fucking loser

she/her - sherri - 20s - mostly me reblogging fics 😛

[fairuzfan]

Hey queen. You seem v knowledgeable about pro-Palestinian charities. Would you mind making a post or giving some info on which ones are really effective and honest abt their work? I've been hearing some problematic things about UNRWA, and Save the Children seems to be doing very little (as far as I am informed). I donate to PCRF and MAP, but don't know any other, smaller orgs that may also need more awareness? Thanks ♥

hello, thanks for sending this in. so i've been trying to find smaller orgs for palestine that are specifically for helping gaza, but the issue is not much aid is being let in. PCRF is a really good org in my opinion, I'd always donate to them regardless.

There's also the Palestine Museum, which does really great cultural preservation work.

Palestine Legal is a legal aid group that helps palestinian and palestinian advocacy facing legal challenges.

Palestine Action is a direct action group that helps do disruptive protests.

Samidoun helps palestinian prisioners around the world and keeps and eye on them.

Within Our Lifetime is an NYC based palestinian led organization.

Palestinian Youth Movement is a favorite for Turtle Island led Palestinian resistance.

Palestine Feminist Collective is a Turtle Island feminist movement that works to spread culture and information.

Good Shephard Collective seems to be doing good work in Bethlehem as well.

I would mostly look for mutual aid groups for people from Gaza if you want to donate to them. Aya Ghanamah retweets mutual aid groups a lot.

I might share more groups in a second reblog after I hear back on best ways to help them.

[deulalune-deactivated20241123]

Adding on “Care for Gaza” they post photos with evidence of their donations and blue recipients faces. Their donations get closed often but please check when they’re open. This is their twitter account https://x.com/careforgaza?s=21

https://x.com/careforgaza?s=21

[talaok]

The crush

Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x f!reader

Summary: Jack’s had a huge crush on you since you started working at the Pitt two years ago. He’s been able to hide it from you all this time, but when confronted with physical proof of how much he likes you, you finally find out the truth. (aka Jack gets a boner while you medicate him)

Warnings: Soft/Sub! Jack, getting hard at an inappropriate moment, the man’s down bad. Smut| unprotected p in v sex, creampie, sex at work.

Jack had managed to avoid being alone with you for two years.

It appeared today was the day his luck had finally run out.

“Oh, sorry,” You exclaimed in surprise, “I thought one of my patients was here.”

Jesus Christ

He could already feel himself blushing.

He’d lost count of how many times Robby had made fun of him for it. For this stupid, growing, distracting crush he had on you.

The type of crush that had him forgetting how normal humans acted- the type of feeling that had his heart pick up dangerously fast and his hands lose all purpose... which wasn’t ideal given his job was to save lives.

Of course, you had to be the one to catch him here, naked from the waist up, as he tried to self-medicate the wound on his back.

“Uhm- It was empty when I came in.” He glanced up at you for an instant before busying himself with the instruments on the tray in front of him.

You seemed lost for a moment, trying to remember the room your patient actually was in, before you finally focused on the scene before you.

“What happened to you?” You frowned.

You’d taken a step closer, and as embarrassing as it was, Jack couldn’t help but flex, trying to act nonchalant while all he could hear was the heart pounding in his chest.

“Bullet grazed my vest,” he shrugged, clearing his throat to prevent his voice from shaking. “Nothing serious.”

Your eyes widened at his words, and you hurried to look at his back.

“Jesus,” you breathed, inspecting the wound.

“It’s- it’s nothing really.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing.” You arched a brow, watching as he tried to bring the Q-tip over his shoulder, failing miserably.

You observed him struggle for a moment before wordlessly moving to close the curtain and put on gloves.

“What are you doing?”

“What you clearly can’t,” you smiled, taking the Q-tip from his fingers and getting to work on disinfecting the cut.

He stiffened the moment your hand found his back for balance, and shivers ran through him as you began taking care of him.

“Sorry,” you murmured, thinking he was reacting to the sting.

“I-I’ts fine.”

Huh. You really didn’t peg him for the type to complain about a little burning.

“Why do you do this?” You couldn’t stop yourself from asking.

I mean, why would anyone who’d already survived a war choose such a violent part-time job... not to mention someone whose main occupation was already stressful and heavy on its own.

“My therapist said I needed a hobby,” he joked humorelessly, his attention only on the way your touch was warming every inch of him... even parts that had no business reacting at the moment.

“Funny.” You huffed with a laugh.

Silence spread around the room as you continued your work on his skin, but as you did, your mind couldn’t help but start to wander- about him, specifically.

Now, the thing was, that you were about 90% convinced he was the hottest man you’d ever seen. He was handsome, strong, capable, calm, and just plain... hot.

You’d noticed it from your very first day here. I mean, it’s not like it would be hard for anyone to notice; he was the type of man who stood out.

And while the first year you resigned yourself to daydreams about hot, sweaty nights with him... Now you were an R4, you’d been working here for a while, and as the months passed, you couldn’t help but think that maybe acting out on your desire wasn’t that much of a big deal... quite the opposite, it would be a great idea.

Which was wonderful, if he wasn’t for the fact that he was so... weird around you.

“So...” you hummed, biting down a smile, “Is there a reason you don’t like me?”

You were never one to mince your words.

The reaction was immediate. He stiffened as if he’d just stepped into an ice bath, his breath getting caught in his throat.

“W-what?”

“I’m just wondering,” you explained. “Did I do something wrong, or is it just my vibe you don’t like?”

He was speechless, staring at the curtain in front of him as he tried to understand what was going on.

Why would you even think that?

“I’m not mad, I just wanna know,” you shrugged.

He didn’t have it in him to turn around and look at you; he feared the words about to come out of his mouth would die on his tongue if he did.

“I like you,” he stated timidly, his voice rough.

“Sure doesn’t seem like it,” you chukled softly. “You’re so... friendly with everyone else, and yet you barely talk to me.”

His breathing was starting to falter as he wished he’d never come to the ER today.

“I... I talk to you.”

“Mh-mh,” you nodded jokingly, “When we’re working on a patient, you do. But outside of that... I can’t even remember one time.”

Oh Jesus

Moments ticked by as he tried to think of what to say.

I mean, he sure as hell couldn’t say the truth. I don’t talk to you because every time you’re near, I start acting like a prepubescent teen around his first crush, didn’t seem like an appropriate thing to say.

“It’s ok, you don’t have to explain.” You surrendered after the silence went on for too long, your work on his wound done. “Could you pass me the bandage, please?”

It took him a second to snap out of the daze and do as you asked.

“Thanks,” you murmured, taking the plaster.

Your fingers connected for a second with the action, and Jack wanted to punch himself for the effect such a small contact had on him.

His old heart skipped a beat as the hair at the back of his neck stood up.

Fuck

Your hands were so soft against him, and his traitorous brain couldn’t help but imagine them touching you on a different occasion... one where your sweet voice moaned his name as he thrust himself into you over and over again.

Fucking damnit

Jesus Christ, this couldn’t be happening- he was getting hard.

“There, all done.”

“Already?” he blurted out involuntarily, causing you to smile.

“What, need me to kiss it better too?”

Heat crawled to his cheeks, and the image of your lips on him went straight to his dick.

He tried to think of something else, anything really, but then your fingers reached higher and grazed the hair at the nape of his neck, and he blanked.

“Fuck-”

You frowned, confused.

Was he still hurting? Did he get hit somewhere else?

“Are you-” You began asking as you started to get back in front of him, but then... Then you got distracted.

He tried to hide it. He tried to grab his shirt and yank it on his lap- but he wasn’t fast enough. You saw it.

You saw the tent in his pants and then the blush on his chest, neck, and cheeks, and even ears, and you... You could only grin.

“You weren’t lying.” You couldn’t help but tease, “You really do like me.”

“I-” was all he could master.

He was staring at his lap, desperately wishing to disappear.

“I’m sorry- I-I-”

Jesus, he could almost feel his brain melting and leaking out of his ears.

“I’m sorry, you’re just... I- Fuck- I didn’t mean to, you were just... I-”

“Jack,” You interrupted his rambling.

He swallowed the lump in his throat as he gathered the courage to look at you.

He raised his head, his eyes apologetic, resembling those of a kicked puppy.

He was prepared for you to be grossed out, to laugh at him- everything but what he found.

You were smiling, not in a mean way, but in a... intrigued way.

“Come with me.”

__  __  __

Jack’s breath was heaving as you guided him into the storage closet. But it stopped altogether as you closed and locked the door behind you.

“Sit”

He didn’t even hesitate for a second before obeying your command. The old gurney creaked with his added weight.

He stared at you as you began stalking closer to him, a sly smile pulling at your lips.

“What are we doing here?”

“I think you know what we’re doing here.” You tilted your head, close enough now to place a hand on his still naked shoulder.

God, he was broad.

You let yourself stare anabashedly at him, at the freckles on his skin, and at the few hairs covering his pecs.

“So this is why you avoid me?”

There was no point in denying it at this point. You had the proof of the effect you had on him plain as day before you.

“This doesn’t... I don’t...”

“Get hard every time I’m around?” you laughed softly, finishing his sentence as you undid your bottom scrubs and let them pool at your ankles, before stepping out of them. “I’d hope so.”

He froze at the sight, blinking mesmerized at you.

Wordlessly, you climbed onto his lap, feeling him stiffen, his body unsure how to react, and his lungs failing to work.

You grinned, your hand traveling to his lap so slowly he wondered if you’d put a spell on time.

You toyed with his zipper, reveling in the way his breath hitched, before undoing it and letting his dick out of the confines of his underwear.

He was big in that delicious way that wasn’t too overwhelming, but that could definitely take care of each and every need you would ever have.

“You just...” he breathed, his eyes on your mouth, desperately wishing he could feel your lips on his, “You make me dumb.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle.

It was fascinating how a man so sure of himself and borderline cocky with everyone else seemed to turn into the shiest little lamb when you were near.

And the funniest part was that you had no clue until now. You’d never understood why he treated you differently and had mistaken his shyness for hostility.

If only you’d known before... You would have made this happen years ago.

“’S that right?” A grin pulled at your lips as you started to gently stroke him. “You flatter me, Dr. Abbot.”

His mouth opened, but speaking actual words seemed impossible at the moment.

As he said, you made him dumb.

You shook your head, biting down a smirk as you pulled your panties to the side.

“Your shift doesn’t start for a little while, right?”

His shift? He completely forgot about his shift.

He could only nod, swallowing nervously as his gaze panned to the newer skin you’d uncovered between your tights.

Jack was sure he’d get a heart attack any moment now.

Good thing you were in a hospital.

“Good,” you breathed, unhurriedly sinking down onto his shaft.

While you tried to silence your moans and managed to bite them into small whimpers, Jack’s groans were deep and much too loud.

You were so fucking full of him- it was like he fit perfectly inside you.

Your eyes had closed in the moment, but then you felt Jack’s hands on each side of your head as his forehead fell to yours, and once you blinked, all you could see was him- his gentle brown eyes clouded with lust and desperation.

You were breathing heavily against each other’s mouths, trying to recover from the feeling... that was until Abbot couldn’t wait anymore.

He met his lips with yours with such need that he could have been starving.

It all started slowly, cautiously, until you lost all patience and let your tongue infiltrate his mouth, exploring him as he began exploring you.

You moaned into the kiss, and as heat spread down low, your hips couldn’t help but start to grind against him.

The sound that rumbled from his chest at that was so deep and so fucking hot.

You weren’t even thinking anymore; you were just a doll at the mercy of your body’s needs as you started to ride him.

The feel of his dick plunging into you over and over again was making you want to scream. His tip was hitting the deepest, most sensitive parts of you with each bounce, and he was still desperately kissing you.

“Y-you feel so good,” He breathed hoarsely, his head falling to where your neck met your shoulder.

The sound of your wet heat accommodating his girth filled the room with a nasty sound you prayed couldn’t be heard from outside.

“Fuck- you feel so good too,” you moaned, fingers going to grip his hair. “So big- so deep.”

He groaned something incomprehensible as his mouth connected with the skin on your neck, causing shivers to break out down your spine.

You were moving frantically now, desperately chasing your high as the gurney creaked beneath you and your breathing got more and more erratic.

Jack’s hand infiltrated underneath your scrubs to reach your tits, caressing your nipples gently and making you smile in bliss.

“Fuck, Jack,” you cried, your fingers fisting his silver locks as you unashamedly used him. “I can call you Jack, right?” you asked with a grin.

It took a moment for him to even hear you.

You see, the only thing on the poor man’s mind since he’d first gotten inside you was: don’tcomedon’tcomedon’tcome

He nodded, mouth back to yours as that familiar sweet ball of tension started building in your belly.

“Y-yes,” he murmured, out of breath even if he was doing nothing. “Please tell me you’re close.”

You grinned amusedly as you instructed, “Touch my clit.”

He obeyed the order as if you’d suddenly turned into his commander.

“Fuck” you gasped at the feeling.

Jack groaned at your walls tightening, but as much as he wanted to close his eyes and fill you up, he watched with amazement the ecstasy portrayed on your face.

He listened to the sweet sounds you made just for him, willing them to memory forever.

“Right there,” you murmured barely audibly. “Fuck Jack...f-fuck”

Your orgasm hit you like a truck. Your head fell back as you forgot all about where you were and moaned like a maniac.

While Jack... Jack had begun coming from the very first second you did- finally letting go. He growled onto the skin of your neck as he held you impossibly close.

You remained like that, holding onto one another as Abbot’s cock softened inside you and his come started leaking out of you.

It was you who regained consciousness first, taking a deep breath in as you leaned away enough to meet Jack’s half-lidded eyes.

Your lips pulled into a soft smile at the astonishment on his face- it was like he was still catching on to what had just happened.

Your mouth found his in a gentle kiss, “We should get going,” you murmured, finally standing back up again.

He was too disappointed by your leaving to tuck himself back in right away, but he eventually managed after you were dressed up again.

You were so goddamn beautiful even when your face was flushed, and your hair was messy, that he didn't know what to do with himself.

“You’re staring,” you eyed him, but his mind was elsewhere completely.

“What- what does this mean?”

The moment the words left Jack's mouth, he regretted ever having thought of them.

What kind of fucking question was that to ask?

He was standing in front of you now, forehead creased in a frown, heart still pounding.

“What this means...” You smirked, your fingers raking through his hair to try and fix them, “Is that we’ll do this-” You eyed the gurney “many more times... and we’ll figure the rest out as we go. Sounds good?”

“Good- great,” he nodded eagerly, causing a chuckle to flee your throat.

“Perfect,” you murmured with a quick kiss to his lips, “Now I think you should get started with your shift, Dr. Abbot.”

__  __  __

“You two found what you were looking for in the storage closet?”

The very last thing that Jack wanted was to talk to Robby right now. But he had no choice.

The day shift’s attending had a shit-eating grin stamped to his lips as he eyed Abbot knowingly.

“I keep my mouth shut when you and Whitaker sneak off in there.”

Robby’s smile only widened, presumably at the memories that small, dirty closet held.

“I’m just happy you two finally sorted things out,” Robby chukled, patting the man’s back. “Now maybe you’ll be able to stop acting like a sixteen-year-old around her.”

[brunchable]

Take It Out On Me

 ݈݇— pairs: fbi!dex poindexter x super-soldier!female reader.  ݈݇— context: You found Dex waiting in the dark in your apartment, coiled tight on your couch like a man one breath away from snapping. The stress of Fisk’s games and his own fractured head was eating him alive. He didn’t know where you’d been. He only knew you’d disappeared on him again.  ݈݇— [18+] themes: Dex being in the silver lining between 'just Dex' and 'Bullseye'. Emotional Manipulation/Gaslighting Elements. Quickie? Rough Consensual Sex. Biting/Marking, Dirty Talk, Spanking, Choking (with his forearm), Hairpulling, Manhandling, Size Kink, Pain Mixed with Pleasure, Degredation (slut, dirty girl, naughty girl, fucktoy, cockwarmer), Oral Fixation/Finger Sucking, Unprotected piv (protection first), Creampie, Against the wall, On the counter, No aftercare.

