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silens-oro · 21 days ago

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You Know Where You Are: Part IV (final)

Not all fics have adult content, but this blog is 18+. Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x f!Musician!Reader Angst/Established Relationship Part I | Part II | Part III

The Pitt Playlist located here The Pitt Masterlist

Synopsis: You either let the grief bury you, or you allow someone to pull you out. Word Count: 2,702 Content Warning: PTSD; Trauma; Grief; Mentions of death; Reader is in her 30's A/N: I listened to I Bet on Losing Dogs by Mitski on repeat while I wrote this, so I'm very sorry in advance. Thank you so much for the love on this series. We've reached the final part to You Know Where You Are and it has been an absolute joy share the journey with you. I may possibly do an epilogue in the near future if enough people want it.

Please comment & reblog :)

“You are incredibly tough to track down, you know that?” Jack’s familiar voice grunted as he sat next to you on the park bench you were currently occupying. You were taking a small break to people watch at a park about four blocks away from your townhouse. It as a frequent stop during your daily wanderings, it was just a matter of getting the timing right on if someone would find you or not.

“That usually means someone doesn’t want to be found, Jack.” You continued to watch, not giving him any attention in the hopes that he’d give you space, but this was Jack and he knew how far to push someone before relenting.

“You know, usually people thank me for saving their life,” Jack threw out to see what he was working with as he leaned forward with his elbows resting on his thighs. It was just after four in the afternoon and he had a few hours before he was scheduled for work.

“I’m not grateful.” Yikes. Okay, redirect. “Should’ve left me in that truck as a DNR.”

“Well, I’m going to disagree with you on that one. You held on,”

“Self preservation is a real bastard.”

“You’re telling me.” He tapped his prosthesis on the ground. Jack looked around, taking in their surroundings, and sighed your name. “I’m not here to fight with you or tell you to get your shit together, although I really wish you would.” He said pointedly, “I know why you’re doing it, but you can’t ice everyone out because you don’t want to face it. You can’t ice Robby out. The poor guy is hanging by a thread and the only thing he can worry about is you because you won’t communicate with him.”

“He was supposed to be there, Jack. Right where Leah was.” Oh, no. This wasn’t purely self isolation due to trauma -this was guilt. “I feel sick to my stomach every time I think about it and it is all I can think about.” Jack nodded.

“You uh, you seeing anyone about this? Talking to anyone? If not, I have a therapist. He’s good.”

“I’m talking to you.” You chuckled dryly as you shook your head, looking down at the raw cuticles and skin around your fingernails. It had been picked, scabbed over, then picked again. The skin on the back of your hands was scratched pink and you pulled the sleeves of your zip up down to cover them self consciously, but Jack had already seen the damage.

“I’m not in the realm of qualification that this calls for, kid.” Jack scoffed. “When’s the last time you spoke to Robby?”

“After I was extubated,” Your cell phone sat at home every time you left your house in the two weeks since you made it home, completely disconnected from the outside world. If someone wanted to reach you, they’d have to hunt you down, -and Jack happened to get lucky this time around.

“That’s a long time to leave someone hangin’, ya know?” He didn’t want to reprimand you, just kindly point out that maybe the way you were going about things wasn’t the best. “We’ve all been worried about you.”

“Then maybe he and everyone else should take the hint.” You knew it was mean, ugly, but that was all you felt these days. The kindness you used to run on, the glass half full mindset, was gone. The world was ugly and bitter and darker than it ever was for you, and so you too were ugly and bitter and dark. They were the easiest feelings to wrangle and they didn’t make you think past surface level to something deeper that you didn’t want to dig up.

“You don’t mean that.” Jack said softly.

“No, I do, Jack.” You glared at him. “I just…I want to be left alone. I’m trying to-to maneuver through the pieces of my life and figure out what I’m supposed to be doing or if there’s even a point to any of this anymore.” Jack’s heart clenched. “My entire way of life has been thrown out the fucking window and this is the only way I can deal with it without exploding into a million pieces or biting a fucking bullet.” You started absentmindedly scratching at your hand before you caught yourself by clasping them together. Jack watched it all and kept quiet, letting you get out everything you needed to say.

“One of my best friends was murdered right in front of me.” Your voice cracked, “I was shot, Leah died trying to help me. Jake was shot helping me.” You shook your head, covering your eyes with the palms of your hands. “The band is done. We haven’t talked, but I don’t think I could ever go out on stage again, much less be near a crowd of people, even if I wanted to. Everything we’ve worked for in the last twenty years is gone. Nick’s gone.” Your voice trembled and something across the park held your attention as you spoke. “I’m on edge every second of every day. If I so much as hear a car door slam, my entire body clenches so hard it feels like my ribs are going to break. My anxiety is through the roof to the point that I’m physically manifesting symptoms,” You held up your hands for him to fully see before hiding them away again in your sleeves. “This is as close to hell as you can get without actually being there.”

Jack saw your face fully for the first time since you were intubated in your recovery room. Your mouth was set in an agitated frown, your brows pinched together in irritation. Your face was gaunt and dark, heavy circles weighed under your eyes. You looked absolutely miserable and Jack couldn’t blame you -not when he himself went through something similar when he lost his leg. He was fortunate enough that his late wife was there to pull him out of the depths and back into the world of the living, and he’d be damned if you were left to flounder when you had people who loved and cared about you. Jack would do what he could to help you, and help Robby, before you both fell too far.

PTSD was something Jack was well acquainted with. It was something he worked through, and continued to work through, and he also lost many friends to it who fell through the cracks.

It was your eyes, though, that worried Jack the most. You should’ve been weaned off of the painkillers after your first week out of the hospital, but your pinpoint pupils were telling a different story as they looked over at him, looking but not actually seeing. You were so much worse than Jack could’ve imagined -you were a shell of who you used to be, and if he didn’t hook you and pull you back on board then this could spiral into something so much worse than it already was.

“All I do is walk. I walk and walk around the city from sunrise to sunset because if I just rot inside of my house, Robby is all I see. I see his death over and over in every person I saw that night. I see Leah…and Nick. I see people who didn’t even have a chance to make it, but somehow I did. What made me special, Jack?” Your chin dropped to your chest as you tried to stifle the emotions that were coming out. “Nick had a family -a wife and two kids who will never see their father again. Leah hadn’t even started her life yet. I can’t imagine what her family is going through. They died for nothing, Jack. All of them died for nothing while I’m…here.” You shook your head.

“I wish I had the answer to that. Sometimes it’s just the luck of the draw, I suppose. Some people make it, some don’t. That’s human existence.” You nodded, half listening. “You sleeping at all?” Another shrug from you.

“I have to medicate myself to get the few hours of sleep I’m able to, and the nightmares worm their way in when it starts to wear off, so I get up and walk some more until I’m so tired that I just pass out on the couch for an hour or two. Had I known this is what was waiting for me, I wouldn’t have let them throw me in the back of that truck to begin with. This isn’t a life, Jack. This is just existing.”

“Sometimes existing is the best we can do, but it isn’t forever. Healing takes time, and the mental wounds are oftentimes the hardest burden to carry, but that doesn’t mean you have to do it alone.” You looked over to Jack.

“I’m scared of what he’s going to see if I let him in.”

All things considered, had you been thinking clearly, you would’ve known Jack would talk to Robby after your conversation in the park. It just never occurred to you that Robby would be waiting for you when your feet finally brought you back home just after sunset. The way your heart pounded in your chest when you stopped a few houses down nearly made you turn around and head in the opposite direction.

Robby hadn’t seen you yet. There was time to leave and circle back once he’d been sitting out there long enough to call it quits when you didn’t show up. It was tempting, but ultimately it wasn’t fair to Robby. You weren’t punishing him, not on purpose. He didn’t do anything wrong but that didn’t mean you wanted him or anyone else around you. Not while you were like this.

With those thoughts in the forefront of your mind, you stepped forward into his periphery, ready to turn him away.

Robby’s head snapped up from where he was looking down on his phone, and he stood up quickly. He was dressed in his work clothes -cargo pants, black scrub top, and his hospital zip up a little disheveled after working his 12 hour shift. His backpack was sitting on the stoop and he met you at the bottom of the stairs. Robby breathed your name, looking you up and down, taking every bit of you in like he couldn’t believe you were standing before him.

“Go home, Mike.” You shuffled past him and up the stairs. Robby followed quickly behind you, picking up his bag and tailing you up the stairs -his long legs taking them two at a time to keep up with you.

“I came to see you. You don’t answer calls or texts, you don’t-” You stopped mid-step and turned back to look down at him from your vantage point. He caught himself on the railing so he didn’t bump into you.

“I know.” Robby placed his hand on your arm to stop you from turning back around.

“I’m tired, exhausted.” Robby’s voice cracked. His dark eyes were glassy and bloodshot, full of every emotion he harbored. “My tank is empty -has been for over a month, running on fumes I don’t even have and still I have to keep giving. I don’t have a choice.” His voice was growing thick with emotion and you wanted to flee to the safety of your unit, where you could lock yourself behind a door to deal with your own demons. At least they were familiar. “I’ve stopped by here every morning, every single morning since I found out you left the hospital and every night I walk by in the hopes of seeing a glimpse of you in the window. I’ve tried to contact you in every way possible until I realized that whatever I had, you didn’t want and now I don’t know if you ever did.” You felt your right eye twitch.

“Go home, Robby.” Not Mike -Robby. Your voice shook, holding itself on the edge of a blade. “Go home.” You whispered, begging him to leave you in peace, but he didn’t. He took another step up, coming up to eye level with you and held you there with the intensity of his eye contact.

“Not until we hash this out.” You shook your head, pulling away from him.

“I’m not talking about this,”

“Yes we are.” The assertiveness in his voice held no room for argument. “I’ve given you space, I’ve given you time, and now we’re doing this my way because you’re not the only one who’s living in absolute agony because of this, goddamn it!” Robby never raised his voice at you in the nearly three years you were together, not one single time. His tone cemented your feet to the concrete stairs, eyes wide and system shocked.

“You never gave me a chance -not a single fucking chance after you woke up. Do you know what my day was like, how many people died in the ED before PittFest? Kids, teens, the elderly? It was just hit after devastating hit, on top of knowing I disappointed you, and then you pulled up in that fucking truck with Jake and Leah and I thanked God you had a pulse because if you didn’t…” He shook his head, “That would’ve been the end for me.” Robby’s words sat heavy between you. “Never in my wildest fucking dreams did I ever think I’d be mourning you while you were still alive.” Robby made sure you saw the devastation in his eyes and heard the raw hurt in his voice. “You could’ve told me you hated me -at least that would’ve been a reason to do what you did. I could’ve accepted that. I could’ve learned to live with that. At least I would’ve known, you know?”

“Why would I hate you?” Your voice was so small, just above a whisper. Tears were welled in your eyes, yet to fall. The question was stupid because why wouldn’t he think that you hated him? All you did was push and push and push without giving a single reason why, but you didn’t push him away for anything he did. This was purely on you.

“Because I failed so many people that night,” He admitted, a half sob escaping his lips as he tried to hold himself together. “I froze when we wheeled you into the trauma bay. I’ve been working in trauma for twenty-five years and I fucking froze. And if I didn’t, if Jack had taken Leah’s gurney instead of yours I know I would’ve lost you-”

“Stop,” You inhaled deep breaths to stop the wall you had built from toppling over.

“Even when you were in the recovery room, all I saw was the same version of you I saw in the back of that pickup and the blood -all of your blood. All I could think about was that I should’ve been there with you. I should’ve been there and I wasn’t because I couldn’t get out of my own fucking head. It has eaten away at me, day and night, that maybe you wouldn’t have been as worse off as you were and Leah wouldn’t have died because she wouldn’t have been there. It is my fault she was there. It’s my fault that she never made it out of the ED-”

“Stop,” The sob finally broke free, “Please stop,”

“All I wanted to do was hold you, comfort you, love you -to let you know that I was with you every step of your recovery -that we’d do this together. I wanted to physically feel that you were still there, to know that one more person I loved didn’t slip through my hands-”

“Please,” You begged, completely breaking down.

“Tell me to leave and I’ll go.” Robby’s breathing was staggered as tears streamed down his bearded cheeks. “But I’m so fucking tired.” Without another thought, you stepped down and shoved your face into Robby’s chest, sobs muffled by his sweatshirt. His arms instantly wrapped around you, holding you so tightly that there was no space between you.

“Don’t go,” You begged, “Please don’t go.” His chest shook beneath you, his face smashed into your hair. “Don’t go.”

farewell, my friends. if you'd like an epilogue to this, please let me know.

as always, comment & reblog :)

#the pitt #dr robby x reader #dr robby imagine #the pitt imagine #the pitt fanfiction #Michael robinavitch #robby robinavitch #x reader #grief fic

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toomanystoriessolittletime · 10 months ago

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A promise

Summary: You've been in love with General Marcus Acacius, your father's most trusted advisor and friend, ever since you could remember. A kiss on the day you come of age starts an affair that would last for years before you ask him to choose between having you officially as his or not having you at all. Days after, your father the Emperor dies, and the brother who hated you comes to power, wasting no time to make arrangements to marry you off to someone you had never met before, leaving you mourning about what could have been, when Marcus finds you with a surprising solution.

Pairing: General Marcus Acacius x fem. reader

Rating: E

Wordcount: 3.1k

Warnings: my take on the Dad's best friend trope, secret affair, age gap (not specified, but I wrote it with around 20 years in mind), death of a family member, toxic family situations (your siblings hate you), tears, feelings, smut (oral f receiving, unprotected sex), proposals, mentions of hair brushing, Marcus picks reader up but this is fiction so I pretend he could pick everyone up, FLUFF (do not look at me I have no idea what happened there), most likely historically inaccurate, banner as always just for the vibes, reader has no physical description apart from having hair (and if it has please let me know)

A/N: look at me, writing for a character we know almost nothing about. This is definitely not historically accurate, we're just here for the vibes. Tell me what you think cause posting for a new character makes me even more anxious than posting for old characters

follow @toomanystoriessolittletime-fics and turn on notifications to get notified when I post new fics

Full Masterlist // Marcus Acacius Masterlist

You had spend all your life being the perfect daughter to your loving father.

You never complained, always having the greater good in mind. You did everything that had been asked of you, everything that was decided for you, because your father, may the gods bless his soul, the emperor of Rome had promised you that once the time came, you would be allowed to have a say in who would become your husband.

You loved your father.

You were the first born and his favourite. And he made sure that all your siblings knew that, leaving you with siblings, that were despising you all your life.

But now your father was dead and his second born, your brother, had let you know not even a week after your father had been buried, that you were going to marry some Duke you had never met before, who had promised troops and gods knows what for the pleasure of getting to take you as a wife.

When you dared to complain your brother had reminded you that you were a mere woman and should be thanking him on your knees for a suitable match, giving that he was the only one who had approached him because of you.

You did not even know how he had found the time for his search for a husband for you ever since he had been put on the throne only a week before.

But deep down you knew, he had only been waiting for a chance to have his petty revenge of you.

Growing up, your brother never grew tired to remind you just how ugly he thought you were. How dumb you were. That the people only talked to you because you were the favourite of your father.

He talked you down so often, you had started to believe it.

You would probably be dead by now if it wasn’t for your Father’s most trusted advisor.

The current general of the roman army.

Marcus Acacius.

Your father and him had grown up together. Fought and won wars together.

And you?

You had the biggest crush on him since you could remember.

He was just so strong and big and whenever he smiled you, you remembered getting this weird feeling in your belly. The older you got the more you thought about him, imagining how it would be to be with him.

It was on the day you came of age, a big celebration held in your honour, that you drank a little too much wine and clumsily pressed your lips against his after he volunteered to get you to your room.

You were mortified when he just looked at you, before turning away and hurrying away from your chambers.

You didn’t know he would leave the next morning for war.

You didn’t know that months after when he came back, the war won, celebrations held in his honour, that he would find you in your chambers and kiss you the way you had always dreamed of.

You didn’t know that seven years later it was still you he chose to see first whenever he came back from a battle. Or… every time he could sneak away really.

More than once you had asked him why you could not make it official. Acacius was a person of power. While maybe not holding any royal titles, he was the General of the roman armies. If he would have asked your father for your hand, you were sure he would have given his blessing.

But he had argued against it, thinking it would most likely be seen as a betrayal of the emperor’s trust.

It made you feel like a dirty little secret and was one of the reasons you had a big fight just days before your father died.

You had not seen him since apart from the official events you both had to attend.

After your brother had informed you that you were to be married within the next week so you were out of his palace you had excused yourself to your chambers, dismissing your staff to have some time for yourself.

You fought back the tears until the doors closed behind your last maid.

Sitting down on your bed you allowed yourself to cry.

Cry for your father.

Cry for Acacius.

Cry for yourself and your future.

You did not know who this man you had been set to marry was, but it did not matter.

Of course you were well over the age of getting married, you knew that. But your father did not care. He only cared about your happiness.

And now here you were, about to marry a stranger, while being in love with someone else.

Letting your tears fall freely you jumped when your door opened, hastily brushing the tears away when you noticed Marcus as he closed the door behind him.

„Forgive me for not knocking but I had to see…. What happened?“ He asked, quickly walking towards you. He knelt down in front of you, taking your hands.

You hadn’t been alone with him since before your father died, when you told him that you were tired of being with him in secret. That you wanted to be his officially. To love him. To marry him. To have his children.

It may have been childish, giving him an ultimatum to choose to be with or without you, but you were tired of hiding.

What happened in the days after was a blur.

And now he was here, his concerned warm eyes looking all over you as if to search for what made you cry.

„Did somebody hurt you?“ He asked again and you sobbed, leaning down so you could hug him, bringing your face close to his neck, so you could inhale his familiar scent.

Within seconds his arms were around you and he picked your up before he sat down on your bed with you sitting sideways in his lap. His hand brushing softly over your hair. You had one hand on his shoulder, your other hand wrapped behind his back holding onto his waist, while one of his arms held you securely against him, his other hand softly stroking your hair.

You felt him kiss the top of your head and you closed your eyes.

You allowed yourself to relax, melting against him, any arguments you had forgotten.

Because he was here, and even though you hadn’t parted in the best ways, there was no place in this world were you felt safer than in his arms.

„I am to be married within the next week,“ you mumbled against his neck and you felt him tense.

„I learned about it today. My brother did not lose any time to get me out of his sight,“ you joked weakly before you looked up at him.

You only noticed now hat his hair was still damp. He must have come directly from the baths, wearing only a linen garment.

Carefully you brought one of your hands up, your fingers resting on his cheek.

The candle light made him appear like he was glowing and you wondered how you would live without ever having him this close again.

„He cannot marry you off to whomever he chooses,“ he said and you chuckled weakly.

„He is the Emperor now. I am afraid that he can do almost everything he sets his mind on.“

He shook his head.

„He can not,“ he said, his grip around you tightening.

„Acacius…“ you began but he shook his head.

„Do not call me that. Not you,“ he whispered and your eyes softened.

„Marcus. You must have known that this day would come sooner or later,“ you brushed your fingers through his soft beard. He leaned into your touch. Smiling softly you rested your head back against his shoulder, letting him hold you for a while.

