#he still wants to take over the universe but you got bills to pay

[happylittlegremlin]

*grabs block of cheese*

"My liege, your lactose intolerance would make it Hell for your guests to go to the bathroom for today's Pride Party."

*puts cheese back*

"Good my liege..."

*grabs a pound of brie and milk*

"WAIT NO!"

i wish i had a floating evil skull to follow me around and when we went to the grocery store she would say something like my liege we must purchase the strawberry cream cheese for the coming days and i would be like oh fuck youre so right and put it in my cart and then we would walk down the next aisle together our beautiful life

[perlelune]

NDA | Coriolanus Snow

When you get hired as a nanny for President Snow and his wife's firstborn, you’re beyond thrilled and grateful. But quickly, the perfect facade melts, revealing the ugly truth of what actually goes on in the Snows' house.

Warnings: NON-CON, Capitol! Reader, Innocent Reader, Cheating, Coercion, Blackmail, Power Imbalance

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

Your worried eyes track the frenzied glide of the woman’s quill over the notepad. You squint, hoping to discern some of the words she’s scrawling that way, but they are indiscernible…just like the stone-cold expression of the bespectacled woman on the other side of the desk.

She catches you trying to peek. Your heart jumps.

As her sharp green gaze zeroes in on you, you clear your throat and shift in your seat.

She puts her quill down and twines her fingers.

“So what do you think sets you apart  from the other applicants?”

You chew on your lip. When you arrived to offer your candidature this morning, you naively believed you’d be early. Instead, you were forced to join the tail end of the massive waiting line stretching far outside the Snows’ estate. It didn’t hit you before that moment, how prized the position is. Each of the women and girls you saw radiated excellent breeding and impeccable manners. Many probably attended the University and could double as a tutor if the need presents itself.

This isn’t your case. Your parents left you and your brother Laertes with nothing when they suddenly passed away in a rebel bombing. You couldn’t blame them. This wasn't the plan. Who plans on dying and leaving their two children to fend for themselves?

Still, you now have a list of bills the length of your arm coupled with a massive mortgage to pay every month. And as Laertes’ sole caretaker, you must ensure you can afford to send him to University once he completes his education in the Academy.

Circumstances denied you that chance. Despite being of university’s age, you couldn’t afford the cost of tuition and had to drop out as soon as you got accepted. You want better for your little brother.

So as soon as you heard the news that President Snow and First Lady Livia Cardew were in search of a nanny for their son Martius, you jumped on the opportunity to apply. You rose before the sun, rummaged through your mother’s closet to find her best dress, and hailed a car to come here.

It’s a long shot, of course. You’re not as polished and impressive as some of the other women. You’re also noticeably younger. But the wages promised alone compelled you to take a chance despite the odds being unfavorable.

Fiddling with your hands, you meet the woman’s impassive stare head-on.

“What sets me apart?” You mull over your answer. You could paint a false, august portrait of yourself, your skills and your accomplishments. Or try to at least.

But what would be the point of pretending to be someone you’re not only to be found out later on? So you elect to tread the path of honesty.

“Nothing,” you say. “But I’m a hard worker. A very hard worker. In fact, I already have three jobs, one at a bakery, another as a clerk in an antique shop and I assist Fabricia Whatnot at her boutique sometimes.” Panic quivers inside you as the woman quickly jots something down on her notepad. You swiftly specify, “...But I’ll quit all of them if I get the position, of course.” You lick your lips as knots tie your stomach. “I can learn everything there is to learn on the spot. I love children, and…” You trail off, gaze traveling to your lap as you muse if you should reveal more. Your fists clench as you add, “I have a little brother who’s a few years older than Martius, and I’m really hoping I get this opportunity so I can give him the life he deserves.”

An unnerving quiet occupies the air. The wait is agony, your nails digging painfully into your palms. The jagged drumming of your heart bleeds inside your ears as she studies you.

Eventually, she leans back in the velvet chair, her face betraying no thought or emotion.

“You’re dismissed,” she says.

Your heart plummets to your feet. You shakily rise, dispirited as you drag your heels towards the door. You steal a glance above your shoulder. The woman’s attention has already drifted away from you as she shouts for the next applicant.

You sourly exit the office. You try to swallow your dejection as you note how many women are still waiting in line, each of them likely more qualified and experienced. It’s obvious you tanked the interview. Shoulders slumping, you take resigned steps through the elegant, palatial hallways of the Snow’s mansion. You get lost in admiring the crystal and gold chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings. There isn’t an inch of the house that doesn’t scream excessive, unattainable wealth.

You take your time soaking it in. Chances are you’ll never step foot in such a place in your lifetime ever again.

Distracted, you don’t notice the person in front of you before it’s too late. You bump straight into a hard, inflexible body. 

The sudden collision threatens your balance.

Fingers coil around your wrists as you stagger back, preventing your impending collapse onto the marbled floor.

As your attention drifts skywards, your jaw drops at who fills your vision.

“P-President Snow, my deepest apologies, s-sir,” you stammer, flames licking your cheeks.

As if you didn’t make yourself look dimwitted enough before, you now carelessly crashed into the leader of all of Panem. Just when you thought the day couldn’t possibly get worse.

You take him in. It truly is him. Shock fills you. 

 Tall and dazzling in a crisp white shirt and crimson vest that hints at his lean physique beneath the clothes, his signature blond waves slicked away from his face, he looks every bit the important figure that he is.

The flickering TV screen you own at home doesn’t do him justice.

A gentle smirk unfurls on his lips.

“It’s quite alright. I’m not made of sugar,” he jests.

“No…you’re not, your highness…majesty...I mean sir.”

Your blunder expands his smile. His cerulean gaze drags over your frame.

“Are you here for the nursemaid position?”

“I am, sir.” You unleash a deep exhale, his inquiry tossing salt on the fresh wound. The interviewer clearly wasn’t impressed by your less than stellar performance. Maybe you should have tried to mimic the way the girls with whom you attended the Academy behave more. They carry themselves with such confidence, wading through the world with the certainty of their destinies being secure, bereft of hardships unlike district dwellers.

You envy how carefree they get to be. Everyday you wake up worried you’ll come up short on a bill and you and Laertes will be forced to leave your family home. No matter how diligent you are at work, there never seems to be enough money to sustain the two of you. Even with three jobs, you’re barely eking out a decent living for you and your little brother. Many times, you’ve gone to bed hungry just so Laertes would not.

You don’t even realize tears have filled your eyes to the brim until a handkerchief is daintily pressed into your cheeks.

Flabbergasted, you blink up at President Snow. 

“Thank you,” you exhale, stunned by his kind gesture.

“What’s the matter?” he asks.

You search his eyes. Genuine interest lights up his pellucid blue orbs.

Without much thought, you confess, “I just don’t think I did very well with my interview.”

As he scrutinizes you in silence, cocking his head sideways, embarrassment rushes through you.

Words anxiously leave your lips in a tremulous string.

“God, I’m so sorry, spilling my problems to you as if you’re not an extremely busy man, sir.”

He shakes his head. “It’s quite alright. And do not count yourself defeated, sweetheart.” Your pulse stutters when he bends over you to whisper, “You may have left a stronger impression than you think.”

He nudges the pocket square between your hands. It’s still damp with your tears. You gape at it in awe. President Snow’s initials are elegantly etched in the left corner of the fabric.

“Here. Keep it. Though I’d much prefer it if you didn’t cry.” He pauses, studying you. “Girls as lovely as you never should.”

His words send your heart into a frenzy. For a while, you’re too stunned to move. You then shake yourself back to reality, noticing you’re now staring at the empty space where he used to stand. He’s gone. You look ahead. He’s already miles away from you, wrapped in conversation with who seems to be an assistant of his. 

Your thumbs press against the soft fabric of the pocket square. Cheeks ablaze, you hold it to your nose. It smells like roses, the same delicate scent that wafted from him a few minutes ago. Your back prickles. You pivot and are astonished to find the envious glares of some of the applicants still waiting in line zeroed in on you. Self-conscious, you rush to continue your exit, fleeing away from the hateful stares. 

As the outside gates come into sight, you can’t suppress an elated smile. It’s not everyday someone meets President Snow and receives such a gift from him. Shoving the handkerchief in your pocket, you vow to place it somewhere safe and always cherish it. 

When you return home, your brother’s already sitting in the living room, his tiny brows scrunched in concentration and his nose buried in his books. Your stomach sinks. Everything you did today was for him. You can’t help but feel you missed out on a huge opportunity, one that’d have changed the course of his life forever. You glance around at the apartment. The walls are crumbling. The wooden floors are creaking. The pipes in the kitchen have been leaking for weeks, a measly bucket you must empty every morning the only thing preventing a flood. And at night, the pitter-patter of rodents’ paws resonates from the ceiling.

Every inch of your family home is in dire need of repairs.

Unfortunately, every penny you earn goes into rent and food, meaning the house falls apart a bit more everyday. Perhaps one day, you and Laertes will awake beneath the rubble of what’s left of your childhood home. Nightmares of that sometimes keep you up at night.

“How was the Academy today?” you chime, rummaging through the kitchen cabinets. Worry twists your chest. There isn’t much left. You’ll need to make do with cabbage and whatever other veggies are left. Perhaps you could toss in some leftover dried meat and make a stew.

“My teacher signed me up for advanced trigonometry,” your brother announces.

You close the cabinet and beam at him.

“Oh, that sounds hard. I’m proud of you.” It doesn’t exactly surprise you. Laertes’ always been exceptionally smart. Even his teachers noticed how gifted he is from an early age. Unlike you, he breezed through middle school and now the Academy.

It’s why it’s crucial you make sure he can go to the University. A mind like his shouldn’t be wasted.

You brother shrugs, exuding nonchalance.

“It’s fine.”

You rush to him. You wrap your arm around him playfully and hug him in his chair, pulling his cheek like when he was little. You know he hates when you do that but you can’t help teasing him a bit. It’s your duty as a big sister after all.

“Don’t downplay it. My little brother’s a genius.”

He wriggles his way out of the hug, rolling his eyes. 

“Stop it.”

You head back to the kitchen and fire the stove.

“I’ll make you something,” you say, smiling at your brother.

His brows knit. “Make something for yourself first.”

You nibble your bottom lip. You truly hoped he wouldn’t notice, how much smaller than his your portions are. But he’s growing; he needs it. Much more than you. Besides, how can he focus at the Academy and be the brilliant boy he is supposed to be with a growling stomach? You won’t allow it.

“Laertes…”

He shakes his head, his expression firm.

“No. You always do this. This time, we split whatever is left.”

Heaving out a resigned exhale, you nod. You whirl to resume preparing dinner.

You gather a boiling pot from the overhead cabinet and place it on the stove. With the ease of practice, you begin chopping vegetables and tossing them into the pot. You add spices and water. The mouthwatering aroma quickly fills the kitchen. Pride swells in your chest. Your cooking skills have improved so much in the last year since your parents passed. You now manage to bring flavor to the blandest of meals. 

Once the stew’s ready, you pour a portion in each bowl, putting just a little more in your brother’s and praying he will not notice.

You place the steaming bowls on the table and take a seat opposite him.

“No books at the dining table,” you admonish, mimicking the exact tone your mother used with your brother. Admitting defeat, Laertes sighs and sets his homework aside. The tiny victory tugs your lips skyward.

He tells you about his day at the Academy while the two of you eat. You’re delighted to hear he’s making a lot of friends and he’s at the top of his class for most science subjects. He’s struggling a bit more with his poetry and ethics classes, but you encourage him by reminding him he can just ask the teacher for extra assignments to keep his grade up.

“I interviewed for a new job today,” you reveal, stirring the spoon in your bowl while waiting for your brother to eat more of his food.

“How did it go?”

“Well, it pays really well so I’m hopeful.”

The hope dancing in his eyes makes your chest ache. You don’t have the heart to tell him you made a fool of yourself today. You may not be gifted like your brother, but you want him to know he can rely on you at least.

Pursing his mouth, he looks down at his stew.

“That’s great. It’d be good if you didn’t have to work as much.”

Your smile falters. “Don’t worry. I have everything under control.”

“Okay.”

His dour tone stirs your concern. You wish you were better at hiding things from him, making his childhood as normal as possible. But your brother’s twelve now, and that’s old enough to sense when things are wrong.

He rises from his seat. You frown as you note there’s still food left in his bowl.

“Finish your plate before going to your room.”

Annoyance pinches his features but he still picks up his bowl and hastily guzzles down the remainder of his stew.

“Happy now?” he says, wiping his mouth.

“Yes. Very,” you cheerfully respond.

He gathers his books and strides towards his room. 

Your voice rises.

“Don’t stay up too late to study, okay? I love you.”

“I…love you too,” he mumbles.

You bask in the moment as you clean the table. Thankfully Laertes is still at an age where he says it back. One day he might not. So you must cherish every instant. Every conversation, every hug, every ‘I love you’. Because it could all vanish in a second. You learned that the hard way a year ago.

The day of the interview recedes to the back of your mind as you keep living your life. Work is harrowing, as usual, but you tend to your tasks as best as you can. Your arms ache as you knead the dough in the back of the bakery. You give yourself a second to wipe the sweat off your forehead. It’s been a hectic afternoon. There’s a massive pastry order for some Capitol heiress’ birthday due tomorrow. So you’ve been racing between the front desk and the kitchen in the back. A baker called in sick today, leaving you with twice the workload.

You know it won’t take much to crash into your bed and fall asleep tonight.

To make matters worse, the day hits its nadir when you get your pay that day. You peer inside the envelope for the umpteenth time. An anxious chuckle peals out of your lips. 

“I’m sorry I don’t want to complain, but…this doesn’t match the hours I put in.”

The owner scratches the back of his neck, a contrite expression etched on his face.

“I’m sorry too. With the new taxes imposed by the Capitol, I had to cut your salary.”

Slack-jawed by the news, no word leaves your mouth as you stare at him. He sighs.

“If it’s a problem, we can find someone else-”

“No, no,” you interrupt, blinking in panic. “Please, I need this job.”

He acquiesces and you’re forced to thank him despite feeling cheated. You actually scaled back your hours for your other part-times since this one paid more. What a waste. 

Dispirited, you return home. As you give the driver a bill for the fare, your insides wrench. Every bill counts. Perhaps you’ll need to walk back home from now on. The streets of the Capitol are notoriously dangerous but you can’t see any other way to save your dwindling wages. You already know you’ll need to request an extension for rent this month. How will you pay it, however?

You suppose you’ll have to figure it out. You always figure it out.

These are the somber thoughts swaying in your mind as you check the mailbox. 

Bills. Bills. And more bills. Your already sour mood plummets even more. But a slim, silver envelope sticking out from the pile corrals your focus. Curiosity surges inside you. It looks fancy and there’s a wax seal with the Capitol’s symbol keeping it shut. You rush to open it, heart fluttering in strange anticipation.

You unfold the neatly folded letter inside. As you read the words, you gasp, dropping the letter. Still trembling from shock and excitement, you bend to pick it up. 

You take a deep slow breath before reading it again. 

This time, a squeal escapes from your lips. 

You read it many more times to make sure your eyes aren’t just conjuring wild fantasies. 

After a while, you realize they aren’t. It’s true. 

Holding the letter to your chest, you toss yourself on your bed and kick your feet excitedly. 

You then place your palm on your forehead. In disbelief, you beam at the ceiling. 

Somehow…you’ve been hired to work for the Snows. You actually got the job. 

Perhaps there is light at the end of the tunnel.

You fidget before the iron gates, smoothing absent wrinkles on your skirt. It’s one of the best outfits you could find on short notice that wasn’t moth-eaten or visibly overworn. You pray it’s enough. You let your gaze wander. The Snows’ estate truly is majestic. The lush gardens. The beautiful architecture. You feel a little small as you admire the mansion.

Remembering yourself, you pivot to the man who drove you there. You fish inside your pocket for a bill and hand it to him. He stares at you blankly from the driver’s seat.

A weary sigh ripples behind you.

You turn, your eyes widening. It’s the woman who interviewed you that day. She wears the same stern expression.

“You don’t need to pay him,” she explains, dismissing the man with her hand. He nods and drives away. “He’s your assigned driver. He’ll pick you up each day and take you back home.”

“Oh.” You offer your hand. “Nice to meet you…again.”

She gives you a lengthy onceover, completely ignoring your gesture. Then she motions at you to follow her. You let your hand fall to your side. Heat blooms in your cheeks. Perhaps, you were too enthusiastic just then. Straightening your spine, you try your best to keep pace with her quick strides.

“I’m Pandora. I supervise most housekeeping duties for the president. I’ll show you around the estate. Then you’ll meet the young Master.”

She gives you a tour of the mansion. You’re even more amazed than last time though you try to suppress your awe and not stare excessively. She shows you the garden as well. The sea of snow-white roses makes your head spin. She specifies that the only part of the house that is off-limits is the west wing of the mansion, as these are the First Lady’s apartments and she must have rest and quiet.

She ends the visit by taking you to the nursery. A smile spontaneously finds its way onto your lips. A toddler plays with his toy train on the floor. With his blonde curls and bright blue eyes, he bears a striking resemblance to his father.

“That’s him? He’s so cute,” you whisper. Even the stern woman’s expression thaws a little as she looks at the child, softening ever-so-slightly. You send her a questioning glance. She gives you a nod of approval. 

You approach the boy and crouch in front of him.

“Hi. You’re Martius, right?”

He lifts his head and beams at you. You’re immediately endeared. Again, his smile reminds you of President Snow. You suppose one could probably take over the world with a smile like that. 

You turn to Pandora.

“Is his mother around? I should probably introduce myself.”

Her face pinches. “Mistress Livia has been unwell as of late. She is not to be disturbed today as she is quite tired.”

“Of course.” Your lips squeeze shut for a few seconds but curiosity gets the better of you. A question burns on your lips, one that nagged you ever since you got the job. It slips out before you can think it through. “Is this…Is this why the president and his wife require a nanny? The First Lady is sick?”

Pandora glowers at you. You flinch as she steps further inside the room, her searing tone like a whip.

“You are here to do your job, and nothing else. Mistress Livia’s health is no concern of yours. Do you hear me?”

You rise on shaky feet. You forgot yourself.

“I-I understand. I’m sorry I asked.”

“This reminds me. You have to sign this,” she says, handing you a pen and clipboard. A thin stack of papers are attached to the clipboard. The front page spells ‘Non-Disclosure Agreement’ in bold letters at the very top. You scowl as you flip through the pages.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a contract, one signed by every one of the President’s employees.”

“I don’t understand most of what’s written here…”

A frustrated exhale peals from her lips.

“I’ll make it simple for you then. For the duration of your employment here, nothing you see or hear must ever leave this house. You are here to care for the young master, that is all. Nothing else should concern you. Is that clear enough?”

You swallow thickly. It doesn’t sound hard at all. Discretion is essential in every job, isn’t it? But the way Pandora makes it sound, you’d assume there are bodies buried beneath the Snows’ estate. You’d laugh if her death stare weren’t so disquieting.

You peruse the contract, perplexed by most of the legal mumbo jumbo filling the pages. None of it rings any bell. You understand the gist of it however. You must preserve the president and his wife’s privacy. While you don’t know the specifics of the first lady’s condition, her public appearances have been few and far between in the last few years.

She used to be the envy of every woman in the Capitol. Beautiful, young and married to the dashing President Snow.

She was a fairytale princess come to life.

Then their son Martius was born. And when they held him up from the balcony of their mansion for all of Panem to gaze upon, they truly seemed like the perfect family.

Until one day, Livia Cardew simply…vanished.

She was noticeably absent from all the events of the season, some she even hosted herself. Tongues wagged of course, rumors and wild theories spreading like wildfire. 

But no one knew the truth of what had happened to her.

The matter seems delicate. You promise yourself not to bring it up again.

You click the pen and scribble your name at the bottom of the very last page.

“I’ve…never signed a contract like that before starting a job.”

Pandora lets out a wry chuckle.

“Well, you’ve never worked for President Snow.”

As promised, you quit your two other jobs to focus solely on Martius. You’re hesitant at first. Your departed parents taught you never to put all your eggs in one basket. And it’s exactly what you’d be doing by trusting the Snows. But when you receive your first paycheck, long before the end of the week, every qualm you had fades. It’s more money than you’ve ever had, more money than you expected. Rent isn’t an issue anymore. Neither is food.

Besides, gifts keep coming from the estate. Clothes mostly, for both you and Laertes, but also jewelry, perfume and other fancy things you don’t need. Overwhelmed by President Snow’s generosity, you try to send some of it back, but you don’t have the heart to return everything when you see your brother’s happy face when he opens his wardrobe one day.

You’ve caught the self-conscious glimpses he casts at his classmates sometimes, when not wearing the Academy uniform. Their clothes are always brand new and custom, perfectly tailored while his are stitched back together by your clumsy hands whenever they fray at the seams. You’re not a seamstress but you’ve always done your best. But you know your best doesn’t compare to the access and privilege those kids have.

Other than those blessings, your time with Martius has been a breeze. Only hazy memories of your brother as a toddler linger in your mind, but you don’t recall him ever being as sweet and calm as the little boy is.

It hardly feels like work, caring for the small child. You spend the day playing along with his games, reading stories to him and, as the day nears its end, the two of you feed the ducks in the massive pond behind the mansion. He even gives them names and gets upset when they fight with each other. 

“Lily doesn’t like James anymore,” he whispers to you one day, a sullen pout scrunching his tiny features. 

“And why is that?”

“I think she’s angry that he steals her food.”

You chuckle and ruffle his golden locks. The little boy always has a story for everything he sees. At all times, his world must make sense. So if he cannot find a reason to explain what fills his gaze, he’ll weave a tale that matches it. His stories are each more wild than the other and he sometimes utters words you’ve never heard a four year old use.

But you surmise it is expected from the son of the president. When he isn’t with you, the little boy is often with his private tutor. Even at his tender age, the importance of manners and eloquence is impressed upon him.

Martius tugs at your skirt when you make your way to the door. You look down. His blue eyes are pleading. 

“You’re leaving again?”

You heave out a long exhale. The little boy wasn’t so clingy before but with your bond growing, he’s been expressing more sadness from watching you go at the end of every day. 

You hunker down to his level.

“My little brother’s expecting me.”

His forehead puckers. “Stay…”

“I told you before, Martius. I have a brother. He’ll miss me if I’m not here.”

“Okay,” he mumbles, giving a begrudging nod. Tears already swim in his eyes though. Panic flows through you. You didn’t want to upset him. You pick him up and bounce with him in your arms to try to soothe him.

“Oh, no. Don’t cry, sweetie.” He buries his head in the crook of your neck, nearly squeezing you to death when he wraps his arms around your neck. His loud, tearful sobs swell in the room. “Hey, it’s okay. I’ll see you tomorrow like always, okay? So I need you to be brave for me.” His grip on you loosens as he sniffles. You put him down and the two of you pinky promise that you’ll return. Your heart twists at the sight of his tear-stained little face. 

You give his hair one last affectionate pat before rushing outside. If you stay, he might throw another tantrum. No matter what, you can never get mad at Martius. He’s just a child. In the absence of his mother, he’s bound to grow attached to any woman filling a role adjacent to hers. You loathe that you’re taking those moments from the first lady. Though it pleases you to have a steady job and spend time with the sweet boy, it feels wrong that she isn’t there. She should get to see her baby grow up. She should hear his inane ramblings and eccentric stories.

As time wears on, you’re dying to meet her and tell her about Martius. Is she truly so sick that she can’t even see him for a mere few minutes? You’re itching to break the rules and visit the west wing of the mansion. Sometimes you hear blood-curdling  screams and wailing coming from the dark halls but you never dared venture through them. You know that if you did, Pandora would crucify you.

Laertes’ well-being matters more than your curiosity.

Humming absently, you halt in your tracks in the middle of a hallway. Confusion has you blinking. A peculiar noise bounces faintly against the walls. Your gaze drifts sideways, where the noise seems to come from. You’re clocking out. Whatever’s going on in the house isn’t any of your business at this hour.

But what if someone needs help? What if it’s something bad? You’d feel awful if you learnt something happened the next day and you pretended to ignore it. So you gingerly approach the wall. Your fingers graze the tapestry covering it. 

Your eyes widen when the wall moves, a tiny crack forming in it.

Your eyes bulge. It’s an ajar door, you realize. A secret door one wouldn’t notice if they weren’t aware it was there. Light spills from the slight opening.

Confining your breath, you bend over the crack in the wall to get a glimpse of what’s behind it. 

The vision crowding your sight makes the blood in your veins freeze. 

President Snow rutting into a maid with his pants down to his ankles. His usually neat blonde locks are tousled, a few damp curls kissing his forehead. His massive cock glistens with the girl’s essence, disappearing into the girl’s spread lips over and over again. Her body is bent over the railing of the bed and her maid outfit is bunched around her hips, exposing her ass, the flesh trembling with each of the president’s harsh, pointed thrust.

Each time he snaps his hips he draws a broken moan from her. One of his hands is around the back of her throat while the other’s on the small of her back. He grunts low in his throat as she clenches around him, thrusting into her even faster than before. 

The obscene sound of their coupling rises, coalescing with the feral grunts spilling from the president’s mouth. In that moment, he’s not the poised gentleman you’re used to seeing, he is an animal in rut chasing his high.

A shocked exhale escapes your lips. Your hand flies to cover your mouth. President Snow’s head snaps up, his gaze landing straight on you.

Your heart slams against your ribcage.

You jump back from the door and push the secret door closed. You dart across the hallway, determined to find the exit as quickly as you can. You don’t glance back, your steps hasty and panicked. 

Pandora was right. It’s best not not to hear or see anything, to become a tomb in which secrets are buried.

You can only hope he didn’t recognize you through the tiny crack in the door. 

Though you’re shaken to your core, you continue your work as a nanny. You still need money. You may have set aside everything you made thus far, but it will only sustain you and your brother for a month or two. Besides, you’ve already handed in your resignation for your other jobs.  The positions have likely been filled. You can’t exactly show up out of the blue and ask for your former job back. 

No. So you convince yourself that it’s alright. You have a good thing going anyway. You’re making more than you hoped. The child is happy. You’re happy. All is well. Or it would be at least.

…If you could conjure the memory of President Snow railing into the maid far away from your mind. 

You want to forget it, bury the moment so deep in the abyss of your thoughts, it can never be unearthed.

But it isn’t so easy. Because every time your mind wanders even a little, you see him again. Skin glistening with sweat and blue eyes alight with lust. The image is tattooed into your brain. 

You wonder if the first lady knows. Perhaps it’s why she’s hiding away. The weight of her husband’s indiscretions may have grown too heavy to carry. It sours your heart. President Snow seemed so kind, good and noble. He was nice to you. You still have the breast pocket he gave you tucked away in a drawer. You loathe to think he’d do that to his wife. No woman deserves this.

You lift your head when your name is uttered. You get to your feet. Adrift in your thoughts, you didn’t realize Pandora was in the nursery. 

“Yes?”

“The president wants to see you in his office.”

Dread wrenches your gut. It’s exactly what you feared. Does he know? Did he see you? Your pulse picks up. What other reason would there be? He never summoned you before.

“Really, why?”

“He didn’t say, but I’m assuming it’s to congratulate you.”

Befuddlement wrinkles your forehead. “Congratulate me?”

Pandora heaves out a weary sigh. “Well, you’ve done much better than we thought,” she begrudgingly admits. “The young master smiles all the time.” She rolls her eyes. “Even if we must deal with his tantrums when you leave.”

A sliver of pride flutters through you with her admission. Pandora made her doubts about your capabilities plain and obvious from the beginning. It gladdens you that you may have changed her mind a little. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“It’s fine.” She turns to him, the ghost of a smile playing on her lips. “It’s a small price to pay for his happiness.”

Your smile vanishes as she adds, “Now let me escort you to the president’s office. He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you trail behind her. The entire trek to the president’s office, your stomach’s in knots. You keep wondering if it’s the day you’ll lose your job for being too nosy. You should have walked past the noise. You shouldn’t have peeked. 

You inhale a lungful of nerve as Pandora opens the door to his office and frees room for you to enter. Your clammy hands wrench in your lap. He’s sitting behind his desk. You stagger further inside the room as he motions for you to sit in the chair on the other side of the desk. He looks the same as the first time you stumbled into him, disarmingly handsome in an impeccable shirt and pants that flatter his long legs.

A sharp contrast to the version of him that has plagued your thoughts lately. 

His sky gaze follows you as you take a trembling seat.

“Are you settling in well?” he asks.

“Hm, yes,” you stammer, anxiously twining your fingers. “It’s pretty much the perfect job. I get to be around a cute child all day.”

“I hear my son is very fond of you.”

You bashfully dip your head. “He’s very easy to like. He’s such a good boy, sweet, kind, and curious. You and your wife are raising him well, sir.”

He hums in thought. “I can’t take much credit for that. I’ve tried my best to carve out time for Martius…but work’s kept me busy. As for Livia...” He lets out a humorless chuckle. “Well she isn’t quite herself these days.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

He places one hand under his chin, scrutinizing you. You try not to twitch beneath his stare, your insides tight with dread.

“Hm, it’s strange,” he states after a minute that goes by like an eternity.

Your head rises. “What’s strange?”

“A girl like you.” His lips drag upward. “Sweet, nurturing, beautiful. Shouldn’t you be married already?”

Your lips part in astonishment. This isn’t the line of questioning you expected. “I-I’m not.”

“No fiancé?”

“No, sir.”

“A lover then?”

Warmth rushes to your face.

“No…”

He laughs, mirth dancing in his cobalt orbs.

“You must pardon me for being so forward but I simply find it astonishing. No suitors? It’s hard to believe since you’re so lovely, sweetheart.” He tilts his head. You shift in discomfort, his attention making you feel see-through. “I mean, a husband would have made your life easier than it’s been thus far, wouldn’t he, dove?”

A long exhale flows from your lips. “I’ve had offers, after I graduated from the Academy. There was even this boy, he was so kind to me.” The memory draws a small smile from you. “He proposed. I’m sure he’d make a great husband, but…”

“But…”

Your mouth dries.

“I know it’s probably naive and unrealistic but I want to marry for love, that great, life-changing love, like in those romance novels my mom used to love, not money or status.”

His eyes twinkle. “Or financial stability?”

Shame gathers in your chest. You know it sounds silly when uttered aloud. 

“I know, I’m an idiot.”

“No, you’re not. It’s sweet that you still believe in love.” He appears lost in a faraway memory, his gaze hazing over with remembrance. “I used to believe in it too. I used to think, ‘Who needs wealth and success and power when love conquers all?’”

He chuckles but it’s bereft of amusement. 

“Really? What happened then?”

His gaze locks with yours. 

“I grew up.”

Confused, you frown. 

“But aren’t you and the first lady in love?”

Another laugh bursts from his chest.

“God, you’re sweet.” His tone lowers to a dulcet whisper. “It’s like none of the world’s ugliness has gotten to you yet.” He reveals matter-of-factly, “My wife and I hate each other.” His smile widens at your flabbergasted expression. “Always did. It’s best that way, more…efficient. Of course, there was a time, when we had…passion.” He licks his lips, something you can’t pinpoint flickering in his gaze. “But not anymore. She’s far too gone for that.”

He rises from his chair. You stiffen as he circles the desk, making slow steps towards you. 

“Which is why I must…satiate my needs wherever I can,” he mumbles, fingers lurking under your chin, forcing your eyes to fall upon him. “Do you understand my meaning, dove?”

“I…yes.”

Discomfort flares within you. Tension hangs in the air, so heavy it clogs your airways. 

He cocks his head, lips slanting crookedly.

“Do you really? With that innocent look in your eyes, it’s hard to tell.” His thumb sweeps over your shuddering bottom lip. “Men have needs. And am I not a man, sweetheart?”

“Y-Yes you are, sir.”

He bends over you to whisper in your ear. “You saw everything that day, didn’t you?” Your heart stops.

Flames lick your face as you bow your head. “I-I didn’t see anything.”

His warm breath ghosts over your earshell.

“Liar,” he mumbles.

Your pulse quickens.

He leans back and nudges your chin upward.

“Since my wife fell sick, I’ve been very lonely. And sometimes…” He looms over you, crowding your space as you peer up at him, fingers squeezing the arms of the chair. “I need something soft and warm to forget that feeling.”

President Snow slowly falls to his knees in front of you. His fingers find your thigh, starting to creep under your skirt. A devilish glint sparkles in his cobalt gaze. He finds your center, pressing the sheer fabric into your folds. You gasp. He chuckles at your reaction. He starts teasing you through your panties, tracing your slit and dragging over your tender bud. Your breath hitches as the air around you grows hotter. You grow slick beneath his finger, your thighs shaking as tingles bloom on your flesh.

“Sir…” you whimper, tears welling up in your eyes.

He pushes further inside you, adding another finger, and you unleash an audible breath. You try to close your thighs. He places his other hand on your knee to keep you open for him.

The air in your lungs grows thinner as he rubs your core through your soaked panties. The friction is a delicious torture. Pleasure pools in your belly causing your face to burn with shame. You’re getting embarrassingly wet with President Snow’s attention.

“I just want a little taste,” he murmurs, his deep timbre bleeding lust. “Just one time and it’ll never happen again,” he promises fervently as his lips graze your ankle. You find some relief when his fingers disappear from your drenched center. But your respite is ephemeral. He slips his hands under your ass and tugs at your panties.

Panic widens your eyes. Cheeks ablaze, you pull at the material between your legs with both hands. But he’s stronger than you and effortlessly drags the fabric along your legs. A wicked smile plays on his lips as tears glisten in your eyes. It’s soon down to your ankles. You squeal when the president yanks the panties off your foot, tossing them aside. Cool air sneaks beneath your skirt, swirling over your bare folds.

Hands over your knees to keep you spread, his wolfish gaze sweeps over your glossy folds. 

Your skin heats, embarrassment gathering in your chest. You’ve never been this vulnerable and exposed in front of anybody before.

“Please, President Snow, s-stop…” 

“But you’re dripping, sweetheart,” he states smugly, sinking a finger inside your weeping core, as if to make a point. Your breath hitches. He takes his finger out sluggishly. You clench when he grazes one of your sensitive spots. “Just as sweet as I expected,” he hums, obscenely licking your essence off his long digit.

Without a warning, he buries his head between your thighs. A sharp exhale leaps from your mouth. His cool tongue traces a wet trail over your folds. President Snow traces maddening patterns over your swollen bud causing your eyes to roll back.

You card your fingers through his silken platinum locks, hoping to push his head away. But the delightful sensations grow too overwhelming. You unravel beneath his sinful ministrations, your limbs twitching as the thread of your thoughts comes loose.

Your grip on his hair weakens. Your belly tightens, your chest rising and falling rapidly. 

You jolt as his tongue flickers over your tender heap of nerves. 

“P-President…” 

He purrs against your folds and the vibrations rock through your core. You squirm in the chair. Your thighs quake. Your vision dims, your mind blank as waves of pleasure swaddle you in their tide. Protests scatter on your tongue, replaced by wanton whimpers and moans.

Electricity ripples through your spine as you cry out.

Bliss engulfs you and your legs turn liquid. Shame swirls in your gut as your juices coat his tongue. He drinks your nectar, elation rumbling in his chest. 

When he lifts his head, you hardly recognize him. The feral glow in his gaze chills your blood.

There is no time to collect yourself, realize what just occurred, as the blonde gathers your limp frame from the chair and places you on his desk. Documents and papers are flung to the ground as he grabs your thighs and presses his throbbing hard-on against your cunt. 

He hastily unbuttons his pants, freeing his hard length. He fists his cock and guides it through your wet entrance. Your back arches, the sudden intrusion robbing you of air. He reaches the hilt of you in a few seconds, giving you no time to accommodate his thick girth. You collapse over the desk, weak whimpers leaving you as your walls are stretched to their limit. He drags out of you, his pupils flaring as they trace the motion of his length in and out of you. Coriolanus leans over you. He snaps his pelvis into your hips, each of his thrusts tearing tearful moans from your throat.

When you turn your head, hot tears flowing down your cheeks, he grabs your chin so you’re forced to meet his lustful stare. Bracing himself on the desk, he reaches between your bodies to pinch your swollen clit. He plucks at your soft bud until you shatter around him with a sob. His throat bobs, a look of sheer bliss flitting across his face when you clench around him.

“I’ve been dying to fuck you the minute I saw you,” he confesses, trailing soft pecks over your collarbone. A sinister chuckle peals from his lips. “The way you looked at me with those sweet, innocent eyes…it made me rock-hard.” He tilts your chin towards him, his thumb skimming over your parted lips.

Satisfaction glimmers in his eyes as they flick over your prone form.

“You should thank me. Those boys at the Academy wouldn’t know what to do with a girl like you…” His cock twitches inside you. Sticky warmth spills from him, painting your walls and dripping past your hole. Drops of his seed leak onto the desk. A throaty sigh pours from President Snow’s throat as your cunt flutters around him.

His teeth nip the skin of your neck.

“...But I do.”

After what occurs in his office, you hope to avoid President Snow. Those hopes are swiftly dashed however. President Snow lied to you. It doesn’t happen once. In fact, you begin to lose count of the actual number.

Every time the president finds a little spare time, he summons you.

Sometimes you end up bent over the desk in his office as he pours the frustrations of the day into your warm hole. Sometimes he prefers you sprawled on your back in one of the multitude of luxurious beds in the mansion while he devours you as if you were his very last meal. And at times, he grows even more impatient and simply shoves you against a wall before ravaging you.

More than once, a maid or footman has walked in on the two of you, and you’ve had to swallow your shame and embarrassment.

As you’ve come to learn, the entire staff is aware of Coriolanus Snow’s insatiable appetite and none of them seems to care.

You feel sick, desperate, trapped in something twisted and awful you never signed up for.

But how does one say no to President Coriolanus Snow? The entire Capitol yields to his every whim. And you are the same. Here to bow and smile and lie back whenever he demands it.

You long to focus on your job, to care for Martius and nothing else. Whenever the boy looks up at you with those innocent blue eyes, eerily similar to his father’s, your stomach wrenches. You pray he never comes to learn what kind of man his father is. You wish he’d stay just as kind and sweet as he is now.

Those are the thoughts drifting through your mind as you watch Martius play with his toy trains. Your eyes wander towards the window. Outside, orange and purple hues are bleeding into the sky, the afternoon nearing its end. Your stomach coils. It’s during times like these that President Snow often seeks you out. You’ve tried to run away from him but it’s all a game to Coriolanus, and he always delights in chasing you through the hallways.

Your brows crumple as you note that Martius has stopped playing. He drops his toy and rushes to your side. Confounded by his behavior, you’re on the cusp of asking him what’s wrong…but your gaze follows what caught his attention on the other side of the room.

You fall silent, your eyes rounding in shock.

“Martius. Come here, my love,” says the blonde woman in a white robe and nightgown, her arms wide open.

Time stands still for a few seconds. It takes you a while to realize who stands before the door. She looks so different, more ghost than woman, her glassy blue eyes hollow and sunken. But her likeness is unmistakable. Even with her graying, limp tresses and ashen complexion, you recognize Livia Cardew. The president’s wife.

You bolt to your feet. Arms still open, Livia takes slow steps towards Martius.

“I’m your mom, sweetie. Don’t you remember me?”

The little boy’s fists clutch your skirt as he hides his face against your leg.

“You’re not my mom.”

A stricken look twists Livia’s features as she shrinks. As if her own son just drove a knife through her heart. Your chest twinges. While her abrupt appearance is a shock, you can’t imagine how she must feel. You place a hand on Martius’ back and try to nudge him forward.

“Martius. It’s the First Lady, your mother. Go on, hug her,” you urge softly.

He shakes his head, tears filling his eyes as he hides behind you even more.

You’re stunned. Has it truly been that long?

“Martius-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence, Livia lunging at you, her eyes wild with fury.

“You! This is all your fault,” she hisses. She points at you and scoffs, “You’re his new whore, aren’t you?” Her mouth wobbles as she grips her head. “First you take my husband, now my son.”

Martius begins to sob. His loud cries overlap with his mother’s frantic yelling. You cover his eyes, tossing Livia an apologetic look.

“First Lady, I never meant-”

Before you can explain yourself, she grabs a nearby vase and smashes it. White roses scatter on the floor. Stomping all over the petals and broken glass, she collects one of the shards and races towards you. Terror numbs you. You freeze as Livia aims the shard at you, scarlet droplets dripping on her nightgown as she squeezes her fist around the glass.

Your eyes shut as you wait for the inevitable strike.

You shiver, waiting still.

But it doesn’t come.

“Livia, darling, that’s enough. It’s time for you to sleep and take your medicine.”

The familiar sound of Coriolanus’ voice causes your eyes to snap open. 

You watch him restrain a struggling Livia. She curses at him, fighting him with all her might. It’s a painful spectacle. 

“No, don’t touch me!” Other staff members rush into the room. It takes several people to hold Livia down, colorful expletives pouring from her mouth as she punches and kicks whoever comes close. “You’re killing me! You bastard! Give me my son back! Martius! Martius!”

The child trembles against your skirt, his tear-filled gaze stuck to the floor.

Eventually someone manages to stick a needle into Livia’s neck. She instantly goes limp, arm still reaching for her son in her last conscious second.

“Take her away,” Coriolanus instructs.

The first lady’s flaccid form is dragged out of the room. Still shaken by what you just witnessed, you don’t move a muscle. President Snow approaches you, worry swimming in his blue orbs. 

“Are you alright, dove?” He cups your cheeks, his brows crumpling as his gaze settles on your neck. “I’ll have Doctor Gaul look at you. She has an ointment for that.” He caresses your cheeks, smiling. You gape at him. How can he smile at a time like that? “It won’t even scar. I promise.”

You graze your neck. Your fingers come away bloody. Oh. Livia nicked you with the shard but you didn’t even feel it. Perhaps adrenaline numbed you to the pain.

“Dada,” Martius chimes, lifting his chubby arms.

Coriolanus’ face warms as he picks up his son. He tosses him in the air and catches him. Martius giggles through his tears.

“My sweet boy. That was very scary, wasn’t it?” he says, balancing his son on his hip. Martius nods and wipes his nose. Coriolanus flicks his cheek, beaming at him. “Don’t worry, son. The scary lady won’t bother you anymore in a few months.”

A wave of ice blows through your veins. You wonder why the president uttered those words with such certainty. Like a promise. Or a prophecy. Almost as if he knows exactly when the grim reaper will come knock on his wife’s door.

The next day, you hand over your resignation to Pandora. Her expression is skeptical as she gauges the manila folder you give her.

“This is for the president,” you announce.

She unleashes a deep exhale. “You should reconsider, sleep on it.”

You almost laugh. Sleep on it? You can hardly find rest, the picture of a disheveled Livia Cardew crying out for her son haunting your nights. Whatever befell upon the poor woman, you wouldn’t be surprised if her husband somehow had a hand in it. It broke your heart, seeing her like that, her own son unable to recognize her. You also despise the role Coriolanus forced you to play in erasing her memory.

All of it feels wrong. 

And most of all, you don’t want President Snow to use you to satisfy his lewd desires anymore. He took all your firsts, all the moments that should have been beautiful, and made them a nightmare you have to relive every time he touches you.

You respected him; you admired him. Now you can’t be in his presence without dread whispering through you. What will he make you do this time? How will he make you small and powerless again?

“I can’t…I can’t do this anymore. He can hire someone else to care for him.”

Pandora purses her lips and shakes her head.

“It’s really not that simple. The president has developed…a fondness for you.”

You bristle. “I have to go back home. Laertes is expecting me.”

“You won’t like what comes next, trust me.” Her gaze narrows. “No one leaves the president.”

Ignoring the shudder elicited by her daunting words, you pivot and make a beeline towards the exit. Pandora’s voice echoes down the hallways.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Depleted, you glumly make your way to the gates. You enter the car that takes you back home everyday. Your thoughts wander as the Snow’s house grows smaller through the car window. You were thrilled when you got this job. It felt like kismet after the year you and your brother had. A rainbow after the rain. A slice of hope.

How it all went to hell so quickly. You’re still reeling from it. You’ve no idea what you’ll do next. The only thing you know for certain is that you will not step foot into the Snows’ estate ever again.

The car suddenly halts. You bump your head into the passenger’s seat. Wincing, you grip the sides of your head. As you retrieve your senses, you look around. You stopped.

You toss a questioning look at the driver.

But before he can respond, the car door opens and you’re yanked outside. Two pairs of strong arms drag you away from the car.

You take in the blue uniforms of the men. Terror pulses through your blood.

Peacekeepers.

Noting the guns at their sides, you stop trying to resist. There’s no fighting against them, ever. They are the Capitol’s fist and carry the President’s will. You don’t stand a chance. In fact, you likely never did. You slump in their grip, despair thrumming inside you.

They escort you to a black car with tinted windows. Your pulse soars. You’ve only ever seen one individual step out of this car.

The peacekeepers toss you inside and slam the door shut.

Your fearful gaze rises to him.

He casually sits in front of you, his eyes narrowed.

“You disappoint me, dove.” He lets out a weary sigh. “After everything I’ve done for you…you try to leave me. I thought you were smarter than that.”

You twine your hands, sputtering, “I-I’m not the right person for this job, sir.”

He slides his fingers under your chin, tilting it upward.

“Oh but you’re perfect. My son loves you. You’re sweet, dutiful and most importantly…” He smirks. “You are mine. Mine to hold, spoil and fuck whenever I please for however long I please.”

The prospect fills you with dread. He wants you to be his toy again, submissive, available whenever he pleases.

