Your pain only makes you stronger

“Lovie, I—” the tiny wooden box sits heavier in his pocket. “I don’t know what to tell you.” Hobie rubs at the back of his neck, eyes straying far from your own.

To you he looks guilty.

To him, he’s hiding the surprise from you lest he ruins weeks of work.

“Baby,” you coo, albeit sadly. “I trust you but I’m fucking worried…Whenever I turn the telly on I half expect to see you on it. I’m fucking terrified.”

“I know, ‘m sorry.” Sighing, Hobie tries to swallow the lump in his throat. “‘m safe, you don’t ‘ave to worry.”

“How would I know when you don’t even answer my texts or when you only come home when it’s almost dawn?” Stepping closer, he could see the hurt that he caused right on your pretty face. “I wake up expecting you to be beside me like always but your side of the bed is cold, Hobie. I–I fucking miss you.”

He almost breaks at your confession. “I—”

“Is it me?” Your lips wobbles, fingers trembling on your sides. “Do you not love me anymore?” Voice faltering, tears threaten to pour from your eyes, every heavy thought and doubt you’ve ever had spills over. “Because that I can understand, that I can— It won’t hurt less if–if it is but it hurts more if you found someone else.”

Hobie’s face falls, heart wretched from his chest. “Fuckin’ hell, lovie—” stepping closer, his hands hover over your trembling form. “No, lovie, that— that’s not it.”

“Then where do you go?” You ask, heart broken. “Ten years together, Hobie, you know you can trust me. Are you in trouble? Please, you can tell me, I can help you.”

Hobie drags his tongue over his lips, mouth feeling dry as he hides his hand inside his pocket, feeling around at the wooden box. “‘m not in trouble.”

He contemplates, is all that planning and hard work worth it if all the sneaking around is hurting you? Making you worry for his safety and breaking your heart when he did all of it just for you? He never thought planning a proposal with his best mates to make it perfect was going to hurt you.

“Is it me then?” Your words crack at the edges, inhaling deeply through your nose as you try and fail to act brave. “Do—do you want to break it off?”

Hobie’s eyes are immediately on you, shock marring his face, mouth agape and slightly offended that he’d want to break up with you, you, who has been by his side for a decade, you, who he loves more than anyone else in the whole world.

“Fuck no!” He spits out without a second thought, hands immediately on your face to cradle you lovingly in an attempt to reassure you. Fuck, he never thought that you felt that awful, that you were having those awful thoughts when all those sleepless nights practicing with the band only to come home with you in bed and sleeping soundly made you feel like he has forsaken you. It was the opposite, he thought you were fine and dandy, that you never gave his sudden absence a second thought when he has spent a decade with you and that maybe you wanted some space to yourself too. “Love, no, ‘m not…” he can’t even get the words out because breaking it off with you is so inconceivable for him. “‘m not goin’ to do that.”

“Then what is it? You’ve been pulling away, and— and it’s horrible,” You wipe a fallen tears with your sleeve, choking on your words. “I feel like you don’t love me as much as before.”

“No, I love you, so fuckin’ much.”

“Then why are you pulling away?” You can’t bring yourself to gaze into his soft brown eyes even when your instincts tell you to lean against his touch, to look into his eyes you love with your whole heart. “I’ve spent weeks eating breakfast and dinner all alone, watching it grow cold while I wait for you when we’ve always eaten together. Even Yuri and the others don’t talk to me anymore, you guys are icing me out, I feel lonely, Hobie.”

Fuck it, he thinks to himself, he can’t keep seeing you break like this just because he was too blind to see that his absence was hurting you. He loves you far too much to keep lying and hiding from you. After all, he was doing all that for you, to tell you that he wants to be with you forever even when he already spent ten years with you and he’s more than ready to spend the rest of his days with you. Ten years isn’t enough, he wants you till death and beyond. If you’d still have him that is after the mess he caused.

“Love…” he kneels down like in the movies, not just because it’s tradition but for forgiveness as he watches your face contort into confusion. His hand gets stuck inside his jean pocket, he knew that wearing jeans with small ass pockets will backfire on him someday. “Shit— hold on.” His ring snags around a loose thread. “Fuck, ‘m stuck.” Chuckling nervously, to add insult to injury, he’s starting to sweat profusely.

“What— what are you doing?” Brows knitted together, you tilt to see what exactly he’s doing. “Hobie, you don’t need to kneel, I'm just…” you’re crouching down, helping him get his hand out with your own hands around his wrist. “Baby, just turn your hand.”

“Aha—!” Hobie manages to get his hand out, but he yanks it out too fast, too hurried and from the sheer momentum, his hand accidentally hits you right on your nose. “Fuck! Lovie!”

You tumble to your back, groaning and clutching at your nose. “Shit.” You’re fully laying on the floor, tears in your eyes from the sting. “Hobie…”

“Shit!” He crawls over to you, frantic and panicked as his hands hover around, not knowing what to do. “‘m sorry! I didn’t mean to!”

“Go get some ice.” Voice muffled by your hands, the throbbing pain slithers from your nose to the space between your brows, giving you a dull headache.

“Fuck, ‘m sorry!” Hobie apologizes over and over again while he’s trying to grab an ice pack from the fridge, too concerned for you, too distracted and guilty to notice that the wooden ring box has fallen down and landed right in front of your face. “I’ve got it!” He comes back triumphantly to you holding onto the box with blown out eyes and blood trickling down slowly from your nose down to your shocked lips. “D’you want to open it?”

Your eyes flick over to him whilst you hold onto the box daintily, as if it’ll break from your gentle hold. “Is it for me?”

Hobie’s immediately on his knees, reaching for your chin, using his sleeve to gingerly wipe the blood off of your face. “Yeah, of course.” His voice softens, gazing into your eyes with a smile. “Everythin’ has been for you.”

Realization flickers on your face, reacting too quickly as you wince from the pain.

“Don’t move.” Hobie grimaces, absolutely guilty and embarrassed from the events that unfolded right in the shared living room when he planned a perfect proposal for you that is now down the drain. “I’ll take you to the emergency room, you might have a concussion.”

Your hand takes his cheek, a thumb brushing along his jaw tenderly. “Is this why you’ve been away?”

“Yeah, ‘m sorry. I wanted it to be perfect. Got the band roped into it and everythin’.”

“Hobie…” you coo, inching close, kneeling in between his legs as he leans against your touch. “You know even if you propose to me with a ring pop in bed I would still say yes.”

A soft smile stretches across his handsome face. “I wanted it to be memorable.”

“Well, you’ve made it memorable alright.” You tease, gesturing around your bleeding nose and tears in your eyes.

Hobie chuckles, pulling you close, arms wrapped around you and face hidden in the crook of your neck. “Will you marry this stupid bloke?” He says against your skin, pressing gentle kisses along your throat and up to the hinge of his jaw.

“Absolutely,” you sigh breathlessly, undoubtedly certain about your answer. “Yes, I’ll marry you, Hobie.”

Leaning away, he takes the box and pops it open for you. Heart swelling at your answer, a big smile that etches right on his face, beaming at you whilst he gazes at you with the utmost love. “I love you.”

The ring is simple, silver with three small rubies in the middle. What makes it special is the engravings around it, symbols that represent your years together. His guitar, seashells from the first date at the beach, the three cats you two share, and many more that makes your heart cinch with affection.

“I love you too.” You breathe out, hands shaking as he helps you put on the ring. You could feel his initials and your own right inside it, engraved along the silver band.

His grin seems to light up the whole room, either from your sheer happiness or blooming headache. Either way, you feel like jumping for joy, worries fading away into the wind.

“Can I still show you the surprise? The band’s goin’ to hate me for puttin’ ‘em to work.” His hands run along your sides, eyes flicking down to your lips that smiles at him.

“I’d love to see what you’ve got planned, Hobie.”

Tilting his head to avoid hitting your probably broken nose, he kisses you gently, sweetly and carefully. He reins himself in, and you feel it by how he bunches the back of your shirt with his closed fist that shakes with need.

Hobie pulls away, and you chase his lips, wanting more. “Later, lovie, we need to get to the hospital.”

“Promise?”

His nose nudges at your cheek before pressing a sweetened peck right on it. “Promise.”

You make your way down into the bunker where he lives, hiking your bag higher on your shoulder so you don’t drop it and cautiously look around once you’re in the tiny kitchen area. You remember the first time you were here, Frank didn’t want you to see where he lives, he was afraid his lifestyle would scare you away for good.

“Frank, you could live under a rock and I’d still love you,” you told him before kissing him softly and making yourself home. 

You’ve offered him to move in with you several times before, but one, you live in a literal shoebox that’s filled to the brim with your stuff, he wouldn’t be able to fit a single sock in there and two, you kinda both agreed that keeping his weapons and all kind of weird tech stuff away from your home is a great idea, so he stayed in the warehouse, you stayed in your apartment and you rotate between the two places. 

Looking around you notice two extra cups on the table, three plates in the sink with some chili smeared on them, instant signs that he is not alone. You drop your bag by the wall and as you walk further inside you see two sleeping figures in the back room. A girl on the top bed and…

Is that Spider-Man?

Your eyes widen just when two hands grab your waist, pulling you back. 

“Shh, don’t wake the kids,” Frank murmurs into your ear and pulls you into his bedroom. 

“Is that fucking Spider-Man sleeping in the back?” you gape at him once you turn in his arms, hands coming up to rest on his shoulders instantly. Frank growls, like he is irritated, but you see something else in his eyes too.

“He is in trouble and now he is hiding his girlfriend here as well. Fucking nuts.”

“Girlfriend? Spider-Man has a girlfriend?”

“Well, he is clearly in love with her, but she doesn’t remember him or some shit? I don’t know, he rambles too much and makes no sense to me most of the time,” he sighs, his gaze settling on your face as he pulls you closer against him. “Didn’t know you were dropping by today.”

You love how his voice turns softer when he is talking to you and though he would never admit, his whole being turns mushier once you’re around. 

“I could get off work earlier and thought I would surprise you.”

Leaning in you kiss him softly and when he hums happily against your lips you can’t help but smile. 

“Have you eaten?” he asks pulling back. “Saved some chili for you.”

“You’re sweet, but I’m good. I’m gonna take a quick shower and then we can go to bed.”

“Go ahead, Princess,” he winks, giving your ass a gentle smack as he lets you go. 

Twenty minutes later you’re climbing into bed next to him, wearing one of his shirts. He drops the book he’s been reading instantly and opens his arms so you can climb into his embrace under the covers. 

“Mm, you smell good,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“I used your soap, I literally smell like you,” you chuckle. 

