#so she tries. she tries to talk him out of it. for him to run away. her small. small act of defiance against her purpose | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

megapteraurelia · 2 days ago

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roommates!osasuna who kiss you in turns on the couch: osamu's lips are slow and alluring, full of intent. suna's kisses are deeper, lazier, like he's savouring every second. you lose track of who kisses you next, whose fingers are slipping under your shirt, whose palm is pressing low against your back.

you're drunk on the attention, drunk on the warm, lingering touches, drunk on their love.

roommates!osasuna who always forget a towel when showering. you all do. half the time there's a naked sunarin yelling across the apartment and osamu throwing a towel at him, before leaning against the door frame to watch.

"ya look like you need help."

"i'm good."

"don't think so. move."

roommates!osasuna who love praising you but in different ways. osamu is all soft and coaxing, always starting slow, voice a deep murmur like velvet. you're sprawled between them, your knees spread wide across osamu's lap, head tipped back against suna's shoulder.

when you arch against his grip, osamu cups your face, tenderly, "there she is. my good girl. takin' us so well, sweetheart."

and when he kisses your chest, the valley between them, your stomach and down, he murmurs between each one, "so gorgeous when ya fall apart f'me. every single time."

his words make you feel like you're adored, like you're owned, like he's there to guide you and catch you on a cloud.

suna, though.

now suna's voice is sharp, edged with filth. like he wants you to feel embarrassment and shame amplified with the arousal between your thighs. osamu's mouthing at your skin, his warm big hands roaming your body, his cock a slow heave into you, but suna's hands are cruel and fast the way they played with your clit without remorse, ignoring your jerking hips.

"dripping and messy. imagine somebody saw you like this, they'd think you were some desperate little slut."

"rin," osamu would cut in, a warning in his voice, but the way his cock throbs inside you and his hips jerk involuntarily makes you think that he likes suna's nasty comments just as much.

suna's nothing but sharp-eyed, a cruel slow curl of a smile on his face, "look at you, all serious like you're not two seconds away from busting right inside her."

he doesn't stop the attack on your swollen nub, but they stutter once when a shadow flits over you. mouth open, drooling, ears hot, your eyes barely recognise the shape of osamu's arm above you, his hand grabbing suna's neck, fingers wrapped around his throat. his thumb presses under his jaw just enough to tilt his face up.

he holds suna rintaro like he is on a leash.

"ye talk a lot for someone i could fold in half right now."

roommates!osasuna who both reach for you at the same time without looking. it happens so often now that you don't even think about it; when there's two hands on your waist, or your shoulders, on your thighs, warm and grounding, it feels like love doubled. sometimes they bump heads reaching for a kiss, and you take care to kiss each of them with intention.

roommates!osasuna who declares the kitchen to be a suna-and-you-free zone. suna sneaks in to hug osamu anyway, fingers quick and sneaky in stealing a bite off the cutting board. he tries to bring enough so you both can share outside osamu's reach, but osamu's quick, hand already shooting out to grasp suna's wrist.

"off."

roommates!osasuna who regularly team up to ambush you.

you're just trying to grab some water, really, it's nothing crazy, you're not doing anything. yet suddenly, suna's behind you, his hands at your waist, whispering something filthy in your ear.

you turn around to escape one of them and run right into osamu's chest. he doesn't budge, wide and steady, only takes your chin between fingers and slightly shakes it, "what's got ye so flustered, hm?"

roommates!osasuna who have been bickering all day. it's just the usual back-and-forth, forgettable and fun, except this time, when osamu's in the kitchen, wiping his hands from the snacks he insists on making for you two, who are lazing around on the couch and in all honesty, probably didn't deserve being spoiled like that.

osamu's eyebrows are furrowed as he works in concentration, calm and in this particular work flow that he always falls into when he gives his entire attention and his all. which is why suna looks really fucking bored.

watching osamu move, his shoulders broad, teeth pressed together (probably not really healthy for his jaw), and the effortless way he handles himself in the kitchen, he really can't help it.

he mutters, just loud enough for his voice to be carried over to osamu, but still directed at you, "you know, baby, for a guy with all those muscles, he's awfully soft, no?"

osamu doesn't even pause, just dries his fingers off with a dish towel, so suna continues, his nose brushing your throat which you acknowledge with an eye roll because you know exactly where this is going, "bet you hold him down more than he does with you. look at him, he's probably blushing already."

this time, he does turn at that, a slow and deliberate movement; no blush on his face in sight, but when he's approaching you two and you register the look in his eyes, it has your stomach flip nervously and suna's eyebrows raise.

"ya got a short memory, rin," he says, really soft and really amused. one hand of his brushes the hair out of suna's face, tucks the slightly longer strands behind his ear, fingers trailing back to then grasp a handful of his hair to tug.

"wanna say somethin' smart again?"

suna grins, because he's an asshole. because he enjoys the feel of osamu's grip tightening on his hair, "please. like you could ever hold me down."

there's a shift in the room, the way osamu's breath draws in through his nose. the subtle flex of his fingers on the back of suna's head. the way osamu's body suddenly feels bigger, closer, meaner.

he tugs, hard, away from the couch, so suna really doesn't have any choice but to follow, but to be pushed against the floor on his back, shirt askew, cheeks flushing already despite the mischievous glint in his eyes. osamu's one hand is quick to wrap tightly around both of suna's wrists, his hips suddenly grinding down slow and hard.

his other hand presses down on suna's abdomen, and rin can't help the instinctive jerking of his muscles at the touch, not when it's combined with the heavy weight of osamu's, feeling his breath caress his ears, caged by the man, who slowly works him open — hands, mouth, teeth.

a bruising kiss, claiming suna's mouth with his own, osamu's tongue slides in deep as his hips roll once, twice, just enough to pull a sound out of the black-haired menace, one that isn't a word at all, but a strangled moan.

and when he tugs on his wrists, osamu tightens his grip.

"ya like seein' him like this, don'tcha, sweetheart?"

transfixed with the display of suna rutting against osamu like he's searching for any friction at all, what else could you do other than nod, your throat dry?

"he's so pretty when he stops pretending he's in control," osamu muses, half a growl in his tone, and suna groans, a slight hint of embarrassment, a whole lot of arousal. he glares at osamu, he tries, but he's panting, his pupils blown wide, hips moving of their own accord.

osamu's head dips again, lips brushing suna's jaw, leaving a mark on his skin, "think we should show her what yer sound like when you cum beggin'?"

"you're," he breathes out, eyes glazing, "fuckin' sick."

"say that with yer mouth full, pretty boy."

suna opens his mouth to retort, but osamu cuts him off with a sharp grind of his hips, pressing hard right against the bulge in suna's pants. there was a slight gasp, his breath catching, thighs shaking ever so slightly.

"fuck—"

"no talkin' now," osamu mutters, "not until i tell ya to."

and he does keep going, fingers trailing up to bury themselves into suna's mouth, pressing down on his tongue, whilst there was slow pressure on suna's cock, the drag of heavy friction having him squirming and twitching beneath him, trying to get more without asking. because suna's pride is too damn annoying.

until osamu stills, with weight on his hips, with the pressure around his wrists, with his fingers slowly pulling out of his mouth, gripping suna's jaw, fingertips digging into his cheeks.

"ya want more? beg."

suna's eyes narrow, his voice hoarse from osamu, "you're gonna make me—"

squeezing his face, osamu cuts him off again, "didn't ask for yer commentary. said beg."

your knees are pulled to your chest, one hand pressed between your thighs, the pulsing strong. god, they look so good like this, suna all flushed and restless, osamu on top, muscles bulging at holding him down. your fingers slip into your panties and it's no surprise at how wet you find yourself, how swollen your clit, how easily your fingers dip into your heat.

osamu's eyes flick towards you when a slight moan escapes you, and he drinks you in, a promise in his eyes that has your thighs press together, caging your hand in.

"last chance, rin," he says, but his gaze is still heavy on yours.

for a second there's silence, suna's chest rising and falling fast, his pride warring with his need, with his cock searching fulfilment, with his flushed face between osamu's unyielding grip.

his mouth parts, and the word is just a mutter, raw, "please."

osamu finally looks back, but he doesn't move, still.

"dunno if i heard ya right, say it louder f'me."

"please," suna struggles against osamu's grip, back arching to get him to move, to continue pleasuring him, to do something. his voice was rough, wrecked, "touch me. fuck me. whatever the hell you want."

looking down, suna's lips are swollen, a blush settled on his face, his hair clinging to his forehead, damp, chest expanding and falling deeply, heavily, but oh, his eyes — so glazed, so needy, like he's ready to take anything osamu gives him.

then osamu looks at you: your parted lips, the movement of your hand in your pants, the little breathless moans falling from your mouth, and it all just slots itself together so easily in his brain.

"look at 'er," osamu murmurs low, rising from where he was sprawled out on suna, "sittin' there bein' so good."

there's confusion etched on suna's face, in his eyebrows that furrow, in the way his mouth twists into a grimace at the loss of touch, but when his gaze reluctantly settles on you, his expression shifts, ever so slightly, a desire hard in his eyes, wanting, torn — he swallows.

"be good for once, rin," osamu's foot presses down onto suna's clothed dick once, enough for a strangled ahh to escape him, before he nods over to you, his voice almost kind, "go take care of her."

suna's jaw tightens, his eyes wandering over to osamu, at the promise that he was dangling in front of him like he was a horse getting played with a carrot; his pride twitches and he stares up at osamu staring down, the raised eyebrows that ask him whether he really wanted to challenge him.

"you serious?"

"dead. get on yer knees."

suna's hands are rough when they push apart your thighs, when he sinks to the floor in front of you, fingers impatient to tug down your pants, his voice annoyed, eyes settled on you and you grow slicker underneath his heady gaze, "are you going to fuck me if i make her cum?"

osamu sits back behind him, on the couch table, arms folded, "depends on how well ya do."

suna's mouth latches on to your cunt with no moment wasted, and osamu's voice cuts through your moans and whines, sometimes giving soft instructions that suna follows with a reluctant edge to it, even though his cock rubs against the couch, heat pooling low in his groin at osamu's praise. his jaw suckles, tongue lapping up your juices, fingers pressing your legs apart wider and wider until there was a deliciously painful stretch in your hips.

suna eats you out like he'll die if he won't. spitting on your pussy, his fingers slap away yours, curling deep within you, your gummy walls sucking him in so easily until you came with a start, back arching.

and osamu can only hold out so long at the sight of his two favourite people, despite his words, despite his plan to make suna regret acting up. so it's only natural that his fingers find suna's flesh to dig in, his voice low and strained, telling sunarin to collect your wetness to lather his cock with so he can bury himself into him.

getting his mouth fucked into your pussy, suna thinks he's got to do it more often.

roommates!osasuna who relish in the full feeling swinging in the air, in the scent of sweat and sex and satisfaction; a comfortable, golden moment of silence, soaked with warmth. it lingers underneath your skin, propels your heart to beat soundly.

suna's slumped on the floor between your thighs, lips slick and swollen, hair mussed, blinking slowly. his smirk is long gone, cheek resting against your leg, wet fingers on your knee like he doesn't want to stop touching you just yet.

osamu's shirt is half off, his collarbone dusted in sweat, a flush to his face creeping up his neck; there's a cut on his lip — bitten red and bloody; his hands roam suna's body, calloused fingertips brushing circles into his skin.

"can't feel my jaw," suna speaks into your thigh, his voice hoarse, and there's a tired blink to his eyes.

behind him, osamu hums, slow and unbothered, "good."

you laugh, breathless, choked, and your fingers card through suna's sweaty strands of hair, nails scratching his scalp, "you did well, babe."

leaning over suna's pliant self, osamu kisses your shoulder, then your neck, his finger reaching down to tug suna's earring gently. voice quieter, almost tender, "c'mon, shower or bed?"

a grumble, "bed. you carrying me?"

"ya wish."

"fuckass."

1 | 2 | 3

TAGLIST | @reignpage (i'm sorry for the ping, reign, i'm just!!! i cannot get them outta my head!!!); @sodaneko (YOUR FAULT HATE HATE HATE /pos) ; @takes1 ; @classicalelephant ; @pomigranit ; @sugacor3 ; @boktuoafterdark

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jesuistrestriste · 3 days ago

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more art x milf reader! we all say in unison 🙇‍♀️

cw (18+) : needy!art donaldson, milf!reader, jealousy, masturbation, mention of alcohol/intoxication, pillow humping, mommy kink

it was usually hard to tell if she was flirting with him or just being her usual, saccharine-sweet self. whenever he and her would converse, a generally rare and heaven-sent occasion, he’d pay careful attention to her appearance and the little details she seemed to keep consistent each time; deep mauve lipstick perfectly slicked to her pout, freshly manicured nails, low rise jeans that hugged her curves in a way that made his stomach fizzle and flood with heat.

right after the most recent match on campus, he’d been granted another opportunity to have a full, lengthy discussion with her. he was absolutely dripping with salty sweat and panting like a dog, but she didn’t seem to mind too much at the time—batting her lashes and patting the seat next to her to invite him closer. he had wiped at his damp brow when they began to talk, pulling at his collar afterwards (burning up from the inside out), and then made sure that he was smiling at all of the right times as he listened to her speak. he tried his hardest to focus on the words leaving her mouth: tennis player.. thrilling match point.. congratulations.. you’re a star. the nervous laugh that clogged his throat when he registered her praising sentiment only caused his cheeks to flare a deeper shade of pink, and his fingers reflexively squeezed the metal edge of the bleachers underneath him. she’d smiled in return and only doubled-down on her compliments then. he just had to sit there and take it, fidgeting and folding his legs into different positions to try to hide the swell of his desire. it was a mess of an interaction, and art was well-aware how embarrassing it was for him to be acting like a teenage boy in front of such a sophisticated, charming, yet down-to-earth older woman, but he sincerely could not help himself. it was impossible to stay sane in her presence.

the universe gifted him a couple more similar interactions with her in the following month, and this only worked to solidify his (wildly inappropriate) obsession. he’d go to class and think about her bubbly laughter, he’d eat in the dining hall and forget to chew when thoughts of her mouth infected his mind, and he’d even started to lose himself in her image when he was playing tennis—which, for him, was incredibly damning. tennis was usually a healthy distraction, a coping mechanism, as it rarely allowed him to get lost in irrelevant ideas. his head was almost always in the game. so, when he was in the middle of a practice singles match with another stanford player one evening and missed a shot because a flash of her thighs rendered him boneless and swallowing a whimper, he knew he had a real problem.

masturbation didn’t even help.

not in the slightest.

he jerked off in the showers regularly, fisting his aching, angry cock with urgency as he pressed his forehead into the tile wall and moaned her name into the running water. he’d buck his hips to gain friction against his palm when he orgasmed, clapping his free hand over his mouth to stifle his repetitive mewling, and then would watch as his wasted load swirled down the drain.

it was all very routine. it usually was a temporary solution to the desperate and persistent yearning he felt during every agonizing minute of every torturous day. more broadly, it was just hard to ignore the reality that he’d never been so horny in his entire life—and it was all because of her, though he could never truly blame her beauty. his perverse nature was the real culprit.

the only time that he’d successfully been able to get off and get over her for longer than an hour happened when he came back to his dorm room after a party thrown by a handful of the other members of the tennis team. he’d gotten drunk on beer and cheap shots, egregiously so, but still found himself stumbling into his room with half of an erection bulging in the front of his pants. as he kicked off his shoes and peeled off his bottoms, he recalled what one of his teammates had said about her in the middle of the function—

“she’s so fucking hot, isn’t she? i mean, shit, i’d do anything to fuck her.”

art had never considered himself a violently jealous person, but in that very moment at the party something ugly had reared its head and he’d wanted nothing more than to put his fist to the guy’s teeth until his own knuckles cracked and bled. the guy had never even talked to her before, whereas it could be argued that art and her were almost friends. if anyone deserved to squeeze her plush tits and slide their unworthy dick into her perfect pussy, it was him. he ended up having to walk away from that cesspool of locker-room talk in order to avoid starting something that would surely land him in hot water with the university.

he took off his shirt and dropped it down onto his floor to meet his other garments as he staggered deeper into his cramped living space, crawling up to lay on his twin xl. his hand was immediately in his boxers in the next moment, fondling his warm flesh as it swelled hungrily in his touch, and he groaned and shuddered as he felt his head spin wildly. art then turned to flip himself gracelessly over onto his stomach, limbs moving uncoordinatedly with each brief shift of his weight. his jaw slacked and he gasped pathetically into his sheets as he humped his curled set of digits. though, when he blinked his eyes open blearily, his wasted brain formed a filthy idea..

“ohhh, fuck me,” he whimpered, shoving a pillow from the top of his mattress between his legs, his pelvis arching back only to rut forward and smush his clothed shaft into the cushion, “i’m all yours.. please, use m’cock.. don’t take anyone else’s, i wan’ be the only one—!”

he slurred through every lewd word that left his mouth. his abdomen curled and tensed as he began to feverishly hump the softness under him, his cock throbbing with incoming drizzles of pleasure. he clawed at his bedding like he was some sort of drooling, snarling, chained-up monstrosity. felt like one too with all of the arousal paralyzing his frame. every cell in his being was on fire with the debilitating need to be nestled in her sopping cunt, hugged by her slick walls and pleasing her any way that he was able. he imagined sucking on her nipples until she pulled his hair.. her soft tongue on the seam of his sack.. her fingers at the back of his throat, fluttering and giving him something to worship as he pounded up into her. his thrusts quickened to sync with the rapid beating of his heart in his ribcage. he was so close that he almost felt sick with it all.

art's noises raised in pitch and volume with every second; everything was boiling over in record time.

“oh no—“ he drunkenly choked and moaned, teetering on the edge, “mommy, i’m gonna come inside you—i’m, i’m so—it feels s’good, i can’t hol’ it anymore—please don’t b’mad, i really like y—HAAH—“

he pushed himself up onto his palms and let out a strangled, wet cry as he suddenly felt the world close in on him. head tipped back, toes curled, muscles flexed. white flashes erupted behind his low lids, something hot gushing copiously from his tip and into his underwear.. over and over and over and over again. a final curse flew from his lips as his climax wrapped its arms around his body and flooded him with the last bits of boiling gratification—so much so that it was almost numbing. his hips moved jerkily through the lingering sensations; they snapped downward several times until the spilling of fluids ceased and was only replaced by the feeling of all-consuming oversensitivity. art quaked from his head down to his toes, squirming and hiccuping against the stimulation that only he could save himself from.

when he finally collapsed into a panting heap, the fantasy of her core wringing him dry starting to fade out, he'd sucked at his bottom lip and let out the tiniest of whines.

“mommy.. mommy, mommy, mommy..”

he whimpered it until he fell asleep.

tags : @voidsuites @asheepinfrance @fawnnpaws @artstennisracket @andyrambles @imperishablereverie @ghostgirl-22 @lexiiscorect @cha11engers @patricksbf @newrochellechallenger2019 @pittsick @blastzachilles @oncefaist

#art humping pillows.. im going back to my roots #maybe its because im rusty or maybe its just because im tired but i was struggling a bit with past/present tense throughout this #i hope its still coherent #milf!reader #more milf!reader for those who want it too wooo #also got an ask about the piece i mentioned where she takes his virginity so maybe that will be coming soon #sage’s asks #🌸 - ask prompts #🩷 - thirsts #art donaldson smut #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x you #art donaldson fic #challengers smut

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harrywavycurly · 2 days ago

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Delicate: Pretend

Masterlist: Here

CW: Language, mentions of drinking/being drunk, smut (p in v, fingering), dirty talk, brief moment of anxiousness and insecurity.

A/N: This is the last part of this mini series and I hope y’all enjoy it! This has been a fun little series to get me more comfy with writing smut and y’all have been so sweet!! Don’t worry this isn’t the last time you’ll see these two! 🌟

Word Count: 11.7K

Tag List: @masochistfork @dipmeinhoneyh @sunshinemoonsposts @sweetmoonlove0214 @maudie-duan @umadirectioner @littlemomentsofbeauty @sunflower-tia @tulips4harry @gmikaelson @fangirl509east @howling-wolf97 @outofthisworl-d @namoreno @blckburd @triski73 @prettygurl-2009 @hopefullimaginer123 @somewiseguy @emmie2308 @delanie881dlover13 @frankyrose7 @matildasatellite @run-for-the-hills @mema10 @indierockgirrl @mads3502 @robinsue87 @finelineryy @spinninc @angeldavis777 @swiftmendeshoran

Summary: Drunk confessions change things Harry handles it all wrong🌟

“So yer tellin’ me you don’t-” Niall pauses as his blue eyes glance down to Harry’s phone that’s face up on the small table they are standing at in the middle of the busy pub they’ve only been in for a little over an hour. “Uh your phone is going off.” Niall states as he points to the device currently lighting up and making the table shake with its vibrations. Harry’s brows pinch together as he looks down and sees your contact name flashing on the screen along with a photo of the two of you backstage when you surprised him at one of his first solo shows in New York.

“Oh sorry let me-”

“Does that say Muffin?” Harry sends the Irishman a glare as he picks his phone up, his thumb hovering over the bright green answer button.

“It says mind your own fucking business.” Niall just lets out a loud laugh at Harry’s harsh but still moderately playful tone, he holds his hands up in mock surrender as Harry turns to walk out towards the patio area before hitting the green answer icon and bringing the device to his ear.

“Hey-” his greeting is cut off by a woman’s voice that he faintly recognizes making him quirk a brow as he stands off to the side of the patio that’s only being occupied by a few people enjoying a smoke.

“Harry? This is Cindy we just met a-”

“I remember. What’s going on?” He tries his best not to be snippy and come across as rude but his heart is currently on the verge of beating out of his chest as a sense of worry begins to creep its way towards the front of his mind making every single horrible scenario that could possibly involve you start to play on a loop.

“Uh well we had-or more like she had a few drinks and is upset about something but-”

“But what?” He asks as he pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger as he does his best to wait patiently for Cindy to finish explaining the situation, already knowing you’re a bit tipsy while he’s not around to make sure nothing happens to you causing a pit of anxiety to form in his stomach.

“She wants to go home and uhm- well I don’t know where she lives and she can’t really tell me.” It takes Harry half a second to head back inside when Cindy drops the news on him that you’re wanting to go home but are currently not in a clear enough state of mind to tell this poor woman where home is.

“I’m on my way.” He doesn’t let her say anything else before he’s ending the call, he does however make a mental note to apologize for his less than friendly tone and bluntness when he sees Cindy later. He lets out a sigh as he begins checking the location setting in your contact information so he can see where you’re at and it doesn’t shock him one bit to see you’re exactly where he left the two of you before he called Niall for a night out.

“Everything alright with the muffin?” Niall asks as he places his near empty pint glass down as Harry approaches the table.

“She’s drunk.” Is all he says as he places his phone on the table and reaches into his back pocket for his wallet. Niall raises an eyebrow when Harry tosses down more than enough cash to cover the three beers they’ve had between them. “I have to go get her and take her home.”

“Ah bestfriend duties huh?” Harry doesn’t miss the slightly suggestive tone of Niall’s voice as he says the word bestfriend.

Like somehow Niall knows all about the filthy things the two of you have done and the mixture of emotions that have begun to rise to the surface as an unforeseen side effect of them. But he doesn’t, he can’t, because Harry didn’t have the time to get enough liquid courage pumping through his veins to tell him before Cindy called and informed him of your current situation. So he just brushes it off as Niall being his obnoxious self and rolls his eyes at him when he shoots a wink his way after Harry grabs his phone.

“Yes now tell Amelia she’s an actual saint for putting up with you and that if she still needs a rebound guy I’m available.”

“Oh fuck off like she’d want to be with you after being with me?”

“I’d show her what being with a proper gentleman is like.”

“Are you having a fucking laugh? In no way are you a proper gentleman H you-you leave people on read for months and then show up out of the blue on their doorstep and-”

“It’s called a depressive episode Niall everyone has them and I showed up at your door because it was supposed to be a surprise you twat.”

“A surprise? Harry I didn’t even think you had my new address! That’s how long it had been since we talked.”

“We share locations of course I have your new address now I’m sorry for calling you and then leaving so soon but she-she needs me and-” Niall just holds up a hand while shaking his head making Harry stop his rant halfway through.

“It’s okay I understand Harry you don’t need to apologize. You should go get her. ” Niall tells him with a smile that makes Harry feel like Niall definitely knows something is going on between the two of you he just doesn’t know to what extent. “Better run as fast as you can though.” He adds with a mischievous grin as he brings his beer up to his lips to take a sip, Harry raises an eyebrow in confusion making Niall chuckle.

“What are you on about?”

“Ya know.” Harry stares at the blue eyed man like he had six heads making Niall let out a frustrated huff. “Because you’re the damn muffin man.”

“That’s the gingerbread man you idiot.” Harry says with a snarl only making Niall lean his head back and laugh while Harry reaches over and snatches the cash from the table. “Pay for your own shitty beer.” He snaps as he shoves the cash into his front pocket before turning to walk towards the front of the pub.

“Is it okay if I tell people I know you?” Niall shouts causing Harry to raise his hand up and shoot Niall the bird on his way out the door making his best mate laugh even louder knowing he was able to get a rise out of him.

“Fucking Horan always with the jokes.” He mumbles once he’s outside and heading towards the restaurant you and Cindy are at.

It only takes Harry ten minutes and one car laying on their horn and tossing a few unsavory words at him when he crosses the street while they were making a right turn until he is standing in the doorway of the very same restaurant he left you at after hearing you tell Cindy not once, but twice how much of just a friend he is to you. He runs a hand through his hair as he prepares himself to see you, not that he doesn’t want to see you it’s just that he hasn’t had an adequate amount of time to deal with these new feelings he’s discovered he has for you to be able to be in the same room with you without potentially making it extremely weird. But it becomes clear to Harry the closer he gets to the booth you are still sitting in that you’re in no condition to notice if he’s being weird or not, his eyes scan the table in front of you that consists of three empty martini glasses and a plate that now just has some sad little crumbs instead of the mountain of fries he watched the waiter bring you over an hour ago.

“Well looks like I missed quite a party.” Harry’s tone is light and playful as he walks up to the table, Cindy looks over at him with a relieved expression on her face while you on the other hand rest your elbow on the table and tuck your chin into your palm before speaking to him.

“Yeah. You did.” You state with a slight edge as you look up at him, your eyes are glossed over and the tip of your nose matches the light shade of pink your cheeks have turned due to the drinks you’ve managed to finish in a short amount of time.

“What’s the occasion?” He asks as Cindy looks back at you and gives you a smile before she starts to slide out of the booth.

“Can’t tell you.” Harry rubs his lips together to hold off the smile as you try your hardest to sound stern and serious but you have a silly little lopsided grin on your face that makes you come across as anything but.

“I’m sorry but I have to go I have a flight home tomorrow and-”

“You’re leaving me too? No-no you can’t go you just got here.” Harry tries not to let the first few words hit him in the gut as he watches you reach out for your friend who gives you a grin and a breathy laugh.

“I know I’m sorry but next time I’m in town I’ll call you and we can meet up for dinner or something.” She offers as she reaches over and grabs your outstretched hands, giving them a nice squeeze before she lets go.

“Okay.” You say with a pout, Harry turns his attention away from you and over towards Cindy who is tossing the strap of her crossover bag over her shoulder.

“Sorry about how I was earlier I didn’t mean to come off as rude I just wasn’t expecting to be dealing with this tonight.” Cindy gives him a small smile as she places her hand on his arm.

“It’s okay I understand.” Harry feels an odd familiarity in the way she says the four simple words to him and the way her smile seems as if she’s almost hiding something. “It was lovely to meet you-have a good night.” She’s off and walking towards the door before he can think too much into it making him turn all his attention back to you, his very tipsy bestfriend that almost two hours ago he realized he was in love with.

“Hi love.” Harry reaches his hand down and places it on your shoulder, the pout still etched on your face as you look at his hand. “Ready to-”

“You just left.” It’s a mixture of your words and your sad almost watery hushed tone that makes him feel the first crack in his heart that’s already confused and working overtime due to the near anxiety attack he’s been fighting off ever since answering the phone not even fifteen minutes ago.

“I thought you’d like to spend some time with-”

“You thought wrong.” Your tone is harsh but soft as you brush his hand off your arm and slide out of the booth, Harry uses the time it takes you to stand up to flip through the events of the evening to see where he misread any of the signals or misheard anything that would’ve given him the idea that you wanted him to stay.

“Just wanna go home.” You mumble as you lean over into the booth to grab your clutch, Harry’s arm instinctively wraps around your waist when he sees you wobble just a bit once you’re standing back upright.

“Okay.” He says softly not wanting to speak any louder than you, afraid it’ll cause your lower lip that’s tucked between your teeth to start wobbling and your eyes to finally allow the tears he can tell you’re trying to will away with blinks and a deep breath start to fall.

To his surprise you let him keep his arm around you the whole walk out of the restaurant and even allow him to slide his hand to your lower back to maneuver you away from the side of the sidewalk that’s closest to the oncoming traffic. He doesn’t dare to look over at you the whole walk back to your apartment, he can feel the change in the air that’s circulating around the two of you and he isn’t ready to deal with it just yet. So instead he just uses his key and opens your front door, holding it open for you before he slowly follows behind so he can use the few minutes it takes to close and lock it to try and gather his thoughts before having to walk into your living room where he knows you’ll be sitting on the armrest of your couch trying to clumsily take your shoes off.

“Is it easy for you?” Your question catches him off guard as he takes a few steps into your kitchen where he sees you leaning against your island, your shoes are still on and your clutch looks as if you just tossed it onto the counter next to you. Harry can’t help but raise an eyebrow as he creates some space between the two of you by heading into your living room that is open to the kitchen.

“Is what easy?” He asks as he turns so he’s facing you but leaning against the back of your couch. He’s glad he’s gripping on the back of it for support as he finally looks you in your eyes, they look almost twice as big with all the tears he can see brimming the edge of your waterline that he knows will be streaming down your face within the next few blinks.

“Leaving me.” Harry feels as if all the air got knocked out of him as he hears the way you’re trying to hold back your emotions, but he watches them betray you as your bottom lip starts to tremble and the first tear rolls down your cheek. “You do it a lot and-and sometimes you make it look so easy that I just want to know if-”

“I make it look easy?” He asks dumbfounded making you just shrug as you wipe at your face trying to get rid of any evidence that your emotions might be winning at the moment. “Leaving you is never easy it’s-it’s the hardest part of my day actually and that’s just on a regular basis don’t even get me started on how bad it is when I’m leaving for months at a time.” He answers as he pushes off the couch and takes a few steps towards where you’re standing in your kitchen.

“Then why do you do it?” Harry feels another crack begin to form in his heart when your voice breaks and you look away from him and down towards your shoes that he knows you’re going to need help unbuckling in your tipsy and emotional state.

“You always leave like-like you left me for a whole week and then you stay the night and-and we do things and then you leave in the morning or after lunch and tonight you-you just got up and left me without even really saying anything just have fun and-and then you were gone.” Harry’s hands are on your face by the time you’re done letting all your thoughts tumble out of your mouth in a slightly slurred, jumbled mess.

“I’m sorry love I’m so sorry.” His thumbs brush some tears away as they gently wipe under your eyes. “I didn’t know you wanted me to stay.” He answers truthfully because you’re very good at telling him and pretty much anyone else what you want so hearing how upset you are with how things have been going recently makes him want to pull you into his chest and hold you until you fall asleep or forgive him, whichever comes first.

“You never asked.” You tell him with a sniffle that makes the corners of his mouth droop downwards. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.” Harry leans in and places a kiss to your forehead as you let out a shaky breath and close your eyes making a few tears roll down your already soaked cheeks.

“I didn’t mean to fall for you but-but I did and now I feel like I’m going insane every time you leave because I miss you so much and god you think there’s something going on with me and Zayn but-but we only kissed one time on a drunk dare years ago and-and I’m-I’m sorry for making you do this all because I got fired.” Harry takes a half step backwards so he can get a good look at you after you let out a sigh as if you feel a sense of relief having gotten all that off your chest. Your eyes open and immediately find his, your hands come up to wrap around his wrists as his hands stay holding the sides of your face.

“You don’t have to say sorry you didn’t force me into this I wanted to do it I-I like taking care of you.” He sees a ghost of a smile tugging at your lips as you give his wrists a small squeeze.

“Sometimes when we are out and you’re holding my hand I like to pretend it’s not just because I’m your muffin but because you actually want to because you’re-you’re just mine and I think about what it would be like to have that all the time.”

“To have what all the time love?”

“You being mine and not just-”

“Just Harry?”

“Exactly.” You say with a deep sigh as you use your hands around his wrists to gently pull them away from your face. “But it’s stupid because look at me-I have my shoes on still and-and no job I’m-I’m a total mess.” You grumble as you point to your feet with a huff as you step around Harry and only slightly stumble your way to your couch so you can lean against the armrest and try to lean down and unbuckle the strap of your sandals. It’s this little action that makes him very much aware how gone you are, and how you probably won’t remember much of this conversation tomorrow.