This was what you would miss most. Just him holding you, giving you comfort.

„The day before your father died,“ he began after a while, his fingers brushing up and down your spine, „I talked to him about taking a wife,“ he continued.

You closed your eyes, releasing a long breath.

„He was actually happy. To be honest he had been asking me for a while if I need any help finding a suitable wife, but I never took his offer for help because I knew who I wanted to marry from the moment you kissed me first,“ he admitted.

You softly pressed your lips against his neck and you felt it as he took a deep breath.

„So I told him that I had someone for a while I could see myself spending the rest of my days with. I told him that I was in love and that I would die to protect her. And when he asked when he could meet this incredible woman I told him that he already has, since she was you,“ you looked up at him then, surprised that he had talked to your father.

„You told him?“ You asked, voice quiet. He nodded.

„You know what he said? He said that he could not ask for a better man to take care of his daughter,“ Marcus said and you closed your eyes, letting your head fall against his shoulder.

„But two days later he was dead and your brother had been named the new Emperor. Your father had meant to talk to you, but everything happened so quickly,“ he took a deep breath.

„Thankfully I did ask for your hand before he died and he agreed as long as you would say yes.“

„Marcus,“ you shook your head, new tears in your eyes. You felt his fingers tilt your chin up.

„I haven’t come to talk to you earlier, because I knew your brother would plan something like he did. I had to make sure he could not succeed in taking you away from me. Because you’re mine,“ he said with a small smirk.

„And I protect what is mine,“ he hummed and you gulped, shuddering as his eyes seemed to darken.

„But before I can protect you the way I intend to, we have to be wed,“ his thumb brushed over your lip.

„But how? Knowing my brother he is going to announce my engagement within the next days and has me shipped off by the end of the week,“ you said concerned.

„That would be inconvenient, because our engagement, signed with blessings by the former Emperor, your father, will be released by the morning, with us to be wed within the next three days,“ he said and you were sure you stopped breathing for a moment as he looked at you.

„Truly?“ You whispered and he nodded.

Before he could say anything further you threw your arms around him, making him fall back against your bed with you above him, kissing him deeply. You felt him smile against your lips as he pulled you even closer, his hands running down your body, his fingers slipping under your dress.

Parting from his lips you looked down at him.

„I thought you left me,“ you whispered and he shook his head.

„Never,“ he vowed, meeting your lips in a sweet kiss.

„Then I think you have to ask me a question, General,“ you smiled cheekily and he grinned.

„Will you do me the honour of being my wife?“ He asked as his hands came to rest on your ass.

„Usually the man gets on his knees to ask his intended, does he not?“ You teased and he hummed thoughtfully, before he rolled you over so he was on top, kissing your forehead.

„You are right as always, my love. I shall get on my knees to ask you for your hand,“ he winked before he slowly slipped down your body, his lips kissing a line down your body. Parting your legs wider to make space for him you looked down just as he pulled at the sting of your dress, his fingers parting the fabric so it fell to the side, revealing your naked body to him.

He kissed your knee and goosebumps spread over your body like wild fire.

You sat yourself up, leaning on your elbows so you could see him properly.

His nose brushed up your inner thigh as he settled down between your legs, his breath brushing over you wet cunt as he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.

„I will promise to love you,“ he hummed, his lips pressing against the skin just above your pussy.

„To cherish you,“ he continued, slowly kissing himself down and you sucked your bottom lip in.

„To protect you,“ his tongue licked a strip from bottom to top.

„Until the day I die,“ he hummed before he sucked your clit between his lips. You felt his tongue move over your clit and you moaned softly while his eyes were focused on yours. One of his hands came up to grab one of your tits, massaging it.

„I will give you everything you want,“ he said as he released your clit only to lick down towards you hole.

„When you want,“ he licked again.

„How often you want,“ he winked at you before his tongue entered you, making you moan out his name softly, one of your hands coming down to rest in his soft hair. He hummed against you, his tongue getting you closer and closer to the edge, his fingers pinching your nipple.

Marcus then focused his attention on your clit, his tongue playing with it while two of his fingers slowly entered you, angling them just the way he knew had you singing his name.

„Marcus, please,“ you moaned, your head falling back.

„Cum for me, my love,“ he hummed, flicking his tongue over your clit while his fingers massaged your inner walls and you shattered, your back arching before you let yourself fall back against the mattress, your body shaking with an orgasm so intense you saw stars.

Melting into the mattress as you tried to calm your racing heart, you smiled when you felt Marcus kiss your hip.

After a moment you opened your eyes and looked down at him.

„You still haven’t dropped to your knees or asked a question, General,“ you reminded him and he hummed thoughtfully before he pushed himself up, kneeling between your legs. He pulled his clothing down, leaving him completely naked as he gazed down at you, his eyes dark and his cock hard and leaking.

His fingers wrapped around his cock, slowly pumping his length.

Your tongue dared out, wetting your lips, saliva filling your mouth.

You wanted a taste and judging by his smirk he knew it.

„I am kneeling,“ he said with a wink.

„I can see that,“ you sassed and he chuckled, before he released the grip on his cock and lowered his body over yours. You wrapped one of your legs behind him, your feet brushing up and down his leg, as he settled between your legs his cock notching at your hole.

You smiled up at him as he looked at you, his strong arms resting next to your head to hold himself up.

„I never thought I would love anyone as much as I love you. You make everything lighter, easier. I want to live my life with you by my side to make it better,“ he rubbed his nose over yours and you could feel tears in the corner of your eyes as you wrapped your arms behind his broad back.

„Marry me, my love,“ he whispered before he slowly slipped inside of you, his cock filling you every thick inch.

„Make me the happiest and proudest man in Rome,“ he whispered when his cock had filled you completely. You found his lips in a sweet kiss as he began to move, slowly fucking into you.

„Marry me,“ he whispered with his lips against yours as he moved faster, his hips meeting yours with an audible smack every time his cock filled you.

„Let me fill you with as many children as you’re willing to give me,“ he groaned against your ear while you moaned, his body moving over yours with every thrust into you. Your walls clenched his cock inside of you, making him groan. Arching your back against his chest you began to meet his thrusts, your fingers digging into the warm skin on his back.

„As many as I want?“ You asked and he nodded and you made sure to keep your leg wrapped around him, making it clear that you would not let him pull out of you today.

„Marry me,“ he moaned his forehead coming to rest against yours as your lips parted with a long moan as you came on his cock, your eyes only closing for a moment before you opened them just in time to see his eyes when you gasped a

„Yes“

To his question, his cock almost immediately twitching inside of you as he came and filled you with his seed for the first time.

He stayed like that for a moment before he kissed you and rolled you around so you were resting on top of him.

He softened inside of you, your joined release dripping into the sheets but you could not bring yourself to care. You leaned with your arm on his chest, looking up at him with bright eyes.

„What if I had said no?“ You asked with a small smile.

„Then I would have spend more time convincing you to say yes,“ he smiled, his fingers brushing over your naked shoulder. You pressed your lips against his strong chest.

You knew that once word got out about your engagement, Rome would not be safe for you anymore, no matter how much influence he had with his post.

Your brother would find a way to have his way.

There was only one way for a chance of the happy life you both imagined.

„If I asked you to leave Rome with me to start a new life somewhere else, what would you say?“ You asked him.

„I would ask when you want to leave,“ he smiled before he leaned down to kiss you.

#my fic #marcus acacius #marcus acacius x fem. reader #pedro pascal #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction #pedro pascal characters

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certaimromance · 9 months ago

Text

𝜗𝜚 You Says.

Post prison Reid x Reporter!reader

part one

Summary: After a rough night and some misunderstandings, Spencer needs to do everything he can to make things right with you and get his relationship back on track. The problem is, things aren't so easy for you, and he's willing to do anything you ask, even take care of you when no one else will.

Words: 3,1k.

Warnings & Tags: mentions of crime and trauma. fem!reader. angst+comfort. reader gets sick (nothing serious, just a normal cold). second chance yep. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: Ok, I didn't think of doing a second part before, but reading my own work made me so sad😭 the cat deserves happy parents (we are the cat) but I warn you that I do not believe in magic apologies.

I. I Love You, I’m Sorry.

Spencer had been losing his mind since the last time he saw you in person, and it was all his fault. From the moment the door to his apartment closed behind you and the oven beeped, he began to feel the broken pieces of his heart that you had once held together unravel and shatter even more. He hated himself for letting his insecurities get in the way of the one good thing he had managed to have over the past few years, and for pushing you away when you didn't want to. You had been his exception among all the bad things that had happened in his life for as long as he could remember, the only one that didn't seem to want to be temporary and left him when he least expected it. And he himself had forced you out of his life, even when you didn't want to, begging him with tear-filled eyes for a little remorse that he didn't give you.

Just a few hours after the incident, he tried to go to work as if nothing had happened to clean up the mess the leak had made and put the killer in jail. He brought Penelope the promised cookies and your computer for her to examine because it felt right at the time. Part of him needed her to find real proof of your betrayal so he could stop feeling bad about making you cry and saying such ugly things to you.

Then he found out that you were telling the truth and that your computer contained nothing but photos of the two of you, all the articles he had ever written or been mentioned in your searches, and a few writings in which you poured out all your love for him in the cheesiest and most poetic way possible. You loved him, you really did, and there was no evidence to the contrary, because even Garcia could later assure him that the information had come anonymously and had been bought for five hundred dollars. But it was too late, because he had given you a conviction without even knowing it.

That's when he started to fixate on making amends for what he'd done. Every time you left work, bouquets of your favorite flowers with notes asking for forgiveness and wishing you a good night began to appear in your car. He also made a point of stopping by to talk to you and repeat how sorry he was. You knew this would happen when he realized his mistake. You had told him before you left, and that's why you refused to see him. It was good that the security guards at your workplace didn't let him in, even with his FBI credentials. The tricky part was your building because the doorman already knew him and let him in normally thanks to the excuses Spencer made up, even though you said a thousand times that he shouldn't have.

And that was happening again, for the fifth or sixth time in the last few days.

“Please, just let me talk to you and tell you how sorry I am. Listen to me for a moment.” You could hear Reid's voice from the other side of the door.

You didn't say anything. You just sat with your back against the door and one hand on your heart, as if you were trying to hold it. It didn't even cross your mind that he was in the same situation.

“Just a few minutes, please."

Once more, you remained silent.

Silence was the worst answer someone could give. You knew it, and it hurt to have to do it with him. But you had no choice because you knew that by looking into his eyes for just a few seconds, all the bad things would dissipate and maybe you would even forgive him without thinking just because of the love you had for him. You didn't like being this vulnerable and having so many feelings for someone who didn't trust you.

Lately, you've been spending every waking moment wondering what you could have done to make him believe that you were really capable of betraying him in such a cruel and selfish way. You were the one who woke up in the middle of the night to try to comfort him every time he had a nightmare or couldn't sleep. You drove to his apartment no matter what time it was to make sure he was okay. You lost your breath repeating that he was safe with you. You drank many cups of coffee the next day so you wouldn't fall asleep on the job every time the situation repeated itself. That's why you started sleeping in his apartment, wrapped in his arms because he said it made him happy to wake up and see you. And even with all that, Spencer was able to believe that you didn't love him.

You were running your hands through your hair and sighing, trying to block out all the thoughts running through your head, when you heard his phone ring. You could tell it was important by the way he spoke and changed his tone of voice, so you got up from the floor at the same time he did to put your ear to the door.

“I really have to go now, but could you open up a little bit so I can take a quick look at you?” He asked in a pleading tone after hanging up the call. “Please, I know you can hear me. I can see the shadow of your feet under the door.”

You really thought he didn't know you were there, feeling like a fool for listening to every word he said.

“If you want to see me, turn on the TV.” Your voice finally reached Spencer, and it gave him a glimmer of hope. It was the first time you had spoken to him since that night, and even though there was a door between the two of you, you were talking to him.

“It's not enough.”

“And it's not my problem.”

That was more hurtful than your silence.

“I know, it's mine.” He replied after a couple of seconds, trying to process everything. “And I will do everything I can to fix it...I have to go now, but take care of yourself. The nights have been getting colder lately, so wrap up warm.”

You knew it was a bit silly to think of that now, but his attention to detail was impressive. Since you did the evening news, you used to get off work very late, and the change from air conditioning to the city cold was quite a lot. Spencer had cited scientific studies to you many times to make you aware and know what kind of clothing materials to use to avoid a cold. You missed that a lot.

If he had the same attitude as the night of the conflict, it would be easier. You could hate him and stop loving him so strongly.

“I love you, William misses you and so do I.”

You frowned because you didn't know anyone by that name.

“William?”

“Our cat.” He answered simply. “When we talked about how we would name him, you said that a lot of people name their pets after their favorite characters. You love the movie ‘Notting Hill’ and whenever we watch it, you always say you like Hugh Grant's character named William. It also means strong-willed warrior. I just thought you would like it.”

You didn't say anything at the time because you had to cover your hand with your mouth to keep from doing so, but you liked it and you liked it too much. Once again, he focused on the details.

“You can change it if you want because I don't know if he likes it, but what I do know is that he misses you. He lies on your blanket and starts meowing, and he also looks at the door. I certainly think that every time I come home he expects it to be you.” He kept talking as he received no response from you. “It sounds like I'm talking about myself. And it's true because it happens to me the same way.”

When he paused, a tear escaped and fell down your cheek. It wasn't fair for him to say those things now.

“If you want to see him and me not being there, you can send me a message...but I'd really like to be.” He paused again, as if searching for the perfect words.

What did it cost him to have searched for the perfect words the night he distrusted you?

“I must go, I love you.”

The last thing you heard before he left was Spencer's footsteps heading towards the elevator.

II. I Miss You, I’m Sorry.

Just two weeks later, you realized that maybe you should have listened to Spencer when he said the nights were getting too cold. If you had, now you probably wouldn't be lying on your bed with an unbearable flu and no one there to bring you soup or a cold washcloth for your forehead because your mother was taking too long to get to city.

When you were younger, you thought it was a great idea to get as far away from your hometown as possible. Now, however, you realize that you need a familiar face to take care of you because you can't do it alone all the time.

You felt a sense of relief when you heard the door to your apartment open.

“Mom? I'm really hungry and the soup is all gone.” You spoke in a tired tone as you heard footsteps approaching. But at that moment, you watched as the cat you shared with Reid jumped onto the bed and started purring at you.

You thought you were hallucinating from the fever until you saw Spencer walking into your room with a couple of bags.

“I know you were expecting your mother, but we brought you soup and medicine.” He said, sitting up in bed to look closely at you and put a hand on your forehead. “You're burning up.”

“What are you doing here?” You asked, trying to pull away from his touch.

“Your mother called me because she couldn't find a flight today and was very worried. She asked me to take care of you.”

Of course she did, because she adored him and didn't know that things were bad between you two.

“I don't need you to take care of me.” You barely settled into bed and petted the cat. “Go to work, make sure no one leaks information.”

Oh, that was a low blow for him.

“I asked for a few days off because you have a high fever and someone needs to take care of you.”

“You don't have to...”

“I want to.” He said, interrupting you and putting a cold cloth on your forehead.

“Just because you're looking out for me doesn't mean I'm going to forget everything and forgive you.” You clarified right away, trying not to lose focus because of the relief you felt thanks to the cold compress.

“I know, and I don't expect you to. Just let me take care of you now, forget you hate me until you get better. I won't take advantage of this, I swear.” He looked at you with a serious gaze, as if he were swearing an oath. “Please.”

God, not puppy dog eyes now.

You used to love it when he looked at you with those sparkling eyes. Now, though, you felt manipulated by it.

“Fine, give me the soup.” You finally agreed, knowing you didn't have much of a choice. “Just a warning, please don't answer any calls near me. I can listen in and use the information to hire a nurse.”

He ignored the comment and didn't bring it up to make you uncomfortable. He sat on the edge of the bed, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. His touch was light, and his eyes searched yours as he spoke.

“Is there anything else besides soup I can bring you? More tissues, or maybe some medicine?” He asked in a soft, soothing voice.

You shook your head, still a bit dazed by the situation and your stomach rumbling. You watched as Spencer disappeared into the kitchen, and you could hear his footsteps echoing throughout the house, followed by the clatter of pots and pans and the sound of the stove being turned on. You could only lie back on your bed, feeling a wave of tiredness wash over you.

A few minutes later, he came back with a bowl of chicken noodle soup and sat down next to you on the bed, being careful not to spill anything.

“Are you planning to feed me soup?” You asked, with a hint of irony in your voice, as you watched me hold the spoon and watch you.

“If you wish, I'll be happy to.” He replied simply and brought the spoon gently to your mouth.

“I'm not a baby.”

Especially not his baby.

“You hate me, I know. But I really want to take care of you, and I won't leave until at least your mother arrives.” He paused for a second, as if to catch his breath. “If you don't want me around, that's okay, I'll just sit in the corner of the room or in the living room in silence. It hurts, but I'll take whatever you want.”

You remained silent for several seconds, dedicating yourself to stroking the cat to avoid Spencer's gaze.

“I don't hate you.” Was the only thing you could say at the time.

Something inside you was expecting a more exaggerated reaction for letting your guard down a bit, or maybe you were just too feverish. The thing was, he had only given you a small, almost non-existent smile.

“I know.” He finally spoke and gently adjusted the cold compress on your forehead. “And that's why I hate myself.”

At that moment, while you were trying to make sense of how things had changed so much in just a week, he was watching you.

Spencer was waiting for you to explode, to tell him how sorry you were for getting involved with him and his complicated world, that it was all one big mistake that you would regret forever. He was expecting disaster, pain, tears, and a lot of chaos.

But you didn't give him any of that.

Just a sweet nothing.

He could tell at that moment that even though you were in a feverish state and had many reasons to be cruel, you would not be. He realized that you would never yell at him or do anything to hurt him, that the most painful thing you could give him was your silence. And it was then that he confirmed that you loved him the way he thought he did not deserve to be loved: honestly and genuinely.

“Why?” You whispered after a few minutes of silence. “Why are you with me if you don't trust me?”

“I trust you.” He looked you straight in the eye as he spoke, trying to show that he was being completely sincere. “I just don't trust myself.”

You frowned and let out a groan from the discomfort in your forehead. You weren't sure if you were hallucinating because of the cold or if Spencer was really shivering.

“I don't think I'm good enough for you, or deserve you, or that you love me because you want to.” He finally admitted, his voice slightly shaky. He seemed to be in a worse state than you. “It's silly because you've never given me a reason to distrust you.”

“I know you thought I was going to leave. But I didn't want to leave until you asked me to.” You were close to crying, so you pretended to sneeze to hide your watery eyes. You didn't want to show how vulnerable you were. “It was easier to distrust me and blame me like I was just another bad person you catch.”

“Yes, but...” He replied, trying to answer your question.

“Don't talk. It's my turn.”

He nodded after a few seconds, watching you with concern. “Just be careful, you're still sick.”

You already knew how sick you were and how deplorable you probably looked, but you wanted to say it all and stop feeling a lump in your throat.

