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royallyprincesslilly · 7 months

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Title: Everyone Else Is No.2 {One-Shot}***

Lewis Hamilton x Attorney Friend Reader

Warning: Cursing, NSFW, Mature 18+ Content, Angst, PLENTY OF WORDS, DIALOGUE HEAVY

Words: 15.2k

Summary: Again, nah.

Note: Inspired by that old August Alsina song "Kissing on My Tattoos". So sorry for how long it is and for the long sentences toward the end, it couldn't be any other way. Forgive the weird spacing throughout, Tumblr has a 1,000 block limit per post, and guess who reached it before correcting the spacing.

Note II: Really interested in hearing what you guys think about this one. Let me know.

As always, thank you guys for reading! I appreciate it. I hope you enjoy this.

If you did enjoy this, please, LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!!!

***NOT Edited/Proofread***

-Y/N-

"You're beautiful you know that right?"

You smiled and took a sip of your drink.

"Thanks."

The man sitting across from you, Darius, nodded and before he looked down to his plate you caught his eyes drop to your cleavage. Of course, you thought. This was your 2nd date with him. The first went smoothly though you'd went with little to no expectations for it to be so. Tonight, he said the right things, did the right things, and was the perfect gentleman.

He'd even chosen a great restaurant. The ambiance was perfect for a second date. So far you had only counted 2 things that were less than satisfactory, everything was on point. He was so on point that you wondered if he was acting and not being his genuine self.

You hated the dating scene. Everyone held their cards too close to their chest. No one was ever real about anything. Everyone liked to waste people's time all in the name of fun and sex. These days you only treated dating as a pastime and a way to relieve stress after long hours of working on briefs and reviewing case files.

"A woman with your track record in law. Wheeew. Was it hard?"

You shrugged then wiped the corner of your mouth, "It definitely wasn't easy. I still remember the sleepless nights, and times when I only had 1 meal a day. My parents still remember not seeing me for 3 months because of the bar and my first major case that came nearly right behind the other. They won't let me forget it."

"It looks like it paid off. You're on the partner track. Shit, you'd be the first woman under 35 to make that happen at Halsey Boyd and Crenshaw," Darius said.

You bristled, but politely smiled and took another sip of your wine.

"I'm sorry I don’t mean to make this weird I'm just in awe of you."

You studied him for a few moments but found no lie. You could always tell a lie. No matter what the case, no matter who it was. It was your secret weapon and it served you well as a lawyer.

"Thank you, but enough about me. What about you? Tell me about Darius Forrester."

He smiled, licked his lips then looked you directly in the eye.

"I'm pretty much a what you see you get kind of guy. I've been at Berry & Clark for the last 6 years as a criminal attorney. The work is challenging but I do alright for myself.

You nodded. He did. From what you heard his win ratio was nearly 92% and he took upstanding cases. He was a good attorney. Normally you wouldn’t shit where you ate because mess was not your style. You did not want to walk into a courtroom or boardroom and see the opposing counsel was an ex. That one thing gave you nightmares.

So dating lawyers was out of the question. You dipped in every other career field, playing it safe. The further they were from a law career the better. However, after a conversation with your other lawyer girlfriends about limiting oneself in the already limited dating pool, something clicked, and you decided to try it once but only if they weren't in your firm. Darius was your first attempt.

As he continued to tell you facts about himself you listened, but he didn't have your full attention. There was another person who held your attention, a person who though was usually out of sight was never really out of mind.

You heard your phone sound from your clutch resting on the table and both your eyes shot to it. Darius spoke before you moved.

"Go ahead please."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm an attorney as well, Y/N I know you come attached to it."

You smiled, held up your finger to him silently promising it would be quick, then took your phone in hand. You expected it to be Kemi, your paralegal, with files you were expecting, but it wasn't her name on your screen.

MSG Lewis: What're you doing tonight? Going over an endless to-do list of contracts and briefs?

You smirked.

MSG: Not even close.

MSG Lewis: Wow did someone finally decide to live a little and cut loose?

MSG: This sounds an awful lot like the pot calling the kettle black.

MSG Lewis: Plead the 5th.

MSG: The Lewis Hamilton out maneuvered. Say it ain't so.

MSG: I'm close to your place. Just got back in town. Can you be ready in 10?

Your eyes flitted to Darius across from you who was taking the time to check his messages as well. You looked over him slowly, noting again how great he looked in his suit and how you liked the effort he had put in the last 2 dates down to the flowers he brought you and the activities you'd done. Things could progress if you chose to allow them to.

MSG Lewis: Is that a no?

MSG: I'm not home.

MSG Lewis: Okay. Where you at, the office? I can come pick you up.

MSG: I'm not at the office. I'm actually on a date.

You waited a few seconds, but he didn’t reply. Why didn't he reply?

"Everything ok?"

Caught off guard, you looked back up to Darius whose eyes were already on you. His brows were knitted with concern.

"Uh--yeah. I uh--I think so."

"A case?"

You thought about it and technically he was right. You were Lewis' entertainment lawyer. You were his personal attorney who reviewed the contracts after the company attorney said they had. You gave it to him between the eyes, never sugarcoating, and told him what was made with his best interest and what was made to capitalize off of him. However, when your services weren’t needed you were friends. Had been for practically a decade now.

Sometimes you couldn’t believe you’d known each other that long. You’d known him since he was just another F1 driver rather than the greatest. He knew you when you were going through school always on an empty tank all in the hopes of rising above the tax bracket you were born into. A decade later and he was dominating F1 and you’d more than risen yourself several levels past the tax bracket you’d been born into.

You were on the partner track at one of the largest firms in Europe. You brought in more revenue than most of the attorneys at the firm thanks to your high-class clientele. You'd both worked your asses off to get to this level and enjoyed the spoils of your labor often. You clubbed together, went to dinner, and sometimes did the vacation vibe together. You enjoyed one another’s company.

"A client."

"Oh. Everything cool or---," Darius said.

Another message came in just then. "Everything is cool."

Darius smiled. "Good. I'll be right back, men’s room."

"Yeah."

Darius stood then walked off leaving you with the perfect opportunity to check your phone.

MSG Lewis: Is that right?

MSG: Yeah. 2nd date. Well technically 3rd if you can have 2 dates in one day.

MSG Lewis: Cool. Is it going well?

MSG: Yeah. He's made it this far.

MSG Lewis: Cool.

MSG: When he drops me home Ill text you. Come get me then.

Several moments passed before he replied. Again, you wondered why.

MSG Lewis: Cool.

The remainder of dinner you were distracted. Darius played all his cards right, even scoring himself the green light on a little hand-holding action. You had to admit he was smooth. When he pulled up to your condo building he walked you to your door then went in for a kiss. You hadn’t expected it, but rather than pull away, you allowed it to play out. It wasn’t a bad kiss. He hadn’t been too overzealous, only slipped you a little tongue, and had kept his hands respectful. All in all, for a first kiss it was a solid 8.

With a promise to call to set date number 4 sometime next week, you went inside and allowed yourself to come down. The dating scene was not something you enjoyed often. You always felt like you were performing, like men wanted a certain kind of woman, the perfect woman who they could prance around on their arm to make other men envious and that took its toll.

