#*cam!writes

𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗦: Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Light Angst, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Soft Dom Reader, Soft Rebecca Welton, Sub Rebecca Welton, Bottom Rebecca Welton, Lesbian Sex, use of Y/N, Female Reader-Insert, Warning: Rupert Mannion, Rupert Mannion Being a Jerk, Insecurity, this was supossed to be pwp but i cannot shut the fuck up and it turned into porn with a pitiful try at a plot, Established Relationship, Rebecca Welton is a very good girl

a/n: i started this in 2024 and for some reason never finished it. i picked it up a few weeks ago and realized the first draft was full of BULLSHIT. this was originally like 9k words of ??? and yeah, cut down to half of it. anyway. bottom rebecca welton truther. she's a good girl. no mentions of reader's genitalia mentioned, but this is a female!reader fanfic, and also use of y/n. enjoy!!

On paper, these things were wonderful. Gold and glitter and lots of expensive alcohol consumed under the guise of networking and charity. Some people needed the cameras on them and a three-course affair as an incentive to be Good Samaritans.

The friends you had in common with Rebecca were few and scarce, and most of these nights were lonely affairs surrounded by strangers who had no particular intention to get to know you. Sometimes you wondered if any of the people here had any intentions of actually talking to each other or if they just needed someone to listen to their voice. 

You didn't mind, really. Most of the time, your work for the night was just being there, arm candy for your girlfriend while she did her thing. You knew the Rebecca Welton didn't need you there as some sort of emotional support girlfriend; she was a big girl, and she could handle her galas alone very well, but she appreciated the company. And for you, it was almost appealing to come here, sit at the bar, and watch her work her magic.

Most of these nights ended with you stumbling through the threshold of your house, chasing the promise of ending the night by ripping off every single piece of clothing on Rebecca's body.

A good deal, in your opinion. 

Rebecca's voice drawled from somewhere behind you, cutting through the quiet clinking of the bar, heels dragging across the wooden floor before the blonde appeared next to you.

"There you are. You've been hiding away all night.”

Your body reacted before your mind, hands moving in an automated motion to find any part of Rebecca's body your fingers could land on, fingertips brushing the silk of her dress as they settled on the curve of her hip. Under the dim lights of this place and with the hot courage of alcohol coursing through her veins, Rebecca's smile was bright, and it seemed like all the anxiety that hours ago clawed at her body, shoulders tense and throat tight, had dissolved into thin air.

The blonde slid next to you, and your eyes followed the lines of her body as Rebecca leaned forward, tripping over the intrepid curves of her neckline, landing on the crinkles around her eyes as she smirked, elbows on the counter as she rested her chin in her hands. Her manicured nails tapped against the polished wood as she leaned closer.

"Bored?" Rebecca asked, eyebrows raising. "We'll leave soon, love."

"Having the time of my life," you clicked your tongue, letting her fingers move up your arm, wrapping around your wrist.

The blonde didn't have to say one word before you were already leaning in, touch enough to pull you in. The combination of alcohol, the constant noise around you drilling in your ears, and the heat of Rebecca's body close to you should have been nearly overwhelming. But the sweet smell of her perfume was almost palpable, the ghost of her against your tongue, and if you focused just a bit, the rest of the world could have disappeared, sucked into a vertex of oblivion, and everything that mattered would have narrowed down to her and that smile, loose and luminous.

"It's fine, really," you finally breathed, blinking up at her. "Don't you worry about me."

The blonde chuckled before she leaned in to press a kiss against your lips, chaste and brief to avoid smearing her lipstick. Her fingers slid between yours, playing with the rings on your fingers, her thumb brushing over your knuckles. You didn't have the rush to go anywhere if staying meant having her this close.

"Can you believe that this has been a lovely night?" Rebecca said, looking up at you.

Yeah, you could. She would make any night, any place, any moment lovely just by showing up.

You tilted your head, fingers moving to squeeze her hand for a beat, swallowing. The feeling sank into every splinter of your bones when you realized that you were just seconds away from speaking too soon, the world tilting beneath your own feet just enough to pull with it the strings of life to jinx it.

Rebecca didn't have to say the name out loud for you to know who exactly was lingering at the back of her mind.

Rupert Manion walked inside the room the moment you shut your mouth.

"Oh," Rebecca let out a groan, green eyes scanning your face. "He's right behind me, isn't he?"

Speaking of the devil.

"Do you happen to have a sixth sense for assholes, Rebecca?" you sighed, "Don't turn around."

Well, now she wanted to turn around. Rebecca leaned forward, shifting in place as her hand left yours. Rupert leaned against the bar, smoothly sliding inside the personal space of one of the girls —pretty, young, oblivious— eyes wandering without shame over her. For a moment, you and Rebecca stilled, as if not moving would make Rupert not see you.

It didn't work. His eyes stayed on the girl for a moment before they wandered again, words drifting midsentence when they landed on you. You felt the immediate sourness creeping up your throat when he knew you knew he had seen you. Like struck by some superior power that enlightened him from within, you saw the exact moment where the girl in front of him was displaced from the focus of his attention, and you two were put right in the spotlight, Rupert's expression lightening up as if he just saw an old friend.

"Ah, Rebecca! Y/N!"  

Uh. Oh. Rupert started walking right towards you two, leaving the girl behind without sparing her another glance.

In front of you, the blonde stilled, her body recoiling on itself for a brief moment before she swallowed and turned around. Just rip off the band-aid, right? And to think this night was going so well.

"Rupert," the blonde forced a smile, stretching her hand. "How nice to see you again."

You didn’t reply. The smell of his cologne made you feel nauseous.

"You, Y/N, always so quiet," Rupert said, shaking hands with Rebecca, "You'd look so much prettier if you smiled."

"And you, Rebecca," he continued, tilting his head toward her.

Rupert's eyes trailed over Rebecca's body, impertinent and shameless as they seemed to carefully inspect every centimeter, every little detail in a way that almost made you gag. There was something borderline predatory, unsettling, in the impunity with which he operated as if he had any right to do it. 