“Sir…”

His jaw ticks, his hold on your jaw tightening.

“Wouldn’t it be wonderful if your brother could attend the University, free of charge? A bright young mind such as his, I believe he deserves it.” His blue eyes twinkle. “Instead of, let’s say…end up in a District, his name chosen as a tribute in the next Hunger Games.” Your heart sinks to your feet. “That’d be awful, wouldn’t it? So cruel…” he mumbles, stroking your trembling bottom lip.

“No, please,” you beseech, tears swelling in your eyes. Your brother’s all you have left in the world. Nothing can happen to him. 

Coriolanus fondles your cheek, the tender gesture a sharp contrast to the wicked words rolling off his tongue.

“It’s all up to you, then, dove. As long as you behave, I’ll give you the world. But if you act like a little brat again…” A threat lurks in his soft tone, a glint of madness swaying in his cobalt orbs. “I really don’t know what I might do.”

Chills dance over your spine.

“I promise to never do it again,” you blurt out.

He pulls out a square from his breast pocket. It’s identical to the one he used the first time.

But a lifetime seems to have passed since that moment, the world now so different from what you imagined, and the man before you…even more so.

“Good girl,” he lauds while swiping away your tears. 

He shoves the pocket square back in its place. Coriolanus then beams at you as he starts unbuttoning his shirt and undoing his pants.

“Now, I’ve had a long, exhausting day. So how about you get on your knees for me and make it better with that sweet mouth of yours, dove?”

[7s3ven]

SINGLE DAD! X BABYSITTER! READER HAS ME FROTHING OMGG. Even better when the rest of TF 141 is involved

part 1 | part 2 (coming soon - rest of tf 141 introduced)

master list

MDNI 18+

Warnings: big age gap, babysitter! reader, reader is in medical school (but still legal guys)

You told yourself it was just a temporary summer job, something to fill your pockets over the Summer break as you moved into another year of university. Medical bills were not easy to pay off and your old job that paid the bare minimum did not help you in the least. All it taught you was that you had a nasty uppercut (from the time you actually hit someone and got fired).

So, you found yourself standing in front of John Price’s house. You stared up at the tall building, brows raised in surprise. He had understated how big his house was… it even had a garden and a pool. You may as well consider it a mansion.

You quickly rang the doorbell, smoothening out your tight blouse. Your much more appropriate one was in the wash so you prayed whoever answered the door did not notice.

It was a tall middle-aged who greeted you, beard cleanly trimmed and… a hat on his head. “Y/N L/N?” He asked you. You swiftly nodded, softly smiling when he stepped aside.

“So, medical school, huh? Training to become a doctor?” He asks as he brews you a cup of tea while you read over his terms and conditions.

“A surgeon, sir. Not much better, though.” You offer him another smile, hoping to ease the awkward tension.

“Right. Next time I need surgery, I’ll call you up.” He takes a sip from your tea, which you notice but you say nothing. “Just checkin’ the temperature. Wouldn’t want ya to burn yourself.” He hands you the mug, his fingers lingering on your skin for a moment too long.

“I assume this is only a quick job for you? Just away to gain a bit of money to pay those student fees off?”

Your cheeks heat up in embarrassment as you nod. “Yes, sir. I know I should have clarified it but I’m a little desperate at this point. Besides, no retail places want to hire me… after I hit someone.”

Your words intrigued him. He let out a low chuckle as he sat across from you. “Now I’m interested.”

“Well… there’s not much to it… a guy kept staring at my chest. He said some vulgar stuff and next thing I knew, I was punching him.”

Price shrugs, leaning back in his seat. “The lad was askin’ for it. So, what do you think about the job? You’ll honestly be a glorified babysitter. Just do some cleaning and cookin’ here and there and make my baby happy and you’ll get a nice pay check every week.”

It all happened in a blur. You agreed to the job and weeks later, you found yourself at Price’s house more than your apartment. You hadn’t stepped foot into your apartment since two days ago, Price generously allowing you to use one of the guest rooms.

“Lila has a sleepover tomorrow.” Price mentions as you’re reading the instructions on how to make cookies for Lila’s bake sale.

Based on the cooking skills you had seen from Price, you doubted he could bake very well. In fact, all he could cook was steak, which was general knowledge for dads.

“I can drop her off if needed.” You offer while opening the packet of flour only for it to explode in your face. You smacked your lips together, grimacing. “Not a word.” You mutter to Price who’s chuckling under his breath.

“Wasn’t gon’ a say anything, love.” He helps wipe the flour dust off your face, still grinning in amusement.

In all honesty, your relationship with Price felt a little too domesticated, especially right now as you wore a frilly apron he had bought just for you.

“Your skirt’s too short, by the way.” Price grumbles, attempting to tug it down. “You sure no creeps stared at you on your way ‘ere? Wouldn’t want ya in danger.”

You push his hands away from your hips. “Even if people were staring, I’ll just punch them.”

You had tried to maintain a professional relationship with your boss but it was hard when he carelessly manhandled you and treated you like his wife rather than his daughter’s babysitter.

And all professional behaviour came crashing down when he unexpectedly stood behind you as you whisked the cookie batter.

“You look like a coke addict.” Price jokes, referring to the flour that still stained your face. “Like you got it everywhere but up your nose.”

“I can assure you, sir, I have never tried coke unless my friend daring me to snort sherbet counts.”

Price grins at your biting remark, his heavy hands falling to your waist. “Yeah? Heard it doesn’t feel too good with sherbet.”

“Not in the slightest.”

His hands trail dangerously low but you don’t have the courage to ask him to stop… nor do you really want him too. He seems to sense your willingness as he rests his face in the crook of your neck, body pressed up tightly against yours.

You feel more like his spoiled wife than a medical student just trying to pay her bills.

“You’re pretty, ya know that? Surprised you don’ have a boyfriend… or girlfriend. Or partner. Dunno what your label is.”

With shaking hands, you place the bowl filled with cookie batter to the side, afraid you’ll only spill it.

“Never met a woman as soft as you… most think I chased Lila’s mother away. But nah. Her mother ran off, leavin’ me with a baby. Not that I’m complaining, I love Lila… and without her, I wouldn’ have met you.”

You’re reduced to listening to Price’s words, stuck between his larger frame and the marbled kitchen counter.

“Sir.” You whisper but it reaches his keen ears. Everything after that is a distorted blur and you find yourself bent over the counter, clad in nothing but the apron, with Price right behind you.

Price was a mystery to you. How could a man be turned on by something as simple as an apron? Though, he was a single dad so it made sense.

Price is muttering praises in your ears as your knees tremble, threatening to buckle. You never imagined you’d be in your employer’s kitchen, having your back blown out by the man himself.

His hands were hungrily climbing your body, gripping every bit of exposed skin he could find. If it wasn’t for him holding you upright, you would have toppled to the ground in a heartbeat.

You feel Price lift a hand to grip your hair, tugging at your locks. He’s in a desperate stupor but you’re not any better, pushing back your hips to meet his harsh thrusts.

“Gon’ a fill ya up. Give you a baby of yer own. Fuck… be so pretty just like you. My perfect little wife.” He grunts in your ear. You have no energy to correct him; that you’re not actually his wife but you’d have no complaints if he bought you a ring.

If anything, his words spur you on more.

Your chest is heaving by the time you near your release. You’re whining like a damn dog, high pitched noises slipping past your saliva-slicked lips. And you only grow in volume as Price speeds up, pressing his body against your back.

He’s older than you, that’s a fact you knew from the start, but he’s definitely more experienced as well. His well thought out words have the desired effect on you as the coil in your stomach snaps.

Your fluids drip down your exposed legs, hitting the tiles kitchen ground in thick droplets. You hear Price swear under his breath, quickly pulling out and staining your back white.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment as he rests his forehead on your shoulder. Then he leads you towards his bathroom, ushering you inside and handing you a spare set of clothes.

“Imma place your old ones in the washing, yeah?” He mutters, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek before leaving you to wash off.

You sit on the shower floor for a good five minutes, replaying the moment in your head. When you finally cleanse yourself of sweat, you slip Price’s shirt over your head, inhaling the intoxicating smell of his cologne. It was the one you liked too.

His clothes engulfed you as you stumbled back into the kitchen, hobbling a little.

“I guess I’ll… get going then.” You murmur, fidgeting with your hands.

Price reaches out a hand to brush a strand of hair away from your face. Then he nods. “See you tomorrow night, lovie.”

Right, you still had to finish those cookies and pick up your clothes.

[hxxsxxng]

Do You Believe in Fate? s.jy

「pairing」 : childhoodbestfriend!jake x afab!reader

「synopsis」 : read the preview here

「word count」 : 15.3k

「genre」 : A lot of angst, smut, somewhat fluff, college au

「warnings」 : MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!! cursing, lot of nicknames, mentions of alcohol, consumption of alcohol, hangover, poor mental state, kissing, cuddling, alcoholism, toxic friends (not jake), teasing, crying, begging, distress, groping (consentual), unprotected sex, pulling out, loss of virginity, lowkey size kink, oral (m and f recieving), titty sucking, sharing a bath tub, mentions of hospitalizations, implications of potential death, depression. this is a repost

「authors note」 : i want to thank everyone for motivating me to finish this story and writing this was truly an experience that will effect me as a writer moving forward. i am tagging all of my mutuals so hopefully i could get some feed back! i love every last one of you

「taglist」 : @jakeflvrz - @simhinata - @eternality - @goldenretrieverjakezgirlbaby - @jakesangel - @yjwsgf - @diorsyun-deactivated20241118 - @en-ner-jay - @yeonzzzn - @hoonieesm - @hoonheepretty - @jaysupremacy - @cherry-park - @heeslomll - @alvojake - @taeghi - @dollyyuen - @sumzysworld - @wonsbaer - @simpjay - @sjylouvre - @starboimoon - @blurryriki - @yzzyhee - @sincerelyrki - @hoonven - @heeseungsbm

It was the summer before me and Jake’s junior year of university. We have been working all summer and it’s another other day at the office. Putting in check information for the bank was a lot more boring than I expected . Wake up, go to work, come home, sleep, repeat. There was no time to do anything else. We were always told that if we went to college, we would have a good job. That proved to be wrong. 

Both Jake and I are going through college together, though he landed a way better paying job than I did. When it comes to bills, he ends up having to pay more than me, but he swears up and down that it is not a big deal.

I set down my mug. I hear my phone ring. It’s Jake. “Hello?” he should be at work. “Hey Pumpkin, I got out early today, were there any groceries that we needed?”

“Oh, no I can’t think of anything.”  “Okay, Stay safe, I will see you later.”

Jake never really got time off of work but when he did, I usually tried to stay out of his hair and let him relax. I just continued to run reports, pretty much twiddling my thumbs until the clock struck 5 and I would make my way out of this hell hole.

Traffic was terrible as usual. A usually 7 minute drive turned into an hour. Days like this I just want to get home and throw all my stuff on the ground and lock myself away in my room. Maybe watch some TV. Or listen to some music while my computer is hooked up to it. Anything that distracts from knowing I have to go back to the job I hate the next day. My thoughts are interrupted by a honk coming from behind me. The light turns green. Thank God. But as soon as I pull away from the curb, a car pulls out in front of me. Damn those stupid drivers. I don’t even know how many times this month I’ve had to pull over so they could let someone pass. It isn’t worth getting into a fight with them about. I try to ignore them.

I made it back to our house just in time for the sun to still be out. I made way into the house and Jake was in the kitchen. It was an unusual sight. His after work routine typically consists of cracking open a cold one and playing his computer. “Hey princess” he greeted me.

I stand at the front door, taking off my shoes and hanging my keys on the rack. “What has you in a good mood all of a sudden” I ask suspiciously.

“Well since I got off work early, I figured i’d come home and suprise you with dinner since you just been eating so much take out recently” he replied nonchalantly. The thought makes me sick. “You didn’t need to do that Jake.” “Oh yes, I did. You haven’t been cooking for yourself for a couple months now. I wanted to show you how much your best friend cares about you” he says.

Reguardless of what I say, the food is made and there is no taking it back. I guess I can’t really argue with him over it.

“And besides, I know you have missed your mom cooking pasta for us when we would go to her house in Australia, I figured I should make some do you instead” he adds.

I slowly approach the table. He is still finishing up plating everything. He looks up at me and smiles. “It smells good” I say flatly. He takes off the oven mitts and wipes his hands on it. He sets my plate down in front of me and he pulls out the chair to my right and takes a seat.

“So how was your day Jake?” I asked awkwardly. He starts digging in and responds, “Not too bad. What about yours?”

“Same shit different day. Boss is always yelling at me and the company keeps treating me like garbage even though I am the only one who actually gives a fuck.” I complained, eating a piece of garlic toast. It tasted good, surprisingly good, considering the amount of spices he used.

“Well I am glad it’s Friday so you can take some time to unwind over the weekend” he attempts to comfort me but at this point i’m too tired.

“I guess.” I poke at my food a little bit. Why does Jake’s job seem so perfect? he easily makes twice as what I make and I rarely hear him complain about working either.

“You don’t have to eat if you don’t want to, I am not going to force you.” I guess Jake noticed me being hesitant about eating the rest of my meal.

“It’s not that I don’t want to eat it’s just that I’m really stressed and I don’t want to keep you here listening to me complain about the same things over and over again”

“Look at me” he said. I slowly lift my head for my eyes to meet with his. “I promise I will never get tired of listening to you” he reassured.

There he goes again, sending those butterflies flapping in my stomach. I don’t understand why he is so gentle and compassionate. It gives me goosebumps. I decide I might as well stop procrastinating and start enjoying the evening. “Thank you” I say, giving him a small smile. His face immediately lit up. It’s kind of cute. The rest of dinner went rather smoothly. Jake kept the conversation going, mostly talking about my day and what his was about, and then we would drift off into silence. He looked so relaxed and calm that I felt completely at ease. Even if I knew I should feel bad for keeping him up with my whining, I couldn’t bring myself to.

I stand up from the table and wash my plate. “I don’t know if anyone told you today, but you look gorgeous as always” he sneaks up behind me. “You don’t look too bad your self Jakey” I returned. My face was already a dark hue of red.

I decided maybe tonight I won’t rot away in my room. It’s a Friday night, I’ll have a little bit of fun. Still inside the house though. It is probably too cold outside anyway. I realize I am still in my work clothes. I return to my room to take them off and throw on my most comfortable pair of shorts and a talk top and take my Nintendo Switch to the living room.

Jake was already waiting there for me. He had a bottle of wine and 2 empty glasses. He looked up when I entered and smiled. I gave a shy smile and sat down next to him. He pulled me closer to him, pressing himself against me. Our legs intertwined under the couch. For a moment I forgot about the work situation and the world. In that moment it just felt nice to sit close to someone who cared for me unconditionally.

“What were you wanting to play?” he breaks the silence. “I was thinking we could play some Mario Kart” I suggested.

“Yeah we can, but you already know I’m gonna kick your ass”. He loves teasing me. I punched his shoulder and chuckled.

~~~~~~~~~~

He is in my bed. I just woke up and he is in my bed. I don’t know how to react. Maybe I drank a little too much? I really don’t remember anything after playing a few rounds of Mario Kart. He looks so peaceful. His dark brown hair all tangled up on the pillow. The way his biceps look in his black tank top. He doesn’t snore, but the way he breathes when he sleeps is very cute. There is a slight hint of stubble on his chin, almost like he hasn’t shaved in awhile. His lips are slightly parted. His face shows such contentment and relaxation. He looks so damn beautiful. I have to admit he is pretty attractive and I think he knows it. And I can’t help but wonder about what would happen if I leaned forward and kissed him. His soft lips pressed up against mine. I think it would be okay. Probably wouldn’t hurt. Scratch that, it would probably hurt a lot.

I woke up surprisingly early for a Saturday morning. Usually I am in bed until noon, but it’s only 9:30. Opposite of me, Jake likes to start his weekends bright and early, so it is a bit strange that he isn’t awake by now. I won’t bother him. It’s probably better this way. I roll over onto my side facing away from him. I close my eyes trying to fall back asleep. But it seems to be impossible. My mind is too preoccupied and Jake’s body is far too close to mine for my liking. I groan quietly. It doesn’t help at all.

I crawl out of bed, doing my best not to wake Jake up. As soon as I step out of the room, I feel my phone buzz in my pocket. It’s my mom. I guess I hadn’t returned and of her texts last night. She asks if I have slept okay and if I’ve eaten breakfast. When she sees I haven’t. She sends me a picture of the last time I was at her house eating spaghetti. “Just eat something sweetheart and take care of yourself” she reminds me gently. I sigh deeply before replying. “Mhmm thanks mom” I set my phone down on the kitchen counter and rummage through the fridge, hoping to find something appetizing for breakfast. As I search, I can't stop thinking about waking up next to Jake this morning. We've been best friends for so long, but recently I've started seeing him in a new light. The way his eyes crinkle when he smiles, how considerate he is, it stirs up the feelings I've been trying to suppress. I shake my head slightly and settle on making some eggs and toast.

As I cook, memories of last night come flooding back. The wine, the laughter, the gentle way he pulled me close on the couch as we played games. My heart flutters just thinking about how natural and right it felt being cuddled up next to him. But I can't read too much into it. Jake is my oldest friend, he probably sees the intimacy as purely platonic. The sizzle of the eggs brings me back to reality. I quickly plate the food and grab a mug of coffee before heading to the living room. I'll just relax and enjoy this lazy Saturday morning.

I'm about halfway through my breakfast when I hear Jake's footsteps shuffling down the hallway. He emerges, hair sticking up adorably, letting out a big yawn. "Mornin' sunshine," he says with a sleepy grin. I feel my cheeks warm at the nickname. "Morning. I made some extra if you want it," I reply, nodding toward the kitchen. "You're the best." Jake passes over to dish up a plate, giving me a perfect view of his lean back muscles stretching against his thin t-shirt. I quickly avert my eyes as he returns to the couch. As he sits next to me, our arms brush and I feel that spark of electricity again.

Jake doesn't seem to notice, just digs into his eggs happily. We eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes before he speaks up again.

"That was a fun night last night, wasn't it?" His eyes meet mine with a warm smile. "We'll have to do it again soon." I return the smile, hoping he can't see the longing behind it. "Yeah, it was really nice." Nice to just relax and be ourselves without any expectations or pressures. Nice to feel...that close to him.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

~~~~~~~~~~

Jake has a friend named Jay. When Jake isn’t at work or at the house, he is most likely hanging out with Jay. Jay is a go with the flow kind of guy and was kind of a womanizer. There’s nothing wrong with it, but I try not to hang out with Jake when Jay is there for that reason.

Jake and Jay always go out for drinks on Saturday nights. I can’t remember the last time he was home on a Saturday night and I didn’t have to take care of him the next morning. He routinely stays at Jay’s house that night then gets an Uber back here the next morning.

Jake and Jay's Saturday night routine carried on like clockwork most weekends. Around 9 PM, Jay would pick Jake up and they'd head to their usual bar downtown. The two friends would drink heavily, telling outrageous stories and shamelessly checking out any attractive women who passed by.

For Jake, it was just a guys' night out away from work stress. But for Jay, it was a chance to flirt and see if he could add another notch to his bedpost. Jake didn't partake in that behavior himself, but he also didn't reproach Jay for it. He figured it was just Jay's way.

Come last call, the two would be pretty sloshed. Instead of dealing with an Uber that late, Jake would just crash at Jay's place. He'd wake up hungover the next morning and request a ride from a car service back home.

When he arrived home disheveled, I'd already have water and painkillers ready for him. I hated having to nurse him after these nights, but it was better than having Jay's leering presence around me. His constant objectification of women made me deeply uncomfortable. So I put up with Jake's hangovers to avoid that part of their friendship dynamic.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Jake opens the front door. I can hear him complaining about his headache already. He sets his keys down and immediately lays down in the couch.

"Hey babygirl, where is the aspirin? Do we have any aspirin left?" he asks groggily. A small chuckle escapes my lips before I turn around to look at him, smiling slightly. “I already got it out for you, and here is a glass of water”. His eyes are closed as I place the pills in his hand and he smiles once they make contact. “Thank you so much for taking care of me princess.” he praises as he shot the tablets into his mouth.

I giggle. This man is ridiculous. A loud yawn escapes his lips and I smile. As much as I hate seeing him like this, I am content with letting him have his fun every once in a while. His shirt is buttoned incorrectly, showing off his muscular chest. I look back at his face. His eyes were opened and he noticed me staring.

“What’s wrong Princess?” he slurs. “Do I look stupid or something?” “No Jake, you look great” I reply truthfully. “You just looked a little tired is all.”

Jake rolls over on the couch and turns onto his side. “I know you’re going to tell me I should rest more, but it’s so hard to sleep when you’re not in the same room.”

“Really? You usually fall asleep within seconds. Why is that?” He shrugs. “Don’t know babe. Just don’t like being alone.” I frown. That’s true enough. Jake never really liked being by himself. Ever since we were in diapers, he had always been surrounded by people. His parents, coworkers…me.

I decide to ask something rather personal instead. Maybe that will distract us for a while. “How’s your mom doing lately? Do you miss her?” Jake doesn’t respond right away. He starts fidgeting under my gaze. His hands begin picking at a loose thread on the couch cushion.

“Yeah, yeah. I miss her. I wish she wouldn’t be working so much now. She used to work less back when we were high school, you know? I still get worried sometimes” he answers with a slight edge in his voice. “It’s okay Jake. You know she likes working for your dad. It helps pay for everything” I remind him softly. He nods slowly. After a few moments, he finally breaks the silence.

“Why do you ask?” I guess he was caught off guard by the question. “I know it’s been a while since you’ve seen them, Australia isn’t in walking distance, ya know.” I try to cheer him up.

He sighs and looks down at the couch. “I guess I just wish I was able to spend more time with her like I did when I was younger. It doesn’t matter though.” He shakes his head dismissively. “She’ll come visit whenever she can. I’m just glad we both decided to live somewhere else for college. I would definitely have missed our family trips.”

“Oh…” I bite my lip unsure what to say to comfort him. He’s always taken his mother very seriously. Even when he was young he often complained that she worked too hard and stressed herself out, which only made him madder. In all fairness, she did work extremely hard—even harder than he ever could. And now that she has found some semblance of stability, he worries that he won’t be able to provide for her the lifestyle he wanted for her.

I reach out and pat Jake's arm reassuringly. "I know how much you miss your mom. But she's doing what she needs to in order to help take care of the bills and your dad. You know she'd be here if she could."

Jake nods slowly. "Yeah, you're right. I just wish there was more I could do from here, instead of feeling so helpless being so far away. I know my dad would want me there as well" He runs a hand through his tousled hair. "At least I have you around. Don't know what I'd do. You kinda of bring a feeling of home to me. I hope that made sense.”

I feel my cheeks flush a little at his words. "Well, you know I'll always be here for you," I reply, trying to keep my tone light.

“Thank you sweet heart.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Our parents went to University together. That’s how they met. My mom met Jake’s mom in a sociology class, and they have been best friends ever since. Being college bestfriend basically guarantees that your kid will have someone to grow up with, and they took advantage of that. He has litterally been there for every life event my mom felt was important enough to let him in on.

Though we didn’t become friends by choice, we were latched onto eachother ever since we were introduced. I remember I would ball my eyes out when even Jake got sick because it meant I couldn’t hang out with him after school or have play dates on the weekends. As we grew up, the situations weren’t as innocent. I would confide in him when I was upset, and he would hold me in his arms after my nightmares. I even found comfort in him after my numerous hearts breaks in highschool. Though none of my relationships were ever that serious, I was still unmistakably heartbroken.

Jake was never really a ladies man in highschool, or in general. He studied more on acedemics, which I guess was a good idea considering where he is now. Although I’d never said anything about it, his dating career was pretty dead for several years. In my opinion, it seemed unfair to Jake to not go on dates after highschool. While I understood why he wasn’t interested, it seemed a waste not to try. After all, I’m sure he could get any chick he wanted if he tried, I mean look at him. He had grown from a cute kid playing video games to one who had a perfect body and gorgeous features to match. So yeah, I loved that he was a boy and my friend. But there was no way I could give myself completely to such a man, especially with our history.

Jake is a lot different when I’m around, a lot more caring and loving. I’m reminded of all those times when I would find Jake crying when we came back from vacation during our sophomore year, or how he would suddenly appear at my room door at 5am looking for reassurance or help. At the time, I thought it was because he needed someone to talk to about the things troubling his mind, but now that I think about it , it’s kind of obvious he’s lonely. His dad has been in and out of the hospital recently. I don’t really want to push Jake into going into detail about his condition because it might make him emotional, but I just know that it is another thing that is weighing on him.

When I first started seeing him more and more recently, I thought maybe he wanted us to become closer friends. I mean, he was always talking about how much he adores spending time with me, and how grateful he is to me for saving him and bringing him back to life. I think the situation with his parents are weighing down on him more than I realize.

~~~~~~~~~~

The rhythmic tapping of rain against the window pane fills the hushed stillness of my bedroom. I lie awake, Jake's sleeping form curled up beside me, his head pillowed on my chest. His eyebrows are furrowed even in slumber, mouth turned down in a soft frown - the worry lines etched across his features never seem to fully fade these days. Gently, I brush some stray locks of hair off his forehead, my thumb tracing over the crease between his brows. Jake's been carrying the entire weight of his family's struggle on those broad shoulders.

A quiet sigh escapes his lips and he burrows deeper into my side, one arm slinging possessively over my waist. We've been a tangle of limbs like this more nights than not recently. After the latest bout of bad news about his dad, Jake sought me out like a man wandering through the desert in desperate need of water. I remember the rawness in his voice as he begged to stay in his room, to be held and comforted, the same way I always have. Whatever Jake needs from me, he'll never be turned away.

Trailing my fingers through Jake's hair, I allow myself to drink in every detail of him in this rare moment of peace. The slight upturn of his perfectly sloped nose. The way his plump lips are parted just enough to allow shallow puffs of breath to ghost across my skin. He really is beautiful in the most masculine, rugged way. Not that I'd ever say that out loud - it would be mortifying if Jake caught me ogling him like some lovesick fool. Then again, I've been a lovesick fool for the better part of a decade when it comes to him.

Lost in the flow of my thoughts, I don't even register the soft snuffling noises at first. It's only when Jake's eyelashes start fluttering that I glance down to find him blinking up at me groggily. Without a word, he shifts until his head is cradled in the crook of my neck, placing a slow, scorching kiss to the exposed skin of the side of my neck.

The world seems to screech to a halt. That...was definitely intentional. Purposefully intimate. There's no way it was an accident or a brief moment of sleep-hazy confusion. Not with the way Jake's pupils are blown wide, his lips parting to reveal the tip of his tongue darting out to wet them instinctively.

Just as quickly as the spark ignited, Jake seems to deflate, burying his face into the juncture of my neck and shoulder with a muffled whimper. His hands are fisting in the fabric of my sleep shirt, clutching me with a white-knuckled grip like I'm his lifeline back to the surface. Like if he doesn't hold on, he might drown. "Hey hey hey…" I gently stroke the length of his spine calming him. "You're okay now, everything is alright, relax..." Jake's breathing gradually slows. Gradually, he begins to relax, his fingers slackening their death grip in my shirt.

A few moments pass in silence before he lifts his head and looks directly at me. His eyes are slightly bloodshot, probably from all the crying. They’re red and glassy, a stark contrast to his usually flawless complexion. "Sorry," he murmurs. I shrug slightly. "Don't apologize." After a few sniffles, I feel his breathing become more consistent and his face is dry. He starts to do that cute breathing that I talked about. After I realized that he has met some sort of peace and fell asleep, I fell asleep soon after.

~~~~~~~~~~

The morning light filters in through the cracks of my blinds, shining over Jake's sleeping body in a soft glow. My eyes trace the line of his jawbone, the gentle rise and fall of his bare chest as he breathes. He looks so tranquil like this.

Jake smells so fucking good. If I could lay on his chest and take it his scent all day, I really would. Not to mention his face is extremely handsome. He has the face that other guys wish they had. It’s very obvious he takes care of himself.

I can't stop replaying that moment from last night over and over in my mind. The heat of Jake's lips pressing against the skin of my neck. Part of me was desperate to surge forward then and seal my mouth over Jake's, to finally give in to the magnetic pull that's been drawing me to him.

But I didn't. I couldn't. Because I'm also terrified of what exploring these feelings could mean for our relationship.

Losing him isn't an option I can fathom. And he seemed to make the same choice in that moment by turning away, burying his face against my neck with a whimper that could have been either anguished or relieved.

We're cowards, the two of us. Content to dance around the fire instead of being set ablaze

Part of me wonders if Jake was hoping for something in return. Maybe a kiss? Maybe he did it to show it trust and comfort for me. He knows what he is doing. The moment his lips touched my neck, my whole body shivered. I wanted more but I contained myself.

My body still hums with the memory of his kiss, nerves tingling with equal parts of dread. I want to reach out and trail my fingertips over the golden skin of his forearm, to breathe him in and see if he tastes how I've imagined on my tongue.

How many more moments like last night can I survive before the truth comes out? I don't have the answers. All I know is that I'm still undeniably his - body, mind and heart.

It has been too many nights where I imagine his lips against mine. The way he chills my spine when whispers in my ear makes me crave hearing his voice. I wonder what he would be like in a relationship with me, he treats me like a princess already, I don’t know how much better it could get.

My mind drifts to memories of him holding me tight when I was upset, his muscular arms engulfing me in a warm embrace. The feeling of safety and contentment that would wash over me in those moments. If I could experience that every night by his side, it might just be pure bliss.

I fantasize about waking up intertwined with Jake, our legs tangled together as we trade kisses and touches unhurried by the outside world. Combing my fingers through his bed hair while he peppers light kisses along my jawline.

Maybe there could be slowmake-out sessions on the couch, all heated caresses and desperate roaming hands before things inevitably progress further. I would lavish every sculpted line of Jake's body with devoted attention. I imagine he would be an attentive, generous lover, just as giving in the bedroom as he is in every other aspect of his life.

I also can’t get over the mental hurdle that maybe it is kind of gross that I see my bestfriend this way. I could easily mistake all of the kind things he does and how he treats me as something more than what he intends it to be, and that would make me uneasy. I have never done anything sexual with him and anything that would imply sexual attraction, yet I am still here wondering what it is like to have sex with him.

~~~~~~~~~~

I really need to get my feelings sorted out soon because they are just going to keep building up until they eventually burst, and I really don’t want Jake to witness that.The week went the same again. and again. and again. Wake up, go to work, do nothing after. But recently, Jake got a promotion at his job, which was grounds for celebration.

The local diner is busy with the lunch crowd, the air thick with aromas of burgers sizzling on the griddle and fresh baked pie. Jake and I slip into our usual corner booth, the cracked vinyl cushions molding to our forms like old friends. This place has been our go to spot since we started university here. We've shared so many moments in this very booth over the years. Happy celebrations or acing a big exam.

Which is why the thick tension clouding the air between us right now feels so alien. Instead of our usual easy camaraderie, I can barely look at Jake without my pulse kicking up. The memory of his firm chest brushing mine, those plush lips just a table length away, has my skin flushing hot. I squeeze my thighs together secretly, desperate for any kind of friction to alleviate the slow burn of arousal low in my belly.

Just being this close to Jake is enough to have that want unfolding all over again. Filling my head with flashes of how it could feel to finally give in - his weight blanketing me, our bodies moving together in a sinuous rhythm as his mouth trails searing kisses along my neck. "Hey." Jake's low rumble jolts me out of the vivid fantasy.

"You're zoning out, sweetheart. Everything okay?" My cheeks flame darker, that suddenly seems too intimate. I duck my head, but not before catching the unmistakable smirk curling at the corners of Jake's lips. That insufferable, cocky smirk he knows drives me crazy. I want to kiss it off his stupidly perfect face. Or maybe bite at the sharp line of his jaw, put that arrogant look to better use while I'm straddling his lap and--

"Fine," I mumble, hooking a loose strand of hair behind my ear to avoid meeting Jake's eyes. The small movement causes our elbows to brush together on the tabletop. His skin is so soft. Jake's brow furrows, like he doesn't miss the way I've gone tense and flustered all over again. Before I can blink, his hand is covering mine. Those long fingers tenderly stroking along my knuckles, smoothing over my suddenly clammy skin.

Slowly, purposefully, Jake tugs my hand closer until my palm is cupping his scruffy jaw. I suck in a sharp, shaky breath at the contact, at being able to feel the rasp of his five o'clock shadow against my sensitive skin. Jake holds me there for a moment, those meltingly warm eyes boring into mine like he's trying to read my mind.

Then, in the most tempting act of torture imaginable, Jake presses his lips to my wrist in the barest brush of mouth against pulse point. I swear I could die right then and there. He slowly pulls away, looking up to meet my eyes once again. Our gaze meets, intense and lustful, filled with a hunger that only he knows how to create. This feels so wrong, so dangerous. The fact he's staring down at my lips, licking his subconsciously causes a slight hitch in my breathing. A tiny part of me wants to lean forward and press my lips to his. But I stop the impulse with the thought of what we did last night, and the consequences of getting caught again.

Instead, I let out a sigh and break eye contact before pulling my hand away and placing my elbow on the table. I rub my thumb across my wrist absentmindedly while avoiding Jake's gaze, the words I want to say stuck somewhere inside my throat like rocks. There isn't anything I can do. What I have with Jake is different now. I'm scared shitless to tell him how I truly feel.

"What's wrong? Are you alright?" Jake asks, worry laced into his tone. He places a hand on my thigh, making me jump slightly. “It’s nothing, really” I lied. The server comes over to the table to take our order. “What could I get started for you to drink” he says.

-

Our meal goes by normally, Jake pretending that he had done nothing earlier. Afterward, we head home, the silence thickening the further into town we get. There’s nothing for me to say, no reason to prolong this conversation I’m dreading anymore. He must sense my sudden change of mood. He drops his arm from around my shoulders and lets his hand fall limply back onto his knee.

We walk silently in the direction of our house. Neither of us speaking. It’s almost as if we’re both waiting for the other to make the first move. I have an overwhelming urge to turn to him and kiss him.

~~~~~~~~~~

I can’t stop thinking about Jake. He is the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing I think about when I go to bed. Over the past few weeks, I feel like he has become a lot more touchy, which don’t really mind. He smiles for a little longer when we eat together. We have slept in each others room a lot more often than before. I may just be over analyzing it.

Jake is going out with Jay again. As usual, I don’t plan on him coming home tonight, and I will wake up to a hungover Jake. Jay isn’t really the friend to take care of you when you feel ill, so that responsibility is left on me.

I hate to admit, but when Jake isn’t home for a night, I fight the urge to sleep in his bed. I have been sleeping in his bed with him so often that it leaves me in withdrawal when we aren’t in the same bed.

Just being in his room, his scent diffused in the air, it makes me miss him so much more. Even without thinking about the fact that it is his room, the bed is so much more comfortable than mine, which is all the better reason to sleep there.

I walk in, already in my shorts and t-shirt, and wonder around. He has the picture of us that his mom took when we were first leaving for Korea framed on his nightstand.

I pick it up and examine it closely. It is the one photo where we didn’t appear stiff. I remember the day clearly; I was standing with him, grinning broadly. I never expected to smile so much when I was young, but my memories of our trip leave a bright happy feeling inside my stomach.

I set the photo back down and I lift the blanket from the corner of the bed. I slide into the bed, laying on his side like I usually do when he isn’t here. I instantly melt into the sheets. I scroll on my phone whilst fighting my eyelids to stay awake, but eventually I fall asleep prematurely.

Jake usually keeps his room pretty cool, which calls for cuddling closely under the blankets. In the middle of my sleep, I am shot awake when my cold limbs are instantly warmed by an unexpected sensation. Why was Jake home?

Jake continues to get comfortable under the blanket, not even batting an eye at the fact that I was just sleeping in his bed. I pull him closer by his waist to fulfill the rest of the warmth that my body craves.

“Why are you shivering sweetheart, you could have turned on the heater.” he worries.

“I wanted the temperature to be tolerable when you got back in the morning” such a stupid explanation. “Speaking of, why are you here right now? what happened to Jay’s?” I questioned, completely forgetting how we got into this situation in the first place.

“Jay was feeling ill so we called it a night pretty early, I only got three shots down.”

Jake runs a lazy finger over my hip bone and leans in to nuzzle the crook of my neck. Shit. He’ll notice the way I react to his touches and I won’t be able to explain myself. Fuck.

“I thought I would come to my room and catch up on sleep but look what we have here instead” he says with that stupid smirk on his face.

“Oh- oh I’m sorry.” I slowly pull away from him to make way back to my room. “No babe, please don’t go, I want you to stay” he begs while keeping our fingers latched to keep our extended arms together. He then latched his hand around my wrist to slowly pull me back down to his level on the bed. It’s all happening too fast. He uses the same hand to comb his fingers through the strands at the bottom of my hair on the back of my head, and keeps his hand there entangled. He uses his hand to guide my head into a sensual kiss. He gently pressed his lips against mine. So plump, so dreamy. I reciprocated the kiss instantly, matching his pace and moving our lips in sync so perfectly. The way our lips intertwined so naturally gave me actual chills.

After giving me what I have dreamt about for years, he pulls away, leaving a string of saliva to connect our lips. He looks into my eyes, his pupils as voids. “Please stay” he whispers again. I nod dumbly, my brain still short circuiting as Jake bites is bottom lip. He’s so fucking beautiful, my eyes are practically burning holes into his lips.

His fingers gently run over my cheekbone, lingering on my jawline, tracing along my nose. “How did I ever deserve someone as beautiful as you?” he murmurs. His voice is full of admiration and love and affection. He trails his fingers along my jaw, pausing to lightly graze my collar bone, making goosebumps erupt across my skin. The heat radiating off Jake’s body is practically burning me alive.

Without thinking about it for a second longer, I close the gap between our lips again. We moved in sync, in harmony. It feels like my lips were only made to kiss his. He rests his free hand on the side of my face and uses it as grip to deepen the kiss. Kissing him I had a sense of saftey. The longer our lips were together, the more open I was to his attempts at adding tongue into the mixture. It was a sloppy wet mess, but is all I have ever wanted.

I slide my hand between out warm bodies and feel across his obvious bulge in his boxers. He instantly let out a groan when I took his imprint into my palm. I stroked it gently as we continued with intertwined tongues. His grunts and breathlessness was insanely arousing.

It was clear that we were both extremely sleepy. After a few more minutes of kissing, we eventually pulled away, with no words spoken.

I try my best to hold in my moans as the warmness travels up my body like lava. He stops tracing my collarbone to trail his hands up the side of my body, stopping to stroke a line of soft kisses along the side of my neck.

My hands grasp tightly at the material covering Jake’s shoulder blades and I use that leverage to get back under the blankets with him. We both face eachother, with our legs crossing randomly over one another. He once again rests his head in the crook of my neck, leaving a kiss like he did once before. Only this time, I know his true intention.

~~~~~~~~~

The fall semester is starting back up again. Junior year, both is our schedules are jammed packed with upper division classes. Having to balance so many classes and still having to work to keep up with the bills for the house, Jake and I hardly see each other. Even though I love spending every single day with him, I feel like I’m living with a ghost whenever I see his empty seat. When I wake up every morning to find him gone, my heart starts to ache. It hurts knowing that we might not spend as much time together. I know that the sooner that this semester ends, the easier everything will be.

The end of the semester wasn’t going to be soon though, it’s barely September. I’ve decided to try and set a study date with Jake and make sure nothing was overlapping the times. We eventually agreed apon Thursday night after he got off of his afternoon job. Maybe around 8 o’clock. I was getting a head start on my Statistics work before he showed up because I knew it would take me a while. He eventually showed up close to 8:30.

I had my headphone covering my ears, shoulders slumped over my desk, and he comes up behind me and take my shoulders in his hands and sensually massages. “Ah thank youuuu~~~ my muscles are tight” I jumped at the unexpected pressure. He drives his thumbs a little bit deeper into my blades and slides his straight arms down my stomach for a hug. “I missed you” he griped with puppy dog eyes, resting his head on my shoulder. I take off my headphone and hold both of his forearms and pull him deeper into this awkwardly positioned hug.

After a few seconds he pulls away and grabs out his bag with his laptop, and runs to his room to grab his chair to pull up next to mine. I was still seated, watching, unable to take my eyes off him. He settles himself and puts the laptop on his knees in front of him. He opens his notebook, and turns the page to the worksheet for this month. My fingers naturally find their way to his back and scratch gently while he looks over his work. They made their way up his clothed back and into his hair and I ran them through this tangled hair. He let out a sigh of fufillment and he allows himself self to close his eyes to fully take in the relaxing feeling. He breaths in deeply and slowly, taking in my coconut scent.

“Fuck it” he says under his breath.

He turns in my directed and crashed his lips into mine with no hesitation. He wraps his arms around my neck, deepening the kiss. I was startled at the quick change in plans but my lips soon melted into his and I was under his control. My tongue dances along his bottom lip, asking for entrance as he obliges and gives access. He lifts me from my chair and pulls me over to straddle his thighs.

He guides his lips to mine again, running his hands down my back as he pushes me lower into his lap. I wrap my legs slightly around his waist for some sense of support. The sensual make out and lap straddling goes on and on, until he breaks away slightly to speak, “You can move if you want sweetheart”.

He reconnects our lips and I find myself needing any sort of friction to ease the pressure building between my legs. Subconsciously grinding my core over his thigh slowly. I bite down on his lower lip causing him to suck on my tongue immediately as a response. God, he tastes so good, like the cocoa butter lip balm I got him for his birthday.

I continue grinding over his thighs picking up the aggressiveness, as he continues to run his hands through my hair. “Feeling desperate, darling?” he teases, smirking as he tries to pull me back into a kiss. “Shut up” I harden my fist and hit the front of his shoulder. He always finds a way to tease me. He chuckles as we connect our lips once again.

He slides both of his hands under my thighs stands up from his chair, and I wrap my legs around his body as he carries me to the bed. He slowly lays me down on my back with my legs still wrapped around his waist. He doesn’t break the kiss but as soon as he sets me down, I can feel his erection bulging through his pants rubbing against me sweet spot. We stop kissing momentarily as he looks at me, with lust filled eyes. He lets one of his hands rest on my chest, while the other traces along the side of my neck to my chin, tilting my head upward and pressing his forehead against mine. “Look at how gorgeous you are right now,” he says with pure adoration. “I can’t help myself when I’m with you.” A sudden surge of desire hits me and my hands grip his hips tighter as he starts to trail kisses on my jawline. I can feel an undeniable wetness spreading in my panties. I am becoming desperate.

I placed my hands at the bottom of his shirt and began lifting it up, but he finished the job and lifted it over his head and threw it to the side. I have seen Jake shirtless a million times over but this time is different. It feels more intimate than the last ones I have seen. I felt my throat tighten as my eyes were drawn to his chest which looked absolutely flawless. “So beautiful” I whisper and I trace my fingers over his abs and chest. His body looks perfectly carved and sculpted by a god. “It’s all for you, baby” he cooed.

I reach my arms around his back and gently dig my nails into his skin as he continues to kiss me. He grabs the bottom of my shirt and pulls it over my head, revealing my breasts. I wasn’t wearing a bra since I had been home all afternoon, and I definitely wasn’t expecting this. As soon as he sees them, he takes one of them in his hand. He holds my right breast in his palm and gently rubs it between his thumb and index finger.

His gaze remains focused on my chest as his mouth begins to travel down, taking his time to enjoy each and every piece of my body. He stops to give me another kiss before placing his lips on my nipple. He sucks on my nipple whilst his teeth nipped at my flesh, causing me to moan lowly. I grabbed his hair pulling him closer to me. I grind my pelvis onto his dick, eliciting a groan and he removes his mouth, making a ‘pop’ sound, to look at his next target intensely. He took my other breast into his mouth, swirling his tongue around my nipple and softly sucking, making me arch my back and having a moan escape my lips. Jake trails his hands down my waist while keeping his mouth latched to me.

His fingers went into the top of my sweatpants and I stopped him. “I have never done this before” I admitted. “Do you want me to stop?” he questions. How could I ever want him to stop? He is the only person I have ever imagined losing my virginity to. That aside I simply answer “No, Jakey, I trust you”

He continues to pull me pants down and off my legs and throws it to the side like he did with the other articles of clothing. He licks up my neck and comes to my ear. “I have never done this either, we can learn together” he whispered. Hearing this made my noticibly more wet, the way he whispers into my ear raises every single hair on my body. The thought of us having our first times with each other made this whole so much more meaningful and made me a lot less hesitant.

The only thing I have left on are my black panties and Jake looks like he is a man with a mission. I grab his bulge through his jeans and gently massage. He becomes a groaning mess as I palm his desperate tip. He is barely even able to keep his lips a decent distance apart for me to kiss him. “Fuuuck your hand feels so good” I take my other hand to start unbuckling his jeans, which he seems to have no problem with.

I pulled the belt off and unbuttoned his jeans and pulls them down, to where he took them all the way off. All he has left is his boxers. I can clearly see the imprint of he large cock through the thin fabric. I furrowed my eyebrows. “Does it look too big?, we can stop now if we need to” he questioned, seeing the fear on my face. I gulped and said “No, I can take it.”

I continued stroking through his boxers and he moved my panties to the side and rubbed gently on my folds. I gasped at the feeling. The better it started to feel, the less and less I was able to focus on Jake and more on myself. He had me wrapped around his finger. No amount of masturbating could compare to the way he is making me feel within these few minutes.

He slid his fingers down my clit and inserted one. He pumped it in and out until I felt that I was ready for more. Then 2. It hurt a little more but I slowly got used to it. He leaned his head down while his fingers still stuffed me and started leaving kisses on my clit. For having so little experience, he worked his finger and tongue like a professional. The way his tongue danced across my sensitive bud made my body shutter, and I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.

“I love the sounds of your whimpers” he moaned against my clit teasing me. I couldn’t even respond. My breathing quickened, and the more his fingers fucked me, the more I could tell how wet I was getting. I whimpered again and I gripped his hair signaling how good he was making me feel. “It tastes just as sweet as I imagined” he praised. He has imagined this before? What else has he imagined?

His fingers slowed down and he slipped two inside of me simultaneously. My hips bucked up and I let out a small gasp, my nails digging into his shoulders. He continued working his fingers inside of me. He was eating like a man who hadn’t seen a meal in a week.

“I want to taste you now.” I protest, pulling his face up for a kiss. His eyes look like he is drunk as his tongue swirled with mine and he gave me a slow deep kiss. He sucked on my bottom lip, then bit me, and finally opened his mouth and licked my tongue with his. He pulls away and allows me to pull his boxers past his hips and onto the ground. His dick sprung out. God, it was a lot thicker than I imagined.

I take the base of it and put my lips against the tip, swirling my tongue around. His muscular hand combs through the top of my hair and gently grips it as I begin to take more of his length in my mouth. I could feel it sliding smoothly in and out of my throat. His grip on my hair tightens and he guides me to take more in moderation. “God yes baby, that’s it” he encouraged. I looked up at him, the room filled with breathy moans and he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. I felt the waves of his voice vibrating through my lips as he spoke, causing goosebumps to erupt across my entire body. I could feel my juices flowing through my pussy and down my belly.

I continue sucking him until he is almost completely buried inside my mouth. He leans down placing his lips beside my ear. “I don’t think I can hold out much longer” he whispers, making me smile.

He slowly pulls himself out of my mouth and lifts me back onto the bed. I use my arms to cover my chest, I am a little nervous. He leans down and kisses me on the forehead. “Don’t hide yourself, you look perfect darling” he said proceeding to take my tongue in his mouth. God this man loves using his tongue. I have never felt this type of intimacy before, and to think I am covering that ground with my bestfriend, was not how I thought it was going to go to say the least.

He brushes his tip in between my folds, spreading my wetness around. “Are you sure you want to keep going? We can stop here, just say the words and I will stop” “Please keep going” I am practically begging. He seems to enjoy my obvious desperation. He guide the tip in slowly, trying not to overwhelm me. He goes in a little deeper. I wince in pain. “Ah baby go a little slower” I pleaded. I didn’t want him to stop but it was definitely starting to hurt. He held the same spot for a few more seconds, then slowly pushed more in. I have gotten used to the stinging, as it slowly turns to pleasure.

“Shit princess, you’re so fucking tight” Jake praises. He was getting lost in his own world since he has never felt a warm pussy wrapped aroung his dick before, especially not one like mine. I felt his tip hit the enterance of my cervix. He bottomed out. He didn’t move. He didn’t even want to move, he was just enjoying the moment of his cock being buried deep inside his bestfriend. “You ok babe?” he asked, concerned by the lack of movement from me. “Yeah, just give me a second” I replied, attempting to get myself under control.

I began to relax, letting the warmth envelop my entire body. I signal that his is able to move. He slowly pulls his cock out of my cunt, and immediately pushes it back in. He rests both of his arms next to my face and comes down to kiss me. I can see the faint beads of sweat forming on his forehead. “You do not know how long I have been wanting to do this” He whispered into my ear. Once again, Jakes words send a tingle down my spine. He instantly latched himself onto my neck, sucking harshly while still keeping a slow pace down below. I grip his brown head of hair as he leaves purple marks on my skin, bruising my neck. He pulls out and goes back in, this time at a consistent rate.

Our torsos are in complete contact and he sets both of his hands under my back. I wrap my legs around his waist to allow him deeper access, which he so desperately needed. His lips were locked with mine. Our tongues were dancing along with each other as well as our chests. Every time he would suck on my lower lip, I moan against his lips.

“This is what I have been dreaming about” He says breaking away and kissing my nose. He finds me comfortable with his picking up the pace, and he did with no hesitation. He nuzzles into my neck with his hair partially resting on my face. There was no pain left to feel and my whole body was washed over with pleasure. His length fit so perfectly into my warm cunt, like we were make to only fuck eachother.

Jake head still right next to mine, I turn my head and whisper “Jakey, it feels so gooood~~~~” with inconsistency in my breathing. Jake’s ears were pleasured as if he were listening to his favorite song. He slowed down the pace, only to drive his dick deeper into my swollen cunt with each thrust. “Oh my god it’s feels so fucking good, you taking my cock like this.” he whines in my ear. He pulls away from my neck and just watching himself fuck into my pussy.

There was so much sweat on his face it was so fucking hot. It was dripping off his chin and onto my shoulder and neck. His hair was starting to get wet. He took both of my legs over his shoulders, making sure to maintain eye contact. Each stroke was deeper and deeper. Faster and faster. He was getting desperate. I don’t know how much more my inexperienced pussy can handle. He takes his thumb and gently rubs my clit. Ugh, I have never felt this sort of sensation before, being fucked at the same time.

My moans became more uncontrollable and my legs started to close in. “Fuckkkkk Jakey I am about to cum” I am on the verge of tears, overstimulated with pleasure. The pressure on my clit mixed with the repeated abuse of my cervix was enough to drive me over the edge. “Mmmmm yes doll, cum on my cock” he says lowly. My walls tighten around him and my hips are shaking. My heart is beating at 1000bpm, not a coherent thought left in my fucked-dumb mind. He practically has to pry my legs apart to maintain access to my slit. He holds my hips in place as he gives me a few more strokes. His became less and less powerful.

Once he felt his orgasm coming, he quickly pulled out of me, letting out a loud groan, and shot his strings of white cum all over my tummy and chest. The room was filled with loud pants and the scent of sex. “You are all I have ever wanted” I reach up to tuck his hair behind his ear, not minding the fact that his face was soaked. We rest our foreheads together and rub our noses across each other as we both try to catch our breath.

After a second of recovery, He runs to the bathroom and grabs a rag to clean me up. I could barely move my body, my entire entity was more than sore. It hurt to move, all I could do is lay there. Jake returns with a cold washcloth, and starts wiping off my stomach. “Do you need help getting cleaned up babe?” he asks, sitting down beside me, his arm around my naked torso. “Could we take a bath together?” I suggested.

A bath together after the fact is far more intimate, and could give us some time to talk things over. “Of course” and smiles. “I can go get it set up right now, darling, you just rest for a few minutes” He gives me a kiss on the nose and forehead before heading to run the faucet.

