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myladybelle · 6 months ago

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𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐘 𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐍? | chapter eleven

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: art donaldson x female!reader x patrick zweig 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you’ve always been content being second place to your best friend tashi duncan, waiting for the day you can quit tennis. your world is upended when you meet art and patrick, and you’re forced to embrace a life in the sport you’ve been too afraid to claim for yourself. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7.0k (oof, new record for this fic) 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬): challengers content warnings, swearing, use of y/n 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: i named your roommate elora so i’m sorry if that’s your name and it messes things up for you!! 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭

𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐒𝐃𝐀𝐋𝐄, 𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐘𝐎𝐑𝐊 – 𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟗, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟗. 𝟎𝟗:𝟑𝟏𝐏𝐌.

You walked through the door, the weight of the evening crushing you like an avalanche. The dried tear tracks on your face gave away the twenty minutes you spent crying in your car before gathering yourself enough to drive home. You assumed that meeting up with Tashi after all these years would be an emotionally exhausting feat, but you could never have imagined your encounters with Patrick and Art.

The familiar scent of home enveloped you as you shut the door and leaned against it, closing your eyes and grounding yourself. Sighing, you kicked off your shoes, feeling relief wash over you as the exhaustion melted away. Regardless of your resentment for the neighbourhood and huge houses like the one you grew up in, your house felt like home. It was customised to your preferences, filled with flowers, cosy furniture, and art—nothing like the cold mansion your mother kept.

Hearing the front door shut, your dad left the kitchen to meet you. He scanned your features and smiled sympathetically when you gazed at him with shiny, sad eyes. “I haven’t seen you look this down since you saw the first few minutes of that movie where the wife dies and the guy becomes a grumpy, lonely old man.”

You gaped at your father. “Why are you bringing up Carl and Ellie from Up right now?” you wondered as tears filled your eyes again. “Does it really look like I’m in the right headspace for that?” Chuckling, he opened his arms to you. As you sniffled, you pushed off the door and hugged your father. “Everything sucks. Being an adult sucks. Being stupid enough to reconnect with your old best friend after all this time sucks.”

“What did she do this time?” your dad asked, knowing Tashi had something to do with your sour mood.

He was always wary when the subject of your ex-best friend came up because of how bad it had been when you first stopped being friends. You were inconsolable, and when you arrived home the morning after breaking up with Art, your father thought you might never smile again. Even though that was years ago, and you had made new friends and dated other people since then, it remained a sore subject and a painful memory for you.

“You mean other than suggesting that Art is still in love with me and that I should force him to keep playing professionally so she can coach a player to a career slam?” you said sarcastically. “Not much. However, seeing Art and Patrick didn’t really help our little reunion, so I’m not sure that I can just blame Tashi.”

“Oh yeah, Patrick mentioned he was going to be in town!”

You jerked backwards, staring at your father with a horrified expression. “You and Patrick are still in contact?”

“It’s not like I rejected his proposal or anything,” your dad joked, holding his hands up in surrender.

“Don’t avoid the question with humour,” you warned your father. “I invented avoiding the question with humour.”

“You didn’t invent it, you inherited it, and you got it from me,” he retorted. When your dad noticed your unimpressed expression, he gave you a careful smile. “Yes, Patrick and I stay in touch sometimes. He doesn’t get along with his parents and we got very close while you were together.”

“I know that,” you said defensively. It was true that your dad and Patrick got along very well while you dated and spent countless hours together. When you first started going on tour, your dad attended all your big matches, and Patrick often spent time at your house. Truthfully, you weren’t surprised to hear they had stayed in contact; you just felt blindsided that they had done so without your knowledge for so many years. “I just wish you would have said something.”

“He’s a good man, he just gets lost sometimes,” your father reminded you. He had such a soft spot for Patrick; the genuine grin on his face was a clear reminder of that. It stung a bit, seeing how fondly he remembered someone who was now just a painful part of your past. “I think having at least one person in his life who can point him in the right direction makes a big difference.” You nodded, agreeing. “So, you ran into Patrick?”

“Oh yeah–” you chuckled without any real humour– “I ran into him in the bar of Tashi’s hotel. While he was on a date,” you revealed.

“No way!”

“Way,” you emphasised. As your father laughed boisterously, you buried your face in your hands and groaned frustratedly. “I wanted to crawl in a hole and die,” you complained, recalling how shocked you were when Tashi pointed out he was with another woman. “It was so awkward. He wanted to apologise for our breakup and said it was the biggest regret of his life, as if that’s something I want to hear! He’s the one who gave me the ultimatum, he’s the one who decided it had to be marriage or nothing at all.”

“Clearly he thinks he made a mistake. I don’t see anything wrong with him admitting that to you,” your dad argued.

“It was five minutes in a hotel lobby, eight years after the break up,” you retorted, highlighting the absurd and emotionally-charged nature of your short conversation with Patrick. “The same night I spoke to Tashi for the first time in years. I wanted to give up then and there.”

“Well, what did you say to him?”

A knot tightened in your stomach, muscles tense as you recalled your words. “I told him that if we had waited a little longer and figured things out between us, then I would have said yes if he proposed again further down the road,” you admitted, shoulders slumped in defeat. “I didn’t think I was going to say anything, I just saw him and…” You felt a lightness in your chest, your breath catching as you pictured Patrick’s beard, tamed curls, and deep blue eyes—so different but familiar from the last time you saw him.

Grinning knowingly, your father prompted, “And?”

“And he’s Patrick,” you said, defeated by how much he still affected you. “He’s infuriating and wonderful, and seeing him is like falling in love with him all over again.”

𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋, 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐘 – 𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟏𝟓, 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟖. 𝟏𝟏:𝟏𝟓𝐀𝐌.

When your phone rang, you grabbed it from your desk, accepted the call, and pressed it to your ear with your shoulder. “You have ninety seconds,” you declared, rushing around the room as you packed your bag for class.

“Ninety seconds?” Patrick echoed over the phone. You could practically hear the signature smirk on his face. “That’s not nearly enough time for phone sex.”

“Very funny.”

“You’re right, it’s totally enough time. What are you wearing? Please say nothing,” he added, making you laugh. “Why are you in such a hurry?”

“I keep forgetting my bike has a flat tire and I have to walk to class! And the building is all the way across campus, which takes four times as long to walk,” you explained as you finally found your notebook under the blankets on your bed and shoved it in your bag. “So I’m rushing because I forgot to give myself enough time and I don’t want to run the whole way there.”

“It’s one class, gorgeous,” Patrick reminded you, chuckling quietly into the receiver. “Your professor likes you, he’s not going to be mad that you’re late one time. In fact, he’s probably not going to notice it.”

“So now I’m forgettable?” you teased your long-distance boyfriend, hurrying around the room as your roommate watched in amusement. “I’m forgettable and unnoticeable and nobody cares whether I’m there or not? That’s what every girl wants to hear. Thanks, Pat.”

“Anytime,” he replied. You put your phone on speaker as you finished packing your bag. “So, on a scale of one to ten, how much do you miss me?” Your roommate giggled out loud at his question, entertained by the saccharine tone of his voice.

“I’m going to have to say it’s a 6.5,” you decided, zipping your bag shut and sitting on your bed as you put your favourite Nike shoes on.

“You’re evil! Not even a seven?”

“I would round up but I’d be lying to myself,” you joked, lacing your shoes up. “Of course I miss you. How’s Madrid?”

“Just as beautiful and old as the last time I was here,” Patrick said. “Although, it would be better if I knew for sure that you’re rooting for me no matter who I’m playing.”

“I’m rooting for you no matter who you’re playing, you’re my boyfriend!”

“Do you swear?”

“I swear!”

“Raise your right hand and say you swear on the life and career of Rafa Nadal that you’re rooting for me, even if I play him?”

You paused, getting up from the bed and picking up the phone. “Pick another player,” you quipped, holding the phone up to your ear and slinging your bag over your shoulder.

“Suddenly I’m single.”

“Oh, really? Would you mind slipping him my number, then?”

Patrick gasped dramatically as you headed for the door. “It took me two years to get your number but you’ll give it to him right away?”

“Unfortunately, I don’t have the time to come up with a witty comeback for that one, but I’ll call you after class and we can brainstorm,” you rushed, apologetic as you grabbed the door handle and twisted. “Sorry, Pat.”

“I’ll take a rain check.” As you swung the door open, your eyes widened in disbelief when you nearly collided with your boyfriend, who stood in the doorway with an impish smirk on his lips. In person and over the phone a millisecond later, Patrick drawled, “Surprise.”

You blinked rapidly, trying to process his unexpected visit, your heart racing with shock and excitement. “Patrick!” you yelped, the initial surprise melting into a radiant smile as you threw your arms around him. “Oh my God, what are you doing here?!” you wondered, feeling a rush of joy and warmth as you hugged Patrick.

Your arms went over his shoulders as he sighed in relief, wrapping his arms around your waist and lifting your feet off the ground. Patrick closed his eyes as he inhaled the familiar scent of your shampoo and perfume. It had only been two months of separation, but it felt like a lifetime of trying to convince himself you were real. Having you in his embrace was the comforting reminder he needed.

Patrick didn’t know it was possible to miss somebody so much. Now that you were his, the distance felt even more unbearable, each day apart stretching like an eternity. The longing grew with every passing moment, turning every text, email, and phone call into bittersweet reminders of what he was missing. Luckily, it only made the reunion sweeter.

“Unlike you, on a scale of one to ten, I missed you a ten, and since I’m done for the season, I thought I’d come and see my favourite girl,” Patrick admitted. The tinny receiver on your crappy phone did absolutely nothing to highlight his rich, deep voice. Hearing his voice in person, hearing the warmth and resonance you were used to, made your stomach flutter. “Since I’m not being wrangled by a coach, I’m not on an off-season schedule and can do whatever I want until January.”

Overwhelmed with happiness, you pulled back to look at Patrick’s face, smiling impossibly huge as you realised he was really standing in front of you. Since it hadn’t been too long, he looked the same as during the US Open, with slightly longer hair. In the depths of his gaze, you saw the reflection of your longing, reassuring you that he missed you just as much as you had missed him. You kissed his cheek, slightly prickly with scruff since he hadn’t shaved in a few days, and hugged him tightly, hoping he wouldn’t disappear.

He made it so easy to start falling in love with him.

Long distance had been hard, especially because you’d been so spoiled with Art. You had seen him every day in the dining hall, at tennis practice, during class, and even lived in the same residence hall. It was an adjustment to only get to talk to your boyfriend on the phone instead of stopping by his room whenever you missed him. Nevertheless, every conversation flowed effortlessly, and Patrick had a way of making you feel seen and valued, as if every word you spoke mattered profoundly to him.

When he finally set you back on the floor, Patrick chuckled. “What?” he asked, not insecure under your stare but amused.

“I’m just really glad you’re here,” you confessed.

After scanning his features once more to make sure you weren’t dreaming, you sighed happily and pressed your lips against Patrick’s. The soft caress of his mouth made your stomach swirl. He was soft and warm, grunting quietly as you gave his lower lip a gentle bite. Usually, your kisses with Patrick were more fervent than this, but he wanted to take his time with you. His tongue traced your bottom lip before sweeping against yours, carefully tilting your head up to kiss you harder.

“Gross,” your roommate Elora complained, grimacing as she watched you and your boyfriend make out in the doorway. “I’d say get a room but I guess that’s exactly what you’re trying to do.”

You parted, breathing heavily and touching your hot cheeks. “Sorry,” you acknowledged, smiling apologetically at Elora.

She grinned. “Hi Patrick.”

Uncharacteristically sheepish, Patrick rubbed the back of his neck and waved with his free hand. “Hey Elora,” he greeted your roommate as you helped Patrick bring his bags to your room. Just like last year, you had a double room where your halves of the dorm were separated by a door.

Patrick and Elora met briefly over the summer after the US Open when they stayed at your house for a week. She brought her girlfriend, and the four of you had a great time enjoying your otherwise empty house in Scarsdale, New York. Your roommate was initially quite sceptical because she knew all about Patrick and how he was Art’s best friend, but he easily won her over with his charismatic charm and devotion to you. Ever since, the two of them had become Facebook friends, and she helped him set up his surprise trip to visit you at Stanford.

“I’m heading to lunch but I’ll see you guys later,” Elora said, grabbing her bag and winking at you before excusing herself.

“I know you’re running late for class so if you want to book it there I can hang out here until you’re done,” Patrick suggested, shutting the door to your room behind him as you set his bags on the floor. You fixed him with a withering stare that only made your boyfriend smirk. “That’s a cute expression,” he teased you, sitting on the edge of your bed and leaning back on his hands. “Seriously, I don’t want you to miss class because of me.”

“I hear the professor doesn’t really notice if you’re late or you miss a class,” you replied, eyes widening innocently as you quoted your earlier conversation with Patrick. “As if I’m going to miss a single second of your visit,” you added, sitting on his lap and letting your knees sink into your mattress on either side of his thighs.

Patrick grinned at you, eyes deepening with desire as he scanned your features and committed them to memory. It had been too long since he last saw you, and his gaze lingered on your eyes, tracing the contours of your face as if trying to capture the essence of your being. The shimmer in his deep blue eyes spoke volumes, conveying the insatiable hunger he always felt around you.

He didn’t just want you, he craved you.

When you first started dating, he said it bordered on obsession, and you didn’t quite understand what he meant until you realised that any time you glanced at him, Patrick was already watching you.

The muscles of his shoulders were firm under your fingertips, and you shivered as Patrick snuck his hands under your shirt to draw shapes across your bare hips. There was a delightful flurry of butterflies in your stomach, each wingbeat a testament to your mounting anticipation. The weight of his toned body below yours always made you melt a little, just as it had with Art. Patrick gave you a roguish grin, tilting his head to the side and acting innocent.

Being with him made you realise that he enjoyed toying with you. Not to the extent where you got upset or irritated, but just enough for him to confirm you were a little bit obsessed with him, too.

When you bunched the fabric of Patrick’s t-shirt in your fists, his lips covered yours in an uncontrolled kiss. Happily, you let him kiss you because it was one of the most exquisite things you had ever felt. Your heart pounded relentlessly. It was almost annoying how good of a kisser Patrick was—how good he was at everything without trying. Opening your mouth wider, you savoured every moment Patrick’s lips were on yours, breathless as he messily kissed your top lip and pressed his tongue to the seam of your mouth. Dragging your hands through his curls, you felt your head spinning.

Patrick never seemed to need to come up for air. It was like you were his oxygen, breathing life into him.

“Fuck. I missed you, pretty girl,” Patrick sighed against your lips, drawing back just enough to rub his thumb across your bottom lip and stare at you with hooded eyes. “Thought about you everyday I was gone.”

You grinned, feeling your cheeks heat up under his intense gaze. “God, you’re so obsessed with me, Zweig,” you joked, squealing when Patrick fell backwards onto your bed and bracing your arms on either side of his head. “What are you, my boyfriend?” you added, breathless from his sudden movement.

Patrick chuckled. “Last time I checked,” he responded. “At least that’s what my bumper sticker says. Why?” He dropped kisses down the side of your neck and throat, electric energy searing into you as you shut your eyes in pure bliss. “Need some convincing?”

“What did you have in mind?”

“I could change your bike tire for you,” Patrick offered, and it was just unexpected enough to make you giggle.

You rolled onto your side, glancing up at him from below your lashes. “You know how to change a bike tire? I thought you grew up filthy rich, didn’t you just pay people to get things done for you?”

“My dad pays people to get things done for him,” he corrected you. Patrick pulled you closer, gently guiding your head to rest on his chest, where you could hear the quick rhythm of his heartbeat. His arms wrapped around you securely, savouring the comfort of being held so close. “I liked the fact that he hated when I did things myself. So if you need someone to change your bike or car tires, I’m your guy.”

You nodded, humming thoughtfully. “I hear that,” you mumbled, thinking of how you adjusted your behaviour to spite your mother over the years. It felt good to talk to him like this. Both of you had issues with your parents, and being able to open up to someone who understood made it easier to talk about. The mutual struggle had bonded you, turning painful experiences into a source of connection rather than isolation. “No matter how much I always wanted to go to college, I can’t help but wonder if I was so desperate to go because my mom was so against it.”

“The day they found out I wanted to go pro instead of majoring in business or finance was the day their hopes and dreams for me died,” Patrick added, relating perfectly to what you went through. “But hey, I could always change tires for a living. Didn’t any of your other boyfriends help you with that stuff?” he teased you, knowing Art was your only ex-boyfriend.

“Not really. He didn’t know how to fix my bike, but he liked the excuse to drive me around all day long,” you recalled when your bike had a flat during your freshman year. “Something about keeping me close.”

Patrick nodded, and you felt his head bob above yours. “He’s good,” he mumbled quietly. “I’ll give him that.”

Perhaps it was his fault for bringing it up, but a small part of Patrick grew worried when you recounted what a good boyfriend Art was. The constant reminder that Art had you first didn’t bother him, but the knowledge that Art had given you the most romantic and beautiful relationship of your life did. Patrick was constantly trying to push himself to be better, to be the guy you deserved, even though you clearly deserved much better than him.

“I can’t wait until I graduate and we go on tour together,” you admitted as you drew shapes on the bare skin of Patrick’s abdomen under his t-shirt. “We’re going to have the most amazing time.”

“Unless you get sick of me first,” Patrick argued.

“That’s not going to happen,” you assured him, pressing a kiss to his jaw and sighing contentedly. “Five more minutes and then coffee?”

“Whatever you want, gorgeous.”

“I just don’t know how I feel about cutesy coffee shop names,” Patrick went on as the two of you waited for your coffees after ordering. Your favourite coffee shop on campus – CoHo, as it was affectionately nicknamed – was always buzzing with the lunchtime rush, the hum of conversation and the hiss of the espresso machine acting as the backdrop to your day with Patrick.

“There’s nothing wrong with cutesy coffee shop names,” you argued, rolling your eyes and smiling affectionately at your boyfriend. “Plus, they serve the best coffee on campus.”

Patrick grinned at you so widely that you realised you had never seen him smile so much. The sheer joy in his expression was contagious, making your heart swell with affection. It dawned on you then how rare it was to witness so much unrestrained happiness from him. He was so pleased, so gorgeous, and so insanely easy to fall for.

Even though he never wanted to go to college, you thought Patrick fit in at Stanford. He blended in with the students and made easy conversation with your friends from the tennis team when you ran into them on the way to the coffee shop. Your friends were curious to meet Patrick after hearing all about him, and when you said your goodbyes, they shot you wide-eyed looks of approval, silently indicating that they thought Patrick was a good catch.

“Okay, pretty girl, whatever you say,” Patrick relented, ducking his head and eyeing your lips.

Just as you pushed up on your toes to kiss him, a barista shouted, “Latte for Art!”

The two of you froze when the name of your ex-boyfriend was called, halting in place and staring at each other in shock. An electric jolt of surprise coursed through you both, leaving you momentarily speechless. The bustling world around seemed to blur, focusing only on the echo of Art’s name in the air. Your heart pounded as you turned and met your ex’s equally wide-eyed gaze. As his icy blue eyes flitted from you to Patrick, silently noting your close body language, an uneasy tension hung over the three of you.

“Hi,” you greeted Art, taking a step away from Patrick.

“Hi,” Art echoed, sending you an uneasy smile. He was silently seething. He didn’t know you had a new boyfriend, and certainly not that it was his former best friend. Even though Art tried not to let his emotions show, he knew you could both tell. His jaw tightened, and his free fist clenched subtly, betraying the anger simmering beneath his calm facade. Despite his efforts to maintain composure, the flicker of betrayal in Art’s eyes was unmistakable. “Long time no see. How are things?”

“Everything’s good,” you replied. Your heart raced a little, nervousness and guilt bubbling up. After your breakup, you and Art agreed to give it some time before you would eventually return to being friends. However, you understood that dating his former best friend might put a pin in those plans. “What about you?”

He looked well. You wanted him to be well.

“Just busy with classes and off-season stuff. The men’s team is heading to Berkeley in a couple days for the ITA Championships,” Art said, not ignoring Patrick but pointedly avoiding eye contact with him.

“Yeah, the women’s team has the ITA Championships here so we don’t have to travel,” you replied. “Good luck though, I’m sure you guys will be great.”

“You too.” An awkward silence halted the conversation. Art cleared his throat. “I hear you’re graduating a year early to go pro. Your schedule must be really crazy,” he mentioned.

“It’s pretty intense but I actually like throwing myself into my classes,” you admitted, chuckling. “Elora’s graduating early too, so we keep each other motivated.”

A soft chuckle escaped Art’s lips, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards in genuine amusement. “Sounds like that’s right up your alley,” he agreed affectionately. “Listen, I just wanted to say that I was really glad to hear you signed the Nike deal. I’m really proud of you for figuring out what makes you happy,” Art added, referencing one of the main reasons the two of you broke up last year.

Your heart swelled, glad to be back in contact with your ex-boyfriend but heartbroken that your friendship would never fully be mended. The familiar comfort of his voice brought back a rush of memories, but there was an unshakeable sadness beneath the surface. It was easy to ignore the reality of your broken friendship when the two of you weren’t speaking, but now that you were confronted with your loss of contact, it was impossible to avoid the cracks in your relationship.

“Thank you,” you acknowledged his compliment. “Believe me, I would never have been able to do it without you.”

Art shrugged, waving you off and denying any part in your career success thus far. “Anyway, I’ll see you around,” he excused himself.

Before he left, Art indulged his urge to look at Patrick and frowned. It was a kick in the gut to see the two of you together, not just because he always assumed you would date Patrick if you had the opportunity to nurture your connection, but because you were doing it at Stanford. College was supposed to be a safe space for Art—or at least a place where he never had to see Patrick.

You bit your lower lip anxiously, turning to Patrick when Art left. “I’ll be right back,” you said, squeezing his hand and going after your ex-boyfriend. “Art, wait!”

Art paused. “You don’t need to explain anything to me–”

“–I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” you interrupted him. “We never really figured out the whole being friends after breaking up thing, and I didn’t think our first attempt should be me telling you about Patrick.”

Art’s jaw tensed as he contemplated what to say next. “The two of you are dating now?” he asked. You nodded, brows pulled together anxiously. “And he makes you happy?”

“Very,” you assured Art.

His expression softened. “Then I’m happy for you,” Art promised you, lips curving into a sad smile. “I do want to be friends, so don’t worry about it. You’ve been a big part of my life, and I don’t want that to change. We’re good, okay?”

“Okay,” you agreed cautiously. “We haven’t been dating long, it’s been less than a couple months,” you added, knowing Patrick had been a sore subject during your relationship. “And he didn’t pursue me, we ran into each other over the summer. Nike gave me a ground pass for the US Open and I literally knocked him over. He had no idea we broke up and he waited for me to make the first move.”

Art nodded slowly, processing the information. “We’re good,” he repeated. You wanted him to say more – to yell at you and accuse you of confirming all the fears he had during your relationship – but he didn’t. Instead, Art remained calm, and that was more unsettling. You felt a painful knot form in your stomach, knowing him well enough to realise that his restraint was to keep you from feeling guilty. “Seriously, don’t worry. I’ll see you around.”

“You’ll call me?” you double-checked. “So we can hang out sometime?”

“Absolutely,” Art confirmed. He reached out and playfully patted your arm, trying to be casual and friendly, but all it did was highlight how your previously affectionate relationship had hardened. You felt a familiar warmth where his hand had touched, a stark reminder of the tenderness you once shared.

You spent the rest of the afternoon showing Patrick around campus, taking him to your favourite library and giving him a tour around the main quad. It was nice to get a break from studying and lectures, and you liked sharing this part of your life with Patrick. He didn’t know what it was like to go to college and have this experience, so you wanted him to know as much as possible.

When you returned to your room, Elora was out and left you a note on your door that said she would be staying in her girlfriend’s dorm for the night. You knew she had done this to give you and Patrick some privacy, which was much appreciated after being apart for almost two months.

Patrick was quick to lay you on your bed and crawl between your legs, making his way up to your lips and giving you a soft kiss. With a contented sigh, your palms slid over his bare chest to wind around his neck and tug him closer. The path his warm hands trailed across your body, up your thighs and under your shirt, felt like fire scorching your skin. You were dizzy with excitement and nerves, your affection and desire for Patrick swirling inside you like a whirlwind. Softly, you stroked his jaw with your thumb, sending tingles through his whole body with every ministration. He sank his fingers into the skin of your waist, clutching and clawing like he never wanted to let go.

Kisses were always effortless between you, comfortable, passionate, and addictive. Patrick ran so hot in every aspect of his life, and his relationship with you was no different. He was intense, and everything was dialled up to a hundred, leaving you breathless and reeling. Sometimes, you were caught up in the heat of his relentless drive, entrapped by the magnetic pull of his vibrant, bold existence.

Your hands wandered, drifting across his shoulders and into his hair. Patrick let out a quiet groan of appreciation when you gently tugged at the hair on the nape of his neck, stepping on the gas and sending everything into hyperspeed.

While you often resented Art comparing Patrick to how he played tennis, he was right that he was emotional and insatiable when it came to you.

In many ways, you craved Patrick’s recklessness, the bite and tug of his teeth on your lips and the way he held onto you for dear life. You appreciated that he never treated you like you were fragile, hungrily reciprocating the intensity of the kiss and devouring you—just the way you wanted him to.

When you sighed his name against his mouth, you were rewarded by the catch in his breathing. Slowly, Patrick lifted his torso by his elbows and looked down at you, his expression dark and ravenous. It might have been intimidating if it wasn’t so attractive.

“How often do you and Art run into each other?”

It was like a record scratching. Patrick’s question was so sudden – so unexpected – that you could only blink at him as you processed it. Time seemed to slow as you searched for the right words, caught off guard by the intensity of the moment. Your mind raced, trying to come up with a coherent answer as the air around you thickened suddenly.

Eventually, you managed to say, “This is the first time I’ve seen him all semester.” His lips pursed as he searched your eyes, contemplating whether you were telling the truth. You held his gaze, willing your expression to convey the sincerity he needed to overshadow his doubts. “Patrick? Are you okay?”

“Me?” he asked, pointing a finger at his chest and putting a shocked expression on. You frowned. In the same way Patrick could tell when you were putting on a facade, you could see right through him too. “Yeah, I’m fine. I guess I just forgot how connected this place is to him.”

“He goes here, and we’re both here on tennis scholarships, we have to run into each other eventually,” you pointed out, mood souring at Patrick’s blasé attitude.

With a gentle tap against his chest, you indicated for him to get off you. He complied, sitting up and eyeing you as you leaned against the wall behind your headboard. “He didn’t know we were together,” Patrick observed.

Shaking your head, you insisted, “Of course not, I haven’t talked to him since we broke up.” You watched Patrick draw farther away from you, not just physically with his body language, but as if the desire was fading from his eyes. “What’s wrong? Why are you worried about Art all of a sudden?”

He said nothing. His eyes were narrowed and vacant—like he was stuck in his head and barely present in your conversation. It was disconcerting, watching Patrick retreat into his own thoughts while struggling to maintain a semblance of engagement.

“Is he better at sex than me?” Patrick voiced his overarching concern. “Is that what this is?”

