A/N: Vengeful blond Aussie Antony Starr re-wired my brain and I needed more of him. Specifically, I needed soft!Rutledge, so here is an indulgent fic born from the idea "Yes he's evil, but what if I was his favorite?" I know this man would do anything for the woman he loves, even if that means cheating death itself. Also they did not do his backstory / trauma as a veteran justice at all in the movie, so I'm here to fix that too.
Description: Edward Rutledge x Fem!Reader, established relationship. Hurt + comfort, fluff, spice, extreme angst: eat up, y'all | Rating: MATURE, just to be safe. Warnings: kissing/making out, sensuality, pet names (endearing), blood and injuries described in-depth, partial nudity, mild language, alcohol, PTSD + trauma alluded to, suggestive themes, Reader is distraught for bit, Eddie gets patched up and all the loving he needs. | Word count: 4.2 k | Tagging: @hangmanscoming @walkingnearfoxes
Imagine Rutledge coming home to you after you believed him to be dead, and helping mend more than just his wounds
How could it have gone so wrong? What was supposed to the last stop on the way to freedom had become a nightmare that you couldn't wake up from. The remote safehouse where you had waited for Edward had transformed into a prison of shattered dreams. By the third day, the tears had stopped. A cold emptiness had taken their place, creeping into your bones and settling into your every fiber. You felt the ache of his absence with every breath.
It was the sixth day now. Time alluded you, but you were vaguely aware it was sometime in the evening because the shadows were growing long. You sit on the floor of the hallway with your knees pulled to your chest, utterly numb. This had become your preferred spot. The bed was hollow, and the sofa was haunted. Whenever your mind screamed at you that you should get up and try to leave, such thoughts were inevitably met with despair.
Of course, there was no rational reason to stay. You understood all the facts. No one was coming to save you. The food was almost gone, and there'd hardly been much to start with. You were going to die here alone if you didn't leave.
Edward was not coming back.
No, there was nothing rational about what you felt. You just couldn't let go. This is where you were supposed to wait for him. This is where he was going to come back to you. This is the last place that you were together.
Holding your head in your hands, another wave of grief washes over you. From the day you met Edward, you knew it was never going to be easy. You also knew there was no one else for you but him. His demons danced perfectly with yours, and you wrestled them better together. Even still, he had his own war to wage, and he had to fight it his way. As long as you could be at his side when the battles were over, you made peace with looking the other way.
Then, he found a way to win, once and for all. That's what he believed, at least.
You both agreed that the less you knew about the G20 Plan, the better. But being ignorant about the finer details didn't prevent you from worrying; if anything, it only made it worse. The knowledge that it would be the last time he'd leave you for a mission had been the only thing keeping you sane. That, and thinking about the future that awaited you when he returned.
You squeeze your eyes shut against the memories, but you were powerless to halt their coming. That last night before the summit seemed so long ago now. If only you'd known then...if only you could've stopped him...
â
The warm night air spills through the open balcony doors and clings to your skin. The smell of damp earth from nearby rain fills your nose, and the steady chirping of crickets evokes a familiar comfort. You recline on the sofa with your head propped up on your hand along the back, waiting for Edward to return with his 'surprise.' In the kitchen behind you, you hear him shuffling around and rifling through the cabinets.
"You're not peeking, are you?" he calls out.
"I'd never dream of it," you holler back, smiling despite yourself.
"I just got word from Titos. The boys are all set for tomorrow. Everything's falling right into place," he informs, no small amount of satisfaction in his voice as he draws nearer, "Now that the cryptowallet is in our possession, all that's left is to take the bastards down."
"No turning back now," you say to yourself, holding back a sigh.
You look up to see him returned with a bottle of champagne and two glasses, a grin spread across his face.
"Tada," he announces, placing them on the coffee table in front of you. "I know, not much. But we can't make a bloody toast with water, now can we?"
"Wow. What exactly are we toasting?" you inquire, sitting forward.
His expression twists with confusion, but he doesn't lose his smile as he proceeds to pop the cork and begin pouring. "Our victory, of course. What else, darling?"
"Don't you think that's bad luck? You haven't won yet, Eddie," you remind, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling in your gut.
"But we will," he insists, offering you your drink, "And since when have you been the superstitious type?"
"Since you decided to break into the most heavily armed place on the continent," you answer. You take the libation and stand up to join him.
"My poor love. Ever fretting over my sorry hide," he teases with pitiful affection, "Needlessly, might I add."
"Someone has to, Rutledge," you retort, glaring at him knowingly, "I've grown rather fond of that 'sorry hide', so you call it. Or have you forgotten?"
He bites his lip in amusement, noticeably trying to maintain his composure after your comment.
"Perhaps you need reminding," you suggest, bating your eyes.
You can't help but smirk, enjoying how easily you could make him flustered.
Re-establishing eye contact, he leans in closer and drops his voice to a whisper. "I think these ought to be empty before I can permit that kind of talk, girl."
"Agreed," you concede, pleased with yourself.
He raises his glass, and you do the same.
"To a new world," he declares.
"To a new world."
The clinking of crystal rings through the air. You swallow a generous sip and try to wash the words from your mouth. Edward downs half of his own portion before turning away and stepping out onto the balcony.
"By this time tomorrow, everything is going to be different," he exhales, peering out into the pitch black night.
You reclaim your seat and train your wistful gaze on him. You knew what he was doing. The nearest civilization was miles away, but that did not deter him from scanning the perimeter. You'd grown used to his vigilance; come to depend on it. Yet even in the middle of a moment of celebration, he could not fully let his guard down. You consider calling him back inside, but think the better of it. The moment would pass, as it typically did.
Instead, you reflect on the half-hearted toast you'd just made. Your playful exchange had distracted you from your troubled thoughts momentarily. But as sure as the coming dawn, they reappeared. You'd tried to put on a smile for him, but in truth, you were feeling far from jubilant. In the weeks since Edward first spoke to you of the G20 plan, it'd become a chore to keep your mind from wandering into the future, and all the dread that it held for you. There was no small part of you that was truly worried for his safety, a concern you attempted to convey to him time and again to no avail. It wasn't even the prospect of living in hiding that you found troublesome, as would be necessary after every nation on the planet saw his face tomorrow. You were already accustomed to one form of "off-the-grid" living or another following Edward around the globe for the past few years, so the concept certainly didn't bother you anymore. Your identity from before was long gone, and as long as you were together, the person you'd have to become next made little difference to you.
The reason for your dismay was much worse than that. You hated yourself for even thinking it, but deep down, you could sense that you'd begun to doubt him. You feared what would happen if his plan failed, and perhaps even more, you were terrified of what would happen if it didn't.
At last, Edward turns toward you, grinning once more. "The world is going to be our oyster, sweetheart. You've got nothing to worry about anymore."
You distractedly swirl around the remaining golden liquid in your glass. "Oh Eddie, you make it sound so easy."
"That's because it will be," he assures, pointing emphatically, "For the first time in my life, I have clarity of purpose. I know what I have to do. People have to be awakened to what's happening before their very eyes. They must be made to understand the truth so we can bring about real change. No one will stand in my way this time. And when the work is done, when we finally put an end to all the wars and deceit and corruption, I'm going to have everything I want. What we're owed."
"Oh yeah?" you ask, unconvinced by his impassioned oaths.
"Is that doubt, I'm hearing? Surely not," he says, sounding genuinely surprised. He walks over and sits beside you on the couch, awaiting an explanation. "Tell me I've not lost your faith."
You stare down at your hands as you speak, unable to look at him.
"You haven't. I know you'll accomplish what you need to. You always prevail. It's just..." you hesitate, unsure if you should reveal your insecurity.
"What is it? Hm?" he asks, comfortingly resting his hand on your leg.
"You'll be the most powerful man on the planet. You could go anywhere, do anything, with anyone. And I'm just wondering where I fit into all of it."
He's silent only a moment before he replies with renewed resolve.
"Now you just listen hear, darling. I said I was going to give you the world, and that's exactly what I'm going to do."
Shaking your head, you set your glass on the table. "I don't need the world, Eddie. All I want is you."
He smirks, undaunted.
"You already have me," he says, pulling you into his lap, "You know that, don't ya?"
You nod distantly in response, proceeding to softly trace the tattoo on his arm with your finger as he continues.
"You've been beside me in the dark, and I want you right there with me in the light. It's gonna be you and me, just like always. The money won't change that."
"How will it not?"
"Because I won't let it," he vows, "Besides, I couldn't replace you if I tried for a million years. You are my one and only." He snakes his arm around your waist and meets your eyes before repeating the words, "My one and only."
"And you are mine," you reply, leaning in closer until your forehead rests on his. Just like that, he had silenced your doubts, and put in their place a hope that you could hold onto. "You sure have a way with words, Corporal."
"I know, I know," he chuckles, "How about just two more?"
Instantly, you detect a shift in his tone that makes your heart skip. You sit back and stare at him expectantly.
He beholds you with quiet confidence. "Marry me."
"Eddie, be serious," you begin to laugh.
"I am being serious," he says, his gaze softening, "I love you. With all my bleeding heart, I love you, Y/N."
Your heart swells at his confession, tears flooding your vision. "I love you, too."
"This is the final mission. I'm done. I know I've put you through it, and somehow, through thick and thin...you haven't given up on me."
"Not yet," you smile.
He follows suit, continuing his impromptu speech.
"I want to take care of you. Proper like, from now on. Let me prove that your faith in me has not been for nothing," he says, taking your hand in his, "When I get back from this, will you marry me?"
"Yes," you answer, beaming, "I will."
"Atta girl," he purrs through his smile, "Now what was this you were sayin' earlier? Something about a reminder..."
Before you can blink, he eagerly pulls you against him and closes the meager space between you, capturing your mouth with his own. You claw at his chest and kiss him back fiercely, tasting the champagne on his tongue when he parts your lips. You melt into his wandering touch as he then peppers kisses along your jaw and down your neck. The gentle scratch of his beard on the sensitive skin makes your pulse quicken as you close your eyes.
"Promise that you'll come back to me," you say breathlessly.
He pauses his fevered exploration to cup your face in his calloused hands.
"Nothing will stop me from coming back to you. I promise."
â
The memory leaves you reeling, Edward's voice still echoing your head. You could see it all so clearly, as if you were still there in the ecstasy of his embrace. But when you open your eyes again, you're met with the cruel reality. He was gone, and he'd taken everything with him.
The sound of the locks releasing on the main door of the safehouse pull your from your desolate stupor.
You scramble to your feet as quickly as you can, but consecutive days of sporadic food and water intake immediately catch up to you as you struggle to find sure footing.
In mere seconds, a thousand thoughts flashed through your panicked mind. This was it. They'd come for you. Someone somewhere had figured out your connection to Edward, and they were about to lock you away for the rest of your life. It didn't matter that your only true crime was loving him. They would say you were a terrorist too. Guilty by association. You'd never see the sun again.
What difference did it make? It held no warmth for you anymore.
Accepting your fate, you step out into the open. You expect to see a stealth squad of some kind, hoping to catch you off guard and take you in for questioning.
Instead, a lone figure staggers forward from the shadows. You stand frozen as they limp closer, and the waning sunlight spills across their battered visage.
The second those familiar blue eyes meet yours, the air in your lungs disappears.
His name falls from your lips in a whimper. "Eddie?"
"Hello, darling." He flashes a weary smile, holding his arm across his torso.
"Is it really you?" you whisper, afraid that you would make him fade away if you even dared to move.
"It's me, love," he answers weakly, wincing just to speak, "What's left of me, anyway."
"Eddie, oh my god," you cry, your fragile composure shattering.
You run to him and throw your arms around his neck, clinging to him for dear life. After recovering his balance, he holds you tightly, burying his face in the crook of your neck.
"You were dead. You were dead," you repeat through sobs.
"Shhh, it's okay. I'm here, sweetheart. I'm here," he consoles, stroking your back, "Everything's alright now. I'm here."
Now that you were sure he was not a ghost, you feel secure enough to release your grip, if only just a little. His arms stay firmly encircled around your body as he gazes upon you with glistening eyes.
"It was all over the news. They said you fell, that-that survival was impossible," you stammer in disbelief, "I thought you were gone."
"For a moment there, so did I," he replies, reaching to caress your cheek. "But I had a promise to keep."
With that, you pull him into a desperate kiss. He returns it fervently, his fingers lacing into your hair. You savor every sensation you thought you'd never feel again as your hand slides up underneath his shirt. He lets out a pained groan against your lips. You're keenly aware of his injuries once again and carefully surrender your hold on him.
"Easy, darling. I'm gonna need a little R and R before I can have too much fun," he teases, touching his forehead against yours.
"Sorry. Habit," you wince, "Are you okay?"
"I'll live," he chuckles, "I missed you too."
It's then you realize that your hand doesn't feel quite right, and you look down to see your fingers smeared in crimson.
"You're bleeding!"
He growls in frustration, "The damned stitches must have ripped, climbing up this bloody mountain."
"Put your arm around me, let's get you to the couch," you instruct, moving to hold him upright.
"Too bad we finished that whole bottle, ay?" he grunts, complying through the pain.
Adrenaline helps you overcome your own fatigue enough to bear his unsteady weight over your shoulders and hobble into the next room.
"You're not dying on me now, Rutledge. You owe me."
"What are you on about, woman?" he grounds out, followed by a string of curses as you help lower him onto the cushions.
"You owe me a husband. You can't die until after you've married me," you pant, your head starting to pound from the exertion.
His pained expression turns baffled. "You still want to?"
Between the immense stress and his audacity to ask such a thing, your temper starts to flare. "I know you didn't just ask me that."
Switching on the lights, you rush to the kitchen to run some warm water and retrieve the medical kit, trying to work out a strategy. You quickly return with the necessary items, noticing the sudden shift in his mood even in your frenzied state.
"Why would you want to be tied to a miserable ratbag like me? You don't deserve that," Edward mumbles, looking at his boots.
The weight of his failure had apparently started to crash down on him, but it's more than you can bear at present.
You clench your trembling fist and stand over him. It takes all of your remaining strength not to yell.
"For your sake, I'm going to blame what I'm hearing on the head trauma you clearly sustained. Because I know if it weren't for that, there is no way in hell you'd be saying those things to me after everything that's happened," you warn, finding your courage. "Now shut up, Corporal, and help me get all of this off."
As much as you wanted to slap him and scream about the grief he put you through, your focus was on keeping him breathing. Gritting your teeth, you help him remove his soiled clothing until he was stripped down to the waist. He's left in visible agony afterward, but makes no complaints, lying as still as he can manage. You reflexively cover your mouth with your hand as you realize the full extent of the damage. His self-sewn stitches on his abdomen were indeed torn open at the bottom of the evident puncture wound, and he had what appeared to be a stab wound towards the back of his left shoulder that had since stopped bleeding. On top of that, he was completely covered in bruises, all shades of purple and black that made your stomach churn. By the looks of his right side especially, he probably had broken ribs, but there was nothing to be done about it. Staunching the bleeding was your priority, but despite your initial scare, it didn't seem as bad as you'd first thought.
You both remain silent as you kneel before him and begin cleaning the surrounding area with a wet cloth the best that you can. Apart from the rise and fall of his ragged breathing, he remains unmoving. You glance up to see a thousand-yard stare plastered on his face. Better that than the nonsense from before, you think. You wiped away as much dried blood as you could before deciding it would have to be good enough. Before long, you have the antiseptic at the ready.
"This will hurt," you say calmly.
He closes his eyes and sets his jaw. Steeling yourself as well, you pour it over the wound liberally. He flinches, but only just so. As difficult as it was to imagine, you remind yourself that he'd been through worse than this.
While you carefully dab the area with gauze, your eyes wander to the scars you knew by heart. Like you'd done many times before, you attempt to picture where he was when those wounds were fresh, and who had been there to care for him then. He almost never spoke of his past, and whenever he did, it was only of the people he'd lost. Never of his own pain.
Having sorted through the supplies and found the suture kit, Edward raises his hand in protest.
"Leave it. It'll mend. Just the bandage."
"Are you sure?"
He only nods. You don't push it any further, too drained to argue. He obviously had far more experience with first-aid than you, and you felt better knowing you'd at least treated it against infection.
"I said I would give you the world. I failed..." he says solemnly.
