could you spend the night?
ian hecox x fem reader
summary: you confide in ian after a break up which turns into unresolved feeling coming to surface
masterlist
cw // making out, kinda suggestive, not proofread
For three years, you had been a beloved member of the Smosh cast. Countless of sketches, bits, and long shoots that would bleed into late nights spent in the studio. You were known for your laugh, your timing, the way you could save a joke that wasn’t landing by sheer charm alone. The version of you was easy to put on, like muscle memory.
Even when it was the last thing you ever wanted to do. Even when you had felt your world stopped spinning. Two years of having a constant in your life just for them to up and leave takes a toll on a person whether they show it or not.
You didn’t. You kept showing up, kept smiling, kept letting everyone believe everything was exactly the same. No one questioned it. Because why would they?
Until Angela did.
It was casual, thrown into the room like background noise. Everyone sprawled across couches during a break, half focused, half scrolling on their phones.
“So how are things with Luke?” Angela asked, the conversation easy and familiar.
You didn’t even think. The words slipping out light and unguarded, “Oh, We’re not together anymore.”
The room went still. It was subtle, but very noticeable. A pause like someone had pressed paused on the world.
Angela’s face fell as she leaned closer to you, her hands on your knees, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I had no idea didn’t know, I shouldn’t have said anything,” she rushed, utterly mortified by what was happening.
You laughed, waving it off, “It’s okay, Ang. I’m fine, I promise.”
Everyone around you both slowly restarted their conversations, but something in you had already retreated. Your smile stayed, but it didn’t reach all the way anymore. You found yourself staring past the room, past the noise.
From the other couch, Ian noticed – like he always did.
He didn’t say anything. He watched as your usual playful energy dimmed, how you stopped chiming in on random conversations around you, how your eyes glued onto the back wall. He knew better than to say something now, you still had a full shoot day ahead as well as meeting for upcoming sketch ideas.
He wasn’t going to pull at a thread when you were barely holding it together.
So, he let you be.
The day stretched on, work filling the hours, until the clock finally hit 19:30. You packed up your desk, slow and deliberate, like if you moved carefully enough the weight in your chest wouldn’t spill over.
“I’m heading out,” you said to no one in particular.
“I’ll walk you,” Ian said, already standing from one of the couches.
He stopped by your desk leaning casually against it, “Hey,” he said, his voice gentle, “How are you doing?”
You shrugged, “Exhausted.”
He didn’t bite. Just looked at you, really looked, “No. Like how are you actually? Breakups can be hard. You don’t have to hide anything from me.”
The words landed harder than you expected, leaving a sting in their wake.
“I’ll be fine,” you said, “I always am.”
Neither of you made an effort to move as your eyes met, something unspoken stretching between you. As you shifted your bag, his hand brushed yours on the desk. A complete accident but something shot through your arm making your skin warm.
“Ready?” he asked quietly.
You nodded, and his gestured for you to go ahead.
The hallways of the office felt quieter than usual, the building settling into evening. Your footsteps bouncing softly off the walls. You stood close enough without touching, aware of the space between you like it was its own living thing.
The front doors slammed shut behind you with a dull thud as you left the building. The walk felt slower than usual. Every ounce of his presence piercing beside you.
The parking lot was warm, the concrete still clinging onto the day’s heat. Your car sat near the far wall, dimly lit. As you walked, Ian kept pace beside you, close enough that your arms brushed once, or twice.
Neither of you acknowledged it.
“So,” he said after a moment, voice low, “you sure you’re okay driving home?”
You smiled, small and tired, “I promise. It’s not far.”
He nodded, but didn’t speed up, didn’t slow down. When you reached your car, you stopped, fingers curling around your keys.
“Well,” you said, not quite ready to open the door, “Thanks for walking me.”
“Anytime,” he replied.
You turned to face him, closer now than you had been all day. The world hummed softly around you. His gaze dropped briefly, then lifted back to your eyes.
“If you ever need someone,” he said, careful with every word, “I’m always here.”
“I know,” you said quietly, “Thank you.”
For a moment, it felt like he might say more. Like you might. Instead, he stepped back just enough to give you space, even though it clearly cost him something.
“Text me when you get home,” he added quickly.
You nodded, unlocking your car. As you slid into the driver’s seat, you glanced up once more. He was still there, watching, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable in the low light.