“You’ve always been a mess.” Harry lightly teases as he walks over and kneels down so he can undo the straps of your shoes for you earning him a watery laugh from you.

“I’m sorry you have to deal with me like this-even though it’s your fault be-cause you left.” You whisper as you run a hand through his hair, giggling to yourself when you accidentally cause some pieces to fall into his face.

“I’m sorry I’m the reason you got like this.” He responds trying to cover how upset he is with himself giving you a smile that your martini fogged mind won’t notice isn’t genuine.

“If you forgive me I’ll forgive you.” Harry looks down at your outstretched hand with a chuckle, you smile when he places his and in yours. “Thanks for taking me home.” You tell him as you drop his hand and wrap your arms around him for a hug that he instantly reciprocates by wrapping his arms around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest.

“I’ll get you some water and aspirin to keep your head from throbbing too bad in the morning.”

“Will you be here?” You tilt your head so you can look at him. “In the morning?”

“Do you want me to be?”

“Yes.” Harry just gives you a smile as he leans down and kisses the top of your head.

“Okay then I’ll be here.”

It doesn’t take him long to wrangle you into the comfort of your soft sheets, the only obstacle for him having to wrestle you a bit so he could take your dress off and slip one of his t shirts over your head as you whined about being too tired to care what you slept in. But Harry knows you, he knows you’ll get all huffy and puffy in the middle of the night having to deal with the way the dress feels too tight while trying to sleep and he’ll wake up next to your naked body in the morning and that’s something he really doesn’t think he has the mental bandwidth to deal with right now. So once he finally gets you to drink some water and take your aspirin he is tucking you into bed, a soft kiss to your forehead that has your eyes closing and a soft sigh leaving your lips.

“Goodnight love.” He whispers to which you just mumble something incoherent before rolling over onto your side. He runs a hand over his face as he closes your bedroom door and walks into the living room.

“Fuck.” He mumbles to himself as he takes a seat on the edge of your couch, not being able to shake the uneasy feeling he gets at the thought of going in there and sleeping in the same bed he had you moaning and crying out his name in just this morning. Because now he knows things haven’t just changed for him but for you as well, the only difference is that you won’t remember talking about it while Harry is left carrying this new information around like an extra weight strapped to his heart.

So he gives himself some time to sit and process everything for a while before he eventually kicks off his jeans and slides into bed with you silently clinging to the idea that maybe, just maybe tomorrow morning the martinis won’t have washed away your memories of the previous evening and you’ll remember the confessions you said between little sniffles while tears rolled down your cheeks. But as he gets comfortable and you let out a tiny whimper before your hands find him in the dark to pull him closer to your side of the bed, Harry begins to understand he’s not that lucky and you most likely have already forgotten everything you said to him.

Harry swears there’s a whole layer of hell dedicated to the exact form of torture he’s enduring right now as you snuggle into his side and nuzzle your nose into the crook of his neck while your hand that was resting on his chest just a few moments ago begins to slowly slide down to a very obvious destination. He’s never denied you before, not even a few weeks ago when he was half asleep on the couch and all you wanted was to have his cock in your mouth or when you were a few drinks in and were a needy mess for him after joining him at a gallery opening just begging for him to put his mouth on you, he always gives in and ends up giving you whatever you want.

And for a moment he thinks maybe he should just let you have your way, since that is his role in a very specific part of your life, to take care of you in anyway you need him to but the larger part of him, your bestfriend quickly shoves that line of thinking out the window the moment he feels your hand dip under the waistband of his boxers. Because knowing what he knows makes him feel a pang of guilt at the idea of allowing himself to feel the pleasure of your touch, even if at this very moment nothing would make him happier than to let you use him to find your own pleasure. He can’t risk this coming back and biting him in the ass because with the way his luck seems to be running out he knows it’s bound to happen eventually and he refuses to let his friendship with you be in jeopardy just because he couldn’t practice a bit of self control.

“Good morning love.” His voice is thick as he cracks his eyes open and gently wraps his large hand around your delicate wrist before your soft fingers can grab a hold of his hardening length. “How you feeling?” He asks as he drags your hand back up his chest placing it over his heart, placing his overtop and running his thumb over your knuckles.

“I feel okay.” You mumble against the sensitive skin of his neck, your lips brushing against the spot below his ear has a shiver running down his spine and straight to his cock making him close his eyes. “Just a little headache but-”

“I’ll make some coffee.” He’s sliding out of bed before you can even blink and register what’s happening. “Caffeine helps with headaches.” He adds without so much as glancing over at you to see your confused face as you sit up and watch him all but run out your bedroom door.

“Harry.” Your voice is a little rough due to the tears you shed the night before as it calls out for him from the bedroom just as he is pouring water into your coffee pot. He lets out a sigh as he runs both hands through his hair giving it a firm tug at the roots to try to help him ground himself and remind himself that his friendship with you in the end is worth more than getting laid.

“Yes love?” He asks with a warm smile as he leans against the doorway of your bedroom. You raise an eyebrow as you place your hands in your lap and tilt your head to the side as if you’re trying to decide if something is off with him or not and Harry hopes your slightly blurry vision from sleeping in your mascara will help conceal his fidgeting hands and the way his smile doesn’t quite match the gentle tone of his voice.

“How-what happened last night?” There it is, the question he knew was coming and the justification he needed to feel a little better about his abrupt departure from the comfort of your bed.

“You had a few drinks with Cindy and-”

“Oh god the martinis.”

“They get you every time I don’t know why you still order them.”

“Because they taste good and I like the cute little olives on a stick.” Harry lets out a chuckle and shakes his head at your reasoning for still preferring a martini when you go out for drinks. “Did she take me home or-”

“I brought you home.” He answers making you slowly nod your head as your eyes dart around the room as if you’re looking for clues to help you piece together what took place last night.

“On a scale of one to ten how embarrassing was I? Did I try to sing Madonna on the patio again?” You ask with a hint of almost fear in your voice that makes Harry give you a reassuring smile as he shake his head no.

“You were fine just a bit emotional that’s all-no Madonna or Cher on the patio.”

“I do enjoy a good cry when I’m drunk that’s for sure.”

“I’m going to go finish making some coffee.” He tells you as you fall back onto your soft sheets with a dramatic huff.

“Harry?” He pauses mid-step and turns to look at you over his shoulder with a quirked brow as you lift your head up so he can see you properly. “Thank you.” Your voice sounding so genuine is what makes Harry have to turn and walk back into the kitchen after muttering a soft barely audible you’re welcome, feeling the guilt of not telling you everything that happened last night begin to settle in the pit of his stomach.

“Fuck fuck fuck.” He mumbles quietly to himself as he stands in front of your coffee maker, gripping the edge of your counter as it finally starts to percolate and the dark brown liquid begins to gather in the pot.

“This is fine. It’s going to be fine.” He repeats the phrase it over and over again in a hushed whisper as he closes his eyes and readies himself to spend a good chunk of the day with you, all while trying to not give into your advances or spill the beans on everything you told him last night, two things that at the moment he doesn’t really know if he’s actually capable of doing but he is going to try his best.

Harry wouldn’t say he’s avoiding you, he would say he’s simply busy or has made himself busier than normal by accepting last minute meetings and being more hands on with a few projects for an upcoming launch and if that just so happens to help him not be stuck in awkward situations with you then that is just a happy coincidence. He’s managed to keep himself busy for the last three days since the morning after you drunkenly told him how you feel about him and if he’s being honest with himself he misses you, it’s not like he’s ghosted you or anything he still texts and sends random voice notes throughout the day he just hasn’t been in the same room as you, hasn’t smelt your perfume or felt your hand brush his skin when you push his hair up and out of his face and well, he misses it. But as his luck would have it, three days is about all the time he’s going to get before being in the same room as you again because as he steps out of the kitchen and into his living room with a fresh mug of tea in his hand he hears a very familiar sound of his front door being unlocked.

“Why does he keep it so cold in here?” His brain actually stops working for a moment as your soft voice floats from the entryway by his front door and into the dimly lit living room. He looks around frantically as he places his mug on the coffee table, trying to find a place to hide as if you’re some crazed person who just broke into his house and he’s not trying to be the first kill of a horror movie.

“Fuck.” He groans as he stubs his toe on the edge of the bookshelves that line the wall behind his couch, it’s in that moment that he realizes how dumb this is because the moment you see the mug on the table you’re going to know he’s home and it’s not like he gives everyone keys to his house or his gate code but before he can try to move and greet you he hears your footsteps getting closer.

“Why is it so-oh my god!” Your hand flies up to your chest over your heart as soon as you walk into the living room and see Harry in the middle of ducking behind his couch, hands gripping the back of it with his eyes wide as if he was expecting someone else besides you.

“Harry what the hell are you doing? You scared the shit out of me.” He slowly stands up and brushes his hands down the front of his t shirt as if he’s trying to get rid of invisible dust.

“I was uhm-uh-uh I live here.” He fumbles with his words making the sentence come out more like a question rather than a statement.

“I’m aware of that I meant what are you doing behind the couch?”

“Oh I dropped some-wait why are you here?” He quirks a brow as you adjust your bag on your shoulder, his eyes do a quick once over of your outfit and his eyes soften when he recognizes it as the one he helped you pick. “Your interview was today?” The small nod you give him tells him it didn’t go well and he feels his heart drop when you sniffle and look away from him and up towards his ceiling.

“I’m apparently overqualified so-”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means they didn’t want to pay me what I’m worth but also didn’t feel comfortable paying me the amount they are willing to offer.”

“That’s stupid.” He states harshly making you let out a watery chuckle and give him a shrug as you look at the ground. Harry puts his hands in his pockets and rubs his lips together as he tries to think of something to say to make you feel better when all he wants to do is pull you into his arm and kiss the frown off your face.

“I uhm wanted to use your fancy shower with all the-the jet things that massage your back.” You tell him shyly as if you haven’t ever come over with or without him being home to use his fancy contraptions like his shower, jacuzzi tub or steam sauna. “I forgot to check your location to see if you were home. I’m sorry.” Harry just lets out a laugh as he walks over to his coffee table to grab his tea.

“You don’t have to apologize love it’s fine go ahead I was about to go read for a bit but I can do that in the study if you’d like some-”

“You can read wherever you want Harry it’s your house.” You inform him with a playful hilt to your voice making him just lift one shoulder in a shrug.

“I know I just didn’t want to bother you that’s all.” You tilt your head as you adjust your bag that he knows has an extra set of more comfortable clothes in it as well as a pair of cozy socks so your feet don’t get cold on his hardwood floor, something you always complain about every time you stay over and the main reason he has a whole drawer dedicated to fuzzy socks just for you.

“You never bother me Harry.” Your voice is reassuring and makes him smile and feel his cheeks get warm as you take as few steps towards the hallway his bedroom is at the end of. “Do you still have that towel warmer you can’t figure out how to use?”

“Yes.” He answers with a chuckle making you smile as you head off down the hallway.

“Perfect.” Is all he hears you say before you’re out of his sight. He runs a hand through his hair as he takes a moment to let his current situation hit him, you’re in his house about to go use his bathroom because you want a relaxing shower after a job interview that ended poorly.

“This is fine.” He mumbles as he brings his tea up to his lips hoping the warm liquid will help calm him down a bit as he turns and slowly makes his way down the hallway to his bedroom. When he walks into the room he smiles when he sees your bag on the end of his bed that you tend to sleep on, a sight he hasn’t seen in a few days that he’s missed and oddly enough it has him wondering if he’s gone about this whole thing totally wrong.

“We both have feelings for each other so what’s the real harm in enjoying each other’s company?” He thinks to himself as he places his tea on his nightstand. He turns towards the door that leads into his bathroom when hears you humming to yourself as you set up your things, and when you emerge in nothing but a fluffy robe he finds it hard not to take notice of how adorable you look wrapped up in the soft fabric of the light pink robe that lets him see a decent amount of your legs since it stops around the middle of your thigh.

“Damn she looks good.” His mind takes a dangerous turn as he blatantly stares at you, but he can tell by the faint smile on your lips that you don’t mind, not really.

“Stop staring at me you weirdo.”

“I’ll stop staring when you stop being pretty but I don’t see that happening anytime soon.”

“Oh god Harry that was bad.” You tease as you dig through your bag for something, Harry takes this time to walk around the bed so he’s standing next to you.

“That was good and you know it.” He argues as his hands grip your waist to turn you so you’re facing him, you roll your eyes and let out a huff making Harry laugh at your little dramatics. “Come on love just admit it-it was good.”

“I’ll do no such thing because it was horrible.”

“That just means I’ll have to try harder then.” You bite your lip to hide your smile as a blush creeps its way across your cheeks. “What is it you’re digging around for in that black hole you call a bag?” He asks as his hands slide down to your hips.

“My socks. I can’t find-”

“I have some.” He says with a smile as you raise an eyebrow at him. “And yes they are fuzzy and soft just like you like.”

“What would I do without you?” Your tone is playful but Harry swears he hears just the faintest edge to it letting him know you’re actually being genuine.

“Well hopefully you’ll never have to find out but I’m sure it would involve you walking around with cold feet.” His voice is smooth and gentle as he brings a hand up to cup the side of your face.

“I’ve missed you.” You whisper as his thumb runs across your cheekbone, your hands are on his chest feeling the softness of his t shirt. When you look up and lock eyes with him you watch the usual light jade green turn into a dark emerald shade as he licks his lips.

“I’ve missed you too.” His voice is low as he leans in and presses his lips against yours in a kiss that has your eyes closing and your arms wrapping around his neck.

The kiss starts off slow but as Harry feels you pull him closer to deepen it, the kiss turns hungry. You swipe your tongue over his bottom lip before slipping it into his mouth as his hand slides from the side of your face into your hair. He manages to maneuver the two of you so the back of your knees hit the edge of his bed without breaking the kiss. His lips move against yours as he gently lowers you to the bed, standing between your legs as your back hits the soft comforter.

“You okay?” He asks as he pulls away, his hands on either side of your head as he hovers over you.

“Yes.” You say with a nod making Harry smile as he leans down and places a kiss to your forehead then your cheeks and the tip of your nose making you giggle as his lips find their way to your jaw. “You know I did come over to take advantage of your shower.” You remind Harry as he kisses his way down your jaw to the side of your neck.

“Mind some company?” He asks between little nips to the side of your neck, he smiles against your sensitive skin when he hears you let out a small gasp when he nips at the spot just below your ear.

“Not at all.” You answer with a sigh as Harry’s lips travel down your neck, moving your robe just enough so he can place kisses to your collar bone while your hands slide down his chest and dip under the hem of his t shirt feeling the way his muscles tense under your touch.

“Let me go get it started then. Know how all the knobs confuse you.” He teases making you run your finger up his side slowly a place you know he’s always been ticklish, causing him to flinch away as a deep chuckle bubbles up from his chest.

“Don’t be rude Harry.”

“Sorry love.” He gives you a sly smile when he lifts his head, his eyes catch yours before he places a quick kiss to your lips. “How hot do you want it? Burn your flesh or a normal temperate most humans can tolerate?” He asks as he stands up, his hands on the tops of your thighs as you sit up onto your elbows.

“Most humans can tolerate how hot I like to shower you just-”

“Baby your version of a hot shower is equivalent to what I’m guessing the inside of a volcano feels like.” He watches your face as the petname falls from his lips, he sees the smile that takes over and the way your cheeks turn the tiniest bit pink.

“You don’t have to join me if you can’t handle it.” Your tone is nothing but teasing making Harry give you a knowing look before he’s leaning in and attaching his lips to yours in a kiss that leaves you wanting nothing more than to pull him down onto the mattress with you and say to hell with the shower when he pulls away.

“Oh I can handle it don’t you worry.” And with that he’s giving your thighs a little squeeze before turning and heading into the bathroom.

Harry stares at you in awe as he watches the warm water cascade down your body, steam filling the shower and surrounding the two of you in an intimate kind of warmth. His are eyes filled with lust and deep affection as you run your hands through your damp hair after rinsing out your fruity smelling conditioner, you tilt your head and glance at him over your shoulder. It’s when he watches you bite your bottom lip that he decides he’s done being polite and keeping his hands to himself while you enjoy his shower. It takes him three steps until he’s on you, hands softly tracing your curves, savoring every soft inch of you as if he’s trying to memorize every dip and delicate curve just incase it’s the last time he’ll get to experience it.

His hands gently grip your hips and turn you so your back is pressed against the tile wall of his shower as he captures your lips in a heated kiss, your arms wrap around his neck as he slides his tongue against yours deepening the kiss. You pull him closer when you feel a hand slip between your thighs, he swallows down your moan when the tip of his index finger runs up and down your slick folds, teasing you.

“Need to feel you.” He mumbles against your lips when he pulls away from the kiss just to let you catch your breath, your head rests against the wall as he pushes his finger into your wet center pumping in and out a few times before adding his middle finger earning him a moan as you grind down onto his hand.

“Oh god.” Your voice is soft and breathy as he pumps his fingers into your wetness at an agonizingly slow pace that has your hands gripping the tops of Harry’s shoulders. “H-Harry I need more please.” He leans in and places kisses to the side of your neck as his thumb begins rubbing light circles over your clit.

“You’ll get what you need I just want to take my time with you.” He says as he kisses down your neck to the top of your shoulder. “Haven’t gotten to fuck this sweet pussy in days baby I wanna feel you make a mess on my fingers before I stuff you full of my cock.” He tells you as his fingers curl inside of you, pumping into you at a quicker but still slow and deliberate pace that has you feeling pressure slowly build in your lower tummy.

“Missed your fingers so-oh yes yes right there.” Harry smirks against your wet soft skin as he adds a third finger, he feels you begin to clench around him as he makes his thrusts more determined and adds more pressure to your clit.

“Yeah? Missed my fingers being deep inside you? Oh that’s the spot isn’t it baby? God you feel so good-can feel your tight little pussy squeezing them.” He lets out a groan as you arch your back and grind down onto his hand as your eyes snap shut. “Let go for me baby-I’ve got you.” He whispers in your ear as he pumps his fingers into you at a pace that has you letting out a soft cry of his name as a wave of pleasure washes over you.

“Harry-oh oh god.” His skilled fingers pump into you at a steady pace as he feels your release drip onto his hand down to his wrist, trying to drag out your pleasure as long as he can making your chest rise and fall rapidly as you try to catch your breath. He kisses your forehead when you let out a tiny whine as he slides his fingers out of your soaked cunt.

“God you’re so pretty when you come undone for me.” He tells you voice thick with need before his lips are on yours in a passionate kiss that has your hands tangling into his damp hair trying to pull him closer as his hand slides to the back of your thigh lifting your leg up, his tongue licks into your mouth as he nudges the tip of his painfully hard cock at your entrance. He pulls away from your kiss swollen lips and watches your face as he slowly pushes his tip into your warm wet center, he feels you give his hair a tug when he pulls out just to teasingly push back in.

“You’re being mean.” You whine as he pushes into you so half his cock is snug inside your tight hole just to slide back out slowly so just the tip is inside you. His hand gives your thigh a squeeze as his lips find that spot below your ear that makes you let out a breathy moan.

“M’not being mean baby I’m just giving you what you want.” His sweet and soft voice is wrapped in a teasing tone as he whispers in your ear, he slowly sinks his thick cock inside you letting you feel every inch of him till you’re gripping onto his arms at how overwhelming it is to feel him fill you up like this. He stills for a moment letting you adjust to him and wanting to savor the feeling of you being wrapped tightly around him. “I missed how good it feels to stuff my thick cock inside your tight pussy it’s always so snug and-god it feels amazing.” He says with a moan, his mouth nipping at your jaw lightly.

“So good-feels so good.” You moan as he begins to move his hips making sure you feel how deep he is with each slow deliberate thrust.

“You like being full of me don’t you baby? Like it when I hit that spot-right there.” He watches with lust filled eyes as he gives you a deep thrust making the tip of his cock hit the spot inside you that has your eyes closing and his name falling out of your mouth. “That’s it just let me take care of you-so pretty baby.” His lips find yours as your hands grab at his back pulling him closer, his tongue swipes across your bottom lip before he slides it past your lips deepening the kiss as he increases the pace of his thrusts just enough to have you moaning into his mouth.

“Your pretty cunt is takin me so well-doing so good for me.” He says with a moan when he pulls away from your lips, his hand glides down between your wet bodies until his thumb finds your clit. “Talk to me sweetheart tell me how you feel.” He demands gently, needing to hear your voice telling him how good he’s making you feel.

“Oh god it feels so good Harry-so big oh shit and-deep I love it.” He lets out a deep groan when he feels you clench around him, he leans back just enough so he can look down and watch his thick shaft disappear into your cunt as he pulls out to just the tip and then slowly pushes back in making you claw at his back. “Faster Harry please-oh god.” You beg as he takes his time fucking you nice and slow with deep thrusts of his hips that has you needing more as your hips jerk up to meet his pace.

“Greedy little thing.” He teases as he increases his pace just slightly. “Wanted to take my time fucking this perfect little pussy- be gentle and sweet to you but you just always need it a bit rough and hard don’t you baby?” You just let out a cry of his name as he gives you a particularly harsh thrust and his thumb presses tight circles on your clit. “Always begging for more even when I’m stuffing you with my big cock that you love so much-god you feel so fucking good wrapped around me I swear it’s like heaven being buried inside your tight little cunt.” His words have you pulsing around him as his thrusts turn quicker and more determined as he grabs your legs and hikes it over his hip letting his cock reach even deeper with the new angle.

“Oh fuck Harry-don’t stop oh god please don’t stop.” You pant as he leans his head into the crook of your neck and nips at the sensitive skin below your ear.

“Not gonna stop baby just let go for me-let me see that pretty face you make when you’re coming all over my cock-need to feel you make a mess all over me.” He licks and sucks his way down your neck only lifting his head when he feels you clenching around his thick length and a string of incoherent words mixed with his name rumble out of your mouth as you reach your blissful release.

“Want you to come Harry-fill me up please Harry- please.” He groans as he pumps his cock in and out of your tight hole as you ride out the waves of pleasure from your intense orgasm.

“Fuck baby-always so polite when you’re begging for my come to be pumped deep inside your pussy.” Your nails dig into his shoulders as his thrusts turn harder and more precise, he feels his muscles in his stomach tighten and with a choked moan he’s spilling into you, coating your wet walls with his warm load. “Filling you up just the way you like-gonna have me dripping out of your tight little hole all night.” He pants as he slowly fucks himself through his release making you a withering mess in his hold as he moves his thumb from your clit so he can grab ahold of your hip helping you stay upright against the wall.

Your hands cup his face when he places a soft kiss to your lips, his hand sliding down your thigh as he gives you one last thrust before slowly pulling out. His mouth moves against yours as you deepen the kiss, sliding your tongue past his lips while his hand gives your hip a soft squeeze before sliding down between your legs. Harry kisses you through the shiver that runs through your body when his index and middle finger tease your soaked entrance before slowly slipping inside of you, he feels you tremble in his hold as his tongue slides against yours while he pumps his fingers into you slowly.

You lean your head back against the tile as Harry’s lips travel down your jaw to your neck, your chest rising and falling rapidly as his fingers work his come back into you with each slow pump. Your hands fall to his shoulders as you try to catch your breath.

“You okay sweetheart?” He asks as he slides his fingers out of you and lowers your leg so your foot is back on the floor of the shower. “Did so good you always do so good for me.” His sweet words have a lazy smile working its way onto your face as he moves his lips lower down your chest, he moves to his knees as his hands gently work your legs apart. “Just need a little taste baby.” He mumbles against the warm skin of your inner thigh before the flat of his tongue is licking up the front of your soaked center.

“Harry.” Your voice is strained as you grip his shoulders to help keep you balanced as his tongue slides through your wet folds making him moan against you as the taste of his arousal mixed with yours hits his tongue.

“Sorry baby-just needed a taste it’s okay I’ve got you.” He says softly as he rises back to his feet, his hands cup your face as he looks into your eyes. “You’re so beautiful.” He smiles when your cheeks get a deep flush to them. “And amazing.” He says before kissing your cheek. “And wonderful.” His lips move over to your other cheek. “And perfect.” He finishes with a kiss to your forehead making you let out a soft giggle as your arms wrap around his neck.

“Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me I’m just stating facts.” You smile and lean into his touch as he stares at you with a look that makes the whole moment feel extremely intimate. “You know there’s no rush on finding a job right? I’m happy to take care of you for as long as you want and those guys are absolute idiots for not hiring you.”

“I know.” You answer with a smile as his thumbs gently run up and down your cheek bones.

“Good.” He leans in and kisses the tip of your nose because he turns to look at the water falling from the shower head in the ceiling just a little ways away from them. “Now since we are already in the shower I hope this means you won’t be a pouty little mess while I clean you up.”

“As long as I don’t have to move from this spot I’m fine.”

“Of course Princess just stand right there and I’ll take care of the rest.” He shoots you a playful wink as he steps away from you so he can grab a washcloth. “As usual.” He adds with a smirk making you roll your eyes but your smile never leaves your face because it never gets old how Harry can go from being so filthy with you to being so sweet and silly, it’s something that shows how well he knows you and how he is always able to be exactly what you need him to be. As you watch him take his time as he gently runs the cloth over your skin his eyes glance up to meet yours and the look he gives you makes your heart race because it’s one you’ve never seen before, it makes you wonder if in this moment the two of you are beginning to cross that invisible line between bestfriends and something else, but then he blinks a few times and looks away making your heart sink low into your chest.

Harry officially can say he is avoiding you, it’s been a handful of days since you spent the night at his house after your job interview. He knows something shifted during his shower with you, it makes his insides all twisted up because he begins to think about how it’s the feelings you haven’t shared with him at least while sober and his own feelings for you that turned what he intended to just be a regular interaction with you into something more passionate and meaningful. But he’s worried, scared that maybe the shift he felt was just one sided and instead of risking talking about it and potentially losing you he does something so incredibly unlike himself, he starts to ignore you. He stops answering your texts or calls and he knows it’s wrong, he knows he is being the worst version of himself but he just can’t bring himself to talk to you because he knows everything he’s been feeling lately will come spewing out and he’s just not ready to talk about it, at least not yet.

He looks down at his phone to see the time as he stands off to the side of the bar at a crowded party he rsvp’d to months ago, having also checked the box for a plus one figuring that you’d accompany him but seeing as he hasn’t been the best friend let alone sugar daddy to you recently he didn’t bother reaching out to check if you still wanted to come. He lets out a sigh when he sees the party hasn’t even been going on for an hour, meaning he still needs to stay and make it look like he cared enough to at least the hour and a half mark. As he slides his phone into the pocket of his black dress pants he hears a very familiar voice that has his breath hitching and his heart thumping wildly against his ribcage.

“I told you they’d let you in.” He can tell you’re smiling just by the way your voice sounds and it has Harry lifting his head and craning his neck to try to find you and when he does he feels his heart drop because you’re not alone.

“Well of course they let me in it doesn’t change the fact I still wasn’t invited.” Zayn says with a huff as Harry watches your hand slip into his so you can lead him through the crowd. “What’s this party even for anyway? Bit posh for-”

“I think it’s to save some sort of animal or something to do with animals.” You explain as you stop at the bar, the same bar that Harry is currently standing next to. His eyes land on Zayn, hating how good he looks in his well fitted suit and hair styled perfectly with that one strand falling down over his forehead, he must be able to feel Harry’s presence as he looks over to his left and catches Harry’s hard glare.

“Uh babe Har-” Zayn looks away from Harry and taps your shoulder a few times as he tries to tell you who he sees but you cut him off.

“What do you want to drink? They have sparkling water or-”

“I don’t need anythin’ but for you to look over there and-”

“Look over where-oh.” Harry’s heart skips a beat when your eyes find his, your mouth falls open and your cheeks turn pink and for a moment he thinks it’s because you’re embarrassed but when you brush Zayn’s hand off your arm as you take a step in Harry’s direction he quickly realizes the flush to your cheeks and neck isn’t from embarrassment it’s from anger.

“I uh didn’t think-”

“That seems to be something you’ve doing a lot lately. The whole not thinking thing.” Your voice is harsh as you cut his sentence short and stand right in front of him with a dark look in your eyes he hasn’t seen in years. “Now you better find us somewhere to talk or I’ll let this whole party know what kind of asshole they invited.” He just nods as he turns on his heels and walks towards a hallway he saw a few doors on. You cross your arms over your chest as you stand at the end of it and watch him check each room until he finds one that seems suitable for the conversation the two of you are about to have.

“A closet? Really?”

“The other options were the kitchen or a bathroom and I figured the bathroom would cause more interruptions.”

“Whatever.” You snap as Harry holds the door open for you so you can enter the rather large hall closet that has a shelf with boardgames on it and a few random jackets hanging towards the back.

“Uhm you look lovely I like that dress a lot.” Harry’s voice gives away his nerves as he closes the door behind him, effectively closing the two of you in the space that suddenly seems too small to hold all the unspoken words that are hanging between the two of you.

“Thanks. You bought it.” Your words make Harry fight off the urge to smile, enjoying the fact that even though he’s been a shitty friend you’re still at least using his cards to buy yourself nice things. “Now I just need you to stand there while I get some things off my chest okay? Don’t interrupt or give me any silly looks with your annoying face just-”

“Do-do you want me to face the door then? Because I can’t change how my face looks.”

“Actually that would be great.” He raises an eyebrow at you as if you can’t seriously expect him to face the door but when you place a hand on your hip and narrow your eyes at him he realizes you’re serous.

“Uh okay.” He mumbles as he turns around so his back is facing you and his eyes are glued to the back of the door that has a random assortment of scarves and ties hanging from hooks that are attached to it. He hears you let out a deep breath and he can practically see your hands clasping together in front of you so you can mess with the ring on your index finger, something he knows you do when you’re extra anxious about something and it makes him feel another crack form in his heart knowing that he’s the one making you feel nervous and anxious.

“I know something changed between us the day I showed up at your house.” Your voice is only slightly shaky, something no one else besides him and maybe the man you came to this party with would be able to pick up on. “And I know you felt it because you haven’t talked to me sense and-and god Harry how could you just not talk to me for four whole days as if-as if I’m just some random person and not your bestfriend? How are we supposed to fix this if you don’t talk to me? Or-or is this your way of saying you don’t want to fix it and you rather just be done with me as a friend and as-”

“That’s not it at-”

“I’m not finished.” You cut him off harshly making him swallow thickly as he hears the emotion in your voice. “If you needed time then you could’ve told me you know you could’ve told me and I would’ve understood. But this? This I don’t get because this isn’t you. You don’t ignore the people you care about especially after-” He hears you sniffle and it takes everything in him not to turn around but he knows that’ll just upset you even more. “After you make them feel like the most important person on the planet. You don’t do that Harry. You don’t get to ignore me after making me feel like that it’s-it’s wrong and rude and- and just mean.” Your voice is thick with emotion as you sniffle and let out a frustrated sigh as Harry hears what he knows is the sound of your hands falling to your sides in what he can only assume is defeat as you pour out all your frustrations and feelings about how he’s treated you over the last four days.

“You-you can turn around now.” You tell him and for a moment he hesitates, afraid of what heartbroken version of you he’ll see once he turns and faces you.

“I’m sorry.” He lets the words slip out of his mouth as he turns around and is face to face with you, the girl he’s in love with but somehow managed to break before he even had the chance to tell you how he felt. Your eyes are watery and your bitting down on your bottom lip to try to hide the fact it’s trembling but he sees it, of course he sees it he’s your bestfriend and knows all the little things you do when you’re upset.

“Is that it? Or-”

“You’re right something did change that day but something also changed before that or at least for me it did.” He shoves his hands into his pockets as he looks down at his feet. “I realized when I heard you tell Cindy that I was just Harry your fiend that-that I don’t want to be just your friend or your-sugar daddy I want to be something more because I-I’m in love with you.” He hears you let out a small gasp but he doesn’t dare look up he just swallows the lump in his throat and keeps going. “And it just so happens that’s the same night you drunkenly told me you fell for me too and-and fuck I wish you wouldn’t have told me that because I knew you weren’t going to remember and I just had to carry this secret around and I felt so guilty every time you’d try-try to touch me because I knew how you felt and I didn’t want to take advantage of that or have you feel like I was taking advantage of that-but then you came over and didn’t get the job.” He lets out a sigh as he runs a hand through his hair while lifting his head up so he can finally look at you.

“And everything changed.” He takes a small step towards you, not wanting to make you feel overwhelmed. “It felt different like we were just two lovers making up for lost time and-and it scared me because I don’t want to lose you. I can’t lose you and yet I did the dumbest thing possible and just ignored you and I’m so sorry. I am so so sorry.” He feels his eyes burn with unshed tears and when you reach your hands out as you close the gap between the two of you he feels as if his heart begin to race.

“It felt different because it was different.” You tell him as you cup the sides of his face with your hands, he feels a few tears roll down his cheeks as you look up at him with rounded eyes. “That was the first time we were together as two people who know they love the other one in a way that’s not exactly friendly.” Your thumbs wipe away the tears from his face as he sniffles and tries to get control of his emotions.

