#the fact that this was from jeans pov makes me lose it

[pedrosgrogu]

Born Too Late - Chapter 6

pairing/au: neighbor!joel x reader // no outbreak

Warnings: MDNI!! soft/sad joel, angst, tension, drinking, idk what else, let me know if i missed something.

Summary: you break off the situationship and the feelings after it are overwhelming, for both you and Joel.  (2.4k+)

a/n: idk what this is, i woke up ready to write and here we are. i feel like i suck at writing from both POVs so idk how frequently ill do it but i feel like it was necessary here. always a major thank u to my bestie raven for proofing and feeding the delusions and ideas. i love all feedback so if you have any, pls share.

p.s. there will be another thanksgiving chapter tonight hehe. 

Master List - Chapter 5

*Joel’s POV*

You can feel the door slam and vibrate through your bones. The sound of the sink dripping reverberates through the entire house. You stand there in disbelief; in shock. You hadn’t fallen so hard for someone since Sarah's mom, and boy did she fuck that up. Did you come on too strong? Was it the fact that you have a child? A million thoughts run through your head, but none make any sense. 

By 11:30, you’re on your 3rd glass of whiskey. You aren't drunk, but you're in a sweet spot of euphoria to combat the evening's prior feelings. You’re watching reruns of Bonanza and begin to doze, until the phone rings. You jump up, “maybe it's her” you think out loud. Answering with a burly “Hello?”, not even checking caller ID. “Hey brother. Bad news, Im down at county again got in a little-” “Goddamnit Tommy.” You say, standing up, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I know, I'm sorry. But if someones not here to get me within the next 30, I'm here all weekend.” Tommy says, sounding desperate. You don't say anything for a minute, trying to figure out if you should be his savior yet again or let him learn a lesson. “I'm on the way” you grunt, hanging up the phone before he can respond. You throw on your t-shirt and jeans from earlier, and they still smell like her. The sigh that escapes your mouth is guttural. Why do you have such strong feelings about someone you barely fucking know? 

You grab your keys and pull the door behind you; locking only the bottom. You look towards her house and notice the lights are all off, except her bedroom. You see her reading in bed, her hair still up and her Texans sweatshirt bunched around her. The last time you looked in her window, something very different was happening. She was on the verge of losing herself to you. You feel your jeans twitch and get in your truck. It rumbles to life and you peel down the street, praying you make it to county before midnight. 

*Reader’s POV* 

You slam the door behind you, and tears are building in your eyes. You pause, hoping to hear the door open and for Joel to come running after you, but he doesn't. You kick your shoes off at the door and head straight to your room, not turning any lights on. You sit in silence for a few minutes, unsure of what emotions are about to pop out next. You shoot Penny a text, not even thinking about the time in Ireland. 

You: Hey Pen, can you talk? 

You throw yourself on your bed, clutching your phone and holding back tears.

*ding* 

You pick up your phone, not sure who you want to text you more, Joel or Penny. 

Penny: Respectfully, do you know what time it is here?! 

You: I'm sorry Pen, I didn’t even realize. We can catch up tomorrow, just call me when you’re free. I’ll be home all day.  As soon as you hit send, the phone rings. 

“Hey Pen” you say, trying not to sound as upset as you are. 

“Yellow, what's wrong?” She says, yawning. 

“Nothing Pen, I just missed you!” You say, trying to sound cheery. 

“Girl, it's like 10:30 at your house, I know you weren't just up thinking of me.” 

So you spill. You tell her about how he spoke to you at the conference, and how he cooked you dinner. How he fucked you into oblivion again. By the end of your spiel, you’re in tears again. 

“Okay so from what I can gather, you obviously like him. Right? Sooooo why did we cut this off? I don't understand the whole “Ethical Misconduct” if you’re both consenting adults?”

You sigh, sniffling. “It's complicated. I truly don’t think anything would happen, but since his daughter is in my class, I don't want it to look like I’d be favoring her. I just feel stuck. I feel stuck because hello- he's hot but hello- I also don't know anything about him except his name, and how he fucks. I just-” Penny cuts you off

 “I think the best thing for you to do if you aren't going to pursue this, is to leave it alone. Don’t talk to him unless it involves his daughter. Don’t even look in his direction. I hate to see you so torn up over this, but if nothing can come of it, it's time to let it die.” 

You mute the phone, letting out a sigh, and a whimper. You know Pennys right, and she only wants whats best for you. It's so fucking annoying being so far away from your best friend. You’d give anything to hug her right now.

“Hello?” she says. You unmute. 

“Sorry Pen, I'm here.” You look at the clock. 11:18. 

“Penny, I appreciate this, and you. I love you so so much, and I'm sorry for texting so early.” You say, giggling. “But I'm tired, and I want today to be over.” 

“I'm always a phone call away Yellow. Always.” 

“Love you Pen.” you say, hanging up. 

You stand up and walk over to your bookshelf. Running your fingers along the spines, you look out the window, and all Joel's lights are off. You find your favorite, pulling it out and rubbing your fingers over the etched title. “The Picture of Dorian Gray”. You throw your blankets back and crawl into bed, turning on your bedside lamp. The room looks warm, but you’re freezing. Your tears begin flowing again and this time, they don't stop. You miss your friends and your family. You miss having someone to come home to, regardless of who it is. 

It’s been a few weeks since you last talked to Joel and you feel the same as you did then. You’re craving his touch, and desperate for him to give you any ounce of attention. But he never does. If you’re ever outside when he is, he never looks your way. He doesn't smile, or wave. He keeps his head low and pretends you aren't there. 

Sarah has come over a few times after learning you were neighbors, to get help with homework and you don't mind it. Making small talk with her about her other classes, her interests, and her family. Today, she came over and brought chocolate chip muffins. “I made these with my dad and Uncle Tommy! If they’re bad, it's because Uncle Tommy put way more chocolate chips than the recipe called for.” She says, laughing. “I'm sure they’re great Sarah,” you say, grabbing 2 plates from the cabinet. “How is Uncle Tommy?” you ask, genuinely. You like Tommy. Based on the few times you’ve met him, he seems like a nice guy. Handsome like his brother, but not quite your type. “He’s good! He and Dad just started working on some big project so they’re gone late sometimes…” She trails off. “Sarah, you are always welcome to come hang out if it gets late and no one is home!” You say, trying not to sound too worried. She smiles at you. You bite into your muffin. “Sarah, these are DELICIOUS!” you say excitedly. “Thanks,” she says with a smile. “So how is your dad? I haven't seen him in a while, but the big new project would explain that.” Sarah sits her muffin down. “He’s okay. He went on a date last weekend, but the woman was kinda weird. She came early when my mom was picking me up and started a fight with her while I was standing there.” “A date?” you say to yourself, trying to keep your emotions together. “I'm sorry that happened, Sarah,” you say, looking at her intently, trying to gauge her feelings. “It’s whatever. They’re going out again tonight so I don't think it bothered him too much.” She says, taking another bite of her muffin. “Uncle Tommy told me we could go roller skating so I should get home to get ready. Ill see you at school next week!” she says, putting her shoes on. “Bye Sarah! Have so much fun, and I cant wait to hear all about it on Monday!” you say, as she closes the door. 

A date. A fucking date. 3 weeks ago he was practically begging you to cum for him and then stay the night, and now he's going on dates? What a fucking asshole.  

*Joel’s POV*

It's been 3 weeks since you last spoke to her. Sarah realized you were neighbors so she's been spending lots of time with you, it's how you get your fix. Tommy noticed your shitty moods and finally cracked what's wrong. 

“I knew you'd been seein’ someone! You ain't been that giddy since you met Sarah's mom.” Tommy pauses and begins again “Shes nice, the neighbor girl. What’d you do to fuck it up?” 

You grab his collar, picking him up. “Do not ever compare her to Sarah's fucking egg donor. EVER,” you grunt, throwing him down. “And I didn’t do shit. We just weren't right for each other,” you say, walking away. “Let me introduce you to Maria’s friend, Celeste. She's kinda crazy but she's a looker!” Tommy says, laughing again. You groan. “Tommy, I don't need you playing matchmaker” you grunt, slinging his work belt at him, “now get your shit and let's go, we’re gonna be late.”

So much for Tommy not playing matchmaker. Its Sarah's weekend at her mom's and Tommy just informed you that Celeste is on the way. As long as Sarah’s mom is gone by the time she gets here, you think. You put on a pair of jeans, brown boots, and a T-shirt. “Sarah, your mom is gonna be here in 5 minutes, are you ready?” you yell down the hallway. “Yes dad, coming!” she says back. You grab your favorite flannel off the back of the couch. 

“Alright honey, I’ll see you Tuesday after school. I have a big day on Monday so you’re gonna stay with your mom for an extra night.” You say, hugging Sarah in the driveway. “I love you”. “I love you too dad!” she replies, opening the door. Before she can get in, a silver Lexus peels up the street and right into your driveway. Celeste. 

After an intense and fucking weird argument between your date and Sarah's mom, you both get into your truck. The silence is deafening. This woman is not your style at all, what the fuck Tommy? 

The date goes well, so well that Celeste asks to see you a second time. You agree, unsure why. She's not you, Yellow. But maybe it's what you need. A change of pace. 

While getting ready for your date, you realize you’re out of shampoo. Usually, you’d say fuck it, body wash can double. But you want to see her, you need to see her. So you throw on your sweats and head next door. 

You knock lightly, hoping not to disturb her. She opens the door and your nose is suffocated with her scent. Lavender and eucalyptus. Her hair is lying natural, wavy, and flowy. You open your mouth to speak but nothing comes out. She looks gorgeous. 

“Joel? Hello??” she says, obviously annoyed. 

You snap back to reality. “Hey. I have a meeting tonight and realized I'm out of shampoo. Do you have any?” you now realize how fucking stupid that sounds. “Are you joking?” she says laughing. You smile. “No, I wish I-” She stops you, and her smile slowly turns into a frown. “You have some fucking nerve coming over here and asking me for shampoo, like we’re friends. You haven’t spoken to me in WEEKS. And then to lie about why you need it?” You look at her, dumbfounded. Like a deer in fucking headlights. “Joel, after your date, don't forget to go fuck yourself.” and she slams the door. Her words were sharp like a knife, cutting deep. You feel tears begin to well in your eyes and hear silent sobs through the door. You walk away before she sees you, also crying. 

You call Celeste and tell her to just come to your house, you don't feel like going out. Around 7:30, you hear a car door shut. She knocks, gently. You open the door and there Celeste stands. She's wearing a long-sleeved black dress, with black heels. Her hair is curled and bounces with every step. Again, she's beautiful, but she isn't you, Yellow. 

*Readers POV*

“Joel, after your date, don't forget to go fuck yourself.” you say, slamming the door in his face. You fall to the floor behind the door, letting your sobs escape. Not caring if he hears or not. What a fucking time for this to happen. Thanksgiving is in 2 weeks and Penny is stuck in Ireland doing research, your parents are visiting their friends in Spain for the holiday, and your siblings have their own families. You have never felt so alone in your life. 

You spent the next few hours moping around the house, waiting for Penny's call. You watched Joel's date pull into the driveway. Her and her fucking Lexus and her bouncy hair and her fucking heels. You head to the fridge to find whatever intoxicating liquid you see first, but then you have a better idea. If he can have fun, you should too. You take a quick everything shower, spritz your favorite all over, and throw on a mini dress with some black heels. You call a taxi and grab your clutch. 

The taxi pulls up a few minutes later. “The closest bar, please. One with music,” you say, and the taxi pulls off.

[atlalasassy]

Was it casual when you threw yourself out of goal like all of hell was at your heels when you saw that I was in danger?

[overlydeniableteddy]

Grandma’s House

Feedee POV / Force & Hand Feeding / Clothes Bursting

Staying at Grandma’s was always a risk, her portions always seemed way too much for the two or three people she usually cooked for. “It gives me practice for the holidays!” She would always exclaim when you told her she’d given you too much, even though you knew she never cooked at the family holidays. Either way, you didn’t have a choice now in what you ate, it was either stay at Grandma’s for free or face the climbing rents of the college accommodation. So Grandma’s it was, you just had to be careful of what you ate in case you ended up like your uncle who was the last of her kids to move out, he’d ended up as 450lbs and still managed to find a wife who’d helped him lose the weight.

You’ve been here for a month, college was going well and you’d made some friends too but you weren’t close enough yet to stay over to try and avoid your Grandma’s cooking. Not that it was bad but you always ended up eating everything on your plates and hers, much to your resistance and a lot to her insistence. Since your grandfather had passed, she seemed more insistent on making sure you were well fed, even if it meant going over your capacity. So far, it hadn’t had a major impact on your waistline, I mean, some of your clothes were starting to feel a bit tighter and started to ride a little bit up and down your body when you moved but it was manageable damage. You were going to start at the gym soon, trying to work off all the calories that had been packed into your meals.

***

A few months go by and things are still going well, you’d started at the gym which seemed to be going well, you weren’t losing any weight though. In fact, it was only increasing your appetite and quite substantially too, and Grandma loved seeing you actually begin to gorge yourself during dinner (eating your own massive portion and the three quarters of her dinner she never touches). Working out was beginning to get harder, despite all your best efforts to lose weight, it was still snaking its way onto your plumper figure. Your growing belly had started to make things harder when doing cardio, feeling your large body bounce and sag with every step, you were getting tired more quickly. You’d noticed not too long ago as you were trying to force yourself into a pair of jeans that had once been too baggy (you were supposed to exchange them for your actual size but couldn’t be bothered too), that these were the last pair of jeans you owned that could even accommodate your increasing size.

When you told your Grandma, she smiled and said you both could go to the store and get you some new clothes, you agreed tentatively and tried to ask her about trying to shrink your meal sizes because of how big its impact was on your body but she brushed you off with a pinch of your arm fat.

Getting dressed before your big shopping trip, you find yourself in front of your mirror surveying the damage of the months living with Grandma. It was no mistake that your thighs had gotten bigger, there had never been a gap between them but now that you were standing there, you saw that they now seemed to push themselves away from each other. Your belly too had grown tremendously, a big orb of fat clinging to your torso, its building quite the hang too with budding love handles that fold thickly on your sides. Unfortunately for you, the weight gain had found your face and gave you a cherub’s features, chubby chipmunk cheeks and a thick double chin had started forming around your once angular face. What would your parents think? They also knew the risks of staying with grandma but they thought you were grown enough to not cause too much damage to your once trim body. But they were wrong, now standing in front of the mirror, you’re clearly at least 100lbs heavier than when you came here.

***

You jump, you heave, you suck in. Nothing you do can get the jeans over the ass and belly of yours, they’re just to fat now and this was the last pair of jeans they had in stock. You feel your eyes stinging with tears, tentatively placing a hand on your flabby gut and give it a jiggle. Violently, you begin to shake every fat part of you body watching yourself jiggle in crescendo as you begin to sob.

Hearing the slapping of flat, your Grandma walks in and places her hands on yours. Her sweet eyes look at you with innocence, she chuckles slightly.

“Even when your uncle still lived at home, he didn’t give in that easily!! I never would’ve guessed you would be the grandchild who’d fatten up this much!!”

She laughs and gives your belly a gentle rub, something switches in your brain. How soft and gentle her hands are on your fat body, how soothing her words are— you feel yourself push your body more towards her, desperate for her silent approval of the changes in your body.

“Now now, those jeans aren’t going to be any good for someone who’s still growing!! You need something comfier— I know just what you need!!”

She smiles at you mischievously and hands you a set of sweatpants and a sweater with a tshirt too, matching of course. So that’s what you buy, only ten sets of sweats and a matching tshirt, uncertain why you’d need a matching top and bottoms. But they fit and they were flexible so they stretched nicely over your growing body and when you grew out of them, they still gave you a chance to get a new set before the seams ripped in the sweatpants.

Your weight continues to climb, your body becoming flabbier and more rounded but you don’t mind now. You and Grandma have an understanding with each other now, you take your classes online so you don’t have to waddle far and she gets to feed you incessantly and give you belly rubs to for when you get too full.

Your family was shocked to say the least when you ambled up the driveway a mere six months after you moved in with Grandma for college. They begged and pleaded you to go on a diet or back to the gym but with Grandma’s hand buried in your love handles, you knew with her support and insistence— you’d never be skinny again.

[avianconcept]

Lucas Johnson, and why he was one of my favorites in TSC.

I see a lot of people hating on him for his reactions + actions towards Jean in TSC, which is fine! Everyone’s allowed to not like characters, and we’re all on Jean’s side! Lucas enabled a really traumatizing and dangerous situation. But I keep seeing these posts referring to him as an asshole who Jean should have revenge of some sort on, and I’m like ??? 

I thought Lucas had one of the most interesting arcs in TSC, and tied in really well with one of the central messages of the story. I think he’s a character who is in a lot of distress that he is unprepared to handle, and is still seeking the painful truth. Yes he was a dick to Jean several times, but I don’t think this makes him an Evil Antagonist or a little shit or whatever else he is referred to as. I found Lucas and Jean’s plotline to be one of the most compelling in the whole book. It made me think about how much knowing the truth matters, even if it can’t change the scenario. This is going to be a long and unstructured mess that is sort of about Lucas, sort of about the Ravens vs Trojans, sort of about themes. I apologize in advance, but this has been kicking around in my brain since I finished TSC the day it came out. 

I’m going to start with the straightforward bit: why I personally think Lucas is over-hated, and why I liked him. 

I think most of it comes from the fact that we as readers forget that not all characters are operating with the same information and perspective that we are. Our perception of the situation is informed by Jean’s POV– in a lot of ways, his perception is ours. So we have known from pretty much minute one that Jean isn’t an asshole, that the rumors about him aren’t true, and that Grayson is a serial rapist. So when we see Lucas not believing Jean, questioning him or calling him a whore, we see it the way Jean sees it: a nosy, rude, foolish man who is going out of his way to make Jean’s and his own life difficult unnecessarily. 

But when you think about it from Lucas’ POV, remembering that Lucas does not know the things we know about Jean and Grayson, Lucas’ actions make a lot more sense. 

Imagine, for a moment, that you have an older brother. You grew up together, you played the same sport, you loved him. And then he leaves, and goes no contact out of the blue. You try and try and you can’t get a hold of him, even when you join a college team yourself. But then one day, after his team falls apart, he comes home. He comes home angry and wrong and you can barely recognize him.The only way you can get him to engage with you is about this ex teammate of his. He gets angry, attacks you, hits you until you lose teeth. The rest of his team is being put in inpatient care in psych hospitals. You’re not sure whats wrong with him, only that this is not the brother you loved– there is something very wrong with him, and the only thing he’ll talk about is Jean Moreau. 

I feel like when we see it this way, it isn’t hard to get why Lucas came out so hostile when he met Jean. Jean was already surrounded by this (false, unfair) media perception, and then Grayson talks about how much he hates him. When you bear in mind that Lucas has known Grayson his whole life (minus the last four or so years), and Jean for about two minutes– it doesn’t surprise me that he does not immediately take Jean’s side. I’d even go so far as to say that it would make no sense if he did. ESPECIALLY when from Lucas’ POV, Jean starts saying all of this horrible (true) shit about Grayson, which has got to be a sore spot for Lucas atm. Because Lucas doesn’t understand that 

Sidebar: I don’t say any of this to blame Jean, or say that Lucas is without flaw– I say it because it’s a really well written conflict. In both characters' heads, they’re each making perfect sense. It’s irritating to me in books when the author has thrown in a conflict for drama only, by making two characters hate each other for no reason. This situation is really compelling to read about for this reason. 

I’ve seen a few of takes along the lines of, “How dare Lucas keep pushing Jean for answers/bring Grayson to the Gold Court/not believe Jean when Jean is CLEARLY traumatized.” And I get it– it was painful and frustrating to see him not understand. But also I think we as longtime lovers of AFTG have had ten-ish years to get used to the Foxes, and their understanding of trauma. For them, the parts of trauma that are triggers and erratic behavior and strange boundaries are navigated almost instinctively because it is all of their lived experience. They all (mostly) learned the language of when to push and when to back off because they have areas themselves that they don’t want to be asked about. Though they don’t use therapy speak, and though the way they deal with it often ranges from unorthodox to downright problematic, they have an understanding of the weight of what they’re working around. 

Lucas Johnson does not come from this world. He does not have this understanding– it is likely that the first time he was afraid in his own house was when Grayson came home. Now, compared to how gently and tactfully some of the other Trojans handle Jean, like Jeremy, Cat, and Laila, or even Cody and Xavier knowing to back off about Jean’s scars; Lucas isn’t doing so great. He could have been better. There are a few things to consider though. 

One: None of Jeremy, Cat, Laila, Cody or Xavier have as much of a personal stake in this situation as Lucas does. For them, it's an issue between two teammates, not the brother they’re slowly realizing they don’t know anymore. 

Two: There’s been two instances of drama mentioned, one being whatever Cat’s freshman year drama was, and two being whatever Jeremy’s banquet situation is. So the floozies might actually have a little more of a clue about how to deal with difficult situations. 

Three: Lucas is also undergoing trauma. He had the shit beat out of him by the brother he so desperately wanted back. He’s realizing the brother he loved may actually be dead. That is traumatic and painful and does not make someone act like their best self. 

All of this to say– he goes about the situation in a really indelicate, inexperienced way, makes some really bad judgment calls, and I think that makes a ton of sense! 

ANYWAYS. God. 

The reason I think Lucas ties in really well with one of the main messages of TSC is how he reacts as he finds out more and more about Grayson. In his final conversation with Jean, he is grieving, afraid, and in shock, but he is willing to accept that Grayson is not the man he knew anymore– that Grayson turned into something horrific. 

Lucas, upon realizing this new information, doesn’t cling onto his old world view. He doesn’t try to find ways to spin it to keep his brother in the right and Jean in the wrong. He faces the evidence in front of him, and makes an effort to realign his perspective with what he now understands the truth to be. Put a pin in that for a second. 

One of the messages of TSC seems to be that to look away when you know something malignant is going on is an act of violence. 

Jeremy is the one who outright says it, I will not look away, but that sentiment is echoed in the actions of so many characters. Cat and Laila’s continued rejection of Jean’s scrimmages excuse for his injuries. Neil looking for more than a second at the state Jean was in after Grayson’s attack and realizing something was wrong. Lisinski not brushing off Jean’s reaction to the water and banning him from swimming, to keep him from doing it anyway. Xavier, Cat and Cody’s reactions to Jean's scars. Over and over again we see people refuse to look away. 