Author's Note: This is a seperate post for my fanfic My Drug Is My Baby. This is PURELY self-indulgent because I would let Poindexter do this to me 😭

You turned the key in the lock and stepped into your apartment, the hallway light spilling across the floor behind you. The lights were already on inside. You knew who it was before you even saw him.

Dex was sitting on your couch, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tight like he was trying not to grip something and break it. The second you closed the door, his head snapped up. His face was dark, his jaw was locked, his eyes shadowed. He’d clearly been waiting for hours.

You set your bag down by the door and tilted your head, keeping your voice soft on him. “What are you doing in my apartment?”

Dex just stared at you, the tension rolling off him. “You’ve been ignoring my texts and my calls.”

You blinked, as if the words actually surprised you, “I was busy…” then let out a small, tired sigh as you shrugged off your jacket.

“Are you?”

“I thought you needed space,” you shrugged, hanging the jacket on the hook with careful movements. “You’ve been so distant with me lately.”

Dex’s jaw flexed. He pushed up from the couch, taking a step toward you, eyes searching your face like he was trying to find the lie.

“I’ve been distant?” he repeated, the frustration bleeding through. “You disappear for days, you don’t answer me, leaving me alone—and I’m the one who’s distant?”

You met his gaze steadily, keeping your expression open and concerned, even as your pulse hammered in your ears.

“I’m sorry,” you said, voice still soft. “I didn’t mean to make you worry. I just… thought you needed some time.”

You stepped closer, close enough to smell his cologne, close enough to see the panic flickering behind the anger in his eyes.

You slid your arms around his waist, slow and easy until your hands settled against his lower back, fingers splaying gently over the fabric of his shirt as you pressed yourself against him.

“Are you okay?” you asked softly, tilting your head up to look at him. Your voice was all concerned, “You look like you haven’t slept.”

Dex’s body went rigid under your touch. For a second he let you hold him, then his hands closed around your wrists and he gently but firmly took your arms off him, stepping back half a pace.

You took a silent inhale through your nose, chaining down the sudden spike of rage that flared hot behind your ribs. Your smile didn’t even flicker.

“I’m really stressed,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “…about everything.”

You nodded slowly, keeping your voice gentle and understanding.

“I can see that,” you said, tilting your head like you were really seeing him. “Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?”

Dex looked you in the eyes then, searching hard, turning the question over and over in his head. You could see the storm behind them; the stress, the paranoia, the chaos he was barely holding back. His gaze dropped to your mouth for half a second before snapping back up.

You stepped even closer, voice remaining soft and inviting.

“Do you want to take it out on me?”

You can see in his eyes that he’s hesitating. The silence stretched, heavy and electric, while his jaw worked and his gaze dropped to your mouth again before flicking back up to your eyes.

You stepped right into his space, closing the half-pace he’d put between you. You slid one hand up to cup the side of his neck, thumb brushing the tense line of his jaw. Your next words came out softer, but the permission in them was steel.

“You have my permission to use me. You know I’m not gonna shatter. I’m right here, and I’m yours.”

His breath hitched, and the hesitation burned clean away. His hands finally snapped—one clamping around your wrist hard enough to bruise as he slammed your back against the nearest wall, rattling the picture frame beside your head.

He claimed your mouth hard and deep, teeth grazing, tongue stroking with unrestrained urgency. One strong hand shoved up beneath your shirt, rough and heated, gripping you like he’d never let go. When he finally pulled back for air, forehead pressed tight to yours, his eyes were dark, wild, and full of barely leashed desire.

“You disappear on me again and I swear to God—”

“Stop talking. Just feel better,” you cut in, pulse racing.

Before you could even catch your breath he spun you around, slamming you face-first into the wall. Your cheek scraped against the cool paint as he shoved your chest flush to it and yanked your hips back, forcing your ass out toward him. One big hand fisted in your hair right at the roots, wrenching your head back hard enough to arch your spine.

“Hands on the wall,” he growled against your ear, voice gravelly and mean. “Don’t you fucking move them.”

You barely had time to obey before he shoved your pants and underwear down in one rough yank, not even bothering to get them all the way down—just enough to bare you. His belt buckle clinked, then his zipper rasped and freed himself, stroking it hard right there until he’s thick and heavy and already leaking. 

He spat down on his dick as he kicked your legs wider with his boot, before you could even brace yourself, he shoved into you in one savage thrust, burying himself to the hilt.

Just the brutal stretch of him splitting you open, bottoming out so deep your vision whited out for a second, your nails scraped uselessly down the wall, desperate for anything to hold onto while your body tried to remember how to breathe around the burn. 

You cried out but he didn’t give you a second to adjust. His hips snapped forward again, pinning you harder against the cold plaster like you were just another bullseye he needed to destroy.

“You dirty fucking girl. You wanna know what I do to bad girls like you, hm?” he growled against your ear, vicious from the stress that had been eating him alive all night—his work, the impulses in his head, the way the city kept slipping through his fingers, “Oh, I bet you would.”

You’d meant it when you said it earlier; for him to use you, that you can take it—and he was proving you right. He fucked you like he hated you, like every punishing slam was payback for the night that had gone to hell. Hard, relentless, hips slapping into your ass that echoed through the dim apartment. The sound of skin on skin was louder than your gasping moans.

Every drag had that perfect, brutal angle across your walls, forcing your toes to curl against the floor. Your cheek pressed to the wall, breath fogging the paint, while his hand fisted tight in your hair to keep you exactly where he wanted you. No escape. No mercy. Just the wet, rhythmic thud-thud-thud of his cock driving into you like he could fuck the frustration out of his system and straight into yours.

“You just wanted to be treated like a naughty fucking girl, don’t you?” Slam. “Is that what you are, huh?” Slam. “Are you just my pretty little slut who loves being disrespected?”

And fuck, you were letting him—arching back into every vicious snap of his hips, whimpering, “Yes—Don’t stop—please—I can take it,” because you knew exactly how much he needed this, how much he needed you as his good little outlet.

His hand fisted tighter in your hair, yanking your head back so sharply your scalp stung and your throat arched, completely exposed. Dex’s teeth sank into the side of your neck like he needed to taste your pulse, the bite deep leaving a mark close to breaking skin, and before you could even gasp he’d already slid his thick forearm across your throat, locking you flush against his chest, his cock never stopping.

This wasn’t the Dex you knew. He’d been rough with you before. He had hard hands, filthy words, the kind of sex that left bruises you wore like trophies—but never like this.

Your body betrayed you on pure instinct—hands flying up to claw at the thick forearm cutting off your air as you whimpered, desperate for something to hold onto while the pressure on your windpipe made your head swim and your pussy clench tighter around him.

Dex ripped your hands off his arm harshly, slamming them back against the wall hard enough to sting.

“What the fuck did I say?” he growled right against your ear, voice shredded with that dangerous edge you only heard when he was barely hanging on. “Hands on the fucking wall. Don’t make me tell you twice, baby. You wanted this—” A low, gravelly chuckle vibrated against your spine, “That’s right, you’re fucked now.”

He didn’t wait for you to obey. One big hand clamped both of yours flat to the wall above your head, pinning you there while his other arm stayed locked across your throat, squeezing tighter as he drove into you even harder. 

The new angle forced him even deeper, every thrust grinding against that spot that made your knees buckle. His teeth found your shoulder again, sinking in harder this time, the sharp bloom of pain mixing with the overwhelming fullness until you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

Your moans spilled out needy and high-pitched, broken on every savage pounding of his hips. Eyes squeezed shut, mouth hanging open, you were nothing but sensation—his chest burning hot against your back, his breath ragged and feral in your ear.

“Fuuuuck,” you dragged out, the word shattered and breathy, sounding like pure desperation even while he split you apart.

Dex let out a dark, mocking laugh, “Oh, listen to you—squealing like a desperate little fucktoy that just discovered what a real man feels like.” His voice dropped lower, meaner, the words punctuated by another punishing thrust. “What’s the matter?” Thrust. “All that serum in your veins and you still can’t handle a proper pounding without turning into a whimpering mess? Super soldier my ass. One good fuck and you’re already brainless for me.”

Your high-pitched moan cracked again on the next thrust and something in that wrecked little whine hit Dex like a goddamn gut punch. That sound? He’d never heard it from you. Never heard you sound so gone, so helplessly desperate for him. 

His rhythm stuttered for half a second, hips jerking unevenly as his cock throbbed hard and dangerously deep inside you. Fuck. For the first time tonight, the man who prided himself on perfect control felt it slipping—because of you. Because you were clenching around him like it was made to ruin him right back.

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed through gritted teeth, the words strained with dark, surprised amusement even as his chest heaved against your back. His forehead dropped to your shoulder for a beat, breath hot and ragged. “You’re trying to make me come already, you greedy little slut?”

He roughly yanked his cock out of you completely, leaving your walls fluttering and clenching around nothing but slick, aching emptiness. 

The sudden loss punched a desperate whimper out of you; your knees buckled hard, thighs trembling as you dripped down your own legs. But Dex was already shoving you harder against the wall with his chest, one big hand still pinning your wrists high above your head while the other fisted his glistening cock like he was pissed at it for almost betraying him.

His breath was hot and uneven against the bite marks on your neck, heart hammering so hard you could feel it through his ribs. 

“Not yet,” he growled, half to you, half to himself, stroking himself slow and mean just to take the edge off. “You don’t get to sound like that and end this quickly. I’m not done using you—on the counter. Now.”

His hand clamped around the nape of your neck and he yanked you backward, manhandling you across the room with that same feral urgency that had been building since the second you told him to take it all out on you. Your pants were still tangled around one ankle, dragging behind you, but Dex didn’t give a single fuck. He shoved you toward the kitchen counter, landing a couple of sharp smacks on your ass that made you stumble forward with a gasp. 

“Hop up. Ass on the edge and spread your legs.”

You scrambled up onto the cold granite, the shock of it against your overheated skin making you shiver as you finally kicked your underwear and pants the rest of the way off to the floor. Your thighs were already trembling as you spread them obscenely wide for him, pussy dripping and clenching around nothing, aching to be filled again while his eyes drank in every exposed inch that belonged to him. The second your ass hit the counter he was on you—stepping between your thighs, one hand gripping your hip bruisingly while the other lined up his thick cock. He slammed back inside you.

God, he’d never fucked you like this before. If only you’d known, you would’ve begged him to take it out on you ages ago.

Every thrust dragged a fresh, needy high-pitched moan out of you, your mouth hanging open, eyes fluttering shut as he railed you right there on the counter like you were nothing but a toy for him to use.

“Fuuuck—look at you,” Dex groaned, dark laughter threading through the words as sweat dripped down his temple. His eyes were wild, pupils blown wide with pure hunger. “You’re just my pretty little cockwarmer, aren’t you? All that strength and you’re still fucking mine.”

He drove into you harder, grinding his hips against your clit on every thrust, chasing the high he’d nearly lost earlier. His rhythm turned sloppier, every brutal snap of his hips burning the night’s bullshit clean away until there was nothing left but you.

Without warning he shoved two thick fingers past your lips. 

“Suck,” he demanded.

You moaned around them instantly, sucking greedily as your tongue swirled and your cheeks hollowed, imagining it was his thick cock instead. Dex’s eyes fluttered for a second, a raw groan tearing from his throat as he watched your lips stretch around his fingers. Fuck, he thought, desperate to burn that image into his memory forever. His super-soldier drooling and whimpering so prettily while staring up at him as he wrecked her was the hottest thing he’d ever seen. You were supposed to be his outlet, but goddamn, you were unraveling him right back.

He hissed sharply, thrusting his fingers deeper in time with his cock, fucking both your holes like he couldn’t get enough.

He shoved your shirt and bra up roughly, exposing your breasts. His free hand palmed them greedily before pinching one nipple hard, then he leaned down and sank his teeth into the soft, full swell of one. The bite was deep, possessive, guaranteed to leave a dark mark. He sucked hard on the stinging flesh, tongue soothing the bite right after like he couldn’t decide whether to hurt you or worship you—all while his cock kept ruining you and his fingers stayed buried in your eager, sucking mouth.

Your eyes stung as hot tears slipped free, rolling down your cheeks. Broken, whiny cries vibrated around his digits, they barely sounded like yourself. 

“Fuck… it feels so good,” you sobbed around his fingers, shattered and completely gone. “Mmmm—fuck, it feels so good—”

You felt like you were floating, every brutal thrust was shooting pure liquid ecstasy through your veins. This wasn’t just sex—this was the best goddamn trip of your life. Your body was built for war, but right now it was built for this: getting absolutely destroyed by Benjamin Poindexter while your mind melted into sparkling, brainless puddles.

Your walls clenched hard around him, fluttering and squeezing like your pussy was trying to pull him even deeper, you wanted him to stay there. Every roll of his hips jolted through you so hard your back arched clean off the counter. Your legs shook violently around his waist, heels digging into his lower back as you tried to drag him impossibly closer, tears still streaming.

“Ugh—You’re gonna make me fucking come—” Dex’s hips stuttered hard, turning fast and erratic as he lost every last shred of control.

The stress that had been eating him alive all night finally eased, burned away in the tight, wet heat of you. One hand used the soft, full swell of your breast as a brutal grip, fingers digging in deep enough to bruise while he yanked your body toward him with every savage thrust.

His face was beautifully contorted in pure ecstasy—brows furrowed tight, eyes half-lidded and glassy, mouth hanging wide open as guttural groans and curses spilled out. He tilted his head all the way back, exposing the strong line of his throat, completely lost in the feeling of your muscles squeezing around him like they never wanted to let go.

“Shit—fuck, I’m gonna come,” he growled, voice cracking. “Take my fucking cum, baby—gonna load this greedy little pussy full until it’s leaking out of you—fuck—take it, take it.”

Dex’s hips slammed forward one final time, burying himself to the hilt as he came hard with a loud dragging groan that echoed through the kitchen. His whole body locked up tight, cock pulsing violently inside you as thick, hot ropes of cum flooded deep into you—so much and so deep you could already feel it leaking out around where he stretched you wide. He kept grinding through it, hips jerking in short thrusts like he was trying to push every last drop as far inside you as it would go, claiming you from the inside out.

You were falling apart under him—tears streaming down your flushed cheeks, body jolting and shaking with every twitch of his cock. You felt used in the most perfect way, full of him, owned by him, still trembling from how hard he’d used you. Your head was floating, body buzzing like you’d mainlined pure serotonin, every nerve singing Dex, Dex, Dex. 

Dex stayed buried in deep for a while, grinding slow and lazy making sure every drop stayed. His chest heaved against yours, sweat slicking your skin together, the kitchen filled with nothing but the sound of your ragged breathing. 

Then he pulled out, his cock still half-hard and shiny with both of you, bobbing heavy between his thighs as it twitched one last time.

He looked wrecked. Beautifully, gloriously wrecked.

For a second neither of you moved. You stayed sprawled on the counter, thighs spread, his cum slowly dripping out of your well-used hole, chest still rising and falling like you’d just run a marathon. Dex’s eyes dragged over the mess he’d made of you; bite marks, bruises, tears still clinging to your lashes, and then they locked onto yours.

You stared at each other.

His dark gaze was wide, he couldn’t quite believe he allowed himself to give in to chaos like that. 

What the fuck was that? Was the thought written all over his face—the stress that had been choking him all night? Completely evaporated. Replaced by something new and a little terrifying: how perfectly you’d taken everything he threw at you.

