📌 This is a work of fiction written by me. Reposts, copying or translations without credit is not allowed. Please be kind — creators deserve respect. 💌
— 🔞 Contains suggestive content and mature themes.
All interactions are consensual and written for entertainment purposes only. Read responsibly.
---
The air was thick with motor oil, pine, and that unmistakable scent that was just Jacob — earthy, warm, intoxicating. You sat perched on his beat-up workbench, legs swinging, the hem of your shorts riding up just a little higher each time he glanced your way.
He was leaning under the hood of his rebuilt Rabbit, shirtless, his bronze skin glowing under the harsh fluorescent lights. Muscles flexed with every twist of his wrench, sweat trailing down the line of his spine as he worked.
“You keep staring like that, and I’m gonna start charging you,” he said without looking up.
You smirked. “Charging for what? The show?”
He finally glanced over his shoulder, a crooked grin spreading across his face — cocky, wild, dangerous. “Damn right,” he said, wiping his hands on a rag before tossing it aside. “Premium view. I should at least get a tip.”
You tilted your head, letting your eyes roam slowly over his body — the tight line of his abs, the tattoo on his arm, the unmistakable heat in his gaze.
“I thought you liked me watching,” you teased.
Jacob stepped closer, every movement smooth and predatory, like a wolf circling prey — except you weren’t scared. You were aching.
“I do,” he said, voice lower now, rougher. “I like it a lot.”
His hands found your thighs, large and hot against your skin as he stepped between your legs. The energy shifted — electric, magnetic. You felt it hum through you, pooling low in your stomach.
“You always wear these little shorts when you come over,” he murmured, his fingers sliding just under the hem, knuckles grazing the inside of your thigh. “Is that for me?”
“Maybe,” you breathed, trying not to squirm under his touch. “And if it is?”
His grin deepened. “Then I guess I owe you a thank you.”
He leaned in, his lips brushing your neck — not quite kissing, just hovering — warm breath ghosting over your skin. His nose trailed up to your ear, and you felt the soft press of his teeth against your lobe.
“Thank you,” he whispered, low and sinful.
You couldn’t stop the soft gasp that left your lips. One of his hands moved to your lower back, pulling you forward, flush against him. You could feel everything — the heat of his skin, the unmistakable tension between your bodies, the raw desire that radiated from him like a furnace.
“Jake,” you said, your voice shaky now, but your fingers had already found his waist, sliding around to his back.
“I’ve been trying to be good,” he growled, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the side of your neck. “Trying to take my time. But you make it so hard, baby.”
Your hands traveled up his back, nails lightly scraping his shoulder blades. “Maybe I don’t want you to be good.”
Jacob froze for half a second. Then — gone. The leash snapped. He crashed his lips into yours, hot and hungry, devouring your breath like he couldn’t get enough. His hands were everywhere — your waist, your hips, sliding beneath your shirt, skin to skin.
You moaned into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound greedily, pressing you back onto the workbench. The tools clattered, forgotten. All you could feel was him — the fire, the weight, the need.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, pupils blown wide, lips swollen. “You sure?” he asked, voice rough, almost shaking. “Because if we do this…”
He didn't finish the sentence, but the promise in his eyes said enough.
You bit your bottom lip, fingers tugging him closer by his belt loops. “I’m not scared. I trust you.”
Jacob smirked. “Good.”
He kissed you again — deeper this time, slower — and when he spoke next, his voice was nothing but a rumble in your ear.
“Because tonight, baby… don’t pretend you didn’t come here hoping I’d ruin you.”
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📌 This is a work of fiction written by me. Reposts, copying or translations without credit is not allowed. Please be kind — creators deserve respect. 💌
— Warnings: None
The house was quiet—unusually so. After a long night of music, laughter, and the chaotic mess that came with Topper’s version of a "small get-together," the silence wrapped around you like a heavy blanket.
Rafe’s room was dimly lit, only the lamp by the bedside flickering softly as it cast golden shadows over the walls. You sat cross-legged on the edge of his bed, wearing one of his hoodies that hung loosely on your frame. It still smelled like him—clean laundry, salt air, and a hint of cologne that lingered from earlier in the night.
He walked in quietly, shutting the door behind him like he didn’t want to disturb the stillness. For once, he looked… peaceful. No loud words. No bravado. Just soft eyes and a tired smile as he dropped his phone on the nightstand and made his way over to you.
“You good?” he asked, voice low and a little rough.
You nodded, reaching out to brush your fingers along his wrist as he sat beside you. “Tired. But yeah.”
He leaned back, one arm slinging around your waist and pulling you into him until your head rested against his chest. His heartbeat thudded steadily beneath your ear. Strong. Safe.