You stared, your jaw dropping at his question. “I am way too scantily dressed for this conversation,” you decided, reaching for the first article of clothing you could find. It was Patrick’s t-shirt, a light green fabric that brought out the ring of hazel in his eyes. “Is this because of the night I kissed you both in the hotel? That’s not the same thing as what we’re doing now, that was just innocent fun. You and I are in a relationship.”

Patrick practically ignored you. “I always pictured Art as the kind of guy who makes love, you know? Vanilla, not exactly earth shattering–”

“–Do you seriously want to have this conversation or are you having some kind of a meltdown?” you wondered, shaking your head in disbelief at your boyfriend. “I’m not being sarcastic or facetious, I genuinely need to know.”

“I’m just curious,” Patrick insisted, the tension in his body highlighting his hidden emotions. “You were with the guy for over a year so I assume the sex couldn’t have been bad, but he just seems like someone who wants romantic sex.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“It’s boring,” he stated.

“Okay, then rest well knowing that sex with Art wasn’t boring,” you said, throwing caution to the wind and responding to Patrick’s patronising question. “We had great sex, what the fuck does that have to do with us?”

His jaw clenched, muscles taut beneath skin flushed with rising heat. The veins in his forearms were throbbing with tension, and a storm was brewing in his dark blue eyes. The lines of his face hardened, brows furrowing as his gaze turned steely. Patrick’s voice, usually steady, quivered with the barely contained wrath simmering just beneath the surface, “Great, huh?”

“Why are you getting mad at me? You’re the one who started this conversation, I wasn’t even thinking about Art,” you defended yourself. “I can’t pick who’s better between the two of you, you’re both different and my relationships with you are different. There’s no comparison, and I don’t want to play that game with you.”

Your defeated, frustrated tone seemed to snap Patrick out of it a little. “Fuck, I don’t know why I can’t get him out of my head,” he confessed.

“What are you really asking?” you queried, scooting closer to him on the bed. “Who’s better at sex, or who am I more in love with?” His silence was all you needed for confirmation. “Pat…”

“Would you have married him?” Patrick wondered, glancing down at your light purple sheets.

Your shoulders sagged. “I was eighteen when we started dating, I was too worried about Chem Lab and off-season tennis practice to even think about marriage.”

“Being here is messing with me,” Patrick decided. “All I can think about is when I used to get calls and texts from Tashi. She would tell me all about how in love you were with Art, and how the two of you were a second away from tying the knot,” he recalled. “Even referred to you as Mr and Mrs Donaldson.”

“I was really in love with him, Patrick,” you said honestly. “He was my first love. I know that’s hard to hear, but it’s true.” You reached out and placed your hand over his, hoping to bridge the growing distance between you. Patrick tensed, muscles taut and rigid, before slowly relaxing under your gentle touch. “But that doesn’t mean that what you and I have is less important, or good, or joyful, or meaningful. Just because I loved Art doesn’t mean I’m not falling in love with you.” You grinned, gently nudging your shoulder against his.

Patrick licked his lips nervously. “I don’t do relationships, not like this,” he admitted. Even though Patrick had been in relationships before, they always felt casual. No matter how exclusive his relationships were, he never felt fully committed to the girls he dated. That was until he met you and realised that total commitment to and from you was exactly what he wanted. “None of this shit mattered to me, but it does with you. I don’t want to screw things up.”

“You won’t screw things up,” you insisted, recalling the night the two of you got together when he was sure he was prone to messing things up for himself. “But you might make things harder for yourself if you fixate on my relationship with Art.”

“And there’s no reason for me to worry about him, right?” Patrick checked with you.

You shook your head, pulling him in a gentle hug. You let Patrick bury his face in your collarbones, allowing him to be vulnerable and soft and everything he usually refused to let himself be. “It’s you and me, Pat. Nothing else matters.”

𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐒𝐃𝐀𝐋𝐄, 𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐘𝐎𝐑𝐊 – 𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟗, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟗. 𝟏𝟎:𝟎𝟐𝐏𝐌.

After your conversation with your father, you got ready for bed. It had been an emotionally exhausting evening, catching up with old friends and boyfriends who wronged you, and all you wanted to do was crawl into bed and finally rest. The weight of unresolved emotions and the strain of your conversations with Tashi and Art left you feeling drained and bereft.

When you thought back to your conversation with Patrick, you felt sad. Knowing that he regretted that night did little to fix the damage he caused, but it did make him more sympathetic to you.

As the night wore on, the comfort of your bed beckoned, promising a sanctuary from the day’s turmoil. Your mind replayed the evening’s events, each interaction a reminder of past hurts and the bittersweet nature of reconnection. Seeking solace in the familiar embrace of your pillows, you hoped for sleep to wash away the lingering exhaustion.

With your hair still damp from your shower, you crawled under your covers and grabbed your phone, knowing you probably had emails and text messages from your team to respond to.

ART: I’m sorry about tonight. Just talked to Tashi, she said the two of you had a rough evening. If there’s any chance you aren’t already sick of me, let me know if you’re free sometime this week. There’s someone I really want you to meet, someone who absolutely idolises you already. I promise not to bring up Paris again.

You contemplated whether you should even respond to his text message. Your fingers moved to delete the message, and you hesitated, weighing the words of his message carefully. Perhaps you had been harsh on Art that evening, spurred on by the anguish of your conversation with Tashi and Patrick’s confession. After all, Art had comforted you, something that Patrick and Tashi hadn’t even considered doing.

As you wondered what to reply, Art sent you another message. It was a picture of two arms, one belonging to Art and the other to a little girl. Both had a friendship bracelet on their wrist, Art’s reading “GIRL DAD” and Lily’s reading “BABY DONALDSON.”

Your breath hitched, tears welling in your eyes as you looked at the familiar bracelets. The memory of you making the friendship bracelets and sending them to Art’s address when the news of Tashi’s pregnancy broke flooded your mind. You could still remember threading every bead and making the knots extra secure so the bracelet would last until their daughter was old enough to wear the bracelet.

With wet lashes, you blinked your tears away and smiled when you saw how small Lily’s arm looked beside Art’s. She existed in a hypothetical world—you had yet to meet her, and in many ways, it made you feel like she wasn’t real. You knew Lily would never seem real until you looked her in the eyes and saw how each of her features came from Tashi or Art. Your heart ached, yearning for that moment of tangible connection.

ART: She says you’re her favourite tennis player. Do you want to meet her?

Y/N: I would love to meet Lily.

#challengers x reader #challengers fanfic #challengers fanfiction #patrick zweig x reader #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig x you #patrick zweig imagine #patrick zweig #art donaldson x you #art donaldson imagine #art donaldson #mike faist x reader #josh o connor x reader #tashi duncan #fic: guilty as sin?

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bratkook · 4 years ago

Text

right now. (m) jjk.

not yet, almost , right now

pairing. jungkook x reader genre. fluff, smut, idiots to lovers!! word count. 14.8k warnings. two mega fucking idiots<33, miscommunication/dumb assumptions, smut in forms of: fingering, oral sex (f.), orgasm denial, spanking, some spit bc duh, unprotected sex, super sweet & lovey!! also jungkook is a sweetheart pls love him summary. coming to terms with your feelings after getting off to the idea of your close friend is a little harder than you thought, but how long can you take before jungkook decides its time to move on? note. did jlin forget how to write for a few weeks? yes, yes she did....i know this took a long time but life is rough man so forgive me... but anyways lol the final part to the not yet!verse is hereeeee! thank you to @kithtaehyung for reading this over for me ily!! thank you guys for enjoying this mini series, the response was really unexpected but im sososo happy over every comment/ask i’ve gotten for this story. once again, tysm for your love and let me know what you think<3

The evening sun illuminates Jungkook’s apartment, golden hour bouncing off every reflective surface and straight into his eyes the second he walks in, immediately squinting as he makes a beeline to shut the blinds. His head was already throbbing from the hangover that decided to peak around noon, a mean case of nausea putting a damper on his work day. So as much as he loved soaking in some vitamin D today was not the day.

“Are you joking?” he huffs as he brings down the blinds, hand yanking at the flimsy string in an attempt to get it unstuck. “How stup—you’d think with the amount I pay every month in rent the blinds would work!”

Alright, so maybe he was a little grumpy today, choosing to take it out on an inanimate object and blame it purely on the bad decisions made last night—definitely had nothing to do with the residual moping of you going on a date. This could be fixed, easily.

The first order of business? Texting you to see if you’d be interested in devouring greasy food from your favorite place down the street. He’d get to see you and finally put something in his stomach, it’s the best of both worlds really.

Jungkook forgets about the blinds, leaving them stuck in the awkward position as he walks away entirely, fishing his phone out of his pocket while he enters his room. It’s the same text he always sends when he’s hangry: If I don’t get food in the next 15 mins I'm burning this place down and taking you with me.

He knows the response he’ll get, either that meme of the child in front of a burning house or an equally hangry paragraph. The phone gets tossed onto his bed as he changes out of his work clothes, needing to dispose of the business casual attire that was suffocating him, his old college hoodie giving him the comfort he needs.

By the time he’s finally slipping on his sneakers he’s expecting you to come knocking on his door, your impatient attitude always putting a smile on his face. Half of the time your neighbors thought you were having arguments from the way you’d pound onto the slab of wood, saying his name with just enough annoyance laced into each syllable it would fool anyone into thinking you were actually upset instead of being a brat. But when that never comes, he reaches for his phone again.

A few notifications fill up his screen, some instagram direct message previews, his group chat that he never responded to, and a few emails coming through, but you had yet to respond. Maybe it’s a little creepy, but Jungkook knows you’re home because he passed by your parked car on his way in. So his mind jumps to two extremes: you were either face down, drowning in your bathtub, or that yellow shades wearing wannabe version of himself was at your place.

Not an ounce of shame sits within him as he speedwalks to the side his bed was on, placing both palms onto the wall before his ear was pressed against the cold drywall. Jungkook’s not really sure what would make him feel good, hearing you and Jung Hoseok together, or hearing nothing at all. His ears strain to hear anything, but the only sound he gets is his own blood pumping.

With a small pout he pulls back, deciding he’d play the annoying neighbor role today and pound on your door instead. It’s a role he doesn’t take lightly, knuckles banging on the wood loud enough for you to hear wherever you were in your apartment. It takes a few minutes before any sign of life is shown, your door creaking open, and Jungkook is thankful because he was about to head to the maintenance office to ask for a key in case you actually were drowning in your bathtub.

“C’mon, let’s get food,” he declares instantly, a charming smile on his face as he stands with his hands stuffed into his jean pockets. The smile slowly falls off when he gets a good look at you, hair looking like a mess on your head and your fluffy blanket draped around you as you give out a weak cough. “Are you sick?”

“I think so,” you rasp out, leaning against your door frame and tugging the blanket tighter around you.

“Did that fucker give you mono?” Jungkook looks irritated, brows pinched together in a grimace—something you’re definitely not accustomed to seeing so you almost don’t catch his accusation.

“Jungkook, no! It’s nothing serious.”

He doesn’t look fully convinced, but he shrugs anyways, positive you weren’t interested in getting interrogated when you were feeling under the weather. “Alright, let me know if you need me to drive you to the doctor if it becomes something serious.”

With a roll of your eyes and a small smile, you wave him off, slowly shutting the door behind you. Your eye immediately peeks through your peephole, not relaxing until he makes his way down the hall and enters the elevator, still on his quest for greasy food.

“God, how old are you?” you grumble to yourself, yanking the blanket off your body and onto the floor with a huff. Pretending to be sick to avoid your friend was a new low, especially after the post-orgasm epiphany you had last night. A sane person would come to terms with their feelings and confess to them, uncertainty and possible rejection be damned! But you? No, you have to fake a cold like the giant coward you are.

The guilt only deepens when a knock comes from your door an hour later, a quick peek through your peephole allowing you to see Jungkook setting two plastic bags on the floor before stepping back and walking to his apartment next door. You don’t come out until you hear his door shut, seeing the logo of your favorite diner down the street. No doubt would your comfort meal be inside the takeaway container.

It takes all you have to not rush over to his place and say you were lying when you see he had also gone ahead and got you cold medication, a few different bottles because he surely didn’t know which was best, along with teas and some cough drops.

You’re a dirty liar. A horrible friend too.

That doesn’t stop you from devouring the meal in the takeout box as you’re hunched over your breakfast bar like a little gremlin. “This is just for today,” you mumble out to yourself as you set the plastic fork down and chug some of the leftover alcohol you had in your fridge. It’s your own version of a pity party, except the food feels heavy in your stomach, knowing the man you were avoiding was the one who bought it—bring on the guilt.

“I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

You’re a dirty liar and horrible friend 2.0. Why this time? Because tomorrow stretched out a few more days than planned. It wasn’t entirely intentional at first, getting stuck at work longer than usual and missing the weekly hangout at your place where you got your remote covered in cheeto dust as you argued over what to watch. But it trickled down onto shorter replies to his texts, or you scrambling out of your apartment and into the elevator so fast in order to not run into him, your mind still trying to list all the pros and cons to this potential relationship before you even had the guts to confess to your feelings.

Jungkook didn’t know thats what was occupying your mind, no he was currently thinking the worst. He notices the change instantly, recognizing it because this was the exact way you had acted while you were with Hajoon, right before you broke the news to him that you needed to keep some distance while you focused on your relationship. So Jungkook automatically assumes that your sudden change in behavior after going on a single date with Jung Hoseok, was because you wanted to make your relationship with this man work.

His assumption stings—a lot actually—and soon enough he stops initiating conversations altogether. He didn’t want to hear you tell him you had to distance yourself again, he’s not sure his heart could handle that a second time, so he decides to get ahead of the curb and take a massive step away from you. It hurts him to know you’re right next door, and just like before, it’s like you’re back to being total strangers.

Safe to say Jungkook was currently going on his own downward spiral.

You could text him like nothing had happened and he’d accept it with open arms, but instead you text your best friend an SOS text, begging her to meet you at your place. She calls you dramatic at first, but once you say it’s about Jungkook she shows up at your place in record time.

“Did you finally fuck him?” Is her greeting of choice, spoken shamelessly from the hallway with no worry about her volume. She cackles when you yank the bottle of wine from her grasp and tug her into your apartment, letting the door slam behind her.

“You’re lucky he’s not home you bitch.” An eye roll is her only response, yanking the bottle back and making her way into your kitchen to grab the opener.

“So you didn’t fuck him?” The cork pops at her question, a curious glance staring you down as she pours the red liquid into an oversized cup.

“No Seulgi, I didn’t fuck him. But I did...something.” It makes your face warm up as you remember it, gratefully grabbing the cup she hands your way because you definitely need some liquid courage before confessing to your sins.

She hums in thought as she raids your pantry for something to munch on, settling on a bag of mini pretzels before leading you to your couch, needing to know the gossip that led to your sos text. “Okay, did you accidentally send him a nude then?”

“No, that wouldn’t be so bad I think?” Sending him an accidental nude would be laughable, probably resolved by a few screaming texts and dumb jokes before moving on. But new feelings seeing the light of day seemed so much worse. “But I sort of kissed him at a club a few weeks ago to get back at Hajoon—long story,” you cut in when you see her ready to fire off questions.

“And then I went on that failed Tinder date I told you about, and when I got home I sort of heard him, you know,”— you mimic a jerking off motion with your hand and ignore her lewd gasp, “and then I…” you trail off shamefully.

“No!” she gasps even louder, hand pressed to her mouth and eyes wide.

“Yes! And the fucking orgasm opened my eyes and made me realize that maybe that tiny crush you guys always joke about him having is real, and maybe I have a tiny crush on him too.”

“Does he know?”

“That I like him?”

“No, that you rubbed one out while listening to him you dirty slut!” Oh she’s loving this, leaning back into your cushions with a handful of pretzels resting on her boobs, a sly smile on her lips as she takes a sip of her wine. She’s the one who planted the seed in your mind, playfully joking about Jungkook any chance she got, saying he had the hots for you because she enjoyed the flustered look on your face. No doubt would she text the group chat with the news the second you finish this cry for help.

“Do you think I told him? I can barely come to terms with the fact that I like him. Like what am I supposed to do?”

She sighs dramatically, munching on the final pretzel on her tits before sitting up and dusting off the crumbs from her shirt. “Look, I know you’re just realizing that he likes you so this is still new and fresh for you, but we’ve noticed it for years. It’s fine that you didn’t see it, you had other things occupying your mind.”

You frown as you stare at the rug beneath your feet, remembering how life was when you first moved into this complex. Getting out of a previous relationship weeks prior, when you had met Jungkook your mind was not interested in pursuing anything with him regardless of how cute you thought he was. It made it easier for you to form a friendship, not worried about trying to impress him, or flirt with him, allowing him to see you for who you truly are.

Jungkook had his fair share of girlfriends during the years, none of which were entirely serious but by the time he was completely single you had met Hajoon, and he had accepted the fact that maybe you were better off as friends and he would just admire you from afar. That is, until you decided to plant one on him. So technically this is your fault.

“Jungkook likes you okay, and I’m sure if you just marched next door and told him you like him too he’ll drop on one knee and marry you.”

“Shut up,” you snort, shoving her shoulder with a smile.

“As a matter of fact, go over there right now!” She stands up from her spot, yanking your arms to haul you up with her.

“I told you, he’s not home. But, I’ll tell him. I have to.”

Seulgi crosses her arms over her chest as she stares at you, clearly displeased that she wouldn’t be witness to this love story unfolding in real time. “You better. You never know what sneaky little bitch is trying to get him to get over you.”

The sneaky little bitch in question is Park Jimin, currently sitting directly across from Jungkook, guzzling down beer like his life depends on it. It's impressive really, how quickly he empties the cup, eyes shut looking as content as could be even in the dim lighting. Jungkook can only watch with a grimace as his friend sets the glass down and wipes at his mouth with no sense of table manners.

“What?” he burps, proceeding to pour more of the golden liquid into his cup from the pitcher in the middle of the table.

“I always forget how absolutely disgusting you are. How do you do it?” Jimin just frowns at the question, not entirely understanding so Jungkook continues. “What switch do you flip to go from sipping champagne to chugging beer like a fucking biker.”

“It’s a talent, I know.” He smiles wide, reaching forward to grip Jungkook’s hand and force him to grab his own cup. Condensation was pooling around the bottom from sitting there untouched, and that just wouldn’t do on Jimin’s watch. “C’mon, drink it!”

“Fine,” Jungkook grumbles, raising the glass and allowing Jimin to clank the cups together before taking a big gulp. He doesn’t clear the cup like his friend did seconds prior but it's enough to appease him. It tastes absolutely bitter the whole way down, settling into his stomach uncomfortably, and the look on his face as he pushes the glass away from him is very telling.

Boisterous shouts fill the sports bar they were in, huddles of people surrounding the tables and booths as they watched the current soccer match playing on the televisions lining the walls. Jungkook honestly feels like a debby downer now, moping in his seat instead of enjoying the atmosphere with his friend like they normally did. The current game was definitely not the reason Jungkook had texted Jimin to grab drinks, no he needed an outlet to talk about you—preferably in a space that didn’t have walls as thin as his apartment.

When he barely acknowledges the plate of wings set in front of him Jimin huffs, resisting the urge to dig in because he knew once he did he wouldn’t be able to focus on anything else. “Are you gonna be like this the entire time?”

“Like what?” Jungkook has the gall to ask, acting as if he wasn’t looking like a wounded animal.

“Like you just discovered your wife of ten years is having an affair with your sister.”

He sits up straighter at that, eyes wide in disbelief. “Jesus.“

Jimin knew the jist of what was happening through the texts he had received the past week, but it seems like Jungkook didn’t want to jump into the topic of it at all now that they were sitting across from each other. He just sighs before deciding to be honest, wasting no time beating around the bush to hopefully be the voice of reason Jungkook needs. “You’ve been simping over her for years JK, and I get it, you think she could be the one. But what about you huh? It’s not fair for you to have your heart wrung out each time she gets a man and decides to put the friendship on pause—“

“That happened once!” He defends, brows pinched on his forehead as he shakes his head, ready to explain your situation because he wasn’t a fan of hearing his friend say anything about you when he didn’t truly know what happened. “The dude was a piece of shit and basically told her it was him or me. I’m not gonna crucify her for wanting a long term relationship to work.”

“Right, so she’s not icing you out again because she got a new man? That’s literally what you told me, it’s why I bought you this sympathy pitcher of beer!”

“Fuck you, you bought this pitcher for yourself.” Jimin had chugged two giant glasses of beer already, and was steadily working on his third, whereas Jungkook’s watered down cup remained relatively untouched. “Besides, I was just...spiraling and assumed when I sent you that desperate text. But I haven’t heard anything.”

Jimin can only stare blankly at the table as he processes what was just said before locking eyes with his friend once more, “Sorry, what? You haven’t heard anything? The hell kind of riddle is that.”

Jungkook sinks into the booth with a look of shame, not wanting to admit to occasionally laying in his bed at night in complete and total silence just to see if he could hear you and the hypothetical version of Jung Hoseok doing literally anything. It’s not one of his proudest moments, feeling like a bit of a creeper as he laid stiff on his bed, too scared to make a sound. “Nothing, forget about it. Point is, I haven’t seen the fucker come in or out of her place, so what does that mean?”

A deep sigh comes from Jimin, hand reaching forward to push the beer closer to Jungkook, desperately trying to get him to drink and ease up. “It means you pay far too much attention to her. When was the last time you got any action?”

Two weeks ago. From his hand and filthy imagination.

“A few months,” he grumbles, remembering his last hook up that happened a few days before he discovered you got dumped.

“Get outta here.” Jimin rolls his eyes as he points to the door. “Literally, go stand at the corner outside, show some thighs or a tattooed titty and take your pick of the swarm of girls that will surely follow you.”

Jungkook thinks he’s joking, but when his friend doesn’t drop his hand and narrows his eyes threateningly he knows he’s being serious. “My tits aren’t even tattooed,”—his large palms press against his shirt covered chest as if to prove a point— “And you sound like a douchebag talking like this.”

“What? She went on a tinder date and definitely got laid, so you need to even out the playing field. Also, it might help you chill the hell out.”

“Oh my god, you’re not helping.” Jungkook really didn’t need that visual again, it had flashed in his mind too often the night of his pity party and now it was once again at the front of his brain.

“Alright, okay. I’m throwing out my safe word right now.” Jimin leans closer, arms resting on the table with a confused look on his face. “What do you need from me here? Like, do I play the role of a supportive friend who wants you to get over her, or do I play the role of a friend who wants you to confess? Because you’re giving me some mixed signals Jeon.”

A groan escapes Jungkook, fingers rubbing at his eyes before dragging down his face as he sinks even further into his seat. “I don’t know.”

It’s the truth. Jungkook had no idea what he wanted his friend to do to help him. He knew that although his feelings for you have weighed heavy on his chest for what seems like years, you technically had no idea, so he feels a little guilty over his frustration for the whole situation. You were newly single again and determined to go through this self proclaimed wild phase so Jungkook isn’t dumb enough to think you can’t go out and do whatever you want, even if that means being with someone who isn’t him.

“Look,” Jimin sighs, pulling him out of his thoughts. “You only have two choices here, tell her how you feel and accept whatever comes with it, or make peace with the idea of just being friends. Either way, I think you need to loosen up and have fun tonight.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Jungkook sits himself up, wrapping his fingers around the cup in an effort to at least look like he wanted to be here. He couldn’t sit here and mope about a problem like this when he hadn’t attempted to come out and tell you how he feels.

One night of loosening up to get you off his mind wouldn’t hurt, if anything it might help him come to his senses. At least that’s what Jimin was currently whispering with a mischievous smile on his lips. “It’ll be fine, I’ll make sure you don’t black out and get home safe. Who knows, you might get plastered enough to drunk text your confession.”

Jungkook glares at his friend, not liking the goofy look on his face as he starts to laugh. “I swear to god, you better not let me get to that point. Take my phone away from me.”

Jimin obviously wants to see the world burn, or at least he enjoys it when Jungkook somehow digs himself into his own grave. That's exactly why he responds with a million laughing emojis when Jungkook texts him asking why the hell he hadn’t taken his phone last night.

He did a good job hiding his shock when a knock came from his front door, half expecting it to be you, keeping a smile on his face as he allowed the person who was very clearly not you in before swiftly entering his bathroom. Jungkook wants to stay locked here forever, holed up while he sits on his toilet and not in the living room with company. It wasn’t like it was bad company either, his drunken ass going through his contact list and sending an invitation to hangout the following day to the last person he spoke to, Aillie.

The girl is sweet, someone he had a casual fling with for months, someone who was used to his random texts so she doesn’t think twice before agreeing. The only silver lining to this was that he hadn’t sent you a typo-filled drunken confession, which is what Jimin responds with before telling him to suck it up and leave his bathroom.

Jungkook accepts his fate, as well as accepting that he is partially responsible for this. He shoves his device back into his pockets before standing up and flushing the toilet for show, washing his hands just to stall. One good glance at his reflection makes him cringe, stained shirt and sweats combo leaves him looking like the unprepared mess he is. Another detour through his room to change was a must before he has no choice but to step back out.

“You’re totally hung over aren’t you?” Aillie jokes from her spot on the couch, comfortable enough in his apartment from the time spent here. She locks her phone as she stands up, taking her time to really look Jungkook over. He was not dressed like someone who was expecting a guest, and despite having seen Jungkook at his sloppiest, his previous attire of oversized shirt and slightly stained sweatpants didn’t look like someone who was expecting a fuck buddy to pop over. Even with his new outfit looking more put together, it was obvious Jungkook was caught off guard by her showing up.

“What?” Jungkook dumbly asks, trying to come up with some lame excuse to justify his earlier appearance but he falls short. His fingers gently rake through his hair, a grimace falling on his face as he looks back up at her. “Actually, a little. Sorry, I got drunk last night when I text you so sober me was not really prepared.”

“Yeah I figured, you sent me some blurry selfies right after. But we can just hang, we don’t have to do anything,” she trails off, a soft smile on her lips. The only time they ever hung out was to hook up, having ten minute conversations before and after the fact. “Or I can leave too if it's weird that I’m here.”

Jungkook is shaking his head before she can even finish, already feeling bad enough after texting her to come over. How shitty would he be if he immediately kicked her out. This was fine, a nice distraction from it all, decent middle ground that would help him get his mind off you without having to take Jimin’s douchebag advice.

“No, we can watch a movie or something. It’s not like I have other plans.” Had this been two weeks ago it would be a totally different story. Jungkook would typically be waiting in his apartment as he stared at the slowly ticking clock, just waiting for it to strike 7:30 because that's when you usually got home. Then he’d either get a text from you to come over with snacks or you’d show up at his door and invite yourself over for the weekly game night.

It didn’t happen last week, or the week prior, so Jungkook is very confident that it would not be happening today either. It’s that same sense of confidence—and saltiness—that allows him to get comfortable with Aillie, blissfully unaware that you had just pulled into the parking garage a few stories below.

“I swear to god if you don’t go straight to his door the minute you get off the elevator I will never let you live it down.” Seulgi’s voice fills your car through the speakers, fading out as you shut the car off and bring your phone to your ear to continue the conversation.

“Dude, I just got off work. I need to make myself look decent.” Plastic bags rustle together as you grab the snacks you had picked up on your way home, all full of yours and Jungkook's favorite treats. It was definitely a guilt fueled purchase, hoping the items were enough to distract him from the fact that you were kind of a bitch for ghosting him recently, or at least butter him up into accepting your apology easier.