"Edward, stop," you implore. You're blinking back tears once again, trying desperately to concentrate on your task. "Please. I don't want to hear about that anymore. I can't take it."
You secure the edges of the crisp white bandage in place, but your plea falls on deaf ears.
"I failed you."
You'd finally had enough, all of your emotions spilling over beyond the edge of your control.
"You really are the most thick-headed man I've ever known. Don't you understand? I never cared about any of it! All I have ever wanted is you. Not the money, not the politics, not the revenge. Just you!"
Your strained outburst echoes through the room.
"And I know that doesn't make sense to you, because you can't understand how someone could love you as you are. Accept both the good and the bad. But I do, Eddie. I always have. You're just gonna have to find a way to live with that."
"I'm broken, Y/N."
You open your mouth to dispute him, but the tear running down his scarred cheek steals your words away. He looks upon you with a tormented gaze that cuts through you like a knife. The devilish twinkle that you loved so much had vanished from his eyes. In some ways, he seemed like a completely different man than the one who sat in that very same spot only nights before and proposed to you. Yet in others, he was more that man than he'd ever been, and all you wished for now was to take the pain away from him.
You crawl into the seat alongside him and slowly turn his head towards you. "Then show me how to fix you, one and only."
Your offer destroys what remains of his fortitude as he breaks down into sobs, succumbing to his grief. You cradle his head to your chest and press kisses into his hair while he weeps. His numerous injuries don't prevent his unburdening, the pain deep inside clearly far greater than whatever he felt in his body.
"They're gone. They're all gone, because of me," he cries, "I failed them. I always fail them."
Suddenly, you're seized with realization. He didn't just mean the men killed at the disastrous summit. His meant his brothers in arms that he lost in the war. His best mates. At last, you understood. He felt responsible for their deaths, and the guilt was killing him. It had been poisoning him long before you'd ever met.
"It's not your fault, baby," you console, wondering if he'd ever heard those words before, "It was never your fault."
"Why did I survive? It should have been them. They should have lived. Not me...not me."
His anguished laments send shivers down your spine as your heart breaks for him. How quickly had it all reversed. Now he was the one that clung to you for dear life.
"Oh my love," you murmur, tears falling from your eyes onto his blond locks, "I'm so sorry."
He'd been through more suffering and loss than he had a right to, and you longed to carry that burden with him. But even in these throes of sorrow, you couldn't ignore the spark of hope you were now feeling inside. A sense of peace had begun to settle where the dread and despair had so recently been. For the first time ever, Edward had truly let you inside his darkness. He trusted you; not just to tend to his wounds, but to mend his heart. Indeed, it was the smallest of sparks, but it was a hope that you would die to keep burning for him.
You hold him in your arms for as long as he needs, and it feels like a lifetime before he finally draws back and looks to you with bloodshot eyes.
"Don't give up on me," he begs, his voice raw, "Please, I can't lose you too."
"Never," you pledge, taking his shaking hand and holding it to your heart. "Thick and thin, remember?"
He smiles a bit, some of the light returning to his eyes. The storm inside him was beginning to subside.
You continue on, "All of those men followed you because they believed in you. Just like I believe in you. And I'm not going anywhere."
He stares at you in awe. "What did I ever do you deserve you?"
"Your guess is as good as mine, Rutledge," you answer, overwhelmed with yearning.
"I swear to you, I will earn this second chance," he says sincerely, cupping your cheek, "If you'll still have me."
summary : He was too old for this. For you. For the way you looked at him like he wasnât already years past the reckless abandon that seemed to define everyone else in this house. He shouldnât have noticed the way your laughter sounded like sunlight, or how your smile seemed to tug at something deep in his chest.
wc : 8.5k
an : im a slow writer chat mb đ also nearly a month on this site!! tysm
âWhatâs the game plan for the summer?â Kika didnât even glance up from her phone, one hand lazily stirring her drink with that tiny straw she always insisted on.
You were sprawled on a cushioned lounge chair in a swanky Monaco terrace bar, the Mediterranean sun heating your skin, but the breeze kept things just shy of unbearable.
You took a sip of your drink and smirked. âSeduce Carlos Sainz.â
Kikaâs straw froze mid-stir. She blinked twice at her screen before slowly looking up, sunglasses sliding down her nose. âSorry, could you run that by me again? Because I swear you just said youâre going to seduce Carlos Sainz, which is clearly a champagne-induced delusion.â
âNope, you heard me loud and clear.â You leaned back, full of confidence. âCarlos Sainz. Mine. By the end of summer break.â
Kika blinked at you, deadpan. âSweetheart, no offense, but youâve been thirsting after this man since you were, what, 16? Thatâs six years of unrequited daydreaming.â
You squirmed slightly but held your ground. âDoesnât matter."
"If he hasnât noticed you by now, whatâs your plan? Set yourself on fire in front of him?â
âOnly as a last resort,â you said, deadpan.
She threw her head back, laughing so hard she nearly spilled her drink. âOh my God, youâre serious. This isnât a joke.â
âDead serious.â You popped the cherry from your cocktail into your mouth like it was the period at the end of your sentence. âIâm done playing it safe. This summer is about action.â
Kika raised an eyebrow. âAction? You tripped over your own feet last week trying to order coffee. What are you going to do, hit him with your car and hope he falls for you during physical therapy?â
âOf course not.â You stood abruptly, tossing your straw onto the table with a dramatic flourish. âThatâs plan B. Now come on.â
âCome where?â She squinted up at you, clearly unimpressed.
âTo get the tools I need.â You grabbed her hand, yanking her out of her seat.
Ten minutes later, you dragged her into a boutique that was a Monet painting of excess. Silk curtains, chandeliers dripping with crystals, and the scent of overpriced jasmine perfume floating through the air.
A sales assistant appeared out of nowhere, all smiles and perfectly coiffed hair. âBonjour, mademoiselle,â she greeted, eyeing your Chanel tote approvingly.
âBonjour,â you said, breezing past her.
âWhy are we here?â Kika asked, dodging a rack of bikinis that looked like theyâd been designed with dental floss.
âSeducing my brother's teammate? Keep up, Kika,â you groaned, holding up a red bikini that looked like it belonged in a Bond movie. âMen are simple creatures. You canât argue with science.â
âThatâs not science, thatâs objectification with a catchy slogan,â she deadpanned, plucking a neon green bikini off a nearby rack. âBut sure, blind him with this and see how that works.â
You recoiled, snatching it from her and tossing it back like it burned. âPlease. Focus. I need chic, sexy, and unforgettable. I need to haunt his dreams.â
âWhat you need,â she muttered, ducking under a display. âis a therapist.â
âAnd yet, here you are, enabling me.â You held up another bikini, black and sleek, with delicate gold accents. âThis says, âIâm hot and I donât care if you notice,â right?â
Kika folded her arms, leaning against the counter. âIt says, âIâm hot and definitely care if you notice but will pretend I donât.ââ
âExactly!â you said, thrusting the bikini at her. âThis is step one material.â
Kika frowned. âStep one material?â
âYes. Step one: look absolutely irresistible,â you replied. âCarlos has seen me as Charlesâs little sister for years. This summer, heâs going to see me as a woman. A very hot woman.â
âAnd you think this is going to do the trick? Heâs a man, not a magpie.â
âEvery detail matters. If I look stunning, heâll notice me. If he notices me, heâll talk to me. If he talks to meâŠâ
âYouâll forget how to form a sentence?â Kika offered, smirking.
â...Iâll be charming and mysterious,â you continued, ignoring her. âCarlos loves a challenge. And I? Iâll be the challenge of the summer.â
She snorted. âYouâre the challenge of my summer, thatâs for sure.â
You flashed her a grin, unfazed. âCollateral damage.â
Kika raised an eyebrow, surveying your choices with a mixture of disbelief and mild concern. âYou do know Charles is going to kill you, right? Or worse, heâll tell your mother.â
âCharles doesnât need to know,â you said confidently, grabbing a cover-up that was so sheer it might as well have been a polite suggestion of fabric and tossing it onto the pile.
âHeâs going to know the second you start giggling like a schoolgirl,â Kika shot back.
You paused, giving her your most serious look. âI do not giggle. I smolder.â
Kika raised an eyebrow. âYou giggle. You giggle like someone told you tacos are calorie-free.â
Before you could respond, the sales assistant, who had been lurking in the background with a grin wide enough to rival the Mona Lisaâs, swooped in. âVous avez fait un excellent choix, mademoiselle,â she said, beaming. âTrĂšs⊠sexy.â You made an excellent choice, miss
You flashed a smile back. âMerci, ma chĂšre,â you said, tossing her an air kiss. âI do try.â
Kika groaned audibly. âWhat is that? French for, âPlease donât let my stupidity kill meâ?â
âNot quite,â you replied breezily, adding a sheer cover-up to the pile. âBut close enough.â
The assistantâs smile widened to terrifying proportions. âPeut-ĂȘtre vous voulez essayer ces sandales aussi?â She gestured to a pair of sky-high gold heels that looked more weapon than footwear. Maybe you want to try these sandals too?
You tilted your head, admiring the craftsmanship. âOh, I absolutely do.â
Kika slapped a hand over her face. âI can feel my soul leaving my body.â
âCatch it,â you said, handing over your credit card. âWe have work to do.â
The assistant handed you your shopping bags with reverence, her eyes glittering with admiration. âVous ĂȘtes une inspiration, mademoiselle. Vraiment.â You are an inspiration, miss. Really.
âMerci beaucoup,â you said, winking at her. You turned to Kika, your heels clicking on the marble floor as you strutted toward the exit. â
Kika followed you out into the sun-drenched street, muttering under her breath. âMark my words, Carlos Sainz is going to look at you and-â
â-see the one thing he canât have,â you finished for her, sliding on your sunglasses.
âThe one thing he canât have is peace.â
You scoffed. âYouâll swallow your words when youâre sitting front row at my wedding.â
âTo Carlos or Charlesâs ghost?â
âWhoever makes it there first.â
â-
The next step was getting Charles to invite Carlos over the summer, which, thankfully, proved embarrassingly easy.
"SĆurette," Charles sang as he sauntered into the living room, lifting your feet off the couch with all the grace of a forklift before plopping down dramatically. Your legs ended up sprawled across his lap. "Comfortable, are we?"
âMove,â you said, giving his stomach a solid nudge with your heel.
âOw- merde!â He rubbed his abs like you had mortally wounded him, throwing in some exaggerated groans for good measure. âYouâre cruel. No respect for your poor frĂšre.â
âWhat do you want?â you mumbled, not looking up from your phone.
âWanna go to Ibiza with me?â
You finally glanced at him, raising a skeptical brow. Sure, you wanted to, but seducing Carlos was still an active operation, and time was of the essence. âPass.â
âWait, wait,â Charles interrupted, holding up a finger like he was about to offer you the cure for boredom. âIâm inviting some of the guys. Pierre, Carlos-â
He hadnât even finished the sentence before you were already mentally booking your plane ticket.
â-and Lando,â he continued, oblivious to the fact you had stopped listening at âCarlos.â
You forced yourself to stay cool. No big deal. Act normal. Charles couldnât know
âHmm. Okay.â
His brows knitted. âThatâs it? Okay? No arguing? No âwhatâs the catchâ? Youâre just saying yes?â
âDonât make it weird, Charles.â You shrugged, scrolling on your phone like you were barely paying attention. âNow get off me, you oversized cat.â
âExcusez-moi, Iâm the one providing the luxury vacation, and youâre kicking me?â
âIâll kick harder if you donât move.â
â-
Carlos almost didnât recognize the woman chatting with Lando by the poolside when he arrived at the villa Charles had rented for their summer getaway.
He lingered by the sliding glass door, his suitcase forgotten at his side. The sun cast shimmering patterns on the poolâs surface, reflecting onto your skin in flashes that made him question whether he was still half-asleep from the flight.
You were gorgeous. Too gorgeous. Scandalously gorgeous. And suddenly, Carlos felt a flicker of betrayal. How could Charles not have warned him about your presence here?
A wave of jet lagged self-awareness hit himârumpled T-shirt, unkempt hair, and dark circles under his eyes.
Definitely not the first impression he wanted to make, especially not in front of you.
You wore a deep red one-piece swimsuit with an open back, the kind of effortlessly elegant choice that made him wonder if you knew exactly how much attention you commanded.
Sunglasses perched delicately on your nose, you stood at ease, laughing lightly at something Lando said.
âCarlos!â His friend called out, waving lazily when he spotted him. âYou made it!â
Your voice was bright and warm, carrying over the quiet splashes of water.
Lando, predictably, was soaking up your attention with his signature grin, and Carlos already felt the prickling need to intervene.
You turned at the sound, shifting your weight onto one leg. Though the sunglasses obscured your eyes, the faintly mischievous smile tugging at your lips was enough to throw Carlos off balance.
Dios mĂo.
Carlos straightened, brushing a hand through his hair in a futile attempt to look less like heâd been dragged off a plane.
He inhaled deeply, summoning whatever charm the flight hadnât stripped away, and stepped forward, dragging his carry-on behind him.
Your smile widened, but you said nothing, tilting your head as if appraising him.
âHey,â he greeted, nodding at Lando first before letting his gaze linger on you.
âI donât think weâve met.â His voice dipped slightly, sliding into that smooth, natural lilt he knew could win people over when needed.
âRight,â Lando cut in, either oblivious or deliberately sabotaging him. âThis is-â
âLet him figure it out,â you interrupted, holding up a finger with a playful air.
Carlos blinked, momentarily thrown off, but a sly grin found its way onto his face as he leaned on the handle of his suitcase. âIs that how it is?â
âThatâs how it is,â you replied smoothly, folding your arms.
Lando chuckled, glancing between the two of you as if heâd stumbled upon the first act of a drama he couldnât wait to watch unfold. âGood luck, mate,â he said, clapping Carlos on the shoulder before wandering back toward the pool.
Carlos watched him go, then returned his attention to you. âOkay, give me a hint. Something to work with, no?â
You shrugged, adjusting your sunglasses. âYouâve got a whole week to figure it out. Make it count.â
Before he could counter, a loud, familiar voice broke through.
âCarlos!â
Carlos turned, spotting Charles striding toward him with an easy grin. His friend pulled him into a quick hug, slapping his back affectionately.
Then Charlesâ gaze shifted to you. He gestured casually. âYou remember my sister, right? She hasnât been at the paddock much, but youâve met her before.â
He turned back to you, eyes scanning for something familiar, something to anchor the dissonance in his mind. There it was: the teasing smirk, the air of quiet confidence. You were now barely suppressing laughter.
Carlos froze mid-handshake, his thoughts scrambling to process the bombshell.
Sister?
Oh, no.
Oh, god.
He just flirted with Charlesâ sister.
âYouâre-â he stammered, pointing at you like the gesture might piece things together faster.
âOh,â you said lightly, dragging out the word with unmistakable glee. âI think he remembers now.â
Charles glanced between you two, clueless. âWhatâs going on?â
âNothing,â you replied too quickly, your smirk sharpening. âCarlos was just⊠introducing himself.â
Carlos rubbed the back of his neck, heat crawling up his face. âRight,â he muttered. âNice to see you again.â
Your sunglasses slid down your nose just enough to reveal your eyes. Bright, amused, and entirely too focused on him. âI donât know,â you said, voice like silk. âI feel like Iâm meeting you for the first time, donât you think?â
Landoâs loud laugh from the poolside made Carlos glance his way in exasperation.
But his real problem was standing directly in front of him.
Because now that he knew who you were, he also knew your age.
Twenty-one. And him? God, he was thirty. Nine years. Practically a decade.
He swallowed hard, his throat dry.
This wasnât just an awkward misunderstanding; it was a moral minefield. He shouldnât even be looking at you this way, not with the easy pull of your smirk still tattooed on his thoughts.
Carlos latched onto the excuse like a lifeline. âYeah,â he said quickly. âBe right back.â
Charles, blissfully unaware, gave Carlos an out.
âAnyway,â he said, gesturing toward the house. âGo put your bags inside. Lando already claimed the biggest room, so youâre stuck with whateverâs left.â
Dragging his suitcase toward the villa, he could feel your gaze following him. Against his better judgment, he glanced back.
Carlos shook his head, muttering under his breath as he disappeared inside. He needed a cold drink, a cold shower. Anything to reset his brain.