“You say you trust me, but you really don't, and I've been trying to understand you for almost a year, Spencer. It's been eleven months of trying not to invade your space, avoiding topics that make you tense or your eyes glaze over.” You had to stop to catch your breath and drink some water with his help. “And you think I don't understand you or really know you, but I do. I know how all your dishes are arranged, I know how you like to fold clothes and eat toast, I know that chess reminds you of someone because your eyes get watery every time we see a board, I know about the book signed by Maeve that you hide in your closet and about which you tense up every time I'm near, I know about your nightmares about prison that you don't like to talk about, and about your mother's favorite colors that change every day. I know so much about you, and yet you think I know nothing.”

Once more, there was a long, quiet pause.

“I'm so sorry.” He held your hands as he repeated the same thing, this time with a truly sincere tone. The whole room was still tense as his knees touched the floor, and the apology he gave you seemed like a plea. “I'm really sorry. I know you don't want apologies, you want trust, and I'm going to show you that.”

You didn't say anything as he sat down next to you on the bed.

“I trust you, that's why I always tell you about my cases. And I will tell you about all my past, if you want, because for me you are my present and my future...of course, only if you still want to.”

The eyes of both of you were fixed on the cat you shared, who was purring and lying very comfortably in the middle of the bed. It was nice to know that at least one of the three of you was happy.

“Tell me.”

And just as you asked, he told you everything because he wanted to show you that he trusted you.

This time he really trusted.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #matthew gray gubler

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starlightandfairies · 1 year ago

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Ahhh your writing is just perfect! ❤️ I dare for another idea hehe 🫶🏼 just maybe something where you're dating but you get incredibly jealous as Katherine appears back in town and you know of their past. So you think it would be better to step back for a while but Elijah notices immediately and misses you as you not show up at any occurrence. He later finds you at the Grill, talking with the Salvatores about that topic and Elijah eavesdropped the whole conversation, finally realizing what's wrong with you and feeling bad for this to happen, as he only has eyes and feelings towards you. Then one night he invites you over to his house and tells you about his feelings and that you don't have to worry about Katherine as she's long forgotten to him and he proves that to you that night? ☺️ Ugh I love cute and fluffy Elijah !

Description: With Katherine back in town, knowing Elijah's past with Katherine brings some unwanted shades of jealousy to the reader.

Warnings: she/her pronouns, fluff, swearing

*Requests are open, please send through as many requests as you want, check my character list and requesting rules.*

Thank you for both of your lovely requests! I hope you also enjoy this one and thank you as well for your kind words!

Key: Y/N = Your Name, L/N = Last name, POV = Point of view, F/fs = favourite flowers

Word Count: 1,279

First Person's POV

Elijah and I currently sat in my favourite café, it was normally very quiet and once again today was one of those days. Elijah stared at me with admiration, he held my hand softly in his, rested small kisses on my knuckles and whispered words of devotion.

"I'm just going to run to the bathroom." Elijah nodded, resting another kiss on my hand and finally let me go off to the bathroom, I did what I needed to do and finally came back out. I stopped in my tracks, seeing a brunette talking to Elijah, he looked less than impressed, he looked pissed and I could only assume what that meant.

"Katherine." I simply stated, choosing to sit beside Elijah instead of across from him, the woman forced a smile to her lips the resting bitch look not fading from her eyes. I could feel this twinge of hurt and jealousy invading my being. Katherine took it upon herself to sit down and join us, Elijah let go of my hand and the once gentle and tender look that decorated his features was long gone.

"What was your name again...?"

"Y/n" I answered, hating the way she stared at Elijah, I knew of their past as Elijah had been quite open about his past relationships. Katherine nodded, shrugging and turned her attention to Elijah. I grabbed my things, kissed his cheek and pushed myself up to leave.

"Bonnie wanted me to do something, I'll see you later." Elijah nodded, staring at me for a moment, I walked out before anything could be said and made my way to Bonnie's house. I asked Bonnie to do a spell, something that would allow me to go under the radar and not be found by Elijah considering that I would be distancing myself from the love of my life to conceal the ugly green monster.

I had been cancelling dates, vague answers over the phone and would leave quickly with some bullshit excuse if Elijah appeared out of the blue. I could tell he could sense something was, I didn't want to mention that something was wrong and he hadn't questioned my actions.

Elijah's POV

Something was wrong with Y/n I couldm't place my finger on what it was, I couldn't understand what had happened and why she decided to almost disappear. I was missing her dearly, I missed seeing her smile, I missed her silly little jokes and her ability to make all my world seem so much better against all the issues going down. I missed her little rambles she would go on, the point is that I miss her and I don't know how to bring her back to me.

I had finally been able to catch the trail and follow her around, see if I could understand what was going on and it took me to the Grill. I stood near the bar, blending into the ground and proceeded to listen in on her conversation with the Salvatore brothers.

"I know it's silly of me but I can't help but be jealous."

"Come on, you know that the noble fossil wouldn't cheat on you." Damon remarked, a clear roll of the eyes that made Y/n whack him lightly.

"I being serious Damon! I know he has history with Katherine, when he was human he loved Tatia and then he found Katherine. What if her coming back brings back the feelings? I can't stand the idea of him leaving me for her and I don't want that to happen."

"Y/n have you tried speaking with Elijah? You know he'd hear you out and he'll be respectful of what you're going through." I let out a breath, I clenched my eyes shut, hating in myself for not reading the signs. If I knew sooner I would've done everything in my power to reassure Y/n that the only person my heart sings for is her.

"He's a 1000+ year old vampire, he has more important things than dealing with my petty feelings."

"Y/n listen here. Elijah worships the ground you walk on, he wouldn't think any less of you for worring about Katherine. We all know what Katherine is like and you have every reason to be worrying about it." Damon's response seemed to freeze her in her place.

"Thank you..."

Four nights later, I invited Y/n to come over, I will admit I was surprised when she agreed. We journed to my bedroom, she placed herself on the bed, fiddled with her hands and I took this as an opportunity to shut down the feelings of doubt and jealousy.

"Y/n the other night, I overheard you speaking to the Salvatores about what's been going on..." She buried her face in her hands, looking ashamed and worried about what I could possibly say. I sat beside her, took her hand and cupped her face in my other hand to ensure she met my eyes.

"I understand your worries completely. I understand and I want you to know, that Katherine does not matter to me. She hasn't for 500 years. All I care about is you, no one else matters to me, just you. I love you with all my heart, I love your smile and your little jokes. I love when you leave me a note with a little picture, I worship the ground you walk on and I will go to hell back to prove that I love you as much as I do. I am awfully sorry that you haven't felt as if you could speak to me and I feel awful that this happened. But please, my love... know that I would never ever dream of breaking your heart and leaving you alone. You have my word, I promise you that I won't let the devil of a woman try and break us apart because she is long forgetten."

She took a few breaths, Y/n moved closer to me, rested a kiss upon my forehead and took a moment before finding the courage to speak.

"I am sorry, I'm sorry that I didn't come to you, I'm sorry I didn't allow you to know what was going on. It was fair of me to shut you out when you haven't done anything to warrent it. Please forgive me."

"There's nothing to apologise or forgive for. My love, let me prove to you my undying and everlasting love for you." Her shy little smile brought a smile to my lips, I cupped her face in my hands, bringing her in for a kiss and listened to her hum as I brought her into my arms for an embrace, Y/n took a moment to breathe and whispers softly into my ear.

"i love you, Elijah. I love you more than you'll ever know."

"I love you more my love."

First Person's POV

Late into the night, we lay in each other's arms, Elijah and I lay naked under the blankets. My headed rest on his chest, he took my hand away lying across him and brought my hand to rest a sweet and longing kiss against my palm. The action was enough to keep my smile stuck on my lips and it was enough for me to snuggle in closer to him with my hand resting in his and his tender eyes continuing to made me feel incredibly loved and devoted to.

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musings-of-a-rose · 4 months ago

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Could I request Benny x female reader where they engage in mutual masturbation and they make out throughout?

Touch

Pairing: Benny Miller x best friend f!reader

Word Count: 1900+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story.

Notes: Listen. This was a hot ask. I'll admit, I had to think on this one a bit (and that was mostly staring at the wall). A huge thanks to @mermaidxatxheart as usual for listening to my Ted Talks and insecurities.

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

❤If you enjoy the fic, please consider giving me a warm beverage! (It is not required in any way!)

→Tell Tumblr this should be shared with others by reblogging! That's what the algorithm loves (it's how it works here. I don't make the rules!)

**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

Benny Miller Masterlist

“The date went bad I take it?” Benny’s eyebrows are raised as he motions for me to come inside his apartment. He closes the door behind me as I huff.

“He kept taking out his phone and texting. His mom. He was giving her a play by play of our date.”

Benny chuckled. “What? During your date?”

I kick off my heels and set them on his shoe mat. “I’m all for strong family bonds, but maybe wait until after the date? I could barely talk to him. It was literally every 2 minutes.”

Benny chuckled again. “Well I’m sorry it sucked. You’re welcome to come finish this terrible movie I’m watching.”

I follow Benny to his couch, plopping down next to him. We’d been best friends for years. He was always someone I could count on to be there for me, good or bad. He never judged or questioned me, but somehow always seemed to have an answer to my problems. He hands me a drink and offers me some popcorn from the giant bowl in his lap. I grab a handful and watch whatever b horror movie is on the tv.

“Ugh even the ugly ass monster in this bad movie is getting laid why can’t I?”

Benny coughs, choking a little on his popcorn. “What?”

Fuck, I said that out loud.

“I uh…nothing.”

He takes a swig from his drink, clearing the last of the popcorn. “Afraid no one will touch you again?”

I groan, but I’m also desperate for advice. “No. Well…maybe. It’s not even sex. I just want someone to touch me again. Someone that’s not me or Henry Cavill.”

Benny laughs, his head flying back. “You know Henry Cavill?”

I can feel the heat on my cheeks, but I’ve already said it. “That’s…that’s the name of my vibrator.” His laughter is contagious and I can’t stop myself from smiling. He makes some quips about it and then something happens in the movie that captures our attention.

“I can help you with that if you’d like.”

My head snaps in his direction. “What?” Did he just offer to…surely not.

He turns his head, his bright blue eyes boring into mine, a sparkle in them. “I can help you with your problem.”

Heat burns my cheeks and I’m grasping at words. Surely he doesn’t mean…he can’t…without thinking, I glance down at his hands, the grip on his bottle, and how small it looks in them. I swallow hard.

“Ben, be serious.”

He leans forward, the muscles in his arms flexing slightly as he places his bottle on the coffee table before sitting back, casually laying an arm across the back of the couch as if he didn’t just suggest shoving his hand down my pants.

“I’m serious, sweetheart. Look, you’ve had a really rough go of it. And I would make sure you were taken care of. You’re too pent up. Let some steam out.”

I shift slightly in my seat, which doesn’t go unnoticed by him. It’s not that I’ve never thought about it. Benny is extremely attractive. I just never would ever think he’d be ok with that with me. For me? I can’t even think.

“Ben…I can’t lose your friendship. That would break me.”

He extends a long finger from the hand that’s across the back of the couch and pokes my head. “Do you think I’d ever let that happen?”

I swat at his hand out of reflex. “Is that something we could control though?”

He thinks for a moment. “It’s us. We’re best friends. We take care of each other. I think we’d be fine.”

“But what if it changes everything?”

He takes my hand in his large one, completely engulfing me. He looks into my eyes and does that thing where his eyebrows pull together and makes me melt. “I promise to not let it change the way I feel about you. Do you promise?”

Could I make that promise? The not-so-minor crush I’ve harbored for him for years is begging. Your feelings won’t change because you already like him.

“How would…I mean, what would you…”

Benny shifts to face me better. “I’d touch you however you need me to. Maybe make out a little bit if you need to be distracted.”

I press my thighs together, hoping that he didn’t notice. But judging by the way he shifts and his eyes darken slightly, I think he very much noticed. Pressing my thighs together did nothing to quell the heat, my body begging me to just let me be touched. I feel safe with Benny and I know he’d never cross a line. My skin is hot thinking about it and I finally cave, promising myself that we’d still be friends. Just friends that gave each other a hand sometimes.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I nod, moving to undo the button on my pants. Benny reaches out and stills my hand with his own and I look up at him.

“I need you to say it out loud, sweetheart.”

I swallow hard, trying my best to give him eye contact. Were his eyes always so blue?

“Y-yes.”

“Yes, what? I need specifics.”

I let out a huff and this fucker chuckles. “Touch me, Benny. I..want you to touch me.”

Benny scoots closer to me on the couch, his leg pressed against mine. His large hand cups my cheek as he dips his head close to mine, his breath puffing out over my face, fanning the anticipatory fire between my thighs. “Can I kiss you?” he whispers.

“Yes.”

I barely get it out before his lips are on mine, soft but guiding, his tongue gently probing at my lips. I open them and his tongue slides inside my mouth, gracefully dancing with my own as he moans slightly into me. Both of his hands are on my face now, cupping my cheeks as he continues to kiss me. Then one moves to the back of my head, slightly gripping my hair as he tips my head back, exposing my neck to him. I gasp as his teeth skirt along my skin, gently nipping and kissing along my pulse point. The hand that isn’t entangled in my hair starts to glide down my body, barely even fumbling as he unbuttons my pants. But he doesn’t touch me. Not yet. Over my jeans, he caresses my inner thighs as I spread my legs, tracing the line where my underwear sits, up and down, up and down, driving me mad. My heart is racing, pounding against my ears. I feel him pause just above my mound and I want to cry.

“Can you slide your pants off for me?” He breathes into my ear. My hands fumble as I try to shove and kick my pants off, ignoring the smirk on Benny’s face as the pants land somewhere across the room.

“Panties too. Promise I won’t look.” He covers his face, a large gap between his fingers where his eye is obviously looking out.

“Don’t you need to see?”

He closes the gap in his fingers but keeps his eyes covered. “Nope. Your sounds will guide me to where I need to be.”

Fuck. Me.

I toss my underwear somewhere by my pants. “Ok I’m-”

I have no time to think because he’s back on me, kissing me hard, like he’s never needed anything so bad. My fingers tangle in his hair, the cool air from his apartment hitting my bare skin, but I don’t care. Benny’s large hand is on my inner thighs again, tracing circles, but also pushing them open. I keep them where he leaves them, my body practically shaking with anticipation.

One long finger slides down me and I jolt, my thighs trying to close, but he pushes them back open before resuming his touch. He slides all the way down to my entrance, gently tracing circles there and I gasp, my eyes still closed as I let myself get lost in his touch. Our foreheads are pressed together, his own breaths coming out a little more ragged as he drags his dampened finger back up me, pausing when my legs jump. He takes his time at this spot, small circles across my clit, fast and slow, fast and slow, my breaths coming out in small, fast pants.

He slows his movements, gently pushing a finger inside me. I moan, louder as he pulls out and adds a second finger, curling them inside of me as he moves them in and out. One spot has me gasping his name and that’s where he stays, curling and rubbing inside of me as his thumb resumes circling my clit, slow and fast, gentle and harder, the pressure building quick and fast. I grip his wrist and he stills.

“Can I touch you? I want you to come with me.”

He nods and I move my hand over and undo his button, sliding his zipper down gently. He’s already hard, straining against his boxers. I lower them enough for him to spring free and he grunts. I grip his wrist again and pull his hand out of me with a whimper, but then slide him back in and out, fucking myself with his hand a few times as he moans in my ear. Then I take his wet hand and rub it against my palm, dropping his hand back on me before gripping him with my slicked hand. He whimpers, swearing under his breath before he pushes his fingers inside me again, immediately resuming the slow curling and rubbing, his thumb pressing gently on my clit. I slowly work him up and down, squeezing harder and softer, matching my pace to his. He kisses me hard but then breaks it, our foreheads pressed together as we pant and moan.

In some super move, he pushes me onto my back, his hand still firmly working me over, my legs spread wide as he settles between them, fucking his hips into my hand. His arm strains next to me as he holds himself up, curling his fingers a little deeper, swirling a little more and I can’t hold back anymore. I cum, his name tumbling from my lips in praise, my legs twitching as I pulse around his fingers. Another few presses of his hips and Benny grunts, small pants coming from him as he spills himself over my stomach, my shirt hiked up to my chest. We stay like that for several long moments, both of us trying to catch our breaths. His eyes open and meet mine, holding my gaze for a moment before he blinks, pulling his hand from me as he sits up. He tucks himself back in as he looks around, shrugs, then reaches behind him and pulls his shirt up and over his head. He drops his shirt on my cunt, using the sleeve to clean off my stomach, to hold up his promise of not looking. He glances down and picks up my underwear and pants, handing them to me as he turns his head away. I make sure I’m cleaned off before getting dressed, sitting back down on the couch, the movie still playing on in the background. Minutes pass in silence between us, my stomach twisting in knots with every passing second.

Benny clears his throat. “So…are we never talking about this again or can I finally take you on a date?”

My eyes snap up to him, his already on me. There’s no pressure here, he’d be ok if I said we’re never talking about it again. But that’s not what I want.

“Just so long as we can have dessert at home.”

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bonnie-the-butcher · 2 months ago

Text

Rip Tide | Chapter X

[ MDNI ] [ word count: 10.312 ] [ Masterlist ] 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: Canonverse/Canon-Divergent; Dark! Content; NSFW; Strong Language; Cheating; Drug Use; Mentions of overdose; Some shades of Munchausen syndrome from dear old Rafe; Manipulation; Toxic, obsessive behaviour; Stalking; Violence; DUBCON/NONCON; My writing is really pretentious and English is not my first language, so please feel free to call me out in whichever grammar mistakes you might find find.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | You and JJ have always been in each other's orbit. He's your brother’s best friend, the guy you've known your entire life. He was kind, protective, familiar. You never meant for the two of you to start hooking up. And you never meant for it to last so long. But when this boy you thought you'd come to know like the back of your hand turns out to be no better than the men he'd warned you about, you find yourself in the sights of the guy he hates most, regardless of wether you want that or not.

Lil bit of tooth-rotting barry fluff to wash down the tension of the last chapter. Honestly, I love him so so so much. He's the best character, the outer banks writers actually robbed us. Likes, asks, reblogs, and comments are always greatly appreciated! Thank you in advance for reading <3

It takes you a moment to process the situation.

No remnants of moonlight ever peek from your windows, but the distant lamp of your porch buzzes precariously, bathing just the left half of Barry’s face with a glow as pitiful as his expression. – Please, sweetheart. – His hand brushes the doorframe beside you, lighter still in hand as he shifts closer, dragging the smooth plastic across your arm in a slow, sloppy plea. – Look, I know— I know I fucked up. I just— His breath is ragged, heavy. Almost acidic. – I freaked out.

– Are you drunk? – His eyes widen. It's so dark you can barely make out his pupils from his irises, but as soon as he looks away, you know what his problem is. – You’re high. – The disappointment in your voice is palpable. He steps away, and then steps closer, hands sifting nervously at his sides. – Barry, for fuck’s sakes,

– I’m sorry. – He whispers, both hands on your arms now. – I’m really sorry. I just— I don’t know, look, I was stressed out.

– I’m sure turning and running while someone died in my arms was very stressful for you.

– Please. – He breathes, and you get a clear whiff of the alcohol in his system as he steps closer, almost stuttering as you instinctively recoil from the smell. – Look, please, sweetheart, I know I fucked up. I came here to apologize.