You stared right back, still floating on that delirious high, a dazed little smile tugging at your lips. Your body felt like liquid, every inch of you marked and claimed and satisfied in a way you’d never felt before. He’d used you exactly like you asked him to… and he didn’t disappoint.

You swallowed, voice still hoarse and raspy from all the moaning and the way he’d had you choking on his forearm. 

“Are you feeling better?”

He blinked slowly, chest still rising and falling hard, then gave a small, exhausted nod. 

“Yeah… I’m fine.”

“Good…” you murmured, the word soft and sweet as you let your head tip back against the counter for a second. Then, with a lazy little grin, you glanced down at the floor. “Can you pass me those?”

He handed them over without a word, and you took them, sliding off the counter on shaky legs and tugging them up just enough to cover yourself. You looked up at him, eyes sparkling with that same hazy mischief.

“I’ll be in the shower waiting for you,” you said, teasingly as you turned toward the hallway. “After you clean up the counter, obviously.”

Dex’s brows lifted, a subtle smirk pulling at his mouth as he watched you saunter away like you hadn’t just been railed within an inch of your life.

You didn’t wait for an answer. You just left him there, the kitchen smelling like sex and the promise of round two already humming under your skin.

tags: @notsochillnerd @tallaennatargaryen @spectralexiletrace @yyiikes @n1n1c

@vesseltodd8z @avengersinitiative2012 @mewmew222 @starlitflora @sgreer123

@weclassygirl @misplacedorphan @lazyreadergirl @avidreader73 @lostfallenangelsblog

@diegoshako @veralovesanimeplusmanga @snowwythegloww @that1weirdweebgirl @madeup-of-moonlight

@tvdumarvelhpsimp @iraaiitz @canupourme14theroad @vvitchesh3x @rayvensblog @im-not-very-good-at-nothing

@lettucel0ver @seeyouspacecowboy23 @spacecinnamonbuns @suzucain @vvitchesh3x

[clawxmoon]

── .✦ out of time ˎˊ˗

ᯓ SUMMARY │a late-night encounter with your neighbor leaves you shaken as tony - dex - ends up closer to you than he ever should, and the line between familiarity and something more starts to blur.

ᯓ WARNINGS │slow pace, dryhumping, oral fem receiving, p in v, praise, overstimulation, dirty talk, edging, slight choking, pinning, petnames, no aftercare though :( │word count: 5k

you sat curled beneath a blanket, one leg tucked underneath you, a book resting open in your lap. your apartment felt unusually warm compared to the weather outside. a small lamp glowed beside the couch, casting pools of amber light across the room along with some scented candles you lit.

you'd showered less than half an hour ago. your hair was still slightly damp, the ends leaving faint wet marks against the oversized t-shirt you'd thrown on afterward. the warmth from the shower lingered on your skin, making the apartment feel even cozier than usual.

it should have been the perfect night for reading, except you kept rereading the same page because your mind kept drifting. your neighbor. the man from across the hall. you didn't even know his name. all you had were brief encounters in hallways, shared elevator rides, nods of acknowledgement.

you stared down at the page. reading the same sentence for the fourth time and giving up. with a sigh, you lowered the book onto your chest. outside, headlights passed below your window. your thoughts wandered again.

you wondered if he was home, if he was awake, if he ever noticed you watching him the same way you noticed him watching you. you wondered what his voice sounded like. whether it was as sharp as his stare. whether he even knew how much space he'd started taking up inside your head. the thought made you smile at yourself.

this was getting embarrassing. you were imagining a man you'd never even spoken to.

you were just beginning to convince yourself to return to your book when three firm knocks sounded at your door. the sound startled you enough that you nearly dropped it. you sat up immediately, blinking toward the hallway. at almost midnight, you certainly weren't expecting visitors. another knock followed a few seconds later.

setting the book aside, you stood from the couch and crossed the apartment. the wooden floor felt cool beneath your bare feet as you approached the door. through the peephole you could only make out the dark shape of someone standing in the hallway.

curiosity got the better of you. you unlocked the door and pulled it open.

oh.

standing on the other side was the very man you'd been thinking about for the last twenty minutes. rainwater darkened the shoulders of his black jacket, suggesting he'd only recently come inside. his expression remained unreadable, but his eyes settled on yours almost immediately, familiar and unnervingly intense.

then he lifted one hand - dangling from his fingers was a set of keys. for a second, you simply stared at the keys in his hand, then recognition hit.

"oh my god."

you immediately reached for them, relief washing through you. "i've been looking for these all evening."

his gaze followed the movement of your hand. "figured."

your fingers brushed as you took them from him. it wasn't even enough to properly qualify as touching, but you still felt it. a brief spark of awareness that made you strangely conscious of how close he was standing. you glanced down at the familiar keychain attached to the ring and laughed softly.

"seriously, thank you. I thought I'd somehow lost them outside."

"found them in the lobby," he said. "you dropped them earlier."

you looked back up at him.

"and you remembered they were mine?"

"I've seen you carrying them."

the answer should have felt completely normal. instead, it made your stomach tighten. neither of you seemed eager to break eye contact. the hallway suddenly felt much smaller than usual.

you became acutely aware that you were standing in your doorway looking freshly showered and probably staring at him like an idiot. you cleared your throat.

"well." your fingers tightened around the keys. "I definitely owe you one..."

"tony." he specified. you introduced yourself in exchange.

tony... the name doesn't suit him that much, you thought to yourself.

"tony!"

his eyebrow lifted slightly. his gaze remained on you for a moment before shifting away. only then did you properly notice the state he was in.

his dark jacket was soaked through. rainwater clung to the fabric and dripped occasionally onto the hallway floor. his hair was damp too, slightly darker than usual, with a few strands falling forward.

you frowned. "jesus. it's pouring out there."

he glanced over his shoulder toward the building entrance at the end of the hallway. "yeah."

"you got caught in it?"

"something like that."

the man looked like he'd walked through a hurricane.

"something like that doesn't explain why you look like you swam home."

that earned a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. you felt oddly proud of yourself.

"well, my apartment building has terrible timing too."

"how so?"

he looked back at you.

"no hot water."

you blinked. "what?"

"pipe burst." he said it casually. "and maintenance won't be here until tomorrow."

you stared. "you're kidding."

"wish I was."

you looked at him. then at the rainwater practically dripping off him. then back at him. a few seconds passed. no, don't even think about it.

"you can use my shower."

the words left your mouth before you could think about them. immediately afterward your brain caught up.

right. great. amazing.

you had just invited the attractive stranger you'd been obsessing over for months into your apartment to shower. excellent. very normal.

his eyebrows lifted slightly, looking skeptical. "your shower..."

you cleared your throat.

"I mean-" too late. you were already flustered. there was no recovering now. "I have hot water. you don't. that's the entire thought process."

"that's reassuring."

"don't make it weird."

his expression remained perfectly neutral. "I wasn't."

"you were thinking about it."

for a second you thought he might refuse, you expected him to. he seemed like the kind of person who rarely accepted help from anyone. his eyes drifted past you into the apartment. then his gaze returned to yours.

"you sure?" he asked, his question coming out quieter than you expected.

you nodded. "yeah."

finally he sighed through his nose. almost like he was giving in to something. "okay."

you blinked. "okay?"

"okay."

you hadn't actually planned for him to agree. now you were the one standing there staring. his eyes narrowed slightly. amused.

"you're the one that offered."

"I know, I just-" you stopped. because there was absolutely no way to finish that sentence without embarrassing yourself. he waited. "come in" you pointed toward your apartment.

the smile that appeared this time was small. brief but definitely real. you stepped aside and he finally crossed the threshold into your apartment. the scent of rain followed him inside.

you closed the door behind him and suddenly became painfully aware that your mysterious neighbour was standing in your living room. the same living room where you'd spent the last twenty minutes thinking about him. unfortunately, your brain chose that exact moment to remind you of this fact.

you immediately walked into the side of the couch. the impact echoed through the room. fuckkkk, that hurt. you closed your eyes from the pain and tried to ignore what just happened, pretending you were okay.

"I saw that."

of course he did. you rubbed your knee.

"no you didn't."

"pretty sure I did."

"well, as your host, I'm asking you to respect my privacy."

another laugh. somehow, hearing it while he stood dripping rainwater onto your floor made the entire evening feel a little unreal. you laughed alongside him.

you guided him to the bathroom - brought him towels and whatever men's clothing you had. the ones you usually bought to wear at home.

"If you need anything else let me know, tony!"

he thanked you and locked the door, turning the shower on. dex immediately started inspecting the whole place: what brand toothpaste and soap you use, what does your laundry detergent smell like, what scented shower gels do you have. he didn't forget to open some drawers and noticed a few pads and tampons laying around, as well as some razors and first aid kit.

after checking everything out, dex finally stepped into the shower. he didn't mind your haircare and skincare products - he thought they smelled sweet, just like you. he couldn't stop sheepishly smiling the whole time. like he finally got what he wanted without even trying too much - if we don't include the fact that he stole your lost keys earlier the day, and a few months of eye-fucking you two had.

after around 15 minutes, tony was out of your bathroom, dressed in your home clothes. he looked so unbelievably hot right now, hair still wet and messy, clothes a little too tight for his broad figure, his cheeks were pinkish and you could smell your signature scent across the living room.

"everything alright?" you peeked your head up from the couch.

"yep, I guess you don't owe me anymore" he smiled. "you're good". tony started walking over to you, the couch dipping at his weight. fuck, he looked so sexy manspreading right on your couch, drying his hair with one hand, his biceps flexing. this can't be real, you thought to yourself.

you were staring. it was becoming a genuine problem.

“you keep looking at me like that and I'm gonna start thinking I’ve got shampoo left in my hair.”

your eyes immediately snapped upward, face feeling warm. “you probably do.”

“wow.”

“check.”

tony dropped the towel onto his shoulder and patted around his head dramatically. after a few seconds of searching, he held up absolutely nothing.

“false accusation. I expect an apology.”

“you’ll survive.”

“barely.”

you rolled your eyes and tried focusing on the random movie playing on the tv because your extremely handsome neighbor looked like he had just walked out of a magazine cover to you. meanwhile, he was sitting on your couch wearing sweatpants that were definitely too small for him and a hoodie that looked like it was losing a battle against his shoulders.

it wasn’t fair.

“you know,” he said after a moment, “this is actually kind of weird.”

“you showering at my place?”

“that too. mostly the fact that your entire apartment smells like vanilla.”

“and?”

“and now I smell like vanilla too."

you laughed.

he looked offended. “I'm serious.”

“that’s your problem?” you rolled your eyes.

"pretty much, I've got a reputation to maintain" you stared at him. he stared back. then both of you lost it. the tension dissolved instantly.

“that’s the dumbest thing I've ever heard,” you managed between laughs.

“thank you.”

“that wasn’t a compliment.”

“I’ll take what I can get.”

the laughter lingered for a second before fading away. the movie continued playing in the background, filling the apartment with distant dialogue and music neither of you were paying attention to anymore. somehow, the silence that settled between you felt different now. heavier.

tony leaned back into the couch, one arm stretched across the backrest. his head tilted slightly as he looked at the television, but you got the feeling he wasn't watching it either. you tried to focus on the screen. but every time you glanced over, he was still there - wearing your clothes, still smelling like vanilla and your shampoo, still taking up way too much space in your apartment and somehow making it feel smaller.

the realization made your stomach twist. because this wasn't normal. neighbors didn't usually end up sitting on each other's couches at midnight wearing borrowed clothes and they definitely didn't make it this hard to breathe. you swallowed and looked away.

"okay, what is it?" tony asked.

"what?" your head snapped toward him.

"you keep looking at me." his voice was quieter now - not teasing, just stating a fact.

heat crawled up your neck. "you're sitting in my apartment."

tony's jaw tightened slightly. just enough for you to notice. then his eyes dropped to the oversized sleeve hanging over your hand, to your bare legs tucked underneath you on the couch. then back up again, slowly. your breath caught. his expression changed for half a second. something unreadable flashing across his face before disappearing just as quickly.

it was the first time since you'd seen him that he looked uncertain.

"you should stop looking at me like that," he said quietly.

your pulse skipped. "like what?"

his eyes held yours for a second.

"you know exactly like what."

the air seemed to leave the room. you couldn't think of a single response, avoiding eye contact. your eyes dropped to the floor, then to the sleeve hanging over your hand, anywhere except him. meanwhile, tony didn't move. his gaze stayed exactly where it was, steady and impossible to ignore even without looking directly at him.

you could feel it lingering, feel the weight of the silence stretching between you. the room hadn't changed, the tv was still playing somewhere in the background, but everything else seemed distant, drowned out by the simple fact that neither of you had laughed your way out of this one.

when you finally risked a glance back up, his eyes were still on you. not challenging, not teasing - just watching. there was something unusually unguarded about him now, as if he'd forgotten to hide whatever was running through his mind. the silence settled heavily between you, charged with all the things neither of you seemed willing to say out loud.

all you knew was that your heart was beating hard enough to make it difficult to think. the space between you suddenly felt much smaller than it had a few minutes ago, despite neither of you changing position. tony's gaze dropped briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes.

the movement was subtle and impossible to miss. for the first time all evening, he looked genuinely conflicted. like he was arguing with himself, like part of him had already made a decision and the other part was trying to stop it.

"this is a bad idea," he said quietly. the words sounded more like a warning to himself than to you.

you swallowed. "then why aren't you leaving?"

for a moment, he just looked at you. then something in his expression softened.

"I don't want to." the answer barely came out above a whisper. somehow the distance between you disappeared. tony leaned forward slowly, giving you every opportunity to pull away, every opportunity to break the moment if you wanted to. when you didn't, his eyes flickered between yours one last time.

his hand came to rest against the couch beside you, close enough to make your pulse jump. close enough that you could feel the warmth of him. the air felt impossibly still. then he tilted his head slightly and closed the remaining distance.

It started off as hesitant at first, like he was unsure of it but soon enough tony leaned in closer, deepening the kiss. his hand came up to hold the side of your face - fingers brushing over your jaw. you could feel his desperation with the way he was kissing, it wasn't rough but passionate. his hand went down to hold your throat, softly squeezing it.

you felt yourself getting hotter every second, feeling goosebumps all over your body. you tried to break the kiss to take a breath but tony held it firmly, not letting it go. he pushed his tongue back into you, exploring every part of your mouth.

slowly both of his hands went down to hold your waist, pushing you closer. you used this chance to straddle his lap and he gladly let you. you felt the hardened bulge between your legs immediately, softly groaning at the feeling of him. tony squeezed your waist and pushed you to his chest, your arms wrapped around his neck.

the kiss got intense in matter of seconds, it wasn't innocent anymore. both of you were breathing loudly, holding each other impossibly close. you could feel yourself getting wet, pussy pulsing right on his lap. you decided to grind on him out of desperation.

"fuck" tony grunted loudly and pushed his head back on the couch. he started to push his hips up to feel you deeper. you moaned softly at the new sensation, your clit feeling the friction between layers of clothes. tony's hands moved to grab your ass and push you down on him again. you grabbed the back of his hair out of pleasure and hid your face in the crook of his neck.

tony's voice was low and rough, grunting from time to time. he started leaving kisses on your jaw, going down lower and biting your neck, softly sucking on it. his hands now trailed back up to slide under your shirt. he cupped and squeezed your breasts and twisted one of your nipples.

your moans started to progressively get louder, desperately grinding your clothed pussy on his sweatpants. you felt yourself getting closer, the friction, sensation and heat between your legs getting difficult to handle. you couldn't keep your composure anymore. neither could tony.

"am I making you feel good, pretty girl?" he smiled, whispering in your ear and gently biting it before going back on your throat. "come on, you're almost there, baby".

the praise made your walls flutter around nothing, the emptiness felt frustrating. you felt yourself getting impossibly close to cumming from just rubbing your clit on his bulge.