“I do you know? Love you. I love you so much.” He watches a smile take over your face as you pull him down towards you so you can brush your lips against his, his arms wrap around your waist tightly as if he doesn’t want to risk you being able to get away from him.

“I love you too Harry.” You say once you pull away from him, he feels as if his heart is going to burst and the grin that takes over his face is going to be there permanently as you tell him the words he’s been longing to hear from you without the influence of a few dirty martinis.

“Do you forgive me? For being a dumb asshole?”

“Yes I forgive you.” You smile as he presses his lips to your cheeks as your arms loosely wrap around his neck. “What do we do now? How is this going to work with our current situation?”

“Oh that’s simple baby.” He pulls back so he can look you in your eyes. “You just let me keep taking care of you.” He answers making you let out a chuckle as he leans down to nuzzle his face in the crook of your neck.

“Yeah? Just let you take care of me forever huh? Never work again or anything just have you pay my way through life?” You tease but Harry just mumbles a quiet yes as he kisses at the soft skin of your neck. “Are you still my sugar-”

“I’m your boyfriend.” He answers cutting off the rest of the question he already knew was coming as he pulls away from your neck. “Who just so happens to be crazy rich and willing to pay for anything and everything you want or need to be happy.” You laugh and roll your eyes as he gives your hips a playful squeeze.

“You’re horrible.”

“Yeah but you love me for it.” You look up at him and give him a smile as you nod your head.

“Yeah. I do.” Harry smiles as he leans down and places a kiss to your lips that feels a lot like a first kiss, because this one is full of love leaving the both of you breathless when he pulls away.

“I love you.”

“I love you too Harry.” He places a kiss to your forehead making you smile. “Now come on I need a drink and we still have twenty minutes until we can leave.”

“Already counting down the minutes till you can get me home huh?”

“Yes.” Is all you say as you wiggle out of his hold and grab the doorknob. “Oh and you also bought me these shoes.” You tell him as you slide your foot out from under your full length gown.

“Is it wrong that I get turned on knowing you spent my money while mad at me?”

“You’re such a freak.” Harry just shrugs as you laugh and open the door of the closet allowing the two of you to go back to the party.

“Nineteen minutes.” He mumbles into your ear as he stands behind you at the bar. You laugh as you lean into him as his hands find your hips giving them soft squeezes and it feels so natural, being like this with him that you can’t help but silently thank whatever lucky stars took you to that sketchy website all those weeks ago. Because if you wouldn’t have filled out that little profile you wouldn’t be here, standing at the bar at a party with your bestfriend that also now just so happens to be your boyfriend.

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solefi · 1 day ago

Text

God Between My Legs

𓂃𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐢 𝐚𝐦 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠,

| 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐢 𝐚𝐦 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧

〻(muse.) sim jaeyun

〻(wc.) 11.4k

〻(genre.) smut. dark-ish romance.

〻(notes.) this was inspired by the song 'a little death' by the neighbourhood. i tried writing in third person for the first time in a while as a way to challenge myself, so... sorry if it sounds weird :p

〻(cont.) fem! reader. description of female anatomy. use of Y/N. kissing (a lot). unprotected sex. pulling out. switch! jake. fingering. cunnilingus. multiple positions. overstimulation. licking(?). mentions of cum. cum eating (male). dirty talk (like, a lot of it). spreading my jake oral fixation agenda. mirror sex (kinda? but not really). use of petnames (baby, sweetheart). reader is described as being smaller than jake and having hair long enough to grab in a ponytail. porn with a little plot?

Exhausted and on the run, a runaway girl and the boy who holds her like she’s the only thing worth living for find sanctuary in each other.

The road stretched endlessly and in complete darkness, only broken by the occasional flickering lamppost, the passing of headlights, or the red neon glow of a motel sign. The only sound was the low hum of the car engine and the muted hum of raindrops against the car windows.

Jake’s hands were steady on the wheel, knuckles pale under the dim dashboard light. He hadn’t said a word since they left. His jaw was tight, and his shoulders looked stiff. Every so often, he would turn his head to look at her, but then quickly look back. This time, though, he looked for longer.

She sat curled into the passenger seat, legs tucked beneath her, sleeves covering her hands. Her eyes were distant, and her voice had gone hoarse hours ago due to all the screaming, but at least she wasn’t crying anymore.

She heard him exhale heavily and stopped feeling his eyes on her.

A black duffel bag sat in the back seat, its contents being everything important they owned: clothes, IDs, cash, medication, basic toiletries, a burner phone, a couple of Jake’s blood bags (carefully hidden inside an unassuming pouch), and his watch, which he refused to wear anymore—too recognizable, he said. Too risky.

His hand twitched on the gearshift, then reached toward her—slowly, like he wasn’t sure if she’d pull away.

She didn’t.

Their fingers met, barely. But she clutched his hand like it was the last solid thing in the world.

“I've got you. Always,” Jake said finally, voice low, rasped from hours of silence. His accent melted the edges of the words.

Y/N answered by tightening her grip, eyes still focused out the window.

He glanced at her, then added, “I’ll kill anyone that comes near you again,” his voice no louder than a murmur. “Anyone.”

A beat of silence passed. She turned towards him.

“I’d help you bury them,” she said quietly with a shaky voice.

Jake let out a short breath—half a laugh, half a sigh. He pressed her knuckles against his lips, “That’s my girl.”

The silence returned, but it was different now. Not empty—just waiting. Expectant.

A bright light from a crumbling motel illuminated their faces. It’d been the first in over two hours to show that relieving word in green light, blooming like a beacon that promised some rest for both of them.

With a swift flick of his wrist against the steering wheel, Jake pulled into the lot. Gravel crunched beneath the tires. The building looked like it had seen better days—fluorescent lighting leaking through grimy windows, paint peeling, and a Coke machine that looked forgotten by time.

Jake turned the engine off.

For a moment, they just sat there.

“Wanna stay in the car?” he asked gently, not looking at her.

Y/N blinked. “I…I don’t wanna be alone.”

Jake turned to her then. His hair was tousled, damp near his temples, and he looked impossibly tired—but his eyes held her like another’s arms never could.

“Okay,” he said, voice almost a whisper. “I’ll take care of you, yeah?”

She nodded, “Okay.”

The motel lobby smelled like stale air and damp carpet. Fluorescent lights flickered and buzzed overhead. There were vending machines along one wall with empty rows of old-looking snacks, and a plastic dust-coated fern in a chipped ceramic pot by the entrance.

Jake walked in first, black duffel slung over one of his broad shoulders. His sweater was damp, making it slightly heavier than usual. It was a little stretched at the sleeves, but long enough to cover his belt and the waistband of his jeans; it was his favorite. Y/N had gifted it to him on their first anniversary.

She followed just a step behind, eyes down but sharp, scanning everything—quietly clocking exits, faces, weaknesses. He hated that she had to. Her legs were bare beneath a pair of denim shorts, she had a tank top clinging to her chest, and Jake’s oversized hoodie swallowing the rest of her.

Behind the desk sat a man in his mid-50s who looked like he hadn’t seen the light of day in years. Greasy hair clung to his forehead, and the collar of his shirt was stained with sweat. His breath stank of microwave dinners and cheap beer.

“Well, shit,” the man drawled, leaning forward on his elbows. His eyes didn’t even pretend not to wander over Y/N. “That’s a pretty little thing you got there.”

Jake’s expression hardened.

The man reached beneath the desk and slapped a dingy clipboard with a registration form down, in front of him. “Bet she keeps you warm at night, huh?”

Jake said nothing, opting to fill the paper and try not to tear the man’s throat out. He didn’t want to cause a scene, being aware that the last thing Y/N needed was another traumatic event happening because of her, but god, was that ball of grease making it hard from him to behave.

The man scratched at his neck, his eyes never leaving Y/N. Tracing the way her hair fell over her shoulders.

“If I were you, I’d be careful, boy. Girls like that one don’t stay loyal for long,” His smile widened. His eyes cut toward Y/N again—lingering too long on her bare legs and the dip of her cleavage. “Though, I bet she looks gorgeous on her knees with her tongue out.”

The air changed like a static charge crawling across the skin.

Jake didn’t say a word. He just set the pen down and gave the man a look while his hand dropped to the back pocket of his jeans. His fingers grazed a sharp blade—small, easy to flick open, and easier to bury in someone’s throat. Quick, and much less messy. Though at that point he wanted to make it hurt.

But before the situation could escalate, Y/N wrapped her fingers around his wrist. She didn’t need to say anything.

He paused.

‘It’s not about you, idiot. Think about her.’

He remembered how her body trembled in the shower while he scrubbed the blood off her body—not having the luxury of time, to be able to do it as gently as he would’ve wanted—and the way her eyes avoided the dead body in her floor at all costs.

His grip loosened.

His hand moved to his front pocket, taking out his wallet and sliding the cash across the counter.

The man slid a grimy clipboard across the counter, followed by a single plastic key. “7B. Corner room. Pretty quiet. No one would hear a thing.”

Jake took the key and started walking outside with Y/N, now holding his arm.

“Better hang on to him, sweetheart,” he rasped. “Boys like him don’t last long out here. The minute he goes for gas, I might just answer the door instead.”

Jake stopped mid-step.

Y/N pulled him gently, asking for his attention.

“It’s not worth it,” she whispered so that only he could hear.

Jake didn’t move.

“Jake.”

He turned to look at her. Angry. Offended. Possessive.

He held her gaze for a few seconds and then closed his eyes for a beat, jaw flexing as he breathed through his nose. Y/N didn’t let go of his hand until they were outside.

The cool air hit once the door opened—wet with rain that never stopped pouring.

As soon as the motel door swung shut behind them, Jake turned to her, voice low and serious. “Should’ve killed that fucker.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” Y/N said softly.

Jake turned to her with something dark and hot in his stare. Y/N brushed her fingers along his knuckles. “It’d be hard to get the blood off your sweater.”

That got a ghost of a smile from him.

They walked in silence again, hands still laced, until they reached the door to their room. Jake unlocked it without a word. It smelled like mildew, the carpet was littered with suspicious stains, and the comforter on the bed was older than both of them combined. A single lamp flickered in the corner next to a small table with two wooden chairs, casting warped light across the room.

Jake stepped in first, scanned every inch—walls, window, ceiling tiles. Once he made sure the room was clear, he let the duffel drop to the floor near the dresser. She didn’t question his actions, allowing him to do whatever he needed to calm his paranoia.

He shut the door, locked it, and slid the bolt into place. Then he checked the knob, then the bolt, then the knob again. Still feeling like it wasn’t enough, he grabbed a chair from the corner of the room and wedged it under the door handle with a slow, deliberate shove. Only then did he step back, still facing the door with tense shoulders.

Y/N sat quietly on the edge of the bed, legs drawn up beneath her, Jake’s hoodie bunched around her thighs. Her fingers played with the frayed seam near the pocket.

“It won’t open,” she said gently. “No one’s getting in.”

“Not gonna risk it,” he muttered while checking the door again.

With a heavy exhale—let out like he hadn’t taken a real breath since they left the city—Jake sank down to his knees in front of her, resting his head in her lap.

His hands moved, sliding up the outside of her calves, thumbs tracing gentle circles to soothe the nerves under her skin back into place. Yet his movements—up and down, over and over—seemed more like it was him who needed the repetition to calm whatever was clawing at his ribs.

Y/N’s hands slipped into his hair without hesitation. Her fingers tangled through the raven-black strands, nails brushing his scalp gently. It was instinct. Muscle memory. The way she touched him when she didn’t know what else to say.

They stayed like that—him with his eyes closed, and her lost in thought.

Just that morning, she’d woken up in her bed, sunlight peeking through the curtains in soft streams. His arm was around her waist, mouth against her shoulder, whispering something about finding a place for just the two of them—a stupid, perfect moment.

She remembered the gunshots. Her apartment torn to hell—furniture flipped and broken, bullet holes in the walls, blood across the floor. She remembered the sound of Jake kicking down the door. She remembered him dressing her up and dragging her towards a car that she didn’t recognize.

And now they were here.

In a motel that smelled like rot and someone else’s regrets, with Jake kneeling in front of her like her penance. Her savior and her ruin.

He raised his head slowly, like it hurt to move. His eyes met hers, tired, red-rimmed, and crystallized. Y/N studied every inch of him.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered—rough and low, like the words had clawed out of his throat.

His lips were dry, the lower one split with a cut he kept bothering between his teeth. There was a bruise blooming just under his jaw, ugly and dark, half-hidden beneath his hair. His sweater was damp at the collar, wet with a mixture of rainwater and sweat.

Her hands reached to cradle his face delicately, as if he were to break if she used too much force. Her thumbs brushed slowly across his cheeks, wiping away what little was left of his composure. And instead of pulling away, Jake leaned into her touch.

One of her thumbs trailed down, brushing the cut on his lip and then applying more pressure. He flinched slightly, his mouth parting from the sting. His eyes searched hers as if he were afraid she might vanish if he blinked.

“I love you,” she said.

A single tear rolled down Jake’s cheek, his eyes never once leaving hers. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly, trying—and failing—to find words to formulate an answer.

So instead, he stood up.

Y/N didn’t move—didn’t even breathe—as he stepped forward and caged her with one hand braced on the bed beside her hip, the other gently brushing her cheek.

Jake stared down at her, eyes glossy but intense, and then he kissed her.

Not slow or careful, but everything—all of it—at once. Love, fear, need, guilt, relief. It poured into the kiss from his very being like water breaking through a dam. His mouth crashed against hers, urgent and soft at the same time, teeth grazing her lip before he kissed her deeper, letting his body press into hers like he needed to be sure she was real.

Y/N responded without hesitation. She opened to him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him back with everything she had, like this was the only place in the universe where she belonged. Her hands travelled upwards to tangle in his hair, fingers sliding through the strands like she never wanted to let go again.

Jake let out a low sound against her mouth—half a growl, half a moan. His hips pressed into hers as he deepened the kiss, mouth moving feverishly, hands wandering beneath the fabric of her clothes like he needed skin under his palms.

He pulled back just enough to breathe, foreheads pressed, eyes locked.

“I fucking adore you,” he whispered. “I love you so much it hurts.”

One of her hands moved down again to wipe off the fresh tear tracks on his cheeks.

His eyes swept over her face—cheeks flushed, lips parted, chest rising with shallow, anticipating breath. His lips found hers once more, slower this time—but no less hungry.

His hands moved to the hem of the hoodie she wore—his hoodie—and slowly, he unzipped it. The sound was quiet, but it felt loud within the room's silence. He peeled it off her shoulders, letting it fall behind her onto the bed.

Then, his fingers slid beneath her tank top. He didn’t rush it, though. He pushed the fabric up slowly, palms brushing the warm slope of her stomach, ribs, and finally lifting it over her head. Her hair fell around her face in soft waves.

“God, look at you,” he whispered.

His hands slipped down to her shorts, thumbs brushing the band before sliding them off inch by inch. He knelt again to guide them down her thighs, his mouth ghosting across her skin as he did. His lips pressed a kiss to the bruise on her knee as a silent promise. Then they were gone—shorts, fear, and the last of the night’s cold fingers.

She was left in only her bra and panties, breath soft and body already arching toward him.

Jake rose again, eyes locked on hers, and reached behind her to unhook the clasp. The straps slipped down her arms like falling silk.

His hand slid between her thighs, brushing her still-clothed core with the lightest stroke of his fingers.

She let out a breathy moan—soft and instinctive and his.

“There she is,” he murmured, a smile growing on his face. “You always sound so pretty when you want me.”

Y/N reached up without a word and tugged at the hem of his sweater. He raised his arms and let her pull it off, revealing the slightly damp T-shirt beneath, clinging to his frame.

She slipped her hands beneath that next layer and lifted it too, revealing the bare torso beneath—warm skin, faint scars, a few smudges of grime from the road and the fight. Her palms ran along his chest, slow and lingering, over the bruise just below his ribs, up to the center of his chest where his heart beat like a war drum.

Then her fingers moved to his belt.

She undid it with steady hands, her knuckles grazing the soft line of hair beneath his navel. The buckle clinked. The button snapped open. The zipper came down slowly.

She eased his jeans down his hips, her eyes never leaving his.

Jake stepped out of them, standing over her now in nothing but breath and want and the fire burning in his eyes.

Her hands slid back up his thighs, over his hips, tracing along the sharp lines of his toned abdomen and the dip of his lower back. Her hands weren’t shy. She knew him. And he let her see him.

“Touch me,” he rasped. “Everywhere. I want to feel like I belong to you.”

“You do,” she said, voice low, shaky with need. “You always have.”

Jake followed when Y/N tugged gently at his wrist, guiding him down onto the bed beside her. The mattress creaked beneath their combined weight, thin and worn, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but skin and breath and the heat building between them.

He laid facing her, propped on one elbwo, his chest rising and falling just a little too fast. Y/N mirrored him, her fingers already skimming his shoulder, then down along the soft line of muscle across his chest. His skin was warm beneath her palm—faintly damp, flushed, and alive.

Jake’s eyes traced every flicker of movement. She could feel his stare like a physical touch.

“You look like a fucking dream,” he murmured, voice rough silk. His accent curled around the words, low and thick like honey.

She smiled, slow and sinful, and leaned in close until her lips hovered just by his ear.

“Then do something about it.”

Jake let out a breath of a laugh, short and sharp. “Oh, believe me, I’m gonna.”

He turned his head, nose brushing her cheek, and whispered directly against her skin. “I’ve been thinking about this… about you in my hoodie… parading around with your thighs all soft and bare… I swear it had me losing my mind.”

She gasped softly when his hand slid over her waist, pulling her tighter to him. Her thigh brushed his—then something else. Hard and thick, straining against the fabric of his boxers. She tilted her head just enough to catch his smirk.

“You’ve got such a filthy mouth, Jakey.”

“And you love every word,” he whispered, kissing the shell of her ear.

Her hand trailed down his stomach, her fingers feathering along the band of his boxers before dipping lower, slowly pressing over the thick bulge beneath the fabric.

His hips flexed forward instinctively, chasing her touch. “Fuck…” he hissed.

Her hand rubbed over him again, firmer this time, and Jake groaned—low and guttural, his eyes fluttering half-closed.

“You’re so hard,” she whispered, dragging her lips along his jaw. “Have you been aching for me since we walked through the door?”

Jake turned toward her, his lips brushing hers with maddening slowness.

“Since way before that,” he breathed. “Since I saw you covered in blood and still fuckin’ beautiful. Since you said ‘I love you’ with those shaky hands and I wanted to drop to my knees and taste every inch of you for the rest of my life.”

Y/N whimpered, her hand curling tighter around him through the fabric.

“I’d never feed again in my life if it meant I can have that pretty mouth on me at all times.”

Jake kissed her—open-mouthed, deep, his tongue claiming hers as his fingers slid along the dip of her waist, down to the curve of her ass. He squeezed gently, grinding himself into her touch.

“You wanna see what my mouth can do?” she murmured against his lips.

Jake grinned, teeth flashing as he licked into her mouth again.

“Oh, trust me, I know.” One of his hands slipped between her thighs to rub slow circles over her soaked panties.

“I want your thighs on my shoulders and your voice hoarse from screaming my name,” he growled. “I’ll have you so fucked out you’ll forget everything else but me.”

She moaned, and he bit her lower lip gently.

He leaned in, slowly, and pressed a single kiss to her inner thigh. Then another, higher up. Then another—closer. She twitched beneath his mouth.

And when his lips ghosted over her slick, swollen heat through the thin barrier of her panties—fuck. She let out a sound that shot straight through his spine.

Jake chuckled low.

“You’re already soaked?” he murmured, his breath hot against her clothed core. “Just from me running my mouth?”

He licked her through the fabric again—slow and deliberate. A long, wet stripe from the bottom of her slit to the swollen nub at the top. Her thighs tensed, and her fingers twisted in the sheets.

Jake moaned.

“I can taste it, even through the cotton,” he groaned. “You’re not fuckin’ real.”

Then he did it again—his tongue flattening, dragging up over her with aching pressure. He circled her clit through the soaked fabric, then used his fingers to push it slightly aside, exposing her properly.

She gasped when the cool air hit her slick folds, and Jake didn’t waste another second to let his tongue meet bare skin.

A slow stroke. One, then two. Then the tip of his tongue flicked right over her clit—fast, teasing, before he flattened his mouth against her, licking and sucking in slow, sinful rhythm.

Y/N moaned, long and high.

She could feel every flick of Jake’s tongue like a pulse.

It started as warmth—wet and slow, the drag of heat between her thighs making her legs tremble. But then it spread. Her skin flushed, prickled, tightened in waves. Her belly clenched. Her chest rose and fell faster, nipples hardening in the motel’s stale air.

Jake growled into her.

“Fuckin’ sing for me, baby.”

His fingers slipped down, circling her entrance, smearing her wetness up over her slit and back down, working in tandem with his mouth—pressure and motion, just enough to tease her open without giving her what she wanted. Yet.

One finger dipped inside, shallow, curling just a little.

“Feel that?” he whispered, voice soaked with lust. “You’re pulling me in already. She missed me.”

Y/N’s head fell back.

“Jake…”

He sucked hard on her clit at the same time his finger slid deeper, and her whole body arched off the bed.

“Oh—fuck—Jake—”

He didn’t let up. Didn’t even pause. His tongue circled, flicked, pressed. His finger curled again, and then another joined it—thrusting slow, thick, wet sounds echoing in the small motel room as her body clamped around him.

His fingers slipped beneath the band of her panties, tugging them down with a quick, practiced motion and letting them slide past her thighs, knees, and ankles until they were gone—tossed somewhere on the motel floor, forgotten like everything else that wasn’t her.

He resumed his ministrations to her heat with another long lick of his tongue. Her hips bucked involuntarily, only to be caught by his strong hands. He held her open possessively, grounding her like he belonged there. Like she belonged to him.

Every time his tongue swirled over her clit, it was like a current. It tugged something deep in her gut—coiled and heavy and needy.

She whined softly, head rolling against the pillow.

Jake chuckled darkly, tongue flattening against her again before he spoke.

“There she is,” he murmured, lips brushing right over her. “My sweet girl. My pretty baby with a filthy fuckin’ mind. You gonna come for me, yeah?”

Her fingers fisted the sheets. The pleasure was sharp now—buzzing and deep, like her body couldn’t decide if she needed more or needed to escape. But he wasn’t letting her go.

“Shit, every sound you make just makes me hungrier,” he whispered. “Like I could stay down here for hours. Would you let me, baby? Would you ride my tongue like you ride my cock? All sweet and needy and wrecked?”

She gasped—a ragged sound pulled straight from her chest.

Her thighs tried to close, instinctively reacting to the intensity, but Jake didn’t let them. His arms pinned her open again, his mouth dragging over her again with more pressure this time—faster. His fingers teased her entrance, soaked and twitching, never pushing in again, just stroking, circling, making her want.

“She’s mine. This cunt’s mine. Say it,” he groaned.

Y/N’s voice shook, barely a whisper. “Yours. Jake—I’m yours.”

“Louder.”

“Yours. Fuck, Jake—don’t stop!”

He latched onto her clit with his mouth, sucking just hard enough to have her back arching. His tongue flicked over the swollen nub, rhythmic and relentless, while his fingers finally slid back inside—two, then curling.

The stretch. The wet sound. His fucking voice.

“You’re so tight like this, baby. So fuckin’ good around my fingers… just imagine when I sink my cock into you. Gonna fill you up so deep you’ll forget your own name.”

Y/N let out a strangled moan. Her body was right there—trembling on the edge, her vision blurring with the heat. Every nerve under her skin was singing. Her thighs trembled, her core slick and throbbing, her hands lost in the mess of Jake’s dark hair.

And just as that perfect, unbearable heat coiled impossibly tight in her belly, his mouth slowed.

He stopped.

He parted from her with a long, slow lick—one last deep stroke, his tongue pressing into her fluttering, soaked entrance. She gasped, back arching. Her body welcomed it, clamped down around the warm, wet intrusion, needy and desperate for more. But it was only a taste. A farewell.

Then he pulled back, licking his lips like a man coming up from worship, not war.

Her slick shimmered on his mouth, on his chin. His pupils were blown wide, his breathing heavy, chest rising and falling with the pace of his hunger.

Jake gave her pussy one final kiss—slow, wet, open-mouthed, his lips sealing over her entrance in a filthy goodbye that made her toes curl.

Then he leaned back, running his hand slowly up her trembling thigh, fingers trailing like embers on overheated skin. He grinned, smug and shining.

“She missed me,” he murmured.

Y/N blinked, dazed. “What?”

Jake dragged his fingers gently through her folds again, a soft touch now, barely-there. Just enough to make her twitch.

“Your sweet little cunt,” he whispered. “She missed me. Clenching ‘round my tongue like she hadn’t felt me in days.”

Y/N flushed instantly, eyes wide, lips parted in shock.

“You—Jake—that’s so—”

He leaned forward, raised a brow, and let the smirk crawl across his face. “That same pussy I had my fingers in this morning, baby. When I made you grind against my hand until you came all over the sheets.” His voice dipped lower. “And you’re telling me she still missed me?”

She slapped his shoulder lightly, giggling despite herself. “You’re the worst.”

Jake laughed, that deep, messy, boyish sound that made her chest ache.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then kissed her inner thigh gently, almost apologetically. Then again, softer, trailing upward—his body following the path until he was level with her.

Y/N watched him rise, her skin still flushed and buzzing, her thighs parted, her breath catching when his face came close again.

This time, instead of being teasing or wild, the kiss was calm.

His mouth met hers like he was kissing her in the kitchen on a Sunday morning, like she hadn’t just screamed into the motel pillows. Like her taste on his lips didn’t matter—or maybe it mattered too much.

She sighed into it, arms looping loosely around his neck, fingers curling into the still-damp strands at his nape.

And when he finally pulled back, his voice was quiet. Different.

“I’m never letting anything touch you again.”

Y/N tugged gently at his arm again, pulling him down with her.

Jake followed instantly, like he was born for it. They sank into the mattress together, bodies pressed side by side, her hand still curled behind his neck, fingers threading through the damp strands at his nape. He was warm against her—bare skin to bare skin, all muscle and heat and tension—but her focus was already drifting.

Because then he kissed her again.

Slow at first. Soft.

Just the faintest brush of lips that sent sparks across the surface of her skin.

But then his mouth opened, and everything else stopped.

Jake’s tongue slipped into her mouth like he owned the air she was breathing. He didn’t push—he coaxed. He guided. His lips molded to hers with aching, perfect pressure, and then that wicked tongue of his licked over hers—just once, slow, deep, wet—and her entire body reacted.

Her thighs clenched instinctively.

A low whimper escaped her throat before she could catch it.

Jake smiled into the kiss.

He heard that.

He licked into her again, tongue flicking, curling, then retreating just to pull her back in with a gentle suck on her lower lip. It was sensual. Hypnotic. Her thoughts dissolved like sugar in warm water. Her fingers slid over his shoulder, her palm resting on his chest, feeling the sharp beat of his heart through her touch.

His mouth was too much and not enough all at once.

Every time he sucked her lip, her stomach fluttered. Every time his tongue dragged over hers, slick and slow, her core throbbed—empty, wet, waiting. Her knees pressed together again, a silent attempt to ground herself.

It didn’t work.

Because he knew. He always knew.

Jake broke the kiss just long enough to breathe into her mouth.

“You’re squeezing your thighs pretty hard,” he whispered, voice thick and hoarse. “Did my kiss makes your pussy ache, baby?”

Her hands tightened on his skin.

This time, she kissed him. Deeper, with more tongue, more heat, more of her mouth claiming every soft part of him. The rhythm was slow, but the weight of it pressed deep, like she could feel his tongue between her legs even though he wasn’t touching her there now.

Their bodies writhed closer, chasing the warmth of each other’s chests, the friction of his thigh between hers, her mouth that wouldn’t stop making him need.

Jake pulled back from the kiss, lips slick, parted. His chest heaved beneath her palm, and his voice when he spoke came out like a growl filtered through a moan.

“You keep kissin’ me like that and I’m gonna fuck you like I did in that bathroom stall. Remember that, baby? In between classes… you were so needy and made me late for my lecture.”

Y/N chuckled breathily at the memory. Her thighs clenched again—this time around him.

She climbed into his lap, slow and sure, knees bracketing his hips. Her body sank down onto his thighs, bare heat pressed to the strain of him beneath his boxers. Jake’s head fell back with a hiss through his teeth.

“Jesus Christ,” he rasped.

Y/N leaned in, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to his throat. She felt his Adam’s apple twitch beneath her lips, felt the vibration of his groan as she dragged her tongue up over it.

Jake’s hands gripped her hips, his thumbs pressing into the soft skin there like he didn’t know whether to worship or hold her down.

She kissed his jaw next—slow and adoring, lips dragging over the faint stubble, then behind his ear, where her tongue flicked just enough to make him shudder.

And through it all, he kept talking.

His voice was broken, breathless, ruined.

“Gonna bend you over this bed next. Hands flat, back arched, legs shaking. Gonna fuck you ‘til your voice is gone and your knees are too weak to close around me.”

She moaned softly into his neck.

“You like it when I talk like this, don’t you?” he whispered, nipping gently at her shoulder. “My pretty baby gets wet when I tell her all the ways I’m gonna ruin her.”

Her hips rolled forward against him—slow, aching friction that made them both gasp.

“Gonna take you from behind,” he panted, “one hand on your throat, the other between your thighs, makin’ you drip all over me. Then I’m gonna flip you on your back, press your knees to your chest, and fuck into you so deep you won’t remember what day it is.”

Y/N whimpered, her hands dragging up his chest, her mouth pressing kisses along his collarbone, her tongue tasting salt and desperation.

Jake was shaking under her.

“And when you come?” he breathed, “I’m gonna stay inside you. Keep fuckin’ you through it. Gonna keep you open for me and stretch you ‘til you don’t want anyone else. Not that you ever could, baby. No one else knows how to break you like I do.”

His voice cracked, just a little, at the end.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “No one makes me feel the way you do. You ruin me. Every time.”

Y/N lifted her head. Their eyes met. Her breath was ragged, her lips swollen, her heart thundering in her chest.

“You want to break me?” she whispered. “Then do it.”

Jake’s hands tightened on her hips. His next breath hitched into a growl.

They shifted together, both kneeling now on the motel bed, their bodies bare and flushed and starving. The room was quiet except for their heavy breathing, the low creak of the old mattress beneath them, and the far-off hiss of passing cars outside the window.

Jake kissed her again.

Hard and raw.

Tongue and teeth and heat—his hand tangled in her hair as he dragged her mouth open and took. His tongue plunged deep, slick and possessive, curling against hers in slow, molten strokes that made her hips rock forward without thinking.

She moaned into him. Loud. Needy.

Jake swallowed the sound, then pulled back, lips wet and swollen.

“Turn around,” he rasped.

Y/N obeyed, breath shaking. She turned slowly, body burning, and knelt on the bed facing the front of the motel room. The beat-up TV sat on top of the scratched old dresser, screen black and slightly dull; however, in the warped, glassy surface, she saw them.

Faintly, hazy with distortion—but there.

Her bare chest, belly, and thighs. The curve of her hips, the dip of her waist and the possessive hold that Jake kept on her. Her flushed face. The dark silhouette of Jake behind her.

And her body reacted.

Her cunt clenched, slick leaking down her thighs, the heat of it so sudden she gasped.

Jake saw it all.

He slid in behind her, chest to her back, hands framing her hips like he was sculpting her posture to his taste. He leaned in close, lips brushing her ear.

“You like seeing us like this,” he murmured, voice honey-thick and wicked. “My girl… dripping just from a reflection.”

Y/N whimpered.

Jake’s hand gathered her hair—twisting it gently at the base of her skull—and made an imperfect ponytail with his fist. Her head tipped back into his grip, neck exposed.

He groaned softly.

“Pretty fuckin’ neck,” he whispered, and then—his mouth was on her again.

His lips dragged over the skin of her nape, slow and possessive. Then he licked her.

A long, wet stripe from the base of her spine to the crest of her neck. All tongue. Hot and firm and deliberate. Like he was tasting her. Claiming her.

She shuddered violently, hips twitching forward.

“Jake…”

“Shh,” he breathed, mouth still pressed to her skin. “Let me have this.”

He licked her again. Tongue flat, dragging slowly across the sensitive skin just beneath her hairline. His breath hitched.

“I could die like this,” he muttered.

Jake’s fingers slid between her thighs with the same confidence his mouth carried—like he already knew exactly how to ruin her.

He pressed in just enough to glide through her slick, then found her clit with maddening ease. Two fingers moved in tight, slow circles—firm pressure, the rhythm tuned perfectly to her body, like muscle memory.

Y/N moaned, low and broken, knees quivering on the mattress.

“Fuck,” she whispered, arching her back into him, “just like that.”

She turned her head—wanted to see him. Kiss him. She twisted just enough to catch his mouth again, pulling him in with lips parted and tongue already waiting.

But this time, she took the lead.

Jake didn’t resist. He groaned against her lips as she kissed him—hard, hungry. Her tongue slid over his, slick and confident, coaxing every sound from his throat. Then she bit his bottom lip, not enough to hurt—but enough to claim.