You were still there, reclining on a lounge chair, the picture of confidence. A cocktail glass dangled from your fingers, the cherry swirling lazily in the liquid.
When your eyes caught his again, your smirk deepened, as if you knew exactly what chaos youâd caused.
This week was supposed to be about relaxing.
Instead, it was shaping up to be a survival test around you.
â-
Carlos had made his decision.
For the sake of his own sanity, and for the sake of his friendship with Charles, he was going to ignore you.
It was the only logical choice.
Because if he didnât? If he let himself get caught up in whatever quiet game you seemed to be playing, he knew it wouldnât end well.
You were too young, too vibrant, too untouchable. Like sunshine in a bottle.
He was too old for this. For you. For the way you looked at him like he wasnât already years past the reckless abandon that seemed to define everyone else in this house.
He shouldnât have noticed the way your laughter sounded like sunlight, or how your smile seemed to tug at something deep in his chest.
Heâd lock it all down.
So that was it. Heâd be polite, civil even.
But anything more than that? Off the table. No lingering glances. No indulging in the spark of mischief behind your eyes. No letting his thoughts drift to places they shouldnât when you smiled his way.
It was a good plan.
Unfortunately, plans didnât account for things like the spontaneous game of cards that had started on the patio that night. Or the dangerous way the stakes had escalated as the hours passed.
âWhat about strip poker?â Pierre had suggested with a mischievous grin, his words slurred just enough to suggest heâd had one drink too many.
Everyone had laughed, the idea absurd enough to feel harmless.
But somehow, after a lot of ribbing from Lando and an alarming lack of objections from anyone else, the game had actually started.
But tonight? Tonight, his carefully honed poker face was utterly useless.
Carlos had always considered himself good at poker.
Calm, calculating, unreadable. Qualities that served him well on the track and at the card table.
You were to blame.
Sitting across from him at the patio table, with your head tilted and a soft, amused smile tugging at your lips, you were impossible to ignore.
The warm glow of the overhead lights softened your features, and the lazy way you shuffled your dwindling pile of chips made it clear you werenât taking the game half as seriously as he was.
You didnât have anything.
Across from him, you hesitated, your lips pressing together as you studied your hand.
The chips in front of you were dangerously low, and Carlos could see the flicker of indecision in your eyes.
You sighed, reaching for your chips, but Carlos cut you off. âRaise,â he said, pushing more into the pot.
Your gaze snapped to his, your brows furrowing. âYouâre raising now?â
âGot to keep it interesting,â he said lightly, masking the tightness in his chest.
You tilted your head, clearly suspicious, but you matched his bet anyway, your hand trembling slightly as you tossed the last of your chips in.
The others at the table were too busy bickering to notice the undercurrent between the two of you.
Lando, already down to his boxers, was arguing with Charles over the merits of bluffing, while Pierre leaned back in his chair, looking far too pleased with himself for someone whose pants were in the discard pile.
Carlos barely noticed them.
When the cards were revealed, his pair of eights was enough to beat your pitiful hand. A mismatched collection of low cards that hadnât even come close to forming a straight.
âGuess thatâs it for me,â you said, your tone light but resigned. You reached for the hem of your sweater, clearly ready to pull it off and join the ranks of the semi-dressed.
Carlos acted before he could think.
âWait,â he said sharply, drawing everyoneâs attention. âI fold.â
Pierre frowned. âYou canât fold. The roundâs over.â
âThen I forfeit,â Carlos said, tugging his shirt over his head in one swift motion. The cool night air prickled against his skin, but he ignored it, tossing the shirt onto the growing pile in the center of the table.
You stared at him, wide-eyed. âYou didnât have to do that,â you murmured.
Carlos shrugged, forcing himself to meet your gaze. âIâm just keeping things fair.â
Charles raised an eyebrow but said nothing, and the game moved on.
It kept happening.
Every time you were on the verge of losing, Carlos found a way to sacrifice himself instead. Heâd bluff too hard, bet too high, or simply fold when he was holding a decent hand. It was reckless and obvious, at least to you, but no one else seemed to notice.
By the time Carlos was down to just his jeans, he realized he was playing a very dangerous game.
âBold move, mate,â Lando said, grinning as Carlos slid his last few chips into the pot.
âDesperate,â Pierre corrected, his tone smug.
Carlos ignored them, his gaze flicking to you. Your stack of chips had grown considerably, thanks to his strategic losses, but you werenât gloating. If anything, you looked concerned, your brow furrowing slightly as you studied him.
âCarlos,â you said softly, barely above a whisper.
He shook his head. âIâm fine.â
You hesitated, then glanced down at your cards. The silence stretched as you debated your next move, and Carlos could see the exact moment you decided to fold.
Not this time.
âI raise,â he said, pushing his remaining chips into the pot.
Your eyes widened. âCarlos-â
âCall it,â he said firmly, his voice low.
The others were too busy watching the pile in the center of the table to notice the exchange between you two.
You sighed, finally revealing your hand. It was better than his, but not by much. He grinned as he tossed his own cards down, leaning back in his chair with a shrug.
âGuess thatâs it for me.â
Charles groaned, muttering something under his breath about bad decisions, but Carlos didnât hear him. His focus was on you, on the way your lips parted slightly in surprise, on the way your gaze lingered as he stood and pulled his jeans off, leaving him in nothing but his boxers.
âNext round?â Pierre asked, shuffling the deck.
Carlos shook his head, grabbing his shirt and tossing it at Pierreâs face. âIâm out.â
He glanced at you one last time before walking inside, his pulse racing.
â
When Carlos woke up the next morning, the first thing he noticed was the sunlight streaming through the thin curtains, warm and golden against the soft white of the sheets. The second thing he noticed was the blissful lack of a hangover, despite the absurd amount of wine Pierre had insisted on pouring last night. Small mercies, he supposed.
The faint sound of clinking dishes drew his attention. Throwing on a shirt, Carlos padded out of his room and into the kitchen, where he found Charles leaning against the counter, one hand wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee, the other scrolling through his phone.
His hair was a mess of sleep-tousled curls, and his voice still carried the rough edges of morning as he glanced up.
âMorning,â Charles said, holding up his mug in greeting. After a beat, he added, âThanks, by the way⊠for last night.â
Carlos froze mid-step, frowning as he tried to piece together what Charles meant. âThanks for what?â
Charles finally looked up, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. âYou know,â he said, gesturing vaguely with his coffee mug. âFor saving my sister a few dozen times.â
Carlosâ stomach dropped. âWhat?â
âYou know,â Charles repeated, tilting his head slightly as if it were obvious. âDuring poker.â
âOh.â Carlos shifted awkwardly, his fingers tightening on the toothbrush he was holding. He forced a casual shrug. âItâs fine. Iâm just bad at poker.â
Charles snorted, setting his mug down on the counter. âDonât give me that. Iâve seen you win against professionals before. People who actually know what theyâre doing.â
Carlos busied himself with turning on the tap, wetting his toothbrush like it was the most fascinating task in the world. âI guess it just wasnât my night,â he said lightly, though the way his pulse quickened betrayed him.
âHmm,â Charles hummed, leaning back against the counter as he studied him. His expression was unreadable, but the weight of his gaze made Carlosâ neck prickle.
âYouâre imagining things,â Carlos said, his voice a little too quick, a little too defensive.
âAm I?â
âYes.â
Charles chuckled softly, shaking his head. âYouâre not very subtle, you know. Every time she was about to lose, you suddenly went all in on terrible hands. It was painful to watch.â
Carlos groaned, dragging a hand down his face. âIt wasnât like that,â he muttered, though even to his own ears, it sounded unconvincing.
âSure it wasnât,â Charles said, his tone dry. He took another sip of his coffee, his eyes narrowing slightly over the rim of the mug. âYou know, youâre lucky I trust you.â
Carlos froze again, the words hanging heavy in the air.
âTrust me?â he echoed carefully.
âYes,â Charles said simply, setting his mug down and crossing his arms. âBecause if it were anyone else, Iâd be having a very different conversation right now.â
Carlos blinked, unsure how to respond. He could feel the heat creeping up the back of his neck, and for a moment, he considered denying it outright. But Charles wasnât stupid. And Carlos wasnât a good enough liar to get away with it.
So instead, he sighed, setting his toothbrush down and leaning against the counter opposite Charles.
âLook,â he began, keeping his voice low. âIâm not trying to... I mean, itâs not like that.â
Charles raised an eyebrow.
Carlos rubbed the back of his neck. âOkay, maybe itâs a little like that,â he admitted reluctantly. âBut I wasnât. Nothingâs happening, alright? I wouldnât do that to you.â
Charles studied him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, to Carlosâ surprise, his lips quirked into a small, knowing smile.
âI know,â he said simply.
Carlos blinked. âYou... know?â
âYes,â Charles said, his tone light but firm. âThatâs why Iâm not threatening to kill you right now.â
Carlos let out a breath he hadnât realized he was holding, his shoulders relaxing slightly. âThanks for that,â he said dryly.
âDonât thank me yet,â Charles warned, his smile fading. âI trust you, Carlos, but I also trust her. And if you do anything to make her upset, I will kill you.â
Carlos nodded quickly, swallowing hard. âUnderstood.â
Charles nodded once, apparently satisfied, before grabbing his mug and heading for the door.
â
âHey, sĆur- what the fuck is that?â Charles called out from where he lounged on the sofa, still half asleep. His eyes were fixed on your bikini. âIs that... dental floss?â
You rolled your eyes dramatically, adjusting one of the straps. âNon, idiot. Itâs a bikini. Fashion. I wouldnât expect you to understand.â
He scoffed, leaning back, crossing his arms. âFashion? Ăa? Ăa, câest un crime. Who sold you that? A two-for-one deal with a pack of gum?â
âHa ha. TrĂšs drĂŽle,â you said dryly, walking past him toward the beach. âI didnât ask for your opinion, monsieur modesty police.â
Charles held up his hands in mock surrender, a smirk tugging at his lips. âOkay, okay. But when the waves steal that little string you call swimwear, donât say I didnât warn you. Bonne chance.â
âPfft,â you muttered, waving him off. âIâll be fine.â
But, as you made your way down the steps to the sand, something felt odd. Charles hadnât fought you on it.
No complaints about âcovering upâ or embarrassing remarks about ârespectability.â No last-minute insistence on changing into something more âappropriate.â It was... new.
And oddly suspicious.
Wading further in, you let out a satisfied sigh, the gentle waves lapping at your legs. You dove under the water, resurfacing with a triumphant gasp.
You pushed the thought aside as you let the warm sand squish beneath your toes. The salty breeze tossed your hair, and the ocean called to you.
You dipped a toe into the water, pleased to find it perfectly cool.
For a while, you floated peacefully, content. Until one particularly aggressive swell caught you off guard.
You felt it immediately.
The tug of the water.
The loosening of straps.
Panic shot through you as you scrambled to grab the top of your bikini, but the slippery fabric slipped through your fingers and was swiftly carried away by the current.
You had two options: wade out and grab it, hoping no one was around to witness your embarrassing half-naked sprint⊠or stay hidden and pray it washed back on its own.
âOh, merde! Non, non, non!â you hissed under your breath, frantically cupping your breasts as you scanned the empty beach for help.
It was still early. Too early for anyone else to be up and running and save you from this mortifying situation.
Your cheeks burned as you stood there, half-submerged in the water, desperately trying to figure out a plan.
Option one was looking more appealing until you heard the soft crunch of footsteps on sand.
Carlos.
Of course, it was Carlos.
Because fate had a sense of humor, and apparently, you were its favorite punchline.
He ambled out of the villa, a towel slung lazily over his shoulder, his dark curls sticking up like heâd just rolled out of bed. His face was adorably grumpy, the pout of someone who hadnât had coffee yet. And then his gaze landed on you.
He froze.
You froze.
You tried to act casual. Well, as casual as one could while half-submerged, hugging their chest like they were reenacting a dramatic shipwreck scene.
Carlosâs frown deepened, concern flickering across his face as he took a hesitant step closer. âAre you⊠drowning?â
âNot drowning,â you chirped, your tone overly bright. âBut thanks for checking!â
âOh.â His voice cracked slightly. He cleared his throat, looking anywhere but at you. âRight. Uh⊠do you- want me toâŠ?â
His brow furrowed. âThen why are youâŠ?â His words trailed off as his eyes drifted to the water, where your bikini top bobbed lazily with the current.
Realization dawned like a slap, his cheeks instantly turning a satisfying shade of pink.
âBe my hero, Carlos,â you said with exaggerated sweetness, gesturing dramatically toward the water. âSave my dignity before the ocean claims it forever.â
He stared at you for a moment, his lips twitching like he wasnât sure whether to laugh or groan. âUnbelievable,â he muttered under his breath before tossing his towel onto the sand and wading into the water.
You tried not to watch him, but⊠well. You were stuck here, and itâs not like there was much else to look at. The way his muscles flexed, the water slicking over his skin.
It was distracting. Infuriatingly distracting.
He resurfaced a moment later, holding up your bikini top like a trophy.
âGot it,â he called.
âOh, congratulations, Captain of the Swim Team.â You clapped. âNow bring it here before someone else decides to take a morning stroll.â
Carlos swam back, wading into shallower water as he handed it to you. His smirked when you snatched it from his hand.
âNeed help putting it back on, princess?â
You raised a brow. âFunny. Actually, yes.â
That wiped the smirk off his face.
ââŠWhat?â
You turned your back to him, holding out the tangled strings over your shoulder. âItâs all knotted. Be a gentleman, Carlos.â
He made a strangled sound. âYouâve got to be kidding me.â
âNope. Chop-chop.â You wiggled the strings for emphasis.
Carlos muttered something in Spanish, but he stomped through the water toward you anyway. You could practically feel the heat radiating off him as his hands carefully took the strings.
His fingers skimmed over your bare skin, and your breath caught in your throat. Sharp and shallow.
âStop fidgeting,â Carlos muttered, his voice rough with concentration.
âYouâre taking forever.â
âItâs not exactly easy tying this thing without looking.â
âLook, then.â
Carlos froze.
The silence stretched.
You could feel his breath behind you, hot against the curve of your neck.
Slowly, deliberately, his hands tightened around the strings. Not painfully, just firm enough to make you gasp and spin around.
âCarlos!â
He didnât flinch.
His dark eyes locked on yours, sharp and unreadable. Then, with a darkness you recognized, his gaze flicked to your lips and lingered.
Too long.
Your pulse stuttered.
âCarlos,â you warned, softer this time.
He didnât move. Neither did you.
And then it happened.
His mouth crashed into yours, hot and demanding.
You barely had time to gasp before his arms wrapped around your waist, yanking you flush against him.
For a moment, the world dissolved. The waves, the sun, the beach. All of it disappeared beneath the heat of his kiss.
And then he pulled back, breaking the moment with a frustrated groan.
âWe canât do this,â Carlos said, his hands still gripping your waist.
âSure we can.â You grinned, breathless, leaning closer. âWeâre already doing it.â
His grip tightened as if he was trying to anchor himself. âIâm too old for this. For you.â
You rolled your eyes. âOh, please. Youâre thirty, not eighty.â
âThatâs not the point,â he snapped, his voice rough. âYou⊠You deserve someone younger. Someone who-â
âSomeone who what?â you interrupted, your eyes narrowing. âSomeone whoâs scared of me? Who wouldnât be able to handle me?â
âSomeone who doesnât know better,â he said quietly, his gaze dropping to your lips again.
You softened, leaning closer. âMaybe I donât want someone who doesnât know better.â
Carlos let out a strangled laugh, shaking his head. âYouâre going to ruin me, you know that?â
âGood,â you whispered, brushing your lips against his.
For a moment, he gave in, his mouth claiming yours again, desperate and unrelenting.
But then he tore himself away, his chest heaving as he stepped back, the water lapping at his thighs.
âThis is a bad idea,â he said, his voice rough.
âCarlos,â you said softly, stepping toward him.
His hands came up, stopping you. âYou donât get it. I canât just-â He gestured between the two of you, struggling to find the words. âIf this goes wrongâŠâ
âIt wonât,â you said firmly. âYouâre overthinking it.â
For a long moment, he just stared at you, torn between caution and temptation.
âGod help me,â he muttered before pulling you back into his arms, kissing you like heâd never stop.