You never felt you had to perform with Lewis. Never felt like he wanted the perfect you. He made fun of you whenever you were perfectly put together for work meetings and said many times he liked you out of the makeup and heels. After another sigh, you took your phone out and texted him.

~~~~~~

-Lewis-

The ceiling looked like every other ceiling he’d ever seen but that didn’t stop him from focusing most of his attention on it like it was the most interesting piece of construction ever. His eyes should have been focused elsewhere but they weren’t. A loud 'slurp' echoed in the mostly quiet room reminding him again that he wasn’t alone.

"Mm. Why are you so distracted tonight, bae?"

Julissa's voice was as smooth as honey and as seductive as ever. He lowered his eyes to where she was kneeling between his legs and took her in. Her lips and chin were wet as she gave him her bedroom eyes. This was not the first time between them. Usually, it would work but not tonight. Tonight he was struggling to even keep his head in the room.

He watched her tip her tongue out and lick from the base of his dick to the glistening tip. Once there she swirled her tongue around him then sucked his head into her mouth. He’d have to be dead for it not to feel nice but that’s all it was--nice.

He sighed then brought his attention back to the ceiling. "Work."

"Aw babe, when you’re with me work should be the last thing on your mind," Julissa said before lowering her mouth down his shaft. When he felt her tonsils he groaned. His body wanted to like this wanted to give her the reaction she was working so hard for, but something was holding him back. Julissa's mouth bobbed up and down his cock sucking and slurping to her heart’s content trying to get him off, but he knew she had her work cut out for her.

He thought back to your text from 2 hours ago. You were on a date. Well shit, he hadn’t seen that coming. That was the last thing he had expected you to be doing tonight. It wasn’t because you weren’t desirable, or he thought no man would want you. For fuck's sake, you were beyond desirable, you were gorgeous and so damn intelligent. He couldn’t figure out which of those made you more beautiful, your looks or your brains. You also worked hard to be where you were, and you deserved all the praise and attention you got wherever you went.

However, sometimes he wished you got a little less male attention--x that, a lot less male attention. He sighed again. This had been going on for 10 years now. Your friendship had only strengthened but along with a strengthening friendship came a lot of other stuff. Stuff like him taking notice of the fullness of your hips or being tempted to peek when you’d been changing in the backseat of his car, or being painfully aware of how your breasts felt against his chest when you hugged.

That coupled with things he had picked up from you, made the unspoken and ignored things that much more—confusing. There were times when the way you stared at him when you thought he wasn’t looking spoke volumes or the way your hand always lingered on him for a few seconds longer than necessary but not long enough for it to be inappropriate, or the time you'd fallen asleep together on the couch and he'd woken to you wrapped around him using him as your personal body pillow and mumbling his name in your sleep.

Yeah, there was a lot of extra stuff, stuff neither of you ever addressed. The only ones who assessed it were his friends. Miles told him on several occasions that he should be careful before he or you fucked around, and someone ended up hurt. That stuck with him, but not in the way Miles had probably meant it. Rather than taking it the way Miles meant, he used it as a means to keep himself in check, a form of prevention from him crossing the line. He knew if he did, neither of you would be able to go back. It would be impossible and was one fuck up worth a decades-long friendship?

So friends were where you stayed until he added another facet--professional. Years passed, dates passed, flings, non-labeled encounters on both your parts passed and through it all your friendship remained, and nothing changed. Except today there was even more extra stuff.

The feel of Julissa’s lips wrapped around his balls sent his hips jerking upward as a curse left his lips. Julissa moaned and giggled.

“Daddy likes that?”

He knew how he would like it more. As quickly as he revved to that thought he steered away from it. That was when his phone sounded.

MSG Y/N: I’m home. Whatdaya you wanna do? Should I change?

His eye caught the time. 1am. Almost 3 hours from your last text and you were only now getting home. Clenching his jaw he took a deep breath. He had no right to be mad or annoyed right now. He knew where this was coming from. You’d been on a date, and you said it was going well. A date going well had a chance of making it upstairs. He closed his eyes squeezing them tightly. He hoped to God that you hadn’t just gotten it in.

MSG Y/N: Hello?

MSG: You don’t have to change. How about some treats and a view?

MSG Y/N: Okay. Still 10?

MSG: Make it 15.

Pulling himself up he reached down to stop Julissa. She looked confused.

“I gotta go J.”

Now she looked even more confused. He didn’t owe her an explanation, that’s not how this worked between them.

“With your dick out?”

He scoffed then fixed himself as he stood.

“Lewis this’s never happened before. Are--,” she began before he cut her off.

“All good, just—not in the mood I guess.”

She looked offended now. “I’m sorry J. We’ll talk.”

He walked to the door then left her apartment without a glance back. He didn’t feel any way about it because both of them knew what their relationship was and wasn’t. She’d agreed. Once he was in his car, he zipped through the London streets maneuvering the quickest route to your place. Thanks to the time it was an easy drive with minimal traffic. 15 minutes on the dot he swerved around to the front of your luxury condo building then sent you a text letting you know he was there.

A few minutes later, he peeped you from the corner of his eye. You walked off the elevator in a short and tight black dress, impossibly high strappy black heels, and a flowy robe-like jacket that danced behind you as you walked.

“Fuck.”

You were beautiful. Just then the thought that you’d gone on a date dressed like this rubbed him wrong. Some other man had seen this view, a view you gave willingly. Clenching his jaw, he looked through his windshield as he tried to push all those thoughts—all that other stuff to the side as he’d done countless times before. He looked back just in time to see you open the door of his car then climb in. His eyes dropped to your legs but seconds later he corrected that.

“Hi!”

Your smile was bright as if you really were as happy to see him as your voice indicated.

“Hey.”

You reached over and pressed your cheek to his for a bougie kiss. The only thing he could think was that you smelled like a treat all by yourself.

“How are you?”

“Good. You?”

“Good. Wow, what’s it been? 2 months?”

He shrugged as he shifted gears and took off. “Something like that.”

“Mercedes sure knows how to keep you busy,” you teased.

He tried to focus on the road but from his peripheral, he could see you crossing your legs displaying even more skin.

“What were you doing? You smell like fruits.”

He chastised himself because he hadn’t done a bit of cleaning up before he came. His only thought was you. Julissa’s fruity lip gloss still stained his dick that he couldn’t manage to get hard for her.

“Nowhere special. Just kickin’ it.”

You didn’t press further which said you knew just what he was doing. He clenched his jaw again, this time annoyed with himself. As he drove to the dessert place you told him about what was going on in your life while he shared some bits of his with you. Like always conversation flowed like a calm river. It was something he loved. It didn’t take long for him to pull up to the drive-thru of the vegan dessert shop. When it was his turn at the window he tipped his hat lower and left the ordering to you.

You ordered damn near everything on the menu. You didn’t care if it was cake, cupcake, ice cream, brownie, or whipped cream. You ordered at least 2 of everything. It took the staff a good 5 minutes to prepare it all and when he loaded them in the backseat it was completely filled. When he looked at you with an “are you serious right now” look, all you did was giggle. Fuck, he thought. There went all that extra stuff again.

“There is no way we can finish all this,” he said looking at the bags they’d moved to the front since parking at their destination.

“Speak for yourself. I always have room for sugar, sugar.”

He snorted then shook his head. “Mad whack.”

Your jaw dropped as you gaped at him, and you looked too fucking adorable. You sifted through the bags until you found the dessert you wanted—the vanilla bean cheesecake. Your eyes lit up as you gawked at the large slice that was topped with white chocolate shavings. “It's so pretty,” you gushed.

He watched you snap picture after picture of the treat before you took your first forkful. When you did, your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you let out a completely indulgent, hearty, and dick-hardening moan. The fuck, he thought as his dick spasmed to life. Quickly he moved one of the bags to his lap and looked out the window.

“This is so good,” you obliviously said still munching on cake.

He pulled out the vegan chocolate truffle cake and took a bite. It too was good.

“That looks good. Is it?”

“Try it,” he said holding out a forkful to your mouth.

You paused for a split second then cut off a piece of your cheesecake before you held your fork to his mouth.

“You try too.”

The image that came to mind was that of a new husband and wife feeding each other wedding cake and with it, his throat went dry. He knew if he tried to speak he’d sound like a pre-pubescent boy, so he wrapped his lips around your fork taking the piece of cake then fed you his. Your eyes lingered on one another for a few moments nut when you moaned again his dick spasmed again. with that he turned his head so fast that he was surprised he hadn’t snapped his own neck in the process.

“So good,” you repeated.

The two of you sat there commenting on the desserts you went through in record time. He didn’t indulge in sweets often but when he did he found it was usually with your sugar-addicted ass. You said there were 4 things in life you would never give up, sugar, your favorite perfume, your favorite underwear set, and sex. He believed you on all points. When there were only a few pieces of cake left the silence in the car stretched.

“So—a date huh.”

“A date.”

“I thought you gave up dating.”

You took a deep breath then slowly released it before turning your body at an angle facing him. The hem of your dress hiked a little higher and he forced himself to look away.

“I did. Then I got bored and he asked.”

“What does he do?”

You didn’t answer automatically, instead, you took another forkful or 2 of cake, then you spoke.

“He’s an attorney.”

“I thought you didn’t date attorneys.”

“I don’t but me and the girls were talking, and it clicked that by x-ing out a whole career field greatly decreased me finding someone who could stick around.”

He paused. Stick around? This was new.

“Stick around? Are you—are you looking for something—serious?”

You took a beat then shrugged. “I don’t know. I thought the other day, I have everything I have ever wanted. I am on this partner track, I make very high 6 figures, I have a great condo, my mental health is amazing, I have no debt, no baby daddies or drama, I—I’m kinda a catch but I go to sleep alone 98% of my nights. I come home to an empty place, I have no meaningful text exchanges, there is—nothing fulfilling in my life. I began to wonder if it was time to change all of that last bit.”

Silence stretched again as he thought over your words while studying you. This was the first time he’d heard you speak like this. Usually, you changed the subject or downplayed having any other thoughts than fun, sex, and work. Now hearing the vulnerability in your voice he knew you’d come to a point where all of this, intention-free dating, pastime sex, stress-busting flirting and all the meaningless interactions were unfulfilling and empty. You wanted more, you wanted love, a life, a husband, kids, vacation homes, and retirement funds, you wanted the quintessential definition of it all. He also noted you now found everything he was currently partaking in meaningless and unfulfilling.

Dropping his head, he stabbed the cake still in his hands. The more puncture holes it picked up the less and less he wanted it.

“Fuck, maybe I’m just bored and need a really, really, good fuck.”

He snorted but it was humorless.

“Don’t downplay what you feel, Y/N. Don’t—make what you feel insignificant, so you feel less vulnerable. It’s okay to be vulnerable. It’s you and me here.”

“It’s just—you—I know those are things you don’t necessarily want and you’re happy with the--.”

“Who said I don’t want those things?”

His tone was sharp and defensive though he hadn’t meant for it to be.

“Uh—you did.”

“No. I said it’s not something I can afford right now with my schedule and my contract extension. I didn’t say I never wanted it.”

You looked away from him to out the window. “Yeah, but your actions say a lot different,” you mumble.

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing.”

“Y/N, look at me. What does that mean?”

You sat quietly for a few moments then just when he was about to ask again you blurted.

“There is a difference between I don’t want it now and I don’t want it ever. Someone who wants it someday would leave themselves open to it rather than boxing every interaction they have into--other things.”

“What if I don’t want to open myself to it?”

“That’s clear Lew.”

“No. You don’t get it. What if I don’t want to open myself to it because I don’t want to find the perfect thing—the perfect woman and then be fucked because it’s too soon and too hard to keep her in my world to wait until I can make those commitments because my world is fucked—I’m fucked because I want the world and will actually keep going until I get it anyone else be damned.”

He could feel your eyes on him, and it was his turn to feel vulnerable and exposed.

“You think because you put everyone in one box it stops what’s meant to be from—being?”

He glanced at you with a pained expression, he knew it. He was actually feeling pain.

“Also—you’re not fucked because you want the world. I want the fucking world. Am I fucked?”

“To be determined.”

You both busted out laughing then. You laughed for a good minute then smiled as it tapered off.

“Aren’t you the tiniest bit lonely in the other side of your life—away from F1?”

He didn’t need to think about that. He knew the answer, but he didn’t want to tell you. The facts were that he was lonely more times than not. That was when he called someone to come distract him or make him feel good. He’d become an expert in the art of distraction. In his life, he only had time and the capacity for low stress and no mess. He had enough of both already.

He felt your hand creep into his and squeeze gently. Suddenly, there was all this other stuff again. The feel of your smaller hand in his larger one was something he really liked. Usually, when either of you took the other’s hand it was in passing or for a second, but the moment lingered and stretched, and still you kept your hand in his swirling your fingers against his palm and other fingers. He liked this too much.

“You can tell me. I won’t judge you. In fact—I’m lonely.”

His eyes slipped to you. Your head was down staring at your hands. It had now moved to trace the tattoos on his hand with the point of your nail as if his flesh were an adult coloring book. He watched you trace the rose on his pinky, then the planets on his ring finger. When you got to the lined arrow down his middle, he was having trouble swallowing again. Slowly, you traced the spaceship then went up across the sword until you reached his wrist.

He didn’t know if there was rhyme or reason to your movements or if you were just absently doing it. Goosebumps peppered his skin when you went up his forearm. He looked at you just before your eyes met his.

“You are?”

You nodded. “I am,” you whispered.

The air was on but inside the car easily felt like a sweltering 99 degrees. He didn’t know if it was from your touch or if it was the shift in the air between you. Did you notice it too?

“I think it’s okay to be lonely especially looking at how we live. We’re always working, always pushing ourselves to and through glass ceilings and when we do there is no one really there to share it with, not really, not in the way that fulfills,” you said.

Your face was closer to his now. Had he moved closer or was it you? Your eyes met again, and the temperature kicked up again. Fuck, he thought as his dick recklessly spasmed, begging for attention.

“I’m never lonely with you,” he said before his brain could stop his mouth.

A small smile lit your face, “Me too. Never with you.”

The smile slipped. “Well—not always.”

He turned to you more now, curiosity filling him. “What do you mean?”

You stayed quiet for a few moments but kept tracing his skin with your nail.

“There are times I can’t—guess what you’re thinking. Times I can’t—figure you out.”

“Then ask me.”

“Would you really tell me?”

He leaned closer. “I’d tell you anything.”

You searched his eyes, but you didn’t move back.

“Anything?”

He nodded slowly. His head felt hazy like you had him under some sort of spell with nothing more than your presence and the tip of your finger and all he truly wanted was to touch you in return. So he did. Reaching across to your exposed knee, he circled his finger around the smooth skin there. You sucked in a breath the moment his finger touched you and that one action nearly had him pulling you across the partition right onto his lap. Nearly.

So there on a hill that overlooked London, in his car, sitting near enough to a lone road light, you trailed your finger across his forearm while he did the same to your knee. The low light that illuminated the car bathed your skin in amber making him feel like you were on a whole different plane of existence rather than this real proven and tangible one. Your eyes held him in place to the point where he felt like he couldn’t move though he wanted to.

Without even realizing it you were mere inches from him. In fact, you were so close he could make out the hidden colors in your eyes, so close he could smell the fragrance on your skin that went deeper than perfume. This was your essence and by God he was intoxicated. Unable to stop himself, he inched his hand higher gripping your inner thigh. A soft moan fell from your lips and that was all it took for him to press his forehead to yours like the sound was tethered to his very core.

“Y/N,” he groaned.

The sheer might it was taking to keep himself restrained was becoming too much. At this point, it wouldn’t take much for him to abandon those restraints and give in.

“Lewis,” you whispered.

Your voice was raspy and dripping with what he dared label as desire. Fuck, he thought as he squeezed your thigh. He was so close, mere inches and it wouldn’t take much to close the gap between his fingers and your core but still, he fought himself. He was so wrapped up in his own battle for control within himself that he didn’t even realize when your hand rested on his upper thigh. You were dangerously close to kicking the lid off the box of other stuff that he’d worked years to keep shut. Half of him silently begged for you to keep going and kick it off so everything would be out in the open and it would be do or die but the other half of him hesitated still. The unknown was a powerful and sobering drug.

Your hand inched higher, then closer to what was the rock-hard physical evidence that deep down, now closer to the surface than ever before, he felt more, wanted more than what was. He wanted more than he could possibly afford. Still, his hand persisted, it inched higher making your hips jerk forward. The knowledge that he’d hit a sensitive spot sent his system into overdrive making a deep moan from his lips fill the car.

On cue in response, your legs opened a few inches more, making way for his hand. Jesus Christ he thought. There was his consent, you wanted him as he wanted you. There would be nothing wrong with him slipping his fingers underneath whatever underwear you wore. Fuck, he hoped they were lacy and strappy. There would be nothing wrong with him letting your hand slide to the aching dick straining against his pants begging for your attention. Shit, he bet your hands would feel incredible wrapped around him. There would be nothing wrong with him moving closer and finally claiming your lips as his. Damn, he just knew they were as sweet as they looked, that they felt amazing. There would be nothing wrong with him pulling your body against his for more than a clothed hug. There would be nothing wrong with him cupping your breasts and swirling his thumb across your nipple just to see the reaction it elicited. God damn it, he knew your moans would destroy him. There would be nothing wrong with him finally learning what you tasted like, nothing wrong with him finally smearing your wetness across his lips. Holy fuck, he knew you had to taste like pure sugar and cream.

His cock spasmed again then your hand made the move for him. In the same breath with his eyes squeezed tight, he lurched for your hand, gripping you by your wrist stopping you just before you touched him. As he did that his jaw clenched, the only thing he could do to stifle the moan at the tip of his tongue. It came out as a half groan and growl instead. The strangled whine that left you said you liked it, and he knew he had to end this here. It took him some time to find the smallest bit of control to open his eyes, but he didn’t possess enough control to look at you. There was no way he could.

“I’ll take you home,” he said, voice low and so close to a whisper.

He tried to keep the longing, regret, and hope from it. Slowly he removed his hand from your thigh hoping with everything in him that you grabbed it and nudged it higher. You didn’t though, so he turned forward readying himself to drive. You didn’t move for several long moments; you remained there half facing him with your thighs still tempting him to go back and take things further. With his hands on the steering wheel, he trained his eyes forward. He could feel all the antsy energy bouncing off every cell of his body, he could feel all the need in him wreaking havoc on him telling him to stop being a pussy and do what he really wanted to, say what he wanted to, take what he wanted.

His hands squeezed so tightly that the creaking of the leather echoed in the intense silence in the car. Just when he was about to say fuck it, you turned away from him. You softly cleared your throat then buckled yourself in. Sighing, he pushed started the ignition then swerved out of the parked spot they were in taking the route back to the city. As he drove you didn’t speak, you didn’t even move. You kept your head turned away from him looking out the passenger window with your legs crossed away from him. Your body language sent a completely different message now. Before you were open and so close to him. Now, you were so far he wondered if he’d turned Miles’ words into truths.

~~~~~

-Y/N- 8 Months Later-

The loud ‘pop’ of a champagne cork echoed just behind you making you spin in that direction. A group was just behind you laughing and toasting to something you guessed was momentous. You sighed then turned back to the painting you were currently studying. The abstract lines and swoops looked so similar to the slopes of a body. The longer you stared at it the more it felt like an erotic image than some random lines and swirls. There was something about it that stirred something in you, something that you’d ignored and buried so deep, something you hadn’t felt for 8 months.

You drained your champagne glass then squeezed your eyes shut. It had been a long 8 months. You’d worked your ass off times ten taking on more and more clients than before. You brought on 12 celebrity clients and 4 major corporate ones which brought Halsey, Boyd, and Crenshaw to the top of the field in revenue. You brought in so much money that you’d gotten 7 poaching offers from firms in different parts of the country.

Thanks to those offers that you hadn’t necessarily kept confidential, the interest in you for partner rose to unbeatable levels. Anyone you were competing against for the position paled in comparison. Those 8 months of ass-busting work led to your name being signed on the paperwork titling you as the new partner at Halsey Boyd and Crenshaw. It was so much of a done deal that your bank account proudly embraced your new status.

With that new status came an increase in the events you had to make an appearance at as thee number 1 entertainment and criminal attorney in London. Your calendar quickly filled with meetings, speeches, appearances, court appearances, dinners, and more. You were so booked that the next time you had any schedule free time was 6 months away. You’d catapulted so far out of your original tax bracket that you’d shattered the glass ceiling that tried to confine you and now you wondered if you’d aimed too high.

“Looks like I’m right on time.”

You looked to your right and found Darius holding another glass of champagne for you. Smiling, you took it.

“That you are, thank you.”

“Of course. To you, the youngest and newest partner at Halsey Boyd and Crenshaw and in the greater London area.”

You smiled as the man who’d stuck around through your insane schedule, your hot and cold behavior, your pull you close one minute, push you away the next, your disappearing acts, your reluctance to place a label on your interactions, your give me sex then get gone rule, and more for the last 8 months.

“Thank you, Darius,” you said leaning toward him and pressing your lips against his.

Darius moaned and reciprocated the kiss, snaking his hand around your waist and pulling you close. You felt like you were thanking him for much more than the toast and the fresh glass of champagne. You felt like you were thanking him for taking your bare minimum and it made you feel like shit.

Darius pressed his forehead to yours and instantly you had a flash back to the last man who’d done that to you. In a split second, your heart rate spiked, and an intense feeling gripped you.

“You don’t have to thank me, love.”

Your reaction to the action ricocheted through you making you pull away from Darius. Turning back to the painting, you gulped down the champagne.

“It’s crazy that your firm has so many celebrity clients and that this many are here to welcome you as partner,” Darius said in hushed tones.

“It is crazy.”

All night you’d been rubbing elbows with actors, musicians, models, athletes, and more. All of them congratulated you on your promotion and wished you greater success in the future. It was touching but a little bit overwhelming. You couldn’t let on though, so for the entire night you’d been performing, and you were nearing the limits of your stamina for it. You’d been performing for the last 8 months. Shit, you’d even been performing with Darius. You’d been performing ever since you were dropped off in those early morning hours those 8 months ago.

“Y/N,”

To your left, your paralegal now turned assistant, Kemi touched your elbow drawing your attention to her.

“Hey, girl.”

“Hey, you look incredible,” she said.

“Stop saying that please, you’re gonna blow my head up so big I just might start thinking I deserve a higher position.”

She giggled but gave you a look that said “well ya’ do.”

“The big wigs are asking for you, although you’re now one of them so--.”

You snorted while rolling your eyes. “Then doesn’t that make you the big wig assistant?”

She posed then making you laugh.

“I’ll be right back,” you said to Darius as you walked off to find those big wigs.

It didn’t take long before you found them surrounded by a group of about 10 people. When they saw you they waved you over with large smiles on their faces. You took a deep breath and approached them with an equally large smile.

“There she is ladies and gentlemen!”

The group smiled, patted your back, and welcomed you with friendly banter.

“Everyone!”

The music died down and someone handed Malcolm Boyd a microphone. He was your biggest fan, a black man who’d made unfathomable feats in the field and became an incredible mentor and second father to you. He put his arm around your shoulder as he always did.

“I am filled with great happiness and pride calling this woman the new partner here at Halsey, Boyd, and Crenshaw!”

Everyone began applauding then, drowning out his next words so he paused and allowed them a few moments before continuing.

“She has been with us for 6 years now and in those 6 years she has accomplished incredible things and when she was done with those incredible things she moved on to outstanding things. Y/N has reminded many of us of what it means to be determined and persistent. She tackles every case with poise, confidence, and grace and that confidence has given her that 99% win record.”

Again everyone clapped. You softly smiled at them half embarrassed by the praise but half so damn proud of yourself and happy that your accomplishments were being recognized.

“Just as Malcome said, “Patrick Halsey began placing his hand on Malcom’s shoulder, “Y/N more than deserves this promotion and I expect her to blow all of our minds in the coming months and years. We just might have to add another name to the plague.”

Many in the audience hollered and hooted at that and you couldn’t lie that the greedy ambition within you salivated at that possibility. You still wanted more. You exchanged a look with Malcome who gave you an all-knowing look. You just found your next accomplishment. The founding partners took turns praising you and giving reasons why you’d earned this promotion then raised their glasses to you for the ultimate toast of congratulations. You humbly thanked them and gave a quick appreciative speech before lifting your glass to the audience.