"fuck, fuck, fuck" the orgasm came crushing down on you. your back arched at the feeling, eyes and head rolling back, exposing your neck to the man under you. he didn't miss the chance to plant lingering kisses all over your throat.

"good girl" tony pushed himself up on you once again to ride out your pleasure and moved your body against him with force. he grabbed your face and kissed you rough and desperately, biting your lower lip.

his fingers tangled in your hair as the kiss turned filthy again - wet and deep and messy. every bite of his teeth sent sparks down your spine. then suddenly he pulled back just enough to yank off his shirt in one rough motion. the dim light caught every hard line of his chest filled with the scars.

without a word, tony lifted you effortlessly into him and pinned you beneath him on the couch cushion. his mouth found yours again but it wasn't gentle anymore.

tony’s hands slid under your shirt, pushing it up slowly - his lips never leaving yours as he kissed you through every movement. when the fabric was halfway off, he broke the kiss just to pull it completely over your head. the second cool air hit your bare skin, goosebumps erupted but tony warmed you fast with his mouth trailing down your neck.

his teeth grazed one shoulder before his tongue dipped into the hollow of your collarbone. each kiss grew hotter, needier, like he couldn’t get enough of you.

he reached behind to unhook your bra that stood in his way without hesitation - impatient but careful not to hurt you.

"you're perfect, sweetheart" he whispered against your bare skin.

tony kissed down your stomach, slow and deliberate - each press of his lips a promise. when he reached the waistband of your shorts, he paused. his fingers hooked into the fabric and peeled them down over your hips with torturous slowness. you could feel every brush of his knuckles against sensitive skin.

his soft lips pressed a kiss through thin panties that were already damp from everything before this moment ever started happening at all.

with one hand holding onto your thigh to keep you spread for him, he dragged those same panties down slowly - revealing everything inch by inch under dim living room light filtering through curtains.

the moment your panties were gone, he lowered his head and licked long, slow, deliberate - right through the center of your folds. a full-body shiver tore through you at the contact.

"tony!" you moaned out loud as your head fell back out of pleasure.

he did it again. then again. each stroke was different - teasing one side with his tongue while sucking gently on sensitive skin. his mouth sealed over your clit and sucked hard.

"sweeter than I imagined," tony groaned im your pussy, completely lost in your pleasure.

you gasped so loud it turned into a moan that echoed off the walls. tony growled against you and doubled down immediately: tongue swirling fast now while two fingers slid deep inside without asking permission. they curled just right inside you as he sucked relentlessly.

his fingers, which had been moving slowly at first, suddenly picked up speed - thrusting deeper and faster inside you while his thumb replaced his mouth for a split second to rub tight circles over your clit then he dove back in with force. it was relentless - curving those two digits just right every time they plunged deep. the heel of his hand pressed lightly against your pelvis, adding subtle pressure that made everything feel even more intense

you could hear him breathing heavy through it all - low groans vibrating against sensitive. each sharp inhale from him told you he was getting off on every sound spilling out of your lips

"please don't stop, please" you chanted his name like a prayer as you came apart instantly, your orgasm hit like a lightning strike fast and overwhelming. the way you came from tony’s mouth was messy.

fingers clenched around tony’s hair as waves of pleasure ripped through you. your back arched off the couch cushions and your hands fisted hard in his hair, pulling slightly without meaning to.

"there you go" tony didn’t stop. not even when he felt you shaking under him. he kept sucking gently now instead of aggressively - drawing out every last pulse until it became almost too much. sensitive and overstimulated.

finally, tony slowly pulled back - lips glistening in the low light, then crawled up over you. without hesitation or warning he crashed his mouth into you, kissing messy and deep with all that pent-up hunger still burning inside him.

his sweatpants thudded softly as it hit the floor. he didn’t hesitate when he finally peeled off his boxer briefs - freeing himself completely. hard, thick and aching for attention. you almost drooled at the sight. he kicked everything aside without looking and climbed back onto the couch with you - skin on skin this time. warmth everywhere.

tony hovered over you for a breath - just looking. your lips were swollen from kissing, your chest rising and falling fast. the room was quiet except for both of your breathing. heavy with want. he lined himself up slowly - tip pressing right where it mattered most and paused again, waiting, checking if you were okay with this. when you nodded and arched into him, he pushed forward slowly.

inch by inch, stretching gently as his body slid inside yours, heat meeting heat in the most intimate way possible.

"fuuuuck, baby, so tight f'me" his jaw clenched hard, eyes squeezing shut briefly from how good it felt.

the slow, careful pace didn’t last long. once tony was fully inside - buried deep where you were warm and tight around him. his hips jerked forward instinctively, driving himself deeper with a low groan that rumbled through his chest. the rhythm started steady at first, then faster and harder.

"eyes on me, baby" each thrust made the couch creak beneath you both. tony’s breathing turned ragged, mouth falling open as pleasure overwhelmed every nerve. without warning, one hand shot up and wrapped loosely around your throat. just enough pressure to make your pulse jump under his palm. then he pinned both of your wrists above your head with one strong grip.

"fuck, feels so good" you moaned against his lips.

"oh yeah? you like how I fuck you, baby?" tony teased.

the pleasure was building too fast, like a wave about to crash. every snap of tony’s hips sent electric shocks through your core, each movement perfectly calculated to drag the most intense sensations out of you. his voice alone - low and teasing made your stomach flip.

"tony, please" you could feel him everywhere - the heat of his skin against yours where sweat-slicked bodies pressed together; the way muscles in arms flexed as he held himself up over you.

"please what, baby" he repeated slowly, voice dripping with false innocence like he hadn't just wrecked you seconds ago. his hips gave a tiny roll - not enough to give real relief; just a cruel little tease of movement. he saw it in your face immediately: that perfect mix of desperation and neediness. "use your words," he murmured against your neck, lips brushing skin between syllables.

"please, tony, wanna cum on your cock, please" your voice came out breathless, wrecked already. tony’s expression shifted. the playful teasing vanished in an instant, replaced by something far darker and hungrier. his pupils dilated further; his jaw tightened with sudden intensity.

without warning, he slammed back into you - harder this time. no slow buildup now; just raw force as his hips with renewed aggression. the couch creaked violently beneath you both like it might actually break from how rough and fast things got all of a sudden.

a groan ripped from tony’s chest at the feeling - the way you clenched around him so perfectly. "fuck!" your third orgasm hit like a tidal wave, unexpected and overwhelming, eyes rolling back to the back of your skull. one second tony was pounding into you with that perfect rhythm, the next your whole body clenched around him - walls fluttering as pleasure erupted through every nerve ending.

you gasped his name. he felt the way you squeezed him so tight and that was all he needed. his thrusts turned erratic. desperate. losing their control fast as his own release barreled toward him.

a few more rough pumps and he buried himself deep inside you and came hard - body tensing above yours like a coiled spring finally snapping. heat flooded between you both in waves. the second his orgasm peaked, tony collapsed onto you - heavy but careful not to crush you completely.

his lips found yours in a messy, desperate kiss. when he pulled back, neither of you got very far. his forehead nearly brushed yours. for a second, he simply stared at you, breathing unevenly.

your breath was still coming in slow, shaky waves - post-orgasm haze thick around your mind as you looked around the room. the tv had been playing some late-night news segment after the movie ended - volume low, background noise. neither of you really paid attention before. but then you glanced at it, eyes half-lided, mind floaty.

Benjamin Poindexter. Also known as, Dex - Bullseye. a headline flashed. there was a live shot of him brutally attacking the police - his figure was tall, broad shoulders, that confident stride you’d recognize anywhere. then they showed a mugshot of his face without the mask: dark eyes, sharp jawline, face filled with scars that were still red.

your stomach dropped. tony saw the second your eyes widened - that specific kind of panic, the sharp inhale that wasn’t pleasure-related and the way your whole body locked up. he turned his head slowly toward the tv. without hesitation dex reached for the remote and hit mute first, then power-off button right after.

the room plunged into silence the second the screen went black - no more news, just suffocating stillness. dex’s movements were precise, calculated; even now, there was something terrifyingly methodical about him.

he turned to face you fully. the dim light from your bedside lamp caught his profile - the same scars you’d seen on tv moments ago now in real life: jagged across his cheekbone, a thin line over his eyebrow. His expression wasn’t angry, but it wasn’t calm either.

the silence felt fragile now, stretched so tightly that even the smallest movement seemed capable of breaking it. dex's gaze lingered on yours before drifting toward the dark window across the room. his shoulders had gone rigid.

"I should go," he said eventually.

whatever had been there moments ago was gone. the guarded expression had returned, settling over him like armor. his jaw tightened as he looked toward the door instead of at you.

"tony?"

"dex." he corrected. closing his eyes briefly. that single hesitation told you more than anything else could have.

when he finally stood, the apartment felt strangely empty despite the fact that he was still there. every movement seemed deliberate, controlled, like he was forcing himself to leave before something happened that he couldn't take back.

"thanks for letting me use the shower," he said quietly.

you rose from the couch too. his eyes met yours then. and you saw something dangerously close to the truth. whatever it was, it scared him. the silence stretched. then he gave a small shake of his head.

"goodnight."

his hand remained on the handle. his back to you.

"for what it's worth," he said quietly, "I'm really glad you opened the door tonight."

the door clicked shut behind him, and you stood there staring at it long after he was gone. the apartment suddenly felt too quiet.

slowly, you sank back onto the couch, your mind replaying every conversation, every look, every pause that had lasted a second too long. beneath the shock and confusion, you couldn't figure out what had happened. the pieces were all there, yet none of them seemed to fit together, leaving you with more questions than answers.

[zyx]

happy pride

[skelerangart]

Eurydice Bitten by the Serpent

[merlinemryspendragon]

Severance S2E10 - “Cold Harbor” // Westworld S1E10 - "The Bicameral Mind"

[3000s]

ocd will have me thinking i cant text "here now if you wanna head over" because i sound like blowjob mario with a walkie talkie

[3000s]

nobody thinks this way, you are a broken person

[tunisian]

oh my god. most of life really is about the little things. a good haircut, a nice playlist, trying a new recipe that turns out well, a poem that hits home, a comfortable spot in the sun, spontaneous messages, a pen you enjoy writing with, tea with the right temperature to drink, buying that thing you’ve been eyeing for a while, a warm bed. yeah im so grateful for the small joys

[erksome]

Guess it's just a sign of the times ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[dexgirlfriend]

imagine being bullseye's target for a paid hit. he's so good at inserting yourself into your life, becoming an integral part of it. you're stupidly unsuspecting; he'd feel bad, but quite frankly, he's never seen such a high bounty placed on anyone's head yet, let alone a simple girl like you. it's almost too easy.

until it isn't. until he realises that he genuinely does like you, likes taking you out on dates and seeing you smile. even though you know him as tony, and he's been careful not to let the real him show, it's been slipping out anyway. and all the things he's catalogued in his brain about you under the pretence of knowing his target are things he keeps in mind around you—your coffee order, your morning routine, the temperature you like your shower water at.

he knows you charge your phone in the living room so you don't scroll in the morning, and your preferred way of waking up is when you're curled right into him with your legs tangled together, and when you're at home you skip more than you walk because you don't know what to do with the excess energy you have. and he's taken you on what, twenty dates now? and you call him your boyfriend and he's talked to your mum before—although it has been on the phone—and he has the spare key to your apartment.

he conveniently forgets to "do recon" sometimes, and he is not a man who ever forgets. he keeps on letting his guard down; he likes you too much. it has to be today.

or that's the plan, anyway.

it's a pretty warm day and you're already halfway through a tub of ice cream—or two; you've dumped both flavours in your bowl together and open the door with the spoon still in your mouth.

"hi," you say, but it comes out unintelligible, and he kisses your cheek and his hands slot into place on your hips. your free one traces the contours of his muscles up his side even through the hoodie he's wearing, and he kicks the door closed behind him.

"hi," he whispers back. you put the bowl and spoon down, licking your lips.

"y'miss me?"

"yeah."

then he kisses you for real, shuffling you back towards the wall. your arms loop around his neck, pulling him further into your space, and you taste like strawberry ice cream, a hint of vanilla. the weight of the gun, 3d printed to be untraceable, is devastatingly heavy from where it's tucked into the back of his jeans. just—just five more minutes, let me live this dream, he thinks.

you hum happily into his mouth, fingers brushing through the short hair at the back of his head. he doesn't mean to make a sound, but it happens, and you pull back to laugh at him. you're perfect, don't give him that look, now. you don't even know.

your eyes move to somewhere over his shoulder. "oh, my ice cream's melting."

he turns back, too, glaring at the offending mixture of pink and white. "oh."

you're scarfing it down at amazing speeds, sat beside him on the sofa with his arm 'round your shoulders. you'll get brain freeze if you keep going like this—

"i think i have brain freeze," you announce between mouthfuls of your strawberry-vanilla concoction. there it is.

he takes the bowl from you and finishes what little's left of it; your head's leaned back against the sofa, staring into space as you reconsider life.

"want me to kiss it better?"

you lift your head to stare at him, unamused. "tony, that's not how it works."

"i know that's not how it works," he responds, and his voice has dropped an octave, and you know what he wants, and you laugh.

"okay," you relent. he sets the bowl on the coffee table and you pull him down by the front of his hoodie to kiss him again and he makes the executive decision to not kill you tonight or forever. there's spit and teeth the way he likes it, the way you know he likes it. his knees bracket your thighs, arm braced by your shoulder as the other one tilts your head up; you push him away, back into the cushions, grinning at him with swollen lips already. he bites back a whine when you climb onto his lap, hand straying under the hem of your shorts. you guide his mouth to your neck with one hand, other one busy with god-knows-what (taking off your shirt, he hopes) and he's sure he'll leave bruises on your thighs, but the good kind, born of love and something more, ones only he gets to see, because your life will not end tonight. or anytime soon, if he gets to have a say in things.

the safety of your gun clicks off. you'd hidden it beneath the cushions, waiting for the perfect opportunity—as in right now.

"game's over, poindexter," you're still smiling, but its something sharper, meaner. so very unlike you, a mask fabricated for this very moment.

he draws in a breath, slow, controlled. "oh."

"i know why you came here tonight," you say. "to kill me, right?"

"wasn't gonna."

"no?" you realise with horror that even with your gun pressed up against his head, he's gazing up at you adoringly through his lashes, thumb still rubbing circles idly into your thigh. there's a faint flush on his cheeks. he doesn't seem scared.

"no," he repeats. "gun's under the hoodie. i changed my mind."

you reach behind him, pull it out, toss it to the floor like it burns to touch.

"you have no other weapons on you?"

his eyes flicker downwards, yours follow. then he looks up again, and your cheeks are burning because of what he's just implied. nothing you haven't seen before, of course, but under these circumstances…

"no, baby, i don't."

he looks like he wants to kiss you. and he isn't scared.

things are much, much worse, actually.

he's in love. with you.

a terrifying prospect, really.

(your heart skips a beat. or three.)

"you're my target," you say, more to convince yourself than him. "i'm going to have to shoot you now."

"okay." his voice is steady. he shifts, just a little, and the movement below makes your breath catch in your throat. "do you want me to put my hands up, or is this okay?"

your palms are sweaty, grip faltering. you're trembling. he tilts his head a little, surveying, and you push the barrel further into the side of his head.

"don't be scared," he murmurs. it's intimate, the way he's talking to you, like you're not holding him at gunpoint. "bravest girl i know."

"i'm not scared," you snap, but the gun's not even aimed at his head now; your hold falters. "any last words?"

his hand reaches up to yours, realigns it so it's like you'd originally held it.