Jake’s cock twitched hard behind her, straining against the fabric of his boxers. He ground forward, hips rolling into the soft dip of her ass and lower back, pressing the thick, hot length of himself into her skin so she could feel exactly how desperate he was.

He groaned into her mouth, lips swollen, breath ragged.

“Christ, you kiss like you want to own me.”

“You already said I could,” she whispered.

Jake didn’t argue.

Her left hand reached down, covering the wrist of the hand still playing with her pussy. She didn’t stop him—just held him there, grounding herself in the motion of his fingers. Feeling every stroke, every circle as it sent sparks through her hips and up her spine.

The other hand twisted up and into his hair, fingers tangling tight, pulling.

Jake gasped, his mouth parting under hers, head tipping forward like his whole body was surrendering.

“Fuck, baby…” he whispered against her lips. “You feel that? You feel how hard you’ve got me? Just from your mouth—just from the way you taste.”

His fingers never stopped.

That steady rhythm—perfect circles, light press, then firmer when she whimpered. The slick sounds between her legs grew louder, wetter, and Jake groaned like it was a symphony he’d been dying to conduct.

“You’re dripping,” he murmured. “Fuck, I can feel it all over my hand.”

“Good,” she breathed. “You make me like this.”

He kissed her again, messier now. Tongue everywhere. Groaning into her mouth.

Her hips rocked in time with his fingers, and every press of his cock against her back made her body throb harder. Every kiss she stole made him weaker.

Jake’s fingers slowed—just slightly—then slipped away from her soaked, abused clit.

Y/N let out a gasp, her hips instinctively rolling forward, chasing the friction that had been building into fire under her skin.

Then she whined, high-pitched and desperate.

Jake groaned at the sound—low and guttural, forehead pressing against the back of her shoulder.

“Fuck me,” he muttered. “You don’t even know what that sound does to me.”

She whined again, back arching, her hand grabbing blindly for his wrist, trying to pull his fingers back down between her thighs.

“Jakey—please—why’d you—”

“I have to get these off, baby,” he rasped, pulling his hips back just far enough for her to feel the absence, but not forget it. His hand left her pussy, but he reached down immediately, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers.

“Gonna lose my fucking mind if I don’t get inside you.”

He pushed the fabric down over his hips and his cock sprang free—thick, flushed dark at the tip, glistening with precum, aching for her. It slapped softly against his lower stomach before he wrapped a hand around the base, groaning at the contact.

“See what you do to me?” he whispered, his voice a growl in her ear. “Look at that. I’ve never been this fucking hard in my life. Never wanted anyone like I want you. Not like this.”

She whimpered, and his hand came up—fingertips trailing along her spine, soft, reverent, until they found her waist again.

Jake leaned in close again, his voice low, rough with hunger and awe.

“Down for me,” he breathed. “Face down. Ass up. You know what I like.”

Y/N obeyed without hesitation.

She lowered her chest to the mattress, arching her back, lifting her hips—slow and deliberate—until she gave him that perfect line, that sweet curve of her spine that he’d seen a hundred times. Her hair spilled around her shoulders, her hands gripping the sheets, thighs parted just wide enough to let him see everything.

Jake let out a sound—raw, desperate, worshipful.

“Jesus fuck, baby… look at you. You want me this bad?”

She looked over her shoulder, eyes dark and gleaming.

“I want all of you.”

Jake’s hand slid up her back, tracing the arch, possessive and trembling. The other wrapped around the base of his cock again as he stepped in closer, the flushed tip dragging through the slick heat of her folds, wetting himself with her arousal.

Then he found her entrance.

She was swollen, fluttering, dripping with need.

And he pushed in.

The thick head of his cock eased inside, stretching her open, filling her just enough to steal the air from her lungs.

Y/N gasped—sharp and high-pitched.

Her hands fisted the sheets, her head dropping between her arms.

He was inside her.

Not fully. Not yet. Just the tip.

But still, it was everything.

Jake groaned behind her, voice breaking.

“You feel that?” he rasped. “How tight you are around just the tip? She missed me, baby.”

Then—inch by inch—he pushed deeper.

Y/N felt it like a tide rolling through her.

The slow, overwhelming pressure of him filling her, pressing into spots only he could reach. The friction, the fullness, the way her walls fluttered with every slow slide forward—it was too much and not enough all at once. Her pussy clenched around him, wet and greedy.

He was hot and thick and so hard, the stretch sending shocks of both pleasure and pain up her spine. Her body pulsed around him, instinctively trying to pull him deeper.

Her mouth fell open.

But it wasn’t just her body reacting.

It was her heart, as well.

Because this was Jake—her Jake. The boy who kissed her forehead after she woke up from a nightmare, who licked blood from her thighs like a vow, and who said I love you with his tongue inside her and meant every syllable.

And now he was filling her completely.

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes—not from pain. From how much she felt.

He leaned over her, one hand braced on the bed, the other still gripping her hip like he couldn’t let go.

He bottomed out—finally—the base of his cock pressing flush against her soaked, trembling cunt. Her body took every inch, molded to fit him, welcomed him like he belonged there.

At first, Jake didn’t move.

He just held himself there, buried to the hilt, letting her walls pulse around him—hot and slick and impossibly tight. His hands gripped her hips like he was holding on for dear life, and when he finally pulled back, it was a slow torture.

Then he thrust back in.

Deep.

“Fuck… this pussy,” he panted. “So fuckin’ warm. So tight. Squeezin’ me like you never want me to leave.”

Y/N’s back arched, and she let out a shaky moan as his hips rolled forward again, another slow, deep stroke that dragged every nerve along her walls.

Jake leaned over her a bit more, his mouth hovering by her ear, his voice a growl softened by awe.

“Do you know how good you feel? How fuckin’ wet you are for me? God, baby—she’s greedy. She’s pulling me in.”

She whimpered, her thighs shaking.

“Jakey, feels so, so good—”

“I know it does,” he whispered, biting softly at her shoulder, hips dragging back again before plunging in deep, deeper. “I get it now. I understand.”

She gasped.

“Understand what?”

Jake groaned, kissing her nape, tongue running up the curve of her spine between thrusts.

“Why men start wars over girls like you.”

Y/N let out a breathless, stunned laugh, even as her body clamped down around him again.

“You’re insane.”

“Mmhm.” He smirked, dragging his cock all the way out until just the tip lingered at her entrance—then slammed back in with one smooth, slow roll of his hips. “Crazy. Absolutely fucking gone for you.”

She moaned again, and her laugh turned into a shiver.

Jake’s thrusts kept the same rhythm—slow, deep, deliberate. His hips snapped forward with weight, burying himself again and again in the tight heat of her cunt, groaning every time her body fluttered around him.

His hand slid up her spine, pressing between her shoulders to deepen that perfect arch.

“You were made for this,” he growled. “For me. This tight little hole’s mine, baby.”

He kissed her again—messy and open-mouthed against her back.

“Could fuck you like this forever. Never pull out. Just keep you full and dripping. Bet you’d love that.”

Jake’s pace began to shift—slow, deep strokes turning faster, sharper. His hips slapped softly against her ass, wet sounds echoing in the quiet, hot room, timed perfectly with her breathy moans and the creak of the bed frame.

He couldn’t stop watching her.

His bottom lip caught between his teeth, bitten and red, eyes locked on the way she moved for him. Met his thrusts halfway. Took him like she’d been sculpted just for this.

And Y/N noticed. Of course she did.

Even through the dizzying pleasure, she saw in their reflection the way his gaze stayed glued to her ass, saw the way he twitched every time she clenched around him.

And she grinned—breathless, wicked.

“I thought you were a boob guy,” she panted, voice laced with teasing. “What happened to all that chest worship, huh?”

Jake froze for a split second.

Then laughed—ragged and wrecked, the sound spilling out of his throat between groans.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he growled, snapping his hips forward harder, making her jolt with the sudden depth, “you bounce this ass like that and expect me to focus on anything else?”

Y/N laughed too—cut short by a moan as his cock hit that perfect spot inside her.

Jake leaned in over her, lips brushing her ear, one hand still gripping her hip, the other now sliding around her front—palming one of her breasts with a rough groan.

“I am a boob guy,” he rasped. “And an ass guy, and a pussy guy. I’m a ‘you’ guy.”

He pinched her nipple, rolled it gently between his fingers.

“You could breathe in my direction, and I’d get hard. Doesn’t matter what part I’m lookin’ at. It’s all mine.”

She gasped again, back arching deeper into him, ass pushing up to meet his thrusts.

He watched the motion in the reflection again—the way she pushed back onto him, watched her face tighten with every thrust. Her mouth open, eyes heavy-lidded, her skin flushed and glistening.

Jake’s rhythm had gone near-perfect—deep and sharp, his hips pistoning into her with that mix of strength and craving. But then he felt it.

Every time he slid out, her pussy fluttered around him, squeezing tight, as if trying to hold him in. And then—when he pushed back in, thick and deep—her muscles relaxed, like she was letting him in on purpose. Inviting him.

Jake choked on a moan, thrust stuttering.

“Baby—fuck—what are you doing to me?”

She smiled—he knew she did, even without seeing her face.

He looked in the reflection.

That wicked, breathless grin.

That soft bounce of her ass every time she clenched around him.

She did it again.

Tighter.

Then again—pulsing around his cock like her body was trying to pull him apart.

Jake snapped.

His hand shot up, grabbing a fistful of her hair, not rough enough to hurt, not really, but enough to make her feel it. He pulled her back hard, arching her spine into a curve so perfect it made his cock throb inside her.

She whined, voice high and sharp.

“Jake—ow—fuck. That hurts—”

He bent over her, his lips brushing her jawline.

“You love it.”

She did.

And so did he.

His free arm wrapped around her waist, yanking her upright against him—flush to his chest, his cock still buried deep inside her, now from a new angle that made them both gasp. The fullness. The depth. The way her walls clung to him like a second skin.

He kissed her again. Tongue-first. All heat, no hesitation. Her mouth opened to him instantly. Tongues collided. Teeth clicked. Her hand flew back, clawing at the side of his thigh, holding him in place as she rocked her hips back into his lap.

Jake moaned into her mouth, hips still moving, fucking up into her from beneath now, his cock dragging against her spot with every thrust.

“You milk me like that again,” he panted against her lips, “and I’m gonna fill you up so deep you’ll feel it in your fucking throat.”

Y/N gasped, lips red and slick, eyes dazed and so full of him.

Jake started to move—hand still in her hair, cock still buried deep, ready to flip her into a new position and fuck her from a new angle.

“Wait,” she breathed, voice soft—breathless, but sweet. “Can—Can you… can you be on top of me?”

He froze.

Still half-sheathed inside her, his hips twitching with restraint.

She looked back at him, over her shoulder, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, hair messy from where he’d gripped it.

Her voice went softer, and her smile turned sheepish.

“I’m tired,” she said, barely louder than a whisper.

Jake blinked once, then a smirk makes its way onto his face. He stared at her—really stared at her. That look in her eyes. The slight tremble in her thighs. Her trust.

He felt it hit right in his chest.

“You’re just lazy,” he said, teasing but warm.

Her cheeks flushed deeper.

“Maybe.”

Jake chuckled, the sound low and loving.

“Come here then, lazy girl.”

He moved gently, slipping out of her to adjust their bodies. He guided her down onto her back, her body folding into the mattress, eyes fluttering shut for a moment with the loss of him. The sheets were rumpled, warm, and damp from sweat and sex.

Then he settled between her legs. Face to face.

His hand found hers, fingers lacing. His other hand came up to brush the damp hair off her forehead, his expression suddenly soft—worshipful.

“You’re so beautiful like this.”

Then he slowly pushed back in.

Her soaked cunt parted for him, her walls welcoming him back like he belonged there. Every inch stretched her again, but now she could see his face. See his lashes flutter when he bottomed out. See the tension in his jaw, the part in his lips when her pussy clenched again.

Her mouth opened in a gasp. Her brows knit with pleasure. Her chest rose with every shaky breath.

“Fuck, baby,” he whispered, hips pressing deep, “I can feel all of you.”

Y/N whimpered, wrapping her legs around his waist, drawing him deeper.

Jake’s hips rolled into her—deep strokes that made the bed creak and her breath stutter.

But he couldn’t stop looking at her chest.

The rise and fall of her breasts with every thrust.

The way her nipples were already pebbled, flushed, just begging for his mouth.

His hand slid up between them—palm warm and rough—and he groaned low in his throat.

Then he took one into his mouth.

He sucked hard at first, like he wanted to bruise her with his lips, then softened—his tongue circling her nipple, then flicking it in short, wet strokes that made her gasp and arch into him. He used his hand on the other, kneading, rolling the other peak between his fingers while his teeth grazed the one in his mouth.

Y/N moaned, high and ragged.

Her fingers flew into his hair, tangling there, holding him against her. She gripped tighter every time he sucked harder, tugging the way she knew he loved.

Jake groaned into her breast.

“Fuck, baby… your tits were made for my mouth.”

He bit gently—just enough to make her hips jump—and she let out a breathless, shaky laugh.

Then she started talking.

And it undid him.

“You feel so good, Jakey,” she whispered, eyes locked on his flushed, focused face. “So, so deep… I can feel you in my stomach.”

Jake growled around her nipple, thrusting deeper, slower.

“You’re fucking me so well, baby… you always know what I need.”

His hips twitched, rhythm faltering for a second. Her praise hit different—like she was stroking something raw inside him.

Her thumb brushed his temple as he licked across her chest.

“I love the way you move inside me. Like you’re made for it. Like you know I was made for you.”

Jake lifted his head, mouth wet, jaw tight.

“Keep talking like that,” he panted, “and I’m not gonna last.”

Y/N smiled, dazed and wrecked.

“Good,” she whispered. “I want you to fall apart. I want to feel you lose it inside me.”

Jake kissed her again—open, messy, tongue tangled with hers—while his cock thrust deeper, harder, the rhythm now desperate. His mouth moved from hers to her neck, back to her breast, worshipping, sucking, devouring.

His free hand slipped down between them, careful through the thrusts, until his fingers found her clit again—swollen, soaked, needy.

He rubbed tight, firm circles just the way she liked. Not too fast. Not too soft. Perfect.

Y/N cried out.

Her back arched. Her thighs jerked. Her eyes fluttered half-shut as she grabbed at his shoulder with one hand, her other still tangled in his hair.

“Jake—fuck—don’t stop—don’t stop—”

He didn’t.

His hips rolled deep, cock thrusting in fast, rough strokes that brushed right there, over and over—right on the spot inside her that made her toes curl and her whole body feel like fire under her skin.

His tongue flicked over her nipple again, teeth grazing, sucking, biting.

His fingers never stopped moving.

And her voice—God, her voice—just kept coming.

“You feel so good, Jake—so deep—you’re fucking me so good, baby—I can’t think—I can’t—”

Jake moaned into her chest, cock twitching inside her from her words alone.

“I—I love your cock—fuck, I love how good you fuck me—like I’m yours—Ah!”

“You are mine,” he growled, voice muffled against her skin. “Every inch. Every breath. Every fuckin’ moan—mine.”

“Faster, Jakey,” Y/N gasped, voice cracked and begging. “Harder—please—I need you.”

Jake didn’t hesitate.

His hips snapped forward with more force now, driving into her with heavy, wet thrusts that made the bed rock and her breath catch with every impact. His fingers on her clit moved faster—tight circles, perfect rhythm, slick with her arousal and the heat of how close she was to coming undone.

He kissed her breast again—open-mouthed, tongue dragging over her nipple as he groaned into her skin.

Y/N clutched at his back, nails pressing into the flex of his shoulder blades.

“No one else, Jake,” she breathed, words tumbling between gasps and moans. “There’s no one else who makes me feel like this. No one else I want.”

Jake’s body jerked at that—cock twitching deep inside her, his breath stuttering against her chest.

“I’d rather die than live without you,” she whispered.

His groan was guttural, primal, ripped straight from his chest.

“You mean that?” he rasped, voice shaking, hips pounding into her now, every thrust hitting so deep she could barely breathe.

“I need you,” she said. “I belong to you. I’m yours, Jake—only yours.”

His rhythm faltered for just a moment, like her words had broken something loose inside him.

Then he snapped.

His fingers on her clit moved faster, tighter.

His cock drove into her with the kind of force that made her body bounce into the mattress, thighs trembling with the overload of sensation.

“You’re mine,” he growled, kissing her throat, biting softly at her jaw. “No one gets you but me. No one ever could.”

Her hands flew back into his hair, dragging him down into another kiss—sloppy, deep, tongue-heavy.

She whimpered into his mouth, her thighs shaking, her body trembling beneath him as that coil in her belly tightened dangerously.

“Come for me,” he whispered, voice breaking. “Come on my cock, baby. Let me feel you.”

Y/N shattered like glass struck by lightning.

It hit fast and overwhelming—the first spasm of pleasure rolling through her like a shockwave. Her thighs clenched around his hips, her toes curled, and her walls tightened around Jake’s cock with a force that nearly made him come on the spot.

“Oh my god—Jake—Jake—” her voice was broken, high, holy, like prayer and desperation fused together.

He felt every squeeze. Every flutter.

His thrusts slowed immediately, deep and controlled, his cock dragging through the slick heat of her as her body convulsed around him. His fingers on her clit softened just slightly, keeping her there, guiding her through it, not rushing, not pulling away.

He kissed her cheek, her throat, her collarbone—open-mouthed and breathless.

“There you go, baby,” he murmured, eyes locked on her face. “That’s it. Fuck, you’re so beautiful like this. Just let it happen.”

She was gasping, eyes squeezed shut, back arching as another wave ripped through her.

Her cunt pulsed around him again—tight, wet, relentless.

Jake didn’t stand a chance.

The second he felt her come—the way her pussy clamped down on him, fluttering around his cock like she was trying to keep him there forever—he was gone.

He slowed even more, each thrust deliberate, letting her feel the weight and stretch of him through the peak of it.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

Y/N trembled beneath him, her moans tapering off into soft, overwhelmed whimpers as the high began to fade—but the glow stayed. Her whole body buzzed. Her heart raced. Her fingers gripped him like she’d sink without his skin.

His grip on her hip tightened, his jaw clenched, and he groaned into her shoulder, the sound deep and guttural and full of something breaking.

He was so fucking close, so, so full.

And it took every last ounce of strength in him to pull out—slowly, painfully—her slick, soaked walls dragging on him like a velvet vice, clinging as if to say, ‘don’t go’.

“Fuck—you’re so tight,” he gasped, pulling back inch by inch, every nerve ending in his body on fire. “I don’t wanna leave—shit—”

But he did.

Barely.

And the second he was out—his cock flushed and glistening, twitching with the need to release—he wrapped his hand around the base and stroked himself once—

Twice—

Three times—

“Fuck—Y/N—”

The first rope of cum shot out of him with force, landing right across her slit—thick and creamy and hot.

He groaned through his teeth as another followed—painting her pussy lips white, coating her clit in the warm, sticky mess of it.

More spilled over her entrance—so close to filling her, some of it already seeping inside just the slightest bit, thick drips collecting there, slicking her folds.

He watched it happen, jaw slack, breath ragged.

Her pussy, twitching from aftershocks.

His cum, marking her.

Not bred—but his, nonetheless.

He rubbed the tip of his cock along her soaked slit, dragging through the mess, smearing it across her clit, watching her shiver slightly beneath him.

The room was silent, save for the sound of their ragged breathing—his slower now, hers soft and shallow, like she hadn’t quite come back to earth yet.

Their bodies were still tangled, neither willing to move yet. The motel air was warm against sweat-slick skin, the sheets rumpled and half-slid off the bed.

Jake hovered just above her, propped on one trembling arm. His other hand rested flat over her ribcage, feeling the rise and fall of her chest under his palm.

Her breasts were flushed and glistening, nipples still wet from his mouth, the skin beneath them mottled with hickeys he’d sucked deep into her flesh—his signature, his need. Her collarbones bore more—dark blooms of red-purple where his tongue and teeth had lingered too long. The soft skin at her hips was red, raw where his hands had gripped her too tightly. Possessive. Worshipful. Maybe even a little cruel.

Her lips—God, her lips—swollen and bitten, shiny with spit from their messy, desperate kisses. They looked like sin, and he’d never wanted anything more in his life than to kiss them again.

Her hair spilled out over the motel pillow in wild, damp waves. A halo of chaos. A crown she didn’t even know she wore.

But it was her cunt that kept his eyes.

Red, puffy, glistening. Her pussy lips were flushed and swollen, the delicate folds puffy from how hard she’d been worked, how deep he’d fucked her. The soft pink of her inner lips peeked through slick-stained outer lips—raw, parted, like she was still open for him even now.

His cum was everywhere.

Thick, creamy streaks filled the soft creases between her folds. Some of it clung stubbornly to her clit, tangled in the ridges, glossy and warm, slowly dripping. Another trail had slipped lower—pale white against the flush of her used entrance, where it threatened to slide in, teasing the raw, fluttering rim of her hole.

Her pussy was still clenching.

Twitching—tightening around nothing in soft, slow pulses like it hadn’t yet realized he was gone. As if it was still calling for him, still missing the stretch of his cock. The emptiness only made the mess more obscene.

Her inner thighs gleamed with her slick—slick that had soaked her before he’d even touched her. Before she’d come. Before he’d been inside. It had poured out of her in waves, wetting her soft skin, dripping in thin rivulets down the smooth curve of her thighs, pooling beneath her.

Now, mixed with his cum, it looked even more filthy.

Even more beautiful.

Jake moved without a word.

He slid down the bed, between her still-trembling thighs, resting on his forearms like he belonged there.

Y/N laid open and flushed, her legs barely parted now, heavy with fatigue and aftershocks. But she didn’t resist when he gently eased them apart again. She knew what he was doing. And she let him.

He started at her thighs.

Slow licks first, his tongue dragging along the inside, tracing the sticky remnants of her arousal. He licked through the streaks of slick that had dried to her skin, then lower, collecting the creamy drips of his own cum that had spilled from her. His mouth worked without pause, lips pressing soft kisses in between every lick, every stroke of tongue.

Y/N sighed softly. A shiver rolled through her.

Then he moved up.

There was a bit of his semen clinging to the soft mound above her slit—just a smear, pale and glossy against her flushed skin. Jake leaned in and sucked it clean. Slow. Wet. His tongue flattened, dragging upward, collecting every trace.

He kissed it, then exhaled, hot and heavy.

Then he moves onto her outer lips.

Swollen. Gleaming. Still puffy from the stretch of him.

He mouthed over them first, soft kisses that turned into gentle sucks. His tongue worked in slow strokes along the edges, tasting her, cleaning her, owning the mess he’d made. His hands held her thighs gently now, thumbs stroking mindlessly.

Then his mouth found her clit.

He didn’t rush.

He circled first—just the tip of his tongue, light flicks over the sensitive nub, coaxing it rather than attacking it. Then he flattened his tongue and dragged it across—up, down, again—pressing just a little firmer when she gasped and arched her back.

Jake groaned softly.

She was still so reactive.

He sucked it gently into his mouth, just for a moment, rolling it between his lips before letting go. Her hips twitched. Her breath caught. He loved how she responded to his mouth.

He slid lower.

His tongue pressed between her folds now—slow, deliberate strokes that gathered her slick, his cum, everything in between. He traced the shape of her, the soft, delicate creases, licking through the aftermath like it was his favorite flavor.

And then he reached her hole.

Still red. Still open, just barely.

Still twitching.

Jake moaned, the sound low and desperate.

He leaned in, tongue circling the rim, gentle but unrelenting. He licked over it, around it, into it—just a little. Just enough to make her gasp and shift and say his name like she wasn’t sure if she could take more.

But Jake couldn’t stop.

His mouth never left her—tongue dragging from the soft folds of her used pussy back up to her clit, where he paused.

Her breath hitched.

“Jakey…” she murmured, voice hoarse, barely more than a whimper.

But it wasn’t no.

It was more.

So he latched onto her clit again—deliberate now, tongue flicking fast and tight, then circling slow, then flicking again.

Y/N’s legs jumped.

Her thighs pressed inward, instinctively trying to close around his head—but Jake just wrapped his arms around them, holding her wide and open.

“You love this,” he murmured between strokes. “Don’t pretend you don’t.”

She moaned—high and helpless.

“I—I can’t—”

“You can,” he growled, tongue never breaking rhythm. “You will. You’re gonna come again, sweetheart. Gonna let me taste it this time.”

He sucked her clit between his lips again, harder now—drawing circles with his tongue while he held her in place.

She writhed under him, fingers twisting in the sheets, her hips stuttering against his face, overwhelmed and overstimulated and so fucking close.

Jake moaned into her, eyes half-lidded, cock still half-hard just from the taste of her.

“You’re so fucking good for me,” he murmured. “Letting me fuck you like that… letting me lick you clean. You’re gonna come just from my mouth, aren’t you?”

She nodded, breathless, gasping.

“Yes—yes, Jake—I’m close again—”

He buried his face deeper, tongue stroking harder, faster—one hand sneaking up to press flat over her lower belly, holding her down.

“Then fucking do it, baby,” he growled. “Come on my tongue. I want you shaking. I want you crying for me.”

And she did.

With a cry that broke halfway into a sob, her body arched, then locked, her legs trembling, cunt clenching in fluttering spasms as another orgasm crashed through her. This one was sharper—brighter, and painfully sweet. Her thighs trembled, her hips jerked, her hands flew to his hair, pulling him tighter.

Jake held on.

Held her.

Licked her through every wave, clench, and aftershock. Letting her calm down just enough for her squirming to become light twitching and her moans to become soft whimpers.

And with that, Jake kissed her one last time.

A full-mouthed smack to her overstimulated, twitching pussy—his tongue already gone, but his claim still lingering in the sound. A parting gift. A promise. Something she’d remember every time she shifted her legs and felt the soreness he left behind.

She let out a shivery, exhausted laugh.

He grinned against her thigh.

Then he finally moved.

Jake dragged his body up the bed, slow and loose with post-release heaviness, skin damp with sweat and her scent. His hair was a mess—flattened where she’d held him, spiked where she’d pulled—but his eyes were soft, dark and warm when they found her face.

She was wrecked.

Her lips parted, lashes low, chest still heaving with the final echoes of that second climax. Her skin glowed with heat, her body limp and raw and safe.

He laid down beside her, then pulled her in—an arm looping around her waist, tugging gently until she rolled into him, face tucked under his chin, her leg sliding over his thigh like it had always belonged there.

“Hey,” he murmured. “Still with me?”

Y/N let out a soft hum against his chest.

“Mmhmm.”

Jake smiled softly and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. He ran a hand slowly down her spine, then back up to her shoulder, fingers tracing lazy circles into her skin. There was no need for more now. No pressure. Just her in his arms.

Quiet, safe, and his.

The room was dim now, shadows stretching long across the motel ceiling, the air heavy with the scent of sweat, sex, and fading adrenaline.

They didn’t speak.

They didn’t need to.

Jake held her close—her cheek resting just above his heart, her leg thrown over his hips, his arms a circle around her small, worn body like a vow made in flesh. She was warm. Quiet. Real.

Her fingertips traced his bicep in slow, looping lines. Barely there. Soothing. The kind of touch that wasn’t meant to stir—but to keep.

She spoke softly.

“What do we do now?”

Jake’s breath hitched.

“We can’t run forever.” she added. Her voice was tired.

He didn’t answer right away.

“I’ve been thinking about it,” he said.

Her fingers paused.

“We can’t go back,” he added. “Not to your place. Not to the city. They’ll be looking.”

Y/N nodded faintly against his chest.

“Then what?”

Jake looked up at the ceiling, eyes unfocused.

Y/N waited, heart pressed against his, her fingers still trailing slowly along his skin. She could feel the hesitation in the way his chest rose beneath her cheek. The pause in his breath. The heaviness starting to creep in again.

And then, finally—softly:

“I don’t know.”

He turned his face slightly, hiding in her hair, one arm tightening around her waist like he was afraid she might let go after hearing it.

“Just hold me,” he whispered.

Y/N didn’t hesitate and pulled him in.

Both arms around him now. Her leg tightening over his hip. Her fingers finding the back of his neck and threading into his hair, grounding him.

“I think I can be okay,” she murmured. “As long as you’re with me.”

He didn’t speak again.

He didn’t have to.

Because in that moment, with her heart pressed to his, her breath warm against his skin, and her arms wrapped around his body—that was the only answer either of them needed.

And in the quiet, with hundreds of questions but nothing left to say, they stayed together.

For now.

TAGLIST @yourislandgirl @splzq @rikiislovrr @hoonprksung @kyunlov

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demie90s · 2 days ago

Note

I LOVEE MENACE READER, I NEED ONE WHERE THE REF KEEPS MAKING FLASE CALLS AND MISSED CALLS MAKING HER CRASH OUT, THEN THE LAST FALSE CALL SHE GOT, SHE CRASHED OUT ON THE GIRL WHO WAS FOULING HER AND THE REF

𝐔𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍 𝐓𝐄��𝐌 X 𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐂𝐄!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

Play Stupid. Win Stupid.

MASTERLIST, MORE

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: The ref has one more time to blow that dusty-ass whistle before you take matters into your own hands. You’ve been fouled, hacked, shoved, and tripped all game—and somehow you’re the one getting the calls.

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: Sports chaos, menace!reader, tension, locker room aftermath, team rallying around you

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: Cussing, ejection, light physicality, reader might’ve said “get your whistle out your throat before I do it for you”

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: ~0.8k

ᴠɪʙᴇ: “I’m calm until I’m not. And when I’m not, you better be.”

I swear I tried to behave.

Geno had one rule for me this game—keep your cool. And for the first three quarters, I really tried. For real. Every time that girl bumped me, pulled my jersey, elbowed me low, I just breathed. Blew it off. Looked at the ref. Who—surprise, surprise—was more interested in staring at the sideline than doing his job.

By the second quarter, it was clear. They weren’t gonna play fair. And he wasn’t gonna call fair.

She shoved me in the back going up for a rebound. Nothing.

KK got tripped—and we got the foul.

Azzi caught an elbow to the face. Whistle? Silent.

By the time we hit the last few minutes of the third, I stopped reacting. Didn’t look at the bench. Didn’t talk to the refs. Just nodded every time she hit me.

Fourth quarter. Close game. Crowd loud.

We’re running a clean play—Ice driving baseline—and here comes someone barreling into her like she’s trying to clear traffic. Ice hits the floor hard, sliding across the hardwood like a dropped phone.

No call.

I stopped dribbling.

I just stood there. Ball in hand. Breathing hard. The crowd’s screaming. The team’s yelling.

And the ref?

He blows the whistle.

On. Me.

“Offensive foul. Number 17.”

I blinked.

Then I looked at Geno.

That man looked like he aged five years in two seconds. His clipboard didn’t even make it to the floor—he just dropped it.

I handed the ball to the nearest girl.

Took off my headband.

And walked.

Straight up to the player who’d been fouling us all night.

“Yo,” I said, loud enough for her to hear but quiet enough to stay dangerous. “You got one more time to touch her like that.”

She didn’t back up. She smiled. Real smug.

I tilted my head.

“You think this funny? Try me again. I swear to God, you won’t finish this game walking.”

Then—then—the ref steps in, puffed-up like a Dollar Tree security guard.

“That’s enough,” he says, waving me off. “You’re out. Technical.”

I looked him dead in the face.

“Oh, word?” I said, taking a step forward. “You wanna eject me? Cool. But make it worth it.”

Then I reached for his whistle—and snatched it clean off his lanyard. Man looked like he saw his life flash.

“You gon’ need this when I’m done with her,” I said, tossing it at his chest. “To call the damn ambulance.”

Azzi damn near ran off the court to hide her laugh. Paige is holding KK now, trying to keep her calm. Nika’s standing next to the scorer’s table mouthing, she gone snap.

Too late. I already did.

Security starts coming toward me. I back up slow like I know the drill, hands up like “yeah, yeah, I’m leaving.”

But not before I walk past the player again—closer this time—and lean in like I’m whispering a prayer.

“I swear to God, if Ice so much as bruises, I’m finding you in the parking lot. Pack your shit early.”

The whole gym is watching. Camera flashes. Phones out. Geno’s got two hands on his hips like he’s about to faint.

I don’t celebrate. I don’t dap anybody up.

I just leave.

Locker Room

The room’s dead quiet when I walk in. Everybody moves like I might still be ticking.

I sit down on the bench, unzip my warmups, and stare at the floor.

Ice walks in last. Her cheek’s red. Ice pack in hand.

She comes to me, sits right next to my knee.

“You didn’t have to do all that,” she says, real soft.

I don’t look at her.

“She didn’t have to hit you like that.”

“She does that to everybody.”

“Then I’m not everybody.”

She doesn’t say anything. Just puts the ice pack on her shoulder.

Then, after a minute, I turn to her. Grab her chin gentle.

“Let me see your face.”

She lets me.

I press my lips to her forehead. Once. Twice. Three times.

“Say the word,” I whisper, “and I’ll find her in the parking lot.”

Ice laughs.