âOh, please. You like it.â
That did it.
Carlos groaned, a raw, frustrated sound, and suddenly his hand was in yours, gripping tight.
âCome on.â
âWhere are we-?â
âSomewhere with fewer witnesses.â
You laughed, breathless and exhilarated, stumbling after him as he dragged you toward the rocky outcropping at the edge of the beach.
âOh, now youâre worried about witnesses?â
Carlos shot you a look over his shoulder. âYeah, well, Iâm not tying your bikini back on twice.â
You snorted. âCoward.â
âKeep talking, and Iâll leave you naked out here.â
âOh, threats!â You giggled, letting him pull you behind the rocks, the world disappearing behind towering stone and crashing waves.
And then he was on you again.
No hesitation, no teasing.
Pinned against the rough stone, your body trembling in Carlosâs firm grip, his mouth crushed against yours with a ferocity that left you breathless.
His hands slid over your waist, pulling you flush against him, the heat of his body searing into yours.
He kissed like he had all the time in the world. Like he was determined to take every last bit of air from your lungs.
You gasped, fingers clutching at his shoulders as he backed you harder into the rock, the scrape of it barely registering against the dizzying sensations he drew from you.
His lips left yours, trailing down your jaw, to the tender spot just below your ear, and you shivered as his teeth scraped lightly over your skin.
âGod, Carlos-â you whispered, but the words broke off into a gasp when his hands slid under your thighs, lifting you higher against him.
âMm.â His lips curved against your throat, and he hummed low, a sound filled with lazy amusement. His mouth worked along your neck, deliberate and unhurried, leaving your skin flushed and tingling.
When he finally pulled back, his eyes roamed over you.
Your swollen lips, your heaving chest, your thighs trembling where they rested against his hips. He tilted his head, the corner of his mouth curving up, the faintest smirk playing on his lips.
âHas anyone ever made you come with their mouth before?â he asked though he looked as though he already knew the answer.
The heat in your face intensified, your breath catching as his hands wandered down your thighs, teasing the edge of your bikini bottoms.
You tried to respond, but the words stuck in your throat, and all you managed was a small shake of your head.
His smirk deepened, a low chuckle escaping him as he brushed his thumb over your flushed cheek. âDidnât think so,â he murmured. âYouâre so damn pretty when youâre flustered. Cute.â
Your hips instinctively arched toward him, but he didnât rush. He held you steady, hands firm but gentle, guiding you with a patience that only heightened the ache between your legs.
His lips found your collarbone, kissing and nipping lightly, as though savoring every inch of you.
When he finally moved between your legs, the sight of him looking up at you from between your thighs sent a fresh wave of heat crashing through you.
His hands spreaded you open with a careful precision that made your heart race. Carlos nudged you higher against the rock, shifting you into position, gaze sweeping over you like he was memorizing every detail.
âYouâre shaking already,â he said softly, his voice edged with amusement as he pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh. âRelax, baby. Iâve got you.â
You whimpered, fingers tangling in his dark hair as his lips moved closer, teasing, never quite giving you what you wanted.
His stubble scraped lightly against your sensitive skin, making you shiver, and when his breath fanned over your core, you nearly bucked against him.
âPlease,â you whispered, your voice trembling, desperate.
Carlosâs low hum vibrated against your skin, and he pressed another kiss to your inner thigh, his smirk audible in his tone. âSo needy,â he murmured, almost to himself.
Then, without warning, his mouth was on you.
The first long, deliberate swipe of his tongue over your clit drew a sharp cry from your lips, your back arching off the rock.
He didnât falter. His tongue worked you with slow, measured precision, every flick and circle designed to draw you closer to the edge.
You tried to move, to grind against him, but his grip on your thighs tightened, holding you firmly in place.
He was relentless, alternating between soft, teasing licks and harder, more focused strokes that made your vision blur.
âOh, f-fuck-â you gasped, your voice breaking, your fingers tugging harder at his hair.
He didnât respond, didnât lift his head, just let out a soft, pleased sound that sent vibrations through you, his mouth working you even harder. His fingers joined in, slipping inside you with ease, curling just right, hitting a spot that made you cry out.
The tension coiled tight in your belly, your entire body trembling as he brought you closer and closer. It wasnât rushed, wasnât frantic. Just steady, unshakable control, like he knew exactly what you needed before you did.
It was overwhelming.
The pressure, the heat, the way his tongue and fingers worked together. It all built into something you couldnât stop, couldnât hold back even if you tried.
Your body tensed, and with a broken moan, the wave crashed over you, leaving you shuddering, your thighs clamping around his head as he worked you through it.
Carlos didnât stop until you were nothing but a trembling, breathless mess, every last tremor wrung from you.
Only then did he pull back, his lips glistening, his chin wet with you.
He lifted his head, hands brushing gently over your thighs as if to ground you.
He leaned in, his mouth finding yours in a slow, deliberate kiss that left you dizzy all over again. The taste of yourself on his lips only heightened the intimacy, the rawness of it.
âFirst time for everything, huh?â he murmured against your mouth, his tone low and teasing, though his eyes were warm, almost soft.
Your breath came in shallow gasps, your body still trembling, and as you looked at him, at the way he gazed at you with that infuriating, knowing smirk, you knew you were ruined.
You barely recognized your own voice when you whispered, âFuck me.â
His eyes found yours, dark and hungry, his control fraying at the edges. For a brief moment, he stayed still, as though restraining himself, the tendons in his neck taut, his jaw clenched.
Carlos had you against the rock again in seconds, his hands firm on your thighs, his body pressing into yours with a force that left no room for hesitation. He moved without teasing this time, his lips crashing into yours.
Your fingers gripped his shoulders, your nails biting into the hard muscle beneath his skin as he angled you higher against the rock.
The rough scrape of it bit into your back, but the discomfort was drowned out by the searing warmth of him, his mouth moving down your jaw to your neck.
You tried to gasp his name but he didnât give you time to finish.
He lifted you higher, spreading your thighs wider around his hips. The strength in his hands was almost dizzying, his grip unyielding as he shifted your body to his liking. When his lips trailed down your throat, sucking hard enough to leave marks, your head fell back, exposing more of your skin to him.
His swim trunks were gone in a moment, and when you glanced down, your breath hitched at the sight of him.
Thick, hard, and impossibly big, he stood there like he was made to ruin you. The sheer size of him sent a shiver through your body, heat pooling low in your belly as your thighs clenched involuntarily.
âYouâre shaking,â he murmured, his tone low but soft, the edge of a smile playing at his lips as he reached for you again. âRelax, baby. Iâll make it fit.â
Your breath stuttered, your fingers clutching his shoulders as he lined himself up, the head of his cock pressing insistently against your entrance. The first push was slow, almost gentle, but the stretch was immediate, sharp, and overwhelming.
âCarlos,â you gasped, your voice breaking as your body struggled to take him.
âYou can take it.â His jaw clenched as he pushed in another inch. âJust breathe, baby. Let me in.â
You did, your breaths coming in shallow pants as he fed you inch by inch. The stretch was nearly unbearable, your body clenching around him as if trying to resist.
He groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder, hands steady on your hips as he worked himself deeper.
âYouâre so tight,â he muttered, his voice strained as though the effort of holding back was physically painful. âSo perfect.â
The fullness was overwhelming, the sheer size of him stretching you beyond anything you thought possible. He didnât rush, didnât force it, but every inch was a challenge, your body trembling as it adjusted to him.
Finally, he was fully seated inside you, the press of his hips against yours sending a jolt of pleasure and relief through your body. For a moment, he stayed still, his chest heaving against yours, his hands gripping your thighs so tightly you knew youâd feel the bruises later.
âFuck,â he growled, his voice rough, his breath hot against your ear. âYouâre so perfect. Made for me.â
You couldnât speak, couldnât think.
Your body stretched and full in a way that left you dizzy.
The ache was sharp but fading quickly, replaced by the thrum of pleasure that sparked with every small movement.
Then he began to move.
His hips pulled back slowly, the thick length of him dragging against your walls before he thrust forward again, burying himself deep.
The sensation was electrifying, your body tightening around him as he set a steady, deliberate rhythm.
Each thrust was measured, controlled, as though he was determined to make you feel every inch of him.
The pressure was unrelenting, his cock hitting spots inside you that sent waves of pleasure rippling through your body.
You clung to him, your nails digging into his back as his pace quickened, the strength of his thrusts leaving you gasping.
The rock behind you scraped against your skin with every movement, but the sting was nothing compared to the pleasure building inside you.
Carlos shifted, lifting you higher against him, angling his hips to drive deeper. The new position made you cry out, your head falling back as the sensations intensified, every nerve ending in your body alight.
âYouâre incredible,â he murmured, his voice thick and rough, his hands tightening on your hips as he moved faster, harder.
The fullness, the stretch, the relentless rhythm. It was too much and not enough all at once. Your body trembled, your thighs shaking around his waist as the tension inside you coiled tighter, threatening to snap.
âCarlos,â you gasped, your voice breaking as your hands fisted in his hair, desperate for something to hold onto.
âCome for me,â he growled, his hips slamming into yours with unrelenting force. âCome on, be a good girl and come for me.â
His words sent you spiraling. The wave of pleasure crashed over you, your entire body trembling as you shattered around him.
Your cries filled the air, your walls clenching tight around him as the release ripped through you.
Carlos groaned, his rhythm faltering as he chased his own release. His thrusts turned erratic, desperate, and with a final, shuddering moan, he buried himself deep, his release spilling into you in a rush of heat.
For a moment, there was only the sound of your ragged breathing, the crash of the waves a distant echo.
His forehead rested against yours, his hands gentle now as they smoothed over your thighs, grounding you.
âAre you okay?â he asked softly.
You nodded faintly, your lips curving into a small, breathless smile. âIâm perfect,â you whispered.
He chuckled, his arms tightening around you as he pressed a soft kiss to your temple. âYouâre going to be the death of me,â he muttered, his voice tinged with both amusement and awe.
âThen youâll die happy,â you teased, your fingers brushing lightly over his jaw.
He smiled, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was slow, tender, and unhurried.
â-
Carlos insisted on carrying you back to the villa, effortlessly lifting you into his arms and wrapping a towel around you to shield you from the cool evening air.
You tried to protest, laughing half-heartedly while squirming a little in his hold, but his arms only tightened around you, pulling you closer.
The warmth of his body against yours was a welcome contrast to the crisp early morning air, and despite your teasing resistance, you felt a pull of affection.
âCarlos, no, seriously. Iâm fine,â you said, attempting to push lightly against his chest. âYou donât have to carry me like this.â
âShh,â he murmured, adjusting his grip to make sure you were even more comfortable, a slight smile tugging at his lips. âYouâre not fine. I just fucked you, and so Iâm taking care of you. Aftercare, baby. So stop fussing.â
You rolled your eyes at the sentiment. âCarlos, seriously. Charles is going to murder you if he sees-â
Carlosâ grin only widened, a spark of mischief lighting up his eyes. You could feel the confidence radiating off of him as he held you effortlessly, his voice dropping lower, laced with amusement. âCharles already knows.â
Your brows shot up, a mix of surprise and confusion flooding through you. âWait, what? He knows?â
Carlosâ grin softened slightly, the playful edge in his tone giving way to a hint of sheepishness. "Yeah⊠Poker night.â
You blinked, the realization dawning slowly but surely. âPoker night?â You almost laughed at the absurdity of it. âOh my god, you told him?â
âWell, he kind of guessed. And then, the next morning, he gave me the talk.â
You stared at him for a moment, blinking as the full weight of the situation sank in. âThe talk? That talk?â
âThe one and only.â
You snorted. âI can't believe you let him talk to you like that.â
Carlos raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the banter. âTrust me, I wasnât about to argue with him.â
You nestled into his chest, feeling the warmth of his body, and smiled up at him. âYouâre lucky I donât have a talk with you myself.â
He raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eye. âOh? Youâd have the talk with me too?â
You leaned in closer. âMaybe later,â you said softly, the affection in your voice undeniable.
Carlosâ grin softened as he held you just a little tighter. âIâll be waiting for it, cariño.â
â-
Hours later, Lando and Pierre stumbled into the living room, bleary-eyed and still caught in the haze of sleep.
They froze in the doorway, blinking in surprise at the sight before them.
You and Carlos were both fast asleep, tangled together on the couch, your head resting comfortably against his chest. His arms were draped around you, one hand resting lightly on your waist, the other tangled in your hair as you slept soundly.
Pierre raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a grin as he cast a glance at Charles, who was sprawled across the couch like he had nowhere else to be.
Charles didnât even look up, clearly at ease with everything happening. Pierre nudged him lightly, amusement dancing in his eyes. âYouâre okay with this?â he asked, voice low but tinged with disbelief. âI mean, just like that? No big deal?â
Charles didnât stir, stretching out lazily as if the whole situation was perfectly normal.
He met Pierreâs gaze with a smirk, the kind that only came with complete indifference to drama. âAre you seriously asking me that?â he drawled, as if the question were almost laughable. âBetter than any of you, Iâll tell you that much.â
Lando, however, was having none of it.
He threw his hands up in mock exasperation, his dramatic flair coming to the surface even as he tried to stifle a yawn. âHold up, hold up!â He pointed an accusing finger at Carlos, his voice raising slightly, though still laden with sleepiness. âI canât even flirt with her without getting death threats, but Mr. Smooth Operator here gets to just waltz in and- what? -sweep her off her feet? No questions asked?â
Carlos stirred slightly at the noise, his arms tightening around you instinctively as he shifted to get more comfortable. His voice was low, heavy with sleep, but there was an undeniable warmth to it as he spoke, still gazing down at you with affection. âThatâs pretty much it,â he muttered, the hint of a lazy chuckle rumbling in his chest as he tightened his hold on you just a little more.
Pierre shook his head slowly, blinking as if he wasnât sure heâd heard correctly. âSo⊠this? This is serious?â he asked, voice almost whispering as though not wanting to disturb the peaceful moment.
Carlos let out a soft sigh, the sound barely audible as he pressed his cheek gently against your head, completely content in the quiet. His eyes fluttered open, and he met Pierreâs gaze with a slow, sleepy smile.
âTrust me,â he started, barely awake. âThereâs more to figure out, but this?â He paused, glancing down at you, his eyes soft with affection. âThis is happening.â
description: the playful banter was fun at first, but the line had blurred so long ago that you were starting to get sick of wondering how jess really felt. luckily for you, heâs been thinking the same thing.
warnings: angst into fluff, jess being annoying in a way that makes me love him more lol, swearing ofc,
authorâs note: thank you so much for this request, i hope it does jess justice for youâ i love writing him so much. i hope you enjoy â sorry itâs quite short i just wanted to keep it short n sweet
âââ
âWell thatâs two hours of my life Iâm never getting back, huh,â Jess took a final sip of the drink heâd been cradling for the whole film and threw it dramatically in the trash, his arm slung around your shoulder, âThink I aged like fifteen years in the time they took to wrap up that fuckinâ terrible plot.â
You rolled your eyes, pulling away from him and discarding your own empty cup as he stuffed his hands in his pockets and eyed you curiously, âWhat, donât tell me you actually enjoyed that?â
âIt wasnât that bad,â you shrugged, âYouâre just being pretentious.â
His brows furrowed at that â he hated when you of all people called him pretentious, and he knew you only ever did it to wind him up.
âOkay, what have I done?â Jess huffed, âYou so didnât enjoy that film, youâre just trying to piss me off. What did I do?â
You looked down at your feet with a grunt, âNothing.â
âDespite my sweet baby face, I wasnât born yesterday Y/N. Itâs not nothing.â
The truth was that he had done something.
In fact, he was always doing the exact thing that had just tipped you over the edge.
âFine, Jess,â you drew in a sharp breath, âI justâ I donât want to play this game anymore.â
âHave I missed something or was that movie just so dull that it corroded your brain?â Jess kicked a stone as he watched the frown on your face, ââCause I donât remember playing any games. Not even footsie. What are you talking about?â
You scoffed, âThat, Jess. Exactly that!â
âWoah, woah, câmon Y/N. Youâre going to have to give me more than just snapping at me. What the hell have I done?â Jess was growing increasingly frustrated now, but so were you.
You pressed a palm to your forehead, âIâmâ What was that in there?â
âI was asking the same question,â Jessâ perplexed expression made your own angered one soften a little.
