#mafi

You hadn’t seen James all day.

He hadn’t met you for lunch in the dining hall like he promised. He hadn’t answered your last few texts. And while that wasn’t unusual — he was quiet by nature, sometimes slipping into his own head for hours — something about it felt different this time.

So you went looking.

You found him in his room, door unlocked, the afternoon light casting long, dusky lines across the floor.

He was sitting on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, head down. His knuckles were raw and bruised, bloodied across both hands. One side of his jaw was already turning a dark purple-blue, and a shallow cut curved from the edge of his cheekbone to near his ear. It looked like it had bled for a while before scabbing over.

“James—” you breathed, your heart in your stomach, stepping inside and closing the door behind you. “What… what happened?”

He looked up slowly. His gaze softened the moment he saw you, even through the swelling near his eye. “You shouldn’t see me like this.” He said, but made no effort to shield himself.

You crossed the room in seconds, dropping to your knees in front of him. “Don’t say that.”

He winced slightly when you reached for his hand, but let you take it anyway. His skin was warm and a little sticky with partially dried blood.

“Did someone—did you get into a fight or something?”

“No,” he said quietly. “Well—yes.” He falters, “I picked the fight.”

You looked up at him, stunned. This wasn’t like James whatsoever? “Why?” You can’t hide the subtle disappointment painting your expression.

He hesitated — jaw tensing, lips parting, but no words came at first.

And then he said your name.

Just your name, so softly spoken, it cracked your chest and tightened your heart. He rarely called you by your name; it was usually just baby or sweetheart.

“They said things about you,” James finally muttered, his voice low and strained. “Not just rumors — mean, ugly things. About how you were easy. About how I must be desperate if I was wasting my time with you, called you terrible names.”

“Easy...?” You whispered, your voice cracking with the last syllable.

Your chest caves in on the singular word. Your arms wrap around yourself, attempting to shield yourself from the boy you loved so deeply. A defense mechanism you tried so hard to unlearn. Silence swallowed you whole as you avoided his gaze.

“I didn’t mean—God, I didn’t mean to say that, I was just trying-,” James says, his voice raw. He cuts himself off as he realized you were disassociating.

You can only stare at a scratch on the floorboards, blurry in the fading light. Literally anything but his face, your fingers only curl deeper into her knitted sleeves, and you can’t stop your eyes from tearing up.

In a instant, he kneels in front of you, the mattress creaking behind him as his hands wrap around your legs. “Please, look at me. Please.”

Your head suddenly feels heavy. You let it hang. His voice comes through like it’s underwater. You can only think about what they must’ve said to make James react how he did.

“I just… I couldn’t let him say those things. Not about you. Not about—us. I love you so fucking much.”

Your breathing evens, but it isn’t calm. It’s empty. The word sticks in your mind like a splinter. You had spent countless years -with the help of James- to accept yourself for everything you are, to undo all the things that were once engraved into your consciousness.

And then he said your name. Again.

“Y/N.” He whispered, the desperation he tried to conceal was evident in his voice.

“I couldn’t let him speak about you like that,” James finally muttered, his voice low and strained. “Please believe me. I couldn’t let him talk about you the way he did. He was calling you a whore and kept talking about how I deserve better and shouldn’t be with someone like you.” He rambled without realizing what he was saying.

Someone. Like. You.

The words reverberated violently in your head.

“Why are you telling me…?” Your voice full of hurt, you knew James wasn’t capable of any malicious intentions but you thought it was cruel to go deeper into what they exactly said. You knew, logically, that he was probably trying to justify his actions—to make you understand why he did what he did, but he didn’t realize he was only creating new wounds.

Regardless of his intent, the color in your face started to drain. You didn’t need him to say who. You knew. You had heard countless whispers over the years. Teasing. Cruelness dressed as pathetic attempts at jokes. You weren’t born into Sector 45, and the other civilians were quick to remind you of it. They never fully approved of a high-ranking officer involving himself with someone from another sector much less someone from the Restablishment—someone like you. James, however, brushed off their judgment without hesitation. After all, his older brother—the Supreme Commander and Regent of Sector 45—had already shattered every unspoken rule by marrying the girl locked away in the asylum, the same girl who killed their father with just a single touch (and a few bullets).

To him, the whispers and sidelong glances meant nothing. James Kent Anderson never wavered; certainty had been his constant since childhood. Raised under the watchful eyes of Aaron Warner and Juliette Ferrars—leaders of Sector 45 and the center of a world trying to rebuild—James grew up seeing a love that was clear and undeniable. Aaron loved Juliette with complete focus, every action proving she was his priority. He protected her, listened to her, and followed her lead without hesitation, and James absorbed that example. It taught him that loyalty wasn’t just about words—it was about standing by the people you chose, no matter the cost. That was the love and devotion he carried forward as his own.

And yet, his love was for her—the girl who had once been deemed property by the Reestablishment, born from the very system he had been raised to resist. She was a reminder of everything dangerous, everything he had been warned against, but also everything he couldn’t look away from. His devotion to her was tangled with the legacy Warner and Juliette had given him: a belief that people aren’t defined by their upbringing, and that love could rise even from the ruins of an enemy past.

He loved her with the same quiet certainty that shaped everything he did—direct, unwavering, and free of any need for display. He embraced every part of her without hesitation, because that was his nature: steadfast, loyal, and untouched by the world’s opinions.

He didn’t hesitate to defend the woman he loved. It was instinctive—woven into his very nature, coded into his DNA, and ingrained in him from the start.

"I told myself I wouldn’t get involved," he said, fists trembling as he stared at the floor. He could still see you in those cold Reestablishment cells, trapped behind glass, merely a weapon for them. "But then I saw him today. He said your name—said you’ll never be anything more than the girl from the Reestablishment, that you’d never be normal after them."

His jaw tightened as a flash of memory hit you—the way your eyes filled with tears when soldiers from Sector 45 walked by, the way you hugged yourself like you were trying to stay whole. "He laughed, told people you’d always belong to them. I couldn’t just stand there. I had to shut him up—because you’re so much more than that. You’re everything to me."

Your heart pounded in her chest, each beat echoing the pain that threatened to consume you. It felt as if all the air in your lungs dissipated. You felt the walls closing in, the familiar sensation of shutting down creeping over you like a shadow.

"Sweetheart, please," James pleaded, his voice trembling with desperation as he reached out, his hand lingering just above yours, aching to close the distance.

You had believed he could see beyond the shadows of your past. You thought your connection was strong enough to rise above where you came from, that he would recognize the person you had become—not the one you had been.