“I like when you wear my clothes,” he murmured, pressing a kiss into your hairline. “Looks better on you.”
You laughed softly, fingers curling into the hem of the hoodie. “I’ll keep it forever then.”
“Good,” he said, like it settled something deep in him.
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was the kind you sink into. The kind you only get with someone you feel safe around. His hand stroked your back in slow, absentminded circles, like he needed to remind himself you were really there.
After a while, you lifted your head to look at him. “What?”
He was already staring at you.
“Just thinking,” he said.
“About?”
He hesitated, lips twitching like he wasn’t sure how to say it.
“I don’t know,” he started, then tried again. “You just… you make everything quieter. Not boring,” he added quickly, “just… calm. Like I can breathe better when you’re here.”
You blinked, caught off guard by how sincere his voice sounded.
“Rafe…”
“I know I fuck up sometimes,” he said, not letting you stop him. “A lot. I know I get too loud or too angry or just too much. But with you, I feel like… I’m not that guy. At least not all the time.”
Your chest ached. He wasn’t asking for forgiveness. He wasn’t even asking for reassurance. He was just trying to be seen.
You reached up and cupped his face, thumb brushing over the edge of his jaw. “You’re not too much for me. You never were.”
His throat bobbed, and his eyes looked a little shinier than before. “You sure about that?”
You leaned in, pressed your lips gently to his—slow and soft and sweet.
“Positive,” you whispered.
Rafe rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin.
“You staying tonight?” he asked, almost shy.
“I always do,” you replied, a smile playing on your lips.
“Yeah, but I mean like—” He paused, searching for the right words. “Not just tonight. I want you here. Like… all the time.”
You looked up at him, heart flipping in your chest.
“I want to wake up and see you in my bed,” he continued. “I want to come home and find you stealing my hoodies and leaving your stuff everywhere and rolling your eyes at me when I say dumb shit.”
You laughed, because that sounded like the most him version of a love confession ever.
“Okay,” you said softly, fingers brushing his hair back. “Then I’m staying. As long as you’ll have me.”
His arms tightened around you, pulling you into his chest like he was never letting go again.
“Yours,” he whispered into your hair, voice a little shaky but full of meaning. “Always."
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“Hold You Like This”
—JJ Maybank x Reader
—Hurt/Comfort, Angst with Fluff
📌 This is a work of fiction written by me. Reposts, copying or translations without credit is not allowed. Please be kind — creators deserve respect. 💌
— Warnings: Mentions of parental abuse, visible bruises, emotional vulnerability, gentle physical care, soft language
The steam rose from the hot tub, curling through the cool night air like a whispered secret. Around us, the backyard was dark and quiet except for the soft hum of the jets. JJ sat there, water just below his shoulders, muscles tense beneath the surface, face shadowed in the dim glow of the patio lights.
I slipped in beside him without a word, letting the warmth wash over me. The silence between us wasn’t awkward; it was the kind that filled with everything unspoken but deeply understood.
JJ’s eyes were fixed somewhere beyond the edge of the tub, distant like he was looking for something he could barely name. After a long moment, his voice came out, low and rough.
“I bought this for them.” His hand traced the rim of the tub slowly, deliberately. “For my family. So they’d have something good. Something to come home to.”
I turned toward him, catching the way his jaw clenched tight, like he was holding back a storm. The bruises on his ribs peeked from beneath the water—deep purples and yellows, angry marks left by a fight that didn’t just hurt his body but seemed to weigh on his soul.
“You don’t have to do everything alone, JJ,” I said gently. “You’ve done so much already.”
He finally met my eyes, dark and stormy. “I’m tough,” he whispered. “I’ve gotta be.”
“I know you are,” I said softly, the words like a balm. “You don’t have to prove it to me.”
He shifted, the water rippling as he moved. “I can take care of myself.”
“You have,” I said. “But that’s not all. You don’t have to. Not with me here.”
JJ’s shoulders dropped just a little, like he was easing down after carrying a weight he didn’t realize he’d been holding. His voice cracked just slightly when he said, “I’m used to doing it alone.”
“And now you’re not,” I told him, reaching out to let my hand hover just above his bruised ribs, careful not to touch too hard, but close enough for him to feel the promise in the space between us. “We take care of each other now. You don’t have to carry it by yourself anymore.”
For a long moment, JJ said nothing. Then he finally let out a breath that sounded like surrender, or relief, or maybe just the exhaustion of fighting so hard all the time.
“I want to be better,” he admitted, voice low, “not just for them, but for me too. But some days, it feels like I’m drowning in all the shit I’ve been through.”