Moving around Frank rolls to his back and you lie half on top of him, chin resting on his chest. His hands are aimlessly wandering your body, slipping under the shirt, drawing circles on your soft skin. 

“Are they in trouble?” you ask, nodding towards the other room where the two guests are sleeping.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“You’re gonna help them, right?”

“It’s his business, not mine,” he growls with a frown, but you pinch his peck lightly. “Ow!”

“Don’t even try to tell me you don’t care about that kid. We both know you do.”

“What gives you the idea?” He asks, arching an eyebrow at you. 

“The fact that he is sleeping in the other room. You haven’t let anyone here before.”

“I let you.” His gaze softens and a tiny smile tugs on his lips.

“Okay, you let me here and you love me, right?”

“Of course I love you.”

“So that means you let people here who you love and care about.”

Frank opens his mouth to say something, but he can’t argue. He sighs in defeat as you smirk at him. 

“Sure, I’ll help him,” he mumbles, giving your hips a squeeze. 

“Because you’re a good man,” you tell him, pressing a kiss on his chest before laying your head on it. 

You both go silent for a while. Listening to his steady heartbeat you stare at a photo of the two of you pinned to the wall above his dresser. You love that picture, it was taken on your birthday last year, it was still at a time when Frank was fighting himself over you. It took him a long time to allow himself to love you and not feel bad about it. He was so paranoid that something would happen to you, he tried to stay away from you over and over again, but he always ended up crawling back to you until he just gave up and accepted that he can’t live without you. 

And you feel the same. 

You have never loved a man like you love him and it’s scary and sometimes you hurt each other but you wouldn’t want to live a life without him in it. 

“You said she forgot him? The girl, she forgot Spider-Man?” you ask, still looking at the picture.

“Yeah. The kid said something about… a magic spell or some shit? I don’t know.”

“That must be horrible.”

Frank just hums, but doesn’t say anything. Lifting your head you look at him, finding him already watching you. 

“If I forgot you, would you come after me and try to get me back?”

His eyes darken as he thinks about your words. His fingers that have been gently caressing your sides stop and you feel him gripping you, like you’re about to slip out of his hold. 

“I don’t know. That would be a chance for you to not be a target anymore,” he then says. 

“But I told you I would rather be a target than live without you,” you remind him. Reaching up you cup his face gently, running your thumb across his cheekbone. He leans into your touch instantly. 

“I know. That doesn’t mean I stopped worrying about you.”

You understand him and his worries. It hasn’t been a battle only he’s been fighting, you tried to prioritize your safety as well, but you felt miserable every time you put distance between you and him. At last you had to realize it’s a price you’re willing to pay to love him and be loved by him. 

“I would want you to find me,” you tell him after a few beats of silence. 

“Yeah?”

“Yes. I would want to get to know you again and fall in love with you again.”

You see that soft shift in his gaze again, his hands squeezing you tighter. Pushing yourself up you move up on his body until you can kiss him. At first it’s soft and gentle, but it turns deep and passionate quite fast, as if you’re actually about to forget him and you want to drink up every bit of each other one last time, though that’s not happening. You still remember and love him just like a minute, an hour, a day or months ago. 

“I think,” you whisper, panting against his lips, “I think I could never forget you.”

“Yeah?” he asks, biting your lower lip playfully.

“Mhm. I love you way too much to ever forget about you.” 

Grabbing his hand that’s on your naked thigh you pull it up until it’s laid over your heart. 

“You’re here. Forever.”

“Forever,” he breathes out through hazy eyes as your heart pounds against his palm. Then he kisses you, repeating that word over and over again with his actions, showing you that he feels the same way. 

You desperately grab a bottle of water, opening it and forcing water over your throat to ease the sting. Though he laughs, Hobie’s hand strokes a small line along your bare thigh, his thumb tracing circles into your skin. Eventually, you calm down and your eyes are clear enough to see him through.

“Thanks so much for your help,” you gasp.

He's unfazed, watching you with red eyes and a large grin as he laughs. “My pleasure, darlin’.”

You set the blunt on the tray on his bedside table. You throw a leg over his lap, settling on top of his sweatpants. You place your hands on his bare chest, stroking curious fingers over the muscle you find.

You dip down slowly, catching his lips with a content sigh. His hands settle on your hips, gently squeezing the fat of your thighs with his own hum. You're both melting into the other, your touches grabby and unfocused. Your lips are less concerned with kissing and more concerned of feeling as much of the other as physically possible.

Your whole body is tingling, from the top of your head to the tip of your toes. You're so eager, you're both rocking together as you each seek the other out.

Hobie’s mouth presses to the curve of your jaw, moving farther down until he's mouthing at your throat. You let him, lifting your chin to allow him the space he needs.

He raises a hand beneath the oversized shirt you'd stolen from him, caressing your skin with a hum. You sigh breathily, every sensation a million times better as his thumb catches your nipple.

“Hobes,” you whisper.

“Yeah?” He smirks up at you. “What is it, luv? Talk to me.”

“Need you,” you murmur, rolling your hips slowly in his lap. He grunts lightly, letting his head fall back a bit as his thumb continues to stroke gentle circles over your nipple.

You huff gently, every flick of his finger deepening the need in your belly. “Fuck, baby,” he hums. “Keep goin’. Just like that f’me.”

He wraps his lips around your nipple, licking and sucking at it and humming appreciatively to himself when he hears your moans. He's so much taller than you that his back bends strangely just to be able to reach your breasts.

You arch into him, your hips still rolling. You can feel him hardening beneath you. The stiffness in his sweatpants pokes against you and creates the perfect source of friction as you channel your clit down onto it. You grind your hips down on him, listening to his groans and reveling in the pleasure.

You feel like glitter; your body tingles all over, glimmering with a feeling you don't think you'll ever get out.

Your mind is pulled away from its wandering when you feel his hand slipping into your panties. The warmth of his fingers press against your wet folds, rubbing at your clit briefly before pushing farther back and sinking inside of you.

You shudder, your lips split to allow shallow breaths to pass through. You clench around his fingers, long and curling as you huff. You're whining, grinding your hips down into his palm as you let your breath waver.

“Fuck, Hobie,” you moan, enjoying the delightful stretch his fingers provide. He thrusts them in and out of you, deep but slow and almost lazy. His red eyes watch you intently, mesmerized by the sight of your pinched brows and parted lips.

“Yeah, baby, there ya go. Ride my hand just like that, filthy girl.” His lips latch onto your other nipple, grunting as the tip of his tongue teases it. Your hands grip his shoulders, using him for support as his fingers make it impossible to stay still.

“Oh, god, please don't stop,” you huff, feeling everything becoming increasingly fuzzy as you feel your body getting light. You feel like you're brimming with light, bursting at the seams with brightness and yet pleasantly hollowed out of any sensation all the same.

The pads of his fingers stroke a spongy part inside of you that makes your breath hitch and moans fall freely from your throat. “Fuck, that feels so good.”

You dip your hand into his sweatpants, fishing out his cock and pumping it in your fist in long, slow strokes. His hips lift up into your hand, a broken moan slipping out and rumbling in his chest. Your fingers wrap around him, squeezing lightly at the thickness you've grown to adore.

Precum leaks from his tip and onto your fingers, making each tug of his cock more fluid, more smooth. His brows pinch together, his lips parted slightly. As you lean in to catch his lips, you moan at the feeling of his lip piercing chilling against your skin. Your mouths are dry from the weed, but that doesn't deter either of you from the desire budding within yourselves to keep tasting the other.

He uses his free hand to remove his pants from his legs, kicking them off and sitting back down. “You ready for me, luv? Y’feel ready.” He nips at your neck, flicking his tongue out over your skin.

“Yeah. ‘M ready,” you nod, still nudging your hips in time with his hand. You whine when he pulls them out of you, eliciting his own chuckle.

“C'mon, sweet thing.” He holds you to his chest, lifting you up enough to guide the head of his cock to your pussy. He rubs it through your folds, encouraging them apart until he's able to sink you down on him.

You hold your breath, your eyes shut as you feel the way he slowly presses inside of you. It fills you up bit by bit until you're flush in his lap. You let out a shuddering breath, your hands at his chest as you sit there, relishing, savoring.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he groans, watching you with lidded eyes. “Y’feel so good, luv.”

You let out a short breath through your parted lips. Your pussy flutters around him as you slowly move your hips in slow, deep grinds. There isn't a lot of movement—there doesn't have to be. You keep him as deep as you can, whimpering every time the blunt head of his cock rubs against that lovely, deep spot inside of you that makes you weak. It becomes a repetitive, almost desperate pursuit to just feel that, as much as possible, as deeply as possible. You need it to fill every crevice of your being until you're limp with it.

“H-Hobie, right there.” Your fingers curl around his shoulders, pressing into the muscle. He moans at the feeling, the pads of your fingers digging into the spots on his shoulders that releases tension he forgets he holds there.

His hands tighten on your waist, just to have something to hold as you continue to grind on him. It feels good, amazing. You could be here forever, savoring every single movement of your hips, every crease of his brows, every curve of his lips, every little sound that slips from the both of you into the sluggish, dopey air between you.

Your hips become more insistent, but you don't change any technique. Though you move a little faster, you keep rolling your hips back and forth on his lap. You're both rocking together, huffing and moaning into the other as the feelings just keep dragging on into this wonderful coiling in your belly.

“Oh, god. Feels so good, baby,” you coo, leaning in to kiss at his neck, your teeth scraping gently at the skin with an appreciative touch. “You're amazing.”

He's too dazed to make any jokes of any nature. The feeling of your hips is numbing his already numbing brain. “Shit, I love you, darlin’.”

The words seep into your skin like honey, make you feel smooth and rich and so, so nice. You smile, leaning forward some more to wrap your arms around him. You lift your hips a little, sinking back down on him and gasping lightly at the new pleasure you find. It cuts off your response, overcoming your fuzzy brain with a new sensation and a new goal to chase it.

You lift your hips again, dropping down a little rougher and continuing the movements until you're breathless. “Oh, Hobie–” You whine.

His grip on your waist tightens, just the flex of his fingers digging into your flesh. He moves his hands down to your hips, following the movements of your eager body up and down on him as his sounds mix with yours. “Keep goin’, sweets. Just like that, yeah.”

You dip down, meeting his lips again in an eager kiss. You breathe him in like you would a joint, deep breaths pulling into your lungs and lingering there as you dip your tongue past his lips to taste him.

In your mind, your movements become faster and faster. In your kind, there's a frenzy of pleasure that's swirling and building as you search it out with desperate grinds of your hips and heightened moans and grabbing hands, when really, it's an irregular rock of your hips, almost lethargic but so needy as you seek out any amount of pleasure that you can find.