“You think Jungkook cares if you’re a little sweaty from work? He’s a grown man, that’s not gonna stop him from going do—“

“Okay, goodbye!” You hastily cut her off as you press the elevator button, hearing her rambling off about being interrupted. “I’m about to get on the elevator, I’ll tell you how it goes.”

With a small sigh you hang up and stuff the device into your purse, stepping onto the lift as the doors open up and pressing the number for your floor. Your hands are clammy as you grip the plastic bag, uncharacteristically nervous about seeing Jungkook again after so long.

The main obstacle for you to get over was apologizing for being a crappy friend, and if that went well you were going to suck it up and just come out and confess, the odds of him saying no were slim. And even if he did, you’re perfectly content with staying friends, as long as you could keep him close.

It’s that same optimistic mentality that allows you to calm down as you enter your place and decide to give yourself a minute to mentally prepare. His favorite ice cream gets put into the freezer for later before you decide to shower and give yourself a pep talk the entire time.

This pep talk of yours is filled with best case scenarios: Jungkook accepting the confession with open arms, finally being able to kiss him properly, everything falling into place the way it should have a long time ago. And as you head over, totally sober, freshly washed, looking and smelling your best, you really can’t picture this going any other way.

With a deep breath you’re knocking on his front door, quickly pulling back your hand and wiping it onto your pants as you step back. Jungkook hears the knock clearly from his spot on the couch, his gaze tearing away from the television to stare at his front door with a small frown. He hadn’t ordered any food and Aillie had just excused herself to use his bathroom so his brain is having a hard time wondering who it could be.

He curses under his breath, not putting it past himself to have texted a second person last night with an invitation to hang out. Why was Jungkook a friendly drunk?

As he presses his eye against the peephole and spots you standing there, he thinks he’s imagining things. It had seemed like so long since he had last seen you in person, and the warped fish-eyed version of you has him stepping back and rubbing his eyes before taking another glance. He suddenly feels like throwing up, and he can’t blame his earlier hangover on it.

For a brief second he contemplates pretending he hadn’t heard you, but the guilt of doing so makes his heart twist, so he musters up the courage to open the door. It’s barely a crack really, just enough for you to see him while still concealing his apartment, something you definitely found strange because you’re usually flinging the door open and strutting right in, but you suppose his reaction is warranted considering your previous behavior.

“Y/N, hey. Are you alright?”

“Huh? Yeah, I’m fine!” Your fingers tangle together in front of you, not entirely sure what to do with your nerves and Jungkook spots it easily. His own nerves sky rocket when he hears the sound of running water coming from his bathroom a few feet away, knowing Aillie would most likely pop out any second now, and he’s not sure why it feels like a dirty secret that he has another girl over.

“Did you need something?”

“Yeah, I was actually wanting to talk to you about something kind of important.” Your smile is hopeful, despite the nerves swirling in your eyes. The nervous skip of your heart is felt in your throat, not remembering the last time you had felt this way about telling someone how you felt about them romantically.

“Right now?” he wonders, fingers gripping the door handle tighter when he hears his bathroom door unlock, the sound of footsteps rounding the corner before stepping into the living room, a few feet away from the door and in perfect view of the wedge Jungkook had opened.

When your eyes flicker over his shoulder, spotting the auburn haired girl giving you a curious glance, you feel all your confidence slip away. Seulgi had definitely been right about needing to confess soon, Jungkook was a catch and just because you hadn’t realized it sooner didn’t mean the rest of the world was blind to it.

“Yeah, right now...but you’re busy, so it’s fine!” You want to scramble away from there, feeling dumb the longer you stand there. Jungkook wants to say he’s not busy, kick the girl out of his place and invite you in but that wouldn’t be fair to her, for all he knew your important conversation would be a repeat of the conversation you had over Hajoon, and he really didn't want to get friendship dumped while this girl was in his apartment. He’s pretty sure his Yelp rating would drop a bit if he cried on the couch about you to his old hook up.

He starts to speak but you cut him off before he can, “Don’t worry about it! I’ll see you later.” You force a smile before walking away, not allowing him to get a word in as you quickly step into your apartment and move to the furthest room away from your bedroom.

You can feel the cold of your kitchen floor as you sit on your butt, back against your cabinets, the small twinge of defeat spreading within you. “This is fine. Maybe she’s just a friend. I can always tell him tomorrow,” you whisper out. But your fingers seem to think otherwise as they type out a message to Seulgi, informing her that the mission was unsuccessful and you’d be putting on The Notebook like you always did. It was basically protocol to do so when things went south in your life.

She doesn’t even know how to console you, knowing she can’t tell you it was his loss or that he wasn’t worth it because she knows that’d be a lie and you wouldn’t believe it for a second. The only thing she can offer is coming over, but you’re quick to turn her down, deciding that being alone in the comfort of your bed as you inhaled the ice cream you bought for Jungkook would be best.

Is being in your room the wisest choice when you know you share a wall with Jungkook—and he has a cute girl over? No. Probably not. But you figure if you hear anything explicit it’s just your dose of karma, so you accept it, turning up the volume of the movie a few levels just to soften the blow.

However, Jungkook would definitely not be hooking up with her in his bedroom, or anywhere in his apartment for that matter. Luckily Aillie is blessed with the gift of reading the damn room and can easily spot the shift in Jungkook’s mood the second he shuts the door. She’s sitting on the edge of the couch now, hands gently placed on her knees as she gives him a sympathetic smile.

“I get the vibe that somethings off.”

He looks up at her then, slowing his pace until he’s awkwardly standing in the middle of the room with his hands shoved deep into his pockets. “My friend—my neighbor just wanted to talk about something. But everything’s fine.”

The lie tastes bitter on his tongue, and Aillie doesn’t believe him in the slightest. A small sigh fills the air as she stands up, collecting her bag and approaching him. “Look, I know deep talks really aren’t our thing so I’m not going to even try to dive into this, but you should go talk to your friend.”

A comforting hand is placed on his shoulder before she makes her way to the door to leave, Jungkook already following closely behind her. “No, you don’t have to go. You came all this way because I texted you with way too much tequila in my system.”

“Jungkook,” she laughs, opening the door with a smile. “You’re way too sweet for your own good. It was nice seeing you though.” Her eyes slowly move over to your front door before looking back at him, head cocking to the side in a very clear indication that he better go over. He can only nod in understanding, waving her goodbye and shutting the door once she heads down to the elevator.

The action sounds of the movie they were watching continues to fill his apartment, whatever chaos was going on only making his brain whirl so he’s quick to grab the remote and shut it off entirely. Now he’s just stuck in complete silence, wondering if he should quickly make his way over to yours or play it calm and collected.

The total silence allows him to hear the muffled mumbling of a movie he knew all too well. It draws him in, lures him into his bedroom until he’s kneeling on the mattress with his ear pressed against the wall to properly make it out. You were watching the Notebook, at a concerning volume, which could mean a number of things. Jungkook knew none of them were good, usually rooted in issues you had with your ex, or a tough day at work, or any particular day where you just felt like crying.

With a deep breath, he’s slowly knocking along his wall, almost experimentally, hoping it's enough to grab your attention through the current scene playing. For a second he thinks maybe you’ve fallen asleep while watching the film, but then the room falls silent as you pause it entirely.

Your hearts racing now, ears straining to hear anything else and hoping this wasn’t how the beginning of the explicit noises would start, but then another knock comes from behind you. It makes you gasp, like you’ve just been caught being the nosey neighbor you are, hearing the soft scrape of his hand sliding down the wall. The ice cream gets put onto your nightstand as you sit up properly, forcing yourself out of the mountain of pillows you were practically suffocating in and turning around to knock back.

Jungkook’s palm presses back onto the wall, smiling at your response before fishing his phone out of his pocket. His fingers find your thread of messages, further down the list than he was used to, and as he opens them up and sees the string of unanswered texts dating back to two weeks ago, it stings just like it did before. He pushes his pride aside though, knowing you had wanted to talk today in person, so he proceeds to quadruple text you.

Jungkook 8:44pm : are you seriously watching the notebook again?

You’re unlocking your phone the second it buzzes, smiling at the dimly lit screen before typing out a response.

Y/N 8:45pm : shut up, it’s my comfort movie

Y/N 8:45pm : do you wanna watch it with me? for old times sake

The device is locked and placed face down onto your sheets the second you hit send, sinking into the pillows once again as you try not to scream at yourself because you know he’ll hear you. Why would you invite him over when he clearly has company? You had seen her with your own eyes, had seen how cute she is, had seen how cute Jungkook is, it doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together.

Jungkook is quick though, texting back in agreement and heading over instantly. If you were watching your comfort movie then Jungkook wanted to make sure you were okay. Putting the past two weeks behind him, knowing you’d most likely have a good enough explanation—an explanation he would definitely be needing before the night was over—he’s knocking on your door before you can even check your messages.

It takes you a minute to untangle your limbs from your covers as you hastily try to get to your door, sock clad feet sliding along your wooden floors when you finally yank the door open. Jungkook wears a soft smile as he stares down at you, taking note that you had switched your outfit to your usual sad movie binge attire of baggy shirt and lounge shorts. His eyes zero in on your lips when he notices there's something lingering at the corner of them.

“So, are you gonna share whatever the hell that is?” His finger points at it smugly, laughing when your tongue peeks out to wipe it away.

“It was actually meant to be for you.” Stepping aside, you let him enter your place. Jungkook almost feels a little strange being here after the weird few weeks, but he pushes it aside, just wanting things to feel normal.

“Does that mean there’s no more left?” His eyes playfully narrow at you as you step closer, moving on to stare at the kitchen table, and the coffee table in search of the tub of ice cream that supposedly had his name on it. The earlier nerves you felt slowly fade away when you realize he’s not visibly upset about what happened, but it only makes your guilt deepen that despite your ability to be a crummy friend, Jungkook would still try his best to come through for you.

“There’s about half of it left, it’s probably a little soft now though.” You side step him to enter the kitchen, grabbing an extra spoon and handing it over as a peace treaty, smiling when he gratefully accepts it. “C’mon, I paused the movie.”

Jungkook is not a stranger to your bedroom, especially when sappy movies were playing, finding his spot easily on the right side where he typically handed you tissues whenever you cried. The tissues were missing this time, in place of them being the bag of snacks you had bought, his ice cream on the other nightstand.

“What part are you on?” he asks, settling onto the bed after fluffing up the pillows, waving his hands so you could pass the tub of ice cream his way.

“It just started raining on the boat.” Jungkook hums, scooping out some of the chocolate ice cream and into his mouth. He knew this scene very well, and when you press play, he mentally repeats all of the lines. Just as Noah declares he wrote her 365 letters, you awkwardly clear your throat, your own spoon slowly sneaking over to his side to steal some ice cream for yourself.

“I’m sorry if I made things awkward with your date.” Your voice sounds timid, something he’s not used to hearing from you at all, so he chuckles, laughing harder when you swat at his arm. “I’m serious, I should have texted you before just showing up.”

“Really? When have you ever done that before?” The two of you never notified the other when they wanted to show up, Jungkook had even given you the code to his place once when he was at work and you were desperate for some fruity pebbles—you used that code to your advantage and Jungkook never hated it. But all things considered, it's fair why you think you would have to give him a heads up.

“You didn’t make it awkward though.” It’s not the complete truth, you coming over is what had made Aillie decide to leave, but Jungkook had to take most of the credit for it. “I kinda made it awkward from the beginning.”

“Why, what happened?”

“I went out last night with Jimin“ —you immediately hum in understanding, knowing very well how convincing Jimin could be with alcohol— “and apparently I texted her to hang out today, had no recollection, so when she showed up I was definitely not ready.”

“Damn, this is how I know you’re a better person than I am. If that happened to me, the second I checked my peephole and saw someone I didn’t remember inviting over, I’m gonna pretend I’m not home.”

“Yeah well, she lives like an hour away so I’d feel like an ass if I did that. Don’t think I’ll be talking to her again any time soon though.” He sighs in thought, gently tapping his spoon on the surface of the softening ice cream. There was one thing weighing heavy on his mind, needing to know what important thing you had to talk to him about, wondering if you were actually going to friendship dump him earlier and he had just made it worse by coming over and hanging out like old times.

He doesn’t want to come right out and ask it though, not wanting to set himself up for an awkward conversation in case that wasn’t what you wanted to talk about, so he settles for something safe enough that would allow him to get a glimpse.

“So how are things with Hoseok?” Yeah, that’s a good start.

“Huh?” Your spoon freezes in its spot, face clearly looking confused in the dim glow of the television, the movie long forgotten now that you were speaking.

“Tinder guy? Yellow sunglasses guy that gave you mono?”

It suddenly clicks again, having forgotten all about Jung Hoseok the second you had gotten home from the failed date and came to terms with your feelings. Your lie of having a cold must have been believable enough for Jungkook to genuinely think he had given you something like mono.

“He didn’t give me mono!” Jungkook rolls his eyes with a playful smile, humming along like he totally believes you. “But I didn’t tell you?”

He frowns as he stares at you, not entirely sure how to take your tone. “Tell me what? That you’re engaged and the wedding is in June?”

“No way,” you laugh, swatting his spoon away with a clank as you grab some ice cream before shoving it in your mouth, fighting against the brain freeze to continue speaking. “Our date was a bust.”

“How? Was it that bad?” He desperately wanted to know, having convinced himself the date had gone spectacularly well and you were now an exclusive item. The small twinge of guilt is felt when he realizes he’s a little too happy that the date had been a failure, but he allows himself to have this small, tiny victory.

“Mm, it was so good it was bad.” He looks utterly confused, and you don’t blame him, so you elaborate. “He was this perfect gentleman who just wanted to play games, like to the point where he had a notebook where he was tallying our points, and then he walked me to my car and kissed my cheek goodbye.”

“Oh the horror!” Jungkook gasps, setting his spoon down to clutch his heart in dramatics. “How dare he try to romance you with a game night.”

“Jungkook, shut up!” you laugh, finally feeling like everything was right again, sitting in bed with your closest friend as you teased each other. “Look, I’ll give him some credit. The date was nice, he was not the sleazy douchebag his profile made him out to be, and I’m sure he’ll find the perfect girl for him on Tinder. But he clearly wanted something serious and—“

“And you don’t want that right now. It’s fair.” Of course you would turn him down, you had just decided to embark on this new adventure in the single world. It was kind of dumb for Jungkook to assume one date with Tinder Boy would be enough for you to give up your short lived dream.

You take a steady breath at his words before taking another scoop of ice cream, lips wrapped around the spoon as you slowly pull it out of your mouth. The nerves are trickling back in, making your heart skip and your eyes bounce around. If you don’t come out and say it now, you know you never will.

Your spoon joins his in the tub of ice cream before you decide to move it back to the nightstand, forcing yourself to look back at him, seeing him turned away as he rummages through the plastic bag full of snacks. “I don’t want that with him.”

Jungkook freezes, the rustling of plastic ceases as his hands come back to his sides and he turns back around. With him. He was the king of jumping to worse case scenarios so his brain has no issues coming to this very horrible conclusion.

“Have you been talking to Hajoon again?”

“No, Jungkook I haven’t.”

“Are you sure? I’m saying this now, but if you get back with him I will not hesitate to pop him in the face if I run into him in the halls. It’s fair game out there, neutral territory for him to get his ass beat—“

“It’s you.”

His brain short circuits at that, mini versions of himself currently running around and screaming in his head as he tries to make sense of this. The first instinct he has is to crack a joke, to say that he hadn’t been talking to Hajoon again, and laugh it off. But you look a little too vulnerable right now, eyes nervously looking at him and then looking away at his lingering silence.

“Wait, what?” It’s the only thing he can sputter out, caught off guard by your words, not wanting to say anything else in case the world was cruel enough for him to have completely misheard you.

“I don’t want that with Tinder Boy or Hajoon, I want it with you.” It gets a little easier saying it a second time, but his reaction is hard to gauge. You had been expecting him to reciprocate the confession instantly, but the longer he looked shocked only made you think that you and Seulgi had been seriously wrong about his supposed crush.

Jungkook is having a difficult time trying to go from you ghosting him to you suddenly admitting to liking him, the change in emotions not allowing him to say anything he had practiced in the mirror for so long. He can’t come out and give you a speech about how he thinks you’re the one, how you’re obviously a good match together, brain too focused on other details. “How long have you known this?”

“For the past two weeks, but deep down I know it’s been longer.”

His wide eyes glance over at you now, everything slowly clicking into place. “Is this why you’ve been avoiding me?”

“Yes,” you mumble, embarrassed over the way you had acted. The last time you had avoided someone was in elementary school, having a best friend go ask your crush if he likes you while you hid in the bathroom, scared of the answer. “I like you Jungkook and I knew I wouldn’t be able to play it cool. I was scared to say something and have you not feel the same and then have our friendship be weird.”

Jungkook smiles in that adorable way you love, nose scrunching up cutely as he leans closer, large palms coming to cup your cheeks. He has wanted to hear this for so long, and sure, maybe it wasn’t some super romantic confession over a candlelit dinner like he had occasionally dreamed of, but this felt right.

“You’re so stupid,” he whispers out, thumb softly caressing your cheek as he chuckles, feeling the way your lips turn into a frown at his harmless insult.

“Jungkook, I’m being serious,” you whine, heart still pounding in your chest. Your hands come up to gently wrap around his wrists, allowing him to continue to squish your cheeks with that endearing look on his face.

“I’m being serious too Y/N. Did you really think I wouldn’t feel the same?” Jungkook did everything he did with you out of pure friendliness, never expecting to get something in return from it, but there was a small sprinkling of a crush in every one of his actions. “I like you too, and I have for a really long time.”

The relief you feel comes instantly, lips slowly pulling into a smile when you finally have the confidence to look directly into his eyes again. If this is how light you feel after the two weeks spent freaking out, you can only imagine how Jungkook feels. “Really?”

“Yes, really. Now, can I please kiss you?” You’re nodding the second the question leaves his mouth, eyes fluttering shut as his hands glide down to cup your jaw, soft lips slowly pressing against yours. It’s a gentle smack of skin as he pulls back, a smirk on his lips when he opens his eyes, softly rubbing his nose against yours.

“Wait,” he breathes out, chuckling softly. “Is he still looking?” He has the nerve to repeat the same question that had been the root of your guilt, and when your eyes shoot open and glare at him, he can’t stop the laughter that bubbles out.

“I hate you,” you mutter out, not an ounce of truth behind it.

“Mm, no you don’t.”

His lips find yours again, falling into a steady rhythm, softer and less rushed than the first kiss you had shared at the club. There’s no pounding bass in the background, or the taste of liquor on your lips, but Jungkook prefers it this way. He likes the low hum of the movie continuing to play in the background, the sweetness of the ice cream lingering on your lips when his tongue gently swipes at the seam of them, the way your hands slowly slide around his neck as he deepens each kiss.

With each shared breath, you slide further down your bed, pulling Jungkook down with you until he’s hovering directly above you. His knees dig into the sheets, one hand pressed beside your head to keep himself stable as you urge him even closer to you. The delicate golden chain he wears kisses your skin, pendant settling onto your chest, the cool sensation is almost enough to distract you as his tongue slowly slips into your mouth. Jungkook groans when you let out a small gasp, your fingers slipping into his hair and tugging gently at the strands by the nape of his neck.

He wants to remember this kiss instead of the one from the club, embed every gasp you let out into his brain, the way your chest pushes up to feel more of him, how your hands slide down his back, leaving a fiery trail in their path that makes Jungkook shiver. And when you slide your thighs further apart for him, innocently at first, he can’t help it when his lips freeze on yours as you slowly roll your hips upwards. It gives him the same automatic reaction he had gotten at the club, all the blood rushing to his cock instantly, except this time he doesn’t feel the shame he had felt before. There was no ulterior motive to what you were doing, sincerity shown in your confession, shared within each kiss, so Jungkook allows himself to bask in the want he feels for you.

“Y/N,” he groans out when you repeat the action, pulling away from your swollen lips to stare at you through hooded eyes. You’re licking your lips over as your eyes slowly open, a small glimmer evident in them as you tilt your head and pretend to not know what you’re doing.

“What?” you question, leaning up to kiss the edge of his mouth, giggling when he attempts to chase your lips as you pull back, choosing to kiss down his jaw instead. As your tongue gently trails along the side of his neck, you feel the harsh gulp he takes, his fingers bunching up in the sheets beside your head. His neck has always been a weak point for him, turning him into a puddle in seconds, you knew this from the unfiltered conversations you’ve had and it was something you were definitely going to be using to your advantage.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” he grunts, eyes fluttering shut as you nip at his skin, a visible shiver racking through him.

“Of course I am,” you hum, letting your hands roam his back, sliding around his front until you’re sneaking past the white fabric of his shirt. When your cool hands meet his skin, he tenses, the muscles on his stomach tightening up as your fingertips trail up his body. You’ve known Jungkook was well defined, lean and toned in all the best places, having seen him shirtless a few times. But being able to touch him like this, feel each stuttered breath and jump of his skin reacting to your touch fueled you.

Jungkook knows you can feel the racing of his heart now, your palms flat on his chest, each thrum revealing his emotions despite the cool and calm exterior he was trying to have. His hips lower towards yours, resisting the urge to rut into you as you start to suck on his skin. The low hum you let out vibrates against his neck, mixed in with the feeling of your wet lips, and he knows he’s done for. The final blow comes in the form of you swiping your tongue at the blossomed hickey, sweet voice pulling him back to earth as you look at him once more. “I want you Jungkook.”

Oh god, he couldn’t do this. His face pulls into a grimace, begging himself to not instantly cum in his pants at what you just said. How many times has he fantasized about this? Hoped you’d beg him for anything in that same exact voice, dreamed of you kissing and sucking on his skin like you currently were. Jungkook isn’t sure any amount of mental preparation would be enough for this.

“Say that again please.”

You giggle, finger pushing back a strand of his hair as it falls over his face, tucking it behind his ear. The normal doe eyed look you were accustomed to is nowhere to be found, pupils blown out in lust as he stares at you. Being on the receiving end of this stare fills your stomach with butterflies, the flapping of their wings intensifying as he nudges his nose into yours.

“I want you.” It’s breathless, spoken so softly through the background noise like a personal secret just for him. Jungkook doesn’t think he’ll ever grow tired of hearing you say it, that much is proven true when you repeat it in between kisses, trailing back up his neck in the same path you had taken until you're speaking the words directly against his lips. He swallows them down greedily, groaning into your mouth when his tongue tangles with yours once more.

“Fuck, you can have me baby.” He chuckles against your mouth when you start to tug at his shirt, yanking the thin material until he has to pull back and slip the tee off himself. The balled fabric gets tossed aside without a care, dark swirls of ink on his arm fully revealed now, each tattoo reminding you of how long you’ve known him, remembering the two pieces that he had when you first met. When he leans back over you, taking his time trailing kisses down your neck, onto your chest until his own hands are slowly tugging your shirt off of you, you decide there’s other things to focus on besides his glorious tattoos.

“Ah, Jungkook,” you sigh, fingers tangling into his hair when he kisses the swells of your breast, warm tongue sliding over your nipple before his lips are wrapping around it. His large palm gropes the other, thumb flicking over the pebbled bud, smirking when you push your chest further out for him.

“What baby?” He pulls back to blow a gust of cool air on your nipple, the wetness of his saliva making your skin break out into goosebumps.

“No teasing.”

Jungkook’s laughing now, eyes peering up at you through his lashes. “Oh, you think I’m not gonna tease you after what you did?” He tsks in disapproval as he continues to kiss down your torso, letting his hands trail down your sides, not stopping until he reaches the hem of your shorts. A kiss is placed above your navel as he pulls the shorts down your legs, toying with the waistband of your black underwear. “I’m gonna take my time with you.”

The build up before pleasure will always be your favorite part. The way his hands grip your thighs after tugging your underwear off, fingertips trailing up until his palm is pressing them further apart. It’s impossible to look at him now, the visual of his long hair framing his face as he starts to press wet kisses on your skin is too much to handle. You can feel the warm huff of air when he laughs as your head drops back onto the pillow once more, eyes slipping shut while you wait with anticipation.

Jungkook wants to comment over how wet you are already, boost his own ego about being able to rile you up with just kissing, but he can see the way you’re already on edge, and he decides he can tease you some more later with what he has in store. Instead, he gives you what you’re mentally pleading him for. Finally pressing his soft lips to your folds, the short gasp you release as his tongue glides up before gently flicking across your clit has him shutting his own eyes, reveling in the way you react to his touch.

His long fingers spread out your folds before he’s messily spitting onto them, watching the way the glob of saliva trickles down before he’s diving in, falling into the perfect pace with ease. It has your hips rutting up instantly, your hand uncurling its grip from your sheets to travel down your body and find its place tangled in his hair. Jungkook groans against your clit when your fingers grip tightly, yanking the dark strands as the prettiest moan flows out of you.

“J-just like that, fuck,” you whimper, finally lifting your head up to stare down at him when he latches his lips around your clit and sucks. It sends a spark down your spine, stomach tensing at his rhythm, fully intent to have you fall apart.

Jungkook wants to push you over the edge, knows he’s talented enough to get you there in record time—he was cocky in the best way—and the way your thighs tremble as he slowly sinks his finger into you proves his point. The slick coating your entrance allows a second finger to slip through with little resistance, a shuddering breath filling the air as he begins to spread his fingers apart, stretching you out in the most delicious way.

It’s not until his fingers curl up, rubbing along the sweet patch inside of you and you moan out his name, that he realizes he has you right where he wants you. He can’t get himself to look up at you, to see the way your jaw drops as you plead for more. Jungkook knows if his eyes lock with yours too soon he’ll be too weak to be as cruel as he wants to be.

The pleasure blooms inside you, hips rolling up into his in a way he welcomes, smirk spreading onto his lips when your moans get breathier. He eats you out with determination set in his brows, not satisfied until you’re tightening around his fingers, thighs threatening to close in on either side of his head. The messy way he slurps against you sends you reeling, rutting up into him with need, the wet thump of his fingers blending in with your moans of his name.

“God, Jungkook, I’m gonna cum.” He believes you, eyes finally opening up to stare at you. The visual is enough to make his cock throb in his pants, your glassy eyed stare locked onto his, chest rising and falling in time with each choked breath. When he playfully winks at you, your walls pulse around him, seconds away from being pushed over the edge, and that’s when he pulls away.

The warm glow of your orgasm approaching, just about to crest, gets ripped away from you instantly. It makes you gasp, thighs twitching as your hips attempt to push up back towards his mouth, but he’s having none of that. His shiny lips smile up at you innocently, head tilted to slowly kiss your trembling thighs, chuckling at the small cry of frustration you let out.

“You taste good baby,” he hums, smooching the skin at the juncture of your thighs, circling around your clit without relieving the pressure you felt. The dull ache has your fingers releasing his hair in defeat, a frown etched onto your lips.

“Jungkook, that’s mean,” you pant, sitting up and resting on your elbows to properly stare at him.

“A little, but you deserved it don’t you think?” Jungkook didn’t want to tease you too much, he just wanted to get even for the past two weeks. “You could have had me between your thighs every single night if you would’ve said something soon, so I think you can be patient.”

