No One Will Love You Like I Do
Pairing: Love Quinn x Fem Reader
Warning: 18+ , minors do not enter
Notes: Thank you for the prompt, Anon! Hope you enjoy. :)
Prompt: "Imagine Love Quinn x reader as childhood friend. Reader reveals she has a girlfriend, Love gets jealous because she would be a better girlfriend"
Love knew something was wrong the moment you smiled like that.
Not the soft, sleepy smile you used to give her at three in the morning during childhood sleepovers. Not the crooked grin you wore when you were about to say something sarcastic.
This one was different. Bright. Private. Almost shy.
It was a smile meant for someone else.
You sat across from her at her kitchen island, legs tucked beneath you, sipping the wine she had picked specifically because it used to be your favorite. Everything tonight had been chosen for you. The pasta from scratch. The basil from her garden. The candles you once said made her place feel like home.
She watched you talk, memorizing every movement like she always had.
“Oh, I actually have a girlfriend now.”
Love’s hand stilled around her glass.
Only for a fraction of a second.
“Girlfriend?” she repeated lightly, tilting her head in a way that looked curious instead of catastrophic.
“Yeah.” You ducked your head, almost bashful. “Her name’s Mia. We’ve been together about eight months.”
Eight months of someone else touching you. Holding you. Learning you.
Eight months of not telling her.
“That’s… amazing,” Love said softly.
Her voice didn’t even shake. She was proud of that.
“She must be really special.”
You nodded, eyes glowing in a way that made something sharp twist under Love’s ribs.
Love lifted her glass to her lips so you wouldn’t see the way her expression faltered.
You had been back in Los Angeles for six.
Which meant this person had known you before you came home.
Before you came back to her.
That night, after you left, Love didn’t sleep.
She sat at her kitchen table with her laptop open, the glow of the screen bleaching her skin pale.
The name had come easily. You trusted her. Of course you had mentioned it casually. A story about a brunch place, a coworker, a funny thing she said.
Love remembered everything.
Social media was a gold mine.
Photos. Tags. Locations. Friends.
Your arm around another girl’s waist. Your head tipped toward hers. Smiling that same private smile.
Love clicked each image carefully, enlarging them, studying details.
Mia was pretty. In a bland, forgettable way. Safe. Soft. The kind of girl people described as “nice” when they couldn’t think of anything else to say.
Love scrolled until her fingers went numb.
Apartment complex tagged in multiple photos.
A coffee shop two blocks away.
Workplace listed publicly.
Three days later, Love parked across the street from the apartment building.
Engine off. Lights out. Hands folded neatly in her lap.
She knew because she had watched Mia carry groceries inside twice already that week.
Organic produce. Store-brand pasta. A bouquet of flowers that had probably been on sale.
You deserved fresh flowers. Expensive ones. Peonies. Not discount roses wrapped in plastic.
The building door opened.
Mia stepped out, locking it behind her, phone tucked between her shoulder and ear as she laughed at something the person on the other end said.
Not aware that someone was watching her with the quiet intensity of a predator disguised as a person.
Love waited a full ten seconds before starting her car.
She kept three vehicles between them as they drove.
It wasn’t difficult. Mia drove slowly, absentmindedly, braking too hard at yellow lights, drifting slightly between lanes.
Someone could hurt her so easily.
The thought didn’t alarm Love.
It settled over her like something inevitable.
The coffee shop was small and crowded.
Love entered after Mia, blending into the line, sunglasses pushed into her hair.
Up close, Mia looked even more ordinary. No striking features. No presence. The kind of face that wouldn’t stick in memory.
You would forget her eventually.
“Large vanilla latte for Mia,” the barista said warmly, like this was a routine.
Love ordered nothing. She didn’t need to. She was here to observe.
Mia sat by the window, scrolling through her phone, smiling softly.
She catalogued everything automatically.
Favorite drink. Preferred seat. The way Mia tucked her hair behind her ear when she concentrated. The way she checked the door every few minutes, like she was waiting for someone.
A warm, nauseating surge of jealousy flooded Love’s chest.
That seat should have been hers.
That anticipation should have been hers.
You should have been walking through that door to her.
Love followed Mia for weeks.
Work. Gym. Grocery store. Apartment.