You reach over to the nightstand, retrieving the blunt once more. You take a long drag from it, letting the smoke circulate through your lungs with dazed eyes. Hobie raises one hand to cradle the side of your head, bringing you down to join your lips again. You blow the smoke out slowly into his waiting mouth as he breathes it in ardently.

Smoke swirls around the both of you, out of his nose to entwine elegantly around your heads. Your vision continues to be softened around the edges, reduced to a pleasant fuzziness that makes the pleasure that much more enticing.

“C’mere, baby,” he says, his voice sticky with both affection and a fond fatigue. He wraps his strong arms around you, pulls you flush against his body. You feel as he shifts the both of you to lay you on your back, leaning over you like a pretty behemoth.

You stare up at him with droopy eyes that kiss in the corner, your smiles sticky with fondness. You trace your fingers dazedly around the edges of his lips and his nose and his eyebrows. He stares at you with red eyes that looks like he's gazing at precious gemstones.

“How're you feelin’, precious? Y’feel good?” He dips down to kiss the corner of your lips. You giggle lightly, nodding up at him happily.

“Feel really good. Love you, baby,” you coo, lifting your head to meet him in another kiss. He hums, chuckling as he accepts it in earnest.

“Gonna make you feel even better, yeah? How's that sound, babe? You want that?” He says it so close to your ear, in this deep and rumbling purr. You shudder, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist and pulling him in as you crave his touch and all the pleasure he has to give you.

“Yeah. Want that, want you, Hobie-honey,” you murmur. Your fingers just keep brushing along his jawline, feeling the heat of his skin and relishing it.

He chuckles, trying not to dissolve under your touch as he presses his lips to the apples of your cheek. “I got you, lovely. You just stay right there and moan for me, yeah?” You nod sluggishly, happy to do whatever he wants.

Hobie steadied himself, one hand on the mattress beside your head and the other resting at your hip. When he thrusts inside of you once more, deep inside to feel how well you envelope him, you moan in surprise. With the numb pleasure of your earlier position, the wonderful feeling of having him close, having him deep inside, just feeling him pressing into you, you'd almost forgotten how good it felt to have it the other way around.

He pulls back a bit to thrust back inside, and you lose breath at the pleasure that explodes all around you. He quickly builds pace, much better at bringing focus in this state than you are with his heightened abilities.

You wrap a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him down so your foreheads meet. He's muttering something you're not quite hearing, too dazed and fuzzy to pay attention beyond the steady thrusts of his hips. You grab onto his arm to steady yourself, throwing your head back against the mattress to moan and gasp as he takes it as an opportunity to kiss and suck at your neck.

“Fuck, Hobie. Please don’t stop,” you gasp.

“Why would I do that, eh?” he smiles, breathless and as happy as you. “When you feel so good. When you're feelin’ so good.” He kisses your neck, down to your collarbone with a deep hum. “I got you, sweetie. You know I got you.”

The sounds filling the room are nothing if not lewd. The smacking of his hips into you, the wet sounds of each drag of his cock, your whimpers and moans, his breaths that are bordering on moans of his own. It swirls and swirls until it's all turning into more pleasure in your brain. You're fuzzy with it, in mind and body. You grasp onto him for dear life and continue to get high off him.

When he presses his finger to your clit and rubs in quick, measured circles, you're done for. You whine as you relish in the pleasure, holding onto him as he holds onto you. Every flex of his fingers, every snap of his hips, every brush of his pelvis flush against your own, it's clouding your brain in more and more lust until you cannot possibly think to focus on anything.

“I'm gonna cum,” you gasp, like a revelation. It hits you out of nowhere, but you welcome it with enthusiasm. “Don't stop, Hobie. I'm gonna cum for you.”

“Yeah, that's right,” he breathes, moving quicker, deeper. He's on the verge, spurred on by your pleasure, by your eager cunt. “Come on, luv. I got you, I got you.”

The coil tightens in your belly, more and more and more until you can't stand it. You breathe in until you can't anymore, the edges of your vision going white. He listens to the pitch of your moans rise higher and higher.

Your back arches off the bed when you cum. Your breath had been so deep before, that it's let out in a series of short huffs that tremble in your lungs and make you dizzy. “H-Hobie,” you gasp, grasping onto him for dear life. “Oh, fuck. Oh, my god.” You're babbling something, but your mind is too hazy to make out any of the words.

Your pussy flutters around him, clenching and squeezing as you cum undone beneath him. His name falling from your lips swarms his brain and sets him over the edge, like a call he has no choice but to answer as he breathes you in, tastes the sweat in your skin. He thrusts as deep inside of you as he can, carried away by the feeling of your warmth as he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you so close that you're not sure there's any distance left to be crossed. He pulls you close like he's trying to align your atoms, match them like perfect puzzle pieces so that you phase into each other and finally become one.

“O-oh, shit, luv.” He cum inside of you with an almost choked sound, his brows pinching together as he wraps his body around yours. Your sounds mix in the air in a loving symphony, riding out your highs to their fullest extent, only emphasized by the high in your system. It's indescribable, but so amazingly wonderful.

When you eventually float down from the cloud you'd gotten lost in, you lay back against the mattress with a body heavy as bricks. Everything is fuzzy around the edges. Your toes and your fingertips tingle like pop rocks, and you feel like you're going to fall asleep at any moment now.

Hobie pulls out of you, kissing every inch of your face as he whispers little words of praise and affirmation and really anything he can think of into your skin. He kisses your cheeks and your lips and your eyelids and the tip of your nose. He kisses the spot just below your ear, your collarbone, your throat, down to the valley of your breasts. None of it is inherently sexual in the slightest manner. He kisses you like he's worshipping you. He kisses you like you're meant to be praised for your perfection. The chill of his piercing makes you shudder.

Your hands smooth lazily over his body, over any skin you can find without having to move from your spot. Your eyelids are heavy, sticky with each slow blink. Your mouth is incredibly dry. He hears when you smack, the discomfort from the lack of hydration settling into your tongue.

“Water.”

He chuckles, already reaching for it as he sits you up enough to help you drink. You do, eagerly. He has to slow you down before you end up choking on that, too.

“Alright, alright,” he laughs, pulling it away and setting it down. He kisses you again, this time swiftly but still so loving.

He grabs some tissues to clean you up with, taking his time to take care. Then he's scooping you up in his arms and laying on his back and plopping you down on top of him. He's much bigger than you and much stronger than you, and you've gotten over the whole “I don't want to put all my weight on you” a long time ago. You lay on him like an oversized teddy, curling up and nuzzling into the crook of his neck with a deep breath.

“I love you, Hobie,” you whisper, kissing him gently.

He hums deep in his chest, a smile curling his lips. “Love you, too, darlin’ girl.” His hand strokes your back in a gentle, loving pattern. It feels so perfect, and it's so easy to fall asleep on top of him.

“That's cute,” he mumbles, glancing at you with a tiny chuckle.

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You heard him shouting from the pitch, emotions raw,  just before he covered his face with both hands and started pacing in tight, frustrated circles. The Argentinians were celebrating wildly right in front of him, cheering, bodies jumping. His jaw was clenched so tight it looked painful, eyes squeezed shut like he was physically willing himself to not explode publicly. Then one of the opposing players said something in Spanish – you couldn’t hear or understand what –and Jude lashed out, slapping the back of the player’s head in a flash of blind frustration.

You and Denise both shot to your feet at the same time. His mum muttered something under her breath that sounded a lot like “for fuck’s sake, Jude,” her hand flying to her mouth as you all watched the brief altercation unfold. Luckily the England lads were quick, pulling him away, keeping him wrapped up and shielded from the cameras as best they could.

He finished his post-match interviews and finally made his way over to the family section. You could tell from the way he kept hiding his face under the brim of his cap that he was pissed off he couldn’t stop the tears. Pissed off he couldn’t stop those late goals. Pissed off he couldn’t score more, contribute more, do whatever it took to push England over the line. He would have sacrificed almost anything tonight to get them to the final.

He hugged his parents first. Denise held him tight, rubbing his back in slow circles, whispering things only a mother could say. Mark gripped him hard, proud even in defeat, murmuring quiet words of reassurance. But their comfort seemed to ricochet off Jude’s body. He was vibrating with anger, with frustration, with a deep, burning disappointment that lived in his chest after every loss with England.

When he finally sat down next to you, his hand automatically latched onto your thigh, gripping like you were the only steady thing left in his world. You watched as his knee bounced restlessly, as he ran his hand over his face again and tugged his cap even lower, trying to disappear under it.

“Jude, hey… hey… look at me,” you said softly.

He turned his head slowly, propping his chin on his fist. The muscles in his jaw ticked hard. He was devastated, that much was clear in his red-rimmed eyes. But underneath it you could see the anger simmering; at himself, at the way it had slipped away again, at the fact that no matter how hard he ran, how much he gave, it still wasn’t enough to cross that final line for England.

You reached out and gently wiped under his eye with your thumb. He turned his head and pressed a soft, grateful kiss to your palm, lingering there for a second like he needed the contact to soothe his very soul. Then his eyes drifted away again, distant and unfocused, staring down at the now-empty pitch where the Argentina celebrations had finally started to die down.

The silence between you stretched, heavy and painful. His hand stayed on your thigh, thumb brushing back and forth absently, like he needed something to anchor him to reality and not let him get lost inside his head.

“Can you come to my room later?” he muttered eventually, voice low and rough, barely above a whisper. “I don’t… I don’t wanna be alone tonight.”

You nodded instantly, heart twisting at how small he sounded. “Yes… yeah, of course, baby. Whatever you need. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

He let out a shaky breath, shoulders dropping ever so slightly. “Don’t wanna keep crying out here,” he admitted quietly, almost embarrassed. “Not with everyone still watching. Just… need it to be you. Need it to be quiet.”

You squeezed his hand, leaning your head against his shoulder for a moment. “I’ve got you. I promise. As soon as you’re back at the hotel, I’ll come straight to you. We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”

Jude turned his head slightly, pressing another soft kiss to the top of your head. His voice was barely audible when he spoke again.

“Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you tonight.”

You got to his hotel room just after the sun had set, the sky outside still bleeding orange and pink. He’d texted you very bluntly earlier, the way he got when the pain was still too fresh to soften for anyone, even you.

Consequently, you weren’t expecting him to be in a fantastic mood when you finally knocked on his door. He always came down to the lobby to collect you, no matter how tired he was. Not tonight.

“Who is it?” came his voice, sharp.

You could hear him moving inside, pacing, up and down the room like a caged animal.

