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foxgloveprincess · 2 hours ago

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He is such a natural puppy! I just knew he’d be the perfect werewolf. Once he’s hooked, he’ll be devoted for the rest of time. You’re absolutely right. There won’t ever be a minute where you won’t feel loved ever again.

Thanks for reading and reblogging! 💜

I Love You Means You’re Never Ever Ever Gettin’ Rid of Me

Pairing: Jake Jensen x Female Reader [Second Person Narrator]

Word Count: 5.3K

Summary: Dating is scary, but it’s one online date with a nice guy. There couldn’t possibly be more, right?

Warnings: Monster AU (Werewolf/shifter Jake, Monsters x Human Romance), Dating App/Online Dating, Instant Attraction, Shifting, Possessiveness, Clingy Behavior, mild Violence, Bad Family Relationship (brother), Making Out, Smut (Unprotected Sex, Groping, Werewolf Sex, Knotting), UnBeta’d. Minors do not interact (18+).

A/N: So happy to post this before my birthday! More fun and fluffy monster loving like my Stucky Monster verse and Ari/Curtis’ Someone To Call Mine. So, meet clingy Werewolf Jake!

Follow @foxglovefics and sign up for notifications for when I post if you wanna be in the know.

I love feedback, so go ahead and reblog if you want. No permission given to copy, translate, rewrite, post my work, or feed it into any AI generator, at all. I cross-post to my own AO3 account.

Title from “Never Getting Rid of Me” from Waitress (Musical)

Please DO NOT click ‘Keep Reading’ if you are not 18+ years of age or if you are uncomfortable with the pairing, themes, dynamics, or warnings. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Thank you!

“Oh gods,” you drone, head finding your hands as you lean against the counter of the diner.

“What?” Candy asks, passing by with the carafe of decaf.

You peek between your fingers, watching her fill a mug and make her way back to the counter. Nodding toward your phone, you can’t help the whiny grumble rolling in your throat.

“He wants to meet.”

Pinkie rolls her eyes. “And that’s a problem how?”

“What if he doesn’t like me?” you moan. The bell dings from the window and you spin on your heel. Plates of scrambled eggs and pancakes and fruit filling your tray. Walking over to your table, you set them down with a quick and cheerful, “enjoy your meal!”

“Why wouldn’t he like you?” Candy asks, turning over her shoulder.

“I don’t know?” you reply, hugging your empty tray to your chest. “What if I’m not what he expects? I mean,” your toes tap on the floor, “I didn’t exactly tell him everything about me. What if he thinks I’m a dweeb or…too much trouble?”

“Oh, honey,” Candy soothes, her hands falling to your shoulders. “He’s gonna love you.”

You nod like a bobble head, brow furrowing as nerves bubble up and sting at your insides. “Yeah, yeah.” You swallow and glance at the clock. “Yeah, I’m gonna cancel.” Slipping from Candy’s hold, you stretch for your phone, only for Pinkie to snatch it up and tuck it into her apron. “But—”

Her gum pops between her candy apple red lips. Her stare cutting as it falls to you. “Just try it,” she challenges.

“You can’t just—” you insist, cutting yourself off in frustration, hands squeezing into fists. You rock on your toes, scrambling for a bit of calm and confidence.

“Hey,” Candy soothes, shooting a glare over her shoulder, “don’t pay attention to her. She’s just being prickly, but she knows exactly like I do. You’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” you hem. Unconvinced, but turning back to your other tables regardless.

The rest of the day passes in a limbo of anxiety and anticipation. Leaving Candy and Pinkie with a small wave and a tenuous smile.

Phone clutched in hand, you find your way home. Changing from your uniform, trying to pretty yourself with some makeup and fixing yourself from a long shift.

And before you know it, you’re seated at a table for two at the restaurant Jake suggested. Turning over your shoulder and watching the people around you. Strangers enjoying their evening. No sign of your date.

What if he stands you up? Your stomach flips, acidic. You could vomit right on the tablecloth, but you hold it in and take your glass of water. Swallowing the cool liquid and letting it calm you.

“Hey,” a voice greets to your side.

Your head whips in the direction and tilts up. A man stands beside you, his hands tucked in his pockets. Shy smile sitting on his lips framed by a goatee. Light glints off his round-framed glasses. He says your name and nods toward you in inquiry.

“Oh, hi,” you reply. Pushing your chair back to stand and pause. Arms raising for maybe a hug, but you hadn’t thought that far. So instead you offer your hand. Stiff as he takes it for a slightly clammy shake before you shuffle back to your chair. Internally cringing the whole time.

Jake jumps behind your chair to help you push it in. His muscled arms caging around you before he steps back and takes his seat. A smile flashes on his face. The low light of the restaurant limning him beautifully.

And doesn’t that just make your heart flutter. Yet you can’t bring yourself to look at him. Too dazzled by his handsome features. Cheeks heating.

Silence settles around you. Stretching awkward as you straighten your silverware.

“So your profile said you like animals?” Jake starts, breaking the ice.

“Uh, yeah,” you squeak with a nod.

“Did you know that cats can make a thousand different sounds and dogs can only make ten?” he asks. Clearing his throat and taking a sip of his water.

You blink. Brow furrowing as you think about it. “No,” you reply, curiosity piqued, “is that true?”

“Yeah!” he enthuses, smile brightening. Latching onto the conversation topic with enthusiasm. “Which do you prefer? Dogs or cats?”

“I like both, but dogs, I think.” Your voice raises in a question.

“Me too,” he nods, his hand reaching up to scratch at the back of his neck. Face scrunching as he continues, “which is good cause I’m sort of…” He trails off without finishing his thought.

Your head cocks as you ask, “sort of what?”

He sighs. Hands gripping the edge of the table as he stares at the candle between you. “I don’t usually put it on my profile. I know there are specific sites for it, but then you matched with me and I didn’t want to risk scaring you off.”

Your mind spins. Trying to follow along with his confession, and dreading it. Half raising from your chair in case you need to make a hasty getaway. Bracing for impact.

“But I’m a werewolf,” he concludes, shoulders tense as if he’s flinching away.

“Oh,” you say, surprised but not averse. Falling back into your seat. “Why didn’t you use—”

“Glammr, yeah,” Jake interrupts. “That’s what my friend, Ari, suggested.” He shifts in his chair, unable to find a comfortable position. “I just—I’m a man most of the time.” His hand runs through the blonde kissed ends of his hair. “Never really felt the urge to shift unless it’s the full moon, you know? So I felt like it didn’t apply.” He glances at you, from under his lashes. “Is that a problem?”