Routine became predictable. Predictability meant vulnerability.
Mia didn’t check her mirrors when she drove.
Didn’t look over her shoulder when unlocking her door.
Didn’t notice the same black car parked across the street on different days.
She moved through the world assuming she was safe.
Love could keep you safe.
One night, Love stood in her own kitchen, staring at a chef’s knife resting against the cutting board.
The apartment was silent except for the hum of the refrigerator.
A push on a dark staircase. A drink left unattended. A stranger in a parking lot who never got identified.
People disappeared every day.
Mia wouldn’t even see it coming.
Love imagined your face when you found out.
Shock. Devastation. Tears.
Her chest ached at the thought.
But then she imagined herself wrapping her arms around you, holding you while you cried, whispering that she was there, that you weren’t alone, that she would never leave you.
Who else would understand your pain like she would?
Who else had loved you your entire life?
She set the knife down carefully.
You still believed you were happy.
When you showed up at her door unannounced a few days later, smiling like you always had with her, Love felt something inside her twist so sharply it almost felt like relief.
You stepped into her apartment like you belonged there.
“I missed you,” you said.
Love closed the door behind you slowly, studying your face.
Every freckle. Every expression. Every tiny shift in your eyes.
Mine, something inside her whispered.
You had always been hers.
Mia was just a detour. A mistake. A placeholder.
Love stepped closer, unable to stop herself.
“I miss you too,” she said softly.
Her hand lifted, brushing a strand of hair away from your face in a gesture so familiar it made your shoulders relax instantly.
You trusted her completely.
Because Love didn’t trust herself at all anymore.
Not when it came to the girl who was sleeping in the space that should have been hers.
And not when every time she imagined a future, Mia simply… wasn’t in it.
That was the first thing Love noticed when you walked into Anavrin with Mia beside you.
Glowing in that soft, nervous way that meant you cared what Love thought.
“Love,” you said brightly, “this is Mia.”
Love wiped her hands on a towel slowly before stepping forward.
Mia smiled first. Warm. Open. Oblivious.
“Hi. I’ve heard so much about you.”
Love tilted her head slightly, studying her up close for the first time.
Brown eyes. Soft sweater. A hand resting at the small of your back like it belonged there.
That hand did not belong there.
“Have you?” Love asked gently.
Mia didn’t see the assessment happening in real time. The way Love catalogued her height, her posture, the faint insecurity in her shoulders.
You stood between them, unaware that you were the axis the entire room revolved around.
They sat across from each other while you ordered pastries.
Love leaned forward slightly.
“So,” she said, voice honey-sweet, “how did you two meet?”
Mia laughed lightly. “Work. I guess I got lucky.”
Love’s fingers tightened around her coffee mug.
You returned before she could respond.
And for the rest of the afternoon, Love watched.
Every glance. Every touch. Every inside joke.
Mia didn’t know you like Love did.
Didn’t anticipate when you needed water before you asked.
Didn’t catch the subtle shift in your tone when you were overstimulated.
It wasn’t even competition.
Three nights later, Love followed Mia home again.
This time, she didn’t park across the street.
She parked inside the garage.
Mia had left it cracked open.
Love waited until the lights inside the apartment shut off.
She had done this before.
It didn’t make her shake.
Mia almost didn’t open the door.
That was the only moment where this could have gone differently.
Love stood in the hallway, hands folded neatly in front of her, wearing a soft cream sweater. Something non-threatening. Familiar.
When the door cracked open, Mia’s face shifted from confusion to discomfort.
“Hi,” Love said gently. “Can we talk?”
Mia hesitated,and that hesitation told Love everything.
Not what Love had done. But what Love felt.
Still, she stepped aside.
The apartment smelled faintly like apples, a smell she knew you weren’t fond of.
Love noticed it instantly.
“You use this candle?” she asked quietly, stepping inside.
Mia crossed her arms. Defensive now.
Love turned to face her fully.
Mia blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You like her. You’re comfortable with her. But you don’t love her the way she needs.”
“That’s not your decision to make.”
Love’s expression didn’t change.
“She’s fragile,” Love continued softly. “She needs someone who understands her. Someone who knows her history. Her patterns. The way she shuts down when she’s overwhelmed.”
Mia swallowed. “She told me that.”