~~~~~~~~~~

I don’t know how I could let this happen. I lay on my bed rerunning all of the events writhing the last hour in my head. I really don’t know why we both allowed it to go that far. I admit, I loved every second of it, but now that it’s over, we have to deal with the effects.

Jake comes back from running the faucet. He looks tired. Maybe a bath is something we both need. “Come here sweetheart” he brings a towel and sets it on the counter.

The bathroom mirror was completely fogged over. “Are you trying to make soup out of us?” I said jokingly. “I know you like taking your showers hot, so I thought maybe it would be the same for baths” he chuckled.

I dip my toes into the half full tub. Jake was right, the temperature was just how I liked it. I held onto his shoulder as I submerge my other foot. The water lapped over the rim of the bath tub.

I keep hold onto his hand so he can guide himself into the tub, taking a lot more balance and tolerance for him to try to get used to the boiling water. “God damn, you like it hot hot” he teases though I can see him furrowing his eyebrows at the heat.

“Oh don’t be such a baby” I tease him right back. He pouts playfully. I love seeing that kind of reaction from him. “I don’t mind” he mumbles in embarrassment, trying to hide the smile on his face.

Once his feet were able to get used to the water, we both slowly sat the rest of our bodies into the tub. Jakes hair is a mess, it’s going in all different directions. I reach out to tuck some of it behind his ears for him, and then cup his face in my palm. I stroke his cheek with my thumb. He tilts his head, there he goes with those irresistible puppy dog eyes again.

“What’s wrong baby?” he asks. I remain in eye contact with him. “Were you being serious? When you said you have dreamt about… that…?”

He’s silent. So much blood rushing to his face his cheeks are like strawberries. He scratched the back of his head. “I mean yeah… why wouldn’t I” he hesitated.

“I mean look at you, you are insanely attractive and we live together and have known each other forever. Of course my mind is going to wonder. It has wondered many more times than I would like to admit.” he explained himself.

Unintentionally, our bodies kept inching towards each other in that bath. I am some how a mere 6 inches away from his face. “Why haven’t you ever told me how you felt?”

“Because I was scared on how it would change our friendship”…. he had the exact same fear as I did. He was also afraid of losing one of his best friends. “If I tell you how I feel, you might think it’s weird or something” he whispers into my ear. “No I will understand, we have known each other our whole lives. How would it be weird?” I say softly.

He hesitates once again, and I can hear his heart start to pound. He closes the gap between us and rests his forehead on mine. “There is so much you don’t know” He breathes, still looking deep into my eyes. His words caused a flicker of anxiety inside of me. “There is so much I want to know about you, darling” I reassure.

“Well for starters I never thought this thing between us would become anything more than just friends” he confesses. It is hard for him to admit such things, but he has to show me that I matter more than he thinks. “It scares me, and I’m sorry that I let it go too far. I guess it’s because I’ve been waiting so long, and everything has changed so fast” he explained, he still had this worried look on his face like I were going to shut everything down. Everything had changed so fast.

“You have to stop worrying so much about me. You can trust me, okay? I’ll never judge or hate you or think any differently of you. All I want is for us to enjoy our first time together and enjoy each other. I have never seen anyone as beautiful as you are to me”. I caress his face with my hands.

A small smile graces his features while he gazes back into my eyes. I lean forward and capture him in a long passionate kiss. Our lips moving in sync, tasting each others taste as if it was our first time doing it. We pull away and stare at each other. He places both of his palms on either side of my face, leaning in even closer. I place my lips in line with his.

My fingers run through his soaked hair, though I don’t know if it use from sweat or from water. “Jakey, if I am going to be honest, I have been feeling the same way. On nights where we don’t sleep in the same bed, I find myself getting less sleep and craving your warmth. I don’t regret anything that’s happened between us tonight. Admittedly, I have been wanting to do that with you for so long” I started ranting.

“When you were making love to me I felt like I was floating away and it felt so good I just wanted to stay here forever, like nothing else mattered. There wasn’t anything I wanted more than to stay in this moment forever with you, but we both know that isn’t possible.” he continues, his voice cracking.

“Making love?” I chuckle. Such an interesting word choice. “Be quiet” he pushes back. “I’m just joking, but I agree”

He was clearly getting tired, letting out a yawn and fighting the force of his eyelids trying to close. “We should get to bed” I suggest. We soak the last few moments of the now comfortably hot water and get out of the tub. “You better not get water all over the floor, Jake” HE ALWAYS DOES THAT.

He grabs a towel for me and and one for himself and he wraps mine around my whole body width and pulls me for a hug. “I am glad we took a bath together sweetheart, try to get some rest” he whispers, and leaves an innocent kiss on my forehead.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next few weeks consisted of school, work, and sleeping in the same bed with Jake pretty much every single night. We would exchange passionate kisses and I would bathe him when he was too tired from work or hanging out with Jay. And he would do the same for me. We never went as far to have sex again. We weren’t scared but we felt like we should wait.

We are on our way back to Australia for fall break. Jake will finally get to see his parents and I will get to see mine. We get to have a whole week without having to worry about responsibilities. Which I know both of us desperately need. We touch down in Australia around maybe 3pm on the first Saturday of the break. We only brought carry on luggage for convenience and time.

“Have everything?” He questioned me as we were getting out of our seats. “I think so” I smile, so excited to see my parents. We arranged for Jake’s mom to pick us up from the airport. She had a large SUV able to fit all of our stuff comfortably. Once we passed through all of the security and customs, Jake calls her to see where she is parked. On speaker I hear her say “9 rows down from the south enterance” she explains. “Thanks mom, see you in a sec” Jake says about to hang up the phone. “Thank you Mrs Sim” I make sure she hears before he presses the red button.

We hurry to get out of the packed airport so meet up with his mom. The weather was cold and misty and it was hard to see. When we finally arrived outside the south enterance, we could hardly believe what we saw. Layla comes up running at full sprint in me and Jake’s direction. She jumped up onto bother of us, layering our faces and arms with slobbery licks and he tail wagging so hard it may as well had fallen off.

Once Layla was all calmed down we put our luggage into the trunk. We swing up the door and the vehicle seems oddly empty. “Where is dad?” Jake questioned his mom. “He is getting worse…. he wasn’t able to make it today, I had to take him back to the hospital last night” she explained. I could already see the heart break in his eyes. “Oh” We packed everything up and his mom offered for me to sit in the front seat. Honestly, I wanted to sit in the back seat and comfort Jake, so I made up the excuse that Layla should sit in the front.

The mood in the car ride home was off. I don’t know if it was from the weather or his fathers health but Jake was not as energetic as he was before. I know he doesn’t deserve everything happening to his dad so I will just try to support him through it.

~~~~~~~~~~

I never really gave it much thought, but the more I put the pieces together, I think maybe the reason Jake is so insistent on getting black out drunk with Jay on the weekends may have to do with his father.

Jake has never in his life had a healthy coping mechanism. I remember a lot through out grade school, he would feel guilty or take blame for things that were not his fault, just to mediate the situation. When he did this, he did not react to the discipline very well, but it seems like he would much rather face conveniences than to start an argument over the original problem.

Jake let a lot of people take advantage of him, and it is still something that we have to work on, but knowing the situation with his dad, I know he has a lot more things to worry about now that usual.

Many of the people excluding his parents are alcoholics, any family event we went to together, the main thing being passed around was a bottle. When we were younger, things made him build resentment towards them but the older we got, the more willing he was to try alcohol, only adding more and more each time until he is where he is at now.

Jay isn’t the type of friend to stop this behavior either. I will never understand why Jake is such good friends with him cause he never seems to have the best intentions or good interest in mind. I can’t be the one to tell him that they should stop being friends cause at the end of the day, Jake’s relationship with alcohol won’t be healed in a split second.

~~~~~~~~~~

Nothing really eventful happened over the span of the after noon, the rain put everything to a halt. I slept in the guest bed in Jake’s house for the first night but was unable to fall asleep for the majority of the night. Jake’s mom rushed into the room around 1:30 am.

“Hey are you awake? We have to go the hospital, it’s my husband. Please wake up Jake while I grab the keys” She said with an extremely shaken voice full of urgency. I shoot out of the bed and put my shorts back on and practically run down the hallway to Jake’s room. It is locked. I bang on the door frantically. “Jake! Jake get up now we have to go” I echo through the door. Quickly after he swings open his door with his shirt in his hand, in the middle of putting it on.

The SUV was already started when we got out the front door and we ran to get into the car and soon as we sat down she reversed and tried to explain. “He slipped into a coma. They said they are trying everything to get him to wake up but they have no idea why it happened because he was in decent shape before” she says with tears forming in her eyes.

I reach up to the front seat to scratch her shoulder to try and calm her. I don’t think there is anything someone can do in this situation to calm someone in this much distress down but I tried. She is going dangerously fast down the highway. I know that she has been working hard to keep them afloat and thing we’re starting to get better. After that I couldn’t stand to listen anymore and closed my eyes hoping that by some miracle she wouldn’t end up killing us.

After what seemed like hours we reached the hospital and were quickly taken to another private room where we could talk with him alone. Of course his dad wasn’t going to be able to say anything. But Jake still wanted him to listen. He took his fathers hand a caressed his palm with his fingers while he said what he needed to say. Once he was done, I gave Jake a hug as his red face were completely covered in tears.

“He will be okay, I promise” I reassured him. We walked out of the room to discover his mom sitting next to the window, face completely void of emotion. He hasn’t spoken a word since we have gotten here.

“You know…. he was really excited for you both to come back. He was practically counting down the days” she admitted, wiping a tear from here eye. “I was so excited with him” she added. Her words shatter my heart. How is she not screaming in anger right now. Angry at the world for doing this to her innocent husband. That was something I admired about her. She was always able to contain her emotions well, almost too well.

Seeing both her and Jake in this state was absolutely terrible. I knew it would only take a miracle to fix this given his dads condition. “It’ll all be okay, Jake, don’t cry” I assure him. “It won’t, how am I supposed to deal with this? How am I supposed to go back to school without seeing him, talking to him… it hurts” “There is still a chance that he will make it Jake, don’t give up on it. I know he wants you to wait for him”

He couldn’t say anything, all he could do was bury his face into my shoulder and sob. He tried to form words, but they were only choked noises which caused him to cry even harder. “Shh its okay, I am here” I assure him. Me, Jake and his mom spent the night in the hospital. His mom slept in the room with his dad and me and Jake slept in a guest waiting room. Well, I was the only one who was able to get some sleep. Jake was up all night worrying about his father. I could hear him crying as I were trying to fall asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~

A few weeks had passed and his fathers condition remained the same, and to be honest, Jake and his mom seemed like they kind of accepted that this was the way that things were going to be.

We were back at the house, his mom would just go to work and lock herself in her room until she had to go to work again and Jake and I were preparing to go back to Korea for the Winter semester.

Mrs Sim did not want to see us leave, and she made it very clear. We were her last hope with everything going on with her husband. I really wish me and Jake could stay back to support her but we have jobs and bills that we have to get back to, and life can’t just pause for us. We promised we would let her know how we are feeling, how much we missed each other and everything else that went along with saying goodbye.

We leave in 3 days, and we made it our mission to hang out with his mom as much as we could before we left. She hasn’t taken a break either… no time to her self she just has to keep working to pay for the house and the piling medical bills.

Those last few days, we took Mrs. Sim out for lunch at her favorite Thai restaurant. She seemed to genuinely smile for the first time in weeks as we joked and reminisced about times when all 4 of us were together. One night, we rented some classic movies she loved and made her favorite snacks. We cuddled up on the couch, enjoying the familiar feeling of just being together as a family again, if only briefly.

Jake and I helped around the house as much as we could - running errands, doing yard work, and cooking meals to give his mom a little respite. We made sure to soak in every moment because we didn't know when we'd all be together like that again.

~~~~~~~~~~

When it came time for our early morning departure back to Korea, Mrs. Sim took us both in for a tight hug, her eyes brimming with tears. "Take care of each other," she whispered hoarsely.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ Jake grabs our suitcases out of the trunk and his mom pulls me to the side.

“Please promise to take care of him for me. You have always been a safe place for him, I can only imagine how he has been feeling” she begged. I held bother of her hands in the palms of mine. “I promise, Mrs Sim, I will do everything in my power to take care of him, don’t worry. You have other things to worry about” I reassure her pulling her into a hug.

Layla climbs through the back of the car from the front seat and jumps out of the trunk to say good bye, jumping all over me and Jake just like when we first arrived. “Yes you’re such a good girl” he scruffs up her ears while giving her a kiss on the forehead. I gave Layla some belly rubs before his mom guided her back into the car.

“Please text me when you board, and call me when you land, I need to know that the two of you are safe.” said his mom. “Of course” we pulled her into one last hug. “I love you guys” she sobbed “I love you too” we said in unison as we walked towards to enterance, leaving his mom in the parking lot.

~~~~~~~~~~

The ride back home was hard for Jake. 10 hours of restlessness. The only time I saw Jake act kind of okay was at our layover in Manila. I tried to leave him be for most of the trip.

-

We landed at the airport in Seoul and made our way back through customs and immigration, I swear the process of getting out of the airport is more stressful than planing a trip itself. We load our things into my car, missing the excitement that Layla brought to the car ride.

Before we got into the car, Jake comes behind me and turns me around into a hug. “I am really worried about her… my parents have been together for so long I can’t imagine how she would react with out him” he cried into my arms. “Your mom is a strong woman, I know it. She has you and I know she will be able to get through it.” I rub his back and lay my head into the crook of his neck.

I walk him over to his door and open it, letting him get into is and rest, we still had a 45 minute drive back to our place. I just let him ‘rest’ his eyes the whole way and I sat in silence trying not to wake him. The ride was bumpy, or maybe I was more aware of my surroundings not given that Jake wasn’t talking my ear off the whole time. I don’t mean it as a bad thing but he does a great job at keeping me company in the car. But that element was absent this time.

We were outside of our house quicker than expected. Jake was still fast asleep, he looked up he most peaceful than I have seen him these past few weeks I really did not want to wake him up. “Jakey we’re here” I whisper and gently grip his shoulder. He groans. He untucks his arms from under his shirt and rubs his eyes, trying to adjust to the light.

We make way up to the door, he didn’t bother grabbing anything out of the car but I was completely okay with grabbing everything if it meant he would get some rest. As soon as we stepped in the door, he took off his shoes and hurried to his bedroom, he didn’t ever bother changing his clothes before plopping onto his bed in pure exhaustion.

I found myself following him to the bed and sitting on the edge and grazing his back with my fingernails. My hands made way up to his hair and I combed his strands with my fingers. He turns over to lay on his back and I sit and admire his beautiful face while his eyes are closed. So peaceful. I couldn’t fight the urge to lean down and give his a soft peck before heading back to the car.

He didn’t seem to mind, his lips were soft as they instantly melted into mine for a few seconds. He didn’t seem supprised or shocked at all. He made it feel natural. “Thank you” he said, barely audible. I leaned in for another kiss, a smile building on my face as our lips met. No verbal response was needed, my smile against his spoke for itself.

~~~~~~~~~~

We had gotten back into our normal work and school schedule following the break. I still was not seeing Jake as much as I would like and it seems like I was getting less and less information by the day on his dad, which worried me. I tried to call Mrs Sim every single day to check in and get updates, as well as update her on mine and Jake’s life. She treated me like a friend. Like a daughter. I am very thankful to be accepted by her in that way.

Jake was clearly getting more stressed with work and school and I couldn’t figure out a way to ease the stress for him, all I could do was hope that it wouldn’t end up being too much.

Mrs Sim told me briefly once while we were on a phone call that me and her call way more often that her and Jake do. Jake has always been a texter and his Mom simply had to deal with not hearing her baby boys voice as often as she would like, which is why it was weird when me and Jake were laying in my bed around 11pm and his phone starts ringing.

Both of us were on the verge of falling asleep and the light from his phone screen made the situation more uncomfortable. At first Jake just reached over and turned off the ringer.

“Hey did you even see who it was? What if it was important” I question his instinct to end the call. “Fine let me look” he groans.

He reached over and grabs his phone and looks at the screen ‘Mom’ is what it read. “Answer it!” I urged him. Jake was hesitant. I think he thought that this was going to be the call, which he has been preparing to avoid at all costs.

Instead of letting the line go to voicemail, I snatch the phone out of his hand and answer if myself. “Hello Mrs Sim, is everything alright?”

“I am so glad to hear your voice. Is Jake around? It is important. Put it on speaker” she said.

“You’re on speaker” I informed her.

“Jake, your father is home, I picked him up about an hour ago. The doctor said that septic shock caused him to go into the coma, and they were able to treat the infection and keep him steady with some blood and IV fluids. He woke up yesterday and has shown no signs of complication ever since. I will take him back in a few days for testing and a check up. They saved him Jake… They saved him.” His mother explained ecstatically, crying tears of happiness.

Jake’s face immediately lit up, with what I could see from the light of the phone screen. He instantly started crying.

“Baby I wish you were here right now. he misses you so much” he claimed.

Jake couldn’t even speak through his tears and his hitched breathing. “I love you so much mom, tell dad I love him and I will see him soon”

He sets the phone down and buries his face into my chest, letting out full on sobs. the toll that this situation has taken on his body physically and mentally was very obvious and I know he has been wanting good news.

~~~~~~~~~~

Weeks had passed and we came back to Australia for the Winter break. Jake was more excited than ever. When he saw his dad get out of the car at the airport, I had never see Jake run so fast in my life. Their hug seemed like it was out of a movie and he had been latched to his dad everyday since being back at his house.

His parents kind of picked up on me and Jake’s relationship, and didn’t question why I was wanting to sleep in Jake’s room and not the guest room any more.

We were laying there facing each other, admiring each others beauty in the dim moon light shining through the blinds.

“Tell me Jake, do you believe in fate?” I questioned lowly.

He looks somewhat startled. “Y’know, I have never really thought about that. After everything that has happened this year, I think I would say that I do” he confirmed, stroking my cheek with his thumb.

“Yeah I think I do too”

[itneverendshere]

Bartender reader :) reader and Rafe get in a fight and it’s a big one (while they are living together) and reader needs some space and decides to sleep on the couch/guest bedroom but Rafe completely forgets about the fight once he realizes what she’s doing and puts his foot down “you can be mad but you’re still sleeping in this bed” kinda deal?

i feel like their fights never last bc they can't be away from each other that long and bc they're just too disgustingly in love🙂‍↔️ thank you for the request!🤎

i would never do you wrong- r.c

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe) warnings: a little angst at first, but happy ending obviously.

You were sitting on the edge of the bed, your hands gripping your phone a little too tight. The conversation you had been having for the past hour felt like running headfirst into a brick wall—no, arguing with a brick wall.

“I don’t see why this is such a big deal,” Rafe groaned, like a toddler, running a hand through his messy hair. “You’ve been working nonstop. You deserve a break.”

“A break?” You scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief. “Baby, I just got promoted. I can’t take time off like that.”

“You’re acting like this job will disappear if you take a week off. I’ve already planned the trip, I’ve already talked to Ward. You don’t even have to worry about money—”

“That’s not the point!” You cut him off, standing now, your body vibrating with frustration. “You don’t get it! This promotion means everything to me. I worked my ass off for it. And now you’re telling me to throw that away for a vacation?

“I’m not telling you to throw anything away, baby. God, you make it sound like I’m asking you to quit.” Rafe crossed his arms, his brow furrowed, and looked at you like you were the unreasonable one, like you'd just insulted him. “It’s just one week. We can afford to relax.”

“Yeah and what about the wedding? If we’re gonna pay for it, we gotta save up.”

He let out an incredulous laugh, his head shaking like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You do remember I’m rich, right?”

You blinked, stunned. “Seriously? That’s your solution? Just throw money at it?”

He sighed, rubbing his temples. “That’s not what I meant. I can pay for the wedding,” he interrupted, stopping in his tracks. “You’re forgetting I have more than enough money to take care of both of us.”

You closed your eyes for a second, breathing deeply. “I don’t want you to pay for it all.” You were pacing now, “It sounds like you think we can just forget about budgeting and responsibilities because you’ve got a trust fund.”

Rafe threw his hands up, exasperated. “I’m just saying we can afford to take some time for ourselves. You don’t need to stress over every little thing.”

You stopped in your tracks, turning sharply to face him. “I’m not ‘stressing over every little thing,’ Rafe. I’m being realistic. We have a wedding to plan. We’ve got bills. I’ve got my career to think about. And no, I don’t want your dad’s money involved in any of that.”

“We have an entire year to save up,” He stared at you, a steely glint in his eyes. “So what? You’re just gonna run yourself into the ground? Burn out completely?” 

Your jaw clenched as you swallowed the lump in your throat. “I’m doing what I need to do. I’ve always done that.”

“And I’ve always been here to help you. But it’s like you don’t even want it.”

“That’s not what this is about,” you argued, stepping closer to him now. “I don’t want to be dependent on that money. I don’t want us to start our marriage with me feeling like I’m just along for the ride.”

Rafe’s face hardened, his lips pressing into a thin, flat line. “So what? You think I’m trying to make you feel small? Like you can’t handle your shit?”

“No. I just want to build something with you. With you, Rafe, not because of Ward’s money.”

He looked away as he pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek, the muscle moving under his skin as he swallowed whatever hot-headed thing you knew he felt like saying. Then, with a frustrated exhale, he said, “It’s not like I wanted to rely on him either. But I’m trying to make things easier for us.”

“And I appreciate that, I do.” You sighed, taking a breath. “But this promotion... it’s my chance to prove myself. I want to know that I earned everything we have. Not that it came from someone else’s checkbook.”

Rafe’s eyes moved to yours, and you could see the tension still there. He slowly let out a long breath. The air hissed softly between his teeth as his chest fell, shoulders sagging “You’re so fucking stubborn.”

“I learned from the best,” you shot back, crossing your arms.

He let out a bitter chuckle, it didn’t hold any joy. “I’m not trying to control everything. I just want to make sure we have time for us before everything else gets in the way.”

You nodded, “I know. But you can’t just expect me to drop everything and go on vacation because you’ve already decided it.”

“I thought you’d want to spend time with me,” he argued, “I’m trying to make time for us, and you’re treating it like it’s a problem.”

You sighed for what it felt like the millionth time that night, rubbing your temples. “It’s not that, baby. I want to be with you. You know that. But I can’t ignore everything else that’s going on.”

He was silent for a moment, his eyes scanning your face like he was trying to find the right thing to say. Finally, he muttered, “Fine. If you don’t want to take the time off, then don’t.”

You blinked at him, taken aback. “That’s not what I meant.”

“You’re making it seem like I’m asking for something ridiculous.”

You scoffed, frustration taking over again.

“Because to me, it is ridiculous! You don’t get it. You don’t have to think about whether you can afford to take time off, but I do. You’ve never had to think about that stuff.”

His face tightened, jaw clenching as he stared at you like he was trying to stay calm. “And that’s why I’m telling you, you don’t have to worry about it. I’ve got us covered. You’re acting like I’m trying to sabotage your career.”

“You’re not listening to me! This promotion isn’t just a paycheck, it’s everything I’ve worked for. I’ve spent years proving I’m good enough, and now you’re asking me to step back like it’s no big deal.”

Rafe crossed his arms, his posture stiff, defensive. “I’m asking for one week. One. Fucking. Week. You act like the world’s gonna end if you take some time for yourself.”

“Because for me, it doesn’t stop! You don’t understand what it’s like—”

He cut you off again, you hated when he did it. “Don’t. Don’t stand there and tell me I don’t understand. You think I don’t get what it’s like to have shit on the line? I’ve been under pressure my whole life.”

You flinched at his words, your eyes narrowing. “This is different. I’ve always had to make sure I could take care of myself.”

His laugh was bitter, almost sarcastic. “Is that what you think this is? You’re my fiancé.”

You frowned, feeling the hurt in his words, but you couldn’t let it go. “I just don’t want to feel like I’m in your shadow, like I’m always gonna be ‘Rafe’s wife’ instead of my own person.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” He ran a hand through his hair, pacing now. “It’s not like that. You know it’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like?” you snapped, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “Because every time we talk about this, you make it sound like money is the solution to everything. Like we can just throw cash at our problems and they’ll disappear.”

He stopped pacing, turning to face you, his expression darkening. “Because it fucking helps, okay?”

You pinched your eyes closed, “I’m just trying to make sure I don’t lose myself in all of this.”

He let out a harsh breath, his shoulders tense. “Lose yourself? You think I’m trying to take that from you?”

“No,” you whispered, wiping at your eyes. “But it feels like you don’t get why this is so important to me.”

“Are you serious right now?” he cut you off. “You know what, do whatever you want. I’ll just cancel the trip.”

“Rafe—”

“Forget it,” he said, already turning away, heading for the door. “Goodnight.”

He didn't even slam the door.

You sat down on the bed, your head in your hands, trying to calm down. You glance at your phone, thinking about texting him, apologizing maybe. But you weren’t ready for that yet. You needed space. You needed to breathe. You needed to get out of your own head, even just for a little while. You couldn’t stand being in the same room after that argument.

Without thinking much more about it, you grabbed your pillow and the spare blanket from the closet, making your way toward the living bedroom. The couch in there wasn’t as comfortable or as big, but it would give you the distance you needed for the time being. You were pulling back the covers when you heard your bedroom door creak open. You didn’t have to turn around to know it was him. 

He couldn't stay away longer than five minutes.

“Really?” His voice was low, almost disbelieving. “You’re gonna sleep in here?”

You stayed facing the bed, not turning to look at him. “I can’t do this right now.”

There was a pause, and then you heard him step closer. “No. That’s not how we’re doing this.”

You frowned, glancing back at him over your shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you can be pissed at me. You can need space, fine. But you’re not sleeping in here.” His voice was firm, and when you finally turned to look at him, his blue eyes were locked on yours, unwavering.

“Rafe—”

“I’m serious, baby." He moved closer, gently pulling the blanket from your hands. “You’re mad. I get it. But you’re still sleeping in our bed.”

You shook your head, trying to push the blanket back toward him. “I just—”

“No.” His voice softened, but he was still insistent. “I’m not letting you run away from me. We’ll deal with it. But we’re not doing this. You’re not sleeping alone.”

You looked at him and saw the same tiredness, the same frustration, in his face. He held your gaze for a moment longer before reaching out, and taking your hand in his.

“Come on. You belong in our bed.”

There was no fight left in you as you let him pull you back down the hall, back into the warmth of your shared space. As you settled beside him, Rafe reached over, his hand finding yours under the blankets, he traced small, absent patterns on the back of your hand, like you weren’t fighting just ten minutes ago.

He sighed, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “You don’t have to prove anything to me. I already know you’re capable of handling anything.”

“It’s not about proving it to you,” you admitted, “It’s about proving it to myself. I need to know that no matter what happens—good or bad—I’ve earned it. That I deserve it.”

Rafe was quiet for a couple seconds, his eyes stuck on the ceiling. Then, his grip on your hand tightened slightly,  “I hate this,” he muttered finally.

You turned your head to look at him, “Hate what?”

“This.” He gestured between the two of you with his free hand. “Fighting like this. Making you feel like I’m pulling you in two different directions. Like you have to choose.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “You’re not making me choose. I just, I want to build something for myself.”

He let out a sharp breath, shaking his head.

“You think I don’t get that? You think I’m just some spoiled asshole who’s never had to work for anything?” He rolled onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow to look at you more directly. “But I do get it. That’s why I’m trying so hard to be what you need me to be.”

Your heart twisted at the look on his face. He reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face.

“Every time I look at you,” he murmured, his gaze softening, “I see everything you’ve done to get here. Everything you’ve pushed through. And it kills me, because I feel like I’ve just been dead weight. You spent months holding me together when I was falling apart. I could barely get out of bed some days baby, and you were there, making sure I was eating, making sure I was taking my meds, making sure I didn’t—I know how much you gave up for me.”

“Baby, stop,” you mumbled, the hurt in your chest almost unbearable. It hadn't been easy, but you didn't regret a single thing, wouldn't change anything. You'd do it all over again if you had to.

“No.” His voice was firm, “I hate that I put you through that. That I made you carry all that weight when you should’ve been focusing on yourself, your career. Hell, I wasn’t even there for you when you got promoted, because I was too busy trying to keep my shit together. And now I want to make up for that.”

You reached up, cupping his cheek, feeling the way his jaw unclenched under your touch. “You don’t have to make up for anything. You were going through something, and I wanted to be there for you.”

“I know you did,” he said softly, “But that’s why I’m doing this. I’m trying to be the guy you deserve—the guy who makes things easier for you, who makes you feel like you can breathe again.” He shook his head, teasing just a little, “But every time I try, it feels like I’m just reminding you of all the ways I’ve let you down.”

You blinked back the sudden tears. “You haven’t let me down. I need to find a balance. Between us and—” You gestured vaguely around you, trying to explain everything you were feeling. “And everything else.”

“I get that,” he murmured, leaning in closer until his forehead rested against yours. “But I also need you to let me in. Let me help you. Not because I want to throw money at it, but because I love you, and I want to see you happy. Not burnt out and exhausted.”

His voice broke a little on the last word, and you felt your initial stubbornness crumbling. “I know,” You squeezed your eyes shut, “I know. I just don’t want to lose everything I’ve been working for. I don’t want to get so wrapped up in us that I forget who I am outside of this.”

Rafe let out a shaky breath, his fingers brushing along your jaw.

“You’re not going to lose yourself, okay? Not with me. You’re always going to be you. Even when you’re stressed and stubborn and driving me up the wall.” His lips quirked in a small, sad smile. “I’ll still be here. I just want to have a little time with you before life pulls us in a million directions again.”

You leaned into him, pressing your face against his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of him. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close, his chin resting on top of your head. It wasn’t that you didn’t want his help. You just needed to do this one thing for youself. You moved closer to him, resting your head against his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered earnestly, “I didn’t mean to make it sound like I don’t want to spend time with you. I do. It’s just hard to balance everything.”

You didn’t want to fight anymore. You wanted to figure it out. You wanted to compromise, because that's what you two always did.

“I’ll take the time off,” You felt him move beside you, his eyes on you now, curious but cautious. “But… I need a little time. Can we plan the trip for a couple of months from now? Once things settle down with work?”

He pulled back just enough to look down at you, his eyes searching your face. “You’d do that?”

You nodded, lifting your head. “I know I’ve been all over the place about this, but I get that we need time together. I just can’t drop everything right now. But in two months, I’ll be ready. We can go wherever you want.”

A slow smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He shifted onto his side, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “You mean it?”

“I mean it,” you said, smiling back at him. “We’ll go. No work emails, no distractions. Just us.”

He let out a breath he’d been holding, his fingers tracing along your jaw. “Two months, huh?”

You looked up at him, rolling your eyes lightly. “Yes, two months. And I’m going to hold that ‘no work emails’ rule, for you too.”

He chuckled, his lips curving into a genuine smile this time. “I figured.”

You swat at his chest lightly. “I’m serious. I want this trip to be for us. I need it to be something that we’re both looking forward to—not just you dragging me away because you think I’m overworking.”

“I know. I promise when we do go, it’ll be perfect. Wherever you want. No distractions.”

“Good,” you whispered, resting your head back on his shoulder. You listened to the rhythm of his heartbeat, feeling the rise and fall of his chest. This was the peace after the storm, the moment when everything felt like it was falling into place again.

Rafe’s hand gently traced patterns on your arm, and he pressed a soft kiss to your head, “I’m proud of you. For everything. The promotion, the way you’ve been handling all of this. I’m proud to call you mine.”

Your heart squeezed at his words, and you tilted your head up to meet his gaze. “Thank you, baby,” you murmured. “That means more to me than you know.”

He smiled, “Just don’t ever think you have to choose between me and your dreams, okay? I want you to have it all. I want us to have it all.”

You nodded, the last of your resistance melting away. “I know. And I want us to have it all, too. Together.”

His arms tightened around you, pulling you closer, “Good,” he murmured, his breath warm against your hair. “’Cause I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you.”

[tiredofthehumanlife]

Is there anything better than pussy? Yes! A really good book.

Part one

Barbie dolls: Spencer Reid x gn! Reader

Word: 900

Summary: Derek find out about your secret relationship with Spencer

Warnings:non sexual nudity, you wear a robe, um idk, you eat cereal now and read books, extremely short

There wasn’t a lot you enjoyed about mornings. The sun was too bright. You were expected to stop sleeping. You had to get out of bed and get dressed. That’s a lot. You did enjoy it when you didn’t get the call first thing in the morning so you could laze around with your amazing, though mostly secret, boyfriend Spencer.

This morning, you laid around in bed with him tucked into your side for a whole 45 minutes. Then you both got up, made, and ate your breakfast in your pajamas. Now, you were taking a shared shower. You were scrubbing Spencer’s head, making the shampoo foamed up. It was nice when you got to stay in each other’s company without stressing about perception or cases. It felt like it was just you two in the world, wrapped up in your own warm and foggy universe.

And then there was a knock at the door. You huffed. You dropped your hands from Spencer’s hair, making him groan. You rinsed your hand in the stream of water from the shower head. You tugged the shower door open, slipping out to wrap yourself in your robe.

“I got it, you rinse your hair out.” You said. You slipped into your house shoes, leaving the attached bathroom to Spencer’s bedroom. You headed across the apartment to the front door. You looked through the peephole, dropping your jaw when you saw Derek. You muttered a curse and pulled the door open.

“Hello, Derek.” He raised a brow at you, looking you up and down. You opened the door further, Derek stepping through. He stopped near the door, looking around the living room.

“Is Pretty Boy here?” Derek asked. You nodded, pointing your thumb back at the bathroom.

“Yes, my water broke back at my apartment so I’m borrowing Reid’s shower. He’s in his bedroom right now, reading. I’ll go get him.” You said, skittering off to Reid’s bedroom. Derek nodded, dropping himself onto Spencer’s couch. He kicked his feet up onto the coffee table, crossing his ankles.

“Feet off the coffee table.” You said, slipping into Reid’s bedroom. You burst through the bathroom door.

“Derek’s here. You have to get dressed and pretend like we weren’t just in the shower together if you want to keep up this act.” You said. Spencer groaned and stuck his head out. You waited in the living room with Derek as Spencer rushed out of the shower.

A handful of minutes later, Spencer joined you two. He was in a fresh set of pajamas, slippers and everything. His hair was damp but it could be perceived as he took a shower earlier. You doubted Derek would believe that.

“Good book?” Derek asked. Spencer nodded. Derek bounced his foot, still on the coffee table.

“No feet on the coffee table,” Spencer muttered. Derek dropped his feet and stood up.

“Right well. Pretty Boy. I came over here to pay you back for last week.” Derek said. Derek moved across the living room, standing in front of Spencer. Derek shoved his hand into his pocket, digging out his wallet. You watched them from the couch. Derek handed Spencer a few bills before spinning back around to head for the front door. Spencer thanked him, following after him because his wallet was in the key dish next to the door. Derek held his hand up, turning back around to face Spencer.

“Also, you two are going to have to try a little harder to hide this dating thing from Penelope,” Derek said. Spencer looked over at you for a split second.

“We’re not dating,” Spencer said, shaking his head.

“Yeah, I told you, my water broke in my apartment.” You added, crossing your arms.

“And Reid still has shampoo in his hair behind his ear. You have matching house slippers, cute by the way. Your favorite book is sitting on Reid’s counter. Your keys are in his bowl. You two are stuck together like glue at work. You know Pretty Boy’s house rules. I saw your favorite cereal sitting over Reid’s Chex mix. There are pictures of you together on Reid’s fridge. If you guys really think this is going to fly under Pelenope’s radar, you’re missing a couple of screws.” Derek said, turning back to the door.

“Don’t tell Penelope. Let her figure it out on her own, please. Once she finds out, everyone will know.” You said, avoiding Derek’s eyes to stare at the coffee table. Spencer hummed in agreement.

“You know I can’t lie to her, but I won't bring it up,” Derek said. He faced Spencer again, slapping his shoulder. “Look at you, growing up.” Spencer pouted his lips, staring at the ground.

“See you at work,” Spencer said. Derek hummed.

“yeah, whatever, losers.” You added. Derek gave you a small smile, waving before slipping out of Reid’s apartment. Spencer locked his door again and looked over at you. You stood up and dragged him back to the shower.

Three days later, Penelope did figure it out. She peiced it together when she watched you make Spencer his coffee and set it in front of him. She saw your hand resting on his shoulder for just a second longer than a friend’s would and almost dropped her Hello Kitty mug. Within minutes, everyone knew and Hotch was calling you and Reid into his office.

You fully tought he was going to tear you both a new one but it ended with him handing you both a stack of paperwork and congratulating you. So your movie and take-out date night turned into paperwork and take-out date night.

[sophiethewitch1]

What We Want - Chpt. 1 - Not Quite An Isekai

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

You awake to the sound of your phone ringing. You slap to the edge of your couch, aiming for the rickety side table. Your wrist smacks against the corner, and you hiss in pain. It’s a few inches too high, and wood, not metal. Seems you somehow got to your bed during the night, but you didn’t remember it. Still, you get your phone. Through squinted eyes, you find the screen, its 3:15, far too early for your drunken suffering- Wait no, it’s mid-afternoon. Still, you feel tired, and you want to sleep.

You answer the phone anyway, putting it on speaker and resting your head back against the pillow. Your head doesn’t hurt that bad anyway. God was smiling down on you today.

“Miss, are you awake?” a man’s voice rings through your apartment.

Who was that? Who called you Miss of all things? Your boss didn’t remember your name sure, but he just called you ‘intern’ instead. You’d been an official employee for six months now. Right, conversation, paying attention, replying like a normal person.

“Hm, yeah, I’m awake,” you say, fighting back the urge to yawn.

“You don’t sound very awake, Miss,” the man replies, his tone familiar.

“Who is this?”

He sighs, “Miss, are you being sarcastic?”

“What? No, I’m serious,” you confusedly answer.

“…This is Alfred, Miss. Now, Master Wayne has asked me to-”

“Master who now?” you cut this Alfred off, doubly confused now. Wayne? Like, the Wayne family? The rich, philanthropist one?

He sighs again, “I understand the relationship between the two of you is quite strained, and this is a personally difficult day for you, but he insists on seeing you. Your birthday gala starts at 7, as I’ve told you, and your assistant will be over at 4. I ask that you unblock both their accounts, as I would much rather I didn’t have to talk to you when you’re like this.”

“What?” you repeat, like the idiot you are.

“Good day, Miss. And happy birthday.”

He hangs up. You blink down at your phone. And then you roll your eyes, because oh my god are Molly’s pranks getting ridiculous. You never should have told her about your weird fascination with the Waynes, she was getting back at you hard for your drunken mistake.

You make a lot of those. Well, life goes on. You’ll put glitter in Molly’s car’s vanity mirror or something.

You turn off your phone, and let your face slam right back into your pillow. For a while, you try to go back to sleep.