"can you kiss me?" it's pathetic—he's pathetic, and he knows it. or maybe he knows you. "i know it was real for you too—"

he thinks he might've died and they accidentally let him into heaven.

or,

you chuck the gun away from you abruptly, scooting forward on his lap. you're not crying, 'cause you don't cry, especially in situations like this, but he swallows the distressed sound you make anyway and kisses you harder, licking into your mouth like a beast that's finally been uncaged. you're apologising with every breath, and a part of him wonders if he should too—

he pauses in place, pulls back just a little to look at you better, and you let out a soft tony, not liking the delay (even though you know it's not his name).

"dex," he corrects gently; you repeat it in the same breathless tone as before. he thinks he's never heard a prettier sound. when he cups your face, you lean into the touch with a sigh.

"i'm sorry," he says. he doesn't say it often, but he really means it when he does. "for everything."

and then a quieter confession. "i love you."

it's not like either of you haven't said it before, but something's changed this time. it's different, more honest in a way, even though you'd meant it every time you said it before.

"i know." it comes out a whisper, and you blink and swallow, hoping you don't end up crying. "me too. i mean—"

"i know," he echoes your words from before, before you lapse into a comfortable silence. it's almost normal for a second. then you sit up straighter, clearing your throat, and begin taking inventory of the situation. "we can't stay here for much longer. they'll know something's wrong."

he glances around, not as urgent as you. "we have time."

"hey," you say suddenly. "did you really get hard from being held at gunpoint?"

instead of responding, he shucks off his hoodie and his hand slips under your shirt, burning against your bare waist. he makes no effort to move it upwards; it just stays there, heavy, a brand on your skin. he looks up at you and grins, needy, wanting, and you get your answer.

hello god it's me gf2page BACK with ANOTHER fic about BENJAMIN POINDEXTER and before you ask YES i hate my life NO i will NOT stop writing. if you like this LMK :] 1.5K WORDS!

[northistar]

bf!dex who looks way too pleased with himself when you get angry enough to hit him.

you two make a very disfunctional couple, that much could be said. you patch him up from knife and bullet wounds more often than you go out on dates, and you're constantly arguing about dex's obsessive, infuriating need to keep everything in your life under his control.

on particularly bad fights, you make him grovel for days.

dex will mostly spend them chasing you around your apartment while you pretend not to notice the hulking mass of a man stalking you around every room, an inevitable presence you couldn't get rid of even if you tried. he says i'm sorry and please talk to me and i'll do anything while you try your best to remain unphased, even if the undeniable lack of remorse in his voice only fills you with even more rage.

one day you turn on your heels and slap him across the face.

it's a sudden, sharp crack that echoes around the room like a gunshot. his head turns to the side and stays there, because you struck him hard enough for dex to freeze like that for a moment before he blinks once in surprise, tongue moving inside his mouth to poke the inside of his cheek.

you can see it in him, the change that happens when dex registers the sting and the heat that starts spreading across the side of his face, the shape of your fingertips painting his skin a crimson red. his mouth curls then, lips tugging into a smile as his eyes flutter closed to savor the impact.

you make a disgusted sound, and because you're still pissed, even more mad now than before you realized you can't even hurt him without his deranged brain turning it into this, you snarl: "what the fuck is wrong with you?"

dex only laughs in response, seemingly pulled out of his trance by the sound of your voice. it's the first time you've spoken to him in hours, and something inside him hums in satisfaction at finally earning back your attention, even if you're still scowling at him with an intensity that would make a lesser man feel the urge to bolt.

to dex, though, the only thing worth registering is that he has your eyes back on him once more, your touch back where it belongs—on his skin, burning across his cheek as physical proof.

he reaches out to grab your hand, fingers enclosing around your wrist and lifting your arm with enough gentleness to make you hesitate upon the thought of pulling it right back, then guides your palm to lay flat against the other side of his face.

"i'll let you take it out on me all you want, we both know i deserve it," he says, soft eyes fixed on yours despite the haze of rage still clouding your vision. "but if you really want to hurt me, then you'll have to hit me harder, sweetheart."

[noelledeltarune]

before pride month ends does anyone wanna admit they have a crush on me

[noelledeltarune]

posting this on the first day of june so you all have plenty of time to gather your nerves and whatnot

[weird-is-life]

And they were roommates

Pairing: Jack Abbot x fem!reader

Summary: Somebody breaks into your apartment and disrupts the safety of your home. You try to find a cheap hotel to stay at, but Jack isn't gonna let you do that (1.6k)

Warnings: reader is a resident, so implied age gap, mentions of burglary/unsafe environment, Jack's worried and overprotective, a lil angsty, use of pet names, probably gonna have more parts!!!

----------------------------------------------------

"Do you guys know any cheap hotel rooms?" You ask at the nurses station as Trinity and Dennis stand in front of you.

"Hotel rooms?" Dennis asks, eyebrows raised as he goes over his chart.

"Yeah. I need a place to crash for a few weeks." You mumble out.

"What?" Santos spits out. "What happened to your place?"

You sigh, words trembling a little. "There've been multiple burglaries in our apartment complex, and yesterday I found my door unlocked. Nothing got taken, the police said that they must have gotten scared off before they could rob me, but I'm afraid to stay there alone again...."

You don't live in the nicest neighborhood of Pittsburgh because the apartments are cheaper there and with your huge medical debt it's not like you have much options either.

"Jesus, girl. You okay?" They are both looking at you with so much concern that you grow squirmish under their eyes.

"Yeah. I called the police immediately. They cleared the apartment and then I spent the whole night at the station, filling out statement after statement." Hence why you are drinking your fifth coffee of the day.

"But I can't...can't go there again." You shake your head, chills spreading through your whole body. "So I need a place to crash while I look for a new place."

"What the fuck?" Santos is the one to voice out exactly what you are feeling, loudly and catches the attention of other people around you. Dennis just stares at you, completely dumbfounded.

"Shhhh, don't need everybody to know I'm about to be homeless." You are anxious enough as it is. "But seriously, I need cheap hotel suggestions and possible apartment suggestions, too."

"Babe, you can just crash with me and Huckleberry. The couch is not great, but it's better than nothing."

"I think the floor is better than your couch." Dennis finally quips in and the small hope of having a place to crash at is gone. You can't have poor sleep, not when this place needs you alert and rested every single day.

The night shift starts to slowly spill into the ED, and your time is running out. You need to get out of here before Dr. Abbot gets here. He is too handsome for his own good and it always messes with you head.

"Thank you for the offer, Trin. But I need my beauty sleep." Even a dingy hotel bed is a bed and you'll take that over uncomfortable couch every time.

"Well, then I'm out of options. I don't know Pittsburgh that well." Dennis nods along to Trinity's words, and you let out a frustrated sigh. Fuck. You can't go sleep at your apartment. You just can't.

"Let's ask Dana. She's from here." Before you can stop Dennis he already tracks Dana down, and asks her the question. He doesn't even realise that half of the ED is now looking at y'all. And it's the exact moment that Dr. Abbot walks in.

You internally groan as Dana asks. "Why'd you need a hotel room, kid?"

"It doesn't matter, forget it." You mumble. You hide your heated face down, looking at the phone in your hands.

There's this one hotel you've been eyeing. It looks horrible, it barely has one star, but it's cheap. Like you won't go entirely broke if you stay there for a few nights.

"Her apartment got broken into last night." Trinity says when you refuse to say the reason.

"Santos!" You seethe, shaking your head because you can't believe she just spilled your business like that.

"Did I just hear that somebody broke into your apartment?" Jack appears by your side, worry creased in his face, hand hovering an inch from your lower back. He looks ready to take on any intruders.

"This is just perfect." You mumble under your breath. They are all looking at you like you've suddenly grown another head and it just makes you feel worse.

"Forget it." You say and then you are pushing off the stool, and running away from them with the excuse of checking up on your patient.

Maybe a quick cry in the bathroom will do you good. Your eyes start to get glossy as you beeline it to the bathroom.

But of course, the universe probably hates you because Jack calls your name, walking as quickly as he can after you.

"Hey, hey, hey." He finally catches up to you, and you hate yourself for having glassy eyes and wobbly lip in front of your attending. Especially the attending your eyes keep drifting to whenever your shifts cross.

"C'mon, let's talk." He takes one look at you and his heart aches to make the sadness go away. Aches to crack a joke just to see your pretty smile again.

He ushers you into a quiet corner, away from prying eyes. "I'm okay." You whisper before he even asks you anything. The way you say it it's far from believable.

"You are not. I'm so sorry this happened to you, sweetheart." You look like you need a hug but Jack doesn't want to overstep. No matter that he knows how much you like him.

He always notices you looking because he's looking at you, too. Wondering how you would feel in his arms. Or how your soft lips would feel against his lips. Or how much he would just love to hold your hand.

"Nothing happened really."

"Maybe nothing happened, but it still shook you. The privacy and the safety of your home were compromised so it's no wonder that you are feeling like this." Jack says, his hand finally finds yours, his self-restraint going out of the window.

You shake your head, refusing to let him see you crumble even more. "I'm okay, Dr. Abbot."

He decides he's not going to try to get you to voice out your feelings or tell him what happened again. "Where are you going to stay? With Santos and Whitaker?"

"No. I'd get no sleep there. I guess I'm going to stay in a hotel." Even your ears go red as you say that.

"A nice hotel?" Jack hums in approval, glad that you aren't staying at your apartment.

"Hmm, you could say that." The way you say it and the way your eyes flit to the ground, Jack knows you are lying through your teeth.

"Oh yeah? Show me."

"What?" You splutter out.

"Show me the hotel." Jack says, his attending voice coming out. So you do. You scramble for your phone, unlocking it and showing him the hotel. All while you beg for the ground to swallow you whole because this is too embarrassing.

"Is this a joke?" Jack blinks at you. And when you don't laugh, he adds. "You can't be serious. You aren't staying there."

"I am staying there." You quip back quietly, because what the hell does he want you to do? You don't have the money for something better.

"I'm sure there are better hotels-"

"There aren't."

"Let me check-"

"Dr. Abbot. There aren't any better options. Not in that price range." That finally stops him mid sentence, mouth still open to say something.

But Jack is quick to recover from that information with his military instincts. He'll be damned if he lets you stay there. "I'll pay for it."

"You can't. I won't let you." You shake your head once again, this time with more enthusiasm. You can't let him pay.

"I'm not letting you stay in that shitty place." Jack counters back.

"Well, I'm not letting you pay for anything better." You cross your hands over your chest. Maybe if you quickly run away from him, he'll forget this embarrassing situation.

"Please, you can't stay there, sweetheart. I'm pretty sure I've been there with SWAT a few times." Jack tries a different approach than his stern, attending one. He'd rather die than let you stay in that hotel.

"I have no other choice. And don't say that I should just let you pay for me because I can't and I won't. So it's either that hotel or my horrible apartment." You whisper-yell at him, the frustration of him not understanding it and your anxiety getting the best of you.

"There is another option." His face lights up like he just invented a new life-saving drug. "Wait, here."

And then he's off, walking away. You stand there a little dumbfounded by him until he comes back. He jingles a set of keys in front of you as he approaches.

"Here." He hands you the keys, wrapping his hand around your fingers as they curl around the cold steel.

"What's this?"

"Since I can't let you stay at that place and since you won't let me pay. Then I found a better solution." He grinned at you before he continued. "I have a spare bedroom with a bathroom. You will stay there."

"Jack..." You breath out his name, too stunned by his kind offer. It sounds too good to be true, but even if it's real you couldn't possibly stay at his house. "I-I..."

"I already called you an Uber. I'll see you in the morning, sweetheart." Jack says, not giving you a moment to protest. Because he knows that your silly, little brain would come up with a reason not to stay at his place and he can't let you do that.

"Okay, but only because of that SWAT comment!" You finally yell after him and you don't need to see him to know he's smirking triumphantly. Because he was right, staying at a hotel that his SWAT frequent isn't a good idea.

He's too excited to have you there. Maybe his house will feel less lonely.

And you can't stop the butterflies filling your stomach as you head to the locker room, either. And when you arrive to his insanely nice house, there's a take out of your favourite food waiting in front of the door as well.

Damn it. Jack Abbot is a real trouble for your heart.

[artemisuns]

benjamin poindexter the event you're about to be in season three...

[maxyartwork]

it couple

[stargirl-meltdown]

stay

pairing: ryland grace x reader

word count: 10.6k idk man, i slipped

summary: after weeks of trying you can’t take the lies anymore—only to learn the truth was bigger than both you and your boyfriend, and you don’t know if love is enough to survive it

warnings: 18+ smut, p in v, graphic description of sex, gentle smut, port with plot, major hurt comfort, crying, feeling unloved, major deceit/lies, soft! ryland, but still angst, there is a happy ending, this is a long one so get ready

You lugged your bag down the steep stairwell, no longer caring if the wheels clattered against each step as you made your descent. The sound was sharp as it echoed, ricocheting up the narrow walls as it almost beckoned you to turn back. 

It didn’t matter anyway. He wasn't there to hear it. 

You felt as though this moment should have been more dramatic, some semblance of finality in it. You never expected it to feel so dull. It sat heavy on your stomach, churning deep inside with the same feeling that had been stuck there for the past few weeks. 

It was not a clean break, wrapped up with a satisfying conclusion. It was slow. It eroded quietly at something that you once believed was unbreakably solid.

God, you almost wished it were more sudden than this.

You’d been circling this for a while now, flipping and mulling it over in your mind as it gnawed slowly. You’d give it time, given him time. That and every excuse you could possibly feed yourself, stretching them all thin until they barely held any comfort at all. 

He’s tired. 

Work is stressful. 

It’s just a phase.

But it was only so long that you could look at something fraying so obviously in front of you and turn a blind eye to the truth. 

By the time you reached the bottom of the stairs, your grip on the handle had tightened to the point your fingers ached. You paused in the dim hallway, breath catching. It wasn’t because of the suitcase, but the weight of everything you were leaving just four floors up. 

The heavy door. The flat. 

Him. 

You stopped your train of thought before your heart led you straight back upstairs, stepping out into the night. The street was quiet, wrapping you in cold darkness immediately. It was late, no sounds of traffic or voices, only the distant sound of the city and the hollow echo of your own footsteps as you crossed toward your car. 

You remembered the first time you’d stood on this exact stretch of pavement, keys in hand, both of you grinning like idiots.

Your salary, paired with his teacher’s one, had been just enough to make it work—barely, at times—but it had felt like a win at the time. A one-bedroom with an actual kitchen, a living room that wasn’t just a glorified corridor, and that tiny little balcony that had sealed it for him immediately.

He’d stepped out onto it that first day.

“It’s perfect,” he said, turning back to you with boyish excitement. “Do you know what we could grow out here?”

You hadn’t, at least not then, but it was impossible not to learn when living with a science teacher. 

Every morning after felt easy. He’d be up before you sometimes, or just after, padding out onto the balcony with a cup of coffee in one hand, already half-focused on the plants before he’d even taken a sip.

You’d stand just inside the glass doors, your own mug warming your hands, watching him.

He’d crouch, careful with his makeshift garden. Fingers brushing over their leaves. He always treated them with such care. Checking the soil, murmuring little observations under his breath.

And then he’d look up at you.

“This one’s doing really well,” he said, pointing, already halfway into it. “I’m going to have to repot it soon—yeah, definitely. It’s starting to outgrow its house. If I leave it the roots’ll get compacted and then it’s just a whole thing—nutrient uptake drops, water retention—should probably move it before it gets upset.”

You never understood half of it, but you loved the way he said it. Loved the way his whole face lit up, voice picking up the pace. He always got completely absorbed with his subject, even something so small and living and hopeful. 

Like he used to be with you.

You reached your car now, dragging your case the last few feet, catching some of the uneven pavement before you lifted it into the back. It landed with a dull thud, making this feel even more final. 