The weight of his words slams back into you before he even realizes what he’s said. Your chest tightens, a dull ache blooming beneath your ribs like a hidden bruise. Your fingers tremble at your sides, curling into fists you don’t notice until your nails cut into your palms. Then the memories creep in—sterile, bitter air that smelled of antiseptic and metal, the low electrical hum of fluorescent lights overhead. The Reestablishment was always cold, sharp, unyielding. His mouth falls open, and for a moment he looks like he’s choking on his own guilt. “Fuck, baby, no—I didn’t mean to—” he stammers, panic spilling over every word. The sound of his voice fades and instead pulls you back to the echo of boots in the hallways, the distant clang of iron doors, the muffled cries that bled into your dreams. And then one night. You remember being dragged into a freezing cell, the floor slick under your bare feet. You were instructed to shoot yourself in the abdomen and retrieve the bullet in exchange for extra rations or you’d face harsher punishment. You passed out from blood loss before you could even put your hand in the wound. The guards laughed as they locked your arms in the electric cuffs, the metal biting into your skin, sending sharp jolts through your bones. You’d begged—silently, because your voice had broken hours ago—for it to stop. Even now, your wrists burn phantom-hot with that memory.

You didn’t eat that week.

By morning, your body was failing—stitches tearing, muscles trembling—yet you returned to training without question, because pain was irrelevant and obedience was required.

They watched you, and made sure you knew—you weren’t a human. You were just a weapon—relentless, lethal, and designed to eliminate without hesitation. Every movement, every instinct, every breath served your purpose as an executioner.

“Just stop. Please.” The words leave you in a whisper, flat and exhausted. Your lips shake, and you clench your jaw to keep your face from breaking. For a heartbeat, you can feel that cold floor against your cheek again, you could almost feel the hollow stillness that swallowed you, leaving nothing but the echo of your own emptiness, you could hear the faint machinery pulsing in the walls, taste the metallic tang of fear mixed with your own blood on your tongue. He freezes, retreating, his face crumpling into despair. “I’m so sorry, angel. I didn’t mean to make you feel like—” He cuts himself off when he sees the anguish carved into your expression. Your entire body feels heavy, trembling under the weight of memory, and you can almost smell the chemical sting of what they injected into you. In his eyes, you see the moment he understands what it cost you to escape those walls, how hard you fought to reclaim yourself—and how a few careless words can rip open wounds that never fully heal.

You were originally sent to Sector 45 with one objective: assassinate Aaron Warner Anderson. The mission should’ve been routine—quick, controlled, over before anyone realized you’d ever been there. You had walked into Sector 45 far too confident in your own abilities, too certain no one would be fast enough to stop you once you reached him. But the second Warner realized what you were, the entire plan collapsed into violence.

You still remember the way he moved before you could pull the trigger, fast enough to knock the revolver sideways just as the shot went off. The deafening crack of gunfire echoing through the room. His hand locking around your wrist hard enough to make the bones grind together painfully before slamming you into the wall with enough force to rattle your skull. You remember driving a blade across his throat and watching blood spill between your fingers, only for him to keep fighting like it barely slowed him down. Then came the sickening snap in your arm after he twisted it behind your back hard enough to break it, pain exploding so violently through your body it left you stunned for half a second too long.

Half a second was all it took.

By the time James struck you across the back of the head, your vision was already swimming.

You don’t remember the days, weeks, or even months that followed, only the strange clarity that came when you finally woke up. For the first time in your life, your mind felt quiet in a way that was almost unbearable, like someone had finally reached inside your skull and torn away the constant static clouding every thought you’d ever had. And with that silence came emotions you had never truly experienced before—fear sharp enough to make your chest ache, anger that burned hot beneath your skin, grief so overwhelming it nearly drowned you in it. That was when you learned the truth: years ago, the Reestablishment had implanted a monitoring chip into your brain, stripping away anything they considered inconveniently human and molding you into something obedient enough to kill without hesitation.

Their weapon. Their “super soldier.”

But without the chip, you weren’t that thing anymore. You were human, a fact James insisted upon with such stubborn sincerity it unsettled you every single time he looked at you like there was still something worth saving beneath everything you’d done.

This is strong now. The emotional dynamic is clear, James feels in-character, and the rehab detail fits naturally. You mostly just need rhythm/polish fixes and one wording adjustment so the sentence flows more smoothly.

Right now:

* “through every, outburst” has a typo/comma issue

* “housing former Reestablishment survivors” is a little clunky/stiff compared to the emotional tone around it

* the second sentence could flow more naturally if the list escalates emotionally

I’d tweak it like this:

Part of you remained convinced his kindness had to be some kind of strategy, because after trying to kill both him and his brother, you couldn’t understand why James still reached for you so easily, why he visited you every single day while you recovered in one of the rehabilitation facilities filled with former Reestablishment survivors. He stayed beside you through every outburst, every setback, every nightmare and panic attack like leaving had never once crossed his mind. Warner had been slower to trust you again, but James had loved you with an almost frightening certainty from the very beginning, and some part of you still didn’t know what to do with that.

Or, if you want it even more emotionally immersive:

…while you recovered in one of the rehabilitation facilities meant for people the Reestablishment had spent years turning into weapons.

That version ties directly back into her identity crisis, which makes the paragraph feel more cohesive.

I also think this tiny adjustment hits harder:

“like leaving had never once occurred to him.”

instead of:

“like leaving had never once crossed his mind.”

It sounds a little more literary and emotionally intimate.

So my favorite polished version would probably be:

Part of you remained convinced his kindness had to be some kind of strategy, because after trying to kill both him and his brother, you couldn’t understand why James still encouraged your presence so easily, why he visited you every single day while you recovered in one of the rehabilitation facilities meant for people the Reestablishment had spent years turning into weapons. He stayed beside you through every outburst, every setback, every nightmare and panic attack like leaving had never once occurred to him. Warner had been slower to trust you again, but James had loved you with an almost frightening certainty from the very beginning, and some part of you still didn’t know what to do with that.

Kindness made far less sense to you than fear ever did.

If the cold, hollow shell of a girl you used to be could see you now, she would’ve put a bullet through her own skull without hesitation, and right now you almost wish she had. Death sounds almost merciful compared to this.

But the damage was done. The words had cut deeper than any physical wound, leaving scars that would take time to heal. You closed your eyes, trying to block out the world, to retreat into the safety of your own mind.

“Please, don’t shut me out,” James begged, his voice filled with desperation, cupping your face like a set of the sweet parentheses. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Please believe me, love.”

But you couldn’t respond—your voice trapped somewhere deep inside while panic clawed violently through your chest, your thoughts spiraling so fast they barely felt human anymore. Years of conditioning still lived inside your bones, and the moment fear became too overwhelming, old instincts immediately surged to the surface with frightening ease. Run. Fight. Break something before it could break you first.