“It’s me, bab–”

You hadn’t finished your sentence before the door swung open. He pulled you inside and shut the door behind you before you could even blink. His chest was heaving. The second you were over the threshold he let go of you, stepping back like he needed space but also couldn’t stand being far away from you. There were fresh tear streaks down his face that he was angrily wiping away with the heel of his hand. He was being so hard on himself. It broke your heart all over again.

“Do you think I had a shit game?” he asked bluntly, voice a little cold, eyes burning with more tears.

“What? No, I—”

“Good. Because what more could I have fucking done?” He started pacing again, hands tugging at his hair. “I ran until my legs felt like they were going to snap. I covered every blade of grass. I created chances. I defended when I had to. And it still wasn’t enough.”

You sat on the edge of his bed, watching him, heart aching as the words poured out of him.

“Jude… you gave everything out there. Everyone saw that. I saw that.”

“Yeah?” He stopped pacing for a second, eyes flashing. “Well it wasn’t enough, was it? The second goal was right in the middle of the fucking goal. Right there. We had six defenders on the fucking pitch. Six! I’m not a defender! How did we let that happen? How did I not see it coming? I should’ve been there. Should’ve been closer to the ball. I should’ve done more.”

You tried to keep your voice steady. “You can’t carry the whole team on your back every single—”

“I wasn’t trying to carry the whole team,” he cut in, voice rising. “I was trying to win! And we were winning. We were in control. And then it just… slipped. Again. Like it always fucking does–”

He cut himself off with a bitter laugh, shaking his head. His eyes were glassy again, angry tears threatening to spill over. He wiped them away roughly, like they personally offended him.

“Baby, you’re being too hard on yourself—”

“Don’t,” he snapped, but there was no real anger directed at you, just frustration spilling out of him any way it could. “Don’t tell me I’m being too hard on myself. I know what I saw out there. I know what I felt. We were better than that. I was better than that. I always think I can do more and then it’s the same story. We get so fucking close and then—”

You stood up slowly, reaching for him. “Jude, hey… look at me.”

He shook his head, running a hand over his face, body shaking with the tears he was trying to hold back.

“I’m so fucking tired of this. Tired of getting to the last stages and watching it slip away. Tired of the ‘nearly men’ narrative. Tired of people saying we don’t have the mentality when we just went toe-to-toe with the world champions for ninety minutes. What more do they want from us? From me?”

His voice cracked on the last word. He stopped pacing for a second, chest rising and falling fast, fists clenched at his sides. The room felt too small for all the fury and grief rolling off him.

You reached for him again, and he let you pull him in, but his body stayed rigid, vibrating.

“What can I do to make it better then?” you asked softly, stroking his back. “If you don’t want me to criticise the self-blame, then how can I help?”

“I don’t know!” His voice cracked, frustration and pain mixing together. “You can’t. I’m just– I’m so fucking angry and–and–”

He cut himself off, breathing hard. For a second it looked like he might pull away. His face crumpled, eyebrows knitting together as a choked off sob escaped him.

“Baby…baby it’s okay–”

“It’s not okay. Nothing feels okay,” he sniffled, tucking his head into your neck. You stroked his back, not sure what to do next. He was so fragile but so angry. You’d never seen him like this before.

“I know and I’m so sorry, Jude,” you whispered, kissing the top of his cheek as you held him close. “Tell me how to help you. I’ll do anything to make you feel a little bit better. Just tell me what you need.”

He lifted his head for a second, wet eyes meeting yours. He looked over your face slowly, like he was searching for something, before his gaze lingered on your lips. You wanted to say something else, anything to help pull him out of the spiral, but he was so focused on your mouth that the self-deprecating words had finally stopped pouring out of him.

“Baby?” you breathed softly.

His grip on your waist tightened almost painfully within seconds. He pulled you flush against him, mouth crashing down on yours in a bruising kiss. There was nothing gentle about it. It was desperate, angry, hungry, like he wanted to drown how he was feeling out with how good your lips felt against his.

You gasped into his mouth and he swallowed the sound, walking you backwards until your back hit the wall. One hand slid into your hair, tugging hard enough to tilt your head back as he deepened the kiss, tongue sliding against yours with desperate need.

“I don’t want to fight with you,” he murmured against your lips, voice rough with emotion, almost apologetic even as his body pressed harder against you. “I’m not trying to take it out on you. I just…”

He broke off, breathing hard, forehead pressed to yours. His eyes were still glassy with frustration and leftover tears, but there was something else burning in them now – a desperate, almost feral hunger he only had for you.

“I need you,” he rasped, voice cracking. “I need you to remind me who the fuck I am. Need you to make me feel like me again. Strong. In control. Not this… this version that keeps fucking up.”

His hand slid down to grip your thigh, lifting it around his hip as he ground his hardening bulge against you. “Want to fuck you so deep you forget every other name but mine,” he murmured, lips brushing your ear, voice dropping into the filthy, dominant tone he only used when he was desperate. “Want you screaming for me. Want to feel you fall apart on my cock so I can remember who I am. The one who takes what he wants. The one who always wins with you.”

He kissed you again, harder this time, biting your bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue.

“Tell me you want this,” he breathed, eyes dark and wild, hips rolling against you in a slow, filthy grind. “Tell me it’s okay to be rough tonight. Tell me you can take it. Because I need to feel like me again, baby. Need to feel like I own something. Like I own you.”

His fingers dug into your thigh, possessive and trembling with the emotions still raging inside him.

“Please,” he whispered, forehead still pressed to yours. “Let me have you like this.”

You hesitated for a second, searching his eyes. You weren’t entirely sure this was the healthiest way for him to process everything he was feeling…the anger, the grief, the powerlessness from the pitch. But this was Jude, and you didn’t think you could ever say no to him when he looked at you like that, desperate and aching and needing to feel something real.

You cupped his cheek, thumb brushing away a stray tear, and nodded.

“I can take it,” you whispered. “I’ll take anything you give me. You know I will.”

Relief and hunger flashed across his face at the same time. He squeezed your thigh again, leaning down to kiss you slightly softer at first, but quickly turning deeper, tongue sliding against yours with need and dominance.

“That’s because you’re my good girl, aren’t you?” he murmured against your lips, his accent thicker with emotion. “My beautiful baby. Always know what I need. Always let me have you exactly how I want.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you. Your eyes were already glazing over, the soft, submissive look he loved so much taking over. It didn’t take much when he spoke to you like that.

“Yeah?” he asked, almost teasing even through the emotions still raging in his chest. “You gonna let me fuck all this frustration out on you, baby? Let me remind myself who the fuck I am?”

You nodded, already a little breathless. “Yes, Jude.”

That was all he needed. In one smooth, powerful movement he spun you around, pressing your front against the wall. Your cheek met the cool surface as he yanked your jeans and panties down your legs in one rough tug, barely giving you time to step out of them. His big hands immediately palmed your ass, squeezing, spreading, smoothing over your hips like he was reclaiming every bit of skin for himself.

“Fuck, look at you,” he groaned, pressing his still-clothed erection against your bare ass from behind, grinding slow and hard. “Perfect arse. So fucking pretty for me. Bet you’re so wet already and I’ve barely touched you.”

You whimpered as his lips attacked your neck, sucking and biting while his hands slid under your t-shirt, pushing it up so he could feel your skin. One hand stayed on your hip, holding you in place, the other moved up to cup your breast. “Tell me you’re my beautiful girl,” he growled against your ear, voice thick. “Tell me this pussy belongs to me. Tell me you’re mine.”

“I-I’m your beautiful girl, Jude,” you moaned, pushing back against him. “Belong to you… only you.”

He let out a low, satisfied sound and bit down on your shoulder, grinding his cock against you harder.

“Good girl,” he praised, his voice dropping even lower. “Gonna fuck you right here first. Gonna make you take it so deep. I’m the only one, aren’t I? The only one who makes you scream.”

He shoved his own joggers down just enough to free himself, thick and hot, pulsing with the need to be inside of you. You felt the head of his cock drag through your folds, teasing your entrance.

“Tell me again,” he demanded, lips brushing your ear. “Tell me who you belong to while I fuck you against this wall.”

“I’m yours, Jude,” you gasped, pushing back against him. “Only yours.”

He wanted to tease you for longer, but how could he when you were so good and obedient for him? He thrust into you in one smooth, powerful stroke, burying himself deep. His hands stayed on your hips as he watched himself disappear inside you and groaned. The stretch was intense, overwhelming, and you cried out, hands bracing against the wall. Jude moaned as you clenched around him, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as he stayed still for a second, letting you adjust.

“Fuck… always feel so tight,” he moaned lowly. “My pretty girl.”

Then he started moving with deep, rough strokes that pressed you harder into the wall with every thrust. One hand stayed on your hip, gripping tight enough to leave behind red marks, the other slid up to wrap around your throat, a possessive hold that had your eyes rolling back already. “Say it again,” he growled against your ear, hips snapping forward. “Tell me whose pussy this is.”

“Yours,” you moaned, voice breaking on every deep thrust. “It’s yours, Jude. All yours.”

He groaned, the sound vibrating through his chest as he fucked you harder, deeper, the obscene slap of skin on skin filling the room. His pace was relentless but never cruel.  Every thrust  was purposeful, like he was trying to fuck the frustration and self doubt out of his system and into you.

“That’s my good girl,” he praised, lips brushing your neck between strokes, his voice loving despite his actions being quite the opposite. “Taking my cock so well. Letting me use you like this. Fuck, I needed this. Needed to feel like I can still make you feel good. Still make you mine.”

You whimpered, pushing back to meet his thrusts, and he rewarded you with a particularly deep, grinding stroke that made your knees buckle.

“Tell me you love it,” he breathed hot against your ear. “Tell me you love when I fuck you like this. When I take what’s mine.”

“I love it,” you gasped, cheek pressed to the cool wall. “Love when you fuck me like this, Jude. Love being yours.”

He let out a long moan and wrapped a strong arm around your waist, pulling you back against him so he could thrust even deeper. His free hand slid between your legs, fingers finding your clit and rubbing slow, gentle circles.

The difference between his relentless thrusts, but slow and gentle hands made your vision start to cloud white with stars already. “J-Jude I’m gonna come–”

“No you’re not, baby,” he rasped, slowing his hips enough to tease you. “Not until I tell you to. Hold it for me. Good girl… fuck, you squeeze me so tight when you get close. You’re so fucking wet for me.”

“Please–” you whimpered, thighs trembling.

“Nuh-uh. Not allowed until I get to come with you,” he murmured, sucking on your neck. “You’re gonna hold it for me, aren’t you, angel?”