– And you did. You can leave know.

He doesn’t let you move. Holding on tighter, Barry makes you look him in the eye. The lights on the porch flicker right then, just enough that you can see how much his pupils are blown. – Let’s talk about it, okay?

– There’s nothing to talk about.

– Yes, there is! – His grip tightens, fingers pressing against your skin. – C’mon, sweetheart, please. – His voice is softer now, like he’s trying to reel you in. Like the blood on your hands was just his problem, not yours. – You don’t gotta look at me like that.

You stare back, jaw tight. – Like what?

– Like I just kicked your goddamn puppy. – He breathes out a slow, humorless laugh, tilting his head just slightly. That easy, effortless charm—his default armor—still lingers, but it’s cracked now. His pupils are too wide, his shoulders too tense.

His thumb traces one slow circle against your arm, absentminded, jittery. – Look, I know I fucked up, alright? I panicked. I ain't proud of it, but I ain't never been built for that kinda shit. That ain't me.

Barry exhales through his nose, shaking his head with that same exasperated, half-drunk, half-high smirk—but it doesn’t land. Not this time.

– C’mon now, sweetheart—

– No. – You shove at his chest, frustration clawing its way out of you, burning, ugly, real. – No, you don’t get to charm your way out of this one, okay?!

His mouth opens, but you don’t let him speak. The words are pouring out, sharp and reckless.

– You always do this, Bee! Always! – Your breath hitches, your voice going hoarse with the weight of it. – Whenever shit gets tough, you run! You leave me holding the bag, then you ignore me for DAYS, no calls, no texts, no “hey, I’m alive, actually,” no nothing! And you come back, with your little smile and your apologies, and I’m supposed to just— Your voice cracks, and you hate that it does. – This is BULLSHIT, Barry! BULLSHIT!

Barry flinches. Not much. Not enough that anyone else would notice. But you do.

For a second, just a second, his bravado cracks. His expression falters, his fingers twitch against your arms like he wants to pull you closer and push you away at the same time.

– I ain’t never ignored you. – His voice is lower now, rougher. There’s no teasing lilt, no half-assed charm. Just something weary.

You let out a sharp, bitter laugh. – Oh, fuck off, Barry—

– I mean it— No, don't look at me like that, okay?! I wouldn’t ignore you. If you called, if you needed my help, I woulda—

– When did you ever answer my calls after this shit, Barry? No, honestly?! WHEN?

– Don't talk like that. You can’t say that! – His grip tightens, grounding, desperate. – I stayed away 'cause I knew if I came back too soon, I’d just fuck it up worse. I’d say the wrong thing. Do the wrong thing. I was tryna give you space, a’ight? I was tryna—

His words stumble over each other, cut short like he doesn’t know how to finish the sentence. Like he’s afraid to.

His lips part, but nothing comes out.

The silence stretches between you, thick and heavy.

Then, almost tentative—

– You ever think maybe I ran 'cause I knew I couldn't fix it?

– And I did? – It isn’t just a crack in your voice anymore, it just collapsed. You can feel the weight of the entire week crashing upon you, every fuck-up, every fight, ever blow-out. All the things you had to deal with, the things he wasn’t there to help you with, amounting within your chest, pressing against your ribcage. You can barely breathe. – He was dying, bee. I was gonna kill myself if he’d died right there in my hands Barry, I couldn’t deal with that guilt, man!

He scoffs, shaking his head, tongue running along his teeth. – You think I don’t know what it looked like? You think I ain’t been playing it back over and over in my head, trying to make sense of it? – He exhales sharply. – Shit, sweetheart, I barely even remember leaving. One second I was there, the next I was gone. And you were just—

He stops. Swallows. Looks away, the muscle in his jaw flexing.

– You were just sitting there, holding him like the whole world hadn’t just cracked open.

The words feel too honest, like they slipped out before he could shove them back down. The porch light flickers again, just enough to highlight the tension in his face—he looks gone. Hollowed out, horrified.

For a second, he just stands there, chest rising and falling unevenly, thumb still tracing that absentminded pattern against your skin.

Then, voice lower, almost pleading—

– Just—just let me make it right.

– That’s not the point, Bee.

– Yeah it is! It is! I’m here now! I can—

– But that’s just it! You’re here now. When the dust settles, when you can just say an apology and get forgiveness free of charge, that’s when you’re here! But when I need you, you vanish!

Barry’s breath stutters—just a fraction—but it’s enough. You see it. Feel it in the way his grip tightens, like he can physically hold the conversation together, keep it from slipping through his fingers like everything else.

– That—that ain’t fair, – he mutters, voice hoarse, like he’s already lost the argument but can’t bear to let it go. – I didn’t mean to vanish, sweetheart.

You laugh, sharp and hollow. – Yeah? Well, you did.

His jaw clenches, the muscle twitching like he’s biting something back. He hates this. Hates being cornered, hates that he has no smooth exit, no half-smirk or lazy drawl that can fix this.

– I didn't know what the fuck to do! – He bursts, voice cracking at the edges. – You were— Jesus, he was lying dead there, he weren’t even moving, you were just—

He stops, running a hand down his face like he can wipe the memory away. Like he hasn’t been seeing it every time he closes his eyes.

His voice is quieter when he speaks again. Unsteady. Exposed.

– I ain’t never been scared like that before.

Your chest tightens.

He exhales hard, like he’s bracing himself for a hit, like he knows you won’t let that slide.

– I'm sorry, Bee. I really am, but— You shake your head, throat thick. – You think I wasn’t scared? You think I didn’t need you right then?

Barry’s lips part, but nothing comes out.

– You could’ve stayed. That's what fucks me up. – The words barely make it out, shaking with everything you haven’t said. – You could’ve— I don’t know, just— sat there and did nothing. Lied to me. Told me he was gonna be fine, even if we both knew he wasn’t. But you didn’t even try, Bee. You just left.

Barry flinches. Actually flinches.

He drags a hand over his mouth, eyes flicking away, to the ground, to the porch light, anywhere but you.

– I know. – The words are low. Like they cost him something.

– Then why do you keep doing it?

The question lands heavy, shoving the breath out of both of you.

Barry just looks at you. You don’t see the swagger, the easy smirk, the teasing warmth. He’s a little boy again, that kid you met at the supermarket, sitting alone behind the refrigerators, waiting for a mom that never returned.

For a second, the room is silent. Just the buzz of the porch light, the distant hum of cicadas.

Then, barely above a whisper—

– Because I don’t know how to stay.

And suddenly, it’s not just about this.

It’s not just about that night, or the drugs, or the mistakes, or Rafe. It’s about all of it. Every time he’s slipped away when things got too real, every time he’s left you picking up the pieces. It’s not just habit—it’s who he is.

And maybe—maybe he hates that about himself as much as you do. You stare at him, the weight of those words sinking in slow, like lead in your chest.

Because I don’t know how to stay.

Like it’s just that simple. Like it’s just a fact of life. Like it’s something he’s already accepted about himself. Like that line doesn't kill you, like it doesn’t tear you apart.

You shake your head, breath uneven. – That’s not good enough, Bee.

Barry exhales through his nose, slow and tired, like he already knew you were gonna say that. Like he already knew he didn’t have an answer that would fix it.

– I know.

– Then fucking do something about it! – Your voice cracks again, but you don’t care. You shove at his chest, and this time, he actually stumbles back a step. – You act like this is just—just some part of you that can’t be changed, but it’s not, Barry! You’re making a choice every time you walk away! Every time you leave me standing there, waiting for you to come back!

Your throat tightens, a lump wedging itself so deep you can barely breathe around it.

– Do you even realize what that does to me? – Barry looks like you just knocked the wind out of him. – You don't, do you? That’s cause you have other people. But I don't, Barry! You’re the only one I got!

His mouth opens, then shuts again. His fingers twitch, like he wants to reach for you but doesn’t know if he’s allowed to.

And you’re shaking now, all of it catching up to you at once. The fear, the frustration, the gut-wrenching ache of realizing that you’re always gonna be the one waiting.

– You can’t keep leaving when shit gets hard, man. You can’t. I need you. I need you with me. Fuck, Barry, I just need you to be here! That's all I'm asking for! – You press the heel of your palm against your forehead, like you can physically push back the tears threatening to spill. – I can’t keep doing this with you, Bee. I just can’t.

Barry stiffens.

And for the first time since he showed up, there’s something almost panicked in his expression.

– Don’t say that.

It’s quiet. A whisper.

But it hits you like a gut-punch.

You let out a shaky breath, wiping at your face. – Why not? You gonna run away again?

Barry swallows hard, dragging a hand over his mouth. His gaze flickers—over your face, down to your hands, back up again.

He’s unraveling, but not in the way he usually does. Not in anger, not in frustration.

In something softer.

Something terrified.

He takes a slow step forward, careful, cautious. Like he’s walking a tightrope. Like he’s afraid you’ll bolt.

– I don’t know what I’m supposed to do if you’re not waiting for me anymore.

That breaks you wide open.

Your breath stutters, chest rising and falling like you just ran a mile, but you haven’t—you’ve just been standing here, bleeding out in front of him, watching him do the same.

And the worst part?

You believe him.

That’s your fatal flaw. You always believe him.

You believe that he doesn’t know. That it’s never even crossed his mind that one day you might not be there. That one day, he’d turn back and find nothing waiting for him.

Because you always are.

His fingers flex at his sides, restless, like they’re waiting for permission to reach for you. His mouth parts slightly, and when he speaks, his voice is softer than you’ve ever heard it.

– I know I ain't what you need me to be. I know I don’t always show up right, or say the right shit, or—or stay when I should.

A breath comes out of you. Heavy, charged. You feel as if it lingers between you when you open your mouth again, almost scared to look him in the eye.

– I don’t care if you show up right. I don’t. I like you much better when you’re fucking up then when you’re not around. – Barry stills, his breath catches, eyes flickering to yours. – I don’t need to miss you to like you Bee, I already like you.

His breath hitches, eyes softening. In the dark of your room, his shoulders ease the littlest bit. You see the flame then, the warm orange glow that comes from your lighter as he flicks the switch, once, twice. Illuminating his tightening grip around the cheap plastic. – Yeah? – The word comes out small, almost unsure.

– Yeah. – It should be obvious. It's all you think about. All you worry over. – God Barry, you’re my best friend! – The words seem to knock something out of him. He looks down at his hands, at your lighter, thumb playing with the switch again. – Shit, man. You’re my only friend. All these pieces of shit out here, they ain’t worth a damn.

His eyes drift up to you again as you turn around, pacing with your hands in your hair around the three or four feet of open floor your tiny room has to offer. You feel the weight of his gaze, the words lingering just out of reach.

– I went to look for you at your job today, – He says, almost hesitantly, as if he’s confessing a sin. – that— That kook, with the eyebrows, he told me a server got you fired. – You breathe and nod, falling down on your bed, the exhaustion crystalized within you. – It was Kie, wasn’t it? She got you fired.

You huff, almost a laugh.

If your father was dead, he’d be sitting in hell, laughing his ass off. – So everyone saw that coming before I did, huh?

Barry’s face darkens, but he has the grace not to say what you both know: that you’re a fool. You oughta’ve been blind for Rafe Cameron and Barry both to see the flaw in someone’s character before you did.

You exhale the disappointment in you along with your breath, feeling the springy bed dip and creak as Barry sits down beside you.

– She’s a kook. – He leans back against the wall, still playing around with the lighter. – And she's your brother’s friend. That’s like, the square root of snake.

You can’t help the laugh, but you don’t feel the humor.

– I always do that, don’t I? I always go for the worst possible person, and everybody tells me they’re fucked up, and I still have the nerve to be surprised when they fuck me over.

– That ain’t a bad thing.

Though you appreciate the kind words, you’re not too impressed by the lie in them. – Yeah right.

– Nah, I’m serious. You see the good in everybody. – He laughs then, his hand warm against your knee. – Shit, you saw the good in me.

– You are good, Barry. – His lips part slightly, like he’s not sure how to take them. – You’ve been good since we were kids.

He scoffs, shaking his head. – You didn’t know me. Before, I mean. I was shit.

You let your hand rest against his, over your knee. You can feel the fresh cuts on his knuckles. He always boxed his hands raw when he was stressed out. – I know you now. – He looks at you, almost hopeful. His ears move like a bunny rabbit’s as he zeroes in. – As long as I know you until we die, I’m fine with the shit you did before we met.

He exhales slowly, turning his face away as he clutches your knee tighter, and wipes his face.

There's a beat of silence between you then, and for a moment all you hear is his breathing and the sound of his sniffling.

– I’m sorry I left you there. – His jaw clenches, like he’s trying to shove the words back down, but they keep coming. – But I’m here now. – He exhales sharply, shaking his head. – And I swear to fucking God, I ain’t going nowhere. Not this time.

The promise settles in the space between you, thick and uncertain, but you can feel the weight of it in your bones, tangible, true. You search his face, looking for something—anything—that might tell you if he actually means it.

And then, in true Barry fashion—

He ruins it.

– Well, maybe if the cops show up, then I gotta go. – He tilts his head, smirking just slightly, like he's testing the water, seeing if he can pull you back from the edge. – I can’t go to jail, y’know? I’m too pretty, they’d be fighting over this booty like it was Pearl Harbor or some shit.

You blink at him. Once. Twice.

And then, against all logic, you snort.

It’s short, barely anything, but Barry pounces on it, his grin widening.

– Oh, don’t do that, sweetheart. Don’t pretend you ain't charmed.

– I will literally strangle you.

– Kinky.

You smack his arm—hard—but there’s no real heat behind it, and he just laughs, shaking his head like he can’t believe he got you to crack.

The tension in your chest loosens, just slightly, the weight of the night settling in less like a knife, more like an ache.

And Barry sees it.

He exhales through his nose, voice dipping lower, warmer, turning his hand over your knee to hold yours. – There’s my girl.

Your stomach twists, and you look away before he can see how hard that lands in you.

You shake your head, exhaling slow. – You’re fucking horrible, you know that?

He grins, rocking back on his heels. – Yeah. But you love me anyway.

You roll your eyes, but don’t deny it.

Barry smiles—soft, relieved—Like maybe, just maybe, this is something he can fix. – We shouldn’t sit here, moping around, y’know? – You lift your gaze to find him already looking at you, that lazy smirk giving you the slightest glimpse of his white grin, his gold tooth. – I know somewhere we can go.

– If you say the—

– The River Styx, that’s right. C’mon. If we go now we can still catch Jerry and Finnegan.

You roll your eyes so hard it nearly gives you a migraine.

Of course he’d say The River Styx.

It’s always The River Styx.

That shit hole of a bar—the one that plays nothing but old Irish rebel songs that sound like they were pulled straight from the depths of the world war one trenches, where the drinks are so cheap you have to wonder if they’re even legal, where there's no one except old men and overly tattooed ex-convicts. You’ve spent more nights there than you can count, balanced on the shifty stools before the counter, nursing something that burned down your throat like gasoline while Barry leaned in too close, trying to teach you to play pool or singing along to whatever song the old men were screaming to.

A place where, every single time, you drank too much.

And every single time you drank too much, you ended up in his bed.

The thought barely forms before the memory hits, visceral and immediate:

The day you lost your virginity.

Barry’s arm slung over your shoulder as you stumbled through the dark, both of you way past your limit, his breath warm against your neck as he muttered something low and amused into your ear. The porch creaking beneath you as he collapsed onto the couch, pulling you down with him, the weight of him pressing you into the worn cushions.

His hands, so sure, so solid, roaming over your sides, tugging at the hem of your shirt. His mouth, slow and coaxing, murmuring sweet nothings against your lips.

And you—giddy and young, and reckless and naive, and so, so drunk—laughing as you pulled him down, kissing him like you had something to prove.

The memory lingers, stinging like a fresh wound.

You shake your head, physically shaking it off, like you can force it back into the corner of your mind where it belongs.

– No. – The word is firm. Final. You cross your arms. – I don’t feel like drinking shitty moonshine and listening to old men wail about the Irish potato famine for three hours.

Barry raises a brow, and laughs, easily amused by your bad mood. – That’s cold, sweetheart. That’s culture.

– Boo hoo. – You huff. – I can't anyway, I have to be at Rafe's tomorrow at eight.

Barry stills, just barely, not even hiding the distaste on his face.

– Rafe? – His brows pull together. – What the hell are you gonna do at Rafe Cameron's house at eight o’clock in the fucking morning?

You shrug, not sure how to explain it. – Rafe offered me a job. One of his private chefs quit, so I took his place.

Something shifts in Barry’s face.

It’s subtle, but you see it. The slight narrowing of his eyes, the way his lips press together for half a second before solidifying in something displeased, almost angry.

– The fuck kinda person needs a “private chef”?

You roll your eyes. – Barry.

– I’m just saying, – He shrugs, leaning back against the headboard, but there’s something too easy about it now. Like he’s trying not to care. – Dude's got a personal cook? Ain’t that what his stepmom’s for?

You chuckle, the woman's words echoing in your mind. – Rose “doesn't need to cook, because she works.”

– She said that?

– To my face. While I was working. – It's so ridiculous, it's almost funny. – Gotta love rich people. I wish I could walk around saying whatever like consequences just don't exist.

Barry scoffs, shaking his head. But his fingers tap against his thigh—quick, restless. – How did he even know you needed a job?

– I saw him just after I got fired.

Barry’s hand stops.

– You called him!?

– Of course not. He just— I don't know, he just sorta happened to be there. He saw me crying and—

– You were crying?!

– My boss was horrible to me. – You swallow hard, the image burning behind your eyes as your eyes close. – He made me take the coat off there, in front of everyone.

Your throat tightens as you say it. You don’t know why you say it, only that it’s been sitting in your chest for days, heavy and unresolved.

– After Kie got me fired. He— You clear your throat, suddenly uncomfortable. – He— He called me all these things, and I don’t know, it just felt like— You stop yourself short. The words lingers at the tip of your tongue: like him.

You can’t speak about your father, not with Barry, the single person in the world who hates him more than you do.

But you don’t need to say anything.

The way his eyes darken tell you he knows exactly who you're talking about. You feel the tick of his hand against yours, how it hardens, as if he had to physically hold himself back.

His jaw clenches, his tongue running over his teeth before he exhales through his nose, like he’s biting back a reaction.

– Anyway. Rafe just found me there, and he made me feel better. We talked, and then—

– I don’t wanna hear this shit.

You don't know why you laugh. His jaw ticks and his breath gets heavier, he seems like a rottweiler puppy, growling and barking before throwing a little tantrum. – We didn't sleep together, you moron. Jesus, do you really think I'm that easy?!

– Of course not. But the way you said it— A word forms in his lips, but he bites it back.

– The way I said it? – You scoff, shaking your head. – What, like a normal human being recounting a normal conversation?

Barry exhales sharply, tongue running over his teeth like he’s trying to keep something trapped there. His fingers tap against his thigh again—faster this time, like a tell he doesn’t even realize he has.

– Like someone who got real cozy with Rafe fucking Cameron all of a sudden.

You let out a laugh, because it’s Barry—because it’s so stupid, the idea of him sitting here getting all huffy over Rafe like some jealous ex.