Violence was still the only language your body truly understood, and you needed distance desperately, enough to force your trembling hands to stay still before you lashed out at someone standing too close—or worse, turned that destruction against yourself instead.

Each step away from his touch felt wrong in a way that made your skin ache, but staying near him felt even worse. Panic twisted violently in your ribs, sharp enough to make your entire body feel unstable, and you could already feel that older version of yourself clawing its way back to the surface, the one the Reestablishment had created, the one that survived by striking first and feeling nothing afterward. Every instinct in your body screamed at you to run before the fear turned into something uglier, something violent, because the thought of hurting James—even accidentally—felt infinitely more unbearable than whatever pain was currently tearing through you.

You didn’t trust yourself like this, not with your hands shaking hard enough to break something, not when retreating was still the only thing your body truly knew how to do when emotions became too overwhelming to survive.

Slowly, you pushed yourself to your feet, your legs unsteady beneath you as the panic still churned violently through your system. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, couldn’t bear the thought of seeing regret written across his face when you already felt like you were coming apart from the inside out. So instead, you turned and walked away before the fear twisting inside you could become something worse, leaving behind the fragile pieces of yourself you had spent the last year trying so desperately to put back together.

James’s face fell the second you turned away from him. His mouth parted slightly, like he wanted to say something—an apology, your name, anything that might stop you from leaving—but the words died before they ever reached his tongue. He already knew none of it would undo what had just happened.

All he could do was watch you walk away.

Slowly, his gaze dropped to his hands where blood had already begun drying stiffly against his skin, his split knuckles throbbing beneath the crimson mess coating them. But he barely noticed the pain anymore. Not when the only thing replaying in his head was the look on your face moments earlier, that horrible panic in your eyes like you were fighting against something inside yourself far more terrifying than the fight itself.

That was the part making him feel sick.

Not the bruises spreading across his ribs. Not the blood. Not even the fight.

It was the realization that you hadn’t pulled away because you were afraid of him. You pulled away because you were afraid of what you might become around him.

His stomach twisted violently as guilt crashed over him all at once. How had he not seen it sooner? How had he been so consumed by his own anger and needs for justification that he failed to notice you were barely holding yourself together in the first place? He felt strangely numb to all of it. The pain barely registered anymore beneath the guilt twisting violently through his chest.

God. He felt like a fucking idiot.

His eyes drifted toward the room you shared and suddenly every familiar detail felt impossible to look at. The unmade bed. Your sweatshirt abandoned over the chair in the corner. The mirror near the dresser where you constantly pretended not to stare at each other whenever the other walked past. And beside the bed, resting crookedly on his dresser exactly where you had left it, sat the book that immediately dragged him back to the memory of you.

He reached for the book on the dresser, the one you found hidden away inside that abandoned library from the old world miles beyond Sector 45. He had heard whispers for months that the Reestablishment had somehow spared a single library, leaving it untouched amongst the ruins of everything else they destroyed, and the moment he learned it was real, he knew he had to take you there.

He remembered the two of you sneaking out together that same night, hearts pounding in unison as you slipped past the watchful eyes scattered throughout the base. Every few steps, your shoulder brushed against his in the dark, both of you struggling to suppress quiet laughter whenever the floor creaked too loudly beneath your feet. There had been something strangely exhilarating about it, like for a few stolen hours neither of you were soldiers or survivors or people still trying to recover from everything the world had turned you into.

Then, through the dust and shadows, you found it tucked between collapsing shelves—a forgotten book with delicate yellowing pages and a faded cover cracked carefully down the spine. You sat cross-legged on the floor beside him afterward, turning each page together like the rest of the world had stopped existing around you.

Later, when influenza left him feverish and exhausted for nearly a week, you spent hours beside his bed reading the novel aloud beneath the dim light spilling from the lamp near the window. Your voice softened around the words, constantly shifting as you gave every character an overly dramatic accent that kept making him laugh no matter how awful he felt. You rolled your eyes whenever he interrupted you, pretending to be irritated even while fighting back your own smile.

Looking back now, he realized those nights had never really been about the book.

It had been about you sitting beside him long after exhaustion started pulling at your own body, about the quiet comfort of your voice filling the room while the rest of the world still felt harsh and uncertain. About the way you kept trying to create small moments of softness in a life that had given you almost none.

Even after everything the Reestablishment had done to you, after all the violence carved into your bones, you still chose tenderness whenever you could.

In those fleeting moments, with your eyes shimmering beneath the dim light and your laughter curling softly through the quiet air, it felt as though the rest of the world had fallen away entirely, leaving only the two of you behind. James watched in quiet fascination as warmth slowly returned to your expression, softening the coldness that had once seemed permanently etched into you. The sight of your smile—soft, genuine, alive in a way it had never been before—felt almost unbearable to look at sometimes, like he was finally being allowed to glimpse a soul he had spent so long yearning to know.

Now, the memory felt like a weight pressing down on his chest, heavy with everything he felt he had lost.

His fingers drifted across the cover, lingering over the raised title, just as they once lingered on your back, mapping the constellation of little freckles and moles he adored. When he opened the book, the words blurred. In their place, he saw you—both of you entwined in nights of whispered promises, stolen kisses, and the quiet reverence in every touch of gentle intimacy.

Then he closed the book, his chest tightening painfully as the memories crashed into him all over again. This was what it had come to. Bruised knuckles. Blood drying stiffly against his skin. A room that still smelled faintly like you, and the crushing realization that none of the pain tearing through him came close to what he had just put you through. The sting of his words. The way his anger had shoved you back toward the violent instincts you spent the last year trying so desperately to outrun. The horrifying possibility of losing you to the darkness inside your own mind all over again.

Frustration surged through him so suddenly he couldn’t contain it. With a sharp movement, he slammed the book back onto the dresser hard enough to make the wood rattle violently against the wall.

Then, a barely audible sob drifted from the bathroom, fragile enough to almost be swallowed by the silence surrounding him, and James’s chest twisted instantly at the sound because he knew it was you.

A wave of dread twisted through his stomach, cold enough to leave him frozen in place. That tiny, fractured sob cut through him sharper than any blade ever could. His bruised hands curled instinctively into fists before he forced them open again, breath catching painfully in his throat. He couldn’t leave you alone like this. Not when he was the reason you were hurting in the first place.

Before he could even gather a coherent thought, he was already at the bathroom door.

“Oh God, baby, please don’t cry. Oh, fuck, honey.” His voice cracked around the words, thick with a kind of helpless anguish that made it sound like he was physically hurting at the thought of you crying alone on the other side of the door. He pressed his forehead against the cool wood of the bathroom door, eyes squeezing shut as the helplessness crashed over him all at once, leaving his voice rough and trembling when he spoke again.