Your fingers twitched at the sides of your body. A part of your brain wanted to do nothing more but lunge forward, grab Rupert by the collar of his stupid shirt, and crinkle the carefully ironed fabric of his stupid, expensive suit as you strangled him until he stopped being a piece of shit. The logical part of you knew you couldn't, and even if you could, you probably shouldn't.

“Well, that dress is…” Rupert raised his eyebrows, eyeing Rebecca's dress. “A bold choice, darling. Definitely a bold choice for... a woman your age.”

You didn't have to turn to know exactly what was happening in Rebecca's head; you didn't have to turn to know the twitch on her jaw was there, her lips turned into a thin line, her body imploding on itself to prevent her from saying something she could regret later. Even if she wanted to be angry, to be furious, it was the overwhelming feeling of shame the one that managed to crawl under her skin, digging a hole in her chest and crawling to the pit of her stomach.

Suddenly, Rebecca felt so dumb. Of course this dress was not a good choice; she wasn’t a kid anymore; she should have picked something more appropriate for a woman... her age. Right?

God. She knew that she shouldn't have let it be so easy, that she shouldn't be thinking about Rupert's words, but Rebecca couldn't help it when they managed to pierce right through her, making her question herself in a way she hadn't in a while. Like she didn't spend way more time than she would like to admit worrying about what she was gonna wear tonight, hours picking dress after dress, paying careful attention to every tiny detail.

She was doing so well, and now it felt like years of work were being undone in an instant.

The clinking of glass interrupted the silence as the bartender slid a glass of wine towards you. Apparently, past you made some decent choices. Rich, dark red, sitting there, swimming around in its glass container, looking expensive.

Would look wonderful on Rupert's shirt. White and red.

Your fingers curled around the glass, staring blankly at the crimson liquid for a moment. Then, your eyes moved towards Rupert's white tuxedo. Then back at the wine in your hand, and then again to the expensive, instigating fabric of Rupert’s suit jacket.

You didn't mean it. Actually, you did mean it, but you didn't really think about it as your finger closed around the stem of the glass. For a moment, you mean to drink it, or to put it back down because the world is already feeling a bit wobbly, because you have already had enough tonight. But then you turn. And you throw.

The red liquid shimmered under the low lights of the bar, and you could see the kick of surprise hitting Rupert—eyes widening, then face crumpling up as his body moved back in reflex— as the wine splashed on the fabric of his suit, soaking through his shirt, sticking to his skin.

"Oh, Rupert, dear...!" you gasp, hand flying to your chest. "I’m so sorry about that. I'm so clumsy, aren't I?"

The sweetness in your voice probably didn't match your face.

“You should probably go wash in the restroom,” you said, nodding toward the restroom doors. “And try not to make a scene, Rupert. Not tonight".

You paused for a second, then sighed. "God, a shame. You can't appear in pictures like...that."

Rupert gave you a look. Your fingers tapped against the wood of the bar counter as you bit the inside of your cheek, bracing for impact. Instead, Rupert didn't say anything, turned to look at Rebecca, then at you —if looks could kill, you'd have a bullet hole across your skull— and turned around to walk away.

“Oh, fuck me,” Rebecca whispered once he disappeared, voice low and sharp. “Why the hell did you do that?”

“Relax,” you said softly, almost casually, letting the words hang between you. “He’ll live. And also, he's a disgusting piece of shit. And I think we should leave. Like, right now."

You couldn't remember any other time when you ran away this fast from any other place. By the time you two finally made it outside the building, the cold air of the night hitting your warm bodies, the empty streets welcomed you, quiet and still, the sound of Rebecca's heels echoing against the pavement.  

Rebecca laughed. 

"What?" You asked, turning your head to properly look at her smile glistening under the yellow lights of the night.

"That... was really something. Quite the dramatic move," the blonde smirked. " And quite hot. Like, bloody hot. But don't do that again, please."

The blonde leaned in, the weight of her body settled close against yours as you two stumbled down the street. One of her arms moved to link with yours, pulling you even closer, and her free hand moved to brush over her forehead, trying to wipe away an invisible weight from herself. She let out a breath, swallowing, green eyes focused straight ahead.  

“Especially not with Rupert," the blonde murmured. "I’ve got a feeling he won’t let that one go.”

“Rebecca, stop thinking about Rupert,” you sighed. “You’re giving that piece of shit way more time in your mind than what he deserves.” 

Her laughter faded into a quiet exhale, letting the tension in her shoulders dissolve, allowing relief to crawl up her body. She knew you were right. But it was always easier said than done, wasn't it?

The way home, with you two tense in the backseat of the car, was hell. While the driver got you two home, you battled not to have your hands all over Rebecca. Or your lips, or anything, really. You were cramped next to her in the leather seats, trying to distract yourself from looking at the blonde.  

The only thing you could do was to press your body against her, your hand resting beneath hers in her lap, swallowing the silence. You could barely wait until you finally got out of the car, out of the driver's view, before you started to cling to her. 

“I'm really sorry about this, you know,” you said softly, your nose brushing the top of her shoulder as your arms tightened around her. "About the whole night. I know it didn't go exactly as you planned..."

“It's alright, I don't mind, Y/N,” Rebecca smiled, shaking her head. "It doesn't matter, love. I had fun."

"You know Rupert was just being an asshole, right?"

"I know."

Silence. Her breathing against your cheek. 

"Do you?" 

Rebecca paused. For a few seconds, all she could hear was your breathing and the sound of her heart beating against her ribs. Your hands trailed along her sides slowly, stopping when they reached her hips and squeezing gently, a hum escaping your lips.

"You look bloody great in this dress, Rebecca," you murmured, leaning in to kiss her. “I just don’t think you understand.” 

“Understand what?” Rebecca asked, trying to keep your lips moving against hers, but failing miserably.