– Cozy? – You shake your head, grinning. – Jesus, Bee, you sound like my brother.

Barry scoffs, tilting his head, watching you with something a little sharper now. – Yeah? Well, maybe your brother’s got a point for once.

You raise a brow, amused. – That’s rich, coming from you. Since when do you side with John B on anything?

Barry shrugs, all faux-indifference, but there’s something tight in the motion. Something too controlled. – Since he ain't wrong.

You roll your eyes, stretching out on the bed, kicking your feet up onto the headboard, casual as anything. – Okay, Sheriff, tell me—what exactly is the crime here?

Barry doesn’t answer right away. Just looks at you, lips pressing into a thin line. – I don’t like him.

– You don’t like Rafe? You who introduced me to Rafe? You who always has him over at your place?

– He's not my fucking friend, okay?! He's just an annoying piece of shit who keeps buying drugs from me. What’d you want me to do? Throw money away?!

– Bee?

– Stop. – He sits up, pulling his hand away. – I ain’t playing okay?! Rafe is a jerk.

You snort. – Wow. Groundbreaking insight. So original. So fresh.

– I’m serious. – His voice dips lower, losing some of that teasing edge.

You tilt your head, smirking. – Yeah? – You make a show of looking around. – We at a town hall or something? You’re preaching to the choir, Bee. Rafe Cameron is an asshole. Everybody knows that.

– And yet, – Barry leans in, his eyes locking onto yours in that slow, deliberate way that makes something prickle under your skin. – Here you are, cooking his fancy little meals, letting him wipe your damn tears.

You blink at him.

Once.

Twice.

Then you burst out laughing.

Because what the fuck?

– Barry, oh my God, – you wheeze, covering your face with your hands. – Listen to yourself right now. You sound like—

You don’t even get to finish the thought before Barry shakes his head, standing up abruptly, pacing a few steps like he needs to physically shake something off.

– It ain’t funny.

That only makes you laugh harder.

– It’s hilarious, – You correct, wiping at your eyes, trying to breathe through it. – What, you think I’m about to run off and marry him now? Start wearin’ pearls and calling Rose Cameron “mother”?!

Barry doesn’t answer.

And for the first time, it hits you: He’s actually bothered. Not in the over-the-top, dramatic way he usually plays shit up for laughs. Really bothered.

The realization makes your laughter falter, just slightly.

– Barry?

He exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his jaw, shaking his head like he’s disappointed—but not in you. In himself. Like he doesn’t know why this is getting to him.

– Whatever. – His voice is quieter now, rougher around the edges. – Do what you want.

You frown. – Bee— You try not to laugh, because you don't want to insult him, but you can't even help it. – Barry, don’t tell me you're jealous?

He glares at you, causing your laughter to grow, it's absurd. Its preposterous. Barry and jealousy.

– You are! You think I'm gonna run off with Rafe and leave you behind!

– Fuck off. – He growls. – Nah, I mean it. – He shrugs, but it’s stiff, unnatural. Like he’s trying way too hard to be casual. – Ain’t my business, right?

But he doesn’t look at you when he says it.

You sit up, watching him. His shoulders are tense, his hands twitchy like he needs something to do. Like if he stands still too long, you’ll see too much.

You already do.

– Bee.

– Drop it. – His voice is rough, final.

But you don’t.

You push yourself off the bed, stepping in front of him. He doesn’t look at you, just rubs a hand over his jaw, exhaling slow through his nose like he’s trying to force himself to let it go.

Like he’s trying to convince himself it doesn’t matter.

You tip your head, watching him.

Then, softer—

– You’re acting weird.

Barry scoffs, shaking his head. – I ain't acting nothing.

You cross your arms. – You got all pissy the second I said Rafe’s name.

– I did not get—

– You literally stood up like the bed was on fire, Barry.

He huffs, shaking his head again, but still—he won’t look at you.

And that’s how you know.

You take a step closer, reaching for him, fingers brushing against his wrist. He flinches, like the contact burns, but he doesn’t pull away.

Not really.

– What’s going on with you?

Barry exhales sharply, tilting his head back like he’s searching for patience on the fucking ceiling.

– Nothing, alright?

You roll your eyes. – Oh, yeah. That was super convincing. Next time, try throwing in a “gee whiz, golly” for extra effect.

Barry finally looks at you, and it’s exasperated, but there’s something else there too. Something tired.

– Jesus, you don’t let shit go, do you?

You smile, sweet, tilting your head. – Not when it comes to you.

That makes something shift in him.

You know it's a low blow, but it disarms him.

His mouth opens, but nothing comes out. His jaw clenches, his hands flex. He looks like he wants to argue, wants to deny it, but there’s nothing he can say, nothing that would make it not true.

You step closer, pressing your palm against his chest.

He tenses at first, stiff as a board, but you don’t move away. Just stay there, steady and warm, your fingers spreading slightly over the fabric of his shirt.

– Bee, – You say, softer now. Calmer. – Talk to me.

Barry exhales again, but it’s different this time. Less frustrated, more… resigned. His head drops forward slightly, and for a second, you think he might actually say something, but then he just mutters—

– I fucking hate when you do that.

You grin. – Do what?

He lifts his head, eyes flicking over your face, lips twitching like he wants to be annoyed, but it’s already slipping.

– That. – He gestures vaguely. – That whole “I’m real soft and understanding” thing. Makes me feel all… fucking—

He groans, tipping his head back again.

You laugh, tilting your head to meet his gaze. – What? Warm and fuzzy? Like you got actual feelings and shit?

Barry glares at you. – Shut the fuck up.

But you see it. The way his body relaxes just slightly. The way he leans into your touch now, rather than away from it. The way he melts.

Like he always does.

You shake your head, grinning, and before he can process what’s happening, you grab him, pulling him into a hug.

Barry immediately stiffens. – Oh, hell no—

– Shut up, – you laugh against his shoulder, squeezing him tighter. – You’re not gonna lose me to the dark side, Bee. I’m not about to become Rafe Cameron’s bestie and start sipping champagne on yachts.

Barry makes a disgusted sound, muttering – I’d rather you fucking die.

You snort, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

Barry huffs, stiff and uncooperative at first, arms glued to his sides like he’s actively refusing to participate.

Then he breathes out, slow and quiet.

And after a few beats, his hands come up, grudgingly, settling on your waist, then tightening just slightly, like he hates that he wants to hold you back, but he does it anyway.

His chin rests against the top of your head, and you feel him exhale, something heavy leaving his chest. – You’re real fucking annoying, you know that? – His voice is lower now, softer.

– Mhm. – You grin against his shirt. – But you loooove me.

Barry scoffs, but you don’t miss the way his fingers flex slightly against your back. – Yeah, yeah. Don’t let it go to your head, sweetheart.

His chin stays resting on your head, his breath coming slow and steady, his arms firm and real around you. He’s here, for once. Not running, not making a joke out of it.

Just here.

The tension drains out of him like someone pulled a plug, his fingers curling slightly into the fabric of your shirt, like he needs the contact more than he’s willing to say.

You hum against his chest, smirking.

– See? This isn’t so bad, is it?

Barry doesn’t answer at first. Just stays exactly where he is, his arms tightening slightly, like he’s afraid to let go. – Shut up.

You grin, tilting your head up to smirk at him. – Wow. I really have you whipped, huh?

Barry scoffs, pulling back slightly to shoot you a glare, but it’s weak.

You grin harder.

– You love this. Admit it.

His jaw twitches. – I will literally murder you in cold blood.

You gasp, hand over your heart. – You wouldn’t hurt me, Bee. Look at you, you're a marshmallow.

Barry narrows his eyes. – Alright, that’s enough of that.

And before you can react, he grabs you, twisting you around in one fluid motion, throwing you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing.

– Hey, hey, hey! – You squeal, smacking at his back. – Barry, put me the fuck down!

He laughs, full and unrestrained, the sound vibrating through his chest as he spins you around, ignoring your protests.

– Nah, sweetheart, you wanna talk big? Let’s see you talk with your face in the fucking mattress.

He tosses you onto the bed, and you bounce, letting out a shriek before bursting into laughter. Barry grins, watching you with a look so fond it almost makes your heart hurt. You’re still laughing, shaking your head as he flops down beside you, grinning like an idiot. – You’re the worst.

He smirks, tilting his head at you. – You’re the one who’s putting up with it. I don't hear you complain when I'm paying for drinks.

You’re breathing easy, the air between you light and warm and safe, the weight of the night melting away into something that just feels good.

Barry flops onto the bed beside you, still grinning, breath unsteady from laughing so hard. You’re both just lying there, staring at the ceiling, shoulders shaking from the last remnants of laughter.

Your ribs ache, your cheeks hurt from smiling, but you can’t stop.

His arm is thrown haphazardly across your stomach, warm and solid, like it just landed there on instinct. You don’t move it. – You’re ridiculous, – you mutter, still breathless.

– And you’re obsessed with me, – Barry shoots back, a lazy smirk curling at the corner of his mouth.

You snort. – Oh, totally. I wake up every morning thinking about how much I wanna be Barry fucking Russo.

He hums, mock-thoughtful. – Can’t blame you. I’d wanna be me too.

You smack his chest, and he lets out an exaggerated oof, before turning on his side to face you, his head propped up on his hand.

His eyes flicker over your face, softening just slightly.

And for once, he doesn’t say anything cocky.

Just looks at you.

– What?

Barry exhales, shaking his head. – Nothin’.

– You’re staring, Bee.

– So?

– So, you’re being weird.

Barry smirks, but it’s softer now. – You ever just look at someone and think, “Damn. This dumbass really puts up with my shit?”

You grin, biting your lip. – Every time I look at you, actually.

Barry chuckles, shaking his head. – You little shit.

– Takes one to know one.

He grabs your wrist, rolling onto his back and dragging you with him, pulling you half on top of him like you’re just a part of him now.

You yelp, but he just laughs, shifting so you’re tucked against his side, his arm slung lazy over your back. – Aww, someone needs a cuddle!

– Yeah, yeah. Just shut up and enjoy it, sweetheart.

You roll your eyes, but you don’t move. Instead, you let your fingers trace absentminded shapes against the fabric of his shirt, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath you.

Barry hums, content. – See? Ain’t this nice?

You let out a mock-sigh. – Guess I can tolerate it.

Barry grins, tugging you closer, resting his chin against the top of your head.

– Knew you loved me.

You just shake your head, smiling, eyes fluttering closed for just a moment.

You feel like you might actually fall asleep then. A comfortable, resting sleep. Nothing like these half-hearted black-outs you’ve been having. Barry’s breath is even, whistling against the loose strands of your hair softly, a breeze upon a placid ocean, and your mind drifts away, quiet, content.

The lightness of it lingers on your face for a moment, but like your energy, the smile also fizzles out. Barry shifts, just slightly, stretching his arms with a lazy groan before grabbing you again, pulling you right back into his chest like it's just natural.

Like it’s comfortable.

And it is.

His warmth seeps into you, his breathing low and steady, and he pulls you even closer as you tell him to lay on his side. Your body feels heavy now, exhaustion creeping in at the edges of your conscience, blurring your surroundings out.

There’s a sound, some mumbled words that whisper through your hair as you lay there, head tucked under your friend’s chin, but you can’t register them. Whatever that was, you hum to it, half-heartedly, the thought of asking on what he said only tangentially floating through your mind as your breath syncs with his and your mind finally shuts down, before you can even ask what he said.

For the first time in what feels like forever, you sleep.

Not the restless, fractured kind of sleep that leaves you more exhausted than before. Not the kind where your mind keeps running half-heartedly, processing a thousand worries at once, replaying every mistake, every conversation, every single thing you should have said but didn’t.

Just sleep. Real sleep. Deep, warm, safe, and dreamless.

The morning soaks through you slowly as the sun invades your room.

Your senses return to you, one by one. —You feel the perfectly comfortable warmth of an embrace that’s shifted through the hours. Your limbs aren’t numb, but still, they’re tangled. On the sheets, around Barry’s, in your own old clothes. You blink, still foggy, before tilting your head to see him splayed out beside you, completely at peace, mouth slightly open, one arm thrown dramatically over his face like he’s posing for a Renaissance painting. You can smell the cigarettes he smoked before coming here, the smoke still clinging to his clothes. You hear his snoring, low and soft like the purr of an engine, and then— The distant clang of dishes, the low murmur of voices, the thud of something hitting the counter too hard.

Your perfect moment, corrupted by the life outside of it.

Your body stirs before your mind does, pulling you from the heavy weight of sleep into the early light of morning. Your watch, thrown somewhere on your pillow where your arm had rested at some point, marks 6:21. Just enough time to shower and get ready.

Your stomach grumbles as you sit up, but you’ve given up on breakfast before you can even think about it, knowing damn well John would never bother to go grocery shopping.

It’s been a while since you actually resented the thought of having to get up.

With the watch weighing heavy in your palm, you linger in that same spot for another moment, taking in the softness, the calm. It feels like a safe haven: the wrinkled sheets thrown half-hazardly over the two of you, the tiny twin bed creaking as you move, the soft, almost content huff Barry lets out as you adjust the pillow under his head, stirring without waking as you gather the courage to stand.

The floor creaks as you walk, the dresser’s drawer creaks as you pull on it, and you take one last look at the room, at Barry, at the sun casting long golden streaks of light across the stale air, as if keeping that image could keep you from the storm you know is brewing outside.

Still, you allow yourself to savor it, the last fleeting taste of what could’ve been a decent day.

John and Sarah’s voices are clearer as you step out into the hallway, but you don’t allow yourself the energy to decode their words. The bathroom door opens and closes behind you, the clothes you picked out fall, still folded, over the lid of your laundry basket, and you throw the towel on the hook, eyeing yourself in the mirror before facing another cold shower.

Your good mood is officially gone, fallen to the corruption of your own skepticism, and to the fact your brother still has not fixed the fucking heater.

The water is colder than normal, but you let it hit you anyway, let it wash away the last remnants of sleep, of comfort, of safety.

By the time you step out your skin is pricked with goosebumps, your hair damp and dripping as you reach for your towel. You avoid your reflection in the mirror this time, focus instead on the small streaks of condensation gathering on the glass.

The floor is rougher beneath your bare feet, the air cooler, the walls closer.

The house itself feels different.

John and Sarah’s voices come into focus as you approach the kitchen, their conversation sharp and muffled all at once. You catch only bits and pieces—your name, Rafe’s name, something about him—but you don’t linger on it.

You already know what they’re saying.

You already know what they think.

The conversation stops as soon as you step into the room.

Abrupt. Jarring.

Like they weren’t expecting you, despite the fact that you live here.

– Good morning. – You say, thoughtless, already reaching for the coffee pot. Its still hot, but the jar is empty— You’re not surprised that he would make just enough for him and Sarah, but still, its no less annoying.

– For who?

You can’t even take him seriously. – Jesus Christ, John. What's your problem?

– Well, for starters—

You cut him off before he can begin. – The question was rhetorical, dumbass. – You move around them, from the pot to the counter, trying to make coffee and doing your best not to meet his eye. – “Good morning” is a well-wish. “What's your problem” is a rhetorical question. You could’ve kept quiet and spared us both the embarrassment.

– You’re ridiculous.

You measure the powder into the filter, crumpling the empty package and throwing it across the room to the trash overflowing in the corner. – You could’ve at least taken out the trash.

He scoffs, a bitter laugh on his lips as he looks up. – You’re unbelievable. We didn’t even start the argument and you’re already deflecting! This has got to be a record.

– Great, How about you measure the greatness of this record after taking out the trash?

– Are you serious? – He groans. You look at him with a straight face, arms crossed over your chest. – You are un-fucking-believable.

You breathe and smile, humorless. – We haven’t even started the argument and you’re already repeating yourself. Damn, John. This has got to be a record.

– Is EVERYTHING a fucking game to you?!

– I don’t know. But hey, since you seem to think I spend all my time around Rafe, maybe you should go and ask him.

His eyes bore into yours, sharp and cutting. – This is not the own you think it is, Y/n.

– And you don’t have as much dog in this fight as you think you do, John. – Your breathing is measured, and you’re counting to a hundred in your head. You’re committed not to losing it this time. You can’t let him get to you, but you feel every expression he makes grinding at your nerves, and you’re sinking your nails into your palms before his mouth even opens. – We’re even. Let’s leave it at that.

– Oh sure, that’s a great idea. My sister is a traitor without a fucking conscience who can’t even be bothered to tell me about what goes on in her life, but let’s leave it at that, right?!— We’re not even, actually. We’re not even close—

– Oh my God, get to it already! We’ve had this fight three times this week, can we just jump to the highlights?! I’m working for Rafe. You’re pissed I didn’t tell you. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t have time. And I didn’t have time, because the moment I could have used to tell you was spent having THIS EXACT FUCKING TALK. – You lost it. You just did, your hands gesture wildly because you feel that whatever it was that you had to hold onto—your sanity, your dignity, your temper— is slipping through your fingers as you speak. – So go ahead! Jump to it, John! Just storm out and have your tantrum already so we can stop pretending any of this bullshit matters at all!

– This is our fucking life we’re talking about! Of course it matters!

– No, no. That’s just it. This isn’t my life, actually. This is the John B show! You run around and you do your little things and you have your little adventures and you think you’re the star around which the rest of the universe revolves! So when I go out and I do something without your stamp of approval, you think I’m out to get you! But I’m not John! I’m not trying to fuck you over! I’m just trying to put food on our fucking table!

– Oh here we go again. – He scoffs.

– Yes! Yes, we’re going there again. So sit down on the chair, my chair, the one that you broke and I had to fix. Then you can have a cup of coffee, which I bought, and you burned through. And maybe, when you’re done not washing the dishes, you can go and have a cold shower, since that’s the only option we’ve got, because your ass can’t even follow through on the little responsibilities you fucking have!

You’re tired of repeating this, tired of saying it over and over again. But he doesn’t listen.

– Why does everything have to be about money with you?!

– NEWS FLASH motherfucker, that’s the only reason I’m working for Rafe, which is the reason why you’re mad at me, which is the reason why we’re having this conversation in the first place!

The words hang between you.

John’s chest rises and falls hard, his fists clenched at his sides, his mouth still open, like he wants to argue, but he doesn’t.

He just laughs, bitter, venomous.

Because there’s nothing left to say.

You’re both just standing there, breathing hard, staring each other down like you’re waiting for the other to swing first.

John scoffs, shaking his head, running a hand down his face. – You know what? – His voice is lower now, not calmer, just quieter. – Forget it. Just—forget it.

He turns away, reaching for his mug, but his grip is too tight, and the coffee inside sloshes over the rim, spilling onto the counter. He curses under his breath, slamming it down harder than necessary.

You watch him for a second, jaw tight.

Your hand is clutching your arm, your foot is bouncing. You feel the need for movement surging through your bones as he takes a step towards the door, and you know you shouldn’t do it. But if you spend another fucking day lingering in the things you two left unsaid you’re gonna choke in your own words and this is gonna end badly for the both of you.

So you rush, and you grab him, and you tug him back like a ragdoll. – Don’t walk away from me!

He scoffs. – What? Too hard to sit alone with your guilty conscience?