“Y/N… angel, please, open the door.”

A shaky breath escaped him as he dragged a trembling hand through his tangled hair, desperation bleeding into every frantic movement. “I need to see your face,” he whispered roughly. “I need to know you’re okay. Please, baby.”

Silence.

It was heavier than any scream.

His legs gave out beneath him, and he slid slowly down the doorframe until he hit the floor, folding into himself with his knees pulled tightly against his chest. The silence felt suffocating now. His fingers drifted absently across the dried blood cracking against his knuckles, flaking it away piece by piece—each crimson fragment—like he was punishing himself with the physical remains of what he’d done.

“I should’ve walked away,” he muttered thickly. “I should’ve just…” His voice broke off into a shaky breath. “God, I don’t even know.”

“But hearing him say those things about you…” His voice cracked painfully, the words scraping out of him unevenly. “I just—I love you so much, angel. You know that, right? I would never hurt you. Never.” He swallowed hard before continuing, quieter this time. “You’re such a compassionate person, and it destroys me that people only ever see the parts of you the Reestablishment created.” His breath shook unevenly as he pressed the back of his head harder against the door. “Because you’re one of the kindest people I know, and after everything they did to you, I think that makes you more incredible than anyone else in this world.”

A quiet, trembling sniffle from inside slices through his spiraling thoughts like a knife, and James straightens immediately, pulse lurching painfully in his chest.

“H-hey, love—hey, listen to me,” he says quickly, pressing his palm flat against the cool wood of the door like he could somehow reach through it to you.

On the other side, you only curl further into yourself on the bathroom floor, knees pulled tightly against your chest as tears slip hot and relentless down your face. Your breathing breaks apart into uneven little hiccups behind trembling hands.

“You’re not what they say. Do you hear me? Not even fucking close,” he pleads, his voice shaking badly now. “You’re the person I love most in this world, and it’s killing me knowing I’m the reason you’re crying right now.”

His voice softened then, turning painfully tender without losing any of its certainty, like this was the one thing in the world he knew without question.

“I swear to God, you have one of the most beautiful souls I’ve ever known, baby,” he whispers brokenly. “And I don’t think I could ever love another person the way I love you.”

Your fingers trembled faintly against your damp eyelashes, clinging desperately to his words like they were the only thing keeping you afloat. And for one brief, fragile moment, you let herself believe him.

The faint click of the lock barely stirs the quiet.

James’s chest tightened painfully the instant he caught sight of your red-rimmed eyes through the narrow crack in the door. Relief hit him first, sharp and overwhelming in its intensity—You’re here. You’re safe— But the feeling barely lasted before guilt came crashing violently back over him, heavier now that he could physically see the damage written across your face. The thought that he might’ve been the reason you were forced to relive all that pain again, that his anger and his actions had dragged you back toward those darker parts of yourself you fought so hard to escape, made something sick twist violently in his stomach.

He forced himself to move slowly, deliberately, fighting every instinct urging him to close the distance between you too quickly. He knew you needed space right now, knew one wrong movement might send you retreating back behind those walls all over again. So every step toward you felt careful and restrained, a quiet apology woven into each hesitant movement.

When he finally reached the narrow gap in the door, he leaned forward just slightly, leaving enough space for you to pull away if you wanted to. Your foreheads hovered only inches apart, separated by the smallest sliver of distance, and James found himself holding his breath as he looked at you, terrified that even something as small as breathing too hard might shatter the fragile moment between you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, the words fragile enough to sound like a prayer meant for only you.

His hands still ache faintly with the remnants of violence, but none of that matters now. Slowly, cautiously, he lifts them to your face, thumbs brushing gently beneath your eyes to wipe away the lingering tears still clinging to your skin. He presses a soft kiss to your forehead, then another against each damp cheek, tender and lingering like he’s trying to love every ounce of pain out of you.

James exhales shakily when you don’t pull away. Relief crashes through him so suddenly it almost hurts.

Carefully, he presses another kiss against the tip of your nose, hesitant enough to leave you every opportunity to stop him if you wanted to. But when you stay there beneath his touch, something inside him softens completely.

“There you are,” he murmurs quietly against your skin, bruised knuckles tracing delicately along the curve of your cheekbone. “There’s my perfect girl.”

He feels the tremor still moving through your body, the fragile tension lingering quietly between the two of you. But he doesn’t rush you. Doesn’t push. His hands move carefully against your skin, touching you with a kind of tenderness that makes your chest ache all over again, like he’s terrified of hurting something precious.

Because to him, you are.

You always have been.

“I love you so much it fucking terrifies me, James.”

The confession leaves you unevenly, your voice shaking hard enough that you have to stop for a moment just to breathe through it.

“I get so scared that one day you’ll realize I’m not as perfect as you think I am,” you whisper brokenly. “T-that one day you’ll look at me and agree with them.”

The last few words crack apart completely beneath the weight of a sob.

He feels the weight of your words settle heavily inside his chest, each fear clinging to him long after you’ve spoken it aloud. The thought that you could genuinely believe he might one day look at you and see something unworthy completely devastates him. His hands tighten gently around your face, grounding and certain as he tilts your chin upward until your tear-filled eyes meet his again.

James pulls you against him immediately, arms wrapping tightly around your shaking body like instinct alone is driving him now. He presses soft kisses against your hair, your temple, anywhere he can reach while murmuring quiet reassurances into your skin, holding you like he’s trying to keep every fractured piece of you together with nothing but love and sheer desperation.

Your eyes meet again, and James’s are glassy now, bright with tears he’s clearly trying not to let fall.

“I can’t imagine a single universe where I’d ever agree with those assholes,” he whispers fiercely, his voice rough with emotion. “And I swear to God, I’ll spend every day proving that to you if I have to. However long it takes for you to finally see yourself the way I do, sweetheart.”

His thumb brushes away another tear before it can slip down your cheek.

“I don’t think Aaron would approve of your word choices,” you whisper weakly, attempting a joke despite the broken sound of your voice.

A breath of startled laughter escapes him at that, soft and disbelieving and painfully relieved all at once.

The bathroom light spills softly across both of you, illuminating swollen eyes, tear-stained skin, bruised hands still trembling slightly from everything left unsaid between you. But for the first time all night, James lets himself believe maybe not everything between the two of you was broken beyond repair.

“I love you, James,” you whisper through soft, uneven hiccups, your voice barely louder than the quiet surrounding the two of you. The words hit him so hard it almost hurts. He thinks, distantly, that if speaking was all it took to make you sound like this again—soft and safe and loved—he would spend the rest of his life talking just to hear your laughter return.

“You’re my best friend.”

Gently, you slip your arms around his neck, finally letting yourself sink fully into the warmth of his embrace and the familiar comfort of him surrounding you.