Hours has passed by now. The sky had dimmed over the city, and lights blinking on like stars too close to the ground. Ian sat alone in his apartment, the TV on playing a movie but left unwatched, your expression replaying in his mind. The way you had dismissed Angela’s concern too quickly, the way your shoulders slumped with something heavy.
Then his phone buzzed.
┃ You: Hey, this is really random, but would it be okay if I came over? I just feel kind of lonely.
He didn’t hesitate, his reply being sent within seconds.
┃ Ian: You’re always welcome.
Thirty minutes later, he was opening the door almost as soon as you knocked. As if he had been standing there the whole time.
“Hey,” he said quietly.
“Hey.”
He stepped aside, ushering you in, “Do you want anything? Water, tea?”
You shook your head, suddenly aware of what was happening. What the implications of this could mean. Whether you wanted that to happen.
“I’m sorry for messaging so late.”
“I’m glad you did,” he said, honest.
There was an awkward pause before he gestured to the couch, blankets tangled and familiar, “Make yourself at home.”
His hand pressed lightly to your lower back as he guided you forward. The unexpected touch sent a shiver through you as he steered you to the couch. You sank into the cushion in the same fashion you had done countless times before, except this time it was just you and Ian. There was no Courtney, no Shayne, No Angela or Chanse to make this less intense.
The scent of his cologne wrapped around you, pulling you deeper into the warm hold of his presence as he sat close beside you pressing play on the movie that had been waiting for you both. You pulled a blanket to your chin yourself forcing yourself to focus on the screen.
As the pictures of the screen flickered by, you felt your eye lids grow heavier by the second. Your head tipped without hesitation finding solace on his shoulder. You expected him to tense up, pull away and say something sensible that would make things awkward again, but he didn’t.
Instead, his body instinctively shifted, shoulder dipping to make you more comfortable. A shutter of a breath escaping his lips. He looked down at you, guilt and something far more dangerous twisting in his chest. You had come here for comfort. For safety.
He wanted to give you that, but he could help wanting more too.
You stirred, tilting your head up to look at him. His face was soft under the low light, expression unreadable. Something fragile fluttered in your chest as your eyes met.
“Hi,” you whispered.
“Hi.”
The room felt suspended, like the night itself was waiting for this moment. Your eyes dropped, just for a second, tracing the shape of his mouth.
That was enough.
Ian’s hand moved with a careful deliberation, fingers brushing against your jaw, thumb tracing the line of your cheekbone. Every touch careful, asking without words.
“Is this okay?” he asked quietly.
You nodded, throat tight, “Yeah.”
He leaned in, his movements unhurried, still giving you space to pull away. You didn’t, you met him halfway. The kiss was gentle with lips brushing, lingering, waiting for an answer.
When you pulled back, foreheads resting together, Ian exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for years.
You smiled, “Can you kiss me again?” you asked softly.
His breath hitched at your words, surprise flashing across his face for just a second before his grip tightened, hand sliding up into your hair as he kissed you again, deeper this time. It wasn’t rushed, but it was undeniable, carrying every lingering look, every moment of restraint, every feeling he’d buried for your sake.
You pulled away from the kiss first, Ian’s lips chasing yours not wanting the moment to end. His mind racing with what was going to happen when you wake up and realise that this was a mistake, that he was a mistake.
His hand was stilled at the back of your neck, thumb brushing softly where your pulse fluttered. You leaned back in, like kissing him was the only think giving you oxygen. He fell into the rhythm quickly, the space between you feeling charged, alive, like it might spark if either of you breathed too hard.
You shifted.
It was slow, tentative move, like you were testing the gravity of the moment. One knee sliding next to his on the couch, before the other one flicked to the other side, until you were facing him fully.
Ian’s breath caught as you moved, his hands hovering over your skin for half a second like he wasn’t sure where he was allowed to touch.
“Hey,” he murmured, not a warning, just an anchor.
You met his eyes, searching, giving him time to stop you but when he didn’t you settled onto his lap. His hands flattened to your waist, fingers splaying like he needed to remind himself you were real. The closeness sent a rush through you, the warmth, of the solid presence of him beneath you, his breath warm against your cheek.
“Is this okay?” you whispered, mirroring his earlier care.
His answer was immediate, quiet, and honest, brushing a fallen piece of hair behind your ear, “Yeah.”
You kissed him again.
This time it was deeper, fuller, full of emotion yet only after one thing. His hands tightened slightly at your waist pulling your chest against his. Yours slid into his hair, fingers curling at the crown, drawing a low breath from him that vibrated against your lips.