⸻

Later that Night, Group Chat

📱Paige: [screenshot] Yo this ref deleted his Twitter 💀💀

📱Nika: “play stupid. win stupid.”

📱KK: I still can’t believe you really took the whistle

📱You: He ain’t deserve it. He just renting it.

📱Azzi: Geno wants to talk tmr

📱You: He better not touch me either then

#wbb imagine #wnba x reader #wbb x reader #wbb x oc #wnba x oc #wnba imagine #gxg #wbb #wnba #uconn wbb #uconn x reader #kk arnold x reader #paige bueckers x reader #azzi x reader #nika muhl x reader #gxg fluff #gxg angst #paige bueckers uconn

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utopeian · 1 day ago

Text

a man who yearns

SUMMARY Having his hands on you keeps him present. Little does Bob know, his touch is what keeps you present.

PAIRING bob reynolds x gender neutral!thunderbolt!reader

GENRE vague relationship, but they like each other, fluff, a lot of nonsexual intimacy

WORD COUNT 1k+

WARNINGS not proofread! reader wears heels and makeup, no mention of Y/N

AUTHOR’S NOTE hi, this is my first time writing for bob! so sorry in advance for the inaccuracies.. this was based off a little dream i had, hehe.. hope y'all still like it, though! <3

The minimal chatter and droning of the television that usually echoes throughout the newly renovated living quarters are absent. A rare occasion. The only way one can get to experience this wholly is to sneak out of Valentina’s galas hours earlier than intended; that’s exactly what you and Bob did. Over, and over, and over again. The rest of the team stopped questioning your sudden disappearances after the first few times, eventually understanding that the two of you need a head-start to recover from social settings.

“I don’t understand it. Just don’t interact with anyone when you get tired, easy!”

“Alexei, that is not how it works.”

Although this time, you might’ve had one too many servings of champagne tonight before booking it out of the flashy venue. You wanted to try something out of your comfort zone, slowly but surely. You knew it was a disaster waiting to happen when you asked Yelena in passing if you should let loose, but you still wanted her validation. (Of course, she enabled you; she always thinks you deserve to let loose).

The tipsy haze slowing your movement and speech might not be clear to you, but it is to Bob. Even if he wanted to drink as much as you so you wouldn’t feel all alone, it would’ve evaporated the moment it entered his system, because of the serum and all. Instead, he settled for the next best thing: being your guardian angel for the night. That’s how the two of you end up on the floor, you using one of the sleek couches as a backrest as he sits across from you. He’d follow you anywhere, no matter how questionable. Bob doesn’t mean to cut your tangent off when he blurts out, “Why are we on the floor again?” He tenses immediately when he imagines your reaction to what he just did. He prepares for the worst.

You blink twice, not too bothered that the topic changed, knowing it had to stop at some point. You don’t really remember what you were going on about, anyway. “Oh! My heels are still on. Don’t wanna get up anymore.” The reason doesn’t make sense, but Bob keeps that comment to himself. The last thing he wants is to upset a tipsy you, or you at any moment in time. He instead focuses on the fact that you don’t hate him just because he diverted your attention away from what you were talking about.

You straighten your legs in front of you from their initial folded position, alternating each polished shoe tip to playfully point in Bob’s direction. Despite your follow-up complaint that you want them off, you do nothing. He knows you’re fully capable of doing things on your own when you want to, that’s only one of the many things he loves about you, but he tries to grab every opportunity to show you that he cares. This is no different. He shuffles in his place and takes advantage of your position as you start talking about a movie you rewatched the other day, oblivious to what he’s planning.

He reaches over to gently grab the back of your shoe and slips it off your foot, shyly glances up to see that you’re still distracted, then takes the other off. Bob has one heel in each hand and hesitates for a second, thinking of where to put them. The poor, patient soul had really tried to listen to you while multitasking, but your words started running into each other. He didn’t catch the title of the film you were talking about (did you even mention it?). Your monologuing continues as he settles to put them about an arm's length away from the two of you, nodding at whatever you were saying, ensuring the pair was still in pristine condition.

You fold your ankle over the other mindlessly, not noticing all that’s left to cover your feet are your stockings with some runs at the bottom. A corner of the brunet’s lips fondly quirks up at your action. Bob finally exhales through his nose; he’s thankful he can go back to listening to you properly. Well, he never listens to you fully, though, because he gets distracted by how beautiful you look in the dimly lit space with your makeup a little worn in, how the intimate setting fuels the wildfire spreading throughout his chest. Before he can stop himself, Bob inches closer to you, afraid to startle you but desperate to touch you in any form. As long as it’s you, it doesn’t matter how. Having his hands on you keeps him present. Little does he know, his touch is what keeps you present.

Unknowingly, in a way that makes it look like it’s as simple as breathing, he pulls you softly by the ankles to rest your feet on his lap. His hands don’t leave. Instead, they soothingly circle the inner parts of your ankle. Bob sees you practically melt under his touch, dissolving your train of thought to a sigh of relief. It’s enough to get him giddy; making you feel good makes him feel good. Your eyes flutter closed for a good minute before you remember where you are. “If you wanted me to shut up, y’should have just told me.”

His actions halt for a second, before he continues out of fear of getting chastised. “No! Keep telling me about Mr. Darcy and how a man who yearns is a man who earns.” You smile dopily at him and his heart wants to race out of his chest. You gladly continue.

The distant twinkling of the city lights against the abyss of the night, the occasional sirens and the flashing blues and reds, the humming of airplanes passing. The world around you accompanies your aimless conversation, but in this moment, you forget that you are two out of billions of… everything. It doesn’t matter, these details don’t matter. Everything fades away in the background because you have each other. That’s all you need.

#bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds x you #bob reynolds x y/n #bob reynolds imagine #robert reynolds x reader #robert reynolds x you #bob x reader #bob x you #bob reynolds #robert reynolds #bob thunderbolts

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popcornpoppypop · 2 days ago

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Promises, Promises Part 3

Summary: Callie's fate is revealed and Jack finds himself wrapped around his daughter's finger already.

Warnings: Blood, Childbirth, Birth Trauma, Panic Attack, talk of death

A/N: The final part! Thank you for following along! I really liked this story and it's nice to have it out in the world finally.

Mel walked into Callie’s room, the lights dimmed and monitors softly beeping. Dana was curled in her chair, running her fingers through Callie’s hair.

“Dana?” Mel’s voice was small and fragile.

“Hey, Kid.” Dana smiled, her eyes tired and red.

“Can I sit with you?”

“Yeah, course.” Dana nodded to the chair on the opposite side of Callie. Mel sat in the chair, trying to be quiet as if she could wake Callie.

“You need to get rest too.” Dana noted.

“We all do, none of us will.” Mel sighed.

“Good point.” Dana gave a sad chuckle. They sat in silence for a while. Mel’s leg bouncing as the thoughts raced through her mind.

“She’s a good person.” Mel stated.

“Yeah. She is.”

“She’s kind. She’s funny and she takes care of us. No one else takes care of us. Not to mention her patients at the vet clinic. She’s a really good person.” Mel’s voice cracked.

“Aw, Kid. Don’t go there.”

“I just…I don’t understand. She deserves to be with her baby. She wanted that baby so much. She held her for thirty-seven seconds. I counted. I had to take her baby from her.” Mel stopped trying to hide the tears.

“There is no reason. There is no way to know why good people have bad things happen to them. But she’s strong and she’s fighting right now. We have to keep fighting for her.” Dana sighed, none of her words felt comforting enough.

“I wish I could do more.”

“You can talk to her. I think she can hear us still.” Dana smiled. Mel nodded, taking a shaky breath.

“Callie, I’m going to keep fighting for you. That means you have to too.” Her lip trembled and her face scrunched in pain. “We need people like you. I need people like you. I remember when you made me take the night off and go to your house. We watched that new romcom, I can’t remember the name, and we put on face masks. We made Dr. Abbot put one on too and he hated it.” Mel gave a wet laugh. “You taught me that taking care of myself was important. You teach me so much.” The tears stung her dry lips. “I’m taking care of them. We all are. We’re looking out for Jack and Pippa. If…if you have to go, we’ll hold them for you.” Mel sobbed.

“Oh, Mel.” Dana sobbed. She got up and went to the other side of the bed, wrapping Mel up in her arms.

“She’s too important to leave.” Mel sighed as she tried to regain her composure.

“She’s not leaving.” Dana told her with conviction. They sat with Callie, feeling her breath and life bringing some comfort. They both knew that if Callie didn’t make it, it would send the whole department into a grief-stricken whirl.

The monitors suddenly picked up their rhythm, sending Mel and Dana to their feet.

“BP is getting stronger, heart rate elevating.” Dana noted.

“Get Dr. Abbot. I think she’s trying to wake up.” Dana ran faster than she ever had. She burst into bay 7, Jack and Robby turning to her with terror in their eyes.

“I think she’s waking up.” Dana was out of breath, but they both heard her.

“Perlah-” Jack started but was cut off by the nurse taking the baby from his arms and shoving him out of the room.

They ran back to the room, the monitors signaling that she was trying to come back to them.

“Stats are improving, her breaths are stronger and she’s exhibiting purposeful movement.” Mel informed them. Jack ran over to Callie’s side, his hand smoothing her hair away from her face.

“Baby, Callie, can you hear me?” Jack’s voice was breaking again. He held her hand like it was the only thing keeping him together. “Squeeze my hand, please Honey.” He begged. He paid no attention what anyone else in the room was doing, he eyes were glued to Callie. His chest felt like it broke open when he felt her hand squeeze back. “Thank you, Baby.” He kissed her forehead.

Her eyes started fluttering as she tried to gain control of her body. Her hand clamped down firmly on Jacks, desperate for something to ground her. Her eyes finally opened and she was looking at Jack and he felt like he might collapse again.

“Hey, there you are. There’s my girl.” He sobbed. The tears fell down Callie’s temples as she gasped around the intubation tube.

“Easy, Callie. We’ll take it out, just relax for a minute.” Robby said as he grabbed his gloves. Jack could see the pain in her eyes, not just physical but the emotional. She would need time to heal, they all would.

“Okay, Callie. Take a deep breath in,” Robby took hold of the tube. “ And blow out, that’s it.” He pulled the tube from her throat, Callie coughing and hacking.

“You’re okay, you’re alright.” Jack supported her neck as she took deep breaths.

“Good to see you again, Callie.” Robby smiled as he checked her over.

“Fuck…you…” Callie rasped, sending the room laughing.

“You scared the shit out of me.” Jack sighed. Callie raised her hand to hold his face.

“Scared myself.” Callie’s lip trembled. “I’m never doing that again. One and done.” She nodded.

“Oh you’ll get no fight from me.” Jack chuckled.

“We’ll give you two some time.” Robby nodded. Callie reached out and grabbed his hand.

“Thank you. I trusted you and you fought for me.” Callie smiled.

“We’ll always fight for you.” Robby nodded.

“I think there’s someone that’s been waiting to see you.” Perlah came wheeling the warming crib into the room. Jack helped move the bed upright for Callie. “You tell us if you need anything.” She smiled and ushered everyone out of the room.

Jack picked the baby up and brought her over to Callie, placing them on her chest.

“She’s so perfect.” Callie sobbed.

“You both are.” Jack kissed her cheek as he sat on the edge of the bed.

“I can’t believe your ginger genes beat mine.” They laughed.

“It may be recessive but it’s stubborn.” He sighed, content with their peaceful moment.

“I can’t believe we get to take her home. Feels illegal.”

“Like we were supposed to get a license at some point and forgot.”

“Yeah. Oh my god. The car doesn’t have a car seat.” Callie looked up to Jack.

“Honey, you’ll be here for a while. I’ll get the car seat sorted, don’t worry about that.” He laughed.

“I need to ask you a question and you cannot laugh.” Callie adjusted herself on the bed.

“I’ll do my best.”

“It feels like there is a balloon in my uterus, is there a balloon in my uterus?”

“Yes. There is. It’ll be there for about a day.” Jack stated.

“Thought I was crazy.” She sighed. She nuzzled her cheek against her baby’s head, that sweet newborn scent sending a rush of endorphins to her brain.

Jack pulled his phone out, snapping a quick picture. It would be his screensaver on his phone, laptop and it would be hung up in his locker.

“How’s the pain?” Jack’s hand was resting on her arm, he felt the need to be touching her at all times, needing to be sure this wasn’t a dream.

“Well, not great. But it’s not like I can have pain meds.” She shrugged. Jack took a deep breath, readying to break her heart a little more.

“Honey, you had to have a lot of medications. You were out for a while. She needed to be fed.”

“But…we had a plan.” Her voice shook.

“I know, Callie. None of this went to plan. She’s going to be okay on formula. You need to rest.” Jack cupped her cheek in his hands.

“I wanted…I wanted to have that connection. I was supposed to-” She couldn’t finish her sentence.

“I know. We’re good at pivoting and improving. We can handle this. You can handle this. She is not going to love you less.”

“What if it messes her up? What if all of this does something to her?” Callie sobbed.

“She’s okay. She is doing everything she is supposed to. She’s hitting the milestones. APGAR is perfect.”

“But, like, down the line? Like, what if it causes some complication?”

“Honey, there is nothing that would suggest any complications.” Jack wiped the tears from her face.

“T-take her, my arms feel weird.” Callie sobbed.

“What do you mean?”

“Take her, Jack!” Callie was panicking.

“okay, okay.” Jack lifted the baby into his arms. “Breath, honey. You’re okay.”

“I failed her, I failed her already.” The sobs wracked Callie’s body. Jack could see the panic in her eyes. He put Pippa back in the crib, she was getting fussy with the commotion.

“Callie, you haven’t failed anyone.” Jack tried to console her, squeezing her hand.

“I did, m-my body failed her! I don’t care if it fails me, but not her! Not her!” She was delirious.

The baby started crying, the sound of Callie’s panic disturbing Pippa. Jack felt stuck between a rock and a hard place, he was starting to panic. He popped his head into the hall, spotting Princess he waved her over.

“Take the baby, she’s okay. Just keep an eye on her.” Jack pleaded as he wheeled the crib into the hallway.

“Yeah, we got her. She okay?”

“It’s all hitting her. Robby still here?” Jack looked back into the room, Callie was sobbing, her body unsteady and rocking with the effort of her cries.

“Yeah, he’s still around.” Princess looked to Callie, her face crumbled at the sight. “Just…she might need to be sedated. I don’t-I don’t fucking know.” He shook his head as he went back in.

“Callie, you need to breathe. You’re going hypoxic, you need to slow down.” Jack sat on the edge of the bed, holding her shoulders.

“I can’t do this! I can’t do this!” She sobbed.

“Yes, you can! You were going to give her your life, you would sacrifice everything for her! Callie, you’re already a great mother. Please, take a breath.” He held her head in his hands, her face red and lips purple and twitching.

“She deserves better than me.” She looked more broken than Jack had ever seen her, it made his heart drop.

“There isn’t anyone on this planet better than you. You have no idea how incredible you are. I failed you if you truly think that.” Jack shook his head, fighting the tears. “You didn’t see how many people were shattered today, the thought that you…we might lose you brought this hospital to its knees.”

“I’m so scared!”

“I know. Me too. We have so much to lose now. But we can do this together.” Jack brushed her hair from her face.

“I can’t stop this! I-I can’t…” The monitor alarms started going off.

“Callie, Callie you have to breathe. Baby! I need you to breathe!” Jack begged, her chest heaving with each panicked breath. Her eyes were distant, he couldn’t reach her anymore. She barely had the strength to be conscious let alone be rational. Jack slammed the call button.

“Callie, try to listen to me, Baby I’m right here. You are okay. Pippa is okay. I’m okay, everyone is okay.” Jack tried to reason with her primal, panicked mind.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Robby came into the room.

“I can’t get her to calm down. She’s hypoxic, her sats are going down. We-we need to sedate her.” Jack’s heart broke. He’d been there. When his mind tortured him to the point he couldn’t fight back and had to be sedated. It was a terrible feeling. One he thought he could keep from Callie.

“Princess-”

“Got it.” She said as she administered the drugs into the IV catheter in Callie’s arm.

“You’re just going to sleep, Honey. Just a little rest, okay? I’ll be right here when you wake up. Everything is okay.” Jack talked with her until her eyes finally shut and her breathing evened out. Her vitals going back to normal limits.

“Fuck.” Jack sighed.

“Princess, sit with her for a minute. Jack, let’s walk.” Robby put a hand on his shoulder.

“No, I-”

“She’ll be okay, I’m not going to leave her. Go.” Princess nodded.

“Come on. You need to get some air.” Robby pulled Jack to his feet. Jack stumbled out of the room.

“We’ll get Kiara to come see her in the morning.” Robby noted. “We’re getting a recliner sent down for you. Ideally, she’d go upstairs but ICU says there won’t be room for a while. Nothing new there. I would tell you to go home and we’ll watch them but I know better than that.” Robby chuckled.

“I keep thinking about what I should have done different. Maybe if I had put my foot down and we’d gone to Presby she’d have gotten the c-section and she wouldn’t feel like this.” Jack shook his head.

“She would still be traumatized by an emergency c-section. She’d still be laid up in bed, not able to move. We know this is, unfortunately, what happens when birth goes awry. There wasn’t any way to spare her from this, Jack. Don’t blame yourself.”

“I just can’t stand the fact that she thinks she’s a failure after all that. After how hard she fought.” Jack rubbed his eyes, they were sore and irritated.

“I know. It doesn’t make sense. But the human brain is a scary place. She’ll get through this. You all will.” Robby patted him on the back.

“Jesus, this is not how today was supposed to go.” Jack walked out the ambulance bay doors, the cool night air washing over him, offering little comfort.

“No. But did you really think you and Callie would have a normal anything? You two are constantly getting thrown curveballs.” Robby huffed.

“True. But, this was too close. Her heart stopped. I can’t stop thinking about it. I know she can’t either. I have half a mind to keep them both locked in the house and wrapped in bubble wrap.” Jack sighed.

“Oh, I think I won the bet!” Robby pumped his fist in the air. “Knew you’d say that at some point.”

“Not funny.”

“A little funny.” Robby nudged his shoulder. “Dana’s at your house getting it ready, by the way.”

“What?” Jack looked up at him confused. “When did she get a key?”

“Callie gave her one when you guys moved in. She’s making sure the fridge is stocked and all your baby equipment is prepped and ready. She didn’t feel like she could go right home but didn’t want to be in the way here. She’s grieving in her own way.” Robby nodded. “She said something about lasagna.”

“Callie loves her lasagna.” Jack let out a long-held sigh.

“Who doesn’t?” Robby smiled. The two men stood in silence for a moment. The events of the day running through their heads. Had it been anyone else, they would have been able to work through it and move on. But it was too close.

“Fuck. She almost died.” A sob ripped from Jack’s throat. “I almost lost her!” He broke, his hand grabbing Robby’s shoulder as his knees threatened to give out again. Robby held him upright.

“It’s okay.” He told him as Jack clung onto him. “She’s okay. She made it.” He reassured him.

“I’m sorry.” Jack coughed as he stood up.

“You never have to apologize to me. Especially about this. Jack, we’re family. That woman is the closet thing I have to a sister. I was feeling all of it too. We’re all going to feel this.” Robby nodded.

“Dr. Abbot, Princess says the sedation is starting to wear off.” One of the nurses shouted from the doorway.

“I can barely keep myself together. I don’t know how to keep her from breaking.”

“Then don’t. She just needs you to be there, Jack. Not solve everything.” Robby nodded. Jack gave him a slap on the arm and ran back inside.

“Dr. Abbot, she just started to wake up.” Princess stood up. “I’ll be just outside.” She left, giving his arm a reassuring squeeze.

Callie’s brows furrowed as she fought the sedation. She groaned, rubbing her eyes. She looked up at Jack, her bloodshot eyes still made his heart flutter.

“Hey.” His voice quiet and soft.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know what the hell that was.” Callie sighed, her cheeks blushing with embarrassment.

“You don’t have to apologize. Callie, what you’ve been through is more than enough to throw anyone for a loop. It’s going to take time to feel normal.” Jack’s thumb traced along her cheekbone.

“You went through it too.”

“Yeah. Yeah, but I don’t have the physical reminder.” He said, her hand in his as they both clung to each other for dear life.

“Where is she? I must have scared the shit out of her.” Callie sighed.

“She’s…I actually don’t know. Princess probably handed her off to one of the nurses.”

“So you’re going to look me in the eye, after I just had a panic attack so bad I needed sedation, and tell me you don’t know where my baby is right now?” Callie raised her eyebrows.

“Yeah, I’ll be right back.”

“Yes, find our child, please.” Callie chuckled. Jack scrambled out of the room and up to the nurses station.

“Hey, where is my baby?” Jack asked Princess.

“Oh, sorry! I forgot to tell you! She’s okay, Donnie brought her into the break room. It was quieter.” Princess said. Jack nodded headed into the break room. Donnie was bouncing the baby in his arms as he stirred his coffee, talking to her.

“…and then you mom made me go to brunch and tried to set me up with the waitress because I said she was hot one time. She’s a good wingman, your mom. Then there was the time she brought me sweet potato pie because I missed my grandma’s pie and she could tell how sad I was. Your mom takes care of us, she’s really good at it too.” He hummed to the baby. “I’ll tell you the really good stories when your older.” He laughed as he turned, surprised to see Jack standing in the doorway. “Geez, you scared me. We were just chatting.” Donnie nodded to the baby.

“Thank you for looking after them, Donnie. You’ve always taken good care of Callie when I couldn’t.”

“They’re family. You’re family. It’s what we do.” Donnie shrugged. “Anyway, she’s a cute baby so it’s easy to be nice to her.” He chuckled.

“Alright, let me get her back to her mom.” He smiled taking the baby into his arms.

Jack walked into Callie’s room, the baby gurgling and stretching in his arms. Callie had fallen asleep already, but they had gotten the recliner to her room for him. He made himself comfortable; the baby settled on his chest.

“We’ll be alright.” He murmured into the top of Pippa’s head, kissing the soft curls. Pippa yawned, Jack gave her his finger to hold. She held it tight. He felt like he could explode, he loved her so damn much.

Four days in the hospital, and Jack and Callie were both ready to scream. They were grateful to have so many people helping them, but there was no privacy. The ICU never had a bed open up, and Jack preferred the doctors he knew over ones he only occasionally interacted with, so it wasn’t fussed over much.

“You three ready to get the hell out of here?” Robby came in smiling.

“I never want to see this place again.” Callie gave a sarcastic smirk.

“Not sure how possible that will be. But I hope it’s only to pick up Jack and bring us donuts.” Robby handed her the discharge papers.

“Well, you won’t see me for two months, try not to burn the place down.” Jack huffed.

“I think we’ll manage.” Robby rolled his eyes. There was knock on the door that broke their attention.

“Come in.” Callie called.

“Stop letting everyone in here. We’re trying to get out of here.” Jack groaned.

“Oh, stop being so grumpy.” Callie smacked his chest.

“Hey, just wanted to see you guys before you left.” Donnie came in, a gaggle of people behind him.

“Oh please. You’re here for her and we all know it.” Callie crossed her arms.

“Yeah, but I was trying to be polite about it.” He shot her a snotty look as he went over to the crib.

“What are you going to do without all the nurses fawning over her?” Robby chuckled.

“I will miss that.” Callie sighed, her head resting on Jack’s arm.

“You call me, I’ll be over any time you need.” Perlah noted.

“Same.” Donnie smiled down at the baby.

“Alright, get the hell away from my baby before you get your nasty ER germs on her.” Jack shooed everyone away.

“Text me once you get home.” Robby put a hand on Callie’s shoulder. “Call if you need a break. I mean it, both of you.” He shot Jack a look.

“Thank you, Robby. For everything.” Callie’s eyes started to water.

“Oh stop all of that.” He wrapped her up in a tight hug. “I can’t cry in front of the med students. Get those hormones out of here.” He chuckled, rubbing his eyes.

“Let’s go home.” Jack said as he got Pippa settled in her car seat. Callie stood up, getting ready to leave before Dana came rolling in with a wheelchair.

“What do you think you’re doing? Sit the hell down!” She barked, hand on her hip.

“I can walk!”

“Can and should are two different things. Policy. Get in the chair.” She ordered.

“You care aggressively.” Callie chuckled.

“Not the first time that’s been said.” Dana patted her shoulder as she got in the chair. They finally left the room, the weight started to feel bearable.

“Now. I’ve got all the bottle ready for you. Full stock of formula ready to go for you. I made sure the fridge is stocked for the week and the freezer has plenty of food. When that runs low, call me.” Dana instructed.

“I think we can make our own food.” Jack snorted.

“You two will forget to feed yourselves the second you don’t have food in front of your face.” Dana scolded.

“Fair point.” Jack nodded.

“Thank you, Dana. You didn’t need to do all that, but it’s appreciated.” Callie smiled.

“My daughter is coming by to take care of the lawn and the garden, don’t worry about any of that. My husband is cleaning the gutters after the rain tomorrow. Don’t panic when there's a random man on a ladder in the front yard. They are under strict instructions not to ring the bell or bother you.” Dana parked the chair next to the car.

“You really don’t need to do that.” Callie knew it was a useless battle, but fought it out of politeness.

“Stop it. If you need a minute to yourself and want some adult interaction, call me. Call Robby. Call anyone. We’re here.” She smiled, her eyes glassy.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you all.” Callie sighed.

“Oh, Sweetheart.” Dana wrapped her up in hug. “We love you. God, feel nervous not having you here anymore.” She gave a breathy laugh.

“You have control issues.” Jack laughed as he came around the car to help Callie into the car.

“I’m a charge nurse, of course I have control issues.” She smacked Jack’s arm.

Jack closed the door to the passenger side. He took a deep breath.

“Got your girls all settled.” Dana smiled, seeing the nerves starting to bubble up on Jacks face. “You got this. You’ve already taken such good care of them.” She put her hand on his arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“Yeah, just us now though.” Jack nodded.

“Enjoy it. You’ll blink and be back here.” Dana patted his arm and shoved him toward the car. “Make sure she doesn’t overdo it! You’ll answer to me if she’s back in here.” Dana laughed as she walked off.

“Ready?” Jack got into the car, adjusting the rearview mirror so he could see the car seat.

“So ready for my own bed.” Callie chuckled. Jack chuckled as he pulled out of the parking lot. He had never driven so cautiously in his life. 30 mph felt like 70 mph. He was so relieved to be home, the driveway never looked so good as he pulled in.

“Let me get her out and then I'll help you.” Jack said as he jumped out of the car and undid the car seat. He looked up to see Callie climbing out of the car.

“I can manage some things, Jack.” She said as she limped towards the door. Jack shook his head as he followed her inside.

“My god, she cleaned the whole place.” Callie looked in shock at the now pristine home before her.

“She’s deranged. At least it’s to our advantage.” Jack laughed.

They sat on the couch, the TV playing something for the noise, the baby asleep on Jack’s chest.

“What do we do now?” Callie asked.

“Try and figure out what normal looks like now.” He shrugged. Callie looked over to him. He was rubbing soft circles on Pippa’s back, humming under his breath.

“I think I like what the new normal looks like on you.” Callie cocked an eyebrow.

“Down girl. You got six weeks before you can talk like that to me.” Jack scolded.

“Can’t help that my boyfriend is a smoking hot DILF.” She chuckled.

“You know you’re the most fertile just after having a baby, right?”

“Oh that did it. Yeah, no I’m good.” Callie shook her head.

“Thought so.” Jack laughed. “This feels right. The three of us.” He smiled. “Yeah. This was how we were supposed to be. Just the three of us. Our team is complete for sure.” Callie ran her hand through his curls. “This is perfect.”

#the pitt #the pitt fanfiction #dr. jack abbott #dr. jack abbot x reader #jack abbot fanfic #jack abbot x oc #jack abbot x reader #dana evans #dr. robby #tw mention of death #tw birth #tw death #tw blood

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dreamwritesimagines · 8 hours ago

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Declassified [8] - Diplomacy

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful support my loves, you are so amazing🩷 I hope you like this chapter as well! 🥰 And please let me know what you think! 🩷

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky x Female!Reader

Summary: The first day of work can be stressful.

Warnings: Explicit language, yearning.

Word Count: 4381

Series Masterlist

Well.

This was exactly what the first day of school used to feel like.

You couldn’t stop the sigh leaving your lips as you stared up at the Capitol Building, trying to ignore the anxiety churning your stomach. You knew you were supposed to go in, but somehow your legs refused to listen to you, so you exhaled slowly the way your therapist had taught you to get at least some sort of—

“It’s not too late to change your mind.”

You jumped out of your skin, then pressed a hand over your chest and glared at Bucky.

“What did I say about sneaking up on people?”

“In my defense, you looked pretty out of it already.” He shrugged his shoulders. “And as I said; not too late to change your mind. We can still leave.”

“Right,” you said with a laugh. “So we just forget about the Congress and everything and go away?”

He grinned. “Mm hm.”

“Where?”

“Brooklyn.”

You tilted your head. “Except that Brooklyn elected you as their representative, I feel like they’d ask what the hell you’re doing there.”

“You make a good point,” he said and thought for a moment. “Okay, new plan.”

“I’m listening.”

“We get new names and identities, move to a small town where no one knows us, and grow old and gray there in peace. We never check the news, ever.”

Your heart skipped a beat but you tried to focus. “Do we have to change Alpine’s name too?”

“I don’t think she’d let us,” he said, a soft smile pulling at his lips. “She missed you, by the way.”

This was not flirting.

This was just friendly. That was it. Two friends talking.

About running away together.

“I missed her too,” you said. “How does she like your new place?”

“She doesn’t,” he murmured before turning to glance at the building. “We’re gonna be fine.”

“Are you talking to me or yourself?”

“Yes.”

You repressed a laugh and bumped your shoulder against his.

“Come on,” you said as you started walking with him next to you. “Today is your day, and you’re gonna be very busy.”

“Yeah, the schedule was pages long,” he said. “I have meetings with people I don’t even know about.”

“Think of it like your debutante ball,” you told him. “They all want to see if you’re the right fit for them, how much dowry you have, and if they can bed you.”

“Please talk to me about something else.”

“Okay. “You shrugged your shoulders. “Onto some heartwarming news; I told Max to go fuck himself last night.”

Bucky frowned. “Hold on, he’s still calling you?”

“I called him,” you said. “He got the apartment after I prepared my boxes and stuff, and I paid the movers extra so that they would move everything without me being there, but apparently Max went through my boxes even if he refuses to admit it, because Blinky is not in any of them.”

“Who’s Blinky?” He paused for a moment. “Or what is Blinky?”

“Blinky is my childhood plushie,” you said. “It’s a fox plushie with one eye, the other eye fell off on the first day, that’s why I named him that. I took him everywhere I moved, and guess what? Max refuses to give him back.”

“Well, that’s interesting information.”

“I know, right?” you asked as you both walked into the building and held up your IDs to go through the security even if Bucky didn’t need to do that. “He claims he hasn’t seen him, but I’m so sure he hides him somewhere in the apartment.”

“You have a toy?”

“It’s a plushie.”

“It’s a toy.”

“It’s a plushie—you know what, I’m not going to stand in the Capitol hallway to argue semantics about my nostalgic childhood plushie with you,” you said while Bucky grinned at you. “You have one thousand things to do and so do I, so I’ll see you tomorrow.”

That wiped his grin off his face. “Wait, tomorrow? You’re not gonna be around?”

“I’ll be gone all day.”

His eyes widened and he shook his head.

“Birdie, no—”

“I have the orientation, I’ll have to meet everyone and stuff, and apparently there’s this tour… It’ll be chaotic. Kels will be with you though, and Caleb as well.”

“But it wouldn’t take you all day,” Bucky tried to convince you as if you were the one who planned the schedule. “What are they going to do, make you tour the place twice? Just tell them you have stuff to do.”

“This is my stuff to do.”

“So you’re leaving me alone with these people?”

You tried not to laugh at the look of betrayal on his face.

“These people are going to be your colleagues,” you reminded him. “So you need to make friends with them. You don’t need me for that.”

“I do need you for that, actually,” he argued. “I don’t…I don’t make friends.”

“Fine, don’t make friends with them, just be civil. You charmed half of Brooklyn, remember?”

“Because you were there.”

“You’ve been through literally the hardest things anyone can go through—”

“To repeat, none of those things required making friends. Or socializing for that matter.”

“You’ll be fine, and I’ll drop by the office if I can,” you assured him. “But remember. Diplomacy. That’s the currency here.”

Bucky took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah.”

You took a step to leave, then turned around again to look at him.

“I feel like this goes without saying when it comes to diplomacy, but do not glare at or threaten anyone.”

Bucky stared at you as if you had just asked him whether Alpine could fly and you pursed your lips, then rolled your shoulders back.

“It’s gonna go great,” you muttered to yourself as you started walking again. “Diplomacy, here we come.”

Okay, you expected today to be chaotic, but you did not know it would be this chaotic.

It felt like for the whole day you had been running to one place or the other, and by the time you had found some time to yourself, it was way past lunch time. You had about half an hour until the next item on the schedule so you figured you could drop by Bucky’s office to talk to Kelsey and Caleb and see how Bucky was doing so far.

