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alphabetboyluvr · 4 months ago

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LANDSLIDES - 002 | GUILTY AS SIN - JJK

part title credit: guilty as sin - taylor swift

these fatal fantasies giving way to laboured breath... they don't know how you've haunted me so stunningly... without ever touching his skin how can i be guilty as sin?

pairing: officeworker!jungkook x female reader (coworkers)

premise: jungkook asks you to dog sit over chuseok. he doesn’t ask you to steal the empty spaces in his head, the dreams he’s yet to have, nor the idea of you always just being ‘you’ to him - and yet, like a thief in the night (with his own damn dog as your accomplice), you do. (part one link)

warnings: slow burn (emphasis on slow, emphasis on burn), miscommunication, missed opportunities, missing jungkook, inappropriate mentions of masturbation between friends, frustration (sexually and emotionally!)

wordcount: 18K

note from holly: this was supposed to be a 30k chunk but the 1000 paragraph limit told me no </3 so instead, this is part 1 - part 2 will come tomorrow :)

minors dni // cross posted to wattpad

When Jungkook comes to stand by your desk, his freshly pressed suit unspoiled from his morning commute and with a coffee in either hand, you know he must be up to something.

"Let me guess," you hum. "You dipped your nib in the company ink again and need me to do damage control?"

It wouldn't be the first time, and the new secretary has been ogling him ever since she started just before the Chuseok break. You've joked about it a few times, but you really wouldn't put it past him.

Popping your coffee on your desk, Jungkook toys with his tie a little, smoothing it down. "Why do you always think so little of me, you little gremlin?"

His pouty whine would be believable if you didn't know him as well as you do. Glancing up from your screen, you're greeted with a smirk. Even he can't keep up his pretence of innocence. "You know exactly why."

"I'm a good boy," he promises. "Got you coffee and everything this morning!"

"Because you want something," you laugh. "I wasn't born yesterday, Jungkook."

"Can a friend not get a friend a coffee just because?"

"Yes—but you don't."

In fact, Jungkook normally waits until midday for his first coffee. Treats it like a reward for getting through the morning without any caffeine. He's gone out of his way today—or just ordered coffee to the office to make it look like he has. Regardless, an effort has been made.

He takes a second. Purses his lips. Narrows his eyes.And then he smiles. "Fine. I need a favour."

"See, I knew it was too good to be true!"

"Oh, c'mon!" He laughs. "I'd get you coffee if you asked."

"I asked last week when I was running late, and you told me to wake up earlier and get it myself!"

"Well, it was your own fault for being out until arse o'clock in the morning!"

Your fault, you think but don't vocalise. It's not like you'd been out with him. You'd been on a date. Another with Mingyu. Hadn't stuck to your word of cooling things off. Spooked yourself with those dreams about Jungkook. Needed to bring yourself back to reality.

If he hadn't asked you to dogsit, you never would have gotten so caught in the domestication of it all. It's your biggest weakness and he damn well knows it. If anything, he should be thanking you for choosing to realign your focus instead of leaning into silly little thoughts about him. It also helps that in the cold, harsh light of Monday mornings, the thoughts just make you cringe more than anything.

"Sorry, Dad," you roll your eyes. "Didn't realise I had to ask your permission."

Jungkook's lips purse in the gentlest of ways, corners upturning ever so slightly. He shakes his head. "You're cranky this morning."

"And you're up to something," you reply. Have barely even had a chance to look over your weekend emails yet, let alone prepare yourself for Jungkook being a nuisance. His department is two floors up. There's no need for him to be here.

In the corner of your screen, an email pings through. Though your glance is quick, it connects a flurry of dots together.

Subject: International Food Expo - we're in!

The company you work at is the head office of a chain restaurant. Jungkook works in franchising—negotiations, specifically. Gets the restaurant placed in the best locations. Recently landed a spot in Starfield Mall. Got himself a nice little bonus.

You're over in the interior design team. It's a small cohort, just three of you, but you're responsible for ensuring cohesion amongst all the spaces. It's up to you that customers get the same feel whether they're in Seoul or Sokcho.

Both starting the job at the same time, directly after graduation, Jungkook had approached you with a strategy in mind. Roped you into creating the interior mood boards and mapping out the spaces before they'd even been acquired. Gave life to them that made it so much easier for investors to imagine.

It had been seen by management as a waste of resources before then—why waste time creating hypotheticals?

They just hadn't yet experienced Jungkook, and all of his charm, pitching for them, using your content to tip negotiations in his favour. It's a partnership that works. Is a practice now adopted by the company across the board, thanks to the pair of you. It's why you work together so often, even if you're on completely different floors and dealing with such vastly different tasks.

"I've been asked to go along," he says, nodding towards the screen. "Little old me is our brand ambassador for the week."

"Congrats," you beam, knowing that Jungkook is the best man for the job. He loves the company. Really believes in the restaurant. Clicking into the email, you scan the details. "A week of schmoozing, huh? However will you cope?"

He's about to joke about how tiresome it'll be, but then you hum in confusion.

"Jeju?" You question, looking at the location. You scroll, just to check you aren't imagining things—but there it is, clear as day. Location: International Conference Center, Jeju. "All the way in bloody Jeju?!"

"It's for international markets," he says, putting his best guess out there. "Seoul's been done a hundred times over for different Expos. Busan, too. I think they're trying to attract more foreign companies—and would the CEO's rather send themselves on city breaks or island getaways? Anyway, that's actually the favour I wanted to ask you..."

It all sort of clicks into place, now. "Bam?"

With a sweet nod, Jungkook offers a gentle smile. "You know there's no one I'd rather look after him. The trip is four days, Tuesday to Friday. If it's too much, I can book him into a kennel, but—"

"No," you shake your head. "Don't do that. You know I'm happy to look after him."

"Sure?"

Jungkook would rather die than leave Bam at a Kennel for the week. He doesn't trust anyone with his baby unless they've proved themselves, but the way you happily cuddle up with Bam on the floor of Jungkook's apartment on any given day of the week is proof enough to him that you love him, too.

If he's gonna trust anyone with his most prized possession, it'd be you.

"One condition," you bargain, 'cause you know that you can. Jungkook'll do anything to have you agree.

"Go on..."

"Have you replaced all the cheese I ate last time I looked after him?"

He narrows his eyes. "Yes."

"Good," you beam. "And could you be a babe and make me some of your pad kee mao? The sauce at least? I can do the rest."

If there's one thing Jungkook will never fail to impress you with, it's his cooking—but your favourite of all of his dishes is his Thai drunken chicken noodles. He imports the special basil needed for it. Goes an extra mile to make sure it's just right. You haven't been to your favourite Thai place since you learned just how well he makes the dish. Will just send him a text when you fancy it, and end up at his place an hour or so later with beers from the convenience store and ice cream sandwiches to chuck in his freezer for dessert.

"That it?" He laughs. "Cheese and noodles? God, you are easily pleased."

"I'm a woman of refined tastes," you say, pompously poised.

Jungkook knows you well enough to know you're no such thing, but he needs this favour, so he doesn't bite. Just says, "And you're sure?"

"I'm sure," you promise. "Now leave me alone. I've got work to do—and thanks for the coffee."

He nods, that little smile of his affecting you far more than it really should. You can't help it. The lighting in your office is far nicer than the rest of the establishment. Makes him look... well, makes him look like himself. Like 'home' Jungkook. The same one who hangs out with you in sweats and messy hair on Sunday mornings, not the suited and clean-shaven Jungkook who swaggers through the corridors of your workplace.

Three of you work in your specific office, and you're all interior designers. Changing the bulbs was one of the first things you did. Lea, your manager, is the most senior in your team. Below you is Jiwon. A fresh graduate, she's still learning the ropes, and as much as you like her, you really wish she wouldn't go all heart-eyed over Jungkook every time he enters the room.

It's not her fault. The warm bulbs just bring out all of those terrible, intrusive little stars in his chocolatey brown eyes. They're terrible, 'cause they're stolen from other people; intrusive, 'cause as he walks away and your gaze follows him, it seems like they've landed in your eyes, too. A secret shared that neither of you even realises exists.

"How do you do it?" Jiwon sighs once Jungkook is out of earshot. "I'd melt if he looked at me like that."

"He looks at everyone like that," you deflect. "And trust me, he's just as disgusting as he is charming. Don't let the tailored suits fool you."

It's been a little while since Jungkook last used the copier room for indecent affairs that would have gotten anyone else into a meeting with HR. Workplace violations are far easier to get away with when you're doing them with someone from the HR department, after all.

Jiwon joined the team just as Jungkook was curbing his bad behaviour. Granted, you know about more of it than most, but everyone who was lucky enough to grab his attention for more than five seconds used it as bragging rights for months.

One thing that you did enjoy about Jungkook's slut era was the lack of women he ever took home. Didn't want to introduce new people to Bam, if they were only going to be fleeting endeavours.

But you're his friend, not a casual fuck. He knew that bringing you into the fold wouldn't be fast nor fleeting. It'd be a lifetime kinda thing.

Which is what makes you feel so guilty as you stand by the water cooler a little later that morning, daydreaming about being back in his space again. Silly little thoughts about facetime calls when you were wrapped up in his sheets, and he was back at his parents' place in Busan. Memories of lazing the days away with Bam, and the look on Jungkook's face as he finally arrived home after a few days away.

You've seen him at home a million times over, but there was something different about him then. Serene. At peace. You know that he was probably just happy to be back with his baby, and tired from driving, but the lazy smile that had hung off his lips, round glasses framing his equally round eyes, just seemed... new.

Your thoughts are cut off by your boss—not Lea, but your actual boss, Mr Seo—calling you into his office. A little flustered, you realise that you've been running the water for too long. Your bottle has overfilled, and the excess tray is almost full, too.

"Hi," you greet him all rather pleasantly, waiting to be told to sit before you actually do so. "What can I help you with?"

A burly man in his late 50s, he built the brand from the ground up. It's been his life's work, and so he's selective with his staff. If you aren't pulling your weight to make the company a success, then he doesn't want you tying your name to it.

When you and Jungkook started going rogue in the early days, he hadn't been happy—but Jungkook had blagged a probation extension for the pair of you. Had told Mr Seo he'd work for free, if he could just prove his strategy would work.

In the version of events Jungkook tells you, he pretends that Mr Seo agreed without docking his pay. Filed away in the back of his cabinet which houses his contracts, past and present, Jungkook has a written agreement with Mr Seo, and a month's worth of missing wages in his salary from that year.

Your pay was never docked, though. Jungkook's a damn good negotiator, and was just as competent back then, too. He was the one that got you into that damn mess in the first place, so it was only fair that he keep you as clean as he could.

What you do know is that you both cut it incredibly fine to losing your jobs before they ever really began. While Mr Seo respects you both for what you've done for the company since then, it still scares you a little bit.

"I trust you've seen the email regarding the Expo, yes?" He says, nodding towards the chair on the opposite side of his desk.

You take it in a hurried fashion, quickly sitting down because, quite frankly, it feels like your legs are jelly. "Yes, yes. Very exciting! I'm sure Jungkook will bring the company great results."

He nods. Agrees. "And I also trust you've been making plans for our stand?"

You learned of the expo approximately fifty minutes prior. Like fuck have you made any plans.

"Oh, of course!" You bullshit. "As long as we can work out the logistics with shipping our materials to the island in time, it should be brilliant."

How the fuck you're supposed to plan a stand at an Expo for a week's time on a different bloody island is beyond you.

You'll get it done. You always do. You'll just be incredibly stressed about it until the event begins.

"Naturally," he nods. I know the turnaround is tight, so we'd like you to go with Jungkook to oversee the preparations. He arrives on Tuesday, but the event doesn't start until Wednesday evening, so you'll have a day to finalise things."

"Oh," you say, unable to hide your surprise.

"Flight and accommodation will be covered by us, and Jungkook's getting a healthy bonus for any deals signed at the Expo—I'm sure we can make a cut for you, too. After all, you two are our very own dream team."

You take a moment to gather your thoughts. You want to go. Of course you want to. A trip to Jeju with one of your closest friends? Under the guise of work? All expenses paid? Who wouldn't want to go?!

But without you in the city, there's no one to look after Bam. Sure, Jungkook could take him to a kennel, but you know what he's like. He'll spend the entire time stressed. Won't be able to relax and engage with people in such a way that deals will be cut. Punters usually like him for his carefree nature. Without it? Well, you're sure they'd like him all the same, but you don't want to tempt fate.

"Mr Seo," you awkwardly begin, uncertain which answer will slip out of your mouth. "I'm afraid I already have commitments in the city that I can't cancel. I'm not available."

Silence lingers for a moment. Just a second. It feels like an eternity.

"Very well," he accepts.

"I'm sorry," you quickly apologise, knowing that you probably look like an ungrateful employee. If there's one thing you are, it's a fixer, and so before you can even comprehend what you're saying, you're throwing solutions into the void. "But I know Jiwon is just itching to get more involved with different sides of the business. I can get her on board with my planning this week and coach her on Jungkook's strategies. I'm sure she'd be eager to work hard, if she were given the opportunity."

Mr Seo mulls over your proposition—one of you which you already regret—then nods. "Alright. I'll trust your judgement. Can you send her down to my office?"

"Sure!" You say with a little too much glee, before you retreat back to your office with your tail between your legs. Lea is at a meeting, so once Jiwon has been sent on her way, it's just you, your water bottle, and a whole lot of regret.

Laying your head on your desk, you let out a little whimper.

It's for the best. For the company, for Jungkook, for you. For the sanctity of your friendship. For your sanity.

A message dinging through on your work chat interrupts your self-pity party. Glancing up, head still on the desk, you see Jungkook's name in the corner of your screen.

Jeon Jungkook, Franchising: oi you little gremlin

Jeon Jungkook, Franchising: i could have booked him into a kennel

"Shut up," you groan at your screen.

Jeon Jungkook, Franchising: it would have been fun :(

Sitting up with a sigh, you poise yourself to send a message back. Find that nothing wants to come out. Your fingers hover above your keyboard with uncertainty. Takes a full minute before you can muster anything up.

Two floors above you, Jungkook is slumped in his desk chair. Has an office of his own, 'cause it's easier for the amount of meetings he has.

In the background of his screen, an email thread with Mr Seo details how Jungkook was the one to ask Mr Seo if you could join him. Explained how it just made sense. Offered part of his bonus package up with it. Said he'd cover the extra expenses if necessary, but that he thought it would be beneficial to the company to have you there, too.

While you're the person Jungkook trusts the most with Bam, you're not the only one. He could always ask Jimin or Taehyung before resorting to a kennel.

As your reply comes through, another email from Mr Seo is delivered, too.

RE: IFE JEJU, Interior Des. Department

Jungkook—

Have spoken with Jiwon. She will accompany you.

Any problems, let me know.

Mr Seo

With a sigh, Jungkook shakes his head. This isn't what he wanted at all.

And when he checks your message, he only frowns even deeper. Unlike you, he's renamed your contact details on his list. Everyone else still has their work-focused username.

Gremlin: It's your lucky day

Gremlin: You get a hot young thing to keep you company instead, wooo

Gremlin: HR if you're reading this, ignore it

Gremlin: Try not to be too miserable without me

He sinks down a little further into his chair. Purses his lips. Would far rather be alone than with anyone that isn't you.

Chewing on his bottom lip, he decides that maybe this is for the best. While he does think it would be good for the company, he knows that isn't why he suggested it. He just remembers what happened last time he spent more than a weekend away from you. Is scared it'll happen again.

Or maybe it's the opposite. Maybe he wants it to happen again. Just you and him, away from the confines of life as you know it.

Thing is, you'd have to return home at some point. If anything ever happened between you both, it'd change the very fabric of your friendship. He doesn't want that.

So instead, he decides to reply in the same way he would have done maybe a year or so prior.

Jeon Jungkook, Franchising: She'll fall in love with me

Jeon Jungkook, Franchising: They always do

Jeon Jungkook, Franchising: Don't say I didn't warn you.

In the warm lighting of Jungkook's living room, the main light is off, lamps providing you with just enough clarity to go over the files on his coffee table.

Over by the sink, Jungkook is washing up your plates from dinner, while Bam leans against his legs. Your overnight bag is still by the door, and Jungkook's glasses are in your hair, keeping it out of your eyes. Highlighter in hand, you're picking out key markets for Jungkook to make contact with over in Jeju.

"Avoid Babiyeo," you tell him, switching over to a thin red pen, putting a star next to their name.

"As in the leisure centres?" Jungkook hums, familiar with the company but not well-versed. The soft melody of his playlist carries a tune around you both, keeping your thoughts connected and in sync.

"Mhmm," you say, flicking over to the next paper. "The CEO's son is in legal trouble at the moment. They're keeping it fairly well covered up, but to do that they're making huge expansions they can't afford. Keeping the news positive, things like that. I reckon they'll go bust before the end of the year."

"Shit," Jungkook lets a breathy laugh escape his lips. Had no idea—but you've both got friends working in various industries. Have your arms dipped into numerous grapevines. Drying up the last of his bowls, he turns to face you and is unable to continue on with his words.

He gets it. Understands why domestication is your biggest vice when it comes to feeling things you shouldn't.

"Acorn Limited are also bad news," you add, putting a little star next to their name.

"Yeah?"

Jungkook puts the now-dry bowl on the counter and walks towards where you're sitting on his living room floor. He joins. Sits on the opposite side of the table. Lets Bam clamber over his legs, and encourages him to sit, too.

"Yeah," you nod, then look across at Jungkook. "They're a hot-shot protein company. Are trying to get themselves partnerships with different restaurants. The guy running it is some twat from Singles Inferno. Company'll be done by the next quarter."

"Some of them do alright, y'know. Reality stars are raking it in—"

"He's besties with the Babiyeo CEO's son," you tell him with a knowing smile. "Kept getting pictured together outside clubs. Whatever baby Babiyeo has been up to, I'm willing to bet the acorn guy has been, too."

Jungkook presses his lips together. Accepts your expertise. Nods, then sighs, "You should be coming on the trip. I can't do this without you."

Yes, he can. He's more than capable. Has closed more deals than most people have had hot dinners.

What he means is that he doesn't want to do it without you, but admitting such a thing verges on territory that Jungkook doesn't feel comfortable entering.

In the house he likes to call his mind, he's bolted the door of the annexe. Occasionally, he will sit and stare at the locks. Wonder if maybe he made a mistake locking you—or more specifically, the idea of you—away in there.

But then he watches Bam choose to shuffle around to your side of the coffee table, and watches as he rests his head on your leg. His snout is by your knee, sniffing at your bare skin with his wet nose. There's something familiar about you. Safe. You don't smell like Jungkook, but you still manage to smell like home, in a way.

"Bam would be even more lost without me," you softly say, scratching behind his ear, and it does admittedly give Jungkook a little solace.

"True," Jungkook accepts, then sighs.

It's getting late and he's got to be up early for his flight. Is leaving for his flight at just gone 3AM, so you're staying over. Crashing on the couch, 'cause having a home gym was more important than setting up a spare room. Thankfully you've never known a couch to be so cosy. Have fallen asleep on it a dozen times over, and it's yet to make you ache in the mornings.

It's all very normal, how you set into a routine. He lets you wash up first. Sorts out Bam while you sort out yourself. Doesn't need to, but writes you out a list of feeding times and emergency numbers. Grabs a spare blanket—one Bam hasn't slept on, but by the morning definitely will have—and turns the sofa into something that really does resemble a bed.

"Sure you're gonna be alright out here?" He asks when you come back through.

He ignores the teeny tiny shirt and even tinier shorts you like to call pyjamas. Or at least he does as much as he can. Doesn't mean to look at your ass. Does it regardless. Four times.

"Yeah," you promise, grabbing a bottle of water from his fridge. There are containers full of his speciality noodle sauce and enough cheese to keep you very happy for the next few days. He got an extra block of the one he knows you like the most as a thank you. "Go to bed. Get your beauty sleep, uggers."

"Hey, you need it just as much as I do," he assures you, then tips his head and makes a small click with his tongue. "C'mon, Bammie, bedtime."

The sound of his paws tapping across Jungkook's hardwood floors is ever-so-soothing. It's hard to be in a house with a pet and not inherently feel like home, you think.

"Night night, Bammie," you coo after him. He turns back. Tilts his head, just like his daddy. Trots on over to you for a few more scratches behind his ears. Doesn't leave until you tell him, "Go find your daddy."

Glancing up to Jungkook with a sweet little scrunch of your nose, you hadn't called him that name to take the piss for a change. The scrunch of your nose is actually an outward display of your inward cringe. Jungkook just scrunches his up right back.

"Gross," he whispers, then holds his hand out for Bam to sniff. "Night, Gremlin."

"Night, Kook."

The sharp sound of Bam's bark snaps you awake. The room is dark, but enough light bleeds in through the blinds for you to see Jungkook awkwardly trying to shush him. Rucksack slung over one shoulder, he's holding a bag with his other hand.

"Leaving without saying bye?" You sleepily mumble, rubbing at your eyes with a yawn.

"Didn't wanna wake you," he whispers. Bam, apparently, had different ideas. "He knows I'm leaving."

"What time is it?" you ask, still totally out of it.

"Just gone three," Jungkook says. It'll take him an hour to get across to Incheon, and even though he knows it won't take him much time to get through security, he still likes to be on time. Would have been easier if he was flying from Gimpo, but he's guessing Incheon must have been cheaper.

Nodding, you adjust your body to sit up, and reach out for one of the files on the coffee table. Hold it across for him.

Popping down his bags, Jungkook takes it with great interest.

"Here. I was having a think before bed. Did a little research on an American company that's gonna be at the Expo. Their head marketer has shares in a bunch of baseball-related companies. Get pally with him," you mumble, thoughts not really cognitive, but you've written it all down for him regardless. "Talk to him about the K-league, or something, I dunno. I reckon Mr Seo would shit his pants if we expanded into stadiums and sports venues."

Jungkook flicks over the notes. Nods. Doesn't know how the fuck you manage to find out half the shit you do, but knows you're wasted on the interior design department.

"See," he softly whines. "This is why you should be coming with me."

"You'll be fine," you promise him, then yawn a little bit all over again. You woke up at the worst possible time.

"You can take my bed, y'know," Jungkook offers. "I'll be gone in a minute or so. It's all yours."

Would be weird getting into his bed while it's still warm, you think.

Shaking your head, terribly covering a yawn, you insist it's fine. He begs to differ, so you double down—until all very suddenly, your notes are tossed onto the sofa beside you, and Jungkook is pulling you over his shoulder. Yelping from the surprise, you don't have time to cognitively respond, let alone demand to be put down.

He wouldn't listen anyways. Instead, he walks you across to his room, and tosses you down on his half-made bed. It's a little haphazard, he finds himself leaning a little too far forward. Almost ends up on there with you. Finds that his blood pumps just a little faster through his veins for a nanosecond.

God, he wishes he wasn't leaving.

Or that you were coming with him, at least.

Can't bear to tear himself away from you when you're all sleepy and sweet and—Oh get a grip, man.

"There," he says triumphantly, pushing his thoughts well out of reach. "Now, go back to sleep, alright? I'll let you know when I fly."

Sitting up on your heels, you find yourself unsure of how to say goodbye—and so you don't really say much at all. Just mumble, "Fly safe."

"Will do," he nods, then exits his room to give Bam a farewell that is just as rough and tumble as yours had been. "Be good for the gremlin, Bammie."

"Fuck off!" You call through, knowing that you'll forever be known as a gremlin, even on your deathbed, you're sure. Tucking yourself under his duvet, you're secretly comforted by how warm his bed still is. Smells just like him, too. "Bye Kook."

"Sleep tight!"

With that, the door slams shut, and everything feels a little colder. Bam whines by the door. Scratches at it a little. Begs for Jungkook to come home.

"Bammie," you call through. "C'mere!"

The way he excitedly bounds through Jungkook's apartment and jumps up onto the bed is borderline comical. He's not used to people being in the house after Jungkook goes out. Thought he was alone—but now he knows he's not, he's quite content. Nuzzles his snout into the duvet and flops his body down on yours. Doesn't realise he's not still a puppy, but you don't mind.

Moments like these make you realise that you definitely did make the right decision.

But moments that come a little later fill you with regret—like the picture that is sent to the office by Jungkook on the work messenger. Working hard or hardly working? He captions it.

The photo is of the booth that's been set up to look like a beach house version of the restaurant. The intention was for it to look like a 'Jeju' branch, of which you're yet to open— but it looks bloody fantastic. How you were able to wrangle contractors and suppliers in such a last-minute rush was nothing short of a miracle.

And yet—

Good work guys!

Wow, looks great!

Jungkook and Jiwon, doing us proud!

Dream team! Good luck!

It's that last one that really bothers you. Dream team. Exactly what you and Jungkook have always been called in the office—but you're easily replaced, apparently. It's your own fault. You're the one who said she should go instead.

It doesn't stop you from walking around with a face of thunder for the whole day. Not a scrap of work gets done. All you can do is lament your choices.

Still, you get to go home to Bam, and that does admittedly soften the blow.

"Show me him," Jungkook immediately whines when he calls later that evening.

You shake your head. "Tell me about the day first."

"That's so not fair."

"Quicker you tell me, quicker I show–"

"Fine," he scowls at you, but softens his expression almost immediately. Yawns. His shoulders press up to his ears as the rest of his face scrunches up. He's lying down on his hotel bed, the crisp white sheets not too dissimilar from his ones back home that you'll be curled up in later that night. "The set up was fine. Most of the vendors are here already. I'm so mad we didn't manage to snag a slot in the catering tent, yanno? Give people a chance to try our menu, but whatever. There's always next year, right?"

"Right," you nod. Yawn, too—and then adorably so does Bam. "It's our first year there. We're just making our presence known. Bigger and better things next year."

"Exactly. Now show me Bam."

His impatience makes you smile. You're just about to tap the switch camera icon, when a sweet, feminine voice echoes through your speaker.

"Did you say something, Jungkook?"

He glances over the sound of the voice, and then flicks his eyes back to you. Gets a read on your face as quickly as he can before you flip the camera, 'cause you're not really sure how much your face is giving away, but you know your surprise wasn't hidden.

"Er, no," he says to the girl. "Just checking in back home—"

"Oh, is that your puppy?" the voice, of which you know all too well, squeals. There's a slight ruffle of sheets as Jiwon tucks herself beside Jungkook. Hair a little damp, the straps of her top are loose against her skin. "Oh my gosh, isn't he the sweetest."

"Isn't he just?" you reply with a smile so fucking fake that it's a good job the camera isn't on you. There's a look on Jungkook's face that you don't really understand. He almost looks guilty—but there's nothing to feel guilty about. He can do what he likes. "Gonna take him for a walk in a bit, then I'm just gonna pop out for half an hour to see Mingyu."

"Are you taking Bam with you?" Jungkook asks, brows a little hard, the ridge between them nicely defined.

"Hadn't planned on it," you chirp, your face just as hard as his. "But I can take him to meet Mingyu, if you like?"

Jungkook swallows. Tries to pretend as if his jaw isn't tense. Is incredibly stern when he says, "Rather him not meet new people when I'm not around."

"Sure," you say, then flick the camera back to you. Are pleased to see nonchalance sitting prettily on your features, no matter how perplexed you might feel."I should be off, though! Call me if you need anything."

"Wait!" Jiwon says quickly, clearly unaware of the weirdness between you and Jungkook. She sees you bickering all the time, so must just figure this is what you're like when you're not ripping each other's heads off. "Just wanted to say thank you—I'm so glad I'm here."

Jungkook's eyes focus on your face as Jiwon gives even more thanks. He doesn't understand the sudden attitude you've developed. All he wanted was to see Bam, but you've a face like a slapped arsed and are trying to hang up. It's fuckin' rude, and if Jiwon wasn't there, he'd tell you so.

He lets you hang up. Doesn't ask you to stay.

"She alright?" Jiwon innocent chirps after you go. "She seems a little..."

"Just tired," Jungkook dismisses. "I woke her up at like, three this morning when I was leaving."

"Oh? She was at your place?"

It's really none of Jiwon's business, but Jungkook chalks it up to her being young, and unaware of when to keep her mouth shut.

"Yeah," he states definitively and plainly, ending the conversation. Heads to the bathroom to clear his head. Turns the shower up to just as hot as the one at his house has been ever since you left his apartment the last time.

'Cause Jungkook's been lying to himself.

There's no lock on the damn annexe. Or at least not from the outside.

The annexe has everything he needs. He's been sitting there, inside, quite comfortably with you for a little while now.

He really did think you were gonna call things off with Mingyu.

Is unaware that Mingyu got left on read four days ago after another dull, fruitless 'how was your day', 'fine thanks, and you?' conversation. As hot as he may be, he doesn't challenge you. Excite you. Anger you. Make you feel any kind of passion.

Which is funny, 'cause you find yourself reaching for a bottle of wine that you know is far too expensive for a Tuesday night glass, just to piss Jungkook off from afar and well in advance of him ever realising what you've done.

Just like you mentioned going to see Mingyu just to get a reaction out of Jungkook.

Childish as it may be, you feel threatened. People praising Jiwon in your place already made you feel insecure at work, and now she's in his hotel room in a state of near undress? Something about it just irks you.

It shouldn't.

It shouldn't, it shouldn't, it shouldn't.

But it does.

And so you spend your evening on Jungkook's couch with cheese, wine and Bam. Put Love, Rosie on, 'cause it's your favourite guilty pleasure film and you think it'll cheer you up.

Instead, you end up silently sobbing by the halfway point, Bam only snuggling into you even further. Can understand that you're upset. Comforts in the only way he knows how.

Sleep is hard to come by that evening. You're full of wine and cheese, so it should be easy. Lights out as soon as you close your eyes—but you toss and turn, and with every move, the scent of him wafts even deeper into your senses. Any further and it might just enter your bloodstream. Seep down into your heart.

By the time morning comes, you feel even more rotten than you did the night before. Have slept on it all. Know that he hasn't done anything wrong, which only makes you feel even more stupid for being so annoyed.

You've also slept on the idea he might have slept with Jiwon. It wouldn't be out of character, but it would be the first person in your department he's shagged. It's always been out of bounds. He knows this. For the same reason you wouldn't shag anyone he works closely with. It'd just be weird. Make meetings uncomfortable.

When you call on your walk that morning, you half hope he won't pick up.

But he does. He always will.

"Hey," he says a little breathlessly. A towel is whipped over his shoulder, sweat dappling his skin. There's something so devastatingly beautiful about mid-workout Jungkook. "Sorry, didn't think you'd call."

Almost as if you're looking for reasons to be annoyed, you take offence to this.

"I always call?"

"Well, yeah, but you were so fuckin' weird last night," he laughs, heading out of the gym and into an empty corridor of the hotel.

"I wasn't anything," you reply back with a scowl—and realise how terribly you're hiding your annoyance. Flick the camera over so it focuses on Bam as he trots along the path. "Just tired."

It's the same excuse he bullshitted to Jiwon. Knows you're talking bollocks.

"Even Jiwon asked what was wrong with you—"

"Oh, well I'm terribly sorry to have inconvenienced you, Jungkook," you snap, completely unjustified. It's too late, though. You've started. Have to see it through. "But if you don't mind, I'm responsible for your pet right now and I'd rather not be having this conversation when I need to be focusing on a million other things at once."

"Fine," Jungkook snaps right back. All he wants is to see Bam, but he doesn't want to be having this conversation either. "But you know what? Don't bother calling back until you've taken that stick out from up your arse."

You shouldn't be surprised when Jungkook hangs up.

But you are.

For the second time in as many days, you find yourself crying.

Oh, it's all so pathetic! And stupid! There's no need for it, you think.

Thankfully you're not too far from home—Jungkook's home, that is—so you can cut the walk a little short as long as you come home at lunch to check on Bam, too.

You don't even really understand why you're fighting with him. Wish you weren't.

When Jungkook zips open his suit bag as he's getting ready for the Expo opening ceremony, he finds himself wishing just the same.

Tucked on top of his blazer is a brand new tie; one of which he most definitely did not put there.

An incredibly muted bronze and black paisley pattern swirls over the material, and on top rests a note.

Jungkook rubs his face with a flat palm. Rakes it through his hair. Swallows back the awkward heat prickling at his eyes and the tickle in his throat. Doesn't wanna bawl.

But then he reads the note, and he just can't stop himself.

Dad!!!

You're gonna do great!!!!

Come home soon tho :(((((

Woof woof!!!!!!!

Your Bammie <333

P.S. I'm colour blind but the gremlin said this one is the same colour as me!!! Do you miss me??? I miss you!!!!!

The first time you had ever learned of Jungkook's tattoos was in a dive bar a few blocks over from work. It was just after you'd pulled off your first deal together—the one that set your working relationship in stone—and you'd both been blowing off steam.

The walls were red, and so were your cheeks, blushed from the heat of what it felt like to sit beside him in a tatty booth.

So used to sitting across from him at meeting tables, something about it changed your dynamic. Any threats of being on opposing teams were whittled down to nothing more than a life that could have been.

He had your back. You had his.

Blazer off, his sleeves were rolled up. You didn't ask him about a single one of the tattoos, like he half thought you might.

Instead, you just accepted him as he was. Didn't stroke your index finger up his arm, tracing the lines, like most girls do as an excuse to get better acquainted with him.

That night he made a promise to himself to never ruin the working relationship you have together.

You work too well to jeopardise it. He has goals. Knew, even back then, that you'd help him achieve his aspirations, like some sort of twin flame type of shit he didn't believe in.

Didn't. Past tense.

These days, when you think of Jungkook and his tattoos, you always think of the snake. It's the one you see most frequently for it's so close to his wrist. Have always understood snakes to represent change.

Jungkook is yet to shed his skin. He's still just the same as he always was, you think, as you get in the lift and head up towards your office floor.

Just 'cause he hadn't hooked up with anyone from the office in a while didn't mean that he'd changed his ways. More fool you for thinking that he might've.

And it's not like it even matters at all. Who he lays down with is none of your concern. You've never cared before. Not really.

It's just that you've been going to sleep in his sheets. Eating dinner he prepared in advance for you. Waking up to his pup excitedly doing zoomies around the room, 'cause he's ready for his walk.

When you get home, you put Bam's leash up next to your coat, which is hung on top of Jungkook's. Kick your shoes off by a pair of his. Use his shower gel when you get washed, and wistfully tuck yourself up into the armchair you helped him pick out for his bedroom. It's tucked in the corner. Is perfect for watching the world roll by.

You know you should have just called him this morning. Spent the entire walk stubbornly hoping that he would instead, but he's just as childish as you are.

You've bickered with him a hundred times over since you first met him, but never like this.

The elevator dings to a stop, pulling you from your tiresome thoughts of Jungkook. Pulling your body from its slumped leaning stature against the mirrored walls, you trudge into a place that endlessly reminds you of him.

Impossible to escape, is Jungkook. Perhaps that's it. Maybe you've just had enough of each other. Need a little time to breathe.

Everyone else who started at the company around the same time as you has already left. It's just you and Jungkook still here from the small pool of fresh graduates that had been taken under Mr Seo's wing.

But you like it here. Like your job. The salary you earn is great—far more than you would get anywhere else.

Again, you don't know this, but Jungkook's always negotiated on your behalf behind closed doors. He makes the company far more money, and does admittedly get a pretty huge bonus every year according to the amount of deals closed.

That being said, he also stomps down to Mr Seo's office in the fourth quarter when news of the next fiscal year's raises are shared. Will demand that your base salary is matched to his. Has threatened, on numerous occasions, to call for a pay disparity audit from external forces if your wage isn't boosted up, even if it means his is cut down to make up for it.

You went out on a limb trusting him in the early days. This is how he repays you.

That's just friendship, though, he thinks. You help him, he helps you.

He also knows you'd probably be annoyed if you ever found out he meddled with things like that.

The girls in the accounting office always think it's so lovely whenever they see the pay increases. Yours and Jungkook's are never quite what they should be, and they know exactly why. It's why they always ask you how he is whenever you go to drop off inventory reports and materials lists with the lead accountant.

You think they just fancy the pants off him.

Which is also true.

And it's also why a couple of them are curiously standing outside your office space, giggling like school girls as you approach it.

"Morning," you smile, then laugh a little too at their giddy excitement—but when you turn the corner and realise what they're so smitten over, you're a little lost for words.

Sitting on your desk is quite possibly the largest bouquet of flowers you've ever seen. Peonies, you think from afar. Pretty and pale pink, they're in a glass vase. Two dozen easily, if not more, blooming just for you.

"Oh," you hum, because it's hardly what you expect to walk into on a Thursday morning.

Mingyu flashes through your head, but you haven't heard a peep from him since you last let your conversation dissolve over the weekend. He has no reason to send you flowers.

But nor does anyone else.

"We tried working out the message," one of them admits. "But whoever your secret admirer is, they're hell-bent on keeping it secret!"

Shameless, you think, suppressing a well-natured laugh. They've got balls to admit that they've read the note.

Walking to your desk, you see it sitting atop of the flowers, and read it for yourself.

Anyone reading the note who knows a single non-superficial thing about the mystery sender would know who it is in a heartbeat. All it takes for you to know is to see the name of who it's addressed to.

Bammie—

She's right. It does match you. When I get home we can dress you up in my new tie.

Tell the gremlin that you deserve head scratches.

And extra treats.

And that I miss her.

Glancing over to the girls, who desperately want gossip, you simply shrug. If they've never heard Jungkook talk about Bam before, then they clearly don't know him at all. If he wanted his name on the note, he'd have put it there.

He could have gotten them sent to his apartment. He chose here. But he also chose anonymity.

And so you give him a little grace.

"Your guess is as good as mine," you bullshit with an apologetic smile that no one believes.

Lea just looks at you from across the room with a raised brow. Waits until the girls leave, then says, "That's not the kind of bouquet you send a colleague."

She already knows you're looking after Bam. That being said, she hasn't read the card. Has no idea what it says. Just knows that there's only one man you ever talk about with such warmth to be deserving of those flowers from.

"Apparently it is," you shrug, all but confirming who sent them with a coy smile.

"I hope he lets Jiwon down gently," Lea sighs, knowing just as well as you do that she's got a bit of a thing for Jungkook.

What she doesn't know is that it's the exact reason you're fighting with him.

Hell, even he doesn't know that!

So deep in your denial, neither do you.

"Why would he need to?" You downplay it all. Lea doesn't know about the awkward call Jiwon inserted herself into, or the fact you've already decided that he must have fucked her. "Like I said, apparently these are the kind of flowers sent by just a colleague."

Lea shakes her head. Has been observing you and Jungkook for years. Was waiting for a Christmas party, or one of those nightmarish summer tennis tournaments for the pair of you to finally figure it out. You're just as thick as two wooden planks when it comes to all of this, or so it would seem. A little push might be needed.