Think about the Nest, about the sexual assaults Jean’s freshman year. The backliners who assaulted him all knew Riko put them up to it, but none of them ever said it outright. This implies that everyone outside of the backline doesn’t know. Jean caused a stir because of his age and how quickly he changed partners– which means the Ravens knew he was sixteen. The Ravens, though they are psychologically screwed now, came from normal lives. Even though they didn’t know about Riko’s involvement, at least a few likely understood the concept of statutory rape. We know Thea at least saw what was going on, we know Zane KNEW about the assaults, Kevin apparently understands ‘half the truth’; either way, at a certain point, metaphorically or literally, they all turned away from the truth. 

This extends to Riko’s abuse of Jean and Kevin, too. Jean mentions that he and Kevin went to great lengths to hide what Riko was doing to them from the Ravens. But, given the level of forced proximity on the team, I think that even with these layers of secrets, it isn’t insane to think that the Ravens likely saw clues. They apparently knew Riko was violent. They know Tetsuji is, so really, how big of a stretch would it be? In Lazarus, Renee notices that Zane sounds hesitant when he says that Jean was with Riko, which implies that he does have a clue what's going on in that sense.

I don’t say all of this under the impression that the Ravens could have stood up to Riko or Tetsuji, or put a stop to much of it. I say this to point out the significance of the truth, and acknowledging or avoiding it. 

The point is– for these lies to work, for the story to hold, everyone around them had to reach a point of Looking Away. 

Looking away from someone in distress and accepting the simple narrative is easy, but the right thing is always to not look away. To keep looking until you see the whole picture, because the person you’re looking at is worth it. Even if it can change nothing, the truth matters.

To me, Lucas does this! When you think about it from his POV, he has SO MUCH MORE of a reason to believe Grayson. He was a reason to want Grayson’s version to be true. If Grayson is telling the truth, then Jean is a whore and an asshole and maybe, just maybe, Lucas can still have his brother back. Sure, Grayson’s hurt him, but that could just be stress and Raven related trauma. Not acknowledging that Grayson has crossed irredeemable lines leaves the door open for Lucas to keep the version of his brother that he dearly loves and misses. It would be easier for him to double down, to deny and defend. To buy the easy, common story  And yet he doesn’t. He questions and starts to see his brother differently- he BELIEVES that his brother could be different than the man who left four years ago. He does not blind himself to the things he's seeing and hearing in favor of holding onto some false, memory version of Grayson. To me, that takes an immense strength of character, and a commitment to what is right.  And that is why Lucas was one of my favorite

[canirove]

Rodrigo Riquelme Imagine

Author's note: This is a request I got on Wattpad. They wanted something where you meet Rodrigo as a fan and then start a relatioship, so I've used an idea I had been wanting to use for a while but hadn't had the chance to. As always, I hope you like it, and thank you for reading! 💜 Little summary: After losing a bet with one of your friends, you now how to do wherever she asks you too. And what has been her brilliant idea? To make you sneak a little piece of paper with your phone number in the pocket of the person visiting you at work today for a fan event: Rodrigo Riquelme. (Female reader/pov)

Masterlist

“You are crazy. This is crazy.”

“Oh, shush” my friend says while she keeps writing.

“What if someone sees us? What if the one seeing us do this is our boss? They could fire us, you know? Both of us.”

“No one will notice or fire us, stop worrying” she says. “Here.”

“I'm not doing it” I say, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Yes, you are. You lose the bet, remember?” she says, putting the little piece of paper between my arms. “You have to do it.”

“Can't we change it for something different? Like, I could clean for you during a week. A month! Or pay for your coffee. Or…”

“Or nothing. This is what I want you to do, so chop chop. The event is almost over” she says, pushing towards the crowd

“Urgh” I groan. 

It will be a silly bet, nothing serious, my friend had said. I won't make you do anything risky if I win, she had said. Yet here I am, on my way to ask Rodrigo Riquelme for a photo, and take advantage of the moment to sneak a little paper with my phone number and Instagram handle in his pocket. 

My friend obviously got inspired after seeing other girls doing it with Pedri and Gavi during fan events, but the fact that people had made fun of them after being caught, some even finding it kind of disrespectful, hasn't changed her mind about it. Not even the possibility of me getting fired if I get caught since I work at Atlético de Madrid's shop, where today's event is happening, has made her stop to reconsider her plan. 

“C'mon” she says, giving me a little push once the queue of fans in front of me starts moving. “Don't miss your chance.”

“This seriously is the worst idea you've ever had.”

“Or the best one. What if he ends up falling in love with you, marries you, and you save us all from being poor and having to work?”

“What?” I gasp.

“I was joking, relax” she chuckles. “Now focus on what you have to do.”

“I hate you.”

“I love you too” she smiles.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“Hi. Can I… We… Ummm…” I mumble when it finally is my turn.

“Take a photo?” Rodrigo smiles.

“Yes.”

“Sure. Just you or both of you?”

“Just her” my friend says. “And don't forget about the paper” she whispers in my ear before pushing me towards him.

“Thank you for your work here today, by the way” he says as he wraps his arm around my shoulders.

“Uh?”

“You work here, don't you?”

“I do.”

“Then organising all this mustn't have been easy” he says, looking at me.

“Oh, it… yeah” I reply, finally understanding why my friend had picked him for this crazy idea. He is so handsome. 

“Should we?”

“Should we what?”

“Look at the camera? I don't mind this view but…” he smirks.

“Oh, yes, umm… Yes” I mumble once again, feeling my cheeks on fire. 

“Perfect!” my friend says with the biggest grin once she's taken our photo. “Thank you very much, Rodrigo.”

“You're welcome” he says before turning to look at me. “It was really nice meeting you.”

“Me too. I mean, you too. Yeah. Bye” I say, giving him a quick hug while his arm still is around me and leaving the note on the back pocket of his jeans. Thank God he is wearing a pair of baggy ones and I've barely had to touch him. 

“He liked you” my friend smirks as we walk away.

“Shut up.”

“And you liked him back. Look at the colour of your cheeks!”

“I hate you.”

“Won't be saying the same on your wedding day!” she laughs as I keep walking and hide myself in the staff room, hoping to be allowed to stay there until everyone has left so I don't have to see him again. 

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“Everyone has left, the shop is basically empty” my friend says, walking into the staff room. “You can go outside if you want.”

“What I want is to go home, but I guess some has to tidy up.”

“I can do it.”

“What?”

“Yeah” she shrugs. “Besides, there is someone outside who wants to speak with you.”

“With me?” 

They saw me. Someone saw what I did with the paper, told our boss, and now they want to fire me. I'm losing my job because of a stupid bet and…

“It isn't our boss, don't worry” she chuckles. 

“What?”

“The person who wants to speak with you. It isn't our boss, you aren't getting fired.”

“Then who…”

“Go outside and you'll see” she says with a smile that I don't trust. She's hiding something, but what?

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“You!” I gasp when I walk into the shop.

“Me” he chuckles. He. Rodrigo Riquelme. He was the one who wanted to speak with me. He… what? “I believe this is yours” he says, showing me a little piece of paper. My piece of paper.

“Fuck” I say under my breath. “I'm really sorry, I… I…”

“I'm flattered.”

“What?”

“I'm flattered” he smiles. “I thought these things only happened to more famous players than me, like Gavi or Bellingham.”

“Yeah, ummm… I still want to apologise for doing it. I lost a bet with my friend and she thought it was something fun to do even though I told her it wasn't and that she was crazy and…”

“Does that mean that I can't text you? Or follow you on Instagram?”

“What?” I say again, my voice sounding all squeaky. 

“I was thinking about texting you later today. Maybe have a little chat, get to know each other a bit, convince you to come watch me play one day… those things” he shrugs. “But if you weren't serious about this…”

“No, no. I mean, yes. I mean… urgh” I say, covering my face with my hands.

“Yes or no?” Rodrigo chuckles.

“No, I wasn't serious, but yes, I would like you to text me later” I say, looking at him from between my fingers. He is smiling. That's good, isn't it?

“Ok. Then I guess I'll see you later. Or text you” he says, showing me the paper and putting it in back on his pocket. 

“Yes. I… Yes.”

“Bye.”

“Bye” I say as I watch him walk away. But when he makes it to the shop’s door, he looks back at where I am standing and waves at me, a stupid smile definitely showing on my face when I wave back at him.

“I knew it!”

“Holy mother of Jesus!” I yell. “You scared me!”

“I know” my friend says behind me. “But I knew he had like you and that you had liked him back!”

“I didn't. I don't.”

“Oh, c'mon” she laughs. “I heard everything.”

“You… seriously? That was a private conversation!”

“And I'm sorry. But I needed to have all the info for my future speech at your wedding.”

“You… urgh” I say, rolling my eyes. “Let's go tidy up. I want to go home.”

“And wait for Rodrigo's text?” she smirks.

“Urgh” I say again. 

But maybe… just maybe… she is right and I want to go home because I am a bit excited about receiving that promised text. Just a little bit, tho. 

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

A few months later...

“You've gone on so many dates already… And you've met each other’s friends, and gone away on little getaways, and you wear his shirt to his games… Why hasn't he asked you yet to be his girlfriend?”

“Why does it matter?” I ask my friend as we unpack some of the new merchandising. 

“Well, it's nice to know where you stand in your relationship, you know? To know that you both are on the same page, that you both take it seriously, want the same and to be together.”

“I know we are there. I don't need a title or whatever to confirm it.”

“Oh, c'mon. Are you telling me that hearing Rodrigo introduce you as his girlfriend doesn't make you feel anything on your belly?” she smirks.

“It's just a word” I shrug.

“Then why are you blushing?”

“I'm not.”

“Yes, you are. You like how it sounds.”

“I… Ok, fine” I sigh. “I may like it a bit. But again, I don't need him to ask me.”

“That's true. This is the 21st century, you could ask him to be your boyfriend. Maybe with another note?” 

“Oh, no. No more notes. I don't want to see one of those ever again.”

“Why? You wouldn't be dating Rodrigo if it wasn't because of one.”

“I know, but… no. And let's focus on finishing with all this unpacking. I want to have time to stop by my place before going to his.”

“You want to change into your sexy lingerie for later tonight, uh?” she smirks.

“Idiot” I reply, hitting her with a bunch of bubble wrap.

“I'll take that as a yes” she laughs, this time managing to dodge me when I try to hit her again.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“Have I told you yet that you look beautiful tonight?” Rodrigo smiles.

“A few times, yes” I smile back.

“Not enough. And you know what else is beautiful though not as much as you?”

“Tell me.”

“The moon.”

“The moon?” I chuckle.

“Yep. There is a full moon tonight that apparently is super big, and the best place to watch it is the balcony in my room. Shall we?” he says, getting up from the table where we've been having dinner and offering me his hand.

“Ok” I giggle.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“And?” Rodrigo says, kissing my shoulder.

“It's just the moon” I shrug.

“Just the… You are hard to impress, aren't you?” he laughs.

“Not really” I say, moving on his arms until I'm facing him. “I was impressed by you, wasn't I?”

“Oh you little tease!” he laughs again, tickling me. “Anyway, should we go finish our dinner? We still haven't had dessert. Unless you want to skip it and move into the other dessert” he smirks, nodding behind him.

“Oh, so that was why you wanted to bring me here to watch the moon, uh? It was just an excuse to get me into your bed.”

“Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't” he shrugs. “So, dessert… or dessert? 

“What about both? First that one…” I say, nodding behind him. “And then the other one to recharge.”

“I like the way you think, my lady.”

“Rodrigo!” I laugh when he lifts me in the air and carries me to his bed. 

“As if you didn't like it when I do this” he says, moving to be on top of me once I'm laying down.

“Not as much as I like you” I smile before kissing him.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“What the…” I say as something falls from my pocket while I get dressed. 

“Are you ready yet? We can't be late, I made a reservation for breakfast” Rodrigo says, showing up at his room's door.

“What is this?” 

“Uh?”

“This was on my jeans” I say, showing him the little piece of paper.

“I don't know” he shrugs. “Why don't you open it?”

“Rodrigo…”

“C'mon, open it” he says, trying really hard not to smile.

“Ok” I say, my hands shaking a bit for some reason. “Do you want to be my girlfriend? Yes / no” I read to myself. “Is this real?”

“Uh?”

“Rodrigo, don't play dumb.”

“I don't know what you mean” he shrugs again. “Anyway, I'll wait for you downstairs. And oh, there is a pen on that drawer over there in case you need one for whatever the reason” he winks before leaving his room.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“Ok, I'm ready” I say, joining Rodrigo downstairs. 

“All good?” he asks me.

“Yep.”

“Are you sure?”

“Umm… yeah” I shrug.

“Ok, then” he says, getting up from the sofa where he was sitting. “But are you really really sure there is nothing you want to tell me? Or show me?”

“No.”

“Well, then let's go have breakfast” he sighs.

“Wait, Rodrigo.”

“What… Oi!” he laughs when I pinch his butt. 

“Sorry. Couldn't help myself” I say, giving him my best smile. “And you had something there.”

“What?” 

“On your butt” I say, opening his house’s door and walking outside.

“I… What?” he says with a confused look, touching it. 

“Rodrigo!” I laugh when he suddenly shows up behind me and wraps his arms around me.

“That was cheeky.”

“What was?”

“Sneaking that note in my pocket? Again?”

“What note?”

“The one I left in your pocket.”

“Oh, was it you?”

“Don't tease me” he says, biting my ear and making me giggle. “But then… is it official?”

“I'm pretty sure I circled the yes, didn't I?” I say, moving to look at him and wrapping my arms around his neck.

“You did. But just to be sure… Can you say it aloud?”

“You'll have to ask me first.”

“Ok” he chuckles. “So, ummm… God, writing it down was easier. Ok” he says again, taking a deep breath. “Do you want to be my girlfriend?”

“I do” I smile. “I want to be your girlfriend, Rodrigo.”

“Great, cool” he says with a nervous laugh. “Cool” he says again before kissing me and kind of making it official.

We are boyfriend and girlfriend. 

[karahalloway]

Sleepless in New York: Chapter 11 - Cold Light of Day

Series: TRR

Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)

Synopsis: What if Drake met Harper on the first night of Prince Christian’s New York bachelor party? A stand-alone AU written from Drake's POV.

Masterlist: Sleepless in New York

Chapter Summary: It's the morning after the night before, and Drake does some reminiscing...

Word Count: 3,500

Rating/Warnings: E (swearing, angst, awkwardness, references to masturbation, obsessive-compulsive drinking)

Chapter theme song:

A/N1: So... This was not what I was supposed to be working on 🙈 My plan was to finish up Part 3 of Thanksgiving so it could be my submission for this year's Flufftober, but - as per usual - my brain (and my characters - thank you, Walker!) had other ideas, so here we are 😅

A/N2: I had 90% of this chapter written before the start of the summer, but then my inspiration kinda fizzled out, and I only finished it very recently. I was then umming-and-ahhing about whether to wait to post until the next part was also finished, or whether to split the content into two chapters. I went with the latter. Next chapter should be posted soon, though! Thanks for bearing with me! We're almost at the end (I know I keep saying this, but I can officially see the light at the end of the tunnel now!)

Chapter 11 - Cold Light of Day

My eyes snap open.

And just like that, I'm back on top of the hotel room bed, staring up at the ceiling, my hand wrapped around my still-pulsing dick.

Fuck.

I've never tripped out like that before.

Sure, I've dived down the rabbit-hole of a fantasy or two before. I mean, what guy hasn't? You're not gonna jack off staring at your own schlong, and if porn isn't available, you're gonna make up your own.

But to lose myself in the warren of make-believe so completely? To the point where the line between fact and fiction dissolves and I've lost all sense of direction?

Never.

Though I guess I now know what The Matrix feels like...

As if to evidence the point, I feel the end-results of my feverish daydream slide down my hip.

I swallow a groan. Great...

Yet another reason why I'd wanted to avoid flying solo. Because in addition to the sour taste in your mouth, you're always left with a God-awful mess to clean up... Especially if you hadn't had the foresight to grab a towel beforehand.

Which leaves me with an unenviable choice: make an awkward dash to the bathroom while trying (and most likely failing) to contain the dog's breakfast sitting in my lap; or repurpose something to act as an impromptu rag...

...though one downwards glance quickly narrows my options.

Definitely Option 2.

Unclenching my cum-covered hand from my junk, I carefully balance on an elbow as I reach up to grab the collar of my t-shirt. Because given the extent of the damage, there's no way I'm making it to the sink without some serious casualties.

And I'd rather sacrifice the shirt off my back than the one pair of jeans I'm going to have to travel back home in.

Decision made, I pull the t-shirt over my head, lowering myself carefully back against the headboard so I don't accidentally capsize my payload onto the covers. Because that's definitely not something that I have in me to deal with tonight.

Scrunching the cotton up, I wipe my hand before reach down to begin cleaning myself up...

...and nearly jump out of my skin at the sound of the loud rap on the door.

"Room service...!"

"Shit!" I cuss under my breath, tossing the ruined t-shirt onto my duffle while grabbing for my jeans as I roll of the bed.

Yanking the denim up as my bare feet hit the floor, I quickly secure the fly and top button with one hand while scrambling for my wallet with the other. "Two secs!"

Locating the well-worn, hand-stitched leather on the bedside table, I flip it open and extract a couple of notes for the tip. Throwing the wallet back onto the bed, I do one last visual sweep to make sure that everything was kosher before—

Knock-knock-knock!

"I said I'm coming!" I holler back, wrenching my belt through its buckle as I make my way across the room.

Sweet Jesus! Hold your fuckin' horses already!

Reaching the entranceway, I snap an irate hold on the door handle. Wrenching it back, I come face-to-face with the impatient staff member who's gearing up for yet another round of aggressive knocking.

"Oh!" she exclaims in surprise, her fake-lash enhanced eyes going wide. "I—"

"No need to wake the whole damn neighbourhood..." I tell her tersely. "I said I was coming."

She flushes scarlet, not quite knowing where to look. "Sorry... The... umm... the doors are sound-proofed, so I... I couldn't—"

"Never mind," I grunt, pulling the door wider so she could wheel the food in.

She stares at me like a newborn calf seeing a fence for the first time.

I quirk a brow. This girl high, or something?

But just as I'm about to open my mouth to say something, she snaps out of whatever trance she's stumbled into and quickly refocuses her attention on the task at hand.

Stepping back, she reverses the service cart slightly so she can angle it into the room...

...and she still manages to hit the door frame on the way in.

The contents of the trolley jerk with a loud rattle and I have to snap a hand out to save the bottle of whiskey from crashing onto the floor.

"Christ alive..." I mutter under my breath.

"Oh, my God!" she gasps, face going red. "I am so s—!"

"I'll take it from here," I tell her, throwing the whiskey under my arm as I snatch the clonche-covered tray off the trolley while it was still in one piece.

"But—"

"Thanks," I say firmly, holding the tip up with an uncompromising look.

She glances at the notes almost morosely before reaching out to take them with a sigh. "Is there anything—?"

"Nope," I say, moving to close the door back 'round. "I'm good."

"Okay..." She heaves a breath as she begins to pull the cart back into the corridor. "Well, if you change your—"

"I won't," I assure her, flicking the door closed as soon as she's cleared the threshold.

Jesus... Talk about incompetent.

Retracing my steps, I deposit the tray onto the bed and reach for the whiskey under my arm.

Unscrewing the top, I tip the bottle back, not bothering with a glass from the mini bar.

The sweet sting of the amber liquid hits the back of my throat, and I suck it down, feeling the familiar warmth snake its way through my insides.

God, I needed that.

I take two more generous swallows — after the shit way the second half of the night had ended up unfolding, I'm seriously overdue some Southern comfort — before pulling the bottle back down and re-attaching the cap.

Chucking the bourbon onto the covers, I detour to the bathroom to wash my hands properly before sitting down on the edge of the bed and lifting the clonche.

The smell of grilled meat and salted carbs plumes out into the room, and my stomach growls in response.

Fuck, I'm starving.

Grabbing the burger with both hands, I tear into it viciously. The smoky flavour of the beef hits my tongue, followed quickly by the creaminess of the melted cheddar, and the tang of the pickles.

And even though it's not quite as good as the one I had back at the dive bar, that doesn't stop me from wolfing down another ravenous bite before the first one's cleared my gullet.

Because given how hard my body's craving the calories, even a tub of caviar would've tasted like ambrosia right now... And I fuckin' hate caviar.

Gulping the mouthful down, I grab a handful of fries and throw 'em down the hatch as well, barely pausing to chew before I swallow.

This ain't a high society dinner, so fuck table-manners.

Chowing down on the food like it's my last meal on Earth, I polish off the plate in record time, even wiping up the wayward bits of relish that had escaped the bun with last couple of fries...

...and am rewarded with a loud belch for my efforts.

I scoff. Probably shouldn't've eaten so quick...

But what's done is done. And my body sure as hell feels the better for it.

Sucking my fingers clean, I reach for the bourbon again. Taking another swig — much more measured this time — I drop the clonche back into the now empty plate and move the tray onto the upholstered bench that sat at the foot of the bed.

Glancing down at my watch, I can see that it's just coming up to 5am.

Which means that dawn's right around the corner.

I glance briefly at the bed.

But I know there's no point.

Because as exhausted as I am, I know I'm never gonna be able to nod off. Not this close to departure time. I'll just be staring at the ceiling, counting the minutes 'til my alarm rings.

Especially since the sun's about to come up. And when that happens, there's no way in hell I'm catching any shut-eye. My circadian rhythms are too well-tuned for that.

So, closing the bourbon back up again, I push myself heavily up from the bed. Making my way over to my duffle for the third time tonight, I extract my last wearable shirt.

Pulling it on, I grab my phone — no urgent messages or missed calls, thank fuck! Though the battery's on the verge of dying...

But it's gonna have to suck it up in power-saver mode. Because I only have a handful of self-imposed fiats that I live my life by. And top of the list is never leave anywhere without my phone.

Ever.

I learnt that lesson the hard way...

And I'm not about to break my cardinal rule. Especially not after Chris' disappearing act last night.

So, dropping the device into my pocket, I reach for my sidearm — another thing I never go anywhere without. Slotting it into the back of my jeans, I grab the keycard and exit the room again, not bothering with shoes.

I'm not plannin' on being gone long. And my feet could do with a break after racking up some serious miles over the past 24 hours in my boots. Plus, it feels good to let my soles run free — especially since I can't go for my usual barefoot run on the beach here.