As you drank down the tart liquid, your eye caught sight of a figure you hadn’t seen in person for almost 2 months—Lewis. He stood at the back in a black suit that clearly was made for him. His braids were pulled back in the way he liked when he was tackling more professional events. He looked as good as ever. He lifted his glass of water to you and in response you gave him a tight smile.

The same thing happened that always happened when you met one another ever since that night. Your body went through this strange cycle of reaction, excitement, confusion, hurt, anger, annoyance, and disappointment. It was exhausting. Because of these feelings, you regretted that night. You regretted allowing your thoughts to go so astray that you opened up your ‘what if’ box. You regretted every whisper, every lean in, every almost touch, every lingering look, everything. You even regretted getting out of his car when he pulled up to your condo instead of pulling him by his hair to you and telling him to go upstairs with you. you didn’t know what you regretted more.

The worst part was that you had to continue on like always. Normally it wouldn’t be a problem because that night was not the first night there had been many ‘what if’ nights over your decade-long friendship. The common factor was that both of you moved on and slinked back into the basics of your relationship—comfort and friendship. This time is difficult, so difficult you contemplated passing his case off to another attorney. If it hadn’t been for Malcome talking you out of it he would have been someone else’s responsibility. Instead, you put on your big girl panties and a mask and did something you never thought you’d ever do with him—performed.

When the crowd thinned out and everyone returned to what they were doing you began making your way back to Darius in the opposite direction. You were ready to leave. Before you got far Lewis stepped in front of you stopping you in your tracks.

“Congratulations, Y/N.”

Smiling, you thanked him.

“You look--,” his words stalled as his eyes roamed your body. You noted the conflicted look on his face before it disappeared. “Incredible,” Lewis finished.

His compliment made your body warm and something like hope filled you. Chastising yourself you swallowed the lump in your throat. “Thank you. You look nice too.”

Lewis scoffed softly then nodded. You then tried to slip by him, however, Lewis wasn’t having it. Again, he stepped in front of you.

“In a rush to get away from me?”

“Why would you say that? Have you done anything to me for me to want that?”

Silence stretched and Lewis studied you his jaw clenched tightly. Instead of speaking, he looked down, an act of defeat.

“Can we talk, Y/N?”

“We’re talking right now.”

He gave you an unamused look, but you kept your nonchalant, innocent one. Unexpectedly Miles approached then.

“There she is--partner lady. Congratulations Y/N.”

You smiled then hugged Miles. “Thank you!”

“This is incredible news, Y/N. So happy for you.”

“I appreciate that. Thank you for coming,” you replied.

“You know me, always this fool’s plus one.”

You smiled then the silence returned for a few seconds before Lewis spoke again.

“Maybe we can go somewhere—quiet after this?”

“Unfortunately I don’t think I can.”

“Why?”

Just then Darius approached and wrapped his arm around your waist resting his hand on your hip. You watched Lewis’ eyes drop to that hand and continued to watch as his jaw turned tight as if it filled with cement.

“Oh wow. Lewis Hamilton,” Darius said turning to you, his voice awestricken. “Babe it’s Lewis Hamilton.”

You nodded as a soft smile played on your lips. “Let me introduce you. Darius, this is one of my clients, Lewis Hamilton, and his best friend Miles Chamley-Watson fencing champion and Olympian. Miles, Lewis this is my—.”

You hesitated and in the same second, you felt Darius’ eyes on you filled with hope. Two other pairs of eyes were on you--one giving complete double eyeball emoji and the other searing you almost daring you to continue. The longer you didn’t speak, you watched Darius’ hope turn to disappointment. Glancing back at Lewis you found his eyebrow up with a curious and confrontational look while Miles was the epitome of if ‘well this is awkward’ was a person.

“This is Darius Forrester.”

You felt even more like shit now. Darius shook Lewis’ hand first then Miles’. While he did Lewis looked him over sizing him up. You knew he was wondering if he was the same man from those months ago when you’d told him you were on a date.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, I’m a fan,” Darius said to Lewis.

“Thank you. I appreciate that. I can sign something for you if you want.”

You rolled your eyes at his underhanded jab while a half chortle escaped Miles. Darius on the other hand leapt at the opportunity, handing Lewis the only thing he had, an art bidding ballot. Lewis signed the back but kept his eyes on Darius’ hand on your hip.

“Bidding on some art tonight?”

“I am. There is a piece this gorgeous angel has been staring at all night, it’ll be my gift to her for her promotion,” Darius explained rubbing your hip.

You smiled at him then kissed his cheek. Lewis now looked entertained while Miles’ eyes widened as he finished the drink in his hand.

“Ehm, anyway. So I’m sorry I can’t pencil you in tonight but if you call Kemi and make an appointment she’ll get you on the calendar for a different day for that talk,” you said.

“Plans tonight,” Miles guessed looking between you and Darius.

“Absolutely. I’ve had way too much to drink and plan on taking advantage of that.”

You leaned closer to Darius kicking up your performance another notch. Lewis smirked but also clenched his jaw to that. Miles whistled while nodding his head.

“Go on then Ms. Partner, fly by the seat of your panties or no panties,” Miles teased making you and Darius chuckle while Lewis gave him an unamused look.

“Well, enjoy your evening gentlemen. Thank you again for coming by,” you said before you made a move to walk off with Darius.

As you walked away you placed your hand over Darius’ and slyly slipped it lower to rest on your ass. You knew Lewis was watching and decided to deliver the last blow. Was it petty? Yes. Was it fair to Daius? Not at all.

The next hour or so passed with you roaming around the gallery looking at the art while Darius flirted with you. As you roamed, no matter where you went you saw Lewis from the corner of your eye and no matter how much space was between you, your skin reacted as if Darius’ touch was his. The more you felt that way the reality that Darius’ touch was in fact all his own annoyed you making you feel even worse. You knew what needed to be done and knew it had to be done soon.

The only way you could distract yourself was with glass after glass of champagne. As you emerged from one of your countless trips to the bathroom you bumped into Miles.

“Funny bumping into you here.”

You smiled warmly, “Still here? I thought you and Lewis left hours ago.”

“You knew we were still here,” he accused.

You tried to give an affronted look but failed. He was right. Sighing, your act fell for the first time that night.

“Wow. Feels good to not perform huh.”

You looked at Miles and wondered just how much he knew. He didn’t keep you in suspense long.

“What a twisted web we weave when we practice to deceive.” He scoffed, shook his head then continued, look, I am going to tell you the same thing I told Lewis.”

You perked up then but tried to play it off.

“You better stop playing before somebody gets hurt and by the looks of it, it’s gonna be your homeboy Darius if not all three of you.”

You took in his words then put your mask back in place. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah you do, just like Lewis knew what I was talking about all those years ago, but he still decided to keep playing, and now look where we are.”

Your curiosity peaked then. “What are you talking about Miles? What do you think you know?”

He scoffed. “I’m a straightforward kinda guy so I’ll say I know everything. As the neutral 3rd party who is both on the outside looking in and the inside watching this train wreck, I know everything. I know what he tells me and what he doesn’t tell me, and I know what you don’t tell him.”

Your eyes lingered and the longer they did the more you got his meaning. Glancing away you tried to pretend like his words meant nothing, but you knew you were failing.

“I get it, I really do; 10 years is a long time to put at risk but are you really putting it at risk knowing all you know? You have 10 years of proof. Man up.”

Miles leaned in, kissed your cheek, and whispered, “Let homeboy go so he can find someone who really loves him, someone who can love him. Your corner is full.”

With that, he walked away leaving you speechless and confused. Your corner was full? You had no idea whatsoever what that meant, and you were tempted to follow Miles and get some clarification, but you decided against it remembering the last time you chased down the rabbit hole. When you found Darius again his expression was somber when he told you that the painting he’d been bidding on was outbid and that he didn’t have it to gift you. After assuring him you were fine, you decided you were more than ready to leave.

Darius got the car as you waited outside allowing the cold air to cool your skin. You didn’t care that you were risking illness because it served as a needed distraction. When you felt a fabric drape over your shoulders you bristled at first but then Lewis’ scent circled you and your body relaxed. Even that annoyed you.

“I don’t need this. Darius will be back soon anyway.”

Lewis snorted. “8 months, is that a record?”

“I think it’s a record for you, but I’ve gone longer.”

He scoffed then shook his head. “No doubt, remember Y/N. I will be here long after you get bored with them all. I’m always here.”

Your eyes locked and his should have been radiating cockiness that matched his words, but instead, they were gentle, open, and vulnerable.

“Will you?”

There was no time to reply because a car horn blared drawing your attention. Darius waved at you as he got out of the car to walk around to the passenger side.

“Good night Lewis.”

You walked away from him then slipped into the passenger side. As you waited for Darius to get in and drive off, you stared at Lewis who hadn’t budged from the curb where you left him. Miles’ words echoed back to you then.

“Just like Lewis knew what I was talking about all those years ago, but he still decided to keep playing, and now look where we are.”

“You have 10 years of proof.”

“Your corner is full.”

The word ‘full’ echoed over and over as Darius pulled off. Bullshit, you said to yourself in disbelief.

When Darius pulled up to your condo you sat there marinating in all your thoughts throughout the nearly thirty-minute drive. It wasn’t until you felt Darius’ hand on your exposed knee did you realize he was still there.

“Are you okay? Want me to come up?”

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. “We need to talk Darius.”

When you looked at him his expression said he knew just what you were about to say. Being as gentle as you could, you ended things. Although the old “it’s not you it’s me” line fit the situation perfectly. You dug a little deeper and gave him and heartfelt reason without revealing you were and had been in love with your best friend for 10 years and didn’t realize it until his feelings were already on the line. When you finished, Darius remained the good guy he was and told you he understood and that he’d expected this sooner or later. You thanked him for being good to you then began making your way to the elevators.

Halfway there you dug into the pocket of the jacket you wore and froze. When you took your hand out you held a note with your name sprawled on the front in Lewis’ handwriting.

-Y/N-

I’ve thought for months about what to say to you because there is so much to say, so much that has gone unsaid for so long that I don’t know where to start—how to start. 10 years is a long time especially when neither of us has been 100% honest with the other. I want to end that. Please.

-Lewis

You read then reread the note over and over hoping you would know what to do next but no matter how many times you did, you had nothing. So you walked back and forth in the lobby. When your phone sounded, you found a message from Lewis.

MSG Lewis: Ball’s in your court. I’m outside your building.

You froze then slowly turned and saw his car. It had been months since you’d been in a car with him and the thought of doing it again freaked you out a little. Your eyes met at that moment, but he didn’t move. He was giving you the time to decide for yourself. You turned your back to him then walked to the elevators but stopped halfway. After a few moments, you turned back around and walked to the doors only to stop halfway again and repeat the whole cycle. Still, Lewis didn’t budge. He just watched as your internal debate played out physically.

After ten minutes you stooped down and put your down, completely exhausted by your indecisiveness. Taking a deep breath, you held it and allowed your lungs to adjust. It was an action you often did to help you think and calm down. As your oxygen levels decreased your heartbeat would slow and as it did, there was always one particular beat where you figured it all out. It usually came right in the nick of time.

So you allowed your heartbeat to slow and though you should have panicked you didn’t. You thought clearer than you’d ever thought before.

“I know what he tells me and what he doesn’t tell me, and I know what you don’t tell him.”