A firm kiss is pressed to your swollen clit and it makes your whole body shudder, your head dropping back as you take a deep breath to control yourself. “I can’t be patient Kook,” you whine, head leveling back out to give him the most convincing stare you can muster. There's that crease between your brows that he likes when you pinch them together, hands gently raking through his hair, teeth pillowing out your lower lip as you bite down onto it.

“Please, you can torture me later if you want but not now.” Your words have him cocking up his brow, hands once again gripping the meat of your thighs before he crawls back up your body. The feeling of his chain dragging up your skin has you shivering, breath catching in your throat when he hovers inches above you once more.

“I’ll hold you to that,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth before his hand slips between your thighs again. A groan reaches his ears as his fingers circle your clit, covered in your arousal and his saliva, gliding with ease as he works you back to your ruined orgasm.

His lips find yours, swallowing down the moan you let out when he quickens his pace. You can taste yourself on his tongue, tangling with yours with more urgency than before, messy and desperate in a way that had more arousal gushing out of you. The earlier pleasure reignites inside you, your hands sliding around his neck to keep him close, kissing him with fervor, quiet moans and whimpers slipping past between each smack of your lips.

“Jungkook,” you barely manage to squeal, a few more flicks needed to finally push you over the edge. Your lips are slick with spit as you pull back, jaw slack as you lose yourself in the feeling, and Jungkook easily bookmarks this into his brain to go back to and daydream of whenever he’s bored at work. Your eyes are squeezed shut as the feeling flows through you, not able to see how Jungkook stares at you in awe.

“Holy shit,” he whispers, slowly pulling his hand away when you keen at the sensitivity, thighs twitching on the sheets as the pleasure rolls through you in waves. You’re looking up just in time to see him slip his messy fingers into his mouth, tongue licking them clean and savoring the taste of you. Just as he slides them back out, your fingers wrap around his wrist and lead them directly into your mouth, sinking onto them with your eyes locked on his own.

Jungkook’s cock jumps in its confines when you suck, tip of your tongue circling his fingertips before popping them back out with a smirk. There’s a brief moment of shock on his features before he’s jumping into action, quickly unbuttoning his jeans in haste that left you giggling on your sheets.

“What happened to patience?” you tease, laughing harder when he pauses with one foot stuck in the hole of his jeans, a playful glare thrown your way.

“Oh, now you want patience?” He kicks his pants the rest of the way off, slowly shuffling towards you as he stands beside the bed in just his boxers. Your hands make grabby motions for him, reaching for the waistband of his underwear to tug them down, licking your lips over as his cock springs out. It bobs in the air for a second, thick and heavy, precum collecting at the tip with the prettiest veins on the underside of it. Of course Jungkook and his pretty privilege would have a dick worthy of leaving you speechless.

Jungkook allows you to ogle at him, confidently wrapping his palm around the base of his cock, hissing slightly at the sensation as he looks down at it, allowing spit to accumulate behind his lips before a string of it escapes and lands right onto his length to help the glide of his palm. Your eyes widen at the sight, hand replacing his as he guides your motions, giving an experimental squeeze and enjoying how his abs tense up.

“I’ve been patient for a long time Y/N. You said you want me right?” You’re nodding instantly, eyes looking away from his shiny length to stare up at him. “How do you want me?”

“Jungkook, just get over here.” He doesn’t resist when you let go of his cock, hands gripping his arm to yank him back onto the bed in a clumsy heap. His legs are a tangled mess, nearly ramming his forehead with yours from the force, shared laughter filling the air as you situate yourself. Jungkook had pictured this a thousand times and this is exactly how he imagined it, full of soft kisses, hushed laughter and goofy smiles, playfulness mixed in with lust all coming together perfectly to make the two of you.

As he settles between your thighs, your sodden folds inches from his length, you can see the look on his face as his eyes glance in between both of your nightstands. Already knowing the question that was about to spill out, you beat him to the punch. “You don’t need one, if you don’t want to. I’m on birth control, and haven’t been with anyone since…” you trail off, not needing to specify.

Jungkook tries not to look too excited, really, but it’s hard. Every one of his lewd fantasies had involved being able to feel you entirely, and if your thoughts from that night were anything to go by, you definitely want the same. It takes him a second to speak, having to swallow properly to prevent himself from choking on his saliva and embarrassing himself in front of you. “I’m clean, I promise.”

“I trust you,” you smile, biting down onto your bottom lip as he fists his cock, slowly leading it to your dripping center. His free hand rests on your inner thigh, softly palming the skin as the head of his cock nudges against your entrance, pushing past the tight ring of muscles and into your heat. With his gaze locked down to where you connect, he sees inch by inch sink into you, finally bottoming out with a shared gasp.

Jungkook leans over you properly now, hand sliding up to lace with yours as the other rests beside your head, just taking a moment to enjoy the feeling of your velvety walls wrapped tightly around his cock. You welcome the stretch, the curve of his length inside you, how he cages you in with his body, eyes full of want staring directly at you, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze because he knows he can’t properly form a sentence right now.

“Fuck me, please.” With his hips pressed flush against yours, he’s slowly inching back, letting you get used to his size with each thrust. It doesn’t take long before he’s rearing back entirely, thrusting forward with a wet squelch, corner of his lips curling up into a smirk when you moan out his name. Your hand curls around his shoulder, fingers digging into his back to keep yourself steady from the force of his hips.

Each time the head of his cock would nudge against your bundle of nerves, your nails would sink into his skin, leaving half moon indents that left him groaning in pleasure. Jungkook hadn’t outright told you, but it had become increasingly obvious that he has a slight kink for pain, practically mewling above you as you scratch his back, fucking you with more determination than before.

“You feel so good,” he rasps, slotting his lips with yours in a messy kiss. The back of your headboard starts to rattle against the wall, bouncing back in time with his hips, and it brings you back to the filthy thoughts you had before. How often you’d hear the same sounds on the opposite side, mixing in with the sharpness of skin connecting together, and you want it. So badly.

“J-jungkook,” you breathe out, letting him pepper more kisses onto you, hips never slowing down. “Can you do something for me?” The tone you use, coated in sugar so sweet he couldn’t say no even if he wanted to.

“Anything.”

It’s hard to concentrate on anything else while his cock continues to fuck into you, turning your mind into mush each time he sunk all the way in. He can see the way you try to focus, eyes falling shut with the cutest pout on your kiss swollen lips, finally grabbing onto the reigns of your mind as you spit it out. “Wanna feel you—fuck—spank me, please.”

Only then do his hips slow down, cock throbbing inside of you, fighting the urge to cum before fulfilling your request. The only confirmation that he was agreeing, wholeheartedly, comes when he pulls out of you, moving too quickly for you to protest at the loss of contact. The room spins for a second as his hands grip onto your hips and flip you over with ease, palms gripping the globes of your ass and softly patting them with a chuckle.

“Of course baby,” he murmurs, hooking his arm underneath your stomach to haul you up onto your knees, allowing you to steady yourself before he’s sliding into you once again. The change in position has you keening, his cock sinking deeper than before, the wetness dripping out of you helping him maintain the earlier pace he had. Your hands fist the sheets beneath you, back arching in ecstasy as he hits your g-spot with precision, a tiny shriek of his name making him smile.

Jungkook keeps you on edge, strong hands gripping the skin of your hips tightly, mouth dropping open while he pants at the way you pulse around his cock, leaving it coated in your slick. His hand slides down to your ass, a gentle touch being your only warning before he’s pulling his hand back and delivering a swift slap to your skin. Your reaction is immediate, an unrestrained moan sounding like music to his ears. The sharp sting spreads directly to your core, your head bowing forward as you mentally beg him for more, your wish being granted seconds later when he repeats it on the other side.

If the wet sounds of his cock fucking you weren’t filthy enough, the added slap of his palm across your ass definitely topped it off. Jungkook had never seen you so needy, thighs coated in your arousal, gushing around him each time he spanked you until you were creaming his cock. The greedy way your walls suck him in, wanting him closer, deeper than ever, left him mesmerized.

His hand soothes the dull throb on your skin, a trembling breath reaching his ears as he leans over your back, lips kissing up your spine up until reaching your shoulder. Hot pants of breath hit your skin, making you shiver as his lips trail along the edge of your ear. “Feel good?”

“Y-yes,” you mewl, voice trembling from the pleasure, rutting your hips in time with his.

Jungkook’s way of love was a breath of fresh air for you, rough enough to exhilarate you, the force of his hips leaving you scrambling for purchase to prevent you from face planting onto the sheets, gripping onto your hair and tugging it back with enough force to make your body tingle. But it was intertwined with adoration, sweet praise whispered into your ear, lacing his fingers with yours to let you feel secure.

“You’re never getting rid of me baby,” he groans out. The low rasp in his voice makes you tremble, neck straining from his grip in your hair but the burn feels too good to pull away. His small confession has your heart skipping, eyes slipping shut to bask in the overwhelming feeling surrounding you.

“Good,” you manage to pant, “would never dream of it.” After four years of friendship, the beginning stages of getting to know each other, figuring out the right ways to flow with your different personalities, it's all out of the way now, so it’s incredibly easy for you to picture a steady future with him. The breakfast gossiping, shameless club outings, chaotic game nights with snacks thrown at each other, you want everything you already have with him and more. What you have, so rooted in sincerity, built off mutual respect for each other, blossoming into love so pure, you can’t imagine having this with anyone else.

“Y/N,” he gasps, the pulsing of your walls bringing him closer to his climax. “I’m close.”

You can only hum in agreement, burying your face into your pillow when he releases the grip he has in your hair, nipples rubbing against the sheets in time with his thrusts, the sensitivity sending sparks throughout you. Both his hands grip your hips again, dimpling the skin as he quickens his pace, the tantalizing roll of his hips intent to send you over before him. His eyes trail over the curve of your back, how you arch it further to feel more of him, sliding down to your ass, seeing the way it bounces back with each snap of his hips, how you weakly rut back onto him, pussy clamping around his length as your orgasm approached.

Jungkook slides his hand around you, trailing across your tummy before slipping between your thighs to the spot you needed him most. Even with your face buried in the sheets, the moan you let out is loud enough for Jungkook to hear perfectly, body shuddering as he flicks across your clit in tight circles.

“Kook, I’m cumming—fuck,” you shout out, white heat enveloping your body as you get sent over the edge. Your mind blanks for a minute, the intensity of your orgasm crashing over you so suddenly, making your limbs tense up while every nerve ending lights up. The only thing you can think of is him, chanting out your name while you pulse around him, sweet words coaxing you through your high, thumb rubbing along the skin of your hips as he never slows his pace.

As he fucks you through it, groaning out at how tight your walls are around him, you have to turn your head to gasp in a breath, face feeling hot from it all. You can feel how sweaty your skin has become, the back of your neck feeling sticky as your turn to get a glimpse of him, body still shuddering from the aftershocks.

Jungkook doesn’t have a care for his own volume now, moaning unabashedly as he pistons his hips into you with less grace than before. The soft mewls of overstimulation you let out just bring him closer to his release, thrusts getting sloppier as the pleasure takes over him.

“Fuck, baby-” he grunts out, mouth dropping open as he moans even louder, finally falling apart. He pushes further into you, head falling forward as his hips press flushed against your ass, warm spurts of his cum filling you up in a way that fulfills your dirtiest fantasies. A few more shallow thrusts has the two of you gasping, hearts pounding in your chests, coming down slowly as he finally stills.

A serene silence falls over you, the movie long turned off in the background, only the low glow of the television letting you know it was still on. With great hesitation, Jungkook finally pulls out of you, gulping when he sees the thick globs of cum spill from your core, dripping down your thighs before landing on the sheets in a sinful mess. Your sheets are well and truly ruined, Jungkook would honestly suggest tossing them in the trash judging by the damp spot directly beneath you.

With a small groan, you’re flopping fully onto your stomach, thighs no longer able to keep yourself up, the exhaustion creeping up on you. Jungkook chuckles when he hears you, soothing your back with a gentle massage. “You’re not sleeping in here babe.”

“Why not,” you slur, cheek pressed against your pillow, eyes already shut. All you wanted to do was lay here, preferably with his arms wrapped around you, but Jungkook clearly has other plans.

“Because it’s disgusting,” he laughs, giving you a few more seconds of rest before he’s moving around. The dip in the bed lets you know he’s gotten off, one eye peeking open to search for him, seeing him gathering his belongings from the floor.

“Where are you going?”

He shimmies back into his clothes with a grimace, gathering your own items before approaching you once more. “We are going next door and sleeping in my totally clean bed, c’mon.”

You only put up a fight for a second, secretly enjoying the way he helps you get dressed in your earlier clothes, heart swelling in your chest at how domestic it all feels. The mess in your room would have to be dealt with another day, the only important item being the ice cream that finds its way back into the freezer as you both head out of your apartment and swiftly enter his next door.

He’s just as delicate and careful in the shower, taking turns cleaning each other, large hands gripping your ass and giggling like a child when you wince at the small throb of pain you feel. Soft kisses are shared under the showerhead, warm water soothing your body as the room fogs up, sweet confessions scribbled on the glass in his messy writing, topped off with a heart. Jungkook stops you before you can wipe it away, shyly telling you that he’d like to see it reappear the next time he showers.

His bedroom was one you weren’t too familiar with, used to lounging in his living room the most, so as he settles into his bed after getting cozy in his pajamas, you wait for him to call you over before joining him. The coolness of his sheets has you sighing, snuggling into his side with a smile on your lips, one that Jungkook sees as he stares down at you before pressing a kiss to your forehead. Seeing you draped in his clothes, cuddled up beside him in a way you’ve never done before, makes him feel like a giddy teenager.

“Can I be honest?” he wonders, arm wrapping around you to pull you even closer to him. When you hum in confirmation, he laughs sheepishly. “I thought you were going to friendship dump me today.”

“What, why?”

Your head bobs up as he shrugs his shoulders. “The way you were acting reminded me of the last time you told me you wanted to focus on your relationship. I was just scared I was going to lose you again.”

The tone he uses makes your heart ache, the same guilt you felt these past few days coming back when you put yourself in his shoes. You had no idea that the way you were acting would affect him this way, never once imagining that he thought you would cut off this friendship while you were just coming to terms with the fact that you harbored strong feelings for him.

“Jungkook, I’m sorry,” you sigh, palm resting on his chest, feeling each beat of his heart, no longer racing like before, confident and steady in it’s pace because he knows you’re not going anywhere. “I’m stupid, and freaked out after what I did, and just needed to gather my thoughts before saying anything.”

He cranes his head away from you, a confused look on his face. “After what you did? What did you do?”

Fuck.

“Uhm,” you start with a strained laugh, refusing to look up at him out of embarrassment, but the truth has to come out so you power through it. “So, the night of the date, I sort of got home earlier than I told you I did.”

His eyes narrow at you, refusing to give anything away before he knew where this was going. “Okay, go on.”

“And I sort of heard you through the walls.” You look up at him now, your guilty stare spelling it out for him. His eyes widen before he can conceal his surprise, cheeks warming up instantly because oh boy, he knew exactly where this was going. “And then, I sort of...joined.”

“You lied to me!” he shouts, shocked smile on his face as he recalls the way you had replied to his texts, telling him you had just gotten home and going the extra mile to say you were in a totally different room when in reality, you were sprawled out in your bed after just getting off to the sound of him.

Filthy. And also kind of hot. Jungkook was definitely into that, something he’ll totally proposition you into doing again because why not.

“I know! I couldn’t help it, it was so hot, and I felt so guilty. But, you’re technically the reason why my orgasm gave me my epiphany and let me realize I really do like you. So, I think I did us both a favor by being a dirty liar.” He’s laughing instantly, fingers gripping your cheeks to turn your head up, planting a firm kiss onto your lips obnoxiously.

“Alright, you’re forgiven. Plus, consider us even because I have definitely heard you getting off on your own plenty of times too.” A squeal of surprise fills the air as you swat at his chest, burying your face into his shirt and feeling the rumble of his laughter. It really wasn’t ever intentional. The walls are thin, you weren’t exactly quiet, and he couldn’t just lay there and ignore it. So call him an opportunist, or a pervert, because you were one too.

Jungkook is cheeky though, knowing how to get under your skin in the best way, and you can already tell you’re in for a ride when he gets close to your ear and whispers, “You wanna show me how you did it?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you snort, peering up at him with mischief in your eyes.

“You did say I could torture you later.” He smiles innocently, fingers pinching your chin as he kisses you again. “It’s later.”

The sweet laughter that escapes you makes his heart skip a beat, still not able to come to terms that this was happening and wasn’t some dream of his that he’d wake up from. He kisses the tops of your cheeks first, then your nose, before reaching your lips, his hand gently caressing your skin. Jungkook had no intention of torturing you tonight, knowing how tired you typically were after work on a normal day, and after drawing two orgasms out of you that left you shaking, he knows how close you are to sleep with the way your eyes droop.

“Aren’t you glad you didn’t give up on crushes and love?” he mumbles against your lips, inching back to stare down at you.

“I’m glad I stopped looking for it in the wrong places.” Your hands wrap around his neck, toying with his hair before pulling him back to you, reattaching your lips because you just couldn’t seem to get enough of him.

Every single moment you shared, from moving in and awkwardly trying to get to know each other, the ups and downs of failed relationships, the push that started it all at the club, and every almost moment in between brought you full circle to right now. There probably won’t be a moment where you don’t wish you had done this sooner, worked past your worry of ruining a good friendship in fear of what could happen, but the past helped mold you into who you are, strengthening your relationship to be the way it is now.

Right now had you thinking of the future, and there was nothing more exciting than that.

#jungkook smut #heartsforbts #btswritingcafe #btsghostie #bangtansorciere #bangtaninn #btscreatorscorner #jeongguk smut #jeon jungkook #bts smut #jungkook fluff #new

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grooveydrew · 2 years ago

Text

I made a post a while back on my version of Billy Lenz from 1974, but i wany to do a comparison of his 2006 version which I also really like.

Also, slight NSFW warning mostly with the rat

1974

Our special Lil rat, has the literal energy and attention span of an 8 year old with insane ADHD. but don't let his short attention span fool you, he remembers things he shouldn't. He can't remember the important thing you told him to remember but he will remember your darkest dirties secrets. He remembers every little detail, he blackmails you with this information. He also loves when he discovers new kinks ylu didn't even know you had. This man is down for literally anything so don't be worried about scaring him off with your weird Fetishs. Billy has a tendency to mix his words, he also likes to make new words or even speak pure gibberish when he's just so excited. He go from a whole sentence to a keyboard smadh with in seconds. Hes a brat, and he's an asshole. Don't expect him to be nice at first. He's a bully and will tease you. But when you show him he has no power over you he's practically a little kid just wanting attention. He will meow till you give him it. Yes, literal meows. Billy is LOUD during sex,if he'd he'd top he will whimper from tge feeling of being inside of you, each thrust makes me moan as if he was bottom. He practically melts inside of you, bottom Billy is even louder, the feeling if gis hole being used for such dirty things sends him fucking feral. He's a screaming whore. Either way after sex you'll have a splitting headache, ringing ears, and a passed out Billy, he doesn't usually sleep so take advantage of it. He's very cold, like it scares you how fucking freezing this man's skin is, it's like he feels like a dead bosy in a morgue. So when he sleeps you usually have to make sure he's still alive. He wakes up way to damn early and is LOUD af. You have to drag this man to the bath or bribe him to take a shower. He uses all your shampoo and conditioner because he wants to smell like you♥︎ he also uses your perfume / cologne.

2006

2006 Billy, will be referred to as Lenz, because It's easier for my dumb little brain to comprehend. Lenz is like a grumpy 4 year old who does nothing but fucking sleep. He has a good intention span and is surprisingly smart, years in the attic had one good quality because he spent it reading. I imagine since his mom did occasionally pop in the attic I assume since somehow he was fucking eating, she probably gave him books and shit expecting him to Hate it cause kids hate reading but he actually enjoyed it. He's not dominant so don't expect much I get pure bottom energy from this man, also he's demi. He only has sexual attraction to one person and that would be you. It takes a long time to get him on board with the thought of sex so be patient with him, hes still not over his trauma. He will judge you no matter what hes so fucking judgmental. He gives you you stare.. Unlike Billy, Lenz is a lot more quiet in bed and in general. Since I'm pretty sure he wasn't making any of the calls in this movie I picture him being more to himself and only speaking occasionallythough he does speak more the more he gets to know you and the more you break his shell, when he does speak he's rather quiet and has alot of anger in his voice. Lenz likes to bake so expect to wake up to the delicious scent of cookies. He wakes up pretty early to but kinda also sleeps all day. He's very hot and sweaty and needs to take a bath every night because he gets stinky and greasy quickly. He expects a rubber ducky in the bath he will not bathe unless there is one. He also wants Bubbles. He only takes baths and wants you to bathe him. You bought him baby shampoo and all that because his skin is sensitive and very dry, you trick him into drinking water instead of so much milk.

#slashers #slasher community #slasher movies #black christmas #billy lenz #black christmas 2006

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shinidamachu · 4 years ago

Note

I need some Inuyasha as a great father (more like DILF, amirite?) headcanons, can you help me out?

I'm here to serve!

• It isn’t until they’re happily married for at least one or two years that the possibility of children are brought up.

• At first, they took that time to relearn each other, enjoy their company and make the honeymoon phase last a little long. They did spend three years apart, after all. There’s so much time to make up for, so many catching up to do before they’d even think to throw a kid into the mix. Plus, being a modern woman, Kagome would know how to avoid pregnancy the best her new circumstances allowed and how important that time alone is for a newly-married couple.

• They never actually had the child talk because Kagome just assumed that’s where their relationship would naturally lead to, given her motherly tendencies and Inuyasha’s history of ultimately giving her everything she wants. For his part, Inuyasha knew she wanted to be a mother someday and he'd be lying if he said he never indulged the fantasy of fathering her children. However, he has serious trouble wrapping his mind around the idea that, in reality, Kagome would still be up for it if he were to be the father. He could never dare to ask of her more than she has already given him. Be that as it may, it was not a big deal because it was not a dealbreaker. Nothing was.

• But with time, Kagome would have noticed how good Inuyasha is with Hisui and the Mirsan twins. How his relationship with Shippo had developed from a sibling banter to a makeshift paternal relationship. How people like Shiori and Bunza would look up to him like he was some kind of movie hero. How every kid in the village seemed to adore him despite his grumpy demeanor.

• And Inuyasha would have noticed the way Kagome would look at him whenever he so much as interacted with a child, the way her smell would spike significantly.

• She, of course, was the one to make the first move, jumping him one night, after they had spend the whole day stuck with babysitting the Mirsan children and popping the question.

• Inuyasha was relutant. There was a part of him that was adamant on making her happy and even believed having babies would make him happy too. On the other hand, he was terrified. Terrified of how her body would react to childbirth, of if her spiritual powers would accept his demonic energy. But mostly, about what would happen once the baby was born. The last thing he wanted was for Kagome to go through everything his mother had to go through. Or for another kid to face the same prejudice he did. Besides, he grew up with no father figure whose steps he could follow. He didn’t know how to be a father.

• Kagome assures him that they won’t have a baby until they’re both ready and on the same page, that they have time and that Inuyasha will be a great father.

• Inuyasha believes her.

• Then it is him felling some type of way whenever he sees Kagome around kids. And something deep inside desperately wishes to find out what would their children look like, what would it be like to hold and take care of someone born from their love.

• Finally, he caves.

• Inuyasha wants a big family, considering how lonely his childhood was. Kagome finds it pivotal for their first-born to have a sibling, since she had Sota and their relationship was one of the most important things in her life. That’s why they’d have two children minimum, preferably a boy and a girl. However, giving how dangerous and uncomfortable childbirth can be, especially without the perks the modern era provides, I don’t think they’d have more than three.

• Naturally, Inuyasha relies on Miroku for advice and the latter is more helpful than not. Except for the times Inuyasha asks or says something that makes it way too easy for Miroku to mess with him. Like the time he told Inuyasha that if he doesn’t get Kagome whatever food she craves while pregnant, the baby will be born looking exactly like that food. And Inuyasha believed him.

• And if you thought Inuyasha was protective of Kagome before... oh boy! He’d be almost overbearing, but Kagome would see it as endearing. Most of the time. Sometimes, though, a woman has got to have her privacy. He also becomes more attentive, more gentle, sweeter.

• After their first child is born, Inuyasha gets a makeover of sorts. He’s always borrowing the Fire Rat to Kagome and the baby anyway, so he figured it’d be more practical to just pass the clothes on to them already and get something new for himself.

• It’s white.

• Inuyasha becomes taller, stronger. And often lets Kagome experiment with his hair with braids, top nots... and ponytails.

• Old Myoga is the first one to notice the resemblance. And it’s true. He’s the spitting image of Toga. Former enemies and allies often mistaken him for Toga and Kagome thinks the look on their (and Inuyasha’s) face is hilarious.

• Sesshoumaru does not care for it (I stole this one from @heavenin--hell).

• Inuyasha hates his human nights even more because now his vulnerability also means he might not be able to protect his family as he usually would (Together Changed by @goshinote and @lostinfantasyworlds inspired this one). Plus, the black hair and lack of dog ears confuses the baby, who cries and fusses for a good while until realizing it is, in fact, Inuyasha holding them (this one I saw in an adorable fanart I can’t find).

• But since he needs way less sleeping than humans and he spends the New Moons up anyway, Inuyasha gets a lot of quality time with their infant at night, which allows Kagome to actually get a good night sleep unless the baby is hungry.

• The Beads of Subjugation get dooled and chewed on. A lot.

• A little contest takes place between Kagome and Inuyasha about what the first word of their first child would be, with Kagome going for “dada” and Inuyasha going for “mama.”

• Kagome wins.

• Inuyasha’s fighting style changes. He still says some snarky remarks, but now it’s more to push his opponent‘s buttons down so they would get sloppy than anything else. After all, he has a child to think about and provide for now. He doesn’t have the luxury of gambling with his life anymore. He has a home to come back to and therefore won’t be taking any chances (credit to @born-for-eachother for this one).

• And so he becomes more lethal on the battle field. Pragmatic. Objective. Calculating. Decisive. Cold blooded. Much like... Sesshomaru.

• He had never been more offended on his life than the day Sango pointed this out to him.

• When the kids grow up a bit, Inuyasha and Kagome start to tell them bedtime stories, with the PG version of the story about how the met and defeated Naraku being their favorite.

• Kagome tries to be a reliable and calm narrator while Inuyasha exaggerates the events and the voices, almost always breaking objects of their house in the process.

• After hearing one too many times about the Beads of Subjugation, their child tries to “sit” Inuyasha. Of course it doesn’t work, but he still makes a big deal out of throwing himself on the ground every time they say the word just to hear them laugh.

• The first actual toy Inuyasha buys them is a ball, just like the one he had as a kid, at the same time accomplishing a childhood wish through them and ensuring that they would always have someone to play with.

• Kagome is more protective of their physical state while Inuyasha is more protective of their emotional one (see Fist Fight by @omgitscharlie)

• Inuyasha goes to Totosai and asks him to make a weapon out of one of his fangs to each of their children once they get old enough for it. Not necessarily a sword, just something of their choice and that better fits their personality.

• He would be a just father, doing his best to show no favoritism, treat his children equally and make sure no one felt overlooked or unloved.