“Yes,” Love said. “She tells me everything too.”
Mia stepped back slightly. Instinct.
“She’s going to outgrow you.”
“You don’t know her favorite book from when she was nine. You don’t know she hates thunderstorms but pretends she doesn’t. You don’t know she chews the inside of her cheek when she’s anxious.”
“I don’t think,” Love said softly. “I know.”
Mia moved toward the door.
That was the last moment Mia was in control of the room.
She grabbed Mia’s wrist when she reached for the handle. Twisted just enough to unbalance her. Momentum carried them both inward.
A stumble. A sharp intake of breath.
“This doesn’t have to hurt,” Love murmured, almost kindly.
There was a brief struggle, frantic but uncoordinated. Mia wasn’t trained. She was panicking. Fear makes people sloppy.
Love had learned how to stay calm.
She maneuvered behind her, arm locking securely around Mia’s throat.
“Stop fighting,” Love whispered into her ear. “It’ll be easier.”
Mia clawed at her forearm, breath coming in strained, broken sounds.
Love adjusted her hold, applying steady pressure. Not too much at once. Just enough.
The apartment grew very quiet except for the sound of uneven breathing.
Mia’s movements grew weaker.
Love held her firmly, cheek resting lightly against the side of Mia’s head as if this were some twisted embrace.
“I’m doing this because she deserves better,” Love said softly. “You were never meant to stay.”
Mia’s hands slipped from Love’s arm.
Love didn’t release her immediately.
When she finally lowered Mia to the floor, she did it carefully.
She crouched beside her for a moment, watching.
The room felt heavy now. Different.
Love brushed a strand of hair away from Mia’s face.
“You should have stepped aside,” she whispered.
No shaking hands. No tears.
She walked to the bathroom and washed her hands methodically, staring at herself in the mirror.
Her breathing was steady.
The candle on the counter was still burning.
Love stared at it for a moment.
“You don’t even know her favorite scent,” she murmured under her breath.
The smoke curled upward slowly.
Then she picked up Mia’s phone.
Your name was pinned at the top. A heart beside it.
Love’s jaw tightened slightly at that.
She unlocked it easily, she had watched Mia type the passcode enough times from across café tables and parking lots.
Hey. I’ve been thinking. I don’t think this is working anymore. I’m sorry. You deserve someone better than me.
She almost laughed at the irony.
Wiped her fingerprints off the screen, placed the phone beside Mia and left.
You showed up the next night.
Love had already baked banana bread.
She always baked when she was anxious. Or sad. Or in love. Or afraid of losing something.
The smell filled the apartment, warm, sweet, safe.
When the knock came, she didn’t hesitate.
She opened the door and saw your face.
Red eyes. Swollen cheeks. Breathing like you’d run all the way there.
“She broke up with me,” you whispered, like saying it too loudly would make it worse.
Love’s expression softened instantly.
“Oh, sweetheart,” she breathed.
She pulled you inside and closed the door quickly, locking it without looking.
Not gracefully. Not politely.
Your hands gripped the front of her sweater like you were afraid she might disappear too.
Love wrapped both arms around you, firm and steady, one hand cradling the back of your head. She pressed your face into her shoulder.
It wasn’t just an embrace.
“I don’t understand,” you choked out. “It was fine. Everything was fine.”
Love guided you toward the couch without breaking contact, sitting down and pulling you into her lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.
You curled against her chest automatically.
“I know,” she murmured into your hair. “I know.”
Her fingers slid through your hair slowly, rhythmically. She had done this before. When you were younger. When you were scared. When you needed someone solid.
“She said I deserved better,” you whispered.
Love’s lips brushed your temple.
You looked up at her then.
Your eyes were wrecked. Vulnerable. Searching.
Love felt something fierce and possessive bloom in her chest.
“Why does everyone leave?” you asked, voice small.
Love’s face changed at that.
Her hand moved from your hair to your jaw, thumb brushing under your eye to catch a tear before it fell.
Fear of losing something stable.
“I have never left you,” she said softly. “Not once.”
The question wasn’t flirtation.
Love’s heart twisted in a way that almost hurt.
“I would never,” she said.
Your fingers tightened in her sweater again.
You were shaking slightly.
“I need you,” you whispered.
That was the moment something in her snapped into place.
