your apartment as home. And as you walk back down the boardwalk hand in hand you can’t help but think the entirely cliche thought that your home is wherever he is.

As much as you had hoped it could happen, it wasn’t all magically better after that. The two of you still struggle and fight and have bad days. Andrew still comes home with bloody knuckles but with much less frequency. You still spend a day in bed but let him take you on a walk in the evening. You start to sleep less and Andrew starts to sleep more. He still cleans so much some days he makes his hands raw but you rub balm on his palms to soothe the dry cracks. You still struggle to eat some days but he sits with you at the table for as long as you need to finish your meal. The two of you are having sex a lot less, not in a dry-spell sort of way, but in a way that feels healthy. You had been using it as an emotional band-aid instead of dealing with your respective traumas. Now your sex life is starting to feel more intentional again. More intimate. You both still have nightmares.

The pair of you get better at the give and take, each bracing against the other when more support is needed. You come up with a ridiculous idea to schedule a ‘fight’ once a week where you can bring up anything that either of you have done, anything, big or small. It seems so silly to Andrew at first but it starts to work. Either things de-escalate and you forgive the other before your fight even happens or you get to talk about something when you’re not feeling so emotionally charged. Some weeks you don’t even have anything to fight about so you’ve started to make up tiny things, like tonight, you're complaining about how he put his toothbrush on the right side of the tooth brush holder and that’s your side. 

“I just think that you know,” you say, smiling and climbing into his lap, straddling his waist, “that my toothbrush goes on that side. I’m honestly shocked you even want to make such a drastic change to our bathroom."

“Our bathroom?” he says, smirking up at you. You let out a little huff but he sees a light blush spread across your cheeks.

“Ok, you were the one who called my apartment ‘home’ on the boardwalk the other day so…” you say, then stick your tongue out at him. He doesn’t even feel the need to rebut, you were right, he had said that and he had meant it. 

“Besides,” you say, playing with the curls at the back of his neck, “I want our home to be like… Someplace new that we make together…”

“Yeah?” He smiles up at your, warmth spreading in his chest.

“Yeah,” you place a soft kiss on his lips, “but we’re gonna have a lot of work to do because I have a lot of ideas,”

“Is that right?” He laughs. “You should probably tell me now so I can start planning,”

You beam down at him with your bottom lip between your teeth before you scrunch your nose, looking up, searching your mind for your ideas.

“Hm,” you hum, “I want a big front door that’s rounded, with a stained glass window on the top, and a stone path up to the front door with blue star creepers growing all up between the stones… I want a huge bathtub so we can take baths together without being scrunched up, but the faucet has to be on the side so we can sit facing each other when we talk about our days…” 

“Mhm,” he smiles, “what else?”

“I want a big study that’s all moody and dark wood with bookshelves that go so high you need one of those sliding ladders to get to the top shelf. And there has to be a big cozy couch in there so you can sit with me when I work of course…” you look at him utterly sincere.

“Of course,” he nods.

“And another long stone path to the garden in the backyard and a firepit so we can sit outside by the fire,” you lean into him, tucking your head between his neck and shoulders, “those are all my ideas for now.”

“Easy,” he says as he rubs small circles on your back, you snuggling against his chest, “how many bedrooms?” he says in a quiet voice. In a distant corner in his mind he hears a voice. No one is ever gonna have a kid with you. Ever. His throat tightens. Baz. He had said that and now Andrew regrets asking you that question at all… he had never told you about that awful conversation with his brother. It seems pretty obvious what he’s implying by asking about bedrooms. Hell, that’s exactly what he meant. Why aren’t you answering? How long had it even been since he asked? His mind moves so fast in panic he’s not sure how long silence has been hanging between the two of you… seconds? Minutes? Your hum snaps him back from his scattering thoughts.

“I’m not sure… three… four maybe?” You say, still leaning against his chest. He says silent and you pull back to look at him wondering if you just said the wrong thing. “How many… bedrooms do you want…?” You ask in a small voice, searching his face.

“I’d build you as many bedrooms as you want.” He looks up at you with such reverence that the only thing you can do in response is kiss him.

Andrew doesn’t sleep that entire night. He goes over everything you had said about the house you wanted. He has no idea where it would even be. California? The East coast? Wherever you tell him… that’s where he’d build it. He thinks about what all that means. That you want to build a home, a life, with him. That you want to have a child, more than one even, with him. It’s not a dream he’s willing to take any chances on. He’s going to make sure that you get there.

The next afternoon Andrew insists on taking you for a drive. Or at least that’s what he says he’s doing. He’s acting a little cagey but you just chock it up to… well… everything you had been through in the past month. You drive for about forty minutes down I-15 before he pulls into a parking lot in front of a bright, white building. ‘County of San Diego North Coastal Live Well Health Center’ the building reads across the front entrance. 

“Jesus, are you gonna 5150 me?” You say, looking up at the building.

“I don’t- what does that mean?” He asks.

“It’s an involuntary psych hold,” you turn to him with a sort of amused look on your face. His eyebrows furrow.

“No, I would never do that to you." He looks almost horrified you would accuse him of that. "It’s … will you just come see please.”

He holds out his hand to you and you take it letting him lead you into the building. He walks to the front desk asking where the 2 o’clock meeting is. The girl in scrubs behind the counter points towards the stairs and gives simple directions. The pair of you walk up to the second floor and down a long hall to a room with an open door. A piece of printer paper is taped to the inside of the door, ‘Gun Violence Support Group’ written across the page in black sharpie. You turn to him.

“I just thought-” he starts, “I know you can’t really talk to anyone else about the details of  what happened, but maybe you could talk about… how it made you feel. You don’t have to do it I just-” 

You cut him off, wrapping your arms around his neck pulling him tight against you, holding him for a few moments.

“You are the sweetest man I’ve ever met,” you say after leaning back, keeping your hands resting on his shoulders, “I love you,”

“I love you,” he says, his hands on your hips, “and I want you to… feel better. And I know I’m not always so good at the talking-about-things part… but maybe this can help.”

“Ok,” you nod.

“Ok,” he smiles and lets out a breath of relief, “just text me when you’re done, I won’t go far,”

“You’re not gonna stay?” You ask, furrowing your eyebrows

Andrew peers into the room. What if someone was in there because of him? He had certainly committed… gun violence… well before the incident with Smurf. Deep down, he thinks,  he is scared that you might be scared of him after this whole ordeal. You had watched him kill someone. And it felt like a small miracle that you hadn’t punished him for that, even though you could have. 

“Maybe it’s good for you to talk about how you feel without… worrying about hurting my feelings…” he says in a low voice. You sigh and tilt your head to the side, taking his face in your hand and placing a kiss on his cheek.

“We’ll find someone for you to talk to,” you say, “soon, ok?”

“Ok,” he places a light kiss on your lips before you turn to walk through the door, blowing him a kiss as he backs down the hall.

Andrew picks you up about an hour later feeling utterly relieved that you seem to have liked the meeting.

“There were a lot of brave people in there,” you say, as he draws little shapes on your thigh.

“You’re brave,” he says, stealing a glance at you, you let out a little laugh, “you are.” He doubles down.

“Thank you,” you say, resting your hand on top of his. “So, I asked the counselor who ran the meeting if he knew any psychiatrists who specialize in trauma and he gave me a couple of names…” You feel his hand tense under yours. “I know it might feel scary but maybe talking to someone can help,” you bring your hand up to the back of his head, threading your fingers through his curls.

“I don’t know,” he says in a low voice.

“You shouldn’t be… hearing voices and blacking out.” You say gently. “You did such a special thing today, taking care of me, let me help take care of you. Please.”

Andrew turns to you but you’re already looking at him with love and sympathy in your eyes. And the way you are looking at him makes him think he would do anything you asked him to.