"How hot you are!" you breathed out, leaning in. "It's not... It's just not hot; you're gorgeous. You're a beautiful woman...!"

"I think you've had enough wine." She pushed your face away, laughing softly.

You wanted to shake her, to tell her what an unbelievably stunning woman she was, to put your hands on her shoulders and scream in her face how fucking hot she was. Instead, all you did was tiptoe again, nails digging against her flesh as you leaned in, colliding against her lips, hungry and frantic as you kissed her.

Rebecca moaned against your lips, her arms wrapping around your waist to pull you closer. It was hard trying to open the door when your mind and your body were entirely in another universe, but you finally managed to get the door unlocked. You two stumbled inside, closing the door behind you with a thud. For a moment, you stood there, swallowed by the darkness of the hallway, hands roaming blindly over each other's bodies.

Rebecca’s fingers found your stomach, nails sliding under the waistline of your pants and tugging, needy and clumsy, before they blindly crawled up, trying to undo the first buttons of your blouse. 

You wanted to think straight, even for a single moment, as you reached to feel the wall, looking for the light switch, but the idea vanished from your mind as soon as you felt Rebecca’s cold fingers pressing against the skin of your stomach.

Oh, you were so over.

“You’re the hottest woman on this whole planet,” you said, and in the darkness, you felt her smile against your lips. “You're so good, you know that?”

“I can’t do this in the dark…” Rebecca chuckled as you pushed her towards the living room.

“You can.”

The sound of her heels echoed in the dark of the house as you two made it into the living room, your hands tight around her waist. You only let go of her to turn on the few lamps in the living room. Under the warm lights, you finally looked up at Rebecca, green eyes shimmering in the penumbra, the lipstick smudged around her wet lips.

The blonde smirked, scanning your face. Something was on your mind. You had that look in your eyes, and Rebecca swallowed. She felt your hands wrapping around her body from behind, then she stumbled forward when you pushed her towards the mirror sitting in front of the couch. 

Rebecca stared at her reflection. At the harsh flaws of her makeup under the weird lighting, at the lines of her tired face.  

“Look at my makeup…” she chuckled, brushing her thumb over her smudged lipstick. 

Her attention shifted from herself to you, to your presence behind her, when the warmth of your breath hit her neck, your lips pressing a wet kiss against her soft skin, making her squirm in place. The blonde's body pressed back against you, firm, desperate, a quiet whine escaping her lips when she felt your fingers pressing against her back, crawling up to find the zip of her dress. 

“You're so hot, Rebecca.”

Your lips found her shoulder again as you tilted your head, letting your cheek press against her skin, letting it rest against the warmth of the golden skin for a moment. You tiptoed, reaching to press another kiss against the crook of her neck, on the line of her jaw, on the corner of her lips.

“You're hot. And pretty. And smart. And beautiful. And I can't believe you married such an asshole.”

“Yes, darling?” she hummed, a small smile playing on her lips as she stared at you in the mirror. “All those things, huh?”

Her hand moved to rest on top of hers over her stomach, her thumb rubbing small circles over your skin. 

“Do you realize how easily you let him get under your skin?” you mumbled, your breath tickling the skin of her shoulders.

“Do you really want to talk about Rupert right now?” 

No, you didn’t. You had other things in mind. 

Her perfume –expensive, almost intolerable for a moment—hit you when you leaned in to press your lips against her neck, your lip gloss leaving a sticky trail behind.  Rebecca tensed, her body pressed back, searching for more contact, and your hands moved to place themselves firmly on her waist.

“You know I don’t.” 

It was hard to move your lips away from her, from the warmth of her skin, your breath tickled against her shoulder again before your lips were on her skin, peppering small kisses down her neck, between her shoulder blades, on the freckles of her back. “I don’t want to talk about him at all. I just don't think it's fair.”

Rebecca let out a quiet breath, her hand reaching back, trying to get a grasp of anything of you. Her resolve was slowly crumbling in front of the reflection of your face buried against her neck, the feeling of your lips against her skin. “I know it's not fair, but can we just— “ 

The feeling of your teeth sinking against the flesh of her neck, making her squirm, cut her off. 

“Do you need me to prove it to you?” you asked slowly. 

Your warm breath against her ear made her shiver. 

“Do you want me to show it to you? How unfair it is that you let him make you believe all that bullshit? 

Rebecca swallowed when your fingers started to pull down the zipper at the back of her dress, your breathing heavy and hot against her ear as she nodded. You stopped the moment you reached her waist. If you could, you would stop time and freeze that very picture in front of you, the dress hanging loosely from her and starting to reveal the tanned skin and the lingerie underneath, her reflection— the trail of freckles on her chest and the frown on her closed eyes, the dim lights sparkling on the gold of her earrings and her parted lips shimmering.

You leaned in to press another kiss on her shoulder, unzipping the rest of her dress. 

Rebecca squirmed out of the blue fabric, letting the dress fall off her body gently, long legs moving with ease, not a care in the world as she pushed the fabric away with her heels. Your eyes immediately went back to her reflection in the mirror, admiring the black lace against the tanned skin. If you weren’t a rational human being, you could have eaten her alive right there. 

Rebecca’s eyes were fixed on your hand on her stomach, her slender fingers playing with the ring on your finger. She could feel her face burning, her eyes unable to leave the image in the mirror.

She thought that it was the first time in a while —if not ever— that she paid so much attention to herself. It wasn’t that she wasn’t used to all the show of the dim lights and whatever, but her attention tended to be all on you. On the way you moved, on the sounds you made. Where to put her hands on your body, when to look at you to see your head thrown back in pleasure. She wasn’t exactly sure where to look. 

Your fingers tightened around her forearms, feeling the muscle tense and relax beneath as your lips found the base of her neck. Your lips trailed down, hands moving to steady yourself on her waist as you pressed a kiss on each of her shoulder blades, and you kneeled to keep planting kisses down her back. Your lips stopped right before the lace started.