You sit for a minute, mulling it over. He hadn’t told you in your chats. But he did now. Was the omission a deal breaker?

Your fingers wrap around your menu. Sliding it to your front and opening it up. More comfortable focusing on the dishes than the man—werewolf—in front of you. Gazing expectant and nervous.

“I don’t see a problem with it,” you finally reply, flicking your gaze his way to ease his nerves with a small smile. “I mean,” you clear your throat, “we are still getting to know each other, right?”

Relief washes over Jake’s features. Every muscles easing as he echoes, “right.”

“Oh, sweet Jesus,” you mutter to yourself, sinking behind Pinkie at the counter.

“What are you doing?” she asks with a grimace, eyes finding you over her shoulder.

“He’s here,” you whisper, peeking around your friend and finding Jake. In your diner. At a table. Looking in your direction with that sweet and dorky smile that kinda sets your toes curling and your heart pitter-pattering.

“Fuckin’ hell,” she mutters under her breath. “And he’s in my section.”

“Be nice,” you demand as she saunters over, popping her gum and pasting on her customer service smile.

Their conversation drifts over as she asks how he’s doing and what she can get for him. Your name catches your attention and you hunker down behind the counter. Heart just about ready to beat out of your chest.

“Just hold on a second,” Pinkie says, making her way back to you. Her gaze finding you as you pick at the shelves under the counter. “He was wondering if you would talk to him.”

“I—” you swallow and peek back over the counter. “Yes?”

“Don’t tell me,” she says with a sigh, grabbing you by your bicep and lifting you up, “tell him.” And with a gentle shove, she propels you toward his table.

You glance back to her as she leans against the counter, not smiling but flashing you a thumbs up.

A soft crack reaches your ears. You glance down to your shoes, ensuring you haven’t stepped on broken glass. Nothing.

You clear your throat and turn to the table. Only to stop. Jaw dropping to the floor.

Jake sits before you. Furry. Ears perked. Tail wagging emphatically behind him. Contrition radiating from the curl of his lips and the lowering of his chin.

“Sorry,” he says, smiling in embarrassment and righting his skewed glasses, “this keeps happening lately. And I can’t seem to control it. I feel like I’m going through puberty all over again.”

You blink, stunned. “You’re—”

“Shifting, yeah.” He scratches clawed fingers through the fur at his nape. “Happens when I catch a whiff of you.”

Your brow furrows. “Does it hurt?”

He smiles and it’s that same goofy grin that makes your heart flutter. “I knew you’d ask that.” He shakes his head. “No,” he replies, “no pain.”

You swallow and drop your gaze, rocking back on your heels and fighting the urge to look back at your friend for support.

“I’m sorry if this form scares you.”

Your eyes snap back to his. The guilt staring back at you, the attempt to shrink his massive form. Your hand pops up in a bid of placation. “It doesn’t,” you say, head shaking in emphasis. “I just didn’t think I’d see you today. Like this.”

Jake glances around. The few patrons of the diner paying no mind to the werewolf in their midst. Continuing their conversation and meals without pause.

“I should have reached out instead of showing up outta the blue,” he admits, returning to you. “I just couldn’t stay away.”

You nod, slowly, piecing together the bits of your conversation. “Because of how I smell?”

His eyes flutter shut, a dazed sort of euphoria overtaking his features. “Like honey and bergamot and something so deliciously you.” His claws wrap around the edges of the table, the vinyl-covered wood creaking in his grip.

“Hey,” you say, wrapping your hand over his. Gulping down the shock of electricity at your touch. “Be careful.”

The hand you hold flips faster than you can react. Gentle as it cradles your fingers. Your lips press together, holding back a smile.

Jake tilts your wrist to his wet nose. You shiver at the cold press. A graze of it against your skin. He breathes deep and releases you. Your hand clutches at your order pad. Knees weak as you fight off a swoon.

“Sorry,” he mutters, “sorry. I’m gonna need a minute.” He shifts in his seat. Knocking the center pedestal of the table with his knees.

He won’t look at you. And you’re too stunned to move.

“Hey,” your boss calls from behind the counter, pouring a cup of coffee for himself before retreating back to the grill, “get back to work.”

“Sorry, Frank,” you call over your shoulder, “just getting his order.” You turn to Jake and click your pen. Another kind of hunger gnawing at your belly. “What can I get for you? Coffee? Pie?”

“Uh, I guess,” he pops open the menu and scans it with his eyes, “the blue plate special with a slice of lemon meringue.”

You jot it down with a muttered, “of course,” before looking to him again. Your teeth worry over your lower lip, a surge of confidence surprising you as it makes you blurt, “Ireallyenjoyedourdateandwantedtoseeyouagain.” And then you spin on your heel and retreat. Swift steps taking you to the counter to put in the ticket.

“His tail is wagging like crazy,” Pinkie says, a smirk on her lips. “He’s utterly besotted. You should see the puppy dog look he’s got on his face.”

“You’re taking too much pleasure in this,” you say, eyes narrowing on the usually acerbic woman.

She hums, noncommittal, and grabs her order from the window to deliver to table 8. Popping her gum as she does and plastering on her service smile.

You try not to watch her pass, knowing you’d take a peek at the werewolf staring intently back. And you just don’t think your heart can take it.

The door closes behind you and you breathe a sigh of relief. Stretching your ankles and tilting your head back. Shift over with and survived—barely.

The way Jake looked at you when you dropped off his lunch was absolutely deadly. You thought your knees would give out right then and there.

But you made it. Jake eating his meal and leaving with a wave on his way out the door. Pinkie eying you the whole time.

You’re woman enough to admit, you’re a total goner for Jake. His sweetness getting you right in the gut and leaving butterflies.

So when you see him sitting on a bench just a few paces down the block, you stop. His head lifts and he turns over his shoulder. Raising his hand from the laptop sitting on his thighs for a wave. Your lips crack in a shy smile and you step toward him.

Only to find your path blocked by someone much less desirable.

“How much did you make tonight?” your brother asks, shoulders curled forward to intimidate and crowd.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you reply. Your hand slipping toward your phone. “I have—”

“You think a flimsy piece of paper is gonna stop me?” he scoffs, glancing over his shoulder. “You know you owe me,” he says, grasping at your forearm, “after everything mom did.”

“I owe you nothing, Gideon.” You step back. Finding your phone and pulling it out. Poised to hit the emergency line when he smacks it from your hand. Screen cracking before your eyes.

You turn back to him, ready to chew him out, but stop short. Your brother pushed up against the brick wall of the building. Jake snarling in his face. You didn’t even notice the cracking pops of his transformation.

“You don’t lay a finger on her,” he bites, teeth sharp and ears pinned back.