Miles’ words came back to you again and it was then you gasped filling your lungs with air. After a few breaths, you stood then turned to the doors. It worked all the time. With your head high and back straight you walked toward them then climbed inside Lewis’ car. Without a word, he pulled off then turned back onto the streets.

~~~~~~

Thirty minutes later you walked into a penthouse suite right behind Lewis.

“Why here?”

“Thought neutral ground would make you more comfortable.”

You scoffed and beelined right to the bar, tossing his suit jacket over the back of one of the bar stools. As you mixed yourself a drink you tried not to focus on him, but you did. No matter where he went you knew. You were hypersensitive to him at this point. You’d only meant to make a glass but ended up making a whole shaker cup. You kicked off your heels, climbed onto the bar stool then plopped yourself on the countertop. Once comfortable you crossed your legs and sipped your drink.

“Where’s Darius?”

“Not here obviously.”

“You and I are so alike it’s insane,” he said as he approached you, but he didn’t come close. He stopped at the sectional couches in the middle of the large living area and then sat.

The silence in the room was thick for such a long time you began thinking about leaving altogether.

“Congratulations again. I’m so fucking proud of you. You saw something you wanted and didn’t stop until you got it. You deserve this.”

Your stomach flipped hearing his praise. More than anyone he knew what you’d gone through to get here. It touched you. Looking away from him, you cleared your throat. “Thanks.”

His eyes remained on you as if daring you to look back at him. It was a dare you had to accept. Your eyes locked and you instantly felt it. There was so much to say. Just behind him, you saw something familiar. Squinting, you made out the painting you’d been staring at all night, the painting Darius wanted to bid on for you. It clicked then, the reason why Darius couldn’t win it was because Lewis claimed it first. You scoffed, the man was competitive and dominant to a fault. You couldn’t help but be touched by the gesture though.

Lewis sighed bringing your eyes back to him, “I don’t even know where to start,” groaned, rubbed his eyes then spoke again. “Maybe I’m sorry is a good place.”

You studied him for a few moments then took a mouthful of your drink. “For what?”

“You know for what.”

That night.

Those words hung in the air, and you did your best to remain aloof. Scoffing, you shook your head. “It’s all good Lewis.”

“You’re lying and you know it. I thought attorneys believed in the truth.”

“Who are you to tell me what my truth is?!”

You hadn’t meant to shout it, but you did.

“Because more times than not our truths match up and I am sure that what happened was not all good to you because it wasn’t to me.”

“And what exactly wasn’t all good to you?”

“The way we—I left things,” he quietly said.

You waited for him to continue because there was no way in hell you were going to make this easy for him. He wanted to talk so he’d talk. Lewis shook his head then hung it backward. He sat there staring into the ceiling for almost a full minute before he looked back at you.

“I just—flipped when we were—you were—you wanted--,” he stuttered.

You scoffed again, “Don’t flatter yourself, Lewis,” you said slipping into the barstool and spinning it around so your back faced him.

“What?”

“You and I both know that none of that meant anything to you. It’s all good.”

“Now who’s telling who what their truth is?”

You didn’t take the bait, instead, you kept your back to him and finished your glass.

“You forget, I know you, Lewis. 10 years of friendship and I know you so well that it was my own damn fault that night.”

“Whatdaya know?”

After refilling your glass you turned back around then hopped off the stool and walked toward the large floor-to-ceiling window. “I know that that you were with one of your rotation chicks before you came to pick me up. I smelled her on you. That fruity aroma was all her. I know that because of that tidbit of info, none of it meant anything.”

Leaning against the window you stared down at the view of London. Lights glistened down below, and you imagined everyone scurrying to where they had to go so wrapped up in their own thoughts or existence to even suspect that it all was fleeting.

“Okay, I’ll own that bit. Yeah, I was with one of them but that was only after I found out you were on a date.”

“So it’s my fault. I was on a date living my life, so you decided to get your dick wet. Okay.”

You took another sip from your glass not liking the direction of this little talk he wanted to have.

“I never said it was your fault. It’s just a fact. I texted you because I wanted to see you, wanted to spend time with you and you were spending time with someone else, someone you probably did God knows what with hours before you saw me.”

And with that, you were done here. Finishing the glass you turned and walked to the door.

“Good night Lewis.”

He scurried in front of you blocking your path. “Wait, please. Shit! I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Two sorries in the span of twenty minutes, cool. Get out of my way.”

“No, Y/N, please wait.”

You sighed, rubbing your forehead. “I’m sick and tired of waiting. I’ve waited 10 years!”

“You’ve waited? I’ve—.”

Lewis threw his hands up then walked away grunting and talking to himself. He looked insane and it kind of made you pleased seeing it. He always appeared so in control, so aware of himself and his actions at all times. It had all gone to shit now. You stood there debating if you should just leave and let things remain how they were until the day you both just stopped talking and checking in and it ended up going on for another 10 years until you were just people who used to know one another, people who’d missed out on something. It was then you realized you weren’t wearing shoes.

“Shit,” you whispered.

“I wanted you that night. I wanted you more than I had ever wanted anyone, including anyone in the rotation. Do you know what I was doing while you were on your date?”

“Getting your dick wet. I know.”

“I was lying on Julissa’s bed as she gave me head.”

You scoffed, “Of course you were.”

“She’d been going for 40 minutes and still I was barely hard. No matter what she did, no matter the tricks, no matter how nice it felt, barely hard. I was lying on her bed with my dick in her mouth thinking about you on your fucking date.”

You looked at him then. Those were words you hadn’t expected.

“My mind went crazy thinking what was happening. The longer that went by without you texting me the thoughts killed me. As soon as I got your message I left. No other thought, just you. I prayed to God that the date didn’t go well enough for you to let him upstairs. Then I saw what you were wearing, and I couldn’t believe I was jealous. I was jealous.”

“Why?”

Lewis looked at you then. “Because he got to see you like that. You’d dressed up for him, wanted to turn him on with that outfit. He’d spent the entire night with you. He’d had what I wanted.”

Well shit, you thought before walking back to the bar. Rather than making another drink, you took up a bottle of champagne and brought it to your lips.

“Do you know what it feels like to want someone so bad that it fucks with you and everything you do? To want someone more than you’ve wanted anything. To want someone in a way that is new to you, so new that it scares you. Do you know what it feels to have this crippling fear every time that someone is in your grasp, but not being able to resist the temptation, the desire to make them yours? Do you know what it feels like to know that you only burn this bright, this hot, this dangerous with one person, and the burn is all-consuming?”

He looked almost hysterical now. “Do you know what it feels like to want the perfect someone for you? I’m talking molded for you in every way while knowing it’s not the right time for you because you both want too much from the world and because you know that because you burn so hot, so bright that you’ll burn each other if either of you ever let go and let it happen? To know you are so similar that you will either destroy each other or ruin one another for anyone else.”

The look on his face was so damn relatable. He’d just said everything you’d thought over the last 10 years. Everything.

“I know what he tells me and what he doesn’t tell me.”

He was practically ranting now. Spewing every single thing that he’d ever thought, confessing it all.

“So because of all that you try to keep up pretenses that you’re friends and nothing more though you have countless moments where you slip up and stare at them too long, or hold them in your arms from a hug for half a minute too long, or let your hand linger in theirs or around their waist to test boundaries because you just can’t not touch them, or even find reasons to do every single thing together. You take those 2 steps forward not realizing you do because the pull is too strong, then you freak out and leap back 5 steps. You do this for weeks, months, years until 10 of them have passed and you have this huge box you’d filled with all the other stuff between you that you can’t express or fess up to until that box just gets stirred by one action, one moment--one night.”

His eyes were locked on yours. Somehow he’d traveled across the room to the bar and was standing right in front of you. Somehow he’d locked you in the frame of his arms leaving you nowhere to run. Somehow he’d managed to inflate your chest with hope right beside your thundering heart.

“Then suddenly—everything has changed, and nothing can be the same ever again,” he finished, his voice a whisper in the completely silent room.

You watched his eyes lower to your lips and your gut flipped again.

“Do you know what any of that feels like, Y/N?”

There were only mere inches between you now and the sheer proximity of his body to yours made you shiver.

“H—how long—have you—felt this way?”

Your voice quivered in a way that made it obvious to him what his nearness was doing to you.

“10--fucking years,” Lewis replied eyes glued to yours.

He took one step to you, “I’ve spent the last 8 months cleaning my life, cleaning my circle because I’ve gotten to the point where I could no longer ignore that everyone else is number 2 for me. You’re number one, Y/N.”

You were frozen in place, unsure what to say, and even more unsure what to do. He was right, your truths usually did line up and this was no different.

“And I know it scares you, shit it scares me too. All of this does. I know my life is insane and yours is about to be even more so, I get you still have things you want to accomplish; I saw your face when Halsey mentioned adding your name to the plaque. You want it and I want it for you as well as the world for both of us. Our timing can’t be any worse, but something has got to give, love, because I can’t take another year let alone 10 of this.”

You took a deep, ragged breath.

“Where--,” Lewis began before stopping and chewing his top lip.

It was a nervous tick. “Where do I—stand—with you?”

For 10 years he’d been so hard to read, so nearly impossible to gauge, and here right now in the darkness of the room you could see him as clear as day. He was oh so transparent and scared you’d reject him. Scared you’d decide he was more trouble than he was worth. Scared he’d just showed you his heart and ruined your friendship in the process. Without realizing it you were crying; you felt a tear roll down your cheek.

Sniffling, you wiped it away, “Ehm, I broke up with Darius tonight.”

Lewis looked shocked. Clearly, he thought you were still together.

“Why?”

You wiped the other tear that fell from your eye then looked away from him. All of a sudden the room felt smaller than it was, it felt as if the walls were closing in on you. Lewis cupped the back of your head cradling your skull in his palm making you look him in the eyes.

“Why?”

“For the last 8 months, I’ve been hot and cold with him, I pulled him close one minute then the next pushed him away, I disappeared a lot always using work as the excuse. I was busy, yeah, but it wasn’t work. I was always so reluctant to put a label on what we were doing, every time he brought it up I changed the subject never giving him the answer he wanted. Even when we had sex--.”

Lewis took a deep breath, dropped his head, and harshly released it, clearly displeased with confirmation that he’d had you that way, but you continued.

“Even then it was usually always on my terms, and I always wanted him to leave right after. I was—I was always thinking about someone else, something else instead of him, and for 8 months I never felt anything remotely close to what I felt that night with him. over the months every time I saw you it hacked at whatever was going on between me and him until tonight seeing you again it just--.”

You flicked your five fingers indicating an explosion. I’ve become hypersensitive to you, and I don’t know when it happened. It dawned on me that—I was using Darius and it wasn’t fair.”

Lewis searched your eyes not hiding the hurt in his. You took a step towards him. “You’re right about a few things. Our timing couldn’t be any worse.”

He nodded.

“Our truths usually always line up.”

Lewis looked hopeful then.

“Your life is insane.”

The hope faltered.

“I do want my name on that plaque, and I will get it.”

A small smile crooked his lips.

Another tear rolled down your cheek and again you wiped it away, “I can also no longer ignore that everyone else is number 2 for me. Always has been because you’re my number one.”

He clenched his jaw then and the emotion that washed over his face rocked you. Like an earthquake rocking the Earth’s surface.

“I am scared.”

As this tear rolled, Lewis was the one to reach out and gently wipe it with the pad of his thumb. Your lip quivered.

“I’m so scared.”

Lewis pushed forward then, crashing his lips to yours in one swift move. Once your lips met neither of you went slow. The kiss was frenzied from the beginning, both of you wanting it all and not wanting to waste any more time taking it. As his tongue rolled with yours you closed the space between you pressing your body against him. Lewis softly moaned, wrapping his arms around you. When you bit down on his bottom lip he groaned then walked you backward until your back collided with the edge of the bar. Trapping you there once again, he kissed you without holding a thing back and your body responded to him instantaneously.

In a matter of seconds, you both were moaning against each other and completely wrapped up in the new feelings that were consuming you. Lewis cupped your face as he kissed you then ran his hands down to your neck. You couldn’t deny that this felt even better than you imagined. Moaning, you clutched his waist but when that didn’t suffice, you slowly slid your hands up along his toned abs, over his chest taking in the bulge of muscle there. When you wrapped them around his neck, Lewis pressed more persistently against you.

“Mmmm!”

Lewis tore his lips from you and put his forehead to yours. “Fuck, I don’t want to get too carried away. I’m sorry I should have asked first.”

“Consent fucking given,” you said before you crashed your lips to his.

This time you took control. Swirling your tongue with his you didn’t give him time to react or gain the upper hand. You wanted to taste him, and you refused to wait any longer. Teasing his lips, you nibbled his bottom one, taking your time to sensually suck on it until he moaned against you. The vibration shot through you making you feel like you’d only now just begun to truly feel. Lewis’ hands roughly gripped your hips, holding you steady so you could feel that you weren’t the only one finally feeling for the first time.

Heightening both if your pleasure, you sucked his tongue until he groaned. The next thing you knew Lewis’ had you by the hips lifting you onto the bar top. You wrapped your thighs around him and nearly came when you felt his hands pry your legs apart. The heat radiating off of his hand on your bare thigh reminded you of the night in his car and you prayed he didn’t stop again.

As if reading your mind, Lewis met your eyes while he slid his hand higher and higher and higher until his fingers crawled to your inner thigh. Softly he raked his manicured nails against your skin forcing a whimper from you. You bit down on your bottom lip and silently willed yourself not to cum from the anticipation. Suddenly the back of Lewis’ fingers brushed against your sex. Your gasp was loud, breathy, and stretched out as he took his time moving centimeter by centimeter until he’d trapped your clit between his pointer and middle finger. Your jaw dropped all the while he held your gaze.

When he tightened his fingers and rubbed against you, your eyes rolled to the back of your head. You knew then he was dangerous, and you were going to cum.

“F—ha—fu-huck!”

Your back arched, head fell back as your body moved like it were possessed. Each spasm of pleasure had you bucking against his fingers until you could hardly breathe.

“My god you’re so fucking beautiful when you cum, love.”

You giggled and moaned as the tremors worked their way through you. “Mmm, orgasms and compliments, a girl could get used to this,” you cooed.

“Good. This is your future.”

Lewis moved his hand, brought them to your thighs then lifted them. As he planted your heels at the edge of the bar, you knew what he wanted. Your eyes dropped to his lips then you moaned. Pulling your dress away from your legs you allowed them to fall back to the bar showing him not only gymnasts were flexible.

“Oh fuck,” Lewis groaned.

You watched his eyes drop to your sex and the look on his face was unlike any you’d ever seen. No one had looked at you like this before. He stared where your thighs met like it was the most mesmerizing thing he’d ever seen, the first of its kind and something he wanted to completely destroy. You now felt like prey spread before him like this, like at any moment he was going to pounce on you.

“Mmm.”

Lewis came closer and closer until he rested on his elbows and was just inches from your sex. The anticipation was killing, and he had to know it.

“I knew you were a lacy knickers kind of woman,” he muttered.

“I take it you’re a lacy knickers kind of man.”

“On you, fuck yes.”

With that, Lewis hooked his thumbs in your underwear and pulled them to the side. He blew out a breath in reaction to seeing you bare for the first time and that breath fucked you up all over again. You threw your head back trying to calm your anxieties, but just when you met his eyes again you found his tongue out sliding against your wet folds.

Oh—my—goooood!”

Lewis moaned and did it again and again until he circled your clit with the tip of his tongue. “Mmmm.”

Lewis pressed your thighs back keeping them spread then went to town. If you’d ever doubted before that his mouth game was incredible you didn’t now. He licked, flicked, and sucked along your flesh making your back remain in a prolonged arch. Within seconds you were whining and writhing as his tongue worked literal fucking magic. The sound of Lewis’ slurping echoed in the living room and that was when your hands grabbed his head. Pulling his hair free you held on and bucked against his mouth.

“Mmm.”

He stuck his tongue out and let you take over. With every buck against his tongue, you called his name and the more the tip of his tongue flicked your clit the more out of control you felt. Your release was so close your body moved more wildly needing it at all costs.

“I’m gonna cum Lewis.”

“Cum for me, Y/N!”

You didn’t need to be told more than once and when you were right on the precipice you felt Lewis slid two digits inside of you. Just like that, your orgasm morphed from a toe-curling release to soul snatching one. You screeched as your body convulsed but he didn’t stop then, he pumped his fingers in and out of you then added a third finger stretching you wide.

“Uuuugh fuck!”

You barely finished your words before Lewis threw you over his shoulder, keeping his fingers inside of you. As he walked through the suite his fingers kept fucking you, readying you for him. When your back met the soft sheets of the mattress, Lewis still hadn’t broken contact. He watched you now as you lay there unable to control your body.