“Ok,” he says, squeezing your thigh. You give him this adorable smile before pulling yourself towards him and planting little kisses on his cheek. 

When the two of you get home you tell him you need to take a shower to decompress a little. Of course he respects your space and lets you shower on your own but he can’t help but let his mind wander as he sits on your sofa. You hadn’t had sex in days, maybe a week. He would never complain about it, ever, but it was becoming… difficult for him. In the darkest days the way you two had sex had been so impersonal in a way that made you both feel awful. Now, it felt like you had to relearn how to be intimate with each other again.

It was strange. Since the first time you had been together the connection between you was so strong, so immediate, so natural. He hates to say it because it sounds so corny but it really did feel like your bodies were made for each other, like you knew exactly how to be with one another, how to touch one another…. But now it felt like you had pulled back a little, like you were shy and unsure of yourself… like the two of you were a little out of sync.

“Andrew,” your soft voice pulls him out of his thoughts. He turns to see you standing in the threshold of your bedroom, your body partially obscured by the doorframe. But as his eyes move down your figure he feels his chest get tight for a second. You weren’t out of sync, not at all, you have clearly been thinking exactly what he has… You have on a rose patterned bra and a matching pair of panties. He stands from the couch talking long strides over to you, grabbing your face in his hands placing a searing kiss on your mouth.

Your fingers go to the hem of his shirt, wanting to feel his skin on yours. The way you two move isn’t frantic but it is desperate, caressing each other instead of grabbing, pressing yourselves against each other. Your hands come up to his neck and his drop down to your waist, moving his hands slowly over your soft skin down to your ass, lifting you easily. He places you down on the bed and your hands find his belt buckle, opening it slowly as you kiss each other, tongues lining the others mouth. 

Andrew kicks his pants off leaving him in his black underwear, his body pressing down against yours. He takes the back of your head in one hand as the other slides underneath you, unhooking your bra. You move your hands to the straps, pulling it off you, lips not leaving his for a moment. Your mouths move against each other slowly and tantalizingly, you feel his breath catch as your soft breasts press against his hard chest. He rubs circles on the side of your tit with his thumb and you shift beneath him, pushing your chest into his hand. He smiles against your mouth as he swipes his thumb over your nipple, a breath leaving you telling him this is exactly what you want.

He snakes his arms around your waist rolling you on top of him as he sits up against the pillows. His lips find your neck, sucking slow and agonizing kisses into your skin. Your hands rest on his sculpted abs pushing your tits together as he plays with your nipples, gentle and teasing, making you ache. You start shifting your hips, grinding down on him letting out airy little moans that go right to Andrews cock. He feels like he could do this for hours, just kissing and touching your smooth skin, getting you to make pretty little sounds in his ear… but he needs to touch you.

“Pull your panties to the side,” he breathes against your throat, you immediately follow his instructions, lifting yourself on your knees, hooking your fingers in your thong, exposing your pussy to him. He doesn’t hesitate dragging his fingers through your wet core, stopping on your clit and making slow circles.

“Fuck, you’re so wet pretty girl,” he says before taking one of your tits in his mouth, sucking and flicking his toungue over your sensitive nipple. You whimper above him, threading your fingers through his hair as he kisses and caresses you. 

“Andrew,” you whine, rolling your hips down, “I need your fingers,” he smiles, taking your nipple lightly between his teeth and slipping his middle finger inside you. No time for teasing tonight. You let out a little moan and squeeze his shoulder and your pussy squeezes his finger. You move down so his hand is pressed between his thighs and your entrance, grinding down on him. You’re rocking your hips back and forth so your clit rubs on his palm as you kiss him again, sliding your tongue in his mouth.

“Mmm,” you hum against his lips, lifting your hips, “more,” he slides a second finger inside you rubbing against your sensitive front wall. You whimper, rolling your hips, getting yourself off in his fingers. 

“You’re doin’ so good, gorgeous,” he says, his other hand on your lower back pulling you towards him, his hand under you going numb but he doesn’t care. You rest your forehead on his, locking your fingers behind his neck. He feels your pussy spasm around his finger as he curls them into you and your hips stutter as you rock back and forth. 

“You gonna come for me?” He looks up at you, your bottom lip is between your teeth and your eyebrows are scrunched in pleasure.

“Yeah, I’m gonna come,” you squeak.

“Yeah,” he whispers, encouraging you to let go. You lean forward and press your lips hard against his as your legs shake. You whine and whimper against his mouth as he does his best to curl his fingers in your pussy, hand completely numb. Your hips slow as you come down from your orgasm, he wraps his arm around your waist lifting you so he can pull his hand out from beneath you.

You shift back on the bed, pulling his boxer briefs down his thick thighs as his cock bounces up against his stomach. You settle on your knees between his legs, taking his shaft in your hand and licking a long line from the base to the tip. You take the pink head of his cock in your mouth letting your spit drip down on him as you swirl your tongue over his tip. He watches you and sucks his fingers in his mouth licking off your sticky cum and moaning at the taste. He bites down on his fingers as you take his cock to the back of your throat, your wet, warm mouth swallowing him deliciously. You bob your head up and down, trying not to gag on his girthy dick and he groans watching you.

Andrew sits up and pulls you off him, laying you on your back as he moves between your legs. He sits on his knees, grabbing your waist and hooking your legs around his hips, your thighs resting against his. He grabs his shaft and rubs his tip slowly over your clit in small circles. You prop yourself up on your elbows so you can watch, your pink mouth open, tiny breath escaping your throat. God, he is so fucking sexy. He lines the head of his dick up with your entrance as you both stare down to where he squeezes inside you. He takes your waist in his hands pulling you down onto his cock slowly. Your pussy is so tight for a moment he can’t believe he fits inside you, but you take him so good.

He starts slow, making you ache as he fills you at an unhurried pace over and over. He can see his cock pressing up against the inside of your belly, groaning at the sight. The angle of your hips is letting him hit a spot deep inside you that he doesn’t normally reach, making you squeak at the sensation. You’re pulsing around him so tight he doesn’t know how long he’s gonna last but he wants to remember you like this forever. He bends forward, kissing you slowly and dreamy, pulling back and resting his forehead against your.

“Can I take a video?” He whispers, holding your face in his hands as you grip onto his wrists. Your breath catches in your throat at the idea and you nod, reaching over to your nightstand to grab your phone, handing it to him. He swipes to your camera and clicks record, framing your body where it greedily sucks him in. He holds your phone in place with one hand looking through the camera where he watches his other hand gripping your waist, leaving little white marks under his fingers, and his big cock stretching your little pussy open again and again. He gives one hard thrust to make your tits bounce and you moan loud before clicking off the video, tossing your phone to the side.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes, looking down at you. Sure, he wants to be able to look back at his but he also wants to be here with you now at this moment. He brings his hands down to your ass, lifting you up and pulling you back and forth on his cock. You whimper as he starts to thrust inside you faster, the sounds of your skin slapping together mixed with your wet pussy squelching around his cock filling the room. Your eyes flutter shut as he pounds into you so deep the only thing you can focus on is the way he’s making your body feel. He places you down on the bed gently so he can keep fucking you while rubbing little circles on your clit.

“You gonna come for me?” He says, breathless, feeling his own orgasm coiling in his stomach. Your head rolls back and you whine before looking up at him and nodding. 

“Yeah?” He says, thrusting deep inside you, making your clit ache, “you wanna come on my cock?”

“Yeah,” you whimper, taking one of your fingers in your mouth, “I wanna… come on your cock… I wanna come... when you come.” 

A small smile flashes across his face at your desperation for him as he pounds into you over and over. Looking down at you, cock sinking inside your pretty pussy, breasts bouncing, body shimmering with sweat, pink lips wrapped around your finger, cheeks flushed he feels a shock shoot down his spine. He bends forward resting his forehead on yours. 