…Something about this isn’t right. You, like the freak you are, take a deep inhale of your pillow. It smells like you, like the laundry soap you use, but it also smells like… Well, you don’t know. All you can think about is your new boss’s wife and her awful perfume that swallows the office space like noxious gas.

Your pillow… kind of smells like that. Your first ungodly thought is that, somehow, you spent a torrid night with your boss’s wife. The second is that Molly needs to die for her crimes.

You let your crusty, bleary, stinging eyes blink open.

Hm. Why is there a chandelier in your bedroom? You shoot upright in the bed, silk sheets falling to your lap. Silk sheets you can’t afford. You look around the room, eyes widening at the space. The bed is king-sized, while you had barely been able to afford your twin-sized mattress. The living room isn’t in the same space as the bedroom. You can’t see the kitchen and the bathroom to your right has shining marble tiles. And even then, the decoration’s are luxurious and clean, compared to your livable chaos.

You look to your left, and your mouth drops open.

A floor-to-ceiling window, showing the Gotham horizon with the morning sun. Fog and clouds twist around spiralling gothic towers, reaching down to the people down below. You’re looking out over the bay, and you can see the Narrows barely peaking through the mist, desperately clawing for any sunlight.

The sun rises on the right of your building, not the left. You don’t have a view, you’re on the fourth floor and there’s a brick building directly across from your window. You live in the Narrows.

You live in the Narrows. You press your face to the cool glass and look down. Oh my god, you can’t see the streetside. You’re too high up. You’re somehow on the opposite side of Gotham City.

Stumbling away from the window, you do your best not to touch anything, because you know it’s all too expensive for your peasant hand. Let’s start thinking… whatever was happening to you, through. Molly might kidnap you for a joke, sure, but she was barely any richer than you, and that was just because her boyfriend lived with her. She could not afford this level of fuckery.

So… so… is this, what? A big joke from the universe? Did someone else kidnap you? You have to have been kidnapped, right? Why the fuck would someone kidnap you?

Did the Joker kidnap you? Was he coming to finish you off? End your family line?

You reach down and pinch yourself hard enough you yelp. When the dazzlingly perfect apartment doesn’t disappear, it’s much harder to force yourself not to panic. Okay, okay, okay. It’s fine. This’ll be fine, and it could still be a dream. That whole pinching thing was a myth, right? Argh, maybe you should’ve listened to Molly when she was trying to get you into astral projection.

Wait, Molly!

You go back to your bed and pick up your phone.

It’s… it’s not your phone. What was this? The iPhone 27? You didn’t keep up with those sorts of things, but it looked expensive. Everything here looked expensive.

You think you’re going to go into anaphylactic shock. Wait, no, it’s hyper-something. What was it? Argh, you can’t do this right now!

You press your thumb to the ‘on’ button, and luckily whoever this phone belongs to is not worried about their privacy because there's no password. Stupidly, you look for Molly’s name in your list of contacts.

BLOCKED - ‘Bruce Wayne’

BLOCKED - ‘Damian Wayne’

BLOCKED - ‘Dick Grayson’

BLOCKED - ‘Tim Drake’

‘Alfred :)’

BLOCKED - ‘The Wicked Witch of the West’

You drop the phone. Because the floors, even in the bedroom, are marble, it shatters like glass. You make a sound like a dying chicken as you watch the piece of technology make a bouncing break for the bathroom. It slides to a stop against the giant hot tub, and you pick it up and cradle it between your palms like a newborn.

The screen still works. Even if it’s cracked to high heaven and takes multiple attempts to turn it on, it still eventually does. Thanks God, won’t forget this. You hiss as you open the contacts again, pricking your fingers against the sharp edges.

As fate commands, you click on the ‘Bruce Wayne’ contact. The description is very simple.

‘Massive dickhead. Hope you jump off a building and fall like a rock.’

You go back. Click on ‘Dick Grayson’.

‘Massive dickhead’s beloved firstborn. Most annoying man on earth congrats.’

Again. ‘Damian Wayne’ this time.

‘Massive dickhead’s massive dickhead. Demon? Grinch? Somebody kill it with fire please.’

And finally, ‘Tim Drake’.

‘The only acceptable one.’

…Well, at least your kidnapper liked one of the Waynes. Maybe they kidnapped you because you were their opposite or something? You definitely wouldn’t call Bruce motherfucking Wayne a massive dickhead. Or maybe they wanted to kill you.

The Molly prank idea was becoming more sound. Maybe she won the lottery and didn’t tell you.

You click on ‘Alfred :)’. He’s the one that called you earlier and also called you ‘Miss’, for some reason.

It’s just a bunch of heart emojis. Coherent, sure.

You go back, and click on the final of the list, ‘The Wicked Witch of the West’.

‘Don’t listen to Alfred. She wants to eat you.’

She wants to what?

A knock at the door has you jumping a foot in the air and nearly banging your head on the bathtub’s lip. You hear someone call your name through the door, and you freeze. Who… how? They call your name again, this time their voice louder. They bang on the door.

You creep over to the door.

“Ma’am, if you don’t open this right now, I’m quitting! We both know Alfred contacted you this morning, and he’s going to be very upset if I do so. There’s only so many assistants in this city!” from this close, you can recognise the voice belongs to a woman. She rattles the doorknob.

You lean down, peering through the peephole. The woman has a harsh face, a perfect pencil suit and her blonde hair in a pretty updo. Her makeup is impeccable. You get the feeling this woman is also more expensive than you can afford, despite her calling your name.

Bewildered, you open the door. She slams through like a battering ram, strutting 6-inch stilettos into the space.

She huffs, and then turns around. You can see very clearly she’s trying to keep her calm, but you did leave her at the door for like five minutes. It wasn’t your fault, you thought you were hallucinating or something.

“Ma’am,” she stresses the word, “Please unblock me.”

You blink at her, “Uh, sure.”

She waits, her hands clasped together in front of her.

“Oh- oh, right now?” you stutter, pulling the phone out from your noticeably lavish pyjamas.

Wait had someone changed you in your sleep? What the hell was going on? Maybe you should be more concerned about that, honestly. Still, you do as she commands.

She watches you like a hawk as you stare at the cracked phone. Your eyes flick up at her, and then back down at the screen. Slowly, watching for her reaction, you unblock ‘The Wicked Witch of the West.’ She nods, not even commenting on what was apparently her name in ‘your’ phone.

You were still slightly concerned about the ‘She wants to eat you’ thing, but she seemed… alright. Kind of scary. But not cannibalistic.

Still, this was Gotham after all. A healthy dose of fear was what kept people like you alive.

“Ma’am, did you just wake up? It’s already 4 o’clock,” she gives you a subtly disapproving look, and your shoulders sink like you’re being scolded.

“Yeah- yeah, sorry about that,” you stammer, embarrassed for some unknowable reason. This really was just like a dream. You could tell something was very obviously wrong, but you were still going along with everything like it wasn’t. Everyday life.

You were going to focus on that, this had to be just a dream. Just go along with… this, and then you’d wake up. And if you could manage to get over the uncanny valley-ness of the very obvious wealth surrounding you, maybe you could enjoy it.

You had always wanted to be rich. This was just your brain spewing out random information. Better than the nightmares you usually get.

You’re abruptly pulled back into focus when the woman clears her throat loudly. Ah, shoot. Had she been talking? You definitely hadn’t been listening.

“We need to get you ready, Miss,” she says like she’s repeating herself. You nod, because yes, of course, getting ready.

Ready for what? You think if you ask her she’ll yell at you. So when she grabs your arm and tugs you along, you follow. She pulls you into the bathroom, sitting you down in front of the mirror on a stool. Because this bathroom has stools in it. You stare at your reflection warily, before glancing up at her behind you.

“The stylists will be here in about forty minutes, and the makeup artists in two hours,” she pauses, giving you a strange look, “I appreciate you being so cooperative today. I understand this is all a delicate matter, but I am under Mr. Wayne’s orders first and foremost.”

“Wayne… like Bruce? Bruce Wayne?” you ask, even though there’s really no one else it could be. Still, you have to check.

Because it’s impossible. Even if it’s a dream, it still feels completely impossible. There was just something inside you that said ‘that can’t be right’, even if you knew none of this was real.

You realise, quite late, that you don’t even know this lady's name. ‘Wicked witch’

“Yes, Ma’am. Bruce Wayne of Wayne Enterprises,” she answers you, pulling out her phone and flicking through it. She doesn’t even respond to what you have to assume is an inane question. Maybe ‘dream you’ often asks stupid questions.

‘Normal you’ certainly does.

“Oh… okay…” the conversation drifts off, and she makes no attempt to fill it. Aren’t P.A.s supposed to… you don’t know, fix that? Or maybe she’s not your personal assistant, just an assistant. Silly you, making assumptions.

This bathroom deserves assumptions. You wonder if the gold frame of the mirror is, y’know, real.

The blonde woman walks out of the room without speaking another word to you. You think maybe you should follow her, but instead you just sit there with your hands on top of your knees. Your leg bounces up and down, and you glare it into submission, ignoring the way your muscles jump.

You look at yourself. You look… different. The bags under your eyes are worse than usual, and your gaze sunken into your face. Your hair is sad and oily, knotted in places. Your skin is almost waxy.

You look sick. You look like… you remember, you look like…

In the light of the day, you refuse to think about it. You’re not allowed to, you’ll break if you do.

You just don’t. Even if your reflection just confirms that you have to be dreaming.

Instead, you turn your gaze to the tub. You raise your hand to your hair again. Back in your apartment, you’d had a shower. It was a surprisingly good shower because you’d invested in a showerhead with better pressure. Still, it wasn’t a bath.

You missed bathes. You get up, close the door, lock it, and sink inside the tub. You take off your silky pyjamas inside the bath, and then you toss them on the floor beside you. Sitting there, you watch through the giant window at the world down below. At the ravens and pigeons that fly through the fog, at the few people you can see through the windows and balconies.

You press your cheek against the glass. It’s cold. You’re cold.

You’re sitting in an empty bathtub naked. What are you doing?

Rubbing at your eyes, you reach over to what you think are the controls. They all look very complicated, but there’s a switch that goes from blue to red, so you turn that. It takes another button press for the water to start flowing out. Steam fills the room, and you let out a sigh of contentment.

“Ma’am! Ma’am, the stylists will be here in ten minutes, and you need to get out. Ma’am? Ma’am!”

You shoot up in the bath, splashing water over the overflowing sides. Blinking, you turn your head back and forth and then sink back down. Oh. You’re still here. You went to sleep, but you’re still here. Maybe it’s one of those dreams where you think you wake up, but you haven’t. Or, ah, something similar.

You feel so tired. You really, really didn’t miss this feeling.

Quickly, you wash your hair and body, scrubbing furiously at the oily sweat on your skin. You stumble out of the bath on shaky legs, dry yourself off, and almost trip in your haste to get out the door. Showing off your negligible intelligence, you only realise you’re still wearing just a towel till she manhandles you towards the closet.

A walk-in closet, because of course it is. You think it’s bigger than your apartment. It has a flat bench in the centre because evidently all the walking around you’ll be doing will require a fainting couch.

The woman gives you, horrifyingly, a set of lacy, racy underwear. When all you do is just gape at her, she sighs, takes them from your hands and gives you a simple black set with no frills. You look down at them clasped in your wet hands. They’re clean, and they seem to be your size.

Still, this is a bit…

“Are these… new?” you ask, because there’s no tag or anything.

“Yes, Ma’am. But if you want, we do have some sets still unpacked at the back of the closet,” she says, going along with your weirdness. Even if she was a bit scary, you were grateful for that, at least. You guess celebrities were usually quite eccentric, so maybe this wasn’t out of the ordinary for her.

“Yes, please.”

She gives you a pair of Victoria’s Secret bra and underwear, plain beige and still in their plastic packaging.

“Cool, sweet, thanks,” you say, and she shakes her head just slightly.

She puts a white bathrobe down, and leaves the room, closing the door behind her. You lock it, and then you put on the underwear that you did not buy. The whole experience is strange, but still, you just go along with it. You’re a go-along-with-it kind of person.

You were… you were starting to not like that all of a sudden. Still, out of your depth in an odd dream is no place to start doubting your entire personality. You put on the bathrobe too. And the fluffy slippers that are tucked under them, with great pleasure.

You hear the many voices before you open the door. When you step through it, you feel like you’ve stepped onto the set of a movie. Or well, the backstage at least. Women and men are flittering about the chic apartment in the sort of rush you’d only seen working at BatBurger.

The woman from before spots you and you feel like a rabbit under a hawk's gaze when her brown eyes narrow on you. She strides over to you and then, once again, clamps her grip around your wrist and drags you over. You wonder as you stumble after her if she’s got some meta-human in her because no slim, perfectly put-together lady should be this damn strong.

She pulls you towards a set of three people. You can immediately tell they’re the heads of the operation, with an aura that squashes you like a pancake. Two women, one man. They’re all dressed to the nines, in their own unique ways.

They all look at you with assessing glances. You fear you do not measure.

“I’m surprised, Jeanine. You actually got her this time,” a woman with a black bob and a rocker look comments, her red lips twisting into a grin. You realise, with a start, that the blonde woman who was not incorrectly nicknamed ‘The Wicked Witch of The West’ was actually called Jeanine.

Lovely, you were getting the hang of things.

“Yes, she was very agreeable this afternoon. I’d like to apologise once again for any past issues,” Jeanine says, all business. You still have no idea what’s going on, and definitely no idea what they’re talking about. But what you assumed was the jist of it… was that ‘dream you’ wasn’t a very harmonious person.

Lovely, lovely, lovely. This was a bit of a personal nightmare for a people pleaser like you. Actually, it was a literal personal nightmare. Lovely.

“The disrespect I’ve faced is immeasurable. But, Monsoir Wayne pays exceedingly well. Still, it’s nice to actually have our dear client before us,” the other woman says, appraising her french tip nails. Which, considering she said ‘monsoir’ and the whole accent, would make a lot of sense. She’s closer to a classic beauty than her punk rock friend, with brown hair coiled and beautiful pearls across her neck.

“I don’t know, I thought I’d be getting paid for doing no work tonight. Ruins my plans,” the man teases, and you’re relieved at the kindness in his gaze. He’s wearing a suit with a dazzling but trendy red tie. His tie has an odd metallic sheen to it, a fabric your peasant mind couldn’t place.

If Molly were here, she’d jab you in the stomach with an elbow and whisper “One of those homosexuals, me thinks” even if she was bi herself.

You wish Molly were here.

“Yes, well, I’d like it if we could all work together tonight. And get to it quickly, the drive to the Wayne Tower isn’t a quick one with the evening traffic, so, if you’d please.”

And that was that. No introductions, no extra pleasantries. You were swept away in a whirl of fabric and hair products.

They stuff you into a gorgeous evening gown, its colour reminding you of a sparkling midnight sky. Rhinestones dot down the sides, coalescing at the bottom. You hope they’re not real diamonds. Gloves, a bracelet, a necklace, and dripping pearl earrings. It was all impeccably put together, and you felt uncomfortable with such items on you. You didn’t dare ask how much it all cost, despite being desperately curious.

They slip towering 6-inch stilettos on you despite your protests, cake your face in enough powder to make you sneeze. Dramatic liner and eyelashes that felt heavy on your face, a lipstick that had to be coated twice because you chewed on your lip with nerves.

And then you’re done, dizzy and confused but thoroughly made up.

You get one quick look at your reflection before Jeanine is pulling you up and out of the seat.

They’d gotten rid of the signs.

You ignore the part of you that desperately wants them back and follow Jeanine out into the elevator.

Despite the fact that it is, in fact, a very long drive to the Wayne Tower, she does not seem inclined to say a single word to you. The ride is awkward and quiet, broken only by the sound of you pressing buttons in the back of limousine, and even that stops when you get an unimpressed look from her.

So you just sit there, vibrating at frequencies unseen by man.

When you finally arrive at Wayne Tower, the crowd shocks you. There are so many paparazzi, nearly overflowing the flimsy barricades and onto the carpeted marble entryway. The tower itself is a display of outrageous wealth, towering over the rest of Gotham City easily. You think for a while it’d been the tallest building in the world, but you couldn’t remember your elementary school education all that well.

It wasn’t like this information would’ve been useful at any point in your life. You still don’t think it will be, as this is all a very vivid dream.

The door opens, and immediately you’re overwhelmed by the camera flashing. You hunch away from the lights like a vampire, but Jeanine pushes you forward.

“We’re already very late, Ma’am. No time for faffing around,” she says from behind you, hand placed squarely against your back.

What? But all you’d done was rush around all afternoon! You know, if you’d just taken one of the trains or even the Skyrail you’d have been able to avoid this. Still, you’re out the door, up the steps, not given a moment to react to the questions thrown at you.

“Miss! Miss, are you here to celebrate your birthday? Don’t you think it’s a bit callous to ignore the tragedies of today?”

“Miss! Is it true you’ve been disowned?”

“Miss, miss, about your family…!”

Oh, well, even if what they’re saying is awful, it’s a relief. It’s your birthday again. You think the guy who had called you said happy birthday. That meant none of this could possibly be real. See? It had to be a dream. Had to, had to… You decide to ignore literally everything else they say, letting the words float through your very hollow brain.

Life’s a lot easier when you play it a little stupider.

The heels and the stairs are an awful combination, and if it wasn’t for Jeanine’s herculean strength you’re certain you’d be tumbling down them right now. Your assistant… secretary… lady is careful not to let that happen, however.

Maybe you judged her too quickly. You appreciated anyone who made sure you didn’t fall flat on your ass. It was a good quality for a person to have.

You don’t get to appreciate the Wayne Tower all done up. You don’t get to stare at the lights and flowers strung into the art deco rafters. You don’t get to stare and gape and look like an idiot, because Jeanine wants you to look like an idiot elsewhere.

In the middle of all these fucking random rich people you don’t know. Hurray!

You’re shoved into a group of people, with Jeanine at your back. She starts rattling off names and titles and relations, and you can’t make heads or tails of any of it. You turn to look at her with what must be a genuine deer-in-headlights fear, and she stops and then starts speaking slower.

Thank God for that. Well, since she’s making an effort, you do too.

“This is Lianne Jenkins, wife of Senator Jenkins,” Jeanine whispers into your ear, and you nod. You knew him, you’d voted for him, in fact. How the fuck were you here talking to his wife? She’s not looking at you, instead talking to someone beside her. She turns, and you put on the best smile you can.

The socialite physically startles when she sees your face. Great.

“Oh- oh my!” her voice stutters over your name like she can barely even remember it, “I didn’t know you’d be here tonight, it’s a pleasure to see you!”

It… it was your birthday party, right? Your name was on a giant banner at the back of the room, so you had to assume it was. Dream logic. Just- just blame it on dream logic.

“Oh, look it’s Gerald! I’m sorry my dear I really have to-”

And she just ditched you. At your birthday party. You blink at the space she just evacuated and then turn around to Jeanine. You probably give her some sort of weird Kubrick stare, and she winces. She then looks around for someone else for you to talk to. From the growing despair on her face, you can assume she doesn’t find anyone.

“I don’t want to be here,” you say.

“I said I’d quit, remember?” she replies. You think she’s lying to you. She looks about as desperate as you feel, which is a lot. You were seeing a lot of sides of ‘The Wicked Witch of the West’ today. She seemed less wicked and more generally insane. Hey, at least the two of you had something in common.

You turn away from her, eyes roving over the party. You recognise some people, because you know, they’re all rich and famous. That guy over there was in a movie you pirated recently. The one on your right seems to be someone important in online tech spaces. You think he did NFTs or something, which made you sad because you did not want that sort of person at your birthday party. Oh, the woman on the other side of the room eating canapes is an Instagram influencer, you think. The fantasy of a Wayne party gala is fading fast, falling out of the sky like a comet of fire to bring doom and death to mankind.

You are so out of your depth.

You turn back around to Jeanine.

“I really, really don’t want to be here,” you repeat, and Jeanine, shocking you, grabs your hands in hers.

“Please stay. Just for thirty minutes, please,” she begs you, her dark eyes pleading. And because you are the living personification of a doormat, you sigh.

“Alright. But only for thirty. And I’m getting very, very drunk.”

“Thank you, thank you. I’ll be right beside you the entire time-”

You decide, oh so kindly, that you are totally ditching Jeanine, too. Spinning in your dress, you make a grand effort to get away from her, but she dogs you loyally. The goliath-like heels you’re wearing don’t make it any damn well easier. Still, you don’t stop trying to outrun the tiny, control freak of a woman. Because while she definitely seems to desperate to stay near you, you are also very desperate to not be near her.

Your hand itches. Randomly, it itches quite a lot. You don’t know why you only notice what must be a bug bite inside the gala, but you do. Awkwardly, you scratch your palm with your other hand, staring down at the skin. It doesn’t look red yet, but it honestly it’s getting kind of annoying.

You sigh again, and turn to ask Jeanine if she had any lotion or something, because you assume that’s what stalking personal assistants are for and… she’s not there. Somehow you lost her, without even noticing.

You throw your arms into the air. Yippee! Now, it’s time for alcoholism, as is the answer to all problems in life. It’s what the loving and maternal arms of Gotham had taught you, after all.

You stumble your way to a wall where there’s a set of food, and a server with a silver platter carrying a bunch of champagne glasses. You stop the guy before he moves again, your hands in the air like you’re trying to soothe a scared animal.

You point at the tray, “I want that.”

He looks at you with mild horror. You thought rich people were weird, like he’d be used to something like this. It wasn’t like you were asking for the shirt off his back or cocaine or something. If it wasn’t obvious, you really didn’t know anything about what rich people did.

“It’s my birthday. It’s totally cool. I asked Bruce myself,” You bald-faced lie, like you’d ever even met the man. Like a predator, you watch the man carefully put the tray down next to the rest of the food, and then he slowly backs away from you. Well, okay, you could admit that was kind of weird. This night is getting to you. God knows this loud-as-fuck party was more overstimulating than anything you could usually stand. And so bright. What a shitty fairytale ball.

You grab one of the flutes of champagne and swirl it, sniff it, and then once you’ve gone through the polite checklist of drinking you throw it back like it’s a shot of vodka. There were people watching after all. Wait, they’d probably seen you corner that poor server boy.

Hmm, this requires cake. You choose a random slice that looks like it might be strawberry something, and dig in eagerly. It tastes fucking fantastic. The cream is sweet and soft, and the jam has a pop of flavour you totally weren’t expecting. And the cake itself was a lovely, spongy texture.

Grand. Maybe if you just sat here like a wallflower and ate food and drank liquor you could handle this. It wasn’t any different from how you behaved at Molly’s college parties.

So, you decide to work your way up and down the buffet table. Most of it’s delicious, but when you try things you can’t quite recognise, there’s a twenty-percent chance it’ll be disgusting and you’ll have to spit it out to avoid poisoning. You’re careful not to try the caviar, despite your own curiosity. You’d heard that it just tasted like salty water, and that didn’t mix well with whatever you were currently putting in your stomach.

You look down at your hand. It’s another piece of the sponge cake, wedged between a napkin so your dirty fingers didn’t touch it and you didn’t have to bother with another plate. You giggle, because it really is that good.

Ah, this is great. You could do this forever, screw thirty minutes. You eye the entrance the servers keep coming in and out of, and wonder if Jeanine would get mad if you tried to follow them into the kitchens. Probably, probably…

The question was, was it worth it? You’re debating the merits when the sound of someone's shoes stops next to you. You think it’s a man, and you consider barking at him to get away from the buffet, but decide you’ve tried everything and can probably share again. It takes great strength, though. You decide you deserve some more champagne for the kindness.

It’s after a moment that you realise he’s not taking anything.

“Oh, so you actually showed up? Colour me surprised,” a familiar, calm, masculine voice speaks from behind you. Your mouth drops open, and you spin on your heel. If you hadn’t been clinging to the table cloth you’d have fallen over, but still, you drop the champagne flute, and it bursts in a spray of liquid and glass against your dress.

It also splatters on the dress shoes of one Tim Drake.

First the phone, now the delicious drink. You really wished you’d stop dropping things.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

[ddejavvu]

omg tyler owens x shy!reader where they got separated (in a storm or whatever you’d like) and reader is usually so hesitant on public PDA but tyler got hurt and the team is shocked to see reader freaking out over him and he’s just being so gentle and calm

feel free to change whatever 🫶🏼💕 thank you for putting the imagination into words so well!!!

Aftermath - Tyler Owens x Reader

come participate in tyler owens night !

You're typically less obnoxious about your relationship with Tyler Owens in front of his mass of fans, but Tyler isn't typically bleeding from a head wound, so today is different all-around.

One of the windows of his truck had broken, shattered and disappeared into the mass of swirling winds and debris, and an unfortunately sharp chunk of the mess had slashed Tyler across the forehead, leaving an open gash in its wake. Long but thankfully shallow, the cut drips deceptively copious amounts of blood down his face, and your fingers desperately try clearing it away.

"Baby, baby, I'm okay." He vows, keeping his voice low even though it's shaking. Perhaps his adrenaline junkie habits do have a ceiling.

"You're not okay," Your voice wobbles as if you yourself had been in the twister, instead of watching on his live stream as his head was cut open, "That- that thing could have hit your eye, it was so- so close, or it could have hit-" You devolve into deep, choking sobs, one that rip gasps from your throat and leave your heart pounding.

"Breathe." Tyler prompts you, taking your face in his shaking hands the way you're holding his, "Breathe. It didn't go through my eye. It went through my forehead, and it's just a little thing. It's gonna heal up just fine- just need some stitches. And I'll get the window fixed tomorrow, before anything else. 'Cause-" He breaks off, voice still shaky and hollow, "That's- that shouldn't have happened. My truck's supposed to be stronger than that."

"If it happens again," You fret, voice slowly strengthening as you muscle down your aching sobs, "If-"

"No, it's not- it's not gonna happen again." Tyler's hands squeeze your face gently, providing comforting pressure as he holds you steadily against him, "I'll test it myself. I'll- I'll bash the windows with a hammer or somethin', and- and make sure they won't break."

"Don't bash your windows with a hammer," You laugh, and it's a wet, barely-there sound, "That's- that sounds dangerous. And expensive."

"Okay." He nods, and you stare at each other in reverie, one coming off of the high of near-mortality and the other sponging away grief that had already taken up residence over the heart. Tyler is alive, he's injured but he's alive, and you'll reinforce the truck with solid steel if you have to, just to be sure a stray chunk of debris doesn't shatter the window again.

"Can- can you take a little break?" You ask Tyler, and you're not doing it on purpose, but you're pretty sure your eyes are stuck in puppy-mode, and it must be lethal, "I don't want you going back into a storm for- for, I dunno, a few weeks maybe. I just- let your head heal first, please?"

"Alright. Yeah, a- a break sounds nice," Tyler admits, grinning absently at you. You wonder if his body is out of its fight-or-flight response yet, "Maybe even a month? We'll see how the channel does, 'make sure we don't lose too much of an audience. We can pay the bills until then."

"Thank you," You breathe, inches away from Tyler's face as you drink him in, and you're unsure whether you're thanking him for stepping down and playing it safe, or whether you're thanking the universe for sparing him by an inch.

"Mm-hm," He nods, and you really can't tell whether he's talking to you or the universe either. Maybe a transcendent mix of both, but as long as there's still air in his lungs and fire in his eyes, you don't care too much about the details.

[chocostrwberry]

Does the Re verse/shady bug and claw noir AU exist in This AU? It would be cool seeing betterfly/hesperia interacting with a post season 2 Chat Noir or Post Finale Chat Noir interacting with Shadybug since she still exists in her universe, etc and etc. Lol!!!!!!!!

NOOO NOT IN THIS AU,,

But here’s the designs for them if they existed in my AU!!

I wanted to play with the “good and bad luck” aspect. Reverse Marinette struggled with bad luck, and Reverse Adrien had good luck UNTIL they got their miraculous!!

Reverse Marinette is a bullied teen who’s life is pretty bad. Her mom’s bakery is going under, her dad is sick need to pay medical bills, everyone at her regular public school thinks she’s creepy and dirty so she has no friends, and life seems to always go out of its way to make her miserable. She has a massive crush on Adrien, even though she has caught him multiple times throwing away her anonymous love letters. (He KNOWS they’re from her and he finds her obsessive and a loser).

As Shadybug, she takes out her emotions and anger on innocent Parisians. She loves feeling like she has control over her life and actions, and making others feel the same way she does: fearful. She terrorizes alongside Claw Noir, who always has an idea on how to make something go from bad to worse. But she finds his doting cringe and desperate.

Reverse Adrien is the wonder boy who never seems to get what’s coming to him! He’s figured out that no matter what he does, for some unnatural reason, he seems to never face any real consequences. You could say he’s been “spoiled by life”. After receiving the cat miraculous, he can’t act out nearly as much anymore because for the first time, he now knows what it’s like to face the results of his actions (detention, suspension, grounding, etc.) and he lowkey HATES it. Even though he likes being Claw Noir at times, he argues that the cat miraculous ruined his life.

When he becomes Claw Noir he channels his destructive tendencies towards Paris, while fighting the akumas that Betterfly throws at them. Unknown to anyone, his favorite part is being defeated, which means it’s the end of the game. The Bonnie to his Clyde, Shadybug’s unsympathetic and sadistic attitude is the kind of girl Claw Noir likes best, so he does whatever she asks him to in the name of love.

[honeybubblebeeeeee]

Toji is 100% the older, rich boyfriend that will throw money at any of your problems because he actually hates seeing you upset when it comes to finances.

Being a university student and working part time, you have a lot going on and a decent amount to pay for. You are not estranged from your parents per say but they aren't ones to help out either. You never ask for help because that's what you're used to but you also feel bad asking for money so you never will.

Toji came back to your shared apartment. He of course had to practically pry you out of your old sketchy apartment because you didn't want to 'burden' him. You had insisted on paying half of the rent, bills and groceries but Toji just wanted you to be comfortable. You had worn him down for groceries and paying your car and phone but that was it.

"Angel? You in here doll?" He hunted through the apartment looking for you. Finally he found you in the bedroom, hunched over your laptop quiet tears fell from your eyes.

Your eyes snapped to him when he came in the room. You forced a smile, sniffling. "Oh you're home early. How was work?" You spoke so nonchalantly as if you obviously weren't crying.

"Why are you crying?" Toji tried to see what was on your laptop but you snapped it shut and wiped your face.

"Oh, I'm not I just keep yawning." A very forced yawn came out of you and you wiped your eyes again.

He almost wanted to clap at your attempt to cover it up. You moved off the bed and went to walk past him to the bathroom but his arm snaked around your waist, pulling you against him.

"What's wrong doll? Tell me who's got you upset so I can fix that real quick." His mischievous smirk made you giggle through the sniffling.

"It's nothing. It's stupid anyway." He tilted your head up to look at him. "I don't care what it was angel. Tell me."

You knew he wouldn't relent. Sighing, you looked down at your hands as you spoke. "My school offered me a month abroad for a course.... but then I found out that my sponsor pulled my funding and now I don't know if I can afford it and I really wanted to go and ugh it's stupid. I just applied too so now I don't know whether to pull my application or try to make it work somehow." Toji's features softened as you rambled on. He did remember you telling him about all the abroad courses and he agreed then and now that you deserve to go.

He chuckled, cradling your head as he pulled you against his chest. "Baby, you have a sponsor still. You're going on that trip. So, stop the tears, alright?"

You sighed and tried to pull away from him. "I just told you I don't have a sponsor anymore."

Toji picked you up and threw you to the bed. You laughed as you bounced. "Close your eyes angel." You rolled your eyes at him before closing them.

You tried to focus on your hearing to tell what he was doing. You opened your eyes as you felt objects softly hit your skin.

"Toji!"

Toji was quite literally throwing money at you. Then after there was no more cash, he dropped a handful of different bank cards into your lap.

"Like I said, you're going. No more tears and I don't wanna hear any arguments or I'll go to your school and pay for it myself." He softly gripped your chin, planting a soft kiss on your lips.

~ ~ ~ ~

random draft i just never posted, am working on requests so THANK YOU SM FOR SENDING i just want them to be good so im taking my time <3

[indigosunsetao3]

Submission for @glitterypirateduck's #CoDVacationMode challenge.

Title: Best Laid Plans Pairing: 141 x Reader, (Female Reader) Warning: 18+, implied smut, sexual situations, sexual thoughts Prompts: Budget Motel, Solo Vacation, Running into the same person (s) Word Count: 4.3k Summary: A nice long holiday to 'find yourself' is just what you need after a messy breakup. You look forward to the restful retreat for months, dreaming about what you'll do with all your free time. But when the trip finally arrives, everything goes completely off the rails.

This got extremely out of hand in length, as my stuff usually does. I can do a part two if there is an interest 💙

The summer plan of 'finding yourself' after an extremely messy breakup was not going to plan. In the slightest. You were supposed to hop off the plane on an island in the Mediterranean, catch a ride to your rented flat, and find a lovely man, or five, to occupy your next month in blissful self love.

The first flight had been extremely uncomfortable in coach, the seats too small and your neighbor too loud to be able to sleep. That was fine you told yourself, it was just a few hours. You had a four poster bed with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the ocean to sleep in for the next few weeks. What was a few hours?

Then when you arrived at the impossibly small airport after the second flight you found out your luggage hadn't made it. It was still on the mainland and they'd be sending it on the next flight; which wasn't until the following day. Fine. You could survive on your travel clothes for a night.

But the final straw had been when you arrived at your rented space to find the owner standing outside the place. It was flooded. Completely and utterly ruined, water running from the ceiling where the pipes had burst and their other place was already booked. So were all the other areas around. Summertime on the island was busy which was why you had to book this place out four months in advance. The owner apologized and hoped to have it ready in a few weeks so maybe you could finish your vacation there.

The only place with a vacancy is a small motel on the edge of town that looks like it rents rooms by the hour. You sigh as the taxi drops you and you walk up to the front counter. It's like the start of a horror movie, the fluorescent link flickering as you sign in and pay for a room. You'll find something better tomorrow you tell yourself.

At ten at night, there is nowhere around to eat so you settle for the vending machine that is on the way to your room. It only accepts cash. You hadn't had the chance to exchange currency, that was part of the plan for tomorrow. This was turning into such a disaster. Maybe you should have just stayed home, maybe it was the universe letting you know that this was not going to be the hot girl summer you thought.

Tilting your head back to hold back the frustrated, and tired, tears you hear footsteps approach. Carefully wiping your face you turn to see a man standing behind you at the machine, casually digging out his wallet as he looks at you.

"Oh, please go ahead," you mutter as you step aside, "I was just...leaving."

"Didn't find anything appetizing?" The man asks as he steps forward and peruses the selection inside.

"No cash. Had a bit of a change of plans and didn't expect my first night in the country would be vending machine food."

"You should always carry local currency," the man says with a grin and you catch the emblem on his ball cap is a British flag. Perhaps another tourist.

"I'm figuring that out," you answer as you look at your room key number to see where you need to go.

"What do you want?" He asks as he makes a selection, a candy bar.

You pause and stare at him with an eyebrow raise. You weren't one to accept anything from strangers but you were starving.

"What do you want?" You parrot back at him taking a step back.

He chuckles eyes roving over you before producing another bill and stuffing it into the feeder.

"No strings. Just don't think you should go to bed hungry. Even if it's shitty vending machine food." He presses in the selection and watches it fall to the tray below before bending down to retrieve the bag and holds it out to you. "Crisps?"

"Thanks," you say skeptically, taking it and preparing to run.

He smirks, unwrapping his own sweet treat and taking a bite. "See you."

You wait until he is gone, disappearing into his room down the line before hustling to your room. You slip in and slam the door shut, sliding the chain and lock into place before flipping on the light. The room is about as delightful as any seedy motel that hadn't had an update since the eighties would be. You're fairly certain something skittered under the bed when you flipped the lights on.

The next day isn't going better.

You can't find anywhere else to stay on the island. No one has any sort of openings for at least a week. Your luggage had arrived at the place you were supposed to be staying at, but since no one was there they took it back to Athens. You spend another few frustrating hours to arrange it to arrive at the motel but now they say it'll be another two days. You couldn't do another two days of dirty clothes and motel soap.

You opt to go shopping, to try and make the best of it and find some nice airy clothes and hygiene provisions. Shopping takes up the rest of your day and when you arrive back at the sketchy motel you walk up to your door and slide your key in the lock to get in. It jams. You rattle the knob in frustration, juggling your bags as you fight with it.

It's not budging.

"Need a hand?" Someone calls and you turn to see the man from the night before. But he also has a friend. The other guy is older, a bit taller, definitely gruffier, and would have been a bit more intimidating if he didn't have a boonie hat on like your father.

"Ah, no I got it," you answer as you try to shoulder the door open. It doesn't budge and you sigh.

"Here," he offers walking over, his friend lingering back with his hip on the railing just watching.

You step away from the door as he wiggles the key a bit and grabs the handle, his hand completely encapsulating the knob, and he lifts it. The lock slides free when he twists the key open again and he opens the door allowing you to slip past.

"Humidity shifts the doors, just give them a good lift," he says with a grin as you shuffle past and turn to stare up at him. You watch as his eyes sweep over the room before back to you.

"Well, I'll hopefully only be here another day or two," you answer, "thank you..." you pause to get his name.

"John."

"John," you say with a nod before moving to shut the door.

"Wait," his hand stops the door shutting and your heart jumps into your throat. "Key," he supplies pulling it from the knob and holding it to you. "Don't want anyone just wandering by and letting themselves in," he finishes with a small wink before turning away as you snick the door shut. You watch him walk away through the eyehole before turning back to your dismal room to make the most of your evening.

You are going to the beach today.

You had enough of phone calls, trying to make arrangements, and sitting in the infested motel room. Perhaps this was all part of that grand universe plan, a great story to tell later and a lesson to just roll with whatever was thrown at you.

You didn't have your suit but that was fine; a summer dress and a bottle of wine tucked into the tote bag you bought would keep you entertained. There is a public spot to visit and you decide to walk, taking in the summer day and the sights as you wander. Finally happening upon the beach an hour later before groaning. It's all the way down a hill, a hill full of steep stone steps that look like would be your demise at one misstep. Fuck it, you came this far.

Pulling out the wine you wander down carefully, sipping right from the bottle as you go. You don't pass anyone on the way down and when you make it to the sand half the bottle is already gone. You should have brought two. No matter.

You walk along the shoreline watching the water lap against the sand as you continue to sip. You aren't sure what the rules are for alcohol on the beach, let alone in public, so you keep tucking the bottle away as people happen upon you. A man runs past you and you twist to watch him pass. He grins at you over his shoulder but that's the only acknowledgement he gives you before he continues.

But then he comes back a few minutes later, slipping past you with a polite 'excuse me', hands brushing your shoulders as you step into the shallow surf to give him space. He's shirtless this time and you stare boldly as he goes, twirling the bottle in your fingers as you watch the sun shining on the sweat on his back. You bring the wine up to your lips to finish the last dregs, leaning back a bit tipsily to get the last drop. When you tilt forward again you nearly splutter the liquid out as you see the man standing right in front of you. How did he get back to you so quickly?

"Drink that whole thing yourself?" He asks, his Scottish accent thick as he eyes the bottle in your hand. You almost see a twinkle in his eye at your unsubtle attempt to grip the neck of the bottle to prepare to swing it as a weapon if needed.

"Going to tattle on me?" You shoot back willing your eyes to stay on his face. Not the way his chest heaves a bit to catch his breath, the lines of his muscles on his stomach that are taunt and oh so chiseled. And definitely not at his arms where the veins are on prominent display after all the cardio. Fuck. You snap your eyes up and he's smirking at you like a cheshire cat.

"Me? Never," he answers before looking over at the hill and the stairs, the only way back up. "Just curious if you plan on spending the evening down here," he grins, "you'll break your neck walking up those after all that. Especially out here in the sun, nary a drop of water in sight." With that, he sips on his own bottle of water and pulls his shirt that he's tucked into the waistband of his pants to wipe the sweat off his face.

"Be better than where I'm staying now," you mutter glaring at the stairs for a moment. "I think I have a multi generational family of roaches under my bed."

"Aye, roaches are better than rats though," the man states and he sees your eyes widen. "Thinking better of camping out here?" He laughs as you turn to stomp toward the stairs. You better start walking now if you want to make it out by sundown.

He follows though and you shoot him a look over your shoulder.

"Only way in or out," he reasons and you sigh before beginning your hike.

Your legs are on fire after only twenty steps and there are many more to go. He's a few steps behind, quietly following and politely looking at the ground, at least when you turn to stare at him. Halfway up you can't take it anymore and you step off to the side to bend over to breathe. The wine is churning in your stomach and you're slick with sweat from the heat. You wave him to go past you but you watch his legs stop in your vision before he taps you on the arm with his water bottle.

You snatch it with a muttered thanks before taking a few sips and handing it back. He's watching you quietly before you stand up and continue your march in silence with him still lingering a few steps behind you.

At the top, you breathe a sigh of relief before remembering you've still got about an hour's walk back. Maybe the rats would leave you alone if you just crawled under the bushes on the side of the road and slept there.

"We have to stop running into one another like this," comes a voice that makes your head snap up. It's the man from the motel in the baseball cap half leaning out the passenger window as he looks at you with a grin.

"I'm beginning to think you're following me," you answer the tone not a joke.

"Small island," he reasons as the guy from the beach walks around to climb in the car. Did all of these people know one another?

"Great, well enjoy," you answer and twist to walk the opposite way of the car.

"Motel's the other way," he calls and you hesitate in your steps. Goddamn it.

"Small island, I'll just walk the circle and get there eventually."

"We'll give you a ride." John is driving and he's watching you in the side mirror.

"I'm fine, thanks!" You shoot back and continue walking, stumbling a bit over some loose gravel.

"Careful."

A hand catches your elbow and you yank it back quickly looking up. Was all of Britain on this vacation? What are the odds you run into yet another British guy based on his accent?

""m fine," you snap as you take in him. He's tall, so tall you have to crane your head back to look at him. There isn't much to see of his face though between the black facial mask and sunglasses. He has a bag of what looks like takeaway in his hands and someone yells from the car for him to hurry up.

"The stumbling walk tells me otherwise," he answers as he blocks your path from continuing your walk. "Not safe to be out here alone in your state."

"Yeah? And what? Safer for me to get in the car with you lot?" You glance over your shoulder where the men inside the car continue to watch.

"Yes." He nods off to the right where another group of men are watching the whole scene unfold and as if on queue one wolf whistles while staring blatantly at you. "Considering Johnny was kind enough to keep them away from you on your walk, I would view us as the lesser of two evils."

"I-what?"

"It's the middle of the hottest part of the day, you think he went for a run for fun?" He laughs a bit, "get in the car."

Something about his tone is commanding enough for your confused, and tired, brain to listen. Maybe it's stupid. No, it is stupid. But what other choice do you have? You walk toward the car and the man in the back, Johnny, leans over to open it from the inside and you climb in.

The back seat is cramped once the other guy climbs in and he shoves the food into your hands, his knees tucked nearly to his chest. You take it before staring at John as he pulls off the curb and heads back to the motel.

Your heart is hammering through the whole drive, staring at street names, markers, anything to help you when they inevitably drove you down some side road and tried to murder you. No, they'd certainly murder you. Johnny's arms were the size of a small child and the guy next to you looks as if he could smash you under his foot.

True to their word though, you arrive back at the motel very much alive. Johnny gets out first and you slide out next to him and hand him the food with a shove before making to run for your room.

"Hang on," comes the big guy in the face mask's voice. You halt and twist as he walks over and sticks a Styrofoam box into your hands. "Living off wine and vending food is no way to spend your vacation." You swear he's grinning as you stare down at the box before he twists away to follow the other three men toward their room.

The food is delicious. You sit in the very center of your bed, above the blankets, and eat it all while watching the fuzzy television. You realize as you doze off in your wine haze that they had bought you food. There had been five boxes of in your hand sitting in that car as if they knew you'd say yes.

A few hours later you decide this was it. This was the thing that was going to send you into a breakdown.

Sunburnt, hungover, and the goddamn water in the shower is a very slow trickle that barely splashes the bottom of the tub. When you attempt to call the front desk for help it just rings. And rings. You're near hysterics in laughter, or rage, as you storm toward the door. Whoever is at the front desk is about to get an earful of misplaced anger.

Flinging the door open you make to storm right down to the front when a bit of your senses come back. You don't have shoes on and you are very much wrapped in just a towel. You twist to try and stop the door but it clicks shut just as your palm hits it. Shit. Shit. You wriggle the door handle hoping against hope that it didn't lock properly but it's good and snug in its place.

Gripping the towel knot at your collarbone you walk over to the railing and peer toward the front desk. Maybe no one would be around and you could just dart in there, ask the manager for another key, and run back before anyone saw.

The office is dark; they've closed for the evening it seems which is why no one had picked up.

"Oh my god," you whine as you twist to look back at your still very much closed and locked door. What do you do now? No phone, no key, no clothes. You glance to the right as someone steps out of their room and the leering look he gives you makes your stomach churn.

Lesser of two evils comes the masked guy's words. Right.

Before you can think better you walk down to the room that you know the four men are staying in and bang on the door. It's the middle of the night so you assume you're about to wake them but you barely get two knocks before it swings open. John is standing there looking very much awake, and perhaps a bit shocked at the state you're in.

Goddamn.

Where Johnny had been chiseled bronze earlier this guy is a broad-shouldered solid wall of man that you hadn't noticed the first time. He's not nearly as cut, but you know that brute strength lingers under his skin. Your eyes trace over his pecs that seem to bulge under his compression t-shirt.