“Says who?” your brother scoffs, pushing at the werewolf’s shoulders.

And in a flash of movement, your eyes barely able to track the shift. An instant. Your brother crumples, pushed faced first into the brick. Jake bending his arm at an uncomfortable angle up his back.

“Says me,” he growls. He leans closer, whispering something in your brother’s ear. Gideon’s wide, scared eyes finding you before Jake releases him. “Do we have an understanding?”

Your brother swallows, straightening himself out and rocking back on his heels. He nods once and rushes away. A glance cast over his shoulder before he turns the corner and disappears down the street.

Jake faces you. Still in his wolf form. Hesitating as he watches your reaction. Nearly cowering after his outburst. Tail curled and ears drooping.

You shift your weight on your feet. Hands clutching the strap of your bag. You lick your lips, preparing yourself to speak. “I’m sorry,” you say.

Jake blinks at you. “Sorry?” Confusion arches his brows. “What have you got to be sorry for?”

“I didn’t mean for you to see that. For that to happen. My brother—”

“Hey,” he hushes, reaching out. Claws tenderly cradling your elbow. The lightest touch, likely to release the second you show discomfort. “Don’t worry about that.” He breathes deep and curses under his breath. Pleading eyes stare into yours. “I—please, can I hold you?” he asks.

“Oh,” you stutter, taken aback by his temperament, “uh, sure, but….” You trail off, letting the rest of your objection fizzle.

“But?” he asks.

“But I was on my way home,” you finish. Face scrunching in apology.

“I see.” Jake takes a step back.

His lips part to say something more, but you interrupt with a quick, “do you want to come with me?”

Your key turns in the lock and you gesture Jake into your apartment. The studio space smaller with him in it. Like he takes up all the air in the room.

And then he does it. Scooping you up in his arms using all the monstrous strength in his furry limbs.

A whoop bursts past your lips at the sudden loss of solid ground beneath your feet. He chuckles. A low, rolling sound in his chest pressed right against you. His bag dropping to the floor by your couch. Carrying you to your bed tucked in the corner behind a wispy curtain.

Jake lays you down gently and asks, “is this alright?”

You prop yourself on your elbows. Eyes tracing over his furry figure as it looms over you—not threatening in the slightest. His gaze filled with the sweetest hope.

Your head bobs in a nod and relief washes over his features. His giant body lowers—not beside you—but on top of you. Laying across you like a soft, weighted blanket. His muzzle nuzzling right into the space between your breasts. Breath a warm brush. Tail wagging lazily.

Heat fills your cheeks. Hands pressing against his furry forehead.

“Jake,” you chuckle, self-consciousness tugging at your stomach.

He rumbles a growl in return. “Smell so good,” he grits, unbudging. “Right here is where I belong.”

“I, uh,” you swallow, heart fluttering, “I guess that’s okay.”

“Okay?” Jake repeats, chin tilting to meet your eyes. His ears perk, gaze radiating concern. “Do you mind?”

You roll the question around in your head for a minute. “No,” you start, “as long as you don’t mind that I smell like diner grease.”

A growl rumbles in his throat. Lip lifting over his teeth in the beginnings of a snarl. “No, you don’t.”

Your phone chimes from your pocket. With a wiggle or two, you fish it out. A notification from Glammr lighting up the screen. Only then does Jake fully peek up his head. Large hand a flash as his claws wrap around your device. Stealing it away from your grip to examine it.

“You’ve got a message,” he reads, a furrow pulling between his brows and ears angling flat on his head. A deeper, growling grit to his tone. His gaze finds you from the corner of his eye before your device goes flying.

A surprised noise falls past your lips, seeing your phone fling past the curtain and bounce from a cushion to the floor. “Jake!” Your hands shove at him with much more gusto, legs kicking to get out from under him. But you’re no match for his strength.

He blinks, gaze clearing of vexation. He glances over his shoulder and cringes. “Oh jeez, okay,” he points with his thumb, “I’ll definitely fix that. It should be fine, I think. I wasn’t—”

“What was that?” you ask, fingers prodding at his chest. “Cause it wasn’t okay.”

“I’m sorry,” he replies immediately. “My instincts—just thinking about someone else getting their hands on you.” His voice turns rough at the end, the dark shadow eclipsing his features once again.

“Hey,” you bite back, finger pointed at his muzzle, “you stop that right now.”

He snaps out of it. Shoulders lifting toward his ears, chin tucking to his chest. “I know it’s scary,” he mutters.

“No,” you correct, tone softening as you tilt his head toward you. Scratching under his chin until his tail wags. “It’s not scary. It’s misplaced.”

His brow arches in confusion, looking for answers in your face.

“You don’t need to take it out on my phone,” you continue, adjusting his glasses on his muzzle. “I’m not gonna run off with someone else. I like you, Jake.”

And like an eager puppy, he perks up at the declaration. “Yeah?” His eyes sparkle and you can’t hold back a fond laugh.

“Yeah.” You shift under him and relax back on the cushions. Mind trailing back to your brother. “With Gideon, my brother,” you ask as Jake reinserts himself between your breasts, “was that instinct, too?”

“Yes.” His head moves back and forth between your breasts. Hands framing your ribs to keep you in place. “Part military training, too.”

“What did you say to scare him?”

He stops, lifting his eyes to meet yours. “That I’d hunt him down and tear him to pieces if I saw him again.”

“Why?” you breathe, struck by the devotion in his gaze.

“Cause I’ve chosen you,” he replies, sincerity dripping from every syllable.

A breath puffs past your lips. Hands cradling his furry cheeks and drawing him near. Your eyes drop to the sharp points of his teeth.

“Do you want to change back?” you ask, voice quiet.

“I don’t think I can.”

So you kiss him. A long, languorous tasting. Feeling his teeth prick at your lips. The fur of his cheeks beneath your palms. The squeeze of his hands around you as he holds you tighter.

Even the slightest withdrawal for air results in a pitiful whine and the most heart-wrenching puppy dog eyes. So you keep yourself close. Kissing. Letting your hands begin to wander—petting and scritching. Until he pulls back, breath heavy.

“I can’t do it,” he says with a tinge of desperation. “I won’t be able to hold back.”

“From what?” you ask.

“I’ll keep kissing you,” he says with promise, letting his eyes rove over your figure. “I’ll touch you.”

“Okay,” you reply. The statement an easy agreement.

“I’ll fuck you,” he continues, voice strained, “claim you. Make you mine. I have a knot. It’ll lock you to me after…”

You swallow, thighs rubbing together at the very thought. Need dripping through your veins. You meet his eyes, dragging your touch away only for him to chase it. It’s heady, the confidence he gives you in his presence. The way he defers to you and seeks your approval. “Okay,” you repeat, voice breathier.