“Come for me,” he growls as he feels his own orgasm rack his body. He captures your lips in a hungry kiss groaning against your soft mouth as he feels your pussy flutter around him. 

“I’m coming- I’m com-ing-” you whine against his mouth, legs shaking as he fills you with his hot cum. You wrap your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss as your legs tremble around his waist. Your soft mouth moves gently against his. He swipes his tongue on your cupid's bow before biting down on your bottom lip, pulling back and watching your pink mouth snap back into place. He sits back on his knees and drags his hand down your body, fondling your tits, pressing your thighs apart so he can watch his cum cream down on your inner thighs. His mouth hangs open and his eyebrows furrow as he stares down at the state between your legs.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” you say with a small smirk on your lips. He can’t tell if you’re kidding or if the little video you made was going to be a feature of your sex life.

“Really?” He raises his eyebrows as you hand him your phone. He lets out a breath of disbelief. He opens the camera placing his big hand on your thigh, positioning your pussy in the center, his semi hard cock still filling you and his cum dripping down your legs. He stares at the picture for a moment before tossing the phone aside and placing little kisses all over your face and neck as you giggle.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he mumbles against your cheek. 

Soon you’re cleaned up and back in bed in panties and his t-shirt, him in his boxers. His phone digs in the pocket of his jeans and he pulls it out seeing you just sent the photo and video he had taken of you. He looks at you, sitting on the bed with a cheeky smile on your lips. He crawls up your body, pulling the duvet over you both, placing sweet kisses on your neck.

“Where have you been all my life?” He says against your throat. This gets another pretty laugh from you as you wrap your arms around him pulling him closer. He snakes his arm underneath you.

“I don’t know,” you say, voice soft, “but I’ll stick around for the rest of it,”

Andrew’s heart feels like it could burst at your words. The rest of it? He pushes himself up on his side so he can see your face.

“Do you mean like… what do you mean?” He says, searching your face. Your mouth opens but no words come out right away.

“I just mean- I-” you look away from him, shy, “I love you and I don’t ever… wanna not… be with you…” You look up at him with your big eyes, tucking the duvet up under your chin, waiting for him to react but he just stares at you for a moment.

“You- you would want to… marry me?” He asks in utter disbelief. You shrug and a small blush creeps across your cheeks as you look down.

“Yes,” you say quietly, flicking your eyes back up to him but his expression is still unreadable. He sits up. Your chest starts to get warm and you wish you hadn’t said that, with everything he’s been through the past month why would something like that even be on his mind? You try and correct yourself, sitting up next to him, “I don’t mean now- or even soon- I didn’t-”

“Marry me,” Andrew says in almost a whisper, not even looking at you. 

“What?” You say in a small voice. He turns to you.

“Marry me.” He says again.

“Andrew,” you say feeling flustered, “I didn’t say that to make you start thinking about-”

“That didn’t make me start to think about it,” he says, seeming almost offended, “I’ve been thinking about it since-” He stops himself.

“Since…?” You look at him and your eyes are glittering.

“Since you talked to me that night about A Wrinkle in Time,” he says, swallowing hard. Your lips part and you let out a small breath. Maybe that was too much information… you hadn’t even been together, you hadn’t even kissed, “is that crazy?” 

“Yeah,” you say nodding, keeping your eyes locked on his, “it was much later for me,”

“Oh,” he says, trying not to shrink back into himself, “when?” he asks in a little voice.

“The day after when I crashed my bike,” you say, a small smile on your lips, “and you helped me,”

Andrew's face breaks into a smile and he takes your jaw in his hand pulling you in, placing a lingering kiss on your lips. You climb into his lap, straddling his legs, giggling against his mouth.

“Ask me again,” you whisper, resting your forehead on his.

“Will you marry me?” he says, stroking your cheeks softly. 

“Yes,” you say, placing another kiss on his lips, “yes,” kiss, “I will marry you,” kiss, “I love you,” kiss, “more than anything,”

Andrew falls back against the bed, squeezing you tight against him.

“More than anything,” he whispers into your skin.

Next Part

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(DO NOT OPEN BELOW IN PUBLIC)

You pegged him as the ultimate neighbor since the first day you moved in. As the moment he saw you struggling with your boxes of too much stuff, he immediately offered to help.

Lifting up three heavy objects that were filled with your heavy kitchen appliances and bathroom necessities too easily, you can’t help but stare at those bulging biceps as he moved around. Quickly looking away every time you feel like he’d almost catch you.

And let’s just say your moving-in process was finished in just an hour, rather than the whole afternoon, with his help.

“I’m Clark, by the way,” mentioned the broad and tall man as he brushed his palm against his jeans, with his thick rimmed glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose and his deep dimples and boyish smile that you were sure would make you do a double take if you saw him on the streets.

“I live next door,” he pointed to the unit next to you.

So– you have a good view of the city AND a hot neighbor too? You really felt like you hit the jackpot with this one.

You smiled and offered him your name. “Nice to meet you, neighbor. I hope we could be good friends then.”

He nodded, lips curling up even more. “Just knock if you need anything. I’ll leave you to it?”

Humming, you then lead him out of your boxes-filled apartment, thanking him one last time.

You thought it would stop with him acting like a decent person—just helping a girl out with her things, but it didn’t. Later that night, you heard a knock on the door.

Looking up from your kitchen floor, you fixed up your shirt before padding down the hall. Checking the peephole to see the same new neighbor—Clark—carrying a plate filled with what you presume were freshly baked cookies.

Your eyes widened as you opened the door and saw exactly that. His soft smile, the scent of sweetness and the warmth emanating from the cookies almost made your heartbeat quicken.

“Sorry to bother you,” he fixes up his glasses with his free hand, then offers the plate out.

“Housewarming gift. Freshly made– though please do not mind if it’s not that good.”

You looked down at the plate, taking it, then up at him again. “Clark– wow, you didn’t have to…”

His smile softened immediately. “I wanted to. Hope you enjoy it.”

You breathed out a small thanks before he left you to continue your organizing.

The next day, you knocked on his door. His once-filled plate with cookies was now replaced with chocolate muffins you made all morning.

His surprise was evident, soft red hues creeping up his cheeks to the tips of his ears. “I didn’t make those cookies just so you could bake me something as well,” his brows knitted.

“Well, consider it as a thank you for helping me out yesterday.”

He sighed softly. “Thank you,” with his classic, shy smile.

Then it continued. Always using the “I cooked too much” as a reason.

You’d give him your signature pasta recipe, and he’d return it the next day with a pan of freshly baked pie. He’d give you some homemade chicken dish he told you he learned to make from his Ma, you’d return it with a pint full of ice cream you made (just for him).

Though it went on and didn’t stop with the both of you casually exchanging meals.

Your kitchen pipes weren’t working? He’d be there in seconds with a wrench in his hand after you asked for help. Your eyes zeroed the moment his shirt went damp, making it practically transparent. You gulped as you stared at how his back muscles shifted with every move.

You didn’t know he could hear the way your breath hitched, though. His own body reacting the same as he could feel that you were also being affected by the closeness of the moment.

“Just need it to be tightened up,” he hummed, looking up at you from his knees just before the under-sink cabinet.

“Oh–” you straightened up, his voice breaking the trance you were in. “All fixed then?”

“Yeah…” he murmured as he stood up, his tall figure towering over you.

You felt your neck straining. “Thank you, Clark.”

“No worries. I’m open to help you with whatever, okay?”

Whatever, huh?

You almost choked at your own spit with the thought of him helping you with whatever. Immediately pushing those… thoughts down.

“Okay,” you managed to rasp out.

He smiled again before he continued with his day.

“Fuck…” you muttered to yourself the moment you closed your door, your forehead thudded against the wood.

More happened.

You were cooking, realized you were out of some ingredients, and went to him.

