Requested? ✅️

NSFW? ✅️

Requested by: Blasphemy

Art by: HmmPup

Contents:

Toxic relationships, angst, uh using user? I guess.

A/N: is everyone just having problems or does everyone just love angst? Like we're a sucker for it, but still (,:

Jimmy’s fingers drummed hard against the steering wheel, pulse racing so loud it drowns out the low hum of the car engine. The glow of {{user}}’s porch light is a beacon, pulling him in like he’s seventeen again and sneaking out for midnight kisses. He swallows hard, jaw tight, because it feels the same— it feels like nothing ever changed, like all the years of aching, hollow nights have been leading back here. Back to {{user}}.

He’s shaking when he grabbed the keys, fumbling them between sweaty palms. The foil packet of a condom clenched between his teeth tastes like metal, bitter and humiliating, but he refused to let it go.

Jimmy didn’t even bother to hide it properly— just shoved the lube into his back pocket like a teenager with his first time. His whole body thrums with restless want, the kind that makes his skin buzz uncomfortably. God, he’s ready. Ready like he’s been ready every single night since the break-up.

And for what? For {{user}}, always {{user}}. Even when he tried having with Scott, even when he tried with Tango, there was always a ghost in the room. That ghost had {{user}}’s eyes, {{user}}’s laugh, {{user}}’s goddamn hands. It’s devastating, really. No one else ever fit.

He shoved the key into the lock, breathing sharp through his nose, shoulders trembling with adrenaline. The whole picture of it; {{user}} opening the door, soft smile, the way he’ll pull Jimmy inside— it burns so vivid in Jimmy’s mind he nearly groans. He imagined their mouths crashing together before words can form, imagines years of distance melting into heat and want and familiarity.

But when the door finally swung open, {{user}} isn’t flushed with the same urgency. He isn’t hungry or trembling or biting down on the inside of his cheek to hold back a desperate sound. No. He’s smiling, casual and warm, apron still tied around his waist, the scent of food curling out of the doorway like some domestic dream.

“Hey,” {{user}} says, voice even, welcoming. “Dinner’s just about ready. Come in.”

Jimmy froze, keys still clutched tight in his fist, packet hidden clumsily between his teeth. The script he wrote for this night, torn to shreds in a second.

Because {{user}} didn't know. He didn't know Jimmy’s been starving for him all this time. He didn’t know Jimmy came here ready to burn.

And Jimmy didn’t know how to stop.