His gaze darkens. Locked on you as your heart patters in your chest. A glimpse of the predator staring back.

Claws trace up your sides, plucking at the buttons of your uniform. Each one popping beneath his touch. His focus draws to the swell of your chest as he bares it. A moment of reverence as he leans down and nuzzles against each breast cradled by your bra.

“You have the most amazing tits,” he croons, voice rough with barely concealed restraint.

“You could fuck them, if you want,” you offer, spine arching to push yourself closer to him. The words forming on your lips by sheer desire to please him.

He swallows hard, jaw dropping on a wounded sound. His eyes squeeze shut and he shakes from head to tail. “Later,” he promises, voice husky with need. A reverent caress paid to each nipple before he continues his quest to divest you both of clothing.

His shirt and shorts, strained around his monstrous figure, find the floor in an instant. An afterthought as he unwraps you like a present. Your dress falls open, pulled from your arms and pushed to the floor as he kisses you. It leaves your comfortable underwear on display—cotton and plain. But he drinks in the sight as if it were the most exquisite lace lingerie.

“Gods, you’re gorgeous,” he breathes, letting his gaze trail over each curve of your body. Only snapping back to his exploration as you squirm beneath him.

His chest expands on a deep breath. Your fingers tucking under the straps of your bra. Slipping them off your shoulders and letting the cups loosen around your breasts.

The noise he makes rumbles through you. Shivers skittering pleasantly down your spine.

“Let me,” he begs, hands slipping beneath you to unhook the band and peel the bra from your body. He mutters under his breath, a dizzy chant of, “thank you, thank you, thank you,” before he buries his face against your breasts. Letting his hands feel the free weight of them. Tongue laving over your nipples.

Your breath hitches as your back arches. His teeth scrape against your flesh. Goosebumps prickle over your body.

“I need,” you swallow around the words. Arousal ratcheting higher with each swipe of his tongue or trace of his claws over your skin. An insatiable hunger between your thighs.

“What do you need?” he pleads. His eyes shining with his own kind of desperation.

Your chest heaves with a deep breath. Licking your parched lips and seeing his eyes focus on the swipe. You softly demand, “I need you inside me.”

He pauses. Eyes widening. Even his tail ceases its wag. He raises off you. Hands frozen at his sides. Never in your life did you think you would see a werewolf looking like a deer caught in headlights.

You prop yourself on your elbows and tilt your head, sizing up his reaction. “Are you alright?”

He blinks, eyes falling to his place, kneeling between your thighs. Underwear a thin barrier between him and you. His tongue peeks past his lips, licking over his muzzle.

“Can you repeat that?” he asks, voice gruff.

“Are you alright?” you ask again.

His eyes fall shut, chest heaving. “No,” he says with a shake of his head. “No, before that.”

Your mind trails back through the conversation, before you repeat, “I need you inside me.”

“Right, great,” he agrees, “am I dreaming?”

You chuckle, perplexed by his scattered questions. Though, you answer with a soft, “no. Not dreaming.”

“Alright,” he says, his situation finally sinking in. “You’re gonna need to take off your panties cause I would rip them.”

With a couple wiggles and some maneuvering, you slip your underwear off and down your thighs. Flicking them across the room, leaving yourself bare beneath him. Your cheeks heat, staring up at him.

He doesn’t meet your eye. Entranced by your body.

“Jake?” You shift beneath him. The heat of his gaze lingering along your pelvis as he tips his head to find your face once again.

He clears his throat. “I didn’t realize it was possible for a brain to blue screen.” The surprise in his stare enough to ease any self-consciousness on your part.

“Does that mean you don’t want to?” you ask anyway. Your hands trail down his sides, carding through his fur until they reach around his back and find the point where his tail meets his spine. Your nails scratch right at that juncture as you wait for his response. A lazy, unconscious attempt at soothing—which proves to do the opposite.

His hips jolt beneath your touch. Humping into the air just above your legs. Cock growing hard and heavy out of his sheath. His tongue lolls past his lips, heavy pants following it. A murmur of want rolls in your throat, his ears perking at the noise.

“Are you sure?” he asks, slotting himself between your thighs. The weight of his cock resting—throbbing—against your mound.

“Yes,” you moan. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him into a kiss. Hips tilting up to feel him slide between your lower lips. The graze of his length against your clit a delicious sensation.

He takes one clawed hand and guides himself to your entrance. Prodding gently and slicking himself. Your arousal drenching him with a few maddening strokes.

He pulls away from your kiss. Watching the first, steady plunge of his cock as he stretches you open. A dull ache forms from his intrusion, but you don’t mind. Knowing that you want him to leave his mark on you.

Jake’s head falls back, looking ready to bay at the moon as he bottoms out inside you. It drops back toward his chest with his throaty, “thank you.” And then his hips rock, dragging him out only to plunge back in. Praise dripping past his lips. “So good—you feel so good. Just wanna keep fucking you forever,” he moans. He kisses you and tucks his head against your throat, nibbling a love bite into your skin.

“It’s okay,” you reply on a breathy sigh, delighted and amused by his continuous praise.

“You’re just perfect, squeezing me so tight,” he continues, barely hearing you over his own words. “I can feel you fluttering.”

Your head presses into the pillows. Nerves alight with pleasure. Sounds fall from you, punched out by each push of his hips against yours. Your fingers raking through his fur, urging him closer and closer.

His lips meet yours again. Tangling your tongues. His claws pressing lightly into your cheeks, cradling your face as his hips slow. Focus captured by your kiss.

You moan against his mouth, letting your hands wander as one of his trails across your flesh to meet the pert peak of your nipple. His whole body cages yours to the bed. His heat, his desire—delightfully oppressive.

Of all the outcomes anticipated from your foray into online dating, to find someone to make you feel this way so quickly—you would have never imagined, never hoped.

Sweat beads along your body, trickling down the creases of your skin. An unconscious shift breaking you from your daze—lost to the press of his lips and the pluck of his fingers.

“Keep fucking me,” you beg against the teeth that gently nip at your swollen lips. “Please.”

And he does. Resuming his steady pace. Parting your walls around the rigid girth of his cock. Each thrust feeling too shallow for the ache inside you.

“More,” you gasp, hand finding his ass and tugging him into you.

“I—” He pants around his thought, kissing you to distraction and squeezing his eyes shut—gathering his last vestiges of restraint. “My knot is swelling,” he explains on a quick burst of breath. “It’s gonna stretch you.”