“You’re so beautiful.”

Pulling his fingers free he cleaned two of them off before you sprang to your knees to claim the third. As you sucked his finger you kept your eyes on his. You could see how badly he wanted you, how much he wanted from you, and you couldn’t believe he’d held back all this time. You took your time sliding each button through its slot until his shit was wide open. When you pushed it off of him you took in a sight you’d seen plenty of times only now it was different.

You brought your hands to feel across his torso marveling at each defined ab muscle and each tattoo. When you intentionally rubbed against his beaded nipple you noted the way his Adam’s apple bobbed. How had you never noticed your effect on him? How had you never taken it seriously? Bringing your hands back to his waist you undid his pants. You brushed your palm against the protruding mass straining against his pants which made him shiver as he grunted.

“Oops.”

Lewis scoffed then licked his lips and that was all it took for him to claim back some of the control you possessed over this exchange.

“Of course, you’re a fucking tease.”

You innocently smiled. “I haven’t even begun to tease you.”

“I bet.”

Lewis snuck forward kissing you one peck at a time, over and over.

“Mm, can you take it?”

“Any other night my answer would be yes, hell in an hour my answer will be yes but right now--.”

He cupped your sex with on hand and the back of your neck with the other.

“Mmm.”

“Right now, I have no control left. I’ve remained in control around you for 10 years and right now I just want to let it all go. I want to bury myself so deep inside of you there is no mistake that we belong to each other bad timing or not. It’s you and me, Y/N.”

You groaned as his words only increased the wetness between your legs. You kissed him again, then you turned your back to him and swayed your body against him. Lewis dropped a kiss to your shoulder as his hand crept around to cup the underside of your breast. You leaned forward getting on all fours with your ass poking out to him.

“Undo me?”

He didn’t move for a few moments, and you waited for him to enjoy the view. When you felt his hand rub against your ass you dipped your back lower which only made your ass poke out more. Lewis trailed his hand along your spine that the backless gown proudly showed off. Then he went to your tailbone and lowered the zipper of the dress. Peeping over your shoulder, your eyes locked as you allowed the dress to fall away from your body.

His groan was low—primal. It was all you needed to hear to know he liked the strappy number you wore that was made of fine lace. You expected him to take his time but instead, you felt him peel off the garment leaving you completely naked before him for the first time ever.

“You’re so wet for me, Y/N. So wet and so fucking perfect.”

You spread your legs further then stretched your arms over your head using your head to hold you up. As expected, Lewis flipped you onto your back making you giggle. You roamed your hands over your body, cupping your breasts then sliding them down your abdomen to your dripping core. The entire time, Lewis kept his eyes on every move you made while he pulled his pants and underwear off.

When he stood bare before you, your surprise could not be masked. You didn’t know what you’d expected in your late-night thoughts about what he was packing but you had no way of expecting this. Lewis gripped his length then slowly stroked it as he pressed a knee onto the mattress.

“Scared?”

You bit your bottom lip as you gawked at what the good lord blessed him with. It was unfair and completely intimidating.

“Now I see why everyone in the rotation was so happy being one of many.”

He snorted, bringing his other knee to the mattress between. Slowly he stalked closer like a predator with a deadly weapon in hand.

“There is no rotation anymore.”

“Oh yeah. The LH44 Harem has been disbanded?”

As he crept closer, you slid backward.

“You’re not funny.”

“So am I the first to usher in a new era—a new harem?”

Lewis grabbed your ankle then pulled you back to him making the backs of your thighs slam into the fronts of his. He then hovered over you before dropping an opened mouth kiss on your nipple. Sucking the peak into his mouth he sucked raising your back off of the bed.

“You’re in no harem. I told you, it’s you—and me,” he said nibbling your flesh.

Stared at him letting it all sink in. You brought your hand to his bearded cheek and rested it there.

“Are we really doing this? Like—for real?”

Lewis boxed your face in with his muscular arms and stared into your eyes. “I’ve told you where I stand, Y/N. I’ve told you everything that’s in here.”

He took your hand and placed it over the roaring lion etched on his skin keeping his hand over yours.

“It’s time you tell me what’s in here,” he finished placing his other hand over your left breast.

“You,” you whispered.

“I love you, Y/N.”

Before you could react or even respond Lewis thrust forward sending the tip of his hardness inside of you, stealing your breath, and every thought. A breathy gasp filled the air. Slowly he pushed forward, leisurely filling you giving you time to adjust to his size.

“Haaaa.”

Lewis kept his hand over your heart while holding yours over his as he filled you inch by tortuous inch never taking his eyes off yours. Your entire being was on fire like he was pouring molten lava inside of you with every inch he gave you.

“Oh fu—Lewis,” you panted.

From the way his jaw was clenched, and eyes focused intently on you, you could tell he was feeling everything you were.

“How are you so tight?”

Digging your nails into his chest you tightened your leg around his waist and as if that was his last straw, Lewis flicked his hips forward filling you completely and tearing a scream from both of your lips. Neither of you moved for several moments but with every second that passed by your body blazed. Bucking against him, you slid your hand up to his throat and then gripped it.

“I love you. Fuck me. Now!”

Those words would be your ruin because he did just that without mercy and complete recklessness. Your moans and whimpers melded together rising in decibel and power until the entire room shook with the power of your screams for one another. As he plowed inside of you he didn’t go slow, he followed his basal instincts that were imprinted in his DNA, a need to claim, and dominate.

You’d never felt so out of control in your life. No matter how he fucked you, you couldn’t get enough. No matter how deep he went you wanted him deeper. No matter how he called your name you wanted him to scream it. You wanted every fucking thing he had. You wanted to leave him in shambles. When he flipped you onto your stomach like you weighed nothing, he held your ass in the air and fucked you so thoroughly you’d lost track of how many times you came. It didn’t matter because you wanted more.

He must have been able to read your mind because there was no way he could tell what you needed this soon, you thought to yourself as he grabbed your wrists and pulled you back, so he had your upper body hovering above the mattress.

“Oh my god, I’m cumming Lewis! Ooh shiiiiiit!”

He took advantage of this new angle and circled his hips as he jackhammered into you, fucking you as you did something you’d never done before—squirted. You screamed from the force of your release, but Lewis didn’t stop, he fucked you through it then torpedoed you into another one that you knew would tear you apart. Racing for it, you slammed yourself back into him relishing the mix of pain and pleasure that only intensified when Lewis bit down on your shoulder.

“You got one more for me, darlin? Cum for me. Soak this dick, pretty girl, drench me so I can fill that pretty pussy up.”

“Aaah!”

You clenched around him as you lost yourself and fell off the cliff and into an endless pit of pleasure. You felt Lewis spasm inside of you before he cursed and shouted his release doing just what he promised. Filling your pretty pussy up.

When the two of you finally collapsed on the bed Lewis held you to him spooning you while still being nestled inside of you. Bit by bit you came back to your body and slowly your body went from violent shakes to subtle tremors and a hazy feeling washed over you. Lewis peppered kisses along your neck and shoulder nipping your skin every now and then.

“Mmm. Oh my god!”

He snorted. “You good?”

“Good? Am I good? Are you—at the risk of swelling your head even more than it already is that was--.”

“Was?”

You searched for the words but couldn’t find the right ones. “It was,” you settled on making him laugh as he held you tighter.

“Naw, I was alright, you—you were,” he said making you snort.

“Shut up.”

“No, I’m being for real for real. It’s a miracle I held on that long, you feel unbelievable, so good, too good. You—are!”

You giggled then moaned, sleepiness creeping up on you.

“Don’t you dare fall asleep, I’m nowhere near done with you.”

His manhood inside of you lurched nudging your g-spot and just like that your eyes snapped wide open.

“Watch yourself, I know your weakness now.”

“You?”

“Nope, this pussy.”

Lewis snorted then flipped you onto your stomach again. This time he straddled you as he slowly pulled out of you only to plunge right back in.

“Mmm.”

“Still so damn tight,” Lewis groaned.

“You’re welcome to try stretching me out.”

Lewis jerked his hips forward delivering a bruising thrust as punishment for your your sassy mouth. It was a thrust that took your breath and made you go cross-eyed.

“Mmm, yes!”

“Oh, aren’t you full of surprises. Pretty girl likes it rough and hard.”

He did it again and again, making you hit the bed each time as you buried your face in the sheet to muffle your screams.

“God yes, Lewis!”

“So fucking alike,” Lewis said before lowering his lips to your ear. “Remember I love you 'cause I’m about to fuck you like I don’t.”

Not waiting for a reply he held your arms to the bed then delivered on his promise. Everyone else was number 2 compared to you being each other’s number 1. Nothing else mattered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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#lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton fanfiction #lewis hamilton fanfic #lewis hamilton x reader #everyone else is no.2 one shot #black fanfiction

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xo-cori · 8 months

Text

because second’s not the same

pairing: abby anderson x fem!reader

summary: morals become blurred in a motel room with your boyfriend's ex-girlfriend.

warnings: smut (MDNI), comphet on reader’s end, internalized homophobia, lots of angst, cheating, sorry owen you seem cool, submissive top!abby ftw, hair pulling, fingersucking, facesitting, abby makes reader answer a call while getting down n dirty, they both hate men (real)

a/n: my first fic on this godforsaken app, hopefully it’s okay! this is based off of an old halsey song called “is there somewhere,” i highly recommend listening while you read

When your phone chimes twice at exactly ten o’clock on a Friday night, your heartbeat quickens and the air is stolen from your lungs. Your body seems to know who it is before you do. Maybe that should concern you or serve as a reminder of how much of a problem this is becoming, but instead, you unlock your phone and read the much anticipated message.

abby: Hey

abby: What are you up to tonight??

you: hey, i was just reading a bit before bed

abby: Sounds like a real party

you: shut up lol

you: why do you ask?

abby: Don’t make me say it

you: i’m making you say it

There’s a hesitance on Abby’s side, made obvious by how the text bubble appears and disappears as she types and deletes a response. It takes her a good minute to send another message.

abby: Just wanted to know if you’d meet me

abby: Please

you: there we go. be there in 20

Before you know it, you’re driving fifteen miles over the speed limit, chest tight and craving a release that only Abby can bring. You eventually step out of your car and into the near-empty parking lot of the old motel that you’ve become awfully familiar with these past few weeks.

Your feet guide you along the farthest side of the building, straight towards a room marked ‘93,’ and you invite yourself in.

In less than five minutes, your shirts are on the floor and her hands are on your hips and god, her thigh feels so good between yours. She always seems to know exactly what you need. More importantly, she wastes no time with giving it to you.

“Fuck,” Abby says, “been waiting for this all week.”

You nod in agreement, lost in the way she grinds you onto her with seemingly no effort. She sighs contentedly when your back arches, chest pressing into hers, enveloping her in your warmth and melting away all the stress of a long day. There’s a piece of heaven in this room with her. How could she worry about anything outside of it?

“Me too,” you reply. One of your hands grasps at her shoulder in attempt to steady yourself, caressing the tense muscle, while the other gently tugs her hair. The dirty blonde strands feel like silk between your fingers and you can smell the pine shampoo that she uses. It invades all of your senses. It makes you desperate for more. So, you tug harder. Her head falls back against the headboard with a groan and you use it as an opening, diving in to press your lips to her neck.

It’s messy, just how Abby likes it. Her grip on you tightens and she lets out a broken gasp.

She needs this just as much as you do, if not more– but you’re much more generous with the teasing.

“Feel good?” You mumble into her throat, before picking another patch of skin to suckle on. Every touch sends a bolt of electricity up her spine and decorates her freckled skin with goosebumps.

Still, Abby does what she does best, and clings to any power she still has. You don’t resist when she grabs you by the shoulders and pushes you back onto the bed. In fact, you only spread your legs wider so she can situate herself between them. Then, without wasting another moment, her lips come crashing down onto yours.

It’s always your favorite part of the night; when she kisses you so passionately that you can almost fool yourself into thinking it means something.

This isn’t supposed to mean anything, though.

You assure yourself that the sparks you feel are all make-believe, silently wrestling with the fact that you’ve never once felt this with Owen. Not even close.

Her tongue quickly finds yours in a heated battle for dominance that she’s already lost. There’s no telling just how long this goes on for– you’re so focused on the feeling of her large hands running up and down your body, soothing all the shame you feel about this arrangement as you caress her cheek with your thumb.

It’s a loving gesture. Too loving, Abby thinks. She shouldn’t enjoy it so much, but she does.

When she pulls away, your half-lidded eyes land on the redness on her face, her swollen lips, her hair that’s all messy from your wandering fingers. The dim light from the bedside lamp casts a glow to one side of her face, and a shadow on the other. The thumb that was once on her cheek starts moving toward her mouth, until it pushes past her waiting lips and she accepts it with a pleased hum.

You watch her intently as you press down on the center of her tongue. Her brows furrow up and she lets out a whine.

After a few more moments, you pull your thumb from Abby’s mouth and smear her own saliva across her lips. She opens her eyes to look down at you, finally, and you offer a warm smile. “You just take it.” You observe aloud. “Whatever I want, you just let it happen.”

It’s a stark difference from your relationship with Owen. There’s never any concern for what you want; though, to be honest, you wouldn’t be in a relationship with him if you could get actually get what you want. It’d be Abby’s apartment you go to every weekend. There’d be no motel and no deleted messages and no acting like mere acquaintances when Owen gets all of his friends together, including her and you.

If you could get what you wanted, you don’t think you’d ever want anything else ever again.

“Yeah.” She agrees, slightly muffled until you fully pull your hand away. “Whatever you want.”

Part of you feels bad. You have this woman wrapped around your finger, and you have to act like it’s nothing more than a convenience.

In reality, it’s everything to you.

So, the other part of you plans to take whatever you can from her.

“You really mean that?” You ask.

“Would I lie to you?” She asks in return.

You pat her cheek. “Lay down, then.”

Without another word, Abby does as she’s told. The two of you switch positions and she watches you peel off the rest of your clothes, while she lays in a grey sports bra and a pair of boxers.

She starts to feel excited when she thinks you’ll move down further like usual, your face nestled between her legs until you’re pulling orgasm from orgasm out of her.

Her heart nearly stops, though, when she sees you pull off your own panties and begin crawling up her body.

‘Excited’ doesn’t do it justice. You’ve hardly done anything and she already feels like she might die of happiness.

You feel her hands grab your ass, encouraging you to move much faster than you are, and you hesitantly oblige. “You can push me off if you need to, yeah?” You clarify. “Don’t wanna suffocate you or anything.”

Abby nods with a quiet mm-hmm only to appease you, but in her mind, suffocating to death while you sit on her face would be an honor. She’d probably die beneath you before the thought of pushing you off ever crosses her mind. For now, though, you do your best to be gentle as she ushers you to fully hover over her mouth.

Then, she pulls you down onto it.

A strangled moan escapes you when her tongue immediately finds its target, her patience clearly worn thin as she latches to your clit. Your hands fly down to grab her hair in attempt to ground yourself, but if you didn’t know any better, you’d think you’re having an out-of-body experience.

The worst part? Only Abby can make you feel this way.

Guilty, and so, so good.

Maybe she doesn’t know the extent of your feelings, but she knows your body like the back of her hand, and she uses that to her advantage. Her fingers dig into the pillowy flesh above your hip bones, surely hard enough to leave a few bruises, but you never complain about marks until you see them in the morning.

“Abs,” you manage breathlessly, “ease up, baby–”

You’re cut off by another moan as she somehow manages to pull you down further, unrelenting and making it impossible for you to escape. Not that you’d want to, anyways. So, you just grab her hair with one hand and grab the headboard with the other as your eyes flutter shut.

That is, until you hear your phone vibrate on the bedside table. Once, twice, three times; you soon realize that it isn’t stopping.

“Fuck.” You groan.

Abby looks up at you and slightly moves you down so she can speak, seemingly much more entertained by this than you. “Who’s calling?”

“It’s Owen,” you say truthfully, “I was supposed to go over to his place tonight, but here we are.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Wait, you blew him off for me?”

“No shit. I’ll just silence it and pretend I fell asleep.” You grumble. Then, you reach over to grab the phone before she takes a hold of your wrist.

“Answer it.” She says.

You can’t help but laugh despite the forming pit of anxiety in your stomach, because you know that she’s dead serious. “What?”

“You heard me. Answer it or I’ll stop.” She repeats, making your eyes widen.

“…Fine, but can you please—” You’re interrupted by Abby pressing the green button for you, and you quickly bring the phone towards your ear.

The sound of Owen’s voice makes your chest feel tight. “Hey,” he says with an obvious concern in his voice. “Sorry, did I wake you up?”

You open your mouth to respond, but you can only let out a gasp when you feel Abby’s lips wrap around your clit. Thankfully, her tongue moves more slowly than before, deciding to show you some mercy. “Yeah,” you breathe, “yeah, I fell asleep– I’m sorry, I really don’t feel good today. Think I might’ve caught something.”