“Hey, sorry to bother you… but I’m cooking something, and I just realized that I’m out of onions. Do you potentially have any spare ones?” you asked him sheepishly.

Clark cursed to himself because he didn’t have any. He wanted to keep being the one you go to with every struggle you have; he wanted to keep being your lifeline and salvation, so what did he do?

“I’m sorry I don’t… though I’m gonna go out,” a lie. “Soap’s running short,” another lie. Clark literally just bought a full bottle yesterday.

“Really? Would you help me get some onions then?” your eyes gleaming with anticipation, but not wanting to burden him.

“Of course,” he smiled. “I’ll go get some for you.”

He returned less than 30 minutes later with a bag of onions and some snacks you mentioned you liked weeks ago.

You flushed, thanked him, and he nodded before leaving.

Week after week, it kept happening. It was like the both of you were trying to make excuses to see each other even more.

Purposefully switching up your mails with each other. When he saw your balcony railing wobbled just below an inch, he’d offer to fix it immediately. He heard you struggling with your shopping bags after a day out? He would take it from your hands, letting you carry nothing in your hands.

The both of you started to get closer. Unprompted movie nights in his unit, baking and cooking together, even doing nothing but enjoying a warm cup of tea as you both sit on the lounge chairs on your balcony, sharing childhood stories and laughing together.

Oh, both of you were falling deep.

The gaze held longer, smile now softer—deeper in a way—nothing like you ever shared with other people. You told him about your day, your stressful work, your family—and he told you about his life.

It was sweet, really. Clark Kent was sweet.

At this point, he knew everything about you. How you take your coffee, how your nose scrunched before you let out his favorite free laugh every time he made one of his stupid jokes, how sweet you smell whenever his touch lingered just on your thighs whenever you whispered a secret to him, how your pulse thrummed so evidently the moment he tucked a stray hair behind your ear.

And you knew everything about him as well. How his eyes would crinkle with amusement when you rolled your eyes and acted all annoyed, how his hand would linger around you as you both worked around the kitchen, how his body would tense, how his breath would hitch every time you told him something about yourself. Every time you draped yourself on his lap while watching one of the romcoms you forced him to see.

You felt it. The palpable tension, so thick you could cut it with a dull knife, through the not-so-innocent touches, the whispered words—He felt it too. The problem was, Clark Kent is too much of a gentleman to break those boundaries first, and there’s no way you’re the one who’d tear the bandaid off.

So the both of you didn’t advance into anything more than his arm around your shoulder as you both relaxed, or your arms around him as you let out your stress through the feeling of his warmth and scent wrapped around you.

Until one day.

You told him you were buying a couch, and even made him help you pick the color and measure your space. So the moment it arrived, he was at his feet instantly. Going down to carry the box filled with the parts.

It should be normal now; he’s helping you make furniture and fixing around your place, though he usually didn’t use this thin, figure-hugging compression shirt that made all of his muscles look swollen.

He made you stay out of it completely, just like always, not wanting you to do the work at all—yet you can’t help but linger.

You can’t help but ogle him—practically sexualizing him inside of your head.

The way his bicep would flex with every twist of the screwdriver, his veins popping under his sleeves through his forearm, making you wonder if those blood vessels would also look this enticing around his cock.

Your thighs clench the moment he lay under the couch as he tightened the bolts there. His shirt was riding up to reveal a patch of his skin, covered with soft hairs leading down to his crotch.

And he knew. He could practically smell the heavy, sweet smell of your arousal. He could hear the soft breaths you didn’t even know you let out every time he shifted, and his shirt went up even more.

His own body starts to heat up, flushing even though all of his blood was going south. He was thankful that he opted to wear his baggy sweats rather than his tight jeans.

Nevertheless, you saw his bulge start to thicken under the grey fabric. Eyes widening, you immediately looked away.

Clearing your throat. “Do you want some water?”

He looked up, noting the way that you were more fidgety than usual. “Yeah. Sure, thanks.”

You gave him a tight-lipped smile before walking through the kitchen.

Clark couldn’t help but fixate his eyes on your form. Your soft curves swaying with every step, ass peeking out of those short shorts that—the fact that it was always shorter than the last made it obvious that you want him to see. But he can’t. He can’t lose his control–

Gods, you were bending over the freezer now.

He shut his eyes, sucking a deep breath and letting it out shakily. He felt it wavering—his self-control thinning with every quiet hum you let out of your lips.

His fingers tightened around the whatever tool he was holding instantly. His cock throbbing inside his boxers, wanting—needing to be freed from the confinement and the pressure.

You knelt beside him, handing him the cold water. “All good?”

He cleared his throat, hand brushing over the couch’s fresh cushion to distract himself. “All good.”

You then helped him, fingers brushing his palm, lingering on his forearms whenever he asked you for a tool, and you’d give it. You also made it more obvious now that you saw him get hard.

You would blatantly eye him up and down, bare thighs brushing against his hands– you were horny.

Clark Kent made you horny, and he was the only one who could fix it.

His fingers would tighten around the wooden foot, and you imagined it was you instead. He’d let out grunts, and you imagined that it was you pulling it out of him, how he would probably praise you instead of dirty talking just because he was so respectful—too respectful.

He gulped as he watched how your breath starts to quicken, mirroring it unconsciously.

Then– Click.

The last bolt—the last piece of the couch was put in place. Dragging you back into reality.

“You’re done?” you asked.

He nodded, and you immediately sank down onto the new couch. Shifting around to feel the soft padding underneath you.

He joins, and your thighs grazed immediately, making you almost jolt—the neediness heightening back up inside you.

“It feels solid…” he murmured.

You finally glance at him, eyes low and half-lidded with lust. “Wanna test it?”

He eyed you, the way your chest heaved, pupils blown out before rushing forward and kissing the life out of you.

You stumbled with your lips, before wrapping your arms around him and pulling him flush on top of you as you sank against the armrest. Lips parting, swiping your tongue along his lower lip before nipping it, making him groan out your name.

His fingers brushed along the hem of your shirt, lips separating from yours so he could kiss down your jaw and neck.

“Ask me to stop and I will, sweetheart,” he whispered against your skin.

You shook your head profusely.

“I need words…” as he pulled away to study your face, the way your eyes glossed with want.

“Please– I need you, Clark, please…” You whined.

“Of course,” giving a soft kiss on your cheek. “Anything for you, sweet girl,” another on your lips. The nicknames and his gentleness burned you inside out, making you fall deeply towards him more and more.

He finally lifted your shirt off gently, kissing every inch of your skin revealed. Unclasping your bra, groaning at the sight of your breasts bare before him.

You squirmed underneath him the moment he wrapped his soft pink lips around your hardened nipple. Back arching as your hands found his shoulder and squeezed it.

“You’re so beautiful…” he murmured, kissing further down till his lips made contact with the waistband of your shorts. “Can I?”

“Yes– Clark, yes…” his hips lifting instantly as he hooked his fingers around it, pulling it and your panties with such softness and gentleness that no other man could give other than him.

He let out a shuddered breath as he spread your thighs open. The delicious scent of you hits all of his senses immediately.

He hummed as he saw how your folds glistened—borderline dripping. “Don’t wanna make a mess on the new couch, don’t we, sweetheart?” he whispered, before hooking your legs over your shoulder and diving right into it. Collecting all of your wetness—dragging his tongue on your hole up to your clit, making you let out a quiet cry.

“Clark–!” fingers snaking through his curls, tugging them as you held yourself back from grinding your hips against his mouth.

He looped his arms around your thighs, mouth expertly working you out—all the while his gaze stayed on you. Watching every bit of your reactions, the way you threw your head back against the armrest, eyes rolled, lower lip stuck between your teeth as you hold back your sounds.

It was a sight he could never forget now. He was sure to etch it into the deepest crook of his brain.