âWhat is this? Me and you?â you looked down at the floor as you posed this question, not wanting to argue any longer and too afraid wanting to see his reaction, âBecause Iâm sick of playing games and not knowing. You put your arm around me at the cinema, you share your popcorn with me when youâd likeâliterally snarl at anyone else if they asked, we kind of flirt like all of the time but weâre just friends.â
âJust friends, huh?â
You almost felt silly when you looked up at him and saw a smug smile on his face â almost.
But you were trying to open up to him and he was being just as irritating about your relationship as he always was.
âJessâŠâ
He didnât say anything for a moment, taking your hand and pulling you around the corner to a park bench where he tugged you to sit down beside him.
âDo you seriously think weâre just friends, Y/N?â he was so close to you that you were sure he could hear your heart palpitations and see the goosebumps springing up on your skin.
âWell weâre not enemies, we spent a fuck ton of time together, and weâre not dating. So yeah, Iâd like to think weâre friends,â you huffed, still avoiding his gaze.
He shook his head, âWhy the hell do you think I invited you to see a fuckinâ romcom Iâd never want to watch? Why do you think I asked to share popcorn? I know Iâm the intellectually superior one here,â he paused to nudge your side as if to ensure you understood he was teasing, âBut I didnât think you were dumb enough to miss that I was obviously trying to make this a date.â
You bit your lip, finally returning his eye contact as his soft eyes stared intently into yours.
You drew in another deep breath, âSure. Jess Mariano, Mr. Always Speaks His Mind, failed to tell me it was apparently a date so Iâm dumb for not reading his mind?â
Neither of you had noticed that he was still holding your hand until that moment, and so he pulled it to the corner of his mouth and gave the back of your hand a gentle kiss.
Despite the unfamiliarity of this small but romantic gesture, your heart swelled in your chest and it almost felt natural.
âY/N, Iâve liked you for fuckinâ ages. Everyone knows that. We flirt and we act like thereâs nothing going on when people ask, but I thought at the very least you knew how I really felt,â Jess shrugged, not releasing your hand and instead now rubbing his thumb over the back of it.
You didnât retreat from his touch, but used your interlocked hands to shove his chest gently, âYouâre an asshole, you know that right?â
The small smile tugging at your lips eased the anxiety that had begun to set in. Heâd almost started to fear that you didnât actually feel the same, but your unsteady breathing and the glint in your eye confirmed the opposite.
âI know, I know,â he rolled his eyes, âBut thatâs all just part of the elusive charm that made you fall madly in love with me, isnât it?â
You shook your head, âCocky, arenât you?â
âWell in my defence, the prettiest girl in Stars Hollow has, like, totally got the hots for me,â your heart fluttered at the smirk still gracing his features, âHard not to have an ego.â
You just chuckled softly in reply, your heartbeat still racing as he watched you carefully. His own gaze softened now, and he reached his free hand up to cup your cheek.
âLook, in all seriousness Iâm sorry this has been soâ well, just that I havenât been more direct about this stuff. But you know me, you know Iâm bad atâ,â
You squeezed the hand that was still in yours, âI know, Jess. Itâs alright. I really like you, and to be honest Iâve been happy enough with any excuse to be close to you.â
âHmm,â he hummed, leaning forward a little, âCan I kiss you, then? Make up for a shitty first date?â
You blushed crimson at the fact heâd asked, your cheek growing hot beneath his touch, âOf course.â
His lips met yours gently, as though testing the waters. You met his kiss with the same softness at first, but quickly the kiss grew more urgent â as though making up for lost time.
When you finally pulled away, your face was still bright red, and you felt almost embarrassed by how overcome with emotions you were.
âSo, uh, about the film?â
He laughed, the loud affectionate laugh he reserved only for you, warming your heart as he sent you a teasing grin and licked his lips.
âAnd here I was thinking Iâd be the one to ruin the moment, huh?â
âââ
thanks sooo much for reading â i hope this was okay! sorry for the radio silence for a while, iâve had a lot going on and a LOT of unfinished drafts.
if you wanna read more of my stuff â hereâs my masterlist!
As the earth collapsed around you, your sworn enemy decides to confess his feelings for you with a kiss. So when the world doesnât end, what happens next?
Jess Mariano x f!Reader
Warning: 18+ only MDNI, fluff, slight angst, unprotected sex, piv, v!fingering, reader has anxiety (only plays a small part in the story), earthquake (no injuries)
Authorâs note: Based on this request then I expanded on the concept. This fic is set after he left Stars Hollow.
âż Masterlist | âż Jess Mariano Masterlist | 2.4k words
âJust because Iâm letting you drive me home, does not mean weâre friends,â you huffed as you climbed into the passenger seat of Jess Marianoâs beat up car. Vintage, he called it. Youâd never admit it, but you found it cute how he was proud of it. To him, it was his key to freedom, going anywhere he wanted whenever he wanted. Except for when nature had other plans.
âWell, a coworker could take his other coworker home, okay?â He said, closing the car door as he slid his keys into the ignition and started up the car. You relent and gave him your address.
It was just your luck that the Earthâs tectonic plates decided to shift in ways that damaged your car, but not your mortal enemyâs. Perhaps it was karma and you were being encouraged to make amends with him in the name of world peace. Try as you might however, the word âpeaceâ and Jess Mariano just did not fit.
It certainly did not feel peaceful being trapped in a car with him. Your cheeks blushed as you remembered how soft his lips felt against yours and the eager way they moved as if it was the final thing he would ever do in his life. And for a few moments back at the publishing house, tucked safely beneath a table while the world shook violently around you, you were both convinced it was your last moments.
It was confusing. The way your heart hammered and you didnât know if it was from fear of dy*ng or the way his kiss invaded your entire being. From the moans it elicited from your throat, to the air it stole from your lungs, and the butterflies that rushed in your stomach. It was hard to tell if it really was just an earthquake or the mind-shattering truth that your enemy might not actually hate you at all.
Then it was over too soon. The air felt cold without him close to you and he was pulling you up from under the table.
âSo weâre just not going to talk about it?â You asked, piercing the awkward silence.
Jess just shrugged and spoke casually, âtalk about what?â
You narrowed your eyes at him, of course he wasnât going to make this easy for you. But he had no right confusing you with a kiss after constantly making your life a waking nightmare.
âJess, you kissed me,â you deadpan, addressing the elephant in the room. âCoworkers donât kiss other coworkers.â
âA lapse of judgment in a life-threatening situation,â he dismissed, keeping his eyes straight on the road.
Your mouth curled, the sweet aftertaste of his kisses turning sour. You fumed in silence as you looked outside the window with unfocused eyes. You werenât sure what you were more upset about: his denial or your disappointment - having to face the horrid fact that you also didnât hate your enemy.
âShit, the roadâs blocked,â Jess drew you out from the thunder of your thoughts as you looked at the cars lined up ahead. It was like a scene from one of those post-apocalyptic films youâve seen and dread sank in your chest. Perhaps you should stick to watching cheesy rom coms because this pessimism was not helpful at all.
âCan we go somewhere else?â You whispered softly, anxiety bearing down your chest.
Jess looked at you with concern. âSure, letâs find somewhere we can park until things get better,â he replied with an equally soft tone and you hated it because he knew all about your anxiety and penchant for panic attacks. You didnât like being weak around him, not if he could be sweet and caring only to take it all back when youâre fine.
He parked the car in between buildings, sheltered from the wails of emergency response vehicles and the rush of people trying to go home. You exhaled after going through rounds of breathing exercises to calm your anxiety.
âMy my, a secluded alley. Jess Mariano, whatever do you plan to do with me?â You quipped, mildly accusing him or m*rder when the other meaning dawned on you, something that made you blush. Well, it was too late to back out now.
He smirked, âwhose to say youâre not the one who wants to do things with me with that line of questioning, huh?â
âI wouldnât do anything if I was the only one who liked it,â you hedged. Perhaps life was too short to keep denying your feelings. If there was ever a better time to learn that lesson, it was now. You just needed him to admit he felt it too.
âI donât like the idea of being k*lled, thanks,â he scoffed as he plastered on a smug smile.
âYou know thatâs not what I meant,â you looked outside the window, an idea forming in your head.
âIt sure is getting hot,â you comment innocently as you undid the top buttons of your blouse. Jessâ eyes followed your movement and you donât miss the way his breath hitches.
âBetter get comfortable, right?â You said, adjusting the car seat to lean back and you felt your blouse open slightly to reveal your cleavage. You were not going to make it easy for him to deny his feelings.
âStop that,â Jess demanded while his eyes told a different tale of desire and longing.
âI donât know what you mean,â you replied lazily. Two can play that game.
Thatâs right Jess, you thought, hereâs a dose of your medicine. You continued, âthis is much better.â You leaned your head back and stretched on the seat, aware of how your skirt inched up your legs.
You let out a satisfied moan, sighing in pleasure at thoughts of getting comfortable. If by comfort, you meant the satisfaction of derailing Jessâ denial and stubbornness. His eyes traced your legs then followed your chest when they rose and fell with your sigh.Â
Jess grunted and you bit back a smile. âOkay, fine. So I kissed you,â he admitted.
You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. âYou said it meant nothing, so why would it matter?â
âI never said it meant nothing, I said it was a lapse of judgment.â
âThereâs a difference?â You raised your eyebrow, challenging him to continue.
He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he steeled himself. To Jess Mariano, telling the truth meant peeling back the layers of his sarcasm, which was as painful as stripping off his skin.
âYou know when they say the world is about to end, youâd think your life flashes before your eyes. But all I could see was you. And it wasnât just because you were in front of me. God, I closed my eyes, and all I could see was still you. Laughing at your own jokes, greeting everyone with a smile, typing away on your computer. It would be such a shame if I didnât get to kiss you if that was the last thing Iâd ever do, damn it. But then the earthquake stopped and we were fine.â
Your eyebrows creased as you let his words sink in. âIs it really so bad that we survived?â
He narrowed his eyes at you, âI donât think I could ever survive you. You frustrate me because youâre just soâŠyou! Youâre not someone I could just kiss once and get out of my system. Iâd always want more and then Iâd inevitably screw it up. It was better that you hated me from the start.â
His eyes burned with untold stories of heartbreak and self destruction. Despite all the ways he infuriated you, you wanted nothing more than to hold him. You had a feeling you were just seeing who he truly was beneath his smug smiles and his devil-may-care attitude.
âJess, I donât hate you,â you confess. âDonât just make it one kiss,â you continue, allowing yourself to be just as honest as him. âHave another one, and another, and heck - have all of me!â
He looked at you in disbelief, as if he wished for the stars and he was told he could have the whole damn galaxy. A spark of joy and hope ignited something wild in him that he no longer let himself think of past regrets and mistakes.
He inched towards you, looking into your eyes for permission and you bridged the distance in response, kissing him. It was fiercer than when you both thought you were on the brink of de*th, because this time, it was a celebration of life and the possibilities that lay ahead.
You felt it when he sucked on your bottom lip and you moaned in pleasure, a small sound for all the words you couldnât say. How all those time spent hating him was just a shield from your admiration of the man who took destiny in his own hands and never let the world define him.
The man who wrote stories and downplayed them through luck and how ink fumes must have altered his publisherâs minds to pick him. He never once acknowledged his talent, but secretly you did with the way you underlined your favorite sentences and re-read his book as if his words could wrap you in a sweet embrace.
He always kept you at an armâs length and made your life hell, but it was heaven just being beside him. And you never dared to admit it. Until now, when heâs unbuttoning your blouse as he unravels your secrets. His mouth moves to your neck, setting your body on fire.
âWait, what if someone sees us?â You ask, a wave of sobriety washing over you.
Jess just smirked, his lips pink and swollen, hungry for more of your kisses. âThatâs half the fun.â
You rolled your eyes but god - you needed him. âAnd the other half?â You asked, mirroring his smirk.
âThis,â he just says as he resumes your kiss.
Itâs agony when you pull away again just to alleviate your anxiety, âcan we at least go to the back?â Itâs not much, but itâs better than being right by the windshield.
âSpacious,â he nods, moving away so you could climb over to the backseat. You felt the heat of his stare behind you as you settled in.Â
He promptly followed suit until your bodies are tangled again with him laying you down the seat, careful so you donât hit your head. You bring your hand to his stupid hair and run your fingers through it. His hands return to your blouse and your back arches on instinct when he unclasps your bra and he takes a moment to look at you. âGod, youâre so beautiful,â he breathes as he squeezes your breast while he licks the other, planting soft tender kisses.
In his car, the sirens and chaos faded. You were consumed by Jessâ touch, both curious and possessive at the same time. His free hand traveling down your leg as he caressed it, slowly making his way to your inner thigh. You canât help the way you squirmed beneath him as you held your breath in anticipation. In response, you palm his erection beneath his uncomfortably tight jeans and youâre rewarded with a grunt.
He teased you through your panties and you open your legs for him as he moves the thin fabric aside to feel your soft folds. You bite your lip and try to stifle your moan, but Jess brings his mouth to your ear, âI need to hear you, you have no idea how long Iâve wanted this.â You cursed in response, your mind swimming in a haze of euphoria.
His fingers send shockwaves of pleasure as he spreads your liquid heat, exploring your folds and paying attention to which sensations left you whimpering. He exploited them skillfully, rubbing and teasing, eager to make you a moaning mess for him. You gasped when he plunged his fingers inside you and you arched your back, needing him deeper.
âFuck, youâre so wet for me,â he admires as he pumped his fingers in and out. You moved your hips against his hand, needing more of him. He was finally here, doing things you used to just dream about, secrets stashed beneath soft covers in your moonlit bedroom.
âJess, please. I need to feel all of you,â you begged and his eyes darkened.
âIâm all yours,â he replied as he removed his fingers and cleaned them off with his tongue. âFuck you taste so good.âÂ
You helped him free his hard length and you donât stifle the needy moan that escapes you this time when he fills you up. He takes a few slow movements before building up to a steady pace, the delicious friction making your toes curl. âYou feel amazing, Jess,â you tell him.
He kissed you as he rocked his hips into you, a clash of teeth and tongue. There was nothing gentle in the way you moved against each other, it was pure want and longing crashing into each other. It was months of fantasies finally coming true and desires unleashed building in your core.
The car moved along with you, giving you extra leverage to find your rhythm. The irony was not lost on you that as the world shook around you once again, things were falling into place this time.
Filthy, desperate whimpers escaped his lips and you spread your legs wider, needing him deeper inside you. He squeezed your breast in response and teased your taut nipples, eager to worship all of you. You closed your eyes when you felt yourself teetering on the edge.
âLook at me,â Jess tells you instead and so you do. You see the lust and passion in his eyes and itâs enough to unravel you. Little earthquakes of ecstasy erupt through you as you shuddered against him. He increases his pace, eager to coax every last aftershock of your orgasm. It doesnât take long before you feel his release warming your insides. He rests his head in the crook of your neck as he recovers his breath.
When he pulls out, you swipe his spilled seed from your leg and bring it in your mouth, enjoying the salty taste. âFuck youâre so hot,â Jess breathes out.Â
You grin. âSo this happened. You gonna deny it?â You challenged him as he held you.
âNope,â he said with a grin. âThis happened. Youâre mine and Iâm yours. No take backs.â
âNo take backs,â you echoed as you leaned in for another kiss.
It was perfect. The world could end at that moment and you would not mind at all.
Still you were glad to stay alive. Because then, you could always go another round, and another. So it goes.
a/n: special tag for the lovely @thatdammchickennugget ⥠glad you're back in your gilmore girls phase!
Your eyes lit up when you found the book you were looking for at the store. This was the third bookshop you had visited and you were starting to lose hope you'd ever get a copy of it.
You had already read The Subsect from the library, but you liked it enough to have wanted your own copy. It was a coming of age story that was sarcastic but meaningful, raw and relatable. The character felt like a friend you had known for years.
It was rare that a book could make you feel that way and you greatly admired the author. Your hands itched to underline phrases and annotate paragraphs. Now there it was, right in front of you.
As you reached out to take it, a stranger approached you and grabbed it first. You stared back at him, aghast. It was the last copy on the shelf.
"I got here first," you huffed.
"What's so good about this one?" He asked, scanning the cover. You looked at him with his geled hair and sharp jaw, mischief glinting in his eye. He was cute, it was a shame he was such an asshole.