James let out a shaky breath, his entire body softening the moment you finally melted against him. Relief crashed through him so intensely it almost left him weak. His arms wrapped instinctively around your waist, careful despite the sting of split knuckles, holding you close like he was terrified you might disappear if he loosened his grip even slightly.

“Best friend, huh?” he murmured softly against your hair, warmth threading back into his voice for the first time all night as he pressed a lingering kiss to the top of your head. “That what we’re calling it now?”

The familiar teasing note beneath his words earned something dangerously close to comfort again, and slowly he began swaying the two of you side to side beneath the dim bathroom light, gentle and absentminded, like somewhere deep down his body still remembered how to love you even after everything else had fallen apart.

He didn’t need to see your smile to feel it, warm and soft against his collarbone, and something painfully tender unfurled inside his chest at the sensation. This—having you here in his arms, hearing your quiet laughter again, feeling your body slowly relax against his—was all that had ever truly mattered. Not his anger. Not his pride. Not the blood drying across his knuckles. Just you, melting softly against him while your laughter stitched together the fractured pieces of him all over again.

“Hmm, maybe one day you’ll finally earn that promotion,” you teased softly, a quiet giggle slipping past the remnants of tears still clinging to your voice.

A warm silence settled around the two of you afterward, gentle and familiar, as you slowly melted deeper into each other’s embrace.

After a long moment, James finally pulled back just enough to tilt your chin upward with careful fingers. His thumb lingered softly against the curve of your bottom lip before he leaned forward again, resting his forehead against yours like he couldn’t bear even the smallest amount of distance between you. “I don’t regret defending you,” he whispered. “I just hate that it hurt you too.”

There was no teasing smile this time, no trace of the playful warmth that usually softened his features—only raw honesty shining openly in his greenish-blue eyes as he held your gaze without looking away. The look on his face was so painfully sincere it made your heart ache. In that moment, with your foreheads pressed together and his breath mingling softly with yours, James found himself wishing desperately that time would stop right there, that he could stay suspended in this fragile little space with you forever.

“I think seeing you cry took ten years off my life,” he whispered weakly, brushing his thumb beneath your eye again. “So maybe I need to start handling things differently.”

He murmured the words softly into your hair, breathing in the familiar scent of your shampoo, something faintly floral and unmistakably you. His fingers curled gently against the small of your back as he held you even closer. “I’m sorry for ever making you think, even for a second, that you’re anything less than perfect.”

You tilted your head up just enough to press a careful kiss against his jaw, avoiding the dark bruise beginning to bloom beneath his skin, and James felt something tight and fragile inside him finally begin to loosen at the touch. It felt like a promise spoken without words, quiet and delicate and desperately hopeful, that somehow the two of you would find your way through this together.

“I don’t need you fighting my battles for me,” you said softly, fingertips tracing absentminded patterns against his shoulders. “But… thank you.”

A small silence settled between you before you added more quietly, the faintest hint of teasing warmth slipping back into your voice.

“Even if you do look like actual hell right now.”

James let out a surprised laugh, the sound rough around the edges as a grin pulled across his face despite the ache still throbbing through his ribs. One bruised hand lifted dramatically to his chest in mock offense.

“You know this is secretly doing something for you,” he teased, pulling back just enough to flash you that stupidly smug smirk you adored so much, eyebrows lifting suggestively as warmth finally crept back into his expression again.

And there it was.

That familiar look that never failed to pull laughter from you no matter how hard you tried to fight it.

The sound alone made something bright bloom inside his chest.

Before you could even think of a response, James leaned down and kissed you properly this time, slow and lingering and impossibly tender, like he was trying to pour every apology, every ounce of love, every unspoken thought he couldn’t fully articulate into the touch instead. It tasted faintly of relief and exhaustion and something desperately affectionate that made your chest ache.

When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours again, unwilling to put even an inch of distance between you.

“I would literally give up everything just to be near you,” he whispered softly, still smiling a little as he looked at you. “You know that, right?”

And God, hearing you laugh again felt worth every painful second of today.

“I can’t decide if that was genuinely romantic or just painfully cheesy.”

The snort that accidentally escaped you immediately ruined any attempt at keeping a straight face. Your eyes widened in horror as your hand flew up to cover your mouth, muffling the rest of the laugh before it could fully escape.

For a second, James could only stare at you.

Then his own eyes widened slightly, like he physically couldn’t believe you were laughing right now after everything that had happened.

And just like that, the grin he’d been unsuccessfully trying to suppress completely took over his face.

“Don’t say a single fucking word, James Kent Anderson.”

Despite the clear embarrassment burning across your face, another laugh threatened to slip out, your cheeks flushing a deeper shade of pink as you quickly covered your mouth again.

James looked absolutely delighted by this.

“Wipe that smirk off your face, Anderson,” you warned, trying your hardest to glare at him through the embarrassment now written all over your face. “Before I do it for you.”

You even narrowed your eyes a little, attempting to look intimidating.

Unfortunately, the effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that James was still towering over you, looking far too amused to take the threat seriously for even a second.

And the moment you realized your intimidation tactic had completely failed, you resorted to the one thing that almost always worked against him instead: a small pout pulling at your lips as you stared up at him through lingering embarrassment.

Something unbearably fond flickered across his face as he looked at you, like the sight of you standing there flushed and pouting after everything that had happened tonight had somehow become one of his favorite things in the world.

Tilting his head slightly to the side, James let out a soft, amused laugh, that effortless smile settling back across his face again like it belonged there.

“Oh, angel,” he murmured fondly, both hands rising to cup your flushed cheeks. His thumbs brushed softly beneath your eyes as he looked down at you with barely concealed affection. “Hate to break it to you, baby, but I think you’d have a better shot at intimidating an actual bird with that glare.”

James leaned in slowly until your noses brushed, his breath warm against your lips as his hands settled more securely against your face.

“But I do think it’s cute when you try to act scary,” he murmured softly, the teasing smirk on his lips fading into something far more tender as he looked at you. “Makes it a little harder to believe you tried to kill me and my brother.”

Then, before you could even think of a response, he pressed a quick kiss against the tip of your nose, smiling faintly when your entire expression immediately betrayed your embarrassment.

You let out an offended little huff, crossing your arms over your chest despite the smile already threatening to betray you.

“Oh my God, you are never letting that go, are you?” you muttered, trying to glare at him again even as your lips twitched upward. “I said I was sorry.”

“Oh, angel, that story is way too good for me to ever stop using it,” James teased softly, gently tugging one of your wrists until your arms unfolded so he could slip his hands back around your waist. He swayed you slightly where you stood together, that familiar playful warmth finally returning to his eyes now that you weren’t crying anymore. “Most romantic meeting ever,” he added with a grin, “I mean, seriously. You tried to kill me, and somehow I still ended up completely in love with you. That has to mean something.”