The back of your eyes began to sting as you tried to swallow. 

You glanced back at your building for one last time as you slammed the door shut. Turning and wrapping your arms around yourself to give you some semblance of comfort. 

He always said that it was his job to take care of you. To make sure you were okay, to look after you. 

You’d believed him. 

Just another lie. 

You think you knew from the beginning. The late evenings, distracted conversations. Him nodding along to things you said without really hearing them. You’d been kind to him, told yourself it was normal. People get busy, life gets in the way.

But then it began to stretch.

He’d start coming home later. And when he was home, he was miles away. You’d sit on the sofa together, something half-watched on the TV, and you’d feel it. Physically, he was next to you, but his attention was fractured; trying to be present but couldn’t quite manage it.

You tried to ignore it.  Hell—you wanted nothing more than to ignore it. But you weren’t stupid. 

“I’ve got an after-school thing.”

“I might be running late.”

You’d nodded, because what else were you supposed to do?

But something about it had sat wrong.

That was until you’d picked up your phone, dialled the school, and asked casually if you could leave a message for him. But the voice on the other end told you something you already knew: that the building had been locked up hours ago.

You fucking knew it. 

You closed your eyes, inhaling slowly, trying to steady the tightness in your chest that had been building all day.

You still loved him.

You loved him, and you missed him.

Missed the way he used to look at you, the way he used to reach for you without thinking. Missed the thoughtless closeness that had once been the foundation of everything.

This was not supposed to end with you standing next to your car, years of your life packed away in the back, sneaking away in the middle of the night. 

You were just about to open the door when you heard a noise.

First it was distant, but fast approaching, amplified in the empty night air. It grew louder fast, then closer, your stomach dropping as your mind scrambled to keep up. 

No.

No, no, no. 

You turned your head just enough to see it. A small white light cutting through the dark at the end of the road. 

His bike.

Your heart leapt, slamming against your ribs as your fingers fumbled uselessly with your keys. They slipped, catching awkwardly between your hands as you tried to press the small button.

Not now.

Please, not now.

This was the whole point—you hadn’t waited for him, hadn’t given yourself the chance to hesitate, because you knew if you saw him, if he looked at you the way he used to, if he said your name... 

You wouldn’t go.

Your breath came shallow as you tried again, hands shaking now. Behind you, the bike slowed.

“Hey!”

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to rewind the last thirty seconds so you could just leave.

He pulled up. You heard the shift of movement as he dismounted, the soft scuff of his shoes against the pavement.

“Hey—” he called again, like nothing in the world was wrong. “You off somewhere?”

You finally unlocked the car, the sound that seemed to echo far too loudly in the street.

“If you needed me to pick something up you should’ve just asked,” he went on, voice warm, slightly breathless from his journey home.

You kept your head down, unable to look at him. 

You heard the shift of his helmet being pulled off, the shake of it as he adjusted his hair, the soft clatter as he leaned the bike carefully against the side of your car.

God. You didn’t want to do this.

You didn’t want to stand here and say the words out loud. You didn’t want to hear him explain or watch him try to fix something that had already slipped too far through your hands. You didn’t want to beg him to tell you what you already knew.

That he’d lost interest.

Or something worse.

“Move, Ry,” you sighed, hand already on the door as you tried to pull it open.

The cold air bit at your skin sharply, but you barely felt it. He made no effort to move. He did the complete opposite, stepping in front of the car, cutting you off entirely, clearly not realising you were trying to do. 

“Hey, are you alright?” he asked, his brows pulling together as he took a proper look at you. “It’s freezing out here.”

You almost laughed.

You hadn’t even brought a jumper. Every single one you owned was his.

Soft, worn cotton that still smelled faintly like him, no matter how many times you washed them. You’d stood in front of the drawer earlier, fingers curled around the fabric. You didn’t know if your heart could bear taking them.

So you’d left them behind, left everything back there. 

“Move,” you tried again, stronger this time, your voice shaking despite your best efforts as you stepped forward, attempting to push past him. “Please, I—I need you to move.”

He shifted slightly, just enough to stay in front of you, confusion flickering across his face as your words finally began to register properly.

Something wasn’t right; he could see it now.

“Hey—wait—”

He dipped slightly, crouching just enough to catch your face as you tried to turn away, his head tilting, searching for some sign to tell him what was going through your head.

It was impossible not to see the red rims of your eyes, your breath coming in unevenly despite how still you were trying to hold yourself.

His expression shifted.

Please, don’t do this. 

“…what’s wrong?”

His hands came up without thinking, settling gently on your shoulders like they always did when he was trying to ground you. You shrugged them off, stepping back like his touch burned.

He would never expect you to react that way to him. 

His hands hovered in the air for a second before dropping back down, his fingers flexing, unsure at his sides.

You’d always lean into him.

Always.

“You’re worrying me, sweetheart,” he tried again, shifting his weight. “C’mon—let’s just go upstairs, yeah? We can talk about whatever this is inside. It’s not safe to be out here this late—”

You wanted to, so badly.

You wanted to go upstairs, let him pull you into the warmth of your home, make you tea, talk you through it in that rambling way of his until everything felt manageable again.

You wanted to look into his eyes and believe him.

But for both of your sakes, you couldn’t let that happen. 

You knew the second you stepped back into your shared space, softening even a little, it would be over for you. You’d fold. You’d stay. You’d convince yourself it wasn’t as bad as it felt.

And you couldn’t do that again. You owed yourself more than that.

“I’m not going upstairs with you,” you said, lifting your head finally, forcing yourself to meet his eyes.

Those stupid, pleading blue eyes that had always undone you without effort.

“I’m leaving, Ry,” you continued, your voice breaking. “I—I can’t do this anymore.”

Your words didn’t properly land, hovering somewhere between the two of you. Words he never imagined he would hear. 

His mouth parted like he was about to say something before stopping himself, his eyes searching your face like he was trying to find something that made sense.

Much like you had, for weeks at this point. 

“What—” he started, then stopped, swallowing hard. “Why?”

He took a step closer, cautious now he realised how serious you were.

“C’mon,” he said, voice tighter, something creeping into it, panic, maybe, or confusion. “You’re not making any sense. Let’s just—let’s just go inside, okay? We can figure this out—”

“There is nothing to figure out.”

You saw the way he stilled, the way his shoulders tensed, the way his expression flickered again. 

Hurt this time, unmistakable.

“Seriously,” you added, your hands trembling as you gestured weakly toward the side, toward the space you needed him to move from. “My mind’s made up, so if you can—”

Your voice wavered and he caught it.

Of course he fucking did.

It was like a switch flipped behind his eyes, the moment your words faltered. That ever-so-small crack in your composure was enough to make him hope that this was salvageable. He sharpened immediately, though his confusion remained, but it shifted into something more urgent. 

“Hey—no, wait—” he said quickly, stepping forward again. “Don’t—don’t do that.”

His voice softened on the last part, trying to steady you.

You shook your head immediately, stepping back again, your heel catching slightly against the curb as you tried to keep distance between you.

“Just—please,” you said, breath uneven now. “Just move, Ry, I don’t—I don’t want to do this like this, I just—”

“Like what?” his words spilt out. “What are you talking about?”

He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back messily. His eyes kept shifting between your face and the car, like he was trying to piece something together and kept coming up short.

“You’re leaving?” he said again, like saying it slower might make it make sense. “You’re—why would you—what happened?”

What happened? 

Like he had the nerve to even ask. 

A laugh broke out of you, brittle and wrong.

“What happened?” you echoed, your head shaking “Ryland—are you serious?”

He winced, the missing nickname hitting him. 

“I—yeah, I—what do you mean?” he stammered, genuinely lost. “You were fine this morning, I—”

“That’s exactly it,” you cut in. “I’m always fine, right? Everything’s always fine because I don’t say anything and you don’t ask and we just—carry on like nothing’s wrong.”

“Something is wrong,” he said, immediately agreeing, more careful now. “Clearly something is—just tell me what it is.”

Just tell him what it is so he can fix it. 

You shook your head again, your hands coming up as you could physically push the words back down.

“No, I—I can’t—” you started, your breath hitching as it all caught up with you. “I can’t keep pretending like this is—like this is normal, like this is what it’s supposed to feel like—”

“What isn’t normal?” he pressed, trying to follow. “You have to tell me, I can’t—”

“You’re never here anymore!” you burst out, the words breaking loose before you could stop them.

The silence that followed was painful. The confusion on his face faltered as it softened into something sadder, almost edged with apology, even if he didn’t fully understand why.

“What?”

“You’re just—” you gestured helplessly, your hands shaking. “You’re gone, Ry. You’re here, but you’re not here, and I—I don’t even know when that happened, I don’t know when I stopped being part of your life in a way that actually matters—”

“That’s not—” 

“You don’t talk to me anymore,” you pushed on messily. “You don’t look at me properly, you don’t—you don’t see me, and I’ve been standing there just—waiting for you to come back to me and you just—”

“I am here,” he said desperately. “I’m right here, I—”

“No, you’re not.” 

Not in the way he used to be. 

He opened his mouth, trying to figure out how to respond to what was so obvious.

You could see it, see him trying, like he always did. Reaching for something to fix it, to explain, to make it all make sense again. He’d always been good at solving problems. But this felt like something that had slipped too far through his hands to put back together.

This had been breaking for a long time. 

“I’ve just been busy,” he said finally, grabbing the first thing that made sense. “That’s all it is. It’s—it’s work, it’s been—”

“Busy?” you repeated, your voice cracking again. “You’ve been lying.”

His whole body went still, like you’d pulled something tight inside him.

You knew you were right. 

“I—no, I haven’t—” he said too quickly. 

There it was again. 

That instinctive, immediate reach for something untrue, so fast it barely felt like he’d thought about it. You’d let yourself hope that he might fix it. That he might finally say something real enough to pull you back.

But that just cemented it.

He was sticking with the bullshit. 

“You told me you were at the school,” you gritted out, tears finally slipping free despite how hard you’d been holding them back. “You told me you were working late, and I—I called, Ry. I called them.”

His face fell.

“They said the building was locked,” you went on, your voice breaking. “Hours ago.”

“Okay—okay, wait—” he said quickly, hands coming up again, palms out like he was trying to slow everything down. “There’s—there’s a simple explanation for that, I just—”

“What?” you asked. “What explanation?”

What could he possibly say?

“I was—I was there,” he said, nodding like he was trying to convince both of you. “I just—I left, like, right before you called, they must’ve just—missed me, or—”

“Ryland,” you pleaded for him to stop. 

He tried to press on.

“I—stopped at the store,” he added, scrambling now. “On the way back, and I—lost track of time, that’s all, I just—”

You stared at him, and something in your expression must have told him because he stopped. The words fell apart mid-sentence, realising how poorly he was doing. 

Even he wouldn’t believe a word coming out of his mouth. And he knew you weren’t stupid. 

“You’re a terrible liar,” you said quietly. It wasn’t even cruel, just a plain observation that he couldn’t even be angry about.

He swallowed hard, his eyes flicking away from yours for the first time since he’d gotten there.

“I’m not—” 

“You are,” you said. “You always have been.”

It was true. Last year he’d tried to convince you he hadn’t planned anything for your birthday, doing a terrible job of acting casual while you narrowed your eyes at him. He’d tripped over every word, couldn’t quite meet your gaze, and you’d laughed because it was so obvious, so him. 

Now you weren’t even sure he’d remember the date without being reminded.

The silence stretched again as your mind went somewhere you had been skirting around for weeks. You didn’t want to believe it, but you had to be sure, even if you broke your own heart in the process. 

“Is there—“ you began, trying to swallow the taste of the question back down. “Is there someone else?”

Your voice broke on the last syllable, his head snapping up. 

“What?” his response was immediate, like he was unable to comprehend you asking such a question. 

“Because I don’t understand what else it could be,” you went on, tears falling freely now, your chest heaving with it. “You’re gone all the time, you won’t tell me where you are, you barely touch me anymore, and I—I just need to know if I’m—if I’m just—”

“Hey—no—no, no, no,” he cut in quickly. He couldn’t stop himself when you looked like this. “Sweetheart, no—how could you even—no, I would never—”

He moved without hesitation, closing the space between you, one hand catching your arm just to steady you before the other came up, hovering for a split second at your cheek like he wasn’t sure he had the right.

His fingers were warm against your skin, his thumb brushing just beneath your eye as if he could physically stop the tears.

“I would never do that,” he said urgently. “Not to you, not—no, that’s not—don’t—don’t think that, okay? Please don’t think that.”

His words were so soft, but you were already splintering, and the contrast was too much to bear. Whatever you’d been holding together, whatever thin thread of control you’d been clinging to, snapped completely.

A sob tore out of you before you could stop it, your hands coming up to cover your face as your shoulders shook, the sound raw and helpless and completely out of your control.

“Hey—hey—” he panicked now. “Okay—it’s okay, I’ve got you—”

He pulled you into him, unable to stop himself, arms wrapping around you properly this time.

He couldn’t lose you like this.

You didn’t fight him, already lost in his familiar embrace. Your hands clutched at his jacket instead, fingers twisting into the fabric as you cried into him, the sound muffled against his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he was saying, over and over, the words tumbling out. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t—I didn’t realise it was—I didn’t know you were—”

You shook your head against him, your voice breaking apart between breaths.

“You weren’t there,” you managed, the words barely coherent. “You—you weren’t there and I—I didn’t know how to—how to fix it on my own and I—”

“I know, I know,” he said, his hand coming up to the back of your head, holding you there gently, his fingers brushing as he tried to calm you down. “That’s on me, okay? That’s—that’s my fault, I should’ve—”

His voice caught as the guilt started to settle. 

How could he have let it get this bad? 

Was he that blind? 

“I’m here,” he said instead. “I’m here now, okay? I’m right here.”

You cried harder at that. The statement offering you little comfort. He had been here physically, albeit in fragmented pieces, but he wasn’t with you. It was outlined in every late-night and half-finished conversation. 

Your knuckles started to ache as you squeezed his jacket tighter, feeling the damp of your own tears leaving small marks on his lapel. You could feel the erratic rise and fall of his own breathing where your cheek was anchored into his chest, far from his usual steadiness. Instead, it was racing. 

Good. 

It was a bitter thought, but you couldn’t help it. It felt good to have him feel just a fraction of what you were going through. The feeling didn’t last long; you were too tired. Far too worn to sustain any malice right now. 

You let yourself take a deep breath in, trying to steady your breathing. The adrenaline diffusing into exhaustion. The fog in your head cleared as you came back into yourself, making the decision before you even pulled away, shaking your head softly against him. 

“I think—“ you started, your voice muffled by his shirt. “Maybe it’s better if we just… spend tonight apart.”

His whole body went rigid beneath you. Every muscle locked up at once as you barely finished your statement. 

“What?” he sputtered. His face had gone pale beneath the streetlight. “No,” he said again, already shaking his head. “No, absolutely not. No.”

“Ry—”

“No.” He swallowed hard, now blinking fast, trying and failing to get hold of himself. “No, I’m not—I’m not letting you just go somewhere alone when you’re this upset, okay? I’m not doing that.”

We don’t do that. 

The urgency of it made your chest tighten all over again. He looked wrecked now, breathing still uneven, eyes darting over your face.

“I’m not asking for permission,” you said weakly; even to your own ears there was no strength in it. “I just… I can’t do this tonight. I can’t stand here and—”

“No, no, you can’t—” He was speaking too fast now, his brain sprinting ahead of his mouth. “Okay, yes, obviously, tonight is—bad, I get that, I do, but you can’t leave like this. You just can’t. Not—not when you think—” He broke off, exhaled sharply through his nose. “Not when you think that’s what’s happening.”

You looked away from him, jaw trembling.

“I don’t have it in me to argue with you.”

“Then don’t,” he said, almost pleading now. “Just—just let me try.”