But given that I have nothing better to do, and the TV had let me down earlier, I may as well take advantage of this brief moment of calm to do something that I actually enjoy.

Making my way up onto the roof — via the lift this time because I'm in no particular rush and I've already more than surpassed my daily step count — I push the door open and step into the twilight.

As expected, the roof is empty.

The lights of the skyscrapers twinkle in the distance, the buzz of the traffic merely a faint drone at this height.

Making my way over to the eastern corner of the building, I park myself next to the edge...

...and wait for the sunrise.

At first, nothing happens. The dark of the night sits heavily over the island, seeming to muffle the normally inexhaustible energy of the City That Never Sleeps.

But slowly... ever so slowly, the sky begins to lighten. And the wind shifts. From the depths of the evening's humid, slightly stale breeze comes a fresh, easterly gust that carries the soft scent of the sea with it.

It whips over me, cutting through the thin material of my shirt. But I don't flinch. If anything, I lean into it, savouring the faint taste of salt on my skin.

The black of the horizon gives way to blue and then to grey as the rising sun pushes the darkness back. Spots of colour appear — gold, russet and magenta, framing the clouds like a backlight.

And as I watch, the first tendrils of brilliance start to creep over the buildings, setting the acres of glass on fire. The wind begins to warm, bringing with it the promise of tomorrow...

...until the sun finally bursts into view, scorching the Big Apple in the blaze of the new dawn.

I heave a deep breath of the crisp morning air.

This. This'd been worth staying up for.

The last vestiges of tension drain out of my shoulders as I simply stand, taking in the view...

...and realise that I can't remember the last time I stopped to just enjoy the moment. Be it a hot mug of coffee, or the breeze on my face. Let alone the silent beauty of a perfect sunrise.

I exhale heavily.

I've been so caught up planning every aspect of this trip — not to mention the details of the social season with Bast — that I haven't even had time to think about taking a break, let alone catching one.

It's probably why I—

"Couldn't sleep either?"

I scoff at the sound of the familiar — and not entirely unexpected — voice from behind me. "Nope."

"Jet lag still?" asks Chris, coming to stand next to me.

"Probably," I shrug, keeping my gaze turned towards the horizon. "You?"

He heaves a breath as he surveys the sunrise. "Bit of jet lag as well, I suppose..."

I glance over at him.

We both know that ain’t the whole truth. Just like neither of us are under any illusion that my answer hadn’t been completely honest either. But we've known each other long enough that neither of us feels the need to press the issue.

So, it goes unsaid that I'm fully aware of the fact that Chris' sleepless nights are caused by the looming spectre of the social season, which has been haunting him for the past year. And, with just one day to go, that spectre's about to transform into a living nightmare.

And there's nothing that either of us can do about it.

Because the die has been cast — by forces outside of our control — and both of us are now stuck on the proverbial highway to hell with no exit ramps in sight.

And I hate that feeling of helplessness. Not just on my part — though it grates on me no end that I can't save my brother from his predetermined fate — but on his part as well. Because even though Chris wears the mask of obligation like a second skin, he can't hide the fact that he's shitting a brick.

At least not from me.

Because despite all his years of diplomacy training, we've played enough poker together for me to know that behind that stoic façade, he's terrified. Terrified of the weight of his inherited duty, terrified of falling short of expectations, terrified of ending up on the same error-ridden path that his dad had trod.

But, most importantly, he's terrified of making the wrong choice. Because even though he knows each and every one of the suitors who'll be competing for his hand, that knowledge doesn't make things easier.

In fact, just the opposite.

Because regardless of what each woman brings to the table in terms of money, ability, or allegiances — a dizzying and convoluted cost-benefit calculation at the best of times — the fact remains that none of them are really in this competition for him. They're in it for the Crown. Which means each option's just as relative as the next. As none of the women actually care about Chris. They just want the title of Queen. Or rather, their families do. For the bragging rights.

Except maybe Livy. She's arguably the only suitor who's putting her name in the hat because she actually wants Chris for himself. And couldn't care less about the social promotion.

Too bad she's a class A bitch.

Not that any of that matters. Because the hunt for the next Queen isn't about love, or what people want, or any of the rest of that touchy-feely crap. It's about what's best for the kingdom...

...irrespective of what's best for Chris. Now, tomorrow, or twenty years down the line.

As he's just as much of a pawn — if not more so — as the women competing for his hand. And unlike Leo, he doesn't have the luxury of flipping the system the bird and calling bull on the whole fucked up exercise. Because there’s no one else to fall back on. It’s him, or nothing.

So, it's small wonder he's been burning the candle at both ends, trying to avoid being alone with the weight of his thoughts.

Hell, if I was him, I'd've disappeared down the neck of a bottle long ago.

As if reading my mind, Chris magics up a a pair of tumblers. "Here," he says, placing them down between us. "You look like you need it."

A scoff escapes me. "Didn't think they had a bar up here."

"Invitation only," he winks, unscrewing the cap of the 25-year old, single malt bottle of The Glenlivet that he's also brought with him.

"Comes well stocked, I see," I remark, watching him dole out a generous serving into each glass.

"Well, someone once told me to never cheap out on wallets, watches, or whiskey," he replies with a smirk, placing the bottle off to one side.

I shake my head with a scoff as I reach for my glass. "Yeah, 'cause the first holds your money, the second tells you the time... and the third'll help you forget about both."

"Truer words have never been spoken," grins Chris, raising his glass to clink it against mine.

"Dad knew a thing or two about life," I agree, throwing the scotch back on a suddenly constricted throat.

"He was a good man," nods Chris, taking a reciprocal sip of his drink.

"Yeah..." I say tightly, gazing out over the city without really seeing it. "He was."

Wonder what he'd think of Harper...

I give myself a mental slap. It doesn't fucking matter, you ass. That girl's history, just like Dad. No point getting hung up on—

"You know..." muses Chris, interrupting my self-flagellation. "We never got to see Times Square."

I snort caustically as I reach for the bottle again. "Because Besnard conspired with the weather to fuck us over..."

Chris quirks a brow as he holds his own glass out for a top-up. "I'm not certain it was entirely intentional..."

"You sure?" I counter with a sidelong look, refilling both tumblers. "'Cause I'd be damn hard pressed to find another dipshit on this planet who could've screwed up something so simple so spectacularly."

"Fair point," Chris concedes with a chuckle. "But, lucky for us, both Tariq and the malignant rain clouds are — rather thankfully — in the wind. So, what say we take advantage of the reprieve? Just the two of us?"

My hand stops mid-air. "You wanna sneak out? Again?"

He meets my eye with a knowing look. "May very well be our last chance before the start of the season..."

I shake my head dryly as I place the bottle back on the ledge. "Thought I was supposed to be the bad influence."

"Perhaps the student has finally surpassed the master," he replies, throwing me another wink as he raises his glass up in mock salute.

I can't help but scoff. "With that disappearing act, I'd say you've surpassed even your brother!"

"That may perhaps be a bit of a stretch," he chides. "As we cannot forget that it was my dear brother who once skipped out of a high-profile summit in Marrakech, commandeered a camel and a kaftan, and rode for six hours through the desert so he could watch the Dakar Rally."

"Yeah, that Lawrence of Arabia shit does set the bar quite high, doesn't it?"

"Leo has never been one to do things by halves..." Chris reminds me.

I heave a breath. "Don't I know it..."

Chris catches my gaze out of the corner of his eye. "Hope you weren't too harsh with him..."

I lift the tumbler to my mouth. "No comment."

"Christ! That bad, huh?"

"I may have questioned his sanity," I tell him sardonically.

"You certainly wouldn't have been the first," laughs Chris. "Father seriously considered sending him to a clinic in Switzerland when Leo told him of his plan to abdicate."

"Would've saved me a massive headache if he had..." I grumble.

"No... it was my fault," sighs Chris. "I should not have taken the device. I did promise that I would behave, and I reneged on my word."

I hold up a hand. "Hey. It's fine. I get why Leo gave it to you... and why you took it. Just... Don't get any ideas for the season. I'd prefer to keep my job... and my balls."

Chris laughs. "Duly noted. However, I would still like to take the opportunity to offset my regrettable faux pas... Perhaps with a traditional American breakfast?"

I cock a brow at him. "Do you even know what a traditional American breakfast is?"

"No," he admits. "But what better way to find out than in the company of a local?"

"Okay, fine," I concede, throwing the last of my scotch back. "But you better not skip out on me again..."

"You have my undying word," he says, laying a hand on his heart.

"Good," I say, pointing a finger at him. "'Cause this time, I'm gonna hold you to it." Softening my expression, I add, "But seriously. Glad you had a chance to escape. Christ knows you needed it."

"As do I," he says with a smile, picking up the bottle of scotch to head back across the roof. "So, thank you for pulling this getaway together. I'll treasure the memories — always."

"The trip ain't over yet, buddy," I remind him. "We still have three hours to kill before departure."

He grins back at me. "Then we best get to it, hadn't we, mate?"

The story continues in Chapter 12 - Hungover on You

A/N: As a quick bonus, here is a pic of Leo in the Moroccan desert 😇

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Sleepless in New York only

@bebepac

Picture Credits: Burger - Shirtless - Whiskey - New York

Drake, Christian and Leo were generated with the AI art app Wonder

[ninyard]

legally required to send you an ask? what if i pull a neil and lie to the fbi when they come to get me??? genuinely tho, tsc was so fucking good. jeremy and cat and lalia's dynamic has me chewing on walls, but so does the unrequited kevjean (fucked over by another pretty face??? jean teaching him french?????) and reading about the foxes's wins from jean's pov has me screaminf crying etc but I'd really love to hear if you have any theories on Jeremy's family?

Surprise I’m actually the FBI and I’m onto u now

But for real I’ve been going crazy thinking about TSC since I read it. The kevjean dynamic has me losing my mind like I got SHIVERS reading his asking Jean to teach him French. And the way my stomach FLIPPED reading “did you know I’ve never been skiing?” From Jeans POV. Puking vomitting screaming crying throwing up okay

Jeremy’s family. I have NO idea. It’s so vague they’re purely like random shots in the dark as to what it could be but here’s my thoughts as of rn:

1) Jeremy’s family are big investors in USC. It’s why he’s Captain, it’s why he has to show his face at Knox family events, public gatherings and all that, because he’s the proof that the money is worth it for the returns, and he’s the face of USC. They’re counting on his success to bring them more money.

2) Half of his family are homophobic. Maybe it’s just because he’s gay and his Political Old Money family seem to not get along with him very well that I think that, but also him bleaching his hair blond and then being unwelcome at dinners because of it. It seems like image is very important to them, and even if he’s quietly gay, dying his hair could be perceived as a Gay Thing To Do. His sister says to him “you destroyed the family,” what specifically could he have done to tear his family apart? Imagine your family investing (millions maybe) into your team, your sport, and then you put their image in jeopardy for being the out and proud gay kid that creates a negative talking point. He also quickly puts his phone away when he realises his sister is around which feels like a gay kid hiding from his family thing to do.

3) the banquet im at a loss for to be honest. I’ve been trying to rack my brain around what could’ve happened, but what we do know is a) whatever happened at the banquet tore their family apart b) his sister pretends Exy doesn’t exist because of it c) she’s never forgiven him for it. Gay Trauma brain of mine says maybe he took a man as his date and it caused a lot of problems in his home life, maybe they asked him not to and he said fuck you and did it anyway. But would that really destroy his family? The therapist thing too. Fight back against what???

4) there’s obviously some weird relationship problems in his family too. Doesn’t like to be called Knox, says his grandfather is not his grandfather, avoids his brother like the plague. The only person he seems to talk to is the butler. His sister barely regards him as well. He feels like the black sheep but I don’t know why!!! Also at some point it’s mentioned (I’m pretty sure anyway) that he doesn’t seem to be getting much in terms of monetary handouts from his family so he’s potentially having Allison type problems where he’s lost his inheritance or cut out of his grandfathers will or SOMETHING. He feels like the disappointment of his family but I can’t place my finger on why other than the fact that he’s gay. I don’t know. I’m going CRAZY not knowing tho.

Jeremy is fascinating me and it’s infuriating that I don’t know more. I know it’ll make the reveal in TCS2 much sweeter but damn can I pls get a little crumb of his backstory? His trauma? Just a little bit?

Anyways this an incoherent jumbled mess of thoughts about Jeremy but I am SO curious about his family. The banquet especially because it’s pretty intense, or seems to be at least from that little paragraph about it. I would die for you Jeremy Knox just tell me everything first pls!!!!!

[lenievi]

Wanted to gather my thoughts, so here they are re: bbc!Javert's arc related to Valjean saving people when Javert is around. And some other related thoughts. Not that organized, but well...

From Javert's POV, he watched Valjean save a guard, a guy under the cart, Fantine, Champ, (Cosette), and finally Marius.

In Toulon, Valjean saves a guard's life, after failing to kill him, but that's beside the point; funnily enough Javert didn't notice that Valjean did it on purpose because he wasn't watching at that moment, so he only saw him saving a life. And because he did, and Javert went ??? he called him to his little torture chamber and his first question was: Why did you save his life? Javert thought Valjean did it to get a reward, to be released, because why else would a convict save a life, right? Plus, he thinks Valjean did it to ridicule Javert. He's just looking for reasons, and makes it personal. Javert singles out Valjean, because he doesn't understand him, because Valjean's actions don't make sense to him, because Valjean disregarded his authority - Javert was in charge, he was giving orders, and his men failed and Valjean "won"; he makes up an imaginary contest in his own head and thinks he's superior. And if he was a criminal? He'd be better than Valjean too.

When Valjean saves Fantine from getting arrested, Javert asks: What exactly does this woman mean to you, Monsieur le Maire? because again, he can't wrap his head around why he would do that, why he would risk the mayor's reputation to help a prostitute (if there wasn't something between them). And to cross Javert. Again.

At this point, he has three instances of Valjean saving someone (the guy under the cart is the third one, which happened before Fantine). But because Javert is so wrapped in self-hate and Valjean-hate, he doesn't actually process what it means, exactly. He just knows that Valjean would save a person in need, even if that person is unrelated to him, even if they have no connections. And so he sets up a trap with Champ and the trial in Arras.

(I do believe his "you astonish me" was genuine, but then he suppressed it and continued with his "gotta uncover Valjean" and did not process it)

The thing about this adaptation is that Javert didn't ask Madeleine to ask for his dismissal; Javert turned in his resignation to Madeleine. But Madeleine's not in charge of the police, the only thing that Javert did, imho, was to resign from his position as the police inspector in Montreuil. He didn't resign from the police force. So even if Valjean didn't bite and fall into his trap, Javert would just have to leave Montreuil (and wait for a different opportunity, which would be harder since "Jean Valjean" would be imprisoned, and Javert’s own career might be postponed). But I digress. (I could also be wrong, but this makes the most sense to me.)

When Valjean does come forward, Javert is elated. He was right from the beginning, and that's pretty much his only thought. He doesn't stop to think what it says about Valjean, he just wants to see him in chains again. And he does, and he's happy. Javert relocates to Paris, gets promoted, and probably lives a pretty content life for two years. Like in the book, he probably even forgot about Valjean because he was behind the bars.

And then, Valjean makes a comeback. Javert makes his whole department believe that Valjean is very dangerous (a note: Javert believes this. He thinks Valjean is dangerous and he's also afraid – among other things – of him and his strength) and they spent time and resources on catching him. And Javert fails and loses Valjean for 10 years. And since then, nothing can satisfy him, nothing can give him pleasure. He's lonely and depressed and his failure, the fact that Valjean is at large, haunts him, and his obsession gets worse. He makes a picture of Valjean in his head, believing that he's laughing at him and mocking him. "I shall never be at peace until he’s back in chains."

Gorbeau House happens. Javert gets worse to the point where he even ignores his job, but isn't even aware of it because he connects Valjean with the revolution in his mind. It all makes sense in his head. There's nothing in his mind but Valjean. When he catches him, everything will be fine again. Everything that has been lacking in his life is the fault of "Valjean being free". That is Javert's mindset. Has been for 10 years in this series. Not only does he project his self-hatred but also his self-worth on Valjean.

Barricade happens. Javert genuinely believes that Valjean would kill him. And Valjean lets him go, and Javert doesn't get it. And he finally starts to think and processing, but it was only after he saw Valjean saving Marius that an even bigger shift happened.

Javert: That young man… is he a… particular friend… of yours? Would you say he’s… dear to you? Valjean: Quite the contrary. If he lives, he intends to rob me of all my happiness. Javert: And yet you… are you insane? Valjean: No, I don’t think so. Are you?

Once again, Javert sees Valjean saving someone. Once again, he asks him why? Who is Marius to him? Is he close? Is he dear to him? He's choosing the words carefully, not because of jealousy (even though that subtext is fun too, but not the primary one imho), but because he wants to believe that Marius is someone Valjean cares about. Because if he is, then yes, it makes sense because people save those they're close to. But Valjean tells him that no. That Marius's someone who will rob him, cause him harm. And he still saves him.

From Javert's POV, saving the guard in Toulon brought Javert's wrath. Saving the guy under the cart gave Javert ammunition. Saving Fantine risked the mayor's reputation (and gave Javert more ammunition). Saving Champ cost Valjean his freedom. Letting Javert go meant that Javert could still continue his hunt and it would cost Valjean's freedom again. And now, saving Marius is also detrimental for Valjean himself.

Javert finally understands that Valjean is a good person who helps those who need it. He is a person who redeemed himself. The image Javert created in his mind was a lie. All that Valjean has done in his life, as Madeleine, was good and genuine. And Javert? He wasted years and years on a man who did not exist.

Javert: Are you insane? Valjean: No, I don't think so. Are you?

Javert: I let [Valjean] go. Rivette: An act of clemency? Javert: An act of madness.

And I just genuinely enjoy his character.

[arielhopepeace]

Part Three

18+ only

Tw: mention of cancer, death, cheating, slight smut, masturbation, age gap

5,500 words

Joel POV

The sun bears down onto my skin, darkening it with its harsh rays as sweat drips from beneath my hard hat. Today is ridiculously sweltering, and honestly making me feel like it should be outlawed to have to work in this type of heat.

My thoughts are enough of a distraction from the fact that I’m cooking out here, though. Ever since I left y/n’s house last night, I haven’t gotten the feel of her body against mine out of my mind. She was so soft, like a cloud that I reached up into the sky and grazed, letting the fog run between my fingertips.

I know that me going out of my way to help her change her locks is just furthering me into the friend-zone with her. It dawned on me that I needed to leave her house once the feeling of needing to kiss her began to build within my stomach, giving me that light tingly feeling of butterflies that I haven’t felt in eons.

Y/n is so effortlessly beautiful, that it makes me feel winded any time I’m around her. I hoped she hadn’t felt my racing heart and trembling hands as we embraced, the close proximity only adding to the apprehension I already had just from being at her house.

My mind was so dead-set on getting to know her, but the more I think about it, the more I realize that it would be inappropriate. Isn’t there some sort of rule against dating a student’s parent? Even if I hadn’t already friend-zoned myself, I wouldn’t want Sarah to get involved and either hate her teacher, or have to suffer with losing her if it didn’t work out.

I’ve never thought this far ahead about a woman since my wife, and I know that it’s because y/n is different. Nobody understands the pain I feel, but she does; and she doesn’t give me the pitiful apologies that are only from the surface, they’re from that deep chasm within, as if she’s sympathizing with her younger self as well.

It’s tiring spending all my time thinking about these fabricated ideas of a woman who considers me as nothing more than a student’s father. I’m honestly incredibly nervous to see her again today, even though every part of me can’t wait to gaze upon her perfectly symmetrical face.

After work, I head to the hardware store, buying everything I need in order to change her two locks. I look ridiculously dirty, and I feel grimy from all the dirt and concrete that has gotten kicked up by my boots. There’s wood shavings in my hair as I check myself in my rear view mirror, doing my best to ruffle anything that doesn’t belong out.

“God,” I groan as I shake my head, knowing that she’s going to look perfectly stunning, and I’m going to show up looking like I rolled in the mud.

I send her a text to let her know that I’m here, noticing that all of her windows, and even her front door is wide open. What the hell is she doing that for in this heat?

As I grab my things out of the truck cab, I jump slightly at the sound of y/n greeting me from beside the open door.

“Shit,” I curse lightly, still stretched into the cab, “you scared me.”

“Sorry,” she laughs sheepishly. “I’m just letting you know that it’s really hot in my house. For some reason, my A/C went out some time last night, and I can’t get a guy out here until tomorrow.”

Closing the door, I lean back, finally meeting y/n’s gaze as my mouth instantly dries at the sight of her. Her hair has been pulled up into a loose bun, and she’s wearing nothing but a black bikini. My cock is immediately awake, poking against the prison of my jeans and begging to be let out.

I quickly move the supply bags to in front of me, hoping to shield the ridiculous, embarrassing erection that has popped up.

“Oh, uh, I could take a look at that, too,” I finally answer.

My god, what am I, fucking fifteen?

Y/n cocks her head slightly, “I couldn’t ask you to do that for me on top of the locks.”

“Actually,” I begin as we walk toward the house, “you didn’t ask me to do either. I offered both.”

She giggles from behind me, prompting a smirk to spread onto my face. “Please, let me get you a beer or something.”

I set my things down by the front door, watching as she walks away into the stifling house. My eyes are on her hips, watching them swing side to side, her ass having the perfect bounce to it. Gazing at her doesn’t alleviate the uncomfortable situation in my jeans, forcing me to reluctantly turn my eyes away to focus on the task at hand.

As I begin to unscrew the current doorknob, y/n twists open the beer, sitting across from me in the house as I rest on the doorstep. She places the bottle next to me on the living room floor, my eyes desperately trying to not stare at her chest. I don’t think she realizes how attractive she is, and how attracted I am to her. I’ve never been the type of guy to objectify a woman by any means, I just am dumbfounded by her looks.

“Did you have a good day?” she asks sweetly, her voice so charming and gentle.

“It was so hot today,” I wipe my sweaty forehead on my dirtied shirt. “But yeah, it was okay. How about you? How was school?”

“It was good,” she nods with a small smile. “I’m having the kids write a non-fiction essay for English. Nothing super long, but I just want to know where their writing is at.”

“An essay?” I chuckle. “Sarah will be thrilled,” I tell her sarcastically.

“Actually,” y/n laughs, “she said she was excited. I asked her what she wanted to write about, and she picked you.”

My hands stop their work, pinning my gaze to hers as a smile forces my lips apart. “I’ll never understand why that girl loves me so much, but she makes me feel like the luckiest dad in the world.”