"Colleagues don't send flowers just because," she tells you with an air of authority. "And if I know anything about the stories you've told me, Jungkook doesn't send flowers full stop."

Just like that, you're thinking of those damn tattoos again. The snake, specifically.

Maybe, just maybe, he is changing.

And if you weren't confused before, then you sure as hell are now.

During the summer months, Jungkook often goes home to see Bam at lunchtime. It's not uncommon for you to go with him. In the winter, when the temperature of his apartment is less of a worry, Jungkook probably only goes home for lunch once a week or so.

Walking up to Jungkook's apartment in the middle of the day without him feels a little bit wrong. In one hand, you're holding a peony by its stem. In the other, you're clutching your phone just in case he calls.

In all honesty, you had planned on taking the entire vase back, but it was bloody heavy. You'll wait until he's back in the office.

It might just be paranoia, or the misplaced assumption that everyone is obsessed with what Jungkook does, but you swear there have been far more people passing your office today than usual. People you've seen maybe once or twice in your entire lifetime.

Lea was right. Jungkook doesn't send flowers.

Has a repeat order going monthly for his mother, but that's it. And even then, he's kind of forgotten about it.

You've debated it with him before; flowers and their presence in relationships.

He thinks a potted plant would be far more practical, but if he was really going to get someone something, it'd be herbs. Maybe a potted mint bush. Something useful that they could enjoy together.

A few weeks ago, you had told him he'd make an awful sugar daddy.

"Well, yeah!" He'd just laughed. "I save my money for myself. Me alone. If someone wants nice shit, they can get their own job."

"Oh, so you'd never treat a girlfriend?" You'd scoffed, forgetting the fact he never really has girlfriends. Just flings. "Never get her nice shit?"

"Well, that's different," he'd said. "It's not transactional."

"Everything in life is transactional, whether people like to kid themselves it is or not."

Jungkook looked affronted when you said this. You'd had differing perceptions of life for as long as he'd known you, but you'd always been a romantic. Always believed in the prevailing nature of love.

Bam had adjusted in his sleepy position. Curled up a little tighter, then stretched right out. Rested his hind paws on your thighs and tucked his nose into his chest.

"Bam disagrees," Jungkook assured you.

"You trained him using transactions," you reminded him regardless. "Rewarded him with a treat every time he did as you asked. Transactional."

"Okay, but this?" He gestured to where Bam was curled between the pair of you on his sofa. That's always been a rule of his. No sofa for Bam—he's got all the beds he could ever want! But when Jungkook is on the sofa, it's the only place he wants to be, too. "He knows he's not supposed to be on here. He knows he won't get a reward, so why is he up here? It isn't transactional. He just—"

"Is playing you for a fool," you had laughed. "He wants to be on the sofa, so he lets us pet him in return for us not shooing him off. He's the one setting the transaction up. You're the one getting the reward. He's playing you at your own game. Aren't you, baby?"

You'd cooed a little, scratching at Bam's thigh. He shook it ever so gently and readjusted, but didn't stop resting against you.

It was a curious thought; the way that nothing in life ever comes for free. Even the favours you do for Jungkook by dog-sitting are transactional. You get just as much out of those days as he does.

The conversation had mellowed into something else, 'cause Jungkook didn't want to get into a debate. Knows that you can defend your point until the cows come home—has been in enough meetings with you to know as such. Likes being on your side 'cause you always win—and with a negotiator like him to seal the deal, it's always so much sweeter.

As the calling screen of Jungkook's contact details takes over your screen, phone resting against a wine bottle on the coffee table, you wonder how transactional this is.

He gave you flowers, and now you're giving him a call.

Anyone with a rational mind would surely ask: is this not how romance works?

But when he accepts your call, and you're met with a stern face that's desperately trying not to smile, you're reminded of what he really is: your best friend.

Neither of you wants to be the first one who cracks and gives in first, even if you both know this is all so stupid.

You reach over to pick up the peony. Hold it in front of your face. The petals have bloomed so spectacularly that it almost eclipses you.

Jungkook's face scrunches up a little, his terribly hidden smile slightly distorted but ever so hard to hide.

"Will you stop hating me now?" Is all he says.

"Never hated you," you grumble, bringing the flower a little lower, but still in frame. Sitting on the floor, your back is to the sofa and Bam is behind you, right where he's not supposed to be.

If Jungkook is bothered by it, he doesn't mention it. "I missed him this morning."

The guilt that crawls into your stomach and makes itself at home is rancid. Anguish is her name, and she loves nothing more than ruining a good thing.

The frown that steals the pretty smile from your face isn't one that Jungkook enjoys seeing on you, no matter how cute it is when your eyebrows pinch together.

"I should have called," you acknowledge, knowing that it was cruel of you not to, even if you were fighting. "I'm sorry."

Jungkook just smiles. "I assumed the stick was still up your arse."

Narrowing your eyes, you're pleased that he's joking with you; that things feel normal.

"It's fine," he dismisses regardless. "Last night was the opening event so I was a little worse for wear this morning, and then Jiwon was rummaging about at fuckin' six in the morning. Took her fuckin' hours to get ready."

And there it is; confirmation that she's been sharing his bed.

Though you don't frown, there's a stupor to the muscles in your face. The brightness you were looking at him with fades—and very quickly, Jungkook becomes the one who looks unhappy, now.

"What?" He says, genuinely a little confused.

It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter.

You just shake your head. Dismiss it. Flick the camera around and lift your phone to focus it on Bam as you give him a little scratch behind the ear.

"He's been good as gold," you begin to waffle on. The ridge between Jungkook's brows deepens. "Best boy in the doggie park, aren't you? There's a new couple who have just started walking a Yorkie. Yappy little bugger. I don't think Bam's a fan."

"No," Jungkook supposes. "He doesn't like yappy dogs—and I don't like it when you deflect. Show me your face, gremlin. What's going on?"

"Nothing!" You insist, but don't flick the camera back. Just get a little more boisterous with Bam, and while it does make Jungkook smile, he can't shake the horrible feeling that's building in his diaphragm.

Your Anguish has a cousin who goes by the name of Confusion, and she adores wrapping herself up in men who fail to communicate in a way that is healthy.

"C'mon," he softly says. Flicks his camera around. Shows you an empty hallway of the convention centre. Says, "I've left Jiwon in charge at the height of the day just so I can answer your call. Talk to me. What's wrong?"

"You didn't have to answer," you grumble.

Jungkook is smarter than most. Will have clocked the time of day and knew it was lunch. Definitely assumed you must be with Bam. It must be why he picked up.

Flicking the camera back on himself, Jungkook is almost at a loss for what else he can say to get you to open up.

A little honesty is needed.

And so you pout. Mumble, "They're calling you and Jiwon a dream team in the office."

Jungkook's frown intensifies as his dewy pink lips rest ajar. You'd say he looks distressed, but that's far too intense of an emotion for such a childish qualm.

He just knows that if he heard your partnership with another colleague—especially one in his department—being referred to like that, he'd take offence. It's you and him. You're the dream team. Always have been.

Shaking his head, Jungkook doesn't hide his contempt. Scoffs. "Fuck off. Dream team? She's using your strategies at a booth you designed, and even then, she's barely doing that—you know Acorn guy? The one you said to steer clear of? She's gunning for him—"

"Oh, you're kidding me," you gasp in disbelief. You warned her that he's bad news, multiple times. "Him?!"

"She's young," Jungkook says with a little judgement. Is scared of turning thirty, but definitely doesn't understand people who are closer to twenty. "He's just some hot guy on TV, to her. Doesn't realise his business is gonna tank. She isn't thinking about it long-term."

Which is funny, 'cause Jungkook never really used to think about things long term, either.

Sure, with investments and saving his money, he's always been a little cautious. When it comes to the business, though, it's someone else's money he's playing with. He takes risks. Does dumb shit and it gets rewards.

He really is incredibly good at his job, though. It's part of the reason the women love him, you always think.

It's not.

They like him because he's kind and also so bloody hot he should be on billboards, not in boardrooms.

You like him because he's competent.

In fact, you think there's nothing hotter than a competent man who just knows how to get shit done. And when said competent man can cook like Jungkook? Cares for his dog in the way he does? Looks like he does?

Sigh.

You ignore the way he looks a lot of the time, but you've a pair of eyes and a part of your brain that recognises attractive men. It's hard to ignore all of the time.

"Anyway," he shakes his head. "Not important. She's perfectly fine if not a little misguided—but she isn't you. So, stop worrying about it."

You take a second before you reply. Flick the camera back to you.

It surprises Jungkook, how Confusion has travelled through his bloodstream. Her bony fingers toy with his heart, and he's taken aback by just how sharp her nails are.

Looking at you never used to feel like this. He's not sure why it does now.

You muster up a little courage, even if you can't bring yourself to look at him properly. Let out a deep sigh. Now or never. You run the risk of causing another fight, but if you don't come clean, it'll only dirty everything.

"I just thought we kind of had an agreement, Kook," you eventually whine with an ever-so childish pout.

The hands that have been tearing at his heart migrate through his bloodstream. Get into his brain. Get into his house. Opens doors. Begins moving the furniture.

Stay out of the annexe, his thoughts hiss at Confusion.

Still he seems perfectly calm when he asks, "Watcha mean?"

He's not making this easy for you.

In fact, you'd say he's making it difficult. It would be far easier for you if he just acknowledged what he's already done.

"Well, just..." you take a moment or so to think about how it can be phrased with any dignity—and then you think fuck it. "She's in my department, Kook. I always thought you wouldn't fuck anyone I have to directly work with. It just makes it awkwa—"

"Woah, woah woah," he interrupts. Confusion sits on his shoulder, now, with a twisted smirk on her greyed-out face. "Wouldn't fuck anyone? What the hell do you think I've been doing?!"

"Well, I mean, it's less what and more... who," you joke a little too flippantly.

You don't think he's ever looked so offended in the entire time you've known him.

"You've got to be kidding me."

If anything, you're a bit surprised by just how offended he is. Jiwon is an incredibly pretty girl. A little young for him, granted, but not abhorrently so.

"What?!" You reply, equally confused, then relay everything back to him. "She woke you up this morning getting ready? Was in your room when I called you? Fucking got on your bed right in front of my face and cosied up with you to look at Bam."

Admittedly, that last one was said with a little venom. It annoys you the most.

"She woke me up this morning from across the room," he counters. "Was in our room because we were a last-minute addition to the convention, and it was the only room left within a ten-mile radius—twin beds, may I add! If I don't even share my bed with you when I'm at home, then what the hell makes you think I'd share one with her?! Yeah, the call thing was weird. I'm not gonna lie, it was, but I answered when she was around because I didn't want either of you to get the wrong impression."

A smile wobbles on your lips, as you try to remain stoic. Either of you. You know that you apparently got the wrong end of the stick—but you're not entirely sure what he means by either of you. You wonder what impression he's trying to give her, then decide it's not important.

You clasp your hands together. Lean forward. Put on your best noble old man voice, and say, "Well, it appears that it might have just happened, regardless."

Confusion's perch on Jungkook's shoulder is knocked loose when he laughs, though those sharp nails do claw onto his back. Leave scratch marks that will take a little while to heal—what's important is that they will.

One day, this awkward misstep will be something you laugh about. Kind of like he is, now. You'll forget your tears, but you won't ever forget the strange feeling of weight lifting off your shoulders, mind eased by Jungkook.

"You're a fucking idiot," he laughs with such fondness it almost doesn't feel like an insult. "Seriously? You thought I fucked her? And was then, what? Trying to brag about it? C'mon, you little gremlin! Give me some credit."

Never before has 'gremlin' ever sounded so kind. So warm. So much like 'darling', or 'mon amour'. Secret code for unspoken words.

"I don't know," you whine. Bam shuffles a little bit on the sofa behind you, turning his face away from the noise. You reach back to scratch his head as an apology. Jungkook smiles. Your care for his baby is so innate that you don't even realise you're doing it. "Her hair was damp, and she was practically falling out of her top—"

"Oh, but what I am supposed to do?" He laughs. "I can't tell her to cover up in her own damn room, and even then I just ignore it. I didn't sleep with her. I'm not going to sleep with her. Okay?"

He's not even thought about it. Feels nothing when he looks at her. No excitement. Even if she is attractive, he doesn't think his body would work properly.

Hasn't been working as it should do for the best part of a year now.

Or maybe it would better be referred to as 'malfunctioning'.

'Cause it seems to work okay when he thinks about you.

He 'malfunctioned' earlier on that day, as a matter of fact. Was just showering. And he missed you. And was thinking about those damn pyjama shorts. How smooth your legs had been when he'd hoisted you over his shoulder. How pliant you'd been as he chucked you down into his sheets. Your sleepy eyes and the 3AM husk to your voice. Fuck.

Even thinking about it in a dingy hallway of a convention centre, with your pretty face smiling at him through his phone, is making his heart race. If he doesn't get a hold on it, he'll go into cardiac. Might just flatline.

"Look, I gotta get back, okay?" He softly says. It's not a lie, but it is more sensible than he wants to be. "Have to make sure Jiwon hasn't sold the company to the acorn guy. There's a networking event tonight, so I can't call during Bammie's walk, but I'll check in at some point."

"Alright," you nod, a little sad to see him go, but understanding of it. "Hurry up and come home. Bam misses you."

"I miss him, too," Jungkook pouts. "Show me my baby before I go."

Phone angled to fully capture Bam, you indulge Jungkook for a few moments before he really does have to go. He lingers for a second or so after you say goodbye. Can't muster up anything good to say to make you stay.

Holding the stem of the single peony you'd taken home with you, you roll it between your thumb and fingers. Watch the petals twirl.

"What should I do, hey, Bam?" You wistfully sigh, eventually getting up to pop it in a glass of water. Jungkook has no vases, for he's never had any need for flowers.

The peony isn't the only thing blooming in his kitchen these days, though. It hasn't been for a while.

Work passes slowly that afternoon. You want to get home. See Bam. Finish off the wine you opened so that Jungkook doesn't scold you for letting it turn into vinegar when he gets back. And then you wanna sleep—just so you can wake up the next morning and take Bam on his walk.

It's not like that isn't part of your agenda tonight, too. It's just that Jungkook won't be around for that one.

Instead, his evening is spent in fancy rooms with men in even fancier suits and women who take a fancy to him, too. A whisky is in his hands at all times, his pretty lips embroiled in conversation. He talks so much he barely has any time to drink.

People gravitate towards him; those who feel threatened by his charm gravitate towards Jiwon. Mistake her for a prize he's trying to keep. Don't realise his unbothered facade is anything but a facade.

It's gone midnight by the time he's kicking off his shoes with a little wobble as he gets to his hotel room.

"I'm being serious," he almost giggles, phone between his shoulder and his ear as he loosens his cufflinks. "It's a wig. I'm positive."

280 miles away, phone on your tummy, loudspeaker on as you gaze up at Jungkook's bedroom ceiling, you're laughing too.

"It can't be," you protest the current topic of conversation—Mr Acorn (as he's now affectionately known between you both) and whether or not his hair is real. Jungkook had left Jiwon to continue her poorly judged perusal of him, in favour of checking in with you instead. There was no one else at that party he wanted to talk to more than he wanted to talk to you. Laughing and joking about stupid shit, he's glad you answered. "He went swimming on Singles Inferno!"

"So?!" Jungkook snorts, tapping his phone over to loudspeaker too and tossing it down onto his sheets. A little haphazard, he's unbuttoning his shirt. Is a little tipsy, but not enough to warrant any huge issues. "Maybe he used industrial strength glue."

"Surely he'd rather people just know he was bald? Start a trend?"

"Maybe he's got a terrible head tattoo," Jungkook theorises, tossing his shirt across to a chair, before finally discarding his pants, too. Is just in his boxers now as he clambers into the sheets. "Bald eagle. An ex's name. I dunno. But I'd take chemical burns over that."

"You'd never get a girl's name tattooed on you," you laugh in response. Legs tucked up, heels to your ass, you let your knees gently sway. Bam is curled up in his own bed by the foot of Jungkook's. You're not on facetime, mainly 'cause Jungkook clicked the wrong button, but it's also nice not using poor Bam as an excuse to talk to you.

"And I'm also not balding, so we don't have to worry about that."

"Are you not?" You hum, just to wind him up. "I swear there's a patch of missing hair—"

"Shut up," he cuts you off, voice just as fond as it is stern. "I will swim all the way back to the mainland and speed run up to Seoul just to shut you up. Don't speak it into existence. I have great hair."

"Mmm," you hum. Sinking a little further into his sheet, you turn on your side. Take him off speaker. Hold your phone to your ear. Look at the empty side of his bed and wonder what it'd be like if he were here. Know better than to indulge it. "And you are just so modest, too. Absolutely no ego whatsoever."

"It's why the ladies love me," he jokes, not realising just how true it is. Jungkook takes a moment before he says anything else. Is comforted by the silence you leave for him, totally unaware it's because you're not sure how to respond. "Not that it matters."

Though his delivery is soft and airy, like feathers falling from a well established nest, it lands in your chest with a heavy thud, like a stone from a bridge. You couldn't swerve in time. It shattered your windshield; plummeted straight into your heart. 'Causes a pile up on the freeway, all your thoughts held behind a tongue that cannot speak.

"You tired?" Jungkook hums down the speaker when a response never comes. "I'm sorry, I can let you go?"

"No," you say incredibly quickly considering you've been leaving your side of the conversation empty. "No, sorry. Just can't believe you're actually behaving yourself. Who are you, and what have you done with Cassanova that normally takes a hold of you after a few drinks?"

He's right here, Jungkook laments, knowing better than to act on the way he's been feeling lately. Just says, "Maybe I'm maturing."

"I find that hard to believe," you tell him. If the tiktok psychology gurus who have taught you everything you know about modern men are anything to go by, his brain should have finished fully developing about a year ago.

And while Jungkook would tell you to get fucked and that his brain was already fully developed, he knows that if he sat down and really thought about it, maybe it'd hold some merit. Afterall, it's been about a year since those first thoughts about you started creeping into his mind house.

It's only recently that he's been flirting with that damn annexe door, but he's been aware of someone in there for a while, now.

"What?" He smiles down the phone, resting an arm on his bare abdomen, looking up at the dark ceiling of his hotel room. "Maybe I am. Maybe shagging random girls doesn't excite me anymore."

"You're lying."

"Am I?"

"Yes," you insist, but there's a smile on your face.

There's something about his denial you enjoy.

It's why you're arguing against him. You wanna hear him deny it again. Tell you he doesn't care about other girls. You don't necessarily want him to care about you beyond what he already does. Or at least that's what you tell yourself.

"No," he simply replies back. "I'm not."

"So if Jiwon—"

"Why are you bringing her up again?" He's smirking, now. You can hear it in his tone. "Are you jealous?"

"Jealous?!"

"Yeah," He insists, just like you had been earlier. "You don't like the idea of her sleeping with me."

Incorrect. You don't like the idea of him sleeping with her.

"Well, no," you admit. "But because I work with her—"

"That's not it," he fights against you. Knows that you didn't go and see Mingyu when you said you would, and also now knows you said you would after you thought he'd slept with Jiwon. He might not be able to read women's minds, but he's learnt your M.O. pretty well over the years.

"You're drunk," you whisper, trying to hide behind the alcohol that both of you have in your systems. Neither of you are in any position to make sensible choices.

"Tipsy," he corrects. "And so are you. Go on. Be honest. Tell me."

"There's nothing to tell."

"Yeah, there is," he whispers, his words far braver in sentiment than they are in sound.

You swallow. Can't work out if he's just teasing you or not. "There's nothing."

The silence in the room around you is deafening. It's like all you can focus on is Jungkook, and the way you imagine his lips pouting together at the end of each sentence he speaks. Pretty and pink and—

"So you've never thought about it?" He interrupts your thoughts with a question you're unprepared for.

"What?" You reply a little dismissively, as if it's an outlandish think to consider.

But Jungkook doesn't buy it.

Has been driving himself insane.

Knows he can't be the only one—and if he is, then maybe he really is insane.

"Us," he replies as if it's water off a duck's back. Simple. Easy. "You've never wondered what it would be like?"

"Kook..."

It's like playing chicken. Both too scared to cross a line for fear of it changing the entire fabric of your lives.

But you can acknowledge something without acting on it. Confirmation means nothing; it's the choices that follow which really mean something,

"Yeah?" He husks. His sleepy eyes are pressed shut, his voice a slow drawl. "What is it, huh? You want me to admit it first?"

You almost laugh at how dumb this whole conversation is. You're friends. Have been for years. Colleagues. Just... Well, just you and Jungkook. He's never thought about you like that. You're certain of it.

Yet still, you ask, "Well, have you?"

He doesn't reply immediately. You half think he's drifted off to sleep, proof that he'd had too much to drink to be having a conversation like this.

But then you hear his breathy little laugh through the speaker. You know he must be nibbling down on his bottom lip as he smirks. The sound is so familiar you can picture it. You wish he was here. Want to see it. Feel it.

Fuck, you curse yourself out. This is not good.

And Jungkook's only gonna make it a whole lot worse.

"Yeah," he quietly admits, keys in one hand and padlock in the other as he stares at the annexe door in his mind. Wide open, there's no going back now. Only forward. "I think about it all the time."

Bam nuzzles the side of his head against your tummy as he adjusts into a slightly more comfortable position on Jungkook's bed. The sheets are a mess from all your tossing and turning, your body plonked right in the middle of his mattress. There's no his side or your side anymore. You've made it yours, and Bam has joined in.

He shouldn't be on the bed. You know this, he knows this. You're both disobeying Jungkook. Are in this perfectly innocent sin together, and will face the wrath of Jungkook as a unit.

There's never really much wrath that comes from Jungkook. He's the type to smirk and laugh in the face of the people who've wronged him. Believes in karma. Fate. He draws the lines at horoscopes, though. Thinks they're bollocks. Smiles, still, when you blame shitty things on Mercury.

The only time you've ever seen him angry—nostrils flaring, jaw tense, agitated beyond compare—was when some guy wouldn't stop hitting on you in a bar. You'd told him no a dozen times over and he just wouldn't listen.

It still pisses you off that he listened to Jungkook without hesitation, but you also know it looked like Jungkook was gonna break his nose. You're far less intimidating when you're annoyed. Jungkook laughs at you whenever you get frustrated. Says you're cute—or at least as cute as a Gremlin can be.

You've got a similar look on your face now, all perplexed and bereft. If he were here, he'd be teasing you, trying to make you crack a smile.

Annoyingly, you know he'd be able to.

You're staring up at his ceiling, early morning light seeping in through the gaps in the curtains. The world you wish to ignore today rudely intrudes on you regardless.

It's his karma, you think.

You disobey Jungkook, the world disobeys you.

With one hand resting on Bam, the other is tightly clutching your phone. For the past five minutes, you've been locking and unlocking it like a wind-up toy drummer.

To call, or not to call, or whatever Shakespeare said.

The faint hum of a wine-induced hangover buzzes between your ears, but it isn't so bad. Probably because you didn't really have that much to drink.

If anyone asks, you'll say you had a bottle.

And by anyone, you mean Jungkook.

If Jungkook asks, you'll laugh— We had a call? Are you sure? —and he'll laugh too— Yeah, we were both pretty drunk —and you'll both pretend like he didn't say the words that he did.

Pulling the pillow he usually sleeps on across to your face, you press it down. Scream into the padding. It's not loud enough to alarm Bam, but it is enough to make him cock his head.

It wouldn't have been so bad if it had only been Jungkook's lips that were loose last night.

The issue is that yours were, too.

You wish you didn't remember all the words you'd said. The way you'd told him to shut up.

The way he'd hummed, "Oh, come on. You know you think about it, too."

The way you'd said, "I do no such thing."

He had laughed. Said you were a liar.

You'd protested. Said it didn't matter anyways, 'cause you both know it'd never work.

"So you have thought about it," he'd teased.

"Briefly."

"How briefly?"

"Like a matter of minutes—"

"Okay, rude," he'd pouted through the receiver. "I last way longer than a couple of minutes."

"You're disgusting," you'd laughed at the way he'd made it all about sex.

For all he knew, you could have been talking about a relationship—but you're right. You both know it'd never work, so of course this is about sex.

"You the one who's thought about it, though," he'd flirted through the phone. Biting down on his bottom lip, the darkness of his hotel room had slipped him into a fatal state of hedonism.

There was a beat of his heart. One. Two. Still no response from you.

He knew you were thinking about it. Thinking about him. Decided to push his luck. Had almost whispered, his fingertips trailing down his torso, as he chanced, "Do you ever think about me when you touch yourself?"

Silence continued to linger for longer than it should have, until you finally just whispered, "Kook."

"Yeah?" He'd smirked.

"You can't ask things like that."

But he can, and he did, and your lack of an answer was an answer in and of itself.

He wasn't even really after the truth. He just wanted to get under your skin; burrow himself down into the deepest, darkest, most depraved corner of your brain. Revenge, he thinks, for that damn annexe you've assigned squatters rights to.

You set up home in him? Fine . He'll do it right back.

"So this is what I am, huh?" You'd replied, with a little faux chip on your shoulder, trying to deflect from yourself. "Just another office girl for you to fantasize about?"

There's always been a challenge to you that Jungkook has liked. You're sparring partners. Will bicker and argue and end up laughing over it all. It makes for excellent brainstorming meetings, 'cause you're always trying to win. You bring out the best in each other, even if it is in a bid to do the opposite.

Jungkook had sighed. Weighed up his options. Rested his hands over his boxers, only to find himself far too entertained by the conversation. It wasn't a surprise, nor was it unwelcome.

The frequency of his thoughts about you had been doubling, tripling, quadrupling ever since Chuseok.

His bed has become a pit of sin in recent weeks; nobody but him in the shrouded decay of a mind-house he's been neglecting in favour of the annexe shared with you.

He already knows just how bad it's gonna be for him when he returns home, and the pillows are dented by your crown, the lingering scent of your perfume wrapping around him just like he knows his hand will be around his cock. Tight. Strong. Firm. It's your name he'll whine, just like it was when he was in the shower earlier that morning.

God, it's gotten so bad.

He needs to stop before he ruins everything.

It's not like sex is an uncommon topic of conversation between you both. Casual vulgarity had been a tool used to bond with; a taboo way to tease one another. It's always been casual. Uncalculated.

It's different, now.

In the darkness of midnight, the stakes were raised almost as high as your heart rate.

"You think so poorly of me," he'd whined, a teasing smile on his lips. It wasn't rare to hear Jungkook address you so playfully. In fact, it was a common occurrence—yet it felt strange, this time. "You know you're not just another office girl."

"Do I?"

"You should."

"I don't," you'd shrugged into his sheets. "Tell me, how am I different?"

The distance between you made a flirt like this safe. Immediate consequences were null and void, and the alcohol in your system didn't seem to care for it either.

"I can't tell you."

"Sure you can."

"You don't wanna hear it," he'd promised.

"Try me," you'd challenged.

And then Jungkook admitted something he knew far better than to confess, but couldn't seem to help himself. He just wanted you to know that you were special. That you were different.

That you are different. Are special.

"None of the office girls have ever made me cum in my own bed."

It came out far less sweet than his brain had told him it would, but it was still a compliment, he thought.

"Jungkook!"

"What?!"

The way you both kind of shrieked at each other only amplified the shock of the confession, but also did well to hide the way it excited you, too. Got you hot beneath his sheets. Aroused.

"Don't say things like that," you'd scolded him with a laugh, playing it off as a joke. "I'll report you to HR."

"You'd do no such thing," he'd smirked down the line. Matched your energy. Played it off as an incredibly obscene, vulgar joke. Will turn his nose up if you ever ask him if he was telling the truth. "And anyways, the HR girls love me. You'd be fighting a losing battle."

"You're awful," you'd told him with such a tenderness that suggested you really didn't think that at all.

And so he smiled. Decided to cut his losses. Agreed. "Yeah. That's me."

The conversation dissolved into casual chatter until you both made excuses about being tired, or needing to sleep off the alcohol.

Yet both of you would spend the next hour awake, staring at your respective ceilings. Occasionally, you'd look to the space reserved for him in his bed. He'd do just the same. Would look at Jiwon's empty bed and lament the fact that it wasn't you on the trip with him.

He never should have asked you to watch over Bam—but there really isn't anyone else he'd rather have in his apartment.

Then he's thinking about you all over again, in his home, hair claw-clipped like it so often is, and how cute those little pyjama shorts of yours would look peeking out from the hemline of one of his shirts. He wonders what you're wearing; if it's your bare skin against his sheets. Wonders if he sleeps naked after he gets home, if it'd feel like your arms are wrapped around him; if the scent of your perfume would sink into his skin.

It doesn't take long for the thoughts to become lewd. He thinks of your lips, and how they'd part with a gasp if he were to stroke your skin with his fingertips. Thinks of your waist, and what it would feel like to hold. Thinks of your body in a way that really ought to get him fired.

How his lips could drag across your skin; the wet pink of his tongue learning where you liked to be touched. How he'd guide your hands. The words of approval he'd use— Yeah, like that. Oh, fuck. Yeah, just like that, baby. You're so good at that aren't you, huh? You know how many times I've imagined this? You're so much better. G'na make me cum, babe. Keep going. You want my cum, yeah? Yeah, you do. Oh, fuck—

"No," he sharply scolds himself, tearing his thoughts from you and his hand from his thick, impatient cock. "Fucks sake, man. Get a grip."

Wanting you like this is selfish, he thinks. Selfish and stupid and— God —so fuckin' dumb.

He also thinks it's your fault. You're an interior designer, after all. Have made that stupid annexe feel more like a home than the rest of his head ever has. Added candles and cushions. Hung pictures on the wall; turned off the main light in favour of warm lamps that just make him wanna curl up and fall asleep with you on the sofa.

It's so different, this little annexe in his brain, to the apartment that he actually lives in.

If he were to assess it thoroughly, he'd realise that the annexe looks just like your apartment.

But he hates your place. Has never been shy about telling you so. Hates all your nicknacks. Hates the clothing rails you use instead of a proper wardrobe, and the way your beside table is actually just a stack of books you're yet to read. Hates how there's always a cosy blanket within touching distance, and how it always smells like black cherry candles. Hates how firm your mattress is, even if he's only ever slept on it once, fully clothed after you'd both had way too much to drink after a tight work deadline.

He also hated how he didn't wake up with an aching back like he usually does. Hated how sleeping in his own damn bed began to feel wrong, and how nowadays it only feels right during those first few days after he returns from trips; when it still smells like you and the rings you take off your fingers in the night are still tucked beneath his pillows.

Kind of like they are now, as you finally decide to stop being a miserable cow and just get up. You're normally the one who calls him, and it's typically always when you're walking Bam. Last night had been an anomaly. There's no reason for him to call you, now.

It's when you're showering that your phone lights up. Only briefly. Messages, not calls.

JK: can't call this morning, gotta head to the exhibition hall early

JK: give my baby a head scratch from me

JK: send me pics!!

JK: of bam

JK: none of you

While the vomit emoji he adds onto the end of the final message is a little uncalled for, it's actually kind of a relief that he doesn't want to call. Having to face him right now, when you're in such a sorry state of confusion, would have only made the situation far worse for you.

At least that's what you tell yourself.

Your face when you walk into the office, and the state of despair Lea seems to find you in, would suggest otherwise.

By half past ten, you've managed to wrangle Jungkook into conversation eight times.

It's not until you mention him in relation to Jiwon that Lea seems to notice.

"Okay, so?" She laughs. "Everyone knows you and Jungkook are like a package deal. She isn't taking your spot—plus, you're her senior . If she tried to undercut you, do you think anyone would want to work with her?"

It's a good point, but you don't really care to listen to reason right now.

"But it's not undercutting," you pout. "You saw everyone in the group chat. Dream team. "

The way your voice heightens in pitch and nose turns up as you utter the phrase is nothing short of hilarious, and Lea makes sure to let you know.

"You're being a big old baby about this," she laughs again. "Jungkook's gonna come back, relay all of the deals he's set up, and then he's gonna whisk you up to his office to spend the next two weeks drawing up plans. I doubt I'll even see you!"

Admittedly, in the busy periods, you'll work at his desk. In the big chair. The special one he got after his first bonus. The one on his side of the desk. He'll work on the opposite side—the client side—with his laptop.

It's caused a fair amount of confusion before, whenever people have come to his office. Your nonchalance about it all makes it seem totally normal. Most people don't question it anymore—and if they do, you just say the programme you have to use runs better on his computer than it does on a laptop.

Which isn't a lie.

But you could always just work at your own desk.

The issues is that Jungkook likes to keep you close when he's working. Makes it easier for the random questions he blurts out that you're always ready to answer. Annoys him to no end when you're not there and he has to go off and find you.

By the time he finds you, the question is always half gone or you start blathering on about something completely irrelevant and he forgets it anyway. It makes him antsy not having you close.

Neither of you seem to realise it's not normal.

"Look," Lea sighs, minimising her tab so that she can give you her full attention. "You're the one who suggested Jiwon should go. It's just work! You're acting like a jealous girlfriend—"

"No, I'm not!" You gasp. "Don't be absurd!"

"Well, whose apartment did you wake up in?"

"That's hardly—"

"Whose?"

"I mean— Well— His, but —"

"Who was the first person you spoke to this morning?"

"Okay, that's not fair. I'm looking after his—"

"Who was the last person you spoke to last night?"

You pause. Narrow your eyes.

Lea just smiles.

"At least tell me you're in the spare room and not his bed," she jokes—but when she notices the look on your face, her smile drops. "Oh, you're kidding me! You know what you're like when it comes to domestication ! You're bloody nesting , aren't you?!"

"Oh c'mon," you scoff. "I'm not an animal!"

"Uh, yeah," she says, dumbfounded. "You are. That's the issue with humans. Too many bloody primal desires—"

"I do not have a primal desire for Jungkook!"

"Look me in the eyes and tell me you've never thought about it."

"I haven't!" You assert, eyes locked on hers. It's almost believable. Or at least it is until your lips begin to twitch. The look of shock on her face is borderline offensive. "Oh my God, shut up!"

Lea's face scrunches up in revulsion. Shoulders to her ears, she whispers, "He's a whore !"

"Okay, that's not nice."

"But it's true!"

Sighing, you slump into your chair. Push your pout up to your nose, and then sigh even deeper than before.

Looking across at Lea with such perplexity anyone would think she's just asked you to design interiors for a rocket ship, you decide you absolutely cannot let this confusion get the better of you.

"It's fine," you assure her. "He's coming home tomorrow evening. Once I'm out of his house, I'll be way more rationable about things."

"You sure?"

No.

"I'm sure."

As Jungkook places his rucksack down beside a bar stool in an airport lounge, he can't help but feel like he's doing something wrong.

It's dark outside, and the dim lights of the bar give way to a seedy intimacy that he's always loved about places like this—how fleeting they are. The casual embrace of a stranger's stare can linger for hours afterwards, consuming his thoughts for an entire flight.

Yet the only people he's even looked in the eyes of tonight have been the airport staff checking him through. Even as he asks for a whisky, he barely registers the woman behind the bar.

Placing his phone down, he also discards the lanyard that's been around his neck. He forgot to take it off before heading to their airport, and just popped it back on after going through the scanners.

It's not like he needs it now. The conference centre is miles away.

He's still in his business suit. Left quickly. Just confirmed with Jiwon that she didn't mind him catching an earlier flight and in all honesty, it suited her better. Jungkook had been so annoying about Acorn guy the entire time. Kept telling her it was a waste of energy, and no business would come from her pursuit of him. She wanted the chance to prove him wrong; to achieve something by herself.

"Are you Leaving early, too?" An American accent drawls from beside him, immediately grabbing Jungkook's attention.

A burly man with greying hair takes a perch on the stool beside Jungkook. Nodding towards the lanyard, he holds up his own. Mitch Ellis his tag reads, and instantly Jungkook is reminded of the folder you had handed to him before his departure.

"Did a little research on an American company that's gonna be at the Expo. Their head marketer has shares in a bunch of baseball-related companies. Get pally with him."

The opportunity hadn't arisen. Jungkook barely even had time to breathe, let alone seek out some elusive American businessman—yet here he is, in the flesh, approaching Jungkook.

Sucking a little air between his teeth, Jungkook nods. Laughs. Says, "Got a family to get back to."

What. The. Fuck.

He doesn't know why on earth he said that, he just knows he can't take it back. A family. For Christ's sake! It's not just the abandoned house in his brain that's rotting—it's the whole damn thing. Stupid .

Pursing his lips in approval, Mitch nods. Lends an expression that Jungkook can only assume means he respects the answer.

"Family man," he says. "Don't see many of them in the industry these days."

Jungkook shrugs. Continues on with his bullshit. "I love my job, but home's where the heart is." Or at least, it's where his dog is. Of course, he loves Bam more than he cares to articulate—but a man and his dog surely don't constitute to a 'family'. "You off early, too?"

"Wife and kids tagged along for the trip," he nods, then quickly asks the barmaid for a whisky, too. "Promised I'd take them to Lotte World tomorrow."

Jungkook grimaces. "Ooft, on a Saturday?"

"The crowds that bad, huh?"

Gritting his teeth, Jungkook tips his head from side to side, then says, "Get magic passes for the family. It's worth the extra price. Trust me."

He'd never dream of going to Lotte World on a Saturday.

In fact, he doesn't dream of it full stop. Grew up going to the Busan franchise, and would opt for it any day of the week. Everland would be his second choice if couldn't be bothered for the drive. But never the Jamsil Lotte World. It's always rammed .

"I swear, kids—" Mitch shakes his head "—All they do is bleed you dry."

Jungkook smiles. "I'm yet to reach that stage, but I can imagine."

Mitch looks appropriately confused. Did Jungkook not just make up a bullshit imaginary family? Surely he hasn't faltered already?

Jungkook clarifies, "Going home to my girl and my dog. No kids—or at least if I've acquired one over the last couple of days, it'll be a surprise."

He doesn't know why he said that.

My girl.

Oh, God. He's going insane. He must be. This is ridiculous.

Those stupid dreams of his had already started migrating into daydreams. Now, they're being spoken into reality. This is terrible. Really, truly, awful.

Mitch has an easy ten, maybe twenty years on Jungkook.

His hair is greying, and there are lines embedded into his skin that tell stories of the life he's lived.

While it's his career Jungkook would typically be envious of, he finds himself jealous of Mitch's personal life. Wife. Kids. God, he hates the conformity of it all, but there's an ache in his chest when he thinks about all that he doesn't have.

And it only worsens when he thinks of you and Bam.