"Ah, I know it's late...and this is all a bit odd," you say, your eyes sweeping into the room to see Johnny and the masked guy playing cards at a small table, their eyes darting between you and their hands. "But my shower wasn't working and one stupid thing led to another and I locked myself out of my room and the front desk is closed." You glance at the other stranger still standing watching you. "And I'm pretty sure if I don't get somewhere else my neighbor is going to kidnap me."

John looks out the door at the man who's smoking and smirking now and his hand gently comes between your shoulder blades to guide you inside.

"Kyle is just finishing up his shower then you can get cleaned up. See if I can scrounge up a shirt instead of just...that," his eyes give your body a once over and you feel goosebumps break out along your spine at the scrutiny.

You shuffle inside and grip at your towel to make sure it's good and wrapped before leaning against a dresser. This is so fucking awkward. The other two men continue their game doing their best to not stare and you jiggle your leg restlessly. What the hell were you going to do now? Just...sit here with them all night? You should have slept on the beach and risked the rats.

"This a guys' trip?" You ask into the silence in an attempt to fill it, noticing there were only two beds for the four men.

"Something like that," John answers as he brushes past you to sit on one of the beds. "What brings you here?"

"I decided to follow a stupid self-help book about finding yourself and a series of unfortunate events landed me here. I'm going to leave the author a horrible review." You sigh wistfully as the bathroom door opens. "I was supposed to be staying on the beach with my pick of men to bring home every night and just a nice break from reality for a bit. Little bit of 'eat pray love' in my life. But this has been a disaster."

"You've got at least one of those things," comes a voice, Kyle, as he walks out of the bathroom in just a towel slung around his hips. You have to mentally make sure your mouth is not hanging open at the sight because, fucking hell, he's gorgeous. The steam curling off his skin, water droplets still glistening on his chest, and a smile that about takes you out.

"Bloody showoff," Johnny mutters and you glance over at him before back to Kyle.

"Says the one running shirtless earlier, how's the burn?" The masked guy asks as he shows his cards and Johnny tosses his own in disgust at the loss.

"Sorry. What was that you mentioned? I've got one of the things?" You ask your hackles up a bit. This whole trip had been an absolute disaster, you hadn't gotten anything you had hoped for so far. "Fairly certain this motel is not the beachside villa I booked."

"Having your pick of men to bring home to your place," Kyle answers simply as if it were obvious. "I mean technically you're in our place but that's semantics." He waves a hand absently at the final word and you feel your toes curl at the thought, which he clocks instantly.

"I-what?" You ask a bit shocked looking between all of them.

"Do you think we would tell you no? Especially in that little number," John asks with a grin, his eyes on your fingers as you tug at the towel to see if it would grow an extra inch to cover more skin.

"And if I were to pick? What then? Rest of you go stand outside and wait? Sounds boring for the rest of you." You snipe sounding braver than you felt in an attempt to call their bluff. Surely they were messing with you.

"Can't just pick one doll," the masked guy answers and your eyes widen. "All or none, otherwise someone will be jealous and it's a whole fucking thing." You can see his eyes crinkle with a smirk.

Oh. Fuck. You squirm a bit under all their watchful eyes.

"Way to cut to the chase Simon," Kyle mutters as he takes in your shocked face.

"Dancing around it doesn't change it," Simon answers as he leans forward in his chair to peer at you. His head is cocked to the side a bit as if studying you, watching your body language as you process the newest development.

"All...are all of you," you stumble over your words, the filthy thoughts going through your mind despite the shock of it. "At the same time?"

"Promise we won't break you...unless you ask," Johnny supplies with a grin. "We can start slow though," he reasons cutting a look over at Simon as if warning him to keep his mouth shut.

"Can I," you lick your lips and dare a glance at the bathroom, "can I have a moment?" Because you are going to combust under their heated looks if you don't get away to breathe.

Kyle steps to the side and gestures to the bathroom to which you scamper to as quickly as possible. You shut the door with a snap and flip the lock before gripping the counter.

Were you really considering this? How could you not? But four men? Strangers. But the part you were most looking forward to of this vacation was no strings attached sex. And they certainly looked interested in helping you with that plan. Four? How would that even? Fuck, Kyle looked good. And how would it feel to grip onto John's chest and just...ride him? Shit, stop. But Johnny's arms looked plenty strong enough to hold you down so Simon could make you scream. Stop! These men had been purposely corralling you these past few days. But it was hot...how they wanted you. To share you. No.

Your brain is a garbled mess of thoughts as you look at yourself in the mirror. You need a drink, or ten. You take a shuddering breath, then another, as you steel yourself for your decision.

You only live once, right? You could always tell them to stop if you didn't want it. You could change your mind halfway through and end it...though you doubted you'd back out since just the thought of so many hands all over you, worshipping you, made your core ache with need. After all these shitty few days you deserved a good night, dammit. And who better to help than four men who had quite literally been chasing you around the island? Maybe the universe wasn't such a bitch after all.

"Fuck it," you announce as you pull open the bathroom door to give them your answer. But Kyle is already standing there and he grips you by the back of the neck to pull you to him in a heated kiss, stealing the rest of your words out of your mouth.

[drdemonprince]

This might be a strange ask but since you are/have been a instructor/professor/teacher/whatever is it worth it to deal with the cliqueness, classism and other general baggage of academia if the only want you would have would be the ability to teach other people? I would love to be able to teach as a profession but at the same time I want to be able to teach for people who aren't forced to attend classes against their will (which is where my apprehension would be teaching high school vs post-secondary).

I think if your goal is to teach people who are there to learn completely of their own volition, becoming a college professor is not gonna do it for you. A majority of people who attend school do so under circumstances of economic and social coercion, don't have their heart in it, are not well suited to the highly constrained university environment, and lack much control over which courses they get to take anyway.

You will not generally find a passionate, autonomous population of learners at any university or college. Instead you'll find people who are doing what they have been told to do all their lives by everyone around them, people who feel that they have no other choice but to attend, and the idle rich who generally don't value the enterprise of learning or take it seriously. You'll also most likely be very broke and not ever get a full-time job.

As a full-time professor, I am a statistical aberration. I got lucky, frankly, because a former head of my academic department got a random budget line and he wanted to surround himself with pretty young women, so he offered a full-time position to a blonde big-titted 30-year-old who had been working part-time for him for years. and after that budget line was erased upon his departure, that big titted 30 year old managed to finagle a lasting position for himself, and become a man. If that random bolt of luck hadn't hit, I would still be teaching from 9am to 10pm every day on three different campuses for like $40,000 a year combined, with no insurance, and battling laryngitis all the time. My students were mostly exhausted, broke, and desperate to escape their circumstances as well, and had been sold a lie that taking on tens of thousands of dollars in student loan debt would be the escape route for them.

I think if you want the experience of teaching people who full-throatedly love the subject they are studying and are making the free choice to learn, you'll have to think of a way to reach people autonomously, free from institutional constraints and economic pressures. That's unlikely to pay well. But being an adjunct (and the majority of college instructors are part-time adjuncts!) doesn't pay well at all either.

Generally, I'd encourage people not to make decisions about their long-term financial wellbeing based on their passions, and instead to find some tenable way of paying the bills that demands relatively little of them and allows them to funnel their energy elsewhere.

[steviewashere]

Hi possible prompt for your ask box celebration (congrats on 330 btw!!)

Eddie is one of those street poets w/ a typewriter that will write people on the street a poem abt anything they ask for, in exchange for tips or like $5

& Steve walks by & asks for a poem & Eddie is immediately like 😍😍😍

& then maybe Eddie flirts outrageously through the poem, or he tries so hard to keep it #professional but he’s so goo-goo over this (Adonis of a man) guy that he fails miserably, or whatever direction you would want to take it

anyway Steddie meetcute street poetry 🥰🥰🥰

This was such a fun prompt. And before we get anywhere with this, I did have to write a little poem here and it does sort of suck. Apologies in advance for it. Steve Harrington is usually not my main muse, lol. But I still enjoyed this <3

Tags: Alternate Universe - No Upside Down, Alternate Universe - No Supernatural, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Meet-Cute, Set in New York, Strangers to Lovers, Mild Angst, Fluff, Steve Harrington Has Self Esteem Issues, Brief Mentions of Car Accidents, Poet Eddie Munson, Muse Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington's Friendship, Eddie Munson Calls Steve Harrington Sunshine

Also on AO3 (because this one got long)

📝————————📝 Eddie Munson doesn’t sell drugs anymore. Nope. He’s a refined, renewed, reorganized man. That being said, he still needed to make money somehow. It wasn’t enough to do just mechanic work on the weekdays; something had to happen over the weekends, else he wouldn’t make it for his bills.

So he picks up a few new hobbies. Cycling, because that was the cheapest way for him to get around—he’s not particularly good at that one, but he still tries anyway. Photography, because his neighbor was selling his older cameras and the opportunity just couldn’t pass by. Then, there was his new found little business/career/dilly-dally.

Poetry.

On weekends, Eddie Munson, the guy who can’t afford to go to jail because of some rat-faced little tell-all not liking his product, writes poetry for a bit of extra cash. He sets up in Central Park with a little collapsable table and a few stools, a heavy as shit typewriter that his uncle off-loaded onto him, and enough paper to whoever is buying. There’s a tip jar dutifully set up by his feet. And the pay rate is whatever people can afford or want to afford.

One time, he wrote poems for a group of six giggly, drunk girls coming back from brunch mimosas—they gave him $30 each. Another, a little old man who had just beat a group of preteens at basketball—he could only afford the $3.50 that was rattling around in his shorts. Sometimes kids would come up and ask about getting a poem about their mom or their puppy or the little daisy they had just picked—they got theirs for free (they need to save their money for ice cream. And, also, he’s not going to get in trouble for a kid choosing to spend their lunch money. No sir-ee).

The weekends could be dry, though. They could get boring. But the sun hits him nice. And he usually sees a few beautiful pooches. And, well, he gets to work on his craft. A passion of his that he held onto since being a little kid. And people appreciate him for it, which is…nice to put it in simple terms.

This Saturday, though, is a rather dry day for customers. It’s overcast. There are less people out, though Central Park is never completely empty. And his tip jar is basically just flies and dust.

Until, fortunately, a man approaches him. He seems timid, a bit shy, even if his smile is all charm. His hair is swooped over and curling at his shoulders, brunette with blonde highlights. The man’s skin is tanned from the most recent summer, not quite fading into this early fall. Dotted with moles, poking out from the collar of his polo and the sleeves, down to his wrists, a few on his face. He has a gorgeous nose: greatly geometric and centered between all his features, sun kissed on the tip, a little crooked on the bridge—aquiline. His lips are a soft pink, a bit pouty, stretching wonderfully around his straight, white teeth. And his eyes are a tad downturned, hooded, shiny with excitement; hazel, but leaning more towards a light shade of brown, fanned by long, dark eyelashes, and squinting with his smile. He’s tall—probably around Eddie’s height, 5’11”. Pretty fit—his arms are toned and his hands are large and he’s broad on the shoulders, but he’s not bean pole thin like Eddie is, just a little chunkier. And, Eddie’ll never admit this out loud, but the dude’s got a great ass, perfectly squeezed in by a pair of Levi’s—light wash, edging on skinny, but not entirely form-fitting. His polo is a darling yellow ochre; rich and warm and perfect to his skin tone.

He doesn’t know what kind of poem he’ll write for this guy, but fuck him, he just wants to wax on and on about this literal slice of heaven that’s standing over him. Smiling. Hands clasped together in front of him. His bright, sunshine eyes. And…yeah, that’s a word to describe this guy.

Sunshine.

“Um—hey, you’re the guy that does the little typewriter poems, right?” The guy asks, his knuckles turning white as he squeezes his hands tighter together. He shifts from one foot to the other, a quick nervous tic that you’d miss if you weren’t looking at him. And now that he’s stepped closer to the makeshift “booth”, Eddie can smell him. There’s a rich earthy undertone to him—the bark of freshly wet pine trees, a drop or two of eucalyptus, and there’s a touch of citrus to him, too; orange or vanilla-lemon, it’s hard to tell.

Eddie wants to stick his nose in the crook of this guy’s neck. Wants to suckle on his skin. Lick a stripe from the underside of his jaw, down to his ankles, and back up all over his face.

But he just smiles, soft and pulling, and blinks up at him. “Yeah, that’s me,” he states softly. “Want me to write you one? It costs however much you’d like to pay.”

“However much?” His face goes a little complicated. The biggest, Muppet-esque frown Eddie’s ever seen, the pinch of his eyebrows, and a tilt to his head. He’s gauging the near empty tip jar, from where his eyes seem to trail. “Isn’t that a bad rule for business?”

Eddie shrugs. “I dunno. I know nothing about business. But…It’s kept me afloat most of the time, so it’s not terrible.”

The guy makes a short grunt of assessment. “Hm, okay,” he murmurs, “do I pay you now or after?”

“After.”

“Okay,” he murmurs again. Even his voice is doing things to Eddie. It’s all deep at the base of his throat. A little raspy as if he smokes cigarettes; probably does based on the curl of stale smoke Eddie smells from him as he settles into a stool. “I know that you usually do whatever prompt the customer gives, but I’m sort of…I’m pea for brains, so I can’t really think of anything. Is it okay if…Can you just pick something?”

Eddie tilts his head and looks off of the guy’s shoulder. Miffed at how downtrodden this stranger is on himself. He gazes back and asks, “Can I write about you?”

His eyes widen and he jolts in his seat just a fracture. “I mean, sure. If that’s really the muse you want to go with.” And then he gives a self-deprecating chuckle. Eddie kind of wants to shake him by the shoulders and scream to the whole fucking galaxy about how beautiful he is. But he restrains. “Nothing about the scars on the backs of my arms, though, please,” guy adds a moment later, so quiet that Eddie almost misses it. “It’s from a bad car accident and I—I’m just now getting back into the swing of wearing short sleeves.”

Nodding, Eddie says, “You got it. And hey—“ He takes the sleeve of his t-shirt and rolls it up. The shirt’s from an old club in high school, the Hellfire Club. Quarter sleeves to his elbows. But right above the crease of his left elbow is a long, scraggly, winding scar that creeps from the base of his neck. He even points to the side of his face, at the large swatch of scarring on his jaw. How Mr. Beautiful Stranger didn’t notice it, Eddie’s unsure. “—I understand,” he states gently. “Also from a bad wreck. It happens to the best of us,” he tries to joke.

And even his laughter melts Eddie. High pitched and unrestrained, giggles coming straight from his heart. “Yeah, okay,” he sighs. “Sure, I’ll be your muse.”

Eddie sets up his typewriter, at the start of the paper, two fingers down, not indented. “Do you care if I use your name as the title?”

“Steve,” he softly says, “and yours?”

The corners of Eddie’s mouth curl upwards lightly, just a little thing. “I’m Eddie. Some people around here will call me Ed, but you call me whatever you want.”

Steve hums. “How about Eds? Actually…Unless that’s—That might be stupid, never mind.”

Barreling, Eddie just asks, “How ‘bout I call you Stevie?” He grins with it. “We can be Eds and Stevie, the unlikely duo.”

Another little fit of giggles, Eddie’s never felt so full. “Okay, Eds and Stevie, The Unlikely Duo. Thanks for not making me feel dumb.”

“You’re only dumb if you’re a bigot. And, I could be wrong, but every aspect of you does not spell bigot. You seem like a nice guy, all things considered.”

Instead of a verbal response, all Eddie receives is a slow lull of silence. But when he looks up, Steve is staring right back. A soft, pleased smile on his face. Cheeks flushed. It’s like he’s bursting at the seams with the approval. Maybe he is, Eddie considers, maybe nobody’s ever told him that. And that thought gets shut down almost as fast as it formed, makes Eddie’s chest hurt just a little too much to work through.

“So, Steve, what’s got you out here this morning?” He works better with conversation, so hopefully Steve will give him this.

“Oh,” Steve softly exclaims as if he wasn’t expecting Eddie to talk to him. Or to acknowledge him. Or to even exist with him past this poem. “I come out here and feed birds on Saturday mornings. Technically, I don’t think I’m supposed to, but nobody’s stopped me. Just ran out of seed and was sort of wandering around and remembered that you were here. I’ve never had interest in coming over here, but I’ve seen you, so it was just what my best friend told me that drew me over.”

“Mm, word from mouth. All good things, I can only hope.”

Steve snorts. “Yeah, amazing things, actually. She said you were really nice to her. She had come home from brunch with a few of her friends and they were tipsy.” He sighs, chuckling through it. “It was noon on a Saturday when she came back to our apartment. And I could smell the alcohol on her. Think I was…I had been sleeping—I’m a heavy sleeper and I’m chronically fatigued all the time, so I tend to sleep in late. But she came into my room, shook my shoulder, and was a crying mess when I finally saw her. Asked her what was wrong. She just blubbered on and on about how a really nice guy wrote something really nice for her about her little friendship. And I just…I don’t know. I wanna read something that makes me feel better about the world and maybe also reduces me to tears.”

Eddie stops where he’d been softly clacking away on his typewriter. He tends to type loud, but something about Steve makes him stop and appreciate even the air around him. Something about him just soothes Eddie. Also, the fact that he rambles is cute. He’s good at silences. And he’s good at just talking.

“Well, I can’t promise that it’ll be the best thing you’ve ever read,” Eddie slowly states. “I can try, though. I can try to write something beautiful.”

“You’re writing about me, so I’m not expecting it to be beautiful,” Steve quickly says. He backtracks though, stopped in his seat and wide-eyed. His mouth is agape and his cheeks are completely red now. “Forget I said that. That’s—I struggle a lot with that and I promised my best friend that I’d stop being so hard on myself, but it just is…automatic.”

As nonchalant as possible, Eddie begins to type again. He confesses more towards his paper, trying to avoid the eye contact, “You are beautiful, so this’ll come easy.” And then he’s met with that same slow lull of silence. The romantic kind of silence that Steve seems entirely attracted to. And, yeah actually, Eddie kind of appreciates it. The curve of the silence and the warmth of its face, the plushness of its lips in the ways it kisses the both of them. If Steve is so inclined to sit in this silence after admittances like that, maybe Eddie can learn to love them. If Steve wants more than just this poem.

He’s at the final stanza when Steve begins to speak again.

“Have you ever written about yourself?”

“Mmm, no,” Eddie murmurs, typing away, “no I don’t think I have.”

Steve takes a grand breath. “Y’know, if you like writing about the beauty in things, you should write about yourself, too.” He’s fiddling with his hands, focus elsewhere, when Eddie is openly staring at him again.

“Yeah?” Eddie asks. Steve nods carefully, eyes shiny with nerves now. He’s chewing on the inside of his right cheek. Eyes darting back and forth and back and forth. “You think I’m beautiful?” He meekly questions.

“Yeah, I think so. You’ve got these…huge brown eyes that pull me in and they’re sort of soft on your face, kind of like a deer, maybe a baby cow? I love those two, so don’t be insulted. And…You’re always sitting in the sun, but you’re still sort of pale and it makes it easier to see all the little freckles you’ve got. And—I, for one—love freckles. I think that your hair is just wonderful. And I—I don’t know, I’ve seen you around. Maybe I’ve thought about you a little too much.” His smile is sheepish and cute. Absolutely adorable.

Eddie grins. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re hitting on me.” He works the paper out of the typewriter, smooths the fine wrinkles at the bottom of the sheet, and then looks his writing over.

Steve gains a manly kind of confidence to him now. He leans forward, just a hair away from seeing what Eddie wrote, and talks low and smooth. “And if I was?”

He glances up, warming on the face. “I’d say that I like it and…y’know, if my poem doesn’t suck, I know a good cafe around here. Only if this is good and only if you’re interested.”

“Show me what you got, Eds. I’ll probably take you up on that lunch offer after.”

In the short few years Eddie’s been doing this, he’s never been nervous to present his work. But he hands the paper over, hands shaking and palms sweating. And waits, with bated breath, as Steve reads it over:

————— There is a glow to him. A cast of light that brightens the world as I know it. From just one glance of his smile—all pearl and pink and new I could tell there was something special to him.

He’s sunshine, I believe.  The very ball of light, the all encompassing warmth of a celestial body, the very thing that continues to sustain. There is love through him, within everything he does.

Just one look at him and I’m refreshed. Even with very little, even with just appearances alone. May he know the way I was drawn in—maybe that makes me Icarus. To want to know something so much, you’re ready for everything that comes with it; Even the chance to burn up, even the chance to merge with it, even the chance to only see it once.

May he know that before I knew his name, I knew his smile. Before I knew his name, I knew his trepidation. Before I knew his name, I knew his warmth.

It’s not enough, to say he’s gorgeous. That’s not a strong enough word. But he is. Oh, how he is.

He’s painted my world golden— I see sunlight with him.

May he know that I’ll carry his light in my chest, May he know that I selfishly want more. ————— Finally, Steve’s attention goes back to Eddie’s face directly.

“I tried,” Eddie says, “it got away from me, though. And I…I didn’t write exactly how you’re beautiful. But there’s something about you—Something so out of this world, beyond what anybody could ever possibly comprehend. You seem like somebody worth knowing, worth being around.” He swallows hefty when Steve continues to just stare. His face is completely unreadable. “You approached my table and I couldn’t keep my eyes off of you. Just sucked me right in, every part of you. Sorry if this…If this wasn’t what you were looking for.”

Though, when Eddie is only met with that silence from earlier, he takes the opportunity to stare a little longer. At the high flush of Steve’s cheeks. The fine sheen of his eyes. There’s a little pinch between his eyebrows and a twist to his mouth.

“My best friend,” Steve wetly murmurs, “she always tells me that I’m the light of her world. And I—“ He sighs, the sound a lot choked and stuttering. “—I don’t know. I’ve never been able to believe her. I always just thought she was biased or something.” He looks down at the paper again, his thumbs running along the margins reverently. Steve sniffles. “I used to not be a very good person. Used to say things just because I heard them, because I knew they were bad. And it took…God, it took so long to relearn everything. To find myself, to figure out who I was outside of my bigoted family. Even then, I always thought I was just…” He shrugs. “I thought that I was destined for a lifetime of loneliness or something because nobody wanted to be around me. Because they thought I was one way, when I was really the other. Or they could only see me as I was, not who I am.”

Steve looks up to Eddie again. There are tear streaks down his cheeks. Wet and glistening in the little bit of light breaking through the clouds. With the sunlight on him, he’s even brighter than Eddie anticipated. It’s sort of unfair, too, how beautiful he is even when he cries.

“Thank you for this, Eds,” Steve quietly says, “you have no idea how much this means to me.”

“You wanted to feel better about your world. I wanted to show you something that’s changed mine, I suppose.” Eddie sits slumped in his stool, hands between his knees, pulling and twisting at his rings. He chews on his bottom lip. “And I meant what I said earlier, Stevie. You seem like a really nice guy. A good guy.”

Slowly, and oh so gently, Steve places a tentative hand to Eddie’s left forearm. His gaze has softened, sweetened. He’s smiling this small, appreciative, pleased thing. And Eddie can already feel the sun burn developing. “You are, too. Really, Eds. You have no idea what your art does for the world, who you’re helping.” His thumb absentmindedly is stroking over Eddie’s skin. Hand heavy and warm and firm, comforting. Grounding. Sustaining Eddie. “If you meant the other thing you said earlier, I’d like to get something with you at that cafe. I’d like to get to know you.”

“Stevie, you’d be doing me an honor. Just let me pack up here, yeah?” He pulls away, hesitantly, unfortunately. And he begins to collapse all his equipment. Putting the typewriter in its case. The stools folded neatly under his arm.

“Oh, let me pay you first before you put—“

“Don’t worry about that. I’m getting a nice lunch date and a beautiful guy out of this, I don’t need the money.”

Steve grunts. He pops a hip out, crosses his arms over his chest with the poem still carefully held in his grip, and pouts. Eddie kind of likes that he’s a bit bitchy, too. Good guys can have fun, too. “Fine,” Steve huffs. “Let me pay for the lunch, though. My treat.”

Eddie gently rolls his eyes and smirks. “You’ve got a little spice to you, sunshine. I like that. Burn me up and maybe I’ll write more about you.”

“Keep it in your pants, Eds. We haven’t even left the park.”

“No promises.”

📝————————📝 Thank you again for this prompt, it was a lot of fun <33

[oldfangirl81]

Fic Idea Teen Wolf

Traveling Nurse AU

The Hale fire happened but with only one death (an elderly relative). Kate's crimes starting with Derek get revealed. She goes to prison. The Argent matriarch expelled her from the Argent line, using magic that would prevent any future kids of Kate's to be considered Agents ever. Gerrard is still angry.

Still Derek was guilt ridden and withdrew from everything. Immediately graduating high school (he refused to walk) he left moving to Alaska. He attended college and got a degree in graphic and web design.

Now closing in on thirty Derek hasn't been back to California in over ten years. He makes a living doing designs from his home. That pays the bills to allow him to write. He writes science fiction detective stories under a penname.

In this universe Claudia Stilinski was a nurse before she got sick. Stiles befriended the nurses taking care of his mom since he spent the most time there with his mom, since his Dad was always working. A butterfly flapped it's wings and Stiles doesn't dream of going into law enforcement but becoming a nurse.

Since kindergarten he has always had a first aid kit in his backpack. It adds an inhaler after becoming friends with Scott. He gets into a few fights because a boy should want to be a doctor not a nurse. Until one day Cora Hale steps in and stops the bully. She ends up making them an odd trio.

Gerrard, Alphas and Jennifer Blake still tries pulling things when they are in high school. Secrets are revealed. Scott still gets bit. With an intact Hale pack most of them make it to graduation alive.

After the last several years of chaos college felt like a dream for the most part. After Stiles gets his RN license he decides he wants to travel and not settle down in Beacon Hills yet. And for the next several years he works all over the US and just going back home for his Dad's birthday.

When Cora finds out Stiles is going to be in the same town as Derek she asks him to keep an out for her disaster bi buddy. (She might be trying to matchmake a little by dropping that information)

Derek finds Stiles Stilinski annoying and obnoxious but he also keeps hanging out with him. Stiles finds Derek grumpy and hot. Derek can turn into a full wolf, something that any wolf can do with a lot of mediation.

Stiles tried petting him the first time he saw the wolf form. Derek growled in annoyance.

Group chat with Stiles, Cora and Scott-

Stiles: look it's Derek

Scott: but he is a wolf

Stiles: Use your imagination, dude!

Cora: 😂 I still can't believe you tried to pet him.

[hxxsxxng]

Do You Believe in Fate? s.jy

「pairing」 : childhoodbestfriend!jake x afab!reader

「synopsis」 : read the preview here

「word count」 : 15.3k

「genre」 : A lot of angst, smut, somewhat fluff, college au

「warnings」 : MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!! cursing, lot of nicknames, mentions of alcohol, consumption of alcohol, hangover, poor mental state, kissing, cuddling, alcoholism, toxic friends (not jake), teasing, crying, begging, distress, groping (consentual), unprotected sex, pulling out, loss of virginity, lowkey size kink, oral (m and f recieving), titty sucking, sharing a bath tub, mentions of hospitalizations, implications of potential death, depression.

「authors note」 : i want to thank everyone for motivating me to finish this story and writing this was truly an experience that will effect me as a writer moving forward. i am tagging all of my mutuals so hopefully i could get some feed back! i love every last one of you

「taglist」 : @jakeflvrz - @simhinata - @eternality - @goldenretrieverjakezgirlbaby - @jakesangel - @yjwsgf - @diorsyun - @pockettwinzz - @emi-en - @en-ner-jay - @yeonzzzn - @hoonieesm - @hoonheepretty - @jaysupremacy - @cherry-park - @heeslomll - @alvojake - @taeghi - @dollyyun - @sumzysworld - @wonsbaer

It was the summer before me and Jake’s junior year of university. We have been working all summer and it’s another other day at the office. Putting in check information for the bank was a lot more boring than I expected .Wake up, go to work, come home, sleep, repeat. There was no time to do anything else. We were always told that if we went to college, we would have a good job. That proved to be wrong. 

Both Jake and I are going through college together, though he landed a way better paying job than I did. When it comes to bills, he ends up having to pay more than me, but he swears up and down that it is not a big deal.

I set down my mug. I hear my phone ring. It’s Jake. “Hello?” he should be at work. “Hey Pumpkin, I got out early today, were there any groceries that we needed?”

“I wasn’t expecting this, but no I can’t think of anything.”  “Okay, Stay safe, I will see you later.”

Jake never really got time off of work but when he did, I usually tried to stay out of his hair and let him relax. I just continued to run reports, pretty much twiddling my thumbs until the clock struck 5 and I would make my way out of this hell hole.

Traffic was terrible as usual. A usually 7 minute drive turned into an hour. Days like this I just want to get home and throw all my stuff on the ground and lock myself away in my room. Maybe watch some TV. Or listen to some music while my computer is hooked up to it. Anything that distracts from knowing I have to go back to the job I hate the next day. My thoughts are interrupted by a honk coming from behind me. The light turns green. Thank God. But as soon as I pull away from the curb, a car pulls out in front of me. Damn those stupid drivers. I don’t even know how many times this month I’ve had to pull over so they could let someone pass. It isn’t worth getting into a fight with them about. I try to ignore them.

I made it back to our house just in time for the sun to still be out. I made way into the house and Jake was in the kitchen. It was an unusual sight. His after work routine typically consists of cracking open a cold one and playing his computer. “Hey princess” he greeted me.

I stand at the front door, taking off my shoes and hanging my keys on the rack. “What has you in a good mood all of a sudden” I ask suspiciously.

“Well since I got off work early, I figured i’d come home and suprise you with dinner since you just been eating so much take out recently” he replied nonchalantly. The thought makes me sick. “You didn’t need to do that Jake.” “Oh yes, I did. You haven’t been cooking for yourself for a couple months now. I wanted to show you how much your best friend cares about you” he says.

Reguardless of what I say, the food is made and there is no taking it back. I guess I can’t really argue with him over it.

“And besides, I know you have missed your mom cooking pasta for us when we would go to her house in Australia, I figured I should make some do you instead” he adds.

I slowly approach the table. He is still finishing up plating everything. He looks up at me and smiles. “It smells good” I say flatly. He takes off the oven mitts and wipes his hands on it. He sets my plate down in front of me and he pulls out the chair to my right and takes a seat.

“So how was your day Jake?” I asked awkwardly. He starts digging in and responds, “Not too bad. What about yours?”

“Same shit different day. Boss is always yelling at me and the company keeps treating me like garbage even though I am the only one who actually gives a fuck.” I complained, eating a piece of garlic toast. It tasted good, surprisingly good, considering the amount of spices he used.

“Well I am glad it’s Friday so you can take some time to unwind over the weekend” he attempts to comfort me but at this point i’m too tired.

“I guess.” I poke at my food a little bit. Why does Jake’s job seem so perfect? he easily makes twice as what I make and I rarely hear him complain about working either.

“You don’t have to eat if you don’t want to, I am not going to force you.” I guess Jake noticed me being hesitant about eating the rest of my meal.

“It’s not that I don’t want to eat it’s just that I’m really stressed and I don’t want to keep you here listening to me complain about the same things over and over again”

“Look at me” he said. I slowly lift my head for my eyes to meet with his. “I promise I will never get tired of listening to you” he reassured.

There he goes again, sending those butterflies flapping in my stomach. I don’t understand why he is so gentle and compassionate. It gives me goosebumps. I decide I might as well stop procrastinating and start enjoying the evening. “Thank you” I say, giving him a small smile. His face immediately lit up. It’s kind of cute. The rest of dinner went rather smoothly. Jake kept the conversation going, mostly talking about my day and what his was about, and then we would drift off into silence. He looked so relaxed and calm that I felt completely at ease. Even if I knew I should feel bad for keeping him up with my whining, I couldn’t bring myself to.

I stand up from the table and wash my plate. “I don’t know if anyone told you today, but you look gorgeous as always” he sneaks up behind me. “You don’t look too bad your self Jake” I returned. My face was already a dark hue of red.

I decided maybe tonight I won’t rot away in my room. It’s a Friday night, I’ll have a little bit of fun. Still inside the house though. It is probably too cold outside anyway. I realize I am still in my work clothes. I return to my room to take them off and throw on my most comfortable pair of shorts and a talk top and take my Nintendo Switch to the living room.

Jake was already waiting there for me. He had a bottle of wine and 2 empty glasses. He looked up when I entered and smiled. I gave a shy smile and sat down next to him. He pulled me closer to him, pressing himself against me. Our legs intertwined under the couch. For a moment I forgot about the work situation and the world. In that moment it just felt nice to sit close to someone who cared for me unconditionally.

“What were you wanting to play?” he breaks the silence. “I was thinking we could play some Mario Kart” I suggested.

“Yeah we can, but you already know I’m gonna kick your ass”. He loves teasing me. I punched his shoulder and chuckled.

~~~~~~~~~~

He is in my bed. I just woke up and he is in my bed. I don’t know how to react. Maybe I drank a little too much? I really don’t remember anything after playing a few rounds of Mario Kart. He looks so peaceful. His dark brown hair all tangled up on the pillow. The way his biceps look in his black tank top. He doesn’t snore, but the way he breathes when he sleeps is very cute. There is a slight hint of stubble on his chin, almost like he hasn’t shaved in awhile. His lips are slightly parted. His face shows such contentment and relaxation. He looks so damn beautiful. I have to admit he is pretty attractive and I think he knows it. And I can’t help but wonder about what would happen if I leaned forward and kissed him. His soft lips pressed up against mine. I think it would be okay. Probably wouldn’t hurt. Scratch that, it would probably hurt a lot.

I woke up surprisingly early for a Saturday morning. Usually I am in bed until noon, but it’s only 9:30. Opposite of me, Jake likes to start his weekends bright and early, so it is a bit strange that he isn’t awake by now. I won’t bother him. It’s probably better this way. I roll over onto my side facing away from him. I close my eyes trying to fall back asleep. But it seems to be impossible. My mind is too preoccupied and Jake’s body is far too close to mine for my liking. I groan quietly. It doesn’t help at all.

I crawl out of bed, doing my best not to wake Jake up. As soon as I step out of the room, I feel my phone buzz in my pocket. It’s my mom. I guess I hadn’t returned and of her texts last night. She asks if I have slept okay and if I’ve eaten breakfast. When she sees I haven’t. She sends me a picture of the last time I was at her house eating spaghetti. “Just eat something sweetheart and take care of yourself” she reminds me gently. I sigh deeply before replying. “Mhmm thanks mom” I set my phone down on the kitchen counter and rummage through the fridge, hoping to find something appetizing for breakfast. As I search, I can't stop thinking about waking up next to Jake this morning. We've been best friends for so long, but recently I've started seeing him in a new light. The way his eyes crinkle when he smiles, how considerate he is, it stirs up the feelings I've been trying to suppress. I shake my head slightly and settle on making some eggs and toast.

As I cook, memories of last night come flooding back. The wine, the laughter, the gentle way he pulled me close on the couch as we played games. My heart flutters just thinking about how natural and right it felt being cuddled up next to him. But I can't read too much into it. Jake is my oldest friend, he probably sees the intimacy as purely platonic. The sizzle of the eggs brings me back to reality. I quickly plate the food and grab a mug of coffee before heading to the living room. I'll just relax and enjoy this lazy Saturday morning.

I'm about halfway through my breakfast when I hear Jake's footsteps shuffling down the hallway. He emerges, hair sticking up adorably, letting out a big yawn. "Mornin' sunshine," he says with a sleepy grin. I feel my cheeks warm at the nickname. "Morning. I made some extra if you want it," I reply, nodding toward the kitchen. "You're the best." Jake passes over to dish up a plate, giving me a perfect view of his lean back muscles stretching against his thin t-shirt. I quickly avert my eyes as he returns to the couch. As he sits next to me, our arms brush and I feel that spark of electricity again.

Jake doesn't seem to notice, just digs into his eggs happily. We eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes before he speaks up again.

"That was a fun night last night, wasn't it?" His eyes meet mine with a warm smile. "We'll have to do it again soon." I return the smile, hoping he can't see the longing behind it. "Yeah, it was really nice." Nice to just relax and be ourselves without any expectations or pressures. Nice to feel...that close to him.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

~~~~~~~~~~

Jake has a friend named Jay. When Jake isn’t at work or at the house, he is most likely hanging out with Jay. Jay is a go with the flow kind of guy and was kind of a womanizer. There’s nothing wrong with it, but I try not to hang out with Jake when Jay is there for that reason.

Jake and Jay always go out for drinks on Saturday nights. I can’t remember the last time he was home on a Saturday night and I didn’t have to take care of him the next morning. He routinely stays at Jay’s house that night then gets an Uber back here the next morning.

Jake and Jay's Saturday night routine carried on like clockwork most weekends. Around 9 PM, Jay would pick Jake up and they'd head to their usual bar downtown. The two friends would drink heavily, telling outrageous stories and shamelessly checking out any attractive women who passed by.

For Jake, it was just a guys' night out away from work stress. But for Jay, it was a chance to flirt and see if he could add another notch to his bedpost. Jake didn't partake in that behavior himself, but he also didn't reproach Jay for it. He figured it was just Jay's way.

Come last call, the two would be pretty sloshed. Instead of dealing with an Uber that late, Jake would just crash at Jay's place. He'd wake up hungover the next morning and request a ride from a car service back home.

When he arrived home disheveled, I'd already have water and painkillers ready for him. I hated having to nurse him after these nights, but it was better than having Jay's leering presence around me. His constant objectification of women made me deeply uncomfortable. So I put up with Jake's hangovers to avoid that part of their friendship dynamic.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Jake opens the front door. I can hear him complaining about his headache already. He sets his keys down and immediately lays down in the couch.

"Hey babygirl, where is the aspirin? Do we have any aspirin left?" he asks groggily. A small chuckle escapes my lips before I turn around to look at him, smiling slightly. “I already got it out for you, and here is a glass of water”. His eyes are closed as I place the pills in his hand and he smiles once they make contact. “Thank you so much for taking care of me princess.” he praises as he shot the tablets into his mouth.

I giggle. This man is ridiculous. A loud yawn escapes his lips and I smile. As much as I hate seeing him like this, I am content with letting him have his fun every once in a while. His shirt is buttoned incorrectly, showing off his muscular chest. I look back at his face. His eyes were opened and he noticed me staring.

“What’s wrong Princess?” he slurs. “Do I look stupid or something?” “No Jake, you look great” I reply truthfully. “You just looked a little tired is all.”

Jake rolls over on the couch and turns onto his side. “I know you’re going to tell me I should rest more, but it’s so hard to sleep when you’re not in the same room.”

“Really? You usually fall asleep within seconds. Why is that?” He shrugs. “Don’t know babe. Just don’t like being alone.” I frown. That’s true enough. Jake never really liked being by himself. Ever since we were in diapers, he had always been surrounded by people. His parents, coworkers…me.

I decide to ask something rather personal instead. Maybe that will distract us for a while. “How’s your mom doing lately? Do you miss her?” Jake doesn’t respond right away. He starts fidgeting under my gaze. His hands begin picking at a loose thread on the couch cushion.

“Yeah, yeah. I miss her. I wish she wouldn’t be working so much now. She used to work less back when we were high school, you know? I still get worried sometimes” he answers with a slight edge in his voice. “It’s okay Jake. You know she likes working for your dad. It helps pay for everything” I remind him softly. He nods slowly. After a few moments, he finally breaks the silence.

“Why do you ask?” I guess he was caught off guard by the question. “I know it’s been a while since you’ve seen them, Australia isn’t in walking distance, ya know.” I try to cheer him up.

He sighs and looks down at the couch. “I guess I just wish I was able to spend more time with her like I did when I was younger. It doesn’t matter though.” He shakes his head dismissively. “She’ll come visit whenever she can. I’m just glad we both decided to live somewhere else for college. I would definitely have missed our family trips.”

“Oh…” I bite my lip unsure what to say to comfort him. He’s always taken his mother very seriously. Even when he was young he often complained that she worked too hard and stressed herself out, which only made him madder. In all fairness, she did work extremely hard—even harder than he ever could. And now that she has found some semblance of stability, he worries that he won’t be able to provide for her the lifestyle he wanted for her.

I reach out and pat Jake's arm reassuringly. "I know how much you miss your mom. But she's doing what she needs to in order to help take care of the bills and your dad. You know she'd be here if she could."

Jake nods slowly. "Yeah, you're right. I just wish there was more I could do from here, instead of feeling so helpless being so far away. I know my dad would want me there as well" He runs a hand through his tousled hair. "At least I have you around. Don't know what I'd do. You kinda of bring a feeling of home to me. I hope that made sense.”

I feel my cheeks flush a little at his words. "Well, you know I'll always be here for you," I reply, trying to keep my tone light.

“Thank you sweet heart.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Our parents went to University together. That’s how they met. My mom met Jake’s mom in a sociology class, and they have been best friends ever since. Being college bestfriend basically guarantees that your kid will have someone to grow up with, and they took advantage of that. He has litterally been there for every life event my mom felt was important enough to let him in on.

Though we didn’t become friends by choice, we were latched onto eachother ever since we were introduced. I remember I would ball my eyes out when even Jake got sick because it meant I couldn’t hang out with him after school or have play dates on the weekends. As we grew up, the situations weren’t as innocent. I would confide in him when I was upset, and he would hold me in his arms after my nightmares. I even found comfort in him after my numerous hearts breaks in highschool. Though none of my relationships were ever that serious, I was still unmistakably heartbroken.

Jake was never really a ladies man in highschool, or in general. He studied more on acedemics, which I guess was a good idea considering where he is now. Although I’d never said anything about it, his dating career was pretty dead for several years. In my opinion, it seemed unfair to Jake to not go on dates after highschool. While I understood why he wasn’t interested, it seemed a waste not to try. After all, I’m sure he could get any chick he wanted if he tried, I mean look at him. He had grown from a cute kid playing video games to one who had a perfect body and gorgeous features to match. So yeah, I loved that he was a boy and my friend. But there was no way I could give myself completely to such a man, especially with our history.

Jake is a lot different when I’m around, a lot more caring and loving. I’m reminded of all those times when I would find Jake crying when we came back from vacation during our sophomore year, or how he would suddenly appear at my room door at 5am looking for reassurance or help. At the time, I thought it was because he needed someone to talk to about the things troubling his mind, but now that I think about it , it’s kind of obvious he’s lonely. His dad has been in and out of the hospital recently. I don’t really want to push Jake into going into detail about his condition because it might make him emotional, but I just know that it is another thing that is weighing on him.

When I first started seeing him more and more recently, I thought maybe he wanted us to become closer friends. I mean, he was always talking about how much he adores spending time with me, and how grateful he is to me for saving him and bringing him back to life. I think the situation with his parents are weighing down on him more than I realize.

~~~~~~~~~~

The rhythmic tapping of rain against the window pane fills the hushed stillness of my bedroom. I lie awake, Jake's sleeping form curled up beside me, his head pillowed on my chest. His eyebrows are furrowed even in slumber, mouth turned down in a soft frown - the worry lines etched across his features never seem to fully fade these days. Gently, I brush some stray locks of hair off his forehead, my thumb tracing over the crease between his brows. Jake's been carrying the entire weight of his family's struggle on those broad shoulders.

A quiet sigh escapes his lips and he burrows deeper into my side, one arm slinging possessively over my waist. We've been a tangle of limbs like this more nights than not recently. After the latest bout of bad news about his dad, Jake sought me out like a man wandering through the desert in desperate need of water. I remember the rawness in his voice as he begged to stay in his room, to be held and comforted, the same way I always have. Whatever Jake needs from me, he'll never be turned away.

Trailing my fingers through Jake's hair, I allow myself to drink in every detail of him in this rare moment of peace. The slight upturn of his perfectly sloped nose. The way his plump lips are parted just enough to allow shallow puffs of breath to ghost across my skin. He really is beautiful in the most masculine, rugged way. Not that I'd ever say that out loud - it would be mortifying if Jake caught me ogling him like some lovesick fool. Then again, I've been a lovesick fool for the better part of a decade when it comes to him.

Lost in the flow of my thoughts, I don't even register the soft snuffling noises at first. It's only when Jake's eyelashes start fluttering that I glance down to find him blinking up at me groggily. Without a word, he shifts until his head is cradled in the crook of my neck, placing a slow, scorching kiss to the exposed skin of the side of my neck.

The world seems to screech to a halt. That...was definitely intentional. Purposefully intimate. There's no way it was an accident or a brief moment of sleep-hazy confusion. Not with the way Jake's pupils are blown wide, his lips parting to reveal the tip of his tongue darting out to wet them instinctively.

Just as quickly as the spark ignited, Jake seems to deflate, burying his face into the juncture of my neck and shoulder with a muffled whimper. His hands are fisting in the fabric of my sleep shirt, clutching me with a white-knuckled grip like I'm his lifeline back to the surface. Like if he doesn't hold on, he might drown. "Hey hey hey…" I gently stroke the length of his spine calming him. "You're okay now, everything is alright, relax..." Jake's breathing gradually slows. Gradually, he begins to relax, his fingers slackening their death grip in my shirt.

A few moments pass in silence before he lifts his head and looks directly at me. His eyes are slightly bloodshot, probably from all the crying. They’re red and glassy, a stark contrast to his usually flawless complexion. "Sorry," he murmurs. I shrug slightly. "Don't apologize." After a few sniffles, I feel his breathing become more consistent and his face is dry. He starts to do that cute breathing that I talked about. After I realized that he has met some sort of peace and fell asleep, I fell asleep soon after.