Her face goes soft with admiration, her brows fitted together with a smile on her supple lips. “I don’t think I’ve ever known a kid to love their parent so much. Well, maybe except for me,” she teases. “Some kids in my class don’t even have parents for various reasons. I’ve looked into all of my students, just to make sure I don’t bring up any rough subjects on accident, or maybe in a story.”

I continue unscrewing the knob, beaming wide. “That’s so nice of you, and incredibly smart.”

“Well, you kind of have to be smart to be a teacher, don’t you?” she laughs lightly.

“Oh, for sure. I think you’re the perfect person for that job.”

“You do?”

“Of course,” I chuckle. “You’re overly nice, compassionate, considerate, eager to understand. All the kids love you for a reason, y/n.”

Her hand brushes against my leg, patting it gently just above my knee. “You’re sweet, Joel. What would I do without you filling my head with all of these compliments?”

A sharp, unexpected laugh leaves me. “Maybe you’d have a smaller head.”

She gapes at me as she giggles, smacking my arm playfully. “Oh, shut up. I don’t seem conceited, do I?”

“God, no,” I laugh. “I’m only teasing. You have a perfectly normal shaped head; physically and metaphorically.”

Finally, I’m able to pop in the new doorknob, taking a few sips of beer before resuming my task.

“How do you know how to do all of this?” she asks from beside me.

“Well, working in construction helps, but I also just like to be handy. I’ve done a lot of extensive research on repairs and mechanical things, even cars. I probably could tell you what was wrong with your A/C too since you want to work me to death out here.”

Y/n laughs with her head tilted back. “You’re more than welcome to use my pool once you’re done, it’s where I’m headed to soon.”

“Ah, no. I’m so dirty from work, I’d rather take a shower.”

“You can use my shower, too. Whatever you want, it’s yours.”

If only she were an option. I can’t stop imagining kissing her as I run my fingers across her smooth skin, savoring every push of her lips. Jesus christ, what’s wrong with me? That uncomfortable situation has returned, making me shift in order to shield my tented jeans.

“Has Sam been back?” I ask, deciding to change the subject away from whatever led me to my dirty thoughts.

“No,” she shakes her head. “And I’m glad he hasn’t. I have an appointment tomorrow to get looked at. Hopefully they can tell me that nothing’s wrong with me, because I was up late last night freaking out about it.”

“I’m sorry that you have to worry about that. He’s—” my voice trails off, deciding not to let my personal opinions of him be said. “You just deserve better than that.”

“Yeah, well,” she sighs, “I’ll find it one day, won’t I?”

I nod. “Of course you will.”

After finishing both of the knobs, the sun still has yet to set, allowing me enough light to check out her A/C unit. Y/n follows me, my eyes immediately locking onto the problem before me.

“My god,” I mutter as I crouch down, placing my finger beneath a cut wire. “Somebody cut it.”

Y/n places her hands on her hips. “Cut it?!” she shouts. “Gee, I wonder who would’ve manipulated my house that I have to pay rent for alone,” her voice drips with sarcasm.

“You really think Sam did this?” I ask as I gaze up at her.

“Of course he did,” she shakes her head. “He knows I’d have to pay a ton of money to get it fixed. He’s being spiteful because I kicked him out. I honestly wish I knew where he was staying so I could slash his fucking tires.”

I can’t help but laugh at her foul language, her sudden spark of anger only making me adore her more. “Nah, don’t stoop to his level. I can fix this for you right now for no charge.”

“Joel, please let me repay you somehow. Can you at least let me make you dinner tonight?”

“It’s already almost seven-thirty. Are you sure?”

Y/n nods vehemently. “I’m positive. I haven’t eaten yet, anyway.”

“How about I get this fixed up, go home, take a shower and change, then I’ll come back.”

“Will you bring a swimsuit? I’ll make you steak,” she says in a sing-songy voice.

A small chuckle pushes past my lips. “Sure, fine.”

Y/n does a giddy clap and bounce, her breasts moving in her top and I immediately advert my eyes, standing as I go to grab different tools out of my truck.

“Are you a good ol’ steak and potato kind of guy?” y/n giggles.

I close my truck door, walking back to the A/C unit as I laugh. “Yeah, pretty much.”

“Okay, so steak, potato, beer, and football?”

“Any sport is fine with me, actually,” I laugh. “You make me sound so ‘suburban dad’.”

She crosses her arms. “You are a suburban dad, Joel.”

“Okay, touché,” I chuckle. “Do you think I’m mundane?”

“No!” she responds quickly and with immediate passion. “Why would I want to invite you over for dinner if I thought you were dull?”

“To be polite,” my face splits with a grin.

“You are the furthest from mundane, Joel. I promise you.” She rests her hand on my shoulder, electrifying me. “And how do you like your steak cooked?”

“Medium rare, but really I’m good with anything.”

Y/n tsks at me. “If the hard working man wants medium rare, then he’ll get medium rare,” she giggles. I’ll see you later, okay? I’m gonna start on dinner.”

“Thank you so much, y/n. Really.”

“Please, it’s the least I can do.”

My eyes follow her, admiring the dip in her back and the way her thighs rub together as she walks away, shaking my head in disbelief at her beauty once again, forcing myself to concentrate.

In the shower at home, my right hand grips my hard cock as the other rests against the wall, my wet fingertips digging into the slippery tile. My chest heaves as I pant, feeling so close already just from the memory of y/n in that goddamn bathing suit.

The swell of her ass, the curve of her waist, and the fullness of her breasts all haunt me in the best way. My eyes clamp tightly shut as I groan, wishing it was y/n’s cunt squeezing me instead of my own palm.

“Fuck,” I moan, my balls tightening as my orgasm reaches its pinnacle.

A choked groan catches in my throat, my head thrown back as I cry out into the shower ceiling above, shooting my release down towards the drain. I keep my hand wrapped around myself as I slump forward, feeling winded from the intense rush of euphoria.

I haven’t been affected by a woman this way since high school. Never in my adult life have I been so attracted to someone, that I needed to cum in the shower just to alleviate my pent up sexual frustration. I feel like y/n has put some witchy spell on me that has turned me into this unrecognizable, ravenous, depraved man.

When I’m back in my bedroom, I decide to dress casually, but still attempting to look decently nice. I toss on a gray t-shirt and dark blue jeans, doing my best to tame my hair just a bit. Grabbing my cologne, I spray a little bit onto my neck and chest, rubbing my hands along the fabric to press the mist into it.

Before I leave, I grab my swim trunks, hesitating on bringing a shirt. Will y/n think I’m weird if I wear one? I’m just hyper-aware of my body now that I know what her very recent ex looks like. He’s the type of guy who’s a personal trainer, and I’m the one who guys urge to go to the gym.

Deciding to not bring an extra shirt, I head out the door, knowing that Sarah is probably watching a movie at Mrs. Fredrick’s house next door. I feel a little guilty for dumping her there to be with y/n, but I know neither of them mind. It just makes me feel like a bad father.

As I park in the driveway at y/n’s house, I’m relieved to see that her front door and all the windows are closed. Hopefully that means the air stayed working after I left. I’m not sure why I feel nervous as I walk up to her house with my swim trunks gripped into my palm, but I can’t shake the feeling.

My knuckles gently rap against the metal door, y/n’s voice shouting out for me to come in. I push it open, instantly being greeted by the smell of food that makes my stomach roll over with agonizing hunger.

“It smells amazing,” I say as I approach the kitchen, seeing that she’s still in her two piece, making my neck tense.

“Oh, thank you,” she answers happily as she pulls something out of the oven. “You can have a seat, I’m just finishing up.”

Y/n wobbles a bit, my brows furrowing together. “Are you okay?”

“I may have had three glasses of wine while I cooked, but I promise I’m fine,” she giggles. “Let me get you a beer.”

She glides over to the table, setting a bottle down in front of me before she twists the top off, taking the cap with her. I gulp down over half of the bottle, hoping it’ll settle the nervousness that has made its way into my sternum.

Y/n easily makes her way beside me holding two plates, setting the one with a bigger steak in front of me. “Hope you’re hungry,” she says as she gazes down at me.

My eyes briefly flick down her body, then back down to my plate. “Starving.”

She perches on the chair next to me, smiling brightly before she begins to cut into her meat. “Did you bring your bathing suit?”

I nod, cutting into my ribeye to see a perfectly pink center. “I did,” I chuckle. “The steak looks perfect, by the way.”

Y/n sips at some water from a wine glass, bobbing her head as she swallows. “I told you that you’ll get what you asked for.”

“You followed through.”

Her arms gesture around. “And so did you. My house feels amazing, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” I smile at her. “I don’t mean to pry, but are you going to be okay here? Like, will you genuinely be able to pay your rent?”

“Oh, yeah,” she nods. “Sam was just being a dick and saying I wouldn’t be able to, but I think I can. I might have to budget a little and stop drinking wine,” y/n laughs, “but I’ll be fine. Thank you, Joel.”

“Well, of course. I wouldn’t want you to be out of a place to live.”

Y/N’s eyes narrow playfully. “Would you have a way to fix that, too?”

I chuckle, shrugging. “I’d find a way.”

“Because you are Mr. Solution To Everything,” she laughs, flashing that impeccable smile. “Forgive me for being a bit tipsy, I got a call from my ex mother-in-law while you were gone.”

“Oh,” I shift, “what did she say?”

“Just that she’s glad we’re not together anymore, and that her Sammy deserved better than me from the start. She said I’m too young and immature for him. The worst part is, she wouldn’t even let me get a word in, so I couldn’t tell her what a fucking cunt she is.”

A shocked guffaw flies from my throat, my eyes widening. “You’re bold when you’ve been drinking.”

Y/n’s palm slaps against her mouth. “I’m so sorry. I keep forgetting that I’m your daughter’s teacher and I can’t just talk to you any way I want.” She places her hand on my arm. “Forgive me.”

“Please,” I scoff, “I don’t care how you talk to me, y/n. You could say anything and it wouldn’t make me think of you any differently.”

Her eyes are on mine, a smirk playing at her lips. “And how do you think of me?”

Is she flirting with me?

Doing my best to remain collected, I smile back at her, dabbing my mouth with a napkin. “Fondly.”

“Hm,” she giggles carelessly, drinking more of her water. “I’m glad my messy life hasn’t made you think that I’m also a mess.”

“No, not at all. I’m just happy I was able to comfort you when you needed it.”

Y/n wiggles in her chair, finishing up her steak before she pushes her plate away. “I have a surprise. It’s not a big deal, and I’m not even sure you’ll like it.”

My brows scoop up with interest. “Okay,” I smile, “show me.”

She leaves the table, walking to the fridge to retrieve a small tray, presenting it in front of me as she returns. In y/n’s hands on a plastic platter are a dozen vanilla cupcakes topped with strawberry icing, as well as a small berry placed in the center of each. They’re so ornate yet delicate and charming.

“My god, those are adorable,” my eyes meet hers. “And they look amazing. You really did too much for me, y/n. I mean it.”

She sets the dessert down on the table, taking her seat again. “I still feel like it isn’t enough. You saved me hundreds of dollars today just out of the kindness of your heart, and I’ve made you dinner and cupcakes.”

I laugh, reaching out my hand to rest it gently over hers. “And it’s all perfect and delicious. You don’t have to do anything else for me, I promise you. You didn’t even have to do anything, anyway. I wanted to help you.”

“Why are you so kind?”

My posture straightens as I blink at her, unsure of how to answer that question. How do I explain that I’d do anything for her because I find her so fucking perfect, without sounding like a lunatic? I’ve known her for three days, and I’d be more than willing to build her a brand new house with my own two hands. What in god’s name has this woman done to me? How has she made me feel such a vast array of emotions in only a few days?

“You’re easy to be kind to,” I finally respond, giving her a soft smile before I continue eating my delicious meal.

After dinner, I’m standing in the bathroom, gazing at my reflection in the mirror. My body isn’t at all where I’d like it to be physically, and I now feel suddenly incredibly panicked about going swimming with my shirt off. The muscle definition I used to have in my stomach is gone, and the lean physique I used to sport is starting to wane, as well. I wouldn’t classify myself as overweight, but definitely out of shape.

Sliding my shirt back on as I let out an uneasy sigh, I leave the bathroom, walking out the sliding glass door to see y/n with her feet in the pool and the tray of cupcakes beside her.

I chuckle as I sit onto the rough lip of the pool, plunging my feet into the warm water. “Cupcakes and swimming?”

She turns to me as she nods. “That whole thing about getting a stomach ache if you swim after eating is a myth, you know.”

“I’m a dad, of course I know,” I laugh, picking up one of the desserts.

My fingers carefully peel the paper back, opening it just enough for my mouth to sink into the soft treat. The strawberry icing bursts in my mouth, being offset by the delectable, mellow, vanilla cake beneath it.

“God,” I groan, “you’re so good at baking, y/n. These are amazing.”

Her eyes are on me as she gives me a small smile. “Thank you. I wasn’t sure what kind you’d like. You seem like more of a chocolate kind of guy,” she giggles.

“When it comes to desserts, I’m not picky.”

She nods, still gazing at me. “That’s good to know.”

I bite into the fresh strawberry at the top, discarding the leafy bits onto the tray along with my empty cupcake wrapper. “Thank you,” I say as I swallow.

Y/n laughs as she looks at me, leaning forward to wipe the tip of my nose with her thumb. “You have frosting on your nose,” she giggles.

She places the pad of her thumb into her mouth, sucking the freshly removed frosting off as she keeps her eyes on me. That arousal she gives me returns, making me shift where I sit, and this time, I don’t have something as restricting as jeans and briefs, only swim trunks.

“I’m gonna get in,” I say quickly, standing to walk to the stairs in the shallow end.

“Are you going to wear your shirt?” she asks with her head cocked.

“Oh, um—” my voice trails off, my eyes adverted away from her gaze, “I’m just more comfortable with it on, I think.”

“Hey, that’s okay,” she says softly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to put you on the spot like that.”

“No,” I laugh, standing near the stairs still, “I guess I’ve just grown to not really enjoy my dad bod.”

Why am I always so painfully vulnerable with her?

Y/n is standing up, the water splashing slightly as she removes her feet from the pool. She walks towards me, giving me a small smile before getting into the water in front of me.

“I wouldn’t judge you, Joel, but please do what makes you the most comfortable.”

Letting out a determined sigh, I slide off my shirt, tossing it aside as I step into the ridiculously warm and inviting water. Y/n walks over to the cupcakes that sit at the edge, gesturing for me to join her and grab another one.

Once I’m beside her, we stay quiet as our eyes are locked, each of us taking a bite of our cupcakes. With a small laugh, I wipe the frosting that has now gotten onto her nose. Setting my dessert to the side, I suck the frosting off my thumb just as she did, seeing if she really has been flirting with me this whole time.

Y/n smirks, taking another bite of her treat as she leaves a bit of the icing at the corner of her mouth. I go to remove it with my finger, but she moves her head away, shaking it.

With just the darkened look in her eyes alone, I know exactly the game she’s playing at. I lean in to her, keeping my breathing even as I swipe my tongue slowly up the corner of her lips. My body feels ignited from my bold move, and her devilish chuckle assures me that that was precisely what she wanted me to do.

I’m suddenly tossing every worry, moral, and negative thought out the window as I eagerly take her lips against mine. Her wet, bikini covered breasts press against my bare chest, her fingers dancing into my hair as I slide my tongue along hers.

I could easily be dreaming right now, and just have a painfully hard dick when I wake up. But I’m not. This is fucking real.

Y/n wraps her legs around my waist, allowing me to hold her beneath the water as my hands drift down to the perfect ass I haven’t been able to get my eyes off of.

“Joel,” she breathes as she pulls away, my lips trailing down her soft, spacious throat. “You’re so hot. I want you so bad.”

“Shh,” I coo, nipping at her flesh, “just enjoy this.”

My mouth finds hers once again, her hands running down my torso to where I’m fully hard for her. I can’t help but let out a small groan at the feeling of her palm against me, my hips involuntarily thrusting up into it.

“I need you,” y/n whines softly. “Please.”

I chuckle, swiping my tongue up her ear before taking the lobe between my teeth. “What do you need me for, hm? Tell me, angel, what is it?”

Her chest heaves against mine, her hand still rubbing against me through my swim trucks. “Everything. I need you for everything.”

My hands move around to the front of her swim suit, lifting the top off to reveal the breasts that I’ve been so desperate to see; to have my mouth on. I carry her over to the steps, setting her down on a higher one as I close my lips around one of her nipples.

She yelps, fisting at the hair on the back of my head. I pull the pearled center between my teeth, gazing up at her to see her hazy eyes meeting mine. I do the same to the other one, my fingers keeping the nipple I just left company by pinching it gently.

“This fucking bathing suit has been driving me crazy all goddamn day,” I rasp, dragging my tongue up her chest to her neck. “You’ve been just begging me to fuck you, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” she answers quietly. “Yes, please. It’s all I want.”

“My god, me too. Thought about that pretty little cunt in the shower before I got here,” I admit, dropping my hand down below the water line to rub her through her bottoms.

Y/n’s head falls back, her body a writhing, panting, half-naked, fucked out mess and I haven’t even been inside of her.

“Did you want me when you first saw me?” I ask as I continue to circle her clit through the fabric.

“Yes!” she cries. “You’re so fucking hot, Joel. I’ve wanted you since I met you at the park.”

Her words fuel the already raging fire within my stomach, wanting desperately to be buried inside of her right now. “Good. I want to keep you this desperate for me.” My fingers stop, bringing them up to adjust her bikini top back onto her reddened breasts.

“What? No, no, no. Please!” y/n begs, gripping at my wrists. “Why are you stopping? Please don’t stop.”

I chuckle, leaning in to kiss her firmly with a quick swipe of my tongue. “A few reasons,” I say between kisses. “One, you’re a bit tipsy and two, don’t you have that appointment to get checked out tomorrow? I don’t think you have anything, but it would be nice to know, wouldn’t it?”

Her brows are furrowed with desperation as she hangs her head. “Oh, my god, Joel. I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think about that.”

“Hey,” I say gently as I pick her chin up to meet my gaze, “don’t apologize, sweet girl. It’s easy to get caught up in the moment.”

“And I’m not too tipsy. The alcohol just helped me make that little jump towards you,” she says with reddened lips and cheeks.

My mouth presses against hers again, savoring the cupcake flavor on her sweet tongue. “I’m glad you did. I just would rather go further when we’re both completely ourselves.” I inwardly kick myself. “Is that stupid?”

“No,” she beams as she cups my face in her hands, “not at all. You’re an amazing, sweet man, Joel. And oh my god, you’re hot as fuck.”

I laugh loudly, gently running my nose along hers. “Yeah? I’ve thought that exact same thing about you since I met you.”

Her eyes run down my body. “And you have such a great body. I really don’t see what you do, but I understand the way you feel.”

“Well, I’m glad you like it,” I chuckle. “I guess I was just comparing myself to Sam and felt—inadequate.”

Y/n rolls her eyes as she scoffs. “Oh, fuck Sam. He was the first guy I was ever with that looked like that, and I promise you that isn’t what first attracted me to him.”

“Really? What was?”

“He was kind and he made me laugh, the looks were just a bonus.”

I chuckle. “And what attracted you to me?”

Y/n hums with a warm grin, wrapping her arms around my neck. “Everything.”

On the short drive home, I have a ridiculous smile that hasn’t removed itself from my face since I left y/n’s. Every single moment about tonight was perfect; from the food, the dessert, the pool, her lips, her body, the way she whined for me, and the compliments she gave me. I couldn’t have made a better night up in my head.

After getting an exhausted Sarah from the neighbor’s house, I tuck her in to bed, planting a kiss onto her forehead before leaving and returning to my bedroom. There’s a text on my phone from y/n, and I open it immediately.

Y/n

10:00pm

Thank you for coming over for dinner, and for stopping what I never could’ve. I’d feel horrible if I gave you something just because Sam is a piece of shit and I can’t control my body around you.

10:10pm

I’m glad you can’t control it around me. Let me control it for you. You’ll find out tomorrow whether or not you have something, so try not to worry. I really think you’ll be fine, but it would just be safer this way. Thanks to you, I have to go stock up on condoms for the first time since college.

Y/n

10:12pm

Joel, are you telling me that you haven’t had sex since your wife passed away?

10:13pm

Is that a turn off for you?

Y/n

10:15pm

Oh, my god, no! I just hope I fulfill your nine year dry spell, is all. That’s a lot of pressure lol. Also, maybe if I don’t have anything, we could go without the condoms? I’m on birth control.

My neck tenses as I imagine feeling y/n in all of her natural glory. A twitch runs to my cock, making my stomach twist with arousal.

10:16pm

Absolutely no pressure. I can already tell that you’re gonna be a lot of fun. And yeah, that’s more than fine with me. Guess the condoms will live to see another day lol.

Y/n

10:20pm

Lol, goofball. Good night, Joel.

10:21pm

Good night, y/n.

****

[redpandarascal]

What the fuck

People in 1994? The year I was born, 29 years ago?

That’s literally what I’m doing at this exact second and have been doing for the past 45 minutes or so

Are you all not using YouTube on the tv for this?

This is the problem with society today, isn’t it? I’ve diagnosed the issue. You are all so spiritually sick because you haven’t watched enough music videos.

This is my POV from my bed rn. I have it rigged so I don’t have to get out of the bed before the music videos start.

I’m overcoming my shyness about how unfinished and lose a playlist this is, to share the place on YouTube where I add all the songs I like. I can’t be self consciousness, when there are less fortunate out there, who don’t know how good it is to watch music videos yet.

Soon, I’ll make a “best of music videos”- this is full of music videos, but it’s a compilation of “songs I like” rather than specifically the ones with good videos, but, in the meantime, you should be able to find plenty good examples of the art form by scrolling through here.

In addition, I’m going to link and describe a showcase of some of my favorites:

“Mean Street” by Tennis: Earnest, raw, sincere cowboy dancing.

“Since I Left You” by The Avalanches: Earnest, raw, sincere coal miner dancing.

“Bonfire” By Childish Gambino: Remember what it felt like to be a kid, and crack open a goosebumps book? You’d blow your little mind and scare your pants off. It ruled. By the end of this, I had that exact feeling.

“Music Sounds Better With You” by Stardust: You’re a kid in the 80s or 90s and everything’s ok, you’re watching music videos and building your model plane. Things are looking up.