Your throat tightened.

His voice dropped, but no less desperate. “Please,” he said, almost painfully with his sincerity. “Please just come upstairs with me.”

You didn’t answer.

You wanted to. To fold into the shape of him and let him lead you upstairs, but you felt completely wrung out. Heavy with grief and the cold and the too many sleepless nights spent staring at the ceiling when he was right there next to you. 

“I’ll tell you everything,” he said. “Okay? I will. I promise, I know I’ve been weird, and I know I’ve been gone, and I know this looks terrible—horrific, actually, in retrospect, which is my fault—but it’s not what you think it is. It’s not. You have to—you have to believe me on that part.”

His hands had slid down to your elbows now, holding lightly. His thumb kept twitching against your sleeve.

“I’ll explain all of it,” he said more firmly. “I’ll tell you everything. Just… please don’t walk away from me tonight. Please.”

You searched his face, the open panic there. The fear. His mouth was parted slightly, ready to keep pleading if you needed him to. His eyes were frantic, horribly earnest.

He looked nothing like a man who had stopped caring. He looked like a man who had just realised what his silence had cost him.

The fight was draining out of you, leaving a dangerous flicker of hope you did not trust. Your face felt cold from the night and hot from crying. Your chest hurt. Everything hurt.

You gave the smallest nod, one that was barely there. One which he latched onto instantly. His whole expression changed with almost comical speed, relief flashing across his face so fast and so naked it might have been laughable in any other moment. 

“Yeah?” he said, breathless. “Yeah?”

You managed another tiny nod.

You could let him try. 

He perked up at once, scrambling to gather himself. 

“Yeah, okay,” he said. “Yeah, alright. Come on. Come on, let’s just—okay.”

He was moving before he’d even finished speaking. He shrugged off his coat immediately, that caretaking part of him kicking in with no thought at all, and stepped forward to drape it around your shoulders before you could protest. It was still warm from him. 

“You’re freezing,” he muttered, already fussing with the collar to pull it closer around you. “God, why didn’t you—no, stupid question, forget I asked.”

Gently but decisively, he took your keys from your unresisting hand. You frowned faintly, too wrung out to stop him, watching through blurred vision as he glanced at you once before he clicked the button.

The car locked with a sharp little chirp. He winced, caught out.

“I’m sorry,” he said immediately, not sounding sorry in the sense that he regretted it, only sorry that you’d noticed the calculation. “That was—yes, I know. But you were about to leave me in a parking spot, so I think I get one tactical decision.”

Despite everything, despite the ache in your throat and the tears still wet on your cheeks, the line was so desperately, transparently him that something in your expression must have shifted.

“I’m not locking you in,” he said more gently. “I’m just… I need to get you upstairs before you bolt or decide I’m terrible enough to justify vehicular manslaughter. One crisis at a time.”

You chuckled against your better judgment. 

Damn him. 

“C’mon,” he said quietly, his hand finding yours. And when you didn’t resist, he tightened his hold just a fraction.

At the front door, he let go of your hand only long enough to fumble the key into the lock, missing the first time because his hands were still shaking. He huffed under his breath, corrected, and pushed the door open before immediately turning back to you.

“Go sit down,” he told you. “I’ll make tea, alright?”

You didn’t argue, letting him guide you inside, his hand still hovering at your back. The flat felt wrong now, with you going back on the promise not to return here tonight. 

You moved toward the sofa, lowering yourself down slowly, his jacket still wrapped around you. Behind you, you heard him move into the kitchen. Cupboards opening, shutting. The scrape of something being moved out of the way. The clatter of the kettle being filled, water rushing.

He was nervous; you could hear it in everything he did.

Your hands curled into your lap, fingers picking absently at the skin beside your nail, tugging at it until it stung. You pressed your thumb harder against it, grounding yourself in the sharp pain. You stared at nothing, eyes unfocused, listening to the soft click of the kettle switching on. The sound filled the space, just like old evenings. 

He reappeared with two mugs in his hand, steam curling from both of them, glasses slightly fogged, 

“Sorry,” he started automatically, stepping into the living room. “I couldn’t find your mug, I swear it was—”

You looked up. His words faltered mid-sentence, his eyes drifting from the mugs in his hands to your face.

“Oh,” he said softly.

You were really serious. 

His voice was quiet and your gaze dropped immediately, heat creeping up your neck, embarrassment uncomfortable in your chest. You stared down at your hands instead, deciding they were far more bearable to look at.

He shook his head quickly, needing to undo the moment as fast as possible.

“Hey—no, look—it’s fine,” he said, a little too gentle. “It’s—I’m gonna fix it, alright? I’m gonna make it fine.”

You really hoped so.

He crouched slightly as he reached you, setting one of the mugs down on the coffee table before offering the other to you. You took it without looking up, the warmth seeping into your palms.

Then he sat opposite, on the edge of the table. Your knees were almost touching. He rested his elbows on his thighs, one hand still loosely wrapped around his own mug, the other running briefly through his hair again before dropping back down.

Here goes nothing. 

“Okay,” he said finally. “So.”

You lifted your eyes to him slowly, bracing yourself.

“I don’t… really work as a teacher anymore.”

What?

I mean, you knew it wasn’t his first profession, that had been ripped away from him. He told you after a few weeks of dating, the past still sat heavy on his shoulders. But he took a shine to his kids, was protective of them, even found himself finding joy in the small places the classroom offered. 

“…you got fired?” 

It was the only thing you could deduce. 

“No—no, God, no,” he said, startled. “I’m not that terrible.”

You didn’t laugh. He swallowed, nodding once to himself like he’d expected that.

“Right. Yeah,” he muttered, shaking his head. He set his mug down, both hands coming together loosely between his knees.

“What I’m about to tell you—” He faltered, dragging a hand over his mouth. “It’s not something I’m meant to say. Not to anyone. So I need you to trust me, okay? Just—trust me for a minute.”

Your throat felt too tight to speak, but you nodded.

“Do you know what the Petrova line is?”

You tilted your head, the question so abrupt it threw you slightly.

“…yeah,” you said slowly. “You’ve—you’ve talked about it before.”

He nodded in relief.

“Yeah, yeah, of course I have,” he said, more to himself than to you, like he was trying to reassure himself that there was a logical entry point here. “Right. Good. That’s good.”

How could he not remember?

He was fascinated by it, and mildly concerned. Researching articles and sharing them with you in the evening, or even messaging them to you while you were at work. 

Maybe you weren’t a priority anymore.

He kept going.

“So—okay—the Petrova line,” he said, slipping unconsciously into explanation mode. “Those dots, right? The… the dimming events on the sun? They’re not just random fluctuations. They’re consistent.”

He glanced at you, checking you were following. You nodded faintly.

“They’re… eating it,” he said, the words sounding strange even as he said them. “Not—not like, metaphorically. Literally. Something is consuming solar radiation at the surface level and absorbing it or… something.”

“…huh?”

“I know,” he held up a hand, already anticipating the reaction. “I know how that sounds, okay? I do. But it’s—it’s measurable. The data’s there, it’s been there, we—I just didn’t realise how serious it was.”

His voice was picking up now, like he was explaining something to his class. 

“It’s spreading,” he continued. “Exponentially. And if it keeps going at the rate it is, it—it’s not just a solar anomaly, it’s a—it’s a problem. A big one.”

Your fingers tightened around the mug in your hands.

“…Ryland,” you said quietly. “What are you talking about?”

How did this relate to anything?

He exhaled, dragging a hand down his face before looking back at you.

“I got… approached,” he said, choosing his words more carefully. “At work. In the school car park.”

Your stomach dropped.

“Approached?”

“Yeah,” he said with a small, humourless breath. “Like—cornered, basically. There were people. Government people. I didn’t—I didn’t know that at the time, obviously, I just thought—” He shook his head. “They knew about an article I wrote years ago. About life not necessarily requiring water to evolve, you remember?”

Like he had to ask. 

You looked at him to continue. 

“I tried to say no,” he added defensively. “I did. I told them I was a teacher, that I wasn’t—I wasn’t the right person, that they should find someone else, but they—”

Something tightened in his expression.

“They didn’t really give me a choice.”

The room felt smaller.

“They think these things—whatever they are—they’re alive,” he went on. “And they can survive on the surface of the sun.”

Your eyes widened as you fully registered his words. 

But… how is that possible?

You didn’t have a PHD in space science or damn astrophysics, but this sounded insane, even to you. 

“And because I have a background in molecular biology and I’ve written about organisms that can survive extreme environments and I am, apparently, just obscure enough to be useful without being politically complicated…” He let out a breathless exhale. “They… recruited me.”

Recruited him.

It was almost unbelievable. He was brilliant—yes—but your cardigan-wearing, plant-watering, middle-school-teaching boyfriend had somehow been snapped up by the government to investigate why the sun is basically dying?

He was right, it did sound insane. 

“…you’re serious?” you said, though it didn’t sound like a question.

He held your gaze.

“I know how it sounds,” he said quietly. “I do. I know it sounds insane.”

He got that right. 

“…you’re saying…” You started, your voice unsteady. “You’ve been—what? Working with the government?”

He nodded once. And you realised, with a sinking, dizzying feeling in your chest. 

He wasn’t lying.

As much as you hated to admit it, the information sank through your chest. You wanted to tear it apart, find a seam and rip, pulling until you could shred it into something easier to understand. 

But it made sense. 

The late nights shrouded in secrecy, all of the distractions. He was stretched thin about something he clearly couldn’t talk about. He’d come home wired, your brain jumping to the worst possible conclusion, but his mind was still buzzing with something far greater than the two of you. 

There was detail in his explanation—so much detail, and it was fast. The intricacies of his story felt unpolished and unrehearsed, just like life was. His lies were never this big; this felt too real to be something he’d constructed just to avoid telling you he didn’t love you anymore. He would never be that cruel. 

It was true, but you didn’t want to think about what that meant for you both. 

Your stomach twisted as you processed, not knowing whether to be angry or terrified. Your grip tightened around the mug as your pulse started to make itself known again, surging back with fresh force. 

“You—“ you began. “Why didn’t you talk to me?”

You had an inkling as to why. This was a huge secret, but he still allowed you to think the worst, not noticing how fractured your relationship was becoming. 

“Hey—no, I wanted to,” he told you quickly, slightly relieved you were humouring him. “I tried to tell you. Like—multiple times, actually, I just—”

He broke off, dragging a hand through his hair.

“There were NDAs,” he said, the words tight. “Not the kind you sign for, like, a new textbook publisher or whatever, I mean actual—legal, government-level—if I say the wrong thing to the wrong person I could—”

He cut himself off again, jaw tightening.

“They’re… not people you mess around with,” he finished. “They’re the real deal.”

Who the hell has your boyfriend even been talking to?

“These people?” you echoed, incredulous. “Ryland, how do you even know these people are legit?”

“They are,” he said immediately. “They just—are.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I know, I know,” he said, frustrated with himself now. “I just—I can’t give you, like, credentials or a LinkedIn profile or—I don’t know—”

Despite everything, the corner of your mouth twitched faintly. 

“But they’re real. I promise you they’re real.”

You focused on him through the haze of adrenaline, allowing the noise in your head to go quiet. Mulling his words over and over as he awaited your response. 

It was your turn to look at him now, the man you loved sitting opposite. And if you were being completely honest, he looked wrecked. 

The exhaustion clung to him. There were faint shadows under his eyes that were far darker than they should have been. His hair had grown slightly longer than usual. It fell messily over his forehead, half pushed back and unkempt. His hands were itching at his knees, unable to stay still. Fingers flexing and twitching, wired with adrenaline. 

He was waiting for you. Waiting for you to say something. 

Tell him you believe him. 

But in doing so, you’d be admitting that he hadn’t just drifted away from you, he’d been taken to somewhere you couldn’t follow. 

Your throat burned as your emotions scattered. 

He could have told you something—a small thing. Something to stop you from unravelling the way you had, enough to stop you from standing outside with a packed suitcase, ready to leave everything behind. 

You parted your lips as you tried to find a question to ask, a hundred things you could demand of him right now. From the look on his face, he would do them all. 

What mattered most right now? What did you need to hear from him first? 

There was only one thing that circled in your mind, the thing that kept you up at night. The only thing that made this ache so sore. 

Your voice was fragile as you posed the question. 

“…you didn’t just… get bored with me then?”

Ryland looked at you, completely devastated. 

How could you ask him that?

“No.” It was his most immediate response that night.  “Absolutely not.” 

He leaned forward, needing you to hear his words more clearly than ever. 

“That was never—never what this was,” his voice was firm. His chest ached at how fragile you sounded, ached even harder that you had to pose the question. 

He could hardly bear to imagine what must have been going through your head these past weeks. 

“You really thought I—“ he stopped to align the words right. “You really thought I could stop loving you? Just like that?”

The thought sounded unfathomable to him. 

You fell silent, your actions from tonight speaking for themselves. 

You had. He had pushed you to the point where you had. 

He exhaled as your gaze dropped to the mug in your lap; you felt a sense of shame, which he saw immediately. 

“Hey—this is on me,” he quietly told you, shifting forward. “This is completely on me, alright?”

Before you could react, he reached forward and gently took the mug from your hands. His fingers brushed yours without him meaning to, and you found yourself almost itching for them again. He set it down beside his own on the table, deciding to join you on the couch.

“I feel so stupid—” you started.

“Hey—no,” he cut in immediately, his hand finding yours where it rested in your lap. “No. You’re not stupid.”

Far from it in his mind. You were the only person who was, quite frankly, alarmingly smarter than him on most days.

His thumb brushed over your knuckles, feather light as they moved.

“If anything, you’re underreacting,” he attempted with humour. “Honestly, I’m impressed you didn’t throw something at my head sooner.”

A weak, breathy sound left you. You definitely thought about it. 

“I got in over my head,” he admitted. “And I handled it badly. You deserved better than that.”

His hand tightened around yours.

“A lot better.”

You could feel it in the way he said it, the weight he’d been carrying, the guilt sitting heavy in his chest. This was a conversation that should have happened weeks ago.

“I should’ve trusted you with it,” he went on. “I should’ve—I don’t know.”

His other hand came up then, tentative, brushing lightly along your arm before settling at your elbow.

“I’m sorry,” he said, softer now. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Your throat tightened again. He shifted, body angling toward yours fully now, closing the space without overwhelming you. His hand lifted slowly—giving you time to pull away if you needed to—but when you didn’t, his fingers came to your face, warm against your cheek.

“Hey…” he murmured. His thumb brushed lightly along your jaw, coaxing. “Look at me.”

Your eyes met his, wide and a little glassy. And the way he looked at you. 

God.

The love he’d been too wrapped up to show properly for weeks was pouring out of him completely now. Attention back on track to where it should have been all this time.

“I love you,” it was a statement, the honest truth behind all of this. “Do you believe me?”

You had to. 

You paused before nodding softly, still unable to meet his eyes. Your pause was far too long for him, showing him just how far this had fractured. His had been immediate. You had never been hesitant with him before, not when it was this.

He nodded, accepting what he had hoped wouldn’t happen. It was a small dip of his head, careful not to disturb you too much. 

“Okay,” he sighed, defeated.

It wasn’t the okay you wanted. Far from reassurance and steeped in uncertainty. It was an acceptance; it almost sounded like a goodbye. Your fingers tightened slightly in his hand, but he misread it. From where you sat opposite him, all he felt was distance. 

He swallowed, his thumb slowing against your knuckles.

Space. That was what you needed.

And if that was what you needed, then he would, of course, oblige. Even if it ate at his stomach from the inside out. If he’d hurt you this much, if he’d made you doubt something as fundamental as this, then the least he could do now was not crowd you. Not make it worse.

Even if it meant walking away when every part of him was screaming not to.

“Alright.” 