You nodded frantically, trying desperately to hold off your climax by squeezing your eyes shut. He gave you a small mercy, pulling his fingers away from between your legs and bringing them up to your lips instead.

“Open, baby. Taste yourself for me.”

You obeyed instantly, parting your lips and sucking his fingers into your mouth, moaning around them as his hips sped back up to the punishing pace. The taste of yourself on his skin only made everything feel more intense.

“Fuckin’ hell… just like that, baby,” he moaned, tilting his head to watch your pretty lips envelope his fingers. “Look at you. Sucking my fingers while I fuck you against the wall. My perfect girl.”

The sounds he was making, the low and desperate groans and breathy curses, were not making it any easier to hold back. You whimpered, opening your eyes to give him a pleading look. He exhaled through his nose as he bit his lip, eyes rolling back slightly, the look on your face nearly sending him hurtling towards his own orgasm. He suddenly pulled out, spinning you around to face him. Before you could protest, he kissed you hard, tongue sliding against yours as he lifted you up, pressing your back to the wall again.

“My beautiful girl is gonna make me come too quick,” he murmured against your lips, a dark chuckle vibrating through him. “Especially if you keep looking at me like that. We’re gonna change position so I can hold it a little longer. Yeah, angel?”

He spoke to you slowly like you were stupid, and you were, you suppose considering he’d just fucked you dumb against the wall. Normally you’d fight back, push against the power play because he loved when you were bratty, but that wasn’t what he needed tonight. He wanted complete submission, and you’d give him anything he wanted.

“P-please,” you whined, chasing his mouth when he pulled back slightly, hands clutching at his biceps. “Need you back inside me, Jude…”

“Oh, my needy little baby,” he smirked wickedly, nuzzling his nose against yours, eyes still burning with a mix of frustration and hunger. His hand smoothed up your arm, and wrapped loosely around your throat. “Open your mouth for me,” he whispered. You parted your lips straight away at his command, tongue out, eyes locked on his. His gaze darkened, pupils blown wide as he looked at you, waiting for him. He leaned in closer, hovering above you, and let a slow, thick string of spit fall from his mouth onto your waiting tongue. You moaned softly as it landed and swallowed it down without hesitation, eyes never leaving his.

Jude groaned deeply as his thumb stroked up and down your throat, feeling you swallow.

“Fuck… that’s my good girl,” he praised, voice hoarse. “Swallowing for me so pretty. You’d take anything I give you, wouldn’t you?”

You nodded, lips still parted, breathing a little faster. 

“I want all your clothes off. Get on all fours on the bed. Now.”

You nodded again, still too drunk on submission to speak, stripping off your T-shirt and bra as fast as you could. Jude kicked his joggers and boxers off, throwing his own T-shirt across the room. He was leaking as he stroked himself slowly, watching you climb onto the bed.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, his voice softer than it was before. “Can’t believe you’re all mine sometimes. Look at you… arching that pretty back for me already.”

The second you were on all fours, you automatically arched deeper for him, presenting yourself. Jude climbed onto the bed behind you, leaning down to press hot, open-mouthed kisses down your spine. His big hands settled on your hips, squeezing gently as he lined himself up. You were trembling with need now, feeling cold and empty without him inside you.

“Such a good girl,” he praised, dragging the thick head of his cock through your soaked, oversensitive heat again. “You love when I use you, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you whimpered, pushing back against him desperately.

He didn’t make you wait this time. In one powerful thrust he buried himself to the hilt, stretching you open again so suddenly you cried out louder than before. Jude moaned loudly, the sound almost animalistic as he bottomed out.

“Fuck– so tight. So fucking good,” he growled, pulling back almost all the way before slamming back in. His pace was brutal from the start – deep, hard thrusts that rocked your entire body forward with every snap of his hips. The sound of the headboard hitting the wall echoed through the room.

He reached forward, fisting your hair and pulling your head back to arch your back more.

“Scream my name, baby,” he demanded. “Want to hear you. Want the whole fucking hotel to know who’s fucking you this good.”

“Jude– oh my god, Jude!” you cried out as he hit the specific spot inside you over and over. He knew your body better than you did. You could’ve sworn you could feel him in your stomach.

“That’s it. Louder. Let me hear how much you love my cock,” he groaned, one hand coming down hard on your ass with a sharp smack. The sting made you clench around him, and he moaned loudly. “Fuck yes. Again.”

He spanked you again, harder this time, the sound echoing as he kept pounding into you relentlessly.

“You’re mine,” he growled, voice breaking with pleasure. “Say it. Tell me who this pussy belongs to again while I fuck you stupid.”

“It’s yours!” you sobbed, tears of overwhelming pleasure spilling down your cheeks. “It’s yours, Jude– only yours– fuck!”

He let out a wrecked moan and leaned over you, chest pressed to your back as he fucked you even deeper, one arm wrapped around your waist to hold you in place while his other hand reached down to rub your clit again in tight, fast circles.

“Come for me,” he ordered, rough and desperate. “Come on my cock like the good little slut you are for me. Let me feel you. Scream my fucking name when you do.”

You shattered hard, screaming his name as your orgasm crashed through you, walls clenching violently around him. Jude fucked you through it, hips never stopping, groaning loudly as your climax milked him.

“Fuck– that’s my girl. So good. So fucking good for me,” he panted, voice breaking with pleasure. “Gonna fill you up. Gonna come so deep inside you. You’re gonna take every drop, yeah?”

“Yes– please, Jude– please come inside me,” you begged weakly, still shaking from your orgasm.

With a final, deep thrust and a loud, broken moan of your name, Jude came hard, burying himself as deep as possible as he spilled inside you, hips stuttering with the force of it. He kept grinding through it, like he couldn’t bear to stop, whispering filthy praise against your ear the whole time.

When he finally stilled, he stayed buried deep inside you, chest heaving against your back, arms wrapped tightly around you as he pressed soft, reverent kisses along your shoulder.

“God… I  fucking love you,” he whispered, his voice shaky. 

“I love you too baby,” you manage to get out, body feeling limp and hazy with the come down. 

The switch happened so quickly you could barely keep up. The anger drained out of him at once, probably with his orgasm, you’d tease him later when you spoke about it. All Jude felt when he heard your soft voice was exhaustion and a sudden wave of nauseating worry. He carefully pulled out, a soft hiss escaping both of you, and immediately turned you around in his arms so you were facing him. His hands were gentle now, too gentle, as he cupped your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, voice cracking. His eyes were wide, searching your face desperately. He was so expressive with his face, eyebrows furrowing in the sweetest way. “Baby, tell me the truth. Was I too rough? I didn’t mean to– fuck, I was so angry and I just… I needed you so bad.”

You shook your head, still catching your breath, but he was already looking you over, hands sliding down your body with careful tenderness. He turned you slightly, eyes scanning your hips, your ass, the places he’d gripped hard.

“Shit… there’s marks,” he whispered, sounding devastated as his fingers traced the faint red imprints of his hands on your hips and the light handprint on your ass. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to be that rough. This time it wasn’t just…it wasn’t just dominance or playing. I was actually angry and I took it out on you and I–”

“Jude,” you said softly, cupping his face to stop his spiral. He looked up and met your eyes, bottom lip between his teeth with worry. “I’m okay. I wanted it. I wanted you. You didn’t hurt me. You’ve been more rough before, you’ve left marks on me before. Don’t worry. You’re okay…I'm okay..”

He still looked torn, eyes glassy again but this time with guilt instead of rage. He pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you so tightly it was almost crushing, burying his face in your neck like he could hide from what he’d just done.

“I know I’ve been rough with you before,” he mumbled against your skin, his voice shaking. “But that’s always been… playing. Power play and acting and shit. This time it was real. I was actually angry and frustrated and I took it out on your body and I– fuck, I’m scared I hurt you because I couldn’t control it. I never want you to feel like you have to take my bad days. I’d never hurt you just because I’m upset or angry. You’re the one person who makes everything better and I just used you like that and I feel sick about it.”

You stroked his back slowly, pressing soft kisses to his temple and the side of his head.

“Jude, listen to me,” you whispered. “I wanted it. I wanted all of you – the anger, the need, everything. You didn’t use me. You let me be there for you in any way I could. And I’m okay. I promise. You know I like it when you act like that.”

He made a small, upset sound and held you even tighter, legs tangling with yours as he pulled you fully on top of him. His hands roamed gently over your body now, soothingly checking every place he’d been rough, pressing soft kisses wherever his fingers found faint marks.

“I’m sorry,” he kept whispering between kisses. “I’m so sorry, baby. I love you. I love you so much. You’re everything to me.”

You kept holding him, fingers running through his hair, letting him cling to you until the guilt slowly started to ease and he could finally breathe again. He eventually settled with his face buried back in your neck, breathing you in like you were oxygen, one hand still gently rubbing your hip where he’d gripped you earlier.

“Stay like this,” he murmured. “Don’t let go. Please.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you promised, pressing a kiss to his temple. “I love you, you’re okay Jude.” He let out a long, shaky breath, finally relaxing completely in your arms. "I love you more," he whispered, voice slurring with sleep. "M'sorry baby..."

He was still feeling bad about how rough he was. In reality, you think it could've been the best sex you'd ever had. You were going to tell him that, but the change in his breathing told you he'd already fallen asleep. You press one last gentle kiss to his forehead, "there's nothing to be sorry for, my love."

tags: @chabelitalace @thesizzler @hvnsinureyes @harryskissies (let me know if u want to be added/removed from the taglist)

You’re not completely sure what you’re looking at.

Of course, the mirror is dirty, but not dirty enough to so heavily distort Hobie like this. The thing behind you is vaguely molded to your boyfriend’s form, shiny and black bulges of muscle wrapping like dead vines across his body. Your eyes can’t seem to rip away from it, even as your drool starts to leave the fuzzy fur of your teddy bear uncomfortable against your face.

You can just peak over your arm as he pounds into you, eyes hazy as they track his body in the glass. You can feel the thick saliva on your back before it lands, the thing behind you drooling horribly as it’s bulging cock spears through your folds. Hobie has always been huge, but now it feels nothing short of monstrous. You can feel the stretch, knowing if he were to pull out you would be left gaping. Each drag of his cock is a rub against your clit, and you barely clench around him before it feels too tight.

But fuck, it feels so good.

“H-hobie!” You hiccup, grabbing onto the soft fur of the bear in your arms as you try to climb off your boyfriend’s cock.

A rumbling, almost purr like noise sounds from behind you. Deep and dark and nothing like your boyfriend. You hiccup again when you feel the needle-like nails of the creature press into your hips, dragging you back down to the hilt and pressing against your ass.