• But truth be told, if one of their babies turn out to be a daughter, he would definitelly let her get away with almost anything, no matter how much of a gremlin she is. Daddy’s little girl would have him wrapped around her tiny fingers.

• Life never treated Inuyasha kindly. From a very young age, it was kill or be killed. It wouldn't be too far off for him to think the exact same thing could happen with his kids, therefore he tries to prepare them, to tough them up so they can take it.

• And I believe this sentiment would be significantly amplified with a son, because it would involve the whole “suck it up”, “men don’t cry” and “man of the house” aspect of it. The “it is your duty to protect your mother and sister when I’m gone” too, especially because he couldn’t protect Izayoi himself.

• It’s “tough love”, but it’s love nonetheless. And in the right dose, which I believe Inuyasha manages to nail, it can be very important for one’s development and growth.

• But it’s hard to imagine him being as tough with a daughter. Probably because he sees so much of Kagome on her that the mere idea of seeing her cry simply breaks him.

• Kagome would actually have to step in when it comes to disciplining and saying “no”, because he simply wouldn’t have it in him to do so.

There’s actually a really nice post by @keichanz I reblogged a while ago discussing precisely that, but I can’t find it to save my life (should I start to properly tag my reblogs? No, it’s a lot of work and I’m right not to).

Anyway, that’s all I got for now.

Peace out.

#This ask was actually sitting on my inbox for...#Woof #A while now #And I wish I could say it was a big move on my part to wait and reply exactly on Father's Day #Because I'm just so cool methodic and strategic #But it was sheer dumb luck #LMAO #This was fun by the way #Send me YOURS daddyasha headcanons #Thank you for the patience and for the great ask anon #Inuyasha

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littlefreya · 4 years ago

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The Kitten & the Bear - Part 1

Intro: This story is a collab and was written by both @wolvesandhoundshowltogether and I. It was born out of a fun role play we have going on. We ended up having so much a fun with this particular idea that we thought we should post it as a 3 part story and share it with the rest!

| Read Part 2 | Read Part 3 |

Summary: After a night of drinking in town get Walter’s bratty wife ends up with pure chaos and the overprotective grumpy husband is having none of her shenanigans.

Pairing: Detective Walter Marshall x OFC (first person pov)

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Bratty behaviour, vandalism, dominant overprotectiveness, BDE, husband stalking his wife, sexual innuendo, dirty inappropriate talks, mentions of sex and oral, weed and alcohol usage. Sex in the next parts :D Walter is a Boomer.

A/N: We didn’t beta it and did transform it from 2nd to 1st person POV, really hoping you guys will enjoy it as we did. Feel free to share your thoughts.

Title: The Kitten & the Bear

Nothing chilled my heart more than waking up in an empty bed. Walter was already gone, leaving his side of the mattress cold and abandoned. A heavy sigh broke from my lips, I stroked the ghost of the kiss that still tingled on my cheek, knowing he planted it there before heading to work.

Sadness seeped into my heart as I realised I won't see him today. Our work scheduled conflicted and I have scheduled a "date night" with my girls in the evening. Picking up my phone, I texted him a pouty emoji and then headed to get my day started.

Walter left me on read, which just fuelled the brat in me. When he called during his lunch break, he was taciturn as usual, and most of the call was about his disapproval of us girls going out without at least one male friend or a boyfriend to chaperone.

"Oh my god, Walter, this is not the 50s! Women can leave their house without a husband tagging along!" I grunted and berated him, "stop acting like someone is going to kidnap me!!! I'm an adult woman!" I snapped at him while sitting at the cafe. People sitting around stared quietly as I hung up the phone, and stormed out.

~~~

Walter looked at his mobile phone, shocked. He couldn't even remember the last time someone hung up on him, let along his wife.

"Fucking brat," he muttered as he pocketed it.

After lunch, he went into the precinct. Since it was flu season and they were having a shortage of uniformed officers, he volunteered to patrol tonight. Assuming he might even be able to check up on me wherever I get to town. Just to keep me safe. That's right. Not from jealousy. Not because I'll be all dolled up and tipsy and every man in the vicinity will ogle me.

~~~

As the evening loomed, I was in dire need of letting loose. Walter had left me incredibly frustrated, acting like a police officer from hell rather than my husband. Going through my closet, I stumbled upon the most outrageous piece of wardrobe: a black strappy thing with corset details at the front. The same one I've worn for our first date which of course ended up with Walter and I dry humping like two horny teenagers at the back of his truck and him eating me out until I came all over his beard 4 times.

I slapped a dark red lipstick and put on a pair of red "fuck me" pumps before leaving to meet the gals in a new night club that had just opened. I might or might not have a rolled-up joint in my purse.

~~~

Walter was sitting in a patrol vehicle on the opposite side of the street from the new fancy club with translucent walls. We were all sitting beside the window at a small table full of cocktail glasses, but the girls were gesturing toward the dance floor. Walter chose a dark spot on the street to park the car and was wearing a beanie.

But he didn't need it. He knew I was oblivious to him and also to the men staring at me from 3 different tables. He ground his teeth frustrated when he first noticed that I was wearing that dress. His blood boiled as I was slowly sipping a cocktail with a sexy little pout around the long straw.

"Let's dance!!! I wanna dance!!!" I whined at my friend Keylah, grabbing her wrist and dragging her with me. My posture was slightly unstable after two cocktails and probably not enough food to pad my belly. She followed me to the dance floor while Stephanie remained in her seat, talking to some guy just for the sake of trolling. He'd been hitting on each one of us unsuccessfully.

After an hour of dancing with Keylah, swaying my ass in ways that didn't leave any imagination to the men lurking, I remembered the little treat I had in my purse and decided we should take a small break to breathe some fresh air.

I grabbed the girls, and we walked outside.

"Okay, don't you dare mention this to Walter," I warned them as I took the joint out from my purse.

"Daddy Magnum gonna punish you?" Steph teased while I lit the weed.

"Oh, you have no idea, he gave me shit about seeing you tonight without a male chaperone, like this is Mad Man or something."

"Woah! Walter is a boomer!!!" Keylah teased, and we all laughed hysterically.

~~~

Unbeknownst to me, Walter was watching us dance from his patrol car, getting more and more frustrated by the hour. He observed as I gathered both girls and came out on the street, walking a couple of meters away from the entrance. A frown fell on his face as he saw me taking a lighter out from my purse.

"She doesn't even smoke, what the hell?" he fumed.

His eyes widened when he saw the telltale shape of a joint between my fingers. His mouth was agape as I lit it up and started smoking and passing it around. "What the fuck? Where did she get that?" he muttered incredulously.

'It's fucking illegal in Minnesota, what the fuck? A cop's wife at that!' He thought, rage simmering in his gut.

The police radio suddenly began buzzing, the sergeant calling on the line.

"Hey Marshall, Toby came in for the night shift after all. Do you want him to keep you company?"

'And see Walter's wife going to town on a spliff? No fucking way.'

"No, Sarge, thanks. It's uh... calm tonight." He frowned from afar. "Nothing but law-abiding citizens," he replied, hoping his sarcasm didn't go through while he was watching the wife of a respected detective drunk and smoking weed in the great outdoors.

"All right" the sarge concluded and cut the line, and Walter put back the radio.

‘Un-fucking-believable.'

~~~

The girls and I fell into a fit of wild giggles, thoroughly buzzed and high at the same time. My skirt rode up my thighs, and I didn't even bother fixing it as the combination of drugs and alcohol made me frivolous and careless.

"Is Walter such a nerd in bed too? Is he one of those guys who won't even make a sound because they are ashamed of it?" Stephanie asked to which I immediately snorted.

"Walter fucks like a beast from hell," I answered and put off the remains of the joint against the heel of my shoe.

"I had to go to the gyno at least four times in the past because he was too violent, and trust me, the noise he makes, luckily no one called the police yet…"

"Jennifer, your husband is the police!" Keylah answered, and we burst into another fit of giggles which then gradually died down.

The same man who bugged us from before followed us outside, giving us some stares and making a suckling voice with his lips. I snorted at him and told him to fuck off before putting my arms around my girls.

"This place sucks, let's go grab something to eat from the store, if Walter sees me like this I will NEVER hear the end of it".

~~~

Walter was watching us walk away, still furious about my illicit behaviour. He promised himself that he'd have a serious conversation with me about this tomorrow. He gave us two blocks of a head start and then ignited the engine of the car and made a U-turn, slowly he rolled towards the store and saw us enter. He made another U-turn in front of the store to park across the street. He just hoped that we'll buy some nachos and a coke and then call it a night, and call a cab to go home.

~~~

It was close to 1am. We barged into the store, marching through as if we owned the place. Keylah stopped by the condoms section and threw a bottle of lube in my direction. "Here you go, Jennifer, you gonna need it".

I laughed and threw it back at her, grabbing a bag of chips and a bottle of water.

"Better fuck his brains before he starts asking where you've been tonight," Stephanie added.

"Can you girls please behave?" The clerk-lady requested politely, giving us a prudent look. I rolled my eyes at her and then stopped short as I saw a large stuffed grizzly bear that reminded me of Walter. I grabbed it and hugged it tightly just as I got the sudden urge to misbehave.

"Girls…" I whispered, making them come closer, "bet you a 20 I can sneak this out without paying!"

~~~

Walter's shoulders slumped, and he let out an irritated groan when he saw one of the girls throwing things inside the store. Though, he sighed in relief when I paused this stupid game, and a small smile tugged the edge of his mouth when I hugged a huge stuffed bear that reached down to my thighs and was high above the top of my head as I squeezed it to my torso.

The way I looked at the bear reminded him of the loving looks I always gave him. But a sense of foreboding assaulted him as we started whispering and pointed at the door.

~~~

"Okay, okay… shush!" I whispered way too obvious and held the stuffed animal behind my back.

"Hey Keylah, can you pay for my chips?" I asked and backed away toward the door, nearly stumbling on my heels and holding the laughter in my gut.

Noticing my attempt, the old woman cleared her throat, giving me a glare, "You are going to have to pay for that or I will call the police…"

"Her husb…"

"Shut up, Stephanie!" Keylah shouted and threw a bottle of lube in her direction, accidently hitting my shoulder, which made me drop the bear on the floor.

"Key, you fucking bitch!!!" I answered and picked up the bottle, throwing it back at her.

"Hey stop that!!!!" The clerk demanded and walked back behind the counter, picking up her phone.

We ignored her, laughing like schoolgirls and throwing the bottle back and forth between us. Boxes of tampons and condoms fell to the floor as we moved through the hygiene section shouting playfully.

As Keylah threw the bottle at me for the 12th time, I lifted it and threw it so hard it hit the window and broke it, causing the store's alarm to go off immediately.

"Oh… fu……..ck" I uttered.

~~~

"Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no," Walter panicked as he saw us vandalising the store. He was immediately ready to jump out of the car, but then it would be obvious he'd been keeping an eye on me. He had to wait for the call.

He wasn't even hoping that the clerk would not involve the police in the matter. She has to. ‘Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck.’

When he saw the lady picking up the phone, he buried his face in his palms and rubbed it tiredly.

"Stupid, fucking bitches" he sighed, not believing his wife being so reckless.

He picked up the buzzing radio and said, "Marshall. I'm here. On it."

Without delay, he took the beanie off and got out of the car with his badge and gun ready.

~~~

Fingers dug into my hair, I stared wide-eyed at the broken window, immediately regretting all my decisions in the last couple of hours.

'Walter was going to fucking kill me'.

"I am soooooooo……." I began to say, turning to the clerk slowly while Keylah and Steph held their hands over their mouths. "So sorry." I stretched out while the alarm continued ringing in my ears.

Then just like out of a nightmare, stepping through shards of broken glass with his big black boots, I saw Walter walking in, his brows knit together, his badge and his gun held out but kept low. He was enormous and menacing, yet the sight of him comforted me.

"Oh thank god, it's you!" I call out relieved.

~~~

The glass cracked beneath his steps as he walked in. He looked around and checked the store for cameras. 'Fuck, there were CCTVs'.

He hoped to snatch me away and take care of the situation without involving... well himself but now that there was evidence it wasn't possible anymore. I was looking at him like a frightened little girl, but he couldn't help me, and frankly, he didn't feel like it either.