You whined out his name the moment he pulled back, though. “I know… I’m gonna give you something better, okay?”

You nodded reluctantly, too weak, too drunk with pleasure to deny and fight him over it. You kept your eyes as he stripped out of his clothes. Hole fluttering and tightening around nothing the moment he was bare before you.

His cock—full of girth and length, was straining and slapping against his stomach. His tip red, glistening with his pre. “You’re– huge, holy shit…”

He let out a soft chuckle. “I’ll make it fit. Don’t worry,” as his fingers brushed your hair back, grazing along your cheekbones.

You hummed softly, parting your legs even more to accommodate his broad figure.

Clark lets out a moan as he begins to slowly slide his tip against your folds. “So wet… you’ve been wanting this, hm?”

The silent nod in your response made his heart bloom, because he had wanted this too. He imagined this happening too many times before—whether when he was with you or alone in his bedroom whispering your name as he stroked himself to the thoughts of you—and really, the reality was so much better for him.

The moment he finally pushed himself inside you? He broke. Letting out a deep guttural sound to the feeling of your velvet walls wrapped so perfectly around him—it was as if you were made for him, no– he was made for you.

And you felt the burn, the stretch, splitting you open from your inside. Your hands find his arms immediately. Making imprints of your nails as you dug into his skin from the feeling of the pleasurable pain.

“Clark–”

“Shh… open up for me, sweetheart. I know you can.”

He stayed still the moment he was buried deep inside you, fingers softly brushing along your bare skin as you began to relax.

You nodded, eyes looking up at him with adoration the moment the burn dissipates.

“All ready?” he asked softly.

“Yeah…”

The both of you let out choruses of moans as he began moving, slowly at first. He pulled your arms so you could wrap them around his neck, his own snaking around your back just to keep you close to him.

His forehead pressed against yours. “You feel so good…” he whispered, pulling you into a deep kiss filled with passion. He kept his easy pace, but it was like he was holding back.

“More…” you moaned against his lips.

Who was he to deny you, his sweet, sweet girl, from pleasure?

He picked up his pace. Still deep, reaching to every inch of your walls, but it was more punishing now.

The couch starts to squeak underneath you—but you both didn’t care. Too captivated by the feeling of each other’s bodies to even notice the foot of the couch.

“Fuck–!” you moaned the moment he angled your hips. Your fingers now sprawled on the span of his back, raking it. Your walls began to clench around him tightly, making him fuck you deeper and faster.

“More!” you cried. And he served. His thrusts now punishing, both your chests panting. Your gasps and his moans echo around your apartment.

Clark swore that you were like an angel before him. With your body wrapped around a thin sheet of sweat that made it seem like you're glowing, hair messily draped everywhere yet still beautiful, your breasts bouncing like an invitation, and your face… gods, your face. He could die peacefully thinking about it alone.

So utterly beautiful and broken, and he was the one who did it.

His hips are working like an animal now, brutal, feral.

You finally realized that the couch underneath you was shaking, but you didn’t care. All you could think about was him, him, and him.

He noticed the way the couch was groaning in protest with the amount of pressure it was being given, but the way your cunt was tightening around him meant that he couldn’t stop. “Gonna break this–” before your walls gripped his cock even further.

“Gonna come–!” you cried.

“Give it to me, sweetheart. Come on.”

And you obeyed. Letting out a sharp cry of his name as your body jolts—convulsing as the waves after waves of orgasm hit your senses—burning your body with the amount of pleasure.

“Fuck–” he cursed, fucking you deeper as he chased his own climax. At last, with a final and intense thrust–

Craaack.

The foot snapped completely, making you yelp out and scrambling to hold onto him.

Clark didn’t even realize that he had already came and spilled inside you, too stunned, too focused on making sure you’re not hurt.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?” his eyes widened, doing a one-overlook look at you to make sure no blood came out of you.

Your arms tightened, before you burst out laughing. “I am–” you wheezed. “The couch though…”

He blinked, then huffing out a small and relieved chuckle. “Guess it’s not strong enough, huh?”

Before pulling you onto his lap, shifting you on the floor carefully—still seethed deep inside you, and tugging you closer into a soft kiss. Fingers cuping your cheeks gently.

“Help me order another one?”

༘⋆ 🏷 clark’s : @pinksplace @tw1sters @kryptidfiles @theworstwolvie @anon-188

his breath catches as you drop to your knees unceremoniously, the gentle press of your lips to his knee turning him rigid instead of its intended effect.

"you're gonna give me a complex." he comments, petulantly, rolling his shoulders in an effort to soothe his nerves.

you shoot him a grin, thumb circling his forearm, "have i told you how much i love you?"

his head tips with an unimpressed look, "only when you want me to do absurd things like this."

"well!" you rise up to sit on your thighs, "i gotta take measurements for before. and then after. some self-control?" you point out, with your hands tugging at his waistband.

"telling me to have self-control with you on your knees like that is a big ask. but wait. before and…after? after what?"

"measuring you when you're soft, and when you're rock hard." you say simply.

"oh good gosh. you've thought this through. don't tell me there's a chart?" the prospect of it horrifies him, but it’s strangely arousing all at once.

gently, you guide clark's very soft cock out, teeth caught on your lower lips, all eager with anticipation. at the very first glance, you're mesmerised.

"whoa…i've never seen it close up this soft before."

clark lets out a sharp exhale at the sudden brush of cold air, body tensed like a rod as you make your initials observations. "yeah, well…it isn't exactly a state i…would prefer to show off."

you hold the hefty weight to your palms, tilting it, "mhm.."

clark's hips involuntarily jerk at your touch, gripping tight around the vinyl, "geez…you're staring at it like it might grow two legs and walk off."

"i mean..it's really pretty." you mumble, thumbing gently over the skin covering his shy tip, to the veins that were visible down his length, "well, in the general baseline as far as dicks go."

he twitches in your palm, and you shoot him a warning glare. "easy there, tiger. i need the before measurement."

clark groans audibly, jumping at the sound of the measuring tape being expanded. you thoughtful angle it flattened onto your palm, "five…six…wow! not as big as i expected."

"hey!" he bleats, cheeks flushed even more, "i-it's cold, you're staring, i demand a re-measure in more…favourable circumstances."

you snort, "that defeats the purpose. it's supposed to be smaller when you're soft, dummy."

clark lets out a pained sigh, finding the entire situation a fate he'd eventually accepted. "you know what i meant."

"oh come on. now's the fun part. right?" you shuffle closer between his parted thighs, pressing a kiss to his soft tip. "we gotta wake him up."

he winces, letting out a low curse. "that's…hardly 'waking up.'"

you look up at him through your lashes, a grin curling at the corner of your lips. "greedy." his cock twitches in your hold at your tease, and you lower your head, kitten-licking along his length.

the tape measure remains forgotten next to you as you devote your attention to him. but after a good amount of effort, "huh. you don't usually take this long to get hard."

he gasps, offended. "really? you're measuring my…my junk out in the open. it's hardly a turn on. confusing, sort of…hot? but mostly confusing."

"if it's hot then get hard."

clark's jaw steadily flexes at the slow dribble of your spit, coating the base of his cock as you pump it up his tip. his head falls backwards onto the headrest, breathing turning more strained.

"okay. okay…it's…working."

"good?"

"m-mhm. yeah. real…good."

your eyes glint at his visual appraisal, and you wrap your mouth around the tip of his cock. the reaction is instant, hips jumping, bucking further into your hot, warm mouth.

"sh-shit. definitely, definitely working."

he's fully hard in your mouth now, thick and heavy against your tongue. the wet, drag of your tongue along his veins has him lifting off the chair. panting harder, "o-oh gosh, like that, not gonna…l-last—"

as quickly as his bliss had come, you'd cruelly pulled away with a loud pop! clark blinks at you, eyes hazy with frustration, confusion, and a dawning reminder as you pick the tape back up. but all he can focus on were how you lick his pre from your lower lip.