~~~~~~~~~~

The morning light filters in through the cracks of my blinds, shining over Jake's sleeping body in a soft glow. My eyes trace the line of his jawbone, the gentle rise and fall of his bare chest as he breathes. He looks so tranquil like this.

Jake smells so fucking good. If I could lay on his chest and take it his scent all day, I really would. Not to mention his face is extremely handsome. He has the face that other guys wish they had. It’s very obvious he takes care of himself.

I can't stop replaying that moment from last night over and over in my mind. The heat of Jake's lips pressing against the skin of my neck. Part of me was desperate to surge forward then and seal my mouth over Jake's, to finally give in to the magnetic pull that's been drawing me to him.

But I didn't. I couldn't. Because I'm also terrified of what exploring these feelings could mean for our relationship.

Losing him isn't an option I can fathom. And he seemed to make the same choice in that moment by turning away, burying his face against my neck with a whimper that could have been either anguished or relieved.

We're cowards, the two of us. Content to dance around the fire instead of being set ablaze

Part of me wonders if Jake was hoping for something in return. Maybe a kiss? Maybe he did it to show it trust and comfort for me. He knows what he is doing. The moment his lips touched my neck, my whole body shivered. I wanted more but I contained myself.

My body still hums with the memory of his kiss, nerves tingling with equal parts of dread. I want to reach out and trail my fingertips over the golden skin of his forearm, to breathe him in and see if he tastes how I've imagined on my tongue.

How many more moments like last night can I survive before the truth comes out? I don't have the answers. All I know is that I'm still undeniably his - body, mind and heart.

It has been too many nights where I imagine his lips against mine. The way he chills my spine when whispers in my ear makes me crave hearing his voice. I wonder what he would be like in a relationship with me, he treats me like a princess already, I don’t know how much better it could get.

My mind drifts to memories of him holding me tight when I was upset, his muscular arms engulfing me in a warm embrace. The feeling of safety and contentment that would wash over me in those moments. If I could experience that every night by his side, it might just be pure bliss.

I fantasize about waking up intertwined with Jake, our legs tangled together as we trade kisses and touches unhurried by the outside world. Combing my fingers through his bed hair while he peppers light kisses along my jawline.

Maybe there could be slowmake-out sessions on the couch, all heated caresses and desperate roaming hands before things inevitably progress further. I would lavish every sculpted line of Jake's body with devoted attention. I imagine he would be an attentive, generous lover, just as giving in the bedroom as he is in every other aspect of his life.

I also can’t get over the mental hurdle that maybe it is kind of gross that I see my bestfriend this way. I could easily mistake all of the kind things he does and how he treats me as something more than what he intends it to be, and that would make me uneasy. I have never done anything sexual with him and anything that would imply sexual attraction, yet I am still here wondering what it is like to have sex with him.

~~~~~~~~~~

I really need to get my feelings sorted out soon because they are just going to keep building up until they eventually burst, and I really don’t want Jake to witness that.The week went the same again. and again. and again. Wake up, go to work, do nothing after. But recently, Jake got a promotion at his job, which was grounds for celebration.

The local diner is busy with the lunch crowd, the air thick with aromas of burgers sizzling on the griddle and fresh baked pie. Jake and I slip into our usual corner booth, the cracked vinyl cushions molding to our forms like old friends. This place has been our go to spot since we started university here. We've shared so many moments in this very booth over the years. Happy celebrations or acing a big exam.

Which is why the thick tension clouding the air between us right now feels so alien. Instead of our usual easy camaraderie, I can barely look at Jake without my pulse kicking up. The memory of his firm chest brushing mine, those plush lips just a table length away, has my skin flushing hot. I squeeze my thighs together secretly, desperate for any kind of friction to alleviate the slow burn of arousal low in my belly.

Just being this close to Jake is enough to have that want unfolding all over again. Filling my head with flashes of how it could feel to finally give in - his weight blanketing me, our bodies moving together in a sinuous rhythm as his mouth trails searing kisses along my neck. "Hey." Jake's low rumble jolts me out of the vivid fantasy.

"You're zoning out, sweetheart. Everything okay?" My cheeks flame darker, that suddenly seems too intimate. I duck my head, but not before catching the unmistakable smirk curling at the corners of Jake's lips. That insufferable, cocky smirk he knows drives me crazy. I want to kiss it off his stupidly perfect face. Or maybe bite at the sharp line of his jaw, put that arrogant look to better use while I'm straddling his lap and--

"Fine," I mumble, hooking a loose strand of hair behind my ear to avoid meeting Jake's eyes. The small movement causes our elbows to brush together on the tabletop. His skin is so soft. Jake's brow furrows, like he doesn't miss the way I've gone tense and flustered all over again. Before I can blink, his hand is covering mine. Those long fingers tenderly stroking along my knuckles, smoothing over my suddenly clammy skin.

Slowly, purposefully, Jake tugs my hand closer until my palm is cupping his scruffy jaw. I suck in a sharp, shaky breath at the contact, at being able to feel the rasp of his five o'clock shadow against my sensitive skin. Jake holds me there for a moment, those meltingly warm eyes boring into mine like he's trying to read my mind.

Then, in the most tempting act of torture imaginable, Jake presses his lips to my wrist in the barest brush of mouth against pulse point. I swear I could die right then and there. He slowly pulls away, looking up to meet my eyes once again. Our gaze meets, intense and lustful, filled with a hunger that only he knows how to create. This feels so wrong, so dangerous. The fact he's staring down at my lips, licking his subconsciously causes a slight hitch in my breathing. A tiny part of me wants to lean forward and press my lips to his. But I stop the impulse with the thought of what we did last night, and the consequences of getting caught again.

Instead, I let out a sigh and break eye contact before pulling my hand away and placing my elbow on the table. I rub my thumb across my wrist absentmindedly while avoiding Jake's gaze, the words I want to say stuck somewhere inside my throat like rocks. There isn't anything I can do. What I have with Jake is different now. I'm scared shitless to tell him how I truly feel.

"What's wrong? Are you alright?" Jake asks, worry laced into his tone. He places a hand on my thigh, making me jump slightly. “It’s nothing, really” I lied. The server comes over to the table to take our order. “What could I get started for you to drink” he says.

-

Our meal goes by normally, Jake pretending that he had done nothing earlier. Afterward, we head home, the silence thickening the further into town we get. There’s nothing for me to say, no reason to prolong this conversation I’m dreading anymore. He must sense my sudden change of mood. He drops his arm from around my shoulders and lets his hand fall limply back onto his knee.

We walk silently in the direction of our house. Neither of us speaking. It’s almost as if we’re both waiting for the other to make the first move. I have an overwhelming urge to turn to him and kiss him.

~~~~~~~~~~

I can’t stop thinking about Jake. He is the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing I think about when I go to bed. Over the past few weeks, I feel like he has become a lot more touchy, which don’t really mind. He smiles for a little longer when we eat together. We have slept in each others room a lot more often than before. I may just be over analyzing it.

Jake is going out with Jay again. As usual, I don’t plan on him coming home tonight, and I will wake up to a hungover Jake. Jay isn’t really the friend to take care of you when you feel ill, so that responsibility is left on me.

I hate to admit, but when Jake isn’t home for a night, I fight the urge to sleep in his bed. I have been sleeping in his bed with him so often that it leaves me in withdrawal when we aren’t in the same bed.

Just being in his room, his scent diffused in the air, it makes me miss him so much more. Even without thinking about the fact that it is his room, the bed is so much more comfortable than mine, which is all the better reason to sleep there.

I walk in, already in my shorts and t-shirt, and wonder around. He has the picture of us that his mom took when we were first leaving for Korea framed on his nightstand.

I pick it up and examine it closely. It is the one photo where we didn’t appear stiff. I remember the day clearly; I was standing with him, grinning broadly. I never expected to smile so much when I was young, but my memories of our trip leave a bright happy feeling inside my stomach.

I set the photo back down and I lift the blanket from the corner of the bed. I slide into the bed, laying on his side like I usually do when he isn’t here. I instantly melt into the sheets. I scroll on my phone whilst fighting my eyelids to stay awake, but eventually I fall asleep prematurely.

Jake usually keeps his room pretty cool, which calls for cuddling closely under the blankets. In the middle of my sleep, I am shot awake when my cold limbs are instantly warmed by an unexpected sensation. Why was Jake home?

Jake continues to get comfortable under the blanket, not even batting an eye at the fact that I was just sleeping in his bed. I pull him closer by his waist to fulfill the rest of the warmth that my body craves.

“Why are you shivering sweetheart, you could have turned on the heater.” he worries.

“I wanted the temperature to be tolerable when you got back in the morning” such a stupid explanation. “Speaking of, why are you here right now? what happened to Jay’s?” I questioned, completely forgetting how we got into this situation in the first place.

“Jay was feeling ill so we called it a night pretty early, I only got three shots down.”

Jake runs a lazy finger over my hip bone and leans in to nuzzle the crook of my neck. Shit. He’ll notice the way I react to his touches and I won’t be able to explain myself. Fuck.

“I thought I would come to my room and catch up on sleep but look what we have here instead” he says with that stupid smirk on his face.

“Oh- oh I’m sorry.” I slowly pull away from him to make way back to my room. “No babe, please don’t go, I want you to stay” he begs while keeping our fingers latched to keep our extended arms together. He then latched his hand around my wrist to slowly pull me back down to his level on the bed. It’s all happening too fast. He uses the same hand to comb his fingers through the strands at the bottom of my hair on the back of my head, and keeps his hand there entangled. He uses his hand to guide my head into a sensual kiss. He gently pressed his lips against mine. So plump, so dreamy. I reciprocated the kiss instantly, matching his pace and moving our lips in sync so perfectly. The way our lips intertwined so naturally gave me actual chills.

After giving me what I have dreamt about for years, he pulls away, leaving a string of saliva to connect our lips. He looks into my eyes, his pupils as voids. “Please stay” he whispers again. I nod dumbly, my brain still short circuiting as Jake bites is bottom lip. He’s so fucking beautiful, my eyes are practically burning holes into his lips.

His fingers gently run over my cheekbone, lingering on my jawline, tracing along my nose. “How did I ever deserve someone as beautiful as you?” he murmurs. His voice is full of admiration and love and affection. He trails his fingers along my jaw, pausing to lightly graze my collar bone, making goosebumps erupt across my skin. The heat radiating off Jake’s body is practically burning me alive.

Without thinking about it for a second longer, I close the gap between our lips again. We moved in sync, in harmony. It feels like my lips were only made to kiss his. He rests his free hand on the side of my face and uses it as grip to deepen the kiss. Kissing him I had a sense of saftey. The longer our lips were together, the more open I was to his attempts at adding tongue into the mixture. It was a sloppy wet mess, but is all I have ever wanted.

I slide my hand between out warm bodies and feel across his obvious bulge in his boxers. He instantly let out a groan when I took his imprint into my palm. I stroked it gently as we continued with intertwined tongues. His grunts and breathlessness was insanely arousing.

It was clear that we were both extremely sleepy. After a few more minutes of kissing, we eventually pulled away, with no words spoken.

I try my best to hold in my moans as the warmness travels up my body like lava. He stops tracing my collarbone to trail his hands up the side of my body, stopping to stroke a line of soft kisses along the side of my neck.

My hands grasp tightly at the material covering Jake’s shoulder blades and I use that leverage to get back under the blankets with him. We both face eachother, with our legs crossing randomly over one another. He once again rests his head in the crook of my neck, leaving a kiss like he did once before. Only this time, I know his true intention.

~~~~~~~~~

The fall semester is starting back up again. Junior year, both is our schedules are jammed packed with upper division classes. Having to balance so many classes and still having to work to keep up with the bills for the house, Jake and I hardly see each other. Even though I love spending every single day with him, I feel like I’m living with a ghost whenever I see his empty seat. When I wake up every morning to find him gone, my heart starts to ache. It hurts knowing that we might not spend as much time together. I know that the sooner that this semester ends, the easier everything will be.

The end of the semester wasn’t going to be soon though, it’s barely September. I’ve decided to try and set a study date with Jake and make sure nothing was overlapping the times. We eventually agreed apon Thursday night after he got off of his afternoon job. Maybe around 8 o’clock. I was getting a head start on my Statistics work before he showed up because I knew it would take me a while. He eventually showed up close to 8:30.

I had my headphone covering my ears, shoulders slumped over my desk, and he comes up behind me and take my shoulders in his hands and sensually massages. “Ah thank youuuu~~~ my muscles are tight” I jumped at the unexpected pressure. He drives his thumbs a little bit deeper into my blades and slides his straight arms down my stomach for a hug. “I missed you” he griped with puppy dog eyes, resting his head on my shoulder. I take off my headphone and hold both of his forearms and pull him deeper into this awkwardly positioned hug.

After a few seconds he pulls away and grabs out his bag with his laptop, and runs to his room to grab his chair to pull up next to mine. I was still seated, watching, unable to take my eyes off him. He settles himself and puts the laptop on his knees in front of him. He opens his notebook, and turns the page to the worksheet for this month. My fingers naturally find their way to his back and scratch gently while he looks over his work. They made their way up his clothed back and into his hair and I ran them through this tangled hair. He let out a sigh of fufillment and he allows himself self to close his eyes to fully take in the relaxing feeling. He breaths in deeply and slowly, taking in my coconut scent.

“Fuck it” he says under his breath.

He turns in my directed and crashed his lips into mine with no hesitation. He wraps his arms around my neck, deepening the kiss. I was startled at the quick change in plans but my lips soon melted into his and I was under his control. My tongue dances along his bottom lip, asking for entrance as he obliges and gives access. He lifts me from my chair and pulls me over to straddle his thighs.

He guides his lips to mine again, running his hands down my back as he pushes me lower into his lap. I wrap my legs slightly around his waist for some sense of support. The sensual make out and lap straddling goes on and on, until he breaks away slightly to speak, “You can move if you want sweetheart”.

He reconnects our lips and I find myself needing any sort of friction to ease the pressure building between my legs. Subconsciously grinding my core over his thigh slowly. I bite down on his lower lip causing him to suck on my tongue immediately as a response. God, he tastes so good, like the cocoa butter lip balm I got him for his birthday.

I continue grinding over his thighs picking up the aggressiveness, as he continues to run his hands through my hair. “Feeling desperate, darling?” he teases, smirking as he tries to pull me back into a kiss. “Shut up” I harden my fist and hit the front of his shoulder. He always finds a way to tease me. He chuckles as we connect our lips once again.

He slides both of his hands under my thighs stands up from his chair, and I wrap my legs around his body as he carries me to the bed. He slowly lays me down on my back with my legs still wrapped around his waist. He doesn’t break the kiss but as soon as he sets me down, I can feel his erection bulging through his pants rubbing against me sweet spot. We stop kissing momentarily as he looks at me, with lust filled eyes. He lets one of his hands rest on my chest, while the other traces along the side of my neck to my chin, tilting my head upward and pressing his forehead against mine. “Look at how gorgeous you are right now,” he says with pure adoration. “I can’t help myself when I’m with you.” A sudden surge of desire hits me and my hands grip his hips tighter as he starts to trail kisses on my jawline. I can feel an undeniable wetness spreading in my panties. I am becoming desperate.

I placed my hands at the bottom of his shirt and began lifting it up, but he finished the job and lifted it over his head and threw it to the side. I have seen Jake shirtless a million times over but this time is different. It feels more intimate than the last ones I have seen. I felt my throat tighten as my eyes were drawn to his chest which looked absolutely flawless. “So beautiful” I whisper and I trace my fingers over his abs and chest. His body looks perfectly carved and sculpted by a god. “It’s all for you, baby” he cooed.

I reach my arms around his back and gently dig my nails into his skin as he continues to kiss me. He grabs the bottom of my shirt and pulls it over my head, revealing my breasts. I wasn’t wearing a bra since I had been home all afternoon, and I definitely wasn’t expecting this. As soon as he sees them, he takes one of them in his hand. He holds my right breast in his palm and gently rubs it between his thumb and index finger.

His gaze remains focused on my chest as his mouth begins to travel down, taking his time to enjoy each and every piece of my body. He stops to give me another kiss before placing his lips on my nipple. He sucks on my nipple whilst his teeth nipped at my flesh, causing me to moan lowly. I grabbed his hair pulling him closer to me. I grind my pelvis onto his dick, eliciting a groan and he removes his mouth, making a ‘pop’ sound, to look at his next target intensely. He took my other breast into his mouth, swirling his tongue around my nipple and softly sucking, making me arch my back and having a moan escape my lips. Jake trails his hands down my waist while keeping his mouth latched to me.

His fingers went into the top of my sweatpants and I stopped him. “I have never done this before” I admitted. “Do you want me to stop?” he questions. How could I ever want him to stop? He is the only person I have ever imagined losing my virginity to. That aside I simply answer “No, Jakey, I trust you”

He continues to pull me pants down and off my legs and throws it to the side like he did with the other articles of clothing. He licks up my neck and comes to my ear. “I have never done this either, we can learn together” he whispered. Hearing this made my noticibly more wet, the way he whispers into my ear raises every single hair on my body. The thought of us having our first times with each other made this whole so much more meaningful and made me a lot less hesitant.

The only thing I have left on are my black panties and Jake looks like he is a man with a mission. I grab his bulge through his jeans and gently massage. He becomes a groaning mess as I palm his desperate tip. He is barely even able to keep his lips a decent distance apart for me to kiss him. “Fuuuck your hand feels so good” I take my other hand to start unbuckling his jeans, which he seems to have no problem with.

I pulled the belt off and unbuttoned his jeans and pulls them down, to where he took them all the way off. All he has left is his boxers. I can clearly see the imprint of he large cock through the thin fabric. I furrowed my eyebrows. “Does it look too big?, we can stop now if we need to” he questioned, seeing the fear on my face. I gulped and said “No, I can take it.”

I continued stroking through his boxers and he moved my panties to the side and rubbed gently on my folds. I gasped at the feeling. The better it started to feel, the less and less I was able to focus on Jake and more on myself. He had me wrapped around his finger. No amount of masturbating could compare to the way he is making me feel within these few minutes.

He slid his fingers down my clit and inserted one. He pumped it in and out until I felt that I was ready for more. Then 2. It hurt a little more but I slowly got used to it. He leaned his head down while his fingers still stuffed me and started leaving kisses on my clit. For having so little experience, he worked his finger and tongue like a professional. The way his tongue danced across my sensitive bud made my body shutter, and I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.

“I love the sounds of your whimpers” he moaned against my clit teasing me. I couldn’t even respond. My breathing quickened, and the more his fingers fucked me, the more I could tell how wet I was getting. I whimpered again and I gripped his hair signaling how good he was making me feel. “It tastes just as sweet as I imagined” he praised. He has imagined this before? What else has he imagined?

His fingers slowed down and he slipped two inside of me simultaneously. My hips bucked up and I let out a small gasp, my nails digging into his shoulders. He continued working his fingers inside of me. He was eating like a man who hadn’t seen a meal in a week.

“I want to taste you now.” I protest, pulling his face up for a kiss. His eyes look like he is drunk as his tongue swirled with mine and he gave me a slow deep kiss. He sucked on my bottom lip, then bit me, and finally opened his mouth and licked my tongue with his. He pulls away and allows me to pull his boxers past his hips and onto the ground. His dick sprung out. God, it was a lot thicker than I imagined.

I take the base of it and put my lips against the tip, swirling my tongue around. His muscular hand combs through the top of my hair and gently grips it as I begin to take more of his length in my mouth. I could feel it sliding smoothly in and out of my throat. His grip on my hair tightens and he guides me to take more in moderation. “God yes baby, that’s it” he encouraged. I looked up at him, the room filled with breathy moans and he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. I felt the waves of his voice vibrating through my lips as he spoke, causing goosebumps to erupt across my entire body. I could feel my juices flowing through my pussy and down my belly.

I continue sucking him until he is almost completely buried inside my mouth. He leans down placing his lips beside my ear. “I don’t think I can hold out much longer” he whispers, making me smile.

He slowly pulls himself out of my mouth and lifts me back onto the bed. I use my arms to cover my chest, I am a little nervous. He leans down and kisses me on the forehead. “Don’t hide yourself, you look perfect darling” he said proceeding to take my tongue in his mouth. God this man loves using his tongue. I have never felt this type of intimacy before, and to think I am covering that ground with my bestfriend, was not how I thought it was going to go to say the least.

He brushes his tip in between my folds, spreading my wetness around. “Are you sure you want to keep going? We can stop here, just say the words and I will stop” “Please keep going” I am practically begging. He seems to enjoy my obvious desperation. He guide the tip in slowly, trying not to overwhelm me. He goes in a little deeper. I wince in pain. “Ah baby go a little slower” I pleaded. I didn’t want him to stop but it was definitely starting to hurt. He held the same spot for a few more seconds, then slowly pushed more in. I have gotten used to the stinging, as it slowly turns to pleasure.

“Shit princess, you’re so fucking tight” Jake praises. He was getting lost in his own world since he has never felt a warm pussy wrapped aroung his dick before, especially not one like mine. I felt his tip hit the enterance of my cervix. He bottomed out. He didn’t move. He didn’t even want to move, he was just enjoying the moment of his cock being buried deep inside his bestfriend. “You ok babe?” he asked, concerned by the lack of movement from me. “Yeah, just give me a second” I replied, attempting to get myself under control.

I began to relax, letting the warmth envelop my entire body. I signal that his is able to move. He slowly pulls his cock out of my cunt, and immediately pushes it back in. He rests both of his arms next to my face and comes down to kiss me. I can see the faint beads of sweat forming on his forehead. “You do not know how long I have been wanting to do this” He whispered into my ear. Once again, Jakes words send a tingle down my spine. He instantly latched himself onto my neck, sucking harshly while still keeping a slow pace down below. I grip his brown head of hair as he leaves purple marks on my skin, bruising my neck. He pulls out and goes back in, this time at a consistent rate.

Our torsos are in complete contact and he sets both of his hands under my back. I wrap my legs around his waist to allow him deeper access, which he so desperately needed. His lips were locked with mine. Our tongues were dancing along with each other as well as our chests. Every time he would suck on my lower lip, I moan against his lips.

“This is what I have been dreaming about” He says breaking away and kissing my nose. He finds me comfortable with his picking up the pace, and he did with no hesitation. He nuzzles into my neck with his hair partially resting on my face. There was no pain left to feel and my whole body was washed over with pleasure. His length fit so perfectly into my warm cunt, like we were make to only fuck eachother.

Jake head still right next to mine, I turn my head and whisper “Jakey, it feels so gooood~~~~” with inconsistency in my breathing. Jake’s ears were pleasured as if he were listening to his favorite song. He slowed down the pace, only to drive his dick deeper into my swollen cunt with each thrust. “Oh my god it’s feels so fucking good, you taking my cock like this.” he whines in my ear. He pulls away from my neck and just watching himself fuck into my pussy.

There was so much sweat on his face it was so fucking hot. It was dripping off his chin and onto my shoulder and neck. His hair was starting to get wet. He took both of my legs over his shoulders, making sure to maintain eye contact. Each stroke was deeper and deeper. Faster and faster. He was getting desperate. I don’t know how much more my inexperienced pussy can handle. He takes his thumb and gently rubs my clit. Ugh, I have never felt this sort of sensation before, being fucked at the same time.

My moans became more uncontrollable and my legs started to close in. “Fuckkkkk Jakey I am about to cum” I am on the verge of tears, overstimulated with pleasure. The pressure on my clit mixed with the repeated abuse of my cervix was enough to drive me over the edge. “Mmmmm yes doll, cum on my cock” he says lowly. My walls tighten around him and my hips are shaking. My heart is beating at 1000bpm, not a coherent thought left in my fucked-dumb mind. He practically has to pry my legs apart to maintain access to my slit. He holds my hips in place as he gives me a few more strokes. His became less and less powerful.

Once he felt his orgasm coming, he quickly pulled out of me, letting out a loud groan, and shot his strings of white cum all over my tummy and chest. The room was filled with loud pants and the scent of sex. “You are all I have ever wanted” I reach up to tuck his hair behind his ear, not minding the fact that his face was soaked. We rest our foreheads together and rub our noses across each other as we both try to catch our breath.

After a second of recovery, He runs to the bathroom and grabs a rag to clean me up. I could barely move my body, my entire entity was more than sore. It hurt to move, all I could do is lay there. Jake returns with a cold washcloth, and starts wiping off my stomach. “Do you need help getting cleaned up babe?” he asks, sitting down beside me, his arm around my naked torso. “Could we take a bath together?” I suggested.

A bath together after the fact is far more intimate, and could give us some time to talk things over. “Of course” and smiles. “I can go get it set up right now, darling, you just rest for a few minutes” He gives me a kiss on the nose and forehead before heading to run the faucet.

~~~~~~~~~~

I don’t know how I could let this happen. I lay on my bed rerunning all of the events writhing the last hour in my head. I really don’t know why we both allowed it to go that far. I admit, I loved every second of it, but now that it’s over, we have to deal with the effects.

Jake comes back from running the faucet. He looks tired. Maybe a bath is something we both need. “Come here sweetheart” he brings a towel and sets it on the counter.

The bathroom mirror was completely fogged over. “Are you trying to make soup out of us?” I said jokingly. “I know you like taking your showers hot, so I thought maybe it would be the same for baths” he chuckled.

I dip my toes into the half full tub. Jake was right, the temperature was just how I liked it. I held onto his shoulder as I submerge my other foot. The water lapped over the rim of the bath tub.

I keep hold onto his hand so he can guide himself into the tub, taking a lot more balance and tolerance for him to try to get used to the boiling water. “God damn, you like it hot hot” he teases though I can see him furrowing his eyebrows at the heat.

“Oh don’t be such a baby” I tease him right back. He pouts playfully. I love seeing that kind of reaction from him. “I don’t mind” he mumbles in embarrassment, trying to hide the smile on his face.

Once his feet were able to get used to the water, we both slowly sat the rest of our bodies into the tub. Jakes hair is a mess, it’s going in all different directions. I reach out to tuck some of it behind his ears for him, and then cup his face in my palm. I stroke his cheek with my thumb. He tilts his head, there he goes with those irresistible puppy dog eyes again.

“What’s wrong baby?” he asks. I remain in eye contact with him. “Were you being serious? When you said you have dreamt about… that…?”

He’s silent. So much blood rushing to his face his cheeks are like strawberries. He scratched the back of his head. “I mean yeah… why wouldn’t I” he hesitated.

“I mean look at you, you are insanely attractive and we live together and have known each other forever. Of course my mind is going to wonder. It has wondered many more times than I would like to admit.” he explained himself.

Unintentionally, our bodies kept inching towards each other in that bath. I am some how a mere 6 inches away from his face. “Why haven’t you ever told me how you felt?”

“Because I was scared on how it would change our friendship”…. he had the exact same fear as I did. He was also afraid of losing one of his best friends. “If I tell you how I feel, you might think it’s weird or something” he whispers into my ear. “No I will understand, we have known each other our whole lives. How would it be weird?” I say softly.

He hesitates once again, and I can hear his heart start to pound. He closes the gap between us and rests his forehead on mine. “There is so much you don’t know” He breathes, still looking deep into my eyes. His words caused a flicker of anxiety inside of me. “There is so much I want to know about you, darling” I reassure.

“Well for starters I never thought this thing between us would become anything more than just friends” he confesses. It is hard for him to admit such things, but he has to show me that I matter more than he thinks. “It scares me, and I’m sorry that I let it go too far. I guess it’s because I’ve been waiting so long, and everything has changed so fast” he explained, he still had this worried look on his face like I were going to shut everything down. Everything had changed so fast.

“You have to stop worrying so much about me. You can trust me, okay? I’ll never judge or hate you or think any differently of you. All I want is for us to enjoy our first time together and enjoy each other. I have never seen anyone as beautiful as you are to me”. I caress his face with my hands.

A small smile graces his features while he gazes back into my eyes. I lean forward and capture him in a long passionate kiss. Our lips moving in sync, tasting each others taste as if it was our first time doing it. We pull away and stare at each other. He places both of his palms on either side of my face, leaning in even closer. I place my lips in line with his.

My fingers run through his soaked hair, though I don’t know if it use from sweat or from water. “Jakey, if I am going to be honest, I have been feeling the same way. On nights where we don’t sleep in the same bed, I find myself getting less sleep and craving your warmth. I don’t regret anything that’s happened between us tonight. Admittedly, I have been wanting to do that with you for so long” I started ranting.

“When you were making love to me I felt like I was floating away and it felt so good I just wanted to stay here forever, like nothing else mattered. There wasn’t anything I wanted more than to stay in this moment forever with you, but we both know that isn’t possible.” he continues, his voice cracking.

“Making love?” I chuckle. Such an interesting word choice. “Be quiet” he pushes back. “I’m just joking, but I agree”

He was clearly getting tired, letting out a yawn and fighting the force of his eyelids trying to close. “We should get to bed” I suggest. We soak the last few moments of the now comfortably hot water and get out of the tub. “You better not get water all over the floor, Jake” HE ALWAYS DOES THAT.

He grabs a towel for me and and one for himself and he wraps mine around my whole body width and pulls me for a hug. “I am glad we took a bath together sweetheart, try to get some rest” he whispers, and leaves an innocent kiss on my forehead.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next few weeks consisted of school, work, and sleeping in the same bed with Jake pretty much every single night. We would exchange passionate kisses and I would bathe him when he was too tired from work or hanging out with Jay. And he would do the same for me. We never went as far to have sex again. We weren’t scared but we felt like we should wait.

We are on our way back to Australia for fall break. Jake will finally get to see his parents and I will get to see mine. We get to have a whole week without having to worry about responsibilities. Which I know both of us desperately need. We touch down in Australia around maybe 3pm on the first Saturday of the break. We only brought carry on luggage for convenience and time.

“Have everything?” He questioned me as we were getting out of our seats. “I think so” I smile, so excited to see my parents. We arranged for Jake’s mom to pick us up from the airport. She had a large SUV able to fit all of our stuff comfortably. Once we passed through all of the security and customs, Jake calls her to see where she is parked. On speaker I hear her say “9 rows down from the south enterance” she explains. “Thanks mom, see you in a sec” Jake says about to hang up the phone. “Thank you Mrs Sim” I make sure she hears before he presses the red button.

We hurry to get out of the packed airport so meet up with his mom. The weather was cold and misty and it was hard to see. When we finally arrived outside the south enterance, we could hardly believe what we saw. Layla comes up running at full sprint in me and Jake’s direction. She jumped up onto bother of us, layering our faces and arms with slobbery licks and he tail wagging so hard it may as well had fallen off.

Once Layla was all calmed down we put our luggage into the trunk. We swing up the door and the vehicle seems oddly empty. “Where is dad?” Jake questioned his mom. “He is getting worse…. he wasn’t able to make it today, I had to take him back to the hospital last night” she explained. I could already see the heart break in his eyes. “Oh” We packed everything up and his mom offered for me to sit in the front seat. Honestly, I wanted to sit in the back seat and comfort Jake, so I made up the excuse that Layla should sit in the front.

The mood in the car ride home was off. I don’t know if it was from the weather or his fathers health but Jake was not as energetic as he was before. I know he doesn’t deserve everything happening to his dad so I will just try to support him through it.

~~~~~~~~~~

I never really gave it much thought, but the more I put the pieces together, I think maybe the reason Jake is so insistent on getting black out drunk with Jay on the weekends may have to do with his father.

Jake has never in his life had a healthy coping mechanism. I remember a lot through out grade school, he would feel guilty or take blame for things that were not his fault, just to mediate the situation. When he did this, he did not react to the discipline very well, but it seems like he would much rather face conveniences than to start an argument over the original problem.

Jake let a lot of people take advantage of him, and it is still something that we have to work on, but knowing the situation with his dad, I know he has a lot more things to worry about now that usual.

Many of the people excluding his parents are alcoholics, any family event we went to together, the main thing being passed around was a bottle. When we were younger, things made him build resentment towards them but the older we got, the more willing he was to try alcohol, only adding more and more each time until he is where he is at now.

Jay isn’t the type of friend to stop this behavior either. I will never understand why Jake is such good friends with him cause he never seems to have the best intentions or good interest in mind. I can’t be the one to tell him that they should stop being friends cause at the end of the day, Jake’s relationship with alcohol won’t be healed in a split second.

~~~~~~~~~~

Nothing really eventful happened over the span of the after noon, the rain put everything to a halt. I slept in the guest bed in Jake’s house for the first night but was unable to fall asleep for the majority of the night. Jake’s mom rushed into the room around 1:30 am.

“Hey are you awake? We have to go the hospital, it’s my husband. Please wake up Jake while I grab the keys” She said with an extremely shaken voice full of urgency. I shoot out of the bed and put my shorts back on and practically run down the hallway to Jake’s room. It is locked. I bang on the door frantically. “Jake! Jake get up now we have to go” I echo through the door. Quickly after he swings open his door with his shirt in his hand, in the middle of putting it on.

The SUV was already started when we got out the front door and we ran to get into the car and soon as we sat down she reversed and tried to explain. “He slipped into a coma. They said they are trying everything to get him to wake up but they have no idea why it happened because he was in decent shape before” she says with tears forming in her eyes.

I reach up to the front seat to scratch her shoulder to try and calm her. I don’t think there is anything someone can do in this situation to calm someone in this much distress down but I tried. She is going dangerously fast down the highway. I know that she has been working hard to keep them afloat and thing we’re starting to get better. After that I couldn’t stand to listen anymore and closed my eyes hoping that by some miracle she wouldn’t end up killing us.

After what seemed like hours we reached the hospital and were quickly taken to another private room where we could talk with him alone. Of course his dad wasn’t going to be able to say anything. But Jake still wanted him to listen. He took his fathers hand a caressed his palm with his fingers while he said what he needed to say. Once he was done, I gave Jake a hug as his red face were completely covered in tears.

“He will be okay, I promise” I reassured him. We walked out of the room to discover his mom sitting next to the window, face completely void of emotion. He hasn’t spoken a word since we have gotten here.

“You know…. he was really excited for you both to come back. He was practically counting down the days” she admitted, wiping a tear from here eye. “I was so excited with him” she added. Her words shatter my heart. How is she not screaming in anger right now. Angry at the world for doing this to her innocent husband. That was something I admired about her. She was always able to contain her emotions well, almost too well.

Seeing both her and Jake in this state was absolutely terrible. I knew it would only take a miracle to fix this given his dads condition. “It’ll all be okay, Jake, don’t cry” I assure him. “It won’t, how am I supposed to deal with this? How am I supposed to go back to school without seeing him, talking to him… it hurts” “There is still a chance that he will make it Jake, don’t give up on it. I know he wants you to wait for him”

He couldn’t say anything, all he could do was bury his face into my shoulder and sob. He tried to form words, but they were only choked noises which caused him to cry even harder. “Shh its okay, I am here” I assure him. Me, Jake and his mom spent the night in the hospital. His mom slept in the room with his dad and me and Jake slept in a guest waiting room. Well, I was the only one who was able to get some sleep. Jake was up all night worrying about his father. I could hear him crying as I were trying to fall asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~

A few weeks had passed and his fathers condition remained the same, and to be honest, Jake and his mom seemed like they kind of accepted that this was the way that things were going to be.

We were back at the house, his mom would just go to work and lock herself in her room until she had to go to work again and Jake and I were preparing to go back to Korea for the Winter semester.

Mrs Sim did not want to see us leave, and she made it very clear. We were her last hope with everything going on with her husband. I really wish me and Jake could stay back to support her but we have jobs and bills that we have to get back to, and life can’t just pause for us. We promised we would let her know how we are feeling, how much we missed each other and everything else that went along with saying goodbye.

We leave in 3 days, and we made it our mission to hang out with his mom as much as we could before we left. She hasn’t taken a break either… no time to her self she just has to keep working to pay for the house and the piling medical bills.

Those last few days, we took Mrs. Sim out for lunch at her favorite Thai restaurant. She seemed to genuinely smile for the first time in weeks as we joked and reminisced about times when all 4 of us were together. One night, we rented some classic movies she loved and made her favorite snacks. We cuddled up on the couch, enjoying the familiar feeling of just being together as a family again, if only briefly.

Jake and I helped around the house as much as we could - running errands, doing yard work, and cooking meals to give his mom a little respite. We made sure to soak in every moment because we didn't know when we'd all be together like that again.

~~~~~~~~~~

When it came time for our early morning departure back to Korea, Mrs. Sim took us both in for a tight hug, her eyes brimming with tears. "Take care of each other," she whispered hoarsely.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ Jake grabs our suitcases out of the trunk and his mom pulls me to the side.

“Please promise to take care of him for me. You have always been a safe place for him, I can only imagine how he has been feeling” she begged. I held bother of her hands in the palms of mine. “I promise, Mrs Sim, I will do everything in my power to take care of him, don’t worry. You have other things to worry about” I reassure her pulling her into a hug.

Layla climbs through the back of the car from the front seat and jumps out of the trunk to say good bye, jumping all over me and Jake just like when we first arrived. “Yes you’re such a good girl” he scruffs up her ears while giving her a kiss on the forehead. I gave Layla some belly rubs before his mom guided her back into the car.

“Please text me when you board, and call me when you land, I need to know that the two of you are safe.” said his mom. “Of course” we pulled her into one last hug. “I love you guys” she sobbed “I love you too” we said in unison as we walked towards to enterance, leaving his mom in the parking lot.

~~~~~~~~~~

The ride back home was hard for Jake. 10 hours of restlessness. The only time I saw Jake act kind of okay was at our layover in Manila. I tried to leave him be for most of the trip.

-

We landed at the airport in Seoul and made our way back through customs and immigration, I swear the process of getting out of the airport is more stressful than planing a trip itself. We load our things into my car, missing the excitement that Layla brought to the car ride.

Before we got into the car, Jake comes behind me and turns me around into a hug. “I am really worried about her… my parents have been together for so long I can’t imagine how she would react with out him” he cried into my arms. “Your mom is a strong woman, I know it. She has you and I know she will be able to get through it.” I rub his back and lay my head into the crook of his neck.

I walk him over to his door and open it, letting him get into is and rest, we still had a 45 minute drive back to our place. I just let him ‘rest’ his eyes the whole way and I sat in silence trying not to wake him. The ride was bumpy, or maybe I was more aware of my surroundings not given that Jake wasn’t talking my ear off the whole time. I don’t mean it as a bad thing but he does a great job at keeping me company in the car. But that element was absent this time.

We were outside of our house quicker than expected. Jake was still fast asleep, he looked up he most peaceful than I have seen him these past few weeks I really did not want to wake him up. “Jakey we’re here” I whisper and gently grip his shoulder. He groans. He untucks his arms from under his shirt and rubs his eyes, trying to adjust to the light.

We make way up to the door, he didn’t bother grabbing anything out of the car but I was completely okay with grabbing everything if it meant he would get some rest. As soon as we stepped in the door, he took off his shoes and hurried to his bedroom, he didn’t ever bother changing his clothes before plopping onto his bed in pure exhaustion.

I found myself following him to the bed and sitting on the edge and grazing his back with my fingernails. My hands made way up to his hair and I combed his strands with my fingers. He turns over to lay on his back and I sit and admire his beautiful face while his eyes are closed. So peaceful. I couldn’t fight the urge to lean down and give his a soft peck before heading back to the car.

He didn’t seem to mind, his lips were soft as they instantly melted into mine for a few seconds. He didn’t seem supprised or shocked at all. He made it feel natural. “Thank you” he said, barely audible. I leaned in for another kiss, a smile building on my face as our lips met. No verbal response was needed, my smile against his spoke for itself.

~~~~~~~~~~

We had gotten back into our normal work and school schedule following the break. I still was not seeing Jake as much as I would like and it seems like I was getting less and less information by the day on his dad, which worried me. I tried to call Mrs Sim every single day to check in and get updates, as well as update her on mine and Jake’s life. She treated me like a friend. Like a daughter. I am very thankful to be accepted by her in that way.

Jake was clearly getting more stressed with work and school and I couldn’t figure out a way to ease the stress for him, all I could do was hope that it wouldn’t end up being too much.

Mrs Sim told me briefly once while we were on a phone call that me and her call way more often that her and Jake do. Jake has always been a texter and his Mom simply had to deal with not hearing her baby boys voice as often as she would like, which is why it was weird when me and Jake were laying in my bed around 11pm and his phone starts ringing.

Both of us were on the verge of falling asleep and the light from his phone screen made the situation more uncomfortable. At first Jake just reached over and turned off the ringer.

“Hey did you even see who it was? What if it was important” I question his instinct to end the call. “Fine let me look” he groans.

He reached over and grabs his phone and looks at the screen ‘Mom’ is what it read. “Answer it!” I urged him. Jake was hesitant. I think he thought that this was going to be the call, which he has been preparing to avoid at all costs.

Instead of letting the line go to voicemail, I snatch the phone out of his hand and answer if myself. “Hello Mrs Sim, is everything alright?”

“I am so glad to hear your voice. Is Jake around? It is important. Put it on speaker” she said.

“You’re on speaker” I informed her.

“Jake, your father is home, I picked him up about an hour ago. The doctor said that septic shock caused him to go into the coma, and they were able to treat the infection and keep him steady with some blood and IV fluids. He woke up yesterday and has shown no signs of complication ever since. I will take him back in a few days for testing and a check up. They saved him Jake… They saved him.” His mother explained ecstatically, crying tears of happiness.

Jake’s face immediately lit up, with what I could see from the light of the phone screen. He instantly started crying.

“Baby I wish you were here right now. he misses you so much” he claimed.

Jake couldn’t even speak through his tears and his hitched breathing. “I love you so much mom, tell dad I love him and I will see him soon”

He sets the phone down and buries his face into my chest, letting out full on sobs. the toll that this situation has taken on his body physically and mentally was very obvious and I know he has been wanting good news.

~~~~~~~~~~

Weeks had passed and we came back to Australia for the Winter break. Jake was more excited than ever. When he saw his dad get out of the car at the airport, I had never see Jake run so fast in my life. Their hug seemed like it was out of a movie and he had been latched to his dad everyday since being back at his house.

His parents kind of picked up on me and Jake’s relationship, and didn’t question why I was wanting to sleep in Jake’s room and not the guest room any more.

We were laying there facing each other, admiring each others beauty in the dim moon light shining through the blinds.

“Tell me Jake, do you believe in fate?” I questioned lowly.

He looks somewhat startled. “Y’know, I have never really thought about that. After everything that has happened this year, I think I would say that I do” he confirmed, stroking my cheek with his thumb.

“Yeah I think I do too”

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

Spring Fling

(gif by @pedropascalsx. I've given up using Tumblr gif search)

Pairing: Marcus Pike x virgin f!Reader

Rating: E (explicit smut, 18+ only)

Word Count: 19,228. Oops.

Warnings: Significant age gap (almost 20 years), college-age reader, sexual tension, mentions of: strained familial relationships, divorce, unhealthy breakups, stalker(ish) behavior (PAST), therapy. Virgin/inexperienced reader, fingering, oral sex (f! receiving), unprotected PIV sex and a lot of it, comeplay if you squint, Marcus’s filthy filthy mouth, happy ending

Summary: When you and your friend, fellow pre-Law student Emma, plan to go to Washington DC for spring break instead of the typical beach destination, she makes plans for the two of you to stay with her estranged father for the week to save money on lodging. You never expected Emma’s father, a man she says she’s barely seen throughout the years, to be so sweet, so troubled, and so unfairly pretty. Neither did you expect for what you'd thought was a one-sided attraction to turn into a spring fling... or maybe something more.

A/N: I got an ask asking about 'Best Friend's Dad' Marcus Pike, so I now post a question to you, dear reader: What if Marcus Pike had a college-age kid from his first marriage, one that he'd entered into at a very young age because of an unplanned pregnancy? Anyway to find out the answer read this almost 20k fic LOL

Masterlist

"We should go somewhere for spring break."

Your friend and fellow pre-Law student at the University of Texas, Emma, laughs. "Go somewhere? Like what, the fucking beach? And with what money?"

"No, no beaches. Somewhere cool. Somewhere unusual."

"Like what?" Emma asks, shoving another handful of chips in her mouth.

"I've never been to Washington, DC," you comment thoughtfully.

"I thought every public school in the entire country went to DC at some point," Emma remarks. 

"I had the chickenpox."

"Ew."

"Do you think that would be fun? Going to the Capitol for break?" you ask.

"I guess," Emma shrugs. "It's better than going to writhe on the beach with fifty thousand wasted twentysomethings."

"There's still the issue of how to pay for a trip. For any trip. I think I could cover airfare, but a DC hotel? Ugh," you say with a groan. 

"I could put the hotel on my credit card and work a bunch of extra shifts at Pizza Express afterward to make up for it," Emma says. "But that would pretty much max out my card."

"I can look up the cheapest spots outside the city," you suggest. "And we can take the metro in."

"Outside the city isn't going to be much better," Emma remarks. "We could… nah."

You look up, curious. "We could… what?"

"Well, my uh, my dad actually lives in DC."

"Your dad?" you repeat incredulously. "You've literally never mentioned your dad. I thought he and your mom were estranged?"

"Sorta," Emma says. "The official story is that they married too young and eventually separated."

"...And the unofficial story?"

"My mom found out she was pregnant at nineteen, and my dad wanted to do the right thing, so he married her. But I guess they weren't right for each other, because they were already divorced by the time I was two."

"Do you see him much?" you ask.

"I used to," Emma says quietly. "But my mom was never really enthusiastic about spending much time together, so it wasn’t very often. And then he moved to DC when I was a junior in high school, and I haven't seen him since. He always sends me cards on my birthday and Christmas, though. And…" she suddenly blushes, looking down and away.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"What, Em?"