You guided the blonde to turn around, away from her reflection in the mirror, and this time, you started kissing your way up. Rebecca’s fingers found their way to your hair, nail digging lightly on your scalp as your lips found her stomach, warm breath hovering over the soft skin, and you continued up. Each movement was carefully measured to worship the pulse beneath her ribs, the soft flesh of her breasts, each one of the moles on her chest without letting her drown in it. 

Rebecca’s hand found their way to your back, tugging you in. Your movements were clumsy as you pushed back, pulling her with you as your feet dragged along the carpet, struggling to coordinate moving without kissing her, both of you fighting to keep your hands still for a moment. The closeness of her body, the heat of her skin pressing against you, the smell of her perfume —too expensive, too intoxicating— made it hard to want her away. 

“Sit down,” You said. 

She stilled for a moment, just a split second enough to make her falter. Her hands found your chest, palms pressed open against the beat of your heart. You felt the tension take over Rebecca's body for a moment, like an animal still alert, still not trusting to roll over and expose their belly to the world just yet. Then, the blonde leaned in, her breath warm against the side of your face as she pressed a kiss against your ear.

“Yes, ma'am." 

Her body collapsed onto the sofa, a seamless movement, elegant as ever. All legs and smooth skin, the smell of her body lotion sweet and intoxicating. There was a shift, the detail of her shoulders loosening, the tension on her stomach letting go as she exhaled, long fingers twitching at her lap.

Your body hovered over Rebecca's when you leaned in, hands finding the back of the couch for support as you lifted your knee to slide it between her legs, nudging them open before the blonde's hips shifted to let your knee press further between her legs.

You leaned in closer, feeling your knee pressing against the fabric of her panties, rubbing against the wet spot growing there. The blonde’s hips jerked at the contact, rolling forward to grind against your leg in a pathetic attempt at more. 

Your fingers found her chin, tilting it up so you could lean in to press your lips against hers, all teeth and the faint smell of expensive wine on her breath and her lipstick sticking to the skin of your face. Rebecca's hands moved around your waist, nails digging at the fabric of your shirt as you pulled away to let your lips roam over her neck. The blonde whimpered, the sound reverberating against your ear as her body squirmed, her hips moving forward to grind against your leg again.

The blonde lunged forward, her hands moving down to let her fingers find your belt, movements fast and disjointed as she tried to unbuckle it.

Your fingers wrapped around her wrist, stopping her. Rebecca's head snapped up, forehead against forehead, the warmth of her ragged breath hitting your face.

“Stop,” you said, green eyes blinking up at you. "Who said you can touch?"

Rebecca swallowed. A formless thought tried to escape her lips, but failed miserably; the only thing that she could picture clearly at the front of her mind was the shape of want pulsating against the walls of her head. Her hand on you and your hands on hers. Her lips on you and your lips on her.   

Rebecca shook her head, glazed eyes blinking up at you.

“Don't you want to be good for me, baby?” you hummed, fingers tightening around her chin.

Rebecca nodded.

“What’s that?” you clicked your tongue, “Use your words.”

The words stumbled out of her mouth, hurried and low,

“Yes. Yes, darling. Please—”

She wanted to be good. She wanted to let go. There was nothing more in this world that the blonde wanted more than anything right now than to hear you call her a good girl. To let the sweetness of your words make her blood run hot, let the praise run slick and heavy like honey through the cracks of her mind, let her body turn into that docile thing at your command only. She wanted to be good. 

"Sit," you said, moving to kneel in front of her. "Your underwear. Take it off."

The blonde's hips jerked forward when she squirmed, kicking the fabric of her dress on the floor away from her feet —god, in what other situation could you see her mistreating such an expensive item like this?— before her fingers found the fabric of her underwear, pulling it down to her ankles.

“That's it, honey,” you breathed, your thumb pressing down on her thigh, tracing circles against the warm. “Be a doll and spread your legs for me, please.” 

An intoxicating view indeed. To have Rebecca Welton looking down at you, hungry green eyes simmering, fingers twitching at her sides, legs spread just for you, hanging to your every word, to each one of your movements, so willingly, so ready to please.

Your head tipped back, pointing at the mirror behind you.

“Look at yourself,” you said, fingernails digging softly at the flesh of her thighs. “All mine.”

You didn't check if she actually looked at her reflection; what was happening in front of you was way more interesting. You crawled closer to her, forcing her legs spread open before you buried your head between her legs.

A sound escaped Rebecca's throat when she felt your tongue sliding between her wet folds, a quiet moan she tried to keep from coming out as her hands moved to your shoulders, her hips shifted against your face, her nails digging at your shoulders. You felt her body tremble, tensing under your touch before it snapped, and Rebecca finally let her head fall back against the couch, eyes closing as your tongue moved up and down against her slick folds.

It didn't take much before the tension evaporated from Rebecca's body, before the only thing her mind could think about was you, between her legs, eating her out.  Her hips squirmed, bucking against you, trying to meet each one of your strokes with more pressure, more friction, pleasure exploding in waves of fire under her eyelids.

You could feel your own wetness growing between your legs. You could feel her throbbing core as your lips moved to suck on her sensitive clit, your own hips starting to hump against nothing every time Rebecca whimpered, every time her body trembled.

The only thing keeping Rebecca in place was the weight of your body pressing against hers, your hands gripping at her body, a desperate attempt to pull her any closer. You pulled away to catch your breath, your heart beating against your ribs on your chest as you leaned back in to press a lazy trail of kisses on her inner thigh, your cheek pressing against her, the warmth of her skin. Rebecca let out a groan at the sudden lack of contact, her thighs trembling against you.

“Fuck, darling…please,” Rebecca moaned, her nails scratching up your neck as her hand moved to grip your hair. "Please...!"

Your eyes travelled up her disheveled form, absorbing and adoring every single detail of the so composed Rebecca Welton turned into a wet, needy mess in front of you, from her tension in her core, up to her labored chest, to her pleading eyes, blown pupils staring down at you. Your skin burned where her fingertips pressed against your skull.

