CW - smut, angst no comfort minors dni
You never sent the letters.
You wrote them in the dead of night, tucked between fevered dreams and restless fingers. They were secrets you kept, words that bled from your fingertips onto pages you never had the courage to give him.
Ajax would never read them, and that was the worst partâhe didnât have to.
And still, you are here, standing in his dimly lit apartment, your back pressed against the door like youâre bracing for something. Ajax sits on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his messy hair, watching you.
"You shouldnât be here," he murmurs, voice low, tired.
"You say that every time," you shoot back, stepping forward. "And yet, you let me in."
Ajax exhales, shaking his head, but thereâs no anger in itâonly something like surrender.
The space between you feels smaller than it is, filled with unsaid words and all the things you canât take back. You take another step, fingers brushing over his shoulder. He shivers under your touch, and that tiny reaction sets something loose inside you.
"You told me to move on," you whisper, lips inches from his. "I tried."
Ajaxâs jaw tenses. "And?"
You drag your fingers down his arm, slow, deliberate. "And I fucking hate you for making me want you this much."
His breath hitches. For a second, it seems like he will push you away, say something final, end it once and for all. But then he movesâso fast you barely register itâgrabbing your wrist, pulling you into his lap.
Your knees land on either side of him, his hands gripping your thighs, his face buried in your neck. He inhales deeply, like heâs trying to commit you to memory, like he hates how much he needs you.
"You think I donât want you?" Ajax mutters, voice rough, strained.
He pulls back, his dark eyes locking onto yours. "That doesnât mean I donât feel it."
Something inside you cracks at those words.
And then his mouth is on yours.
It isnât soft or hesitantâitâs raw, desperate, teeth scraping, tongues meeting, fingers tangling in hair. His hands slide up your dress, gripping your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. Your fingers curl around the fabric of his hoodie, tugging, yanking, needing more, more, more.
"Tell me to stop," he whispers, voice shaking.
You donât. You never could.
Ajax groans, his hands slipping beneath lace, fingers teasing, spreading you apart until youâre trembling, gasping into his mouth.
"Youâre so wet," he murmurs, half in awe, half teasing.
"Shut up," you groan, but the words melt into a moan as he pushes a finger inside you, slow, deep, curling just right.
You bury your face in his shoulder, muffling the sounds spilling from your lips as he works you open, as he whispers against your earâ"Let me hear you, baby"âas he adds another finger, his thumb circling your clit, dragging you higher, higher, until you shatter against him.
He catches you when you go limp, pressing kisses into your hair, stroking your back as you come down.
"Youâre mine," he murmurs, not as a claim, but as a confession. "You always have been."
You lift your head, eyes hazy, lips swollen. "Then show me."
In one smooth motion, he flips you onto the bed, his body pressing you into the mattress, his mouth trailing fire down your neck, your collarbone, lower. When he pushes your dress up and settles between your thighs, you barely have time to brace yourself before his tongue replaces his fingers.
Your hands fly to his hair, tugging hard, and he groans into you, the vibration shooting straight through your core.
"I know," he murmurs against you. "I got you."
And he does. He ruins you. Again. Just like he always does.
By the time he finally moves over you, bracing himself on his elbows, you are wreckedâeyes glassy, lips parted, body aching for him.
He brushes your hair back, pressing his forehead against yours. "I donât want to hurt you."
His lips ghost over yours. "You deserve more than this."
Your heart clenches. "Then give me more."
Something flickers in his eyes.
And then he kisses youâdeep, slow, like heâs making a promise he doesnât know if he can keep. When he finally pushes inside you, you both gasp, foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling.
Ajax moves with purpose, with reverence, like heâs worshiping you, like he wants to make you feel everything he canât say. His fingers lace with yours, pinning your hands above your head, his lips tracing every inch of skin he can reach.
"You feel like home," he whispers.
You move together, bodies tangled, hands exploring, lips searching, chasing pleasure, chasing something deeper. And when you shatter again, he follows right after, burying himself inside you, whispering your name like a prayer.
After, as you lay tangled in sweat and tangled sheets, you trace circles on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
"Youâre gonna disappear again, arenât you?" you murmur.
Ajax sighs, tightening his grip around you. "I donât know what I want."
"See?" you whisper. "Thatâs why I donât want to understand you anymore."
Ajaxâs fingers still against your skin.
For a long time, you just lay there in silence, the weight of everything pressing down on you both.
Eventually, you sit up, slipping out of his hold. Ajax watches you, something like regret flickering in his eyes, but he doesnât stop you.
You get dressed slowly, methodically, like youâre trying to convince yourself this is the last time. When you reach the door, you hesitate, fingers tightening on the handle.
"I never sent you my letters," you admit, voice barely above a whisper. "Because deep down, I knew youâd never give me the ending I wanted."
Ajax sits up, running a hand through his hair. "What ending did you want?"
You turn back, meeting his gaze one last time.
"One where you chose me."
You donât wait for a response.
You just walk out, leaving the letters unwritten and your heart still tangled in his hands.