He looked at the clerk, showed her his badge and said in a neutral tone "MPD. What seems to be the problem?"

~~~

My breath hitched at his "cop voice" and the way he asked the clerk.

Stepping back and standing in the middle of the group, the three of us gaped at him with utter dumbfoundedness. Both my heart and gut dropped to the messy floor out of fear, and the way he carried himself, looking so menacing and authoritative made my panties drenched with arousal.

"Officer, thank god you arrived! These three tried to steal a stuffed animal and started wreaking havoc in the store, throwing stuff around like children and speaking offensively!" The old woman explained and stood in the middle of the mess, looking helpless.

My eyes rounded with false innocence, and I nibbled my bottom lip, giving Walter a vulnerable look.

Walter was patiently listening to the clerk. Not a muscle flinched on his face as if he'd known everything. He took his notebook and a report form out and took care of the paperwork.

The old lady eyed the three of us nervously while Walter was scribbling, and she hesitantly asked, "I'm sorry, Officer, but shouldn't you handcuff them? They might run."

Walter's curly head lifted, and he flashed the lady a small smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Don't worry, ma'am. They won't run."

"Is he serious?" Steph whispered, and I elbowed her, giving Walter a rather pissed off smile as he pretended not to know us at all and treated me like any other criminal.

Was it that just for show? Probably. We were going to have a serious talk about boundaries once we'd get home.

Walter finished writing his report and made the lady sign it before turning to look at the three of us, clenching his jaw.

After a long, stern silence, I finally spoke, "Can I still get the teddy bear?"

Walter's nostrils flared as he dug into his pocket, pulled out a 20-dollar bill, slammed it on the counter and said to the clerk "For the bear."

At first, the lady was dumbfounded, then she blurted out outraged "Why are you buying a gift for a criminal?"

Walter didn't even spare her a look. He picked up the bear and looked at me with unflinching, stern eyes that made all three of us take a step backwards.

"Because she's my fucking wife."

The tone of his voice made the three of us startle, and I released a small gasp, seeing the look on his face. Walter made a gesture with his hand singling us to walk out of the store in order, and we did as he commanded. At the same time, my eyes gave him a mischievous smirk, mistaking this behaviour for a show.

Walter left the store last and immediately commanded, "To the car".

When we got there on the opposite side of the street, he opened the car and shoved the teddy bear on the passenger seat, then turned back, crossed his hands on his chest, and looked at all three of us.

"Here's how it's gonna happen. We go in the precinct, fill out the forms, you stay the night, and most likely will be charged with a misdemeanour. Although the weed might be more problematic." He glared at me pointedly.

The girls and I collectively gasped.

"Now get in the back seat, all of you."

With shuddering legs, Keylah and Steph obediently entered the patrol car. I stared at Walter as he stood there towering over me, his massive arms crossed around his broad chest.

Still intoxicated, I looked at him with disbelief, realising two things: he arrived at the scene in less than two minutes after the lady called the police, which is impossible. And two, he couldn't possibly know I had weed on me unless…

"Were you stalking me?!" I called out, ignoring the police officer and speaking to my husband. My hands went to my hips, my face sulking.

"Oh my god, Walter! You were! Weren't you?" I frowned and shook my head, grunting with disgust.

"You are in no position to reproach me for anything right now", Walter said, seemingly calm. "But if you wanna know, I was patrolling in the neighbourhood and decided to check up on you. I saw the way you were shaking your ass for strangers" he spat, but he let his eyes roam the tight dress, and the way he subtly licked his lips made me sure he remembered exactly which dress it was.

"Do as you're fucking told and get in the car or you're gonna find yourself in even bigger trouble."

"Oh my god, Walter!!! Are you fucking kidding me?!" I yelled at him and stepped back, throwing my hands in the air furiously.

"I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS!!! MY OWN HUSBAND STALKING ME?! What's next Walter? You gonna put an ankle bracelet thingy on me, so I don't get to leave the house without your fucking permission?!"

I got so angry, my hands pushed at his chest, to which he didn't even budge, and only his jaw tightened.

"I am NOT getting into that car, and you are going to let Keylah and Steph go before you are going to be in trouble!"

Keylah and Steph were both watching with utter fascination as they saw the growing tension in Walter's posture.

Once Keylah and Steph were inside the car, they felt like the immediate danger was over. Their drunkenness and high made them reckless again and they started cheering me in the verbal fight with my husband.

Walter was on the verge of bursting, it was evident from his face. He took a menacing step towards me and despite my anger, a pang of arousal shot in my core.

"Get. in the. fucking. car" he growled in a barely audible voice. He gave me one last chance to voluntarily obey him.

I moved closer toward him, my head tilting up to meet his menacing gaze, my breasts ghostly brushing against his hard torso.

"I am not going anywhere with you," I answered unflinchingly. "Keep this attitude up, and the whole town will get to enjoy me swaying this ass long before you do." I teasingly slapped my own ass and then smirked arrogantly as I heard the girls cheering at the backseat

"That's it."

Quick as lightning, Walter's hands uncrossed and shot out. He grabbed my arms, turned me around with dizzying speed and slammed my torso down on the hood of the police car.

"Jennifer Marshall, you are under arrest for destruction of property, public intoxication and obstruction of a law enforcement officer."

I gasped incredulously as I felt the metal handcuffs closing on my wrists while Walter was performing his duty automatically and methodically. I'd never seen him make an arrest, let alone manhandle me like this.

With my cheek pressed against the cold metal, I could see both Keylah and Steph gape at us, eyes and mouth wide with daze.

Still intoxicated, I hissed as a shiver of fear and sexual arousal shot through my spine, creeping all the way down to my throbbing core.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" I cried out in protest. "I am your wife!"

My attempt to stand up brought my ass to collide with his crotch, where I felt the unmistakable throb of his blood circulating down to his groin.

"Are you also getting the feeling that they're gonna fuck?" Steph whispered to Keylah, loud enough for us to hear.

"Shush!" she answered and stared, licking her lips.

"Let me go, you fucking pig!" I screamed and squirmed on the hood helplessly.

"Anything you say will be held against you in the court of law" Walter continued in his deep cop voice as if I hadn't even spoken.

"Say his dick, girl!" Keylah shouted, and Steph wooed, but they quickly shut up and resorted to concealed giggling as Walter shot angry eyes at them. He stepped closer to secure his hold on the handcuffs, and I felt the warm coarse material of his jeans at the back of my thighs.

"If you don't want to add resisting arrest and possession of narcotics to your offences, shut the fuck up and stop squirming."

"Fuck” I hissed, which didn't go unnoticed by Walter. My ass naturally shifted against his hardening bulge, and I moaned gently, not loud enough for the girls to hear but definitely heard by Walter, who had his hand around my cuffed wrists.

"You're enjoying this, big guy?" I spit out sardonically, "controlling your wife like you always want to, hmm?"

With the alcohol flushing through my veins, mingled with the sheer exhilaration of anger, I became more daring than ever.

"I think you are just scared because we both know you are never going to tame me."

#henry cavill #walter marshall #nomis #night hunter #henry cavill fanfiction #walter marshall fanfiction #Author rec: wolvesandhoundshowltogether #Collaborations

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myearts-uwu · 3 years ago

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Bakery AU!

Pairing: Claude x Felix

Featured characters: Claude, Athanasia, Felix, Lily (at the very end of it)

Genre: Fluff. Just... it’s pure fluff in here.

This was supposed to be a single one-shot but I somehow decided to turn it into a short fic that has... two or three parts?

It’s just an adorable AU!

"York's Bakery...," Claude read out the sign displayed above the front door of the cozy-looking bakery. He hummed in disinterest. He was not exactly a huge fan of going out to buy bread or random pastries at a random bakery, let alone a bakery that had been opened for less than three months.

However, since his daughter was the one who asked if they could visit this new bakery together one day during the weekend, he had no choice but to say yes to her favour. It warmed his cold heart when her eyes lit up before smiling at him after he said that.

Why must he be such a softie for his daughter?

"Waa..."

Upon hearing the shaky breath of awe, Claude looked down and noticed the seven-year-old girl staring at the bakery with awe. Her small and chubby hand was holding onto the pinky finger of his left hand loosely.

"You seem to be excited to come here, Athanasia," he commented nonchalantly with a stoic face. He was not the best at showing his true emotions. However, his daughter knew that he was being entertained by her. "I still don't know how you've heard about this bakery, though."

Athanasia just giggled. "Oh, I always see it every day when the driver drives me to school, papa!" she answered. Of course, he wouldn't know about that small fact considering that he had never personally driven her to school. As the CEO of Obelia's Enterprises, he had to go to his office early in the morning. "And since the driver has been to this bakery before, he told me that this bakery's pastries are to die for! Es... Especially the chocolate muffins!" she exclaimed.

"Hm, I see...," Claude mumbled before ruffling Athanasia's soft blonde hair. Compared to the colour of his hair which was a more golden colour, her's leaned more on the lighter side. "Well, let's see if what Mister Han said is true and the pastries here are indeed 'to die for'. Let's go, Athanasia. We don't want to keep standing here, do we?"

Athanasia nodded and skipped towards the front door, tugging her father by his hand. Some random passersby noticed the father-daughter duo and either smiled or chuckled at the adorable scene in front of them.

Claude was about to push the door open but his own daughter had beaten him to it. She had let go of the blond's hand for a few seconds just so she could both of her hands around the door handle. As soon as she pushed the front door open, there was the sound of a small bell ringing.

Ding!

"Welcome to York's Bakery!"

The person standing behind the counter greeted the two newcomers with enthusiasm. Claude stole a small glance at the worker and the only thing he took note of was the messy bright red hair. As well as that large grin on his face that could make anyone's heart melt.

Besides that? He didn't look all that interesting to him.

All he could give the man was a curt nod for he was not someone who enjoyed talking to people.

"Hello!" Unlike him, Athanasia was a total ball of sunshine. She smiled back at the worker and waved at him. The man just chuckled and waved back.

"Why, Hello there, young lady," the man behind the counter said. "How may I help you on this wonderful afternoon?"

Claude gave the man a warning glance and he immediately tensed up. A sign for him to not act so close around the little girl. Times like these made Claude grateful that he had a natural resting bitch face. After that, he acted as if nothing had happened and picked up a tray to put the baked goods he planned on getting on.

Besides the one worker available in the bakery, Claude noticed upon entering the building the strong aromatic scent of freshly baked bread. It tingled his nose slightly due to how heavenly the smell inside the bakery was.

"Uhh... I heard that the chocolate muffins here are to die for! And I wanted to try one!" Athanasia told the man. She walked towards the front counter and pressed her face against the glass of the display case. "Whoa... you have a lot of delicious-looking desserts here."

"Hmm... they do cater a lot of baked goods here," Claude mumbled to himself as he picked out random bread he and his daughter would eat as light snacks. Sausage rolls, croissants, baguettes, buns, egg tarts, cookies... They were really selling a wide variety of baked goods. He grabbed the pair of tongs and started to do his own business.

The worker laughed at Athanasia's adorableness. "They're all freshly made, you know? Well, except for the cakes since we usually have them chilling in the refrigerator overnight." He looked around before winking at her. "But that's a secret between us, alright?" he said in a whisper.

'Someone seems to like that counter worker,' Claude thought when he heard his daughter laughing out loud. He stood in front of a tall basket made from rattan that had baguettes in it. 'Hmm... Athanasia would most definitely eat an entire long baguette as a snack in one sitting... I'm just going to get it for her.'

"You're funny, Mister!" Athanasia exclaimed while taking her hand out towards him. "My name is Athy and that grumpy man who's picking out the baked goods there is my papa!"

"... Grumpy?" Claude turned around and looked absolutely offended by how Athanasia introduced him to a random stranger. Him? Grumpy? Sure, he was not a huge fan of social interaction but that did not mean that he was entirely grumpy.

It only made him even more annoyed when the guy was laughing with her.

"Now, Miss Athy. It's rude to call your own father grumpy," he told her before gently holding her small hand to shake it. "My name is Felix, by the way. If you were wondering about my name, that is."

"Oh, I already knew what your name is," she said before pointing on the nametag that was pinned to the beige apron Felix wore. "It's written on that nametag thingy."

"... Oh, I actually forgot that I had my nametag on me," Felix stated in slight embarrassment. He scratched the back of his head. "You have good eyes, Miss Athy."

"Athanasia."

The girl turned around to look at her father. "Yes, papa?"

"Have you picked out everything you want yet?" Claude asked while smirking. After placing the tongs in their original place, he put his free hand on his waist. "You don't want to return home without those muffins and cupcakes and cookies you were talking about before coming here now, do you?"

"Eh?! But papa, there's just so many things that I wanna try here!" Athanasia cried out. Her eyes darted around the baked goods inside the display case. "Ahh, I really wanna try those chocolate muffins... but the chocolate chip cookies look so good... Oh, but... but look at those macarons! And- And those chocolate bars with dried up fruits..."

Felix looked down at the indecisive girl and looked up at Claude. He laughed weakly. "I assume that your daughter has a strong liking to chocolate?" he asked.

"She's addicted actually," Claude answered before placing the tray on the front counter. He was going to have to pay for all these twice if Athanasia was still deciding on what she should get. "She actually had one of her teeth pulled out at the dentist last year because of a bad cavity. She kept denying that her tooth wasn't aching... but she always teared up whenever she ate anything."

Felix snorted while Athanasia looked at her father as if he had betrayed her. Which, in a way, he did.

"Papa, you promised you won't talk about that to anyone," Athanasia whined with a cute pout. She humphed. "I'm not going to talk to papa anymore!"

"Is that so?" With a calm expression on his face, Claude pulled out his wallet. "Well, good luck paying for all those desserts, then."

"Papa!" she whined again, earning more laughter from the man behind the counter.

He may not look it, but Claude knew how to be humourous... occasionally.

"M-My, you two are quite a hilarious duo," Felix commented while wiping away a tear from laughing too much. He went to the cash register to collect the blond's payment. The girl would eventually tell them what she wanted soon enough.

Claude looked around the bakery while Felix placed the baked goods he paid for into a large paper bag. "Are you the only one working here?" he asked, trying to make some light conversation even though he was not the best when it came to starting one.

"Oh, heaven's no. I'm way too inexperienced to be left working at a bakery all alone," Felix answered with a smile. "There are more people working here, believe it or not. The owner of the bakery, Lilian, is usually working behind the scenes in the kitchen. The same goes for the other ladies working here. Since I'm not that good at baking anything, I'm in charge of the front counter. Greeting customers, making sure everyone is content with the bakery's atmosphere, making sure no one steals anything from here... the usual stuff."

Felix was indeed a talker.

"... Uh-huh," was Claude's awkward response.

"Mister Felix! Mister Felix!" Athanasia called out.

Felix and Claude looked at the little girl. "Hm? Found something you like, Miss Athy?"

"... Can I get a chocolate muffin and those chocolate chip cookies? They look really tasty?"

"Of course. Oh, one moment, Sir."

"Take your time."

Claude looked at Felix who knelt down to grab a muffin as well as scooping out the cookies before putting them in separate smaller paper bags. When Athanasia approached him, he petted her head. "I thought you'd buy the whole bakery because of how indecisive you are when it comes to food."

"But papa, if I do that, then what will they sell afterwards? I don't wanna ruin their business!" Athanasia grinned innocently.

"... Well, isn't that nice of you?" Claude responded sarcastically.

Felix couldn't help but chuckle at them. "Here're your cookies and muffin, Miss," he said as he leaned forward to give the small bags to the girl after calculating the whole price of everything with the cash register.

"Yay!" Athanasia snatched the paper bags from Felix's hand. She immediately opened the bag with the cookies and pulled one out before munching on it.

Claude sighed. "Athanasia, can't you just wait for a few more minutes?" he asked her sternly. "At least eat the cookies once I'm done paying for everything."

"But... But papa. These cookies are amazing!" Her jewel blue eyes sparkled. There were a few cookie crumbs on her lips and her chubby cheeks were puffed out after eating more of the tasty snack.

Claude's shoulders dropped. "Athanasia... You're dirtying the floor with those cookie crumbs."

Felix had to stifle his own laughter. "That's okay, Sir. I can clean that up afterwards. Besides, your daughter here is obviously enjoying those cookies immensely, right Miss Athy?"

"Mhm!" Athanasia nodded her head, mouth still full with cookies inside.

Well, it was painfully clear to Claude that this worker was already smitten with his daughter... Which he couldn't really blame him for that. Even he had to admit that his daughter was a complete natural at manipulating people with her cute looks and personality.

Claude sighed and was preparing to pull out his money. "How much does everything cost... Felix?"

"That will be... exactly 13000 won."

Claude widened his eyes slightly. "... That's a pretty low price for this much we're getting," he muttered. "Especially for how high-quality everything looks."

Felix thought he had misheard something. "Low price? I... don't mean to be rude but that is a pretty high price. Not to mention that you're buying this many baked goods at once..."

"Papa could have bought everything inside this bakery if he wants to!" Athanasia chimed in. "Because papa is a big boss at a big company! A CEO!"

... Claude had to make a mental note for himself to remind him to teach Athanasia that she should not give out random personal information about either of them to strangers once they return home.

He was expecting Felix to pry more information about him being a CEO out of either him or Athanasia.

But instead, he just acted as if he didn't hear anything.

"Well, even if your father is a CEO of a large company, if he's able to sell out the entire bakery, I'm sure my boss would pass out from shock," Felix joked before pushing the large paper bag with everything Claude bought inside. "Funny story, she actually did end up passing up from shock after we were given our first ever large cake order for a wealthy child's birthday party."

"Well, I sincerely hope she won't end up passing out if more people end up ordering cakes and other pastries from this bakery," Claude responded. "She might have to go to a hospital if that happens a lot."

... Was that supposed to be a joke or something?

Claude cleared his throat from how awkward he suddenly felt and looked down at his wallet to pull out the exact amount of money he needed to pay for everything. "I'm... not that good when it comes to making jokes," he admitted.

"... Oh, that was a joke?" Felix asked.

Athanasia shook her head in disapproval. "Papa, you're terrible at making jokes. This is why people either think you're a serious grumpy man or a socially awkward man."

'When and where did she learn to be so sassy to her own father?' Claude wondered, trying to act calm.

"... Here's the money." He tried to ignore the quiet stare from Athanasia and gave the money to Felix. When he looked at him did he realise that this was the first time they made proper eye contact with each other.

For the first time since coming here, Jewel blue eyes met up with warm grey ones face to face.

Felix froze up all of a sudden, confusing Claude. He tilted his head. "Felix, are you alright?"

A few seconds later, Felix blinked multiple times before realising that he was still at work. There was a faint blush on his face and he smiled nervously. "A-Ah! My apologies," he apologised as he accepted the money. "I was... genuinely stunned at your eyes. I'm sorry if that sounds weird."

Ah, his eyes. It was considered a rare condition and the only people who had it were people in his family. The jewel blue eyes were always associated with the people within the Obelia family. His ancestors, his father, his older brother, his niece, his daughter...

Basically, they all had jewel blue eyes. The reason why? No one had any idea.

"It's alright," Claude reassured Felix. "I'm used to people being surprised by my eye colour."

"Oh, I see... Well...," Felix's words trailed off before putting the money inside the cash register. He then gave him the receipt with a warm smile. "Well, I just thought that your eyes remind me of sapphires somehow. It's nice."

"... Okay then?"

Well, this was a bit awkward.

"Papa, papa!"

"Hm?" After noticing the hem of his shirt being tugged down, Claude looked down and saw his daughter holding out a singular chocolate cookie in front of him. "... Athanasia, you know that I don't like desserts."

"But you might like it! You never know if you hate it unless you try it, papa," Athanasia told him in an as-a-matter-of-fact voice. That sort of statement sounded really weird when it's coming from a seven-year-old child. "The cookies are so delicious! Please, papa? Just one..."

Claude stared at her blankly before looking at Felix who shrugged his shoulders.

'... At least be glad that there are no customers inside other than us,' he thought begrudgingly before going down on one knee so he could be at the same eye level as Athanasia. He opened his mouth and his daughter happily fed him the single cookie. He then stood up and slowly munched on the sickeningly sweet and crunchy snack.

...

"It tastes... alright, I guess," Claude mumbled, his voice slightly muffled by the cookie in his mouth.

"See? What did I tell you? I knew you'd like it!" Athanasia said proudly with her arms folded across her chest.

Felix smiled at the girl's energetic demeanour. It seemed to Claude that he was wondering how such a small ball of energy came from someone who looked like he'd rather stay at home all day.

"Your relationship with your daughter is adorable, sir," Felix commented.

"It's Claude."

"Pardon?"

"My name. What? Since you did give my daughter your name and my daughter gave hers to you, might as well join in to not feel so left out, right?"

"O-Oh... Mister Claude?" Felix tried to say his name.

"Just drop the 'Mister'. Judging by your appearance, I wouldn't be surprised if we're around the same age," Claude told him.

"... As you wish... Claude... Ah, I'm sorry but it does feel a bit embarrassing for me to call you so casually like that when this is our first time meeting, haha!"

'... Hm. That's weird," Claude thought while he silently stared at the red-haired man who was running his fingers through his hair. For a moment he thought his heart skipped a beat. It was most likely his own mind playing tricks on him.

"If that's the case, then feel free to add in 'Sir' before saying my name," Claude said casually. He looked at his wristwatch and knew that it was time for him and Athanasia to leave this bakery. Annoyingly for him, his older brother Anastacius and his daughter Jennette were coming over soon in the evening and he had to... mentally prepare himself in order to deal with his brother.

"Well, Felix. We'll be taking our leave for today," he said before calling out Athanasia who was looking at the desserts in the display case. "Athanasia, it's time to go. Remember, your cousin is coming over."

"Okay!" Athanasia exclaimed before rushing towards him. She almost tripped but fortunately, she managed to grab Claude's shirt in time to prevent herself from falling. Giggling, she turned around and waved at Felix. "Goodbye, Mister Felix! It was nice talking to you!"

"Bye-bye, Miss Athy." Felix waved back.

Claude pulled the front door open and was about to leave the bakery but he stopped in his tracks when he heard Felix calling him.

"Sir Claude?"

"Hm?"

Claude turned his head around and looked at Felix with a surprised expression when he smiled warmly at him. A smile that would make anyone feel comforted just by looking at it.

"I hope you have a wonderful day. And please come again!" Felix said. It was something he'd say to every single customer who'd leave the bakery.

But there was something about the way he said that made it sound like he was actually looking forward to seeing Claude again.

And for some reason, Claude felt a bit... flattered by that.

"... Of course," was all he could say before leaving the bakery with his daughter. After the door closed behind them, the father-daughter made their way to his Mercedes-Benz.

The trip to the car was quiet. Athanasia was happily munching on her chocolate muffin while Claude was deep in thought about something.

"... I suppose we can make time to visit the bakery from time to time every Saturday...," Claude mumbled, still deep in thought. 'That Felix guy is quite an amusing fellow to be around.'

"Eh?!" Athanasia looked up at her father in complete shock.

That was obviously wonderful news for the girl because she really loved the snacks there.

***

Ten minutes had passed since Claude and Athanasia left the building.

"I heard a lot of laughter coming from here," Lily said as she came out of the kitchen to check up on her employee and close friend. Felix was busy sweeping the floor with a broom to get rid of the cookie crumbs on the floor. The brunette smiled and placed her hands on her hips. "You're whistling. Did something good happen to you just now?"

Felix slowly turned his head around to look at Lily. There was a goofy smile present on his handsome face. "If you consider a pretty man coming in here with his cute daughter and he's like... really pretty that you can't stop staring at him as a good thing? Then yes, something good did happen."

"... Ah, so you're in love with a customer. That's a first."

Felix chuckled to himself. "Ahh... I really do hope that they come here more often soon."

#who made me a princess #suddenly i became a princess #suddenly became a princess #suddenly became a princess one day #i suddenly became a princess #wmmap #sbapod #claude de alger obelia #athanasia de alger obelia #felix robane #wmmap claude #wmmap felix #wmmap athanasia #felix x claude #fluff #you won't be seeing any angst or smut here #It's just cute and wholesome stuff

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f0rever15elf · 4 years ago

Text

They Were Roommates: Part 1

Modern!AU: Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 (coming soon) Pairing: Pero Tovar x fem!reader Rating: NC-17 Word count: 9,509 (I ain’t even sorry) Summary: A dangerous night leads to an interesting living arrangement between you and one grumpy Spaniard.

Warnings: Violence, blood mention, death mention, alcohol mention, food mention, reader in danger, oral (f receiving), vaginal sex, no beta reader, shameless use of the roommates trope

A/N: So this was gonna start out as just a fluffy little fic and then it turned into something a little bit steamier. I have lost all control of these characters, I’m sorry (not really).

Masterlist | Ao3

You should have run. You should have turned on your heel and gotten out of there as quick as your legs could have possibly carried you. You knew better than to go sticking your nose into things that could get you in trouble, Dad had raised you better than this. But Mom had raised you with that tender heart and soft soul, and ultimately they won out over your sense of self preservation. And now here you are, surrounded by a group of brutish looking men who all reek of the cheapest vodka you've ever smelt. The contents of your stomach churn as they banter, joking about all of the things they were going to do to you, and tears threaten to spill from your eyes as you do your best to keep your knees from knocking together.

You should have walked the other way.

But the man on the ground was being beaten. Five on one was hardly ever a fair fight, no matter how strong and rugged the one seemed. And so you had yelled out to get their attention, telling them to back off. And it got their attention alright. The new target was you, and they wasted no time in cornering you against the brick wall.

"Please, please just let me go. You can have everything in my purse, and I won't tell anyone about this. Please..." You hate the way your voice sounds when you beg, but if it meant surviving, your pride could take the compromise. The one you could only assume was the ringleader barked out an obnoxious sounding laugh and shook his head.

"No can do toots. We were getting bored with our little punching bag over there. You showed up at just the right time." The four other goons all chuckle and make various sounds of agreement, closing the circle in on your tighter. Your mouth is dry as the Sahara when you try to swallow and your ears are beginning to ring.

"P...Please don't do this..." you manage to squeak out as the leader slinks up in front of you, bracing a hand by your head as he stares at you with feral eyes. You close your eyes tightly, trying to shrink away from the stink of cheap booze on his breath when a sharp crack from behind the leader breaks the tension. Your eyes snap open to see the man who they were beating standing there with a short piece of pipe clutched in his hands. In front of him, one of the men lay crumpled and motionless on the ground, red staining the ground around his head. Your stomach couldn't take it any more and you double over, emptying the contents of your stomach right onto the ringleader's shoes. Sputtering and gasping for breath you stand back up as the remaining four descend on the dark haired man, leaving you your opportunity to escape. Dark eyes catch yours for a brief moment before the man nods, swinging his pipe again. You decide that's your cue, and turn tail, taking off into the night.

----

The next morning, the blaring sound of your alarm rouses you from a restless sleep. Resisting the urge to chuck it through your window, you instead turn it off, slamming it back down on the bed side table. Sleep had eluded you in favor of nightmares of the men cornering you. Even in your dreams the smell of alcohol was sharp and nauseating. With a groan and a sigh, you toss back the covers and stumble into the bathroom.

"...I look like shit." The reflection stares back at you with sunken eyes surrounded in dark circles, her hair an absolute mess. 'Death warmed over' is how your mom would word it, and to be honest, it pretty accurately describes how you're feeling this morning. Did you really need to go to work today? One more glance in the mirror and you decide that is a firm "No." Marcy would understand when you call her about it, you know she would. "I should get cleaned up, at least," you mutter, quickly going about your morning routine.

The shower certainly helped, and with a little under-eye concealer the bags were mostly hidden. Mostly. Today was a me day, you decide, grabbing your purse and heading out the door. First order of business? Caffeine.

The little coffee shop down the street was your favorite spot for a decent cup of coffee, and the owners were always so sweet. As the bells in the doorway chimed over your head, Samael, the owner, looked up to greet you, smiling as he recognized you instantly.

"Well, well, well! Good morning to our favorite regular!"

"Morning Sam. How are you and Anita doing?" You smile as you approach the counter, already digging out your wallet.

"Well, today. A bit of a busy morning, but busy is a good thing! Will it be your usual today?"

"Please, with an extra espresso shot."

"Long night?"

"You have no idea." Sam just chuckles and shakes his head, ringing you up before going to make your order, muttering something about what it is to be young as he does.

With your artificial energy securely in your hands, you make your way outside. The sun was shining brightly today, and a cool breeze kissed your skin, beckoning you to spend time enjoying it. The park it is. Lost in your own thoughts, you didn't even notice the man making his way towards you until it was too late. A hiss leaves your lips as hot coffee drenches the front of your blouse, causing you to jump back. "Son of a-! I am so so sorry!" You look up to see who had been unfortunate enough to wear the other half of your drink and your heart nearly stopped in your chest. "It's...you..."

"Clumsy," he mutters under his breath before scowling back up to you. "You should be more careful." A heat rises in your cheeks and you clear your throat, readjusting your bag on your shoulder. He had an accent, you noticed. Spanish, perhaps? Regardless, it sounded wonderful coming off of his lips, and almost didn’t match the irritated look he wore.

"I'm honestly really sorry about that, I wasn't paying attention." The man just grunts in agreement, slipping off his coffee soaked hoodie.

"Clearly. Like I said, you should be more careful." He stares you down with dark brown eyes and you get the feeling he isn't just talking about the coffee incident. In the daylight, you could finally get a good look at him. Dark, curled hair stuck out in almost every direction on top of his head in an organized chaos. His eyes had a hard edge to them, the edge of a man who had seen too much. His skin had an almost golden hue to it, but the most notable feature was the scar that ran along his left eye, now paired with a blooming black bruise. His lip was split and a bruise was creeping its way along his jawline as well. "It's rude to stare."

The comment sends a jolt through you and you jump, clearing your throat. "Right, I'm sorry I just...You...you're the guy from last night, right...?" You lower your voice as you ask, worried about someone overhearing, though you weren't sure why. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, staring you down with an intensity that made you feel only inches tall.

"Maybe."

"...Thank you, then. For..." you wave your hands, trying to complete your sentence, but the thought of what he had saved you from brought a sour taste to your mouth.

"We're even." His matter of fact tone catches you off guard and you open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out, so you close it, kicking the ground. The whole time, his eyes never leave your face.

"Did you, uhm, get those taken care of?" you ask, gesturing to his face.

"They'll heal on their own."

"So, that's a no then. I have a cold compress back at my place. A-and I can wash your hoodie since I got coffee all over it. It's the least I could do." What are you doing? Inviting a strange man over to your place? A man whose name you didn't even know? A man who literally beat someone with a length of pipe right in front of you last night? If Dad could see you now he'd be reading you the riot act for sure. The mystery man just blinks, considering it for a moment. "And I could make us some lunch...?"

"Sure." Ah, so the way to this man is through his stomach. That's easy enough to handle. You offer him a gentle smile and nod, turning to head back to your apartment, and he follows just behind you, hands still in his pockets and grumpy countenance still on his face.

The walk is...strange. Not necessarily uncomfortable, but there was a palpable tension in the air between the two of you, and it was clear this man was not going to be initiating any form of conversation. Clutching at your bag, you clear your throat. "I don't think I ever got your name." You look up at him, curiosity in your eyes.

"Tovar is what most call me." You nod, testing his name on your lips.

"Tovar...Spanish, right? That sounds like a Spanish name," you muse, and he just makes a grunt of affirmation. Clearly, this man was the pinnacle of conversationalists. The corners of your lips perk up at your own little joke. You offer him your own name and he nods. "Are you from around here?" The look he gives you absolutely screams "what do you think?" and you felt that heat rise in your cheeks again.

"Spain. The Eastern region. Moved here about a year ago."

"Well, welcome to The States." You rummage around in your bag, pulling out your keys to let you both in. You kick off your shoes as soon as you cross the threshold and drop your keys in the bowl you keep by the door. "Home sweet home. Pardon the mess, I wasn't expecting to bring someone home today." The man called Tovar was silent, standing in the doorway with an awkward hunch in his shoulders. "You can come in, you know. Make yourself at home. Ah, and I'll take your hoodie." He hands it off to you without question before slipping off his own shoes, following your farther inside. He remains standing, looking over the pictures you have hung over your walls. When you return from changing into a clean shirt and starting the laundry, he's found one particular picture that he's picked up off the bookcase to look over and you feel your chest tighten.

"That's my parents." Your voice is smaller than you were expecting it to be, and Tovar looks up at you when he hears it before looking back at the picture. "They passed away a couple of years ago. Car accident." He nods, setting the picture back down.