"Please?" you raised your eyebrows, biting your lips. "Please what, sweetheart? Tell me what you want me to do."

The blonde squirmed in place, her fingers sliding and tightening around your hair, tugging you closer as a moan escaped her lips.

"I want to cum," Rebecca whimpered, body trembling against you. "Please, make me cum. I need to..."

Since she asked so nicely. You leaned in, one of your fingers sliding between her wet folds, brushing past her clit. The blonde's hips shifted, jerking at the touch, humping against your hand, her hands moving from your hand to grip the couch cushion when you slid one finger inside of her.    

"You need to cum for me, baby?" you exhaled, feeling Rebecca clench around your fingers, "Be good for me, sweetheart. Just relax."

The blonde whimpered when you slid another finger inside of her, slowly starting to pump them in and out of her, her body shivering as you found just the right pace.

“Look at you, Becca. Such a good girl. Such a pretty thing,” you breathed, leaning in to press a kiss against her abdomen as your fingers kept moving inside of her. “Taking me so well. This is what you wanted, huh?”

You moved in place, leaning down to let your mouth find her clitoris. Your back and your knees protested at the angle, but the moan that escaped Rebecca's mouth when your tongue circled her clit made you stay still right where you were, your mouth working on her as you continued to finger her. The blonde's thighs trembled under your free hand, her body taut as she pushed against you, trying to match each one of your strokes.

"God, Y/N…!” Rebecca moaned, her legs trembling, “...so close! I’m so close...!”

The words slipping out of her lips turned into nonsense babbling before Rebecca could get a grip of herself, pleasure bubbling up her body as your movements became a bit faster, as your fingers curled inside of her, hitting the sweet spot that made her jerk beneath your touch. 

“There...” Rebecca cried, her body squirming against you. "That— God, please...!"

The world was starting to blend at the edges of her own pleasure, and all Rebecca could focus on was you between her legs and how it was all too much all at once— the heat, the focus, the tension melting away from her body with every movement.

It just took her one more moment of your mouth sucking on her clit before the bliss of her orgasm took over her, her body convulsing as Rebecca's eyes rolled to the back of her head in pleasure. 

Rebecca opened her eyes, her mouth parting, her body all soft limbs and startled breath, the world still submerged in the syrupy haze of ecstasy. The first thing she saw was her own reflection in the mirror in front of her—alien, foreign for a moment, unguarded and soft. Then, lower, you, kneeling between her legs, looking up at her like the adorator of a saint. 

It was bliss to not have one single thought in her head. The only thing she could picture clearly was your face as her fingers moved up your neck to brush against your scalp, pulling you towards her. You let out a breath before you smiled up at her, crawling up to her side.

The couch sank beneath your weight, your hand moving to rest over her middle as you cuddled closer. You nuzzled your nose against her neck, breathing in the smell of her expensive perfume and sweat, feeling her strangled breath, her beating pulse.

"You’ve been such a good girl for me, Rebecca. I’ve got you," you hummed, letting her hand squeeze your thigh over the fabric of your pants. "You were amazing."

"Thank you," Rebecca mumbled. “Can we… just stay like this for a while?”

“Anything you want,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple. “You deserve the world, Becca."

The blonde stared at you like you indeed could give her the world, soft eyes and warm skin sticking against yours, her thumb brushing circles on your leg.

“And will you give me the world?” she chuckled, leaning in to press a kiss against your forehead.

You let out a small laugh, your hand drifting to tangle in her hair. Rebecca's breath had slowed down now, her body melting into a calm she hadn’t known all night.

“Maybe not the world," you grinned, "But we can start with another orgasm, if you want.”

𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗦: Light Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Rebecca Welton Needs a Hug, Emotionally Repressed Rebecca Welton, Post-Divorce, Warning: Rupert Mannion, Boss/Employee Relationship, Mutual Pining, Cuddling & Snuggling, Reader-Insert is Bad at Feelings, Rebecca Welton is bad at feelings, Complicated Relationships, Season 1 Rebecca Welton, there's a roadtrip, where rebecca welton is the passenger princess, and, forced proximity?, NO. worse, chosen proximity, References to anxiety, Title from a The Strokes Song, Fluff, sort of a, Character Study, No Use of Y/N for Reader-Insert, Not Beta Read

a/n: this fic is some sort of canon divergence that happens right before or at some point in the begging of season 1, that's why there's not much mention of any other characters lmao. as usual, no beta reader ;( finished at 4:16am so there might be mistakes. please lmk if there are typos or stuff!

Why on Earth did Rebecca Welton even let the idea play in her mind that sitting in a car, with you, for god knows how many hours, was a good thing was something Rebecca could not understand right now.

To be fair, in theory, when she thought about it, it wasn't that bad. The idea of the road, the fresh air coming through a rolled-down window, the sharp English countryside green and vast, infinite on the horizon. In practice, the moment she realized what she had just done was way too late.

Her, sitting in this cramped space, with you, for hours. That one fundamental piece of the whole plan didn’t cross her mind.

Too close. Too many empty spaces to let silence proliferate, too little space to avoid the accidental collapsing of a body against the other, a catalyst for an imminent disaster, Rebecca thought. Too much intimacy. Because there had to be a strange form of intimacy in the way two bodies managed to exist in the dead, quiet silence of a moving car for hours, circumventing the evident dread of daring to look each other in the eye.

The first hour in, Rebecca could excuse herself and ask for silence with the excuse of work. Fair enough. You wouldn’t question a woman who took her spreadsheets very seriously. So that’s what she did, she pulled out some bullshit spreadsheet she absolutely wasn’t interested in and kept her head low until the numbers started to blur in front of her, until her eyes hurt. 

Then, nothing. Silence. Some shitty song playing quietly on the radio. Maybe the unceremonious tapping of your fingers against the leather of the steering wheel, the occasional threat of your body shifting in the seat.