– Not really, no. But it must run in the family, since you can sit alone with your conscience all day and still never stop being a fucking hypocrite.

John yanks his arm free, spinning to face you, eyes burning. – You don’t get to call me a hypocrite when you’re the one crawling into bed with fucking Rafe Cameron.

Your breath stutters for half a second before rage swallows it whole. – Do we have to go through this every fucking day?! I’m not fucking Rafe! He offered me a job! I took it because we can’t afford to live any worse than how we’re already living without actually starving!

– We’re fine! – He shouts, shoving at you. – We’re living just fine! You’re not doing this out of some need to survive, you’re doing this because you have this burning desire to piss me the fuck off! I’ve got news for you too, Y/n. Your need for attention isn’t gonna fix the fact you fucked it up with dad! It’s not gonna fix the fact your mother didn’t love you. So maybe you can sit with that feeling and figure out another way to get me to look at you without having to humiliate us both!

You’re frozen in place, looking at him.

You see Sarah shifting uncomfortably in the corner, her eyes drifting between the two of you like she’s trying to figure out which direction to run in.

The breath that escapes you feels like it’s been there for years. But there is no great realization. No mask comes off, no true colors are revealed. You’ve seen this all already. You’ve heard these insults in countless different fonts, countless different arguments. And though it hurts no less to hear, somehow you find it in yourself to laugh. – I don’t know how you find it within yourself to be so low.

He looks at you, lips parted, as if he is the one who is surprised by the words.

You breathe in.

– You’re right, John.

It comes out of your lips like chains falling off of you.

It’s been written on the walls for years, and yet you spent so long a time with your head down, it never occurred for you to read the warnings.

– You’re right. This is the John show. I’m a backup character. I don’t live for myself. I live for you. – The rope keeps falling, and falling. The more you talk, the clearer it gets. – All the money I make goes to this house. And all the money you make goes to you.

It doesn’t weigh heavy.

It doesn’t hurt to say.

It’s there, and it’s true.

– All this time I thought you were in denial, but you’re not. You’re just living a completely different life. I’ve been scraping by for FUCK— The anger falls like sack of bricks, hard, sharp corners and rough sides grating against your fragile bones. It hurts. It bruises. You can feel yourself split open, you can feel yourself bleed out. – I’ve been scraping by so you could do what?

– Y/n…

– What, John?! WHAT?! So you could do what?! Drink yourself stupid with your little friends and talk shit about kooks while you’ve been living the EXACT SAME FUCKING LIFE AS THEM?! Is that why I work? So you can— You look at Sarah, and you think of her house. The life she’s putting aside to pretend she has some character. – So you can eat lamb at Ward Cameron’s and humiliate me? You haven’t stopped eating so I could eat. You haven’t been convincing yourself you like a job where you’re constantly humiliated so it can be bearable to barely pay the bills. You’ve been spending it all in beer, and weed, and food that you DON’T EVEN FUCKING LEAVE FOR ME.

The coffee is done. Sitting there on the pot, untouched. Scalding.

You don’t remember the last thing you ate at your house.

The last decent night of sleep you had on your own bed.

The last time you enjoyed any of the things you’ve been killing yourself for.

You back yourself into a corner, you look away from John, from Sarah, from this house that’s been draining at you like a fucking leech.

John looks stunned.

Not guilty. Not sorry. Just—stunned.

Like he never thought you’d say it out loud.

Like he never thought you’d realize it.

Sarah’s still frozen, one hand gripping the edge of the counter, like she’s waiting to see if this is where it ends. If this is where you finally walk out.

You feel like you should keep talking, like you should scream, like you should break something—but there’s nothing left to say.

You already said it.

And that’s the worst part: John knows you’re right. He knows.

But instead of admitting it—

He laughs.

Short. Bitter.

And when he looks at you again, his jaw is set, his fists clenched at his sides. – Is that what you have to say? – His voice is quiet, but it cuts just the same. – That I’m useless? That I don’t pull my weight?

– You are. – It's bitter too, but when the words leave your lips you feel like you've eaten for the first time in weeks. – You're useless. And you don’t pull your weight. But I've never asked you to. That's my own fault. I don’t need you to be useful, John. I don’t need you to be a man. I don’t even need you to be my brother. Shit, clearly, you’re none of those fucking things. But I expected that if you were gonna freeload off of me, at least you’d have the decency to leave me the fuck alone as to how I make the money you so carelessly flit around.

You look away, to the bin forgotten in the corner. To the clock, marking the little time you still have to get this over with above the window.

And for once, you don't feel the world resting on your shoulders.

For once, it isn’t on you to hold this crumbling house up.

– Take out the trash. Call someone to fix the heater, and clean up after yourself for once. Cause if I get home, and things are still the way I left it, I’m leaving you here, and you can support this house on your own.

John scoffs, but it's stuttered. Unsure. Like he’s trying to call a bluff he isn’t actually sure won’t stand the scrutiny. – You don’t have anywhere to go.

– I can live off of what I make. You, on the other hand, can’t live off of your own delusions.

– Walk away.

You don’t answer.

Because he’s not answering you.

He’s just flipping it around, turning it into something else, something easier for him to fight against.

Your stomach turns.

You push off the wall, shaking your head.

John scoffs. – Oh, no. We’re talking now, right? Let’s talk. Go ahead. Tell me I’m a selfish piece of shit—

– I don’t need to. – Your voice is tired now. Not angry. Not screaming. Just done.

That shuts him up faster than anything else could have.

Sarah finally moves, stepping forward, voice cautious, but the bomb has gone off, she’s trying to diffuse something that’s already blown you all into pieces.

– Hey. Maybe we should all just—

But you don’t stay to listen.

You don’t want to hear whatever half-hearted bullshit John is about to spit out next.

You turn, walking away, feeling the weight of the house pressing down on you with every step.

And as you get to the doorway—

You see Barry.

Standing right there.

Arms crossed, leaning against the kitchen door.

Like he’s been standing there for a while.

Watching. Listening.

His expression is unreadable.

But his eyes say everything you need to hear.

He moves back, arm out as you pass the doorway, and he gathers his things quietly as you put on your shoes.

The house is silent as you lace up your sneakers, the argument still thick in the air behind you.

But you don’t look back.

Barry doesn’t speak. Doesn’t ask if you’re okay, doesn’t tell you that you were right or wrong—he doesn’t have to. You already know. Instead, he moves easily: grabs his jacket, tucks your lighter in his pocket, reaches for the helmet sitting on the table.

He spins it once between his fingers, then holds it out to you.

A simple motion. Nothing grand. Nothing spoken.

But he smiles as you reach out to take it, and he laughs, softly, contently, as you lead him out.

The morning air hits sharp against your skin, cool and steady, grounding you in a way the house never could.

Barry swings a leg over his bike, Rafe's bike, settling in easy, waiting for you to do the same.

You exhale, slipping onto the seat behind him, arms looping loosely around his waist as he kicks the stand back.

And when the engine rumbles beneath you, drowning out the house, the argument, the weight of everything inside—

You breathe.

And for once, it's easy.

Barry doesn’t look back.

He just shifts the bike into gear, rolls out onto the road, and drives.

You barely register the road you two leave behind until he’s pulling into the Camerons’ driveway. But you step off the bike, hand him his helmet, and he holds your hand. – You can stay with me, you know?

– Huh?

– Tonight. I’ll pick you up, you can stay at mine. That oughta scare him.

The laughter on his lips is airy, meant to be. That’s what you like about him, you realize—Barry doesn’t second guess things. He lives for him, and him alone, never doubting that’s how things are meant to go. It’s hurt you before, but you see it now, fully-formed, mature, and vulnerable— He holds the helmet between you almost like an invitation. Come with me. The gesture says. Run with me, wild like me, happy like me.

And you’ll be damned.

Because at the moment, there’s nothing you want more.

– I don’t need to scare him, Bee. – You hum, but it isn’t pensive. You can think about John now, and your chest doesn’t tighten, your voice doesn’t crack. – He can do what he wants.

– So can we.

You smile despite yourself.

That’s another thing you like about Barry: he always says we.

With him, it’s never, “I want, I need, I can”. It’s “we’re gonna, we can, we will.” Like the two of you are two halves of one conscience.

– And what do we want to do? – You ask.

He smiles wide, pulling at the helmet to bring you closer, his hand resting at the dip of your waist. – Go to The River Styx and drink our asses off. You get the bed.

– Wow. Unmissable deal.

– That’s how it is with me, sweetheart.

– So if I get the bed, where do you sleep?

He pretends to ponder, flashing you that golden grin as he looks back at you. – On top of you?

– You’ve been missing pillows or something?

– I’ve been missing you. – He says. And it's so simple. So completely free of any strings attached it almost feels foreign to hear it.

– You never lost me, Bee. I’m always here for you.

– Always? – This time it’s small, and though he’s never uncertain, it’s almost like he’s begging to be reaffirmed.

And you do.

Not because it doesn’t cost you anything, but because it enriches you to say things as openly as he does. – Always. Cross my heart.

Barry hums, tilting his head, looking at you like he’s committing you to memory.

Then, in one fluid motion, he tugs you forward, arms wrapping around you, face buried in the crook of your neck.

You feel held.

The steadiness of his arms, the weight of his relief, the strength that it gives you.

Held.

Fully, completely, like he’s not just pulling you in, but holding himself up too, steadying himself against you the way you’ve steadied yourself against him a thousand times before.

Your fingers tighten against the fabric of his jacket, your face pressing into his shoulder, breathing him in—smoke and Barry, something familiar and grounding. Something that never changes.

For a moment, the world outside of this doesn’t exist. Just his breath against your skin, the quiet hum in his chest, the weight of him solid and real against you.

You pull back, hands sliding over his shoulders as you step away.

It’s over, but it doesn’t feel like it. The ghost of his warmth lingers around you just as the smirk he had before lingers on his lips.

– I’ll call you for a ride when I’m done.

Barry smirks, his grip still loose at your waist. – You can ride me whenever you want, sweetheart.

You scoff, shoving at his chest, and he laughs, stepping back, grinning like an idiot.

You shake your head, turning toward the house, but then—

Then you look up.

The silhouette on the window, lingering silently behind curtains that are all too white, all too frigid. The look in his eyes. That radioactive blue that you can’t get a read on, lingering far. But not on you, on Barry.

You feel the air shift.

You swallow, turning back to Barry, but he’s already climbing onto the bike, completely unaware of Rafe’s eyes.

@chatgtfo @bitterdotcom @xmayankax @bluethperson @coralblue35 @myluvingera @munsoncultedits @the-bitch-who-binges @im-julessssss @redkarmakai @hwaaholic @sydkneez @sassyvillaintrophy

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mehwmidklpe · 22 days ago

Note

Hiii, can you write reader is injured during a quest, and Percy helps her?

of course!

You knew the quest was going too well.

It wasn't supposed to be this easy, and you tried to tell Percy, but he was just so happy that everything had been going so well.

Well you'd love to say I told you so, but you were a bit too busy, stabbing a manticore.

"I told you so!"

Oh look! You did have time to say it!

"Not the time, Wise Girl." Percy spat back at you as he dodged the tail of the manticore taht swung towards his face.

You scoff. "Oh come on, aren't you the one who always says inappropriate things during fights?"

"That's Connor." He responds, rolling under the monster before he got the chance to hurt him

"And Leo." You agree as you jump over the manticore.

"But you're right, me too." He finishes as you end up next to each other.

You sighed before speaking to him. "Okay, I read about this ugly ass. So, you go for the troath and eyes, I'll go for the tail."

Percy smiled as he looked at you. "What would I be without you."

You rolled your eyes, pushing him away from you, trying to fight a smile. "Just go Seaweedbrain."

He smiled, before rushing over to face the manticore.

"Yo ugly face! Leave my girl alone, I'm right here!" He said, waving at him to catch her attention.

Once he did, saw you were ready, too, and the monster was distracted, so Percy stabbed him in the troath, just like you had told him to.

Then the eye, at which he looked away because he found it disgusting.

"Sorry man, but don't worry, I have a friend–well, not really my friend, he's Y/n's friend though, he also lost an eye, he's super cool and badass though!"

"Can we not talk about Ethan right now, please?" You called from behind.

"Sorry!" He called back.

So yeah, with a few stabs, your final attack and a last growl, the manticore finally turned into dust.

The boy smiled at the sight, and he was ready praise you for your smart thinking and your book obsession when he froze.

Percy saw you, stumbling back, hand holding the place between your hip and stomach and blood leeking from it.

His sea colored eyes widened.

"NOOOO!"

His voice was loud, hard, rough as he rushed over to you.

His arms were around you in an instant. "Y/n. Hey, hey, wh–what happened? I–how? when?–I–"

Your breath catched in your troath. "His stabbed me with his tail just before I cut it off."

Percy's eyes widened. "Stabbed..?" Panick got the best of him. "Let me see. Can I see? Let me see."

After a bit of hesitation you finally gave him permission to lift up your shirt.

Percy's breath caught in his troath, eyes wide. "Holy Hephaestus." He gasped out.

"Thank you, Percy, that's exactly what I needed to hear."

The boy gulped. "I'm sorry my love." He apologized before helping you sito down, letting your back rest against a tree.

When he was sure you were comfortable, he reached for your backpack. "Where's that first aid kit you always carry?"

You made an attempt to grab it yourself l, failing at that. So Percy ended up taking it.

"How do I do this? O-okay, just–stay still, I'm gonna try to clean it and–and you'll be fine. With me. You'll be okay."

It was as if he was trying to reassure himself more than he wanted to reassure you.

He started dabbing the wound, trying to stoothe bleeding, all the stuff he saw on tv.

It wasn't helping. You let out a shaky breath. "Percy." He ignored you. "Percy. Percy, stop." You demanded, making the boy in question look up.

"It's not gonna work. You just... get to camp without me. If you go now you'll still be on time."

The son of Poseidon frowned. "What? No! No I'm going without you, you're my girlfriend, I'm not leaving you!"

"Percy–" "Don't 'Percy' me, you're doing that on purpose. You're using that tone, the soft one you know I can't say no to. Well it's not gonna work. I don't care if I don't comolete this quest on time, I just want you to stay with me."

Hearing your boyfriend say those things made you tear up a bit. Or maybe it was just the pain of the stabwound.

Either way, you knew you could leave him just like that. Not after all the other losses he had gone trough.

You sighed deeply, trying to catch some air. "Okay." You nodded. "Here."

You handed him something to put against the wound, resting your hand atop of his, helping him put pressure on it.

Percy nodded as he did exactly what you instructed, putting presure on the wound, cleaning the blood, everything you said, he did.

When he got to the cleaning the wound with a cotton pad where he had put rubbing alcohol on.

"This can hurt." He warns you. You shake your head. "Don't worry, just continue."

With trembling hands started cleaining the wound. That was until he hear you whimper.

Percy Jackson immediately stopped. "I'm so sorry!"

"It's okay baby." You gasped for air, back arching slightly. "It's okay."

Hesitating a bit, he continued what he was doing.

Percy put more pressure as he helped you with your wound, placing kisses all over your face to soften the pain.

He also wishpered sweet nothing in your ear like: "You're doing so good ", "You're so brave, Wise Girl." or "Almost done, just a little longer, you can do that for me, right?"

He tried to be as gentle as possible, which led into it taking longer than it should.

But when he was finally done, he tried to out a bandaid over to wound, your hands rested on his shoulder as you held onto him while he did.

Once everything was finally done, you rested your back against the tree again.

"Still hurts?" Percy asks you. You managed a shrug. "A little."

Your boyfriend then reached into your bag again and took out a jar with ambrosia. "You're litteraly prepared for the third Titan War." He acknowledged.

Percy then scooted closer to you and carefully fed it to you.

He didn't know what it tasted like for you, but it probably made you think of something good cause you reached forward.

"More.."

The boy shook his head. "I'm sorry, baby, but more could kill you. You of all people should know that."

A sigh left your lips, which made him pout.

Instead of feeding you more, Percy placed a soft, loving kiss on your lips.

It lingered a bit, probably because he just almost lost you.

"That make up for it?" He asked with a smile. You smiled back. "I suppose."

With that and a few more teasing comments, you ended up with Percy next to you and your head resting on his shoulder.

"This is nice." You speak.

"And you wanted me to leave you while you litteraly would've lived if I didn't, as we both can see." He commented again.

You rolled your eyes and nudged him, but the smiles never left your lips.

Oh yeah, you were gonna return to camp way later than planned.

UGH I FINALLY managed to finsih this

it feels like I haven't updated in ages

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bloatedandalone04 · 2 years ago

Text

It Can’t Be That Bad - Part 2

➪the one where bradley fixes his mistake.

Warnings: angst, fluff, swearing, smut, unprotected sex, hair pulling, once again a pain kink, arguments, fighting, descriptions of injuries, jake and bradley brawl for quick a minute, bradley being whipped for you, age gap, oral (f receiving), body worship, alcohol consumption

Word Count: 9.6k | Part 1, Part 3, Part 4

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡

The Bronco was barely in park before Bradley was pulling out the keys and swinging the door open. He stuffs them into his pocket, along with his phone and wallet, as he enters the Hard Deck, his free hand fumbling to take off his aviators. His eyes scan the busy bar, looking for any glimpse of you.

After a full sweep of the room, he spots you over by the bar, phone in hand and a smile on your face that was so clearly forced, Bradley felt his heart clench at the sight of it. He stopped short of reaching you when he clued in to the person next to you, the man being the same one who introduced you to him in the first place. “Fucking Hangman,” he muttered under his breath when he saw the way Jake inched closer to you.

You were sitting on a stool while Jake loomed over you, both of you holding a beer in your hands. From Bradley’s point of view, you and Jake looked like a couple who were having a hard time trying not to jump each other’s bones right here and now, and an ugly feeling began creeping up his throat.

Bradley supposed that was what you and he looked like when you ventured out to the bar together, back before he fucked up and stupidly let you go.

That was the nice way of putting it.

He rejected you. You gave him your heart and he threw it back at you without a second thought. He pushed you away without thinking about how it would make you feel, despite him feeling the exact same way, perhaps even stronger.

Just the sight of you had all the air leaving his lungs. You are so beautiful and so caring and genuine to those around you. How could he ever let you believe you weren’t good enough for him?

The last six weeks were ones he never wanted to experience ever again. He hated having no one to come home to, and he hated how it could’ve easily been you waiting on that dock for him, had he returned your feelings. The next time he was deployed, he desperately wanted you to be there for him when he got back. He wanted to come home to you.

Without really having a plan in mind, Bradley made his way over to the bar, the crowded space making it a bit tough. He was a big guy, though, and used it to his advantage on the rare occasions when he felt he needed to. Like right now.

He pushed past Bob, who had moved to greet him, but Bradley just gave him a quick pat on the back as he passed him. When he was a few feet away, he met Jake’s eyes and watched as he leaned down towards you.

Before Jake could give you the warning that he was right behind you, Bradley closed the distance and moved to stand on the other side of you. “Y/n,” he said, nearly breathless at being near you again after six weeks without you.

