bless your heart
Jack Harper x F!Reader
Summary: You get stranded on the road and the person who comes to pick you up is the last person you want to see.
CW: 18+, angst, smut, fingering, unprotected piv, mirror sex, complicated relationships.
Word Count: 2,6k
— Links: AO3 // Masterlist
You hear the truck before you see it. An impatient rumble cuts through the cold stiffness of the night. When you lift your eyes from your phone, you see the familiar shape of a truck you've come to know too well. The beams slice through the night like blades, blinding your sight momentarily. You know by heart the aggression behind the wheel. You don't need to look at the plate number to recognize who's sitting in the driver’s seat—your partner, Jack Harper. Work partner to be more specific. You won't be caught dead referring to him as anything more than that. No. He's made it pretty clear your relationship is strictly professional. Even though, professionalism went out the window the moment you slept together. Not once, not twice, but probably over twenty times in the past three months.
Now you find yourself stranded on the way back to the city in the middle road after following a lead that kept you away for the most part of the day. Road assistance couldn’t get to your location at this hour so you called the station.
As you step out of your vehicle, his truck veers and pulls up by the side of the road.
The driver’s door opens, and you lean on the side of the hood of your car, shrugging into your jacket, folding your arms tightly against your stomach, as if you were bracing yourself for impact.
There has been nothing but dead silence for over a week between you too. A dead silence that’s only been broken to talk briefly about work. Most of the time you use proxies, let it be people around you or just the odd email exchange.
“Car die?” he asks as he shortens the distance.
No greeting. No name. Just that flat, detached statement that makes your head slightly shake.
“Seems that way,” you say. “Didn’t expect you.”
A muscle in his jaw flexes. “Dispatch sent me.”
You almost laugh. He wouldn’t have come three hours out of his way if he hadn’t volunteered. You both know it.
He pulls out a flashlight, bends over the open hood to look inside.
“Not getting fixed tonight,” he says.
“Already knew that, genius,” you mumble to yourself.
He glances at you then, just for a second, before looking back at the length of the road. “You shouldn’t have driven out here alone.”
“I had a lead to follow.”
“Thought we agreed Merritt Metals wasn't worth our time.”
“I didn't agree to shit.”
He lets out a sigh as he puts his hands on his hips. “So, did you get anything?”
You nod sharply once. “I talked to a couple of workers. The security tapes were wiped out. Even the backups. But there was a gas station a mile down the road that caught Lambert's vehicle stopping there at 9:40.”
“Fits the timeline.”
“Fits the timeline? Really Mr. Obvious? Bless your dear heart.”
“Bless yours,” he scoffs, closing the hood of your car. “Pick up your shit. Let's go. Saw a motel a couple of miles out that way.”
Shaking your head, you slide back inside your car to pick up your phone, and collect a travel bag from the trunk.
With many reservations, you get into the passenger seat of his truck and sit in silence. You promise to yourself you're not going to let him get through you tonight or ever. No matter how much he tries.
Jack turns on the radio while you pull up your phone to check today's notes and pictures that you took, trying to put all the pieces together to distract yourself during the drive.
When you look up from your phone, Jack is steering into the parking lot of the motel he mentioned.
Inside, the clerk barely looks up. “One room left.”
Jack doesn’t hesitate. “We’ll take it.”
“Check again,” you don't ask, you order.
“I'm sorry, sweetheart, it's hunting season. We're all out.”
“Figures.”
Jack steps in first, looks around. You linger under the threshold, capturing the faint touch of bleach and old carpet. One queen bed. No couch. No escape.
“You can sleep in the truck if you want.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” You scoff and close the door behind you. “You didn't have to stay, by the way.”
“And let you get murdered in this godforsaken place?”
“I can take care of myself.” You mutter, putting your bag down on a chair. Then you unclasp your gun from the waistband of your pants and place it on the dresser.
“Is that a threat?” He points at your weapon.
“Just a warning.”
“Y’know, you could try saying thank you for once. It’s not gonna kill you.”
“Thank you. For once.” Your lips draw an unnatural half smile.
“Look, we're gonna be here for a few hours. At least we should try to be civil.”