The thing is, there’s only so much silence one can take before something collapses. And you two still had a fucking long road ahead. 

***

There's only so much you can do to shut your mind before it starts screaming.

When her brain decided it was enough to try to think about whatever she could think about work, Rebecca resorted to doing her best to disregard her thoughts. Little treacherous things. She mentally told herself all the jokes she could pull from memory, even told you a few that made you smile. One that even made you let out a breathy laugh, eyes moving from the road to her for a brief moment. She hummed under her breath all the songs she could hum. She stared really hard at all the passing trees and some cows and the birds, and she squinted her eyes at the sun until the day dimmed in orange and red and the sky bled over the windshield.

And then Rebecca couldn’t keep herself from thinking anymore.

She started thinking about how Rebecca Welton had a thing with terms. With labels.

Rebecca never thought they were enough to encapsulate anything. Like the term wife or the term daughter. She was never good enough as a wife. She was never good enough as a daughter. There was always that one little thing, like a thorn uncomfortably stuck beneath the skin, that made her feel ill-equipped to give the performance the auditorium was expecting. Like she never did quite seem to fit into the box of the labels she forced herself into, and that meant hunching over and pulling her knees to her chest and sucking in her breath to fit. 

And after ten years of being married to Rupert, the term relationship was a bitter word on Rebecca's tongue. 

Relationships, again, were a wide term. Friends. Family. Lovers. 

Rebecca Welton didn't have many friends. Sure, she had a few people with whom she would dine at the best restaurants in London, and a few people she could drink mimosas at brunch on obnoxious Saturdays with. Most of them whipped off after the divorce, chose neutrality or chose the other side, or just never again appeared in her planner. Then, after the divorce. You know, Higgins. Higgins, who would sit with her for lunch while Rupert fucked someone else behind her back. 

Then Sassy. She should probably have texted her earlier. 

She didn't have many friends. That was one truth. She didn't believe her mother particularly liked her. That was another truth. 

That's why she didn't like the silence. The space between nothing and doing, where her mind could actually think. Because she would start to think, and it never led to nice roads.

Lovers, a few. Lovers: another term that didn't fit the definition: anyone who would be up to fuck was enough?

The term assistant might be a bit too narrow when it comes to you. Not because of what you did not do at work (you weren’t really doing assistant stuff), but because of what you did do. Rebecca was sure and very aware of the legal implications of having sex with her assistant and blurring all the possible lines of a professional relationship, but. You also were sure and very aware. 

But still. 

At first, Rebecca believed she could just sit on the fence of being correct and swing her legs in the air, allowing herself to watch from afar and fantasize about what could have been. But then you laughed too loudly, and you just happened to be too witty for your own good, and you looked her in the eye when you saw her in the hallways, and you weren't able to get her coffee order right, but you made her tea just right.

Not perfect, slightly crooked, but damn, she liked you. It was different. It never felt like she had to live up to a certain standard when she was with you, like she did with Rupert. 

And fucking around helped her find out that you felt like being a tiny bit more alive again. It felt like finally coming out of the empty shell Rupert and the divorce have covered her whole body in. 

Circling back: the truth was that you were far beyond the point of an assistant. The facade of a professional relationship was crumbling under the crushing weight of everything else this was.

Sometimes, you were under the impression she didn't really like you. She liked you, too much, that was the problem. Enough to get her in trouble. 

***

The rain starts with the anxiety. Or the anxiety starts with the rain. Rebecca hasn’t decided about it yet.

As the rain hits the windshield, Rebecca thinks she can hear her own blood pumping in her ears loud and clear, like her own body is trying to betray her and her blood is trying to get out of her body and let her bleed to death right there. It’s probably not true, she knows that. She also knows her brain isn’t exactly a logic and reason advocate when things get dumb like this.

It suddenly dawns on her what the fuck she just did. The fact that she's sitting, like, what, less than thirty centimeters from you and there's nowhere for her to escape to. There are no appointments. No meetings. No vague personal matters she can excuse herself with now. Her hands are still scratching a loose thread on the fabric of her trousers, knees turning white every time she digs into the flesh of her thighs with a bit too much force when she turns to give you a glance.

“You alright?” you ask, shooting her a sideways look. 

Of course, you ask. 

“Yes,” Rebecca tilts her head to look at you, moving back to rest against the cold glass. “Why?”

“Looking a bit pale,” you shrug, eyes back on the road.

“Everything a woman wants to hear, darling.”

On the radio, the host’s voice gets lost in the static for a moment, right in the middle of some shitty commercial about some local shop. The silence takes over as the last distorted echo of the man’s voice disappears, and the terrifying silence settles in once again. And it consumes her and she cannot stand the idea of not saying anything.

“I just have a headache,” Rebecca blurts out, fingers pressing at the bridge of her nose. 

You don't reply, just let out a small sound. The voice on the radio comes back. Rebecca feels the vibration of the rain hitting the glass harder, tilts her head to press her temple against the cold surface. 

What do you want, is what you want to say.

“I think I have an aspirin,” you say.

I don't know what I want, is what she wants to say. 

“It's fine. It'll pass.” Rebecca says instead. 

You want to say something else. You want to tell her to let you know if she changes her mind. Maybe reach and grab her hand and tangle your fingers with hers to keep them from twitching at her lap, turn around, and lean in to brush the hair away from her face. But you don't. You keep driving. Turn the radio up a bit. Look straight ahead at the endless road.

***

Rebecca stares at you. Then at the building. Then back at you. Her eyes narrow, nose scrunching up.

“You are bloody insane.”

“Rebecca.”

“You've lost it. I'm not staying there,” Rebecca laughs, looking between you at the so-called charming countryside B&B. 

“Do you want to drive?’ you say, pointing with your thumb outside. “Because I'm not driving in the rain. And I’m not sleeping in this car.”