“It’s Raining Men” by The Weather Girls: This one is just so FUN. I want to know everything about the production. It’s like a weather report on the fact that’s it’s raining men. They built a miniature city out of cardboard. Women who do this much on a low budget are the glue that holds our society together. If this doesn’t get you to crack a smile, you’ve hardened your heart, like the pharaoh did against Moses.

“Knock on Wood” by Amii Stewart: I’m not recommending you get into acid, if you aren’t already into acid. But, if you’re into acid, you should watch this, next time you’re on acid.

“Lover Chanting” by Little Dragon: This music video is about how fun it is to play video games online. I know you dork and dweebs will eat it up.

“The Bar is Low” by Pissed Jeans: This one’s about working out. I don’t want to set it up beyond that. Video stands for itself and isn’t added to by my description. Angus showed it to me :)

“Tucked” by Katy Perry: “oh- her?” Yeah, that’s what I said! YouTube threw this on via autoplay, I’m not usually looking to listen, but, I walked back into the room at just the right moment to look at the video and say “YOO, WHAT? THIS RULES.” I misunderestimated her.

“When Will You Die” by They Might Be Giants: they built the car on the cover of the album, out of cardboard! They put up the plans, so you can, too! It’s huge! It’s so huge! It’s so awesome!

That’s ten music videos, so, I’m going to cut myself off there. I could keep going.

[selencgraphy]

— 𝐈 𝐖𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔

PAIRING: James "Logan" Howlett x Ororo "Storm" Munroe

TAGS: logan pov (3rd person limited), days of future past main plotlines + rolo deleted scene (but add more sincerity to it), friends to lovers but we skipped all the good stuff (establish relationship), time skips bc i’m a lazy writer, a little self-deprecation, jean poking around logan's head without permission (it's mentioned for a sentence or two), ANGST, small changes to the end of dofp 

A/N: ok im not a big rolo shipper but i was reminded of the existence of their deleted scene from dofp and i just HAD to write out what my brain come up with. i’ve never been a big fan of logan/jean anyways so i’ve also toned that down to further the rolo agenda that i’m pushing with this. it honestly isn’t too rolo centric bc, again, i have never been much of a rolo shipper until this idea popped into my brain and don't wanna butcher them too much but it works with the idea that their scene wasn’t cut from the movie. this is also pretty short bc i just wanted to write exactly what came to mind and i didn’t take much time to flesh the idea out. maybe i will in the future, who knows? i hope you like it <3 more x-men related fics are to come!

masterlist

"When I make it back—if I make it back," he started, struggling to keep eye contact with the woman in front of him. "I'm the only one who's gonna remember this."

If you had told him 15 years ago that the love of his life would be Ororo Munroe, he would've laughed in your face. Not that being with her was unimaginable. Never that. But Logan didn't have a good track record with the people he found himself in love with. Rose. Kayla. Jean.

Jean. She was never his to begin with but after he lost her, he'd sworn off ever getting attached to anyone ever again. The pain was too much and every time he lost someone, it wore down his soul. But somehow, she had managed to break down his walls and show him how to love again. That love was worth feeling and having even if it meant he'd lose her eventually too, but he didn't think he'd be in this position again so soon.

He leaned down to rest his forehead against hers, his breath shaky as he took in the moment. He could save her—save everyone from the torment that wrought for the last decade or so. All the people they'd lost to a senseless war—he could bring them back. He would've stay here forever if he could. When she pulled away, she brought a hand to his cheek. "I won't have to miss you then," she whispered, a small smile on her face despite the heartbreak between them at the situation. Instantly, he rushed forward and pressed his lips against hers, tears slowly streaking down his face. When they pulled apart, he took a deep breath. “You got this," she whispered, tears slowly filling her own eyes before she walked away. It took everything in him to let her go. Gaining his composure, he wiped the stray tear away and made his way to where Charles, Erik, and Kitty were. 

---

It'd been a hard couple of days. Who knows how long it's been for the people waiting with him 50 years from now? The fact that he was still here meant Kitty was still kicking, but much longer did they have left? He'd prevented Raven from being captured, but instead of making things better, it was as if he made it worse. Erik had betrayed them in Paris and Raven was still hellbent on killing Trask. Now he sat across from the younger version of Charles as they flew to Washington D.C in a desperate effort to stop Raven once and for all, reflecting on the present he was in and the future he was from. "Whatever happens today, I need you to promise me something. You've looked into my mind and you've seen a lot of bad, but... you've seen the good too. The X-Men. Promise me you'll find us." He hadn't thought of Jean and Scott in ages but the memory of them caused his chest to tighten. And Ororo. Oh, Ororo.

---

"So much for being a survivor."

It was times like these that his healing factor felt more like a curse than a blessing. He was in a perpetual state of drowning and Erik made sure he couldn’t save himself with the rebar he had curved throughout his body. He’d never gotten over the debilitation that came with being submerged in water. No matter how much time had passed, his mind still convinced itself that he was back in Stryker’s custody, drills and syringes holding him in place has his bones were replaced with metal. His mind bounced back in forth from the torture and to the people he came to call his family. He was supposed to fix the past so that everyone in the future could live. As he hit the bottom of whatever body of water he landed in, he couldn’t help but think they sent the wrong man back. Sure, he was the only one who could physically make the trip, but he was never the world saving type. He ruined things which is what he did here instead. As he faded into unconsciousness, there was only one thought on his mind. I’m sorry, Ro.

—

He woke up with a gasp. Where was he? Last thing he remembered he was drowning over and over again. He took a gander at his surroundings. It looked like his room—the room he had in the mansion. Was Charles able to do it? Getting up, he walked over to the mirror across the room. White streaks by his temples. Pulling his fist up, he pushed his claws out. Metal. He was back. 

Just outside his door, he heard the hustle and bustle of children making their way down the hall. When he walked out the door, he caught the sight of Marie and Bobby hand-in-hand. If Marie was here, who else was back? The fullness of the mansion was overwhelming. As he walked the halls, the sight of familiar faces made his heart swell. The sight of Kitty and Peter teaching a class was a sight to see. Both of them were just kids the last time they were in the mansion. He never thought he’d see them standing where he once stood teaching another generation about the world’s history. As he turned to leave the doorway he stood at, his breath caught in his throat as Hank walked toward him. “Morning, Logan. Late start?”

He couldn’t say anything in response, too stunned by Hank’s mere presence. The further he walked through the house, he held back tears. He’d been able to do it. “Hi Logan,” a voice called from the top of the steps. He knew that voice. Another voice greeted him. “Logan.” It couldn’t be. As the two figures made their way down the steps and their silhouettes came into view, his heart dropped. There they were, hand-in-hand as if nothing bad had happened. "Because it never did," he reminded himself.

"Jean," he managed to choke out. "Scott?"

Scott scoffed, his eyebrows furrowing at Logan's usage of his actual name. "Scott? What's wrong with you today?"

Before he could answer, he felt something—someone poking around in his head. Shortly after, Jean was dragging Scott away, yelling a "See you later" over her shoulder followed by a quick hush as she dismissed Scott's questions. Then as the bell rang and the halls emptied as the kids ran off to the mess hall, he zoned in on the open door of the room he was looking for. The sight of her took his breath away. She looked the same as when he left her, now wearing an all-white pantsuit instead of the black stealth suit they both found themselves wearing more often than they'd liked in the old present. The old present. Were they even together in this new timeline? With Jean and Scott alive, did he ever get his head out of his ass? It was the war that brought them together after all. As he approached, he could only hope that this new version of him didn't fuck up like he had. Hearing his footsteps, she turned and greeted him with a smile. "Hey Logan."

"Ro..." He hadn't realized how off putting his actions would seem to everyone else until Ororo's face scrunched with worry. He was the only who remembered after all. "Are you okay?" The last time he saw her flashed in his mind. 

I won't have to miss you, then.

You got this.

"Yeah. Yeah, I think it is."

"Okay, well... I'll see you later?"

He nodded. Unsure of where they stood, he held himself back from pulling her against him. Today was just a normal day for everyone else. There wasn't a reunion for her to have. But then his worries washed away when she stopped and placed a quick kiss to his cheek as she departed. Somehow this win was bigger than getting all of the loved ones he had once lost back. Taking a second to compose himself, he walked further into Charles’ office. "Professor," he called out.

"Logan, don't you have a class to teach?"

"Class?" He taught here? 

"Aye, history," the professor replied as he moved his chair around the desk. 

"History?" How ironic. The man who lived through a past that, now, never happened was in charge of teaching children about a past he had no knowledge of. "Actually, I could use some help with that." Charles' eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Help with what? Last I checked alcohol shouldn't affect you to the point of memory loss let alone at all, Logan."

He chuckled at the other man's comfortability to joke around with him. After spending so much time with the professor's younger self, it was refreshing to be back in the presence of the man he grew to call family. "Everything after 1973 is a little foggy." At the mention of 1973, Charle's eyes widened. "I think the history I know is a little different."

"Well, I’ll be damned. Welcome back," the professor whispered. "You and I have a lot of catching up to do."

[sometimesanalice]

Morgan!!

As the certified president of the Lew Crew/Bob Babe Society of Swooning, you have no idea how happy I am that you like this one! I simply cannot thank you enough for giving this a read before I posted it! Your cheerleading meant the world to meeee!

more for youuuuuu!

As it turned out fate had a name and it was Robert Floyd.

This line did me in the first time I read it. And the second. And probably all the million more times I will read this fic.-- I was so tickled when you messaged me about this, lololol. I loved the idea of him being a subtle meet cute mastermind! He just wanted a shot with cute girl in front of him! There was almost a Bob POV in this, but I decided against it for the continuity of it. But he was enamored with the way she was snarking under her breath at all the nonsense in her email inbox as she took her little afternoon coffee break. He also thinks Jeff should read his emails more carefully that way she doesn't have to waste time giving him the same information for the second time that day, lmao.

“I didn’t want to interrupt you, since you looked busy. But I didn’t want to miss my chance,” he’d confessed over candlelight.

I am SO OBSESSED with him orchestrating a little meet cute to meet the girl in the coffee shop 🥹 like, sorry, this man is actually too adorable for this Mortal plane.-- the way him fessing up in the first 10 minutes of that date had me swooooooning! Like he is so cute for it because he didn't want to start things off without being fully transparent because he could already tell he was really into her right off the bat. Not like there is anything wrong with ordering the same thing, but that man knew what he was doing when he also reached for that first one being called out, lololol. Cheeky boy!

Although instead of the seascape class you’d thought you’d signed up for, you’d willingly paid $86+ tax to watch Bob’s lithe, long fingers delicately grip a paintbrush in a way you thought was going to make you lose your mind.

Sorry, I was drooling. Can you repeat that?-- can you imagineeeeeeee??! oh wait, i can too that's the issue, it's too much of a visual image! sos

Bob’s hands had gently wrapped around your wrists before he’d pulled them from your face. And then he’d leaned in close, taking your chin in his hand and kissed you squarely on the lips, his tongue dipping in and sliding against yours to taste the acrylic pigment from your surprised mouth.“Huh,” he’d said, contemplatively. He’d pulled away only far enough to look into your eyes and give you a soft smile. “Celadon blue doesn’t taste like a Cabernet, go figure.”

This...is actual perfection. You truly nailed Bob in this fic and the way he's so natural in the way he smooths over any discomfort. And the little sass? I'll take one Paint N' Sip with Bob Floyd, please.-- ok, now I was the girl who drank the paint water (i was in the zone it wasn't my fault, lol), and the way I didn't have a Bob Floyd to smooth things over in my time of need was a CRIME, hahahaha! One was or another there was going to be a paint kiss, but in my original planning draft there was also a note where he would have also taken a sip of the paint water to make it less embarrassing and then she initiates the kiss. But him taking the lead in that moment was just too swoonworthy to pass up! And then Sassy Bob like giving the side eye to the instructor every time they passed by, no one makes his girl feel uncomfortable! Not on his watch!

You always did have a thing for men with perfectly floppy hair.

Like father, like son.-- I knew I could count on you to catch the wink to The Father!

Bob was shirtless and wearing only a pair of loose-fitting and paint stained jeans that were hanging low on his hips as he worked on getting all of his brushes and paints set up.

How did you get access to my wet dreams? That long boy with an inch of Calvins peaking out? Nope, not well over here. Not well at all.-- I also know for a fact that man thrifted that pair of jeans too, knowing that they were inevitably going to get messy. They're already broken in for him, and he just wears them so well! Not the Calvins, Morgan! Is it getting hot in here or is it just me?? I know I wouldn't make it out alive!

The color of his morning skies eyes would always darken to a deep shade of Prussian blue as he took in the curves of you. With him you always felt appreciated, wanted, desired.

This is stunning. Your fics always make me want to live inside them, and I can practically feel this line. When will it be me????????-- stoppppp!! that is the most lovely compliment, my heart cannot take ittttt!! Also I was definitely looking up blue scales on the internet and reading about color theory, lmao. He's just the right amount of possessive, like she's his because he earned that! The man is always putting in the work because he knows a good thing when he sees it! And we love that!

“Where do you want me?”“In my bed,” he murmured against your lips.

🫠🫠🫠🫠 No words, just intense pining.-- ok, but between you and me and anyone else who reads this (lol). Figuring out Bob's voice did take me a hot minute. It was a bit of trial and error working through things since he was new to me for writing. But I loved him just being so earnest like all the time, where there are openings for him to make a joke or to take it a different direction, but he always goes with his most honest answer. He's such a he means what he says type to me, and I loved that here because he was so close to putting those paints aways lmao.

“God, look at you,” Bob breathes, reverently, “You’re so beautiful. This might be my best work ever.”

God, this is everything. You painted him (hehe) so perfectly, I'm gonna die.-- your pun has me GIGGLING. And like yeah he's totally talking about his art, but he is also definitely talking about landing his dream girl here!

“Wanna paint you just like this,” he murmurs, sucking at the spot where your leg and hip meet. “But I don’t think you’d stay still long enough for me to finish.”

😵‍💫 He's not wrong.-- CHEEKY BOYYYYYYYYYYY!! (do we think he gets his way later? lololol. I kind of think he'd have to leave her boneless first before he attempted that NSFW painting, hahaa)

“Jesus Christ,” Bob huffs, raggedly, taking in his handiwork, “You’re my masterpiece.”

ALEXA HOW DARE YOU PUT THIS HERE I WILL NEVER STOP THINKING ABOUT IT!!!!!-- I was unhinged for this in the best way possible! Like not him just admiring his [redacted] on her stomach like "yeah, this is my crowning achievement". Like I need to talk a walk around the block now. It's too much for meeeeeee.

He gave you the sky and he made you his world.

This ending line? Frame it and put it in a museum, it made my heart swell up 🥹 A perfect ending for a perfect fic-- AND TO THINK I ALMOST DIDN'T HAVE IT IN THERE!!! It was a last read through bit, I didn't think anyone would really care about what he painted on her. But I loved the idea of him covering her in clouds and I was just going to leave that as my own little headcanon so people could imagine what they wanted to. But when I told another friend what he was painting they were adamant that it had to go in! And I am so glad that I did, because while on his normal canvases he likes to paint things on the ground. But I love that with her he wanted to share his favorite place. I'm actually so soft about it for how smutty this fic is, haha!

Thank you for your support with this one! I was nervous about letting the girliepops down, and I wanted to share my love for the big handed blue eyed man too! I've reread your reblog like 27 times, and it makes me grin every time! I'm so, so thrilled you liked this! 💙

Make Me Your Masterpiece

Summary: Bob credits you for helping him to find his new hobby. And when he asks if he can you paint you, you find you quite like the idea of being his muse.

Pairing: Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x Female Reader

Length: 4.5K

Warnings: fluff, smut, and basically an ode to Lewis Pullman’s hands (mdni)

(Author’s Note: smutty fics are the new friendship bracelet, spread the word! Happy Birthday, Ames! 🎉 @laracrofted)

You’ve always had a thing for Bob’s hands.

They were one of the first things you noticed about him that day at the coffee shop almost a year ago now.

You’d been reaching for your iced vanilla cinnamon latte when a big hand had wrapped around it just a half of a second before you could grab it. Which you wouldn’t have minded admiring them for a moment under any other circumstances, but after an endless string of meetings you’d been in a dire need of a caffeine fix- and not the weak stuff that people brewed in your office’s communal coffee pot.

“I think that’s-” you’d started.

“Oh, I’m sorry-” the coffee thief backpedaled.

The next thing you knew you were looking into the prettiest pair of ocean blue eyes. 

The two of you were startled out of the moment when the barista called out the next order as they’d set it on the counter.

By some kismet or fate, they had been a matching set. But instead of embroidered towels, it was his and hers coffee cups with your names written on them in a hasty scrawl.

Realization dawned over his features as he gave you a sheepish smile, “Think this one might belong to you, Miss.” He spun the coffee until he found the spot with your name. That little smile becoming a full grin as he’d said it aloud before passing the cup to you.

The hands had been good, the eyes had been great, but Bob’s smile directed at you had left you weak in the knees.

You’d been a goner right then and there.

And while you’d ended up almost ten minutes late to your next meeting, you’d also gone back to the office with his phone number written on a cardboard coffee sleeve that was tucked away safely in your purse and a date lined up later that week.

As it turned out fate had a name and it was Robert Floyd.

Barely twenty minutes into your first official date with Bob, his ears had turned a delightful shade of pink as his anxious fingers straightened the silverware on the white linen tablecloth of the Italian spot he’d taken you to. He’d fessed up and apologized as he came clean, telling you that he’d purposefully ordered the same coffee as you in hopes of getting to start up a conversation with the pretty girl who’d been standing in front of him in line.

“I didn’t want to interrupt you, since you looked busy. But I didn’t want to miss my chance,” he’d confessed over candlelight.

He’d told you how he’d only been at the coffee shop because he’d recently returned from a deployment and was fighting the jetlag that came with adjusting to being back on Pacific Standard Time, and that he normally preferred tea but he needed something with a bit more to it to get him through the day.

Instead of getting up and taking the bottle of wine to-go as a consolation prize, like you would have if it had been anyone else, his genuine earnestness had charmed you instantly. And you’d settled on having a second date with him before the first one had even really started.

You only let him sweat it for about thirty seconds before you took pity on him. With a light fingertip, you traced along one of the veins on the back of his hand and simply asked, “So other than being a meet cute mastermind, what is it that you do for a living, Bob?”

It was the best first date you’d ever had.

For your second date with him, you’d bought tickets to a ‘Paint and Sip’ event at a buzzy new bistro in town your friend had told you about.

You weren’t an artist by any means, but during that dinner date his antsy fingers and expressive hands had clued you into how nervous he’d been. You’d found your eyes drifting to them on more than one occasion. Partly because they were so enticingly disproportionate to the rest of him, but also because you couldn’t look him directly in the eye for too long without feeling your face heating up.

You thought it would be a good way for the both of you to work past the getting-to-know-you jitters, something that would keep your hands and eyes occupied enough to relax a bit more and have fun together.

Although instead of the seascape class you’d thought you’d signed up for, you’d willingly paid $86+ tax to watch Bob’s lithe, long fingers delicately grip a paintbrush in a way you thought was going to make you lose your mind.

You’d spent the whole first hour trying and failing to mix the perfect shade of blue before giving up when you’d realized that the man next to you, in addition to having really great hands, was also very good at painting. 

Bob had seemed surprised by that too because he’d kept flushing that wonderful shade of pink that had quickly become your new favorite color every time you complimented his piece.

He had steady, capable hands. But you were quickly learning that everything about Bob Floyd seemed that way. There was a quiet confidence about him. He didn’t shy away from the way he’d openly observed you, like you were a riddle he was enjoying learning to decode. 

You’d never known a man to be so attentive until him.

Bob’s tongue was peeking out as he’d worked on adding some wispy clouds to the top of his piece. You weren’t even sure what step you’d technically stopped at before you’d given up to watch the visual feast of him painting instead. Only halfheartedly adding random bits to your canvas along the way to make sure it wasn’t totally blank by the end of the session.

You’d been so zoned out watching him create that it was like a slow-motion sequence in a horror movie. You’d reached out for your wine glass, lifting it to your lips to take a sip, it had only taken you a split second to realize it wasn’t the full-bodied red you’d ordered that was coating your tongue, but the murky, gritty paint water instead.

Mortified, you’d looked over just in time to see Bob’s empathetic wince. You’d been hoping to fly under the radar, but it had turned out that you’d had more than one set of eyes on you.

“And we officially have our first casualty of the evening, folks,” the instructor cheerily announced to the group, “The rest of you can breathe easy now!”

You wanted to be able to laugh at your own expense, but you’d groaned as you buried your face in your hands.

It was not the way you saw the night going. You wanted to be dazzling, you wanted that pivotal third date with him. But now you were the girl who drank paint water whose canvas looked like it had all the same efforts as an enthusiastic fourth grader.

Bob’s hands had gently wrapped around your wrists before he’d pulled them from your face. And then he’d leaned in close, taking your chin in his hand and kissed you squarely on the lips, his tongue dipping in and sliding against yours to taste the acrylic pigment from your surprised mouth.

“Huh,” he’d said, contemplatively. He’d pulled away only far enough to look into your eyes and give you a soft smile. “Celadon blue doesn’t taste like a Cabernet, go figure.”

He brushed a light kiss against your cheek as he’d passed you your wine glass so that you could rinse the paint water taste out of your mouth. 

You couldn’t help but to still be a little embarrassed, but then you’d caught the way he’d shoot an unimpressed look at the instructor every time they passed by for the rest of the evening. You didn’t need a knight in shining armor when you had a Bob Floyd with a paintbrush and a cutting side eye.

You took him home with you that night and learned for yourself just how capable those hands of his were.

It was only later that you realized the exact shade of blue that you’d been trying so hard to capture earlier that night was the same color as the eyes that gazed down at you as Bob fucked you for the very first time.

There was no way you could have known that the ‘Paint and Sip’ date would have inspired him to pick up painting as a hobby.

First, he’d started taking classes at the Rec Center. His once a week classes later turned into him checking out books from the library. And then he’d turned his spare bedroom into a studio, as it has the best afternoon light in the Spanish style house he rents near the Naval base. He’d even bought a comfy chair for you to curl up in as he painted, a little nook of your own in his favorite space in his home. And steadily, the walls of both your apartment and his place fill up with all of his creations.