It’s clingy, you realize. It’s weird hands massaging and grabbing at every inch of soft skin available. Its slippery tongue lapping against your spine and savoring the ridge of every vertebrae. You can’t escape too far before its pulsing tip is snug against the opening of your cervix again.

Each twitch of its cock is more like a fully body shake. You can feel the heaviness inside of you, weighing down against your walls as each stroke leaves you feel like you’re floating. He hits everywhere- every tiny, sensitive spot imaginable. You’re like a frail leaf in his hold, body sinking into the army of stuffed animals below you as your body succumbs to an unearthly amount of pleasure.

“Please!” You gasp, back arching as a rapid stream of lava rushes through your body. You sob when it reaches its destination, body locking and trapping his cock inside of you as you explode.

You can feel your release dampening the sheets, and you whine when one of Hobie’s large claws cups at your sex and makes it splatter against your skin as he collects it in his palm. You’re lightheaded, mind dizzy and blank and he grows and thrusts shallowly inside of you. You almost miss the overflow of warmth flooding and bloating you, your walls pulsating in a slow squeeze to have him fill you.

You sigh sleepily as his climax dies down, micro thrusts encouraging his seed to stay inside of you before pulling out. Your body shudders, cunt weak and quivering and it tries to close up and safeguard his release. The furry animals under you are damp in drool and sweat and tears, but you ignore it as you huddle close to them. You’re too exhausted to care, and Hobie can always buy you new ones if they’re beyond saving.

Your eyes flutter as you watch the creature, slowly receding until the familiar sized-frame of your boyfriend is back in the mirror. His hands, not as large as before, shakily try to wipe away at the pooling of saliva on the small of your back. You sigh deeply, shutting your eyes as he mumbles small, breathless praises.

You’ll let him tell you when he’s ready.

This was supposed to be fun. 

You said it was going to be fun. Different, but fun. And Hobie, he likes different. He likes fun. He likes you. So of course he agreed. He always agreed to things of that sort, besides the times he didn't agree to those types of things because that’s being consistent and Hobie doesn’t believe in consistency (unless it’s you because that’s the only good kind of consistency). You know, Hobie always got himself into all types of trouble. It’s made him a quick thinker, a really good problem solver. There was very little that he couldn’t save himself from. 

He couldn’t save himself from this one. 

You looked like one bloody seducer, on your knees before him with that look on your fucking face. So innocent and pure and mischievous and rebellious. Everything and anything and nothing all at once. Perfect, absolutely perfect and mind boggling. 

And everything felt so good. Too good and too much and too little and in need of more. More and more and more. And you gave it to him. In the right doses, or too little, or too much, or too far inbetween, or too close together. Did he mention it was too much? Because it was, it was a lot. But it was a good a lot, but it was also a bad a lot, but a good bad a lot. If you know you know, but if you don’t you’re definitely doing something wrong. 

But you weren’t doing it wrong. Your hands and mouth and fucking tight ass walls were doing it right. And usually that isn’t a problem, but today it is. It’s a problem because it’s Hobie’s problem and you’re making it his problem. Because when you said it was going to be fun, you meant it as going to be fun for you. Not Hobie, you. Because your idea of fun is making men suffer and reducing them to whimpering messes, which Hobie would usually salute you for on any other occasion. But he can’t because, well he can’t think very clearly anymore and he’s the man you’ve decided to make suffer. So there is very little to salute at the moment. 

You’re moving your hand in a way he can’t stand because it feels so good and gets him close too soon and what’s the fun in something ending prematurely? Your hands are soft, tugging on him roughly as your other hand cups his tip and rubs rapid circles around it. It has his hips bucking, curses spilling from his mouth. His hand is behind your head, his own thrown back as he pleads for you to stop and to keep going. He can’t really decide what he wants from you at the moment. 

You’re fucking laughing at him though, cooing and asking him if he’s alright. If he wasn’t getting the best handjob of his life he would shoot something snarky and flirtatious back at you, but he is currently getting the best handjob of his life so you’ll have to wait. Well, he was getting the best handjob of his life. He isn’t anymore because you’ve decided to be a fucking menace and pull your hands away right before he was going to get his bloody release. It has his whole body, mostly his cock, twitching in denial. His hips are still bucking up, humping the air and trying to prolong the quickly vanishing stimulation from your hands. He’s panting heavily, chest heaving and he groans. 

Do you have to be so damn consistent? This is why he hates consistency. Consistency ain’t no fun for no one. Especially for Hobie, which is why he doesn’t believe in it. But it’s a bloody shame that you believe in consistency. Because you’re using consistency against him and it’s getting in the way of his orgasms. And, you don’t fuck with a man and his orgasms. But he’s not going to say that out loud because he’s sure it sounds egotistical or narcissistic or whatever the fuck. He doesn’t know at the moment, his brain is too busy short circuiting. Come back later. But back to consistency. Did he mention he hates it? Because he does, but you don’t. You just love consistency and edging him for no good reason besides it being ‘fun’.

“Love, you’re being consistent.” Hobie mumbles in between pants. “We don’t like consistency.”

You hum in disagreement, shutting him up with your mouth. On his cock. On his sensitive cock that has not had a release in the past 3 hours. He would have came around seven, wait no its eight, times by now if it weren’t for your desire to torture him. But maybe that’s okay. Can’t think again, your mouth feels too good soothing that ache in his cock. Making up your mind is overrated anyways.

You’re letting out exaggerated sounds around his cock, sending vibrations up his length. It causes him to whine, both of his hands falling to your head. He guides your movements, fucking into your mouth. You quickly pull away, saliva flowing down your chin. You remove his hands away from your head, getting rid of any control he has over your movements. It causes him to whine out again, huffing like a spoiled child. He’ll behave if you want him too. He just needs you to start sucking him off again, and maybe to make him come, but he definitely needs to feel your mouth around him again. He presses his hips up towards your face, offering his cock back to you with whimpers and slurred pleading. 

You smile up at him as you begin jerking him off again, slipping him back into your mouth. You bob your head rapidly, lashes fluttering everytime you bring him to the back of your throat. He hisses when you gag around him, your throat contracting around his tip. He’s so close to exploding again, his hands bunching up his sheets to use as leverage so he can thrust into your mouth. You keep your head still, letting him fuck into you. He whines, moaning and grunting. This is it, this has to be it. You’re gonna let him come this time. You’re going to let him fill up your mouth. 

“Yes, yes, yes, yesyesyesyesyesyesyes,” he babbles to himself, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. His face scrunches up, eyes watering behind his lids from the pleasure. His mouth drops wide open as he moans, preparing to succumb to the feelings of release. 

He doesn’t get it though. You pull back again and his eyes snap open. He lets himself fall to his back on the bed, tears spilling from his eyes at your betrayal. His body is twitching again, jumping from the sensitivity he feels. This isn’t fun at all.

Your face comes to view, hovering over his. You’ve wiped the spit off your face, but Hobie turns away from you. You coo gently at him, turning his face back towards you and giving him sweet kisses along his cheeks in apology. He can only whine under you, his hands grabbing at your ass desperately. His cock is in need of attention, veins protruding from the skin and glossy from spit and precum. 

You distract him from the pain with a sloppy kiss, both of you moaning into it. He pulls away with a loud groan, heading falling back as you sink onto him. You’re warm and tight, walls molding to the shape of his cock. His dick is a twitching mess, jumping inside of you in excitement. You let out a mix of moans and giggles, feeling precum leaving his tip in preparation. Your hands fall to his chest in support, rotating your hips experimentally. 

Hobie’s grip tightens, his accent growing thick as he babbles. He begs for more, tears still flowing from his eyes as he tries to move your hips faster. You comply, moving one of your hands to his thigh, leaning back as you buck your hips. He’s surprised he hasn’t finished already, eyes rolling back as he curses. Your moans mix with his loud whimpers, beginning to bounce. Hobie writhes on the bed, twisting his body and moving his hips desperately. He moans in displeasure when you slow down, practically motionless besides the slow and small circling of your hips. 

Of course, it was too good to be true. He lolls his head to the side, a pathetic and pleading look in his eyes. It makes you smile condescendingly, your hand falling to his cheek. He leans into the touch, but he has a scrunched up look on his face. 

“What is it, darling? You look sad,” You pout teasingly to him and he whines back a muffled ‘please’. You tilt your head in false confusion, blinking nicely down at him. 

Hobie bucks his hips up, almost throwing you off if it weren’t for your hands planted on his body, “Please, just- fuck- please just move.”

Your smile grows bigger, slowly building back to the rapid pace you set before. Hobie moans out in content, his hands grabbing you everywhere he can reach. He’s a desperate mess, thanking you in slurred words and begging you not to stop. Your thighs are beginning to burn with how forcefully they hit his skin, your own orgasm fast approaching. You decide you’ve tortured him enough, giving the last of your energy to get you off. You finish quickly, staining him in your release. It triggers his own, a loud and guttural yell leaving him as he fills you. It’s hot and warm and never-ending. You fall forward, burying your face into his neck as you cry out. It drips out of you as more and more replaces it, coating his cock in white. It feels like hours when he finally stops spilling into you, leaving you a panting mess. Hobie’s hold on you slackens, and the rapid heaving of his chest begins to die down. 

It takes you a bit longer to catch your breath, kissing Hobie’s neck as it finally calms, “Holy fuck, there was so much.”

You giggle to yourself, waiting for Hobie to join along. Your brows furrow when he remains silent. You slowly pull away from his skin, calling his name questionably. You’re left in shock when you see his calm face, eyes shut as he sleeps. You laugh in disbelief, gently slapping his face to wake him up. His eyes are foggy and scrunched when he opens them, moaning weakly at you. 

‘Hobie, babe, you gotta stay up. We need to clean up.” Hobie shakes his head stubbornly, wrapping his arms around you to pull you back down on him. You can feel his breath slowing down as he falls back into sleep.

“You’re a bloody fucking menace.”

This was supposed to be fun. 

You said it was going to be fun. Different, but fun. And Hobie, he likes different. He likes fun. He likes you. So of course he agreed. He always agreed to things of that sort, besides the times he didn't agree to those types of things because that’s being consistent and Hobie doesn’t believe in consistency (unless it’s you because that’s the only good kind of consistency). You know, Hobie always got himself into all types of trouble. It’s made him a quick thinker, a really good problem solver. There was very little that he couldn’t save himself from. 

He couldn’t save himself from this one. 

You looked like one bloody seducer, on your knees before him with that look on your fucking face. So innocent and pure and mischievous and rebellious. Everything and anything and nothing all at once. Perfect, absolutely perfect and mind boggling. 