It’s a pathetic excuse, but you can only hope he buys it. “Oh, that’s… uh, not good.” He mumbles, which makes you roll your eyes. “Do you want me to bring anything to your place? I have this cold medicine that could literally heal the bubonic plague, and I’m pretty sure I have some soup in one of these cabinets somewhere,”

You can hear him rummaging around on the other line. “No!” You blurt out. The last thing you need is Owen stopping by just to find out that you aren’t home. “No, I’m okay. Appreciate it, though.”

“You sure? If you’re worried about me getting sick, I can just leave it outside the door.” He continues.

“Really, Owen, it’s fine. Pretty sure I’ll feel better in the morning,” you assure him.

He sighs. “Whatever you say. Just let me know if you change your mind, okay? I’ll bring whatever you need.”

He’s kind. Too kind, considering your current situation. Abby’s mouth is latched to the most sensitive parts of you, her blue eyes staring up at you as you try your hardest to keep your voice steady. She kneads at the back of your thighs, getting you into a rhythm while you rut against her tongue.

All the while, you’re on the phone with a man who deserves much better. You’re aware of this. You tilt your head back with a shaky sigh.

“Okay,” you reply, “thanks, Owen. ‘Night.”

You don’t even wait for him to say it back before you hang up the phone, quickly throwing it off of the bed onto the carpeted floor. Abby smiles, and you can feel it. You reach down to grab a handful of her hair and pull it as hard as you can– which isn’t very hard, but it still makes her whine. “Fuck you,” you huff, thighs tensing on either side of her head, “I’m so close, Abs.”

Any annoyance you feel is overshadowed by the orgasm creeping up on you much quicker than usual. You already know that you’ll never forgive yourself for being so turned on by something so horrible.

Abby sticks her tongue out so that you can ride it, letting out moans of encouragement as you finally tip over the edge. Your mouth falls open and a gush of wetness fills Abby’s, which she happily laps up with her warm tongue. Her hands wander over your shivering body, listening to your muffled moans with her eyes trained on your face; more specifically, the tears that begin to run down your cheeks.

It doesn’t take much longer for you to crawl off of her face and crash into the bed beneath you, much to Abby’s dismay, but she doesn’t let it show. Instead, she crawls to your side, placing a strong arm over your stomach so she can pull you closer.

Though all of your instincts scream to push her away, you just curl into her and bury your face in the crook of her neck. She thinks maybe, just maybe, everything is fine; of course, until she hears you let out a quiet sob. One of her hands comes up to rub your back, a soothing gesture that only makes you cry harder.

“Hey,” Abby whispers, “are you… did I do something wrong? Was it the phone thing? ‘Cause if it is, I’m really sorry, I should’ve—”

“It isn’t that.” You mutter.

It’s only a half-lie. Honestly, you aren’t crying because you spoke to your boyfriend as if you weren’t hooking up with his ex, no. You’re crying because you thought it was the hottest thing ever.

“Isn’t it, though?” She questions. “Seriously, I fucked up and I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t fuck up, Abs– I swear, it’s not you, it’s just… this. All of this. I don’t like it.” You do your best to reassure her, but it only causes more confusion.

“What, and you think I do? Because I don’t. I like you, though, so I deal with it. That’s what we agreed to.” Abby says. You can tell she’s upset no matter how gentle her voice is. There’s a certain bite to it, a venom that you’re quick to pick up on. “He’s my friend too, you know. This isn’t easy for me either.”

This comment makes you rear back a bit, looking up at her with furrowed brows. “I know that, Abby. None of this is easy for either of us. He’s my boyfriend, and he was yours at one point, too.”

“Don’t remind me,” she scoffs.

You give her a stern look. “I’m serious. This is gonna end one way or another. Someone’s gonna find out.”

Her grip on your waist tightens. “No one’s gonna find out if we don’t let them find out.”

“You don’t know that.” You shake your head. “All it takes is one fuck up.”

“So, what do you wanna do? You wanna break this off now and go back to being acquaintances?” Abby asks, voice raised defensively.

“Obviously not!” You yell, sitting up and dragging the comforter along so you can cover yourself. “I love you, Abby. I love being with you and talking to you and—”

“Don’t fuckin’ say that.” She interrupts you, which is probably for the better.

It’s different for Abby, being one of Owen’s closest friends, because he’s unaware of how well she knows you and so he feels comfortable confiding in her about your relationship. A big problem he seems to have is that you’ve never once said the word love. Not to him, at least. Not about him.

Yet, here you are, throwing that word around just for her.

She wants to feel honored, but she finds herself only feeling guilt. The kind that makes her throat tighten and her heart drop.

You groan in frustration. “But it’s true!”

“So make it untrue!” She shouts back. “You can’t just… say shit like that, and expect me to be okay with it. You’re supposed to love Owen.”

A confession bubbles up in your chest, one that you know you should shake away, but your mouth moves before your brain can catch up. “But I don’t.” You mumble. “I want to. I just can’t.”

Abby stares at you like she’s seen a ghost. All conversations she’s had with Owen about you– ones about how he’d propose to you someday, wondering if you’d want to have kids, asking if it was too early on in the relationship to think about saving for a house– they all become null. The worst part? Abby thinks she might know exactly how you feel. “You can’t? What does that mean?” She asks.

“Exactly what it sounds like.” You reply. “I try, but I can’t. We go on dates, and the whole time, I’m just waiting for it to be over. We watch a movie together, and I pretend to fall asleep so he doesn’t try anything. It’s exhausting, Abby. None of it feels right. Every single fucking guy I’ve been with– it never feels right. The only relief has been you.”

Abby listens to your rant with a blank expression, reaching up to wipe some stray tears from your cheeks with her thumb. “So, you’re gay.” She says.

You quickly grab her wrist and shove her hand away. “I’m not gay.” You hiss.

She sighs. “You just sat on my face. You’re a little gay.”

“Okay, fine, maybe a little!” You throw your hands up defensively. “But I don’t like other women. I like you.”

Truthfully, it’s all too much for Abby to take in at once; she does her best to appear, knowing her best bet is to calm you down, but she can’t imagine how much it would break Owen to know this. To know that he’s now been left by two women due to a sexuality crisis. Would he think it’s his fault? Would he guess that Abby had something to do with it? She likes you too, maybe more than she knows, but it’s an impossible situation.

When you’re met with silence on Abby’s end, you continue. “You’re gonna think I’m horrible for this, but it’s true; I’ve been waiting for him to fuck up so I have a reason to leave him. Some nights, he tells me he’s going to a party and I’ll go to sleep hoping I wake up to a text from Manny about how Owen got a little too drunk and some girl looked enough like me,” you shrug, “I’ve had that scenario in my head for weeks. It’s so convenient.”

“You’re fucked up,” Abby shakes her head, “fantasizing about him cheating while you’re sleeping with his friend? Jesus.”

“But it’s true, right? Then I could just leave him. No goodbye, no nothing. I’d give him all his sweatshirts back and let him see me wearing yours instead.” You say, and she immediately recognizes that tone in your voice. Something dark, something you put on when you know what you want and you’re set on getting it.

It hurts to hear you talk about her friend like he’s nothing more than an obstacle. It hurts even more to know that, deep down, she’d felt the exact same way once.

Wishing he’d leave her, knowing that he never would.

“Yeah.” She huffs, now visibly doing her best to avoid eye contact. Her eyes skitter around the room and it doesn’t take long for you to regret speaking your mind. “That sounds like an easy way out, but you should know by now that there’s nothing easy about being with Owen. Nothing’s easy about cheating, either.”

You nod in agreement. There’s a heavy silence after that, one that leaves you both staring down and biting your cheeks and feeling like all your sins had been laid out in front of you. The weight of it all is overbearing, but still so worth it.

“It’s easier with you,” you mutter after a minute, “and I know you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t feel the same.”

“I wouldn’t.” Abby agrees, deciding to leave it at that. “Do you… uh, do you wanna stay the night? Here, with me?”

Finally, your eyes meet hers, and she hates the way this simple action reignites the spark inside of her. You tilt your head. “Oh, yeah. I didn’t really return the favor, huh?”

Her jaw clenches, teeth grinding together as she fights back a smile. She shouldn’t be so infatuated with you– your every movement, every word– but she is.

The smile escapes her efforts and she shakes her head. “No. No, you didn’t.”

#the last of us #the last of us 2 #abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x fem!reader #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson x you #abby anderson smut

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all-mirth-no-matter · 5 months

Text

Time After Time | Chapter Thirteen

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader, Tommy Shelby x Original Female Character

Summary: A significant death shakes up the Shelby household just as you find your way back inside. That events and those after make you start to wonder if now is the time to finally listen to Madam Despoina.

Warning: character death, language, yelling

ao3 link | catch up on tumblr here

Chapter 13: Ghost

I like the sad eyes, bad guys, mouth full of white lies. Kiss me in the corridor, but quick to tell me goodbye. You say that you're no good for me, ‘cause I'm always tugging at your sleeve. And I swear I hate you when you leave. I like it anyway. — Ghost, Halsey

Coming back to the Shelby household wasn’t exactly what you expected. Best case scenario, you expected to be greeted warmly by Polly or Ada; worst case, you expected to have the door immediately slammed in your face by Tommy himself.

Instead, when you knocked on the door, little Katie greeted you.

John’s oldest daughter’s eyes widened and a smile spread across her face when she recognized you, “You’re back!”

She grabbed your hand and pulled you inside as you used your foot to close the door behind you to keep out the cold. When you got into the kitchen, Finn jumped from his chair and threw something into the fireplace.

“Finn,” you scolded. “That a cigarette?”

“Don’t tell Aunt Polly,” he begged, cowering down more in his chair.

Jack ran into the room, a smile on his face as he got ready to watch the show of his youngest uncle getting into trouble.

You hung your jacket on the hook and sat next to Finn, noticing him flinch slightly as you scooted closer. The instinct made you swallow knowing he probably expected you to hit him — one of the discipline actions of the times that still made you cringe despite your attempt to shield your facial expressions.

“I won’t. But you really shouldn’t smoke, especially while you’re still growing. It stunts your growth, ya’know. You want to be this height your whole life?” You tousled his hair playfully to emphasize your point.

Actually, you weren’t a hundred percent sure if that was true — you remember hearing it when you were younger (that and coffee) but you never actually ever did research on it yourself.

“It’s also bad for your lungs,” you added, closing the unattended box of sticks that were sitting in the middle of the table. “It’s bad enough the air quality here is practically smoke itself, the second hand smoke will probably kill us all—“

“Is that what’s happenin’ to mummy?” Katie asked, her hand resting on your knee as she began petting the material of your skirt.

Brow creased, you looked to Finn and Jack, then around the house and noticed no one was around.

“Where is your mum?”

“She’s sick again,” said Jack, or J.J. as you’d immediately called him when you learned that his real name was John, and that he’d been named after his father (Junior). Another moment of instant regret, seeing as you had no idea if initial names or initial nicknames were a common thing yet. But the seven year old latched onto it immediately and you’d apologized to Martha profusely. After the initial shock of her son insisting everyone call him this, who she’d named after John proudly, she finally admitted to finding the nickname quite cute.

That’d been the first substantial interaction you’d had with Martha after just starting in the house. Even before the boys returned, you’d offered to help watch the kids whenever Polly or Ada were babysitting. You’d built a bit of a rapport with the little ones over the months, which had honestly surprised you seeing as you had zero experience with children, being an only child and not having been around family outside of your parents your whole life. It’d taken a little longer to get friendlier with Martha, but eventually you’d found a mutual ease around each other when you were both in the house. But unlike Ada, you didn’t find yourself spending any time outside the house, or alone even, together. And that was okay.

But when she first started getting sick, you’d tried to put in a little more effort to at least let her know you were there for her, or Polly, or the kids, if they needed you. Last you’d heard, Martha had started feeling better around Christmas.

“It’s not smoke, dummy,” J.J. said harshly to his younger sister when she asked again if it was was because of the cigarettes.

“Hey,” you said instinctively, “no need for name calling.”

“Auntie Polly said she’s cold—“

“She’s got a cold—”

“Where is she now?” You interrupted before they escalated, bringing all three of their attentions back to you.

“Auntie Polly took her to the ha’pital,” Katie answered. “Teddy and Annie are with Auntie Ada, said they needed naps.”

And with that, you launched into babysitter mode for the three downstairs. You kept out of the way of the kitchen, especially when the shop opened. When Ada returned with the youngest two, you all took a trip to the shop for food, per Polly’s instructions. By the time you returned, Polly was back and starting dinner.

That’s when she broke the news silently to you and Ada.

Martha had passed away.

Polly was angry with the hospitals, ranting about how she didn’t trust them and how she never should have taken her there in the first place.

“I’ve sent word to John, but he’s still in Digbeth. I’m afraid I’m going to have to break the news to the children.”

You offered to stay the night to help with the kids and housework. That first night had been filled with tears. You even caught Polly’s eyes damp a handful of times during the quieter moments.

Over the next few days, whenever you didn’t have a shift at the Garrison, you ended up at the Shelby house, even sleeping in one of the unoccupied bedrooms most nights. Polly was spending most of the following days preparing for the funeral, while you and Ada tried to make this new world make sense to the children.

You and Ada both had your own experiences of losing your mothers to draw on in an attempt to console the little ones. But it was still difficult, especially for the youngest two, who were still not completely understanding that their mother wouldn’t be coming back. Finn’s patience and kindness to his little nieces and nephews had been the most endearing part for you. He’d been too young to remember his own mother, but was able to explain this new reality in child terms that surprised you.

Since arriving in this time and place, it was hard not to judge the living conditions and lack of opportunities that surrounded you, especially when comparing them to your own upbringing. You’d always considered yourself middle to lower class, but you still had so much more privilege than whole chunks of the world.

Here, even with some of those privileges, you were beginning to understand just how much faster it seemed these children of the time had to grow and mature than you ever had to. Hardships like losing parents at a young age were just the beginning — poverty, malnourishment, lack of education opportunities — these were things that you couldn’t imagine having grown up through. It make you think about Ada and Tommy, your previous image of them running around as children suddenly shifting to something more heart clenching.

Your respect for Polly and her role as matriarch was already high, but over the next few days it only grew as she handled the household, children, business, and funeral arrangements nearly on her own. There hadn’t been a peep from John or any of the brothers until the night before the funeral.

Not yet asleep, you could hear the banging of doors opening and chairs moving in the kitchen. Instinctively, you rose from the cot and grabbed the fireplace stick. On your way down, you stuck your head in the kids’ room, seeing them fast asleep before shutting the door and heading for the noisy intruders.

“Come on, Tom,” you heard Arthur’s voice coming from the kitchen. “She’s got a sister—“

“S’not tonight.” Tommy replying made you pause, your heart jumping at hearing his voice for the first time in weeks. “We’ve got— got the funeral tomorrow, then back to ‘beth.”

His voice sounded lighter than normal, if not slightly slurred.

“Ah fuck it — we’ve been over there for weeks now. The whores here know exactly what I like, them in Dig—“

You cleared your throat, startling both men, though only one reached for his gun to point in your direction. Despite your curiosity to hear more about their escapades, Arthur’s voice had grown louder and you were fearful he’d wake John’s kids, who’d been nightmarish already to settle down.

Tommy’s throat bobbled as he lowered his gun, setting it down on the table. You noticed the dishevelment of his hair and collar of his shirt under his jacket. That, along with the way Arthur was swaying and both with nearly empty bottles in their hands confirmed what you suspected — the boys were wasted.

“The fuck’re you doin’ here?” Arthur asked, his voice not holding as much disdain as you expected, despite the words coming out.

“I’ve been helping Polly and Ada with the kids,” you answered softly, crossing your arms. “They’re asleep upstairs, if you wouldn’t mind keeping your voice down.”

Arthur’s brow creased, his voice still at the same decimeter despite your request. “You ain’t got kids—”

“John’s kids,” Tommy reminded his brother. He gestured toward the door, “Go on now. Don’t you have someone to meet?”

Arthur perked up, “Right! Suppose you won’t join me now, eh? You’ll know where I’ll be!” He gave a final shout before leaving the room and closing the door loudly behind him, causing you to cringe and listen for the stirrings of awakened little ones.

After a moment of silence, you turned back toward the kitchen where Tommy was beginning to remove his jacket.

A deep red stain on the shoulder of his shirt sleeve caused you to gasp, walking toward him without realizing what you were doing, setting the fireplace poker on the table.

“What happened?” You asked, touching his arm gently as you rotated it to see a slash in the fabric.

Tommy shrugged, unsteady on his feet as he instead reached for the fuller bottle of rum on the counter. “Just a scrap ‘fore we went to the pub, ‘s nothin’—“

“I can help—“

“Just go back to the room—“

“Sit down,” you instructed more sternly. He glared at you, but you didn’t let it stop you. “Take off your shirt, that’s going to infect if we don’t clean it.”

“I can do it m’self,” he mumbled and turned to leave, but began to stumble as he became imbalanced.