"Ah, young love," Mitch nods, again seemingly in approval of Jungkook and his 'choices'—which is bizarre, because Jungkook wants to punch himself in the face. "Make the most of it. You'll be longing for the good old days once the kids come."

It's too late for Jungkook to correct himself. Too late to admit to the truth. To say 'lol, jk, im single, just fancy the pants off my coworker.'

The thought of it all makes him want to hurl. Fancy.

He's never admitted his crush before, not even to himself. Oh, this is all so awful.

And so Jungkook panics. Says, "Hopefully we've got a couple years before then. We're both at the same company, so we're trying to figure it all out before doing anything we can't take back."

What is wrong with you?!

"Oh?" Mitch chirps, encouraging Jungkook to continue.

"Were interns at the same time," Jungkook begins to overexplain, as if it makes it any better. He's speaking a crush into existence that he isn't even sure exists, and declaring it as love of some sorts? Oh, this is really barbaric. He might throw up. Maybe if he pretends to faint, he can get out of this situation. He thinks it would be less mortifying. Yet, still, he continues! "Have gone up through the ranks together, but are different departments."

Why is he still talking about you?!

Oh God, his head is gonna explode. It's like you're building an extension on the annexe. He never gave you planning permission, and yet there you are, concrete trowel in one hand, a brick in the other. You're so pretty, he thinks.

Get a grip!

"HR nightmare," Mitch laughs, then leans a little closer. "Truth be told, it's how me and the missus met—I worked for her Daddy's company. Thought I'd be fired on the spot when we told him."

"But I'm guessing...?"

Mitch nods. "I'm now their longest-serving employee and am set to take over in the next five years," he laughs. Thankfully, it all worked out. Hopefully, the same'll be said for you and your missus."

Jungkook's lips curve into a tight-lipped smile. Decides he has to change topic, or otherwise he might just self-implode. "Yeah. Fingers crossed—anyway, I don't think we had a chance to speak at the conference, did we? What's your company?"

As if Jungkook has earned a gold seal of approval, Mitch nods his head over towards a couple of chairs that overlook the runways. Picks up his whisky. Begins to walk away. Says, "I was about to ask you the exact same thing. What did you say your name was again? Let's talk."

"Jeon Jungkook," he grins, picking up his whisky, finally forcing you out of his brain. "Yeah. Let's chat."

"Bammie," you whine into Jungkook's pillows when the sound of his paws excitedly clattering across the floorboards wakes you. You can't have been asleep for very long. A couple hours, tops. "It's not time for walkies yet."

Burrowing yourself deeper into Jungkook's sheets, you try and drown out the noise–but it's fruitless. Not only is Bam too cute to ignore, you worry that there's something wrong.

Sitting up, eyes all beary, the dark nothingness around you clues you in on the fact it's definitely the middle of the night. Pushing the duvet off your body, you swing your legs over the side of the bed as your phone begins to vibrate. Jungkook's face takes over your screen, and a frown takes over yours.

Part of you wants to ignore it. Wonder if maybe you've already slept through it ringing out, and that's what woke Bam up.

At this time of the evening, Jungkook should be at the afterparty. It's unofficial, and not endorsed by the convention, which only means one thing: people are getting legless.

He'd sent you a message earlier on in the day saying that Jiwon was still trying her absolute hardest to bag the Acorn man, after an unsuccessful attempt the night before. You wonder if he's wing-manning her.

Bitterly, you wonder if she's cut her losses. Turned her attention to Jungkook, instead.

He's probably shitfaced by now.

Part of you worries he'll want to continue the conversation from the night before. You're too sober to even consider flirting.

Sliding across to answer, you hold the phone to your ear and you begin to walk in the direction of wherever Bam may be.

"Yeah?" You croak down the phone, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand.

"You sound chirpy," he teases.

Bizarrely, you think he sounds sober. "Fuck off."

"Charming. Undo the bolt on the door," Jungkook demands down the line, but there's almost an echo, as if he's just in the other room or something like that.

Your feet softly pad into the living room, the darkness not much of a hindrance. You know his apartment like the back of your hand; the veins, the freckles, the grooves dappled in your skin below your knuckles. All it takes is a couple of steps for you to reach the light switch, and absolutely zero thought for you to flick it on.

"Hm?" You mumble a confused sound as light bursts into the room. Your eyes squeeze together, a groan catching in your throat. Blinking once, twice, you adjust quickly. Spot Bam by the entryway, looking up at the door expectantly. One of his paws taps at the steel, a soft whine trembling on his lips. Turning your attention back to Jungkook, you say, "What?"

"'I'm home, gremlin," Jungkook softly smiles down the phone. "Let me in."

"But it-" You begin to protest, knowing that his flight isn't until tomorrow.

Jungkook doesn't care to explain himself. Is just as tired as you sound.

"Let me in."

You don't need to be told twice.

He's home.

It shouldn't make you feel the way that it does, all warm and content.

But it does, and for a moment, you let yourself indulge in the sensation of welcoming Jungkook right back to where he belongs.

Hanging up, you place your phone on the kitchen counter, reaching out to scratch Bam's head when you get to the door.

"Is it daddy, huh?" You ask him as he continues to paw at the door. There's a small metallic click as you unthread the bolt, which is quickly replaced by a robotic beep as you press the easy-release button for the latch.

Before you can even properly open the door, the handle is being pressed down from the outside. The sound of Jungkook's hushed voice echoes into the hallway instantly as he coos over Bam just to wind him up a little before he can see him.

"Who is it, Bammie?" He asks through the door, and you already know exactly what he looks like—smile so large it takes over his entire face.

You help to push the door open, and find that there's sunshine in the middle of the night in Jungkook's hallway.

"You're home," you sleepily smile as you watch Jungkook crouch, arms wide and all-encompassing as he greets Bam in the most boisterous of ways. He's not making any sense. Isn't saying any words. Just lets noises rumble from his throat, of which Bam somehow seems to understand.

In a way, you understand it too. The mental translation is a bit patchy, but you know it's something along the lines of, I've missed you so much Bammie, Daddy's home now, let's never spend time apart ever again.

Glancing up to you, that daylight smile hanging off his lips, Jungkook's got a glisten in his tired eyes.

Maybe you haven't adjusted to the light as well as you think you have, but there's something different about Jungkook. Something that's making your weary heart work overtime. It's all a bit strange. All a bit lovely. All a bit terrifying.

"Yeah," he tenderly agrees, hands scratching behind Bam's floppy ears as his eyes fondly meet yours. How could he ever stay away? "Home."

part three to be uploaded tomorrow <3

#byholly #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook ff #jk ff #jungkook x reader #jungkook imagine #bangtan fic #officeworker!jungkook #fuckboy!jungkook #f2l #jungkook fluff

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heli-writes · 7 months ago

Text

Heartbreak and other nuisances

Pairing: Pro-hero!Deku x female!reader

Summary: Love is never easy, especially when you're the number one hero of Japan. After getting dumped by his childhood love, Deku just can't seem to get it right, much to his mother's disappointment. When he meets y/n, he is convinced it will just be a one-night stand. Or being fuck buddies. His broken heart stands in his way. And you've got your own demons to fight.

Disclaimer: nsfw, smut, oral sex, fingering, vaginal sex, angst, heartbreak, bisexuality

[Please don't read if you are sensible to or triggered by the topics mentioned above.]

Minors do not interact.

Note: It's very long. This might become a series later but for now can be read as a one-shot.

Part 1, Part 2

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Deku watches the skyline of Musutafu and tries to ignore the ringing of his phone. His patrolling shift ended a few hours ago But he can't bring himself to go home to his empty apartment.

His phone keeps disrupting the silent piece of the rooftop he is sitting on. He sighs and rubs his temple. It's probably his mother or one of his friends bugging him to go out with them.

Digging through the pockets of his hero suit, he eventually finds the ringing device. Two missed calls from his mom, three text messages from Kirishima and Denki and an email from his PR manager. He decides to check his voicemail first.

"Hey it's mum again, you haven't picked up the phone after my last few calls. So I tried again. I was just wondering if you'd like to come over on Saturday for a nice dinner with me and Toshinori. You don't have to of course but I'd be looking forward to seeing you again. Anyways, just give me a call when you have time to check your messages.", his mother's voice comes out of the phone.

He sighs and types in a quick reply.

> Hey, mom! Got your message. Sorry for not calling you back, work's a lot at the moment. Thanks for the invite, but I won't be able to make it.

His mother answers immediately.

>> Are you sure? You really should take a break from time to time. We're worried about you.

Izuku stares at the screen and pulls at his lip in thought. Just when he's about to give his mother a cheap excuse, another message pops up.

>> Yo, are you in on Saturday or not?

He opens the chat and reads that Kirishima and Denki invited him to a concert on Saturday. Then, he opens the chat with his mom again.

> Don't worry about me, mom. Actually, I can't come on Saturday because I am going to a concert with Kirishima and Denki.

>> A concert? Honey, that's nice. Have fun then!

Izuku sighs in relief. Another worried talk with his family was avoided. He's sure that he cannot stand another "A hero must have a balanced life"-talk by Yagi.

He quickly responds to Kirishima's message before putting the phone away and starting his way home.

~*~*~*~

The jeans feel uncomfortable, Izuku decides. All in all, his hero costume is a lot more comfortable than his normal clothes these days. He wears it like a second skin. Sometimes he forgets to put it off when he comes home.

His phone vibrates.

>> We're downstairs. You comin'?

He quickly puts his phone into his back pocket and grabs his key and wallet.

~*~*~*~

"I swear to god, that were the finest pair of boobs, I've ever seen!", Denki ends his dramatic story of a girl he slept with last weekend.

"It's probably the only pair of boobs you've ever seen.", Kirishima comments jokingly.

Denki immediately starts to go on a rent about all the boobs he's ever seen but Kirishima ignores him and turns to Izuku.

"So, how are you, Izuku? Haven't heard from you for a while. Didn't think you'd actually come out with us tonight.", he asks him.

Izuku shrugs.

"Same old, same old.", he answers vaguely. "Is Kachaan joining us?", he quickly tries to change the topic.

"Nah, he's busy with his girlfriend. Dude's probably spending all day and night in bed fucking.", Denki says.

Izuku feels his stomach drop. Of course, he knows about Kachaan's girlfriend. They're together for little over half a year now and the press writes about them every other day. However, he kind of hoped that Katsuki would grow tired of her eventually. After all, the only person he had ever been with for longer than six months was Izuku.

Kirishima rolls his eyes. "Denki, is sex the only thing you ever think about?", he asks annoyed. Denki gives him a smug expression. "I'm young, single, and hot. Of course, it is.", he answers.

"Talking about sex, Izuku when was the last time you got some?", Denki asks his friend nonchalantly.

Izuku furrows his brows. He actually has to think about this. He had sex after Kachaan but all these hookups were meaningless so eventually he gave them up.

"Actually, I don't know.", he replies truthfully.

Kirishima pats his back. "You don't have to tell us, buddy. But remember, we're not the press. You don't have to save face around us.", he tells Izuku.

Denkis starts laughing. "Dude, I think he's being honest. Damn, then you really need to get some tonight! But don't worry, I got ya. There are plenty of hot chicks at the club I am taking you to!", he exclaims, "Let's go!"

~*~*~*~

Turns out, the club is some kind of old, rundown pub at the end of town. Part of Izuku is glad Denki took them to a place like this. It's less likely to be found by paparazzi around here. Then again, it probably also wouldn't be good to be found by the press in a place like this.

Both Denki and Kirishima don't seem to care about that when they enter the place. There's a small stage at the end of the wide room. The banner over the stage indicates that some kind of rock band will be playing soon.

The trio makes their way to the bar first. After they've gotten their drinks, they find a corner to stand in and watch the crowd. It doesn't take Denki long to choose a chick for the night and he takes off to try his luck.

"So, how are you doing? I mean really? Don't give me a half-assed answer this time.", Kirishima asks.

Izuku takes a long drag from his beer. "Been telling you, I'm fine. Work's a lot but not surprising with our profession and status.", he mumbles just loud enough for Kirishima to hear.

Kirishima gives him a worried side glance. "You know that you don't have to carry this weight alone, do you?", he points out.

"Yeah, I know."

Izuku stares into his glass. He's not sure how or if he should make his friends understand that it's not work that lies heavy on his mind.

The truth is that the grand hero Deku is lonely. Simple as that.

He thought he found somebody special in Kacchan only to find out that it was nothing special to the explosion hero. Just something to pass the time until he found someone more fitting, someone more socially acceptable.

Izuku takes another drag from his glass when the lights suddenly dimmed. "I think the show is about to start.", Kirishima points out. "Wanna get closer to the stage?", he asks and Izuku just nods in response.

The two of them walk deeper into the small crowd that is forming. Somewhere in between the people, Izuku sees Denki's blonde hair light up.

A punk rock band enters the stage. "You know them?", Izuku asks his friend. Kirishima nods excitedly. "Yeah, they're pretty underground though. They're really cool. Katsuki introduced them to me!", he tells the green-haired men.

Blaring music starts and Izuku immediately knows that this is not his kind of music. He likes rock music but more classic hard rock like AC/DC. He can see though how this is right up Katsuki's alleyway.

Memories of loud punk music blaring out of speakers in Katsuki's bedroom flash before his eyes. He remembers the layers of sweat on his skin and the taste of Katsuki on his lips.

Suddenly, he feels nauseous.

"Hey, I'm getting another drink!", he yells over to Kirishima who already headbangs to the music.

Izuku makes his way over to the bar pushing through the masses of bodies. He starts to feel really uncomfortable. It's too loud, too hot, too stuffy.

When he reaches the bar, it takes a while to place his order. When he gets his drink, he stays at the bar. He's not too keen on throwing himself onto the dance floor again.

People squeeze past him left and right to get to the bar and get drinks. Uncomfortably, he tries to shift out of their way. Suddenly he bumps into someone with his back and cold liquid drenches his shirt.

"Gosh, I'm so sorry!", a female voice says behind him.

He turns around and then there's you.

You wear a short cocktail dress that compliments your cleavage. Your (y/h/c) hair is styled perfectly. Only your makeup looks a bit cakey, probably due to the high humidity in the pub you're standing in but Izuku doesn't even notice it.

"Don't worry, it's fine.", he mumbles and tries to turn away. He really doesn't want to get recognized. Especially not over a spilled drink.

"Are you sure?", you ask unsure but before you can say anything more, the man in front of you disappears into the crowd.

You watch him disappear in the direction of the toilets. You turn towards the bartender. "Excuse me, can I order what he had?", you yell over the music.

*~*~*~*

Izuku grips the sides of the sink. He splashes water into his face and looks at his drenched shirt. Luckily, it can be mistaken for sweat.

He would like to hole up in one of these toilet cabins. He really doesn't want to get back out there. Everybody out there seems to have a great time and he feels lost in the crowd.

Kirishima is probably already looking for him. The red-haired man already suspects that Izuku is not doing too well. He takes another deep breath before pushing himself off the sink and turning towards the door.

"Hey!", a voice says right next to him when he's out of the door. It's you again. You're holding two glasses of rum coke.

"For you. As a sorry for spilling my drink on you earlier.", you tell him and offer him one of the drinks.

Great, he thinks, a groupie trying to get my attention.

"Thanks", he tells her and takes one of the glasses. She gives him a curt nod.

"See you around", you tell him and turn around to leave.

Izuku stares after you. Did you not recognize him or are you not interested in him? Why does he feel slightly insulted?

"Hey, man, there you are. We were already wondering if you picked up a chick and left us behind!", Kirishima jokes and pats his shoulder.

*~*~*~*

"Izuku, are you coming over this weekend? We'd really like to see you again.", his mother says over the phone.

"You know, mom, I'm really busy. I don't know if I can make it.", he tells her trying to avoid the inevitable.

"Then we come over and I cook you a nice meal. I still have the spare key to your apartment.", his mother proposes gleefully.

Izuku rubs his temple. He really doesn't want his mother and Yagi to sniff around in his apartment. There's still a box of Kacchan's stuff under his bed.

"Alright, mom, I'm coming over for dinner, okay?", he gives in.

"Yes, honey, that's great. We're looking forward to seeing you.", his mother tells him contentedly.

After hanging up, Izuku rubs the sides of his head and sighs deeply. He is not looking forward to this.

*~*~*~*

"Izuku, we're so glad that you could make it!", his mother chirps and immediately hugs him upon opening the door. Yagi pats him on the back.

They go easy on him during dinner. Asking polite questions about work and his friends. His mother pries a little bit too much on what Uraraka is doing lately for Izuku's taste.

After dinner, over a cup of tea, is when the real deal starts. Izuku notices his mother and Yagi changing a meaningful glance, probably a code that now it's time to torture him.

"So... honey, how's life besides work? Anything new?", his mother asks carefully.

Izuku avoids eye contact. "Not really, I guess.", he shrugs.

"I hope you don't work too long hours, my boy.", Yagi says.

Izuku shrugs again. "Well, you know what the job is like.", he tells the older man.

"Of course, of course... it just seems as if you are really pushing yourself lately.", Yagi replies.

"We're just a bit worried about you. We never see you anymore, you barely seem to go out with your friends anymore.", his mother adds.

"I went out with Kirishima and Denki last week.", Izuku tries to defend himself half-heartedly.

"And we were really happy to hear that. It's just that you seem to go out less and less.", his mother points out.

"That's not true.", Izuku starts to get irritated, "Actually I am going out again tonight."

"Oh really, with whom?", his mother shoots back. She sees right through him.

"With Denki.", Izuku says without batting an eye. Denki is probably out tonight anyway.

"That's wonderful, Izuku! How about we drive you? Then you can have a drink or two. You came here by car, didn't you?", his mother smiles. Izuku thinks it's a bit fake. It's probably because she knows he is lying to her.

"That'd be great.", he lies, "Let me check where I am supposed to meet Denki."

He pulls out his phone.

> Hey, are you out tonight? Mind if I join?

Denki answers within seconds.

>> Hell, yeah! I'm already out, just come around!

Denki writes and sends his location.

*~*~*~*

Yagi ends up driving him. Izuku feels like a teenager who is driven to a party by one of his parents.

"You know, your mother is just worried about you.", Yagi says into the silence of the car.

"I know but she really shouldn't. I'm fine.", he tells him.

"It's just that she sees the children of her friends and worries you might not have the same opportunities.", Yagi carefully says.

"What do you mean?", Izuku asks irritatedly.

"Well you know, they get married, have children. Mitsuki's been telling how Katsuki brings over his girlfriend. They plan to move in together.", Yagi explains.

Izuku's stomach plummets. They plan to move in together? There goes any hope of reconciliation.

When Izuku doesn't answer, Yagi mistakes his silence for shame.

"You know, there's nothing wrong with being single while you're young. I mean, I've been single for most of my career, but I've got to be honest with you. I regret not having children on my own and while I am very happy with your mother, I wished I had someone to share my pain and happiness when I was younger.", Yagi explains.

Izuku isn't sure what to say. I'd like a partner but he doesn't want me? I can't move on? Even if I could, I probably have no game?

"We both just wish you'd meet someone special.", Yagi finishes as he pulls up to the bar where Izuku meets Denki.

"Well, one does not really have control over that.", Izuku says flatly and gets out of the car.

*~*~*~*

"Izukuuu!! Over here!!", Denki's shrill voice rings through the entire bar. His arms are wrapped around a woman on each of his sides. The girls giggle.

Izuku would like to walk out backward again but there us no turning back now.

"Hey", he greets his blonde friend.

"My man! Was surprised to hear from you!", Denki greets him.

"Anybody else joining tonight?", Izuku asks and Denki shakes his head.

Great, now he can spend the rest of the night watching Deki flirt with random girls.

One of the girls by Denki's side gives Izuku coy eyes. "So, are you Deku? Denki's been telling us about you.", she asks him.

Izuku shoots his friend an angry glare and Denki shrugs apologetically.

"I don't know what he's been telling you, but I can assure you very little that he says is actually true.", Izuku replies dryly.

Before the girl can ask any more questions, Izuku excuses himself to order a drink at the bar.

"A scotch, please.", he tells the bartender without paying too much attention to the other guests.

"Oh, look who we've got here. Are you stalking me, mister?", a voice says next to him.

There you are, again. Your hair hangs loosely over your shoulder and you pop a few peanuts into your mouth.

"Oh, it's you.", Izuku simply says.

"Charming.", you commented dryly.

You look him up and down.

"Why are you dressed like that?", you ask him.

Irritatedly, Izuku turns fully towards you.

"What do you mean?", he says offendedly.

"You look like you were invited to dinner by your girlfriend's parents for the first time", you say pointing at his white button-down shirt.

"I don't have a girlfriend.", he informs you.

You give him a toothy grin. "Good. You're cute.", you tell him.

Izuku shifts uncomfortably. He hates it when women look at him like that. Like he's meat.

"Sorry, I don't do casual dating.", he replies.

"Too bad", you shrug, "What are you doing then?".

"None of your business", he says coldly.

You pursue your lips. "Damn, who hurt you?", you joke.

Izuku doesn't like how you seem to see things no one else does.

"I just have different priorities.", he says.

You take a sip from your drink. "I bet.", you reply.

Finally, the bartender comes back with his drink.

Without another word, he turns to leave.

"See you around, I guess.", he hears you mumble behind him.

He's not sure why he was so rude to you. You didn't do anything wrong. You shot your shoot and took the rejection in good sport. He didn't need to be so mean.

He's not even sure why he rejected you. You look gorgeous just like last time. Your outfit compliments your natural curves and your makeup really made your eye color pop. Usually, you're totally his type. He's just really not in the mood tonight.

He spends the night brooding next to Kaminari. The girls by his side catch on his bad mood and don't bother him all evening.

*~*~*~*

He tries to be more outgoing. Meet friends, do stuff on the weekend. Things to send to his mother to prove he's out there, living his best life.

He's not.

Tonight, he is going out for dinner with Uraraka and Iida. He initiated the meet-up so he really has to go through with it tonight.

He arrives too early and has to wait for the two for a while. The dinner itself was quite pleasant. Iida is too polite to pry too much about his private life and well-being. And Uraraka is busy updating her two friends about her life. Apparently, she met someone through a friend and they are getting quite serious. His mom is going to hate hearing that.

After dinner, the three of them bid goodbye with the promise to meet up more often. Izuku knows that he probably won't be able to fulfill that promise.

He aimlessly wanders the streets. He doesn't want to go home yet. It's a real paradox. When he's home, he doesn't want to go out. And if he's out, he doesn't want to return to his empty apartment.

He's feeling nostalgic tonight so he decides to go to a place that Kacchan showed him when they were still a thing. Or whatever the hell they were.

It's a bar that has seen better days. It's usually quite empty besides some regulars who are twice as old as Izuku. The perfect place if you want to avoid noisy fans and the press.

Izuku slides into the bench that Kacchan and he always sat at. After he has ordered, he takes a look around. It seems as if time stopped in this place. Ironic, he thinks, it seems as if time has stopped for me as well.

Deep in thought, he doesn't notice how the door opens again.

"Daisuke, Hikaru, you here again? Don't you guys have wives at home?", a female voice says loudly.

When he looks up, he immediately wants to hide beneath the table. It's you. Again. Do you have a tracker on him or what? Why do you seem to appear everywhere he is?

Luckily, you're not looking in his direction. Instead, you talk to the middle-aged men on the other side of the room.

"And what about you, missy? What's a pretty young thing like you doing here every other night?", one of the men says. He sounds amused.

You shrug. "Well, what are you doing here? Drinking of course!", you tell them with a grin.

The other man shakes his head disapprovingly.

"You should at least drink with people your age, not old fucks like us!", he tells you.

You stretch your arms widely. "Well, you see any people my age? You old fucks keep invading this place!", you shoot back.

"Well, what about that guy?", the man answers and points directly at Izuku.

He wants to die. Great, here he hoped he could slip out again without you noticing him. He really doesn't want to talk to you. You turn around to him and your eyes light up.

"Hey, I know you! You're the stalker!", you grin.

Izuku looks offended. "I was here first!", he defends himself.

You give the waiter a sign and slide onto the bench in front of him. Great, just what he needed.

"Really? You're alone this time?", you ask him.

He curses you for being so perceptive.

He shrugs. "Maybe some people join me later.", he tells you.

The waiter walks over to the table and sets down a drink in front of you. It looks strong.

You look him straight into his eyes and say: "Liar".

Embarrassment shoots down his back. You take a sip from your drink and laugh.

"I know what lonely drinking looks like. Why do you think I am here?", you tell him.

"I don't know. You're certainly not dressed for a place like this.", he replies.

It's true. You don't look like you belong in a shabby bar like this. You're wearing a bright blue, floor-length ballgown.

You shrug. "What's it to you?", you bite back.

Oh. Izuku's eyebrows raise. He must've hit a sore spot there. Unfortunately for you, he's feeling bitchy tonight.

"Well, you look like one of those bridesmaids that are put into a terrible dress by a bridezilla.", he tells you.

Actually, it's not true. The dress looks gorgeous on you. It fits your skin color and hair updo perfectly. A sour expression appears on your face.

"I wasn't a bridesmaid. I chose the dress for myself.", you tell him.

"Ah, so you were at a wedding!", he says triumphantly. Apparently, he can read you as well as you can him.

You shrug.

"So what's with the lonely drinking then? Why pay for alcohol here when you could've just got drunk for free?", he asks.

"Staying too long at your ex's wedding is bad taste.", you tell him.

"Ah", he says and raises his glass taking a sip, "That's the reason for your lonely drinking? Still stuck on that ex?"

"Ha!", you exclaim. "Yeah, hell no. I'm glad to be rid of him. He's his wife's problem now. Thank god."

Izuku watches you closely. You stir in your drink and keep your eyes fixed on your nails. By the tone of your voice, he doesn't think you're lying. You sound bitter, though.

"Then what?", he asks.

"How old are you?", you reply.

"Twenty-eight. Don't change the topic.", he scolds you.

You shoot him a mean glance.

"I'm not changing the topic.", you tell him.

When he gives you a questioning look, you sit up straight and put your hands on the table.

"Alright, you're twenty-eight, uh...?", you start.

"Izuku", he tells you.

"You're twenty-eight, Izuku. How many of your friends and acquaintances are getting married, moving in with someone, maybe even having kids?", you ask.

"Quite a few.", he admits.

"Alright. Considering you're here, on a weekday, drinking alone, I'm guessing you're not even close to any of those things. How does it feel when someone brings that up?", you explain.

"Not good.", he replies dryly. What is it with you and catching onto things?

You throw your hands up in the air.

"Exactly! And what's the ultimate reminder of that than being invited to your ex's wedding?", you exclaim.

"So... I'm guessing you're far away from those things too?", he asks unsurely.

You give him a deadpan look. "The lonely drinking should've given it away.", you tell him.

You sigh exaggeratedly and lean back. Then, you empty your drink in one go. Izuku watches you slightly perplexed. When you slam down your glass, you give the waiter another sign.

"You know what the stupidest part of this is?", you ask him and he shakes his head.

"I don't even want those things. I'm sure I'm not even made for these things and still, somehow, it makes you feel bad, you know?", you ramble.

Izuku stays silent and takes another sip from his glass. He really doesn't know what he's doing here. Why is he talking to a stranger about things like this?

"You could ask me now what it is that I want.", you say.

Izuku rolls his eyes. "What is it that you want?", he asks.

"Good sex. That's really all I'm asking for but men these days don't deliver.", you reply exasperatedly.

Izuku almost has to laugh.

"Maybe you're just not meeting the right men then.", he tells you.

"Well, I'm meeting men like you.", you point out. There's something cat-ish about you when you say it.

"Maybe tonight is your lucky night then.", he says suddenly feeling cocky.

*~*~*~*

This was definitely not how this evening was supposed to go. He was not supposed to end up at that bar and he definitely wasn't supposed to take you home.

But here you are, on his bed, and him over you.

He already lost his shirt and you run your hands up and down his torso. His mouth is on yours, teeth and tongue clashing against each other.

He can already feel his dick getting hard.

He grabs your waist and pulls you on top of him. Without hesitation, you pull your shirt over your head and he's quick to open your bra. Quickly, you toss it to the side.

Izuku sits up a bit so that both of his hands are free to explore your boobs. Carefully, he kneads them with both hands. He kisses the side of your neck. He plants open-mouthed kisses along your neck, over your collarbone all the way down to one of your nipples. You throw your head back and sigh contently.

He runs the tip of his tongue over the hardened bud. He takes the nipple into his mouth gently sucking on it. All the while massaging it with his tongue.

You let out a moan and grind down on his hardened cock. His dick sits right at your slit. You keep grinding down on him, desperate for friction as he continues to tease your other nipple. You can feel how your panties get damp with each second.

You grab the sides of his head, forcing him to detach from your breast. You lean forward and kiss him again. Izuku runs his hands down your back and grabs your ass cheeks. Then, he helps you grind down on him. You break the kiss to let out a groan.

"Fuck, Izuku! You need to take off these pants!", you tell him.

He gives you a grin. "Same", he tells you.

Quickly, you get off of him and take off your pants and panties. When he's done taking off his pants, you both lie side by side. He pulls you close, your naked body pressing against his, and he claims your lips again.

You let your hands wander down his body. With your index finger you draw lines down his hip and thighs, avoiding his dick completely.

Izuku breaks the kiss and groans. "Don't tease!", he tells you and you laugh.

"So greedy", you nudge him but then give into his request.

Gently you wrap your hand around his hardened member. Izuku lets out a suppressed groan. You start in a slow space pumping his dick up and down. You spread the precum on it to make it feel even smoother.

Izuku plants a kiss on your shoulder and lets a hand wander between your legs. Slowly, he lets two fingers slide in between your warm folds.

"Fuck, you're so wet.", he groans. You shift a bit to give him better access, already panting.

Izuku draws lazy circles on your clit and you can feel more wetness slipping out your hole.

"Mhm, yes, Izuku that feels good.", you moan while still fisting his cock.

Izuku leans his forehead against yours. He dips his fingers a bit deeper, gathering some wetness and spreading it around your pussy.

Then, gently one of his fingers enters you and you can't help but let out a loud moan.

"That feels good, yes?", he mumbles and you nood.

Slowly he pumps his finger in and out of you.

"Shit", you curse. You long lost the ability to focus on pleasing Izuku.

He curls his finger inside you and you jerk.

"Can you take another, baby?", he says huskily and you nod.

He pulls out his finger and pushes two fingers in.

"Fuck!", you exclaim.

You lie back opening your legs wide for him. Izuku slides his fingers in and out you, occasionally curling them inside which almost sends you into a frenzy. He leans down and starts massaging your nipple with his tongue again.

Just when you feel a knot forming in your stomach, he pulls out. You whine in protest but he silences you with a kiss.

"You ready?", he asks you and you nod breathlessly.

He grabs a condom from the nightstand and quickly pushes the latex over his dick. Then, he takes one of your legs and places it over his shoulder. He sits up on his knees and grabs the hollow of your other knee pulling your legs further apart.

"Shit, your pussy looks so ready for me.", he tells you

"Who's the tease now?", you pant.

Izuku gives you a small grin. "Don't worry, I've got you.", he says.

He leads his dick to your entrance and your heart beats in anticipation. Slowly, he pushes his cock into your pussy. You both groan simultaneously in pleasure. He enters you in one swift movement. When his dick is nestled deeply inside you, he takes a deep breath.

"You okay?", he asks you and you give him a curt nod.

You jerk your hips because you're desperate for more friction. You feel so full but it's not enough. You need him to fuck you, to pound you.

"Shit, relax.", he groans when he feels your pussy clench around him.

"I've told you, I've got you. I'm gonna fuck you real good, baby", he groans into the skin of your leg.

Then, he starts rocking in and out of you. He starts with a steady pace.

"Fuck, yes, Izuku! Please, a bit harder!", you beg him.

He gives you a cheeky grin. "Harder? You can get harder.", he tells you.

He starts pounding into you in a heavy pace and you arch your back. Fuck, your pussy feels so good. His dick rubs you in all the right places.

Izuku's dick twitches at the sight of you. Your fucked expression, your jiggling breasts and god, how good looks his dick going in and out of you.

Suddenly, he lifts your other leg and lifts himself a bit higher allowing his dick to sink even deeper into your cunt.

"Shit, yes!", you yell out. Izuku keeps fucking you like this and his balls slap harshly against your ass cheeks.

Now, you can feel the knot in your stomach again.

"Keep going, Izuku, I'm getting there.", you tell him.

Izuku pants heavily above you and sweat drops down his chest. You think he's looking incredibly sexy right now. Also, you can't help but look down where is dick and your cunt are conjoined. The sight of his dick sliding in and out of you makes your stomach coil.

"Fuck, y/n, you feel so good. You make my dick feel like it's about to explode.", he tells you.

You clench your pussy and Izuku moans in delight. He grips your hips tighter and keeps fucking you now chasing his own height. His cock is hitting that sweet spot all the way back inside of you. You can feel the knot in your stomach getting tighter and tighter. You let out a breathless moan and your eyes roll back into your head.

Izuku keeps the pace hard and steady, exactly the way you need to get over the edge. When your orgasm hits you, it feels like electric shocks going down your back, your pussy clenches and then your body suddenly goes limp.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck.", Izuku groans taking up speed when he sees you orgasm on his cock. He fucks you through it and his own orgasm explodes right at the feeling of your clenching pussy. He fucks himself through his own high and then collapses on top of you.

It takes a moment for both of you to regain some thinking capacities. When his consciousness returns to him, Izuku slips out of you. You're lying next to each other, both facing the ceiling catching your breath.

„And? Did I deliver?“, Izuku pants.

He can't see it but you give him a side-eye. The questions weirds you out. Does he really need to get praised? Does he need to get approval so badly? Well, it supposedly makes sense. A pro-hero depends on the praise and approval of other people. You think it's a little bit pathetic. If he hadn't fucked you already, it'd be a major turn-off.

In all honesty, though, he did deliver. It was more than just good. He clearly proved he's got the stamina of a pro-hero. However, you don't stroke men's egos. Most men have a big enough ego as it is, so why inflate it further? Plus, this guy has girls fawning at his feet and you refuse to steep down on a groupie level. No, thank you.

For a moment you think about being mean and saying something like it was „alright“ or „okay“ but you take pity on the man. He made you cum, so you shouldn't be mean. Also, you wouldn't say no to him doing it to you again. So, be nice and keep the option open.

„I'm not sure what you expect me to say.“, you tell him truthfully and Izuku looks a bit embarassed.

„I'm not gonna sing your praise, but I tell you it was good. Definitely would do it again, but I've got an 8am appointment tomorrow.“, you say a bit softer.

Izuku props himself up on his arm as he watches you look for your clothes and dress yourself. Obviously, he knew this was nothing serious but he lowkey hoped you stayed the night. He knows Katsuki's girlfriend was a one-night stand at first who then turned into something more. Maybe part of him hoped something like that would happen to him too. Or maybe he just doesn't want to be alone tonight.

When you're dressed, you turn to him.

„Alright, I better get going.“, you tell him and Izuku only nods at you.

He doesn't really know what to say. Actually, he probably just sucks at one-night stands. It's probably why none of them ever turned out to be something more for him.

„So... see you around?“, you drawl when he doesn't answer you.

Quickly, Izuku puts on one of his well-practiced smiles and nods more enthusiastically.

„Yeah, see you around. I had a good time.“, he tells you and you look relieved. At least he isn't making it more uncomfortable than these things usually are.

You give him a quick wave and turn around to leave. Izuku holds his breath until he hears his front door fall shut. With a groan, he drops back onto his pillow facefirst.

Why does he keep doing this? He should know better. He's not made for these types of flings. He doesn't even want them. Izuku is a through-and-through relationship type of guy and yet he always ends up alone at the end of the night.

Maybe he can't hold someone's attention for more than a night or maybe Kacchan just ruined him for everybody else.

*~*~*~*

You fix the position of your panties as you wait for the elevator to reach the ground level. You quickly look in the mirror. Your hair and makeup look awful. Suddenly, you're very glad you're not staying the night. Nothing would be more shameful than to walk home like this in the morning.

You rub your temple. Your plan was to take somebody home from the wedding. So that your ex would see. Maybe that was already a stupid idea. Why would he care if his ex takes somebody home on his wedding day? It's the luckiest day in his life and there's a reason why it wasn't you standing next to him in a white dress.

Actually, it's probably for the best you didn't take someone home from the wedding. Maybe he would've laughed about it and said it fits the pattern. Y/n, the mess, never taking anything seriously, always out there for a good time but not a long time. At least like this, you left with your grace intact. Also, it helps a little bit that you looked absolute bomb in this dress.

You sigh deeply. And yet, he would've been right. After all, you had nothing better to do than go find yourself a hook-up at a random bar right afterward. Poor Izuku, he made it clear last time that he wasn't interested in something like this. And yet, he ended up in your spider's web. You wonder what changed his mind. Maybe it was the dress.

When the elevator reaches the ground, you quickly exit it and walk through the lobby in an equally quick step. There's no need for anybody to see you like this. You're almost out of the door when the post boxes next to the entry catch your eye. You stop for a moment.

No, y/n, this is a stupid idea, you tell yourself. He won't text anyway. What was that about not stepping down onto a groupie level? Then again, it was a pretty good orgasm. Hell, one of the best ones you had in quite a while.

Maybe you're still horny or drunk from earlier, clouding your better judgement, but before you can stop yourself, you pushed your business card through the slit of Izuku's post box.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

[Please comment if you'd like to be tagged in possible future parts]

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storiesofsvu · 4 months ago

Text

Decadent Desires Ch 9

*not my images*

Emily Prentiss x reader warnings: alcohol, language, v minor canon type mentions, a little bit of politics, sexually charged conversations, some minor teasing from friends, smut. This one's a long one boys, hope you're up for it. It jumps around a little bit through time but it just makes my life easier and your reading experience more entertaining that way.

The rooftop terrace bar at the Pendry was where you found yourself the following Friday evening. Absolutely stunning views of the river, delectable Japanese appetizers and handcrafted cocktails yet all you could manage to pay attention to was your phone. It seemed like every time you managed to place it down on the table it would ping again. You’d silenced it to not offend any of the other diners in the area but the buzzing continued to grab your attention, everything from voicemails to texts to emails that nearly demanded your immediate attention.

Normally Emily would have been admiring the glow from the setting sun and the way it washed you in a golden light, pulling a sparkle from your eye. Instead she found herself focusing in on the covered up darkness beneath your eyes, the chapped piece of your lower lip that you’d no doubt been stress chewing on throughout the week and the slight redness of your eyes that she was certain was from wearing contacts for far longer than advised.