"seriously? now?"

"it has to be when you're still hard!" you counter.

"it's not a one-time-thing," he rasps, flinching as the cool metal tip meets his skin once more. he's breathing hard, chest rising and dipping in the wake of his arousal. gaze pleading for you to hurry up.

"mm. seven…eight," then, you gasp suddenly, "whoa! almost nine inches."

clark's head snaps down, in equal disbelief. "wait, really? no way."

you pause, frowning at him, "why the hell are you surprised. it's your dick." you angle him slightly with the measuring tape, "8.7 inches. that's…fully hard."

"i…i don't know. it's not like i actively measure myself. and —" he lifts his gaze, only to see your deeply perplexed one.

"are you…upset?"

"this is what's been in me the entire time," you begin, accusative, "no wonder i'm always fucking aching!"

clark straightens, his mouth agape in shock, "you're actually upset."

"no shit! i wanna go back to when i thought you were just six inches."

he slumps back in a long-drawn-out groan. with his cock painfully throbbing against his abdomen, he was certain this opened pandora's box was about to be a pain in his ass.

You lean against the railing and watch as Mingyu swims toward the boarding ladder of his yacht, the thick ropes of muscle in his back glistening in the dying sunlight and flexing with each pull of the water. He takes his time, a soft smile on his lips as he enjoys his last moments in the sea. You left him down there half an hour ago in favor of the sun deck, where you've been anxiously trying to figure out how much your birthday is costing him.

There’s the staff he has to pay to man the boat. The endless food and drinks said staff kept offering you earlier as you laid out in the sun, insisting you were fine. The white gold Bulgari necklace he presented you with upon boarding (and insisted you continue to wear in the water despite your fear of losing it because he can “just get you another one”). The yacht itself.

You aren't by any means poor, but you are so far out of this tax bracket, you can't even tell if estimating that all of this cost millions of dollars is a wild exaggeration or a cute guess that would make the man you're dating giggle. It makes your stomach twist.

Mingyu disappears behind the boat as he finally reaches the boarding ladder and you sigh, pushing yourself away from the railing and plopping back down on one of the lounge chairs miserably. You only started dating two months ago, and you knew he was considerably rich, but this is the first seriously extravagant display of his wealth you're experiencing. It's making you queasy.

You grew up knowing that on the rare times your family was at a restaurant, you weren't allowed to order a drink aside from water and that your meal would come from the appetizer section of the menu. “We have that at home” or “I can make that myself” were mantras of your mother's. The trash bag full of your older cousin's hand-me-downs was your version of the mall. Your friends all balked at the idea that you didn't have an allowance, a fact that kept you excluded from several social events as a teenager.

But you do incredibly well for yourself now. You graduated from school debt-free thanks to your scholarships and part-time jobs. And after a decade of experience, you're finally at a company that pays you well enough to have paid off your parents’ mortgage, bought yourself a new car, and most importantly, keeps all your savings accounts stuffed full. You considered yourself very well off. 

Until you met Kim Mingyu.

There was no way of knowing the stranger hitting on you in the ridiculously long line of the cafe by work came from old money. He was dressed in blue jeans and a white T-shirt on a Tuesday morning for god's sake. In fact, when you agreed to a date with him, your dumb ass had the audacity to worry if he was jobless, maybe perusing the business district for a wealthy girlfriend to mooch off of.

You laugh humorlessly at the idea now. It's painfully clear who's mooching off of who in this relationship, and you've just barely come to that conclusion now. On your birthday. In the middle of the ocean.

“Hey, pretty.”

You crane your neck up to see Mingyu approaching your lounge chair, his hands in two fists around the towel draped over his shoulders—the towel that seemingly did nothing since he still has drops of water running down his golden brown skin, squeezing in between every line, curve, and corner. 

He bends down to plant a kiss on your lips, drops of water falling onto you as he does but you don’t mind. You can tell from the peck that it's meant to be a quick greeting, but he pauses just after his lips meet yours, and he lingers a little longer and kisses a little slower. His mouth opens against yours—tongue slides against yours—and his hand comes up to cradle your jaw, still cold from the water. It feels like he's kissing you after having missed you for weeks.

“Hello to you too,” you mutter, a little dazed when he finally pulls away and grins boyishly. “How was your swim?”

“Oh, riveting,” he says dryly. “I love being abandoned by my girlfriend in the middle of the ocean.”

“Well, that's dramatic,” you scoff as he takes a seat on the lounge chair next to you. He situates himself on the edge so that he's still as close to you as possible, and he grabs your hand before leaning his elbows on his knees. “You seemed to be having a lot of fun.”

You actually wouldn't know. You were kind of dissociating as you watched him swim around. It was hard to be surrounded by this kind of extravagance and not feel lost.

“Mmm,” he hums thoughtfully, maintaining intimidatingly stable eye contact as he studies you. “Are you okay? You seem a little… I don't know. Tired, maybe? Bored?”

You shake your head quickly, a little panicked that Mingyu has the idea he spent all this money on you just for you to be bored. “No! No, that's not it. I am definitely not bored, baby. I'm having fun!”

He stares at you blankly like he knows that's not true. It's been such a short amount of time dating, but his read on you is hardly ever wrong. Mingyu doesn't say anything, obviously waiting for you to explain what it is as opposed to what it isn't.

You sigh. “I'm just… this is… a lot,” you admit. His eyebrows twitch into the tiniest of frowns and you rush to continue to avoid a miscommunication. “I love it! And I'm having fun! I'm just surprised is all. Like, I obviously knew you had money, but… I didn't know you had yacht money. Or Bulgari necklace money. Tiny welcome chocolates with 14K gold flakes money.”

He snorts, shaking his head at that. “Okay. I do have money for all that, yes. Does that… make you uncomfortable…?” he asks. 

To his credit, he passes as levelheaded, but you've gotten good at reading him yourself, and you see the way his eyes narrow a little like he's struggling to understand something. The way his lips turn down in the corners and his tongue pokes at his cheek anxiously.

“I'm just not used to someone spending like this on me,” you say instead of directly answering the question. You don't know what you are. “I could work until I'm 100 years old and never be able to afford to buy you these kinds of gifts. I—”

“I don't expect these kinds of gifts. I don't expect any gifts.”

“Sure, but—”

“Baby,” he starts, suddenly standing. 

He forces you to scooch over on your own chaise so that he can lay next to you, and you oblige even though there's really nowhere for you to go. The two of you barely fit, but after he wraps an arm around you and pulls you tight to his chest, you're comfortable knowing you won't fall off the edge. 

“I did this because I want you to feel special on your birthday, okay?” he assures you, the worry on his face dissipating immediately when he realizes what the issue is. “I never expect anything back when I spend money on you.” He pauses to think before adding: “Except maybe a kiss or two.”

You roll your eyes but can't stop the smile that grows on your face.

“I don't need gifts. I can buy myself anything I want. The only thing in the world that I want—actually, desperately need—that I can't buy is you and your time and your attention and your l—” He stops to clear his throat, and your heart skips a beat. Neither of you have said I love you, and you want to believe love was the word he wanted to say next. Because it's true. He has your love. You just haven't found the courage to say it. “You being around is more than enough, okay? Besides, I plan to have you around for a long time. You should probably get used to spending my money haphazardly.”

“Mingyu!” you slap his abs, resting your hand there and smiling at the way his muscles feel under you. 

“What?” he laughs, shrugging. “I'm serious. Let's not dwell on what we can and can't give each other. What's mine is yours.” He rubs your arm comfortingly and plants a kiss against the crown of your head. “This is all I want. I don't need anything else.”

You lift your head off Mingyu's chest and look him in the eye. He raises his eyebrows a little at the abrupt movement, but it's still plain to see he looks happy, calm, relaxed. Everything a man in love would look like, and you see that he's being sincere with you. 