You let out a dramatic sigh but melted into his arms anyway, your fingers instinctively curling into the fabric of his shirt near his hips as he pulled you closer.

“Your standards are seriously concerning,” you muttered after a beat, trying to sound unimpressed despite the smile you couldn’t quite hide. “Most people would probably draw the line at attempted murder.”

“Yeah,” James murmured warmly into the top of your hair as you tucked yourself beneath his chin with practiced familiarity, fitting against him so naturally it almost felt like second nature at this point despite the ridiculous difference in your heights. His arms tightened subtly around your waist, like holding you close had become instinct.

“I think I’m always gonna be a little obsessed with you though,” he admitted quietly, the smile in his voice impossible to miss. “Kinda hopeless at this point, honestly.” All you could do was sigh softly against him, melting even further into his warmth.

You stood there for what felt like forever and somehow still not nearly long enough, simply breathing each other in while the afternoon sunlight spilled through the half-closed blinds in soft golden stripes across your skin. Wrapped together in the quiet aftermath of everything that had broken between you, it almost felt like the two of you were slowly finding your way back to one another again, piece by fragile piece.

Somewhere beyond those four walls, the rest of the world was still waiting for you both with all its noise and cruelty and unfinished conversations. But here, wrapped in each other’s arms beneath fading afternoon light, none of it felt quite so unbearable.

He presses one final kiss against your lips, slow and lingering, but the moment he starts to pull away, you instinctively follow after him, chasing the warmth of his mouth like the thought of losing it again physically hurts. The reaction draws the faintest smile from him, soft and impossibly affectionate as his hand slides gently along your waist to keep you close.

Around you, your room glows softly beneath the warm light spilling from the bedside lamp, long shadows stretching lazily across the walls while the faint scent of his cologne lingers in the air between slow breaths and lingering touches. Beyond the window, the distant hum of the city drifts quietly through the darkness, but tucked safely in his arms like this, the rest of the world suddenly feels very far away.

You sat comfortably tangled in his embrace, James’s arms wrapped securely around your waist as he kept you tucked close against his chest like he couldn’t bear the thought of letting go yet. Your breaths mingled in the small space between you, warm and uneven from lingering laughter, while your faces hovered only inches apart. Neither of you spoke for a moment. You just looked at each other, eyes locked in the kind of quiet conversation that somehow said everything words couldn’t quite manage.

His fingers moved absentmindedly along your back, tracing slow patterns through the fabric of your shirt like he was grounding himself in the simple reality of you being here with him. Alive. Safe. Still his.

Then, completely distracted by the way you were smiling at him, James stumbled clumsily against the edge of the bed when he tried to sit down.

A startled laugh burst from your chest instantly.

“Oh my God—” you squeal, grabbing onto his shoulders as he collapsed backward onto the mattress with you landing breathlessly in his lap.

“Okay, rude,” James muttered through his own laughter, tightening his arms around your waist before you could even think about moving away. The embarrassment barely lasted a second before the sound of your laugh hit him again, bright and impossible not to love.

And honestly?

It only made him want to hear it more.

Then his lips brushed yours again, gentle at first, soft and almost hesitant beneath the lingering emotion still tangled between you. But the kiss slowly deepened, growing warmer and more desperate in the quiet intimacy of the room, like neither of you could quite stand the thought of creating distance again after finally finding your way back to one another. Your hands slipped instinctively into his hair, fingers threading through the thick strands as his mouth moved against yours with growing affection, every kiss lingering just a little longer than the last.

Slowly, carefully, James shifted beneath you before smoothly guiding you backward onto the bed you shared together. The mattress dipped softly beneath your weight as he settled above you, still keeping most of his weight off your body like some part of him remained terrified of hurting you even now.

For a moment, his hands simply cradled your face.

His thumbs brushed softly across your cheeks before trailing slowly down your sides, warmth blooming beneath every lingering touch. When you finally looked back up at him, his expression had softened completely again, desire and tenderness tangled together so openly it made your chest ache.

But even now, he hesitated.

His forehead rested briefly against yours as his breathing slowed, eyes searching yours carefully in silent question, giving you every opportunity to stop him if you wanted to.

You answered with a small, breathless nod, your heartbeat racing so hard it felt impossible to ignore. The sight of it softened something in James immediately. A faint, reassuring smile touched his lips before he leaned down to kiss you again, deeper this time, full of warmth and quiet desperation that slowly melted away the last lingering traces of tension still clinging to your body.

A soft sound escaped you into the kiss, barely more than a shaky breath, but James reacted instantly, a quiet groan rumbling low in his chest as his forehead briefly pressed against yours like he was trying to steady himself. His hands continued to move carefully along your sides, every touch slow and deliberate, never taking more than you willingly gave him.

The warmth building between you felt intense now, but nothing about the moment felt rushed. The room still carried that same feeling of safety and trust wrapped around both of you, softening every lingering bruise left behind by the night.

James’s hand lingered cautiously near the edge of your shirt before he paused again, his breathing uneven as he searched your face carefully.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmured softly against your skin, voice rough with emotion more than anything else. “Let me show you how much you mean to me. Just wanna make you feel good, baby.”

James’s fingers trembled slightly as they traced slowly along the curve of your waist, his touch impossibly gentle despite the warmth burning beneath his skin. It didn’t matter how many times he’d held you like this, kissed you like this, memorized every inch of you beneath his hands. Somehow, every single time still felt just as overwhelming as the first.

He leaned down to kiss you again, softer now, slower, letting the moment linger between you instead of rushing through it. His lips moved against yours with quiet affection that made something bloom deep in your stomach, and when he finally pulled back, it was only far enough to look at you again.

His eyes had darkened completely beneath the low light, pupils blown wide with emotion and want, but there was still something unbearably tender in the way he looked at you, like even now he couldn’t quite believe you were real.

And when he finally spoke, his voice remained soft and steady despite the uneven rhythm of his breathing.

“You're my everything," he breathed against your lips before kissing and licking down the column of your throat with deliberate slowness, savoring every shuddering inhale you took beneath him. When he reached the delicate dip of your collarbone, his lips hovered just above your flushed skin as his gaze lifted back toward yours through dark lashes, that same careful hesitation returning despite the obvious desire still burning beneath it all.

Even now, after everything, he still looked at you like your comfort mattered more to him than anything else in the world.

His bruised knuckles brushed a stray curl gently back from your forehead before his hands found your face again, cradling it with such careful tenderness it almost made your chest ache. Like touching you still felt sacred to him somehow.