“Sorry.” You huffed, shoving your phone deep enough into your purse it would no longer disturb you before turning back to the table and taking a swig of your cocktail.

“No need.” She cast a small smile across at you, “I know how important work is.” She assured before picking up a piece of sushi.

“All things considered,” your voice dropped, “you are paying me to keep you company right now. I should be more present.”

Emily shrugged, opting to sway the conversation “all those interruptions helping subside the stress or making it worse?”

“No stress.” You feigned a smile, popping a piece of edamame into your mouth and she chuckled.

“You’re tense.” She noted, “I can practically feel the knots building up in my own neck.”

“I’m fine.” You replied with a small laugh.

“You’re holding it in your shoulders.” She pointed out, laughing softly as you immediately relaxed your shoulders and sat back in your chair. “Long week?”

“Could always have been worse.” You replied and she scoffed at the thought, knowing all too well what you meant. When you looked up at her again you watched as her eyes surveyed you, narrowing ever so slightly, “is…this what it feels like to be profiled?”

“I-oh! C’mon.” She scoffed and you laughed, picking up your drink again, “you look tired, like you could use a bit of a break.”

“Good thing I know it’s a guarantee that you’ll take great care of me then.” You half teased and she nearly rolled her eyes.

“Aside from the offending phone, did you have any other plans this weekend?” She asked curiously, ideas already spinning in her head as she’d looked through the amenity brochures before you’d arrived.

“Might have to do a bit of work tomorrow morning but you are all I have on my schedule.”

“Good.” She nearly smirked back at you.

And take care of you is exactly what Emily did. Just enough to have you satisfied and relaxed, not a moment too long to make you drained or completely dead. She had mastered the perfect balance to give you both a release and begin to soothe out the tension in your bodies, relaxing into the plush bedding as the stars took over the sky.

Even with Emily’s best efforts the night before she had to frown when she woke up to the sound of your hushed voice while you paced through the outer part of the suite on the phone. Knowing you were working, she gave you the privacy, opting to roll over and go back to sleep considering she finally had the opportunity. By the time she woke up again sunshine was pouring in from the gap in the curtains and her stomach was grumbling. She poked her head out of the bedroom, finding you curled up yet somehow also hunched over in the corner of the couch typing away on your laptop. At the very least you’d taken out your contacts, glasses perched on your face to give your eyes a break. She heard you mumble something about a fresh pot of coffee and was incredibly thankful to see two trays of breakfast, one half picked through and one untouched for her.

She ate a few small bites, letting out a satisfied sigh at the first sip of coffee and you thought you heard her say something about getting a workout in before she disappeared from the suite. She shot you off a text about lunch but didn’t hear anything back and after stopping in the lounge for her own she returned back upstairs to find you sprawled across the couch napping. Her brow furrowed at the way your body was already tensed up again, shoulders hunched right up to your ears, one of your wrists twisted at an angle she could hardly believe was comfortable and she knew she’d made the right evening plans.

“Done?” She asked a few moments after you’d finally closed your laptop and shoved it off to the side, watching as you let out a sigh, pinching at the bridge of your nose.

“Yeah. Sorry, again.” You cast her a sympathetic look and she simply chuckled.

“C’mon.” She nodded her head toward the door, “we’ve got plans.”

“I highly doubt I’m dressed for dinner.” You gestured down to your leggings, and she laughed again.

“Just come on, trust me.”

Emily led you directly past the restaurant, through the lobby and didn’t even glance at the bar before you wound through a hallway and ended up at the spa. You hadn’t realized amenities like this were something that would regularly be available this late on a Saturday but you also wouldn’t have been surprised to find out Emily had pulled a couple strings here and there.

You were treated to a complimentary bottle of champagne, lush, fuzzy robes to change into and then guided into treatment rooms. A session of a hydra facial, any kind of hair removal wanted, CBD therapy to help promote relaxation and pain relief on your joints followed by a full body massage with hot stones was far beyond what you were expecting. Between each treatment you were brought out small plates of tapas and refills of champagne or any drink of your choice and by the end of it you were in a complete state of relaxation, any care in the world totally forgotten. Every ache and stiffness that had threatened to linger in your body was gone, replaced with an overwhelming sense of peace.

The sense of peace and tranquility continued once you were back upstairs, the bathroom lights dimmed almost all the way down, candles scattered around the room to bask it in a warm glow. The calming sense of lavender wafting from the bath oil as steaming water filled the huge tube that overlooked the river. The sun was about halfway done its journey sinking into the horizon when Emily finally slipped under the water behind you, handing you a glass of wine as you nestled into her body.

“Thank you.” You murmured, pressing a kiss to her arm before you took a sip of your drink, “and not just for the wine.”

She chuckled softly, her lips brushing the top of you head as her gaze landed out the window, “from what I’ve gathered, it’s my priority to take care of you. If I can’t help decrease your workload the least I can do is make sure you get to relax once it’s all done.”

“Well you’ve done spectacularly at that.”

“Who said I was done?”

You could practically hear her smirk, a laugh lost in your throat as her hands snuck under the water, ghosting over you body while her lips met the side of your neck. Your head instantly rolled back to give her better access to your skin, a small moan leaving your lips when her teeth brushed across your skin.

Emily wasted no time, not wanting to tease whatsoever tonight, her hands cupping your chest, groping for a moment before her thumbs and forefingers pinched at your nipples. Your back arched off her body into the touch, your head tilting further back on her shoulder and she was able to capture your lips in a kiss. Her lips moved slowly and gracefully against your own as her hands continued to toy with your chest. One of your hands reached backwards, wrapping around her head, sinking into the hair at the nape of her neck, holding her to you while her tongue slipped into your mouth.

With one hand still pinching and fondling at your chest the other sunk down your body and settled between your legs. Two fingers easily found your clit as you spread your legs wider for her and they pressed into the swollen nub just right, beginning to rub circular patterns over it. You moaned into the kiss, your fingers tightening in her hair as pleasure began to build deep inside you. With the state of just how relaxed you already were from the evening, it didn’t take long for Emily to have you absolutely melting in her arms, your breath hot, panting right against her lips as she swallowed down your whines and moans as she took you to your peak.

There was no doubt that by the time you climbed into bed that night you were at your uttermost state of relaxed and satisfied.

Cincinnati had its perks, but the main one was that it wasn’t too far of a flight for the BAU to make. Their case also seemed to be wrapping up relatively quickly, easily and safely without too many trips into the field. The team was currently at the local precinct going through chain of custody paperwork when Emily’s ears perked up at the sound of a familiar voice in a new place. She glanced up with a slightly furrowed brow until she looked around and found the source of the noise, turning to JJ,

“Hey, turn that up, will you?”

The blonde glanced up then to the television, picking up the remote in front of her and clicking the volume up a few notches, listening a few seconds before looking back to Emily. “Is this about that reproductive health bill everyone keeps talking about?”

“I think so.” The older woman replied, her head tilting slightly as she watched you on the screen, “Dunbar’s been trying to get it pushed through to congress for a while now.”

“So why isn’t Dunbar the one on tv right now?” Luke asked, the conversation now gaining his attention.

“Not sure.” Emily shrugged, “but she’s head of PR, Heather’s probably out of town and trusted her with it.”

“First name basis now, are we?” Luke teased back and Emily playfully rolled her eyes.

“We’ve been running in the same circles for years.”

“I’ve heard they’ve had a lot of pushback on the bill.” JJ muttered, chewing on her pen as the tv gained her full attention. “Is that why I’ve seen this girl all over the place this week? Final push? From the looks of things they need all the help they can get.”

“You’d be surprised.” Emily laughed softly, thinking about the amount of phone calls she’d overheard the previous weekend, “a lot of that elbow rubbing doesn’t happen in meetings or conferences, it’s behind closed doors and no one really steps out to confirm it until the time comes.”

“I hear she’s got Sharp in her pocket.” JJ noted.

“She does.” Emily replied.

“Sharp’s not what you need with a bill like this.” Tara cut in with an annoyed scoff, “you need a Southerner with a dick.”

It was almost on cue that you were announcing President Underwood’s addition to the stage, greeting him with a warm smile and accepting the lingering kiss he left on your cheek, resounding in either groans or laughs throughout the room.

“Looks like Sharp’s not the only one she has in her pocket.” Tara teased.

“You kidding?” Luke laughed, “girl like that, she’s probably got every male politician over the fifty doing whatever she asks.”

“Try every politician over the age of twenty five.” Tara replied, “Bailey’s got a huge thing for her and you are getting drool all over the table.”

“Am not.” He defended, though discreetly shifted in order to rub at his chin.

“Please, you couldn’t handle a girl like Walton.” She pressed on, prodding at his shoulder, “you’d be on you knees begging for your mommy in a matter of seconds.”

“Ah! Come on!” Luke protested as his cheeks began to tinge pink, thankful that he picked up on Tara’s words quick enough to circle the conversation back around, “you name dropped her, you know her?”

“She was a year or two behind Rebecca at law school.” She shrugged, “they kept in touch, Rebecca always knew she had high up connections. I’ve met her a few times.”

“She went to law school to be in PR?” JJ’s head tilted back towards the group, catching Emily in a shrug, “man, we could use a new media liaison like that…”

Emily chuckled, “I think we’re a little below her pay grade…” she flipped the case folder in front of her shut, “but now that we’ve established Luke has mommy issues let’s go pick up this unsub and get him transferred over to Illinois custody.”

She couldn’t help but smirk as the man’s cheeks turned the brightest red they could while he attempted to string together a sentence in defence, Tara continually poking at his cheeks, making the reddening worse as the team laughed.

Your phone buzzed on the coffee table in front of you, the screen flashing Heather’s name across it and you flashed a polite smile to your host before placing down the glass of scotch to pick up the device.

‘Goddammit I really should have brought you with me.’

Your eyes flicked to the time on your phone, letting out a chuckle when you realized just how late it was.

‘Oh I’m sure Boise would have been a thrill of a time; sad I’m missing out on all the sights and tourist traps you’re dying for me to see.’

‘Ha-ha.’

‘You’ll be fine. I set you up with everything you need and Cynthia’s there to troubleshoot. You know I’m covering bases here.’

‘That’s not what I meant and you know it. I’m perfectly capable of handling a few public appearances without you.’

‘Yeah well, sometimes I like to be the tease.’

‘You’ll pay for that.’

‘On the contrary, I’m pretty sure you’re the one footing the bill.’

‘You know, you get feisty over text.’

‘Just like to keep you on your toes.’ You chuckled quietly, ‘you seem stressed.’

‘How else would I be? Next time you’re coming with me.’

‘Where’s the next one?’

‘California.’

‘Mmm… nice weekend stay at Laguna mid November? Twist my rubber arm. I guess I’ll have to suffer through that.’ You could practically hear her eye roll through the phone, ‘and check the liner of your suitcase for a purple travel bag. A few things in there might help you out..’

A minute went by before the three little dots popped up on the screen again and Heather’s reply came through.

‘Look at you, watching out for me all the way from DC, packing my favourites and everything.’

‘When you get agitated, Cynthia gets anxious and things start to go wrong. Couldn’t possibly risk you being over stressed and out of State with no one to help.’

‘If you’re so interested in helping, maybe I should call?’

‘I’m not having phone sex with you Heather. I’m inside the Oval Office.’

‘Isn’t it a little late to be in the Oval?’

‘It’s never to late to share a drink and a cigar with the inner circles. You always say I know how to earn my keep.’

‘Good girl. I’ll make sure you get a nice bonus next term.’

Knowing the conversation was over you locked your phone, placing it down on the table once more and giving a brief apology to your company before returning to the conversation at hand.

Emily knew it was last minute to be booking a hotel while on the jet back to Washington, but she’d actually fallen asleep on time the night previous and hadn’t gotten around to it yet. She was surfing through various options, trying to figure out food and amenities of which one would be best when JJ dropped into the seat across from her, sliding a fresh mug of coffee across the table.

“Hotels?” She raised a brow, “what? Didn’t get enough of home away from home this week?”

Emily let out a huff of a laugh, “I’m meeting someone for dinner, just trying to figure out where.”

“You need a hotel for dinner?” The blonde asked, probably a little too loud as it piqued the interest of Tara and Luke across the way.

“Sounds like more than dinner to me.” Tara teased and Emily rolled her eyes, swiping out of the app to pull up her text thread with you to ask a couple of questions.

“Hotel bars a quieter, a little more discreet and you can palm the bartender a Benjamin to get access to their club level or a meeting room.” Emily muttered while typing out the message.

“You’re really not trying very hard here Prentiss.” Tara chuckled.

“I – ugh. It’s work related, she works for Dunbar”—

“Are you meeting up with Walton?” Luke cut in, his eyes suddenly wide and fully paying attention and Emily let out a huff.

“She’s helping me out with a couple of bureaucratic things and she just happens to know her way around a politician or two.”

“I bet she does.” He replied with a playful grin on his lips and she resisted the urge to smack his shoulder.

“Guys,” Emily let out a tiny laugh, “come on, just because she’s a conventionally attractive woman doesn’t mean she slept her way to the top. She just lucked out being a… Dunbar.. nepo-adopted-sibling.” She vaguely gestured with her hands as she tried to string together both her words and an excuse that would shut them up. “She’s fantastic at what she does and god knows our department could use a little bit of insight in that matter.”

“Something we should be worried about?” JJ asked, a slight frown on her face and the other woman shook her head.

“No, absolutely not. Bailey’s just been the biggest pain in my ass this week, blowing up my phone all hours of the night, throwing more and more onto my plate, changing policies and procedures without saying anything and then snapping when they aren’t done right. It’s an added headache I just don’t need.”

“And here I was thinking you were finally out having some fun.” Tara teased, settling back into her seat and this time the back of Emily’s hand did hit her shoulder.

A moment later her phone buzzed in her lap and she swiped across your name to open the message.

‘Nepo-adopted-sibling? I’ll take it.’

Emily’s eyes widened and she would have glanced around had they not been thirty seven thousand feet in the air.

‘How did you hear that?’

‘You sent me a voice message, clearly not on purpose. Was that the lamest cover story ever or do you actually need my professional advice? Cause I charge by the hour.’

‘And here I was thinking I was already paying you.’

‘Fair point.’ ‘One of my friends matched with Bailey on Beltway a couple of weeks ago and they seem to be hitting it off. I’ll put in a good word for both of them, that should get him off your ass and hopefully not as pent up for a week or two.’ ‘Where am I meeting you?’

‘You don’t have to but thank you.’ ‘And Hamilton Hotel, on fourteenth.’

‘Hey, if it gets her laid maybe she’ll stop complaining.’ ‘Perfect. See you tonight.’

Emily let out a sigh of relief, wondering if you really could pull the strings to at least attempt to distract her boss for a little bit to give her some breathing room. She relaxed back into her seat, at leas she would have a couple of days away from work before having to deal with it all again, she needed a reset.

The keypad on the hotel room door beeped, pulling Emily’s attention towards the entry way as she put down her glass of wine, poking her head around the corner. She had a soft smile on her face, one that you returned, even if it was one that was more tired.

“Traffic was a fucking nightmare.” You muttered, dropping your bag down on an ottoman.

“Tell me about it.” She replied with a sigh, turning back to pour you a glass of wine, “I didn’t even bother going home after we landed.”

“Shit.” You stalled, eyes slightly widened as you looked over at her, “do you not live in the district? We could’ve been meeting somewhere closer to Quantico!”

“No, no!” She laughed, quick to wave you off as she handed you the wine glass and you said a quick thank you, “it’s totally fine. I’m actually right across the street from The Pendry.”

“Hmmm...” You hummed over your first sip, “waterfront living, how extravagant.”

Emily chuckled, “I upgraded when I got the promotion, figured it was time to splurge a little, enjoy the little things for once.” She sunk onto the bed behind her, pulling one of her legs up as you started to strip out of your suit jacket and make yourself more at home. “Seems like you had a busy week? Saw you so much on tv it was like I never left.”

“Yeah, bit hectic.”

“Hey, you know a Rebecca Wilson?” She asked and your brow furrowed.

“Uh, yeah, law school. We kept in touch, is she DOJ now?” You paused to take another sip of your wine, “wait, I’ve met her girlfriend, is she a fed too, or just a professional consult? God, why can’t I remember her name? I swear I’ve only got half a brain cell left at this point.” You let out a small laugh, turning to Emily before she could respond to any of your rapid fire questions and you finally actually took her in, “god you look insanely comfy. That’s fucking unfair.”

She laughed again, nodding toward your feet, “might want to start by taking off the Manolo’s.” You instantly followed her suggestion, kicking off the shoes and letting out a satisfied groan when you did so, your toes sinking into the carpet. “I figured I’d try to get an easy workout in.” She explained the outfit, “spent most of the day sitting behind a desk or on the jet.”

“No crazy gallivanting after serial killers through the Ohio River?” You asked with a grin and she laughed.

“No.”

“How tremendously boring.” You flopped down onto the bed all the way onto your back, your wine glass carefully held over the edge as to not spill and your gaze landed back on your stilettos. “God I do not want to put those shoes back on.” Emily watched, impressed as you somehow took the perfect sip of your wine without sitting up, “I’ll admit I’m jealous of those leggings, I want nothing more than sweatpants right now.”

“Then put on sweats.” She offered with a shrug and your head rolled towards her.

“This isn’t an Econo Lodge, I don’t think I’d exactly be dressed appropriately for dinner.” Your nose crinkled in distaste and Emily couldn’t help but bark out a laugh.

“You really did spend your week standing in for Heather, didn’t you?”

“Is the pretentious showing?” You asked with a grin.

She shook her head at you, a smile on her cheeks, “we don’t have to go anywhere. I’m pretty sure that’s why they invented room service in the first place.” She shifted over to the nightstand, grabbing a menu to toss in your direction, “I’ve got another bottle of wine and one of whiskey in my bag, but pick whatever you want.”

“You’re a life saver.” Sitting up, you leant over to press a kiss to her cheek, “but before I can even think of food I need to be out of this fucking suit.”

Comfy clothes acquired, the two of you flipped through the menus until you’d decided on some of the individual pizzas, an order of arancini and a couple of cannoli’s for dessert. Mindless television played on the tv to help both of your brains decompress from the insanely long and tedious weeks you’d had. Conversation picked up here and there, sharing little stories or anecdotes, laughing over stupid memories whatever you were watching brought up.

As the dishes found their way back to the tray and outside into the hall and the wine was replaced with whisky the lighting in the hotel room dimmed and it wasn’t long before you were tangled in each other’s limbs, lips moving lazily against each other. Emily’s hands snuck under the hem of your tank, briefly playing with your tits before shoving the fabric over your head and you broke the kiss long enough to toss it onto the floor. You shifted in her lap, straddling her hips and effectively rolling her onto her back before surging back down to kiss her once again. Your hands disappeared under her shirt, gently pinching at her nipples before nudging it over her head, your lips brushing over her jawline before nipping at her neck while your hands cupped her chest.

“Thought you didn’t want to think tonight.” She murmured breathlessly, a sigh escaping her lips as her eyes fluttered shut at the feeling of your lips sucking at her pulse point.

“I’m pretty sure I can eat pussy without a brain cell left.” You replied, nipping at her neck before you sunk lower, your fingers slipping under the waistband of her pants, tugging them and her underwear down her legs.

It only took a second for you to settle on your stomach between her legs, your hands on Emily’s thighs as she spread them wider for you. Your tongue lapped through her cunt slowly, flicking at her clit and her breath caught in her throat, hands quickly coming to tangle into your hair as you started to eat her out. Your mouth wrapped around her, tongue slipping in, lapping at her juices before tracing patterns across her clit, sucking the swollen nub into your mouth.

“Oh god…” Pleasure was surging through her and a gasp escaped her lips when two of your fingers easily slipped into her pussy. “Fuck!” Your mouth focused on her clit while your fingers started to pump, curling, scissoring and twisting with each thrust. “Shit that feels good…” her hips began to rock in time with your hand, whimpers escaping her lips each time your fingers curled, hitting the extra sensitive spot inside her.

You picked up the pace, sucking harder on her clit and she moaned loudly, nails softly scratching at your scalp as she ground against your mouth. Her pussy was pulsing around your fingers, squeezing you already and you knew she was close, her thighs shaking around you before she cried out, her back arching off the bed and her body tensed, letting out little shivers as you fingers gently fucked her through her orgasm.

“Get up here.” She panted and you giggled, softly pulling your fingers from here.

“Never said I was done.” With a smirk you rolled off the bed, grabbing something from your bag before returning with a small bottle of lube and a double ended dildo, “figured we both had long weeks, we should both get to reap the benefits.”

“I like the way you’re thinking.” She chuckled softly, watching as you climbed back onto the bed, coating both sides of the dildo with lube.

“Yeah?” Leaning forward you rubbed the smaller end against her sensitive cunt, “was kinda hoping I could ride you.”

“Fuck…” she muttered, a quiet gasp escaping her lips as her head fell back into the pillows when the toy brushed against her clit, “you definitely don’t have to ask that twice.”

With another soft giggle you pressed the toy against her harder, the tip gently nudging into her, thrusting a few times until you’d sunk it all the way in. Emily's hand wound around the base, holding it steady as you climbed up on your knees, straddling her once again before sinking down onto the longer end and letting out a happy moan.

“Oh god…”

“Feel good princess?” She asked, her hands settling on your hips and you nodded, your eyes already falling shut as your pussy fluttered around the toy.

Emily rocked her hips up, earning a gasp from you when her cock moved inside you, urging you to start riding and you began to roll your hips, whimpers coming from both of you as the base of the toy rubbed perfectly on your clits. Emily’s hands roamed over your body, fingertips leaving burning patterns across your skin, pinching at your nipples, rubbing at your clit as you continued to ride her. She could feel the wetness from your pussy dripping where your bodies connected. Each time you sunk all the way down onto the toy it pressed deeper into her, harder against her clit and she felt her body begin to tingle again when you picked up the pace, chasing your own orgasm.

Knowing you had to be close, she sat up, wrapping an arm around your waist, bracing her feet on the bed to fuck harder into you. Your moans instantly got louder as your cunt clenched down around the toy, a surprised whimper breaking free when her mouth wrapped around you nipple, teeth gently scraping over the sensitive skin. Your hands easily wound into her hair, tugging at the roots just enough to drive her wild, holding her to your chest as your body began to tremble.

“Come for me…” She husked, her breath hot on your skin and you let out a stifled moan, your arms tightening around her as your peak shot through you. The way you sank down even further onto the toy had it hit the exact right spot inside her and she let out a gasp, nails digging into your back when she came.

Panting, the two of you dropped to the bed, sinking into the pillows, the toy tossed aside to be dealt with later. You curled onto your side, barely able to keep your eyes open any longer and Emily wrapped around your back, pressing a kiss just below your ear as her fingers linked with yours.

“Better?”

“Immensely.” You replied with a yawn, squeezing softly at her hand, the entire world forgotten as the two of you were finally able to drift off.

____________

@mickey-gomez @momlifebehard @daddy-heather-dunbar @maybe-a-humanbean @rustyzebra @leftoverenvy @kades95 @dextur @supercriminalbean @emilyprentisssluvr @lex13cm @zizzlekwum @emobabeyy @riveramorylunar @scorpsik @onmykneesformarvel @inlovewithemilyprentiss @regalmilfs4me @ara-a-bird @five-bi-five-mind @inlovewithmiddleagewomen @hotchs-bitch @ollysmulti @kmc1989 @irishavengersassemble @hopedoesntknow @venromanova @waitaminuteashh @noahrex @imlike-so-gaydude @wittygutsy @cx-emerald-cx cx @momily @nilaues @borinxnovak @soverign @v3nusxsky @mccdreamys-writes @l4yne @obsessedwjill @supercorpstan97 @asolitaryrose3 @lisqueen @mrs-prentiss @whitewinewithice @d33pd3sire-blog @daffodil-heart @maximoffcarter @i-lovefandom @chimnlex @moonlightjxuregui @chestnutninny

#emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss #decadent desires #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #emily prentiss fanfic #emily prentiss series

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whataperfectwasteoftime · 10 months ago

Text

Trigger Points

Pairing: Erotic Massage Therapist Ezra x f!reader (not romantic)

Rating: E (explicit smut, 18+ only)

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: Medical kink, massage kink (is that a thing?), erotic massage, mentions of sexual dysfunction and difficulty orgasming, consent forms, the clinical is erotic now, power imbalance due to the masseur/patient dynamic, mentions of uhhh *checks notes* anal massage, lots of vaginal fingering I mean massaging, pelvic floor massaging but make it erotic, dubcon only in the sense that Ezra says orgasm is not the goal and then definitely deliberately gives her one anyway, g-spot orgasms, squirting, Penny gets on her soapbox at the end

Summary: Ezra is a massage therapist. What kind, you ask? Internal massage. That’s it that’s the fic.

A/N: I wrote this in twenty-four hours in a horny unhinged writing frenzy. Am I embarrassed that this came from my brain? Yes. Am I posting it anyway? Also yes. Thank you to @littlebirdsbookshelf for the beta (and all of the screaming) and to @leslie-lyman for egging on the medical kink that I definitely don't have.

Masterlist

You aren’t sure what you’re doing here.

This isn’t like you.

As you stare at the nondescript building–no sign, no name on the door–you think back to the seemingly random circumstances that brought you here.

The party you hadn’t wanted to go to.

The friend–acquaintance–who insisted.

The man with a distinctive blonde streak that kept lingering by the snack table and popping cocktail shrimp into his mouth with an enthusiasm that had made you look twice in wary amusement.

Like so many men, he’d taken your glance in his direction as an invitation to come over and start a conversation, but the resulting discussion was decidedly unlike any other man–or human–you’d come across.

Loquacious to the point of being humorous, the man–Ezra, he told you–was disarming and insightful. You opened up to him immediately; he seemed to have this uncanny ability to pull your life’s story from your lips, much to your surprise and chagrin. Did you really tell a strange man at a party that you’ve been from doctor to doctor, complaining of sexual pain and dysfunction, only to be given dismissive, unhelpful advice? Have a glass of wine, one said. Use different soap, said another. Make sure your laundry detergent is fragrance-free.

“I think I’m just built wrong,” you said bitterly, taking a sip from your wine glass. “Anyway, it’s fine. You didn’t sign up to listen to a stranger’s problems at some house party.”

“On the contrary,” Ezra replied mysteriously, raising one eyebrow as he regarded you with amusement. “I think our fortuitous meeting must have been arranged by the universe itself.”

Fishing his wallet out of his back pocket, he had handed you a business card that had only his first name–Ezra, no last name, and a phone number.

“I just happen to be a certified massage therapist, trained to assist with the very complaints of which you speak.”

“What kind of massage?” you’d asked, scrunching up your face in skepticism.

“Internal massage.”

You may have told him to fuck off then and there. You may have made your excuses and left the party in your embarrassment over having spilled your heart to a stranger with a questionable line of work, to say the very least.

…You may have called two weeks later to inquire about an appointment.

The woman who answered the phone in that same kind of warm, soothing tone that seems to be common in so many legitimate massage practices made you feel slightly less insane about calling. The lengthy consent form she emailed after hanging up, however, sent you spiraling again.

Extensive questions about sexual history, your beliefs about sex, your relationship to sex, your experience with pain, dysfunction, your sexuality, etc. Check boxes indicating your level of experience and comfort with a number of sexual acts and situations. And at the end, three check boxes asking whether you would like to be massaged vaginally, anally, or both.

A bell tinkles pleasantly when you open the door, and the scent of lavender fills your nose. Soft, soothing music plays from a hidden speaker somewhere, and one of those self-contained rock garden water fountains bubbles away in the corner of the brightly lit waiting room.

A woman behind the desk greets you–it must be the same one you’d spoken to on the phone–and checks you in. She walks you through what to expect during the appointment–first, you’ll meet with Ezra to discuss the consent form, then you’ll be asked to disrobe and lay on the massage table under a sheet. The type of care you’re given, she tells you, depends on what you put down on the consent form, which of course she hasn’t read, so she can’t tell you any specifics.

“But he specializes in women with sexual dysfunction?” you ask skeptically. It had said as much on the forms.

“Oh, yes,” the woman nods enthusiastically. “I know it’s an unusual service he provides, but Ezra is a professional, conscientious, and passionate about the work he does.”

You nod slowly, and she flashes you a warm, comforting smile before instructing you to sit anywhere.

You do, trying not to look too nervous as you wait.

Thankfully, you aren’t there for too long before a door opens, and Ezra softly calls your name.

Your nerves cause you to babble as you follow the man to the quiet, dimly-lit massage room. “Sorry I told you to fuck off,” you say. “That was pretty rude, and I’m sure it’s weird that I’m here now even though I clearly thought you were a pervert at the party, and–” you trail off, standing awkwardly beside the massage table as Ezra sits on a rolling stool.

“Now, now. Water under the bridge, I assure you, sprite. My profession is often met with skepticism at best and outright hostility at worst, but I let the testimonials speak for themselves. I assume you’ve read them?”

You nod, thinking back to the paragraphs of women saying they’d never known their bodies were capable of such pleasure before experiencing what they had called erotic massage.

“And I have read your consent form very carefully; I like to commit these things to heart, you see. Helps me do my job to the very best of my ability. Now, I did have a question about your very last answer: you made a checkmark indicating you were interested in vaginal massage only, but drew in a little question-mark next to anal massage.”

“I’m not sure yet,” you say, too quickly, jumbling the words together. “Depends on how… how…”

“How everything goes. Of course.” Ezra nods, making a quick note on your form. “I’ll consider you to be a vaginal-only patient for now, to be revisited at a later date if so desired.”

“Kay,” you squeak.

“Allright, let me give you a rundown of how this works. I’m not a sex worker; my job isn’t to make you orgasm. Like any massage therapist, my job is to find muscles that need to be worked out, and work them out. I just happen to specialize in muscles that other areas of practice typically ignore. This will involve both internal and external work–you might find that I might press on your lower abdomen, for example, with the other hand inside you. I always start slow with new patients; I’ll begin externally, massaging the entire pubic area and finding spots that might require extra attention. When you’re ready, we’ll move to an internal massage starting with one finger and seeing how many is most comfortable for you right now. Eventually, as we progress through your appointments, the goal is for the internal massage to involve two hands.

“Now, all that being said, the goal of these sessions might not be orgasm, but I want to let you know that it is normal and okay if that happens during your massage,” Ezra continues. “This is a safe space, and your comfort and pleasure is encouraged through this process. All of that seem hunky-dory?”

“Mmhmm,” you nod rapidly.

“Perfect. If you’re ready to get started, I’ll leave the room so you can get undressed. You can undress only from the waist down if you’re comfortable, or you can disrobe completely; the rest of you will be covered by the sheet, so it’s all down to what you prefer.”

Ezra leaves, the door clicking shut behind him, and you take a few moments to steady yourself before taking off only your pants and underwear. Grimacing at the awkwardness, you tuck the underwear into your jeans and place your shoes on top of both on the spare chair in the corner of the room. Then, you lie down under the sheet and wait.

Ezra taps lightly to herald his return before opening the door. “Good,” he says, seeing you laying stiffly on the massage table. “I’m going to check in many times during this first appointment especially,” he explains. “So much so that you may tire of it. You may simply say ‘good,’ when I ask how you are feeling, and I will continue. If you do not feel good at any point, I must ask that you say so. Sound okay?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now, this massage table is custom made for my area of practice specifically,” Ezra explains, reaching under the table and unfolding a pair of stirrups–the kind you’ve seen many times at the gynecologist–and you grimace.

“Ah, I know, most people on this table do not have the most positive memories associated with these,” Ezra tuts, “and if you aren’t sure about using these, we can simply rest your legs on either side of the table.”

“I think I’m okay,” you tell him, cautiously reaching your feet out until your legs are uncomfortably splayed open.

“You tell me if that changes.” Ezra sits down on the stool and rolls it over to sit at the front of the table. “I’m going to do the external massage with the sheet down,” he says. “No need for a cold breeze if it isn’t necessary, after all. As discussed before, I’m going to feel around the entire pubic area, finding anything that needs extra attention. If you’ve gotten a regular massage, you might notice that this one is much gentler; there won’t be any harsh poking or prodding, just light pressure and rubbing. If that’s all good, sprite, say the word and I’ll begin.”

“I’m good.”

“Very good. First, we’re going to warm up a little by touching your inner thighs. All muscles in this area are interconnected, so this will help soften things up as well.”

You keep your eyes closed and let out a slow breath through pursed lips as you feel Ezra’s large, warm hands slowly working out the tension in your thighs. The unfamiliar feeling of someone’s hands in such an intimate area is an odd one, at first, but you can’t help but slowly begin to relax as he works out the delicate muscles of the upper-most part of your legs.

“Checking in again, sprite, how are we feeling?”

“Good,” you answer, with a little more confidence this time. “It’s good.”

“Excellent,” Ezra praises. “If we’re feeling nice and comfortable about it, I’m going to start to move upward and inward. You’ll feel me touch your outer labia, your perineum, and your pubic bone as we move forward. How do we feel about that?”

“Nervous,” you admit, giggling awkwardly. “But good.”

“Of course, sprite, it’s normal to be nervous about an unfamiliar sensation. Always remember that you are able to say ‘stop’ at any time.”

At your nod, Ezra’s hands shift, his thumbs beginning to rub up and down the outside of your labia. He rubs little circles around the entire area, including–something that makes your entire body flush with heat immediately–the skin just above your little puckered hole.

“I know, I know,” Ezra soothes. “Just trying to get a complete picture here. We aren’t doing any internal massage in this area, but you may feel my fingers on the skin around it occasionally.”

“Okay,” you agree, nodding again.

“You’re doing so well, sprite. I’m going to stay external, but we’re going to start to examine a little deeper, does that sound okay? I’ll be rubbing your inner labia this time, spreading them apart to examine your vulva, urethra, and clitoris with my fingers. This is where it might start to feel pleasurable, or it could feel odd and uncomfortable as you become accustomed to this type of massage.”

“Yep,” you say, voice tight with anxiety again.

“I need a little bit more than that, sprite,” Ezra chastises. “Are you good to continue?”

“Yes. Good.”

“I can tell you’re nervous; why don’t you take a deep breath in for me for the count of five…” he counts slowly as you obey, “...and as you let it out slowly, you’re going to feel my hands move inward.”

The feel of Ezra running his slicked fingers up and down your inner labia doesn’t feel quite as uncomfortable as you’d feared. You’ve never been touched like this, or even touched yourself like this. It’s an exploration of sorts, collecting some data that means something only to him, perhaps. After a short time, he pulls you apart with his thumb and forefinger, spreading you open.

“I’m going to rub back and forth just on the surface level,” Ezra says, “You might feel my thumb press down on a few places to locate any areas to focus on later.”

You take more slow, even breaths as you feel his warm thumb move from your perineum to your clit, then back down again. In a few places, he presses down, rubbing gentle circles with his thumb as he locates some unknown source of tension.

“How well you're doing,” Ezra praises warmly. “I've definitely found some areas of tension that we can work on during your sessions. This isn't the end of the external massage, per se, as I'll still want to work on some of those spots, but this is where I start to add an internal component, if you're up to it. What are we thinking?”

“Yeah,” you agree. “I'm okay with that.”

“Good. As I explained before, I'm going to start very slow. I work with clients with a wide range of comfort levels and ability, and I'm not going to push anyone too far before they're ready. Not to be glib or reductive, but this is not dissimilar to a basic shoulder massage. I'll be working all along the muscles of your vaginal wall. We'll start with just one finger, and if that's comfortable for you, we'll see how it goes with two. I'm going to slowly slide one finger in, let you adjust to how that feels, and then I'll begin the massage on your right side, moving to the back, the left, and then the front, around in a little circle like so. At the same time I'll be gently pressing with my other hand so that I can get a feel for the muscles that are stiff, sore, or carry any tension. If at any point any sensation is unpleasant, please bring it to my attention immediately. In that event, I will stop and reassess. If that discomfort is the result of muscle or pelvic floor tension, we will slowly, slowly work through it without causing you any pain. Is all of this acceptable?”

“Yes.”

“And am I okay to begin your internal massage?”

“Yes.”

“Very good. Just as before, I'm going to spread open your labia nice and wide, only this time you are going to feel my finger slowly enter you. Once inside, we'll take a few deep breaths together, I'll ask if you are comfortable, and I'll begin the massage.”

As Ezra speaks, he does each action in turn. You feel your labia being parted, and then one slick, warm finger slips inside. It hits a bit of resistance when he passes your pelvic floor, but doesn't cause any pain. At his instruction, he guides you through three deep breaths as you become accustomed to the sensation.

“I'm going to begin moving now,” he announces. “Beginning on your left side.”

It's an odd feeling to adjust to, the way Ezra’s finger moves inside you. With his other hand pressing sometimes on your hip, sometimes at your side, you can feel him pressing against your wall in–true to his word–the same way one might massage a shoulder. This is just… very different. Or perhaps it's the same, and your brain only perceives it as such.

Despite the awkwardness of having someone rubbing such an intimate, deep, vulnerable part of your body, you can admit that something does feel good about this. Ezra is right, of course; there are muscles internally as well as externally, and you've never had yours attended to in such a way before.

Ezra’s finger rubs this way and that, covering all possible knots and tense spots on that particular side.

“Checking in, sprite,” he intones gently. “How does it feel?”

“Weird… but kinda good. I think I understand why you say it's just like a shoulder massage–I never really thought about having muscles there, but… I can feel them relaxing the same way they would as… as if it were my shoulder.”

“No physical difference between the two,” Ezra says, voicing your earlier thought. “Only up here do we make a distinction.” He taps the side of his head and gives you a sideways grin. “If we’re feeling pretty good with one, would you like to try adding one more? It all depends on your level of comfort, but it is easier to get at the muscles with two, rather than one. Would you like to try?”

The gentle loosening of the muscles you hadn't even known were tense is surprisingly soothing, so of course, you agree.

“You're doing so well at checking in with me,” Ezra says. “Take a nice deep breath for me, and we’ll switch to two fingers. Ready?”

You make a little noise of assent, and as you exhale, you feel the pressure inside you increase as Ezra slips another finger inside you.

“Doing good, sprite. I’m going to move to the muscles at the back of your vaginal walls now, which means my other hand is going to be pressing up on your lower back and buttocks. Is this fine?”

“That’s fine, yeah,” you nod, and at your consent, Ezra goes back to his steady, methodical working of your pelvic floor.

At this new angle, the sensations inside you are new and different from before. When he was massaging your left side, all you could really feel was the gentle push and pull as your muscles were soothed and relaxed. You can still feel the muscle tension easing away… but it’s very quickly being replaced by a different kind.