The kiss grew slower, heavier, and more unrestrained but it was still careful. Like both of you were acutely aware of the line you were teetering along. Your hips shifted unconsciously, fitting closer, and Ian’s grip firmed just enough to steady you.
When you broke apart, it was only to breathe.
Your foreheads rested together, noses brushing, both of you caught in the same suspended moment. His chest rose quickly beneath your hands. Yours ached with the effort of stopping.
“This is dangerous,” he said softly, not pulling away.
You smiled, breathless, “I know.”
But neither of you moved.
He kissed you again, shorter this time but no less intense. A whine left your lips as he pulled away making him chuckle softly, the pads of his thumbs drawing shapes into your skin, trying to restrain himself.
You stayed there, perched in his lap, breathing each other in, the air thick with everything you weren’t doing.
And somehow, that made it even harder to let go
His hands were still at your waist when you decided to kiss him again. This time you didn’t leave any room for hesitation. The kiss grew deeper and slower, mouths moving together with an urgency that made your head spin. Ian’s breath hitched against your lips as you leaned fully into him, the closeness no longer tentative, no longer restraining yourself.
You shifted without thinking, hips grounding onto his as you settled more securely on his lap.
The movement drew a sharp inhale from him, his fingers tightening reflexively at your hips needing to keep you still. You felt it, the full awareness of each other, the heat, the weight of the moment pressing in from every side.
“Jesus,” he breathed, barely audible, like the word slipped out before he could stop it.
You kissed him harder in response, fingers tangling in his hair, hips shifting with an urge as you pulled him closer until there was no space left to pretend this was anything but what it was. His mouth followed yours eagerly now, his restraint thinning, his lips moving in a slow and consuming way, like he was memorizing the shape of you.
His hands drifted from their fixed position on your hips and under your shirt, his thumbs skirting against the lace of the bra you were wearing. His palms gripped pressing into your sides with just enough pressure to make your breath stutter. You felt him tense beneath you, felt the effort it took for him not to do more, not to let this tip past the point of return.
When you pulled back for air, it was only an inch, your lips still brushing, breaths mingling in the small space.
“This is,” he started, then stopped, forehead dropping to yours, “We should slow down.”
You nodded, even as your hands stayed fisted in his shirt, “I know.”
But neither of you slowed.
He kissed you again. The kiss left you dizzy, heart pounding, skin buzzing everywhere he touched.
You rested your forehead against his, eyes closed, still straddling him, still pressed against him. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The room feeling impossibly quiet, like it was listening.
Finally, Ian exhaled, long and shaky, his grip loosening just enough to signal a choice, “If we keep going,” he said softly, honestly, “I don’t think I’ll stop.”
Your chest tightened, not with fear, but with how much you believed him.
You leaned in one last time, pressing a lingering kiss to his mouth. A promise and a restraint wrapped into one.
“I want this,” you whispered, “Just maybe not tonight.”
He nodded, forehead still against yours, hands sliding back to your waist, “Thank you for saying that.”
You stayed in his arms a little longer, as you both breathed each other in, bodies still close, the tension thick and unresolved.
You finally forced yourself to slip off of his lap, finding your place beside him on the couch again, the space between you loud.
The feeling of nearly letting the guard slip away lingering over you both as you tried to focus on anything else.
But the tension softened easily. It didn’t disappear; it just eased into something warmer.
You shifted first, carefully easing yourself back against his chest instead of pulling away completely. Ian adjusted without a word, one arm wrapping around you, drawing you in like it was the most natural thing in the world. His other hand found the blanket, tugging it back over both of you.
The movie kept playing. The room dimmed further, city noise muted by distance and height.
You tucked your head beneath his chin, fitting there like you’d done it before in some other life. His chin rested lightly against your hair, breath slow and even now. One of his hands tracing a lazy, soothing line up and down your arm.
“Better?” he murmured, voice low and sleepy.
You nodded against him, “Yeah.”
He hummed softly, satisfied, and pressed a kiss to the top of your head.
Your eyes fluttered shut before you even realized how tired you were. The weight you had been carrying for months finally had somewhere to rest. In this quiet pocket of the night where nothing was expected of you.
Ian felt it when your breathing changed, when your body relaxed fully into his. He smiled to himself, arm tightening just a fraction, like he was making a promise even he didn’t fully understand yet.
“Goodnight,” he whispered, even though you were fast asleep.
a/n: first ian fic !!! let me know your thoughts and feelings. i actually really love ian so expected more fics of him from me