“Look at you,” he murmured roughly, thumb gliding slowly across the warmth in your cheek. “So perfect for me.”

The quiet praise sent another visible shiver through you which made you buck your hips into his pelvis, every soft touch and lingering kiss pulling reactions from your body he seemed completely captivated by.

A quiet, breathless laugh escaped him against your skin. “And so goddamn sensitive,” he whispered fondly before pressing another slow kiss beneath your jaw.

You arched into him instinctively with a soft, breathless sigh that sent warmth twisting low in James’s stomach, but even then he forced himself to slow down. Reluctantly, he pulled back just enough to press one final lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth, trying to steady the uneven rhythm of his breathing before he completely lost himself in you.

The quiet whine that escaped at the loss of contact nearly destroyed him. Your hips grinding against the air as they search for his.

James shut his eyes briefly, forehead falling against yours as his fingers played with the elastic band of your pants, something dangerously affectionate flickering through him at the sound. You looked so soft like this beneath him, warm and trusting and reaching for him without hesitation, and the realization hit him all over again with almost painful intensity.

His girl.

Always his.

A shaky exhale escaped him as he rested your foreheads together once more instead of giving in immediately like every fiber of his being begged him to do right then and there.

“I love you,” James whispered fiercely between slower, lingering kisses that gradually lost their earlier urgency without losing any of their intensity. Each touch of his lips against your skin felt impossibly deliberate now, like he was trying to pour every apology, every ounce of devotion, every unspoken promise into the quiet tenderness of each kiss until the rest of the world faded completely away.

Until there was nothing left except this.

You tangled together beneath soft golden lamplight, breathing each other in while his hands held you with aching reverence, the lingering hurt between you slowly dissolving into something gentler, something neither of you needed words to fully understand anymore. “I can feel how bad you want me. I already know your dripping, baby.”

James’s words softened into a low murmur despite the nature of them, against your skin, warm breath ghosting over your pulse point as he pressed slow, lingering kisses along the curve of your throat. All you can do is whimper and hope he takes pity on you.

“Love,” he breathed softly between kisses, his voice rough with emotion as his lips brushed against your skin. “You—” Another lingering kiss just beneath your ear. “—are so—” His teeth grazed lightly against the delicate shell before he soothed the spot his hot tongue. “Perfect.”

You arched into him again with a soft gasp, nails scraping lightly against his shoulders in response. “James…” You whined, clearly needing more than he was giving.

The sound sent heat spiraling through him like wildfire—but still, he held himself back, he loved having you like this. Begging, completely at his mercy.

Still, he paused to search your face for any flicker of hesitation.

Your answering gaze was steady despite its intensity; pupils blown wide beneath heavy lashes and flushed cheeks but brimming with unmistakable trust and desire as you whispered: "Please."

That was all the encouragement James needed before sealing your lips together again in a searing kiss that left you both breathless when you finally parted for air—foreheads touching as your ragged breaths mingled between them like shared secrets.

When you finally had enough you rolled your hips against his with a breathy moan. Your arms instinctively finding themselves against his cheeks. “Please James? I need you so bad…” You whispered into his mouth.

James groaned, his eyes fluttering shut at the sensation, a sound that might have been a curse or a prayer torn from somewhere deep within his chest. He tilted his head, nuzzling into your touch with a ragged exhale. "Sweetheart."

Every part of him ached to give in to your insistence, but he was holding on by a thread, desperate to make sure this was more than just physical desire. He knew it was, but he loved hearing it.

When he opened his eyes again, they were dark with an intensity that made his next words come out as a rough whisper: "Tell me you want this. Need this.” His hands toying with the hem of your shirt, his touch silently seeking permission.

James exhaled sharply when your fingers curled into his hair, pulling him down into another deep kiss that left you both breathless. His hands slid up your sides with agonizing slowness, the pads of his fingers memorizing every dip and curve through the thin fabric of your shirt. When he reached the hem, he purposely hesitated just long enough for you to arch into his touch with a pleading noise that went straight to his dick.

"Say it," he murmured against your lips, teeth catching briefly on your bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue. His voice was wrecked already—rough and desperate in a way that made you shiver beneath him. "Tell me what you want."

Your breath hitched as she tugged at his shirt, impatient now. "You." The single word was barely audible between kisses but carried the weight of everything you hadn't said earlier—all the fear and doubt burned away by something far more overwhelming.

That was all James needed before finally fully giving in—his movements sure but reverent as clothes were discarded somewhere on the ground. His hands cupped your tits as he let his tongue swirl over your nipples which evoked a soft moan.

He pumped his length a few times before lining himself up with her entrance he glances up at her one more time, “I love you, Honey.” Before slowly pushing in, his hands intertwined with your own as he peppered kisses around your face, whispering praises.

“So fucking good, you feel how streched you are? Taking me so fucking good.”

The noises that fell from your lips could only be described as angelic. He squeezes his eyes shut as he bottoms out, placing open-mouth kisses down your neck as he groans.

Your breath hitched, every inch of you feeling too warm and yet not enough because he's everywhere and nowhere at once—a maddening onslaught of every sensation you didn't know you craved until now. It feels like fire licking along your spine, igniting each nerve ending until your trembling with something between fear and ecstasy, your eyes fluttering shut because if you keep watching him watch his dick disappearing in your pussy like this then it'll be over far too soon and you don’t think you could bear losing the sensation of being so full that you can’t think of anything else just yet.

“Jesus Christ, James…” You gasp, high pitched and breathy as she squeezes around him which only invokes a guttural moan from James. His thrusts developing a steady rhythm that hits her sensitive spot each time.

“Don’t say another man’s name while I’m inside you,” James attempted to joke, but his own moan was abruptly silenced as you deliberately squeezed around him to stifle his words.

“Oh fuck, baby. You’re so evil, y’know that? Fuck you’re so perfect, i love you, i fucking love you…” His incoherent babbles only made you giggle with pure admiration.

“I love you, James.” A delectable moan escapes your lips as she whimpers his name, almost like a prayer you could recite from memory. He could have crumbled in that very moment if he hadn’t been making every effort to prolong this moment.

James buried his face in the crook of your neck, teeth grazing lightly over the pulse point fluttering beneath his lips as he began to move again—slow at first, achingly deliberate and teasing, each drag of his hips coaxing another broken sound from her lips.

"Look at me," he rasped between panting breaths, lifting his head just enough to catch your hazy gaze. His fingers tangled with yours against the sheets, pinning them gently above your head as he kissed you again—deep and filthy and utterly possessive. "Want you to see how fucking beautiful you are like this. So goddamn angelic." His words came out a growl which only made you let out an exasperated moan.