Rebecca looks at you. Then back to the motel. Then at the road ahead. A curtain of water covers the endless void that the road has turned into, dead and empty, the occasional lightning on the horizon. Turns back to look at you.

You’re already turning off the engine. 

“You're not driving,” you say, sliding the car keys in your pocket.

It was two ridiculous trips of running to the front door, holding your jackets over your head to avoid getting wet, only to still splash through all the puddles and get the hems of your pants soaked before you finally got to the front desk.

The place was cozy. Small. A bit cluttered. Homely, though. You were sure Rebecca was absolutely not seeing the cozy side of things. You found it charming, Rebecca was already wondering if sheets were Egyptian cotton—or, rather, if there were going to be sheets at all.

The guy on the front desk didn't look like a creep, which was enough. 

As you talked to him and sorted out all the details, Rebecca's eyes kept drifting around the walls, landing on all the framed photos. The man posing with what she guessed was his family. A dog. A ridiculous cliché bell on the desk. 

A nice, easy life with two kids and a dog in the middle of a small town. Didn’t seem like a bad one.

“A room with two singles would be alright?” the man asks. “It's the only one we have available right away. If not…”

“It’s fine. We'll take it,” Rebecca interrupts, sliding her card on the desk. Then, turned to look at you, “...right?”

You stare at her for a second. At the damp fabric of her shirt sticking to the back of her neck, the small drops of water dripping from the edges of her hair, arms crossed against her middle. Rebecca Welton did look out of place. Her shirt and her watch were probably more than this whole establishment. 

But you thought that it would fit her, waking up in a small town in the middle of nowhere. Somewhere away from the noise, the rush, the flashes. Somewhere where she could breathe, to let her shoulders drop. 

You nod. 

***

“I swear to bloody God,” Rebecca mutters, heels clicking against the floor of the hallway. “If I hear one more love coming from that man's mouth.”

The hallway is slightly uncanny, looking straight like a still from some shitty old horror adjacent movie. The wallpaper on the walls was an awfully weird shade of green and made Rebecca nauseous, and it was quiet. Very quiet, as if you two were the only ones in the whole place.

“It's a custom, Rebecca,” you reply. “Not everyone is from London and terrified of saying hi to their neighbors.”

“You know what a custom is? Not having to question if the sheets are clean when I go to a hotel,” Rebecca says, inserting the key to open the door. “Just thinking about sleeping in this bed makes my skin crawl.”

Half an hour later, Rebecca's body is draped over the bed on the left side of the room, the one right next to the window —she said some bullshit about wanting to wake up with natural sunlight. Half asleep against the headboard, body wrapped around a real nice looking bathrobe with the name of the bed and breakfast embroidered on the chest, reading glasses askew low on her nose, book long forgotten on her lap. 

You've lost count of the minutes you spent just staring, hunched on the edge of the mattress, your work long forgotten, too, on the bedside table. Enough, at least, for the ends of her hair no longer dripping wet, just damp and sticking to the back of her neck and the sides of her face, enough that her face is warm and her cheeks are flushed, lips parted as the blonde exhales softly. 

It is a test of your willpower and control, or whatever bullshit it takes for you to not just get up and brush the hair from her face and take off her glasses and kiss the shit out of a woman who just complained about the lack of Wi-Fi and the water pressure after taking half an hour shower while singing some shitty Spice Girls song. 

Rebecca jolts at the knock on the door. You jump when she jumps. You scramble to grab your phone, pretending to be doing something else— and failing to even pretend your screen was on. Not like Rebecca notices, she's too busy brushing a hand over her face to wipe away any remnants of sleep and tightening the robe around her body as she gets up, groggily striding towards the door. 

On the other side, the man from reception with a hair dryer in his hands. 

Just the notion of having to call the front desk to request such a basic appliance had bothered her. Still, Rebecca muttered a thank you and closed the door behind her, walking back towards the bathroom.

“Do you believe they have a website where I can complain about the room service?” She mutters dryly, barely looking at you over her shoulder before she enters the bathroom.

That gets a laugh out of you. Rebecca sees herself smile in the foggy bathroom mirror as she plugs the damn hair dryer on. 

***

What you would have pictured Ms Welton wearing to bed always ended up being more of a PG-13 situation, maybe something black and lacey and slightly ridiculous. Ridiculous, like the fact that you have indeed seen the woman naked. Quite a few times before. But… well, never wearing jammies. And it's ridiculous how anyone can look so good in those rather ridiculous heart pajamas —not what you would have pictured, but.

“You're staring,” Rebecca points out, pen tapping against the paper of her planner, not really looking at you. 

No one has looked at me in a while, is what she wants to say. 

She considers saying something else. Saying a joke or anything to not let her words sound so dry. Even considers being a bit feisty and looking up to look at you, but she doesn’t. For the sake of keeping whatever intent Rebecca had to keep this whole ridiculous trip as professional as possible. 

“I'm not,” you reply. “I'm just…”

I want you to come closer, is what you want to say. 

You shrug, thumb swiping over your phone. The screen is turned off again. You don't look up when you hear Rebecca move around. The bed creaks under her weight as her glasses hit the bedside table, then her planner. Your skin itches, a spark of something pounding over your body when it seems like she's going to stand up. And for a moment, you're sure she's coming your way, and then— Rebecca reaches to turn off the lamp on her side. 

The blonde slides back into bed. Takes the covers up her chest. Turns to her side, facing the wall. She thinks it’s not good for Feng Shui to have a bed on the side of a window. Neither are clutter nor broken or neglected items. She thinks about how it should be a crime, you being this close and this far. 

Your hands pulse at the sides of your body as you lie still on your bed, fingers tapping against the fabric of your old pants. Suddenly, the ceiling is the most interesting thing in this world. You don't have to turn to your side to guess the outline of her back under the covers, shoulders drawn in, eyes staring at the wall. You close your eyes and imagine the soft skin of Rebecca's shoulder, your lips pressing at the curve where her neck meets her shoulder, the bitter taste of a sugary sweet body lotion lingering on your lips. You open your eyes to focus on the cracks in the ceiling.