You’d even had your favorite one professionally framed. The pretty landscape done in shades of soft greens that he gave to you for your birthday hangs in a place of honor above your bed. You like having that piece of Bob as one of the last things you see before you fall asleep and one of the first things you see in the morning on the rare occasion the two of you aren’t sharing a bed. You liked to imagine the hours he spent on it with the sunlight streaming through the open window as he lovingly and painstakingly created something just for you with his own two hands.

Although you did have to beg him to sign it for you. He claimed that since he does it for fun that there’s really no reason too, but you were adamant about it and he’d eventually caved and scrawled his name in the lower right-hand corner.

Now it’s become your personal mission to ensure that every Bob Floyd original has his signature on it when he gives his paintings out as gifts.

Everyone assumes that his art would be all straight lines and precise angles, but it’s your favorite moment when people get to see his abstract landscapes. He’d told you he spends so much time in the sky that he likes to paint what’s on the ground, the things he doesn’t get to see when he’s 50,000 feet in the air.

You could tell Bob was a little nervous when he first asked to paint you. 

After almost a year with him, you’d think he’d know by now that you’d do anything for him. Not to mention, you were more than a little in love with the idea of being his muse.

“Are you saying you want to paint me like one of your French girls?” you’d teased with a grin, unable to resist the opportunity. You always did have a thing for men with perfectly floppy hair.

He’d tipped your chin up so that you were looking into his blue eyes- a color you were positive couldn’t be replicated- and stated, “No, I want to paint you like my girl.”

Which is how you’ve ended up naked on the floor of his living room.

You’d been surprised when you came downstairs to see that the furniture had all been pushed to the side to make space for the king-sized top sheet he’d laid out on the floor. You figured it must have been from some mismatched set he had stashed in his linen closet because you’d never seen it before and you spent more than enough time in his bed getting familiar with his sheets.

Bob was shirtless and wearing only a pair of loose-fitting and paint stained jeans that were hanging low on his hips as he worked on getting all of his brushes and paints set up.

You were pretty sure that Michelangelo himself wouldn’t be able to do proper justice to Bob’s body. He wasn’t as built as some of his friends on the Dagger Squad were, but there was an undeniable sturdy steadfastness to him. Those defined shoulders and arms often were the stars of your afternoon daydreams, since you got to admire his handsome face anytime your phone lit up.

He came and met you at the bottom of the stairs, giving you a low whistle, “Well, aren’t you as pretty as a picture in my shirt.”

“Oh,” you’d said, feigning surprise and toying with the hem, “So it is.” And then you’d slowly lifted it up and off of you, revealing more of your body to his artist’s eye.

You never felt as good about yourself as you did when you were naked in front of Bob. The color of his morning skies eyes would always darken to a deep shade of Prussian blue as he took in the curves of you. With him you always felt appreciated, wanted, desired.

His greedy hands came to grip your hips pulling you to him until you were pressed against him.

“Is this how you wanted me?” you asked, running your fingers through his hair.

Bob slipped his hand behind your neck and tugged you in for a heated kiss. “I always want you.”

You never knew true distraction until you’d felt Bob’s lips against yours all those months ago. You’d happily lose minutes, hours, days to them. The thing about Bob is that he never does anything halfway. If he’s kissing you, he’s doing it thoroughly until you’re out of breath.

The sound of the air conditioner kicking on and the light draft that it coasted over you reminded you that there were other plans on the agenda. And that the sooner he starts, then the sooner he finishes, and the sooner you can feel his lips on other parts of you.

“Where do you want me?”

“In my bed,” he murmured against your lips.

His name started as a laugh but turned into a sigh as he dropped a line of kisses down your neck, “I meant, like on the couch or on one of the chairs from the kitchen.”

Bob pulled away and peered deep into your eyes, “Darlin’, I wanted to paint you.” He trailed a teasing finger down your soft stomach. “If that’s alright with you.”

You thought you were just going to be his subject, but as it turns out he wanted you to be his canvas too.

You’re trying not to shiver as he meticulously coats your overheated skin with cool paint. Goosebumps follow in the wake of every delicate stroke he makes along your body.

His hair was curled over his forehead in a way that had your fingers aching to touch him. There was a slight furrow between his eyebrows as he concentrated on the deliberate lines and curves he painted on you. The paint smudge on his cheek only made him all the more attractive to you.

Bob had tucked a pillow beneath your head before he’d started, a gesture that you appreciated now because time had lost all meaning to you. You had no idea how long you’ve been lying there. You were pretty sure every inch of you had to be covered by now.

He’d started along the plane of your stomach and steadily worked his way out from there. Up your arms. Along your clavicle. Over your breasts and tops of your thighs. You didn’t miss the way he’d smirked when you arched into that soft to the touch paintbrush as it glided over your peaked nipple. Or the way he’d hummed pleased when you’d try to subtly rub your thighs together to relieve the need that had been building as you laid there.

Bob loves taking his time with you. In bed, he loved teasing you until you had tears in your eyes and were begging for his cock. And it became clear very quickly that this would be no different.

There was an electric thrum that was pulsing through your body with every dip and swirl and brushstroke. The muscles of your stomach jump involuntarily as the fine hairs of his paintbrush drift over your hypersensitive skin making you whimper.

He tsks, “Gotta stay still for me, pretty girl. I’m almost done, promise.”

You release a shaky sigh and nod, not trusting your voice to betray just how needy you were for him. Although the self-satisfied smile on his face told you everything you needed to know.

You try to control your breathing as he works on finishing, but your shallow breaths sounded loud in his living room. You love getting to watch him work normally, but the intense way he is looking at you- his eyes your favorite shade of Prussian blue now- is too much for your hummingbird heart.

Just as your skin was collecting layers of paint from his brush, the space between your thighs was steadily collecting your wetness. You were so desperate for him to touch you, the need made you want to crawl out of your skin.

You hear the sound of a watery swish and the clink of a brush against glass and your breath catches in your throat in anticipation.  

“God, look at you,” Bob breathes, reverently, “You’re so beautiful. This might be my best work ever.”

Instead of the paintbrush, you can feel the path of his flame blue gaze traveling over you as he takes in the art he’s made out of you.

You open your heavy eyes and see Bob wiping off his hands with a frayed towel.

“There she is,” he says, giving you a smile that makes your toes curl. You didn’t notice it sitting there with all his paints until he was reaching for it, his dad’s old film camera. He holds it loosely in front of him like a question, “Can I take a few just for me?”

The answer is easy, “Yes.”

You trusted Bob more than any other man you’d ever been with. He’s never once given you reason to doubt his words because his actions always spoke for themselves.

The guys you’d been with before had been boys, Bob Floyd was a man.

The tension between the two of you is thicker than the acrylic he’d been using earlier as he snaps photo after photo. You admire the way his muscles shift as he bends and angles himself to get the perfect images.

He stands over you, the lens pointed down at you, “Look at me.”

You can barely breathe. You feel yourself getting even wetter at the thought of seeing yourself through his eyes. No one has ever made you feel the way he does.

“Bob”, you whine.

The camera clicks.

“I know,” he hums, “You’ve been so good for me.”  He sinks to his knees between your legs and hooks a hand behind your knee, pulling it up so it’s propped on the floor. And then he does the other so that you’re sprawled open for him, just the way he likes you to be, “Just one more, darlin’.”

The heat in his eyes has dried up all the words in your mouth.

He trails a finger down the soft skin of your inner thigh and you gasp.

The sound of his camera reverberates in your head.

“You’ve made such a pretty mess,” he drawls, as he gently sets the camera on the floor next to you. “It’s a good thing I put something down. You’re damn near dripping.”

“Bob, please.” You arch towards him like a flower in the sun.

He settles between your thighs and pushes them apart further so that his broad shoulders fit between them. The paint is still drying on your skin, but neither one of you cares about that now.

“You were so perfect for me. I appreciate you staying so still.” He drops a kiss to the inside of your thigh. “Don’t worry, I know just how to thank you.”

Your body jolts at the first touch of his tongue on your clit. You can feel his smile against you, he knows exactly what he does to you.

Bob has always eaten you out like it’s what he was put on this earth to do.

Normally, he’s teasing you with gentle licks and tracing nonsensical shapes on your clit with his tongue until you’re a squirming mess for him. He knows your body so well, always building you up to the point where you’re breaths away from tipping over the edge and then pulls himself back before building you right back up again.

But tonight, there’s nothing playful about the way his mouth is working against you. His hot mouth is sealed to your clit. Bob hums in satisfaction with every keen and whine that he pulls out of you. He laves at you until you’re writhing underneath him, your thighs already shaking.

“Wanna paint you just like this,” he murmurs, sucking at the spot where your leg and hip meet. “But I don’t think you’d stay still long enough for me to finish.”

Bob dips down and gives you another long broad stroke of his tongue. He pulls back only long enough to spit on your cunt before diving right back in, chasing after his own taste on you.

Your hands are in his hair. Clutching at his shoulders. It’s taken him no time at all getting you to the point where you’re trembling and taut.

All the air leaves your lungs when he buries two large fingers into you. Your hips cant into his mouth on their own and he moans. Bob wraps an arm around your hips and presses down on your lower stomach to hold you in place.

You feel the pain smear beneath his warm palm. You were dying to see it. You hoped there was a handprint- his handprint- that disrupted all the lines and swirls of color that he’d decorated you with. Something that was distinctly him.

You were wearing his art and now you’re wearing him. The evidence of this moment in time on your skin.

His fingers and tongue weren’t enough.

You needed more.

“You cock, Bob, I need your cock,” you pant, tugging at his hair.

He meanly sucks your clit into his mouth in a way that has you crying out and jerking against him. You love it, you love him.

“God, I love it when you beg for me,” he licks into you again, “Sweetest sound in the world.”

Bob drops a sweet kiss on your clit, it’s a stark difference to the filthy way he’d been using his mouth on you. He rises to sit back on his knees between your parted legs.

He looks so good kneeling above you the way that he is. His cheeks are flushed and his hair is a mess. That knot behind your bellybutton twists tighter because you did that to him.

He unzips his jeans and tugs them down low enough to pull his hard cock out.

It’s pretty enough to be featured in a gallery, you think to yourself, even in your desperate haze. It’s long, thick, perfect and yours.

Bob smirks when he notices you admiring him, pumping himself slowly a few times for your viewing pleasure.

The only time Bob Floyd was ever a show-off was when he was in bed.

He grabs your thighs and pulls them over top of his own, so that yours are draped over his obscenely, and then he thrusts easily into you.

You gasp at the sensation of being so full of him. It always takes you a minute to adjust to his cock, no matter how many times you’ve taken it now. His thumbs make little circles along your hipbones as your body relents and yields to the size of him.

“There you go,” he says, rocking into you, working you open, “Just needed this cock, didn’t you?”

You whimper your agreement. Your hips tilt into the pressure like you’re trying to get as much of him as you can. Wanting to show him how much you can take. You know you’ll never get enough of him.

He fucks into you at a reckless and unrelenting pace. You’re high off the feeling of seeing Bob like this, that you’re the one who gets to see him unreserved and uninhibited. He has your hips gripped so tightly, keeping you closer than close. And when you clench around him, you’re treated to a wrecked groan.

Your skin prickles with desire and the feeling of paint drying on you. His cock is hitting just the right spot inside of you and you know you won’t be able to hold off for much longer, not with the way he’s grinding against your aching clit.

Bob’s eyes glued to the spot where you two come together. You’re on full display for him. He watches the way you stretch and spread around him with every deep thrust with the same appreciative gaze that he admires his favorite artists.

It’s under his river blue gaze that your orgasm swiftly sweeps you away. And with your back arching and thighs quaking around his, you give yourself up to the endless current of it.

You know he’s close when his hips start to stutter.

Bob pulls out of you and wraps his large hand around his slick-shined cock and works himself with rough, purposeful strokes.

This time he paints you with himself, his come covering your stomach.

The only sound in the room is the two of you breathing hard, trying to catch your breath.

“Jesus Christ,” Bob huffs, raggedly, taking in his handiwork, “You’re my masterpiece.”

You’re covered in paint and come, but you’ve never felt more beautiful than you do right now as he looks down at you in awe.

“Did you remember to sign your work this time?” you ask, out of breath but teasingly.

“I think I left my mark, darlin’,” he says, with well-earned smugness in his voice. You can’t help but giggle. He flops down next to you, throwing his arm over his eyes, “Goddamn.”

You prop yourself up onto your elbows to look at yourself.

“Baby, I think you gave Jackson Pollock a run for his money.” You grin widely when he lets out an amused snort. “Wait, where’s your camera?”

He passes it to you, the fondness in his eyes makes your chest feel warm. You scooch in close to him and hold it up above your heads, the camera flashes when you kiss his flushed cheek.

That picture is the first one that gets put up in the new house, the one the two of you chose together when he asked you to marry him six months later. Followed by the soft green landscape that now hangs above your shared bed.

It’s your favorite picture of the two of you, happy and in love. You can just see a hint of the cloud he’d painted on your shoulder.

That night Bob had decorated your body with the place he loved best.

He gave you the sky and he made you his world.

Happy birthday, Ames! Your gift will be mailed eventually, it really was a lesson in chemistry, lol! Enjoy a Bob fic just for you in the meantime!

A big, bigggg thank you to the Bob Babes/Lew Crew girlies! @callsignspark and @attapullman I appreciate you two so much for being such ultimate hypegirls! And thank you to @theharddeck, you helped me out of my writers block and I've been so excited to write this since we talked about it back in January!

You can read my other stories here!

taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken  @callsignspark @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @ofstoriesandstardust @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

LO$ER=?, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Life is just a path and you walk it. Until Jeon Jungkook. He made you run, sprinting through winding side roads and alleys, fighting, bleeding, losing. Your paths split, but life is made of orbits. Now that they have overlapped once more, his hand is fiercely holding yours and he won't let go again. Nothing matters if he's with you. Thus, you run once more, laughing like you've gone mad.

continuation of 0X1=?, m | jjk – click here to read

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; mentions of sexual assault (not heavily described, however, please note reader is the victim of said assault); actually predominantly fluff; mentions of previous angst; mentions of physical fighting; smut (fem reader, fingering, cowgirl, scratching / marking, penetrative sex); non-idol!BTS - tattooed, previously rich!Jungkook x rebellious!reader (mostly reader's POV, a tiny bit of JK's POV), ft cameo of Kim Taehyung as JK’s best friend and crossover with 'bao, t/m | myg' au

yes, I waited until the TXT's 'LO$ER=LO♡ER' was released to write this XD there's a ton of TXT references as well, enjoy!

--

now playing – LO$ER=LO♡ER by txt

"Jeon Jungkook! Yah! Jeon Jungkook! Come out of that whore's home!"

You were about to remove the groceries from your front seat, but then you stopped at the shouting, peering up at the second story of the apartment complex to see… ah, yes, a young woman yelling at your front doorstep. One look at the imported, Western, black car with heavily tinted windows and you were well aware that the woman in a matching designer two-piece – a ruffled pink suit jacket and flared skirt – complete with immaculately pulled back hair in a half-ponytail must be...

She turned around, fuming, pretty features twisted in rage, and screamed in frustration.

You quickly jerked your head back out of her line of sight and clicked your tongue.

Your boyfriend's ex-fiancé had some lungs on her.

You waited until she finished shrieking like a banshee and peered out to see her spin on her heel and return to pounding on your apartment door with her small, manicured fists. You spotted her beige, black cap-toed slender heels.

Chanel.

Huh.

You stayed in your car.

Reached over to your bag and pulled out the single ice cream you bought to share with Jungkook but, at this rate, you would have to buy another. You pulled off the cap and folded it in half, curving it like a spoon, and began to eat the mango sorbet. Hm, well, it was better this way. Jungkook would probably prefer chocolate or straight up diabetes over mango sorbet.

He would eat pretty much anything though.

You scooped up some of the frigid, melting sweet into your mouth and watched his ex-fiancé shout at no one.

True, you could go up there and throw her down the stairs. But there was something hilarious about this, her beating and howling at your apartment door, completely ignoring the fact that no one was answering it and that she was very clearly causing a public disturbance, all because of her own personal problem.

You glanced up to watch her slide down the door, openly crying now. You pressed the button of your car window to roll it down a crack to listen to her sobbing above you.

"–can't believe you would do this to me... you know I need this marriage... my family's company depends on it..."

You slowed, licking off your makeshift spoon.

"I'll be left with nothing... nothing unless I get married..."

Crocodile tears or not, the woes of the rich did not earn much sympathy with you.

You rolled your window back up, leaving your car on idle for the air conditioning.

It was a mix of previously being constantly berated by Jungkook's wealthy parents that now exiled him over a fucking eyebrow piercing and being a member of the working, lower middle class. For some reason, that latter fact was also offensive to Jungkook’s parents. Everyone was accepting until money got involved. You hummed, eating another scoop. You didn’t like it, but you understood that his parents wouldn’t believe that you have no interest in their money. What you didn't understand was why his ex-fiancé was so hellbent on yelling at your door. From what you could tell, she wasn't ugly. Couldn't she find someone else?

You scraped the last of your small ice cream out and ate it up.

You checked your phone.

Jungkook wouldn't be out of work for at least another three hours. You had found him a job at the local bao shop through your own job as an accountant. You assisted the family in sorting the finances for their small business and personal tax forms. The owner had back surgery and so the daughter had been working there by herself with one other employee that delivered the orders. They wanted to hire another to help with cooking and cleaning, perhaps even open up the front counter again to accept pick-up orders instead of only delivery. However, it was hard to find someone trustworthy and reliable. The best way was through word of mouth.

They won't mind my tattoos?

Whenever I drop by, the delivery guy is wearing a leather jacket, ripped jeans, and has a resting bitch face. You'll be fine. Also, I think the daughter and him are dating.

Jungkook had blinked at you.

You know. In case they disappear for ten minutes, unexplained.

You loved Jungkook's laugh.

He didn't complain or whine for some other job. He only asked when he started and how to get there. You bought him a secondhand bicycle and he was off to work, five to six days a week. Sometimes you would drop him off with your car if was too rainy. Occasionally, when he had to stay late for a large order, the delivery guy would drive Jungkook and his bike back home.

That's how it was here, in the world of everyone else, minus the rich.

The fuck is all this?

Manager gave me a bunch of leftovers. She said I'm a fast learner. Did you know Taehyung stops by there? He's never said shit! He said it was his little secret, that ass–

You smiled as you remembered Jungkook's animated face and annoyance at his best friend for not sharing what he thought was crucial information. Jungkook would speak excitedly, hauling a bag of buns and spilling them over your clean kitchen counter, scrambling to catch them as he explained the different ones to you and how they were made, telling you all the things he was learning and funny stories about customers.

You almost forgot this Jungkook.

It was strange, feeling something after such a long time of feeling nothing, strange to find your time occupied once again by him, when at many times you vowed not to get involved with Jungkook anymore, only for him to show up and make you throw your promises to yourself to the wind, recklessly chasing the anger, wondering, hating, loathing how much you still loved him after he left, recalling him standing there, stone silent as his parents' verbal lashes ripped you to shreds.

You turned the car off, pulling the keys out and pocketing them, not wanting to the drain the battery.

Maybe.

Maybe you were stupid for loving him so much.

Maybe you were as pathetic as the woman up there in some ways.

Then again.

Maybe that was just how everyone lived.

You heard a soft tap by your car window.

You jerked your head to see Jeon Jungkook, in the flesh, peering at you through the glass, clutching his bike. You could see half of his head, short black hair and large, curious brown eyes, nose pressed up to the bottom of your car window. He was wearing his work clothes, light wash jeans and an aqua blue t-shirt, lightly dusted in flour. He pointed up and you noticed his ex-fiancé had switched back to yelling at the door, no longer facing the street.

You shooed him back and opened the car door, eyes wide.

"Why are you home?" you whispered, crouching down to speak to him.

He grabbed your hand, gasping as he gripped it. You shivered at the coldness of his fingers, but there was a warmth in between your and his frozen palms, melting each other.

"Oh, shit, your hand is so cold!"

"So is yours!"

"I was biking! My hands get cold from the wind. What's your excuse?"

You held up the empty mango sorbet container in your other hand, shifting your eyes guiltily.

"And you didn't share?!" Jungkook hissed, his windswept hair giving him a fierce appearance, dismay clear in his glistening dark brown orbs despite trying to sound angry.

You spied his other hand on his bike. There was a large, wrapped bandage on his left forearm. You ticked your chin towards it, furrowing your brows. "What happened?"

"Ack, I burned myself and manager-nim told me to go home early. I told her I could still work, but there were only a few hours left and it seemed like she wanted to be alone with Yoongi-hyung..."

You raised your eyebrows.

"What are they gonna do, bonk in the kitchen?"

"You wouldn't want to bonk me in the kitchen?"

You grinned at him and Jungkook grinned back, eyebrow piercing flashing in the sun.

"JEON JUNGKOOK!"

"Oh shit–"

You scrambled out of your car, locking it, slamming the door as the young woman wailed his name and pointed at you and him, furiously wiping her tears.

"You bitch! How dare you take him from me! He was mine! I had him wrapped around my finger!" She hiked up her skirt and swiftly power-walked to the stairs, looking back to yell more at you as Jungkook placed his bicycle down. "He would do anything for me!"

You raised your eyebrows, again.

Jungkook yanked on your t-shirt sleeve, ushering you to get on the bike with him.

"Doesn't seem like it!" you called back casually, chucking your trash at her, causing the empty ice cream container to smack her in the shoulder and roll across the sidewalk.

"You–"

You cackled and got on the bike, hooking your arms around Jungkook's shoulders and adjusting your feet as she stomped up to you two, conventionally attractive features contorted in rage.

"He was my dog!"

Your eye twitched.

"You were gonna marry a freak who was into bestiality? No wonder you left," you remarked, patting him on the chest as Jungkook burst out laughing, loud and rich, shaking his head.

"You can't do this to me, Jungkook! You can't leave me with that other guy!"

You felt it.

Pause.

You felt Jungkook stiffen under your hands and you turned yourself, hearing the helpless plea in her voice now, throwing herself to the ground, designer knees in common dirt, anguish on her face, tears streaming down her made-up cheeks, sniffling hard, and, with your breath lodged in your throat, you realized she was restraining her pained sobs, so trained in maintaining appearances that it seemed like she couldn’t even cry properly in front of others.

"You can't... you know how they are... I can't marry him, you saw what kind of man he is... that's the whole reason I tried to find another husband..."

There was no more anger in her voice, only fear and dread, and you didn't understand, and yet you could for some reason, for some reason you could see it as if it was tangible, the realness in her enigmatic words. Jungkook's hands tightened on the handlebars of the bicycle, his knuckles turning white, tense shoulders under your arms, and for a second, a moment, an instant...