“I'm sorry,” you sigh, making him frown. “I just let my insecurities get the best of me. I'm so grateful for all this, I really am. But I hope you know that I don't need any of this either. I agreed to go out with you fully thinking you were an unemployed loser looking for a sugar mama.” Mingyu huffs out a laugh of disbelief. “Your money is the least interesting thing about you.”

“Wow, an unemployed loser, huh?” he repeats, still laughing. “Was it the flip flops?”

“I mean… yeah?”

He barks out his laughter then and it's contagious, making you grin. When it subsides into a happy sigh, you decide it's a sound you'd like to hear forever. You want to stop wasting time.

“Mingyu, I love you,” you say quietly.

His smile falls right off his face and his eyes widen. You'd be worried if his arms didn't press you even tighter to his still wet body. After several moments of silence, you're about to reassure him he doesn't have to say anything back, but before you can, his hands are circling around your arms and yanking you up the chaise to meet his lips. 

Mingyu kisses you more voraciously than he ever has, lips and tongue moving desperately like he wants to swallow the three words himself. It sends a dull ache straight to your core, and you fight the urge to grind your bikini clad cunt right against his thigh. His large hand comes up to hold your cheek, his thumb caressing it while his fingers sink into your hair. Your hands find their way to his shoulders, clinging to them desperately like you might disintegrate if you don't.

“Mingyu,” you sigh as he breaks away and starts trailing kisses down your neck. “Mingyu, I—”

“I love you,” he says, his voice hazy with desire. 

He repeats it over and over again with each press of his lips against your skin. You put enough space between the two of you to stop his flurry of kisses. You look down at him, and you're knocked breathless at the reverence he watches you with. You have absolutely no doubt in the world that Kim Mingyu loves you.

You smile and surge forward to kiss him once, twice, three times before giggling like a kid. “I love you,” you say again. 

He laughs too, his hands coming to your back and rubbing up and down slowly. It's how you realize you're practically on top of him now, the only part of you still on the chaise being one leg. 

Your smile slowly slips off your face and you crawl up his body until you're straddling him on the lounge chair. You both have been patient with one another, not pushing sex before the other was ready, but it feels like a day for firsts. Mingyu must think the same because he sits up, arms wrapping around your middle as he tilts his chin to look up at you with big, shiny eyes.

You keep a hand on his shoulder, bring your other to his face, and without breaking eye contact, you wordlessly roll your hips into his. His next breath is a sharp inhale through his nose as you watch his pupils dilate. You feel your lips curve up into a smile as he begins to harden underneath you, straining against his wet shorts in mere moments. 

“Um, I—are…” he blinks several times as you continue to grind against him, and when he clearly can’t find the words he’s looking for, his hands clamp down on your waist to stop your movement. “Are you—”

“Yes.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”

“Were you going to ask if I wanted to finally have sex?”

He snorts. “No.” You look at him flatly. “Okay, yes.”

“Still yes then.”

He reaches up to brush your hair away from your face, and he pulls you down by the nape of your neck to kiss you. You're a mess of lips, saliva, and hands—feeling everywhere you can touch while simultaneously keeping away from the one place you need each other. You break away in a gasp when he slips his hand under the back of your bikini and squeezes your ass hard. 

You tilt your head back as he kisses down the middle of your throat, and to your horror, you find an employee coming up the stairs of the sun deck with a platter of champagne.

“Oh shit!” you shriek as you scramble off Mingyu’s lap, settling for awkwardly sitting between his calves at the foot of the chaise. 

He looks at you like you’ve lost your mind, but you’ve run out of time to warn him. He must hear the footsteps as the yacht staff member approaches, though, because he quickly crosses his legs and very conspicuously cups his hands over his crotch. If the staff member notices, they’re well-trained to ignore it. 

“The champagne you requested from the swim deck, Mr. Kim,” the young man announces, lowering the platter so that you both can easily take your own flutes. Neither of you waste a moment grabbing one. 

When the employee doesn’t depart, you realize he’s waiting for you both to take a sip and make sure it’s to your liking. You go to toast Mingyu quickly, but he stops you. 

“Wait, wait,” he says, hand on your wrist from where he’s keeping you from toasting him and getting rid of the staff. “Happy birthday. I hope it’s the most amazing one yet, and I can’t wait to spend so many more with you.” He’s almost shy when he smiles and finishes with: “I love you.”

“Oh, Mingyu,” you pout before smiling widely and leaning forward to kiss him, almost completely forgetting about your bystander. “I love you too. Thank you for everything. Cheers.” 

You clink glasses, and you sigh in relief when the employee takes that as his moment to exit. He sets the ice bucket and bottle of champagne down on the table nearest to your chaise before he smiles brightly at you both. 

“Please let me know if there’s anything else you need.”

“No!” Mingyu says too loudly and too quickly. You choke on your first sip of champagne. “I mean,” he lowers his voice considerably, “no, Chad. Just… we’re good. Please let the staff know to leave us alone for the rest of the night. Thanks.”

“Of course,” he responds without missing a beat, smiling brightly before making his exit. You watch him disappear down the stairs as you rub your chest, your coughs finally subsiding. 

“Have you fucked girls on your yacht before?”

It’s Mingyu’s turn to take his champagne down the wrong tube. “What?”

“Why does ‘leave me alone for the rest of the night’ seem like normal protocol?” you ask, lips curling into a mischievous smile as you watch him struggle with the question.

“I have not fucked girls on my yacht before,” he denies it petulantly. He clears his throat. “But a ton of people do all kinds of questionable things on boats.” You make a mental note to ask him for stories later. “Yacht staff are all trained to be… discreet. So.”

“So Chad knows we’re fucking tonight.”

Mingyu smirks into his glass, taking several gulps until it’s completely empty. You raise your eyebrows at him. “If he doesn’t, he definitely will in a few minutes.” Your cheeks warm at the implication and he nods at your flute. “Hurry up and finish that. We’ve got somewhere to be.”

You gasp, tears slipping out of your eyes and past your blindfold as you struggle against the ropes Mingyu tied around your wrists. They’re tied to the headboard of the bed in his stateroom, rendering you absolutely helpless as his tongue massages your clit, his hand already two fingers deep inside you and beckoning an orgasm closer. 

“Mingyu,” you whimper, struggling to keep your legs open even though there’s nowhere they could possibly go anyway. Your boyfriend’s grasp on each thigh is pressing them down and open mercilessly, determined to keep you from interrupting his meal. 

“What is it, baby?” he asks, licking quick stripes up your slit between every few words. “Too much for you? We can stop.”

“No!” you shout quickly, whining when you hear his breathy laughter follow. “It’s not funny. I’m… I…” Your words devolve into a mess of moans as he decides he’d rather eat than talk. His fingers work against the spongy spot inside you, his mouth closing over your clit as he starts to lick and suck with more fervor than before. “Oh god. Please!”

“Please what?” he asks against you, the vibrations of his voice reverberating through your cunt. 

You don’t even know what you’re asking for. For the last half hour now, Mingyu has been pulling orgasm after orgasm out of you with just his mouth alone. There’s nothing else you could possibly ask for, but still, all you know how to say is “please.”

You gasp, hips bucking as your orgasm shoots through your entire body, causing you to shudder and writhe almost uncontrollably at the overstimulation. You don’t have much space to move, though, with your hands restricted like this. 

“Gyu!” you shriek, shamelessly grinding up and into his mouth. His fingers pump in and out of you quickly, your pussy giving no resistance anymore now that he’s made a mess out of you. “Oh my god.”

“I think you’re ready,” he says, smiling against you. 