You try to focus on taking deep breaths in and out of your nose as Ezra seems to draw heat into your core with every stroke. You stop focusing on the relaxation entirely, instead concentrating every effort to not make any awkward noises that indicate how much your body is responding to his touch.

You really should have known better.

“Many people find that different areas of the vaginal wall can cause different kinds of sensations,” Ezra says quietly as he gently rubs small circles from within you while pressing just above your puckered hole. “The front vaginal wall, of course, has the tendency to produce the strongest impression because of what most people call the g-spot, but the rear wall is also very responsive. I want to remind you of what we discussed earlier; that you are welcome and encouraged to lean into those feelings. It is common for patients to come to orgasm multiple times during a session, and can be helpful for further muscle relaxation. All this to say, sprite, you don’t have to work to suppress the fact that this feels pleasurable. Of course it does. It’s far more advantageous for you to allow it to happen rather than spend the session working to rein it in. Understand?”

“Y-Yeah,” you nod, trying to sink back down onto the massage table again and stop fighting against your body’s automatic responses.

Even so, you don’t really believe you could orgasm from just this. Hell, you can barely orgasm during sex even when you use a vibrator. Your body’s need for intense, prolonged clitoral stimulation is simply a fact. A law, as immutable as gravity, and no amount of “internal massage” would ever have the same effect.

“If you ever do wish to revisit that last little question on the consent form, one type of treatment that can be incredibly effective is to massage the area in between, if you take my meaning,” Ezra comments lightly, as though discussing the weather. “It’s perfectly workable through what I’m doing now, of course, but even though I’m capturing the same general area, in my years of practice I’ve actually found that anal massage is an important component in achieving a comprehensive relaxation of all pelvic muscles.”

“Okay,” you say dumbly. His words–all the more impactful because of the detached clinical tone–combined with the constant pressure of his fingers, are creating a maelstrom of pleasure in your brain. You still aren’t sure if you’re “allowed” to find this entire situation to be incredibly erotic, but you worry you’ll soon have no choice, especially if your mind keeps conjuring up how it might feel to have both of Ezra’s hands rubbing something deep within you. How full you might feel.

“Nothing that needs to be discussed now or even in the near future, sprite,” he adds. “But just something to keep in the back of your mind as we progress through treatment.”

“Mm,” you agree. It’s–oh God, are you going to come? The pressure is building, building inside you, and even though there’s nothing touching your clit, it feels as though you might be reaching that point of no return. You make a soft, whining, desperate little sound as Ezra massages your vaginal wall with methodical precision.

“I know, I know,” he soothes in that syrupy voice of his. “Take a few deep breaths for me–I promise, it’s okay to let it go. Allow your body to do what it’s meant to do.” At this, he presses down even harder, and you gasp as you suddenly begin to clench around his fingers. Your chest heaves as you ride the waves of pleasure until they subside to a gentle ebb. Ezra remains still throughout it all, waiting patiently until you stop twitching with aftershocks.

“See? So much better when you listen to your body,” he praises. “Can you feel that? It causes your muscles to relax even further, so much more effectively than even I can manage. Feel the difference right here–” he rubs a wide circle up and down your wall, “–there’s so much less tension now, isn’t there?”

“Yeah,” you agree, still catching your breath.

“Let’s do a quick check-in before I move on,” Ezra suggests, “and while we do, I’d like to make a quick recommendation, if you are amenable.”

“That’s fine,” you answer.

“Give us a quick run-down of how you’re feeling,” he says. “Any pain? Discomfort?” When you shake your head, he continues. “How about mentally? Orgasm can make us feel vulnerable, and that’s perfectly okay, of course, but not if it leads to feeling uncomfortable or unsafe.”

“It still feels a little… strange, but I’m okay.”

“Ah, of course. Now, as far as my recommendation… Now that you’re far more relaxed, I think it might be helpful to switch to three fingers. How do you feel about that?”

You swallow. “It might feel like a lot,” you admit quietly.

“Indeed,” Ezra agrees. “As a general rule, the more fingers I am able to use, the more effective the massage. The ideal internal massage would be either with all four fingers on one hand, or a combination of three and two. If you’re feeling at all apprehensive about discomfort, however, I think it would be better to wait and see, yes?”

“Yes,” you nod gratefully.

“Moving on to your right side, sprite,” he says cheerfully. “Halfway there, and doing great.”

You can see what Ezra had been saying–you can feel that your walls are more pliant and moldable after your orgasm. However, it’s also made your nerves more sensitive to his touch, and the intense feeling of pleasure continues to flicker inside you with every gentle probe of his fingers.

You begin to float, losing track of time and simply focusing on the sensations within you. Ezra quiets down when he senses your more meditative state, and continues to massage with minimal commentary. When his thick fingers begin to move, pressing upward toward your abdomen, however, your breath catches and your hips lift of their own accord.

“My apologies, sprite. I should have warned you I was moving to the front wall before I did so, but you were in such a state of utter relaxation that I was loathe to speak up.”

“S’fine.”

“You may find this area to be the most intense in terms of sensation,” Ezra comments. “There’s a reason I usually save it for last.”

You make a slightly garbled, strained noise of assent as his other hand rubs gentle circles on your mons pubis while the other continues its deliberate path up and down your walls, soothing out all of the tension and finding some incredibly sensitive spots as it does.

Ezra pauses over one such area, and, in such exquisite torture that makes you actually cry out into the room, curls both fingers up to apply even more pressure.

“Ah, that,” he chuckles to himself. “That thing–the little area they call the ‘g-spot’–it’s not some mysterious, unique phenomenon, nor is it mythological. What they didn’t know at the time–and far too many people still are not aware–is that the clitoris is much larger than just the little bit that we see on the outside.” His fingers rub little circles, back and forth, up and down, massaging so meticulously that it feels almost ruthless. “Sooo many nerves in one relatively small place,” he murmurs. “Stimulating the clitoris is normally the most reliable way to acheive orgasm, and yet so little of it is accessible. But here–” he presses up again, and you gasp, “–here we are able to access the other end of the organ.”

You can hardly concentrate on the original goal of muscle relaxation with so much pressure on your g-spot (or, apparently, the back of your clitoris) but you can still feel Ezra dutifully and clinically working out the tension in your pelvic floor.

“Doing so well, sprite, so well. One nice, big, relaxing orgasm for me and then we’ll gently explore how the tension lessens afterward.”

Despite his insistence before your appointment that orgasm was not the goal of these sessions, you can’t help but notice Ezra appears to be guiding you towards one with masterful precision. With one hand applying light pressure on your abdomen and the other pressing upward to meet it, it feels as though he’s got the most sensitive organ of your body trapped between his fingers. He plays it like an instrument, each finger working independently to stroke different parts of the soft, spongy membrane.

Finally, finally, the pressure becomes so much that you simply seem to implode; all at once, you clamp down on Ezra’s fingers like a vice as your lower back lifts from the table. A feeling of pure, hot, wet relief surges through you, and the release feels endless, as though your body simply cannot stop pulsing and contracting. Dimly, you realize that it must be the ruthless stimulation from Ezra’s hands keeping you suspended in what feels like a never-ending orgasm. His fingers press upwards, rubbing quickly and insistently back and forth against the sensitive organ, and the movement draws more and more rhythmic clenches that seem to ripple across the entire area.

And–Oh, God–with each intense throb, little streams of fluid splash out over Ezra’s hand, and you realize with absolute mortification that the sheet, massage table, and Ezra’s white coat are already soaked with your release.

“Oh shit, I’m sorr–” you try to apologize as soon as you have the presence of mind.

“Now, now, not to worry, little sprite. Any manifestation of pleasure is welcomed and encouraged here, and I’ve been at this long enough to know that stimulating the back of the clitoris oftentimes results in strong and voluminous ejaculations…” You twitch with one last, pathetic aftershock, and Ezra soothingly rubs his fingers up and down your wall in the same way one might rub someone’s back after a long day. “But feel the difference, little sprite. Feel how supple and pliant your muscles are compared to before. This is the state we strive for, little sprite. Complete and utter relaxation. When you find yourself starting to tense up again–such is the consequence of the stressful lives we lead–I want you to call up this moment, and the way your pelvic muscles so easily move for my hand, and try to get back to this state. With enough practice on your own in between sessions, this will become easily achieved.

“I’m going to do a couple of nice, wide circles with my hand to stretch out those muscles one last time, and as I do, I’d like you to take some nice, deep, easy breaths with me. Once we get to five nice big breaths, I’ll slowly remove my hand. Does this sound good?”

“Yuh-huh,” you nod.

“Nice big inhale,” Ezra reminds you, and you dutifully suck in a deep, cleansing breath of air as you feel his hand circle around your vaginal walls, pressing deep into the muscle as he does. You repeat the action four more times, and on your very last exhale, the light feeling of pressure within you finally abates as his fingers slip out of you.

“How do you feel?”

“Pretty relaxed,” you say with a relieved laugh.

“Mentally?” he prods.

“I dunno, fine,” you shrug.

“Any feelings of vulnerability are normal,” he says as he stands from his stool and helps you guide your legs out of the stirrups and back onto the table under the sheet. “You may find that these feelings may be delayed by a few days, even, so be gentle with yourself for the next week or so. Light muscle soreness is also normal, in the same way it can occur after a normal massage. If at any time this light soreness transforms into pain, please do not hesitate to contact me.”

Ezra picks up your consent form again and scans it briefly before setting it back down and giving you a serious, thoughtful look. “You told me three weeks ago that you were ‘built wrong,’ and you mention several times in your form that you have difficulty bringing yourself to orgasm. Little sprite, I have lost count of the number of clients who have the same complaints and who have similarly insisted their bodies were simply different from ‘normal’ people’s. Now, mind you, the sample size may be biased, but from this data I can only conclude that no human being is ‘built wrong.’ The problem lies in our minds, and more specifically, in the social conditioning we’ve all received since birth–conditioning that in no way favors the female experience of pleasure. Society has failed you, has labeled your pleasure as secondary, illusive, impossible, or even imaginary. Your sessions with me will help to reverse the physical symptoms from a lifetime of unhelpful social conditioning, and now that you know your body is not only capable of experiencing pleasure, but of doing so in ways you weren’t even aware, your mind will follow.”

“Wow,” you breathe, awestruck by how different you feel. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”

“I’ll leave you to get dressed, little sprite,” Ezra says, briefly patting your hand in a comforting manner. “When you’re ready, go ahead and open the door and I’ll walk you to the lobby to schedule your next appointment.”

#ezra #ezra prospect #ezra x you #ezra x reader #ezra x f!reader #pedro pascal #prospect fanfiction

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pulisicsgirl · 1 year ago

Text

silence is deafening - mason mount

summary: after a fight with Mason digs up memories she'd rather forget, Y/N is left to deal with trauma from her past and decide if she will let Mason in

pairing: Mason Mount x reader

word count: 5.1k

warnings/tags: angst, hurt/comfort, couple fight, !! in-depth description of childhood trauma !!, lack of communication, supportive Mase, everything will eventually be okay-- you all know I can't write a sad ending, not proofread (I'm so sorry)

requested: yes!! here

notes: back with another request!!! This one has been sitting in my inbox for a LONG time!! I've had the draft halfway written for SO long, but couldn't decide how to finish it until I was struck with a bit of inspiration earlier this week! I hope you all enjoy it!!

You rested your elbow on the counter, forehead placed in the palm of your hand as you used the other to scroll and click through the numerous emails in your inbox. You had a big deadline coming up for your work, and it seemed that the brunt of the responsibility for it had fallen unexpectedly on your shoulders. As a result, your coworkers were coming to you with all of their questions, new emails popping up in your inbox every hour. So here you were, sitting at the bar in the kitchen, legs tucked under you as you continued to work even after arriving at home from a full day’s work.

Your boss had been on your case for a few weeks now for a reason unknown to you, which put you on edge each day that you went into work, nervous to step a toe out of line and be reprimanded, or worse, fired. You feared that this project could be the breaking point if it didn’t work out, which only added to your nervousness. You had never let a project like this fall apart before, but the anxious thoughts swirling around your mind convinced you that this would be the day that you failed.

You were just closing the browser to open a spreadsheet when you heard the sound of the front door opening and closing. You vaguely heard Mason call out into the house and the sound of his keys dropping into the bowl by the front door, too focused on your work to comprehend what he had actually said.

The nerves seemed to have settled in your chest like a heavy weight, pressing onto your diaphragm as your eyes flicked between the seemingly endless list of numbers and data on your screen. Your head was beginning to ache, and you imagined that this is what drowning would feel like.

You were pulled from your thoughts as two hands slipped around your waist as Mason pulled you tightly into his chest.

“How’s my baby?” Mason mumbled into your neck, pressing kisses to the skin there, and as much as you usually enjoyed being greeted this way, you were feeling overwhelmed by the sudden contact.

“ ’m okay,” you mumbled in reply, wiggling a bit to try to pull from his grasp, but Mason didn’t get the message, keeping your back pressed to his firm chest, continuing to place kisses on your neck and shoulders, his beard tickling your skin. “Mase, please…”

“What are you working on, sweetheart?” he mumbled softly, pressing his nose into your cheek.

“It’s just a thing for work. The deadline’s actually coming up pretty soon.” You tried prying his hands from your waist, beginning to feel suffocated, but Mason didn’t seem to notice. If he did, he ignored it. “So I really need to work on—”

“Come on, just give me five minutes,” he spun your chair toward him so he could see your face. Placing his hands on your cheeks, he began peppering kiss all over—your forehead, nose, cheeks, chin. “Haven’t seen you all day. I just wanna –”

“Mason please!” Something in you snapped and you pushed his hands away from you. “Why can’t you just leave me alone for two seconds! I’m trying to work! Can’t you see that?”

Mason stumbled back a couple of steps, caught off guard by your outburst. You never called him by his full name, and you certainly never shouted at him. A look of hurt washed over his face, the grin that had previously played on his lips falling into a frown, eyebrows drawn together, and you instantly regretted your words. You didn’t mean them, but you were overwhelmed and simply lost your cool.

“Mase, I’m sorry, I-“ You rose from your chair quickly to apologize to him, reaching a hand out toward him, but he was already halfway out of the kitchen by the time you could move in his direction. Your heart sank in your chest as you watched him round the corner, heading down the hallway.

You dropped yourself back into the chair, resting your head in your hands as your eyes began to sting with tears. If you thought you had felt miserable before, you had surely made it worse now. You cursed yourself for letting your stress get the better of you and letting your job come between you and Mason. The despair that you felt sat on your ribcage like a weight as a few tears slipped down your cheeks.

You decided maybe it was best to give Mason a bit of space before you tried to apologize. You knew you had hurt his feelings. He often expressed to you that he feared being too clingy or smothering the other person in his relationships, but you had always reassured him that you loved it, finding solace in his presence and his touch. Until today, when you had snapped at him for doing the very thing you told him brought you peace.

It truly wasn’t that you didn’t want him to touch you. In fact, in this moment, there was nothing you wanted more. You were feeling overwhelmed and had failed to communicate that.

With slightly puffy eyes you wiped the tear streaks from your cheeks, pulling your computer in front of you, determined to finish the work you had laid out for you so that you could spend the rest of your evening making it up to Mason. That proved difficult, though, with anxious thoughts about your relationship swirling around your head, now contributing to the anxiety you felt over your job.

You felt things getting progressively worse—your heart speeding up, the shaking in your hands getting more intense, and you were having trouble concentrating at all.

After about a half an hour, you heard Mason’s soft footsteps as his sock-clad feet padded down the hallway. Your heart skipped a beat, trying to quickly collect your thoughts so you could articulate to him just how sorry you were for what you had said and how you had acted.

But as Mason turned the corner into the kitchen, it was clear he hadn’t come to talk to you, not even sparing you a glance as he walked over to the fridge. Your voice caught on the lump in your throat, surprised by his cold demeanor.

“M-Mase?”

Your call to him was left unanswered as opened the refrigerator door, bending down to grab a bottle of water from the shelf. He uncapped the bottle, taking a drink from it as he walked back out of the room without a word.

Your lower lip wobbled, and you felt the tears welling up in your eyes. You closed your computer, knowing that you were going to get nothing more done, dropping your head to rest on your forearms on the countertop. You tried to muffle the sobs that shook your body, not wanting to guilt Mason into comforting you. You got yourself into this situation and would have to figure out how to deal with it.

It took another half hour for you to calm yourself, your crying finally ceasing. You took a few minutes, trying to make it appear as though you hadn’t spent the last 30 minutes crying in the kitchen before you decided to “pull up your big girl pants” and go find Mason.

You walked slowly and reluctantly down the hallway, first checking in your shared bedroom and finding both it and the ensuite bathroom empty. As you walked back into the hallway, you heard a noise coming from Mason’s gaming room and decided that must be where you’d find him.

You knocked softly on the door to alert him to your presence before you pushed the door open slowly. Mason was facing to your left, looking at the TV where he was playing FIFA, and only the side of his face was visible to you. Once again, he didn’t look toward you, focusing on his game without so much as a glance in your direction.

You took a couple of steps toward him, playing with your fingers in front of you as you moved to a position where you knew he could at least see you out of the corner of his eye.

“M-Mase? Can w-we talk?” Your voice was shaky as you spoke, but you took a deep breath, determined not to cry again. “Please?”

You waited, but there was no response. The clear shakiness of your voice earned a brief glance in your direction, but nothing more.

“Mason?”

Nothing.

All at once, a wave of emotions and painful memories hit you, the silent treatment from Mason taking you back to a time in your life that you had resolved to leave in your past.

Before you could stop it, a sob left your lips, and you clasped a hand over your mouth to silence it, rushing out of the room. You closed the door a little more harshly than you had intended to, soft cries leaving your lips as you raced down the hallway to find somewhere—anywhere—where you could get some fresh air and breathe for a moment.

Before you could even think, you had rushed to the front door, slipping on the trainers you had left there and grabbing your keys. You were out the door quickly, fighting back tears as you turned the keys in the ignition. You weren’t sure where you were even going to go, you just needed to find somewhere to be alone.

Almost as soon as you had left him alone in his gaming room, Mason knew something was really off. The two of you had fought before, but you had never reacted to it the way you had when you ran out of the room.

He had resolved to give you the cold shoulder, feeling hurt by the way you had pushed him away so harshly. But his concern for you outweighed his need to get you to apologize. He hadn’t been able to keep himself from glancing in your direction when your voice shook as you spoke. You had never sounded so afraid to address him, and that simple fact was eating away at him. He had soon after turned off the console, wandering out of his gaming room in search of you.

The house was eerily quiet as he moved through the hallway, checking in each room that he passed to see if you were there. When he entered the kitchen, noticing your computer lying closed on the countertop, he furrowed his brows. After not finding you anywhere else in the house, he had been sure you would be back in the kitchen, working on whatever it was that had you so stressed out.

Your shoes and keys missing from the walkway told him you had left, and he felt his heart sink a little. He had been hoping to find you and work this out quickly, hating the way he felt when there was distance between the two of you.

After debating whether to text or call to check on you, Mason settled on a quick text, afraid of suffocating you further. He wandered into the kitchen, aimlessly rummaging through the fridge and the cabinets as he waited for you to reply. He was restless, checking the screen of his phone every few seconds to see if a text from you had popped up, but nothing came through.

It wasn’t long before he threw caution to the wind, dialing your number without caring if you would be frustrated with him. The nerves caused by your brief argument and not knowing where you were was causing his worry to spike and he couldn’t keep himself from calling.

The line rang for several long moments before the automated voice began telling him you were unavailable.

He hung up, blowing air out in frustration and tossing his phone onto the counter before he plopped down in one of the chairs at the countertop. For a few moments, he just stared at the chair you had been sitting in when he had first arrived home—the place you had been sitting when you’d shouted at him.

His heart clenched in his chest at the recent memory. You had never reacted that way to him before, and it bothered him more than he cared to admit. The negative thoughts began to swirl in his mind, feeling like a cloud of despair.

He felt small. He felt like he was overbearing. He worried that you had grown sick of him and simply didn’t want him around anymore.

As tears sprung to his eyes, Mason’s level-headed side began to prevail.

Yes, you had never reacted that way to him before, so that had to mean that something had triggered it.

Everything had been fine when he’d cuddled up to you in bed that morning, and he was equally as touchy and clingy as the two of you had gotten ready for the day, so something had to have changed between then and when he got home.

As he wracked his brain to remember what you had been saying before you’d snapped at him, he realized he couldn’t really recall what you’d told him. He hadn’t really been paying attention, he realized.

He dropped his head into his hands, elbows resting on the countertop, as the shame washed over him. Perhaps this all could’ve been avoided if he’s just paid attention to what you had been trying to tell him.

With another sigh, Mason picked his phone up from where he had tossed it on the counter, dialing your number again.

And again, he was met with no response.

You hadn’t actually gone far on your drive, only making it about 10 minutes before you pulled off into a mostly empty parking lot, parked at the back where it was the most deserted, and broke down into sobs.

You felt silly for crying so much about receiving the cold shoulder from your boyfriend, but it had brought up so many memories and feelings you had done your best to repress.

The environment you had grown up in was… less than inviting. In your house, children were treated as more of a nuisance than a blessing. You were made to feel that unless you were bringing some sort of value to others, you didn’t deserve anything. Love was something that had to be earned, not something unconditional that was shared between a parent and child.

Silent treatment was something that your mother had often used to signal that she was upset with you. From a very young age, longer than you can remember, when she would begin to ignore you when you spoke to her or tugged at the hem of her shirt to get her attention, it meant you had to scramble to find a way to earn her love.

So, seeing Mason doing the very same had taken you right back to that time. You had once again felt like a young child, scrambling to prove that you deserved the love of another.

Of course, you realized that there was no way for Mason to know this would have bothered you the way it did. He knew that your relationship with your parents was now non-existent because of the circumstances of your upbringing, but he didn’t know the full extent of what they had put you through. You hadn’t gathered the strength to tell him all of those details yet.

So you had done the only thing you could think of to do in that moment, and you ran away—something you most certainly regretted now. But you didn’t want Mason to feel guilty for making you cry when you knew you had been in the wrong, so you sat in that empty parking lot for as long as it took you to calm yourself down.

You allowed yourself to sit there and feel miserable on your own for a while, but you knew you’d have to go back to face Mason soon. You knew he was probably worried, but you had turned your phone off after his first call came through. You felt even more guilty as a result, but you had been unable to deal with reassuring him of your safety at that moment.

It was dark outside by the time you walked back in the front door, closing it behind you quietly. You slipped your shoes off, placed your keys in the bowl, and hesitated a moment in the entry.

The soft jingle of your keys had alerted Mason to your presence, and he practically jumped up from his seat at the counter where he had remained the entire time, feeling miserable as he tried to call you nearly every 30 minutes.

Mere seconds passed before Mason darted quickly around the corner to find you standing there, still about 10 feet away from him.

His stomach sank to his feet at the sight of your red-rimmed eyes and puffy cheeks. It was clear you had spent the entire time you were gone crying.

At the sight of him standing carefully at a distance, the feeling of guilt overwhelmed you, and tears sprung to your eyes.

“M-Mase, I’m so sorry, I-“ you stumbled over your words, the first tears spilling down your cheeks. “I shouldn’t have-“

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” Mason was standing in front of you in an instant, cradling your face with his hands. His thumbs swiped over your cheeks, wiping away the tears that had fallen. “It’s okay, don’t worry. You-“

“No,” you asserted, shaking your head as you held onto his forearms to steady yourself. “No, it’s not okay, please let me apologize.”

Mason’s heart squeezed as you gazed up at him with wide eyes, and he could tell you were trying to stop your lower lip from quivering, but to no avail.

You took a deep breath, in through your nose and blowing the air out slowly through your mouth to try to gather yourself, wanting to be sure that you remembered every part of the apology that you had mentally composed on your way home.

“Mase, I’m so sorry for snapping at you,” you looked up at his face as you spoke, watching as he drew his brows together with a sad expression on his face. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you the way I did, and I shouldn’t have shouted. Work has been awful these last couple of weeks, and my boss has been giving me absolute hell. I think it all just built up.”

Mason nodded at you, and you could tell from his soft expression that he understood what you were saying.

You continued, “It’s not an excuse, I just want you to know that it wasn’t you that was bothering me. I just unfairly took my bad day out on you. I don’t feel like you’re too much—ever—I just… I needed a bit of space, and I should’ve just told you that.”

You could see his face physically relax as the relief washed over him, and you felt even more guilty knowing he had been sitting with those thoughts of self-doubt ever since you had left.

“I’m really sorry,” you finished with a whisper as Mason brushed his thumb softly over your bottom lip.

Without warning, Mason pulled you into a tight hug, wrapping his arms around your shoulders, making you feel completely enveloped by him—and the feeling was the greatest relief you could ever remember feeling. He buried his face in your neck, and you could feel a couple of warm tears against your skin.

The two of you stood there in the entryway, clinging onto each other like you’d vanish into thin air if you let go. Mason’s hot breath fanned against your neck, and you closed your eyes, drinking in the feeling of being so close to him.

“Thank you,” Mason whispered after a few moments. “Thank you for talking to me.”

You squeezed him in response.

“And I’m sorry for being so childish,” he pulled his face back, still holding you in his arms. “I shouldn’t have just ignored you like that. I should have told you how I was feeling, too.”

You brought your hand up to cradle his cheek, pressing a smile to your lips despite the your eyes still being wet with tears.

“It’s okay, Mase, you couldn’t…” you hesitated for a moment, struggling with the idea of opening that part of yourself up to him. But you knew it was a conversation that was well overdue, so you pushed out of your comfort zone. “You couldn’t have known that it would bother me so much.”

Mason remain quiet, turning his head to place a gentle kiss on the skin of your palm, sensing that you had more to say.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Um… so y-you know that my relationship with my parents really fell apart after I was able to move out, and… um…”

You hesitated, feeling frustrated with yourself for struggling to open yourself up. Here Mason stood—the perfect boyfriend, really. He had never judged you for any of your struggles or for anything from your past. He had been nothing but supportive and compassionate since you had first met him. Despite all of this, those nagging thoughts that you weren’t deserving of it all would persist no matter how hard you tried to push them away.

As Mason realized that this was becoming a conversation that would likely require a lot of time, he pulled away from you slightly, taking both of your hands in his as he led you to the living room. He sat down on the couch, opening his arms up to you so you could sit however you felt most comfortable, wanting to put your troubled mind at ease however he could.

Feeling a desperate need to remain close to him, you wound up placing yourself on Mason’s lap, facing him with your knees settled on either side of his hips. Your arm naturally found their place wrapped loosely around his neck, and he placed his hands on your hips, alternating between brushing his thumbs against your waist and rubbing his hands over your thighs.

You took a minute to compose yourself again, staring at the front of Mason’s t-shirt as you didn’t feel confident enough to look him in the eye. Mason remained quiet, continuing his gentle pattern over your legs as he allowed you to have that moment. He could tell that there was a lot weighing on you, even beyond the stress that your job had been causing you.

When you were able to gather your thoughts, you began speaking softly, and you told Mason everything.

You told him about your childhood and the nature of the relationships you’d had with your parents. You told him about the sudden changes in your mother’s disposition and how she would be happy one moment and hateful toward you the next. You explained your long history with the “silent treatment” and how you now realized that was a trigger for you. You were honest with him about the uncertainty that you felt about yourself and about your relationships as a result of this kind of upbringing.

“My mother, she… actually reached out to me last week,” you mumbled. By the time you had finished recounting your life story to Mason, you had cast your eyes down to your lap where you were playing with your fingers, unable to bring yourself to look at his face. “It’s the first time she’s done that since I left home years ago. I don’t really feel like I’m ready to reply to her yet, but I think it’s just dug up a lot of feeling and memories that I tried to bury for so long.”

Mason’s silence as you stopped speaking only made you more nervous. Hesitantly, you looked up to his face, but the pity you expected to find in his eyes was nowhere to be seen.

Instead, Mason had a look of pure admiration in his eyes.

“Please say something, Mase.”

He brought his hand up to your cheek, brushing your skin gently as he gave you a tearful smile.

“You’re so incredibly strong, Y/N.”

His reply took you by surprise, as, for seemingly the hundredth time that night, tears spring to your eyes.

“Really?” your voice shook as you spoke.

He nodded. “You went through all of that, and you’re still the kindest soul I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing.”

You couldn’t stop the sob that left your lips as you fell forward into Mason, tucking yourself into his chest. His arms immediately were wrapped around your body, your shoulders shaking as you cried into his neck.

You weren’t sure how long the two of you sat there. Your cries eventually diminished into soft sniffles as you remained with your face tucked into Mason’s neck. He slowly trailed his fingers over your back, rubbing soothing shapes and patterns, and after all of the crying and how emotionally drained you felt after reliving the trauma of your past, you felt like you could fall asleep right there.

When you had finally settled a bit more, Mason enveloped you in his arms again, squeezing you gently as he pressed a kiss into your hair.

“Thank you, Y/N,” his voice was no higher than a whisper. “Thank you for telling me all of that.”

Lacking the energy to reply in that moment, you shifted slightly so that you could place a kiss on his collarbone in a silent thanks for listening and understanding you on a level that no one else ever had.

You sat there for a while, allowing yourself to just relax into your boyfriend’s body as he held you. As you rested there, you knew that there was nowhere else in the world that you’d rather be.

Feeling your muscles soften and noticing that your eyes had slipped closed, Mason knew you would soon fall asleep and decided that the two of you should go on up to bed.

He shifted you off of his lap gently, trying to disturb your peace as little as possible. He stood, bending over to pick you up from the couch, and carried you bridal style toward the stairs and up into your shared bedroom.

He took you into the ensuite bathroom and placed you gently on the counter. After grabbing the skincare products he had observed you using over the many nights that you had spent together, he set out, following your nighttime regimen as closely as he could remember. He took a couple of cotton pads, dampening them with your cleanser and swiping them over your cheeks, forehead, and nose. He pumped a bit of the moisturizer on his fingers and gently rubbed it into your skin. Your eyes slipped closed, and his soft touch nearly lulled you back to sleep, sitting there on the countertop.

Mason only left you alone for a moment as you brushed your teeth and he wandered into the bedroom. You could hear him moving around but didn’t have the energy to find out what he was doing. Just as you had finished rinsing out your mouth in the sink, he reappeared behind you, having changed into a loose pair of joggers and discarding his shirt, sliding his arms around your waist as you stood up straight.

You relaxed back into Mason’s touch, pressing your back into his bare chest and letting your head fall back onto his shoulder.

For a moment you stood there, drinking each other in. Mason swayed you gently back and forth as he pressed his cheek to the side of your head, his body radiating warmth from behind you. With your eyes closed, you focused on the feeling of him pressed up against you, arms holding you securely as the gentle pace of his swaying calmed the remainder of the racing thoughts in your mind.

Even with your eyes closed, you could feel the tears springing to them as you thought of how thankful you were to have Mason in your life—how thankful you were that he was your person. You had always known that he was someone special, even from the first moment that you met him. But now, having explained to him the entirety of your childhood and all of the difficulties that came with it, you just felt that much close to him and that much more appreciative if who Mason was.

Kind, forgiving, understanding, gentle—you could have gone on for the rest of the night listing all of the characteristics that made Mason the most perfect man you’d even known.

You twisted in Mason’s hold, tucking your face into his neck so he wouldn’t see the tears spilling over once again. You folded your arms between your bodies as he held you close, allowing him to completely envelop you in his hold.

After another moment, Mason placed a gentle kiss to your temple. “Come on, love. Let’s get to bed.”

You nodded, shivering from the cold as he unwrapped his arms from you.

You followed him back into the bedroom, noticing that the sheets had been pulled back, the pillows arranged just how you liked them, and the shirt that Mason had previously been wearing just before was folded on your side of the bed. Your heart warmed at the small acts of service Mason had done for you.

After you’d undressed yourself, slipping Mason’s t-shirt over your head, you crawled into the bed and placed yourself right next to Mason, who was now clad in only his boxers. He pulled the sheets and the duvet up, tucking them over your bodies before he lay down and pulled you into his arms.

With Mason’s arm wrapped around your body, you lay with your head on his bare chest, listening to the soft and steady beating of his heart. It only took a few seconds of you laying there before Mason had slipped his hand under the hem of your shirt, trailing his fingers over your back and reveling in the feel of your skin against his. Your legs were tangled under the sheets as the two of you lay in silence, content to be completely wrapped up in one another.

The silence was only broken as you whispered into the night air a few moments later. “Thank you, Mase. For everything.” You pressed a gentle kiss to his chest.

“Anything for you, my love,” he replied softly, squeezing your shoulders. “Anything at all.”

tag list: @landoslover @thoseboysinblue @lovelynikol16 @swimmingismywholelife @masonsrem @bracedes @neverinadream @lizzypotter14 @notsoattractivearenti @chilwellspulisic @mm-vii @10vnderhaze

Feedback is always appreciated!!!

#mason mount #mason mount x reader #mason mount imagine #mason mount fic #footballer fic #footballer imagine #mason mount fluff #mason mount angst #mason mount fanfic #mason mount one shot #mason mount blurb

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vodika-vibes · 9 months ago

Note

Hi Vodika 🥰

I'm back with a second ask for your follower celebration!

Could I get a Wolffe x Fem!Reader with a narcissus and pansy bouquet? Where the reader ends up in the hospital and Wolffe confesses his love for her when he visits and realizes how much she means to him?

Please and thank you 💚😘💚

@the-bad-batch-baroness

Accidents Happen

Summary: You've been crushing on Wolffe for, what seems like, forever. But you're convinced that he'll never feel the same. However, when you're injured at work, things change.

Pairing: Commander Wolffe x F!Reader

Word Count: 2020

Prompts: Narcissus - unrequited love, Pansy - you occupy my thoughts

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: You did say that Wolffe was on your brain! So I hope this story makes you happy! And here's your personal divider that I made for you. As a note This is Wolffe's message, and This is the reader's messaging.

Early mornings are the worst, you think as your alarm goes off at 5 am.

You lay in bed for a moment, listening to your alarm scream at you from across the room, before you sigh and swing your legs out of the bed and push to your feet.

Early mornings where you actually have to do work the whole day are even worse. You blearily cross the room and hit the button on top of your clock, before you flip the lightswitch, making it impossible for you to go back to sleep.

And then you cross back to your bed, and grab your comm from its charger.

Several messages from your friends from the night before. Several more from your boss from last night and early this morning. A handful of emails that need to be deleted or responded to in kind.

You sigh heavily, and open the app for your work. You quickly log in for the day, before you go back to your emails. You absently answer several work emails as you pad through the apartment into your kitchen.

You set your comm down on the counter, still scanning your emails, and you grab your electric kettle to fill it with water. You set it back on it’s stand and flick the power switch, before you grab your comm again and turn to leave the room.

You start to reply to an email when the dark blue bubble of your instant messenger pops up on the screen.

You up?

Your heart speeds up and your face heats when you see the simple words sent to you by Wolffe. Your crush on him is, frankly, embarrassing.

Tragically. Morning Wolffe. What’s up?

Comet has been harassing me to remind you about the book. The one with the birds.

You stare at the screen blankly for a moment, You mean The Raven Emperor series?

How should I know? Probably.

You giggle, Wolffe, there aren’t any actual birds in that book.

I really don’t care, sarad.

Well, someone’s grumpy this morning.

You’d be grumpy too if your twin brother stole all of your caf.

What, the GAR doesn’t give you a caf supply.

The GAR wouldn’t give us armor if we didn’t need it to win the war.

You can hear him rolling his eyes across the text message, and it’s kind of impressive.

Anyway

Me and the boys are going to 79s this evening

Coming?

I wish.

I have a building that I need to appraise, and it’s something like 200 apartment buildings.

I’m going to be busy until midnight

🥺

Ah.

Well, next time then.

You wait a moment for Wolffe to say something else, but he went offline soon after.

I want to go on a date with you. Your finger hovers over the send button, before you sigh and shake your head, deleting the message.

Wolffe would never be interested in you. Not like that.

You just have to be happy with his friendship.

And here you thought ‘love unrequited’ was just something in the trashy romance novels you read in secret.

You allow yourself to wallow for a whole 30 seconds, and then you remember that you still have to shower and eat breakfast, and you toss your comm on your bed as you hurry into the fresher.

The chat with Wolffe means that you don’t have time for a proper breakfast, especially if you give yourself time enough to shower properly, but you think it was worth it. He’s Wolffe, after all.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re scrambling out of your fresher, pulling your wet hair into a messy knot at the back of your head, and you hurry back into the kitchen.

In your rush you accidentally pour some hot water over your thumb as you fill your travel mug with the water, and you release a pained hiss. “I don’t have time for this,” You say to the empty apartment. You eye the blister critically, and decide that it’s not worth the hassle of treating it

Quickly, but carefully, you finish putting your breakfast together, and you hurry out the front door.

Your boss wants you at the complex by 6 am.

And luckily, you make it. By the skin of your teeth, maybe, but you’re still on time.

“You’re almost late,” the stern looking older man scolds.

“The keyword there being almost,” You counter, as you look up at the building, “This is the Meridian Complex?”

“Yep.”

“You spent how much on this?”

“2.5 Million Credits,” He sounds proud about it.

“This is a death trap.” You point out, cringing as a fake shutter falls off a window three stories up.

“It just needs a little work.” Your boss says, and then he pauses, “You are up to date on your vaccines, right?”

“Ha. You’re hilarious.” You pull your datapad out of your car, and glance at the information on the screen, “You have the keys?”

“Yup, all of the door codes are set to 00000.”

“Noted.” You make a note on the datapad, “After you.”

Half an hour later, you realize that your conservative estimation of this taking until midnight was far, far too generous. This is going to take days.

You look around at the rotting floorboards, and at the graffiti and holes on the walls, and you sigh. At least the paycheck is going to be really nice.

“Hey! I think I found a half decent apartment!” Your boss calls from down the stairs, “Second floor, 209. We can use this as a staging room.”

“Coming!” You shake your head at the sheer mess, and half wonder if you could message Wolffe and ask for the Wolfpack to help. You laugh softly at the idea, the boys would be more than happy to help, you’re sure, but it’s not realistic.

You start up the stairs.

But, if he was willing to help, you could spend more time with Wolffe, which would be a win.

A weird noise makes you slow to a stop, and you pause, tilting your head to listen better.

“What are you doing?” Your boss asks from the top of the stairs.

“...I heard something-” You trail off as there’s a cracking noise under your feet.

Your boss’ face goes gray. “Hurry!”

You go to take one more step, when the cracking noise returns. And when you put your foot down on the stair…it keeps going.

You don’t even have time to scream as the staircase collapses under you.

The last thing you see as you topple backwards is your boss’ horrified face, and you hear a shout of your name.

Wolffe is not having a super day.