"You're the one holding the book, you tell me," you bit back, crossing your arms over your chest.
"Answer my question and I'll give it to you," he offered.
"Stop harrassing my customers, Jess!" the owner called out from the counter. "This boy will run me out of business, I swear," she said fondly, giving you an apologetic smile.
"You know I'm your favorite," he replied to her with a charming grin and she waved him off as she turned to greet a new customer, not denying it.
"Well," he said, handing the book to you. You studied the book and frowned.
"The woman called you Jess..." you started, piecing things together.
"That is my name," he nodded.
"What are the odds that you're the Jess Mariano who wrote this book?" your eyes widened a fraction.
He tilted his head, "maybe, depends who's asking."
"This is why you should never meet your heroes," you muttered to yourself, rolling your eyes. "Don't let that get to your head," you warned him as an afterthought.
He raised his hands as if he wouldn't dare. "I'm not usually one to judge someone's life choices, but why me?"
"You know what, I'm asking that very same question myself right now," you brought your fingers to your chin.
He laughed, "and what's your answer?"
"To be determined," you decided. "You should at least buy me a coffee first before asking about my life decisions."
You regretted the words as soon as it left your mouth. "Shit, no. I did not mean to ask you out," heat rose to your cheeks and you wanted to be anywhere else but here.
"Technically, you asked me to ask you out. And you know what? I think it's a great idea. Want to grab a coffee with me?"
You frowned, "you don't even know my name."
He just shrugged, "maybe that's another question you can answer over coffee."
You smiled at his persistence, "you invite all your readers out for coffee?"
"Just the ones who call me their hero."
You winced at his words, "what time do you get off work?"
"As it so happens, I'm due for my lunch break," he said. "I can ring that up for you then we can go, there's a place nearby that serves great coffee."
"I'll have to check my calendar." You considered for a moment and thought of all the questions about the book that you wanted to ask, you could now get answers straight from the source. You tamped down your excitement, you had already embarrassed yourself enough for a day.
"Works for me. You move fast, Jess Mariano," you said nonchalantly as you both moved towards the counter.
"I know what I want, name-to-be-discovered-soon-over-coffee," he said as he finished up and handed you the shopping bag.
You laughed, "you can call me y/n."
"And you can call me your hero. Oh wait, you already did," he teased.
"You'll never let me live that down, won't you?"
"Not until I hear something more interesting over coffee. No pressure," he winked before he moved away for a second to inform the owner he'd be taking his break.
He then returned and reached his hand out to you, "right then, shall we?"
Lukas Matsson x (fem)Reader, Roman Roy x (fem)Reader
word count: 3k -Â read on Ao3 here!
NFSW: 18+ ONLY
You first met him at Kendallâs birthday party.
Roman was being obnoxious. All he could talk about was finding Lukas Matsson. He and Shiv were relentless in their pursuit of the man. It was all business, no pleasure tonight. So while Roman and Shiv stood with their heads together, compulsively sipping vodka tonics, you slipped away unnoticed to try and have some fun before the night was over.
You found your way upstairs, where for some inexplicable reason Kendall had built a replica of his childhood treehouse. The inside was bustling with people yet the two buff men outside wouldnât let you enter without an armband. Dejected, you started to turn away, when you heard Kendallâs voice from above.
âHey! Let her through, sheâs cool!â
He was pointing right at you with a grin. The guards moved aside, letting you in.
Upstairs, Kendall greeted you with a hug.
âNice treehouse,â you said.
âThanks. Itâs pretty infantile, right? Sort of the vibe I was going for.â
âDefinitely. You nailed it.â
âHey, I need a favor while youâre here. See that guy over there?â
He nodded over his shoulder to a tall blonde Scandinavian-looking man slouching alone in a plush leather chair.
âWho is that?â
âThatâs Lukas Matsson. Heâs pretty disgruntled and I need someone to keep him from wandering. I canât do it anymore, I need to mingle. Also, Roman cannot know heâs here.â
âKen- you know this isnât my scene.â Your voice goes quiet, simply just peering at your brother, anxious for his reaction.
Heâs been a bit of a pain in the ass lately, the whole family was a pain in your ass lately, but perhaps it was always this way. The Roy family created chaos and unnecessary drama, that was a given. It was something you tried to detach yourself from; the business, the craze, the constant chatterâ it all drained you. From the moment you were born, it was as if your family was screaming from all sides whether it be Roman and Shiv fighting over shit all, or your dad blowing up in your faces.
You always knew that you didnât fit into the puzzle. You were born a little bit too late, grew up with faint glances of your older siblings, and dismissed like the baby you were. Maybe that was the reason you never considered joining Waystar, or perhaps why a place was never offered.Â
Your dad was your dad, perpetually disappointed in you â while at the same time maintaining that you were his favourite. You all knew it was Shiv, but the very fact he insisted that it was you made you villain number one to your siblings.Â
So there you were, their little sister who was a fucking writer, twiddling with your ungroomed thumbs, waiting for your family to forget who you were. That being said, it was a surprise when you opened your email to find a very flashy invite to Kendallâs 40th. You didnât think that your brother would want what he perceived as his Debbie Downer boring little sister at his grandiose douche fest.
âCome the fuck on, itâs my party, Bambi, cheer up, enjoy yourself for once,â Kendall says. âCome on, Iâll take you somewhere special.â As heâs about to leave, you stop him, placing a hand on his arm.
âWait, Ken. I have a gift for you.â You hand him an envelope, âI didnât want it getting lost in the mix.â Â
Kendall stops with his buzzing, which is probably coke-induced and takes the envelope from your hands. âThanks.â
âYouâre welcome,â you sigh as you watch your brother tuck the envelope into his coat.Â
He quickly puts a hand on your shoulder before he starts to navigate you around, waving and fistbumping his friends walking by. As quickly as you had gained Kendallâs attention, it faded away from you, as he yelled over at his assistant who seemed new, but you werenât around enough to know. âYo! Comfrey, ship up my little sis to the treehouse.â
His assistant â Comfrey, who you knew had definitely been speed walking away from her boss before he hollered out at her â whipped her head towards the both of you. You were the odd couple, Kendallâs glazed over eyes and dopey smile mixed with your grimacing under his touch. âComing!â
Kendall gives you a pat on the headâ a move he often did in childhood, his eyes dead as always as he gives you a good-enough smirk, âYou should avoid the other sibs, theyâre strictly business right now â serious work only.â
You smile at his unconscious insinuation. You weren't a serious person to them. You werenât anything you guessed, âHave fun, okay Ken? And try not to be a complete dick tonight,â you ask before Comfrey pulls me away and Kendall saunters off.Â
You watch your brother from the corner of your eyes, and quickly try to keep up with the bouncing ponytail of his young assistant. The hollowness in your chest that used to exist â that there would be ten years ago â had disappeared now, you were completely okay with the empty promises and empty phrases.Â
Itâs what you grew up on. Raised in the top two floors of the highest buildings in New York, the Scottish highlands with your fatherâs forgotten castles, or in sprawling ranches in the middle of nowhere for tax purposes. At least that was the childhood you had with the Logan Roy experience.
After Uncle Ewanâs wife passed away, when you went to her funeral with your whole family, Dad decided that heâd leave his youngest with his brother to build your character. Your siblings were already almost in college and you were, well, the youngest and still complaining about multiplication and school field trips. So, from then on, you distanced yourself. Not entirely by your own volition, but every decision after was. And you prayed that every decision following would be as well.
As you try to keep pace with the taller woman, âSo Comfrey, howâd you become Kendallâs assistant?âÂ
The woman turns around for a second to get a glance at the youngest Roy, she presses her lips together before curtly responding, âIâm his PR rep.â
All you do is hum in understanding, she was a PR rep that was running around like a low-level worker bee trying to satiate her older brother. It was like all people in their lives.Â
You pass by the flashing lights, tall glass windows, and strange art installations, not so much admiring them, more like begging to just dissolve into the floor. To melt like the witch in the Wizard of Oz would be your opus, your ooey-gooey pile of person simply having a hard time leaching onto the rich person floors.
When you spot the all-too-familiar treehouse you wince. It seemed that Kendallâs childhood trauma manifested in an exuberant part of his fortieth birthday party. âThis is Kendallâs little sister, sheâs cool.â Comfrey motions the guards behind her, as you stand awkwardly â it looked like they needed visible confirmation you were you? It took them a second for their heads to look at your orientation.Â
While they make way for you, opening up the roped fence, you thank Comfrey, then watch her scatter away, and hurry away probably to clean up Kendallâs inevitable fuck-ups.Â
She was nice enough, you guessed; could be worse.Â
You wandered through the treehouse with no purpose, staring at the tree trunk columns that looked borderline tacky and its leaf-casted shadows on the walls. You werenât alone in the room, no there was a boatload of Kendallâs rager hedge fund friends, or celebrities whose faces you remember enough to dart away from â but still, you were alone. You felt eyes on you, people knew that you were a Roy, but eyes donât give you company.Â
The space was large enough to walk around for a few minutes, but eventually, you assumed you just looked out-of-place. Pacing around like a failed dracula, circling his already knowing victims. So you resigned yourself to a couch near a wall, praying that nobody approaches you. At least you wouldnât be sneak-attacked from the back. That was your worst fucking nightmare â a hand on your back and a networking LinkedIn smiley techie.Â
Leaning into the couchâs thin leather you try to get comfortable. The lights were bright enough you hoped, to not âruin the vibeâ with your phoneâs obnoxiously bright screen. Staring at your home screen, you forget any work that you had to do â literally nothing of importance that would make you look like you were doing something. Yes, you were writing a screenplay right now, which would be a good thing to work on if you could concentrate in the noisy fucking room. So you just went on Candy Crush, your finger languidly swiping your high school iPhone wanting to shoot yourself.Â
You spent an adequate amount of time doing that, getting cozy enough to tuck your feet under your body and let your hair out from the bun it was in. It felt okay, you still wanted to go home, but you were waiting until at least ten percent of the crowd was gone so Kendall wouldnât get prissy.Â
But you couldnât keep the peace, of course, you couldnât. Because there Kendall comes into the room, not looking for you, but for a man sitting on one of the benches in the middle of the party.
âThere he is!â You internally shrink, like a deflated balloon as your brother approaches. You hide like you were habitually doing as a child, trying to dart off from where you were oh-so comfortable. You hear Kendall saying some other bullshit which you tune out in your panic, but as youâre set to leave he calls out your name.Â
âBambs!â He turns to the man next to him, âThis is my sisterâ she isnât a vulture like the other ones, don't worry about that.â He looks back at you, then at the man again, âSheâll take care of you, they avoid her like a fucking plague.â
âReally nice, Ken,â you say, walking towards them reluctantly, resigning to sit next to the blonde man. He was tired-looking with hardly-noticeable but still visible rings underneath his eyes, a small smirk of interest on his face as he doesnât shuffle to give you space, instead moving closer to you.
Kendall leaves, for a reason you are unsure of. You try to stare in his retreating direction as you feel the strangerâs hot eyes on you. You couldnât read this guy, he seemed like a regular dude at first glance and to your relief he didnât seem crazed in the eyes or serial-rapey.
âYouâre the youngest one, arenât you? The recluse?â he asks, his accent isnât American, it was something Nordic â you hadnât met many of them in your life.Â
You turn towards him, to be polite of course, although your body tries to twist awkwardly, making sure he isnât too close, âGood use of deduction.â Heâs attractive, vaguely familiar like everyone in the room, obviously important to your brother, but you still have no fucking clue who he is. âAnd youâre? One of my brotherâs friends?â
He smirks, laying back on a column behind him, âYeah, weâre best buddies, like peas and a pod.âÂ
âNo name?â
He laughs, like he was in disbelief that you didnât know who he was, âI like this, Iâll be your mystery man, hmm?â He leans further towards you, raising his eyebrows â the lack of space making your face hot.Â
You try to escape any feelings of chagrin, crossing your legs, and staring into his eyes which felt like it was more of his soul. Who was this fucking dude? âA mystery man in my childhood treehouse, youâre sounding like a pedophile to meâŠâ
He nods as though he agrees, laughing, âYou have a history in this, I assume, with your family.â Oh yes, Uncle Mo. âWhat do you do? The tabloids say⊠writer?âÂ
A part of you feels insecure in your lack of knowledge about him. He knows your occupation, your name, and would probably be able to trace your life back to childhood through the internet, while you sat here like prey for his predator. All in his casual clothing and wolfish smile.Â
âYes, some screenwriting, some things more authorial, enough to get by.âÂ
It seemed like the idea of âgetting byâ was amusing to him as he smiled when you said that. Almost as if he was in disbelief that a Roy would ever need to make enough to get by. Maybe he was older money, maybe he grew up in a big castle like you, a prince or something⊠your mother had always had people like that over when you were young. It was funny, the old aristocrats with their wine and screaming kids. No he wasnât old money... his whole being read new. New money. New power.
âYou dress like you write childrenâs books, like a sexy-librarian-kindergarten teacher â itâs hot, if I dare-say,â he says. You can feel him looking her up and down and she doesnât know if you hate it or like it. You may be leaning to the latter with how lonely youâd been feeling for so long.Â
You almost roll your eyes, although your face heats up. How long has it been since someone somewhat complimented you? Sure they called your writing good, praised you in those magazinesâ no journals they called them, but nobody ever looked at you. Even if it was a half-insult.Â
You did dress conservatively, at least to control the narrative of yourself. Stemming mostly from when the paps took pictures up your skirt as a teenager. They werenât even decent enough to wait until you were eighteen, the moment the vultures saw that you wore a short-enough skirt they chased you around trying to get a glimpse of the most elusive Roy sibling; the paps were constantly chasing a story, and for the duration of your childhood you were the most interesting part of the billion-piece puzzle belonging to the Roy family.
Without any response, he moves even closer, if thatâs humanly possible â your arms pressing up against each other. He was warm, warmer than the stuffy room around the two of you, âTrying to insinuate something, mystery man?â
âJa, maybe I am,â he says, before leaning close to your face. âLetâs go somewhere more private.â He offers you a hand to get up, which your body wills you to take, but your brain knows logically any man your brother wants to woo is a douche, yet youâd always think with your feelings. He pulls you through the treehouse, walking into more of a secluded room.Â
You feel people watching you, more than before, more than they would the youngest Roy, but his hand feels so warm in yours, and he was even more attractive standing up. Taller than your smaller stature â you were the shortest of your siblings along with the youngest, the baby. It felt nice walking next to him, it felt safe. But still, it felt almost dangerous.
You breathe out a thank god as the two of you get off of the wooden bench and your butt touches a soft surface again. Itâs more secluded than your spot before but like every corner of the party, there were still people around you.Â
âNot a fan of crowds?â he asks, getting comfortable on the couch and leaning back as you feel his hand rise slowly on your thigh. Like heâs apprehensively confident.