Her hand slid from your jaw to the back of your neck, holding you there gently but firmly.
It was messy and desperate and almost clumsy, like you were reaching for oxygen.
Love responded instantly.
Something you both had done a few times throughout your friendship when you had too much to drink.
Her hand tightened at your neck, not to hurt you, just to anchor you.
The kiss deepened quickly, but not playful. Not teasing.
You kissed her like you were afraid she would vanish too.
Your fingers curled into her hair. Your body pressed closer.
Love guided you instinctively, shifting so you were straddling her lap fully, her hands firm at your waist.
“Shh,” she murmured against your mouth when your breathing grew uneven. “I’ve got you.”
You kissed her again like that was the only reassurance you trusted.
Love’s control showed in small ways, the way she tilted your chin, the way she slowed the kiss just enough so you could breathe, the way she kept you grounded when you seemed ready to spiral again.
It was possession disguised as protection.
“You’re safe,” she whispered against your lips.
Your forehead fell against hers.
Love’s thumb traced the curve of your cheek.
You made a small, broken sound against her mouth.
That did something to her.
Love shifted, hips thrusting up against yours, fingers digging into your thighs.
“Slow down,” she breathed against your lips.
“I can’t,” you whispered.
You kissed her again like you were trying to crawl inside her skin.
Love’s restraint thinned.
Her hand slid lower, fingers working on the button of your jeans, unzipping and sliding her hand in.
“Look at me,” she murmured.
Your eyes were glossy. Vulnerable. Searching.
Her mouth moved from your lips to your jaw, down your throat slowly, deliberately. Not rushed. She was in control now. She would decide the pace.
Her hands moved over you with purpose, mapping, claiming, relearning.
She adjusted you on her lap so she could slide her hand into the front of your jeans, slipping inside of your panties.
You trembled under her touch.
“Shh,” she whispered when you gasped. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
Every time you tried to rush her, she slowed you down. Forced you to feel it. To feel her.
Your fingers slid into her hair, tugging slightly.
“That’s it,” she murmured. “Hold onto me.”
You shifted in her lap, seeking friction without even realizing it.
Love’s hand tightened on your hips instantly. Her fingers sliding over your clit and through your folds, a puddle of sticky wetness instantly coating her fingers.
“You don’t have to beg,” she whispered against your mouth. “I’m right here.”
But her grip said something different.
You weren’t going anywhere.
Her kisses grew deeper, slower, more consuming.
Love slid two fingers in slowly, curled up from the angle of you on her lap. Your walls clenched, sucking her in all the way in until her knuckles were pressed against you.
You groaned, letting your head fall to her neck, hips starting to rock against her fingers when she gently pulled them out an inch before pushing back in.
“No,” she said softly. “Let me see you.”
Your breathing was uneven now.
You weren’t acting out of lust.
You were acting out of fear of being alone.
The way you melted under her hands like she was the only thing holding you together.
Love was staring at you, mouth slightly hanging open at the sight of you starting to bounce on her fingers, hips rotating against her. Her own clit pulsating almost painfully.
That sound nearly broke her composure.
“Good girl,” she whispered instinctively, voice lower now.
Your reaction to that was immediate, a soft, needy sound, your body arching toward her.
Love curled her fingers against, pushing them even deeper, pulling out and pumping back in quicker now. Her thumb coming up to rub circles against your clit.
“You feel that?” she murmured against your skin. “That’s me.”
She shifted you slightly so she had better control, one hand braced firmly at your lower back, keeping you exactly where she wanted you. Fingers pumping faster.
“You’re not alone anymore,” she whispered. “You don’t have to be afraid.”
You kissed her again, slower this time. Not frantic.
Like you were choosing her.
The sound of wet thrusting filled the room along with Love’s breathing and your whimpers.
“You belong with me,” she breathed.
You only held onto her tighter.
When things finally tipped toward release, it wasn’t wild.
You clung to her like you were drowning.
Love held you through it, steady and firm, murmuring soft praise against your ear.
“That’s it. I’ve got you. I’ve always had you.”
She watched the rise and fall of your breathing.
Her fingers traced the shape of your spine absently.
Just in a settled, inevitable way.
Outside, the world kept moving.
Inside, you slept in her arms.
Exactly where you belonged.