When you entered the office, most of the team was busy with either their phones or laptops, but Caleb and Kelsey were watching Bucky’s closed door, having a discussion in whispers. You tilted your head, then made your way to them.

“Is everything okay?”

“What are you doing here?” Caleb asked. “My orientation lasted all day.”

“Mine will too, I just got a break—what is happening?”

Kelsey licked her lips. “Guess who asked for a last minute meeting with Bucky.”

“Who?”

“Amos Drexel.”

Your stomach dropped and you gawked at her. “Sorry?”

“I think you guys are the only people who know this person.”

“I’ve been memorizing everyone’s faces and names and titles since the election night,” she said. “And trust me, people know who he is. People in high places, if you know what I mean.”

“Kels, he’s just a consultant.”

Kelsey scoffed. “He’s not just a consultant, Caleb.”

“A lobbyist.”

“Lobbyists come and go, this guy has been bribing and extorting the politicians for like, decades. He has half of them in his pocket.”

“I feel like I would’ve heard about him,” Caleb said and Kelsey shook her head.

“He’s too smart for that,” she said. “It’s easier for him if the public thinks he’s just a consultant. But trust me, every single politician here knows about him.”

“What is he doing here?” you asked, your heartbeat getting faster as you stole a look at the closed door. “I checked Bucky’s schedule this morning, he wasn’t there.”

“As I said, last minute meeting,” Kelsey said. “What was I supposed to do when Drexel wanted to see him, ask him to reschedule? I squeezed him in.”

“If he tries to bribe Bucky, I feel like he might kill him.”

“Obviously but that’s not the point,” Kelsey said while you grabbed her penholder so that you could do something with your hands. “The point is, if Drexel is here, it means he wants to—”

You dropped the penholder as soon as the door opened, and you ducked under the desk to gather the pencils as he passed by the desk.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Barnes.” You heard him say as he walked out of the door and you put all the pens into the holder, then got up from under the desk, letting out a breath.

Bucky looked absolutely furious as he glared in the direction he had disappeared into before his eyes found yours, his gaze softening in a second. You gave him a tightlipped smile and put the holder on the desk—

And the rest of the room turned to the door again.

“Almost forgot.” His voice reached your ears, making your whole body tense up. “Honey? Your mom wants to know if you’re free for dinner next weekend.”

Oh.

Oh he had planned this.

Of course he did. He knew every schedule in this goddamn place, and he knew the moment you had a break, you’d come straight to Bucky’s office.

You forced yourself to ignore the whole team and Bucky staring at you, your cheeks burning in humiliation as you turned around to glare at your father who was standing by the door with a calm smile on his face.

“Make sure to text her please,” he told you. “Have a great first day.”

Then he walked away, leaving the whole office in a stunned silence.

You could feel the tears of frustration burning the back of your eyes but this was neither the time nor the place. You blinked a couple of times, clenching your jaw and then made a beeline into Bucky’s office with Caleb and Kelsey rushing after you. Kelsey closed the door behind her and you licked your lips, taking a deep breath.

“I can explain that—”

“He’s your father?” Caleb asked and you cleared your throat.

“Well…”

“Why is your surname different?”

“How is he your father?” Caleb and Kelsey asked at the same time and you cleared your throat.

“I’ve been asking the same question to my mother for ages now.” You tried to joke as you stole a look at Bucky who was just watching you with an unreadable look on his face.

“Your father is Amos Drexel and you still have roommates?” Kelsey asked, motioning at herself and Caleb, and you shook your head fervently.

“I’m broke.”

Caleb scoffed. “Oh come on—”

“No, I am.” You pulled your phone out to open up your bank app, then showed the screen to them. “See? Totally broke.”

That seemed to have snapped Bucky out of the haze he was in. “Wait, you need money?”

“Nope,” you said, shaking your head fervently. “No I don’t.”

Caleb stared at your phone screen. “How is that even possible?”

“I got myself a separate bank account when I was eighteen,” you said. “I wouldn’t touch his money with a gun to my head, I know where it comes from. And before you ask, I won’t touch it when he dies either, it will go straight to charity.”

“And he’s okay with that?”

“Not at all but he ignores it, just like he ignores how I’ve been begging him to disown me for years,” you said and turned to Bucky. “Please say something.”

Bucky just held your gaze for a moment before taking a deep breath.

“Your surname is different?”

“I changed it to my mother’s maiden name the day I turned eighteen,” you said. “You should’ve seen the paperwork.”

Bucky pointed at the door. “Birdie, I just told your father to go to hell.”

“You—” Kelsey’s eyes widened. “You told him to go to hell?”

“With different words.”

“What words?”

Bucky raised his brows, then motioned at her and you. “You two are here, I can’t exactly say what I said.”

“Bucky how many times must we tell you that people can curse around—” Caleb started but Kelsey cut him off, throwing her head back to look up at the ceiling like she was asking for help.

“Jesus, we’re not gonna last a term.”

“Would he assassinate him?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “No one is going to assassinate me, Caleb.”

“Hypothetically, would it even count as assassination if he killed you?”

“No.”

“I was going to say who died and left you in charge of assassinations, but I think everyone in this room knows the answer—”

“Bucky, I don’t think you understand,” Kelsey insisted. “Let’s say you’re Aragorn, this guy is Sauron!”

You made a face.

“He’s not Sauron, his power does have a limit.” You paused for a moment. “He’s Saruman at best.”

“Thanks, that makes it so much better—”

“Can we have the room?” Bucky cut her off and Kelsey and Caleb exchanged glances, then left the office. You could feel the anxiety churning your stomach but you swallowed thickly, keeping your eyes on him.

“Bucky…”

“Why not tell me?”

You let out a bitter laugh. “Would you have hired me?”

He frowned. “Of course I would.”

“And how would that go? Here’s my resume, oh by the way, my father bribes and extorts politicians for a living?” you asked. “See, I don’t think you would.”

“So your solution was to keep it a secret? Even after we—” He stopped himself. “Even after we started working together?”

Your heart skipped a beat.

“I couldn’t just tell you,” you said. “Listen, I wanted to work in politics, and…”

“And you could’ve easily got a job here,” Bucky told you. “You didn’t have to wait until I got elected.”

“Do you think that’s why I’m doing this?” you asked. “Bucky, I don’t want to work for a politician who is only gonna hire me because of my father, he stands for the opposite of everything I believe in—”

“And it’s been like that from the beginning?” he asked, making you pull back. “From the first minute we started working together?”

When the realization crashed down on you, it tightened your throat like a fist.

“You don’t believe me,” you muttered, biting inside your cheek and he let out a breath.

“Birdie, listen—”

“No, you listen,” you cut him off. “The next time you accuse me of working for my father, or—or having anything to do with his corruption, I will walk away, Bucky. I’ll pick one of the many job offers being thrown at me from someone who’s not in my father’s pocket -surprisingly, there are still some of those- and I’ll go and work for them. So I guess the question you should be asking is, do you really want that to happen?”

With that, you stormed out of the office and made your way to the stairs without sparing anyone a glance, your heart still pounding in your chest.

Well needless to say, as far as first days went, that one was not so good.

You had gone straight home after work without dropping by Bucky’s office again. Caleb came home an hour after you, and Kelsey was the last one to arrive, and they had a lot of questions.

At least they had both brought booze and snacks.

And now, way past midnight, all of you were sitting on the floor, still drinking and snacking but the air felt much lighter.

“I just want to say, Birdie,” Caleb said. “Even if your father is a demon sent from hell to bribe politicians, we love you.”

“Aw, thanks Caleb.”

“Can I also point out that,” Kelsey said, reaching for some chips, “it sure is weird that we have a TV, a fucking gramophone—”

“No badmouthing my gramophone, Kels.”

“But we don’t have a couch?”

“We’ll buy a couch,” you said, throwing a piece of chocolate in air to catch it with your mouth. “Like, next month. When we can afford it.”

“Maybe we should let your father know his daughter doesn’t have a couch, so that he can send us a gold one.”

You shot her a look and she grinned.

“These jokes will continue, just so you know.”

“I know, I know…” you muttered and pointed at the TV. “Swipe left.”

“No, swipe right!” Caleb told Kelsey who tilted her head, still holding her thumb over her phone screen. You had connected her phone to the TV and for over an hour you were going over the ‘options’ for her as Caleb had put it, and even though you’d had doubts at first, this turned out to be much more fun than watching political news.

“I mean he does give off fuckboy vibes, Caleb.”

“I don’t give a shit, he has a dog,” Caleb said. “One of us has to find someone with a dog. Birdie already has Bucky, who has an asshole cat—”

“I don’t have Bucky, and Alpine is a pretty princess.”

“And I’m a dog person,” Caleb said, pointing at the picture on the screen. “Maybe he’ll bring over his dog.”

“You make a good point,” Kelsey said as she swiped right, and all of you made a face at the next picture on the screen.

“Left!”

“Do you guys think I’ll have to work for someone else?”

“I think Bucky would rather resign himself than fire you,” Kelsey stated and Caleb nodded, taking a fistful of jellybeans into his palm.

“She’s right,” he said. “Do you want the green ones?”

“Yes please,” you said and held out your hand so that he could put the green jellybeans in your palm, and you popped them in your mouth. “And if he doesn’t trust me anymore?”

“That’s why he looked like a kicked puppy when I told Kels you were already home within his earshot?”

You let out a whine and downed your drink. “It’s gonna be so weird when I see him tomorrow.”

“Just pretend nothing happened,” Kelsey said, making Caleb scoff.

“I’m sure it’s a very healthy approach to disagreements in a relationship.”

“We’re not in a relationship,” you said sulkily as the roar of a motorcycle outside reached the apartment. “He’s in a relationship with Hazel fucking—swipe right on this one Kels—Brooks.”

“Who hates your guts because she knows Bucky likes you.”

“Right,” you said with a laugh. “Because Bucky would ever leave his hot, successful, billionaire girlfriend —who is, if I may repeat, super hot— to be with me.”

“That’s irrelevant.”

You flailed your arms. “We don’t even have a damn couch, Kels!”

“Then he fucks you on the floor, who cares?” Caleb exclaimed as he poured more wine into your glass, and your phone buzzed on the floor. You picked it up, sitting up straighter the moment you saw the text.

From: Winter Is Coming

Hey. Are you awake?

“What the…” you muttered and turned the screen to Caleb and Kelsey so that they could read the text. “Is this a ‘you up’ text? Is Bucky sending me a you up text?”

“The man has to google half of the things I text him, but he’s sending you a you up text, sure.” Kelsey scoffed a laugh. “See, told you things would work out. That’s gonna be an apology text, text him back.”

You sent a quick yes, your heartbeat getting faster as Caleb grinned.

“He’s so lying in bed thinking about you, aw!”

“He’s not doing that— ” You started but you were cut off when your phone buzzed in your hand.

Do you mind stepping outside for a minute?

“Holy shit!”

“Caleb, stop shouting!”

“He’s here?!”

“Oh my God, oh my God…” You jumped on your feet, fanning yourself. “What do I do?”

“Well, you calm down,” Kelsey said, getting up as well. “And you go outside.”

“How do I look?”

“You look great.” Kelsey pulled your top down a little and wiggled her brows. “For good luck.”

You took a deep breath, fixed your hair, and rushed out of the apartment to make your way downstairs, then you stepped out of the building to find him leaning against his motorcycle.

Goddamn it.

You were supposed to be angry at him, but somehow the butterflies in your stomach refused to listen to you.

“To repeat,” you said as you walked down the stairs and approached him. “I have a doorbell.”

“It’s 2 a.m.” Bucky replied, his eyes fixed on you, making your heart skip a beat. “I figured Caleb and Kelsey would be asleep.”

“Nope, we’re picking guys for Kelsey,” you said. “So what brings you here?”

Bucky paused for a moment and licked his lips.

“I wanted to talk to you,” he said. “About today…”

“Listen, I know you’re gonna say I should’ve told you but you need to understand—”

“I’m sorry.”

That made you stop talking and your eyes snapped up to his, a confused frown pulling your brows together. Bucky gave you an apologetic smile and cleared his throat as if he was willing to get the words out.

“I don’t like it when people hide things from me, and I…” He rubbed the back of his neck, averting his eyes from yours for a moment. “I trust you a lot, so when you—”

You shook your head fervently. “Bucky, I would never betray your trust.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” you insisted. “Because I need you to know that. I would never go behind your back and do anything to—to hurt you in any way.”

That soft light appeared in his blue eyes. “I know.”

“It’s just not who I am.”

“I know, Birdie.”

You bit inside your cheek.

“And I’m sorry too,” you muttered, pressing your palms on your eyes for a moment before dropping your hands. “I swear, something evil comes out of me whenever someone so much as mentions me being anything like him. Especially when I spent years trying to prove that I’m not.”

“I get that.”

You looked down, shifting your weight from one foot to other, then raised your head to smile up at him.

“Do you want to come in?” you asked. “You can help us pick guys for Kels, and there’s wine and snacks.”

“Tempting offer,” he said. “But I’m actually here to drop something off.”

You frowned as he reached into the box behind his motorcycle. “What? I’m pretty sure I got all the files—”

You stopped talking the moment you saw what he pulled out of the box, a gasp leaving your lips and your hands shooting up to your mouth.

Blinky.

He held out the worn out plushie for you and you gawked at him for a couple of seconds before you reached out to take it.

“Wh—how?”

“It was on my way.”

You pulled your brows together, looking down at the fox plushie before raising your glances again.

“My old apartment, which is in New York,” you said slowly, “was on your way to your home, which is in DC.”

Bucky’s lips twitched into a mischievous smile.

“Well okay, it wasn’t,” he admitted. “I just got back to the city, that’s why I texted you at this hour.”

You could feel your heart melting in your chest. “You went all the way to New York to get my childhood plushie back?”

“I still think that counts as a toy,” he pointed out as if it was crucial information. “But you said it was important to you, so…”

Don’t kiss him.

You can’t kiss him. He’s your boss, he has a girlfriend, he does not see you that way, do not kiss him.

“And if anything, I’d been wanting to talk to Max for a while now, so the toy was basically just an excuse.”

“It a plushie—” You changed directions mid-sentence. “What do you mean you talked to Max?”

The look on his face was too innocent. “We just had a conversation, that’s all.”

“About?”

“About him not making anything difficult for you. Or something along those lines.”

The warmth swirled in the pit of your stomach, making you feel lightheaded as you beamed at him, a giggle climbing your chest.

“Bucky.” You breathed out. “I don’t know what to say...”

“Oh it’s nothing, really.”

“It’s not nothing,” you said. “It’s—it’s amazing. You’re amazing.”

That made his head snap up, his eyes searching yours while a proud smile pulled at his lips like your praise meant the world to him. It could’ve been funny if you weren’t trying so hard to control yourself from kissing him; the deadliest assassin in the world, the infamous Bucky Barnes who barely smiled at anyone, who could strike fear in anyone’s hearts with a mere glare, now had the same expression of an excited puppy who was given a treat.

His throat bobbed and he blinked a couple of times like he was trying to pull himself together, then gestured at his motorcycle. “I uh, I should go.”

You were painfully aware that you were pouting. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he said. “And hey, I’m sure you’re needed inside too. Can’t have Kelsey choose the wrong guy.”

You huffed out a laugh, hugging a plushie to your stomach and nodded.

“See you tomorrow,” you said quietly and took a couple of steps but then turned around to look at him.

“And…” You cleared your throat, your heart pacing in your chest. “Thank you. It means more than you know.”

His voice was soft: “Good night Birdie.”

He waited until you were in the building to ride away and you pressed a hand over your chest before climbing the stairs to enter your apartment.

“Hey,” Kelsey said. “How did it—is that a plushie?”

“Bucky got you a plushie?” Caleb asked, confusion clear in his tone and you looked down at the plushie, then back at them.

“Guys, we have a problem,” you rasped out, your voice weak even to your own ears. “I think I’m actually falling for him.”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #congressman barnes #congressman bucky #thunderbolts #thunderbolts*#congressman bucky barnes #congressman!bucky #congressman!bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x y/n #bucky fanfic

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arlana-likes-to-write · 2 days ago

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Safe & Sound

Summary: When working for Valentina, you weren't expecting to team up with Yelena, her father, the Winter Solider, the wanna be Captain America, and girl who could move through walls. You definitely didn't expect to come to terms with your feelings with Yelena.

Warnings: Thunderbolts/Post Thunderbolts, spoiler warning, mental health, drinking, mention of past red room trauma, implied sexual assault, past red room mission, suicidal ideation. soft Yelena Belova, love confession.

Word Count: 2.5k

“Wait,” your head snapped to Alexei’s voice. “Yelena!” You saw where he was talking towards. Yelena was standing in the middle of the street, facing the darkness overtaking New York City. You were so distracted by getting the civilians to safety that you lost track of her.

“No, no, no,” you mumbled. You saw her shoulders rise, then fall, and her posture relax. “Yelena!” You yelled her name as she stepped into the darkness. You and Alexei rushed forward. Unlike him, only Ava had to grab onto your waist while Bucky and John stopped him from joining his daughter. Your screams blended in as you were dragged back into the building while Bucky closed the door. “Ava, let me go,” you trashed against her.

“If I let you go, promise me you won’t run back out there until we come up with a plan.” You wanted to protest, and all you wanted to do was run back out there to save Yelena, but you weren’t sure if you could get past Bucky and John. Sighing, you nodded. Ava let you go, and you slumped against the wall.

“I gotta go back for her,” you mumbled.

“Yeah?” Bucky questioned. “And then what?” His hands were on his hips, blocking the door as if he knew too he was the only thing standing in the way. But you were pulled away from Bucky to Alexei - the man banged his fist against the wall. Your heart broke for the man. It was cruel how quickly life brought his daughters back to him and took them away.

“If she did that,” Ava pointed to the door. “She did it for a reason.”

“Well, what if she’s dead? Huh? What if there’s no coming back from that?” The word death circled your lungs like a viper and squeezed the air out. Death was a concept you were familiar with. You’ve faced it, caused much of it, and dealt with the aftermath. The red of blood coated your hands. It ran so fucking deep, but Yelena’s death was something you couldn’t stomach.

“And what if she isn’t,” Ava countered. Sighing, she said, “I don’t know.”

“Wait, no, just wait,” John said. His eyes danced between you, Bucky, and Ava. “I think they might be right. When we were in the vault, I grabbed him and went somewhere. I saw something,” the man shook his head. “I can’t explain it.” Alexei slowly turned around to face the former Captain America.

“What did you see?” Alexei said, his voice low. It was the most serious you’ve heard. So John explained the memory he was lost in - of his lowest moments.

“We can save her,” you said to the group. “Her and Bob,” Bucky huffed, running his metal hand through his hair. “And maybe the city.”

“Glad your priorities are in order,” the super soldier said. You rolled your eyes at the man. “I can’t believe this. Let’s go get them.”

“Yes!” Alexei yelled, hitting his hands against his helmet. “We are the Thunderbolts!”

“We have to talk about the name.” You said.

“Right, it’s awful,” Ava added.

“I don’t know,” John shrugged. “It’s growing on me.” Bucky rolled his eyes and stretched his metal arm before opening the door.

When you faced the void, you weren’t alone.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

4 Months Since the Sentry Incident

Things felt odd. For the past few months, you’ve moved into the old Avenger tower, done a ton of PR, and tried to be the heroes the world sought. Everything was done to draw attention away from the crimes of your past - to paint all of you in a better light. The public was split. Some praised the heroics of your actions in New York City, calling the city the birthplace of the original Avengers and now the New Avengers. Everything seemed to happen in this damn city. On the other hand, others saw your little group as what you are. Phonies. Wannabes. Criminals with a combined kill count of miles and miles long. They are just a group of wannabe heroes. You agreed with them.

When Valentina announced you and the others as the New Avengers, you had half a mind to split - just run and keep on running. But Yelena grabbed your arm after the press conference and asked you to stay. Although those words never left her lips, you saw it in the grip on your arm and the way her eyes always seemed to find you. And that was that—meetings, fighting, photo shoots, and ending the night at the bottom of a bottle. With Valentina’s credit card, the bar and kitchen were always stocked. Usually, you would drink in your room. That room felt too stuffy, catastrophic. You left your room with a bottle of whiskey and climbed to the tower’s roof.

The city looked so small from up here. Even the most significant problem seemed minor, but everything felt heavy, as if you were struggling to keep your head above water. Honestly, you were waiting for the tide to pull you under.

“There you are,” you heard Yelena’s voice, followed by her footsteps walking towards you. “Ava saw you sneaking away,” she climbed onto the ledge and sat on the other side of the bottle. “You are missing movie night. It is Bob’s turn to pick, but Alexei and Walker are somehow fighting over the choice.” You huffed out a laugh. Somehow, you weren’t surprised by that. “What is the matter?”

Sighing, you took a sip from the bottle. “What did you see?” You asked and looked at the blonde. “When you entered the void.” Yelena looked towards the city.

“Nothing good,” she took the bottle from you and sipped. “What about you? What do you see until you found me and Bob?”

You looked at your hands, flexing them into fists. The whiskey and takeout from dinner were twisting uncomfortably in your stomach. “I saw my first assignment,” you told her. You were responsible for administrating poison to the daughter of a politician. As a young girl, it was easy to snake into the park and befriend your target. You slipped it into the lemonade and left before she died.

“I saw him.” There was no need to specify who you were talking about. On certain nights, the man would call you into his office and sit you on his lap.

“Then it was me,” you whispered. “A blade in one hand and a bottle of pills in the other.” Your nails dug into your palms. “It almost killed me.” Yelena watched you take another sip before taking the bottle away from you. She placed it on the other side of her, right out of reach. “It was the only way to stop the noise.” You admitted. Every night, your dreams were covered in red and screams. “Being here is not helping.”

“Do you want to leave?”

“I do not know what I want, Yelena,” you looked at Yelena, but the blonde was already looking at you. “But this feels like a cycle,” you pointed to the tower. “Of taking orders and fighting and taking more orders and more fights,” your arm was moving in a circle to demonstrate your point.

“This is not the Red Room,” Yelena said. “We are trying to do good.”

“I do not know how much good we can do to erase what we have done,” you felt your shoulders slump down, and you lifted your right knee up on the ledge. Cheek pressed on your knee, and you watched Yelena. You could blame it on the alcohol or the emotional vulnerability, but she looked beautiful. The night air blew the loose hair that wasn’t in her braid. The green of her eyes sparkled under the stairs. Her physical beauty drew so many people in, but her quiet strength, her love for animals, and her sarcastic comments that had no bite made you fall in love with her.

Love. You were in love with Yelena. Surprisingly, you weren’t scared of that. Loving Yelena felt as easy as breathing. You smiled. “You have not been listening to me, have you?” You giggled, feeling light and floaty.

“No,” you answered. “Say it again.” Yelena scuffed and climbed down off the ledge.

“You are drunk, detka,” Yelena held out her hand.

“I am not drunk,” you defended and slapped her hand away. “I am Russian.” You stood up on the ledge with your arms stretched out. “See,” you began to walk. “Not drunk.” It happened suddenly. Your foot slipped, and the world started to tilt. Oddly enough, you felt okay with it, at peace. But Yelena’s hand grabbed onto your wrist and pulled you back onto the roof. Your chest was heaving, eyes wide as you looked at the blonde. Her expression matched yours. “Why-?” You took in a deep breath and licked your suddenly dry lips. “Why did you catch me?” Yelena let out a breathless laugh - shaking her head and holding you tighter.

“Why did you convince the others to go into the void?” The sudden shift in conversation caused your stomach to twist. You weren’t sure how she found out - your money was on Alexei or John.

“Because,” you sighed. “I can not live in a world without you.” Yelena nodded.

“Then you know why I caught you,” you smiled. “My world is a lot brighter with you in it.” You felt your throat tighten as you kept the tears at bay. Clearing your throat, you forced a smile.

“That was good.” Yelena rolled her eyes.

“Come on,” she tugged you towards the door. “Let’s go to bed.” It was easy for the blonde to drag you back into the tower and towards her bedroom. It wasn’t your first time here, but you liked the new additions. There was a new art piece, a full-length mirror, and a stuffed animal resembling Fanny. “These should fit,” she placed clothes into your hand. “There is an extra toothbrush in there for you.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled and walked into her bathroom. Like her bedroom, there weren’t many new additions. But what caught your eye was a new picture hung up on the wall. It was of you and her - a quick photo that Ava took while you were doing a PR photo shoot. You and Yelena were on the couch in the green room, and you were asleep against her. When you were called back to set, Ava showed you the photo in passing. But your sleep-hazed brain missed the way Yelena was looking at you. Her arm was around you like it belonged there. Your face was soft in sleep, lips parted slightly, but her face caught your breath in your chest. The way she looked at you was like you were something precious. Like the world had gone quiet for her, too.

Shaking your head, you stripped off your clothes and put on the ones Yelena provided. They smelt like her, which caused the anxiety that twisted in your stomach. Quickly, you brushed your teeth and washed your face.

When you returned to Yelena’s bedroom, the blonde was already in bed and scrolling through her phone. “I do not need to stay in here,” her eyes snapped towards you. “I can sleep in my room.”

“Get in bed, detka,” Huffing, you climbed under the covers next to you. Yelena placed her phone on her nightstand, dimmed the lamp, and laid to face you. Her head rested on her hand with her elbow bent. Carefully, you moved some of her hair back behind her ear. When you tried to pull her hand away, she stopped you and kept it on her cheek.

“I do not know how to do this,” you admitted. She glared at you, filled with annoyance and something softer.

“And I do?” she asked, interlocking her fingers with yours and placing them in the space between you and her. “I would like to figure it out together.” You smiled.

“Together does sound nice.” In a fluid motion, she turned on her side and put your arm around her waist. It was instinct for you to flinch.

“If this is too much, tell me,” Yelena mumbled. Letting out a shaky breath, you lay closer to her. Your front flushed to her back. You felt her body relax against you. The scent of her shampoo and lotion calmed you down. Her fingers played with yours as they rested on her stomach.

“Why me?” You asked. She was quiet, letting the question sit in the silence.

“Because,” she said slowly. “You were the only one to not give up on me.” Deep down, you knew she wasn’t talking about when she went into the void to save Bob. You joined her to help save the other Widows; you were there when she failed to kill Clint Barton and found her a few times drunk in her bathroom.

Your lips grazed the spot between her shoulder blades. “Thank you.”

“Sleep, detka,” You closed your eyes and fell asleep. This was the first time you fell asleep peacefully since sleeping in the tower.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

When you woke up in the morning, your legs tangled with Yelena’s, and your head rested on her chest. Your past wasn’t as scary, and the future seemed a lot brighter.

#yelena belova x reader #yelena belova x you #yelena belova #thunderbolts #the new avengers #yelena belova imagine

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rafesbabygirlx · 1 day ago

Text

FINE LINE

✧ 𝙱𝚏!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙶𝚏!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 - 𝚋𝚕𝚞𝚛𝚋

✧ 𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚖𝚜. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚙𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚕𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚙𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚝. 𝙷𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞. 𝙾𝚗𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝, 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚕 𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚎𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚣𝚒𝚗𝚐.

✧ 𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝙼𝙳𝙽𝙸- 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚜 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚌𝚞𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍- 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚛𝚢 𝚛𝚊𝚏𝚎, 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚞𝚖𝚊, 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚊𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚎, 𝚍𝚛𝚞𝚐𝚜, 𝚍𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎.

✧ 𝚁𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎

✧ 𝙼𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃 | 𝚃𝙰𝙶𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃

"He just doesn't care no matter what I do. I didn't do enough for the business? I step. I step up, everything I do is wrong. I get mad and depressed and I turn to drugs and he calls me a loser and throws me out. You help me get clean, I get clean and he doesn't trust me and he talks shit about you."

"I know, Rafe,” you tried to speak softly, careful.. “It's not your fault. Please sit down and breathe.”

But he wasn’t hearing you anymore.

You are usually so good and reigning Rafe back in. Whether it was through his withdrawals or arguments with Sarah. But this? This is everything he kept bottled up with his dad. You don't see him coming down from this for a while.

He continues, "I'm sorry I can't be like your perfect little princess, Sarah. Oh, cause she does absolutely nothing wrong. Not like run away from our family to live some bullshit fantasy life with that pouge. She doesn't give a shit about our family the way I do."

You watched helplessly as his fists clenched together. They balled up so tight his knuckles turned white and trembled. He moved over to your dresser and slammed his fist down hard.

BANG

Something, glass, maybe one of your candle holders, shattered on the floor, the sharp sound ricocheting through the room like a gunshot.

Your whole body jolted with fear you had buried for years.

Rafe's head whips around from the sound of you gasping. Your instincts kicked in, causing you to drop to the floor, tuck your head and you arms came up over it, in a protective stance.

The second he sees you like that any anger he had at his dad had diminished, his attention fully on you. "Hey, hey baby, it's ok. Everything's good." He was crouched down beside you but his voice seemed miles away.

His hands ran up and down your arms hoping the familiarity of his touch would help you. You continued to stay stuck in that position. Only now, tears were streaming down your face. It became hard to breathe, no matter how hard you tried to punk in a deep breath.

“I didn’t mean to scare you. I didn’t…”

You looked at him, vision blurry, and pressed your palm to his cheek. The look on his face was full of worry and panic. It gave you the realization that he’s never seen you like this. Scared, lifeless, broken. “I’m ok.”

“No you’re not. I’m sorry, I wasn’t mad at you. I’d never hurt you.”

“I know…” You wanted to get out more but you really didn’t know what to say.

“What was that? If you know why are you in the floor now baby?

“The uh- the sound.”

Rafe was confused. The sound made you like this? It wasn’t loud to him, but maybe he was just stuck in his own head. You never got into it with Rafe about your childhood. All he knew was that it’s always been you and your mom. You finally got in a deep breath and was able to subdue your tears just enough to speak.

“When I was little…” you began, your voice was barely a whisper. Almost as if you spoke it too loud all the progress you’ve made would slip away. You worked with a trauma specialist for years to get you out of the hole you buried yourself into. To you, was a hole built for protection. To everyone else, if you had dug just a little deeper, it probably would’ve collapsed in and you would have never been able to be rescued.

“…my dad, he wasn’t nice. He drank too much. He was a really scary man when he was drunk. He’d destroy the whole house for fun, just to get fake getting mad that it was a mess. He’d drag my mom by the hair to clean it up as soon as she stepped in from work. She’d be up the whole night.”

Rafe stared at you in disbelief. You began to speak about it more. He was lucky for that, because he really had no idea what to say.

“When it first started he’d only take it out on my mom. I’d hide in the closet in my room and I’d cover my ears and hum to drown out the screams. But as I got older I’d face his wrath too. He started to know where I would hide and he’d hit me for being a little pussy.” Your eyes watered again at that part, “I was 8, I was scared. Most morning I expected to wake up and find my mom dead.”

You continued. Now that you started, it seemed as if you couldn’t stop. It was like a mudslide that ripped down the side of the mountain, no ending in sight. It was relentless and traumatizing all over again. Rafe knew now, and the words were impossible to hold in.

“He’d cornered me in the living room one day when I was 12 and he threw empty bottles at the wall behind me. One after the other. The glass rained over me scraping my arms as I covered myself. It was so loud, it sounded like gunshots piercing my ear drums. I wanted to run but I couldn’t. I was frozen. My brain told me to move, to go, but I didn’t.”

Your tears were back, free flowing as you recount the worst day of your life. “He wasn’t even supposed to be home. My mom came back with one of her friends and saw what was happening. She ran over to her me and her friend called the police.”

By this point Rafe had adjusted himself and cradled you in his arms as he listened. His arms would tighten around you when you’d get to a really tough part of your past. Almost as if he was now carrying this weight with you. It hurt him to know this.

“When they got there, my mom ran me outside and my dad had been resistant. I could hear him yelling and the cops yelling back and then it was just silent. My mom still hasn’t told me how he died. But maybe he fell and hit his head. I don’t know. All I know is that we’re free now but it took a really long time.”

It was easy for Rafe to put the pieces together. The story you just told, the loud noise, the position it put you in. His eyes went glassy and his own tears dropped onto his cheeks.

“Fuck, baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

You kissed him lightly on his cheek. Silently tell him it’s ok. He didn’t know. You really didn’t ever plan for him to know. Your body just took over in that moment and everything happened too fast.

“I’d never hurt you, you know that right?”

“Of course, I do Rafe.”

He took a deep breath. “I’ll never get mad around like that again.”

You looked him straight in the eye, letting him know you were serious, “never diminish your feelings, just because of what I’ve said. You coming to me for help, it means everything to me. I want to be that person for you, I didn’t let myself have that for a long time and it was terrible.”

“I just get so angry, I can’t help it. He makes me feel useless. I just can’t help it sometimes.” His head drops in embarrassment.

“I don’t need you to be perfect, Rafe.” You grab his face with both of your hands so that he can look at you again. “I just need to feel safe, and I promise you give me that.”