I leaned closer, meeting him fully. “You’re not drowning. Not when I’m here.”
JJ’s eyes flickered, vulnerability breaking through the tough exterior for just a heartbeat. “Why would you stay? Why would you care?”
“Because I see you,” I said simply. “Not just the tough, angry side you show the world. But the part you try to hide. The part that’s scared and tired and still wants to believe in something better.”
He looked at me then, really looked, like he was trying to memorize the shape of my face. “I don’t want to be a burden.”
“You’re not a burden,” I said firmly. “You’re someone I want to be with. Someone I want to stand beside, no matter what.”
JJ swallowed hard, the muscles in his jaw working. Then slowly, he reached out and took my hand, his fingers warm and steady in mine.
“I’ve always tried to protect the people I care about,” he said, voice rough with emotion. “Sometimes I’m scared I’m not strong enough.”
“You’re stronger than you think,” I assured him. “And you don’t have to do it alone anymore.”
The water rippled as JJ shifted closer, not with words but with a small, unspoken gesture. His hand found mine again, fingers tightening just enough to remind me he was still there—still holding on.
I reached out, wrapping my arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a quiet hug. His body was rigid at first, every muscle tense like he was waiting for the moment to break. But slowly, he leaned into me, resting his head lightly against mine.
“I don’t always know how to let people in,” he murmured, voice barely audible over the jets. “But... I’m trying.”
I pressed a soft kiss to the side of his head. “You don’t have to be perfect at it. Just let me be here.”
Gently, I ran my fingers over the bruises along his ribs—careful, tender. The marks were raw reminders of his father’s fists, but tonight, my touch was a small rebellion against the pain they represented.
“Let me help,” I whispered. “You don’t have to carry all this alone.”
JJ stayed still under my hands, breathing slowing as the warmth of the water and my touch started to ease the tightness in his body. For a moment, the weight he’d been holding so fiercely lifted—not vanished, but shared.
The night wrapped us both in its quiet hush. No promises were made, no grand declarations. Just two people, holding onto each other in the stillness, proving that sometimes strength comes from letting someone else carry part of the load.
And in that steaming glow, JJ didn’t have to be the only one holding up the weight anymore.
My hand lightly rested on JJ’s shoulder, steadying him in the warm water. After a moment, I slid my fingers beneath his arm and squeezed gently. “Let me help.”
He didn’t protest, but the way his muscles tensed told me he was already bracing himself for the pain.
I stood slowly, careful not to pull him too fast. “Ready?” I asked softly.
JJ nodded, but as he lifted himself out of the water, a sharp groan escaped him, low and guttural. His face twisted for just a second—the kind of pain that demands you pause and breathe.
I wrapped my arm around his waist, supporting his weight. “Take it slow. You don’t have to rush.”
He took a shaky breath, pressing his palm against his ribs as if trying to hold the bruises in place. I felt the heat from his skin, uneven and tender under my fingertips.
Together, we moved inch by inch, my hand sliding from his back to his side, careful not to touch the bruises until he was steady on his feet.
When he finally settled on the bench beside the tub, I reached for the healing balm. I warmed it between my palms, then pressed my fingers gently against his ribs where the bruises were darkest.
JJ flinched sharply, a small grunt breaking past his lips, and I stopped immediately, waiting for him to catch his breath.
“Sorry,” I whispered, but he shook his head, eyes clenched shut.
“No—keep going,” he said quietly. “Just… slow.”
I adjusted, pressing lighter, rubbing in slow, circular motions. The skin was tender, swollen beneath my touch, but the balm’s coolness seemed to soothe some of the heat beneath the surface.
JJ exhaled slowly, the tension in his body loosening just a fraction.
I stayed close, my hands gentle but steady. No need for words right then—just the quiet between us.
After a moment, JJ’s eyes found mine, tired but real.
He didn’t say much, just a quiet shake of his head, like he was trying to push something back down.
I gave his shoulder a squeeze. “You don’t have to keep it all inside.”
He swallowed hard but didn’t look away.
He gave a small, tired smile—the kind that’s both grateful and weary all at once. I kept my hands moving, slow and deliberate, tracing over every bruise and scratch, willing to take on some of his pain if only through touch.
When I finished, JJ shifted, his breath hitching as the soreness settled in again. I helped him lie back against the bench, wrapping a towel gently around his shoulders.
“Better?” I asked.
He nodded, though the ache hadn’t vanished. “Yeah. Thanks.”
For a moment, we just sat there—quiet, close, sharing something without words.
And in that stillness, I knew we’d both been holding up more than we thought. But right now, neither of us had to do it alone.
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