You caught and stabilized him before guiding him back to the chair. “You’re drunk as fuck, Tommy. Just sit down and let me help you.”

He huffed, but began to slide down in the chair until it creaked with the extra weight. Satisfied, you finally turned to get a fresh bowl of water and clean towels, then the bandages you’d seen Polly use a few times before. He was unbuttoning his shirt when you pulled up a second chair closer to him, ringing the cloth in the water.

“What were you gonna do with that?” You caught his gesture to the fireplace poker on the table, his voice laced with condescension. “Should learn how to handle a real weapon.”

By the time you sat down, Tommy had his bad arm out of his shirt.

“I know how to handle a gun,” you answered plainly, your voice serious as he watched you examine his wound.

Well, you knew how to handle a gun in the 2000s, that is. With your father being a military man, he wanted to make sure you and your mother went through the proper gun safety and etiquette classes since there’d likely be some weapons in the house. You hadn’t been to a shooting range since your father was alive, but you imagined if you had to handle a gun today you’d at least not make a total idiot of yourself. Now, whether you could actually shoot a live person was another question.

Concentrating back on Tommy’s arm, the blood had begun to crust around the cut, but began to bleed slightly as you started to put pressure on it. He hissed slightly at the contact.

“Sorry,” you mumbled slightly as you continued to work. “Why’d you let this go so long? You know better—“

He scoffed, “Do I?”

“I would have assumed so,” you answered honestly. Someone with the military backing he had, he must have known the dangers of infections and exposed wounds. Though as you worked you began to realize it wasn’t as bad as it’d originally appeared.

He took another swig of the bottle before handing it to you.

“No thanks,” you answered, not in the mood to drink tonight.

“For the cut,” he said as he shook his head, a breath of amusement exhaling from his nose at your reaction.

Sterilizing, you realized, giving yourself a duh as you took the bottle and carefully poured some on his skin. He hissed again as blood started to flow once more before you applied proper pressure. You sat there silently for a moment, just holding the rag to his arm, when you noticed him looking down at the cut sleeve, running his thumb across the red stain.

“So much blood for such a small cut,” he said softly, mostly to himself.

Your brow creased as you lifted the rag to look at his arm. The cut itself wasn’t that deep, but it was pretty substantial, at least in your opinion. Maybe comparatively it wasn’t as bad as some of the other injuries he’d had in his lifetime. The thought made your heart clench as your eyes began to notice other scars along his arm and uncovered chest.

You kept going back to a particularly gnarly scar just above his chest as you lifted his arm to wrap the bandage.

“Did you get this fighting?” you finally asked, turning your attention back to the cut, your curiosity getting the better of you.

He grabbed the bottle and took another drink. “‘Cause that’s all we do, eh? Drink, fight, and fuck—“

“I didn’t say that,” you interrupted, your voice strong in defense.

You wouldn’t mention how his brother was just talking about whores. Or how they were both currently drunk. Or how the last time you’d seen him in this kitchen he’d been bloody and bruised from an altercation.

Probably wouldn’t be helpful at this point.

Instead, you tried to appeal to the logical side of him. “Just with the Digbeth expansion, I’d imagine that can be pretty dangerous.”

You finished the tie of the bandage as you looked back up at him. He was already watching you, his eyes red and glassy, causing the already bright blues to appear more translucent against the candlelight. You noticed how much darker the skin under his eyes were, and couldn’t help but wonder when the last time he slept was.

“You’ve got some on your hands,” he pointed, gently wrapping his hand around your own. He lifted it, revealing the deep red smear on the pad of your hand. He used his good hand to squeeze out the rag and began to clean your palm.

“It’s just blood,” you shrugged, trying not to let on that your heart was racing at the intimacy. “Blood doesn’t scare me, Tommy.”

He looked between your eyes. For a moment you felt like he’d suddenly become sober as he lifted his good hand and gently ran his thumb against your cheek. “It should.”

You swallowed. “Tommy, I—“

“You don’t belong here.”

At his words, you felt your back straighten in defense, not realizing how close you’d been moving in toward him. Your heart began to race even faster as you tried to decipher what exactly he meant.

Part of you knew he must have been talking more in general terms. That you deserved something more than Birmingham in a gambling den with gangsters.

But there was something in the rawness of his words. Something that made you feel like he knew what such a phrase could actually mean to you — that you didn’t belong here, in this time or this place.

“I don’t,” you answered honestly, not helping the sincerity of the words falling from your lips. “But here I am. And here is where I want to be.”

Tommy’s expression remained unreadable as his eyes flicked between both of yours, looking for the lie. His adam’s apple bobbed, then he whispered, “With me?”

The sound of soft whimpering caused you both to jump, turning back toward the kitchen doorway. Katie stopped at the archway, dragging a blanket as she used the end of it to wipe her face.

You rose from your seat to collect the little one — this wasn’t the first time she’d woken up crying since her mother’s passing.

Katie nuzzled her face into your shoulder as you turned back toward the kitchen. Tommy was already standing, putting his arm back in his shirt and grabbing his coat and gun, still slightly uneasy in his footing as he headed for the door.

“Where are you going?”

“Out.”

“Tommy—” you called as the door shut behind him.

—-

The next morning was hectic as everyone prepared for the funeral. You didn’t see the brothers again until that afternoon, John’s eyes red despite the stone expression he kept on his face as everyone offered their condolences.

You felt Tommy’s eyes on you as you both navigated through the house, stealing a few glances at him yourself when he wasn’t looking. Neither of you spoke to the other though, and you were beginning to wonder if he even remembered your conversation the previous night. But each time you found yourself thinking in that direction, you shook your head to remind yourself of the bigger picture of the day.

Polly explained that they would start at Charlie’s Yard and walk the body through the town Martha had grown up in before reaching the graveyard. There, the priest would perform the ceremony. Apparently most of Martha’s family was already gone, so the guests would be mostly John’s family and her friends. After the burial, the Shelbys would return to Charlie’s Yard to burn the caravan filled with Martha’s mementos and pictures. Apparently this was more of a Shelby family tradition, something you were greatly interested in learning more about, at a different time of course.

The preparations reminded you of your recent conversation with Polly over spirits. It got you thinking about the tea Madam Despoina had given you again.

Excusing yourself to get ready for the events of the day, you left the Shelby house to change in your lodgings, doing your best to find something black. The only thing you didn’t have was a hat, but Ada had promised to bring you an extra. Your eyes kept shifting over to your dresser drawer.

It’d been almost a month since you’d received the gift. You’d spent months desperate for an answer as to how or why you were here. And it seemed that just as you were given some sort of clue, some key to unlock something — you were rejecting it. You’d gotten caught up in the found family of the Shelbys and the unshakable pull you felt from Tommy. This new life you’d created for yourself had become a distraction and disassociation of the still very real mystery of your circumstance.

Your eyes moved again to the dresser as you looked over yourself in the mirror. Could the answer be in that cup of tea?

A knock at the door caused you to jump, your heart racing at being caught with your own thoughts. Half expecting Ada with the hat she’d promised, you were surprised when it was Tommy instead who stood on the other side of your door.

He had his hands shoved in his pockets as he stood there uncomfortably. He cleared his throat, “Ada wasn’t sure if you’d know where Charlie’s Yard was, so I offered to come collect you.”

“Oh,” you replied, wondering if it was true. “I just need to get my coat then—“

“Tommy? What are you doin’ here?” You heard another man’s voice down the hall as you turned back around to poke your head through the still open door of your apartment.

Benji approached the doorway in a button-up and small bouquet of flowers in his hands.

Tommy’s brow creased as he appraised the man, then looked between the flowers and you before his face hardened and back straightened.

“What are you doing here, Benji?”

He smirked, “We were going to get dinner, remember?”

You hadn’t. The man hadn’t even been a speck on your mind the past week.

“I’m sorry, Benji,” you began, your voice sincere, “um— Martha passed away this week. We’re on our way to the funeral, I can’t see you tonight.”

“Oh,” he turned to Tommy. “Right I heard about that. I’m sorry for your loss, mate.”

Tommy shook his head. “Save your condolences for my brother, Hancock. We’re going to be late, if you’ll excuse us.”

Without waiting for you, Tommy began to walk down the hallway toward the exit. You rushed to grab your coat and lock your door behind you before apologizing again to Benji and hustling after Tommy.

“Suppose that answers my question,” was the first thing out of Tommy’s mouth when you finally caught up with him, still looking straight ahead as you both walked down the lane.

“What?”

“Last night—“

“You remember last night?” you asked surprised. He had been really drunk

He scoffed, still not slowing in his walk nor giving you a glance. “I remember a lot of things. Including you telling me you weren’t interested in Hancock.”

“I wasn’t,” you answered, trying to catch your breath.

He scoffed again and your eyes narrowed.

“But then nearly a month went by after you ghosted me so I thought what the hell, give the guy a chance.”

“Ghost?—“

“You told me to stay away—“

“And staying away means being courted by a Peaky Blinder, ya?”

“Courted?” Your brow creased at the use of phrase. “It was going to be one date — just a dinner, we weren’t getting married.”

He rounded on you, pulling you abruptly into an alcove off the sidewalk until your back was against the brick. His eyes bore down at you as the fire returned to his eyes. “Do you know what happens to people who cross me?” He started, his voice lower than it had been moments before. “They lose their ears, their tongues, their eyes. You have no fuckin’ idea who you’re talking to.”

“I do,” you said, your voice just as strong despite the threatening tone of Tommy hovering above you. His eyes simmered for a moment. “You think you’re a monster. Maybe you are— maybe you have to be, maybe you don’t. I don’t care. I said I was going to help you. So shove off with the chauvinistic ‘I’m pushing you away to keep you safe’ bullshit — I don’t want it.”

You surprised yourself at your own words, though you tried to keep your face from showing it. Deep down, you’d always believed what you said, but you hadn’t known exactly to what extent. Did you not care if Tommy Shelby was a monster? No. And you couldn’t shake why.

“You’ll regret it,” he said, his eyes icy once again with the same hint of desperation you saw the night before.

“Not as much as you’ll regret going from ‘I need you’ to ‘stay away from me’—“

He shook his head, finally taking a step back from you. “I was being selfish—“

“Well then be selfish!” You took a step back toward him. “Because dammit, Tommy, I need you too!”

He pulled your body into his so quickly you nearly pushed him away. But your body immediately reacted to the feel of his lips against yours as you pulled yourself in closer, wrapping your arms around his neck.

You broke away first, the whistling of pedestrians on the sidewalk making you remember you weren’t as concealed in this alcove as you thought. Though Tommy didn’t seem to care, his eyes still focused on you as you caught your breath.

“Don’t think just kissing me absolves you from giving a proper explanation for your actions,” you tried to say as serious as you could muster between breaths.

You were still mad at him. He’d put you through a roller coaster of unnecessary emotions the last few weeks. For him to get jealous at the prospects of you moving on? There was something more, you could feel it. And there was no way you were letting him get away with not explaining himself fully before you felt you could open back up to him again.

The corner of his mouth rose in amusement, “Come to the races with me when I return.”

“What?” your brow creased, though the corner of your mouth tugged upward at the prospects of what sounded like a date (you really were delusional when it came to this man).

“I want to take you to the races. Join me?”

You shook your head, “Is this the Tommy Shelby version of an olive branch?”

He smirked, “Maybe. We can talk more then.”

“Deal,” you answered, pulling his smirk into a genuine smile as you both turned back to continue down the sidewalk.

—-

The funeral was beautiful. Honestly, you hadn’t any idea what to expect when Polly talked about the arrangements. But the words, the songs, and the beauty of the traditions had you in tears. John held his children during the entire procession, and gave a lovely send off before lighting the fire.

Despite the grief you were feeling for the family, your brain hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the tea in your bedroom. Tommy had informed you that they’d be wrapping up Digbeth soon, returning properly in a few weeks.

That night was the first night you’d been back in your own apartment. The first thing you did was open your dresser drawer and remove the box.

You left it on your counter top as you started the fireplace, then the kettle. As you reached for the tea cup, you wondered if it was smart to be alone while you did this. You were, after all, still about sixty percent sure that the old tea was just going to give you either a stomach ache or seizure. But, you guessed that was better than the ninety-nine percent that you’d been at upon first receiving.

You gently removed the leaves and vial of water, following the instructions from Madam Despoina as you made your cup.

Holding the warm tea in your hands, you made the last minute decision to sit on the floor — reasoning that if you collapsed or something, at least you wouldn’t have as far to go.

You settled on the rug, inhaled deeply, closed your eyes, then brought the edge of the cup to your mouth.

You could feel the hot water run through your throat, then down to your chest before the warmth began to spread through your arms and hands, down to your stomach, then legs, then toes.

With your eyes still closed, you sat for a moment, waiting for something to happen.

When nothing did, you took another sip. Again, nothing happened.

Sighing, you sent a small thank you to whomever was listening that you at least didn’t go into any kind of shock, then opened your eyes.

“Hello, darling.”

>> next chapter <;< chapter masterlist

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arowrath · 5 months

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remember being thirteen and downloading halsey's badlands to your old iphone 4 and painstakingly changing the song titles and hiding your earbuds in your hoodie so your parents wouldnt see them and ask what you're listening to. and you poke at your dinner before going back to your room to wait out your parents and you draw and you write bad fanfiction in your email drafts folder because you know your parents would never fucking check there. and when your dad finally goes to bed you sneak downstairs (backwards, so if your parents wake up you can claim you're coming back from the bathroom) and through the kitchen and you lean against the door while you turn the handle because it stops it from creaking. and once you're sure the door is shut you pace back and forth in your driveway in the dead of night and you listen to roman holiday as loud as your shitty earbuds will let you. and you read a tumblr post a couple months ago that said that using drugs doesnt make you a bad person so you think to yourself if you ever smoke weed someday you'd like to listen to this song while high. you listen to control (i paced around for hours on empty, i jumped at the slightest of sounds) and you think about how someday you'll be out of here (im bigger than this body im colder than this home) and you keep glancing back to check the shifting light is just your own shadow and not your parents at the door. you go back inside because you can't enjoy the music anymore and you sneak a single hershey kiss out of the pantry and you run back upstairs. in the morning you'll wake up at 1pm and your mother won't ask why you slept so late but if she did you'd tell her you woke up and couldn't get back to sleep. as if you didn't stay up til 6am and then take a handful of melatonin. do you guys remember that. i remember that

#text

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tiktaalic · 7 days

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tortured poets review. by song

fortnight: fine. sounds like a song. one of the lana drag ones. the actual lyrical content is nothing special. i would not have made this track one. 6/10

tortured poets department: kind of exactly what you would expect from a taylor swift album called tortured poets department. it's silly. it's got references. it makes you go. girl? already less distinct musically. 3/10

my boy only breaks his favorite toys: the consequence of doing lana drag is that you listen to songs and go this would be a lot better if lana got her chords on it. fundamentally not a song that i can enjoy from taylor allison swift. a song i would respect in lana of video games fame catalogue once she strips it down. not like head turningly strange like tpd just plain and simple middle of the road. 4/10

down bad: this one is unlistenable for me. cant explain why. probably the chorus of down bad. i think it's tooooooo silly too silly by far when taylor swift does how do you do fellow teens vocabulary. 2/10

so long london: i can see the place that this takes on my spotify wrapped. lyrics are fine. good even. this + backing + doing something even the littlest bit different from soft monotone talk singing makes it one of the most memorable on this album by miles. probably not near the top of most memorable in her hundreds deep bench though. can't think of anything to dock it for but it's no belter. 8/10.

but daddy i love him: yeah okay. i love when she does a silly one. i think the instrumentals are nice. i'm having his baby. no i'm not! but you should see your face. easily i would listen to an album that was full of songs to this theme / musicality. points docked because i dont think she knows it's as silly as it is. 7/10.

fresh out the slammer: bored. i just looked at the lyrics and they're passable but they're performed in the most boring possible manner. stupidest name imaginable. i actually might bump it a point or two if the name was different. 4/10

florida: makes me go yaaaaaay florence every time i hear it. taylor's part halsey 2014 core. could have been worse! if i was in charge of cutting tracks i would keep this one. 6/10

guilty as sin: started it went oh i'm docking this one for boring. read the first quarter of lyrics and went oh this is fine? got to second half and went oh i don't care for this. can imagine a world where it's a better song with different backing and emphasis. 5/10

whose afraid of little old me: i dont think it's good necessarily but i love every song where shes like im craaaazy im insane. i think for the concept it's going for it could have been put together differently. 6/10