On top of the fact that Fox stole all of the Caf and the fact that he’s been confined in his office doing paperwork all morning, the fact that the Wolfpack’s pretty sarad won’t be joining them at 79s tonight just shoved him into an awful mood.

Nights out are always better when she’s with them.

He glowers at the various documents that need his signatures. He should be grateful. He’s not Marshal Commander. He’s seen the amount of work that Cody, Fox, and Bly have on a daily basis.

He’s lucky that he is only a commander and he only has this much work to do.

…yeah, nope. That didn’t help.

He rests his head on his hand as he taps his stylus against the table. “When Alpha said that a command position was worth it, he was a filthy liar.” Wolffe announces to the room at large.

He should make Comet do this paperwork in exchange for the free time he’ll need to read that book series he’s going to borrow-

Wolffe’s thought process is cut off when his office door slides open and Comet bursts in, “Commander!”

“What is it?”

“Sarad is in the hospital.”

Wolffe’s heart drops into his stomach. He drops all of his work and grabs his helmet, “Which hospital?”

“Coruscant General. Sir, where-?”

“I’m going to go check on her, of course.” He pushes past Comet, “You’re in charge until I get back.”

“Yes, sir.” Comet pauses, “Let us know how she is?”

“I will,”

The trip to Coruscant General doesn’t take long, Wolffe is able to walk the distance. And, as luck has it, no one stops him when he enters the hospital properly.

“Can I help you sir?” The nurse at reception asks.

“I hope so,” Wolffe replies, before he offers her name, “I was told that she’s here.”

The woman nods, “Are you the husband?”

Wolffe pauses for half a second, “Yes, that's right.” He lies.

She nods again, “On the fifth floor, room 517.”

“Thank you.” He marches over to the lift, and presses the button for the fifth floor. Wolffe’s mind is whirling. How was she hurt? How badly? Does he need to set up a guard rotation for her?

Did someone attack her? Does he need to get the guard involved?

The lift comes to a stop and he steps out, and heads to the nurses station. He offers her name once more, and again, lies about being her husband, and he’s pointed in the right direction.

The door is shut, and Wolffe lightly knocks on the door. He doesn’t get a response, but he pushes the door open anyway.

“Sarad?” The lights are dimmed, but not so much that he’s not able to see her.

She looks…bad.

Covered in bruises and bandages. Various machines attached to her, monitoring her heart rate and blood pressure and giving her IV medication.

“Oh, cyare.” Wolffe walks over to her, and looks her over. Every inch of her is covered in angry looking bruises or cuts. “What happened?” Gently, very gently, he brushes a strand of hair out of her face.

A lot of the tension he hadn’t realized that he was carrying drains from his body now that he’s sure that she’s not dying or dead.

It’s kind of funny, in a way.

Sure, he’s always known that his sarad was important to him. He’s not been blind to the fact that she’s always on his mind and that he never isn’t thinking about her. But he didn’t know just how important until this very moment.

Wolffe’s fingers linger on her cheek, and he’s startled when he hears a soft moan from her. “Sarad?”

Hazy eyes peer up at him, confused, “‘lffe?”

“Yeah,” He smiles at her, “It’s me. How are you feeling?”

“...wh’re?”

“You’re at Coruscant General, you were hurt, do you remember?”

Her fingers flex, and Wolffe takes her hand in his free hand, “Stairs,” She mumbles, some of the haze leaving her voice, “The stairs collapsed-”

“Unlucky,” Wolffe says quietly, as he sets his helmet on the side table and then sits in a seat, “How are you feeling?”

She’s quiet as she considers his question, “...fuzzy.” She finally says.

He chuckles, “I’m not surprised, by the look of it, you’re on some good pain medicine.”

“Wolffe?”

“Hm?”

“Why are you in the hospital? Are you hurt?” She asks, her brow furrowed as she tries to puzzle it out.

“Come on, Sarad. You know the hospital doesn’t treat clones.” Wolffe brushes his fingers across her lips, “I’m here for you, of course.” He pauses, “I also let everyone believe that I’m your husband. Sorry.”

She hums, “I don’t mind.”

“That I lied?”

“Being your wife.” She clarifies, “Sounds like fun. Let’s do that.”

Wolffe laughs, “I think we’re skipping a couple of steps, Sarad.”

She hums again, her eyes fluttering closed, “Don’ care. Love Wolffe.” She mumbles.

His breath catches in his throat for a moment. And then a wide grin crosses his face. “Are you still awake, cyare?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“I love you.” He whispers into her ear, and then he presses a light kiss to her temple, “You’re not going to remember this when you sober up, and that’s okay. I’ll just tell you again and again, as many times as you need.”

She smiles at him, the drugs hitting her hard again, “Stay?”

“For as long as you want me, sarad. Promise.”

#star wars #tcw #vodika-vibes follower celebration #commander wolffe x reader #wolffe x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic #answered asks

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unicorncornflakes · 1 year ago

Text

Summer Isles - Modern!Aemond x Reader | Chapter 1

Next Chapter

Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary: After two years in the Summer Isles, Aemond returns from his international stay during his doctorate ready to be with the girl he left Westeros for.

Tags: Alternate Universe – Modern/ Setting Emotional Hurt/ Comfort/ Drama & Romance/ Eventual Smut.

Warnings: Not at this moment, maybe later :P This is the best I can write these days, sorry :(

General Tag-List (If you wanna be tagged in thi series or all of my work, let me know): @thedamewithabook @bluevxnus @hiddencurator

Author´s note: Pls, enjoy! Feedback, shares and comments are always welcome!

Word Count: 3.5K

The sunlight had disappeared two hours ago. From the large window of the office, you could see how the yellow lights of the streetlights illuminated the deserted streets of that old industrial estate. Normally, at that time, there would be a multitude of operators and porters working in the warehouses that surrounded the modern, newly built building in which you worked. But, that autumn afternoon there was not a single soul. From the second floor of that building that broke the skyline of the place, you could see a paper bag rolling alone along the sidewalk.

You sighed, trying to gather strength for the next email you had to answer. You always sat next to the window, as if that could cheer you up during the at least eight hours you spent at work. The head of the service, in a show of trust and invented friendship with you, always placed you in the last shift of that customer service of the large multinational for which you worked. Although it may sound strange, it was the simplest and most complicated shift at the same time. Few clients with very big problems. Brilliant.

A new email popped up on the screen and you sighed right after replying to the last one. You grabbed the back of your head and closed your eyes, tired. Well, it could be worse, you thought, you might have to take a call. That thought crossed your mind when you saw your colleague Cristof closing his eyes tiredly while he explained for the last half hour to a client that the delay of her wedding dress was a problem of the transport company, that a claim had been opened and that we would try to give her a solution first thing tomorrow morning, not then, in the last shift.

“This is an idiot,” Cristof turned on mute just to talk to you and make you smile. You frowned and shook your head at him as he laughed again. "Yeah. Of course, I'm still here and I understand your situation perfectly, right now there is a team of five people working to get your dress to you first thing tomorrow morning, Mrs. Thyrosh” he completely changed the tone he had used with you, showing the best side of the service. That's what your job was about, showing your best possible face, or rather, your best possible voice.

“Is Aegon finally coming to look for you today?” Irmis, sitting right next to you, was also typing quickly to answer a customer who had decided at the last minute to change his expensive order for shoes from a famous brand. When they had offered you that job at a prestigious clothing brand, you never thought it would be like this. Five years in design school practically thrown away.

You shook your head as you looked ahead, ready to respond to that email. “No, he can't. You can see the fireworks from his house and he has organized a party with his friends to watch them from there” you responded completely naturally, although it had really hurt you that he didn't come for you on the same day that the local festivals were inaugurated. That was the same reason why not a single soul could be seen in that place. All private businesses closed earlier so that people could attend with their friends and family at the beginning of something that marked the beginning of autumn in a city as small as the one you lived in, but you work for a multinational. That small group of five people must have closed the shift. You were all unmarried or single. People who, according to the head of service, nothing happened if they did not attend the event. After all, what did it matter if you were missing? You sighed as you read what the last client who had written to you wanted. “I'll take the bus and I'll be there in an hour,” you explained to Irmis while she kept her eyes on the screen.

“If you want, I can take you” Roy stuck his head out of the cubicle that was right in front of you. With his headphones on and the smile he always had when he saw you, he continually offered to take you home or to Aegon's house.

"No. Don't worry, I'll go on the bus” you smiled at him with your best smile and as always Roy returned to his seat calling himself stupid. The truth was that you didn't like him taking you home. You knew he had a slight crush on you. Whenever you argued with Aegon, he was always there to listen to you and bring up all the many bad things Aegon had as a partner. You didn't want to raise his hopes. Aegon wasn't perfect, but he was the one you had chosen to be with, right?

“Well, it's cold today to be waiting for the bus.” Marga turned around in her chair right behind you. She was much older, a woman who had dedicated her entire life to customer service. She never said anything, but you knew she didn't like Aegon for you.

No one seemed to like Aegon as your partner. The five of you always closed the service, so you had ended up being a family, in which everyone knew everything about the other. You were grateful to have companions like that, but you didn't like that they interfered so much in your life.

Your cell phone vibrated. At that time, none of the bosses were still in the office, so you looked at him without any qualms. You couldn't help but smile while the others commented on whether or not it was advisable to wait in the autumn cold for the bus.

You saw Aegon at the party, being silly as always. He had sent you a photo in which he said that they were waiting for you. You continued typing and answering emails until the departure time was given. You grabbed your shoulder bag ready to leave that place for a whole weekend. You always loved Fridays. They meant not having to put up with one more customer.

“Let's go have something to drink tomorrow?” Cristof asked as you passed the security cards to exit the building. All dressed in your jackets to avoid the cold, you waited for him to close the door. It was your obligation to close the building as you were the last to leave it.

"Impossible. I have to take socks to the vet,” Marga answered.

“It's not going to take you all day.” Cristof narrowed his eyes in amusement while Roy laughed right behind him.

“Y/N?” He asked you, almost hoping that you would say yes. You were a motley group that would never have gotten together if it hadn't been for that job.

“I can’t,” you laughed, not wanting to explain much more. Really, you couldn't and you didn't want to. You were especially excited about what was going to happen the next day. Seeing the look on Roy's face, you repeated again, “Not really. “Aegon’s brother is returning from a stay in the Summer Islands and we are all meeting up for lunch” you responded happily.

Aemond had always been your best friend. You hadn't seen him for two years, almost a little after you started dating Aegon. He had gotten a scholarship to do an international stay during his doctorate and he had accepted it without a second thought, without looking back. You couldn't help but miss him, but you were happy for him. That's what was going through your head, it wasn't as if... you had always been friends, since high school. He had never hinted at anything and neither have you.

“Is that the one who is missing one eye, has long hair and is always smoking?” Marga asked, shrugging her shoulders.

“Marga, don't be rude,” Irmi reprimanded him when she saw the same sad and confused face that you had made, as if it had been a low blow to define him as the guy who was missing an eye.

“If there is one like him there,” the woman said while pointing with her head, right behind you. You turned around while your heart was going a mile an hour, while you didn't think that her words could be true, but you felt like your world stopped, right at the sight of him.

He was there.

Aemond Targaryen.

After two fucking years, he was just there. Leaning against his car, the same one you had seen during those two years parked at the family residence. He was just blowing out the smoke from the last puff he had just taken. Always dressed in black, from head to toe. His black leather jacket, his turtleneck sweater of the same color. Aemond had never been one to change his style, but you could see how in those two years he had stopped wearing his tall military boots and was now wearing black shoes that cost the same as your entire month's salary. A very expensive and new rolex on his wrist… otherwise it was him. It was just him.

Your companions stayed behind you as you ran to hug him. You couldn't see it, but the corners of Aemond's lips curled into a smile. The smile that his always stoic face had wanted to give you but had never dared. “See you on Monday,” you heard one of your workmates say while the others said goodbye to each other, but you didn't care. He was there. He was there.

“But, what are you doing here?” You smiled at him sincerely, because in those two years not a single day had passed in which you hadn't missed him. He was your best friend. It always had been. “You were arriving tomorrow. You were arriving tomorrow” that stupid smile did not leave your lips. Your hands patted his chest affectionately and he smiled. His single purple eye fixed on yours.

“The flight was early,” he lied. Aemond had never heard of a flight coming forward. Just that they were late, but he had taken the first one that was available. A feeling of indescribable warmth filled his heart, as nothing had filled it for two years. You punched him in the chest again as you hugged him again. Aemond could feel you close your eyes snuggled into his chest and he wrapped his arms around you. His aroma of coffee and cigarettes mixed with that perfume he always wore filled your nostrils, bringing back memories of a time that had undoubtedly been better than the one you were living in then.

“Yes, but what are you doing here?” You laughed again.

“Waiting for you to come out,” he shrugged with a smile you had rarely seen on his face. A truly genuine smile. “I arrived at Aegon's house and you weren't there. Helaena told me you were still at work” he sighed “So, do you work here?” He asked with a shrug, looking at the spot where you had ended up. He would never be the one to say it out loud, but you didn't deserve more. You had studied for much, much more. However, it was the job you had decided to have. Aegon had gotten you the job. All his influences had reached that place and you had accepted it gratefully because you needed the money, not for anything else.

“Have you come to look for me?” you asked in disbelief, ignoring his question. In two and a half years of their relationship, Aegon had not gone a single day. In truth, you had always fantasized about him coming for you. Up in his car, sunglasses on and ready to take you anywhere you want. However, it had never happened and you had told yourself that it was simply because he was tired from work, or that it didn't matter... or that you didn't deserve it... But, Aemond had gone. He was there, like you had always dreamed that your boyfriend would do.

“You wouldn't make it in time to see the fireworks if I wasn't here,” he said, trying to make light of the matter. He opened the passenger seat door in an almost theatrical manner and you got in. Just as he closed the door he told himself that this was going to be the big night. He needed to do it. He had been needing it for two and a half years. Since the same day he had taken that flight to a foreign university that had little or nothing to do with his field of study.

“It's not something that fascinates me either,” you sighed, exhausted and tired after such a long day. You fastened the seat belt and Aemond opened the driver's door, just after he had nervously stubbed his cigarette against the sidewalk. Frankly, fireworks didn't fascinate you. They had never done it. As a child you had been terrified by the roar that stirred in your chest every time one exploded. As an adult you had been bored by the always repeated pattern of the same in that small town near the landing that had so little to offer.

“I brought you something,” Aemond smiled. You weren't used to seeing him smile so much. Those two years away from home, away from everything he knew, must have been good for him. He took out two small packages that he placed on your lap. “Open it, please,” he finished as he watched your eyes light up. In the middle of that industrial estate, was that the best place he had found to give you his gifts? He martyred himself. Nothing was going as he had planned, but he had also imagined you in a completely different scenario.

“You shouldn't have bothered,” you replied. You chose the smallest of the packages first and opened it delicately. Aemond heard you laugh as he started the car engine. His face showed a grimace of relief. At least He was still thanking you for those nonsense. “How did you remember?” you laughed as you held up the fridge magnet he had brought you.

“I remembered the refrigerator at your parents' house,” he lied. He just remembered how you were always amazed at the refrigerator in his family's house. Full of the magnets of the places they had traveled to. Aemond knew you never spoke it but you had always been envious of those who could really travel. As far as your best friend knew, you had never left the small town where you lived, except on the occasional occasion to see or visit King's Landing. “I guess you can put it in your new refrigerator” he tried to smile, but it didn't come naturally. He didn't dare look at you. He had seen Aegon's new apartment before he came to find you. He had imagined which side of the huge bed in the bedroom you would lie on, how you would cook dinner with his brother while you smiled at him and he did something stupid... he had imagined how you would make love anywhere in it... without any ties... and then he had died of jealousy.

“What refrigerator?” You asked, completely confused, and he simply looked away from the road for a moment, as if hope was returning to his gaze again.

“The one in the kitchen of your new house?” Aemond wanted to affirm, but it all came out simply as a question.

“Oh, that.” You said pursing your lips in an embarrassed manner. “Aegon is going to become independent, but he hasn't told me anything about living together so…” you looked ahead. You didn't want anyone to see the pain that situation caused you. Your boyfriend had bought the apartment of his dreams, but you had not entered into the equation for a single moment. You had thought that the topic of living together would come up during the renovation, then you had imagined it would happen while you were helping him choose the furniture and then you had expected it during the first night that you had dined there alone, the two of you. He hadn't shown up and you had simply closed the topic with a sheepish smile every time someone asked you about it. Because you, like the others, knew that the normal thing would have been for you to go live with him. You could have told her, but saying things was never in the plans of a girl who was too shy and complacent.

Aemond ignored the comment. He thought it was best not to pick at the wound, but he couldn't help but smile with satisfaction. So you and Aegon were not as well off as he had assumed. At that moment, a small part of himself hated himself strongly. What kind of friend was happy because things weren't right between you and his brother? Well, he was the kind of friend who had had a crush on you since high school, the kind of friend who had taken the scholarship that took him as far away as possible from the girl he liked and who had decided to date his lazy older brother, the kind of friend who hadn't texted you in two years under the guise of being busy but had sought you out in every woman he'd ever been with. He was that kind of friend.

“I'll put it on the blackboard at the job” you smiled, trying to recover from that blow. “I have a whiteboard full of notes in the cubby and I always have problems with magnets,” you smiled. Always grateful. How could someone like Aegon take down a girl like that? You opened the shoulder bag and put the magnet inside, but not before wrapping it so it wouldn't break.

“There is another one,” Aemond told you without giving it importance. However, he was dying of shame. That gift did make him feel indescribable. He didn't know what he had been thinking while choosing such a gift. It had been a simple impulse at a summer night market. While he was drunk, more than he had ever been in his entire life. He was lying. In those moments he was lying. Of course he knew why he had taken it. It was for you. At that time he had only thought about spending a couple of months clarifying his ideas on the island. He had only dragged it out because he didn't dare come back and see you and Aegon. It was beyond his strength.

He heard a small gasp just as he finished listening to you open the other small package. He smiled while not taking his eyes off the road. “Aemond, it's beautiful,” you replied in a sigh. A blue beaded necklace rested on your lap. All blue. Sapphire blues, just the way he liked them, but there was something about the patterns on the necklace that made your heart sing. That was what you always liked about traveling, bringing things from the place. Not just a souvenir, this was much more, much more than Aemond would ever confess to you. It was everything that the woman who had sold it to him had explained to him.

“I'm glad you like it” he finally stopped the car. He had found parking in front of Aegon's house. He had already reached his final goal. Now he would start pretending that he was happy for you, for his brother, for your relationship...

“How does it look on me?” You woke him up from his thoughts, you had just put on the necklace with a smile and your eyes looked at him lit up while you smiled, a wide, perfect smile.

Aemond could not speak. He was only able to swallow saliva. His single eye scrutinized you silently. You were beautiful. You had worn his necklace. His necklace. He gripped the steering wheel tightly, almost as if he were going to destroy it. His knuckles white. His fists tense. He looked at your lips. He was going to kiss them. He had had that one thought every night for two years. He was thinking of bowing. Close his eye and savor you...

Someone banged on the window of his car, breaking him out of his own fantasy. His sister Helaena and his boyfriend, Cregan Stark, were both out. “Heyyy” Helaena greeted, completely happy and excited to see her brother. Aemond watched you unbuckle your seatbelt excitedly and you got out of the car. He did it too, although in a much worse way. He closed the door rudely and Cregan looked at him, raising an eyebrow questioningly while you greeted Helaena. Aemond knew what his sister's boyfriend thought. There the boy with anger problems from high school came to light. Aemond already controlled any attack like that, but the memory of everyone who had experienced it was still very present among them.

“Aem,” his sister greeted him again, as if she had not seen him in those two years when she had been the only one along with her mother who had visited him on the summer islands. Furthermore, he had already seen him when he got off the plane and he was the one who had taken him to the family home after the trip. A small part of Aemond hated his sister's meddling.

“It looks like she hasn’t seen you in decades,” Cregan laughed and Aemond released his sister from his neck. Cregan shook his girlfriend's hand and you remained in the discreet background. At that moment, Aemond also wanted to hold your hand, intertwine his fingers with yours as you headed to watch the fireworks. But, you weren't his girl, you were Aegon's girl.

The four of you walked to the portal of that luxury building in the middle of the city. Helaena kept asking Aemond about his trip, but he couldn't help but glance at how now all your attention had returned to your mobile phone. You half-heartedly checked your social networks. You didn't seem very excited about the prospect of seeing the fireworks. In reality, you were too tired during the day and having to share the end of it with Aegon's friends you couldn't stand didn't help the outlook.

“My God, that's me” you laughed half-heartedly when you saw yourself in the elevator mirror as you went up to the 20th floor of that luxury building. The last one, from where you could see the entire city and where Aegon now had his new dream apartment, in which you were not going to live.

“It's normal that you are tired. I don't know how you put up with that job” Helaena commented while Cregan nodded his head. “I don't know what Aegon thinks letting you stay in a place like this,” your boyfriend's sister shrugged her shoulders. “He has enough money to support you both and a good job…” he began without any malice, but then Cregan whispered in his ear.

“Hel, we've already talked about this a thousand times,” her boyfriend commented, a whisper that you barely heard, but that set off all of Aemond's alarms. He also wouldn't have let you be in a job that was obviously destroying you, not with all the money they enjoyed. He would take care of you. That's what was said...

“I just prefer to be financially independent,” you smiled again, in a polite manner. You didn't want Aegon to pay for any of your whims. Absolutely none, but it was true that the Targaryens had always seen it differently. Helaena had stopped working the same day she had gone to live with Cregan and their mother, Alicent, you doubted that she had ever worked in something other than taking care of her children. They were traditional. Everyone had very marked gender roles and… that's why everyone had expected that you and Aegon would have lived together, but that wasn't the case. Sometimes you thought about whether you and Aegon had some kind of...future.

“You're beautiful,” Aemond whispered in your ear and you smiled at him again. Helaena looked at you out of the corner of her eye. It was obvious that you were dating the wrong Targaryen. But, Aemond had never been brave enough to confess in all those years during high school, not even during university... the elevator finally stopped, but Aemond continued with his only eye fixed on you. You laughed as the door opened and you walked away from him, but that grimace with his lips half open and a mischievous smile showed Helaena that Aemond had not returned with the intention of just being your friend.

You were the one who pressed the bell, waiting for Aegon to open the door, and Helaena watched as Aemond stood right behind you, placing his hand on your lower back, in a protective movement. You didn't say anything. You were always too polite, but you weren't single. When you and Aemond had been in high school you hadn't minded gestures like that, in college neither, you had even appreciated them, but... now you were with Aegon.

Aegon opened the door, as always with a drink in his hand, inside you could already see a large crowd of people that Aegon called friends and the noise of the music was already strident. “My dragon girl” he smiled seductively at you, ignoring the others. Aemond entered the house rolling his one eye in annoyance and Helaena and Cregan followed him while you continued with a silly smile looking at him. The truth was that whenever he looked at you like that and used that tone of voice you fell apart just for him. Attraction. That was the only thing that had kept that relationship afloat. It was what you feared. “Are you staying over tonight? “To ride your dragon?” Aegon whispered to you. His breath already smelled of alcohol and Aemond pursed his lips as he left his coat on the coat rack in the hall. Was that his brother's best way to seduce you?

"Do not be silly. Of course I'm going to stay the night” you smiled at him, hitting him lightly on the chest, with an embarrassed smile. Aegon smelled of sweat and alcohol, but that didn't seem to matter to you. You had gotten used to it and took the lazy mood of the eldest Targaryen as normal.

“How pretty.” Aegon ran his fingers over the necklace Aemond had brought you. Just getting on his younger brother's nerves. His fingers handling each of the beads, without any shame. “Have you been to the stands at the fair?” He smiled at you. He was so drunk that Aemond doubted he could stand much longer, but of course he could when it came to partying, Aegon could always stand.

“Aemond brought it to me from the Summer Islands” you smiled and saw how Aegon smiled a superb smile. Of course he brought it to you. He turned to look at his brother, who at that moment took his one eye away from the two of you.

“Thank you, little brother. It's very nice what you brought for my girlfriend” he laughed cheekily, marking his territory. It seemed that the only one who didn't realize that Aemond was crazy about you was you.

“Hmm” was all you heard Aemond say as he turned and disappeared into the party. Aegon left too and you closed the door to Aegon's new house. They had both left you alone. Alone but surrounded by people. Helaena looked into the distance. Aegon was stupid to leave you alone, but Aemond was even more stupid. His pride got the best of him and he just missed a brilliant opportunity to be alone with you.

That night, Aemond Targaryen planned to confess, because the only thing that was clear to him in his life was that he could no longer hide what he felt for you.

#aemond targaryen x you #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen smut #aemond smut #aemond modern au #aemond targaryen modern au #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x reader

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cainanders · 1 year ago

Text

wildfire 003

[001] [002]

warnings: more dirty talk, choking, jealousy, angst

A/N: this part is really long and for that I’m sorry. There’s really only going to be one maybe two more parts for this anyway. Please enjoy.

Two days later, you find yourself in Puerto Rico. You spend the first day photographing all of the arrivals, managing to take some scenic shots in between. Cody arrives some time in the middle of the day, and the fact that he’s wearing the blue suit isn’t lost on you. You discreetly take a few extra photographs of him, specifically of his hands, and just how snug his jacket is around his biceps.

After the arrivals and press conference, you have free time to sightsee. You make every effort to stay near the venue, in case you are needed for any last minute photo opportunities. Taking a break from your journey, you pull your phone from your back pocket to check your texts, finding one from Ziggler.

Have fun tonight. I’ll call you later.

You let out a sigh, unsure of how to respond. He was awkward via text messages, much better in person. On top of that, you felt bad that he wasn’t able to make the show in Puerto Rico. As you contemplate an answer, you receive a text from Cody. You type a quick response to Ziggler of two yellow heart emojis, and switch to the message thread from Cody.

Been trying to find you all day. What’s wrong? Scared to be alone with me?

With a chuckle, you begin to type a response, but another message quickly pops up.

I know it must be hard to keep your composure around me, what with how wet I get you just by fucking talking.

You’re tempted to tell him off, just to knock him down a peg, but he’s not wrong — it’s difficult not to give in to Cody when he flirts with you. Especially with the way your feelings had developed over the time you’ve been friends. That’s the other thing Cody was right about: the way you feel about him. It snuck up on you, and the exact feelings weren’t clear to you until he had brought it to your attention earlier in the week. No matter what you feel, you weren’t prepared to admit it yet, not to yourself and certainly not to Cody.

Shaking your head clear of the thoughts, you reply with three eye rolling emojis. You switch to your email account and scroll through, noting a follow up email from another employer that you had been conversing with.

A few weeks prior, you had received an email from a headhunter in regards to an open photographer position for a football club in Scotland. Initially you ignored it, having no desire to uproot your life and move to another country, but the idea is alluring. You let out a sigh, reading through the director’s newest offer, for more pay than you are currently receiving, and find yourself once again tempted. Still, you stash your phone in your pocket and switch your mind to Backlash.

You return to the venue to prepare for the start of the show. You try your best to avoid Cody most of the night, busying yourself with photographing others, and conversing with some superstars you’d not had the opportunity to meet before. You catch Cody staring at you every so often when you would cross paths, but he would make sure he didn’t look long enough to draw attention from others nearby.

Halfway through the show, you step outside of the venue to get some fresh air, the warm breeze much different than the air conditioning in the arena.

Checking your phone, you see a few texts from your friends along with another from Cody from earlier in the night. After quickly replying to your friends, you open the message from Cody.

Do you want to hang out tonight after the show?

Generally, you would spend time with Cody after big shows, watching a movie in the hotel or getting dinner with others. Tonight, something feels off, and you can’t place why. You figure it has to do with your blossoming feelings for Cody, but as quickly as the thought appears, you push it back.

You send a reply letting him know you can meet with him later, before you duck back into the entrance of the venue. Mindlessly, you pause every so often to take photos of the groups of superstars congregating around the backstage area.

As you aim your camera towards the locker rooms, you spy Cody speaking to a woman. She’s not someone that you recognize, and you assume she works for the venue or the press. You lower your camera, glancing around to see if anyone has noticed you, but resume studying Cody’s interaction when you’re satisfied no one is paying attention to you.

Cody is grinning as the woman speaks, and you try to convince yourself he’s just being the polite man that you know. When the woman leans in towards him, letting out an exaggerated laugh at whatever Cody said, you scoff.

“He’s never said anything that fucking funny,” you mumble to yourself.

The pair continue to chat, the woman discreetly moving closer to Cody as they speak. Wishing you could read lips, you take note of the way she bats her eyes at him, and how he brushes his hand on her arm in response. The contact being initiated by Cody makes you clench your teeth, and you lower your camera again.

“Fuck,” you mutter, feeling an overwhelming sense of jealousy at the sight. You absentmindedly fiddle with the lens of the camera, leaving the area to find another photo opportunity that wouldn’t make you feel quite so frustrated.

As the night comes to a close, and you begin to pack your belongings, your phone vibrates from where you had stashed it in your bag. Seeing Ziggler’s name across the screen, you quickly answer.

“Hey, you. What’s up?”

“Nothing,” he replies. “Just saw the end of the show, it was over pretty quick, huh?” You let out a light laugh at the brevity of Cody’s match with Brock.

“Yeah, well, you know Brock,” you sigh, zipping your bag closed. “Honestly though, I’m surprised he took a bump like that.” You hear him let out a small chuckle on the other line. “I wish you could have been here,” you say. “I tried to do some sightseeing earlier, but I barely knew where I was.”

“I can imagine,” he answers. You straighten your back, scrunching your nose slightly — his tone is off.

“Is everything alright?” you ask, quietly.

“I think we should talk.”

“Oh,” you say. “Like…now?”

“I think it’s best,” he says. There’s a pause, as if he isn’t ready to say what he knows he needs to say.

“It doesn’t have to be a big deal, Nic,” you speak. “I know what you’re going to say.”

“I’m sorry,” he answers. “I mean, I care about you a lot.”

“You don’t have to explain.”

“I think I do,” he continues. “I know we aren’t officially a couple, but I hoped we could have changed that. Only I’ve been feeling you get more distant when I try to get closer. And I think it’s because of Cody.”

“What do you mean?”

“I know you two are close. And I can see how much you care about him. I just don’t think that I can keep hanging around when you’re obviously not interested in this relationship evolving.”

“I’m sorry,” you reply. “I don’t know what else to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Ziggler replies. “I promise, it’s okay. Have a nice time tonight, and we can always talk more when you get back.”

“Okay,” you sigh. “Have a good night, Zig.”

———————

When you found Finn as you were preparing to leave the venue, the conversation started simple enough, and you had no intention of going anywhere with him. Two years prior, when you first started with WWE, you had a few drinks on a night out, and ended up going down on Finn at the hotel. It wasn’t your finest hour, and the two of you had managed to avoid the topic — until tonight.

You did not intend to follow Finn back to an abandoned locker room, and you certainly had no plans of recreating your previous incident, but here you are. You’re washing your mouth out at the bathroom sink, looking at yourself in the mirror as you do. You write it off to the emotions — from Ziggler ending your relationship to the vision of Cody flirting with someone else. Realistically, you know it’s neither.

Exiting the bathroom, you invite Finn to share a taxi to the hotel with you, and he accepts. As you walk from the venue, you pull your phone from your pocket and see a missed call and three texts from Cody.

“Fuck,” you say, reading over the messages.

Washing all of the blood off of me and then heading to the hotel. Meet you there?

Are we still hanging out?

Call me when you get a chance.

Placing your belongings into the trunk beside Finn’s bag, you both climb into the backseat and make the short journey to the hotel.

“Third floor?” Finn asks, as you both retrieve your bags from the trunk.

“I think so,” you reply.

“Me too,” he nods.

The conversation feels too friendly for what you had just done with Finn, and it gives you an odd, unwelcome sensation. Still, you remain polite with him as you take the elevator to your floor, and trek down the hallway in search of your rooms.

Once inside your room, you send a text to Cody letting him know you had just arrived, and ask for his room number. After brushing your teeth and changing into a shirt and sweatpants, you head to Cody’s room.

“It’s about fucking time,” he laughs, pulling the door open and yanking you into the room by your arm. “I watched an entire season of CSI while I was waiting.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” you reply. “I wasn’t that long.”

“Are you alright?” he asks, watching you sit on the bed beside the window.

“Yeah, I guess,” you answer, rubbing the bridge of your nose. “I think I’m getting a headache. It was a long night.”

“What happened?”

“Don’t worry about it,” you sigh. “Sorry I was late, I got caught up at the venue.”

“Finn, too, huh?” he asks. You look up at him too quickly, and narrow your eyes.

“What?”

“I saw you guys in the lobby,” he shrugs. “I took a walk while I was waiting to hear from you.”

“Oh,” you say. “Yeah, we were…busy.”

“You guys hook up?” Cody’s voice sounds casual initially, but you can hear the note of agitation peeking through in his tone. You let out a sigh and wave your hand dismissively at the question.

“I mean,” you begin. “I went down on him or whatever.”

“Sure,” Cody nods. “No big deal, right?”

“Why the fuck are you acting like this? It’s not like me and you are together.”

“No, we aren’t. But you’re with Ziggler, right? At least that’s what you tell me every fucking day.”

“Oh, come the fuck on,” you groan. “Grow up, Cody. I don’t fucking owe you anything.”

“No, you don’t, you’re right,” he says. “But you know what’s crazy to me? The way you get upset because you think I was flirting with some woman, or with Becky, who, in case you forgot, is married and, beyond that, is nowhere near my type…but you have fucked how many of my co-workers exactly?”

“Some of us didn’t have our pick of the litter our whole lives.”

“So, you’re making up for lost time by fucking anyone who shows you the slightest bit of attention?”

“Well, I haven’t fucked you, so I guess that’s not accurate, is it?”

“I’m probably the only guy you haven’t fucked at this point.”

“Y'know what?” you say, standing up quickly and walking towards the door. “I don’t have to sit here and listen to this shit.”

“Don’t forget your phone,” Cody calls out. “I saw you drooling over Carlito earlier. Wouldn’t want to miss him calling to ask for a blowjob too.”

You spin on your heel, facing him again to see him standing in the same spot with your phone in his grasp. Stomping back towards him, you snatch the phone from him and throw a punch that, much to your surprise, connects with his jaw hard enough to jostle him to the side and make him lose his step.

“You fucking asshole,” you mutter, storming out of the room and slamming the door shut behind you.

————————

It has been a week since your argument with Cody, and in that week, you have done everything to avoid him. His comments about you were incredibly hurtful, and even if you knew why he said them, you didn’t expect him to speak to you like that. Still, the more you think about it, the more you realize what he was saying wasn’t wrong: you were flirting with Cody and hooking up with others, and it certainly wasn’t fair to him. In reality, you forgave him in your mind days ago, but you weren’t going to be the first one to talk.

You arrive at the hotel at the same time as a few other cars from the airport. You make your way to the front desk to retrieve your key, before heading to the appropriate floor.

Walking through the corridor in search of your room, you spot Cody exiting the stairwell at the opposite end of the hall. He flips the keycard in his hand mindlessly as he looks at the numbers on the doors, but after a moment, his gaze finds yours. To your surprise, he gives you a small smile, and stops in front of what you assume to be his room. With his eyes still locked with yours, he nods his head towards his door, his eyebrows knitting in question. Returning his smile, you nod, slipping your keycard into your pocket and heading towards Cody.

“I need to take a fucking shower,” Cody laments as you reach him.

“Yeah, I was just about to say,” you agree, as Cody opens the door.

“How kind of you,” he mutters, gently shoving you into the room. You laugh as you regain your footing, and move to drop your belongings on the bed nearest the window. “Hungry?” he asks, setting his bags down as well.

“Nah, I ate at the airport,” you sigh, stretching your hands over your head. When Cody doesn’t respond, you glance over to him, finding his eyes on you. “Can I help you?” you ask.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit,” he says. “Something’s off.”

“Uh, Nic ended things.”

“Ah, fuck,” Cody sighs, dropping his shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you shrug. “It’s not like I was in love with him or anything. We were just having fun.” You pause, biting your lip as you stare at the floor. “It’s fine,” you nod, looking back into Cody’s eyes. “I’m good.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” For a moment you don’t answer, simply pull in a deep breath and then let it out in a sigh.

“Yeah, okay.”

Cody nods and pulls a change of clothes from his duffel bag, before making his way to the bathroom. You follow behind him, hoisting yourself up onto the counter and leaning against the mirror while Cody meddles with the shower taps.

“How’d he break the news?” Cody asks, taking a step away from the shower and pulling his shirt over his head.

“He called me after right after Backlash ended,” you reply, covering your eyes with your hand to allow Cody the privacy to get undressed. “I know he’s been in a funk the last few months.”

“Makes sense,” Cody replies. “He hasn’t been getting a push like he used to.” You hum in agreement, lowering your hand from your face when you hear the shower curtain pull closed. “So, he broke up with you because he’s not over?” Cody asks from inside the shower.

“No, it’s not like that,” you reply, noticing that Cody had folded his dirty clothes in a neat pile on the toilet seat. “I think he…wanted something that I couldn’t give him.”

“Oh, so like you didn’t wanna do anal?” Cody jokes, his tone serious.

“Maybe so,” you laugh in response. “He asked once but I wasn’t interested.”

“Yeah, that’s definitely it then.”

“All jokes aside, we’re just in different places, we want different things.”

“Is that what he said?”

“Something like that,” you sigh, finding yourself no longer interested in the conversation. “Why do you fold your dirty clothes? Wouldn’t you end up getting them mixed up with your clean clothes?”

“I keep them in a different part of my bag,” he answers. “That’s a weird question. Are you uncomfortable with the conversation now?”

“I don’t know,” you sigh, knocking your head back against the mirror harder than you intended. The shower curtain pulls back just enough for Cody to peek his head out so he can look at you.

“Hey,” he says, getting your attention. You tip your head to the side to look back at him, one of his eyes closed to avoid the shampoo that was rolling down from his forehead. “Ya’know, we don’t have to talk about any of this,” he says, wiping the shampoo back into his hair. “We can talk about anything you want.”

“Oh, yeah, like what?” you mumble, eyes cutting down to his jaw, his neck, and his collarbone that was just visible past the shower curtain.

“Maybe whatever it is you’re thinking about right now,” he rasps. You look back into his eyes with a quick grin, looking away as you feel the heat in your cheeks.

“Trust me, you’re not ready for that,” you chuckle.

“God, such a fucking tease!” Cody groans, ducking back into the shower.

“I thought this was just a joke thing that we have,” you laugh. “A witty little back and forth.”