You thought he might go back.

"You should run."

The crying woman on the ground lifted her head, hiccupping, cheeks blotchy pink, still somehow beautiful.

"W-What?"

Jungkook turned his head and looked down at her. "You should run away, like I did. Find someone who actually loves you. Getting married to me will only make both of us miserable, even if it saves you from that other guy."

She looked from you to him, and you recognized that look in her eyes, jealousy and envy, but not directed at you. It was directed at the warmth between the coldness of his hands and yours, directed at the orbits of his and yours finally overlapping, meeting in the vastness of space once more, his zero and your zero becoming one, not you, but his ability to throw everything away, his wealth, his comfort, the world he knew, all for a feeling she had yet to feel.

"What... what if I can't?" she asked weakly. "What if I can't find what you have?"

Jungkook lifted his foot off the asphalt and placed it on the pedal. He raised his head, and you found his eyes on yours for a brief moment before casting them back down to his ex-fiancé.

"Then keep running. It's better than being married to him, right?"

He began to turn the handles, about to pedal away.

She screamed after him, words choked with agony.

"Love won't solve our problems, Jungkook!"

You held on tight, chest to his back, fingers clutching in Jungkook's shirt, nose in his hair, his warmth under your cold hands.

"It won't!" he yelled over his shoulder, gaining speed with a grin. "But it sure as hell makes the problems worth shouldering!"

-

“Hey! Get back here!”

You snickered and chucked the plastic bag into the basket connected to the bicycle, jumping on quickly, pedaling away as Jungkook ran after you at top speed, breathless and laughing, his black hair flying back, aqua shirt molding to his muscular chest, long legs sprinting after you and the bike, your grinning face looking back periodically to catch his smile, going not too fast, but still fast enough so he couldn’t quite catch up. Golden hour brought out the tan on his skin and his high cheekbones, both of you tearing out of the gas station at high speed, drawing stares and shaking heads, but neither of you noticed or cared, his booming voice calling your name and you sticking your tongue out at him childishly.

“Watch out!”

You jerked aside and sped past a group of five young men with skateboards, two with shorter black hair, one with long black hair and white highlights, one with ash gray hair, and one platinum blond, all very tall, but you didn’t have time to stop and stare at the impressive height of them, turning into a side alley towards to the creek nearby, avoiding pedestrians, Jungkook following close behind until you got to your destination, grabbing the plastic bag in the basket and throwing the bike down, cackling as Jungkook snatched you from the air, his heart racing against your back as you kicked the air, him still somehow effortlessly carrying you despite sprinting so hard, panting into your hair.

“Get off!”

But instead of letting you go, Jungkook held on tighter, fierce kisses into your neck, wiping his sweat all over you and making you cringe amidst your laughter. It was already late, the sun dipping into the horizon, slowly taking its warmth with it. Water trickled meekly down the creek, barely coating the rock bottom due to the hot summer.

“Stop, stop, the ice cream is melting,” you finally gasped out, shoving Jungkook aside, wiping your neck with the back of your hand, pretending to be disgusted, but Jungkook just grinned and seized your cheeks, pressing his lips against yours.

“I love you,” he breathed.

“Ack, I love you too, fuck, get off–”

-

You two sat on the swings of the empty playground, watching the sun disappear, eating ice cream with the lids of the containers. As predicted, Jungkook got the chocolate that seemed to have everything in it but the kitchen sink. You, on the other hand, got red bean this time.

“Hey, Jungkook.”

“Hm?”

He looked up from his ice cream, shoving a large lidful into his mouth.

It was strange how beautiful he looked, even with his black hair sticking up every which way, his cheeks filled with the frozen sweet, the faint rays of sunlight catching the silver of his jewelry – eyebrow piercing, earrings, silver chain around his neck with the compass star pendant – all paired with his oversized aqua blue t-shirt and baggy jeans, still with bits of flour on his thighs from work.

“What did that man do to her?”

A darkness clouded his features even though he tried to hide it from you with a neutral expression.

“Ah… He just… Just wasn’t really the kind of guy who thought of women as people,” Jungkook finally got out, looking away from you. “You know, the kind of guy you really hate.”

“That’s you,” you joked.

“I know I can’t do anything,” Jungkook continued, ignoring your quip and you suddenly regretted it, seeing the way he lowered his hands, exhaling slowly. “I am not responsible for anyone else’s behavior but my own.”

Come crawling back to me on your knees when she reaffirms to you that I'll be the best fuck you'll ever have.

She'll never make you feel as good as I can make you feel.

Enjoy your piranha.

“I’m sorry.”

Jungkook looked up at your sudden declaration.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, coughing awkwardly. “I’m sorry for saying the things I said about her.”

He snorted, shaking his head. “Don’t be. Just because she was in a shit situation doesn’t excuse her for being a shit person.” He shoved the lid into the empty ice cream container and rubbed the back of his neck, pushing his hair back with a sigh. “Just like how it doesn’t excuse me from being a shit person for what I did to you.”

His eyes shifted away.

“You don’t have to–”

“Yeah, I do,” he muttered, cutting you off. “I’m a fucking loser.”

The streetlights began to turn on, but no one was in a place like this, two adults in a place for kids, stuck wondering what adulthood was supposed to feel like because it still felt like an endless cycle of forever learning and forever running, wandering to find out what the finish line meant.

“I wasted time you can’t get back and I will spend the rest of my life chasing the time I wasted.”

Jungkook sucked in a shuddering breath, hand falling from his hair, rueful smile on his face.

“I can only hope you can put up with me for so long.”

You blinked slowly.

He turned his head, brown eyes finding yours, those irises catching the streetlights like how his jewelry had caught the sun, proving that Jeon Jungkook was, indeed, already adorned with nature’s very own jewelry.

You scooped out the last of your red bean ice cream and ate it, looking away from him.

“Sounds like forever,” you remarked, feeling the chilled sweet cool your heated cheeks, swallowing slowly, savoring the way the cold warmed you in its own way.

“Hm?”

“Sounds like I’m stuck with you forever then,” you said, turning back to him with a smirk. “Kinda sucks.”

He smirked back, cocking an eyebrow. “Yeah. Major suck. Speaking of my dick–”

“Oh, shut up.”

But you said it with a smile and he knew you didn’t mean it.

-

“Why the fuck do you have that?”

“It’s from work. Gimmie your arm.”

“Why?”

You extended your arm, frowning, stopping under the streetlight, one hand on the bike as Jungkook held the black permanent marker with his right hand. He used two fingers to uncap it and tucked the lid neatly into his palm, spinning the marker with the adjacent two fingers to readjust it so that he could write on your arm.

“Do you wanna get a tattoo with me?”

“Of what?”

You looked down to him scribbling on your skin, his own black tattoos standing out, covering his entire right arm and up to his shoulder. You wondered if he would end up tattooing his back and maybe his other arm – but, then again, he kind of needed money to have pay for such large pieces.

“Couples tattoo.”

You looked down when he drew back, grinning, reading the word upside down.

LO♡ER

You raised an eyebrow.

“You want to get ‘lover’ tattooed?” you asked, skeptical, turning your arm this way and that, unsure if you liked the placement on your forearm, near your wrist. “You don’t have any space on your right arm anyway.”

“That’s why I would get it on my left.”

And he curved his wrist to write on the bandage on his left forearm, messily writing on top of it.

LO$ER

Now you raised both eyebrows.

“You want to get… ‘loser’ tattooed onto your body?” you snorted disbelievingly.

Jungkook grinned, recapping the black marker with one hand, tapping the dollar sign on the bandage with the marker lid. “Doesn’t it describe me? ‘Cause I had money, and now I don’t.” He pointed to the heart on your skin. “You love me. I love you. A lover with a dollar sign is a loser, right?”

Laughter and skateboards sped past, five blurs of black along the street, spinning around the parked cars, people yelling after them to stop being so reckless, but you were too busy staring at Jungkook to notice the ruckus, too busy staring at that smile and those brown orbs lit up by streetlights.

“Are you stupid?”

Jungkook’s grin widened, mole underneath clearly visible. “Yeah, kind of. Stupidly in love with you.”

You both instantly pretended to gag, trying to mask your smiles, you shoving him and him shoving back, playful and laughing like mad, falling into him, dropping the bike with a loud clang, swept up in his arms and his kiss, your hands hooking behind his neck, love you, love you, love you, not sure about this whole tattoo idea, but, hell, maybe, just maybe if he annoyed you enough about it.

-

Shit, the groceries...

Are they still good?

The green onions look kind of wilted, but so do you and you're still good... I think.

Shut up.

You didn't need him, but being without him was like being frozen in time.

Not that you had any big dreams or aspirations anyone could be envious about. It always been like that, casually cruising through life, existing for the sake of existing, no real reason needed. It just was, and there was no reason to stop, so you kept going. The path was there, so you kept walking.

But, then.

Jeon Jungkook.

Jungkook made you run.

It's not washing off.

Tragic.

Easy for you to say, you wrote yours on your bandage, 'loser'.

So terrible that you have 'lover' written in you by your lover - hey, pfft, stop! Put the showerhead down!

It was truly by chance to meet him, a moment of terror and then he was there, yelling, get off her, don't fucking touch her, and you didn't understand, didn't understand why some random guy would suddenly intervene between an interaction of two strangers, how could he sense your discomfort and fear, and now he was throwing fists, brawling with not one but three guys, friends of the one who slipped his phone and his hands under your skirt, the stranger smashing the phone with venomous rage, fighting in a dress shirt, slacks, leather loafers, and expensive-looking rings, giving you a chance to escape.

A winner at life.

Not like you, you who let something happen because you froze up in that second, disbelieving that such a thing could happen to you, a nobody, a loser.

He kicked one of them in the knee, growling, a howl followed by the sharp crack during the fight.

You could turn and escape.

Or?

You heard sirens.

You grabbed your protector's flying fist and clenched into it tightly, panicking.

Run!

This was before the tattoos.

This was before the pain.

This was before the piercing.

Jeon Jungkook had whipped his head around at the foreign touch, in this mess because he had witnessed something disgusting and because he simply wanted to fight, just wanted to beat someone up, wanted to cause real pain to someone because he couldn't control his own life, wanted to fight something.

Needed to fight.

A hand around his hand.

Run!

Never once had Jungkook thought about escape.

Not until he saw that face, fear and panic and rage and determination, stunningly beautiful, hand around his hand, not letting go, pulling, sirens screaming in the distance, his legs already moving, following, running, running, running, into the sea of the unknown.

Sinking into it.

Lungs screaming, clumsily flying through alleys, on wings of adrenaline, running after the girl in the white hoodie and red plaid skirt holding his hand, falling, falling, falling, skidding across the concrete, her arms around his, her head buried into his chest, his hands around her head to protect it, hitting a dumpster with a pained wheeze.

The sirens sped past.

He was holding her and she was holding him.

It was chance.

Just chance.

His hands were scraped up, bleeding from the trip and tumble, her white hoodie dirtied and ripped from the fall, scrapes on her legs and knees.

I'm sorry...

It was ridiculous chance.

Just ridiculous.

You clung to this stranger and laughed, laughed like a maniac, laughed like you had gone mad, crying into his dirty navy dress shirt, thank you, thank you, thank you, not knowing you were holding the one who would make you run, not knowing who or how affluent he was, now knowing of how it felt to hold his hand and kiss his lips and hear his laugh, not knowing how you would introduce him to a friend who was a tattoo artist and start his interest in them, not knowing you would sit by him for long hours and watch the art grow on his skin...

Holding him, crying, thank you, thank you, thank you for saving me, leaning against a dumpster as the stranger hugged you tightly, I got you, it's okay, don't cry, don't cry, don’t cry please, rubbing your back.

Not knowing.

Not knowing he would make you zero, not knowing you would be standing there, time and time again, verbally beaten by his own parents as he looked away, unable to fight.

And you would escape.

You would run.

He would come back.

An endless cycle until you broke it.

Then he started the endless cycle again, broken as it was, his whispers to your cheeks, I love you, cheeks that were dried of tears because you were cried out and left with a mechanical heart, I love you, heart to heartless because of wasted time, I love you, time wasted but you still loved him, no matter what you did.

Did that make you pathetic?

Did that make you stupid?

Did that make you the loser?

I love you.

Why did it matter?

Even winners die.

I love you too, Jungkook.

"Get your hands off my tits."

"Why?"

You glared at him. Jungkook grinned and spun you around, hair still a little damp, kisses on your face that made you cringe as your naked bodies tumbled on the bed, him doing it on purpose, your grumble against his kisses, should have known, his smirk against your scowl, thought you knew me well by now, capturing his lips to shut him up, sinking into his arms and the ocean that was Jeon Jungkook, the one who made you want to run through the maze of life instead of aimlessly walk down the path.

His hands on your face, staring into your eyes.

You looked back, into those eyes that once had everything, but you.

And yet, he chose to lose it all and have nothing, but you.

It didn't really make sense, being in love.

You searched for regret, but there was none to be found.

"Am I forever your waste of time?" Jungkook whispered, breath drifting over your lips.

You smirked.

"Always was and always will be."

I know you said I was a waste of time. But I was your waste of time and that was all I ever wanted to be.

"Let me at least..."

"Ah, f-fuck, Jungkook!"

Your hands faltered a little, rolling the condom down while biting your lip, gasping as his two fingers plunged into you, him moaning at the wetness, thrusting slowly and deeply.

"What, you think I can't feel good with only your dick?"

"No," Jungkook snickered, pulling his slick fingers out of your pussy and bringing them to his face, cocking an eyebrow. "Just want a taste."

You rolled your eyes as he shoved his fingers into his mouth, sucking them off, eyelids fluttering.

"You're so annoying."

He grinned around his fingers, slowly pulling them out and tracing his wet lips.

You narrowed your eyes.

You don't have to take me back. I understand now, you know... I get it. Everyone... everyone will tell you you're crazy and to not to take me back.

I'm not taking you anywhere.

I... I wouldn't blame you. I promise.

Jungkook, please, shut the fuck up.

Your hands on his chest, smacking your hips down, his head thrown back on the pillows, breathless moan at your tightness, matching his sound with your own, stretching yourself out and feeling him swell even more at the pulse of your walls wrapped around him, rolling your hips into his, wet, intense smacks, his right hand flying up and wrapping around your left wrist, watching you through his lashes with effort, losing himself in your pace, no need to ask because you could see it in his face, his open mouth and glazed over eyes, fingers slipping down, curling your nails into his skin.

“P… Please…”

Raking your nails down his chest, his back arching and eyes closing, groaning in pleasure and pain, fucking him into your mattress so hard that the bedframe squealed, setting your jaw and closing your eyes too, savoring his fullness and thickness, sinking into the ocean of pleasure that was Jeon Jungkook, the one who made you feel like no one else, the one who could make and unmake your mechanical heart, funny how that worked, your nails in his skin creating crescents of lust, your eyes snapping open as you felt his chest rise, his back arching, his hands flat on the bed and thrusting his hips up into you, one eye partly open, black hair pushed back, open-mouthed smirk on his lips.

That dark brown orb partly obscured by his lashes, but revealing all to you.

You ticked your chin at him.

“Look at me.”

His eyes fully opening, pupils dilated, hazed over with lust and stubborn love.

“Nothing is more important to me than loving you,” he panted before sinking his teeth into his lower lip, mole underneath flashing, smacking his hips up into yours hard and fast, and it took no time at all, staring at his face and the way the moonlight cradled his strong jaw and toned muscle, catching the low light and bringing out the fervor in his gaze, filling you just right, pleasure blossoming from your core and yet concentrated tightly at the same time, moan of his name falling from your lips, spilling out from your lips and in between your legs, covering him with the sweet scent and harsh squeezes of orgasm, even wetter now, his eyes rolling back, cock twitching, satisfied hiss of your name spilling out with spurts of cum filling the condom, his length shivering inside you, your thighs closing in and holding him in the air so you could feel it all.

His pleasure and him.

I won’t make it to heaven. I don’t belong there.

It’s not like I belong there either, Jungkook.

Are you sure? Only an angel would take me back.

I didn’t take you back. Only your body walked away. Your heart never left me, did it?

“You sure you don’t want to get a couples tattoo with me?”

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around how your dumb ass wants to get ‘loser’ tattooed and how you think that’s romantic.”

He pressed his right forearm against your left and grinned, watching you suck in a breath as he pushed into you again, other condom already in the trash, new one on, your right leg against his chest, sandwiched between your bodies.

“But yeah, if you want, I’ll get a ‘lover’ tattoo.”

He paused, blinking rapidly. “Really?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? Why not?”

“You never wanted a tattoo before.”

Now you raised both eyebrows. “Did you ever ask me before?”

Jungkook looked down at you, hair a mess, smile blossoming on his face, somewhere between giddiness and mania, diving down and showering you with kisses, you smacking his arms and telling him, you’re bending me in half, the fuck are you doing, and he laughed, lifting both your legs now, I’ll show you bent in half, placing them between his arms, leaning down, sinking in as deep as possible, your moan and his moan mixing together.

You’re still here.

Of course, I am, this is my fucking apartment. Ugh, your black eye looks even uglier than before.

You don’t… you don’t want me to leave?

Did I say that? Uh… why are you crying?

F… Forget I said a-anything…

Hey, stop. Don’t cry. Don’t cry, Jungkook, please…

“Fuck, you feel so good, fuck…!”

Your hands in his hair, teasing grin on your face, and he was looking down at you, I love your smug smile, fuck, your fingers combing through his hair, pushing it back and away from his face, letting him see your smug smile without any obstructions, you always fuck me so well, Jungkook, the smile breaking out over his handsome features, breathing erratic and labored, hard and rough and deep, you rising your hips to meet him for every loud smack, exhales and moans blending together, tight, wet, full, your grip on his hair tightening, closer, closer, racing to the edge of the cliff and the edge of the world, Jungkook in your hands, taking him with you, or was he the one who was leading you?

“Jungkook…”

Breathless as if you were running, winded from the pleasure, tightening around him, his head lowering, your name washing over your cheeks in a hot gasp, putting more weight on you, nearly folded in half but it felt better this way, gratifying in how hard he could fuck you in this position, staring into those dark brown orbs, his body on yours, knowing he was yours, always was, always will be, and you were his, always was, always will be.

Head pressing into the pillows, moaning his name again, loud and unashamed, the overwhelming feeling taking over, muscles tense and nerves on fire, pouring it all into the pleasure, pulsing around his jerking length, his moan of your name on your skin, shooting shivering strings of cum into the condom, massaged and milked by the strength of your orgasm, locking him in your embrace and his arms closing in, lips on lips, a fierce kiss dominated by shuddering aftershocks, trembling in each other’s hold and taking the other’s breath away, blazing hot all over even though this frozen world cared about no one.

The kiss lasted a long, long time.

It fell apart slowly, leaving you both lightheaded from the intensity.

“You’re a waste of time, Jungkook,” you whispered, heated. “But you’re my time.”

The side of his lips quirked upward, sweaty, panting, chuckling.

“That’s all I ever wanted to be.”

--

masterpost

[morifinwes]

wangxian fic rec list!

aka in which i read fics, write some recs down for aamna and share them!! they're all wangxian fics and uhh @yibobibo i hope you'll like them!!

modern

wolf devours playboy bunny by @greenteafiend (5K, werewolf!lwj, getting together, idk if anyone needs to know that but there's nudity just not uhh explicit)

Lan Zhan has wanted Wei Ying as long as he has known him, and the worst part is that he thinks Wei Ying could want him back.

Too bad he could never in good conscience let himself go there—Wei Ying has a debilitating fear of all things canine, and once a month, Lan Zhan is the exact, precise thing that Wei Ying’s nightmares are made of.

Aka, Lan Zhan is a werewolf.

between the lines by @jywait (19K gaming au!!!, i'm always down for a good gaming au, lwj is the best aksks he's such a good boy)

☆yilingpatriarch☆: pls...give me some face, help me fight these monsters...I'm gonna die

Bluetooth: no.

"You have died." The screen said, and Wei Wuxian threw his hands up in frustration.

resonant frequencies by chinxe (15K, college au, fake dating au, tw mention of cheating but it's brief and no one was cheated on i promise)

In which Wei Wuxian decides that the best way to deal with being in love with Lan Wangji is to pretend to date him for three weeks.

It goes about as well as can be expected.

drift compatible by windoworwhatever (5K, poetry, fluff, drunkji, getting together, college au)

"It was just a fact of life. The sky was blue, university stipends for graduate students working in TA positions barely covered rent, bisexuals cuffed their jeans, Lan Wangji had a massive crush on Wei Wuxian, and spent his time pining and writing research papers about gay subtexts in ancient poetry."

OR

Lan Wangji is in love with Wei Wuxian, and everybody knows, except Wei Wuxian.

the bunny next door by detailsinthefabric (43K, this is mostly fluff and very light angst, and they were neighbors!!!, rabbits!!, aka wangxian's bunny children, this is... so cute i just have to rec it)

Lan Wangji did not know what he was doing. He did not know what he was going to say. He was frozen in place, puzzling over the situation. Maybe he had made the man uncomfortable, which is why he wanted to leave? But his tone had still been so friendly—maybe…

“Would…” he paused, swallowed, forced the last words to come out of his suddenly parched mouth, “would you let me pet him?”

-------------------------------------

Lan Wangji, who doesn't know how to socialize and whose icy demeanor scares everyone away, lets down all his defenses when he meets the bunny next door...oh, and also its owner, Wei Wuxian.

leading tone by silencemostofall (32K, everyone is a music student? or something like that akskk, curse fic, tw panic attacks, tw child abuse, small scene of drunkji, wwx has low self esteem, bro this was so painful to read)

The first time you touch someone you're fated to love, you leave a mark on their skin. If they will love you in return, they'll mark you where you touched them. The deeper the color, the deeper the connection.

Wei Ying has no marks at all.

public places, private thoughts by leahelisabeth (for the love of camelot) ( 8K, cherry magic au, getting together with like... immediate upgrade to fiance status, the author is wrong i crave good wangxian cherry magic aus even tho i haven't even watched cherry magic)

Wei Wuxian had heard the story of course. It had made its rounds through his high school and followed him into his college days. He didn’t think there was any possibility it was true. Virginity was a social construct, invented by creepy old men to exercise dominance over women. The idea that a simple lack of sexual activity before the age of thirty could give one magical powers was absolutely ludicrous.