And everything felt so good. Too good and too much and too little and in need of more. More and more and more. And you gave it to him. In the right doses, or too little, or too much, or too far inbetween, or too close together. Did he mention it was too much? Because it was, it was a lot. But it was a good a lot, but it was also a bad a lot, but a good bad a lot. If you know you know, but if you don’t you’re definitely doing something wrong. 

But you weren’t doing it wrong. Your hands and mouth and fucking tight ass walls were doing it right. And usually that isn’t a problem, but today it is. It’s a problem because it’s Hobie’s problem and you’re making it his problem. Because when you said it was going to be fun, you meant it as going to be fun for you. Not Hobie, you. Because your idea of fun is making men suffer and reducing them to whimpering messes, which Hobie would usually salute you for on any other occasion. But he can’t because, well he can’t think very clearly anymore and he’s the man you’ve decided to make suffer. So there is very little to salute at the moment. 

You’re moving your hand in a way he can’t stand because it feels so good and gets him close too soon and what’s the fun in something ending prematurely? Your hands are soft, tugging on him roughly as your other hand cups his tip and rubs rapid circles around it. It has his hips bucking, curses spilling from his mouth. His hand is behind your head, his own thrown back as he pleads for you to stop and to keep going. He can’t really decide what he wants from you at the moment. 

You’re fucking laughing at him though, cooing and asking him if he’s alright. If he wasn’t getting the best handjob of his life he would shoot something snarky and flirtatious back at you, but he is currently getting the best handjob of his life so you’ll have to wait. Well, he was getting the best handjob of his life. He isn’t anymore because you’ve decided to be a fucking menace and pull your hands away right before he was going to get his bloody release. It has his whole body, mostly his cock, twitching in denial. His hips are still bucking up, humping the air and trying to prolong the quickly vanishing stimulation from your hands. He’s panting heavily, chest heaving and he groans. 

Do you have to be so damn consistent? This is why he hates consistency. Consistency ain’t no fun for no one. Especially for Hobie, which is why he doesn’t believe in it. But it’s a bloody shame that you believe in consistency. Because you’re using consistency against him and it’s getting in the way of his orgasms. And, you don’t fuck with a man and his orgasms. But he’s not going to say that out loud because he’s sure it sounds egotistical or narcissistic or whatever the fuck. He doesn’t know at the moment, his brain is too busy short circuiting. Come back later. But back to consistency. Did he mention he hates it? Because he does, but you don’t. You just love consistency and edging him for no good reason besides it being ‘fun’.

“Love, you’re being consistent.” Hobie mumbles in between pants. “We don’t like consistency.”

You hum in disagreement, shutting him up with your mouth. On his cock. On his sensitive cock that has not had a release in the past 3 hours. He would have came around seven, wait no its eight, times by now if it weren’t for your desire to torture him. But maybe that’s okay. Can’t think again, your mouth feels too good soothing that ache in his cock. Making up your mind is overrated anyways.

You’re letting out exaggerated sounds around his cock, sending vibrations up his length. It causes him to whine, both of his hands falling to your head. He guides your movements, fucking into your mouth. You quickly pull away, saliva flowing down your chin. You remove his hands away from your head, getting rid of any control he has over your movements. It causes him to whine out again, huffing like a spoiled child. He’ll behave if you want him too. He just needs you to start sucking him off again, and maybe to make him come, but he definitely needs to feel your mouth around him again. He presses his hips up towards your face, offering his cock back to you with whimpers and slurred pleading. 

You smile up at him as you begin jerking him off again, slipping him back into your mouth. You bob your head rapidly, lashes fluttering everytime you bring him to the back of your throat. He hisses when you gag around him, your throat contracting around his tip. He’s so close to exploding again, his hands bunching up his sheets to use as leverage so he can thrust into your mouth. You keep your head still, letting him fuck into you. He whines, moaning and grunting. This is it, this has to be it. You’re gonna let him come this time. You’re going to let him fill up your mouth. 

“Yes, yes, yes, yesyesyesyesyesyesyes,” he babbles to himself, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. His face scrunches up, eyes watering behind his lids from the pleasure. His mouth drops wide open as he moans, preparing to succumb to the feelings of release. 

He doesn’t get it though. You pull back again and his eyes snap open. He lets himself fall to his back on the bed, tears spilling from his eyes at your betrayal. His body is twitching again, jumping from the sensitivity he feels. This isn’t fun at all.

Your face comes to view, hovering over his. You’ve wiped the spit off your face, but Hobie turns away from you. You coo gently at him, turning his face back towards you and giving him sweet kisses along his cheeks in apology. He can only whine under you, his hands grabbing at your ass desperately. His cock is in need of attention, veins protruding from the skin and glossy from spit and precum. 

You distract him from the pain with a sloppy kiss, both of you moaning into it. He pulls away with a loud groan, heading falling back as you sink onto him. You’re warm and tight, walls molding to the shape of his cock. His dick is a twitching mess, jumping inside of you in excitement. You let out a mix of moans and giggles, feeling precum leaving his tip in preparation. Your hands fall to his chest in support, rotating your hips experimentally. 

Hobie’s grip tightens, his accent growing thick as he babbles. He begs for more, tears still flowing from his eyes as he tries to move your hips faster. You comply, moving one of your hands to his thigh, leaning back as you buck your hips. He’s surprised he hasn’t finished already, eyes rolling back as he curses. Your moans mix with his loud whimpers, beginning to bounce. Hobie writhes on the bed, twisting his body and moving his hips desperately. He moans in displeasure when you slow down, practically motionless besides the slow and small circling of your hips. 

Of course, it was too good to be true. He lolls his head to the side, a pathetic and pleading look in his eyes. It makes you smile condescendingly, your hand falling to his cheek. He leans into the touch, but he has a scrunched up look on his face. 

“What is it, darling? You look sad,” You pout teasingly to him and he whines back a muffled ‘please’. You tilt your head in false confusion, blinking nicely down at him. 

Hobie bucks his hips up, almost throwing you off if it weren’t for your hands planted on his body, “Please, just- fuck- please just move.”

Your smile grows bigger, slowly building back to the rapid pace you set before. Hobie moans out in content, his hands grabbing you everywhere he can reach. He’s a desperate mess, thanking you in slurred words and begging you not to stop. Your thighs are beginning to burn with how forcefully they hit his skin, your own orgasm fast approaching. You decide you’ve tortured him enough, giving the last of your energy to get you off. You finish quickly, staining him in your release. It triggers his own, a loud and guttural yell leaving him as he fills you. It’s hot and warm and never-ending. You fall forward, burying your face into his neck as you cry out. It drips out of you as more and more replaces it, coating his cock in white. It feels like hours when he finally stops spilling into you, leaving you a panting mess. Hobie’s hold on you slackens, and the rapid heaving of his chest begins to die down. 

It takes you a bit longer to catch your breath, kissing Hobie’s neck as it finally calms, “Holy fuck, there was so much.”

You giggle to yourself, waiting for Hobie to join along. Your brows furrow when he remains silent. You slowly pull away from his skin, calling his name questionably. You’re left in shock when you see his calm face, eyes shut as he sleeps. You laugh in disbelief, gently slapping his face to wake him up. His eyes are foggy and scrunched when he opens them, moaning weakly at you. 

‘Hobie, babe, you gotta stay up. We need to clean up.” Hobie shakes his head stubbornly, wrapping his arms around you to pull you back down on him. You can feel his breath slowing down as he falls back into sleep.

“You’re a bloody fucking menace.”

“Fu...uh...uck.” puffs of breath condensed in the air every time he panted.

In account of the thrusts, he couldn't help his words wavering or shaking.

“Oh, I love you. Love you. so. damn. much.”

Aw. Hobie's getting all lovey dovey and you didn't even have to move a single finger. It's not like you could, anyway, because his grip on the plush of your hips and ass was such that all you could do was hold on to your pillow and either shut or roll your eyes back.

Yeah, that's what you get for convincing him to 'use' you when you saw him get off bed, noticeably hard, at five in the goddamn morning. Emphasis on convincing, it took some tries — not because he didn't want to, but because he thought that you being sleepy-drowsy was like you being drunk-drowsy and the guy, as it happens with him, was having an internal moral conflict or something.

“Oh, I'm too tired. Do whatever you want,” is what you'd groggily said, keeping his face close to yours.

“Oh, fine. I will be gentle anyway,” is what Hobie had said. And thought. And was!

Until you turned around and went straight to the point, lazily raising your ass at him with your pajama pants down for him to enter your dilated cunt. Man, he really had to hold back the first couple of minutes, and even then his pace had picked up a little.

That's why when you gave him the green light...

“Baby, love. Can I... Can you handle somethin' more rough?”

“Mhm. Let me hear you.”

... he went all out. There were literal tears pricking at your eyes from his nails digging into your flesh, most definitely unintentionally, but you didn't care enough to tell him about it. You wouldn't risk missing his sweet gasps, groans and whimpers for anything in the world. If anything, the sting woke up your senses to feel him properly.

Although Hobie had been having a blast pulling your hips onto him while he pumped himself into you, he couldn't help, like always, getting closer. He just misses you, he's clingy as hell, it's as cute as it is annoying. So, keeping a sweaty hand on your bare hip, he just barely slowed down the frenzy that had taken a hold of him so his damp chest would be closer to your clothed back, bringing your ass just slightly down as well.

You had told him to just enjoy himself. That you didn't care to cum. That your pleasure was in knowing he had a good time; but what's he supposed to do if a great deal of what made this time a good one was that he managed to make you melt and shiver at his touch?

With little subtlety, Hobie's hand on your hip slid across your body and sneaked under your upper garments like you wore none, just briefly before going south near where he joined your body and dragging his fingertips between your puffy lips. It wasn't relaxed, nor was it meant to be a tease. He just wanted to make you crumble like he was definitely about to.

He tilted his head behind you to breath on the space between your neck and shoulder, further pushing you down onto the bed. Fuck, there were times when this seemed enough to tip you off the edge. Only his breath over your skin.

“Are you okay?” Hobie muttered at your quietness, though his pace wasn't any short of relentless as he did.

“'m okay. Keep going.” you assured with a shortness of breath, muffled by your pillow. Normally he would double check but, come on, it's five AM and he'd already made his other head leader of tonight's thoughts. That's enough confirmation.

He nuzzled your neck, kissing it and inhaling your scent in between every other moan. He drew tight circles which were poorly coordinated with his other frantic movements, but felt oh so good nonetheless. He shakily hummed near your ear, and mouthed praises and love confessions on your skin and, god, he just did so many things that drove you crazy without meaning to. And there it was, that hot, and rapidly coiling sensation right where Hobie kept rubbing.