He gave you a long kiss on the forehead and pulled you in close. He held you tightly, like you’d slip away and he’d lose you forever if he loosened his grip even slightly. You don’t know how long the two of you stayed in that position on the floor. But you don’t care if people think two broken souls can’t heal each other. You and him are living proof that sometimes they’re the only ones who can.

Tags + some moots: @rafestoothbrush @weluvwbb @itsforeverandalwayz @butterfly-ibuki @megiiite @siredbtches @bigenergy777 @aupernatural-teenwolflover @rafegf-real @skywalker0809 @snowtargaryen @kieeslove @leather-n-velvet @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @diasnohibng @slurpdew @alphabetically-deranged @runawayrafetrain @currentresidentinhell @slut-4-rafey @akobx @laniirackssss @jjmaybankmylovee @slut4you @larema121 @sc05 @k4yr14 @chromeheartsbaby @jennieonline @nemesyaaa @rafesfavegf @cherrywriterrr @inthelibrarybtw @writingroom21

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lucy-literates · 5 hours ago

Note

Well, Lewis would be possessive of his girl 🤭

Next idea is again with a younger reader (28 years old) and she is Roscoes nanny and they fall in love :)

Greetings :)

A/N: I'm glad you enjoyed it! Hopefully, you enjoy this one too! Ibox is open :)

The Heart He Didn't See Coming

You were hired to take care of Roscoe. That was it.

Just a temporary gig—two months, max—while Lewis figured out travel schedules and recovered from back-to-back races. You’d been recommended by a friend of his physio, and your background in animal behavior and gentle energy made the decision easy.

Still, Lewis hadn’t expected you.

He hadn’t expected the way Roscoe took to you almost immediately, curling at your feet within twenty minutes of meeting you, snorting contentedly as you scratched the perfect spot behind his ear like you'd known him for years.

And he definitely hadn’t expected the sound of your laughter in his kitchen to feel like something he’d been missing.

“You sure you’re not feeding him treats under the table?” Lewis asked one morning, as Roscoe followed you around with that adoring, bulldog loyalty that had taken even him months to earn.

“I only give him carrots,” you replied, turning to him with a grin. “You’re the one sneaking him bites of your toast, champion.”

His smirk deepened. “Can’t help it. He looks at me like I hung the moon.”

You tilted your head. “So do you, sometimes.”

Lewis blinked. You didn’t even realize what you’d said—or maybe you did, because you turned away quickly to refill Roscoe’s water bowl, humming like it hadn’t just made his chest go tight.

That was the beginning of the ache.

It wasn’t supposed to be romantic.

He was older. Busier. Constantly surrounded by people and noise and cameras. You were quieter. Sunshine and calm. Someone who moved through life like it didn’t owe you anything, and still, you chose joy.

But when you walked Roscoe through the paddock at Silverstone—laughing as he tried to chase a golf cart—and handed Lewis a little cloth-wrapped lunch you’d packed for him, just in case the catering was late, he’d stood there for a moment too long, something warm rising in his throat.

“You’re ridiculous,” he’d said softly.

“Is that your way of saying thank you?”

He smiled. “Maybe.”

After that, things got blurry around the edges.

One evening in Monaco, the sky cracked open unexpectedly.

You and Roscoe had gone for your usual walk along the waterfront, but the rain hit faster than forecast. By the time you got home, soaked and laughing, Roscoe was a damp loaf of contentment at your side.

Lewis opened the door before you even knocked.

“Jesus, you’re drenched—get in, quick.” He grabbed a towel and gently rubbed Roscoe down while you toed off your wet sneakers.

You were dripping in the hallway, mascara smudged slightly, Lewis’s hoodie shoved into your arms without him thinking twice.

It was warm. Soft. Smelled like cedarwood and whatever expensive cologne he wore sparingly but perfectly.

“Go change,” he said, “you’ll catch a cold.”

You returned a few minutes later, barefoot and wearing the hoodie over your leggings. Roscoe was curled in his usual spot by the couch, and Lewis looked up at you with something unreadable in his eyes.

“You should’ve called me,” he said. “I would’ve picked you up.”

You blinked. “You were busy. Besides, it’s just rain.”

He shook his head, then patted the spot next to him on the couch. “Come sit. You’re always running around after my wellbeing. Let me return the favour for once.”

You hesitated—but then sat.

You didn’t mean to fall asleep. Not really. But the hoodie was warm and Roscoe was snoring and Lewis’s hand moved gently over your shoulder while you listened to him talk about his next race strategy in that low, rhythmic tone.

When you woke up, your head was on his chest.

And his arm was around you.

Things changed after that.

Not drastically. Just... quietly.

Lingering glances. Soft touches. A new depth to your late-night conversations. He started asking you questions that had nothing to do with Roscoe: What did you want from life? Had you ever been in love? What scared you?

You didn’t ask him the same things out loud. You didn’t need to. You watched the way he talked to his team, how gently he moved around people, how he stood on the edge of the ocean sometimes like he was still searching for something.

One night, as you handed him a mug of peppermint tea, he said it—so softly you nearly missed it:

“You make this place feel like home.”

Your breath caught.

“It’s because you finally stopped running,” you whispered.

There was a pause. Then his hand found yours.

“No,” he said. “It’s because I found something worth staying for.”

You kissed him a few seconds later.

It wasn’t rushed. It was the kind of kiss that built over weeks. Careful. Reverent. Your fingers slipped into his curls, and he hummed softly against your mouth like the moment had been waiting for you both.

Roscoe snorted in his sleep. You both laughed.

The next few weeks were a blur of quiet touches and shared mornings.

He kissed your shoulder while you prepped Roscoe’s meals. You slid handwritten notes into his travel bags. You didn’t go public—not right away—but his team knew. And they all smiled when you were around, like you were exactly what he needed.

But then the press found out.

Photos. Speculation. Headlines: “Roscoe’s Nanny, Hamilton’s New Flame?”

It wasn’t cruel—but it was invasive. You panicked. You didn’t want to be seen as a trophy, or someone temporary.

“I never wanted to be a scandal,” you said one night, eyes shiny. “I didn’t want to be a story someone clicks on.”

Lewis shook his head and crossed the room to hold you.

“You’re not a scandal,” he said firmly. “You’re not a story. You’re the person who brings Roscoe his toy at bedtime and sings along to my awful shower playlists. You’re the one thing in my life that feels real.”

You blinked. He tucked a hand beneath your chin.

“And if the world can’t see that… then I’ll show them.”

Three days later, he posted a photo.

No caption. Just you, Roscoe, and him on a balcony, wrapped in blankets, sipping tea. Your head on his shoulder. Roscoe snoozing across both your laps.

It went viral in seconds.

But the response shocked you.

“This is the softest thing I’ve ever seen.” “I want what they have.” “Protect this trio at all costs.”

Your inbox flooded with kindness. People saw you. And more importantly—they saw the love.

A few months later, Lewis took you to a beach on your day off. It was quiet. Peaceful. Roscoe ran in wide circles, barking happily at the waves.

You sat on a blanket, his arm around you, sun low in the sky.

Then he called Roscoe over.

There was a velvet box tied to Roscoe’s collar.

Your heart skipped.

“It’s not a ring,” Lewis said quickly. “Not yet. I just... wanted to ask if we can keep doing this. You. Me. Roscoe. All of it.”

You opened the box. Inside was a small gold charm: a tiny dog paw next to a heart.

“Yes,” you said, instantly.

He kissed you again, deeper this time.

Roscoe barked once. Loudly. Offended at being ignored.

You both laughed against each other’s mouths.

And maybe love hadn’t come in the way you expected. But it arrived exactly when it was meant to.

With muddy pawprints, fresh tea, and the softest man you’d ever known.

#f1 x reader #f1 #f1 imagine #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton #lh44 #formula one #scuderia ferrari

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grayandthyme · 1 day ago

Text

we'll snuff out like fire ;

tommy miller x f!reader

Request: You hear the whispers—your lover lost his brother, how the girl you care for shut down. But when she moves like nothing happened, sneaking out with Dina, you follow them to Seattle. Tommy ensures you pay the price for stepping out of line. Warnings: SMUT. MDNI. No use of y/n. Reader undisclosed age. Mentions/descriptions of violence, death, and gore. Very maternal reader. Established mentor-like relationship with Dina and Ellie. Tommy is upset. Reader is equally as upset. Makeup sex. Unprotected pinv. Doggy. He fucks u against a wall... Undescriptive creampie.

for the lovely elara, <3 thank you for requesting @astraljedi

join the taglist.

♫ heat lightning - mitski

Your fingertips tapped an uneven rhythm against the scarred wood of the Tipsy Bison's bar. The quiet knock-knock-knock nearly lost beneath the ambient murmur of dinner hour. Jesse was rambling beside you—something about patrol rotations with Tommy, or maybe a new watchtower route—but his words blurred into background static.

Your focus had drifted elsewhere.

Across the room, Ellie sat hunched over a plate she hadn’t touched, shoulders taut beneath her hoodie. Dina was leaned in close beside her, whispering, her hand twitching near the hem of Ellie’s sleeve. Every so often, they both cast a glance toward the kitchen—toward Seth. Toward something.

It didn’t sit right with you.

Ellie hadn’t left her room in days. She’d been a ghost, a locked door and a muffled silence since the makeshift funeral. And now, suddenly, she was here—sitting in the corner of the bar, speaking low and fast like time was running out.

Your stomach twisted.

“…and Tommy said we might get hit with rain tomorrow, so I told him—hey, you good?” Jesse’s voice cut in, finally noticing your distance.

You hummed a distracted reply, eyes still trained on the pair across the room.

Something was wrong.

You didn’t know what yet—but you were going to find out.

“Just because Tommy loves me doesn’t mean I can twist his arm about patrol routes,” you murmured, eyes flicking toward Jesse. You tried to keep it light—playful, teasing—but the words rang hollow in your mouth.

He didn’t pick up on it. Or maybe he did and just let you have the out.

You leaned back, sighing as you nursed the warmth of the coffee mug between your hands, even though the liquid inside had gone cold. Your gaze drifted again—always, relentlessly—to the corner table.

Ellie had stopped pretending to eat. She was just staring down now, brow furrowed in thought while Dina talked low and fast, her hand cupped around her drink.

Both of them were a little too alert, their bodies too coiled.

Like they were waiting for a signal.

Something was off. You knew it at this point. Practically confirmed.

If you said something—if you told Jesse that Ellie hadn’t spoken to you in a week, hadn’t so much as looked you in the eye since Joel’s death, and now was suddenly conspiring in corners with Dina—it would break whatever delicate thread was still binding you to her.

To them.

And if you told Tommy… if you went to him with this?

There’d be no stopping what came next.

You loved her. Ellie. Like a sister. Like a daughter. Like someone whose fire you’d seen sputter and still tried desperately to keep alive.

You just want to do right.

At least two days had gone by.

Two days of subtle watching. Of quiet steps and careful glances, pretending you were just passing through the stables or the mess hall, when really, you were tracking them like prey.

It felt ugly.

Worse, it felt necessary.

You’d seen enough now to piece it all together—how Ellie and Dina lingered by the supply room longer than they should’ve, how food that didn’t perish was quietly lifted in small batches. How ammo was skimmed from the armory, just low enough to not trigger suspicion. How they'd begun tucking patrol rifles into their horse’s saddlebags, hidden beneath blankets and feed sacks.

They were going to fucking Seattle.

Your chest ached with the weight of it, like your ribs were bracing for something to crack. You wanted to tell Tommy—every hour that passed, you felt it clawing at your throat.

But what would that do? What would it fix?

He’d try to stop them. Of course he would. And if he couldn’t, he’d go after them himself—angry, impulsive, grieving. Just like Ellie.

And you’d lose him, too.

So you swallowed the guilt like poison. Let it rot in your stomach. Because this wasn’t about choosing sides. It was about saving what was left of your family, and praying to whatever was still listening that it didn’t cost you everything in the process.

That night, you sat in the dim glow of your shared bedroom, boots still on, jacket unzipped, staring at the floor as Tommy paced.

He was talking—something about the next patrol schedule, who was going to shift into rotation—but you weren't really hearing him.

He stopped.

“Hey.” His voice was low, serious. “What’s goin’ on in that head?”

You looked up, mouth dry, “Nothin' … Just tired.”

It was the first lie you'd told him… ever, really.

And it hurt worse than you thought it would.

Tommy watched you for a long moment, one hand braced on the dresser, the other rubbing at the side of his neck like he could smooth the worry out of his spine. Though it never worked.

He was tired too—you could see it in the slope of his shoulders, the way his holster still hung loose around his hips like he hadn’t noticed it was there.

Like, since it happened, he wanted to sleep with it.

The day had worn on him, but not as much as the last few weeks had.

“You sure?” he asked, quieter now, like maybe he already knew you were lying and was giving you the space to fix it.

You nodded. Too fast.

“Yeah. Just… lot on my mind, s’all.”

He sighed and crossed the room, lowering himself beside you on the edge of the bed. His hand found your knee, warm and calloused and steady—always steady, when the rest of the world tilted sideways.

You leaned into him automatically, pressing your cheek to the side of his arm.

You didn’t deserve how good he was to you. Not tonight.

But he didn’t know. And he didn’t ask again.

Because that’s the kind of trust you’d built. And that’s exactly why it was killing you.

You tilted your face up to him, managing a small smile, and his expression softened—some part of him still melting at the sight of you, even after all the scars and years.

“You know I love you, right?” you murmured.

Tommy chuckled, brushing your hair back, his fingers careful as ever. “You better. I been runnin' this town like I’m tryna impress you all over again.”

You laughed—real, for a second. And God, it made the guilt sting deeper.

“I do,” you whispered, “I love you so damn much, Miller.”

His brow furrowed slightly at your tone, but he didn’t press. Just leaned in and kissed your temple, lips lingering longer than usual, like he could feel something shifting but didn’t know what it was.

You let him hold you that night. You let him trace little circles into your back with the pad of his thumb. And when his breathing slowed, chest rising and falling in the rhythm of sleep, you stared at the ceiling—wide awake, spine coiled tight.

Because tomorrow Ellie and Dina would be gone.

And you’d be right behind them.

Unfortunately. their trail wasn’t subtle.

Even if you hadn’t known what to look for, the fresh hoofprints in the half-frozen mud and the trampled frost told you everything. One horse is missing from the stable.

It didn’t take more than fifteen minutes to catch their rhythm.

Seth had let them out. Of course he had.

There’d be hell to pay for that. You could already hear Tommy’s voice—the sharp edge of it, all gravel and fury—as he tore Seth a new one.

You almost pitied the man. Almost. But not quite.

For now, you kept your distance. A mile, maybe two. Close enough to keep a line on them, far enough not to be seen. The cold air gnawed at your fingertips through the reins, and the sky had that winter-gray dullness that made everything feel heavier.

It wasn’t until your horse crested the ridge past the old pasture that you saw them.

Two figures, stopped just beyond the wooden fence line, where the land dipped low into a grove of wind-stripped trees.

Your breath caught.

Joel.

The air thickened in your chest, something ancient and sorrowful. Of course they would come here before the road.

Before the war. One last visit. One last goodbye.

Your horse shifted beneath you, restless, as if it could feel the grief in your bones.

You didn’t dismount.

You didn’t need to get closer.

Instead, you watched—quiet, still—while Ellie knelt at the stones, Dina standing just behind her, a hand hovering like she wanted to touch but didn’t know how.

You swallowed the knot in your throat.

They weren’t just running away from Jackson.

They were running toward him.

You took a breath, let it burn down your lungs like whiskey, then turned your horse toward the path again. You had to give them time. Just a little longer. Then you’d follow.

Because no matter how far they went, you’d never be far behind.

Not when Tommy was still in the dark.

Not when Joel was still in the dirt.

━━━

Dina noticed you first. No surprise there.

She’d always been sharp, wired for survival in a way that didn’t make her hard—just alert. Wiser than her years. You’d taken a liking to her long before this mess, half-joking once that if she weren’t so damn independent, you would’ve twisted Tommy’s arm to bring her under your wing.

She didn’t flinch when she saw you, just narrowed her eyes, the faintest twitch at her jaw.

"You won't make it a day in Seattle acting this recklessly," you said, voice low and even as you stepped from the hang of the tree.

Both girls stiffened. Their hands dropped from the grips of their weapons, not out of ease, but in recognition.

Of you.

You weren’t here to threaten them. Not really.

You stepped forward slowly, the leaves crunching beneath your boots, and stopped a few feet away.

Ellie’s mouth opened—whether in protest or guilt, you couldn’t tell. Her face had paled, but her eyes were stubborn, gleaming under the overcast sky like glass about to crack.

"How long?" you asked, not angry.

Just tired. Just worn down.

"Two weeks," Dina answered first. Quiet, but not ashamed. "We've been planning it for two weeks."

Ellie bristled, but didn’t speak. Her knuckles were white where they clenched the strap of her pack.

“Does Tommy know?” Dina asked, her voice low, almost wary, as she guided your horse toward the tack.

“No.”

"I promise."

You didn’t elaborate. Didn’t need to.

Ellie shot you a look sharp enough to cut, “You haven’t told your almost fuckin’ fiancé?”

She said it like it was treason.

And maybe it was.

The word fiancé hung heavy in the air—sacred, intimate, too clean for what you felt now. He hadn’t pushed for anything official, hadn’t said now or soon. He just wanted you with him.

Forever, if the world allowed.

But you hadn’t told him.

Not about Ellie. Not about Dina. Not about Seattle.

And it felt like a betrayal stitched under your skin, pulsing hot with every step you took closer to letting them go.

He probably already knew you were gone.

Waking up for morning patrol to an empty bed.

“You think I didn't want to tell him?” you asked, voice taut. “You think I don’t wake up every day knowing what kind of man he is? What kind of man I’d be risking if he followed your stupid fuckin' asses?”

Ellie opened her mouth, but Dina placed a hand on her arm. It was like a conversation without verbals.

"I'm going with you."

It slipped from your lips in a breathless hush, the weight of it settling like dust in the stillness. Dropping your pack to the ground beside theirs, the thud echoed louder than you'd meant.

"Whether you like it or not."

The forest around you seemed to still, the distant rustle of leaves and wind nothing compared to the storm coiling in your stomach.

"You promised," Ellie said after a long beat, quiet but sharp. “You swore you wouldn’t drag anyone else into this.”

You exhaled, steadying your voice.

“And I’m not. I’m walking in beside you.”

Ellie laughed, dry and bitter. “You think Tommy’s just gonna let that slide? When he finds out where you are?”

“I’m not doing this for Tommy,” you cut in, your voice low and level. “I’m doing this because I won’t let you walk into this alone.”

There was a silence—tired, heavy silence. The kind that meant you all knew the shape of what was coming, and knew it wouldn't be kind.

They're scared.

Frankly, so are you.

“Look,” you exhale, low and steady, the weight of the words pressing against the cold air. “When I first walked into Jackson, this place—it felt like home. And then I met Tommy. He felt like home.”

You shift slightly, eyes flicking to their tent, half-pitched and swaying in the restless breeze—fragile, but standing.

“And you—both of you—feel like home, too.”

Your voice softens, but every syllable carries a fierce certainty.

“I’d be losing a piece of myself if I didn’t go out there and try to protect you.”

Ellie looks away again, but you catch the glimmer of something.

Something almost like relief.

There’s no argument now, only the hard, fragile bond of blood and choice.

SEATTLE DAY 3

“Fuck—fuck—fuck,” Dina hissed through clenched teeth, the words tumbling from her mouth like a broken record. Her leg kicked instinctively, but your hands were already firm—one pressing down on her thigh to slow the bleeding, the other cradling her hip to keep her grounded.

The arrow was still lodged in deep—no exit wound, no clean break. Just ragged pain. Shit.

“I know, … I know,” you murmured, your voice trembling with the effort to stay calm, to sound like safety even when everything around you was falling apart.

Your eyes flicked toward the boarded theatre doors—shadows stretching and shifting with every sound beyond the wall.

Ellie and Jesse were gone.

Vanished into the dark without a goddamn word, leaving you to tend the bleeding girl with nothing but a half-stocked med kit and the echo of her cries.

“Where the fuck did they go,” you muttered under your breath, voice low and sharp like a blade unsheathed.

Not angry. Not really. Just scared in that deep way you couldn’t show—not with Dina looking up at you like you were the last bit of steady ground she had left.

The theatre lights flickered overhead, humming with weak electricity. You felt the dust cling to your sweat-slick skin, the dampness in the air from the sealed-off walls closing in.

“Okay, you’re gonna breathe for me now, yeah?” you whispered, brushing the hair from her forehead, even as your hands were stained with her blood. “In, out. Count with me.”

Her grip tightened around your wrist, her knuckles white with pain.

“I’ve got you,” you said again, quieter now, like a prayer. Then, more to yourself: “And when Ellie gets back, I’m gonna wring her little neck.”

A pause, then a huff from Dina—a half-laugh, broken and breathless.

“There she is,” you smiled faintly, pressing your forehead to your forearm for a heartbeat before you reached into your bag.

“Hold still, babygirl. We’re getting through this."

And you meant it.

Even if you had to tear the whole world apart to do it.

You crouched lower, your knees aching against the moist carpet, breath shallow as your fingers hovered just above the arrow’s entry point.

The shaft jutted from Dina’s thigh, slick with blood and trembling each time she whimpered.

There was no scalpel. No sterile field. The tin of supplies was down to rusted scissors and half a bottle of alcohol.

This was going to be brutal.

Your hand steadied the arrow. The other braced her leg.

“Dina…” you started, voice a low thread of calm wrapped in exhaustion. “I have to pull it, okay? There’s no other way—If I leave it in, it’s going to poison you from the inside out.”

You tried to speak gently.

Tried to carry softness in your tone like it might cushion the truth—but the second she realized what you meant, her panic overtook her.

“No—please, don’t let me die—I can’t—I can’t—” Her hands scrabbled against the floor, against your wrist, against the air. Her breath caught in her throat, eyes wide with fear.

You moved fast, crawling up beside her and cupping her cheek with a blood-warm hand. “Look at me,” you said, urgent now. “Right here, eyes on me.”

She blinked, her pupils blown wide.

“You’re not going to die. Not on my watch. Not in this theatre. You hear me?”

A pause. Her breath stuttered.

“That’s my girl,” you whispered, nodding, trying to ground both of you. “Now hold on to me. Bite down if you have to.”

You reached into your coat pocket, pulled out the rag you’d been using to keep your hands dry, and gently offered it to her.

“Use this. Scream into it if you need to.”

She took it with shaking hands, her lips already parted in dread.

You braced her thigh again. Drew in a breath.

“Three,” you said softly. “Two—”

You didn’t wait for one.

The arrow came out with a sickening wet sound, torn muscle giving way beneath your fingers. Dina let out a strangled scream, her whole body convulsing in your arms. You threw the arrow aside and immediately pressed gauze—what little you had—against the wound, applying pressure with everything you had left in you.

Her screams faded into broken sobs.

You didn’t speak for a long time. Just held her as the blood slowed, your hands trembling now too.

When she finally stopped crying, you stroked a thumb beneath her eye and whispered, “You did it. You’re here. Still with me.”

And though she didn’t say it, her grip around your arm said everything you needed to hear.

Though the world outside was still a war zone. Ellie and Jesse were still out there chasing ghosts. But in this flickering, blood-stained theatre, you were someone’s safe place.

And that had to be enough—for now.

After what felt like hours—your hands sticky with old blood, your knees stiff and sore—you finally wrapped the last strip of cloth around Dina’s thigh. The wound still wept a little, but the bleeding had slowed. She was pale, quiet now, drifting in and out of a fevered sleep against a backstage dressing room cot you’d thrown together with old coats and torn curtains.

You sat with her until her breathing evened out, brushing damp hair from her face, whispering promises she probably couldn’t hear: I’ve got you. You’re safe. I’m right here.

But then the theatre groaned, and something shifted.

You stood slowly, pistol already warm in your palm. The door—barely barricaded, creaking against the night wind—stood like a challenge. The silence outside felt wrong. Too quiet. Like a breath held too long.

Then—footsteps.

Fast. Familiar.

You didn’t even have time to raise your gun before Ellie and Jesse burst in, panting and soaked through, rain trailing down their necks.

But it wasn’t them your eyes locked on.

Tommy.

Jesse had never told you that's who he brought.

He stood in the doorway, backlit by pale grey light, coat dripping, rifle slung low across his chest. You could see it before he even opened his mouth—anger clinging to him like a second skin.

Cold. Alive. Unforgiving.

You froze. The words stuck in your throat.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, stepping inside, boots heavy on the warped floor. “I had to hear from them that you were in Seattle? That you lied to me? That you followed them out here like some goddamn fuckin' idiot?”

“Tommy—” you started, voice small and broken already.

“No. No—you don’t get to speak first.” His voice cracked like a whip. “You lied to me. You. The one person I thought I could count on to be straight with me.”

Ellie and Jesse stayed silent, watching the unravel happen from the sidelines, rain still dripping from their sleeves.

“I couldn’t tell you,” you said finally, stepping forward just once, slowly. “Because if I had… You would’ve stopped me.”

“You’re damn right I would’ve.” His eyes were blazing now, jaw clenched so hard you could see the muscle twitch. “You were supposed to be safe. You were supposed to wait for me to make a decision.”

“Your brother died, Tommy,” you hissed. “You think I was gonna sit in Jackson and bake pies, and knit while the people I love walked straight into hell?”

Almost immediately, "And you think I need to lose you too?!"

It was loud. Echoed through the entire building.

The hurt in his expression sliced through the anger just long enough for you to see it: guilt, grief, the kind of ache that never sets right in a man’s bones

And still—he looked at you like he didn’t recognize you.

“I thought you were dead,” he said, voice lower now, hoarse. “Every fucking day since you left, I thought I’d find your body strung up by those freaks, or rotting in some back alley. You know what that did to me?”

He looked away.

“Upstairs,” you said quickly, voice low and clipped, already moving toward the staircase that led to the mezzanine.

You didn’t wait to see if he followed.

The creak of the steps beneath your boots was the only sound between you. That, and the distant static of Jesse’s walkie-talkie downstairs. When you reached the upper level, the silence cracked.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Tommy’s voice cut through the dark like a rifle shot. “Jesus Christ, you really went and followed ‘em?”

You turned to him. “What did you expect me to do? Let them walk into hell alone? Let you come out here and—”

“No.” His jaw clenched, and he stepped forward. “I expected you to stay. I expected you to protect what we built. I expected you to be there when I got back.”

“You think I didn’t want to?” you shot back, heat rising in your throat like bile. “You think this was some fucking joyride?”

“I don’t give a damn if it was a funeral march!” he barked. “You promised me. You promised me, and then you left like it meant nothin’!”

“It meant everything!” you shouted, stepping into him. “It meant I couldn’t watch them die too!”

He flinched like the words slapped him. Your chest rose and fell violently, heart pounding in your ears, “Joel died, Tommy."

"He fucking died, and we’ve all been tearing at the seams since.”

He looked away, shoulders tight, breathing hard.

That undid something.

“I had to go,” you whispered, voice cracking. “If I stayed, I would’ve broken into a hundred pieces. You—You don’t get to be the only one with grief in your bones.”

“You think I don’t know that?” he snapped, eyes glossy, teeth clenched like he was holding something back. “You think I haven’t woken up every goddamn night reachin’ for you?”

Your face twisted at the words.

He took a breath, like he was steadying himself.

“I was scared,” he said, quieter now, but no less angry. “Not of the WLF, not even of those damn cultists. I was scared I’d lose you, and I wouldn’t even be there to say goodbye.”

That landed.

Fuck.

You crossed your arms, holding yourself steady, “I’m right here.”

“For now,” he said bitterly, voice shaking. “But for how long?”

You stepped toward him again, slower this time, your voice tender despite the storm in it.

“I didn’t leave you. I followed them because they needed me. Just like you would’ve.”

Tommy laughed. It was cold. Hollow. Nothing like the man you used to curl up with in front of the fireplace. “Don’t you fuckin’ dare,” he spat. “Don’t you put me in the same breath as what you did.”

“What I did?” your voice cracked, turning sharp, “You think this was easy? You think I just packed my shit and skipped out of Jackson with a smile on my face?”

“You left without a word,” he said, stepping in. “You left me. You lied. To my fuckin’ face.”

“I had to!”

“No, you didn’t!” he exclaimed, stepping so close your chests nearly brushed. “You just didn’t trust me.”

“That’s not true.”

You could feel the anger simmering under your skin.

“The hell it ain’t!” His voice was thunder now, echoing against the empty theatre walls. “You didn’t even give me the chance to say no. To say anything. You decided you knew better."

"Like always.”

You shoved at his chest, hard.

“Because you would’ve stopped me!”

“Damn right I would’ve!” he shouted. “Because I love you!"

"Because I couldn’t take losing you too!”

The silence after that was vicious.

Not soft, not comforting. Just ringing.

You fucked up.

You knew that deep, and fleshed out.

"I love you," It came out deep, breathless, like it had torn a hole in your chest just to leave your lips.

"I love you so fucking much."

Tommy didn’t answer. Didn’t breathe, didn’t blink.

Just stared at you like he wanted to yell or throw something—or maybe fall to his knees and beg for time to rewind.

Then, suddenly, he moved.

One hand was in your hair, the other grabbing your waist so tight it almost bruised, and then his mouth crashed into yours.

No patience. No sweetness. Just teeth and desperation and too many sleepless nights spent hating the distance between you. The whole four days.

You gasped into him, fingers digging into his jacket, pulling him closer like you could anchor yourself in the wreckage of him.

It was violent—the way your mouths moved against each other, like a fight without fists, like you'd been waiting weeks to tear each other apart and this was the only language you still knew how to speak.

“Fuck you,” he growled into your mouth, hands shoving you back against the mezzanine wall, his breath hot against your cheek.

“You came all the way out here, didn’t you?” you bit back, tugging him down by his collar, lips brushing his.

He kissed you again, harder this time—nothing tender, just fury and need and that sharp edge of grief that never seemed to dull. You groaned against him, back arching into the wall as his hands mapped the curve of your waist, gripping, grounding, like he could crush the betrayal out of his own lungs.

Hands underneath fabric, frantic and rough. Bruises from fingers pressed too hard, teeth catching lips too sharp.

You didn’t care. Neither of you did.

You’d both lost too much to ask for softness.

He broke first, forehead pressed against yours, panting like he’d just been in a shootout. “You fuckin' wrecked me,” he said, voice shredded.

And you kissed him again, even harder this time—because you both knew this might be the only way you’d survive each other.

His hands moved to your shirt, undoing the buttons with ferocious intent, uncaring of the fact that the girls you had practically helped raise were only a floor below you. Your breath came in short, ragged gasps between the crash of mouths.

“You think this fixes it?” Tommy rasped against your neck, voice thick with anger, teeth grazing the bruise blooming at your jaw. “You think this makes up for you leavin’ me behind, thinkin’ you were dead somewhere in this hellhole of a city?”

You leaned up to kiss him just as hard as he talked, because you needed him to know you hadn’t fallen out of love with him—you’d just been burning in its silence.

His hands found your belt, fingers working the worn leather loose with swift, practiced intent. It slipped through the loops with a slow hiss, unspooling like breath between clenched teeth—until he yanked it free and let it fall, forgotten, to the floor.

“Turn around—”

"Bend over.

It came out rough. Hoarse. A command, not a question. Nothing of the man who kissed your forehead at dawn or teased you with whip-creamed slick fingers at breakfast.

No—this wasn’t Tommy wrapped in warmth. This was him stripped down to his marrow. A man burning with too much love, too much fury, too little time.

This wasn’t about gentleness.

This was about need. The kind born from war echoing in the distance and the knowledge that peace is always borrowed, never owned.

About staking a claim in the only safe place he’s ever known—you.

Here, in the hollow of a mezzanine doorway, with the world outside teetering on the edge of collapse, he held you like a last prayer.

There was no performance. No pretending.

Just a man who had survived too much and still chose to love like this—fierce, unrelenting, and all in.

“Tommy—” you started, voice catching on the weight of it. But the look he gave you—

God.

It hollowed you out, stripped the fight clean from your bones. That look didn’t ask. It ached.

“This doesn’t fix the problem—” you tried again, even as your body betrayed you, leaning in, breath stuttering.

But he was already there—so close his breath tangled with yours, lips not touching but hovering, like he didn’t trust the moment to hold if he moved too fast.

“You got a fuckin’ solution, then?” he murmured, low and splintered. Somewhere below, you heard the soft clink of his belt buckle—quiet, final. You swallowed hard, nerves pulling tight.

And then he said your name.

Not casual. Not soft. He said it like a confession—like every syllable dragged sin out from his lungs.

Like the way he said it the first time. The night he crumbled in your arms saying he loved you.

“Tell me,” he whispered, “… tell me that feelin’ you come apart in my hands ain’t gonna fix somethin’. Even if it’s just for a minute.”

His voice almost cracked into a smile. But it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Tell me if I make you scream my name, I won’t believe—just for a second—that you’re still here. That I won't lose you.”

His gaze was burning now, unblinking, like if he dared look away you might vanish into the next loss.

