(by thechaoticgays on tumblr)
The words leave her lips in the middle of an argument. It makes the entire conversation stop, and the two of you stare at each other for a moment to process what she just said.
I love you, you idiot, she screamed. That's why I'm so protective of you.
One breath.
Two breaths.
You're crossing the living room floor before she can blink. Your hands find themselves in her air, down her neck, and over her chest. Your unzipping her jacket and tossing it off somewhere - she isn't sure where but she doesn't really care right now. You beg her to say it again, but her mind goes fuzzy the second your lips are on her skin.
You nibble at every free spot you can. You were never the type to leave marks before, but Yelena finds herself okay with it right now. She loves the idea that everyone will know she is yours.
Say it, baby, please say it again.
You're on your knees and yanking her shorts down to her ankles. She's a mess, and you love the way her arousal smells. It's filthy of you to admit, and you don't really care. The second you taste how sweet she is, nothing else matters.
She braces her hand against the wall as she throws her head back. Your hands grip at her thighs - she's practically got her legs wrapped around your neck - and she's trembling in your hold. Every whimper that escapes her lips makes the fire in your belly burn more. You want nothing more than to turn her into a mess and make her beg for a release.
But you won't let her. Not until you hear those words again.
When you look up at her, eyelids heavy with lust, half-drunk on her love, you ask her to say it again or you'll walk away. She pouts, but she knows you'll go through with it. You never were one for empty threats.
"I love you," she finally repeats. "I love you so much, Y/n."