You shrug. “Or we should just stop talking altogether.”
“Yeah, cause that's been working so far.”
You fall into the trap as usual. Even when you promised you wouldn't, it is inevitable. He’s impossible. You’ve already had this conversation and don’t want to rehash what went wrong again, and yet neither of you can’t help it.
And before you can stop yourself, you open your mouth again. “What do you want me to say? You're the one who made things weird.”
“Was I? Things—” he gestures air quotes around that word, “—were perfectly fine. It was you who started it.”
With a huge eye roll, you grab your bag and disappear into the bathroom without giving your mouth a chance to open and say anything else. There’s nothing either of you can say to make this better. You want more. He wants less. Just something casual, no strings, not burdens or headache. Except it’s all bullshit. He wants to keep his distance, but he can’t ever seem to be able to live up to his own expectations.
TV is on when you come out. You've put on some comfortable clothes, and he's taken off his shirt and shoes, and now he’s watching, or pretending to watch, what’s on the boob tube.
His eyes follow you as you neatly place your suit on a hanger and then proceed to find an outlet to plug your phone.
Over the faint noise of the TV, the muffled sound of his steps behind you put a knot in your throat. You glance up to see his reflection in the mirror above the dresser as he stands behind you. His eyes soften when they lock with yours.
“I’m sorry,” he says under the sound of a whisper as his arms gently lock around your waist.
You want to push them away, tear them apart, throw them away into a volcano, but you’ve missed them, you’ve missed him, more than you thought. You thought you could lock all that away in a box somewhere in your mind, but you never truly closed it. Now his touch, his embrace, his warmth manages to unbox all that in a second.
He doesn’t move much at first, but your space is already taken by him. His chest presses against your back. His hands stretch the fabric of your shirt as they slide into opposite sides of your hips. His nose is drawn to the crook of your neck, capturing your scent.
It’s a mistake. Or maybe a relief. Or a sign that he still wants you regardless.
You close your eyes, stay still in his arms for a long moment.
His mouth then finds your shoulder. Pass the strap of your tank top, he presses a small kiss as one of his hands slips under the hem at your waist. His palm is warm when it lands on your stomach, his fingers curling slightly around your skin.
“I’ve missed you so goddamn much, sweetheart.” His voice invades your ear with a low rumble tinged in desire.
His lips then wrap around your earlobe, sucking it between his teeth before letting his mouth slip down the curve or your neck. His mouth parts and you tilt your head to the side to give him more space.
As he gently mouths around your exposed skin, a warm buzz runs down your body, making your flesh rise up into tiny bumps.
Soon you find your hands anchored to his arms, aching for his touch, while he keeps finding new places to press his lips on.
One of his hands slips further down, inviting itself under the elastic of your sweatpants. It travels down your belly, grazes the fabric of your panties as it aims your center. He cups your mound gently, as his mouth parts wider on the slope of your neck.
“That feel good?” He drawls in your ear, hot and low as your core wounds up into something pulsing you can’t control.
Swallowing the knot in your throat, you simply nod as you place your palm over his knuckles, coaxing him to press a little harder. The desire between your legs runs gradually hotter, your panties drench quickly, and you have to brace a hand on the dresser to keep yourself steady. Your head falls forward when Jack presses himself against your ass, letting you feel the hard outline of his cock that swells into something bigger when you push back with your ass.
Jack notices the way you hang your head down, how your eyes close, how you hold yourself, how your wordless response is somehow lost, drained somewhere in all the anger and desire you’ve mixed together.
The hand between your legs speeds up, circling your clit over your underwear, pressuring your folds. The heat rises and your arousal seeps through your panties.
His free hand travels up your torso, stops at your neck. An open palm holds your jaw, lifting your chin up so he can look at your face in the mirror. Your expression changes when he tells you to open your eyes and look at yourself, stare at your perfectly shaped mouth drawing an O, at how beautiful you look when he rubs you a tad harder.
“You don’t wanna talk, that’s fine, but I wanna see you come for me, sweetheart. You wanna do that? You wanna show me?”
You nod again.
He keeps that hand holding your jaw so you can watch your face contort when his fingers finally sneak under the fabric to collect your juices directly on his fingers.