You stiffen and glance over at him before turning to Jake and glaring at him. “Thanks for the warning,” you mutter and Jake just held his hands up in defense, making no move to walk away and give you some alone time with Bradley, like he so desperately wanted.

“Hey, I tried,” he defended himself, reaching over and grabbing his bottle of beer. “Rooster’s fast when he needs to be, I guess.”

“Y/n,” Bradley said again and ignored Jake as he brought your attention back to him, refraining from placing his hand on the small of your back like he always did when you were beside him at the bar. “Can we talk, please?”

You looked up at him with a near-blank expression before sighing, running the tip of your index finger around the rim of the bottle in front of you. “I don’t think we need to, Bradley,” you answered and he furrowed his brows.

“Why not?” He asked, shaking his head slightly when you began to stand up. “You said we’d-”

“I didn’t,” you cut him off as you stepped backwards and towards Jake, who just placed his hand on your hip, surely knowing it would make Bradley see red. “I said I’d see you tonight, not that I would talk to you. I didn’t come here with you, Bradley, so there’s no reason I need to talk to you.”

Your words felt like a punch directly to his heart, and he just stared at you when Jake guided you away from the bar and towards the pool tables. He stayed still, his eyes burning a hole in the back of Jake’s head as the man showed off just how good he was at the game.

“Hey, Rooster,” Penny’s kind voice said from beside him. “Want your usual?”

But Bradley just shook his head, never tearing his eyes away from the scene in front of him. Fucking. Hangman. “Not tonight,” he answered as Jake pulled you into his side, mirroring the way Bradley did just six weeks prior. “Give me something stronger.”

Six shots and two beers later, and Bradley was just now starting to feel the effects of the alcohol in his system. He wasn’t planning on drinking much tonight, not when he was so sure he’d actually get the chance to explain himself. But you had been glued to Jake all night, similar to the way you used to be before he introduced you to Bradley and you then became attached to his hip, instead.

And Bradley just watched. He felt like just another guy at the bar who was jealous of someone else’s relationship. Is this how the other men who frequented the Hard Deck felt when they saw you and Bradley all over each other?

Was he seriously just another guy?

That’s exactly what he felt like as he sipped on his beer, glaring at the way Jake’s hand slowly but surely inched further down your back. He bit back a disapproving grunt, knowing Jake had to be doing this just to rile him up.

He introduced you as his friend, and now that you weren’t associated with Bradley anymore, Jake was suddenly all over you?

He felt a sick feeling creeping up his throat as he thought about all the times Jake had taken you to the Hard Deck and acted like how he currently is now with you while Bradley was deployed.

He assumed it had been more than once at this point, because no one seemed too fazed by the pair of you and seemed to have forgotten that it had been Bradley with you for nearly six months straight.

He knew he didn’t have the right to be jealous, but he was.

He hated the fact that you could’ve so easily been with him right now since you had made it clear that you were willing to wait for him because you were falling for him.

God, he had never felt this pathetic in all his years of life. He was a mere few weeks away from turning thirty five and he had shut down the one girl he could actually picture himself settling down with, and now he was drinking alone at a bar, staring at said girl as if he didn’t already have his chance with her.

Nat had shown up at some point and tried to get him to talk to her, but he just gave her short answers and didn’t hold any conversations. She grew even more frustrated with him and ended up leaving her spot next to him so she could throw darts with Fanboy.

Bradley had just finished off his third beer when he saw Jake lean down to press his lips to the spot behind your ear, making you laugh quietly as you as you playfully pushed him away.

Yeah, he’s seen enough.

Bradley threw a few twenties on the bar before standing up from the stool, his body swaying at the sudden movement. He stumbled his way over to you, ignoring the flash of dread that covered your face as he wrapped his fingers around your wrist. “We need to talk,” he said sternly, keeping his eyes on you and pulling you away from Jake.

“Why? Are you looking for another night of just fun?” You asked as you pulled your arm from his grip once you were standing on the deck outside. “That’s all it was, right?”

“That’s not all it was,” he muttered, the cool air not doing much to calm him down like he hoped it would.

You narrow your eyes at him. “But you said-”

“I know what I said!” He cut you off, instantly regretting his inability to keep calm during a moment like this when he saw the way you flinched back slightly. He breathed out heavily, gently taking your hand in his as he continued, “I know, okay? Trust me, it’s all I’ve been thinking about for the last six weeks.”

He thought since you hadn’t pulled your hand away from his yet, that maybe you were actually willing to give him a chance to explain himself, but your next words proved him wrong, “Wow, really? Me too,” you said sarcastically. “Do you know how humiliating it was for me to explain to Jake that I had told you how I felt, just to have you throw it back at me as if you didn’t care at all? It was mortifying, Bradley, to tell you that I was falling for you and have you act as if it was the worst thing you had ever heard.”

You pulled your hand away from him and he swayed slightly at the fast movement. “I never wanted you to feel that way, Y/n/n,” he tried, but you just placed your hand flat against his chest.

“And you’re drunk,” you give him a firm push, successfully putting a decent amount of space between the two of you. “You won’t even remember this tomorrow, so why do I even bother?”

“Please, Y/n,” he begged, trying to step towards you but you just shook your head. “I missed you so much. I really, really want to talk things through with you.”

“I don’t want to talk to you,” was all you muttered as you walked towards the stairs. “If Jake asks where I am, tell him I went home. I don’t need him worrying about me more than he already is.”

Bradley wanted to spit something out in spite, but held back as he watched your retreating form head off in the direction of your car. With a heavy sigh and another urge to down the first drink he saw, he headed back into the bar.

As he made his way towards Nat, Jake stopped him with a firm hand on his shoulder. “Rooster,” he said over the music. “Where did Y/n go? Don’t tell me she’s outside waiting for you after believing whatever bullshit story you told her.”

Bradley muttered something under his breath as he turned to face the man. “She went home,” he replied, shoving Jake’s hand off his shoulder with more force than he needed to.

“Hey, man, don’t get mad at me,” Jake said with an eye roll. “I’m the one who looked after her while you were away. I’m the one who made her smile again when she came back from dropping you off in tears.”

Bradley felt his skin heating up, not wanting to talk to the man anymore, and especially not about you. “Jake,” he warned. “Don’t.”

But Jake only laughed. “Don’t what, Rooster? What?” He asked with a certain hostility to his voice. “Do you know how it makes me feel to know I practically pushed her into your arms and had to watch as she got her heart broken? You might not be her friend, Bradshaw, but I am. And you’ve got a lot of nerve showing up here tonight and asking to speak with her.”

Taking another deep breath, Bradley tried to ignore all the eyes that were beginning to stare at him as the two aviators glared at each other. “I’m serious, Hangman, lay off,”

You were right, he was drunk and not in the right state of mind to think rationally at this point. He needed to leave now before he did something he regretted. Before he did something that would further fuel your distaste for him.

“I don’t think I will,” Jake continued to push him. “See, you can be an dick to me all you want, but being a dick to Y/n is where I have a problem. She might want to forget it ever happened, but I won’t let you forget just how nice of a girl you let slip away. Truthfully, you never deserved her, and I’m mad at myself for introducing her to you, seeing how it worked out so well.”

“Enough,” Bradley nearly yelled, noticing that someone had stopped the music and that most of the patrons had gathered around at this point, including Nat, who gave him a look of warning. “Back off, Seresin, I mean it.”

He went to turn away, but Jake had other plans. “Or what? You gonna publicly humiliate me, too? Or is that just something you like to do to Y/n-” Bradley didn’t hear the rest as he quickly turned back around and punched Jake square in the nose.

Jake stumbled back while Nat rushed forward to pull on Bradley’s arm. “Jesus, Bradley, are you crazy?!” She asked as she turned him to face her, but as soon as he took his eyes off Jake, the blond swung back and knocked him back a few feet.

Nat’s grip on Bradley loosened as he stumbled back, his hand reaching up to grip the side of his face as his head began to spin.

Fanboy and Coyote held Jake back while Nat grabbed Bradley again. Penny rushed in and stood between the men with angry eyes and a bite to her tone. “Both of you, out. Now,” she said in a voice that left no room for arguments.

Jake just glared at Bradley as he left the Hard Deck, Fanboy following quickly after him.

Nat wrapped her arm around her best friend’s middle as she guided him out to the parking lot. “You’re wasted, Bradley,” she scolded as she led him over to her car.

He narrowed his eyes, still holding his face with one hand while his other gripped her shoulder. “Where are we going? I didn’t park over here,” he mumbled and heard her scoff in response.

“You didn’t think I was going to let you drive home after all this, did you?”

Bradley stopped, making her stop as well as he turned to give her an annoyed look. “I am not leaving my Bronco here overnight,” he stated and she rolled her eyes, holding out her free hand.

“Fine,” she grunted. “Give me your keys. I’ll drive you home.”

Bradley did as he was told, placing the keys in her hand as he asked, “What about your car?”

“I’ll just crash at your place tonight and you can drive me home in the morning before work so I can change. I’ll pick up my car later,” she mumbled, pulling the passenger door open for him but leaving him to get himself in the car as she made her way to the driver’s side.

After he hoisted himself into the car, Bradley rested his head against the window, the cool glass soothing the burn he felt on the right side of his face.

As Nat started the Bronco and set off in the direction of his house, she let the tense atmosphere grow thicker and thicker until she couldn’t hold herself back anymore. “What were you thinking? Going off on Hangman like that? You know how protective he is over her, there was no way you were winning that one,”

Bradley just shrugged, his eyes feeling heavy as he stared out the dark window. “I miss her, Nat,” he murmured. “I’m in love with her.”

Nat looked over at him in surprise. She knew he felt strongly about you, and it was obvious to anyone with eyes that he loved you, but to witness him finally admit it to himself was a bit shocking. “Have you told her that?” She asked, lowering her voice as she realized he was letting himself be vulnerable with her.

“I wanted to, as soon as I got there,” he lifted his head and sat up a bit straighter, despite his body begging him to let it rest. “I was going to, but she was with Jake. She looked happy. She didn’t want to talk to me.”

Nat sighed heavily. “So make her talk to you,”

“I tried,” he rasped, his throat dry and his face sore. He made a mental note to never take the first swing at Jake Seresin ever again. “I tried to explain myself, but she just wanted to leave at that point.”

“Well, obviously,” Nat muttered, pulling onto his street. “You got drunk and couldn’t keep your eyes off her all night. She probably thought you just wanted to sleep with her again.”

When she pulled into his driveway, she turned off the car and moved so she was facing him. He looked back at her with tired eyes and a red cheek. “I want to be with her, Nat. I want us to be together,”

Her eyes stared into his for a few seconds before she sighed and pulled out the keys. “So tell her that. Sober, this time. Tell her everything, and don’t let her leave without her knowing how you really feel. I bet she still feels the same way,”

Bradley scoffed as he blindly reached for the handle. “Right,” he mumbled as he got out of the car. “I’m sure she’s still in love with the guy who walked away after she gave him her heart, and then that same guy gave her every mixed signal in return.”

Nat rolled her eyes as she got out of the car as well and helped him into the house. She led him down the hall to his room, where she pushed him down onto his covers and lifted his legs so he was laying down. “You need to tell her, Bradley,” she said quietly as she pulled his boots off and dropped them to the floor. “I’ve seen the way you two look at each other, alright? Everyone has. If you could just admit your feelings to one another, you could be great together.”

Bradley looked at his best friend with hooded eyes, completely vulnerable as he wore his heart on his sleeve. “What if she doesn’t want me back?” He asked in defeat, not wanting to think about the possibility that he had truly blown his one shot with you. “What if she doesn’t want me anymore?”

Nat stared down at him as she sat next to him, trying to think of what to say that would make him feel even a little bit better. “Then at least you’ll know,” she offered, watching the way his shoulders dropped in dread. “And I’ll be right here, scolding you for letting her get away, but also applauding you for not going down without a fight.”

She leaned forward and kissed the mark on his face from Jake’s fist.

“Literally,”

Bradley huffed out a laugh as he watched her stand up and turn off the lights before disappearing down the hall towards the guest room.

She was right, like always.

He needed to tell you how he felt, he needed to tell you what he should’ve told you that day on the dock.

But most of all, he just needed you.

Bradley was met with a bruised cheek when he was finally able to pull himself out of bed the next morning. His head was pounding and his throat was dry, making him think back to his college days where he would drink into the early hours of the morning and wake up with countless hangovers.

He felt awful, similar to how he felt back when he was a twenty year old frat boy who had no idea what to do with his life.

Waking up in his own bed without you felt foreign. He had gotten so used to falling asleep with you in his arms and waking up with you, he didn’t know what to do with himself.

For what felt like the millionth time, Bradley wished his parents were here. He wanted to be able to confide in his mom, and be chewed out by his dad, then watch his mom chew out his dad for chewing him out.

He knew that if they were still here, he wouldn’t be in this situation because both his mom and his dad would’ve called him out for stringing you along like he did, way before he even realized his true feelings for you.

Since he had fallen asleep on top of the covers, he didn’t need to worry about making the bed. He left it the way you had neatly made it up the day you drove him to the carrier ship, numbly pulling on his work clothing before grabbing his phone. Nat had thankfully put it on charge, so he had a full battery to go into work with.

When he made his way to the kitchen, he found his best friend sitting at the island, a coffee mug in one hand and a piece of toast in the other. She gave him a quick wave as she slowly slid the second coffee mug across the counter. “Drink up, Roozie,” she said as she finished her toast, gathering up all the crumbs in her palm before brushing them off in the sink.

Bradley grunted as he sipped on the coffee, his head still pounding. “Think I’m going to need more than one of these to get me through today,” he muttered, eyeing Nat as she wandered around his house in the clothing she wore last night. “I have some clothes you could wear, if you want.”

She shook her head. “No, thanks. Save that offer for when you win Y/n back and she raids your closet again,” she winked, making him groan quietly at the image of you wearing his clothes. “I’m not trying to rub salt in the wound, here, but when she wore your shirt at the Hard Deck the day before your deployment? I can’t believe you didn’t make things official right then and there.”

Bradley finished his coffee, setting the mug down in the crumb-littered sink as he turned to face her. “Don’t remind me,”

She held her hands up. “Right, sorry,” she said before grabbing her phone from off the counter. “Anyway, we should get going. The sooner you’re done with work, the sooner you can work on getting your girlfriend back.”

She was testing him, but he just shook his head, not bothering to correct her as he grabbed his keys from where she threw them onto the table beside the door last night.

At work, Bradley laid low for a while, only talking to those who talked to him, and avoiding Jake like the plague. He was doing a pretty decent job, until he ran into him in the cafeteria.

Jake was sporting a bruised nose, and Bradley wished he could find joy in the fact that he did that, but he knew that when you saw it, you’d be even more pissed with him than you already are.

Bradley also knew he looked worse, but that was only because he had thrown the first punch. Just another thing that was entirely his fault.

He didn’t say anything to Jake as he walked past him and ended up leaving the cafeteria altogether, pulling his phone out on his way to the tarmac. He clicked on your contact and brought the phone up to his ear before he could talk himself out of it.

Really, he was embarrassed about how he acted last night, but he also wanted to forget about it all and get you back. If that meant owning up to his dumb actions from the previous evening, then so be it.

He braced himself against the side of the building by placing his palm flat against the wall, his grip on his phone tightening the longer he was met with the obnoxious ringing sound.

Just as he was about to hang up and call again, you answered with a sharp, “What?”

Though your voice wasn’t super friendly at the moment, Bradley couldn’t help but let a feeling of hope wash over him because you had actually picked up. Sure, you took your sweet time doing it, but you still answered his call. “Hey, Y/n/n,” he said in a much softer tone than he used last night. “I can’t talk for long because I’m at work, but I just needed to say something.”

You waited a heartbeat or two before replying with a cautious, “Okay? What?”

He huffed out a breath he didn’t know he was holding before he opened his mouth in an apology, “I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I was an asshole last night, and I don’t blame you for not wanting to talk to me. You were right, I was drunk and had no business trying to get you to talk with me when I was like that,” he said in one go, stumbling over a few of his words, but continuing nonetheless, “And I’m sorry for what I said to you back on the dock. I didn’t realize it then, but you told me everything I wanted to hear, I just didn’t know how to deal with it.”

It was silent on your end for a bit, and he could picture you chewing on your bottom lip as you tried to think of what to say to him. A few more seconds pass before you finally break the silence. “Well, thanks for apologizing,” your voice was much quieter than before, and you sounded much more willing to actually talk to him.

And he wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to keep you talking to him. “Like I said, I’m at work…but I really want to see you later, explain why I said what I did and how much of a fucking idiot I’ve been, if you’ll let me,” he nearly whispered the last part. “Come over later? Please? I promise, it’s not just me wanting to have fun with you, because that was never all it was for me. I can’t believe I even said that.”

You sighed and he prepared himself for the rejection he knew he deserved, but you surprised him as you asked, “Six, right? That’s when you’re off?”

Bradley pushed himself off the wall and looked around at the empty tarmac before answering, “Yeah, yes,” he quickly spoke. “Six.”

“Okay,” you murmured, your next words making a grin break out on his face. “I’ll be there for seven, maybe seven thirty if I begin to have second thoughts.”

And then you hung up, and Bradley was left standing by himself, smiling like he had just won the lottery, when in reality, he had just won something so much better.

After quickly dropping Nat off at the Hard Deck so she could get her car, Bradley was speeding home in a way that was similar to when he floored it when you informed him you’d see him there yesterday.

He quickly unlocked the door and stripped on his way to his bathroom for a shower, not wanting the way he had started to sweat after you confirmed that you’d come over later be the first thing you were met with when you arrived.

He switched his shirt probably around four times before settling on a simple black tee and dark jeans. He paced the length of his living room for nearly twenty minutes before stopping abruptly and pulling out his phone to check the time.

It was nearing seventy thirty, and Bradley began to think you really were having second thoughts, but he wasn’t able to dwell on it for long before he heard the sounds of knocking coming from his front door.

He pocketed his phone and made his way to the door within three strides, pulling it open to reveal you in a cute oversized tee that was tucked into your jean shorts. It was similar to the way you looked when he took you to the Hard Deck, and while he knew you thought it was just a casual outfit, Bradley thought you never looked better.

But then again, he found you hot in any kind of clothing, so he was a bit biased.

“Hi,” he said when he opened the door, trying not to let his eyes wander too much.

“Hi,” you said back, hesitantly meeting his eye with a forced smile that faltered when you caught sight of the bruise on his cheek. If you wanted to say anything about it, you held back and he could appreciate your ability to bite your tongue when you needed to. “Sorry, I really didn’t know if I was coming tonight.” You add when he stepped aside and allowed you to enter his house.

He closed the door behind you, following you into the living room as he shrugged. “It’s fine. I’m glad you’re here,”

You slowly sat down on the couch, awkwardly gazing up at him as if you had no business being there. As if he hadn’t fucked you into the very cushions you were sat on more times than he could count on one hand. As if he hadn’t blown off plans with his friends so he could hold you on this couch while you watched movie after movie instead.

You bit your lip as you thought of what to say, and Bradley had to look away quickly before you really began to think he just wanted you here so you could get him off. “So….how was your day?”

Had things really become that bad? To the point where that was the only thing you could think of asking him?