Wei Wuxian believed this until the morning of his thirtieth birthday.

AKA the Wangxian Cherry Magic AU that absolutely nobody asked for.

i'd be all right (if i could see you) by @thirtysixsavefiles (16K, this was nice, i read this at 6am but it was cute, (while writing this post i must admit i don't remember anything but 6am-me said it's good))

The younger Lan brother is something of an enigma on campus; while Lan Xichen can sometimes be seen in the company of other graduate students or conducting a seminar, Lan Wangji appears to spend all his time in class or in the library. He doesn’t drink. He doesn’t smoke. He doesn’t attend social events. He doesn’t do anything for fun, as far as Wei Wuxian can tell, and it’s driving Wei Wuxian just a little bit up the wall.

Or, Wei Wuxian convinces Lan Wangji to come to a house party, and then they're assigned to the same group project. Wei Wuxian tries his best, but he is not in possession of all the facts.

axe on leg by itszero (4K, i still don't get why wwx did that but it was nice seeing him jealous for once, jealous!wwx, lwj i love you....)

Wei Wuxian pressed his face into his pillow and screamed. He paused to take a few deep breaths, partially hindered by the pillow, and listened to the sounds of Nie Huaisang slurping his iced coffee, from his seat on Wei Wuxian's desk chair.

Having caught his breath, he resumed his screaming and did not stop at the sound of his dorm room door opening.

"What's wrong with him?" He heard his brother, Jiang Cheng, ask.

The slurping stopped. "He's an idiot."

"He's always been an idiot. Why is he bothered about it now?"

"He forced Lan Wangji to go on a date," Nie Huaisang replied, shaking the ice cubes in his drink.

"Okay and…?"

"With someone else." The slurping resumed.

Wei Wuxian, in all his glorious dumbassery, convinces his boyfriend to go on a date with someone else.

these two most powerful by @stiltonbasket (4K, amnesia, wangxian with children!!!, aksksk this was adorable, dadji!!)

When Lan Wangji went to bed last night, he was alone in a tiny guest room with nothing but the howling of the wind in the mountains and his own lonely thoughts for company.

 

But when he opened his eyes in the morning, Wei Ying was asleep beside him.

 

(In which Lan Wangji loses twenty years' worth of memories after a night-hunt gone wrong, and his life as a doting father and husband continues without a hitch somehow.)

good things come to those who wait [but i ain't in a patient phase] by @cerlunas (4K, getting together, pining lwj)

Lan Wangji can't take it anymore.

 

“I love you”, he says, and god, it feels terrifying. “I’ve been in love with you for a long time.”

“Lan Zhan…” Wei Wuxian starts, but Lan Wangji doesn’t want to hear it.

He grabs his cup and drinks everything. He doesn’t know what face Wei Wuxian is making at him right now, and it’s okay. 

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian repeats louder, but it’s too late. He is already falling asleep.

Or, even after 13 years, Lan Wangji is still in love with his best friend. Maybe it's time to open up.

wei ying, will you marry m- oh my god he swallowed the ring! by selene210 (2K, marriage proposals, crack, marriage proposals but.. they go wrong)

“A ring?”

And indeed it was. The ring Lan Wangji was going to propose to Wei Ying with. That the man had now choked on.

“You swallowed it.”

“It was in my soufflé! Why did you put a ring in my soufflé Lan Zhan- oh. oh”

of glittery valentine's cards by @soft-fics (3K, valentine's day, this was adorable aksk, a-yuan best boy!!)

Lan Zhan didn't want to know what his best friend had planned for Valentine's Day; his heart would simply not be able to handle it. When his son tells him that he made Wei Ying a Valentine's Day card, though, Lan Zhan decided to bring it over anyway.

of coffee and white tea by @soft-fics (9K, fluff, lwj doesn't like coffee, wwx buys him coffee, then they switch drinks, again and again and again, the staff ships it lmao, tbh jc shouldn't have done that like wtf)

For the fourth time this week a stranger orders him a cup of coffee. Lan Wangji wonders how exactly to tell this man to stop ordering him coffee he doesn't even like. Turns out, buying the other white tea and switching drinks is not the best way to go about it

canon setting

on the importance of restraint (or lack thereof) by nixthothou (4K, in which sizhui snaps, i love that boy, no like seriously he's the best boy)

Lan Sizhui does not usually find himself in the company of Sect Leader Jiang.

Suffice to say, Lan Sizhui's feelings toward him are conflicted.

lan wangji is wei wuxian's baby by lilycs (3K, i was craving fluff while reading this, lwj my beloved, drunk!lwj)

Lan Wangji gets drunk from barely a cup of alcohol, becoming a whiny baby and asking his husband for cuddles.

one of our own by glitteringmoonlight (8K, wei wuxian & lan sect, 5+1 things, in which they learn to love him, they're all part of the wwx protection squad lead by lwj, wangxian isn't the focus but !!! THIS)

Times change, but some people remain the same.

The Lans are nothing, if not aware of this.

For one of their own, they will stand against the world.

Or, 5 times the Lans defended Wei Wuxian, and the 1 time he was there to see it happen.

so why not crack your skull when the mind swells by @greenteafiend (13K, love curse, post cql canon, curses, getting together, fluff, so much fluff, lwj tries to talk about his emotions!, lwj pov)

Lan Wangji detects the curse trying to curl through his heart meridians like smoke. A love curse, then. It must have been cast remotely somehow to have found him in his bed in Cloud Recesses. No matter. Lan Wangji crushes it easily, enveloping it in his spiritual energy, and then squeezing. Curse averted, Lan Wangji closes his eyes and goes back to sleep. He thinks no more of it.

Two days later, Wei Wuxian arrives in Cloud Recesses.

Or, Wei Wuxian is cursed to feel terrible pain when he and Lan Wangji aren’t touching.

i started from the bottom / now i'm rich by x_los (57K, time travel, fix it, jealous lwj, crack treated serious, god this is so good tho, wwx/wrh & wwx/jgs but like as a joke and it doesn't really happen, but it has its purpose!!)

“First, you get the money. Then you get the power, respect - hos come last.”

 

Wen Qing traps Wei Wuxian in the Demon Slaughtering Cave, but Wei Wuxian isn’t interested in being the beneficiary of the Wen Remnants’ noble sacrifice. His efforts to free himself accidentally send him back to the beginning of the Sunshot Campaign. Coreless but armed with demonic cultivation, knowledge of the future and his wits, Wei Wuxian takes advantage of this opportunity to come out on top of both the war and its aftermath—before either has a chance to happen—by marrying and swiftly burying the cultivation world’s worst men.

Lan Wangji is confused, hurt, and uncomfortably aroused by Wei Wuxian’s improbably elaborate series of Sect-themed bridal negligees.

lead me on through by mrsronweasley (55K, they're in love your honor, arranged marriage but they don't know to whom, basically wwx & lwj want to practice kissing which then goes beyond kissing but not the whole way y'know, lxc the best wingman tho)

"Who do you think your betrothed is?" Wei Wuxian asks, sprawling out in front of Lan Zhan and enjoying the prim thinning of his lips at the question. He shouldn't be sprawling—they're in the library, for one, and Lan Zhan is studying, for another—but he can't help himself. Wei Wuxian is a sprawler.

"I do not believe this to be of importance," Lan Zhan responds, without turning his gaze away from his book.

"What!" Wei Wuxian sits up. "How can you say that? Of course it's important! This is the person you'll be with for the rest of your life, Lan Zhan."

[buckybarnesdiaries]

otchet o missii

© @wintersthighs

bucky barnes x reader. ⎢ masterlist.

part one ⸺ part two ⸺ bonus

request made by anon: Hi Maria you beautiful person you please be my friend 🥺 I kinda have a request but if it doesn't speak to you then you don't have to write it, could you write something where reader is an enhanced/ mutant (kinda like Wanda or Jean Grey so like crazy powerful and dangerous) and Bucky just will not let the government get near her because he knows they'll probably experiment on her to make her a weapon cause they're sus like that? It can be romantic or platonic no preference, if ya want, please and thanks sorry this was so long

word count: 1.165 words.

warnings/tags: none. dad!bucky being overprotective with his baby soldier.

author notes: re-posted because tumblr deleted it for no reason. none of my stories contain reader’s body descriptions to be inclusive.

Join the tag list here.

“Soldat, stoy”.

(Soldier, stop).

Your eyes widened. Your heart raced. The time froze. That command clicked something in your brain, producing the spheres of flames concentrated on your palms to dwindle till disappearing. You had just one second to look around you, before turning at the firm tone of voice behind your back. You found yourself in the middle of Times Square, surrounded by different security forces, aiming at you with large-caliber weapons. Above your head, two helicopters were setting up a perimeter. The chaos spread around the long avenue. You didn't have an idea of how you ended up there, but you were scared like never before.

Turning slowly, your eyes landed on a pair of pale blue orbs. You didn’t notice the other people as a backup. A feeling of safety invaded you when he tilted his head confused, narrowing his eyes, trying to understand how it was possible that you were there. But before you could take a step closer to him, a twinge followed by an electric cramp shook your body. The last thing you heard before blacking out was an I got you, and a cold arm wrapping your abdomen.

BUCKY'S POV

Avengers Compound

06:03 pm, New York

“How do you know it’s not a trap set by Hydra?” Steve asked, reclining himself on his seat at the meeting table next to the rest of the Avengers.

“Because I trust her”. Bucky didn’t doubt replying, although he couldn’t understand why, hearing Stark clicking his tongue as he rolled his eyes.

“James, you don’t know her”. Natasha sighed, referring to the fact that being assassins together years ago meant nothing.

“I trained her. She owes me loyalty”.

“What’s that? Some kind of Stockholm Syndrome patented by Hydra?” Clint scoffed incredulously.

“Tell us what you know about her, Bucky. What you remember”. The captain asked his long-life friend, leaning on the table with both forearms rested against the edge of it.

The soldier gulped, deeply breathing, nodding his chin with his eyes lost somewhere on the dark oak. He explained how Vasily Karpov knew about you. An orphan with no family, no history, and a power of telepathy that allowed you to control the four elements as you pleased. Water, fire, earth, and air. From nowhere, your body could produce flames and throw them anywhere. Exactly the same you could do with water and air. Earth was different. Only by using your hands you could wild it as you want; creating earthquakes or holes, move it. The heroes around Bucky were stupefied. You were a potential danger.

Then, he told them about your skills. Karpov made him stay awake after killing Tony’s parents to train her. You were just a kid. And soon, you were a soldier with an angelic face who could kill anyone just by blinking your eyes. To tell the truth, the Winter Soldier was everything you had in this life. You two worked together, hand-to-hand, for more than ten years until he disappeared. With him out of the game, Hydra continued experimenting with you to replace him. But they reached a point where you couldn't bear the pain, losing control completely.

“Let me talk with her, please”. Bucky begged, touring his eyes around the people there.

“It’s too dangerous”. Vision affirmed, taking a position close to Tony.

“She. Owes. Me. Loyalty”. He repeated almost hissing, pointing out every word with his silver forefinger poking the table.

“You have five minutes before the Government brings her to the Raft”. Rhodes sentenced, crossing his arms on his chest. “Five minutes”.

Escorted by Steve and Wanda, who was the only one there that could control you, Bucky went down to the third sublevel. When the soporific made its effect and knocked you out in the middle of Manhattan, the Avengers managed to take you to their compound.

You were still stoned, but conscious enough to know what was happening around you. Everything spun inside the bunker. Your head hurt like hell and you felt a knot within the pit of your stomach that made you want to puke your guts. As the heavy door proffered a loud noise being opened you retreated to the farthest corner, placing your knees to your chest and wrapping your legs with both arms. Again, you were shaking. Terrified. About to beg for your life.

“Soldat, otchet o missii”.

(Soldier, mission report).

Your breathing became erratic as if the air wasn't enough to fill your lungs. You were at the edge of your crying, raising your hidden face from the gap of your knees. The Winter Soldier was standing some feet away from you. No expression on his face, as always, but with the small difference of a slight inkling of concern. He also looked skinnier, shorter hair, a grown beard. He looked healthier, free.

“Net zadaniya”. You whispered with a broken tone.

(No assignment).

“Soldat, otchet o missii”. He repeated taking a step ahead, hardening his voice.

(Soldier, mission report).

The command made you gulp a sob. Wasn’t he believing you? How could you lie to him?

“Net zadaniya”. You replied with no hesitation, standing on your bare feet and sticking your back to the wall. “Missiya ne naznachena”.

(No assignment. No mission assigned).

You noticed he wanted to turn to his partners, but he didn't. The soldier kept eye contact, coming a little more closer, invading your personal space without caring. He tilted his head forward, trying to find the answers to his questions in your orbs. But they both were emptied with the sole exception of the horror invading your chest and reflected on them. You didn't want to come back. You wanted to be released from Hydra's chain. You weren't an assassin, nor a monster.

“I wa… I was looking for… you”. Babbling, you confessed, being the explanation for why your mind took you to that place in concrete.

“Why?”

“Because you are the only person I have”.

His eyelids narrowed for a second, scanning your intentions, feeling frustrated by not finding anything hidden beneath your words. “Otchet o missii, soldat”.

(Mission report, soldier).

“Net zadaniya, Sergeant Barnes”.

(No assignment).

It was the first time you pronounced part of his real name since you met him many years ago and you could listen to his heartbeat increasing. Before you blinked, his metallic hand grabbed your throat and pinned you against the wall, watching the fury and the rage taking control over his grimace. Glancing above his shoulder, a redhead woman stopped the blonde man known as Captain America. Your gaze focused again on the soldier, loosening slowly the grip on your skin.

“Why don't you remember me?”

The last thing you knew about him was that the man behind him brought back the memories of his past life. His real life. But he was still looking at you with hate and revulsion. Of course, the Winter Soldier was conscious of who you were. What he had forgotten was how he felt about you. He didn't reply to your question, walking backward to the exit, leaving you there. Alone. Again.

feedback is appreciated, please, leave a comment to let me know if you liked it and/or reblog it.

author notes: what do you think about, after the two parts explaining the story, continuing it to explore the evolution of their relationship? do you like the idea? lemme know in a comment or send me an ask!

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[bukojuiice]

this is how you fall in love ━ levi ackerman

ೃ pairing: (levi ackerman x  gn! reader)

ೃ  the entire division of the survey corps are not convinced that you and levi are absolutely actually together. however, it took a small expedition outside of the walls and an abnormal titan incident for everyone to coo adoringly at the soft and loving demeanor that levi holds around you and only you.

ೃ genre and warnings: canonverse, fluff, and strong language.

ೃ  my nav  →  my aot masterlist  →   sign up for my taglist

ೃ 1.6k words

ೃ dedicated to one of my first uni friends, @ryscenery because if the two of us didn’t yell (affectionately) at each other for our love for levi, this fic may have never been birthed. i hope you enjoy! 🥺

Love certainly makes you do the wacky. But in a world where chaos is imminent, war is always looming, and people die to giant man-eating humanoid monsters, how can one possibly make their life akin to that of a romance novel?

Well, unfortunately, you can't.

It's a Live and Let Die world, after all.

But... to the remaining few of humanity who are strong and lucky enough to be still wandering the faces of the unknown world, love is a treasure. A gift only a few can find.

And somehow, and someway, you were lucky enough to find comfort in someone you never thought you'd expect to find.

Levi Ackerman.

The stoic and blunt smart-ass captain of the Survey Corps? Yes, him.

Honestly, it's quite a surprise. No one would have ever thought that someone could shake the world of Humanity's Strongest Soldier. It almost felt like a dream, honestly. Your subordinates and co-captains can't even get their heads wrapped around the fact that there's something between the two of you. Well, it's not like either you and Levi were bold enough to rub it in other people's faces.

Even Hanji, who made it seems as if they were utterly convinced over the fact that the two of you are together by teasing the two of you every time that you were within a few feet of each other, has their doubts.

It didn't take long until a minor expedition outside the walls made everyone in the division finally realize how much you and Levi were pining lovestruck dorks when hidden from the eyes of prying and spying soldiers.

An attempted attack from an abnormal titan had forced you to stray away from the rest of your squad's formation. Baiting the abomination away from your subordinates led you to get lost in the outskirts of an abandoned town. With a terribly injured leg, none of your essential equipment with you, and with no means of communication, you had no choice but to wait for the rest of the scouts on patrol to find you.

However, you were afraid of one person.

Levi knows how strong and how much you can hold up in a fight (Your Titan kill count is one of the highest in the Corps), but he hates how reckless you can get. How stubborn. How irrational your decisions can be at times and how much you hate the fact that he reprimands you for the littlest mistakes. Even if those mistakes could ultimately be the cost of your own life.

Catching sight of a shadowy figure and the sound of the clopping of horses from beyond a steep hill, you brace yourself for another long and agonizing lecture from Levi as he continues to approach.

"Captain (Y/N)!" Armin, a rookie soldier from your fleet, calls out. A look of relief forming on his face. "We brought Captain Levi! He's just behind us!"

"Oh, great." You whisper, grimacing to yourself. "Just great." Your wounded leg fails you as you try to prop yourself up onto your horse, falling back down on a mound of rubble.

You only wish you could know what Levi is feeling right now once he sees the predicament you've brought upon yourself once again.

"Captain (Y/N) has strayed away from our formation!" Jean reports sternly, a tinge of worry straining his voice. "They have diverted an abnormal titan from ruining our formation! As of now, none of us in the fleet know of their whereabouts! Neither do they have a flare gun nor any kits in case of an emergency, as they have left them with Krista before the expedition!"

Erwin clears his throat, shaking his head to try and keep his calm facade. "We'll send some soldiers to scout the-"

Before he could even finish his sentence, the distinct cry of a nearby horse could be heard. As the rest of the surviving soldiers turn their heads to where the sound came from, they could do nothing but stare agape at Levi's fleeting figure cross through the safe area and again into dangerous territory. No one could dare to stop him, after all. There was no way.

All they could do was stare in awe at the dramatic yet sweet gesture of the stone-hearted captain that happened right before their tired eyes.

Maybe now they're finally convinced that the two of you are actually together.

(Levi's POV)

I sprinted through the vast fields with all the remaining strength I could muster. After a long exhibition, I didn't expect I'd have to drag my ass around to find (Y/N). Yet, I could not recall the last time I found myself so short of breath.

Dammit. Please be safe.

I am only vaguely surprised to feel an icy trickle of sweat on the back of my neck and my wringing hands as I hold onto the saddle.

Hurry... I must hurry.

There was not a moment to waste. If there were a titan to cross through these shitty grasslands ever again, I'd have to kill these fuckers as fast as I can. Whatever it took to reach them.

....How unlike me.

I hated this feeling. I knew it was inevitable and could happen anytime, but my body launched forward before Erwin could even give his command. Duty decreed that I should have informed him, but the thought came far too late.

I have no doubt Erwin will conjure some excuse for me. After all, this is what everyone wanted, right? Didn't they want to see more proof of my undying love for them? Just because I don't make goo-goo eyes at them doesn't mean I wouldn't defy everything just to keep them safe.

Perhaps I am being irresponsible... but I have no choice but to put my trust in him.

For now, I have someone more important than anything else, someone I cannot fail. Someone I must save.

At the end of the maddeningly long field of nothingness and stark skies, my destination hoves into view.

As (Y/N)'s weakened figure appears closer and closer to me, I abruptly halt my steed and dismount from it. With all my strength once again, I rush to their side.

Moments later, you hear Levi's voice, whom you had seen off just this morning. Wincing in pain due to your injuries, you mentally prepare yourself for another scolding.

"Keep safe" were the words he'd never fail to whisper every time the both of you are forced to depart from each other. It wasn't the most romantic saying out there, but it meant a lot. Especially coming from Levi. He was not the most physically affectionate beau out there, but these little sweet nothings were enough to make your heart flutter.

Observing his looks as he approaches, Levi almost seems panicked. Out of breath, even breaking a sweat... you can't even remember the last time you saw him like this.

His piercing gaze bore into yours, and you felt as though you might fall into it.

Levi takes one step towards you and then another.

"I-I'm fine... okay?" You puff your chest and tug at his hand reassuringly. "Don't worry. I kicked that titan's ass before it could even get a hand of me. How about you? Are you alright? You're breathing so heavily."

He doesn't answer your question but instead drops his gaze into your shaking hands.

"(Y/N)..." His voice was barely audible, a whisper. There's this exasperated look in his eyes that you can't quite describe. And yet, through that faintest movement of his lips, you knew what he meant to say.

"Levi, listen. I'm-"

---And yet... he did not allow you to finish.

Soft warmth pressed against your lips. And his embrace... so intense yet so gentle.

He didn't have to say it with words; This is the first time Levi has shown such love through his touch. Kind, yet powerful. His kiss felt like the wings of butterflies, beating softly upon lips of crushed petals.

You remain in his arms, held tight to the Captain's chest.

The suddenness of his actions came as a surprise, of course... but even so.

The heat radiating from your bodies brought such a wellspring of happiness to you. You were so happy. So very, very happy.

It was so profound that you wished that it might never end.

"Tch. I thought I was going to lose you..." He trails off, squeezing your arm in slight annoyance. "W-why do you always have to be so damn reckless? Why can't you just stick to the plan?"

"Reckless is my middle name after all." You giggle, the kiss ever so deepening.

You're suddenly brought back into reality when a flustered cough echoes from behind you.

You and Levi took it as your cue to finally let go, releasing one another.

"I hope we're not interrupting something..." You turn to see Armin Arlert, a rookie from your fleet, approach the two of you awkwardly. "I'll be tending to Captain (Y/N)'s wounds... if you'd allow me." He clears his throat, clearly intimidated by the cold and striking facade emanating from Levi.

"Captain Erwin sent us." Mikasa added stoically. Ah yes, the ever so tactful commander.

"Were you brats watching?"

"No! Of course not!" Jean, Sasha, and Connie who were lagging from behind, dismiss Levi's claims with a dramatic wave of their hands. "We totally weren't-"

Levi sighs, "Look. Even if you were, I wouldn't get mad." There's a slight blush that slowly creeps on his face yet quickly fades away. "Just... don't get into details once Hanji or Erwin tries to bug you about it, alright?"

"Yes, Captain!"

"Thank you for coming to pick us up." You smile weakly as you let Armin kneel to tend to your wounds. "Who knows what could have happened if we were left here alone?" You nudge Levi's shoulder suggestively."

He smirks, chuckling to himself. "If we were, then they'll finally have more proof that the two of us are actually together, won't they?"

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