“Give it to me,” you demand, caressing his sides before finding his muzzle with your hands, “just like you promised.”

He grunts, his hips stuttering, and nods. Pressing his cock deeper inside. Filling you to your breaking point. Until you feel the swell at the base of his cock.

He drowns out your blissful whimpers with apologies. Over and over a mantra of, “I’m sorry,” mumbled against your mouth and skin as he kisses you all over and keeps going.

Never before have you been stretched so wide. A giddy electricity rising inside you. Your breath catches in your throat. Climbing to your peak until you crash over the edge.

His cock locks you together, knot swelling until you feel as if you might burst. You cry out your pleasure. Rocking your hips to ride out the high.

He moves with you—short, quick thrusts that jolt you with euphoric aftershocks. His face scrunches. His voice rises. A final howling moan rips out of his throat as he cums. Spilling inside you with a few more oversensitive drags of his cock that have you whining.

But he doesn’t stop kissing you. As the afterglow sets in and your pulses calm to steady beats. He kisses you and kisses you until you can stand it no longer.

You break apart and run your hands through his fur. Your eyes rove over every detail of his face. Committing it to memory and admiring it in its entirety.

“You’re gorgeous,” you mutter.

His head drops to your chest. And you think if he were in his human form, he’d be blushing.

“Does this mean I’m all yours now? Since you’ve knotted me and everything,” you ask. A small adjustment to your position has you hissing. The strain of his cock still inside you and tugging at your entrance mildly uncomfortable.

“Whoa,” he says, stilling your hips with the firm weight of his hands, “we gotta stay like this for a bit. Don’t move—don’t wanna hurt you.”

You hum and comply. Your eyes drift closed and you savor the moment. Feeling the stretch of his knot, the press of his furry chest, the scrape of his claws. A small smile tilts the corners of your lips.

“I’d have to mark you with my teeth to make you mine,” Jake explains, pulling you out of your quiet musings. You meet his eye as he stares up from your chest. Wet nose nuzzling against the swell of your breasts. “So you’re not technically mine yet.” He pecks a kiss to your sternum. “But you will be.”

“You’re so sure,” you chuckle, letting your eyes roll fondly at his insistence.

“I am,” he replies.

And with his weight pinning you to your bed, the sparkle in his eye, the warmth of his fur, and the sweet smile plastered on his lips, you are, too.

#jake jensen x reader #jake jensen fanfiction #jake jensen fic #smut #female reader #monster x human #monster x human romance #fluff #response reblog

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foxgloveprincess · 2 hours ago

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really feeling the need to change my theme.

#talking into the void

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foxgloveprincess · 3 hours ago

Photo

#steve rogers

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foxgloveprincess · 6 hours ago

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Someone New 13

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include angst, pining, romcom tropes, and some darker elements later in the series. Some triggers may not be specifically tagged. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This fic will contain explicit content. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’ve had a crush on your best friend for years, but you’re slapped in the face with reality when he takes things to the next level with his girlfriend.

Characters: Steve Rogers, Thor

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You squeeze Thor’s hand as you come in sight of the house. It’s a much different scene beneath a clear sky. The wooden pillars carved with geometric designs and the aged siding knotted deeply. It’s beautiful.

“I hope no one worried about us,” you say.

“My parents know I can handle a storm. Thought they might doubt if I can handle such a beautiful woman.” He chuckles. You poke him playfully.

“I’ll have to go back today. My friends will be worried if I don’t call. And I need to check the site.” You sniff. You’re not entirely eager to do any of it.

“Yes, I foresaw that but can you work in the mud?” He asks as he brings you up to the porch.

“Sure can, not that it’s any fun.” You sigh. “No, I’ll just need to make sure it’s in tact. I’ll probably need to wait for it to dry out a bit.”

“Ah, so you won’t be too busy?” He prompts as he stops you at the door.

“Busy-ish. Why?” You face him. He looks down at you and grins.

“I do need to go to town. I thought...” He shrugs and looks around. “I haven’t exactly taken you on a proper date. If my mother knew--”

The door opens as if he summoned her at the very mention. Frigga leans on her crutch as she peers through, her other hand on the door. She smiles.

“There you are!” She chimes. “We thought you stole our son away to America.”

“Oh no. No, I wouldn’t,” you turn to her. “We just--”

“Got lost,” Thor fills in. “Mother, you know how the storms are.”

“Uh huh. I know how you love to get lost in them.” She chides and backs up. “You two look as if you were caught right in the eye of it.”

“Mother,” he grumbles.

“Oh yes, you look worn out,” she tuts as she beckons you inside. There’s a glint in her voice, a suggestion that makes you blush. “Do you know, when he was a child. He had us searching for him for days in one of the storms. All because his father said he couldn’t play outside. Oh, he showed us, didn’t he?”

Thor lets you go and ushers you in ahead of him. You enter and stay on the mat, your boots still wet and dirty.

“It was... I was young. Impetuous. And I proved to you I was perfectly fine playing outside,” he counters as he unties his boots.

“Oh, you were a babbling mess when we found you.” She harrumphs. “Always my baby boy.” She squeezes his shoulder and hums.

He looks up at her. “Yes, I am.”

“You take care of him,” she turns her green eyes on you. You flinch. “Yes, I mean it.” She bends to kiss his golden hair as he wrestles his laces. “I love you, baby boy.”

She stands and rights herself on the crutch. She puts her hand to her chest and looks at you again. You smile nervously.

She thumps away with her single crutch. Thor puts his boots aside. You sit to take off your own.

“Thor. She knows.”

“Of course she does. I wasn’t subtle before.”

“No, she knows what we did out there,” you whisper.

He laughs. “Well, it is a part of these things.”

“I guess but...”

“I said we could stay out there longer. Do it a few more times.” He winks.

“Stop," you swat his hand.

“Oh, I don’t think I can,” he drawls.

You laugh and shake your head. “You’re going to have to. At least in front of other people.”

“No promises,” he slings his arm over your shoulders. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. In more ways than one.”

You poke his ribs playfully. “Not even for one second,” you tut.

❤️

It’s hard to go. Not just because of Thor, but because of everything. His family, his home. It makes you miss yours so much more.

He walks you back down to the site. He talks a lot before you can tear yourself away. Kisses you even more.

“Call me,” you say.

“Or you me.” He suggests.

You drive away. His reluctance feeds into yours. As you come up to the house with the blue siding, you idle in the car before you shut it off. You just want to turn around and stay there forever. Maybe if it wasn’t for the grant money...

Of course, there’s everything else. Sam and Bucky. Steve. Your parents. It’s just that for the first time in your life, you feel like you found something meant just for you. Not something to long for, to hope for. But really, truly yours.