It didn't take you long to cum — you turned your head with the help of your forearms to be able to breathe as it happened, whimpering, squirming and wiggling your hips under Hobie's frame. You knew he was also about to come undone as well, because even with you being so sensitive he didn't stop, he was lost in sensation. Specially that of your inner walls twitching around his dick, pulsing around him.

You clenched (on purpose) and immediately heard his lungs stop working. The sounds of his balls slapping against your skin slowed down until Hobie was only intensely pressing himself against your bum, coming into the latex enveloping him.

You two kept still in the intimacy of the aftermath, hearing Hobie working on regaining his breath behind you, before he slid off and cleaned up without much energy, more focused on when he'd get to cuddle with you.

Oof. You wouldn't mind getting awoken in the middle of the night if this is what it amounted to.

Seeing him Frank annoyed at your presence is always amusing to you. Your mere existence is always a bother and yet, he can’t help but reach out when he needs help. But only one he absolutely needs to. Occasionally, when he wants to fuck someone.

You’re his best bet. No string, no attachments. Purely out of convenience. You barely tolerate each other, but there are two things you do great when you’re together: working and having sex, sometimes simultaneously.

“How did you even find this place?” He huffs, shoving the gun at the back of his pants.

“Really? That’s what you’re asking?” You gesture with your fingers midair as if you were typing on an invisible keyboard. “How I find everything.”

He pegs you a puzzling look loaded with a hundred questions or a dozen knives. You know it’s one of those two or both. His killing stare is something to admire. You’ve seen it burn so many times before, but you’ve also seen it soften the second after fucking, after that sweet moment of release when he fills you up to the brim and all his defenses go down momentarily.

That’s why he’s always so tense. He doesn’t often take a break, he probably doesn’t even jack off as much as he should. So all his frustrations are carried always at the end of his trigger finger or at the back of his big balls.

“You tracked my phone, didn’t you?” He wisely gathers.

“Sue me.” Your shoulders shrug. “Oh, wait, you can’t.”

“You’re unbelievable.” He mutters.

“But I also brought you a gift.” You reach with your hand inside the pocket of your jacket to pull out a small piece of paper folded in half. It's held between your index and middle fingers up in his direction. “Don’t say I never give you anything.”

Frank puts his weight on his back foot, considering whether to pick it up or not.

“A gift, huh? Is that what you’re calling it? What do you want this time?”

“I told you I needed a gun for a project. Quid pro quo, baby. Isn’t it how it always works between us?”

“Quid pro quo, my ass.” He shakes his head, mumbling, “what do you even need a gun for?”

“That’s not for you to know, Castle.”

“Well, I need to know first before accepting your so-called gift.” He air quotes that last word.

“Hey, train is leaving the station.” You slowly move your hard holding the paper, aiming it towards its former pocket. “Take it or leave it.”

Curiosity gets the best of him, and he grabs your wrist with one hand, takes the piece of paper with his other.

He unfolds it to find coordinate numbers. “The fuck is this?”

“An address.”

“I can see that, smartass. But for what?”

“What you were looking for. The last of the Gnucci’s. She’s upstate. Big compound. Big security. Now about that gun…”

“You’re not getting any guns from me.”

“Why not? I pissed someone off and I just… I wanna have something at hand to protect myself.”

He scoffs. “To protect yourself. Right. Then get a license.”

“A license? Does the punisher carry a license, huh? Are you really schooling me about guns? Why do you care what I do with it?”

“I don’t.” He points out. “But I won’t have your blood in my hands either. Something goes wrong, a gun is not going to help you if you don’t know how to use it. Besides, I don’t see a nerd like you that spends more than twelve hours a day behind a screen pulling the trigger on anything that doesn’t come with a joystick, so you’ll probably end up dead.”

He turns around, walks up to a locker nearby where he stacks the rifle on his shoulder.

“Wow, you surely have me pegged, Frank Castle.” And before he turns around, you quickly reach to take the gun he put at the back of his pants. You easily pull it out, but Frank is just as fast to grab your arm and take it away once more. Only this time he tosses it away on the desk and doesn’t let go of your arm. He twists your limb around, folds it at your back and links his other arm around your waist, securing your other against your side.

“The hell you think you’re doing? Is this a game to you? Or you’re just messing with me?” He grumbles in your ear. “Are you really that desperate?”

“I’m not desperate. I just need a favor.”

“Now it’s a favor. You can’t even get your story right, sweetheart.”

“Let go of me, Frank,” you grit through your teeth, wriggling in his hold, but he only tightens it up the more you move. You'd panic, but it always comes to this, he likes to rile you up and then fuck the lights out of you. It's his way of communicating you've learnt to read so well. It’s his way of saying I need you, but I don't want any emotional strings attached to this.

His vest is pressing hard on your back, leaving an indentation of those three blade sheaths that are hanging at the front. And down below, there’s something else pushing on your rear, it could be a weapon, but it’s the unmistakable outline of his hard cock you’ve come to know so well.

“Does this turn you on, huh? Pinning girls down against their will?” you push back with your ass against his hardness.

He scoffs in your ear. “Only when it’s you, sweetheart.”

“Oh, you always know how to make me feel special. But if you wanna fuck, just say so, Castle. You don’t have to pretend you don’t like me to make yourself feel better. You clearly want to. At least your cock does.”

“You think you know everything about me, but you don't know shit,” his voice turns into gravel that grinds all the way down to your core. His hot breath feels like fuel that starts that flame between you two. It makes your knees tremble cause you know something is about to go down, and you're going to need three days to recover as usual.

“But I do know everything about—”

“Sh, sh, sh, I was talking. You say you want a gun but the only gun you're getting from me is this one.” And now it's him rubbing himself against your ass. “Would you like that one instead?”

“Yes,” you breathe out, bracing yourself to be tossed on top of the desk, but he doesn't.

Frank finally releases you, and points at the floor for you to get on your knees.

You turn around and obey.

Kneeling in front of him, you look up to see the consuming, dark shadow of his eyes as he opens his pants to free his monumental erection.

You wet your lips and swallow, placing your palms on his thighs as he guides the tip of his cock into your mouth. He holds it at the base and strokes its head on your tongue a couple of times before pushing further inside.

“There you go, take it all,” he groans as your lips wrap tightly around him. “You're so much nicer like this. All willing and quiet.”

He could give up control, but he won’t. He's the one thrusting into your lips, making sure your eyes are locked on his and that you taste every inch of him.

It's his pace, his rhythm, his rules… He doesn't let you take more than you're given. And his cock feels extremely generous inside your mouth right now. It's wet and sloppy to the point your saliva starts trickling down your chin. He loves making a mess out of you.

Frank also enjoys knowing that your core aches, your walls slick and beg for some friction. Each stroke, each thrust makes your core wind up and pulse harder. You want to shove your hand so badly in your pants, but you can't. He'd make you pay for it by pulling away.

Instead, your fingers cling tightly on his thighs as his dick comes in faster. Your jaw slacks, letting him use your mouth as hard as he wants to. Your own arousal makes you moan around him; he grunts at the delicious pressure of your eager lips that comply with his whims.

He's so close, you can feel the throb of his veins on your tongue desperately pulsing for a release.

“Fuck, look at you. Always so fucking hungry,” he strokes the hollow of your cheek. “You want more?”

“Hmmm,” you respond, begging with your eyes.

“Bet you do, huh?” You think he's about to force his cum down your throat, but he suddenly pulls his cock away before he’s done.

“Close your dirty mouth, sweetheart. You don't get to taste it this time.”

“But, I—” you start protesting.

“Shut it.” He demands and you seal your lips tight.

His cock looks angry, red and swollen in his fist. He presses the head against your closed mouth and furiously strokes himself until your lips and chin are covered in a thick layer of white, sticky spurts.

“There you go,” he rumbles under a breath, smearing the last few drops of his seed with the rest of it.

“Hey, don't,” Frank stops you from wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “Leave it there. You're prettier like that.”

It's then that you see his lips draw a smile. His eyes soften as usual, but he doesn't take pity on you or the fact that your legs almost buckle when you stand up.

You're so hot and bothered you could almost cry. And just when you think he's done with you, he handles your body around and bends you over the desk.

You send your hand to undo the zipper of your pants, but his fingers are way ahead of you pulling the waistband down your legs along with your underwear. He exposes your ass, looks at the round shape of your bottom fully on display for him. He grabs at it, pushes his semi-hard directly on your skin.

His fingers then move from behind, testing the juices that are covering your folds.

“Goddamn, you’re already dripping.” The way he states the obvious makes you feel so dirty for how desperately your pussy wants to be fucked into oblivion. “That bad you want me, huh?”

“Please,” you beg under a breath, tasting the bitter flavor of his semen drying on your lips.

He responds by shoving not one but two fingers at once in your entrance, pushing them as far as they go, capturing the tender, swollen depth of your walls around his thick, rough fingers.

You open your thighs wider as he pushes them in and out, letting your juices smear further down your legs and around his hand. The squelching sound of his fingers fucking your opening mix with the inevitable lewd moans that slip past your teeth. You hate the echo of hearing your own arousal, but you’d hate more if he stopped.

As your core tightens, he replaces those fingers with his cock. It’s fully hard again, and he presses it on your sensitive clit for a moment before driving it inside you. Your breath catches as he fully pushes it up to the hilt. Your opening doesn’t fight the nice stretch of his girth. It welcomes it, it contracts around him making him moan as much as you do.

His hips go off at a punishing pace right off the bat. Frank doesn’t waste any time now. He wants to fuck you and needs to do it just as fast. His hips slapping your ass by a sheer force that leaves you breathless.

By the way you sound together, you’re not sure who is more anxious to come first. It’s not a fight or challenge, you both give and take into the consuming fire buzzing where your bodies meet.

His hands grip at your hips, fingers digging hard onto your flesh as he drives you closer to the edge. You keep your hands anchored at the table, while he promptly pushes you over that final line without warning. Letting out a strangled noise, your walls contract around him as your body gets momentarily taken by a wave of pleasure. You feel something else inside, hear him too when he ejaculates inside you a second heavy load. He keeps his grip on you for a moment until it passes, as his breathing comes back to his lungs.

You’re still gasping for air when he pulls away. He fixes his zipper while you pull yourself together without looking at him.

It’s business as usual. Only this kind of business is never planned in advance, it always happens when you last expect it, which is probably for the best.

You hear his steps driving away from you, and you look over your shoulder to see him disappear into the kitchen you saw earlier.

You glance around and spot the gun he tossed away, put it in your jacket before he catches you, and leave out the door. It’s a dirty move, he might make you pay for it one day, but it’s the way this works between you and Frank.

And you wouldn't have it any other way.