"You look much like your mother." His observation brought a small smile to your lips as you turned to head into the kitchen.

"Most people said I looked more like my dad. But I appreciate the compliment. How do some grilled cheeses and tomato soup sound?" He grunts again, coming to sit at the bar that runs along the side of your kitchen. Mulling over what to talk about as you get out everything for lunch, you decide it was best to jump in head first. "What did those men want with you last night?" You hazzard a glance over to him to see him staring at his hand he’s resting on the bar. When he doesn't reply after a moment, you gently call his name and his head snapped up, as if you broke him from a daze.

"The leader owed me money." Now you're really confused.

"The big one owed you money, but you were the one getting beat up? Isn’t it usually the other way around?" The first sandwich sizzles in the pan as you flip it before looking back over your shoulder.

"He called his friends to...deter me from taking what I was owed." For some reason, the way he said that made your blood turn to ice in your veins.

"Ah." What else could be said? It suddenly felt hard to breathe in the little apartment so between sandwiches, you moved to open a window, feeling Tovar's eyes on you the whole time.

"That... sounded bad, didn't it?" You look back at him as he speaks up, and you could swear you saw a nearly...sheepish...light in his eyes. But as quick as you saw it, it was gone, replaced with that glowering look he always seemed to have. "I just did some work for him, and he's shorted me in the past so I didn't want it to happen again." You nod, setting a plate and bowl in front of him, for which he thanks you quietly before hunching over his food. Walking around the bar, you set your own food down and sit next to him as he eats like a man who hasn't seen food in weeks. You pick at your sandwich, thinking.

"Tovar...what is it you do?" You feel his eyes on you again, electing to keep your gaze on your soup.

"You're awful interested in business that is not yours," he grumbles before taking another bite.

"Can you blame me? This isn't exactly a normal situation."

He sets his spoon down and sits back in his chair with a sigh. "I do whatever I can to make ends meet. To get food to eat. To save for a place to live." You splutter into your soup, grabbing a napkin to wipe your mouth before turning back to him.

"You don't have a place to live? You're homeless?"

"I am." That matter of fact attitude astounded you.

"What the...How can you be so...okay with that?" He just shrugs.

"It's how I've lived for years since I left the Spanish military. No job, no family, no friends, nowhere to go. I came here to see if I could find something else." His eyes leave yours and he picks up the spoon again, playing in the soup. You sat in silence for a few minutes, trying to wrap your mind around this. He was homeless, probably struggled to ever get a good meal which would explain how voracious he was when you put the food in front of him, and had no one. Your heart begins to ache as it always did when you were met with someone in need.

"I...have a spare room..." The words are out of your mouth before you're able to second guess them. The look of surprise on Tovar's face as he looks up at you makes your heart stutter for a moment.

"Are you offering it to me...? I can't pay you yet, I have almost no money." You shake your head and wave him off.

"I'm not looking to make a profit off you, Tovar. If you need a place to stay, you can stay here for as long as you need. Just help out around the house. The nights are gonna start getting colder."

"Amiga, you are far too trusting." For the first time, a smile tugs at the corners of his lips, oh so slight, but you're sure it's there.

"I know, and my dad is rolling over in his grave because of it." The laugh that leaves your lips is gentle and light and is the closest thing to music Tovar has heard in a long time. Perhaps things would be alright after all.

---

It’s been almost two months since you invited Tovar into your home, and it’s nearing a point where you’re finding it hard to remember what living alone felt like. Life with him was comfortably simple. He never asked for much, and did as you asked in terms of helping to keep the house clean. Tovar kept odd hours, a by product of taking odd jobs to try and start amassing some semblance of savings, and it wasn't uncommon for you to come home from work to find the grumpy Spaniard knocked out on the couch with the TV on Telemundo. And every time it brought a smile to your face. When he was sleeping, his face looked so much less grumpy, the frown lines smoothing out as he dreams. You would drape a blanket over him and turn off the TV before heading to your own bedroom to sleep.

What you weren't expecting was after a night of working late to come home to the smell of popcorn. "Tovar..?" You called out, confused. Normally at this time, he was either out on a job or passed out on the couch.

"Amiga, you're home! Good!" He comes out of the kitchen, a large bowl of popcorn in his arms. You set your purse down by the door, walking over to him with that puzzled look still on your face.

"Work held me a little late today. What's with the popcorn?" He hands off the bowl to you before grabbing two beers from the fridge.

"A celebration is in order."

"Celebration? For what?"

"As of today, I am employed!" You blink as a slow recognition lights your face.

"The security detail job got back to you?" The excitement in your voice is unmistakable and he nods, proud.

"I start tomorrow."

"Tovar, that's great!" He nods again, grunting as he moves past you to the living room.

"So tonight, let's watch a movie together to celebrate." He plops himself down on the couch, spreading out and making himself comfortable, drawing a chuckle from your lips as you move to join him. It wasn’t often that he acted happy, usually staying quiet and reserved even when you knew he was excited about something, so this was a welcome change of pace.

"As you wish," you grin as you set the bowl down before settling in next to him, pulling a throw over your lap.

"What shall we watch?" he grumbles, flicking through Netflix. You shrug, popping a few pieces of popcorn into your mouth.

"Dealer's choice, gruñón." He rolls his eyes at the nickname you had for him before settling on some Spanish flick you had never seen before, remembering to turn on the subtitles for you. Exchanging the remote for his beer, he settles in, turning off the light on the side table and plunging the room into darkness, save the light from the TV.

You aren't sure when exactly you fell asleep, You really aren't sure when you ended up leaning against Tovar, and you are EXTREMELY unsure as to when his arm found its way around you. The only thing you are sure of is that this grumpy man holding you to him while he slept was one of the most comfortable feelings you had ever had the pleasure of experiencing. At least, that is what your sleepy haze told you. When it finally clicks that you were cuddled up to your roommate, your heart leaps into a sprint and you tense in his arms. You shouldn't be doing this. You were roommates. Oh my god, you were ROOMMATES! This was crossing all sorts of lines! Wiggling slightly, you do your best to try and worm your way out of Tovar's grasp, but the movement stirs him just enough that he grabs you more securely to him, turning you so your cheek presses against his chest.

"Hermossa..." His words are but a breath on the top of your hair and you freeze, the sound of his heartbeat strong and steady under your ear. Had you heard that right? Maybe it was just the rustling of fabric. Yeah, that was it, the fabric. Heat was rapidly rising in your cheeks and the tips of your ears were on fire, but struggling too much more to get out of Tovar's grasp would surely wake him, and you knew he needed to be well rested for his first day of work. And so you choose to stay in place, cradled against his chest, the sound of his heartbeat strong in your ear, the sound that slowly lulls you back to sleep.

---

You thought the morning was going to be awkward, but Tovar never gave you the chance. The sun's golden light pouring through your curtains is what wakes you, alone, on your living room couch. Sitting up, you wipe the sleep from your eyes, your cheeks getting hot again as you recall what you woke to earlier that morning. "Tovar...?" You called softly, standing up to look for your roommate, but only finding a note on the kitchen table, telling you that he had headed in to work with an approximation of when he would be home. He must have tucked you in before he left, and this thought did little to cool the heat burning in your cheeks.

You slap your cheeks quickly, letting out a frustrated groan as you make your way to the bathroom to get cleaned up for your day. You were friends, that's all. Roommates. Sometimes friends fall asleep on each other, no big deal. So why is it that whenever your mind wandered to the thought of being in Tovar's arms, your cheeks grew hot and your pulse quickened? Why was it that the only thing you could bring yourself to think of was how strong and sturdy he felt as he held you to him? Why was "hermosa" said in his sleepy voice the only sound you could hear as you tried to go about your day? Looking into the mirror as the steam slowly starts to fog it up, you had your answer, proudly displayed in the shine in your eyes.

"...Fuck...I'm falling for my roommate..."

And so, you do the only thing you can think to do when you find yourself bogged down in thought. You clean. Today was an off day for you, so you had all the time in the world, and the countdown to Tovar's return from work was quite possibly the longest countdown you've ever been faced with. All the better to clean with, you decide, throwing on some music. Working from room to room, you clean every surface that COULD be cleaned; counters, cabinets, walls, baseboards, floors...The apartment would be SPARKLING by the time you were through with it, so help you God. Tovar would inch back into your thoughts time to time, and in retaliation to the errant thoughts, you scrub harder or faster, as if the scrubbing would cleans the thoughts away. So absorbed are you in your cleaning that you don't even hear the door open, or the keys clatter into the holder.

"Scrub any more and you'll need to replace the tile." You nearly jump out of your skin, letting out an embarrassing shriek as you wheel around, brandishing the bottle of cleaner as a weapon. You're met with Tovar's bemused expression, eyebrow cocked as he leans against the door jam of the bathroom with crossed arms.

"Jesus, Tovar, you scared the crap out of me!"

"Thought you heard me come in," he shrugs. "All I can smell is cleaner, have you been cleaning all day?"

"...Maybe."

"Why?" You open your mouth to respond then snap it closed, fidgeting, still on the floor. You couldn't just tell him it was because you had been thinking about him all day, you couldn't make things weird like that. You were roommates, just roommates.

"Just felt like cleaning is all."

"Amiga, you are a strange one." He holds out his hand to help you up, his face still disgruntled looking, and you take it. Your knees protest and you groan, stretching as you make it to your feet.

"How was your first day?" You ask, moving past him, oblivious to the look on his face in response to the borderline lewd groan you let out. He swallows thickly, following you back to the kitchen. He grunts as he sits down, rolling his eyes.

"I work with a bunch of idiots." You can't help but chuckle, unsurprised at his response. Tovar tended to find most people to be idiots. "But it's steady pay. Better than the odd jobs I was working."

"That's good. I'm sure you'll be able to take care of any of the idiots at work in short order." You flash him a grin before ducking down to put the chemicals back under the sink. "I was thinking paella for dinner. I splurged on some saffron and seafood at the store when I went shopping the other day." You pop up from behind the counter just in time to see the surprise on his face before it falls back into the resting grumpy face he wears so well.

"You know how to make paella?" His voice is incredulous, and you nod, grinning.

"I learned on a trip to Spain several years ago, actually. I just don't normally cook it 'cause my paella pan is really big and well, seafood is expensive." He lets out a grunt, sitting back in his chair and nods.

"If you mess it up, I'll judge you forever."

"I would expect no less from you, Tovar." Pulling off your gloves and tossing them under the sink as well, you head back to your bedroom. "I'm gonna shower then get started on dinner." He grunts again, and you don't catch it as his eyes follow you all the way back to your bedroom.

Fresh from the shower and dressed in a pair of sleep shorts and a tank top, hair still wet down your back, you make your way to the kitchen to start on dinner. Tovar is nowhere to be seen, so you assume he's hiding in his room. The man enjoyed his privacy. Paella had seemed so intimidating to you at first, but after having someone walk you through the steps, you picked it up quickly, electing to stick to the more traditional rendition of the dish. After slapping the lid on the paella pan and setting a timer for it to simmer, you walk to Tovar's door, tapping on it. You were just going to tell him that dinner was about 20 away, so you were surprised when the door opened. The sight before you took your breath away.

He was standing there, shirtless in some loose hanging sweatpants that hung low on his hips. His hair was damp, the occasional droplet dripping from it to roll down the expanse of his chest. Your eyes drifted down for a moment, taking in his muscular physique graced with scattered, faded scars.

"It's rude to stare," he states simply, but the smirk is evident in his voice. You snap your eyes back to his, your face on fire. His eyebrow is arched and the smirk is firmly on his face. "What do you need amiga?"

"D-Diner," you squeak out. "Dinnerintwenty!" The words run together before you turn and all but sprint down the hall to your bedroom, slamming the door behind you. You lean against your door, sliding down to hide your face against your knees as you attempt to calm your racing thoughts. The way Tovar looked had been positively SINFUL, and your mouth is dry at the thought of how those drops of water looked rolling down his skin.

"Stop stop stop," you chant, smacking your cheeks again. "None of that, noooone of that." After a few more deep breaths, you're able to compose yourself enough to dart to the bathroom and rinse your face with some cold water before heading back to the kitchen to check on dinner. You notice Tovar has come out to take up residence on the couch, flipping through the channels. He's apparently elected to put a shirt back on, and you'd be lying if you weren't a little disappointed in that fact. He must have felt you staring, because he turns to look at you, eyebrow still arched, and you quickly avert your gaze to the dish in front of you, grabbing a fork to test the rice. Satisfied with the taste and texture, you grab out two plates, serving up a large portion for Tovar, and a significantly small portion for yourself. Two months, and he still ate like a starving man every meal. You had no idea where he managed to put it all.

"Dinner's ready, Tovar." He grunts, coming back to the bar from his place on the couch to take his seat as you place down two glasses of white wine before hopping into your seat next to him. You watch him anxiously as he picks up his fork, heaping a large bite into his mouth. You worry your bottom lip between your teeth as he takes a few more bites before he grunts appreciatively.

"It won't be winning any awards back home, but it isn't bad." The backhanded compliment was more than you had expected, and a wide smile crosses your face. Satisfied that he enjoys it well enough, you join him in eating quietly. Tovar never really talked while he ate, usually too busy stuffing his face to get a word out even if he wanted to, so dinners were typically silent. You couldn't help the feeling of pride when he helped himself to an equally large second serving. As he sat back down, his knee bumped yours and you squeaked, drawing his gaze.

"What was that?"

"N-nothing, just startled me a bit is all." You cram another bite into your mouth, hoping he would drop it.

"You're jumpy today, amiga." He takes a few more bites before he continues. "Something happen?"

Oh, you know, just came to a realization that I'm falling for my roommate who I still know so little about and I can't get the thought of you wet and shirtless out of my head, but yeah, I'm totally fine....

Is what you wanted to say. All you were able to say, however, was a simple "No." He nods, scraping up the last few bites on his plate before clearing both of your place settings. You down the rest of your wine in a gulp, hoping it would still your trembling nerves. Tovar loads the dishes into the dishwasher before turning to lean against the sink, arms crossed as he stares you down. "What?" You ask incredulously. He's silent as he stares at you with that grumpy, inquisitive gaze, sizing you up like some sort of quarry. "What is it? Something on my face?" you ask again, unable to bare the intense silence. Eventually, he just shakes his head, pushing off of the counter to walk past you.

"I have work early tomorrow, so I'm going to sleep," he states, continuing down the hall. The sound of his door shutting is followed by you slumping in your chair, resting your head on the counter. You bang your head against the counter a few times before standing up to clean the kitchen. Once all of the dishes are put away and the counters wiped down, you head down the hall to your own room for the night. A sound coming from Tovar's room causes you to pause. It sounded almost pained, so you stop to listen, concerned he might have hurt himself at work and didn't tell you about it. After all, it wouldn't have been the first time he had done something like that. You can't help the little gasp that escapes your lips when you hear him moan out your name, the shock of it causing you to stumble back from the door, pressing up against the wall adjacent to his door. Wide eyes bore holes into his door as your name drifted through it once more, laced with the lewdest sounding moan you had ever heard.

Deciding you had heard enough, and feeling rather embarrassed for such a blatant breach of privacy, you bolt for your door, shutting it quietly. Your heart is racing, thrumming loudly in your ears, and your cheeks burn so hot you feel like you could combust just standing there. There could be no mistake, your name had come from Tovar's lips mixed with the unmistakable sounds of pleasure.

...How the HELL were you supposed to sleep tonight?

---

The next week or so, you try your utmost to act normally around your roommate, still preparing meals, or covering him with a blanket if you come home late and find him on the couch. But every night plays out the same once you’re safely behind your bedroom door. Those lewd moans lacing your name in his gruff, husky voice. The thought of them caused the heat to pool in your belly every time, without fail. You'd find yourself seeking your own high, getting off to the thought of him over you, moaning your name in your ear. God how you want him.

There were times where you thought you had built up the courage to tell him that you had heard him, but as soon as those dark eyes meet with yours, all thoughts vacate your mind and you end up a babbling wreck. This was going to kill you, you were sure of it.

The desperation and desire does nothing but mount the longer this drags on, to the point where even at work you can't seem to manage to keep your thoughts off of the handsome Spaniard sharing your small apartment. Word from your manager saying you're able to head home almost an hour early is a welcome reprieve and your home is a welcome sight as you cross the threshold before immediately making your way to your room, kicking the door closed behind you. Or, mostly closed, anyways. That didn't matter, Tovar wasn't going to be home for several hours. You'd be cleaned up and calmed down by then for sure.

Shedding your clothes, you sprawl on your bed, slowly dancing gentle caresses over your skin. The pads of your fingers ghost around your nipples before you squeeze both breasts. You let out a quiet sigh as your eyes slip closed. Your imagination runs wild as you picture Tovar above you, his warm breath brushing over your skin, raising goosebumps along it. You shiver at the thought of him whispering your name against the shell of your ear, yearning to feel his stubble scratching against your cheek as he drags kisses down your jaw.

Your hand finally dips between your legs, spreading yourself and coating your fingers in your own arousal before drifting back up to twirl around your delicate bundle of nerves. Your hips arch up off of the bed under your ministrations, wishing it was Tovar's fingers drawing these moans from your lips rather than your own. His name slips out before you can stop yourself, completely lost in the fantasy of your roommate pinning you to the bed, the image of him in just those loose sweats urging you forward as the heat coils tighter in your stomach, your fingers moving ever faster as you pleasure yourself. "Fuck...Tovar...haaa..." You hiss between clenched teeth as you continue to work, drawing yourself ever closer. It's when you imagine him whispering terms of endearment to you in his native tongue that sounds so good on his lips that you lose yourself completely, tipping over that precipice of pleasure with a long keen of his name, back arched.

You fall back against the bed, panting as the waves of your orgasm slowly abate, leaving you in a happy haze as you get up to go and clean yourself. You're a mess, aren't you? Unable to think of anything but your roommate pleasuring you, which is definitely not what he signed up for when he agreed to your offer of a place to stay. You ponder how much longer this living arrangement is going to last. He has a steady job now, a steady paycheck. That, coupled with what he already has saved...he would probably be off to find a place of his own soon, and that thought made you sadder than you would care to admit. You can always ask him to stay, but would that be too forward? There was no harm in asking, right? He'd understand, right? Tovar was a bit of a grump, but he was at least understanding with most things....usually. With a grumble that sounds a bit too much like your roommate's, you finish your shower, getting dressed before heading to the living room, nearly hitting the roof when you see Tovar sitting on the couch, playing on his phone. He glances up at you when he hears your gasp, that damn eyebrow quirked up again before his gaze fixes back on his phone.

"I wasn't expecting you home for another couple of hours, Tovar." You try to make the comment sound offhand as you head into the kitchen to raid the fridge for dinner ideas.

"Got off early." Oh God, his voice was gruffer than usual and the heat was already pooling in your core again.

"Well that's good. You've been working late pretty much every night since you started." You settled on just grabbing two beers from the fridge, bringing one over to him after opening it. He just nods, taking a sip of his drink.

"They let me off because apparently threatening to break William's arm for being an idiot isn't proper etiquette." Your mouth falls open and your eyebrows raise as you stare at him. He looks up at you and you see the glimmer of humor in his eyes, causing your shoulders to relax and a smile to cross your face.

"Tovar, I never pegged you for a joking man." You chuckle as you make your way back into the kitchen, pulling out the takeout menus. "I don't feel like cooking tonight, come figure out where you wanna order from, what do you want?" You lean against the counter, flipping through menus with your back turned to him, doing your best to keep your mind from wandering to the man sitting on your couch. You jump a little when a hand finds your left hip, the other bracing against the counter as Tovar leans up against you. Instantly your face grows hot and your mouth goes dry at the feeling of him so utterly close to you. The hand on your hip feels electric and you struggle to keep your breathing under control.

"What I want, hermossa?" His voice is low as he brings his head down level to yours. "Are you an option?" Your knees give then and there and if you hadn't been holding on to the counter, you would have hit the floor. Tovar's grip on your hip tightens and he presses up against you, pinning you to the counter as you tremble against him. "Well?" he nearly growls into your ear, and you squeak out an affirmative as his nose trails a line from your ear down your neck to your shoulder where he places a kiss at the junction before nipping it gently. A shudder runs through your body and you're sure at any moment your eyes would open as you wake from this delicious dream. There is no way this could be real.

You could feel him pressing up against your backside through your clothes and you swallow thickly at just how big he feels. Your imagination had not prepared you for this. The fingers of his left hand dig into your hip as his lips attach to your neck, sucking and nibbling till a dark mark is left. The sound he makes after leaving his mark is proud and dammit your knees just won't stop shaking.

"Pero," he whispers suddenly into your ear and your eyes open. You turn your head to look at him, confused. "The next time I hear you moaning my name, I want it to be my proper name." His eyes were so dark and lust blown, they caught you so off guard that you almost didn't put two and two together.

"N...next time? What do you mean next-." You cut yourself off as you freeze in realization. "Oh my God...you...you heard what I was...earlier you heard..." Pero smirks wickedly and nods.

"You should really close your door, hermossa, if you don't want to be heard." His hand that had been resting on the bar comes up to turn your head just a little more, gripping your chin to bring your lips to his in a firm kiss that you quickly find yourself melting into. For as gruff as he sounded, Pero's lips were so damn soft. You crane your neck to press deeper into the kiss, drinking him in as much as humanly possible as you press your backside against him. He growls into the kiss as you grind against him, his hand letting go of your chin to run his fingers down your body, slipping under the hem of your tank top. Goosebumps break out along your skin the feeling of his calloused fingertips running along the skin of your stomach. In a sudden moment of boldness, you grab his wrist and lower his hand, helping to slip his fingers under the waistband of your pants and he groans into your mouth. Taking advantage of the situation, you lick up into his mouth, desperation and a burning need tinting every single action. His tongue dances with yours as his fingers rub you through the thin fabric of your panties, drawing a whimper from your lips.

He's the first to break the kiss, chuckling darkly against your lips. "You are a mess. Already so wet for me. Did your fantasy do me no justice to quell that ache between your legs?" All you can to do to respond is let out a high pitched whine at his lewd question, grinding down on his fingers, desperate for that delicious friction.

"P-Pero...Please..." Your voice is a whimper as you open your eyes to look up at him, the desperation in them clear as day. He leans in, grabbing your bottom lip between his teeth for a moment, pulling back until your lip slips from between them with a gasp from you.

"I like the sound of your voice when you beg, maravillosa." You didn't think his voice could get any lower than it was, and the sound of desire that laced his words would have hand you on the ground if he hadn't been holding on to you. His fingers slowly slip under your panties, rubbing your mound before parting your lips to coat his fingers in your slick. "So fucking wet for me." You whimper again, nodding as you cling to his arm, grinding down your hips. A jolt fires through you as he finally swirls the pad of his finger around your clit, and you let out a strangled cry, clenching your eyes closed. Pero chuckles in your ear, nibbling at the lobe before moving down your neck to suck another mark as his finger rubs the most tortuously slow circles against you. You were losing your mind and needed so much much.

"I'll beg all you want, please, PLEASE Pero, give me more. I need more," you keen, bucking your hips against his hand. Thankfully, he obliges, slipping a finger inside of you with ease and you let out a content sigh, grinding down against his hand. He curls his finger against your walls, searching for the perfect spot that he knows will have you seeing stars. When you nearly scream, he grins against your skin, nipping at his latest mark before adding a second, then third finger, slowly thrusting them in and out of you, meeting the thrusts of your hips. The stretch of his fingers is delicious, the bump of his thumb against your clit with every thrust bringing you closer and closer as your nails dig into his arm.

His lips trace along your ear still, and he whispers to you with that voice so low it draws a groan from your lips. "I want you to cum for me, hermossa. Cum and let me hear my name on your lips." He punctuates his demand with a nip at your ear and you lose it, coming undone around his hand. Your walls clench around his fingers as you throw your head back against his shoulder, your arousal absolutely coating his fingers as his name pours from your lips as reverent as a prayer. He coaxes you gently through your orgasm with slow thrusts before slipping his fingers from you. When he puts them in his own mouth, moaning deliciously at the taste of you on his fingers, you could swear you were about to cum again just from the erotic sight. Your hands moving on their own, you grab his wrist and pull his fingers from his mouth. Looking up at him with the most innocent eyes you can manage, you bring his fingers to your lips, taking them in your own mouth. You moan at the taste of him mixed with your own arousal, running your tongue along the digits. The light in his eyes turns absolutely feral and he spins you around, reconnecting his lips with your, one hand holding your hips to his, one hand at the base of your skull, crushing your lips to his with a passion that literally takes your breath away. Your arms wrap around his body, pulling him closer to you as you drag your nails down his back, relishing in the shiver that runs through his body as you do.

When he breaks the kiss to trail kisses down your jaw, you let your head fall back to grant him better access, trembling in anticipation and he forces your legs apart with his knee, bringing it up to grind mercilessly against you. The whimpers he draws from you only spur him on further.

"P-Pero I need you. Please," you beg shamelessly, all rationale replaced by the burning desire for the man who currently had you pinned to the counter. The growl against your neck goes straight to your core as Pero drops both hands to your ass, giving it a rough squeeze before hooking his hands under your thighs, hoisting them around his waist, holding you up against him. Your own arms wrap around him, tangling in the curls at the base of his neck as he turns, carrying you to his bedroom. The blood in your veins courses with such excitement that you couldn't help the giggle that bubbles out of your throat.

Gracelessly, he tosses you on to the bed and you bounce, grinning up at him like some Cheshire cat as he strips out of his shirt. You take your bottom lip between your teeth as your eyes rake up and down his figure. Taught skin covered corded muscle, something you know he worked very hard to maintain given how often he used the gym at your complex. He joins you on the bed, crawling up to you with the most intense look in his eyes. His fingers tug at the hem of your tank, tugging it up.

"This. Off with it," he growls and you nod, nearly ripping the offending article from your body as he watches approvingly. Reaching around you, he quickly undoes the clasp of your bra, tossing it to join the discarded clothes. A hunger for you shines in his eyes as he takes you in, the intensity of his stare bringing a sudden shyness to the forefront of your mind. You shrink in on yourself, bringing your arms up to cover your chest, but he is having none of it. He takes your wrists, pulling your arms away from your chest as he looks up at you. "Hermossa, do not hide your glory from me." The gentle command sends a rush of adrenaline through your body and you nod, arms relaxing in his grasp. He lays you back, rough hands running up your arms and over your chest where he massages your breasts, pinching the nipples just hard enough to cause your back to arch off the bed before they continue down over your stomach, finally coming to rest on your hips. The feeling was better than anything your imagination could have possibly dreamt up. "How many times I have dreamt of this..."

He leans over you to press a fierce kiss to your lips that quickly migrates along your jawline, following the line of your neck down to your chest. His stubble rubs deliciously against your skin, raising bumps along its path. Your fingers tangle in his hair, hips bucking up against him as he takes your left breast in his mouth, alternating between sucking, nibbling, and lavishing it with kisses until it borders on sore before switching to rain the same attention over the other. A whimper of longing escapes your lips and he glances up from his ministrations with a predatory grin before he trails kisses lower, over your naval and down to the hem of your pants. Greedy fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts, yanking them off with a quick motion, your panties along with them. The cool air on your core sends a shiver rocketing through your body.

"Such a beautiful sight," he mumbles, his hands grabbing your hips firmly as he makes himself comfortable between your legs. You do your best to still the trembling in your legs, but to no avail as he runs his nose up the inside of your thigh, his warm breath sending tingles across your skin. He repeats the gesture for the other side before letting go of one of your hips to drag a finger up your dripping slit, gathering your arousal on his finger. The gasp you let out is one of the most beautiful sounds he has ever heard, and he craves more. He wants to see just how many sounds he could draw from those pretty lips of yours, but his patience is wearing thin, his self control slipping. He presses the flat of his tongue against you, licking the whole of you before spreading your lips to suck your swollen clit into his mouth, running his tongue around it in quick circles. Your hands tangle in his hair, tugging on it and he groans at the feeling, his cock twitching in his sweatpants. Your hips buck against his mouth, and he lays his arm across your hips, holding you in place.

As he continues his ministrations, begs and moans spill from your lips in an endless, nearly incoherent stream, and each time you say his name he drags his teeth lightly over your clit, sending an electric shock through your entire body. Your moans grow higher and higher in pitch until you are screaming his name, tugging harshly on his hair as you cum for him the second time, spilling over his tongue as he eagerly licks it up. He pushes himself up and off the bed, licking his lips as he watches you laying on his bed, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath from your orgasm, eyes hazy with pleasure. He quickly rids himself of his pants and smirks when he sees how your eyes widen at the sight of him. Opening his bedside table, he pulls out a condom, ripping it open with his teeth before rolling it on, hissing at the feeling before he crawls back over your body, connecting his lips to yours. The taste of yourself on his lips draws a moan from you as you pull him against you, wrapping your legs around his waist. With a bite to your bottom lip, you feel him pressing against you. You break the kiss and gaze up into his lust filled eyes with a gaze that surely rivaled his own in terms of need and want and he hesitates, watching you. You lean up, ghosting your lips across his ear and he shivers as you speak.

"Fuck me, Pero."

You need say no more as your words start a fire inside of him. He presses into you and your head falls back against the pillow, your jaw going slack at the stretch as he fills you. With shallow thrusts he works his way into you until he is fully seated inside of you, his own body trembling at the feeling of your heat totally encompassing him. He groans as his head falls against your neck when your walls flutter around him, the stubble and mustache tickling at your skin.

"Te sientes como el cielo..." He mutters against your neck, your pulse racing under his lips.

"Pero, fuck, please move. Please, I can't take this." You cry as he snaps his hips against you, lifting his face from your neck enough to watch your face contort in pleasure as he sets up a brutal pace, fucking into you hard enough to shake the bed. Your hands find his shoulders, nails digging into the skin there which causes his hips to stutter for a moment before he regains his pace. Mutters in Spanish pour from his lips in the most gorgeous song you have ever heard as he ruts into you. When his hand moves to where the two of you are joined to rub aggressive circles against your overly sensitive bundle of nerves, you scream his name in a way that has his stomach tightening.

"Won't...last..." He grunts, but all you can do is nod and cry out. His face falls against your neck again, stubble scratching at your skin. His teeth find purchase against the soft flesh of your neck and that is all you need to come tumbling over the edge. Your walls bare down on his cock and he growls against your skin, pulling you through your orgasm before his hips slam against yours, the moan of your name on his lips as his own release washes over him. He stills inside you, panting against your neck as he tries to regain his breath. Your arms hold him to you for as long as you can, worried that when he pulls away this would all disappear and you would be standing in your kitchen as if nothing had happened.

After a few moments, he slowly slips out of you, propping himself up on his elbows over you to look over your face. His face still carried that borderline grumpy look, but the edges were softened, gentle. His fingers lift to delicately trace along your jaw and your eyes flutter at the feeling, leaning into his touch.

"Of all the times I have imagined this very thing, nothing compares to the actual feeling of you..." You open your eyes to look up at him, your heart swelling in your chest. You open your mouth to speak, but once again find yourself at a loss for words. He gives the smallest glimpse of a smile before getting up to clean himself off, coming back to join you in bed. He gathers you into his arms, pulling the blanket over the both of you. Once again you find your ear pressed against his chest, the heartbeat strong and steady. Your mind begins to race at the thought of what had just happened, and Pero feels you stiffen in his arms. His fingers trace lines along your spine in an attempt to soothe you, grunting in question.