i can fix him: i like the way it sounds. but could use more oomph. it's so nice to hear guitars though. don't care for the subject matter. 5/10

loml: snooze. boring lyrics. boring performance. 4/10

i can do it with a broken heart: BAFFLING. easily the me / karma of the album. the tonal mismatch is the point but . well. it is what it is. i would like this more if it WAS a barbie soundtrack release i think. then it would have an extra layer of silly. i think this might make my wrapped. unfortunately. 5/10.

smallest man who ever lived: who gives a shit about matty healy. 4/10

the alchemy: head in my hands. head in my hands. football song. it's so over. and we are never going to be so back. 3/10

clara bow: i like the intro. i can't see myself ever doing more than half humming this. lyrics are whatever. fine, passable. 6/10

the black dog: yeah it's fine. no complaints. guitar 👍. 6/10

getyouback: why would you EVER tee yourself up perfectly to be compared to a better song. 3/10

albatross: oh i liked this one on first listen. 7/10.

chloe sam sophia marcus: outing song ‼️‼️‼️divorce music‼️‼️‼️. nothing too exciting or groundbreaking musically. 5.5?

how did it end: um. it gets points for being #real but not much else. 5/10.

so high school: i think i would like it if it was even a TOUCH less heterosexual. i would cut 3 lines that would turn it into a 6. i can see this song in someone else's hands dominating the radio and me loving that. in taylor's hands i'm giving it a 5/10.

i hate it here: not interesting. next. 4/10

thank you aimee: out of respect for taylor swift's struggles i will withhold comment and rating. -_-

look in people's windows: lyrics aren't bad but it's another one that's not really. doing anything. 4/10

the prophecy: yeah i'll give this one a 7/10. i would have one (1) greige complaint if this was on folkevermore but that's pretty damn solid.

cassandra: passing it and moving on. that's as much as it deserves. 5/10

peter: lyrics get a thumbs up. another 5.5? i could be talked into a six.

the bolter: yes girl commitment issues. 6/10. actually. 7/10.

robin: jesus god this album is too long. i have listened to too much taylor swift tpd to give this any kind of rating.

the manuscript: 5/10. like if woulda coulda shoulda had no beat

thank you for sharing this journey. with me and also taylor swift

#etxt #t swift

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maybeyouaredreaming · 1 year

Text

Do you ever shut the fuck up?

Matty's on one and he's doing your head in with his childish antics. 3062 words. matty x fem reader Warnings - sliiight shame kink/power play, minor substance use, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, romantic choking?? passionate hate fucking, mostly a lot of torturous grinding like teenagers I have ten years' worth of Matty thoughts in my head. Please be kind this is my first fic! My friend made me publish this and I ended up accidentally deleting my 12-year-old blog trying to make a sub-blog so I hope it's worth it, that thing was my entire identity. Feel free to leave me your thoughts xx

He’d been on one since the Brits. Riled up from the backlash with the podcast, the stress of leaving the house in public after all the bashing from the press, and then having to be in the same room as the very people that spend their whole careers criticising him, it’s all compiled to Matty pacing around your house for days on end. But Yungblud’s newest show was it for him. He won’t sit down, he won’t talk about anything else. And it was starting to drive you mental.

“Who the fuck does he think he fuckin’ is? It’s not enough he fucks my old misses and steals my entire persona and aesthetic, covers my fuckin’ song and then smears me on the fuckin’ internet for nowt, now he’s gone and stolen my fuckin’ stage show?”

You breathe deep. Let it go. Let him get it off his chest.

“Yeah, babe. He’s so annoying.” You placate him monotonously, not taking your eyes off your phone. Scrolling meaninglessly through your Instagram feed.

“What a fuckin’ loser he is.” He huffs and leaves the room.

You relish the moment of silence however fleeting it is before he’s back in the room holding his stash box, and rolling another giant spliff in his hands as he sits right beside you on the couch when he starts again.

“I just don’t believe it, babe, honestly who the fuck does he think he is?”

You watch as he licks the edge of the rollie paper to enclose it and twists the top in his nimble fingers, your phone now discarded on the coffee table forgotten. Watching almost in slow motion as he drags his tongue across the paper. The action alone causing a light flush to heat the back of your neck, picturing the last time that tongue was pressed against your very core.

He takes you out of your reverie by lighting the spliff and handing it to you, an unspoken habit of his that you get first drag. Matty envelops himself around you on the couch, taking up your personal space and getting as close as possible. Usually an action that you enjoy, but he’s so irritating, so grating, at the moment that your skin crawls at the closeness. You breathe deep, toking the weed into your lungs, inhaling most of it and hand him back the spliff; which he takes deep into his own lungs so close to your ear you hear the draw he makes. Spurred on by his perception of your silence to mean you’re listening intently to everything he has to say, every thought racing around his head, he continues ranting. But you’re not paying attention. Instead, the growing irritation of him being so caught up on Yungblud, Halsey, and the press, whatever else the fuck he’s ranting about that you’re not following along with because he. Just. Won’t. Stop.

Pushing your anger down more, you snatch the spliff out of his hands and claim the rest as your own while he gets his phone out inspired by both his high and his anger and opens his Instagram. You watch off to the side while he goes on a rant on his Instagram stories, impersonating Dom’s accent. You watch his exaggerated expressions, his lips moving in a way they don’t usually, and the horrendous but accurate impression of Yungblud’s ridiculous accent. While otherwise entertaining, the pettiness and ridiculousness is suddenly almost rather ugly to you. Annoying in the very least. It’s a side of him you’ve seen before many a time, sardonicism being a language and humour you both share, but it has never put you off quite like this.

The more he speaks the more you want to scream at him.

You draw yourself from his side and stand up from the couch, deciding a cup of tea is all you need. Spliff still in hand, you reach into your cupboard and pull out your favourite tea mug, the kind almost the size of a soup bowl that was perfect for rainy days and shitty moods, and turn the kettle on. Between the final drags of the spliff, you butt the smouldering empty roach out in the filling ashtray on the counter and pull out a bag of lavender destressing tea from the pantry and place it in your mug. You can hear him still ranting in the loungeroom, saying something about “the underrated youth, fucking, generation” and even in the muffled distance it adds to the annoyance.

You take a deep breath and turn and face the kettle now hissing at boiling point from its dock. The throbbing in your skull grows louder as you focus on pouring the boiling water into your mug when you hear him shuffle into the kitchen behind you, feet dragging on the floor like a petulant child. Another deep breath and you take your first scalding hot sip, too annoyed to wait the minute for it to cool down as you usually do. If the weed isn’t calming you down, this tea is your last hope. He just stands there, up against the kitchen sink looking at you, clearly expecting you to initiate conversation so when it doesn’t come he speaks again because he can never let the silence linger. Can never let there be a moment of silence in his own mind. You’re never allowed a single moment of fucking peace.

“Have you seen it, babe? Watch this git-“ you cut him off, slamming the full mug on the bench and scalding your hand, but you’re too livid to notice and turn around to face him seething and ignoring the searing pain of your now-burning flesh.

“Do you ever shut the FUCK up? You’re so fucking obnoxious, Matthew!” Face flushed and eyes wide, your breathing deepens until your chest is heaving with the rage you’re feeling, the audible breaths filling the room. Unable to hold your ire back from the unwitting man in front of you.

He’s never seen you this angry before and for a moment he shrinks into himself, made several sizes smaller from the accusation and his own face flushing, before he steps up to you, toe-to-toe, face closer and eyes ablaze in mutual anger.

Finally silence. You’re practically nose-to-nose staring each other down intensely, looking for something in each other's eyes and finding only fire.

Until he snatches you by the neck pulling your face forcefully into his own. You kiss each other with such burning passion you become a mess of tangling limbs, clutching at his hair and pulling harshly, trying to get closer to him. He pushes you up against the counter, never removing his mouth from yours, hips grinding forcefully into yours allowing you to feel just how your intensity has him riled up as well. A growing heat between you as you gasp for the air he allows you to steal between tongues lashing. He wants to taste your anger, steal the breath from your lungs, feel you wreathing beneath him. You move together, two comets ablaze crashing into each other. His hands roam your body under your rising shirt, never landing in the same place while still grinding his body into yours impossibly close. He kisses down your neck open mouth eliciting a sinful groan to slip from your lips from the combination of his mouth, his hands, his body. Him.

You feel your control of the moment slipping further away. The control you need to satiate your anger truly. So you take it back bringing his mouth back to yours and push against him off the counter and steer your entwined bodies to the lounge. He stops you in the doorway to the loungeroom and pushes you up against the cool cement wall and takes back the control he briefly relinquished. Continuing his vicious attack to your neck, your collarbone, below your ear. Unrelenting lips, teeth, tongue, claiming your skin and setting you on fire further. Moan's slip from both of your mouths, his shuddering breaths against your skin, hot and wet.

You break your shared silence, between struggling for air and giving over to the sexual deviant he never fails to bring out of you. Tired of always letting him guide the moments you share, you flip your positions so he’s against the wall and clutch his jaw, bringing him to look you directly in the eyes again and relinquish his claim from your body, your other hand pushing him further into the wall. He doesn’t fight the position from the shock of the unexpected change of momentum. He’s never seen this side of you before. Dominant. Domineering. Taking possession of him.

“So, you can shut up.” You sneer, red and swollen lips curling in minor disgust. He groans at your tone and the position of helplessness he’s in, entirely enraptured by your fierceness. A shame kink he’s never expected to get off on emerging in the back of his mind. He wants to give in to you but his stubbornness tries to win him over again and he grabs your wrist holding your hand in place.

“You’ll have to make me.” He grunts back.

And that’s all it takes for you to pull him back into you and stumble the rest of the way to the couch, lips attached with fervour and fire. You draw away briefly, “Shirt and pants off. Now.” You demand. He complies, now free of all but his boxers he stands in front of you, reaching for you again but you step away and push him down to the couch with just enough force he doesn’t fight. You stand above him as he lies on the couch, taken aback for a second again, his own chest heaving, breath heavy and eyes hooded from lust before he drags you on top of him. Hands clutching your own shirt and tearing it off your body, buttons flying. You give him this, but only this, wanting to rid your hot flesh of the material clinging to your skin. It’s not what you want touching you. Not what you need touching you right now.

Your pants and now decimated shirt join his clothes on the floor. You join mouths again, lips and teeth resume clashing in a heated awkwardness you both ignore in your shared desperation. Hands roaming each other more, grinding like sexually repressed teenagers, edging but never quite relenting to ecstasy when his hands roam to your hips and clutch you against him, guiding your movements and force. Each clothed stroke brings a pant from his mouth you draw into your own mouth. He kisses down your neck again, his favourite spot. You take your newfound freedom to give him your next demand.

“If you really want to use that mouth as much as you insist, at least put it to good use.”

You take your body off his, him groaning from the movement and sudden disappearance of pressure where he wanted it most, and you lay back against the couch cushions expectant and waiting. It doesn’t take him long to clue onto what you’re asking and in a lithe move he shifts position and leans over your body, attaching his lips to your chest, your stomach, drifting lower and lower while drawing his hands up your legs enticingly. Inching closer and closer, drawing goosebumps over your skin. The feeling he brings you, even in your bad mood, is elating and you feel yourself slowly give over to his hands, his lips, and his gentle and worshipping touch. The exact opposite of what you want right now.

Between sighs and gentle brushes of his hair, your newfound dominant side kicks in again and you’re pulling the hair at the nape of his neck again. “Touch me properly, Healy.”

His breath hitches where he’s working on worshipping your stomach, every inch of your torso kissed and nuzzled by his face, taking in the scent of your skin when he finally runs his palm over your core. Feeling the sticky wetness pooling in your underwear already. Something primal snaps within him as he tears the remaining clothing from your body and attaches his lips to where you need him most. All lips, and tongue, and nose, and gentle fingers working themselves to satisfy you, he palms your now free breasts with his other hand. He eats you out like a man starved, barely coming up for air. Eventually adding a long and callused finger to your slick cunt, coaxing pants out of you and a slowly arching back.

You stroke his curls as he works, cajoling him. “I love it when you’re quiet. Such a. Good. Man when you’re not talking shit.” Your panting turns to moans as he circles your clit with his tongue, taking it in turns to suck, to lick, to bite. Equal parts humiliation and encouragement spur him on as he adds another finger to your soaking core, gentle spasms begin to surface from your well-attended clit. Your stomach tenses as his tongue and fingers work in unison to build you to a crescendo. The hand tending faithfully to your chest slowly moves down your torso back to its place at your hip, securing you in place firmly. Spurred on by the growing sensation in your belly, you clasp your legs around his head and begin moving your hips in response, riding his face from below. Your right leg hooked around his strong back, muscles rippling under your calf from the tensing of his movements, heel digging in, toes curling. Encouraging him further. He grows in pace and determination.

He will bring you to the edge. He will throw you off that cliff of ecstasy and then plunder your bones for his own sweet release. He adds a third finger, tormenting your g spot he drags from your body every shuttering ounce of orgasm that’s ever been drawn from you by anyone ever before. Earth-shattering raptures of bliss take over your body and mind, releasing from your consciousness the anger you felt for the very man that brought you to your current state. He laps your divine juices in his mouth, not wasting a drop of his reward for good behaviour. He kisses his way back up your overstimulated body still responding from his work, pulsing, undulating, and so very o-drunk, he takes advantage of your blissed-out state to reassert his own control. He kisses you deeply and you taste yourself on his lips. You thank him wordlessly, forgiving him momentarily.

“Am I forgiven, baby? Did I do well?” He asks into your mouth, grinding into your oversensitive core to remind you that work is yet to be done to bring him his own deserved release. You nod, mewling in response. You bring a hand to his cheek and stroke it as he kisses your neck again. “So good to me, Matty. So attentive.” He groans again, your words stroking his need to be appreciated, to be validated.

With your senses slowly coming back to you through shared kisses and soft touches, you trace your own way down his body and free his rock-solid cock from its cotton prison. The intensity of your tryst has bought him close to the edge multiple times without you having to touch him where he needs you to most, the desire to satisfy and appease you first is enough motivation to both fulfil and distract him from his own burning urges. Your feather-light touch to his engorged penis sends a whole body shudder through him in his position above you. If you continued to touch him so sinfully he’d come undone in your hand.

Gasping he takes your hand in his shaking grip, “Babe, if you keep touching me while looking like that I’ll cum right here. I need to be IN you.” And who are you to deny a man on the edge his only wish? You take a moment to lightly stroke his penis against your still-soaking entrance and make eye contact with him hooded eyes to hooded eyes, both of you with blown-out pupils from shared euphoria.

You both sigh as he enters you, taking a moment once he’s bottomed out, the base of his shaft against your labia. Hip to hip. With one hand, he grasps your throat tenderly, your hand holding his wrist to encourage his movement. Eyes still locked, nose to nose, he starts moving his hips encouraging your own slow movements with his other hand back in place on your hips. Breathing through the other's mouths, lips barely touching in anticipation, sharing moans and mewls and groans, he picks up pace forming a steady rhythm. The pressure and force building with hips bumping off the others, pants and moans filling the air, each other’s sweat coating your bodies. Neither of you can tell where he begins and you end. Joined as one, you wrap your legs around his body to keep him close, your free hand drawing blood down his back trying to grasp for something, anything. The rapture he’s causing your body is intense again, places he’s never reached before in his many explorations of your body have been tormented and punished. He elicits a scream from your chest, his name falling from your lips like a curse, like a song. Toes curling again, you pant, you cry out. “Yes, Matty. Yes! YES! UGH!”

And that’s enough for him to let go with a grunt and pant. Sapping him of all energy, you feel his warm sperm fill you up as he collapses across your body, still inside you, pulsing. He draws his arms around your body in a tender embrace and leaves a soft kiss on your still-heaving chest. You both lay like that for a moment, just breathing. You playing softly with his hair and him drawing circles on your cooling skin.

He finds the strength to push himself up from you and remove himself from your vagina and then laying back in your arms and kissing his way back up to your lips.

“Where the fuck did that come from?” He asks in disbelief. Shock crosses his face when he comes to. And you both start laughing as the intensity of what just passed you both sets in.

“Sometimes you just need to be kept quiet.” You say laughing and he pinches your nipple in response laughing with you.

#matty healy #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy oneshot #matty healy x reader #the 1975 imagines #sub matty #he's so fucking annoying sometimes #i love it when he shuts the fuck up #matty healy one shot #matty x reader #Instagram

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