âIs anyone really?â you ask him, he nods slowly, his eyes asking me to go on, âI donât know why Iâm here, maybe just feeling shitty about my family situation, you know? I don't spend much time with them⊠ever.â You eye the man as he intensely looks back at you â eyefucking you believe itâs called. Oh and his eyes are blue, youâd never noticed that before â remarkably theyâre not empty, the soul was still there, at least right now. You have to admit that heâs hot, in this light even more so. His features affirm my suspicions of where heâs fromâ and as you stare at him even longer you can't quite remember when youâd ever seen a hotter man. âDo you still have no name?â
He grins, looking away, âYouâll know soon enough, wonât you? This is fun for now.âÂ
âThe only name I know you by is pedophile, and I donât think you want people overhearing. Seems like we have eavesdroppers,â you glance over at the small groups of people around you. You assume that theyâre small investors, that they probably know Kendall and whatever business he has with the mystery man.Â
âYouâre right, my facial expressions plus my conversation are very relevant to the stock market and usually equals tanking.â
âYou talking to me will probably tank it, whatever stock youâre talking aboutââ you stop yourself from continuing, would Dad be mad that you were talking to him? âYouâre not part of Kendallâs crusade, right? Like my father wonât try and assassinate me for speaking to you?â
Itâs almost like he enjoys that notion as he laughs to himself, âDonât worry about Kendall, your dad hiring a guy maybe, but right now Iâm to be courted.â He gestures with his hands â which to you are strangely very animated, âYou care about what your dad says, do you?â
You respond nonchalantly, though your hands squirm and you look to the ground, âItâs a constant fuck him, and at the same time I love you, Daddy, I guess. He was shit, is shit, but sometimes heâs not too bad.â
âYou call him daddy?â
For the second time today, you feel yourself crawl into your skin, âOh yeah, when weâre in bed together definitely.â
Mystery man almost giggles at your comment, and thereâs something affable about that. He was constantly switching from this serious man to a very unserious one. There was some strange part of this that you liked, you liked the attention the way that he looked at you, the bubble he created around the two of you, the way his hand was increasingly inching.Â
You think back to the way this night started. You were quite desperate to leave, a bit dampened by the way Kendall accepted your gift, and guilty that you weren't at home taking care of your cat and working. Then you were delivered by this tall Viking man and you were uncomfortably comfortable with the way he made you feel.Â
âI kind of want to get drunk.â
âI have no qualms with that,â he responds, a grin on his face as you both get up and inch towards the bar, his hand slipping onto your back easily.Â
The time at the bar was spent in easy conversation, you stand against the wall, with him looming in front of you as you drink together. Him a beer and you a drink with a name youâre unsure of â hating yourself for so much enjoying the tang of the liquified poison.Â
âWhy arenât you part of your familyâs business?â
The way he looks at you⊠you feel like thereâs genuine interest, you look into his eyes and thereâs a gleam that scares me. Was he playing with you? Was this a play for your family? You still have no clue who this man is. You let him get too close to yourself, hand on your waist â eyes on yours, too close for a stranger. But you just want to be happy, to feel like you exist again. Not a fly on the wall, the main course.Â
âYou know,â you shrug your shoulders, taking another sip as he just looks at you with a weird facial thing that you donât quite understand. Like heâs teasing you, but ever so slightly, begging you to spill â which you do. âIâm the baby, yâknow â Bambi or whatever.â
He tilts his head back as he absorbs, âBambi⊠I like that, you look like a Bambi â the deer right?â
âYes the deer, theyââ I hurriedly take another sip of my drink as I recount the story of my ubiquitous nickname, âOnce Dad went hunting and brought me along, we spotted a deer and instead of uhâ killing it I kind of ran towards it, while his gun was still aimed. He said that he was about to shoot me like I was a Bambi, he said I was so fast that he almost pulled the trigger while watching me through the scope.â
Mystery man looks at me with wide eyes, âJesus fuck, thatâs a shit thing to say. How old were you?â
âUh maybe ten, by then my siblings were gone and he visited me where I lived with Uncle Ewan in Canada.â
âWhat a fucking prick.â
âYeah.â
You stare at each other for a minute, him in front of you and you below him, you really like his eyes. You break it though, your head was starting to spin from the one drink and he was making it almost worse. âCome on, letâs go sit down, Iâm gonna get stumbly.â
Pushing yourself away from the wall, you walk towards an empty space with a few chairs around a table and plop yourself down. Curling into yourself, you can just feel him situating himself next to you.
âYouâre a lightweight, arenât you? You look like one too,â he says, taking a swig of his still-almost-full beer.
You glare up at him as you start dozing off, âIâm gonna nap, you do you, pedophile.â
He guffaws, âOkay, no more pedophile jokes, the press hears and Iâm done.â
âI wouldnât know,â you mutter before tucking your head into your own shoulder.Â
âI have to ask you something before you nod off.â He seems almost genuine in his words as he furrows his eyebrows and leans towards your chair. You lift yourself ever so slightly showing that youâre listening. âWeâll fuck later right? Like guaranteed?â
You close your eyes again before you can roll them, although a tiny smile slips onto your face â you hope he wonât see it as you bury your face into the back of the lounge chair.Â
âI saw that grin, Iâm going to take that as a yes.â
âFuck off, asshole.â
âDonât contradict yourself now.â
You shake your head in mock embarrassment as you go to sleep. Your head was throbbing a bit, and your heart was beating faster â but you realize that youâd forgotten the loud music, and the crowds of people around. Youâd forgotten. Youâd found solace after so many years looking for it, in the middle of a mock replica of your childhood treehouse.
And this sleep was peaceful for a while, but then a fucking earthquake rumbled you awake.Â
âWhat the fuck,â you grunted as you felt hands on your shoulders, your eyes bulge open and you see Roman above you. âRome, leave me alone, you bitch.â
âWere you trying to seduce Matsson for dad?âÂ
You just roll your eyes, not understanding in your incoherent state what the fuck your brother was talking about â per usual. Looking around you saw that mystery man was gone, and the party was still raging around you. And his name was Matsson? Strange name, but a little bit fitting.Â
âI have no clue what youâre talking about⊠whyâd you even wake me up, miss me that bad?â you asked, clearly trying to antagonize him with your whiny voice.
Roman with all his pessimism and ass-holery deadpans at you, âWell Iâm fuckinâ sorry, you totally missed the six foot tall Viking who was camped out beside your unconscious body?â
âIs that not the point of being unconscious, dumbass?âÂ
âDid you fuck him, Bambi? Were you so fucking tired after fucking him that you had to take a big girl nap?â
âThereâs something psychologically wrong with you.â
Roman sits squatting on the top of the chair as he pseudo-interrogates you, âYâknow he didnât let me fucking wake you up, was that a power play or did you let him do you?â
âRome, I have no idea who that man was, he just said he was your friend and Ken told me to keep an eye on him.â Half-lying was your thing, you guessed. Your life was full of half-lies, momentary omissions of details, ignoring parts of sentences so you seemed more innocent. That was the life of a youngest child out of five you guessed.
âAnd since when were you Kendallâs bitch?â
âSince he invited me to something, unlike you.âÂ
Roman completely skipped your comment before going off again, âDid he tell you anything, Matsson?â
âOh yeah, he told me he fucking hates your guts,â you say with a smile, watching your brother getting riled up.
âIâm going to tell Dad that you fucked him if you donât tell me the truth,â he threatens, it was fun being in this position. Youâd so regularly in your childhood been put down by your older siblings, so it was interesting being the one to give it back to them. You finally understood the appeal. Ah, leverage.Â
You smile as you pretend to recount, a finger to your chin as you mockingly itch it, âOh he told me that Dadâs an asshole and he has no interest in business with any of you creeps.â
âYouâve seriously been spending too much time with Uncle Looney? You know that right? You sound delusional, completely and utterly gone.â
As you sit up straighter trying to compose yourself, you eye Shiv coming over to where you and Roman sit (although heâs very much standing, pacing, like a lunatic), her hair a mess and her makeup smudged all over. Sheâd either just had mind blowing sex or something was seriously wrong with her.Â
You and your sister were strained to say the least. You wanted the idealized big sister who would braid your hair and make you up. The sister who would talk about boys with you and argue with you over stealing her clothes. You guessed Shiv more so wanted to prove herself to Dad â sheâd always been his favourite. You were more of an afterthought to her. The kind of afterthought that made you do a double take when you remember that youâd buried it so long ago.Â
There wasnât any sentimentality in the title of sister with the two of you. You were just another sibling, and probably her third favourite before Connor. But still, you love her, and you know in the deep recesses of her heart she loves you too. All the siblings love each other, although a strong belief for you was that there were certain dynamics that you were excluded from because of your age and difference in childhood.Â
âYou do you, Roman. Just know that Iâm hoping for your business with him to fail, just handing you my two cents.â Business was a strange concept to you, you were always pushed away from it as a child, leading you to know less than nothing about it. At one point you felt like you would go into it, but that too was ripped away from you. So right now, you just wanted to make Roman feel bad. Sure it was wrong to want to churn your brother into pieces, but it felt so good.
âI know youâre a fucking liar, so just like, sit with that, okay?âÂ
âWhatever, Roman.â
Roman ignores your words calling out for Shiv. Shiv runs a finger through straight but frizzy hair before coming to give you a half-hug.
The hug was weird and a little bit detached, but it was something, and it made you feel not instantly uncomfortable, but almost happy. Happy to see your sister again a little bit. âBambi, itâs been like two fucking years.âÂ
It hadnât been, but you agree. It felt like it.
âI didnât know you were keeping trackââ you try to say, but Roman quickly cuts you off. Biting off that Shiv was out dancing. Dancing was a human thing. You didnât know your only sister was a human.Â
âGuys, Iâm gonna go now, Iâll probably not be in touch, so yeah,â you try and gracefully leave as your siblings bicker about finessing or some shit.Â
They both nod non-committedly as you trot off observing Kendall and Connnor at the opposite poles of the room. You choose to not go off towards Kendall, who you knew probably already ruined his night with his overthinking or underthinking. Instead you go to Connor, probably your only kind brother, albeit the fact sometimes he was fucking lawful psychotic.
âCon, Con,â you call out, your small purse at your side as you push it around your body â youâd refused to give it to security earlier, citing personal reasons which they were too scared to deny. They probably assumed it was your period or something like that â youâd made that insinuation when they didnât relent for your last name.
You see Connorâs coated body turn around as he returns your call, âBambi! My favourite sister â you remember Willa?â Connor gestures to his arm candy, who didnât seem too excited to meet you â or meet you again, but obviously faked it. She was very pretty, nearly to the point where she made you feel insecure. But then again, no hate for your brother, but she was with your brother. You were sure Connor had mentioned her in a phone call, but you two never really talked about those kinds of things. He was always ranting on about politics (you think youâre the only one who would listen, so he took advantage of that) or you would talk about your life â never about the company, or really how he was doing besides his ranch.Â
âYes, at Shivâs wedding, I believe?â She just nods, and youâre both just pretending to know when you last met. There was no recognition in her eyes, and you donât think youâd ever interacted with her. It was a nice connection youâd had, a shared lie always brings people together.
âKen, told me you were here, but I thought youâd be gone by now.â Connor pulls you into a hug before saying, âHave you been taking care of yourself, sis?â
âIâve been doing okay, normally as always.â Noticing his cast, she asks, âWhatâs up with your arm, Conâ?â
âOh, I was doing an Irish jig as one does, and boom I slipped and it bent in all different directions,â he describes in a strangely vivid way. âIâm feeling better though, Willa helped me recover, right sweetheart?â
âYep,â she nodded, a smile on her face as she bore her eyes into mine â uncomfortable? Very.
Connor was probably the only one of your siblings you regularly spoke to, yes it was by phone, and no you didnât always enjoy it, but there was a beautiful normalcy to speaking on the phone with your brother. With Kendall or Roman it always turned into businessâ about Dad. With Shiv it was her ranting about some political thing, well maybe that was before she turned so Waystar-loco.Â
Connor was your normal brother.
âHave you heard of my recent presidential proclivities?â he asks, tilting his head as he looks at Willa for support â in which she enthusiastically nods her head.
Maybe he wasnât exactly the most normal of brothers, but he was more normal than the brother who spoke about you having sex weirdly too much or the one who canât stop fucking over your dad and snorting cocaine.Â
You nod, but before you hear a tumble and watch Roman bending over a kneeling Kendall. What a fucking dick. Kendallâs girlfriend, who you also didnât recognize was helping him up, and you stood there with no intention to help or rush in, frozen to your spot.
Connor shouts out, âEveryone take it easy, okay?â as Roman maniacally laughs and Kendall helps himself up.Â
As Kendall walks past you, Connor, and Willa he grumbles, âTake your fucking coat off,â repeating it to Connor as he walks like a man scorned. Willa blocks Connor from Kendall trying to calm the younger brother down. You avert Kendallâs gaze, standing next to Willa blocking Connor who looks to the ground much like you.
Shiv seemingly walks away from the scene as well, but in the opposite direction from Kendall, and immediately after Willa and Connor walk arm in arm out, saying a quiet goodbye to you.
With one glance to Roman, whoâs still muttering curses under his breath on the sofa chairs, you leave. Youâd quickly sobered up, and it was time to face the darkness of New York. Walking out of the luxurious Manhattan skyscraper you peer at the artificially brightened roads and the strange silence of the backroads. Instead of taking an Uber or Taxi, you opt for the Subway. You didnât take an allowance from your Dad like Connor did, you never inherited anything ever, and your last poetry anthology wasnât lucrative enough to have casual taxi money. You were sure nothing would happen on the Subway, from experience you know that there would just be a few people throwing up and tired workers coming home from the night shift.
Before walking down into the station, you check your phone, one hand on the railing and the other carefully gripping onto your phone. Attention split both ways.
Unknown
Know who I am yet?
1 Missed Call from Unknown
Your heart skips a beat, an adrenaline rich positive-ending to the night beat skip.
Instead of heading inside, you turn around, sitting down on the top step of the stairs, hoping a coked up crypto-bro doesnât push you down.Â
Pressing the call, a part of you hopes he doesnât pick up, so you can return to normalcy, but the heart wants what the heart wants.
âBambi?â
You groan, âI thought the story would stop you from calling me that.â
âNot because of the story, it suits youââ he pauses, the line going crackly as you hear him talk to someone, âYouâve left the party?â
âYeah, walking home now.â
âWalking? This is America, ja? Youâre on a death mission.â
âItâs not too late, you know serial killers only come out after two in the morning.â
âI can send a car, hmm? You can come over here.â
âWhat does âover hereâ mean? To a strangerâs home?â
âYou promised me something, didnât you?â
âHmmmm, a promise? I donât remember.â
âSend me your location, Iâll get my guy to get you.â
âOkay, Iâll send my location to a stranger just because he was nice to me at my brotherâs party.â
âSee you soon then.â
____
The drive was awkward to Matssonâs (you preferred mystery man to what seemingly sounded like a last name, although it might be a first, Europeans were in themselves a mystery as well). The driver was quiet, and the car was a rich personâs. It was a car you were all too familiar with, the car you drove in during your childhood, the same tinted windows and leather seats.
Same thing of riding up to the penthouse of a hotel â he was only here temporarily you surmised. Youâd probably be a one-time thing.Â
When the elevator doors beep open and youâre in a hallway with one door, anxiety fills you up. What if this was a trap? If he was some sort of sexual pervert, or even worse an axe murderer with an even worse temper than anyone you could find on the New York streets?
But before you can even knock the door swings open and a hand pulls you in, âFucking asshole,â you whisper as you feel his lips trace over yours, your breath in his.Â
Heâs rough, and rushed, like heâs a man starved â of you.Â
As he starts tracing his fingers underneath your shirt you push his back, two hands on his chest as he kneels his head to meet yours. âWhatâs wrong?â
âI donât know your name,â you say, almost embarrassed that you hadnât found it on your own, âMatsson? Thatâs your name.â
He doesnât respond, just pulls you close to him, before picking you up into his arms. You restrain a squeal as you struggle in his arms. He navigates through the hallways, looking as though he was confused on the layout of his own homebase, he finds the bed â splaying you down and standing above you like an animal.
âYou know, I refuse to orgasm without your name,â you insist. He moves closer and closer, uncharacteristically quiet as he pulls your shirt up laying a hand on your stomach, the other tracing over your soaked panties, slowly creeping towards your sensitive skin.Â
Heâs strangely gentle with it, until he pulls your panties to the side, spreading open your legs as he buries his face into your pussy. You move your two legs onto his shoulders, as plays with your nipples â languid twisting and faint touches that leave you just wanting more.
You let out a yelp as you feel his tongue move into you, like a fucking shark he dives into your clit as he watches you for your reaction. You know you look like a mess, breathless and desperate. âPlease, pleaseââ you moan, desperate for his tongue, for his touch, his everything.Â
âYour pussyâs so good, babyâ fucking heaven,â he whispers into where his head lay between your thighs. As he blows gently on it, you are wholly exposed and cold, you start squirming. Your thighs start pressing around his head, trying to push him further, which seemed to turn him on even more. Your legs start to shake as your orgasm builds up and builds up, you feel like screaming from the bliss of it, his attack on your pussy is like God reigning down on earth. âRefuse to orgasm, hmm? Want me to stop?â
You shake your head as he continues, âPlease, keep going, keep goingââ He listens to you, beginning to rub your clit as the feeling of everything continues to crash down on you
âCome baby, come.â He keeps on licking you up, every fucking crevasse.Â
Your orgasm came hard and quick, with a groan and a twitch your eyes rolled over as you released his head from in between your thighs, and as quickly as he got there, he climbed on top of you â his larger body engulfing yours as he hurriedly kisses you.Â
âI want to inside me,â you say into his ear, you could feel him from underneath his pants as he grabs your ass, groaning into you as you palm him.Â
âTake off your fucking clothes,â he orders, as you do it, you take off the loose t-shirt youâd been wearing to Kendallâs party off slowly, you can feel him staring at your tits, and a part of you loves it. Loves the attention you get from him. As you take off your pants from where they are bunched up from your ankles, and then the greenish-blue granny panties you wear, you watch him take his suede pants and then his boxers off. Oh god, you feel yourself thinking as you stare at him.Â
He picks you up as he brings his length into your entrance, rubbing it on your clit. He keeps going, relentless before he surprises you and slips it in, tilting your head towards him so he could watch you as he fucked you.Â
You hear him groan as he starts with slow thrusts, he would push in and then wait five seconds before slowly sliding outâ making sure you felt every inch of him. He was too big and you felt so full, with every time he pulled out you felt like five years were taken from your life span, that time had slowed down too much. You fucking needed him.