You keened beneath him when he shifted just so—his name tumbling from kiss-swollen lips in a way that had him groaning into the curve of your shoulder. His pace faltered for just a second as pleasure coiled tight in his gut, muscles trembling with restraint while whispered praises spilled unbidden between gasps:

*"So good for me... taking me so well..."* He cooed, his free hand tracing down the arch of your side before gripping your hip hard enough to bruise—anchoring himself against the overwhelming need to lose control entirely.

Heat pooled low in your stomach with every snap of James' hips, every press of your intertwined fingers against tangled sheets. “Fuck, you feel so amazing, angel. I love you so fucking much.” He groaned, his hot breath fanning against your ear. The air between you was thick with shared breath and murmured devotion until you were teetering on that delicious edge—clinging desperately even as James refused to let up for even a second now that he could feel you were close.

"Please," you begged shamelessly when he slowed again, thighs quivering around his waist in silent protest even as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes from sheer need already singing through every nerve ending alight beneath skin flushed pink from the sensations he was drawing out of you. Your hips bucking to meet his thrusts, your desperation more evident with each second.

“Oh fuck, James, i’m so close, please, please baby, please, i love you, please.” She chanted between desperate pleas. James could’ve died right there and then simply from just the sensation of her squeezing him, he could feel how close she was.

Your entire body thrashes, tightens, stills, and melts simultaneously. You don't know which sensation to run with, so you settle for disintegrating as you become unable to say anything other than his name.

James shuddered above you before finally giving in—chasing after his own release as well with rough thrusts that stole what little remained coherent thought between you until you were both tumbling over together amidst tangled limbs and half-finished declarations swallowed whole by desperate kisses instead.

His body collapses on top of yours, chest heaving, body shaking as you feel him throb and jerk inside of you. "Fuuuuuuck."

He make a tortured sound, grasping at your hips hardly able to breathe as they come in quick gasps. The pleasure is white-hot; all-encompassing. He can’t think around it. He can hardly even see straight.

James exhaled shakily, his forehead dropping to rest against hers as they both came down from their high, chests rising and falling in tandem. The air between them was heavy with the scent of sweat and sex, but neither minded—not when they could simply lie tangled together like this, tracing lazy patterns over heated skin while their heartbeats gradually slowed.

James’s breaths came in ragged gasps as he slowly recovered, his grip loosening around your wrists to gently stroke over the soft skin where he left marks in the heat of the moment. His eyes roamed over you almost reverently, taking in the sight of your flushed cheeks and tangled hair, a sight he was only ever allowed to see. A sight he'd never get tired of.

"You're so goddamned beautiful," he murmured hoarsely, pressing kisses over your face in between words as he began to sit up. "I’m so lucky, baby. And it’s all mine. Mine." You softly giggled at his words before melting further into him.

His thumb brushed along your cheekbone, catching a stray tear that had escaped during your intense climax before pressing a kiss there—so tender it made something deep in your chest ache.

"You okay?" he murmured against your temple, voice roughened from overuse but impossibly gentle all the same.

You nodded with a breathy laugh, fingers carding through the damp strands of his hair where it clung to his forehead before you pulled him down into another slow kiss—languid now where moments ago they'd been frantic.

"More than okay," you whispered against his lips before letting out a contented sigh as James shifted slightly to gather you closer against him despite the sticky heat between you, neither had yet bothered to clean up—content just to linger like this for now because nothing else mattered beyond these four walls while you were wrapped up in each other’s arms once more.

Until eventually, James let out a quiet chuckle: "Think we might need a shower," he mused aloud, despite making absolutely zero effort to move anytime soon. Not when you were tucked so perfectly beneath his chin again like you’ve always belonged there, because you did belong there—always had; always would, no matter what else happened outside this room tomorrow or next week or ten years from now. You would always be his girl.

“James Anderson,” you playfully gasped, the fatigue in your voice evident despite your teasing tone, “Are you suggesting another round?” you raised a single eyebrow in the way you knew would make him laugh. The sight was beyond ridiculous but equally adorable; how could he not laugh?

James let out a deep, rumbling laugh that vibrated against your bare skin. "Me? Suggesting such lewd behavior?" He clicked his mouth disapprovingly, the grin on his face betraying him entirely. "Y/N, I am betrayed—appalled, even—that you'd imply I have anything less than pure intentions."

He punctuated the lie by nipping playfully at your collarbone before wrapping both arms around your waist and rolling you over in one smooth motion—pinning you beneath him with a mischievous glint in his still-dark eyes. His fingers traced idle patterns delicately along your ribs, delighting in the way you squirmed beneath his touch even now, oversensitive and breathless.

You swatted at his chest half-heartedly but didn’t deny it—which only made James preen even more as he kissed the top of your head triumphantly. "Admit it," he coaxed in a sing-song voice that made you groan in mock exasperation. "I’m incredible. So is my dick-" You kick him in the leg to shut him up, which only makes you both laugh.

Rolling your eyes but unable to suppress another smile as you settled more comfortably against him like some kind of human blanket: "*Fine.* You’re... tolerable." You yawned mid-sentence, which ruined any attempt at playing aloof as James burst into laughter again—his chest rumbling beneath where you laid tangled up in him while golden lamplight painted you both drowsy and content amid rumpled sheets.

"I mean," he continued loftily, dipping his head to brush his lips along the shell of your ear before dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "Hypothetically, if we did shower, we might get distracted." Another kiss pressed to the pulse point below your jaw. "And if we got distracted..." His teeth scraped lightly over the same spot before soothing it with his tongue. "Hypothetically, someone might end up pressed against the tiles while another someone reminds them exactly who they belong to."

You instinctively shivered despite yourself—partly from exhaustion and partly from how easily he could stoke that ember of want back into flame even now—before mustering up an exasperated eye roll. "You're ridiculous," you muttered as you shoved half-heartedly at his shoulders, though you made no real effort to escape when James merely chuckled and nuzzled into your neck seeking affection instead of bloodshed for once.

"And yet," he hummed victoriously when you inevitably melted against him again with another huff of laughter despite yourself—always powerless against this softer side of him reserved solely for moments like these—“You love me anyway.”

“Sigh, I guess I do.” You sighs against his skin, letting your hand rest upon his chest.

“What was that?” James chuckles as if he can’t believe what he just heard, unable to suppress the wide, boyish grin on his face. “Did you just say ‘sigh’ out loud?” His smile is evident in his voice. His affection for you deepening with each word, as he softly murmured, “God, I love you, baby.” He paused for a moment, as if contemplating his next words, “You’re almost as funny as me.” His laughter subsided as he tenderly kissed your forehead. “Maybe one day, love.” He whispered teasingly.

“Soooooo how about that shower?” He grins playfully, brushing a loose strand of her hair out of your face.