“Your cute little jokes give me a hard-on sometimes,” he laughs.

“Sorry, I’ll ease up on the teasing, then.”

“No way!” he says, loudly. “I love it!”

The water turns off and you slip from the counter, giving Cody his privacy in the bathroom. You plop onto the chair on the opposite side of the room and pull your phone from your pocket. Mindlessly scrolling through your apps, you hear Cody enter the room and glance up briefly to see him stuffing the dirty clothes into a smaller compartment within his duffel.

You stare at him from the side for a few moments, noticing the black eye he had likely obtained during the match with Brock. It reminds you of the argument the two of you had that same night. You let out a sigh, turning your gaze from him.

“Sorry about punching you the other day,” you say, pulling your legs into the chair with you. “It wasn’t cool.”

“Don’t be, I deserved it,” he assures you, moving his belongings onto the desk beneath the television. “I was way out of line. What you do is your business, and it’s not my place to make comments on it. I mean, as long as you’re being safe, then who cares. I’m sorry I got you to that point.”

“You weren’t wrong,” you sigh. “I think I took the ‘sexually available, empowered feminist’ thing to an extreme.”

“No, not at all,” Cody chuckles, collapsing onto his bed and propping himself up on his pillow. “It was only, what, two guys? That’s not bad at all.”

“Three,” you reply, shifting in your seat to get a better view of him.

“Tell me.”

“It’s tacky to kiss and tell,” you respond.

“It’s just me,” he says, with a laugh. “You tell me everything.”

“Can I be totally real with you?”

“One hundred percent,” Cody nods.

“I’ve only ever had sex with two men,” you say.

“No way,” he responds.

“Yeah,” you nod. “A guy I worked with in my twenties, and Nic. When it comes to Finn and Punk, I just gave them head.”

“Wait, you hooked up with Punk?!” he asks. “When?”

“Last year, before the fight,” you say. “Honestly, I just wanted to get it out of my system. I wanted to see what it was like.” Cody laughs and stares at you expectantly.

“And?” he asks.

“It wasn’t bad,” you nod. “I expected more.”

“Oh, my God,” Cody laughs. “Rank them, please. I am begging you.”

“Between us?”

“Always. Smallest to biggest.”

“Ziggler, Punk, Finn.”

“So, Ziggy’s got a small dick, but you stuck with him,” Cody laughs, as though he is astonished by your claim.

“It’s not always about the size, moreso how you use it.”

“No, that’s not true,” he replies. “Guys just say that to gaslight women.” You laugh, shifting to hang your legs over the arm of the chair and rest against the other arm.

“I don’t know,” you sigh, toeing your shoes off of your feet so they fall to the floor. “I think I’m just gonna stay away from all of it for a while.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” he agrees, putting his arms behind his head to relax further into his bed. “How many other guys have you hooked up with? Like apart from the ones you mentioned.”

“Oh, none,” you say.

“What?”

“I didn’t lose my virginity until I was twenty-five, Cody. Needless to say, I wasn’t doing much else either.”

“So, when I met you,” he begins. “You were a virgin?” You nod your head, mindlessly picking at the tear in the knee of your jeans. “Goddamnit,” he sighs. “If I would have been your first, you wouldn’t have needed to go anywhere else.” You laugh loudly, glancing over to Cody to see him laughing in return. “I’m just kidding,” he says, through his chuckles. “At twenty-seven, I was more concerned with getting myself off.”

“I believe that,” you grin. “How many women have you been with?”

“More than two,” he says.

“How many?”

“Six. It’s been a few months though.”

“No way,” you reply. “You were talking to that girl in Puerto Rico, she was really pretty”

“I was talking to her, yeah,” he nods. “Not flirting.”

“Why not?”

“I wasn’t interested.”

“So, you’re gonna be abstinent until you find someone you’re interested in?”

“I’m already interested in someone,” Cody says.

“I know, Rhodey.”

You both remain silent for a few moments before you get out of your seat to grab some clothes from your bag. When you pull out the shorts and t-shirt, you glance at Cody, finding him watching you. You jokingly give him the finger, before heading to the bathroom to change clothes. You expected Cody to have put a movie on for you both to watch as you frequently do, but the television is still off when you enter the room.

You lay on the bed beside Cody, giving a quick sigh as you snuggle deeper into the blankets. He grins and watches you get comfortable, but you notice him staring and give him a glare as if to tell him to stop.

“I’m just happy you’re here,” he chuckles, as you settle on your side. “I thought you’d never want to talk to me again. Ya’know, after you punched me.”

“I don’t have a lot of friends, ya’know. My bench isn’t that deep, not a lot of options.”

“Sorry about Ziggler,” he answers, staring up at the ceiling. “Really. Even if I don’t like the thought of the two of you together…I don’t like you being upset either.”

“It’s alright,” you shrug, as Cody tips his head to look to you. “We weren’t really together, just wasting time.” You watch Cody fight the slightly irritated look that threatens to tear through his pleasant grin. “Still I’m going to miss some of it,” you add.

“Like what?” he scoffs. “I mean, he didn’t make you squirt.”

“Neither did you, Cody,” you laugh.

“Ooh, touché.”

Cody bites his lip for a moment, a conflicted look in his eyes, as if he wants to say something but doesn’t know how. You take his hand that lays on his chest and you flip it so his palm is up. Gently, you trace your fingertips along his hand, around his palm and up to his fingertips.

“What’s the deal with you and my hands, hm?” he asks, softly. You shrug, avoiding his gaze as you feel your cheeks warm from the question. “Do you want to know what I can do with these hands?” he whispers. “I promise it’ll be worthwhile.”

“I’m sure,” you reply, pressing your fingers to his pulse momentarily.

You shift into your back, your fingers still barely touching Cody’s hand, but he scoots his body closer to lay on his side next to you. He props his head up on his hand, elbow resting on the bed, and lays his other hand palm side up on your stomach, allowing you to continue tracing along his hand.

You grasp Cody’s hand and cut your eyes to look into his face as you bring his hand to your throat, pressing it there and awaiting his reaction. For a moment, Cody doesn’t react, but you see his eyes darting around your face, looking for something. You bite your lip, setting your hand on top of his and pressing his fingers to urge him along.

“I just want to see what it feels like,” you whisper.

“You never asked your boyfriend?” You have known Cody long enough to understand his emotions. As he speaks, you can tell he’s teasing, but there’s also a certain aggravation to his words and in his eyes that makes you second guess involving him in this situation.

“I trust you more than him,” you admit. This softens his gaze, and his thumb rubs gently along your jaw and your pulse. “And he wasn’t my boyfriend,” you add, knowing that Cody loves to hear this.

The tips of Cody's fingers begin to press more firmly against your throat, and you pull in a small gasp. Cody’s eyes cut between your mouth and your eyes, giving you every drop of his attention as he tightens his grip.

Your eyes begin to slip closed, thinking about your current situation. Asking one of your closest friends to choke you wasn't what you had in mind when you climbed into bed next to him. You’d expected to fall asleep watching a movie as you’d done many times before. The feelings that have developed within you regarding Cody have overwhelmed you, causing you to act on your impulses without even thinking twice.

“Open your eyes.” Cody’s voice drags you out of your thoughts, and you do as you’re told, looking into his eyes. “Does it feel good?” he whispers, his eyes on your mouth.

“Harder,” you reply. His eyes lock with yours again in an instant, and he licks his lips, tightening his grip on your throat. You struggle to pull in a breath, and immediately want more, hoping that your eyes are telling Cody just that.

“More, huh?” he grins.

As soon as you nod, Cody’s hand tightens again, completely cutting off your air. Your mouth opens in an attempt to breathe, and Cody’s eyes flash with panic, but you clamp your hand on his to keep it in place. You begin to grow restless, eyes slipping closed as you instinctively try to pull in breaths, wiggling around on the mattress.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” Cody mutters, pressing his lips to your ear. “In my fucking bed, begging me to choke you for the first time. I’ll bet you’re fucking soaked right now.”

You feel the tip of his tongue graze along the shell of your ear, followed by his teeth tugging at your earlobe. Cody’s grip on you loosens for a moment, and you let out a squeak, causing him to release his grip entirely and pull back to look at you. Quickly, you pull in breaths quickly, and let out a cough, your eyes finding Cody’s.

“Are you okay?” he asked, cupping your jaw, his voice dripping with concern.

“Yeah,” you reply. “It felt good.”

“Yeah?” he smirked, turning your head to get a better look at your neck. “I hope it doesn’t leave a bruise. We’ll match.”

You take hold of his hand and bring it to your lips, giving a quick kiss to the palm of his hand. Cody lets out a sigh, lacing his fingers with yours and pinning it down onto the mattress. When he leans in to kiss you, a grin pulls at your lips, and you close your eyes in anticipation. His lips press to yours softly, testing the waters for a moment, until you let out a soft whimper. Cody groans in response, deepening the kiss.

The sensation of Cody’s mouth on yours makes your head spin more than when he was choking you, the build up to finally kissing him being overwhelming. You tighten your grip on his hand, and he squeezes your fingers in return, finally pulling back to allow you both some air. You pull both your and Cody’s hands back to your mouth, pressing his knuckles against your lips. For a moment, you stare into one another’s eyes in silence, your heart pounding in your chest as you realize what you’re about to say.

“I love you,” you mumble, hoping your words get lost against his knuckles.

“What was that?” Cody asks with a grin, pulling your hands away from your mouth. You don’t respond, but keep your eyes on him. “Say it again,” he whispers. “It’s just me.” Your eyes begin to well as you feel scared and overwhelmed, so you turn your head to avoid Cody’s gaze. “C’mon, baby girl,” he says, squeezing your hand. “It’s okay. You can say it.”

Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath to calm yourself. Cody remains silent, soothingly rubbing his thumb against your hand that he still holds. You try to reason with your mind, the more rational side of you saying that it’s okay to repeat it, to tell Cody how you feel. You feel the fear through your whole body, and you realize that you aren’t afraid of what Cody will say or what he will do, but you’re afraid that you aren’t ready.

“I can’t,” you whisper.

“That’s alright,” Cody says. You can hear in his voice that he is disappointed, but when you turn to see him again, his eyes light up, a smile on his face. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear anything,” he says. “Consider it erased from my mind.” He pulls your hand to his mouth, kissing your knuckles one at a time. “Can I ask you something?” he whispers. You swallow hard, and reply with a nod. “That night I called you, and you were getting off—”

“Cody,” you sigh, biting your lip.

“Hear me out,” he chuckles, putting your hand on his cheek. “You said you were thinking about when we first met. What did you mean?” You pull in a deep breath, rubbing your thumb gently along his black eye.

“Your mustache. It was really sexy.”

“Oh, God,” he rolls his eyes, beginning to pull away. “Forget I even asked.”

“No, wait,” you chuckle, rolling over onto your side so your back is to him. “I’m joking, that mustache was awful.” Cody curls up behind you, resting his chin on your shoulder as he waits for an answer to his question. “That night after I met you in that stupid arcade, I kept playing the fucking coin pusher for like another hour,” you continue. “I was just on autopilot because all I was thinking about was you.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Don’t be so smug,” you laugh, elbowing him playfully. “I kept replaying our stupid conversation over and over, thinking about how pretty your fucking smile was.”

“Pretty?” he echoes, an edge to his voice.

“Yeah,” you smile to yourself. “And bright, too.” Cody’s arms tighten around you, pulling you closer against him and taking hold of your hands. “I couldn’t stop seeing it,” you continue. “All I could think about was what could have happened if you weren’t engaged.” You leave the comment on the air for a moment, but Cody doesn’t respond so you continue. “I dreamt about you that night,” you breathe out. “That you followed me to my hotel room.”

“Is this gonna make me hard?” he asks.

“You’re already hard, I’m just ignoring it.”

“C’mon, it’s like a semi, at most.”

“I dreamt that you kissed me,” you continue. “And we danced to some stupid song that you played on your phone. It was a slow dance but your hands were all over me.”

“That’s what you got off to?” Cody chuckles, lacing his fingers with yours.

“Not quite,” you chuckle. “But I’ll keep that to myself for now. I’m too tired to talk about it tonight.”

“Fair enough,” he replies, kissing the top of your head. “Get some rest. We can talk in the morning.”

—————————

You awaken at 4:30 in the morning, finding yourself still in bed with Cody. He had rolled onto his stomach in the night, and you hear him snoring softly.

You replay the night before in your head, feeling your stomach tighten at the thought of Cody choking you. Quietly, you slip from the bed and sneak towards the bathroom, looking at yourself in the mirror. There is a very light mark on your neck from Cody’s hand, and as you trace your fingers over it, you can almost feel the sensation of him choking you once again.

The excitement you feel at the thought is immediately overshadowed as you remember what you said to him. You admitted your feelings to him, and he didn’t run. Granted, you mumbled the words, and refused to repeat them when he asked, but you feel your heart begin to race nonetheless.

Things are going to be different when Cody wakes up. From the choking, to the kissing, to the cuddling, and finally the admittance of feelings, you know that you aren’t going to be able to weasel your way out of the conversation that Cody will inevitably want to have. You swallow hard, and exit the bathroom, seeing Cody still asleep. Creeping across the room, you pick up your belongings, and quietly exit to head towards your own room.

You hurriedly get ready for the day, your mind filled with regret for your night with Cody. You think about the last week, from your breakup with Ziggler to your hookup with Finn, you feel overwhelmed. The last six months with WWE were a whildwind, and you barely had a moment to think about what you were doing.

As you lament, your phone buzzes from its spot on the bed and you quickly check to see a text from your boss.

Heard from a football club in Scotland, they’re desperate to get you on board. Saw the offer, and I know it’s better than what you’re getting now. Should I schedule a meeting?

For the text to have come through at that time, while you were questioning your decisions, you feel it must be a sign. You quickly type back a response letting your boss know that you’re interested in the position, and would like to meet to go over the next steps. You hit send before thinking and throw your phone back onto the bed. Briefly, you wonder if you should have had a talk with Cody before agreeing to meet, but you push the thought from your mind, convincing yourself it’s the right decision.

——————

You exit the office, making your way down the hall towards the locker rooms. Your heart pounds in your chest, mind racing with the right words to say when you break the news to Cody. As you near the locker rooms, you spot Cody talking to Sami, both of the men smiling and laughing. It gives you pause, thinking about how he’s going to take the news you’re about to give him.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt, but can I steal Cody for just a moment?” you ask, approaching the two men quickly. “I’ll give him right back.”

“You can have him,” Sami teases. “I don’t need him.”

You step into a nearby hallway with Cody, out of earshot but still in the light. You toil for a moment, trying to think of how to start your sentence, but Cody quickly becomes impatient.

“Let me guess,” he begins. “‘Gee, Cody, I’m really sorry for sneaking out this morning, and I loved making out last night. Maybe we can try it again tonight?’ Absolutely, babe, I’m more than happy to accommodate.”

“My contract was transferred,” you say. “To a football club in Scotland.”

“Wait, what?” Cody asked, furrowing his eyebrows. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“They reached out last month,” you continue. “The manager is a wrestling fan, he likes my photographs, and floated an offer.” You pause, avoiding Cody’s gaze as you look at anything else in the hallway. “I wasn’t going to accept at first,” you mumble. “But I just got out of a meeting with the big bosses…and they agreed to transfer it over.”

“Why?”

“I need to reset,” you say, finally looking at him. “It all got out of hand, so I just think some time away is best for everyone.”

“Okay,” he nods, slowly. “We’ll be in London a few times this year, so I can come visit. And I’m sure I’ll have some time off to be able to—”

“I’ll be hours away from London, Cody,�� you interrupt. “And I don’t…I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“What’s not a good idea?” he asks. When you don’t respond, Cody realizes. “You need time away from me.”

“After last night…” you trail off. “I know I said it was you, and that I was scared to get serious because I didn’t think that I’d be enough for you, but I don’t think that’s true. I don’t know if I’m ready.” You pause briefly, looking down at the ground. “I think it’s a little bit about the attention,” you continue, softly. “I never got attention from guys when I was younger, and I like it. But I also feel too scared to try this. It’s like you said, I’m just doing what I can to avoid something real.” You pull in a breath that surprises you with how shuddered it is. “I’m gonna do like I said last night,” you say. “I’m taking a break from all of it. So I can get my head on straight.”

“I don’t want you to go.” Cody’s words are sincere, but not pleading, as if he’s accepting your choice, no matter how much he doesn’t want to — and your heart breaks at the sound.

“I’m too fucking selfish, Cody,” you breathe out, glancing up to him. “I can’t hurt you. If we get into this now, I don’t think it’s going to end well.” He nods his head slowly and lets out a choked laugh.

“I get it,” he says. “When are you leaving?”

“Next Monday. They’ve got housing set up for me, and the team has preseason stuff. It’s going to take me a while to get used to how they do stuff, I think.”

“Well,” Cody speaks. “We’ll have dinner before you leave and, uh, ya’know….I’ll see you before you go. I’ve got to get out to the, uh, ring. I’ll talk to you later.”

Cody turns and walks away from you, leaving you alone in the hallway. You lean back against the wall, letting out a sigh and feeling the tears welling at your eyes. You wonder if you’ve made the right decision.

#cody rhodes imagine #cody rhodes smut #cody rhodes x reader

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year ago

Text

No Time This Time 9

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon and other elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You prize order and practicality but your past, and newest client, throw your life into chaos. (older [~50s] reader)

Character: Tony Stark

Notes: Alright. Tony is growing on me but only because he’s a shit stirrer.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you like Tony loves his own voice. Take care. 💖

"Please clear the week. Reschedule my meetings," you toss a pair of unworn sandals into your suitcase, your phone on the bed next to it.

"Yes, ma'am," Halton answers from the speaker.

"I did a quick sweep, there shouldn't be anything urgent. As it were, we will not be accepting any new clients until the end of the month."

He acquiesces again as you open a drawer and sift through, searching for a swimsuit. You can barely recall the last time you needed one.

"You can file it as paid vacation," you inform him.

"Thank you," he says, the smile obvious in his tone.

"Well, off you go. I don't want to hear from you again unless it's an emergency," you find a black bikini with the tags still on.

"Got it."

"Great, have a good day," you drop the suit in the bag and tap the screen, ending the call.

Almost as soon as the line is dead, another incoming call pops up. Your morning has been effectively avoiding the series of attempts from both Samia and your mother. You've set your voicemail and your automatic replies, you are out of office and soon to be out of the country.

It's as spontaneous as you've ever been. You're a planner. You don't just hop on the next plane out but that's exactly what you're doing.

Your father was the same way. When he was practicing, he never took a vacation. And what did that get him? A heart attack. Several, actually. There will never be a better time to get away or a better reason.

No, you won't give Stark that much credit. It's not just him, it's you. You're old enough, you need to start doing things just for you.

Another call. Your mother has never been known as subtle. Or to take a hint. Sometimes even when you spell it out, she refuses to understand.

So be it. You need a moment to breathe before you relent. You need a second wind before you face the task that is your family and your past. More so, you need to be far from New York.

👜

You cannot claim to be unfamiliar with decadence. It is a privilege you treasure but never one you place as requisite. You can still admire luxury and you would define the resort as nothing less than.

Your room has a broad balcony that overlooks the Italian coast, the sun beats down on the sparkling sea, and illuminates the space, shadowing intricate patterns carved in wood. The decor speaks of an old world drawn into the present. Refined and elegant.

You wear a caftan down to the shore and claim your reserved seat among the row of vacationers. You strip off the sheer layer and rub in suncreen before reclining beneath the shade of a broad umbrella. You open your book and dive into the plot, forgetting the hot sands and the stolid air.

You're still not used to it. It's as if you're on a whole new planet. The first day saw you fighting not to check your phone or delve into your work email. You fought the urge to cling to routine and won. Your determination has ever been a talent.

After twelve, you have your first cocktail. A simple gin drink with lime. You let it seep in and ease you back into your fictional escape. An attendant brings you a fruit cocktail and some pastries not long after.

It's paradise and you value it dearly. You hadn't realised how sorely you need this.

As you pack up, balmy and slightly sleepy from the sun, a speck flits across the sky. You look up but cannot place the phenomenon before it disappears. Your imagination must've been sparked by the mixture of heat and alcohol.

You return to your room and enjoy a dinner of handmade gnocchi and wine sauce. The more you indulge, the harder you know it will be to go back to the city. Your peace is underlined by a strand of wistfulness.

Several days trickle by in the same vein of lethargy. You have no appointments, no calls, no obligations besides the beach, a cocktail, and a book. It’s as if you are an entirely different person, as if you’ve taken on someone else’s life entirely. The stuffy overworked lawyer is still trapped in New York with her leeching family and arrogant clients.

A few too many mojitos have you sprawled on the sofa. The open balcony lets in the warm dusk breeze and lulls you deeper into drowsiness. The weight of the alcohol shrouds your body, sweeping you up in a swirling slumber that makes you dizzy.

The soft whisk of metal doors shut and you look over as a button clicks beneath the push of a finger. You follow the arm, the dark fabric of a tailored jacket, to the familiar face. You sneer and take a step back, the elevator tipping with your movement. You stumble and fall against the wall.

He laughs. A menacing laugh that echoes all around you and adds to the disorienting skew of your subconscious. You brace the metal rail against the wall and suddenly, you’re falling back, plummeting through open air.

Bright flashes of white appear above you as you flail helplessly. The laughter is muffled but deep. You’re scooped up in a hard metal embrace, the red and gold mask taunting you as you’re carried through the open sky.

The metal retracts and reveals your saviour. Not who you expect. It isn’t Tony but Carlisle, mocking you with that slanted grin you once thought was charming. He winks and lets you go, letting you fall like a stone through water.

You spin and face the looming ground, hurtling faster and faster towards you. You let out a shrill scream and jolt awake as it cuts through to reality. You’re out of breath as you sit up, nearly rolling off the couch as the sharp noise continues. It isn’t you, but your phone, shrieking at you.

You stagger to get to your feet. You shiver, still in only your bikini, and the phone goes silent. You search around the dim room, the sounds of the ocean crashing through the open doors.

Your cell lights up again and you snatch it from the wooden tabletop. You drag your finger across the screen, only vaguely reading the name on the display; Samia. You answer with a croak, holding back a hiccup.

“About time!” She sounds like your mother with her abrupt greeting, “I’ve been calling you all day. Don’t you understand it’s a fucking emergency?”

“Samia,” you say dully, bracing your forehead, “shhhhh,” you amble around and sit on the sofa, “why are you yelling?”

“Are you drunk?” She accuses.

“I’m on vacation–”

“Yes, we know, but not all of us just run away from our problems–”

You snort. Loud. You devolve into sardonic laughter and click your tongue loudly.

“Don’t lecture me on running away from responsibility, Sam, don’t,” you warn, “tell me what it is. Let’s cut out the rest.”

She gives a dramatic heave, “mom’s in the hospital.”

“What?” You sit forward.

“She fell. This morning. I… I was looking at venues, I couldn’t be there.”

“Fuck!” You exclaim without filter, “Samia… have you seen her?”

“Mmm, I really wanted to but Carlisle–”

“Oh,” you snarl, “Carlisle!” You growl as you ball your hand to a tight fist, “I’ll get a flight.”

“I’m going in the morning, I prom–”

You hang up and throw your phone onto the narrow table before you. You hang your head, cradling it as you fear it might split in two. Were you really stupid enough to think you could ever catch a break?

👜

The redeye has you back in the city by noon. You fall into the rush of the city naturally, hailing a cab and collecting yourself in the back seat. You tip the driver as he idles outside the hospital and you hop out, rolling suitcase in tow as you march through the front doors.

It takes another hour to be admitted to your mother’s room. You don’t expect a warm welcome. You’re not entirely sure what to expect as you enter her private room. The nurse informs you before she lets you in that your mother is awake. That must be good.

The entire space is decorated in bouquets of flowers. You didn’t know your mother would have that many wellwishers. You leave your bag by the door as you give a long consideration to the red roses nearest you.

“Finally, you decide to show up,” she yaps at you.

“Flights from Italy are not quick,” you reproach, “I came as quickly as I could.”

“You wouldn’t pick up the phone.”

You repress your frustration, “I left it in my room. I’m sorry, mother.”

“Selfish, as always.”

You swallow tightly. Selfish. You cut short your first vacation since your honeymoon to come make sure she was alright. Even after calling and being assured by the staff that it was luckily only a fall. She hadn’t even broken her hip.

“Lovely flowers,” you remark as you walk along the row of vases.

“Oh, isn’t it so pretty? Mr. Stark is so generous–”

“Stark?” You spin on your heel, “what do you mean?”

“Well, of course, he heard that my daughters were both absent and he had to be here. Samia is so busy so she called him just to be sure that I wasn’t alone.”

“She called him. Why would she do that?”

“Oh, he’s been most helpful with the wedding. He’s let her have his Tower for her party and he’s been helping with all sorts of details. He referred her to a wonderful designer for her dress, too. Ah, and he’s invited Carlisle to some tournament? I think, golf or the like–”

“That makes no sense,” you sniff, “why is Tony Stark… doing all that?”

“Perhaps he sees a lonely old woman who’s been neglected by her only children,” she bemoans.

You know you won’t get the answer from her. She’s drunk the fresh-ade. She is entirely swindled by the overpaid crook.

“So, where’s Samia, then? She told me she was coming this morning.”

“She’s on her way, I’m sure. The city, traffic.”

You could scream. You could break her hip yourself. She would excuse Samia for not making it across the city but would remand you for not magically teleporting from across the globe.

“Well, I’m not waiting on her. I think we have something to discuss.”

“Is it lunch? I am rather hungry and this hospital food, it does not agree with me,” she touches her stomach, “Mr. Stark was kind enough to come for dinner last night but I hate to trouble him further.”

“That can wait. Mother, we are hiring you a caregiver.”

“A caregiver? I am not helpless.”

“That isn’t what I’m saying. But it would bring peace of mind if you had someone around when me and Samia are not. It wouldn’t be forever but given your fall, you will need supervision.”

“Oh, so you can take time to go traipsing across the world but you can’t take any for me?”

You cross your arms and sigh. You stare at her blankly.

“It’s not an argument, it’s not a negotiation. It is how it will be. You are getting a nurse, at least until the physiotherapist clears you. That’s that.”

She scoffs, “ugh, you always did have the makings of a lawyer, you know that?”

“Thank you,” you retort harshly, “that’s the kindest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Oh, lord, what is up your behind? You’ve always been trite but you’ve never like this.”

“Mother, realise that you are not the only one with hardships, yes? I have to make sure you are well, which is what I am doing. I have attend the wedding of the husband who cheated on me, and I have to deal with the that is—” You stop yourself before you can say his name, “I have work. I have responsibilities and I hold to them. And it will never be enough.”

You wave her off and go back to the door, “I will order you lunch, we will eat it together, and we will hope that Samia for once comes through and shows up.”

You leave the room before you can combust. You stand in the hall, searching through your phone for somewhere nearby, or somewhere to order from. You fight to keep from shaking as you read the screen; get yourself together.

👜

Your vacation is a quickly fading memory as you fall back into the city life. You make several calls around in search of an appropriate homecare worker for your mother. Amid that, you return to office and work on your own to catch up. Halton is away but you’ll let him enjoy the last of his days off.

Between all that, you are faced with the daunting sight of an unexpected delivery. The clear glass box with the bouquet of pure white roses. It’s all very elaborate and exhausting. You flick back the silver clasp and lift the lid. Inside is a crystal rose on a golden stem, a date etched into the metal.

It’s an invite to your sister’s wedding and you are unsurprised by the tackiness of the overdone gesture. Beneath the ornament you would rather smash to bits, is a triarch that folds out to reveal the details and how to RSVP. You roll your eyes and blow out a breath.

A vineyard. Suiting. You replace the pieces in the box and leave the bouquet where it is. You type in the venue to Google. You nearly choke. Brick and Blossom Vino recently acquired by Stark Industries. How convenient.

It’s no coincidence. Stark has no business in wine or vineyard or event planning. It is not an advantageous deal, it is a direct statement. He may not be there in your face but he is haunting you nonetheless. Taunting you.

Let him waste his efforts. You will not be affected.

A knock comes at your office door. Another delivery. You sign and accepted the second bouquet. This one small and admittedly aesthetically pleasing. The small wooden box holds a cluster of pink tulips and baby’s breath. There’s a ribbon around it, attached to a simple card. It doesn’t really suggest Stark handiwork.

You take the envelope and unfold it. You smile as you see only the embossed bumps of braille within. Oh.

You take the card to your desk and grab your phone. You pull up Matt’s number and put him on speaker as you wait for an answer.

“Hey,” his voice comes amidst the honking of traffic and shuffle of the street.

“So, uh, how exactly am I supposed to read this card?”

“Ha, well, I could show you,” he offers, “if you’re free for dinner.”

“Hmm, well, I suppose I could clear my schedule,” you hum.

“Wow, really?”

“Sure,” you chew your lip and catch the unusual pinch, unclenching your teeth and clearing your throat, “I could use a drink.”

“Hopefully, this one doesn’t end up in some jerk’s face,” he chortles, “I’ll pick you up.”

#tony stark #dark tony stark #dark!tony stark #tony stark x reader #matt murdock #daredevil #mcu #marvel #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #no time this time #avengers #iron man

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supernaturalfreakout · 9 months ago

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Revelations pt. 1

[History on Your Side—Chapter 2.] Sam Winchester x Reader

Chapter summary: Sam and Dean make some revelations about the case. *Please see the masterlist for entire work summary and tags* Masterlist | Read on AO3

Back at the motel, Sam retrieved the materials provided by you from his bag. He set them on the wooden table, preparing for an afternoon of research. The sterile glow of the ceiling lights lit up the otherwise dim room, highlighting the mound of books, journals and ancient manuscripts.

Dean sat back in a chair, flipping through the pages of a weathered journal. "Seems like this tribe has quite a history."

Sam nodded, tracing his fingers over the illustrations in one of the books. "Let's dig deeper... see if there's any mention of an event that might have triggered this haunting."

---

The hours slipped away quietly in their motel room as they immersed themselves in the writings. Sam diligently jotted down notes while Dean cross-references multiple sources. The details gradually revealed layers of forgotten tales and unresolved conflicts rooted in the regions past.

"This could be it, Dean." A spark of excitement coloured Sam's voice. "This part here," he pointed, tracing a line in a fading manuscript. "It mentions a tribal conflict that led to an act of betrayal."

Dean's eyes widened as he read through the passage. "Sounds promising."

"We've got to visit the site of the conflict, see if there are any clues left behind," Sam suggested, a glimmer of hope in his voice.

Dean nodded in agreement, his jaw set with determination. "Tomorrow, first thing."

---

Later that day, as the sun dipped lower in the sky, Sam's inbox chimed with an email. He glanced at the screen, surprised to see it was from you. Opening the message, he read your words with a mix of curiosity and anticipation.

"Hi Sam, it's Y/N from earlier. Just wanted to drop you a line to let you know I've found some extra notes on the tribe. I've attached what I can, but there are some older records in the department. Feel free to pop round tomorrow if you're interested. - Y/N"

As Sam typed out his reply, Dean leaned over, trying to catch a glimpse of the conversation. "Whatcha writing there, Shakespeare?"

Sam shot him a sideways glance. "Just a thank you. Y/N found more on the tribe. She's offering to help tomorrow."

Dean's curiosity peaked. "Seems our charming reporter act paid off, huh?"

"Seems that way." Sam hit 'send', confirming their meeting for tomorrow. "We'll swing by before the stakeout, better to be prepared."

---

The following day, sunlight filtered through the motel's windows as Sam got ready for the day. He'd already been on his morning run and spent a little longer in the shower than usual. He also spent an extra moment fixing his hair and adjusting his shirt, an unconscious effort to look more put together.

“Taking your time there, Sammy,” Dean said, eyeing his brother with a smirk. “Someone got a date with the good doctor?”

Sam rolled his eyes, trying to brush off Dean’s teasing. “Can you give it a rest, please?”

“Sure, sure,” Dean teased, his grin widening. “Just making sure you’re looking your best for our ‘scholarly rendezvous’, that’s all.”

Sam shook his head, sighing deeply as he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. “Let’s just go, Dean.”

The drive to the university was filled with Dean’s jokes and Sam’s continued attempts to redirect the conversation back to the haunting. Despite his adamancy that he was not phased, Dean was not fooled, watching Sam repetitively fidget with the sleeve of his jacket from the corner of his eye.

They arrived at the history department and were welcomed by you greeting them with a warm smile. "Hey, Sam, Dean. Glad you could make it. Come on in."

Sam's heart skipped a beat in your presence, but he quickly pushed aside his nerves, focusing on the task at hand.

As they settled into your office, you laid out the notes you'd found, detailing the tribe's history and their interactions with the land. Your passion for history was evident in the way you spoke, and Sam found himself admiring not just your knowledge but also your dedication to your work. Sam contributed his thoughts and ideas, occasionally catching your eye. He tried to push aside any distracting thoughts, reminding himself they were here for the case.

After a lengthy discussion, you glanced at your watch. "I hate to cut this short, but I have a meeting in... two minutes..." Shit! "I hope this has been useful?"

Sam nodded, grateful for your help. "Thanks, and definitely... We really appreciate all your help."

Dean chimed in with a charming grin. "Yeah, thanks for shedding more light on this Doc."

You smiled warmly. "Of course, I'm grateful that my work can make a difference."

Sam smiled. "We're heading to the woodland later, so what you've told us about these landmarks will really help".

"Oh, great, just…well, be careful." You cringed internally. These men were hunters, they've dealt with dangers you've never even contemplated and you're telling them to 'be careful'? You felt like crawling into a hole and dying from embarrassment.

"We always are Doc. Right Sammy?" Dean slapped his brother on the shoulder.

A warmth spread through Sam's chest. "Thanks Y/N, we will be."

"Let me know how it goes? If you don't mind...? I feel like I'm invested in this case now" you chuckled tentatively.

"Uh, yeah, absolutely... Pop your number in and I'll update you once we're safe, how's that?" Sam passed you his phone, a tentative proposition to get your number.

"Sure" you smiled, catching a glint in Sam's eye as you tapped in your details.

"Thanks." As you passed him back his phone, your fingers unintentionally brushed against his, a pang surging through you both as you locked eyes. You quickly averted your gaze, feeling the intensity of his stare. Out of the corner of your eye, you swear you see him smile.

With a final nod, you headed off, a faint blush spreading across your face as you hurried to your meeting.

As you left, Sam couldn't shake off the nervous excitement tingling in his veins. He glanced at Dean, who was sporting a mischievous smirk.

"What?" Sam asked, slightly on edge from his brother's expression.

Dean chuckled. "Smooth moves in there, Sammy."

Sam's cheeks flushed slightly. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, come on! 'I'll let you know when we're safe'... You're smooth with the ladies."

Sam rolled his eyes, trying to suppress a grin. "I was just being polite!"

"Sure, sure," Dean teased, enjoying Sam's discomfort. "She seemed into it, though. Who knows, maybe she'll slide into your DMs?"

Sam chuckled, feeling both amused and hopeful. "Can we focus on the case, please?"

Dean raised his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright, Mr. Smooth Operator. Let's get to that stakeout. But first, lunch, I'm a starved man!"

---

Sam and Dean decided to grab a quick bite at a nearby diner. Dean had a burger and fries whilst Sam ordered a protein salad. As they sat in a booth, Sam picked at his food, lost in thought about the case and… the way your hand had felt against his skin. Dean, on the other hand, was more focused on the plate of fries in front of him.

"You're quiet, Sammy," Dean noted, dipping a fry into ketchup. "Thoughts on the case?"

Sam looked up from his food, taking a moment to compose his thoughts. "Uh... yeah... all this new information definitely adds up. Y/N really knows her stuff."

Dean nodded in agreement. "Absolutely. She's got a real knack for details."

"And... she seems genuinely interested in helping us." Sam added, casting a glance at Dean.

"Yeah, she's passionate about her work, just like we are."

Sam nodded, becoming lost in his thoughts once again. Maybe she's the missing piece in solving this mess...

---

The day had transitioned into a dull, rainy afternoon. Dean maneuvered the Impala through the foggy roads, the rain tapping a steady rhythm on the car's roof. A soft grey hue veiled the horizon, the dimming daylight casting an eerie glow over the landscape. As they arrived at the woodland, the rain surpassed into a fine drizzle, surprisingly freshening against their skin.

Sam carried his phone, having snapped a picture of a map detailing the historical landmarks belonging to the tribe. An ancient tomb, nested at the edge of the clearing, held the most hope, so they began their search there.

Sam consulted the map under the dimming light, occasionally glancing up to gauge their surroundings.

Dean squinted through the drizzle, his eyes darting between the rocks jutting from the ground barely visible in the fading daylight. "This place gives me the creeps, Sammy. Feels like something's watching us."

"Yeah, well, that's kinda the job description."

They pressed on, their boots squelching in the soft mud. The mist thickened, swirling around them, adding an eerie quality to the already haunted scene.

Suddenly, Sam stopped, his gaze fixed on a moss-covered stone embedded in the side of a hill. "Look Dean! Here… this sigil, it matches the one in Y/N's book earlier."

"I'll be darned." Dean peered at the rockface, raindrops trickling down its weathered surface. "Think it's safe to assume that it's not going to be a straightforward 'dig and burn' situation?"

Sam nodded. "Records suggest the tribe burn their dead. The spirit must be tied here another way."

Dean nodded, as he pulled out the EMF. It started to buzz straight away. "Well, I think we've struck gold, this is definitely the place".

The brother's kept up their guard, looking out for any potential danger, but none came.

"Strange" Dean mused. "There hasn't been a sighting in a few weeks, but the dude's clearly here. Ever heard of a shy ghost?"

"Beats me" said Sam. "Come on, let's head back, no need to piss him off before we know how to finish him".

---

As they returned to the rundown motel room, the rain picked up again, the sky deepening. The brothers kicked off their boots and shrugged out of their wet jackets.

Dean lounged on a creaky chair, flicking on the TV as he kicked his feet on the table. Sam sat on the edge of his bed, taking his phone from his pocket. He scanned through his contact list to find your name and typed out a message.

"Hey Y/N, it's Sam. We're back, safe and sound! Thanks again for all your help. Hope your meeting went well?"

A few minutes later, a notification buzzed. Sam quickly unlocked his phone to read your reply.

"Hey Sam! Glad to hear you guys made it back safely. My meeting was fine, thanks! How'd it go? Did you find what you were looking for?"

Sam smiled at your response, your enthusiasm evident even in the text. He started typing out a reply when Dean interrupted, flicking through the channels with a bored expression.

"Sammy, what are you grinning about over there?"

Sam remained focused on his phone screen. "Uh, nothing... Just catching up on messages."