Silence stretches around you two again. It always makes you feel slightly nervous, like a dog that wants to bite something out of this life. You haven't turned off the light on your side yet.

You want to see if you hear her breath. If you can hear her move. Any sign of life on the other side of the room. You want to feel the weight of her body settling on the mattress, of her muscles finally relaxing, the soft rise and fall of her chest as her body finally gives in. The only thing you hear is the rain on the window. 

“What time do we leave tomorrow?” You finally ask.

Rebecca doesn't reply. For a moment, you think she fell asleep. You're about to reach and turn off the light on your side when you hear her roll over.

“When it stops raining.” 

“If it doesn't stop?”

It’s one of those stupid questions you know Rebecca despises. Still, you don’t hear the usual barely contained exhale accompanied by the subtle full-body eye roll. Just, again, silence. It would stop raining eventually, right?

“Turn off the light,” Rebecca sighs. 

“I could live here,” you say, sitting up to reach the light switch. “It's cozy. The guy’s nice. They have a continental breakfast.”

Your rambles bounce around in the darkness of the room before it swallows you two whole. You can feel it sinking around you like a dense thing, constricting and stretching between you two, and for a moment, you're not sure if she's just a meter away from you or might as well be two oceans away, in another country, in another universe. 

Then, the blonde speaks. 

“You couldn't live here,” she says. You hear her roll over, the bed creaking under her weight. “You'd get bored of eating the same food all the time. And hotel eggs are disgusting. And the Wi-Fi connection is awful.”

She’s partially right. 

“And I wouldn’t like the idea of you being so far away,” Rebecca adds. 

She’s right.

It almost physically hurts to say it, as if someone were trying to pull barbed wire out of her throat. Rebecca swallows, mentally cursing at the slip.  On the other side of the room, the bed creaks under your weight when you turn around. 

“I’m sorry, I didn't mean…” Rebecca mutters.

“S’alright,” you cut her off. You move around, facing the dark, hoping you're facing her and not her back. “I wouldn't like to be away either.”

The silence stretches between you two for way more than you would like. Rebecca is either asleep or, fair enough, just ignoring you, until you hear the rustle of the fabric as she moves around. You can picture the green eyes fixated on the ceiling, staring around in the dark like some trapped animal trying to plan the easiest escape route. The bed creaks under her weight. You can picture her muscles tensing, skin crawling in the middle of the dark, just like you, or at least hope to. Then you hear the sound of her feet hitting the ground, blindly reaching for her shoes for a moment. As any animal lured far away from home, Rebecca scrambles in the dark, her knee hitting the edge of the bedside table as she reaches for the light. Fails to locate both her shoes and the light switch. She still manages to find her way to you in the dark, and the next thing you see after the sounds of her naked feet padding against the floor is the blonde’s figure standing in the dark at the feet of your bed. 

And suddenly the Rebecca Welton is not so graceful, not so sharp at the edges as the heavy body warped in pajamas with hearts and messy hair leans in, her hands reaching blindly in the dark to find your arm as she slides into bed with you. The mattress dips next to you as your body automatically moves back, your back pressing against the wall to let her curl next to you, one of her legs sliding between your thighs as her arm finds your middle, pulling in closer. 

The bed creaks under your weight as you settle in, hand finding the back of her neck, fingers sliding up her hair. Rebecca exhales, a warm breath hitting the base of your throat as she nuzzles against you, her free hand sliding under your shirt. You feel the muscles of her neck, her body tensing and then, with another exhale, letting the tension melt away. Her body melts against the mattress. This bed is definitely too small and probably not designed to hold two adults together in it, but you don’t mind a bit. Your arms move to hold her tighter, letting the mess of long limbs curl against you.

“Do you mind?” Rebecca mumbles, her forehead pressing against your chest.

A bit late to ask. You shake your head.

“It’s fine,” you assure.

Of course, it’s fine. This is what you’ve wanted all this whole stupid day. This and nothing else. Your arms tighten around her as the sudden thought might leave crosses your mind, the idea that Rebecca will regret this at any moment and retreat, go back to hide in her trenches. But her nails dig slightly at the bare skin of your back, as if she could read your thoughts but didn’t have the strength to say it out loud.

I’m not leaving, it's what she wants to say. 

“Rebecca,” you start. 

You stop. You realize you’re not quite sure where you want to go. Your brain is going faster than your mouth, and it feels like your own body is preventing the wrong thing from slipping past your lips and crashing out. “It doesn't...”

Rebecca hums against your shirt.

“I know," she says.

“This could be one hundred times easier,” you finally say. “You can’t fight everything and everyone out forever.”

You hear her click her tongue.

“Just say yes,” you say, almost a plea. “For once.”

“If I say yes,” Rebecca says, lifting her head slightly to look at you in the dark. “Will you be smug about it?”

“Maybe. Just a bit,” you reply, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “I think I’m allowed to be a bit pleased with myself if the Rebecca Welton says yes to me.”

“Mhm. Thought as much."

Then, after a bit, the blonde speaks up again.

“Then yes,” she mutters, lips pressing against the base of your throat. “I just… It’s not easy, you know? All of this. You’ll have to be a bit patient.”

You tilt your head to press a kiss against her temple. “I’ve got all the patience in the world.”

Rebecca Welton can't read your mind and can’t know if, on god, you do. But maybe you did, and there was only one way to learn if it was true. Tomorrow you will have breakfast that Rebecca will pretend to hate, she will have a cup of black coffee with no sugar and shitty hotel eggs that will turn out not so shitty. You will say exactly one joke that will make her spit out a bit of her coffee and you will stare too much at the way her jeans fit on her legs. And the rain will not have stopped —not fully, at least— when you two get back on the road. And maybe you will hold her hand while you drive, and her perfectly manicured nails will distractingly tap on your thigh.