“It was fine,” he answered as he moved to sit down next to you, leaving a few inches of space between your thigh and his. You didn’t look uncomfortable yet, so he safely assumed you had no problem with him slightly invading your personal space. “How was yours?”

Oh, yeah. This was bad.

“It was fine,” you repeated his answer, and you quickly realized that as you added, “Yeah, it was good.”

“Good,” someone kill him now. This was not how he wanted to start this night off with you.

Before he could mentally call himself out on how dumb he was acting, you asked him, “Can I ask what happened to your face?” Your tone held a sliver of humor, a teasing smile on your lips that quickly had the awkward tension begin to dissolve.

He laughed and scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, it happened last night,”

You nodded, raising a brow when he didn’t continue. “What, did you run face first into a door or something?”

“No, Jake punched me,” he said and watched the way your small grin dropped and how your eyes widened. You open your mouth in concern, but he quickly added, “After I punched him.”

Your concerned expression drops even quicker as you break eye contact with him and run your tongue along the underside of your teeth. “Uh,” you refrain from completely losing your cool before you heard what exactly went down. “Why, exactly, did you punch him?”

When you didn’t turn to look at him again, Bradley shrugged. “Because you came with him and not me,”

That had you turning to look over at him. “What?” You asked in disbelief. “Seriously? You were jealous?”

He sat up a bit straighter as he began to feel like he was being interrogated. “Yeah, I was,” he answered, cutting you off before you could even say anything, “He kept making very valid points to me about how I fucked things up and how I never deserved you in the first place, and he was making too much sense so I punched him.”

You squinted at him but then suddenly laughed when you realized he was being serious. “Oh, my God, Bradley,” you scolded. “You can’t just go around punching people because they were making too much sense, especially Jake.”

“I was drunk,” he weakly defended himself, but sighed right alongside you when you gave him an unimpressed look. “I know that’s not an excuse.”

“You’re right,” you agreed, fighting back a dumb grin at the fact that you had actually managed to make him jealous without even trying to. “It’s not.”

Bradley shook his head as he, too, fought off an embarrassed smile. “I was just so unbelievably jealous when I walked in and saw you under his arm, because I knew that could’ve been me had I not turned you down,”

You look away quickly as the memory of that day comes spiraling back. “So…why did you?” You asked quietly as you placed with the silver ring you wore on your right index finger. “Turn me down? Was it really because I’m too young for you? Because I read too much into things?”

“No,” he quickly answered, turning his body towards yours. “God, no, that wasn’t it at all. I was just…an idiot, to put it simply. I was too afraid to give in and admit to myself that I felt the exact same way that you did.”

“But why?” You asked and lifted your gaze to meet his. “Why were you afraid? It’s just me.”

“I know,” he held back on referring to you with one of the many pet names he had given you during the last six months. “And it wasn’t you, I promise. This is all on me and my stupid trust issues and my inability to realize just how good I had it until it was gone…until you were gone.”

You press your lips into a thin line as you process his words. “You could’ve just told me that, instead of making me feel like I was just one big mistake to you,”

Bradley felt his heart crack at that, a heat pooling in his bones as he realized just how much his words truly affected you. “You are not a mistake,” he said, sounding more serious than he had ever sounded before. “You are one of the best things that has ever happened to me, and Jake was right, I never deserved to have you in the way I did.”

“Bradley-”

“No, it’s true. We were so fucking good together, and it felt so right with you, and all it took for me to fuck it up was you admiting what we both already knew; that it was so much more than just us hooking up,” he was surprised how easy it was for him to open up to you, seeing as the only other person he could be vulnerable with was Nat, but he knew you wouldn’t make him feel bad for showing you this side of him. “There was something there between us, and there still is for me, and I’m so sorry I let you believe that there wasn’t.”

Your eyes flickered all over his face and you thought back to how differently he looked at you six weeks ago. Back then he looked so cold and came off as arrogant, but now he looked genuine, like he truly meant every word he told you. Maybe that was why you felt yourself beginning to break down the walls you had put up the second he had broken your heart. “So, what do you feel between us now? How do you feel about me?”

When Bradley met your eyes, he saw that same vulnerability you had when you confessed your feelings for him. You were giving him the second chance he had wanted for weeks now, and he would not let you get away again.

He took your hand in his as his knee brushed yours. “I feel that, given the chance to prove myself to you, we could be just as good together as we were before. No, we could be even better,” he emphasized the last word and watched as the last bit of reluctance faded from your eyes. “And as for how I feel about you? I don’t think I’m falling for you.”

When he felt your grip on his hand loosen, and saw the way your eyes pricked with unshed tears, he quickly moved closer to you.

“I know I’m in love with you,” he added, “And I have been for half a year now.”

A second or two passes before a big grin spreads across your face, and you reach up with your free hand to grip the side of his face, letting your thumb brush against his scars. “You’re in love with me?” You asked, desperate to know he wasn’t just messing with you in hopes to get you back to how things were before. “You’re really in love with me?”

Bradley just nodded, pressing a kiss to the palm of your hand as he said the thing he should’ve a month and a half ago, “I love you,”

You smile again and refrain from jumping on him right then and there.

“And it’s okay if you don’t feel the same way,” he adds, looking down at your joined hands and missing the way your brows furrowed in disbelief. “I can wait, I just needed to tell you that-”

You cut him off by leaning forward and pressing your lips to his in a kiss that leaves you both feeling dizzy. “Are you kidding me?” You against his mouth, removing your hand from his in order to grip the back of his neck. “Of course I love you. I have for months.”

Bradley was barely able to grin back at you before your mouth was covering his once again, and his hands were gripping your waist and pulling you onto his lap. “I missed you so much,” he murmured in between kisses. “I regretted what I said the second I saw you crying and I was too far away to do anything about it. It felt like I had left my heart back on that dock with you.”

You push him so he’s sitting back against the couch, your knees pressing into the cushions on either side of him as you straddle his lap. “So,” you pressed a chaste kiss to his mouth, laughing afterwards when he quickly guided you into another one as you pulled away. “You don’t think I’m too young and immature for you?”

Bradley closed his eyes when he felt your lips latch onto his neck, groaning as you began to suck a mark onto his skin. “Fuck no,” he answered, slipping his hands into the back pockets of your shorts and pulling your hips forward to create the smallest bit of friction. “You’re more mature than most of the people I work with.”

You hum in approval, running your tongue over the fresh mark he would proudly wear at work tomorrow. “And you’re okay with us being in two different places in our lives?”

“I don’t care where we are,” he confirmed, guiding your lips back to his in a bruising kiss. “Just as long as I’m with you.”

“Good answer,” you kiss him again as your fingers begin to work on the zipper of his jeans.

“Wait,” he reluctantly pulls away from your mouth, his hold on your hips making you halt your mission on his zipper.

“What’s wrong?” You quickly ask, worried you’d overstepped a boundary without realizing it.

But Bradley just playfully scoffed at you, lifting you up and turning so you were laying against the couch and he was hovering over you. He unbuttoned your shorts and pulled them down your legs, a deep groan leaving the back of his throat when he caught sight of the black lace that covered your core from him. “You just told me you love me and gave me a second chance,” he stated as he pressed an open mouth kiss to your inner thigh. “Nothing could be wrong after that.”

You stifle a quiet laugh, a moan slipping out instead when he placed a kiss to your clothed clit.

His fingers pulled down the lace and dropped the fabric to the floor next to your shorts as he muttered, “It’s been way too long since I tasted you,” before he began to devour you like a starved man.

He supposed he was as he missed the sweet taste that only belonged to you so much.

Your head leaned back against the decorative pillow on the armrest of the couch, your hand instinctively going straight to his hair. Bradley groaned against you at the subtle tug he received, growing harder in his jeans as he pulled your legs so they’re resting over his shoulders.

The vibration had you clenching around nothing, a low whine escaping your parted lips. “Bradley,” you gasped quietly when he nudged your folds apart with his nose before licking a flat strip up the center of you.

“Say my name again,” he softly demanded, wrapping his arms around your thighs and pulling you even closer to his awaiting tongue. “Who’s making you feel good right now?”

“You,” it came out as a breath when he wrapped his lips around your clit, and you clenched tightly around nothing. “It’s you, Bradley. Fuck.”

“That’s right, baby,” he praised and the name had your eyes squeezing shut. “You’re so good for me, taste so fucking good.”

Butterflies erupted in your body at his sweet but absolutely filthy words. “Bradley,” you nearly whispered, tugging a bit harder on his hair as you knew it would drive him crazy. “I missed you.”

Like you expected he would, a deep growl once again sent vibrations up your body and once again had you clenching around nothing. “I missed you, too, sweet girl, fuck, did I ever,” he muttered against your throbbing clit, the soft graze of his teeth making your breath hitch in your throat. “I missed you for six weeks straight, missed you when I got home and saw that you had taken out all your things you had in here. I want you to put it all back and never take them out again.”

You whimpered at his words and the possessiveness that laced them. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were asking me to move in with you,” you tried to make your voice sound teasing, but you were completely at his mercy right now and not even close to being in control.

“Good idea,” he replied and your heart skipped a beat at what he was insinuating. You didn’t have time to dwell on what he meant by that before he was continuing, “Move in with me, please?”

Bradley knew he was moving too fast, but he felt as if he had already wasted so much time being away from you the last six weeks, he didn’t want to waste anymore. He needed you in his life, wanted to pick up on your habits and come home to a house full of yours and his things.

He wanted to share his life with you in all the ways he didn’t before. He wouldn’t fuck this up again, and he wanted you to know just how serious he is about you and how serious he is about starting an official relationship with you.

You could hardly focus on what he was asking you to do. His tongue had slid back down your folds and penetrated you just slightly, your wetness coating the muscle as he lapped at you.

He knew it wasn’t fair to ask you that while he was currently tongue fucking you, but in all fairness, you were the one who technically brought it up. “Please,” he begged against your heat. “Say you’ll move in with me, spend every night with me in our own bed, in our own house.”

His offer only sounded better and better, almost as good as his mouth felt against your throbbing clit. “Bradley,”

“We’d be together everyday,” he rasped and you practically came from just his promises. When his mouth was back on you a second later, he grinned at the extra wetness he felt and took pride in the way he got you off at the idea of moving in together. He licked you clean before moving back up your body and hovering over you. “It could be like this every night.”

You moan quietly when he presses a soft kiss to your mouth.

He ended it all too quickly as he slowly licked his lips that still tasted like you before asking, “So, what do you say?”

“Yes,” you were finally able to properly answer him, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders and pulling him closer to you. “Yes, I’ll move in with you.”

You share a couple more heated kisses before you pull away and gaze up at him with an unreadable emotion swimming in your eyes. Bradley caught on to the sudden change, and he reached his hand up to caress the side of your face. “What’s wrong?”

Shaking your head, you huff quietly and gently bump your nose against his. “Nothing,” you answer. “Nothing’s wrong. It’s just…This is all I’ve ever wanted for months. It’s hard to believe it’s actually happening.”

Bradley physically felt his heart skip a beat as he thought about all the pain he had put you through, and not even as recent as six weeks ago. He had unknowingly strung you along, played with your heart and allowed you to think this whole thing was purely sexual.

He needed to assure you that this is real, that his feelings for you are real and genuine. “Baby,” he murmured, capturing your lips in a deep kiss as he slowly ground his hips against yours, the cool metal of his zipper rubbing against your pulsing core making you see stars behind your closed eyelids. “It’s happening. You and me, us. I love you and I’m so sorry for fucking things up so badly between us.”

You tug at the fabric of his shirt and give him a small smile, brushing your lips against his. “It’s okay,” you whisper. “We have each other now, right?”

“Right,” he confirmed and that was all you needed to hear before your shaking hands were pulling the black fabric off his upper body.

The sight of his toned chest and abs on full display had you holding back a moan, your lip getting caught between your teeth as your eyes raked over his damn near flawless body.

Bradley’s hand that was on your face moved so his thumb was slipping past your lips, and he watched with a slack jaw as you sucked it in deeper, your tongue running along the underside of it. “Fuck, you’re so hot,” he really didn’t understand how a guy like him ended up with a girl like you, but he was done questioning it as you clearly felt the exact same way about him. You love him, and that’s all he needed to know.

“I think you’re talking about yourself,” you say as you press your lips to the skin of his neck. “You’re so attractive, Bradley, you could get me off with just a look.” Then you were sucking his skin, similar to the way you were sucking his thumb just a few seconds earlier.

He grunted at the stinging sensation of the hickey you left on his neck, right next to the other one from earlier in the night. “That’s it, sweet girl,” he praised as he lifted your shirt over your head, your bra being pulled from your body quickly after. “Mark me up, show everyone that I belong to you.”

You gasp out in need, pulling his mouth back to yours as your hands frantically push down his jeans and boxer briefs. “Mine,” you whimper against his lips, feeling him hum in confirmation.

“Yours, baby,” he replied, wrapping your legs around his waist as he teased your soaking entrance. “All yours.”

Then he was pushing into you. Your walls stretched around him and took him in perfectly, making his head fall against your shoulder as he got used to the feeling of you around him again after so long.

“Fuck,” he groaned, pulling out only halfway before burying himself deep within you once again. “God, baby, you feel so good.”

His words release more butterflies all over your body and you clench around him, your greedy walls sucking him in even deeper. “Go slow,” you request in a quiet voice, making him lift his head to meet your eyes.

Really, he was fine with fucking you into the cushion with enough force to break the springs, and he was also fine with loving your body with his own. “You want me to go slow?” He asked as he pulled out all the way then sunk right back in. “Fuck you nice and slow, like this?”

When he repeated the movement a couple times, you nod quickly and reach your hands up so they’re in his hair. “Yeah,” you breathe out, connecting your lips in a barely-there kiss before saying, “Just like that. I want to feel every inch of you in me.”

Bradley’s hips stuttered at that, breaking the slow pace for a quick second as he placed his forearm against the cushion next to your head. “Fuck, baby, you can’t say things like that and expect me to not fuck you hard into this couch.”

You laughed quietly, and the sound only spurred him on as he set the slow pace once again. “You need to gain some self control, Bradley,” you purred into his ear and he was once again refraining from absolutely destroying your core.

“I can’t,” he said as he began to place kisses all over your collarbones and shoulders. “Not when I have you wrapped around me, not when you’re taking me so well. Fuck, look at you.”

You give him a teasing smile that fades quickly when he sucks the skin of your throat. After half a year with him, you’ve noticed he seems to have a favorite spot on your neck where he likes to kiss you and leave physical proof of his mouth being there.

The last time you felt his lips on that spot was when he got you off so good before taking you to the Hard Deck, where you showed off the hickey he left on you.

“I can’t believe you’re mine,” he muttered, mostly to himself as he gazed down at your saliva coated skin. “After everything, after I fucked things up, you’re still mine.”

You hum, wrapping your legs around his waist and pressing him closer to you, making him reach even deeper within you. “I always was yours,” you confessed and felt the way his grip tightened on you.

“But,” he grunted as his hips rocked into yours in a slow rhythm, that sick feeling of jealousy creeping back into him, despite him being very aware of his current position of being buried within you. “You were with Jake last night-”

“But my heart was always with you,” you cut him off and noticed the way he seemed to relax at your words. “My heart was still yours, even after you broke it.” You give him a teasing grin in hopes he wouldn’t take it too hard, but this was Bradley, and he was a pretty emotional guy when it came down to certain things.

While you had given him all the reassurance he needed, he was still feeling so awful for how he treated you, and he wanted to make it up to you. He wanted you to forget about it, forget that dumb side of him who didn’t understand what he was saying.

“I’m not going to do that ever again,” he promised, jerking his hips a bit roughly but not picking up the pace. “I’m going to treat you so well, be so good to you all the time. You’re going to grow so fucking sick of me, I swear.”

You would’ve laughed, but the sharp snaps of his thrusts had you getting lost in the feeling of him. “‘S all I’ve wanted,” you whimpered when he reached one hand down to rub circles on your still sensitive clit.

It throbbed against the pad of his middle finger in time with the way your walls pulsed around him. He was driving into you so slowly, you felt every single inch of him as he invaded your warm and inviting core.

You were so used to the rough, fast paced sex with him in the past, but this was different. Back then, he was just trying to get you off in the ways he knew you liked, and desperately tried to ignore the unspoken words between the two of you.

He tried to fuck away his true feelings for you, hoping that the way his heart would flip at your sweet sounds and how his whole body fit so perfectly against your own was just him getting caught up in the moment.

He was so glad he was wrong and finally allowed himself to face reality.

“You’re all I want, too,” he struggled to say as you clenched tightly around him. “I don’t know why I even bothered trying to deny it…fuck, you’re so tight.”

You smirk to yourself at his struggle to keep control of the slow drag of his hips. “Only for you,” you fed into his possessiveness over you, and raked your nails down his back.

“Fuck,” he hissed at the sting, the light scratches on his skin feeling better than he ever thought was possible. “Thank you for giving me a second chance, sweet girl. I won’t fuck this up again.”

You press your lips to his as you feel the coil in your abdomen begin to unravel. “‘M gonna come again,” you informed him against his mouth, fueling him to pick the pace up just slightly as he continued with his sharp thrusts.

“I want you to so badly,” a deep grunt left his lip as he felt the beginning of your orgasm start to coat him. “Just like that, baby. Come for me, I want to feel it all over me. I want it to be messy.”

Your mouth breaks away from his in order for you to be able to let out a loud moan, followed by a call of his name as your release surged through you. With a gentle hand pressed to his face, your thumb brushing against the bruise he received last night, you came hard around him.

“Fuck yeah, baby,” he rasped next to your ear, using your willing core to get himself there, as well. “You look so fucking hot when you come for me.”

Whimpering at the sensitivity, you push him closer with your heel against his back. “Wanna feel you, too,” you mumbled, helplessly taking each thrust he gave as you wouldn’t be fully satisfied until he, too, got off. “I want it in me.”

Bradley’s jaw locked at that, his neck straining as he gave two more quick thrusts before stilling. You were rewarded with a deep, throaty groan as he spilled his seed into you, and you took every single drop.

Your walls, seemingly desperate to feel him breed them once again, gripped him tightly when he lazily started to rock his hips into yours again. The both of you were far too sensitive to go for round two right now, so he was just riding your highs for as long as he could.

You gently massaged his scalp, his head undoubtedly sore from your relentless tugs on his hair. Bradley was actually excited to deal with the brief headache that would come from it. He was even more excited to see the scratches on his back tomorrow morning, and he was excited to take you to the Hard Deck on Friday night and officially make it known to everyone there that you are his and he is yours.

Granted, most of the people there already assumed that, but it would still feel great to finally go public with you.

Bradley wrapped you up in his arms and got into a more comfortable position with you on the couch. He placed a few kisses to the top of your head as you basked in the afterglow, finally feeling truly happy for the first time in over a month. “I love you,” he had somehow managed to win you back, and he would make damn sure he keeps his promise of never breaking your heart again. “Every single part of you.”

You lean up and press a kiss to the mark on his cheek, making a mental note to give Jake a hard time about using his fists instead of walking away. You were still grateful that he was so protective over you, though, so you wouldn’t be too serious about it. “I love you, too, Bradley,” you say back. “I always have.”

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