Dean arched an eyebrow. "Uh-huh, sure. Anything interesting?"

Sam shrugged nonchalantly, trying to play it cool. "Just updating Y/N like I said I would. Nothing major."

Dean chuckled, turning back to the TV.

Sam rolled his eyes and continued tapping out his message.

"We found the tomb-definitely a ghost there, but as there's no bones, I'm thinking we're going to need a spell of some sort."

As the evening passed, Sam eagerly checked his phone, awaiting your next reply. But none came. After a few hours he resigned himself to thinking that you must be busy, asleep, or uninterested, until his phone started to ring. He glanced at the caller ID, eyes torn from the crappy TV show Dean was watching. It was you.

Butterflies formed in his stomach as he straightened up from where he had been reclining against his bed. "Hey, Y/N, what's up?"

Dean's ears pricked up.

"Sam..." Your voice came through with a hint of excitement and breathlessness. "Hope you don't mind me calling, but after your message, I had a look through some old texts, and… I think I've found something… a spell…I think... I'm not too sure..."

Sam's heart quickened at the prospect. "What?! Really?!"

Dean eyed Sam with curiosity.

"Are you busy? I mean…It's just that, I think you need to see this, like…now."

"Uh, okay, yeah, of course, we'll be right there. Where shall we meet you?".

"I'll text you my address, thanks Sam…see you soon."

"What's going on?" Dean asked, pressingly, as a text lit up Sam's phone.

"Y/N thinks she's found a spell... we need to go!"

Chapter 3

#sam winchester x reader #supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #spn #ao3 fanfic #fanfic #x reader #history on your side

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the-penguinspy · 2 years ago

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28. “How long has it been since you’ve slept?” ava x lilith

ty for the prompt, em!! hope i do these two justice :)

Ava makes her way up the driveway while juggling the groceries in both arms, swearing as the bulky combo of winter coat, gloves, and heavy grocery bags lead to keys slipping from her grasp and colliding with a dull clink against the welcome mat. She does eventually manage to get in without further incident (zero grocery casualties this time!) and does a big internal fist-pump to celebrate.

It’s dark inside, and she toes her shoes off and lines them up by the shoe rack as neatly as she can before heading into the kitchen. “Hello? Anyone home?” The bags are deposited on the countertop, Ava letting out a groan of relief as she shakes out her arms.

“Lil?” She flicks the lights on and the living room is washed in a warm glow, illuminating the empty couch and neatly stacked pile of reports left on the coffee table. Beatrice must have already left to drop off Libby for hockey practice.

The door to the den is shut almost all the way but not firmly closed, and she sees how the light from inside makes its way out. Ah – still working then. The devil works hard, but Lilith on a mission works harder and is way scarier. Way hotter, too.

Ava knocks on the door softly. A clearing of the throat and a raspy “come in” and she makes her way into the room at the invitation. Lilith’s focused on her laptop screen, papers askew on the desk and occupying every available space, and Ava spies the empty #1 Dad mug precariously close to the edge. Ava’s socks muffle her footsteps on the hardwood floor and she collects the mug before it gets swept off.

“Hey, babe.” She bends and kisses Lilith on her cheek, Lilith turning her head for a brief peck before focusing once more on the screen in front of her.

Ava squints at the page count on the screen. “How’s work going?” Lilith lets out a groan immediately, her immaculate posture collapsing as she slouches down in the seat and brings a hand up to rub at her eyes.

“I think I’m done. Goddamned clients keep changing the scope of the project on the fly, leaving me to pick up the pieces on an already-tight deadline.” Lilith’s free hand automatically reaches for her coffee – eyes still trained on the document in front of her – hand grasping at the air a few times before finally looking over and noticing that it’s gone. Her head jerks as she scans the desk for the mug and does a double-take once she notices its relocation to Ava’s hand.

It’s not often that Lilith is caught so off-kilter, and Ava is worried. Sure, Lilith’s used to a hectic work schedule, constant travel, and delicate meetings with clients and colleagues both, and yes she can handle herself well, has been handling it well for years, and Ava knows that Lilith knows her own limits. But Ava also knows that Lilith caught a red-eye the night before and came in early this morning, just barely greeting Ava and Beatrice with a kiss hello and a kiss on Libby’s cheek, one hand already loosening the knot of the tie at her neck before shutting herself into the den for work.

“–final check before sending it off.” Ava blinks, coming back to the present and seeing Lilith straighten her back to start typing up a new email. Ava’s alarm bells ring all the louder when she witnesses the amount of words underlined in red, the computer’s auto-correct working overtime to bring the page back into grayscale.

She rests a hand on Lilith’s shoulder and squeezes gently, grimacing as her thumb presses into an obvious knot at the junction where neck meets shoulder, and she mentally notes to give Lilith a back massage later. “Hey, Lil? When’s the last time you slept?”

“Thirty-five hours ago,” Lilith replies without missing a beat, fingers flying over the keyboard as fast as the mistakes are popping up. Ava feels her eyes widen at that and – what the fuck. Yeah, this isn’t going to fly. She opens her mouth to say something but is beaten to the punch. “Don’t worry,” Lilith reassures, badly, “I took a one-hour nap on the flight home.”

Ava places the mug down on the floor near the wall and brings both hands to Lilith’s shoulders, kneading gently at the tight muscle there. Lilith continues working but eventually her typing slows, shoulders sagging and head hanging low as she sighs and mumbles, “Ava.”

“Yes?” Ava continues with the pressure, and a hiss escapes Lilith as Ava’s thumb presses into a particularly stubborn knot. “I have to get this out by tonight, Ava,” Lilith insists, but her voice sounds strained. The exhaustion finally seeps through her words, carried on the gentle wind of an exhale.

Ava hums. “What’s on your agenda for tomorrow?” Lilith takes a moment to think, head still bowed. “Not much. Final once-over of my notes for my Monday meetings–” a quiet groan – “and then quality time with the family. But this has to go out by tonight so that the clients can look it over and give me the feedback in case they want to fucking change anything again–”

“Woah, hey, Lil! Let’s slow down for a sec.” Ava drops to a kneel, spins the chair around so that Lilith’s gaze is focused on her and away from the computer. “Your clients probably got off work–” Ava glances at the clock on the desk, winces– “two hours ago. It’s Friday night! They’re probably spending time with their family, or chillin’ by the TV, or going out getting wasted.” She smiles, reaches a hand for Lilith’s and swipes her thumb over Lilith’s knuckles. Lilith’s brows furrow, lips downturned, frown making its presence known.

“Point is, it’s the weekend. Your colleagues and clients are most likely taking the weekend off to de-stress and focus on themselves. Their work is important and they’ll go back to work on Monday, check their emails and attend their meetings like the good little worker bees that they are–” Lilith chuckles weakly at this– “but until then, you’ve got time to relax.” The bags under Lilith’s eyes are prominent and Ava swallows hard past the lump in her throat. “Please, Lil,” she whispers. Maintains eye contact, brings Lilith’s hands to her lips, kisses the back of each. “For me?”

A slow exhale from Lilith, but the corner of her lips turn up the slightest bit. Ava smiles in response. Score. “You make a compelling argument, Silva,” Lilith says, an unscheduled yawn butting its way in between their conversation. Her hand comes up half a second too late to cover her mouth, exhaustion overriding even muscle memory. Cute, Ava thinks, as she stands and retrieves the mug for washing, placing a lingering kiss on the crown of Lilith’s head. “Go wash up, I’ll have dinner ready in a bit,” she says.

Ava makes to leave but feels Lilith’s arms wrap loosely around her thighs, feels Lilith’s forehead rest against her stomach, and she brings a hand up to the back of Lilith’s head as they hold each other. The pause only lasts a few seconds, but in that amount of time volcanoes could have erupted, tectonic plates could have shifted, galaxies could have collided, but all Ava would have noticed was the feel of Lilith’s soft breaths on her thin cotton t-shirt, the way the fabric fluttered against every shaky draw of breath, against every stuttered exhale. Fingers interlock behind Ava’s thighs to complete the circuit and send across the silent request for company. Difficult for Lilith to voice out loud, to let the words scrape their way out of her throat, but – this type of honesty is alright, too.

Ava strokes her hand over Lilith's hair and kisses the top of her head once more for good measure. She’s just going to the kitchen, but a parting kiss for her departure nonetheless. For luck, for love, for everything in between.

They’ll part eventually; two earphones finally untangled through patient fingers. Ava will leave to make the shepherd’s pie that Lilith so loves, and Lilith will come out of the shower, towel wrapped around herself with hair still dripping wet over the floor to kiss Ava in the kitchen, and Ava will laugh and pretend to be annoyed, these potatoes won’t mash themselves, Lil, but she’ll wrap her arms around Lilith’s neck and they’ll kiss for a fair bit before Lilith’s stomach grumbles as a reminder.

But for now, they stay in the moment, leaning against each other. A question and a reassurance in one.

#penguin writes #fic: dads #birgittesilverbae #ava x lilith #warrior nun #warrior nun fic #ty to davey and smo for lookin this over!! :')#love u guys #love u em!!#ty once again for the prompt...u brought me outta my writing funk. this was such a fun piece to write

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weemsgay · 2 years ago

Text

Love Notes (Ch. 3)

Another playlist included for these lovestruck dummies. Also, @coffeemelko had a great idea to have Larissa know the hospital staff had been calling Reader her partner, hehe. Thank you for letting me write that in! :)

Larissa Weems x musicteacher!Reader

AO3 link

Spotify link

Getting Larissa inside and settled proved a harder task than it would seem. She kept demanding to stop and confirm everything was in order after being away from the academy to recover. She tried to inspect the grounds and interrupt the groundskeeper. She was stopped by several students who she confirmed were okay and didn’t need anything. Larissa even attempted to gather faculty for a meeting.

Oh, you felt like a tired mom who's toddler kept grabbing at all manner of items in the store only for you to sit it back down and try again. Once in her office, she continued the behavior, striving to call the mayor. Finally, having enough of this, you say agitatedly, “Shhh, Larissa. Enough. Just let me take care of you.”

Larissa seems to take the hint and quiets down considerably.

“How about I start to get you settled in the bedroom while you peruse your email. Only peruse, okay? And just until I’m finished.”

Walking into Larissa’s bedroom to turn down her sheets and prepare the space, your thoughts wander to the mess you’ve gotten yourself into. With the abundance of time spent with Larissa over the weeks, you began to pick up on the various genres that she likes—from 80’s power ballads to modern classical arrangements of pop songs to elegant classical music.

What started out as an effort to fill Larissa’s day with music while she recovered turned into a desperate attempt to disclose your feelings for the woman. The next mix CD you already started to create began to expose how much you cherished the principal-turned-friend. Though…the idea of only friendship was the furthest thing from your mind. You considered the assortment of music you had planned for Larissa’s next surprise. Desire. Affection. Appreciation. Yearning. These emotions undoubtedly flickered throughout the collection, tying each song together. If only you could pick up the courage to sign your name to these love notes.

Is it too late? you ponder warily.

Stepping back into the office, you hear Larissa typing frantically. With a sigh, you march over to where you left her at her desk. You reach out to slowly close her laptop until both of your eyes lock. “Hello,” You utter softly. “Ready?”

Larissa couldn’t help but feel secure and thankful for someone to be taking care of her for a change. Normally, she would resent the charity or pity, but from you, it didn’t read as those things. She can’t even be frustrated to be pulled away from her laptop. Instead, she replied definitively, “Ready.”

—

You and Larissa gather on the bed with wine after you tuck her in (quite literally). You can’t remember the last time you slipped blankets around someone’s feet and sides to make them feel snug. She just seemed so carefree for a moment at the action, wiggling her feet back and forth once she was bundled. You couldn’t help but feel a wave of adoration for the woman, as well as gratitude to be one of the select few who has seen her guard down.

“Oh gods, how I have missed red wine,” moaned the silver-haired blonde, downing a glass before you were even able to get one yourself and accompany her in the bed. “Excuse you,” you gasped. “Save some for the rest of us!”

“You didn’t have to give up wine,” she emphasized, teasing you. Regardless, you refill her glass and decide to bring the bottle bedside instead.

“And you are lucky that I’m letting you drink at all your first night out of the hospital.”

Larissa feigned astonishment with wide eyes. Revealing some of her typical poise and filter weakening, she returns, “You’re not in charge of me, you know.” With a gentle roll of your eyes, you mutter a bit under your breath, “Tell that to the staff.”

Perplexed, as if she is trying to catch up, Larissa questions, “What was that?” She turns her body to face you—to try to focus her eyes on your expression.

You giggle and steady her hand that almost spills some of her wine on the pristine duvet below.

“Oh, nothing.” Larissa feels a bubbling desire to press you for more information. However, she is suddenly struck by how heavy her arms and body are. How comfy the sheets feel. How warm her cheeks are. How can someone’s tolerance plummet this quickly after not drinking? she wonders as her head spins.

When Larissa lays flat on her back to still her spinning head, you roll onto your side towards her and tenderly stroke her forehead and hairline to provide her some comfort. The soothing motion feels right…feels natural. Her shoulders relax a bit and her breathing begins to even out. You wonder if she has already fallen asleep.

A few minutes pass. Eventually, you hear a soft proclamation, “I didn’t correct them.” The sleepy voice continues, “It felt nice, and I thought it was you.”

Your mind races. Does she mean she didn’t correct the staff? Does this mean she knew the doctors and nurses thought you were her partner? That the idea of you being her partner felt nice? Or just having someone there for her at all felt nice? What does she mean that she thought it was me? The mix CD? It had to be that… After another moment, with a nervous and fluttering heart, you question, “How would you feel if it was me?”

To that, you receive silence. No response, only steady breathing. Asleep, it seems.

You continue petting Larissa’s head, not wanting to rescind your touch. Her skin was warm from the wine and soft under your caress. You two didn’t discuss sleeping over, and you’re nervous to overstep or make her feel uncomfortable. Maybe you could get away with a few hours of blissful sleep next to the other woman?

You wake slightly at Larissa’s shifting body flinging an arm over your waist and pulling you close. Your stomach flips, and you’re not sure if you can get back to sleep. You lie in Larissa’s bed syncing your breaths to hers and trying to commit the feeling of her body next to you to memory.

Once the morning light started to trickle in through a crack in Larissa’s green velvet curtains, you decided it was time to untangle yourself from her and take your leave. You quietly grabbed a few of your things and exited the principal’s living quarters and office, heading toward the faculty showers. Hot water against your skin might ease the ache you felt from Larissa’s absence.

—

You attempt to sleep but can’t, so you make some buttered toast to munch on while you work in the orchestra room, knowing no students will be up to bother you. Last night strengthened so many of the feelings you knew you had for Larissa. What if that’s the first and last time I share her bed? The intrusive thoughts threaten your sanity, and you attempt to replace them with selecting songs for her next mix CD.

After an hour of immersing yourself in how to convey your emotions perfectly, you feel sleepiness begin to take you. Satisfied, you drag your feet to your own bed and plop down to rest.

Many hours later, you are jolted awake by an excited knock at your door. You glance at your clock to see that it’s noon. Confused, you stand up and put your father’s old robe on. It’s always been a comfort item for you—the way it was slightly oversized and could be wrapped around you tightly. You make your way to the door.

“Enid? What’s wrong?” You implore with concern as you swing open the door and are met with eager eyes and a slight bouncing up and down. You glimpse behind her to see Wednesday standing idly by, exuding mostly nonchalance but with an edge of analysis.

“Nothing is wrong. Sorry. It’s just that Principal Weems wants to see you in her office. Isn’t it great she’s back? I can’t believe Ms. Thornhill turned out to not be Ms. Thornhill and that she poison-“ you begin to interrupt the sweet, rambling young werewolf. “Thank you, sweetie, for letting me know. If you don’t mind, I need to get dressed.” Understanding, even though she wants nothing more than to keep talking and ask about the time you and Principal Weems have been spending together, Enid steps back. “Okay, see ya!” Enid assures, turning around to slip her arm around Wednesday’s to attempt to skip off. You stare after the unlikely couple for a few seconds before taking a deep breath and closing the door.

You drag your feet getting ready; you’re not sure why you are so nervous to see Larissa. Okay, yes, you do. You can’t help but think, What if she is upset with me?

You push the thoughts from your head and travel downstairs. Standing outside her office, you take a breath to prepare and knock.

“Come in!”

You receive a rather large smile from Larissa as you enter her office. To your dismay, she is in her work chair behind the desk. Are you seriously trying to do work right now? You mull over voicing your thoughts. She interrupts, “Where did you go?” Almost all anxiety around overstepping last night had left your body as you saw Larissa choosing to not rest.

“I couldn’t sleep. What are you doing up at your desk?”

“As usual Wednesday’s assimilation is once again rocky. I just got off the phone with the temporary replacement therapist in Jericho. I need to repost the job advertisement…” Guilt overwhelms you. Rather than trying to scold her, you should be understanding. You move to stand by her and rest a comforting hand on her shoulder.

You hear her out and strategize a plan forward. After posting on a few education and counseling job boards, you stand and stretch—letting out a bigger yawn than anticipated. “Is that all?” you ask sympathetically.

“Oh, I didn’t want to see you for this. I wanted to apologize for falling asleep on you.” You blush a bit, disclosing, “No, no, not a problem. A cuddle was nice.”

It was the blonde’s turn to react puzzled. “Cuddle? I rather meant falling asleep early. Did we cuddle?” Larissa seemed to tease and had a lilt to her voice.

Mortified, you backtrack and stutter, “I-I’m not sure. Y-your comforter was heavenly, though. You’re lucky I don’t steal it as compensation for taking care of you.” A deep, throaty laugh sounds from Larissa. You two banter a bit before you retreat to her restroom attached to her living quarters.

Okay, so using the restroom was a ruse for slipping out and delivering her new mix and letter. This time you included a poem special to your heart.

You quickly lock the door and phase into the adjoining classroom on the other side of the wall. Making sure no one is watching, you slip out of the room towards the principal’s office door. Your knuckles rapt against the door three times before you slid the gift underneath and to the other side. You begin to hear heels coming closer in determination.

The door opens quickly, Larissa’s torso peering out, inspecting the hallways to find no one. You had immediately disappeared into the wall to return to the bathroom before Larissa could suspect you were missing. Her mind reviewed the many possibilities, It’s almost impossible to vanish that quickly with no trace. Vampires could not transfigure into bat form that abruptly. No ghosts were enrolled or employed. Powers of invisibility were rare and difficult to control… She turns, closes the door, and heads into the bedroom.

Coming out of the bathroom, you hear Larissa, “Look what I found.” “Oh, shit. Another mix CD? Who is it?”

The taller woman sits on the bed, perplexed. “I confess I don’t know.” Larissa’s disappointment shines through, only you don’t notice that it is due to your alibi and not the impending mystery.

—

After you make Larissa promise to stop working on emails and paperwork for the rest of the day, you depart for your own room.

As soon as you are out the door, Larissa is rummaging through files on everyone associated with Nevermore. All faculty, staff, and students self-disclosed their outcast status and abilities annually. Things are bound to develop and change as powers evolve, but there is no mention of any power that could reasonably explain the mix CD’s presence in the absence of its creator or deliverer.

Her hands wander over your file. You were an obvious choice for the open music position when Mr. Altone, your predecessor, retired. Your ability to manipulate sound and generate music was unparalleled, and you could even compose according to specific emotions or mental states. Before you applied to Nevermore, you were a successful composer and closeted outcast, somewhat of a musical theater sensation. Nothing listed here that would explain the delivery of the CD, but plenty to incriminate you in its very creation.

Resigned for the night after another hour of scouring the internet and her book collection for an explanation, Larissa decided to put on the new playlist. She had almost melted the first one from playing it on repeat until her CD player was hot to the touch.

Larissa pulled a chair towards her magnificent fireplace and waited for the music to envelope her. A sweet melody begins to play, and she is transported into a warm, dream-like state. Behind her eyelids, swirls of purples, blues, pinks, and reds dance and convey the emotions behind the carefully curated songs. Her heart swells. Larissa still has doubts about who is behind the mix CDs, but when the music fills her up, she imagines you. She hopes for you.

@lilsmeaux, @suckerforcate, @rickistheman, @tundra1029, @asterlovesgwen. Let me know if any of you don't want tagged anymore! :)

#love notes....get it??#chapter 3 #larissa weems #larissa weems x reader #principal weems #larissa x reader #principal larissa weems #wednesday #ao3 #fanfiction #gwendoline christie #music teacher #nevermore academy #boss/employee relationship #principal/teacher #Spotify playlist #mix cd #slow burn #mutual pining

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all-the-things-2020 · 6 months ago

Text

Late Night Talking - Chapter Fourteen

Summary: Dieter and Emily spend Thanksgiving break together.

Rating: PG-13 (mention of sex but no real smut)

Word count: 3800

Notes: San Ysidro Ranch is a real place but I’ve never been there. I’ve also never had a massage or a sound bath, but I hope I wrote about both experiences competently. Also, I have family members who are Mormon and any opinions expressed about that religion are my own.

Tag list: @rhoorl @avastrasposts @readingiskeepingmegoing @runningmom94 @gwendibleywrites @weho2kcmo

“Thank you for the invitation, Aunt Helen, but I can’t make it.”

”You know you’re always welcome, Emily. And I understand it’s a long drive to make by yourself, and flying is expensive, but maybe that rich boyfriend of yours could lend you the money. We’d love to see you.”

I was glad it was a voice call and not FaceTime, because I’m sure I grimaced. I’d made the trek to Utah to spend Thanksgiving with Aunt Helen and her family once and that had been enough for me. She was my mom’s sister, my only living relative on either side of the family, but she was â€¦ well, I’ll just come out and say it. Mormon.

At the age of twenty, Aunt Helen had opened the door to a pair of missionaries and fell hook line and sinker for the message they brought. It wasn’t a bad thing, it was just awkward for someone raised in a very secular family to suddenly be so vehemently religious. My grandma once said that no one is as fervent as a convert, and she was right.

Aunt Helen joined the church and within a year she was married to a young man who’d recently graduated from BYU and had a job lined up in Salt Lake City. My mom had confessed that she was glad that Helen and Jeremiah lived so far away. So was I. Every phone call or email from her invariably included some sort of remark about my “lifestyle,” which I understood to mean “being unmarried and childless after the age of thirty and having sex with my boyfriend.”

“I’d love to see you, too,” I replied, “but Dieter’s booked us a cottage at a resort in Santa Barbara for Thanksgiving week. He has to start a new project soon and we want to have a little getaway before he has to leave town.”

Aunt Helen sniffed. “Doesn’t he have family to spend the holiday with?” Family was very important to Aunt Helen.

“He’s going to his brother’s for Christmas, and he and his dad aren’t on good terms right now,” I explained. “So we’re spending Thanksgiving together, just the two of us.”

”Well, if you think that’s best, but remember, you are always welcome here. Maybe you could come for Christmas, since Dieter will be out of town?”

”We’ll see,” I said. There was no way in hell I was going to her house for Christmas.

”Give my love to Uncle Jeremiah and all the cousins.”

I ended the call and heaved a sigh of relief. I loved her, I really did, but only in small doses.

***************************************************

The drive up to Santa Barbara was a bit hectic, as all drives out of the L.A. area are, but once we got to the San Ysidro Ranch it was like we were in another world. It was in the foothills overlooking Montecito. The grounds were lush with plants and the cottages were beautiful, built in Craftsman style. Ours had a private patio with a hot tub, a fireplace, and a king size canopy bed, with exposed wooden beams ceilings. I was in love.

”I want to live here,” I told Dieter as we explored the little cottage. “This place is absolutely amazing. Look at that view!” The front terrace faced west, offering a panorama to the Pacific Ocean in the distance.

“And it’s all ours for a week,” Dieter said, sliding his arms around me from behind. “Great food, great views, great company and privacy.” The last month or so had been rough. Word had leaked out about his brief stay in rehab and that, combined with a new movie project starting soon, had brought the paparazzi out in force. They followed him all over town, and photos of him had popped up all over the internet. There were even photos of the two of us doing mundane things like shopping at CVS and Trader Joe’s. Dieter always shrugged it off, but I knew that deep down it bothered him, mostly because he didn’t think I should have to deal with the paps.

”Yeah, that hot tub looks incredible,” I said, rolling my shoulders to loosen some of the kinks. A week at work combined with the long drive had tightened up my muscles.

“Maybe we can skinny dip,” Dieter said into my ear.

”After it gets dark,” I said. “I know it’s private but I don’t think I could do that in daylight.”

He chuckled. “Deal. And after we soak awhile, I’ll make sure you release all your tension.”

*******************************************************

After dinner at the resort’s restaurant (where Dieter had had ordered and devoured an order of oysters, much to my dismay â€” I still didn’t like them and they reminded me too much of the night I met Jonathan) we wandered back to our cottage in the dark. I used the bathroom and got undressed, slipping on a bathrobe before I stepped outside onto the patio. Dieter was already in the hot tub, his own robe draped haphazardly over the lounge chair.

”You’d better not pee in there,” I teased as I dropped my own robe onto the chair and stepped into the tub. The cool November air caused goosebumps on my skin and I ducked quickly into the warm water.

”I went at the restaurant before we left,” he reminded me. “Now get over here.” He motioned for me to slide closer on the little bench that ringed the tub. I settled against his side and he wrapped his arm around me. We leaned back, letting the jets of hot water soothe us. I felt the knots in my muscles relax.

”Wanna make out?” Dieter asked after several minutes.

”Not just yet,” I said. “I’m enjoying the water.”

”Okay,” he said comfortably. “I want you nice and supple when we get into bed.”

Ever since he’d gotten out of rehab, things had been easier between us. It was hard to put my finger on what had changed, but we just seemed more settled, less anxious about things. We knew that we wanted each other for who we were, warts and all.

Soon enough, we started kissing, and it wasn’t long before we were climbing out of the water and pulling on our robes, eager to get inside out of the chill and into bed. We tumbled into the fine Italian linens and made love. Dieter was true to his promise to help me release all my tension, and I did the same for him. Sex with Dieter was easy. He never made me feel like I was anything other than the most desirable woman in the world. He always asked permission before he did anything that differed from our usual routine, even if we’d done it before. He insisted on using protection. And he always made sure I was satisfied before he’d let himself finish. He was the very definition of an unselfish lover.

”I don’t deserve you,” I told him when we were cuddling afterward. He was a champion snuggler, clinging to me like a baby sloth clings to its mother, enveloping me in his warmth.

“You’ve got that backwards,” he mumbled, already half asleep.

“Okay, we’ll split the difference. We deserve each other.”

”Damn right.” He nuzzled against my neck and promptly started snoring.

******************************************************************

The next morning, we slept in, walked down to the restaurant for breakfast and then strolled through the botanical gardens on our way back to the cottage. We spent a lazy day reading and watching movies, punctuated by a few make out sessions. The day was warm enough that we left the windows open so we could enjoy the breeze off the ocean.

At one point, Dieter dozed off on the couch, his book open against his chest, his glasses sliding down his nose. I got a sudden flash of his older self, hair and beard gone silver, taking a nap in our own little cottage somewhere, after he’d re-established his career and gotten to the point where he could pick and choose his roles. I wanted to grow old with him. I wanted this to last forever.

Then he snorted himself awake, mumbled “Fuck” under his breath and was his middle-aged self again, slightly grumpy at being caught napping during the day. “This place is too quiet,” he complained. “Made me fall asleep.”

”It’s comfortable,” I said. “I like it.” He lifted his arm and I slid underneath to nestle against his side. He was warm and solid and I laid my head on his chest. “Just like you.”

“Are you saying you like me, or that I’m comfortable?”

”Both.”

He shrugged. “I’ll take it. There are worse things to be called than comfortable, although it wounds my masculine pride.”

“What would you prefer?”

”Hot. Irresistible. Manly. Ripped.” It was my turn to snort. “What?”

”You are hot and irresistible and definitely manly, but ripped you are not.” I poked his belly, which had just enough squish to it. “And I like you that way. I want a tummy I can relax on, not one that’s hard as a rock. Six pack abs are highly overrated.”

”I’m glad to hear that,” he said. “Because I think those days are over.” He frowned down at his stomach. “The muscles are still in there somewhere, but the pudge is slowly taking over.”

”I like the pudge,” I said. “It makes you a real person. Real men have pudge. That should be your new slogan.”

”Dieter Bravo, the man with the pudge. I like that. I could be the new spokesman for Pillsbury.” I poked his belly again and he did the doughboy laugh. He was a huge dork, but he was my dork.

*****************************************************************

We hung around the resort for a couple of days, but then Dieter decided he wanted Mexican food, so we drove down to Santa Barbara for a day. We visited the art museum and then found a little hole in the wall Mexican place. I was content with a couple of tacos and a side of rice and beans, but Dieter ordered something called a Garbage Burrito, which was enormous and contained a little bit of everything, from beans to sour cream to cabbage to shredded beef to three kinds of salsa.

“You’re going to be sorry,” I told him after he took the final bite.

He patted his stomach. “Not sorry, just not hungry for about three days,” he said. “You’re on your own for dinner, Miss I-Only-Want-Two-Tacos.”

”You’re forgetting we have a couples massage booked at five,” I reminded him. “You’re gonna have to lay on that full tummy for an hour while they work on your back.”

He stifled a little burp and shrugged. “By that time, my amazing metabolism will have converted most of it to muscle,” he said.

“More like pudge,” I replied. It was our new inside joke. I had started calling him Pudgy Bear.

We left the restaurant and almost immediately were approached by a man who asked if he could get a selfie with Dieter. “I’ve seen all the Cliff Beasts movies,” he explained, “and I’ve gotten photos with three of the cast members so far.”

Dieter agreed. “Why don’t you take the photo?,” he asked me. The man beamed and smoothed down the front of his Hawaiian shirt before handing me his phone. I gave Dieter a quick glance. He had a salsa stain on his previously pristine white t-shirt. I tugged his cardigan into place so that it hid the stain.

”Stop it,” Dieter said, swatting at my hand.

”You have food on your shirt, honey,” I told him, adjusting the cardigan just a bit more. “You don’t want to ruin his photo.”

Dieter looked down and made a face. “Shit, you’re right.”

The guy laughed. “Hey, it’s okay, it’s nice to know that celebrities are real people.”

I snapped three photos, to give him a choice of which one was best, then handed the phone back. “Thanks, man,” he said, swiping through the photos. “Is it okay if I post these on my Insta?”

“Sure,” Dieter said, “and thanks for asking. Most people don’t.” He shook the guy’s hand and sent him on his way grinning from ear to ear.

**************************************************************

We drove around a bit on our way back to the resort, taking in the sights, but made it back in plenty of time for Dieter to change into a clean t-shirt before our massage.

“I don’t know why I have to change,” he grumbled. “I’m just gonna take it off when we get there. They do these things naked, you know.”

”You are not showing up in dirty clothes, even if you are going to get undressed,” I said. “It’s common courtesy.”

”But I’m not a common person,” Dieter said as he stripped off the dirty shirt. I tossed him a clean one from the dresser.

“You are definitely uncommon,” I agreed, running my eyes over his bare torso. Even with that bit of pudge he was an impressive sight.

Dieter preened. “I’m one of a kind.”

”The one, the only â€¦ Dieter Bravo!”

He posed like Superman, which would have made more of an impact if he hadn’t also been pooching out his stomach. He looked more like Jack Black in Nacho Libre than a superhero.

”Put your shirt on, goofball,” I told him. “We’ll be late.”

As Dieter predicted, almost as soon as we arrived for our appointment, the receptionist ushered us into the changing rooms, where we stripped down and put on the plush robes embroidered with the resort logo.

“Told you,” Dieter whispered as we were escorted to the massage room.

Soft music was playing and the lights were dimmed. An essential oil diffuser filled the room with the scent of lavender. I felt my heart rate drop already.

“Welcome. I’m Inge and this is Lance. We’ll be your massage therapists today.” Inge was tall and blonde, with just a trace of a Nordic accent. Lance was also tall, but with jet black hair.

“I think we might have wandered into a porno shoot,” Dieter whispered to me. I shushed him, but he wasn’t wrong. Seriously, who hires a massage therapist named Lance?

They busied themselves with a tray of oils and heated rocks and other massage paraphernalia while we disrobed and laid down on the massage tables, pulling the sheets over ourselves. Dieter, of course, only pulled his up enough to cover his ass, while I made sure mine was up to my shoulders.

It turned out Lance was the strong, silent type, who got right to work on Dieter’s upper back. Inge kept up a gentle, soothing patter as she kneaded my muscles. “We are trying to achieve total relaxation,” she intoned. “We will work on any tight spots you may have, so that when you leave you will be feeling completely loose and flexible.”

I thought I heard Dieter snicker a bit, but with his head buried in the face cut out, it was hard to tell.

“Listen to the music and let your body and mind relax,” Inge said. “Inhale the soothing scent of lavender and exhale all your negative energy.”

I could have dozed off, if not for Inge digging into the knots in my shoulders.

“Surrender to the rhythm of the music and our hands. Take in the good and release the bad.”

Brrr-ppp! Dieter farted loudly.

”Sorry,” he mumbled.

”No worries, man,” Lance said. “It happens.” He grunted as he bore down on Dieter’s back again.

Pppp-rrrr-ppp!

”I told you not to eat that huge burrito for lunch,” I said. And just about then the scent of lavender was overwhelmed by something decidedly less floral and we realized why it was called a garbage burrito.

”Maybe I’ll lay off the lower back,” Lance said, stifling a laugh.

”Yeah, might be a good idea,” Dieter said, giggling.

”I’m just going to turn up the diffuser,” Inge said, and that was when I lost it. I laughed until tears were streaming down my face.

”Only you could turn a romantic couples massage into a fart fest,” I told Dieter once I could talk.

”It’s that damn burrito,” he whined. “I’m not doing it on purpose.”

Inge and Lance managed to maintain their professional demeanor, but Dieter and I broke out in giggles multiple times during the massage. We might not have been completely and utterly relaxed when we emerged, but we were certainly feeling a lot lighter â€¦ in more ways than one.

****************************************************

On Thanksgiving Day there was a special turkey dinner at seven for all the guests. We spent a relaxing morning in the cottage. We watched the parade on TV (turns out Dieter had to watch the Macy’s parade every year â€” he loved the balloons) and after a light lunch we wandered over to partake in a sound bath.

”I’ve done these before,” Dieter said. “It’s amazing. Like, life changing type amazing. It’s like the best drug ever, but totally safe and natural.”

I wasn’t so sure that listening to singing bowls and chimes would be quite that earth shattering, but I was open to the experience. I knew that Dieter was less skeptical about things than I was but I didn’t see any harm in him believing in the power of crystals and stuff like that. Although I was pretty sure his aversion to AirPods wasn’t because he thought the wireless connection messed with his brain waves as he claimed, but because he had lost too many pairs and needed a “cool” excuse for his old-school wired earbuds.

The woman hosting the sound bath wore loose linen clothing which made her look like a Jedi knight, but she also had a severe pixie cut and angled eyebrows that made her look a bit Vulcan. I dubbed her the Logical Jedi in my mind, but didn’t dre say anything to Dieter. After the massage experience, I didn’t want to risk setting off another round of giggles.

”Welcome. I’m Diana and I’ll be facilitating your sound bath experience today. Please, lie down on the mats and make yourselves comfortable. If you have any previous yoga experience, assume the Savasana or corpse pose. For those of you who have not practiced yoga, this is simply lying on your back, with your arms out to your sides.”

While we settled, Diana walked around the room. “You will be bathing in sound today. You don’t need to do anything but keep your heart and mind open to receive the healing vibrations. I do ask that because today is Thanksgiving, you keep gratitude foremost in your mind. Think about all the things in your life, big and small, that you are thankful for. And let the sound guide you to inner peace.”

I closed my eyes, feeling a bit silly. I’d never been good at meditation; my mind darted in a million different directions as soon as I didn’t have something to focus on. Dieter told me you just had to empty your head and focus on your breath, but it was hard for me.

A chime rang and then the hum of a singing bowl filled the room. It was monotonous at first, but after a bit I could hear subtle variations in the tone as the sound waves vibrated the air. It was soothing. I started thinking about what I was thankful for.

Dieter, first of all. Meeting him had brought me so many new experiences, and a depth of joy I’d never known I was capable of. My job. A roof over my head. My health. Those were the big ones, and almost too easy to put on my list. Everyone was grateful for things like that. Then I started thinking about the smaller things: the smell right before it starts to rain, the excitement of opening a box of new books at work, the fierce glow of California poppies in the sun every spring.

I felt Dieter’s fingertips brush against mine and I smiled. He was thinking about me, too. We lay side by side, just barely touching, but fully connected as the song of the universe swept through us. I get it, Deet, I thought silently. I get it.

*******************************************************************************

Saturday morning came all too fast. As I packed our bags (Dieter offered to pack his, but his idea of packing was just shoving everything inside and squashing it until the bag would zip) I felt the familiar melancholy of the end of a work break. I knew I was lucky to have a job that gave me a week off at Thanksgiving, two weeks at Christmas and another week in the spring, not to mention a healthy dollop of three-day weekends and a long summer break, but it was always hard for me to switch gears back into work mode after being off for more than a few days.

“I don’t want to go back to work on Monday,” I groused.

”Then don’t,” Dieter said. “Quit. Move in with me. Find something else closer to my house. Or take some time off. Follow your passion.”

I sighed. “We’ve had this discussion before, Deet. It’s just too early on. I can’t take that leap yet.”

He smiled. “Yeah, I know, but a man’s gotta try. And I know how you feel.” He stretched, his joints cracking. “I’m due on set in five days and I know once I get there and get into it I’ll love it but right now all I can think about is packing and making the flight and meeting the cast and crew and hoping there aren’t too many assholes to deal with. And missing you.” He wrapped his arms around me and kissed my neck.

“I’ll miss you, too,” I said, leaning into his embrace. “But we’ll talk every night. And maybe you can sneak home for a weekend or something.”

”I was thinking â€¦ I’m going to Freddy’s for Christmas. Why don’t you join me? I won’t get enough time off to make it to Vermont and California but I‘m sure he and Laila won’t mind.”

”I don’t want to impose,” I said, although the idea of having a ready excuse to not go to Aunt Helen’s â€” not to mention the chance to spend some face to face time with Dieter â€” had me excited.

”Freddy wants to meet you,” Dieter said. “And I want you to meet him. Meet my family.”

My excitement shifted into anxiety. Meeting the family was a big step. “Only if he and his wife don’t mind,” I said carefully.

“I’ll ask him next time I talk to him. And I can tell you right now the answer will be yes.”

#pedro pascal character fanfiction #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x ofc #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter x emily #late night talking

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