“God, you’re gorgeous. Look at you,” his voice lusts deeply in your ear, his eyes turning as dark as yours as the pressure at your core tightens with every stroke of his fingers, every circle, every tease at your entrance.
Your breathing falters as your body curls and twists, pushing back against his erection. His hips counter, pressing harder against your ass. He groans near your ear, and then his tongue sticks out to draw a long, vicious line along your neck. The lewd reflection catches your eye, draws you further into his trap as he becomes all teeth and tongue roaming all over your flesh.
You’re ready to melt when he pushes two fingers inside. Your opening welcomes every knuckle as he massages your walls with practiced ease. He keeps his thumb circling your clit faster, making it harder for you to hold back.
A strained moan suddenly slips between your lips as you lose your ability to breathe normally.
Pleased to hear that beautiful sound, his fingers move faster, pressuring those sweet spots that make your knees want to buckle. The hand on your throat manages to keep your head from falling forward, you wanna look down so badly, but he doesn’t let you. He makes you watch him, makes you watch yourself come when he finally tips you over the edge. His fingers are drenched in you when your walls clench around them. It’s then that he lets your jaw go, holds onto your body instead, while a wave of pleasure washes all over you.
As your breathing recovers, your head falls back against his shoulder and when your feet can finally move, you grab his hand and guide him towards the bed.
You push your panties and sweats down your legs to pool on the carpet before propping a knee on the bed and lying down on your stomach.
You glance over your shoulder. “Fuck me,”
It’s an order. Not a request. One that Jack is happy to oblige to.
He follows your steps and removes the rest of his clothes. As he slides on top of you, he drags your tank top up to your shoulder blades to pull it over your head. “Take this off.”
You shift slightly to remove that and then lay your head back down on the mattress.
Now his hands are all over your back, claiming your skin, devouring with a hunger that reaches every inch of your body. He adjusts one of your legs, opening it to the side to have more access. Then he holds and guides his cock from behind, burying every inch inside your tender walls. They’re slick and ready to swallow him all. He’s already throbbing with rage, ready to pound and take whatever you give him.
“You don’t wanna look at me either, huh?” He purrs in your ear with those eager lips that can’t help but devour every bit of you at their passing.
You respond with a moan as his hips wave in and out, feeding your arousal new strokes, new stretches. He hits that spot inside over and over as he gradually rocks faster, slamming his hips against your ass with a symphony of thrusts that echoes between those four walls.
His head dips, pressing his forehead against your temple, his hot breath printed so close to your mouth you can taste it on your tongue. He keeps his posture braced on one forearm, while his opposite hand slips under your hip in search of that sweet spot that loves the tip of his fingers. They draw hard, long strokes back and forth, smearing your juices all over his hand.
Chasing that lust, the promised bliss at the end, the force of his hips comes even harder with such violence it feels like an earthquake is taking control of your body.
Jack drags you to the edge with him, half spilling his seed inside you. It happens fast, takes you more of a surprise this time. You don't have time to brace for impact when you feel your body folding to his power.
There’s a gush, hot and sticky that hits your walls, a grunt rumbling on your skin that tips you over. Your body seizes, comes undone in a second as a hot torrent of pleasure runs through every last nerve, taking over your trembling limbs. You ball the sheets, contract around him, as your voice strains, crying against the mattress as it a new wave washes all over.
Your body is still curled into itself when Jack pulls out of you to roll to his side. It takes you a moment longer to come to your senses and finally face him, face the mess you’ve made out of him. He’s covered in sweat when you turn to your side, his eyes have softened into something sweet but just as sad.
You lift your hand to hold his jaw, and he kisses the side of your palm as you tenderly brush your thumb on his cheek.
“Are you going to say it, or am I?” You say softly.
“Say what?”
Your lips curve up. “Say that you hate me. That you never want to see me again.”
“You want me to lie?”
“If you can’t say that you love me. I’d rather hear you lie.”
He chuckles, looping an arm around you, pulling you flush against his chest.
“I fucking hate you,” he utters in your ear. “Do you hate me?”
“More than you know.”