“That I got time left. That I ain’t already lost you.”

He swallowed hard, jaw flexing, every breath shaking loose from somewhere buried deep.

“That I don’t gotta bury you too.”

Now, as he stands before you—scared, desperate, begging without pride—you realize the danger isn’t in loving him.

It’s in the thought of ever having to live without him.

“Yeah,” you breathe, voice steadier than your heart. “I… need you.”

He stirs—not in body, but in something quieter, deeper. A flicker behind his dark eyes, calculating. Weighing. His gaze snaps toward the row of half-folded theater seats, now ghostly in the low light.

A step back. Then another. His eyes rake over you, still burning with that same relentless heat he’s worn like a second skin for the past thirty minutes. Deliberate, he turns, moving toward the seats. One broad hand spreads over the velvet cushion, pressing it down with a controlled grace. His chin tilts—an invitation. Or a command.

“Knees here,” he murmurs, voice rough with restraint.

“Face down. Ass up.”

A startled laugh slips from you—quiet, breathy, incredulous.

He can't be serious.

“You’re joking.”

He doesn’t move. He doesn’t speak.

That silence—so complete, so unwavering—is the answer.

He’s serious.

Heat floods your face, blooming down your neck, across the delicate tips of your ears. You’re burning. Embarrassment crackling just beneath the skin.

This feels exposed. Laid bare in his gaze. Too open. Too visible.

Too wrong.

And yet… it coils low in your belly—right.

You hesitate only for a heartbeat. One last glance at the cracked door down the hallway. Then back to him.

And then you move.

A few tentative steps. A breath caught in your throat. A knee pressed to the worn cushion. The rustle of fabric and nerves.

He’s unhurried—deliberate—as he reaches for you. His hands already at your waist, anchoring you. Guiding you.

Slow. Certain.

“You’re gorgeous.”

The words are quiet, almost reverent, spilling from his lips like a confession. His hands shift from your waist, finding the edge of your jeans. Fingers curl, drag, tug—slowly peeling the fabric down your thighs.

The air hits you like a snap of winter.

Skin prickling. Every nerve lit with cold.

The seat’s metal edges dig into your calves—unforgiving, near bruising. But you stay. Let it press. Let it mark. It angles your body forward, bends you in offering.

And there you are—bare, open, arranged before him.

He guides you down with a gentleness that contradicts the sharpness of the moment. One hand at your spine, coaxing you into a deeper arch. The edge of the adjacent seat bites into your midsection—unyielding, coiled pressure digging in.

He doesn’t rush. His touch drifts lower, tracing the heat that pulses between your thighs.

His fingers linger—barely there. Not giving. Just knowing.

“For a woman who just screamed at me,” he breathes, voice low and amused, “…you’re awfully excited, huh?”

“Tommy—” you warn, breath catching, but he’s already there—pressing the tip of his cock against you, a ragged exhale slipping between clenched teeth.

“I’m kidding—” he murmurs, the words meant to disarm, to soften—“Fuck, sweetheart.”

The push is deliberate. Low. Slick. He moves slowly, savoring every inch as he slides in, like he wants to memorize the feeling.

Your head dips forward, jaw tightening to trap the rising whine, the overwhelming fullness. One arm lifts blindly, bracing against the cold metal of the chair, your forearm muffling the wet, trembling sound that escapes.

“Fuck,” he rasps, shifting forward, body heaving to find a deeper angle. “I—”

He falters—genuinely falters—for the first time since you’ve known him, words catching like breath in his throat.

His hips draw back, then roll forward—measured, indulgent. Not brutal. Not frantic. Just slow, deliberate depth. His grip is unrelenting, palms anchored as he pulls your hips into each thrust. It isn’t him moving anymore—it’s you, guided and used, rhythm dictated by his hands, and brain alone.

Your fingers stretch forward, then curl tight—white-knuckled—into the fabric of the next theater seat. The sharp sound of skin meeting skin echoes through the closed space, amplified by its hollowness.

You can’t feel the room. Can’t process the world outside this moment. You're buried in sensation, in the obscene fullness of him, your thoughts unraveling—reduced to nothing but heat and ruin.

“To—Tomm—y.” It tears out of you raw, breathless—half-whimper, half-animal—dragged up from somewhere deep and trembling.

“I know—” he breathes, voice thick, wrecked with restraint. One hand leaves your hip, slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, calloused palm sliding up until it cups your breast in full possession.

“You look so fuckin’ good from this angle.”

The praise doesn’t wane. If anything, the way he’s buried so deep only sharpens his hunger—makes his words rougher, more reverent.

“Missed this… Bein’ so fucked up inside you.”

He shifts—just enough—lifting one knee to brace against the chair’s arm, angling himself deeper. The new alignment drags him forward, deliberate and unrelenting, until he’s brushing in soft, pulsing rhythm against your cervix.

Fucked up barely begins to cover it.

You clench around him, tighter, your whole body shivering with the effort to stay silent. He groans—low and guttural—mouth grazing your shoulder as he sinks down, chest flush to your spine, every inch of him sealed to your trembling form.

You’re already wrecked—thighs trembling from the sheer effort of holding yourself upright. Every motion spreads slick heat between you, each slow thrust leaving you messy, glistening, undone.

“Can’t lose you,” he gasps—strained, breaking apart. His voice cracks beneath the weight of it, tangled in groans and ragged whines.

“Fuck—”

Your name falls from his lips like a curse, again and again. Like he’s punishing himself with it. Worshipping it. Haunted by it. Every syllable like gold.

“Oh my god—” It escapes you in a panting breath, fragile and frayed—hovering somewhere between a cry and surrender.

He notices—your trembling, the way your body starts to falter—and lets out a frustrated exhale. But it isn’t your exhaustion that draws it from him. It’s everything he’s been holding in. All the tension coiled tight beneath his skin, buried deep in muscle and bone, haunting him through every hour of the day.

He pulls out with a groan, rough and reluctant—like the absence of your warmth physically pains him. You echo it, a soft, broken whimper slipping from your lips as your head drops lower, hips unsteady and shaking.

He leans forward into the narrow aisle, hands threading beneath your arms, one anchoring at your waist. He lifts you—effortless, like muscle memory—but this time, there’s a fever behind it. A kind of urgency.

Your back meets the cold theatre wall with a shiver, stark against overheated skin. And without a word—no warning, no pause—he drives you down, presses you forward. Fucking up into you, hard and sure, with the wall at your spine and nothing to catch you but him.

This time, you can see him. The way he looks at you—really looks—as your flushed face lifts, eyes half-lidded and dazed, finding his. It’s desperate, a silent plea hanging between parted lips, breath caught, no sound escaping.

His arms are locked around your waist, holding you close—coiled, trembling with something deeper than lust. His head dips forward, brushing a kiss against you—soft, dry-mouthed, his breath ragged.

“I was so fuckin' scared.”

It slips out like a confession, barely above a whisper, his eyes flicking up through the weight of his lashes.

“I can’t live without you—” Before, he was slow—drawn-out, savoring, lost in the rhythm of his own need. But now? He’s driven.

His hips pound into you with punishing precision, each thrust unrelenting, slamming up into that one devastating spot he knows by heart. No mercy. No pause. Just raw, rhythmic force.

It doesn’t take long—seconds, really—before the pressure starts to build, that tight coil gathering low in your belly, threatening to snap. Your eyes betray you first, going wide, glassy.

He sees it. And breathes it in like a promise.

“There she is…” he murmurs, mouth brushing yours before crashing in—tongue, teeth, breathless urgency. “Come on… give it to me—give it to me, sweetheart…”

You think it’ll be his name that slips out.

But it’s not.

“I’m sorry—” It leaves you like a broken sob, breathless and cracked, your head thrown back, eyes clenched tight.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry—” But the rest is stolen—devoured—his mouth crashing into yours in a kiss that’s all desperation and heat, messy and unrelenting, more collision than connection.

You shudder against him, unraveling fast, sobs catching in your throat as your thighs clamp hard around his hips—tight enough to bruise, to mark, to mean it.

He pulls back just enough to press his forehead to yours, breath hitching—shallow, ragged. His eyes are half-lidded, glassy, like he’s barely holding on.

“That’s it… Fuck—Jesus Christ,” he groans, voice breaking around the edges. His hips stutter, slipping in and out with erratic desperation, like his body refuses to let go, refuses to stop feeling.

“Shit—I’m…”

His mouth finds yours again, quick and needy, like the words are too dangerous to finish aloud. His grip tightens, grounding himself in the curve of your waist, the tremble of your body under his.

“Don’t let go yet,” he breathes, almost pleading. “Not yet—stay with me. Just a little longer.”

One hand drifts upward, tracing the curve of your spine before tangling gently in the thick, tangled strands he’s come to crave. He doesn’t tug—just lingers there, holding you captive in the ache of his touch.

It’s his snarl that betrays him—a ragged, breathy growl caught between a plea and a promise.

Then the heat crashes in, spilling fiercely into you, relentless and unforgiving as he drives himself hilt deep, locking you together in raw, brutal surrender.

He leans closer, lips brushing the shell of your ear, voice low and ragged.

“God—fuck—you're all I've ever needed."

You settle into the quiet between breaths, bodies entwined—breathing in each others every release and inhale. His forehead presses gently into the hollow of your neck, still holding you captive against the cold wall.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice is a soft murmur, thick with exhaustion and something fragile as your hands lift from your slack side to rest against his collarbone and jaw.

“I’m so fucking sorry.”

“I know,” he exhales, tilting his head back to meet your gaze. His hand rises slowly, brushing away a stray lock of hair plastered to your sweat-dampened forehead. “I know.”

He swallows hard, those deep brown eyes tracing the contours of your face like a bittersweet memory—like you’re already slipping away and he’s mourning every second.

“I would’ve done the same,” he whispers, voice thick with regret. “That’s why I’m angry. Because I would’ve left you in Jackson—just like you left me. Because I want to keep you safe. Hide you from this fucked up world.”

You nod, the weight of his words settling deep inside you. Because fuck—if you could cage him, shield him from every shadow that prowls this city, you would.

God wants to tear him away from you.

He will. One day.

But not today. He’d have to pry him from your cold, dead fucking clenched hands.

The aftermath is gentle. He lowers you from his hold with care, tugging at the hem of whatever undershirt he’s wearing to blot the sheen of sweat from your skin before discarding it somewhere haphazard.

He mutters something about the mess he's made—how the moment you’re back in Jackson, he’ll draw you the warmest bath. How all this grime and sweat can’t be good for you.

It’s strange. Almost laughable, really—how, amidst this fractured, war-torn world, his mind lingers on something as tender and mundane as your cleanliness.

You only catch his words when his fingers, gentle but sure, thread your belt through the loops of your jeans, tugging your zipper closed.

“Just… let me speak,” he murmurs, low and steady—knowing full well that if he stumbles, if he says too much, you’ll cut him off without hesitation.

“I love you.”

“I love you—and I’m not letting you die out here. Not like this.”

“I won’t let this fucked-up world steal away the one thing I’ve got left.”

You part your lips to reply, but he shakes his head—warning, fierce.

“We have so much left to do.”

“So much I haven’t given you.”

“A real goddamn house… a ring… a family…”

He pulls you closer, voice dropping to a rough whisper, almost desperate.

His hands tighten on your waist, thumb tracing slow circles, grounding you in the moment.

“I swear, I’m gon' make it right."

"I'm gon' fix it."

But beneath it all, you know—he cannot sever the threads fate has woven tight. No matter how he pleads, how he weeps, how fiercely he fights, the relentless clock beats on for both of you—unyielding, inevitable. Only sheer raw defiance stands between you and that monster.

Your hand rises, trembling, to his face—soft, reverent. Thumb tracing away a stubborn speck of dirt, lingering over freckles you adore.

“I’m not losing you to this city, Tommy,” you breathe, voice fragile yet fierce. Tongue swiping nervously over your lips, your resolve shaking.

“I’m not losing them. I’m not losing you. And damn it, you’re sure as hell not losing me.”

He leans in, pressing a kiss that’s deep and urgent—soft but laden with a desperate hunger. Not like the hunger before, not the hesitant tremble of uncertain resolve. This kiss is a silent confession, a wordless sobbing into each other’s mouths, like gasping for breath in pools of water.

Because come morning, who knows if you’ll still find each other alive.

authors note: did you understand the position i put them in on the chair.. or did u have to do the thing.. where ur like.. ??what they doin' . anyway. mwah mwah

123 notes · View notes

tkomptgoedluv · 2 days ago

Text

just in case.

joost klein x f! reader

tags: dead dove do not eat, f! reader, non-famous! reader, established relationship, reader is just like me <3 (she works in hospitality), reader is also very very unwell but can’t really admit it, joost is a compulsive fixer, they’re both arguably too codependent but it’s okay because it’s them, a lil bit of angst, toooo much hurt, so much comfort that it’s once again a little cringe, all characters are dutch and speak in dutch but dialogue is written in english for obvious reasons.

word count: 4,849.

warnings: frequent + detailed descriptions of depressive episodes, sexual harassment, SA, semi-vauge mention of suicide ideation, rpf.

notes: hello lovelies!! i don’t have a whole lot to say here, just that this is definitely not my best work but writing this fic has helped me cope with something that happened in my real life so it honestly means quite a bit to me. like pretty much always, this fic comes with a MASSIVE TRIGGER WARNING so please keep yourselves safe, and my messages are always open for anyone that needs to talk <3 — it’s also not been proof-read quite just yet; i’ll get around to that eventually. and as always, thank you @joosthead for being the best beta-reader EVER i love you so much MWAH! xx

enjoy! 💋

── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ──

your eyes felt sore, aching from how hard you were rubbing at them, still somewhat considering clawing them out of your head just to try and stop the burning.

you couldn’t stop crying.

your shift at work today, it had been your breaking point. despite pleading almost on your hands and knees for her not to, your manager had still put you on the bar shift to face the evening rush alone. claiming that you’d be okay because you were supposedly ‘one of her best’, she’d disappeared inside her office just mere moments after you’d shown up, somehow already swamped in emails and admin work. and that was all bullshit, of course — everyone else had just called out for the night, and she was never one to get her hands too dirty.

she left you scrambling, desperately trying to pick up the pieces because at least from what it looked like, whoever had closed the night before hadn’t even tried to do their job. the first customers of the day were trapseing their way in but everything was still so sticky, the feeling of it against your skin making you feel queasy, but there wasn’t any time to clean because everybody just had to want something from you, didn’t they? and what they wanted they couldn’t have right away, because apparently no one had bothered to stock up or refill anything, either.

from just those first few minutes of your shift, your stomach had already began to sink.

you should have listened to joost, should have listened to your boyfriend when he near-begged you to call out as well because you were already struggling enough as it was. you’d only said no because you had no way of explaining why it is you’ve been feeling like this. why you haven’t been sleeping despite all of the meditation you take and why even the smallest, simplest things have you paralysed in your bed, unable to breathe quite right.

you’d just wanted to power through. it wasn’t fair on anyone else to pick up your slack because you couldn’t seem to get your shit together. and it certainly wasn’t fair on joost, when he’s already had to dedicate so much of his time over the past couple months to taking care of you. you’re not a kid; you shouldn’t need someone to hold your hand whilst you brush your teeth, someone to sit on the bathroom floor just to keep you company whilst you take a bath.

he already does enough not just for you but for everyone else in his life. always running around here, there, and everywhere, always five steps ahead just to make sure no one gets left behind whilst he becomes the international star he’s always meant to be. to call in sick again was to hold him back another day, to have him reschedule another session with teun because he just wouldn’t feel right leaving you alone like this.

you still should have listened, though. you still should have called out when he asked you to, because it never got any better, did it?

the customers, they never got any nicer. every single person that walked through the bar’s doors, they pushed you closer and closer to an edge that you’ve been crawling away from for months, because they’d treated you like you weren’t even human. with words laced with venom, they all but spat at you whilst simultaneously asking for your help, rejoicing in the fact that you’re never allowed to say no, no matter how cruel they are.

and the band you’d hosted for the evening, some shitty little wannabe rock/rap group that somehow had an all-male fan base, they were awful. how they managed to even book the gig when they couldn’t even sing, rap, or keep their instruments in tune, was beyond you. it had taken so much not to hide yourself away in the back when it all got too loud, the pure noise of almost a hundred people all shouting at once making your skin clammy and your stomach churn.

it would have been too much for anyone to cope with alone, really. and your manager, nieke, she shouldn’t have stayed locked up in her office doing god knows what for as long as she had. what happened to you wasn’t her fault by any means, but you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe she would have been able to stop it had she actually been there with you.

that maybe she would have been able to get that guy to stop when he had leaned over the bar just one too many times, his eyes pointed directly at your chest. that she would’ve had the guts to kick him out when he’d said another one too many things to make your skin feel itchy, like his promise to wait for you outside because ‘you just look so sexy when you’re all hot and bothered’.

then again, you weren’t exactly helpless, were you? you could have stood your ground, could have kicked him out yourself instead of shrinking underneath his gaze. you could have gone and asked for her help instead of just dealing with it, like you always do, and you could have at least told her about it after the place had cleared out for the night.

and above all else, you should have remembered to leave through the back exit like you normally do on a night like this. you shouldn’t have been so focused on just getting out of there and getting home that you forgot about that guy’s promise to you.

if you had done, then you wouldn’t be stood here shaking in the doorway of your home, those tears of yours burning your eyes as you completely and utterly fell to pieces.

all joost did was ask if you were okay.

he’d heard you come in, almost slamming the front door behind you, from where he’d been sitting in the living room drawing up more sketches on his ipad. you hadn’t called out to him like you usually do when you know he’s home, singing a cheesy little ‘honey! i’m home!’ just loud enough for him to hear, but not too loud that it disturbs the neighbours. you’d been completely silent instead, the only noise you made being the kicking off of your shoes as you chucked your keys onto the hall table, so he asked if everything was alright.

and that had been the thing to make you crack.

because that customer of yours, that asshole, he’d been there waiting for you as you left. you hadn’t seen him at first, your head tilted down as you struggled to untie the earphones that you’d ‘borrowed’ from joost before he’d left for teun’s.

he cornered you the very first chance that he got; waiting until you were just far enough away from your workplace that turning back was out of the question, before he’d backed you up against that wall. with a sick, lopsided grin on his face, he’d paid you the same kind of ‘compliments’ that he had done during the show, the same ones that you’d pretended not to hear the whole evening. only when his back had been turned had you let your facade start to slip, your lip quivering as his words slowly sunk in.

‘do you have any idea how hard it was for me to not jump over the bar and bend you over?’

‘fuck, i love your eyes; i can’t wait to make you cry. i bet you’re a crier, aren’t you? or are you a screamer?’

‘you’re so sexy, schat. can i call you that? you can call me daddy, if you’d like. you seem like the type.’

you wish that you would have done more; that you would have screamed or slapped him, maybe. though you had only just stood there, frozen, quietly asking him to move because you were ‘in a rush’ and ‘had to get home soon.’ you only started to make a scene once he grabbed you, palming your tit over your work uniform as he pinned you against the brick and kissed you.

you’d made it home with flakes of his skin still stuck underneath your fingernails from where you’d scratched at him, pushing him off. he only did so once you started to really dig your nails in, clawing at the skin of his neck like an animal as you wailed, shouting at him to leave you alone. at least he had done, but not without muttering a ‘crazy bitch’ under his breath first, before speeding off in the opposite direction with his head down low.

for the rest of your walk home, you hadn’t let yourself think about any of it. you’d held all your pieces together just like you were supposed to, and only then let them start to fall once you’d stepped through your front door and locked eyes with a pair of joost’s shoes.

they were his favourite pair, actually; the all-black DC trainers you’d gotten him for christmas one year, that he’d left all in a mess by the doormat after getting home from the studio. somehow, it had completely slipped your mind that he was gonna be home by the time that you finished work tonight, and knowing that he was here and that you really were safe now, it had brought tears to your eyes that you hadn’t been strong enough to hold back. and then he’d called out to you, asking if you were okay with such worry already in his voice, and you’d realised that now you were actually going to have to tell him that no, you really weren’t okay at all.

joost hadn’t said anything when he heard you burst into tears as explosively as you had. he’d simply rushed over, appearing as a blurry, blond figure as he came running from around the corner.

“hey hey hey, what happened?”

a pair of strong arms wrapped around you; one around your shoulders and another around your waist, keeping you upright as your knees began to buckle. with your face squished against his shirt, you were breathing in nothing but the smell of his aftershave as you clung onto him for dear life.

you just couldn’t answer him.

at least not yet, anyway.

so you just cried; small, dark spots of mascara staining the white of his t-shirt. even if it wasn’t as old as it was, the graphic on the front having already faded several years ago, joost wouldn’t have cared. it could always be washed with the stain-remover that you keep shoved in the back of one of the kitchen cupboards. to him, they’d never be as detrimental as the long streaks of black that were painting your face now. to him, those were the real, true heartbreak.

you were crying like someone had just died and he didn’t…he just didn’t know what to do with that. his fingers were all in your hair, scratching just underneath your ear as he kept whispering ‘shh it’s okay; just breathe’ over and over again, but you weren’t calming down. you were still hanging off of him, barely holding yourself up anymore as you sobbed screaming into his chest.

joost knew things were getting bad for you already; he’d seen it coming long before even you had. the way you slowly began to feel so indifferent towards everything you once loved. how you would carefully shrink into nothing only when you thought that he wasn’t watching. how you couldn’t bring yourself to eat or even wash yourself unless he was there, almost cheering you on. and that was more than okay, obviously, because he’d cheer you on no matter what it was that you were trying to do. alway being your number one fan, your very own personal cheerleader, it came with the title of being your boyfriend and he loved it.

but it just wasn’t like you, was it? you weren’t one to go down without a fight, regardless of the situation. you’d proved that early on in the relationship when you broke your elbow ice-skating, and despite how you had been such a mess crying your eyes out, you had seriously tried to brush it off at first because you ‘didn’t want to spoil the day for everyone else’. you also always refuse to fall asleep on the nights that joost can’t seem to switch his mind off, always insisting on staying up with him instead because it means that you get to help him finish whatever project he’s too stuck on to let go.

even when you’re ill and it’s bad enough that a couple paracetamol can’t magically fix it overnight, joost still has to swaddle you in blankets and bribe you to stay in bed. he has to force feed you your favourite herbal teas and reassure you every five minutes that he likes doing this for you, because if he doesn’t then you won’t let yourself stop. you’ll keep pushing to keep going and keep pretending as though you’re fine until you just physically can’t anymore.

so when you slowly stopped trying until you couldn’t even brush your own hair without his interference, couldn’t shower without him or remember to drink enough water without his constant reminders, it scared the shit out of him. you weren’t you, anymore.

but whatever this was, though — it wasn’t that. this was something far more violent, something that joost couldn’t even let himself consider to be a possibility. still, thinking about something not happening was still thinking about it, and it was making him sweat all the same.

he finally scooped you up by the backs of your knees when your legs started to shake again. he carried you over to the sofa where his ipad lay discarded, still open and running the software he uses to draw up those little animations of his for music videos. you’d heard the thud of it being pushed to the side and then falling off the sofa cushion as you were put down in its place, though you were crawling over to joost the very moment that he’d sat down next to you.

you were laying your head across his thighs but still turning yourself away so that he couldn’t really see your face. it was less so about not letting him see you and more so about how you’re just unable to bear seeing him seeing you right now. as much as you’ve grown used to needing his help, you still can’t stand the burden that you become to him when you cry. you see it on his face every time; such a severe look of heartsick that it makes you despise yourself for ever daring to fall apart around him.

it was like that, that the both of you stayed for a while. joost’s fingers found their way back into your hair, tucking random strands behind your ear as he used his other hand to wipe his own tears from his eyes. he could still feel you shaking, almost convulsing on his lap, even though your cries had long since become silent.

“do you want to talk about it?” his voice was unbelievably gentle as he spoke; cracking a little as he tiptoed closer and closer to the conversation. if joost was to push it too much, you’d surely shut down on him.

“i don’t know if i can.”

those six, small words were more than enough to choke you, making you cough and splutter and cry just that little bit harder. as carefully as he could joost helped you sit up, one of his hands rubbing up and down the soft skin of your back as the other cupped your face, his thumb catching your tears and swiping them away.

“of course you can, honey. it’s just me, remember?”

it was a good point, considering that you’ve never not told him something, ever. still, it made you blubber like a baby, sobbing with your head in your hands as he tried so gently to coax it out of you. and it didn’t take too much, in the end, did it? because after just a few more backrubs and another whispered ‘it’s only me; it’s okay’, it gradually all came spilling out.

your first few words, your first beyond pitiful attempt at trying to speak, it was near-incomprehensible. you were hiccuping after every syllable; whining after each time that you gagged. except then, only once joost had taken one of your hands in his and with his thumb caressed the skin of your wrist, were you finally able to think.

you thought about the fear that you felt when that guy first made his threat, how your chest had tightened when he’d smirked at you and winked, leaning over the bar as he did so. you thought about how it had knocked the wind out of you when he got you up against that wall, its rough brick digging into your spine and leaving behind small grazes that still stung.

god, it had all felt so disgusting, hadn’t it? his hand on your breast, squeezing you through the fabric of your shirt as he’d suddenly leaned in and made you hit your head against the wall. your face had screwed up at the feeling of his mouth on the corner of your lips, his hot, stale breath fanning against your face. you had almost gagged as it happened and you were gagging again now, trying to rub away the spit from your face that was no longer there, before pulling your work polo over your head just to try and get the last little bit of him off of you.

and then you’d finally made it home and saw those shoes of joost’s being the real tripping hazard that they were, and that’s when it had really begun to feel like the end of the world. because you knew then that you’d have to do this — that you would have to tell him about what had happened and risk breaking his heart, risk losing him.

sure, seeing his shoes there and knowing that he was home and that you were safe, that you could finally, actually breathe now, it had made you feel a little better at first. it has been the thing to first bring those tears to your eyes and a faint wobble to your lip. but then it brought on the panic of actually telling him, knowing that you wouldn’t be able to avoid it, and the not knowing of what his reaction would be.

it wasn’t like you had kissed someone else, but someone else had still kissed you. and even though you already knew deep down that it wasn’t your fault, that you hadn’t asked for it or ever wanted it to happen, it still made you feel just as dirty. as though his hands were still on you and his saliva was still running down your chin, regardless of the fact that you had been fighting to get him off of you the whole time.

and no matter how much you tried to remember that joost would know that too, that it wasn’t your fault because of course it wasn’t, there was still that voice in the back of your mind that told you that this would be the thing to break him. after everything that you’ve put him through lately; all the late nights crying and the early mornings where he had to all but drag you out of bed himself because if he didn’t, then you would’ve just stayed rotting there all day. all the times that he had to coddle you like a child just so you’d actually take care of yourself, and now this? now that another man had touched you in ways that only he ever should, were you even worth it anymore?

except poor joost was just trying to understand what it was that you were actually saying, wasn’t he? because even though the talking had gotten so much easier that you were just rambling now, if anything, it still wasn’t entirely coherent, was it? he’d managed to make out the words ‘work’ and ‘creep’, then ‘followed me’ and ‘kissed’ before you’d pulled your shirt up and over your head, leaving you in just your bra and a pair of work-jeans as you’d wrapped your arms around yourself.

it was more than enough for him to fill in all of the blanks on his own.

and it left him speechless; quietly choking on the salt of his own tears, with a heart so heavy that he could feel it sinking further and further down into his stomach.

his sniffed, wiping the snot from his nose on the back of his arm before finally pulling you back into him. your head hit his chest, your arms falling loose around his middle as his own wrapped tightly around your shoulders, his chin resting on the top of the crown.

“i’m so sorry.”

he didn’t have anything to be sorry for.

it wasn’t joost’s fault — nor was it yours, or nieke’s, or anyone else’s. what happened to you, it was just something that happened. something that shouldn’t have but still did, and nothing will come of it besides a few nightmares and a fear of walking home alone that’ll last a couple of months.

on top of everything else that he does, joost will somehow have to make the time to come meet you after your evening shifts, just so he can walk you back hand in hand. he’ll have to deal with the fact that you probably won’t be getting a good night's sleep for a while now, not that you were anyway, and he’ll have to spend every night consoling you as you cry. he’ll have to spend his days groggy, suffering from his own lack of sleep, with you clung onto him until the very thought of any physical touch starts to repulse you. in a way, joost will face a greater punishment for this than that asshole ever will, and that will be your fault, amongst almost everything else.

the grip that you have on his t-shirt only tightens as you bury your face deeper into his chest, wailing, because it's all just so unfair, isn’t it? it’s not fair that joost is going to rearrange his whole entire life for you now, all because of this, no matter how many times that you’ll tell him not to. it’s not fair that you’ve been robbed of feeling safe at your own fucking job because some stranger thought that you were just too pretty to leave alone. it’s not fair that you asked him, begged him, to stop too many times for you to count and he hadn’t, not until you’d started to make such a scene that you became too much of an inconvenience for him.

“talk to me, honey. what are you thinking right now?”

you shook your head, further smudging your wet mascara along the fabric of his shirt. you missed the way that joost’s frown deepened when you did so, but only because you weren’t talking to him; you were trying to shut him out again. all the while you had been spilling these tears of yours over him, so unbelievably afraid of how all of this would all surely be too much for him, joost was only thinking about you.

he pulled back as gently as he could, letting his hands run down your arms until they were clutching onto yours, giving your palms a soft squeeze.

“put it on me. anything — everything that you’re thinking about. you know you can. please.”

“it’s just not fair, joostie. it’s not fair that i’m trying and it’s not working and it all keeps going wrong; it’s not fair. it shouldn’t be this hard, i shouldn’t have to need you all the time, i should be able to take care of myself, i should be able to stand up for myself when someone first starts bothering me. i shouldn’t be this tired.”

just as your tears had begun to dry, your eyes glossing over as they started to grow heavy, tears of his own started to run down joost’s face. he didn’t move to wipe them, he only tried blinking them away as they fell, as he just sat there quietly and listened. with his heart plummeting down to his feet he gulped, almost choking on the sour taste that your words had left in his mouth.

“sometimes i think that maybe…maybe it would just be easier if i…and after tonight i just, i just can’t…fuck, what if i just -”

“- no. no i know what you’re gonna say and no. i can’t do any of this without you.”

“joost��”

you fell silent when he dropped your hands to cup your cheeks again, tilting your head up slightly so you had nowhere else to look but him. you could feel him shaking, feel the tremble in his hold as he held you like that for a moment just to gaze at you with such soft, sad eyes.

he’d known that this was coming, that you’d come this close to the edge that he’s been so desperately trying to help you crawl away from. he’d felt it from that very first day where you couldn’t get out of bed and he let you stay there, only because it had been the kindest thing to do.

“i know you think it’s bad to need help and to need someone just to want to wake up in the morning, but that’s how i feel about you too, okay? that’s how much i need you.” he paused to press a kiss to your forehead before shifting back, finally wiping away the water from his eyes. “does that make you think any less of me?”

“no, no of course not, i -”

“- then why does it make you think so much less of you?”

he’d gotten you there, hadn’t he? had you opening and closing your mouth because every time that you went to speak, you realised that there was nothing left for you to really say other than —

“i’m sorry.”

you spluttered out the last syllable, the guilt of having gotten it all so wrong becoming wedged inside your throat. “i’m so sorry.”

before you could even really fall he was cradling you again, tucking you up underneath his chin as his arms wrapped all the way around you to pull you closer. the sound of your sobbed-out apologies became muffled when you brought your hands up to your face to cry into them, unable to bear seeing another splotch of dark makeup on his t-shirt. but he still heard it every time that you promised him that you didn’t mean it, didn’t he?

he heard it every time that your voice cracked when you swore that you were just sleep deprived and shaken up by what had happened; that you never should have almost said what you did. and joost knew that was a lie — knew that had you come home to an empty house, it could have been the end of his world just as much as it could have been yours. still, he told you that it was okay; kissing the top of your head every time that you choked on another one of your words.

though despite it, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop apologising just yet. it all felt so stupid to you now, how you let this thing that happened to you tonight spiral into something surely so much worse than what it needed to be. it made you fall quiet again, suddenly so determined to put on a brave face because of how much you hated how hard joost was still shaking.

“i never should have said that; i’m sorry.”

“stop that, you don’t need to do that.” you felt him kiss the crown of your head again, his lips lingering there for a second. “just let me take care of you when you need it, yeah? it’s kinda my job, schatje. it’s what i live for.”

all you did was nod, the corners of your mouth twisting up into its first sappy smile in what felt like forever. there was still a part of you deep down that wanted to ask if he was angry at you for scaring him as terribly as you had, for making him cry and worry and coddle you even more than he usually does. but instead you just let that fear sit in the very far corners of your mind until joost broke the silence, his voice still so gentle as he carefully tucked a fallen strand of hair back behind your ear.

“what do you need right now, honey? what can i do? want me to go break that guy’s kneecaps?”

you managed something of a laugh before you sniffled, coughing a little as you moved round to face him.

“can you help me quit my job?”

#joost klein x reader #joost klein x f!reader #luvvergirlwrites

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