"He pays for my tuition."

"What?!"

"Yeah, I've barely had to take out any loans. It's just for housing and stuff."

"You ass, you never told me that!"

"It's not common knowledge," Emma mumbles. "Besides, no one wants to admit they've got an absent, divorced father paying the bills."

"But you'd want to contact him for this? For a place to crash over spring break for a week?"

"He's nice," Emma says quietly. "I always got the feeling that he wanted to do his best by us."

"I mean, if you're cool with it, it kinda sounds fun," you admit. "Better than Galveston, anyway."

Emma laughs. "Yeah, way better than Galveston."

"Holy shit, Em, you can see the Capitol from here." 

The two of you had emerged from the underground tunnel of the metro station, trailing suitcases behind you, into what feels like the middle of the city itself. The busy street is flanked with large condominiums on both sides, with--unbelievably--a view of the Capitol building in the distance.

"I think it's this one," Emma says, squinting at the address on her phone and back up at one of the buildings. 

"How do we get in?" you ask. 

"He just said to text him," Emma answers. "Hang on." She taps out a message on her phone before sliding it back into her pocket. "And now we wait."

You barely have time to check your email before the front door opens and a man emerges, striding quickly toward the two of you. You think he's about to envelop your friend into a crushing hug, but he stops short, eyes wavering with uncertainty as he looks his daughter up and down. His hand reaches toward her arm, but he hesitates just short of touching.

"Emma," the man breathes, the emotion evident in his voice making you want to duck your head and turn away from the scene. 

"Hey, uh, Dad," Emma says, giving him a sheepish smile. "Been a while."

"It's been six years," the man says emphatically. 

"Yeah."

You watch as Emma's father's fingers twitch toward her. "C-Can I–" 

Emma shrugs. "'Course."

The man carefully steps forward and wraps his arms around her, pulling her to his chest. His eyes close, his eyebrows pull upward to reveal a deep crease in between them as he holds his daughter for apparently the first time in six years. This time, you do look away from what feels like surprisingly tender and private moment. 

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for your graduation," you hear him say softly. "I was undercover for a case, and… Anyway, it doesn't matter. I'm sorry. You don't know how badly I wanted to be there."

"S'okay," Emma says cooly. She steps back, and, for the first time, her father seems to notice you. 

"Hi," he says brightly, and his pained, heartfelt expression melts into an easy smile as he extends his hand to you. "Marcus." 

You don't know what you had been expecting. Maybe someone older. Maybe someone less… attractive. Not this frankly gorgeous man, with his boyish smile, pretty eyes that crinkle around the edges, slightly mussed brown hair that falls over his forehead, and the light smattering of facial hair that only seems to soften his features further. Not that he needed any help, in that respect. Slightly stunned, you step forward and take the man’s hand, trying not to trip over the syllables of your own name.

Marcus’s smile widens, and he repeats your name, which does nothing to quell the sudden burst of butterflies in your stomach–and are your palms sweating?

"Thank you for allowing us to stay for the week," you say politely, forcing yourself out of the trance.

"Not a problem," Marcus answers. "What a great destination for spring break! Whose idea was that?"

"Mine," you say with a little laugh. 

"My kind of girl," Marcus jokes. "Keeping my daughter out of trouble."

"Dad," Emma groans. "I'm not a kid."

"Well, last time I saw you, you were fifteen," Marcus says pointedly. "You're gonna have to let my brain do a little catch-up, here."

"Well, to start with, I'm not a beach party kind of person," Emma says. "I'm a nerd–y'know, being pre-Law and all."

Emma's father beams. "So I've heard. Well, I'm happy to host two nerds while they do a little sightseeing in the nation's Capitol. I can even," he adds with a conspiratorial smile, "give you a tour of the J. Edgar Hoover building. If–If you want," he finishes awkwardly, appearing hesitant and unsure again.

"Oh, cool!" you exclaim automatically, without thinking.

Marcus grins widely at your enthusiasm, and you find yourself staring at your shoes, biting your lip as you flounder under his attention. You're being weird. Stop it. 

"Y-Yeah," Emma adds, nodding hesitantly. "That would be nice... Dad. Thanks."

“C’mon,” Marcus says, grabbing both Emma’s bag and, before you can protest, yours. “Come on up. I ordered some pizza for everyone. You can get settled tonight and… go do whatever you two want to do in the morning.”

The two of you follow Marcus through the lobby and into the elevator. You can’t help but keep stealing little glances at him–the way his shoulders fill out the maroon henley he’s wearing over jeans, the way those shoulders taper down to narrow hips, the way he’s got the top two buttons of his shirt casually undone, showing you a hint of collarbone that has you damn-near salivating. Snap out of it. Oh, God, snap out of it. You’ve known the man for five minutes, and you feel like you’re losing your mind. It’s gonna be a long week if you don’t pull it together. 

Marcus opens the front door and gestures the two of you in before him. You stand awkwardly in the living room, looking around at the furniture and at the decor on the walls, looking anywhere but at your best friend’s dad, whose very presence seems to fluster you beyond all reason.

“I just have one spare room, hopefully you two don’t mind sharing…?” Marcus asks.

“That’s fine,” Emma says good-naturedly. 

“It’s just through here,” he says, walking past you. “I’ll set your bags down in there and show you around.”

The room is clearly his workspace–there’s a desk and a chair shoved into a corner to make room for a comfortable-looking guest bed. The side wall is covered with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and you subconsciously step toward them, eager to see what titles this man keeps on his shelves.

“Sorry, it’s kind of an… all-purpose room,” Marcus says sheepishly. “Bit cluttered.”

“I like it,” you murmur absentmindedly, still scanning the spines.

“‘Gardner’s Art Through the Ages’” Emma reads, crinkling her nose. “How many editions of this book do you have?”

Her father laughs. “It’s work stuff, mostly. Although there’s a few thrillers here and there. And some classics.” He approaches the shelves as well, and you can feel the hair on the back of your neck start to stand up on end at the sensation of his body hovering just behind you. You’re so… aware of him. You don’t know if it’s because Marcus seems to naturally command every space he’s in or if there’s something electric that’s pulling you toward him, but either way, your entire body feels as though it’s on high alert.

A sharp buzzing makes you jump comically, making Emma snort.

“That’ll be the pizza,” Marcus announces. “Be right back.”

You glance over at Emma, who is still staring disinterestedly at the bookshelves. “It’s a nice place,” you say conversationally. 

“Mmmhm.”

“You okay?” you ask softly.

“Oh, yeah,” Emma scoffs, waving her hand. “Just been a while. It’s weird. You know.”

“He seems nice,” you say.

“He is,” she remarks. “I told you he was. I just… don’t know him very well. Like he said, I haven’t seen him in six years.”

“Maybe this will be good, then,” you suggest. “Get to know him now that you’re an adult and all that.”

Emma shrugs. “Maybe.”

You look back at the shelves. Emma was right; Marcus does have an alarmingly large number of editions of Art Through the Ages. You furrow your brow.

“What does your dad do in DC?”

“Oh, did I not tell you? He’s in the FBI.”

You feel as though you’ve swallowed your tongue, but before you can garble out a response–something like, “Mmmgnnbbllgffnhh?”–you hear Marcus coming back.

“Get it while it’s hot!” he says cheerfully. “You guys must be hungry after traveling all day.”

“Oh wow, Dad, that’s… a lot of pizza for three people,” Emma says, her eyebrows raising in surprise and confusion.

She’s right–there are five boxes sitting on the small kitchen island, along with several options of drink.

“I had no idea what either of you liked,” Marcus reasoned. “So I got a few different options. Cheese, pepperoni, supreme, hawaiian, and some kind of vegan thing, just in case.”

“You know, you could have just texted,” Emma remarks, at the same time that you whisper, “Thank you.”

Marcus looks sheepish. “Wanted to surprise you. Anyway, dig in–there’s obviously a lot.” He laughs quietly to himself, grabbing three plates and setting them down on the counter. You grab three different kinds–supreme, hawaiian, and the vegan option, out of curiosity–and sit on one of the barstools opposite Marcus. Emma grabs two cheeses and sits down next to you.

“So,” he says after a few minutes of surprisingly companionable silence. “I know Emma is pre-Law. Are you pre-Law too?” he asks, looking at you with a friendly, curious smile. 

“Mmmhmm,” you nod, tight-lipped. You hate this conversation–the college-age version of ‘What do you want to be when you grow up?’ Everyone asks the question with good intent, but it always leaves you in an anxiety spiral, an existential crisis, because no matter how many times you’re asked, you have absofuckinglutely no idea. 

“What kind of law do you want to go into?” This question is addressed more to Emma, who immediately launches into an explanation of Environmental Law and the impact of climate change on public health. Marcus nods eagerly, giving Emma his full attention as she talks, watching her with a small smile. 

“What about you?” he asks when she’s done, turning to you.

You gulp. 

“I don’t—I don’t really know. Not yet, anyways.” You brace yourself for the judgmental eyebrow raise, the well-meaning advice.

“That’s okay,” Marcus says, smiling. “No one says you have to have it figured out at… how old are you?”

“T-Twenty,” you mumble, feeling more naive and inexperienced than you ever have before.

“Nah,” Marcus says, shaking his head playfully. “No one has it figured out at twenty. And the people who think they do? They change.”

His eyes go far away for a split-second, and you wonder what he must have been like at twenty. Did he already have Emma at that point? Did he just find out that his girlfriend was pregnant? Was he panicking, trying to figure out how to make things work? You wonder what it was that he had wanted to do, and what he had sacrificed for Emma and her mom. You wonder if he had wanted the divorce, or if she had been the one to suggest it.

“Anyway,” Marcus says, casually waving a slice of pepperoni as he talks, “I mostly work with criminal lawyers. If that’s something you’re interested in, I could arrange a chat with someone this week.”

“Oh,” you say, too stunned to say anything else. “Yeah, maybe.”

Marcus shrugs good-naturedly. “Think about it,” he says, giving you another crooked grin. His eyes crinkle around the edges when he smiles, and it makes your stomach do somersaults. 

“Yeah,” you say again, a little breathlessly. Your next bite of pizza misses your mouth entirely, and you manage to stab yourself in the cheek with your slice, transferring a glob of tomato sauce onto your face in the process.

Emma laughs, and Marcus’s eyes glitter with amusement as you frantically reach for a napkin. 

“So you do, um… FBI stuff?” you ask him clumsily, trying to break the silence.

“Yep. FBI Stuff. Says it on my badge and everything.”

“Why do you have a bunch of art books?”

“I lead an international task force dealing with art crimes,” he answers patiently. 

“What constitutes an art crime?” Emma asks, her mouth full.

“Theft,” Marcus lists, “forgeries, black market sales, dealing in antiquities, looting of archaeological sites…”

“Oh, wow,” you breathe, a dopey smile on your face. Emma shoots you a funny look.

“So it’s like, nerdy FBI stuff,” she says.

“The nerdiest,” Marcus agrees, smiling.

“Do you still have a gun and stuff?”

“I do,” Marcus says carefully, frowning slightly. “It’s in the safe for the week, though, while you’re here.”

Your stomach flip-flops at the mental image of Emma’s dad holding a gun, those warm brown eyes dark with focus as he stares down… an art thief. Or something. 

“Enough about your old man,” he says with a self-deprecating chuckle. “What are you two looking to do tomorrow on your first day in DC?”

“Think we’ll hit the museums,” Emma says. “Get them out of the way first. We want to see the Library of Congress, obviously. Plus walking around to all the monuments and stuff. Oh, and the zoo!”

“Do you want my advice?” Marcus asks, and you both nod. “It’s supposed to be unseasonably warm tomorrow, and sunny. I’d do the monument tour or the zoo tomorrow if I were you. Save the indoor stuff for the end of the week, because it’s supposed to rain.”

“Monuments it is!” Emma exclaims. “Hey, can I… can I use your shower? I feel kinda gross from the travel day.”

“Absolutely.” Marcus hops up, leading Emma over to the guest bathroom. You listen as he points out a stack of towels intended for the two of you during your stay, the extra shampoo he’d bought, the spare toothbrushes just in case… Eventually he returns, hands stuffed in his pockets, looking hesitant again.

“Thank you,” you say again. “You went through a lot of trouble, and–”

“It’s no trouble,” Marcus says quickly. “No trouble at all. I–I have to admit I was surprised when Em–when she called, but I’m–I’m more than happy to host you two for the week. It’s no trouble at all,” he repeats.

“Okay,” you say dumbly. You’re staring again, unable to help the way your eyes are drawn to the way his arms fill out the shirt he's wearing when his hands are in his pockets like that. 

"You alright?" 

Your eyes flit up to his at the question. He's looking back at you, his head cocked to the side as he watches you. And suddenly, you can just tell–you can tell that he knows how flustered you are in front of him. 

You nod rapidly up and down in response, not trusting yourself to answer.  

"Good. Had enough pizza?"

"Mmhmm."

"Anything else to drink?" he asks. 

"Got any beer?" you ask with a quirk of your eyebrow.

"You told me you were twenty," Marcus reminds you. 

"Oh."

"And I work for law enforcement," he says gravely. 

Oh. 

"Oh, f-fuck, I um… I was kidding. Holy shit. I'm sorry. Seriously, I'm not a-a bad… student, or anything. I swear, I–"

As you continue to frantically backtrack, you realize that Marcus’s shoulders are shaking with laughter. 

"Oh, you're funny. Real funny. Ha. Ha."

"Next you'll be saying I should quit my day job," he says, his eyes sparkling. 

"I'm not sure what kind of art… crime… solver… you are, but I have to believe you're a better agent than you are a comedian," you deadpan. 

"You can come to my stand-up show on Tuesday and see for yourself."

Your jaw drops before you realize Marcus's lips are quivering with the effort of keeping a straight face. 

"You're on fire, tonight," you say, rolling your eyes. 

"You'll have to forgive me," he says, a gentle, more wistful smile gracing his lips. "I don't have company often, and it's been even longer since I've seen–" his eyes flick to the bathroom door, and he looks troubled for a moment. 

"Strictly off the record, if you do want a beer, I happen to have some," he says, changing the subject and smiling back at you again. 

"Nah, I'll save that favor for later in the week," you tell him.

"Noted," Marcus replies. He's looking at you again, still. He seems to be one of those people who gives all of his focus to someone when they speak, and the attention is starting to overwhelm you. 

"Hey!" Emma calls from the guest bedroom. "I wanna get started early tomorrow. Those monuments aren't gonna monument themselves."

You laugh and roll your eyes. "That's my cue," you say with a little smile. "Gonna grab a shower myself and call it a night."

"If you need anything, I'm a room away," Marcus says, but it only serves to remind you that this man will be sleeping in the next room.

"Got it," you say, nodding thickly. "Um, good night."

"Good night," he answers softly. 

When you reach the bathroom door, you turn around again–you can't help yourself. 

He's still looking at you. 

"Get up!

"Get up!"

"GET–"

"Okay!" you whine, throwing an extra pillow in the general direction of Emma's voice. "Fuck. I'm up."

You throw on a pair of jeans and a faded tee, scrubbing your hands over your face as you stumble out of the guest room and into the kitchen, where Marcus hands you a cup of coffee, which you accept with a grunt.

"Emma warned me that you weren't a morning person," he says. 

"God, it's both of you, isn't it?" you grumble. "Morning people."

"I guess we turned out alike after all," Marcus says with a soft smile, watching as you take a grateful sip from the mug. "What's the first stop on the list?"

"I dunno, she's got it all planned out," you murmur. "Of like, seeing the farthest place first and working our way back."

"Sounds like a plan," Marcus says. "You two have fun."

"What are you doing today?" Emma interjects, coming into the kitchen, grabbing a bagel off of the counter, and stuffing it into her mouth. 

"Well, it's Sunday, so… grocery shopping," Marcus says. "Any special requests?"

"Filet mignon," Emma says. 

"You got it. Want some lobster tails as well?"

"Mmhmm."

"I was thinking more along the lines of spaghetti and meatballs. Anything else you ladies would like?"

Emma shuffles her feet, and you frown slightly. You've never known her not to immediately say what's on her mind–and clearly, something is. 

"What is it, Emmie?" Marcus asks softly.

"Do you remember that one time that we came to your family's for Christmas–I think I was maybe twelve?–and you made…"

"...Tamales?" Marcus asks, his eyebrows shooting upward. 

"Yeah," Emma answers, her voice smaller than you've ever heard it. "I still remember those. They were really good."

"Jesus, I haven't made those in…" he shakes his head. "I don't even know. But uh, sure. We can do that. Tamale night. It's a deal."

"Thanks," Emma says, smiling. "And… really? 'Emmie?' Dad, I'm not seven anymore."

"My mistake," Marcus says with a playful wink in your direction–which might make your heart stop. "You girls stay safe. Text if you need anything."

Marcus was right–the weather is beautiful today. It’s perfect for walking endlessly from monument to monument, which you do all morning. You try to stay focused–thoughtfully reading the names on the Vietnam War Memorial and not thinking about Emma’s dad, in the plain white t-shirt he had been wearing this morning, in the produce section picking out apples. Even worse, you try not to imagine the sight of him cooking tonight.

He’s becoming a bit of an obsession for you, you can admit it. You want to know everything about him–what his job is like, what he does on the weekends, what he likes to read, what he did in the past to alienate the mother of his child enough that he’s barely seen his daughter–who he very clearly cares deeply for…

As you walk around the Washington Monument, you can’t stand it any longer. 

“Sooooo. It seems like things are going well between you and your dad,” you say conversationally.

“How do you mean?” 

“Less awkward, I guess.”

“It’s not that we don’t get along,” Emma says with a shrug. “We always used to. Like I said, I always thought he was nice. My mom…” 

“She didn’t like him?”

“She didn’t want to be around him. I don’t know why. They tried to protect me from the messy parts of divorce, but part of that means that I have no idea what their history is. She never talked about it. Neither did he.”

“Huh.” You stare in silence at the large white obelisk. “I wonder what happened.”

“I thought about asking my mom,” Emma says. “Lots of times, but I never got up the courage.”

“You should ask him,” you say quietly. “I get the feeling he needs to tell the story.”

Emma gives you a funny look. “That’s a weird thing to say.”

You shrug. “I’m weird.”

“Fair.”

The two of you walk until it feels as though your feet are going to fall off. 

“My feet are going to fall off,” you announce. “Surely there are no more monuments in the entirety of Washington, DC.”

“We’ve still got the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.”

“Uggghhhh, how important can he be? He’s unknown.”

“This was your idea,” Emma points out. “Go to DC for spring break! Stay with my best friend’s estranged dad! Walk around and see all the monuments and shit!”

“Too many steps,” you groan. “They should all be concentrated in one square mile of land.”

“One more,” Emma promises. “And then spaghetti.”

“And laying on the couch watching TV,” you counter.

“And laying on the couch watching TV,” Emma agrees. “...And tomorrow we go to the zoo.”

“No!”

Marcus chuckles as you stumble into his condo just after six. You immediately collapse onto the couch with an exaggerated groan.

“I’m staying right here for the rest of the week,” you announce.

“It’s been one day,” Marcus points out. 

“My phone’s step counter measures over thirty thousand steps,” you mumble. “I’m done.”

“That’s a lot,” Marcus concedes. “Hopefully that means the two of you are hungry this evening.”

“Fucking starving,” Emma agrees, crashing onto the couch herself and nearly colliding with you as she does so. 

“Well, since everyone is so tired,” Marcus says, the playfulness evident in his voice, “I’ll make spaghetti and meatballs tonight. Tamales are a group effort, so you two better be ready to work for your food.”

“I shall endeavor to do so,” Emma remarks with an exaggerated accent, causing you to laugh giddily. 

While Emma’s eyes are closed, you take advantage, watching Marcus–still with that same fitted white shirt–in the kitchen, boiling water, heating the sauce, and adding the meatballs. He must sense your gaze, because he turns, a characteristic crooked smile on his lips as he acknowledges you. 

“I know they’re frozen,” he admits, speaking of the meatballs, “but they always taste the same to me anyway.”

“I can’t wait,” you say, truthfully. “It’s been a long day.”

As if to demonstrate the fact, a loud snore emanates from the body next to you, making you grin.

“I’m glad you guys came,” Marcus says softly. “I don’t often have the opportunity to cook for… more than one.”

“No girlfriend?” you ask conversationally. 

Marcus laughs. “I’m… in between things, I suppose.”

“In between,” you parrot with a laugh. “How long have you been ‘in between?’”

He huffs. “Too long,” he murmurs. 

“How come?” you ask quietly.

Marcus frowns, thinking. “I dunno. No one recently has been… exactly what I’m looking for.”

“And what are you looking for?” you ask breathlessly.

“Spaghetti,” Emma mumbles from the couch.

“Spaghetti,” Marcus repeats, giving me a slightly melancholy smile. “Exactly. Come and get it, you two.”

Emma stirs, stumbling into the kitchen where two giant bowls of spaghetti and meatballs are awaiting the two of you.

“Holy shit,” she remarks. “Thanks for this.”

“Of course,” Marcus says. “I would never agree for you to stay and then not…” he trails off, unsure of himself.

You’re starting to realize that the bulk of Marcus’s most emotional statements go unsaid. I would ever agree for you to stay and then not take care of you, is what he hadn’t said. 

“Still doing the zoo tomorrow?” he asks, changing the subject, as always.

“Yup,” Emma answers.

He huffs, smiling wistfully. “Been ages since I’ve been to a zoo.”

“D’you wanna go?” you ask, before you can determine that it’s a bad idea.

Marcus looks at you, indecisive for a few seconds before he seemingly comes to his senses. “Nah,” he says, grinning. “You two have fun.”

“Are you sure?” Emma asks. “Apparently there’s a new panda baby.”

“That’s a hard bargain,” he admits.

“You should come with,” Emma decides. “It could be fun.”

“All right,” Marcus agrees hesitantly.

“It’s Monday,” you point out. “Don’t you have to work?”

“I’ll call off,” he answers quickly. “Not everyday one’s daughter is in town for an impromptu zoo trip.”

“Look at the little lad,” Emma gushes. 

“The what?” Marcus asks. 

The three of you are staring at the panda enclosure, watching the newest addition to the zoo cause chaos.

“The chonky boi,” you agree.

“I have no idea what you two are saying,” Marcus admits. 

“The baby panda is cute,” Emma offers. 

“That I can agree on,” he decides.

The three of you, you’ve decided, make a good team. You try not to think about how your heart burns whenever Marcus looks at you, how your stomach does flips whenever he laughs. If you’re going to be a good friend to Emma–and you are–you’re going to have to put this silly crush aside and accept the fact that he’s a package deal with your best friend. 

That doesn’t stop the way the man looks at you, though. 

You think you’re imagining it, at first. After all, Marcus seems to be the type of person who focuses completely on whatever anyone has to say. The more you’re with him, though, it’s hard to deny that he seems to look at you just a tiny bit longer.

You start to notice it all day–when you’re looking at the exhibits, Marcus is looking at you. 

He’s watching your reaction to them–smiling when you smile, laughing when you laugh. You can’t parse out the meaning behind his actions–does it mean something? If so, what? What does it mean? 

You can’t admit the truth to yourself until you’re in the insect house. Emma is giddy with interest, and you… are trying. 

“Are you okay?” Marcus asks softly in your ear–and you try not to shiver.

“Great,” you squeak. “Just don’t love the bird-eating spider.”

“I don’t like them either,” he confesses with a smile. “Do you need to leave?”

“Idunno,” you mumble, slurring the words together. 

“Emmie,” Marcus announces, “we’re going to take a little break, okay?”

“Mmm.” 

You and Marcus escape into the bright sunshine, and you let out an awkward laugh. “I can’t believe they have some of them loose in there–without glass or anything!”

“I’m not going back in that building,” Marcus agrees, laughing with you. “The giant orb weaver was the last straw.”

“That was awful,” you say, nodding.

“Come to think of it, I might be more of a baby panda guy, myself.”

“I’ll take the snakes over this,” you agree.

You sit down on a nearby bench, still giggling together as you wait for Emma.

“Is it weird if I say I’m glad you came?” you ask quietly.

“I’m glad I came, too,” Marcus says beside you.

“I think–” you begin, but Emma emerges from the insect house, grinning ear to ear.

“You think… what?” Marcus asks, but you shake your head and shrug.

“I dunno,” you mumble. “I just… think.”

“Hey, wimps,” Emma shouts. “They let me touch the tarantula.”

Marcus takes the two of you out to dinner at a casual burger spot near his place. While the tension between him and Emma has lessened significantly since the first day, it feels as though it’s been replaced by a thick cloud of tension between the two of you. 

There’s something about the man that speaks to you, something within him that seems to vibrate on the same frequency as something within you. Twin souls, you’d say, if you were in a mind to be romantic, except… it can’t be. He must be nearly forty–and almost twice your age. There’s nothing you have that he would want–nothing you could offer a man who has his entire life together while yours has barely started.

Still, the way Marcus laughs at your jokes and gives you knowing glances–as if the two of you are sharing some type of inside joke that you’ve had for years–keeps you flustered and breathless throughout most of the evening.

The glass of wine he offers when you arrive home doesn’t help, either. You watch the red liquid swirl in your glass and wonder how it would taste from his lips, instead. And, when you’ve reached the bottom of your glass, the fuzzy-headed feeling you get from the alcohol combined with the way your stomach swoops in its place every time Marcus’s eyes meet yours has you feeling dizzy and enraptured in equal parts. 

When he locks eyes with you over the rim of his own glass as he drains the last sip, you freeze, afraid that you’d been caught out–that he can read every dumbstruck expression on your face and knows exactly what he does to you.

But all he does is shoot you a little smile, announce that he’s going to bed– “Back to work for me, tomorrow”–and leaves you in the living room alone with Emma, trying not to look as though you’re checking out her dad’s butt as he leaves the room. 

The next day, you and Emma spend most of the day at the Library of Congress while Marcus is at work. As a result, neither of you are too tired to help when Marcus suggests making the tamales tonight. 

“I’m going to preface this by saying I’m not very good at making these,” he says with a laugh as he struggles with the dough. “My grandma only made these on special occasions, and I’ve done it myself approximately two times without her.”

“Well, the good news is that I’ve got no frame of reference,” you tell him. “So as long as they’re edible, they’ll be the best tamales I’ve ever had.”

Marcus chuckles and ducks his head; you can see the pink tinge on the tips of his ears as he continues to stir the mixture.

“Emmie, do you want to do the dough or the filling?” he asks. 

“Filling.”

“That leaves you with the fun part,” Marcus says to you with a playful wink. “You get to spread the dough out on the corn husks like this–” he frowns as a glob of dough gets stuck to the spatula. “I told you I’m not very good at this. But you get the idea.”

You really don’t; cooking has never been your strong suit. You do your best to spread the dough out, but after just a couple of repetitions, your fingers, your shirt, and the counter around you are sticky with dough. 

“This is not going very well,” you mumble. 

Marcus looks up from the tamale he’s currently folding and laughs joyfully. “That’s part of the process.”

“I really don’t feel like it is,” you shoot back. “It’s sticking to everything but the corn husks.”

“Here,” Marcus chuckles. And suddenly, he’s right behind you, his chest nearly touching your back as he reaches around you to gently guide your hands himself. “Like this.”

You can’t possibly focus on your task, not when you have to remind your body to keep breathing while Marcus’s hands are on you. Your eyes stare unseeingly down at the corn husk until he releases you. 

“Better?” he asks.

“Mmhm,” you hum, abnormally high-pitched.

“You’ve got some on your cheek,” he remarks with a soft smile. His thumb gently swipes across it, catching the stray dough and wiping it on a towel. 

In the end, the tamales are hideous, but they taste incredible. They might be the best meal you’ve ever had–or maybe it’s just the way Marcus had smiled proudly at you when your technique improved after his intervention.

After dinner, the three of you sit on the small couch and watch a movie.

“It’s in black and white,” Emma remarks, wrinkling her nose.

“Double Indemnity? It’s a classic!” Marcus protests.

“Old movies are always so boring,” Emma says. 

“It’s not boring,” he pouts. “The unhappy wife of a wealthy oil baron starts a dangerous, illicit love affair with an insurance salesman, and they hatch a plot to murder her husband and collect the insurance money.”

“That’s wild,” you laugh. “How have you seen this before?”

“I’ve always been told I’m an old soul.”

“Are you sure you’re not just old?” Emma teases.

“Hush. Watch the movie.”

The film is engaging, but all of the walking around of the past few days starts to catch up with you about halfway through. Before you know it, your eyes are drooping, and your head tips back on the couch cushion as you start to doze off. When you wake, the credits are rolling, and you’re no longer upright on the back of the couch.

You’re drooling on Marcus’s shoulder.

You startle, sitting back up with a frantic gasp and wiping your mouth in horror.

“Shh,” Marcus whispers, placing a calming hand on your forearm. “Emma fell asleep, too.”

“Fuck. I’m sorry,” you babble, taking in the little wet spot on his shirt.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he assures softly. “You’re tired. You needed the sleep.”

“Still,” you say. “I didn’t mean to…” you trail off awkwardly. 

“It’s okay,” Marcus repeats, even quieter still. His hand still rests on your forearm, his thumb subtly moving back and forth across your skin. 

Neither of you speak for what seems like an eternity, until finally, he breaks the spell.

“Should go to bed,” he murmurs. “I’ll wake up Emma. Go get some rest.”

“Marcus,” you whisper shakily.

“Go,” he whispers back. 

He squeezes your arm once, then releases you, and you reluctantly get up from the couch and cross to the guest bedroom door. You turn again, watching as Marcus gently smooths Emma’s hair back from her forehead as he rouses her from the couch. There’s so much tenderness in his eyes, and you wonder how much different he might be if Emma had been a more constant presence in his life. He seems so lonely–does he have friends outside of work, you wonder? Does he ever date? 

Emma sits up blearily and pads across the living room, walking past you and collapsing on the bed. You take one last look at Marcus, and follow her. 

The next morning, you feel as though you could cut the tension between you and Marcus with a knife. There’s something there–and you both know it. He seems to be doing his best to ignore it, avoiding eye contact with you, and busying himself with pouring a thermos of coffee and messing with his tie absentmindedly as he gets ready to leave for work. 

“Where are you off to today?” he comments lightly.

“Smithsonian,” Emma answers. 

“Sounds fun. I’ve got a deposition this afternoon that’s probably going to run late, so go ahead and grab something for dinner while you’re out. I’m not sure when I’ll be home.”

The only time Marcus’s eyes fall on you is in the moment just before he steps through the front door. He pauses, hand on the doorknob, and glances back in your direction, dark eyes watching you for a moment before he nods subtly and leaves.

It’s funny how just a simple, seconds-long moment of eye contact with this man can turn your insides to jelly. Your breath stutters as the door clicks shut, and you try to gather yourself again.

“What’s first?” Emma asks. “Natural History or Air and Space?”

You put Marcus out of your mind for most of the day, although he’s never far away; you’re able to call up the feel of his hand on your forearm at any given moment. You can imagine the burn of his eyes even as you walk through exhibit after exhibit.

True to his word, he’s not home for dinner. You and Emma grab sandwiches from a shop around the corner and eat them in the living room in front of the TV. It’s nearly seven when Marcus finally gets home, opening the door and greeting the two of you with a tired smile and a heavy sigh.

“How did it go?” Emma asks.

“Shit,” he answers, shooting her a crooked grin. “But I’ve got leftover tamales to look forward to, so the day is looking up.”

You watch another movie–Emma’s choice this time, and something a bit more current. You don’t fall asleep this time; you can’t, not with the way your body feels on high alert tonight. Marcus is sitting beside you again, as he was the night before, and all you can think about is how much you want to sink into his arms again–and this time, intentionally. You want to lay on his chest and have him wrap his arms around you; you want him to slowly turn and press you down on the cushions, to feel the weight of him on top of you, the light scrape of his beard on your neck, his breath in your ear.

A wave of arousal washes over you, heating your skin and sending a little trickle of damp into your underwear. You wonder if Marcus can feel it–feel the elevated warmth of your skin from where he’s sitting. You wonder if he can tell how much he affects you. 

When the movie ends, you can barely meet his eyes as you bid him goodnight, following Emma to your room. You can’t turn around to see if he’s watching you; you can’t stand another glance at that deep, burning gaze of his. 

Sleep evades you. You’re too hot, so you kick off the covers. Then you’re too cold, so you cover up again. You flip over the pillow, turn from your back to your stomach, and back again. The fantasy plays once more in your head: Marcus’s hand cradling the back of your neck as he kisses a path down your neck and to your chest. You want to feel the weight of him between your thighs, feel him pressing against your core. You’re dripping for him, and he doesn’t even know it. 

No one has ever done this to you, but he has. And he hasn’t even touched you. 

You wonder if he’d be bothered by the fact that you aren’t exactly sure what you’re doing in that department. You wonder if he’d be put off by your inexperience, or if he’d be happy to guide you in the act of pleasure. 

You’ve had a couple of fumbling encounters, rushed, frenzied moments as a teenager with boys who haphazardly stuffed a finger or two into you, but it didn’t feel like anything to you. Not really. No one has ever made you cum–just you, in the safety of your own bed at night, your fingers seeking relief that no one else has been able to provide.

Could he give it to you?

Your past experiences have been with boys; and Marcus is a man. 

Your legs shift, rubbing your thighs against each other as you try to find a more comfortable position.

You can’t find one.

Eventually, you give up–getting out of bed with a sigh. Maybe if you grab a drink of water and sit on the couch for a while, sleep will win out in the end. You pad into the kitchen, filling a cup in the sink and taking a few long sips. The cool water is a relief, so you run your hand underneath the water next and scrub it over your face. Finally sated, you set the cup down by the sink and turn.

To see Marcus sitting on the couch, dimly lit by the glow of his laptop screen.

You nearly double over with shock, the unexpected sight causing a spike of adrenaline to course through your body.

“Sorry,” he says apologetically. “Couldn’t sleep, so I was… catching up on work.”

The mirror image of a popular news site reflects through the glass picture frame behind the couch, exposing the tiny lie.

“Yeah, me neither,” you admit quietly. “Thought I’d sit out here for a while and see if that helps, but… sorry, I’ll leave you to it.” You make to turn back, to retreat to the room again, but Marcus speaks softly behind you.

“Come sit,” he says. “I don’t mind.”

Breath caught somewhere in your throat, you hesitantly sink down on the couch beside him. Marcus closes his laptop and sets it down on the coffee table, and the silence stretches out between you. 

“So, are you liking DC so far?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you answer eagerly. “I’m having a great time. I’ll… I’ll be sad to leave,” you admit. “Is that weird?”

“It’s weird if you’re talking about missing the Washington Monument,” Marcus teases. “Or the traffic.”

“I’m talking about the metro, obviously,” you joke. “The rest of the country could stand for some public transit options.”

“I’m not sure they should be taking their cues from DC,” he chuckles. 

“Pssh, I like it.”

“The novelty wears off, believe me.”

You lapse into silence again. You’re sitting close enough to Marcus that you can feel the warmth from his skin, even though you aren’t touching. You want to sink into him, to have him envelop you, consume you.

You feel yourself unconsciously shifting closer to him. 

Is it just your imagination, or did Marcus subtly lean closer to you?

The pull is inevitable; your eyes flick up to his, and you can almost feel the point of no return pass the two of you by. 

You lick your lips, and his breath catches in his throat.

“I wasn’t talking about the metro,” you say breathlessly. 

“I know.”

And suddenly, his lips are on yours. 

It’s not fast, not rushed or frantic; he doesn’t surge forward to take you. It’s simply that the two of you are close enough that at one moment, Marcus Pike is not kissing you, and then the next moment, he is. 

As with everything this man does, the kiss is soft and tender. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, and he gently tits his head as his lips move against yours. His mouth opens ever so slightly, and you feel a wave of pure want rush through you at the light flick of his tongue against your lower lip.

You make a ragged sound in your chest as your lips part for him, and your tongues slide against each other for far too short of a time before Marcus pulls back, suddenly, his eyes full of worry.

“Oh, shit,” he murmurs. “Shit, we… we shouldn’t.”

This time, you kiss him back. The neck of his soft t-shirt crumples in your fist as you pull him closer, opening your mouth to him, and his protests die at the feel of your lips on his. Instead, it seems to light a fire within him; one hand curls around the back of your neck and the other grips your hip and you gasp softly into his mouth at the feel of his hands on your body. 

Marcus breaks the kiss again, but instead of pulling back to give you more reasons why you can’t, this time he kisses a path across your cheek and down your neck. You’ve imagined the way his light beard would feel against your skin so many times over the last couple of days, but nothing compares to the reality of having him gently scrape his teeth against your neck as you arch your back to him. 

“Fuck,” Marcus whispers. “So sweet, honey.”

You whimper at the term of endearment as Marcus gently starts to shift positions, turning and guiding you down onto the couch, just as you’d imagined. 

Now that you’re horizontal, the kisses that started out tender and sweet start to grow more and more lascivious. You can feel the weight of him between your legs and his hot length pressing against you, his hips rocking slightly as he lazily explores you with his hands and his mouth. 

One hand creeps up your inner thigh and slips under your thin sleep shorts and underwear, gently grazing your folds and feeling the obscene amount of slick that’s already gathered there. 

“Shit,” Marcus hisses softly, reverently. “You’re so wet. How are you so wet?”

“You,” you answer earnestly, staring up at him with wide eyes. 

He laughs breathlessly in response, his eyes raking up and down your body, taking in your nipples peeking through the threadbare material of your tank top. His finger explores deeper, slipping inside your tight channel and immediately finding… something… that makes you gasp raggedly. 

“So responsive,” he murmurs playfully. “I’ve barely touched you.” He starts to slowly pump his finger in and out, his thumb pressing on your clit as he rubs against that little spot inside of you every time, and all you can do is squeeze your eyes shut and cling to him as this one little movement threatens to take you apart. 

“Honey,” he whispers disbelievingly as he feels you start to tighten around him. “Already?”

“I–” 

Whatever you had been about to say dies on your lips as you suddenly fall over the edge, shaking as the pleasure overtakes you. Marcus soothes you through it, whispering in your ear as you come down from your high.

“Wow,” you murmur. “Holy shit, that was amazing.”

Marcus pulls back and gives you a funny look. “What’s going on?” he asks, frowning slightly.

“Heh–you’re going to laugh,” you say, giving him an awkward grimace. 

He raises his eyebrow, waiting for you to continue. 

“I’ve–kind of never done this before,” you admit, pressing your lips together sheepishly. 

“Oh shit,” Marcus breathes, sitting up fully as his eyes frantically sweep over you. “Oh, honey–no. I can’t–we can’t do this.”

“Why?” you ask, wincing internally at how whiny it comes out.

“It can’t–it shouldn’t be me,” he says softly. “That’s more than I deserve to take.”

“You’re not taking anything,” you protest. “I–I want it to be you.”

Marcus shakes his head again, but you can see the cracks in his resolve, the way his eyes are searching you, devouring you with his gaze.

“I don’t want it to be some boy at a frat party back home,” you tell him. “I want you. I want it to feel good. Please?”

Marcus’s expression is inscrutable as his eyes rake over your form, disheveled and sated, underneath him. Your heart sinks when he stands up, shame sinking down into the pit of your stomach, but then he extends his hand to you, and you look up at him, questioning. 

“I’m not going to let your first time be a quick fuck on my couch,” he says quietly and resolute. “If we’re going to do this, we’re going to bed.”

Wordlessly, you accept his hand and allow him to pull you to your feet. You wobble slightly, still shaky from the orgasm, and Marcus draws you into his side, steadying you. He guides you forward, keeping you close as the two of you walk to his bedroom. 

Despite the fact that you were more than ready to let this man take you right there on the couch, the change in venue has your heart hammering in your chest. Now, it feels real. It feels intentional. 

“C’mere, beautiful,” Marcus murmurs when he feels your steps falter. His hand slides up your arm and across your shoulder until it curls gently around your neck, causing goosebumps to rise to the surface of your skin. He presses a couple of soft, chaste kisses across your opposite shoulder, and your lips part of their own accord. 

“I need you to tell me if you don’t want to do this,” he says softly in your ear.

“I want–”

“I know, I know,” Marcus interrupts. “I want you to tell me if that changes.”

He gently guides you onto his bed, one hand on the small of your back to keep you from going too fast. 

“I wanna know what you like,” he murmurs as he hovers over you again, his hand coming up underneath the thin material of your top. “I wanna know what you don’t like.” 

“I–I don’t really know–”

“I know,” Marcus grins wolfishly, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “That’s the idea.”

He starts to push the material of your shirt up, up, up, until your nipples are pebbling in the cool air of his bedroom. He gently pulls it over your head and casts it aside, looking down at you with undisguised hunger. He trails the backs of his fingers down the side of one breast and underneath. “I get to find out what you like,” he says. He circles one areola with the tip of his finger, making you shiver. “And I get to be the first to do it.”

He gently drags the pad of his finger across the little bud of your nipple, and you gasp for him as if you’d hit a live wire. 

“I’m gonna take a guess and say you liked that,” he teases. 

“Marcus,” you whine. 

“Shh,” he whispers again, just before his mouth engulfs your nipple. Your hand darts out unconsciously, tangling in the hair on the back of Marcus’s neck as you squirm under his hot tongue. You can’t tell whether you want to pull away or push toward him, but in reality all you do is whine and take what he gives you. He switches to the other one; lathing and flicking his tongue and pressing down until you whimper.

“So… fucking… responsive,” Marcus murmurs in between kisses as he starts to mouth his way down your belly to the band of your sleep shorts. His fingers dip underneath, poised to pull them down over your hips, but he waits–eyes flicking up to yours to gauge your reaction. 

“Can I taste you?” he asks quietly.

“I-If you want,” you laugh shakily. 

“If I want?” he parrots disbelievingly. “You’re saying that like it’s not a given–like I haven’t been thinking of burying my tongue in that sweet little pussy all night. If I want,” he chuckles to himself again, slowly dragging your shorts and underwear down your legs. “I need to taste you. I need to feel you fall apart on my tongue. The first one was kind of a surprise, and all I want is to feel you shaking again.”

You’re bare before him, but you don’t have any time to be self-conscious, because Marcus is laying back down on the bed, his face inches away from your pussy. He gently guides your legs over his shoulders before lowering his mouth to you. 

You aren’t sure who groans louder at the first touch of his tongue through your folds. 

Marcus makes a pained noise in his throat before murmuring, “So sweet, honey–fuck, you’re so sweet.”

His tongue is delicate, but precise; he flicks it back and forth against your clit, then dips down to lap at your entrance until you’re trembling for him. He’s tireless and patient, cataloging every whimper and moan he pulls from you as the pleasure slowly builds inside of you. In no time at all, you’re dangling on the precipice, your hips locking into place as you start to reach the point of no return. 

“I–I–” you stammer, trying to warn him.

Marcus hums enthusiastically in agreement, concentrating his efforts on your clit until you fall apart with a gasp.

He groans again, licking you through each little aftershock of pleasure until you’re boneless. 

“You squeeze me so hard,” he croons. “Can you feel that? You’re so tight around my tongue.”

“Shit…” you murmur. You’re too fucked-out to say anything else. 

“Gonna have to open you up a bit with my fingers,” he says softly. “So I don’t hurt you.”

You look up at him with half-lidded eyes. He’s still clothed–wearing sweatpants and a shirt, while you’re completely naked, and you frown slightly at the disparity.

“Everything okay?” Marcus asks, seeing your expression. 

“Can–Can I see you? You’re so… clothed,” you say with a little pout. 

He laughs, smiling widely so that the corners of his eyes crinkle, and your heart soars. 

“Of course,” he agrees, stripping off his shirt. “Of course.”

You raise up on one elbow, gazing up at Marcus’s broad chest, the light smattering of hair, and the soft swell of his belly. You can’t help but reach up and touch him, pressing your palm to his sternum and trailing down, tracing the little path of hair until it disappears under the band of his sweatpants. Your fingers curl underneath the band, looking up at him with wide eyes. 

“These, too?” he asks with a teasing chuckle, smiling wider when you nod eagerly. 

His cock bobs free as he pushes his pants down his hips, and your eyes widen at the sight of him, thick and hard and heavy with want. Curiously, you wrap your hand around him, and you’re rewarded with a little ‘hnnngg’ of pleasure and surprise as you touch him. 

You gently trace the little ridges on his shaft, traveling up to the flushed, purple head, where the skin is even softer, and back down again.

“F-Fuck,” Marcus muttters. “Can’t do that too much, honey, or I’m gonna lose it before we even get started.”

“I like it,” you say with a little giggle. “I never realized they were so… soft.”

Marcus makes a broken, choked sound. “Jesus. You’re gonna be the death of me.” 

He falls onto one elbow, giving you a messy, passionate kiss before sucking his fingers into his mouth and gently sinking one finger into you again. His lips stay close to yours, noses almost touching, his eyes watching your face intently as he slowly opens you up. His fingers are so thick, and just like before, he seems to know exactly where to press up inside you to make the pleasure spark inside of you. He adds a second finger, and you whimper–you're already so full. 

"Little bit more," Marcus murmurs. "Doing so well for me–fuck–so tight."

He gently starts to slide a third into you, the heel of his hand pressing against your clit to offer some relief.

“Is it greedy if I say I want you to cum for me again?” he asks softly. “I want to feel it again. Can you do that for me?”

You nod dazedly–wanting to do anything, everything this man asks as long as he keeps making you feel like this. 

His fingers press up against your walls again, and you sob loudly into the room.

Marcus immediately muffles the sound with a kiss, swallowing your whimpers and cries in an attempt to keep the sound from carrying across the apartment. 