Someone where you’re wanted. Someone who wants you.

You drag yourself inside. You change into your pajamas. No more borrowed clothes. Your old college tee and some loose pajama pants. You cling to the hem of shirt and stare at the hole under the fading logo.

The smell of your dorm clouds in your nose, the drone of the Top 10 countdown in the background, the feel of paper under your fingertips and the too thin mattress under you. Steve’s eyes shine as he laughs. You laugh too and yet you can’t really see him. He’s all blurry in your mind.

You exhale and traipse into the bedroom. You sprawl out on the bed and yawn. You let your phone lay on beside your pillow and close your eyes. This is worse than jetlag. It’s a fatigue you don’t know how to cure.

Your phone vibrates. You groan and reach for it. It’s Sam. You think of ignoring him but he must think that’s what you’ve been doing these last few days. You answer.

“Hey, Sam,” you hold the phone above you.

“Oh, is this what you’ve been doing? Laying in the dark hiding from me?” He challenges.

You scoff. “No.” You sit up and jostle around. You pull the chain on the lamp beside the bed. “I have been stranded on a mountain.”

“Stranded?” He wonders.

“You should’ve checked the weather. It stormed. For days.” You say. “I’m just happy to be home. And alive.”

“Me too,” he agrees. He stares at the screen. He squints. “There’s something else.”

“Sam. It was a big storm,” you shrug.

You’re not the best liar. You aren’t really lying, you’re just not telling him everything. You’re not entirely sure why. You don’t want to ruin it. Or maybe if you speak it out loud, it will go away. Yet how long did you not say what you felt out loud. Where did that get you?

You’re quiet as you flick Sam into the corner of the phone and flip through the apps. You don’t want him to see right through you.

“You seem pretty relaxed for just surviving the storm of the century,” he mutters.

You scroll through Insta. You can’t look at him. Even when he’s teeny tiny in the corner.

“Maybe she got struck. I heard that can rewire your whole system.” Bucky’s voice comes from off-screen.

“Is that what happened to you? Explains a lot,” Sam chirps.

“Bucky’s there?” You smile. “Let me say hi.”

“What? I’m not interesting enough for you?” Sam challenges.

“You are very interesting, Sam. I just miss him.”

“Why?” Sam huffs and turns the phone.

Bucky waves as he leans forward. “Hey. How’s Norway?”

“Amazing,” you answer without thinking. “It’s… pretty. The landscape. Everything.”

“Mhmm.” Sam hums and turns you back to him. “You’re not telling us something. I can tell.”

“Sam. What am I going to keep from you? The crow bones or the broken medallions I dig up every day,” you challenge.

You flick your thumb down. The page stops; People You May Know. It’s Peggy. Her profile pic is her and Steve. At some event with lots of flowers. You imagine there’s a lot of those. They look perfectly happy. Without you.

“Hey? Yo? Did this thing cut out?” Sam calls your name.

You snap back and blink at him. “S-sorry, I–”

“What are you looking at?” Sam asks.

“Nothing.” You clear your throat. “What about things there? Are you guys having fun?”

“Sure,” Sam replies as Bucky answers, “no.”

You chuckle. “Oh?”

“He’s just mad about the suit,” Sam snickers.

“Suit?” You wonder.

Bucky grunts.

“For the wedding. Peggy wants this horrible tan theme. It’s awful. Washes old blue eyes out. Doesn’t it, Buck?”

“Don’t call me that,” Bucky growls.

“He wants black. She’s not budging but neither is he. I said if he wants to be the flower girl, he might be able to get away with something darker. Maybe a purple so dark it looks black.”

“You’re not funny.” Bucky sighs.

“I’m hilarious,” Sam insists. “Trust me when I say you’re not missing out on anything here. It’s all… wedding stuff.” He says those two words carefully. “Boring.”

“Oh, it sounds horrible.” You chuckle.

“It is,” Bucky intones.

You snort as Sam grins. As you go silent, he tilts the phone. “Look. I’m telling you. Don’t worry about us. Whatever it is you found there. Enjoy it.” He takes a breath. “Fair warning; the invites go live tomorrow.”

You nod. “Thanks.”

“Ah. No biggie. I only called for days to tell you,” he says. “Anyway, I’ll let you recover from the storm. Next time you get lost in one, send me a text.”

❤️

Your pocket vibrates again. You smile at the cashier as you ignore it and pay. You thank her in Norwegian, or your best attempt at it, and take your paper bag. You cradle it in one arm as you head for the door. Your phone starts again.

You answer without looking.

“Hi. I’m out right now.” You say.

“Oh, apologies,” The deep timbre surprises you. You nearly trip.

“Thor? I thought– I thought you were Sam. What’s going on?”

“Nothing, truly. I suppose I was hoping to intrude upon you. Are you terribly busy, then?” He asks.

“No. Just taking my groceries home.”

“Important things,” he says. “And after?”

You bite your cheek. You saw him yesterday when you went up to the site. With the fence between you. He had Thunder and they watched you dig. The rain and the wind did quite the number on the lot.

“Nothing.” You answer cautiously.

“So you would be free? For a date?” He ponders.

You smile as you walk down the pavement. “I guess I could cancel my plans. That crossword puzzle can wait.”

“Dinner?” He says. “Candlelight. Wine. Dessert…”

The way he says the last word makes you tingle. You have to keep from giggling. It’s so exciting and yet you’re so nervous. Why did it have to take you so long to find this? Did you waste all your time? Not just on Steve but those half-hearted flings that just fizzled out, if they ever had any fire to begin with.

“Sounds great. Perfect.” You breathe.

“I’ll be at yours around six?”

“Six,” you confirm, smiling dumbly as you walk along.

❤️

You almost didn’t pack a dress. You didn’t think you’d need it. It’s nothing special. A merlot colour with a bit of ruching. You didn’t bring any heels so the gold flats will have to do.

Hair and makeup. You fumble around as you get ready. You don’t really wear more than mascara and some moisturizer to the site. Mostly just SPF. Thor knows what you look like. Why are you doing all this?

You’re done. You think. You put your things in a purse and pace around the entry way. Now you’re really anxious. You shouldn’t be. Not after all that’s happened. Yet, you are. And that feeds into your nerves, like a snake swallowing its tail. If you’re nervous that means it’s special and it can be ruined.

There’s a knock at the door. You trip over your own toes and collide with the door. You take a breath and steady yourself. You open it. You hope he didn’t hear that.

You open the door and smile at Thor. Your breath rushes out of you as you see him. His hair is half drawn back, combed neatly, not a strand out of place. His beard looks softer and his cheeks tinge with rosy pink. He wears a green-blue button up and a dark blue jacket. He’s done up but not too much.