Your brows pulled together faintly, but before you could speak, his hand slipped from yours. The absence of it was immediate. He pushed himself up from the couch, movements controlled, and straightened slightly, like putting physical distance between you might somehow make this easier.

“Hey—” 

He gave a small, almost apologetic shake of his head.

“It’s alright,” he said quickly. “I can—I can come back tomorrow. If you want.”

“Huh?” 

“You want space,” he added, choosing each word so it wouldn’t hurt you more. “Which—yeah. I mean, that’s fair. Completely fair.”

“Ryland—”

“I’ll just—” His hand dipped into his pocket, pulling out your car keys—the ones he’d taken earlier—and he stepped toward the table. The small clink as he set them down beside the mugs felt loud.

“You can leave if you want,” he said, glancing at them briefly before looking anywhere but directly at you. “Or stay here. Either’s fine. I’ll, um—”

He faltered.

“I’ll give you some space.”

Your stomach dropped. Suddenly, you could see the way he was reading this, the way he’d twisted your silence into something it wasn’t. You watched it hit him all over again, turning awkwardly as he made space to depart and all you could feel was panic once again. 

No—

It flooded through your chest, hollow and twisting as you watched the man you love walk away from you once again. You only let him take a couple of steps.

“Ry—no, wait—”

You were moving before you even fully registered it, the room tilting for a second as your hand reached out. Your fingers caught the sleeve of his shirt, gripping it just enough to stop him. He turned back to you slowly. You swallowed, your grip tightening slightly on his sleeve, anchoring him there.

“Don’t—,” you said, your voice catching despite your best efforts. “I—I want you to stay.”

Something flickered across his face. 

“Are you sure?”

You nodded your head quickly, stepping closer without thinking, your other hand coming up to fist lightly in the front of his shirt.

“I don’t want to be alone right now,” you admitted, the truth of it sitting raw in your chest. 

And you didn’t want him to either. You knew exactly what he’d do.

He’d find somewhere last-minute, something overpriced and uncomfortable, tell himself it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t sleep, he never did when something was weighing on him, and then tomorrow he’d show up with that careful smile, pretending he was fine so you wouldn’t worry.

“Please don’t—please don’t leave me again.” 

You didn’t give him time to overthink it. Your hand tightened in his shirt, pulling him down just enough. And then you kissed him.

It was everything you hadn’t said, everything that had been sitting heavy in your chest for weeks, all of it crashing into that single moment as your lips met his.

His hand came up to your face instinctively, fingers warm against your cheek as he kissed you back, grounding like he needed to make sure you were doing this. You broke it just enough to breathe, your forehead brushing his.

“Stay,” you whispered, your voice soft but certain. His breath hitched.

“I need you, Ry,” you murmured, your fingers curling tighter into his shirt, keeping him close. “Please.”

And the way he looked at you then,  like you’d just handed him something he hadn’t dared to hope for.

“Okay,” he said again, but this time it wasn’t resignation. 

You were giving him a chance, and he would be an idiot not to take it. 

He leans down to kiss you again, and it’s the kind that makes your head spin. It’s the same kiss that got you to say yes to being his girlfriend, the one that made you feel like a teenager all over again. 

He reaches his hand under your neck to tilt your head up, tasting you once again, guiding you gently with his mouth against yours. 

“Honey…” he breathes against your lips. “We don’t—we don’t have to—“

You weren’t listening to him. 

The night had overwhelmed you completely, more than you knew how to hold. The only thing that made sense now was him—and you needed him close. Needed the weight of him, the warmth of him, something real to hold onto.

“Please,” you ask him, already pawing at his shirt, desperate for him to be close to you. “I need you, Ry—please.”

He groans against your neck, trying to keep up. 

He knew he could do this for you; you were etched into his brain. He knew how to make you breathe his name, how to make you fall apart from his words, his fingers. 

You were practically begging him to hold you, to be near you. He felt it in the way your hands were palming his shoulders, trying to drag him deeper into the flat. 

This he could do for you. 

This was the least he could do for you. 

He dipped his head to your neck, sucking and nibbling gently at the spot you liked. He hums when he hears your soft sigh, continuing until he feels your neck open for him more. He holds you in place as his movements get more precise, feeling his chest soar when he hears the gentle moan pass your lips. 

One palm slid under the hem of your shirt, fingertips brushing the bare skin of your waist. 

“Can I?”

It pained him to ask. Usually he listens to your body for confirmation, the way you melt into his touch, but tonight is different. He wants to hear you tell him, remind him that he is the one you want right now, the one who gets to have you like this. 

You nodded, heart hammering. He eased his coat off your shoulders first, letting it pool behind you on the floor, then hooked his fingers under the edge of your shirt. He didn’t yank it up; he peeled it away tenderly, lips following the path his hands made—crouching almost in worship. 

He kissed the newly exposed skin of your stomach, your ribs, the underside of your bra as he tugged the fabric over your head. Gently, he ushered you back toward the couch, far too desperate to make the small journey to the bedroom. 

His hands held your hips as he knelt between your thighs, gazing up at you with an expression that could only be described as awestruck. He had seen many things in his life, but none quite as beautiful as you looking at him like this. Soft-lids, flushed cheeks. 

He wasn’t religious, but at times like this, he believed he could be. 

He dragged the zipper down with agonising slowness, then hooked his fingers into the denim and your underwear at the same time, easing them down your thighs together. Every brush of his knuckles against your skin made you shiver, and he noticed leaning in to press open-mouthed kisses along the inside of your knee as he freed one leg, then the other.

When you were finally bare, he sat back again. His breath hitched visibly. 

“God,” he breathed when he saw you, sitting back on his heels just enough to take you in. His hands settled on your hips, thumbs stroking slow circles. 

How could he forget this? 

You were practically shivering with anticipation, lips parted as you ached for his touch. It had been weeks at this point, the strain between his own legs reminding him. How he had neglected you, both of you. 

Tonight, he was going to fix this. Fix everything. 

He leaned upward, allowing his hands to finally wander. He groaned, low and genuine. The first slow glide of his fingertips through your folds made you both gasp. You were soaked, slick heat coating his skin instantly, and you because the touch was so light, so careful, so exactly right. He circled your clit once, feather-soft, and your breath caught sharply.

He finally sank one finger inside you, slow and deep, and the stretch was perfect—familiar, warm, the slight callus on his knuckle dragging just right. You arched with a soft cry, and he hummed in approval, curling the digit gently like he was testing the waters even though he already knew exactly what you needed.

Your head fell back against the couch cushions, hips rocking down to meet his hand as the pleasure built in slow, syrupy waves. He was everywhere—mouth pressing kisses to your collarbone—while his fingers worked you open. He wasn’t out of practice at all; every twist, every curl was deliberate.

“Ry—fuck,” you gasped when he crooked his fingers just right, brushing that spot inside you that made sparks shoot up your spine.

His name had never sounded so sweet. 

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he cooed as your face scrunched. “There we go.”

You flushed under the weight of his praise, legs parting to allow him even closer, but it wasn’t enough. You needed him closer, needed him inside of you. It had been too long; he owed you that much. 

“Ry—“ you breathed out and he stopped his movements instantly. 

“What is it?” he asked gently, lips still running along your jaw. “Talk to me.”

Tell him what you need.

“Want more,” you sighed as your hands wandered lower, gently tugging at the waistband of his jeans. He got the message, willing to give you exactly what you wanted tonight. 

He pulled back to yank his shirt over his head in one quick motion. The sight of him—bare chest, the faint trail of hair leading down, the way his muscles shifted under his skin—made heat pool low in your belly all over again. 

You missed that sight.

You were getting impatient, after weeks of torment, leaning forward to reach the button on his jeans. He couldn’t help but let a small chuckle escape his chest at your eagerness. 

“Easy,” his hands came to cover yours. “We have all night.”

You huffed at his response and he sped up his movements, shoving jeans and boxers down in one go, kicking them off toward the end of the couch. His cock sprang free, flushed and already leaking at the tip, and he wrapped a hand around himself, stroking once, twice, eyes never leaving your face as he sucked in a breath. 

Gently, he stood, soft as he lay you down. One hand holding the back of your head, the other on your hip, angling you exactly where he could look after you. Where he could take care of you properly. 

Instinctively, your legs sprang up to wrap around his hips, automatically aligning his with yours as his cock strains against you. 

“Baby—“ he groans as his eyes flutter closed, buring his face in your neck as you rock gently against him, the friction sending small jolts through his body. 

“Hey,” he shakes his head as he mumbles. “Gotta take it slow, alright?”

It’s been so long, and he’d be damned if he ended up hurting you like this. 

“Don’t wanna,” you plead as you paw at him. “I can take it—promise.”

A low, broken sound rumbled in his throat when the words left your mouth. God, you sounded so sweet beneath him. His beautiful girl begging so gently for him, in a tone he far from deserved. 

He settled between your spread thighs, the head of his cock nudging against your slick folds, and he hissed at the contact, eyes fluttering shut for a second. 

“Ah—“ He rocked his hips forward slowly, sliding the length of himself along your pussy without pushing in yet, coating himself in you while his hands flexed on either side of your head. Every slow glide bumped against your clit and you whimpered, hips jerking up to chase the friction.

“Please, Ry—” 

“I know,” he coos. “I know.” 

He just needs to get you there gently, the way he knows you like.

“You ready f’me?” he asks gently, satisfied with the pool of slick between your folds. His hand drifts lazily down as he circles your clit, waiting for your answer. 

You nod slowly as you recline on the armrest, opening yourself fully to him. He eases himself in steadily, so thick you felt every inch stretching you open. Your mouth fell open on a silent cry as he bottomed out, hips flush against yours, and he let out the most broken, relieved sound you’d ever heard from him.

It really had been that long. 

“That’s good?” he breathes, needing to know. 

“Yes,” you mewl in response. 

His mouth was on yours again before you’d even fully caught your breath, the kiss slower this time. It made you whimper into him. Your fingers tangled themselves in his hair, nails gripping as you pulled him close, the way you knew drove him wild.

His hips faltered as he let out a broken groan into your neck, trying to keep his composure. 

“—sweetheart,” he pants, as he steadies himself with a chuckle. “M’not gonna last long if you do that.”

He pulled back and he looked at you, something pleading in his gaze. It was your turn to smile up at him, lips curling ever so slightly as you leaned up to his lips. 

“Then you better hurry up, Ry,” you tease. “You’ve got a lot of making up to do.”

And he intended to do it properly.

He continued with a new pace, your fingers still trailing. It was deeper now, with one hand sliding under your knee to hitch your leg higher around his waist so he could angle even better. The new position made you cry out, back arching clean off the couch, and he groaned in response.

You had never looked more beautiful, so soft under his weight. You still trusted him completely, even after he left you. 

After you nearly left him. 

His jaw tightened as his hips faltered at the thought before he stopped himself. You felt his hands guide your own up beside your head, lacing your fingers as he folds you deeper into the couch cushions, desperate to hear your moans get louder against his ear. 

“Feel good, honey?” he breathed. “C’mon, let me hear you.”

Let him hear he was doing it right. He had to be. 

“So good—“ you breathe out. “Always feel so good.”

God, he hopes so. 

Far too long he had left you alone, not taking care of you in the way he should. He cursed himself for almost letting you slip between his fingers, cursed himself when he had this to come home to every night. 

He’d been such an idiot. 

It was his job to take care of you. To make sure you felt wanted, seen, to make sure you felt good. 

“Haven’t been good to you,” he admits as his voice breaks. “Not nearly enough—god—“

You whined under him, letting him know he was hitting your sweetspot as your chest brushed against his own. 

Just like that. 

He needed to see this, needed to give you this, to know that he could still make you feel good. 

That you still loved him. 

You were losing it under him, every thrust dragging pleasure through you in heavy waves, the emotional weight of his words mixing with the physical until you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes—not from sadness, but from how full you felt, how desperately loved.

“Ry—Ry, I—I can’t—” you gasped, hips meeting his on every stroke now, the slap of skin on skin mixing with the wet sounds of him moving inside you.

“You can,” he promised, voice cracking as he thrust harder, chasing the same edge you were on. “Yes, you can, baby, you’re almost there—can feel it—so deep, Christ—“

He reached between you, thumb finding your clit again in tight, perfect circles, and the added stimulation shattered you. 

“That’s it—” he groaned, hips stuttering but not stopping, fucking you through it with those same devoted strokes. “There you go—“

Your orgasm crashed over you, vision whiting out as you clenched around him, moaning his name like a prayer. He slowed just enough to let you breathe, kissing you messily, tongues sliding together while he kept moving in shallow thrusts, drawing it out.

When your tremors finally eased, he pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes glassy and adoring, before pulling out.

“You with me?” he asked, voice soft even as sweat beaded on his forehead. You nodded, wrecked and glowing, and tugged him back down into another kiss.

“Mm,” you nodded, against his lips. 

He smiled, hand coming up to brush your hair back from your face, fingers careful, as they tucked a loose strand behind your ear. Finally, for the first time this evening, feeling close to you once more. 

He lingered there for a moment, hand still cupping your cheek, thumb brushing softly along your skin. You hadn’t pulled away. You were letting him be close again.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I know I’ve said it, but… I’m really, really sorry.”

You watched him for a second. The panic from earlier had subsided, lost in the haze. Your hand came up to cover his where it rested against your face, holding it there.

“I forgive you.”

“Yeah?”

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“Yeah,” you repeated. 

Oh, thank God.

He let out an exhausted but satisfied laugh. How he managed to salvage this, he didn’t know, but what he did know, he was damn lucky. 

“But—” you began. “If you ever get pulled into something like that again,” you said, holding his gaze, “maybe don’t just… disappear on me and hope for the best?”

He winced. Just a little.

“Yeah. Bad strategy.”

“At least keep me in the loop,” you added, your thumb brushing over his knuckles. “You don’t have to tell me everything if you can’t. But… don’t shut me out like that.”

That was more than fair.

“Okay,” he said, nodding once. “Yeah. I can do that.”

Your brow lifted slightly.

“Can you?”

He let out a breathy laugh, the tension in him easing just enough to let a bit of that familiar energy back through.

“Right—yes. Sorry,” he said, straightening slightly. “If I am ever, hypothetically, recruited into another deeply questionable, government-adjacent science situation—”

You huffed.

“—I will,” he continued, softer now, more sincere, “tell you. Or at the very least… not vanish in the process.”

You smiled properly then.

“Good.”

He nodded, a little more firmly this time, already planning on how he was going to make this right.

Not just tonight, tonight wasn’t nearly enough.

His mind was already moving ahead of him, piecing it together the way it always did, except this time it wasn’t equations or variables—it was you. What you liked. What you needed. All the ways he could show up better.

Tomorrow, for a start. He could take the day off. He would take the day off.

Stratt could wait. The sun—well, the sun had its issues, but it could manage one more day. He’d deal with the fallout later. Right now, there were more important things to fix.

A few days, maybe.

As long as it took.

Slow mornings. Proper meals. Being here fully, the way he should have been all along.

His thumb brushed over your knuckles again, softer this time, almost absent as the thought settled into certainty.

He was going to make this up to you. The way you deserved.

He couldn't wait for you to see it yourself.

a/n: sorry this is late !! things have been hectic on my end (may or may not have been head-hunted to be the head chef of a new fine dining restaurant omg i have the meeting on tuesday!!!) and i still feel super rusty with writing

ive literally just started the book so please excuse any inaccurate plot timeline, hopefully i shall get some more inspo later on as i do really want to write a full series for this thing

as always, let me know what you think ! reqs are open and this has to be the nicest fandom i've ever joined, you all are so lovely <3

[theworstwolvie]

goodness gracious i am writhing in pain both from how insanely good this angst was AND from how badly i need him. incredible work, thank you for sharing!!!!