"Please don't leave..." you whisper against his chest, so quiet he isn't sure he hears you.

"What was that?"

"Please...please don't leave. You have a job now and you're making money and can afford your own place and I know I said this was a temporary thing till you got back on your feet but," You look up at him with watery eyes. "But I don't want you to leave...I want you to stay here, with me." He looks down at you with an unreadable face, his fingers stilling on your back.

"Maravillosa... I would not do such a thing to you." His gruff voice was still coated in the honey warmth of his own release, and it warmed you through. "I will go nowhere, I swear to you." At his words, you let out a breath you hadn't realized you had been holding, relaxing into his arms to let your cheek rest against his chest.

Pero Tovar is not a soft man. He is war hardened. A man of few words. His face always borders on a scowl when he is awake, but when he looks at you, his eyes soften just a touch, the crease in his brow smoothing ever so slightly. Pero Tovar is a grumpy Spaniard, but he is your grumpy Spaniard, and that is all that mattered.

-----------

Translations:

gruñón : Grumpy Hermossa: Beautiful Amiga: friend Maravillosa : Marvelous or gorgeous Te sientes como el cielo... : You feel like heaven

Tag list: @yespolkadotkitty, @lackofhonor, @cryptkeepersoul Tag list is open! Requests are open!

#pero tovar #pedro pascal #pero tovar x reader #pero tovar x you #pero tovar x fem!reader #the great wall #my fic #modern au

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berrydoodleoo · 4 years ago

Text

spring is in the world

Title from ‘since feeling is first’. Chosen with Luna in mind, who in this AU has defied her fate and is no longer confined to parentheses. Read more about the art here, or have a short fic instead:

In hindsight, she shouldn’t have assumed things were going as well as they seemed. She had no great experience in taking lovers, after all, having devoted most of her thirty-odd years to fighting the Scourge in one form or another. She had lost so much time, first to her injuries after Altissa and the coma that had swallowed her for years, and then to the terrible fear and lethargy that gripped her once Ardyn was dead and her purpose in life (seemingly) fulfilled.

Not to mention that Noctis and Prompto were Lucian, whose upper-classes still ascribed to all sorts of prescriptive rules about romance and marriage. She should have been more vigilant -- Prompto in particular still regarded Noct and the sunlit world with nervousness bordering on dread, as if they might be ripped away from him at any moment. So what if she had danced with Noctis and Prompto at the ball held for the New Dawn’s first anniversary last week? So what if she had kissed Noctis outside her room, when he very courteously escorted her to her quarters? So what if Prompto had given her a gift of watercolor paints and cold-pressed paper at breakfast, asking with a flirty smirk if she had a model for her newest painting?

And most of all -- so what if they had made plans to celebrate Noctis’ birthday with a trip outside the city, where they would sleep (hopefully together) beneath the stars (her first test of her new resolve to walk in the dark without fear). So what? They hadn’t said anything out loud, hadn’t made any promises. She shouldn’t have assumed. She should never assume. It was such a terrible risk, forgetting to be afraid. She should have known….

It’s when she lays her hand over his, resting on Noctis’ chest, that she realizes they’ve been having two separate conversations. “He’s here to stay, Prompto,” she says, pressing gently. “I promise.”

“I know, I know.” Prompto clears his throat, forces a rough little laugh. “It’s not that.” He sniffs.

It gives her an ugly jolt to see him so distressed. They’d only been watching Noct sleep, praising his handsome features and planning how best to tease him when he awoke. Umbra is snoring cutely at Noctis’ side and Pryna is probably still in the field, chasing butterflies. Everything had seemed perfect.

Prompto glances skittishly at her frown and then begins to babble. “I just, uh -- got used to checking, you know? Making sure he hadn’t stopped breathing or started bleeding inside or something. It’ll, uh.” He shakes his head, tries to pull his hand away. “It’ll be weird not being able to check, you know, but I won’t -- I mean, I know you two -- I won’t get in the way, I won’t make things difficult, I promise--”

“Prompto,” Luna interrupts gently, struggling to follow. “I don’t understand what you’re--”

Prompto rakes his free hand over his eyes, smearing the hint of tears around. “You guys are gonna be great, you know?” He smiles bravely, props his head on his fist like they’re still chatting idly and he isn’t weeping openly. “You’ve waited for each other for so long. I guess destiny can be kind after all.” He tries to smile.

But he can’t keep the bleakness out of his eyes, and it’s clear that Prompto doesn’t believe any of this kindness has been reserved for him. “Prompto,” Luna bursts out, fumbling, confused, “are you -- breaking up with Noctis? Through me?”

Prompto recoils, or tries to; she still won’t let him get away. “O-of course not,” he stammers, “we weren’t -- I mean -- not really, we haven’t, not since -- he wouldn’t lie to you like that--”

Luna untangles this with some effort. “Do you mean you two aren’t together?” Confused, she reviews their interactions from the past few days, and then from the last time she saw them, after the final battle. “You haven’t been -- Prompto Argentum, you two haven’t been refraining because of me, have you?”

Prompto gapes at her. She gapes back.

“You have!” Astonished, Luna leans back to peer at the sky. “Why in the -- Prompto. Dear, dearest Prompto.” She checks on Noctis, in case their spirited conversation has woken him, but he sleeps on obliviously. She’ll have words with him later.

Prompto tries to sit up, retreat again, and this time Luna tugs him quite firmly back into place. “Don’t you dare,” she orders, and he freezes. “Prompto, you and Noctis love each other. You’ve been part of each other’s lives for so long, have supported and believed in one another through the worst of--” She finds she can’t find the words to continue, and tries again. “I would never, will never, seek to separate the two of you.”

Prompto’s lower lip is trembling. Luna starts to shift forward, cup his cheek, and then realizes such a gesture might be unwelcome. Dear gods, she has misread this. Such a fool she is. She’d thought--

“Quite the opposite,” she finally continues, quietly, despite the cold terror creeping through her veins. “So long as the two of you have one another, I may have peace in my heart, for I know that one good, true thing prevails.”

She blinks back a sudden flood of tears. Perhaps they don’t want her. Perhaps she doesn’t have a place with them after all. She wants her room, suddenly, her safe, prison-like room, where nothing joyful grows but nothing can hurt her, either.

“But you guys have been -- oh.” Prompto blinks rapidly, and then starts to redden. “Oh. Is this a, uh, Tenebrean thing? Like the triad thing? Oh man, is this what Iggy was trying to -- oh, man.”

Luna can’t help it; she bursts into damp, semi-hysterical giggles, despite the icy shake in her guts. Prompto smiles up at her blurrily, and then starts to laugh as well.

“Man,” he says again, suddenly beaming, eyes still tear-reddened. “He is gonna give me so much crap about this. I am literally never gonna live it down. Wow.” He takes a deep breath and squeezes her hand tenderly, overwhelmed. “Is this really -- you might have to -- I am really oblivious sometimes, but uh, I guess you know that now.” He laughs again, edged, at himself.

Luna starts to nod, changes to shaking her head, and then feels hot, wet tears dripping down her face. She’ll feel foolish later. Prompto sits up, and this time she lets him, because he’s moving to lean closer, cup her face and wipe her tears away.

“Luna,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I misunderstood.” She presses his rough, large hands to her cheeks and feels herself crumple a little more. “No,” he continues. “No, please don’t cry. I can’t -- I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Luna takes a deep breath. She isn’t been rejected. You aren’t being rejected, she reminds herself. “No, no,” she says wetly, “I shouldn’t have assumed--”

She stops herself. She’s making an effort to reprimand herself less these days. She is trying so hard to be better. And in a fight for blame, she suspects she and Prompto could go round and round until the sun went down and never came up again, but that isn’t what she wants. For either of them.

Luna takes a deep breath. She refuses to start their relationship in a spiral of apologies and self-blame. She doesn’t want that anymore. She wants to open the door to a rolling world of yellow suns and indigo skies and, eventually, gentle nights that fill her with wonder and comfort instead of fear. She wants to let go of the fear and her desperate need for control -- she wants to be free, a part of the world for the first time in her life.

So instead of berating herself, she grips his hands in hers and lets their combined grip rest against their (still sleeping, seriously, Noct?) king’s chest. Umbra is watching them with interest, she notes. And then she takes another breath.

“Prompto,” she says, falling back on an old, formal proposal from a romantic show she used to watch, as a teenager confined within Fenestala Manor. “Will you grant me the honor of your affection and presence, and keep a place for me in your heart?”

Prompto’s lovely eyes widen, full of hope and delight. Pure sunlight. He’s grinning and she’s breathless. All further words fly from her mind.

His fingers squeeze hers as he leans forward for a kiss, and then another, tentative turning into playful, his smile slotting sweetly against hers again and again. Blindly, her hands work themselves free to touch his cheeks, his throat, the rasp of his short beard. He retreats for a quick breath, tracing her lips with hot, hooded eyes, and then devours her mouth in a kiss that raises her onto her knees, toes curled and body tingling. Oh, oh, oh--

“Hey,” Noctis grumbles, exactly like a grumpy cat awoken from a nap. “Uh, did I miss something? I thought we were waiting till my birthday.”

Prompto gasps, wrenching away. “That’s what that’s all about?” he demands shrilly, and Luna bursts into giggles. “The camping trip? Oh my gods, Gladio’s gonna kill me--”

Noctis pushes himself up his elbows, squinting and scowling with the sun in his eyes. “What? You seriously didn’t know?” He sits up, absently guiding Luna to sit at his side in a way that makes her heart warm. “Thought you were kidding about that.”

“--never gonna hear the end of this, crap--”

Noctis looks to Luna, about to ask something -- probably ‘what on Eos is happening right now, I was only asleep for thirty minutes’ -- but then his expression changes and he makes a wise choice of priorities. “Uh, Luna? Pryna’s after the cheese again.”

Luna yelps and Pryna yips, betrayed, and the dog knocks the picnic basket over in her haste to escape her mistress, wedge of cheese clamped firmly in her jaws. Prompto dives to catch her -- “I’ve got her!” -- but he doesn’t. Noct fails to catch him and he lands on their legs, trapping them. Umbra runs in circles and barks for the sheer, chaotic joy of it. Pryna devours her stolen prize. And in the sunlit field, with her loves bickering and playing at her side, Lunafreya laughs until she cries for the first time in her life.

#ffxv #lunafreya nox fleuret #noctis lucis caelum #prompto argentum #ot3 #my art

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softrozene · 4 years ago

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Stars and Dreams

Anonymous requested: Hello!!! (＾ω＾) Can I request one-shot soulmate au and (magic au? Idk if you name that. 😅) Law x fem! S/O? Okay it's more like a legend. If a person meet another person (in form of a star) in their dreams they're are soulmates together. Law sees her, her appearance is form of a star but he can hear her voice clear and well. Same opposite for fem! S/O. The timeline is somewhere in Punk Hazard. And she's by the strawhats crew. When she meets Law she thinks "hey! His voice is sounds familiar." She has often dream it if she sleeps. She has also heard the legend of soulmates. If they touch each other. Then both in their body shines a bright light. Like magic. And if they sleep again. Then she sees not the star form but person Law standing before her. That's it. I hope it's not to difficult. 😅 And take your time all you need.

Alright! The first request of the year! I saved it from last year because I am beaming with confidence (and I am such a sucker for fluff and soulmates alkdafs) FLDSA I don’t think this classifies as a magic au but I sure as heck am putting that down because stars??? They are freaking magical fluff to me. This was so fun to do so thank you for requesting it!

Trafalgar Law x Female Reader

Warnings: Fluff- tooth-rotting fluff, Slight angst that is fixed with more fluff, probably grammar like always- Technical spoilers for Punk Hazard but I try to be as vague as possible and skip to the end of it.

Words: 1746

You loved going to sleep. You loved it so much and the whole crew knows why- You are one of the lucky few who has been blessed to have a soulmate. Some would consider it not lucky at all since it is so uncommon and more like a legend- But you love it so much.

You love the idea of solely being someone’s and them solely being yours.

The first time you had this dream was roughly when you were twenty. The shock that this legend of seeing your soulmate in the form of a star was beyond shocking to you. He was too bright of a light as a star, and you wondered if you appeared that way to him- If you were just as bright and mysterious to him. Even so, you loved to stare into the light of the star. Even if you could not see his physical form you knew immediately that you loved him. The second you heard his voice too- You melted. He was perfect in every way even if you have yet to learn more about him.

The part that saddened you was even though you could talk to him in your dream- You were not really talking to him. It was only a dream so whatever information his voice gave you, was all in your head. You had no true way of knowing who he is, what he liked, his name, where he was from, absolutely nothing. It made you a bit heartbroken because this was the sad part- You were destined to be together but the only thing you had to go off from was the sound of his voice.

So, it was around six years ago long before you joined the Straw Hats that the dreams started. The dreams were vague and very rare to happen at first until you did join the Straw Hats two years ago.

They got more constant and you loved to fall asleep and dream away to hear his voice. You tried to memorize it for when you were awake in the real world on islands. To try and pinpoint his voice but it was in vain.

Slowly- Ever so slowly, you began to accept the fact that you may never meet him. It broke your heart, but you began to accept it while you and the Straw Hats were split up, and eventually, it just hurt to go to sleep and dream of someone meant to be yours, but you may never have. You started to avoid sleeping.

~*~

For Law- Things were different.

When he first got the dream at age twenty, he denied it. He thought that soulmates were just strictly legends- Something not real. Until that dream and because of how much it made him feel- Alive and surprised that he may be able to love someone and receive their love in return, it frankly scared him.

He avoided sleep whenever he could- He avoided the fact that he has a soulmate.

He did not want one- He did not want to risk losing the person meant for him since he just kept losing people when he was younger.

It terrifies him and he hates it.

He will be stubborn for the next six years but eventually as the dreams got more frequent and he had no choice but to hear your sweet voice- He started to fall and hard.

It pissed him off greatly but since he slowly started to give in and felt the overwhelming love drift to him in his sleep from your star, he… Started to love to sleep when he can. He enjoyed it so much. To hear your sweet feminine voice call for him- Even if it may just be his mind doing that for you he loved it nonetheless.

Though- He did realize he could not let his dreams, his soulmate, ruin his plans for Doflamingo. He tried to keep a strict schedule and since he knew the possibility of dying was there- He tried to sleep and hear your voice so it can be one last comfort he has before the possibility of the next day taking his life comes.

He pursued his plan- Got to Punk Hazard, waited for someone he put his bid on to get there- Monkey D. Luffy to create an alliance with him. What he did not anticipate was to hear that familiar voice coming from his crew.

It became unreal to him and he did think he was going a bit crazy- But… According to the legends, all he had to do was touch you then after this terrible mission he can sleep, and hopefully- He will find out if you really are his soulmate or if this was all just a terrible dream leading him on and making him believe he can be loved in this unforgiving world.

~*~

You were exhausted. And really grumpy. Those two things did not match well, and it made your brain foggy- Definitely not a good thing when you got to Punk Hazard. An island that seemed to be swarming with enemies.

It was cold and you were miserable- Then you heard an annoying voice trying to make an alliance with your captain- Wait, you know that voice.

You couldn’t place it, but you were fairly certain it may have been from your dream. That is your initial thought until Robin informs you that they all met him back Sabaody Archipelago- Trafalgar Law. You do not recall- You remember a polar bear but that is it.

While everyone was fighting you had gotten lost with Zoro and the poor fool got split up with you and you were looking all over for him so you can’t really remember much. It is a shame since that mostly means you met him- Maybe you think it was his voice because of how loopy you are. You should really sleep after all this.

It becomes a hassle to keep up with everyone, but you are used to being exhausted now and days. The others do keep an eye on you when you become a bit dazed, they help you a lot.

Eventually- All the chaos your crew, Law, and the marines ensue on the island comes to an end- Law has Caesar successfully tied down for the next part of the plan he wants you guys to help him with- Going to Dressrosa.

But for now- Everyone, including the marines, is enjoying dinner together after that long and hectic journey of bringing Punk Hazard’s facility to an end. You wait patiently for your food- Waiting for everyone else to get their fill- Even arguing with Sanji and Chopper (who has been concerned about your health) that you can wait.

You sit down and feel the exhaustion creep up on you and nearly smother you then and there but then- You feel a hand on your shoulder and a warm bowl of stew being offered to you.

You look up to see it is Law who has his eyes narrowed down at you.

“You should listen to your doctor more. He informed me about your sleeping habits, and it isn’t good to be low on energy so you should eat up,” He states rather coldly.

You do not take it to heart. You smile and thank him.

“I appreciate the worry now that we will be working together. Oh- I suppose we still do not know each other well from Sabaody. I am (Name),” You say softly.

He narrows his eyes down but replies, “Trafalgar Law… Unfortunately, (Name) we did not have the pleasure of meeting at Sabaody. I would have remembered but it is wonderful to finally meet you now. You should rest up.”

He leaves before you can process what he said. You are shocked- Because if you truly did not meet him but just his crewmember… Then that means you may not be that loopy. That the voice you fell in love with but have been avoiding is really his.

You hate to say it but… You feel the need to fall asleep. You hate the feeling of hope just in case you are wrong.

~*~

Law is excited. He touched your shoulder, thankfully not like a creep, but as a genuinely concerned doctor. Now he just needs to wait to see if the star will turn to you tonight- He hopes it does but the part of him that does not want to risk losing anyone ever again also hopes it doesn’t.

They sleep there that night deciding to rest up before going on the move to Dressrosa- And like always he is excited to go to sleep, to hear her voice.

Sleep came fast and easy for him- He welcomes the bliss of a clear mind and how he lands in a meadow-like area surrounded by stars- The main star being his soulmate’s form. He waits with anticipation and slowly the star does begin to transform. He can’t help the blush on his face or how he feels the sudden happiness that it is true.

The star turns into your physical form.

He finally found his soulmate.

~*~

Upon waking up- You feel heated. You feel a total sense of comfort and you feel better. That was one of the most peaceful nights of sleep you got since you avoided sleeping and- It was worth falling asleep. You could cry tears of joy from seeing the star turn into Law.

But now that you are awake and you know who your soulmate is- How do you go about it? Do you even assume he had the same thing happen to him?

You are suddenly anxious as the smell of food wakes you up further. That means people will be gathering for breakfast and you all are off to Dressrosa afterward. That means you get to see Law- You feel even more anxious.

However, you do not get the time you needed to compose yourself.

Instead, you hear a knock on the girl’s door- Nami and Robin long awake and letting you sleep since you haven’t lately, and you feel your nerves light on fire as you open the door to see Law standing there.

You notice the blush on his face and the gentle look in his eyes. He decides to address the issue first. You can hear the happiness in his voice.

“So- We are soulmates.”

You smile back.

“Yeah- I guess we are.”

#my writing #trafalgar law #trafalgar law x reader #one piece #one piece x reader #fanfiction #one shot #one piece fanfiction #one piece one shot #fluff #soulmate au #female reader #one piece oneshot

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whump-town · 3 years ago

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Lie to Me

Guess who's back on their shit?

Another cancer fic for you because there's something very weird about me that stays drawn to the idea of secretly being sick

Anyways

Warnings: well... cancer

Pairings: none? yet.

Supervisory Special Agent Hotchner has a certain reputation around the office. The BAU’s ghost, walking around in his leather dress shoes and fancy suits without so much as a groan from the old, torn tile beneath his feet or the muffled swish of the material of his slacks. You never know he’s there until he wants you to and by then it’s always too late. By luck of his poor hearing or his natural affinity for silence, nothing admitted in his silent presence ever graces his lips for a repeat. The secrets all die with him. He’s as loyal as a dog -- in ways that lead to natural gravitation. The reason why Penelope Garcia beams at him every time their paths cross, why she so eagerly rushes to match his pace. To just walk beside him and talk his ear off even though she knows her answers will come in the form of soft hums and furrowed brows. In other ways, it’s killed him. Left him to live the life of a lame dog, dragging his dying body away from them. Hoping to spare them the agony of his death.

Some things that people say about SSA Hotchner are true. He really does move like a ghost and it’s a thing of great mystery and annoyance. It’s cost Emily Prentiss numerous mugs but perhaps the flash of his smug crooked grin makes that worth the shattered cup at their feet (she wouldn’t agree with that statement). He’s made Derek Morgan nearly jump out of his skin, whirling around to attack whatever snuck up on him only to find Hotch frowning back at him. If asked, David Rossi will blame Hotch for 79% of the grey hairs on his head because he hadn’t even begun to go grey until he met Hotch.

He’s really not as scary as people make him out to be.

Penelope Garcia wishes everyone knew that. She wishes cadets looked at Hotch the way that they look at Derek and Spencer. As awe-inspiring giants, they crane their necks to look up to. Instead, they lower their eyes away from him. Whispering to one another about the rumors and the things that they have been told. They regard him as a lesson -- someone to measure their existence against. To know when to get out of the job. To know when they can no longer turn back.

He’d saved her when it seemed no one else in the world really looked at her. She’d watched him take her homemade pink stationary in his hands, held it delicately as he looked over what menial ideas she could think of. He’d looked at her kindly, not at all like the snobby FBI brat she assumed him to be, and shaken her hand, “Thank you, Miss Garcia.” For the months following her career change, he’d been too kind. Brought her lunch to her desk because she was too anxious to leave her office. Gave her advice about where to park and how to miss Strauss in the hallways.

As important as his approval is to her, his well-being is more important. So, no, she doesn’t turn away when she sees him on Saturday in the emergency room. He’s sleeping off a cocktail they’d given him, turns out it’s rather hard to place a catheter near the heart when it’s beating erratically. His anxiety had nearly caused him to be sick and so he’d agreed, finally, to let them give him something to calm him down. Which is where Garcia finds him, left arm cradled to his chest, too long limbs hanging off the stretcher, and breathing slow and steady through the oxygen canal under his nose. A precaution, that’s all, given the sedatives they’d doped him up with.

“Sir?”

The fingers in his left-hand twitch, flexing towards his palm and he grunts softly at the pain that the movement causes. Slowly, breathing hitching and his eyes fluttering open, he wakes up. He’d heard, vacantly, the hesitant “sir” from the end of the bed but he assumed it was a nurse. As his eyes rise up to search the room he’s surprised, entirely so that he thinks he’s hallucinating, to find Penelope.

“Are you okay?”

He’s still piecing together the last few hours but nods. Cracking open his dry lips he swallows thickly, trying to work his voice around the tightness in his throat. Dehydrated and still disoriented he reaches for the cup of water left for him but at the current angle that he’s laying at, he can’t get it. He clears his throat, sniffling, “can you, ugh--” He’s still looking at the cup, dazed to the point he can’t think of the words he means to say. Tired eyes look back at her, pleading silently that she understands.

Penelope nods, moving forward instinctively. She doesn’t look at him, at his dark blood dried to his arm. His hospital gown stopping just at the clear protective barrier between her and the port placed on the inside of his arm. “Here,” she whispers. She needs to be closer so he doesn’t have to stretch but can’t bring herself to be close. Not within his reach. Not so close that she can see the dark rings of sleepless nights carved under his eyes. Far enough away that the tremble in his hand is easily overlooked. So that he doesn’t seem as weak and frail as his voice sounds.

He sips the water, knows from too many mistakes not to drink too much just yet. “Why are you here?” He nearly sounds like himself, dark brows furrowed and voice taken its steady, deep rhythm back.

She looks over her shoulder, past the curtain pulled around them for the sake of privacy. “I, uhm, volunteer for a support group that meets every Saturday here at the hospital.” She points to the front desk, to a woman with curly hair pulled back in two ponytails. “I came downstairs to say hi to Mac and I saw you and I just…” Suddenly, realizes how she shouldn’t be here. That if he wanted comfort he’d have told them, or someone.

Wait. Stop.

That doesn’t matter. Hotch doesn’t know what’s good for him. Everyone knows that. So she made the right decision to come over here.

“You’re not driving yourself home, right?”

In her silent contemplation, he’d began to fall asleep again. The cup in his hand dangerously tipped and eyes held open by slow, deepening blinks.

“Hotch?” She touches his hand, flinching away at just how cold his skin is.

He cracks his eyes back open, cracks of soft brown iris finding her slowly. He hums, mouth cracked open.

“Will you let me take you home?”

Home. He hums again, vaguely aware of her warm hand coming to rest over his. Moving his stiff fingers away from the cup, taking it from him so he doesn’t spill it over himself.

It’s meticulous work, keeping him awake. Even harder making sure he gets dressed but once he’s sitting up he’s much more alert, grumpy now for being duped into asking her for help. She’d offered it but that means nothing to him. He’s no less thrilled to find his brain too foggy and arm too weak to work his arm through his sweater. She still smiles when his head pops through, hair a crazy mess on his head.

She packs him carefully into her car, a boxy little thing he’d frowned at when she bought it. He’d been the reason behind Morgan and Reid both coming to her office with statistics and fear about the safety of it but she’d loved it. He’s a worrier, prone to stewing and her car had taken up a lot of his energy for the first year she owned it. Now he’s being packed into the green monstrosity, senses assaulted by incense. Everything’s sparkly and he ends up sitting with a teddy bear in his lap, a troll in his hand. He’d taken their rightful place as her passenger.

His legs do not fit no matter how far back he moves his seat back and Penelope feels awful that he looks so uncomfortable but also finds it to be humorous. His knees to his ears, dark scary Agent Hotchner holding a stuffed bear to his chest, head resting against the window. It’s sweet.

It’s fairly easy to figure what his thought process today when she pulls up to his house and no one’s home. Jack’s camping, she learns. He’s dozed off again, prone and more willing to whisper half-truths. Will be away for the whole weekend until Tuesday morning. Jessica is getting her nails and hair done, he’d made the appointment just to make sure she really did it. The haircut should have ended just in time that he could call her and ask if she’d pick him up from the hospital. Where he thought he would have already artfully hidden the PICC line under his sweater and played the affair off as a routine sort of deal. A check-up.

“Sir…” she’s standing now, awkwardly, in his living room. The curtains are drawn back the way he likes, closing off the sun. He’s tucked under his heating blanket, trying to remain awake for the sake of the fact that it’s rude to fall asleep while entertaining guests. Yet, failing miserably. “Sir, I was just wondering… Is everything okay?”

“I’m--” the truth nearly slips right out. He clears his throat, managing to sit up just enough to catch her eyes. “Don’t worry about me, Garcia. Jessica will be around in an hour.” He holds his left hand closed, trying to stop his cramped fingers from twitching. “Dave and Emily are coming by for dinner. I’ll be okay.”

It’s completely unethical.

It’s so unprofessional.

But she can’t help herself.

Her eyes prick with tears when Emily shakes her head in the kitchenette, the sound of Hotch’s wet coughs breaking through his closed office door. “He needs to get that checked out,” she sighs, hiding her bleeding worry with annoyance. “Sounds awful.” And Penelope stands there with Hotch’s secret tongue-tied.

He’s getting worse and fast.

She gets a call from Derek, seething anger laced into his words. “He fucking-- He fucking just-- .” She knows it’s really just fear. Can hear him walking, his rapid pacing as he tries to outwalk his expanse of emotions. “He -- He shouldn’t be in the field. I mean, it’s like he didn’t even see it coming. He was just…” She remains steady. Wipes the tears that slip past her eyelashes with the back of her hand. Derek cries, on the ground with his knees to his chest, and he tells her what happened. How Hotch was paying attention to him and if he hadn’t been then maybe…

She greets them at the elevator, feels her smile attempt to waver when Hotch’s tired eyes raise from the ground. The bruise along his cheek a deep agonizing yellow, the wound on his temple still weeping angrily through the bandage. He can’t fly until his concussion is healed, longer if his tinnitus doesn’t get better. “It’ll be fun having you home,” she assures him, giving his fingers an extra squeeze.

Luck, it seems, has never seemed to favor Aaron Hotchner’s particular brand of bold.

Working at the District Attorney’s had been a morally fulfilling job. In theory, he could rest assured, each night, that he was doing what he could to help people. He was putting the real bad guys behind the bars. Even as his dreams filled with the images of the victims who had to wait for months, and even years, to get their proper justice. In reality, he slept poorly and rarely. Unable to properly maintain his workload without impossibly long hours. With time he found his work to be unfulfilling. He was doing nothing to stop crime from happening and sinking further into the realization that was failing more people than he could ever begin to help.

In court, he was ruthless. Haley didn’t like the man he became in the courtroom. Ruthless and harsh, he appeared evil and terrifying with his hawk-like eyes and infallible ability to pinpoint weaknesses in his opposers. Around the office, they nicknamed his alter-ego “Hot-head Hotchner” because the Aaron that gets flushed ordering lunch couldn’t possibly be the same man who made a man wet himself on the stand. Haley couldn’t agree more.

Hot-head Hotchner got him offered a job in corporate law, several firms were throwing big numbers at him to encourage that lasered focus to be on their side. Lest they find themselves opposing it. Morally, he could never go into corporate law but the offer to spend hours bending law into something pliable and poking holes in judicial wordings was compelling. It would be complex, rewarding work with a big pay-out. Better than the shitty salary he made at the D.A.’s office. Before he could make the compromise he met David Rossi and he never got his chance to bend the law to his will, he held his moral ground and instead changed career paths.

It was bold leaving what he knew he was good at for something new entirely.

A costly decision.

He never got to fulfill his secret desire to mold the law but bending the truth wasn’t a far cry from the same thing. Lying has never been something he felt comfortable with and that had no exceptions. He hadn’t wanted to tell the team Emily had died but that had far less to do with his morals and so much more to do with a picture much bigger than himself. The hell he knew that would rain down upon them in the weeks to come. The inability of the team to cope. Intuitively something holding them back and what they could only assume was a stage of grief.

To Emily Prentiss, he has never lied. Stretched versions of the truth he maintains to not be the same thing as a lie. If they count then his answer would be different but the eye of the beholder adds context. And as the holder of this context, he resolutes the power to declare them very different.

“New girlfriend?”

He’s breathing through a bought of nausea attempting to take him off his feet. The cold countertop biting into the skin of his wrist, his palm pressed flat to the surface so that he doesn’t grip the edge. So that his pale bloodless knuckles holding onto dear life do not betray the severity of which he fears he might get sick or pass out.

His phone is on the counter, turned upside down so that he doesn’t have to see the screen light up with every new text that comes through. The high-pitched “ding” of each new message is lost to the tinnitus he’s been succumbing to now for the better part of the week. No amount of coffee or Tylenol has helped.

Raising his gaze makes the pounding in his head worse but he has to meet Emily’s questioning gaze. They’ve started to notice his “off” behavior. His inability to stand for long amounts of time without physical drain. His decision to stay home on the last several cases, working here with Garcia rather than joining them in the field. The way he relies on Morgan’s lead more than he used to, falling silent and allowing the other man to make decisions. He suspects they just assume he’s looking into retiring or that he’s struggling to kick his “chest cold”, he doesn’t bother correcting them.

“No,” he manages, swallowing around the heaviness of his tongue. The way his mouth seems full of salival added pangs to his stomach as he knows he’s going to be sick. “It’s Jessica.” She’s angry with him and for good reason, though he doesn’t offer an explanation as to why.

Emily hums, raising her eyebrows and shaking her head. “What’d you did you do to piss her off?” In other circumstances, he might assume she’s attempting to pry. She’s just here for another cup of coffee, offering him a way to release some of his stress. No hard feelings if he suggests she fuck off and willing to lend an ear if he wants to talk. She’s not holding her breath but she hopes he comes undone. That he admits to some awful conspiracy and that this whole time they’ve been in some twisted social experiment to see how unified they actually are. That he isn’t as sick as he looks. That he’s just in a low spot and in a month he’ll be putting the weight back on and Derek will be telling them all about training for another marathon. How Reid could do more pushups than Hotch.

“I’m sorry,” Hotch whispers. He tries to step away from the counter. Feels the temperature in the room drops several degrees, his skin broken out in goosebumps. “I think to sit down,” he says frantically, knows now he needs to sit before he passes out.

Emily grabs his arm, tries to help him up. To get him to the chair that’s right there, so close.

“Hotch?” Derek jogs into the kitchen, he’d seen from afar and come running. “Emily, what’s wrong?”

Emily helps him to the ground, hand holding the back of his neck as his body starts sinking faster, beyond his control. She sits down on the ground beside him, eyes scanning across his body to find a feasible answer. Below her, Hotch’s breathing has gone rapid and shallow. His eyes rolled back into his head, neck-craning as he unconsciously fights to get air into his lungs. “I don’t know,” she says. “I don’t know. He just-- He was just--” Hotch wheezes, an awful sound. He chokes, blood coming to paint his lips. To coat his teeth.

“Hotch?” Derek moves to his side, picking up Hotch’s shoulder to move him onto his side. “Hotch, answer me!”

His only reply is a wet gurgle, a blood-coated wheeze.

#tw cancer #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #penelope garcia #emily prentiss #derek morgan #criminal minds fanfiction

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