“You look–” You say at the same time. You both stop and laugh. You fall into a thick silence.

He offers his arm. “Shall we?”

You accept. You step out and he waits patiently for you to lock the door. He walks you down the steps as you hook your arm through his.

“Where are we going?” You ask.

“It’s a surprise.” He keeps going.

You pass the fish place and the cafe. Then the grocer. You haven’t seen anywhere around here that you’d dress up for.

He stops you by an archway with a Norwegian word wrought in iron. He takes you through as you shiver. It’s a park?

Ahead, there’s a glow, flickering softly. You let him lead you. You trust him. Maybe you shouldn’t, but you do.

He takes you to a gazebo and patiently guides you up the steps. Inside, there are candles lit around a picnic blanket. Across it, there are covered dishes awaiting you, two stemmed glasses, and a bottle of wine. You gasp.

“I know it isn’t a fancy restaurant. I’m sure in New York–” He begins.

“Are you kidding me? This is awesome,” you say. You turn to him and grip his arm. “Thor, it’s perfect. So perfect.”

He smiles and leans in. You tilt your head up to meet his lips. You kiss in the pulsing light. You’re still waiting for this fairytale to turn tragic.

#step into my library #she deserves the fairytale #to be cherished and desired #like thor does for her #steve can be forgotten #he’s not worth her time #she just needs thor #though #his mom knows exactly what’s up #clocked it without a second glance #and honestly #good for them #being in their own romantic bubble

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foxgloveprincess · 10 hours ago

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Friends With Benefits 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic could include grey or dark elements and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This fic will be explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After 20 years of friendship between you and Lloyd, the way things always were is challenged by a new man.

Based on this

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, ??????

If you read, I’d truly appreciate your feedback. Please reblog, send an ask, and/or leave a reply. <3 I greatly appreciate you all and your energy.

Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback. Please check my pinned post for any questions about my blog or writing or send me a message.

Love you all. You are appreciated and you are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

A noise scratches in the back of your mind. Your eyes roll beneath their lids and a swirling sensation rolls through your skull. Your subconscious ripples but you do not wake.

You know you’re dreaming. The awareness that you’re asleep makes you dizzy. Then, a harsh yellow glare forces your eyes open. You shield your eyes as you cry out and swat away the light.

“There ya are, dimples,” Lloyd slithers. “I’ve been calling your name for like five minutes.”

“I’m sleeping,” you gurgle.

“Well, get up.” He says tritely. “Flight takes of at seven.”

“Seven? A.M.?”

“Uh, yeah,” he answers as he strides away. The overhead light flicks on and you groan. “Up and at em, sunshine.”

“Ugh, Lloyd,” you cover your eyes. “I told you--”

“Your bags are already in the car. All you gotta do is get your kiester out of bed.”

You sit up and rub your temples. Lloyd is your friend but you’re not sure you’re prepared for a vacation with him. At least you’re not too sure it’ll be very relaxing.

“Give me a second,” you slowly lower your hands.

“I’ve given you man.”

You wave him off and shove the blankets away. You turn your legs over the side of the bed. He snorts.

“That really what you wear to bed?” He snickers.

You look down at the plain jersey pajamas. Grey, button-up, a collar, long-sleeves with pants. Nothing special. Basic and practical.

“They’re pajamas.”

“It’s like a prison uniform,” he scoffs. He claps his hands and you wince. “Chop, chop. You don’t wanna miss early check-in. VIP Lounge has mimosas.”

You roll your eyes. You’re not going to repeat yourself. He knows you don’t drink. He also knows you have work. He just doesn’t listen.

You get up and drag your feet past him. He clucks. You head out the door and down to your office. He appears in the doorway as you go around the desk.

“You are not trying to work right now,” he snips.

“I’m not. I need to bring this with me.” You unhook your laptop and find the leather bag for it. “Can I do that, Hansen?”

“Oo hoo hoo. I thought you were a morning person, toots.” He taunts.

“I am. When I’m alone,” you growl and you roll up the charge cord and stuff it in the side pocket. “Go downstairs. I need to get dressed.”

“Fine, fine, but remember. We’re going on a tropical vacation. You don’t wanna cover up.”

You send him a look. He flinches but his grin only spreads. He laughs again.

“Sometimes I forget how funny you are, dimples,” he spins and struts away. “You got five minutes.”

You wait until you hear him go downstairs. You snarl as you shuffle down the hall. You don’t really have anything that doesn’t cover up but you don’t really care what he wants. You’re concern is that it’s going to be hot. You’re not a fan of the heat.

You change into loose linen pants; striped and beige, and a plain white blouse with a sharp collar. It’ll do with a pair of loafers. You quickly make yourself human in front of the sink, sending yourself an exasperated look in the mirror. Why are you doing all this?

You go downstairs. Lloyd is by the front door, playing with the statue of a Grecian woman with an ewer. You sigh.

“You know, it would be easier for you to go alone.”

“Are you kidding me? I can do that? People would think I’m some sad sack who go dumped.” He misses the table as he goes to set the statue down.

You move faster than you ever have. You catch it and put it back on the console table. You huff.

“Lloyd.”

“That was impressive,” he cackles. “Wow, I didn’t think you could move like that.”

“Me either,” you mutter. You turn and step into a pair of backless loafers and slide your phone and keys into the leather laptop bag.

“Don’t you worry, I found your passport,” he slides the little folio out of his pocket. He opens it and examines the inside. “Perfect, you look miserable.”

He turns it around and shows you the photo. You roll your eyes. One day, he will be the reason they stick.

“You could cancel--”

“No refunds, sweet pea. Look, if you ever went anywhere or did anything, you’d get it.” He sneers. “You should be thanking me. I’m spicing things up for you.”

“I don’t need spice--”

“Dimples, you don’t know what you need. You eat turkey burgers and sour yogurt. You need to loosen up and old Lloydy poo is an expert at that,” he winks. You shake your head.

You could argue and hope to do so long enough to miss the check-in. Yet, you’re too tired to keep going. And he’s persistent. He always has been. Admirably yet annoyingly so.

“They got espresso martini’s in the VIP Lounge too. It’ll pep you right up.”

“Coffee. I need coffee.” You insist.

“It has some coffee...”

“Just coffee,” you insist and grab the door handle.

“They have in-flight drinks too. Maybe lunch time--”

“Lloyd. Please.” You beg as you go outside.

You wait for him to follow then press the button on the keypad to lock the door. He teeters in his velvet loafers, somewhere between excitement and impatience. You look at him dully.