Of course he starts going fast, rough. There were no thoughts in your mind as you arched against him, and moaned in his mouth as he kissed you. Deeply and raw, like he had everything to lose and you would disappear in a heartbeat.
Pinning your hands above your head, he continues with his pace, passionately and without boreâ âYouâre so good for me, I just want to be inside you all the time,â he says a grin on his face as he watches your face before glancing down looking at his dick pound into you.Â
He presses kisses to your throat as he whispers, âMy nameâs Lukas, Lukas Matssonââ strangely enough hearing his name sends you off the edge as you moan out unintelligibly, overstimulated as he keeps on going, getting more and more erratic.Â
Not long after, he pumps into you a few more times before completely spilling inside of you, collapsing on top of you, not leaving your warmth as he buries himself deeper.
You donât say anything afterwards, you let him lay on top of you as he stays inside of you all the same. It feels like time doesnât pass as he wraps his arms around you, âStay the night?â he asks, all you do is nod.Â
You lay in silence for a few more seconds before you tell him, âIâm on birth control, by the way, pretty fucking risky to cum inside me without asking though.â
âI wouldnât be mad at a little me running around if I could fuck you again.â
Not saying anything, you press a kiss to his neck before tucking yourself closer into his bodyâ finding sleep comes to you when so often it fails you.
âyou meet jason at one of bruceâs charity galas and you fuck
âjason todd x f!reader
â2.7k+
wanna be on my taglist ? fill out this form !
"Honey, cross your legs."
"Honey, sit up straighter."
"Honey, we're at a gala, not a summer blowout in the Maldives."
These were just a few of the many phrases your mother chirped at you since you arrived at this stupid gala. You didn't even want to go, but your mother preached something about how, "we needed to be a united front since your father was going for reelection as a New York senator"Â or something like that.
It was stupid. Nobody gives a shit about familial ties; they care about your values, goals, and accolades. But there's no arguing with your mother; she's as stubborn as they come.
So, you'd sit pretty, legs crossed, with a pristine posture, biting your tongue when she says you could be sitting straighter or you could smile more. Granted, it was only a couple of hours, and if it kept your mother from turning the world around you into hell personified, you'd gladly plaster a rictus smile to appease her.
"Oh, there's Bruce!"Â Your mother quietly says between you and your father. "Let's go say hello,"Â she says, gripping your hand and pulling you out of your chair, gesturing for your father to follow along.
Somewhere along the way, your parents move in front of you, sequestering you behind them. So once you all reach Bruce, he only takes notice of them, issuing a polite welcome and thanks for their attendance. Your mother swivels her head to see you tucked away behind her, bringing her hand out, gesturing for you to come in front.
"Hello, Mr. Wayne,"Â you politely say, sticking your hand out, before introducing yourself. He grasps your hand with only a slight hesitation.
"Pardon my shock. I just haven't seen you since you were two,"Â he confesses. You smile, pulling your hand back before your mother steps next to you and places her hand on your shoulder.
"She's grown quite a lot since then, Bruce. Still a little air-heady, but I'm hopeful the more she ages, the more my personality will rub off on her,"Â she laughs, carefully wiping a piece of loose hair away from your face. You should feel offended, but the way her joke landed so poorly, making Bruce lightly cough the awkwardness away, made you feel pity.
"You know Selina,"Â he says, filling in the silence, gently placing his hand on her waist as she delicately sticks her hand out for your father to shake.
Who wouldn't know Selina Kyle? She was drop-dead gorgeous but as sharp as they came. She was dressed to the nines in a designer black floor-length dress. It must have been Celine or Givenchy, so it was definitely over five thousand dollars, which is just pocket change to a guy like Bruce Wayne.
"Pleasure,"Â she coos, pulling her hand away. Her gaze shifts to your mother, slightly narrowing her eyes. It seems your mother is oblivious to Selina's adversary towards her because she eagerly sticks her hand out, ready for Selina to shake.
"Selina. So good to see you."Â But, instead of shaking your mother's hand, she crossed her arms over her chest
"Mhm. I wish I could say the same,"Â Selina sharply replied before Bruce put his hand on her shoulder in warning. You gave Selina a small smile, smothering it with your hand. She covered her own with her champagne glass as she took a sip.
"She's joking,"Â Bruce amends, signaling for a waiter going around with glasses of alcohol. "Champagne?"Â He asks, reaching for two glasses from the waiter before handing them to your parents.
Before any more conversation can occur, a man calls for Bruce. "Bruce,"Â The man says, "When do you want to start?" The man questions. Bruce picks up his arm, turning his wrist to check his watch.
"He said he'd be here by now,"Â Bruce sighed, rubbing his temples with his fingers. His eyes were scanning around in search of somethingârather someone. He does, however, spot Alfred, who he calls over and asks if he'd seen a guy named Jason.
"It was humorous of you to assume Master Todd would abide by your schedule, Master Wayne," Alfred remarks, his face stone-cold. Bruce checks the time on his watch again, then scans the crowd again.
"Just start the silent auction. I suppose Jason will come when he comes,"Â Bruce suspires, clearly agitated. "See you at the auction,"Â he chimes to you and your parents as he sticks his arm out for Selina to take.
"See you,"Â your mother cheerfully says, though you know the cheeriness is just a facade because once Bruce and Selina walk away, your mother instantly drops the smile.
"Can you believe that woman? She was a criminal for God's-sake. She should be thankful that people like us even mingle with her." Your mother scoffs at your father. He hums along, paying relatively no mind to what she is saying.
While she goes on a tangent about how Selina is just using Bruce to get to his billions, you notice a dark figure heading toward the fire escape that you assume leads to the roof. You don't know why, but your brain is fluttering with the idea that you must follow it. So, you do just that.
"I have to use the bathroom,"Â you interrupt, gently touching your mother's hand. You turn your head away from her, not bothering to turn back when she calls your name.
You walk around a corner to see the fire escape latch slightly ajar. Reaching out, you grasp the lever and push it out, quickly feeling the chilly Gotham air touch your cheeks.
Once your foot touches the stone with a 'clack' from your heels, you see the dark figure lying down, smoke clouding around him. He glances at you, taking a drag of his cigarette and huffing out a string of smoke.
"Didn't think pretty girls would come up here."Â This mystery guy's voice is deep, and judging by his figure, you can tell he's lanky.
"You know the latch and all."
"Are you calling me incompetent?"Â You cock a brow, hand on your hip with your purse in hand.
"No, I'm callin' you pretty,"Â he says casually, taking another drag of his cigarette, not sparing you another glance. You hate to admit it, but this guy is pretty smooth, but you wouldn't tell him that.
"Who are you?"Â You ask, taking a few steps toward him and only turning your head to look at the night sky, which is aglow with billions of little stars. You see all the high-rise buildings, light illuminating the dark streets. It's a shame Gotham is so corrupt and unlawful.
"I should be askin' you that, seeing as youâre on my roof," he tentatively says. You can just feel the smugness in his tone, making you roll your eyes.
"You're a Wayne?"Â You question, arms crossed, slowly stepping closer to him.
"Somethin' like that I guess,"Â he shrugs, which makes you let out a light laugh.
"You guess? You don't know your own family lineage?" You joke, moving to sit not completely next to him but close enough that you could feel the smoke in your nose. You could also see the outline of his faceâstrong jaw, pretty eyes, fluttery lashes, and nice lips.
"Why are you so curious?"Â He glances at you with a sly smirk on his lips. You look at him, then at the cigarette in between his fingers.
"You know smoking kills,"Â you inform, pointing towards the cigarette. He lays his head back on the roof, his lips curving into a smirk before retaking another drag.
"You know what else kills? Poking your head around where you don't belong,"Â he puffs out the smoke as he speaks. You turn your head away from him, trying to conceal your smile. This guy is something else, you think.
"Jason,"Â he adds.
Your eyes widen, and your lips quirk. "Ah, you're Jason."Â You drag out the 'you're,'Â getting Jason to turn his head towards you. An inquisitive look is plastered on his face.
"So you've heard of me?"Â He cockily says.
"I know enough about you to know you're flakey,"Â you raise a brow. He lets out a soft laugh.
"Mr. Wayne was looking for you, and so was everyone else,"Â you clarify.
"Oh, please don't tell on me," he fake pleads, clearly being sarcastic. "Especially to Mr. Wayne."
You roll your eyes, though your lips threaten to smile. "I'm sensing some sarcasm."
"Well, aren't you just a modern-day Poirot.â
You widen your eyes, raising your hands. "Wait, wait. You read classic literature?" You gawk, hand coming to your chest.
"I dabble,"Â he shrugs nonchalantly. You eye him, lip quirking.
"Well, aren't you just full of surprises?"Â You say, holding your two fingers out, gesturing to his cigarette. "Let me take a puff,"Â you insist.
"Ah, ah," he tuts. "What happened to 'smoking kills?'" He raises a brow, taking a puff of the cigarette himself.
"Sue me, but I'm curious,"Â you shrug. He eyes you, wondering if you're joking. He gives you his cigarette anyway. You take a long drag, feeling the smoke cloud your lungs.
"Easy, easy,"Â Jason warns. "Don't take too much, or you'llâ"Â Before he can finish, you start violently coughing, feeling your eyes well up with tears. "Cough,"Â he finishes, taking the cigarette from your hand as you go to cover your mouth.
"You like this shit?"Â You say through harsh coughs.
"You get used to it,"Â he answers, not paying attention to the question. He's more concerned about you. "You okay?"Â His tone isn't condescendingâit carries empathy.
"Ya, ya. Took too much," you shyly smile, hiccuping a little, turning your head to look directly at him. He laughs lowly. His laugh is deep and gravelly but still sounds kind. You gulp. God, were you getting turned on by a laugh?
You were facing him head-on, and even in the shitty lighting, you could see the way his Adam's apple bobbed up and down and the way his jaw clenched. Your eyes slowly drift down his face, falling on his lips. He had stuck his tongue on his lips to wet them, giving them a glistening sheen.
"Are you thinkin' about me?"Â His voice is dry. You sharply move your eyes to bore into his, sticking your tongue out to wet the seam of your own lips.
"And what if I am?"Â You challenge. Suddenly, you can feel your own heartbeat, and your hands are clammy. You can see the gears in his brain working, trying to figure you out.
"Well, are you?"Â He asks roughly, putting his cigarette out on the roof. You search his eyes, gently biting your lip. His eyes follow you the whole time.
"Guess,"Â you quipped. You hadn't realized you had scooted closer to him, close enough to where he could if he wanted to touch you. This little banter you guys had was getting you wetter by the minute. It was odd. You'd never even met this guy, but you would let him kiss you, maybe even more.
His gaze drifts from your eyes to your lips. "If I were to put my hand under your dress, what would I find?"Â He gruffly says. Your eyes drift back to his lips, and you bite your own as your chest rises and falls rapidly.
"What would I find?"Â He urges a little more assertively this time. You rapidly avert your eyes back to him, taking note of the blue hue in his eyes, which has seemingly grown darker.
"Maybe you should find out, Jason," you encourage. Once you give him the go, he's quick to move closer, crushing his lips to yours roughly. It was unlike anything you've ever felt beforeâlike a ton of dynamite just erupted in you, leaving you feeling a buzz on your skin.
You reached up to grab the back of his neck, pushing him further on your lips. He groans as you sink one of your hands into his hair, gripping your waist in his hands and pulling you so you straddle his lap.
"Do you hook up with every girl you just meet?"Â You murmur into his lips, slipping your tongue between the seam of his moist lips.
"You hook up with every guy you just meet?"Â He imitates, in between breaths, gripping your waist tighter as you tug on the roots of his hair harder.
He kisses a straight line down the top of your breast to your sensitive nipple. His mouth is hot on your skin, especially in a place so sensitive. You moan as his mouth fully encompasses your nipple, lightly sucking, sending goosebumps down your skin.
You reach for his tie, grab it with your hand, hurriedly untie it, and throw it to the side before carefully undoing the few buttons on his jacket.
"It's a shame no one got to see your suit,"Â you murmur as Jason returns his lips to yours, pressing feverish kisses into them before slipping his tongue into your mouth.
"Ya? Why's that?"Â He mumbles against your lips, as his hands fumble with his zipper trying to pull it down. You slid the jacket off of Jason's shoulder.
"Because you look fucking hot,"Â you say, looking into his eyes, noticing the way his pupils dilate, hunger written all over his face. He quickly slips his slacks down, along with his boxers. Fumbling with the pocket of his jacket, he grabs a condom.
"Really?"Â You scowl, as he rips open the gold packaging with his teeth, slipping it on himself.
"What? Don't give me that look,"Â he urges, pooling your dress up around your waist, sliding your panties to the side, as he guides the head of his cock inside your glistening cunt.
"Don't act like it didn't come in handy,"Â he appeals as his cock slips inside you easily. You both groan at the contact, gripping each other tighter.
"Fuck, you were wet. Just slipped right in,"Â he grits as you rock yourself against him, desperate for more friction. His hand is in your hair, pushing your face towards his to share messy, hot kisses as his other hand helps you set a pleasurable pace.
You throw your head back as he thrusts into you, eliciting a moan from you. "Fuck, Jason,"Â you mewl as you feel his lips back on your breast, sucking and nipping with his teeth. Your hands grip tighter in his hair, hoping this will give you some kind of stability.
"Feels so good. So fuckin' good," Jason groans as he feels you clamp around him. You press your lips back to his, aching to feel the vibrations of his groans against your face. He grips the sides of your face to deepen the kiss, his teeth clashing with your own.
You continue going up and down on his cock, occasionally he thrusts himself into you to satisfy his urges and lets you grind against him to chase your own high. He takes your nipple into his mouth one last time before you moan so loud you're surprised the Gotham City Police isn't called, and Jason is spewing curses and groans as you both come.
Your bodies are both buzzing and twitching. Chests heaving so heavily you're suprised your hearts didn't just bust straight out of your chests. Jason pulls out once you aren't panting as hard, guiding you off his cock as you fix your dress. He slips the condom off, groaning at the touch, before tying it at the end. Then, he slips his jacket back on along with his slacks.
You haphazardly stand, holding onto Jason's shoulder to keep your balance. Once you gain stability, you awkwardly cough out a bye, unsure on how to make this any less weird and head back towards the fire escape. You only turn when you hear him say something. Turning on your heels, you look back at him, still in the same spot.
"I, uh, never caught your name?" He yells, his hand scratching the back of his neck.
"Didn't throw it, Jason,"Â you shout back, making a lopsided smile grow on his face. Then, turning to go back through the fire escape, you catch a smile spread across your face as well.
Maybe being forced to attend one of Bruce Wayne's galas wasn't so bad.
go on and put on that dress that all the bad boys like, I know your daddy ainât home so ride with me tonight. you always wind up here in a puddle of tears.
or, sheâs a small-town smokeshow, heâs an asshole from back home.
WHY IS THERE NOT ENOUGH YELLOWSTONE FICS!??!đđđ i donât think yall understand how badly i need kayce dutton and rip wheelerâŠlike i think im going insane. im scratching my walls guys. đđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđ
You drew stars around my scars; now I'm bleedin' @hangmanscoming - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
2087
vaporwave
pixelskylines
blakekathryn
ellievsbear
kaledo-art
discoholicmusic
kianamaiart
tangentwithtanner