“Gotta stay quiet for me,” he whispers against your lips. 

“S-Sorry.”

“No, shh, don’t be sorry,” he murmurs. “I wish you could be loud. Wish I could make you scream for me. Just–fuck, honey, you’re right there, aren’t you? I can feel you squeezing me–fuck, you get so wet. Give me one more. One more, and I’ll give you my cock. That’s it, that’s–yes–” 

Marcus breaks off on a groan as you clamp down on his fingers. It’s so much, you’re so full, and you buck against his hand, your lower back rising up off of the bed as he pulls it from you. 

You slump back down, breathing heavily, as he carefully withdraws his fingers. 

“Hey,” he says quietly, trying to get your attention. “Hey, I should have asked this sooner, but–are you on birth control? Do you want me to use a condom?”

“I-I’m on the pill,” you tell him. “If you… you know, if you didn’t want to. That would be–I’d like that.”

“That’s perfect,” he whispers, giving you a tender kiss. “I’d like that, too.” He pauses, and mutters a soft curse under his breath. “I wish I had some lube,” he remarks. “Just to be sure I don’t hurt you.”

You watch as he spits on his cock and takes himself in hand. 

“This will have to do, though,” he says as he slicks it over his cock and crawls over you. “And I’ll just go slow.”

He cups the back of your neck with one hand as he lines himself up with the other. His lips are inches from yours, but he doesn’t lean down to kiss you–no, he seems to want to watch your reaction as the tip of his cock notches at your entrance. 

“Don’t want to hurt you,” he whispers again.

“You could never hurt me,” you say confidently, and you watch as his lips part in surprise. “Marcus–” you add, as you shift your hips impatiently. “–just do it.”

Your eyes widen as you feel him push into you, his girth splitting you open. It can’t be much bigger than three of his thick fingers, but still, it just feels like more. It’s longer, certainly; he keeps pushing in, and even when you’re sure he’s reached the end, there’s still more. 

“Oh wow,” you hear yourself murmuring again and again. “Oh, Marcus.” 

“I know,” he returns, kissing your cheekbone, your forehead, your nose, and then finally, your lips. “I know, honey.”

He starts to rock his hips, slowly undulating them, letting his cock drag back and forth against your walls. It feels incredible–you never imagined how fucking good this would feel–and you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that it’s because it’s him. It’s Marcus–a man you’ve admittedly only known for a few days, but you feel as though you know him already–and you trust him completely. 

“Does it hurt at all?” he rumbles softly in your ear.

“No,” you answer emphatically. “It feels–holy shit.”

Marcus laughs breathlessly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Can–can we do this again?”

He chuckles. “We’re currently doing this.”

“I already want it again.”

He starts to go a little harder, his thrusts a little deeper. His hand grips your hip for leverage, the other still cradling the back of your neck. He kisses you, a deep, messy, passionate thing, before burying his face in the crook of your neck and sucking a gentle mark into your skin.

“Feels so good,” he murmurs. “I’m not gonna last, not when you feel like this.”

“Like how?” you ask, smiling widely. 

“So fucking tight,” Marcus groans. “And wet, and hot, and–” he brings his thumb to your clit and starts to rub little circles around it. “I need you to cum again,” he says. “Fuck, you–you feel too good, honey, I’m not gonna last.”

“I—I don’t know if I can,” you murmur. 

“Please,” he says, a hint of desperation in his tone. “Please, baby, you’ve gotta do this one last thing for me. Let me feel it, let me make you feel good. Let me–let me–”

Your mouth falls open as you feel it wash over you. This is better than anything you’ve ever felt before, any relief you’ve been able to seek with your fingers–the drag of his cock along your walls only serves to prolong your pleasure, making each little aftershock feel like a new wave of pleasure. 

“Oh, fuck,” Marcus groans. “Fuck.” He buries his face in the crook of your neck as he shoves his hips into you one more time, emptying himself within you with a deep groan. 

The aftermath is quiet. After gently, tenderly cleaning you up with a damp cloth, Marcus collapses on the pillows and pulls you to him, wrapping his arms around you as you settle with your head resting on his shoulder.

“Was this a bad idea?” you ask quietly as you trace little shapes on his chest.

Marcus huffs a laugh. “Probably,” he answers.

“I don’t care,” you say resolutely, causing his hold on you to tighten. “...Do you regret it?” you ask, feeling unsure of yourself again.

“No,” Marcus says immediately. “No. I was drawn to you from the beginning. I’m sorry, I–I should have tried harder to prevent this, but…”

“I felt it, too,” you murmur. “Maybe we weren’t meant to prevent it.”

The two of you bask in the afterglow, reveling in the feel of your bodies pressed together. You can’t help but think of how tender, how loving he is–not just with you, but with Emma.

“Can I ask a personal question?” you ask, breaking the silence.

Marcus shrugs. “Sure.”

“This is probably weird to be thinking about right now, but… why does Emma’s mom not want you around?”

 Marcus sighs, his lips pressing into your forehead–not really a kiss, just a caress of your hairline with his mouth.

“That story doesn’t exactly paint me in the best light.”

“I want to know. I just… don’t understand.”

“What don’t you understand?” he asks.

“You’re… you’re such a good dad–a good man. I don’t understand how her mom wanted nothing to do with you. I just don’t get it.”

Marcus nods, pressing his lips together. “I wasn’t always a good man,” he says quietly. “I tried to do the best I could for the both of them–for Emma and her mom–but I’m afraid I fell very short, in the beginning.”

“What happened?”

“We were in college when we found out she was pregnant,” Marcus says with a sigh. “She was nineteen, I was almost twenty-one. We hadn’t been together long; maybe a couple of months. She was terrified, of course–and so was I, but never told her that. I asked her to marry me because I thought it was the right thing to do.”

“Did you love her?”

“I cared for her, very much so. And even if we weren’t quite right for each other, knowing–” Marcus swallows thickly, “–knowing our child, my child, was growing inside of her made me feel deeply connected. If you had asked me at twenty-one, I would have sworn up and down that I was in love.”

“But not now?”

Marcus huffs softly. “I know a little better, now.”

“What happened?” you ask, tracing the line of his collarbone with the tip of your finger. “What did you do?”

“Well, the first thing I did was drop out of art school,” he says with a little laugh. “Didn’t think it would pay the bills, especially not with a wife and a baby.”

“You were an artist?” you ask, surprised.

“Wanted to be,” he chuckled. “At least at that time. So instead, I applied for the FBI. Joined the Art Crimes division. And shortly after I completed training… Emma was born.” His eyes are far away, a small smile on his face as he remembers. “And she was perfect. And I remember thinking, all the struggling, all the hardship, all the times Denise and I didn’t get along… it would be worth it, in the end. No matter what happened; because I had her.”

You swallow past the lump in your throat. “What went wrong?”

“Nothing in particular, at first. We struggled to make ends meet. We were two young parents with no idea what we were doing, and even though I might have known deep down that we weren’t right for each other, I just wanted it to go right. I wanted us to be happy, but in the end we were just too different. We didn’t work–and while I might have been blind to it at the time, Denise wasn’t. When Emma was barely even two, she filed for divorce, and I–” he sighs heavily again. “I went a little off the rails.”

You tilt your head and look up at Marcus. His eyes are stormy, and you can see the remorse etched into the lines of his face. You don’t ask how, you just wait patiently for him to continue.

“I didn’t want to be divorced at twenty-three. This wasn’t–it wasn’t the life I had expected for myself, not what I would have chosen, but because I had Emma, I didn’t want anything else. I always knew I would want a family, and so what if it happened… a little out of order?”

“What did you do?” you whispered.

“I tried to convince her to change her mind. She took Emma and went to live with her parents, and I’d call them every day, asking to talk to her. I wanted to persuade her–I thought that if she could just see that we had plenty of time, we could raise Emma and be good parents and still… still have time for whatever we wanted. That we could still build lives.

“When she never returned my calls, I started stopping by,” he confesses, his voice even quieter. “They’d always tell me she was out, so I started showing up at odd hours, trying to… trying to just catch her one time–I thought if I explained that she could do whatever she wanted, as long as we could just stay together and raise Emma, she’d agree. But the more I tried to contact her, the more she pulled away, and rightly so, honestly. I was badgering her. I tried to justify it at the time, said I was doing it all for Emma, but I, uh… It took me until much later to admit I was actually doing it for me. I was so scared of being a failure, and scared to be alone.

“Anyway, the court didn’t look very kindly on what looked to everyone involved like stalking behavior, and Denise was afforded full custody.”

“M-Marcus,” you murmur, unable to help the water gathering at the corners of your eyes. 

“Broke my heart,” he whispers, his voice full of emotion. “And I was angry about it for a while, but when it comes down to it, I was just angry with myself. It was my actions that lost me my daughter, and… well, I’ve had twenty years to come to terms with that, now.”

“How did you finally… come to face all of that?” you ask quietly.

“Therapy,” Marcus says with a genuine laugh. “And that is another story for another time.”

“God, what else happened to you?”

“Nothing,” he chuckles, “just another relationship that I fought way too hard for.” He playfully runs his finger down the bridge of your nose before tilting your chin upward for a soft kiss. “And you,” he murmurs, “need to go back to bed.”

Your emotions still running on high alert after Marcus’s emotional confession of his past, you surge forward and throw your arms around his neck. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. 

“I’m okay,” he promises. “It was a long time ago.”

“You should tell Emma,” you say softly. “She never knew why her mom didn’t want you around.”

“Not really something you want to tell your daughter,” he says with a sad smile. “That you basically stalked her mom.”

“She’s grown up. She’s older than her mom was when–”

“Believe me, I know,” Marcus groans. “Don’t remind me; it makes this feel very… wrong.” He gestured between the two of you.

“Just trust me,” you murmur. “She’d want to know.” With herculean effort, you extricate yourself from his arms, grab your clothes, and redress. Feeling unsure in the way the conversation ended, you tell yourself not to turn around again when your hand lands on the doorknob.

“Honey,” Marcus calls out softly from the bed. “Good night.”

“Good night,” you whisper back, and then you’re gone.

“Where are you two off to, today?” Marcus asks conversationally over coffee. He’s made it stronger than usual today, and it makes warmth pool deep in your stomach at the reminder of your very sleepless night last night. You’re grateful for the extra boost of caffeine as well, of course–the morning seemed to come far too early after being up half of the night. Sleep had still been hard to come by when you finally returned to the guest room, after all; the conversation about Marcus’s past was still swirling around in your head, and every time you closed your eyes, you could still feel his hands on you. 

You never knew it could feel like this, never knew how good it could be with someone who really knew what they were doing. Someone so giving, so gentle and yet so ruthless in pursuing your pleasure. Someone brimming with passion, capable of both the softest prase and the most depraved filth in the same sentence.

If you had thought your thirst would be sated after finally getting what you’d fantasized about and more, you were a fool. The flame burns hotter than ever this morning, and the sight of Marcus in a suit with not a hair out of place only makes you think about how he had looked between your legs last night–that devilish smirk as he teased about wanting to taste you.

You wonder if you’ll ever see him that way again, or if last night was a fluke. 

Had he noticed when your fingers had trembled around the coffee cup he handed you? 

He had given you a soft, tender stare when you had first entered the kitchen, but that’s the only evidence you can find so far that Marcus is even half as affected as you feel. You can still feel him this morning, a subtle ache between your legs when you sit down, and you wish you could see some outward sign on him that this actually happened.

“Not really sure,” Emma answers Marcus’s question. “Kind of ran out of stuff to see.”

“Impossible,” Marcus chuckles. “Well, you can hang out here if you want, or if you're really looking for a distraction, you can come to the office with me.”

“The fucking FBI office?” Emma asks. “Are we allowed?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t you be?” Marcus shrugs. “Plus, I might be able to set up some time for you to talk to someone in Legal,” he says to you. “Are you still interested in that?”

“Oh wow,” you breathe. “Really?”

“‘Course,” he replies. “I said I would.”

You nod, smiling up at him beatifically. “I’d like that a lot.”

“Perfect,” he grins. “Well, if you’re coming, we’re going to need to leave soon. Are you almost ready?”

“I’m ready,” Emma announces, shouldering her bag.

“Yeah, me too.”

Marcus winks at you, and you try not to let yourself react to it.

“Let’s go, then.”

You had assumed that you’d spend most of your day at the FBI holed up in Marcus’s office, doing nothing. You had imagined that, out of necessity, you’d be barred from attending any meetings or hearing about his department’s day-to-day activities, but when you arrive, his team seems enthusiastic to have you and Emma there. Much to your surprise, they even let the two of you sit in the back of the room while Marcus conducts a briefing. 

You listen, enthralled, as he discusses a recent forgery case that the team is working on. His demeanor, as it is at home, is good-natured and easygoing. He’s easy to smile, and engaging when he talks, and as a result, he utterly commands the room. His style of quiet, unassuming authority has you subtly squirming in your chair. Even though you have no idea what’s being discussed, you can tell simply by listening to his cadence of speech that he’s incredibly knowledgeable, and fucking good at his job. It’s clear he loves the work–and when you think back to the night before and his whispered confession that he had once dreamed of being an artist, you find yourself beaming with happiness that he’s clearly found something he loves to do. 

“People change.”

You suddenly recall his words the very first night you were there–his assurance that it didn’t matter that you had no idea what you wanted to do at your age, because there’s no promise that you’ll still want the same things in ten years. After last night, you realize that he was talking about himself in that moment.

You hope he’s happy and fulfilled.

He deserves it.

You watch him wrap up the meeting–delegating work to each member of the team and asking for updates–and every so often, as his eyes sweep around the room, they always seem to land on you.

As he promised, Marcus introduces you to Kimberley Alexander, the lawyer that his department works with most of the time. You’re nervous at first–you aren’t sure what you’re going to talk about, but you end up staying in her office through lunch, spending almost an hour and a half longer than you had intended, talking about potential jobs with the FBI.

Not because you suddenly have the desire to return to Washington, DC as soon as you can, nope. It does interest you–quite a bit, actually–but you can’t pretend that you aren’t excited at the prospect of living in the same city as Marcus. Would he want to see you again? Is he really interested in you, or is it just the forced proximity–because you’re convenient and available? If you had your own life here, would he be interested in a place in it?

When you find Emma and her dad again, they’ve clearly just come back from lunch. Emma thrusts a container into your hands, which you discover, with an exaggerated moan of satisfaction, is pad Thai.

“Must have been a good talk,” Marcus remarks. 

“Yeah, you were there for two hours,” Emma adds.

“It was good,” you nod. “Talked about, y’know, internships and stuff.”

“You wanna live here?” Emma asks, looking surprised and curious.

You try to shrug noncommittally. “Sure,” you say lightly. “It’s as good a place as any, and it would be kind of fun to work for the FBI, right?”

“I’m afraid I can’t give you an unbiased answer to that,” Marcus says with a wry smile, “but I think you’d be a great fit.”

Your heart swells at his words. “Really?”

“Absolutely,” he says earnestly. “And I hate to do this, but I’ve gotta run to do a witness interview, and you guys have to stay behind this time.”

You watch as Marcus gives Emma a quick kiss on the forehead, and your eyebrows raise in surprise at the action. They’ve gotten more comfortable around each other in the time you’ve been here, but neither of them had seemed to be very comfortable with physical affection. Marcus, for his part, is always so hesitant–wanting to reach out, but seemingly afraid that he doesn’t deserve it, or worse, that it won’t be received well. You still remember the first day you saw him–when his hand twitched toward his daughter, seemingly desperate to wrap her in a hug, but he hadn’t allowed himself to do it.

What changed?

Marcus glances at you, and gives you a slightly awkward, stiff nod before leaving for his meeting.

You busy yourself with eating lunch, digging into the container they brought you.

“Tomorrow’s the last day, huh?” Emma says conversationally.

You gulp. You’ve purposefully been putting the fact that your time here has an expiration date at the back corner of your mind. Whatever you have with Marcus, it’s temporary by its very nature, and you know it.

You just don’t really want to think about it right now.

“Yup,” you agree, mouth full of noodles. 

“What do you wanna do? I’m kind of out of ideas.”

You shrug. “We could ask Marcus if there’s anything he recommends seeing that we haven’t already been to.”

“I think we should go as far out as the metro line goes,” Emma says.

“Why?”

She shrugs. “See where we end up.”

“Whatever you want,” you tell her. “Last day is up to you.”

“How’s the pad Thai?”

“Good,” you nod, mouth full. “What’d you get?”

“Calamari,” she answers. “Never had it, wanted to try it.”

“How was it?”

“Chewy.”

You laugh, taking another bite of noodles. “Think I’ll stick to my favorite.”

The two of you huddle together on the small, two-seater couch in Marcus’s office, watching YouTube videos and laughing together until he comes back near the end of the day.

Your eyes automatically brighten when you see him return, drinking in the sight of him–the crisp lines of his suit paired with the slightly unruly hair. You discovered last night how soft it is, and how much he loves it when you thread your fingers through it and tug gently. 

He meets your eyes, but quickly drops his gaze, and you try not to sink in disappointment. Did it not mean as much to him as it did to you? Or is he just better at hiding it?

“You two hungry for dinner?” he asks, putting his stuff back in his messenger back and throwing it over his shoulder.

Emma groans loudly beside you. “Gonna be honest, I’m not really feeling dinner.”

“That was a lot of pad Thai,” you agree.

“Good,” Marcus says with a smile. “Me neither. Let’s go home and have a lazy night eating popcorn on the couch.”

The moment you arrive home, though, Emma makes a beeline for the bathroom. 

“She okay?” Marcus asks you.

You grimace at the faint sounds of retching. “Doesn’t sound like it.”

When she emerges again, Marcus hands her a glass of water with a concerned expression. “Everything okay?”

“No,” she mutters pitifully.

“Was it the calamari?” you ask.

“Please don’t say that word ever again,” Emma groans, flopping down on the couch. “Fuck. Everything hurts.”

“What do you need?” Marcus asks, looking a little lost.

“Distraction,” she mumbles. “Long movie or something.”

Emma takes up the entire couch, so you and Marcus have to sit in opposite armchairs while you watch Lord of the Rings. It’s almost unbearable to you, being so close to him and yet not being able to touch, not being able to look at him for fear of giving everything away. If you two were to lock eyes, you know that you wouldn’t be able to hide your reaction to him. So much so that even Emma, who’s still alternating between running to the bathroom and collapsing on the couch, would have no choice but to notice. 

The pull to him feels overwhelming; the only thing you can think of doing is crossing the living room and sinking into his arms. It makes you feel guilty–your best friend has food poisoning, Marucs is trying to help by refilling her water and encouraging her to drink, and here you are, with nothing to do but yearn for your best friend’s dad. 

When the movie is over, it’s late; Marcus brushes Emma’s hair back from her forehead and suggests she go lie down. As she’s stumbling toward the guest room, Marcus touches you for the first time since last night–lightly wrapping his fingers around your wrist while Emma isn’t looking.

Your eyes meet, and he gives you a coal-black stare, trying to communicate without speaking. He nods subtly, and his meaning is easy to understand.

Come to me tonight.

You come to him in the dead of night. You lie awake, listening for Emma’s breathing to even out, and then waiting another thirty minutes after that, just to be safe. 

It’s nearly midnight when you slip into Marcus’s bedroom, but he’s still awake; his lamp is on, and he’s reading a book.

Waiting for you. 

The moment the door creaks open, Marcus casts the book aside without even marking his place, and rises to his feet. He strides forward and you meet him in the middle, a clash of mouths and hands as you come together desperately. 

“Fuck,” he whispers against your lips. “All fucking day, all I could think about was this.”

“Me too,” you mumble hastily in between kisses. 

“No idea how hard it was to concentrate on giving that meeting this morning,” he confesses, “with you in the corner looking at me with those eyes of yours.” 

He grabs your top and pulls it over your head in one swift motion and ducks down to lathe his tongue against your nipple, making you arch against him. 

“Ah!–Really?” you gasp. “I didn’t–you looked so… calm the whole day. Like it didn’t affect you the same way it affects me.”

“Doesn’t affect me?” Marcus repeats incredulously. “Honey, I am out of my mind with wanting you.” He pulls back, his palms cradling your cheeks as he stares at you with a disbelieving smile. “Do you not have any idea what you do to me?” he asks softly. 

Stunned, you shake your head.

Marcus laughs breathlessly, as he reaches down to encircle your wrist with one large hand and brings your hand forward to press against the front of his pants, where you can feel him, hard and straining against the fabric. “You feel that?” he rasps. “Do you fucking feel what you do to me?”

He shoves your flimsy sleep shorts down your legs and all but tosses you onto the bed. He strips off his own shirt and follows you down. “I’ve been half-hard all day,” he confesses. “I had to fuck my own hand in the shower this morning and still,” he groans. “As soon as I picture your face as you fall apart for me, I’m done for.”

“You thought about that?” 

“All fucking day,” Marcus promises. 

“That all you thought about?” you ask, your voice turning coy as you gain more confidence.

He chuckles darkly. “Thought about a lot of things,” he murmurs.

“Such as…?”

“Just–all the ways I want to have you.” 

“Show me,” you demand.

Marcus chuckles again. “Show you what, pretty girl?”

“All the ways that you want me.”

“That would take a lot more time than we currently have,” he says wryly. 

“Then show me how you want me most,” you say. 

“Let me get you ready first,” Marcus murmurs, starting to kiss a path down your body, intent on his destination. 

“No.”

“Hmm?”

“I want it now,” you say frankly.

“Honey–” he protests softly.

“Consider the fact that I’ve done nothing but think about what happened last night and fantasize about what’s going to happen tonight foreplay,” you tell him. “I can’t–I can’t wait. I don’t want it to be slow. I need–I need—” you trail off, searching for how exactly to find the words for what it is that you need. 

Marcus nods slowly, his eyes darkening as he watches you plead for him to take you now.

“You really want me to show you?” he asks quietly.

You nod.

“Then get on your hands and knees for me, honey.”

You comply with a shiver, your heart in your throat as you turn around and put yourself on display for him.

Marcus mutters a soft curse behind you as his palm strokes up the skin on the back of your thigh and up over the swell of your cheek. 

You hear him spit in his hand, and you know he's coating himself in it behind you, easing his way in. He does it again, and this time you whimper softly as he cups you, transferring more wetness to your folds. 

"Already so wet," he teases softly. "Tell me if it's too much."

He slides forward, sheathing himself in one fluid motion, and your elbows nearly buckle at the overwhelming feel of it. 

Marcus doesn't wait for you to adjust, this time. He starts thrusting right away, his hands grasping your hips for leverage. He's pressing right on the spot that makes pleasure sing throughout your entire body. Once he's sure that his pace isn't too much for you, he starts giving it to you harder, snapping his hips into you over and over.

Last night was overwhelming in its own way, but this–this is devastating. You thought last night was the most pleasure you could ever feel, but you had no idea that this could wreck you so completely. 

You're crying out with every thrust, each punishing snap of his hips punching little pathetic noises past your lips as you take what he needs to give you. 

"Shhh," he reminds you. "Gotta stay quiet, honey."

You drop to your elbows, burying your face in the pillows to try and muffle the involuntary sounds, but you can tell it isn't enough. 

"M-Marcus," you whimper frantically. "I can't."

"Do you want to stop?" he asks (making you shake your head rapidly), "Or do you want me to help you be quiet?"

You nod frantically, although you have no idea what he means. You'd do anything to keep feeling his cock like this. 

Marcus’s hand wraps tightly around your mouth, quieting your cries and forcing you to breathe through your nose. Something about the action makes your pussy clench violently, and Marcus makes a quiet groan of pleasure above you. 

He fucks you harder and faster, one hand sliding underneath you to rub tight circles over your clit. 

"Cum for me," he rasps brokenly above you. “Fuck, please–” 

The soft plea is enough to end you. You wail into Marcus’s hand as you come undone, and he tightens his grip, muffling the sound. 

It doesn’t take long for him to follow–just a couple more minutes of brutal thrusts that have you whimpering into his hand, oversensitive from your orgasm. The minute he stills, his cock slips from you as he immediately collapses on the bed and pulls you into his arms. You’re both still breathing heavily, but he smooths the hair back from your forehead as he looks you over.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly. “That was a lot, I’m sorry.”

“‘Re you kidding?” you slur. “That was… amazing.”

Marcus laughs and pulls you close again. “I’m glad,” he whispers, and you can hear the smile in his words. 

“Can I stay here for a little longer?” you ask. “Just a little.”

Marcus pulls back again and looks down at you with an amused smile. “It’s cute that you think I’m done with you, honey.”

Your eyes widen. “You’re not?”

“Mm-mm. Don’t think I’ll ever get tired of the way you look when you come undone,” he murmurs, tracing the tip of his index finger down the side of your cheek. “You didn’t think I’d be satisfied with just once tonight, did you?”

You giggle. “I guess not.”

He fixes you with a fiery look. “Do you trust me?” he asks quietly. 

“...Yeah?”

He raises one eyebrow. 

“Yes,” you answer, with more conviction this time. “Yes, I trust you.”

Marcus kisses you tenderly before sitting back on his heels beside you. His fingertips trail down your chest, over the peaks of your nipples, and down your stomach, as though he can’t get enough of the feel of your skin. One hand travels further down, stroking the soft patch of hair on your pubic bone before he slips one finger gently inside you. 

You cringe slightly at the wet squelch of your combined release, but Marcus shushes you gently. “Love how wet you get,” he teases affectionately. “And I like knowing I’m there inside of you.”

You clench involuntarily at his words, your lips parting as you exhale shakily. 

He chuckles. “You like that? You like knowing that I get off on the idea of you carrying a little piece of me with you?” he asks, as he starts to slowly fuck you with one finger.

“What if I told you that I was thinking about it during that meeting this morning?” he continues. “I kept wondering if there was still a little in there from last night, leaking into your underwear as I talked.”

“Shit,” you mumble. “Marcus.”

“Wanna fill you up again tonight,” he remarks casually. “So it’s still there when you’re walking around tomorrow.” He groans softly. “Fuck–Can I–Can I give you my number? I–I want you to text me. Tell me you can still feel me.”

“Oh my god,” you murmur. “Yes.”

“Good.” He adds a second finger and presses the heel of his hand against your clit, working you up to another orgasm exactly how he now knows gets you off quickly. When you start to clench around him, though, he doesn’t stop. He starts to rub quickly back and forth on that little spot inside of you until something else starts to build. 

“M-Marcus,” you murmur. “W-Wait, I–something is–”

“Shhh.” He keeps going, rubbing harder and faster until he suddenly rips his fingers from you as you gush around them, soaking his hand and the bed.

“Oh! Shit,” you cry out, panicking. “What the f–”

“Fuck, yes,” Marcus groans, the sound coming deep from within his chest. “Oh, fuck, do that again.”

When he notices your expression of utter shock, though, he pauses, a slow smile of understanding spreading across his face. 

“Honey,” he says soothingly. “Was that the first time?”

You stare up at him, mouth hanging open. “I… I kind of always thought that was a myth,” you admit, ducking your head in embarrassment. 

“Oh, baby,” he breathes softly. “No, it’s definitely not.”

He lays down beside you again, gently tucking a wisp of stray hair behind one ear. “That was so good,” he praises softly. “So good to me.”

You smile shakily, but something is starting to nag at you.

“What’s wrong?” Marcus asks, noticing your hesitant expression. 

“I just… feel really inexperienced,” you admit quietly. “You know all this stuff, and I–it must be tedious, having someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing, or–”

“No,” Marcus interrupts, his voice full of sincerity. “It’s not tedious at all. On the contrary,” he says with a little laugh, “the fact that I get to show you… that I’m the only one who can get you to do something you didn’t even know you could do–Well, shit,” he says with a crooked grin. He reaches down and palms his cock, which is hard and weeping again. “Look at what it does to me, huh?”

“Does that mean you’ll fuck me again?” you ask eagerly.

Marcus chuckles at your enthusiasm. “I did say I was going to fill you up one more time, didn’t I?”

When you wake up (in your bed, next to Emma, after sneaking back into your own room after Marcus was finally finished with you in the wee hours of the morning), your travel companion is decidedly not ready to go. 

“I feel like I’ve been run over by a train,” she grumbles. “And my stomach is still in fucking knots.”

“We can just stay around the house,” you offer.

“I don’t want you to lay around being bored just because of me,” she protests, flopping down on the couch with a groan.

“Not feeling any better?” Marcus asks, coming into the living room. 

“No,” Emma pouts. “I’m gonna stay here and rest.”

“What are you going to do?” he asks, looking over at you.

You shrug. “I don’t really know. Stay here too, probably.”

“How about this,” Marcus says carefully. “I’m supposed to be going to the National Gallery of Art today to give a little talk about forgery detection. If you wanted to come, we could… walk around the museum a bit, afterward?”

You try to keep your face neutral at the prospect of spending a day with Marcus. Alone. 

“Sure,” you say, hoping it sounds nonchalant. “Could be fun.” 

“Great,” he says lightly. “It’s a d–it’s a plan.”

It’s a date.

You’re giddy as you wave goodbye to Emma–who’s watching daytime TV and holding a bottle of Gatorade–and follow Marcus out of the door. 

As soon as the door shuts, he rounds on you, taking your face in his hands and kissing you soundly. “So glad you said yes,” he says breathlessly. 

“Why wouldn’t I say yes to that?” you tease. “Spending the day with you.”

“I don’t know,” Marcus murmurs playfully, capturing your lips again. “Good question.”

“Is this a date?” you ask coyly.

He pauses, lips parting in surprise. “Do you want it to be?”

Taking a big leap of faith, you nod. 

Marcus’s expression softens, and he threads your fingers together. “Then it’s a date.”

After his talk–which you listen to with eager eyes and rapt attention–the two of you stroll slowly through the galleries, talking. Marcus occasionally stops, taking in the artwork, and tells you little tidbits of information about each piece. He seems to be using the quiet setting as an excuse to keep you as close as possible; his arm wraps around your waist as he leans down and talks quietly in your ear, making goosebumps rise on the back of your neck whenever he speaks. He seems to know the effect on you–you had no idea art could be described so sensually. 

You lose the afternoon to each other; having lunch in a small cafe and then walking down the National Mall, hand in hand.

You pick up a sandwich for Emma, just in case she’s feeling better, on your way home. As you get closer and closer, every step starts to feel heavier and heavier. You never want this to end. 

Just before you arrive at his building, Marcus stops and spins you around, cupping your cheek and pulling you to him for a soft kiss. 

“Today was–” he starts, but breaks off, shaking his head. 

“Yeah,” you agree.

“Listen, I don’t–I don’t know what your plans are after you leave tomorrow, but–”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay.”

You’re both dancing around something big–both of you afraid to say what you really mean, and you know it, but you can’t bring yourself to take the leap. 

You had been hoping that Marcus would.

“It was nice,” you say lamely. 

“It was,” he agrees softly. 

Emma is looking a little less green when you arrive back home, and accepts the sandwich eagerly. 

“Sorry about today,” she says, her mouth full. “I don’t know what the hell that was.”

“It was the cal–”

“Don’t fucking say it.”

At first, when you hear Emma start to fall asleep beside you, you're paralyzed. You want to go to Marcus. This is your last night; if you want to say goodbye, you need to go to him this one last time.

You just don't know if you can face goodbye.

You don't know if you can face him. 

You aren't under any reservations about what this is. Marcus is a man, and you're nothing special. You're also nearly half his age. You gave him 'fuck me' eyes for three days, and he when he gave in to the temptation, you came willingly. But this was never meant to be a long-term arrangement. 

It was never meant to be in the first place.

You just wish your first time hadn't been with the total package. Marcus is sweet, kind, attentive, and can apparently make you cum like it was a competitive sport. How are you supposed to go back home, back to being around boys your age, and expect them to measure up?

You debate staying in bed. It would be the easiest thing to do. You could begin tonight: stuffing your feelings down and burying them deep, never letting them see the light of day again. You were on spring break, and this was a fun romp. A fling. You could leave it there and never give Marcus the goodbye he probably deserves. 

On the other hand… 

What's the harm in delaying for one more night?

You slip into his room for the third time in three days, and carefully close the door behind you. Marcus is shirtless in bed, and he beckons you over with a crooked, affectionate smile. 

"Fancy seeing you here, beautiful," he says, drawing the covers back with a playful raise of his eyebrow. 

Despite your heavy mood, you can't help but grin back and enthusiastically hop into bed beside him. 

He takes advantage immediately, grabbing you and turning you, and pulling you back against his chest with a playful growl. You're caged tightly in his arms, and there's nowhere you'd rather be.  

"This is nice," you hum contentedly. 

"Oh yeah? This all you want? Just a little cuddle?" Marcus teases, nipping gently at your shoulder. 

"What if it was?" You wiggle your hips playfully against his hardening cock.

"If that was all you wanted? Then I'd think really hard about dead puppies and my childhood neighbor Mrs. Fitzwilliam in order to calm myself down a little," he answers. 

"Mrs. Fitzwilliam?" you laugh. "Why?"

"When I was a little boy, I was convinced she was a witch. I couldn't so much as talk to her for years."

"Stop it, no you did not."

"I wouldn't joke about that," he laughs. "I was really scared of her!"

"Do me a favor and don't think about her," you tease. "I like how it feels against me."

"Would feel better somewhere else," Marcus says darkly. 

"Have somewhere in mind, do you?"

"I've had it on my mind all day," he says softly. 

"Show me," you murmur. "Show me what's been on your mind all day."

"Wanna know what I was picturing while I was giving that little forgery talk?" Marcus asks.

"Obviously."

"Then sit up, pretty girl."

He loosens his hold on you and you sit up, unable to keep the grin off your face. He sits up too, gently taking hold of the hem of your shirt and drawing it up over your head. He hooks his thumbs under the waistband of your shorts. 

"Help me out with these," he commands quietly. 

You shimmy them down your hips and kick them off, still kneeling before him, now completely bare. Marcus sits back on the headboard and pats his thigh suggestively, giving you a wicked smile. 

"C'mere."

You giggle and bite your lip nervously as you crawl forward and straddle him.

"Wanna see you just like this," he murmurs. 

"I–I've never–"

"I know," he interrupts with a wry smile. "I've got you. Just wanna see you like this," he confesses, palming your jaw and rubbing his thumb across your cheekbone.

Your eyes start to flutter shut as you feel the tip of him breach you as you sink slowly down. 

"Eyes on me, honey." 

With a shaky breath, you open them again, holding Marcus's intense gaze as you impale yourself on his cock. Your lips part, eyebrows pinching together at the stretch of him–you don't think you'll ever get used to the feeling of being broken open for the first time. 

"That's it," he whispers. "Just like that." 

You slowly rock your hips, rising up and sinking back down again. You feel so full like this; your lips part and a breathy gasp escapes you as you feel the drag of Marcus’s cock inside of you. 

This is the first time you've chased your own pleasure with him like this; Marcus's eyes rake over your form greedily and as you ride him, you start to feel overly conscious of his scrutiny.

"Do I look okay?" you ask shyly.

Marcus makes a disbelieving noise and surges up, his hands starting to guide the movement of your hips as he kisses you messing, trailing from your mouth to your neck as he flexes up into you.

"Are you kidding?" he asks softly. "You're ethereal. A fucking goddess in my bed. And if you're thinking about that, I'm not fucking you right."

"That's a lie," you say with a lazy smile. "You're very thorough."

"Oh yeah? You like how I fuck you?"

"Mmmhmm," you hum. "Liked what you were doing last night."

Marcus chuckles deep in his throat. "Is that so? Cum for me like this, honey, and I'll put you on your knees again."

When his thumb presses into your clit, rubbing in small circles, it doesn't take you long to start to feel the pleasure growing in your core. You start moving faster, bouncing on his cock, no longer caring if your body is jiggling too much or that your face might look silly contorted with pleasure; all you can think about is chasing that feeling that’s building inside of you. Marcus helps you along, thrusting up into you, and you swear he must get deep enough to feel the very end of you. 

He whispers little praises and encouragements in your ear in that deep, raspy way his voice gets when he’s drunk on pleasure. You can recognize all his little foibles, now–the way he wiggles his wrist back and forth when something’s on his mind, the way he talks with his hands when he’s passionate about a subject, and the way he sounds when he comes undone.

You’re going to carry all of those things with you, now–the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles, the way he raises one eyebrow when he’s being playful, and the way he sometimes mouths along to the words of his favorite old movies.

Is it possible to miss someone so completely after just one week?

You’re so deep in your emotions when you cum, you barely even realize that you’re about to until you’re clenching hard around him, grinding down on his cock as he works you through it, guiding your hips with his fingers pressing hard into your skin.

You’re still in a daze as Marcus flips you over, depositing you on your back and then turning you over onto your stomach on the bed. Rather than pull you up to your knees like the night before, he straddles you like this and sinks back into you, draping himself over your back as he starts to really fuck you.

Oh. This might be your favorite position yet–it’s the same angle as it was last night with the added bonus of getting to feel the weight of this man pressing down on you. His chest is against your back, his ragged breaths in your ear. His elbows cage your face and he entangles your fingers together over your head. It’s a sensory overload in nearly every way, and you’re drowning in the feel of him.

It’s so good that you feel your core start to tighten again.

“So soon?” Marcus teases breathlessly in your ear. “Fuck, I can feel you shaking. How are you so fucking perfect, hmm? You always feel like you were made to take me.”

His words inexplicably cause a lump to build in your throat. Made to take him, but this couldn’t, by definition, last. The statement only makes you wish that your compatibility didn’t have to be so fucking temporary. 

You’re teetering on a precipice–on the verge of both an orgasm and inexplicable tears. When Marcus gently brushes the shell of your ear with his lips and murmurs one last, soft sentence, you finally succumb to both.

“You can let go, honey. I’ve got you.”

You convulse with a wet sob, pleasure and sorrow overtaking you simultaneously. Blessedly, with your face buried in the pillow, Marcus doesn’t notice yet; he starts fucking into you with abandon until he lets go with a deep groan in your ear. 

When he finally stills, and he starts peppering kisses across your shoulder blade, you can feel him stiffen when he realizes that, mortifyingly, there are tears on your cheeks.

“Shit,” Marcus breathes. He carefully slips out of you and turns you over underneath him, quickly brushing the tears at the corners of your eyes. He kisses them away, whispering softly to you.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks frantically. “Honey, look at me.”

“No!” you exclaim emphatically. “No, I–I don’t know why I’m doing this.”

“Talk to me,” he demands softly.

“I don’t–I don’t want to go home,” you whisper. “I don’t want this to end.”

“Oh, honey,” Marcus whispers. “Really?”

“Sorry,” you mumble. “I’m sure this is exactly what you’re looking for–for some girl to get attached to you after one whole week of knowing you…”

Marcus smiles and brushes his thumb against your cheekbone. “Attached to me?”

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” you say. “You’re just really nice, and you’re gorgeous, and you’ve been so good to me–”

“Don’t cry,” he whispers. “Please don’t cry.”

"Sorry," you say again.

"Hey," he says softly, still stroking your cheek. "You know something? You're wrong. You're not 'some girl.' You're sweet, and funny, and cute, and maybe having this girl right here be attached to me after one whole week of knowing me is exactly what I'm looking for."

"What are you suggesting?" you ask bluntly. 

“All I’m suggesting is that we stay in touch,” Marcus answers. “No pressure, no expectations. We talk, and we get to know each other better, and when you graduate, Miss Pre-Law,” he teases, lightly touching the tip of your nose, “if you still feel the same way, come back to me. Go to Law School at Georgetown. Get an internship at the FBI. And whatever it is that you do, I know of a place you can stay.”

"You'd really want that?" you ask, a slow smile starting to spread across your face.

"I'd be a fool not to grab onto this with both hands," he murmurs, stroking his hand down your side. "A damn fool."

"What about Emma?"

Marcus pauses, biting his lip. "She's a grown woman," he says carefully, "and I haven't had much of a place in her life growing up. I would hope that… once we see where this goes–if it goes anywhere–she'd understand."

You nod slowly. "Okay."

"I've rushed into things in the past," he says softly. "More than once. But I'm not in any rush right now. I want to take my time, get to know you, and if you're still looking at me the way you're looking at me right now in a year, I'll consider myself a lucky man."

Your smile is brilliant. "I'd like that."

"I'd like that, too. And that means tomorrow isn't goodbye, anymore." 

"No?"

"Nope," Marcus says with a grin. "Just 'see you later.'"

"Can I still get a goodbye kiss?" you ask.

He shakes his head playfully, but his lips descend to meet yours anyway. 

"Not a goodbye kiss," he teased.

"A 'see you later' kiss," you correct. 

"A 'you are so goddamn beautiful that I can't help to kiss you' kiss."

"You're making this too complicated."

"An 'I'll call it whatever I damn well please' kiss."

"An 'everything's gonna be alright' kiss?" you ask hopefully. 

Marcus smiles and kisses you long and deep. "Especially that."

– – – – – 

One year later…

“May I present: the graduating class of 2024.”

Along with Emma and the rest of the seniors in the auditorium, you throw your mortar-board hat into the air, shrieking happily as someone else’s crashes down on your head, instead. 

“Fucking finally!” Emma shouts beside you, and you grin widely. 

The last year has been a whirlwind for the both of you, and you know it. 

After reconnecting with her dad, Emma made an effort not to lose touch again. Eventually, he had opened up about his past and the circumstances surrounding his divorce, and at her urging, even began the process of making peace with her mom. They even had Christmas together, for the first time since Emma was two. 

And how do you know all this?

Well, Marcus hadn’t lost touch with you, either. 

True to his word, you both took your time and got to know each other from a distance. Talking to him was still as easy as breathing, and you’d spend entire nights at the beginning staying up far too late and talking well into the wee hours of the morning. 

It wasn’t hard to see that the something that was between you was still there and not going away any time soon. And the only thing you’ve found so far that rivals the strength of your friendship is the passion that you continue to have for each other in the bedroom.

Marcus would make trips when he could–some visits ostensibly to see Emma and other, more secret trysts where his only aim was to see you. (And see you he did; on most occasions, he’d barely let you out of his hotel room.)

Your beginning may have been a meteoric collision–two people forced into proximity that had no choice but to fall into each other–but the growth of your resulting love was slow and careful.

Eventually, you’d need to tell Emma, but it didn’t feel like the time was quite right, yet. Of course, when she visits you at Georgetown next year and you give her not your own address, but her father’s, the two of you will have to come clean. 

Right now, though, as you and Emma weave through the crowds of people looking for Marcus, you’re content to keep things the way they are. Everything is slowly falling into place, and that piece of the puzzle will fit into the rest when it’s ready.

“There she is!”

Emma beams as she hears Marcus call out, waving his hand frantically to catch your attention among the sea of people. 

She lets herself be crushed into a hug, her father grinning proudly and murmuring something unintelligible into her ear. After a few minutes, he releases her and turns to you.

“Congratulations,” he says–perfunctorily, but warmly. 

“Thank you.”

After a couple of beats, Emma rolls her eyes.

“Would you just kiss her already? Honestly, it’s more weird that you’re not.”

Two sets of eyes swivel to her in alarm.

“You… you knew?” you exclaim.

Emma gives you a disbelieving look. “Okay, the fact that you two both think you were being subtle means you might actually be meant for each other. Wow.”

“How?” you choke out.

“Are you serious? You two had bizarre energy when you met, and ever since, I see you smiling at your phone all the time,” Emma says to you. “And after that week, whenever he’s come to visit, you both act weird around each other.”

“Oh,” you say dumbly.

“Plus, you had a hickey on your neck one morning,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Real subtle.”

Oops. You shoot Marcus a look, and notice that he’s as red as a tomato. 

“Em,” he starts, looking pained.

“It’s fine,” she interrupts. “Look, it’s not like we had the closest of relationships when I was a kid. I'm getting to know you as an adult, and it just feels different than it would be if you had raised me. I’m not going to say it doesn’t make me feel fucking weird, and I don’t ever wanna know details about your sex life and I am not calling you ‘mom,’ but I guess I’ll just say… I get it. You two are oddly similar, and I wouldn’t want to stand in between you and happiness. Because I… you know. I love you.”

“Emma,” Marcus says, his smile turning watery for a moment. 

“Don’t… make a big deal out of it,” she grumbles.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he laughs, and gives her a sweet kiss on the forehead. “I love you too, Emmie.”

He pulls back and looks at you, his eyes sparkling, and you feel your insides start to heat up just from his gaze alone.

Those words are still new, between you–the first time was whispered softly in his ear in the darkness after spending all night wrapped around each other just a couple of months ago. Marcus whispered them back immediately after; he was achingly patient and careful to take his time with you, even though you’d felt that emotion emanating from each of you for months prior.

It was just–you didn’t want to rush things. Love was new to you. Everything was. And if Marcus was going to be your first experience with all of it, you had a feeling that you were going to want to savor it.

You know he feels the same.

Stepping forward, Marcus gently tips your chin up to meet him in a gentle kiss. The shape of his lips are so familiar now, you could probably draw them in your sleep. You know the way they move against yours. You know how it feels when he smiles against your mouth–which he does often, and right now.

“Congratulations,” he murmurs again. This time, the word is dark and full of underlying emotion–love, affection, friendship, pride–and you grin back as you kiss him once more.

“What now?” you ask with a little laugh.

“I have a few ideas,” he husks in your ear, inaudible to anyone else, before pulling back. “But right now?” he shrugs. “Anything you want. Everything.”

“What if I said that all I wanted was you?”

Marcus’s eyes soften. “Well, honey,” he says gently, “you’re in luck, because that’s the one thing I can give you.”

The end.