“I have people to email. So you’re going to drive and I’m going to do that.” You insist.

“Fine. Get all that boring stuff out of the way before lift off.” He sniffs. “Because once we land, no more.”

“But you said--”

“And I changed my mind. Come on, dimples. How long have we been friends? Think of it like...” he puts a hand out as he hooks his other thumb in his cream belt loop. “An anniversary celebration. Can you believe we lasted this long?”

You stare at him. You don’t answer or flinch. He recoils.

“Alright, let’s get going.” He turns and tramps down the steps. “The sooner you get some coffee in you, the sooner I can breathe.”

🩷

You can be thankful for one thing. A reclining seat. Lloyd’s penchant for the extravagant has finally paid off.

You settle back into the cushy airplane seat. You didn’t know they could be so cozy. Your practicality often had you flying business class at most. Not that you did often. You’ve met a few clients in person or gone to networking events, but never anything beyond work. There isn’t any need for luxury when you’re just doing your job.

You close your eyes and let the tension seep from your muscles. It just as quickly knots behind your neck as you sense a looming shadow. You peek out between your eyelids as Lloyd looks over the barrier between you.

You shut your eyes again. He’ll go away.

“Psst.” He hisses.

Your eyes snap open. “What?” You snarl.

“What’re you watching? I can’t decide.”

“Nothing. I’m trying to nap.” You turn your back to him.

“Right... uh, what do you think? Crime doc or 80s classic?” He asks.

You sigh and don’t answer. He huffs and his seat shifts as he sits back. You can hear him tapping the touching screen and muttering.

“What’s longer?” You ask.

“The crime thing.” He answers.

“Then watch that,” you cross your arms and seal your eyes shut. “And let me sleep.”

You swear he chuckles. It’s hard to think he isn’t doing it on purpose. As well as you’ve known him, you’re sure that he is. This whole pretense of a vacation, of trying to help you relax, is wearing away pretty fast. If anything, he’s only brough you to amuse himself by driving you crazy.

You drift in and out sleep. The snores of other passengers, their coughing or laughing, sneezing and sniffing, it doesn’t let you settle. Lloyd doesn’t help either as he keeps ringing the bell for a drink or a snack. You pass on the airplane fare.

The seat belt light comes on and you make yourself sit up. Finally, dreadfully, you’ve arrived. You click in the belt and patiently await touch down. Lloyd fidgets next to you.

“In one hour, you’ll be sipping champagne and sunbathing and you’ll be thank old Lloydy,” he taunts over the barrier.

You shake your head. In an hour, you’re sure your headache will be even worse.

💜

The bellhop unloads your bags from the golden cart. You fish around your wallet and tip him. He’s a skinny teen with a toothy smile. He thanks you and leaves with a bounce in his step. At least someone’s happy.

“You’re very generous. It’s his job to carry the bags. He already gets paid,” Lloyd scoffs.

“And deals with people like you,” you retort.

He hisses and shields his chest as if he’s been struck. “Ouch, dimples. You know how to skewer my balls.”

You make a face and he chuckles. He turns and tilts his head around to admire the room. It’s spacious. The front room is decked in ivory and gold. There’s a balcony through the glass doors looking out at the crystalline coast, and there’s a set of wide doubles doors looking in on a bedroom.

You grab your bag and drag it with you as you take it all in. You stop at the glass table to read the services brochure. Good, there’s wi-fi. Your eyes scan over the room service menu and the tall vase of long-stem flowers. They stop on the big black box...

“Really?” You mutter under you breath.

Lloyd startles you as he strides over and claps his hand down on the box of condoms. “Ah, forgot about that request.” He snickers. “Hey, you never know. Good to be prepared.”

You scowl at him and turn away. You roll your suitcase around the sofa and to the bedroom doors. You stop and lean your head back in exasperation.

“One bed?” You say.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, but it’s a king. Couples package, you know?” He comes up behind you. “Oh, look, champagne.”

He brushes by you. Closely. You watch him go to the table set with two glasses, an ice bucket, and a corked bottle. You rub your forehead.

“I can take the sofa.”

“Chill out,” he takes the bottle and reads the label. “It’s a big bed. You’ll be fine.”

“I don’t mind.”

“What am I? Boiled shit? I smell or something?” He looks at you.

You wouldn’t say he smells but he does wear a lot of cologne. No, you won’t say that either. You shrug. Deal with that later.

“Come on, have a glass.” He pushes his thumb against the neck of the bottle and the cork pops out, pinging off the wall.

“Lloyd,” you chide.

“What? It didn’t even leave a mark.”

You push your suitcase to the side. “I’m going to see if they have any water.”

He sighs. “Look, dimples,” he follows you. “You gotta at least try. Come on, this is expensive.”

“I didn’t ask you to bring me. Or spend the money.” You argue.

“Fucking hell, dimples. How far is that stick up your ass?” He chirps as you go to the mini fridge and bend to look inside. “Really, when’s the last time you had someone loosen it for ya?”

You throw daggers at him with your eyes.

“Like really get up in there,” he thrusts his hips.

You stand and slam the door of the fridge. You tilt your head wryly. “Fine, pour me glass.”

“Yikes, don’t act like I’m twisting your arm. It’s free champagne, not rat poison.”

You cross your arms. “Look, I appreciate it. It’s a nice gesture. Even if it wasn’t meant for me.”

“Don’t look at it like that. It worked out exactly like it was meant to,” he cozens. “Let me go get a glass.”

He retreats. You linger in the front room of the suite. You go to the balcony doors and look out. It is pretty.

“I could get my own room--” you suggest.

“You kidding?” He snorts as he comes up behind you. “People book rooms here a year in advance.”

“A year?” You shake your head.

“Well, Simone... er... Sarah? Well, whoever, she wasn’t exactly the first choice either.”

You turn to him as he offers a stemmed glass. You eye the foam on top and exhale. You take it and look back to the coast.

“Wow.” You utter.

“Hey, come on. Me and you, Dimples. Friends forever. I’m surprised it took us this long to do it,” he clinks his glass on yours. “Mazel.”

You turn the glass between your fingers. You carefully sip it and let the sweet bubbles invade your mouth. Your jaw tenses from the stringency of the alcohol.

“Uh huh,” you nod at the horizon. “How long exactly?”

“Only two weeks.” He shrugs.

Two weeks? You side eye him. You don’t know if you’ll make it that long.

#step into my library #lloyd knows every button to push #and he’s gonna entertain himself with every single one #isn’t he #though #i have a feeling #she was his first choice #maybe he’s planned this all out #he’s certainly gonna want to use those condoms #even if it’s not with her #so she might end up on the couch anyway

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