More tears escape as you cry in what you think is relief. He told you there would be a lot of foreplay. He warned you that he was big and that he didn’t want to hurt you—that the only way he felt comfortable doing this was once you were thoroughly prepared. You just didn’t realize it meant having his head between your legs for so long, you’d lost feeling in both feet and gone cross-eyed with pleasure. 

Before he leaves his residency, he lowers his chin and stiffens his tongue, shoving it into you as far as it’ll go, his entire face pressed against you. The sensation elongates the orgasm enough that you’re sure it’s started a whole new one as Mingyu licks you clean from the inside out. When he’s done, he kisses your clit before moving around on the bed. 

“Hi,” he whispers, voice suddenly right next to your ear. You struggle to catch your breath as his hands run up your sides. 

“Hi,” you respond pathetically. 

“Don’t cry, darling,” he tells you, voice soft and gravely. You wish you could see how he looked right now. You wish you could know if he looked just as fucked up and fucked out as you felt. If his face matched his voice. “I’m taking good care of you, aren’t I?”

“Too good,” you breathe, not sure you can say more than two words at a time. 

He snickers as his fingers slip under your bikini top, the last piece of clothing you have on before he has you completely naked. He massages your breast under the fabric, thumb running over your nipple several times. He presses his lips against your sternum, his weight resting against you as he does, and you realize he’s catching his breath too. You can feel his heartbeat against your stomach, going almost as fast as you think yours is. He continues kneading your tit like it’s his own personal stress ball for several minutes, leaving kisses across your skin absentmindedly. 

“I think you were made for me,” he mutters after a while.

“I hope you were made for me,” you respond when you think you’ve finally relaxed enough to have coherent thoughts again. “Because what do you mean you own a yacht and want to eat pussy for the better part of an hour? You’re literally my dream man.”

His hand pauses against you as he laughs into your chest, shaking the bed as he does. You smile at the sound. 

“Mingyu?” 

“Mmm.”

“Can you remove my blindfold?” you ask quietly. “I want to see your face.”

He removes his hand from your chest, placing the bikini back where it was as if you aren’t already entirely naked from the waist down. He moves up the bed and his fingers work at the knot he made behind your head, undoing it quickly. You blink a few times as you adjust to the already dimmed light of the room. 

“Hi.”

He looks so blissful. His eyes are half-lidded like he just woke up, and his mouth is curved up into the slightest, laziest, most content smile. He looks down at you like he truly believes his own words—like he truly believes you were made for him. 

Your wrists don’t let you far enough up to kiss him, but he knows exactly what you want and he gives it to you. You taste yourself on him, and the thought that Mingyu loves it enough to go at it for so long makes you impossibly wetter. 

“Are you ready?” he asks when he pulls away to kick off his shorts and shove them somewhere toward the foot of the bed. You look down at what you’re dealing with, and you realize Mingyu definitely knew best when he said you needed to be patient. You nod. 

“Mhm.”

“I’m going to untie you, okay?” he asks gently even though he roughly shoves your top up your chest, your tits bouncing out. He groans, burying his face between them before taking a nipple in his mouth. 

You arch into his body, exhaling softly at the warm feeling. He releases you with a pop and quickly rips the top completely off, throwing it over his shoulder before  caging you in with his legs and crawling up the bed to work on the ropes on your wrist. His dick rests against your stomach as he works, thick and heavy and staring you in the face. Your mouth waters. 

“Hurry, Gyu,” you whisper. He laughs softly. 

“Impatient.”

You bite back a retort because at that moment, the ropes give way and your wrists are freed. Without thinking twice, you have both hands wrapped around Mingyu’s dick immediately, eliciting a gasp from him. You shimmy down on the bed, one hand pulling at his waist. 

“What are you doing?” he asks as he tries to keep his balance at your incessant pulling. 

“I think it’s your turn” is all you say, releasing him once you’re low enough on the bed. His huge fucking cock hangs in front of you—intimidating and scary and glorious. You lean back and prop yourself on your elbows before looking up at him. 

He peers down at you with a confused look on his face. All you do in response is open your mouth wide. His eyes practically bulge out of his head when he realizes what you want him to do. 

“Are you sure?!” he asks in disbelief. “I’m—I—you—”

“Fuck my mouth, Mingyu.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice, taking himself in his hold and pumping a few times before gently laying his swollen tip on your tongue. He curses under his breath. 

“Let me know if it becomes too much, okay?” he reminds you. You don’t bother responding as you take more of his length in. “Holy shit. Fuck!”

It doesn’t take more than three thrusts until tears are collecting in the corner of your eyes, but you don’t care. Because you don’t think you’ve ever seen anything hotter than Mingyu on top of you, fucking your mouth with his eyes squeezed shut like he’s begging a god out there to keep him from coming on the spot. You bring one hand up to his balls, massaging gently and the sounds it pulls out of him are downright heavenly. 

“Baby,” he gasps. “Oh my god.”

You’re a mess of precum, drool, and tears, but you remind yourself to enjoy the burn in your shoulders from propping yourself up like this, the ache of Mingyu’s cock abusing the back of your throat, and the sting where his hand has become a fist in your hair because it could last your entire life and you think it would still be over too soon—being able to see how good you can make him feel. 

His thrusts slow to a gradual stop and he takes his cock out of your mouth, sitting back on the heel of his feet as he catches his breath, staring at you like you invented blowjobs just for him. You smile at him as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand before plopping back down on the bed, your shoulders screaming in relief. 

He situates himself back between your legs, and without breaking eye contact, he lifts one up and over his shoulder. He kisses your calf, then your knee, and then he pushes forward until your thigh is pressed up against your shoulder and you feel his tip at your hole. 

Wordlessly, he pushes in gently, and even with all the orgasms you had, you gasp at the way he stretches you open. He groans, head hanging as he watches himself slowly, slowly, slowly disappear inside you. He breathes evenly and deliberately like his control relies solely on him staying as calm as possible. You don’t quite have the same composure, fists tight around his bedsheets as you whine and whimper underneath him. 

“Shhh,” he breathes, another kiss ghosting the inside of your knee. “You’re doing so well, baby.” You moan at the praise. “Doing so fucking well for me.”

“Gyu,” you gasp when you feel him bottom out. If his hands weren’t planted firmly on either side of your head, you’re sure he would’ve completely collapsed on you as he exhales a heavy breath, sweat dripping from the tip of his nose and onto your stomach.

“Are you okay?” he asks when you know he’s sure he won’t come immediately. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “No, I’m okay, baby.”

“Good,” he breathes, nodding as he leans forward and pecks your lips. “I love you.”

You smile. “I love you.”

“I’m going to move now, okay?” 

You fight to keep from giggling at how endearing he is, even during sex. “Okay.”

His first few thrusts are so shallow, you’re not sure he’s even pulling out at all. The only reason you know he is is that each thrust back in makes the delicious ache in your stomach grow. It isn’t until you slip your leg off Mingyu’s shoulder and lock your ankles together behind him and pull him in closer that he starts to really pick up his pace, increasingly intense until he’s slamming into you with a frenetic energy you feel like you can choke on. 

Being fucked by Mingyu is unlike being fucked by anyone else. It’s in the way he watches you closely, searching for any signs you’re no longer enjoying or in pain. The way he keeps whispering how much he loves you—like saying it for the first time tonight broke a dam wide open and he can no longer keep the three words in. The way he blushes each time you reach up to pull him down and kiss him. The way his body starts to thrash and tremble the closer he gets to his orgasm. It’s the way he fills you up with his cum so thoroughly and completely, you know there’s no way you can ever be anybody else’s but his. It’s in the way he holds you for so long after, you fall asleep in his arms and only wake up when he’s carrying you into the restroom to help you clean up. 

At the end of the night, Mingyu wraps you up in his blankets and himself as the yacht docks at the marina, zero desire to leave even though you’re back at land. 

“Happy birthday,” he whispers one last time.

“Best birthday ever.”